The heart of Mid-Lothian

Presented to the
LIBRARY of the

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO

by

THE ESTATE OP THE LATE
COL. R. S. TIMMIS, D.S.O.

.^^-

IT.-noi.W.S.TfMMIS
iJOYAL CANADIAN DRAGOONS

Mk^^ |tz7'/740.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN

SIR WALTER SCOTT
was born in Ed'mhurgh on August
i§th, 17 Ji. He was educated for
the bar, but eventually turned his
attention to poetry and literature,
and, as the anonymous author of
The Waverley Novels, was destined
to become one of the greatest of
British novelists. Scott purchased
Abbotsford on the Tweed and was
on the flood'-tide of success when the
failure of Ballantyne, his publisher,
saddled him with enormous liabili-
ties. He was then 55 years of age,
but as the result of heroic labour
and self-sacrifice he repaid his
creditors £jo,ooo within five years,
re-purchased his estate, and, on his
death, his obligations were met in
full. He was created a baronet in
1820, avowed the authorship of
the novels in 1827, and died on
September 21st, i8j2.

Printed in Great Britain

Try

Page 74

il wilu liu-

LIBRARY OF CLASSICS

THE HEART OF
MID-LOTHIAN

by

SIR WALTER
SCOTT

LONDON AND GLASGOW
COLLINS CLEAR-TYPE PRESS

53/7

INTRODUCTION

TO THB

HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

The author has stated, in the preface to the Chronicles of
the Canongate, 1827, that he received from an anonymous
correspondent an account of the incident upon which the
following- story is founded. He is now at liberty to say,
that the information was conveyed to him by a late amiable
and ingenious lady, whose wit and power of remarking
and judging of character still survive in the memory of
her friends. Her maiden name was Miss Helen Lawson,
of Girthhead, and she was wife of Thomas Goldie, Esq., of
Craigmule, Commissary of Dumfries.

Her communication was in these words : —

•'I had taken for summer lodgings a cottage near the
old Abbey of LIncluden. It had formerly been Inhabited
by a lady who had pleasure In embellishing cottages, which
she found perhaps homely and even poor enough ; mine,
therefore, possessed many marks of taste and elegance
unusual in this species of habitation in Scotland, where a
cottage Is literally what Its name declares.

"From my cottage door I had a partial view of the old
Abbey before mentioned ; some of the highest arches were
seen over, and some through, the trees scattered along a
lane which led down to the ruin, and the strange fantastic
shapes of almost all those old ashes accorded wonder-
fully well with the building they at once shaded and
ornamented.

"The Abbey itself from my door was almost on a level
with the cottage ; but on coming to the end of the lane,
it was discovered to be situated on a high perpendicular

lo INTRODUCTION TO

bank, at the foot of which run the clear waters of th«
Cluden, where they hasten to join the sweeping Nith,

Whose distant roaring- swells and fa's.

As my kitchen and parlour were not very far distant, I one
day went in to purchase some chickens from a person I
heard offering them for sale. It was a little, rather stout-
looking woman, who seemed to be between seventy and
eighty years of age ; she was almost covered with a tartan
plaid, and her cap had over it a black silk hood, tied under
the chin, a piece of dress still much in use among elderly
women of that rank of life in Scotland ; her eyes were dark,
and remarkably lively and intelligent ; I entered into con-
versation with her, and began by asking how she maintained
herself, etc.

"She said that in winter she footed stockings, that is,
knit feet to country-people's stockings, which bears about
the same relation to stocking-knitting that cobbling
does to shoe-making, and is, of course, both less profitable
and less dignified ; she likewise taught a few children to
read, and in summer she whiles reared a few chickens.

" I said I could venture to guess from her face she had
never been married. She laughed heartily at this, and
£aid, * I maun hae the queerest face that ever was seen,
that ye could guess that. Now, do tell me, madam, how
ye cam to think sae?' I told her it was from her cheerful,
disengaged countenance. She said, ' Mem, have ye na
far mair reason to be happy than me, wi' a gude husband,
and a fine family o' bairns, and plenty o' everything? for
me, I'm the puirest o' a' puir bodies, and can hardly contrive
to keep mysell alive in a' the wee bits o' ways I hae tell't
ye.' After some more conversation, during which I was
more and more pleased with the old woman's sensible con-
versation, and the na'tveU of her remarks, she rose to go
away, when 1 asked her name. Her countenance suddenly
clouded, and she said gravely, rather colouring, • My name

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. ii

is Helen Walker ; but your husband kens weel about
me.'

" In the evening I related how much I had been pleased,
and enquired what was extraordinary in the history of the

poor woman. Mr. said, there were perhaps few more

remarkable people than Helen Walker. She had been left
an orphan, with the charge of a sister considerably younger
than herself, and who was educated and maintained by her
exertions. Attached to her by so many ties, therefore, it
will not be easy to conceive her feelings, when she found
that this only sister must be tried by the laws of her country
for child-murder, and upon being called as principal
witness against her. The counsel for the prisoner told
Helen, that if she could declare that her sister had made
any preparations, however slight, or had given her any
intimation on the subject, that such a statement would save
her sister's life, as she was the principal witness against
her. Helen said, ' It is impossible for me to swear to a
falsehood ; and, whatever may be the consequence, I will
give my oath according to my conscience.'

"The trial came on, and the sister was found guilty
and condemned ; but in Scotland six weeks must elapse
between the sentence and the execution, and Helen Walker
availed herself of it The very day of her sister's con-
demnation, she got a petition drawn up, stating the
peculiar circumstances of the case, and that very night set
out on foot to London.

"Without introduction or recommendation, with her
simple (perhaps Ill-expressed) petition, drawn up by some
Inferior clerk of the court, she presented herself, in her
tartan plaid and country attire, to the late Duke of Argyle,
who immediately procured the pardon she petitioned for,
and Helen returned with it, on foot, just in time to save
her sister.

"I was so strongly interested by this narrative, that
I determined immediately to prosecute my acquaintance

12 INTRODUCTION TO

with Helen Walker; but as I was to leave the country
next day, I was obliged to defer it till my return in
spring, when the first walk I took was to Helen Walker's
cottage.

"She had died a short time before. My regret was
extreme, and I endeavoured to obtain some account of
Helen from an old woman who inhabited the other end
of her cottage. I enquired if Helen ever spoke of her
past history, her journey to London, etc. ' Na,' the old
woman said, * Helen was a wily body, and whene'er ony
o' the neebors asked anything about it, she aye turned
the conversation. '

" In short, every answer I received only tended to increase
my regret, and raise my opinion of Helen Walker, who
could unite so much prudence with so much heroic virtue."

This nari'ative was enclosed in the following letter to
the author, without date or signature : —

"Sir, — The occurrence just related happened to me 26 years
ago. Helen Walker lies buried in the churchyard of Irongray,
about six miles from Dumfries. I once proposed that a small
monument should have been erected to commemorate so remark-
able a character, but I now prefer leaving; it to you to perpetuate
her memory in a more durable manner."

The reader is now able to judge how far the author has
improved upon, or fallen short of, the pleasing and interest-
ing sketch of high principle and steady aifection displayed
by Helen Walker, the prototype of the fictitious Jeanie
Deans. Mrs. Goldie was unfortunately dead before the
author had given his name to these volumes, so he
lost all opportunity of thanking that lady for her
highly valuable communication. But her daughter,
Miss Goldie, obliged him with the following additional
information.

•' Mrs. Goldie endeavoured to collect further particulars

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 13

of Helen Walker, particularly concerning her journey to
London, but found this nearly impossible ; as the natural
dignity of her character, and a high sense of family
respectability, made her so indissolubly connect her sister's
disgrace with her own exertions, that none of her neighbours
durst ever question her upon the subject. One old woman,
a distant relation of Helen's, and who is still living, says
she worked an harvest with her, but that she never ventured
to ask her about her sister's trial, or her journey to
London; 'Helen,' she added, 'was a lofty body, and
used a high style o' language.* The same old woman
says, that every year Helen received a cheese from her
sister, who lived at Whitehaven, and that she always sent
a liberal portion of it to herself or to her father's family.
This fact, though trivial in itself, strongly marks the
affection subsisting between the two sisters, and the
complete conviction on the mind of the criminal, that
her sister had acted solely from high principle, not from
any want of feeling, which another small but characteristic
trait will further illustrate. A gentleman, a relation of
Mrs. Goldie's, who happened to be travelling in the North
of England, on coming to a small inn, was shown into
the parlour by a female servant, who, after cautiously
shutting the door, said, 'Sir, I'm Nelly Walker's sister.'
Thus practically showing that she considered her sister
as better known by her high conduct, than even herself
by a different kind of celebrity.

" Mrs. Goldie was extremely anxious to have a tomb-
stone and an inscription upon it, erected in Irongray
churchyard ; and if Sir Walter Scott will condescend to
write the last, a little subscription could be easily raised
in the immediate neighbourhood, and Mrs. Goldie's wish
be thus fulfilled."

It is scarcely necessary to add, that the request of Miss
Goldie will be most willingly complied with, and with-
out the necessity of any tax on the public. Nor is there

14 INTRODUCTION.

much occasion to repeat how much the author conceives
himself obliged to his unknown correspondent, who thus
supplied him with a theme affording such a pleasing
view of the moral dignity of virtue, though unaided by birth,
beauty, or talent. If the picture has suffered in the execu-
tion, it is from the failure of the author's powers to present
in detail the same simple and striking portrait exhibited
in Mrs. Goldie's letter,

Abbotsford, April i, 1850.

POSTSCRIPT.

Although it would be impossible to add much to Mrs.
Goldie's picturesque and most interesting account of
Helen Walketj the prototype of the imaginary Jeanie
Deans, the Editor may be pardoned for introducing two
or three anecdotes respecting tliat excellent person, which
he has collected from a volume entitled. Sketches from
Nature, by John M'Diarmid, a gentleman who conducts
an able provincial paper in the town of Dumfries.

Helen w^as the daughter of a small farmer in a place
called Dalwhairn, in the parish of Irongray ; where, after
the death of her father, she continued, with the unassuming
piety of a Scottish peasant, to support her mother by her
own unremitted labour and privations ; a case so common,
that even yet, I am proud to say, few of my countrywomen
would shrink from the duty.

Helen Walker was held among her equals pensy, that
is, proud or conceited ; but the facts brought to prove
this accusation seem only to evince a strength of character
superior to those around her. Thus it was remarked,
that when it thundered, she went with her work and her
Bible to the front of the cottage, alleging that the Almighty
could smite in the city as well as in the field.

Mr. M'Diarmid mentions more particularly the misfortune
of her sister, which he supposes to have taken place previous
to 1736. Helen Walker, declining ever)' proposal of saving
her relation's life at the expense of truth, borrowed a sum
of money sufficient for her journey, walked the whole distance
to London barefoot, and made her way to John Duke of
Argyle. She was heard to say that, by the Almighty's

i6 POSTSCRIPT.

strength, she had been enabled to meet the Duke at the
most critical moment, which, if lost, would have caused
the inevitable forfeiture of her sister's life.

Isabella, or Tibby Walker, saved from the fate which
impended over her, was married by the person who had
wronged her (named Waugh), and lived happy for great
part of a century, uniformly acknowledging the extra-
ordinary affection to which she owed her preservation.

Helen Walker died about the end of the year 1791, and
her remains are interred in the churchyard of her native
parish of Irongray, in a romantic cemetery on the banks
of the Cairn. That a character so distinguished for her
undaunted love of virtue, lived and died in poverty, if not
want, serves only to show us how insignificant, in the
sight of Heaven, are our principal objects of ambition upon
earth.

The Heart of Mid-Lothian.

CHAPTER I.

BEING INTRODUCTORY.

So down thy hill, romantic Ashbourn, glides
The Derby dilly, carrying six insides.

Frere.

The times have changed in nothing more (we follow as
we were wont the manuscript of Peter Pattieson) than in
the rapid conveyance of intelligence and communication
betwixt one part of Scotland and another. It is not above
twenty or thirty years, according to the evidence of many
credible witnesses now alive, since a little miserable horse-
cart, performing with difficulty a journey of thirty miles
per diem, carried our mails from the capital of Scotland to
its extremity. Nor was Scotland much more deficient in
these accommodations, than our richer sister had been
about eighty years before. Fielding, in his Tom Jones,
and Farquhar, in a little farce called the Stage-Coach,
have ridiculed the slowness of these vehicles of public
accommodation. According to the latter authority, the
highest bribe could only induce the coachman to promise
to anticipate by half an hour the usual time of his arrival
at the Bull and' Mouth.

But in both countries these ancient, slow, and sure modes
of conveyance are now alike unknown ; mail-coach races
against mail-coach, and high -flyer against high -flyer,
through the most remote districts of Britain. And in our
village alone, three post-coaches, and four coaches with
men armed, and in scarlet cassocks, thunder through the
streets each day, and rival in brilliancy and noise the
invention of the celebrated tyrant : —

Demens, qui nimbos et non imitahile fulmen,
j£,re et cornipedum pulsu, simuiarat, eguorum.

Now_ and then, to complete the resemblance, and to
correct' the presumption of the venturous charioteers, it
does happen that the career of these dashing rivals of

i8 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

Salmoneus meets with as undesirable and violent a
termination as that of their prototype. It is on such
occasions that the Insides and Outsides, to use the
appropriate veliicular phrases, have reason to rue the
exchange of the slow and safe motion of the ancient Fly-
coaches, which, compared with the chariots of Mr. Palmer,
so ill deserve the name. The ancient vehicle used to
settle quietly down, like a ship scuttled and left to sink
by the gradual influx of the waters, while the modern is
smashed to pieces with the velocity of the same vessel
hurled against breakers, or rather with the fury of a bomb
bursting at the conclusion of its career through the air.
The late ingenious Mr. Pennant, whose humour it was to
set his face in stern opposition to these speedy conveyances,
had collected, I have heard, a formidable list of such
casualties, which, joined to the imposition of innkeepers,
whose charges the passengers had no time to dispute,
the sauciness of the coachman, and the uncontrolled and
despotic authority of the tyrant called the Guard, held
forth a picture of horror, to which murder, theft, fraud,
and peculation, lent all their dark colouring. But that
which gratifies the impatience of the human disposition,
will be practised in the teeth of danger, and in defiance
of admonition ; and, in despite of the Cambrian antiquary,
mail-coaches not only roll their thunders round the base
of Penman-Maur and Cader-Edris, but

Frighted Skiddaw hears afar
The rattling of the unscythed car.

And perhaps the echoes of Ben Nevis may soon be awakened
by the bugle, not of a warlike chieftain, but of the guard
of a mail-coach.

It was a fine summer day, and our little school had
obtained a half holiday, by the intercession of a good-
humoured visitor.* I expected by the coach a new number
of an interesting periodical publication, and walked forward
on the highway to meet It, with the impatience which
Cowper has described as actuating the resident in the
country when longing for intelligence from the mart
of news : —

• His honour Gilbert Goslinn of Gandercleugh ; for I love to be precise in
m.-itter* of importance. — J. C

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 19

-The grand debate,

The popular harang-ue — the tart reply —
The logic, and the wisdom, and the wit.
And the loud laugh — I long to know them all ;
I burn to set the imprison'd wranglers free,
And give them voice and utterance again.

It was with such feelings that I eyed the approach of the
new coach, lately established on our road, and known by
the name of the Somerset, which, to say truth, possesses
some interest for me, even when it conveys no such im-
portant information. Tlie distant tremulous sound of its
wheels was heard just as I gained the summit of the gentle
ascent, called the Goslin Brae, from which you command
an extensive view down the valley of the river Gander. The
public road, which comes up the side of that stream, and
crosses it at a bridge about a quarter of a mile from the
place where I was standing, runs partly through enclosures
and plantations, and partly through open pasture land. It
is a childish amusement perhaps — but my life has been spent
with children, and why should not my pleasures be like
theirs ? — childish as it is, then, I must own I have had great
pleasure in watching the approach of the carriage, where
the openings of the road permit it to be seen. The gay
glancing of the equipage, its diminished and toy -like
appearance at a distance, contrasted with the rapidity of
its motion, its appearance and disappearance at intervals,
and the progressively increasing sounds that announce its
nearer approach, have all to the Idle and listless spectator,
who has nothing more important to attend to, something of
awakening interest The ridicule may attach to me, which
Is flung upon many an honest citizen, who watches from
the window of his villa the passage of the stage-coach ; but
It is a very natural source of amusement notwithstanding,
and many of those who join in the laugh are perhaps not
unused to resort to it in secret.

On the present occasion, however, fate had decreed that
I should not enjoy the consummation of the amusement by
seeing the coach rattle past me as I sat on th« turf, and
hearing the hoarse, grating voice of the guard as he
skimmed forth for my grasp the expected packet, without
the carriage checking its couise for an Instant. I had
seen the vehicle thunder down the hill that leads to the
bridge with more than its usual impetuosity, glittering all

20 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

the while by flashes from a cloudy tabernacle of the dust
which it had raised, and leaving a train behind it on the
road resembling a wreath of summer mist. But it did
not appear on the top of the nearer bank within the usual
space of three minutes, which frequent observation had
enabled me to ascertain was the medium time for crossing
the bridge and mounting the ascent. When double that
space had elapsed, I became alarmed, and walked hastily
forward. As I came in sight of the bridge, the cause of
delay was too manifest, for the Somerset had made a
summerset in good earnest, and overturned so completely,
that it was literally resting upon the ground, with the roof
undermost, and the four wheels in the air. The "exertions
of the guard and coachman," both of whom were gratefully
commemorated in the newspapers, having succeeded in
disentangling the horses by cutting the harness, were now
proceeding to extricate the insides by a sort of summary
and Csesarean process of delivery, forcing the hinges from
one of the doors which they could not open otherwise. In
this manner were two disconsolate damsels set at liberty
from the womb of the leathern conveniency. As they im-
mediately began to settle their clothes, which were a little
deranged, as may be presumed, I concluded they had
received no injury, and did not venture to obtrude ray
services at their toilette, for which, I understand, I have
since been reflected upon by the fair sufferers. The outsides,
who must have been dischai-ged from their elevated situation
by a shock resembling the springing of a mine, escaped
nevertheless, with the usual allowance of scratches and
bruises, excepting three, who, having been pitched into
the river Gander, were dimly seen contending with the
tide, like the relics of ^neas's shipwreck —

Rari apparent nantes in gurgite vasto.

I applied my poor exertions where they seemed to be
most needed, and with the assistance of one or two of the
company who had escaped unhurt, easily succeeded in
fishing out two of the unfortunate passengers, who were
stout, active young fellows ; and but for the preposterous
length of their great-coats, and the equally fashionable
latitude and longitude of their Wellington trousers, would
have required little assistance from any one. The third
was sickly and elderly, and might have perished but for
the efforts used to presei-ve him.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. ai

When the two great-coated gentlemen had extricated
themselves from the river, and shaken their ears like huge
water-dogs, a violent altercation ensued betwixt tliem and
the coachman and guard, concerning the cause of their
overthrow. In the course of the squabble, I observed that
both my new acquaintances belonged to the law, and that
their professional sharpness was likely to prove an over-
match for the surly and official tone of the guardians of the
vehicle. The dispute ended in the guard assuring the
passengers that they should have seats in a heavy coach
which would pass that spot in less than half an hour, pro-
viding it were not full. Chance seemed to favour this
arrangement, for when the expected vehicle arrived, there
were only two places occupied in a carriage which professed
to carry six. The two ladies who had been disinterred out
of the fallen vehicle were readily admitted, but positive
objections were stated by those previously in possession to
the admittance of the two lawyers, whose wetted garments
being much of the nature of well-soaked sponges, there was
every reason to believe they would refund a considerable
part of the water they had collected, to the inconvenience
of their fellow-passengers. On the other hand, the lawyers
rejected a seat on the roof, alleging that they had only taken
that station for pleasure for one stage, but were entitled in
all respects to free egress and regress from the interior, to
which their contract positively referred. After some alter-
cation in which something was said upon the edict NautcB
caupones stabularii, the coach went off, leaving the learned
gentlemen to abide by their action of damages.

They immediately applied to me to guide them to the
next village and the best inn ; and from the account I gave
them of the Wallace Head, declared they were much better
pleased to stop there than to go forward upon the terms of
that impudent scoundrel the guard of the Somerset All
that they now wanted was a lad to carry their travelling
bags, who was easily procured from an adjoining cottage ;
and they prepared to walk forward, when they found there
was another passenger in the same deserted situation with
themselves. This was the elderly and sickly-looking person,
who had been precipitated into the river along with the two
young lawyers. He, it seems, had been too modest to push
his own plea against the coachman when he saw that of his
betters rejected, and now remained behind with a look of
timid anxiety, plainly intimating that he was deficient in

M THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

those means of recommendation which are necessary pass-
ports to the hospitality of an inn.

I ventured to call the attention of the two dashing young
blades, for such they seemed, to the desolate condition
of their fellow-traveller. They took the hint with ready
good-nature.

" Oh, true, Mr. Dunover," said one of the youngsters,
" you must not remain on the pavd here ; you must go and
have some dinner with us — Halkit and 1 must have a post-
chaise to go on, at all events, and we will set you down
wherever suits you best."

The poor man, for such his dress, as well as his diffidence,
bespoke him, made the sort of acknowledging bow by which
says a Scotchman, " It's too much honour for the like of
me ; " and followed humbly behind his gay patrons, all
three besprinkling the dusty road as they walked along
with the moisture of their drenched garments, and exhibit-
ing the singular and somewhat ridiculous appearance of
three persons suffering from the opposite extrame of humidity,
while the summer sun was at its height, and ever}'thing
else around them had the expression of heat and drought.
The ridicule did not escape the young gentlemen themselves,
and they had made what might be received as one or two
tolerable jests on the subject before they had advanced far
on their peregrination.

"We cannot complain, like Cowley," said one of them,
" that Gideon's fleece remains dry, while all around is
moist ; this is the reverse of the miracle."

"We ought to be received with gratitude in this good
town ; we bring a supply of what they seem to need most,"
said Halkit.

"And distribute it with unparalleled generosity," replied
his companion ; " performing the part of three water-carts,
for the benefit of their dusty roads."

"We come before them, too," said Halkit, "in full pro-
fessional force — counsel and agent "

"And client," said the young advocate, looking behind
him ; and then added, lowering his voice, " that looks as if
he had kept such dangerous company too long."

It was, indeed, too true, that the humble follower of the
gay young men had the threadbare appearance of a worn-
out litigant, and I could not but smile at the conceit, though
anxious to conceal my mirth from Jhe object of it.

When we arrived at the Wallace Inn, the elder of the

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 23

Edinburgh g-entlemen, and whom I understood to be a
barrister, insisted that I should remain and take part of
their dinner ; and their enquiries and demands speedily
put my landlord and his whole family in motion to produce
the best cheer which the larder and cellar afforded, and
proceed to cook it to the best advantage, a science in which
our entertainers seemed to be admirably skilled. In other
respects they were lively young men, in the hey-day of youth
and good spirits, playing the part which is common to the
higher classes of the law at Edinburgh, and which nearly
resembles that of the young Templars in the days of Steele
and Addison. An air of giddy gaiety mingled with the
good sense, taste, and Information which their conversation
exhibited ; and it seemed to be their object to unite the
character of men of fashion and lovers of the polite arts.
A fine gentleman, bred up in the thorough idleness and
inanity of pursuit, which I understand is absolutely necessary
to the character in perfection, might in all probability have
traced a tinge of professional pedantry which marked the
barrister in spite of his eflbrts, and something of active
bustle in his companion, and would certainly have detected
more than a fashionable mixture of information and ani-
mated interest in the language of both. But to me, who
had no pretensions to be so critical, my companions seemed
to form a very happy mixture of good-breeding and liberal
information, with a disposition to lively rattle, pun, and
jest, amusing to a grave man, because it is what he himself
can least easily command.

The thin pale-faced man, whom their good-nature had
brought into their society, looked out of place, as well as
out of spirits ; sat on the edge of his seat, and kept the
chair at two feet distance from the table ; thus incommod-
ing himself considerably in conveying the victuals to his
mouth, as if by way of penance for partaking of them in the
company of his superiors. A short time after dinner,
declining all entreaty to partake of the wine, which circu-
lated freely round, he informed himself of the hour when
the chaise had been ordered to attend ; and saying he would
be in readiness, modestly withdrew from the apartment

"Jack," said the barrister to his companion, "I re-
member that poor fellow's face ; you spoke more truly than
you were aware of ; he really is one of my clients, poor man."

"Poor man!" echoed rialkit — "I suppose you mean
he is your one and only client ? "

24 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

"That's not my fault, Jack," replied the other, whose
name I discovered was Hardie. "You are to give me all
your business, you know ; and if you have none, the learned
gentleman here knows nothing can come of nothing."

"You seem to have brought something to nothing
though, in the case of that honest man. He looks as if
he were just about to honour with his residence the
Heart of Mid-Lothian."

" You are mistaken — he Is just delivered from it. — Our
friend here looks for an explanation. Pray, Mr. Pattieson,
have you been in Edinburgh ? "

I answered in the affirmative.

"Then you must have passed, occasionally at least,
though probably not so faithfully as I am doomed to do,
through a narrow intricate passage, leading out of the
north-west corner of the Parliament Square, and passing
by a high and antique building, with turrets and iron
grates.

Making- good the saying odd,

* Near the church and far from God — * "

Mr. Halkit broke in upon his learned counsel, to con-
tribute his moiety to the riddle — "Having at the door the
sign of the Red Man "

"And being on the whole," resumed the counsellor,
interrupting his friend in his turn, "a sort of place where
misfortune is happily confounded with guilt, where all who
are in wish to get out "

"And where none who have the good luck to be out,
wish to get in," added his companion.

"I conceive you, gentlemen," replied I ; "you mean
the prison."

"The prison," added the young lawyer — "You have hit
it — the very reverend Tolbooth itself ; and let me tell you,
you are obliged to us for describing it with so much modesty
and brevity ; for with whatever amplifications we might
have chosen to decorate the subject, you lay entirely at our
mercy, since the Fathers Conscript of our city have decreed,
that the venerable edifice itself shall not remain in existence
to confirm or to confute us."

"Then the Tolbooth of Edinburgh is called the Heart of
Mid-Lothian ? " said I.

" So termed and reputed, I assure you."

*' I think," said I, with the bashful diffidence with which

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 25

a man lets slip a pun in presence of his superiors, "the
metropolitan county may, in that case, be said to have a
sad heart."

"Right as my glove, Mr. Pattieson," added Mr. Hardie ;
"and a close heart, and a hard heart. — Keep it up. Jack."

"And a wicked heart, and a poor heart," answered
Halkit, doing his best.

"And yet it may be called in some sort a strong heart,
and a high heart," rejoined the advocate. "You see, I can
put you both out of heart."

" I have played all my hearts," said the younger gentle-
man.

" Then we'll have another lead," answered his companion.
— "And as to the old and condemned Tolbooth, what pity
the same honour cannot be done to it as has been done to
many of Its inmates. Why should not the Tolbooth have Its
' Last Speech, Confession, and Dying Words ' ? The old
stones would be just as conscious of the honour as many
a poor devil who has dangled like a tassel at the west end
of it, while the hawkers were shouting a confession the
culprit had never heard of."

" I am afraid," said I, "if I might presume to give my
opinion, it would be a tale of unvaried sorrow and guilt."

"Not entirely, my friend," said Hardie; "a prison is a
world within Itself, and has its own business, griefs, and
joys, peculiar to its circle. Its inmates are sometimes
short-lived, but so are soldiers on sers-Ice ; they are poor
relatively to the world without, but there are degrees of
wealth and poverty among them, and so some are relatively
rich also. They cannot stir abroad, but neither can the
garrison of a besieged fort, or the crew of a ship at sea ;
and they are not under a dispensation quite so desperate as
either, for they may have as much food as they have money
to buy, and are not obliged to work whether they have food
or noL"

"But what variety of incident," said I (not without a
secret view to my present task), "could possibly be derived
from such a work as you are pleaded to talk of? "

"Infinite," replied the young advocate. "Whatever of
guilt, crime, imposture, folly, unheard-of misfortunes, and
unlocked for change of fortune, can be found to chequer
life, my Last Speech of the Tolbooth should illustrate with
examples sufficient to gorge even the public's all-devouring
appetite for the wonderful and horrible. The inventor of

36 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

fictitious narratives has to rack his brains for means to
diversify his tale, and after all can hardly hit upon characters
or incidents which have not been used again and again,
until they are familiar to the eye of the reader, so that the
development, enlevement, the desperate wound of which the
hero never dies, the burning fever from which the heroine is
sure to recover, become a mere matter of course. I join
with my honest friend Crabbe, and have an unlucky pro-
pensity to hope when hope is lost, and to rely upon the
cork-jacket, which carries the heroes of romance safe
through all the billows of affliction." He then declaimed the
following passage, rather with too much than too little
emphasis : —

" Much have I fear'd, but am no more afraid,
When some chaste beauty, by some wretch betray'd,
Is drawn away with such distracted speed.
That she anticipates a dreadful deed.
Not so do I — Let solid walls impound
The captive fair, and dig a moat around ;
Let there be brazen locks and bars of steel.
And keepers cruel, such as never feel ;
With not a single note the purse supply.
And when she begs, let men and maids deny t
Be windows there from which she dare not fall,
And help so distant, 'tis in vain to call ;
Still means of freedom will some Power devise*
And from the baffled ruffian snatch his prize."

"The end of uncertainty," he concluded, "is the death of
interest; and hence it happens that no one now reads
novels."

"Hear him, ye godsl" returned his companion. "I
assure you, Mr. Pattieson, you will hardly visit this learned
gentleman, but you are likely to find the new novel most
in repute lying pn his table — snugly intrenched, however,
beneath Stair's ' Institutes,' or an open volume of Morrison's
* Decisions.'"

"Do I deny it?" said the hopeful jurisconsult, " or
wherefore should I, since it is well known these Delilahs
seduce my wisers and my betters? May they not be
found lurking amidst the multiplied memorials of our
most distinguished counsel, and even peeping from under
the cushion of a judge's arm-chair? Our seniors at the
bar, within the bar, and even on the bench, read novels ;

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 27

and, if not belied, some of them have written novels into
the bargain. I only say, that I read fiom habit and from
indolence, not from real interest ; that, like Ancient Pistol
devouring his leek, I read and swear till I get to the end
of the narrative. But not so in the real records of human
vagaries — not so in the State Trials, or in the Books
of Adjournal, where every now and then you read new
pages of the human heart, and turns of fortune far beyond
what the boldest novelist ever attempted to produce from the
coinage of his brain."

"And for such narratives," I asked, "you suppose the
History of the Prison of Edinburgh miglit afford appro-
priate materials ? "

" In a degree unusually ample, my dear sir," said
Hardie — " Fill your glass, however, in the meanwhile.
Was it not for many years the place in which the Scottish
parliament met ? Was it not James's place of refuge,
when the mob, inflamed by a seditious preacher, broke
forth on him with the cries of ' The sword of the Lord and
of Gideon — bring forth the wicked Haman ' ? Since that
time how many hearts have throbbed within these walls,
as the tolling of the neighbouring bell announced to them
how fast the sands of their life were ebbing ; how many
must have sunk at the sound — how many were supported
by stubborn pride and dogged resolution — how many by
the consolations of religion? Have there not been some,
who, looking back on the motives of their crimes, were
scarce able to understand how they should have had such
temptation as to seduce them from virtue ? and have there
not, perhaps, been others, who, sensible of their innocence,
were divided between indignation at the undeserved doom
which they were to undergo, consciousness that they had
not deserved it, and racking anxiety to discover some way
in which they might yet vindicate themselves ? Do you
suppose any of these deep, powerful, and agitating feelings
can be recorded and perused without exciting a corre-
sponding depth of deep, powerful, and agitating interest?
— Oh! do but wait till I publish the Causes Cilebres of
Caledonia, and you will find no want of a novel or a
tragedy for some time to come. The true thing will
triumph over the brightest inventions of the most ardent
imagination. Magna est verihis, et prcevahbit. "

" I have understood," said I, encouraged by the affability
of my rattling entertainer, "that less of Uiis interest must

28 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

attach to Scottish jurisprudence than to that of any other
country. The general morahty of our people, their sober
and prudent habits "

"Secure them," said the barrister, "against any great
increase of professional thieves and depredators, but not
against wild and wayward starts of fancy and passion,
producing crimes of an extraordinary description, which
are precisely those to the detail of which we listen with
thrilling interest. England has been much longer a
highly civilised country ; her subjects have been very
strictly amenable to laws administered without fear or
favour, a complete division of labour has taken place
among her subjects, and the very thieves and robbers
form a distinct class in society, subdivided among them-
selves according to the subject of their depredations, and
the mode In which they carry them on, acting upon
regular habits and principles, which can be calculated
and anticipated at Bow Street, Hatton Garden, or the
Old Bailey. Our sister kingdom is like a cultivated field,
— the farmer expects that, in spite of all his care, a certain
number of weeds will rise with the corn, and can tell you
beforehand their names and appearance. But Scotland
is like one of her own Highland glens, and the moralist
who reads the records of her criminal jurisprudence, will
find as many curious anomalous facts in the history of
mind, as the botanist will detect rare specimens among
her dingles and cliffs."

"And that's all the good you have obtained from three
perusals of the Commentaries on Scottish Criminal Juris-
prudence?" said his companion. "I suppose the learned
author very little thinks that the facts which his erudition
and acuteness have accumulated for the illustration of
legal doctrines, might be so arranged as to form a sort of
appendix to the half-bound and slip-shod volumes of the
circulating library." "

" I'll bet you a pint of claret," said the elder lawyer,
"that he will not feel sore at the comparison. But as we
say at the bar, ' I beg I may not be interrupted ; ' I have
much more to say upon my Scottish collection of Catises
Cilebres. You will please recollect the scope and motive
given for the contrivance and execution of many extra-
ordinary and daring crimes, by the long civil dissensions
of Scotland — by the hereditary jurisdictions, which, until
174S, rested the investigation of crimes in judges, ignorant,

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. ag

partial or interested — by the habits of the gentry, shut
up in their distant and solitary mansion-houses, nursing
their revengeful passions just to keep their blood from
stagnating — not to mention that amiable national qualifi-
cation, called the perferviduvi ingenium Scoiorunt, which
our lawyers join in alleging as a reason for the severity
of some of our enactments. When I come to treat of
matters so mysterious, deep, and dangerous, as these
circumstances have given rise to, the blood of each reader
shall be curdled, and his epidermis crisped into goose skin.
— But, hist ! — here comes the landlord, with tidings, I
suppose, that the chaise is ready."

It was no such thing — the tidings bore, that no chaise
could be had that evening, for Sir Peter Plyem had carried
forward my landlord's two pairs of horses that morning
to the ancient royal borough of Bubbleburgh, to look after
his interest there. But as Bubbleburgh is only one of a
set of five boroughs which club their shares for a member
of parliament, Sir Peter's adversan,- had judiciously watched
his departure, in order to commence a canvass in the no
less royal borough of Bitem, which, as all the world knows,
lies at the very termination of Sir Peter's avenue, and has
been held in leading-strings by him and his ancestors for
time immemorial. Now, Sir Peter was thus placed in the
situation of an ambitious monarch, who, after having
commenced a daring inroad into his enemies' territories,
is suddenly recalled by an invasion of his own hereditary
dominions. He was obliged in consequence to return from
the half-won borough of Bubbleburgh, to look after the
half-lost borough of Bitem, and the t\v"o pairs of horses
which had carried him that morning to Bubbleburgh, were
now forcibly detained to transport him, his agent, his valet,
his jester, and his hard-drinker, across the country to
Bitem. The cause of this detention, which to me was
of as little consequence as it may be to the reader, was
important enough to my companions to reconcile them to
the delay. Like eagles, they smelled the battle afar off,
ordered a magnum of claret and beds at the Wallace, and
entered at full career into the Bubbleburgh and Bitem
politics, with all the probable "petitions and complaints"
to which they were likely to give rise.

In the midst of an anxious, animated, and, to me, most
unintelligible discussion, concerning provosts, bailies,
deacons, sets of boroughs, leets. town-clerks, burgesses

30 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

resident and non-resident, all of a sudden the lawyer
recollected himself. " Poor Dunover, we must not forget
him ; " and the landlord was despatched in quest of the
pauvre honteux, with an earnestly civil invitation to him
for the rest of the evening.. I could not help asking the
young gentlemen if they knew the history of this poor
man ; and the counsellor applied himself to his pocket to
recover the memorial or brief from which he had stated
his cause.

" He has been a candidate for our remedium miserabile,"
said Mr. Hardie, "commonly called a cessio bonorum.
As there are divines who have doubted the eternity of
future punishments, so the Scotch lawyers seem to have
thought that the crime of poverty might be atoned for by
something short of perpetual imprisonment. After a
month's confinement, you must know, a prisoner for debt
is entitled, on a sufficient statement to our Supreme Court,
setting forth the amount of his funds, and the nature of
his misfortunes, and surrendering all his effects to his
creditors, to claim to be discharged from prison."

"I had heard," I replied, "of such a humane regula-
tion."

"Yes," said Halkit, "and the beauty of it is, as the
foreign fellow said, you may get the cessio when the
honorums, are all spent — But what, are you puzzling in
your pockets to seek your only memorial among old play-
bills, letters requesting a meeting of the Faculty, rules of
the Speculative Society, syllabus' of lectures — all the
miscellaneous contents of a young advocate's pocket, which
contains everything but briefs and bank notes? Can
you not state a case of cessio without your memorial ?
Why, it is done every Saturday. The events follow each
other as regularly as clock-work, and one form of con-
descendence might suit every one of them."

"This is very unlike the variety of distress which this
gentleman stated to fall under the consideration of your
judges," said I.

"True," replied Halkit; "but Hardie spoke of criminal
jurisprudence, and this business is purely civil. I could
plead a cessio myself without the inspiring honours of a
gown and three-tailed periwig — Listen. — My client was
bred a journeyman weaver — made some little money — took
a farm — (for conducting a farm, like driving a gig, comes
by nature) — late severe times — induced to sign bills with

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 31

a friend, for which he received no value — landlord seques-
trates— creditors accept a composition — pursuer sets up a
public house — fails a second time — is incarcerated for a
debt of ten pounds, seven shillings and sixpence — his debts
amount to blank — his losses to blank — his funds to blank
— leaving a balance of blank in his favour. There is no
opposition ; your lordships will please grant commission
to take his oath."

Hardie now renounced this ineffectual search, in which
there was perhaps a little affectation, and told us the tale
of poor Dunover's distresses, with a tone in which a degree
of feeling, which he seemed ashamed of as unprofessional,
mingled with his attempts at wit, and did him more honour.
It was one of those tales which seem to argue a sort of
ill-luck or fatality attached to the hero. A well-informed,
industrious, and blameless, but poor and bashful man,
had in vain essayed all the usual means by which others
acquire independence, yet had never succeeded beyond the
attainment of bare subsistance. During a brief gleam of
hope, rather than of actual prosperitj', he had added a
wife and family to his cares, but the dawn was speedily
overcast. Everything retrograded with him towards the
verge of the miry Slough of Despond, which yawns for
insolvent debtors ; and after catching at each twig, and
experiencing the protracted agony of feeling them one by
one elude his grasp, he actually sunk into the miry pit
whence he had been extricated by the professional exertions
of Hardie.

".■\nd, I suppose, now you have dragged this poor devil
ashore, you will leave him half naked on the beach to
provide for himself?" said Halkit. "Hark ye," — and he
whispered something in his ear, of which the penetrating
and insinuating words, " Interest with my Lord," alone
reached mine.

"It is pessimi exempli" said Hardie, laughing, "to
provide for a ruined client ; but I was thinking of what you
mention, provided it can be managed — But hush ! here he
comes."

The recent relation of the poor man's misfortunes had
given him, I was pleased to observe, a claim to the attention
and respect of the young men, who treated him with great
civility, and gradually engaged him in a conversation,
which, much to mv satisfaction, again turned upon the
Causes Cilehres of Scotland. Emboldened by the kindness

32 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

with which he was treated, Mr. Dunover began to contri-
bute his share to the amusement of the evening. Jails, like
other places, have their ancient traditions, known only to
the inhabitants, and handed down from one set of the
melancholy lodgers to the next who occupy their cells.
Some of these, which Dunover mentioned, were interesting,
and served to illustrate the narratives of remarkable trials,
which Hardie had at his finger ends, and which his
companion was also well skilled in. This sort of conversa-
tion passed away the evening till the early hour when
Mr. Dunover chose to retire to rest, and I also retreated to
talce down memorandums of what I had learned, in order to
add another narrative to those which it had been my chief
amusement to collect, and to write out in detail. The two
young men ordered a broiled bone, Madeira negus, and a
pack of cards, and commenced a game at picquet.

Next morning the travellers left Gandercleugh. I after-
wards learned from the papers that both have been since
engaged in the great political cause of Bubbleburgh and
Bitem, a summary case, and entitled to particular despatch ;
but which, it is thought, nevertheless, may outlast the
duration of the parliament to which the contest refers. Mr.
Halkit, as the newspapers informed me, acts as agent or
solicitor ; and Mr. Hardie opened for Sir Peter Plyem with
singular ability, and to such good purpose, that I under-
stand he has since had fewer play-bills and more briefs in
his pocket. And both the young gentlemen deserve their
good fortune ; for I learned from Dunover, who called on
me some weeks afterwards, and communicated the intelli-
gence with tears in his eyes, that their interest had availed
to obtain him a small office for the decent maintenance of
his family ; and that, after a train of constant and un-
interrupted misfortune, he could trace a dawn of prosperity
to his having the good fortune to be flung from the top of a
mail-coach into the river Gander, in company with an
advocate and a writer to the Signet. The reader will not
perhaps deem himself equally obliged to the accident, since
it brings upon him the following narrative, founded upon
the conversation of the evening.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 33

CHAPTER II.

WTioe'er's been at Paris must needs know the Gr^ve,
The fatal retreat of the unfortunate brave.
Where honour and justice most oddly contribute.
To ease heroes' pains by an halter and gibbet.

There death breaks the shackles which force had put on,
And the hangman completes what the judge but began ;
There the squire of the poet, and knight of the post,
Find their pains no more baulk'd, and their hopes no more cross'd.

Prior.

In former times, England had her Tyburn, to which the
devoted victims of justice were conducted in solemn pro-
cession up what is now called Oxford Road. In Edinburgh,
a large open street, or rather oblong square, surrounded by
high nouses, called the Grassmarket, was used for the same
melancholy purpose. It was not ill chosen for such a scene,
being of considerable extent, and therefore fit to accommodate
a great number of spectators, such as are usually assembled
by this melancholy spectacle. On the other hand, few of
the houses which surround it were, even in early times,
Inhabited by persons of fashion ; so that those likely to be
offended or over deeply affected by such unpleasant exhibitions
were not in the way of having their quiet disturbed by them.
The houses in the Grassmarket are, generally speaking, of
a mean description ; yet the place is not without some
features of grandeur, being overhung by the southern side
of the huge rock on which the castle stands, and by the
moss-grown battlements and turreted walls of that ancient
fortress.

It was the custom, until within these thirty years, or
thereabouts, to use this esplanade for the scene of public
executions. The fatal day was announced to the piibUc
by the appearance of a huge black gallows-tree towards
the eastern end of the Grassmarket. This ill-omened
apparition was of great height, with a scaffold surround-
ing it, and a double ladder placed against it, for the ascent
of the unhappy criminal and the executioner. As this
apparatus was always arranged before dawn, it seemed as
if the gallows had grown out of the earth in the course of
one night, like the production of some foul demon ; and

34 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

1 well remember the fright with which the schoolboys,
when I was one of their number, used to regard these
ominous signs of deadly preparation. On the night after
the execution the gallo\^ again disappeared, and was
conveyed in silence and darkness to the place where it
was usually deposited, which was one of the vaults under
the Parliament House, or courts of justice. This mode of
execution is now exchanged for one similar to that in
front of Newgate — with what beneficial effect is uncertain.
The mental sufferings of the convict are indeed shortened.
He no longer stalks between the attendant clergymen,
dressed in his grave-clothes, through a considerable part
of the city, looking like a moving and walking corpse,
while yet an inhabitant of this world ; but, as the ultimate
purpose of punishment has in view the prevention of crimes,
it may at least be doubted, whether in abridging the
melancholy ceremony, we have not in part diminished
that appalling effect upon the spectators which is the useful
end of all such inflictions, and in consideration of which
alone, unless in very particular cases, capital sentences can
be altogether justified.

On the 7th day of September, 1736, these ominous pre-

fjarations for execution were descried in the place we
lave described, and at an early hour the space around
began to be occupied by several groups, who gazed on the
scaffold and gibbet with a stern and vindicate show of
satisfaction very seldom testified by the populace, whose
good-nature, in most cases, forgets the crime of the con-
demned person, and dwells only on his misery. But the
act of which the expected culprit had been convicted was
of a description calculated nearly and closely to awaken
and irritate the resentful feelings of the multitude. The
tale is well known ; yet it is necessary to recapitulate its
leading circumstances, for the better understanding what
is to follow ; and the narrative may prove long, but I trust
not uninteresting, even to those who have heard its
general issue. At any rate, some detail is necessary, in
order to render intelligible the subsequent events of our
narrative.

Contraband trade, though it strikes at the root of legi-
timate government, by enaroaching on its revenues, —
though it injures the fair trader, and debauches the minds
of those engaged in it, — is not usually looked upon, either
by the vulgar or by their betters, in a very heinous point

THE HEART OF MiD-LOTHlAN. 35

of view. On the contrary, in those counties where
it prevails, the cleverest, boldest, and most intelligent of
the peasantrj', are uniformly engaged in illicit trans-
actions, and very often with the sanction of the farmers
and inferior gentry. Smuggling was almost universal
in Scotland in the reigns of George I. and H. ; for the
people, unaccustomed to imposts, and regarding them
as an unjust aggression upon their ancient liberties,
made no scruple to elude them whenever it was possible
to do so.

The county of Fife, bounded by two firths on the south
and north, and by the sea on the east, and having a
number of small seaports, was long famed for maintaining
successfully a contraband trade ; and, as there were many
seafaring men residing there, who had been pirates and
buccaneers in their youth, there were not wanting a
sufficient number of daring men to carry it on. Among
these, a fellow called Andrew Wilson, originally a baker
in the village of Pathhead, was particularly obnoxious to
the revenue officers. He was possessed of great personal
strength, courage, and cunning, — was perfectly acquainted
with the coast, and capable of conducting the most des-
perate enterprises. On several occasions he succeeded
in baffling the pursuit and researches of the king's officers ;
but he became so much the object of their suspicious and
watchful attention, that at length he was totally ruined
by repeated seizures. The man became desperate. He
considered himself as robbed and plundered ; and took it
into his head, that he had a right to maJ<e reprisals, as
he could find opportunity. Where the heart is prepared
for evil, opportunity is seldom long wanting. This Wilson
learned that the Collector of the Customs at Kirkcaldy
had come to Pittenweem, in the course of his official round
of duty, with a considerable sum of public money in his
custody. As the amount was greatly within the value of
the goods which had been seized from him, Wilson felt
no scruple of conscience in resolving to reimburse himself
for his losses, at the expense of the Collector and the
revenue. He associated with himself one Robertson, and
two other idle young men, whom, having been concerned
in the sanffe illicit trade, he persuaded to view the trans-
action in the same justifiable light in which he himself
considered it. They watched the motions of the Collector;
they broke forcibly into the house where he lodged,—

36 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

Wilson, with two of his associates, entering the Collector's
apartment, while Robertson, the fourth, kept watch at
the door with a drawn cutlass in his hand. The officer
of the customs, conceiving his life in danger, escaped
out of his bedroom window, and fled in his shirt, so thai
the plunderers, with much ease, possessed themselves
of about two hundred pounds of public money. This
robbery was committed in a very audacious manner, for
several persons were passing in the street at the time.
But Robertson, representing the noise they heard as a
dispute or fray betwixt the Collector and the people of
the house, the worthy citizens of Pittenween felt them-
selves no way called on to interfere in behalf of the
obnoxious revenue officer ; so, satisfying themselves with
this very superficial account of the matter, like the Levite
in the parable, they passed on the opposite side of the
way. An alarm was at length given, military were called
in, the depredators were pursued, the booty recovered,
and Wilson and Robertson, tried and condemned to death,
chiefly on the evidence of an accomplice.

Many thought that, in consideration of the men's
erroneous opinion of the nature of the action they had
committed, justice might have been satisfied with a less
forfeiture than that of two lives. On the other hand,
from the audacity of the fact, a severe example was
judged necessary ; and such was the opinion of the
Government. When it became apparent that the sentence
of death was to be executed, files, and other implements
necessary for their escape, were transmitted secretly to the
culprits by a friend from without. By these means tliey
sawed a bar out of one of the prison-windows, and might
have made their escape, but for the obstinacy of Wilson,
who, as he was daringly resolute, was doggedly pertinacious
of his opinion. His comrade, Robertson, a young and
slender man, proposed to make the experiment of passing
the foremost through the gap they had made, and enlarging
it from the outside, if necessary, to allow Wilson free
passage. Wilson, however, insisted on making the first
experiment, and being a robust and lusty man, he not
only found it impossible to get through betwixt the bars,
but, by his struggles, he jammed himself so fast, that he
was unable to draw his body back again. In these
circumstances discovery became unavoidable, and sufficient
precautions were taken by the jailor to prevent any repetition

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 37

of the same attempt. Robertson uttered not a word of
reflection on his companion for the consequences of his
obstinacy ; but it appeared from the sequel, that Wilson's
mind was deeply impressed with the recollection that, but
for him, his comrade, over whose mind he exercised con-
siderable influence, would not have been engaged in the
criminal enterprise which had terminated thus fatally ;
and that now he had become his destroyer a second time,
since, but for his obstinacy, Robertson might have effected
his escape. Minds like Wilson's, even when exercised In evil
practices, sometimes retain the power of thinking and
resolving with enthusiastic generosity. His whole thoughts
were now bent on the possibility of saving Robertson's life,
without the least respect to his own. The resolution which
he adopted, and the manner in which he carried it into
effect, were striking and unusual.

Adjacent to the tolbooth or city jail of Edinburgh, Is
one of three churches into which the cathedral of St. Giles
is now divided, called, from its vicinity, the Tolbooth
Church. It was the custom that criminals under sentence
of death were brought to this church, with a sufficient
guard, to hear and join in public worship on the Sabbath
before execution. It was supposed that the hearts of these
unfortunate persons, however hardened before against
feelings of devotion, could not but be accessible to them
upon uniting their thoughts and voices, for the last time,
along with their fellow-mortals, in addressing their
Creator, And to the rest of the congregation, it was
thought It could not but be impressive and effecting, to
find their devotions mingling with those who, sent by the
doom of an earthly tribunal to appear where the whole
earth is judged, might be considered as beings trembling
on the verge of eternity. The practice, however edifying,
has been discontinued, in consequence of the incident we
are about to detail.

The clergfyman, whose duty it was to officiate in the
Tolbooth Church, had concluded an affecting discourse,
part of which was particularly directed to the unfortunate
men, Wilson and Robertson, who were In the pew set
apart for the persons in their unhappy situation, each
secured betwixt two soldiers of the City Guard. The
clergyman had reminded them, that the next congrega-
tion they must join would be that of the just, or of
the unjust : that the psalms they now heard must be

38 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

exchanged, in the space of two brief days, for eternal
hallelujahs, or eternal lamentations ; and that this fearful
alternative must depend upon the state to which they might
be able to bring their minds before the moment of awful
preparation ; that they should not despair on account of
the suddenness of the summons, but rather to feel this
comfort in their misery, that, though all who now lifted
the voice, or bent the knee in conjunction with them, lay
under the same sentence of certain death, they only had
the advantage of knowing the precise moment at which
it should be executed upon them. "Therefore," urged
the good man, his voice trembling with emotion, "redeem
the time, my unhappy brethren, which is yet left ; and
remember that, with the grace of Him to whom space
and time are but as nothing, salvation may yet be assured,
even in the pittance of delay which the laws of your country
afford you."

Robertson was observed to weep at these words ; but
Wilson seemed as one whose brain had not entirely
received their meaning, or whose thoughts were deeply
impressed with some different subject ; — an expression so
natural to a person in his situation, that it excited neither
suspicion nor surprise.

The benediction was pronounced as usual, and the
congregation was dismissed, many lingering to indulge
their curiosity with a more fixed look at the two criminals,
who now, as well as their guards, rose up, as if to depart
when the crowd should permit them. A murmur of com-
passion was heard to pervade the spectators, the more
general, perhaps, on account of the alleviating circum-
stances of the case ; when all at once, Wilson, who, as we
have already noticed, was a very strong man, seized two
of the soldiers, one with each hand, and calling at the
same time to his companion, "Run, Geordie, run! " threw
himself on a third, and fastened his teeth on the collar of
his coat. Robertson stood for a second as if thunder-
struck, and unable to avail himself of the opportunity of
escape ; but the cry of " Run, run 1 " being echoed from
many around, whose feelings surprised them into a very
natural interest in his behalf, he shook off the grasp of
the remaining soldier, threw himself over the pew, mixed
with the dispersing congregation, none of whom felt in-
clined to stop a poor wretch taking this last chance for his
life, gained the door of the church, and was lost to all pursuit

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 39

The generous intrepidity which Wilson had displayed
on this occasion augmented the, feeling of compassion
which attended his fate. The public, where their own
prejudices are not concerned, are easily engaged on the
side of disinterestedness and humanity, admired Wilson's
behaviour, and rejoiced in Robertson's escape. This general
feeling was so great, that it excited a vague report
that Wilson would be rescued at the place of execution,
either by the mob or by some of his old associates, or by
some second extraordinary and unexpected exertion of
strength and courage on his own part. The magistrates
thought it their duty to provide against the possibility of
disturbance. They ordered out, for protection of the exe-
cution of the sentence, the greater part of their own City
Guard, under tiie command of Captain Porteous, a man
whose name became too memorable from the melancholy
circumstances of the day, and subsequent events. It
may be necessary to say a word about this person, and
the corps which he commanded. But the subject is of
importance sufficient to deserve another chapter.

CHAPTER III.

And thou, great god of aqua-vita !
Wha sways the empire of this city
(When fou we're sometimes capernoity),

Be thou prepared.
To save us frae that black banditti,

The City Guard !

Fergusson's Da/i Days.

Captain John Porteous, a name memorable in the tradi-
tions of Edinburgh, as well as in the records of criminal
jurisprudence, was the son of a citizen of Edinburgh, who
endeavoured to breed him up to his own mechanical trade
of a tailor. The youth, however, had a wild and irreclaim-
able propensity to dissipation, which finally sent hini to
serve in the corps long maintained in the service of the
States of Holland, and called the Scotch Dutch. Here he
learned military discipline ; and, returning afterwards, in
the course of an idle and wandering life, to his native city,
his services were required hy the magistrates of Edinburgh
in the disturbed year 1715, ">r disciplining their City Guard,

40 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

in which he shortly afterwards received a captain's com-
mission. It was only by his military skill, and an alert and
resolute character as an officer of police, that he merited
this promotion, for he is said to have been a man of pro-
fligate habits, an unnatural son, and a brutal husband. He
was, however, useful in his station, and his harsh and fierce
habits rendered him formidable to rioters or disturbers of
the public peace.

Tho corps in which he held his command is, or perhaps
we should rather say was, a body of about one hundred
and twenty soldiers, divided into three companies, and
regularly armed, clothed, and embodied. They were chiefly
veterans who enlisted in this corps, having the benefit of
working at their trades when they were off duty. These
men had the charge of preserving public order, repressing
riots and street robberies, acting, in short, as an armed
police, and attending on all public occasions where confusion
or popular disturbance might be expected.* Poor Fergusson,
whose irregularities sometimes led him into unpleasant ren-
contres with these military conservators of public order,
and who mentions them so often that he m-ay be termed
their poet laureate, thus admonishes his readers, warned
doubtless by his own experience : —

Gude folk, as ye come frae the fair,
Bide yont frae this black squad :

There's tiae sic savag-es elsewhere
Allow'd to wear cockad.

In fact, the soldiers of the City Guard, being, as we
have said, in general discharged veterans, who had
strength enough remaining for this municipal duty, and
being, moreover, for the greater part Highlanders, were
neither by birth, education, or former habits, trained to
endure with much patience the insults of the rabble, or
the provoking petulance of truant schoolboys, and idle
debauchees of all descriptions, with whom their occupa-
tion brought them into contact. On the contrary, the
tempers of the poor old fellows were soured by the indig-
nities with which the mob distinguished them on many

• The Lord Provost was ex-officio commander and colonel of the corps, which
migrht be increased to three hundred men when the times required it. No other
drum but theirs was allowed to sound on the High Street between the Lucken-
booths and the Netherbow. (S.)

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 41

occasions, and frequently might have required the soothing
strains of the poet we have just quoted —

O soldiers ! for your ain dear sakes.
For Scotland's love, the Land o* Cakes,
Gie not her bairns sic deadly paiks,

Nor be sae rude,
Wi' firelock or Lochaber-axe,

As spiU their bluid I

On all occasions when a holiday licensed some riot and
irregularity, a skirmish with these veterans was a favourite
recreation with the rabble of Edinburgh. These pages may
perhaps see the light when many have in fresh recollection
such onsets as we allude to. But the venerable corps, with
whom the contention was held, may now be considered as
totally extinct. Of late the gradual diminution of these
civic soldiers, reminds one of the abatement of King Lear's
hundred knights. The edicts of each succeeding set of
magistrates have, like those of Goneril and Regan, dimin-
ished this venerable band with the similar question," What
need we five-and-twenty ? — ten ?— or five ? " And it is now
nearly come to, " WTiat need one ? " A spectre may indeed
here and there still be seen, of an old gray -headed and gray-
bearded Highlander, with war-worn features, but bent
double by age ; dressed in an old-fashioned cocked hat,
bound with white tape instead of silver lace ; and in coat,
waistcoat, and breeches, of a muddy-coloured red, bearing
in his withered hand an ancient weapon, called a Lochaber
axe ; a long pole, namely, with an axe at the extremity, and
a hook at the back of the hatchet.* Such a phantom of
former days still creeps, I have been informed, round the
statue of Charles the Second, in the Parliament Square,
as if the image of a Stuart were the last refuge for any
memorial of our ancient manners ; and one or two others
are supposed to gUde around the door of the guard-house
assigned to them in the Luckenbooths, when their ancient
refuge in the High Street was laid low't But the fate of

• This hook was to enable the bearer of the Lochaber axe to scale a gateway,
by grappling the top of the door, and swinging himself up by the staff of Us
weapon.

t This ancient corps Is now entirely distjanded. Their last march to do duty
at Hallow-fair, had something in it afiecting. The drums and tifes had been
wont on better days to play, on this joyous occasion, the lively tune of

■■ Jockey to the fair ; "
but on this final occasion the aaiictea veterans moved slowly to the dirge of
" The last time I came ower the mulr."

42 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

manuscripts bequeathed to friends and executors is so un-
certain, that the narrative containing these frail memorials
of the old Town Guard of Edinburgh, who, with their grim
and valiant corporal, John Dhu (the fiercest-looking fellow
I ever saw), were, in my bo)'hood, the alternate terror and
derision of the petulant brood of the High School, may,
perhaps, only come to light when all memory of the institu-
tion has faded away, and then serve as an illustration of
Kay's caricatures, who has preserved the features of some
of their heroes. In the preceding generation, when there
was a perpetual alarm for the plots and activity of the
Jacobites, some pains were taken by the magistrates of
Edinburgh to keep this corps, though composed always of
such materials as we have noticed, in a more eflfective state
tlian was afterwards judged necessary, when their most
dangerous service was to skirmish with the rabble on the
king's birthday. They were, therefore, more the objects
of hatred, and less that of scorn, than they were afterwards
accounted.

To" Captain John Porteous, the honour of his command
and of his corps seems to have been a matter of high
interest and importance. He was exceedingly incensed
against Wilson for the affront which he construed him to
have put upon his soldiers, in the effort he made for the
liberation of his companion, and ex.pressed himself most
ardently on the subject. He was no less indignant at the
report, that there was an intention to rescue Wilson
himself from the gallows, and uttered many threats and
imprecations upon that subject, which were afterwards
remembered to his disadvantage. In fact, if a good deal
of determination and promptitude rendered Porteous, in
one respect, fit to command guards designed to suppress
popular commotion, he seems, on the other, to have been
disqualified for a charge so delicate, by a hot and surly
temper, always too ready to come to blows and violence ;
a character void of principle ; and a disposition to regard
the rabble, who seldom failed to regale him and his soldiers
with some marks of their displeasure, as declared enemies,
upon whom it was natural and justifiable that he should
seek opportunities of vengeance. Being, however, the most
active and trustworthy among the Captains of the City
Guard, he was the person to whom the magistrate confided
the command of the soldiers appointed to keep the peace
at the time of Wilson's execution. He was ordered to

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 43

guard the gallows and scaffold, with about eighty men, all
the disposable force that could be spared for that duty.

But the magistrates took further precautions, which
effected Forteous's pride very deeply. They requested the
assistance of part of a regular infantry regiment, not to
attend upon the execution, but to remain drawn up on
the principal street of the cit}', during the time that it
went forward, in order to intimidate the multitude, in case
they should be disposed to be unruly, with a display of
force which could not be resisted without desperation. It
may sound ridiculous in our ears, considering the fallen
state of this ancient civic corps, that its officer should have
felt punctiliously jealous of its honour. Yet so it was.
Captain Porteous resented, as an indignity, the introducing
the Welsh Fusileers within the city, and drawing them up
in the street where no drums but his own were allowed to
be sounded, without the speciai command or permission
of the magistrates. As he could not show his ill-humour
to his patrons the magistrates, it increased his indignation
and his desire to be revenged on the unfortunate criminal
Wilson, and all who favoured him. These internal
emotions of jealousy and rage wrought a change on the
man's mien and bearing, visible to all who saw him on
the fatal morning when Wilson was appointed to suffer.
Porteous's ordinary appearance was rather favourable.
He was about the middle size, stout, and well made, having
a military air, and yet rather a gentle and mild counten-
ance. His complexion was brown, his face somewhat
fretted with the scars of the small-pox, his eyes rather
languid than keen or fierce. On the present occasion,
however, it seemed to those who saw him as if he were
agitated by some evil demon. His step was irregular,
his voice hollow and broken, his countenance pale, his
eyes staring and wild, his speech imperfect and confused,
and his whole appearance so disordered, that many
remarked he seemed to he fey, a Scottish expression, mean-
ing the state of those who are driven on to their impending
fate by the strong impulse of some irresistible necessity.
One part of his conduct was truly diabolical, if, indeed,
it has not been exaggerated by the general prejudice
entertained against his memory. When Wilson, the un-
happy criminal, was delivered to him by the keeper of
the prison, in order that he might be conducted to the
place of execution, Porteous, not satisfied with the usual

44 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

precautions to prevent escape, ordered him to be manacled.
This might be justifiable from the character and bodily
strength of the malefactor, as well as from the apprehen-
sions, so generally entertained, of an expected rescue. But
the handcuffs which were produced being found too small
for the wrists of a man so big-boned as Wilson, Porteous
proceeded with his own hands, and by great exertion of
strength, to force them till they clasped together, to the
exquisite torture of the unhappy criminal. Wilson remon-
strated against such barbarous usage, declaring that the
pain distracted his thoughts from the subjects of meditation
proper to his unhappy condition. ,

"It signifies little," replied Captain Porteous; "your
pain will be soon at an end."

"Your cruelty is great," answered the sufferer. "You
know not how soon you yourself may have occasion to ask
the mercy, which you are now refusing to a fellow-creature.
May God forgive you 1 "

These words, long afterwards quoted and remembered,
were all that passed between Porteous and his prisoner ;
but as they took air, and became known to the people,
they greatly increased the popular compassion for Wilson,
ana excited a proportionate degree of indignation against
Porteous, against whom, as strict, and even violent in the
discharge of his unpopular office, the common people had
some real, and many imaginary causes of complamt.

When the painful procession was completed, and Wilson,
with the escort, had arrived at the scaffold in the Grass-
market, there appeared no signs of that attempt to rescue
him which had occasioned such precautions. The multitude,
in general, looked on with deeper interest than at ordinary
executions ; and there might be seen, on the countenances
of many, a stern and indignant expression, like that with
which the ancient Cameronians might be supposed to
witness the execution of their brethren, who glorified the
Covenant on the same occasion, and at the same _ spot.
But there was no attempt at violence. Wilson himself
seemed disposed to hasten over the space that divided time
from eternity. The devotions proper and usual on such
occasions were no sooner finished than he submitted to his
fate, and the sentence of the law was fulfilled.

He had been suspended on the gibbet so long as to be
totally deprived of life, when at once, as if occasioned by
some newly-received impulse, there arose a tumult among

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 45

the multitude. Many stones were thrown at Porteous and
his guards ; some mischief was done ; and the mob continued
to press forward with whoops, shrieks, howls, and exclama-
tions. A young fellow, with a sailor's cap slouched over
his face, sprung on the scaffold, and cut the rope by which
the criminal was suspended. Others approached to carrj-
off the body, either to secure for it a decent grave, or to
try, perhaps, some means of resuscitation. Captain
Porteous was wrought, by this appearance of insurrection
against his authority, into a rage so headlong as made him
forget that, the sentence having been fully executed, it was
his duty not to engage in hostilities with the misguided
multitude, but to draw off his men as fast as possible. He
sprung from the scaffold, snatched a musket from one of
his soldiers, commanded the party to give fire, and, as
several eye-witnesses concurred in swearing, set them the
example, by discharging his piece, and shooting a man
dead on the spot. Several soldiers obeyed his command
or followed his example ; six or seven persons were slain,
and a great many were hurt and wounded.

After this act of violence, the Captain proceeded to with-
draw his men towards their guard-house in the High
Street. The mob were not so much intimidated as incensed
by what had been done. They pursued the soldiers with exe-
crations, accompanied by volleys of stones. As they pressed
on them, the rearmost soldiers turned, and again fired with
fatal aim and execution. It is not accurately known whether
Porteous commanded this second act of violence ; but of
course the odium of the whole transactions of the fatal day
attached to him, and to him alone. He arrived at the guard-
house, dismissed his soldiers, and went to make his report to
the magistrates concerning the unfortunate events of the day.

Apparently by this time Captain Porteous had begun
to doubt the propriety of his own conduct, and the recep-
tion he met with from the magistrates was such as to
make him still more anxious to gloss it over. He denied
that he had given orders to fire ; he denied he had fired
with his own hand ; he even produced the fusee which
he carried as an officer for examination ; it was found
still loaded. Of three cartridges which he was seen to
put in his pouch that morning, two were still there ; a
white handkerchief was thrust into the muzzle of the
piece, and returned unsoiled or blackened. To the defence
founded on these circumstances it was answered, that

46 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

Porteous had not used his own piece, but had been seen
to take one from a soldier. Among the many who had
been killed and wounded by the unhappy fire, <here were
several of better rank ; for even the humanity of such
soldiers as fired over the heads of the mere rabble around
the scaffold, proved in some instances fatal to persons who
were stationed in windows, or observed the melancholy
scene from a distance. The voice of public indigna-
tion was loud and general ; and, ere men's tempers had
time to cool, the trial of Captain Porteous took place before
the High Court of Justiciary. After a long and patient
hearing, the jury had the difficult duty of balancing the
positive evidence of many persons, and those of respecta-
bility, who deposed positively to the prisoner's commanding
his soldiers to fire, and himself firing his piece, of which
some swore that they saw the smoke and flash, and
beheld a man drop at whom it was pointed, with the
negative testimony of others, who, though well stationed
for seeing what had passed, neither heard Porteous give
orders to fire, nor saw him fire himself; but, on the
contrary, averred that the first shot was fired by a soldier
who stood close by him. A great part of his defence
was also founded on the turbulence of the mob, which
witnesses, according to their feelings, their predilections,
and their opportunities of observation, represented differently ;
some describing as a formidable riot, what others repre-
sented as a trifling disturbance, such as always used to
take place on the like occasions, when the executioner
of the law, and the men commissioned to protect him in
his task, were generally exposed to some indignities. The
verdict of the jury sufficiently shows how the evidence
preponderated m their minds. It declared that John
Porteous fired a gun among the people assembled at the
execution ; that he gave orders to his soldiers to fire, by
which many persons were killed and wounded ; but, at
the same time, that the prisoner and his guard had
been wounded and beaten, by stones thrown at them by
the multitude. Upon this verdict, the Lords of Justiciary
passed sentence of death against Captain John Porteous,
adjudging him, in the common form, to be hanged on
a gibbet at the common place of execution, on Wednesday,
8th September, 1736, and all his moveable property to
be forfeited to the king's use, according to the Scottish
law in cases of wilful murder.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHiAN. 47

CHAPTER IV.

The hour's come, but not the man. *

Kelpie,

On the day when the unhappy Porteous was expected
to suffer the sentence of the law, the place of execution,
extensive as it is, was crowded almost to suffocation.
There was not a window in all the lofty tenements around
it, or in the steep and crooked street called the Bow, by
which the fatal procession was to descend from the High
Street, that was not absolutely filled with spectators.
The uncommon height and antique appearance of these
houses, some of wliich were formerly the property of the
Knights Templars, and the Knights of St. John, and
still exhibit on their fronts and gables the iron cross of
these orders, gave additional effect to a scene in itself so
striking. The area of the Grassmarket resembled a
huge dark lake or sea of human heads, in the centre of
which arose the fatal tree, tall, black, and ominous, from
which dangled the deadly halter. Every object takes interest
from its uses and associations, and the erect beam and
empty noose, things so simple in themselves, became, on
such an occasion, objects of terror and of solemn interest.

Amid so numerous an assembly there was scarcely a word
spoken, save in whispers. The thirst of vengeance was in
some degree allayed by its supposed certainty ; and even the
populace, with deeper feeling than they are wont to
entertain, suppressed all clamorous exultation, and prepared
to enjoy the scene of retaliation in triumph, silent and
decent, though stern and relentless. It seemed as if the
depth of their hatred to the unfortunate criminal scorned to
display itself in anything resembling the more noisy current
of their ordinary feelings. Had a stranger consulted only
the evidence of his ears, he might have supposed that so
vast a multitude were assembled for some purpose which
affected them with the deepest sorrow, and stilled those
/loises which, on all ordinary occasions, arise from such a

• There is a tradition, that while a little stream was swollen into a torrent
by recent showers, the discontented voice of the Water Spirit was heard to
pronounce these words. At the same moment a man, urged on by his fate, or,
m Scottish language. /iry, arrived at a gallop, and prepared to cross the water.
No remonstr.Tnce from the bystanders was a power to stop him — he plung^ed
into the stream, and perished.

iS THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

concourse ; but if he gazed upon their faces, he would have
been instantly undeceived. The compressed lip, the bent
brow, tlie stern and flashing eye of almost everyone on whom
he looked, conveyed the expression of men come to glut
their sight with triumphant revenge. It is probable that
the appearance of the criminal might have somewhat
changed the temper of the populace in his favour, and that
they might in the moment of death have forgiven the man
against whom their resentment had been so fiercely heated.
It had, however, been destined, that the mutability of their
sentiments was not to be exposed to this trial.

The usual hour for producing the criminal had been past
for many minutes, yet the spectators observed no symptom
of his appearance. "Would they venture to defraud public
justice ? " was the question which men began anxiously to
ask at each other. The first answer in every case was bold
and positive, — "They dare not." But when the point was
further canvassed, other opinions were entertained, and
various causes of doubt were suggested. Porteous had
been a favourite officer of the magistracy of the city, which,
being a numerous and fluctuating body, requires for its
support a degree of energy in its functionaries, which the
individuals who compose it cannot at all times alike be
,supposed to possess in their own persons. It was re-
membered, that in the Information for Porteous (the paper,
namely, in which his case was stated to the Judges of the
criminal court), he had been described by his counsel, as
the person on whom the magistrates chiefly relied in all
emergencies of uncommon difficulty. It was argued, too,
that his conduct, on the unhappy occasion of Wilson's
execution, was capable of being attributed to an imprudent
excess of zeal in the execution of his duty, a motive for
which those under whose authority he acted might be
supposed to have grelt sympathy. And as these considera-
tions might move the magistrates to make a favourable
representation of Porteous's case, there were not wanting
others in the higher departments of government, which
would make such suggestions favourably listened to.

The mob of Edinburgh, when thoroughly excited, had
been at all times one of the fiercest which could be found in
Europe ; and of late years they had risen repeatedly against
the government, and sometimes not without temporary
success. They were conscious, therefore, that they were
no favourites with the rulers of tlie period, and that, if

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN, 49

Captain Porteous's violence was not altogether regarded as
good service, it might certainly be thought, that to visit it
with a capital punishment would render it both delicate and
dangerous for future officers, in the same circumstances, to
act with effect in repressing tumults. There is also a
natural feeling, on the part of all members of government,
for the general maintenance of authority ; and it seemed not
unlikely, that what to tlie relatrves of the sufferers appeared
a wanton and unprovoked massacre, should be otherwise
viewed in the cabinet of St. James's. It might be there
supposed, that, upon the whole matter. Captain Porteous
was in the exercise of a trust delegated to him by the lawful
civil authority ; that he had been assaulted by the populace,
and several of his men hurt ; and that, in finally repelling
force by force, his conduct could be fairly imputed to no
other motive than self-defence in the discharge of his
duty.

These considerations, of themselves verj' powerful, induced
the spectators to apprehend the possibility of a reprieve ; and
to the various causes which might interest the rulers in his
favour, the lower part of the rabble added one which was
peculiarly well adapted to their comprehension. It was
averred, in order to increase the odium against Porteous,
that while he repressed with the utmost severity the slightest
excesses of the poor, he not only overlooked the license of
the young nobles and gentr>', but was very willing to lend
them the countenance of his official authority, in execution
of such loose pranks as it was chiefly his duty to have
restrained. This suspicion, which was perhaps much
exaggerated, made a deep impression on the minds of the
populace ; and when several of the higher rank joined in a
petition, recommending Porteous to the mercy of the crown,
it was generally supposed he owed their favour not to any
conviction of the hardship of his case, but to the fear of
losing a convenient accomplice in their debaucheries. It is
scarcely necessary to say how much this suspicion augmented
the people's detestation of this obnoxious criminal, as well
as their fear of his escaping the sentence pronounced against
him.

While these arguments were stated and replied to, and
canvassed and supported, the hitherto silent expectation
of the people became changed into that deep and agitating
murmur, which is sent forth by the ocean before the tempest
begins to howl. The crowded populace, as if their motions

50 THE HEART OK MID-LOTHIAN.

had corresponded with the unsettled state of their minds,
fluctuated to and fro without any visible cause of impulse,
like the agitation of the waters, cailed by sailors the
ground-swell. The news, which the magistrates had
almost hesitated lo communicate to them, were at length
announced, and spread among the spectators with a rapidity
like lightning. A reprieve from the Secretary of State's
office, under the hand of his Grace the Duke of Newcastle,
had arrived, intimating the pleasure of Queen Caroline
(regent of the kingdom during the absence of George II.
on the Continent), that the execution of the sentence of
death pronounced against John Porteous, late Captain-
Lieutenant of the City Guard of Edinburgh, present prisoner
in the Tolbooth of that city, be respited for six weeks from
the time appointed for his execution.

The assembled spectators of almost all degrees, whose
minds had been wound up to the pitch which we have
described, uttered a groan, or rather a roar of indignation
and disappointed revenge, similar to that of a tiger from
whom his meal has been rent by his keeper when he was
just about to devour it. This fierce exclamation seemed
to forbode some immediate explosion of popular resentment,
and, in fact, such had been expected by the magistrates,
and the necessary measures had been taken to repress it.
But the shout was not repeated, nor did any sudden tumult
ensue, such as it appeared to announce. The populace
seemed to be ashamed of having expressed their disappoint-
ment in a vain clamour, and the sound changed, not into
the silence which had preceded the arrival of these stunning
news, but into stifled mutterings, which each group
maintained among themselves, and which were blended
into one deep and hoarse murmur which floated above the
assembly.

Yet still, though all expectation of the execution was
over, the mob remained assembled, stationary, as it were,
through very resentment, gazing on the preparations for
death, which had now been made in vain, and stimulating
their feelings, by recalling the various claims which Wilson
might have had on royal mercy, from the mistaken motives
on which he acted, as well as from the generosity he had
displayed towards his accomplice. "This man," they said,
— "the brave, the lesolute, the generous, was executed to
death without mercy for stealing a purse of gold, which
in some sense he might consider as a fair reprisal ; while

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 51

the profligate satellite, who took advantage of a trifling
tumult, inseparable from such occasions, to shed the
blood of twenty of his fellow-citizens, is deemed a fitting
object for the exercise of the royal prerogative of mercy.
Is this to be borne ? — would our fathers have borne
it ? Are not we, like them, Scotsmen and burghers of
Edinburgh ? "

The officers of justice began now to remove the scaffold,
and other preparations which had been made for the
execution, in hopes, by doing so.'to accelerate the dispersion
of the multitude. The measure had the desired effect ;
for no sooner had the fatal tree been unfixed from the
large stone pedestal or socket in which it was secured, and
sunk slowly down upon the wain intended to remove it
to the place where it was usually deposited, than the
populace, after giving vent to their feelings in a second
shout of rage and mortification, began slowly to disperse,
to their usual abodes and occupations.

The windows were in like manner gradually deserted,
and groups of the more decent class of citizens formed
themselves, as if waiting to return homewards when the
streets sliould be cleared of the rabble. Contrary' to what
is frequently the case, this description of persons agreed
in general with the sentiments of their inferiors, and
considered the cause as common to all ranks. Indeed, as
we have already noticed, it was by no means amongst
the lowest class of the spectators, or those most
likely lo be engaged in the riot at Wilson's execution,
that the fatal fire of Porteous's soldiers had taken effect.
Scveml persons were killed who were looking out at
windows at the scene, who could not of course belong to
the rioters, and were persons of decent rank and condition.
The burghers, therefore, resenting the loss which had
fallen on their own body, and proud and tenacious of
their rights, as the citizens of Edinburgh have at all times
been, were greatly exasperated at the unexpected respite
of Captain Porteous.

It was noticed at the time, and afterwards rpore particu-
larly remembered, that while the mob were in the act of
dispersing, several individuals were seen busily passing
from one place and one group of people to another, re-
maining long with none, but whispering for a little time
with those who appeared to be declaiming most violently
against the conduct of government. These active agents

52 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

Had the appearance of men from the country, and were
generally supposed to be old friends and confederates of
Wilson, whose minds were of course highly excited against
Porteous.

If, however, it was the intention of these men to stir the
multitude to any sudden act of mutiny, it seemed for
the time to be fruitless. The rabble, as well as the more
decent part of the assembly, dispersed, and went home
peaceably ; and it was only by observing the moody dis-
content on their brows, or catching the tenor of the
conversation they held with each other, that a stranger
could estimate the state of their minds. We will give
the reader this advantage, by associating ourselves with
one of the numerous groups who were painfully ascending
the steep declivity of the West Bow, to return to their
dwellings in the Lawnmarket.

"An unco thing this, Mrs. Howden," said old Peter
Plumdamas to his neighbour the rouping-wife, or sales-
woman, as he offered her his arm to assist her in the toil-
some ascent, "to see the grit folk at Lunnon set their face
against law and gospel, and let loose sic a reprobate as
Porteous upon a peaceable town ! "

"And to think o' the weary walk they hae gien us,''
answered Mrs. Howden, with a groan; "and sic a com-
fortable window as I had gotten, too, just within a penny-
stane cast of the scaffold— I could hae heard every word the
minister said — and to pay twalpennies for my stand, and
a' for naething ! "

"I am judging," said Mr. Plumdamas, "that this
reprieve wadna stand gude in the auld Scots law, when the
kingdom was a kingdom."

"I dinna ken muckle about the law," answered Mrs.
Howden; "but I ken, when we had a king, and a chan-
cellor, and parliament-men o' our ain, we could aye peeble
them wi' stanes when they werena gude bairns — But
naebody's nails can reach the length o' Lunnon."

"Weary on Lunnon, and a' that e'er came out o't I "
said Miss Grizzel Damahoy, an ancient seamstress; "they
hae taen awa our Parliament, and they hae oppressed our
trade. Our gentles will hardly allow that a Scots needle
can sew ruffles on a sark, or lace on an owerlay."

"Ye may say that, Miss Damahoy, and I ken o' them
that hae gotten raisins frae Lunnon by forpits at ance,"
responded Plumdamas; "and then sic an host of idle

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. S3

English gangers and excisemen as hae come down to vex
and torment us, that an honest man canna fetch sae
muckle as a bit anker o' brandy frae Leith to the Lawn-
market, but he's like to be rubbit o' the very gudes he's
bought and paid for. — Weel, I winna justify Andrew Wilson
for pitting hands on what wasna his ; but if he took nae
mair than his ain, there's an awfu' difference between that
and the fact this man stands for."

"If ye speak about the law," said Mrs. Howden, "here
comes Mr. Saddletree, that can settle it as weel as ony on
the bench."

The party she mentioned, a grave elderly person, with a
superb periwig, dressed in a decent suit of sad-coloured
clothes, came up as she spoke, and courteously gave his
arm to Miss Grizel Damahoy.

It may be necessary to mention, that Mr. Bartoline
Saddletree kept an excellent and highly-esteemed shop
for harness, saddles, etc., etc., at the sign of the Golden
Nag, at the head of Bess Wynd. His genius, however,
(as he himself and most of his neighbours conceived), lay
towards the weightier matters of the law, and he failed
not to give frequent attendance upon the pleadings and
arguments of the lawyers and judges in the neighbouring
square, where, to say the truth, he was oftener to be found
than would have consisted with his own emolument ; but that
his wife, an active painstaking person, could, in his absence,
make an admirable shift to please the customers and scold
the journeymen. This good lady was in the habit of letting
her husband take his way, and go on improving his stock
of legal knowledge without interruption ; but, as if in
requital, she insisted upon having her own will in the
domestic and commercial departments which he abandoned
to her. Now, as Bartoline Saddletree had a considerable
gift of words, which he mistook for eloquence, and con-
ferred more liberally upon the society in which he lived
than was at all times gracious and acceptable, there went
forth a saying, with which wags used sometimes to interrupt
his rhetoric, that, as he had a golden nag at his door, so he
had a gray mare in his shop. This reproach Induced Mr.
Saddletree, on all occasions, to assume rather a haughty
and stately tone towards his good woman, a circumstance
by which she seemed very little affected, unless he attempted
to exercise any real authority, when she never failed to fly
into open rebellion. But such extremes Bartoline seldom

54 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

provoked ; for, like the gentle King Jamie, he was fonder
of talking of authority than really exercising it. This turn
of mind was, on the whole, lucky for him ; ^slnce his sub-
stance was increased without any trouble on his part, or
any interruption of his favourite studies.

This word in explanation has been thrown in to the
reader, while Saddletree was laying down, with great
precision, the law upon Porteous's case, by which he
arrived at this conclusion, that, if Porteous had fired five
minutes sooner, before Wilson was cut down, he would
have been versans in licito ; engaged, that is, in a lawful
act, and only liable to be punished propter excessum, or
for lack of discretion, which might have mitigated the
punishment to poena ordinaria.

"Discretion!" echoed Mrs. Howden, on whom, it may
well be supposed, the fineness of this distinction was
entirely thrown away — "whan had Jock Porteous either
grace, discretion, or gude manners? — I mind when his
father "

" But, Mrs. Howden," said Saddletree

"And I," said Miss Damahoy, "mind when his
mother "

"Miss Damahoy," entreated the interrupted orator^

"And I," said Plumdamas, "mind when his wife "

" Mr. Plumdamas — Mrs. Howden — Miss Damahoy,"
again implored the orator, — " mind the distinction, as
Counsellor Crossmyloof says — 'I,* says he, 'take a dis-
tinction.' Now, the body of the criminal being cut down,
and the execution ended, Porteous was no longer official ;
the act which he came to protect and guard, being done
and ended, he was no better than ciiivis ex populo."

" Qiiivis — quivis, Mr. Saddletree, ci^aving your pardon,"
said (with a prolonged emphasis on the first syllable) Mr.
Butler, the deputy schoolmaster of a parish near Edinburgh,
who at that moment came up behind them as the false
Latin was uttered.

"What signifies interrupting me, Mr. Butler? — but 1
am glad to see ye notwithstanding — I speak after Counsellor
Crossmyloof, and he said cutvis."

" If Counsellor Crossmyloof used the dative for the
nominative, I would have crossed his loof with a tight
leathern strap, Mr. Saddletree ; there is not a boy on the
booby form but should hav*^ been scourged for such a
solecism in grammar."

I

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 55

"I speak Latin like a lawjer, Mr, Butler, and not like
a schoolmaster," retorted Srddletree.

"Scarce like a schoolboy, I think," rejoined Butler.

"It matters little," said Bartoline ; "all I mean to say
is, that Porteous has become liable to the poena extra
orditiem, or capital punishment ; which is to say, in plain
Scotch, the gaJlows, simply because he did not fire when
he was in office, but waited till the body was cut down,
the execution whilk he had in charge to guard implemented,
and he himself exonered of the public trust imposed on
him."

"But, Mr. Saddletree," said Plumdamas, "do you really
think John Porteous's case wad hae been better if he had
begun firing before ony stanes were flung at a' ? "

"Indeed do I, neighbour Plumdamas," replied Bartoline
confidently, "he being then in point of trust and in point
of power, the execution being but inchoat, or, u\ least, not
implemented, or finally ended ; but after Wilson was cut
down, it was a' ower — he was clean exauctorate, and
had nae mair ado but to get awa wi' his guard up this
West Bow as fast as if there had been a caption after
him — And this is law, for I heard it laid down by Lord
Vincovincentem. *'

" Vincovincentem ? — Is he a lord of state, or a lord of
seat?" enquired Mrs. Howden.,

"A lord of seat — a lord of session. — I fash myself little
wi' lords o' state ; they vex r.e wi' a wheen idle questions
about their saddles, and curpels, and holsters, and horse-
furniture, and what they'll cost, and whan they'll be
ready — a wheen galloping geese — my wife may serve the
like o' them."

"And so might she, m her day, hae served the best lord
in the land, for as little as ye think o' her, Mr. Saddletree,"
said Mrs. Howden, somewhat indignant at the contemptuous
way in which her gossip was mentioned; "when she and
I were twa gilples, we little thought to hae sitten doun wi'
the like o' my auld Davie Howden, or you either, Mr.
Saddletree."

While Saddletree, who was not bright at a reply, was
cudgelling his brains for an answer to this home-thrust.
Miss Damahoy broke in on him.

"And as for the lords of state," said Miss Damahoy,

A nobleman was called a Lord of State. The Senators ot tive CoUeg: of
Justice were termed Lord* of Seat, or of the Session.

S6 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

"ye suld mind the riding o' the parliament, Mr. Saddletree,
in the gude auld time before the Union — a year's rent o'
mony a gude estate gaed for horse-graith and harnessing,
forby broidered robes and foot-mantles, that wad hae stude
by their lane wi* gold brocade, and that were muckle in my
ain line."

"Ay, and then the lusty banqueting, with sweetmeats
and comfits wet and dry, and dried fruits of divers sorts,"
said Plumdamas. "But Scotland was Scotland in these
days. "

"I'll tell ye what it is, neighbours," said Mrs. Howden,
"I'll ne'er believe Scotland is Scotland ony mair, if our
kindly Scots sit doun with the affront they hae gien us
this day. It's not only the blude that is shed, but the
blude that might hae been shed, that's required at our
hands ; there was my daughter's wean, little Eppie Daidle
— my oe, ye ken. Miss Grizel — had played the truant frae
the school, as bairns will do, ye ken, Mr. Butler "

"And for which," interjected Mr. Butler, "they should
be soundly scourged by their well-wishers."

"And had just cruppen to the gallows' foot to see the
hanging, as was natural for a wean ; and what for
mightna she hae been shot as weel as the rest o' them,
and where wad we a' hae been then? I wonder how
Queen Carline (if her name be Carline) wad hae liked to
hae had ane o' her ain bairns in sic a venture ? "

"Report says," answered Butler, "that such a circum-
stance would not have distressed her majesty beyond
endurance. "

"Aweel," said Mrs. Howden, "the sum o' the matter
is, that, were I a man, I wad hae amends o' Jock Porteous,
be the upshot what like o't, if a' the carles and carlines
in England had sworn to the nay-say."

" I would claw down the Tolbooth door wi' my nails,"
said Miss Grizel, " but I wad be at him."

"Ye may be very right, ladies," said Butler, "but I
would not advise you to speak so loud."

"Speak!" exclaimed both the ladies together, "there
will be naething else spoken about frae the Weigh-house
to the Water-gate, till this is either ended or mended."

The females now departed to their respective places of
abode. Plumdamas joined the other two gentlemen in
drinking their meridj'an (a bumper-dram of brandy), as
they passed the well-known low-browed shop in the

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 57

Lawnmarket, where they were wont to take that refresh-
ment. Mr. Plumdamas' then departed towards his shop
and Mr. Butler, who happened to have some particular
occasion for the rein of an old bridle (the truants of that
busy day could have anticipated its application), walked
down the Lawnmarket with Mr. Saddletree, each talking
as he could get a word thrust in, the one on the laws of
Scotland, the other on those of syntax, and neither listening
to a word which his companion uttered.

CHAPTER V.

Elsewhair he colde right wee! lay down the law,
But in his house was meek as is a daw.

Davie- Lindsay.

"There has been Jock Driver the carrier here, speering
about his new graith," said Mrs. Saddletree to her husband,
as he crossed his threshold, not with the purpose, by any
means, of consulting him upon his own affairs, but merely
to intimate, by a gentle recapitulation, how much duty
she had gone through in his absence.

"Weel," replied Bartoline, and deigned not a word more.

"And the Laird of Girdingburst has had his running
footman here, and ca'd himsell (he's a civil pleasant young
gentleman), to see when the broidered saddle-cloth for his
sorrel horse will be ready, for he wants it agane the Kelso
races."

"Weel, aweel," replied Bartoline, as laconically as
before,

"And his lordship, the Earl of Blazonburj', Lord Flash
and Flame, is like to be clean daft, that the harness for
the six Flanders mears, wi' the crests, coronets, housings,
and mountings conform, are no sent hame according to
promise gien."

"Weel, weel, weel — weel, weel, g^dewife," said Saddle-
tree, "if he gangs daft, we'll hae him cognosced — it's a'
very weel,"

" It's weel that ye think sae, Mr, Saddletree," answered
his helpmate, rather nettled at the indifference with which
her report was received ; " there's mony ane wad hae
thought themselves affronted, if sae mony customers had
ca'd and naebody to answer tliem but women-folk ; for a'

S8 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

the lads were aff, as soon as your back was turned, to see
Porteous hanged, that might be counted upon ; and sae,
you no being at hame "

" Houts, Mrs. Saddletree," said Bartoline, with an air of
consequence; "dinna deave me wi' your nonsense; I was
under the necessity of being elsewhere — non omnia — as Mr.
Crossmyloof said, when he was called by two macers at
once — non omnia posmimis — pessimus — possimis — I ken our
law-latin offends Mr. Butler's ears, but it means, Naebody,
an it were the Lord President himsell, can do twa turns at
once."

"Very right, Mr. Saddletree," answered hi-: careful help-
mate, with a sarcastic smile ; "and nae doubt it's a decent
thing to leave your wife to look after young gentlemen's
saddles and bridles, when ye gang to see a man, that never
did ye nae ill, raxing a halter."

"Woman," said Saddletree, assuming an elevated tone,
to which the meridian had somewhat contributed, "desist, —
I say forbear, from intromitting with affairs thou canst
not understand. D'ye think I was born to sii here brogging
an elshin through bend-leather when sic men as Duncan
Forbes, and that other Arniston chield there, without muckle
greater parts, if the close-head speak true, than myself, maun
be presidents and king's advocates, nae doubt, and wha but
they? Whereas, were favour equally distribute, as in the
days of the wight Wallace "

" I ken naething we wad hae gotten by the wight
Wallace," said Mrs. Saddletree, "unless, as I hae heard
the auld folk tell, they fought in thae days wl' bend-leather-
guns, and then it's a chance but what, if he had bought
them, he might have forgot to pay for them. _ And as for
the greatness of your parts, Hartley, the folk in the close-
head maun ken mair about them than I do, if they make
sic a report of them."

"1 tell ye, woman," said Saddletree, in high dudgeon,
"that ye ken naething about these matters. In Sir
William Wallace's days there was nae man pinned down
to sic a slavish wark as a saddler's, for they got ony leather
graith that they had use for ready-made out of Holland."

"Well," said Butler, who was, like many of his profession,
something of a humorist and dry joker, "if that be the
case, Mr. Saddletree, I think we have changed for the
better ; since we make our own harness, and only import
our lawyers from Holland."

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 59

"It's ower true, Mr. Butler," answered BartoHne, with a
sigh; "if I had had the luck — or rather, if my father had
had the sense to send me to Leyden and Utrecht to learn
the Substitutes and Pandex "

"You mean the Institutes — ^Justinian's Institutes, Mr.
Saddletree ! ■' said Butler.

" Institutes and substitutes are synonymous words, Mr.
Butler, and used indifferently as such in deeds of tailzie,
as you may see in Balfour's ' Practiques,' or Dallas of St.
Martin's 'Styles.' I understand these things pretty weel, I
thank God ; but I own I should have studied in Holland."

"To comfort you, you might not have been farther
forward than you are now, Mr. Saddletree," replied Mr.
Butler ; "for our Scottish advocates are an aristocratic race.
Their brass is of the right Corinthian quality, and Non
cuivis contigit adire Corinthum — Aha, Mr. Saddletree ? "

"And aha, Mr. Butler," rejoined BartoHne, upon whom,
as may be well supposed, the jest was lost, and all but the
sound of the words, "ye said a gliff syne it was quivisy and
now I heard ye say cuivis with my ain ears, as plain as ever
I heard a word at the fore-bar."

"Give me your patience, Mr. Saddletree, and I'll explain
the discrepancy in three words," said Butler, as pedantic
in his own department, though with infinitely more judg-
ment and learning, as Bartoline was in his self-assumed
profession of the law — "Give me your patience for a
moment — You'll grant that the nominative case is that by
which a person or thing is nominated or designed, and
which may be called the primary case, all others being
formed from it by alterations of the termination in the
learned lang^uages, and by prepositions in our modern
Babylonian jargons — You'll grant me that, I suppose, Mr.
Saddletree ? "

" I dinna ken whether I will or no— ad avisandum, ye
ken — naebody should be in a hurry to make admissions,
either in point of law, or in point of fact," said Saddletree,
looking, or endeavouring to look, as if he understood what
was said.

" And the dative case," continued Butler

" I ken what a tutor dative is," said Saddletree, "readily
enough."

"The dative case," resumed the grammarian, "is that
in which anything is given or assigned as properly belonging
to a person or tiling — You cannot deny that, I am sure."

6o THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

'' I am sure I'll no grant it, though," said Saddletree.

"Then, what the deevil d'ye take the nominative and the
dative cases to be ? " said Butler, hastilj', and surprised at
once out of his decency of expression and accuracy of
pronunciation.

" I'll tell you that at leisure, Mr. Butler," said Saddletree,
with a very knowing look; "I'll take a day to see and
answer every article of your condescendence, and then I'll
hold you to confess or deny as accords."

"Come, come, Mr. Saddletree," sold his wife, "we'll hae
nae confessions and condescendences here ; let them deal
in thae sort o' wares that are paid for them — they suit
the like o' us as ill as a demipique saddle would suit a
draught ox."

"Aha!" said Mr. Butler, ^^ Optat ephippia hos piger,
nothing new under the sun — But it was a fair hit of Mrs.
Saddletree, however."

"And it wad far better become ye, Mr. Saddletree,"
continued his helpmate, "since ye say ye hae skeel o' the
law, to try if ye can do onything for Effie Deans, puir thing,
that's lying up in the tolbooth yonder, cauld, and hungry,
and comfortless. — A servant lass of ours, Mr. Butler, and
as innocent a lass, to my thinking, and as usefu' in the
shop — When Mr. Saddletree gangs out, — and ye're aware
he's seldom at hame when there's ony o' the plea-houses
open, — poor Effie used to help me to tumble the bundles
o' barkened leather up and doun, and range out the gudes,
and suit a' body's humours — And troth, she could aye please
the customers wi' her answers, for she was aye civil, and
a bonnier lass wasna in Auld Reekie. And when folk were
hasty and unreasonable, she could serve them better than
me, that am no sae young as I hae been, Mr. Butler, and
a wee bit short in the temper into the bargain. For when
there's ower mony folks crying on me at anes, and nane
but ae tongue to answer them, folk maun speak hastily, or
they'll ne'er get through their wark — Sae I miss Effie daily."

"Z)^ die in diem" added Saddletree.

"I think," said Butler, after a good deal of hesitation,
"I have seen the girl in the shop — a modest-looking, fair-
haired girl ? "

"Ay, ay, that's just puir Effie," said her mistress.
" How she was abandoned to hersell, or whether she was
sackless o' the sinful deed, God in Heaven knows ; but if
she's been guilty, she's been sair tempted, and I wad

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 6i

amaiist take my Bible-aith she hasna been hersell at the
time."

Butler had by this time become much agitated ; he
figeted up and down the shop, and showed the greatest
agitation that a person of such strict decorum could be
supposed to give way to. 'Was not this girl," he said,
"the daughter of David Deans, that had the parks at St.
Leonard's taken ? and has she not a sister ? "

" In troth she has — puir Jeanie Deans, ten years aulder
than hersell ; she was here greeting a wee while syne about
her tittie. And what could I say to her, but that she
behoved to come and speak to Mr. Saddletree when he was
at hame? It wasna that I thought Mr. Saddletree could
do her or ony ither body muckle good or ill, but it wad aye
ser\e to keep the puir thing's heart up for a wee while ;
and let sorrow come when sorrow maun."

"Ye're mista'en though, gudewife," said Saddletree
scornfully, "for I could hae gien her great satisfaction;
I could hae proved to her that her sister was indicted upon
the statute saxteen hundred and ninety, chapter one — for
the mair ready prevention of child-murder — for concealing
her pregnancy, and giving no account of the child which
she had borne."

" I hope," said Butler, — " I trust in a gracious God that
she can clear herself."

"And sae do I, Mr. Butler," replied Mrs. Saddletree.
" I am sure I wad hae answered for her as my ain daughter ;
but wae's my heart, I had been tender a' the simmer,
and scarce ower the door o' my room for twal weeks.
And as for Mr. Saddletree, he might be in a lying-in
hospital, and ne'er find out what the women cam there for.
Sae I could see little or naething o' her, or I wad hae had
the truth o' her situation out o' her, I'se warrant ye. But
we a' think her sister maun be able to speak something to
clear her."

"The haill Parliament House," said Saddletree, "was
speaking o' naething else, till this job o' Porteous's put it
out o' head. It's a beautiful point of presumptive murder,
and there's been nane like it in the Justiciar Court since
the case of Luckie Smith the howdie, that suffered in the
year saxteen hundred and seventy-nine."

"But what's the matter wi' you, Mr. Butler?" said the
good woman; "ye are looking as white as a sheet; will
ye tak a dram ? "

62 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

"By no means," said Butler, compelling himself to
speak. " I walked in from Dumfries yesterday, and this
is a warm day."

"Sit doun," said Mrs. Saddletree, laying hands on him
kindly, "and rest ye. Ye'll kill yourself, man, at that
rate. And are we to wish you joy o' getting the scule,
Mr. Butler?"

"Yes — no — I do not know," answered the young man
vaguely. But Mrs. Saddletree kept him to the point,
partly out of real interest, partly from curiosity.

"Ye dinna ken whether ye are to get the free scule o
Dumfries or no, after hinging on and teaching it a' the
simmer? "

" No, Mrs. Saddletree, I am not to have it," replied
Butler, more collectedly. "The Laird of Black-at-the
Bane had a natural son bred to the kirk, that the
Presbytery could not be prevailed upon to license ; and
so "

" Ay, ye need say nae mair about it ; if there was a
laird that had a puir kinsman or a bastard that it wad
suit, there's eneugh said. And ye're e'en come back to
Liberton to wait for dead men's shoon? — and for as frail
as Mr. Whackbairn is, he may live as lang as you, that
are his assistant and successor."

"Very like," replied Butler, with a sigh, "I do not
know if'l should wish it otherwise."

" Nae doubt, it's a very vexing thing," continued the
good lady, "to be in that dependent station, and you
that hae right and title to sae muckle better, I wonder
how ye bear these crosses."

" Quos diligit castigat" answered Butler; "even the
pagan Seneca could see an advantage' in affliction. The
heathens had their philosophy, and the Jews their
revelation, Mrs. Saddletree, and they endured their dis-
tresses in their day. Christians have a better dispensa-
tion than either — but doubtless "

He stopped and sighed.

" I ken what you mean," said Mrs. Saddletree, looking
toward her husband; "there's whiles we lose patience
in spite of baith book and Bible. — But ye are no gaun
awa, and looking sae poorly — ye'll stay and take some
kale wi' us ? "

Mr. Saddletree laid aside Balfour's " Practiques " (his
favourite study, and much good may it do him), to join

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 63

in his wife's hospitable importunity. But the teacher
declined all entreaty, and took his leave upon the spot.

"There's something in a' this," said Mrs. Saddletree,
looking after him as he walked up the street ; "I wonder
what makes Mr. Butler sae distressed about Effie's mis-
fortune— there was nae acquaintance atween them that
ever I saw or heard of; but they were neighbours when
David Deans was on the Laird o' Dumbledikes's land.
Mr. Butler wad ken her father, or some o' her folk. Get
up, Mr. Saddletree ; ye have set yoursell down on the
very brecham that wants stitching — and here's little
Willie, the prentice. Ye little rin-there-out deil that ye
are, what taks you raking through the gutters to see folk
hangit ? — how wad ye like when it comes to be your ain
chance, as I winna insure ye, if ye dinna mend your
manners ? And what are ye maundering and greeting
for, as if a word were breaking your banes? Gang
in by, and be a better bairn another time, and tell
Peggy to gie ye a bicker o' broth, for ye'll be as gleg
as a gled, I'se warrant ye. — It's a fatherless bairn, Mr.
Saddletree, and motherless, whilk in some cases may be
waur, and ane would tak care o' him if they could — it's a
Christian duty."

" Verj' true, gudewife," said Saddletree in reply, "we
are in loco parentis to him during his years of pupillarity,
and I hae had thoughts of applying to the Court for a
commission as factor loco tutoris^ seeing there is nae tutor
nominate, and the tutor-at-law declines to act ; but only
I fear the expense of the procedure wad not be in rem
versam, for I am not aware if Willie has ony effects
whereof to assume the administration."

He concluded this sentence with a self-important cough,
as one who has laid down the law in an indisputable
manner.

"Effects!'' said Mrs. Saddletree, "what effects has
the puir wean ? He was in rags when his mother died ;
and the blue polonie that EfRe made for him out of an
auld mantle of my ain was the first decent dress the
bairn ever had on. Poor Effie 1 can ye tell me now really,
wi' a' your law, will her life be in danger, Mr. Saddletree,
when they arena able to prove that ever there was a
bairn ava ? "

"Whoy," said Mr. Saddletree, delighted at having for
once in his life seen his wife's attention arrested by a

64 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

topic of legal discussion — "Whoy, there are two sorts
of murdrum or inurdragium, or what you populariter et
vulgariter call murther. I mean there are many sorts
for there's your murthrum per vigiKas et insidtas, and your
murthrum under trust."

"I am sure," replied his moiety, "that murther by trust
is the way that the gentry murther us merchants, and
whiles mak us shut the booth up^but that has naething
to do wi' Effie's misfortune."

"The case of Effie (or Euphemia) Deans," resumed
Saddletree, "is one of those cases of murder presump-
tive, that Is, a murder of the law's inferring or con-
struction, being derived from certain indicia or grounds of
suspicion."

"So that," said the good woman, "unless poor Effie
has communicated her situation, she'll be hanged by the
neck, if the bairn was still-born, or if it be alive at this
moment ? "

"Assuredly," said Saddletree; "it being a statute made
by our sovereign Lord and Lady, to prevent the horrid
delict of bringing forth children in secret. The crime is
rather a favourite of the law, this species of murther
being one of its ain creation."

"Then, if the law maks murders," said Mrs. Saddletree,
"the law should be hanged for them ; or if they wad hang
a lawyer instead, the country wad find nae faut."

A summons to their frugal dinner interrupted the
further progress of the conversation, which was otherwise
like to take a turn much less favourable to the science of
jurisprudence and its professors than Mr. Bartoline
Saddletree, the fond admirer of both, had at its opening
anticipated.

CHAPTER VI.

But up then raise all Edinburgh.
They all rose up by thousands three.

Johnnie Armstrang's Goodnight.

Butler, on his departure from the sign of the Golden
Nag, went in quest of a friend of his connected with the
law, of whom he wished to make particular inquiries
concerning the circumstances in which the unfortunate
young woman mentioned in the last chapter was placed,

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 65

having, as the reader has probably already conjectured,
reasons much deeper than those dictated by mere humanity,
for interesting himself in her fate. He found the person
he sought absent from home, and was equally unfortu-
nate in one or two other calls which he made upon
acquaintances whom he hoped to interest in her ston,-.
But evervbody was, for the moment, stark-mad on the
subject of Porteous, and engaged busily in attacking or
defending the measures of Government in reprieving him :
and the ardour of dispute had excited such universal
thirst, that half the young lavs'yers and writers, together
with their very clerks, the class whom 'Butler was looking
after, had adjourned the debate to some favourite tavern.
It was computed by an experienced arithmetician, that
there was as much twopenny ale consumed on the dis-
cussion as would have floated a first-rate man-of-war.

Butler wandered about until it was dusk, resolving to
take that opportunity of visiting the unfortunate young
woman, when his doing so might be least observed ; for
he had his own reasons for avoiding the remarks of Mrs.
Saddletree, whose shop door opened at no great distance
from that of the jail, though on the opposite or south
side of the street, and a little higher up. He passed,
therefore, through the narrow and partly-covered passage
leading from the north-west end of the Parliament Square.

He stood now before the Gothic entrance of the ancient
prison, which, as is well known to all men, rears its
ancient front in the very middle of the High Street,
forming, as it were, the termination to a huge pile of
buildings called the Luckenbooths, which, for some in-
conceivable reason, our ancestors had jammed into the
midst of the principal street of the town, leaving for
passage a narrow street on the north ; and on the south,
into which the prison opens, a narrow, crooked lane,
winding betwixt the high and sombre walls of the Tol-
booth and the adjacent houses on the one side, and the
buttresses and projections of the old cathedral upon the
other. To give some gaiety to this sombre passage (well
known by the name of the Krames), a number of little
booths, or shops, after the fashion of cobblers' stalls, are
plastered, as it were, against the Gothic projections and
abutments, so that it seemed as if the traders had
occupied with nests, bearing the same proportion to the
building, every buttress and coign of vantage, as the

c

66 THE HEART OF MlD-LOTHIAN.

martlett did in Macbeth's castle. Of later years these
booths have degenerated into mere toyshops, where the
little loiterers chiefly interested in such wares are tempted
to linger, enchanted by the rich display of hobby-horses,
babies, and Dutch toys, arranged in artful and gay con-
fusion ; yet half-scared by the cross looks of the withered
pantaloon, or spectacled old lady, by whom these tempting
stores are watched and superintended. But, in the times
we write of, the hosiers, the glovers, the hatters, the
mercers, the milliners, and all who dealt in the mis-
cellaneous wares pow termed haberdasher's goods, were
to be found in this narrow alley.

To return from our digression. Butler found the outer
turnkey, a tall, thin, old man, with long, silver hair, in the
act of locking tlfe outward door of the jail. He addressed
himself to this person, and asked admittance to Effie
Deans, confined upon accusation of child-murder. The
turnkey looked at him earnestly, and civilly touching his
hat out of respect to Butler's black cloak and clerical
appearance, replied, "It was impossible any one could be
admitted at present. "

"You shut up earlier than usual, probably on account
of Captain Porteous's affair ? " said Butler.

The turnkey, with the true mystery of a person in
office, gave two grave nods, and withdrawing from the
wards a ponderous key of about two feet in length, he
proceeded to shut a strong plate of steel, which folded
down above the keyhole, and was secured by a steel
spring and catch. Butler stood still instinctively while
Ine door was made fast, and then looking at his watch,
walked briskly up the street, muttering to himself almost
unconsciously —

f orta adversa, ing-ens, solidoqnc adamante colunin;r :
Vis ut nulla virfim, non ipsi exscindere ferrp
Ccelicolae valeant — Stat terrea turris ad auras— etc*

Having wasted half an hour more in a second fruitless
attempt to find his legal friend and adviser, he thought

• Wide is the fronting: g-ite, and raised on high,
With adamantine coKimns, threats the sky ;
Vain is the force of man, and Heaven's as vain,
To crush the pillars which the pile sustain ;
Sublime on these a tower of steel is rear"d.

Dkvof.n's Virgil, Book W.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHiAN. 67

it time to leave the city and return to his place of residence,
in a small villag-e about two miles and a half to the south-
ward of Edinburgh. The metropolis was at this time
surrounded by a high wall, with battlements and flanking
projections at some intervals, and the access w^as through
gates, called in the Scottish language ports, which were
regularly shut at night. A small fee to the keepers
would indeed procure egress and ingress at any time,
through a wicket left for that purpose in the large gate ;
but it was of some importance, to a man so poor as
Butler, to avoid even this slight pecuniary mulct ; and
fearing the hour of shutting the gates might be near, he
made for that to which he found himself nearest, although,
by doing so, he somewhat lengthened his walk home-
wards. Bristo Port was that by which his direct road
lay, but the West Port, which leads out of the Grass-
market, was the nearest of the city gates to the place
where he found himself, and to that, therefore, he directed
his course. He reached the port in ample time to pass
the circuit of the walls, and entered a suburb called
Portsburgh, chiefly inhabited by the lower order of
citizens and mechanics. Here he was unexpectedly
interrupted.

He had not gone far from the gate before he heard
the sound of a drum, and, to his great surprise, met a
number of persons, sufficient to occupy the whole front
of the street, and form a considerable mass behind,
moving with great speed towards the gate he had just
come from, and having in front of them a drum beating
to arms. While he considered how he should escape a
party, assembled, as it might be presumed, for no lawful
purpose, they came full on him and stopped him.

" Are you a clergyman ? " one questioned him.

Butler replied that "he was in orders, but was not a
placed minister."

" It's Mr. Butler from Liberton," said a voice from
behind ; " he'll discharge the duty as weel as ony man."

" You must turn back with us, sir," said the first speaker,
in a tone civil but peremptory.

" For what purpose, gentlemen ? " said Mr. Butler.
" I live at some distance from town — the roads are
unsafe by night — you will do me a serious injury by
stopping me."

" You shall be sent safely home — no man shall touch a

68 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

hair of your head — but you must and shall come along
with us.'*

" But to what purpose or end, gentlemen?" said Butler.
" I hope you will be so civil as to explain that to me ! "

"You shall know that in good time. Come along — for
come you must, by force or fair means ; and I warn you
to look neither to the right hand nor the left, and to take
no notice of any man's face, but consider all that is passing
before you as a dream."

" I would it were a dream I could awaken from," said
Butler to himself; but having no means to oppose the
violence with which he was threatened, he was compelled
to turn round and march in front of the rioters, two men
partly supporting and partly holding him. During this
parley the insurgents had made themselves masters of
the West Port, rushing upon the waiters (so the people
Were called who had the charge of the gates), and possess-
ing themselves of the keys. They bolted and barred the
folding-doors, and commanded the person, whose duty it
usually was, to secure the wicket, of which they did not
understand the fastenings. The man, terrified at an
incident so totally unexpected, was unable to perform his
usual office, and gave the matter up, after several attempts.
The rioters, who seemed to have come prepared for every
emergency, called for torches, by the light of which they
nailed up the wicket with long nails, which, it seemed pro-
bable, they had provided on purpose.

While this was going on, Butler could not, even if he
had been willing, avoid making remarks on the individuals
who seemed to lead this singular mob. The torch-light,
while it fell on their forms and left him in the shade, gave
him an opportunity to do so without their observing him.
Several of those who seemed most active were dressed in
sailors' jackets, trousers, and sea-caps ; others in large loose-
bodied greatcoats, and slouched hats ; and there were several
who, judging from their dress, should have been called
women, whose rough, deep voices, uncommon size, and
masculine deportment and mode of walking, forbade them
being so interpreted. They moved as if by some well-
concerted plan of arrangement. They had signals by which
they knew and nicknames by which they distinguished each
other. Butler remarked that the name of Wildfire was used
among them, to which one stout Amazon seemed to reply.

The rioters left a small party to observe the West Port,

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 69

and directed the waiters, as they valued their lives, to
remain within their lodge, and make no attempt for that
night to repossess themselves of the gate. They then
moved with rapidity along the low street called the Cow-
gate, the mob of the city everywhere rising at the sound
of their drum, and joining them. When the multitude
arrived at the Cowgate Port, they secured it with as little
opposition as the former, made it fast, and left a small
party to observe it. It was afterwards remarked, as a
striking instance of prudence and precaution, singularly
combined with audacity, that the parties left to guard
those gates did not remain stationary on their posts, but
flitted to and fro, keeping so near the gates as to see that
no efforts were made to open them, yet not remaining so
long as to have their persons closely observed. The mob,
at first only about one hundred strong, now amounted
to thousands, and were increasing every moment. They
divided themselves so as to ascend with more speed the
various narrow lanes which lead up from the Cowgate to
the High Street ; and still beating to arms as they went,
and calling on all true Scotsmen to join them, they now
filled the principal street of the city.

The Netherbow Port might be called the Temple Bar of
Edinburgh, as, intersecting the High Street as its termina-
tion, it divided Edinburgh, properly so called, from the
suburb named the Canongate, as Temple Bar separates
London from Westminster. It was of the utmost import-
ance to the rioters to possess themselves of this pass, be-
cause there was quartered in the Canongate at that time
a regiment of infantry, commanded by Colonel Moyle,
which might have occupied the city by advancing through
this gate, and would possess the power of totally defeat-
ing their purpose. The leaders therefore hastened to the
Xetherbow Port, which they secured in the same manner,
and with as little trouble, as the other gates, leaving a
party to watch it, strong in proportion to the importance
of the post.

The next object of these hardy insurgents was at once
to disarm the City Guard, and to procure arms for them-
selves ; for scarce any weapons but staves and bludgeons
had been yet seen among them. The guard-house was
a long, low. ugly building (removed in 1787), which to a
fanciful imagination mi^ht have suggested the idea of a
long, black snail crawling up the middle of the High

70 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

Street, and deforming its beautiful esplanade. This for-
midable insurrection had been so unexpected, that there
were no more than the ordinary sergeant's guard of the
city corps upon duty ; even these were without any
supply of powder and ball ; and sensible enough what
had raised the storm, and which way it was rolling, could
hardly be supposed very desirous to expose themselves
by a valiant defence to the animosity of so numerous and
desperate a mob, to whom they were on the present
occasion much more than usually obnoxious.

There was a sentinel upon guard, who (that one town
guard soldier might do his duty on that eventful evening)
presented his piece, and desired the foremost of the
rioters to stand off. The young Amazon, whom Butler
had observed particularly active, sprung upon the soldier,
seized his musket, and after a struggle succeeded in
wrenching it from him, and throwing him down on the
causeway. One or two soldiers, who endeavoured to
turn out to the support of their sentinel, were in the
same manner seized and disarmed, and the mob without
difficulty possessed themselves of the guard-house, dis-
arming and turning out of doors the rest of the men on
duty. It was remarked that, notwithstanding the city
soldiers had been the instruments of the slaughter which
this riot was designed to revenge, no ill-usage or even
insult was offered to them. It seemed as if the vengeance
of the people disdained to stoop at any head meaner than
that which they considered as the source and origin of
their injuries.

On possessing themselves of the guard, the first act
of the multitude was to destroy the drums, by which they
supposed an alarm might be conveyed to the garrison in
the castle ; for the same reason they now silenced their
own, which was beaten by a young fellow, son to the
drummer of Portsburgh, whom they had forced upon that
service. Their next business was to distribute among the
boldest of the rioters the guns, bayonets, partisans,
halberts, and battle or Lochaber axes. Until this period
the principal rioters had preserved silence on the ultimate
object of their rising, as being that which all knew, but
none expressed. Now, however, having accomplished all
the preliminary parts of their design, they raised a
tremendous shout of " Porteous I Porteous ! To the
Tolbooth ! To the Tolbooth ! "

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 71

They proceeded with the same prudence when the
dbject seemed to be nearly in their grasp, as they had
done hitherto when success was more dubious. A strong
party of the rioters, drawn up in front of the Lucken-
booths, and facing down the street, prevented all access
from the eastward, and the west end of the defile formed
by the Luckenbooths was secured in the same manner ;
so that the Tolbooth was completely surrounded, and
those who undertook the task of breaking it open
effectually secured against the risk of interruption.

The magistrates, in ^he meanwhile, had taken the
alarm, and assembled in a tavern, with the purpose of
raising some strength to subdue the rioters. The
deacons, or presidents of the trades, were applied to,
but declared there was little chance of their authority
being respected by the craftsmen, where it was the object
to save a man so obnoxious. Mr. Lindsay, member of
Parliament for the city, volunteered the perilous task of
carrying a verbal message from the Lord Provost to
Colonel Moyle, the commander of the regiment lying in
the Canongate, requesting him to force the Netherbow
Port, and enter the city to put down the tumult. But
Mr. Lindsay declined to charge himself with any written
order, which, if found on his person by an enraged mob,
mi^ht have cost him his life ; and the issue of the appli-
cation was that Colonel Moyle having no written requi-
sition from the civil authorities, and having the fate of
Porteous oofore his eyes as an example of the severe
construction put by a jury on the proceedings of military'
men acting on iheir own responsibility, declined to
encounter the risR to which the Provost's verbal com-
munication invited him.

More than one messenger was despatched by different
ways to the castle, to require the commanding officer to
march down his troops, to fire a few cannon-shot, or
even to throw a shell among the mob for the purpose of
clearing the streets. But so strict and watchful were the
various patrols whom the rioters had established in different
parts of the streets, that none of the emissaries of the
magistrates could reach the gate of the castle. They
were, however, turned back without either injury or
insult, and with nothing more of menace than was
necessary to deter them from again attempting to accomplish
their errand.

72 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

Tlie same vigilance was used to prevent everybody of
the higher, and those which, in this case, might be deemed
the more suspicious orders of society, from appearing in
the street, and observing the movements, or distinguishing
the persons of the rioters. Every person in the garb of
a gentleman was stopped by small parties of two or three
of the mob, who partly exhorted, partly required of them,
that they should return to the place from whence they
came. Many a quadrille table was spoilt that memorable
evening ; for the sedan chairs of Iddies, even of the highest
rank, were interrupted in their passage from one point
to another, in spite of the laced footman and blazing
flambeaux. This was uniformly done with a deference
and attention to the feelings of the terrified females, which
could hardly have been expected from the videttes of a
mob so desperate. Those who stopped the chair usually
made the excuse, that there was much disturbance on the
streets, and that it was absolutely necessary for the lady's
safety that the chair should turn back. They offered
themselves to escort the vehicles which they had thus
interrupted in their progress, from the apprehension,
probably, that some of those who had casually united
themselves to the riot might disgrace their systematic
and determined plan of vengeance, by those acts of general
insult and license which are common on similar occasions.

Persons are yet living who remember to have heard
from the mouths of ladies thus interrupted on their
journey in the manner we have described, that they were
escorted to their lodgings by the young men who stopped
them, and even handed out of their chairs, with a polite
attention far beyond what was consistent with their dress,
which was apparently that of journeymen mechanics.*
It seemed as if the conspirators, like those who assas-
sinated Cardinal Beaton in former days, had entertained
the opinion that the work about which they went was a
judgment of Heaven, which, though unsanctioned by the
usual authorities, ought to be proceeded in with order and
gravity.

While their outposts continued thus vigilant, and suffered
themselves neither from fear nor curiosity to neglect that

• A near relation of the author's used to tell of having been stopped by the
rioters, and escorted home in the manner described. On reaching- her own home,
one of her attendants, in appearance a ba.vter, i.e., n baker's lad, handed her out
of her chair, and took leave with a bow, which, in the lady's opinion, argued
breeding that could hardly be learned beside the oven.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 73

part of the duty assigned to them, and while the main
guards to the east and west secured them against interrup-
tion, a select body of the rioters thundered at the door
of the jail, and demanded instant admission. No one
answered, for the outer keeper had prudently made his
escape with the keys at the commencement of the riot,
and was nowhere to be found. The door was instantly
assailed with sledge-hammers, iron-crows, and the coulters
of ploughs ready provided for the purpose, with which they
prized, heaved, and battered for some time with little effect ;
for the door, besides being of double oak planks, clenched,
both end-long and athwart, with broad-headed nails, was
so hung and secured as to yield to no means of forcing,
without the expenditure of much time. The rioters, how-
ever, appeared determined to gain admittance. Gang after
gang relieved each other at the exercise, for, of course,
onlv a few could work at once ; but gang after gang
retired, exhausted with their violent exertions, without
making much progress in forcing the prison door. Butler
had been led up near to this, the principal scene of action ;
so near, indeed, that he was almost deafened by the
unceasing clang of the hea\-y fore-hammers against the
iron-bound portal of the prison. He began to entertain
hopes, as the task seemed protracted, that the populace
might give it over in despair, or that some rescue might
arrive to disperse them. There was a moment at which
the latter seemed probable.

The magistrates, having assembled their officers and
some of the citizens who were willing to hazard them-
selves for the public tranquillity, now sallied forth from
the tavern where they held their sitting, and approached
the point of danger. Their officers went before them
with links and torches, with a herald to read the riot act,
if necessary. They easily drove before them the outposts
and videttes of the rioters ; but when they approached the
the line of guard which the mob, or rather, we should
say, the conspirators, had drawn across the street in the
front of the Luckenbooths, they were received with ao
unintermitted volley of stones, and, on their nearer approach,
the pikes, bayonets, and Lochaber axes, of which the
populace had possessed themselves, were presented against
them. One of their ordinary officers, a strong, resolute
fellow, went forward, seized a rioter, and took from him
a musket , but, being unsupported, ho was instantly

74 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

thrown on his back in the street, and disarmed in his
turn. The officer was too happy to be permitted to rise
and run away without receiving any further injury ; which
afforded another remarkable instance of the mode in which
these men had united a sort of moderation towards all
others, with the most inflexible inveteracy against the
object of their resentment. The magistrates, after vain
attempts to make themselves heard and obeyed, possessing
no means of enforcing their authority, were constrained
to abandon the field to the rioters, and retreat in all speed
from the showers of missiles that whistled around their ears.

The passive resistance of the Tolbooth gate promised
to do more to baffle the purpose of the mob tnan the active
interference of the magistrates. The heavy sledge-hammers
continued to din against it without intermission, and with
a noise which, echoed from the lofty buildings around the
spot, seemed enough to have alarmed the garrison in the
castle. It was circulated among the rioters that the
troops would march down to disperse them, unless they
could execute their purpose without loss of time ; or that,
even without quitting the fortress, the garrison might
obtain the same end by throwing a bomb or two upon
the street.

Urged by such motives for apprehension, they eagerly
relieved each other at the labour of assailing the Tolbootn
door : yet such was its strength, that it still defied their
efforts. At length, a voice was heard to pronounce the
words, "Try it with fire." The rioters, with a unanimous
shout, called for combustibles, and as all their wishes
seemed to be instantly supplied, they were soon in posses-
sion of two or three empty tar-barrels. A huge red, glaring
bonfire speedily arose close to the door of the prison,
sending up a tall column of smoke and flame against its
antique turrets and strongly-grated windows, and illuminat-
ing the ferocious and wild gestures of the rioters who
surrounded the place, as well as the pale and anxious
groups of those, who, from windows in the vicinage,
watched the progress of this alarming scene. The mob
fed the fire with whatever they could find fit for the purpose.
The flames roared and crackled among the heaps of
nourishment piled on the fire, and a terrible shout soon
announced that the door had kindled, and was in the
act of being destroyed. The fire was suffered to decay,
but, long ere it was quite extinguished, the most forward

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 73

of the rioters rushed, in their impatience, one after another,
over its yet smouldering remains. Thick showjrs of
sparkles rose high in the air, as man alter man bounded
over the glowing embers and disturbed them in their
passage. It was now obvious to Butler, and aU others
who were present, that the rioters would be instantly in
possession of their victim, and have it in their power to
work their pleasure upon him, whatever that might be.

CHAPTER VII.

The evil you teach us, we will execute ; and it shall go hard,
but we wiU better the instruction.

Merchant of Venice.

The unhappy object of this remarkable disturbance had
been that day delivered from the apprehension of a public
execution, and his joy was the greater as he had some
reason to question whether Government would have run
the risk of unpopularity by interfering in his favour, after
he had been legally convicted by a verdict of a jurj', of
a crime so ver^' obnoxious. Relieved from this doubtful
state of mind, his heart was merry within him. and he
thought, in the emphatic words of Scripture on a similar
occasion, that surely the bitterness of death was past.
Some of his friends, however, who had watched the manner
and behaviour of the crowd when they were made acquainted
with the reprieve, were of a different opinion. They augured
from the unusual sternness and silence with which they
bore their disappointment, that the populace nourished
some scheme of sudden and desperate vengeance ; and
they advised Porteous to lose no time in petitioning the
proper authorities that he might be conveyed to the castle
under a suflScient guard, to remain there in security until
Ixis ultimate fate should be determined. Habituated, how-
ever, by his office, to overawe the rabble of the city.
Porteous could not suspect them of an attempt so audacious
as to storm a strong and defensible prison ; and, despising
the advice by which he might have been saved, he spent
the afternoon of the eventful day in giving an entertain-
ment to some friends who \'isited him in jail, several of
whom, by the indulgence of the captain of the Tolbooth,

* 2tote 3. Tdbcoth of Edinburgh.

76 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

with whom he had an old intimacy, arising from their
official connection, were even permitted to remain to supper
with him, though contrary to the rules of the jail.

It was, therefore, in the hour of unalloyed mirth, when
this unfortunate wretch was "full of bread," hot with
wine, and high in mistimed and ill-grounded confidence,
and alas ! with all his sins full blown, when the first
distant shouts of the rioters mingled with the song of
merriment and intemperance. The hurried call of the
jailor to the guests, requiring them instantly to depart,
and his yet more hasty intimation that a dreadful and
determined mob had possessed themselves of the city
gates and guard-house, were the first explanation of
these fearful clamours.

Porteous might, however, have eluded the fury from
which the force of authority could not protect him, had
he thought of slipping on some disguise, and leaving the
prison along with his guests. It is probable that the
jailor might have connived at his escape, or even that in
the hurry of this alarming contingency, he might not
have observed it. But Porteous and his friends alike
wanted presence of mind to suggest or execute such a
plan of escape. The latter hastily fled from a place
where their own safety seemed compromised, and the
former, in a state reseinbling stupefaction, awaited in
his apartment the termination of the enterprise of the
rioters. The cessation of the clang of the instruments
with which they had at first attemped to force the door,
gave him momentary relief. The flattering hopes that
the military had marched into the city, either from the
castle or from the suburbs, and that the rioters were
intimidated and dispersing, were soon destroyed by the
broad and glaring light of the flames, which, illuminating
through the grated window every corner of his apart-
ment, plainly showed that the mob, determined on the
fatal purpose, had adopted a means of forcing entrance
equally desperate and certain.

The sudden glare of light suggested to the stupefied
and astonished object of popular hatred the possibility of
concealment or escape. To rush to the chimney, to
ascend it at the risk of suffocation, were the only means
which seemed to have occurred to him ; but his progress
was speedily stopped by one of those Iron gratmgs,
which are, for the sake of securitv, usually placed across

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 77

the vents of buildings designed for imprisonment. The
bars, however, which impeded his farther progress,
served to support him in the situation which he had
gained, and he seized them with the tenacious grasp of
one who esteemed himself clinging to his last hope of
existence. The lurid light which had filled the apart-
ment, lowered and died away ; the sound of shouts was
heard within the walls, and on the narrow and winding
stair, which, cased within one of the turrets, gave access
to the upper apartments of the prison. The huzza of
the rioters was answered by a shout wild and desperate
as their own, the cr}', namely, of the Imprisoned felons
who, expecting to be liberated in the general confusion,
welcomed the mob as their deliverers. By some of these
the apartment of Porteous was pointed out to his enemies.
The obstacle of the lock and bolts was soon overcome,
and from his hiding-place the unfortunate man heard his
enemies search every corner of the apartment, with oaths
and maledictions, which would but shock the reader if we
recorded them, but which served to prove, could it have
admitted of doubt, the settled purpose of soul with which
they sought his destruction.

A place of concealment so obvious to suspicion and
scrutiny as that which Porteous had chosen, could not
long screen him from detection. He was dragged from
his lurking-place, with a violence which seemed to argue
an intention to put him to death on the spot. More than
one weapon was directed towards him, when one of the
rioters, the same whose female disguise had been particu-
larly noticed by Butler, interfered in an authoritative tone.
"Are j^e mad?" he said, "or would ye execute an
act of justice as if it were a crime and a cruelty? This
sacrifice will lose half its savour if we do not offer it
at the very horns of the altar. We will have him die
where a murderer should die, on the common gibbet.
We will have him die where he spilled the blood of so
many innocents ! "

A loud shout of applause followed the proposal, and
the cry, "To the gallows with the murderer! — to the
Grassmarket with him ! " echoed on all hands.

"Let no man hurt him," continued the speaker; "lei
him make his peace with God, if he can ; we will not kill
both his soul and body."

" What time did he give better folk for preparing their

78 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

account ? " answered several voices. ' Let us mete to him
with the same measure he measured to them."

But the opinion of the spokesman better suited the
temper of those he addressed, a temper rather stubborn
than impetuous, sedate though ferocious, and desirous of
colouring their cruel and revengeful action with a show
of justice and moderation.

For an instant this man quitted the prisoner, whom he
consigned to a selected guard, with instructions to permit
him to give his money and property to whosoever he pleased.
A person confined in the jail for debt received this last de-
posit from the trembling hand of the victim, who was at the
same time permitted to make some other brief arrangements
to meet his approaching fate. The felons, and all others
who wished to leave the jail, were now at full liberty to do
so ; not that their liberation made any part of the settled
purpose of the rioters, but it followed as almost a necessary
consequence of forcing the jail doors. With wild cries of
jubilee they joined the mob, or disappeared among the
narrow lanes to seek out the hidden receptacles of vice and
infamy, where they were accustomed to lurk and conceal
themselves from justice.

Two persons, a man about fifty years old and a girl
about eighteen, were all who continued within the fatal
walls, excepting two or three debtors, who probably saw
no advantage in attempting their escape. The persons
we have mentioned remained in the strong-room of the
prison, now deserted by all others. One of their late com-
panions in misfortune called out to the man to make his
escape, in the tone of an acquaintance. " Rin for it, Rat-
cliffe — the road's clear."

" It may be sae, Willie," answered Ratcliffe composedly,
"but I have ta'en a fancy to leave afF trade, and set up for
an honest man."

"Stay there, and be hanged, then, for a donnard auld
deevil! " said the other, and ran down the prison stair.

The person in female attire whom we have distinguished
as one of the most active rioters, was about the same time
at the ear of the young woman. " Flee, Efliie, flee ! " was
all he had time to whisper. She turned towards him an
eye of mingled fear, affection, and upbraiding, all contending
with a sort of stupefied surprise. He again repeated, " Flee,
Effie, flee ! for the sake of all that's good and dear to you ! "
Again she gazed on him, but was unable to answer. A

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 79

loud noise was now heard, and the name of Madge Wild-
fire was repeatedly called from the bottom of the staircase.

"I am coming — 1 am coming," said the person who
answered to that appellative ; and then reiterating hastily,
"For God's sake — for your own sake — for my sake, flee,
or they'll take your life ! " he left the strong-room.

The girl gazed after him for a moment, and then, faintly
muttering, "Better tyne life, since tint is gude fame," she
sunk her head upon her hand, and remained, seemingly,
unconscious as a statue of the noise and tumult which
passed around her.

That tumult was now transferred from the inside to the
outside of the Tolbooth. The mob had brought cheir
destined victim forth, and were about to conduct him to
the common place of execution, which they had fixed as
the scene of his death. The leader, whom they distin-
guished by the name of Madge Wildfire, had been
summoned to assist at the procession by the impatient
shouts of his confederates.

" I will ensure you five hundred pounds," said the un-
happy man, grasping Wildfire's hand — "five hundred
pounds for to save my life."

The other answered in the same undertone, and returning
his grasp with one equally convulsive, "Five hundred-
weight of coined gold should not save you. — Remember
Wilson ! " ^

A deep pause of a minute ensued, when Wildfire added in
a more composed tone, " Make your peace with Heaven.
Where is the clergyman ? "

Butler, who, in great terror and anxiety, had been de-
tained within a few yards of the Tolbooth door, to wait
the event of the search after Porteous, was now brought
forward, and commanded to walk by the prisoner's side,
and to prepare him for immediate death. His answer
was a supplication that the rioters would consider what
they did. "You are neither judges nor jury," said he.
"You canno have, by the laws of God or man, power
to take away the life of a human creature, however de-
serving he may be of death. If it is murder even in a
lawful magistrate to execute an offender otherwise than
in the place, time, and manner which the judges' sentence
prescribes, what must it be to you, who have no warrant
for interference but your own wills ? In the name of Him
who is all mercy, show mercy to this unhappy man, and

8o THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

do not dip your hands in his blood, nor rush into the very
crime which you are desirous of avenging ! "

"Cut your sermon short — you are not in your pulpit,"
answered one of the rioters.

"If we hear more of your clavers," said another, '* we
are like to hang you up beside him."

"Peace — hush!" said Wildfire. "Do the good man no
harm — he discharges his conscience, and I like him the
better."

He then addressed Butler. " Now, sir, we have patiently
heard you, and we just wish you to understand, in the way
of answer, that you may as well argue to the ashlar-work
and iron stanchels of the Tolbooth as think to change our
purpose. Blood must have blood. We have sworn to each
other, by the deepest oaths ever were pledged, thatPorteous
shall die the death he deserves so richly ; therefore, speak
no more to us, but prepare him for death as well as the
briefness of his change will permit."

They had suffered the unfortunate Porteous to put on
his night-gown and slippers, as he had thrown off his
coat and shoes, in order to facilitate his attempted escape
up the chimney. In this garb he was now mounted on
the hands of two of the rioters, clasped together, so as to
form what is called in Scotland, "The King's Cushion."
Butler was placed close to his side, and repeatedly urged
to perform a duty always the most painful which can be
imposed on a clergyman deserving of the name, and now
rendered more so by the peculiar and horrid circumstances
of the criminal's case. Porteous at first uttered some
supplications for mercy, but when he found that there
was no chance that these would be attended to, his military
education, and the natural stubbornness of his disposition,
combined to support his spirits.

"Are you prepared for this dreadful end?" said Butler
in a faltering voice. " O turn to Him, in whose eyes time
and space have no existence, and to whom a few minutes
are as a lifetime, and a lifetime as a minute."

"I believe I know what you would say," answered
Porteous sullenly. " I was bred a soldier ; if they will
murder me without time, let my sins as well as my blood
lie at their door."

"Who was it," said the stern voice of Wildfire, "that
said to Wilson at this very spot, when he could not pray,
owing to the galling agony of his fetters, that his pains

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 8i

would soon be over ? I say to you to take your own tale
home ; and if you cannot profit by the good man's
lessons, blame not them that are still more merciful to
' you than you were to others."

The procession now moved forward with a slow and
determined pace. It was enlightened by many blazing
links and torches ; for the actors of this work were so far
from affecting any secrecy on the occasion, that they
seemed even to court observation. Their principal leaders
kept close to the person of the prisoner, whose pallid
yet stubborn features were seen distinctly by the torch-
light, as his person was raised considerably above the
concourse which thronged around him. Those who bore
swords, muskets, and battle-axes, marched on each side,
as if forming a regular guard to the procession. The
windows, as they went along, were filled with the in-
habitants, whose slumbers had been broken by this
unusual disturbance. Some of the spectators muttered
accents of encouragement ; but in general, they were so
much appalled by a sight so strange and audacious,
that they looked on with a sort of stupefied astonishment.
Ko one offered, by act or word, the slightest interruption.
; The rioters, on their part, continued to act with the
I »ame air of deliberate confidence and security which had
marked all their proceedings. When the object of their
resentment dropped one of his slippers, they stopped,
sought for it, and rephaced it upon his foot with great
deliberation.* As they descended the Bow towards the
fatal spot where tliey designed to complete their purpose,
it was suggested that there should be a rope kept in
readiness. For this purpose the booth of a man who
dealt in cordage was forced open, a coil of rope fit for
their purpose was selected to ser\'e as a halter, and the
dealer next morning found that a guinea had been left
on his counter in exchange ; so anxious were the perpetrators
of this daring action to show that they meditated not
[ the slightest wrong or infraction of law, excepting so

far as Porteous was himself concerned.
' Leading, or carrying along with them, in this determined
! and regular ynanner, the object of their vengeance, they

' 'This little incident, characteristic of the extreme composure of this extra-
ordinary mob, was witnessed by a lady, who, disturbed, Uke others, from her
' slumbers, had gone to the window. It was told to the author by the lady's
i daug^hter.

8i THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

at length reached the place of common execution, the
scene of his crime, and destined spot of his sufferings.
Several of the rioters (if they should not rather be described
as conspirators) endeavoured to remove the stone which
filled up the socket in which the end of the fatal tree was
sunk when it was erected for its fatal purpose ; others
sought for the means of constructing a temporary gibbet,
the place in which the gallows itself was deposited being
reported too secure to be forced, without much loss of
tiriie, Butler endeavoured to avail himself of the delay
afforded by these circumstances, to turn the people from
their desperate design. "For God's sake," he exclaimed,
"remember it is the image of your Creator which you
are about to deface in the person of this unfortunate man !
Wretched as he is, and wicked as he may be, he has a
share in every promise of Scripture, and you cannot destroy
him in impenitence without blotting his name from the
Book of Life. Do not destroy soul and body ; give time
for preparation."

"What time had they," returned a stern voice, "whom
he murdered on this very spot ? The laws both of God and
man call for his death."

"But what, my friends," insisted Butler, with a generous
disregard to his own safety — "what hath constituted you
his judges ? "

"We are not his judges," replied the same person; "he
has been already judged and condemned by lawful authority.
We are those wliom Heaven, and our righteous anger, have
stirred up to execute judgment, when a corrupt Government
would Iiave protected a murderer."

"I am none," said the unfortunate Porteous ; "that
which you charge upon me fell out in self-defence, in the
lawful exercise of my duty."

"Away with him — away with himl" was the general
cry. "Why do you trifle away time in making a gallows?
— that dyester's pole is good enough for the homicide."

The unhappy man was forced to his fate with remorseless
rapidity. Butler, separated from him by the press, escaped
the last horrors of his struggles. Unnoticed by those who
had hitherto detained him as a prisoner, he fled from the
fatal spot, without much caring in what direction his course
lay. A loud shout proclaimed the stern delight with which
the agents of this deed regarded its completion. Butler,
then, at the opening into the low street called the Cowgate,

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. By

cast back a terrified glance, and, by the red and dusky light
of the torches, he could discern a figure wavering and
struggling as it hung suspended above the heads of the
multitude, and could even observe men striking at it with
their Lochaber-axes and partisans. The sight was of a
nature to double his horror, and to add wings to his flight.

The street down which the fugitive ran opens to one of
the eastern ports or gates of the city. Butler did not stop
till he reached it, but found it still shut. He waited jiearly
an hour, walking up and down in inexpressible perturbation
of mind. At length he ventured to call out, and rouse the
attention of the terrified keepers of the gate, who now found
themselves at liberty to resume their office without inter-
ruption. Butler requested them to open the gate. They
hesitated. He told them his name and occupation.

" He is a preacher," said one ; " I have heard him preach
in Haddo's Hole."

"A fine preaching has he been at the night," said
another ; "but maybe least said is sunest mended."

Opening then the wicket of the main gate, the keepers
suffered Butler to depart, who hastened to carry his horror
and fear beyond the walls of Edinburgh. His first purpose
was instantly to take the road homeward ; but other fears
and cares, connected with the news he had learned in that
remarkable day, induced him to linger in the neighbourhood
of Edinburgh until daybreak. More than one group of
persons passed him as he was whiling away the hours of
darkness that yet remained, whom, from the stifled tones
of their discourse, the unwonted hour when they travelled,
and the hasty pace at which they walked, he conjectured to
have been engaged in the late fatal transaction.

