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Title: The Shepherd's Calendar (Volume 2 of 2)
Author: Hogg, James (1770-1835)
Date of first publication: 1829
Edition used as base for this ebook:
   Edinburgh: William Blackwood;
   London: T. Cadell, 1829
   [first edition]
Date first posted: 29 December 2010
Date last updated: 29 December 2010
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #685

This ebook was produced by
Barbara Watson, woodie4
& the Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team
at http://www.pgdpcanada.net

This ebook was produced from images generously made
available by the Internet Archive/University of Illinois
at Urbana-Champaigne






  THE

  SHEPHERD'S CALENDAR.

  BY JAMES HOGG,

  AUTHOR OF "THE QUEEN'S WAKE," &c. &c.

  IN TWO VOLUMES.

  VOL. II.

  WILLIAM BLACKWOOD, EDINBURGH;
  AND T. CADELL, LONDON.
  MDCCCXXIX.




             CONTENTS OF VOL. II.


                                       PAGE.

  CHAP. I. Window Wat's Courtship,         1

       II. A Strange Secret,              40

      III. The Marvellous Doctor,        108

       IV. The Witches of Traquair,      150

        V. Sheep,                        185

       VI. Prayers,                      193

      VII. Odd Characters,               205

     VIII. Nancy Chisholm,               230

       IX. Snow-Storms,                  254

        X. The Shepherd's Dog,           293






THE

SHEPHERD'S CALENDAR.




CHAPTER I.

WINDOW WAT'S COURTSHIP.


Great have been the conquests, and grievous the deray, wrought in the
hearts of the rustic youth by some mountain nymphs. The confusion that
particular ones have sometimes occasioned for a year or two almost
exceeds credibility. When any young woman has obtained a great
reputation for beauty, every young man in the bounds is sure either to
be in love with her, or to believe that he is so; and as all these run
on a Friday's evening to woo her, of course the pride and vanity of
the fair is raised to such a height, that she will rarely yield a
preference to any, but is sure to put them all off with gibes and
jeers. This shyness, instead of allaying, never fails to increase, the
fervour of the flame; an emulation, if not a rivalship, is excited
among the younkers, until the getting a single word exchanged with the
reigning beauty becomes a matter of thrilling interest to many a
tender-hearted swain; but, generally speaking, none of these admired
beauties are married till they settle into the more quiet vale of
life, and the current of admiration has turned towards others. Then do
they betake themselves to sober reflection, listen to the most
rational, though not the most youthful, of their lovers, and sit down,
contented to share through life the toils, sorrows, and joys of the
humble cot.

I am not now writing of ladies, nor of "farmers' bonny daughters;" but
merely of country maidens, such as ewe-milkers, hay-workers,
har'st-shearers, the healthy and comely daughters of shepherds, hinds,
country tradesmen, and small tenants; in short, all the rosy, romping,
and light-hearted dames that handle the sickle, the hoe, the hay-raik,
and the fleece. And of these I can say, to their credit, that rarely
an instance happens of a celebrated beauty turning out a bad, or even
an indifferent wife. This is perhaps owing to the circumstance of
their never marrying very young, (for a youthful marriage of a pair
who have nought but their exertions and a good name to depend on for
the support of a family, is far from being a prudent, or highly
commendable step,) or that these belles, having had too much
experience in the follies and flippancies of youthful love, and
youthful lovers, make their choice at last on principles of reason; or
it may be owing to another reason still, namely, that among the
peasantry young men never flock about, or make love to a girl who is
not noted for activity, as well as beauty. Cleverness is always the
first recommendation; and consequently, when a young woman so endowed
chooses to marry, it is natural to suppose that the good qualities,
which before were only occasionally called into exercise, will then be
exerted to the utmost. Experience is the great teacher among the
labouring class, and her maxims are carried down from father to son in
all their pristine strength. Seldom are they violated in any thing,
and never in this. No young man will court a beautiful daw, unless he
be either a booby or a rake.

In detailing a signal instance of the power of country beauty, I shall
make use of fictitious names; and as I have not been an eye-witness to
the scenes I mean to detail, I judge it best to give them in the
colloquial style, exactly in the same manner as they have been
rehearsed to me. Without adopting this mode, I might make a more
perfect arrangement in my present story, but could not give it any
degree of the interest it appeared to me to possess; nor could the
characters be exhibited so well in any way as by letting them speak
for themselves.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Wat, what was the matter wi' you, that ye never keepit your face to
the minister the last Sabbath day? Yon's an unco unreverend gate in a
kirk, man. I hae seen you keep a good ee on the preacher, and take
good tent to what was gaun, too; and troth I'm wae to see ye altered
to the waur."

"I kenna how I might chance to be looking, but I hope I was listening
as weel as you, or ony that was there!--Heighow! It's a weary warld
this!"

"What has made it siccan a weary warld, Wat? I'm sure it wasna about
the ills o' life that the minister was preaching that day, that has
gart ye change sae sair? Now, Wat, I tentit ye weel a' the day, and
I'll be in your debt for a toop lamb at Michaelmass, gin ye'll just
tell me ae distinct sentence o' the sermon on Sabbath last."

"Hout, Jock, man! ye ken I dinna want to make a jest about ony saacred
thing; and as for your paulie toop lamb, what care I for it?"

"Ye needna think to win aff that gate, callant. Just confess the
truth, that ye never heard a word the good man said, and that baith
your heart and your ee war fixed on some object in the contrair
direction. And I may be mistaen, but I think I could guess what it
was."

"Whisht, lad, and let us alane o' your sinfu' surmeeses. I might turn
my back on the minister during the time o' the prayer; but that was
for getting a lean on the seat, and what ill was in that?"

"Ay, and ye might likewise hirsel yoursell up to the corner o' the
seat a' the time o' baith the sermons, and lean your head on your
hand, and look through your fingers too. Can ye deny this? Or that
your een were fixed the haill day on ae particular place?"

"Aweel, I winna gie a friend the lee to his face. But this I will
say--that an you had been gieing a' the attention to the minister,
that ane should do wha takes it upon him to lecture his neighbours at
this rate, ye wadna hae been sae weel aveesed with respect to my
behaviour in the kirk. Take that for your share o' blame. And mair
than that, if I'm nae waur than you, neither am I waur than other
folk; for an ye had lookit as weel at a' the rest as it seems ye did
at me, ye wad hae seen that a' the men in the kirk were looking the
same gate."