Certain it was, that the sudden and total dispersion of the
rioters, when their vindictive purpose was accomplished,
seemed not the least remarkable feature of this singular
affair. In general, whatever may be the impelling motive
by which a mob is at first raised, the attainment of their
object has usually been only found to lead the way to further
excesses. But not so in the present case. They seemed
completely satiated with the vengeance they had prosecuted
with such staunch and sagacious activity. When they were
fully satisfied that life had abandoned their victim, they
dispersed in every direction, throwing down the weapons
which they had only assumed to enable them to carry through
their purpose. At daybreak there remained not tlae least

84 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

token of the events of the night, excepting the corpse of
Porteous, which still hung suspended in the place where he
had suffered, and the arms of various kinds which the
rioters had taken from the city guard-house, v/hich were
found scattered about the streets as they had thrown them
from their hands when the purpose for which they had
seized them was accomplished.

The ordinary magistrates of the city resumed their
power, not without trembling at the late experience of
the fragiUty of its tenure. To march troops into the
city, and commence a severe inquiry into the transactions
of the preceding night, were the first marks of returning
energy which they displayed. But these events had been
conducted on so secure and well -calculated a plan of
safety and secrecy, that there was little or nothing learned
to throw light upon the authors or principal actors in
a scheme so audacious. An express was despatched to
London with the tidings, where they excited great in-
dignation and surprise in the council of_ regency, and
particularly in the bosom of Queen Caroline, who con-
sidered her own authority as exposed to contempt by the
success of this singular conspiracy. Nothing was spoken
of for some time save the measure of vengeance which
should be taken, not only on the actors of this tragedy,
so soon as they should be discovered, but upon the
magistrates who had suffered it to take place, and upon
the city which had been the scene where it was exhibited.
On this occasion, it is still recorded in popular tradition
that her Majesty, in the height of her displeasure, told
the celebrated John, Duke of Argyle, that, sooner than
submit to such an insult, she would make Scotland a
hunting-field. "In that case, madam," answered that
high-spirited nobleman, with a profound bow, "I will
take leave of your Majesty, and go down to my own
country to get my hounds ready."

The import of the reply had more than met the ear;
and as most of the Scottish nobility and gentry seemed
actuated by the same national spirit, the royal displea-
sure was necessarily checked in mid-volley, and milder
courses were recommended and adopted, to some of which
we may hereafter have occasion to advert.*

* See Note 3. Memorial concerninf the murder of Captain Porteous.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 8s

CHAPTER VIII.

Arthur's Seat shall be my bed,
The sheets shall ne'er be press'd by me,

St. Anton's well shall be my drink,

Sin' my true love's forsaken me. — Old Song.

If I were to choose a spot from which the rising or
setting sun could be seen to the greatest possible advan-
tage, it would be that wild path winding around the foot
of the high belt of semicircular rocks, called Salisbury
Crags, and marking the verge of the steep descent which
slopes down into the glen on the south-eastern side of the

[ city of Edinburgh. The prospect, in its general outline,
commands a close-built, high-piled city, stretching itself
out beneath in a form, which, to a romantic imagination,
may be supposed to represent that of a dragon ; now, a
noble arm of the sea, with its rocks, isles, distant shores,
and boundary of mountains ; and now, a fair and fertile
champaign country, varied with hill, dale, and rock, and
skirted by the picturesque ridge of the Pentland moun-
tains. But as the path gently circles around the base of
the cliffs, the prospect, composed as it is of these en-
chanting and sublime objects, changes at every step, and

, presents them blended with, or divided from, each other,
in ever>' possible variety which can gratify the eye and
the imagination. When a piece of scener>' so beautiful,
yet so varied — so exciting by its intricacy, and yet so
sublime — is lighted up by the tints of morning or of
evening, and displays all that variety of shadowy depth,
exchanged with partial brilliancy, which gives character
even to the tamest of landscapes, the effect approaches
near to enchantment. This path used to be my favourite
evening and morning resort, when engaged with a
favourite author, or new subject of study. It is, I am
informed, now become totally impassable ; a circumstance

I which, if true, reflects little credit on the taste of the

i Good Town or its leaders.*

I It was from this fascinating path — the scene to me of

i so much delicious musing, when life was young and pro-
mised to be happy, that I have been unable to pass it

• A beautiful and solid pathway has, within a few years, been formed around
I these romantic rocks ; and the author has the pleasure to think that the passagre
in tha text gave rise to the uodertakingr-

86 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

over without an episodical description — it was, I say,
from this romantic path that Butler saw the morn-
ing arise the day after the murder of Porteous. It was
possible for him with ease to have found a much shorter
road to the house to which he was directing his course,
and, in fact, that which he chose was extremely cir-
cuitous. But to compose his own spirits, as well as to
while away the time, until a proper hour for visiting the
family without surprise or disturbance, he was induced
to extend his circuit by the foot of the rocks, and to linger
upon his way until the morning should be considerably
advanced. While, now standing with his arms across,
and waiting the slow progress of the sun above the
horizon, now sitting upon one of the numerous fragments
which storms had detached from the rocks above him, he
is meditating, alternately upon the horrible catastrophe
which he had witnessed, and upon the melancholy, and, to
him, most interesting, news which he had learned at
Saddletree's, we will give the reader to understand who
Butler was, and how his fate was connected with that of
Efhe Deans, the unfortunate handmaiden of the careful
Mrs. Saddletree.

Reuben Butler was of English extraction, though born
in Scotland. His grandfather was a trooper in Monk's
army, and one of the party of dismounted dragoons which
formed the forlorn hope at the storming of Dundee in 1651.
Stephen Butler (called from his talents in reading and ex-
pounding, Scripture Stephen, and Bible Butler) was a
staunch Independent, and received in its fullest compre-
hension the promise that the saints should inherit the earth.
As hard knocks were what had chiefly fallen to his share
hitherto in the division of this common property, he lost
not the opportunity which the storm and plunder of a
commercial place afforded him, to appropriate as large a
share of the better things of this world as he could possibly
compass. It would seem that he had succeeded indifferently
well, for his exterior circumstances appeared, in conse-
quence of this event, to have been much mended.

The troop to which he belonged was quartered at the
village of Dalkeith, as forming the body-guard of Monk,
who, in the capacity of general for the Commonwealth,
resided in the neighbouring castle. When, on the eve
of the Restoration, the general commenced his march
from Scotland, a measure pregnant with such impoitant

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 87,

consequences, he new-modelled his troops, and more especi-
ally those immediately about his person, in order that they
might consist entirely of individuals devoted to himself.
On this occasion Scripture Stephen was weighed in the
balance, and found wanting. It was supposed he felt no
call to any expedition which might endanger the reign of
the military sainthood, and that he did not consider himself
as free in conscience to join with any party which might be
likely ultimately to acknowledge the interest of Charles
Stuart, the son of "the last man," as Charles I. was
familiarly and irreverently termed by them in their common
discourse, as well as in their more elaborate predications and
harangues. As the time did not admit of cashiering such
dissidents, Stephen Butler was only advised in a friendly
way to give up his horse and accoutrements to one of
Middleton's old troopers, who possessed an accommodating
conscience of a military stamp, and which squared itself
chiefly upon those of the colonel and paymaster. As this
hint came recommended by a certain sum of arrears pre-
sently payable, Stephen had carnal wisdom enough to
embrace the proposal, and with great indifference saw his
old corps depart for Coldstream, on their route for the
south, to establish the tottering Government of England
on a new basis.

The Botie of the ex-trooper, to use Horace's phrase, was
weighty enough to purchase a cottage and two or three
fields (still known by the name of Beersheba), within about
a Scottish mile of Dalkeith ; and there did Stephen establish
himself with a youthful helpmate, chosen out of the said
village, whose disposition to a comfortable settlement on
this side of the grave reconciled her to the gruff manners,
serious temper, and weather-beaten features of the martial
enthusiast Stephen did not long survive the falling on
"evil days and evil tongues," of which Milton, in the same
predicament, so mournfully complains. At his death his
consort remained an early widow, with a male child of three
years old, which, in the sobriety wherewith it demeaned
itself, in the old-fashioned and even grim cast of its features,
and in its sententious mode of expressing itself, would
*! sufficiently have vindicated the honour of the widow of
i Beersheba, had any one thought proper to challenge the
i babe's descent from Bible Butler.

^ Butler's principles had not descended to his family, or
i extended tnemselves among his neighbours. The air of

88 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN

Scotland was alien to the growth of independency, how-
ever favourable to fanaticism under other colours. But,
nevertheless, they were not forgotten ; and a certain neigh-
bouring Laird, who piqued himself upon the loyalty of his
principles " in the worst of times " (though I never heard
they exposed him to more peril than that of a broken head,
or a night's lodging in the main guard, when wine and
cavalierism predominated in his upper storey), had found if
a convenient thing to rake up all matter of accusation
against the deceased Stephen. In this enumeration hi.«
religious principles made no small figure, as, indeed, they
must have seemed of the most exaggerated enormity to one
whose own were so small and so faintly traced, as to be
well-nigh imperceptible. In these circumstances, pooi
widow Butler was supplied with her full proportion of fines
for nonconformity, and all the other oppressions of the
time, until Beersheba was fairly wrenched out of her hands,
and isecame the property of the Laird who had so wantonly,
as it had hitherto appeared, persecuted this poor, forlorn
woman. When his purpose was fairly achieved, he showed
some remorse or moderation, or whatever the reader may
please to term it, in permitting her to occupy her husband's
cottage, and cultivate, on no very heavy terms, a croft oi
land adjacent. Her son, Benjamin, in the meanwhile,
grew up to man's estate, and, moved by that impulse which
makes men seek marriage, even when its end can only be the
perpetuation of misery, he wedded and brought a wife, and,
eventually, a son, Reuben, to share the poverty of Beersheba
The Laird of Dumbiedikes * had hitherto been moderate
in his exactions, perhaps because he was ashamed to tax
too highly the miserable means of support which remained
to the widow Butler. But when a stout, active, young fellov^
appeared as the labourer of the croft in question, Dumbie
dikes began to think so broad a pair of shoulders mighi
bear an additional burden. He regulated, indeed, his
management of his dependents (who, fortunately, were bu^
few in number) much upon the principle of the carters whonr
he observed loading their carts at a neighbouring coal-hill
and who never failed to clap an additional brace of hundred
weights on their burden, so soon as by any means they hac

♦Dumbiedikes, selected as descriptive of the taciturn character of thi
Imaginary owner, is really the name of a house bordeiing on the King';
Park, so called because the late Mr. Braidwood, an instructor of the deaf am
dumb, resided there with his pupils. The situation of the real house is differen'
from that assigned to the ideal mansion.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 89

compassed a new horse of somewhat superior strengtli to
that which had broken down the day before. However
reasonable this practice appeared to the Laird of Dumbie-
dikes, he ought to have observed that it may be overdone,
and that it infers, as a matter of course, the destruction and
loss of both horse, and cart, and loading. Even so it befell
when the additional "prestations" came to be demanded of
Benjamin Butler. A man of few words, and few ideas, but
attached to Beersheba with a feeling like that which a vege-
table entertains to the spot in which it chances to be planted,
he neither remonstrated with the Laird, nor endeavoured to
escape from him, but, toiling night and day to accomplish
the terms of his taskmaster, fell into a burning fever and
died. His wife did not long survive him : and, as if it had
been the fate of this family to be left orphans, our Reuben
Butler was, about the year 1704-5, left in the same circum-
stances in which his father had been placed, and under the
same guardianship, being that of his grandmother, the
widow of Monk's old trooper.

The same prospect of misery hung over the head of
another tenant of this hard-hearted lord of the soil. This
was a tough, true-blue Presbyterian, called Deans, who,
though most obnoxious to the Laird on account of principles
in church and state, contrived to maintain his ground upon
the estate by regular payment of mail-duties, kain, arriage,
carriage, dry multure, lock, gowpen, and knaveship, and
all the various exactions now commuted for money, and
summed up in the emphatic word rent. But the years
1700 and 1 701, long remembered in Scotland for dearth and
g^eneral distress, subdued the stout heart of the agricultural
;g. Citations by the ground-officer, decreets of the
: on Court, sequestrations, poindings of outside and in-
side plenishing, flew about his ears as fast as ever the Tory
bullets whistled around those of the Covenanters at Pent-
land, Bothwell Brigg, or Airsmoss. Struggle as he might,
j] and he struggled gallantly, "Douce Davie Deans" was
;ed horse and foot, and lay at the mercy of his grasping
"ord just at the time that Benjamin Butler died. The
of each family was anticipated ; but they who prophesied
their expulsion to beggary and ruin were disappointed by an
accidental circumstance.

On the very term-day when their ejection should have
taken place, when all their neighbours were prepared to
'pity, and not one to assist them, the minister of the parish,

90 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

as well as a doctor from Edinburgh, received a hasty
summons to attend the Laird of Dumbiedikes. Both were
SJrprised, for his contempt for both faculties had been
pretty commonly his theme over an extra bottle, that is
to say, at least once every day. The leech for the soul
and he for the body, alighted in the court of the little, old
manor-house at almost the same time ; and when they had
gazed a moment at each other with some surprise, they,
in the same breath, expressed their conviction that Dumbie-
dikes must needs be very ill indeed, since he summoned
them both to his presence at once. Ere the servant could
Usher them to his apartment, the party was augmented by
a man of law, Nichil Novit, writing himself procurator
before the sheriff-court, for in those days there were no
solicitors. This latter personage was first summoned to
the apartment of the Laird, where, after some short space,
the soul-curer and the body-curer were invited to join him.

Dumbiedikes had been by this time transported into the
best bedroom, used only upon occasions of death and
marriage, and called, from the former of these occupa-
tions, the Dead-Room. There were in this apartment,
besides the sick person himself and Mr. Novit, the son
and heir of the patient, a tall, gawky, silly-looking boy
of fourteen or fifteen, and a housekeeper, a good, buxom
figure of a woman, betwixt forty and fifty, wlio had kept
the keys and managed matters at Dumbiedikes since the
lady's death. It was to these attendants that Dumbiedikes
addressed himself pretty nearly in the following words ;
temporal and spiritual matters, the care of his health and
his affairs, being strangely jumbled in a head which was
never one of the clearest.

" These are sair times wi' me, gentlemen and neighbours I
amaist as ill as at the aughty-nine, when I was rabbled
by the collegeaners.* They mistook me muckle — they ca'd
me a papist, but there was never a papist bit about me,
minister, — Jock, ye'll take warning — it's a debt we maun
a' pay, and there stands Nichil Novit that will tell ye I
was never gude at paying debts in my life. — Mr. Novit,
ye'll no forget to draw the annual rent that's due on the
yerl's band — if I pay debt to other folk, I think they suld

• Immediately previous to the Revolution, the students at the Edinburgh
Collejfe were violent anti-Catholics. They were strongly suspected of burning
the house of Priestfield, belonf^ing to the Lord Provost; and certainly were
Kuilt)' of creating' considerable not* in 16S8-9.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 9:

pay it to me — that equals aquals. — ^Jcck, when ye hae
naething else to do, ye may be aye sticking in a tree ; it
will be growing, Jock, when ye're sleeping.* My father
tauld me sae forty years sin', but I ne'er fand time to
mind him. — ^Jock, ne'er drink brandy in the morning, it
files the stamach sair ; gin ye take a morning's draught,
let it be aqua niirabilis ; Jenny there maks it weel. — Doctor,
my breath is growing as scant as a broken-winded piper's,
when he has played for four-and-twent\' hours at a penny
wedding. — Jenny, pit the cod aneath my head — but it's a'
needless ! — Mass John, could ye think o' rattling ower some
bit short prayer, it wad do me gfude maybe, and keep somie
queer thoughts out o* my head. Say something, man."

"I cannot use a prayer like a rat-rhyme," answered the
honest clergyman; "and if you would have your soul
redeemed like a prey from the fowler, Laird, you must
needs show me your state of mind."

".'Vnd shouldna ye ken that without my telling you?
answered the patient "What have I been paying stipend
and teind, parsonage and vicarage, for, ever sin' the
aught\--nine, an I canna get a spell of a prayer for't, the
only time I ever asked for ane in my life ? Gang awa wi' your
whigger\', if that's a' ye can do ; auld Curate Kilstoup wad
hae read half the prayer-book to me by this time. — Awa wi'
ye ! — Doctor, let's see if ye can do onything better for me."

The doctor, who had obtained some information in the
meanwhile from the housekeeper on the state of his
complaints, assured him the medical art could not prolong
his life many hours,

"Then damn Mass John and you baith ! " cried the
furious and intractable patient " Did ye come here for
naething but to tell me that ye canna help me at the
pinch ? Out wi' them, Jenny — out o' the house I and,
Jock, my curse, and the curse of Cromwell go wi* ye if
ye gie them either fee or bountith, or sae muckle as a
black pair o' cheverons ! " t

The clergyman and doctor made a speedy retreat out
of the apartment, while Dumbiedikes fell into one of
those transports of violent and profane language, which
had procured him the surname of Damn-me-dikes. " Bring

• The author has been flattered by the assurance that this naiv* mode of
recommending arboriculture (which was actually delivered in these very words
by a Highland laird, while on his deathbed, to his son) had so much wdfibl
with a Scottish carl, as to lead to his planting a large tract of country.

♦ CAnwroMLf — gloves.

93 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

me the brandy bottle, Jenny, ye b— — ," he cried, with a
voice in which passion contended with pain. " I can die
as I have lived, without fashing ony o' them. But there's
ae thing," he said, sinldng his voice, "there's ae fearful
thing hings about my heart, and an anker of brandy winna
wash it away. — The Deanses at Woodend ! — I sequestrated
them in the dear years, and now they are to flit, they'll
starve — and that Beersheba, and that auld trooper's wife
and her oe, they'll starve — they'll starve J Look out, Jock ;
what kind o' nicht is't ? " ' ■

" On-ding o' snaw, father," answered Jock, after having
opened the window, and looked out with great composure.

"They'll perish in the drifts!" said the expiring sinner;
"they'll perish wi' caul d I — but I'll be het enough, gin a'
tales be true."

This last observation was made under breath, and in a
tone which made the very attorney shudder. He tried
his hand at ghostly advice, probably for the first time in
his life, and recommended, as an opiate for the agonised
conscience of the Laird, reparation of the injuries he had done
to these distressed families, which, he observed by the way,
the civil law called restitutio in integrum. But Mammon
was struggling with Remorse for retaining his place in a
bosom he had so long possessed ; and he partly succeeded as
an old tyrant proves often too strong for his insurgent rebels.

"I canna do't," he answered with a voice of despair.
"It would kill me to do't — how can ye bid me pay Ijack
siller, when ye ken how I want it ? " or dispone Beersheba,
when it lies sae weel into my ain plaid-nuik? Nature made
Dumbiedikes and Beersheba to be ae man's land — she did,
by . Nichil, it wad kill me to part them."

"But you maun die whether or no. Laird," said Mr.
Novit ; "and maybe ye wad die easier — it's but trying.
I'll scroll the disposition in nae time."

" Dinna speak o't, sir," replied Dumbiedikes, "or I'll
fling the stoup at your head. But, Jock, lad, ye see how
the warld wrastles wi' me on my death-bed — be kind to
the puir creatures, the Deanses and the Butlers — be kind
to them, Jock. Dinna let the warld get a grip o* ye,
Jock ; but keep the gear thegither ! and whate'er ye do,
dispone Beersheba at no rate. Let the creatures stay at
a moderate mailing, and hae bite and soup; it will maybe i
be the better wi' your father whare he's gaun, lad."

After these contradictory instructions, the Laird felt

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 93

his mind so much at ease, that he drank three bumpers of
brandy continuously, and " soughed awa," as Jenny expressed
it, in an attempt to sing " Deil stick the Minister."

His death made a revolution in favour of the distressed
families. John Dumbie, now of Dumbiedikes in his own
right, seemed to be close and selfish enough, but wanted
the grasping spirit and active mind of his father ; and
his guardian happened to agree with him in opinion that
his father's dying recommendation should be attended
to. The tenants, therefore, were not actually turned
out of doors among the snow-wreaths, and were allowed
wherewith to procure butter- milk and pease -bannocks,
which they ate under the full force of the original male-
diction. The cottage of Deans, called Woodend, was
not very distant from that at Beersheba. Formerly there
had been little intercourse between the families. Deans
was a sturdy Scotsman, with all sorts of prejudices against
the southern, and the spawn of the southern. Moreover,
Deans was, as we have said, a staunch Presbyterian, of
the most rigid and unbending adherence to what he con-
ceived to be the only possible straight line, as he was
wont to express himself, between right-hand heats and
extremes and left-hand defections ; and, therefore, he held
in high dread and horror all Independents, and whomsoever
he supposed allied to them.

But, notwithstanding these national prejudices and
religious professions. Deans and the widow Butler were
placed in such a situation, as naturally and at length
created some intimacy between the families. They had
shared a common danger and a mutual deliverance. They
needed each other's assistance, like a company, who,
:;rossing a mountain stream, are compelled to cling close
together, lest the current should be too powerful for any
who are not thus supported.

On nearer acquaintance, too. Deans abated some of his
Drejudices. He found old Mrs. Butler, though not
:horoughly grounded in the extent and bearing of the
eal testimony against the defections of the times, had
10 opinions in favour of the Independent party ; neither
was she an Englishwoman. Therefore, it was to be
loped that, though she was the widow of an enthusiastic
;orporal of Cromwell's dragoons, her grandson might be
neither schismatic nor anti-national, two qualities concern-
* ng which Goodman Deans had as wholesome a terror as

^4 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

against papists and mallgnants. Above all (for Douce
Davie Deans had his weak side), he perceived that widow
Butler looked up to him with reverence, listened to his
stdvice, and compounded for an occasional fling at the
doctrines of her deceased husband, to which, as we have
seen, she was by no means warmly attached, in considera-
tion of the valuable counsels which the Presbyterian afforded
her for the management of her little farm. These usually
concluded with "They may do otherwise in England,
rieighbour Butler, for aught I ken ; " or, " it may be
different in foreign parts ; " or, "they wha think differently
on the great foundation of our covenanted reformation,
overturning and mishguggling the government and
discipline of the kirk, and breaking down the carved
work of our Zion, might be for sawing the craft wi' aits,
but I say pease, pease." And as his advice was shrewd
and sensible, though conceitedly given, it was received
with gratitude, and followed with respect.

The intercourse which took place betwixt the families
at Beersheba and Woodend became strict and intimate,
at a very early period, betwixt Reuben Butler, with whom
the reader is in some degree acquainted, and Jeanie Deans,
the only child of Douce Davie Deans by his first wife,
"that singular Christian woman," as he was wont to
express himself, "whose name was savoury to all that
knew her for a desirable professor. Christian Menzies in
Hochmagirdle." The manner of which intimacy, and the
consequences thereof, we now proceed to relate.

CHAPTER IX.

Reuben and Rachel, though as fond as doves,
Were yet discreet and cautious in their loves,
Nor would attend to Cupid's wild commands,
Till cool reflection bade them join their hands ;
When both were poor, they thought it argued ill
Of hasty love to make them poorer still.

Crabbe's Parish Register.

While widow Butler and widower Deans struggled with
poverty, and the hard and sterile soil of "those parts and
portions " of the land of Dumbiedikes which it was their
lot to occupy, it became gradually apparent that Deans was

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 95

to gain the strife, and his ally in the conflict was to lose it.
The former was a man, and not much past the prime of
life ; Mrs. Butler, a woman, and declined into the vale of
years. This, indeed, ought, in time, to ha%-e been balanced
by the circumstance that Reuben was growing up to assist
his grandmother's labours, and that Jeanie Deans, as a
girl, could be only supposed to add to her father's burdens.
But Douce Davie Deans knew better things, and so schooled
and trained the young minion, as he called her, that from
the time she could walk, upwards, she was daily employed
in some task or other, suitable to her age and capacity ;
a circumstance which, added to her father's daily
instructions and lectures, tended to give her mind, even
when a child, a grave, serious, firm, and reflecting cast.
An uncommonly strong and healthy temperament, free
from all nervous affection and every other irregularity
which, attacking the body in its more noble functions, so
often influences the mind, tended greatly to establish this
fortitude, simplicity, and decision of character.

On the other hand, Reuben was weak in constitution,
and, though not timid in temper might be safely pronounced
anxious, doubtful, and apprehensive. He partook of the
temperament of his mother, who had died of a consumption
in early age. He was a pale, thin, feeble, sickly boy, and
somewhat lame, from an accident in early youth. He was,
besides, the child of a doting grandmother, whose tcxj
solicitous attention to him soon taught him a sort of
diffidence in himself, with a disposition to overrate his
own importance, which is one of the very worst conr
sequences that children deduce from over-indulgence.

Still, however, the two children clung to each other's
society, not more from habit than from taste. They herded
together the handful of sheep, with the two or three cow?
which their parents turned out rather to seek food that)
actually to feed upon the uninclosed common of Dumbiedikes.
It was there that the two urchins might be seen seated
beneath a blooming bush of whin, their little faces laid
close together under the shadow of the same plaid drawn
over both their heads, while the landscape around wa?
embrowned by an overshadowing cloud, big with the shower
which had driven the children to shelter. On other
occasions they went together to school, the boy receiving
that encouragement and example from his companion, ip
crossing the little brooks which intersected their path,

uv THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

and encountering cattle, dogs, and other perijs, upon their
journey, which the male sex in such cases usnally consider
it as their prerogative to extend to the weaker. But when,
seated on the benches of the school-house, they began to
con their lessons together, Reuben, who was as much
superior to Jeanie Deans in acuteness of intellect, as inferior
to her in firmness of constitution, and in that insensibility to
fatigue and danger which depends on the conformation of
the nerves, was able fully to requit the kindness and
countenance with which, in other circumstances, she used
to regard him. He was decidedly the best scholar at the
little parish school ; and so gentle was his teiiiper and
disposition, that he was rather admired than envied by the
little mob who occupied the noisy mansion, although he
was the declared favourite of the master. Several girls,
in particular (for in Scotland they are taught with the boys),
longed to be kind to and comfort the sickly lad, who was
so much cleverer than his companions. The character of
Reuben Butler was so calculated as to offer scope both for
their sympathy and their admiration, the feelings, perhaps,
through which the female sex (the more deserving part of
them at least) is more easily attached.

But Reuben, naturally reserved and distant, improved
none of these advantages ; and only became more attached
to Jeanie Deans, as the enthusiastic approbation of his
master assured him of fair prospects in future life, and
awakened his ambition. I n the meantime, every advance that
Reuben made in learning (and, considering his opportunities,
they were uncommonly great), rendered him less capable of
attending to the domestic duties of his grandmother's farm.
While studying the pons assinonim in Euclid, he suffered
every cuddle upon the common to trespass upon a large
held of peas belonging to the Laird, and nothing but the
active exertions of Jeanie Deans, with her little dog Dustie-
foot, could have saved great loss and consequent punish-
ment. Similar miscarriages marked his progress in his
classical studies. He read Virgil's " Georgics " till he did not
know here from barley ; and had nearly destroyed the crofts
of Beersheba while attempting to cultivate them according
to the practice of Columella and Cato the Censor.

These blunders occasioned grief to his grand-dame, and
disconcerted the good opinion which her neighbour, Davie
Deans, had for some time entertained of Reuben.

*' I can see naething ye can mak of that silly callant,

H.M. Fa^e 120

The old man was seated by the fire.

D

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 97

neighbour Butler," said he to the old lady, " unless ye train
him to the wark o' the ministry. And ne'er was there mair
need of poorf u' preachers than e'en now in these cauld Gallio
days, when men's hearts are hardened Uke the nether mill-
stone, till they come to regard none of these things. It's
evident this puir callant of yours will never be able to do a
usefu' day's wark, unless it be as an ambassador from our
Master ; and I will make it my business to procure a licence
when he is fit for the same, trusting he will be a shaft
cleanly polished, and meet to be used in the body of the
Idrk ; and that he shall not turn again, like the sow, to
wallow in the mire of heretical extremes and defections,
but shall have the wings of a dove, though he hath lain
among the pots."

The poor widow gulped down the affront to her husband's
principles, implied in this caution, and hastened to take
Butler from the High School, and encourage him in the
pursuit of mathematics and divinity, the only physics and
ethics that chanced to be in fashion at the time.

Jeanie Deans was now compelled to part from the
companion of her labour, her study, and her pastime, and
it was with more than childish feeling that both children
regarded the separation. But they were young, and hope
was high, and they separated like those who hope to meet
again at a more auspicious hour.

While Reuben Butler was acquiring at the University of
St. Andrews the knowledge necessary for a clerg\'man, and
macerating his body with the pri\ations which were
necessary in seeking food for his mind, his grand-dame
became daUy less able to struggle with her little farm, and
was at length obliged to throw it up to the new Laird of
Dumbiedikes. That great personage was no absolute Jew,
and did not cheat her in making the bargain more than was
tolerable. He even gave her permission to tenant the house
in which she had lived with her husband, as long as
it should be "tenantable" ; only he protested against pay-
ing for a farthing of repairs, any benevolence which he
possessed being of the passive, but by no means of the
active mood.

In the meanwhile, from superior shrewdness, skill, and

other circumstances, some of them purely accidental, Davie

Deans gained a footing in the world, the possession of some

. wealth, the reputation of more, and a growing disposition

I to preserve and increase his store ; for which, when he

D

gft THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

thought upon it seriously, he was inclined to blame himself.
From his knowledge in agriculture, as it was then practised,
he became a sort of favourite with the Laird, who had no
great pleasure either in active sports or in society, and was
wont to end his daily saunter by calling at the cottage ol
Woodend.

Being himself a man of slow ideas and confused utterance,
Dumbiedikes used to sit or stand for half an hour with an
old laced hat of his father's upon his head, and an empty
tobacco-pipe in his mouth, with liis eyes following Jeanie
Deans, or "the lassie," as he called her, through the course
of her daily domestic labour ; while her father, after
exhausting the subject of bestial, of ploughs, and of harrows,
often took an opportunity of going full-sail into controversial
subjects, to which discussions the dignitary listened with
much seeming patience, but without making any reply, or,
indeed, as most people thought, without understanding a
single word of what the orator was saying. Deans, indeed,
denied this stoutly, as an insult at once to his own talents
for expounding hidden truths, of which he was a little vain,
and to the Laird's capacity of understanding them. He
said, "Dumbiedikes was nane of these flashy gentles, \vi'
lace on their skirts and swords at tlieir tails, that were
rather for riding on horseback to hell than ganging bare-
footed to heaven. He wasna like his father — nae profane
company-keeper — nae swearer — nae drinker — nae frequenter
of play-house, or music-house, or dancing-house — nae
Sabbath-breaker — nae imposer of aiths, or bonds, or denier
of liberty to the flock. He clave to the warld, and the
warld's gear, a wee ower muckle, but then there was some
breathing of a gale upon his spirit," etc. etc. All this
honest Davie said and believed.

It is not to be supposed that, by a father and a man of
sense and observation, the constant direction of the Laird's
eyes towards Jeanie was altogether unnoticed. This
circumstance, however, made a much greater impression
upon another member of his family, a second helpmate, to
wit, whom he had chosen to take to his bosom ten years
after the death of his first. Some people were of opinion,
that Douce Davie had been rather surprised into this step,
for, in general, he was no friend to marriages or giving in
marriage, and seemed rather to regard that state of society
as a necessary evil — a thing lawful, and to be tolerated in
the imperfect state of our nature, but wl«ch clipped the

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 99

wings with which we ought to soar upwards, and tethered
the soul to its mansion of clay, and the creature-comforts of
wife and bairns. His own practice, however, had in this
material point varied from his principles, since, as we have
seen, he twice knitted for himself this dangerous and
ensnaring entanglement.

Rebecca, his spouse, had by no means the same horror of
matrimony, and as she made marriages in imagination for
every neighbour round, she failed not to indicate a match
betwixt Dumbiedikes and her step-daughter Jeanie. The
goodman used regularly to frown and pshaw whenever this
topic was touched upon, but usually ended by taking his
bonnet and walldng out of the house, to conceal a certain
gleam of satisfaction, which, at such a suggestion,
involuntarily diffused itself over his austere features.

The more youthful part of my readers may naturally ask
whether Jeanie Deans was deser\'ing of this mute attention
of the Laird of Dumbiedikes ; and the historian, with due
regard to veracity, is compelled to answer, that her personal
attractions were of no uncommon description. She was
short, and rather too stoutly made for her size, had gray
eyes, light-coloured hair, a round, good-humoured face,
much tanned with the sun, and her only peculiar charm was
an air of inexpressible serenity, which a good conscience,
kind feelings, contented temper, and the regular discharge
of aU her duties, spread over her featiures. There was
nothing, it may be supposed, very appalling in the form or
manners of this rustic heroine ; yet, whether from sheepish
bashfulness, or from want of decision and imperfect know-
ledge of his own mind on the subject, the Laird of Dumbie-
dikes, with his old laced hat and empty tobacco-pipe, came
and enjoyed the beatific vision of Jeanie Deans day after
day, week after week, year after year, without proposing
to accomplish any of the prophecies of the step-mother.

This good lady began to grow doubly impatient on the
subject, when, after having been some years married, she
herself presented Douce Davie with another daughter, who
was named Euphemia, by corruption Efl5e. It was then
that Rebecca began to turn impatient with the slow pace at
which the Laird's wooing proceeded, judiciously arguing,
that as Lady Dumbiedikes would have but little occasion
for tocher, the principal part of her gudeman's substance
would naturally descend to the child by the second marriage.
Other step-dames have tried less laudable means for clearing

loo THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

the way to the succession of their own children ; but
Rebecca, to do her justice, only sought little Effie's advantage
through the promotion, or which must have generally been
accounted such, of her elder sister. She therefore tried
every female art vi^ithin the compass of her simple skill, to
bring the Laird to a point ; but had the mortification to
perceive that her efforts, like those of an unskilful angler,
only scared the trout she meant to catch. Upon one
occasion, in particular, when she joked with the Laird on
the propriety of giving a mistress to the house of Dumbie-
dikes, he was so effectually startled that neither laced hat,
tobacco-pipe, nor the intelligent proprietor of these move-
ables, visited Woodend for a fortnight. Rebecca was
therefore compelled to leave the Laird to proceed at his
own snail's pace, convinced, by experience, of the grave-
digger's aphorism, that your dull ass will not mend his
pace for beating.

Reuben, in the meantime, pursued his studies at the
university, supplying his wants by teaching the younger
lads the knowledge he himself acquired, and thus at once
gaining the means of maintaining himself at the seat of
learning, and fixing in his mind the elements of what
he had already obtained. In this manner, as is usual
among the poorer students of divinity at Scottish univer-
sities, he contrived not only to maintain hirnself according
to his simple wants, but even to send considerable assist-
ance to his sole remaining parent, a sacred duty, ot which
the Scotch are seldom negligent. His progress in
knowledge of a general kind, as well as in the studies
proper to his profession, was very considerable, but was
little remarked, owing to the retired modesty of his dis-
position, which in no respect qualified him to set off his
learning to the best advantage. And thus, had Butler
been a man given to make complaints, he had his tales to
tell, like others, of unjust preferences, bad luck, and hard
usage. On these subjects, however, he was habitually
silent, perhaps from modesty, perhaps from a touch of
oride, or perhaps from a conjunction of both.

He obtainied his license as a preacher of the gospel,
with some compliments from the Presbytery by whom it
was bestowed ; but this did not lead to any preferment,
and he found it necessary to make the cottage of Beer-
sheba his residence for some months, with no other in-
come than was afforded by the precarious occupation of

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. loi

teaching in one or other of the neighbouring families.
After having greeted his aged grandmother, his first visit
was to VVoodend, where he was received by Jeanie with
warm cordiality, arising from recollections which had
never been dismissed from her mind, by Rebecca with
good-humoured hospitality, and by old Deans in a mode
peculiar to himself.

Highly as Douce Davie honoured the clergy, it was
not upon each individual of the cloth that he bestowed
his approbation ; and, a little jealous, perhaps, at seeing
his youthful acquaintance erected into the dignity of a
teacher and preacher, he instantly attacked him upon
various points of controversy, in order to discover
whether he might not have fallen into some of the
snares, defections, and desertions of the time. Butler
was not only a man of staunch Presbyterian principles,
but was also willing to avoid giving pain to his old
friend by disputing upon points of little importance ;
and therefore he might have hoped to have come like
fine gold out of the furnace of Davie's interrogatories.
Bui the result on the mind of that strict investigator
was not altogether so favourable as might have been
hoped and anticipated. Old Judit'i Butler, who had
hobbled that evening as far as Woodend, in order to
enjoy the congratulations of her neighbours upon
Reuben's return, and upon his high attainments, of
which she was herself not a little proud, was some-
what mortified to find that her old friend Deans did
not enter into the subject with the warmth she ex-
pected. At first, indeed, he seemed rather silent than
dissatisfied ; and it was not till Judith had essayed the
subject more than once that it led to the following dialogue.

" Aweel, neibor Deans, I thought ye wad hae been glad
to see Reuben amang us again, puir fellow."

" I am glad, Mrs. Butler," was the neighbour's concise
answer.

" Since he has lost his grandfather and his father
(praised be Him that giveth and taketh ! ) I ken nae
friend he has in the world that's been sae like a father to
him, as the sell o' ye, neibor Deans."

" God is the only father of the fatherless," said Deans,
touching his bonnet and looking upwards. " Give honour
where it is due, gudewife, and not to an unworthy
instrument"

I02 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

" Aweel, that's your way o' turning it, and nae doubt
ye ken best ; but I hae kenn'd ye, Davie, send a forpit o'
meal to Beersheba when there wasna a bow left in the
meal-ark at Woodend ; ay, and I hae kenn'd ye "

'• Gudewife," said Davie, interrupting her, '" these are
but idle tales to tell me ; fit for naething but to puff up
our inward man wi* our ain vain acts. I stude beside
blessed Alexander Peden, when I heard him call the death
and testimony of our happy martyrs but draps of blude and
scarts of ink in respect of fitting discharge of our duty ; and
what suld I think of onything the like of me can do ? "

"Weel, neibor Deans, ye ken best; but I maun say
that, I am sure you are glad to see my bairn again — the
halt's gane now, unless he has to walk ower mony miles
at a stretch ; and he has a wee bit colour in his cheek,
that glads my auld een to see it ; and he has as decent
a black coat as the minister ; and "

"I am very heartily glad he is weel and thriving," said
Mr. Deans, with a gravity that seemed intended to cut
short the subject ; but a woman who is bent upon a point
is not easily pushed aside from it.

"And," continued Mrs. Butler, "he can wag his head
in a pulpit now, neibor Deans, think but o' that — my ain
oe — and a'body maun sit still and listen to him, as if he
were the Paip of Rome."

"The what? — the who? — woman!" said Deans, with
I sternness far beyond his usual gravity, as soon as these
offensive words had struck upon the tympanum of his ear.

" Eh, guide us ! " said the poor woman ; " I had forgot
what an ill will ye had aye at the Paip, and sae had my
puir gudeman, Stephen Butler. Mony an afternoon he
wad sit, and take up his testimony again the Paip, and
again baptising of bairns, and the like."

"Woman!" reiterated Deans, "either speak about
what ye ken something o', or be silent ; ^ I say that inde-
pendency is a foul heresy, and anabaptism a damnable
and deceiving error, whilk suld be rooted out of the land
wi* the fire o' the spiritual, and the sword o' the civil
magistrate."

"Weel, weel, neibor, I'll no say that ye mayna be
richt," answered the submissive Judith. " I am sure ye are
richt about the sawing and the mawing, the shearing and
the leading, and what for suld ye no be richt about kirk-
wark, too? — But concerning my oe, Reuben Butler "

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 103

" Reuben Butler, gudewife," said David with solemnity.
" is a lad 1 wish heartily weel to, even as if he were my
ain son — but I doubt there will be outs and ins in the
track of his walk. I muckle fear his gifts will get the
heels of his grace. He has ower muckle human wit and
learning, and thinks as muckle about the form of the
bicker as he does about the healsomeness of the food — he
maun broider the marriage-garment with lace and pass-
ments, or it's no gude eneugh for him. And it's like he's
something proud o' his human gifts and learning, whilk
enables him to dress up his doctrine in that fine airy
dress. But," added he, at seeing the old woman's uneasi-
ness at his discourse, " affliction may gie him a jagg, and
let the wind out o' him, as out o' a cow that's eaten wet
clover, and the lad may do weel, and be a burning and a
shining light ; and I trust it will be yours to see. and his
to feel it, and that soon."

Widow Butler was oblifjed to retire, unable to make
anything more of her neighbour, whose discourse, though
she did not comprehend it, filled her with undefined
apprehensions on her grandson's account, and greatly
depressed the joy with which she had welcomed him on
his return. And it must not be concealed, in justice to
Mr. Deans's discernment, that Butler, in their conference,
had made a greater display of his learning than the
occasion called for, or than was likely to be acceptable to
the old man, who, accustomed to consider himself as a
person pre-eminently entitled to dictate upon theologi-
cal subjects of controversy, felt rather humbled and
mortified when learned authorities were placed in array
against him. In fact, Butler had not escaped the tinge of
pedantry which naturally flowed from his education ; and
was apt, on many occasions, to make parade of his know-
ledge, when there was no need of such vanity.

Jeanie Deans, however, found no fault with this display
of learning, but, on the contrary', admired it ; perhaps on
the same score that her sex are said to admire men of
courage, on account of their own deficiency in that quaU-
fication. The circumstances of their families threw the
jroung people constantly together ; their old intimacy was
renewed, though upon a footing better adapted to their
age ; and it became at length understood betwixt them,
that their union should be deferred no longer than until
Butler should obtain some steady means of support.

104 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

however humble. This, however, was not a matter speedily
to be accomplished. Plan after plan was formed, and
plan after plan failed. The good-humoured cheek of
Jeanie lost the first flush of juvenile freshness ; Reuben's
brow assumed the gravity of manhood, yet the means of
obtaining a settleinent seemed remote as ever. Fortun-
ately for the lovers, their passion was of no ardent or
enthusiastic cast ; and a sense of duty on both sides
induced them to bear, with patient fortitude, the pro-
tracted Interval which divided them from each other.

In the meanwhile, time did not roll on without affecting
his usual changes. The widow of Stephen Butler, so long
the prop of the family of Beersheba, was gathered to her
fathers ; and Rebecca, the careful spouse of our friend
Davie Deans, was also summoned from her plans ot
matrimonial and domestic economy. The morning after
her death, Reuben Butler went to offer his mite of
consolation to his old friend and benefactor. He wit-
nessed, on this occasion, a remarkable struggle betwixt
the force of natural affection and the religious stoicism
which the sufferer thought it was incumbent upon him
to maintain under each earthly dispensation, whether of
weal or woe.

On his arrival at the cottage, Jeanie, with her eyes
overflowing with tears, pointed to the little orchard, "in
which," she whispered with broken accents, "my poor
father has been since his misfortune.'' Somewhat alarmed
at this account, Butler entered the orchard, and advanced
slowly towards his old friend, who, seated in a small, rude
arbour, appeared to be sunk in the extremity of his afflic-
tion. He lifted his eyes somewhat sternly as Butler
approached, as if offended at the interruption ; but as the
young man hesitated whether he ought to retreat or
advance, he arose, and came forward to meet him with a
self-possessed, and even dignified air.

"Young man," said the sufterer, "lay It not to heart
though the righteous perish, and the merciful are removed,
seeing, it may well be said, that they are taken away from
the evils to come. Woe to me were I to shed a tear for
the wife of my bosom, when I might weep rivers of water
for this afflicted Church, cursed as it Is with carnal seekers,
and with the dead of heart."

"I am happy," said Butler, "that you can forget your
private affliction in your regard for public duty."

THE HEART OF xMID-LOTHIAN. 105

" Forget, Reuben ? " said poor Deans, putting his hand-
kerchief to his eyes — " she's not to be forgotten on this
side of time ; but He that gives the wound can send the
ointment. I declare there have been times during this
night when my meditation has been so rapt, that I knew
not of my hea\y loss. It has been with me as with the
worthy John Semple, called Carspham John,* upon a like
trial — I have been this night upon the banks of Ulai,
plucking an apple here and there."

Notwithstanding the assumed fortitude of Deans, which
he conceived to be the discharge of a great Christian dut\',
he had too good a heart not to suffer deeply under this
heavy loss. Woodend became altogether distasteful to him ;
and as he had obtained both substance and experience
by his management of that little farm, he resolved to
employ them as a dair^'-farmer, or cowfeeder, as they are
called in Scotland. The situation he chose for his new
settlement was at a place called St. Leonard's Crags, hnng
betwixt Edinburgh and the mountain called Arthur's ^eat,
and adjoining to the extensive sheep pasture still named
the King's Park, from its having been formerly dedicated
to the preservation of the royal game. Here he rented
a small, lonely house, about half a mile distant from the
nearest point of the city, but the site of which, with all
the adjacent ground, is now occupied by the buildings
which form the south-eastern suburb. An extensive
pasture-ground adjoining, which Deans rented from the
keeper of the Royal Park, enabled him to feed his milk-
cows ; and the unceasing industry and activity of Jeanie,
his eldest daughter, were exerted in making the most of
their produce.

She had now less frequent opportunities of seeing Reuben,
who had been obHged, after various disappointments, to
accept the subordinate situation of assistant in a parochial
school of some eminence, at three or four miles' distance
from the city. Here he distinguished himself, and became
acquainted with several respectable burgesses, who, on
account of health, or other reasons, chose that their children
should commence their education in this little village. His
prospects were thus gradually brightening, and upon each
visit which he paid at St. Leonard's he had an opportunity
of gliding a hint to this purpose into Jeanie's ear. These
visits were necessarily rare, on account of the demands

*8ee Note 4. Carspham John.

io6 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

which the duties of the school made upon Butler's time.
Nor did he dare to make them even altogether so frequent
as these avocations would permit. Deans received him
with civility indeed, and even with kindness ; but Reuben,
as is usual in such cases, imagined that he read his purpose
in his eyes, and was afraid too premature an explanation
on the subject would draw down his positive disapproval.
Upon the whole, therefore, he judged it prudent to call at
St. Leonard's just so frequently as old acquaintance and
neighbourhood seemed to authorise, and no oftener. There
was another person who was more regular in his visits.

When Davie Deans intimated to the Laird of Dumbie-
dikes his purpose of "quitting wi' the land and house at
VVoodend," the Laird stared and said nothing. He made
his usual visits at the usual hour without remark, until
the day before the term, when, observing the bustle of
moving furniture already commenced, the great east-country
awintie dragged out of its nook, and standing with its.
shoulder to the company, like an awkward booby about to
leave the room, the Laird again stared mightily, and was
heard to ejaculate " Hegh, sirs!" Even after the day
of departure was past and gone, the Laird of Dumbiedikes,
at his usual hour, which was that at which Davie Deans
was wont to loose the pleugh," presented himself before
the closed door of the cottage at Woodend, and seemed
as much astonished at finding it shut against his approach
as if it was not exactly what he had to expect. On this
occasion he was heard to ejaculate, "Gude guide us!"
which, by those who knew him, was considered as a verj'
unusual mark of emotion. From that moment forward
Dumbiedikes became an altered man, and the regularity
of his movements, hitherto so exemplary, was as totally
disconcerted as those of a boy's watch when he has broken
the main-spring. Like the index of the said watch did
Dumbiedikes spin round the whole bounds of his little
property, which may be likened unto the dial of the
timepiece, with unwonted velocity. There .was not a
cottage into which he did not enter, nor scarce a maiden
on whom he did not stare. But so it was that although
there were better farm-houses on the land than Woodend,
and certainly much prettier girls than Jeanie Deans, yet
it did somehow befall that the blank in the Laird's time
was not so pleasantly filled up as it had been. There
was no seat accommodated him so well as the " bunker" at

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 107

Woodend, and no face he loved so much to gaze on as
Jeanie Deans's. So, after spinning round and round his little
orbit, and then remaining stationary for a week, it seems
to have occurred to him that he was not pinned down to
circulate on a pivot, like the hands of the watch, but
possessed the power of shifting his central point, and
extending his circle if he thought proper. To realise which
privilege of change of place he bought a pony from a
Highland drover, and, with its assistance and company,
stepped, or rather stumbled, as far as St. Leonard's
Crags.

Jeanie Deans, though so much accustomed to the Laird's
staring that she was sometimes scarce conscious of his
presence, had nevertheless some occasional fears lest he
should call in the organ of speech to back those ex-
pressions of admiration which he bestowed on her through
his eyes. Should this happen, farewell, she thought, to
all chance of a union with Butler. For her father, however
stout-hearted and independent in civil and religious
principles, was not without that respect for the laird of
the land, so deeply Imprinted on the Scottish tenantry of
the period. Moreover, if he did not positively dislike Butler,
yet his fund of carnal learning was often the object of
sarcasms on David's part, which were perhaps founded
in jealousy, and which certainly indicated no partiality
for the party against whom they were launched. And
lastly, the match with Dumbledikes would have presented
irresistible charms to one who used to complain that he
felt himself apt to take " ower grit an armfu' o' the warld."
So that, upon the whole, the Laird's diurnal visits were
disagreeable to Jeanie from apprehension of future conse-
quences, and it served much to console her, upon removing
from the spot where she was bred and born, that she
had seen the last of Dumbledikes, his laced hat, and
tobacco-pipe. The poor girl no more expected he could
muster courage to follow her to St Leonard's Crags
than that any of her apple-trees or cabbages which she
had left rooted in the "yard " at Woodend, would spontane-
ously, and unaided, have undertaken the same journey.
It was therefore with much more surprise than pleasure
that, on the sixth day after their removal to St. Leonard's,
she beheld Dumbledikes arrive, laced hat, tobacco-pipe,
and all, and, with the self-same greeting of "How's a' wi'
ye, Jeanie ? — Whare's the gudeman ? " assume as nearly

io8 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

as he could the same position in the cottage at St.
Leonard's which he had so long and so regularly occupied
at Woodend. He was no sooner, however, seated, than
with an unusual exertion of his powers of conversation,
he added, " Jeanie — I say, Jeanie, woman " — here he
extended his hand towards her shoulder with all the fingers
spread out as if to clutch it, but in so bashful and awkward
a manner, that when she whisked herself beyond its reach,
the paw remained suspended in the air with the palm open,
like the claw of a heraldic griffin — " Jeanie," continued
the swain in this moment of inspiration — " I say, Jeanie,
it's a braw day, out by, and the roads are no that ill for
boot-hose."

" The deil's in the daidling body," muttered Jeanie,
between her teeth ; " wha wad hae thoucht o' his daikering
out this length ? " And she afterwards confessed that
she threw a little of this ungracious sentiment into her
accent and manner ; for her father being abroad, and the
" body," as she irreverently termed the landed proprietor,
" looking unco gleg and canty, she didna ken what he
might be coming out wi' next."

Her frowns, however, acted as a complete sedative,
and the Laird relapsed from that day into his former
taciturn habits, visiting the cowfeeder's cottage three
or four times every week, when the weather permitted,
with apparently no other purpose than to stare at Jeanie
Deans, while Douce Davie poured forth his eloquence
upon the controversies and testimonies of the day.

CHAPTER X.

Her air, her manners, all who saw admired,
Courteous, though coy, and gentle, though retired.
The court of youth and health her eyes displayed ;
And ease of heart her every look conveyed. Crabbe.

The visits of the Laird thus again sunk into matters
of ordinary course, from which nothing was to be ex-
pected or apprehended. If a lover could have gained a
fair one as a snake is said to fascinate a bird, by per-
tinaciously gazing on her with great, stupid, greenish eyes,
which began now to be occasionally aided by spectacles,
unquestionably Dumbiedikes would have been the person

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 109

to perform the feat. But the art of fascination seems
among the artes perdita, and I cannot learn that this
most pertinacious of starers produced any effect by his
attentions beyond an occasional yawn.

In the meanwhile, the object of his gaze was gradually
attaining the verge of youth, and approaching to what is
called in females the middle age, which is impolitely held
to begin a few years earlier with their more fragile sex
than with men. Many people would have been of
opinion that the Laird would have done better to have
transferred his glances to an object possessed of far
superior charms to Jeanie's, even when Jeanie's were in
their bloom, who began now to be distinguished by all
who visited the cottage at St. Leonard's Crags.

Effie Deans, under the tender and affectionate care of
her sister, had now shot up into a beautiful and blooming
girl. Her Grecian shaped head was profusely rich in
waving ringlets of brown hair, which, confined by a blue
snood of silk, and shading a laughing Hebe countenance,
seemed the picture of health, pleasure, and contentmenL
Her brown russet short-go'wn set off a shape, which time,
perhaps, might be expected to render too robust, the
frequent objection to Scottish beauty, but which, in her
present early age, was slender and taper, with that graceful
and easy sweep of outline which at once indicates health
and beautiful proportion of parts.

These growing charms, in all their juvenile profusion,
nad no power to shake the steadfast mind, or divert the
fixed gaze of tlie constant Laird of Dumbiedikes. But
there was scarce another eye that could behold this living
picture of health and beauty, without pausing on it with
pleasure. The traveller stopped his weary horse on the
eve of entering the city which was the end of his journey,
to gaze at the sylph-like form that tripped by him, with
her milk-pail poised on her head, bearing herself so erect,
and stepping so light and free under her burden, that it
seemed rather an ornament than an encumbrance. The
lads of the neighbouring suburb, who held their evening
rendezvous for putting the stone, casting the hammer,
playing at long bowls, and other athletic exercises,
watched the motions of EfTie Deans, and contended
with each other which should have the good fortune to
attract her attention. Even the rigid Presbyterians of
her father's persuasion, who held each indulgence of the

no THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

eye and sense to be a snare at least, if not a crime, were
surprised into a moment's delight while gazing on a
creature so exquisite — instantly checked by a sigh, re-
proaching at once their own weakness, and mourning
that a creature so fair should share in the common and
hereditarj'^ guilt and imperfection of our nature. She was
currently entitled the Lily of St. Leonard's, a name which
she deserved as much by her guileless purity of thought,
speech, and action, as by her uncommon loveliness of face
and person.

Yet there were points in Eflfie's character which gave
rise not only to strange doubt and anxiety on the part
of Douce David Deans, whose ideas were rigid, as fnay
easily be supposed, upon the subjects of youthful amuse- \
ments, but even of serious apprehension to her more in- j
dulgent sister. The children of the Scotch of the inferior '
classes are usually spoiled by the early indulgence of
their parents how, wherefore, and to what degree, the
lively and instructive narrative of the amiable and accom-
plished authoress of "Glenburnie"* has saved me and all
future scribblers the trouble of recording. Effie had had j
a double share of this inconsiderate and misjudged kindness. |
Even the strictness of her father's principles could not
condemn the sports of infancy and childhood ; and to
the good old man, his younger daughter, the child of
his old age, seemed a child for some years after she
attained the years of womanhood, was still called the
"bit lassie," and "little Effie," and was permitted to run
up and down uncontrolled, unless upon the Sabbath, or
at the times of family worship. Her sister, with all
the love and care of a mother, could not be supposed to
possess the same authoritative influence ; and that which
she had hitherto exercised became gradually limited and
diminished as Effie's advancing years entitled her, in her
own conceit at least, to the right of independence and
free agency. With all the innocence and goodness of
disposition, therefore, which we have described, the Lily
of St. Leonard's possessed a little fund of self-conceit and
obstinacy, and some warmth and Irritability of temper,
partly natural perhaps, but certainly much Increased by
the unrestrained freedom of her childhood. Her character
will be best illustrated by a cottage evening scene.

The careful father was absent in his well-stocked byre,

• Mr». Elizabeth Hamilton, now no more. — EJitor,

THE HEART OF MlD-LOTHlAN. m

foddering those useful and patient animals on whose
produce his Hving depended, and the summer evening was
beginning to close in, when Jeanie Deans began to be
very anxious for tlie appearance of her sister, and to fear
that siie would not reach home before her father returned
from tlie labour of the evening, when it was his custom
to have "family exercise," and when she knew that
Effie's absence would give him the most serious displeasure.
These apprehensions hung heavier upon her mind, because,
for several preceding evenings, Effie had disappeared
about the same time, and her stay, at first so brief as
scarce to be noticed, had been gradually protracted to
half an hour, and an hour, and on the present occasion
had considerably exceeded even tliis last limit. And now,
Jeanie stood at the door, with her hand before her eyes
to avoid the rays of the level sun, and looked alternately
along the various tracks which led towards their dwelling,
to see if she could descry the nymph-like form of her
sister. There was a wall and a stile which separated the
royal domain, or King's Park, as it is called, from the
public road ; to this pass she frequently directed her
attention, when she saw two persons appear there some-
what suddenly, as if they had walked close by the side
of the wall to screen themselves from observation. One
of them, a man, drew back hastily ; the other, a female,
crossed the stile, and advanced towards her. It was
Effie. She met her sister with that affected liveliness
of manner which, in her rank, and sometimes in those
above it, females occasionally assume to hide surprise or
confusion ; and she carolled as she came —

The elfin knight sate on the brae,

The broom grows bonny, the broom grows fairt
And by there came lilting a lady so gay,

And we daurna gang down to the broom nae main.

"Whisht, Effie," said her sister; "our fatlier's coming
out o' the byre." The damsel stinted in her song.
'• VVhare hae ye been sae late at e'en ? "

" It's no late, lass," answered Effie.

"It's chappit eight on every clock o' the toun, and the
sun's gaun doun ahint the Corstorphine hills. VVhare
can ve hae been sae late ? "

" K'ae gate," answered Eflie.

112 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

" And wha was that parted wi' you at the stile ? **

" Naebody," replied Effie once more.

" Nae gate? Naebody? I wish it may be a richt gate,
and a richt body, that keeps folk out sae late at e'en,
Effie."

"What needs ye be aye speering then at folk ?" retorted
Effie. "I'm sure, if ye'll ask nae questions, I'll tell ye
nae lees. I never ask what brings the Laird of Dumbiedikes
glowering here like a wull-cat (only his een's greener,
and no sae gleg), day after day, till we are a' like to gaunt
our chafts aff. "

"Because ye ken very weel he comes to see our father,"
said Jeanie, in answer to this pert remark.

"And Dominie Butler — does he come to see our father,
that's sae taen wi' his Latin words?" said Effie, delighted
to find that by carrying the war into the enemy's country,
she could divert the threatened attack upon herself, and
with the petulance of youth she pursued her triumph over
her prudent elder sister. She looked at her with a sly air,
in which there was something like irony, as she chanted,
in a low but marked tone, a scrap of an old Scotch song —

Through the kirkyard

I met wi* the Laird,

The silly puir body he said me nae harm ;

But just ere 'twas dark,

I met wi' the clerk

Here the songstress stopped, looked full at her sister,
and, observing the tears gather in her eyes, she suddenly
flung her arms round her neck, and kissed them away.
Jeanie, though hurt and displeased, was unable to resist
the caresses of this untaught child of nature, whose good
and evil seemed to flow rather from impulse than from
reflection. But as she returned the sisterly kiss, in token
of perfect reconciliation, she could not suppress the gentle
reproof — " Effie, if ye will learn fule sangs, ye micht mak
a kinder use of them."

"And so I micht, Jeanie," continued the girl, clinging
to her sister's neck; "and I wish I had never learned
ane o' them — and I wish we had never come here
— and I wish my tongue had been blistered or I had
vexed ye."

"Nevermind that, Effie," replied the aflectionate sister;

THE HEART OF MlD-LOTHlAN. 113

" I canna be muckle vexed wi' onything ye say to me —
but, oh, dinna vex our father ! "

" I will not — I will not," replied Effie ; " and if there were
as mony dances the morn's nicht as there are merry dancers
in the north firmament on a frosty e'en, I winna budge an
inch to gang near ane o' them,"

"Dance!" echoed Jeanie Deans, in astonishment. "O
Effie, what could take ye to a dance ? "

It is very possible that, in the communicative mood
into which the Lily of St. Leonard's was now surprised,
she might have given her sister her unreserved confidence,
and saved me the pain of telling a melancholy tale ; but
at the moment the word dance was uttered, it reached
the ear of old David Deans, who had turned the corner
of the house, and came upon his daughters ere they were
aware of his presence. The word prelate, or even the
word pope^ could hardly have produced so appalling an
effect upon David's ear ; for, of all exercises, that of
dancing, which he termed a voluntary and regular fit of
distraction, he deemed most destructive of serious thoughts,
and the readiest inlet to all sorts of licentiousness ; and
he accounted the encouraging, and even permitting,
assemblies or meetings, whether among those of high
or low degree, for this fantastic and absurd purpose, or
for that of dramatic representations, as one of the most
flagrant proofs of defection and causes of wrath. The
pronouncmg of the word dance by his own daughters,
and at his own door, now drove him beyond the verge
of patience. " Dance ! " he exclaimed. " Dance ! — dance,
said ye? I daur ye, limmers that ye are, to name sic a
word at my door-cheek ! It's a dissolute, profane pastime,
practised by the Israelites only at their base and brutal
worship of the Golden Calf at Betliel, and by the unhappy
lass wha danced aff the head of John the Baptist, upon
whilk chapter I will exercise this nicht for your farther
instruction, since ye need it sae muckle, nothing doubting
that she has cause to rue the day, lang or this time, that
e'er she suld hae shook a limb on sic an errand. Better
tor her to hae been born a cripple, and carried frae door
to door, like auld Bessie Bowie, begging bawbees, than
to be a king's daughter, fiddling and flinging the gate
she did. I hae often wondered that ony ane that ever
bent a knee for the richt purpose, should ever daur to
crook a hough to fyke and fling at piper's wind and

114 THE HEART OF MID-LOTH IAN.

fiddler's squealing. And 1 bless God (with that singular
worthy, Peter Walker* the packman at Bristo Port), that
ordered my lot in my dancing days, so that fear of my head
and throat, dread of bloody rope and swift bullet, and
trenchant swords and pain oi boots and thumkins, cauld
and hunger, wetness and weariness, stopped the lichtness
of my head, and the wantonness of my feet. And now,
if I hear ye, quean lassies, sae muckle as name dancing,
or think there's sic a thing in this warld as flinging to
fiddler's sounds and piper's springs, as sure as my father's
spirit is with the just, ye shall be no more either charge or
concern o' ininel Gang in, then — gang in, then, hinnies,"
he added, in a softer tone, for the tears of both daughters,
but especially those of Effie, began to flow very fast —
"Gang in, dears, and we'll seek grace to preserve us
trae all manner of profane folly, whilk causeth to sin,
and promoteth the kingdom of darkness, warring with
the kingdom of light. "

The objurgation of David Deans, however well meant,
was unhappily timed. It created a division of feelings
in Effie's bosom, and deterred her from her intended con-
fidence in her sister. "She wad baud me nae better ihan
the dirt below her feet," said Eflie to herself, "were 1 to
confess 1 hae danced wi' him four times on the green
down by, and ance at Maggie MacQueen's ; and she'll
maybe ning it ower my head that she 11 tell my father,
and then she wad be mistresc and mair. But I'll no
gang back there again. I am resolved I'll no gang
back. I'll lay in a leaf o' my Bible,t and that's very
near as if I had made an aith, that 1 winna gang back.
And she kept her vow for a week, during which she was
unusually cross and fretful, blemishes which had never
before been observed in her temper, except during a
moment of contradiction.

There was something in all this so rnyslerious as con-
siderably to alarm the prudent and affectionate Jeanle,
the more so as she judged it unkind to her sister to
mention to their father grounds of anxiety which might
arise from her own imagination. Besides, her respect
for the good old man did not prevent her from being

• Note 5. Peter" Walker.

tThis custom of making a mark by folding a leaf in the party's BiTile, when a
sol-^uin resolution is formed, ii still held lo Lie, la some sense, on appe.il to Ucav ca
fox hii or lier sincerity.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 115

aware that he was both hot-tempered and positive, and
she sometimes suspected that he carried his dislike to
youthful amusements beyond the verge that religion and
reason demanded. Jeanie had sense enough to see that
a sudden and severe curb upon her sister's hitherto
unrestrained freedom might be rather productive of harm
than good, and that Effie, in the headstrong wilfulness
of youth, was likely to make what might be overstrained
in her father's precepts an excuse to herself for neglecting
them altogether. In the higher classes, a damsel, however
giddy, is still under the dominion of etiquette, and subject
to the surveillance of mammas and chaperons ; but the
country girl, who snatches her moment of gaiety during
the intervals of labour, is under no such guardianship or
restraint, and her amusement becomes so much the more
hazardous. Jeanie saw all this with much distress of mind,
when a circumstance occurred which appeared calculated to
relieve her anxiety.

Mrs. Saddletree, with whom our readers have already
been made acquainted, chanced to be a distant relation of
Douce David Deans, and as she was a woman orderly in
her life and conversation, and, moreover, of good substance,
a sort of acquaintance was formally kept up between the
families. Now, this careful dame, about a year and a haif
before our story commences, chanced to need, in the line of
her profession, a better sort of servant, or rather shop-
woman. "Mr. Saddletree," she said, "was never in the
shop when he could get his nose within the Parliament
House, and it was an awkward thing for a woman-body
to be standing among bundles o' barkened leather her
lane, selling saddles and bridles ; and she had cast her
eyes upon her far-awa cousin Effie Deans, as just the very
sort of lassie she would want to keep her in countenance
on such occasions."

In this proposal there was much that pleased old David —
there was bed, board, and bountith — it was a decent
situation — the lassie would be under Mrs. Saddletree's
eye, who had an upright walk, and lived close by the
Tolbooth Kirk, in which might still be heard the comfort-
ing doctrines of one of those few ministers of the Kirk of
Scotland who had not bent the knee unto Baa], according
to David's expression, or become accessory to the course
of national defections — union, toleration, patronages, and
a bundle of prelatical Erastian oatlis which had been

Ii6 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

imposed on the church since the Revolution, and particularly
in tlie reign of "the late woman" (as he called Queen
Anne), the last of that unhappy race of Stuarts. In the
good man's security concerning the soundness of the
theological doctrine which his daughter was to hear, he
was nothing disturbed on account of the snares of a different
kind, to which a creature so beautiful, young, and wilful,
might be exposed in the centre of a populous and corrupted
city. The fact is, that he thought with so much horror
on all approaches to irregularities of the nature most to
be dreaded in such cases, that he would as soon have
suspected and guarded against Effie's being induced to
become guilty of the crime of murder. He only regretted
that she should live under the same roof with ouch a
worldly-wise man as Bartoline Saddletree, whom David
never suspected of being an ass as he was, but considered
as one really endowed with all the legal knowledge to
which he made pretension, and only liked him the worse
for possessing it. The lawyers, especially those amongst
them who sat as ruling elders in the General Assembly
of the Kirk, had been forward in promoting the measures
of patronage, of the abjuration oath, and others, which,
in the opinion of David Deans, were a breaking down of
the carved work of the sanctuary, and an intrusion upon
the liberties of the kirk. Upon the dangers of listening
to the doctrines of a legalised formalist, such as Saddletree,
David gave his daughter many lectures ; so much so, that
he had time to touch but slightly on the dangers ot
chambering, company-keeping, and promiscuous dancing,
to which, at her time of life, most people would have
thought Effie more exposed, than to the risk of theoretical
error in her religious faith.

Jeanie parted from her sister with a mixed feeling ot
regret, and apprehension, and hope. She could not be so
confident concerning Effie's prudence as her father, for she
had observed her more narrowly, had more sympathy with
her feelings, and could better estimate the temptations to
which she was exposed. On the other hand, Mrs. Saddle-
tree was an observing, shrewd, notable woman, entitled to
exercise over Effie the full authority of a mistress, and
likely to do so strictly, yet with kindness. Her removal to
Saddletree's, it was most probable, would also serve to
break off some idle acquaintances, which Jeanie suspected
her sister to have formed in the neighbouring suburb.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 117

Upon the whole, then, she viewed her departure from St.
Leonard's with pleasure, and it was not until the very
moment of their parting for the first time in their lives,
that she felt the full force of sisterly sorrow. While they
repeatedly kissed each other's cheeks, and wrung- each
other's hands, Jeanie took that moment of affectionate
sympathy, to press upon her sister the necessity of the
utmost caution in her conduct while residing in Edinburgh.
Effie listened, without once raising her large dark eyelashes,
from which the drops fell so fast as almost to resemble a
fountain. At the conclusion she sobbed again, kissed her
sister, promised to recollect all the good counsel she had
given her, and they parted.

During the first few weeks, Effie was all that her kins-
woman expected, and even more. But with time there
came a relaxation of that early zeal which she manifested
in Mrs. Saddletree's service. To borrow once again from
the poet, who so correctly and beautifully describes living
manners —

Something there was, — what, none presumed to say,—
Clouds lightly passing- on a summer's day ;
Whispers and hints, which went from ear to ear.
And mixed reports no judge on earth could clear.

During this Interval, Mrs. Saddletree was sometimes dis-
pleased by Effie's lingering when she was sent upon errands
about the shop business, and sometimes by a little degree
of impatience which she manifested at being rebuked on
such occasions. But she good-naturedly allowed that the
first was very natural to a girl to whom everything in
Edinburgh was new, and the other was only the petulance
of a spoiled child, when subjected to the yoke of domestic
discipline for the first time. Attention and submission
could not be learned at once — Holyrood was not built in
a day — use would make perfect.

It seemed as if the considerate old lady had presaged
truly. Ere many months had passed, Effie became almost
wedded to her duties, though she no longer discharged
them with the laughing cheek and light step, which had
at first attracted every customer. Her mistress sometimes
observed her in tears, but they were signs of secret sorrow,
which she coi-u;ealed as often as she saw them attract
notice. Time wore on, her cheek grew pale, and her step

ii8 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

heavy. The cause of these changes could not have escaped
the matronly eye of Mrs. Saddletree, but she was chiefly
confined by indisposition to her bedroom for a considerable
time during the latter part of Effie's service. This interval
was marked by symptoms of anguish almost amounting to
despair. The utmost efforts of the poor girl to command
her fits of hysterical agony were often totally unavailing,
and the mistakes which she made in the shop the while
were so numerous and so provoking, that Bartoline Saddle-
tree, who, during his wife's illness, was obliged to take
closer charge of the business than consisted with his study
of the weightier matters of the law, lost all patience with
the girl, who, in his law Latin, and without much respect
to gender, he declared ought to be cognosced by inquest of
a jury, &sfaitius,furiosus, and naturaliteridiota. Neighbours,
also, and fellow-servants, remarked with malicious curiosity
or degrading pity, the disfigured shape, louse dress, and
pale cheeks, of the once beautiful and still interesting girl.
But to no one would she grant her confidence, answering
all taunts with bitter sarcasm, and all serious expostulation
with sullen denial, or with floods of tears.

At length, when Mrs. Saddletree's recovery was likely to
permit her wonted attention to the regulation of her house-
hold, Effie Deans, as if unwilling to face an investigation
made by the authority of her mistress, asked permission of
Bartoline to go home for a week or two, assigning indis-
position, and the wish of trying the benefit of repose and
the change of air, as the motives of her request. Sharp-
eyed as a lynx (or conceiving himself to be so) in the nice
sharp quillits of legal discussion, Bartoline was as dull at
drawing inferences from the occurrences of common life
as any Dutch professor ol mathematics. He suffered Eflfie
to depart without much suspicion, and without any inquiry.

It was afterwards found that a period of a week inter-
vened betwixt her leaving her master's house and arriving
at St. Leonard's. She made her appearance before her
sister in a state rather resembling the spectre than the
living substance of the gay and beautiful girl who had
left her father's cottage for the first time scarce seventeen
months before. The lingering illness of her mistress
had, for the last few months, given her a plea for con-
fining herself entirely to the dusky precincts of the shop
in the Lawnmarket, and Jeanie was so much occupied,
during the same period, with the concerns of her father's

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 119

household, that she had rarely found leisure for a walk
to the city, and a brief and hurried visit to her sister.
The young women, therefore, had scarcely seen each
other for several months, nor had a single scandalous
surmise reached the ears of the secluded inhabitants of
the cottage at St. Leonard's. Jeanie, therefore, terrified
to death at her sister's appearance, at first overwhelmed
her with inquiries, to which the unfortunate young woman
returned for a time incoherent and rambling answers, and
finally fell into a hysterical fit. Rendered too certain of
her sister's misfortune, Jeanie had now the dreadful alter-
native of communicating her ruin to her father, or of
endeavouring to conceal it from him. To all questions
concerning the name or rank of her seducer,^ and the
fate of the being to whom her fall had given birth, Effie
remained as mute as the grave, to which she seemed
hastening ; and, indeed, the least allusion to either seemed
to drive her to distraction. Her sister, in distress and in
despair, was about to repair to Mrs. Saddletree to consult
her experience, and at the same time to obtain what lights
she could upon this most unhappy affair, when she was
saved that trouble by a new stroke of fate, which seemed
to carry misfortune to the uttermost

David Deans had been alarmed at the state of health
in which his daughter had returned to her paternal resi-
dence ; bu Jeanie had contrived to divert him from
particular and specific inquiry. It was therefore like a
clap of thunder to the poor old man, when, just as the
hour of noon had brought the visit of the Laird of
Dumbiedikes as usual, other and sterner, as well as most
unexpected guests, arrived at the cottage of St Leonard's.
These were the officers of justice, with a warrant of
justiciary to search for and apprehend Euphemia, or Effie
Deans, accused of the crime of child-murder. The stunning
weight of a blow so totally unexpected bore down the old
man, who had in his early youth resisted the brow of
military and civil tyranny, though backed with swords and
guns, tortures and gibbets. He fell extended and senseless
upon his own hearth ; and the men, happy to escape from
the scene of his awakening, raised, with rude humanity, the
object of their warrant from her bed, and placed her in a
coach, which they had brought with them. The hasty
remedies which Jeanie had applied to bring back her father's
senses were source begun to operate, when the noise of th»

I30 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

wheels in motion recalled her attention to her miserable
sister. To run shrieking after the carriage was the first
vain effort of her distraction, but she was stopped by one
or two female neighbours, assembled by the extraordinary
appearance of a coach in that sequestered place, who
almost forced her back to her father's house. The deep
and sympathetic affliction of these poor people, by whom
the little family at St. Leonard's were held in high regard,
filled the house with lamentation. Even Dumbiedikes was
moved from his wonted apathy, and, groping for his purse
as he spoke, ejaculated, " Jeanie, woman ! — ^Jeanie, woman !
dinna greet — it's sad wark, but siller will help it ; " and he
drew out his purse as he spoke.

The old man had now raised himself from the ground,
and, looking about him as if he missed something, seemed
gradually to recover the sense of his wretchedness.
"Where," he said, with a voice that made the roof ring,
"where is the vile harlot, that has disgraced the blood of an
honest man ? — Where is she, that has no place among us,
but has come foul with her sins, like the Evil One,
among the children of God ? — Where is she, Jeanie ? —
Bring her before me, that I may kill her with a word and
a look ! "

All hastened around him with their appropriate sources
of consolation — the Laird with his purse, Jeanie with
burned feathers and strong waters, and the women with
their exhortations. "Oh, neighbour — oh, Mr. Deans, it's
a sair trial, doubtless — but think of the Rock of Ages,
neighbour — think of the promise ! "

"And I do think of it, neighbours — and I bless God
that I can think of it, even in the rack and ruin of a'
that's nearest and dearest to me — But to be the father of
a castaway — a profligate — a bloody Zipporah — a mere
murderess ! — Oh, how will the wicked exult in the high
places of their wickedness ! — the prelatists, and the
latitudinarians, and the hand -waled murderers, whose
hands are hard as horn wi' handing the slaughter-weapons
— they will push out the lip, and say that we are even
such as themselves. Sair, sair, I am grieved, neighbours,
for the poor castaway— for the child of mine old age —
but sairer for the stumbling-block and scandal it will be
to all tender and honest souls 1 " _

"Davie — winna siller do't?" insinuated the Laird, still
proffering his green purse, which was full o^uineas.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 121

" I tell ye, Dumbiedikes," said Deans, " that if telling
down my haill substance could hae saved her frae this
black snare, I wad hae walked out wi' naething but my
bonnet and my staff to beg an awmous for God's sake,
and ca'd mysell a happy man — But if a dollar, or a plack,
or the nineteenth part of a boddle wad save her open
guilt and open shame frae open punishment, that pur-
chase wad David Deans never make ! Na, na ; an eye
for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, life for life, blood for blood
■ — it's the law of man, and it's the law of God. — Leave me,
sirs — leave me — I maun warstle wi' this trial in privacy
and on my knees."

Jeanie, now in some degree restored to the power of
thought, joined in the same request. The next day
found the father and daughter still in the depth of afflic-
tion, but the father sternly supporting his load of ill
through a proud sense of religious duty, and the daughter
anxiously suppressing her own feelings to avoid again
awakening his. Thus was it with the afflicted family
untU the morning after Porteous's death, a period at
which we are now arrived.

CHAPTER XL

Is all the counsel that we two have shared.
The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent
When we have chid the hast}--footed time
For parting us — Oh 1 — and is all forgot ?

Midsummer Night's Dream.

We have been a long while in conducting Butler to the
door of the cottage at St. Leonard's ; yet the space which
we have occupied in the preceding narrative does not
exceed in length that which he actually spent on Salis-
bury Crags on the morning which succeeded the execution
done upon Porteous by the rioters. For this delay he
had his own motives. He wished to collect his thoughts,
strangely agitated as they were, first by the melancholy
news of Efhe Deans's situation, and afterwards by the
frightful scene which he had witnessed. In the situation
also in which he had stood with respect to Jeanie and her
father, some ceremony, at least some choice of fitting
time and season, was necessary to wait upon them.

122 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

Eight in the morning was then the ordinary hour for
breakfast, and he resolved that it should arrive before he
made his appearance in their cottage.

Never did hours pass so heavily. Butler shifted his
place and enlarged his circle to while away the time, and
heard the huge bell of St. Giles's toll each successive hour
in swelling tones, which were instantly arrested by those
of the other steeples in succession. He had heard seven
struck in this manner, when he began to think he might
venture to approach nearer to St. Leonard's, from wluch
he was still a mile distant. Accordingly he descended
from his lofty station as low as the bottom of the valley,
which divides Salisbury Crags from those small rocKs
which take their name from Saint Leonard. It is, as
many of my readers may know, a deep, wild, grassy
valley, scattered with huge rocks and fragments which
have descended from the cUffs and steep ascent to the
east.

This sequestered dell, as well as other places of the open
pasturage of the King's Park, was, about this time, often
the resort of the gallants of the time who had affairs of
honour to discuss with the sword. Duels were then very
common in Scotland, for the gentry were at once idle,
haughty, fierce, divided by faction, and addicted to in-
temperance, so that there lacked neither provocation, nor
inchnation to resent it when given ; and the sword, which
was part of every gentleman's dress, was the only weapon
used for the decision of such differences. When, therefore,
Butler observed a young man skulking, apparently to avoid
observation, among the scattered rocks at some distance
from the footpath, he was naturally led to suppose that he
had sought this lonely spot upon that evil errand. He was
so strongly impressed with this, that, notwithstanding his
own distress of mind, he could not, according to his sense
of duty as a clergyman, pass this person without speaking
to him. There are times, thought he to himself, when the
slightest interference may avert a great calamity — when a
word spoken in season may do more for prevention than
the eloquence of Tully could do for remedying evil. And
for my own griefs, be they as they may, I shall feel them
the lighter, if they divert me not from the prosecution of
my duty.

Thus thinking and feeling, he quitted the ordinary path,
and advanced nearer the object he had noticed. The man

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHI.\N. 123

at first directed his course towards the hill, in order, as it
appeared, to avoid him ; but when he saw that Butler
seemed disposed to follow him, he adjusted his hat fiercely,
turned round, and came forward, as if to meet and defy
scrutiny.

Butler had an opportunity of accurately stud^nng his
features as they advanced slowly to meet each other. The
stranger seemed about tw'enty-five years old. His dress
was of a kind which could hardly be said to indicate his
rank with certainty, for it was such as young gentlemen
sometimes wore while on active exercise in the morning,
and which, therefore, was imitated by those of the inferior
ranks, as young clerks and tradesmen, because its cheap-
ness rendered it attainable, while it approached more neariy
to the apparel of youths of fashion than any other which
the manners of the times permitted them to wear. If his
air and manner could be trusted, however, this person
seemed rather to be dressed under than above his rank ;
for his carriage was bold and somewhat supercilious, his
step easy and free, his manner daring and unconstrained.
His stature was of the middle size, or rather above it, his
limbs well-proportioned, yet not so strong as to infer the
reproach of clumsiness. His features were uncommonly
handsome, and all about him would have been interesting
and prepossessing, but for that indescribable expression
which habitual dissipation gives to the countenance, joined
with a certain audacity in look and manner, of that kind
which is often assumed as a mask for confusion and
apprehension.

Butler and the stranger met — surveyed each other — when,
as the latter, slightly touching his hat, was about to pass
by him, Butler, while he returned the salutation, observed,
"A fine morning, sir. — You are on the hill early."

"I have business here," said tlie young man, in a tone
meant to repress farther inquiry.

" I do not doubt it, sir," said Butler. "I trust you will
forgive my hoping that it is of a lawful kind ? "

"Sir," said the other, with marked surprise, "I never
forgive impertinence, nor can I conceive what title you have
to hope anything about what no way concerns you."

"I am a soldier, sir," said Butler, "and have a charge
to arrest evil-doers in the name of my Master."

" A soldier ! " said the young man, stepping back, and
fiercely laying lus hand on hisswoid — " A soldier, and arre^

124 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

me ! Did you reckon what your life was worth, before you
took the commission ujjon you."

" You mistake me, sir," said Butler gravely ; " neither
my warfare nor my warrant are of this world. I am a
preacher of the gospel, and have power, in my Master's
name, to command the peace upon earth and good-will
towards men, which was proclaimed with the gospel."

" A minister I " said the stranger carelessly, and with an
expression approaching to scorn. " I know the gentlemen
of your cloth in Scotland claim a strange right of inter-
meddling with men's private affairs. But I have been
abroad, and know better than to be priest-ridden."

" Sir, if it be true that any of my cloth, or, it might be
more decently said, of my calling, interfere with men's
private affairs, for the gratification either of idle curiosity,
or for worse motives, you cannot have learned a better
lesson abroad than to contemn such practices. But, in
my Master's work, I am called to be busy in season and
out of season ; and, conscious as I am of a pure motive,
it were better for me to incur your contempt for speaking,
than the correction of my own conscience for being
silent ! "

" In the name of the devil 1 " said the young man im-
patiently, " say what you have to say, then ; though
whom you take me for, or what earthly concern you have
with me, a stranger to you, or with my actions and motives
of which you can know nothing, I cannot conjecture for
an instant."

" You are about," said Butler, " to violate one of your
country's wisest laws — you are about, which is much more
dreadful, to violate a law, which God himself has im-
planted within our nature, and written, as it were, in the
table of our hearts, to which every thrill of our nerves is
responsive."

" And what is the law you speak of ? " said the stranger,
in a hollow and somewhat disturbed accent.

" Thou Shalt do no mxjrder," said Butler, with a deep
and solemn voice.

The young man visibly started, and looked considerably
appalled. Butler perceived he had made a favourable im-
pression, and resolved to follow it up. " Think," he said,
" young man," laying his hand kindly upon the stranger's
shoulder, " what an awful alternative you voluntarily choosa
for yourself, to kill or be killed. Think what it is to

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAK. 125

rush uncalled Into the presence of an offended Deity,
your heart fermenting with evil passions, your hand hot
from the steel you have been urging, with your best skill
and malice, against the breast of a fellow -creature. Or,
suppose yourself the scarce less wretched survivor, with
the guilt of Cain, the first murderer, in your heart, with
the stamp upon your brow — that stamp which struck all
who gazed on him with unutterable horror, and by which
the murderer Is made manifest to all who look upon him.
Think "

The stranger gradually withdrew himself from under the
hand of his monitor ; and, pulling his hat over his brows,
thus Interrupted him: "Your meaning, sir, I dare say, Is
excellent, but you are throwIn|j your advice away. I am
not in this place with violent mtentlons against any one.
I may be bad enough — you priests say all men are so — but
I am here for the purpose of saving life, not of taking it
away. If you wish to spend your time rather In doing a
good action than In talking about you know not what, I will
give you an opportunity. Do you see yonder crag to the
right, over which appears the chimney of a lone house?
Go thither, inquire for one Jeanie Deans, the daughter of
the goodman ; let her know tliat he she wots of remained
here from daybreak till this hour, expecting to see her,
and that he can abide no longer. Tell her, she mtist meet
me at the Hunter's Bog to-night, as the moon rises
behind St Anthony's Hill, or that she will make a desperate
man of me."

"Who or what aro you," replied Butler, exceedingly
and mosi unpleasantly surprised, "who charge me with
such an errand ? "

" I am tlie devil ! " answered the young man hastily.

Butler stepped Instinctively back, and commended himself
internally to Heaven ; for, though a wise and strong-minded
man, he was neither wiser nor more strong-minded than
those of his age and education, with whom, to disbelieve
witchcraft or spectres, was held an undeniable proof of
atheism.

The stranger went on without obser\-Ing his emotion.
"Yes! call me Apollyon, Abaddon, whatever name you
shall choose, as a clergyman acquainted with the upper
and lower circles of spiritual denomination, to call me by,
you shall not find an appellation more odious to him that
bears it, than is mine own."

126 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

This sentence was spoken with the bitterness of self-
iipbraiding, and a contortion of visage absolutely de-
moniacal. Butler, though a man brave by principle, if
not by constitution, was overawed ; for intensity of mental
distress has in it a sort of sublimity which repels and
overawes all men, but especially those of kind and
sympathetic dispositions. The stranger turned abruptly
from Butler as he spoke, but instantly returned, and,
coming up to him closely and boldly, said in a fierce,
determined tone, " I have told you who and what I am
—who and what are you ? What is your name ? "

" Butler," answered the person to whom this abrupt
question was addressed, surprised into answering it by
the sudden and fierce manner of the querist — "Reuben
Butler, a preacher of the gospel."

At this answer, the stranger again plucked more deep
over his brows the hat which he had thrown back in his
former agitation. " Butler I " he repeated — " the assistant
of the schoolmaster at Liberton ? "

" The same." answered Butler composedly.

The stranger covered his face with his hand, as if on
sudden reflection, and then turned away, but stopped
when he had walked a few paces ; and seeing Butler follow
him with his eyes, called out in a stem yet suppressed tone,
just as if he had exactly calculated that his accents should
not be heard a yard beyond the spot on which Butler stood.
" Go your way, and do mine errand. Do not look after me.
I will neither descend through the bowels of these rocks,
nor vanish in a flash of fire ; and yet the eye that seeks to
trace my motions shall have reason to curse it was ever
shrouded by eyelid or eyelash. Begone, and look not
behind you. Tell Jeanie Deans, that when the moon rises
I shall expect to meet her at Nicol Muschat's Cairn, beneath
Saint Anthony's Chapel."

As he uttered these words, he turned and took the road
against the hill, with a haste that seemed as peremptory
as his tone of authority.

Dreading he knew not what of additional misery to a lot
which seemed little capable of receiving augmentation,
and desperate at the idea that any Uving man should dare
to send so extraordinary a request, couched in terms so im-
perious, to the half -betrothed object of his early and only
affection, Butler strode hastily towards the cottage, in order
to ascertain how far this daring and rude gallant was

THE HEART OF xMID-LOTHIAN. 127

actually entitled to press on Jeanie Deans a request, which
no prudent, and scarce any modest young woman was
likely to comply with.

Butler was by nature neither jealous nor superstitious ;
yet the feelings which lead to those moods of the mind
were rooted in his heart, as a portion derived from the
common stock of iiumanity. It was maddening to think
that a profligate gallant, such as the manner and tone of
the stranger evinced him to be, should have it in his power
to command forth his future bride and plighted true love,
at a place so improper, and an hour so unseasonable. Yet
the tone in whicli the stranger spoke had nothing of the
soft, half-breathed voice proper to the seducer who solicits
an assignation ; it was bold, fierce, and imperative, and
had less of love in it than of menace and intimidation.

The suggestions of superstition seemed more plausible,
had Butler's mind been ver\' accessible to them. Was this
indeed the Roaring Lion, who goeth about seeking whom
he may devour ? This was a question which pressed itself
on Butler's mind with an earnestness that cannot be con-
ceived by those who live in the present day. The fiery eye,
the abrupt demeanour, the occasionally harsh, yet studiously
subdued tone of voice — the features, handsome, but now
clouded with pride, now disturbed by suspicion, now in-
flamed with passion — those dark, hazel eyes which he some-
times shaded with his cap, as if he were averse to have them
seen while they were occupied with keenly observing the
motions and bearing of others — those eyes that were now
turbid with melancholy, now gleaming with scorn, and
now sparkling with fury — was It the passions of a mere
mortal they expressed, or the emotions of a fiend who seeks,
and seeks in vain, to conceai his fiendish designs under the
borrowed mask of manly beauty ? The whole partook of
the mien, language, and port of the ruined archangel ; and,
imperfectly as we have been abl*:, to describe it, the effect of
the interview upon Butler's nerves, shaken as they were at
the time by the horrors of the preceding night, were greater
than his understanding warranted, or his pride cared to
submit to. The very place where he had met this singular
person was desecrated, as it were, and unhallowed, owing
to many violent deaths, both in duels and by suicide, which
had in former times taken place there ; and the place which
he had named as a rendez\'Ous at so late an hour, was held
in general to be accursed, from a frightful and cruel murder

128 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

which had been there committed by the wretch from whom
the place took its name, upon the person of his own wife.*
It was in such places, according to the belief of that period
(when the laws against witchcraft were still in fresh ob-
servance, and had even lately been acted upon), that evil
spirits had power to make themselves visible to human eyes
and to practise upon the feelings and senses of mankind.
Suspicions, founded on such circumstances, rushed on Butler's
mind, unprepared as it was by any previous course of
reasoning, to deny that which all of his time, country, and
profession believed ; but common-sense rejected these vain
ideas as inconsistent, if not with possibility, at least with
the general rules by which the universe is governed — a
deviation from which, as Butler well argued with himself,
ought not to be admitted as probable, upon any but the
plainest and most incontrovertible evidence. An earthly
lover, however, or a young man, who, from whatever
cause, had the right of exercising such summary and
unceremonious authority over the object of his long-settled
and apparently sincerely returned affection, was an object
scarce less appalling to his mind, than those which
superstition suggested.

His limbs exhausted with fatigue, his mind harassed with
anxiety, and with painful doubts and recollections, Butler
dragged himself up the ascent from the valley to St.
Leonard's Crags, and presented himself at the door of
Deans's habitation, with feelings much akin to the miser-
able reflections and fears of its inhabitants.

CHAPTER XII.

Then she stretch'd out her lily hand.

And for to do her best;
•' Hae back thy faith and troth, Willie,

God gie thy soul good rest ! "

Old Ballad

" Come in," answered the low and sweet-toned voice he
loved best to hear, as Butler tapped at the door of the
cottage. He lifted the latch, and found himself under
the roof of affliction. Jeanie was unable to trust herself
with more than one glance towards her lover, whom she

• Note 6. Muschat's Cairn.

A figure rose suddenly up.

Poft 168.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 129

now met under circumstances so agonising to her feelings,
and at the same time so humbling to her honest pride.. It
is well kno\\Ti that much, both of what is good and bad
in the Scottish national character, arises out of the intimacy
of their family connections. " To be come of honest folk,"
that is, of people who have borne a fair and unstained repu-
tation, is an advantage as highly prized among the lower
Scotch, as the emphatic counterpart, " to be of a good
family," is valued among their gentry. The worth ajid
respectability of one member of a peasant's family is
always accounted by themselves and others, not only a
matter of honest pride, but a guarantee for the good conduct
of the whole. On the contrary, such a melancholy stain as
was now flung on one of the children of Deans, extended its
disgrace to all connected with him, and Jeanie felt herself
lowered at once, in her own eyes, and in those of her lover.
It was in vain that she repressed this feeling, as far sub-
ordinate and too selfish to be mingled with her sorrow for
her sister's calajnity. Nature prevailed ; and while she
shed tears for her sister's distress and danger, there mingled
with them bitter drops of grief for her own degradation.

As Butler entered, the old man was seated by the fire
with his weU-wom pocket Bible in his hands, the com-
panion of the wanderings and dangers of his youth, and
bequeathed to him on the scaffold by one of those, who,
in the year 16S6, sealed their enthusiastic principles with
their blood. The sun sent its rays through a small window
at the old man's back, and, " shining motty through the
reek," to use the expression of a bard of that time and
country', illumined the gray hairs of the old man, and the
sacred page which he studied. His features, far from
handsome, and rather harsh and severe, had yet from their
expression of habitual gravity, and contempt of earthly
thmgs, an expression of stoical dignity amidst their stern-
ness. He boasted, in no small degree, the attributes
which Southey ascribes to the ancient Scandinavians, whom
he terms " firm to inflict, and stubborn to endure." The
whole formed a picture, of which the lights might have been
given by Rembrandt, but the outline would have required
the force and vigour of Michael Angelo.

Deans lifted his ej-e as Butler entered, and instantly with-
drew it, as from an object which gave him at once surprise
and sudden pain. He had assumed such high ground with
this camal-witted scholar, as he had in his pride termed

E

I30 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

Butler, that to meet him, of all men, under feelings of
humiliation, aggravated his misfortune, and was a con-
summation like that of the dying chief in the old ballad —
" Earl Percy sees my fall !"

Deans raised the Bible with his left hand, so as partly
to screen his face, and putting back his right as far as he
could, held it towards Butler in that position, at the same
time turning his body from him, as if to prevent his seeing
the working of his countenance. Butler clasped the ex-
tended hand which had supported his orphan infancy, wept
over it, and in vain endeavoured to say more than the words
— " God comfort you — God comfort you ! "

"He will — He doth, my friend," said Deans, assuming
firmness as he discovered the agitation of his guest; "He
doth now, and He will yet more in His own gude time. I
harre been ower proud of my sufferings in a gude cause,
Reuben, and now I am to be tried with those whilk will
turn my pride and glory into a reproach and a hissing.
How muckle better I hae thoucht mysell than them that
lay saft, fed sweet, and drank deep, when I was in the
moss-haggs and moors, wi' precious Donald Cameron, and
worthy Mr. Blackadder, called Guess-again ; and how proud
1 was o' being made a spectacle to men and angels, having
stood on their pillory at the Canongate afore I was fifteen
years old, for the cause of a National Covenant I To think,
Reuben, that I, wha hae been sae honoured and exalted in my
youth, nay, when I was but a hafflins callant, and that hae
borne testimony again the defections o' the times yearly,
monthly, daily, hourly, minutely, striving and testifying
with uplifted hand and voice, crying aloud, and sparing not,
against all great national snares, as the nation-wasting and
church-sinking abomination of union, toleration, and patron-
age, imposed by the last woman of that unhappy race of
Stuarts ; also against the infringements and invasions of
the just powers of eldership, whereanent I uttered my
paper, called a 'Cry of an Howl in the Desert,' printed at
the Bow-head, and sold by all flying stationers in town and.
country — and now "

Here he paused. It may well be supposed that Butler,
though not absolutely coinciding in all the good old
man's ideas about church government, had too much
consideration and humanity to interrupt him, while he
reckoned up with conscious pride his sufferings, and the
constancy of his testimony. On the contrary when h#

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 131

paused under the influence of the bitter recollections of
the moment, Butler instantly threw in his mite of en-
couragement.

" You have been well known, my old and revered
friend, a true and tried follower of the Cross ; one who,
as St. Jerome hath it, ' per infatniam et bonam famam
grassari ad immortalitatem,' which may be freely ren-
dered, ' who rusheth on to immortal life, through bad
report and good report.' You have been one of those to
-whom the tender and fearful souls cry during the mid-
night solitude, 'Watchman, what of the night? — Watch-
man, what of the night?' — ^And, assuredly, this heavy
dispensation, as it comes not without divine permission,
so it comes not without its special commission and use."

" I do receive it as such," said poor Deans, returning
the grasp of Butler's hand; "and if I have not been
taught to read the Scripture in any other tongue but my
native Scottish " (even in his distress Butler's Latin
quotation had not escaped his notice), "I have neverthe-
less so learned them, that I trust to bear even this crook
in my lot with submission. But, oh ! Reuben Butler,
the kirk, of whilk, though unworthy, I have yet been
thought a polished shaft, and meet to be a pillar, holding,
from my youth upward, the place of ruling elder — what
will the lightsome and profane think of the guid^that
cannot keep his own family from stumbling? How will
they take up their song and their reproach, when they see
that the children of professors are liable to as foul back-
sliding as the offspring of Belial 1 But I will bear my
cross with the comfort, that whatever showed like good-
ness in me or mine, was but like the light that shines frae
creeping insects, on the brae-side, in a dark nicht— it
kythes bright to the ee, because all is dark around it; but
when the morn comes on the mountains, it is but a puir,
crawling kail-worm after a'. And sae it shows, wi' ony
rag of human righteousness, or formal law-work, that we
may pit round us to cover our shame."

As he pronounced these words, the door again opened,
and Mr. Bartoline Saddletree entered, his three-pointed hat
set far back on his head, with a silk handkerchief beneath
it to keep it in that cool position, his gold-headed cane
in his hand, and his whole deportment that of a wealthy
I burgher, who might one day look to have a share in the
magistracy if not actually to hold the curule chair itself*

132 THE HEART OF MlD-LOTHlAN.

Rochefoucault, who has torn the veil from so many
foul gangrenes of the human heart, says we find some-
thing not altogether unpleasant to us in the misfortunes
of our best friends. Mr. Saddletree would have been
very angry had any one told him that he felt pleasure in
the disaster of poor Effie Deans, and the disgrace of her
family ; and yet there is great question whether the grati-
fication of playing the person of importance, inquiring,
investigating, and laying down the law on the whole
affair, did not offer, to say the least, full consolation for
the pain which pure sympathy gave him on account of his
wife's kinswoman. He had now got a piece of real
judicial business by the end, instead of being obliged, as
was his common case, to intrude his opinion where it was
neither wished nor wanted ; and felt as happy in the ex-
change as a boy when he gets his first new watch, which
actually goes when wound up, and has real hands and a
true dial-plate. But besides this subject for legal disqui-
sition, Bartoline's brains were also over-loaded with the
affair of Porteous, his violent death, and all its propable
consequences to the city and community. It was what
the French call Vemharras des richesses, the confusion
arising from too much mental wealth. He walked in
with a consciousness of double importance, full fraught
with the superiority of one who possesses more imforma-
tion ^han the company into which he enters, and who
feels a right to discharge his learning on them without
mercy. "Good-morning, Mr. Deans — good-morrow to
you, Mr. Buder — I was not aware that you were
acquainted with Mr. Deans."

Butler made some slight answer ; his reasons may be
readily imagined for not making his connection with the
family, which, in his eyes, had something of tender mystery,
a frequent subject of conversation with indifferent persons,
such as Saddletree.

The worthy burgher, in the plenitude of self-importance,
now sat down upon a chair, wiped his brow, collected his
breath, and made the first experiment of the resolved pith
of his lungs, in a deep and dignified sigh, resembling a
groan in sound and intonation — "Awfu' times these,
neighbour Deans, awfu' times ! "

" .Sinfu', shamefu', heaven-daring times!" answered
Deans, in a lower and more subdued tone.

"For my part," continued Saddletree, swelling with:

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 133

Importance, " what between the distress of my friends, and
my poor auld country, ony wit tliat ever I had may be said
to have abandoned me, sae that I sometimes think myself
as ignorant as if I were inter tusticos. Here when I arise
in the morning, wi' my mind just arranged touching what's
to be done in puir Effie's misfortune, and hae gotten the
hale statute at my finger-ends, the mob maun get up and
string Jock Porteous to a dyester's beam, and ding a'thing
out of my head again."

Deeply as he was distressed with his own domestic
calamity. Deans could not help expressing some interest
in the news. Saddletree immediately entered on details of
the insurrection and its consequences, while Butler took the
occasion to seek some private conversation with Jeanie
Deans. She gave him the opportunity he sought by leaving
the room, as if in prosecution of some part of her morning
labour. Butler followed her in a few minutes, leaving
Deans so closely engaged by his busy visitor, that there was
little chance of his observing their absence.

The scene of their interview was an outer apartment,
where Jeanie was used to busy herself in arranging the
productions of her dairy. When Butler found an opportunity
of stealing after her into this place, he found her silent,
dejected, and ready to burst into tears. Instead of the
active industrj' with which she had been accustomed, even
while in the act of speaking, to employ her hands in some
useful branch of household business, she was seated listless
in a corner, sinking apparently under the weight of her own
thoughts. Yet the instant he entered, she dried her eyes,
and, with the simplicity and openness of her character,
immediately entered on conversation.

" I am glad you have come in, Mr. Butler," said she,
" for — for — for I wished to tell ye, that all maun be ended
between you and me — it's best for baith our sakes."

" Ended ! " said Butler, in surprise ; " and for what should
it be ended? — I grant this is a heavy dispensation, but it
lies neither at your door nor mine — it's an evil of God's
sending, and it must be borne ; but it cannot break plighted
troth, Jeanie, while they tliat plighted their word wish to
keep it"

"But, Reuben," said the young woman, looking at him
affectionately, " I ken weel that ye think mair of me than
, yourself ; and, Reuben, I can only in requital think mair of
your weal than of my ain. Ye are a man of spotless name,

134 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

bred to God's ministry, and a' men say that ye will som(
day rise high in the kirk, though poverty keep ye doun e'er
now. Poverty is a bad back-friend, Reuben, and that y(
ken ower weel ; but ill-fame is a waur ane, and that is i
truth ye sail never learn through my means."

" What do you mean ? " said Butler, eagerly and im
patiently ; " or how do you connect your sister's guilt, i
guilt there be, which, I trust in God, may yet be disproved
with our engagement ? — ^how can that affect you or me ? '

" How can you ask me that, Mr. Butler ? Will this staii
d'ye think, ever be forgotten, as lang as our heads an
abune the grund ? WiU it not stick to us, and to our bairns
and to their very bairns' bairns ? To hae been the child o
an honest man, might hae been saying something for mt

and mine ; but to be the sister of a O my God 1 "—

With this exclamation her resolution failed, and she burs
into a passionate fit of tears.

The lover used every effort to induce her to compos
herself, and at length succeeded ; but she only resumec
her composure to express herself with the same positivenes
as before. " No, Reuben, I'll bring disgrace hame to na
man's hearth ; my ain distresses I can bear, and I mauj
bear, but there is nae occasion for buckling them on othe
folk's shouthers. I will bear my load alone — ^the back i
made for the burden."

A lover is by charter wayward and suspicious ; an<
Jeanie's readiness to renounce their engagement, unde
pretence of zeal for his peace of mind and respectabilit
of character, seemed to poor Butler to form a portentoii
combination with the commission of the stranger he ha«
met with that morning. His voice faltered as he aske^
'• whether nothing but a sense of her sister's present distres
occasioned her to talk in that manner ? "

" And what else can do sae ? " she replied withsimplicitj
" Is it not ten long years since we spoke together m thi
way ? "

Ten years ? " said Butler. " It's a long time — suf¥
cient perhaps for a woman to weary "

" To weary of her auld gown," said Jeanie, " and t
wish for a new ane if she likes to be brave, but not Ion
enough to weary of a friend. — ^The eye may wish chaug*
but the heart never."

" Never ! " said Reuben — " that's a bold promise."

" But not more bauld than true," said Jeanie, with tl

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 135

sanie quiet simplicity which attended her manner in joy
and grief in ordinary aflairs, and in those which most
interested her feelings.

Butler paused, and looking at her fixedly — "I am
charged," he said, " with a message to you, Jeanie."

"indeed! From whom? Or what can ony ane have
to say to me ? "

"It is from a stranger," said Butler, affecting to speak
with an indifference which his voice belied — "a young
man whom I met this morning in the Park."

" Mercy !" said Jeanie eagerly ; " and what did he say ? "

"That he did not see you at the hour he expected, but
required you should meet him alone at Muschat's Cairn
this night, so soon as the moon rises."

" Tell him," said Jeanie hastily, " I shall certainly come."

"May I ask," said Butler, his suspicions increasing at
the ready alacrity of the answer, "who this man is to
whom you are so willing to give the meeting at a place
and hour so uncommon ? "

"Folk maun do muckle they have little will to do, in
this world," replied Jeanie.

"Granted," said her lover; "but what compels you to
this ? — who is this person ? What I saw of him was not
very favourable — who, or what is he? "

" I do not know," replied Jeanie composedly.

"You do not know!" said Butler, stepping impatiently
through the apartment. — "You purpose to meet a young
man whom you do not know, at such a time, and in a
place so lonely — you say you are compelled to do this —
and yet you say you do not know the person who exercises
such an influence over you! — Jeanie, what am I to think
of this?"

"Think only, Reuben, that I speak truth, as if I were
to answer at the last day. — I do not ken this man — I do
not even ken that I ever saw him ; and yet I must give
him the meeting he asks — there's life and death upon it."

"Will you not tell your father, or take him with you?"
said Butler.

" I cannot,** said Jeanie ; " I have no permission."

"Will you let me go with you? I will wait in the Park
till nightfall, and join you when you set out."

"It is impossible," said Jeanie; "there maunna be
I mortal creature within hearing of our conference."

" Have you considered well the nature of what you are

136 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

going to do? — the time — the place — an unknown and
suspicious character? — Why, if he had asked to see you
in this house, your father sitting in the next room, and
within call, at such an hour, you should have refused to
see him."

"My weird maun be fulfilled, Mr. Butler; my life and
my safety are in God's hands, but I'll not spare to risk
either of them on the errand I am gaun to do."

"Then, Jeanie," said Butler, much displeased, "we must
indeed break short off, and bid farewell. When there can
be no confidence betwixt a man and his plighted wife on
such a momentous topic, it is a sign that she has no longer
the regard for him that makes their engagement safe and
suitable."

Jeanie looked at him and sighed. " I thought," she
said, "that I had brought myself to bear this parting — but
— but — I did not ken that we were to part in unkindness.
But I am a woman and you are a man — it may be different
wi' you^f your mind is made easier by thinking sae hardly
of me, I would not ask you to think otherwise."

"You are," said Butler, "what you have always been
— wiser, better, and less selfish in your native feelings
than I can be, with all the helps philosophy can give to
a Christian. — But why — why will you persevere in an
undertaking so desperate? Wliy will you not let me be
your assistant — your protector, or at least your adviser? "

"Just because I cannot, and 1 dare not," answered Jeanie.
— " But hark, what's that ? Surely my father is no weel ? "

In fact, the voices in the next room became obstreperously
loud of a sudden, the cause of which vociferation it is
necessary to explain before we go further.

When Jeanie and Butler retired, Mr. Saddletree entered
upon the business which chiefly interested the family. In
the commencement of their conversation he found old
Deans, who, in his usual state of mind, was no granter
of propositions, so much subdued by a deep sense of his
daughter's danger and disgrace, that he heard without
replying to, or perhaps without understanding, one or two
learned disquisitions on the nature of the crime imputed
to her charge, and on the steps which ought to be taken
in consequence. His only answer at each pause was, " I
am no misdoubting that you wuss us weel— your wife's
our far-awa cousin. '

Encouraged by these symptoms of acquiescence, Saddle-

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 137

tree, who, as an amateur of the law, had a supreme
deference for all constituted authorities, again recurred
to his other topic of interest, the murder, namely, of Porteous,
and pronounced a severe censure on the parties concerned.

"These are kittle times — kittle times, Mr. Deans, when
the people take the power of life and death out of the hands
of the rightful magistrate into their ain rough grip. I am
of opinion, and so I believe will Mr. Crossmyloof and the
privy council, that this rising in efleir of war, to take away
the life of a reprieved man, will prove little better than
Derduellion."

" If I hadna that on my mind whilk is ill to bear, Mr.
Saddletree," said Deans, "I wad mak bold to dispute that
point wi' you."

"How could you dispute what's plain law, man? "said
Saddletree somewhat contemptuously ; " tliere's no a callant
that e'er carried a pock wi' a process in't but will tell you
that perduellion is the warst and maist virulent kind of
treason, being an open convocating of the king's lieges
against his authority (mair especially in arms, and by touk
of drum, to baith whilk accessories my een and lugs bore
witness), and muckle warse than lese-majest}', or the
concealment of a treasonable -purpose. — It winna bear a
dispute, neighbour."

"But it will, though," retorted Douce David Deans; "1
tell ye it will bear a dispute — I never like your cauld, legal,
formal doctrines, neighbour Saddletree. I haud unco little
by the Parliament House, since the awfu' downfall of the
hopes of honest folk that followed the Revolution."

" But what wad ye hae had, Mr. Deans? " said Saddletree
impatiently ; " didna ye get baith liberty and conscience
made fast, and settled by tailzie on you and your heirs for

ever

5"

"Mr. Saddletree," retorted Deans, "I ken ye are one of
those that are wise after the manner of this world, and that
ye haud your part, and cast in your portion, wi' the lang-
heads and lang-gowns, and keep with the smart witty-pated
lawyers of this our land. — Weary on the dark and dolefu'
cast that they hae gien this unhappy kingdom, when their
black hands of defection were clasped In the red hands of
our sworn murtherers : when those who had numbered the
towers of our Zion, and marked tlie bulwarks of Reforma-
tion, saw their hope turn into a snare, and their rejoicing
into weeping."

138 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

"I canna understand this, neighbour," answered Saddle-
tree. "I am an honest Presbyterian of the Kirk of
Scotland, and stand by her and the General Assembly, and
the due administration of justice by the fifteen Lords o'
Session and the five Lords o' Justiciary."

"Out upon ye, Mr. Saddletree !" exclaimed David, who,
in an opportunity of giving his testimony on the offences
and backslidings of the land, forgot for a moment his own
domestic calamity — "out upon your General Assembly, and
the back of my hand to your Court o' Session ! — What is
the tane but a waefu' bunch o' cauldrife professors and
ministers, that sat bien and warm when the persecuted
remnant were warstling wi' hunger, and cauld, and fear
o' death, and danger o' fire and sword, upon wet brae-sides,
peat-haggs, and flow-mosses, and that now creep out of
their holes, like blue-bottle flees in a blink of sunshine, to
take the pu'pits and places of better folk — of them that
witnessed, and testified, and fought, and endured pit,
prison-house, and transportation beyond seas? — A bonny
bike>>there's o' them ! — And for your Court o' Session "

"Ye may say what ye will o' the General Assembly," said
Saddletree, interrupting him, "and let them clear them
that kens them ; but as for the Lords o' Session, forby that
they are my next-door neighbours, I would have ye ken,
for your ain regulation, that to raise scandal anent them,
whilk is termed to murmur again them, is a crime sui generis
— sui generis, Mr. Deans — ken ye what that amounts to? "

" I ken little o' the language of Antichrist," said Deans ;
"and I care less than little what carnal courts may call
the speeches of honest men. And as to murmur again
them, it's what a' the folk that loses their pleas, and ninth-
tenths o' them that win them, will be gey sure to be guilty
in. Sae I wad hae ye ken that I haud a' your gleg-tongued
advocates, that sell their knowledge for pieces of silver —
and your worldly-wise judges, that will gie three days ol
hearing in presence to a debate about the peeling of aa
ingan, and no ae half-hour to the gospel testimony — £d
legalists and formalists, countenancing by sentences, ano
quirks, and cunning terms of law, the late begun courses
of national defections — union, toleration, palronagrs, and
Yerastian prelatic oaths. As for the soul and body-killing
Court o' Justiciary — — "

The habit of considering his life as dedicated to beair
testimony in behalf of what he deemed the suffering and

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 139

deserted cause of true religion, had swe[Jt honest David
along with it thus far ; but with the mention of the criminal
court, the recollection of the disastrous condition of his
daughter rushed at once on his mind ; he stopped short in
the midst of his triumphant declamation, pressed his hands
against his forehead, and remained silent

Saddletree was somewhat moved, but apparently not so
much so as to induce him to relinquish the privilege of
prosing in his turn afforded him by David's sudden silence.
"Nae doubt, neighbour," he said, "it's a sair thing
to hae to do wi' courts of law, unless it be to improve ane's
knowledge and practique, by waiting on as a hearer; and
touching this unhappy affair of Effie — ye'll hae seen the
dittay, doubtless ? " He dragged out of his pocket a bundle
of papers, and began to turn them over. "This is no it —
this is the information of Mungo Marsport, of that ilk,
against Captain Lackland, for coming on his lands of
Marsport with hawks, hounds, lying-dogs, nets, guns,
cross-bows, hagbuts of found, or other engines more or less
for destruction of game, sic as red-deer, fallow-deer, capper-
cailzies, gray-fowl, moor-fowl, paitricks, herons, and sic-
like ; he, the said defender not being ane qualified person,
in terms of the statute sixteen hundred and twenty-ane;
that is, not having ane plough-gate of land. Now, the
defences proponed say, that non constat at this present what
is a plough-gate of land, whilk uncertainty is suflicient to
elide die conclusions of the libel. But then the answers to
the defences (they are signed by Mr. Crossmyloof, but Mr.
Younglad drew them), they propone, that it signifies
nsething, in hoc statu, what or how muckle a plough-gate
of land may be, in respect the defender has nae lands
whatso'er, less or mair. * Sae grant a plough-gate ' " (here
Saddletree read from the paper in his hand) "'to be less
than the nineteenth part of a guse's grass ' — (I trow Mr.
Crossmyloof put in that — I ken his style) — *of a guse's
grass, what the better will the defender be, seeing he hasna
a divot-cast of land in Scotland? — Advocatus for Lackland
duplies, that nihil interest de possessione, the pursuer must
put his case under the statute ' — (now, tliis is worm your
nolice, neighbour) — 'and must sho'w, fonnaliter et speciaiiter,
as well as gemraliter, what is the qualification that defender
Lackland does not possess — let him tell me what a plough-
gate of land is, and I'll tell him if I have one or no. Surely
' the pursuer is bound to understand his own libel, and his

14-0 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

own statute that he founds upon. Titius pursues McEvius
for recovery of ane black horse lent to Masvius — surely he
shall have judgment; but if Titius pursue Majvius for ane
scarlet or crimson horse, doubtless he shall be bound to show
that there is sic ane animal in rerum natura. No man can
be bound to plead to nonsense — that is to say, to a charge
which cannot be explained or understood ' — (he's wrang
there — the better the pleadings the fewer understand them)
— ' and so the reference unto this undefined and unintelligible
measure of land is, as if a penalty was inflicted by statute
for any man who suld hunt or hawk, or use lying-dogs, and

wearing a sky-blue pair of breeches, without having '

But I am wearying you, Mr. Deans—we'll pass to your ain
business — though this case of Marsport against Lackland
has made an unco din in the Outer House. Weel, here's
the dittay against puir Effie : ' Whereas it is humbly meant
and shown to us,' etc. (they are words of mere style), ' that
whereas, by the laws of this and every other well-regulated
realm, the murder of any one, more especially of an infant
child, is a crime of ane high nature, and severely punish-
able : And whereas, without prejudice to the aforesaid
generality, it was, by ane act made in the second session
of the First Parliament of our most High and Dread
Sovereigns William and Mary, especially enacted, that ane
woman who shpll have concealed her condition, and shall
not be able to show that she hath called for help at the birth,
in case that the child shall be found dead or amissing, shall
be deemed and held guilty of the murder thereof; and the
said facts of concealment and pregnancy being found proven
or confessed, shall sustain the pains of law accordingly ; yet,
nevertheless, you, Effie, or Euphemia Deans ' "

'* Read no further ! " said Deans, raising his head up ;
" I would rather ye thrust a sword into my heart than read
a word further ! "

"Weel, neighbour," said Saddletree, "I thought it wad
hae comforted ye to ken the best and the warst o't But the
question is, what's to be dune ? "

"Nothing," answered Deani> firmly, "but to abide the
dispensation that the Lord sees meet to send us. Oh, if it
had been His will to take the gray head to rest before this
awful visitation on my house and name I But His will be
done. I can say that yet, though I can say little main"

" But, neighbour," said Saddletree, "ye'll retain advocate^
for the puir lassie ? it's a thing maun needs be thought of.1

^ THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 141

"If there was ae man of them," answered Deans, "that
held fast his integrity — but I ken them weel, they are a'
carnal, crafty, and warld-hunting self-seekers, Yerastians,
and Arminians, every ana o' them."

" Hout tout, neighbour, ye maunna tak the warld at its
word," said Saddletree ; " the very deil is no sae ill as he's
ca'd ; and I ken mair than ae advocate that may be said to
hae some integrity as weel as their neighbours ; tliat is,
after a sort o' fashion o' their ain."

" It is indeed but a fashion of integrity that ye will find
amang them," replied David Deans, "and a fashion of
wisdom, and fashion of carnal learning — gazing, glancing-
glasses tliey are, fit only to fling the glaiks in folk's een, \vi'
tlieir pawky policy, and earthly ingine, their flights and
refinements, and periods of eloquence, frae heathen emperors
and popish canons. They canna, in that daft trash ye were
reading to me, sae muckle as ca' men that are sae ill-starred
as to be amang their hands, by ony name o' the dis-
pensation o' grace, but maun new baptise them by the names
of tlie accursed Titus, wha was made the instrument of
burning the holy Temple, and other sic like heathens."

"It's Tishius," interrupted Saddletree, "and no Titus.
Mr. Crossmyloof cares as little about Titus or the Latin as
ye do. But it's a case of necessity — she maun hae counsel.
Now, I could speak to Mr. Crossmyloof — he's weel ken'd
for a round-spun Presbyterian, and a ruling elder to boot."

"He's a rank Yerastian," replied Deans; "one of the
public and polititious warldly-wise men that stude up to
prevent ane general owning of the cause in tlie day of
power."

"What say ye to the auld Laird of Cuffabout?" said
Saddletree ; " he whiles tliumps tJie dust out of a case gey
and well."

" He ? the fause loon ! " answered Deans — " he was in his
bandaliers to hae joined the ungracious Highlanders in 1715,
an tliey had ever had the luck to cross the Firth."

"Weel, Arniston ? there's a clever chield for yel" said
Bartoline triumphantly.

" Ay, to bring popish medals in till their very library from
that schismatic woman in tlie north, the Duchess of Gordon."

" Weel, weel, but somebody ye maun hae. — Wliat think
ye o' Kittlepunt?"

" He's an Arminian."

" Woodsetter ? "

m

142 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

" He's, I doubt, a Cocceian."

" Auld Whilliewhaw ? "

" He's onything ye like."

" Young Nasmmo ? "

" He's naething at a'."

" Ye're ill to please, neighbour," said Saddletree : "I hae
run ower the pick o' them for you, ye. maun e'en choose for
yoursell ; but bethink ye that in the multitude of counsellors
there's safety. — What say ye to try young Mackenyie ? he
has a' his uncle's ' Pratiques ' at the tongue's end."

" What, sir, wad ye speak to me," exclaimed the sturdy
Presbyterian in excessive wrath, " about a man that has
the blood of the saints at his fingers' ends ? Didna his erne
die and gang to his place wi' the name of the Bluidy
Mackenyie ? and winna he be ken'd by that name sae lang
as there's a Scots tongue to speak the word ? If the life of
the dear bairn that's under a suffering dispensation, and
Jeanie's, and my ain, and a' mankind's depended on my
asking sic a slave o' Satan to speak a word for me or them,
they should a' gae doun the water thegither for Davie
Deans I "

It was the exalted tone in which he spoke this last
sentence that broke up the conversation between Butler and
Jeanie, and brought them both "ben the house," to use the
language of the country. Here they found the poor old
man half frantic between grief and zealous ire against
Saddletree's proposed measures, his cheek inflamed, his
hand clenched, and his voice raised, while the tear in his
eye, and the occasional quiver of his accents, showed that
his utmost efforts were inadequate to shaking off the
consciousness of his misery. Butler, apprehensive of the
consequences of his agitation to an aged and feeble frame,
ventured to utter to him a recommendation to patience.

" I am patient," returned the old man sternly — " more
patient than any one who is alive to the woeful backslidings
of a miserable time can be patient ; and in so much, that I
need neither sectarians, nor sons nor grandsons of sectarians,
to instruct my gray hairs how to bear my cross."

" But, sir," continued Butler, taking no offence at the
slur cast on his grandfather's faith, " we must use human
means. When you call in a physician, you would not, 1
suppose, question him on the nature of his religious
principles ? "

" Wad I no ? answered David — " but I wad, though ;

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. X43

and if he didna satisfy me that he had a right sense of the
right-hand and left-hand defections of the day, not a goutte
of his physic should gang through my father's son."

It is a dangerous thing to trust to an illustration. Butler
had done so and miscarried ; but, like a gallant soldier
when his musket misses 5re, he stood his ground, and
charged with the bayonet — "This is too rigid an interpre-
tation of your duty, sir. The sun shines, and the rain
descends, on the just and unjust, and they are placed
together in life in circumstances which frequently render
intercourse between them indispensable, perhaps that the
evil may have an opportunity of being converted by the
good, and perhaps, also, that the righteous might, among
other trials, be subjected to that of occasional converse with
the profane."

"Ye're a silly callant, Reuben," answered Deans, "with
your bits of argument. Can a man touch pitch and not
be defiled? Or what think ye of the brave and worthy
champions of the Covenant, that wadna sae muckle as hear
a minister speak, be his gifts and graces as they would,
that hadna witnessed against the enormities of the day?
Nae lawyer shall ever speak for me and mine that hasna
concurred in the testimony of the scattered, yet lovelj
remnant, which abode in the clifts of the rocks."

So saying, and as if fatigued, both with the arguments
and presence of his guests, the old man arose, and seeming
to bid them adieu with a motion of his head and hand, went
to shut himself up in his sleeping apartment.

" It's thrawing his daughter's life awa," said Saddletree
to Butler, "to hear him speak in that daft gait Where
will he ever get a Cameronian advocate? Or wha ever
heard of a lawyer's suffering either for ae religion or
another? The lassie's life is clean flung awa,"

During the latter part of this debate, Dumbiedikes had
arrived at the door, dismounted, hung the pony's bridle on
the usual hook, and sunk down on his ordinary settle- His
eyes, with more than their usual animation, followed first
one speaker, then another, till he caught the melancholy sense
of the whole from Saddletree's last words. He rose up
from his seat, stumped slov/ly across the room, and, coming
close to Saddletree's ear, said, in a tremulous, anxious voice,
•• Will — will siller do naething for them, Mr. Saddletree ? "

"Umphl" said Saddletree, looking grave, "siller will
certainly do it in the Parliament House, if onything can do

144 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. i

it ; but where's the siller to come frae ; Mr. Deans, ye see, 1
will do naething : and though Mrs. Saddletree's their far-awa
friend, and right good weel-wisher, and is weel disposed to
assist, yet she wadna like to stand to be bound singidi in
solidum to such an expensive wark. An ilka friend wad
bear a share o' the burden, something might be dune — ilka
ane to be liable for their ain input — I wadna like to see the
case fa' through without being pled — it wadna be creditable,
for a' that daft whig body says."

"I'll — I will — yes" (assuming fortitude), "I will be
answerable," said Dumbiedikes, "for a score of punds
sterling." — And he was silent, staring in astonishment at
finding himself capable of such unwonted resolution and
excessive generosity.

"God Almighty bless ye, Laird!" said Jeanie, in a
transport of gratitude.

"Ye may ca' the twenty punds thretty," said Dumbie-
dikes, looking bashfully away from her, and towards
Saddletree.

"That will do bravely," said Saddletree, rubbing his
hands ; " and ye shall hae a' my skill and knowledge to gar
the siller gang far — I'll tape it out well — I ken how to gar
the birkies take short fees, and be glad o' them too — it's
only garring them trow ye hae twa or three cases of import-
ance coming on, and they'll work cheap to get custom.
Let me alane for whillywhaing an advocate ; its nae sin
to get as muckle frae them for our siller as we can — after
a', it's but the wind o' their mouth — it costs them naething ;
whereas, in my wretched occupation of a saddler, horse-
milliner, and harness-maker, we are out unconscionable
sums just for barkened hides and leather."

" Can I be of no use? " said Butler. " My means, alas!
are only worth the black coat I wear ; but I am young —
I owe much to the family. — Can I do nothing ? "

"Ye can help to collect evidence, sir," said Saddletree;
"if we could but find ony ane to say she had gien the
least hint o' her condition, she wad be brought alf wi' a
wat finger — Mr. Crossmyloof tell'd me sae. The crown,
says he, canna be craved to prove a positive — was't a
positive or a negative they couldna be ca'd to prove ? — it
was the tane or the tither o' them, I am sure, and it
maksna muckle matter whilk. Wherefore, says he, the
libel maun be redargued by the panel proving her
defences. And it canna be done otherwise."

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 145

"But the fact, sir," arijued Butler, "the fact that this
poor girl has borne a child ; surely tlie crown lawyers
must prove that ? " said Butler.

Saddletree paused a moment, while the visage of
Dumbiedikes, which traversed, as if it had been placed on
a pivot, from the one spokesman to the other, assumed a
more blithe expression.

"Ye — ye — ye — es," said Saddletree, after some grave
hesitation; "unquestionably that is a thing to be proved,
as the court will more fully declare by an interlocutor of
relevancy in common form ; but I fancy that job's done
already, for she has confessed her guilt."

"Confessed the murder?" exclaimed Jeanie, with a
scream that made them all start.

"No, 1 didna say that," replied Bartoline. "But she
confessed bearing the babe."

"And what became of it then?'" said Jeanie, "for not
a word could I get from her but bitter sighs and tears."

" She says it was taken away from her by the woman in
whose house it was born, and wiio assisted her at the time."

"And who was that woman?" said Butler. "Surely
by her means the truth might be discovered. — Who was
she? I will fly to her directly."

"I wish," said Dumbiedikes, "1 were as young and
as supple as you, and had the gift of the gab as weel."

"Who is she?" again reiterated Butler impatiently. —
" Who could that woman be ? "

"Ay, wha kens that but hersell?" said Saddletree;
"she deponed further, and declined to answer that inter-
rogatory."

"Then to herself will I instantly go," said Butler;
"farewell, Jeanie;" then coming close up to her — "Take
no rash steps till you hear from me. Farewell 1 " and he
immediately left the cottage.

"I wad gang too," said the landed proprietor, in an
anxious, jealous, and repining tone, " but mv powny
winna for the life o' me gang ony other road than just
frae Dumbiedikes to this house end, and sae straight back
again."

" Ye'll do better for them," said Saddletree, as they left
the house together, "by sending me the thretty punds."

"Thretty punds!" hesitated Dumbiedikes, who was
now out of the reach of those eyes which had inflameJ
his generosity ; " I only said twenty punds."

146- THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN,

"Ay; but," said Saddletree, "that was under protesta-
tion to add and elk ; and so ye craved leave to amend
your libel and made it thretty."

" Did I ? I dinna mind that I did," answered Dumbie-
dikes. "But whatever I said I'll stand to." Then be-
striding his steed with some difliculty, he added, "Dinna
ye think poor Jeanie's een wi' the tears in them glanced
like lainour beads, Mr. Saddletree ? "

"I kenna muckle about women's een. Laird," replied
the insensible Bartoline ; "and I care just as little. I
wuss I were as weel free o' their tongues ; though few
wives," he added, recollecting the necessity of* keeping up
his character for domestic rule, "are under better command
than mine. Laird. I allow neither perduellion nor lese-
majesty against my sovereign authority."

The Laird saw nothing so important in this observa-
tion as to call for a rejoinder, and when they had exchanged
a mute salutation, they parted in peace upon their different

errands.

I

CHAPTER XIII.

1 11 warrant that fellow from drowning, were the ship no
stronger than a nut-shell. The Tempest.

BuTi.ER felt neither fatigue nor want of refreshment,
although, from the mode in which he had spent the
night, he had might well have been overcome with
either. But in the earnestness with which he hastened
to the assistance of the sister of Jeanie Deans, he forgot
bbth.

In his first progress he walked with so rapid a pace as
almost approached to running, when he was surprised to
hear behind him a call upon his name, contending with
an asthmatic cough, and half-drowned amid the resound-
ing trot of a Highland pony. He looked behind, and saw
the Laird of Dumbiedikes making after him with what
speed he might, for it happened, fortunately for the
Laird's purpose of conversing with Butler, that his own
road homeward was for about two hundred yards the
same with that which led by the nearest way to the city.
Butler stopped when he heard himself thus summoned,
internally wishing no good to the panting equestrain who
tlius retarded his journey.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTIHANr 147

" Uh I uh ! uh 1 " ejaculated Dumbiedikes, as he
checked the hobbling pace of the pony by our friend
Butler. " Uh ! uh ! it's a hard-set, willyard beast this
o' mine." He had, in fact, just overtaken the object of his
chase at the very point beyond which it would have been
absolutely impossible for him to have continued the pur-
suit, since there Butler's road parted from that leading to
Dumbiedikes, and no means of influence or compulsion
which the rider could possibly have used towards his
Bucephalus could have induced the Celtic obstinacy of
Rory Bean (such was the pony's name) to have diverged
a yard from the path that conducted him to his own
paddock.

Even when he had recovered from the shortness of
breath occasioned by a trot much more rapid than Rory
or he were accustomed to, the high purpose of Dumbie-
dikes seemed to stick as it were in his throat, and impede
his utterance, so that Butler stood for nearly three
minutes ere he could utter a syllable ; and when he did
find voice, it was only to say, after one or two efiorts,
" Uh ! uh ! uhm I I say, Mr. — Mr. Butler, it's a braw
day for the har'st."

" Fine day, indeed," said Butler. " I wish you good-
morning, sir."

" Stay — stay a bit," rejoined Dumbiedikes ; " that was
no what I had gotten to say."

" Then pray be quick, and let me have your com-
mands," rejoined Butler ; "I crave your pardon, but
I am in haste, and Tempus nemini — ^you know the
proverb."

Dumbiedikes did not know the proverb, nor did he ever
take the trouble to endeavour to look as if he did, as
others in his place might ha^•e done. He was concen-
trating all his intellects for one grand proposition, and
could not afford any detachment to defend outposts. " I
say, Mr. Butler," said he, " ken ye if Mr. Saddletree's a
great la^vyer ? "

" I have no person's word for it but bis own," answered
Butler drily ; " but undoubtedly he best understands his
own qualities."

" Umph 1 " replied the taciturn Dumbiedikes, in a
tone which seemed to say, " Mr. Butler, I take your
meaning." " In that case," he pursued, " I'll employ
my ain man o' business, Nickil No\dt (auld Nichil's

MB the heart of MID-LOTHIAN.

son, and amaist as gleg as his father), to agent Effie's
plea."

And having thus displayed more sagacity than Butler
expected from him, he courteously touched his gold-laced
cocked hat, and by a punch on the ribs conveyed to Rory
Bean, it was his rider's pleasure that he should forthwith
proceed homewards ; a hint which the quadruped obeyed
with that degree of alacrity with which men and animals
interpret and obey suggestions that entirely correspond
with their own inclinations.

Butler resumed his pace, not without a momentary
revival of that jealousy which the honest Laird's attention
to the family of Deans had at different times excited in
his bosom. But he was too generous long to nurse any
feeling which was allied to selfishness. " He is," said
Butler to himself, " rich in what I want ; why should I
feel vexed that he has the heart to dedicate some of his
pelf to render them services, which I can only form the
empty wish of executing ? In God's name, let us each
do what we can. May she be but happy I — saved from
the misery and disgrace that seems impending. — Let me
but find the means of preventing the fearful experiment
of this evening, and farewell to other thoughts, tliough
my heart-strings break in parting with them 1 "

He redoubled his pace, and soon stood before the door
of the Tolbooth, or rather before the entrance where the
door had formerly been placed. His interview with the
mysterious stranger, the message to Jcanie, his agitating
conversation with her on the subject of breaking off their
mutual engagements, and the interesting scene with old
Deans, had so entirely occupied his mind as to drown
even recollection of the tragical event which he had
witnessed the preceding evening. HLs attention was not
recalled to it by the groups who stood scattered on the
street in conversation, which they hushed when strangers
approached, or by the bustling search of the agents of
the city police, supported by small parties of the military,
or by the appearance of the guard -house, before which
were treble sentinels, or. finally, by the subdued and
intimidated looks of the lower orders of society, who,
conscious that they were liable to suspicion, if they were
not guilty of accession to a riot likely to be strictly
inquired mto, glided about with a humble and dismayed
aspect, like men whose sjidrits being exhausted in the

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 149

revel and the dangers of a desp>erate debauch over-night,
are nerve-shaken, timorous, and unenterprising on the
succeeding day.

None of tliese symptoms of alarm and trepidation struck
Butler, whose mind was occupied with a different, and,
to him, still more interesting subject, until he stood before
the entrance to the prison, and saw it defended by a double
tile of grenadiers, instead of bolts and bars. Their " Stand,
stand 1 " the blackened appearance of the doorless gateway,
and the winding staircase and apartments of the Tolbooth,
now open to the public eye, recalled the whole proceedings
of the eventful night. Upon his requesting to speak with
Elhe Deans, tlie same tall, thin, silver-haired turnkey,
whom he had seen on the preceding evening, made
his appearance.

" I think," he replied to Butler's request of admission,
with true Scottish indirectness, " ye will be the same lad
that was for in to see her yestreen ? "

Butler admitted he was the same person.

" Aiid I am thinking," pursued the turnkey, " that ye
speered at me when we locked up, and if we locked up
earlier on account of Porteous ? "

" Very liicely I might make some such observation,"
said Butler ; " but the question now is, can I see Effie
Deans ? "

" I dinna ken — gang in by, and up the turnpike stair,
and turn till the ward on the left hand."

The old man followed close behind him, with his keys
in his hand, not forgetting even that huge one which had
once opened and shut the outward gate of his dominions,
though at present it was but an idle and useless burden.
No sooner had Butler entered the room to which he was
directed, than the experienced hand of the warder selected
the proper key, and locked it on the outside. At first
Butler conceived this manoeuvre was only an effect of the
man's habitual and official caution and jealousy. But when
he heard the hoarse command, " Turn out the guard I **
and immediately afterwards heard the clash of a sentinel's
arms, as he was posted at the door of his apartment,
he again called out to the turnkey, " My good friend,
I have business of some consequence with Efi&e Deans,
and I beg to see her as soon as possible." No answer
was returned. " If it be against your rules to admit me,"
repeated Butler in a still louder tone, " to see the prisoner,

ISO THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

I beg- you will tell me so, and let me go about my business.
— Fugit irrevocahile tempus!'''' muttered he to himself.

"If ye had business to do, ye suld hae dune it before
ye cam hero," replied the man of keys from the outside ;
" ye'll find it's easier vvunnin in than wunnin out here —
there's sma' likelihood o' another Porteous mob coming
to rabble us again — the law will haud her ain now, neigh-
bour, and that ye'll find to your cost."

"What do you mean by that, sir?" retorted Butler.
"You must mistake me for some other person. My name
is Reuben Butler, preacher of the Gospel."
' I ken that weel enough," said the turnkey.

" Well, then, if you know me, I have a right to know
from you in return, what warrant you have for detaining
me ; that, I know, is the right of every British subject."

"Warrant!" said the jailor — "the warrant's awa to
J-Iberton wi' twa sheriff officers seeking ye. If ye had
stayed at hame, as honest men should do, ye wad hae seen
the warrant ; but if ye come to be incarcerated of your ain
accord, wha can help it, my jo ? "

"So I cannot see Effie Deans, then," said Butler; "and
you are determined not to let me out ? "

"Troth will I no, neighbour," answered ihe old man
doggedly; "as for Effie Deans, ye'll hae eneuch ado to
mind your ain business, and let her mind hers ; and for
letting you out, that maun be as the magistrate will
determine. And fare ye weel for a bit, for I maun see
Deacon Sawyers put on ane or twa o' the doors that your
quiet folk broke down yesternight, Mr. Butler."

There was something in this exquisitely provoking, but
there was also something darkly alarming. To be im-
prisoned, even on a false accusation, has something in
it disagreeable and menacing even to men of more con-
stitutional courage than Butler had to boast ; for although
he had much of that resolution which arises from a sense
of duty and an honourable desire to discharge it, yet,
as his imagination was lively, and his frame of body
delicate, he was far from possessing that cool insensibility
to danger which is the happy portion of men of stronger
health, more firm nerves, and less acute sensibility. An
indistinct idea of peril, which he could neither understand
nor ward off, seemed to float before his eyes. He tried
to think over the events of the preceding night, in hopes
of discovering some means of explaining or vindicating

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 131

his conduct for appearing among tlie mob, since it
immediately occurred to him that nis detention must be
founded on that circumstance. And it was with anxiety
that he found he could not recollect to have been under
the observation of any disinterested witness in the attempts
that he made from time to time to expostulate with the
rioters, and to prevail on them to release him. The distress
of Deans's family, the dangerous rendezvous which Jeanie
had formed, and which he could not now hope to interrupt,
had also their share in his unpleasant reflections. Yet,
impatient as he was to receive an eclaircissemcnt upon the
cause of his confinement, and if possible to obtain his
liberty, he was affected with a trepidation which seemed
no good omen ; when, after remaining an hour in this
solitaiy apartment, he received a summons to attend the
sitting magistrate. He was conducted from prison strongly
gxiarded by a party of soldiers, with a parade of precaution,
that, however ill-timed and unnecessary, is generally dis-
played after an event, which such precaution, if used in
time, might have prevented.

He was introduced into the Council Chamber, as the
place is called where the magistrates hold their sittings,
aud which was then at a little distance from the prison.
One or two of the senators of the city were present,
and seemed about to engage in the examination of an
individual who was brought forward to the foot of the
long green-covered table round which the council usually
assembled. "Is that the preacher?" said one of the
magistrates, as the city officer in attendance introduced
Butler. The man answered in the affirmative. " Let him
sit down there for an instant ; we will finish this man's
business very briefly."

" Shall we remove Mr. Butler? " queried the assistant.

" It Is not necessar)'. — Let him remain where he is."

Butler accordingly sat down on a bench at the bottom
of the apartment, attended by one of his keepers.

It was a large room, partially and imperfectly lighted ;
but by chance, or the skill of the architect, who might
happen to remember the advantage which might occasion-
ally be derived from such an arrangement, one window
was so placed as to throw a strong light at the foot of
the table at which prisoners were usually posted for
examination, while the upper end, where the examinants
sat, was thrown into shadow. Butler's eyes were instantly

iSa THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

fixed on the person whose examination was at present
proceeding, in tlie idea that he might recognise some
one of the conspirators of the former night. But tliough
tlie features of this man were sufficiently marked and
striking, he could not recollect that he had ever seen
them before.

The complexion of this person was dark, and his age
somewhat advanced. He wore his own hair, combed
smooth down, and cut very short. It was jet black,
slightly curled by nature, and already mottled with gray.
The man's face expressed rather knavery than vice, and
a disposition to sharpness, cunning, and roguery, more
than the traces of stormy and indulged passions. His
sharp, quick, black eyes, acute features, ready, sardonic
smile, promptitude, and effrontery, gave him altogether
what is called among the vulgar a knowing look, which
generally Implies a tendency to knavery. At a fair or
market you could not for a moment have doubted that
he was a horse jockey, intimate with all the tricks of his
trade ; yet, had you met him on a moor, you would not
have apprehended any violence from him. His dress was
also that of a horse-dealer — a close-buttoned jockey-coat,
or wrap-rascal, as it was then termed, with huge metal
buttons, coarse, blue upper stockings, called boot-hose,
because supplying the place of boots, and a slouched hat.
He only wanted a loaded whip under his arm and a spur
upon one heel, to complete the dress of the character he
seemed to represent.

"Your name is James RatclIflFe? " said the magistrate.

"Ay — always wi' your honour's leave."

"That is to say, you could find me another name if I
did not like tliat one ? "

"Twenty to pick and choose upon, always with your
honour's leave," resumed the respondent.

" But James Ratcliffe is your present name ? — What is
your trade ?

" I canna just say, distinctly, that I have what ye wad
ca' prececsely a trade."

"But," repeated the magistrate, "what are your means
of living — your occupation ? "

" Flout tout — your honour, wi' your leave, kens that as
weol as I do," replied the examined.

"No matter; I want to hear you describe it," said the
examinant.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 153

Me describe ! — and to your honour ! — far be it from
Jenimie Ratclifle," responded the prisoner,

" Come, sir, no trifling — I insist on an answer,"

•'Weel, sir," replied the declarant, "I maun make a
clean breast, for ye see, wi' your leave, I am looking for
favour. — Describe my occupation, quo' ye ? — it will be ill
to do that, in a feasible way, in a place like this — but what
is't again that the aucht command says ? "

"Thou shalt not steal," answered the magistrate.

"Are you sure o' that?" replied the accused. — "Troth,
then, my occupation, and that command, are sair at odds,
for I read it, thou shalt steal ; and that makes an unco
difference, though there's but a wee bit word left out."

"To cut the matter short, Ratcliffe, you have been a
most notorious thief," said the examlnant.

" I believe Highlands and Lowlands ken that, sir, forby
England and Holland," replied Ratcliffe, with the greatest
composure and effrontery.

"And what d'ye think the end of your calling will be?"
said the magistrate.

"I could have gien a braw guess yesterday — but I dinna
ken sae weel the day," answered the prisoner.

"And what wouid you have said would have been your-
end, had you been asked the question yesterday?"

"Just the gallows," replied Ratcliffe, with the same
composure.

"You are a daring rascal, sir," said the magistrate;
"and how dare you hope times are mended with you
to-day ? "

"Dear, your honour,' answered Ratcliffe, "there's
muckle difference between lying in prison under sentence
of death, and staying there of ane's ain proper accord,
when it would have cost a man naething to get up an rin
awa — what was to hinder me from stepping out quietly,
when the rabble walked awa wi' Jock Porteous yestreen?
— and does your honour really tliink I stayed on purpose
to be hanged ? "

" I do not know what you may have proposed to your-
self; but I know," said the magistrate, "what the law
proposes for you, and that is, to hang you next Wednesday
eight days."

"Na, na, your honour," said Ratcliffe firmly, "craving
your honour's pardon, I'll ne'er believe that till I see it.
I have ken'd the law this mony a year, and mony a

154 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

tlirawart job I hae had wi' her first and last ; but the
auld jaud is no sae ill as that comes to — I aye fand her
bark waur than her bite."

"And if you do not expect the gallows, to which you
are condemned (for the fourth time to my knowledge),
may I beg the favour to know," said the magistrate,
"what it is you do expect, in consideration of your not
having taken your flight with the rest of the jail-birds,
which I v/ill admit was a line of conduct little to have
been expected ? "

" I would never have thought for a moment of staying
in that auld, gousty, toom house," answered Ratclifie,
"but that use and wont had just gien me a fancy to the
place, and I'm just expecting a bit post in't."

"A post ! " exclaimed the magistrate ; "a whipping-post,
1 suppose you mean ? "

" Na, na, sir, I had nae thoughts o' a whupping-post.
After having been four times doomed to hang by the neck
till I was dead, I think I am tar beyond being whuppit."

"Then, in Heaven's name, what did you expect? "

"Just the post of under-turnkey, for I understand there's
a vacancy," said the prisoner ; "I wadna think of asking
the lockman's* place ower his head ; it wadna suit me sae
weel as ither folk, for I never could put a beast out o' the
way, much less deal wi* a man."

"That's something in your favour," said the magistrate,
making exactly the inference to which Ratcliffe was desirous
to lead him, though he mantled his art with an affectation
of oddity. "But," continued the magistrate, "how do you
think you can be trusted with a charge in the_ prison, when
you have broken at your own hand half the jails in Scotland ? "

"Wi' your honour's leave," said Ratclifie, "if I ken'd
sae weel how to wun out mysell, it's like I wad be a' the
better a hand to keep other folk in. I think they wad ken
their business weel that held me in when I wanted to be
out, or wan out when I wanted to baud them in."

The remark seemed to strike the magistrate, but_ he
made no further immediate observation, only desired
Ratcliffe to be removed.

When this daring and yet sly freebooter was out of hear-
ing, the magistrate asked the city clerk, "what he thought
of the fellow's assurance ? "

"It's no for me to say, sir," replied the clerk} "but it

* Note 7. Hangman or Lockman,

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 155

Times RatclifTe be inclined to turn to good, there is not
a man e'er came witliin the ports of tlie burgh could be of
=:^e muckle use to tlie Good Town in the thief and lock-up

e of business. I'll speak to Mr. Sharpltlaw about him."

Upon Ratcliffe's retreat, Butler was placed at the table
for examination. The magistrate conducted his inquiry
civilly, but yet in a manner which gave him to understand
that he laboured under strong suspicion. With a frankness
which at " once became his calling and character, Butler
avowed his involuntary presence at the murder of Porteous,
and, at the request of tlie magistrate, entered into a minute
detail of the circumstances which attended that unhappy
affair. All the particulars, such as we have narrated, were
taken minutely down by the clerk from Butler's dictation.

When the narrative was concluded, the cross-examination
commenced, which it is a painful task even for the most
candid witness to undergo, since a story, especially if
connected with agitating and alarming incidents, can
scarce be so clearly and distinctly told, but that some
ambigfuity and doubt may be thrown upon it by a string
of successive and minute interrogatories.

The magistrate commenced by observing that Butler
had said his object was to return to the village of Liber-
ton, but that he was interrupted by the mob at the West
Port " Is the West Port your usual way of leaving town
when you go to Liberton ? " said the magistrate, with a
sneer.

"No, certainly," answered Butler, with the haste of a
man anxious to vindicate the accuracy of his evidence ;
" but I chanced to be nearer that port than any other,
and the hour of shutting the gates was on tlie point of
striking."

"That was unlucky," said the magistrate drj'ly. " Pray,
being, as you say, under coercion and fear of the lawless
multitude, and compelled to accompany them through
scenes disagreeable to all men of humanity, and more
especially irreconcilable to the profession of a minister,
did you not attempt to struggle, resist, or escape from
theii violence ? "

Butler replied, "that their numbers prevented him from
attempting resistance, and their vigilance from effecting
his escape."

"That was unlucky," again repeated the magistrate,
in the same dry, inacquiescent tone of voice and manner.

156 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

He proceeded with decency and politeness, but with a j
stiffness which argued his continued suspicion, to ask !
many questions concerning the behaviour of the mob, the
manners and dress of the ringleaders ; and when he con-
ceived that the caution of Butler, if he was deceiving him,
must be lulled asleep, the magistrate suddenly and art-
fully returned to former parts of his declaration, and re-
quired a new recapitulation of the circumstances, to the
minutest and most trivial point, which attended 'each part
of the melancholy scene. No confusion or contradiction,
however, occurred, that could countenance the suspicion
which he seemed to have adopted against Butler. At
length the train of his interrogatories reached Madge
Wildfire, at whose name the magistrate and town-clerk
exchanged significant ginnces. If the fate of the Good
Town had depended on her careful magistrate's knowing
the features and dress of this personage, his inquiries
could not have been more particular. But Butler could
say almost nothing of this person's features, which were
disguised apparently with red paint and soot, like an
Indian going to battle, besides the projecting shade of a
curch, or coif, which muffled the hair of the supposed
female. He declared that he thought he could not know
this Madge Wildfire, if placed before him in a different
dress, but that he believed he might recognise her voice.

The magistrate requested him again to state by what
gate he left the city.

" By the Cowgate Port," replied Butler.

" Was that the nearest road to Libcrton ? "

"No," answered Butler, with embarrassment; "but it
was the nearest way to extricate myself from the mob."

The clerk and magistrate again exchanged glances.

" Is the Cowgate Port a nearer way to Libcrton from the
Grassmarket than Bristo Port ? "

" No," replied Butler ; " but I had to visit a friend."

" Indeed ! " said the interrogator. — "You were in a hurry
to tell the sight you had witnessed, I suppose?"

"Indeed 1 was not," replied Butler; "nor did I speak
on the subject the whole time I was at St. Leonard's Crags."

" Which road did you take to St. Leonard's Crags? "

" By the foot of Salisbury Crags," was the reply.

"Indeed! — you seem partial to circuitous routes," again
said the magistrate, "Whom did you see after you left
the city ? "

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 157

One by one he obtained a description of every one of
the groups who had passed Butler, as already noticed,
their number, demeanour, and appearance ; and, at length,
came to the circumstance of the mysterious stranger in
the King's Park. On this subject Butler would fain
have remained silent. But the magistrate had no
sooner got a slight hint concerning the incident, than he
seemed bent to possess himself of the most minute
particulars.

"Look ye, Mr. Butler," said he, "you are a young man,
and bear an excellent character; so much I will myself
testify in your favour. But we are aware there has been,
at times, a sort of bastard and fiery zeal in some of your
order, and those, men irreproachable in other points,
which has led them into doing and countenancing great
irregularities, by which the peace of the country is liable
to be shaken. — I will deal plainly with you. I am not at
all satisfied with this story, of your setting out again and
again to seek your dwelling by two several roads, which
were both circuitous. And, to be frank, no one whom we
have examined on this unhappy affair could trace in your
appearance anything like your acting under compulsion.
Moreover, the waiters at the Cowgate Port observed
something like the trepidation of guilt in your conduct,
and declare that you were the first to command them to
open the gate, in a tone of authority, as if still presiding
over the guards and outposts of the rabble, who had
besieged them the whole night."

"God forgive them!" said Butler; "I only asked free
passage for myself; they nmst have much misunderstood,
if they did not wilfully misrepresent me."

"Well, Mr. Butler," resumed the magistrate, "I am
inclined to judge the best and hope the best, as I am sure
I wish the best ; but you must be frank with me, if you
wish to secure my good opinion, and lessen the risk of
inconvenience to yourself. You have allowed you saw
another individual in your passage through the King's
Park to St. Leonard's Crags.— I must know every word
which passed betwixt you."

Thus closely pressed, Butler, who had no reason for
concealing what passed at that meeting unless because
Jeanie Deans was concerned in it, thought it best to tell
the whole truth from beginning to end.

" Do you suppose," said the magistrate, pausing,

158 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

" that the young woman will accept an invitation so
mysterious ? "

" I fear she will," replied Butler.

" Why do you use the word fear it ? " said the magistrate.

"Because! am apprehensive for her safety, in meeting
at such time and place, one who had something of the
manner of a desperado, and whose message was of a
character so inexplicable."

" Her safety shall be cared for," said the magistrate.
" Mr. Butler, I am concerned I cannot immediately dis-
charge you from confinement, but I hope you will not
be long detained. — Remove Mr. Butler, and let him be
provided with decent accommodation in all respects."

He was conducted back to the prison accordingly ; but
in the food offered to him, as well as in the apartment in
which he was lodged, the recommendation of the magis-
trate was strictly attended to.

CHAF'TER XIV.

Dark and eerie was the night.

And lonely was the way.
As Janet, wi' her green mantell.

To Miles' Cross she did gae.

Old Ballad.

Leaving Butler to all the uncomfortable thoughts attached
to his new situation, among which the most predominant
was his feeling that he was, by his confinement, deprived
of all possibility of assisting the family at St. Leonard's in
their greatest need, we return to Jeanie Deans, who had
seen him depart, without an opportunity of further explana-
tion, in all that agony of mind with which the female heart
bids adieu to the complicated sensations so well described
by Coleridge-
Hopes, and fears that kindly hope,

An undistinguishable throng ;

And gentle wishes long subdued — •

Subdued and cherish'd long.

It is not the firmest heart (and Jeanie, under her russet
rokelay, had one that would not have disgraced Cato's
daughter) that can most easily ,bid adieu to these soft and

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 159

mingled emotions. She wept for a few minutes bitterly,
and without attempting to refrain from this indulg^ence
of passion. But a moment's recollection induced her to
check herself for a grief selfish and proper to her own
affections, while her father and sister were plunged into
such deep and irretrievable affliction. She drew from
her pocket the letter which had been that morning flung
into her apartment through an open window, and the
contents of which were as singular as the expression was
violent and energetic. "If she would save a human being
from the most damning guilt, and all its desperate conse-
quences— if she desired the life and honour of her sister to
be saved from the bloody fangs of an unjust law — if she
desired not to forfeit peace of mind here, and happiness
hereafter," such was the frantic style of the conjuration,
"she was entreated to give a sure, secret, and solitary
meeting to the writer. She alone could rescue him," so ran
the letter, "and he only could rescue her." He was in such
circumstances, the billet further informed her, that an
attempt to bring any witness of their conference, or even to
mention to her father, or any other person whatsoever, the
letter which requested it, would inevitably prevent its taking
place, and ensure the destruction of her sister. The letter
concluded with incoherent and violent protestations, that
in obeying this summons she had nothing to fear
personally.

The message delivered to her by Butler from the stranger
in the Park tallied exactly with the contents of the letter,
but assigned a later hour and a different place of meeting.
Apparently the writer of the letter had been compelled to let
Butler «o far into his confidence, for the sake of announcing
this change to Jeaiiie. She was more than once on the
point of producing the billet, in vindication of herself from
her lover's half-hinted suspicions. But there is something
in stooping to justification which the pride of innocence does
not at all times willingly submit to ; besides that the threats
contained in the letter, m case of her betraying the secret,
hung heavy on her heart It is probable, however, that
had they remained longer together, she might have taken
the resolution to submit the whole matter to Butler, and bo
guided by him as to the line of conduct which she should
adopt. And when, by the sudden interruption of their
conference, she lost the opportunity of doing so, she felt as
;if she had been unjust to a friend, whose advice might have

t6o THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

been highly useful, and whose attachment deserved her full
and unreserved confidence.

To have recourse to her father upon this occasion, she
considered as highly imprudent. There was no possibility
of conjecturing in what light the matter might strike old
David, whose manner of acting and thinking in extraordinary
circumstances depended upon feelings and principles peculiar
to himself, the operation of which could not be calculated
upon even by those best acquainted with him. To have
requested some female friend to have accompanied her to
the place of rendezvous, would perhaps have been the most
eligible expedient ; but the threats of the writer, that
betraj'ing his secret would prevent their meeting (on which
her sister's safety was said to depend) from taking place at
all, would have deterred her from making such a confidence,
even had she known a person in whom she thought it could
with safety have been reposed. But she knew none such.
Their acquaintance with the cottagers in the vicinity had
been very slight, and limited to trifling acts of good
neighbourhood. Jeanie knew little of them, and what she
knew did not greatly incline her to trust any of them. They
were of the order of loquacious, good-humoured gossips
usually found in their situation of life ; and their conversa-
tion had at all times few charms for a young woman, to
whom nature and the circumstance of a solitary life had
given a depth of thought and force ot character superior to
the frivolous part of her sex, whether in high or low
degree.

Left alone and separated from all earthly counsel, she
had recourse to a Friend and Adviser whose ear is open
to the cry of the poorest and most afflicted of His people.
She knelt, and prayed with fervent sincerity, that God
would please to direct her what course to follow in her
arduous and distressing situation. It was the belief of
the time and sect to which she belonged, that special
answers to prayer, differing little in their character from
divine inspiration, were, as they expressed it, "borne in
upon their minds " in answer to their earnest petitions
in a crisis of difficulty. Without entering into an abstruse
point of divinity, one thing is plain — namely, that the
person who lays open his doubts and distresses in prayer,
with feeling and sincerity, must necessarily, in the act
of doing so, purify his mind from the dross of worldly
passions and interests, and bring it into that state, when

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. i6i

the resolutions adopted are likely to be selected rather
from a sense of duty, than from any inferior motive.
Jeanie arose from her devotions, with her heart fortified
to endure affliction, and encouraged to face difficulties.

" I will meet this unhappy man," she said to herself —
"unhappy he must be, since I doubt he has been the
cause of poor Effie's misfortune — but I will meet him, be
it for good or ill. My mind shall never cast up to me
that, for fear of what might be said or done to myself, I
left that undone that might even vet be the rescue of
her."

With a mind greatly composed since the adoption of
this resolution, she went to attend her father. The old
man, firm in the principles of his youth, did not, in out-
ward appearance at least, permit a thought of his family
distress to interfere with the stoical reserve of his coun-
tenance and manners. He even chid his daughter for
having neglected, in the distress of the morning, some
trifling domestic duties which fell under her department.

"Why, what meaneth this, Jeanie?" said tlie old man.
— "The brown four-year-auld's milk is not seiled yet,
nor tlie bowies put up on the bink. If ye neglect your
warldly duties in the day of affliction, what confidence
have I that ye mind the greater matters that concern
salvation? God knows, our bowies, and our pipkins,
and our draps o' milk, and our bits o' bread, are nearer
and dearer to us than the bread of life I "

Jeanie, not unpleased to hear her father's thoughts thus
expand themselves beyond the sphere of his immediate
distress, obeyed him, and proceeded to put her household
matters in order ; while old David moved from place
to place about his ordinary employments, scarce show-
ing, unless by a nervous impatience at remaining long
stationary, an occasional convulsive sigh, or twinkle of
the eyelid, that he was labouring under the yoke of such
bitter affliction.

The hour of noon came on, and the father and child
sat down to their homely repast. In his petition for a
blessing on the meal, the poor old man added to his
supplication a prayer that the bread eaten in sadness of
heart, and the bitter waters of Marah, might be made as
nourishing as those which had been poured forth from a
full cup and a plentiful basket and store ; and having
concluded his benediction, and resumed tlie bonnet which

i62 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

he had laid "reverently aside," he proceeded to exhort
his daughter to eat, not by example indeed, but at least
by precept.

"The man after God's own heart," he said, "washed
and anointed himself, and did eat bread, in order to ex-
press his submission under a dispensation of suffering,
and It did not become a Christian man or woman so to
cling to creature-comforts of wife or bairns" — (here the
words became too great, as it were, for his utterance^ —
"as to forget the first duty — submission to the Divine
will."

To add force to his precept, he took a morsel on his
plate, but nature proved too strong even for the power-
ful feelings with which he endeavoured to bridle it.
Ashamed of his weakness, he started up, and ran out of
the house, with haste very unlike the deliberation of his
usual movements. In less than five minutes he returned,
having successfully struggled to recover his ordinary
composure of mind and countenance, and affected to
colour ov^er his late retreat, by muttering that he thought
he heard the "young staig loose in the byre."

He did not again trust himself with the subject of his
former conversation, and his daughter was glad to see
that he seemed to avoid further discourse on that agitating
topic. The hours glided on, as on they must and do pass,
whether winged with joy or laden with affliction. The
sun set beyOiid the dusky eminence of the Castle and
the screen of western hills, and the close of evening sum-
moned David Deans and his daughter to the family duty
of the night. It came bitterly upon Jeanie's recollection,
how often, when the hour of worship approached, she
used to watch the lengthening shadows, and look out
from the door of the house, to see if she could spy her
sister's return homeward. Alas ! this idle and thought-
less waste of time, to what evils had it not finally led ?
and was she altogether guiltless, who, noticing Effic's
turn to idle and light society, had not called in her
father's authority to restrain her? — But I acted for the
best, she again reflected, and who could have expected
such a growth of evil, from one grain of human leaven,
in a disposition so kind, and candid, and generous?

As they sat down to the "exercise," as it is called, a
chair happwicd accidentally to stand in the place which
Effie usually occupied. David Deans saw his daughter's

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 163

eyes swim in tears as they were directed towards this
object, and pushed it aside, with a gesture of some
impatience, as if desirous to destroy every memorial of
earthly interest when about to address the Deity. The
portion of Scripture was read, the psahn was sung, the
prayer was made ; and it was remarkable that, in dis-
charging these duties, the old man avoided all passages
and expressions, of which Scripture affords so many,
that might be considered as applicable to his own domestic
misfortune. In doing so, it was perhaps his intention to
spare the feelings of his daughter, as well as to maintain,
in outward show at least, that stoical appearance of
[ patient endurance of all the evil which earth could bring,
which was In his opinion essential to the character of one
rated all earthly things at their just estimate of
hingness. When he had finished the duty of the evening,
I he came up to his daughter, wished her good-night, and,
1 having done so, continued to hold her by the hands for
half a minute ; then drawing her towards him, kissed
' her forehead, and ejaculated, "The God of Israel bless you,
even with the blessings of the promise, my dear bairn 1 "

It was not either In the nature or habits of David
Deans to seem a fond father ; nor was he often observed
to experience, or at least to evince, that fulness of the
heart which seeks to expand itself in tender expressions
or caresses even to those who were dearest to him. On
the contrary, he used to censure this as a degree of weak-
ness In several of his neighbours, and particularly in poor
widow Butler. It followed, however, from the rarity of
such emotions in this self-denied and reserved man, that
his children attached to occasional marks of his affection
and approbation a degree of high interest and solemnity ;
well considering them as evidences of feelings which were
only expressed when they became too intense for suppression
or concealment

With deep emotion, therefore, did he bestow, and his
daughter receive, this benediction and paternal caress.
"And you, my dear father," exclaimed Jeanie, when the
door had closed upon the venerable old man, "may you
have purchased and promised blessing multiplied upon
you — upon you, who walk in this world as though you
were not of the world, and hold all that It can give or
take away but as the midges that the sun-blink brings
out, and the evening wind sweeps away ! "

i64 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

She now made preparation for her night-walk. Her
fatiier slept in another part of the dwcHing, and, regular
in all his habits, seldom or never left his apartment when
he had betaken himself to it for the evening. It was
therefore easy for her to leave the house unobserved, so
soon as the lime approached at whicii she was to keep
her appointment. But the step she was about to take
had difficulties and terrors in her own eyes, though she
had no reason to apprehend her father's interference.
Her life had been spent in the quiet, uniform, and regular
seclusion of their peaceful and monotonous household.
The very hour which some damsels of the present day,
as well of her own as of higher degree, would consider as
the natural period of commencing an evening of pleasure,
brought, in her opinion, awe and solemnity in it ; and
the resolution she had taken had a strange, daring, and
adventurous character, to which she could hardly reconcile
herself when the moment approached for putting it into
execution. Her hands trembled as she snooded her fair
hair beneath the riband, then the only ornament or cover
which young unmarried women wore on their head, and
as she adjusted the scarlet tartan screen or muffler made
of plaid, which the Scottish women wore much in the
fashion of the black silk veils still a part of female dress
in the Netherlands. A sense of impropriety as well as
of danger pressed upon her, as she lifted the latch of her
paternal mansion to leave it on so wild an expedition,
and at so late an hour, unprotected, and without the
knowledge of her natural guardian.

When she found herself abroad and in the open fields,
additional subjects of apprehension crowded upon her.
The dim clitTs and scattered rocks, interspersed with
greensward, through which she had lo pass to the place
of appointment, as they glimmered before her in a clear
autumn night, recalled to her memory many a deed of
violence, which, according to tradition, had been done
and suffered among them. In earlier days they had been
the haunt of robbers, and assassins, the memory of whose
crimes is preserved in the various edicts which the council
of the city, and even the parliament of Scotland, had passed
for dispersing their bands, and ensuring safety to the lieges,
so near the precincts of the city. The names of tliese
criminals, and of their atrocities, were still remembered
in traditions of the scattered cottages and the neighbouring

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 165

suburb. In latter times, as we have already noticed, the
sequestered and broken character of the ground rendered it
a fit theatre for duels and rencontres among the fiery youth
of the period. Two or three of these incidents, all
sanguinary, and one of them fatal in its termination, had
happened since Deans came to live at St. Leonard's. His
daughter's recollections, therefore, were of blood and horror,
as she pursued the small, scarce-tracked, solitary path,
every step of which conveyed her to a greater distance
from help, and deeper into tlie ominous seclusion of these
unhallowed precincts.

As the moon began to peer forth on the scene with a
doubtful, flitting, and solemn light, Jeante's apprehensions
took another turn, too peculiar to her rank and country
to remain unnoticed. But to trace its origin will require
another chapter.

CHAPTER XV.

The spirit I have seen

May be the devil. And the devil has power
To assume a pleasing shape.

HamleL

WiTCHCRj\FT and demonolog^, as we have had already
occasion to remark, were at this period believed in by
almost all ranks, but more especially among the stricter
classes of Presbyterians, whose government, when their
party were at the' head of the state, had been much sullied
by their eagerness to inquire into, and persecute these
imaginary crimes. Now, in this point of view, also St.
Leonard's Crags and the adjacent Chase were a dreaded
and ill-reputed district. Not only had witches held their
meetings there, but even of very late years the enthusiast,
or impostor, mentioned in the Patuimmoniuvi of Richard
Bovet, Gentleman,* had, amonjj the recesses of these
romantic cliffs, found his way mto the hidden retreats
where the fairies revel in the bowels of the earth.

With all these legends Jeanie Deans was too well
acquainted to escape that strong impression which they
usually make on the imagination. Indeed, relations of
thi.s ghostly kind had been familiar to her from her
infancy, for they were the only relief which her father's

' Note 8. The Fairy Boy of T.nth.

166 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

conversation afForded from controversial argument, or
the gloomy history of tlie strivings and testimonies,
escapes, captures, tortures, and executions of those martyrs
of the Covenant, with which it was his chiefest boast to
say he had been acquainted. In the recesses of mountains,
in caverns, and in morasses, to which these persecuted
enthusiasts were so ruthlessly pursued, they conceived they
had often to contend with the visible assaults of the Enemy
of mankind, as in the cities, and in the cultivated fields,
they were exposed to those of the tyrannical government
and their soldiery. Such were the terrors which made one
of their gifted seers exclaim, when his companion returned
to him, after having left him alone in a haunted cavern in
Sorn in Galloway, " It is hard living in this world— 7
incarnate devils above the earth, and devils under the
earth ! Satan has been here since ye went away, but 1 have
dismissed him by resistance ; we will be no more troubled
with him this night." David Deans believed this, and
many other such ghostly encounters and victories, on the faith
of the Ansars, or auxiliaries of the banished prophets. This
event was beyond David's remembrance. But he used to
tell with great awe, yet not without a feeling of proud
superiority to his auditors, how he himself had been present
at a field meeting at Crochmade, when the duty of the
day was interrupted by the apparition of a tall, black man,
who, in the act of crossing a ford to join the congregation,
lost ground, and was carried down apparently by the
force of the stream. All were instantly at work to assist
him, but with so little success, that ten or twelve stout
men, who had hold of the rope which they had cast in to
his aid, were rather in danger to be dragged into the
stream, and lose their own lives, than likely to save that
of the supposed perishing man. But famous John Semple
of Carspharn," David Deans used to say with exultation,
"saw the whaup in the rape. 'Quit the rope,' he cried
to us (for I that was but a callant had a baud o' the rape
myself), ' it is the Great Enemy ! he will burn, but not
drown ; his design is to disturb the good wark, by raising
wonder and confusion in your minds ; to put off from your
spirits all that ye hae heard and felt' — Sae we let go the
rape, "said David, "and he went a-down the water screeching
and bullering like a Bull of Bashan, as he's ca'd in
Scripture."*

* No 9. Inierosurae of the Covenanters with the Invisible World.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 167

' Trained in these and similar legends, it was no wonder
that Jeanie began to feel an ill-defined apprehension, not
merely of the phantoms which might beset her way, but
of the quality, nature, and purpose of the being who had
thus appointed her a meeting at a place and hour of
horror, and at a time when her niind must be necessarily
full of those tempting and ensnaring thoughts of grief and
despair, which were supposed to lay sufferers particularly
open to the temptations of the Evil One. If such an idea
had crossed even Butler's well-informed mind, it was
calculated to make a much stronger impression upon hers.
Yet tirmly beheving the possibility of an encounter so
terrible to flesh and blood, Jeanie, with a degree of
resolution of which we cannot sufficiently estimate the
merit because the incredulity of the age has rendered us
strangers to the nature and extent of her feelings, persevered
in her determination not to omit an opportunity of doing
something towards saving her sister, although in the
attempt to avail herself of it, she might be exposed to
dangers so dreadful to her imagination. So, like Christiana
in the " Pilgrim's Progress," when traversing with a timid
yet resolute step the terrors of the Valley of the Shadow
of Death, she glided on by rock and stone, "now in
glimmer and now in gloom," as her path lay through
moonlight or shadow, and endeavoured to overpower
the suggestions of fear, sometimes by fixing her mind
uqon the distressed condition of her sister, and the
duty she lay under to afford her aid, should that be in
her power; and more frequently by recurring in mental
prayer to the protection of that Being to whom night is as
noon-day.

Thus drowning at one time her tears by fixing her mind
on a subject of overpowering interest, and arguing them
down at others by referring herself to the protection of
the Deity, she at length approached the place assigned
for this mysterious conference.

It was situated in the depth of the valley behind Salisbury
Crags, which has for a background the north-western
shoulder of [the mountain called Arthur's Seat, on whose
descent still remain the ruins of what was once a chapel,
or hermitage, dedicated to Saint Anthony the Eremite.
A better site for such a building could hardly have been
selected ; for the chapel, situated among the rude and
pathless cliffs, lies in a desert, even in the immediate

i68 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

vicinity of a rich, populous, and tumultuous capital : and
the hum of the city might mingle with the orisons of the
reduces, conveying as little of worldly interest as if it had
been the roar of the distant ocean. Beneath the steep
ascent on which these ruins are still visible, was, and,
perhaps, is still pointed out, the place where the wretch
Nicol Muschat, who has been already mentioned in these
pages, had closed a long scene of cruelty towards his
unfortunate wife, by murdering her, with circuinstances
of uncommon barbarity.* The execration in which the
man's crime was held extended itself to the place where
it was perpetrated, which was marked by a small cairn,
or heap of stones, composed of those which each chance
passenger had thrown there in testimony of abhorrence,
and on the principle, it would seem, of the ancient
British malediction, " May you have a cairn for your
burial-place ! "

As our heroine approached this ominous and unhallowed
spot, she paused and looked to the moon, now rising
broad on the north-west, and shedding a more distinct
light than it had afforded during her walk thither. Eyeing
the planet for a moment, she then slowly and fearfully
turned her head towards the cairn, from which it was at
first averted. She was at first disappointed. Nothing was
visible beside the little pile of stones, which shone gray
in the moonlight. A multitude of confused suggestions
rushed on her mind. Had her correspondent deceived her,
and broken his appointment? — was he too tardy at the
appointment he had made? — or had some strange turn
of fate prevented him from appearing as he proposed? —
or, if he were an unearthly being, as her secret apprehensions
suggested, was it his object merely to delude her with false
hopes, and put her to unnecessary toil and error, according
to the nature, as she had heard, of those wandering demons ?
— or did he purpose to blast her with the sudden horrors of
his presence when she had come close to the place of
rendezvous? These anxious reflections did not prevent
her approaching to the cairn with a pace that, though
slow, was determined.

When she was within two yards of the heap of stones,
a figure rose suddenly up from behind it, and Jeanie scarce
forbore to scream aloud at what seemed the realisation of
the most frightful of her anticipations. She constrained

• Note 6. Muscliat's Cairn.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 169

herself to silence, however, and, making a dead pause,
suffered the figure to open the conversation, which he
did, by asking, in a voice which agitation rendered
tremulous and hollow, "Are you the sister of that ill-fated
young woman ? "

"I am — I am the sister of Effie Deans!" exclaimed
Jeanie. "And as ever you hope God will hear you at
your need, tell me, if you can tell, what can be done to
save her ! "

" I do not hope God will hear me at my need," was the
singular answer. " I do not deserve — I do not expect He
will," This desperate language he uttered in a tone calmer
than that with which he had at first spoken, probably
because the shock of first addressing her was what he
felt most difficult to overcome. Jeanie remained mute
with horror to hear language expressed so utterly foreign
to all which she had ever been acquainted with, that it
sounded in her ears rather like that of a fiend than of a
human being. The stranger pursued his address to her
without seeming to notice her surprise. "You see before
you a wretch, predestined to evil here and hereafter."

" For the sake of Heaven, that hears and sees us," said
Jeanie, " dinna speak in this desperate fashion ! The gospel
is sent to the chief of sinners — to the most miserable among
the miserable."

"Then should I have my own share therein," said the
stranger, "if you .call it sinful to have been the destruction
of the mother that bore me — of the friend that loved me —
of the woman that trusted me — of the innocent child that
was born to me. If to have done all this is to be a sinner,
and to survive it is to be miserable, then am I most guilty
and most miserable indeed."

"Then you are the wicked cause of my sister's ruin?"
said Jeanie, with a natural touch of indignation expressed
in her tone of voice.

" Curse me for it, if you will," said tlie stranger ; " I have
well deserved it at your hand."

"It is fitter for me," said Jeanie, "to pray to God to
forgive you."

"Do as you will, how you will, or what you will," he
replied, with vehemence; "only promise to obey my
directions, and save your sister's life.'

"I must first know," said Jeanie, "the means you would
have me use in her behalf."

170 ' THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

"No! — you must first swear — solemnly swear, that you
will employ them, when I make them known to you."

"Surely, it is needless to swear that I will do all that
is lawful to a Christian, to save the life of my sister ? "

"I will have no reservation!" thundered the stranger;
"lawful or unlawful, Christian or heathen, you shall
swear to do my hest, and act by my counsel, or — you
little know whose wrath you provoke 1 "

" I will think on what you have said," said Jeanie, who
began to get much alarmed at the frantic vehemence of
his manner, and disputed in her own mind whether slie
spoke to a maniac, or an apostate spirit incarnate — "I
will think on what you say, and let you ken to-morrow."

"To-morrow!" exclaimed the man, with a laugh of
scorn — "And where will I be to-morrow? — or, where will
you be to-night, unless you swear to walk by my counsel ?
— There was one accursed deed done at this spot before
now ; and there shall be another to match it, unless you
yield up to my guidance body and soul."

As he spoke, he offered a pistol at the unfortunate young
woman. She neither fled nor fainted, but sunk on her knees,
and asked him to spare her life.

" Is that all you have to say? " said the unmoved ruffian.

" Do not dip your hands in the blood of a defenceless
creature that has trusted to you," said Jeanie. still on her
knees.

"Is that all you can say for your life? — Have you no
promise to give ? — Will you destroy your sister, and compel
me to shed more blood ? "

"I can promise nothing," said Jeanie, "which is un-
lawful for a Christian."

He cocked the weapon, and held it towards her.

"May God forgive you!" she said, pressing her hands
forcibly against her eyes.

" D n ! " muttered the man ; and, turning aside from

her, he uncocked the pistol, and replaced it in his pocket —
"I am a villain," he said, "steeped in guilt and wretched-
ness, but not wicked enough to do you any harm ! I only
wished to terrify you into my measures. — She hears me
not — she is gone ! — Great God ! what a wretch am I
become ! "

As he spoke, she recovered herself from an agony which
partook of the bitterness of death ; and, in a minute or two,
through the strong exertion of her natural sense and courage.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.- 171

cted herself sufficiently to understand he intended her no
personal injury.

" No ! " he repeated ; " I would not add to the murder of
/our sister, and of her child, that of any one belonging to
ner ! — Mad, frantic, as I am, and unrestrained by either
ear or mercy, given up to the possession of an evil being,
md forsaken by all that is good, I would not hurt you,
were the world offered me for a bribe ! But, for the sake
jf all that is dear to you, swear you will follow my counsel.
Fake this weapon, shoot me through tlie head, and with
y'our own hand revenge your sister's wrong, only follow
Jie course — the only course, by which her life can be saved."

" Alas ! is she innocent or guilty ? "

'* She is guiltless — guiltless of everything, but of having
-ed a villain ! — Yet, had it not been for those that were
e than I am — yes, worse than I am, though I am bad
indeed — this misery had not befallen."
\ " And my sister's child — does it live ? " said Jeanie.

" No ; it was murdered — the new-bom infant was barbar-
lOusly murdered," he uttered in a low, yet stern and sustained
voice; "but," he added hastily, "not by her knowledge or
consent."

"Then why cannot the gfuilty be brought to justice, and
the innocent freed ? "

"Torment me not with questions which can serve no
purpose," he sternly replied — "the deed was done by those
who are far enough from pursuit, and safe enough from
discovery ! — No one can save Effie but yourself."

"Woe's me! how is it in my power?" asked Jeanie, in
despondency.

" Hearken to me ! — You have sense — -^ou can apprehend
my meaning — I will trust you. Your sister is innocent of
the crime charged against her "

" Thank God for that ! " said Jeanie.

" Be still and hearken ! — The person who assisted her
in her illness murdered the child ; but it was without the
mother's knowledge or consent. — She is therefore guiltless,
as guiltless as the unhappy innocent, that but gasped a
few minutes in this unhappy world — the better was its hap
to be so soon at rest. She is innocent as that infant, and
yet she must die — it is impossible to clear her of the law I "

"Cannot the wretches be discovered, and given up to
punishment ? " said Jeanie.

" Do you think you will persuade those who are hardened

172 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

in guilt to die to save anotlier? — Is tliat tlie reed you would
lean to ? "

" But you said there was a remedy," again gasped out
the terrified young woman.

"There is," answered the stranger, "and it is in your
own hands. The blow which the law aims cannot be
broken by dirtcUy encountering it, but it may be turned
aside. You saw your sister during the period preceding
the birth of her child — what is so natural as that she
should have mentioned her condition to you ? The doing
so would, as their cant goes, take the case from under the
statute, for it removes the quality of concealment. I know
their jargon, and have had sad cause to know it ; and
the quality of concealment is essential to this statutory
offence.* Nothing is so natural as that Effie should have
mentioned her condition to you — think — reflect — I am
positive that she did."

"Woe's me!" said Jeanie, "she never spoke to me on
the subject, but grat sorely when I spoke to her about her
altered looks, and the change on her spirits."

"You asked her questions on the subject?" he said
eagerly. "You must remember her answer was a con-
fession that she had been ruined by a villain— yes, lay a
strong emphasis on that — a cruel, false villain call it —
any other name is unnecessary ; and that she bore under
her bosom the consequences of his guilt and her folly ;
and that he had assured her he would provide safely for
her approaching illness. — Well he kept his word 1 " These
last words he spoke, as it were, to himself, and with a
violent gesture of self-accusation, and then calmly proceeded,
"you will remember all this?— That is all that is necessary
to be said."

" But I cannot remember," answered Jeanie, with
simplicity, "that which Effie never told me."

"Are you so dull — so very dull of apprehension?" he
exclaimed, suddenly grasping her .arm, and holding it firm
in his hand. " I tell you " (speaking between his teeth,
and under his breath, but with great energy), "you must
remember that she told you all this, whether she ever said a
syllable of it or no. You must repeat this tale, in which
there is no falsehood, except in so far as it was not told
to you, before these Justices — Justiciary — whatever they
call their bloodthirsty court, and save your sister from
* Not* i» Child murde*

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 173

being murdered, and them from becoming murderers.
V' J not hesitate — I pledge life and salvation, that in
;:ig what I have said, you will only speak the simple
■Ji."

' But," replied Jeanie, whose judgment was too accurate
;. .: to see the sophistry of this argument, " I shall be man-
suorn in the very thing in which my testimony is wanted,
for it is the concealment for which poor Effie is blamed,
and you would make me tell a falsehood anent it."

*' I see," he said, "my first suspicions of you were right,
and that you will let your sister, innocent, fair, and
guiltless, except in trusting a villain, die the death of a
murderess, rather than bestow the breath of your mouth
and the sound of your voice to save her."

" 1 wad ware the best blood in my body to keep her
skaithless,'' said Jeanie, weeping in bitter agony, "but I
canna change right into wrang, or make that true which
is false."

"Foolish, hard-hearted girl," said the stranger, "are
you afraid of what they may do to you ? I tell you, even
the retainers of the Inw, who course life as greyhounds
do hares, will rejoice at the escape of a creature so young
— so beautiful ; that they will not suspect your tale ;
that, if tliey did suspect it, they would consider you as
deserving, not only of forgiveness, but of praise for your
natural affection."

"It is not man I fear," said Jeanie, looking upward;
"the God, whose name I must call on to witness the
truth of what I say. He will know the fab<;!iood."

"And He will know the motive," said the stranger
eagerly ; " He will know that you are doing this — not for
lucre of gain, but to save the life of the innocent, and
prevent the commission of a worse crime than tliat which
the law seeks to avenge."

"He has given us a law," said Jeanie, "for the lamp of
our path ; if we stray from it we err against knowledge
— 1 may not do evil, even that good may come out of it
But you — you that ken all this to be true, which I must
take on your word — you that, if I understood what you
said e'en now, promised her shelter and protection in her
travail, why do not you step forward, and bear leal and
soothfast evidence in her behalf, as ye may with a clear
conscience ? "

"To whom do you talk of a clear conscience, woman?"

174 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIA^^.

said he, with a sudden fierceness which renewed her
terrors — "to me? — I have not known one for many a
year. Bear witness in her behalf? — a proper witness,
that, even to speak these few words to a woman of so
little consequence as yourself, must choose such an hour
and such a place as this. When you see owls and bats
fly abroad, like larks, in the sunshine, you may expect to
see such as I am in the assemblies of men. — Hush — listen
to that."

A voice was heard to sing one of those wild and mono-
tonous strains so common in Scotland, and to which the
natives of that country chant their old ballads. The
sound ceased — then came nearer, and was renewed ; the
stranger listened attentively, still holding Jeanie by the
arm (as she stood by him in motionless terror), as if to
prevent her interrupting the strain by speaking or stir-
ring. When the sounds were renewed, the words were
distinctly audible —

" When the glede's in the blue cloud,
The lavrock lies still ;
When the hound's in the green-wood.
The hind keeps the hill."

The person who sung kept a strained and powerful voice
at its highest pitcli, so that it could be heard at' a very
considerable distance. As the song ceased, they might
hear a stifled sound, as of steps and whispers of persons
approaching them. The song was again raised, but the
tune was changed —

"O sleep ye sound, Sir James, she said,
When ye suld rise and ride?
There's twenty men wi* bow and blade,
Are seeking where ye hide."

" I dare stay no longer," said the stranger ; " return
home, or remain till they come up — you have nothing to
fear — but do not tell you saw me — your sister's fate is in
your hands." So saying, he turned from her, and with
a swift, yet cautiously noiseless step, plunged into the
darkness on the side most remote from the sounds which
they heard approaching, and was soon lost to her sight.
Jeanie remained by the cairn terrified beyond expression,
and uncertain whether she ought to fiy homeward with

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 175

all the speed she could exert, or wait the approach of
those who were advancing- towards her. This uncertainty
detained her so long, that she now distinctly saw two or
three figures already so near to her, that a precipitate
flight would have been equally fruitless and impolitic.

CHAPTER XVI.

She speaks thing's in doubt,

That carry but half sense : her speech is nothing',

Yet the unshaped use of it doth move

The hearers to collection ; they aim at it.

And botch the words up to fit their own thougfhls.

Hamlet.

Like the digressi\-e poet Arlosto, I find myself under
the necessity of connecting tlie branches of my story, by
taking up the adventures of another of tlie characters, and
bringing them down to the point at which we have left
those of Jeanie Deans. It is not, perhaps, the most arti-
ficial way of telling a storj', but it has the advantage
of sparing the necessity of resuming what a knitter (if
stocking-looms have left such a person in the land) might
call our "dropped stitches;" a labour in which the author
generally toils much, without getting credit for his pains. ^

"I could risk a sma' wad," said the clerk to the magis-
trate, "that this rascal Ratcliffe, if he were insured of his
neck's safety, could do more than ony ten of our police-
people and constables, to help us to get out of this scrape
of Porteous's. He is weel acquent wi' a' the smugglers,
thieves, and banditti about Edinburgh ; and, indeed, he
may be called the father of a' the misdoers in Scotland,
for he has passed amang them for these twenty years by
the name of Daddy Rat."

"A bonny sort of a scoundrel," replied the magistrate,
«* to expect a place under the city ! "

" Begging your honour's pardon," said the city's pro-
curator-fiscal, upon whom the duties of superintendent
of police devolved, " Mr. Fairscrieve is perfectly in the
right It is just sic as Ratcliffe that the town needs
in my department ; an if sae be that he's disposed to
turn his Icnowledge to the city service, ye '11 no find a
better man. — Ye'll get nae saints to be searchers for

176 THE HEART OF MlD-LOTHlAN.

uncustomed goods, or for thieves and sic like ; and your
decent sort of men, religious professors, and broken
tradesmen, that are put into the like o' sic trust, can do
nae gude ava. They are feared for this, and they are
scrupulous about that, and they were na free to tell a lie,
though it may be for the benefit of the city ; and they
dinna like to be out at irregular hours, and in a dark,
cauld night, and they like a clout ower the croun far
waur ; and sae between the fear o' God, and the fear o'
man, and the fear o' getting a sair throat, or sair banes,
there's a dozen o' our city-folk, baith waiters, and ofiicers,
and constables, that can find out naething but a wee bit
skulduddery for the benefit of the kirk treasurer. Jock
Porteous, that's stiff and stark, puir fallow, was worth a dozen
o' them ; for he never had ony fears, or scruples, or doubts,
or conscience, about onything your Honours bade him."

"He was a gude servant o' the town," said the Bailie,
"though he was an ower free-living man. But if you
really think this rascal Ratcliffe could do us ony service
in discovering these malefactors, I would insure him life,
reward, and promotion. It's an awesome thing this mis-
chance for the city, Mr. Fairscrieve. It will be very ill
taen wi' abune stairs. Queen Caroline, God bless her!
is a woman — at least I judge sae, and it's nae treason to
speak my mind sae far — and ye maybe ken as weel as I
do, for ye hae a housekeeper, though ye arena a married
man, that women are wilfu', and downa bide a slight.
And it will sound ill in her ears, that sic a confused mis-
take suld come to pass, and naebody sae muckle as to be
put in the Tolbooth about it."

'* If ye thought that, sir," said the procurator-fiscal, " we
could easily clap into the prison a few blackguards upon
suspicion. It will have a gude, active look, and I hae aye
plenty on my list, that wadna be a hair the waur of a week
or twa's imprisonment ; and if ye thought it no strictly
just, ye could be just the easier wi' them the neist time
they did onything to deserve it ; they arena the sort to be
lang o' gieing ye an opportunity to clear scores wi' them on
that account."

" I doubt that will hardly do in this case, Mr. Sharpit-
law," returned the town-clerk; "they'll run their letters,*
and be adrift again, before ye ken where ye are."

• A Scottish form of procedure, answering, in some respects, to the English
Habeas Corpus.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 177

"I will speak to the Lord Provost," said the magistrate,
"about Ratcliffe's business. Mr. Sharpitlaw, you will go
with me and receive instructions — something may be made,
too, out of this story of Butler's and his unknown gentle-
man— I know no business any man has to swagger about
in the King's Park, and call himself the devil, to the terror
of honest folks, who dinna care to hear mair about the
devil than is said from the pulpit on the Sabbath. I cannot
think the preacher himself wad be heading the rnob,
though the time has been, they hae been as forward in a
bruilzie as their neighbours."

"But these times are lang by," said Mr. Sharpitlaw.
"In my father's time, there was mair search for silenced
ministers about the Bow-head and the Covenant Close, and
all the tents of Kedar, as they ca'd the dwellings o' the
godly in those days, than there's now for thieves and
vagabonds in the Laigh Calton and the back o' the Canon-
gate. But that lime's weel by, an it bide. And if the
Bailie will get me directions and authority from the
Provost, I'll speak wi' Daddie Rat mysell ; for Tm thinking
I'll make mair out o' him than ye'U do."

Mr. Sharpitlaw, being necessarily a man of high trust,
was accordingly empowered, in the course of the day, to
make such arrangements as might seem in the emergency
most advantageous for the Good Town. He went to the
jail accordingly, and saw Ratcliffe in private.

The relative positions of a police-officer and a professed
thief bear a different complexion, according to circumstances.
The most obvious simile of a hawk pouncing upon his prey
is often least applicable. Sometimes the guardian of
justice has the air of a cat watching a mouse, and, while
he suspends his purpose of springing upon the pilferer, takes
care so to calculate his motions that he shall not get beyond
his power. Sometimes, more passive still, he uses the art
of fascination ascribed to the rattle-snake, and contents
himself with glaring on the victim, through all his devious
flutterings ; certain that his terror, confusion, and disorder
of ideas, will bring him into his jaws at last. The interview
between Ratcliffe and Sharpitlaw had an aspect different
from all these. They sat for five minutes silent, on opposite
sides of a small table, and looked fixedly at each other,
with a sharp, knowing, and alert cast of countenance, not
unmingled with an inclination to laugh, and resembled,
more than anything else, two dogs who, preparing for

178 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHrAW;

a game at romps, are seen to couch down, and remain
in that posture for a little time, watching each other's
movements, and waiting which shall begin the game.

"So, Mr. KatclifTe," said the officer, conceiving it suited
his dignity to speak first, "you give up business, 1
find ? "

"Yes, sir," replied Ratclifie ; "I shall be on that lay
nae mair — and I think that will save your folk some trouble,
Mr. Sharpitlaw?"

" Which Jock Dalgleish " (then finisher of the law in the
Scottish metropolis) "wad save them as easily," returned
the procurator-fiscal.

"Ay; if I waited in the Tolbooth here to have him fit
my cravat — but that's an idle way o' speaking, Mr.
Sharpitlaw."

" Why, I suppose you know you are under sentence of
death, Mr. Ratcliffe ? ' replied Mr. Sharpitlaw.

"Ay, so are a', as that worthy minister said in the
Tolbooth Kirk the day Robertson wan off; but naebody
kens when it will be executed. Gude faith, he had better
reason to say sae than he dreamed of, before the play was
played out that morning ! "

"This Robertson," said Sharpitlaw, in a lower and
something like a confidential tone, "d'ye ken, Rat — that
is, can ye gie us ony inkling where he is to be heard
tello'?"

"Troth, Mr. Sharpitlaw, I'll be frank wi' ye ; Robertson
is rather a cut abune me — a wild deevil he was, and mony
a daft prank he played ; but except the Collector's job that
Wilson led him into, and some tuilzies about run goods
wi' the gangers and the waiters, he never did onything that
came near our line o' Ijusiness."

" Umph I that's singular, considering the company he
kept."

" Fact, upon my honour and credit," said Ratcliffe gravely.
" He keepit out o' our little bits of aftairs, and that's mair
than Wilson did ; I hae dune business wi' Wilson afore now.
But the lad will come on in time ; there's nae fear o' him ;
naebody will live the life he has led, but what he'll come
to sooner or later."

"Who or what is he, Ratcliff'e? you know, I suppose?"
said Sharpitlaw.

" He's better born, I judge, than he cares to let on ; he's
been a soldier, and he has been a play-actor, and I watna

THE 'HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 179

what he has been or hasna been, for as young as he is, sae
that it had daffing and nonsense about it."

" Pretty pranks he has played in his time, I suppose? "

"Ye may say that," said Ratcliffe, with a sardonic smile;
" and " (touching his nose), "a deevil among the lasses.".

"Like enough," said Sharpitlaw. "Weel, Ratcliffe, I'll
no stand niffering wi' ye ; ye ken the way that favour's
gotten in my office ; ye maun be usefu'."

"Certainly, sir, to the best of my power — naething
for naething — I ken the rule of the office," said the
ex-depredator.

"Now the principal thing in hand e'en now," said the
official person, "is this job of Porteous's ; an ye can
gie us a lift — why, the inner turnkey's office to begin
wi' and the captainship in time — ye understand my
meaning ? "

"Ay, troth, do I, sir; a wink's as gude as a nod to a
blind horse : but Jock Porteous's job — Lord help ye I — I was
under sentence the haill time. God ! but I couldna help
laughing when I heard Jock skirling for mercy in the
lads' hands ! Mony a het skin ye hae gien me, neighbour,
thought I, take ye what's gaun : time about's fair play;
ye '11 ken now what hanging's gude for."

"Come, come, this is all nonsense. Rat," said the pro-
curator. "Ye canna creep out at that hole, lad ; you must
speak to the point, you understand me, if you want favour ;
gif-gaf makes gude friends, ye ken."

" But how can I speak to the point, as your honour ca's
it," said Ratcliffe demurely, and with an air of great
simplicity, ' ' when ye ken I was under sentence, and in the
strong-room a' the while the job was going on ? "

"And how can we turn ye loose on the public again,
Daddie Rat, unless ye do or say something to deser\e it ? "

"Well, then, d — n it!" answered the criminal, "since it
maun be sae, I saw Geordie Robertson among the bovs
that brake the jail ; I suppose that will do me some gude ? "

"That's speaking to the purpose, indeed," said the office-
bearer ; "and now. Rat, where think ye we'll find him ? "

" Deil haet o' me kens," said Ratcliffe; "he'll no likely
gun^ back to ony o' his auld howffs ; he'll be off the country
by tins time. He has gude friends some gate or other, for
a' the life he's led ; he's been weel educate."

"He'll grace the gallows the better," said Mr. Sharpit-
law ; "a desperate dog, to murder an officer of the city for

i8o THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

doing his duty ! Wha kens wha's turn it might be next ! —
But you saw him plainly ? "

"As plainly as I see you."

" How was he dressed ? " said Sharpitlaw.

" I couldna weel see ; something of a woman's bit mutcli
on his head ; but ye never saw sic a ca'throw. Ane couldna
hae een to a' thing."

" But did he speak to no one ? "

"They were a' speaking and gabbling through other,"
said Ratcliffe, who was obviously unwilling to carry his
evidence farther than he could possibly help.

"This will not do, Ratcliffe," said the procurator; "you
must speak out — out — out,'"' tapping the table emphatically,
as he repeated that impressive monosyllable.

"It's very hard, sir," said the prisoner; "and but for
the under-turnkey's place "

"And the reversion of the captaincy — the captaincy of
the Tolbooth, man — that is, in case of gude behaviour."

"Ay, ay," said Ratcliffe, "gude behaviour! — there's the
deevil. And then it's waiting for dead folk's shoon into the
bargain."

"But Robertson's head will weigh something," said
Sharpitlaw; "something gey and heavy, Rat; the town
maun show cause — that's right and reason — and then ye'll
hae freedom to enjoy your gear honestly."

"I dinna ken," said Ratcliffe; "it's a queer way of
beginning the trade of honesty — but deil ma care. Weel,
then, I heard and saw him speak to the wench Effie Deans,
that's up there for child-murder."

"The deil ye did? Rat, this is finding a mare's nest wi'
a witness. — And the man that spoke to Butler in the Park,
and that was to meet wi' Jeanie Deans at Muschat's Cairn —
whew ! lay that and that thegither ! As sure as I live he's
been the father of the lassie's wean. "

"There hae been waur guesses than that, I'm thinking,"
observed Ratcliffe, turning his quid of tobacco in his cheek,
and squirting out the juice. " 1 heard something awhile
syne about his drawing up wi' a bonny quean about the
Pleasaunts, and that it was a' Wilson could do to keep him
frae marrying her."

Here a city officer entered, and told Sharpitlaw that they
had the woman in custody whom he had directed them to
bring before him.

"It's little matter now," said he, "Uie thing is

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 181

taking another turn ; however, George, ye may bring
her in."

Tlie officer retired, and introduced, upon his return, a
tall, strapping wench of eighteen or twenty, dressed
fantastically in a sort of blue riding-jacket, with tarnished
lace, her hair clubbed like that of a man, a Highland
bonnet, and a bunch of broken feathers, a riding-skirt (or
petticoat) of scarlet camlet, embroidered with tarnished
flowers. Her features were coarse and masculine, yet at
a little distance, by dint of very bright, wild-looking black
eyes, an aquiline nose, and a commanding profile, appeared
rather handsome. She flourished the switch she held in
her hand, dropped a curtsey as low as a lady at a birth-night
introduction, recovered herself seemingly according to
Touchstone's directions to Audrey, and opened the con-
versation without waiting till any questions were asked.

"God gie your honour gude-e'en, and mony o' them, bonnie
Mr. Sharpitlaw ! — Gude-e'en to ye, Daddie Ratton — they
tauld me ye were hanged, man ; or did ye get out o' John
Dalgleish's hands like half-hangit Maggie Dickson ? "

"Whisht, ye daft jaud," said Ratcliffe, "and hear what's
said to ye."

" Wi' a' my heart, Ratton. Great preferment for poor
Madge to be brought up the street wi' a grand man, wi'
a coat a' passemented wi' worset-lace, to speak wi' provosts,
and bailies, and town-clerks, and prokitors, at this time o'
day — and the haill town looking at me, too. — This is honour
on earth for ance ! "

"Ay, Madge," said Mr. Sharpitlaw, in a coaxing tone;
"and ye're dressed out in your braws, I see; these are
not your everydays' claiths ye have on."

" Deil be in my fingers, then ! " said Madge. — " Eh,
sirs I " (observing Butler come into the apartment), "there's
a minister in the Tolbooth — wha will ca' it a graceless
place now? — I'se warrant he's in for the gude auld cause —
but it's be nae cause o' mine," and off she went into a song —

** Hey for cavaliers, ho for cavaliers,
Dub a diib, dub a dub ;
Have at old Beelzebub —
Oliver's squeaking for fear."

" Did you ever see that mad woman before ? " said
Sharpitlaw to Butler.

i8? THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

" Not to my knowledge, sir," replied Butler.

"I thought as much," said the piocurator-fiscal, looking
towards Ratcliffe, who answered his glance with a nod of
acquiescence and intelligence.

"But that is Madge Wildfire, as she calls herself," said
the man of law to Butler.

"Ay, that I am," said Madge, "and that I have been
ever since I was something better — Heigh ho" — (and
something like melancholy dwelt on her features for a
minute) — "But I canna mind when that was — it was lang
syne, at ony rate, and I'll ne'er fash my thumb about it —

" I gflance like the wildfire through country and town ;
I'm seen on the causeway — I'm seen on the down ;
The ligfhtning' that flashes so bright and so free.
Is scarcely so blithe or so bonny as me."

" Haud your tongue, ye skirling limmer ! " said the
officer, who had acted as master of the ceremonies to this
extraordinary performer, and who was rather scandalised
at the freedom of her demeanour before a person of Mr.
Sharpitlaw's importance — "haud your tongue, or I'se gie
ye something to skirl for ! "

"Let her alone, George," said Sharpitlaw, "dinna put
her out o* tune ; I hae some questions to ask her. — But
first, Mr. Butler, take another look of her."

"Do sae, minister — do sae," cried Madge; "I am as
weel worth looking at as ony book in your aught.— And
I can say the single carritch, and the double carritch,
and justiRcation, and effectual calling, and the assembly
of divines at Westminster, that is " (she added in a low
tone), " I could say them ance — but it's lang syne — and
ane forgets, ye ken." And poor Madge heaved another
deep sigh.

"Weel, sir," said Mr. Sharpitlaw to Butler, "what think
ye now ? "

"As I did before," said Butler; "that I never saw the
poor demented creature in my life before."

"Then she is not the person whom you said the rioters
last night described as Madge Wildfire ? "

"Certainly not," said Butler. "They may be near the
same height, for they are both tall, but I see little other
resemblance."

"Their dress, then, is not alike?" said Sharpitlaw.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 183

*' Not in the least," said Butler,

" Madge, my bonny woman," said Sharpttlaw, tn the
same coaxing manner, "what did ye do wi' your ilka-day's
claes yesterday ? "

" I dinna mind," said Madge.

" Where was ye yesterday at e'en, Madge? "

"I dinna mmd onything about yesterday," answered
Madge; "ae day is eneuch for onybody to wun ower
wi' at a time, and ower muckle sometimes."

" But maybe, Madge, ye wad mind something about
•it, if I was to gie ye this half-crown ? " said Sharpitlaw,
taking out the piece of money.

"That might gar me laugh, but it couldna gar me
mind."

"But, Madge," continued Sharpitlaw, "were I to
send you to the warkhouse in Leith Wynd, and gar
Jock Dalgleish lay the tawse on your back "

"That wad gar me greet," said Madge, sobbing, "but
it couldna gar me mind, ye ken."

"She is ower far past reasonable folk's motives,- sir,"
said Ratcliffe, "to mind siller, or John Dalgleish, or the
cat-and-nine-tails either ; but I think I could gar her tell
us something."

"Trj' her, then, Ratcliffe," said Sharpitlaw, "for I am
tired of her crazy pate, and be d — d to her."

" Madge," said Ratcliffe, " hae ye ony joes now? "

"An onybody ask ye, say ye dinna ken. Set him to
be speaking of my joes, auld Daddie Ratton ! "

" I dare say, ye hae deil ane? "

"See if I hae'na then," said Madge, with the toss of the
head of affronted beauty — "there's Rob the Ranter, and
Will Fleming, and then there's Geordie Robertson, lad —
that's Gentleman Geordie — what think ye o' that ? "

Ratcliffe laughed, and, winking to the procurator-fiscal,
pursued the inquiry in his own way. "But, Madge, the
lads only like ye when ye hae on your braws — they
wadna touch you wi' a pair o' tangs when you are in your
auld ilka-day rags."

"Ye're a'leeing auld sorrow, then," replied the fair one;
"for Gentle Geordie Robertson put my ilka-day's claes
on his ain bonny sel' yestreen, and gaed a' through the
town wi' them ; and gawsie and grand he lookit, like ony
queen in the land."

" I dinna believe a word o't," said Ratcliffe, with another

i84 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

wink to the procurator. "Thae duds were a' o' the
colour o' moonshine in the water, I'm thinking, Madge.
— The gown wad be a sky-blue scarlet, I'se warrant ye ? "

" It was nae sic thing," eaid Madge, whose unretentive
memory let out, in the eagerness of contradiction, all that
she would have most wished to keep concealed, had her
judgment been equal to Iier inclination. " It was neither
scarlet nor sky-blue, but my ain auld brown threshie-
coat of a short-gown, and my mother's auld mutch, and
my red rokelay — and he gied me a croun an' a kiss for
the use o' them, blessing on his bonnie face — though it's
been a dear ane to me."

"And where did he change his clothes again, hinnie?"
said Sharpitlaw, in his most conciliatory manner.

"The procurator's spoiled a'," observed Ratcliflfe dryly.

And it was even so ; for the question, put in so direct
a shape, immediately awakened Madge to the propriety
of being reserved upon those very topics on which Rat-
cliflfe had indirectly seduced her to become communicative.

"What was't ye were speering at us, sir?" she resumed,
with an appearance of stolidity so speedily assumed, as
showed there was a good deal of knavery mixed with her
folly.

"I asked you," said the procurator, "at what hour, and
to what place, Robertson brought back your clothes."

"Robertson? — Lord haud a care o' us! what Robert-
son ? "

"Why, the fellow we were speaking of, Gentle Geordie,
as you call him."

"Geordie Gentle!" answered Madge, with well-feigned
amazement — "I dinna ken naebody they ca' Geordie
Gentle."

" Come, my jo," said Sharpitlaw, "this will not do ; you
must tell us what you did with these clothes of yours."

Madge Wildfire made no answer, unless the question
may seem connected with the snatch of a song with
which she indulged the embarrassed investigator : —

"What did ye wi' the bridal ring: — bridal ring— bridal ring?
What did ye wi' your wedding ring, ye little cutty quean, O?
I gied it till a sodger, a sodger, a sodger,
I gied it till a sodger, an auld true love o' mine, O."

Of all the mad women who have sung and said, since

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 185

the days of Hamlet the Dane, if Ophelia be the most
aft'ecting, Madge Wildfire was the most provoking.

The procurator-fiscal was in despair. "I'll take some
measures with this d — d Bess of Bedlam," said he, "that
shall make her find her tongue."

" VVi' your favour, sir," said RatclifFe, "better let her
mind settle a little. Ye have aye made out something."

"True," said the official person; "a brown short-gown,
mutch, red rokeiay — that agrees with your Madge Wild-
fire, Mr. Butler?" Butler agreed that it did so. "Yes,
there was a sufficient motive for taking this crazy
creature's dress and name, while he was about such a job."

"And I am free to say now," said Ratclifte

"When you see it has come out without you," inter-
rupted Sharpitlaw.

"Just sae, sir," reiterated Ratcliflfe. "I am free to say
now, since it's come out otherwise, that these were the
clothes I saw Robertson wearing last night in the iail,
when he was at the head of the rioters."

"That's direct evidence," said Sharpitlaw; "stick to
that, Rat — I will report favourably of you to the provost,
for I have business for you to-night. It wears late ; I
must home and get a snack, and I'll be back in the even-
ing. Keep Madge with you, RatclifVe, and try to get her
into a good tune again." So saying, he left the prison.

CHAPTER XVII.

And some they whistled — and some they sang,

And some did loudly say,
Whenever Lord Barnard's horn it blew,

"Away, Musgrave, away ! "

Ballad of Little Musgrave.

When the man of office returned to the Heart of Mid-
Lothian, he resumed his conference with Ratcliffe, of
whose experience and assistance he now held himself
secure. "You must speak with this wench. Rat — this
Effie Deans — you must sift her a wee bit ; for as sure as
a tether she will ken Robertson's haunts. — till her, Rat--
till her, without delay."

"Craving your pardon, Mr. Sharpitlaw," said the
turnkey-elect, "that's what I am not free to do."

j86 the heart of MID-LOTHIAN.

"Free to do, man! what the deil ails ye now? — I
thought we had settled a' that ? "

"I dinna ken, sir," said RatcIIfTe ; "I hae spoken to
this Effie — she's strange to this place and to its ways, and
to a' our ways, Mr. Sharpitlaw ; and she greets, the silly
tawpie, and she's breaking her heart already about this
wild chield ; and were she the means o' taking him, she
wad break it outright."

"She wunna hae time, lad," said Sharpitlaw; "the
woodie will hae its uin o' her before that — a woman's
heart takes a lang time o' breaking."

"That's according to the stuff they are made o'. sir,''
replied Ratcliffe. — "But to make a lang tale short, I canna
undertake the job. It gangs against my conscience."

" Your conscience. Rat ? " said Sharpitlaw, with a sneer,
which the reader will probably think very natural upon
the occasion.

" Ou ay, sir," answered Ratcliffe calmly, "just viy
conscience ; a'body has a conscience, though it may be
ill wunnin at it. I think mine's as weel out o' the gate
as maist folk's are ; and yet it's just like the noop of my
elbow, it whiles gets a bit dirl on a corner."

"Weel, Rat," replied Sharpitlaw, " since ye are nice, I'll
speak to the hussy mysell."

Sharpitlaw, accordingly, caused himself to be intro-
duced into the little dark apartment tenanted by the
unfortunate Effie Deans. The poor girl was seated on
her little flock-bed, plunged in a deep reverie. Some food
stood on the table, of a quality better than is usually
supplied to prisoners, but it was untouched. The person
under whose care she was more particularly placed said,
"that sometimes she tasted naething from the tae end of
the four-and-twenty hours to the t'other, except a drink
of water. "

Sharpitlaw took a chair, and, commanding the turnkey
to retire, he opened the conversation, endeavouring to
throw into his tone and countenance as much com-
miseration as they were capable of expressing, for the
one was sharp and harsh, the other sly, acute, and
selfish.

"How's a' wi' ye, Effie? — How d'ye find yoursell,
hinny ? "

A deep sigh was the only answer.

"Are the folk civil to ye^ Effie? — it's my duty to inquire."

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 187

" Ven* civil, sir," said Effie, compelling herself to answer,
jot hardly knowing what she said.

"And your victuals," continued Sharpitlaw, in the same
condoling tone — "do you get v.hat you like?— or is there
onything you would particularly fancy, as your health
seems but silly ? "

" It's a' very weel, sir, I thank ye," said the poor prisoner,
In a tone how different from the sportive vivacity of those of
the Lily of St. Leonard's ! — " it's a' very gude — ower gude
for me."

"He must have been a great villain, Effie, who brought
you to this pass," said Sharpitlaw.

The remark was dictated partly by a natural feeling, of
which even he could not divest himself, though accustomed
to practise on the passions of others, and keep a most
heedful guard over his own, and partly by his wish to
Introduce the sort of conversation which might best serve
his Immediate purpose. Indeed, upon the present occasion,
these mixed motives of feeling and cunning harmonised
together wonderfully ; for, said Sharpitlaw to himself, the
greater rogue Robertson is, the more will be the merit of
bringing him to justice. "He must have been a great
villain, mdeed," he again reiterated ; "and I wish I had the
skelping o' him."

"I may blame mysell mair than him," said Effie; "I

was bred up to ken better ; but he, poor fellow -" (She

stopped.)

"Was a thorough blackguard a' his life, I dare say,"
said Sharpitlaw. " A stranger he was In this country, and
a companion of that lawless vagabond, Wilson, I think,
Effie ? *•

"It wad hae been dearly telling him that he had ne'er
seen Wilson's face."

"That's very true that you are saying, Effie," said
Sharpitlaw. "Where was't that Robertson and you were
used to howff thegither ? Somcgate about the Laigh
Calton, I am thinking?"

The simple and dispirited girl had thus far followed Mr.
Sharpitlaw's lead, because he had artfully adjusted his
observations to the thoughts he was pretty certain must be
passing through her own mind, so that her answers became
a kind of thinking aloud, a mood into which those who are
eitlier constitutionally absent in mind, or are rendered so by
the temporary pressure of misfortune, may be easily led by

i8& THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

a skilful train of suggestions. But the last observation of
the procurator-fiscal was too much of the nature of a direct
interrogatory, and it broke the charm accordingly.

"What was it that I was saying?" said Effie, starting
up from her reclining posture, seating herself upright, and
hastily shading her dishevelled hair back from her wasted
but still beautiful countenance. She fixed her eyes boldly
and keenly upon Sharpitlaw ; — "You are too much of a
gentleman, sir — too much of an honest man, to take any
notice of what a poor creature like me says, that can hardly
ca' my senses my ain — God help me ! "

"Advantage ! — I would be of some advantage to you if I
could," said Sharpitlaw, in a soothing tone; "and I ken
naething sae likely to serve ye, Eflfie, as gripping this rascal,
Robertson." ^ ,

"Oh, dinna misca' him, sir, that never misca'd you ! —
Robertson? — I am sure I had naething to say against ony
man o' the name, and naething will I say."

" But if you do not heed your own misfortune, Effie, you
should mind what distress he has brought on your family,"
said the man of law.

"Oh, Heaven help me!" exclaimed poor Effie.— " My
poor father — my dear Jeanie — Oh, that's sairest to bide of
a' ! Oh, sir, if you hae ony kindness — if ye hae ony touch
of compassion — for a' the folk I see here are as hard as the
wa'-stanes — if ye wad but bid them let my sister Jeanie in
the next time she ca's ! for when I hear them put her awa
frae the door, and canna climb up to that higli window to
see sae muckle as her gown-tail, it's like to pit me out o'
my judgment." And she looked on him with a face of
entreaty so earnest, yet so humble, that she fairly shook the
steadfast purpose of his mind.

"You shall see your sister," he began, "if you'll tell

me " Then interrupting himself, he added, in a more

hurried tone, " No, d — n it, you shall see your sister whether
you tell me anything or no." So saying, he rose up and left
the apartment.

When he had rejoined RatclifTe, he observed, "You are
right, Ratton ; there's no making much of that lassie.
But ae thing I have cleared— that is, that Robertson has
been the father of the bairn, and so I will wager a bodle it
will be he that's to meet wi' Jeanie Deans this night at
Muschat's Cairn, and there we'll nail him, Rat, or my name
is not Gideon Sharpitlaw."

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 189

"But," said RatclIfFe, perhaps because he was in no
hurry to see anything^ which was like to be connected with
the discovery and apprehension of Robertson, "an that
were the case, Mr. Butler wad hae kend the man in the
King's Park to be the same person wi' him in Madge Wild-
fire's claes, that headed the mob."

"That makes nae ditTerence, man," replied Sharpltlaw —
" the dress, the light, the confusion, and maybe a touch o' a
blackit cork, or a slake o' paint — hout, Ratton, I have seen
ye dress your ainsell, that the deevil ye belang to durstna
hae made oath t'ye."

"And that's true, too," said RatclifTe.

"And besides, ye donnard carle," continued Sharpitlaw,
triumphantly, " the minister did say, that he thought he
knew something of the features of the birkie that spoke to
him in the Park, though he could not charge his memory
where or when he had seen them."

"It's evident, tlien, your honour will be right," said
Ratcliffe.

"Then, Rat, you and I will go with the party oursells
this night, and see him in grips, or we are done wi'
him."

"I seena muckle use I can be o' to your honour," said
Ratcliffe reluctantly.

"Use?" answered Sharpitlaw. "You can guide the
party — you ken the ground. Besides, I do not intend to
quit sight o' you, my good friend, till I have him in
hand."

" VV'eel, sir," said Ratcliffe, but in no joyful tone ot
acquiescence; "ye maun hae it your ain way — but mind
he's a desperate man."

"We shall have that with us," answered Sharpitlaw,
" that will settle him, if it is necessary."

" But, sir," answered Ratcliffe, " I am sure I couldna
undertake to guide you to Muschat's Cairn in the night-
time ; I ken the place, as mony does, in fair daylight, but
how to find it by moonshine, amang sae mony crags and
stanes, as like to each other as the collier to the deil, is mair
than I can tell. I might as soon seek moonshine in water."*

"What's the meaning o' this, Ratcliffe?" said Sharpit-
law, while he fixed his eye on the recusant, with a fatal and
ominous expression. — "Have you forgotten that you are
still under sentence of death ? "

"No, sir," said Ratcliffe, "that's a thing no easily put

igo THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

out o' memory ; and if my presence be judged necessary,
aae doubt 1 maun gang wi* yer honour. But I was gaun
to tell your honour of ane that has mair skeel o' the gate
than me, and that's e'en Madge Wildfire."

"Tlie devil she has ! — Do you think me as mad as she Is,
to trust to her guidance on such an occasion ? "

"Your honour is the best judge," answered Ratcliffe ;
"but I ken I can keep her in tune, and garr her haud the
straight path — she aften sleeps out, or rambles about amang
thae hills the haill simmer night, the daft limmer."

"Well, Ratcliffe," replied the procurator-fiscal, "if you
think she can guide us the right way — but take heed to
what you are about — your life depends on your behaviour. "

" It's a sair judgment on a man," said Ratcliffe, "when
he has ance gane sae far wrang as I hae done, that deil a
bit he can be honest, try't whilk way he will."

Such was the reflection of Ratcliffe, when he was left for
a few minutes to himself, while the retainer of justice went
to procure a proper warrant, and give the necessary
directions.

The rising moon saw the whole party free from the walJS
of the city, and entering upon the open ground. Arthur's
Seat, like a couchant lion of immense size — Salisbury Crags,
like a huge belt or girdle of granite, were dimly visible.
Holding their path along the southern side of the Canongate,
they gained the Abbey of Holyrood House, and from thence
found their way by step and stile into the King's Park.
They were at first four in number — an officer of justice and
Sharpitlaw, who were well armed with pistols and cutlasses ;
Ratcliffe, who was not trusted with weapons, lest he might,
peradventure, have used them on the wrong side ; and the
female. But at the last stile, when they entered the Chase,
they were joined by other two oflicers, whom Sharpitlaw, ;
desirous to secure sufficient force for his purpose, and at the '
same time to avoid observation, had directed to wait for
him at this place. Ratcliffe saw this accession of strength
with some disquietude, for he had hitherto thought it likely
that Robertson, who was a bold, stout, and active young
fellow, might have made his escape from Sharpitlaw and
the single officer, by force or agility, without his bein^
implicated in the matter. But the present strength of the
followers of justice was overpowering, and the only mode
of saving Robertson (which the old sinner was well disposed
to do, providing always he could accomplish his purpose

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 191

without compromising his own safety), must be by contriving
that he should have some signal of their approach. It was
probably with this view that Ratcliffe had requested the
addition of Madge to the party, having considerable confi-
dence in her propensity to exert her lungs. Indeed, she had
already given them so many specimens of her clamorous
loquacity, that Sharpitlaw half determined to send her back
with one of the officers, rather than carry forward in his
company a person so extremely ill qualified to be a guide in
a secret expedition. It seemed, too, as if the open air, the
approach to the hills, and the ascent of the moon, supposed
to be so portentous over those whose brain is infirm, made
her spirits rise in a degree tenfold more loquacious than she
had hitherto exhibited. To silence her by fair means seemed
impossible ; authoritative commands and coaxing entreaties
she set alike at defiance, and threats only made her sulky,
and altogether intractable.

" Is there no one of you," said Sharpitlaw impatiently,
•'that knows the way to this accursed place — this Nichol
Muschat's Cairn — excepting this mad clavering idiot ? "

" Deil ane o' them kens it, except mysell," exclaimed
Madge; "how suld they, the puir fule-cowards ? But I
hac sat on the grave frae bat-fleeing time till cock-crow,
and had mony a fine crack wi' Nichol Muschat and Ailie
Muschat, tliat are lying sleeping below."

"The devil take your crazy brain," said Sharpitlaw;
•" will you not allow the men to answer a question ? "

Tlie officers, obtaining a moment's audience while Rat-
cliffe diverted Madge's attention, declared that, though
they had a general knowledge of the spot, they could
not undertake to guide the party to it by the uncertain
light of the moon, with such accuracy as to ensure succcsj
to their expedition.

"What shall we do, Ratcliffe?" said Sharpitlaw; "if
he sees us before we see him — and that's what he is certain
to do, if we go strolling about, without keeping the
straight road — we may bid gude-day to the job ; and
I wad rather lose one hundred pounds, baith for the credit
of the police, and because the Provost says somebody
maun be hanged for this job o* Portcous, come o't what
likes."

"I think," said RatclifTe, "we maun just try Madge;
and I'll see if I can get her keepit in ony better order.
And at ony rate, if he suld hear her skirling her auld ends

tgi THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

o' sangs, he's no to ken for that that there's onybody wi'
her."

"That's true," said Sharpitlaw ; "and if he thinks her
alone he's as like to come towards her as to rin frae her.
So set forward — we hae lost ower muckle time already — ■
see to get her to keep the right road."

*' And what sort o' house does Nichol Muschat and his
wife keep now?" said Ratcliffe to the mad woman, by
way of humouring her vein of folly; "they were but
thrawn folk lang syne, and a' tales be true. "

" Ou, ay, ay, ay — but a's forgotten now," replied Madge,
in the confidential tone of a gossip giving the history of
her next-door neighbour. "Ye see, I spoke to them mysell,
and tauld them byganes suld be byganes — her throat's
sair misguggled and mashackered, though ; she wears
her corpse-sheet drawn weel up to hide it, but that canna
hinder the blood seiping through, ye ken. I wussed her
to wash it in St. Anthony's Well, and that will cleanse
if onything can. But they say bluid never bleaches out
o' linen claith — Deacon Sanders's new cleansing draps
winna do't — I tried them mysell on a bit rag we hae at
hame that was mailed wi' the blood of a bit skirling wean
that was hurt some gate, but out it winna come. Weel,
ye'U say that's queer ; but I will bring it out to St.
Anthony's blessed Well some braw night just like this, and
I'll cry up Ailie Muschat, and she and I will hae a grand
bouking-washing, and bleach our claes in the beams
of the bonny Lady Moon, that's far pleasanter to me
than the sun — the sun's ower het, and ken ye, cummers,
my brains are het eneuch already. But the moon, and
the dew, and the night-wind, they are just like a caller
kail-blade laid on my brow ; and whiles I think the moon
just shines on purpose to pleasure me, when naebody sees
her but mysell."

This raving discourse she continued with prodigious
volubility, walking on at a great pace, and dragging
Ratcliffe along with her, while he endeavoured, in appear-
ance at least, if not in reality, to induce her to moderate
her voice.

Ail at once, she stopped short upon the top oi a little
hillock, gazed upward fixedly, and said not one word for
the space of five minutes. "What the devil is the matter
with her now?" said Sharpitlaw to Riitclitfe. "Can you
not get her forward ? "

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 193

"Ye maun just take a grain o' patience wi' her, sir,"
said Ratcliffe, "She'll no gae a foot faster than she likes
hersell."

"D — n her," said Sharpitlaw, "I'll take care she has
her time in Bedlam or Bridewell, or both, for she's both
mad and mischievous."

In the meanwhile, Madge, who had looked very pensive
when she first stopped, suddenly burst into a vehement
fit of laughter, then paused and sighed bitterly — then
was seized with a second fit of laughter — then, fixing her
eyes on the moon, lifted up her voice and sung —

" Good even, good fair moon, good even to thee |
I prithee, dear moon, now show to me
Tlie form and the features, the speech and degree,
Of the man that true lover of mine shall be.

" But I need not ask that of the bonnie Ladv Moon — I
ken that weel enei>ch mysell — frue-love though he wasna.
— But naebody shall say that I ever tauld a word about
the matter. — But whiles I wish the bairn had lived. —
Weel, God guide us, there's a heaven aboon us a'," — (here
she sighed bitterly) "and a bonnie moon, and sterns in it
forby " (and here she laughed once more).

"Are we to stand here all night?" said Sharpitlaw,
verj' impatiently. " Drag her forward."

"Ay, sir," said Ratcliffe, "if we kend whilk way to
drag her, that would settle it at ance. Come, Madge,
hlnny," addressing her, "we'll no be in time to see Nichol
and his wife, unless ye show us the road."

"In troth and that I will, Ratton," said she, seizing
him by the arm, and resuming her route with huge strides,
considering it was a female who took them. "And I'll
tell ye, Ratton, blithe will Nichol Muschat be to see ye,
for he says he kens weel there isna sic a villain out o'
hell as ye are, and he wad be ravished to hae a crack
wi' you — like to like, ye ken — it's a proverb never fails
— and ye are baith a pair o' the deevil's peats, I trow —
hard to ken whilk deserves the hettest corner o' his ingle-
side."

Ratcliffe was conscience-struck, and could not forbear
qiaklng an involuntary protest against this classification.
I *' I never shed blood," he replied.

*' But ye hae sauld it, Ratton — ^ye hae sauld blood mony

G

194 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

a time. Folk kill wl' the tongue as weel as wi' the hand
— wi' the word as weel as wi' the gulley ! —

" It is the bonny butcher lad,

That wears the sleeves of blue,
He sells the flesh on Saturday,
On Friday that he slew."

"And what is that I am doing now?" thought RatclIfTe.
"But I'll hae nae wyte of Robertson's young blude, if I
can help it;" then speaking apart to Madge, he asked
her, "Whether she did not remember ony o' her auld
sangs ? "

" Mony a dainty ane," said Madge; "and blithely can
I sing them, for lightsome sangs make merry gate. " And
she sang—

•' When the glede's in the blue cloud,
The lavrock lies still ;
When the hound's in the greenwood,
The hind keeps the hill."

"Silence her cursed noise, if you "should throttle her,"
said Sharpitlaw ; "I see somebody yonder. — Keep close,
my boys, and creep round the shoulder of the height.
George Poinder, stay you with Ratcliffe and that mad,
yelling bitch ; and you other two, come with me round
under the shadow of the brae."

And he crept forward with the stealthy pace of an
Indian savage, who leads his band to surprise an un-
suspecting party of some hostile tribe. Ratcliffe saw.i
them glide off, avoiding the moonlight, and keeping aS|
much in the shade as possible. " Robertson's done up,**
said he to himself; "thae young lads are aye sae thought-
less. What the deevil could he hae to say to Jeanie Deans,
or to ony woman on earth, that he suld gang awa and
get his neck raxed for her? And this mad quean, after
cracking like a pen-gun, and skirling like a pea-hen for
the hale night, behoves just to hae hadden her tongue
when her clavers might have done some gude ! But it's
aye the way wi' women ; if they ever haua their tongues
ava", ye may swear it's for mischief. I wish I could set
her on again without this blood-sucker kenning what I
am doing. But he's as gleg as MacKeachan's elshin.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 195

that ran through sax plies of bend-leather, and half an
inch into the king's heel."

He then began to hum, but in a very low and suppressed
tone, the first stanza of a favourite ballad of Wildfire's,
the words of which bore some distant analogy with the
situation of Robertson, trusting that the power of associa
tion would not fail to bring the rest to her mind —

•' There's a bloodhound ranging' Tinwald wood.

There's harness glancing sheen ;
There's a maiden sits on Tinwald brae,
And she sings loud between."

Madge had no sooner received the catch-word, than she
vindicated Ratcliffe's sagacity by setting off at score with
the song^

" O sleep ye sound, Sir James, she said,
When ye suld rise and ride ?
There's twenty men, wi' bow and blade^
Are seeking where ye hide."

Though Ratcliffe was at a considerable distance from
the spot called Muschat's Cairn, yet his eyes, practised
like those of a cat to penetrate darkness, could mark
that Robertson had caught the alarm. George Poinder,
less keen of sight, or less attentive, was not aware of his
flight any more than Sharpitlaw and his assistants,
whose view, though they were considerably nearer to the
cairn, was intercepted by the broken nature of the ground
under which they were screening themselves. At length,
however, after the interval of five or six minutes, they
also perceived that Robertson had fled, and rushed hastily
towards the place, while Sharpitlaw called out aloud,
in the harshest tones of a voice which resembled a saw-
mill at work, "Chase, lads— chase — baud the brae — I see
him on the edge of the hill ! " Then hallowing back to
the rear-guard of his detachment, he issued his further
orders : " Ratcliffe, come here, and detain the woman-
George, run and kepp the stile at the Duke's walk —
Ratcliffe, come here directly — but first knock out that
mad bitch's brains ! "

"Ye had better rin for it, Madge," said Ratcliffe, "for
,»t's ill dealing wi' an angry man."

Madge Wildfire was not so absolutely void of common

196 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

sense as not to understand this innuendo ; and while
Ratcliffe, in seemingly anxious haste of obedience, hastened
to the spot where Sharpitlaw waited to dcHver up Jeanie
Deans to his custody, she fled with all the despatch she
could exert in an opposite direction. Thus the whole
piarty were separated, and in rapid motion of flight or
pursuit, excepting Ratclifie and Jeanie, whom, although
niaking no attempt to escape, he held fast by the cloak,
and who remained standing by Muschat's Cairn.

CHAPTER XVIII.

You have paid the heavens your function, and the prisoner
the very debt of your calling.

Measure for Measure.

Jeanib Deans — for here our story unites itself with that
part of the narrative which broke off" at the end of the
fifteenth chapter — while she waited, in terror and amaze-
ment, the hasty advance of three or four men towards her,
was yet more startled at their suddenly breaking asunder,
and giving chase in different directions to tlie late object
of her terror, who became at that moment, though she
could not well assign a reasonable cause, rather the cause
of her interest. One of the party (it was Sharpitlaw)
came straight up to her, and saying, "Your name is
Jeanie Deans, and you are my prisoner," immediately
added, "but if you will tell me which way he ran I will
let you go."

" I dinna ken, sir," was all the poor girl could utter ;
and, indeed, it is the phrase which rises most readily to
the lips of any person in her rank, as the readiest reply,
to any embarrassing question.

"But," said Sharpitlaw, "ye ken wha it was ye were
speaking wi', my leddy, on the hill-side, and midnight sae
near ; ye surely ken that, my bonnie woman ? "

"I dinna ken, sir," again iterated Jeanie, who really did
not comprehend in her terror the nature of the questions
which were so hastily put to her at this moment of surprise.

"We will try to uiend your memory by and by, hinny,'"
said Sharpitlaw, and shouted, as we have already told the
reader, to Ratcliffe, to come up and take charge of her,
while he himself directed the chase after Robertson, which

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. J97

he still hoped might be successful. As Ratcliffe approached,
Sharpitlaw pushed the young woman towards him with
some rudeness, and betaking himself to the more important
object of his quest, began to scale crags and scramble up
steep banks, with an agility of which his profession and
his general gravity of demeanour would previously have
argued him incapable. In a few minutes there was no
one within sight, and only a distant halloo from one of
the pursuers to the other, faintly heard on the side of the
hill, argued that there was any one within hearing. Jeanie
Deans was left in the clear moonlight, standing under
the guard of a person of whom she knew nothing, and,
what was worse, concerning whom, as the reader is well
aware, she could have learned nothing that would not
have increased her terror.

When all in the distance was silent, Ratcliffe for the
hrst time addressed her, and it was in that cold, sarcastic,
indifferent tone familiar to habitual depravity, whose
crimes are instigated by custom rather than by passion.
"This is a braw night for ye, dearie," he said, attempting
to pass his arm across her shoulder, "to be on the green
hill wi' your jo." Jeanie extricated herself from his grasp,
but did not make any reply. " I think lads and lasses,"
continued the rufllan, " dinna meet at Muschat's Cairn
at midnight to crack nuts," and he again attempted to
take hold of her.

" If ye are an officer of justice, sir," said Jeanie, again
eluding his attempt to seize her, "ye deserve to have
your coat stripped from your back."

"Very true, hinny," said he, succeeding forcibly in his
attempt to get hold of her, "but suppose I should strip
your cloak off first ? "

" Ye are more a man, I am sure, than to hurt me, sir,"
said Jeanie ; " for God's sake have pity on a half-distracted
creature ! "

"Come, come," said Ratcliffe, "you're a good-looking
wench, and should not be cross-grained. I was going to
be an honest man — but the devil has this very day flung
first a lawyer, and then a woman, in my gate. I'll tell
you what, Jeanie, they are out on the hill-side — if you'll
be guided by me, I'll carry you to a wee bit corner in the
Pleasance, that I ken o' in an auld wife's, that a' the
prokitors o' Scotland wot naething o', and we'll send
Robertson word to meet us in Yorkshire, for there is a

l^ THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

set o* braw lads about the midland counties, that I hae
dune business \vi' before now, and sae we'll leave Mr.
Sharpitlaw to whistle on his thumb."

It was fortunate for Jeanie, in an emergency like the
present, that she possessed presence of mind and courage,
so soon as the first hurry of surprise had enabled her to
rally her recollection. She saw the risk she was in from
a ruffian, who not only was such by profession, but had
that evening been stupefying, by means of strong liquors,
the internal aversion which he felt at the business on
which Sharpitlaw had resolved to employ him.

" Dinna speak sae loud," said she, in a low voice, "he's
up yonder."

' ' Who ?— Robertson ? " said Ratcliffe eagerly.

"Ay," replied Jeanie ; "up yonder;" and she pointed to
the ruins of the hermitage and chapel.

"By G — d, then," said Ratcliffe, "I'll make my ain of
him, either one way or other — wait for me here."

But no sooner had he set off, as fast as he could run,
towards the chapel, than Jeanie started in an opposite
direction, over high and low, on the nearest path homeward.
Her juvenile exercise as a herdswoman had put " life and
mettle " in her heels, and never had she followed Dustiefoot,
when the cows were in the corn, with half so much speed
as she now cleared the distance betwixt Muschat's Cairn
and her father's cottage at St. Leonard's. To lift the
latch — to enter — to shut, bolt, and double bolt the door —
to draw against it a heavy article of furniture (which she
could not have moved in a moment of less energy), so as
to make yet further provision against violence, was almost
the work of a moment, yet done with such silence as
equalled the celerity.

Her next anxiety was upon her father's account, and
she drew silently to the door of his apartment, in order
to satisfy herself whether he had been disturbed by her
return. He was awake — probably had slept but little;
but the constant presence of his own sorrows, the distance
of his apartment from the outer door of the house, and
the precautions which Jeanie had taken to conceal her
departure and return, had prevented him from being
sensible of either. He was engaged in his devotions,
and Jeanie could distinctly hear him use th(fse words :
"And for the other child Thou hast given me to be a
comfort and stay to my old age, may her days be long

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 199

in the land, according to the promise Thou hast given
to those who shall honour father and mother ; may all
her purchased and promised blessings be multiplied upon
her ; keep her in the watches of the night, and in the
uprising of the morning, that all in this land may know
that Thou hast not utterly hid Thy face from those that
seek Thee in truth and in sincerity." He was silent, but
probably continued his petition in the strong fervency of
mental devotion.

His daughter retired to her apartment, comforted, that
while she was exposed to danger, her head had been
covered by the prayers of the just as by an helmet, and
under the strong confidence, that while she walked worthy
of the protection of Heaven, she would experience its
countenance. It was in that moment that a vague idea
first darted across her mind, that something might yet
be achieved for her sister's safety, conscious as she now
was of her innocence of the unnatural murder with which
she stood charged. It came, as she described it, on her
mind, like a sun-blink on a stormy sea ; and although it
instantly vanished, yet she felt a degree of composure
which she had not experienced for many days, and could
not help being strongly persuaded that, by some means
or other, she would be called upon, :(nd directed, to work
out her sister's deliverance. She went to bed, not forgetting
her usual devotions, the more fervently made on account
of her late deliverance, and she slept soundly in spite of
her agitation.

\Vc mu.->t return to Ratclific, who had started, like a
greyhound from the slips when the sportsman cries halloo,
so soon as Jeanie had pointed to the ruins. Whether he
meant to aid Robertson's escape, or to assist his pursuers,
may be very doubtful ; perhaps he did not himself know,
but had resolved to be guided by circumstances. He had
no opportunity, however, of doing either ; for he had no
sooner surmounted the steep ascent, and entered under
the broken arches of the ruins, than a pistol was presented
at his head, and a harsh voice commanded him, in the
king's name, to surrender himself prisoner. "Mr.
Sharpidnw ! " said Ratcliffe, surprised, "is this your
honour ? "

"Is it only you, and be d — d to you?" answered the
fiscal, still more disappointed— " what made you leave the
woman ? "

sod THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

"She told me she saw Robertson go into the ruins, so
I made what haste I could to cleek the callant."

"It's all over now," said Sharpitlaw ; "we shall see
no more of him to-night ; but he shall hide himself in a
bean-hool, if he remains on Scottish ground without my
finding him. Call back the people, RatcHffe."

Ratcliffe hollowed to the dispersed officers, who willingly-
obeyed the signal ; for probably there was no individual
among them who would have been much desirous of a
rencounter hand to hand, and at a distance from his
comrades, with such an active and desperate fellow as
Robertson.

"And where are the two women ? " said Sharpitlaw.

"Both made their heels serve them, I suspect," replied
Ratcliffe, and he hummed the end of the old song—

" Then hey play up the rin-awa bride,
Tor she has taen the gee."

"One woman," said Sharpitlaw — for, like all rogues,
he was a great calumniator of the fair sex* — "one woman
is enough to dark the fairest ploy that ever was planned ;
and how could I be such an ass as to expect to carry
through a job that had two in it ? But we know how to
come by them both, if they are wanted, that's one good
thing."

Accordingly, like a defeated general, sad and sulky, he
led back his discomfited forces to the metropolis, and
dismissed them for the night.

The next morning early, he was under the necessity of
making his report to the sitting magistrate of the day.
The gentleman who occupied the chair of office on this
occasion (for the bailies, Anglicd, aldermen, take it by
rotation) chanced to be the same by whom Butler was
committed, a person very generally respected among his
fellow-citizens. Something he was of a humourist, and
rather deficient in general education ; but acute, patient,
and upright, possessed of a fortune acquired by honest
industry, which made him perfectly Independent ; and,
in short, very happily qualified to suppoit the respectability
of the office which he held.

Mr. MIddleburgh had just taken his seat, and was
debating in an animated manner, with one of his
•Note II. Calumniator of the fair sex.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 201

colleagues, the doubtful chances of a game at golf which
they had played the day before, when a letter was
delivered to him, addressed " For Bailie Middleburgh ;
These : to be forwtrded with speed." It contained these
words :—

" Sir, — I know you to be a sensible and a considerate magfis-
trate, and one who, as such, will be content to worship God,
though the devil bid you. I therefore expect that, notwithstanding
the signature of this letter acknowledges my share in an action
which, in a proper time and place, I would not fear either to
avow or to justify, you will not on that account reject what
evidence I place before you. The clergyman, Butler, is innocent
of all but involuntarj* presence at an action which he wanted
spirit to approve of, and from which he endeavoured, with
Ills best set phrases, to dissuade us. But it was not for him
that it is my hint to speak. There is a woman in your jail,
fallen under the edge of a law so cruel, that it has hung by
the wall like unsecured armour, for twenty years, and is now
brought down and whetted to spill the blood of the most
beautiful and most innocent creature whom the walls of a
prison ever girdled in. Her sister knows of her innocence, as
she communicated to her that she was betrayed by a villain. —
O that high Heaven

Would put in even- honest hand a whip.

To scourge me such a villain through the world I

•' I write distractedly. But this girl — this Jeanie Deans — is
a peevish puritan, superstitious and scrupulous after the manner
of her sect ; and I pray your honour, for so my phrase must
go, to press upon her, that her sister's life depends upon her
testimony. But though she should remain silent, do not dare
to think' that the young woman is guilty — far less to permit
her execution. Remember, the death of Wilson was fearfully
avenged ; and those yet live who can compel you to drink the
dregs of your poisoned chalice. — I say, remember Porteous —
and say that you had good counsel from

"One of his Slayers."

The magistrate read over this extraordinary letter
twice or thrice. At first he was tempted to throw it
aside as the production of a madman, so little did "the
scraps from playbooks," as he termed the poetical quota-
tion, resemble the correspondence of a rational being.
On a re-perusal, however, he thought that, amid its
incoherence, he could discover something like a tone of

202 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

awakened passion, though expressed in a manner quaint
and unusual.

"It is a cruelly severe statute," said the magistrate to
his assistant, "and I wish the girl cSUld be taken from
under the letter of it. A child may have been born, and
it may have been conveyed away while the mother was
insensible, or it may have perished for want of that relief
which the poor creature herself — helpless, terrified, dis-
tracted, despairing, and exhausted — may Iiave been un-
able to afford to it. And yet it is certain, if the woman
IS found guilty under the statute, execution will follow.
The crime has been too common, and examples are
necessary."

"But if this other wench," said the city-clerk, "can
speak to her sister communicating her situation, it will
take the case from under the statute."

"Very true," replied the bailie; "and I will walk out
one of these days to St, Leonard's, and examine the girl
myself. I know something of their father, Deans— an old
true-blue Cameronian, who would see house and family
go to wreck ere he would disgrace his testimony by a
sinful complying with the defections of the times ; and
such he will probably uphold the taking an oath before a
civil magistrate. If they are to go on and flourish with
their bull-headed obstinacy, the legislature must pass an
act to take their affirmations, as in the case of Quakers.
But surely neither a father nor a sister will scruple in a
case of this kind. As I said before, I will go speak with
them myself, when the hurry of this Porteous investiga-
tion is somewhat over ; their pride and spirit of contra-
diction will be far less alarmed, than if they were called
into a court of justice at once."

"And I suppose Butler is to remain incarcerated?" said
the city-clerk.

" For the present, certainly," said the magistrate. " But
I hope soon to set him at liberty upon bail."

"Do you rest upon the testimony of that light-headed
letter ? " asked the clerk.

"Not very much," answered the bailie; "and yet there
is something striking about it too — it seems the letter ot
a man beside himself, either from great agitation, or some
great sense of guilt."

"Yes," said the town-clerk, "it is very like the letter of
a mad strolling: play-actor, who deserves to be hanged

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. »^

i^Hth all the rest of his gang, as your honour justly
observes."

" I was not quite so bloodthirsty," continued the magis-
trate. "But to the point. Butler's private character is
excellent ; and I am given to understand, by some
inquiries I have been making this morning, that he did
actually arrive in town only the day before yesterday, so
that it was impossible he could have been concerned in
any previous machinations of tliese unhappy rioters, and
it is not likely tliat he should have joined them oa a
suddenty."

"There's no saying anent that — zeal catches fire at a
slight spark as fast as a brunstane match," observed the
secretary. " I hae kend a minister wad be fair gude-day
and fair gude-e'en wi' ilka man in the parochine, ani
hing just as quiet as a rocket on a stick, till ye mentioned
the word abjuration-oath, or patronage, or sic-like, and
then, whiz, he was off, and up In the air a hundred miles
beyond common manners, common sense, and common
comprehension."

" I do not understand," answered the burgher-magis-
trate, "that the young man Butler's zeal is of so inflam-
mable a character. But I will make further Investigation.
What other business is there before us ? "

And they proceeded to minute investigations concern-
ing the affair of Porteous's death, and other affairs
through which this history has no occasion to trace
them.

In the course of their business they were interrupted
by an old woman of the lower rank, extremely haggard
in look, and wretched in her apparel, who thrust herself
into the council room.

"What do you want, gudewlfe? — Who are you?" said
Bailie Middleburgh.

"What do I want!" replied she, in a sulky tone — "I
want my bairn, or I want naething frae nana o' ye, for
as grand's ye are." And she went on muttering to herself,
with the wayward spltefulness of age — "They maun hae
lordships and honours, nae doubt — set them up, the
gutter-bloods! and deil a gentleman amang them."
Then again addressing the sitting magistrate, " Will ^OMr
honour gie me back my puir crazy bairn ? — His honour ! —
I hae kend the day when less wad ser'd him, the oe of a
Campvere skipper.

204 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

"Good woman," said the magistrate to this shrewish
supplicant — " tell us what it is you want, and do not
interrupt the court."

"That's as muckle as till say, Bark, Bawtie, and be
dune wi't ! — I tell ye," raising her termagant voice, "I
want my bairn ! is na that braid Scots ? "

"Who are you! — who is your bairn?" demanded the
magistrate.

"Wha am I! — wha suld I be, but Meg Murdockson,
and wha suld my bairn be but Magdalen Murdockson ? —
Your guard soldiers, and your constables, and your
officers, ken us weel eneuch when they rive the bits o'
duds aff our backs, and take what penny o' siller we hae,
and harl us to the Correction-house in Leith Wynd,
and pettle us up wi' bread and water, and sic-like
sunkets."

"Who is she?" said the magistrate, looking round to
some of his people.

"Other than a gude ane, sir," said one of the city
officers, shrugging his shoulders and smiling.

"Will ye say sae?" said the termagant, her eye
gleaming with impotent fury; "an I had ye amang the
Figgat-Whins, wadna I set iny ten talents in your
wuzzent face for that very word?" and she suited the
word to the action, by spreading out a set of claws
resembling those of St. George's dragon on a country
sign-post.

"What does she want here?" said the impatient
magistrate. — "Can she not tell her business, or go
away ? "

"It's my bairn! — it's Magdalen Murdockson I'm
wantin'," answered the beldam, screaming at the highest
pitch of her cracked and mistuned voice — "havena I been
tellin' ye sae this half-hour! And if ye are deaf, what
needs ye sit cockit up there, and keep folk scraughin' t'ye
this gait?"

"She wants her daughter, sir," said the same officer
whose interference had given the hag such offence before
—"her daughter, who Avas taken up last night — Madge
Wildfire, as they ca' her."

"Madge Hellfire, as they ca' her!" echoed the
beldam; "and what business has a blackguard like
you to ca' an honest woman's bairn out o' her jiin
name ? "

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 205

"An honest woman's bairn, Maggie?" answered the
peace-officer, smiling and shaking his head with an ironical
emphasis on the adjective, and a calmness calculated to
provoke to madness the furious old shrew.

" If I'm no honest now, I was honest ance," she replied ;
"and that's mair than ye can say, ye born and bred thief,
that never kend ither folk's gear frae your ain since the
day ye was cleckit. Honest, say ye ? — ye pykit your
mother's pouch o' twalpennies Scotch when ye were five
years auld, just as she was taking leave o' your father at
the fit o' the gallows."

"She has you there, George," said the assistants, and
there was a general laugh; for the wit was fitted for tlie
meridian of the place where it was uttered. This general
applause somewhat gratified the passions of the old hag;
tlie "grim feature" smiled, and even laughed — but it was
a laugh of bitter scorn. She condescended, however, as
if appeased by the success of her salljr, to explain her
business more distinctly, when the magistrate, command-
ing silence, agfiin desired her either to speak out her
errand, or to leave the place.

" Her bairn," she said, "-was her bairn, and she came to
fetch her out of ill hafl and waur guiding. If she
wasna sae wise as ither folk, few ither folk had suffered as
muckle as she had done ; forby that she could fend the
waur for hersell within the four wa's of a jail. She could
pfove by fifty witnesses, and fifty to that, that her daughter
had never seen Jock Porieous, alive or dead, since he had
gien her a loundering wi' his cane, the neger that he was !
for driving a dead cat at the provost's wig on the Elector
of Hanover's birthday."

Notwithstanding the wretched appearance and violent
demeanour of this woman, the magistrate felt the justice
of her argument, that her child might be as dear to her as
to a more fortunate and more amiable mother. He pro-
ceeded to investigate the circumstances which had led to
Madge Murdockson's (or Wildfire's) arrest, and as it was
clearly shown that she had not been engaged in the riot,
he contented himself with directing that an eye should
be kept upon her by the police, but that for the present
she should be allowed to return home with her mother.
During the interval of fetching Madge from the jail, the
magistrate endeavoured to discover whether her mother
had been privy to the change of dress betwixt that young

2o6 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

woman and Robertson. But on this point he could obtain
no light. She persisted in declaring, that she had never
seen Robertson since his remarkable escape during service-
time ; and that, if her daughter had changed clothes with
him, it must have been during her absence at a hamlet
about two miles out of town, called Duddingstone, where
she could prove that she passed that eventful night. And,
in fact, one of the town-officers, who had been searching
for stolen linen at the cottage of a washer-woman in that
village, gave his evidence, that he had seen Maggie
Murdockson there, whose presence had considerably in-
creased his suspicion of the house in which she was a
visitor, in respect that he considered her as a person of no
good reputation.

"I tauld ye sae," said the hag; "see now what it is to
hae a character, gude or bad ! — Now, maybe after a', 1
could tell ye something about Porteous that you council-
chamber bodies never could find out, for as muckle stir as
ye mak."

All eyes were turned towards her — all ears were alert.
" Speak out ! " said the magistrate.

"It will be for your ain gude," insinuated the town-
clerk.

" Dinna keep the bailie waiting," urged the assistants.

She remained doggedly silent for two or three minutes
casting around a malignant and sulky glance, that seemed
to enjoy the anxious suspense with which they waited her
answer. And then she broke forth at once, — "A' that I
kert about him is, that he was neither soldier nor gentleman,
but just a thief and a blackguard, like maist o' yourseils,
dears — What will ye gie me for that news, now ? — He wad
hae served the gude town lang or provost or bailie wad hae
fund that out, my joe 1 "

While these matters were in discussion, Madge Wildfire
entered, and her first exclamation was, "Eh! see if there
isna our auld ne'er-do-weel deevil's buckie o' a mither--
Hegh, sirs ! but we are a hopefu' family, to be twa o' us in
the Guard at ance — But there were better days wi' us ance —
were there na, mither ? "

Old Maggie's eyes had glistened with something like an
expression of pleasure when she saw her daughter set at
liberty. But either her natural affection, like that of the
tigress, could not be displayed without a strain of ferocity,
or there was something in the ideas which Madge's speech

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 207

awakened, that again stirred her cross and savage temper.
"What signifies what we were, ye street-raking limmer ! "
she exclaimed, pusliing her daughter before her to the
door, with no gentle degree of violence. " I'se tell thee
what thou is now — thou's a crazed hellicat Bess o' Bedlam,
that sail taste naething but bread and water for a fortnight,
to serve ye for the plague ye hae gien me — and ower gude
for ve, ye idle taupie ! "

Madge, however, escaped from her mother at the door,
ran back to the foot of the table, dropped a very low and
fantastic curtsey to the judge, and said, with a giggling
laugh, — "Our minnie's sair mis-set, after her ordinar, sir
— She'll hae had some quarrel wi' her auld gudeman —
that's Satan, ye ken, sirs." This explanatory note she gave
in a low confidential tone, and the spectators of that credulous
generation did not hear it without an involuntary shudder.
"The gudeman and her disna aye gree weel, and then I
maun pay the piper ; but my back's broad eneugh to bear't
a' — an' if she hae nae havings, that's nae reason why
wiser folk shouldna hae some." Here another deep
curtsey, when the ungracious voice of her mother was
heard.

" iMadge, ye limmer ! If I come to fetch ye ! "
" Hear till her," said Madge. " But I'll wun out a gliff
the night for a' that, to dance in the moonlight, when her
and the gudeman will be whirrying through the blue lift
on a broom-shank, to see Jean Jap, that they hae putten
intill the Kirkcaldy tolbooth — ay, they will hae a merry sail

• ower Inchkeith, and ower a' the bits o' bonny waves tliat
< are poppling and plashing against the rocks in the gowden
; glimmer o' the moon, ye ken. — I'm coming, mother — I'm

coming," she concluded, on hearing a scuffle at the door

• betwixt the beldam and the officers, who were endeavouring
to prevent her re-entrance. Madge then waved her hand

V wildly towards the ceiling, and sung, at the topmost pitch
^' of her voice, —

i " Up in the air,

i On my bonny gray mare,

J And I see, and I see, and I see her yet. "

1 And with a hop, skip, and jump, sprung out of the room,
as the witches of Macbeth used, in less refined days, to
seem to fly upwards from the stage.

2o8 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

Some weeks intervened before Mr. Middleburgh, agree-
ably to his benevolent resolution, found an opportunity
of taking a walk towards St. Leonard's, in order to discover
whether it might be possible to obtain the evidence hinted
at in the anonymous letter respecting Effie Deans.

In fact, the anxious perquisitions made to discover the
murderers of Porteous occupied the attention of all concerned
with the administration of justice.

In the course of these enquiries, two circumstances
happened material to our story. Butler, after a close
investigation of his conduct, was declared innocent of
accession to the death of Porteous ; but, as having been
present during the whole transaction, was obliged to fmd
bail not to quit his usual residence at Liberton, that he
might appear as a witness when called upon. The other
incident regarded the disappearance of Madge Wildfire and
her mother from Edinburgh. When they were sought, with
the purpose of subjecting them to some further interroga-
tories, it was discovered by Mr. Sharp! tiavv that they had
eluded the observation of the police, and left the city so soon
as dismissed from the council-chamber. No efforts could
trace the place of their retreat.

In the meanwhile the excessive indignation of the Council
of Regency, at the slight put upon their authority by the
murder of Porteous, had dictated measures, in which their
own extreme desire of detecting the actors in that conspiracy
were consulted, in preference to the temper of the people,
and the character of their churchmen. An act of parliament
was hastily passed, offering two hundred pounds reward to
those who should inform against any person concerned in
the deed, and the penalty of death, by a very unusual and
severe enactment, was denounced against those who should
harbour the guilty. But what was chiefly accounted ex-
ceptionable, was a clause, appointing the act to be read in
churches by the officiating clergyman, on the first Sunday
of every month, for a certain period, immediately before the
sermon. The ministers who should refuse to comply with
this injunction, were declared, for the first offence, incapable
of sitting or voting in any church judicature, and for the
second, mcapable of holding any ecclesiastical preferment
in Scotland.

This last order united in a common cause those whc
might privately rejoice in Porteous's death, though the\
dared not vindicate the manner of it, with the more

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 209

scrupulous presbyterians, who held that even the pro-
nouncing the name of the " Lords Spiritual " in a Scottish
pulpit was, ^uodammodo, an acknowledgment of prelacy, and
that the injunction of the legislature was an interference of
the civil government with the jus divintim of presbytery,
since to the General Assembly alone, as representing the
invisible head of the kirk, belonged tlie sole and exclusive
right of regulating whatever pertained to public worship.
Very many also, of different political or religious sentiments,
and therefore not much moved by these considerations,
thought they saw, in so violent an act of parliament, a
more vindictive spirit than became the legislature of a
great countrj', and something like an attempt to trample
upon the rights and independence of Scotland. The various
steps adopted for punishing the city of Edinburgh, by taking
away her charter and liberties, for what a violent and over-
mastering mob had done within her walls, were resented by
many, who thought a pretext was too hastily taken for
degrading the ancient metropolis of Scotland. In short,
there was much heart-burning, discontent, and disaffection,
occasioned by these ill-considered measures.*

Amidst these heats and dissensions, the trial of Effie
Deans, after she had been many weeks imprisoned, was
at length about to be brought forward, and Mr. Middle-
burgh found leisure to enquire into the evidence concerning
her. For this purpose, he chose a fine day for his walk
towards her father's house.

The excursion into the country was somewhat distant,
in the opinion of a burgess of those days, although many
of the present inhabit suburban villas considerably beyond
the spot to which we allude. Three quarters of an hour's
walk, however, even at a pace of magisterial gravity,
conducted our benevolent office-bearer to the Crags of St
Leonard's, and the humble mansion of David Deans.

The old man was seated on tlie deas, or turf-seat, at
the end of his cottage, busied in mending his cart-harness
with his own hands ; for in those days any sort of labour

•The Magistrates were closely interrogated before the House of Peers, con-
cerning the particulars of the Mob, and the faiois in which these functionaries
made tlaeir answers, sounded strange in the ears of the Southern nobles. The
Duke of Newcastle having demanded to know with what kind of shot the guard
which Porteous commanded had loaded their muskets, was answered naively,
"Ow, jiist sic as .ine shoots dukes and fooli with." This reply was considered
as a contempt of the House of Lords, and the Provost would have suffered
accordingly, but that the Duke of Argj-le explnincd, that the exprcs«ion,
properly rendered into En^^lisb, meant duckt and xvattr-ftrwL

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

/

which required a little more skill than usual fell to th©
share of the g'oodman himself, and that even when he was
well to pass in the world. With stern and austere gravify
lie persevered in his task, after having just raised his head
to notice the advance of the stranger. It would have been
impossible to have discovered, from his countenance and
njanner, the internal feelings of agony w-ith which he
contended. Mr. Middleburgh waited an instant, expect-
ing Deans would in some measure acknowledge his
presence, and lead into conversation ; but, as he seemed
determined to remain silent, he was himself obliged to
speak first.

" My name is Middleburgh — Mr. James Middleburgh,
one of the present magistrates of the city of Edinburgh."

" It may be sae," answered Deans laconically, and with-
out interrupting his labour.

"You must understand," he continued, "that the duty
of a magistrate is sometimes an unpleasant one."

" It may be sae," replied David ; " I hae naetning to sae
in the contrair ; " and he was again doggedly silent.

"You must be aware," pursued the magistrate, "that
persons in my situation are often obliged to make painful
and disagreeable enquiries of individuals, merely because
it is their bounden duty."

" It may be sae," again replied Deans ; " I hae naething
to say anent it, cither the tae way or the t'other. But I
do ken there was ance in a day a just and God-fearing
magistracy in yon town o' Edinburgh, that did not bear
the sword in vain, but were a terror to evil-doers, and a
praise to such as kept the path. In the glorious days of
auld worthy faithfu' Provost Dick,* when there was a
true and faithfu' General Assembly of the Kirk, walking
hand in hand with the real noble Scottish-hearted barons,
and witli the magistrates of this and other towns, gentles,
burgesses, and commons of all ranks, seeing with one eye,
hearing with one ear, and upholding the ark with their
united strength — And then folk miglit see men deliver up
their silver to the states' use, as if it had been as muckle
sclate stanes. My father saw (hem toom the sacks of
dollars out o' Provost Dick's window intill the carts that
carried them to the army at Dunsc Law ; and if ye
winna believe his testimony, there is the window itsell
still standing in the Luckenbooths — I think it's a

* Note II. Sir William Dick of Braid.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN; an

claith-merchant's booth the day* — at the airn stanchells, five
doors abune Gossford's Close. — But now we haena sic
spirit amang us ; we think mair about the warst wally-
draigle in our ain byre, than about the blessing which
tlie angel of tiie covenant gave to the Patriarch even at
Peniel and Mahanaini, or the binding obUgation of our
national vows ; and we wad rather gie a pund Scots to
buy an unguent to clear our auld rannell-trees and our
beds o' the English bugs, as they ca' them, than we wad
gie a plack to rid the land of the swarm of Arminian
caterpillars, Socinian pismires, and deistical Miss Katies,
that have ascended out of the bottomless pit, to plague this
perverse, insidious, and lukewarm generation."

It happened to Davie Deans on this occasion as it has
done to many other habitual orators ; when once he became
embarked on his favourite subject, the stream of his own
enthusiasm carried him forward in spite of his mental
distress, while his well - exercised memory supplied him
amply with all the types and tropes of rhetoric peculiar to
his sect and cause.

Mr. Middleburgh contented himself with answering—
•'All this may be very true, my friend; but, as you said
just now, I have nothing to say to it at present, either
one way or other. — You have two daughters, I think,
Mr. Deans?"

The old man winced, as one whose smarting sore is
suddenly galled ; but instantly composed himself, resumed
the work which, in the heat of his declamation, he had
laid down, and answered with sullen resolution, " Ae
daughter, sir — only ane."

"I understand you," said Mr. Middleburgh; "you have
only one daughter here at home with you — but this un-
fortunate girl who is a prisoner — she is, I think, your
' mhgest daughter ? "

The Presbyterian sternly raised his eyes. "After the
world, and according to the flesh, she is my daughter;
but when she became a child of Belial, and a company-
keeper, and a trader in guilt and iniquity, she ceased to

: a bairn of mine."

"Alas, Mr. Deans," said Middleburgh, sitting down by
him, and endeavouring to take his hand, which the old
man proudly withdrew, "we are ourselves all sinners; and

• I think so too — But if the reader b« cxirious, he may consult Mr. Chamber*'
Traditions of Edinburgh."

212 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

the errors of our ofTsprIng, as they ought not to surprise us,
being the portion wliich tliey derive of a common portion of
corruption inherited through us, so they do not entitle us to
cast them off because they have lost themselves."

"Sir," said Deans impatiently, "I ken a' that as weel
as — I mean to say," he resumed, checking the irritation
he felt at being schooled, — a discipline of the mind, which
those most ready to bestow it on others, do themselves most
reluctantly submit to receive — " I mean to say, that what ye
observe may be just and reasonable — But I hae nae freedom
to enter into my.ain private affairs wi' strangers — And now,
in this great national emergency, when there's the Porteous'
Act has come doun frae London, that is a deeper blow to
this poor sinfu' kingdom and suffering kirk, than ony that
has been heard of since the foul and fatal Test — at a time
like this "

"But, goodman," interrupted Mr. Middleburgh, "you
must think of your own household first, or else you are
worse even than the infidels."

"I tell ye, Bailie Middleburgh," retorted David Deans,
"if ye be a bailie, as there is little honour in being ane in
these evil days — I tell ye, I heard the gracious Saunders
Peden — I wotna whan it was ; but it was in killing time,
when the plowers were drawing alang their furrows on
the back of the Kirk of Scotland — I heard him tell his
heai^ers, gude and waled Christians they were too, that
some o' them wad greet mair for a bit drowned calf or
stirk, than for a' the defections and oppressions ^of the
day ; and that they were some o' them thinking o' ae
thing, some o' anither, and there was Lady Hundleslope
thinking o' greeting Jock at the fireside! And the lady
confessed in my hearing, that a drow of anxiety had come
ower her for her son that she had left at hame weak of a
decay * — And what wad he hae said of me, if I had ceased to
think of the gude cause for a castaway — a — It kills me to
think of what she is ! "

" But the life of your child, goodman — think of that — if
her life could be saved," said Middleburgh.

"Her life?" exclaimed David — "I wadna gie ane o' my
gray hairs for her life, if her gude name be gane — And yet, '
said he, relenting and retracting as he spoke, " I wad make
the niffer, Mr. Middleburgh — I wad gie a' these gray hairs
that she has brought to shame and sorrow — I wad gie the

* See " Life of Peden."

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 213

auld head they grow on for her life, and that she might hae
time to amend and return, for what hae the wicked beyond
, the breath of their nostrils? — But I'll never see her mair. —
No! — that — that I am determined in — I'll never see her
mair ! " His lips continued to move for a minute after
his voice ceased to be heard, as if he were repeating the
same vow internally.

"Well, sir," said Mr. Middleburgh, "I speak to you as a
man of sense ; if you would save your daughter's life, you
must use human means."

"I understand what you mean; but Mr. Novit, who is
the procurator and doer of an honourable person, the Laird
of Dumbiedikes, is to do what carnal wisdom can do for her
in the circumstances. Mysell am not clear to trinquet and
trafiic wi' courts o* justice, as they are now constituted ; I
have a tenderness and scruple in my mind anent them."

"That is to say," said Middleburgh, "that you are a
Cameronian, and do not acknowledge the authority of our
courts of judicature, or present government? "

" Sir, under your favour," replied David, who was too
proud of his own polemical knowledge, to call himself the
follower of any one, "ye take me up before I fall down. I
canna see why I suld be termed a Cameronian, especially
now that ye hae given the name of that famous and savoury
sufferer, not only until a regimental band of souldiers,
whereof I am told many can now curse, swear, and use
profane language, as fast as ever Richard Cameron could
preach or pray ; but also because ye have, in as far as it is
in your power, rendered "that martyr's name vain and con-
temptible, by pipes, drums, and fifes, playing the vain
carnal spring, called the Cameronian Rant, which too
many professors of religion dance to — a practice maist
unbecoming a professor to dance to any tune whatsoever,
more especially promiscuously, that is, with the female sex.*
A brutish fashion it is, whilk is the beginning of defection
with many, as I may hae as muckle cause as maist folk
to testify."

"Well, but, Mr. Deans," replied Mr. Middleburgh, "1
only meant to say that you were a Cameronian, or Mac-
Millanite, one of the society people, in short, who think
it inconsistent to take oaths under a government where
the Covenant is not ratified. "

"Sir," replied the controversialist, who forgot even his

• See Note 5. Peter Walker.

ai4 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

present distress in such discussions as these, "you cannot
fickle me sae easily as you do opine. I am not a Mac-
Millanite, or a Russelitc, or a Hamiltonian, or a Ilarleyite,
or a Howdenite* — I will be led by the nose by none — I
take my name as a Christian from no vessel of clay. I
have my own principles and practice to answer for, and
am an humble pleader for the gude auld cause in a legal
way."

"That is to say, Mr. Deans," said Middleburgh, "that
you are a Deanite, and have opinions peculiar to yourself."

"It may please you to say sae," said David Deans;
"but I have maintained my testimony before as great
folk, and in sharper times ; and though I will neither
exalt myself nor pull down others, I wish every man and
woman in this land had kept the true testimony, and the
middle and straight path, as it were, on the ridge of a
hill, where wind and water shears, avoiding right-hand
snares and extremes, and left-hand way-slidings, as weel
as Johnny Dodds of Farthing's Acre, and ae man mair
that shall be nameless."

" I suppose," replied the magistrate, " that is as much
as to say, that Johnny Dodds of Farthing's Acre, and
David Deans of St. Leonard's, constitute the only members
of the true, real, unsophisticated Kirk of Scotland ? "

"God forbid that I suld make sic a vain-glorious
speech, when there are sae mony professing Christians ! "
answered David: "but this I maun say, that all men act
according to their gifts and their grace, sae that it is nae
marvel that "

"This is aJl very fine," interrupted Mr. Middleburgh;
"but I have no time to spend in hearing it. The matter
in hand is this — I have directed a citation to be lodged in
your daughter's hands — If she appears on the day of trial
and gives evidence, there is reason to hope she may save
her sister's life — if, from any constrained scruples about
the legality of her performing the oflice of an affectionate
sister and a good subject, by appearing in a court held
under the authority of the law and government, you
become the means of deterring her from the discharge of
this duty, I must say, though the truth may sound harsh
in your ears, that you, who gave life to this unhappy girl,
will become the means of her losing it by a permature
and violent death."

* All various specie* of the grrcat genus Canieronian.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAI^ 215

So saying, Mr. Middleburgh turned to leave him.

" Bide awee — bide awee, Mr. Middleburgh," said Deans,
: n great perplexity and distress of mind ; but the bailie,
who was probably sensible tiiat protracted discussion
might diminish the effect of his best and most forcible
argument, took a hasty leave, and declined entering
farther into the controversy.

Deans sunk down upon his seat, stunned with a variety
of conflicting emotions. It had been a great source of
controversy among those holding his opinions in re-
ligious matters how far the government which succeeded
the Revolution could be, without sin, acknowledged by
true Presbyterians, seeing that it did not recognise the
great national testimony of the Solemn League and
Covenant? And latterly, those agreeing in this general
doctrine, and assuming the sounding title of "The anti-
Popish, anti-Prelatic, anti-Erastian, anti-Sectarian, true
Presbyterian remnant," were divided into many petty sects
among themselves, even as to the extent of submission to
the existing laws and rulers, which constituted such an
acknowledgment as amounted to sin.

At a very stormy and tumultuous meeting, held in 1682,
to discuss these Important and delicate points, the
testimonies of the faithful few were found utterly in-
consistent with each other. * The place where this
conference took place was remarkably well adapted for
such an assembly. It was a wild and verj' sequestered dell
in Tweeddale, surrounded by high hills, and far remote
from human habitation. A small river, or rather a
mountain torrent, called the Talla, breaks down the glen
with great fury, dashing successively o\er a number of
small cascades, which has procured the spot the name
of Talla Linns. Here the leaders among the scattered
adherents to the Covenant, men who, in their banishment
from human society, and in the recollection of the severities
to which they had been exposed, had become at once
sullen in their tempers, and fantastic in their religious
opinions, met with arms in their hands, and by the side
of the torrent discussed, with a turbulence which the noise
of the stream could not drown, points of controversy as
empty and unsubstantial as its foam.

It was the fixed judgment of most of the meeting, that
all payment of cess or tribute to the existing government

* Note I*. Meeting at Talla Linna.

2i6 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

was utterly vmlawful, and a sacrificing to idols. About
other impositions and degrees of submission there were
various opinions ; and perhaps it Is the best illustration
of the spirit of those military fathers of the church to say,
that while all allowed it was impious to pay the cess
employed for maintaining the standing army and militia,
there was a fierce controversy on the lawfulness of
paying the duties levied at ports and bridges, for main-
taining roads and other necessary purposes ; that there
were some who, repugnant to these imposts for turnpikes
and postages, were nevertheless free in conscience to make
payment of the usual freight at public ferries, and that a
person of exceeding and punctilious zeal, James Russel,
one of the slayers of the Archbishop of St. Andrews, had
given his testimony with great warmth even against this
last faint shade of subjection to constituted authority.
This ardent and enlightened person and his followers had
also great scruples about the lawfulness of bestowing the
ordinary names upon the days of the week and the
months of the year, which savoured in their nostrils so
strongly of paganism, that at length they arrived at the
conclusion that they who owned such names as Monday,
Tuesday, January, February, and so forth, "served them-
selves heirs to the same, if not greater punishment, than
had been denounced against the idolatei's of old."

David Deans had been present on this memorable
occasion, although too young to be a speaker among the
polemical combatants. His brain, however, had been
thoroughly heated by the noise, clamour, and metaphysical
ingenuity of the discussion, and it was a controversy to
which his mind had often returned ; and though he
carefully disguised his vacillation from others, and perhaps
from himself, he had never been able to come to any
precise line of decision on the subject. In fact, his
natural sense had acted as a counterpoise to his con-
troversial zeal. He was by no means pleased with the
quiet and indifferent manner in which King VV^illiam's
government slurred over the errors of the times, when,
far from restoring the Presbyterian kirk to its former
supremacy, they passed an act of oblivion even to those
who had been its persecutors, and bestowed on many 'of
them titles, favours, and employments. When, in the
first General Assembly which succeeded the Revolution,
an overture was made for the revival of the League and

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 217

Covenant, it was with horror that Douce David heard the
proposal eluded by the men of carnal wit and policy, as
he called them, as being inapplicable to the present times,
and not falling- under the modern model of the churth.
The reign of Queen Anne had increased his conviction,
that the Revolution government was not one of the true
Presbyterian complexion. But then, more sensible than
the bigots of his sect, he did not confound the moderation
and tolerance of these two reigns with the active tyranny
and oppression exercised in those of Charles II. and
James II. The Presbyterian form of religion, though
deprived of the weight formerly attached to its sentences of
excommunication, and compelled to tolerate the co-existence
of Episcopacy, and of sects of various descriptions, was still
the National Church ; and though the glory of the second
temple was far inferior to that which had flourished from
1639 till the battle of Dunbar, still it was a structure that,
wanting the strength and the terrors, retained at least the
form and symmetry, of the original model. Then came the
insurrection in 171 5, and David Deans's horror for the revival
of the popish and prelatical faction reconciled him greatly
to the government of King George, although he grieved
that that monarch might be suspected of a leaning unto
Erastianism. In short, moved by so many different con-
siderations, he had shifted his ground at different times
concerning the degree of freedom which he felt in adopting
ny act of immediate acknowledgment or submission to
he present government, which, however mild and paternal,
was still uncovenanted ; and now he felt himself called upon
by the most powerful motive conceivable, to authorize his
daughter's giving testimony in a court of justice, which all
who have been since called Cameronians accounted a step
of lamentable and direct defection. The voice of nature,
however, exclaimed loud in his bosom against the dictates
of fanaticism ; and his imagination, fertile in the solution of
polemical difficulties, devised an expedient for extricating
himself from the fearful dilemma, in which he saw, on the
one side, a falling ofT from principle, and, on the other, a
scene from which a fathers thoughts could not but turn in
shuddering horror,

"I have been constant and Unchanged in my testi-

nony," said David Deans; but then who has said it

I me, that I have judged my neighbour over closely,

because he hath had more freedom in his walk than J

3i8 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN

have found in mine? I never was a separatist, nor for
quarrelling with tender souls about mint, cummin, oi
other the lesser tithes. My daughter Jean may have a
light in this subject that is hid frae my auld een— it is
laid on her conscience, and not on mine — If she hath
freedom to gang before this judicatory, and hold up her
hand for this poor cast-away, surely I will not say she

steppeth over her bounds ; and if not " He paused

in his mental argument, while a pang of unutterable
anguish convulsed his features, yet, shaking it off, he
firmly resumed the strain of his reasoning — "And if
NOT — God, forbid that she should go into defection at
bidding of mine ! I wunna fret the tender conscience of
one bairn — no, not to save the life of the other."

A Roman would have devoted his daughter to death
from different feelings and motives, but not upon a more
heroic principle of duty.

CHAPTER XIX.

To man, in this his trial state,

The privilege is given.
When tost by tides of human fate,

To anchor fast on heaven.

Watts's Hymns.

It was with a firm step that Deans sought his daughter's
apartment, determined to leave her to the light of her
own conscience in the dubious point of casuistry in which
he supposed her to be placed.

The little room had been the sleeping apartment of
both sisters, and there still stood there a small occasional
bed which had been made for Effie's accommodation,
when, complaining of illness, she had declined to share,
as in happier times, her sister's pillow. The eyes of
Deans rested involuntarily, on entering the room, upon
this little couch, with its dark-green coarse curtains,
and the ideas connected with it rose so thick upon his
soul as almost to incapacitate him from opening his
errand to his daughter.' Her occupation broke the ice.
He found her gazing on a slip of paper, which contained
a citation to her to appear as a witness upon her sister's
Trial in behalf of the accused. For the worthy magistrate,

THE HEART OF- MID-LOTHIAN. 219

determined to omit no chance of doing Effie justice,
and to leave her sister no apology for not givnng the
evidence which she was suppostxl to possess, had caused
the ordinary citation, or siihpcena, of the Scottish criminal
court, to be ser\ed upon her by an officer during his con-
ference with David.

This precaution was so far fa^'ourable to Deans, that
it saved him the pain of entering upon a formal ex-
planation with his daughter ; he only said, with a hollow
and tremulous voice, "I perceive ye are aware of the
matter."

" Oh, father, we are cruelly sted between God's laws
and iifan's laws — What shall we do ? — What can we do ? "

Jeanie, it must be observed, had no hesitation whatever
about the mere act of appearing in a court of justice.
She might have heard the point discussed by her father
more than once ; but we have already noticed, that she
was accustomed to listen with re\-erence to much which
she was incapable of imderstanding, and that subtle
arguments of casuistry found her a patient, but unedi-
tied hearer. Upon receiving the citation, therefore, her
thoughts did not turn upon the chimerical scruples which
alarmed her father's mind, but to the language which had
been held to her by the stranger at Muschat's Cairn. In
a word, she never doubted but she was to be dragged
forward into the court of justice, in order to place her
in the cruel position of either sacrificing her sister by
telling the truth, or committing perjury in order to save
her life. And so strongly did her thoughts run in this
channel, that she applied her father's words, " Ye are
aware of the matter," to his acquaintance with the advice
that had been so fearfully enforced upon her. She looked
up with anxious surprise, not unmingled with a cast of
horror, which his next words, as she interpreted and
applied them, were not qualified to remove.

"Daughter," said David, "it has ever been my mind,
that in things of ane doubtful and controversial nature,
ilk Christian's conscience suld be his ain guide — Where-
fore descend into yourself, try your ain mind with
sufficiency of soul exercise, and as you sail finally find
yourself clear to do in this matter — even so be it."

" But, father," said Jeanie, whose mind revolted at the
construction which she naturally put upon his language,
"can this — this be a doubtful or controversial matter? —

220 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

Mind, father, the ninth command — ' Thou shalt not bear
false witness against thy neighbour.'"

David Deans paused ; for, still applying her speech
to his preconceived difficulties, it seemed to him, as if she^
a woman, and a sister, was scarce entitled to be scrupulous
upon this occasion, where he, a man, exercised in the
testimonies of that testifying period, had given indirect
countenance to her following what must have been the
natural dictates of her own feelings. But he kept firm
his purpose, until his eyes involuntarily rested upon the
little settle bed, and recalled the form of the child of his
old age, as she sat upon it, pale, emaciated, and broken-
hearted. His mind, as the picture arose before him,
involuntarily conceived, and his tongue involuntarily
uttered — but in a tone how different from his usual dog-
matical precisioti ! — arguments for the course of conduct
likely to ensure his child's safety.

" Daughter," he said, " I did not say that your path was'
free from stumbling — and, questionless, this act may be
in the opinion of some a transgression, since he who
beareth witness unlawfully, and against his conscience,
doth in some sort bear false witness against his neighbour.
Yet in matters of compliance, the guilt lieth not in the
compliance sae muclde, as in the mind and conscience
of him that doth comply ; and, therefore, although my
testimony hath not been spared upon public defections,
I haena felt freedom to separate my sell from the com-
munion of many who have been clear to hear those
ministers who have taken the fatal indulgence, because
they might get good of them, though I could not."

When David had proceeded thus far, his conscience
reproved him, that he might be indirectly undermining
the purity of his daughter's faith, and smoothing the way
for her falling off from strictness of principle. He, there-
fore, suddenly stopped, and changed his tone : — "Jeanie,
I perceive that our vile affections — so I call them in
respect of doing the will of our Father — cling too heavily
to me in this hour of trying sorrow, to permit me to keep
sight of my ain duty, or to airt you to yours. I will
speak nae mair anent this over-trying matter. — ^Jeanie, if
ye can, wi' God and gude conscience, speak in favour of
this puir unhappy" — (here his voice faltered) — "She is
your sister in the flesh — worthless and cast-away as she
is, she is the daughter of a saint in heaven, that was a

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 221

mother to you, Jeanie, in place of your ain — but il ye
arena free in conscience to speak for her in the court of
judicature, follow your conscience, Jeanie, and let God's
will be done." After this adjuration he left the apart-
ment, and his daughter remained in a state of great
distress and perplexity.

It would have been no small addition to the sorrows of
David Deans, even in this extremity of suffering, had he
known that his daughter was applying the casuistical
arguments wiiich he had been using, not in the sense of a
permission to follow her own opinion on a dubious and
disputed point of controversy, but rather as an encourage-
ment to transgress one of those divine commandments
which Christians of all sects and denominations unite in
holding most sacred.

"Can this be?" said Jeanie, as the door closed on her
father — " Can these be his words that I have heard, or has
the Enemy taken his voice and features to give weight
unto the counsel which causeth to perish ? — A sister's life,
and a father pointing out how to save it ! — O God, deliver
me ! — this is a fearfu' temptation."

Roaming from thought to thought, she at one time
imagined her father understood the ninth commandment
literally, as prohibiting false witness agaiTist our neigh-
bour, without extending the denunciation against false-
hood uttered in favour of the criminal. But her clear
and unsophisticated power of discriminating between
good and evil, instantly rejected an interpretation so
limited, and so unwonhy of the Author of the law. She
remained in a stale of the most agitating terror and
uncertainty — afraid to communicate her thoughts freely
to her father, lest she should draw forth an opinion with
which she could not comply — wrung with distress on her
sister's account, rendered the more acute by reflecting
that the means of saving her were in her power, but were
such as her conJM;ience prohibited her from using — tossed, in
short, like a vessel in an open roadstead during a storm, and.
like that vessel, resting on one only sure cable, and anchor —
failh in Providence, and a resolution to discharge her duty.

Butler's affection and strong sense of religion would
have been her principal support in these distressing
circumstances, but he was stiJl under restraint, which
did not permit him to come to St. Leonard's Crags ; and
her distresses were of a nature, which, with her indifferent

222 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

habits of scholarship, she found it impossible to express
in writing. She was therefore compelled to trust for
guidance to her own unassisted sense of what was right
or wrong. It was not the least of Jeanie's distresses, that,
although she hoped and believed her sister to be innocent,
she had not the means of receiving that assurance from
her own mouth.

The double - dealing of Ratcliffe in the matter of
Robertson had not prevented his being rewarded, as
double-dealers frequently have been, with favour and
preferment. Sharpitlaw, who found in him something of
a kindred genius, had been intercessor in his behalf with
the magistrates, and the circumstance of his having
voluntarily remained in the prison, when the doors were
forced by the mob, would have made it a hard measure
to take the life which he had such easy means of saving.
He received a full pardon ; and soon afterwards, James
Ratcliffe, the greatest thief and housebreaker in Scotland,
was, upon the faith, pe haps, of an ancient proverb, selected
as a person to be intrusted with the custody of other
delinquents.

When Ratcliffe was thus placed in a confidential situation,
he was repeatedly applied to by the sapient Saddletree and
others, who took some interest in the Deans family, to
procure an interview between the sisters ; but the
magistrates, who were extremely anxious for the apprehen-
sion of Robertson, had given strict orders to the contrar}-,
hoping that, by keeping them separate, they might, from
the one or the other, extract some information respecting
that fugitive. On this subject Jeanie had nothing to tell
them. She informed Mr. Middleburgh, that she knew
nothing of Robertson, except having met him that night
by appointment to give her some advice respecting her
sister's concern, the purport of which, she said, was betwixt
God and her conscience. Of his motions, purposes, or
plans, past, present, or future, she knew nothing, and so
had nothing to communicate.

Effie was equally silent, though from a different cause.
It was in vain that they offered a commutation and
alleviation of her punishment, and even a free pardon, if
she would confess what she knew of her lover. She
answered only with tears ; unless, when at times driven
into pettish sulkiness by the persecution of the interrogators,
she made them abrupt and disrespectful answers.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 223

At length, after her trial had been delayed for many
weeks, in hopes she might be induced to speak out on
a subject infinitely more interesting to the magistracy
than her own guilt or innocence, their patience was worn
out, and even Mr. Middleburgh finding no ear lent to
further intercession in her behalf, the day was fixed for
the trial to proceed.

It was now, and not sooner, that Sharpltlaw, recollecting
his promise to Effie Deans, or rather being dinned into
compliance by the unceasing remonstrances of Mrs.
Saddletree, who was his next-door neighbour, and who
declared it was heathen cruelty to keep the twa broken-
hearted creatures separate, issued the important mandate,
permitting them to see each other.

On the evening which preceded the eventful day of trial,
Jeanie was permitted to see her sister — an awful Interview,
and occurring at a most distressing crisis. This, however,
formed a part of the bitter cup which she was doomed to
drink, to atone for crimes and follies to which she had
no accession ; and at twelve o'clock noon, being the time
appointed for admission to the jail, she went to meet,
for the first time for several months, her guilty, erring,
and most miserable sister, in that abode of guilt, error,

and utter misery.

'^-

CHAPTER XX.

-Sweet sister^ let me live t

What sin you do to save a brother's life,

Nature dispenses with the deed so far.

That it becomes a virtue. — Measure for Measure.

Jeavie Deans was admitted into the jail by RatclifTe.
This fellow, as void of shame as of honesty, as he opened
the now trebly secured door, asked her, with a leer which
made her shudder, " whether she remembered him ? "

A half-pronounced and timid " No," was her answer.

"What! not remember moonlight, and Muschat's Cairn,
and Rob and Rat?" said he, with the same sneer; — "Your
memory needs redding up, my jo."

If Jeanle's distresses had admitted of aggravation, it
must have been to find her sister under the charge of
such a profligate as this man. He was not, indeed,
without something of good to balance so much that was

224 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

evil In his character and habits. In his misdemeanours
he had never been bloodthirsty or cruel ; and in his
present occupation, he had shown himself, in a certain
degree, accessible to touches of humanity. But these
good qualities were unknown to Jeanie, who, remember-
ing the scene at Muschat's Cairn, could scarce find voice
to acquaint him, that she had an order from Baihe
Middleburgh, permitting her to see her sister.

" I ken that fu' weel, my bonny doo ; mair by token,
I have a special charge to stay in the ward with you a'
the time ye are theglther."

"Must that be sae?" asked Jeanie, with an imploring
voice.

"Hout ay, hinny," replied the turnkey; "and \vhat the
waur will you and your titty be of Jim Ratcliffe hearing
what ye hae to say to Ilk other? — Dell a word ye'll say
that will gar him ken your kittle sex better than he kens
them already ; and another thing Is, that if ye dinna
speak o' breaking the Tolbooth, deil a word will 1 tell
ower, either to do ye good or 111."

Thus saying, Ratcliffe marshalled her the way to the
apartment where Effie was confined.

Shame, fear, and grief, had contended for mastery In the
poor prisoner's bosom during the whole morning, while
she had looked forward to this meeting ; but when the
door opened, all gave way to a confused and strange
feeling that had a tinge of joy in it, as, throwing herself
on her sister's neck, she ejaculated, " My dear Jeanie ! —
my dear Jeanie I it's lang since I hae seen ye." Jeanie
returned the embrace with an earnestness that partook
almost of rapture, but it was only a flitting emotion, like
a sunbeam unexpectedly penetrating betwixt the clouds
of a tempest, and obscured almost as soon as visible.
The sisters walked together to the side of the pallet bed,
and sat down side by side, took hold of each other's hands,
and looked each other in the face, but without speaking
a word. In this posture they remained for a minute,
while the gleam of joy gradually faded from their features,
and gave way to the most intense expression, first of
melancholy, and then of agony, till, throwing themselves
again Into each other's arms, they, to use the language
of Scripture, lifted up their voices and wept bitterly.

Even the hard-hearted turnkey, who had spent his life
in scenes calculated to stifle both conscience and feeling.

k

The sisters sat down side i)y side.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 225

could not witness this scene without a touch of human
sympathy. It was shown in a trifling action, but which
had more delicacy in it than seemed to belong to Ratcliffe's
character and station. The unglazed window of the
miserable chamber was open, and the beams of a bright
sun fell right upon the bed where the sufferers were
seated. With a gentleness that had something of reverence
m it, Ratclifte partly closed the shutter, and seemed thus to
throw a veil over a scene so sorrowful.