"And a' at the same object too? And a' as deeply interested in it as
you? Isna that what ye're thinking? Ah, Wat, Wat! love winna hide! I
saw a pair o' slae-black een that threw some geyan saucy disdainfu'
looks up the kirk, and I soon saw the havoc they were making, and had
made, i' your simple honest heart. Wow, man! but I fear me you are in
a bad predickiment."

"Weel, weel, murder will out, and I confess between twa friends, Jock,
there never was a lad in sic a predickiment as I am. I needna keep
ought frae you; but for the life that's i' your bouk, dinna let a
pater about it escape frae atween your lips. I wadna that it were
kenn'd how deeply I am in love, and how little it is like to be
requited, for the haill warld! But I am this day as miserable a man as
breathes the breath o' life. For I like yon lass as man never likit
another, and a' that I get is scorn, and gibes, and mockery in return.
O Jock, I wish I was dead in an honest natural way, and that my burial
day were the morn!"

"Weel, after a', I daresay that is the best way o' winding up a
hopeless love concern. But only it ought surely to be the last
resource. Now, will ye be candid, and tell me gin ye hae made all
lawful endeavours to preserve your ain life, as the commandment
requires us to do, ye ken? Hae ye courtit the lass as a man ought to
court her who is in every respect her equal?"

"Oh, yes, I have! I have told her a' my love, and a' my sufferings;
but it has been only to be mockit, and dismissed about my business."

"And for that ye whine and mak wry faces, as you are doing just now?
Na, na, Wat, that's no the gate o't;--a maid maun just be wooed in the
same spirit she shows; and when she shows sauciness, there's naething
for it but taking a step higher than her in the same humour, letting
her always ken, and always see, that you are naturally her superior,
and that you havena forgotten that you are even stooping from your
dignity when you condescend to ask her to become your equal. If she
refuse to be your joe at the fair, never either whine or look
disappointed, but be sure to wale the bonniest lass you can get in the
market, and lead her to the same party where your saucy dame is. Take
her to the top o' the dance, the top o' the table at dinner, and
laugh, and sing; and aye between hands, whisper your bonny partner;
and if your ain lass disna happen to be unco weel buckled, it is ten
to ane she will find an opportunity of offering you her company afore
night. If she look angry or offended at your attention to others, you
are sure o' her. They are queer creatures the lasses, Wat, and I
rather dread ye haena muckle skill or experience in their bits o' wily
gates. For, to tell you the truth, there's naething pleases me sae
weel as to see them begin to pout, and prim their bits o' gabs, and
look sulky out frae the wick o' the ee, and gar ilka feather and
flower-knot quiver wi' their angry capers; for let me tell you, it is
a great matter to get them to take offence--it lets a man see they are
vexed for the loss o' him."

"If you had ever loved as I do, Jock, ye wad hae found little comfort
in their offence. For my part, every disdainfu' word that yon dear
lovely lassie says, gangs to my heart like a red-hot spindle. My life
is bound up in her favour. It is only in it that I can live, move, or
breathe; and whenever she says a severe or cutting word to me, I feel
as if ane o' my members were torn away, and am glad to escape as lang
as I am ony thing ava; for I find, if I war to remain, a few mae
siccan sentences wad soon annihilate me."

"Ou ay! you're a buirdly chield, to be sure; but I have nae doubt ye
wad melt away like snaw off a dike, or a dead sheep weel pykit by the
corbies! Wow, man, but it maks me wae to think o't! and sae, to save
you frae sic a melancholy end, I shall take in hand to bring her to
your ain terms, in three months' time, if you will take my advice."

"O man, speak; for ye are garring a' the blood in my veins rin up to
my head, as gin it war a thousand ants galloping like mad, running
races."

"Weel, Wat, in the first place, I propose to gang down yonder a night
by mysell, and speak baith to her father and her, to find how the land
lies; and after that we can gang down baith thegither, and gie her a
fair broadside.--The deil's in't, if we sanna bring her to reason."

Wat scratched his head, and pulled the grass (that was quite blameless
in the affair) furiously up by the roots, but made no answer. On being
urged to declare his sentiments, he said, "I dinna ken about that way
o' ganging down your lane; I wish you maunna stick by the auld
fisher's rule, 'Every man for his ain hand.' For I ken weel, that nae
man alive can see her, and speak to her, and no be in love wi' her."

"It is a good thing in love affairs, Wat, that there are hardly two in
the world wha think the same way."

"Ay, but this is a particular case; for a' the men in the country
think the same gate here, and rin the same gate to the wooing. It is
impossible to win near the house on a Friday night without knocking
your head against that of some rival. Na, na, John, this plan o'
ganging down by yoursell winna do. And now when I think on't, ye had
better no gang down ava; for if we gang down friends, we'll come up
enemies; and that wadna be a very agreeable catastroff."

"Now shame fa' me, gin ever I heard sic nonsense! To think that a' the
warld see wi' your een! Hear ye, Wat--I wadna gie that snap o' my
fingers for her. I never saw her till Sunday last, when I came to your
kirk ance errand for that purpose, and I wadna ken her again gin I war
to meet her here come out to the glen wi' your whey--what ails you, ye
fool, that you're dighting your een?"

"Come out to the glen wi' _my_ whey! Ah, man! the words gaed through
me like the stang of a bumbee. Come out to the glen wi' my whey! Gude
forgie my sin, what is the reason I canna thole that thought? That
were a consummation devoutly to be wussed, as the soloquy in the
Collection says. I fear I'll never see that blessed sight! But, Jock,
take my advice; stay at hame, and gangna near her, gin ye wad enjoy
ony peace o' conscience."

"Ye ken naething about women, Wat, and as little about me. If I gang
near her, it will only be to humble her a wee, and bring her to
reason, for your sake. Jock the Jewel wadna say 'Wae's me!' for the
best lass's frown in a' the Kingdom o' Britain--whatever some of them
might do for his."

Jock the Jewel went down in all his might and high experience, to put
every thing to rights between his friend Wat and the bonny Snaw-fleck,
as this pink of a mountain damsel was called. For be it understood,
that every girl in the parish was named after one of the birds of the
air; and every man, too, young and old, had his by-name, by which we
shall distinguish them all for the present. Thus the Snaw-fleck's
father was called Tod-Lowrie, (the fox;) his eldest daughter, the
Eagle; the second, the Sea-maw; and his only son was denominated the
Foumart, (pole-cat,) on account of a notable hunt he once had with one
of these creatures in the middle of the night, in a strange
house;--and it was the worst name I ever heard for a young man. Our
disconsolate lover was called Window Wat, on account of his bashful
nature, and, as was alleged, because he was in the habit of hanging
about the windows when he went a-courting, and never venturing in. It
was a good while after this first rencounter before the two shepherds
met again with the opportunity of resuming the discussion of their
love affairs. But at length an occasion offered, and then---- But we
must suffer every man to tell his own tale, else the sport will be
spoilt.