"Ye are ill, Effie," were the first words Jeanie could
utter; "ye are very ill."

"Oh, what wad I gie to be ten times waur, Jeanie!"
was the reply — "what wad I gie to be cauld dead afore
the ten o'clock bell the mom ! And our father — but I am
his bairn nae langer now — Oh, I hae nae friend left in the
warld ! — Oh, that I were lying dead at my mother's side,
in Newbattle kirkyard ! "

" Hout, lassie," said Ratcliffe, willing to show the
Interest which he absolutely felt, "dinna be sae dooms
down - hearted as a* that ; there's mony a tod hunted
that's no killed. Advocate Langtale has brought folk
through waur snappers than a' this, and there's no a
cleverer agent than Nichol Novit e'er drew a bill of
suspension. Hanged or unhanged, they are weel aff has
sic an agent an' counsel ; ane's sure o' fair play. Ye are
a bonny lass, too, an' ye wad busk up j'our cockernonie
a bit ; and a bonny lass will find favour wi' judge and
jury, when they wad strap up a grewsome carle like me
for the fifteenth part of a flea's hide and tallow, d — n them."

To this homely strain of consolation the mourners
returned no answer ; indeed, they were so much lost in
tlieir own sorrows as to have become insensible of Ratcliffe's
presence. "Oh, Effie," said her elder sister, "how could
you conceal your situation from me? Oh, woman, had
I deserved this at your hand ? — had ye spoke but ae word —
sorry we might have been, and shamed we might hae been,
but this awfu' dispensation had never come ower us."

"And what gude wad that hae dune?" answered the
prisoner. " Na, na, Jeanie, a' was ower when ance I
forgot what I promised when I faulded down the leaf of
my Bible. See," she said, producing the sacred volume,
"the book opens aye at the place o' itsell. Oh, see, Jeanie,
what a fearfu' scripture ! "

Jeanie took her sister's Bible, and found that the fatal

H

226 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

mark was made at this impressive text in the book of
Job : " He hath stripped me of my glory, and taken the
crown from my head. He hath destroyed me on every
side, and I am gone. And mine hope hath he removed
like a tree."

"Isna that ower true a doctrine?" said the prisoner —
"Isna my crown, my honour removed? And what am
I but a poor wasted, wan-thriven tree, dug up by the roots,
and flung out to waste in the high-way, that man and
beast may tread it under foot? I thought o' the bonny
bit thorn that our father rooted out o' the yard last May,
when it had a' the flush o' blossoms on it ; and then it
lay in the court till the beasts had trod them a' to pieces
wi* their feet. I little thought, when I was wae for the
bit silly green bush and its flowers, that I was to gang
the same gate mysell."

"Oh, if ye had spoken a word," again sobbed Jeanie —
"if I were free to swear that ye had said but ae word of
how it stude wi' ye, they couldna hae touched your life
this day."

"Could they na?" said Efiie, with something like
awakened interest — for life is dear even to those who feel
it as a burden — " Wha tauld ye that, Jeanie ? "

" It was ane that kend what he was saying weel eneugh,"
replied Jeanie, who had a natural reluctance at mentioning
even the name of her sister's seducer.

"Wha was it? — I conjure ye to tell me," said Effie,
seating herself upright. — "Wha could tak interest in sic
a cast-by as I am now ? — Was It — was It him ? "

"Hout," said RatclIfFe, "what signifies keeping the
poor lassie in a swither? I'se uphaud it's been Robertson
that learned ye that doctrine when ye saw him at Muschat's
Cairn."

" Was it him ? " said Effie, catching eagerly at his words
— "was it him, Jeanie, indeed? — Oh, I see it was him — poor
lad, and I was thinking his heart was as hard as the nether
mlllstane — and him in sic danger on his ain part — poor
George!"

Somewhat indignant at this burst of tender feeling
towards the author of her misery, Jeanie could not help
exclaiming — " Oh, Eflie, how can ye speak that gate of sic
a man as that ? "

"We maun forgie our enemies, ye ken," said poor Effie,
with a timid look and a subdued voice ; for her conscience

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 227

told her what a different character the feelings with which
she still regarded her seducer bore, compared with the
Christian charity under which she attempted to veil it. •

"And ye hae suffered a' this for him, and ye can think
of loving him still ? " said her sister, in a voice betwixt
pity and blame.

"Love him?" answered Effie — "If I hadna loved as
woman seldom loves, I hadna been within these wa's this
day ; and trow ye, that love sic as mine is lightly forgotten ?
— N'a, na — ye may heAv down the tree, but ye canna change
its bend — And, Oh, Jeanie, if ye wad do good to me at this
moment, tell me every word that he said, and whether
he was sorry for poor Effie or no ! "

" What needs I tell ye ony thing about it," said Jeanie.
" Ye may be sure he had ower muckle to do to save himsell,
to speak lang or muckle about onybody beside."

"That's no true, Jeanie, though a saunt had said it,'
replied Effie, with a sparkle of her former lively and
irritable temper. " But ye dinna ken, though I do, how
far he pat his life in venture to save mine." And looking
at Ratcliffe, she checked herself and was silent.

"I fancy," said Ratcliffe, with one of his familiar sneers,
"the lassie thinks that naebody has een but hersell — Didna
I see when Gentle Geordie was seeking to get other folk out
of the Tolbooth forby Jock Porteous ? but ye are of my mind,
hinny — better sit and rue, than flit and rue — Ye needna look
in my face sae amazed. I ken mair things than that, maybe. "

" Oh, my God ! my God I " said Effie, springing up and
throwing herself down on her knees before him — "D'ye
ken where they hae putten my bairn ? — Oh, my bairn ! my
bairn ! the poor sackless innocent new-bom wee ane — bone
of my bone, and flesh of my flesh ! — Oh, man, if ye wad e'er
deserve a portion in heaven, or a broken-hearted creature's
blessing upon earth, tell me where they hae put my bairn —
the sign of my shame, and the partner of my suffering 1 tell
me wha has taen't away, or what they hae dune wi't ! "

" Hout tout," said the turnkey, endeavouring to extri-
cate himself from the firm grasp with which she held him,
" that's taking me at my word wi' a witness — Bairn, quo'
she? How the deil suld I ken onything of your bairn,
huzzy! Ye maun ask that of auld Meg Murdockson, if
ye dinna ken ower muckle about it yourself."

As his answer destroyed the wild and vague hof>e which
ad suddenly gleamed upon her, the unhappy prisoner

228 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

let go her hold of his coat, and fell with her face on the
pavement of the apartment in a strong convulsion fit.

Jeanie Deans possessed, with her excellently clear under-
standing, the concomitant advantage of promptitude of
spirit, even in the extremity of distress.

She did not suffer herself to be overcome by her own
feelings of exquisite sorrow, but instantly applied herself
to her sister's relief, with the readiest remedies which
circumstances aflforded ; and which, to do Ratcliffe justice,
he showed himself anxious to suggest, and alert in pro-
curing. He had even the delicacy to withdraw to the
farthest corner of the room, so as to render his official
attendance upon them as little intrusive as possible, when
Effie was composed enough again to resume her conference
with her sister.

The prisoner once more, in the most earnest and broken
tones, conjured Jeanie to tell her the particulars of the
conference with Robertson, and Jeanie felt it w^as impossible
to refuse her this gratification.

"Do ye mind," she said, "Effie, when ye were in the
fever before we left Woodend, and how angry your mother,
that's now in a better place, was wi' me for gieing ye milk
and water to drink, because ye grat for it ? Ye were a
bairn then, and ye are a woman now, and should ken better
than ask what canna but hurt ye — But come weal or woe,
I canna refuse ye onything that ye ask me wi' the tear
in your ee."

Again Effie threw herself into her arms, and kissed her
cheek and forehead, murmuring, " Oh, if ye kend how lang
it is since I heard his name mentioned ! — if ye but kend
how muckle good it does me but to ken onything o' him,
that's like goodness or kindness, ye wadna wonder that
I wish to hear o' him ! "

Jeanie sighed, and commenced her narrative of all that
had passed betwixt Robertson and her, making it as brief
as possible. Effie listened in breathless anxiety, holding
her sister's hand in hers, and keeping her t-ye fixed upon
her face, as if devouring every word slie uttered. The
interjections of "Poor fellow, — "Poor George," which
escaped in whispers, and betwixt sighs, were the only
sounds with which she interrupted the story. When it
was finished she made a long pause.

"And this was his advice?" were the first words she
utteied.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 229

"Just sic as I hae tell'd ye," replied her sister.

"And he wanted you to say something to yon folks, that
wad save my young life ! "

"He wanted," answered J eanie, "that I suld be
man-sworn."

"And you tauld him," said Effie, "that ye wadna hear
o' coming between me and tlie death tliat I am to die,
and me no aughteen year auld yet ? "

" I told him," replied Jeanie, who now trembled at the
turn which her sister's reflections seemed about to take,
" that I daured na swear to an untruth."

"And what d'ye ca' an untruth?" said Effie, again
showing a touch of her former spirit — "Ye are muckle to
blame, lass, if ye think a mother would, or could, murder
her ain bairn — Murder? — I wad hae laid down my life
just to see a blink o' its ee ! "

"I do believe," said Jeanie, "that ye are as innocent of
sic a purpose as the new-born babe itsell."

" I am glad ye do me that justice," said Effie haughtily ;
"it's whiles the faut of very good folk like you, Jeanie,
that they think a' the rest of the warld are as bad as the
warst teinptations can make them."

" I dinna deserve this frae ye, Effie," said her sister,
sobbing, and feeling at once the injustice of the reproach,
and compassion for the state of mind which dictated it.

"Maybe no, sister," said Effie. "But ye are angry
because I love Robertson — How can I help loving him,
that loves me better than body and soul baith? — Here he
put his life in a niffer, to break the prison to let me out ;
and sure am I, had it stood wi' him as it stands wi' you "
— Here she paused and was silent.

" Oh, if it stude wi' me to save ye wi' rislc of my life ! "
said Jeanie.

"Ay, lass," said her sister, "that's lightly said, but no
sae lightly credited, frae ane that winna ware a word for
me ; and if it be a wrang word, ye'II hae time eneugh to
repent o't."

" But that word Is a grievous sin, and Its a deeper offence
when it's a sin wilfully and presumptuously committed."

"Weel, weel, Jeanie," said Effie, "I mind a' about the
sins o' presumption in the questions — we'll speak nae
mair about this matter, and ye may save your breath to
say your carritch ; and for me, I'll soon hae nae breath
to waste on onv body."

230 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

"I must needs say," interposed Ratclifle, "that it's d — d
hard, when three words of your mouth would give the
girl the chance to nick Moll Blood,* that you make such
scrupling about rapping t to them, D — n me, if they would
take me, if I would not rap to all whatd'yecallum's —
Hyssop's Fables, for her life — I am us'd to't, b — t me,
for less matters. Why, I liave smacked calf-skin f fifty
times in England for a keg of brandy."

"Never speak niair o't," said the prisoner. "It's just
as weel as it is — and gude day, sister; ye keep Mr.
Ratcliffe waiting on — Ye'll come back and see me, 1

reckon, before" here she slopped, and became deadly

pale.

"And are we to part in this way," said Jeanie, "and
you in sic deadly peril ? Oh, Effie, look but up and say
what ye wad hae me do, and I could find in my heart
amaist to say that I wad do't."

"No, Jeanie," replied her sister, after an effort, "I am
better minded now. At my best, I was never half sae
gude as ye were, and what for suld you begin to make
yoursell waur to save me, now that I am no worth
saving? God knows, that in my sober mind, I wadna
wuss ony living creature to do a wrang thing to save
my life. I might have fled frae this tolbooth on that
awfu' night wi' ane wad hae carried me through the
warld, and friended me, and fended for me. But I said
to them, let life gang when gude fame is gane before it.
But this lang imprisonment has broken my spirit, and I
am whiles sair left to mysell, and then I wad gie the
Indian mines of gold and diamonds, just for life and
breath — for I think, Jeanie, I have such roving fits as I
used to hae in the fever ; but, instead of the fiery e'en,
and wolves, and Widow Butler's bullseg, that I used to
see spieling up on my bed, I am thinking now about a
high, black gibbet, and me standing up, and such seas of
faces all looking up at poor Effie Deans, and asking if it
be her that George Robertson used to call the Lily of
St. Leonard's. And then they stretch out their faces, and
make mouths, and girn at me, and which ever way 1
look, I see a face laughing like Meg Murdockson, when
she tauld me I had seen the last of my wean. God pre-
serve us, Jeanie, that carllne has a fearsome face ! " She
clapped her hands before her eyes as she uttered this

• The B;allow». t Sweariuif. } KisseJ the book.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. a^t

exclamation, as if to secure herself against seeing the
fearful object she had alluded to.

Jeanie Deans remained with her sister for two hours,
during which she endeavoured, if possible, to extract
something from her that might be serviceable in her
exculpation. But she had nothing to say beyond what
she had declared on her first examination, with the pur-
port of which the reader will be made acquainted in proper
time and place. "They wadna believe her," she said,
"and she had naething mair to tell them."

At length Ratcliffe, though reluctantly, informed the
sisters that there was a necessity that they should part.
" Mr. Novit," he said, "was to see the prisoner, and maybe
Mr. Langtale too. Langtale likes to look at a bonny lass,
whether in prison or out o' prison."

Reluctantly, therefore, and slowly, after many a tear,
and many an embrace, Jeanie retired from the apartment,
and heard its jarring bolts turned upon the dear being
from whom she was separated. Somewhat familiarised
now even with her rude conductor, she offered him a
small present in money, with a request he would do what
he could for her sister's accommodation. To her surprise,
Ratcliffe declined the fee. " I wasna bloody when I was
on the pad," he said, "and I winna be greedy — that is,
beyond what's right and reasonable — now that I am in
tlie lock. — Keep the siller ; and for civility, your sister
sail hae sic as I can bestow ; but I hope you'll think
better on it, and rap an oath for her — diel a hair ill
there is in it, if ye are rapping again the crown. I kend
a worthy minister, as gude a man, bating the deed they
deposed him for, as ever ye heard claver in a pu'pit, that
rapped to a hogshead of pigtail tobacco, just for as
muckle as filled his spleuchan.* But maybe ye are
keeping your ain counsel — weel, weel, there's nae harm
in that. As for your sister, I'se see that she ^ets her
meat clean and warm, and I'll try to gar her he down
and take a sleep after dinner, for deil a ee she'll close
the night. I hae gude experience of these matters.
The first night is aye the warst o't. I hae never heard o'
ane that sleepit the night afore trial, but of mony a ane
that sleepit as sound as a tap the night before their necks
were straughted. And it's nae wonder — the warst may be
tholed when it's kend — Better a finger afTas aye wagging."

* Tobacco pouch.

233 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

CHAPTER XXI.

Yet though thou mayest be drag-g'd in scorn
To yonder igfnominious tree,
Thou shalt not want one faithful friend
To share the cruel fates' decree.

Jemmy Dawson.

After spending the greater part of the morning in his
devotions (for his benevolent neighbours had kindly
insisted upon discharging his task of ordinary labour),
Davie Deans entered the apartment when the breakfast
meal was prepared. His eyes were involuntarily cast
down, for he was afraid to look at Jeanie, uncertain as
he was whether she might feel herself at liberty, with a
good conscience, to attend the Court of Justiciary that
day, to give the evidence which he understood that she
possessed, in order to her sister's exculpation. At length,
after a minute of apprehensive hesitation, he looked at
her dress to discover whether it seemed to be in her con-
templation to go abroad that morning. Her apparel
was neat and plain, but such as conveyed no exact
Intimation of her Intentions to go abroad. She had
exchanged her usual garb for morning labour, for one
something inferior to that with which, as her best, she
was wont to dress herself for church, or any more rare
occasion of going into society. Her sense taught her,
that it was respectful to be decent In her apparel on such
an occasion, while her feelings induced her to lay aside
the use of the very few and simple personal ornaments,
which, on other occasions, she permitted herself to wear.
So that there occurred nothing in her external appear-
ance which could mark out to her father, with anything
like certainty, her intentions on this occasion.

The preparations for their humble meal were that
morning made in vain. The father and daughter sat,
each assuming the appearance of eating, when the other's
eyes were turned to them, and desisting from the effort
with disgust, when the affectionate Imposture seemed no
longer necessary.

At length these moments of constraint were removed.
The sound of St. Giles's licavy toll announced the hour
previous to the commencement of the trial ; Jeanie arose.

I

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 233

and, with a degree of composure for which she herself could
not account, assumed her plaid, and made her other pre-
parations for a distant walking. It was a strange contrast
between the firmness of her demeanour, and the vacillation
and cruel uncertainty of purpose indicated in all her
father's motions ; and one unacquainted with both could
scarcely have supposed that the former was, in her ordinar)'
habits of life, a docile, quiet, gentle, and even timid
country maiden, while her father, with a mind naturally
proud and strong, and supported by religious opinions, of
a stern, stoical, and unyielding character, had in his time
undergone and withstood the most severe hardships, and
the most imminent peril, without depression of spirit, or
subjugatipn of his constancy. The secret of this difference
was, that Jeanie's mind had already anticipated the line
of conduct which she must adopt, with all its natural and
necessary consequences ; while her father, ignorant of
every other circumstance, tormented himself with imagining
what the one sister might say or swear, or what effect her
testimony might have upon the awful event of the trial.

He watched his daughter, with a faltering and indecisive
look, until she looked back upon him, with a look of un-
utterable anguish, as she was about to leave the apartment.

"My dear lassie," said he, "I will " His action,

hastily and confusedly searching for his worsted mittans*
and staff, showed his purpose of accompanying her, though
his tongue failed distinctly to announce it.

"Father," said Jeanie, replying rather to his action
than his words, "ye had better not."

" In the strength of my God," answered Deans,
assuming firmness, "I will go forth."

And, taking his daughter's arm under his, he began to
walk from the door with a step so hasty, that she was
almost unable to keep up with him. A trifling circum-
stance, but which marked the perturbed state of his
mind, checked his course. — "Your bonnet, father?" said
Jeanie, who observed he had come out with his gray hairs
uncovered. He turned back with a slight blush on his
cheek, being ashamed to have been detected in an
omission which indicated so much mental confusion,
assumed his large, blue Scottish bonnet, and with a step
slower, but more composed, as if the circumstance had
obliged him to summon up his resolution, and collect his

• A kind of worsted gloves used by the lower orders.

234 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

scattered Ideas, again placed Ins daughter's arm under
his, and resumed the way to Edinburgh.

The courts of justice were then, and are still held in what
is called the Parliament Close, or, according to modern
phrase, the Parliament Square, and occupied the buildings
intended for the accommodation of the Scottish Estates.
This edifice, though in an imperfect and corrupted style of
architecture, had then a grave, decent, and, as it were, a
judicial aspect, which was at least entitled to respect from
its antiquity. For which venerable front, I observed, on my
last occasional visit to the metropolis, that modern taste
had substituted, at great apparent expense, a pile so utterly
inconsistent with every monument of antiquity around, and
in itself so clumsy at the same time and fantastic, that it
may be likened to the decorations of Tom Errand the
porter, in the IVip to the Jubilee^ when he appears bedizened
with the tawdry finery of Beau Clincher. Sed transeat cum
cateris erroribus.

The small quadrangle, or Closcj if we may presume still
to give it that appropriate, though antiquated title, which
at Litchfield, Salisbury, and elsewhere, is properly applied
to designate the enclosure adjacent to a cathedral, already
evinced tokens of the fatal scene which was that day to be
acted. The soldiers of the City Guard were on their posts,
now enduring, and now rudely repelling with the butts of
their muskets, the motley crew who thrust each other
forward, to catch a glance at the unfortunate object of trial,
as she should pass from the adjacent prison to the Court in
which her fate was to be determined. All must have
occasionally observed, with disgust, the apathy with which
the vulgar gaze on scenes of this nature, and how seldom,
unless when their sympathies are called forth by some
striking and extraordinary circumstance, the crowd evince
any interest deeper than that of callous, unthinking bustle,
and brutal curiosity. They laugh, jest, quarrel, and push
each other to and fro, with the same unfeeling indifference
as if they were assembled for some holiday sport, or to see
an idle procession. Occasionally, however, this demeanour,
so natural to the degraded populace of a large town, is
exchanged for a temporary touch of human affections ; and
so it chanced on the present occasion.

When Deans and his daughter presented themselves in
the Close, and endeavoured to make their way forward to
the door of the Court-house, they became involved in the

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 235

mob, and subject, of course, to their insolence. As Deans
repelled with some force the rude pushes which he received
on all sides, his figure and antiquated dress caught the
attention of the rabble, who often show an intuitive sharp-
ness in ascribing the proper character from external
appearance. —

" Ye're welcome, whigfs,
Frae Bothwell brig-g-s,"

sung one fellow (for the mob of Edinburgh were at that
time jacobitically disposed, probably because that was the
line of sentiment most diametrically opposite to existing
authority).

** Mess David Williamson,
Chosen of twenty,
Ran up the pu'pit stair,
And sang Killiecrankie,"

chanted a siren, whose profession might be guessed by her
appearance. A tattered cadie, or errand porter, whom
David Deans had jostled in his attempt to extricate himself
from the vicinity of these scorners, exclaimed in a strong
north-country tone, "Ta deil ding out her Cameronian een
— what gies her titles to dunch gentlemans about ? "

" Make room for the ruling elder," said yet another ; " he
comes to see a precious sister glorify God in the Grass-
market ! "

"Whisht; shame's in ye, sirs," said the voice of a man
very loudly, which, as quickly sinking, said in a low, but
distinct tone, "It's her father and sister."

All fell back to make way for the sufferers ; and all, even
the very rudest and most profligate, were struck with shame
and silence. In the space thus abandoned to them by the
mob, Deans stood, holding his daughter by the hand, and
said to her, with a countenance strongly and sternly
expressive of his internal emotion, "Ye hear with your ears,
and ye see with your eyes, where and to whom the back-
slid! ngs and defections of professors are ascribed by the
scoffers. Not to themselves alone, but to the kirk of which
they are members, and to its blessed and invisible Head.
Then, weel may we take wi' patience our share and portion
of this outspreading reproach."

The man who had spoken, no other than our old friend
Dumbiedikes, whose mouth, like that of the prophet's ass,

236 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

had been opened by the emergency of the case, now joined
them, and, with his usual taciturnity, escorted them into the
Court-house. No opposition was offered to their entrance,
either by the guards or doorkeepers ; and it is even said that
one of the latter refused ashilHng of civiUty-money, tendered
him by the Laird of Dumbiedikes, who was of opinion that
"siller wad mak a' easy." But this last incident wants
confirmation.

Admitted within the precincts of the Court-house, they
found the usual number of busy office-bearers, and idle
loiterers, who attend on these scenes by choice, or from
duty. Burghers gaped and stared ; young lawyers sauntered,
sneered, and laughed, as in the pit of the theatre ; while
others apart sat on a bench retired, and reasoned highly,
inter apices juris, on the doctrines of constructive crime, and
the true import of the statute. The bench was prepared for
the arrival of the judges. The jurors were in attendance.
The crown-counsel, employed in looking over their briefs
and nntcs of evidence, looked grave, and whispered with
each other. They occupied one side of a large table placed
beneath the bench ; on the other sat the advocates, whom
the humanity of the Scottish law (in this particular more
liberal than that of the sister country) not only permits, but
enjoins, to appear and assist with their advice and skill all
persons under trial. Mr. Nichil Novit was seen actively
instructing the counsel for the panel (so the prisoner is
called in Scottish law-phraseology), busy, bustling, and
important. When they entered the Court-room, Deans asked
the Laird, in a tremulous whisper, "Where will she sit?"

Dumbiedikes whispered Novit, who pointed to a vacant
space at the bar, fronting the judges, and was about to
conduct Deans towards it

" No ! " he said ; " I cannot sit by her — I cannot own her
— not as yet, at least — I will keep out of her sight, and turn
mine own eyes elsewhere — better for us baith."

Saddletree, whose repeated interference with the counsel
had procured him one or two rebufTs, and a special request
that he would concern himself Avith his own matters, now
saw with pleasure an opportunity of playing the person of
importance. He bustled up to the poor old man, and
proceeded to exhibit his consequence, by securing, through
his interest with the bar-keepers and macers, a seat for
Deans, in a situation where he was hidden from the general
eye by the projecting corner of the bench.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 237

" It's gude to have a friend at court," he said, continuing
his heartless harangues to the passive auditor, who neither
heard nor replied to them ; "few folk but myself could hae
sorted j'e out a seat like this — the Lords will be here
incontinent, and proceed instanter to trial. They wunna
fence the court as they do at the Circuit — The High Court
of Justiciary is aye fenced. — But, Lord's sake, what's this
o't? — ^Jeanie, ye are a cited witness — Macer, this lass is a
witness — she maun be enclosed — she maun on nae account
be at large. — Mr. Novit, suldna Jeanie Deans be enclosed?"

Novit answered in the affirmative, and offered to conduct
Jeanie to the apartment, where, according to the scrupulous
practice of the Scottish Court, the witnesses remain in
readiness to be called into court to give evidence ; and
separated, at the same time, from all who might influence
their testimony, or give them information concerning that
which was passing upon the trial.

"Is this necessary?" said Jeanie, still reluctant to quit
her father's hand.

"A matter of absolute needcessity," said Saddletree;
" wha ever heard of witnesses no being enclosed ? "

"It is really a matter of necessity," said the younger
counsellor, retained for her sister; and Jeanie rcliictaritly
followed the macer of the court to the place appointed.

"This, Mr. Deans," said Saddletree, " is ca'd sequestering
a witness ; but it's clean different (whilk maybe ye wadna
fund out o'yoursell) frae sequestering ane's estate or effects,
as in cases of bankruptcy. I hae aften been sequestered to
a witness, for the Sheritt is in the use whiles to cry me in to
witness the declarations at precognitions, and so is Mr.
Sharpitlaw ; but I was ne'er like to be sequestered o' land
and gudes but ance, and that was lang syne, afore I was
married. But whisht, whisht ! here's the Court coming."

As he spoke, the ^wo. Lords of Justiciary, in their long
robes of scarlet, faced with white, and preceded by their
mace-bearer, entered with the usual formalities, and took
their places upon the bench of judgment.

The audience rose to receive them ; and the bustle
occasioned by their entrance was hardly composed, when
a great noise and confusion of persons struggling, and
forcibly endeavouring to enter at the doors of the Court-
room and of the galleries, announced that the prisoner
was about to be placed at the bar. This tumult takes
place when the doors, at first only opened to those either

238 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

having right to be present, or to the better and more
qualified ranks, are at length laid open to all whose
curiosity induces them to be present on the occasion.
With inflamed countenances and dishevelled dresses,
struggling with, and sometimes tumbling over each other,
in rushed the rude multitude, while a few soldiers, forming,
as it were, the centre of the tide, could scarce, with all
their efforts, clear a passage for the prisoner to the place
which she was to occupy. By the authority of the Court
and the exertions of its officers, the tumult among the
spectators was at length appeased, and the unhappy girl
brought forward, and placed betwixt two sentinels with
drawn bayonets, as a prisoner at the bar, where she was
to abide her deliverance for good or evil, according to the
issue of her uial.

CHAPTER XXn.

We have strict statutes, and most biting- laws —
The needful bits, and curbs for headstrong- steeds —
Which, for these fourteen years, we have let sleep,
Like to an o'ergrown lion in a cave,
That goes not out to prey.

Measure for Measure.

*' EupHEMiA Deans," said the presiding Judge, in an
accent in which pity was blended with dignity, ' ' stand up,
and listen to the criminal indictment now to be preferred
against you."

The unhappy girl, who had been stupefied by the con-
fusion through which the guards had forced a passage,
cast a bewildered look on the multitude of faces around
her, which seemed to tapestry, as it were, the walls, in
one broad slope from the ceiling to the floor, with human
countenances, and instinctively obeyed a command, which
rung in her ears like the trumpet of the judgment-day.

"Put back your hair, Effie," said one of the macers.
For her beautiful and abundant tresses of long, fair hair,
which, according to the costume of the country, unmarried
women were not allowed to cover with any sort of cap,
and which, alas ! Eftie dared no longer confine with the
snood or riband, which implied purity of maiden-fame,
now hung unbound and dishevelled over her face, and

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 239

almost concealed her features. On receiving this hint
from the attendant, the unfortunate young woman, with
a hasty, trembling, and apparently mechanical compliance,
shaded back from her face her luxuriant locks, and showed
to the whole court, excepting one individual, a countenance,
vhich, though pale and emaciated, was so lovely amid its
agony, that it called forth a universal murmur of com-
passion and sympathy. Apparently the expressive sound
f human feeling recalled the poor girl from the stupor
^f fear, which predominated at first over every other sensa-
ion, and awakened her to the no less painful sense of
ihame and exposure attached to her present situation,
Her eye, which had at first gkinced wildly around, was
turned on the ground ; her cheek, at first so deadly pale,
began gradually to be overspead with a faint blush, which
increased so fast, that, when in agony of shame she strove
to conceal her face, her temples, her brow, her neck,
and all that her slender fingers and small palms could
not cover, became of the deepest crimson.

All marked and were moved by these changes, except-
ing one. It was old Deans, who, motionless in his seat,
and concealed, as we have said, by the corner of the bench,
from seeing or being seen, did nevertheless keep his eyes
firmly fixed on the ground, as if determined that, by no
possibility whatever, would he be an ocular witness of the
shame of his house.

"Ichabod!" he said to himself — " Ichabod I my glory
is departed ! "

While these reflections were passing through his mind,
the indictment, which set forth in technical form the crime
of which the panel stood accused, was read as usual, and
the prisoner was asked if she was (Juilty, or Not Guilty.

" Not guilty of my poor bairn's death," said Effie Deans,
in an accent corresponding in plaintive softness of tone to
the beauty of her features, and which was not heard by
the audience without emotion.

The presiding Judge next directed the counsel to plead
to the relevancy ; that is, to state on either part the ai^u-
ments in point of law, and evidence in point of fact,
against and in favour of the criminal ; after which it is
the form of the Court to pronounce a preliminary judg-
ment, sending the cause to the cognisance of the jury or
assize.

The counsel for the crown briefly stated the frequency

240 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

of the crime of Infanticide, which had given rise to the
special statute under wliich the panel stood indicted.
He mentioned the various instances, many of them
marked with circumstances of ati'ocity, which had at
length induced the King's Advocate, though with great
reluctance, to make the experiment, whether by strictly
enforcing the Act of Parliament, which had been made to
prevent such enormities, their occurrence might be pre-
vented. "He expected," he said, " to be able to establish
by witnesses, as well as by the declaration of the panel
herself, that she was in the state described by the statute.
According to his Information, the panel had communi-
cated her pregnancy to no one, nor did she allege in her
own declaration that she had done so. This secrecy was
the first requisite in support of the indictment. The
same declaration admitted, that she had borne a male
child, in circumstances which gave but too much reason
to believe it had died by the hands, or at leasf with the
knowledge or consent, of the unhappy mother. It was
not, however, necessary for him to bring positive proof
that the panel was accessory to the murder, nay, nor even
to prove that the child was murdered at all. It was
sufllclent to support the indictment, that it could not be
found. According to the stern, but necessary severity of
this statute, she who should conceal her pregnancy, who
should omit to call that assistance which is most necessary
on such occasions, was held already to have meditated
the death of her offspring, as an event most likely to be
the consequence of her culpable and cruel concealment.
And if, under such circumstances, she could not alter-
natively show by proof that the infant had died a natural
death, or produce it still in life, she must, under the con-
struction of the law, be held to have murdered it, and
suffer death accordingly."

The counsel for tlie prisoner, Mr. Fairbrother, a man
of considerable fame in his profession, did not pretend
directly to combat the arguments of the King's Aavocate.
He began by lamenting that his senior at the bar, Mr.
Langtale, had been suddenly called to the county of
which he was Sheriff, and that he had been applied to, on
short warning, to give the panel his assistance in this
interesting case. He had had little time, he said, to
make up for his inferiority to his learned brother by long
and minute research; and he was afraid he might give a

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 241

specimen of his incapacity, by being compelled to admit
tlie accuracy of the indictment under the statute. " It
uas enough for tlieir Lordships," he observed, "to know,
that such was the law, and he admitted the Advocate had
a right to call for the usual interlocutor of relevancy."
But he stated, "that when he came to establish his cash
by proof, he trusted to make out circumstances which
.vould satisfactorily elide the charge in the libel. His
:lient's story was a short, but most melancholy one. _ She
was bred up in the strictest tenets of religion and virtue,
the daughter of a worthy and conscientious person, who,
in evil times, had established a character for courage and
religion, by becoming a sufferer for conscience' sake."

David Deans gave a convulsive start at hearing him-
self thus mentioned, and tlien resumed the situation, in
which, witli his face stooped against his hands, and both
resting against the corner of the elevated bench on which
the Judges sat, he had hitherto listened to the procedure
in the trial. The whig lawyers seemed to be interested;
the tories put up their lip.

"Whatever may be our difference of opinion," resumed
tlie lawyer, whose business it was to carry his whole
audience with him if possible, " concerning the peculiar
tenets of these people" (here Deans groaned deeply), "it
is impossible to deny them the praise of sound, and even
rigid morals, or the merit of traming up their children in
the fear of God ; and yet it was the daughter of such a
person whom a jury would shortly be called upon, in the
absence of evidence, and upon mere presumptions, to
convict of a crime, more properly belonging to a heathen,
or a savage, tlian to a Christian and civilised countrj'.
It was true," he admitted, " that the excellent nurture
and early instruction which the poor girl had received,
had not been sufficient to preserve her from guilt and
error. She had fallen a sacrifice to an inconsiderate
affection for a young man of prepossessing manners, as he
had been informed, but of a very dangerous and desperate
character. She was sedu«ed under promise of marriage
— a promise, which the fellow might have, perhaps, done
her justice by keeping, had he not at that time been
called upon by the law to atone for a crime, violent and
desperate in itself, but which became the preface to
another eventful history, every step of which was marked
by blood and guilt, and the finail termination of which

242 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

had not even yet arrived. He believed that no one would
hear him without surprise, when he stated that the father
of this infant now amissing, and said by the learned
Advocate to have been murdered, was no other than tha
notorious George Robertson, the accomplice of Wilson,
the hero of the memorable escape from the Tolbooth
Church, and, as no one knew better than his learned
friend the Advocate, the principal actor in the Porteous
conspiracy "

"I am sorry to interrupt a counsel in such a case as
the present," said the presiding Judge; "but I must
remind the learned gentleman, that he is travelling out
of the case before us."

The counsel bowed, and resumed. "He only judged
it necessary," he said, "to mention the name and situation
of Robertson, because the circumstance in which that
character was placed, went a great way in accounting
for the silence on which his Majesty's counsel had laid
so much weight, as affording proof that his client proposed
to allow no fair play for its life, to the helpless being whom
she was about to bring into the world. She had not
announced to her friends that she had been seduced from
the path of honour — and why had she not done so? —
Because she expected daily to be restored to character,
by her seducer doing her that justice which she knew to
be in his power, and believed to be in his inclination. Was
it natural — was it reasonable — was it fair, to expect that
she should, in the interim, become /elo de se of her own
character, and proclaim her frailty to the world, when
she had every reason to expect that, by concealing it for
a season, it might be veiled for ever? Was it not, on
the contrarVj pardonable that, in such an emergency, a
young woman, in such a situation, should be found far
from disposed to make a confidante of every prying gossip,
who, with sliarp eyes, and ea^er ears, pressed upon her
for an explanation of suspicious circumstances, which
females in the lower — he might say which females of all
ranks are so alert in noticing, that they sometimes
discover them where they do not exist? Was it strange,
or was it criminal, that she should have repelled their
inquisitive impertinence, with petulant denials ? The sense
and feeling of all who heard him would answer directly
in the negative. But although his client had thus remained
silent towards those to whom she was not called upon

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 243

to communicate her situation— to whom," said the learned
gentleman, "I will add, it would have been unadvised
and improper in her to have done so; yet, I trust, I
shall remove this case most triumphantly from under
the statute, and obtain the unfortunate young woman
an honourable dismission from your Lordship's bar, by
showing that she did, in due time and place, and to a
person most fit for such confidence, mention the calamitous
circumstances in which she found herself. This occurred
after Robertson's conviction, and when he was lying in
prison in expectation of the fate which his comrade Wilson
afterwards suffered, and from which he himself so strangely
escaped. It was then, when all hopes of having her
honour repaired by wedlock vanished from her eyes —
when a union with one in Robertson's situation, if still
practicable, might, perhaps, have been regarded rather as
an addition to her disgrace — it was then, that I trust to
be able to prove that the prisoner communicated and
consulted with her sister, a young woman several years
older than herself, the daughter of her father, if I mistake
not, by a former marriage, upon the perils and distress
of her unhappy situation."

" If, indeed, you are able to instruct that point, Mr.

f airbrother " said the presiding Judge.

" If I am indeed able to instruct that point, my Lord,"
resumed Mr. Fairbrother, " I trust not only to serve my
client, but to relieve your Lordships from that which I
know you feel the most painful duty of your high office ;
and to give all who now hear me the exquisite pleasure
of beholding a creature so young, so ingenuous, and so
beautiful, as she that is now at the bar of your Lordships'
Court, dismissed from thence in safety and dishonour."

This address seemed to affect many of the audience, and
was followed by a slight murmur of applause. Deans, as
he heard his daughter's beauty and mnocent appearance
appealed to, was involuntarily about to turn his eyes
towards her ; but, recollecting himself, he bent them
again on the ground with stubborn resolution.

" Will not my learned brother, on the other side of the
bar," continued the Advocate, after a short pause, "share
in this general joy, since I know, while he discharges his
duty in bringing an accused i>erson here, no one rejoices
more in their being freely and honourably sent hence?
My learned brother shakes his head doubtfully, and lays

244 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

his hand on the panel's declaration. I understand him
perfectly — he would insinuate that the facts now stated
to your Lordships are inconsistent with the confession of
Euphemia Deans herself. I need not remind your Lord-
ships, that her present defence is no whit to be narrowed
within the bounds of her former confession ; and thai it
is not by any account which she may formerly have given
of herself, but by what is now to be proved for or against
her, that she must ultimately stand or fall. I am not
under the necessity of accountmg for her choosing to drop
out of her declaration the circumstances of her confession
to her sister. She might not be aware of its importance ;
she might be afraid of implicating her sister ; she might
even have forgotten the circumstance eniirely, in the terror
and distress of mind incidental to the arrest of so young
a creature on a charge so heinous. Any of these reasons
are suflficient to account for her having suppressed tlie
truth in this instance, at whatever risk to herself; and
I incline most to her erroneous fear of criminating her
sister, because I observe she has had a similar tenderness
towards her lover (however undeserved on his part), and
has never once mentioned Robertson's name from beginning
to end of her declaration.

"But, my Lords," continued Fairbrother, "I am aware
the King's Advocate will expect me to show, that the
proof 1 offer is consistent with other circumstances of the
case, which I do not, and cannot, deny. He will demand
of me how Effie Deans's confession to her sister, previous
to her delivery, is reconcilable with the mystery of the
birth — with the disappearance, perhaps the murder (for
I will not deny a possibility which 1 cannot disprove) of
the infant. My Lords, the explanation of this is to be
found in the placability, perchance, I may say, in the
facility and pliability, of the female sex. The duhis
Amaryllidis tree, as your Lordships well know, are easily
appeased ; nor is it possible to conceive a woman so
atrociously offended by the man whom she has loved, but
what she' will retain a fund of forgiveness, upon which
his penitence, whether real or affected, may draw largely,
with a certainty that his bills will be answered. We can
prove, by a letter produced in evidence, that this villain
Robertson, from the bottom of the dungeon whence he
already probably meditated the escape, which he after-
wards accomplished by the assistance of his comrade,

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 245

contrived to exercise authority over the mind, and to direct
the motions, of this unhappy girl. It was in compliance
with his injunctions, expressed in that letter that the panel
was prevailed upon to alter the line of conduct which her
own better thoughts had suggested ; and, instead of
resorting, when her time of travail approached, to the
protection of her own family, was induced to confide
herself to the charge of some vile agent of this nefarious
seducer, and by her conducted to one of those solitary and
secret purlieus of villainy, which, to the shame of our
police, still are suffered to exist in the suburbs of this
city, where, with the assistance, and under the charge,
of a person of her own sex, she bore a male-child, under
circumstances which added treble bitterness to the woe
denounced against our original mother. What purpose
Robertson had in all this, it is hard to tell or even to
guess. He may have meant to many the girl, for her
father is a man of substance. But, for the termination of
the story, and the conduct of the woman whom he had
placed about the person of Euphemia Deans, it is still
more difficult to account. The unfortunate young woman
was visited by the fever incidental to her situation. In
this fever she appears to have been deceived by the person
that waited on her, and, on recovering her senses, she
found that she was childless in that abode of misery. Her
infant had been carried off, perhaps for the worse purposes,
by the wretch that waited on her. It may have been
murdered for what I can tell."

He was here interrupted by a piercing shriek, uttered
by the unfortunate prisoner. She was with difficulty
brought to compose herself. Her counsel availed himself
of the tragical interruption, to close his pleading with
effect.

"My Lords," said he, "in that piteous crv you heard
the eloquence of maternal affection, far surpassing the force
of my poor words — Rachel weeping for her children!
Nature herself bears testimony in favour of the tenderness
and acuteness of the prisoner's parental feelings. I will
not dishonour her plea by adding a word more."

"Heard ye ever the like o' that. Laird?" said Saddle-
tree to Dumbiedikes, when the counsel had ended his speech.
" There's a chield can spin a muckle pirn out of a wee tait
of tow ! Deil haot he kens mair about it than what's
in the declaration, and a surmise that Jeanie Deans suld

346 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

hae been able to sae something about her sister's situation,
whilk surmise, Mr. Crossmyloof says, rests on sma'
authority. And he's cleckit this great mnckle bird out o'
this wee egg I He could wile the very flounders out o' the
Firth. — What garr'd my father no send me to Utretcht ?
— But whisht, the Court is gaun to pronounce the inter-
locutor of relevancy."

And accordingly the Judges, after a few words, recorded
their judgment, which bore, that the indictment, if proved,
was relevant to infer the pains of law : And that the
defence, that the panel had communicated her situation to
her sister, was a relevant defence : And, finally, appointed
the said indictment and defence to be submitted to the
judgment of an assize.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Most righteous judge I a sentence. — Come, prepare.

Merchant of Venice.

It is by no means my intention to describe minutely the
forms of a Scottish criminal trial, nor am I sure that I could
draw up an account so intelligible and accurate as to abide
the criticism of the gentlemen of the long robe. It is enough
to say that the jury was impanelled, and the case proceeded.
The prisoner was again required to plead to the charge, and
she again replied, " Not Guilty," in the same heart-thrilling
tone as before.

The crown counsel then called two or three female
witnesses, by whose testimony it was established, that
EfFie's situation had been remarked by them, tliat they had
taxed her with the fact, and that her answers had amounted
to an angry and petulant denial of what they charged her
with. But, as very frequently happens, the declaration of
the panel or accused party herself was the evidence which
bore hardest upon her case.

In the event of these Tales ever finding their way across
the Border, it may be proper to apprise the southern reader
that it is the practice in Scotland on apprehending a sus-
pected person, to subject him to a judicial examination
before a magistrate. He is not compelled to answer any
of the questions asked of him, but may remain silent if he
sees it his interest to do so. But whatever answers he

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 247

chooses to give are formally written down, and being
subscribed by himself and the magistrate, are produced
against the accused in case of his being brought to trial.
It is true that these declarations are not produced as being
in themselves evidence properly so called, but only as
adminicles of testimony, tending to corroborate what is
considered as legal and proper evidence. Notwithstanding
this nice distinction, however, Introduced by lawyers to
reconcile this procedure to their own general rule, that a
man cannot be required to bear witness agtiinst himself, it
nevertheless usually happens that these declarations become
the means of condemning the accused, as it weie, out of
their own mouths. The prisoner, upon these previous
examinations, has indeed the privilege of remaining silent If
he pleases ; but every man necessarily feels that a refusal
to answer natural and pertinent interrogatories, put by
judicial authority, is in itself a strong proof of guilt, and will
certainly lead to his being committed to prison ; and few
can renounce the hope of obtaining liberty, by giving some
specious account of themselves, and showing apparent
frankness in explaining their motives and accounting for
their conduct. It, therefore, seldom happens that the
prisoner refuses to give a judicial declaration, in which,
nevertheless, either by letting out too much of the truth,
or by endeavouring to substitute a fictitious story, he almost
always exposes himself to suspicion and to contradictions,
which weigh heavily in the minds of the jury.

The declaration of Effie Deans was uttered on other
principles, and the following is a sketch of its contents,
given in the judicial form, in which they may still be found
in the Books of Adjournal.

The declarant admitted a criminal intrigue with an
individual whose name she desired to conceal. "Being
interrogated, what her reason was for secrecy on this point ?
She declared that she had no right to blame that person's
conduct more than she did her own, and that she was
willing to confess her own faults, but not to say anything
which might criminate the absent. Interrogated, if she
confessed her situation to any one, or made any preparation
for her confinement? Declares, she did liot. And being
interrogated, why she forbore to take steps which her
situation so peremptorily required ? Declaies, she was
ashamed to tell her friends, and she trusted the person
she has mentioned would provide for her and the infant.

248 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

Interrogated, if he did so? Declares, that he did not do
so personally ; but that it was not his fault, for that the
declarant is convinced he would have laid down his life
sooner than the bairn or she had come to harm. Interro-
gated, what prevented him from keeping his promise ?
Declares, that it was impossible for him to do so, he being
under trouble at the time, and declines further answer to
this question. Interrogated, where she was from the period
she left her master, Mr. Saddletree's family, until her
appearance at her father's, at St. Leonard's, the day before
she was apprehended ? Declares, she does not remember.
And, on the interrogatory being repeated, declares, she does
not mind muckle about it, for she was very ill. On the
question being again repeated, she declares, she will tell the
truth, if it should be the undoing of her, so long as she is
not asked to tell on other folk ; and admits, that she passed
that interval of time in the lodging of a woman, an acquaint-
ance of that person who had wished her to that place to
be delivered, and that she was there delivered accordingly of
a male child. Interrogated, what was the name of that
person ? Declares and refuses to answer this question.
Interrogated, where she lives ? Declares, she has no
certainty, for that she was taken to the lodging aforesaid
under cloud of night. Interrogated, if the lodging was in
the city or suburbs ? Declares and refuses to answer that
question. Interrogated, whether, when she left the house
of Mr. Saddletree, she went up or down the street ? Declares
and refuses to answer the question. Interrogated, whether
she had ever seen the woman before she was wished to her,
as she termed it, by the person whose name she refuses to
answer? Declares and replies, not to her knowledge.
Interrogated, whether this woman was introduced to her by
the said person verbally, or by word of mouth ? Declares,
she has no freedom to answer this question. Interrogated,
if the child was alive when it was born ? Declares, that —
God help her and it ! — it certainly was alive. Interrogated,
if it died a natural death after birth ? Declares, not to her
knowledge. Interrogated, where it now is? Declares, she
would give her right hand to ken, but that she never hopes
to see mair than the banes of it. And being interrogated,
why she supposes it is now dead? the declarant wept
bitterly, and made no answer. Interrogated, if the woman,
in whose lodging she was, seemed to be a fit person to be
with her in that situation? Declares, she might be fit

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 349

enough for skill, but that she was an hard-hearted bad
woman. Interrogated, if there was any other person in the
lodging excepting themselves two? Declares, that she
thinks there was another woman ; but her head was so
carried with pain of body and trouble of mind, that she
minded her verj' little. Interrogated, when the child was
taken away from her ? Declared, that she fell in a fever,
and was light-headed, and when she came to her own mind,
the woman told her the bairn was dead ; and that the
declarant answered, if it was dead it had had foul play.
That, thereupon, the woman was very sair on her, and gave
her much ill-language ; and that the deponent was
frightened, and crawled out of the house when her back was
turned, and went home to St. Leonard's Crags, as well as
a woman in her condition dought.* Interrogated, why she
did not tell her story to her sister and father, and get force
to search the house for her child, dead or alive? Declares,
it was her purpose to do so, but she had not time. Interro-
gated, why she now conceaJs the name of the woman, and
the place of her abode ? The declarant remained silent for
a time, and then said, that to do so could not repair the
skaith that was done, but might be the occasion of more.
Interrogated, whether she had herself, at any time, had any
purpose of putting away the child by violence ? Declares,
never; so might God be merciful to her — and then again
declares, never, when she was in her perfect senses ; but
what bad thoughts the Enemy might put into her brain
when she was out of herself, she cannot answer. And
again solemnly interrogated, declares, that she would have
been drawn with wild horses, rather than have touched the
bairn vi^ith an unmotherly hand. Interrogated, declares,
that among the ill-language the woman gave her, she did
say sure enough that the declarant had hurt the bairn when
she was in the brain-fever ; but that the declarant does not
believe that she said this from any other cause than to
frighten her, and make her be silent. Interrogated, what
else the woman said to her? Declares, that when the
declarant cried loud for her bairn, and was like to raise the
neighbours, the woman threatened her, that they that could
stop the wean's skirling would stop hers, if she did not keep'
a' the lounder.t And that this threat, with the manner of
the woman, made the declarant conclude, that the bairn's
life was gone, and her own in danger, for that the woman

* i.e. Was able to do, t i^e. The quieter.

ISO THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

was a desperate bad woman, as the declarant judged, from
the language she used. Interrogated, declares, that the
fever and delirium were brought to her by hearing bad news,
suddenly told to her, but refuses to say what the said news
related to. Interrogated, why she does not now communicate
these particulars, which might, perhaps, enable the magis-
trate to ascertain whether the child is living or dead ; and
requested to observe, that her refusing to do so exposes her
own life, and leaves the child in bad hands ; as also, that
her present refusal to answer on such points, is inconsistent
with her alleged intention to make a clean breast to her
sister? Declares, that she kens the bairn is now dead, or,
if living, there is one that will look after it ; that for her own
living or dying, she is in God's hands, who knows her
innocence of harming her bairn with her will or knowledge ;
and that she has altered her resolution of speaking out,
which she entertained when she left the woman's lodging,
on account of a matter which she has since learned. And
declares, in general, that she is wearied, and will answer no
more questions at this time."

Upon a subsequent examination, Euphemia Deans
adhered to the declaration she had formerly made, with
this addition, that a paper found in her trunk being shown
to her, she admitted that it contained the credentials, in
consequence of which she resigned herself to the conduct
of the woman at whose lodgings she was delivered of the
child. Its tenor ran thus : —

" Dearest Effie, —

" I have gfotten the means to send to you by a woman
who is well qualified to assist you in your approaching streight ;
she is not what I could wish her, but I cannot do better for }ou in
my present condition. I am obliged to trust to her in this present
calamity, for myself and you too. I hope for the best, though
I am now in a sore pinch ; yet thought is free — I think Handle
Dandie and I may queer the stifler,* for all that is come and
gone. You will be angry for me writing this, to my little
Cameronian Lily ; but if I can but live to be a comfort to you,
and a father to your babie, you will have plenty of time to scold.
— Once more, lot none know your counsel — my life depends on
this hag, d — n her —she is both deep and dangerous, but she has
more wiles and wit than ever were in a beldam's head, and has
cause to be true to me. Farewell, my Lily — Do not droop on
my account — in a week I will be yours, or no more my own."
* Avoid the gallows.

THE HhART OF MID-LOTHIAN, as*

Then followed a postscript —

" If they must truss me, I will repent of nothing so much,
even at the last hard pinch, as of the injury I have dcme my
Lily."

Effie refused to say from whom she had received this
letter, but enough of the story was now known, to ascertain
that it came from Robertson ; and from the date, it appeared
to have been written about the time when Andrew Wilson
(called for a nickname Handie Dandie) and he were meditat-
ing their first abortive attempt to escape, which miscarried
in the manner mentioned in the beginning of this history.

The evidence of the Crown being concluded, the counsel
for the prisoner began to lead a proof in her defence. The
first witnesses were examined upon the girl's character.
All gave her an excellent one, but none with more feeling
than worthy Mrs. Saddletree, who, with the tears on her
cheeks, declared, that she could not have had a higher
opinion of Effie Deans, nor a more sincere regard for her,
if she had been her own daughter. All present gave the
honest woman credit for her goodness of heart, excepting
her husband, who whispered to Dumbiedikes, "That
Nichil Novit of yours is but a raw hand at leading evidence,
I'm thinking. What signified his bringing a woman here
to snotter and snivel, and bather their Lordships? He
should hae ceeted me, sir, and I should hae gien them sic a
screed o' testimony, they shouldna hae touched a hair o'
her head."

" Hadna ve better get up and try't yet ? " said the Laird.
" I'll mak a'sign to Novit."

" Na, na," said Saddletree, "thank ye for naething,
neighbour — tliat would be ultroneous evidence, and I ken
what belangs to that ; but Nichil Novit suld hae had nie
ceeted debito tempore." And wiping his mouth with his silk
handkerchief with great importance, he resumed the port
and manner of an edified and intelligent auditor.

Mr. Fairbrother now premised, in a few words, "that he
meant to bring forward his most important witness, upon
whose evidence the cause must in a great measure depend.
What his client was, they had learned from the preceding
witnesses ; and so far as general character, given in the
most forcible terms, and even with tears, could interest
every one in her fate, she had already gained that advantage.

252 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

It was necessary, he admitted, that he should produce more
positive testimony of iier innocence than what arose out of
general character, and this he undertook to do by the
mouth of the person to whom she had communicated her
situation — by the mouth of her natural counsellor and
guardian — her sistfcr — Macer, call into court, Jean, or
Jeanie Deans, daughter of David Deans, cowfeeder, at
St. Leonard's Crags.

When he uttered these words, the poor prisoner instantly
started up, and stretched herself half-way over the bar,
towards the side at which her sister was to enter. And
when, slowly following the officer, the witness advanced to
the foot of the table, Effie, with tlie whole expression of her
countenance altered, from that of confused shame and
dismay, to an eager, imploring, and almost ecstatic earnest-
ness of entreaty, with outstretched hands, hair streaming
back, eyes raised eagerly to her sister's face, and glistening
through tears, exclaimed, in a tone which went through the
heart of all who heard her — "O Jeanie, Jeanie, save me,
save me ! "

With a different feeling, yet equally appropriated to his
proud and self-dependent character, old Deans drew himself
back still farther under the cover of the bench ; so that when
Jeanie, as she entered the court, cast a timid glance towards
the place at which she had left him seated, his venerable
figure was no longer visible. He sat down on the other
side of Dumbiedikes, wrung his hand hard, and whispered,
"Ah, Laird, this is warst of a' — if I can but win ower this
part — I feel my head unca dizzy ; but my Master is strong
in his servant's weakness," After a moment's mental
prayer, he again started up, as if impatient of continuing
in any one posture, and gradually edged himself forward
towards the place he had just quitted.

Jeanie in the meantime had advanced to the bottom of the
table, when, unable to resist the impulse of affection, she
suddenly extended her hand to her sister. Effie was just
within the distance that she could seize it with both hers,
press it to her mouth, cover it with kisses, and bathe it in
tears, with the fond devotion that a Catholic would pay to a
guardian saint descended for his safety ; while Jeanie,
hiding her own face with her other hand, wept bitterly.
The sight would have moved a heart of stone, much more
of flesh and blood. Many of the spectators shed tears, and
it was some time before the presiding Judge himself could

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 353

so far subdue his emotion, as to request the witness to
compose herself, and the prisoner to forbear those marks of
eager affection, which, however natural, could not be
permitted at that time, and in that presence.

The solemn oath — "the truth to tell, and no truth to
conceal, as far as she knew or should be asked," was then
administered by the Judge " in the name of God, and as the
witness should answer toGod at the great day of judgment ; "
an awful adjuration which seldom fails to make impression
even on the most hardened characters, and to strike with
fear even the most upright. Jeanie, educated in deep and
devout reverence for the name and attributes of the Deity,
was, by the solemnity of a direct appeal to his person and
justice, awed, but at the same time elevated above all
considerations, save those which she could, with a clear
conscience, call him to witness. She repeated the form in
a low and reverent, but distinct tone of voice, after the
Judge, to whom, and not to any inferior officer of the court,
the task is assigned in Scotland of directing the witness in
that solemn appeal, which is the sanction of his testimony.

When the Judge had finished the established form, he
added in a feeling, but yet a monitor^- tone, an advice, which
the circumstances appeared to him to call for.

"Young woman," these were his words, "you come
before this Court in circumstances, which it would be
worse than cruel not to pity and to sympathise with. Yet
it is my duty to tell you, that the truth, whatever its con-
sequences ♦may be, the truth is what you owe to your
country, and to that God whose word is truth, and whose
name you have now invoked. Use your own time in
answering the questions that gentleman " (pointing to the
counsel) " shall put to you. — But remember, tliat what you
may be tempted to say beyond what is the actueii truth, you
must answer both here and hereafter."

The usual questions were then put to her : — Whether any
one li.id instructed her what evidence she had to deliver?
Whether any one had given or promised her any good deed,
hlrB, or ft- ward, for her testimony? Whether she had any
malice or ill-will at his Majesty's Advocate, being the party
against whom she was cited as a witness ? To which
questions she successively answered by a quiet negative.
But their tenor gave great scandal and offence to her father,
who was not aware that they are put to every witness as a
matter of form.

254 TilE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

"Na, na," he exclaimed, loud enough to be heard, "my
bairn is no like the widow of Tekoah — nae man has putten
words into her mouth."

One of the Judges, better aqquainted, perhaps, with the
Books of Adjournal than with the Book of Samuel, was
disposed to make some instant inquiry after this Widow of
Tekoah, who, as he construed the matter, had been tamper-
ing with the evidence. But the presiding Judge, better
versed in Scripture history, whispered to his learned brother
the necessary explanation ; and the pause occasioned by this
mistake, had the good effect of giving Jeanie Deans time to
collect her spirits for the painful task she had to perform.

Fairbrother, whose practice and intelligence were con-
siderable, saw the necessity of letting the witness compose
herself. In his heart he suspected that she came to bear
false witness in her sister's cause.

" But that is her own affair," thought Fairbrother ; "and
it is my business to see that she has plenty of time to regain
composure, and to deliver her evidence, be it true, or be it
false — valeat quantum." .

Accordingly, he commenced his interrogatories with
uninteresting questions, which admitted of instant reply.

"You are, I think, the sister of the prisoner ? "

"Yes, sir."

" Not the full sister, however?"

" No, sir — we are by different mothers."

" True ; and you are, I think, several years older than
your sister?"

"Yes, sir," etc.

After the advocate had conceived that, by these preliminary
and unimportant questions, he had familiarised the witness
with the situation in which she stood, he asked, "whether
she had not remarked her sister's state of health to be altered,
during the latter part of the term when she had lived with
Mrs. Saddletree ? "

Jeanie answered in the affirmative.

"And she told you the cause of it, my dear, I suppose ?"
said Fairbrother, in an easy, and, as one may say, an
inductive sort of tone.

"I am sorry to interrupt my brother," said the Crown
Counsel, rising, "but I am in your Lordships' judgment,
whether this be not a leading question ? "

" If this point is to be debated," said the presiding Judge,
"the witness must be removed."

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 255

For the Scottish lawyers regard with a sacred and
scrupulous horror, every question so shaped by the counsel
examining, as to convey to a witness the least intimation of
the nature of the answer which is desired from him. These
scruples, though founded on an excellent principle, are
sometimes carried to an absurd pitch of nicety, especially
as it is generally easy for a lawyer who has his wits about
him to elude the objection. Fairbrother did so in the
present case.

"It is not necessary to waste the time of the Court, my
Lord ; since the King's Counsel thinks it worth vvhile^ to
object to the form of my question, I will shape it otherwise.
— Pray, young woman, did you ask your sister any question
when you observed her looking unwell? — take courage —
speak out"

" I asked her," replied Jeanie, "what ailed her."

"Very well — take your own time — and what was the
answer she made?" continued Mr. Fairbrother.

Jeanie was silent and looked deadly pale. It was not
that she at any one instant entertained an idea of the
possibility of prevarication — it was the natural hesitation
to extinguish the last spark of hope that remained for her
sister.

"Take courage, young woman," said Fairbrother. — "I
asked what your sister said ailed her when you inquired ? "

" Nothing," answered Jeanie, with a faint voice, which
was yet heard distinctly in the most distant corner of the
Court-room — such an awfiU and profound silence had been
preserved during the anxious interval, which had interposed
betwixt the lawyer's question and the answer of the witness.

Fairbrother's countenance fell ; but with that ready
presence of mind, which is as useful in civil as in military
emergencies, he immediately rallied — "Nothing? True;
you mean nothing at first— hvLt when you asked her again,
did she not tell you what ailed her ? "

The question was put in a tone meant to make her
comprehend the importance of her answer, had she not
been already aware of it The ice was broken, however,
and, with less pause than at first, she now replied — "Alack!
alack ! she never breathed a word to me about it."

A deep groan passed through the Court. It was echoed
by one deeper and more agonised from the unfortunate
father. The hope, to which unconsciously, and in spite of
himself, he had still secretly clung, had now dissolved, and

2S6 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

the venerable old man fell forward senseless on the floor of
the Court-house, with his head at the foot of his terrified
daughter. The unfortunate prisoner, with impotent passion,
strove with the guards, betwixt whom she was placed.
"Let me gang to my father ! — I will gang to him — I will
gang to him — he is dead — he is killed — I hae killed him ! "
she repeated, in frenzied tones of grief, which those who
heard them did not speedily forget.

Even in this moment of agony and general confusion,
Jeanie did not lose that superiority, which a deep and firm
mind assures to its possessor, under the most trying
circumstances.

" He is my father — he is our father," she mildly repeated
to those who endeavoured to separate them, as she stooped
— shaded aside his gray hairs, and began assiduously to
chafe his temples.

The Judge, after repeatedly wiping his eyes, gave direc-
tions that they should be conducted into a neighbouring
apartment, and carefully attended. The prisoner, as her
father was borne from the Court, and her sister slowly
followed, pursued them with her eyes so earnestly fixed, as
if they would have started from their sockets. But when
they were no longer visible, she seemed to find, in her
despairing and deserted state, a courage which she had not
yet exhibited.

"The bitterness of it is now past," she said, and then
boldly addressed the Court. " My Lords, if it is your
pleasure to gang on wi' this matter, the weariest day
will hae its end at last."

The Judge, who, much to his honour, had shared deeply
in the general sympathy, was surprised at being recalled
to his duty by the prisoner. He collected himself, and
requested to know if the panel's counsel had more evidence
to produce. Fairbrother replied, with an air of dejection,
that his proof was concluded.

The King's Counsel addressed the jury for the crown.
He said in few words, that no one could be more concerned
than he was for the distressing scene which they had just
witnessed. But it was the necessary consequence of great
crimes to bring distress and ruin upon all connected with
the perpetrators. He brielly reviewed the proof, in which
he showed that all the circumstances of the case concurred
with those required by the Act under which the unfortunate
prisoner was tried : That the counsel for the panel had

H M.

It's her father and sister."

Page 235.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 357

totally failed in proving, that Euphemia Deans had com-
municated her situation to her sister : That, respecting her
previous good character, he was sorry to observe, that it
was females who possessed the world's good report, and to
whom it was justly valuable, who were most strongly
tempted, bv shame and fear of the world's censure, to the
crime of infanticide : That the child was murdered, he
professed to entertain no doubt. The vacillating and in-
consistent declaration of the prisoner herself, marked as it
was by numerous refusals to speak the truth on subjects,
when, according to her own story, it would have been
natural, as well as advantageous, to have_ been candid ;
even this imperfect declaration left no doubt in his mind as
to the fate of the unhappy infant. Neither could he doubt
that the panel was a partner in this guilt. Who else had an
interest in a deed so inhuman ? Surely neither Robertson,
nor Robertson's agent, in whose house she was delivered,
had the least temptation to commit such a crime, unless
upon her account, with her connivance, and for the sake of
saving her reputation. But it was not required of him, by
the law, that he should bring precise proof of the murder, or
of the prisoner's accession to it. It was the very purpose
of the statute to substitute a certain chain of presumptive
evidence in place of a probation, which, in such cases, it
was peculiarly difficult to obtain. The jurj' might peruse
the statute itself, and they had also the libel and interlocutor
of relevancy to direct them in point of law. He put it to
the conscience of the jury, that under both he was entitled
to a verdict of Guilty.

The charge of Fairbrother was much cramped by his
having failed in the proof which he expected to lead. But
he fought his losing cause with courage and constancy. He
ventured to arraign the severity of the statute under which
the young woman was tried. " In all other cases," he said,
" the first thing required of the criminal prosecutor was, to
prove unequivocally that the crime libelled had actually been
committed, which lawyers called proving the corpus delicti.
But this statute, made doubtless with tlie best intentions,
and under the impulse of a just horror for the unnatural
crime of infanticide, ran the risk of itself occasioning the
worst of murders, the death of an innocent person, to atone
for a supposed crime which may never have been committed
by any one. He was so far from acknowledging the alleged
probability of the cliild's violent death, tliat he could not

I

2S8 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

even allow that there was evidence of its having ever
lived."

The King's Counsel pointed to the woman's declaration ;
to which the counsel replied — "A production concocted in
a moment of terror and agony, and which approached to
insanity," he said, "his learned brother well knew was no
sound evidence against the party who emitted it. It was
true, that a judicial confession, m presence of the Justices
themselves, was the strongest of all proof, in so much that
it is said in law, that ' in confitcntem nuUcB sunt partes
judicis.'' But this was true of judicial confession only, by
which law meant that which is made in presence of the
justices, and the sworn inquest. Of extrajudicial confession,
all authorities held with the illustrious Farinaceus, and
Matheus, ' confessio extrajudicialis in se nulla est; et quod
nullum est, non potest adviiniculari.* It was totally inept,
and void of all strength and effect from the beginning ; m-
capable, therefore, of being bolstered up or supported, or,
according to the law-phrase, adminiculated, by other
presumptive circumstances. In the present case, therefore,
letting the extrajudicial confession go, as it ought to go,
for nothing," he contended, "the prosecutor had not made
out the second quality of the statute, that a live child had
been born ; and that, at least, ought to be established before
presumptions were received that it had been murdered. If
any of the assize," he said, "should be of opinion that this
was dealing rather narrowly with the statute, they ought to
consider, that it was in its nature highly penal, and therefore
entitled to no favourable construction."

He concluded a learned speech, with an eloquent per-
oration on the scene they had just witnessed, during which
Saddletree fell fast asleep.

It was now the presiding Judge's turn to address the
jury. He did so briefly and distinctly.

"It was for the jury," he said, "to consider whether
the prosecutor had made out his plea. For himself, he
sincerely grieved to say, that a shadow of doubt remained
not upon his mind concerning the verdict which the
inquest had to bring in. He would not follow the
prisoner's counsel through the impeachment which he
had brought against the statute of King William and
Queen Mary. He and the jury were sworn to judge
according to the laws as they stood, not to criticise, or
to evade, or even to justify them. In no civil case would

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 259

a counsel have been permitted to plead his client's case
in the teeth of the law ; but in the hard situation in
which counsel were often placed in the Criminal Court,
as well as out of favour to all presumptions of innocence,
he had not inclined to interrupt the learned gentleman;
or narrow his plea. The present law, as it now stood,
had been instituted by the wisdom of their fathers, to
check the alarming progress of a dreadful crime ; when
it was found too severe for its purpose, it would doubtless
be altered by the wisdom of the legislature ; at present it
was the law of the land, the rule of the Court, and, according
to the oath which they had taken, it must be that of the
jury. This unhappy girl's situation could not be doubted ;
that she had borne a child, and that the child had disappeared,
were certain facts. The learned counsel had failed to show
that she had communicated her situation. All the requisites
of the case required by the statute were therefore before the
jury. The learned gentleman had, indeed, desired them to
throw out of consideration the panel's own confession, which
was the plea usually urged, in penury of all others, by
counsel in his situation, who usually felt that the declara-
tions of their clients bore hard on them. But that the
Scottish law designed that a certain weight should be laid
on these declarations, which, he admitted, were quodammodo
extrajudicial, was evident from the universal practice by
which they were always produced and read, as part of
the prosecutor's probation. In the present case, no person,
who had heard the witnesses describe the appearance of
the young woman before she left Saddletree's house, and
contrasted it with that of her state and condition at her
return to her father's, could have any doubt that the fact
of delivery had taken place, as set forth in her own
declaration, which was, therefore, not a solitary piece of testi-
mony, but adminiculated and supported by the strongest
circumstantial proof.

**He did not," he said, "state the impression upon his
own mind with the purpose of biasing theirs. He had
felt no less than they had done from the scene of domestic
misery which had been exhibited before them ; and if they,
having God and a good conscience, the sanctity of their
oath, and the regard due to the law of the country, before
their eyes, could come to a conclusion favourable to this
unhappy prisoner, he should rejoice as much as any one in
Court ; for never had he found his duty more distressing

26o THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

than in discharging it that day, and glad he would be to
be relieved from the still more painful task, which would
otherwise remain for him."

The jury, having heard the Judge's address, bowed and
retired, preceded by a macer of Court, to the apartment
destined for their deliberation.

CHAPTER XXIV.

Law, take thy victim — May she find the mercy

In yon mild heaven, which this hard world denies her ?

It was an hour ere the jurors returned, and as they
traversed the crowd with slow steps, as men about to
discharge themselves of a heavy and painful responsibility,
the audience was hushed into profound, earnest, and awful
silence.

"Have you agreed on your chancellor, gentlemen?"
was the first question of the Judge.

The foreman, called in Scotland the chancellor of the
jury, usually the man of best rank and estimation among
the assizers, stepped forward, and, with a low reverence,
delivered to the Court a sealed paper, containing the
verdict, which, until of late years, that verbal returns are
in some instances permitted, was always couched in
writing. The jury remained standing while the Judge
broke the seals, and, having perused the paper, handed it,
with an air of mournful gravity, down to the Clerk of
Court, who proceeded to engross in the record the yet
unknown verdict, of which, however, all omened the
tragical contents. A form still remained, trifling and
unimportant in itself, but to which imagination adds a
sort of solemnity, from the awful occasion upon which it
is used. A lighted candle was placed on the table, the
original paper containing the verdict was enclosed in a
sheet of paper, and, sealed with the Judge's own signet,
was transmitted to the Crown Office, to be preserved
among other records of the same kind. As all this is
transacted in profound silence, the producing and ex-
tinguishing the candle seems a type of the human spark
which is shortly afterwards doomed to be quenched, and
excites in the spectators something of the same effect

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 261

which in England is obtained by the Judge assuming the
fatal cap of judgment. When these preliminary forms had
been gone through, the Judge required Euphemia Deans
to attend to the verdict to be read.

After the usual words of style, the verdict set forth,
that the Jury having made choice of John Kirk, Esq., to
be their chancellor, and Thomas Moore, merchant, to be
their clerk, did, by a plurality of voices, find the said
Euphemia Deans Guilty of the crime libelled ; but, in
consideration of lier extreme youth, and the cruel circum-
stances of her case, did earnestly entreat that the Judge
would recommend her to the mercy of the Crown.

"Gentlemen," said the' Judge, "you have done your
duty — and a painful one it must have been to men of
humanity like you. I will undoubtedly transmit your
recommendation to the throne. But it is my duty to tell
all' who now hear me, but especially to inform that unhappy
\oung woman, in order that her mind may be settled

cordingly, that I have not the least hope of a pardon

ing granted in the present case. You know the crime
has been increasing in this land, and I know furtlier, that
this has been ascribed to the lenity in which the laws have
been exercised, and that there is therefore no hope whatever
of obtaining a remission for this offence." The jury bowed
^ain, and, released from their painful office, dispersed

■mselves among tlie mass of bystanders.

The Court then asked Mr. Fairbrother, whether he had
anything to say, why judgment should not follow on the
verdict? The counsel had spent some time in perusing,
and reperusing the verdict, counting the letters in each
juror's name, and weighing every phrase, nay every
syllable, in the nicest scales of legal criticism. But the
clerk of the jury had understood his business too well.

o flaw was to be found, and Fairbrother mournfully
...limated, that he had nothing to say in arrest of
judgment.

The presiding Judge then addressed the unhappy prisoner :
— " Euphemia Deans, attend to tlie sentence of the Court
now to be pronounced against you."

She rose from her seat, and, with a composure far greater
than could have been augured from her demeanour during
some parts of the trial, abode the conclusion of the awful
scene. So nearly does the mental portion of our feelings
resemble tliose wiiich are corporal, that the first severe

262 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

blows which we receive bring with them a stunning

apathy, which renders us indifferent to those that follow
them. Thus said Mandrin, when he was undergoing the
punishment of the wheel ; and so have all felt, upon whom
successive inflictions have descended with continuous and
reiterated violence.

"Young woman," said the Judge, "it is my painful
duty to tell you, that your life is forfeited under a law,
which, if it may seem in some degree severe, is yet wisely
so, to render those of your unhappy situation aware what
risk they run, by concealing, out of pride or false shame,
their lapse from virtue, and making no preparation to
save the lives of the unfortunate infants whom they are
to bring into the world. When you concealed your situa-
tion from your mistress, your sister, and other worthy and
compassionate persons of your own sex, in whose favour
your former conduct had given you a fair place, you seem
to me to have had in your contemplation, at least, the
death of the helpless creature, for whose life you neglected
to provide. How the child was disposed of — whether it
was dealt upon by another, or by yourself — whether the
extraordinary story you have told is partly false, or altogether
so, is between God and your own conscience. I will not
aggravate your distress by pressing on that topic, but I
do most solemnly adjure you to employ the remaining
space of your time in making your peace with God, for
which purpose such reverend clergyman, as you yourself
may name, shall have access to you. Notwithstanding the
humane recommendation of the jury, I cannot afford to
you, in the present circumstances of the country, the
slightest hope that your life will be prolonged beyond tlie
period assigned for the execution of your sentence. For-
saking, therefore, the thoughts of this world, let your
mind be prepared by repentance for those of more awful
moments — for deatli, judgment, and eternity. — Doomster,
read the sentence."*

When the Doomster showed himself, a tall haggard
figure, arrayed in a fantastic garment of black and gray,
passmented with silver lace, all fell back with a sort of
instinctive horror, and made wide way for him to approach
the foot of the table. As this oflice was held by the common
executioner, men shouldered each other backward to avoi
even the touch of his garment, and some were seen to brusl

* ^otc >« Doomster, or Dempster, of Court,

n

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 263

their own clothes, which had accidentally become subject
to such contamination. A sound went through the court,
produced by each person drawing in their breath hard, as
men do when they expect or witness what is frightful, and
at the same time affecting. The caitiff villain yet seemed,
amid his hardened brutality, to have some sense of his being
the object of public detestation, which made him impatient
of being in public, as birds of evil omen are anxious to
escape from daylight, and from pure air.

Repeating after the Clerk of Court, he gabbled over the
words of the sentence, which condemned Euphemia Deans
to be conducted back to the Tolbooth of Edinburgh, and

detained there until Wednesday the day of ; and

upon that day, betwixt the hours of two and four o'clock
afternoon, to be conveyed to the common place of execu-
tion and there hanged by the neck upon a gibbet. "And
this," said the Doomster, aggravating his harsh voice,
'• I pronounce for doom."

He vanished when he had spoken the last emphatic word,
like a foul fiend after the purpose of his \-isitation has been
accomplished ; but tlie impression of horror, excited by his
presence and his errand, remained upon the crowd of
spectators.

The unfortunate criminal — for so she must now be termed
— with more susceptibility, and more irritable feelings than
her father and sister, was found, in this emergence, to
possess a considerable share of their courage. She had
remained standing motionless at the bar while the sentence
was pronounced, and was obser\^ed to shut her eyes when
the Doomster appeared. But she was the first to break
silence when that evil form had left his place,

"God forgive ye, my Lords," she said, "and dinna be
angry wi' me for wishing it — we a' need forgiveness. — As for
mvself I canna blame ye, for ye act up to your lights ; and
if 1 havena killed my poor infant, ye may witness, a' that hae
seen it this day, that I hae been the means of killing my
gray-headed father — I deserve the warst frae man, and frae
God too — But God is mair mercifu' to us than we are to
each other."

With these words the trial concluded. The crowd rushed,
bearing forward and shouldering each other, out of the
court, in the same tumultuary mode in which they had
entered ; and, in the excitation of animal motion and animal
spirits, soon forgot whatever they had felt as impressive

264 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

in the scene which they had witnessed. The professional
spectators, whom habit and theory had rendered as callous
to the distress of the scene as medical men are to those of a
surgical operation, walked homeward in groups, discussing
the general principle of the statute under which the young
woman was condemned, the nature of the evidence, and the
arguments of the counsel, without considering even that of
the Judge as exempt from their criticism.

The female spectators, more compassionate, were loud in
exclamation against that part of the Judge's speech which
seemed to cut off the hope of pardon.

" Set him up, indeed," said Mrs. Howden, " to tell us that
the poor lassie behoved to die, when Mr. John Kirk, as civil
a gentleman as is within the ports of the town, took the
pains to prigg for her himself."

"Ay, but, neighbour," said Miss Damahoy, drawing up
her thin maidenly form to its full height of prim dignity —
" I really think this unnatural business of having bastard-
bairns should be putten a stop to — There isna a hussy now
on this side of thirty that you can bring within your doors,
but there will be chlelds — writer-lads, prentice-lads, and
what not — coming tralking after them for their destruction,
and discrediting ane's honest house into the bargain — I hae
nae patience wi' them."

" Hout, neighbour," said Mrs. Howden, "we suld live
and let live — we hae been young oursells, and we are no aye
to judge the warst when lads and lasses forgather."

" Young oursells I and judge the warst ! " said Miss
Damahoy. "I am no sae auld as that comes to, Mrs.
Howden ; and as for what ye ca' the warst, I ken neither
good nor bad about the matter, I thank my stars I "

"Ye are thankfu' for sma' mercies, then," said Mrs.
Howden, with a toss of her head; "and as for _yo« and
young — I trow ye were doing for yourscU at the last
riding of the Scots Parliament, and that was in tlie
gracious year seven, sae ye can be nae sic chicken at
ony rate."

Plumdamas, who acted as squire of the body to the two
contending dames, instantly saw the hazard of entering into
such delicate points of chronology, and being a lover of
peace and good neighbourhood, lost no lime in bringing
back the conversation to its original subject.

"The Judge didna tell us a' he could hae tell'd us, if he
had liked, about the application for pardon, neighbours, said

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 265

he; "there is aye a wimple in a lawyer's clew; but it's a
wee bit of a secret."

"And what is't ? — what is't, neighbour Plumdamas?"
said Mrs. Howden and Miss Damahoy at once, the acid
fermentation of their dispute being at once neutralised by
the powerful alkali implied in the word secret-

" Here's Mr. Saddletree can tell ye that better than me,
for it was him that tauld me," said Plumdamas as Saddle-
tree came up, with his wife hanging on his arm, and looking
very disconsolate.

When the question was put to Saddletree, he looked very
scornful. "They speak about stopping the frequency of
child-murder," said he, in a contemptuous tone; "do ye
think our auld enemies ot England, as Glendook aye ca's
them in his printed Statute-book, care a boddle whether we
didna kill ane anither, skin and birn, horse and foot, man,
woman, and bairns, all and sindry, avines et singttlos, as
Mr. Crossmyloof says? Na, na, it's no that hinders them
frae pardoning the bit lassie. But here is the pinch of the
plea. The king and queen are sae ill pleased wi' that
mistak about Porteous, that deil a kindly Scot will they
pardon again, either by reprieve or remission, if the haill
town o' Edinburgh should be a' hanged on ae tow."

" Deil lliat they were back at their German kale-yard
then, as my neighbour MacCroskie ca's it," said Mrs.
Howden, " an that's the way they're gaun to guide us ! "

"Thev say for certain," said Miss Damahoy, "that King
George flang his periwig in the fire when he heard o' the
Porteous mob."

"He has done that, they say," replied Saddletree, "for
less thing."

"Aweel," said Miss Damahoy, "he might keep mair wit
in his anger — but it's a' the better for his wigmaker, I'se
warrant."

" The queen tore her biggonets for perfect anger — ye'lJ
hae heard o' that too?" said Plumdamas. "And the king,
they say, kickit Sir Robert Walpole for no keeping down
the mob of Edinburgh ; but 1 dinna believe he wad behave
sae ungenieel."

"It's dooms truth, though," said Saddletree; "and he
was for kickin the Duke of .^rgyle,* too."

" Kickin the Duke of Argyle ! " exclaimed the hearers at
once, in all the various combined keys of utter astonishment.

* Note 15. John Duke of Arg)-lc and Greenwich.

2fi6 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

**Ay, but MacCallummore's blood wadna sit down wi'
that ; there was risk of Andro Ferrara coming in thirdsman."

"The Duke is a real Scotsman — a true friend to tho
country," answered Saddletree's hearers.

•'Ay, troth is he, to king and country baith, as ye sail
hear," continued the orator, " if ye will come in bye to our
house, for it's safest speaking of sic things inter parietes."

When they entered his shop he thrust his prentice boy
out of it, and, unlocking his desk, took out, with an air of
grave and complacent importance, a dirty and crumpled
piece of printed paper ; he observed, " This is new corn — it's
no everybody could show ye the like o' this. It's the Duke's
speech about the Porteous mob, just promulgated by the
hawkers. Ye shall hear what Ian Roy Cean ♦ says for him-
sell. My correspondent bought it in the Palace Yard, that's
like just under the king's nose — I think he claws up their
mittans ! — It came In a letter about a foolish bill of exchange
that the man wanted me to renew for him. I wish ye wad
see about it, Mrs. Saddletree."

Honest Mrs. Saddletree had hitherto been so sincerely
distressed about the situation of her unfortunate prot6g6e,
that she had suffered her husband to proceed in his own
way, without attending to what he was saying. The
words bill and I'enew had, however, an awakening sound
in them ; and she snatched the letter which her husband
held towards her, and wiping her eyes, and putting on
her spectacles, endeavoured, as -fast as the dew which
collected on her glasses would permit, to get at the
meaning of the needful part of the epistle ; while her
husband, with pompous elevation, read an extract from
the speech.

"I am no minister, I never was a minister, and I never
will be one "

"1 didna ken his Grace was ever designed for the
ministry," interrupted Mrs. Howden.

" He disna mean a minister of the gospel, Mrs. Howden,
but a minister of state," said Saddletree, with condescend-
ing goodness, and then proceeded: "The time was when
I might have been a piece of a minister, but I was too
sensible of my own incapacity to engage in any state affair.
And I thank God that I had always too great a value for

* Red John the Warrior, .t name personal and proper in the Higlilands to
John Duice of Arg-yle and Greenwich, as MacCummin was that of nis race o*

diiifnity.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 26^

those few abilities which nature has given me, to employ
them in doing any drudgery, or any job of what kind
soever. I have, ever since I set out in the world (and
I believe few have set out more early), ser\'ed my prince
with my tongue ; I have ser\'ed him with any little interest
I had, and I have served him with my sword, and in my
profession of arms. I have held employments which I
have lost, and were I to be to-morrow deprived of those
Which still remain to me, and which I have endeavoured
honestly to deserve, I would still serve him to the last acre

of my inheritance, and to the last drop of my blood "

Mrs. Saddletree here broke in upon the orator. — " Mr.
Saddletree, what is the meaning of a' this? Here are ye
clavering about the Duke of Argyle, and this man Mar-
tingale gaun to break on our hands, and lose us gude
sixty pounds — I wonder what duke will pay that, quotha
—I wish the Duke of Argyle would pay his ain accounts
—He is in a thousand punds Scots on thae ver>- books
when he was last at Roystoun — I'm no saying but he's a
just nobleman, and that it's gude siller — but it wad drive
ane daft to be confused wi' deukes and drakes, and thae
distressed folk up stairs, that's Jeanie Deans and her father.
And then, putting the very callant that was sewing the
curpel out o' the shop, to play wi' blackguards in the
close — Sit still, neighbours, it's no that I mean to disturb
you; but what between courts o' law and courts o' state,
and upper and under parliaments, and parliament-houses,
here and in London, tlie gudeman's gane clean gyte, I
think."

The gossips understood civility, and the rule of doing as
they would be done by, too well, to tarry upon the slight
invitation implied in the conclusion of this speech, and there-
fore made their farewells and departure as fast as possible.
Saddletree, whispering to Plumdamas that he would " meet
hhn at MacCroskie's " (the low-browed shop in the Lucken-
booths, already mentioned), *' in the hour of cause, and
put MacCallummore's speech in his pocket, for a' the
gudewife's din."

When Mrs. Saddletree saw the house freed of her im-
portunate visitors, and the little boy reclaimed from the
pastimes of the wynd to the exercise of the awl, she went
to visit her unhappy relative, David Deans, and his elder
daughter, who had found in her house the nearest place
of friendly refuge.

268 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

CHAPTER XXV.

Isuh. Alas 1 what poor ability's in me

To do him good ?
Lucio. Assay the power you have.

Measure for Measure.

When Mrs. Saddletree entered the apartment in which
her guests had shrouded their miseo', she found the
window darkened. The feebleness which followed his
long- swoon had rendered it necessarj' to lay the old man
in bed. The curtains were drawn around him, and Jeanie
sat motionless by the side of the bed. Mrs. Saddletree
was a woman of kindness, nay, of feeling, but not of
delicacy. She opened the half-shut window, drew aside
the curtain, and taking her kinsman by the hand, exhorted
him to sit up, and bear his sorrow like a good man,
and a Christian man, as he was. But when she quitted
his hand, it fell powerless by his side, nor did he attempt
the least reply.

"Is all over?" asked Jeanie, with lips and cheeks as
pale as ashes — " And is there nae hope for her ? "

" Nane, or next to nane," said Mrs. Saddletree; "I
heard the Judge-carle say it with my ain ears — It was a
burning shame to see sae mony o' them set up yonder in
their red gowns, and black gowns, and a' to take the life o'
a bit senseless lassie. I had never muckle broo o' my
gudeman's gossips, and now I like them waur than ever.
The only wiselike thing I heard onybody say, was decent
Mr. John Kirk of Kirk-knowe, and he wussed them just to
get the king's mercy, and na mair about it. But he spake
*o unreasonable folk — he might just hae keepit his breath
10 hae blawn on his porridge."

" But can the king gie her mercy ? " said Jeanie earnestly.

*' Some folk tell me he canna gie mercy in cases of mur

in cases like hers. "

"Can he gie mercy, hinny? — I weel I wot he can, when
he likes. There was young Singlesword, that stickit the
Laird of Ballencleuch, and Captain Hackum, the English-
man, that killed Lady Colgrain's gudeman, and the Master
of St. Clair, that shot the twa Shaws, and mony mair in
my time — to be sure they were gentle blude, and had their
kin to speak for them — And there was Jock Porteous the

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 269

other day— I'se warrant there's mercy, an folk could win

at it." , . T

" Porteous? " said Jeanie ; " very true— I forget a that 1
suld maist mind.— Fare ye weel, Mrs. Saddletree : and may
ve never want a friend in the hour o' distress ! "

"Will ye no stay wi' your father, Jeanie, bairn?— Ye had
better," said Mrs. Saddletree.

" I will be wanted ower yonder," indicating the Tolbooth

with her hand, "and I maun leave him now, or I will never

- able to leave him. I fearna for his life— I ken how

:ong-hearted he is— I ken it," she said, laying her hand

Ml her bosom, " bv my ain heart at this minute,"

"Weel, hinny, if ye think it's for the best, better he stay
here and rest him, than gang back to St. Leonard's."

" Muckle better — muckle better — God bless you— God
bless you ! — At no rate let him gang till ye hear frae me,"
said Jeanie.

"But ye'll be back belive?" said Mrs. Saddletree,
taining'her ; " they wunna let ye stay yonder, hinny."
" But I maun gang to Sl Leonard's — there's muckle to be
dune, and little time to do it in — And I have friends to
speak to — God bless you— take care of my father."

She had reached the door of the apartment, when,
iddenly turning, she came back, and knelt down by the
dside. — "O father, gie me your blessing — I dare not go
il ye bless me. Say but 'God bless ye, and prosper ye,
anie ' — try but to say that 1 "

Instinctively, rather than by an exertion of intellect, the
-Id man murmured a prayer, that "purchased and promised
blessings might be multiplied upon her."

"He has blessed mine errand," said his daughter, rising
om her knees, "and it is borne in upon my mind that I
liall prosper."
So saying, she left the room.

Mrs. Saddletree looked after her, and shook her head.
" I wish she binna roving, poor thing — There's something
queer about a' thae Deanses. I dinna like folk to be sae
muckle better than other folk — seldom comes gude o't.
But if she's gaun to look after the kye at St. Leonard's,
that's another storj- ; to be sure they maun be sorted. —
Grix^ie, come up here, and take tent to the honest auld
man, and see he wants naething. — Ye silly tawpie "
(addressing the maid-servant as she entered), "what
garr'd ye busk up your cockernony that gate ? — I think

270 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

there's been eneugh the day to gie an awfu' warning about
your cockups and your fallal duds — see what they a' come
to, " etc. etc. etc.

Leaving the good lady to her lecture upon worldly
vanities, we must transport our reader to the cell in
which the unfortunate Effie Deans was now immured,
being restricted of several liberties which she had enjoyed
before the sentence was pronounced.

When she had remained about an hour in the state of
stupefied horror so natural in her situation, she was dis-
turbed by the opening of the jarring bolts of her place
of confinement, and Ratcliffe showed himself. "It's your
sister," he said, "wants to speak t'ye, Eflie."

"I canna see naebody," said Effie, with the hasty irrita-
bility which misery had rendered more acute — "I canna
see naebody, and least of a' her — Bid her take care of the
auld man — I am naething to ony o' them now, nor them
to me,"

"She says she maun see ye, though," said Ratcliffe;
and Jeanie, rushing into the apartment, threw her arms
round her sister's neck, who writhed to extricate herself
from her embrace.

"What signifies coming to greet ower me," said poor
Effie, "when you have killed me? — killed me, when a word
of your mouth would have saved me — killed me, when I
am an innocent creature — innocent of that guilt at least —
and me that wad hae wared body and soul to save your
finger from being hurt ! "

"You shall not die," said Jeanie, with enthusiastic firm-
ness ; " say what ye like o' me — think what ye like o' me
— only promise — for I doubt your proud heart — that ye
wunna harm yourself, and you shall not die this shameful
death."

"A shameful death I will not die, Jeanie, lass. I have
that in my heart — though it has been ower kind a
ane — that wunna bide shame. Gae hame to our father,
and think nae mair on me — I have eat my last earthly
meal."

" Oh, this was what I feared ! " said Jeanie.

"Hout, tout, hinnie," said Ratcliffe; "it's but little ye
ken o' thae things. Ane aye thinks at the first dinnle
o' the sentence, they hae heart eneugh to die rather than
bide out the sax weeks ; but they aye bide the sax weeks
out for a' that. I ken the gate o't weel ; I hae fronted the

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 271

doomster three times, and here I stand, Jim Ratcliffe, for
;i' that. Had I tied my napkin strait the first time, as I had
.1 great mind till't — and it was a' about a bit gray cowt,
vvasna worth ten punds sterling — where would I have
been now ? "

"And how did yon escape? " said Jeanie, the fates of this
man, at first so odious to her, having acquired a sudden
interest in her eyes from their correspondence with those of
her sister.

"How did I escape?" said Ratcliffe, with a knowing
wink — " I tell ye I 'scapit in a way that naebody will escape
from this Tolbooth while I keep the keys."

" My sister shall come out m the face of the sun," said
Jeanie ; " I will go to London, and beg her pardon from the
king and queen. If they pardoned Porteous, they may
pardon her ; if a sister asks a sister's life on her bended
knees, they will pardon her — they shall pardon her — and
they will win a thousand hearts by it"

Effie listened in bewildered astonishment, and so earnest
was her sister's enthusiastic assurance, that she almost
involuntarily caught a gleam of hope ; but it instantly
faded away.

"Ah, Jeanie! the king and queen live in London, a
thousand miles from this — far ayont the saut sea ; I'll be
gane before ye win there ! "

"You are mistaen," said Jeanie; "it is no sae far, and
they go to it by land ; I learned something about thae
things from Reuben Butler."

"Ah, Jeanie! ye never learned onything but what was

gude frae the folk ye keepit company wi' ; but I — but I "

she wrung her hands, and wept bitterly.

" Dinna think on that now, said Jeanie ; " there will be
time for that if the present space be redeemed. Fare ye
weel ! Unless I die by the road, I will see the king's face
that gies grace. — Oh, sir " (to Ratcliffe,) " be kind to her
— She ne'er kend what it was to need stranger's kindness
till now. — Fareweel — fareweel, Effie! — Dinna speak to me
— I maunna greet now — my head's ower dizzy already ! "

She tore herself from her sister's arms, and left the cell.
Ratcliffe followed her, and beckoned her into a small room.
She obeyed his signal, but not without trembling.

" What's the fule thing shaking for ? " said he ; "I mean
nothing but civility to you. D — n me, I respect you, and I
can't help it. You have so much spunk, that, d — n me,

272 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

but I think there's some chance of your carrying the day.
But you must not go to the king till you have made some
friend ; try the duke — try MacCallummore ; he's Scotland's
friend — I ken that the great folks dinna muckle like him —
but they fear him, and that will serve your purpose as weel.
D'ye ken naebody wad gie ye a letter to him ? "

"Duke of Argyle?" said Jeanie, recollecting herself
suddenly — "what was he to that Argyle that suffered in my
father's time — in the persecution ? "

" His son or grandson, I'm thinking," said Ratcliffe ;
"but what o' that? "

"Thank God ! " said Jeanie, devoutly clasping her hands.

"You whigs are aye thanking God for something," said
the ruffian. "But hark ye, hinny, I'll tell ye a secret.
Ye may meet wi' rough customers on the Border, or in
the Midland, afore ye get to Lunnon. Now, diel ane o'
them will touch an acquaintance o' Daddie Ration's ; for
though I am retired frae public practice, yet they ken I
can do a gude or an ill turn yet — and deil a gude fellow
that has been but a twelvemonth on the lay, be he
ruffler or padder, but he knows my gybe as well as the
jark of e'er a queer cuffin in England — and there's
rogue's Latin for you."

It was, indeed, totally unintelligible to Jeanie Deans,
who was only impatient to escape from him. He hastily
scrawled a line or two on a dirty piece of paper, and said
to her, as she drew back when he offered it, " Hey! what
the deil — it wunna bite you, my lass — if it does nae gude,
it can dae nae ill. But I wish you to show it, if you have
ony fasherie wi' ony o' St. Nicholas's clerks."

"Alas!" said she, "I do not understand what you
mean ? "

"I mean, if ye fall among thieves, my precious — that
is a Scripture phrase, if ye will hae ane — the bauldest of
them will ken a scart o' my guse feather. And now awa
wi' ye — and stick to Argyle ; if onybody can do the job,
it maun be him."

After casting an anxious look at the grated windows
and blackened walls of the old Tolbooth, and another
scarce less anxious at the hospitable lodging of Mrs.
Saddletree, Jeanie turned her back on that quarter, and
soon after on the city itself. She reached St. Leonard's
Crags without meeting any one whom she knew, which, in
ihe stato of her mind, she considered as a great blessinff.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 273

I must do naething, she thought, as she went along, that
can soften or weaken my heart — it's ower weak already
for what 1 hae to do. 1 will think and act as firmly as I
can, and speak as little.

There was an ancient servant, or rather cottar, of her
father's, who had lived under him for many years, and
whose fidelity was worthy of full confidence. She sent
for this woman, and explaining to her that the circum-
stances of her family required that she should undertake a
journey, which would detain her for some weeks from home,
she gave her full instructions concerning the management
of the domestic affairs in her absence. With a precision,
which, upon reflection, she herself could not help wondering
at, she described and detailed the most minute steps which
were to be taken, and especially such as were necessary
for her father's comfort. "It was probable," ^he said,
"that he would return to St. Leonard's to-morrow : certain
that he would return ver)' soon — all must be in order for
him. He had eneugh to distress him, without being fashed
about warldly matters."

In the meanwhile she toiled busily, along with May
Hettly, to leave nothing unarranged.

It was deep in the night when all these matters were
settled ; and when they had partaken of some food, the
first which Jeanie had tasted on that eventful day. May
Hettly, whose usual residence was a cottage at a little
distance from Deans's house, asked her young mistress,
whether she would not premit her to remain in the house
all night? "Ye hae had an awfu' day," she said, "and
sorrow and fear are but bad companions in the watches
of the night, as I hae heard the gudeman say himsell."

"They are ill companions indeed," said Jeanie; "but
I maun learn to abide their presence, and better begin in
the house than in the field."

She dismissed her aged assistant accordingly — for so
slight was the gradation in their rank of life, that we can
hardly term May a servant — and proceeded to make a few
preparations for her journey.

The simplicity of her education and country made these
preparations very brief and easy. Her tartan screen
served all the purposes of a riding habit, and of an
umbrella ; a small bundle contained such changes of
linen as were absolutely necessary. Barefooted, as Sancho
says, she had come into the world, and barefooted she

374 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

proposed to perform her pilgrimage ; and her clean shoes
and change of snow-white thread stockings were to be
reserved for special occasions of ceremony. She was not
aware, that the English habits of comfort attach an idea
of abject misery to the idea of a barefooted traveller; and
if the objection of cleanliness had been made to the practice,
she would have been apt to vindicate herself upon the
very frequent ablutions to which, with Mahometan scrupu-
losity, a Scottish damsel of some condition usually subjects
herself. Thus far, therefore, all was well.

From an oaken press or cabinet, in which her father kept
a few old books, and two or three bundles of papers, besides
his ordinary accounts and receipts, she sought out and
•xtracted from a parcel of notes of sermons, calculations of
interest, records of dying speeches of the martyrs, and the
like, one or two documents which she thought might be of
some use to her upon her mission. But the most important
difRculty remained behind, and it had not occurred to her
until that very evening. It was the want of money, without
which it was impossible she could undertake so distant a
journey as she now meditated.

David Deans, as we have said, was easy, and even opulent
in his circumstances. But his wealth, like that of the
patriarchs of old, consisted in his kine and herds, and in
two or three sums lent out at interest to neighbours or
relatives, who, far from being in circumstances to pay
anything to account of the principal sums, thought they did
all that was incumbent on them when, with considerable
difficulty, they discharged "the annual rent." To these
debtors it would be in vain, therefore, to apply, even with
her father's concurrence ; nor could she hope to obtain such
concurrence, or assistance in any mode, without such a
series of explanations and debates as she felt might deprive
her totally of the power of taking the step, which, however
daring and hazardous, she knew was absolutely necessary
for trying the last chance in favour of her sister. Without
departing from filial reverence, Jeanie had an inward con-
viction that the feelings of her father, however just, and
upright, and honourable, were too little in unison with the
spirit of the time to admit of his being a good judge of the
measures to be adopted in this crisis. Herself more flexible
in manner, though no less upright in principle, she felt
that to ask his consent to her pilgrimage would be to
encounter the risk of drawing down his positive prohibition.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 275

and under that she believed her journey could not be blessed
in its progress and event. Accordingly, she had determined
upon the means by which she might communicate to him
her undertaking and its purpose, shortly after her actual
departure. But it was impossible to apply to him for money
without altering this arrangement, and discussing fully the
propriety of her journey ; pecuniary assistance from that
quarter, therefore, was laid out of the question.

It now occurred to Jeanie that she should have consulted
with Mrs. Saddletree on this subject. But, besides the
time that must now necessarily be lost in recurring to her
assistance, Jeanie internally revolted from it. Her heart
acknowledged the goodness of Mrs. Saddletree's general
character, and the kind interest she took in their family
misfortunes ; but still she felt that Mrs. Saddletree was a
woman of an ordinary and worldly way of thinking, incapable,
from habit and temperament, of taking a keen or enthusi-
astic view of such a resolution as she had formed ; and to
debate the point with her, and to rely upon her conviction
of its propriety for the means of carrying it into execution,
would have been gall and wormwood.

Butler, whose assistance she might have been assured of,
was greatly poorer than herself. In these circumstances,
she formed a singular resolution for the purpose of sur-
mounting this difficulty, the execution of which will form
the subject of the next chapter.

CHAPTER XXVI.

'Tis the voice of the sluggard, I've heard him complain,
" You have waked me too soon, I must slumber again ; "
As the door on its hinges, so he on his bed,
Turns his side, and his shoulders, and his heavy head.

Dr. Watts.

The mansion-house of Dumbiedikes, to which we are now to
introduce our readers, lay three or four miles — no matter for
the exact topography — to the southward of St Leonard's.
It had once borne the appearance of some little celebrity ;
for the "auld laird," whose humours and pranks were often
mentioned in the alehouses for about a mile round it, wore
a sword, kept a good horse, and a brace of greyhounds ;
brawled, swore, and betted at cock-fights, and horse

276 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

matches ; followed Somerville of Drum's hawks, and tlie
Lord Ross's hounds, and called himself point devue a
gentleman. But the line had been vailed of its splendour
in the present proprietor, who cared for no rustic amuse-
ments, and was as saving, timid, and retired, as his father
had been at once grasping and selfishly extravagant — daring,
wild, and intrusive.

Dumbiedikes was what is called in Scotland a single
house ; that is, having only one room occupying its whole
depth from back to front, each of which single apartments
was illuminated by six or eight cross lights, whose diminutive
panes and heavy frames permitted scarce so much light to
enter as shines through one well -constructed modern
window. This inartificial edifice, exactly such as a child
would build with cards, had a steep roof flagged with
coarse gray stones instead of slates ; a half-circular turret,
battlemented, or, to use the appropriate phrase, bartizan'd
on the top, served as a case for a narrow turnpike stair, by
which an ascent was gained from storey to storey ; and at
the bottom of the said turret was a door studded with large-
headed nails. There was no lobby at the bottom of the
tower, and scarce a landing-place opposite to the doors
which gave access to the apartments. One or two low
and dilapidated outhouses connected by a courtyard wall
equally ruinous surrounded the mansion. The court had
been paved, but the flags being partly displaced, and partly
renewed, a gallant crop of docks and thistles sprung up
between them, and the small garden, which opened by a
postern through the wall, seemed not to be in a much more
orderly condition. Over the low-arched gateway which led
into the yard, there was a carved stone, exhibiting some
attenipt at armorial bearings ; and above the inner entrance
hung, and had hung for many years, the mouldering hatch-
ment, which announced that umquhile Laurence Dumbie,
of Dumbiedikes, had been gathered to his fathers in
Newbattle kirkyard. The approach to this palace of
pleasure was by a road formed by the rude fragments of
stone gathered from the fields, and it was surrounded by
ploughed but unenclosed land. Upon a baulk, that is, an
unploughed ridge of land interposed among the corn, the
Laird's trusty palfrey was tethered by the head, and picking
a meal of grass. The whole argued neglect and discomfort ;
the consequence, however, of idleness and indifference, not
of poverty.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 277

In this inner court, not without a sense of bashfulness
and timidity, stood Jeanie Deans, at an early hour in a
fine spring morning. She was no heroine of romance, and
therefore looked with some curiosity and interest on the
mansion-house and domains, of which, it might at tliat
moment occur to her, a little encouragement, such as
women of all ranks know by instinct how to apply, might
have made her mistress. Moreover, she was no person of
taste beyond her time, rank, and country, and certainly
thouglu the house of Dumbiedikes, though inferior to
Holyrood House, or the palace at Dalkeith, was still a
stately structure in its way, and the land a " very bonnie
bit, If it were better seen to and done to." But Jeanie
Deans was a plain, true-hearted, honest girl, who, while
she acknowledged all the splendour of her old admirer's
habitation, and the value of his property, never for a
moment harboured a thought of doing the Laird, Butler,
or herself, the injustice, which many ladies of higher rank
would not have hesitated to do to all tliree, on much less
temptation.

Her present errand being with the Laird, she looked
round the offices to see if she could find any domestic to
announce that she wished to see him. As all was silence,
she ventured to open one door ; — it was the old Laird's
dog-kennel, now deserted, unless when occupied, as one
or two tubs seemed to testify, as a washing-house. She
tried another — It was the roofless shed where the hawks
had been once kept, as appeared from a perch or two not
^et completely rotten, and a lure and jesses which were
mouldering on the wall. A third door led to the coal-
house, which was well-stocked. To keep a very good fire,
was one of the few points of domestic management in which
Dumbiedikes was positively active ; in all other matters of
domestic economy he was completely passive, and at the
mercy of his housekeeper, the same bus<om dame whom
his father had long since bequeathed to his charge, and
who, if fame did her no injustice, had feathered her nest
pretty well at his expense.

Jeanie went on opening doors, liked the second Calender
wanting an eye, in the castle of the hundred obliging
damsels, until, like the said prince errant, she came to a
stable. The Highland Pegasus, Ror\' Bean, to which
belonged the single entire stall, was her old acquaintance,
whom she had seen grazing on the baulk, as she failed not

278 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

to recognise by the well-known ancient riding furniture and
demi-pique saddle, which half hung on the walls, half-trailed
on the litter. Beyond the " treviss," which formed one side
of the stall, stood a cow, who turned her head and lowed
when Jeanie came into the stable, an appeal which her
habitual occupations enabled her perfectly to understand,
and with which she could not refuse complying, by shaking
down some fodder to the animal, which had been neglected
like most things else in this castle of the sluggard.

While she was accommodating "the milky mother" with
the food which she should have received two hours sooner, a
slip-shod wench peeped into the stable, and perceiving that
a stranger was employed In discharging the task which she,
at length, and reluctantly, had quitted her slumbers to per-
form, ejaculated, "Eh, sirs! the Brownie! the Brownie!"
and fled, yelling as if she had seen the devil.

To explain her terror, it may be necessary to notice, that
the old house of Dumbiedikes had, according to report,
been long haunted by a Brownie, one of those familiar
spirits, who were believed in ancient times to supply the
deficiencies of the ordinary labourer —

Whirl the long mop, and ply the airy flaiL

Certes, the convenience of such a supernatural assistant
could have been nowhere more sensibly felt, than in a
family where the domestics were so little disposed to
personal activity ; yet this serving maiden was so far
from rejoicing m seeing a supposed aerial substitute dis-
charging a task which she should have long since per-
formed herself, that she proceeded to raise the family by
her screams of horror, uttered as thick as if the Brownie
had been flaying her. Jeanie, who had immediately resigned
her temporary occupation, and followed the yelling damsel
into the courtyard, in order to undeceive and appease her,
was there met by Mrs. Janet Balchristie, the favourite
sultana of the last Laird, as scandal went — the house-
keeper of the present. The good-looking buxom woman,
betwixt forty and fifty (for such we described her at the
death of the last Laird), was now a fat, red-faced, old
dame of seventy, or thereabouts, fond of her place, and
jealous of her authority. Conscious that her administra-
tion did not rest on so sure a basis as in the time of the
old proprietor, this considerate lady had introduced into the

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 279

family the screamer aforesaid, who added good features and
bright eyes to the powers of her lungs. She made no con-
quest of the Laird, however, who seemed to live as if there
was not another woman in the world but Jeanie Deans, and
to bear no very ardent or overbearing affection even to her.
Mrs. Janet Balchristie, notwithstanding, had her own un-
easy thoughts upon the almost daily visits to St. Leonard's
Crags, and often, when the Laird looked at her wistfully
and paused, according to his custom before utterance, she
expected him to say, "Jenny, I am gaun to change my
condition;" but she was relieved by "Jenny, I am gaun
to change my shoon."

Still, however, Mrs. Balchristie regarded Jeanie Deans
with no small portion of malevolence, the customary feeling
of such persons towards any one who they think has the
means of doing them an mjury. But she had also a
general aversion to any female, tolerably young, and
decently-well-looking, who showed a wish to approach the
house of Dumbiedikes and the proprietor thereof. And as
she had raised her mass of mortality out of bed two hours
earlier than usual, to come to the rescue of her clamorous
niece, she was in such extreme bad humour against all and
sundry, that Saddletree would have pronounced, that she
harboured inimicitiam contra omnes mjortales.

" Wha the deil are ye ? " said the fat dame to poor Jeanie,
whom she did not immediately recognise, " scouping about
a decent house at sic an hour in the morning ? "

" It was ane wanting to speak to the Laird," said Jeanie,
who felt something of the intuitive terror which she had
formerly entertained for this termagant, when she was
occasionally at Dumbiedikes on business of her father's.

"Ane? — And what sort of ane are ye? — hae ye nae
name ? — D'ye think his honour has naething else to do
than to speak wi' ilka idle tramper that comes about the
town, and him in his bed yet, honest man ? "

" Dear, Mrs. Balchristie," replied Jeanie, in a submissive
tone, " d'ye no mind me? — d'ye no mind Jeanie Deans ? "

"Jeanie Deans!" said the termagant, in accents
affecting the utmost astonishment ; then, taking two
strides nearer to her, she peered into her face with a
stare of curiosity, equally scornful and malignant — "I
say Jeanie Deans, indeed — ^Jeanie Deevil, they had better
hae ca'd ye ! — A bonny 5pot o' wark your titty and you hae
madf out, murdering ae puir wean, and your light limmer

28d the heart of MID-LOTHIAN.

of a sister's to be hanged for't, as wcel she deserves ! — And
the like o' you to come to ony honest man's house, and
want to be into a decent bachelor gentleman's room at
this time in the morning, and him in his bed ? — Gae wa',
gae wa' I "

Jeanie was struck mute with shame at the unfeeling
brutality of this accusation, and could not even find words
to justify herself from the vile construction put upon her
visit, when Mrs. Balchristie, seeing her advantage, con-
tinued in the same tone, "Come, come, bundle up your
pipes and tramp awa wi' ye ! — ye may be seeking a father
to another wean for onything I ken. If it warna that your
father, auld David Deans, had been a tenant on our land, I
would cry up the men-folk, and hae ye dookit in the burn
for your impudence."

Jeanie had already turned her back, and was walking
towards the door of the courtyard, so tiiat Mrs. Balchristie,
to make her last threat impressively audible to her, had
raised her stentorian voice to its utmost pitch. But, like
many a general, she lost the engagement by pressing her
advantage too far.

The Laird had been disturbed in his morning slumbers
by the tones of Mrs. Balchrislie's objurgation, sounds in
themselves by no means uncommon, but very remarkable
in respect to the early hour at which they were now heard.
He turned himself on the other side, however, in hopes the
squall would blow by, when, in the course of Mrs. Bal-
christie's second explosion of wrath, tlie name of Deans
distinctly struck the tympanum of his ear. As he was, in
some degree, aware of the small portion of benevolence
with which his housekeeper regarded the family at St.
I^onard's, he instantly conceived that some message from
thence was the cause of this untimely ire, and getting out
of his bed, he slipt as speedily as possible into an old brocaded
night-gown, and some other necessary integuments, clapped
on his head his father's gold-laced hat (for though he was
seldom seen without it, yet it is proper to contradict the
popular report, that he slept in it, as Don Quixote did in
his helmet), and opening the window of his bedroom,
beheld, to his great astonishment, the well-known figure
of Jeanie Deans herself retreating from his gate ; while
his housekeeper, with arms akimbo, fists clenched and
extended, body erect, and head shaking with rage, sent
after her a volley of Billingsgate oaths. His choler rose

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 281

in proportion to the surprise, and, perhaps, to the dis-
turbance of his repose. " Hark ye," he exclaimed from
the window, "ye auld Hmb of Satan — wha the deil gies you
commission to guide an honest man's daugliter that gate ? "

Mrs. Balchristie was completely caught In the manner.
She was aware, from the unusual warmth with which the
Laird expressed himself, that he was quite serious in this
matter, and she knew that, with all his indolence of nature,
there were points on which he might be provoked, and that
being provoked, he had in him something dangerous,
which her wisdom taught her to fear accordingly. She
began, therefore, to retract her false step as fast as she
could. "She was but speaking for the house's credit, and
she couldna think of disturbing his honour in the morning
sae early, when the young woman might as weel wait or
call again ; and to be sure, she might make a mistake
between the twa sisters, for ane o' them wasna sae creditable
an acquaintance."

"Hand your peace, ye auld jade," said Dumbicdikes ;
"the warst quean e'er siude in their shoon may ca' you
cousin, an a' be true that 1 have heard. — Jeanie, my woman,
gang into the parlour — but stay, that winna be redd up yet
— wait there a minute till I come doun to let ye in — Dinna
mind what Jenny says to yc."

" Na, na," said Jenny, vvitli a laugh of affected heartiness,
" never mind me, lass — a' the warld kens my bark's waur
than my bite — if ye had had an appointment wi' the Laird,
ye might hae tauld me — I am nae uncivil person — gang
your ways in by, hinny." And she opened the door of the
house with a master-key.

" But I had no appointment wi' the Laird," said Jeanie,
drawing back ; " I want just to speak twa words to him,
and I wad rather do it standing here, Mrs. Balchristie."

"In the open court-yard? — Na, na, that would never
do, lass ; we nuiunna guide ye that gate neither — And
how's that douce honest man, your father?"

Jeanie was saved the pain of answering this hypocritical
question by the appearance of the Laird himself.

"Gang in and gel breakfast ready," said he to his house-
keeper— "and, d'ye hear, breakfast wi' us yoursell — ye ken
how to manage thae porringers of tea-water — and, hear
ye, see abune a' tiiat tliere's a gude fire. — Weel, Jeanie,
my woman, gang in by — gang in by, and rest ye."

" Na, Laird," Jeanie replied, endeavouring as much as

28i fkE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

she could to express herself with composure, notwith-
standing she still trembled, " I canna gang in — I have a
lang day's darg afore me — I maun be twenty mile o' gate
the night yet, if feet will carry me."

"Guide and deliver us! — twenty mile — twenty mile on
your feet ! " ejaculated Dumbiedikes, whose walks were
of a very circumscribed diameter — " Ye maun never think
o' that — come in by."

"I canna do that, Laird," replied Jeanie ; "the twa
words I hae to say to ye I can say here ; forby that Mrs.
Balchristie "

" The deil flee awa wi' Mrs. Balchristie," said Dumbie-
dikes, "and he'll hae a heavy lading o' her! I tell ye,
Jeanie Deans, I am a man of few words, but I am laird
at hame, as weel as in the field ; deil a brute or body about
my house but I can manage when I like, except Rory Bean,
my powny ; but I can seldom be at the plague, an it binna
when my bluid's up."

" I was wanting to say to ye, Laird," said Jeanie, who
felt the necessity of entering upon her business, "that I
was gaun a lang journey, outby of my father's knowledge."

"Outby his knowledge, Jeanie! — Is that right? Ye
maun think o't again — it's no right," said Dumbiedikes,
with a countenance of great concern.

" If I were anes at Lunnon," said Jeanie, in exculpation.
" I am amalst sure I could get means to speak to the queen
about my sister's life."

" Lunnon — and the queen — and her sister's life ! " said
Dumbiedikes, whistling for very amazement — "the lassie's
demented."

" I am no out o' my mind," said she, "and, sink or swim,
I am determined to gang to Lunnon, if I suld beg my way
frae door to door — and so I maun, unless ye wad lend me
a small sum to pay my expenses — little thing will do it ;
and ye ken my father's a man of substance, and wad see
nae man, far less you, Laird, come to loss by me."

Dumbiedikes, on comprehending the nature of this
application, could scarce trust his ears — he made no answer
whatever, but stood with his eyes riveted on the ground,

"I see ye are no for assisting me, Laird," said Jeanie ;
"sae fare ye weel — and gang and see my poor father as
aften as ye can — he will be lonely eneugh now."

"Where is the silly bairn gaun?" said Dumbiedikes;
and, laying hold of her hand, he led her into the house.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. aSj

" It's no that I didna think o't before," he said, "but it
stack in my throat."

Thus speaking to himself, he led her into an old-fashioned
parlour, shut the door behind them, and fastened it with
a bolt. While Jeanie, surprised at this manoeuvre, remained
as near the door as possible, the Laird quitted her hand,
and pressed upon a springf lock fixed in an oak panel in
the wainscoat, which instantly slipped aside. An iron
strong-box was discovered in a recess of the wall ; he
opened this also, and, pulling out two or three drawers,
showed that they were filled with leathern-bags, full of gold
and silver coin.

" This is my bank, Jeanie lass," he said, looking first at
her, and then at the treasure, with an air of great com-
placency— "nane o' your goldsmith's bills for me — they
bring folk to ruin."

Then suddenly changing his tone, he resolutely said —
"Jeanie, I will make ye Leddy Dumbiedikes afore the
sun sets, and ye may ride to Lunnon in your ain coach, if
ye like."

" Na, Laird," said Jeanie, "that can never be — my
father's grief — my sister's situation — the discredit to
you "

"That's wy business," said Dumbiedikes; "ye wad say
naething about that if ye werena a fule — and yet I like
ye the better for't — ae wise body's eneugh in the married
state. But if your heart's ower fu', take what siller will
serve ye, and let it be when you come back again — as gude
syne as sune."

" But, Laird," said Jeanie, who felt the necessity of being
explicit with so extraordinary a lover, " I like another man
better tlian you, and I canna marry ye."

"Another man better than me, Jeanie?" said Dumbie-
dikes— "how is that possible? — It's no possible, woman —
ye hae kend me sae lang. "

" Ay but, Laird," said Jeanie, with persevering simplicity,
" I hae kend him langer."

" Langer ? — It's no possible ! " exclaimed the poor Laird.
" It canna be ; ye were born on the land. Oh, Jeanie
woman, ye haena lookit — ye haena seen the half o' the
gear." He drew out another drawer — "A* gowd, Jeanie,
and there's bands for siller lent — And the rental book,
Jeanie — clear three hunder sterling — deil a wadset, heritable
band, or burden — Ye haena lookit at them, woman — And

284 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

then my mother's wardrobe, and my grandmother's forby —
silk gowns wad stand on their ends, pearlin-lace as fine
as spiders' webs, and rings and ear-rings to the boot of a'
that — they are a' In the ciiamber of deas — Oh, Jeanie, gang
up the stair and look at them ! "

But Jeanie held fast her integrity, though beset with
temptations, which perhaps the Laird of DumbiediUes did
not greatly err in supposing were those most affecting
to her sex.

" It canna be, Laird — I have said it — and 1 canna break
my word till him, if ye wad gie me the haill barony of
Dalkeith, and Lugton into the bargain."

" Your word to Am," said the Laird, somewhat pettishly ;
"but wha is he, Jeanie? — wha is he? — I haena heard
his name yet — Come now, Jeanie, ye are but queering us
— I am no trowing that there is sic a ane in the warld — ye
are but making fashion — What is he ? — wha is he ? "

"Just Reuben Butler, that's schulemaster at Liberton,"
said Jeanie.

"Reuben Butler! Reuben Butler !" echoed the Laird of
Dumbiedikes, pacing the apartment in high disdain —
" Reuben Butler, the dominie at Liberton — and a dominie
depute too I — Reuben, the son of my cottar ! — Very weel,
Jeanie lass, wilfu' woman will hae her way — Reuben
Butler ! he hasna in his pouch the value o' the auld black
coat he wears — but it disna signify." And, as he spoke, he
shut successively, and with vehemence, the drawers of his
treasury. "A fair offer, Jeanie, is . nae cause of feud — Ae
man may bring a horse to the water, but twenty wunna
gar him drink — And as for wasting my substance on other
folk's joes "

There was something in the last hint that nettled Jeanie's
honest pride. " I was begging nane frae your honour,"
she said ; "least of a' on sic a score as ye pit it on. — Gude
morning to ye, sir ; ye hae been kind to my father, and it
isna in my heart to think otherwise than kindly of you."

So saying, she left the room, without listening to a faint
" But, Jeanie — Jeanie — stay, woman ! " and traversing the
court-yard with a quick step, she set out on her forward
journey, her bosom glowing with that natural indignation
and shame, which an honest mind feels at having subjected
itself to ask a favour, which had been unexpectedly refused.
When out of the Laird's ground, and once niore upon the
public road, her pace slackened, her anger cooled, and

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 285

anxious anticipations of the consequence of this unexpected
disappointment began to influence her with other feeling^s.
Must she tlien actually beg lier way to London? for such
seemed the alternative ; or must she turn back, and solicit
her father for money ; and by doing so lose time, which
was precious, besides the risk of encountering his positive
prohibition respecting her journey ? Yet she saw no medium
between these alternatives ; and, while she walked slowly
on, was still meditating whether it were not better to return.

While she was thus in an uncertainty, she heard the
clatter of a horse's hoofs, and a well-known voice calling
her name. She looked round, and saw advancing towards
her on a pony, whose bare back and halter assorted ill with
the nightgown, slippers, and laced cocked-hat of the rider,
a cavalier of no less importance than Dumbiedikes himself.
In the energy of his pursuit, he had overcome even the
Highland obstinacy of Rory Bean, and compelled the self-
willed palfrey to canter the way his rider chose ; which Rory,
however, performed with all the symptoms of reluctance,
turning his head, and accompanying every bound he made
in advance with a sidelong motion, which indicated his
extreme wish to turn round — a manoeuvre which nothing
but the constant exercise of the Laird's heels and cudgel
could possibly have counteracted.

When the Laird came up with Jeanie, the first words he
uttered were — "Jeanie, they say ane shouldna aye take a
woman at her first word ? "

"Ay, but ye maun take n:e at mine. Laird," said Jeanie,
looking on the ground, and walking on without a pause.
" I hae but ae word to bestow on ony body, and that's aye
a true ane. "

"Then," said Dumbiedikes, "at least ye suldna aye take
a man at his first word. Ye maunna gang this wilfu' gate
sillerless, come o't what like." — He put a purse into her
hand. " I wad gie you Rory too, but he's as wilfu' as
yoursell and he's ower weel used to a gate that maybe he
and I hae gaen ower aften, and he'll gang nae roadelse."

"But, Laird," said Jeanie, " tliough Tken my father will
satisfy every penny of this siller, whatever there's o't, yet I
wadna like to borrow it frae ane that maybe thinlcs of
something mair than the paying o't back again."

"There's just twenty-five guineas o't," said Dumbiedikes,
with a gentle sigh, " and whether your father pays or disna
pay, I make ye free till't without another word. Gang

aSfe THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

where ye like— do what ye like — and marry a' the Butlers
in the country, gin ye like — And sae, gude morning to
you, Jeanie."

"And God bless you, Laird, wi' mony a gude morning,"
said Jeanie, her heart more softened by the unwonted
generosity of this uncouth character, than perhaps Butler
might have approved, had jie known her feelings at that
moment ; " and comfort, and the Lord's peace, and the peace
of the world, be with you, if we suld never meet again ! "

Dumbiedikes turned and waved his hand ; and his pony,
much more willing to return than he had been to set out,
hurried him homewards so fast, that, wanting the aid of a
regular bridle, as well as of saddle and stirrups, he was too
much puzzled to keep his seat to permit of his looking behind,
even to give the parting glance of a forlorn swain. I am
ashamed to say, that the sight of a lover, run away with in
nightgown and slippers and a laced hat, by a bare-backed
Highland pony, had something in it of a sedative, even to
a grateful and deserved burst of affectionate esteem. The
figure of Dumbiedikes was too ludicrous not to confirm
Jeanie in the original sentiments she entertained towards
him.

"He's a gude creature," said she, "and a kind — it's a
pity he has sae willyard a powny." And she immediately
turned her thoughts to the important journey which she
had commenced, reflecting with pleasure, that, according
to her habits of life and of undergoing fatigue, she was now
amply or even superfluously provided with the means of
encountering the expenses of the road, up and down from
London, and all other expenses whatever.

CHAPTER XXVH.

What strang-e and wayward thoughts will slido

Into a lover's head ;
" O mercy I " to myself I cried,

" If Lucy should be dead ! "

Wordsworth.

Im pursuing her solitary journey, our heroine, soon after
passing the house of Dumbiedikes, gained a little eminence,
from which, on looking to the eastward down a prattling
brook, whose meanders were shaded with straggling

THE HEART OF MlD-LOTHlANr 387

willows and alder trees, she could see the cottages of
Woodend and Beersheba, the haunts and habitation of her
early life, and could distinguish the common on which she
had often herded sheep, and the recesses of the rivulet where
she had pulled rushes with Butler, to plait crowns and
sceptres for her sister Effie, then a beautiful but spoilt child,
of about three years old. The recollections which the scene
brought with them were so bitter, that, had she indulged
them, she would have sat down and relieved her heart with
tears.

"But I kend," said Jeanie, when she gave an account
of her pilgrimage, "that greeting would do but little good,
and that it was niair beseeming to thank the Lord, that had
showed me kindness and countenance by means of a man,
that mony ca'd a Nabal and churl, but wha was free of his
gudes to me as ever the fountain was free of stream. And
I minded the Scripture about the sin of Israel at Meribah,
when the people murmured, adthough Moses had brought
water from the dry rock that the congregation might drink
and live. Sae, I wad not trust mysell with another look
at puir Woodend, for the very blue reek that came out of the
lum-head pat me in mind of the change of market days
with us."

In this resigned and Christian temper she pursued her
journey, until she was beyond this place of melancholy
recollections, and not distant from the village where Butler
dwelt, which, with its old-fashioned church and steeple,
rises among a tuft of trees, occupying the ridge of an
eminence to the south of Edinburgh. At a quarter of a
mile's distance is a clumsy square tower, the residence of
the Laird of Liberton, who, in former times, with the
habits of the predatory chivalrj' of Germany, is said fre-
quently to have annoyed the city of Edinburgh, by intercept-
ing the supplies and merchandise which came to the town
from the southward.

This village, its tower, and its church, did not lie precisely
in Jeanie's road towards England ; but they were not much
aside from it, and the village was the abode of Butler. She
had resolved to see him in the beginning of her journey,
because she conceived him the most proper person to write
to her father concerning her resolution and her hopes.
There was probably another reason latent in her affection-
ate bosom. She wished once more to see the object of so
early and so sincere an attachment, befor*; commencing a

iS8 "FhE heart of MID-LOTHIAN.

filgrimage, the perils of wliich she did not disguise from
erself, although she did not allow them so to press upon
her mind as to diminish the strength and energy of her
resolution. A visit to a lover from a young person in a
higher rank of life than Jeanie's, would have had something
forward and improper in its character. But the simplicity
of her rural habits was unacquainted with these punctilious
ideas of decorum, and no notion, therefore, of impropriety
crossed her imagination, as, setting out upon a long journey,
she went to bid adieu to an early Iriend. .^

There was still anotlicr motive that pressed upon her mind
with additional force as she approached the village. She
had looked anxiously for Butler in the Court-house, and had
expected that certainly, in some part of that eventful day,
he would have appeared to bring such countenance and
support as he could give to his old friend, and the protector
of his youth, even if her own claims were laid aside. She
knew, indeed, that he was under a certain degree of re-
straint ; but she still h.ad hoped that he would have found
rrtcans to emancipate himself from it, at least for one day.
In short, the wild and wayward thoughts which Wordsworth
had described as rising in an absent lover's imagination
suggested, as the only explanation of his absence, that
Butler must be very ill. And so much had this wrought on
her imagination, that when she approached the cottage in
which her lover occupied a small apartment, and which had
been pointed out to her by a maiden with a milk-pail on her
head, she trembled at anticipating the answer she might
receive on inquiring for him.

Her fears in this case had, indeed, only hit upon the
truth. Butler, whose constitution was naturally feeble,
did not soon recover the fatigue of body and distress of
mind which he had suffered, in consequence of the tragical
events with which our narrative commenced. The painful
idea that his character was breathed on by suspicion, was
an aggravation to his distress.

But the most cruel addition was the absolute prohibition
laid by the magistrates on his holding any communication
with Deans or his family. It had unfortunately appeared
likely to them, that some intercourse might be again
attempted with that family by Robertson, through the
medium of Butler, and this they were anxious to intercept,
or prevent, if possible. The measure was not meant as
a harsh or injurious severity on the part of the magistrates ;

THE HEART OF MlD-LOTHlAN. 289

but, in Butler's circumstances, it pressed cruelly hard.
He felt he must be suffering under the bad opinion of the
person who was dearest to him, from an imputation of
unkind desertion, the most alien to his nature.

This painful thought, pressing on a frame already
injured, brought on a succession of slow and lingering
feverish attacks, which greatly impaired his health, and
at length rendered him incapable even of the sedentary
duties of the school, on which his bread depended. For-
tunately, old Mr. Whackbairn, who was the principal
teacher of the little parochial establishment, was sincerely
attached to Butler. Besides that he was sensible of his
merits and value as an assistant, which had greatly raised
the credit of his little school, the ancient pedagogue, who
had himself been tolerably educated, retained some taste
for classical lore, and would gladly rela.K, after the drudgery
of the school was past, by conning over a few pages of
Horace or Juvenal with his u<;her. A similarity of taste
begot kindness, and he accordingly saw Butler's increasing
debility with great compassion, roused up his own energies
to teaching the school in the morning hours, insisted upon
his assistant's reposing himself at that period, and, besides,
supplied him with such comforts as the patient's situation
required, and his means were inadequate to compass.

Such was Butler's situation, scarce able to drag himself
to the place where his daily drudgery must gain his daily
bread, and racked with a thousand fearful anticipations
concerning the fate of those who were dearest to him in
the world, when the trial and condemnation of Effie Deans
put the copestone upon his mental misery.

He had a particular account of these events from a fellow-
student who resided in the same village, and who, having
been present on the melancholy occasion, was able to place
it in all its agony of horrors before his excruciated imagina-
tion. That sleep should have visited his eyes, after such
a curfew-ncte, was impossible. A thousand dreadful visions
haunted his imagination all night, and in the morning he
was awaked from a feverish slumber, by the only circum-
stance which could have added to his distress — the visit
of an intrusive ass.

This unwelcome visitant was no other than Bartoline
Saddletree. The worthy and sapient burgher had kept
his appointment at MacCroskie's, with Plumdamas and
some other neighbours, to discuss the Duke of Argyle's

ago THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

speech, the justice of Effie Deans' condemnation, and the
improbability of her obtaining a reprieve. This sage
conclave disputed high and drank deep, and on the next
morning Bartoline felt, as he expressed it, as if his head
was like a " confused progress of writs."

To bring its reflective powers to their usual serenity,
Saddletree resolved to take a morning's ride upon a
certain hackney, which he, Plumdamas, and another
honest shopkeeper, combined to maintain by joint sub-
scription, for occasional jaunts for the purpose of busi-
ness or exercise. As Saddletree had two children boarded
with Whackbairn, and was, as we have seen, rather
fond of Butler's society, he turned his palfrey's head
towards Liberton, and came, as we have already said,
to give the unfortunate usher that additional vexation, of
which Imogen complains so feelingly, when she says —

" I'm sprighted with a fool —
Sprighted and anger'd worse. "

If anything could have added gall to bitterness, it was
the choice which Saddletree made of a subject for his
prosing harangues, being the trial of Effie Deans, and the
probability of her being executed. Every word fell on
Butler's ear like the knell of a death-bell, or the note of
a screech-owl. Jeanie paused at the door of her lover's
humble abode upon hearing the loud and pompous tones
of Saddletree sounding from the inner apartment, "Credit
me, it will be sae, Mr. Butler. Brandy cannot save her.
She maun gang down the Bow wi' the lad in the pioted
coat * at her heels. — I am sorry for the lassie, but the law,
sir, maun hae its course —

" Vivat Rex,
Currat Lex,

as the poet has it, in whilk of Horace's odes I know not."

Here Butler groaned, in utter impatience of the brutality
and ignorance which Bartoline had conti'Ived to amalga-
mate mto one sentence. But Saddletree, like other prosers,
was blessed with a happy obtuseness of perception con-
cerning the unfavourable impression which he generally
made on his auditors. He proceeded to deal forth his

• The executioner, in n livery of black or dark eT.-iy .nnd silver, likened by low ]
wit to a magpie.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN: 29*

scraps of legal knowledge without mercy, and concluded
by asking Butler with great self-complacency, "Was it
na a pity my father didna send me to Utrecht? Havana
I missed the chance to turn out as clarissimus an ictus^
as auld Grunwiggin himsell ? — Whatfor dinna ye speak,
Mr. Butler? Wad I no hae been a clarissimtis ictus? —
Eh, man ? "

"I really do not understand you, Mr. Saddletree," said
Butler, thus pushed hard for an answer. His faint and
exhausted tone of voice was instantly drowned in the
sonorous bray of Bartoline.

"No understand me, man? — Ictus is Latin for a lawyer,
is it not? "

"Not that ever I heard of," answered Butler, in the
same dejected tone.

" The deil ye didna ! — See, man, I got the word but this
morning out of a memorial of Mr. Crossmyloof's — see,
there it is, ictus clarissivius et perti — peritissimus — it's a'
Latin, for it's printed in the Italian types."

"Oh, you mean juris-coTisultus — Ictus is an abbreviation
iot juris-consultus. "

" Dinna tell me, man," persevered Saddletree, " there's
nae abbreviates except in adjudications ; and this is a'
about a servitude of water-drap — that is to say, tiUicidian *
(maybe ye'll say that's no Latin neither), in Mary King's
Close in the High Street."

'' Very likely," said poor Butler, overwhelmed by the
noisy perseverance of his visitor. " I am not able to
dispute with you."

" Few folk are — few folk are, Mr. Butler, though I say
it, that shouldna say it," returned Bartoline, with great
delight " Now, it will be twa hours yet or ye're wanted
in the schule, and as ye are no weel, I'll sit wi' you to
divert ye, and explain t'ye the nature of a tiUicidian. Ye
maun ken, the petitioner, Mrs. Crombie, a verj' decent
woman, is a friend of mine, and I hae stude her friend
in this case, and brought her wi' credit into the court, and
I doubtna that in due time she will win out o't wi' credit,
win she or lose she. Ye see, being an inferior tenement
or laigh house, we grant ourselves to be burdened wi'
the tillicide, that is, tliat we are obligated to receive the
natural water-drap of the superior tenement, sae far as the
same fa's frae the heavens, or the roof of our neighbour's

• He meant, probably, itilUcidium.

29^^ THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

house, and from thence by the gutters or eaves upon our
laigh tenement. But the other night comes a Highland
quean of a lass, and she flaslies, God kens what, out at
the eastmost window of Mrs. MacPhail's house, that's
the superior tenement. I believe the auld women wad
hae greed, for Luckle MacPhaii sent down the lass to
tell my friend Mrs. Crombie that she had made the
gardyloo* out of the wrang window, from respect for twa
Highlandmen that were speaking Gaelic in the close
below the right ana. But luckily for Mrs. Crombie, I
just chanced to come In in time to break aff the com-
muning, for it's a pity the point suldna be tried. We had
Mrs. MacPliail Into the Ten-Mark Court — The Hieland
llmmer of a lass wanted to swear herself free — but haud
ye there, says 1 "

The detailed account of this Important suit might have
lasted until poor Butler's hour of rest was completely
exhausted, bad not Saddletree been interrupted by the
noise of volcos at the door. The woman of the house
where Butler lodged, on returning with her pitcher from
the well, whence she had been fetching water for the
family, found our heroine Jeanle Deans standing at the
door, impatient of the prolix harangue of Saddletree, yet
unwilling to enter until he should have taken his leave.

The good woman abridged the period of hesitation
by inquiring, "Was ye wanting the gudeman or me,
lass ? "

'• 1 wanted to speak with Mr. Butler, if he's at leisure,"
replied jeaiile.

"Gang in by then, my woman," answered the good-
wife ; and opening the door of a room, she announced the
additional visitor with, "Mr. Butler, here's a lass wants
to speak t'ye."

The surprise of Duller was extreme, when Jeanle, who
seldom stirred half a mile from home, entered his apart-
ment upon this annunciation.

"Good God!" he said, starting from his chair, while
alarm restored to his cheek the colour of which sick-
ness had deprived it ; "some new misfortune must have
happened I "

" None, Mr. Reuben, but what you must hae heard of —
but oh, ye are looking ill yoursell I " — for "the hectic of a
moment" had not concealed from her alTectionate eye the

* Corruption of French, Gai tiet df [ran.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIANT 293

ravages which lingering disease and anxiety of mind had
made in her lover's person.

"No: I am well — quite well," said Butler, with eager-
ness; "if I can do anything to assist you, Jeanie — or your
father."

"Ay, to be sure," said Saddletree; "the family maybe
considered as limited to them twa now, just as if Effie
had never been in the tailzie, puir thing. But, Jeanie lass,
what brings you out to Liberton sae air in the morning,
and your father lying ill in the Luckenbooths ? "

" I had a message frae my father to Mr. Butler," said
Jeanie, with embarrassment ; bv.t instantly feeling ashamed
of the fiction to which she had resorted, for her love of and
veneration for truth was almost quaker-like, she corrected
herself — "That is to say, 1 wanted to speak with Mr. Butler
about some business of my father's and puir Effie's."

" Is it law business ? " said Bartoline ; " because if it be,
ye had better take my opinion on the subject than his."

"It is not just law business," said Jeanie, who saw
considerable inconvenience might arise from letting Mr.
Saddletree into the secret purpose of her journey; "but
I want Mr. Butler to write a letter for me."

"Very right," said Mr. Saddletree; "and if ye'll tell me
what it is about, I'll dictate to Mr. Butler as Mr. Cross-
myloof does to his clerk. — Get your pen and ink in initialibttSy
Mr. Butler."

Jeanie looked at Butler, and wrung her hands with
vexation and impatience.

" I believe, Nlr. Saddletree," said Butler, who saw the
necessity of getting rid of him at all events, "that Mr.
•Whackbairn will be somewhat affronted, if you do not
hear your boys called up to their lessons."

" Indeed, Mr. Butler, and that's as true; and I promised
to ask a half play-day to the schule, so that the bairns
might gang and see the hanging, which canna but have
a pleasing eftect on their young minds, seeing there is no
knowing what they may come to themselves. — Odd so, I
didna mind ye were here, Jeanie Deans ; but ye maun use
yoursell to hear the matter spoken o'. — Keep Jeanie here till
I come back,*Mr. Butler ; I winna bide ten minutes."

And with this unwelcome assurance of an immediate
return, he relieved them of the embarrassment of his
presence.

"Reuben," said Jeanie, who saw tlie necessity of using

294 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

the interval of his absence in discussing what had brought
her there, " I am bound on a lang journey — I am gaun to
Lunnon to ask Effie's life of the king and of the queen."

"Jeaniel you are surely not yourself," answered Butler,
in the utmost surprise; "j'om go to hondon—j'oa address
the king and queen."

"And what for no, Reuben?" said Jeanie, with all the
composed simplicity of her character; "it's but speaking
to a mortal man and woman when a' is done. And their
hearts maun be made o' flesh and blood like other folk's,
and Effie's story would melt them were they stane. Forby,
I hae heard that they are no sic bad folk as what the
Jacobites ca' them."

"Yes, Jeanie," said Butler; "but their magnificence —
their retinue — the difficulty of getting audience? "

" 1 have thought of a' that, Reuben, and it shall not
break my spirit. Nae doubt their claiths will be very
grand, wi' their crowns on their heads, and their sceptres
in their hands, like the great King Ahasuerus when he
sat upon his royal throne foranent the gate of his house,
as we are told in Scripture. But I have that within me
that will keep my heart from failing, and I am amaist
sure that I will be strengthened to speak the errand I
came for. "

"Alas ! alas ! " said Butler, "the kings nowadays do not
sit in the gate to administer justice, as in patriarchal times.
1 know as little of courts as you do, Jeanie, by experience ;
but by reading and report I know, that the King of Britain
does everything by means of his ministers.^"

" And if they be upright. God-fearing ministers," said
Jeanie, " it's sae muckle the better chance for EflFie and me. 'J

" But you do not even understand the most ordinary
words relating to a court," said Butler; "by the ministry
is meant not clergymen, but the king's official servants."

"Nae doubt," returned Jeanie, "he maun hae a great
number mair, I daur to say, th.in the Duchess has at
Dalkeith, and great folk's servants are aye mair saucy
than themselves. But I'll be decently put on, and I'll
offer them a trifle o' siller, as if I came to see the palace.
Or, if they scruple that, I'll tell them I'rrt come on a
business of life and death, and then they will surely bring
me to speech of the king and queen ? "

Butler shook his head. " Oh, Jeanie, this is entirely a
wild dream. You can never see them but through sonte

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 295

great lord's intercession, and T think it is scarce possible
even then."

" Weel, but maybe I can get that too," said Jeanie, " with
a little helping from you."

" From me, Jeanie ! this is the wildest imagination of all."

"Ay, but it is not, Reuben. Havena I heard you say,
that your grandfather (that my father never likes to hear
about) did some gude langsyne to the forbear of this
MacCallummore, when he was Lord of Lorn ? "

"He did so," said Butler eagerly, "and I can prove it.
— I will write to the Duke of .^rgyle — report speaks him a
good kindly man, as he is known for a brave soldier and
true patriot — I will conjure him to stand between your
sister and this cruel fate. There is but a poor chance of
success, but we will try all means."

"We must try all means," replied Jeanie; " but writing
winna do it — a letter canna look, and pray, and beg, and
beseech, as the human voice can do to the human lieart A
letter's like the music that the ladies have for their spinets —
naething but black scores, compared to the same tune played
or sung. It's word of mouth maun do it, or naething,
Reuben."

"You are right," said Reuben, recollecting his firmness,
"and 1 will hope that Heaven has suggested to your kind
heart and firm courage the only possible means of saving
the life of this unfortunate fglrl. But, Jeanie, you must
not take this most perilous journey alone ; I have an
interest in you, and I will not agree tliat my Jeanie
throws herself away. You must even, in the present
circumstances, give me a husband's right to protect you,
and I will go with you myself on this journey, and assist
you to do your duty by your family."

"Alas, Reuben I" said Jeanie, in her turn, "this must
not be ; a pardon will not gie my sister her fair fame
again, or make me a bride fitting for an honest man and
an usefu' minister. Wha wad mind what he said in the
pu'pit, that had to wife the sister of a woman that was
condemned foPsic wickedness ! "

" But, Jeanie," pleaded her lover, " I do not believe, and
I cannot believe, that Eflfie has done this deed."

"Heaven bless you for saying sae, Reuben!" answered
Jeanie ; "but she maun bear the blame o't, after all."

"But that blame, were it even justly laid on her, does
not fall on you ? "

296 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

"Ah, Reuben, Reuben," replied the young woman, "ye
ken it is a blot that spreads to kith and kin. — Ichabod —
as my poor father says — tlie glory is departed from our
house ; for the poorest man's house has a glory, where
there are true hands, a divine heart, and an honest fame
— And the last has gane frae us a'."

"But, Jeanie, consider your word and plighted faith to
me ; and would ye undertake such a journey without a
man to protect you? — and who should that protector be
but your husband ? "

"You are kind and good, Reuben, and wad take me wi'
a' my shame, I doubtna. But ye canna but own that this
is no time to marry or be given in marriage. Na, if that
suld ever be, it maun be in another and a better season.
— And, dear Reuben, ye speak of protecting me on my
journey — Alas ! who will protect and take care of you ? —
your very limbs tremble with standing for ten minutes on
the floor; how could you undertake a journey as far as
Lunnon ? "

" But I am strong — I am well," continued Butler, sinking
in his seat totally exhausted, "at least I shall be quite well
to-morrow."

"Ye see, and ye ken, yc maun just let me depart," said
Jeanie, after a pause ; and then taking his extended hand,
and gazing kindly in his face, she added, " It's e'en a grief
the mair to me to see you In this way. But ye maun keep
up your heart for Jeanie's sake, for If she isna your wife,
she will never be the wife of living man. And now gie me
the paper for MacCallummore, and bid God speed me on
my way."

There was something of romance in Jeanie's venturous
resolution ; yet, on consideration, as it seemed impossible
to alter it by persuasion, or to give her assistance but by
advice, Butler, after some further debate, put into her liands
the paper she desired, which, with the muster-roll in which
it was folded up, were the sole memorials of the stout and
enthusiastic Bible Butler, his grandfather. While Butler
sought this document, Jeanie had time \fi take up his
pocket Bible. " I have marked a scripture," she said, as
she again laid it down, "with your kylevine pen, that will
be useful to us balth. And ye maun tak the trouble,
Reuben, to write a' this to my father, for, God help me,
I have neither head nor hand for lang letters at ony time,
foiby now ; and I trust him entirely to you, and I trust you

THE HEART OK MID-LOTHIAN. 297

will soon be permitted to see him. And Reuben, when ve
do win to the speech o' him, mind a' the auld man's bits
o' ways, for Jeanie's sake ; and dinna speak o' Latin or
English terms to him, for he's o' the auld warld, and
downa bide to be fashed wi' them, though I dare say he
may be wrang. And dinna ye say muckle to him, but set
him on speaking himsell, for he'll bring himsell mair
comfort that way. And oh, Reuben, the poor lassie in
yon dungeon ! — but I ncedna bid your kind heart — gie her
what comfort ye can as soon as they will let ye see her — tell
her — But I maunna speak mair about her, for I maunna
take leave o' ye wi' the tear in my ee, for that wadna be
canny. — God bless ye, Reuben ! "

To avoid so ill an omen she lefl the room hastily, while
her features yet retained the mournful and afTectionate smile
which she had compelled them to wear, in order to support
Butler's spirits.

It seemed as if the power of siglit, of speech, and of
reflection, had left him as she disappeared from the room,
which she had entered and retired from so like an appari-
tion. Saddletree, who entered immediately afterwards,
overwhelmed him with questions, which he answered
without understanding them, and with legal disquisitions,
which conveyed to him no iota of meaning. At length the
learned burgess recollected that there was a Baron Court to
be held at Loanhead that day, and though it was hardly
worth while, " he might as wecl go to see if there was
onything doing, as he was acquainted with the b.iron-
bailie, who was a decent man, and would be glad of a word
of legal advice."

As soon as he departed, Butler flrw to the Bible, the last
book which Jeanie had touched. To his extreme surprise,
a paper, containing two or three pieces of gold, dropped
from the book. With a black-lead pencil she had marked
the sixteenth and twenty-fifth verses of the thirty-seventh
Psalm — "A little that a righteous man hath, is better
than the riches of the wicked." — "I have been young and
am now old, yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor
his seed begging their bread."

Deeply impressed with the affectionate delicacy which
shrouded its own generosity under the cover of a provi-
dential supply to his wants, he pressed the gold to his lips
with more ardour than ever the metal was greeted with by
a miser. To emulate her devout firmness and confidence

398 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

seemed now the pitch of his ambitiun, and his first task
was to write an account to David Deans of his daughter's
resolution and journey southward. He studied every senti-
ment, and even every phrase, which he thought could
reconcile the old man to her extraordinary resolution.
The effect which this epistle produced will be hereafter
adverted to. Butler committed it to the charge of an
honest clown, who had frequent dealings with Deans in
the sale of his dairy produce, and who readily undertook a
journey to Edinburgh, to put the letter into his own hands.*

CHAPTER XXVni.

My native land, good night !

Lord Byron.

In the present day, a journey from Edinburgh to London
is a matter at once safe, brief, and simple, however inex-
perienced or unprotected the traveller. Numerous coaches
of different rates of charge, and as many packets, are
perpetually passing and repassing betwixt the capital of
Britain and her northern sister, so that the most timid or
indolent may execute such a journey upon a few hours'
notice. But it was different in 1737. So slight and
infrequent was then the intercourse betwixt London and
Edinburgh, that men still alive remember that upon one
occasion the mail from the former city arrived at the
General Post-Office in Scotland, with only one letter in
it.t The usual mode of travelling was by means of post-
horses, the traveller occupying one and his guide another,
in which manner, by relays of horses from stage to stage,
the journey might be accomplished in a wonderfully short
time by those who could endure fatigue. To have the bones
shaken to pieces by a constant change of those hacks was a
luxury for the rich — the poor were under the necessity of
using the mode of conveyance with which nature hud
provided them.

With a strong heart, and a frame patient of fatigue,
Jeanie Deans, travelling at the rate of twenty miles a-day,

• By dint of .nssiduous research I am enabled to certiorate the reader, that
the name of this person wa» Saunders Broadfoot, and that he dealt in the
w holcsome commodity called kirn-milk {Attg^h'cd, butter-milk). — ^J.C.

t The fact is certain. The Ringle epistle was addresseid to the principal
director of the British Linen Company. (S.)

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 299

and sometimes farther, traversed the soutliern part of
Scotland, and advanced as far as Durham.

Hitherto she had iaeen either among- her own countrj-folk,
or those to whom her bare feet and tartan screen were
objects too familiar to attract much attention. But as
she advanced, she perceived that both circumstances ex-
posed her to sarcasm and taunts, which she might other-
wise have escaped ; and although in her heart she thought
it unkind, and inhospitable, to sneer at a passing stranger
on account of the fashion of her attire, yet she had the good
sense to alter those parts of her dress which attracted ill-
natured observation. Her chequed screen was deposited
carefully in her bundle, and she conformed to the national
extravagance of wearing shoes and stockings for the whole
day. She confessed afterwards, that, "besides the wastrife,
it was lang or she could walk sae comfortably with the shoes
as without them ; but there was often a bit saft heather by
the roadside, and that helped her weel on." The want
of the screen, which was drawn over the head like a
veil, she supplied by a bon-grace, as she called it ; a
large straw bonnet, like those worn by the English
maidens when labouring In the fields. "But I thought
unco shame o' mysell," she said, "the first time I
put on a married woman's hon-grace, and me a single
maiden."

With these changes, she had little, as she said, to make
"her kenspeckle when she didna speak," but her accent
and language drew down on her so many jests and gibes,
couched in a worse patois by far than her own, that she
soon found it was her interest to talk as little and as
seldom as possible. She answered, therefore, civil saluta-
tions of chance passengers with a civil curtsey, and chose,
with anxious circumspection, such places of repose as
looked at once most decent and sequestered. She found
the common people of England, although inferior in
courtesy to strangers, such as was then practised in her
own more unfrequented country, yet, upon the whole, by
no means deficient in the real duties of hospitality. She
readily obtained food and shelter, and protection at a verj'
moderate rate, which sometimes the generosity of mine host
altogether declined, with a blunt apology — " Thee hast a
long way afore thee, lass ; and I'se ne'er take penny out o'
a single woman's purse ; it's tlie best friend thou can have
on the road. "

300 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

It often happened, too, that mine hostess was struck
with "the tidy, nice Scotch body," and procured her an
escort, or a cast in a wagon, for some part of the way,
or gave her useful advice, and recommendation respecting
her resting-places.

At York our pilgrim stopped for the best part of a day —
partly to recruit her strength — partly because she had the
good luck to obtain a lodging in an inn kept by a country-
woman— partly to indite two letters to her father and
Reuben Butler ; an operation of some little difficulty, her
habits being by no means those of literary composition.
That to her father was in the following words : —

" Dearest Father, — I make my present pilg^rimagfe more
heavy and burdensome, through tlie sad occasion to reflect that
it is witliout your knowledge, which, God knows, was lar con-
trary to my heart ; for Scripture says, that ' the vow of the
daughter should not be binding without the consent of the
iather,' wherein it may be I have been guilty to tak this wearie
journey without your consent. Nevertiieless, it was borne in
upon my mind that I should be an instrument to help my poor
sister in this extremity of needccssity, otherwise I wad not,
for wealth or for world's gear, or for the haill lands of
Da'keith and Lugton, have done the like o' this, without your
free will and knowledge. Oh, dear father, as ye wad desire a
blessing on my journey, and upon your household, speak a word
or write a line of comfort to yon poor prisoner. If she has
sinned, she has sorrowed and suiTered, and ye ken better than
me, that we maun forgie others, as we pray to be forgien. Dear
father, forgive my saying this muckle, for it doth not become a
young liead to instruct gray hairs ; but I am sae far frae ye,
that my heart yearns to ye a", and fain wad I hear that ye had
forgien her trespass, and sae I nae doubt say mair than may
become me. The folk here are civil, and, like the barbarians
unto the holy apostle, hac shown me much kindness; and there
are a sort of chosen people in the land, for they hae some kirks
without organs that are like ours, and are called meeling-houses,
where the minister preaches without a gown. But most of the
country are prelatists, whilk is awfu' to think ; and I saw twa
men that were ministers following hunds, as bauld as Roslin or
Driden, the young Laird of Loup-the-dike, or ony wild gallant
in Lothian. A sorrowfu' sight to behold ! Oh, dear father,
may a blessing be with your down-lying and up-rising, and
remember in your prayers your affectionate daughter to
command,

"Jean Deans."

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 301

i A postscript bore, —

"I learned from a decent woman, a grazier's widow, that
they hae a cure for the muir-ill * in Cumberland, whilk is ane
pint, as they ca't, of yill.t whilk is a dribble in comparison of
our g'awsie t Scots pint, and hardly a mutchkin, boii"d wi" sope
and hartsiiorn draps, and loomed down the creature's throat wi'
ane whom. Ye might trj' it on the bauson-faced § year-auld
quey ; an it does nae g'ude, it can do nae ill. — Slie was a kind
woman, and seemed skeely about horned beasts. When I re.ich
Lunnon, I intend to ga.ng to our cousin. Mistress Glass, the
tobacconist, at the sign o' the Tiiistle, wha is so ceevil as to
send you down your spleuchan-fu" y ance a )'ear ; and as she
must be weel kend in Lunnon, I doubt not easily to find out
where she lives."

Being seduced into betraying our heroine's confidence
thus far, we will stretch our communication a step beyond,
and impart to the reader her letter to lier lover.

" Mr. Reuben Butler, — Hoping- this will find you better, this
comes to say, that I have reached this great town safe, and am
not wearied with walking, but the better for it. And I have
seen many things which I trust to tell you one day. also the
muckle kirk of this place ; an<l all around the city are mills,
whilk havena muckle-wheels nor mill-dams, but gang b}' the
•wind — strange to behold. Ane miller asked me to gang in and
see it work, but I wad not, for I am not come to the south to
make acquaintance with strangers. I Ucep the straight road,
and just beck if onybody spe>iks to me ceevilly, and answers
naebody with the long but women of mine ain sect. I wish. Mr.
Butler, I kend onything that wad mak ye weel, for they hae
raair medicines in this to«n of York than wad cure a' Scotland,
and surely some of them wad be gude for your complaints. If
ye had a kindly motherly body to nurse ye, and no to let ye
waste yoursel' wi' reading — whilk ye read mair than eneuch
with the bairns in the schule — and to gie }-e warm milk in the
morning, 1 wad be mair easy for ye. Dear Mr. Butler, keep
a good heart, for we are in the hands of Ane that kens belter
what is gude for us than we ken what is for oursel's. 1 hae nae
doubt to do that for which I am come — I canna doubt it — I
winna think to doubt it — because, if I haena full assurance, how
shall I bear myself with earnest entreaties in the great Iblk's
presence? But to ken that ane's purpose is right, and to make
their heart strong, is the way to get through the warst day's

• A form of cattle disease. t Ale. J Jolly.

{ Having a white spot on forehead. | Tobacco po\ich.

302 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

darg.* The bairns' rime says, the warst blast of the borrowing
dayst couldna kill the three silly poor hog-lambs. And if it be
God's pleasure, we that are sindered in sorrow may meet again
in joy, even on this hither side of Jordan. I dinna bid ye mind
what I said at our partin' anent fmy poor father and that mis-
fortunate lassie, for I ken you will do sae for the sake of
Christian charity, whilk is mair than the entreaties of her that
is your servant to command, Jeanie Deans."

This letter also had a postscript

"Dear Reuben,— If ye think that it wad hae been right for
me to have said mair and kinder things to ye, just think that I
hae written sae, since I am sure that I wish a' that is kind and
right to ye and by ye. Ye will think I am turned waster, for I
wear clean hose and shoon every day ; but it's the fashion here
for decent bodies, and ilka land has its ain land-law. Ower and
aboon a', if laughing days were e'er to come back again till us,
ye wad laugh weel to see my round face at the far end of a
strae bon-grace, that looks as muckle and round as the mlddell
aisle in Libberton Kirk. But it sheds the sun weel aff, and
keeps uncivil folk frae staring as if ane were a worrycow, I
sail tell ye by writ how I come on wi' the Duke of Argyle, when
I won up to Lunnon. Direct a line, to say how ye are, to me,
to the charg-e of Mrs. Margaret Glass, tobacconist, at the sign
of the Thistle, Lunnon, whilk, if it assures me of your health,
will make my mind sae muckle easier. Excuse bad spelling and
writing, as I have ane ill pen."

The orthography of these epistles may seem to the
southron to require a better apology than the letter expresses,
though a bad pen was the excuse of a certain Galwegian
laird for bad spelling ; but, on behalf of the heroine, 1
would have them to know, that, thanks to the care of
Butler, Jeanie Deans wrote and spelled fifty times better
than half the women of lank in Scotland at that period,
whose strange orthography and singular diction form the
strongest contrast to the good sense which their corre-
spondence usually intimates.

For the rest, in the tenor of these epistles, Jeanie ex-
pressed, perhaps, more hopes, a firmer courage, and better
spirits, than she actually felt. But this was with the

• Work.

\ The three List days of March, old style, are called the Borrowing Days ;
for as they are remarked to be unusually stormy, it is feigned that March had
borrowed them from April, to extend the sphere of his rougher sway. The
rhyme on the subject is quoted in Leydcn s edition of the " Complaynt of
Scotland.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 303

amiable idea of relieving her father and lover from appre-
hensions on her account, which she was sensible must
greatly add to their other troubles. •' If they think me
weel, and like to do weal," said the poor pilgrim to herself,
" my father will be kinder to Effie, and Butler will be kinder
to himself. For I ken weel that they will think mair o' me
than I do o' mysell."

Accordingly, she sealed her letters carefully, and put
them into the post-office with her own hand, after many
inquiries concerning the time in which they were likely
to reach Edinburgh. When this duty was performed, she
readily accepted her landlady's pressing invitation to dine'
with her, and remain till the next morning. The hostess,
as we have said, was her countrywoman, and the eagerness
with which Scottish people meet, communicate, and, to
the extent of their power, assist each other, although it is
often objected to us as a prejudice and narrowness of
sentiment, seems, on the contrary, to arise from a most
justifiable and honourable feeling of patriotism, combined
with a conviction, which, if undeserved, would long since
have been confuted by experience, that the habits and
principles of the nation are a sort of guarantee for the
character of the individual. At any rate, if the extensive
influence of this national partialitjf be considered as an
additional tie, binding man to man, and calling forth the
good offices of such as can render them to the countryman
who happens to need them, we think it must be found to
exceed, as an active and efficient motive to generosity, that
more impartial and wider principle of general benevolence,
which we have sometimes seen pleaded as an excuse for
assisting no individual whatever.

Mrs. Bickerton, lady of the ascendant of the Seven
Stars, in the Castle-gate, York, was deeply infected with
the unfortunate prejudices of her country. Indeed, she
displayed so much kindness to Jeanie Deans (because
she herself, being a Merse woman, marched* with Mid-
Lothian, in which Jeanie was born), showed such motherly
regard to her, and such anxiety for her farther progress,
that Jeanie thought herself safe, though by temper suf-
ficiently cautious, in communicating her whole story to her.

Mrs. Bickerton raised her hands and eyes at the recital,
and exhibited much wonder and pity. But she also gave
some effectual good advice.

* A4Joined.

304 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

She required to know the strength of Jeanie's purse,
reduced by her deposit at Liberton, and the necessary
expense oi her journey, to about fifteen pounds. "This,"
she said, "would do very well, providing she could carry
it a' safe to London."

"Safe?" answered Jeanie ; " I'se warrant my carrying
it safe, bating the needful expenses."

"Ay, but highwaymen, lassie," said Mrs. Bickerton ;
"for ye are come into a more civilised, that is to say, a
more roguish country than the north, and how ye are to
get forward, I do not profess to know. If ye could wait
here eight days, our wagons would go up, and I would
recommend you to Joe Broadwheel, who would see you
safe to the Swan and two Necks. And dinna sneeze at
Joe, if he should be for drawing up wi' you " (continued
Mrs. Bickerton, her acquired English mingling with her
national or original dialect), "he's a handy boy, and a
wanter, and no lad better thought o' on ilie road ; and
the English make good husbands enough, witness my poor
man, Moses Bickerton, as is i' the kirkyard."

Jeanie hastened to say, that she could not possibly wait
for the setting forth of Joe Broadwheel ; being internally by
no means gratified with the idea of becoming the object of
his attention during the journey.

"Aweel, lass," answered the good landlady, "then thou
must pickle in thine ain poke-nook,* and buckle thy girdle
thine ain gate. But take my advice, and hide thy gold in
thy stays, and keep a piece or two and some silver, in case
thou be'st spoke withal ; for there's as wud lads haunt
within a day's walk from hence, as on the Braes of Doun
in Perthshire. And, lass, thou maunna gang staring
through Lunnon, asking wha kens .Mrs. Glass at the sign
o' the Thistle ; marry, they would laugh thee to scorn. But
gang thou to this honest man," and she put a direction into
Jeanie's hand, "he kens maist part of the sponsible Scottish
folk in the city, and he will find out your friend for thee."

Jeanie took the little introductory letter with sincere
tlianks ; but, something alarmed on the subject of the
higluvay robbers, her mmd recurred to what Ratcliffe had
mentioned to hor, and brietly relating the circumstances
which placed a document so extraordinary in her hands, she
put the paper he had given her into the hand of Mrs.
Bickerton.

* Depend on your own exertion*.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 305

The Lady of the Seven Stars did not, indeed, ring a bell,
because such was not the fashion of the time, but she
whistled on a silver-call, which was hung by her side, and
a tight serving-maiden entered the room.

*• Tell Dick Ostler to come here," said Mrs. Bickerton.

Dick Ostler accordingly made his appearance ; — a queer,
knowing, shambling animal, with a hatchet-face, a squint,
a game-arm, and a limp.

" Dick Ostler," said Mrs. Bickerton, in a tone of authority
that showed she was (at least by adoption) Yorkshire too,
"thou knowest most people and most things o' the road."

" Eye, eye, God help me, mistress," said Dick, shrugging
his shoulders betwixt a repentant and a knowing e.^pression
— " Eye ! 1 ha' know'd a thing or twa i' ma day, mistress."
He looked sharp and laughed — looked grave and sighed,
as one who was prepared to take the matter either way.

" Kenst thou this wee bit paper amang the rest, man ? "
said Mrs. Bickerton, iianding him the protection which
Ratcliffe had given Jeanie Deans.

When Dick had looked at the paper, he winked with one
eye, extended his grotesque mouth from ear to ear, like a
navigable canal, scratched his head powerfully, and then
said, " Ken? — ay — maybe we ken summat, an it werena for
harm to him, mistress."

'• None in the world," said Mrs. Bickerton ; "only a dram
of Hollands to thyself, man, an thou will't speak."

"Why, then," said Dick, giving the head-band of his
breeches a knowing hoist with one hand, and kicking out
one foot behind him to accommodate the adjustment of that
important habiliment, " I dares to say the pass will be kend
weel eneugh on the road, an that be all."

" But what sort of a lad was he?" said Mrs. Bickerton,
winking to Jeanie, as proud of her knowing Ostler.

" Why, what ken I ? — Jim the Rat — why he was Cock o'
the North within this twelmonih — he and Scotch Wilson,
Handle Dandle, as they called him — but he's been out o'
tliis country a while, as I rackon ; but ony gentleman, as
keeps the road o' this side Stamford, will respect Jim's
pass."

Without asking further questions, the landlady filled Dick
Ostler a bumper of Hollands. He ducked with his head
and shoulders, scraped with his more advanced hoof, bolted
the alcohol, to use the learned phrase, and withdrew to his
own domains.

3o6 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

" I would advise thee, Jeanie," said Mrs. Bickerton,
"an Ihou niectest with ugly customers o' the road, to
show them this bit paper, tor it will serve thee, assure
thyself."

A neat little supper concluded the evening. The exported
Scotswoman, Mrs. Bickerton by name, ate heartily of one
or two seasoned dishes, drank some sound old ale, and a
glass of stiff negus ; while she gave Jeanie a history of her
gout, admiring how it was possible that she, whose fathers
and mothers for many generations had been farmers in
Lammermuir, could have come by a disorder so totally
unknown to them. Jeanie did not choose to offend her
friendly landlady, by speaking her mind on the probable
origin of this complaint ; but she thought on the flesh-pots
of Egypt, and, in spite of all entreaties to better fare, made
her evening meal upon vegetables, with a glass of fair water.

Mrs. Bickerton assured her, that the acceptance of any
reckoning was entirely out of the question, furnished her
with credentials to her correspondent in London, and to
several inns upon the road where she had some influence
or interest, reminded her of the precautions she should
adopt for concealing her money, and as she was to depart
early in the morning, took leave of her very affectionately,
taking her word that she would visit her on her return to
Scotland, and tell her how she had managed, and that
summum bontivi for a gossip, "all how and about it."
This Jeanie faithfully promised.

CHAPTER XXIX.

And Need and Misery, Vice and Danger, bind,
In sad alliance, each degraded mind.

As our traveller set out early on the ensuing morning to
prosecute her journey, and was in the act of leaving the
inn-yard, Dick Ostler, who either had risen early or
neglected to go to bed, either circumstance being equally
incident to his calling, hollowed out after her — "The top
of the morning to you, Moggie ! Have a care o' Gunnerby
Hill, young one. Robin Hood's dead and gwone, but
there be takers yet in the vale of Bever." Jeanie looked at
him as if to request a further explanation, but, with a leer,
a shuffle, and a shrug, inimitable (unless by Emery), Dick

THE HEART OF MlD-LOTHlAN. 307

turned again to the raw-boned steed which he was currying,
find sung as he employed the comb and brush —

" Robin Hood was a yeoman good,
And his bow was of trusty yew ;
And if Robin said stand on the King's lea-land.
Pray, why should not we say so too ? "

Jeanle pursued her journey without further inquiry, for
there was nothing in Dick's manner that inclined her to
prolong their conference. A painful day's journey brought
her to Ferrybridge, the best inn, then and since, upon the
great northern road ; and an introduction from Mrs.
Bickerton, added to her own simple and quiet manners, so
propitiated the landlady of the Swan in her favour, tliat the
good dame procured her the convenient accommodation of
a pillion and post-horse then returning to Tuxford, so that
she accomplished, upon the second day after leaving York,
the longest journey she had yet made. She was a good deal
fatigued by a mode of travelling to which she was less
accustomed than to walking, and it was considerably later
than usual on the ensuing morning tliat she felt herself
able to resume her pilgrimage. At noon the hundred-armed
Trent, and the blackened ruins of Newark Castle, demolished
in the great civil war, lay before her. It may easily be
supposed, that Jeanie had no curiosity to make antiquarian
researches, but, entering the town, went straight to the inn
to which she had been directed at Ferrybridge. While she
procured some refreshment, she observed the girl who
brought it to her, looked at her several times with fixed
and peculiar interest, and at last, to her infinite surprise,
inquired if her name was not Deans, and if she was not
a Scotchwoman, going to London upon justice business.
Jeanie, with all her simplicity of character, had some of
the caution of her country, and, according to Scottish
universal custom, she answered the question by another,
requesting the girl would tell her why she asked these
questions ?

The Maritomes of the Saracen's Head, Newark, replied,
*'Two women had passed that morning, who had made
inquiries after one Jeanie Deans, travelling to London on
such an errand, and could scarce be persuaded that she had
not passed on."

Much surprised and somewhat alarmed (for what is

3o8 THE HEART OF MH)-LOTHlAN.

inexplicable is usually alarming), Jeanie questioned the
wench about the particular appearance of these two women,
but could only learn that the one was aged and the other
young ; that the latter was the taller, and that the former
spoke most, and seemed to maintain an auwiority over
her companion, and that both spoke with the Scottish
accent.

This conveyed no information whatever, and with an
indescribable presentiment of evil designed towards her,
Jeanie adopted the resolution of taking post-horses for the
next stage. In this, however, she could not be gratified ;
some accidental circumstances had occasioned what is called
a run upon the road, and the landlord could not accommodate
her with a guide and horses. After waiting some time, in
hopes that a pair of horses that had gone southward would
return in time for her use, she at length, feeling ashamed
of her own pusillanimity, resolved to prosecute her journey
in her usual manner.

" It was all plain road," she was assured, " except a high
mountain, called Gunnerby Hill, about three miles from
Grantham, which was her stage for the night."

" I'm glad to hear there's a hill," said Jeanie, " for baith
my sight and my very feet are weary o' sic tracts o' level
ground — it looks a' the way between this and York as if
a' the land had been trenched and levelled, whilk is very
wearisome to my Scotch een. When I lost sight of a
muckle blue hill they ca' Ingleboro', I thought I hadna a
friend left in this strange land."

"As for the matter of that, young woman," said mine
host, "and you be so fond o' hill, I carena an thou couldst
carry Gunnerby away with thee in thy lap, for it's a
murder to post-horses. But here's to thy journey, and
mayst thou win well through it, for thou is a bold and a
canny lass."

So saying, he took a powerful pull at a solemn tankard
of home-brewed ale.

"I hope there is nae bad company on the road, sir?"
said Jeanie.

"Why, when its clean without them I'll thatch Groby
pool wi' pancakes. But there arena sae mony now ; and
since they hae lost Jim the Rat, they hold together no
better than the men of Marsham when they lost their
common. Take a drop ere thou goest," he concluded,
offei-ing her the tankard ; " thou wilt get naething at

THE HEART OF MID-LOTH IAN. 309

nigiit save Grantham gruel, nine grots and a gallon of
water." .

Jeanie courteously declined the tankard, and inquired
what was her "lawing?"

"Thy lawing? Heaven help thee, wench! what ca'st
thou that ? "

" It is — I was wanting to ken what was to pay," replied
Jeanie.

"Pay? Lord help thee! — why nought, woman — we hae
drawn no liquor but a gill o' beer, and the Saracen's Head
can spare a mouthful o' meat to a stranger like o' thee,
that cannot speak Christian language. So here's to thee
once more. The same again, quoth Mark of Bellgrave,"
and he took another profound pull at the tankard.

The travellers who have visited Newark more lately,
will not fail to remember the remarkably civil and
gentlemanly manners of the person who now keeps the
principal inn there, and may find some amusement in
contrasting them with those of his more rough predecessor.
But we believe it will be found that the polish has worn
oft" none of the real worth of the metal.

Taking leave of her Lincolnshire Gaius, Jeanie resumed
her solitary walk, and was somewhat alarmed when
evening and twilight overtook her in the open ground
which extends to the foot of Gunnerby Hill, and is in-
tersected with patches of copse and with swampy spots.
The extensive commons on the north road, most of which
are now enclosed, and in general a relaxed state of police,
exposed the traveller to a Iiigliway robbery in a degree
which is now unknown, except in the immediate vicinity
of the metropolis. Aware of this circumstance, Jeanie
mended her pace when she heard the trampling of a
horse behind, and instinctively drew to one side of the
road, as if to allow as much room for the rider to pass as
might be possible. When the animal came up, she found
that it was bearing two women, the one placed on a
side-saddle, the other on a pillion behind her, as may
still occasionally be seen in England.

"A braw gude night to ye, Jeanie Deans," said the fore-
most female, as the horse passed our heroine. "What
think ye o' yon bonnie hill yonder, lifting its brow to the
moon ? Trow ye yon's the gate to heaven, that ye are sae
fain of? — maybe we may win there the night vet, God sain
us, though our minny here's rather driegh in the upgang."

3IO THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

The speaker kept changing her seat in the saddle, and
half-stopping the horse, as she broiii^^ht her body round,
while the woman that sat behind her on the pillion
seemed to urge her on, in words which Jeanie heard but
imperfectly.

" Haud your tongue, ye moon-raised b ! what is

your business with , or with heaven or hell either ? "

"Troth, mither, no muckle wi' heaven, I doubt, con-
sidering wha I carry ahint me — and as for hell, it will
fight its ain battle at its ain time, I'se be bound. — Come,
naggie, trot awa, man, an as thou wert a broomstick, for
a witch rides thee —

" With my curtch on my foot, and my shoe on my hand,
I glance like the wildfire through brugh and through land."

The tramp of the horse, and the increasing distance,
drowned the rest of her song, but Jeanie heard for some
time the inarticulate sounds nng along the waste.

Our pilgrim remained stupefied with undefined appre-
hensions. The being named by her name in so wild a
manner, and in a strange country, without further ex-
planation or communing, by a person who thus strangely
flitted forward and disappeared before her, came near to
the supernatural sounds in Comus —

The airy tongues, which syllable men's names
On sands, and shores, and desert wildernesses.

And although widely different in features, deportment,
and rank, from the Lady of that enchanting masque, the
continuation of the passage may be happily applied to
Jeanie Deans upon this singular alarm —

These thoughts may startle well, but not astound
The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended
By a strong siding champion — Conscience.

In fact, it was, with the recollection of the affectionate
and dutiful errand on which she was engaged, her right,
if such a word could be applicable, to expect protection
in a task so meritorious. She had not advanced much
farther, with a mind calmed by these reflections, when
she was disturbed by a new and more instant subject of

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 311

terror. Two men, who had been lurking uniong »ome
copse, started up as she advanced, and met her on the
road In a menacing manner. "Stand and deliver," said
one of them, a short, stout fellow, in a smock-frock, such
as are worn by wagoners,

"The won^n," said the other, a tall, thin figure, "does
not understand the words of action. — Your money, my
precious, or your life ! "

"I have but ver>' little money, gentlemen," said poor
Jeanie, tendering that portion which she had separated
from her principal stock, and kept apart for such an
emergency; "but If you are resolved to have it, to be
sure you must have it. '

"This won't do, my girl. D — n me, if It shall pass!"
said the shorter ruffian; "do ye think gentlemen are to
hazard their lives on the road to be cheated in this way?
We'll have everj- farthing you have got, or we will strip
you to the skin, curse me."

His companion, who seemed to have something like
compassion for the horror which Jeanie's countenance
now expressed, said, "No, no, Tom, this is one of the
precious sisters, and we'll take her word, for once,
without putting her to the stripping proof. — Hark ye,
mv lass, if you look up to heaven, and say, this is the
last penny you have about ye, why, hang it, we'll let
you pass."

"1 am not free," answered Jeanie, "to say what I have
about me, gentlemen, for there's life and death depends
on my journey ; but if you leave me as much as finds me
in bread and water, I'll be satisfied, and thank you, and
pray for you."

"D — n your prayers!" said the shorter fellow, "that's
a coin that won't pass with us ; " and at the same time
made a motion to seize her.

" Stay, gentlemen," RatclIfFe's pass suddenly occurring
to her ; " perhaps you know this paper."

"What the devil is she after now, Frank?" said the
more savage ruffian — " Do you look at it, for, d — n me
if I could read it if it were for the benefit of my clergy."

"This is a jark from Jim Ratcliffe," said the taller,
having looked at the bit of paper. "The wench must
pass by our cutter's law."

" I say no," answered his companion ; " Rat has left tlie
lay, and turned bloodhound, they say.*'

313 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

"We may need a good turn from him all the same,"
said the taller ruffian again.

" But what are we to do then ? " said the shorter man. —
"We promised, you know, to strip the wench, and send
her begging back to her own beggarly country, and now
you are for letting her go on."

" I did not say that," said the other fellow, and
whispered to his companion, who replied, " Be alive
about it then, and don't keep chattering till some travellers
come up to nab us."

"You must follow us off the road, young woman," said
the taller.

"For the love of God!" exclaimed Jeanie, "as you
were born of women, dinna ask me to leave the road !
rather take all I have in the world."

"What the devil is the wench afraid of?" said the
other fellow. " I tell you you shall come to no harm ;
but if you will not leave the road and come with us, d — n
me, but I'll beat your brains out where jou stand."

"Thou art a rough bear, Tom," said his companion. —
"An ye touch her, I'll give ye a shake by the collar shall
make the Leicester beans rattle in thy guts.— Never mind
him, girl ; I will not allow him to lay a finger on you, if
you walk quietly on with us ; but if you keep jabbering
there, d — n me, but I'll leave him to settle it with you." ^

This threat conveyed all that is terrible to the imagina-
tion of poor Jeanie, who saw in him that "was of milder
mood " her only protection from the most brutal treatment.
She, therefore, not only followed him, but even held him by
the sleeve, lest he should escape from her ; and the fellow,
hardened as he was, seemed something touched by these
marks of confidence, and repeatedly assured her, that he
would suffer her to receive no harm.

They conducted their prisoner in a direction leading
more and more from the public road, but she observed
that they kept a sort of track or by-path, which relieved
her from part of her apprehensions, which would have
been greatly increased had they not seemed to follow
a determined and ascertained route. After about half
an hour's walking, all three in profound silence, (hey
approached an old barn, which stood on the edge of some
cultivated ground, but remote from everything like a
habitation. It was itself, however, tenanted, for there
was light in the windows.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 313

One of the footpads scratched at the door, which was
opened by a female, and they entered with their unhappy
prisoner. An old woman, who was preparing food by the
assistance of a stitiing fire of lighted clmrcoal, asked them,
in the name of the devil, what they brought the wench
there for, and why they did not strip her and turn her
abroad on the common ?

"Come, come, Motiier Blood," said the tall man, "we'll
do what's right to oblige you, and we'll do no more ; we
are bad enough, but not such as you would make us—
devils incarnate."

"She has got a. j'ark horn Jim Ratcliffe," said the short
fellow, "and Frank here won't hear of our putting her
through the mill."

" No, that will I not, by G — d ! " answered Frank ; " but
if old Mother Blood could keep her here for a little while, or
send her back to Scotland, without hurting her, why, 1 see
no harm in lliat — not 1."

"I'll tell you what, Frank Levitt," said the old woman,
"if you call' me Mother Blood again, I'll paint this gully"
(and she held a knife up as if about to make good her
threat) " in the best blood in your body, my bonny boy."

"The price of ointment must be up in ihe north,"
said Frank, "that puts Mother Blood so much out of
humour."

Without a moment's hesitation, the fury darted her knife
at him with the vengeful dexterity of a wild Indian. As
he was on his guard, he avoided the missile by a sudden
motion of his head, but it whistled past his ear, and stuck
deep in the clay wall of a partition behind.

"Come, come, mother," said the robber, seizing her by
both wrists, "I shall teach you who's master;" and so
saying, he forced the hag backwards by main force, who
strove vehemently until she sunk on a bunch of straw,
and then letting go her hands, he held up his finger
towards her in the menacing posture by which a maniac
is intimidated by his keeper. It appeared to produce the
desired effect ; for she did not attempt to rise from the
seat on which he had placed her, or to resume any
measures of actual violence, but wrung her withered
hands with impotent rage, and brayed and howled like
a demoniac.

" I will keep my promise with you, you old devil," said
Fiank; "the wench shall not go forward on the London

314 THR HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

road, but 1 will not have you touch a hair of her liead, if
it were but for your insolence."

This intimation seemed to compose in some degree the
vehement passion of the old hag ; and while her exclama-
tions and howls sunk into a low, maundering, growling
tone of voice, another personage was added to this singular
part}'.

"Eh, Frank Levitt," said this new-comer, who entered
with a hop, step, and jump, which at once conveyed her
from the door into the centre of the party, "were ye killing
our mother? or were ye cutting the grunter's weasand that
Tam brought in this morning? or have ye been reading
your prayers backward, to bring up my auld acquaintance
the deil amang ye ? "

The tone of the speaker was so particular, that Jeanie
immediately recognised the woman who had rode fore-
most of the pair which passed her just before she met
the robbers ; a circumstance which greatly increased her
terror, as it served to show that the mischief designed
against her was premeditated, though by whom, or for
what cause, she was totally at a loss to conjecture. From
the style of her conversation, the reader also may probably
acknowledge in this female an old acquaintance in the
earlier part of our narrative.

" Out, ye mad devil ! " said Tom, whom she had disturbed
in the middle of a draught of some liquor with which he
had found means of accommodating himself; "betwixt
your Bess of Bedlam pranks, and your dam's frenzies, a
man might live quieter in the devil's ken than here." —
And he again resumed the broken iug out of which he
had been drinking.

"And wha's this o't?" said the madwoman, dancing
up to Jeanie Deans, who, although in great terror, yet
watched the scene with a resolution to let nothing pass
unnoticed which might be serviceable in assisting her to
escape, or informing her as to the true nature of her
situation, and the danger attending it, — "Wha's this
o't?" again exclaimed Madge Wildfire. "Douce Davie
Deans, the auld doited whig body's daughter, in a gipsy's
barn, and the night setting in ; this is a sight for sair
een ! — Eh, sirs, the falling off o' the godly ! — and the
t'other sister's in the Tdb )oth at Edinburgh! I am very
sorry for her, for my share — it's my mother wusses ill to
her, and no me — though maybe I hae as muckle cause."

Xllii HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 315

"Hark ye, Madge," said Uie taller ruffian, "you have
not such a touch of the devil's blood as the hag your
inothcr, who may be his dam for what I know — take this
young woman to your kennel, and do not let the devil
enfer, though he should ask in God's name."

"Ou ay; that 1 will, Frank," said Madge, taking hold
of Jcanie by the arm, and pulling her along; "for it's no
for decent thnstian young leddies, like her and me, to be
keeping the like o' you and Tyburn Tam company at this
time o' night. Sae gude e'en t'ye, sirs, and mony o' them ;
and may ye a' sleep till the hangman wauken ye, and then
it will be weel for the country."

She then, as her wild fancy seemed suddenly to prompt
her, walked demurely towards her mother, who, seated
by the charcoal fire, witli the reflection of the red light
on her withered and distorted features marked by every
evil passion, seemed the very picture of Hecate at her
infernal rites ; and suddenly dropping on her knees, said,
with the manner of a six years' old child, " Mamniie, hear
me say my prayers before I go to bed, and say God bless
my bonny face, as ye used to do lang syne."

"The deil flay the hide o' it to sole his brogues wi'!"
said the old lady, aiming a buffet at the supplicant, in
answer to her duteous request.

The blow missed Madge, who, being probably acquainted
by experience with tlie mode in which her mother was
wont to confer her maternal benedictions, slipped out of
arm's length with great dexterity and quickness. The
hag then started up, and, seizing a pair of old fire-tongs,
would have amended her motion, by beating out the
brains either of her daughter or Jeanie (she did not seem
greatly to cure which), when her hand was once more
arrested by the man whom they called Frank Levitt, who,
seizing her by the shoulder, flung her from him with
great violence, exclaiming, " What, Mother Damnable —
again, and in my sovereign presence? — Hark ye, Madge
of Bedlam, get to your hole with your playfellow, or we
shall have the devil to pay here, and nothing to pay him
u-ith."

Madge took Levitt's advice, retreating as fast as she
could, and dragging Jeanie along with her into a sort of
lecess, partitioned off from the rest of the barn and filled
with straw, from which it appeared that it was intended
for the purjwse of slumber. The moonlight shone, through

3i6 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAW.

an open hole, upon a pillion, a pack-saddle, and one or
two wallets, the travelling furniture of Madge and her
amiable mother. — " Now, saw ye e'er in your life," said
Madge, "sae dainty a chamber of deas? see as the moon
shines down sae caller on the fresh strae ! There's no a
pleasanter cell in Bedlam, for as braw a place as it is on
the outside. — Were ye ever in Bedlam ? "

"No," answered Jeanie faintly, appalled by the question,
and the way in which it was put, yet willing to soothe
her insane companion ; being in circumstances so unhappily
precarious, that even the society of this gibbering mad-
woman seemed a species of protection.

"Never in Bedlam !" said Madge, as if with some sur-
prise.— " But ye'll hae been in the cells at Edinburgh ? "

" Never," repeated Jeanie.

"Weel, I think thae daft carles the magistrates send
naebody to Bedlam but me — they maun liae an unco
respect for me, for whenever 1 am brought to them, they
aye hae me back to Bedlam. But troth, Jeanie " (she said
this in a very confidential tone), "to tell ye my private
mind about it, I think ye are at nae great loss ; for the
keeper's a cross-patch, and he maun hae it a' his ain gate,
to be sure, or h« makes the place waur than hell. 1 often
tell him he's the daftest in a' the house. — But what are
they making sic a skirling for? — Deil ane o' them's get
in here — it wadna be mensefu' I I will sit wi' my back
again the door ; it winna be that easy stirring me."

" Madge ! "— " Madge ! "— " Madge Wildfire ! "— " Madge
devil ! what have ye done with the horse ? " was repeatedly
asked by the men without.

" He's e'en at his supper, puir thing," answered Madge;
"deil an ye were at yours too, an it were scauding brim-
stane, and then we wad hae less o' your din."

"His supper!" answered the more sulky rulTian —
"What d'ye mean by that? — Tell me where he is, or I
will knock your Bedlam brains out ! "

" He's in Gaffer Gablcwood's wheat-close, an yc maun
ken."

"His wheat-close, ye crazed jilt!" answered the other,
with an accent of great indignation.

" Oh, dear Tyburn Tam, man, what ill will the blades of
the young wheat do the puir naig? "

" That is not the question," said the other robber ; "but
what the country will say to us to-mojrow when they see

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 317

him in such quarters. — Go, Tom, and bring him in ; and
avoid the soft ground, my lad; leave no hoof-track behind

" I think you give me always the fag of it, whatever is
to be done," grumbled his companion.

"Leap, Laurence, you're long enough," said the other;
and the fellow left the barn accordingly, without further
remonstrance.

In the meanwhile, Madge had arranged herself for
repose on the straw ; but still in a half-sitting posture,
with her back resting against the door of the hovel,
which, as it opened inwards, was in this manner kept
shut by the weight of her person.

"There's mair shifts by stealing, Jeanie," said Madge
Wildfire; "though whiles I can hardly get our mother to
think sae. Wha wad hae thought but myself of making
a bolt of my ain back-bane? But it's no sae strong as
thae that I hae seen in the Tolbooth at Edinburgh. The
hammermen of Edinburgh are to my mind afore the
world for making stancheons, ring-bolts, fetter-bolts, bars,
and locks. And they arena that bad at girdles* for
carcakes t neither, though the Cu'ross hammermen have
the gree J for that. My mother had ance a bonny Cu'ross
girdle, and I thought to have baked carcakes on it for my
puir wean that's dead and gane nae fair way— but we
maun a' dee, ye ken, Jeanie — You Cameronian bodies ken
that brawlle ; § and ye're for making a hell upon earth that
ye may be less unwillin' to part wi' it. But as touching
Bedlam that ye were speaking about, I'se ne'er recom-
mend it muckle the tae gatejl or the tother, be it right —
be it wrang. But ye ken what the sang says ? " And,
pursuing the unconnected and floating wanderings of her
mind, she sung aloud —

*• In the boony cells of Bedlam,
Ere I was aiie and twenty,
I had hempen bracelets strongs.
And merry whips, ding'-dong.
And prayer and fasting- plenty.

"Weel, Jeanie, I am something hcrse the night, and 1
canna sing muckle mair; and troth, I think, I am gaun
to sleep."

* Circular iron plate for toasting^ cakes. t Cake made with eggs, etc

• Pre-eminenc*. | V'er>' weU. | One way.]

3i8 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHfi^T

She drooped her head on her breast, a posture from
which Jeanie, who would have given the world for an
opportunity of quiet to consider the means and the prob-
ability of her escape, was very careful not to disturb her.
After nodding, however, for a minute or two, with her
eyes half closed, the unquiet and restless spirit of her
malady again assailed Madge. She raised her head, and
spoke, but with a lowered tone, which was again gradu-
ally overcome by drowsiness, to which the fatigue of a
day's journey on horseback had probably given unwonted
occasion, — '* I dinna ken what makes me sae sleepy — I
amaist never sleep till my bonny Lady Moon gangs till her
bed — mair by token, when she's at the full, ye ken, rowing
aboon us yonder in her grand silver coach — I have danced
to her my lane sometimes for very joy — and whiles dead folk
came and danced wi' me — the like o' Jock Porteous, or ony
body I had kend when I was' living — for ye maun ken
I was ance dead mysell," Here the poor maniac sung
in a low and wild tone.

"My banes are buried in yon kirkyard
Sae far ayont the sea.
And it is but my blithesome ghaist
That's speaking- now to thee.

"But, after a', Jeanie, my woman, naebody kens weel
wha's living and wha's dead — or wha's gane to Fairyland
— there's another question. Whiles I think my puir
bairn's dead — ye ken very weel it's buried — but that
signifies naething. I have had it on my knee a hundred
times, and a hundred till that, since it was buried — and
how could that be were it dead, ye ken ? — it's merely
impossible." — And here, some conviction half-overcoming
the reveries of her imagination, she burst into a fit of
crying and ejaculation, " Wae's me! wae's me I wae's
me ! " till at length she moaned and sobbed herself into a
deep sleep, which was soon intimated by her breathing
hard, leaving Jeanie to her own melancholy reflections
and observations.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 319

CHAPTER XXX.

Bind her quickly ; or, by this steel,
I'll tell, although I truss for company.

Fletcher.

-.IE imperfect light which shone into the window enabled
jeanie to see that there was scarcely any chance of making
her escape in that direction ; for the aperture was high in
the wall, and so narrow, that, could she have climbed up
to it, she might well doubt whether it would have permitted
her to pass her body through it An unsuccessful attempt
to escape would be sure to draw down w^orse treatment
than she now received, and she, therefore, resolved to watch
her opportunity carefully ere making such a perilous effort.
For this purpose she applied herself to the ruinous clay
partition, which divided the hovel in which she now was
from the rest of the waste barn. It was decayed, and full
of cracks and chinks, owe of which she enlarged with her
fingers, cautiously and witliout noise, until she could obtain
a plain view of the old hag and the taller ruffian, whom
they called Levitt, seated together beside the decayed fire
of charcoal, and apparently engaged in close conference.
She was at first terrified by the sight, for the features of the
old woman had a hideous cast of hardened and inveterate
malice and ill-humour, and those of the man, though
naturally less unfavourable, were such as corresponded well
with licentious habits, and a lawless profession.

"But I remembered," said Jeanie, "my worthy father's
tales of a winter evening, how he was confined with the
blessed martyr Mr. James Renwick, who lifted up the
fallen standard of the true reformed Kirk of Scotland,
after the worthy and renowned Richard Cameron, our last
blessed bannerman, had fallen among the swords of the
wicked at Alrsmoss, and how the very hearts of the wicked
malefactors and murderers, whom they were confined
withal, were melted like wax at the sound of their
doctrine : and I bethought myself, that the same help that
was wi' them in their strait, wad be wi' me in mine, an I
could but watch the Lord's time and opportunity for deliver-
ing my feet from their snare ; and I minded the scripture
of the blessed Psalmist, whilklie inslsteth on, as weel in the
. forty-second as in the forty-lliird psalm, ' Why art thou cast

320 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

down, O my soul, and why art thou disquieted within nic ?
Hope in God, for I shall yet praise Him, who is the health
of my countenance, and my God. ' "

Strengthened in a mind naturally calm, sedate, and
firm, by the influence of religious confidence, this poor
captive was enabled to attend to, and comprehend, a great
part of an interesting conversation wiiich passed betwixt
those into whose hands she had fallen, notwithstanding
that their meaning was partly disguised by the occasional
use of cant terms, of which Jeanie knew not the import, by
the low tone in which they spoke, and by their mode of
supplying their broken phrases by shrugs and signs, as is
usual amongst those of their disorderly profession.

The man opened the conversation by saying, " Now,
dame, you see I am true to my friend. I have not forgot
that you planked a chury* which helped me through the
bars of the Castle of York, and I came to do your work
without asking questions ; for one good turn deserves
another. But now that Madge, who is as loud as Tom of
Lincoln, is somewhat still, and this same Tyburn Neddie
is shaking his heels after the old nag, why, you must tell
me what all this is about, and what's to be done — for —
d — n me if 1 touch the girl, or let her be touched, and she
with Jim Rat's pass too."

"Thou art an honest lad, Frank," answered the old
woman, "but e'en too kind for thy trade; thy tender
heart will get thee into trouble. 1 will see ye gang up
Holborn Hill backward, and a' on the word of some silly
loon that could never hae rapped to ye had ye drawn your
knife across his weasand."

"You may be balked there, old one," answered the
robber; " I have known many a pretty lad cut short in
his first summer upon the road, because he was some-
thing hasty with his Hals and sharps. Besides, a man
would fain live out his two years with a good conscience.
So, tell me what all this is about, and what's to be done
for you tliat one can do decently ? " '

"Why, you must know, Frank — but first taste a snap;
of right Hollands." She drew a flask from her pocket,
and filled the fellow a large bumper, which he pronounced
to be the right thing. — "You must know, then, Frank —
wunna ye mend your hand? " again oflering the flask.

"No, no — when a woman wants mischief from you, she

* Concealed a knife.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 321

. vays begins by filling you drunk. D — n all Dutch
courage. What I do I will do soberly — I'll last the longer
for that too. "

"Well, then, you must know," resumed the old woman,
without any further attempts at propitiation, "that this girl
is going to London."

Here Jeanie could only distinguish the word " sister."

The robber answered' in a louder tone, "Fair enough
that ; and what the devil is your business with it ? "

" Business enough, I think. If the b queers the

noose, that silly cull will marry her."

"And who cares if he does? " said the man.

"Who cares, ye donnard Neddie? / care; and I will
strangle her with my own hands, rather than she should
come to Madge's preferment."

" Madge's preferment ? Does your old blind e3'es see no
farther than that ? If he is as you say, d'ye think he'll ever
marrv a moon-calf like Madge ? Ecod, that's a good one —
Mary Madge Wildfire !— Ha ! ha ! ha ! "

" Hark ye, ye crack-rope padder, born beggar, and bred
thief!" replied the hag, "suppose he never marries the
wench, is that a reason he should marry another, and that
other to hold my daughter's place, and she crazed, and I a
beggar, and all along of him ? But I know that of him
will hang him — I know that of him will hang him, if he had
a thousand lives — 1 know that of him will hang — hang —
hang him ! "

She grinned as she repeated and dwelt upon the fatal
monosyllable, with the emphasis of a vindictive fiend.

"Then why don't you hang — hang — hang him?" said
Frank, repeating her words contemptuously. "There
would be more sense in that, than in wrecking yourself here
upon two wenches that have done you and your daughter
no ill."

" No ill ?" answered the old woman — "and he to marry
tkis jail-bird, if ever she gets her foot loose ! "

" But as there is no chance of his marrying a bird of your
brood, I cannot, for my soul, see what you have to do with
all this," again replied the robber, shrugging his shoulders.
"Where there is aught to be got, I'll go as far as my
neighbours, but I hate mischief for mischiefs sake."

".And would you go nae length for revenge?" said the
hag — "for revenge, the sweetest morsel to the mouth that
ever was cooked in hell ! "

32i THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

"The devil may keep it for his own eating, then," said
the robber ; "for hang me if I like the sauce he dresses it
with."

" Revenge ! " continued the old woman ; " why, it is the
best reward the devil gives us for our time here and
hereafter. I have wrought hard for it — I have suffered for
it, and I have sinned for it — and I will have it, — or there is
neither justice in heaven nor in hell ! "

Levitt had by this time lighted a pipe, and was listening
with great composure to the frantic and vindictive ravings
of the old hag. He was too much hardened by his course
of life to be shocked with them — too indifferent, and
probably too stupid, to catch any part of their animation
or energy. "But, mother," he said, after a pause, "still I
say, that if revenge is your wish, you should take it on the
young fellow himself.

"I wish I could," she said, drawing in her breath, with
the eagerness of a thirsty person while mimicking the action
of drinking — " I wish I could ! — but no — I cannot — I
cannot."

"And why not ? — You would think little of peaching and
hanging him for this Scotch affair, — Rat me, one might
have milled the Bank of England, and less noise about it."

"I have nursed him at this withered breast," ans waited
the old woman, folding her hands on her bosom, as if
pressing an infant to it, " and though he has proved an
adder to me — though he has been the destruction of me and'
mine — though he has made me company for the devil, if
there be a devil, and food for hell, if there be such a place, ■
yet I cannot take his life — No, I cannot," she continued,
with an appearance of rage against herself; "I have'
thought of it — I have tried it — but, Francis Levitt, I canna
gang through wi't I — Na, na — he was the first bairn I ever-
nurst — ill I had been — but man can never ken what woman
feels for the bairn she has held first to her bosom ! "

"To be sure," said Levitt, "we have no experiencef.
But, mother, they say you ha'n't been so kind to other
bairns, as you call them, that have come in your way. — Nay,
d — n me, never lay your hand on the whittle, for I am
captain and leader here, and I will have no rebellion."

The hag, whose first motion had been, upon hearing the
question, to grasp the haft of a large knife, now unclosed
her hand, stole it away from the weapon, and suffered it to
fall by her side, while she proceeded witli a sort of smile —

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 323

"Bairns! ye are joking, lad, wha wad touch bairns?
Madge, puir tiling, had a misfortune wi' ane— and the
} tother " — Here her voice sunk so much, that Jeanle, though
I anxiously upon the watch, could not catch a word she said,
until she raised her tone at the conclusion of the sentence —
"So Madge, in her daffin', threw it into the Nor'-Loch, I
trow."

Madge, whose slumbers, like those of most who labour
under mental malady, had been short and were easily broken-
now made herself heard from her place of repose, _

"Indeed, mother, that's a great lee, for I did nae sic
thing."

"Hush, thou hellicat devil," said her mother — "By
Heaven ! the other wench will be waking too I "

"That may be dangerous," said Frank ; and he rose and
followed Meg Murdockson across the floor.

"Rise," said the hag to her daughter, "or I sail drive
the knife between the planks into the Bedlam back of
thee ! "

Apparently she at the same time seconded her threat by
pricking her with the point of a knife, for Madge, with a
faint scream, changed her place, and the door opened.

The old woman held a candle in one hand, and a knife in
the other. Levitt appeared behind herj whether with a
view of preventing, or assisting her in any violence she
might meditate, could not be well guessed- Jeanie's
presence of mind stood her friend in this dreadful crisis.
She had resolution enough to maintain the attitude and
manner of one who sleeps profoundly, and to regulate even
her breathing, notwithstanding the agitation of instant
terror, so as to correspond with her attitude.

The old woma 1 passed the light across her eyes ; and
although Jeanie's fears were so powerfully awakened by this
movement, that she often declared afterwards, that she
thought she saw the figures of her destined murderers
through her closed eyelids, she had still the resolution to
maintain the feint, on which her safety perhaps depended.

Levitt looked at her with fixed attention ; he then turned
the old woman out of the place, and followed her himself.
Having regained tlie outer apartment, and seated them-
selves, Jeanie heard tlie highwayman say, to her no small
relief, " She's as fast as if she were in Bedfordshire. — Now,
old Meg, d — n me, if I can understand a glim of this story
of yours, or what good it will do you to hang the one wench,

324 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

and torment the other ; but, rat me, I will be true to my
friend, and serve ye the way ye like it. I see it will be a
bad job ; but I do think I could get her down to Surfleet on
ihe Wash, and so on board Tom Moonshine's neat lugger,
and keep her out of the way three or four weeks, if that will
please ye ? — But d — n me if any one shall harm her, unless
they have a mind to choke on a brace of blue plums. — It's a
cruel bad job, and I wish you and it, Meg, were both at the
devil."

" Never mind, hinny Levitt," said the old woman ; "you
are a ruffler, and will have a' your ain gate — She shanna
gang to heaven an hour sooner for me ; I carena whether
she live or die— it^s her sister — ay, her sister ! "

"Well, we'll say no more about it, I hear Tom coming
in. We'll couch a hogshead,* and so better had you." They
retired to repose accordingly, and all was silent in this
asylum of iniquity.

Jeanie lay for a long time awake. At break of day she
heard the two ruffians leave the barn, after whispering with
the old woman for some time. The sense that she was now
guarded only by persons of her own sex gave her some
confidence, and irresistible lassitude at length threw her into
slumber.

When the captive awakened, the sun was high in
heaven, and the morning considerably advanced. Madge
Wildfire was still in the hovel which had served them for
the night, and immediately bid her good-morning with her
usual air of insane glee. "And d'ye ken, lass," said Madge
" there's queer things chanced since ye hae been in the land
of Nod. The constables hae been here, woman, and they
met wi' my minnie at the door, and they whirl'd her awa to
the Justice's about the man's wheat. — Dear! thae English
churls think as muckle about a blade of wheat or grass, as
a Scots laird does about his maukins and his muir-poots.
Now, lass, if ye like, we'll play them a fine jink ; we will
awa out and take a walk — they will make unco wark when
they miss us, but we can easily be back by dinner time, or
before dark night at ony rate, and it will be some frolic and
fresh air. — But maybe ye wad like to take some breakfast,
and then lie down again ? I ken by mysell, there's whiles I
can sit wi' my head on my hand the haill day, and havena
a word to cast at a dog — and other whiles that I cannot sit
still a moment. That's when the folk think me warst, but

• Lay ourselves down to Bleep-

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 325

I am aye canny enough — y% needna be feared to walk
wi' me."

Had Madge Wildfire been the most raging lunatic,
instead of possessing a doubtful, uncertain, and twilight
sort of rationality, var>-ing, probably, from the influence
of the most trivial causes, Jeanle would hardly have ob-
jected to leave a place of captivity where she had so much
to apprehend. She eagerly assured Madge that she had
no occasion for farther sleep, no desire whatever for eating ;
and hoping internally that she was not guilty of sin in
doing so, she flattered her keeper's crazy humour for
walking in the woods.

"It's no a'theglther for that neither," said poor Madge;
" but I am judging ye will wun the better out o*^ thae
folk's hands ; no that they are a'theglther bad folk neither,
but they have queer ways wi' tliem, and I whiles dinna
think it has been ever very weel wi' my mother and me since
we kept siclike company."

With the haste, the joy, the fear, and the hope of a
liberated captive, Jeanle snatched up her little bundle,
followed Madge Into the free air, and eagerly looked round
her for a human habitation ; but none was to be seen. The
ground was partly cultivated, and partly left in its natural
state, according as the fancy of the slovenly agriculturists
had decided. In its natural state it was waste, in some
places covered with dwarf trees and bushes, in others
swamp, and elsewhere firm and dry downs or pasture
grounds.

Jeanie's active mind next led her to conjecture which way
the high-road lay, whence she had been forced. If she
regained that public road, she Imagined she must soon meet
some person, or arrive at some house, where she might tell
her story, and request protection. But after a glance around
her, she saw with regret that she had no means whatever of
directing her course with any degree of certaint\', and that
she was still in dependence upon her crazy companion.
"Shall we not walk upon the high-road?" said she to
Madge, in such a tone as a nurse uses to coax a child.
" It's brawer walking on the road than amang thae wild
bushes and whins. "

Madge, who was walking verv' fast, stopped at this
question, and looked at Jeanie with a sudden and scrutin-
ising glance, that seemed to indicate complete acquaintance
with her purpose. "Aha, lass I " she exclaimed, "are ye

326 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

^aun to guide "us that gate ? — Ye'U be for making your
heels save your head, I am judging."

Jeanie hesitated for a moment, on hearing her companion
thus express herself, whether she had not better take the
hint, and try to outstrip and get rid of her. But she knew
not in which direction to fly ; she was by no means sure
that she would prove the swiftest, and perfectly conscious
that, in the event of her being pursued and overtaken, she
would be inferior to the mad woman in strength. She
therefore gave up thoughts for the present of attempting
to escape in that manner, and, saying a few words to allay
Madge's suspicions, she followed in anxious apprehension
the wayward path by which her guide thought proper to
lead her. Madge, infirm of purpose, and easily reconciled
to the present scene, whatever it was, began soon to talk
with her usual dififuseness of ideas.

" It's a dainty thing to be in the woods on a fine morning
like this — I like it far better than the town, for there isna a
wheen duddie bairns to be crying after ane, as if ane were
a warld's wonder, just because ane maybe is a thouglit
bonnier and better put-on than their neighbours — though,
Jeanie, ye suld never be proud o' braw clalths, or beauty
neither — wae's me ! they're but a snare. I anes thought
better o' them, and what came o't ? "

"Are ye sure ye ken the way ye are taking us?" said
Jeanie, who began to imagine that she was getting deeper
into the woods, and more remote from the high-road.

" Do I ken the road? — Wasna I mony a day living here,
and what for shouldna I ken the road ? — I might hae
forgotten, too, for it was afore my accident ; but there are
some things ane can never forget, let them try it as muckle
as they like."

By this time they had gained the deepest part of a patch
of woodland. The trees were a little separated from each
other, and at the foot of one of them, a beautiful poplar,
was a variegated hillock of wild flowers and moss, such
as the poet of Grasmere has described in his verses on the
Thorn. So soon as she arrived on this spot, Madge
Wildfire, joining her hands above her head, with a loud
scream that resembled laughter, flung herself all at once
upon the spot, and remained lying there motionless.

Jeanie's first idea was to take the opportunity of flight ;
but her desire to escape yielded for a moment to appre-
hension for the poor insane being, who, she thought, might

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 327

perish for want of relief. With an efTort, which, in her
circumstances, might be termed heroic, she stooped down,
spoke in a soothing tone, and endeavoured to raise up the
forlorn creature. She effected this with difficulty, and, as
she placed her against the tree in a sitting posture, she
observed with surprise, that her complexion, usually florid,
was now deadly pale, and that her face was bathed in tears.
Notwithstanding her own extreme danger, Jeanie was
affected by the situation of her companion ; and the rather,
that, through the whole train of her wavering and incon-
sistent state of mind and line of conduct, she discerned a
general colour of kindness towards herself, for which she
felt grateful. i. ir.

"Let me alane ! — let me alane!" said the poor young
Woman, as her paroxysm of sorrow began to abate — "Let
me alane — it does me good to weep. I canna shed tears
but maybe anes or twice a year, and I aye come to wet this
turf with them, that the flowers may grow fair, and the
grass may be green."

" But what is the matter with you ? " said Jeanie — " Why
do you weep so bitterly ? "

"There's matter enow," replied the lunatic — "mair than
ae puir mind can bear, I trow. Stay a bit, and I'll tell you
a' about it ; for I like ye, Jeanie Deans — a'body spoke weel
about ye when we lived in the Pleasaunts — And I mind aye
the drink o' milk )'e gae me yon day, when I had been on
Arthur's Seat for four-and-twenty hours, looking for the
ship that somebody was sailing in."

These words recalled to Jeanie's recollection, that, in fact,
she had been one morning much frightened by meeting a
crazy young woman near her father's house at an early
hour, and that, as she appeared to be harmless, her
apprehension had been changed into pity, and she had
relieved the unhappy wanderer with some food, which she
devoured with the haste of a famished person. The in-
cident, trifling in itself, was at present of great importance,
if it should be found to have made a favourable and
permanent impression on the mind of the object of her
charity.

" Yes," said Madge, " I'll tell ye all about it, for ye are a
dfcent man's daugiiter — Douce Davie Deans, ye ken — and
maybe ve'll can teach me to find out the narrow way, and
the straight path ; for I have been burning bricks in Egypt,
and walking through the weary wilderness of Sinat, for

338 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

long and mony a day. But whenever 1 think about mine
errors, 1 am like to cover my lips for shame. " — Here she
looked up and smiled. — " It's a strange thing now — I hae
spoke mair gude words to you in ten minutes, than I wad
speak to my mother is as mony years. It's no that I dinna
think on them — and whiles they are just at my tongue's
end ; but then comes the devil, and brushes my lips with
his black wing, and lays his broad black loof on my mouth
— for a black loof it is, Jeanie — and sweeps away a' my gude
thoughts, and dits up my gude words, and pits a wheen fule
sangs and idle vanities in their place."

"Try, Madge," said Jeanie, — "try to settle your mind
and make your breast clean, and you'll find your heart
easier — ^Just resist the devil and he will flee from you — and
mind that, as my worthy father tells me, there is nae devil
sae deceitfu' as our ain wandering thoughts."

"And tliat's true too, lass," said Madge, starting up;
"and I'll gang a gate where the devil daurna follow me;
and it's a gate that you will like dearly to gang — but I'll
keep a fast haud o' your arm, for fear ApoUyon should
stride across the path, as he did in the Pilgrim's Progress."

Accordingly she got up, and, taking Jeanie by the arm,
began to walk forward at a great pace ; and soon, to her
companion's no small joy, came into a marked path, with
the meanders of which she seemed perfectly acquainted.
Jeanie endeavoured to bring her back to the confessional,
but the fancy was gone by. In fact, the mind of this
deranged being resembled nothing so much as a quantity
of dry leaves, which may for a few minutes remam still,
but are instantly discomposed and put in motion by the
first casual breath of air. She had now got John Bunyan's
parable into her head, to the exclusion of ever>'thing else,
and on she went with great volubility.

" Did ye never read the Pilgrim's Progress ? And you shall
be the woman Christiana, and I will be the maiden Mercy
— for ye ken Mercy was of the fairer countenance, and the
more alluring than her companion — and if I had my little
messan dog here, it would be Great-heart their guide, ye
ken, for he was e'en as bauld that he wad bark at ony thing
twenty times his size ; and that was e'en the death of him,
for he bit Corporal MacAlpine's heels ae morning when
they were hauling me to the guard-house, and Corporal
MacAlpine killed the bit faithfu' thing wi' his Lochaber
axe — deil pike the Highland bancs o' him I "

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 329

"O fie, Madge," said Jeanie, "ye should not speak such

rds."

■• It's very true," said Madge, shaking her head; "but
then I maunna think on my puir bit doggie, Snap, when
I saw it lying dying in the gutter. But it's just as weel,
for it suffered baith cauld and hunger when it was living,
and in the grave there is rest for a' things — rest for the
doggie, and my puir bairn, and me."

"Your bairn?" said Jeanie, conceiving that by speaking
on such a topic, supposing it to be a real one, she could
not fail to bring her companion to a more composed
temper.

She was mistaken, however, for Madge coloured, and

replied with some anger, *'■ My bairn? ay, to be sure,

my bairn. WTiat for shouldna I hae a bairn, and lose a.

: bairn too, as weel as your bonny tittie, the Lily of St.

Leonard's ? "

The answer struck Jeanie with some alarm, and she

' was anxious to soothe the irritation she had unwit-

\ tingly given occasion to. "I am very sorr)' for your

I misfortune "

"Sorry? what wad ye be sorry for?" answered Madge.
' "The bairn was a blessing — that is, Jeanie, it wad hae
\ been a blessing if it hadna been for my mother ; but mv
* mother's a queer woman. — Ye see, there was an auld carle
i wi' a bit land, and a gude clat o' siller besides, just the
ver)' picture of old Mr. Feeblemind or Mr. Ready-to-halt,
that Great-heart delivered from Slaygood the giant,
when he was rifling him and about to pick his bones, for
Slaygood was of the nature of the flesh-eaters — and Great-
heart killed Giant Despair too — but I am doubting Giant
Despair's come alive again, for a' the story book — I find
him busy at my heart whiles."

"Weel, and so the auld carle," — said Jeanie, for she was
painfully interested in getting to the truth of Madge's
history, which she could not but suspect was in some
extraordinary way linked and entwined with the fate of
her sister. She was also desirous, if possible, to engage
her companion in some narrative which might be carried
on in a lower tone of voice, for she was In great appre-
hension lest the elevated notes of Madge's conversation
should direct her mother or the robbers in search of them.

"And so the auld carle," said Madge, repeating her
words — " I wish you had seen him stoitiny afvjut, aff ae

330 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

leg on to the other, wi' a kind o' dot-and-go-one sort o
motion, as if ilk ane o' his twa legs had belonged to sindr}
folk — But Gentle George could take him aff brawly — Eh,
as I used to laugh to see George gang hip-hop like him !—
I dinna ken, I think I laughed heartier then than whal
I do now, though maybe no just sae muckle."

"And who was Gentle George?" said Jeanie, endeavour-
ing to bring her back to her story.

"Oh, he was Geordie Robertson, ye ken, when he was
in Edinburgh; but that's no his right name neither—

His name is But what is your business wi' his name ?

said she, as if upon sudden recollection. "What have ye
to do asking for folk's names ? — Have ye a mind I should
scour my knife between your ribs, as my mother says ? "

As this was spoken with a menacing tone and gesture,
Jeanie hastened to protest her total innocence of purpose in
the accidental question which she had asked, and Madge
Wildfire went on somewhat pacified.

" Never ask folk's names, Jeanie — it's no civil — I hae seer
half a dozen o' folk in my mother's at anes, and ne'er ane
o' them ca'd the ither by his name ; and Daddie Rattor
says, it is the most uncivil thing may be, because the
bailie bodies are aye asking fashions questions, when ye
saw sic a man, or sic a man ; and if ye dinna ken theii
names, ye ken there can be nae mair speer'd about it,"

In what strange school, thought Jeanie to herself, has
this poor creature been bred up, where such remote pre-
cautions are taken against the pursuits of justice ? Whal
would my father or Reuben Butler think, if I were to tell
them there are sic folk in the world ? And to abuse the
simplicity of this demented creature !. Oh, that I were but
safe at hiajrve among mine ain leal and true people ! anc
I'll bless God, while I have breath, that placed me amongst
those who live in His fear, and under the shadow of His
wing.

She was interrupted by the insane laugh of Madge
Wildfire, as she saw a magpie hop across the path.

''See there! — that was the gait my old jo used to crosi
the country, but no just sae lightly — he hadna wings tc
help his auld legs, I trow ; but I behoved to have marriec
him for a' that, Jeanie, or my mother would have been tht
dead o' me. But then came in the story of my poor bairn
and my mother thought hq wad be deaved wi* its skirling
and she pat it away in below the bit bourocU of turf yonder

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 331

just to be out o' the gate ; and 1 think slie buried my best
wits with it, for I have never been just mysell since. And
only think, Jeanie, after my mother had been at a' this pains,
the auld doited body Johnny Drottle turned up his nose,
and wadna hae aught to say to me ! But it's little I care
for him, for I have led a merry life ever since, and ne'er a
braw gentleman looks at me but ye wad think he was gaun
to drop off his horse for mere love of me. I have kend some
o' them put their hand in their pocket, and gie me as
muckle as sixpence at a time, just for my weel-faured face.''
This speech gave Jeanie a dark insight into Madge's
history. She had been courted by a wealthy suitor, whose
addresses her mother had favoured, notwithstanding the
objection of old age and deformity. She had been seduced
by some profligate, and, to conceal her shame and promote
the advantageous match she had planned, her mother had
not hesitated to destroy the offspring of their intrigue.
That the consequence should be the total derangement of
a mind which was constitutionally unsettled by giddiness
and vanity, was extremely natural ; and such was, in fact,
the history of Madge Wildfire's insanity.

CHAPTER XXXI.

So free from dangfer, free from fear.

They cross'd the court — right glad they were.

Christahel.

Pursuing the path which Madge had chosen, Jeanie Deans
observed, to her no small delight, that marks of more
cultivation appeared, and the thatched roofs of houses, with
their blue smoke arising in little columns, were seen em-
bosomed in a tuft of trees at some distance. The track led
in that direction, and Jeanie therefore resolved, while
Madge continued to pursue it, that she would ask her no
questions ; having had the penetration to observe, that by
doing so she ran the risk of irritating her guide, or awaken-
ing suspicions, to the impressions of which, persons in
Madge's unsettled state of mind are particularly liable.

Madge therefore, uninterrupted, went on with the wild
disjointed chat which her rambling imagination suggested ;
a mood in which she was much more communicative
respecting her own history, and that of others, than when

333 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

there was any attempt made, by direct queries, or cross-
examinations, to extract information on these subjects,

" It's a queer thing," she said, "but whiles I can speak
about the bit bairn and the rest of it, just as if it had been
another body's, and no my ain ; and whiles I am like to
break my heart about it — Had you ever a bairn, Jeanie ? "

Jeanie replied in the negative.

"Ay; but your sister had, though — and I ken what
came o't too."

" In the name of heavenly mercy," said Jeanie, forgetting
the line of conduct which she had hitherto adopted, "tell
me but what became of that unfortunate babe, and "

Madge stopped, looked at her gravely and fixedly, and
then broke into a great fit of laughing — "Aha, lass — catch
me if you can — I think it's easy to gar you trow onything. —
How suld I ken onything o' your sister's wean ? Lasses
suld hae naething to do wi' weans till they are married —
and then a' the gossips and cummers come in and feast as
if it were the blithest day in the warld. — They say maidens'
bairns are weel guided. I wot that wasna true of your
tittle's and mine ; but these are sad tales to tell. — I maun
just sing a bit to keep up my heart — It's a sang that Gentle
George made on me lang syne, when I went with him to
Lockington wake, to see him act upon a stage, in fine
clothes, with the player folk. He might have dune waur
than married me that night as he promised — better wed
over the mixen as over the moor,* as they say in Yorkshire
— he may gang farther and fare waur — but that's a' ane to
the sang

" I'm Madge of the country, I'm Madg-e of the town,
And I'm Madge of the lad I am blithest to own —
The Lady of Bcever in diamonds may shine,
But has not a heart half so lightsome as mine.

" I am Queen of the Wake, and I'm Lady of May,
And I lead the blithe ring round the May-pole to-day ;
The wild-fire that flashes so fair and so free,
Was never so bright, or so bonny, as me.

"I like that the best o' a' my sangs," continued th*
maniac, "because he made it. I am often singing it, and
that's maybe the reason folk ca' me Madge Wildfire. I

* A homely proverb, si^iiifyinp, better wed a neighbour than one fetched from
^. distance. — Mixen signihes dunghill.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 333

aye answer to the name, though it's no my ain, for what's
ihe use of making- a fash ? "

" But ye shouldna sing upon the Sabbath at least," said
Jeanie, who, amid all her distress and anxiety, could not
help being scandalised at the deportment of her companion,
especially as they now approached near to the little village.

"Ay ! is this Sunday ? " said Madge. " My mother leads
sic a life, wi' turning night into day, that ane loses a' count
o' the days o' the week, and disna ken Sunday frae Saturday,
Besides, it's a' your whiggery — in England, folk sing when
they like — And then, ye ken, you are Christiana, and I am
Mercy — and ye ken, as they went on their way, they
sang." — And she immediately raised one of John Banyan's
ditties : —

" He that is down need fear no fall,
He that is low no pride ;
He that is humble ever shall
Have God to be his guide.

•' Fulness to such a burthen is
That go on pilgrimagfe ;
Here little, and hereafter bliss,
Is best from age to age.

"And do ye ken, Jeanie, I think there's much truth in that
book, the ' Pilgrim's Progress.' The boy that sings that song
was feeding his father's sheep in the Valley of Humiliation,
and Mr. Great-heart says, that he lived a merrier life, and
had more of the herb called heart's-ease in his bosom, than
they that wear silk and velvet like me, and are as bonny
as i am."

Jeanie Deans had never read the fanciful and delightful
parable to which Madge alluded. Bunyan was, indeed, a

,id Calvinist, but, then, he was also a member of a
ptist congregation, so that his works had no place on
i^avid Deans's shelf of divinity. Madge, however, at some
time of her life, had been well acquainted, as it appeared,
with the most popular of his performances, which, indeed,
rarely fails to make a deep impression upon children, and
people of the lower rank.

" I am sure," she continued, " I may weel say I am come
out of the city of Destruction, for my mother is Mrs. Bat's-
eves, that dwells at Deadman's Corner ; and Frank Levitt,
and Tyburn Tam, they may be likened to Mistrust and

334 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

Guilt, that came galloping up, and struck the poor pilgrim,
to the ground with a great club, and stole a bag of silver^
which was most of his spending money, and so have they
done to many, and will do to more. But now we will gang
to the Interpreter's house, for I ken a man that will play
the Interpreter right weel ; for he has eyes lifted up to
heaven, the best of books in his hand, the law of truth
written on his lips, and he stands as if he pleaded wi' men
— Oh, if I had minded what he had said to me, I had never
been the cast-away creature that I am I — But it is all over
now. — But we'll knock at the gate, and then the keeper
will admit Christiana, but Mercy will be left out — and then
I'll stand at the door trembling and crying, and then
Christiana — that's you, Jeanie — will intercede for me ; and
then Mercy — that's me, ye ken — will faint ; and then
the Interpreter — yes, the Interpreter, that's Mr. Staunton
himself, will come out and take me — that's poor, lost,
demented me — by the hand, and give me a pomegranate,
and a piece of honeycomb, and a small bottle of spirits, to
stay my fainting — and then the good times will come back
again, and we'll be the happiest folk you ever saw."

In the midst of the confused assemblage of ideas indicated
in this speech, Jeanie thought she saw a serious purpose
on the part of Madge, to endeavour to obtain the pardon
and countenance of some one whom she had offended ; an
attempt the most likely of all others to bring them once
more into contact with law and legal protection. She,
therefore, resolved to be guided by her while she was in
so hopeful a disposition, and act for her own safety according
to circumstances.

They were now close by the village, one of those beautiful
scenes which are so often found in merry England, where
the cottages, instead of being' built in two direct lines on
each side of a dusty high-road, stand in detached groups,
interspersed not only with large oaks and elms, but with
fruit trees, so many of which were at this time in flourish,
that the grove seemed enamelled with their crimson and
white blossoms. In the centre of the hamlet stood the
parish church and its little Gothic tower, from which at
present was heard the Sunday chime of bells.

" We will wait here until the folk are a' in the church —
they ca' the kirk a church in England, Jeanie, be sure you
mind that — for if I was gaun forward amang them, a' the
gaitts o' boys and lasses wad be crying at Madge Wildfire's

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 335

tail, the little hell-rakers ! and the beadle would be as hard
upon us as if it was our fault I like their skirling as ill
as he does, I can tell him ; I'm sure I often wish there was
a het peat doun their throats when they set them up that
gate."

Conscious of tlie disorderly appearance of her own dress
after tlie adventure of the preceding night, and of the
grotesque habit and demeanour of her guide, and sensible
how important it was to secure an attentive and patient
audience to her strange story from some one who might
have the means to protect her, Jeanie readily acquiesced
in Madge's proposal to rest under the trees, by which they
were still somewhat screened, until the commencement of
service should give them an opportunity of entering the
hamlet witliout attracting a crowd around them. She
made the less opposition, that Madge had intimated that
this was not the village where her mother was in custody,
and that the two squires of the pad were absent in a
different direction.

She sat herself down, therefore, at tlie foot of an oak, and
by the assistance of a placid fountain which had been
dammed up for tlie use of the villagers, and which served
her as a natural mirror, she began — no uncommon thing
with a Scottish maiden of her rank — to arrange her toilette
in the open air, and bring her dress, soiled and disordered
as it was, into such order as the place and circumstances
admitted.

She soon perceived reason, however, to regret that she
had set about this task, however decent and necessary, in
the present time and society. Madge Wildfire, who, among
other indications of insanity, had a most overweening
opinion of those charms, to which, in fact, she had owed
her misery, and whose mind, like a raft upon a lake, was
agitated and driven about at random by each fresh impulse,
no sooner beheld Jeanie begin to arrange her hair, place
her bonnet in order, rub the dust from her shoes and clotlies,
adjust her neck-handkerchief and mittens, and so forth, than
with imitative zeal she began to bedizen and trick herself
out with shreds and remnants of beggarly finery, which
she took out of a little bundle, and which, when disposed
around her person, made her appearance ten times more
fantastic and apish than it had been before.

Jeanie groaned in spirit, but dared not interfere in a
matter so delicate. Across the man's cap or riding hat

336 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

which she wore, Madge placed a broken and soiled white
feather, intersected with one which had been shed from
the train of a peacock. To her dress, which was a kind
of riding habit, she stitched, pinned, and otherwise secured,!
a large furbelow of artificial flowers, all crushed, wrinkled,)
and dirty, which had first bedecked a lady of quality,!
then descended to her Abigail, and dazzled the inmates of!
the servants'-hall. A tawdry scarf of yellow silk, trimmed
with tinsel and spangles, which had seen as hard service,
and boasted as honourable a transmission, was next flung
over one shoulder, and fell across her person in the manner
of a shoulder-belt, or baldrick. Madge then stripped
off" the coarse ordinary shoes which she wore, and replaced
them by a pair of dirty satin ones, spangled and embroidered
to match the scarf, and furnished with very high heels.
She had cut a willow switch in her morning's walk, almost
as long as a boy's fishing-rod. This she set herself
seriously to peel, and when it was transformed into such
a wand as the Treasurer or High Steward bears on public
occasions, she told Jeanie that she thought they now
looked decent, as young women should do upon the
Sunday morning, and that as the bells had done ringing,
she was willing to conduct her to the Interpreter's house.

Jeanie sighed heavily, to think it should be her lot on
the Lord's day, and during kirk-time too, to parade the
street of an mhabited village with so very grotesque a
comrade ; but necessity had no law, since, without a
positive quarrel with the madwoman, which, in the circum-
stances would have been very unadvisable, she could see
no means of shaking herself free of her society.

As for poor Madge, . she was completely elated with
personal vanity, and the most perfect satisfaction con-
cerning her own dazzling dress, and superior appearance.
They entered the hamlet without being observed, except
by an old woman, who, being nearly " high-gravel blind,"
was only conscious that something very fine and glittering
was passing by, and dropped as deep a reverence to Madge
as she would have done to a countess. This filled up the
measure of Madge's self-approbation. She minced, she
ambled, she smiled, she simpered, and waved Jeanio
Deans forward with the condescension of a noble chaperone,
who has undertaken the charge of a country miss on her
first journey to the capital.

Jeanie followed in patience, and with her eyes fixed on

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 337

the ground, that she might save herself the mortification
of seeing her companion's absurdities ; but she started
when, ascending two or three steps, she found herself in
the churchyard, and saw that Madge was making straight
for the door of the church. As Jeanie had no mind to enter
the congregation in such company, she walked aside from
the pathway, and said in a decided tone, " Madge, I will
wait here till the church comes out — you may go in by
yourself if you have a mind."

As she spoke these words, she was about to seat herself
upon one of the gravestones.

Madge was a little before Jeanie when she turned aside ;
but suddenly changing her course, she followed her with
long strides, and, with every feature inflamed with
passion, overtook and seized her by the arm. "Do ye
tliink, ye ungratefu' wretch, that I am gaun to let you sit
doun upon my father's grave ? The deil settle ye doun ;
— if ye dinna rise and come into the Interpreter's house,
that's the house of God, wi' me, but I'll rive every dud
aff your back ! "

She adapted the action to the phrase ; for with one clutch
she stripped Jeanie of her straw bonnet and a handful of
her hair to boot, and threw it up into an old yew tree,
where it stuck fast. Jeanie's first impulse was to scream,
but conceiving she might receive deadly harm before she
could obtain the assistance of any one, notwithstanding
the vicinity of the church, she thought it wiser to follow the
madwoman into the congregation, where she might find
some means of escape from her, or at least be secured
against her violence. But when she meekly intimated her
consent to follow Madge, her guide's uncertain brain had
caught another train of ideas. She held Jeanie fast with
one hand, and with the other pointed to the inscription on
the gravestone, and commanded her to read it, Jeanie
obeyed, and read these words : —

"This Monument was erected to the Memory of
Donald Murdockson of the King's xxvi., or Cameronian
Regiment, a sincere Christian, a brave Soldier, and a
FAITHFUL Servant, bv his grateful and sorrowing
Master, Robert Staunton.

"It's very weel read, Jeanie; it's just the very words,"
said Madge, whose ire had now faded into deep melancholy,

338 tME HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

and with a step, which, to Jeanie's great joy, was un-
commonly quiet and mournful, she led her companion
towards the door of the church.

It was one of those old-fashioned Gothic parish churches
which are frequent in England, the most cleanly, decent,
and reverential places of worship that are, perhaps, any-
where to be found in the Christian world. Yet, notwith-
standing the decent solemnity of its exterior, Jeanie was too
faithful to the directory of the Pi-esbyterian kirk to have
entered a prelatic place of worship, and would, upon any
other occasion, have thought that she beheld in the porch
the venerable figure of her father waving her back from the
entrance, and pronouncing in a solemn tone, " Cease, my
child, to hear the instruction which causeth to err from the
words of knowledge." But in her present agitating and
alarming situation, she looked for safety to this forbidden
place of assembly, as the hunted animal will sometimes
seek shelter from imminent danger in the human habitation,
or in other places of refuge most alien to its nature and
habits. Not even the sound of the organ, and of one or two
flutes which accompanied the psalmody, prevented her from
following her guide into the chancel of the church.

No sooner had Madge put her foot upon the pavement,
and become sensible that she was the object of attention to
th6 spectators, than she resumed all the fantastic extrava-
gance of deportment which some transient touch of melan-
choly had banished for an instant. She swam rather than
walked up the centre aisle, dragging Jeanie after her, whom
she held fast by the hand. She would, indeed, have fain
slipped aside into the pew nearest to the door, and left Madge
to ascend in her own manner and alone to the high places
of the synagogue ; but this was impossible, without a
degree of violent resistance, which seemed to her inconsistent
with the time and place, and she was accordingly led in
captivity up the whole length of the church by her grotesque
conductress, who, with half-shut eyes, a prim smile upon
her lips, and a mincing motion with her hands, which
corresponded with the delicate and affected pace at which
she was pleased to move, seemed to take the general stare
of the congregation, which such an exhibition necessarily
excited, as a high compliment, and which she returned by
nods and half curtseys to individuals amongst the audience,
whom she seerped to distinguish as acquaintances. Her
absurdity was enhanced in the eyes of the spectators by the

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHMN: 339

strange contrast which she formed to her companion, who,
with dishevelled hair, downcast eyes, and a face glowing
with shame, was dragged, as it were, in triumph after her.

Madge's airs were at length fortunately cut short by her
encountering in her progress the looks of the clergyman,
who fixed upon her a glance, at once steady, compassionate,
and admonitory. She hastily opened an empty pew which
happened to be near her, and entered, dragging in Jeanie
after her. Kicking Jeanie on the shins, by way of hint that
she should follow her example, she sunk her head upon her
hand for the space of a minute. Jeanie, to whom tliis
posture of mental devotion was entirely new, did not attempt
to do the like, but looked round her with a bewildered stare,
which her neighbours, judging from the company in which
they saw her, very naturally ascribed to insanity. Every
person in their immediate vicinity drew back from this
extraordinary couple as far as the limits of their pew per-
mitted ; but one old man could not get beyond Madge's reach,
ere she had snatched the prayer-book from his hand, and
ascertained the lesson of the day. She then turned up the
ritual, and, with the most overstrained enthusiasm of gesture
and manner, showed Jeanie the passages as they were read
in the service, making, at the same time, her own responses
so loud as to be heard above those of every other person.

Notwithstanding the shame and vexation which Jeanie
felt in being thus exposed in a place of worship, she could
not and durst not omit rallying her spirits so as to look
around her, and consider to whom she ought to appeal for
protection so soon as the service should be concluded. Her
first ideas naturally fixed upon the clergyman, and she was
confirmed in the resolution by observing that he was an
aged gentleman, of a dignified appearance and deportment,
who read the service with an undisturbed and decent gravity,
which brought back to becoming attention those younger
members of the congregation who had been disturbed by
the extravagant behaviour of Madge Wildfire. To the
clergyman, therefore, Jeanie resolved to make her appeal
when the service was over.

It is true she felt disposed to be shocked at his surplice,
of which she had heard so much, but which she had never
Seen upon the person of a preacher of the word. Tlien she
was confused by the change of posture adopted in different
parts of the ritual, the more so as Madge Wildfire, to whom
lliey seemed familiar, look the opportunity to exercise

^340 TfTE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

authority over her, pulling her up and pushing her down,
with a bustling assiduity, which Jeanie felt must make them
both objects of painful attention. But notwithstanding
tliese prejudices, it was her prudent resolution, in this
dilemma, to imitate as nearly as she could what was done
around her. The prophet, she thought, permitted Naaman
the Syrian to bow even in the house of Rimmon. Surely if
I, in this streight, worship the God of my fathers in mine
own language, although the manner thereof be strange to
me, the Lord will pardon me in this thing.

In this resolution she became so much confirmed that,
withdrawing herself from Madge as far as the pew permitted,
she endeavoured to evince, by serious and undeviating
attention to what was passing, that her mind was composed
to devotion. Her tormentor would not long have permitted
her to remain' quiet, but fatigue overpowered her, and she
fell fast asleep in the other corner of the pew.

Jeanie, though her mind in her own despite sometimes
reverted to her situation, compelled herself to give attention
to a sensible, energetic, and well-composed discourse, upon
the practical doctrines of Christianity, which she could not
help approving, although it was every word written down
and read by the preacher, and although it was delivered in :;
tone and gesture very different from those of Boanerges
Stormheaven, who was her father's favourite preacher. The
serious and placid attention with which Jeanie listened, did
not escape the clergyman. Madge Wildfire's entrance had
rendered him apprehensive of some disturbance, to provide
against which, as far as possible, he often turned his eyes to
the part of the church where Jeanie and she were placed,
and became soon aware that, although the loss of her head-
gear, and the awkwardness of her situation, had given an
uncommon and anxious air to the features of the former,
yet she was in a state of mind very different from that of
her companion. When he dismissed the congregation, he
observed her look around with a wild and terrified look, as
if uncertain what course she ought to adopt, and noticed
that she approached one or two of the most decent of the
congregation, as if to address them, and then shrunk back
timidly, on observing that they seemed to shun and to
avoid her. The clergyman was satisfied there must be
something extraordinary in all this, and as a benevolent man,
as well as a good Christian pastor, he resolved to inquire
into the matter more minutely.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHraNT 341

CHAPTER XXXII.

-There gfovern'd in that year

A stern, stout churl — an ang^ry overseer.

Crabbe.

While Mr. Staunton, for such was this worthy clergyman's
name, was laying aside his gown in the vestr>', Jeanie was
in the act of coming to an open rupture with Madge.

" We must return to Mummer's barn directly," said
Madge ; " we'll be ower late, and my mother will be angry."

"I am not going back with you, Madge," said Jeanie,
taking out a guinea, and offering it to her; "I am much
obliged to you, but I maun gang my ain road. "

"And me coming a' this way out o' my gate to pleasure
you, ye ungratefu' cutty," answered Madge; "and me to
be brained by my mother when I gang hanie, and a' for
your sake ! — But I will gar ye as good "

" For God's sake," said Jeanie to a man who stood beside
them, " keep her off! — she is mad."

"Ey, ey," answered the boor; "I hae some guess of
that, and I trow thou be'st a bird of the same feather. —
Howsomever, Madge, I redd thee keep hand off her, or I'se
lend thee a whister-poop. "

Several of the lower class of the parishioners now gathered
round tlie strangers, and the cry arose among the boys,
that " there was a-going to be a fite between mad Madge
Murdockson and another Bess of Bedlam." But while the
fry assembled with the humane hope of seeing as much of
the fun as possible, the laced cocked-hat of the beadle was
discerned among the multitude, and all made way for that
person of awful authority. His first address was to Madge.

"What's brought thee back again, thou silly donnot, to
plague this parish ? Hast thou brought ony more bastards
wi' thee to lay to honest men's doors ? or dost thou think to
burden us with this goose, that's as gare-brained as thysell,
as if rates were no up enow ? Away wi' thee to thy thief of
a mother ; she's fast in the stocks at Barkston town-end —
Away wi' ye out o' the parish, or I'se be at ye with the ratan."

Madge stood sulky for a minute ; but she had been too
often taught submission to the beadle's authority by un-
gentle means, to feel courage enough to dispute it.

" And my mother — my puir auld mother, is in the stocks

34a tHE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

at Barkston ! — This is a' your wyte, Miss Jeanie Deans ;
but I'll be upsides wi' you, as sure as my name's Madge
Wildfire — I mean Murdockson — God help me, I forget my
very name in this confused waste ! "

So saying, she turned upon her heel, and went off,
followed by all the mischievous imps of the village, some
crying, "Madge, canst thou tell thy name yet?" some
pulling the skirts of her dress, and all, to the best of their
strength and ingenuity, exercising some new device or other
to exasperate her into frenzy.

Jeanie saw her departure with infinite delight, though she
wished, that, in some way or other, she could have requited
the service Madge had conferred upon her.

In the meantime, she applied to the beadle to know
whether "there was any house in the village, where she
could be civilly entertained for her money, and whether she
could be permitted to speak to the clergyman ? "

"Ay, ay, we'se ha' reverend care on thee; and I think,"
answered the man of constituted authority, "that, unless
thou answer the Rector all the better, we'se spare thy
money, and gle thee lodging at the parish charge, young
woman."

"Where am I to go then?" said Jeanie, in some
alarm.

"Why, I am to take thee to his Reverence, in the first
place, to gle an account o' thysell, and to see thou comena
to be a burden upon the parish."

" I do not wish to burden any one," replied Jeanie ; " I
have enough for my own wants, and only wish to get on
my journey safely."

"Why, that's another matter," replied the beadle, "an if
it be true — and I think thou dost not look so polrumptlous
as thy playfellow yonder — thou wouldst be a mettle lass
enow, an thou wert snog and snod a bit better. Come thou
away, then — the Rector is a good man."

" Is that the minister," said Jeanie, " who preached "

"The minister? Lord help thee! What kind o' Presby-
terian art thou? — Why, 'tis the Rector — the Rector's sell,
woman, and there isna the like o' him in the county, nor
the four next to it. Come away — away with thee — we
munna bide here."

" I am sure I am very willing to go to see the minister,"
said Jeanie ; "for, though he read his discourse, and wore
that surplice, as they call it here, I cannot but think he

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 343

must be a very worthy. God-fearing man, to preach tlie
root of the matter in the way he did."

The disappointed rabble, finding that there was like to be
no further sport, had by this time dispersed, and Jeanie,
with her usual patience, followed her consequential and
surly, but not brutal, conductor towards the rectory.

This clerical mansion was large and commodious, for the
living was an excellent one, and the advowson belonged to
a very wealthy family in the neighbourhood, who had
usually bred up a son or nephew to the church, for the
sake of inducting him, as opportunity offered, into tins
very comfortable provision. In this manner the rectorj' of
Willingham had always been considered as a direct and
immediate appanage of Willingham Hall ; and as the rich
baronets, to whom tlie latter belonged, had usually a son, or
brother, or nephew, settled in the living, the utmost care
had been taken to render their habitation not merely respect-
able and commodious, but even dignified and imposing.

It was situated about four hundred yards from the village,
and on a rising ground which sloped gently upward, covered
with small enclosures, or closes, laid out irregularly, so tliat
the old oaks and elms, which were planted in hedge-rows,
fell into perspective, and were blended togetlier in beautiful
irregularity. When they approached nearer to the house, a
handsome gate-way admitted them into a lawn, of narrow
dimensions, indeed, but which was interspersed with large
sweet-chestnut trees and beeches, and kept in handsome
order. The front of the house was irregular. Part of it
seemed very old, and had, in fact, been the residence of the
incumbent in Romish times. Successive occupants had
made considerable additions and improvements, each in
the taste of his own age, and without much regard to
symmetry. But these incongruities of architecture were
so graduated and happily mingled, tliat the eye, far from
being displeased witli the combinations of various styles,
saw nothmg but what was interesting in the varied and
intricate pile which they exhibited. Fruit trees displayed
on the southern wall, outer staircases, various places of
entrance, a combination of roofs and chimneys of different
ages, united to render the front, not indeed beautiful or
grand, but intricate, perplexed, or, to use Mr. Price's ap-
propriate phrase, picturesque. The most considerable
addition was that of the present Rector, who, "being a
bookish man," as the beadle was at the pains to inform

344 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN,

Jeanie, to augment, perhaps, her reverence for the person
before whom she was to appear, had built a handsome
library and parlour, and no less than two additional
bedrooms.

" Mony men wad hae scrupled such expense," continued
the parochial officer, "seeing as the living mun go as it
pleases Sir Edmund to will it ; but his Reverence has a
canny bit land of his own, and need not look on two sides
of a penny. "

Jeanie could not help comparing the irregular yet
extensive and commodious pile of building before her, to
the " Manses" in her own country, where a set of penurious
heritors, professing all the while the devotion of their lives
and fortunes to the Presbyterian establishment, strain their
inventions to discover what may be nipped, and clipped, and
pared from a building which forms but a poor accommoda-
tion even for the present incumbent, and, despite the
superior advantage of stone-masonry, must, in the course
of forty or fifty years, again burden their descendants with
an expense, which, once liberally and handsomely employed,
ought to have freed their estates from a recurrence of it for
more than a century at least.

Behind the Rector's house the ground sloped down to
a small river, which, without possessing the romantic
vivacity and rapidity of a northern stream, was, never-
theless, by its occasional appearance through the ranges
of willows and poplars that crowned its banks, a very
pleasing accompaniment to the landscape. " It was the
best trouting stream," said the beadle, whom the patience
of Jeanie, and especially the assurance that she was not
about to become a burden to the parish, had rendered
rather communicative, "the best trouting stream in all
Lincolnshire ; for when you got lower, there was nought
to be done wi' fly-fishing.

Turning aside from the principal entrance, he conducted
Jeanie towards a sort of portal connected with the older part
of the building, which was chiefly occupied by servants,
and, knocking at the door, it was opened by a servant in
grave purple livery, such as befitted a wealthy and dignified
clergyman.

" How dost do, Tummas ? " said the beadle — " and how's
young Measler Staunton ? "

"Why, but poorly — but poorly, Measter Stubbs. — Are you'
wanting to see his Reverence ?

¥ THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 345

"Ay, ay, Tummas ; please to say I ha' brought up the
young woman as came to service to-day with mad Madge
Murdockson — she seems to be a decentish koind o' body ;
but I ha' asked her never a question. Only I can tell his
Reverence that she is a Scotchwoman, I judge, and as
flat as the fens of Holland."

Tummas honoured Jeanie Deans with such a stare, as
the pampered domestics of the rich, whether spiritual or
temporal, usually esteem it part of their privilege to bestow
upon the poor, and then desired Mr. Stubbs and his charge
to step in till he informed his master of their presence.

The room into which he showed them was a sort of
steward's parlour, hung with a county map or two, and
three or four prints of eminent persons connected with
the county, as Sir William Monson, James York the
blacksmith of Lincoln, and the famous Peregrine, Lord
Willoughby, in complete armour, looking as when he said,
in the words of the legend below the engraving —

Stand to it, noble pikemen,

And face ye well about :
And shoot ye sharp, bold bowmen,

And we will keep them out.
Ye musquet and calliver-men.

Do you prove true to me,
ni be the foremost man in fight,

Said brave Lord Willoughbee.

When they had entered this apartment, Tummas as a
matter of course offered, and as a matter of course Mr.
Stubbs accepted, a " summat " to eat and drink, being the
respectable relics of a gammon of bacon, and a whole
whiskin, or black pot of sufficient double ale. To these
eatables Mr. Beadle seriously inclined himself, and (for we
must do him justice) not without an invitation to Jeanie,
in which Tummas joined, that his prisoner or charge would
follow his good example. But although she might have
stood in need of refreshment, considering she had tasted
no food that day, the anxiety of the moment, her own
sparing and abstemious habits, and a bashful aversion
to eat in company of the two strangers, induced her to
decline their courtesy. So she sat in a chair apart, while
Mr. Stubbs and Mr. Tummas, who had chosen to join his
fiiiend in consideration that dinner was to be put back

346 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

till the afternoon service was over, made a hearty luncheon,
which lasted for half an hour, and might not then have
concluded, had not his Reverence rung his bell, so that
Tummas was obliged to attend his master. Then, and
no sooner, to save himself the labour of a second journey
to the other end of the house, he announced to his master
the arrival of Mr. Stubbs, with the other mad-woman,
as he chose to designate Jeanie, as an event which had
just taken place. He returned with an order that Mr.
Stubbs and the young woman should be instantly ushered
up to the library.

The beadle bolted in haste his last mouthful of fat bacon,
washed down the greasy morsel with the last rinsings of
the pot of ale, and immediately marshalled Jeanie through
one or two intricate passages which led from the ancient
to the more modern buildings, into a handsome little hall,
or anteroom, adjoining to the library, and out of which
a glass door opened to the lawn.

"Stay here," said Stubbs, "till I tell his Reverence you
are come."

So saying, he opened a door and entered the library.

Without wishing to hear their conversation, Jeanie as
she was circumstanced, could not avoid it ; for as Stubbs
stood by the door, and his Reverence was at the upper end
of a large room, their conversation was necessarily audible
in the anteroom.

" So you have brought the young woman here at last,
Mr. Stubbs. I expected you some time since. You know
I do not wish such persons to remain in custody a moment
without some inquiry into their situation."

"Very true, your Reverence," replied the beadle; "but
the young woman had eat nought to-day, and soa Measter
Tummas did set down a drap of drink and a morsel, to
be sure."

"Thomas was very right, Mr. Stubbs; and what has
become of the other most unfortunate being ? "

"Why," replied Mr. Stubbs, "I did think the sight on
her would but vex your Reverence, and soa I did let her
go her ways back to her mother, who is in trouble in the
next parish."

"In trouble! — that signifies in prison, I suppose?" said
Mr. Staunton.

"Ay, truly ; something like it, an it like your Reverence.*'

"Wretched, unhappj', incorrigible woman!" said the

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 347

clergjman. "And what sort of person is tliis companion
of hers ? "

"Why, decent enow, an It like your Reverence," said
Stubbs ; "for aught I sees of her, there's no harm of her,
and she says she has cash enow to carry her out of the
county."

"Cash! that is always what you think of, Stubbs. —
But, has she sense? — has she her wits? — has she tlie
capacity of taking care of herself? "

"Why, your Reverence," repHed Stubbs, "I cannot just
say — I will be sworn she was not bom at Witt-ham ; * for
Gaflfer Gibbs looked at her all the time of ser\Ice, and he
says she could not turn up a single lesson like a Christian,
even though she had Madge Murdockson to help her — but
then, as to fending for hersell, why, she's a bit of a Scotch-
woman, your Reverence, and they say the worst donnot
of them can look out for their own turn — and she is decently
put on enow, and not bechounched like t'other."

"Send her in here, then, and do you remain below,
iMr. Stubbs."

This colloquy had engaged Jeanie's attention so deeply,
that it was not until it was over that she observed that
the sashed door, which, we have said, led from the ante-
room into the garden, was opened, and that there entered,
Dr rather was borne in by two assistants, a young man,
of a ver}' pale and sickly appearance, whom they lifted to
;he nearest couch, and placed there, as if to recover from
he fatigue of an unusual exertion. Just as they were
naking this arrangement, Stubbs came out of the librar}',
ind summoned Jeanie to enter it. She obeyed him, not

ivithout tremor ; for, besides the novelty of the situation
o a girl of her secluded habits, she felt also as if the
■uccessful prosecution of her journey was to depend upon
he impression she should be able to make on Mr. Staunton.
It is true, it was difficult to suppose on what pretext a
•erson travelling on her own business, and at her own
harge, could be interrupted upon her route. But the
iolent detention she had already undergone, was sufficient

0 show that there existed persons at no great distance,
/ho had the interest, the inclination, and the audacity,
srcibly to stop her journey, and she felt the necessity of
aving some countenance and protection, at least till she

1 * A i>roverbial and punning expres^on in that county, to intimate that a
'trwn ia net very devtr.

34.8 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

should get beyond their reach. While these things passed
through her mind, much faster than our pen and ink can
record, or even the reader's eye collect the meaning of its
traces, Jeanie found herself in a handsome library, and in
presence of the Rector of Willingham. The well-furnished
presses and shelves which surrounded the large and hand-
some apartmerLt, contained more books than Jeanie imagined
existed in the world, being accustomed to consider as an
extensive collection two fir shelves, each about three feet
long, which contained her father's treasured volumes, the
whole pith and marrow, as he used sometimes to boast,
of modern divinity. An orrery, globes, a telescope, and
some other scientific implements, conveyed to Jeanie an
impression of admiration and wonder not uninixed with
fear ; for, in her ignorant apprehension, they seemed
rather adapted for magical purposes than any other ; and
a few stuffed animals (as the Rector was fond of natural
history), added to the impressive character of the apartment.

Mr. Staunton spoke to her with great mildness. He
observed, that, although her appearance at church had
been uncommon, and in strange, and, he must add, dis-
creditable society, and calculated, upon the whole, to
disturb the congregation during divine worship, he
wished, nevertheless, to hear her own account of herself
before taking any steps which his duty might seem tc
demand. He was a justice of peace, he informed her,
as well as the clergyman.

"His Honour" (for she would not say his reverence'
"was very civil and kind," was all that poor Jeanie coulc
at first bring out.

"Who are you, young woman?" said the clergyman:
more peremptorily — "and what do you do in this country
and in such company? — We allow no strollers or vagrant:
here."

"I am not a vagrant or a stroller, sir," said Jeanie, ;
little roused by the supposition. "1 am a decent Scotcl
lass, travelling through the land on my own business am ,
my own expenses ; and I was so unhappy as to fall ii j
with bad company, and was stopped a' night on m,
journey. And this puir creature, who is something light
headed, let me out in the morning."

" 6ad company!" said the clergyman. "I am afraic
young woman, you have not been sufficiently anxiou <
to avoid them."

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 349

" Indeed, sir," returned Jeanle, " I have been brought
up to shun evil communication. But these wicked people
were thieves, and stopped me by violence and mastery."

"Thieves! " said Mr. Staunton ; "then you charge them
with robbery, I suppose ? "

"No, sir; they did not take so much as a boddle from
me," answered Jeanie ; " nor did they use me ill, otherwise
than by confining me."

The clergyman inquired into the particulars of her
adventure, which she told him from point to point.

"This is an extraordinary', and not a very probable tale,
young woman," resumed Mr. Staunton. "Here has been,
according to your account, a great violence committed
without any adequate motive. Are you aware of the law
of this country' — that if you lodge this charge you will
be bound over to prosecute this gang ? "

Jeanie did not understand him, and he explained that the
English law, in addition to the inconvenience sustained by
persons who have been robbed or injured, has the goodness
to entrust to them the care and the expense of appearing
as prosecutors.

Jeanie said, " that her business at London was express ;
all she wanted was, that any gentleman would, out of"
Christian charity, protect her to some town, where she
could hire horses and a guide; and, finally," she thought,
"it would be her father's mind that she was not free to
give testimony in an English court of justice, as the land
was not under a direct gospel dispensation."

Mr. Staunton stared a little, and asked if her father was
a Quaker.

"God forbid, sir," said Jeanie — "He is nae schismatic
nor sectary, nor ever treated for sic black commodities as
theirs, and that's weel kend o' him."

"And what is his name, pray? " said Mr. Staunton.

" David Deans, sir, the cowfeeder at St. Leonard's
Craigs, near Edinburgh."

A deep groan from the anteroom prevented the Rector
from replying, and exclaiming, " Good God ! that unhappy
boy!" he left Jeanie alone, and hastened into the outer
apartment.

Some noise and bustle was heard, but no one entered
the library for the best part of an hour.

3S0 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

CHAPTER XXXni.

Fantastic passions' maddening brawl !
And shame and terror over all !
Deeds to be hid which were not hid,
Which, all confused, I could not know
Whether I suffer'd or I did,
For all seem'd gtiilt, remorse, or woe ;
My own, or others, still the same
Life-stifling fear, soul-stifling shame.

Coleridge.

During the interval while she was thus left alone, Jeanie
anxiously revolved in her mind what course was best for
her to pursue. She was impatient to continue her journey,
yet she feared she could not safely adventure to do so
while the old hag and her assistants were in the neighbour-
hood, without risking a repetition of their violence. She
thought she could collect from the conversation which she
had partly overheard, and also from the wild confessions
of Madge Wildfire, that her mother had a deep and revenge-
ful motive for obstructing her journey if possible. And
from whom could she hope for assistance if not from Mr.
Staunton ? His whole appearance and demeanour seemed
to encourage her hopes. His features were handsome, i
though marked with a deep cast of melancholy ; his tone
and language were gentle and encouraging ; and, as he
had served in the army for several years during his youth,
his air retained that easy frankness which is peculiar to
the profession of arms. He was, besides, a minister of
the gospel ; and although a worshipper, according to
Jeanie's notions, in the court of the Gentiles, and so
benighted as to wear a surplice ; although he read the
Common Prayer, and wrote down every word of his sermon
before delivering it ; and although he was, moreover, in
strength of lungs, as well as pith and marrow of doctrine,
vastly inferior to Boanerges Stormheaven, Jeanie still
thought he must be a very different person from Curate
Kiltstoup, and other prelatical divines of her father's earllei
days, who used to get drunk in their canonical dress,
and hound out the dragoons against the wandering
Cameronians. The house seemed to be in some disturb-
ance, but as she could not suppose she was altogethei

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 351

: forgotten, she thought it better to remain quiet in the
apartment where she had been left, till some one should
I take notice of her.

[ The first who entered was, to her no small delight, one
of her own sex, a motherly-looking aged person of a
housekeeper. To her Jeanie explained her situation in a
few words, and begged her assistance.

The dignity of a housekeeper did not encourage too
much familiarity with a person who was at the Rectory
on justice-business, and whose character might seem in
her eyes somewhat precarious ; but she was civil, although
distant.

" Her young master," she said, "had had a bad accident
Dy a fall from his horse, which made him liable to fainting
fits ; he had been taken very ill just now, and it was
impossible his Reverence could see Jeanie for some time ;
but that she need not fear his doing all that was just and
proper in her behalf the instant he could get her business
attended to." — She concluded by offering to show Jeanie
a room, where she might remain till his Reverence was
at leisure.

Our heroine took the opportunity to request the means
of adjusting and changing her dress.

The housekeeper, in whose estimation order and clea.n-
liness ranked high among personal virtues, gladly compliid
with a request so reasonable ; and the change of dress
which Jeanie's bundle furnished made so important an
improvement in her appearance, that the old lady hardly
knew the soiled and disordered traveller, whose attire
showed the violence she had sustained, in the neat, clean,
'. quiet-looking little Scotchwoman, who now stood before
ler. Encouraged by such a favourable alteration in her
ippearance, Mrs. Dalton ventured to invite Jeanie to
sartake of her dinner, and was equally pleased with the
lecent propriety of her conduct during that meal.

" Thou canst read this book, canst thou, young woman ? "
aid the old lady, when their meal was concluded, laying
hand upon a large Bible.

' I hope sae, madam," said Jeanie, surprised at the
- juestion ; '* my father wad hae wanted mony a thing, ere
'■ had wanted that schuling."

"The better sign of him, young woman. There are
;i here, well to pass in the world, would not want their
.ire of a Leicester plover, and that's a bag-pudding, if

352 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

fasting for three hours would make all their poor children
read the Bible from end to end. Take thou the book,
then, for my eyes are something dazed, and read where
thou listest — it's the only book thou canst not happen
wrong in."

Jeanie was at first tempted to turn up the parable of
the good Samaritan, but her conscience checked her, as
if it were a use of Scripture, not for her own edification,
but to work upon the mind of others for the relief of her
worldly afflictions ; and under this scrupulous sense of
duty, she selected, in preference, a chapter of the prophet
Isaiah, and read it, notwithstanding her northern accent
and tone, with a devout propriety, which greatly edified
Mrs. Dalton.

"Ah," she said, "an all Scotchwomen were sic as thou!
— but it was our luck to get born devils of thy country,
I think — every one worse than t'other. If thou knowest
of any tidy lass like thysell, that wanted a place, and could
bring a good character, and would not go laiking about
to wakes and fairs, and wore shoes and stockings all the
day round — why, I'll not say but we might find room for
her at the Rectory. Hast no cousin or sister, lass, that
such an offer would suit ? "

This was touching upon a sore point, but Jeanie was
spared the pain of replying by the entrance of the same
man-servant she had seen before.

" Measter wishes to see the young woman from Scotland,",
was Tummas's address.

"Go to his Reverence, my dear, as fast as you can, and
tell him all your story — his Reverence is a kind man," said
Mrs. Dalton. " I will fold down the leaf, and make you
a cup of tea, with some nice muffin, against you come
down, and that's what you seldom see in Scotland,
girl."

" Measter's waiting for the young woman," said Tummas
impatiently.

"Well, Mr. Jack-Sauce, and what is your business to
put in your oar ? — And how often must I tell you to call
Mr. Staunton his Reverence, seeing as he is a dignified
clergyman, and not be meastering, meastering him, as
if he were a little petty squire ? "

As Jeanie was now at the door, and ready to accom-
pany Tummas, the footman said nothing till he got into
the passage, when he muttered, "There are moe masters

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 353

.than one in ihis house, and I think we shall have a mistress
'too, an Dame Dalton carries it thus."

Tummas led the way through a more intricate range of
passages than Jeanie had yet threaded, and ushered her
into an apartment which was darkened by the closing of
most of the window-shutters, and in which was a bed with
the curtains partly drawn.

" Here is the young woman, sir," said Tummas.

"Very well," said a voice from the bed, but not that
of his Reverence ; "be ready to answer the bell, and
leave the room."

"There is some mistake," said Jeanie, confounded at
finding he.rself in the apartment of an invalid ; "the servant
told me that the minister "

"Don't trouble yourself," said the invalid, "there is no
mistake. I know more of your affairs than my father, and
I can manage them better. — Leave the room, Tom." The
servant obeyed. — "We must not," said the invalid, "lose
time, when we have little to lose. Open the shutter of
that window."

She did so, and, as he drew aside the curtain of his bed,
the light fell on his pale countenance, as, turban'd with
bandages, and dressed in a night-gown, he lay, seemingly
exhausted, upon the bed.

"Look at me," he said, "Jeanie Deans; can you not
recollect me ? "

"No, sir," said she, full of surprise. "I was never in
this country before."

" But I may have been in yours. Think — recollect. I
should faint did I name the naine you are most dearly bound
to loathe and to detest. Think — remember ! "

A terrible recollection flashed on Jeanie, which every tone
of the speaker confirmed, and which his next words
rendered certainty.

"Be composed — remember Muschat's Cairn, and the
moonlight night ! "

Jeanie sank down on a chair, with clasped hands, and
gasped in agony.

"Yes, here I lie," he said, "like a crushed snake,
writhing with impatience at my incapacity of motion — here
1 lie, when 1 ought to have been in Edinburgh, trying
every means to save a life that is dearer to me than my
own. — How is your sister ? — how fares it with her ? —
condemned to death, I know it, by this time ! Oh, the

354 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

horse that carried me safely on a thousand errands of folly
and wickedness, that he should have broke down with me
on the only good mission I have undertaken for years !
But I must rein in my passion — my frame cannot endure
it, and I have much to say. Give me some of the cordial
which stands on that table. — Why do you tremble? But
you have too good cause. — Let it stand — I need it not."

Jeanie, however reluctant, approached him with the cup
into which she had poured the draught, and could not
forbear saying, " There is a cordial for the mind, sir, if the
wicked will turn from their trangressions, and seek to the
Physician of souls."

" Silence ! " he said sternly — " and yet I thank you. But
tell me, and lose no time in doing so, what you are doing
in this country? Remember, though I have been your
sister's worst enemy, yet I will serve her with the best of
my blood, and I will serve you for her sake ; and no one
can serve you to such purpose, for no one can know the
circumstances so well — so speak without fear, "

"I am not afraid, sir," said Jeanie, collecting her spirits.
" I trust in God ; and if it pleases Him to redeem my sister's
captivity, it is all I seek, whosoever be the instrument
But, sir, to be plain with you, I dare not use your counsel,
unless I were enabled to see that it accords with the law
which I must rely upon."

"The devil take the puritan!" cried George Staunton,
for so we must now call him — " I beg your pardon ; but
I am naturally impatient, and you drive me mad ! What
harm can it possibly do you to tell me in what situation
your sister stands, and your own expectations of being
able to assist her ? It is time enough to refuse my advice
when I offer any which you may think improper. I
speak calmly to you, though 'tis against my nature ; but
don't urge me to impatience — it will only render me
incapable of serving Effie."

There was in the looks and words of this unhappy young
man a sort of restrained eagerness and impetuosity which
seemed to prey upon itself, as the impatience of a fiery
steed fatigues itself with churning upon the bit. After
a moment's consideration, it occurred to Jeanie that she
was not entitled to withhold from him, whether on her
sister's account or her own, the account of the fatal con-
sequences of the crime which he had committed, nor to
reject such advice, being in itself lawful and innocent,

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 35s

, as he might be able to suggest in the way of remedy.
, Accordingly, in as few words as she could express it, she
' told the history of her sister's trial and condemnation, and
of her own journey as far as Newark. He appeared to
listen in the utmost agony of mind, yet repressed every
violent symptom of emotion, whether by gesture or sound,
which might have interrupted the speaker, and, stretched
on his couch like the Mexican monarch on his bed of live
coals, only the contortions of his cheek, and the quivering
of his limbs, gave indication of his sufferings. To much
of what she said he listened with stifled groans, as if he
were only hearing those miseries confirmed, whose fatal
reality he had known before; but when she pursued her
tale through the circumstances which had interrupted her
journey, extreme surprise and earnest attention appeared to
succeed to the symptoms of remorse which he had before
exhibited. He questioned Jeanie closely concerning the
appearance of the two men, and the conversation which she
had overheard between the taller of them and the woman.

When Jeanie mentioned the old woman having alluded
to her foster-son — "It is too true," he said; "and the
source from which I derived food, when an infant, must
have communicated to me the wretched — the fated —
propensity to vices that were strangers in my own family.
— But go on."

Jeanie passed slightly over her journey in company with
Madge, having no inclination to repeat what might be the
effect of mere raving on the part of her companion, and
therefore her tale was now closed.

Young Staunton lay for a moment in profound meditation,
and at length spoke with more composure than he had
yet displayed during their interview. — "You are a sensible,
as well as a good young woman, Jeanie Deans, and I will
tell you more of my story than I have told to any one. —
Story did I call it ? — it is a tissue of folly, guilt, and
misery. — But take notice — I do it because I desire your
confidence in return — that is, that you will act in this
dismal matter by my advice and direction. Therefore do
I speak."

" I will do what is fitting for a sister and a daughter,
and a Christian woman to do," said Jeanie; " but do not
tell me any of your secrets — It is not good that I should
come into your counsel, or listen to the doctrine which
causeth to err."

356 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

"Simple fool!" said the young man. "Look at me.
My head is not horned, my foot is not cloven, my hands are
not garnished with talons ; and, since I am not the very
devil himself, what interest can any one else have in de-
stroying the hopes with which you comfort or fool yourself?
Listen to me patiently, and you will find that, when you
have heard my counsel, you may go to the seventh heaven
with it in your pocket, if you have a mind, and not feel
yourself an ounce heavier in the ascent."

At the risk of being somewhat heavy, as explanations
usually prove, we must here endeavour to combine into
a distinct narrative, information which the invalid com-
municated in a manner at once too circumstantial, and too
much broken by passion, to admit of our giving his precise
words. Part of it, indeed, he read from a manuscript,
which he had perhaps drawn up for the information of his
relations after his decease.

" To make my tale short — this wretched hag — this
Margaret Murdockson, was the wife of a favourite servant
of my father ; — she had been my nurse ; — her husband was
dead ; — she resided in a cottage near this place ; — she had
a daughter who grew up, and was then a beautiful but
very giddy girl ; her mother endeavoured to promote her
marriage with an old and wealthy churl in the neighbour-
hood ; — the girl saw me frequently — She was familiar with
me, as our connection seemed to permit — and I — in a word,
I wronged her cruelly — It was not so bad as your sister's
business, but it was sufficiently villainous— her folly should
have been her protection. Soon after this I was sent abroad
— To do my father justice, if I have turned out a fiend, it is
not his fault — he used the best means. When I returned,
I found the wretched mother and daughter had fallen into
disgrace, and were chased from this country. — My deep
share in their shame and misery was discovered— my father
used very harsh language — we quarrelled. I left his house,
and led a life of strange adventure, resolving never again
to see my father or my father's home.

"And now comes the story! — ^Jeanie, I put my life into
vour hands, and not only my own life, which, God knows,
IS not worth saving, but the happiness of a respectable old
man, and the honour of a family of consideration. My
love of low society, as such propensities as I was cursed
with are usually termed, was, I think, of an uncommon
kind, and indicated a nature, which, if not depraved by

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 357

early debauchery, would have been fit for better things.
I did not so much delight in the wild revel, the low humour,
the unconfined liberty of those with whom I associated, as
m the spirit of adventure, presence of mind in peril, and
sharpness of intellect which they displayed in prosecuting
their maraudings upon the revenue, or similar adventures.
— Have you looked round this rectory? — is it not a sweet
and pleasant retreat ? "

Jeanie, alarmed at this sudden change of subject, replied
in the affirmative.

"Well! I wish it had been ten thousand fathoms under
ground, with its church-lands, and tithes, and all tliat
belongs to it I Had it not been for this cursed rector}', I
should have been permitted to follow the bent of my own
inclinations and the profession of arms, and half the courage
and address that I have displayed among smugglers and
deer-stealers would have secured me an honourable rank
among my contemporaries. Why did I not go abroad
when I left this house ! — Why did I leave it at all ! — why —
But it came to that point with me that it is madness to
look back, and misery to look forward."

He paused, and then proceeded with more composure.

"The chances of a wandering life brouglit me un-
happily to Scotland, to embroil myself in worse and
more criminal actions than I had yet been concerned in.
It was now I becaine acquainted with Wilson, a remark-
able man in his station of life — quiet, composed, and
resolute, firm in mind, and uncommonly strong in person,
gifted with a sort of rough eloquence which raised him
above his companions. Hitherto 1 had been

As dissolute as deperate, yet through both
Were seen some sparkles of a better hope.

But it was this man's misfortune, as well as mine, that,
notwithstanding the difference of our rank and education,
he acquired an extraordinary and fascinating influence
over me, which I can only account for by tlie calm deter-
mination of his character being superior to the less
sustained impetuosity of mine. Where he led, I felt
myself bound to follow ; and strange was the courage
and address which he displayed in his pursuits. While I
was engaged in desperate adventures, under so strange
and dangerous a preceptor, I became acquainted with your

3S8 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

unfortunate sister at some sports of the young people
in the suburbs, which she frequented by stealth — and
her ruin proved an interlude to the tragic scenes in
which I was now deeply engaged. Yet this let me say —
the villainy was not premeditated, and I was firmly
resolved to do her all the justice which marriage could
do, so soon as I should be able to extricate myself from
my unhappy course of life, and embrace some one more
suited to my birth. I had wild visions — ^visions of con-
ducting her as if to some poor retreat, and introducing
her at once to rank and fortune she never dreamt of. A
friend, at my request, attempted a negotiation with my
father, which was protracted for some time, and renewed
at different intervals. At length, and just when I expected
my father's pardon, he learned by some means or other
my infamy, painted in even exaggerated colours, which
was, God knows, unnecessary. He wrote me a letter —
how it found me out, I know not — enclosing me a sum
of money, and disowning me for ever. I became desperate
—I became frantic — I readily joined Wilson in a perilous
smuggling adventure In which we miscarried, and was
willingly blinded by his logic to consider the robbery of
the officer of the customs in Fife as a fair and honourable
reprisal. Hitherto I had observed a certain line in my
criminality, and stood free of assaults upon personal
property, but now I felt a wild pleasure In disgracing
myself as much as possible.

"The plunder was no object to me. I abandoned that
to my comrades, and only asked the post of danger. I
remember well, that when I stood with my drawn sword
guarding the door while they committed the felony, I
had not a thought of my own safety. I was only meditat-
ing on my sense of supposed wrong from my family, my
impotent thirst of vengeance, and how It would sound In
the haughty ears of the family of Wiilingham, that one of
their descendants, and the heir apparent of their honours,
should perish by the hands of the hangman for robbing a
Scottish gauger of a sum not equal to one-fifth part of
the money 1 had in my pocket-book. We were taken —
I expected no less. We were condemned — that also I
looked for. But death, as he approached nearer, looked
grimly ; and the recollection of your sister's destitute j
condition determined me on an effort to save my life. — I »
forgot to tcl! you, that In Edinburgh I again met the

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. jsg

woman Murdockson and her daughter. She had followed
the camp when young, and had now, under pretence of a
trifling traffic, resumed predatory habits, with which she
had already been too familiar. Our first meeting was
stormy : but I was liberal of what money I had, and she
forgot, or seemed to forget, the injury her daughter had
received. The unfortunate girl herself seemed hardly even
to know her seducer, far less to retain any sense of the
injury she had received. Her mind is totally alienated,
which, according to her mothers account, is sometimes
the consequence of an unfavourable confinement. But it
was my doing: Here was another stone knitted round
my neck to sink me into the pit of perdition. Every look
— every word of this poor creature — her false spirits — her
imperfect recollections — her allusions to things which she
had forgotten, but which were recorded in my conscience,
were stabs of a poniard — stabs did I say? — they were
tearing with hot pinchers, and scalding the raw wound
with burning sulphur — they were to be endured, how-
ever, and they were endured. — I return to my prison
thoughts.

"It was not the least miserable of them that your
sister's time approached. I knew her dread of you and
of her father. She often said she would die a thousand
deaths ere you should know her shame — yet her confine-
ment must be provided for. I knew this woman
Murdockson was an infernal hag, but I thought she loved
me, and that money would make her true. She had pro-
cured a file for Wilson, and a spring-saw for me ; and
she undertook readily to take charge of Effie during
her illness, in which she had skill enough to give the
necessary assistance. I gave her the money which my
father had sent me. It was settled that she should
receive Effie into her house in the meantime, and wait
for further directions from me, when I should effect my
escape. I communicated this purpose, and recommendeci
the old hag to poor Effie by a letter, in which I recollect
that I endeavoured to support the character of Macheath
under condemnation — a fine, gay, bold-faced ruffian, who
is game to the last Such, and so wretchedly poor, was
my ambition ! Yet I had resolved to forsake the courses
I had been engaged in, should I be so fortunate as to
escape the gibbet. My design was to marry your sister,
and go over to the West Indies. I had still a considerable

36o THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

sum of money left, and I trusted to be able, in one way or
other, to provide for myself and my wife.

"We made the attempt to escape, and by the obstinacy
of Wilson, who insisted upon going first, it totally mis-
carried. The undaunted and self-denied manner in which
he sacrificed himself to redeem his error, and accomplish
iTiy escape from the Tolbooth Church, you must have
heard of — all Scotland rang with it. It was a gallant
and extraordinary deed — All men spoke of it — all men, even
those who most condemned the habits and crimes of this
self-devoted man, praised the heroism of his friendship.
I have many vices, but cowardice, or want of gratitude,
are none of the number. I resolved to requite his
generosity, and even your sister's safety became a
secondary consideration with me for the time. To effect
Wilson's liberation was my principal object, and I
doubted not to find the means.

" Yet 1 did not forget Effie neither. The bloodhounds
of the law were so close after me, that I dared not trust
myself near any of my old haunts, but old Murdockson
met me by appointment, and informed me that your
sister had happily been delivered of a boy. I charged the
hag to keep her patient's mind easy, and let her want
for nothing that money could purcliase, and I retreated
to Fife, where, among my old associates of Wilson's gang,
I hid myself in those places of concealment where the
men engaged in that desperate trade are used to find
security for themselves and their uncustomed goods.
Men who are disobedient both to human and divine laws,
are not always insensible to the claims of courage and
generosity. VVe were assured that the mob of Edinburgh,
strongly moved with the hardships of Wilson's situation,
and the gallantry of his conduct, would back any bold
attempt that might be made to rescue him even from
the foot of the gibbet. Desperate as tlie attempt seemed,
upon my declaring myself ready to lead the onset on the
guard, I found no want of followers who engaged to stand
by me, and returned to Lothian, soon joined by some
steady associates, prepared to act whenever tho occasiou
might require.

" I have no doubt I should have rescued him from the
very noose that dangled over his head," he continued with
animation, which seemed a flash of the interest which he had
taken in such exploits ; " but amongst other precautions.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN: 361

the magistrates had taken one, suggested, as we after-
wards learned, by the unhappy wretch Porteous, which
efteciually disconcerted my ineasures. They anticipated,
by half an hour, the ordinary period for execution ; and,
as it had been resolved amongst us, that, for fear of
observation from the officers of justice, we should not
show ourselves upon the street until the time of action
approached, it followed that all was over before our
attempt at a rescue commenced. It did commence, how-
ever, and I gained the scaffold and cut the rope with
my own hand. It was too late ! The bold, stout-hearted,
generous criminal was no more — and vengeance wz3 all
that remained to us — a vengeance, as I then thought,
doubly due from my hand, to whom Wilson had given
life and liberty when he could as easily have secured
his own."

"Oh, sir," said Jeanie, "did the Scripture never come
into your mind, * Vengeance is mine, and I will repay it ' ? "

"Scripture? Why, I had not opened a Bible for five
years," answered Staunton.

"Wae's me, sirs," said Jeanie — "and a minister's son
too ! "

" It is natural for you to say so ; yet do not interrupt
me, but let me finish my most accursed history. The
beast, Porteous, who kept firing on the people long after
it had ceased to be necessary, became the object of their
hatred for having overdone his duty, and of mine for
having done it too well. We — that is, I and the other
determined friends of Wilson — resolved to be avenged ;
but caution was necessary'. I thought I had been marked
by one of the officers, and therefore continued to lurk about
the vicinity of Edinburgh, but without daring to venture
within the' walls. At length, I visited, at the hazard of
my life, the place where I hoped to find my future wife and
my son — they were both gone. Dame Murdockson in-
formed me, that so soon as Effie heard of the miscarriage of
the attempt to rescue Wilson, and the hot pursuit afler me,
she fell into a brain fever ; and that being one day obliged
to go out on some necessary business and leave her alone,
she had taken that opportunity to escape, and she had not
seen her since. I loaded her with reproaches, to which
she listened with the most provoking and callous com-
posure ; for it is one of her attributes, that, violent and
fierce as she is upon most occasions, there are some in

362 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

which she shows the most imperturbable calmness. I
threatened her with justice ; she said I had more reason
to fear justice than she had. I felt she was right, and was
silenced. I threatened her with vengeance ; she replied
in nearly the same words, that, to judge by injuries received,
I had more reason to fear her vengeance, than she to dread
mine. She was again right, and I was left without an
answer. I flung myself from her in indignation, and em-
ployed a comrade to make inquiry in the neighbourhood of
St. Leonard's concerning your sister ; but ere I received
his answer, the opening quest of a well-scented terrier of
the law drove me from the vicinity of Edinburgh to a more
distant and secluded place of concealment. A secret and
trusty emissary at length brought me the account of
Porteous's condemnation, and of your sister's imprison-
ment on a criminal charge ; thus astounding one of mine
ears, while he gratified the other.

" I again ventured to the Pleasance — again charged
Murdockson with treachery to the unfortunate Effie and
her child, though I could conceive no reason, save that of
appropriating the whole of the money I had lodged with
her. Your narrative throws light on this, and shows
another motive, not less powerful because less evident —
the desire of wreaking vengeance on the seducer of her
daughter, — the destroyer at once of her reason and reputa-
tion. Great God 1 how I wish that, instead of the revenge
she made choice of, she had delivered me up to the cord 1 "

"But what account did the wretched woman give of
Eflie and the bairn?" said Jeanie, who, during this long
and agitating narrative, had firmness and discernment
enough to keep her eye on such points as might throw
light on her sister's misfortunes.

"She would give none," said Staunton; "she said the
mother made a moonlight flitting from her house, with the
infant in her arms — that she had never seen either of them
since — that the lass might have thrown the child into the
Nortli Loch, or the Quarry Holes, for what she knew, and
it was like enough she had done so."

" And how came you to believe that she did not speak the
fatal truth ? " said Jeanie, trembling.

" Because, on this second occasion, I saw her daughter,
and I understood from her, that, in fact, the child had been
removed or destroyed during the Illness of the mother. But
all knowledge to be got from her is so uncertain and

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 363

indirect, that I could not collect any further circumstances.
Only the diabolical character of old Murdockson makes me
augur the worst"

"The last account agrees with that given by my poor
sister," said Jeanie ; " but gang on wi' your ain tale, sir."

"Of this I am certain," said Staunton, "that Effie, in her
senses, and with her knowledge, never injured li\-ing
creature. — But what could I do in her exculpation ? —
Nothing — and, therefore, my whole thoughts were turned
towards her safety. I was under the cursed necessity of
suppressing my feelings towards Murdockson ; my life was
in the hag's hand — that I cared not for ; but on my life
hung that of your sister. I spoke thfe wretch fair ; I
appeared to confide in her ; and to me, so far as I was
personally concerned, she gave proofs of extraordinary
fidelity. I was at first uncertain what measures I ought
to adopt for your sister's liberation, when the general
rage excited among the citizens of Edinburgh on account
of the reprieve of Porteous, suggested to me the daring
idea of forcing the jail, and at once carr>-ing off your sister
from the clutches of the law, and bringing to condign punish-
ment a miscreant, who had tormented the unfortunate
Wilson even in the hour of death, as if he had been a
wild Indian taken captive by a hostile tribe. I flung
myself among the multitude in the moment of fermentation
—so did others among Wilson's mates, who had, like me,
been disappointed in the hope of glutting their eyes with
Porteous's execution. All was organised, and I was chosen
for the captain. I felt not — I do not now feel, compunction
for what was to be done, and has since been executed."

" Oh, God forgive ye, sir, and bring ye to a better sense
of your ways! " exclaimed Jeanie, in horror at the avowal
of such violent sentiments.

*' Amen," replied Staunton, "if my sentiments are
wrong. But, I rejjeat, that, although willing to aid the
deed, I could have wished them to have chosen another
leader ; because I foresaw that the great and general duty
of the night would interfere with the assistance which I
? proposed to render Effie. I gave a commission, however,
to a trusty friend to protect her to a place of safety, so soon
as the fatal procession had left the jail. But for no per-
suasions which I could use in the hurry of the moment,
or which my comrade employed at more length, after the
mob had taken a different direction, could the unfortunate

364 ' THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

girl be prevailed upon to leave the prison. His arguments
were all wasted upon the infatuated victim, and he was
obliged to leave her in order to attend to his own safety.
Such was his account ; but, perhaps, he persevered less
steadily in his attempt to persuade her than I would have
done."

" Effie was right to remain," said Jeanle ; "and I love
her the better for It."

" Why will you say so ? " said Staunton.

"You cannot understand my reasons, sir, if I should
render them," answered Jeanie composedly ; " they that
thirst for the blood of their enemies have no taste for the
well-spring of life."

"My hopes," said Staunton, "were thus a second time
disappointed. My next efforts were to bring her through
her trial by means of yourself. How I urged it, and where,
you cannot have forgotten. I do not blame you for your
refusal ; it was founded, I am convinced, on principle, and
not on indifference to your sister's fate. For me, judge of
me as a man frantic ; I knew not what hand to turn to, and
all my efforts were unavailing. In this condition, and close
beset on all sides, I thought of what might be done by
means of my family, and their influence. I fled from
Scotland — I reached this place — my miserably wasted and
unhappy appearance procured me from my father that
pardon, which a parent finds it so hard to refuse, even to
the most undeserving son. And here I have awaited in
anguish of mind, which the condemned criminal might
envy, the event of your sister's trial."

" Without taking any steps for her relief? " said Jeanie.

" To the last I hoped her case might terminate more
favourably ; and it is only two days since that the fatal
tidings reached me. My resolution was instantly taken.
I mounted my best horse with the purpose of making the
utmost haste to London, and there compounding with Sir
Robert Walpole for your sister's safety, by surrendering to
him, in the person of the heir of the family of Willingham,
the notorious George Roberttjon, the accomplice of Wilson,
the breaker of the Tolbooth prison, and the well-known
leader of the Porteous mob."

"But would that save my sister?" said Jeanie, in
astonishment.

" It would, as I should drive my bargain," said Staunton.

"Queens love revenge as well as their subjects — Little

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 365

you seem to esteem it, it is a poison which pleases all
f palates, from the prince to the peasant. Prime ministers
love no less the power of pleasing sovereigns by gratifying
their passions. The life of an obscure village girl I Why,
I might ask the best of the crown-jewels for laying the
head of such an insolent conspiracy at the foot of her
majesty, with a certainty of being gratified. All my other
plans have failed, but this could not. — Heaven is just, how-
ever, and would not honour me with making this voluntary
atonement for the injury I have done your sister. I had
not rode ten miles, when my horse, the best and most
surefooted animal in this country, fell with me on a level
piece of road, as if he had been struck by a cannon-shot.
I was greatly hurt, and was brought back here in the
miserable condition in which you now see me."

As young Staunton had come to the conclusion, the
servant opened the door, and, with a voice which seemed
intended rather for a signal, than merely the announcing
of a visit, said, "His Reverence, sir, is coming upstairs to
wait upon you."

"For God's sake, hide yourself, Jeanie," exclaimed
Staunton, " in that dressing-closet ! "

"No, sir," said Jeanie; "as I am here for nae ill, I
. canna take the shame of hiding mysell frae the master o'
the house."

" But, good Heavens ! " exclaimed George Staunton,
" do but consider "

Ere he could complete the sentence, his father entered the
apartment.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

And now, will pardon, comfort, kindness, dra^
The youth from vice? will honour, duty, law?

Crabbe.

\ Jeakie arose from her seat, and made her quiet reverence,
; when the elder Mr. Staunton entered the apartment. His
• astonishment was extreme at finding his son in such
^ company.

"I perceive, madam," he said, "I have made a mistake
respecting you, and ought to have left the task of interrogat-
ing you, and of righting your wrongs, to this youn^ man,
with whom, doubtless, you have been formerly acquamted."

366 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

" It's unwitting on my part that I am here," said Jeanie ;
" the servant told me his master wished to speak with me."

"There goes the purple coat over my ears," murmured
Tummas. "D — n her, why must she needs speak the
truth, when she could have as well said anything else she
had a mind ? "

"George," said Mr. Staunton, "if you are still — as you
have ever been — lost to all self-respect, you might at least
have spared your father, and your father's house, such a
disgraceful scene as this."

" Upon my life — upon my soul, sir ! " said George, throw-
ing his feet over the side of the bed, and starting from his
recumbent posture.

" Your life, sir I " interrupted his father, with melancholy
sternness. — "What sort of life has it been? — Your soul!
alas ! what regard have you ever paid to it ? Take care to
reform both ere offering either as pledges of your sincerity."