"Weel, Wat, hae ye been ony mair down at Lowrie's Lodge, sin' I saw
you?"

"And if I hae, I hae been little the better o' you. I heard that you
were there before me--and sinsyne too."

"Now, Wat, that's mere jealousy and suspicion, for ye didna see the
lass to ken whether I was there or not. I ken ye wad be hinging about
the window-soles as usual, kecking in, feasting your een, seeing other
woosters beiking their shins at the ingle; but for a' that, durstna
venture ben. Come, I dinna like siccan sachless gates as thae. I _was_
down, I'se no deny't, but I gaed to wark in a manner different from
yours. Unco cauldrife wark that o' standing peenging about windows,
man! Come, tell me a' your expedition, and I'll tell you mine,--like
friends, ye ken."

"Mine's no ill to tell. I gaed down that night after I saw you, e'en
though Wednesday be the widower's night. More than I were there, but I
was fear'd ye had got there afore me, and then, wi' your great skill
o' the ways o' women, ye might hae left me nae chance at a'. I was
there, but I might as weel hae staid at hame, for there were sae mony
o' the out-wale wallietragle kind o' wooers there, like mysell, a'
them that canna win forret on a Friday night, that I got the back o'
the hallan to keep; but there's ae good thing about the auld Tod's
house,--they never ditt up their windows. Ane sees aye what's gaun on
within doors. They leave a' their actions open to the ee o' man, yon
family; and I often think it is nae ill sign o' them. Auld Tod-Lowrie
himsell sometimes looks at the window in a kind o' considering mood,
as if doubtful that at that moment he is both overheard and overseen;
but, or it is lang, he cocks up his bonnet and cracks as crouse as
ever, as if he thought again. There's aye ae ee that sees me at a'
times, and a ear that hears me; and when that's the case, what need I
care for a' the birkies o' the land!--I like that open independent way
that the family has. But O, they are surely sair harassed wi' wooers!"

"The wooers are the very joy o' their hearts, excepting the Foumart's;
he hates them a' unless they can tell him hunders o' lies about
battles, bogles, and awfu' murders, and persecutions. And the leaving
o' the windows open too is not without an aim. The Eagle is beginning
to weary for a husband; and if ye'll notice how dink she dresses
hersell ilka night, and jinks away at the muckle wheel as she war
spinning for a wager. They hae found out that they are often seen at
night, yon lasses; and though they hae to work the foulest work o' the
bit farm a' the day when naebody sees them, at night they are a'
dressed up like pet-ewes for a market, and ilka ane is acting a part.
The Eagle is yerking on at the wheel, and now and then gieing a smirk
wi' her face to the window. The Snaw-fleck sits busy in the neuk, as
sleek as a kinnen, and the auld clocker fornent her admiring and
misca'ing her a' the time. The white Sea-maw flees up and down the
house, but and ben, ae while i' the spence, ane i' the awmrie, and
then to the door wi' a soap-suds. Then the Foumart, he sits knitting
his stocking, and quarrelling wi' the haill o' them. The feint a haed
he minds but sheer ill nature. If there be a good body i' the house,
the auld Tod is the ane. He is a geyan honest, downright carle, the
Tod."

"It is hardly the nature o' a tod to be sae; and there's no ae bit o'
your description that I gang in wi'! It is a fine, douse family.

    'But O the Snaw-fleck!
    The bonny bonny Snaw-fleck!
    She is the bird for me, O!'"

"If love wad make you a poeter, Wat, I wad say it had wrought
miracles. Ony mair about the bonny Snaw-fleck, eh? I wonder how you
can make glowing love-sangs standing at a cauld window--No the way
that, man. Tell me plainly, did ye ever get a word o' the bonny lass
ava?"

"Hey how me!--I can hardly say that I did; and yet I hae been three
times there sin' I saw you."

"And gat your travel for your pains a' the times?"

"No sae bad as that, neither. I had the pleasure o' seeing her, bonny,
braw, innocent, and happy, busy working her mother's wark. I saw her
smile at her brother's crabbit words, and I saw the approving glances
beam frae the twa auld folk's een. When her father made
family-worship, she took her Bible, and followed devoutly wi' her ee
the words o' holy writ, as the old man read them; and her voice in
singing the psalm was as mellow and as sweet as the flute playing afar
off. Ye may believe me, Jock, when I saw her lift up her lovely face
in sweet devotion, I stood on the outside o' the window, and grat like
a bairn. It was mair than my heart could thole; and gin it warna for
shame, I wad gang every night to enjoy the same heavenly vision."

"As I'm a Christian man, Wat, I believe love _has_ made a poeter of
you. Ye winna believe me, man, that very woman is acting her part. Do
you think she didna ken that ye saw her, and was making a' thae fine
murgeons to throw glamour in your een, and gar you trow she was an
angel? I managed otherwise; but it is best to tell a' plain out, like
friends, ye ken. Weel, down I goes to Lowrie's Lodge, and, like you,
keeks in at the window; and the first thing I saw was the auld Tod
toving out tobacco-reek like a moorburn. The haill biggin was sae
chokefu' o' the vapour, it was like a dark mist, and I could see
naething through it but his ain braid bonnet moving up and down like
the tap o' the smith's bellows, at every poogh he gave. At length he
handit by the pipe to the auld wife, and the reek soon turned mair
moderate. I could then see the lasses a' dressed out like dolls, and
several young boobies o' hinds, threshers, and thrum-cutters, sitting
gashing and glowring among them.--I shall soon set your backs to the
wa', thinks I, if I could get ony possible means o' introduction.--It
wasna lang till ane offered; out comes a lass wi' a cog o' warm water,
and she gars it a' clash on me. 'Thanks t'ye for your kindness, my
woman,' says I. 'Ye canna say I hae gi'en ye a cauld reception,' says
she. 'But wha are ye, standing like a thief i' the mirk?'--'Maybe
kenn'd folk, gin it war daylight,' quo' I. 'Ye had better come in by,
and see gin candle-light winna beet the mister,' says she. 'Thanks
t'ye,' says I; 'but I wad rather hae you to come _out by_, and try gin
stern-light winna do!'--'Catch me doing that,' cried she, and bounced
into the house again.

"I then laid my lug close to the window, and heard ane asking wha that
was she was speaking to? 'I dinna ken him,' quo' she; 'but I trow I
hae gi'en him a mark to ken him by; I hae gi'en him a balsam o'
boiling water.'

"'I wish ye may hae peeled a' the hide aff his shins,' quo' the
Foumart, and he mudged and leugh; 'haste ye, dame, rin awa out and lay
a plaster o' lime and linseed-oil to the lad's trams,' continued he.

"'I can tell ye wha it is,' said ane o' the hamlet wooers; 'it will be
Jock the Jewel comed down frae the moors; for I saw him waiting about
the chop and the smiddy till the darkness came on. If ye hae disabled
him, lady Seabird, the wind will blaw nae mair out o' the west.'

"I durstna trust them wi' my character and me in hearing; sae, without
mair ado, I gangs bauldly ben.--'Gude-e'en to ye, kimmers a' in a
ring,' says I.

"'Gude-e'en t'ye, honest lad,' quo' the Eagle. 'How does your cauld
constitution and our potatoe-broo sort?'

"'Thanks t'ye, bonny lass,' says I. 'I hae gotten a right sair
skelloch; but I wish I warna woundit nae deeper somewhere else than i'
the shinbanes; I might shoot a flying erne for a' that's come and gane
yet.'

"'That's weel answered, lad,' quo' the Tod. 'Keep her down, for she's
unco glib o' the gab,--especially to strangers.'

"'You will never touch a feather o' her wing, lad,' quo' she. 'But if
ye could----I'll say nae mair.'

"'Na, na, Mistress Eagle, ye soar o'er high for me,' says I. 'I'll
bring down nae sky-cleaving harpies to pick the een out o' my sheep,
and my ain into the bargain, maybe. I see a bit bonny norland bird in
the nook here, that I would rather woo to my little hamely nest. The
Eagle maun to her eyry; or, as the auld ballant says--

    'Gasp and speel to her yermit riven,
    Amid the mists and the rains of heaven.'

It is the innocent, thrifty little Snaw-fleck that will suit me, wi'
the white wings and the blue body. She's pleased wi' the hardest and
hameliest fare; a picking o' the seeds o' the pipe-bent is a feast to
her.'"

"Now, by the faith o' my body, Jewel, that wasna fair. Was that
preparing the way for your friend's success?"

"Naething but sheer banter, man; like friends, ye ken. But ye sall
hear. 'The Snaw-fleck's a braw beast,' said I, 'but the Eagle's a
waster and a destroyer.'

"'She's true to her mate, though,' said the dame; 'but the tither is a
bird o' passage, and mate to the haill flock.'

"I was a wee startled at this observe, when I thought of the number of
wooers that were rinning after the bonny Snaw-fleck. However, I didna
like to yield to the haughty Eagle; and I added, that I wad take my
chance o' the wee Snaw-bird, for though she war ane of a flock, that
flock was an honest ane. This pleased them a'; and the auld slee Tod,
he spake up and said, he hadna the pleasure o' being acquaint wi' me,
but he hoped he shouldna hae it in his power to say sae again. Only
there was ae thing he beggit to remind me o', before I went any
farther, and that was, that the law of Padanaram was established in
his family, and he could by no means give a younger daughter in
marriage before one that was elder.

"'I think you will maybe keep them for a gay while, then,' said the
Foumart. 'But if the Sea-gull wad stay at hame, I carena if the rest
were at Bamph. She's the only usefu' body I see about the house.'

"'Haud the tongue o' thee, thou illfa'red, cat-witted serf,' said the
auld wife. 'I'm sure ony o' them's worth a faggald o' thee! And that
lad, gin I dinna forecast aglee, wad do credit to ony kin.'

"'He's rather ower weel giftit o' the gab,' quo' the menseless thing.
This remark threw a damp on my spirits a' the night after, and I
rather lost ground than gained ony mair. The ill-hued weazel-blawn
thing of a brother, never missed an opportunity of gieing me a yerk
wi' his ill-scrapit tongue, and the Eagle was aye gieing hints about
the virtues o' potatoe-broo. The auld Tod chewed tobacco and threw his
mouth, lookit whiles at ane and whiles at another, and seemed to enjoy
the joke as muckle as ony o' them. As for the bonny Snaw-bird, she
never leugh aboon her breath, but sat as mim and as sleek as a moudie.
There were some very pretty smiles and dimples gaun, but nae
gaffawing. She is really a fine lass."

"There it goes now! I tauld you how it would be! I tell you, Jewel,
the deil a bit o' this is fair play."

"Ane may tell what he thinks--like a friend, ye ken. Weel--to make a
lang tale short--I couldna help seeing a' the forenight that she had
an ee to me. I couldna help _that_, ye ken. Gat mony a sweet blink and
smile thrawn o'er the fire to me--couldna help that either, ye
ken--never lost that a friend gets. At length a' the douce wooers drew
off ane by ane--saw it was needless to dispute the point wi' me that
night. Ane had to gang hame to supper his horses, another to fodder
the kye, and another had to be hame afore his master took the book,
else he had to gang supperless to bed. I sat still--needless to lose a
good boon for lack o' asking. The potatoes were poured and
champit--naebody bade me bide to supper; but I sat still; and the auld
wife she slippit away to the awmrie, and brought a knoll o' butter
like ane's nieve, and slippit that into the potatoe-pot hidling ways,
but the fine flavour that filled the house soon outed the secret. I
drew in my seat wi' the rest, resolved to hae my share. I saw that I
had a hearty welcome frae them a' but the Foumart, and I loot him girn
as muckle as he liket. Weel, I saw it was turning late, and there was
a necessity for proceeding to business, else the prayers wad be on.
Sae I draws to my plaid and staff, and I looks round to the lasses;
but in the meantime I dropt half a wink to the Snaw-fleck, and I says,
'Weel, wha o' you bonny lasses sets me the length o' the townhead yett
the night?'

"'The feint a ane o' them,' quo' the Foumart wi' a girn.

"'The townhead yett the night, honest lad?' quo' the wife. 'Be my
certe, thou's no gaun nae siccan a geat. Dis thou think thou can gang
to the muirs the night? Nay, nay, thou shalt take share of a bed wi'
our son till it be day, for the night's dark and the road's eiry."

"'He needna stay unless he likes,' quo' the Foumart.