"On my honour, sir, you do me wrong," answered
George Staunton ; "I have been all that you can call me
that's bad, but in the present instance you do me Injustice.
By my honour, you do ! "

"Your honour!" said his father, and turned from him,
with a look of the most upbraiding contempt, to Jeanie.
"From you, young woman, I neither ask nor expect any
explanation ; but, as a father alike and as a clergyman, I
request your departure from this house. If your romantic
story has been other than a pretext to find admission into it
(which, from the society in which you first appeared, I may
be permitted to doubt), you will find a justice of peace
within two miles, with whom, more properly than with me,
you may lodge your complaint."

"This shall not be," said George Staunton, starting up
to his feet "Sir, you are naturally Idnd and humane —
you sdiall not become cruel and inhospitable on my account.
Turn out that eavesdropping rascal," pointing to Thomas,
"and get what hartshorn drops, or what better receipt you
Iiave against fainting, and I will explain to you in two
words the connection betwixt this young woman and me.
She shall not lose her fair character through me. I have
done too much mischief to her family already, and I know
too well what belongs to the loss of fame."

"Leave the room sir," said the Rector to the servant f
and when the man had obeyed, he carefully shut the door
behind him. Then addressing his son, he said sternly,:

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 367

"Now, sir, what new proof of your infamy have you to
impart to me ? "

Young Staunton was about to speak, but it was one
of those moments when persons, who, like Jeanie Deans,
possess the advantage of a steady courage and unruffled
temper, can assume the superiority over more ardent but
less determined spirits.

"Sir," she said to the elder Staunton, "ye have an
undoubted right to aisk your ain son to render a reason of
his conduct. But respecting me, I am but a wayfaring
traveller, no ways obligated or indebted to you, unless it be
for the meal of meat which, in my ain country, is willingly
gien by rich or poor, according to their ability, to those who
need it ; and for which, forby that, I am willing to make
payment, if I didna think it would be an affront to offer
siller in a house like this — only I dinna ken the fashions of
the country. "

"This is all very well, young woman," said the Rector, a
good deal surprised, and unable to conjecture whether to
impute Jeanie's language to simplicity or impertinence —
"this may be all very well — but let me bring it to a point
Why do you stop this young man's mouth, and prevent his
communicating to his father and his best friend, an explana-
tion (since he says he has one) of circumstances which seem
in themselves not a little suspicious ? "

"He may tell of his ain affairs what he likes," answered
Jeanie ; " but my family and friends have nae right to hae
ony stories told anent them without their express desire ;
and, as they canna be here to speak for themselves, I entreat
ye wadna ask Mr. George Rob — I mean Staunton, or what-
ever his name is, ony questions anent me or my folk ; for I
maun be free to tell you, that he will neither have the
bearing of a Christian or a gentleman, if he answers you
against my express desire."

"This is the most extraordinary thing I ever met with,"
said the Rector, as, after fixing his eyes keenly on the
placid, yet modest countenance of Jeanie, he turned them
suddenly upon his son. " What have you to say, sir ? "

"That 1 feel I have been too hasty in my promise, sir,"
answered George Staunton ; " I have no title to make any
communications respecting the affairs of this young person's
family without her assent

The elder Mr. Staunton turned his eyes from one to the
other with marks of surprise.

368 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

"This is more, and worse, I fear," he said, addressing
his son, "than one of your frequent and disgraceful con-
nections— I insist upon knowing the mystery."

" I have already said, sir," replied his son rather sullenly,
"that I have no title to mention the affairs of this young
woman's family without her consent."

"And I hae nae mysteries to explain, sir," said Jeanie,
"but only to pray you, as a preacher of the gospel and a
gentleman, to permit me to go safe to the next public-house
on the Lunnon road."

" I shall take care of your safety," said young Staunton ;
" you need ask that favour from no one."

" Do you say so before my face ? " said the justly-incensed
father. " Perhaps, sir, you intend to fill up the cup of
disobedience and profligacy by forming a low and disgraceful
marriage? But let me bid you beware."

" If you were feared for sic a thing happening wi' me,
sir," said Jeanie, " I can only say, that not for all the land
that lies between the twa ends of the rainbow wad I be the
woman that should wed your son."

" There is something very singular in all this," said the
elder Staunton; "follow me into the next room, young
woman. "

"Hear me speak first," said the^oun^ man. "I have
but one word to say. I confide entirely m your prudence ;
tell my father as much or as little of these matters as you
will, he shall know neither more nor less from me."

His father darted to him a glance of indignation, which
softened into sorrow as he saw him sink down on the couch,
exhausted with the scene he had undergone. He left the
apartment, and Jeanie followed him, George Staunton
raising himself as she passed the doorway, and pronouncing
the word, " Remember I " in a tone as monitory as it was
uttered by Charles I. upon the scaffold. The elder Staunton
led the way into a small parlour, and shut the door.

"Young woman," said he, "there is something;- in your
face and appearance that marks both sense and simplicity,
and, if I am not deceived, innocence also. — Should it be
otherwise, I can only say, you are the most accomplished
hypocrite I have ever seen. — 1 ask to know no secret that
you have unwillingness to divulge, least of all those which
concern my son. His conduct has given me too much
unhappiness to permit me to hope comfort or satisfaction
from him. If you are such as I suppose you, believe me,

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 369

■iiai whatever unhappy circumstances may have connected
; vou with George Staunton, the sooner you break them
I through the better."

} '* I think I understand your meaning, sir," replied Jeanie ;

[ "and as ye are sae frank as to speak o' the young gentle-

; man in sic a way, 1 must needs say that it is but the second

time of my speaking wi' him in our lives, and what I hae

heard frae him on these twa occasions has been such that I

never wisli to hear the like again."

"Then il is your real intention to leave this part of the
country, and proceed to London ? " said the Rector.

" Certainly, sir ; for I may say, in one sense, that the
avenger of blood is behind me ; and if I were but assured

against mischief by the way "

"I have made inquiry," said the clerg\'man, "after the
suspicious characters you described. They have left their
place of rendezvous ; but as they may be lurking in the
neighbourhood, and as you say you have special reason to
apprehend violence from them, I will put you under the
charge of a steady person, wlio will protect you as far as
Stamford, and see you into a light coach, which goes from
thence to London.

"A coach is not for the like of me, sir," said Jeanie, to
whom the idea of a stage-coach was unknown, as, indeed,
they were then only used in the neighbourhood of London.

Mr. Sta.unton briefly explained that she would find that
mode of conveyance more commodious, clieaper, and more
safe, than travelling on horseback. She expressed her
; gratitude with so much singleness of heart, that he was
- induced to ask her whether she wanted the pecuniar}'
means of prosecuting her journey. She thanked him, but
said she had enough for her purpose ; and, indeed, she had
liusbanded her stock with great care. This reply served
also to remove some doubts, which naturally enough still
floated in Mr. Staunton's mind, respecting her character
and real purpose, and satisfied him, at least, that money
did not enter into her scheme of deception, if an impostor
she should prove. He next requested to know what part of
the city she wished to go to.

"To a very decent merchant, a cousin o' my ain, a Mrs.
Glass, sir, that sells snuff and tobacco, at the sign o' the
Thistle, somegate in the town."

Jeanie communicated this intelligence with a feeling that
a connection so respectable ought to give her consequence

37° THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

in tiie eyes of Mr, Staunton ; and she was a good deal
surprised when he answered —

"And is this woman your only acquaintance in London,
my poor girl ? and have you really no better knowledge
where she is to be found ?

" I was gaun to see the Duke of Argyle, forby Mrs.
Glass," said Jeanie ; "and if your honour thinks it would
be best to go there first, and get some of his Grace's folk to
show me my cousin's shop "

"Are you acquainted with any of the Duke of Argyle's
people ? " said the Rector.

"No, sir."

" Her brain must be something touched after all, or it
would be impossible for her to rely on such introductions. —
Well," said he aloud, " I must not inquire into the cause of
your journey, and so I cannot be fit to give you advice how
to manage it. But the landlady of the house where the
coach stops is a very decent person ; and as I use her
house sometimes, I will give you a recommendation
to her."

Jeanie thanked him for his kindness with her best
curtsey, and said, "That with his honour's line, and ane
from worthy Mrs. Bickerton, that keeps tlie Seven Stars
at York, she did not doubt to be well taken out in
Ltmnon."

"And now," said he, "I presume you will be desirous to
set out immediately."

" If I had been in an inn, sir, or any suitable resting-
place," answered Jeanie, " I wad not have presumed to use
the Lord's day for travelling ; but as I am on a journey oi
mercy, 1 trust my doing so will not be imputed."

"You may, if you choose, remain with Mrs. Dalton foi
the evening ; but I desire you will have no further corre-
spondence with my son, who is not a proper counsellor foi
a person of your age, whatever your difficulties may be."

"Your honour speaks ower truly in that," said Jeanie
"it was not with my will that I spoke wi' him just now
and — not to wish the gentleman onything but gude — 1
never wish to see him between the een again."

"If you please," added the Rector, "as you seem to b<
a seriously-disposed young woman, you may attend £amilj
worship in the hall this evening."

" I thank your honour," said Jeanie ; " but I am doubtfu
if my attendance would be to edification."

THE HEART OP MID-LOTHIAN. 371

"How!" said the Rector, "so young, and already
unfortunate enough to have doubts upon the duties of
religion ! "

"God forbid, sir," replied Jeanie ; "it is not for that;
but I have been bred in the faith of the suffering remnant
of the Presbyterian doctrine in Scotland, and I am doubtful
if I can lawfully attend upon your fashion of worship, seeing
it has been testified against by many precious souls of our
kirk, and specially by my worthy father."

"Well, my good girl," said the Rector, with a good-
humoured smile, "far be it from me to put any force
upon your conscience ; and yet you ought to recollect that
the same divine grace dispenses its streams to other
kingdoms as well as to Scotland. As it is as essential to
our spiritual, as water to our earthly wants, its springs,
various in character, yet alike efficacious in virtue, are to
be found in abundance throughout the Christian world."

" Ah, but," said Jeanie, " though the waters may be alike,
yet, with your worship's leave, the blessing upon them may
i not be equal. It would have been in vain for Naaman, the
Syrian leper, to have bathed in Pharphar and Abana, rivers
of Damascus, when it was only the waters of Jordan that
were sanctified for the cure."

"Well," said the Rector, "we will not enter upon the

; great debate betwixt our national churches at present.

We must endeavour to satisfy you, tliat at least, amongst

our errors, we preserve Christian cliarity, and a desire to

assist our brethren."

> He then ordered Mrs. Dalton into his presence, and

' consigned Jeanie to her particular charge, with directions

' to be kind to her, and with assurances, that, early in the

morning, a trusty g^ide and a good horse should be ready

to conduct her to Stamford. He then took a serious and

dignified, yet kind leave of her, wishing her full success in

the objects of her journey, which he said he doubted not

, were laudable, from the soundness of thinking which she

, had displayed in conversation.

; Jeanie was again conducted by the housekeeper to her

^ own apartment. But the evening was not destined to

i pass over without further torment from young Staunton.

i A paper was slipped into her hand by the faithful Tummas,

which intimated his young master's desire, or rather demand,

to see her instantly, and assured her he had provided against

interruption.

372 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

"Tell your young master," said Jeanie openly, and
regardless of all the winks and signs by which Tummas
strove to make her comprehend that Mrs. Dalton was not
to be admitted into the secret of the correspondence, "that
I promised faithfully to his worthy father that I would not
see him again."

"Tummas," said Mrs. Dalton, "I think you might be
much more creditably employed, considering the coat you
wear, and the house you live in, than to be carrying
messages between your young master and girls that
chance to be in this house."

"Why, Mrs. Dalton, as to that, I was hired to
carry messages, and not to ask any questions about
them ; and it's not for the like of me to refuse the
young gentleman's bidding, if he were a little wildish
or so. If there was harm meant, there's no harm done,
you see." i

"However," said Mrs. Dalton, "I gie you fair'
warning, Tummas Ditton, that an 1 catch thee at
this work again, his Reverence shall make a clear house
of you. "

Tummas retired, abashed and in dismay. The rest
of the evening passed away without anything worthy of
notice.

Jeanie enjoyed the comforts of a good bed and a sound
sleep with grateful satisfaction, after the perils and hard-
ships of the preceding day ; and such was her fatigue, that
she slept soundly until six o'clock, when she was awakened
by Mrs. Dalton, who acquainted her that her guide and
horse were ready, and in attendance. She hastily rose,
and, after her morning devotions, was soon ready to
resume her travels. The motherly care of the house-
keeper had provided an early breakfast, and, after she
had partaken of this refreshment, she found herself safe
seated on a pillion behind a stout Lincolnshire peasant,
who was, besides, armed with pistols to protect her against,
any violence which might be offered.

They trudged on in silence for a mile or two along a
country road, which conducted iheni, by hedge and gate-
way, into tlie principal highway, a little beyond Grantham.
At length her master of the horse asked her whether her
name was not Jean, or Jane, Deans. She answered in the^
affirmative, with some surprise. "Then here's a bit of a|
note as concerns you," said the man, handing it over his?

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 373

I left shoulder. "It's from young niasier, ai 1 judg-e, and
• every man about Willingham is fain to pleasure him either

for love or fear ; for he'll come to be landlord at last, let

them say what they like."
Jeanie broke the seal of the note, which was addressed to

her, and read as follows : —

"You refuse to see me. I suppose you are shocked at my
character ; but, in painting myselt such as I am, you should
g:ive me credit for my sincerity. I am, at least, no hypocrite.
You refuse, however, to see me, and your conduct may be
natural — but is it wise? I have expressed my anxiety to repair
your sister's misfortunes at the expense of my honour — my
family's honour — my own life ; and you think me too debased
to be admitted even to sacrifice what I have remaining of
honour, fame, and life, in her cause. Well, if the offerer be
despised, the victim is still equally at band ; and perhaps there
may be justice in the decree of Heaven, that I shall not have
the melancholy credit of appearing to make this sacrifice out of
I my own free good-will. You, as you have declined my concur-
l rence, must take the whole upon yourself. Go, then, to the
Duke of Argyle, and, when other arguments fail you, tell him
you have it in your power to bring to condign punishment the
I most active conspirator in the Porteous mob. He will hear you

> on this topic, should he be deaf to every other. Make your own
'; terms, for they will be at your own making. You know where

> I am to be found ; and you may be assured I will not give you
f. the dark side of the hill, as at Muschat's Cairn ; I have' no
; thoughts of stirring from the house I was born in ; like the
1 hare, I shall be worried in the seat I started from. I repeat it
I —make your own terms. I need not remind you to ask your
\ sister's life, for that you will do, of course ; but make terms of
; advantage for yourself — ask wealth and reward — office and

income for Butler — ask anything — you will get anything — and

all for delivering to the hands of the executioner a man most

t deserving of his office ; — one who, though young in years, is

I old in wickedness, and whose most earnest desire is, after the

F storms of an unquiet life, to sleep and be at rest."

f This extraordinary letter was subscribed with the initials
! G. S.

;! Jeanie read it over once or twice with great attention,
I, which the slow pace of the horse, as he stalked through a
r deep lane, enabled her to do with facility.
\- When she had perused this billet, her first employment
I'was to tear it into as small pieces as possible, and di'sperso

J74 TiE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

thet.e pieces in the air by a few at a time, so that a document
containing so perilous a secret might not fall into any other
person's hand.

The question how far, in point of extremity, she was
entitled to save her sister's life by sacrificing that of a
person who, though guilty towards the state, had done her no
injury, formed the next earnest and most painful subject of
consideration. In one sense, indeed, it seemed as if denoun-
cing the guilt of Staunton, the cause of her sister's errors
and misfortunes, would have been an act of just, and even
providential, retribution. But Jeanie, in the strict and severe
tone of morality in which she was educated, had to consider
not only the general aspect of a proposed action, but it»
justness and fitness in relation to the actor, before she could
be, according to her own phrase, free to enter upon it
What right had she to make a barter between the lives of
Staunton and of Effie, and to sacrifice the one for the safety
of the other? His guilt — that guilt for which he was
amenable to the laws — was a crime against the public
indeed, but it was not against her.

Neither did it seem to her that his share in the death of
Porteous, though her mind revolted at the idea of using
violence to any one, was in the relation of a common murder,
against the perpetrator of which every one is called to aid
the public magistrate. That violent action was blended
with many circumstances, which, in the eyes of those ol
Jeanie's rank in life, if they did not altogether deprive it ol
the character of guilt, softened, at least, its most atrocious
features. The anxiety of the government to obtain con.
viction of some of the offenders, had but served to increase
the public feeling which connected the action, though violent
and irregular, with the idea of ancient national independence.
The rigorous procedure adopted or proposed against the citj
of Edinburgh, the ancient metropolis of Scotland — the ex-
tremely unpopular and injudicious measure of compelling the
Scottish clergy, contrary to their principles and sense of dutyt
to promulgate from the pulpit the reward offered for th€
discovery of the perpetrators of this slaughter, had producec
on the public mind the opposite consequences from what
were intended ; and Jeanie felt conscious, that whoevei
should lodge information concerning that event, and fo
whatsoever purpose it mije^ht be done, it would be consider©
as an act of treason against the independence of Scotland
With the fanaticism of the Scotch Presbyterians, there waj

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 375

.always mingled a glow of national feeljng, and Jeanie
trembled at the idea of her name being handed down to
posterity with that of the "fause Monteath," and one or
•two others, who, having deserted and betrayed the cause
;of their countr}', are damned to perpetual remembrance
and execration among its peasantry. Yet, to part with
Effie's life once more, when a word spoken might save
it, pressed severely on the mind of her affectionate
isister.

* •' The Lord support and direct me ! " said Jeanie, " for it
seems to be His will to try me with difficulties far beyond
!my ain strength."

i While this thought passed through Jeanie's mind, her
iguard, tired of silence, began to show some inclination to
(be communicative. He seemed a sensible, steady peasant,
but not having more delicacy or prudence than is common
to those in his situation, he, of course, chose the Willingham
family as the subject of his conversation. From this man
Jeanie learned some particulars of which she had hitherto
,been ignorant, and which we will briefly recapitulate for the
information of the reader.

The father of George Staunton had been bred a soldier,
iund, during service in the West Indies, had married the
Iheiress of a wealthy planter. By this lady he had an only
child, George Staunton, the unhappy young man who has
been so often mentioned in this narrative. He passed the
first part of his early youth under the charge of a doting
mother, and in the society of negro slaves, whose study it
■was to gratify his every caprice. His father was a man of
worth and sense ; but as he alone retained tolerable health
among the officers of the regiment he belonged to, he was
much engaged with his duty. Besides, Mrs. Staunton was
beautiful and wilful, and enjoyed but delicate health ; so
that it was difficult for a man of affection, humanity, and
a quiet disposition, to struggle with her on the point of her
over-indulgence to an only child. Indeed, what Mr. Staunton
^Jid do towards counteracting the baneful effects of his wife's
system, only tended to render it more pernicious ; for every
irestraint imposed on the boy in his father's presence, was
■compensated by treble license during his absence. So that
George Staunton acquired, even in childhood, the habit of
regarding his father as a rigid censor, from whose severity
he was desirous of emancipating himself as soon and
absolutely as possible.

376 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

When he was about ten years old, and when his mind had
received all the seeds of those evil weeds which afterwards
grew apace, his mother died, and his father, half heart-
broken, returned to England. To sum up her imprudence
and unjustifiable indulgence, she had contrived to place a
considerable part of her fortune at her son's exclusive control
or disposal ; in consequence of which management, George
Staunton had not been long in England till he learned
his independence, and how to abuse it. His father had
endeavoured to rectify the defects of his education by
placing him in a well-regulated seminary. But although
he showed some capacity for learning, his riotous
conduct soon became intolerable to his teachers. He
found means (too easily afforded to all youths who
have certain expectations) of procuring such a command
of money as enabled him to anticipate in boyhood the
frolics and follies of a more mature age, and, with
these accomplishments, he was returned on his father's
hands as a profligate boy, whose example might ruin
a hundred.

The elder Mr. Staunton, whose mind, since his wife's
death, had been tinged with a melancholy, which certainlj
his son's conduct did not tend to dispel, had taken orders,
and was inducted by his brother. Sir William Staunton, intc
the family living of Willingham. The revenue was a mattei
of consequence to him, for he derived little advantage fron*
the estate of his late wife ; and his own fortune was thai
of a younger brother.

He took his son to reside with him at the rectory ; bu
he soon found that his disorders rendered him an intolerabh
inmate. And as the young men of his own rank would no
endure the purse-proud insolence of the Creole, he fell int<
that taste for low society, which is worse than " pressing t^
death, whipping, or hanging." His father sent him abroad
but he only returned wilder and more desperate thai
before. It is true, this unhappy youth was not without hij
good qualities. He had lively wit, good temper, reckle3»
generosity, and manners which, while he was under restrain^
might pass well in society. But all these availed hin
nothing. He was so well acquainted with the turf, th<
gaming-table, the cock-pit, and every worse rendezvous q
folly and dissipation, that his mother's fortune was spen
before he was twenty-one, and he was soon in debt an<
in distress. His early history may be concluded in th>

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 377

words of our British Juvenal, when describing a similar

character —

Headstrong, determined in his own career,
He thought reproof unjust, and truth severe.
The soul's disease was to its crisis come,
He first abused and then abjured his home j
And when he chose a vagabond to be, •

He made his shame his glory, " I'll be free ! "

"And yet 'tis pity on Measter George, too," continued
the honest boor, "for he lias an open hand, and winna let
a poor body want an he has it."

The virtue of profuse generosity, by which, indeed, they
themselves are most directly advantaged, is readily admitted
by the vulgar as a cloak for many sins.

At Stamford our heroine was deposited in safety by her
communicative guide. She obtained a place in the coach,
which, although termed a light one, and accommodated
with no fewer than six horses, only reached London on the
afternoon of the seoond day. The recommendation of the
elder Mr. Staunton procured Jeanie a civil reception at the
inn where tlie carriage stopped, and, by the aid of Mrs.
Bickerton's correspondent, she found out her friend and
relative Mrs. Glass, by whom she was kindly received and
hospitably entertained.

CHAPTER XXXV.

My name is Argyle, you may well think it strange,
To live at the court and never to change. — Ballad.

Few names deserve more honourable mention in the history
of Scotland, during this period, than that of John, Duke of
Argj-le and Greenwich. His talents as a statesman and a
soldier were generally admitted ; he was not without am-
bition, but "without the illness that attends it" — without
that irregularity of thought and aim, which often excites
great men, in his peculiar situation (for it was a very peculiar
one), to grasp the means of raising themselves to power, at
the risk of throwing a kingdom into confusion. Pope has
distinguished him as

Argyle, the state's whole thunder bom to wield.
And shake alike the senate and the field.

37» THE HEART OF MlD-LOTHIAN.

He was alike free from the ordinary vices of statesmen,
falsehood, namely, and dissimulation ; and from those of
warriors, inordinate and violent thirst after self-aggran-
disement.

Scotland, his native country, stood at this time in a
very precarious and doubtful situation. She was indeed
united to England, but the cement had not had time to
acquire consistence. The irritation of ancient wrongs
still subsisted, and betwixt the fretful jealousy of the
Scottish, and the supercilious disdain of the English,
quarrels repeatedly occurred, in the course of which the
national league, so important to the safety of both, was
in the utmost danger of being dissolved. Scotland had,
besides, the disadvantage of being divided into intestine
factions, which hated each other bitterly, and waited but
a signal to break forth into action.

In such circumstances, another man, with the talents
and rank of Argyle, but without a mind so happily
regulated, would have sought to rise from the earth in
the whirlwind, and direct its fury. He chose a course
more safe and more honourable.

Soaring above the petty distinctions of faction, his
voice was raised, whether in ofHce or opposition, for
those measui-es which were at once just and lenient.
His high military talents enabled him, during the
memorable year 1715, to render such services to the
house of Hanover, as, perhaps, were too great to be
either acknowledged or repaid. He had employed, too,
his utmost influence in softening the consequences of
that insurrection to the unfortunate gentlemen, whom
a mistaken sense of loyalty had engaged in the affair,
and was rewarded by the esteem and affection of his
country in an uncommon degree. This popularity with
a discontented and warlike people was supposed to
be a subject of jealousy at court, where the power to
become dangerous is sometimes of itself obnoxious,
though the mcllnatlon is not united with it. Besides,
the Duke of Argyle's independent and somewhat haughty
mode ot expressing himself in Parliament, and acting in
public, were ill calculated to attract royal favour. He
was, therefore, always respected, and often employed ;
but he was not a favourite of George the Second, his
consort, or his ministers. At several different periods
In his life, the Duke might be considered as in absolute

THE HEART OP MID-LOTHIAN, 379

disgrace at court, although he could hardly be said to
be a declared member of opposition. This rendered him
the dearer to Scotland, because it was usually in her
cause that he incurred the displeasure of his sovereign ;
and upon this very occasion of the Porteous mob, the
animated and eloquent opposition which he had offered to
the severe measures which were about to be adopted
towards the city of Edinburgh, was the more gratefully
received in that metropolis, as it was understood that the
Duke's interposition had given personal offence to Queen
Caroline.

His conduct upon this occasion, as, indeed, that of all
the Scottish members of the legislature, with one or two
unworthy exceptions, had been in the highest degree
spirited. The popular tradition, concerning his reply
to Queen Caroline, has been given already, and some
Fragments of his speech against the Porteous bill are
till remembered. He retorted upon the Chancellor,
Lord Hardwicke, the insinuation that he had stated
limself in this case rather as a party than as a judge :
"I appeal," said Argyle, "to the House — to the nation, if
I can be justly branded with the infamy of being a jobber
jr a partisan. Have I been a briber of votes? — a buyer
if boroughs ? — the agent of corruption for any purpose,
if on behalf of any party ? — Consider my life ; examine
■ny actions in the field and in the cabinet, and see where
here lies a blot that can attach to my honour. I have
ihown myself the friend of my country — the loyal subject
jf my king. I am ready to do so again, without an
nstant's regard to the frowns or smiles of a court. I
lave experienced both, and am prepared with indifference
br either. I have given my reasons for opposing this
>ill, and have made it appear that it is repugnant to the
nternational treaty of union, to the liberty of Scotland,
ind, reflectively, to that of England, to common justice,
o common sense, and to the public interest. Shall the
netropolis of Scotland, the capital of an independent
iiation, the residence of a long line of monarchs, by whom
hat noble city was graced and dignified — shall such a
:ity, for the fault of an obscure and unknown body ot
ioters, be deprived of its honours and its privileges — its
jates and its guards ? — and shall a native Scotsman tamely
:)ehold the havoc? I glory, my lords, in opposing such
tnjust rigour, and reckon it my dearest pride and honour

38o THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

to stand up in defence of my native country, while thiis
laid open to undeserved shame, and unjust spoliation."

Other statesmen and orators, both Scottish and English,
used the same arguments, the bill was gradually stripped
of its most oppressive and obnoxious clauses, and at length
ended in a fine upon the city of Edinburgh in favour of
Porteous's widow. So that, as somebody observed at the
time, the whole of these fierce debates ended in making
the fortune of an old cookmaid, such having been the
good woman's original capacity.

The court, however, did not forget the baffle they had
received in this affair, and the Duke of Argyle, who had
contributed so much to it, was thereafter considered 'as
a person in disgrace. It is necessary to place these cir-
cumstances under the reader's observation, both because
they are connected with the preceding and subsequent part
of our narrative.

The Duke was alone in his study, when one of his
gentlemen acquainted him, that a country - girl, from
Scotland, was desirous of speaking with his Grace.

"A country-girl, and from Scotland!" said the Duke;
"what can have brought the silly fool to London? — Some
lover pressed and sent to sea, or some stock sunk in
the South-Sea funds, or some such hopeful concern,
I suppose, and then nobody to manage the matter
but MacCallummore. — Well, this same popularity has
its inconveniences. — However, show our countrywoman
up, Archibald — it is ill manners to keep her in
attendance."

A young woman of rather low stature, and whose
countenance might be termed very modest, and pleasing
in expression, tiiough sun-burned, somewhat freckled, and
not possessing regular features, was ushered into the
splendid library. She wore the tartan plaid of her
country, adjusted so as partly to cover her head, an<f
partly to fall back over her shoulders. A quantity
fair hair, disposed with great simplicity and neatness
appeared in front of her round and good-humoured face
to which the solemnity of her errand, and her sense
the Duke's rank and importance, gave an appearance of
deep awe, but not of slavish fear, or flustered baslifulness;
The rest of Jeanle's dress was in the style of Scottish
maidens of her own class ; but arranged with that
scrupulous attention to neatness and cleanliness, which

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 381

«-e often find united with that purity of mind, of which it
is a natural emblem.

She stopped near the entrance of the room, made her

' deepest reverence, and crossed her hands upon her bosom,

; without uttering a syllable. The Duke of .\rgyle advanced

' towards her ; and, if she admired his graceful deportment

' and rich dress, decorated with the orders which had been

I deser\'edlv bestowed on him, his courteous manner, and

quick and intelligent cast of countenance, he, on his part,

was not less, or less deservedly, struck with the quiet

simplicity and modesty expressed in the dress, manners,

and countenance of his humble countn,-woman.

•' Did you wish to speak with me, my bonny lass ? "
said the Duke, using the encouraging epithet which at
once acknowledged tlie connection betwixt them as
countr>'-foIk ; "or, did you wish to see the Duchess ? "

" My business is with your honour, my Lord — I mean
your Lordship's Grace."

" And what is it, my good girl ? " said the Duke, in the
same mild and encouraging tone of voice. Jeanie looked
at the attendant. "Leave us, Arcliibald," said the Duke,
and wait in the anteroom." The domestic retired.
And now sit down, my good lass," said the Duke;
"take your breath — take your time, and tell me what
you have got to say. I guess by your dress, you are just
come up from poor old Scotland — Did you come through
tlie streets in your tartan plaid ? "

" No, sir," said Jeanie ; " a friend brought me in ane o'
their street coaches — a very decent woman," she added,
her courage increasing as she became familiar with the
sound of her own voice in such a presence ; " your Lordship's
Grace kens her — it's Mrs. Glass, at the sign o' the Thistle."
'Oh, my worthy snuff-merchant — I have always a chat
with Mrs. Glass when 1 purchase my Scotch high-dried. —
Well, but your business, my bonny woman — time and
ude, you know, wait for no one. "

" Your honour — I beg your Lordship's pardon — I mean
r^our Grace," — for it must be noticed, that this matter of
iddressing the Duke by his appropriate title had been
«ndously inculcated upon Jeanie by her friend Mrs. Glass,
n whose eyes it was a matter of such importance, that her
ast words, as Jeanie left the coach, were, " Mind to say

f'our Grace ; " and Jeanie, who had scarce ever in her life
poke to a person of higher quality than the Laird of

38a THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

Dumbiedikes, found great diificulty in arranging her
language according to the rules of ceremony.

The Duke, who saw her embarrassment, said, with his usual
affability, " Never mind my grace, lassie ; just speak out a
plain tale, and show you have a Scotch tongue in your head."

"Sir, I am muckle obliged — Sir, I am the sister of that
poor unfortunate criminal, Effie Deans, who is ordered for
execution at Edinburgh."

" Ah 1 " said the Duke, " I have heard of that unhappy
story, I think — a case of child-murder, under a special
act of parliament — Duncan Forbes mentioned it at dinner
the other day."

"And I was come up frae the north, sir, to see what
could be done for her in the way of getting a reprieve or
pardon, sir, or the like of that."

"Alas! my poor girl," said the Duke, "you have made
a Ion|f and a sad journey to very little purpose — Your
sister is ordered for execution."

" But I am given to understand that there is law for
reprieving her, if it is in the king's pleasure," said Jeanie.

"Certainly there is," said the Duke; "but that is
purely in the king's breast The crime has been but
too common — the Scotch crown-lawyers think it is right
there should be an example. Then the late disorders in
Edinburgh have excited a prejudice in government against
the nation at large, which they think can only be managed
by measures of intimidation and severity. What argument;
have you, my poor girl, except the warmth of your sisterly^
affection, to offer against all this? — What is your interest?'
— What friends have you at court ? " i

"None, excepting God and your Grace," said Jeanie,
still keeping her ground resolutely, however.

"Alas!" said the Duke, "I could almost say with old
Ormond, that tliere could not be any, whose influence was
smaller with kings and ministers. It is a cruel part of
our situation, young woman — I mean of the situation of
men in my circumstances, that the public ascribe to them
influence which they do not possess ; and that individuals
are led to expect from them assistance which we have no
means of rendering. But candour and plain dealing is in
the power of every one, and I must not let you imagine
jou have resources in my influence, which do not exist, to
make your distress the heavier — I have no means of averting
your sister's fate — She must die."

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 383

, "We must a' die, sir," said Jeanie ; " it is our common
doom for our father's transgression ; but we shouldna
hasten ilk other out o* the world, that's what your honour
»kens better than me,"

' "My good young woman," said the Duke mildly, "we
?are all apt to blame the law under which we immediately
isufter; but you seem to have been well educated in your
'line of life, and you must know that it is alike the law of
iGod and man, that the murderer shall surely die."
I " But, sir, Effie — that is, my poor sister, sir — canna be
I proved to be a murderer; and if she be not, and the law
cake her life notwithstanding, what is it that is the murderer
then ? "

" I am no lawyer," said the Duke ; "and I own I think
thestatute a very severe one."

" You are a law-maker, sir, with your leave ; and,
therefore, ye have power over the law," answered Jeanie.

" Not in my mdividual capacity," said the Duke ;
"though, as one of a large body, I have a voice in the
egislation. But that cannot ser\'e you — nor have I at
Dresent, I care not who knows it, so much personal influence
with the sovereign, as would entitle me to ask from him
•.he most insignificant favour. What could tempt you,
young woman, to address yourself to me ? "
" It wasyoursell, sir."

"Myself?" he replied — "I am sure you have never seen
•ne before."

" No, sir ; but a' the world kens that the Duke of Argyle

s his country's friend ; and that ye fight for the right,

ind speak for the right, and that there's nane like yours

n our present Israel, and so they that think themselves

wranged draw to refuge under your shadow; and if ye

wunna stir to save the blood of an innocent countrywoman

jf your ain, what should we expect frae southrons and

strangers ? And maybe I had another reason for troubling

your honour."

" And what is that ? " asked the Duke.

" I hae understood from my father, that your honour's

>iouse, and especially your gudesire and his father, laid

J ! lown their lives on the scaffold in the persecuting time.

, ' \nd my father was honoured to gie his testimony baith

1 n the cage and in the pillory, as is specially mentioned

.[n the books of Peter Walker the packman, that your

uonour, I dare say, kens, for he uses maist partly th«

384 THE HEART OF MlD-LOTHlAN.

westland of Scotland. And, sir, there's ane that takes
concern in me, that wished nie to gang to your Grace's
presence, for his gudesire had done your gracious gudesire
some good turn, as ye will see frae these papers."

With these words, she delivered to tne Duke the little
parcel which she had received from Butler. He opened it,
and, in the envelope, read with some surprise, " ' Muster-roll,
of the men serving in the troop of that godly gentleman,
Captain Salathiel Bangtext. — Obadiah Muggleton, Sin-
Despise Double-knock, Stand-fast-in-faith Gipps, Turn-to-
the-right Thwack-away ' — What the deuce is this ? A list of
Praise-God Barebone's Pai'liament, I think, or of old Noll's
evangelical army — that last fellow should understand his
wheelings to judge by his name. — But what does all this,
mean, my girl ? "

"It was the other paper, sir," said Jeanie, somewhat
abashed at the mistake.

"Oh, this is my unfortunate grandfather's hand sure
enough — ' To all who may have friendship for the house
of Argyle, these are to certify, that Benjamin Butler, of
Monk's regiment of Dragoons, having been, under God,
the means of saving my life from four English troopers
who were about to slay me, I, having no other present
means of recompense in my power, do give him this
acknowledgnjent, hoping that it may be useful to him
or his during these troublesome times ; and do conjure
my friends, tenants, kinsmen, and whoever will do aught
for me, either in the Highlands or Lowlands, to protect
and assist the said Benjamin Butler, and his friends or
family, on their lawful occasions, giving them such counten-
ance, maintenance, and supply, as may correspond with the
benefit he hath bestowed on me ; witness my hand — Lorne.

" This is a strong injunction — This Benjamin Butler
was your grandfather, I suppose? — You seem too young to
have been his daughter."

" He was nae akin to me, sir — he was grandfather tc
ane — to a neighbour's son — to a sincere weel-wisher oi
mine, sir," dropping her little curtsev as she spoke.

"Oh, I understand," said the Duke — "a true-love affair,
He was the grandsire of one you are engaged to ?"

" One I Tuas engaged to, sir," said Jeanie, sighing ; " byi
this unhappy business of my poor sister "

"What!" said the Duke hastily, "he has not desertec
you on that account, has he ? "

She pleaded her sister's cause.

Paii 400.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 385

' No, sir ; he wad be the last to leave a friend in
cificulties," said Jeanie ; "but I maun think for him," as
weel as for mysell. He is a clergj'man, sir, and it would
not beseem him to marry the Uke of me, wi' this disgrace
on my kindred."

" You are a slngoilar young woman," said the Duke.

"You seem to me to tliink of every one before yourself.

And have you really come up from Edinburgh on foot,

titempt this hopeless solicitation for your sister's life ? "

• It was not a'thegether on foot, sir," answered Jeanie ;

' lor I sometimes got a cast in a waggon, and I had a

horse from Ferrybridge, and then the coach "

"Well, never mind all that," interrupted the Duke.
" What reason have you for thinking your sister inno-

:.t?"
Because she has not been proved guilty, as will appear
irom looking at these papers."

She put into his hand a note of the evidence, and copies

of her sister's declaration. ' These papers Butler had

procured after her departure, and Saddletree had them

•" rwarded to London, to Mrs. Glass's care ; so that Jeanie

nd the documents, so necessary for supporting her suit,

ng in readiness at her arrival.

"Sit down in that chaiir, my good girl," said the Duke,
" until I glance over the papers."

She obeyed, and watched with the utmost anxiety each
change in his countenance as he cast his eye through
rhe papers briefly, yet with attention, and making memo-
randa as he went along. After reading them hastily
over, he looked up, and seemed about to speak, yet changed
his purpose, as if afraid of committing himself by giving
too hasty an opinion, and read over again several passages
which he had marked as being most important. All this he
did in shorter time than can be supposed by men of
ordinary talents ; for his mind was of that acute and penetrat-
ing character which discovers, with the glance of intuition,
what facts bear on the particular point that chances to be
subjected to consideration. At length he rose, after a few
minutes' deep reflection. — "Young woman," said he, "your
sister's case must certainly be termed a hard one."

"God bless you, sir, for that very word ! " said Jeanie.

"It seems contrary to the gemus of British law," con-
tinued the Duke, "to take that for granted which is not
proved, or to punish with death for a crime, which, for

M

386 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. \

aught the prosecutor has been able to show, may not
liave been committed at all."

"God bless you, sir!" again said Jeanie, who had risen
from her seat, and, with clasped hands, eyes glittering
through tears, and features which trembled with anxiety,
drank in every word which the Duke uttered.

"But alas! my poor girl," he continued, "what good
will my opinion do you, unless I could impress it upon
those in whose hands your sister's life is placed by the law ?
Besides, I am no lawyer ; and I must speak with some of
our Scottish gentlemen of the gown about the matter."

"Oh, but, sir, what seems reasonable to your honour,
will cei'tainly be the same to them," answered Jeanie.

"I do not know that," replied the Duke; "ilka man
buckles his belt his ain gate — you know our old Scotch
proverb ? — But you shall not have placed this reliance on
me altogether in vain. Leave these papers with me, and
you shall hear from me to-morrow or next day. Take
care to be at home at Mrs. Glass's, and ready to come to me
at a moment's warning. It will be unnecessary for you to
give Mrs. Glass the trouble to attend you ; and, by the bye,
you will please to be dressed just as you are at present."

"I wad hae putten on a cap, sir," said Jeanie, "but
your honour kens it isna the fashion of my country for
single women ; and I judged that being sae mony
hundred miles frae hame, your Grace's heart wad warm
to the tartan," looking at the corner of her plaid.

"You judged quite right," said the Duke. "I know
the full value of the snood ; and MacCallummore's heart
will be as cold as death can make it, when it does noi
warm to the tartan. Now, go away, and don't be out of
the way when I send."

Jeanie replied, "There is little fear of that, sir, for I
have little heart to go to see sights amang this wilderness
of black houses. But if I might say to your gracious
honour, that if ye ever condescend to speak to ony ana.
that is of greater degree than yourseH, though maybe it
is nae civil in me to say sae, just if you would think
there can be nae sic odds between you and them, as
between poor Jeanie Deans from St. Leonard's and the
Duke of Argyle ; and so dinna be chappit back or cast
down wi' the first rough answer."

"I am not apt," said the Duke, laughing, "to mind
rough answers much — Do not you hope too much from

THE HEART OF MiD-LOTHIAN. 387

what I have promised. I will do my best, but God has

the hearts of kings in His own hand."

Jeanie curtseyed reverently and withdrew, attended by
the Duke's gentleman, to her hackney-coach, with a
respect which her appearance did not demand, but which
was perhaps paid to the length of the interview with
which his master had honoured her.

CHAPTER XXXVL

-Ascend,

Wliile radiant summer opens all its pride,
Thy hill, dcliglitful Shene I Here let us sweep
The boundless landscape.

Thomson.

From her kind and officious, but somewhat gossiping
friend, Mrs. Glass, Jeanie underwent a very close cate-
chism on their road to the Strand, where the Thistle of
tlie good lady flourished in full glory, and, with its legend
oi Nemo nie iinpune, distinguished a shop then well known
to all Scottish folk of high and low degree.

"And were you sure aye to say jour Grace to him?"
said the good old lady ; "for ane should make a dis-
tinction between MacCallummore and the bits o' southern
bodies that they ca' lords here — there are as mony o'
them, Jeanie, as would gar ane think they maun cost but
little fash in the making — some of them I wadna trust
wi' six penniesworth of black rappee — some of them I
wadna gie mysell the trouble to put up a hapnyworth in
brown paper for. — But I hope you showed your breeding
to the Duke of Argyle, for what sort of folk would he
think your friends in London, if you had been lording
him, and him a Duke ? "

"He didna seem muckle to mind," said Jeanie; "he
kend that I was landward bred."

"Weel, weel," answered the good lady. "His Grace
kens me weel ; so I am the less anxious about it. I never
fill his snuff-box but he says, ' How d'ye do, good Mrs.
Glass ? — How are all our friends in the North ? ' or it
may be—' Have ye heard from the North lately ? ' And
you may be sure, I make my best curtsey, and answer,

388 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

' My Lord Duke, I hope your Grace's noble Duchess, and
your Grace's young ladies, are well ; and I hope the snuff
continues to give your Grace satisfaction.* And then ye
will see the people in the shop begin to look about them ;
and if there's a Scotchman, as there may be three or half
a dozen, aff go the hats, and mony a look after him, and
* there goes the Prince of Scotland, God bless him 1 ' But
ye have not told me yet the very words he said t'ye."

Jeanie had no intention to be quite so communicative.
She had, as the reader may have observed, some of the
caution and shrewdness, as well as of the simplicity, of
her country. She answered generally, that the Duke had
received ^er very compassionately, and had promised to
interest himself in her sister's affair, and to let her hear
from him in the course of the next day, or the day after.
She did not choose to make any mention of his having
desired her to be in readiness to attend him, far less of
his hint, that she should not bring her landlady. So that
honest Mrs. Glass was obliged to remain satisfied with
the general intelligence above mentioned, after having
done all she could to extract more.

It may easily be conceived, that, on the next day,
Jeanie declined all invitations and inducements, whether
of exercise or curiosity, to walk abroad, and continued
to inhale the close, and somewhat professional atmo-
sphere of Mrs. Glass's small parlour. The latter flavour
it owed to a certain cupboard, containing, among other
articles, a few cannisters of real Havannah, which, whether
from respect to the manufacture, or out of a reverend fear
of the exciseman, Mrs. Glass did not care to trust in the
open shop below, and which communicated to the room
a scent, that, however fragrant to the nostrils of the
connoisseur, was not very agreeable to those of Jeanie.

"Dear sirs," she said to herself, "I wonder how my
cousin's silk manty, and hergowd watch, or onything in the
world, can be worth sitting sneezing all her life in this little
stifling room, and might walk on green braes if she liked. "

Mrs. Glass was equally surprised at her cousin's
reluctance to stir abroad, and her indifference to the fine
sights of London. " It would always help to pass away
the time," she said, "to have something to look at, though
ane was in distress." But Jeanie was unpersuadable.

The day after her interview with the Duke was spent
in that " hope delayed, which maketh the heart sick "

I

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 389

Minutes glided after minutes — hours fled after hours — it
became too late to have any reasonable expectation of
hearing from the Duke tliat day ; yet tlie hope which she
disowned, she could not altogether relinquish, and her
heart throbbed, and her ears tingled, with every casual
sound in the shop below. It was in vain. The day worfe
away in the anxiety of protracted and fruitless expectation.

Tiae next morning commenced in the same manner. But
before noon, a well-dressed gentleman entered Mrs. Glass's
shop, and requested to see a young woman from Scotland.

"That will be my cousin, Jeanie Deans, Mr. Archibald,"
said Mrs. Glass, with a curtsey of recognisance. *' Have
you any message for her from his Grace the Duke of Argylc,
Mr. Archibald ? I will carry it to her in a moment"

" I believe I must give her the trouble of stepping down,
Mrs. Glass."

"Jeanie — ^Jeanie Deans ! " said Mrs. Glass, screaming at
the bottom of the little staircase, which ascended from the
corner of the shop to the higher regions. "Jeanie — ^Jeanie
Deans, I say ! come downstairs instantly ; here is the
Duke of Argyle's groom of the chambers desires to see you
directly." This was announced in a voice so loud, as to
make all who chanced to be within hearing aware of the
important communication.

It may easily be supposed, that Jeanie did not tarry long
in adjusting herself to attend the summons, yet her feet
almost failed her as she came downstairs.

" I must ask the favour of your company a little way,**
said Archibald with civility.

" I am quite ready, sir," said Jeanie'.

" Is my cousin going out, Mr. Archibald? then I will hae
to go wi' her, no doubL — ^James Rasper — Look to the shop,
James. — Mr. Archibald," pushing a jar towards him, "you
take his Grace's mixture, I think. Please to fill your box,
for old acquaintance' sake, while I get on my things."

Mr. Archibald transposed a modest parcel of snuff from
the jar to his own mull, but said he was obliged to decline
the pleasure of Mrs. Glass's company, as his message was
particularly to the young person.

" Particularly to the young person ? " said Mrs. Glass ;

• "is not that uncommon, Mr. Archibald? But his Grace is

the best judge ; and vou are a steady person, Mr. Archibald,

It is not every one that comes from a great man's house I

I would trust my cousin with. — But, Jeanie, you must not go

390 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

through the streets witli Mr. Archibald with your tartan
what-d'yti-call-it there upon your slioulders, as if you had
come up with a drove of Highland cattle. Wait till I bring
down my silk cloak. Why we'll have the mob after you ! "

" I have a hackney-coach in waiting, madam," said Mr.
Archibald, interrupting the officious old lady, from whom
Jeanie might otherwise have found it difficult to escape,
"and, 1 believe, I must not allow her time for any change
of dress."

So saying, he hurried Jeanie into the coach, while she
internally praised and wondered at the easy manner in which
he shifted off Mrs. Glass's officious offers and inquiries,
without mentioning his master's orders, or going into any
explanation w hatever.

On entering the coach, Mr. Archibald seated himself in
the front seat, opposite to our heroine, and they drove on
in silence. After they had proceeded nearly half an hour,
without a word on either side, it occurred to Jeanie that
the distance and time did not corrrspond with that which
had been occupied by her journey on the former occasion,
to and from the residence of the Duke of Argyle. At length
she could not help asking her taciturn companion, " Whilk
way they were going ? "

"My Lord Duke will inform you himself, madam,"
answered Archibald, with the same solemn courtesy which
marked his whole demeanour. Almost as he spoke, the
hackney-coach drew up, and the coachman dismounted and
opened the door. Archibald got out, and assisted Jeanie
to get down. She found herself in a large turni)ike road,
without the bounds o( London, upon the other side of which
road was drawn up a plain chariot and four horses, the
panels without arms, and the servants without liveries.

"You have been punctual, I see, Jeanie," said the Duke
of Argyle, as Archibald opened the carriage door. "You
must be my companion for the rest of the way. Archibald
will remain here with the hackney-coach till your return." \

Ere Jeanie could make answer, she found herself, to h&t
no small astonishment, seated by the side of a duke, in &
carriage which rolled forward at a rapid yet smooth ratCj
very different in both particulars from the lumbering joltinff
vehicle which she had just left ; and which lumbering, ana
jolting as it was, conveyed to one who had seldom been in
a coach before, a certain feeling of dignity and importance.

"Young woman," said the Duke, "after thinking as

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 391

ittentively on your sister's case as is in my power, I continue
;o be impressed with the belief that great injustice may be
lone by the execution of her sentence. So are one or two
liberal and intelligent lawyers of both countries whom I
lave spoken with. — Nay, pray hear me out before you thank
ne. — I have already told you my personal conviction is of
ittle consequence, unless I could impress the same upon
>thers. Now I have done for you, what I would certainly
lot have done to serve any purpose of my own — I have
isked an audience of a lady whose interest with the king is
ieservedly very high. It has been allowed me, and I am
lesirous that you should see her and speak for yourself.
I'ou have no occasion to"be abashed ; tell your story simply
IS you did to me."

" I am much obliged to your Grace," said Jeanie,
emembering Mrs. Glass's charge; "and I am sure since

have had the courage to speak to your Grace, in poor
^ffie's cause, I have less reason co be shame-faced in
peaking to a leddy. But, sir, I would like to ken what
o ca' her, whether your grace, or your honour, or your
eddyship, as we say to lairds and leddies in Scotland, and
will take care to mind it ; for I ken leddies are full mair
)articular than gentlemen about their titles of honour."

' ' You have no occasion to call her anything but madam.
ust say what you think is likely to make the best impression
-look at me from time to time — if I put my hand to my
rravat so" (showing her the motion) "you will stop; but

shall only do this when you say anything that is not
ikely to please."

"But, sir, vour Grace," said Jeanie, "if it wasna ower
nuckle trouble, wad it no be better to tell me what I should
iay, and I could get it by heart ? "

" No, Jeanie, that would not have the same effect — that
vould be like reading a sermon, you know, which we good
'resbyterians think has less unction than when spoken
vithout book," replied the Duke. "Just speak as plainly
ind boldly to this lady, as you did to me the day before
'esterday ; and if you can gain her consent, I'll wad ye a
)lack, as we say in the north, that you get the pardon from
he king."

As he spoke, he took a pamphlet from his pocket, and

-an to read. Jeanie had good sense and tact, which

1 Itute betwixt them that which is called natural good

iing. She interpreted the Duke's manoeuvre as a

39a THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

hint that she was to ask no more questions, and she
remained silent accordingly.

The carnage rolled rapidly onwards through fertile
meadows, ornamented with splendid old oaks, and catching
occasionally a glance of the majestic mirror of a broad and
placid river. After passing through a pleasant village, the
equipage stopped on a commanding eminence, where the
beauty of English landscape was displayed in its utmost
luxuriance. Here the Duke alighted, ancl desired Jeanie to
follow him. They paused for a moment on the brow of a
hill, to gaze on the unrivalled landscape which it presented.
A huge sea of verdure, with crossmg and intersecting
promontories of massive and tufted groves, was tenanted
by numberless flocks and herds, which seemed to wander
unrestrained and unbounded through the rich pastures.
The Thames, here turreted with villas, and there garlanded
with forests, moved on slowly and placidly, like the mighty
monarch of the scene, to whom all its other beauties were
but accessories, and bore on his bosom a hundred barks
and skiffs, whose white sails and gaily fluttering pennons
gave life to the whole.

The Duke of Argyle was, of course, familiar with this
scene ; but to a man of taste it must be always new. Yet,
as he paused and looked on this inimitable landscape with
the feeling of delight which it must give to the bosom of
every admirer of nature, his thoughts naturally reverted
to his own more grand, and scarce less beautiful, domains
of Inverary. — "This is a fine scene," he said to his com-
panion, curious, perhaps, to draw out her sentiments ; "we
have nothing like it in Scotland."

"It's braw rich feeding for the cows, and they have a
fine breed o' cattle here, replied Jeanie; "but I like just
as weel to look at the craigs o' Arthur's Seat, and the
sea coming in ayont them, as at a' thae muckle trees."

The Duke smiled at a reply equally professional and
national, and made a signal for the carriage to remain
where it was. Then adopting an unfrequented foot-path,
he conducted Jeanie, through several complicated mazes,
to a postern-door in a high brick wall. It was shut ; but
as the Duke tapped slightly at it, a person in waitin'
within, after reconnoitring through a small iron grai
contrived for the purpose, unlocked the door, and admitt
them. They entered, and it was immediately closed and
fastened behind them. This was all done quickly, the doot

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 393

so instantly closing, and the person who opened it so
suddenly disappearing, that Jeanie could not even catch a
glimpse of his exterior.

They found themselves at the extremity of a deep and
narrow alley, carpeted with the most verdant and close-
shaven turf, which felt like velvet under their feet, and
screened from the sun by the branches of the lofty elms
which united over the path, and caused it to resemble,
in the solemn obscurity of the light which they admitted,
as well as from the range of columnar stems, and intricate
union of their arched branches, one of the narrow side aisles
in an ancient Gothic cathedraL

CHAPTER XXXVII.

-I beseech you—

These tears beseech you, and these chaste hands woo you,
That never yet were heaved but to things holy —
Things like yourself — You are a God above us ;
Be as a God, then, full of saving mercy !

The Bloody Brother.

Encouraged as she was by the courteous manners of her
noble countryman, it was not without a feeling of some-
thing like terror that Jeanie felt herself in a place apparently
so lonely, with a man of such high rank. That she should
have been permitted to wait on the duke in his own house,
and have been there received to a private interview, was
in itseh an uncommon and distinguished event in the
annals of a life so simple as hers ; but to find herself his
travelling companion in a journey, and then suddenly to
be left alone with him in so secluded a situation, had
something in it of awful mystery. A romantic heroine
might have suspected and dreaded the power of her own
charms ;' but Jeanie was too wise to let such a silly thought
intrude on her mind. Still, however, she had a most eager
desire to know where she now was, and to whom she was
to be presented.

She remarked that the duke's dress, though still such
as indicated rank and fashion (for it was not the custom
of men of quality at that time to dress themselves like
their own coachmen or groomg), was nevertheless plainer
'than that in which she had seen him upon a former

394 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

occasion, and was divested, in particular, of all those
badges of external decoration which intimated superior
consequence. In short, he was attired as plainly as any
gentleman of fashion could appear in the streets of London
in a morning ; and this circumstance helped to shake an
opinion which Jeariie began to entertain, that, perhaps,
he intended she should plead her cause in the presence
of royalty itself. "But, surely," said she to herself, "he
wad hae putten on his braw star and p^arter, an he had
thought o coming before the face of majesty — and after a',
this is mair like a gentleman's policy than a royal palace."

There was some sense in Jeanie's reasoning; yet she
was not sufficiently mistress either of the circumstances
of etiquette, or the particular relations which existed
betwixt the government and tlie Duke of Argyle, to form
an accurate judgment The duke, as we have said, was
at this time in open opposition to the administration of
Sir Robert Walpole, and was understood to be out of
favour with the royal family, to whom he had rendered
such important services. But it was a maxim of Queen
Caroline, to bear herself towards her political friends with
such caution, as if there was a possibility of their one
day being her enemies, and towards political opponents
with the same degree of circumspection, as if they might
again become friendly to her measures. Since Margaret
of Anjou, no queen-consort had exercised such weight in
the political affairs of England, and the personal address
which she displayed on many occasions, had no small
share in reclaiming from their political heresy many of
those determined Tories, * who, after the reign of the
Stuarts had been extinguislied in the person of Queen
Anne, were disposed rather to transfer their allegiance to
her brother the Chevalier de St. George, than to acquiesce
Jn the settlement of the crown on the Hanover family.
Her husband, whose most shining quality was courage in
the field of battle, and who endured the office of King of
England, without ever being able to acquire English habits,
or any familiarity with English dispositions, found the
utmost assistance from the address of his partner ; and
while he jealously affected to do everj'thing according to
his own will and pleasure, was in secret prudent enough
to take and follow the advice of his more adroit consort.
He intrusted to her the delicate office of determining the
various degrees of favour necessary to attach the wavering.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 395

or to confirm such as were already friendly, or to regain
those whose goodwill had been lost.

With all the winning address of an elegant, and accord-
ing to the times, an accomplished woman, Queen Caroline
possessed the masculine soul of the other sex. She was
proud by nature, and even her policy could not always
temper her expressions of displeasure, although few were
more ready at repairing any false step of this kind, when
her prudence came up to the aid of her passions. She loved
the real possession of power, rather than the show of it,
and whatever she did herself that was either wise or
popular, she always desired that the king should have
the full credit as well as the advantage of the measure,
conscious that, by adding to his respectability, she was
most likely to maintain her own. And so desirous was
she to comply with all his tastes, that, when threatened
with the gout, she had repeatedly had recourse to checking
the fit, by the use of the cold bath, thereby endangering
her life, that she might be able to attend the king in his
walks.

It was a very consistent part of Queen Caroline's
character, to keep up many private correspondences with
those to whom in public she seemed unfavourable, or
who, for various reasons, stood ill with the court. By
this means she kept in her hands the thread of many a
political intrigue, and, without pledging herself to any-
thing, could often prevent discontent from becoming hatred,
and opposition from exaggerating itself into rebellion. If
by any accident her correspondence with such persons
chanced to be observed or discovered, which she took all
possible pains to prevent, it was represented as a mere
intercourse of society, having no reference to politics ;
■an answer with which even the prime minister, Sir Robert
Walpole, was compelled to remain satisfied, when he
discovered that the queen had given a private audience
to Pulteney, afterwards Earl of Bath, his most formidable
[and most inveterate enemy.

In thus maintaining occasional intercourse with several
persons who seemed most alienated from the crown, it
may readily be supposed, that Queen Caroline had taken
care not to break entirely with the Duke of Argyle. His
high birth, his great talents, the estimation in which he
was held in his own countr}', the great services which
he had rendered the house of Brunswick in 1715, placed

396 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

him high in that rank of persons who were not to be
rashly neglected. He had, almost by his single and un-
assisted talents, stopped the irruption of the banded force
of all the Highland chiefs ; there was little doubt, that,
with the slightest encouragement, he could put them all
in motion, and renew the civil war ; and it was well known
that the most flattering overtures had been transmitted to
the Duke from the court of St. Germains. The character
and temper of Scotland were still little known, and it was
considered as a volcano, which mi^ht, indeed, slumber for
a series of years, but was still liable, at a moment the
least expected, to break out into a wasteful eruption. It
was, therefore, of the highest importance to retain some
hold over so important a personage as the Duke of Arg^le,
and Caroline preserved the power of doing so by means
of a lady, with whom, as wife of George II., she might
have been supposed to be on less intimate terms.

It was not the least instance of the queen's address,
that she had contrived that one of her principal attendants,
Lady Suffolk, should unite in her own person the two
apparently inconsistent characters, of her husband's mis-
tress, and her own very obsequious and complaisant
confidante. By this dexterous management the queen
secured her power against the danger which might most
have threatened it — the thwarting influence of an am-
bitious rival ; and if she submitted to the mortification of
being obliged to connive at her husband's infidelity, she
was at least guarded against what she might think its
most dangerous effects, and was besides at liberty, now
and then, to bestow a few civil insults upon "her good
Howard," whom, however, in general, she treated with
great decorum.* I>ady Suffolk lay under strong obligations
to the Duke of Argyle, for reasons which may be collected
from Horace Walpole's Reminiscences of that reign, and
through her means the Duke had some occasional corre-
spondence with Queen Caroline, much interrupted, however^
since the part he had taken in the debate concerning thfl
Porteous mob, an affair which the queen, though somo;
vrhat unreasonably, was disposed to resent, rather as ad
intended and premeditated insolence to her own person ani
authority, than as a sudden ebullition of popular vengeance^
Still, however, the communication remained open betwixt
them, though it had been of late disused on both sides.

• See Horace Walpole'» Reminwcencer

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 397

inese remarks will be found necessary to understand the
scene which is about to be presented to the reader.

From the narrow alley which they had traversed, the
Duke turned into one of the same character, but broader
and still longer. Here, for the first time since they had
entered these gardens, Jeanie saw persons approaching
them.

They were two ladies ; one of whom walked a little
behind the other, yet not so much as to prevent her from
hearing and replying to whatever observation was ad-
dressed to her by the lady who walked foremost, and that
trithout her having the trouble to turn her person. As
±ey advanced very slowly, Jeanie had time to study their
features and appearance. The Duke also slackened his
Dace, as if to give her time to collect herself, and repeatedly
lesired her not to be afraid. The lady who seemed the
jrincipal person had remarkably good features, though
x>mewhat injured by the small-pox, that venomous scourge,
;rhich each village Esculapius (thanks to Jenner) can now
ame as easily as their tuteljuy deity subdued the Python.
rhe lady's eyes were brilliant, her teeth good, and her
countenance formed to express at will either majesty or
curtesy. Her form, though rather embonpoint, was never-
-heless graceful ; and the elasticity and firmness of her step-
^ave no room to suspect, what was actually the case, that
she suffered occasionally from a disorder the most un-
"avourable to pedestrian exercise. Her dress was rather
•ich than gay, and her manner commanding and noble.

Her companion was of lower stature, with light-brown
lair and expressive blue eyes. Her features, without being
ibsolutely re^lar, were perhaps more pleasing than if they
aad been critically handsome. A melancholy, or at least a
■>ensive expression, for which her lot gave too much cause,
iredominated when she was silent, but gave way to a
•leasing and good-humoured smile when she spoke to
ny one.

U'hen they were within twelve or fifteen yards of these
adies, the Duke made a sign that Jeanie should stand still,
nd stepping forward himself, with the grace which was
atural to him, made a profound obeisance, which was
Dnnally, yet in a dignified mamner, returned by the
ersonage whom he approached.

" I hope," she said, with an affable and condescending
mile, "that I see so great a stranger at court, as the

398 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

Duke of Argyle has been of late, in as good health as his
friends there and elsewhere could wish him to enjoy."

The Duke replied, "That he had been perfectly well;"
and added, "that the necessity of attending to tlie public
business before the House, as well as the time occupied by
a late journey to Scotland, had rendered him less assiduous
in paying his duty at the levee and drawing-room than he
could have desired."

" When your Grace can find time for a duty so frivolous,"
replied the queen, " you are aware of your title to be well
received. I hope my readiness to comply with the wish
which you expressed yesterday to Lady Suffolk, is a
sufficient proof that one of the royal family, at least, has
not forgotten ancient and important services, in resenting
something which resembles recent neglect." Tliis was said
apparently with great good-humour, and in a tone which
expressed a desire of conciliation.

The Dulce replied, "That he would account himself the
most unfortunate of men, if he could be supposed capable
of neglecting his duty, in modes and circumstances when
it was expected, and would have been agreeable. He was
deeply gratified by the honour which her Majesty was now
doing to him personally ; and he trusted she would soon
perceive that it was in a matter essential to his Majesty's
interest, that he had the boldness to give her this
trouble."

"You cannot oblige me more, my Lord Duke," replied
the queen, " than by giving me the advantage of your
lights and experience on any point of the king's service.
Your Grace is aware that I can only be the medium
through which the matter is subjected to his Majesty's
superior wisdom ; but if it is a suit which respects your
Grace personally, it shall lose no support by being preferred
through me."

" It is no suit ol mine, madam," replied the Duke ; " nor
have I any to prefer for myself personally, although I_ feel
in full force my obligation to your Majesty. It is a
business which concerns his Majesty, as a lover of justice
and of mercy, and which, I am convinced, may be highly
useful in conciliating the unfortunate irritation vvhich at
present subsists among his Majesty's good subjects in
Scotland."

There were two parts of this speech disagreeable to
Caroline. In the first place, it removed the flattering

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 399

notion she had adopted, that Arg^'le designed to use her
personal intercession in making his peace with the adminis-
tration, and recovering the employments of which he had
been deprived ; and next, she was displeased that he should
talk of the discontents in Scotland as irritations to be
conciliated, rather than suppressed.

'nder the influence of these feelings, she answered

ily, "That his Majesty has good subjects in England,

;i:. Lord Duke, he is bound to thank God and the laws —

that he has subjects in Scotland, I tiiink he may thank

God and his sword."

The Duke, though a courtier, coloured slightly, and the

queen, instantly sensible of her error, added, without

displaying the least change of countenance, and as if the

words had been an original branch of the sentence — " And

the swords of those real Scotchmen who are friends to the

House of Brunswick, particularly that of his Grace of Argyle.

"My sword, madam," replied the Duke, "like that of

my fathers, has been always at the command of my lawful

': j^, and out of my native country — I trust it is impossible

-eparate their real rights and interests. But the present

a matter of more private concern, and respects the

ion of an obscure individual."

' What is the affair, my lord ? " said the queen. " Let
us find out what we are talking about, lest we should
misconstrue and misunderstand each other."

"The matter, madam," answered the Duke of Argyle,
"regards the fate of an unfortunate young woman in
Scotland, now lying under sentence of death, for a crime
of which I think is highly probable that she is innocent.
And my humble petition to your Majesty is, to obtain your
powerful intercession with the king for a pardon."

It was now the queen's turn to colour, and she did so,
over cheek and brow — neck and bosom. She paused a
rnent, as if unwilling to trust her voice with the first
ression of her displeasure ; and on assuming an air of
nity and an austere regard of control, she at length
iied, "My Lord Duke, I will not ask your motives for
ressing to me a request which circumstances have
iered such an extraordinary one. Your road to tli«
^^'s closet, as a peer and a p.nvy-councillor, entitled to
uest an audience, was open, without giving me the pain
:us discussion. /, at least, have had enough of Scotch
ions."

400 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

The Duke was prepared for this burst of indignation, and
he was not shaken by it. He did not attempt a reply while
the queen was in the first heat of displeasure, but remained in
the same firm, yet respectful posture, which he had assumed
during the interview. The queen, trained from her situa-
tion to self-command, instantly perceived the advantage
she might give against herself by yielding to passion ; and
added, in the same condescending and affable tone in which
she had opened the interview, "You must allow me some
of the privileges of the sex, my lord ; and do not judge
uncharitably of me, though I am a little moved at the
recollection of the gross insult and outrage done in your
capital city to the royal authority, at the very time when
it was vested in my unworthy person. Your Grace cannot
be surprised that I should both have felt it at the time, and
recollected it now."

"It is certainly a matter not speedily to be forgotten,"
answered the Duke. " My own poor thoughts of it have
been long before your Majesty, and I must have expressed
myself veiy ill ii I did not convey my detestation of the
murder which was committed under such extraordinary
circumstances. I might, indeed, be so unfortunate as to
differ with his Majesty's advisers on the degree in which
it was either just or politic to punish the innocent instead
of the guilty. But I trust your Majesty will permit me
to be silent on a topic in which my sentiments have not
the good fortune to coincide with those of more able
men.

" We will not prosecute a topic on which we may
probably differ," said the queen. " One word, however,
I may say in private — You know our good Lady Suffolk
is a little deaf— the Duke of Argyle, when disposed to
renew his acquaintance with his master and mistress,
will hardly find many topics on which we should disagree."

•• Let us hope," said the Duke, bowing profoundly to so
flattering an intimation, " that I shall not be so unfortunate
as to have found one on the present occasion."

" I must first impose on your Grace the duty ol con-
fession," said the queen, "before I grant you absolution.
What is your particular interest in this young woman?
She does not seem" (and she scanned Jeanie, as she said
this, with the eye of a connoisseur) "much qualified to
alarm my friend the duchess's jealousy."

" I think your Majesty," replied the Duke, smiling in hii

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 401

turn, "will allow my taste may be a pledge for me on
that score."

"Tlien, though she had not much the alt d'um grande

•n€, I suppose she is some thirtieth cousin in the terrible
L. apter of Scottish genealogy ? "

"No, madam," said the Duke; "but I wish some of
mv nearer relations had half her worth, honesty, and
affection."

' ' Her name must be Campbell, at least ? " said Queen
Caroline.

"No, madam; her name is not quite so distinguished,
if I may be permitted to say so," answered the Duke.

"Ah! but she comes from Inverary or Argyleshire ? "

■ d the sovereign.

' She had never been farther north in her life than
Edinburgh, madam."

"Then nw conjectures are all ended," said the queen,
"and your Grace must yourself take the trouble to explain
the affair of your protegee."

With that precision and easy brevity which is only
acquired by habituallv conversing in the higher ranks of
society, and which is the diametrical opposite of that
protracted style of disquisition.

Which squires call potter, and which men call prose,

the Duke explained the singular law under which Effie
Deans had received sentence of death, and detailed the
affectionate exertions which Jeanie had made in behalf
of a sister, for whose sake she was willing to sacrifice all
for truth and conscience.

Queen Caroline listened with attention ; she was rather
fond, it must be remembered, of an argument, and soon
found matter in what the Duke told her for raising
difficulties to his request.

"It appears to me, my lord," she replied, "that this is
a severe law. But still it is adopted upon good grounds,
I am bound to suppose, as the law of the country, and
the girl has been convicted under it The very presumjv
tions which the law constructs into positive proof of
guilt exist in her case ; and all that your Grace has said
concerning the possibility of her innocence may be a very
good argument for annulling the act of parliament, but
cannot, while it stands good, be admitted in favour of any
individual convicted upon the statute."

4oa THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

The Duke saw and avoided the snare ; for he was con-
scious, that, by replying to the argument, he must have
been inevitably led to a discussion, in the course of which
the queen was likely to be hardened in her own opinion,
until she became obliged, out of mere respect to con-
sistency, to let the criminal suffer. " If your Majesty,"
he said, " would condescend to hear my poor country-
woman herself, perhaps she may find an advocate in your
own heart, more able than I am, to combat the doubts
suggested by your understanding."

The queen seemed to acquiesce, and the Duke made a
signal for Jeanie to advance from the spot where she had
hitherto remained watching countenances, which were too
long accustomed to suppress all apparent signs of emotion,
to convey to her any interesting intelligence. Her Majesty
could not help smiling at the awe-struck manner in whicn
the quiet demure figure of the little Scotchwoman advanced
towards her, and yet more at the first sound of her broad
nortiiern accent. But Jeanie had a voice low and sweetly
toned, an admirable thing in woman, and eke besought
" her leddyship to have pity on a poor misguided young
creature," in tones so affecting, that, .like the notes of
some of her native songs, provincial vulgarity was lost in
pathos.

"Stand up, young woman," said the queen, but in a
kind tone, " and tell me what sort of a barbarous people
your countryfolk are, where child-murder is become so
common as to require the restraint of laws like yours ? "

" If your leddyship pleases," answered Jeanie, " there
are mony places besides Scotland where mothers are unkind
to their ain flesh and blood."

It must be observed, that the disputes between George
the Second, and Frederick, Prince of Wales, were then at
the highest, and that the good-natured part of the public
laid the blame on the queen. She coloured highly, and
darted a glance of a most penetrating character first at
Jeanie and then at the Duke. Both sustained it unmoved;
Jeanie from total unconsciousness of the offence siie had
given, and the Duke from his habitual composure. But in
his heart he thought, My unlucky protegee has, with this
luckless answer, shot dead, by a kind of chance-medley,
her only hope of success.

Lady Suffolk, good humouredly and skilfully, interposed
in this awkward crisis. "You sliould tell this lady," she

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 403

;d to Jeanie, "the particular causes which render this
ne common in your country."
Some thinks it's the kirk-session — that is — it's the —

- the cutty-stool, if your leddyship pleases," said Jeanie,
.^-king down, and curtseying.

"The what?" said Lady Suffolk, to whom the phrase
was new, and who besides was rather deaf.

"That's the stool of repentance, madam, if it please your
leddyship," answered Jeanie, "for light life and conversa-
tion, and for breaking tlie seventh command." Here she
raised her eyes to the Duke, saw his hand at liis chin, and,
totally unconscious of what she had said out of joint,
gave double effect to the innuendo, by stopping short and
looking embarrassed.

As for Lady Suffolk, she retired like a covering party,
which, having interposed betwixt their retreating friends
and the enemy, have suddenly drawn on themselves a fire
unexpectedly severe.

The deuce take the lass, thought the Duke of Argyle to
himself: there goes another shot — and she has hit with
both barrels right and left !

Indeed the Duke had himself his share of the confusion,

- , having acted as master of ceremonies to this innocent
nder, he felt much in the circumstances of a country
squire, who, having introduced his spaniel into a well-
appointed drawing-room, is doomed to witness the disorder
and damage which arises to china and to dress-gowns, in
consequence of its untimely frolics. Jeanie's last chance-hit,
however, obliterated the ill impression which had arisen
from the first ; for her Majesty had not so lost the feelings
of a wife in those of a queen, but that she could enjoy a
jest at the expense of "her good Suffolk." She turned
towards the Duke of Argyle with a smile, which marked
tliat she enjoyed the triumph, and observed, " the Scotch
are a rigidly moral people." Then again applying her-
self to Jeanie, she asked how she travelled up from
Scotland.

" Upon my foot mostly, m.adam," was the reply.

"What, all that immense way upon foot? — How far can
you walk in a day ? "

" Five-and-twenty miles and a bittock."

"And a what?" said the queen, looking towards the
Duke of Argyle.

"And about five miles more," replied the Duke.

404 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

" I thought I was a good walker," said the queen, " but
this shames me sadly."

" May your leddyship never hae sae weary a heart,
that ye canna be sensible of the weariness of the Hmbs ! "
said Jeanie.

That came better off, thought the Duke ; it's the first
thing she has said to the purpose.

"And I dinna just a'thegither walk the haill way neither,
for 1 had whiles the cast of a cart ; and I had the cast of a
horse from Ferrybridge — and divers other easements," said
Jeanie, cutting short her story, for she observed the Duke
made the sign he had fixed upon.

"With all these accommodations, " answered the queen,
"you must have had a very fatiguing journey, and, I fear,
to little purpose ; since, if the king were to pardon your
sister, in all probability it would do her little good, for
I suppose your people of Edinburgh would hang her out
of spite."

She will sink herself now outright, thought the Duke,

But he was wrong. The shoals on which Jeanie had
touched in this delicate conversation lay under ground,
and were unknown to her ; this rock was above water,
and she avoided it.

" She was confident," she said, " that baith town and
country wad rejoice to see his Majesty taking compassion
on a poor unfriended creature."

" His Majesty has not found it so in a late instance," said
the queen; "but, I suppose, my Lord Duke would advise
him to be guided by the votes of the rabble themselves,
who should be hanged and who spared ? "

"No, madam," said the Duke; "but I would advise
his Majesty to be guided by his own feelings, and those
of his royal consort ; and then, I am sure, punishment
will only attach itself to guilt, and even then with cautious
reluctance, "

" Well, my lord," said her Majesty, " all these fin©
speeches do not convince me of the propriety of so soon
showing any mark of favour to your — I suppose I must
not say rebellious ? — but, at least, your very disaffected and
intractable metropolis. Why, the whole nation is in a
league to screen the savage and abominable murderers of
that unhappy man ; otherwise, how is it possible but that,
of so many perpetrators, and engaged in so public an action
for such a length of time, one at least must have been

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 405

i cognised ? Even this wench, for aught I can tell, may
be a depository of the secret. — Hark you, young woman,
1. id you any friends engaged in the Porteous mob ? "

No, madam," answered Jeanie, happy that the question

is so framed that she could, with a good conscience,
answer it in the negative.

"But I suppose," continued the queen, "if you were
possessed of such a secret, you would hold it a matter of
conscience to keep it to yourself?"

" I would pray to be directed and guided what was the
line of duty, madam," answered Jeanie.

" Yes, and take that which suited your own inclinations,"
replied her Majesty.

"If it like you, madam," said Jeanie, "I would hae

-.e to the end of the earth to save the life of John
. ^rteous, or any other unhappy man in his condition; but
I might lawfully doubt how far I am called upon to be
the avenger of his blood, though it may become the civil
magistrate to do so. He is dead and gane to his place,
and they that have slain him must answer for their ain
acL But my sister — my puir sister Effie, still lives, though
her days and hours are numbered ! — She still lives, and a
word of the king's mouth might restore her to a broken-
hearted auld man, that never, in his daily and nightly
exercise, forgot to pray that his Majesty might be blessed
with a long and a prosperous reign, and that his throne,
and the throne of his posterity, might be established in
righteousness. Oh, madam, if ever ye ken'd what it was
to sorrow for and with a sinning and a suffering creature,
whose mind is sae tossed that she can be neither ca'd fit
to live or die, have some compassion on our miserj' ! —
Save an honest house from dishonour, ^nd an unhappy
girl, not eighteen years of age, from an early and dreadful
death ! Alas ! it is not when we sleep soft and wake
merrily ourselves that we think on other people's sufferings.
Our hearts are waxed light within us then, and we are for
righting our ain wrangs and fighting our ain battles.
But when the hour of trouble comes to the mind or to the
body — and seldom may it visit your leddyship — and when
the hour of death comes, that comes to high and low — lang
.vnd late may it be yours — Oh, my leddy, then it isna what

" hae dune for ourseUs, but what we hae dune for others,
Lt we think on maist pleasantly. And the thoughts that
hae intervened to spare the puir thing's life will be sweeter

4o6 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

in that hour, come when it may, than if a word of your mouth
could hanj^ the haill Porteous mob at the tail of ae tow."

Tear followed tear down Jeanie's cheeks, as, her features
glowing and quivering with emotion, she pleaded her
sister's cause with a pathos which was at once simple
and solemn.

"This is eloquence," said her Majesty to the Duke of
Argyle, "Young woman," she continued, addressing her-
self to Jeanie, "/ cannot grant a pardon to your sister —
but you shall not want my warm intercession with his
Majesty. Take this housewife case," she continued, putting
a small embroidered needle-case into Jeanie's hands; "do
not open it now, but at your leisure — you will find some-
thing in it which will remind you that you have had an
interview with Queen Caroline."

Jeanie, having her suspicions thus confirmed, dropped on
her knees, and would have expanded herself in gratitude ;
but the Duke, who was upon thorns lest she should say
more or less than just enough, touched his chin once more.

"Our business is, 1 think, ended for the present, my
Lord Duke," said the queen, "and, I trust, to your satis-
faction. Hereafter I hope to see your Grace more frequently,
both at Richmond and St. James's. — Come, Lady Suffolk,
we must wish his Grace good-morning."

They exchanged their parting reverences, and the Duke,
so soon as the ladies had turned their backs, assisted Jeanie
to rise from the ground, and conducted her bade through
the avenue, which she trode with tlie feeling of one who
wallis in her sleep.

• CH.\PTER XXXVin.

So soon as I can win the offended kingf,
I will be known your advoccitc.

Cymheline.

The Duke of Argyle led the way in silence to the small
postern by which they had been admitted into Richmond
Park, so long the favourite residence of Queen Caroline.
It was opened by the same half-seen janitor, and they
found themselves beyond the precincts of the royal
demesne. Still not a word was spoken on either side.
The Duke probably wished to allow his rustic prot^g^e

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 407

time to recruit her faculties, dazzled and sunk with colloquy
sublime ; and betwixt what she had guessed, had heard,
and had seen, Jeanie Deans's mind was too much agitated
to permit her to ask any questions.

The)' found the carriage of the Duke in the place where
they had left it ; and when they resumed their places, soon
began to advance rapidly on their return to town.

" I think, Jeanie," said the Duke, breaking silence, *' you
have ever\' reason to congratulate yourself on the issue of
your inter\'iew with her Majesty."

"And that leddy was the queen hersell ? " said Jeanie;
" I misdoubted it when I saw that your lionour didna put
on your hat — And yet I can hardly believe it, even when I
heard her speak it hersell."

" It was certainly Queen Caroline," replied the Duke
' ' Have you no curiosity to see what is in the little
pocket-book ? "

"Do you think the pardon will be in it, sir?" said
Jeanie, with the eager animation of hope.

"Why, no," replied the Duke ; "that is unlikely. They
seldom carry these things about them, unless they were
likely to be wanted ; and, besides, her Majesty told you
it was the king, not she, who was to grant iu"

" That is true too," said Jeanie ; " but I am so confused
in my mind — But does your honour think there is a certainty
of EITie's pardon then?" continued she, still holding in her
hand the unopened pocket-book.

"Why, kings are kittle cattle to shoe behind, as we say
in the north," replied the Duke ; "but his wife knows his
trim, and I have not the least doubt that the matter is
quite certain."

"Oh, God be praised! God be praised!" ejaculated
Jeanie; "and may the gxide leddy never want the heart's
ease she has gien me at this moment — And God bless you
too, my lord I without your help I wad ne'er hae won
near her."

The Duke let her dwell upon this subject for a considerable
time, curious, perhaps, to see how long the feelings of grati-
tude would continue to supersede those of curiosity. But so
feeble was the latter feeling in Jeanie's mind, that his Grace,
with whom, perhaps, it was for tlie time a little stronger,
was obliged once more to bring forward the subject of the
queen's presenL It was opened accordingly. In the inside
of the case were tlio usual assortment of silk and needles

4o8 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

with scissors, tweezers, etc. ; and in the pocket was a bank-
bill for fifty pounds.

The Duke had no sooner informed Jeanie of the value of
this last document, for she was unaccustomed to see notes
for such sums, that she expressed her regret at the mistake
which had taken place. "For the hussy itsell," she said,
' ' was a very valuable thing for a keepsake, with the
queen's name written in the inside with her ain hand
doubtless — Caroline — as plain as could be, and a crown
drawn aboon it."

She therefore tendered the bill to the Duke, requesting
him to find some mode of returning it to the royal owner.

"No, no, Jeanie," said the Duke, "there is no mistake
in the case. Her Majesty knows you have been put to
great expense, and she wishes to make it up to you."

" I am sure she is even ower gude," said Jeanie, "and it
glads me muckle that I can pay back Dumbiedikes his
siller, without distressing my father, honest man."

"Dumbiedikes? What, a freeholder of Mid-Lothian, is
he not ? " said his Grace, whose occasional residence in
that county made him acquainted with most of the heritors,
as landed persons are ternned in Scotland — " He has a house
not far from Dalkeith, wears a black wig and a laced hat ? "

"Yes, sir," answered Jeanie, who had her reasons for
being brief in her answers upon this topic.

" Ah ! my old friend Dumbie I " said the Duke ; " I have
thrice seen him fou, and only once heard the sound of his
voice — Is he a cousin of yours, Jeanie ? "

" No, sir — my lord."

" Then he must be a well-wisher, I suspect ? "

"Ye — yes, — my lord, sir," answeied Jeanie, blushing,
and with hesitation.

" Aha ! then, if the Laird starts, I suppose my friend
Butler must be in some danger ? "

"Oh, no, sir," answered Jeanie much more readily, but
at the same time blushing much more deeply.

"Well, Jeanie," said the Duke, "you are a girl may be
safely trusted with your own matters, and I shall inquire no
further about them. But as to this same pardon, I must
see to get it passed through the pi'oper forms ; and I have i
a friend in office who will, for auld lang syne, do me so
much favour. And then, Jeanie, as I shall have occasion
to send an express down to Scotland, who will travel with
it safer and more swiftly than you can do, I will take care

THE HEART OF MID-LOTH I AN. 409

. ; have it put into the proper channel ; meanwhile, you may
urite to your friends, by post, of your good success."

"And does your Honour think," said Jeanie, "that will
do as weel as if 1 were to take my tap in my lap,* and slip
try ways hame again on my ain errand ? "

'Much better, certainly," said the Duke. "You know

^ roads are not very safe for a single woman to travel."

Jeanie internally acquiesced in this observation.

"And 1 have a plan for you besides. One of the
Duchess's attendants, and one of mine — your acquaintance
Archibald — are going down to Inverarv in a light calash,
with four horses I have bought, and there is room enough
in the carriage for you to go with them as far as Glasgow,
where Archibald will find means of sending you safely to
Edinburgh. — And in the way, I beg you will teach the
Woman as much as you can of the mystery of cheese-
making, for she is to have a charge in the dairy, and I
dare swear you are as tidy about your milk-pail as about
your dress. "

"Does your Honour like cheese?" said Jeanie, with a
gleam of conscious delight as she asked the question.

" Like it ? " said the Duke, whose good-nature anticipated
what was to follow — "cakes and cheese are a dinner for an
emperor, let alone a Highlandman."

"Because," said Jeanie, with modest confidence, and
great and evident self-gratulation, "we have been thought
so particular in making cheese, that some folk think it as
gude as the real Dunlop ; and if your Honour's Grace wad
but accept a stane or twa, blithe, and fain, and proud it wad
make us ! But maybe ye may like the ewe-milk, that is,
the Buckholmsidet cheese better ; or maybe the gait-milk,
as ye come frae the Highlands — and I canna pretend just to
the same skeel o' them ; but my cousin Jean, that lives at
Lockermacbus in Lammermuir, I could speak to her,
and "

"Quite unnecessary," said the Duke; "the Dunlop is
the very cheese of which I am so fond, and 1 will take it
as the greatest favour you can do me to send one to
Caroline Park. But remember, be on honour with it, Jeanie
and make it all yourself, for I am a real good judge."

• Pack up my belongings.

t The hilly pastures of Buckholm, which the author now 8ur\-ej-s,
•• Not in the frenzy of a dreamer's ej-e,"
ar; famed for producing the best ewe-milk cheese ia the south of Scotland.

410 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

"I am not feared," said Jeanie confidently, "that I may
please your Honour ; for I am sure you look as if you could
hardly find fault wi' onybody that did their best ; and weel
is it my part, I trow, to do mine."

This discourse introduced a topic upon which the two
travellers, though so different in rank and education, found
each a good deal to say. The Duke, besides his other
patriotic qualities, was a distinguished agriculturist, and
proud of his knowledge in that department. He enter-
tained Jeanie with his observations on the different breeds
of cattle in Scotland, and their capacity for the dairy, and
received so much information from her practical experience
in return, that he promised her a couple of Devonshire cows
in reward for the lesson. In short, his mind was so trans-
ported back to his rural employments and amusements, that
he sighed when his carriage stopped opposite to the old
hackney-coach, which Archibald had kept in attendance at
the place where they had left it. While the coachman again
bridled his lean cattle, which had been indulged with a bite
of musty hay, the Duke cautioned Jeanie not to be too com-
municative to her landlady concerning what had passed.
"There is," he said, "no use of speaking of matters till
they are actually settled ; and you may refer the good lady
to Archibald, if she presses you hard with questions. She
is his old acquaintance, and he knows how to manage with
her."

He then took a cordial farewell of Jeanie, and told her to
be ready in the ensuing week to return to Scotland — saw
her safely established in her hackney-coach, and rolled off
in his own carriage, humming a stanza of the ballad which
he is said to have composed : —

" At the sight of Dumbarton once again,
I'll cock up my bonnet and march amain,
With my claymore hanging down to my heel,
To whang at the bannocks of barley meaL"

Perhaps one ought to be actually a Scotsman to conceive ■
how ardently, under all distinctions of rank and situation,
they feel their mutual connection with each other as natives
of the samecountr}'. There are, I believe, more associations
common to the inhabitants of a rude and wild, than of a
well cultivated and fertile, country; their ancestors have

I

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 411

, ore seldom changed their place of residence ; their mutual
recollection of remarkable objects is more accurate ; the
high and the low are more interested in each other's welfare ;
the feelings of kindred and relationship are more widely
extended, and, in a word, the bonds of patriotic affection,
always honourable even when a little loo exclusively
strained, have more influence on men's feelings and actions.
The rumbling hackney-coach which tumbled over th'e
(then) execrable London pavement, at a rate very dilTerent
from that which had conveyed the ducal carriage to
Richmond, at length deposited Jeanie Deans and her
attendant at the national sign of the Thistle. Mrs.
Glass, who had been in long and anxious expectation,
now rushed, full of eager curiosity and open - mouthed
interrogation, upon our heroine, who was positively
unable to sustain the overwhelming cataract of her
questions, which burst forth with the sublimity of a
srand gardyloo : — "Had slie seen the Duke, God bless
1 — the Duchess — the young ladies ? — Had she seen tlie
;, God bless him — the queen — the Prince of Wales —
■ e Princess — or any of the rest of the royal family? —
Hud she got her sister's pardon? — Was it out and out —
or was it only a commutation of punishment? — How far
had she gone — where liad she driven to — whom had
she seon — what had been said — what had kept her so
long ? "

Such were the various questions huddled upon each
oilier by a curiosity so eager, that it could hardly wait for
its own gratification. Jeanie would have been tnore than
sufficiently embarrassed by this overbearing tide of inter-
rogations, had not Archibald, who had probably received
from his master a hint to that purpose, advanced to her
rescue. "Mrs. Glass," said .Archibald, "his Grace desired
me particularly to say, that he would take it as a great
favour if you would ask the young woman no queslions,
as he wishes to explain to you more distinctly than she can
do how her affairs stand, and consult you on some matters
which she cannot altogether so well explain. The Duke
' will call at the Thistle to-morrow or next day for that
' purpose."

I " His Grace is very condescending," said Mrs. Glass, her
( zeal for inquiry slaked for the present bv the dexterous
\. administration of this sugar-plum — "his Grace is sensible
!' that 1 am in a manner accountable for tlie conduct of my

4ia THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

young kinswoman, and no doubt his Grace is the best
judge how far he should intrust her or me with the
management of her affairs."

" His Grace is quite sensible of that," answered Archibald,
with national gravity, "and will certainly trust what he
has to say to the most discreet of the two ; and therefore
Mrs. Glass, his Grace relies you will speak nothing to Mrs.
Jean Deans, either of her own affairs or her sister's, until
he sees you himself. He desired me to assure you, in the
meanwhile, that all was going on as well as your kindness
could wish, Mrs. Glass."

"His Grace is very kind — very considerate, certainly,
Mr. Archibald — his Grace's commands shall be obeyed,

and But you have had a far drive, Mr. Archibald, as I

guess by the time of your absence, and I guess " (with an
engaging smile) "you winna be the waur o' a glass of the
right Rosa Solis."

"I thank you, Mrs. Glass," said the great man's great
man, " but I am under the necessity of returning to my
lord directly." And, making his adieus civilly to both
cousins, he left the shop of the Lady of the Thistle.

" I am glad your affairs have prospered so well, Jeanie,
my love," said Mrs. Glass ; " though, indeed, there was
little fear of them so soon as the Duke of Argyle was so
condescending as to take them into hand. I will ask you
no questions about them, because his Grace, who is most
considerate and prudent in such matters, intends to tell
me all that you ken yourself, dear, and doubtless a great
deal more ; so that anything that may lie heavily on your
mind may be imparted to me in the meantime, as you see
it is his Grace's pleasure that I should be made acquainted
with the whole matter forthwith, and whether you or he
tells it, will make no difference in the world, ye ken. If
I ken what he is going to say beforehand, I will be much
more ready to give my advice, and whether you or he tell
me about it, cannot much signify after all, my dear. So
you may just say whatever you like, only mind I ask you
no questions about it"

Jeanie was a little embarrassed. She thought that the
communication she had to make was perhaps the only
means she might have in her power to gratify her friendly
and hospitable kinswoman. , But her prudence instantly
suggested that her secret interview with Queen Caroline,
which seemed to pass under a certain sort of mystery, was

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 413

not a proper subject for the gossip of a woman like Mrs.
Glass, of whose heart she had a much better opinion than
of her prudence. She, therefore, answered in general, that
the Duke had had the extraordinary kindness to make very
particular inquiries into her sister's bad affair, and that he
thought he had found the means of putting it a' straight
again, but that he proposed to tell all that he thought about
the matter to Mrs. Glass herself.

This did not quite satisfy the penetrating mistress of the
Thistle. Searching as her own small rappee, she, in spite
of her promise, urged Jeanie witli still further questions.
"Had she been a' that time at Argyle House? Was the
Duke with her the whole time? and had she seen the
Duchess ? and had she seen the young ladies — and specially
Lady Caroline Campbell?" — To these questions Jeanie
gave the general reply, that she knew so little of the town
that she could not tell exactly where she had been that
she had not seen the Duchess to her knowledge ; that she
had seen two ladies, one of whom, she understood, bore
the name of Caroline ; and more, she said, she could not
tell about the matter.

" It would be the Duke's eldest daughter. Lady Caroline
Campbell — there is no doubt of that," said Mrs. Glass ;
"but, doubtless, I shall know more particularly through
his Grace. — And so, as the cloth is laid in the little parlour
above stairs, and it is paist three o'clock, for I have been
waiting this hour for you, and I have had a snack myself ;
and, as they used to say in Scotland in my time — I do not
ken if the word be used now — there is ill talking between
a full body and a fasting."

CHAPTER XXXIX.

Heaven first sent letters to some wretch's a'd —
Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid.

Pope.

By dint of unwonted labour with the pen, Jeanie Deans
contrived to indite, and give to the charge of the postman
on the ensuing day, no less than three letters, an exertion
altogether strange to her habits ; insom.uch so, that, if
milk had been plentj", she wo'jld rather have made thrice
as many Dunlop cheeses.. The first of them was very brief.

414 THE HEART OF MID-uOriilAN.

It was addressed to Georg-e Staunton, Esq. at the Rectory,
WiUingham, by Grantham ; the address being part of the
information which she had extracted from the communica-
tive peasant who rode before her to Stamford. It was in
these words : —

*'SlR,—

"To prevent farder mischieves, whereof there hath been
enoug-h, comes these : Sir, I have my sister's pardon from the
queen's Majesty, whereof I do not doubt you will be glad,
having hadf to say naut of matters whereof you know the
purport. So, sir, I pray for your better welfare in bodie and
soul, and that it will please the fisycian to visit you in His
good time. Alwaies, sir, I pray you will never come again
to see my sister, whereof there has been too much. And so,
wishing you no evil, but even your best good, that you may
be turned from your iniquity (for why suld ye die?) I rest your
humble servant to command,

" Ye ken wha."

The rtext letter was to her father. It is too long alto-
gether for insertion, so we only give a few extracts. It
commenced —

•' Dearest and truly honoured Father, —

*' This comes with my duty to inform you, that it has pleased
God to redeem that captivitie of my poor sister, in respect the
queen's blessed Majesty, for whom we are ever bouod to pray,
hath redeemed her soul from the slayer, granting the ransom
of her, whilk is anc pardon or reprieve. And 1 spoke with the
queen face to face, and yet live ; for she is not muckle differing
from other grand leddies, saving that she has a stalely presence,
and ecn like a blue huntin' hawk's, whilk gaed throu' and throu'
me like a Hieland durk — And all this good was, alway under
the Great Giver, to whom all are but instruments, wrought forth
for us by the Duk of Argile, wha is ane native true-hearted
Scotsman, and not pridefu', like other folk we ken of — and
likewise skeely enow in bestial, whereof he has promised to
,i;ie me twa Devonshire kye, of which he is enamoured, although
I do still baud by the real hawkit Airshire breed — and I have
promised him a cheese ; and I wad wuss ye, if Gowans, the
brockit cow, has a quay that she suld suck her fill of milk, as
I am given to understand he has none of that breed, and is
not scornfu', but will take a thing frae a puir body, that it
may lighten their heart of the loading of debt that they
awe him. Also his Honour the Duke will accept ane of our
Dunlop cheeses, and it sail be my faut if a better was ever

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHlAx\. 415

yearned in Lovvden." — [Here follow some observations respecting
the breed of cattle, and the produce of the dairy, which it is
our intention to )or%vard to the Board of AgfricuUure.] — " Never-
theless, these are but matters of the after-harvest, in respect of
the great good which Providence hath gifted us with — and, in
especial, poor Effie's life. And oh, my dear father, since it
hath pleased God to be merciful to her, let her not want your
free pardon, whilk will make her meet to be ane vessel of grace,
and also a comfort to your ain graie hairs. Dear father, will
ye let the Laird ken that we have had friends strangely raised
up to us, and that the talent whilk he lent me will be thankfully
repaid. I hae some of it to the fore ; and the rest of it is not
knotted up in ane purse or napkin, but in ane wee bit paper, as
is the fashion heir, whilk I am assured is gude for the siller.
And, dear father, through Mr. Butler's means I hae gude
friendship with the Duke, for their had been kindness between
their forbears in the auld troublesome time bye -past. And
Mrs. Glass has been kind like my very mother. She has a
braw house here, and lives bien and warm, wi' twa servant
lasses, and a man and a callant in the shop. And she is to send
you doun a pound of her hie-dried, and some other tobaka,
and we maun think of some propine for her, since her kindness
hath been great. And the Duk is to send the pardun doun by
an express messenger, in respect that I caima travel sae fast ;
and I am to come doun wi' twa of his Honour's servants — that
is, John Archibald, a decent elderly gentleman, that says he
has seen you lang syne, when ye were buying beasts in the
west frae the Laird of Aughtermuggitie — but maybe ye winna
mind him — ony way, he's a civil man — and Mrs. Dolly Dutton,
that is to be dairy-maid at Inverara ; and they bring me on
as far as Glasgo', whilk will make it nae pinch to win hame,
whilk I desire of all things. May the Giver of all good things
keep j'e in your outgauns and incomings, whereof devoutly
prayeth your loving dauter,

"Jean Deans."

The third letter was to Butler, and its tenor as follows : —

*• Master Butler.

" Sir, — It will be pleasure to you to ken, that all I came for
is, thanks be to God, weel dune and to the gude end, and that
your forbear's letter was right welcome to the Duke of Argile,
and that he wrote your name down with a kylevine pen in a
leathern book, whereby it seems like he will do for you either
wi' a scule or a kirk ; he has enow of baith as I am assured.
And I have seen the queen, which gave me a hussy-case out of
her own hand. She iiad not her crown and skeptre, but they
itre laid by for her, like the bairns' best claise, to be worn whea

4i6 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

she needs them. And they are keepit in a tour, whilk is not
like the tour of Libberton, nor yet Craigmillar, but mair like
to the castell of Edinburgh, if the buildings were taen and set
down in the midst of the Nor'-Loch. Also the queen was very
bounteous, giving me a paper worth fifty pounds, as I am
assured, to pay my expenses here and back agen. Sae, Master
Butler, as we were aye neebours' bairns, forby ony thing else
that hae been spoken between us, I trust you winna skrimp
yoursell for what is needfu' for your health, since it signifies not
muckle whilk o' us has the siller, if the other wants it And
mind this is no meant to baud ye to ony thing whilk ye wad
rather forget, if ye suld get a charge of a kirk or a scule, as
above said. Only I hope it will be a scule, and not a kirk,
because of these difficulties anent aiths and patronages, whilk
niight gang ill doun wi' my honest father. Only if ye could
compass a harmonious call frae the parish of Skreegh-me-dead,
as ye anes had hope of, I trow it wad please him weel ; since
I hae heard him say, that the root of the matter was mair
deeply hafted in that wild muirland parish than in the Canon-
gate of Edinburgh. I wish I had whaten books ye wanted,
Mr. Butler, for they hae hail! houses of them here, and they
are obliged to set sum out in the street, whilk are said cheap,
doubtless, to get them out of the weather. It is a muckle place,
and I hae seen sae muckle of it, that my poor head turns round.
And ye ken lang syne I am nae great pen-woman — and it is
near eleven o'clock o' the night. I am cumming down in good
company, and /safe — and I had troubles in gaun up, whilk
makes me blither of travelling wi' ken'd folk. My cousin, Mrs.
Glass, has a braw house here, but a' thing is sae poisoned wi'
snufF, that I am like to be scomfished whiles. But what
signifies these things, in comparison of the great deliverance
whilk has been vouchsafed to my father's house, in whilk you,
as our auld and dear well-wisher, will, I dout not, rejoice and
be exceedingly glad. And I am, dear Mr. Butler, your sincere
well-wisher in temporal and eternal things,

"J. D."

After these labours of an unwonted kind, Jeanie retired
to her bed, yet scarce could sleep a few minutes together,
so often was she awakened by the heart-stirring conscious-
ness of her sister's safety, and so powerfully urged to
deposit her burden of joy, where she had before laid hef
doubts and sorrows. In the warm and sincere exercises
of devotion.

All the next, and all the succeeding day, Mrs. Glass
fidgeted about her shop in the agony of expectation, liks
a pea (to use a vulgar simile wlilch her profession renders

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He littcd hi3 f

Pajc- \Vi

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN, 417

ropriate) upon one of her own tobacco-pipes. With
tlie tliird morning came the expected coach, with four
servants clustered behind on the foot-board, in dark-brown
and yellow liveries ; the Duke in person, with laced coat,
gold-headed cane, star and garter, all, as the story-book
says, very grand.

He inquired for his little countrywoman of Mrs. Glass,
but without requesting to see her, probably because he
was unwilling to give an appearance of personal intercourse
betwixt them, wiiich scandal might have misinterpreted.
"The queen," be said to Mrs. Glass, "had taken the case
of her kinswoman into her gracious consideration, and
being specially moved by the affectionate and resolute
character of the elder sister, had condescended to use her
powerful intercession with his Majesty, in consequence
of which a pardon had been despatched to Scotland to
Ellie Deans, on condition of her banishing herself forth
of Scotland for fourteen years. The King's Advocate had
insisted," he said, "upon this qualification of the pardon,
having pointed out to his Majesty's ministers, that, within
the course of only seven years, twenty-one instances of
child-murder had occurred in Scotland."

"Weary on him I " said Mrs. Glass, "what for needed
he to have telled that of his ain country, and to the English
folk abune a'? I used aye to think the Advocate a douce
decent man, but it is an ill bird — begging your Grace's
pardon for speaking of such a coorse by-word. And then
what is the poor lassie to do in a foreign land ? — Why,
wae's me, it's just sending her to play the same
pranks ower again, out of sight or guioance of her
friends."

"Pooh! pooh 1 " said the Duke, "that need not be
anticipated. Why, she may come up to London, or she
may go over to America, and marry well for all that is
come and gone."

" In troth, and so she may, as your Grace is pleased to
intimate," replied Mrs. Glass; "and now I think upon it,
there is my old correspondent in Virginia, Ephraim
Buckskin, that has supplied the Thistle this forty years
with tobacco, and it is not a little that serves our turn,
and he has been writing to me this ten years to send him
out a wife. The carle is not above sixty, and hale and
hearty, and well to pass in the world, and a line from my
hand would settle the matter, and Effie Deans's misfortune

4i8 THE HEART OF MlD-LOTHlAN.

(forby that there is no special occasion to speak about it)
would be thought little of there."

"Is she a pretty girl?" said the Duke; "her sister
does not get beyond a good comely sonsy lass."

"Oh, far prettier is Effie than Jeanie," said Mrs. Glass;
" tliough it is long since I saw her mysell, but I hear of
the Deanses by all my Lowden friends when they come
— your Grace kens we Scots are clannish bodies."

"So much the better for us," said the Duke, "and the
worse for those who meddle with us, as your good old-
fashioned Scots sign says, Mrs. Glass. And now I hope
you will approve of the measures I have taken for restoring
your kinswoman to her friends," These he detailed at
length, and Mrs. Glass gave her unqualified approbation,
with a smile and a curtsey at every sentence. "And now,
Mrs. Glass, you must tell Jeanie I hope she will not forget
my cheese when she gets down to Scotland. Archibald
has my orders to arrange all her expenses."

" Begging your Grace's humble pardon," said Mrs.
Glass, " it's a pity to trouble yourself about them ; the
Deanses are wealthy people in their way, and the lass
has money in her pocket."

"That's all very true," said the Duke ; "but you know,
where MacCallummore travels he pays all ; it is our Highland
privilege lo take from all what ive want, and to give to
all what they want."

"Your Grace's better at giving than taking," said
Mrs. Glass.

"To show you the contrary," said the Duke, "I will
fill my box out of this canister without paying you a
bawbee ; " and again desiring to be remembered to Jeanie,
with his good wishes for her safe journey, he departed,
leaving Mrs. Glass uplifted in heart and m countenance,
the proudest and happiest of tobacco and snuff dealers.

Reflectively, his Grace's good- humour _ and affability
had a favourable effect upon Jeanie's situation. Her
kinswoman, though civil and kind to her, had acquired
too much of London breeding to be perfectly satisfied
with her cousin's rustic and national dress, and was,
besides, something scandalised at the cause of her journey
to London. Mrs. Glass might, therefore, have been less
sedulous in her attentions towards Jeanie, but for the
interest which tlie foremost of the Scottish nobles (for
such, in all men's estimation, was the Duke of Argyle)

' THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 419

.seemed to take in her fate. Now, however, as a kinswoman
whose virtues and domestic affections had attracted the
notice and approbation of royalty itself, Jeanie stood to
•her relative in a light very different and much more
•favourable, and was not only treated with kindness, but
with actual observance and respect

It depended upon herself alone to have made as many
visits, and seen as many sights, as lay within Mrs. Glass's
power to compass. But, excepting that she dined abroad
with one or two "far-away kinsfolk," and that she paid
tlie same respect, on Mrs. Glass's strong urgency, to
Mrs. Deputy Dabby, wife of the Worshipful Mr. Deputy
Dabby, of Farringdon Without, she did not avail herself
of the opportunity. As Mrs. Dabby was the second lady
of great rank whom Jeanie had seen in London, she used
sometimes afterwards to draw a parallel betwixt her and
the queen, in which she observed, that " Mrs. Dabby was
dressed twice as grand, and was twice as big, and spoke
twice as loud, and twice as muckle, as the queen did, but
she hadna tlie same goss-hawk glance that makes the
skin creep, and the knee bend ; and though she had very
kindly gifted her with a loaf of sugar and twa punds of
tea, yet she hadna a'thegether the sweet look that the
queen had when she put the needle-book into her hand."

Jeanie might have enjoyed the sights and novelties of
this great city more, had it not been for the qualification
added to her sister's pardon, which greatly grieved her
affectionate disposition. On this subject, however, her
mind was somewhat relieved by a letter which she received
in return of post, in answer to that which she had written
to her father. With his affectionate blessing, it brought
his full approbation of the step which she had taken, as
one inspired by the immediate dictates of Heaven, and
which she had been thrust upon in order that she might
become the means of safety to a perishing household.

"If ever a deliverance was dear and precious, this,"
said the letter, "is a dear and precious deliverance — and
if life saved can be made more sweet and savoury, it is
when it cometh by the hands of those whom we hold in
the ties of affection. And do not let your heart be dis-
quieted within you, that this victim, who is rescued from
the horns of the altar, whereuntll she was fast bound by
the chains of human law, is now to be driven beyond the
ibounds of our land. Scotland is a blessed land to those

420 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

who love the ordinances of Christianity, and it is a faer
land to look upon, and dear to them who have dwelt in it
a' their days ; and weel said that judicious Christian,
worthy John Livingstone, a sailor in Borrowstounness, as
the famous Patrick Walker reporteth his words, that
howbeit he thought Scotland was a Gehennah of wicked-
ness when he was at home, yet, when he was abroad, he
accounted it ane paradise ; for the evils of Scotland he
found everywhere, and the good of Scotland he found
nowhere. But we are to hold in remembrance that
Scotland, though it be our native land, and the land of
our fathers, is not like Goshen, in Egypt, on whilk the
sun of the heavens and of the gospel shineth allenarly,
and leaveth the rest of the world in utter darkness.
Therefore, and also because this increase of profit at
St. Leonard's Crags may be a cauld waff of wind blaw-
ing from the frozen land of earthly self, where never
plant of grace took root or grew, and because my concerns
make me take something ower muckle a grip of the gear
of the warld in mine arms, I receive this dispensation
anent Effie as a call to depart out of Haran, as righteous
Abraham of old, and leave my father's kindred and my
mother's house, and the ashes and mould of them who
have gone to sleep before me, and which wait to be mingled
with these auld crazed bonus of mine own. And my heart
is lightened to do this, when I call to mind the decay of
active and earnest religion in this land, and survey the
height and the depth, the length and the breadth, of national
defections, and how the love of many is waxing lukewarm
and cold ; and I am strengthened in this resolution to
change my domicile likewise, as I hear that store-farms
are to be set at an easy mail in Northumberland, where
there are many precious souls that are of our true, though
suffering persuasion. And sic part of the kye or stock
as I judge it fit to keep, may be driven thither without
incommodity — say about Wooler, or that gate, keeping
aye a shouther to the hills — and the rest may be sauld to
gude profit and advantage, if we had grace weel to use
and guide these gifts of the warld. The Laird has been
a true friend on our unhappy occasions, and I have paid
him back the siller for Effie's misfortune, whereof Mr.
Nichil Novit returned him no bal.ince, as the Laird and
I did expect he wad hae done. But law licks up a', as
the common folk say. I have had the siller to borrow

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 421

out o; sax purses. Mr. Saddletree advised to give tlie
Laird of Lounsbeck a charge on his band for a
thousand merks. But 1 hae nae broo' of charges, since
that awfu' morning that a tout of a horn, at the Cross of
Edinburgh, blew half the faithfu' ministers of Scotland
out of their pulpits. However, I sail raise an adjudication,
whilk Mr. Saddletree says comes instead of the auld
apprisings, and will not lose wcel-won gear with the like
of him if it may be helped. As for the queen, and the
credit that she hath done to a poor man's daughter, and
the mercy and the grace ye found with her, I can only
pray for her weel-being here and hereafter, for the establish-
ment of her house now and for ever, upon the throne of
these kingdoms. 1 doubt not but what you told her
Majesty, that I was the same David Deans of whom there
was a sport at the Revolution when I noited thegither the
heads of twa false prophets, these ungracious Graces the
prelates, as they stood on the Hie Street, after being
expelled from the Convention-parliament. The Duke of
Argyle is a noble and true-hearted nobleman, who pleads
the cause of the poor, and those who have none to help
them ; verily his reward shall not be lacking unto him. —
I have been writing of many things, but not of that whilk
lies nearest mine heart. I have seen the misguided thing ;
she will be at freedom the morn, on enacted caution that
she shall leave Scotland in four weeks. Her mind is in an
evil frame — casting her eye backward on Egypt, I doubt,
as if the bitter waters of the wilderness were harder to
endure than the brick furnaces, by the side of which there
were savoury flesh-pots. I need not bid you make haste
down, for you are, excepting always my Great Master,
my only comfort in these straits. I charge j'ou to withdraw
your feet from the delusion of that Vanity-fair in whilk
you are a sojourner, and not to go to their worship, whilk
IS an ill-mumbled mass, as it was weel termed by James
the Sext, though he afterwards, with his unhappy son,
strove to bring it ower back and belly into his native
kingdom, wherethrough their race have been cut off as
foam upon the water, and shall be as wanderers among
the nations — see the prophecies of Hosea, ninth and seven-
teenth, and the same, tenth and seventh. But us and
our house, let us say with the same prophet : ' Let us
return to the Lord, for he hath torn, and he will heal
I He hath smitten, and he will bind us up.'**

422 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

He proceeded to say, that he approved of her proposed
mode of returning by Glasgow, and entered into sundry
minute particulars not necessary to be quoted. A single
line in the letter, but not the least frequently read by the
party to whom it was addressed, intimated that " Reuben
Butler had been as a son to him in his sorrows." As David
Deans scarce ever mentioned Butler before, without some
gibe, more or less direct, either at his carnal gifts and
learning, or at his grandfather's heresy, Jeanie drew a
good omen from no such qualifying clause being added to
this sentence respecting him.

A lover's hope resembles the bean in the nursery tale —
let it once take root, and it will grow so rapidly, that in
the course of a few hours the giant Imagination builds
a castle on the top, and by and by comes Disappointment
with the "curtal axe," and hews down both the plant and
the superstructure. Jeanie's fancy, though not the most
powerful of her faculties, was lively enough to transport
her to a wild farm in Northumberland, well stocked with
milk-cows, yeald beasts, and sheep ; a meeting-house hard
by, frequented by serious Presbyterians, who had united in
a harmonious call to Reuben Butler to be their spiritual
guide ; — Effie restored, not to gaiety, but to cheerfulness at
least ; — their father, with his gray hairs smoothed down, and
spectacles on his nose ; — herself, with the maiden snood
exchanged for a matron's curch — all arranged in a pew
in the said meeting-house, listening to words of devotion,
rendered sweeter and more powerful by the affectionate ties
which combined them with the preacher. She cherished
such visions from day to day, until her residence in London
began to become insupportable and tedious to her ; and
it was with no ordinary satisfaction that she received a
summons from Argyle House, requiring her in two days to
be prepared to join their northward party.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 423

CHAPTER XU

One was a female, who had g^rievous ill
Wrought in revenge, and she enjoy'd it still ;
Sullen she was, and threatening ; in her eye
Glared the stem triumph that she dared to die.

Crabbe,

Fhb summons of preparation arrived after Jeanie Deans
lad resided in the metropolis about three weeks.

On the morning appointed she took a grateful farewell
)f Mrs. Glass, as that good woman's attention to her
)articularly required, placed herself and her movable goods,
vhich purchases and presents had greatly increased, in a
lackney-coach, and joined her travelling companions in the
lousekeeper's apartment at Argyle House. While the
airriage was getting ready, she was informed that the
Duke wished to speak with her ; and being ushered into
I splendid saloon, she was surprised to find that he wished
o present her to his lady and daughters.

"I bring you my little countrj-woman, Duchess," these
vere the words of the introduction. "With an army of
oung fellows, as gallant and steady as she is, and a good
rause, I would not fear two to one."

" Ah, papa ! " said a lively young lady, about twelve years
)ld, "remember you were full one to two at Sheriff-muir,
ind yet " (singing the well-known ballad) —

"Some say that we wan, and some say that they wan.
And some say that nane wan at a', man ;
But of ae thing I'm sure, that on SherifF-muir
A battle there was that I saw, man.'"

"What, little Mary turned Tory on my hands? — Tliis
vill be fine news for our countrywoman to carry down to
jcotland ! "

'We qiay all turn Tories for the thanks we have got
"or remaining Whigs," said the second young lady.

"Well, hold your peace, you discontented monkeys, and
>o dress your babies ; and as for the Bob of Dunblane,

" If it wasna weel bobbit, wcel bobbit, weel bobbit
If it wasna wcel bobbit, we'll bobb it again."

424 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

"Papa's wit is running- low," said Lady Mary: "thi
poor gentleman is repeating himself — he sang that on thi
field of battle, when he was told the Highlanders had cu
his left wing to pieces with their claymores."

A pull by the hair was the repartee to this sally.

" Ah ! brave Highlanders and bright claymores," said th(
Duke, "well do I wish them, 'for a' the ill they've doni
me yet,' as the song goes. — But come, madcaps, say ;
civil word to your countrywoman — I wish ye had half he:
canny, hamely sense ; I think you may be as leal and true
hearted."

The Duchess advanced, and, in a tew words, in whicl
there was as much kindness as civility, assured Jeanie o
the respect which she had for a character so affectionate
and yet so firm ; and added, ' ' When you get home, yov
will perhaps hear from me."

"And from me." "And from me." '"And from me
Jeanie," added the young ladies one after the other, " fo
you are a credit to the land we love so well."

Jeanie, overpowered with these unexpected compliments
and not aware that the Duke's investigation had made hin
acquainted with her behaviour on her sister's trial, couh
only answer by blushing, and curtseying round and round
and uttering at intervals, " Mony thanks 1 mony thanks ! "

"Jeanie," said the Duke, "you must have dock an ^dorroch
or you will be unable to travel."

There was a salver with cake and wine on the table
He took up a glass, drank "to all true hearts that lo'e(
Scotland," and oiTered a glass to his guest,

Jeanie, however, declined it, saying, "that she had neve
tasted wine in her life."

"How comes that, Jeanie?" said the Duke, — " wint
maketh glad the heart, you know."

"Ay, sir, but my father is like Jonadab, the son o
Rechab, who charged his children that they should drlnl
no wine."

" I thought your father would have had more sense," sai(
the Duke, " unless, indeed, he prefers brandy. But, how
ever, Jeanie, if you will not drink, you must eat, to save thi
character of my house."

He thrust upon her a large piece of cake, nor would hi
permit her to break off a fragment, and lay the rest on
salver. "Put it in your pouch, Jeanie," said he; "yi
will be glad of it before you see St Giles's steeple. I wii

In

\

THE HEART OF MID-LOTlilAN. 425

to Heaven I were to see it as soon as you ! and so my best
ser\Ice to all my friends ai and about Auld Reekie, and a
blithe journey to you."

And, mixing the frankness of a soldier wth his natural
affability, he shook hands with his protegee, and committed
her to the charge of Archibald, satisfied that he had pro-
vided sufficiently for her being attended to by his domestics,
from the unusual attention with which he had hunself
treated her. »

Accordingly, in the course of her journey, she found both
her companions disposed to pay her everj' possible civility,
so that her return, in point of comfort and safety, formed
a strong contrast to her journey to London.

Her heart also was disburdened of the weight of grief,
shame, apprehension, and fear, which had loaded her before
her interview with the queen at Richmond. But the
human mind is so strangely capricious, that, when freed
from the pressure of real misery, it becomes open and
sensitive to the apprehension of ideal calamities. She was
now much disturbed in mind, that she had heard nothing
from Reuben Butler, to whom the operation of writing was
so much more familiar than it was to herself.

"It would have cost him sae little fash," she said to
herself: "for I hae seen his pen gang as fast ower the
; r, as ever it did ower the water when it was in the
goose's wing. Wae's me ! maybe he may be badly —
i^ui. then my father wad likely hae said something about
it — Or maybe he may hae taen the rue, and kensna how to
let me wot of his change of mind. He needna be at
muckle fash about it," — she went on, drawing herself up,
though the tear of honest pride and injured affection
gathered in her eye, as she entertained the suspicion, —
"Jeanie Deans is no the lass to pu' him by the sleeve, or
put him in mind of what he wishes to forgeL I sail wish
him weel and happy a' the same ; and if he has the luck
to get a kirk in our country', I sail gang and hear him just
the very same, to show that 1 bear nae malice." And as
she imagined the scene, the tear stole over her eye.

In these melancholy reveries, Jeanie had full time to
indulge herself; for her travelling companions, servants
in a distinguished and fashionable family, had, of course,
many topics of conversation, in which it was absolutely
impossible she could have either pleasure or portion. She
had, therefore, abundant leisure for reflection, and even for

426 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

self-tormenting, during the several days which, indulging
the young horses the Duke was sending down to the Nortn
with sufficient ease and short stages, they occupied in
reaching the neighbourhood of Carlisle.

In approaching the vicinity of that ancient city, thej
discerned a considerable crowd upon an eminence at a
little distance from the high road, and learned from some
passengers who were gathering towards that busy scene
from the southward, that the cause of the concourse was,
the laudable public desire "to see a domned Scotch witcl-
and thief get half of her due upo Haribee-broo' yonder, foi
she was only to be hanged ; she should hae been boornec
aloive, an' cheap on't."

" Dear Mr. Archibald," said the dame of the dairy elect
" I never seed a woman hanged in a' my life, and only foui
men, as made a goodly spectacle."

Mr. Archibald, however, was a Scotchman, and promisee
himself no exuberant pleasure in seeing his countrywomar
undergo " the terrible behests of law." Moreover, he was i
man of sense and delicacy in his way, and the late circum
stances of Jeanie's family, with the cause of her expeditior
to London, were not unknown to him ; so that he answerec
drily, it was impossible to stop, as he must be early a
Carlisle on some business of the Duke's, and he accordinglj
bid the postillions get on.

The road at that time passed at about a quarter of a mile';
distance from the eminence, called Haribee or Harabee-brow
which, though it is very moderate in size and height, h
nevertheless seen from a great distance around, owing tc
the flatness of the country through which the Eden flows
Here many an outlaw, and border-rider of both kingdoms
had wavered in the wind during the wars, and scarce les!
hostile truces, between the two countries. Upon Harabee
in latter days, other executions had taken place with a:
little ceremony as compassion ; for these frontier province:
remained long unsettled, and, even at the time of which wi
write, were ruder tlian those in the centre of England.

The postillions drove on, wheeling, as the Penrith roac
led them, round the verge of the rising ground. Yet stil
the eyes of Mrs. Dolly Dutton, which, with the head anc
substantial person to which they belonged, were all turncc
towards the scene of action, could discern plainly thi
outline of the gallows-tree, relieved against the clear sky
the dark shade formed by the persons of tlie executlonei

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 427

and the criminal upon the light rounds of the tall aerial
ladder, until one of the objects, launched into the air, gave
unequivocal signs of mortal agony, though appearing in the
distance not larger than a spider dependent at the extremity
of his invisible thread, while the remaining form descended
from its elevated situation, and regained with all speed an
undistinguished place among the crowd. This termination
of the tragic scene drew forth, of course, a squall from Mrs.
Dutton, and Jeanie, with instinctive curiosity, turned her
head in the same direction.

The sight of a female culprit in the act of undergoing the
fatal punishment from which her beloved sister had been so
recently rescued, was too much, not perhaps for her ner\-es,
but for her mind and feelings. She turned her head to the
other side of the carriage, with a sensation of sickness, of
loathing, and of fainting. Her female companion over-
whelmed her with questions, with proffers of assistance,
with requests that the carriage might be stopped — that a
doctor might be fetched — that drops might be gotten — that
burnt feathers and assafoetlda, fair water, and hartshorn,
might be procured, all at once, and without one instant's
delay. Archibald, more calm and considerate, only desired
the carriage to pusl. forward ; and it was not till they had
got beyond sight of the fatal spectacle, that, seeing the
deadly paleness of Jeanle's countenance, he stopped the
carriage, and jumping out himself, went in search of the
most obvious and most easily procured of Mrs. Dutton's
pharmacopoeia — a draught, namely, of fair water.

While .Archibald was absent on this good-natured piece of
ser\-ice, damning the ditches which produced nothing but
mud, and thinking upon the thousand bubbling sprlnglets
of his own mountains, the attendants on the execution began
to pass the stationary vehicle in their way back to Carlisle.
From their half-heard and half-understood words, Jeanie,

\ whose attention was involuntarily riveted by them, as that
of children is by ghost stories, though they know the pain
with which they will aften^'ards remember them, Jeanie, I
say, could discern that the present victim of the law had
died game, as it is termed by those unfortunates ; that is,
sullen, reckless, and impenitent, neither fearing God nor

; regarding man.

"A sture woife, and a dour," said one Cumbrian peasant,
as he clattered by in his wooden brogues, with a noise like

' the trampling of a dray-horse.

4=8 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

" She has gone to ho master, with ho's name in her
mouth," said another. "Shame the country should be
harried wi' Scotch witches and Scotch bitches this gate —
but I say hang and drown."

"Ay, ay, GaflFer Tramp, take awa yealdon, take awa
low — hang the witch, and there will be less scathe arnang
us ; mine owsen hae been reckan this towmont."

" And mine bairns hae been crining too, mon," replied his
neighbour.

"Silence wi' your fule tongues, ye churles," said an old
woman, who hobbled past them, as they stood talking near
the carriage; "this was nae witch, but a bluidy-fingered
thief and murderess."

"Ay? was it e'en sae. Dame Hinchup?" said one in a
civil tone, and stepping out of his place to let the old woman
pass along the footpath — "Nay, you know best, sure — but
at ony rate, we hae but tint a Scot of her, and that's a thing
better lost than found. "

The old woman passed on without making any answer,

"Ay, ay, neighbour," said Gaffer Tramp, "seest thou
how one witch will speak for t'other — Scots or English, the
same to them."

His companion shook his head, and replied in the same
subdued tone. "Ay, ay, when a Sark-foot wife gets on her
broomstick, the dames of Allonby are ready to mount, just
as sure as the by-word gangs o' the hills,

" If Skiddaw hath a cap,
Criffel wots full weel of that."

" But," continued GaflFer Tramp, " thinkest thou the
daughter o' yon hangit body isna as rank a witch as ho ? "

" I kenna clearly," returned the fellow, "but the folk are
speaking o' swimming her i' the Eden." And they passed
on their several roads, after wishing each other good-
morning.

Just as the clowns left the place, and as Mr. Archibald
returned with some fair water, a crowd of boys and girls,
and some of the lower rabble of more mature age, came up
from the place of execution, grouping themselves with many
a yell of delight around a tall female fantastically dressed,
who was dancing, leaping, and bounding in the midst of
tliem. A horrible recollection pressed on Jeanie as she
looked on this unfortunate creature ; and the reminiscence

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 429

,„i mutual, for by a sudden exertion of great strength and
agility, Madge Wildtire broke out of the noisy circle of
tormentors who surrounded her, and clinging fast to the
door of the calash, uttered, in a sound betwixt laughter and
screaming, " Eh, d'ye ken, Jeanie Deans, they hae hangit
our mother ? " Then suddenly changing her tone to that of
the most piteous entreaty, she added, "O gar them let me
gang to cut her dow^n ! — let me but cut her down ! — she is
my mother, if she was waur than the deil, and she'll be nae
mair kenspeckle than half hangit Maggie Dickson, that
cried saut mony a day after she had been hangit ; her
voice was roupit and hoarse, and her neck was a wee
agee, or ye wad hae ken'd nae odds on her frae ony other
saut-wife."

Mr. Archibald, embarrassed by the madwoman's clinging
to the carriage, and detaining around them her noisy and
mischievous attendants, was all this while looking out for
a constable or beadle, to whom he might commit the
unfortunate creature. But seeing no such person of
authority, he endeavoured to loosen her hold from the
carriage, that they might escape from her by driving on.
This, however, could hardly be achieved without some
degree of violence : Madge held fast, and renewed her
frantic entreaties to be permitted to cut down her mother.
"It was but a tenpenny tow lost," she said, "and what
was that to a woman's life ? " There came up, however,
a parcel of savage-looking fellows, butchers and graziers
chiefly, among whose cattle there had been of late a ver^-
generaJ and fatal distemper, which their wisdom imputed
to witchcraft. They laid violent hands on Madge, and tore
her from the carriage, exclaiming — " What, doest stop folk
o' king's highway? Hast no done mischief enow already,
iwi' thy murders and thy witcherings? "

"Oh, Jeanie Deans — Jeanie Deans 1 " exclaimed tlie poor
inumiac, " save my mother, and 1 will take ye to the
Interpreter's house again, — and I will teach ye a' my bonny

Jiangs — and I will tell ve what came o' the " The rest

■ of her entreaties were arowned in the shouts of the rabble.

" Save her, for God's sake ! — Save her firom those people I "
exclaimed Jeanie to Archibald.

" She is mad, but quite innocent ; she is mad, gentlemen,"
said Arcliibald ; "do not use her ill, take her before the
. Mayor."
I "Ay, ay, we'se hae care enow on her," answered one of

430 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

the fellows; "gang thou thy gate, man, and mind thine
own matters."

" He's a Scot by his tongue," said another ; "and an he
will come out o' his whirHgig there, I'se gie him his tartan
plaid fu' o' broken banes."

It was clear nothing could be done to rescue Madge ;
and Archibald, who was a man of humanity, could onlj
bid the postillions hurry on to Carlisle, that he might
obtain some assistance to the unfortunate woman. As
they drove off, they heard the hoarse roar with which the
mob preface acts of riot or cruelty, yet even above thai
deep and dire note, they could discern the screams of the
unfoi'tunate victim. They were soon out of hearing oi
the cries, but had no sooner entered the streets of Carlisle,
than Archibald, at Jeanie's earnest and urgent entreaty,
went to a magistrate, to state the cruelty which was
likely to be exercised on this unhappy creature.

In about an hour and a half he returned, and reported
to Jeanie that the magistrate had very readily gone ir
person, with some assistants, to the rescue of the un-
fortunate woman, and that he had himself accompanied
him ; that when they came to the muddy pool, in which
the mob were ducking her, according to their favourite
inode of punishment, the magistrate succeeded in rescuing
her from their hands, but in a state of insensibility,
owing to the cruel treatment which she had received.
He added, that he had seen her carried to the workhouse,
and understood that she had been brought to herself, and
was expected to do well.

This last averment was a slight alteration in point ol
fact, for Madge Wildfire was not expected to survive the
treatment she had received ; but Jeanie seemed so much
agitated, that Mr. Archibald did not think it prudent to
tell her the worst at once. Indeed, she appeared so
fluttered and disordered by this alarming accident, that,
although it had been their intention to proceed to Long-
town that evening, her companions judged it most advisable
to pass the night at Carlisle.

This was particularly agreeable to Jeanie, who resolved,
if possible, to procure an interview with Madge Wildfire.
Connecting some of her wild flights with the narrative oi
George Staunton, she was unwilling to omit the oppor-
tunity of extracting from her, if possible, some informa-
tion concerning the fate of that unfortunate infant which

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 431

.. .i cost her sister so dear. Her acquaintance with the
disordered state of poor Madge's mind did not permit her
„ to cherish much hope that she could acquire from her any
useful intelligence : but then, since Madge's mother had
suffered her deserts, and was silent for ever, it was her
only chance of obtaining any kind of information, and
she was loath to lose the opportunity.

She coloured her wish to Mr. Archibald by saying,
that she had seen Madge formerly, and wished to know,
as a matter of humanity, how she was attended to under
her present misfortunes. That complaisant person
igimediately went to the workhouse, or hospital, in
which he had seen the sufferer lodged, and brought back
for reply, that the medical attendants positively forbade
her seeing any one. When the application for admit-
tance was repeated next day, Mr. Archibald was informed
tiiat she had been very quiet and composed, insomuch
that the clergyman, who acted as chaplain to the estab-
lishment, thought it expedient to read prayers beside her
bed, but that her wandering fit of mind had returned
soon aiter his departure ; however, her countr\'woman
might see her if she chose it. She was not expected to
live above an hour or two.

Jeanie had no sooner received this information, than
she hastened to the hospital, her companions attending her.
They found the dying person in a large ward, where there
were ten beds of which the patient's was the only one occupied.

Madge was singing when they entered — singing her
own wild snatches of songs and obsolete airs, with a voice
no longer overstrained by false spirits, but softened,
saddened, and subdued by bodily exhaustion. She was
still insane, but was no longer able to express her
I wandering ideas in the wild notes of her former state of
exalted imagination. There was death in the plaintive
tones of her voice, which yet, in this moderated and
melancholy mood, had something of the lulling sound
with which a mother sings her infant asleep. As Jeanie
entered, she heard first the air, and then a part of the
chorus and words, of what had been, perhaps, the song of
a joUy harvest-home :

" Our work is over — over now.
The goodman wipes his weary brow,
The last long warn wends slowly away.
And we are free to sport and play.

43a THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

*• The nig'ht comes on when sets the sun,
And labour ends when day is done.
When Autumn's gone and Winter's come,
We hold our jovial harvest-home. "

Jeanle advanced to the bed-side when the strain was
finished, and addressed Madge by her name. But it pro-
duced no symptoms of recollection. On the contrary, the
patient, like one provoked by interruption, changed her
posture, and called out, with an impatient tone, " Nurse
— nurse, turn my face to the wa', that I may never
answer to that name ony mair, and never see mair §f
a wicked world. "

The attendant on the hospital arranged her in her bed
as she desired, with her face to the wall, and her back to
the light. So soon as she was quiet in this new position,
she began again to sing in the same low and modulated
strains, as if she was recovering the state of abstraction
which the interruption of her visitants had disturbed. The
strain, however, was different, and rather resembled the
music of the Methodist hymns, though the measure of the
song was similar to that of the former :

"When the fight of grace is fought, —
When the marriage vest is wrought —
When Faith hath chased cold Doubt away,
And Hope but sickens at delay —

" When Charity, imprisoned here.
Longs for a more expanded sphere,
Doff thy robes of sin and clay ;
Christian, rise, and come away."

The strain was solemn and affecting, sustained as it was
by the pathetic warble of a voice which had naturally been
a fine one, and which weakness, if it diminished its power,
had improved in softness. Archibald, though a follower of
the court, and a pococurante by profession, was confused, if
not aftected ; the dairymaid blubbered : and Jeanie felt the
tears rise spontaneously to her eyes. Even the nurse,
accustomed to all modes in which the spirit can pass, seemed
considerably moved.

The patient was evidently growing weaker, as was
intimated by an apparent difiiculty of breathing, which
seized her from time to time, and by the utterance of low

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 433

listless moans, intimating' that nature was succumbing in
the last conflict. But the spirit of maJody, which must
originally have so strongly possessed this unfortunate young
woman, seemed, at every interval of ease, to triumph over
her pain and weakness. And it was remarkable that there
could always be traced in her songs something appropriate,
though perhaps only obliquely or collaterally so, to her
present situation. Her next seemed to be the fragment of
some old ballad :

*' Cauld is mj bed. Lord Archibald,

And sad my sleep of sorrow ;
But thine sail be as sad and caxild.
My fause true-lo%'c 1 to-morrow.

•' And weep ye not, my maidens free,
Thoug-h death your mistress borrow |
For he for whom I die to-day.
Shall die for me to-morrow."

Again she changed the tune to one wilder, less mono-
tonous, and less regular. But of the words only a fragment
or two could be collected by those who listened, to this
singular scene :

" Proud Malsle is in the wood,
Walking so early ;
Sweet Robin sits on the bush.
Singing' so rarely.

** ' Tell me, thou bonny bird.
When shall I marry me?' —
• When six braw gentlemen
Kirk ward shall carry ye.'

" ' Who makes the bridal bed.
Birdie, say truly?' —
' The gray-headed sexton.
That delves the grave duly.*

" The glow-worm o'er grave and stone
Shall light thee steady ;
The ow! from the steeple sing,
* Welcome, proud lady.*"

' Her voice died away with the last notes, and she fell into
a slumber, from which the experienced attendant assured

434 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

them, that she never would awake at all, or only in the
death agony.

The nurse's prophecy proved true. The poor maniac
parted with existence, without again uttering a sound of
any kind. But our travellers did not witness this catas-
trophe. They left the hospital as soon as Jeanie had
satisfied herself that no elucidation of her sister's misfortunei
was to be hoped from the dying person.*

CHAPTER XLI.

wilt ihou go on with me ?
The moon is brij^ht, the sea is calm,
And I know well the ocean paths ....

Thou wilt go on with me !

Thalaba,

The fatigue and agitation of these various scenes had
agitated Jeanie so much, notwithstanding her robust
strength of constitution, that Archibald judged it necessary
that shp should have a day's repose at the village of Long-
town. It was in vain that Jeanie herself protested against
any delay. The Duke of Argyle's man of confidence was
of course consequential ; and as he had been bred to the
medical profession in his youth (at least he used this
expression to describe his having, thirty years before,
pounded for six months in the mortar of old Mungc
Mangleman, the surgeon at Greenock), he was obstinate
whenever a matter of health was in question.

In this case he discovered febrile symptoms, and having
once made a happy application of that learned phrase te
Jeanie's case, all further resistance became in vain ; ant
she was glad to acquiesce, and even to go to bed, an<
drink water-gruel, in order that she might possess hm
soul in quiet, and without interruption.

Mr. Archibald was equally attentive in another particular
He observed that the execution of the old woman, and tht
miserable fate of her daughter, seemed to have had i
more powerful effect upon Jeanie's mind, than the usua
feelings of humanity might naturally have been expcctei
to occasion. Yet she was obviously a strong-mmded
.sensible young woman, and in no respect subject to nervou

• Note 16. Madge Wildfire.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 435

anections ; and therefore Archibald, being ignorant of
any special connection between his master's prot^gfee and
these unfortunate persons, excepting that she had seen
Madge formerly in Scotland, naturally imputed the strong
impression these events had made upon her, to her associ-
ating them with the unhappy circumstances in which her
sister had so lately stood. He became anxious, therefore,
to prevent anything occurring which might recall these
associations to Jeanie's mind.

Archibald had speedily an opportunity of exercising
this precaution. A pedlar brought to Longtown that
evening, amongst other wares, a large broad-side sheet,
giving an account of the " Last Speech and Execution of
Margaret Murdockson, and of the barbarous Murder of
her Daughter, Magdalene or Madge Murdockson, called
Madge VViidfire ; and of her pious Conversation with his
Reverence Archdeacon Fleming ; " which authentic pub-
lication had apparently taken place on the day they left
Carlisle, and being an article of a nature peculiarly accept-
able to such country-folk as were within hearing of the
transaction, the itinerant bibliopoHst had forthwith added
them to his stock in trade. He found a merchant sooner
than he expected ; for Archibald, much applauding his
own prudence, purchased the whole lot for two shillings
and ninepence ; and the pedlar, delighted with the profit
of such a wholesale transaction, instantly returned to
Carlisle to supply himself with more.

The considerate Mr. Archibald was about to commit
his whole purchase to the flames, but it was rescued by
the yet more considerate dair}'-damsel, who said, very
prudently, it was a pity to waste so much paper, which
might crepe hair, pin up bonnets, and serve many other
useful purposes ; and who promised to put the parcel into
her own trunk, and keep it carefully out of the sight of
! Mrs. Jeanie Deans: "Though, by the bye, she had no
great notion of folk being so very nice. Mrs. Deans
1 might have had enough to think about the gallows all
this time to endure a sight of it, without all this to do
about it."

Archibald reminded the dame ot the dairy of the Duke's
very particular charge, that they should be attentive and
dvil to Jeanie ; as also that they were to part company
soon, and consequently would not be doomed to obser\-ing
any one's health or temper during the rest of the journey.

436 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

With which answer Mrs. Dolly Dutton was obliged to
hold herself satisfied.

On the morning they resumed their journey, and prose-
cuted it successfully, travelling through Dumfriesshire
and part of Lanarkshire, until they arrived at the small
town of Rutherglen, within about four miles of Glasgow.
Here an express brought letters to Archibald from the
principal agent o*f the Duke of Argyle in Edinburgh.

He said nothing of their contents that evening ; but
when they were seated in the carriage the next day, the
faithful squire informed Jeanle, that he had received
directions from the Duke's factor, to whom his Grace had
recommended him to carry her, if she had no objection,
for a stage or two beyond Glasgow. Some temporary
causes of discontent had occasioned tumults in that city
and the neighbourhood, which would render it unadvisable
for Mrs. Jeanle Deans to travel alone and unprotected
betwixt that city and Edinburgh ; whereas, by going
forward a little farther, they would meet one of his Grace's
subfactors, who was coming down from the Highlands
to Edinburgh with his wife, and under whose charge she
might journey with comfort and in safety.

Jeanle remonstrated against this arrangement. " She
had been lang," she said, " frae hame — her father and her
sister behoved to be very anxious to see her — there were
other friends she had that werena wc^l in health. She
was willing to pay for man and horse at Glasgow, and
surely naebody wad meddle wl' sae harmless and feckless
a creature as she was. — She was muckle obliged by the
offer ; but never hunted deer langed for its resting-place
as I do to find myself at St. Leonard's."

The groom of the chambers exchanged a look with his
female companion, which seemed so full of meaning, that
Jeanie screamed aloud — "O Mr. Archibald — Mrs. Dutton,
If ye ken of onything that has happened at St. Leonard's,
for God's sake — for pity's sake, tell me, and dinna keep
me In suspense 1 "

" I really know nothing, Mrs. Deans," said the groott^
of the chambers.

"And I — I — I am sure, I knows as little," said the dam*
of the dairy, while some communication seemed to trembly
on her lips, which, at a glance of Archibald's eye, sh%
appeared to swallow down, and compressed her lips therej
after into a state of extreme and vigilant firmness, as \v

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 437

she had been afraid of its bolting out before she was
aware.

Jeanie saw that there was to be something concealed
from her, and it was only the repeated assurances of
Archibald that her father — her sister — all her friends were,
as far as he knew, well and happy, that at all pacified
her alarm. From such respectable peoplp as those with
whom she travelled she could apprehend no harm, and
yet her distress was so obvious, that Archibald, as a last
lesource, pulled out, and put into her hand, a slip of
paper, on which these words were written : —

*' Jeanie Deans — You will do me a favour by goings with
Archibald and my female domestic a day's journey beyond
Glasgow, and asking them no questions, which will greatly
oblige your friend,

•• Argyle & Greenwich."
\

Although this laconic epistle, from a nobleman to whom
she was bound by such inestimable obligations, silenced
all Jeanie's objections to the proposed route, it rather
added to than diminished the eagerness of her curiosity.
The proceeding to Glasgow seemed now no longer to
be an object with her fellow-travellers. On the contrary,
they kept the left-hand side of the river Clyde, and travelled
through a thousand beautiful and changing views down
the side of that noble stream, till, ceasing to hold its inland
chziracter, it began to assume that of a navigable river.

"You are not for gaun intill Glasgow then?" said
Jeanie, as she observed that the drivers made no motion
for inclining their horses' heads towards the ancient bridge,
which was then the only mode of access to St. Mungo's
capital.

"No," replied Archibald; "there is some popular com-
motion, and as our Duke is in opposition to the court,
perhaps we might be too well received ; or they might
take It in their heads to remember that the Captain of
Carrick came down upon them with his Highlandmen
in the time of Shawfield's Mob in 1725, and then we would
be too ill received. * And, at any rate, it is best for us,

• In 1725, there was a great riot in Glasgow on account of the malt-tax.
Among the troo[>s brought in to restore order, was one of the independent

companies of Highlanders levied in Argyleshire, and distinguished in a lampoon
of tne period, as " Campbell of Carrick and his Highland thieves." It was
called Shawfield's Mob, because much of the popular N-ioIence was directed

riod, as " Campbell of Carrick and his Highland thieves." It was
awfield's Mob, because much of the popular N-ioIence was c
against Daniel Campbell, Esq. of ShawGeld, M. P., Provost of the town.