"'Haud thy tongue,' said the wife. So I sat down again, and we grew a'
unco silent. At length the Eagle rose and flew to the door. It wadna
do--I wadna follow; sat aye still, and threw another straight wink to
the bonny Snaw-fleck, but the shy shirling sat snug in her corner, and
wadna move. At length the Eagle comes gliding in, and in a moment, or
ever I kenn'd what I was doing, claps down a wee table at my left
hand, and the big Bible and psalm-book on't. I never got sic a stound,
and really thought I wad sink down through the floor; and when I saw
the lasses shading their faces wi' their hands, I grew waur.

"'What ails thee, honest lad, that thou looks sae baugh?' said the
auld wife. 'Sure thou's no asheamed to praise thy Meaker? for an thou
be, I shall be asheamed o' thee. It is an auld family custom we hae,
aye to gie a stranger the honour o' being our leader in this duty; and
gin he refuse that, we dinna countenance him nea mair.'

"That was a yerker! I now fand I was fairly in the mire. For the saul
o' me I durstna take the book; for though I had a good deal o' good
words by heart, I didna ken how I might gar them compluther. And as I
took this to be a sort o' test to try a wooer's abilities, I could
easily see that my hough was fairly i' the sheep-crook, and that what
wi' sticking the psalm, bungling the prayer, potatoe-broo and
a'thegither, I was like to come badly off. Sae I says, 'Gudewife, I'm
obliged t'ye for the honour ye hae offered me; and sae far frae being
ashamed o' my Maker's service, I rejoice in it; but I hae mony reasons
for declining the honour. In the first place, war I to take the task
out o' the gudeman's hand, it wad be like the youngest scholar o' the
school pretending to teach his master; and were I to stay here a'
night, it wad be principally for the purpose of hearing family worship
frae his ain lips. But the truth is, and that's my great reason, I
_can not_ stay a' night. I want just ae single word o' this bonny
lass, and then I maun take the road, for I'm far o'er late already.'

"'I bide by my text, young man,' says the Tod; 'the law of Padanaram
is the law of this house.'

"'And, by the troth o' me, thou'lt find it nea bad law for thee,
honest lad,' said the wife; 'our eldest will meak the _best_ wife for
thee--teak thou my word for that.'

"'Maybe she wad,' said I, 'but I want just a single word wi' this dink
chicken; but it isna on my ain account--it is a word frae a friend,
and I'm bound in honour to deliver it.'

"'That is spoken sae like an honest man, and a disinterested ane,'
quo' the Tod, 'that I winna refuse the boon. Gae your ways ben to our
ben-end, and say what ye hae to say; for I dinna suffer my bairns to
gang out i' the dark wi' strangers.'

"'Come away, then, hinny,' says I. She rose wi' slow and ill will, for
I saw she wad rather I had been to speak for mysell; and as I
perceived this, as soon as I got her ben the house, and the door
fairly steekit, I says till her, says I, 'Now, bonny lassie, I never
saw your face afore but ance, and that day I gaed mony fit to see't. I
came here the night ance errand to speak a word for a friend, but
really'--Here she interrupted me as soon as she heard _but really_.

"'Could your friend no speak his word himsell?' said she.

"'As you say,' says I; 'that is good sense--I ca' that good, sound
common sense; for a man does always his own turn best; and therefore I
maun tell you, that I am fairly fa'en in love wi' you mysell, and am
determined to hae you for my ain, cost what it will.'"

At this part of the story, Wat sprung to his feet--"Did you say sae?"
said he. "If ye did, ye are a fause loun, and a villain, and I am
determined to hae pennyworths o' _you_, cost what it will."

"Hout, fych, fie, Wat, man! dinna be a fool. Sit down, and let us
listen to reason, like friends, ye ken. Ye sall hear, man--ye sall
hear."

"I winna hear another word, Jewel. Up to your feet; either single
stick or dry nieves, ony o' them ye like. Ye gat the lass ben the
house on the credit o' my name, and that was the use you made o't! Ye
dinna ken how near my heart, and how near my life, ye war edging then,
and I'll break every bane in your bouk for it; only ye shall hae fair
play, to smash mine gin ye can. Up, I say; for yon was a deed I winna
brook."

"Perhaps I was wrang; but I'll speak the truth. Sit down, and ye shall
hear--and then, gin we maun fight there's time enough for it after. If
I had thought I acted wrang, I wadna hae tauld it sae plain out; but
when twa folk think the saam gate, it isna a good sign. 'I'm in love
wi' you, and am determined to hae you,' says I.

"'I winna hear a single word frae ane that's betraying his friend,'
said she;--'not one word, after your avowal to my father. If he hae
ony private word, say it--and if no, good night.'

"Did she say that, the dear creature? Heaven bless her bonny face!"

"'I did promise to a particular friend o' mine to speak a kind word
for him,' said I. 'He is unco blate and modest, but there's no a
better lad; and I never saw ane as deeply and as distractedly in love;
for though I feel I _do_ love, it is with reason and moderation.'"

"There again!" cried Wat, who had begun to hold out his hand--"There
again! Do you ca' that acting like a faithfu' friend?"

"'Not a word of yourself,' said she. 'Who is this friend of yours! And
has he any more to say by you? Not one word more of yourself--at least
not to-night.'"

"At least not to-night!" repeated Wat, again and again--"Did she say
that? I dinna like the addition ava."

"That was what she said; and naething could be plainer than that she
was inviting me back; but as I was tied down, I was obliged to say
something about you. 'Ye ken Window Wat?' says I. 'He is o'er sight
and judgment in love wi' you, and he comes here ance or twice every
week, just for the pleasure o' seeing you through the window. He's a
gay queer compost--for though he is a' soul, yet he wants spirit.'"

"Did ye ca' me a compost? That was rather a queer term, begging your
pardon," observed Wat.

"'I hae seen the lad sometimes,' says she. 'If he came here to see me,
he certainly need not be sae muckle ashamed of his errand as not to
show his face. I think him a main saft ane.'

"'Ye're quite i' the wrang, lass,' says I. 'Wat's a great dab. He's an
arithmeticker, a 'stronomer, a historian, and a grand poeter, and has
made braw sangs about yoursell. What think ye o' being made a wife to
sic a hero as him? Od help ye, it will raise ye as high as the moon.'"

"I'll tell ye what it is, Jock the Jewel--the niest time ye gang to
court, court for yoursell; for a' that ye hae said about me is
downright mockery, and it strikes me that you are baith a selfish
knave and a gommeril. Sae good e'en t'ye for the present. I owe you a
good turn for your kind offices down by. I'll speak for mysell in
future, and do ye the same--_like friends, ye ken_--that's a' I say."

"If I speak for mysell, I ken wha will hae but a poor chance," cried
Jock after him.

The next time our two shepherds met, it was in the identical smithy
adjoining to Lowrie's Lodge, and that at six o'clock on a December
evening. The smith looked exceedingly wise, and when he heard the two
swains begin to cut and sneer at one another, it was delicate food for
Vulcan. He puffed and blew at the bellows, and thumped at the stithy,
and always between put in a disjointed word or two.--"Mae hunters! mae
hunters for the Tod's bairns--hem, phoogh, phoogh--will be worried
now!--phoogh"--thump, thump--"will be run down now--hem!"

"Are ye gaun far this way the night, Jewel, an ane may spier?"

"Far enough for you, Wat, I'm thinking. How has the praying been
coming on this while bygane?"

"What d'ye mean, Mr Jewel? If ye will speak, let it no be in riddles.
Rather speak nonsense, as ye used to do."

"I am speaking in nae riddles, lad. I wat weel a' the country-side
kens that ye hae been gaun learning prayers aff Hervey's Meditations,
and crooning them o'er to yoursell in every cleuch o' the glen, a' to
tame a young she-fox wi'."

"And that ye hae been lying under the hands o' the moor doctor a
month, and submitting to an operation, frae the effects o' somebody's
potatoe-broo--isna that as weel kent?"

"Till't, lads, till't!" cried the smith--"that's the right way o'
ganging to wark--phoogh!"--clink, clink--"pepper away!"--clink,
clink--"soon be baith as het as nailstrings--phoogh!"

The mention of the potatoe-broo somewhat abated Jock's sarcastic
humour, for he had suffered some inconvenience from the effects of it,
and the circumstance had turned the laugh against him among his
companions. Ere long he glided from the smithy, and after that Wat sat
in the fidgets for fear his rival had effected a previous engagement
with the Snaw-fleck. The smith, perceiving it, seized him in
good-humour, and turned him out at the door. "Nae time to stay now,
lad--nae time to wait here now. The hunt will be up, and the young Tod
holed, if ye dinna make a' the better speed." Then, as Wat vanished
down the way, the smith imitated the sound of the fox-hounds and the
cries of the huntsmen. "Will be run down now, thae young Tods--heavy
metal laid on now--we'll have a walding heat some night, an the track
keep warm," said the smith, as he fell to the big bellows with both
hands.

When Wat arrived at Lowrie's Lodge, he first came in contact with one
wooer, and then another, hanging about the corners of the house; but
finding that none of them was his neighbour and avowed rival, he
hasted to his old quiet station at the back window, not the window
where the Jewel stood when he met with his mischance, but one right
opposite to it. There he saw the three bonniest birds of the air
surrounded with admirers, and the Jewel sitting cheek by cheek with
the lovely Snaw-bird. The unbidden tears sprung to Wat's eyes, but it
was not from jealousy, but from the most tender affection, as well as
intense admiration, that they had their source. The other wooers that
were lingering without, joined him at the window; and Wat feeling this
an incumbrance, and eager to mar his rival's success, actually plucked
up courage, and strode in amongst them all.

       *       *       *       *       *

"How came the twa moorland chiels on at the courting the other night?"

"It's hard to say; there are various accounts about the matter."

"What does the smith say?--for, though his sentences are but short, he
says them loud enough, and often enough ower, and folks reckon there's
aye some truth in the foundation."

"I can tell ye what he says, for I heard him on the subject oftener
than aince, and his information was precisely as follows:--'The Tod's
bairns maun gang now, lads--I'm saying, the Tod's bairns maun gang
now--eh, Menye?--fairly run down. Half-a-dozen tykes ower sair for ae
young Tod--eh? Fairly holed the young ane, it seems--I'm saying, the
young ane's holed. Nought but a pick and shool wantit to howk her.
Jewel has gi'en mouth there--I'm saying, auld Jewel has gi'en mouth
there. Poor Wat has been obliged to turn to the auld ane--he's on the
full track o' her--I'm saying, he's after her, full trot. But some
thinks she'll turn her tail to a craig, and wear him up. It was Wat
that got the honour o' the beuk, though--I'm saying, it was him that
took the beuk--wan gloriously through, too. The saxteenth o' the
Romans, without a hamp, hinny. Was that true, think ye?--I'm saying,
think ye that was true? Cam to the holy kiss; a' the wooers' teeth
watered--eh?--Think ye that was true, hinny? The Jewel was amaist
comed to grips at that verse about the kiss--eh?--I'm saying, the
Jewel closed wi' the beauty there, I'm saying--Ha! ha!--I think that
wadna be true.'--This is the length the smith's information gangs."

"I'm sure, gin the Snaw-fleck take the Jewel, in preference to Wat, it
will show a strange perversion of taste."

"O, there's naebody can answer for the fancies of a woman. But they're
a geyan auld-farrant set the Tods, and winna be easily outwitted. Did
ye no hear ought of a moonlight-match that was to be there?"

"Not a word; and if I had, I wadna hae believed it."

"The Jewel has been whispering something to that effect; he's sae
uplifted, he canna haud his tongue; and I dinna wonder at it. But, for
a' the offers the bonny lass had, that she should fix on him, is a
miracle. Time tries a'; and Jock may be cheated yet."

Yes, time is the great trier of human events. Let any man review his
correspondences for ten years back, and he will then see how widely
different his own prospects of the future have been from the lessons
taught him by that hoary monitor Time. But, for the present, matters
turned out as the fortunate wooer had insinuated; for, in a short
month after this confabulation had taken place, the auld Tod's
helpmate arose early one morning, and began a-bustling about the house
in her usual busy way, and always now and then kept giving hints to
her bonny lasses to rise and begin to their daily tasks.--"Come, stir
ye, stir ye, my bonny bairns. When the sterns o' heaven hae gane to
their beds, it is time the flowers o' the yird war rising--Come,
come!--No stirring yet?--Busk ye, busk ye, like thrifty bairns, and
dinna let the lads say that ye are sleepie dowdies, that lie in your
beds till the sun burns holes in your coverlets. Fie, fie!--There has
been a reek i' Jean Lowrie's lum this half-hour. The moor-cock has
crawed, the mawkin cowered, and the whaup yammered abune the flower.
Streek your young limbs--open your young een--a foot on the cauld
floor, and sleep will soon be aboon the cluds.--Up, up, my winsome
bairns!"