438 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

and for me in particular, who may be supposed to possess
his Grace's mind upon many particulars, to leave the
good people of the Gorbals to act according to their own
imaginations, without either provoking or encouraging
them by my presence."

To reasoning of such tone and consequence Jeanie had
nothing to reply, although it seemed to her to contain
fully as much self-importance as truth.

The carriage meantime rolled on ; the river expanded
itself, and gradually assumed the dignity of an estuary, or
arm of the. sea. The influence of the advancing and retiring
tides became more and more evident, and in the beautiful
words of him of the laurel wreath, the river waxed —

A broader and a broader stream.

The cormorant stands upon its sho.-ils,
His black and dripping- wings
Half opened to the wind.

"Which way lies Inverary?" said Jeanie, gazing on
the dusky ocean of Highland hills, which now, piled above
each other, and intersected by many a lake, stretched away
on the opposite side of the river to the northward. "Is
yon high castle the Duke's hoose? " i

"That, Mrs. Deans? — Lud help thee," replied Archibald,
" that's the old Castle ot Dumbarton, the strongest place
in Europe, be the other what it may. Sir William Wallace
was governor of it in the old wars with the English, and
his Grace is governor just now. It is always intrusted
to the best man in Scotland."

"And does the Duke live on that high rock, then?";
demanded Jeanie.

" No, no, he has his deputy-governor, who commands in
his absence ; he lives in the white house j'ou see at the bottom -
of the rock — His Grace does not reside there himself." 1

"I think not, indeed," said the dairy-woman, upon
whose mind the road, since they had left Dumfries, had
made no very favourable impression; "for if he did, he
might go whistle for a dairy-woman, an he were the only
duke in England. I did not leave my place and my friends
to come down to see the cows starve to death upon hills as
they be at that pig-stye of Elfinfoot, as you call it, Mr.
Archibald, or to be perched up on the top of a rock, like a

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHI.AJJ. 439

squirrel in his cage, hung out of a three pair of stairs
window."

Inwardly chuckling that these sv'mptoms of recalcitra-
tion had not taken place until the fair malcontent was.
as he mentally termed it, under his thumb, Archibald
coolly replied, " that the hills were none of his making,
nor did he know how to mend them ; but as to lodging,
the^' would soon be in a house of the Duke's in a very
pleasant island called Roseneath, where they went to wait
for shipping to take them to Inverarj', and would meet
the company with whom Jeanie was to return to
Edinburgh."

" An island ? " said Jeanie, who, in the course of her
various and adventurous travels, had never quitted terra-
firma, " then I am doubting we maun gang in ane of these
boats ; they look unco sma', and the waves are something
rough, and "

" ^Ir. Archibald," said Mrs. Dutton, " I will not consent
to it ; I was never engaged to leave the country', and I
desire you will bid the boys drive round the other way to
the Duke's house."

" There is a safe pinnace belonging to his Grace, ma'am,
close by," replied Archibald, " and you need be under no
apprehensions whatsoever."

But I am under apprehensions," said the damsel ; "and
I insist upon going round by land, Mr. Archibald, were it
ten miles about."

" I am sorr}' I cannot oblige you, madam, as Roseneath
happens to be an Lsland."

" If it were ten islands," said the incensed dame, " that's
no rea-son why I should be drowned in going over the seas
to it."

" No reason why you should be drowned, certainly,
ma'am," answered the unmoved g^oom of the chambers,
** but an admirable good one why you cannot proceed to it
by land." And, fixed his master's mandates to perform, he

E>inted with his hand, and the drivers, tummg off the
gh-road, proceeded towards a small hamlet of fishing
huts, where a shallop, somewhat more gaily decorated
than any which they had yet seen, having a flag which
displayed a boar's head, crested with a ducal coronet,
waitea with two or three seamen, and zis many Highlanders.
The carriage stopped, and the men began to unyoke
Iflxeir horses, while ilr. Archibald gravely superintended

440 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

the removal of the baggage from the carriage to the little
vessel. "Has the Caroline been long arrived?" said
Archibald to one of the seamen.

"She has been here in five days from Liverpool, and
she's lying down at Greenock," answered the fellow.

"Let the horses and carriage go down to Greenock
then," said Archibald, "and be embarked there for Inverary
when I send notice — they may stand in my cousin's, Duncan
Archibald the stabler's, — Ladies," he added, "I hope you
will get yourselves ready ; we must not lose the tide."

"Mrs. Deans," said the Cowslip of Inverary, "you may
do as you please — but I will sit here all night, rather than
go into that there painted egg-shell. — Fellow — fellow!"
(this was addressed to a Highlander who was lifting a
travelling trunk) "that trunk is mine, and that there band-
box, and that pillion mail, and those seven bundles, and
the paper bag ; and if you venture to touch one of them,
it shall be at your peril."

The Celt kept his eye fixed on the speaker, then turned
his head towards Archibald, and receiving no counter-
vailing signal, he shouldered the portmanteau, and with-
out further notice of the distressed damsel, or paying any
attention to remonstrances, which probably he did not
understand, and would certainly have equally disregarded
whether he understood them or not, moved off" with Mrs.
Dutton's wearables, and deposited the trunk containins
them safely in the boat. j

The baggage being stowed in safety, Mr. Archibald •
handed Jeanie out of the carriage, and, not without some
tremor on her part, she was transported through the surf
and placed in the boat. He then offered the same civility to
his fellow-servant, but she was resolute in her refusal to
quit the carriage, in which she now remained in solitary
state, threatening all concerned or unconcerned with actions
for wages and board-wages, damages and expenses, and
numbering on her fingers the gowns and other habiliments,
from which she seemed in the act of being separated for
ever. Mr. Archibald did not give himself the trouble of
making many remonstrances, which, indeed, seemed only
to aggravate the damsel's indignation, but spoke two or
three words to the Highlanders in Gaelic ; and the wily
mountaineers, approaching the carriage cautiously, and
without giving the slightest intimation of their intention, at
once seized the recusant so effectually fast that she could

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 441

neither resist nor struggle, and hoisting her on their
shoulders in nearly a horizontal posture, rushed down with
her to the beach, and through the surf, and, with no other
inconvenience than ruffling her garments a little, deposited
her in the boat ; but in a state of surprise, mortification, and
terror, at her sudden transportation, which rendered her
absolutely mute for two or three minutes. The men jumped
in themselves ; one tall fellow remained till he had pushed
oflF the boat, and then tumbled in upon his companions.
They took their oars and began to pull from the shore, then
spread their sail, and drove merrily across the firth.

"You Scotch villain!" said the infuriated damsel to
Archibald, "how dare you use a person like me in this
way ? "

" Madam," said Archibald, with infinite composure, "it's
high time you should know you are in the Duke's countrv,
and that there is not one of these fellows but would throw
you out of the boat as readily as into it, if such were his
Grace's pleasure."

"Then the Lord have mercy on me I " said Mrs. Dutton.
" If I had had any on myself, I would never have engaged
with you."

" It's something of the latest to think of that now, Mrs.
Dutton," said Archibald; "but I assure you, you will find
the Highlands have their pleasures. You will have a dozen
of cow-milkers under your own authority at InVerary, and
you may throw any of them into the lake if you have a
.mind, for the Duke's head people are almost as great as
-himself."

"This is a strange business, to be sure, Mr. Archibald,"
said the lady ; " but I suppose I must make the best on't. —
Are you sure the boat will not sink ? it leans terribly to one
'side, in my poor mind."

"Fear nothing," said Mr. Archibald, taking a most
important pinch of snuff; "this same ferr>- on Clyde knows
us very well, or we know it, which is all the same ; no fear
of any of our people meeting with any accident. We should
have crossed from the opposite shore, but for the disturb-
ances at Glasgow, which made it improper for his Grace's
people to pass through the city."

"Are you not afeard, Mrs. 'Deans, " said the dairv-vestal,
addressing Jeanie, who sat, not in the most comfortable
state of mind, by the side of Archibald, who himself
'managed the helm; — "are you not afeared of these wild

44a THE HEART OF MlD-LOTHlAN.

men with their naked knees, and of this nut-shell of a thing,
that seems bobbing up and down like a skimming-dish in a
milk-pail ? "

"No — no — madam," answered Jeanie, with some hesita-
tion, " I am not feared ; for I hae seen Hielandmen before,
though 1 never was sae near them ; and for the danger of
the deep waters, I trust there is a Providence by sea as well
as by land."

► "Well," said Mrs. Dutton, "it is a beautiful thing to
have learned to write and read, for one can always say such
fine words whatever should befall them."

Archibald, rejoicing in the impression which his vigorous
measures had made upon the intractable dairy-maid, now
applied himself, as a sensible and good-natured man, to
secure by fair means the ascendency which he had obtained
by some wholesome violence ; and he succeeded so well in
representing to her the idle nature of her fears, and the
impossibility of leaving her upon the beach, enthroned in an
empty carriage, that the good understanding of the party
was completely revived ere they landed at Roseneath.

CHAPTER XLH.

Did Fortune guide,
Or rather Destiny, our bark, to which
We could appoint no port, to this best place?

Fletcher.

The islands in the Firth of Clyde, which the daily passage
of so many smoke-pennoned steam-boats now renders so
easily accessible, were, in our father's times, secluded
spots, frequented by no travellers, and few visitants of any
kind. They are of exquisite, yet varied beauty. Arran, a
mountainous region, or Alpine island, abounds with the
grandest and most romantic scenery. Bute is of a softer
and more woodland character. The Cumrays, as if to
exhibit a contrast to both, are green, level, and bare,
forming the links of a sort of natural bar, which is drawn
along the mouth of the firth, leaving large intervals,
however, of ocean. Roseneath, a smaller isle, lies much
higher up the firth, and towards its western shore, near
the opening of the lake called the Gare Loch, and not
far from the Loch Long and Loch Seant, or the Holy Loch,

* THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 4431

iwhich wind from the mountains of the Western Highlands
to join the estuary of the Clyde.

In these isles the severe frost winds, which tyrannise
over the vegetable creation during a Scottish spring, are
comparatively little felt ; nor, excepting the gigantic
strength of Arran, are they much exposed to the Atlantic
storms, lying land-locked and protected to the westward
by the shores of Ayrshire. Accordingly, the weeping-
willow, the weeping-birch, and other trees of early and
pendulous shoots, flourish in these favoured recesses in a
degree unknown in our eastern districts ; and the air is
also said to possess that mildness which is favourable to
consumptive cases.

The picturesque beauty ot the island of Roseneath, in
particular, had such recommendations, that the Earls and
Dukes of Argyle, from an early period, made it their
occasional residence, and had their temporary accommoda-
tion in a fishing or hunting-lodge, which succeeding
improvements have since transformed into a palace. It
was in its original simplicity, when the little bark, which
we left traversing the firth at the end of last chapter,
approached the shores of the isle.

When they#ouched the landing place, which was partly
shrouded by some old, low but wide-spreading oak-trees,
intermixed with hazel-bushes, two or three figures were
seen as if awaiting their arrival. To these Jeanie paid
little attention, so that it was with a shock of surprise
almost electrical, that, upon being carried by the rowers
out of the boat to the shore, she was received in the arms
of her father I

It was too wonderful to be believed — too much like a happy
dream to have the stable feeling of reality — She extricated
herself from his close and affectionate embrace, and held
iiim at arms length, to satisfy her mind that it was no
illusion. But the form was indisputable — Douce David
Deans himself, in his best light-blue Sunday's coat, with
broad metal-buttons, and waistcoat and breeches of the
same, his strong gramashes or leggins of thick gray
cloth — the very copper buckles — the broad Lowland blue
bonnet, thrown back as he lifted his eyes to Heaven in
speechless gratitude — the gray locks that straggled from
beneath it down his weather-beaten "haffets" — the bald
and furrowed forehead — the clear blue eye, that, undlmmed
'■V years, gleamed bright and pale from under its shaggy

444 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

gray pent-house — the features, usually so stern and stoical,
now melted into the unwonted expression of rapturous
joy, affection, and gratitude — were all those of David Deans ;
and so happily did they assort together, that, should I ever
again see my friends Wilkie or Allan, I will try to borrow
or steal from them a sketch of this very scene.

"Jeanie — my ain Jeanie — my best — my maist dutiful
bairn — the Lord of Israel be thy father, for I am hardly
worthy of thee ! Thou hast redeemed our captivity —
brought back the honour of our house — Bless thee, my
bairn, with mercies promised and purchased ! — But He
has blessed thee, in the good of which He has made thee
the Instrument."

These words broke from him not without tears, though
David was of no melting mood. Archibald had, with
delicate attention, withdrawn the spectators" from the
interview, so that the wood and setting sun alone were
witnesses of the expansion of their feelings.

"And Effie? — and Efifie, dear father 1 " was an eager
interjectlonal question which Jeanie repeatedly threw in
among her expressions of joyful thankfulness.

"Ye will hear — ye will hear," said David hastily, and
ever and anon renewed his grateful ackno\^edgments to
Heaven for sending Jeanie safe down from the land of
prelatic deadness and schismatic heresy ; and had delivered
her from the dangers of the way, and the lions that were
In the path.

"And Effie?" repeated her affectionate sister again
and again. "And — and" — (fain would she have said
Butler, but she modified the direct inquiry) — "and
Mr. and Mrs. Saddletree — and Dumbiedlkes — and a'
friends ? "

"A' weel — a' weel, praise to His name ! "

"And — and Mr. Butler — he wasna weel when I gaed
awa ? "

" He Is quite mended — quite weel," replied her father,

" Thank God— but oh, dear father, Effie ?— Effie ? "

"You will never see her mair, mv bairn," answered
Deans in a solemn tone — "You are the ae and only leaf
left now on the auld tree — heal be your portion 1 "

"She is dead! — She is slain I — It has come ower late!"
exclaimed Jeanie, wringing her hands.

"No, Jeanie," returned Deans, in the same grave^,
Bielancholy tone. " She lives in the flesli, and is at freedom

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 445

from earthly restraint, if she were as much alive in fiaith,
and as free from the bonds of Satan."

" The Lord protect us ! " said Jeanie — " Can the unhappy
bairn hae left you for that villain ? "

"It is ower truly spoken," said Deans — "she has left
her auld father, that has wept and prayed for her — she
has left her sister, that travailed and toiled for her like a
mother — she has left the bones of her mother, and the
and of her people, and she is ower the march wi* that
>on of Belial — She has made a moonlight flitting of it."
He paused, for a feeling betwixt sorrow and strong
ntment choked his utterance.
And wi' that man ? — that fearfu' man ? " said Jeanie.

And she has left us to gang aff wi' him ? — O Effie, Effie,
wha could hae thought it, after sic a deliverance as you
lad been gifted wi' ! "

" She went out from us, my bairn, because she was not
of us," replied David. "She is a withered branch will
lever bear fruit of grace — a scapegoat gone forth into the
vildemess of the world, to carry wi' her, as I trust, the
iins of our little congregation. The peace of the warld gang
vV her, and a better peace when she has the grace to turn
.0 it ! If she is of His elected. His ain hour will come.
iVhat would her mother have said, that famous and
nemorable matron, Rebecca M 'Naught, whose memory is
ike a flower of sweet savour in Newbattle, and a pot of
rankincense in Lugton? But be it sae — let her part —
et her gang her gate — let her bite on her ain bridle — The
-«rd kens His time — She was the bairn of prayers, and
inay not prove an utter castaway. But never, Jeanie —
lever more let her name be spoken between you and me
—She hath passed from us like the brook which vanisheth
■vhen the summer waxeth warm, as patient Job saith —
«t her pass, and be forgotten."

There was a melancholy pause which followed these
«rpressions. Jeanie would fain have asked more circum-
tances relating to her sister's departure, but the tone of
ler father's prohibition was positive. She was about to
nention her interview with Staunton at his father's
ectory; but, on hastily running over the particulars in
ler memory, she thought that, on the whole, they were
^-^-f^ likely to aggravate than diminish his distress of
!. She _ turned, therefore, the discourse from this

. .ful subject, resolving to suspend further inquirj-

446 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

until she should see Butler, from whom she expected to
learn the particulars of her sister's elopement.

But when was she to see Butler ? was a question she
could not forbear asking herself, especially while her
father, as if eager to escape from the subject of his
youngest daughter, pointed to the opposite shore of
Dumbartonshire, and asking Jeanie, "if it werena a

Kleasant abode ? " declared to her his intention of removing
is earthly tabernacle to that country, "in respect he was
solicited by his Grace the Duke of Argyle, as one well
skilled in country labour, and a' that appertained to flocks
and herds, to superintend a store-farm, whilk his Grace had
taen into his ain hand for the improvement of stock."

Jeanle's heart sunk within her at this declaration. " She
allowed it was a goodly and pleasant land, and sloped
bonnily to the western sun ; and she doubtedna that the
pasture might be very gude, for the grass looked green,
for as drouthy as the weather had been. But it was far
frae hame, and she thought she wad be often thinking on
the bonny spots of turf, sae fu' of gowans and yellow king-
cups, amang the Crags at St. Leonard's."

" Dinna speak on't, Jeanie," said her father; "I wish
never to hear it named mair — that is, after the rouping
is ower and the bills paid. But I brought a' the beasts
ower-by that I thought ye wad like best. There is Gowans,
and there's your ain brockit cow, and the wee hawkit ane,
that ye ca'd — I needna tell ye how ye ca'd it — but I couldna
bid them sell the petted creature, though the sight o't may
sometimes gle us a sair heart — it's no the poor dumb
creature's fault — And ane or twa beasts mair I hae reserved,
and I caused them to be driven before the other beasts,
that men might say, as when the son of Jesse returned
from battle, ' This Is David's spoil.' " ^

Upon more particular inquiry, Jeanie found new occasion
to admire the active beneficence of her friend, the Duke
of Argyle. While establishing a sort of experimental farm,
on the skirts of his immense Highland estates, he had beeft
somewhat at a loss to find a proper person in whom t«|
vest the charge of it. The conversation his Grace had upoti
country matters with Jeanie Deans during their return ffOlfli
Richmond, had impressed him with a belief that the fathfflsl
whose experience and success she so frequently quotedij
must be exactly the sort of person whom he wanted. VVhea
the condition annexed to liflie's pardon rendered it higW||

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 447

• able that David Deans would choose to chang'e his
place of residence, this idea again occurred to the Duke
more strongly, and as he was an entliusiast equally in
agriculture and in benevolence, he imagined he was serving
the purposes of both, when he wrote to the gentleman in
Edinburgh intrusted with his affairs, to inquire into the
character of David Deans, oswfeeder, and so forth, at
St. Leonard's Crags ; and if he found him such as he had
Deen represented, to engage him without delay, and on
;he most liberal terms, to superintend his fancy-farm in
Dumbartonshire.

The proposal was made to old David by the gentleman
JO commissioned, on the second day after his daughter's
iardon had reached Edinburgh. His resolution to leave
5t Leonard's had been already formed ; the honour of an
sxpress invitation from the Duke of .\rgyle to superintend
I department where so much skill and diligence was
required, was in itself extremely flattering ; and the more
!0, because honest David, who was not without an
jxcellent opinion of his own talents, persuaded himself
hat, by accepting this charge, he would in some sort
epay the great favour he had received at the hands of
he Argyle family. The appointments, including the
ight of sufficient grazing for a small stock of his own,
•vere amply liberal ; and David's keen eye saw that the
situation was convenient for trafficking to advantage in
highland cattle. There was risk of "her'ship"* from
he neighbouring mountains, indeed, but the awful name
>f the Duke of Argyle would be a great security, and a
rifle of black-mail would, David was aware, assure his
^fety.

Still, however, there were two points on which he
laggled. The first was the character of the clergyman
vith whose worship he was to join ; and on this delicate
•oint he received, as we will presently show the reader,
•erfect satisfaction. The next obstacle was the condition
>f his youngest daughter, obliged as she was to leave
•Gotland for so many years.

The gentleman of the law smiled, and said, " There was
iO occasion to interpret that clause very strictly — that if
he young woman left Scotland for a few months, or even

* Her'ship, a Scottish word which may be said to be now obsolete ; because,
tirtunately, the practice of " plundering by armed force," which is it* meaning.
[OM not rc<iuire to be commonly spoken of

448 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

weeks, and came to her father's new residence by sea
from the western side of England, nobody would know of
her arrival, or at least nobody who had either the right
or inclination to give her disturbance. The extensive
heritable jurisdictions of his Grace excluded the inter-
ference of other magistrates with those living on his
estates, and they who were in immediate dependence on
him would receive orders to give the young woman no
disturbance. Living on the verge of the Highlands, she
might, indeed, be said to be out of Scotland, that is,
beyond the bounds of ordinary law and civilisation."

Old Deans was not quite satisfied with this reasoning ;
but the elopement of Effie, which took place on the third
night after her liberation, rendered his residence at St
Leonard's so detestable to him, that he closed at once
with the proposal which had been made him, and entered
with pleasure into the idea of surprising Jeanie, as had
been proposed by the Duke, to render the change of
residence more striking to her. The Duke had apprised
Archibald of these circumstances, with orders to act
according to the instructions he should receive from
Edinburgh, and by which, accordingly, he was directed to
bring Jeanie to Roseneath.

The father and daughter communicated these matters
to each other, now stopping, now walking slowly towards
the Lodge, which showed itself among the trees, at about
half a mile's distance from the little bay in which they
had landed.

As they approached the house, David Deans informed
his daughter, with somewhat like a grim smile, which
was the utmost advance he ever made towards a mirthful
expression of visage, that ' ' there was baith a worshipful
gentleman, and ane reverend gentleman, residing therein.
The worshipful gentleman was his honour the Laird of
Knocktarlitie, who was bailie of the Lordship under the
Duke of Argylc, ane Hieland gentleman, tarr'd wi' the
same stick," David doubted, "as mony of them, namely«
a hasty and choleric temper, and a neglect of the highe|
things that belong to salvation, and also a gripping untQ
the things of this world, without muckle distmction ai
property ; but, however, ane gude hospitable gentlemai
with whom it would be a part of wisdom to live on
gude understanding (for Hielandmen were hasty, ow^
nasty). As for tlie reverend person of whom he

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 449

ppoken, he was candidate by favour of the Duke of Argyle "
'for David would not for the universe have called him
presentee) "for the kirk of the parish in which their farm
was situated, and he was likely to be highly acceptable
Linto the Christian souls of the parish, who were hungering
For spiritual manna, having been fed but upon sour
Hieland sowens by Mr. Duncan MacDonought, the last
minister, who began the morning duly, Sunday and
Saturday, with a mutchkin of usquebaugh. But I need
5ay the less about the present lad," said David, again
^•rimly grimacing, "as I think ye may hae seen him
ifore ; and here he is come to meet us."

She had indeed seen him before, for it was no other
iian Reuben Butler himself.

CHAPTER XLHI.

No more shalt thou behold thy sister's face ;
Thou hast already had her last embrace.

Elegy on Mrs, Anne Ktlltgrew,

This second surprise had been accomplished for Jeanie
Deans by the rod of the same benevolent enchanter, whose
DOwer had transplanted her father from the Crags of St.
Leonard's to the banks of Gare Loch. The Duke of Argyle
.vas not a person to forget the hereditary debt of gratitude,
vhich had been bequeathed to him by his grandfather, in
'avour of the grandson of old Bible Butler. He had
nternally resolved to provide for Reuben Butler in this
cirk of Knocktarlitie, of which the incumbent had just
departed this life. Accordingly, his agent received the
necessary instructions for that purpose, under the qualifying
rendition always, that the learning and character of Mr.
Butler should be found proper for the charge. Upon
nquiry, these were found as highly satisfactory as had
3een reported in the case of David Deans himself.

By this preferment, the Duke of Argyle more essentially
Dcnefited his friend and protegee, Jeanie, than he himself
vas aware of, since he contributed to remove objections
n her father's mind to the match, which he had no idea
lad been in existence.

We have already noticed that Deans had something of
1 prejudice against Butler, which was, perhaps, in some

450 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

degree owing to his possessing a sort of consciousness,
that the poor usher loolced with eyes of aflfection upon
his eldest daughter. This, in David's eyes, was a sin of
presumption, even although it should not be followed by
any overt act, or actual proposal. But the lively interest
which Butler had displayed in his distresses, since Jeanie
set forth on her London expedition, and which, therefore,
he ascribed to personal respect for himself individually,
had greatly softened the feelings of irritability with which
David had sometimes regarded him. And while he was
in this good disposition towards Butler, another incident
took -place which had great influence on the old man's
mind.

So soon as the shock of Effie's second elopement was
over, it was Dean's early care to collect and refund to the
Laird of Dumbiedikes the money which he had lent for
Effie's trial, and for Jeanie's travelling expenses. The
Laird, the pony, the cocked-hat, and the tobacco-pipe, had
not been seen at St. Leonard's Crags for many a day ;
so that, in order to pay this debt, David was under
the necessity of repairing in person to the mansion of
Dumbiedikes.

He found it in a state of unexpected bustle. There were
workmen pulling down some of the old hangings, and
replacing them with others, altering, repairing, scrubbing,
painting, and white-washing. There was no knowing the
old house, which had been so long the mansion of sloth
and silence. The Laird himself seemed in some confusion,
and his reception, though kind, lacked something of the
reverential cordiality with which he used to greet David
Deans. There was a change also, David did not verj"
well know of what nature, about the exterior of this landed
proprietor — an improvement in the shape of his garments,
a spruceness in the air with which they were put on, that
were both novelties. Even - the old hat looked smarter ;
the cock had been newly, pointed, the lace had beeq
refreshed, and instead of slouching backward or forward
on the Laird's head, as it happened to be thrown on, n
was adjusted with a knowing inclination over one eye. \^

David Deans opened his business, and told down th^
cash. Dumbiedikes steadily inclined his ear to the onM
and counted the other with great accuracy, Interruptini
David, while he was talking of the redemption of tM
captivity of Judah, to ask hijii whether he did not thinii

S THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 45*

,)ne or two of the guineas looked rather light. When
le was satisfied on this point, had pocketed his money,
mcl had signed a receipt, he addressed David with some
Ittle 7-esitation, — "Jeanie wad be writing ye sometliing,
,'^udeman?"

"About the siller? " replied David — " Nae doubt she did."

" And did she say nae mair about me? " asked the Laird.

" N'ae mair but kind and Christian wishes — what suld
hae said ? " replied David, fully expecting that the
^cilid's long courtship (if his dangling after Jeanie deserves
io active a name) was now coming to a point. And so
ndeed it was, but not to that point which he wished or
;xpected.

"Aweel, she kens her ain mind best, gudeman. I hae
nade a clean house o' Jenny Balchristie and her niece.
They were a bad pack — steal'd meat and mault, and loot
he carters magg the coals — I'm to be married the morn,
mJ kirkit on Sunday."

Whatever David felt, he was too proud and too steady-
ninded to show any unpleasant surprise in his countenance
md manner.

" I wuss ye happy, sir, through Him that gies happiness
—marriage is an honourable state."

' ' And I am wedding into an honourable house, David-r-
he Laird of Lickpelfs youngest daughter — she sits next us
n the kirk, and that's the way I came to think on't."

There was no more to be said, but again to wish the
Laird joy, to taste a cup of his liquor, and to walk back
iuain to St. Leonard's, musing on the mutability of human
;rs and human resolutions. The expectation that one
or other Jeanie would be Lady Dumbiedikes, had, in
pile of himself, kept a more absolute possession of David's
nind than he himself was aware of. At least, it had
litherto seemed a union at all times within his daughter's
each, whenever she might choose to give her silent lover
iny degree of encouragement, and now it was vanished for
iver. David returned, therefore, in no very gracious humour
"or so good a man. He was angry with Jeanie for not having
encouraged the Laird — he was angry with the Laird for
equiring encouragement — and he was angry with himself
or being angry at all on the occasion.

On his return he found the gentleman who managed the
Ice of .Argyle's affairs was desirous of seeing him, with a
X to completing the arrangement between them. Thu;*.

452 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

after a brief repose, he was obliged to set off anew for
Edinburgh, so that old May Hettly declared, "That a'
this was to end with the master just walking himself afl
his feet."

When the business respecting the farm had been talked
over and arranged, the professional gentleman acquainted
David Deans, in answer to his inquiries concerning the
state of public worship, that it was the pleasure of the
Duke to put an excellent young clergyman, caAed Reuben
Butler, into the parish, which was to be his future residence.

"Reuben Butler!" exclaimed David — "Reuben Butler,
the usher at Liberton ? "

"The very same," said the Duke's commissioner; "his
Grace has heard an excellent character of him, and has
some hereditary obligations to him besides — few ministers
will be so comfortable as I am directed to make Mr.
Butler."

"Obligations? — The Duke? — Obligations to Reuben
Butl&r — Reuben Butler a placed minister of the Kirk of
Scotland ! " exclaimed David, in interminable astonish-
ment, for somehow he had been led by the bad success
which Butler had hitherto met with in all his under-
takings, to consider him as one of those stepsons of
Fortune, whom she treats with unceasing rigour, and
ends with disinheriting altogether.

There is, perhaps, no time at which we are disposed to
think so highly of a friend, as when we find him standing
higher than we expected in the esteem of others. When
assured of the reality of Butler's change of prospects,
David expressed his great satisfaction at his success in
life, which, he observed, was entirely owing to himself
(David). "I advised his puir grandmother, who was but
a silly woman, to breed him up to the ministry ; and I
prophesied that, with a blessing on his endeavours, he
would become a polished shaft in the temple. He may be
something ower proud o' his carnal learning, but a gude
lad, and has the root of the matter — as ministers gang
now, where ye'll find ane .better, ye'll find ten waur, than
Reuben Butler."

He took leave of the man of business, and walked
homeward, forgetting his weariness in the various specula-
tions to which this wonderful piece of intelligence gave
rir.e. Honest David had now, like other great men, to go
to work to reconcile his speculative principles with existing

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 453

'circumstances; and, like other great men, when tliey set
seriously about that task, he was tolerably successful.

' ' Ought Reuben Butler in conscience to accept of this
preferment in the Kirk of Scotland, subject as Da\ id_ at
present thought that establishment was to the Erastian
encroachments of tlie civil power ? " This was the leading
question, and he considered it carefully. "The Kirk of
Scotland was shorn of its beams, and deprived of its full
artillery and banners of authority ; but still it contained
zealous and fructifying pastors, attentive congregations,
and, with all her spots and blemishes, the like of this
Kirk was nowhere else to be seen upon earth."

David's doubts had been too many and too critical to
permit him ever unequivocally to unite himself with any
of the dissenters, who, upon various accounts, absolutely
seceded from the national church. He had often joined
in communion with such of the established clergy as
approached nearest to the old Presbyterian model and
principles of 1640. And although there were many things
to be amended in that system, yet he remembered that he,
David Deans, had himself ever been a humble pleader for
the good old cause in a legal way, but without rushing into
right-hand excesses, divisions, and separations. But, as an
enemy to separation, he might join the right-hand of fellow-
ship with a minister of the Kirk of Scotland in its present
model. Ergo, Reuben Butler might take possession of the
parish of Knocktarlitie, without forfeiting his friendship or
favour — Q. E. D. But, secondly, came the trying point of
lay-patronage, which David Deans had ever maintained to
be a coming in by the window, and over the wall, a cheating
and starving the souls of a whole parish, for the purpose of
clothing the back and filling the belly of the incumbent.

This presentation, therefore, from the Duke of Argyle,
whatever was the worth and high character of that noble-
man, was a limb of the brazen image, a portion of the evil
i thing, and with no kind of consistency could David bend his
\ mind to favour such a transaction. But if the parishioners
i themselves joined in a general call to Reuben Butler to be
{ their pastor, it did not seem quite so evident that the
■ existence of this unhappy presentation was a reason for
. his refusing them the comforts of his doctrine. If th&
Presbytery admitted him to the kirk, in virtue rather of
that act of patronage than of the general call of the
,' congregation, that might be their error, and David

454 THE HEART OP MID-LOTHIAN.

allowed it was a heavy one. But if Reuben Butler
accepted of the care as tendered to him by those whom
he was called to teach, and who had expressed themselves
desirous to learn. David, after considering and recon-
sidering the matter, came, through the greet virtue of if,
to be of opinion that he might safely so act in that
matter.

There remained a third stumbling-block — the oaths to
government exacted from the established clergymen, in
which they acknowledge an Erastian king and parlia-
ment, and homologate the incorporating Union between
England and Scotland, through which the latter kingdom
had become part and portion of the former, wherein Prelacy,
the sister of Popery, had made fast her throne, and elevated
the horns of her initre. These were symptoms of defection
which had often made David cry out, "My bowels — my
bowels ! — I am pained at the very heart ! " And he
remembered that a godly Bow-head matron had been
carried out of the Tolbooth Church in a swoon, beyond
the reach of brandy and burnt feathers, merely on hearing
these fearful words, "It is enacted by the Lords spirituai
and temporal," pronounced from a Scottish pulpit, in the
proem to the Porteous Proclamation. These oaths were,
therefore, a deep compliance and dire abomination — a sin
and a snare, and a danger and a defection. But this
shibboleth was not always exacted. Ministers had respect
to their own tender consciences, and those of their brethren ;
and it was not till a later period that the reins of discipline
were taken up tight by the General Assemblies and Pres-
byteries. The peace-making particle came again to David's
assistance. 7/" an incumbent was not called upon to make
such compliances, and if he got a right entry into the
church without intrusion, and by orderly appointment,
why, upon the whole, David Deans came to be of
opinion, that the said incumbent might lawfully enjoy
the spirituality and temporality of the cure of souls at
Knocktarlitie, with stipend, manse, glebe, and all thereunto
appertaining.

The best and most upright-minded men are so strongly
influenced by existing circumstances, that it would be some-
what cruel to inquire too nearly what weight paternal
affection gave to these ingenious trains of reasoning. Let
David Deans's situation be considered. He was just
deprived of one daughter, and his eldest; to whom he owed

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 455

io much, was cut off, by the sudden resolution of Dumbfe-
likes, from the high hope which David had entertained,
hat she might one day be mistress of that fair lordship.
ust while this disappointment was bearing heavy on his
;piiits, Butler comes before his imagination — no longer the
lalf-starved threadbare usher, but fat and sleek and fair, the
}eneficed minister of Knocktarlitie, beloved by his con-
jTL'gation — exemplary in his life — powerful in his doctrine —
lolng the duty of the kirk as never Highland minister did
)efore — turning sinners as a colley dog turns sheep — a
avourite of the Duke of Argyle, and drawing a stipend of
•ight hundred punds Scots, and four chalders of victual;
4ere was a match, making up, in David's mind, in a
enfold degree, the disappointment in the case of Dumbie-
likes, in so far as the Goodman of St. Leonard's held a
)0\verful minister in much greater admiration than a mere
anded proprietor. It did not occur to him, as an additional
eason in favour of the match, that Jeanie might herself
lave some choice in the matter; for the idea of consulting
ler feelings never once entered into the honest man's head,
my more than the possibility that her inclination might
)erhaps differ from his own.

Tlie result of his meditations was, that he was called upon
0 take the management of the whole affair into his own
land, and give, if it should be found possible without sinful
ompliance, or backsliding, or defection of any kind, a
vorthy pastor to the kirk of Knocktarlitie. Accordingly,
)y the intervention of the honest dealer in butter-milk who
Iwelt in Liberton, David summoned to his presence Reuben
kitler. Even from this worthy messenger he was unable
o conceal certain swelling emotions of dignity, insomuch,
hat, when the carter had communicated his message to the
isher, he added, that " Certainly the Gudeman of St.
Leonard's had some grand news to tell him, for he was as
ipHfted as a midden-cock upon pattens."

Butler, it may readily be conceived, immediately obeyed
lie summons. His was a plain character, in which worth
md good sense and simplicity were the principal ingredients ;
)ut love, on this occasion, gave him a certain degree of
iddress. He had received an intimation of the favour
lesigned him by the Duke of Argyle, with what feelings
hose only can conceive who have experienced a sudden
)rospect of being raised to independence and respect from
jenury and toil. He resolved, however, that the old man

456 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

should retain all the consequence of being, in his own
opinion, the first to communicate the important intelligence.
At the same time, he also determined that in the expected
conference he would permit David Deans to expatiate at
length upon the proposal. In all its bearings, without
Irritating him either by Interruption or contradiction. This
last was the most prudent plan he could have adopted ;
because, although there were many doubts which David
Deans could himself clear up to his own satisfaction, yet he
might have been by no means disposed to accept the
solution of any other person ; and to engage him in an
argument would have been certain to confirm him at once
and for ever In the opinion which Butler chanced to impugn.

He received his friend with an appearance of Important
gravity, which real misfortune had long compelled him to
lay aside, and which belonged to those days of awful
authority in which he predominated over Widow Butler,
and dictated the mode of cultivating the crofts of Beersheba.
He made known to Reuben, with great prolixity, the pro-
spect of his changing his present residence for the charge
of the Duke of Argyle's stock-farm in Dumbartonshire, and
enumerated the various advantages of the situation with
obvious self-congratulation ; but assured the patient hearer,
that nothing had so much moved him to acceptance, as the
sense that, by his skill in bestial, he could render the most
important services to his Grace the Duke of Argyle, to
whom, "in the late unhappy circumstance" (here a tear
dimmed the sparkle of pride in the old man's eye), " he had
been sae muckle obliged.

"To put a rude HIelandman into sic a charge," he
continued, " what could be expected but that he suld be
sic a chlefest herdsman, as wicked Doeg the Edomlte :
whereas, while this gray head is to the fore, not a clute
o' them but sail be as weel cared for as if they were the
fatted kine of Pharaoh. — And now, Reuben, lad, seeing
we maun remove our tent to a strange countrjr, ye will
be casting a dolefu' look after us, and thinking with
whom ye are to hold council anent your government In
thae slippery and backsliding times ; and nae doubt
remembering, that the auld man, David Deans, was made
the instrument to bring you out of the mire of schism
and heresy, wheiein your father's house delighted to
wallow ; aften also, nae doubt, when ye are pressed wi'
ensnaring trials and tentations and heart-plagues, you,

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 457

inat are like a recruit that is marching for the first time
to the touk of drum, will miss the auld, bau!d, and ex-
perienced veteran soldier that has felt the brunt of mony
a foul day, and heard the bullets whistle as aften as he
has hairs left on his auld pow."

It is very possible that Butler might internally be of
c^inion, that the reflection on his ancestor's peculiar tenets
might have been spared, or that he might be presumptuous
snough even to think, that, at his years and with his own
lights, he might be able to hold his course without the
pilotage of honest David. But he only replied, by ex-
pressing his regret, that anything should separate him
from an ancient, tried, and affectionate friend.

" But how can it be helped, man ? " said David, twisting
his features into a sort of smile — "How can we help it?
— I trow, ye canna tell me that — Ye maun leave that to
ither folk — to the Duke of Arg^le and me, Reuben, — It's
a gude thing to hae friends in this warld — how muckle
better to hae an interest beyond it ! "

And David, whose piety, though not always quite
rational, was as sincere as it was habitual and fervent,
looked reverentially upward and paused. Mr. Butler
intimated the pleasure with which he would receive his
friend's advice on a subject so important, and David
resumed.

"What think ye now, Reuben, of a kirk — a regular
kirk under the present establishment ? — Were sic offered
CO ye, wad ye be free to accept it, and under whilk pro-
visions?— I am speaking but by way of quer)'."

Butler replied, "That if such a prospect were held out
:o him, he would probably first consult whether he was
:ikely to be useful to the parish he should be called to
Ind if there appeared a fair prospect of his proving so,
nis friend must be aware, that, in every other point of
/iew, it would be highly advantageous for him."

" Right, Reuben, very right, lad," answered the monitor,
"your ain conscience is the first thing to be satisfied —
or how sail he teach others that has himsell sae ill learned
;he Scriptures, as to grip for the lucre of foul earthly
preferment, sic as gear and manse, money and victual',
-hat which is not his in a spiritual sense — or wha makes
lis kirk a stalking-liorse, from behind which he may tak
urn at his stipend ? But I look for better things of
>ou — and specially ye maun be minded not to art altogether

458 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

on your ain judgment, for therethrough comes sair mistakes,
backslidings, and defections, on the left and on the right.
If there were sic a day of trial put to you, Reuben, you,
who are a young lad, although it may be ye are gifted
wi' the carnal tongues, and those whilk were spoken at
Rome, whilk is now the seat of the scarlet abomination,
and by the Greeks, to whom the gospel was as foolishness,
yet nae-the-less ye may be entreated bj' your weel-wisher
to take the counsel of those prudent and resolved and
weather-withstanding professors, wha hae kend what it
was to lurk on banks and in mosses, in bogs and in caverns,
and to risk the peril of the head rather than renunce the
honesty of the heart."

Butler replied, "That certainly, possessing such a friend
as he hoped and trusted he had in the goodman himself,
who had seen so many changes in the preceding century,
he should be much to blame if he did not avail himsell
of his experience and friendly counsel."

" Eneugh said — eneugh said, Reuben," said Davie
Deans, with internal exultation; "and say that ye were
in the predicament whereof I hae spoken, of a surety 1
would deem it my duty to gang to the root o' the matter,
and lay bare to you the ulcers and imposthumes, and thf
sores and the leprosies, of this our time, crying alouc
and sparing not."

David Deans was now in his element. He commenced
his examination of the doctrines and belief of the Chris-
tian Church with the very Culdees, from whom he passed
to John Knox — from John Knox to the recusants in James
the Sixth's time — Bruce, Black, Blair, Livingstone —
from them to the brief, and at length triumphant perioc
of the Presbyterian Church's splendour, until it was over-
run by the English Independents. Then followed the
dismal times of prelacy, the indulgences, seven in number,
with all their shades and bearings, until he arrived at the
reign of King James the Second, in which he himself hae
been, in his own mind, neither an obscure actor nor ar
obscure sufferer. Then was Butler doomed to hear th(
most detailed and annotated edition of what he had sc
often heard before — David Deans's confimement, namely:
in the iron cage in the Canongate Tolbooth, and the
cause thereof.

We should be very unjust to our friend David Deans
if we should "pretermit" — to use his own expression — £

" THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 459

narrative which he held essential to his fame. A dnmken
srooper of the Royed Guards, Francis Gordon by name,
'lad chased five or six of the skulking WTiigs, among whom
tVas our friend David ; and after he had compelled them
60 stand, and was in the act of brawHng witli them, one
i>i their number fired a pocket-pistol, and shot him dead.
David used to sneer and shake his head when any one
isked him whether he had been the instrument of removing
his wicked persecutor from the face of the earth. In fact
he merit of the deed lay between him and his friend,
Patrick Walker, the pedlar, whose works he was so fond
)f quoting. Neither of them cared directly to claim the
nerit of silencing Mr. Francis Gordon of the Life-Guards,
here being some wild cousins of his about Edinburgh,
vho might have been even yet addicted to revenge, but
^et neither of them chose to disown or yield to the other
he merit of this active defence of their religious rites.
)avid said, that if he had fired a pistol then, it was what
16 never did after or before. And as for Mr. Patrick
'Valker, he has left it upon record, that his great surprise
vas, that so small a pistol could kill so big a man. These
je the words of that venerable biographer, whose trade
tad not taught him by experience, that an inch was as
;ood as an eU. " He " (Francis Gordon) " got a shot in
lis head out of a pocket-pistol, rather fit for diverting a
x)y than killing such a furious, mad, brisk man, which,
lot withstanding, killed him dead ! "

Upon the extensive foundation which the history of the
ark atforded, during its shortlived triumph and long
ribulation, David, with length of breath and of narrative.
vhich would have astounded any one but a lover of his
iaughter, proceeded to lay down his own rules for guiding
he conscience of his friend, as an aspirant to serve in the
ninistry. Upon this subject, the good man went through
uch a variety of nice and casuistical problems, supposed
o many extreme cases, made the distinctions so critical
nd nice betwixt the right hand and the left hand — betwixt
ompliance and defection — holding back and stepping aside
-slipping and stumbling — snares and errors — that at
;2ngth, after having limited the path of truth to a mathe-
natical line, he was brought to the broad admission, that
ach. man's conscience, after he had gained a certain
iew of the difficult navigation which he was to encounter,

•2»ote 17. Death of Francis Gordon.

460 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

would be the best guide for his pilotage. He stated the
examples and arguments for and against the acceptance
of a kirk on the present revolution model, with much more
impartiality to Butler than he had been able to place them
before his own view. And he concluded, that his young
friend ought to think upon these things, and be guided
by the voice of his own conscience, whether he could take
such an awful trust as the charge of souls without doing
injury to his own internal conviction of what is right or
wrong.

When David had finished his very long harangue,
which was only interrupted by monosyllables, or little
more, on the part of Butler, the orator himself was greatly
astonished to find that the conclusion, at which he very
naturally wished to arrive, seemed much less decisively
attained than when he had argued the case in his own
mind.

In this particular, David's current of thinking and
speaking only illustrated the very important and general
proposition, concerning the excellence of the publicity of
debate. For, under the influence of any partial feeling,
it is certain, that most men can more easily reconcile
themselves to any favourite measure, when agitating it
in their own mind, than when obliged to expose its merits
to a third party, when the necessity of seeming impartial
procures for the opposite arguments a much more fair
statement than that which he affords it in tacit meditation.
Having finished what he had to say, David thought himself
obliged to be more explicit in point of fact, and to explain
that this was no hypothetical case, but one on which (by
his own influence and that of the Duke of Argyle) Reuben
Butler would soon be called to decide.

It was even with something like apprehension that David
Deans heard Butler announce, in return to this communi-
cation, that he would take that night to consider on what
he had said with such kind intentions, and return him an
answer the next morning. The feelings of the father
mastered David on this occasion. He pressed Butler to
spend the evening with him — He produced, most unusual
at his meals, one, nay, two bottles of aged strong ale. —
He spoke of his daughter — of her merits — her housewifery
— her thrift — her affection. He led Butler so decidedly up
to a declaration of his feelings towards Jeanie, that, before
nightfall, it was distinctly understood she was to be the

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 461

bride of Reuben Butler ; and if they thought it indelicate
to abridge the period of deliberation which Reuben had
stipulated, it seemed to be sufficiently understood betwixt
them, that there was a strong probability of his becoming
minister of Knocktarlitie, providing the congregation were
as willing to accept of him, as the Duke to grant him the
presentation. The matter of the oaths, they agreed, it was
time enough to dispute about, whenever the shibboleth
should be tendered.

Many arrangements were adopted that evening, which
were after«'ards ripened by correspondence with the Duke
of Arg^le's man of business, who intrusted Deans and
Butler with the benevolent wish of his principal, that they
should all meet with Jeanie, on her return from England,
at the Duke's hunting-lodge in Roseneath.

This restrospect, so far as the placid loves of Jeanie
Deans and Reuben Butler are concerned, forms a full ex-
planation of the preceding narrative up to their meeting on
the island, as already mentioned.

CHAPTER XLIV.

" I come," he said, " my love, my life,
And — nature's dearest name — my wife i
Thy father's house and friends resign.
My home, my friends, my sire, are thine."

Logan.

The meeting of Jeanie and Butler, under circumstances
promising to crown an affection so long delayed, was rather
affecting, from its simple sincerity than from its uncommon
vehemence of feeling. David Deans, whose practice was

■ sometimes a little different from his theory, appalled them
at first, by giving them the opinion of sundr>' of the suffer-
ing preachers and champions of his younger days, that

. marriage, though honourable by the laws of Scripture, wa-s

Jet a state over-rashly coveted by professors, and speciai2y
y young ministers, whose desires, he said, was at whiles
too inordinate for kirks, stipends, and wives, which had
frequently occasioned over-ready compliance with the
general defections of the times. He endeavoured to make
them aware also, that hasty wedlock had been the bane
' of many a savoury professor — that the unbelieving wife

462 THE HEART OK MID-LOTHIAN.

had too often reversed the text, and perverted the believing
husband — that when the famous Donald Cargill, being then
hiding in Lee- Wood, in Lanarkshire, it being killing-time,
did, upon importunity, marry Robert Marshal of Starrjr
Shaw, he had thus expressed him.self: "What hath in-
duced Robert to marry this woman ? her ill will overcome
his good — he will not keep the way long — his thriving days
are done." To the sad accomplishment of which prophecy
David said he was himself a living witness, for Robert
Marshal, having fallen into foul compliances with the
enemy, went home, and heard the curates, declined into
other steps of defection, and became lightly esteemed.
Indeed, he observed, that the great upholders of the
standard, Cargill, Peden, Cameron, and Renwick, had less
delight in tying the bonds of matrimony than in any other
piece of their ministerial work ; and although they would
neither dissuade the parties, nor refuse their office, they
considered the being called to it as an evidence of indiffer-
ence, on the part of those between whom it was solemnised,
to the many grievous things of the day. Notwithstanding,
however, that marriage was a snare unto many, David was
of opinion (as, indeed, he had showed in his practice) that
it was in Itself honourable, especially if times were such
that honest men could be secure against being shot,
hanged, or banished, and had ane competent livelihood to
maintain themselves, and those that might come after them.
"And, therefore," as he concluded something abruptly,
addressing Jeanle and Butler, who, with faces as high-
coloured as crimson, had been listening to his lengthened
argument for and against the holy state of matrimony, " 1
will leave you to your ain cracks. "

As their private conversation, however interesting to
themselves, might probably be very little so to the reader,
so far as it respected their present feelings and future
prospects, we shall pass it over, and only mention the
information which Jeanle received from Butler concerning
her sister's elopement, which contained many particulars
that she had been unable to extract from her father.

Jeanle learned, therefore, that, for three days after her
pardon had arrived, Effie had been the inmate of her
father's house at St. Leonard's — that the interview betwixt
David and his erring child, which had taken place before
she was liberated from prison, had been touching in the
extreme ; but Butler could not suppress his opinion, that,

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 463

....-n he was freed from the apprehension of losing her in
a manner so horrible, her father had tightened the bands
of discipline, so as, in some degree, to gall the feelings
and aggravate the irritability of a spirit naturally impatient
ir.d petulant, and now doubly so from the sense of merited
_;race.

)n the third night Effie disappeared from St. Leonard's,
leaving no intimation whatever of the route she had taken.
Butler, however, set out in pursuit of her, and with much
trouble traced her towards a little landing-place, formed by
a small brook which enters the sea betwixt Musselburgh
and Edinburgh. This place, which has been since made
into a small harbour, surrounded by many villas and
lodging-houses, is now termed Portobello. At this tinie
it was surrounded by a waste common, covered with furze,
and unfrequented, save by fishing-boats, and now and then
a smuggling lugger. A vessel of this description had
been hovering in the firth at the time of Effie's elope-
ment, and, as Butler ascertained, a boat had come ashore
in the evening on which the fugitive had disappeared, and
liad carried on board a female. As the vessel made sail
im.mediately, and landed no part of their cargo, there seemed
little doubt that they were accomplices of tlie notorious
Robertson, and that the vessel had only come into the firth
ro carry off his paramour.

This was made clear by a letter which Butler himself
soon afterwards received by post, signed E. D., but with-
out bearing any date of place or time. It was miserably
ill written and spelt ; sea-sickness having apparently aided
the derangement of Effie's irregular orthography and mode
of expression. In this epistle, however, as in all that un-
fortunate girl said or did, there was something to praise
las well as to blame. She said in her letter, "That she
could not endure that her father and her sister should go
into banishment, or be partakers of her shame — that if her
burden was a heavy one, it was of her own binding, and
she had the more right to bear it alone — that in future they
could not be a comfort to her, or she to them, since every
'look and word of her father put her in mind of her trans-
gression, and was like to drive her mad — that she had
nearly lost her judgment during the three days she was
at St. Leonard's — her father meant weel by her, and all
men, but he did not know the dreadful pain he gave her in
I casting up her sins. If Jeanie had been at hame, it might

464 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

hae dune better — Jeanie was ane, like the angels in
heaven, that rather weep for sinners, that reckon their
transgressions. But she sliould never see Jeanie ony mair,
and that was the thought that gave her the sairest heart of
a' that had come and gane yet. On her bended knees would
she pray for Jeanie, night and day, baith for what she had
done, and what she had scorned to do, in her behalf; for
what a thought would it have been to her at that moment
o' time, if that upright creature had made a fault to save
her 1 She desired her father would give Jeanie a' the
gear — her ain {i.e. Effie's) mother's and a' — She had made
a deed, giving up her right, and it was in Mr. Novitt's
hand — Warld's gear was henceforward the least of her
care, nor was it likely to be muckle her mister — She hoped
this would make it easy for her sister to settle ; " and
immediately after this expression, she wished Butler himself
all good things, in return for his kindness to her. "For
herself," she said, "she kend her lot would be a waesome
ane, but it was of her own framing, sae she desired the
less pity. But, for her friends' satisfaction, she wished
them to know that she was gaun nae ill gate — that they
who had done her maist wrong were now willing to do what
justice was in their power ; and she would, in some warldly
respects, be far better off than she deserved. But she desired
her family to remain satisfied with this assurance, and give
themselves no trouble in making further inquiries after her."
To David Deans and to Butler this letter gave very little
comfort ; for what was to be expected from this unfortunate
girl's uniting her fate to that of a character so notorious
as Robertson, who they readily guessed was alluded to in
the last sentence, excepting that she should become the
partner and victim of his future crimes ? Jeanie, who knew
George Staunton's character and real rank, saw her sister's
situation under a ray of better hope. She augured well
of the haste he had shown to reclaim his interest in Effie,
and she trusted he had made her his wife. If so, it seemed
improbable that, with his expected fortune, and high con-
nections, he should again resume the life of criminal adven-
ture which he had led, especially since, as matters stood,
his life depended upon his keepmg his own secret, which
could only be done by an entire change of his habits, and
particularly by avoiding all those who had known the heir
of Willingham under the character of the audacious,
criminal, and condemned Robertson. a

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 465

3 he thought it most likely that the couple would go
abroad for a few years, and not return to England until
the affair of Pcrteous was totally forgotten. Jeanie,
therefore, saw more hopes for her sister than Butler or
her father had been able to perceive ; but she was not at
liberty to impart the comfort which she felt in believing
that she would be secure ff om the pressure of poverty, and
in little risk of being seduced into the paths of guilt.
She could not have explained tliis without making public
what it was essentially necessary for Effie's chance of
comfort to conceal, the indentity, namely, of George
Staunton and George Robertson. After all, it was dreadful
to tliink tliat Effie had united herself to a man condemned
for felony, and liable to trial for murder, whatever might
be his rank in life, and tlie degree of his repentance.
Besides, it was melancholy to reflect, that, she herself
being in possession of the whole dreadful secret, it was
most probable he would, out of regard to his own feelings,
and fear for his safety, never again permit her to see poor
Effie. After perusing and reperusing her sister's valedictor}'
letter, she gave ease to her feelings in a flood of tears,
which Butler in vain endeavoured to check by every soothing
attention in his power. She was obliged, however, at
length to look up and wipe her eyes, for her father, thinking
he had allowed the lovers time enough for conference, was
now advancing towards them from the Lodge, accompanied
by the captain of Knockdunder, or, as his friends called
him for brevity's sake, Duncan Knock, a title which some
youthful exploits had rendered peculiarly appropriate.

This Duncan of Knockdunder was a person of first-rate
importance in tlie island of Roseneath, and the continental
ishes of Knocktarlitie, Kilmun, and so forth; nay, his
-lence extended as far as Cowal, where, however, it
was obscured by that of another factor. The tower of
Knockdunder still occupies with its remains a cliff over-
hanging the Holy Loch. Duncan swore it had been a
ro^al castle ; if so, it was one of the sn-iallest, the space
witliin only forming a square of sixteen feet, and bearing
therefore a ridiculous proportion to the thickness of the
walls, which was ten feet at least Such as it was, however,
it had long given tlie title of Captain, equivalent to that
of Chatellain, to the ancestors of Duncan, who were
retainers of the house of Argyle, and held a hereditary
I iurisdiction under them, of little extent indeed, but which

466 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

had great consequence in their own eyes, and was usually
administered with a vigour somewhat beyond the law.

The present representative of that ancient family was
a stout, short man about fifty, whose pleasure it was to
unite in his own person the dress of the Highlands and
Lowlands, wearing on his head a black tie-wig, sur-
fnounted by a fierce cocked-hat,« deeply guarded with gold
lace, while the rest of his dress consisted of the plaid and
philabeg. Duncan superintended a district which was
partly Highland, partly Lowland, and therefore might be
supposed to combine their natural habits, in order to show
his impartiality to Trojan or Tyrian. The incongruity, how-
tever, had a whimsical and ludicrous effect, as it made his
head arid body look as if belonging to different individuals ;
or, as some one said who had seen the executions of the
insurgent prisoners in 1715, it seemed as if some Jacobite
enchanter, having recalled the sufferers to life, had clapped,
in his haste, an Englishman's head on a Highlander's body.
To finish the portrait, the bearing of the gracious Duncan
was brief, bluff, and consequential, and the upward turn of
his short, copper-coloured nose indicated that he was some-
what addicted to wrath and usquebaugh.

When this dignitary had advanced up to Butler, and to
Jeanie, "I will take the freedom, Mr. Deans," he said, in
a very consequential manner, "to salute your daughter,
whilk I presume this young lass to be — I kiss every pretty
girl that comes to Roseneath, in virtue of my office."
Having made this gallant speech, he took out his quid,
saluted Jeanie with a hearty smack, and bade her welcome
to Argyle's country. Then addressing Butler, he said,
" Ye maun gang ower and meet the carle ministers yonder
the 'fiiorn, for they will want to do your job, and synd it
down with usquebaugh doubtless — they seldom make dry
wark in this kintra."

"And the Laird " said David Deans, addressing Butler

in further explanation.

"The Captain, man," interrupted Duncan; "folk winna
ken wha ye are speaking aboot, unless ye gie shentlemens
their proper title."

■' "The Captain, then," said David, "assures me that the
call is unanimous on the part of the parishioners — a real
harmonious call, Reuben."

"I peUe.ve," said Duncan, "it was as harmonious as
could pe expected, when the tae half o' the bodies were

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 467

clavering Sassenach, and the t'other skirling Gaelic^ Vike

see-maws and clack-geese before a storm. Ane wad hfie

n oded the gift of tongues to ken preceesely what they

i — but I pelieve the best end of it was, ' Long live

cCallummore and Knockdunder 1 ' — And as to its being

unanimous call, I wad be glad to ken fat business the

les have to call onything or onybody but what the Duke

and mysell likes .' "

" Ne\-ertheless," said Mr. Butler, "if any of the
parishioners have any scruples, which sometimes happen
in the mind of sincere professors, I should be happy of

an opportunity of trying to remove "

"Never fash your peard about it, man," interrupted
Duncan Knock — "Leave it a' to me. — Scruple! deil ane
o' them has been bred up to scruple onything that they're
bidden to do. And if sic a thing suld happen as ye speak
1 o*, ye sail see the sincere professor, as ye ca' him, towed
I at the stern of my boat for a few furlongs. I'll try if the
water of the Haiy Loch winna wash off scruples as weel

[ as fleas— Cot tam ! "

i The rest of Duncan's threat was lost in a growling

[ &U''&li"gr sort of sound, which he made in his throat, and

f which menaced recusants with no gentle means of con-

! versation. David Deans would certainly have given battle

: in defence of the right of tlie Christian congregation to

be consulted in the choice of their own pastor, which, in

his estimation, was one of the choicest and most inalienable

of their privileges ; but he had again engaged in close

conversation with Jeanic, and, with more interest than

he was in use to take in affairs foreign alike to his

occupation and to his religious tenets, was inquiring into

the particulars of her London journey. This was, perhaps,

fortunate for the new-formed friendship betwixt him and

the Captain of Knockdunder, which rested, in David's

estimation, upon the proofs he had given of his skill in

managing stock ; but, in reality, upon the special charge

transrgitted to Duncan from the Duke and his agent, to

behave with the utmost attention to Deans and his family.

"And now, sirs," said Duncan, in a commanding tone,
" I am to pray ye a' to come in to your supper, for yonder
is Mr. Archibald 'half famished, and a Sa.\on woman, that
looks as if her een were fleeing out o' her head wi' fear
and wonder, as if she had never seen a shentleman in a
philabeg before."

463 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

"And Reuben Butler," said David, "will doubtless
desire instantly to retire, that he may prepare his mind
for the exercise of to-morrow, that his work may suit the
day, and be an offering of a sweet savour in the nostrils
of the reverend Presbytery."

" Hout tout, man, it's but little ye ken about them,"
interrupted the Captain. "Teil a ane o' them wad gie the
savour of the hot venison pasty which I smell " (turning
his squab nose up in the air) "a' the way frae the
Lodge, for a' that Mr. Putler, or you either, can say to
them."

David groaned ; but judging he had to do with a Gallio,
as he said, did not think it worth his while to give battle.
They followed the Captain to the house, and arranged
themselves with great ceremony round a well-loaded
supper-table. The only other circumstance of the evening
worthy to be recorded is, that Butler pronounced the
blessing ; that Knockdunder found it too long, and David
Deans censured it as too short, from which the charitable
reader may conclude it was exactly the proper length.

CHAPTER XLV.

Now turn the Psalms of David ower

And lilt wi' holy clangour ;
Of double verse come g'lc us four,

And skirl up the Bangor.

Burns.

The next was the Important day, when, according to the
forms and ritual of the Scottish Kirk, Reuben Butler was
to be ordained minister of Knocktarlitie by the Presbytery

of • And so eager were the whole party, that all,

excepting Mrs. Dutton, the destined Cowslip of Inverary,
were stirring at an early hour.

Their host, whose appetite was as quick and keen, as his
temper, was not long in summoning them to a substantial
breakfast, where there were at least a dozen of different
preparations of milk, plenty of cold meat, scores boiled and
roasted eggs, a huge cag of butter, half-a-firkin herrings
boiled and broiled, fresh and salt, and tea and coffee for
them that liked it, which, as their landlord assured them,
with a nod and a wink, pointing, at the same time, to a

THE HiiART OF MlD-LOTHlAN. 469

e cutter which seemed dodging under the lee of the
d, cost them little beside the fetching ashore.
Is the contraband trade permitted here so openly?"
said Butler. " I should think it ver>' unfavourable to the
people's morals."

*• The Duke, Mr. Putler, has given nae orders concerning
the putting of it down," said the magistrate, and seemed
to think that he had said all that was necessary to justify
his connivance.

Butler was a man of prudence, and aware that real good
can only be obtained by remonstrance when remonstrance
is well-timed ; so for the present he said nothing more on
the subject.

When breakfast was half over, in flounced Mrs. Dolly,
as fine as a blue sacque and cherry-coloured ribands
could make her.

"Good -morrow to you, madam," said the master
of ceremonies ; " I trust your early rising will not
skaith ye."

The dame apologised to Captain Knockunder, as she
was pleased to term their entertainer; " but, as we savin
Cheshire," she added, " I was like the Mayor of Altring-
ham, who lies in bed while his breeches are mending, for
the girl did not bring up the right bundle to my room, till
she had brought up all the others by mistake one after
t'other. — Well, I suppose we are all for church to-day, as
I understand — Pray may I be so bold as to ask if it is the
fashion for your North-country gentlemen to go to Church
in your petticoats. Captain Knockunder?"

" Captain of Knockdunder, madam, if you please, for I
knock under to no man ; and in respect of my garb, I shall
go to church as I am, at your service, madam ; for if I
were to lie in bed like your Major What-d'ye-callum, till
my preeches were mended, I might be there all my life,
seeing I never had a pair of them on my person but twice
in my life, which 1 am pound to remember, it peing when
the Duke brought his Duchess here, when her Grace
pehoved to be pleasured ; so I e'en porrowed the minister's
trews for the twa days his Grace was pleased to stay — but
I will put myself under sic confinement again for no man
on earth, or woman eitlier, but her Grace being always
excepted, as in duty pound."

The mistress of the milking-pail stared, but making no
' answer to this round declaration, immediately proceeded to

470, THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN,

show, Ihat the alarm of the preceding evening liad ia no
degree injured her appetite.

When the meal was finished, the Captain proposed to
them. to take boat, in order that Mrs. Jeanie might see her
new place of residence, and that he himself might inquire
whether the necessary preparations had been made there,
and at the Manse, for receiving the future inmates of
these mansions.

The morning was delightful, and the huge mountain-
shadows slept upon the mirrored wave of the firth, almost
as little disturbed as if it had been an inland lake. Even
Mrs. Button's fears no longer annoyed her. She had been
informed by Archibald, that there was to be some sort of
junketting after the sermon, and that was what she loved
dearly ;. and as for the water, it was so still that it would
look quite like a pleasuring on the Thames.

The whole party being embarked, therefore, in a large
boat, which the captain called his coach and six, and
attended by a smaller one termed his gig, the gallant
Duncan steered straight upon the little tower of the old-
fashioned church of Knocktarlitie, and the exertions of
six stout rowers sped them rapidly on their voyage. As
they neared the land, the hills appeared to recede from
them, and a little valley, formed by the descent of a small
river from the mountains, evolved itself as it were upon
their approach. The style of the country on each side
was simply pastoral, and resembled, in appearance and
character, the description of a forgotten Scottish poet,
which runs nearly thus : —

The water gently down a level slid.
With little din, but couthy what it made ;
On ilka side the trees gfrew thick and lang,
And wi' the wild birds' notes were a' in sang ;
On either side, a full bow-shot and mair.
The green was even, gowany, and fair ;
With easy slope on every hand the braes
To the hills' feet with scattered bushes raise ;
With goats and sheep aboon, and kye below,
The bonny banks all in a swarm did go.

They landed in this Highland Arcadia, at the mouth of
the small stream which watered the delightful and peace-
aible valley. Inhabitants of several descriptions came to
pay their respects to the Captain of Knockdunder, a

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 47-1

ji homage which he was very peremptory in exacting, and
1; to see the new settlers. Some of these were men -after
David Dean's own heart, elders of the kirk-session, zealous
professors, from the Lennox, Lanarkshire, and Ayrshiie,
to whom the preceding Duke of Argyle had given rooms
in this corner of his estate, because they had suffered for
joining his father, the unfortunate Earl, during his ill-
fated attempt in 1686. These were cakes of the right
leaven for' David regaling himself with ; and, had it not
been for this circumstance, he has been heard to say,
" that the Captain of Knockdunder would have swore hinv
out of the country in twenty-four hours, sae awesome it
was to ony thinking soul to hear his imprecations, up>on
the slightest temptation that crossed his humour."

Besides these, there were a wilder set of parishioners,
mountaineers from the upper glen and adjacent hill, who
spoke Gaelic, went about armed, and wore the Highland
dress. But the strict commands of the Duke had established
such good order in this part of his territories, that the
Gael and Saxons lived upon the best possible terms of
good neighbourhood. .

They first visited the Manse, as the parsonage is termed
in Scotland. It was old, but in good repair, and stood
snugly embosomed in a grove of sycamore, with a well-
stocked garden in front, bounded by the small river, which
was partly visible from the windows, partly concealed by
the bushes, trees, and bounding hedge. Within, the house
looked less comfortable than it might have been, for it liad
been neglected by the late incumbent : but workmen had
been labouring under the directions of tlie Captain of
Knockdunder, and at the expense of the Duke of Argyle,
to put it into some order. The old "plenishing " had been
removed, and neat, but plain household furniture had been
sent down by the Duke in a brig of his own, called the
Caroline^ and was now ready to be placed in order in the
apartments.

The gracious Duncan, finding matters were At a stand
among the workmen, summoned before him the delinquents,
and impressed all who heard him with a sense of his
authority, by the penalties with which he threatened them
for their delay. Mulcting them in half their charge, he
assured them, would be the least of it ; for, if they were
to neglect his pleasure and the Duke's, "he would be
tamn'd if he paid them the t'other half either, and they

472 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

might seek law for it where they could get it." The work-
people humbled themselves before the offended dignitary,
and spake him soft and fair ; and at length, upon Mr,
Butler recalling to his mind that it was the ordination-day,
and that the workmen were probably thinking of going to
church, Knockdunder agreed to forgive them, out of respect
to their new minister.

"But an I catch them neglecking my duty again, Mr.
Putler, the teil pe in me if the kirk shall be an excuse ;
for what has the like o' them rapparees to do at the kirk
ony day put Sundays, or then either, if the Duke and I
has the necessitous uses for them ? "

It may be guessed with what feelings of quiet satisfac-
tion and delight Butler looked forward to spending his
days, honoured and useful as he trusted to be, in this
sequestered valley, and how often an intelligent glance
was exchanged betwixt him and Jeanie, whose good-
humoured face looked positively handsome, from the ex-
pression of modesty, and, at the same time, of satisfaction,
which she wore when visiting the apartments of which she
was soon to call herself mistress. She was left at liberty
to give more open indulgence to her feelings of delight
and admiration, when, leaving the Manse, the company
proceeded to examine the destined habitation of David
Deans.

Jeanie found with pleasure that it was not above a
musket-shot from the Manse ; for it had been a bar to
her happiness to think she might be obliged to reside at
a distance from her father, and she was aware that there
were strong objections to his actually living in the same
house with Butler. But this brief "distance was the very
thing which she c6uld have wished.

The farm-house was on the plan of an improved cottage,
and contrived with great regard to convenience ; an
excellent little garden, an orchard, and a set of offices
complete, according to the best ideas of the time, com-
bined to render it a most desirable habitation for the
practical farmer, and far superior to the hovel at Woodend,
and the small house at St. Leonard's Crags. The
situation was considerably higher than that of the Manse,
and fronted to the west. The windows commanded an
enchanting view of the little vale over which the mansion
seemed to preside, the windings of the stream, and the
firth, with its associated lakes and romantic islands

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 473

i ue hills of Dumbartonshire, once possessed by the fierce
clan of MacFarlanes, formed a crescent behind the valley,
and far to the right were seen tlie dusky and more gigantic
mountains of Argyleshire, with a seaward view of the
shattered and thunder-splitten peaks of Arran.

But to Jeanie, whose taste for the picturesque, if she had
any by nature, had never been awakened or cultivated, the
sight of the faithful old May Hettly, as she opened the
door to receive them in her clean toy, Sunday's russet-gown,
and blue apron, nicely smoothed down before her, was
worth the whole varied landscape. The raptures of the
faithful old creature at seeing Jeanie were equal to her own,
as she hastened to assure her, "that baith the gudeman
and the beasts had been as weel seen after as she possibly
could contrive." Separating her from the rest of the
company, May then hurried her young mistress to the
oliices, that she might receive the compliments she expected
lor her care of the cows. Jeanie rejoiced, in the simplicity
of her heart, to see her charge once more ; and the mute
favourites of our heroine, Gowans, and the others, acknow-
ledged her presence by lowing, turning round their broad
and decent brows when they heard her well-known "Pruh,
my leddy — pruh, my woman," and, by various indications,
known only to those who have studied the habits of the
milky mothers, showing sensible pleasure as she approached
to caress them in their turn.

"The very brute beasts are glad to see ye again," said
May; "but nae wonder, Jeanie, for ye were aye kind to
beast and body. And I maun learn to ca' ye mistress now,
Jeanie, since ye hae been up to Lunnon, and seen the Duke,
and the King, and a' the braw folk. But wha kens," added
the old dame slyly, " what I'll hae to ca' ye forby mistress,
for I'm thinking it wunna lang be Deans."

"Ca' me your ain Jeanie, May, and then ye can never
gang wrang."

In the cow-house, which they examined, there was one
animal which Jeanie looked at till the tears gushed from
her eyes. May, who had watched her with a sympathising
expression, immediately observed, in an undertone, " The
gudeman aye sorts that beast hinisell, and is kinder to it
than ony beast in the byre ; * and I noticed he was that
way e'en when he was angriest, and had maist cause to be
angry. — Eh, sirs 1 a parent's heart's a queer thing ! — Mony

• Cow-Uouse.

474 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

a warsle* he has had for that puir lassie — I am thinking
he petitions mair for her than for yoursell, hinny ; for what
can he plead for you but just to wish you the blessing ye
deserve? And when I sleepit ayont the hallan.t when we
dame first here, he was often earnest a' night, and I could
hear him come owerand ower again wi' ' Effie — puir blinded
misguided thing ! ' it was aye ' Effie ! Effie ! ' — If that puir
<\*andering lamb comena into the sheepfauld in the
Shepherd's ain time, it will be an unco wonder, for I wot
she has been a child of prayers. Oh, if the puir prodigal
wad return, sae blithely as the goodman wad kill the fatted
calf! — though Brockie's calf will no be fit for killing this
three weeks yet."

- And then, with the discursive talent of persons of her
description, she got once more afloat in her account of
domestic affairs, and left this delicate and affecting topic.

Having looked at everything in the offices and the dairy,
and expressed her satisfaction with the manner in which
Aiatters had been managed in her absence, Jeanie rejoined
the rest of the party, who were surveying the interior of
the house, all excepting David Deans and Butler, who had
gone down to the church to meet tlie kirk-session and the
clergymen of the Presbytery, and arrange matters for the
duty of the day.

^' In the interior ot the cottage all was clean, neat, and
suitable to the exterior. It had been originally built and
furnished by the Duke, as a retreat for a favourite domestic
of the higher class, who did not long enjoy it, and had been
dead only a few months, so that everything was in excellent
taste and good order. But in Jeanie's bedroom was a neat
trunk, which had greatly excited Mrs. Dutton's curiosity,
for she was sure that the direction, " For Mrs. Jean Deans,
at Auchingower, parish of Knocktarlitie," was the writing
of Mrs. Semple, the Duchess's own woman. May Hettly
produced the key in a sealed parcel, which bore the same
address, and attached to the key was a label, intimating that
the trunk and its contents were "a token of remembrance
to Jeanie Deans, from her friends the Duchess of Argyle
and the young ladies." The trunk, hastily opened, as the
reader will not doubt, was found to be full of wearing
apparel of the best quality, suited to Jeanie's rank in life ;
and to most of the articles the names of the particular donors
Mi-er«» attached, as if to make Jeanie sensible not only of the

* Struggle. \ Partition.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 4.75

general, but of the individual interest she had excited in the
noble family. To name the various articles by their appro-
priate names, would be to attempt things unattempted yet
m prose or rhyme ; besides, that the old-fashioned terms of
manteaus, sacques, kissing-strings, and so forth, would
convey but little information even to the milliners of the
present day. I shall deposit, however, an accurate inventory
of the contents of the trunk with my kind friend, Miss
Martha Buskbody, who has promised, should the public
curiosity seem interested in the subject, to supply me with a
professional glossarj' and commentary. Suffice it to say,
that the gift was such as became the donors, and was
suited to the situation of the receiver ; that everything was
handsome and appropriate, and nothing forgotten which be-
longed to the wardrobe of a young person in Jeanie's situa-
tion in life, the destined bride of a respectable clergj'man.

Article after article was displayed, commented upon, and
admired, to the wonder of May, who declared, "shedidna
think the queen had mair or better claise," and somewhat
to the en\y of the northern Cowslip. This unamiable, but
not very unnatural, disposition of mind, broke forth in sundry
unfounded criticisms to the disparagement of the articles,
as they were severally exhibited. But it assumed a more
direct character, when, at the bottom of all, was found a
dress of white silk, very plainly made, but still of white
silk, and French silk to boot, with a paper pinned to it,
bearing, that it was a present from the Duke of .\rgyle to
his travelling companion, to be worn on the day when she
should change her name.

Mrs. Dutton could forbear no longer, but whispered into
Mr. Archibald's ear, that it was a clever thing to be a
Scotchwoman : "She supposed all her sisters, and she had
half a dozen, might have been hanged, without any one
sending her a present of a pocket-handkerchief."

"Or without your making any exertion to save them,
Mrs. Dolly," answered .Archibald drily. — " But I am sur-

Erised we do not hear the bell yet," said he, looking at
is watch.

" Fat ta deil, Mr. Archibald," answered the Captain of
Knockdunder, "wad ye hae them ring the bell before I
am ready to gang to kirk ? — I wad gar the bedral eat the
bell-rope, if he took ony sic freedom. But if ye want to
hear the bell, I will just show mysell on the knowe-head,
and it will begin jowing forthwith."

476 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

Accordingly, so soon as they sallied out, and that the
gold-laced hat of the Captain was seen rising like Hesper
above the dewy verge of the rising ground, the clash (for
it was rather a clash than a clang) of the bell was heard
from the old moss-grown tower, and the clapper continued
to thump its cracked sides all the while they advanced
towards the kirk, Duncan exhorting them to take their own
time, " for teil ony sport wad be till he came."*

Accordingly, the bell only changed to the final and im-
patient chime when they crossed the stile ; and "rang in,'
that is, concluded its mistuned summons, when they had
entered the Duke's seat, in the little kirk, where the whole
party arranged themselves, with Duncan at their head,
excepting David Deans, who already occupied a seat among
the elders.

The business of the day, with a particular detail of which
it is unnecessary to trouble the reader, was gone through
according to the established form, and the sermon pro-
nounced upon the occasion had the good fortune to please
even the critical David Deans, though it was only an hour
and a quarter long, which David termed a short allowance
of spiritual provender.

The preacher, who was a divine that held many of David's
opinions, privately apologised for his brevity by saying,
"That he observed the Captain was gaunting grievously,
and that if he had detained him longer, there was no
knowing how long he might be in paymg the next term's
victual stipend."

David groaned to find that such carnal motives could
have influence upon the mind of a powerful preacher. He
had, indeed, been scandalised by another circumstance
during the service.

So soon as the congregation were seated after prayers,
and the clergyman had read his text, the gracious Duncan,
after rummaging the leathern purse which hung in front ol
his petticoat, produced a short tobacco-pipe made of iron,
and observed, almost aloud, " I hae forgotten my spleuchan
— Lachlan, gang down to the clachan, and bring me up a
pennyworth of twist." Six arms, the nearest within reach,
presented, with an obedient start, as many tobacco-pouchy"
to the man of office. He made choice of one with a nod
acknowledgment, filled his pipe, lighted It with the assts
ance of his pistol-flint, and smoked with infinite composu^

* Note 18. Tolliug to Service in ScotUnd.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 477

during the whole time of the sermon. When the discourse
was finished, he knocked the ashes out of his pipe, replaced
;t in its sporran, returned the tobacco-pouch or spleuchan
:o its owner, and joined in the prayer with decency and
ittention.

At the end of the service, when Butler had been admitted
Tiinister of the kirk of Knocktarlitie, with all its spiritual
mmunitiesandpris-ileges, David, who had frowned, groaned,
uid murmured at Knockdunder's irreverent demeanour,
x)mmunicated his plain thoughts of the matter to Isaac
Meiklehose, one of the elders, with whom a reverential
iSpect and huge grizzle wig had especially disposed him to
«ek fraternisation. "It didna become a wild Indian,"
David said, "much less a Christian, and a gentleman, to
at in the kirk puffing tobacco-reek, as if he were in a
:hange-house."

Meiklehose shook his head, and allowed It was " far frae
jcseemlng — But what will ye say ? The Captain's a queer
land, and to speak to him about that or onytliing else that
rosses the maggot, wad be to set the kiln a-low. He keeps
I high hand ower the country, and we couldna deal wi' the
-lielandmen without his protection, sin' a' the keys o' the
cintray hings at his belt ; and he's no am ill body in the
nain, and maistry, ye ken, maws the meadows doun."

"That may be very true, neighbour," said David ; " but
Reuben Butler isna the man I take him to be, if he disna
earn the Captain to fuff his pipe some other gate than in
jod's house, or the quarter be ower."

" Fair and softly gangs far," said Meiklehose ; "and if a
ule may gie a wise man a counsel, I wad hae him think
wice or he mells wi' Knockdunder — He suld hae a lang-
.hankit spune that wad sup kail wi' the deil. But thev are
I'away to their dinner to the change-house, and if we dinna
nend our pace, we'll come short at meal-time."

David accompanied his friend without answer ; but began
o feel from experience, that the glen of Knocktarlitie, like
he rest of the world, was haunted by its own special
•ubjects of regret and discontent. His mind was so much
KXupied by considering the best means of converting
Duncan of Knock to a sense of reverent decency during
mblic worship, that he altogether forgot to inquire
vhether Butler was called upon to subscribe the oaths to
iovernmenL
> Some have insinuated, that his neglect on this head was.

^^. THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

in some degree, intentional ; but I think this explanation
inconsistent with the simplicity of my friend David's
character. Neither have I ever been able, by the most
minute inquiries, to know whether the formula, at which he
so much scrupled, had been exacted from Butler, ay or no.
The books of the kirk-session might have thrown some light
on this matter ; but unfortunately they were destroyed in
the year 1746, by one Donacha Dhu na Dunaigh, at the
instance, it was said, or at least by the connivance, of the
gracious Duncan of Knock, who had a desire to obliterate
the recorded foibles of a certain Kate Finlayson.

CHAPTER XLVI.

Now butt and ben the change-house fills

Wi' yill-caup commentators, —

Here's crying out for bakes and gills.

And there the pint-stoup clatters.

VVi' thick and thrang, and loud and lang,—

Wi' logic and wi' scripture,

They raise a din that in the end

Is like to breed a rupture,

O' wrath that day.

Burns.

A ple:ntiful entertainment, at the Duke of Argyle's cost,
regftled the reverend gentlemen who had assisted at the
ordination of Reuben Butler, and almost all the respectable
part of the parish. The feast was, indeed, such as the
country itself furnished ; for plenty of all the reouisites for
"a rough and round dinner" were always at Duncan ol
Knock's command. There was the beef and mutton on the
braes, the fresh and salt-water fish in the lochs, the brooks,
and firth ; game of every kind, from the deer to the leveret,
were to be had for the killing, in the Duke's forests, moors,
heaths, and mosses ; and for liquor, home-brewed ale flowed
as freely as water ; brandy and usquebaugh both were had
in those happy times without duty ; even white wine and
claret were got for nothing, since the Duke's extensive
rights of the admlrallty gave him a title to all the wine in
cask which is drifted ashore on the western coast and isles
of Scotland, when shipping have suffered by severe weather.
|n short, as Duncan boasted, the entertainment did not cosi

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 479

^MacCallummore a plack out of his sporran, and was never-
theless not only liberal, but overflowing.

The Duke's health was solemnised in a bond fide bumper,
and David Deans himself added perhaps the first huzza that
his lungs had ever uttered, to swell the shout with which
the pledge was received. Nay, so exalted in heart was he
upon this memorable occasion, and so much disposed to be
indulgent, that he expressed no dissatisfactioa when three
bagpipers struck up, "The Campbells are coming." The
health of the reverend minister of Knocktarlitie was received
with similar honours ; and there was a roar of laughter^
when one of his brethren slily subjoined the addition of, "A
good wife to our brother, to keep the Manse in order."
On this occasion David Deans was delivered of his first-born
joke ; and apparently the parturition was accompanied with
many throes, for sorely did he twist about his physiognomy,
and much did he stumble in his speech, before he could
express his idea, "That the lad being now wedded to his
spiritual bride, it was hard to threaten him with ane
temporal spouse in the same day." He then laughed a
hoarse and brief laugh, and was suddenly grave and silent,
as if abashed at his own vivacious effort.

After another toast or two, Jeanie, Mrs. Dolly, and such
of the female natives as had honoured the feast with their
presence, retired to David's new dv.elling at .Auchingower,
and left the gentlemen to their potations.

The feast proceeded with great glee. The conversation,
where Duncan had it under his direction, was not indeed
always strictly canonical, but David Deans escaped aiiy risk
of being scandalised, by engaging with one of his neighs
hours in a recapitulation of the sufferings of Ayrshire and
Lanarkshire, during what was called the invasion of the
Highland Host ; the prudent Mr. Melklehose cautioning
them from time to time to lower their voices, " for that
Duncan Knock's father had been at that onslaught, and
brought back muckle gude plenishing, and that Duriciin
was no unlikely tu hae been there himself, for what he
kend."

Meanwhile, as the mirth grew fast and furious, th>
graver members of the party began to escape as well as
they could. David Deans accomplished his retreat, and
Butler anxiously watched an opportunity to follow him.
Knockdunder, however, desirous, he said, of knowing what
stuff was in the new minister, had no intention to part with

I

480 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. ^

him so easily, but kept him pinned to his side, watching
him sedulously, and with obliging violence filling his glass
to the brim, as often as he could seize an opportunity of
doing so. At length, as the evening was wearing late, a
venerable brother chanced to ask Mr. Archibald when they
might hope to see the Duke, tarn carum caput, as he would
venture to term him, at the Lodge of Roseneath. Duncan
of Knock, whose ideas were somewhat conglomerated, and
who, it may be believed, was no great scholar, catching up
some imperfect sound of the words, conceived the speaker
was drawing a parallel between the Duke and Sir Donald
Gorme of Sleat ; and being of opinion that such comparison
was odious, snorted thrice, and prepared himself to be in a
passion.

To the explanation of the venerable divine the Captain
answered, "I heard the word Gorme myself, sir, with my
ain ears. D'ye think I do not know Gaelic from Latin ? "

"Apparently not, sir;" — so the clergyman, offended in
his turn, and taking a pinch of snuff, answered with great
coolness.

The copper nose of the gracious Duncan now became
heated like the Bull of Phalaris, and while Mr. Archibald
mediated betwixt the offended parties, and the attention oi
the company was engaged by their dispute, Butler took an
opportunity to effect his retreat.

He found the females at Auchingower very anxious for
the breaking up of the convivial party ; for it was a part ol
the arrangement, that although David Deans was to remain
at Auchingower, and Butler was that night to take posses-
sion of the Manse, yet Jeanie, for whom complete accommo-
dations were not yet provided in her father's house, was tc
return for a day or two to the Lodge at Roseneath, and the
boats had been held in readiness accordinglj'. They waited,
therefore, for Knockdunder's return, but twilight came, and
they still waited in vain. At length Mr. Archibald, who, as
a man of decorum, had taken care not to exceed in his con-
viviality, made his appearance, and advised the females
strongly to return to the island under his escort ; observing,
that, from the humour in which he had left the Captain, il
was a great chance whether be budged out of the public-
house that night, and it was absolutely certain that he
would not be very fit company for ladies. The gig was at
their disposal, he said, and there was still pleasant twilight
for a party on the water.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 481

h Jeanie, who had considerable confidence in Archibald s
prudence, immediately acquiesced in this proposal ; but
Mrs. Dolly positively objected to the small boat. If the
big boat could be gotten, she agreed to set out, otherwise
she would sleep on the floor, rather than stir a step.
Reasoning with Dolly was out of the question, and
Archibald did not think the difficulty so pressing as to
require compulsion. He observed, it was not using the
Captain very politely to deprive him of his coach and
six; "but as it was in the ladies' service," he gallantly
said, "he would use so much freedom — besides the gig
would serve the Captain's purpose better, as it could
rome off at any hour of the tide ; the large boat should,
therefore, be at Mrs. Dolly's service."

They walked to the beach accordingly, accompanied by
Butler. It was some time before the boatmen could be
assembled, and ere they were well embarked, and ready
to depart, the pale moon was come over the hill, and
flinging a trembling reflection on the broad and glittering
waves. But so soft and pleasant was the night, that
Butler, in bidding farewell to Jeanie, had no apprehension
for her safety ; and, what is yet more extraordinary,
Mrs. Dolly felt no alarm for her own. The air was soft,
and came over the cooling wave with something of summer
fragrance. The beautiful scene of headlands, and capes,
and bays, around them, with the broad blue chain of
mountains, were dimly visible in the moonlight ; while
!very dash of the oars made the waters glance and sparkle
with the brilliant phenomenon called the sea fire.

This last circumstance filled Jeanie with wonder, and
served to amuse the mind of her compjinion, until they
approached the little bay, which seemed to stretch its dark
and wooded arms into the sea as if to welcome them.

The usual landing-place was at a quarter of a mile's
distance from the Lodge, and although the tide did not
admit of the large boat coming quite close to the jetty
of loose stones which served as a pier, Jeanie, who was
both bold and active, easily sprung ashore ; but Mrs.
Dolly positively refusing to commit herself to the same
risk, the complaisant Mr. Archibald ordered the boat
round to a more regular landing-place, at a considerable
distance along the shore. He then prepared to land
himself, that he might, in the meanwhile, accompany
'Jeanie to the Lodge. But as there was no mistaking the

Q

482 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

woodland lane, which led from thence to the shore, and
as the moonlight showed her one of the white chimneys
rising out of the wood which embosomed the building,
jcanie declined this favour with thanks, and requestwi
iiim to proceed with Mrs. Dolly, who, being " in a country
where the ways were strange to her, had mair need oi
countenance."

This, indeed, was a fortunate circumstance, and might
even be said to save poor Cowslip's life, if it was true, as
she herself used solemnly to aver, that she must positively
have expired for fear, if she had been left alone in the
boat with six wild Highlanders in kilts.

The night was so exquisitely beautiful, that Jeanie,
instead of immediately directing her course towards the
Lodge, stood looking after the boat as it again put off
from the side, and rowed in to the little bay, the dark
figures of her companions growing less and less distinct
as they diminished in the distance, and the jorram, or
melancholy boat-song of the rowers, coming on the ear
with softened and sweeter sound, until the boat rounded
the headland, and was lost to her observation.

Still Jeanie remained in the same posture, looking out
upon the sea. It would, she was aware, be some time ere
her companions could reach the Lodge, as the distance by
the more convenient landing-place was considerably greater
than from the point where she stood, and she was not sorry
to have an opportunity to spend the interval by herself.,

The wonderful change which a few weeks had wrought
in her situation, from shame and grief, and almost despair,
to honour, joy, and a fair prospect of future happiness,
passed before her eyes with a sensation which brought the
tears into them.' Yet they flowed at the same time froB)
another source. As human happiness is never perfect,
and as well-constructed minds are never more sensible ol
the distresses of those whom they love, than when theil
own situation forms a contrast with them, Jeania"
affectionate regrets turned to the fate of her poor sist|
— the child of so many hopes — the fondled nursling
so many years — now an exile, and, what was wors
dependent on the will of a man, of whoso habits she ha
every reason to entertain the worst opinion, and wh)
even in his strongest paroxysms of remorse, had appearfl
too much a stranger to the feelings of real penitence.

While her thoughts were occupied with these melancho^

' THE HEART OF MlD-LOTHlAN. 483

.reflections, a shadowy figure seemed to detach itself from
the copsewood on her right hand. Jeanie started, and
the stories of apparitions and wraiths, seen by solitary
travellers in wild situations, at such times, and in such
EUi hour, suddenly Ciune full upon her imagination. The
figure glided on, and as it came betwixt her and the moon,
she was aware that it had the appearance of a woman.
A. soft \-oice twice repeated, "Jeanie — Jeanie!" — Was it
indeed — could it be the voice of her sister ? — Was she still
aunong the living, or had the grave given up its tenant?
—Ere she could state these questions to her own mind,
Eflfie, alive, and in the body, had clasped her in her arms,
ind was straining her to her bosom, and devouring her
A'ith kisses. "1 have wandered here," she said, "like a
^haist, to see you, and nae wonder. you take me for ane
—I thought but to see you gang by, or to hear the sound
jf your voice ; but to speak to yoursell again, Jeanie, was
Tiair than I deserved, and mair than I durst pray for."

" Oh, Effie ! how came ye here alone, and at this hour,
ind on the wild sea-beach I — Are you sure it's your ain
iving sell ? "

There was something of Effie's former humour in her
Dractically answering the question by a gentle pinch, more
aeseeming the fingers of a fairy than of a ghost. And
again the sisters embraced, and laughed, and wept by
:urns.

" But ye maun gang up wi' me to the Lodge, Effie,"
;aid Jeanie, "and tell me a' your story — I hae gude folk
:here that will make ye welcome for my sake."

" Na, na, Jeanie," replied her sister sorrowfully — "ye
lae forgotten what I am — a banished outlawed creature,
scarce escaped the gallows by your being the bauldest
and the best sister that ever lived — I'll gae near nane o'
^•our grand friends, even if there was nae danger to me."

"There is nae danger — there shall be nae danger,"
said Jeanie eagerly. "Oh, Eftie, dinna be wilfu' — be
guided for ance — we will be sae happy a' thegither ! "

"I have a' the happiness I deserve on this side of the

e, now that I hae seen you," answered Effie; "and

.>.,c'Lher there were danger to mysell or no, naebody shall

ever say that I come with my cheat-the-gallows face to

sh.ame my sister among her grand friends."

"I hae nae grand friends," said Jeanie; "nae friends
but what are friends of yours — Reuben Butler and my

484 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

father. — O unhappy lassie, dinna be dour, and turn your
back on your happiness again ! We wunna see another
acquaintance — Come bame to us, your ain dearest friends
— it's better sheltering under an auld hedge than under a
new-planted wood."

" It's in vain speaking, Jeanie— I maun drink as I hae
brewed — I am married, and I maun follow my husband
for better for worse."

"Married, EfFie ! " exclaimed Jeanie — " Misfortunato
creature ! and to that awfu' "

"Hush, hush," said Effie, clapping one hand on her
mouth, and pointing to the thicket with the other, "he is
yonder. "

She said this in a tone which showed that her husband
had found means to inspire her with awe, as well as
affection. At this moment a man issued from the wood.

It was young Staunton. Even by the imperfect light
of the moon, Jeanie could observe that he was handsomely
dressed,, and had the air of a person of rank.

"Effie," he said, "our time is wellnigh spent — the skiff
will be aground in the creek, and I dare not stay longer.
— I hope your sister will allow me to salute her ? " But
Jeanie shrunk back from him with a feeling of internal
abhorrence. "Well," he said, "it does not much signify;
if you keep up the feeling of ill-will, at least you do not
act upon it, and I thank you for your respect to my secret,
when a word (which in your place I would have spoken
at once) would have cost me my life. People say you
should keep from the wife of your bosom the secret that
concerns your neck — my wife and her sister both know
mine, and I shall not sleep a wink the less sound."

" But are you really married to my sister, sir ? " asked
Jeanie, in great doubt and anxiety ; for the haughty,
careless tone in which he spoke seemed to justify her
worse apprehensions.

^' I really am legally married, and by my own name,"
replied Staunton, more gravely.

'" And your father — and your friend ? "
• ^'And my father and my friends must just reconcile,
themselves to that which is done and cannot be undone,"
replied Staunton. "However, it is my intention, in order
to break off dangerous connections, and to let my friend;
come to their temper, to conceal my marriage for thi
present, and stay abroad for some years. So that you wil

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 485

, not hear of us for some time, if ever you hear of us again
at all. It would be dangerous, you must be aware, to
keep up the correspondence ; for aJl would guess that the
husband of Effie was the — what shall I call myself? — the
slayer of Porteous."

Hard-hearted light man I thought Jeanie — to what a
character she has intrusted her happiness ? — She has sown
the wind, and maun reap the whirlwind.

" Dinna think ill o' him," said EfBe, breaking away
from her husband, and leading Jeanie a step or two out of
hearing — "dinna think very ill o' him — he's gude to me,
Jeanie — as gude as I deserve — And he is determined to
gie up his bad courses — Sae, after a', dinna greet for Effie ;
she is better off than she has wrought for. — But you — oh,
you ! — how can you be happy eneugh ! — never till ye get to
heaven, where a'body is as gude as yourself. — ^Jeanie, if
I live and thrive, ye shall hear of me — if not, just forget that
sic a creature ever lived to vex ye — fare ye weel — fare — fare
ye weel ! "

She tore herself from her sister's arms — rejoined her
husband — they plunged into the copsewood, and she saw
them no more. The whole scene had the etfect of a vision,
and she could almost have believed it such, but that very
soon after they quitted her, she heard the sound of oars,
and a slciff was seen on the firth, pulling swiftly towards
the small smuggling sloop which lay in the offing. It was
on board of such a vessel that Effie had embarked at
Portobello, and Jeanie had no doubt that the same con-
veyance was destined, as Staunton had hinted, to transport
them to a foreign country.

Although it was impossible to determine whether this
inter\iew, while it was passing, gave more pain or pleasure
to Jeanie Deans, yet the ultimate impression which remained
on her mind was decidedly favourable. Effie was married
— made, according to the common phrase, an honest
woman — that was one main point ; it seemed also as if her
husband were about to abandon the path of gross vice in
which he had run so long and so desperately— that was
I another. For his final and effectual conversion he did not
want understanding, and God knew his own hour.

Such were the thoughts with which Jeanie endeavoured

to console her anxiety respecting her sister's future fortune.

On her arrival at the loage, she found Archibald in some

I anxiety at her stay, and about to walk out in quest of her.

I

486 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. ^

A headache served as an apology for retiring to rest, in order
to conceal her visible agitation of mind from her companions.

By this secession also she escaped a scene of a different
sort. For, as if there w^ere danger in all gigs, whether
by sea or land, that of Knockdunder had been run down
by another boat, an accident owing chiefly to the drunken-
ness of the Captain, his crew, and passengers. Knock-
dunder, and two or three guests, whom he was bringing
along with him to finish the conviviality of the evening at
the Lodge, got a sound ducking ; but, being rescued by
the crew of the boat which endangered them, tliere was
no ultimate loss, excepting that of the Captain's laced hat,
which, greatly to the satisfaction of the Highland part of
the district, as well as to the improvement of the conformity
of his own personal appearance, he replaced by a smart
Highland bonnet next day. Many were the vehement
threats of vengeance which, on the succeeding morning,
the gracious Duncan threw out against the boat which had
upset him ; but, as neither she nor the small smuggling
vessel to which she belonged, was any longer to be seen
in the firth, he was compelled to sit down with the affront.
This was the more hard, he said, as he was assured the
mischief was done on purpose, these scoundrels having
lurked about after they had landed every drop of brandy,
and every bag of tea they had on board ; and he understood
the coxswain had been on shore, _ making particular
inquiries concerning the time when his bo^ was to cross
over, and to return, and so forth.

" Put the neist time they met me on the firth," said
Duncan, with great majesty, " I will teach the moonlight
rapscallions and vagabonds to keep their ain side of the
road, and pe tamn'd to them ! "

CHAPTER XLVn.

Lord ! who would live turmoiled in a court.
And may enjoy such quiet walks as these?

Shakespearr.

WiTHTN a reasonable time after Butler was safely and
comfortably settled in his living, and Jeanie had taken
up her abode at Auchingower with her father — the precise
extent of which interval we request each reader to settle

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 487

according to his own sense of what is decent and proper
upon the occasion — and after due proclamation of banns,
and all other formalities, the long wooing of this worthy
pair was ended by their union in the holy bands of
matrimony. On this occasion, David Deans stoutly with-
stood the iniquities of pipes, fiddles, and promiscuous
dancing, to the great wrath of the Captain of Knockdunder,
who said, if he "had gTjessed it was to be sic a tamn'd
Quaker's meeting, he wad hae seen them peyont the cairn
before he wad hae darkened their doors."

And so much rancour remained on the spirits of the
gracious Duncan upon this occasion, that various
"picqueerings," as David called them, took place upon
the same and similar topics ; and it was only in con-
sequence of an accidental visit of the Duke to his Lodge
at Roseneath, that they were put a stop to. But upon
that occasion his Grace showed such particular respect to
Mr. and Mrs. Butler, and such favour even to old David,
that Knockdunder held it prudent to change his course
towards the latter. He, in future, ujed to express himself
among friends, concerning the minister and his wife, as
" very worthy decent folk, just a little over strict in their
notions ; put it was pest for thae plack cattle to err on
the safe side." And respecting David, he allowed that
"he was an excellent judge of nowte and sheep, and a
sensible enough carle, an it werena for his tamn'd
Cameronian nonsense, whilk it is not worth while of a
shentleman to knock out of an auld silly head, either by
force of reason or otherwise." So that, by avoiding topics
of dispute, the personages of our tale lived in great good
habits with the gracious Duncan, only that he still grieved
David's soul, and set a perilous example to the congrega-
tion, by sometimes bringing his pipe to the church during
a cold winter day, and aJmost always sleeping during
sermon in the summer time.

Mrs. Butler, whom we must no longer, if we can help it,
term by the familiar name of Jeanie, brought into the
married state the same firm mind and affectionate dis-
position— the same natural and homely good sense, and
spirit of useful exertion — in a word, all the domestic good
qualities of which she had given proof during her maiden
life. She did not indeed rival Butler in learning ; but
tlien no woman more devoutly venerated the extent of her
husband's erudition. She did not pretend to understand

488 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

his expositions of divinity ; but no minister of the
Presbytery had his humble dinner so well arranged, his
clothes and linen in equal good order, his fireside so neatly
swept, his parlour so clean, and his books so well dusted.

If he talked to Jeanie of what she did not understand
— and (for the man was mortal, and had been a school-
master) he sometimes did harangue more scholarly and
wisely than was necessary — she listened in placid silence ;
and whenever the point referred to common life, and was
such as came under the grasp of a strong natural under-
standing, her views were more forcible, and her observa-
tions more acute, than his own. In acquired politeness
of nnanners, when it happened that she mingled a little
in society, Mrs. Butler was, of course, judged deficient.
But then she had that obvious wish to oblige, and that
real and natural good-breeding depending on good sense
and good-humour, which, joined to a considerable decree
of archness and liveliness of manner, rendered her behaviour
acceptable to all with whom she was called upon to
associate. Notwithstanding her strict attention to all
domestic affairs, she afways appeared the clean, well-dressed
mistress of the house, never the sordid household drudge.
When complimented on this occasion by Duncan Knock,
who swore, "that he thought the fairies must help her,
since her house was always clean, and nobody ever saw
anybody sweeping it," she modestly replied, "That much
might be dune by timing ane's turns."

Duncan replied, "He heartily wished she could teach
that art to the huzzies at the Lodge, for he could never
discover that the house was washed at a', except now and
then by breaking his shins over the pail — Cot tamn the
jauds ! "

Of lesser matters there is not occasion to speak much.
It may easily be believed that the Duke's cheese was
carefully made, and so graciously accepted, that the
offering became annual. Remembrances and acknowledg-
ments of past favours were sent to Mrs. Bickerton and
Mrs. Glass, and an amicable intercourse maintained from
time to time with these two respectable and benevolent
persons.

It is especially necessary to mention that, in tlae course
of five years, Mrs. Butler had three children, two boys and
a girl, all stout, healthy babes of grace — fair-haired, blue-
eyed, and strong-limbed. The boys were named David and

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 489

Reuben, an order of nomenclature which was much to the
satisfaction of the old hero of the Covenant, and the girl,
by her mother's special desire, was christened Euphemia,
rather contrary to the wish both of her father and husband,
who nevertheless loved Mrs. Bytler too well, and were too
much indebted to her for their hours of happiness, to
withstand any request which she made with earnestness,
and as a gratification to herself. But from some feeling,
I know not of what kind, the child was never distinguished
by the name of Effie, but by the abbreviation of Femie,
which in Scotland is equally commonly applied to persons
called Euphemia.

In this state of quiet and unostentatious enjoyment, there
were, besides the ordinary rubs and ruffles which disturb
even the most uniform life, two things which particularly
chequered Mrs. Butler's happiness. "Without these," she
said to our informer, " her life would have been but too
happy ; and perhaps," she added, "she had need of some
crosses in this world to remind her that there was a better
to come behind it. "

The first of these related to certain polemical skirmishes
betwixt her father and her husband, which, notwithstanding
the mutual respect and affection they entertained for each
other, and their great love for her — notwithstanding, also,
their general agreement in strictness, and even severity,
of Presbyterian principle — often threatened unpleasant
weather between them. David Deans, as our readers must
be aware, was sufficiently opinionative and intractable, and
having prevailed on himself to become a member of a kirk-
session under the Established Church, he felt doubly obliged
to evince that, in so doing, he had not compromised any
whit of his former professions, either in practice or principle.
Now, Mr. Butler, doing all credit to his father-in-law's
motives, was frequentlv of opinion that it was better to
drop out of memory pomts of division and separation, and
to act in the manner most likely to attract and unite all
parties who were serious in religion. Moreover, he was
not pleased, as a man and a scholar, to be always dictated
to by his unlettered father-in-law ; and as a clergyman, he
did not think it fit to seem for ever under the thumb of an
elder of his own kirk-session. A proud but honest thought
carried his opposition now and then a little further than it
would otherwise have gone. "My brethren," he said,
" will suppose I am flattering and conciliating the old man

490 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

for the sake of his succession, if I defer and give way to him
on every occasion ; and, besides, there are many on which
I neither can nor will conscientiously yield to his notions.
I cannot be persecuting old women for witches, or ferreting
out matter of scandal among the young ones, which might
otherwise have remained concealed."

From the difference of opinion it happened that, in many
cases of nicety, such as in owning cervain defections, and
failing to testify against certain backslidings of the time,
in not always severely tracing forth little matters of scandal
TLnA fama clamosa, which David called a loosening of the
reins of discipline, and in failing to demand clear testimonies
in other points of controversy which had, as it were, drifted
to leeward with the change of times, Butler incurred the
censure of his father-in-law ; and sometimes the disputes
betwixt them became eager and almost unfriendly. In all
such cases Mrs. Butler was a mediating spirit, who en-
deavoured, by the alkaline smoothness of her own disposition,
to neutralise the acidity of theological controversy. To the
complaints of both she lent an unprejudiced and attentive
ear, and sought always rather to excuse than absolutely tc
defend the other party.

She reminded her father that Butler had not " his ex-
perience of the auld and warstling times, when folk were
gifted wi' a far look into eternity, to make up for the op
pressions whilk they suffered here below in time. Sht
freely allowed that many devout ministers and professors
in times past had enjoyed downright revelation, like th«
blessed Peden, and Lundie, and Cameron, and Renwick
and John Caird the tinkler, wha entered into the secrets
and Elizabeth Melvil. Lady Culross, wha prayed in her bed
surrounded by a great many Christians in a large room
in whilk it was placed on purpose, and that for three hours
time, with wonderful assistance ; and Lady Robertland
whilk got six sure outgates of grace, and mony other ii
times past ; and of a speciality, Mr. John Scrimgeour
minister of Kinghorn, who, having a beloved child sick t<
death of the crewels, was free to expostulate with his Make
with such impatience of displeasure, and complaining s(
bitterly, that at length it was said unto him, that he wa
lieard for this time, but that he was requested to use n«
such boldness in time coming ; so that, when he returned
he found the child sitting up in the bed hale and fair, witl
all its wounds closed, and supping its parritch, whilk bab

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 491

he had left at the time of death. But though these things
might be true in these needful times, she contended that
those ministers who had not seen such vouchsafed and
especial mercies, were to seek their rule In the records of
ancient times ; and therefore Reuben was carefu' both to
search the Scriptures and the books written by wise and
good men of old ; and sometimes in this way it wad happen
that twa precious saints might pu' sundry wise, like twa
cows riving at the same hay-band."

To this David used to reply, with a sigh, "Ah, hinny,
thou kenn'st little o't; but that saam John Scrlmgeour, that
blew open the gates of heaven as an it had been wi' a sax-
pund cannon-ball, used devoutly to wish that most part of
books were burnt, except the Bible. Reuben's a gude lad
and a kind — I have aye allowed that ; but as to his not
allowing inquiry anent the scandal of Marjory Kittlesides
and Rory MacRand, under pretence that they have southered
sin wi' marriage, it's clear agane the Christian discipline o'
the kirk. And then there's Ally MacClure of Deepheugh,
that practises her abominations, spacing folks' fortunes wi'
egg-shells, and mutton-banes, and dreams and divinations,
whilk is a scandal to ony Christian land to suffer sic a
wretch to live ; and I'll uphaud that, in a' judicatures,
civil or ecclesiastical."

"I dare say ye are verj' right, father," was the general
style of Jeanie's answer; "but ye maun comedown to the
Manse to your dinner the day. The bits o' bairns, puir
things, are wearying to see their luckie-dad ; and Reuben
never sleeps weel, nor I neither, when you and he hae had
ony bit outcast."

" Nae outcast, Jeanle ; God forbid I suld cast out wi' thee,
or aught that is dear to thee ! " And he put on his Sunday's
coat, and came to the Manse accordingly.

With her husband, Mrs. Butler had a more direct con-
ciliatory process. Reuben had the utmost respect for the
old man's motives, and affection for his person, as well as
gratitude for his early friendjhip. So that, upon any sucl)
occasion of accidental irritation, it was only necessary to
remind him with delicacy of his father-in-law's age, of his
scanty education, strong prejudices, and family distresses.
The least of these considerations always inclined Butler tp
measures of conciliation, in so far as he could accede to thern
without compromising principle ; and thus our simple and
unpretending heroine had the merit of those peacemakers,

492 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

to whom it is pronounced as a benediction, that they
shall inherit the earth.

The second crook in Mrs. Butler's lot, to use the lan-
guage of her father, was the distressing circumstance,
that she had never heard of her sister's safety, or of the
circumstances in which she found herself, though betwixt
four and five year's had elapsed since they had parted oa
the beach of the island of Roseneath. Frequent intercourse
was not to be expected — not to be desired, perhaps, in their
relative situations ; but Efhe had promised that, if she
lived and prospered, her sister should hear from her. She
must then be no more, or sunk into some abyss of misery,
since she had never redeemed her pledge. Her silence
seemed strange and portentous, and wrung from Jeanie,
who could never forget the early years of their intimacy,
the most painful anticipation concerning her fate. At
length, however, the veil was drawn aside.

One day, as the Captain of Knockdunder had called in
at the Manse, on his return from some business in the
Highland part of the parish, and had been accommodated,
according to his special request, with a mixture of mUk,
brandy, honey, and water, which he said Mrs. Butler com-
pounded " petter than ever a woman in Scotland," — for, in
all innocent matters, she studied the taste of every one
around her, — he said to Butler, "Py the py, minister, 1 have
a letter here either for your canny pody of a wife or you,
which I got when I was last at Glasco ; the postage comes
to fourpence, which you may either pay me forthwith, or
give me tooble or quits in a hit at packcammon."

The playing at backgammon and draughts had been a
frequent amusement of Mr. Wliackbaim, Butler's principal
when at Liberton school. The minister, therefore, still
piqued himself on hLs skill at both games, and occasionally
practised them, as strictly canonical, although David Deans,
whose notions of every kind were more rigorous, used to
shake his head, and groan grievously, when he espied
the tables lying in the parlour, or the children playing with
the dice-boxes or backgammon men. Indeed, Mrs. Butler
was sometimes chidden for removing these implements of
pastime into some closet or comer out of sight., " Let
them be where they are, Jeanie," would Butler say upon
such occasions ; " I am not conscious of following this,
or any other trifling relaxation, to the interruption of my
more serious studies, and still more serious duties. 1 will

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 493

not, therefore, have it supposed that I am indulging by
stealth, and against my conscience, in an amusement which,
using it so little as I do, I may well practise openly, and
without any check of mind — Nil conscire sibi, Jeanie, that
is my motto ; which signifies, my love, the honest and
open confidence which a man ought to entertain when
he is acting openly, and without any sense of doing
wrong."

Such being Butler's humour, he accepted the Captain's
defiance to a twopenny hit at backgammon, and handed
the letter to his wife, observing the post-mark was York,
but, if it came from her friend, Mrs. Bickerton, she had
considerably improved her handwriting, which was un-
common at her years.

Leaving the gentlemen to their game, Mrs. Butler went
to order something for supper, for Captain Duncan had
proposed kindly to stay the night with them, and then
carelessly broke open her letter. It was not from Mrs.
Bickerton ; and, after glancing over the first few lines,
she soon found it necessary to retire into her own bed-
room, to read the document at leisure.

CHAPTER XLVHI.

Happy thoa art I then happy be.

Nor envy me my lot ;
Thy happy state I envy thee.

And peaceful cot.

Lady CHARroTXB Campbeli..

The letter, which Mrs. Butler, when retired into her own
apartment, perused with anxious wonder, wa.s certainly
from Efi&e, ^though it had no other signature than the
letter E., and although the orthography, style, and pen-
manship were very far suf>erior not only to anything which
Efl&e could produce, who, though a Uvely girl, had been a
remarkably careless scholar, but even to her more con-
siderate sister's own powers of composition and expression.
The manuscript was a fair Italian hand, though something
stiff and constrained — the spelling and the diction that of
a person who had been accustomed to read good composi-
tion, and mix in good society.

The tenor of the letter was as follows : —

494 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

" My oearest Sister, —

" At many risks I venture to write to you, to inform you that
I am still alive, and, as to worldly situation, that I rank higher
than I could expect or merit. If wealth, and distinction, and
an honourable rank, could make a woman happy, I have them
all ; but you, Jeanie, whom the world might think placed far
beneath me in all these respects, are far happier than I am.
I have had means of bearing of your welfare, my dearest
Jeanie, from time to time — I think I should have broken my
heart otherwise. I have learned with great pleasure of your
increasing family. — We have not been worthy of such a
blessing ; two infants have been successively removed, and
we are now childless — God's will be done 1 But, if we had a
child, it would perhaps divert him from the gloomy thoughts
which make him terrible to himself and others. Yet do not
let me frighten you, Jeanie ; he continues to be kind, and I am
far better off than I deserve. You will wonder at my better
scholarship ; but when I was abroad, I had the best teachers,
and I worked hard because my progress pleased him. He is
kind, Jeanie, only he has much to distress him, especially when
he looks backward. When I look backward myself, I have
always a ray of comfort ; it is in the generous conduct of a
sister, who forsook me not when I was forsaken by every one.
You have had your reward. You live happy in the esteem and
love of all who know you, and I drag on the life of a miserable
impostor, indebted for the marks of regard I receive to a tissue
of deceit and lies, which the slightest accident may unravel.
He has produced mc to his friends, since the estate opened to
him, as the daughter of a Scotchman of rank, banished on
account of the Viscount of Dundee's wars, — that is, our Fr.'s
old friend Clavers, you know — and he says I was educated
in a Scotch convent ; indeed, I lived in such a place long
enough to enable me to support the character. But when a
countryman approaches me, and begins to talk, as they all dO|
of the various families engaged in Dundee's affair, and to make
inquiries into my connections, and when I see his eye bent on
mine with such an expression of agony, my terror brings me
to the very risk of detection. Good-nature and politeness have
hitherto saved me, as they prevented people from pressing on
me with distressing questions. But how long — O how long,
will this be the case ! — And if I bring this disgrace on him, he
will hate me — he will kill me, for as much as he loves me ; he
is as jealous of his family honour now, as eve» he was careless
about it. I have been in England four months, and have often
thought of writing to you ; and yet, such are the dangers that
might arise from an intercepted letter, that I have hitherto
forborne. But now I am obliged to run the risk. Last week

THE HEART OF MlD-LOTHlAN. 495

1 saw your great friend, the D. of A. He came to my box, and
sate by me ; and something' in tlie play put him in mind of you
— Gracious Heaven ! he told over your whole London journey
to all who were in the box, but particularly to the wretched
creature who was the occasion of it all. If he had known — if
he could have conceived, beside whom he was sitting, and to
whom the storj' was told ! — I suffered with courage, like an
Indian at the stake, while they are rending his fibres and
boring his eyes, and while he smiles applause at each well-
imagined contrivance of his torturers. It was too much for me
at last, Jeanie — I fainted ; and my agony was imputed partly
to the heat of the place, and partly to my extreme sensibility ;
and, hypocrite all over, I encouraged both opinions — anything
but discover)' ! Luckily he was not there. But the incident has
more alarms. I am obliged to meet your great man often ;
and he seldom sees me without talking of E. D. and J. D., and
R. B. and D. D., as persons in whom my amiable sensibility
is interested. My amiable sensibility ! ! ! — And then the cruel
tone of light indifference with which persons in the fashionable
world speak together on the most affecting subjects ! To hear
my guilt, my folly, my agony, the foibles and weaknesses of my
friends — even your heroic exertions, Jeanie, spoken of in the
drolling style which is the present tone in fashionable life —
Scarce all that I formerly endured is equal to this state of
irritation — then it was blows and stabs — now it is pricking to
death with needles and pins. — He — I mean the D. — goes down
next month to spend the shooting-season in Scotland — he says,
he makes a point of always dining one day at the Manse — be
on your guard, and do not betray yourself, should he mention
me — Yourself, alas ! you have nothing to betray — nothing to
fear ; you, the pure, the virtuous, the heroine of unstained faith,
unblemished purity, what can you have to fear from the world
or its proudest minions? It is E. whose life is once more in
your hands — it is E. whom you are to save from being pluckeil
of her borrowed plumes, discovered, branded, and trodden down,
first by him, perhaps, who has raised her to this dizzy pinnacle !
— The enclosure will reach you twice a-year — do not refuse it —
it is out of my own allowance, and may be twice as much
when you want it. With you it may do good — with me it
never can.

*' Write to me soon, Jeanie, or I shall remain in the agrjnising-
apprehension that this has fallen into wrong hands — Address
simply to L. S. , under cover, to the Reverend George Whiterose,
in the Minster-Close, York. He thinks I correspond with some
of my noble Jacobite relations who are in Scotland. How high-
church and jacobitical zeal would burn in his cheeks if he knew
he was the agent, not of Euphemia Setoun, of the honourabib

496 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

house ofWinton, but of E. D., daug-hter of a Cameronian cow-
feeder I — Jcanie, I can laugh yet sometimes — but God protect
you from such mirth. — My father — I mean your father, would
say it was like the idle crackling of thorns ; but the thorns keep
their poignancy, they remain unconsumed. — Farewell, my
dearest Jeanie — Do not show this even to Mr. Butler, much
less to anyone else — I have every respect for him, but his
principles are over strict, and my case will not endure severe
handling. — I rest your affectionate sister, E."

In this long letter there was much to surprise as well
as to distress Mrs. Butler. That Effie — her sister Effie,
should be mingling freely in society, and apparently on
not unequal terms, with the Duke of Argyle, sounded
like something so extraordinary, that she even doubted if
she read truly. Nor was it less marvellous, that, in the
space of four years, her education should have made such
progress. Jeanie's humility readily allowed that Effie
had always, when she chose it, been smarter at her book
than she herself was, but then she was very idle, and,
upon the whole, had made much less proficiency. Love,
or fear, or necessity, however, had proved an able school-
mistress, and completely supplied all her deficiencies.

What Jeanie least liked m the tone of the letter was a
smothered degree of egotism. " We should have heard little
about her," said Jeanie to herself, " but that she was feared
the Duke might come to learn wha she was, and a' about
her puir friends here ; but Effie, puir thin^, aye looks her
ain way, and folk that do that think mair o' themselves
than of their neighbours. — I am no clear about keeping her
siller," she added, taking up a ;^50 note which had fallen
out of the paper to the floor. " We hae eneugh, and it
looks unco like theftboot, or hush-money, as they ca' it ; she
might hae been sure that I wad say naething wad harm
her, for a' the gowd in Lunnon. And I maun tell the
minister about it I dinna see that she suld be sae feared
for her ain bonny bargain o' a gudeman, and that I shouldna
reverence Mr. Butler just as much ; and sae I'll e'en tell
him, when that tippling body the Captain has ta'en boat in
the morning.— But I wonder at my ain state of mind,"
she added, turning back, after she had made a step or two
to the door to join the gentlemen ; " surely I am no sic a fule
as to be angry that Effie's a braw lady, while I am only a
minister's wife ? — and yet I am as petted as a bairn, when
I should bless God, that has tedeemed her from shame,

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 497

and poverty, and guilt, as ower likely she might hae been
plunged into."

Sitting down upon a stool at the foot of the bed, she
folded her arms upon her bosom, saying within herself,
" From this place will I not rise till I am in a better frame
of mind ; " and so placed, by dint jjf tearing the veil from
tlie motives of her little temporary spleen against her sister,
she compelled herself to be ashamed of them, and to view
as blessings the advantages of her sister's lot, while its
embarrassments were the necessary consequences of errors
long since committed. And thus she fairly vanquished the
feeling of pique which she naturally enough entertained, at
seeing Effie, so long the object of her care and her pity,
soar suddenly so high above her in life, as to reckon
amongst the chief objects of her apprehension the risk of
their relationship being discovered.

When this unwonted burst of amour propre was thoroughly
subdued, she walked down to the little parlour where the
gentlemen were finishing their game, and heard from the
Captain a confirmation of the news intimated in her letter,
that the Duke of Argyle was shortly expected at Roseneath.

" He'll find plenty of moor-fowls and plack-cock on the
moors of Auchingower, and he'll pe nae doubt for taking
a late dinner, and a ped at the Manse, as he has done
pefore now."

" He has a gude right, Captain," said Jeanie.

" Teil ane petter to ony ped in the kintra," answered the
Captain. "And ye had petter tell your father, puir body, to
get his beasts a' in order, and put his tamn'd Cameronian
nonsense out o* his head for twa or three days, if he can pe
so opliging ; for fan I speak to him apout prute pestll, he
answers me out o' tlie Pible, whilk is not using a shentleman
weel, unless it be a person of your cloth, Mr. Putler."

No one understood better than Jeanie the merit of the
soft answer, which turneth away wrath ; and she only
smiled, and hoped that his Grace would find everything
that was under her father's care to his entire satisfaction.

But the Captain, who had lost the whole postage of the
letter at backgammon, was in the pouting mood not
unusual to losers, and which, says the proverb, must be
allowed to them.

"And, Master Putler, though ^ou know I never meddle
with the things of your kirk-sessions, yet I must pe allowed
toe say that I will not pe pleased to allow Aille MacClure

498 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

of Deepheugh, to pe poonished as a witch, in respect she
only spaes fortunes, and does not lame, or pHnd, or pedevil
any persons, or coup cadgers' carts, or ony sort o' mischief;
put only tells people good fortunes, as anent our poats
killing so many seals and doug-fishes, whilk is very pleasant
to hear."

"The woman," said Butler, "is, I believe, no witch, but
a cheat ; and it is only on that head that she is summoned
to the kirk-session, to cause her to desist in future from
practising her impostures upon ignorant persons."

"I do not know," replied the gracious Duncan, "what
her practices or postures are, but I pelieve that if the poys
take hould on her to duck her in the Clachan purn, it will
be a very sorry practice — and I pelieve, moreover, that if I
come in thirdsman among you at the kirk-sessions, you will
be all in a tamn'd pad posture indeed."

Without noticing this threat, Mr. Butler replied, "That
he had not attended to the risk of ill usage which the poor
woman might undergo at the hands of the rabble, and that
he would give her the necessary admonition in private,
instead of bringing her before the assembled session."

"This," Duncan said, "was speaking like a reasonable
shentleman ; " and so the evening passed peaceably off.

Next morning, after the Captain had swallowed his
morning draught of Athole brose, and departed in his
coach and six, Mrs. Butler anew deliberated upon com-
municating to her husband her sister's letter. But she was
deterred by the recollection, that, in doing so, she would
unveil to him the whole of a dreadful secret, of which,
perhaps, his public character might render him an unfit
depositary. Butler already had reason to believe that Effie
had eloped with that same Robertson who had been a
leader in the Porteous mob, and who lay under sentence of
death for the robbery at Kirkcaldy. But he did not know
his identity with George Staunton, a man of birth and
fortune, who had now apparently reassumed his natural
rank in society. Jeanie had respected Staunton's own
confession as sacred, and upon reflection she considered
the letter of her sister as equally so, and resolved to mention
the contents to no one.

On reperusing the letter, she could not help observing
the staggering and unsatisfactory condition of those who
have risen to distinction by undue paths, and the outworks
and bulwarks of fiction and falsehood, by which they are

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 499

under the necessity of surrounding and defending their
precarious advantages. But she was not called upon, she
thought, to unveil her sister's original histor}- — it would
restore no right to any one, for she was usurping none — it
would only destroy her happiness, and degrade her in the
public estimation. Had she been wise, Jeanie thought she
would have ciiosen seclusion and privacy, in place of public
life and gaiety ; but the power of choice might not be hers.
The money, she thought, could not be returned without
her seeming haughty and unkind. She resolved, therefore,
upon reconsidering this point, to employ it as occasion
should serve, either in educating her children better than
her own means could compass, or for their future
portion. Her sister had enough, was strongly bound to
assist Jeanie by any means in her power, and the arrange-
ment was so natural and proper, that it ought not to be
declined out of fastidious or romantic delicacy. Jeanie
accordingly wrote to her sister, acknowledging her letter,
and requesting to hear from her as often as she could. In
entering into her own little details of news, chiefly respecting
domestic affairs, she experienced a singular vacillation of
ideas ; for sometimes she apologised for mentioning things
unworthy the notice of a lady of rank, and then recollected
that everything which concerned her should be interesting
to Effie. Her letter, under the cover of Mr. Whiterose,
she committed to the post-office at Glasgow, by the inter-
vention of a parishioner who had business at that city.

The next week brought the Duke to Roseneath, and
shortly afterwards he intimated his intention of sporting
in their neighbourhood, and taking his bed at the Manse ;
an honour which he had once or twice done to its inmates
on former occasions.

Effie proved to be perfectly right in her anticipations.
The Duke had hardly set himself down at Mrs. Butler's
right hand, and taken upon himself the task of carving the
excellent "barn-door chucky," which had been selected as
the high dish upon this honourable occasion, before he
began to speak of Lady Staunton of Willingham, in Lincoln-
shire, and the great noise which her wit and beauty made
in London. For much of this Jeanie was, in some measure,
prepared — but Effie's wit 1 that would never have entered
mto her imagination, being ignorant how exactly raillery
in the higher rank resembles flippancy among their inferiors.

"She has been the ruling belle — the blazing star — the

500 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN,

universal toast of the winter," said the Duke ; " and is
really the most beautiful creature that was seen at court
upon the birthday."

The birthday I and at court I — Jeanie was annihilated,
remembering well her own presentation, all its extraordinary ]
circumstances, and particularly the c^iuse of it.

" I mention this lady particularly to you, Mrs. Butler,"]
said the Duke, " because she haid something in the sound of
her voice, and the cast of her countenance, that reminded me
of you — not when you look so pale though — you have over-
fatigued yourself — you must pledge me in a glass of wine."

She did so, and Butler observed, " It was dangerous
flattery in his Grace to tell a poor minister's wife that she
was like a court-beauty."

" Oho I Mr. Butler," said the Duke, " I find you are
growing jealous ; but it's rather too late in the day, for you
know how long I have admired your wife. But seriously,
there is betwixt them one of those inexplicable likenesses
which we see in countenances, that do not otherAwise
resemble each other."

" The perilous part of the compliment has flown off,"
thought Mr. Butler.

His wife, feeling the awkwardness of silence, forced
herself to say, " That, perhaps, the lady might be her
countrywoman, and the language might make some
resemblance."

'"You are quite right," replied the Duke. " She is a
Scotchwoman, and speaks with a Scotch accent, and now
and then a provincial word drops out so prettily, that it
is quite Doric, Mr. Butler."

" I should have thought," said the clergyman, " that
would have sounded vulgar in the great city."

" Not at all," replied the Duke ; " you must suppose it
is not the broad coarse Scotch that is spoken in the Cow-
gate of Edinburgh, or in the Gorbals. This lady has
been very little in Scotland, in fact she was educated in a
convent abroad, and speaks that pure court-Scotch, which
was common in my younger da5rs ; but it is so generally
disused now, that it sounds like a different dialect, entirely
distinct from our modem patois,"

Notwithstanding her anxiety, Jeanie could not help
admiring within herself, how the most correct judges of
life and manners can be imposed on by their own pre-
conceptions, while the Duke proceeded thus : " She is of

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 501

the unfortunate house of Winton, I believe ; but, being
I'red abroad, she had missed the opportunity of learning
her ovra pedigree, and was obliged to me for informing
her, that she must certainly come of the Setons of Windy-
goul. I wish you could have seen how prettily she blushed
at her own ignorance. Amidst her noble and elegant
manners, there is now and then a little touch of bashfulness
and conventual rusticity, if I may call it so, that makes
her quite enchanting. You see at once the rose that
had bloomed untouched amid the chaste precincts of the
cloister, Mr. Butler."

True to the hint, Mr. Butler failed not to start with his

Ut fios in septi3 secretus nascitur hortis, etc.,

while his wife could hardly persuade herself that all this
was spoken of EflBe Deans, and by so competent a judge
as the Duke of Argyle ; and had she been acquainted with
Catullus, would have thought the fortunes of her sister h£id
reversed the whole passage.

She was, however, determined to obtain some indenmi-
fication for the anxious feelings of the moment, by gaining
all the intelligence she could ; and therefore ventured to
make some inquiry about the husband of the lady his Grace
admired so much.

" He is very rich," replied the Duke ; " of an ancient
family, and has good manners : but he is far from being
such a general favourite as his wife. Some people say he
can be very pleasant — I never saw him so ; but should
rather judge him reserved, and gloomy, and capricious.
He was very wild in his youth, they say, and has bad
health ; yet he is a good-looking man enough — a great
friend of your Lord High Commissioner of the Kirk.
Mr. Butler."

" Then he is the friend of a very worthy and honourable
nobleman," said Butler.

" Does he admire his lady as much as other people d<J ? "
said Jeanie, in a low voice.

" WTio — Sir George ? They say he is very fond of her,"
said the Duke ; " but I observe she trembles a little when
he fixes his eye on her, and that is no good sign — But it is
strange how I am haunted by this resemblance of yours to
Lady Staunton, in look and tone of voice. One would
almost swear you were sisters."

I

S02 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. ^

Jeanie's distress became uncontrollable, and beyond con-
cealment. The Duke of Argyle was much disturbed, good-
naturedly ascribing it to his having unwittingly recalled to
her remembrance her family misfortunes. He was too well-
bred to attempt to apologise ; but hastened to change the
subject, and arrange certain points of dispute which had
occurred betwixt Duncan of Knock and the minister, ac-
knowledging that his worthy substitute was sometimes
a little too obstinate, as well as too energetic, in his
executive measures.

Mr. Butler admitted his general merits ; but said, " He
would presume to apply to the worthy gentleman the words
of the poet to Marrucinus Asinius,

' Manu

Non belle uteris in joco atque vino.'"

The discourse being thus turned on parish-business,
nothing further occurred that can interest the reader.

CHAPTER XLIX.

Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown,
And put a barren sceptre in my gripe,
Thence to be vvrench'd by an unlineal hand,
No son of mine succeeding.

Macbeth.

After this period, but under the most strict precautions
against discovery, the sisters corresponded occasionally,
exchanging letters about twice every year. Those of Lady
Staunton spoke of her husband's health and spirits as
being deplorably uncertain ; her own seemed also to be
sinking, and one of the topics on which she most frequently
dwelt was their want of family. Sir George Staunton,
always violent, had taken some aversion at the next
heir, whom he suspected of having irritated his friends
against him during his absence ; and he declared,
he would bequeath Willingham and all its lands to an
hospital, ere that fetch-and-carry tell-tale should inherit
an acre of it.

I " Had he but a child," said the unfortunate wife, " or had
that luckless infant survived, it would be some motive for

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 503

living and for exertion. But Heaven has denied us a
blessing which we have not deserved."

Such complaints, in varied form, but turning frequently
on the same topic, filled the letters which passed from the
spacious but melancholy halls of Willingham, to the quiet
and happy parsonage at Knocktarlitie. Years meanwhile
rolled on amid these fruitless repinings. John, Duke of
Argj'le and Greenwich, died in the year 1743, universally
lamented, but by none more than by the Butlers, to whom
his benevolence had been so distinguished. He was
succeeded by his brother Duke Archibald, with whom they
had not the same intimacy ; but who continued the pro-
tection which his brother had extended towards them.
This, indeed, became more necessary than ever ; for, after
the breaking out and suppression of the rebellion in 1745,
the peace of the country, adjacent to the Highlands, was
considerably disturbed. Marauders, or men that had been
driven to that desperate mode of life, quartered themselves
in the fastnesses nearest to the Lowlands, which were their
scene of plunder j and there is scarce a glen in the romantic
and now peaceable Highlands of Perth, Stirling, and Dum-
bartonshire, where one or more did not take up their
residence.

The prime pest of the parish of Knocktarlitie was a
certain Donacha dhu na Dunaigh, or Black Duncan the
Mischievous, whom we have already casually mentioned.
This fellow had been originally a tinkler or caird, many of
whom stroll about these districts ; but when all police was
disorganised by the civil war, he threw up his profession, and
from half thief became whole robber ; and being generally
at the head of three or four active young fellows, and he
himself artful, bold, and well acquainted with the passes,
he plied his new profession with emolument to himself, and
infinite plague to the country.

All were convinced that Duncan of Knock could have put
down his namesake Donacha any morning he had a mind ;
for there were in the parish a set of stout young men, who
had joined .^rgyle's banner in the war under his old friend,
and behaved very well upon several occasions. And as for
their leader, as no one doubted his courage, it was generally
supposed that Donacha had found out the mode of con-
ciliating his favour, a thing not very uncommon in that age
and country. This was the more readily believed, as David
Deans's cattle (being the property of the Duke) were left

504 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

untouched, when the minister's cows were carried off by the
thieves. Another attempt was made to renew the same act
of rapine, and the cattle were in the act of being driven off,
when Butler, laying his profession aside in a case of such
necessity, put himself at the head of some of his neighbours,
and rescued the creagh, an exploit at which Deans attended
in person, notwithstanding his extreme old age, mounted
on a Highland pony, and girded with an old broadsword,
likening himself (for he failed not to arrogate the whole
merit of the expedition) to David, the son of Jesse, when he
recovered the spoil of Ziklag from the Amalekites. The
spirited behaviour had so far a good effect, that Donacha
dhu na Dunai^h kept his distance for some time to come ;
and, though his distant exploits were frequently spoken of,
he did not exercise any depredations in that part of the
country. He continued to flourish, and to be heard
of occasionally, until the year 1751, when, if the fear
of the second David had kept him in check, fate re-
leased him from that restraint, for the venerable patri-
arch of St Leonard's was that year gathered to his
fathers.

David Deans died full of years and of honour. He is
believed, for the exact time of his birth is not known, to
have lived upwards of ninety years ; for he used to speak
of events as falling under his own knowledge, which
happened about the time of the battle of Bothwell Bridge.
It was said that he even bore arms there ; for once, when a
drunken Jacobite laird wished for a Bothwell Brigg whig,
that "he might stow the lugs out of his head," David
informed him with a peculiar austerity of countenance, that,
if he liked to try such a prank, there was one at his elbow ;
and it required the interference of Butler 'to preserve the
peace.

He expired in the arms of his beloved daughter, thank-
ful for all the blessings which Providence had vouchsafed
to him while in this valley of strife and toil — and thankful
also for the trials he had been visited with ; having found
them, he said, needful to mortify that spiritual pride and
confidence in his own gifts, which was the side on which
the wily Enemy did most sorely beset him. He prayed
in the most affecting manner for Jeanie, her husband,
and her family, an^ that her affectionate duty to the
puir old man might purchase her length of days here,
and happiness hereafter; then, in a pathetic petition,

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 505

too well understood by those who knew his family circum-
stances, he besought the Shepherd of souls, while gatliering
his flock, not to forget the little one that had strayed from
the fold, and even then might be in the hands of the
ravening wolf. — He prayed for the national Jerusalem, that
peace might be in her land, and prosperity in her palaces —
for the welfare of the honourable House of Argyle, and
for the conversion of Duncan of Knockdunder. After this
he was silent, being exhausted, nor did he again utter
anything distinctly. He was heard, indeed, to mutter
something about national defections, right-hand extremes,
and left-hand fallings off; but, as May Hettly observed,
his head was carried at the time ; and it is probable that
these expressions occurred to him merely out of general
habit, and that he died in the full spirit of charity with
all men. About an hour afterwards he slept in the
Lord.

Notwithstanding her father's advanced age, his death
was a severe shock to Mrs. Butler. Much of her time had
been dedicated to attending to his health and his wishes,
and she felt as if part of her business in the world was
ended, when the good old man was no more. His wealth,
which came nearly to fifteen hundred pounds, in disposable
capital, served to raise the fortunes of his family at the
Manse. How to dispose of this sum for the best advantage
of his family was a matter of anxious consideration to
Butler.

"If we put it on heritable bond, we shall maybe lose
the interest; for there's that bond over Lounsbeck's land,
your father could neither get principal nor interest for it
— If we bring it into the funds, we shall maybe lose the
principal and all, as many did in the South Sea scheme.
The little estate of Craigsture is in the market — it lies
within two miles of the Manse, and Knock says his Grace
has no thought to buy it But they ask ^2500, and. they
may, for it is worth the money ; and were I to borrow the
balance, the creditor might call it up suddenly, or in case
of my death my family might be distressed."

"And so, if we had mair siller, we might buy that
bonny pasture-ground, where the grass comes so early?"
asked Jeanie,

" Certainly, my dear ; and Knockdunder, who is a good
judge, is strongly advising me to ik — To be sure it is hi.s
nephew that is selling it."

5o6 THE HEART OF MJD-LOTIIlAN.

" Aweel, Reuben," said Jeanie, " ye maun just look up a "
text in Scripture, as ye did when ye wanted siller before
— ^just look up a text in the Bible."

"Ah, Jeanie," said Butler, laughing and pressing her
hand at the same time, "the best people in these times
can only work miracles once."

"We will see," said Jeanie composedly; and going to
the closet in which she kept her honey, her sugar, her
pots of jelly, her vials of the more ordinary medicines,
and which served her, in short, as a sort or store-room,
she jangled vials and gallipots, till, from out the darkest
nook, well flanked by a triple row of bottles and jars,
which she was under the necessity of displacing, she
brought a cracked brown cann, with a piece of leather
tied over the top. Its contents seemed to be written papers,
thrust in disorder into this uncommon secretaire. But
from among these Jeanie brought an old clasped Bible,
which had been David Deans's companion in his earlier
wanderings, and which he had given to his daughter when
the failure of his eyes had compelled him to use one of a
larger print. This she gave to Butler, who had been
looking at her motions with some surprise, and desired
him to see what that book could do for him. He opened
the clasps, and, to his astonishment, a parcel of £50 bank-
notes dropped out from betwixt the leaves, where they
had been separately lodged, and fluttered upon the floor.
" I didna think to hae tauld you o' my wealth, Reuben,"
said his wife, smiling at his surprise, " till on my deathbed,
or maybe on some family pinch ; but it wad be better laid
out on yon bonny grass-holms, than lying useless here in
this auld pigg."

" How on earth came ye by that siller, Jeanie ? — Why,
here is more than a thousand pounds," said Butler, lifting
up and counting the notes.

" If it were ten thousand, it's a' honestly come by," said
Jeanie; "and troth I kenna how muckle there is o't, but
it's a' there ever I got. — And as for how I came by it,
Reuben — it's weel come by, and honestly, as I said before
— And it's mair folk's secret than mine, or ye wad hae
kend about it lang syne ; and as for onything else, I am
not free to answer mair questions about it, and ye maun
just ask me nane."

" Ansv/er me but one," said Butler. |' Is it all freely and
indisputably your own property, to dispose of it as you

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 507

think fit ? — Is it possible no one has a claim in so large a
sum except you ? "

" It was mine, free to dispose of it as I like," answered
Jeanie ; "and I have disposed of it already, for now it is
yours, Reuben — You are Bible Butler now, as wee! as
your forbear, that my puir father had sic an ill-will at.
Only, if ye like, I wad wish Femie to get a gude share o't
when we are gane."

"Certainly, it shall be as you choose — But who on earth
ever pitched on such a hiding-place for temporal treasures ? "

"That is just ane o' my auld-fashioned gates, as you
ca' them, Reuben. I thought if Donacha Dhu was to
make an outbreak upon us, the Bible was the last thing
in the house he wad meddle wi' — but an ony mair sLUer
should drap in, as it is not unlikely, I shall e'en paj' it
ower to you, and ye may lay it out your ain way."

" And'l positively must not ask you how you have come
by all this money ? " said the clergyman.

" Indeed, Reuben, you must not; for if you were asking
me very sair I wad maybe tell you, and then I am sure
I would do wrong."

"But tell me," said Butler, "is it anything that dis-
tresses your own mind ? "

"There is baith weal and woe come aye wi' warld's
gear, Reuben ; but ye maun ask me naething mair —
This siller binds me to naething, and can never be speered
back again."

"Surely," said Mr. Butler, when he had again counted
over the money, as if to assure himself that the notes
were real, "there was never man in the world had a wife
like mine — a blessing seems to follow her."

"Never," said Jeanie, "since the enchanted princess in
the bairns' fairy tale, that kamed gold nobles out o' the
tae side of her haffit locks, and Dutch dollars out o' the
tother. But gang away now, minister, and put by the
siller, and dinna keep the notes wampishing in your
hand that gate, or I shall wish them in the brown pigg
again, for fear we get a black cast about them — we're
ower near the hills in these times to be thought to hae
siller in the house. And, besides, ye maun gree wi'
Knockdunder, that has the selling o' the lands ; and dinna
you be simple and let him ken o' this windfa', but keep him
to the very lowest penny, as if ye had to borrow siller to
make the price up."

So8 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

In the last admonition Jeanie showed distinctly, that,
although she did not understand how to secure the money
which came into her hands otherwise than by saving and
hoarding it, yet she had some part of her father David's
shrewdness, even upon worldly subjects. And Reuben
Butler was a prudent man, and went and did even as his^
wife had advised him.