The white Lady-Seabird was soon afoot, for she slept by herself; but
the old dame still kept speaking away to the other two, at one time
gibing, at another coaxing them to rise, but still there was no
answer. "Peace be here, Helen, but this is an unco sleep-sleeping!"
said she.--"What has been asteer owernight? I wish your twa titties
haena been out wi' the men?"

"Ay, I wish they binna out wi' them still; for I heard them steal out
yestreen, but I never heard them steal in again."

The old wife ran to the bed, and in a moment was heard
exclaiming,--"The sorrow be i' my een gin ever I saw the like o' that!
I declare the bed's as cauld as a curling-stane!--Ay, the nest's
cauld, and the birds are flown. Oh, wae be to the day! wae be to the
day! Gudeman, gudeman, get up and raise the parishen, for our bairns
are baith stown away!"

"Stown away!" cried the father--"What does the woman mean?"

"Ay, let them gang," cried the son; "they're weel away, gin they
bide."

"Tewhoo! hoo-hoo!" cried the daughter, weeping,--"That comes o' your
laws o' Padanaram! What had ye ado with auld Laban's rules? Ye might
hae letten us gang aff as we could win.--There, I am left to spin
tow, wha might hae been married the first, had it no been for your
daft laws o' Padanaram."

The girl cried, the son laughed, the old woman raved and danced
through very despair, but the gudeman took the matter quite calmly, as
if determined to wait the issue with resignation, for better or worse.

"Haud your tongues, ilk ane o' ye," said he--"What's a' the fy-gae-to
about? I hae that muckle to trust to my lasses, that I can lippen them
as weel out o' my sight as in my sight, and as weel wi' young men as
wi' auld women. Bairns that are brought up in the fear, nurture, and
admonition o' their Maker, will aye swee to the right side, and sae
will mine. Gin they thought they had a right to choose for themselves,
they war right in exercising that right; and I'm little feared that
their choices be bad anes, or yet that they be contrary to my wishes.
Sae I rede you to haud a' your tongues, and tak nae mair notice o'
ought that has happened, than if it hadna been. We're a' in gude hands
to guide us; and though we whiles pu' the reins out o' His hand to tak
a gallop our ain gate, yet He winna leave us lang to our ain
direction."

With these sagacious words, the auld sly Tod settled the clamour and
outcry in his family that morning; and the country has never doubted
to this day, that he plowed with his own heifers.

On the evening previous to this colloquy, the family of the Tods went
to rest at an early hour. There had been no wooers admitted that
night; and no sooner had the two old people begun to breathe deep,
than the eldest and youngest girls, who slept in an apartment by
themselves, and had every thing in readiness, eloped from their
father's cot, the Eagle with a lightsome heart and willing mind, but
the younger with many fears and misgivings. For thus the matter
stood:--Wat sighed and pined in love for the Snaw-fleck, but he was
young and modest, and could not tell his mind; but he was such a youth
as a maiden would love,--handsome, respectable, and virtuous; and a
match with him was so likely, that no one ever supposed the girl would
make objections to it. Jock, on the other hand, was nearly twice her
age, talkative, forward, and self-conceited; and, it was thought,
rather wanted to win the girl for a brag, than for any great love he
bore her. But Jock was rich; and when one has told that, he has told
enough. In short, the admired, the young, the modest, and reserved
Snaw-fleck, in order to get quit of her father's laws of Padanaram,
agreed to make a run-away marriage with Jock the Jewel. But what was
far more extraordinary, her youthful lover agreed to accompany her as
bridesman, and, on that account, it may possibly be supposed, her
eldest sister never objected to accompany her as maid.

The shepherds had each of them provided himself with a good horse,
saddle, and pillion; and, as the custom is, the intended bride was
committed to the care of the best-man, and the Eagle was mounted
behind her brother-in-law that was to be. It was agreed, before
mounting, that in case of their being parted in the dark by a pursuit,
or any other accident, their place of rendezvous was to be at the
Golden Harrow, in the Candlemaker-Row, towards which they were to make
with all speed.

They had a wild moorland path to traverse for some space, on which
there were a multiplicity of tracks, but no definitive road. The night
was dark and chill, and, on such ground, the bride was obliged to ride
constantly with her right hand round Wat's waist, and Wat was obliged
to press that hand to his bosom, for fear of its being cold; and in
the excess of his politeness he magnified the intemperance of the
night at least seven-fold. When pressing that fair hand to his bosom,
Wat sometimes thought to himself, what a hard matter it was that it
should so soon be given away to another; and then he wiped a tear from
his eye, and did not speak again for a good while. Now the night, as
was said, being very dark, and the bride having made a pleasant
remark, Wat spontaneously lifted that dear hand from his bosom, in
order to attempt passing it to his lips, but (as he told me himself)
without the smallest hope of being permitted. But behold, the gentle
ravishment was never resisted! On the contrary, as Wat replaced the
insulted hand in his bosom, he felt the pressure of his hand gently
returned.

Wat was confounded, electrified! and felt as the scalp of his head had
been contracting to a point. He felt, in one moment, as if there had
been a new existence sprung up within him, a new motive for life, and
for every great and good action; and, without any express aim, he felt
a disposition to push onward. His horse soon began to partake of his
rider's buoyancy of spirits, (which a horse always does,) so he cocked
up his ears, mended his pace, and, in a short time, was far a-head of
the heavy, stagnant-blooded beast on which the Jewel bridegroom and
his buxom Eagle rode. She had _her_ right arm round _his_ waist too,
of course; but her hand lacked the exhilarating qualities of her
lovely sister's; and yet one would have thought that the Eagle's looks
were superior to those of most young girls outgone thirty.

"I wish thae young fools wad take time and ride at leisure; we'll lose
them on this black moor a'thegither, and then it is a question how we
may foregather again," said the bridegroom; at the same time making
his hazel sapling play yerk on the hind-quarters of his nag. "Gin the
gowk let aught happen to that bit lassie o' mine under cloud o' night,
it wad be a' ower wi' me--I could never get aboon that. There are
some things, ye ken, Mrs Eagle, for a' your sneering, that a man can
never get aboon."

"No very mony o' them, gin a chield hae ony spirit," returned the
Eagle. "Take ye time, and take a little care o' your ain neck and
mine. Let them gang their gates. Gin Wat binna tired o' her, and glad
to get quat o' her, or they win to the Ports o' Edinburgh, I hae tint
my computation."