The news quickly went abroad into the parish that the [
minister had bougnt Craigsture ; and some wished him
joy, and some *' were sorry it had gane out of the auld
name." However, his clerical brethren, understanding
that he was under the necessity of going to Edinburgh
about the ensuing Whitsunday, to get together David
Deans's cash to make up the purchase-money of his new
acquisition, took the opportunity to name him their
delegate to the General Assembly, or Convocation of the
Scottish Church, which takes place usually in the latter end
of the month of May.

CHAPTER L.

But who is this? what thing of sea or land —
Female of sex it seems —
That so bedeck'd, ornate, and gay,
Comes this way sailing?

Milton.

Not long after the incident of the Bible and the bank-
notes. Fortune showed that she could surprise Mrs. Butler
as well as her husband. The minister, in order to
accomplish the various pieces of business which his un-
wonted visit to Edinburgh rendered necessary, had been
under the necessity of setting out from home in the latter
end of the month of February, concluding justly that he
would find the space betwixt his departure and the term
of Whitsunday (24th May) short enough for the puipose
of bringing forward those various debtors of old David
Deans, out of whose purses a considerable part of the
price of his new purchase was to be made good.

Jeanie was thus in the unwonted situation of inhabiting
a lonely house, and she felt yet more solitary from the
death of the good old man, who used to divide her cares
with her husband. Her children were her principal resource,
and to them she paid constant attention.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 509

It happened, a day or two after Butler's departure, that,
while she was engaged in some domestic duties, she heard
a dispute among the young folk, which, being maintained
with obstinacy, appeared to c;.ll for her interference. All
came to their, natural umpire w^ith their complaints.
Femie, not yet ten years old, charged Davie and Reubie
with an attempt to take away her book by force ; and
David and Reuben replied, the elder, "That it was not
a book for Femie to read;" and Reuben, "That it was
about a bad woman."

"Where did you get the book, ye little hempie ? " said
Mrs. Butler. " How dare ye touch papa's books when he
is away ? "

But the little lady, holding fast a sheet of crumpled

faper, declared, "It was nane o' papa's books, and May
lettly had taken it off the muckle cheese which came
from Inverara ; " for, as was very natural to suppose, a
friendly intercourse, with interchange of mutual civilities,
was kept up from time to time between Mrs. Dolly Dutton,
now Mrs. MacCorkindale, and her former friends.

Jeanie took the subject of contention out of the child's
hand, to satisfy herself of the propriety of her studies ;
but how much was she struck when she read upon tho
title of the broadside-sheet, "The Last Speech, Confession,
and Dying Words of Margaret MacCraw, or Murdockson,

executed on Harabee-hill, near Carlisle, the — day of

I737-" It was, indeed, one of those papers which
Archibald had bought at Longtown, when he monopolised
the pedlar's stock, which Dolly had thrust into her
trunk out of sheer economy. One or two copies, it seems,
had remained in her repositories at Inverary, till she
chanced to need them in packing a cheese, which, as a
very superior production, was sent, in the way of civil
chaJlenge, to the dairy at Knocktarlitie.

The title of this paper, so strangely fallen into the
very hands from which, in well-meant respect to her
feelings, it had been so long detained, was of itself
sufficiently startling ; but the narrative itself was so
interesting^- that Jeanie, shaking herself loose from the
children, ran upstairs to her own apartment, and bolted
the door, to peruse it without interruption.

The narrative, which appeared to have been drawn up,
or at least corrected, by the clergyman who attended this
unhappy woman, stated the crime for which she suffered

510 THE HEART OF MlD-LOTHlAN.

to have been " her active part in that atrocious robbery
and murder, committed near two years since near Halt-
whistle, for which the notorious Frank Levitt was com-
mitted for trial at Lancaster assizes. It was supposed
the evidence of the accomplice, Thomas Tuck, commonly
called Tyburn Tom, upon which the woman had been
convicted, would weigh equally heavy against him ;
although many were inclined to think it was Tuck him-
self who had struck the fatal blow, according to the
dying statement of Meg Murdockson."

After a circumstantial account of the crime for which
she suffered, there was a brief sketch of Margaret's life.
It was stated that she was a Scotchwoman by birth, and
married a soldier in the Cameronlan regiment — that she
long followed the camp, and had doubtless acquired in
fields of battle, and similar scenes, that ferocity and love
of plunder for which she had been afterwards distinguished
— that her husband, having obtained his discharge, became
servant to a beneficed clergyman of high situation and
character in Lincolnshire, and that she acquired the con-
fidence and esteem of that honourable family. She had
lost this many years after her husband's death, it was
stated, in consequence of conniving at the irregularities
of her daughter with the heir of the family, added to
the suspicious circumstances attending the birth of a
child, which was strongly suspected to have met with
foul play, in order to preserve, if possible, the girl's
reputation. After this, she had led a wandering life
both in England and Scotland, under colour sometimes
of telling fortunes, sometimes of driving a trade in
smuggled wares, but, in fact, receiving stolen goods, and
occasionally actively joining in the exploits by which they
were obtained. Many of her crimes she had boasted of
after conviction, and tliere was one circumstance for which
she seemed to feel a mixture of joy and occasional
compunction. When she was residing in the suburbs of
Edinburgh during the preceding summer, a girl, who had
been seduced by one of her confederates, was intrusted to
her charge, and in her house delivered of a male infant.
Her daughter, whose mind was in a state of derangement
ever since she had lost her own child, according to the
criminal's account, carried off the poor girl's infant, taking
it for her own, of the reality of whose death she at times
could not be persuaded.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTH I ANv 511

Margaret Murdockson stated that she, for some time,
believed her daughter had actually destroyed the infant
in her mad fits, and that she gave the father to under-
stand so, but afterwards learned tliat a female stroller
had got it from her. She showed some compunction at
having separated mother and child, _ especially as the
mother had nearly suffered death, being condemned, on
the Scotch law, for the supposed murder cf her infant.
When it was asked what possible interest she could have
had in exposing the unfortunate girl to suffer for a crime
she had not committed, she asked, if they thought she
was going to put her own daughter into trouble to save
another? She did not knovv^ what the Scottish law would
have done to her for carrying the child away. This answer
was by no means satisfactory to the clergyman, and he
discovered, by close examination, that she had a deep and
revengeful hatred against the young person whom she
had thus injured. But the paper intimated, that, whatever
besides she had communicated upon this subject was
confided by her in private to the worthy and reverend
Archdeacon who had bestowed such particular pains in
affording her spiritual assistance. The broadside went
on to intimate, that, after her execution, of which the
particulars were given, her daughter, the insane person
mentioned more than once, and who was generally known
by the name of Madge Wildfire, had been very ill-used by
the populace, under the belief that she was a sorceress,
and an accomplice in her mother's crimes, and had been
with difficulty rescued by the prompt interference of the
joolice.

Such (for we omit moral reflections, and all that may seem
unnecessary to the explanation of our story) was the tenor
of the broadside. To Mrs. Butler it contained intelligence
of the highest importance, since it seemed to afford the
most unequivocal proof of her sister's innocence respecting
the crime for which she had so nearly suffered. It is true,
neither she nor her husband, nor even her father, had ever
believed her capable of touching her infant with an unkind
hand when in possession of her reason ; but there was a
darkness on the subject, and what might have happened
in a moment of insanity was dreadful to think upon.
Besides, whatever was their own conviction, they had no
means of establishing Effie's innocence to the world, which,
according to the tenor of this fugitive publication, was

512 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

now at length completely manifested by the dying con-
fession of the person chiefly interested in concealing it.

After thanking God for a discovery so dear to her
feelings, Mrs. Butler began to consider what use she
should make of it. To have shown it to her husband
would have been her first impulse ; but, besides that he
was absent from home, and the matter too delicate to be
the subject of correspondence by an indifferent pen-woman,
Mrs. Butler recollected that he was not possessed of the
information necessary to form a judgment upon the
occasion ; and that, adhering to the rule which she had
considered as most advisable, she had best transmit the
information immediately to her sister, and leave her to
adjust with her husband the mode in which they should
avail themselves of it. Accordingly, she despatched a
special messenger to Glasgow, with a packet enclosing
the confession of Margaret Murdockson, addressed, as
usual, under cover, to Mr. Whiterose of York. She ex-
pected, with anxiety, an answer, but none arrived in the
usual course of post, and she was left to imagine how many
various causes might account for Lady Staunton's silence.
She began to be half sorry that she had parted with the
printed paper, both for fear of its having fallen into bad
hands, and from the desire of regaining the document,
which might be essential to establish her sister's innocence.
She was even doubting whether she had not better commit
the whole matter to her husband's consideration, when
other incidents occurred to divert her purpose.

Jeanie (she is a favourite, and we beg her pardon for
still using the familiar title) had walked down to the sea-
side with her children one morning after breakfast, when
the boys, whose sight was more discriminating than hers,
exclaimed, that " the Captain's coach and six was coming
right for the shore, with ladies in it." Jeanie instinctively
bent her eyes on the approaching boat, and became soon
sensible that there were two females in the stem, seated
beside the gracious Duncan, who acted as pilot. It was
in point of politeness to walk towards the landing-plate,
in order to receive them, especially as she saw that the
Captain of Knockdunder was upon honour and ceremony.
His piper was in the bow of the boat, sending forth music,
of which one half sounded the better that the other was
drowned by the waves and the breeze. Moreover, he
himself had his brigadier wig newly frizzed, his bonnet

I

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 513

(he had abjured the cocked -hat) decorated with St.
George's red cross, his uniform mounted as a captain of
militia, the Duke's f\aLg with the boar's head displayed —
all intimated parade and gala.

As Mrs. Butler approached the landing-place, she observed
the Captain hand the ladies ashore with marks of great
attention, and the parties advanced towards her, the
Captain a few steps before the two ladies, of whom the
taller and elder leaned on the slioulder of the other, who
seemed to be an attendant or servant.

As they met, Duncan, in his best, most important, and
deepest tone of Highland civility, "pegged leave to intro-
duce to Mrs. Putler, Lady — eh — eh — I hae forgotten your
leddyship's name 1 "

" Never mind my name, sir," said the lady ; " I trust

Mrs. Butler will be at no loss. The Duke's letter "

And, as she observed Mrs. Butler look confused, she said
again to Duncan something sharply, "Did you not send
tlie letter last night, sir ? "

" In troth and I didna, and I crave your leddyship's
pardon ; but you see, matam, I thought it would do as
weel to-tay, pecause Mrs. Putler is never taen out o' sorts
— never — and the coach was out fishing — and the gig was

gane to Greenock for a cag of prandy — and Put here's

his Grace's letter."

"Give it me, sir," said the lady, taking it out of his
hand; "since you have not found it convenient to do me
the favour to send it before me, I will deliver it myself."

Mrs. Butler looked with great attention, and a certain
dubious feeling of deep interest, on the lady, who thus
expressed herself with authority over the man of authority,
and to whose mandates he seemed to submit, resigning
the letter with a "Just as your leddyship is pleased to
order it."

The lady was rather above the middle size, beautifully
made, though something embonpoint, with a hand and arm
exquisitely formed. Her manner was easy, dignified, and
commanding, and seemed to evince high birth and the
habits of elevated society. She wore a travelling dress —
a gray beaver hat, and a veil of Flanders lace. Two foot-
men, m rich liveries, who got out of the barge, and lifted
out a trunk and portmanteau, appeared to belong to her
suite.

"As you did not receive the letter, madam, which should

R

514 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

have served for my introduction — for I presume you are
Mrs. Butler — I will not present it to you till you are soJ
good as to admit me into your house without it." I

" To pe sure, matam," said Knockdnnder, " ye canna
doubt Mrs. Putler will do that. — Mrs. Putler, this is Lady
— Lady — these tamn'd Southern names rin out o' my head
like a stane trowling down hill — put I believe she is a
Scottish woman pom — the mair our credit — ^and I presume

her leddyship is of the house of '"

The Duke of Argyle knows my family very weU, air,"
said the lady, in a tone which seemed designed to silence
Duncan, or, at any rate, which had that effect completely.

There was something about the whole of this stranger's
address, and tone, and manner, which acted upon Jeanie's
feelings like the illusions of a dream, that tease us with a
puzzling approach to reality. Something there was of her
sister In the gait and manner of the stranger, as well as in
the sound of her voice, and sometliing also, when, lifting
her veil, she showed features, to which, changed as they
were in expression and complexion, she could not but
attach many remembrances.

The stranger was turned of thirty certainly ; but so well
were her personal charms assisted by the power of dress,
and arrangement of ornament, that she might well have
passed for one-and-twenty. And her behaviour was so
steady and so composed, that, as often as Mrs, Butler
perceived anew some point of resemblance to her unfor-
tunate sister, so often the sustained self-command and
absolute composure of the stranger destroyed the ideas
which began to arise in her imagination. She led the
way silently towards the Manse, lost in a confusion of
reflections, and trusting the letter with which she was to
be there intrusted, would afford her satisfactory explanation
of what was a most puzzl'ng and embarrassing scene.

The lady maintained in the meanwhile tlie manners of
a stranger of rank. She admired the various points of
view like one who has studied nature, and the best
representations of art At lengtli she took notice of the
children.

•'These are two fine young mountaineers — Yours,
madam, I presume ? "

Jeanle replied in the afTirmative, The stranger sighed,
and sighed once more as they were presented to her by
name.

THE HEART OK MID-LOTHIAN. 515

"Come here, Femie," said Mrs. Butler, "and hold your
head up."

"What is your daughter's name, madam ? " said the lady.

" Euphemia, madam," answered Mrs. Butler.

" I thought the ordinary Scottish contraction of the name
had been Effie," replied the stranger, in a tone which went
to Jeanie's heart ; for in that single word there was more of
her sister — more of long syne ideas — than in all the re-
miniscences which her own heart had anticipated, or the
features and manner of the stranger had suggested.

When they reached the Manse, the lady gave Mrs. Butler
the letter which she had taken out of the hands of Knock-
dunder; and as she gave it she pressed her hand, adding
aloud, "Perhaps, madam, you will have the goodness to
get me a little milk."

"And me a drap ot the gray-peard, if you please, Mrs.
Putler," added Duncan.

Mrs. Butler withdrew ; but, deputing to May Hettly and
to David Uie supply of the strangers' wants, she hastened
into her own room to read the letter. The envelope was
addressed in the Duke of Artie's hand, and requested
Mrs. Butler's attentions and civility to a lady of rank, a
particular friend of his late brother. Lady Staunton of
Willingham, who, being recommended to drink goats'
whey by the physicians, was to honour the Lodge at
Roseneath with her residence, while her husband made a
short tour in Scotland. But within the same cover, which
had been given to Lady Staunton unsealed, was a letter
from that lady, intended to prepare her sister for meeting
her, and which, but for the Captain's negligence, she ouo^ht
to have received on the preceding evening. It stated that
the news in Jeanie's last letter had been so interesting to
her husband, that he was determined to inauire further into
the confession made at Carlisle, and the fate of that poor
innocent, and that, as he had been in some degree success-
ful, she had, by the most earnest entreaties, extorted rather
than obtained his permission, under promise of observing
the most strict incognito, to spend a week or two with her
sister, or in her neighbourhood, while he was prosecuting
researches, to which (tliough it appeared to her very vainly)
he seemed to attach some hopes^ of success.

There was a postscript, desiring that Jeanie would trust
to Lady S. the management of their intercourse, and be
content with assenting to what she should propose. After

516 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

reading and again reading the letter, Mrs. Butler hurried
downstairs, divided betwixt the fear of betraying her
secret, and the desire to throw herself upon her sister's
neck. Effie received her with a glance at once affectionate
and cautionary, and immediately proceeded to speak.

"I have been telling Mr. , Captain , this gentle-
man, Mrs. Butler, that if you could accommodate me with
an apartment in your house, and a place for Ellis to sleep,
and for the two men, it would suit me better than the
Lodge, which his Grace has so kindly placed at my dis-
posal. I am advised I should reside as near where the
goats feed as possible."

"1 have peen assuring my leddy, Mrs. Putler," said
Duncan, "that though it could not discommode you to
receive any of his Grace's visitors or mine, yet she had
mooch petter stay at the Lodge ; and for the gaits, the
creatures can be fetched there, in respect it is mair fitting
they suld wait upon her Leddyship, than she upon the like
of them."

" By no means derange the goats for me," said Lady
Staunton ; " I am certain the milk must be much better
here." And this she said with languid negligence, as one
whose slightest intimation of humour is to bear down all
argument.

Mrs. Butler hastened to Intimate, that her house, such as
It was, was heartily at the disposal of Lady Staunton ; but
the Captain continued to remonstrate.

"The Duke," he said, "had written "

" I will settle all that with his Grace "

"And there were the things had been sent down frae
Glasco "

" Anything necessary might be sent over to the Parsonage
— She would beg the favour of Mrs. Butler to show her an
apartment, and of the Captain to have her trunks, etc.,
sent over from Roseneath."

So she curtsied off poor Duncan, who departed, saying
In his secret soul, "Cot tam her English impudence! —
she takes possession of the minister's house as an it were
her ain — and speaks to shentlemens as If they were pounden
sei-vants, an pe tamn'd to her! — And there's the deer that
was shot too — put we will send it ower to the Manse, whilk
will pe put civil, seeing I hae prought worthy Mrs. Putler
sic a fliskmahoy." — And with these kind Intentions, he went
to the shore to give his orders accordingly. g

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 517

In the meantime, the meeting- of the sisters was as
affectionate as it was extraordinar}', and each evinced her
feelings in the way proper to her character. Jeanie was so
much overcome by wonder, and even by awe, that her
feelings were deep, stunning, and almost overpowering.
Effie, on the other hand, wept, laughed, sobbed, screamed,
and clapped her hands for joy, all in the space of five
minutes, giving way at once, and without reserve, to a
natural excessive vivacity of temper, which no one, how-
ever, knew better how to restrain under the rules of
artificial breeding.

After an hour had passed like a moment in their expres-
sions of mutual affection. Lady Staunton observed the
Captain walking with impatient steps below the window.
"That tiresome Highland fool has returned upon our
hands." she said. "1 will pray him to grace us wi:h his
absence."

" Hout no! hout no!" said Mrs. Butler, in a tone of
entreaty ; " ye mauna affront the Captain."

"Affront?" said Lady Staunton; "nobody is ever
affronted at what I do or say, my dear. However, I
will endure him, since you think it proper."

The Captain was accordingly graciously requested by
Lady Staunton to remain during dinner. During this
visit his studious and punctilious complaisance towards
tlie lady of rank was happily contrasted by the cavalier
air of civil familiarity in which be indulged towards the
minister's wife.

" I have not been able to persuade Mrs. Butler," said
Lady Staunton to the Captain, during the inter\al when
Jeanie had left the parlour, "to let me talk of making any
recompense for storming her house, and garrisoning it in
the way I have done. "

"Doubtless, matam," said the Captain, "it wad ill
pecome Mrs. Putler, wha is a very decent pody, to make
any such charge to a lady who comes from my house, or
his Grace's, which is the same thing. — .'\nd, speaking of
garrisons, in the 3'ear forty-five, I was poot with a garrison
of twenty of my lads in tlie house of Inver-Garry, whilk had
near been unhappily, for "

" 1 beg your pardon, sir — But I wish I could think of
*somft way of indemnifying this good lady."

" O, no need of indemnifying at all — no trouble for her,
nothing at all — So, peing in the house of lnver>Garry, and

5i8 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

the people about it peing uncanny, I doubted the warst,
and "

" Do you happen to know, sir," said Lady Staunton,
" if any of these two lads, these young Butlers, I mean,
show any turn for the army ? "

"Could not say, indeed, my leddy," replied Knockdunder
— "So, I knowing the people to pe unchancy, and not to
lippen to, and hearing a pibroch in the wood, I pegan to
pid my lads look to their flints, and then "

" For," said Lady Staunton, with the most ruthless dis-
regard to the narrative which she mangled by these inter-
ruptions, "if that should be the case, it should cost Sir
George but the asking a pair of colours for one of them
at the War-Office, since we have always supported govern-
ment, and never had occasion to trouble ministers."

"And if you please, my leddy," said Duncan, who began
to find some savour in this proposal, " as I hae a braw weeJ-
grown lad of a nevoy, ca'd Duncan MacGilligan, that is
as pig as paith the Putler pairns putten thegither, Sir
George could ask a pair for him at the same time, and it
wad pe put ae asking for a'."

Lady Staunton only answered this hint with a well-bred
stare, which gave no sort of encouragement.

Jeanie, who now returned, was lost in amazement at
the wonderful difference betwixt the helpless and de-
spairing girl, whom she had seen stretched on a flock-bed
in a dungeon, expecting a violent and disgraceful death,
and last as a forlorn exile upon the midnight beach, with
the elegant, well-bred, beautiful woman before her. The
features, now that her sister's veil was laid aside, did not
appear so extremely different, as the whole manner,
expression, look, and bearing. In outside show. Lady
Staunton seemed completely a creature too soft and fair
for sorrow to have touched ; so much accustomed to have
all her whims complied with by those around her, that she
seemed to expect she should even be saved the trouble of
forming them ; and so totally unacquainted with con-
tradiction, that she did not even use the tone of self-will,
since to breathe a wish was to have it fulfilled. She
made no ceremony of ridding herself of Duncan as soon
as the evening approached; but complimented him out
of the house under pretext of fatigue, with the utmost
tionckalaftce.

When they were alone, her sister could not help

F THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 519

j* expressing her wonder at the self-possession with which
i Lady Staunton sustained her part.

" I dare say you are surprised at it," said Lady Staunton
composedly; "for you, my dear Jeanie, have been truth
itself from your cradle upwards ; but you must remember
that I am a liar of fifteen years' standing, and therefore
must by this time be used to my character."

In fact, during the feverish tumult of feelings excited
during the two or three first days, Mrs. Butler thought
her sister's manner was completely contradictory of the
desponding tone which pervaded her correspondence. She
was moved to tears, indeed, by tlie sight of her father's
grave, marked by a modest stone, recording his piety and
integrit}' ; but lighter impressions and associations had
also power over her. She amused herself with visiting the
dairy, in which she had so long been assistant, and Wiis
so near discovering herself to May Hettly, by betraying
her acquaintance with the celebrated receipt for Dunlop
cheese, that she compared herself to Bedreddin Hassan,
whom the vizier, his father-in-law, discovered by his super-
lative skill in composing cream-tarts with pepper in them.
But when the novelty of such avocations ceased to amuse
her, she showed to her sister but too plainly, that the
gaudv colouring with which she veiled her unhappiness
afforded as little real comfort, as the gay uniform of the
soldier when it is drawn over his mortal wound. There
were moods and moments, in which her despondence
seemed to exceed even that which she herself had described
in her letters, and which too well convinced Mrs. Butler
iiow little her sister's lot, which in appearance was so
brilliant, was in reality to be envied.

There was one source, however, from which Lady
Staunton derived a pure degree of pleasure. Gifted in
every particular with a higher degree of imagination than
iJiat of her sister, she was an admirer of tlie beauties of
nature, a taste which compensates many evils to those
who happen to enjoy it. Here her character of a fine
lady stopped short, where she ought to have

Scream'd at ilk cleugh, and screech'd at ilka how,
As loud as she had seen the worrie-cow.

On the contrary, with the two boys for her guides, she under-
took long and fatiguing walks among the neighbouring

520 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

mountains, to visit glens, lakes, waterfalls, or what
ever scenes of natural wonder or beauty lay con-
cealed among their recesses. It is Wordsworth, I think,
who, talking of an old man under difficulties, remarks,
with a singular attention to nature,

whether it was care that spurr'd him,

God only knows ; but to the very last,
He had the lightest foot in Ennerdale.

In the same manner, languid, listless, and unhappy,
within doors, at times even indicating something which
approached near to contempt of the homely accommoda-
tions of her sister's house, although she instantly
endeavoured, by a thousand kindnesses, to atone for such
ebullitions of spleen, Lady Staunton appeared to feel
interest and energy while in the open air, and traversing
the mountain landscapes in society with the two boys,
whose ears she delighted with stories of what she had
seen in other countries, and what she had to show them
at Willingham Manor. And they, on the other hand,
exerted themselves in doing the honours of Dumbartonshire
to the l^dy who seemed so kind, insomuch that there
was scarce a glen in the neighbouring hills to which they
did not introduce her.

Upon one of these excursions, while Reuben was other-
wise employed, David alone acted as Lady Staunton's guide,
and promised to show her a cascade in the hills, grander
and higher than any they had yet visited. It was a walk
of five long miles, and over rough ground, varied, however,
and cheered, by mountain views, and peeps now of the
firth and its islands, now of distant lakes, now of rocks
and precipices. The scene itself, too, when they reached
it, amply rewarded the labour of the walk. A single shoot
carried a considerable stream over the face of a black rock,
which contrasted strongly in colour with the white foam
of the cascade, and, at the depth of about twenty feet,
another rock intercepted the view of the bottom of the
fall. The water, wheeling out far beneath, swept round
the crag, which thus bounded their view, and tumbled
down tile rocky glen in a torrent of foam. Those who
love nature always desire to penetrate into its utmost
recesses, and Lady Staunton asked David whether there
was not some mode of gaining a view of the abyss at the
foot of the fall. He said that he knew a station on a shelf

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 521

on the turther side of the intercepting rock, from which the
whole waterfall was visible, but that the road to it was
steep and slippery and dangerous. Bent, however, on
gratifying her curiosity, she desired him to lead the
way ; and accordingly he did so over crag and stone,
anxiously pointing, ^'\t to her the resting-places where she
ought to step, for their mode of advancing soon ceased to
be walking, and became scrambling.

In this manner, clinging like sea-birds to the face of the
rock, they were enabled at length to turn round it, and
came full in front of the fall, which here had a most
tremendous aspect, boiling, roaring, and tiiundering with
unceasing din, into a black cauldron, a hundred feet at
least below them, which resembled the crater of a volcano.
The noise, the dashing of the waters, which gave an
unsteady appearance to all around them, the trembling
even of the huge crag on which tliey stood, the precarious-
ness of their footing, for there was scarce room for them to
stand on the shelf of rock which they had thus attained,
had so powerful an effect on the senses and imagination of
Lady Staunton, that she called out to David she was falling,
and would in fact have dropped from the crag had he not
caught hold of her. The boy was bold and stout of his
age — still he was but fourteen years old, and as his assistance
gave no confidence to Lady Staunton, she felt her situation
become really perilous. The chance was, that, in the ap-
palling novelty of the circumstances, he might have caught
the infection of her panic, in which case it is likely that
botli must have perished. She now screamed with terror,
though without hope of calling any one to her assistance.
To her amazement, the scream was answered by a whistle
from above, of a tone so clear and shrill, that it was heard
even amid the noise of the waterfall.

In this moment of terror and perplexity, a human face,
black, and having grizzled hair hanging down over the
forehead and cheeks, and mixing with moustaches and a
beard of the same colour, and as much matted and tangled,
looked down on them from a broken part of the rock above.

"It is the Enemy!" said the boy, who had very nearly
become incapable of supporting Lady Staunton.

"No, no," she exclaimed, inaccessible to supernatural
terrors, and restored to the presence of mind of which she
had been deprived by the danger of the situation, " it is a
man — For God's sake, my friend, help us ! "

522 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

The face glared at them, but made no answer ; in a
second or two afterwards, another, that of a young lad,
appeared beside the first, equally swart and begrimed,
but having tangled black hair, descending in elf locks,
which gave an air of wildness and ferocity to the whole
expression of the countenance. Lady Staunton repeated
her entreaties, clinging to the rock with more energy, as
she found that, from the superstitious terror of her guide,
he became incapable of supporting her. Her words were
probably drowned in the roar of the falling stream, for,
though she observed the lips of the young being whom she
supplicated move as he spoke in reply, not a word reached
her ear.

A moment afterwards it appeared he had not mistaken
the nature of her supplication, which, indeed, was easy
to be understood from her situation and gestures. The
younger apparition disappeared, and immediately after
lowered a ladder of twisted osiers, about eight feet in
length, and made signs to David to hold it fast while the
lady ascended. Despair gives courage, and finding herself
in this fearful predicament, Lady Staunton did not hesitate
to risk the ascent by the precarious means which this
accommodation afforded ; and, carefully assisted by the
person who had thus providentially come to her aid, she
reached the summit in safety. She did not, however, even
look around her until she saw her nephew lightly and
actively follow her example, although there was now no
one to hold the ladder fast. When she saw him safe she
looked round, and could not help shuddering at the place
and company in which she found herself.

They were on a sort of platform of rock, surrounded on
every side by precipices, or overhanging cliffs, and which
it would have been scarce possible for any research to-
have discovered, as it did not seem to be commanded
by any accessible position. It was partly covered by a
huge fragment of stone, which, having fallen from the cliffs
above, had been intercepted by others in its descent, and
jammed so as to serve for a sloping roof to the furthef
part of the broad shelf or platform on which they stood.
A quantity of Withered moss and leaves, strewed beneatlii
this rude and wretched shelter, showed the lairs — they
could not hfi termed the beds — of those who dwelt in this:
eyrie, for il deserved no other name. Of these, two were
before Lady Staunton. One, the same who had afforded

THE HEART OF MID-LOTIllAN. 523

such timely assistance, stuod upright before theni, a tall,
lathy, young savaee ; his dress a tattered plaid and philabeg,
no shoes, no stockings, no hat or bonnet, the place of the
last being supplied by his hair, twisted and matted like
the glibbe of the ancient wild Irish, and, like theirs, forming
a natural thickset stout enough to bear off the cut of a
sword. Yet the eyes of the lad were keen and sparkling ;
his gesture free and noble, like that of all savages. He
took little notice of David Butler, but gazed with wonder
on Lady Staunton, as a being diflTcrent probably in dress,
and superior in beauty, to anything he had ever beheld.
The old man, whose face they had first seen, remained
recumbent in the same posture as when he had first looked
down on them, only his face was turned towaids them as
he lay and looked up with a lazy auid listless apathy, which
belied the general expression of his dark and rugged
features. He seemed a very tall man, but was scarce
better clad than the younger. He had on a loose Low land
greatcoat, and ragged tartan trews or pantaloons.

All around looked singularly wild and unpropitious.
Beneath the brow of the incumbent rock was a charcoal
fire, on which there was a still working, with bellows,
pincers, hammers, a movable anvil, and other smith's
tools ; three guns, with two or three sacks and barrels,
were disposed against the wall of rock, under shelter of
the superincumbent crag ; a dirk and two swords, and a
Lochaber-axe, lay scattered around the fire, of which the
red glare cast a ruddy tinge on the precipitous foam and
mist of the cascade. The lad, when he had satisfied his
curiosity with staring at Lady Staunton, fetched an earthen
jar and a horn-cup, into wiiich he poured some spirits,
apparently hot from the still, and offered them successively
to the lady and to the boy. Both declined, and the young
savage quaffed off the draught, which could not amount to
less than three ordinary glasses. He then fetched another
ladder from the corner of the cavern, if it could be termed
so, adjusted it against the transverse rock, which sei ved as
a roof, and made signs for the lady to ascend it, u hile he
held it fast below. She did so, and found herself on the
top of a broad rock, near the brink of the chasm into which
the brook precipitates itself. She could see the crest of the
torrent flung loose down the rock, like the mane of a wild
horse, but without having any view of tlie lower platform
from which she had ascended.

52^ THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

David was not suffered to mount so easily ; the lad, from
sport or love of mischief, shook the ladder a good deal as
he ascended, and seemed to enjoy the terror of young
Butler, so that, when they had both come up, they looked
on each other with no friendly eyes. Neither, however,
spoke. The young caird, or tinker, or gipsy, with a good
deal of attention, assisted Lady Staunton up a very perilous
ascent which she had still to encounter, and they were
followed by David Butler, until all three stood clear of the
ravine on the side of a mountain, whose sides were covered
with heather and sheets of loose shingle. So narrow was
the chasm out of which they ascended, that, unless when
they were on the very verge, the eye passed to the other
side without perceiving the existence of a rent so fearful,
and nothing was seen of the catciract, though its deep,
hoarse voice was still heard.

Lady Staunton, freed from the danger of rock and river,
had now a new subject of anxiety. Her two guides con-
fronted each other with angry countenances ; for David,
though younger by two years at least, and much shorter,
was a stout, well-set, and very bold boy.

" You are the black-coat's son of Knocktarlitie," said the
young caird : " if you come here again, I'll pitch you down
the linn like a football."

" Ay, lad, ye are very short to be sae lang," retorted
young' Butler, undauntedly, and measuring his opponent's
height with an undismayed eye ; " I am thinking you are
a gillie of Black Donacha ; if you come down the glen we'll
shoot you like a wild buck."

" You may tell your father," said the lad, " that the leaf
on the timber is the last he shall see— we will hae amends
for the mischief he has done to us."

" I hope he will Uve to see monj simmers, and do ye
mucklc mair," answered David.

More might have passed, but Lady Staunton stepped
hclwoen them with her purse in her hand, and, taking out
A guinea, of which it contained several, visible through the
net-work, as well as some silver in the opposite end, offered
it to the caird.

"The white siller, lady — the white siller," said the young
savage, to whom the value of gold was probably unknown.

Ladjj^ Staunton poured what silver she had into his hand,
and the juvenile savage snatched it greedily, and made a
sort of half inclination of acknowlegment and adieu.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 523

" Let us make haste now, I^dy Staunton," said David,
" for there will be little peace with them since they hae
seen your purse."

They hurried on as fast as they could ; but tliey had not
descended the liUl a hundred yards or two before they heard
a halloo behind them, and looking back, saw both the old
man and the young one pursuing tiiem with great speed, the
former with a gun on his shoulder. Very fortunately, at
this moment a sportsman, a gamekeeper of the Duke, who
was engaged in stalking deer, appeared on the face of the
hill. The bandits stopped on "toeing him. and Lady
Staunton hastened to put herself under his protection. He
readily gave thtm his escort home, and it required his
athletic form and loaded rifle to restore to the lady her
usual confidence and courage.

Donald hstened with much gravity to theaccoimtof their
adventure ; and answered with great composure to David's
repeated inquiries, whether he could have susi>ected that
the cairds had been lurking there, — " Inteed, Master Tavie,
I might hae had some guess that they were there, or there-
about, though maybe I had nane. But I am aften qn the
hill ; and they are like wasps — they stang only them that
fashes them ; sae, for my f>art, I make a point not to see
them, unless I were ordered out on the preceese errand by
MacCallummore or Knockd under, whilk is a clean difierent
case." ^

They reached the Manse late : and Lady Staunton, who
had suffered much both from fright and fatigue, never again
permitted her love of the picturesque to carry her so far
among the mountains without a stronger escort than David,
though she acknowledged he had won the stand of colours
by the intrepidity be had displayed, so soon as assured he
had to do with an earthly antagonist. " 1 couldna. maybe,
hae made muckle o' a bargain wi' yon lang callant," said
David, when thus complimented on his valour ; " but when
ye deal wi' they folk, it's tyne heart tyne a'."

526 THE HEART 0/ MID-LOTHIAN.

CHAPTER LI.

— — Wliat see you there.
That hath so cowarded and chased your blood
Out of appearance ?

Henry the Fifth.

We are under the necessity of returning to Edinburgh,
where the General Assembly was now sitting. It is well
known that some Scottish nobleman is usually deputed,
as High Commissioner, to represent the person of the King
in this convocation ; that he has allowances for the purpose
of maintaining a certain outward show and solemnity, and
supporting the hospitality of the representative of Majesty.
Whoever are distinguished by rank, or oflke, in or near the
capital, usually attend the morning levees of_ the Lord
Commissioner, and walk with him in procession to the
place where the Assembly meets.

The nobleman who held this ofiice chanced to be particu-
larly qpnnected with Sir George Staunton, and it was In his
train that he ventured to tread the High Street of Edinburgh
for the first time since the fatal night of Porteous's execu-
tion. Walking at the right hand of the representative of
Sovereignty, covered with lace and embroidery, and with
all the paraphernalia of wealth and rank, the handsome
though wasted figure of the English stranger attracted all
eyes. Who could have recognised in a form so aristocratic
the plebeian convict, that, disguised in the rags of Madge
Wildfire, had led the formidable rioters to their destined
revenge? There was no possibility that this could happen,
even if any of his ancient acquaintances, a race of men
whose lives are so brief, had happened to survive the span
commonly allotted to evil-doers. Besides, the whole afialr
had long fallen asleep, with the angry passions in which
it originated. Nothing is more certain than that persons
known to have had a share in that formidable riot, and to
have fled from Scotland on that account, had made money
abroad, returned to enjoy it in their native country, and
lived and died undisturbed by the law,* The forbearance of
the magistrate was in these instances wise, certainly, and
just ; for what good impression could be made on the
public mind by punishment, when the memory of the oftence

* See Arnol't Crimin.-il Trial*. 4to ecL, p. 135. (S.)

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN, 527

was obliterated, and all that was remembered was the recent
inofTensive, or perhaps exemplary, conduct of the offender ?

Sir George Staunton might, therefore, tread the scene of
his former audacious exploits, free from the apprehension of
the law, or even of discovery or suspicion. But with what
feelings his heart that day throbbed, must be left to those o^
the reader to imagine. It was an object of no common
interest which had brought him to encounter so many
Gainful remembrances.

In consequence of Jeannie's letter to Lady Staunton,
transmitting the confession, he had visited the town ot
Carlisle, and had found Archdeacon Fleming still alive, by
whom that confession had been received. This reverend
gentleman, whose character stood deservedly very high, he
so far admitted into his confidence, as to own himself the
father of the unfortunate infant which had been spirited
away by Madge Wildfire, represen.ting the intrigue as a
matter of juvenile extravagance on his own part, for which
he was now anxious to atone, by tracing, if possible, what
had become of the child. After some recollection of the
circumstances, the clerg^t'inan was able to call to memory',
that the unhappy woman had written a letter to George
Staunton, Esq., younger, Rectory, Wiilingham, by
Grantham ; that he had forwarded it to the address
accordingly, and that it had been returned with a note from
the Reverend Mr. Staunton, Rector of Wiilingham, saying,
he knew no such person as him to whom the letter was
addressed. As this had happened just at the time when
George had, for the last time, absconded from his father's
house to carrj- off Effie, he was at no loss to account for the
cause of the resentment, under the influence of which his
father had disowned him. This was another instance in
which his ungovernable temper had occasioned his mis-
fortune ; had he remained at Wiilingham but a few days
longer, he would have received .Margaret Muidockson's
letter, in which was exactly described the person and haunts
of the woman, Annaple Bailzou, to whom she had parted
with the infant. It appeared that Meg Murdockson had
been induced to make this confession, less from any feelings
of contrition, than from the desire of obtaining, Uirough
George Staunton, or his father's means, protection and
support for her daughter Madge. Her letter to George
Staunton said, "That while the writer lived, her daughter
would have needed nought from anybody, and that she

528 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

would never have meddled in these aflFairs, except to pay
back the ill that George had done to her and hers. But she
was to die, and her daughter would be destitute, and with-
out reason to guide her. She had lived in the world long
enough to know that people did nothing for nothing ; — so
she had told George Staunton all he could wish to know
about his wean, in hopes he would not see the demented
young creature he had ruined perish for want. As for her
motives for not telling them sooner, she had a long account
to reckon for in the next world, and she would reckon for
that too."

The clergyman said, that Meg had died in the same
desperate state of mind, occasionally expressing some
regret about the child which was lost, but oftener sorrow
that the mother had not been hanged — her mind at once a
chaos of guilt, rage, and apprehension for her daughter's
future safety ; that instinctive feeling of parental anxiety
which she had in common with the she-wolf and lioness,
being the last shade of kindly affection that occupied a
breast equally savage.

The melancholy catastrophe of Madge Wildfire was
occasioned by her taking the confusion of her mother's
execution, as affording an opportunity of leaving the work-
house, to which the clergyman had sent her, and presenting
herself to the mob in their fury, to perish in the way we
have already seen. When Dr. Fleming found the convict's
letter was returned from Lincolnshire, he wrote to a friend
in Edinburgh, to inquire into the fate of the unfortunate
girl whose child had been stolen, and was informed by his
correspondent, that she had been pardoned, and that, with
all her family, she had retired to some distant part of
Scotland, or left the kingdom entirely. And here the
matter rested, until, at Sir George Staunton's applica-
tion, the clergyman looked out, and produced Margaret
Murdockson's returned letter, and the other memoranda
which he had kept concerning the affair.

Whatever might be Sir George Staunton's feelings in
ripping up this miserable history, and listening to the
tragical fate of the unhappy girl whom he had ruined, he
had so much of his ancient wilfulness of disposition left,
as to shut his eyes on everything, save the prospect which
seemed to open itself of recovering his son. It was true, it
would be difficult to produce him, without telling much
more of the history of his birth, and the misfortunes of his

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 529

parents, than it was prudent to make known. But let hjm
once be found, and, being found, let him but prove worthy
of his father's protection, and many ways might be fallen
upon to avoid such risk. Sir George Staunton was at
liberty to adopt him as his heir, if he pleased, without com-
municating the secret of his birth ; or an Act of Parliament
might be obtained, declaring him legitimate, and allowing
him the name and arms of his father. He was, indeed,
already a legitimate child according to the law of Scotland,
by the subsequent marriage of his parents. Wilful in
everything. Sir George's sole desire now was to see this
son, even should his recovery bring with it a new series of
misfortunes, as dreadful as those which followed on his
being lost.

But where was the youth who might eventually be called
to the honours and estates of this ancient family ? On what
heath was he wandering, and shrouded by what mean
disguise ? Did he gain his precarious bread by some petty
trade, by menial toil, by violence, or by theft ? These were
questions on which Sir George's anxious investigations
could obtain no light. Many remembered that Annaple
Bailzou wandered through the country as a beggar and
fortune-teller, or spae-wife — some remembered that she had
been seen with an infant in 1737 or 1738, but for more than
ten years she had not travelled that district ; and that she
had been heard to say she was going to a distant part of
Scotland, of which country she was a native. To Scotland,
therefore, came Sir George Staunton, having parted with
his lady at Glas^w ; and his arrival at Edinburgh happening
to coincide with the sitting of the General Assembly of the
Kirk, his acquaintance with the nobleman who held the
office of Lord High Commissioner forced him more into
public than suited either his views or inclinations.

At the public table of this nobleman, Sir George Staunton
was placed next to a clergyman of respectable appearance,
and well-bred, though plain demeanour, whose name he
discovered to be Butler. It had been no part of Sir George's
plan to take his brother-in-law into his confidence, and he
had rejoiced exceedingly in the assurances he received from
his wife, that Mrs. Butler, the very soul of integrity and
honour, had never suffered the account he had given of
himself at Willingham Rectory to transpire, even to her
husband. Biit he was not sorry to have an opportunity to
converse with so near a connectioHj without Iseing known

1

530 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

to him, and to form a judgment of his character and under-
standing. He saw much, and heard more, to raise Butler
very high in his opinion. He found he was generally
respected by those of his own profession, as well as by the
laity who had seats in the Assembly. Ne had made several
public appearances in the Assembly, distinguished by good
sense, candour, and ability ; and he was followed and
admired as a sound, and, at the same time, an eloquent
preacher.

This was all very satisfactory to Sir George Staunton's
pride, which had revolted at the idea of his wife's sister
being obscurely married. He now began, on the contrary,
to think the cormection so much better than he expected,
that, if it should be necessaiy to acknowledge it, in conse-
quence of the recovery of his son, it would sound well
enough that lady Staunton had a sister, who, in the decayed
state of the family, had married a Scottish clergyman, high
in the opinion of his countrymen, and a leader in the
church.

It was with these feelings, that, when the Lord High
Commissioner's company broke up. Sir George Staunton,
under pretence of prolonging some inquiries concerning the
constitution of the Church of Scotland, requested Butler to
go home to his lodgings in the Lawnmarket, and drink a
cup of coffee. Butler agreed to wait upon him, providing
Sir George would permit him, in passing, to call at a friend's
house where he resided, and make his apology for not
coming to partake her tea. They proceeded up the High
Street, entered the Krames, and passed Aie begging-box,
placed to remind those at liberty of the distresses of the poor
prisoners. Sir George paused there one instant, and next
day a ;£r20 note was found in that receptacle for public
charity.

When he came up to Butler again, he found him with his
eyes fixed on the entrance of the Tolbooth, and apparently
in deep thought.

"That seems a very strong door," said Sir George, by
way of saying something.

" It is so, sir," said Butler, turning off and beginning to
walk forward, "but it was my misfortune at one time to see
it prove greatly too weak."

At this moment, looking at his companion, he asked him
whether he felt himself ill ? and Sir Gco^ge Staunton
admitted, that he had been so foolish as to eat ice, which

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIA^.. 531

sometimes disagreed with him. With kind officiousness,
that would not be gainsaid, and ere he could find out where
he was going, Butler hurried Sir George into the friend's
house, near to tlie prison, in which he himself had lived
since he came to town, being, indeed, no other tlian that of
our old friend Bartoline Saddletree, in which Lady Staunton
had served a short noviciate as a shop-maid. This re-
collection rushed on her husband's mind, and the blush of
shame which it excited overpowered the sensation of fear
which had produced his former paleness. Good Mrs.
Saddletree, however, bustled about to receive the rich
English baronet as the friend of Mr. Butler, and requested
an elderly female in a black gown to sit still, in a way
which seemed to imply a wish, that she would clear tlie way
for her belters. In the meanwhile, understanding the state
of the case, she ran to get some cordial waters, sovereign,
of course, in all cases of falntishness whatsoever. During
her absence, her visitor, the female in black, made some
progress out of the room, and might have left it altogether
without particular obser\-ation, had she not stumbled at the
threshold, so near Sir George Staunton, that he, in point of
civility, raised her and assisted her to the door.

" ^Irs. Porteous is turned very doited now, puir body,"
said Mrs. Saddletree, as she returned with her bottle in
her hand — "She is no sae auld, but she got a sair back-
cast wi' the slaughter o' her husband — Ye had some trouble
about that job, Mr. Butler. — I think, sir," to Sir George,
"ye had better drink out the haill glass, for to my een ye
look waur than when ye came In."

And, indeed, he grew as pale as a corpse, on recollecting
who it was that his arm had so lately supported — tlie widow
whom he had so large a share in making such.

" It is a prescribed job that case of Porteous now," said
old Saddletree, who was confined to his chair by the gout
— " clean prescribed and out of date."

" I am not clear of that, neighbour," said Plumdamas,
" for I have heard them say twenty years should rln, and tliis
is but the fifty-ane — Porteous's mob was in thretty-seven."

" Ye'll no teach me law, I think, neighbour — me that
has four gaun pleas, and might hae had fourteen, an it
hadna been the gudewife? I tell ye if the foremost of
the Porteous mob were standing there where that gentle-
man stands, the King's Advocate wadna meddle wI' him —
it fa's under the negative prescription. "

532 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

" Haud your din, carles," said Mrs. Saddletree, " and
let the gentleman sit down and get a dish of comfortable
tea."

But Sir George had had quite enough of their con versa-"
tion ; and Butler, at his request, made an apology to
Mrs. Saddletree, and accompanied him to his lodgings.
Here they iound another guest waiting Sir George
Staunton's return. This was no other than our reader's
old acquaintance, Ratcliffe.

This man had exercised the office of turnkey with so
much vigilance, acuteness, and fidelity, that he gradually
rose to be governor, or captain of the Tolbooth. And it
is yet remembered in tradition, that young men, who
rather sought amwsing than select society in their merry-
meetings, used sometimes to request Ratcliffe's company,
in order that he might regale them with legends of his
extraordinary feats in the way of robbery and escape.*
But he Lived and died without resuming his original
vocation, otherwise than in his narratives over a bottle.

Under tliese circumstances, he had been recommended
to Sir George Staunton by a man of the law in Edinburgh
as a person likely to answer any questions he might
have to ask about Annaple Bailzou, who, according to
the colour which Sir George Staunton gave to his cause
of inquiry, was suppo.sed to have stolen a child in the
west of England, belonging to a family in which he was
interested. The gentleman had not mentioned his nnme,
but only his official title ; so that Sir George Staunton,
when told that the Captain of the Tolbooth was waiting
for him in his parlour, had no idea of meeting his former
acquaintance. Jem Ratcliffe.

This, therefore, was another new and most unpleasant
surprise, for he had no difficulty in recollecting this man's
remarkabla features. The change, however, from George
Robertson to Sir George Staunton, baffled even the pene-
tration ol Ratcliffe, and he bowed very low to the baronet
and his guest, hoping Mr. Butler would excuse his
recollecting that he was an old acquaintance.

•There Bccni* an anachronism In Oie history of thl< person. Ri^tdlffe,
among olhcj csoaj'os from justice, was released by llir I'orttiou* mub when
under dcntcnce uf death • and he was again under the same predicament
when the Highlanders ni.'ule A similar jail d«ll very In 1745. H* ^'^ toO
•incere n whlij to embrace UberaUou at the hands of the Jacobites, and in
reward was made out of the keepers of the Tolbooth. So at least runi
• coustAnt tradition. (S.)

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHlAi»J. 533

" And once rendered my wife a piece of great service,"
said Mr. Butler, " for which she sent you a token of
grateful acknowledgment, which I hope came safe and
\vas welcome."

" Deil a doubt on't," said Ratclifie, with a knowing nod ;
" but ye are muckle changed for the better since I saw ye,
Maister Butler."

" So much so, that I wonder you knew me."

" Aha, then ! — Deil a face I see I ever forget," said
Ratcliffe ; while Sir George Staunton, tied to the stake, and
incapable of escaping, internally cursed the accuracy of
his memory. " And yet, sometimes," continued Ratcliffe,
" the sharpest hand will be ta'en in. There is a face in this
very room, if I might presume to be sae bald, that if I
didna ken the honourable person it belangs to — 1 might
think it had some cast of an auld acquaintance."

*' I should not be much flattered," answered the Baronet
sternly, and roused by the risk in which he saw himself
placed, " if it is to me you mean to apply that comphment."

" By no manner of means, sir," said RatcUffe, bowing
very low ; "1 am come to receive your honour's com-
mands, and no to trouble your honour wi' my poor
obsen/ations."

" Well, sir," said Sir George, " I am told you understand
police matters — So do I. — To convince you of which, here
are ten guineas of retaining fee — I make them fifty when
you can find me certain notice of a person, living or dead,
whom you will find described in that paper. I shall leave
town presently — you may send your written answer to me

to the care of Mr. " (naming his highly respectable

agent), " or of his Grace the Lord High Commis'sioner."
Ratcliflfe bowed ajid withdrew.

" I have angered the proud peat now," he said to himself,
" by finding out a Ukeness — but if George Robertson's
father had lived within a mile of his mother, d — n me if
I should not know what to think, for as high as he carries
his head."

When he was left alone with Butler, Sir George Staunton
ordered tea and coffee, which were brought by his valet, and
then, after considering with himself for a minute, asked
his guest whether he had lately heard from his wife and
family. Butler, with seme surprise at the question, rephed,
" that he had received no letter for some time ; his wife
wzis a poor pen-woman."

534 THE HEART OF MlD-LOTHlAN.

"Tlien," said Sir George Staunton, "I am the first to
inform you there has been an invasion of your quiet
premises since you left home. My wife, wliom the Duke
of Argyle liad the goodness to permit to use Roseneath
Lodge, while she was spending some weeks in your country,
has sallied across and taken up her quarters in the Manse,
as she says, to be nearer the goats, whose milk she is using ;
but, I believe, in reality, because she prefers Mrs. Butler's
company to that of the respectable gentleman who acts as
seneschal on the Duke's domains."

Mr. Butler said, "he had often heard the late Duke and
the present speak with high respect of Lady Staunton, and
was happy if his house could accommodate any friend of
theirs — it would be but a very slight acknowledgment of the
many favours he owed them."

"That does not make Lad^ Staunton and myself the less
obliged to your hospitality, sir," said Sir George. " May I
inquire if you think of returning home soon ? "

"In the course of two days," Mr. Butler answered, "his
duty in the Assembly would be ended ; and the other
matters he had in town being all finished, he was desirous
of returning to Dumbartonshire as soon as he could ; bui he
was under the necessity of transporting a considerable sum
in bills and money with him, and therefore wished to travel
in company with one or two of his brethren of the clergy."

" My escort will be more safe," said Sir George Staunton,
"and I think of setting off to-morrow or next day. If you
will give me the pleasure of your company, I will undertake
to deliver you and your charge safe at the Manse, provided
you will admit me along with you."

Mr. Butler gratefully accepted of this proposal ; the
appointment was made accordingly, and, hy despatches with
one of Sir George's servants, who was sent forward for the
purpose, 'the inhabitants of the manse of Knocktarlitie were
made acquainted with the intended journey ; and the news
rung through the whole vicinity, "that the minister was
coming back wi' a braw English gentleman, and a' the
siller that was to pay for the estate of Craigsturc."

This sudden resolution of going to Knocktarlitie had been
adopted by Sir George Staunton in consequence of the
incidents of the evening. In spite of his present conse-
quence, he felt he had presumed too far in venturing so near
the scene of his former audacious acts of violence, and he
knew too well, from past expericnccj the acutcness of a man

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 535

like Ratcliffe, aj^ain to encounter him. The next two days
he kept his lodgings, under pretence of indisposition, and
took leave, by writing, of his noble friend the High Com-
missioner, alleging the opportunity of Mr. Butler's company
as a reason for leaving Edinburgh sooner than he had pro-
posed. He had a long conference with his agent on the
subject of Annaple Bailzou ; and the professional gentleman,
who was the agent also of the Argyle family, had directions
to collect all the information which Ratcliffe or others might
be able to obtain concerning the fate of that woman and
the unfortunate child, and, so soon as anything transpired
which had the least appearance of being important, that he
should send an express witli it instantly to Knocktarlitie.
These instructions were backed with a deposit of money,
and a request that no expense might be spared ; so that Sir
George Staunton had little reason to apprehend negligence
on the part of the persons intrusted with the commission.

The journey, which the brothers made in company, was
attended with more pleasure, even to Sir George Staunton,
than he had ventured to expect. His heart lightened in
spite of himself when they lost sight of Edinburgh ; and the
easy, sensible conversation of Butler was well calculated to
withdraw his tiioughts from painful reflections. He even
began to think whether there could be much difficulty in
removing his wife's connections to the Rectory of Willing-
ham ; it was only on his part procuring some still better
preferment for the present incumbent, and on Butler's, that
he should take orders according to the English Church, to
wliich he could not conceive a possibility of his making
objection, and then he had them residing under his wing.
No doubt, there was pain in seeing Mrs. Butler, acquainted,
as he knew her to be, with the full truth of his evil history ;
but then her silence, though he had no reason to complain
of her indiscretion hitherto, was still more absolutely
ensured. It would keep his lady, also, both in good temper
and in more subjection ; for she was sometimes troublesome
to him, by insisting on remaining in town when he desired
to retire to the country, alleging the total want of society at
Willingham. " Madam, your sister is tliere," would, he
thought, be a sufBcient answer to this ready argument.

He sounded Butler on this subject, asking what he would
think of an English living of twelve hundred pounds yearly,
with the burden of affording his company now and then to
a neighbour whose health was not strong, or his spirits

536 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

equal. "He might meet," he said, '.'occasionally, a very
learned and accomplished gentleman, who was in orders as
a Catholic priest, but he hoped that would be no Insur-
mountable objection to a man of his liberality of sentiment.
What," he said, "would Mr. Butler think of as an answer,
if the offer should be made to him ? "

"Simply that I could not accept of it," said Mr. Butler.
" I have no mind to enter into the various debates between
the churches ; but I was brought up in mine own, have
received her ordination, am satisfied of the truth of her
doctrines, and will die under the banner I have enlisted to."

" What may be the value of your preferment ? " said
Sir George Staunton, "unless I am asking an indiscreet
question."

"Probably one hundred a-year, one year with another,
besides my glebe and pasture-ground."

"And you scruple to exchange that for twelve hundred
a-year, without alleging any damning difference of doctrine
betwixt the two churches of England and Scotland ? "

"On that, sir, I have reserved my judgment; there may
be much good, and there are certainly saving means in
both, but every man must act according to his own lights.
I hope I have done, and am in the course of doing, my
Master's work in this Highland parish ; and It would ill
become me, for the sake of lucre, to leave my sheep in the
wilderness. But, even in the temporal view which you have
taken of the matter, Sir George, this hundred pounds a-year
of stipend hath fed and clothed us, and left us nothing to
wish for ; my father-in-law's succession, and other circum-
stances, have added a small estate of about twice as much
more, and how we are to dispose of it I do not know — So I
leave it to you, sir, to think if I were wise, not having the
wish or opportunity of spending three hundred a-yetr, to
covet the possession of four times that sum."

"This is philosophy," said Sir George ; " I have heard of
it, but I never saw It before."

"It is common sense," replied Butler, "which accords
with philosophy and religion more frequently tlian pedants
or zealots are apt to admit."

Sir George turned the subject, and did not again resume
it. Although they travelled in Sir George's chariot, he
seemed so much fatigued with the motion, that it was
necessary for him to remain for a day at a small town
called Mid-Calder, which was their first stage from

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 537

Edinburgh. Glasgow occupied another day, so slow were

their motions.

They travelled on to Dumbarton, where tliey had resolved
to leave the equipage, and to hire a boat to take them to the
shores near the Manse, as the Gare-Loch lay betwixt them
and that point, besides the impossibility of travelling in
that district with wheel-carriages. Sir George's valet, a
man of trust, accompanied them, as also a footman ; the
grooms were left with the carriage. Just as this arrange-
ment was completed, which was about four o'clock in the
afternoon, an express arrived from Sir George's agent in
Edinburgh, with a packet, which he opened and read with
great attention, appearing much interested and agitated by
the contents. The packet had been dispatched very soon
after their leaving Edinburgh, but the messenger had
missed the travellers by passing through Mid-Calder in
the night, and overshot his errand by getting to Roseneath
before them. He was now on his return, after having
waited more than four-and-twenty hours. Sir George
Staunton instantly wrote back an answer, and, rewarding
the messenger liberally, desired him not to sleep till he
placed it in his agent's hands.

At length they embarked in the boat, which had waited
for them some time. During their voyage, which was
slow, for they were obliged to row the whole way, and
often against the tide. Sir George Staunton's inquiries ran
chiefly on the subject of the Highland banditti who had
infested that country since the year 1745. Butler informed
him that many of them were not native Highlanders, but
gipsies, tinkers, and other men of desperate fortunes, who
had taken advantage of the confusion introduced by the
civil war, the general discontent of the mountaineers, and
the unsettled state of police, to practise their plundering
trade with more audacity. Sir George next inquired into
their lives, their habits, whether the violences which they
committed were not sometimes atoned for by acts of
generosity, and whether they did not possess the virtues,
as well as the vices, of savage tribes ?

Butler answered, that certainly they did sometimes show
sparks of generosity, of which even the worst-class of male-
factors are seldom utterly divested ; but that their evil
propensities were certain and regular principles of action,
while any occasional burst of virtuous feeling was only a
transient impulse not to be reckoned upon, and excited

£38 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

probably by some singular and unusual concatenation of
circumstances. In discussing these inquiries, which Sir
George pursued with an apparent eagerness that rather
surprised Butler, the latter chanced to mention the name
of Donacha Dhu na Dunaigh, with which the reader is
already acquainted. Sir George caught the sound up
eagerly, and as if it conveyed particular interest to his ear.
He made the most minute inquiries concerning the man
whom he mentioned, the number of his gang, and even the
appearance of those who belonged to it. Upon these points
Butler could give little answer. The man had a name
aiTiong the lower class, but his exploits were considerably
exaggerated ; he had always one or two fellows with him,
but never aspired to the command of above three or four.
In short, he knew little about him, and the small acquaint-
ance he had had by no means inclined him to desire more.

' ' Nevertheless, I should like to see him some of these days.' '

"That would be a dangerous meeting. Sir George, unless
you mean we are to see him receive his deserts from the
law, and then it were a melancholy one."

" Use every man according to his deserts, Mr. Butler,
and who shall escape whipping ? But I am talking riddles
to you. I will explain them more fully to you when I have
spoken over the subject with Lady Staunton. — Pull away,
my lads," he added, addressing himself to the rowers • " the
clouds threaten us with a storm."

In fact, the dead and heavy closeness of the air, the huge
piles of clouds which assembled in the western horizon,
and glowed like a furnace under the influence of the setting
sun — that awful stillness in which nature seems to expect
the thunder-burst, as a condemned soldier waits for the
platoon-fire which Is to stretch him on the earth, all be-
tokened a speedy storm. Large, broad drops fell from time
to time, and induced the gentlemen to assume the boat-
cloaks ; but the rain again ceased, and the oppressive heat,
so unusual in Scotland in the end of May, inclined them to
throw them aside. "There is something solemn in this
delay of the storm," said Sir George; "it seems as if it
suspended its peal till it solemnised Kome important event
in the world below."

" Alas !" replied Butler, "what are we that the laws of
nature should correspond in their march with our ephemeral
deeds or sufferings? The clouds will burst when sur-
charged with the electric fluid, whether a goat is falling at

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 539

that instant from the cliiTs of Arran, or a hero expiring on
the field of battle he has won."

"The mind delights to deem it otherwise," said Sir
George Staunton; "and to dwell on the fate of humanity
as on that which is the prime central movement of the
mighty machine. We love not to think tliat we shaJl
mix with the ages that have gone before us, as these
broad, black rain-drops mingle with the waste of waters,
making a trifling and momentary eddy, and are then lost
for ever."

" For ever I — we are not — we cannot be lost for ever,"
said Butler, looking upward; "death is to us change, not
consummation ; and the commencement of a new exist-
ence, corresponding in character to tlie deeds which we
have done in the body."

While they agitated these grave subjects, to which the
solemnity of the approaching storm naturally led them,
their voyage threatened to be more tedious than they
expected, for gusts of wind, which rose and fell with
sudden impetuosity, swept the bosom of the firth, and
impeded the efforts of the rowers. They had now only
to double a small headland, in order to get to the proper
landing-place in the mouth of the little river ; but in tlie
state of the weather, and the boat being heavy, this was
like to be a work of time, and in the meanwhile they
must necessarily be exposed to the storm.

" Could we not land on this side of the headland," asked
Sir George, " and so gain some shelter ? "

Butler knew of no landing-place, at least none affording
a convenient or even practicable passage up the rocks
which surrounded the shore.

"Think again," said Sir George Staunton; "the storm
will soon be violent."

" Hout, ay," said one of the boatmen, " there's the
Caird's Cove ; but we dinna tell the minister about it,
and I am no sure if I can steer the boat to it, the bay is
sae fu* o' shoals and sunk rocks."

"Try," said George, "and I will give you half-a-guinea."

The old fellow took the helm, and observed, "that if
they could get in, there was a steep path up from the
beach, and half an hour's walk from thence to the Manse."

"Are you sure you know the way? "said Butler to the
old man.

" I maybe kend it a wee better fifteen years syne, when

540 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

Dandie Wilson was in the firth wi' his clean-ganging
lugger. I mind Dandie had a wild young Englisher wi'
him, that they ca'd "

"If you chatter so much," said Sir George Staunton,
"you will have the boat on the Grindstone — bring that
white rock in a line with the steeple."

"By G — ," said the veteran, staring, "I think your
honour kens the bay as weel as me. — Your honour's nose
has been on the Grindstane ere now, I'm thinking."

As they spoke thus, they approached the little cove,
which, concealed behind crags, and defended on every
point by shallows and sunken rocks, could scarce be dis-
covered or approached, except by those intimate with the
navigation. An old shattered boat was already drawn up.
on the beach within the cove, close beneath the trees, and
with precautions for concealment.

Upon observing this vessel, Butler remarked to his
companion, "It is impossible for you to conceive, Sir
George, the difficulty I have had with my poor people, in
teaching them the guilt and the danger of this contraband
trade — yet they have perpetually before their eyes all its
dangerous consequences. I do not know anything tliat
more effectually depraves and ruins their moral and
religious principles."

Sir George forced himself to say something in a low
voice, about the spirit of adventure natural to youth, and
that unquestionably many would become wiser as they
grew older.

"Too seldom, sir," replied Butler. "If they have been
deeply engaged, and especially if they have mingled in
the scenes of violence and blood to which their occupation
naturally leads, I have observed, that, sooner or later,
they come to an evil end. Experience, as well as Scripture,
teaches us, Sir George, thai" mischief shall hunt the violent
man, and that the bloodthirsty man shall not live half his
days — But take my arm to help you ashore."

Sir George needed assistance, for he was contrasting
in his altered thought the difierent feelings of mind and
frame wilh which he had formerly frequented the same
place. As they landed, a low growl of tliunder was heard
at a distance.

"That is ominous, Mr. Butler," said Sir George.

" Intonuit Icevum — it is ominous of good, then, answered
Butler, smiling.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHlAN. 541

The boatmen were ordered to make the best of their way
round the headland to the ordinary' landing-place ; the two
gentlemen, followed by their servant, sought tlieir way by a
blind and tangled path, through a close copsewood, to the
Manse of Knocktarlitie, where their arrival was anxiously
expected.

The sisters in vain had expected their husbands' return
on the preceding day, which was that appointed by Sir
George's letter. The delay of the travellers at Calder had
occasioned this breach of appointment. The inhabitants of
the Manse began even to doubt whether they would arrive
on the present day. Lady Staunton felt this hope of delay
as a brief reprieve ; for she dreaded the pangs which her
husband's pride must undergo at meeting with a sister-in-
law, to whom the whole of his unhappy and dishonourable
history was too well known. She kn^rw, whatever force or
constraint he might put upon his feelings in public, that she
herself must be doomed to see them display tliemselves in
full vehemence in secret — consume his health, destroy his
temper, and render him at once an object of dread and
compassion. Again and again she cautioned Jeanie to
display no tokens of recognition, but to receive him as a
perfect stranger — and again and again Jeanie renewed her
promise to comply with her wishes.

Jeanie herself could not fail to bestow an anxious thought
on the awkwardness of the approaching meeting ; but her
conscience was ungalled — and then she was cumbered with
many household cares of an unusual nature, which, joined
to the anxious wish once more to see Butler, after an
absence of unusual length, made her extremely desirous
that the travellers should arrive as soon as possible. And
— why should I disguise the truth ? — ever and amon a
thought stole across her mind that her gala dinner had
now been postponed for two days ; and how few of the
dishes, after every art of her simple cuisine had been
exerted to dress them, could, with any credit or propriety,
appear again upon the third ; and what was she to do
with the rest ! — Upon this last subject she was saved the
trouble of further deliberation, by the sudden appearance
of the Captain at the head of half a dozen stout fellows,
dressed and armed in the Highland fashion.

" Goot-morrow morning to ye, Leddy Staunton, and I
hope I hae the pleasure to see ye weel — And goot-morrow
to you, goot Mrs. Putler — I do peg you will order some

542 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

victuals and ale and prandy for the lads, for we hae peen
out on firth and moor since afore daylight, and a' to no
purpose neither — Cot tam! "

So saying, he sate down, pushed back his brigadier wig,
and wiped his head with an air of easy imj)ortance ; totally
regardless of the look of well-bred astonishment by which
Lady Staunton endeavoured to make him comprehend that
he was assuming too great a liberty.

"It is some comfort, when one has had a sair tussell,"
continued the Captain, addressing Lady Staunton, with an
air of gallantry, "that it is in a fair leddy's service, or in
the service of a gentleman, whilk has a fair leddy, whilk is
the same thing, since serving the husband is serving the
wife, as Mrs. Putler does very weel know."

"Really, sir," said Lady Staunton, "as you seem to
intend this compliment for me, I am at a loss to know
what interest Sir George or I can have in yqur movements
this morning."

j'; "O Cot tam! — this is too cruel, my leddy — as if it was
TlOt py special express from his Grace's honourable agent
and commissioner at Edinburgh, with a warrant conform,
that I was to seek for and apprehend Donacha dhu na
Dunaigh, and pring him pefore myself and Sir George
Staunton, that he may have his deserts, that is to say,
the gallows, whilk he has doubtless deserved, py peing
the means of frightening your leddyship, as weel as for
something of less importance."

"Frightening me?" said her ladyship; "why, I
never wrote to Sir George about my alarm at the
waterfall."

"Then he must have heard ii otherwise; for what else
can give him sic an earnest tesire to see this rapscallion,
that I maun ripe the haill mosses and muirs in the country
for him, as if I were to get something for finding him, when
the pest o't might pe a pall throujgh my prains ?

"Can it be really true, that it is on Sir George's account
that you have been attempting to apprehend this fellow ? "

" Py Cot, it is for no other cause that I know than his
honour's pleasure ; for the creature might hae gone on in
a decent quiet way for me, sae lang as he respectit the
Duke's pounds — put reason goot he suld be taen, and
hangit to poot, if it may pleasure ony honourable shentle-
man that is the Duke's friend— Sae I got the express ovQr
night, and I caused warn half a score of pretty lads, and

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 543

was up in the morning pefore the sun, and I garr'd the lads
take their kilts and short coats."

"I wonder you did that, Captain," said Mrs. Butler,
" when you know the Act of Parliament against wearing
the Highland dress."

" Hout, tout, ne'er fash your thumb, Mrs. Putler. The
law is put twa-three years auld yet, and Is ower young
to hae come our length ; and pesides, how is the lads to
climb the praes wi' thae tamn'd breekens on them? It
makes me sick to see them. Put ony how, I thought I
kend Donacha's haunt gey and weel, and I was at the
place where he had rested yestreen ; for I saw the leaves
the limmers had lain on, and the ashes of them ; by the
same token there was a pit greeshoch purning yet. I am
thinking they got some word out o' the island what was
intended — I sought every glen and cleuch, as if I had been
deer-stalking, but leil a wauff of his coat-tail could I see —
Cot tarn ! "

"He'll be away down the firth to Cowal," said David ;
and Reuben, who had been out early that morning
a-nutting, observed, " That he had seen a boat making for
the Caird's Cove ; ' a place well known to the boys,
though their less adventurous father was ignorant of its
existence.

" Py Cot," said Duncan, "then I will stay here no lorigisr
ihan to trink this very horn of prandy and water, for it
is very possible they will pe in the wood. Donacha's a
clever fellow, and maype thinks it pest to sit next the
chimiey when the lum reeks. He thought naebody would
look for him sae near hand ! I peg your leddyship will
excuse my aprupt departure, as I will return forthwith,
and 1 will either pring you Donacha in life, or else his
head, whilk I dare to say will be as satisfactory. And
1 hope to pass a pleasant evening with your leddyship ;
and I hope to have mine revenges on Mr. Puller at
packgammon, for the four pennies whilk he won, for he
will pe surely at home soon, or else he will have a wet
journey, seeing it is apout to pe a scud."

Thus saying, with many scrapes and bows, and apologies
tbr leaving them, which were very readily received, and
reiterated assurances of his speedy return (of the sincerity
wlioreof Mrs. Duller entertained no doubt, so long as her
best graybeard of brandy w.is upon duty), Duncan left the
Manse, collected his followers, and began to stour ihe close

544 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

and entangled wood which lay between the little glen and
the Caird's Cove. David, who was a favourite with the
Captain, on account of his spirit and courage, took the
opportunity of escaping, to attend the investigations of that
g:reat man.

CHAPTER LII.

I did send for thee,

That Talbot's name mig-ht be in thee revived,
When sapless age, and weak unable limbs,
Should bring thy father to his drooping^ chair.
But — O malig'nant and ill-boding stars I —

First Part of Henry the Sixth.

Duncan and his party had not proceeded very far In the
direction of the Caird's Cove before they heard a shot,
which was quickly followed by one or two others. "Some
tamn'd villains among the roe-deer," said Duncan; "look
sharp out, lads."

The clash of swords was next heard, and Duncan and his
myrmidons, hastening to the spot, found Butler and Sir
George Staunton's servant in the hands of four ruffians.
Sir George himself lay stretched on the ground, with his
drawn sword in his hand. Duncan, who was as brave as
a lion, instantly tired his pistol at the leader of the band,
unsheathed his sword, cried out to his men, Claymore/ and
run his weapon through the body of the fellow whom he
had previously wounded, who was no other than Donacha
dhu na Dunaigh himself. The other banditti were speedily
overpowered, excepting one young lad, who made wonderful
resistance for his years, and was at length secured with
difficulty.

Butler, so soon as he was liberated from the ruffians, ran
to raise Sir George Staunton, but life had wholly left him.

" A creat misfortune," said Duncan ; " I think it will pe
pest that I go forward to Intimate it to the coot leddy. —
Tavie, my dear, you hae smelled pouther for the first time
this day — take my sword and hack off Donacha's head,
whilk will be coot practice for you against the time you
may wish to do the same kindness to a living shentleman —
or hould ! as your father does not approve, you may leave
it alone, as he will pe a greater object of satisfaction to

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 545

Leddy Staunton to see him entire ; and I hope she will do
me the credit to believe that I can afenge a shentlcman's
plood fery speedily and well."

Such was the observation of a man too much accustomed
to the ancient state of manners in the Highlands, to look
upon the issue of such a skirmish as anything worthy of
wonder or emotion.

We will not attempt to describe the very contrary effect
which the unexpected disaster produced upon Lady Staunton,
when the bloody corpse of her husband was brouj^ht to the
house, where she expected to meet him alive and well. All
was forgotten, but that he was the lover of her youth ;
and whatever were his faults to the world, that he had
towards her exhibited only those that arose from the in-
equality of spirits and temper, incident to a situation of
unparalleled difficulty. In the vivacity of her grief she
gave way to all the natural irritability of her temper ; shriek
followed shriek, and suoon succeeded to swoon. It required
all Jeanie's watchful affection to prevent her from making
known, in these paroxysms of affliction, much which it
was of the higliest importance that she should keep secret

At length silence and exhaustion succeeded to frenzy,
and Jeanle stole out to take counsel with her husband,
and to exhort him to anticipate the Captain's interference,
by taking possession, in Lady Staunton's name, of the
private papers of her deceased husband. To the utter
astonishment of Butler, she now, for the first time,
explained the relation betwixt herself and Lady Staunton,
which authorised, nay, demanded, that he should prevent
any stranger from being unnecessarily made acquainted
with her family affairs. It was in such a crisis tliat
Jeanie's active and undaunted habits of virtuous exertion
were most conspicuous. While the Captain's attention
was still engaged by a prolonged refreshment, and a very
tedious examination, in Gaelic and English, of all the
prisoners, and every other witness of the fatal transaction,
she had the body of her brotlier-in-law undressed and
properly disposed. It then appeared, from the crucifix, the
beads, and the shirt of hair which he wore next his person,
that his .sense of guilt had induced him to receive the
dogmata of a religion, which pretends, by the maceration
of the body, to expiate the crimes of the soul. In the packet
of papers, which the express had brought to Sir George
Staunton from Edinburgh, and which Butler, autliorised by

S

S# THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

his connection with the deceased, did not scruple to examine,
he found new and astonishing intelligence, which gave hiui
reason to thank God he had taken that measure.

Ratcliffe, to whom all sorts of misdeeds and misdoers
were familiar, instigated by the promised reward, soon
found himself in a condition to trace the infant of these
unhappy parents. The woman to whom Meg Miirdockson
had sold that most unfortunate child, had made it the
companion of her wanderings and her beggary, until he
was about seven or eight years old, when, as Ratcliffe
learned from a companion of hers, then in the Correction
House of Edinburgh, she sold him in her turn to Donacha
dhu na Dunaigh. This man, to whom no act of mischief
was unknown, was occasionally an agent in a horrible
trade then carried on betwixt Scotland and America, for
supplying the plantations with servants, by means of
kidnapping, as it was termed, both men and women, but
especially children under age. Here Ratcliffe lost sight of
the boy, but had no doubt but Donacha Dhu could give
an account of him. The gentleman of the law, so often
mentioned, despatched therefore an express, with a letter
to Sir George Staunton, and another covering a warrant for
apprehension of Donacha, with instructions to the Captain
of Knockdunder to exert his utmost energy for that purpose.

Possessed of this information, and with a mind agitated
by the most gloomy apprehensions, Butler now joined tlie
Captain, and obtained from him with some difficulty a
sight of the examinations. These, with a few questions
to the elder of the prisoners, soon confirmed the most
dreadful of Butler's anticipations. We give the heads of
the information, without descending into minute details.

Donacha Dhu had indeed purchased ElBe's unhappy
child, with the purpose of selling it to the American traders,
whom he had been in the habit of supplying with human
flesh. But no opportunity occurred for some time ; and the
boy who was known by the name of " The Whistler," made
some impression on the heart and affections even of this
rude savage, perhaps because he saw in him flashes of a
spirit as fierce and vindictive as his own. When Donacha
struck or threatened him — a very common occurrence — he
did not answer with complaints and entreaties like other
children, but with oaths and efforts at revenge — he had all
the wild merit, too, by which W^oggarwolfe's arrow-bearing
page won tlie liard heart of his master :

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 547

Liite a wild cub, rear'd at the ruffian's feet,
He could say biting jests, bold ditties sing,
And quaff his foaming' bumper at the boaid,
With all the mockerj- of a little man.*

In short, as Donacha Dhu said, the Whistler was a bom
imp of Satan, and therefore he should never leave him.
•■Accordingly, from his eleventh 3'ear forward, he was one
of the band, and often engaged in acts of violence. The
last of these was more immediately occasioned by the
researches which the Whistler's real father made after him
whom he had been taught to consider as such. Donacha
Dhu's fears had been for some time excited by the strength
of the means which began now to be employed against
pc-rsons of his description. He was sensible he existed only
by the precarious indulgence of his namesake, Duncan of
Knockdunder, who was used to boast that he could put
him down or string him up when he had a mind. He
resolved to leave the kingdom by means of one of those
sloops which were engaged in the traffic of his old kid-
napping friends, and which was about to sail for America ;
but ne was desirous first to strike a bold stroke.

The ruffian's cupidity was excited by the intelligence,
that a wealthy Englishman was coming to tlie Manse — he
had neither forgotten the Whistler's report of the gold he
had seen in Lady Staunton's purse, nor his old vow of
revenge against the minister ; and, to bring the whole to
a point, he conceived the hope of appropriating the money,
which, according to the general report of the country, the
minister was to bring from Edinburgh to pay for his new
purchase. While he was considering how he might best
accomplish Uis purpose, he received the intelligence from
one quarter, that the vessel in which he proposed to sail
was to sail immediately from Greenock ; from another,
that the minister and a rich English lord, with a great
many thousand pounds, were expected the next evening al
the Manse ; and from a third, that he must consult his
safety by leaving his ordinary haunts as soon as possible,
for that the Captain had ordered out a party to scour the
glens for him at break of day. Donacha laid his plans
with promptitude and decision. He embarked with the
Whistler and two others of his band (whom, by the bye
he meant to sell to tlie kidnappers), and set sail for the
•Ethwald. (S.)

548 THE HEAHT OF MID-LOTHIAN.

Caird's Cove. He intended to lurk till night-fall in thf
wood adjoining to this place, which he thought was too
near the habitation of men to excite the suspicion of Duncan
Knock, then break into Butler's peaceful habitation, and
flesh at once his appetite for plunder and revenge. VV^hen
his villainy was accomplished, his boat was to convey him
to the vessel, which, according to previous agreement with
the master, was instantly to set sail.

This desperate design would probably have succeeded,
but for the ruffians being discovered in their lurking-place
by Sir George Siaunlon and Butler, in their accidental
walk from tlie Caird's Cove towards the Manse. Finding
himself detected, and at the same time observing that the
servant carried a casket, or strong-box, Donacha conceived
that both his prize and his victims were within his power,
and attacked the travellers without hesitation. Shots were
fired and swords drawn on both sides ; Sir George Staunton
offered the bravest resistance, till he fell, as there was too
much reason to believe, by the hand of a son, so lorag
sought, and now at length so unhappily met.

While Butler was half-stunned with this intelligence, the
hoarse voice of Knockdunder added to his consternation.

"I will take the Ilperty to take down the pell-ropes, Mr.
Putler, as I must be takmg order to hang these idle people
up to-morrow morning, to teach them more consideration
in their doings in future."

Butler entreated him to remember the act abolishing the
heritable jurisdictions, and that he ought to send them to
Glasgow or Inverary, to be tried by the Circuit. Duncan
scorned the proposal.

"The Jurisdiction Act," he said, "had nothing to do put
with the rebels, and specially not with Argyle's country ;
and he would hang the men up all three in one row before
coot Leddy Staunton's windows, which would be a creat
comfort to her in the morning to see that the coot gentle-
man, her husband, had been suitably afenged. '

And the utmost length that Butler's most earnest en-
treaties could prevail was, that he would reserve " the twa
pig carles for the Circuit, but as for him they ca'd the
Fustier, he should try how he could fustle in a swinging
tow, for it suldna be said that a shentleman, friend to the
Duke, was killed In his country, and his people didna take
at least twa lives for ane."

Butler entreated him to spare the victim for his soul's

THE HEART OF MlD-LOTHlAN. 549

sake. But Knockdunder answered, " that the soul of such
a scum had been long the tefil's property, and that, Cot
tarn ! he was determined to gif the tefil his due."

All persuasion was in vain, and Duncan issued his man-
date for execution on the succeeding morning. The child
of guilt and misery was separated from his companions,
strongly pinioned, and committed to a separate room, of
which the Captain kept the key.

In the silence of the night, however, Mrs. Butler arose,
resolved, if possible, to avert, at least to delay, the fate
which hung over her nephew, especially if, upon conversing
with him, she should see any hope of his being brought to
better temper. She had a master-key that opened every
lock in the house ; and at midnight, when all was still, she
stood before the eyes of the astonished young savage, as,
hard bound with cords, he lay, like a sheep designed for
slaughter, upon a quantity of the refuse of flax which filled
a corner in the apartment. Amid features sun-burned,
tawny, grimed with dirt, and obscured by his shaggy hair
of a rusted black colour, Jeanie tried in vain to trace the
likeness of either of his verj' handsome parents. Yet how
could she refuse compassion to a creature so young and so
wretched — so much more wretched than even he himself
could be aware of, since the murder he had too probably
committed with his own hand, but in which he had at any
rate participated, was in fact a parricide. She placed food
on a table near him, raised him, and slacked the cords on
his arms, so as to permit him to feed himself. He stretched
out his hands, still smeared with blood, perhaps tliat of his
father, and he ate voraciously and in silence.

" What is your first name ? " said Jeanie, by way of
opening the conversation.

"The Whistler."

" But your Christian name, by wliich you were baptised ? "

" I never was baptised that I know of — I have no other
name than tlie Whistler."

"Poor unhappy abandoned lad!" said Jeanie. "What
would ye do if you could escape from this place, and the
death you are to die to-morrow morning ? "

"Join wi' Rob Roy, or wi' Sergeant More Cameron,"
(noted freebooters at that time), "and revenge Donacha's
death on all and sundr>'."

" Oh, ye unhappy boy," said Jeanie, " do ye ken what will
come o' ye when ye die ? "

550 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

"I shall neither feel cauld nor hunger more," said the
youth dogg-edly.

"To let him be execute in this dreadful state of mind
would be to destroy baith body and soul — and to let him
gang I dare not — what will be done ? — But he is my sister's
son — my own nephew — our flesh and blood — and his hands
and feet are yerked as tight as cords can be drawn. —
Whistler, do the cords hurt you ? "
"Very much."

*' But, if I were to slacken them, you would harm me ? "
" No, I would not — -you never harmed me or mine."
There may be good in him yet, thought Jeanie; I will
try fair play with him.

She cut his bonds — he stood upright, looked round with
a laugh of wild exultation, clapped his hands together, and
sprung from the ground, as if in transport on finding hinir
self at liberty. He looked so wild, that Jeanie trembled at
what she had done.

" Let me out," said the young savage.

" I wunna, unless you promise "

"Then I'll make you glad to let us both out."
He seized the lighted candle and threw it among the
flax, which was instantly in a flame. Jeanie screained, and
ran out of the room ; the prisoner rushed past her, tiirew
open a window in the passage, jumped into the garden,
sprung over its enclosure, bounded through the woods like
a deer, and gained the sea-shore. Meantime, the fire was
extinguished, but the prisoner was sought in vain. As
Jeanie kept her own secret, the share she had in his escape
was not discovered ; but they learned his fate sometime
afterwards — it was as wild as his life had hitherto been.

The anxious inquiries of Butler at length learned, that
the youth had gained the ship in which his master, Donacha,
had designed to embark. But the avaricious shipmaster,
inured by his evil trade to every species of treachery, and
disappointed of the rich booty which Donacha had pro-
posed to bring aboard, secured the person of the fugitive,
and having transported him to America, sold him as a slave,
or indented servant, to a Virginian planter, far up the
country. When these tidings reached Butler, he sent over
to America a sufficient sum to redeem the lad from slavery,
with instructions that measures should be taken for im-
proving his mind, restraining his evil propensities, and
encouraging whatever good might appear in his character.

THE HEART Ox^ MID-LOTHIAN. 551

But this aid came too late. The young- man had headed a
conspiracy in which his inhuman master was put to death,
and had then fled to the next tribe of wild Indians. He
tvas never more heard of; and it may therefore be pre-
sumed that he lived and died after the manner of that
savage people, with whom his previous habits had well
fitted him to associate.

All hopes of the young man's reformation being- now

•ended, Mr. and Mrs. Butler thought it could serv-e no

purpose to explain to Lady Staunton a history so full of

Ihorror. She remained their guest more than a year, during

{the greater part of which period her grief was excessive.

t In the latter months, it assumed the appearance of listless-

\ness and low spirits, which the monotony of her sister's

^uiet establishment afforded no means of dissipating.

mffie, from her earliest youth, was never formed for a quiet,

tk)w content. Far different from her sister, she required the

r'iissipation of society to divert her sorrow, or enhance her

joy. She left the seclusion of Knocktarlitie with tears of

sincere affection, and after heaping its inmates with all she

could think of tiiat might be valuable in their eyes. But

she did leave it ; and, when the anguish of the paiting was

over, her departure was a relief to both sisters.

The family at the Manse of Knocktarlitie, in their own
quiet happiness, heard of the well-dowered and beautiful
Lady Staunton resuming her place in the fashionable world.
They learned it by more substantial proofs, for David
received a coinmission ; and as the military spirit of Bible
Butler seemed to have revived in him, his good behaviour
qualitied the envy of five hundred young Highland cadets,
"come of good houses," who were astonished at the
rapidity of his promotion. Reuben followed the law, and
rose more slowly, yet surely. Euphemia Bu^er, whose
fortune, augmented by her aunt's generosity, and added to
her own beauty, rendered her no small prize, married a
Highland laird, who never asked the name of her grand-
father, and was loaded on tlie occasion with presents from
Lady Staunton, which made her the envy of all the beauties
in Dumbarton and Argyle shires.

After blazing nearly ten years in the fashionable world,
and hiding, like many of her compeers, an aching heart
with a gay demeanour — after declining repeated offers of
the most respectable kind for a second matrimonial en-
gagement, Lady Staui ton betrayed the inward wound by

SSa THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

retiring to the Continent, and taking up her abode in ttie
convent where she had received her education. She nevpr
took the veil, but lived and died in severe seclusion, and in
the practice of the Roman Catholic religion, in all its formal
observances, vigils, and austerities. I

Jeanie had so much of her father's spirit as to sorro\»/
bitterly for this apostasy, and Butler joined in her regret.'.
"Yet any religion, however imperfect," he said, "was
better than cold scepticism, or the hurrying din of disslpgt-
tion, which fills the ears of worldlings, until they care f»r
none of these things," ^^

Meanwhile, happy in each other, in the prosperity olf
their family, and the love and honour of all who knew them],
this simple pair lived beloved, and died lamented. f

Reader — This tale will not be told in vain, if it shall bfe
found to illustrate the great truth, that guilt, though it ma,^y
attain temporal splendour, can never confer real happiness^; ;
that the evil consequences of our crimes long survive thei^*-
commission, and, like the ghosts of the murdered, for evei^
haunt the steps of the malefactor ; and that the paths of\
virtue, though seldom those of worldly greatness, are V
always those of pleasantness and peace. ^

V Envoy, hy Jedediah Cleishbotham.

Thus concludeth the Tale of "The Heart of Mid-
Lothian," which hath filled more pages than I opined.
The Heart of Mid-Lothian is now no more, or rather it is
transferred to the extreme side of the city, even as the
Sieur Jean Baptiste Poquelin hath it, in his pleasant comedy
called Le, Medecin Malgre Iiii, where the simulated doctor
wittily replieth to a charge, that he had placed the heart on
the right side, instead of the left, " Cela ctait autrefois ainsi,
mats nous avons chang^ tout cela." Of which witty speech,
if any reader shall demand the purport, I have only to
respond, that I teach the French as well as the Classical
tongues, at the easy rate of five shillings per quarter, as my
advertisements are periodically making known to the public.

NOTES

TO

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

Note i.— Family of Scott.

It is an old proverb, that " many a true word is spoken in
jest." The existence of Walter Scott, third son of Sir William
Scott of Harden, is instructed, as it is called, by a charter
under the great seal, Domino Willielmo Scott de Harden
JVIiliti, et^Waltero Scott suo filio legitimo tertio genito, terrarum
de Roberton.* The munificent old gentleman left all his four sons
c:onsiderable estates, and settled those of Eilrig and Raeburn,
together with valuable possessions around Lessudden, upon
Walter, his third son, who is ancestor of the Scotts of Raeburn,
^nd of the author of Waverley. He appears to have become
a. convert to the doctrine of the Quakers, or Friends, and
a ^eat asscrtor of their peculiar tenets. This was probably
at the time when George Fox, the celebrated apostle of the
sect, made an expedition into the south of Scotland about 1657,
on which occasion he boasts, that "as he firsd set his horses
feet upon Scottish ground, he felt the seed of grace to sparkle
about him like innumerable sparks of fire." Upon the same
occasion, probably, Sir Gideon Scott of Highchester, second son
of Sir William, immediate elder brother of Walter, and ancestor
of the author's friend and kinsman, the present representative of
the family of Harden, also embraced the tenets of Quakerism.
This last convert, Gideon, entered into a controversy with the
Rev. James Kirkton, author of the Secret and True History of
the Church of Scotland, which is noticed by my ingenious friend
Mr. Charles Kirkpatrick Sharp, in his valuable and curious
edition of that work, 4to, 1817. Sir William Scott, eldest of
the brothers, remained, amid the defection of his two younger
brethren, an orthodox member of the Presbyterian Church, and
used such means for reclaiming Walter of Raeburn from his
heresy, as savoured far more of persecution than persuasion.
In this he was assisted by MacDougal of Makerston, brother to
Isabella MacDougal, the wife of the said Walter, and who, like
her husband, had conformed to the Quaker tenets.

The interest possessed by Sir William Scott and Makerston
was powerful enough to procure the two following acts of the
Privy Council of Scotland, directed against Walter of Raeburn
* See Douglas's Baronag:e, page si j (S.)

553

SS4 NOTES TO

as an heretic and convert to Quakerism, appointing him to be
imprisoned first in Edinburghj ail, and then in that of Jedburgl^ ;
and his children to be taken by force from the society and
direction of their parents, and educated at a distance from
them, besides the assignment of a sum for their maintenanc(|,'
sufficient in those times to be burdensome to a moderate Scottish
estate.

"Apud Edin. vigesimo Junii 1665.

" The Lords of his Majesty's Privy Council having receaved
Information that Scott of Raeburn, and Isobel Mackdougall, hi^
wife, being infected with the error of Quakerism, doe endeavour
to braid and traine up William, Walter, and Isobel Scotts, their
children, in the same profession, doe therefore give order anc^
command to Sir William Scott of Harden, the said Raeburn '|s
brother to seperat and lake away the saids children from the
custody and society of the saids parents, and to cause educalt
and bring them up in his owne house, or any other convenienit
place, and ordaines letters to be direct at the said Sir
William's instance against Raeburn for a maintenance to thb
saids childi-en, and that the said Sir Wm. give ane account otf
his diligence with all convenlency."

" Edinburgti, sth July 1666.

" Anent a petition presented be Sir Wm. Scott of Harden, for
himself and in name and behalf of the three children of Walter
Scott of Raeburn, his brother, showing that the Lords of Council!
by ane act of the 22d day of Junii 1665, did grant power and
warrand to the petitioner, to separat and take away Raeburn's
children, from his family and education, and to breed them
in some convenient place, where they might be free from all
infection in their younger years, from the principalis of Quaker-
ism, and, for maintenance of the saids children, did ordain
letters to be direct against Raeburn ; and, seeing the Petitioner,
in obedience to the said order, did take away the saids children,
being two sonnes and a daughter, and after some paines taken
upon them in his owne family, hes sent them to the city of
Glasgow, to be bread at schooles, and there to be principled
with the knowledge of the true religion, and that it is necessary
the Councill determine what shall be the maintenance for which
Raeburn's three children may be charged, as likewise that
Raeburn himself, being now in the Tolbooth of Edinburgh, where
he dayley converses with all the Quakers who are prisoners
there, and others who daily resort to them, whereby he is
hardened in his pcrnitious opinions and principles, without all
hope of recovery, unlesse he be separat from such pernltioua

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 555

company, humble therefore, desyring' that the Councell might
determine upon the soume of money to be payed be Raeburn,
for the education of his children, to the petitioner, who will be
countable therefor ; and that, in order to his conversion, the
place of his imprisonment may be changed. The Lords of his
Maj. Privy Councell having at length heard and considered the
/bresaid petition, doe modifie the soume of two thousand pounds
Scots, to be payed yearly at the terme of Whitsunday be the
said Walter Scott of Raeburn, furth of his estate to the peti-
tioner, for the entertainment and education of the said children,
beginning the first termes payment therof at Whitsunday last
for the half year preceding, and so furth yearly, at the said
terme of Whitsunday in tym comeing till furder orders ; and
ordaines the said Walter Scott. of Raeburn to be transported
from the tolbooth of Edinburgh to the prison of Jedburgh, where
his friends and others may have occasion to convert him. And
to the effect he may be secured from the practice of other
Quakers^ the said Lords doe hereby discharge the magistrates
of Jfdhurgh to suffer any persons suspect of these principles to
have access to him ; and -in case any contraveen, that they
secure ther persons till they be therfore "puneist ; and ordaines
letters to be direct beir-upon in form, as effeirs."

Both the sons, thus harshly separated from their father,
proved good scholars. The eldest, William, who carried on
the line of Raeburn, was, like his father, a deep Orientalist ;
the younger, Walter, became a good classical scholar, a great
iriend and correspondent of the celebrated Dr. Pitcairn, and a
Jacobite so distinguished for zeal, that he made a vow never to
shave his beard till the restoration of the exiled family. This
last Walter Scott was the author's great-grandfather.

There is yet another link betwixt the author and the simple-
minded and excellent Society of Friends, through a proselyte of
much more importance than Walter Scott of Raeburn. The
celebrated John Swinton of Swinton, nineteenth baron in descent
of that ancient and once powerful family, was, with Sir William
Lockhart of Lee, the person whom Cromwell chiefly trusted in
the management of the Scottish affairs during his usurpation.
After the Restoration, Swinton was devoted as a victim to the
new order of things, and was brought down in the same vessel
which conveyed the Marquis of Argyle to Edinburgh, where
that nobleman was tried and executed. Swinton was destined
to the same fate. He had assumed the habit, and entered into
the Society of the Quakers, and appeared as one of their
number before the Parliament of Scotland. He renounced all
legal defence, though several pleas were open to him, and
answered, in conformity to the principles of his sect, that at

556 NOTES TO

the time these crimes were imputed to him, he wais in the gall
of bitterness and bond of iniquity ; but that God Almighty
having since called him to the light, he saw and acknowledged
these errors, and did not refuse to pay the forfeit of them, even
though, in the judgment of the Parliament, it should extend to
life itself.

Respect to fallen greatness, and to the patience and calm
resignation with which a man once in high power expressed
himself under such a change of fortune, found Swinton friends ;
family connections, and some interested considerations of Middle-
ton the Commissioner, joined to procure his safety, and he was
dismissed, but after a long imprisonment, and much dilapidation
of his estates. It is said, that Swinton's admonitions, while
confined in the Castle of Edinburgh, had a considerable share
in converting to the tenets of the Friends Colonel David Barclay,
then lying there in garrison. This was the father of Robert
Barclay, author of the celebrated Apology for the Quakers. It
may be observed among the inconsistencies of human nature,
that Kirkton, Wodrow, and other Presbyterian authors, who
have detailed the sufferings of their own sect for non-conformity
with the established church, censure the government of the time
for not exerting the civil power against the peaceful enthusiasts
we have treated of, and some express particular chagrin at the
escape of Swinton. Whatever might be his motives for assuming
the tenets of the Friends, the old man retained them faithfully
till the close of his life.

Jean Swinton, grand-daughter of Sir John Swinton, son of
Judge Swinton, as the Quaker was usually termed, was mother
of Anne Rutherford, the author's mother.

And thus, as in the play of the Anti-Jacobin, the ghost ol the
author's grandmother having arisen to speak the Epilogue, it is
full time to conclude, lest tlie reader should remonstrate that his
desire to know the author of Waverley never included a wish to
be acquainted with his whole ancestry.

Note 2.— TOLBOOTH OF EDINBURGH.

The ancient Tolbooth of Edinburgh, situated and described
as in the last chapter, was built by the citizens in 1561, and
destined for the accomodation of Parliament, as well as of the
High Courts of Justice; and at the same time for the confine-
ment of prisoners for debt, or on criminal charges. Since the
year 1640, when the present Parliament House was erected, the
Tolbooth was occupied as a prison only. Gloomy and dismal as
it was, the situation in the centre of the High Street rendered
it so particularly well-aired, that when the plague laid waste the
city in 1645, '^ effected none within these melancholy precincts.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 557

The Tolbooth was removed, with the mass of buildings in
which it was incorporated, in the autumn of the year 1817.
At that time the kindness of his old schoolfellow and friend,
P^obert Johnstone, Esquire, then Dean of Guild of the city,
with the liberal acquies<;ence of the persons who had contracted
for the work, procured for the author of Waverley the stones
which composed the gateway, together with the door, and its
ponderous fastenings, which he employed in decorating the
entrance of his kitchen-court at Abbotsford. " To such base
offices may we return." The application of these relics of the
Heart of Mid-Lothian to serve as the postern gate to a court
of modern offices, may be justly ridiculed as whimsical ; but yet
it is not without interest, that we see the gateway through
which so much of the stormy politics of a. rude age, and the vice
and misery of later times, had found their passage, now occupied
in the service of rural economy. Last year, to complete the
<:hange, a tom-tit was pleased to build her nest within the
lock of the Tolbooth, — a strong temptation to have committed
a sonnet, had the author, like Tony Lumpkin, been in a con-
catenation accordingly.

It is worth mentioning, that an act of beneficence celebrated
the demolition of the Heart of Mid-Lothian. A subscription,
raised and applied by the worthy Magistrate above-mentioned,
procured the manumission of most of the unfortunate debtors
confined in the old jail, so that there were few or none trans-
ferred to> the new place of confinemenL

Note 3. — Memorial concerning the Murder of Captain

PORTEOUS.

The following interesting and authentic account of the in-
quiries made by Crown Counsel into the affair of the Porteous
rilob, seems to have been drawn up by the Solicitor-General.
The office was held in 1737 by Charles Erskine, Esq.

I owe this curious illustration to the kindness of a professional
friend. It throws, indeed, little light on the origin of the
tumult ; but shows how profound the darkness must have been,
which so much investigation could not disprl.

" Upon tlie 7th of September last, when the unhappy wicked
murder of Capiain Porteus was committed. His Majesty's
Advocate and Solicitor were out of town ; the first beyond
Inverness, and the other in Annandalc, not far from Carlyle ;
neither of them knew anything of the reprieve, nor did they
in the least suspect that any disorder was to happen.

" When the disorder happened, the magistrates and other

Cersons concerned in the management of the town, seemed to
e all struck of a heap ; and whether from th^ Rreat terror that

558 NOTES TO

had seized all the inhabitants, they thought ane immediat.e
enquiry would be fruitless, or whether being- a direct insult upoiti
the prerogative of the crown, they did not care rashly to inter-
meddle ; but no proceedings was had by them. Only, soon;
after, ane express was sent to his Majestie's Solicitor, who came
to town as soon as was possible for him ; but, in the meantime,
the persons who had been most guilty, had either run off, or, at '
least, kept themselves upon the wing- until they should see what
steps were taken by the Government.

" When the Solicitor arrived, he perceived the whole inhabi-
tants under a consternation. He had no materials furnished
him ; naj', the inhabitants were so much afraid of being reputed
informers, that very few people had so much as the courage to
speak with him on the streets. However, having received her
Majestie's orders, by a letter from the Duke of Newcastle, he
resolved to sett about the matter in earnest, and entered upon
ane enquiry, gropeing in the dark. He had no assistance from
the magistrates worth mentioning, but called witness after
witness in the privatest manner, before himself in his own
house, and for six weeks time, from morning to evening, went
on in the enquiry without taking the least diversion, or turning
his thoughts to any other business.

" He tried at first what he could do by declarations, by
engaging secresy, so that those who told the truth should never
be discovered ; made use of no clerk, but wrote all the declara-
tions with his own hand, to encourage them to speak out.
After all, for some time, he could get nothing but ends of stories
which, when pursued, broke off ; and those who appeared and
knew anything of the matter, were under the utmost terror, lest it
should take air that they had mentioned any one man as guilty.
" During the course of the enquiry, the run of the town,
which was strong for the villanous actors, begun to alter a little,
and when they saw the King's servants in earnest to do their
best, the generality, who before had spoke very warmly in
defence of the wickedness, begvm to be silent, and at that period
more of the criminals began to abscond.

"At length the enquiry began to open a little, and the
SoUicitor was under some difficulty how to proceed. He very
well saw that the first warrand that was issued out would start
the whole gang ; and as he had not come at any one of the most
notorious offenders, he was unwilling, upon the slight evidence
he had, to begin. However, upon notice given him by Generall
Moyle, that one King, a butcher in the Canongate, had boasted,
in presence of Bridget Knell, a soldier's wife, the morning after
Captain Porleus was hanged, that he had a very active hand in
the mob, a warrand was issued out, and King was apprehended
and imprisoned in the Canongate Tolbooth.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 559

•• This obliged the Sollicitor immediately to proceed to take up
those against whom he had any information. By a signed
declara'ion, WHliam Stirling, apprentice to James Stirling,
merchar.t in Edinburgh, was charged as haveing been at the
Nether-Bow, after the gates were shutt, with a Lochaber ax,
or halbert in his hand, and haveing begun a huzza, marched
upon the aead of the mob towards the Guard.

"James Braidwood, son to a candlemaker in town, was, by a
signed declaration, charged as haveing been at the Tolbooth
door, giveing directions to the mob about setting fire to the
door, and that the mob named bim by his name, and asked
his advice.

"By another declaration, one Stoddart, a journeyman smith,
was charged of haveing boasted publickly, in a smith's shop at
Leith, that he had assisted in breaking open the Tolbooth door.

" Peter Traill, a journeyman wrlght, by one of the declarations,
was also accused of haveing lockt the Nether-bow Port, when
it was shatt by the mob.

" His Majestie'a Sollicitor having these informations, imployed
privately such persons as he could best rely on, and the truth
was, there were very few in whom he could repose confidence.
But he was, indeed, faithfully served by one Webster, a soldier
in the Welsh fuzileers, recommended him by Lieutenant Alshton,
who, with very great address, informed himself, and really run
some risque in getting his information, concerning the places
where the persons informed against used to haunt, and how they
might be seized. In consequence of which, a party of the Guard
from the Conongate was agreed on to march up at a certain
hour, when a message should be sent. The Sollicitor wrote a
letter and gave it to one of the town ofHcers, ordered to attend
Captain Maitland, one of the town Captains, promoted to that
command since the unhappy accident, who, indeed, was ex-
tremely diligent and active throughout the whole ; and haveing
got Stirling and Braidwood apprehended, despatched the officer
with the letter to the military in the Canongate, who immedi-
ately begun their march, and by the time the Sollicitor had half
examined the said two persons in the Burrow-room, where the
magistrates were present, a party of fifty men, drums beating,
marched into the Parliament close, and drew up, which was the
first thing that struck a terror, and from that time forward, the
insolence was succeeded by fear.

" Stirling and Braidwood were immediately sent to the Castle,
and imprisoned. That same night, Stoddart the smith was
seized, and he was committed to the Castle also ; as was like-
wise Traill, the journeyman wright, who were all severally
examined, and dcnycd the least accession.

" In the meantime, the enquiry was goings on, and it haveing

S6o NOTES TO

cast up in one of the declarations, that a hump'd-backed creature
marched with a gfun as one of the guards to Porteus when h^e
went up to the Lawn Markett, the person who emitted thi|s
declaration, was employed to walk the streets to see if he could
find him out ; at last he came to the Sollicitor and told him h&
had found him, and that he was in a certain house. Whereuponl
a warrand was issued out ag'ainst him, and he was ap[}rehended
and sent to the Castle, and he proved to be ane Birnis, a helper
to the Countess of Weemys's coachman.

"Thereafter, ane information was gfiven in agaiast William
M'Lauchlan, ffootman to the said Countess, he haveing' been very
active in the mob ; fFor sometime he kept himself out of the way,
but at last he was apprehended and likewise committed to the
Castle.

'* And these were all the prisoners who were putt under
confinement in that place.

"There were other persons imprisoned in the Tolbooth of;
Edinburgh, and severalls against whom warrands were issued, 1
but could not be apprehended, whose names and cases shall
afterwards be more particularly taken notice of.

" The ffriends of Stirling made an application to the Earl of
Islay, Lord Justice-Generall, setting furth, that he was seized
with a bloody fflux ; that his life was in danger ; and that upon
ane examination of witnesses whose names were given in, it
would appear to conviction, that he had not the least access to
any of the riotous proceedings of that wicked mob.

"This petition was by his Lordship putt in the hands of his
Majestie's Sollicitor, who examined the witnesses ; and by their
testimonies it appeared, that the young man, who was not above
eighteen years of age, was that night in company with about
half a dozen companions, in a public house in Stephen Law's
doss, near the back of the Guard, where they all remained untill
the noise came to the house, that the mob had shut the gates and
seized the Guard, upon which the company broke up, and he,
and one of his companions, went towards his master's house ;
and, in the course of the after examination, there was a witness
who declared, nay, indeed swore, (for the Sollicitor, by tliis time,
saw it necessary to put those he examined upon oath), that he
met him [Stirling] after he entered into the alley where his
master lives, going towards his house ; and another witness,
fellow-prentice with Stirling, declares, that after the mob had
seized the Guard, he went home, where he found Stirling before
him ; and that his master lockt the door, and kept them both at
home till after twelve at night : upon weighing of which testi-
monies, and upon consideration had, That he was charged by
the declaration only of one person, who really did not appear to
be a witness of the greatest vreight, and that his life was in

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 561

dariper from the imprisonment, he was admilted to baill by the
Lord justice-Generall, by whose warrand he was committed.

" Braidwood's friends applyed in the same manner ; but as he
stood coarged by more than one witness, he was not released —
t!io', inceed, the witnesses adduced for him say somewhat in his
:-■■: ■•'--•■on — that he does not seem to have been upon any
:oncert ; and one of the witnesses says he was along
1 at the Toibooth door, and refuses what is said ag:ainst
liim, with regard to his having advised the burning of the
Toibooth door. But he remains still in prison.

" As to Traill, the journeyman wright, he is charged by the
same witness who declared against Stirling, and there is none
concurrs with him ; and, to say the truth concerning him, he
seemed to be the most ingenuous of any of them whom the
Sollicitor examined, and pointed out a witness by whom one of
the first accomplices was discovered, and who escaped when the
warrand was to be putt in execution against them. He posi-
tively denys his having shutt the gate, and 'tis thought Trail
ought to be admitted to bailL

"As to Bimie, he is charged only by one witness, who had
never seen him before, nor knew his name ; so, tho' I dare say
the witness honestly mentioned him, 'tis possible he may be mis-
taken ; and in the examination of above 200 witnesses, there is
no body concurrs with him, and he is ane insignificant little
creature.

" With regard to M'Lauchlan, the proof is strong against bim
by one witness, that he acted as a Serjeant or sort of com-
mander, for some time, of a Guard, that stood cross between
the upper end of the Luckenbooths and the north side of the
street, to stop all but friends from going towards the Toibooth ;
and by other witnesses, that he was at the Toibooth door with a
link in his hand, while the operation of beating and burning
it was going on ; that he went along with the mob with a
halbert in his hand, untill he came to the gallows stone in the
Grassmarket, and that he stuck the halbert into the hole of the
gallows stone : that afterwards he went in amongst the mob
when Captain Porteus was carried to the dyer's tree ; so that
the proof seems very heavy against him.

"To sum up this matter with regard to the prisoners in the
Castle, 'tis believed there is strong proof against M'Lauchlan ;
there is also proof against Braidwood. But, as it consists only
in emission of words said to have been had by him while at the
Toibooth door, and that he is ane insignificant pitifull creature,
and will find people to swear heartily in his favours, 'tis at best
doubtfull whether a jury will be got to condemn him.

" As to those in the Toibooth of Edinburgh, John Crawford,
who had for some time been employed to ring the bells in the

St>3 NO'lES TO

steeple of the New Church of Edinburgh, being in company witH
a soldier accidentally, the discourse falling in concerning- Cap-
tain Porteus and his murder, as he appears to be a light-^ieadcd
fellow, he said, that he knew people that were more guiily than
any that were putt in prison. Upon this information, Crawford
was seized, and being examined, it appeared, that when the
mob begun, as he was comcing down from the steeple, the mob
took the keys from him ; that he was that night in several
corners, and did indeed delate severall persons whom he saw
there, and immediately warrands were despatched, and it was
found they had absconded and fled. But there was no evidence
against him of any kind. Nay, on the contrary, il appeared,
that he had been with the Magistrates in Clerk's, the vintner's,
relating to them what he had seen in the streets. Therefore,
after haveing detained him in prison ffor a very considerable
time, bis Majestie's Advocate and Sollicitor signed a warrand
for his liberation.

" There was also one James Wilson incarcerated in the said
Tolbooth, upon the declaration of one witness, who said he saw
him on the streets with a gun ; and there he remained for some
time, in order to try if a concurring witness could be found, or
that he acted any part in the tragedy and wickedness. But
nothing farther appeared against him ; and being seized with a
severe sickness, he is, by a warrand signed by his Majestie's
Advocate and Sollicitor, liberated upon giveing sufficient
bail!.'

"As to King, enquiry was made, and the flFact comes out
beyond all exception, that he was in the lodge at the Nether-
Bow with Lindsay the waiter, and several other people, not at
ail concerned in the mob. But after the affair was over, he
went up towards the guard, and having met witli Sandie the
Turk and his wife, who escaped out of prison, they returned to
his house at the Abbey, and then 'tis very possible he may havt
thought fitt in his beer to boast of villany, in which he could not
possibly have any share for that reason ; he was desired to find
baill and he should be set at liberty. But he is a stranger and
a fellow of very indifFerent character, and 'tis believed it won't be
easy for him to find baill. Wherefore, it's thought he must be
sett at liberty without it. Because he is a burden upon the
Government while kept in confinement, not being able to
maintain himself.

"What is above is all that relates to persons in custody. But
there are warrands out against a great many other persons who
had fled, particularly against one William White, a journeyman
baxter, who, by the evidence, appears to have been at the
beginning of the mob, and to have gone along with the drum
from the West-Port to the Nether-Bow, and is said to have been

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 563

one of those who attacked the guard, and piovablj was as deep
as any one there.

"Information was given that he was lurking at Falkirk,
where he was born. Whereupon directions were sent to the
Sheriif of the County, and a warrand from his Excellency
General! Wade, to the commanding officers at Stirling and
Linlithgow, to assist, and all possible endeavours were used to
catch hold of him, and 'tis said he escaped very narrowly, having
been concealed in some outhouse ; and the misfortune was, that
those who were employed in the search did not know him
personally. Nor, indeed, was it easy to trust any of the
acquaintances of so low obscure a fellow with the secret of the
warrand to be putt in execution.

'* There was also strong evidence found against Robert
Taylor, servant to Wiiliam and Charles Thomsons, periwig-
makers, that he acted as ane officer among the mob, and he
was traced from the guard to the well at the head of Forrester's
Wynd, wliere he stood and had the appellation of Captain from
the mob, and from that walking down the Bow before Captain
Porteus, with his Lochaber-axe ; and, by the description given
of one who hawl'd the rope by which Captain Porteus was
pulled up, 'tis believed Taylor was the person ; and 'tis farther
probable, that the witness who delated Stirling had mistaken
Taylor for him, their stature and age (so far as can be
gathered from the description) being the same.

"A great deal of pains were taken, and no charge was saved,
in order to have catched hold of this Taylor, and warrands were
sent to the country where he was born ; but it appears he had
sliipt himself off for Holland, wiiere it is said he now is.

" There is strong evidence also against Thomas Bums,
butcher, that he was ane active person from the beginning of
the mob to the end of it. He lurkt for some time amongst those
of his trade ; and artfully enough a train was laid to catch him,
under pretence of a message that had come from his father in
Ireland, so that he came to a blind alehouse in the Flesh-market
closs, and, a party being ready, was by Webster the soldier, who
was upon this exploit, advertised to come down. However,
Burns escaped out at a back window, and hid himself in some
of the houses which are heaped together upon one another in
that place, so that is was not possible to catch him. 'Tis now
said he is gone to Ireland to his father, who lives there.

"There is evidence also against one Robert Anderson,
journeyman and servant to Colin Alison, wright ; and against
Thomas Linnen and James Maxwell, both servants also to the
said Colin Alison, who all seem to have been deeply concerned
in the matter. Anderson is one of those who putt the rope upon
Captain Porteus's neck. Linnen seems also to have been very

5% NOTES TO

active } and Maxwell (which is pretty reinarkable) Is proven to
have come to a shop upon the Friday before, and chargfed the
journeyman and prentices there to attend in the Parliament close
on Tuesday night, to assist to hang Captain Porteus. These
three did early abscond, and, though warrands had been issued
out against them, and all endeavours used to apprehend them,
could not be found.

" One Waldie, a servant to George Campbell, wright, has also
absconded, and many others, and 'tis informed that numbers of
them have shipt themselves off ffor the Plantations ; and upon an
information that a ship was going off from Glasgow, in which
severall of the rogues were to transport themselves beyond seas,
proper warrands were obtained, and persons despatched to
search the said ship, and seize any that can be found.

'* The like warrands had been issued with regard to ships
from Leith. But whetlier they had been scard, or whether the
information had been groundless, they had no effect.

" This is a summary of the enquiry, ffrom which it appears
there is no prooff on which one can rely, but against M'Lauchlan.
There is a prooff also against Braidwood, but more exception-
able. His Majestie's Advocate, since he came to town, has
join'd with the Sollicitor, and has done his utmost to gett at
the bottom of this matter, but hitherto it stands as* is above
represented. They are resolved to have their eyes and their
ears open, and to do wliat they can. But they laboured ex-
ceedingly against the stream ; and it may truly be said, that
nothing was wanting on their part. Nor have they declined
any labour to answer the commands laid upon them to search
the matter to the bottom."

Thb Porteous Moa

In the preceding chapters the circumstances of that extra-
ordinary riot and conspiracy, called the Porteous Mob, are given
with as much accuracy as the author was able to collect them.
The order, regularity, and determined resolution with which
such a violent action was devised and executed, were only
equalled by the secrecy which was observed concerning the
principal actors.

Although the fact was performed by torch -light, and in
presence of a great multitude, to some of whom, at least, the
individual actors must have been known, yet no discovery was
ever made concerning any of the perpetrators of the slaughter.

Two men only were brought to trial for an offence which the
Government were so anxious to detect and punish. William
M'Lauchlan, footman to the Countess of Wemyss, who is
mentioned in the report o^ the SoHcitor>General, against whom

THE HE.\RT OF MID-LOTHIAN. 565

•trong evidence had been obtained, was brought to trial in
March 1737, charg^ed as having been accessory to the riot,
ctrmed with a Lochaber-axe. But this man (who was at all
times a silly creature) proved, that he was in a state of mortal
intoxication during the time he was present with the rabble,
incapable of giving them either advice or assistance, or, indeed,
of knowing what he or they were doing. He was also able to
prove, that he was forced into the riot, and upheld while there
by two bakers, who put a Lochaber-axe into his hand. The
jur)-, wisely judging this poor creature could be no proper
subject of punishment, found the panel Not Guilty. The same
verdict was given in the case of Thomas Linning, also mentioned
in the Solicitor's memorial, who was tried in 1738. In short,
neither then, nor for a long period afterwards, was any-
thing discovered relating to the organisation of the Porteous
Plot.

The imagination of the people of Edinburgh was long irritated,
and their curiosity kept awake, by the mystery attending this
extraordinary conspiracy. It was generally reported of such
•natives of Edinburgh as, having left the city in youth, returned
with a fortune amassed in foreign countries, that they had
originally fled on account of their share in the Porteous Mob.
But little credit can be attached to these surmises, as in most of
the cases they are contradicted by dates, and in none supported
by anything but vague rumours, grounded on the ordinarj- wish
of the Tulgar, to impute the success of prosperous men to some
unpleasant source. The secret history of the Porteous Mob has
been till this day unravelled ; and it has always been quoted as
a close, daring, and calculated act of violence, of a nature
peculiarly characteristic of the Scottish people.

Nevertheless, the author, for a considerable time, nourished
hopes to have found himself enabled to throw some light on this
mysterious story. An old man, who died about twenty years
ago, at the advanced age of ninety-three, was said to have made
a communication to the clergyman who attended upon his death-
bed, respecting the origin of the Porteous Mob. This person
followed the trade of a carpenter, and had been employed as
snch on the estate of a family of opulence and condition. His
character in his line of life and amongst his neighbours was
excellent, and never underwent the slightest suspicion. His
confession was said to have been to the following purpose :
That he was one of twelve young men belonging to the village of
Pathhead, whose animosity against Porteous, on account of the
execution of Wilson, was so extreme, that they resolved to
execute vengeance on him with their own hands, rather than he
should escape punishment. With this resolution they crossed
the Forth at different ferries, and rendezvoused at the suburb

S66 NOTES TO

called Portsbiirgh, where their appearance in a body soon
called numbers around them. The public mind was in such a
state of irritation, that it only wanted a sing-le spark to create
an explosion ; and this was afforded by the exertions of the
small and determined band of associates. The appearance of
premeditation and order which distinguished the riot, according"
to his account, had its origin, not in any previous plan or con-
spiracy, but in the character of those who were engaged in it.
1 he story also serves to show why nothing of the origin of
the riot has ever been discovered, since, though in itself a great
conflagration, its source, according to this account, was from an
obscure and apparently inadequate cause.

I have been disappointed, however, in obtaining the evidence
on which this story rests. The present proprietor of the estate
on which the old man died (a particular friend of the author),
undertook to question the son of the deceased on the subject.
This person follows his father's trade, and holds the employment
of carpenter to the same family. He admits that his father's
going abroad at the time of the Porteous Mob was popularly
attributed to his having been concerned in that affair ; but addsj
that, so far as is known to him, the old man had never made
any confession to that effect ; and, on the contrary, had
uniformly denied being present. My kind friend, therefore,
had recourse to a person from whocn he had formerly heard the
story 5 but who, either from respect to an old friend's memory,
or from failure of his own, happened to have forgotten that ever
such a communication was made. So my obliging corre-
spondent (who is a fox-hunter) wrote to me that he was
completely planted ; and all that can be said with respect
to the tradition is, that it certainly once existed, and was
generally believed.

Note 4.— Carspharn John.

John Semple, called Carspharn John, because minister of the
parish in Galloway so called, vVas a Presbyterian clergyman of
singular piety and great zeal, of whom Patrick Walker records
the following passage : " That night after his wife died, he spent
the whole ensuing night in prayer and meditation in his garden.
The next morning, one of his elders coming to see him, and
lamenting his great loss and want of rest, he replied, — ' I declare
I have not, all night, had one thought of the death of my wife,
I have been so taken up in meditating on heavenly things. I
have been this night on the banks of Ulai, plucking an apple
here and there.'" — Walkers Remarkable Passages of the Life
and Death of Mr. John Scuffle,

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 567

Note 5.— Peter Walker.

This personage, whom it would be base ingratitude in the
Author to pass over without some notice, was by far the most
zealous and faithful collector and recorder of the actions and
opinions of the Cameronians. He resided, while stationary,
at the Bristo Port of Edinburgh, but was by trade an itinerant
merchant or pedlar, which profession he seems to have exercised
in Ireland as well as Britain. He composed biographical notices
of Alexander Peden, John Semple, John \Velwood,-and Richard
Cameron, all ministers of the Cameronian persuasion, to which
the last mentioned member gave the name.

It is from such tracts as these, written in the sense, feeling,
and spirit of the sect, and not from the sophisticated narratives
of a later period, tliat the real character of the persecuted class
is to be gathered. Walker writes with a simplicity which some-
times slides into the burlesque, and sometimes attains a tone of
simple pat'.ios, but always expressing the most daring confidence
in his own correctness of creed and sentiments, sometimes with
narrow - minded and disgusting bigotry. His turn for the
marvellous was that of his time and sect ; but there is little
room to doubt his veracity concerning whatever he quotes on
bis own knowledge. His small tracts now bring a very high
price, especially the earlier and authentic editions.

The tirade against dancing, pronounced by David Deans, is,
ait fctimated in the text, partly borrowed from Peter Walker.
H* notices, as a foul reproach upon the name of Richard
(Z&ineron, that his memory was vituperated " by pipers and
fiddlers playing the Cameronian march — carnal vain springs,
which loo many professors of religion dance to ; a practice
unbecoming the professors of Christianity to dance to any
spring, but somewhat more to this. Whatever," he proceeds,
"be the many foul blots recorded of the saints in Scripture,
none of them is charged with this regular fit of distraction.
We find il has been practised by the wicked and profane, as
the dancing at that brutish, base action of the calf-making;
and it had been good for that unhappy lass, who danced off
the head of John the Baptist, that she had been born a cripple,
and never drawn a limb to her. Historians say, that her
sin was written upon her judgment, who sometime thereafter
was dancing upon the ice, and it broke, and snapt the head
off her ; her head danced above, and her feet beneath. There
is ground to think and conclude, that when the world's
wickedness was great, dancing at their marriages was
practised ; but when the heavens above, and the earth beneath,
were let loose upon them with that overflowing flood, their
mirth was soon staid ; and when the Lord in holy justice

558 NOTES TO

rained fire and brimstone from heaven upon that wicked
people and city Sodom, enjoying fulness of bread and idleness^
their fiddle-strings and hands went all in a flame ; and the
whole people in thirty miles of length, and ten of breadth, asl
historians say, were all made to fry in their skins ; and at ',
the end, whoever are giving in marriages and dancing when
all will go in a flame, they will quickly change their note." — Life
and Death of three Famous Worthies, etc., by Peter Walker,
l2mo, p. 59.

It may be here observed, that some of the milder class of
Cameronians made a distinction between the two sexes dancing
separately, and allowed of it as a healthy and not unlawful
exercise ; but when men and women mingled in sport, it was
then called prorniscuous dancing, and considered as a scandalous
enormity.

Note 6. — Muschat's Cairn.

Nichol Muschat, a debauched and profligate wretch, having
conceived a hatred against his wife, entered into a conspiracy
with another brutai libertine and gambler, named Campbell
of Burnbarik (repeatedly mentioned in Pennycuick's satirical
poems of the time), by which Campbell undertook to destroy
the woman's character, so as to enable Muschat, on false
pretences, to obtain a divorce from her. The brutal devices
to which these worthy accomplices resorted for that purpose
haying failed, they endeavoured to destroy her by adminis-
tering medicine of a dangerous kind, and in extraordinary
quantities.

This purpose also failing, Nichol Muschat, or Muschet, did
finally, on the 17th October, 1720, carry his wife under cloud
of night to the King's Park, adjacent to what is called the
Duke's Walk, near Holyrood Palace, and there took her life
by cutting her throat almost quite through, and inflicting other
wounds. He pleaded guilty to the indictment, for which he
suff'ered death. His associate, Campbell, was sentenced to
transportation for his share in the previous conspiracy. See
MacLauri7is Criminal Cases, pp. 64 and 738.

In memory, and at the same time execration, of the deed,
a cair7i, or pile of stones, long marked the spot. It is now
almost totally removed, in consequence of an alteration on
the road in that place.

Note 7.— Hangman, or Lockman.

Lockman, so called from the small quantity of meal (Scottice,
lock) which he was entitled to take out of every boll exposed
to market in the city. In Edinburgh, the duty has been

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 569

very long commuted ; but in Dumfries the finisher of the law
still exercises, or did lately exercise, his privilege, the quantity
taken being regulated by a small iron ladle, which he uses as
the measure of his perquisite. The expression lock, for a small
quantity of any readily divisible dry substance, as corn, meal,
flax, or the like, is still presei-ved, not only popularly, but in
a legal description, as the lock and gon-pen, or small quantity
and handful, payable in thirlage cases, as in-town multure.

Note 8. —The Fairy Boy of Leith.

This legend was in former editions inaccurately said to exist
in Baxters " World of Spirits " ; but is, in fact, to be found
in " Pancisemonium, or the Devil's Cloyster ; being a further
blow to Modern Sadduceism," by Richard Bo\-et, Gentleman,
i2mo, 1684. The work is inscribed to Dr. Henry More.
The story is entitled, " A remarkable passage of one named
the Fairy Boy of Leith, in Scotland, given me by my worthy
.*"riend Captain George Burton, and attested under his hand ; '
and is as follows : —

"About fifteen years since, having business that detained me
for some time in Leith, I often met some of my acquaintance
at a certain house there, where we used to drink a glass of
wine for our refection. The woman which kept the house was
of honest reputation amongst the neighbours, which made me
give the more attention to what she told me one day about
a Fairy Boy (as they called him) who lived about that town.
She had given me so strange an account of him, that I desired
her I might see him the first opportunity, which she promised ;
and not long after, passing that way, she told me there was the
Fairy Boy but a little before I came by ; and casting her eye
into the street, said, ' Look you, sir, yonder he is at play with
those other boys,' and designing him to me, I went, and by
smooth words, and a piece of money, got him to come into
the house with me ; where, in the presence of divers people,
I demanded of him several astrological questions, which he
answered with great subtility, and through all his discourse
carried it with a cunning much beyond his years, which seemed
not to exceed ten or eleven. He seemed to make a motion like
drumming upon the ta'ole with his fingers, upon which I asked
him whether he could beat a drum, to which he replied, 'Yes,
sir, as well as any man in Scotland ; for every Thursday
night 1 beat all points to a sort of people that used to meet
under yonder hill ' (pointing to the great kill between Eden-
borough and Leith). ' How, boy,' quoth I ; ' what company
have you there?' — 'There are, sir,' said he, 'a great company
both of men and women, and they are entertained with many

S70 NOTES TO

sorts of music besides, my drum ; tliey have, besides, plenty
variety of meats and wine ; and many times we are carried
into France or Holland in a night, and return again ; and
whilst we are there, we enjoy all the pleasures the country
doth afford.' I demanded of him how they got under that
hill? To which he replied, 'that there were a great pair of
gates that opened to them, though they were invisible to others,
and that within there were brave larger rooms, as well
accommodated as most in Scotland.'

"The woman ofthe house told me that all the people in Scotland
could not keep him from the rendezvous on Thursday night ; upon
which, by promising him some more money, I got a promise of him
to meet me at the same place, in the afternoon ot the Thursday
following, and so dismissed him at that time. The boy came
again, at the place and time appointed, and I had prevailed
with some friends to continue with me, if possible, to prevent
his moving that night ; he was placed between us, and answered
many questions, without offering to go from us, until about
eleven of the clock, he was got away unperceivcd of the
company j but I suddenly missing him, hasted to the door,
and took hold of him, and so returned him into the same
room ; we all watched him, and on a sudden he was again
got out of the doors. I followed him close, and he made a
noise in the street as if he had been set upon ; but from that
lime I could never see him.

"George Burton."

Note 9.— Intercourse of the Covenanters with the
Invisible World.

The gloomy, dangerous, and constant wanderings of the
persecuted sect of Cameronians, naturally led to their entertain-
ing with peculiar credulity the belief that they were sometimes
persecuted, not only by the wrath of men, but by the secret
wiles and open terrors of Satan. In fact, a flood could not
happen, a horse cast a shoe, or any other the most ordinary
interruption thwart a minister's wish to perform service at a
particular spot, than the accident was imputed to the immediate
agency of fiends. The encounter of Alexander Peden with
the Devil in the cave, and that of John Semple with the
demon in the ford, are given by Peter Walker, almost in the
language of the text.

Note 10. — Child Murder.

The Scottish Statute Book, anno 1690, chapter 21, in conse-
quence of the great increase of the crime of child murder, both
from the temptations to commit the offence and the difficulty

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 571

of discovery, enacted a certain set of presumptions, which, in
tlie absence of direct proof, the jury were directed to receive
as evidence of the crime having actually been committed. The
i: ;es selected for this purpose were, that the woman

e concealed her situation during the whole period
oi ^.^^■...■■cy\ that she should not have called for help at her
delivery ; and that, combined with these grounds of suspicion,
the child should be either found dead or be altogether missing.
Many persons suffered death during the last century under this
severe act.

Note II.— Calumniator of the Fair Sex.

The journal of Graves, a Bow Street officer, despatched to
Holland to obtain the surrender of the unfortunate William
Brodie. bears a reflection on the ladies somewhat like that
put in the mouth of the police-officer Sharpitlaw. It had been

tc ' ' *-ult to identify the unhappy criminal; and, when a

> .tleman of respectability had seemed disposed to

g nee on the point required, his son-in-law, a clergy-

man in Amsterdam, and his daughter, were suspected by
Graves to have used arguments with the witness to dissuade
him from giving his testimony. On which subject the journal
of the Bow Street officer proceeds thus : —

" Saw then a manifest reluctance in Mr. , and had no

doubt the daughter and parson would endeavour to persuade
him to decline troubling himself in the matter, but judged he
couid not go back from what he had said to Mr. Rich. — Nota
Bene. A'o mischief but a woman or a priest in ii — here both."

Note 12.— Sir Wiixiam Dick of Braid.

This gentleman formed a striking example of the instability
of human prosperity. He was once the wealthiest man of his
time in Scotland, a merchant in an extensive line of commerce,
and a farmer of the public revenue ; insomuch that, about 1640,
he estimated his fortune at two hundred thousand pounds
sterling. Sir William Dick was a zealous Covenanter ; and
in the memorable year 1641, he lent the Scottish Convention
of Estates one hundred thousand merks at once, and thereby
enabled them to support and pay their army, which must
otherwise have broken to pieces. He afterwards advanced
^^20,000 for the service of King Charles, during the usurpation ;
and having, by owning the royal cause, provoked the dis-
pleasure of the ruling party, he was fleeced of more money,
amounting in all to j£J65,ooo sterling.

Being in this manner reduced to indigene*, he went to

S7» NOTES TO

London to try to recover some part of the sums which had beefl
lent on goveninient security. Instead of receivingf any satisfac
tion, the Scottish Croesus was thrown into prison, in which
he died, 19th December, 1655. It is said his death was hastened
by the want of common necessaries. But this statement is
somewhat 'exagfgferated, if it be true, as is commonly said,
that though he was not supplied with bread, he had plenty of
pie-crust, thence called "Sir William Dick's necessity."

Note 13.— Meeting at Talla Linns.

This remarkable convocation took place upon r5th June, 1682,
and an account of its confused and divisive proceeding's may
be found in Michael Shield's P'aithful Contending-s Displayed,
Glasgow, 1780, p. 21. It affords a singular and melancholy
example how much a metaphysical and polemical spirit had
crept in amongst these unhappy sufferers, since, amid so many
real injuries which they had to sustain, they were disposed to
add disagreement and disunion concerning the chaiacter and
extent of such as were only imaginary.

Note 14. — DOO.MSTER, OR DEMPSTER, OF CoURT.

The name of this officer is equivalent to the pronouncer of
doom or sentence. In this comprehensive sense, the Judges of
the Isle of Man were called Dempsters. But in Scotland the
word was long restricted to the designation of an official person,
whose duty it was to recite the sentence after it had been
pronounced by the Court, and recorded by the clerk ; on which
occasion the Dempster legalised it by the words of form, " Attd
fhis I pronounce for doom,"

Note 15.— John Duke of Argyle and GREENviricH.

This nobleman was very dear to his countrymen, who were
justly proud of his military and political talents, and grateful
for the ready zeal with which he asserted the rights of his native
country. This was never more conspicuous than in the matter
of the Porteous Mob, when the ministers brought in a violent
and vindictive bill, for declaring the Lord Provost of Edinburgh
incapable of bearing any public office in i'uture, for not foreseeing
a disorder which no one foresaw, or interrupting- the course
of a riot too formidable to endure opposition. The same bill
made provision for pulling down the city gates, and abolishing
the city guard — rather a Hibernian mode of enabling them
better to keep the peace within burgh in future.

The Duke of Argyle opposed this bill as a aruel, unjust, and

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 573

fanatical proceeding', and an encroachment upon the privileges
of the royal burghs of Scotland, secured to them by trie
treaty of Union. " In all the proceedings of that time," said
his Grace, "the nation of Scotland treated with the English
as a free and independent people ; and as that treaty, my
Lords, had no other g'uarantee for the due performance of
its articles, but the faith and honour ot a British Parliament,
it would be both unjust and ungenerous, should this House
agree to any proceedings that have a tendency to injure it."

Lord Hardwicke, in reply to the Duke of Argyle, seemed to
insinuate that his Grace had taken up the affair in a party
point of view, to which the nobleman replied in the spirited
language quoted in the text — Lord Hardwicke apologised. The
bill was much modified, and the clauses concerning the dis-
mantling the city, and disbanding the guard, were departed
from. A fine of ;{^2000 was imposed on the city for the benefit of
Porteous's widow. She was contented to accept three-fourths
of the sum, the payment of which closed the transaction. It
is remarkable that, in our day, the Magistrates of Edinburgh
have had recourse to both those measures, held in such horror
by their predecessors, as necessary steps for the improvement
of the city.

Note 16. — Madgb Wildfire,

In taking leave of the poor maniac, the Author may here
observe, that the first conception of the character, though
afterwards greatly altered, was taken from that of a person
calling herself, and called by others. Feckless Fannie (weak
or feeble Fannie), who always travelled with a small flock of
sheep. The following account, furnished by the persevering
kindness of Mr. Train, contains probably all that can now be
known of her history, though many, among whom is the
Author, may remember having beard of Feckless Fannie in the
days of their youth.

"My leisure hours," says Mr. Train, "for some time past
have been mostly spent in searching for particulars relating
to the maniac called Feckless Fannie, who travelled over all
Scotland and England, between the years 1767 and 1775, and
whose history is altogether so like a romance, that I have
been at all possible pains to collect every partictiiar that can
be found relative to her in Galloway or in Ayrshire.

"When Feckless Fannie appeared in Ayrshire, for th« first
time, in the summer of 1769, she attracted much notice, from
being attended by twelve or thirteen sheep, who seemed all
endued with faculties so much superior to the ordinary race
of animals of the same species, as to excite universal astonish-
ment. She had for each a different name, to which it answered

S7H NOTES TO

when called by its mistress, and would likewise obey in the n)ost
smprising manner any command she thought proper to g"ive.
When travelling, she always walked in front of her flock, and
they followed her closely behind. When she lay down at
night in the fields, for she would never enter into a house, they
always disputed who should lie next to her, by which means
she was kept warm, while she lay in the midst of them ; when
she attempted to rise from the ground, an old ram, whose name
was Charlie, always claimed the sole right of assisting her ;
pushing any that stood in his way aside, until he arrived
right before his mistress ; he then bowed his head nearly
to the ground that she might lay her hands on his horns,
which were very large ; he then lifted her gently trom the
ground by raising his head. If she chanced to leave her flock
feeding, as soon as they discovered she was gone, they all
began to bleat most piteously, and would continue to do so
till she returned ; they would then testify their joy by rubbing
their sides against her petticoat, and frisking about.

" Feckless F'annie was not, like most other demented creature?,
fond of fine dress ; on her head she wore an old slouched hat, over
her shoulders an old plaid, and carried always in her hand a
shepherd's crook ; with any of these articles she invariably
declared she would not part for any consideration whatever.
When she was interrogated why she set so much value on
things seemingly so insignificant, she would sometimes relate
the history of her misfortune, which was briefly as follows :—

" ' I am the only daughter of a wealthy squire in the north
of England, but I loved my father's shepherd, and that has been
my ruin ; for my father, fearing his family would be disgraced
by such an alliance, in a passion mortally wounded my lover
with a shot from a pistol. I arrived just in time to receive
the last blessing of the dying man, and to close his eyes in
death. He bequeathed me his little all, but I only accepted
these sheep, to be my sole companions through life, and this
hat, this plaid, and this crook, all of which I will carry until I
descend into the grave.'

" Through the storms oi winter, as well as in the milder season
of the year, she continued her wandering course, nor could she
be prevented from doing so, either by entreaty or promise of
reward. The late Dr. FuUarton of Rosemount, in the neighbour-
liood of Ayr, being well acquainted with her father when in
England, endeavoured, in a severe season, by every means in
his power, to detain her at Rosemount for a few days until
the weather should become more mild ; but when she found
herself rested a little, and saw her sheep fed, she raised her
crook, which was the signal she always gave for the sheep to
follow her, and off they all marched together.

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 575

" But the hour of poor Fanoie's dissolution was now at
(land, aAd she seemed anxious to arrive at the spot where
she was to terminate her mortal career. She proceeded to
Glasg^ow, and, while passing through that city, a crowd of
I idle boys, attracted by her singxilar appearance, together with
the novelty of seeing so many sheep obeying her command,
began to tormetit her with their pranks, till she became so
irnlated that she pelted them with bricks and stones, which they
returned in such a manner, that she was actually stoned to
dca.lh between Glasgow and Anderston."

Njte 17. — Death op Francis Goroow.

y. This exploit seems to have been one in which Peter Walker
'. prided himself not a little ; but there is reason to fear that
thai excellent person would have higlily resented the attempt
to associate another with him, in the slaughter of a King's
Life-Gunrdsman. Indeed, he would have had the more right
to be offended at losing any share of the glory, since the
party against Gordon was already three to one, besides having
the advantage of fire-arms. The manner in which he
vindicates his claim to the exploit, without committing himself
by a direct statement of it, is not a little amusing. It is as
follows : —

" Mr. Gordon, rambling throw the town, offered to abuse the
women. At night, they came a mile farther to the Easter-
Seat, to Robert Muir's, he being also under hiding. Gordon's
comrade and the two servants went to bed, but he could sleep
none, roaring all night for women. When day came, he took
only his sword in his hand, and came to Moss-platt, and some
new men (who had been in the fields all nighi) seeing him, they
fled, and he pursued. James Wilson, Thomas Young, and
myself, having been in a meeting all night, were lying down
in the morning. We were alarmed, thinking there were many
more than one ; he pursued hard and overtook us. Thomas
Young said, 'Sir, what do ye pursue us for?' He said, 'he
was come to send us to hell.' James Wilson said, 'that shall
not be, for we will defend ourselves.' He said, ' that either
he or we should go to it now.' He run his sword furiously
throw James Wilson's coat. James fired "upon him, but missed
him. All this time he cried, 'Damn his soul!' He got a
shot in his head out of a pocket pistol, rather fit for diverting
a boy than killing such a furious, mad, brisk man, which,
fiotwithstanding, killed him dead. The foresaid WilHam Caigow
and Robert .\Iuir came to us. We searched him for papers,
and found a long scroll of sufferers' names, either to kill or
take. I tore it all in pieces. He had also some Popish books

576 NOTES TO THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.

and bonds of money, with one dollar, which a poor man
took off the ground ; all which we put in his pocket again."

Note 1 8. —Tolling to Service in Scotland.

In the old days of Scotland, when persons of property (unless
they happened to be non-jurors) were as regular as their in-
feriors in attendance on parochial worship, there was a kind
of etiquette, in waiting till the patron or acknowledged great
man of the parish should make his appearance. This ceremonial
was so sacred in the eyes of a parish beadle in the Isle of
Bute, that the kirk bell being out of order, he is said to have
mounted the steeple every Sunday, to imitate with his voice
the successive summonses which its mouth of metal used to
send forth. The first part of this imitative harmony was
simply the repetition of the words Bell bell, bell bell, two or
three times, in a manner as much resembling the sound, as
throat of flesh could imitate throat of iron, Bellum ! be I Hint t
was sounded forth in a more urgent manner ; but he never
sent forth the third and conclusive peal, the varied tone of
which is called in Scotland the ringing-in, until the two
principal heritors of the parish approached, when the chime
ran thus :—

Bellum Belldllum,

Rernera and Knockdow's coming I
Bellum Bellellum,

Bernera and Knockdow's coming I

Thereby intimating that service was instantly to proceed.

\r\-

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PR
5317
HA
19~a

Scott, (Sir) Walter

The heart of Mid-Lothian

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