"Na, if he takes care o' _her_, that's a' my dread," rejoined he, and
at the same time kicked viciously with both heels, and applied the
sapling with great vigour. But "the mair haste the waur speed" is a
true proverb; for the horse, instead of mending his pace, slackened
it, and absolutely grew so frightened for the gutters on the moor,
that he would hardly be persuaded to take one of them, even though the
sapling sounded loud and thick on his far loin. He tried this ford,
and the other ford, and smelled and smelled with long-drawn
breathings. "Ay, ye may snuff!" cried Jock, losing all patience; "the
deil that ye had ever been foaled!--Hilloa! Wat Scott, where are ye?"

"Hush, hush, for gudesake," cried the Eagle; "ye'll raise the country,
and put a' out thegither."

They listened for Wat's answer, and at length heard a far-away
whistle. The Jewel grew like a man half distracted, and in spite of
the Eagle's remonstrances, thrashed on his horse, cursed him, and
bellowed out still the more; for he suspected what was the case, that,
owing to the turnings and windings of his horse among the haggs, he
had lost his aim altogether, and knew not which way he went. Heavens!
what a stentorian voice he sent through the moor before him! but he
was only answered by the distant whistle, that still went farther and
farther away.

When the bride heard these loud cries of desperation so far behind,
and in a wrong direction, she was mightily tickled, and laughed so
much that she could hardly keep her seat on the horse; at the same
time, she continued urging Wat to ride, and he, seeing her so much
amused and delighted at the embarrassment of her betrothed and sister,
humoured her with equal good-will, rode off, and soon lost all hearing
of the unfortunate bridegroom. They came to the high-road at
Middleton, cantered on, and reached Edinburgh by break of day,
laughing all the way at their unfortunate companions. Instead,
however, of putting up at the Golden Harrow, in order to render the
bridegroom's embarrassment still more complete, at the bride's
suggestion, they went to a different corner of the city, namely, to
the White Horse, Canongate. There the two spent the morning, Wat as
much embarrassed as any man could be, but his lovely companion quite
delighted at the thoughts of _what_ Jock and her sister _would do_.
Wat could not understand her for his life, and he conceived that she
did not understand herself; but perhaps Wat Scott was mistaken. They
breakfasted together; but for all their long and fatiguing journey,
neither of them seemed disposed to eat. At length Wat ventured to say,
"We'll be obliged to gang to the Harrow, and see what's become o' our
friends."

"O no, no! by no means!" cried she fervently; "I would not, for all
the world, relieve them from such a delightful scrape. What the two
_will do_ is beyond my comprehension."

"If ye want just to bamboozle them a'thegither, the best way to do
that is for you and me to marry," said Wat, "and leave them twa to
shift for themselves."

"O that wad be so grand!" said she.

Though this was the thing nearest to honest Wat's heart of all things
in the world, he only made the proposal by way of joke, and as such he
supposed himself answered. Nevertheless, the answer made the hairs of
his head creep once more. "My truly, but that wad gar our friend Jock
loup twa gates at ance!" rejoined Wat.

"It wad be the grandest trick that ever was played upon man," said
she.

"It wad mak an awfu' sound in the country," said Wat.

"It wad gang through the twa shires like a handbell," said she.

"Od, I really think it is worth our while to try't," said he.

"O by a' manner o' means!" cried she, clasping her hands together for
joy.

Wat's breath cut short, and his visage began to alter. He was likely
to acquire the blessing of a wife rather more suddenly than he
anticipated, and he began to wish that the girl might be in her
perfect senses. "My dear M--," said he, "are you serious? would you
really consent to marry me?"

"Would I consent to marry you!" reiterated she. "That is siccan a
question to speer!"

"It _is_ a question," said Wat, "and I think a very natural ane."

"Ay, it is a question, to be sure," said she; "but it is ane that ye
ken ye needna hae put to me to answer, at least till ye had tauld me
whether ye wad marry me or no."

"Yes, faith, I will--there's my hand on it," eagerly exclaimed Wat.
"Now, what say ye?"

"No," said she;--"that is, I mean--yes."

"I wonder ye war sae lang o' thinking about that," said Wat. "Ye ought
surely to hae tauld me sooner."

"Sae I wad, if ever ye had speered the question," said she.

"What a stupid idiot I was!" exclaimed Wat, and rapped on the floor
with his stick for the landlord. "An it be your will, sir, we want a
minister," says Wat.

"There's one in the house, sir," said the landlord, chuckling with joy
at the prospect of some fun. "Keep a daily chaplain here--Thirlstane's
motto, 'Ayeready.' Could ye no contrive to do without him?"

"Na, na, sir, we're folk frae the country," said Wat; "we hae comed
far and foul gate for a preevat but honest hand-fasting."

"Quite right, quite right," said my landlord. "Never saw a more comely
country couple. Your business is done for you at once;" at the same
time he tapped on the hollow of his hand, as much as to say, some
reward must be forthcoming. In a few minutes he returned, and setting
the one cheek in at the side of the door, said, with great rapidity,
"Could not contrive to do without the minister, then? Better?--no
getting off again. Better?--what?--Can't do without him?"

"O no, sir," said Wat, who was beginning a long explanatory speech,
but my landlord cut him short, by introducing a right reverend divine,
more than half-seas over. He was a neat, well-powdered, cheerful
little old gentleman, but one who never asked any farther warrant for
the marrying of a couple, than the full consent of parties. About this
he was very particular, and advised them, in strong set phrases, to
beware of entering rashly into that state ordained for the happiness
of mankind. Wat thought he was advising him against the match, but
told him he was very particularly situated. Parties soon came to a
right understanding, the match was made, the minister had his fee, and
afterwards he and the landlord invited themselves to the honour, and
very particular pleasure, of dining with the young couple at two.

What has become of Jock the Jewel and his partner all this while? We
left them stabled in a mossy moor, surrounded with haggs, and bogs,
and mires, every one of which would have taken a horse over the back;
at least so Jock's great strong plough-horse supposed, for he became
so terrified that he absolutely refused to take one of them. Now,
Jock's horse happened to be wrong, for I know the moor very well, and
there is not a bog on it all, that will hold a horse still. But it was
the same thing in effect to Jock and the Eagle--the horse would have
gone eastward or westward along and along and along the sides of these
little dark stripes, which he mistook for tremendous quagmires; or if
Jock would have suffered him to turn his head homeward, he would, as
Jock said, have galloped for joy; but northwards towards Edinburgh,
never a step would he proceed. Jock thrashed him at one time, stroked
his mane at another, at one time coaxed, at another cursed him, till,
ultimately, on the horse trying to force his head homeward in spite of
Jock, the latter, in high wrath, struck him a blow on the far ear with
all his might. This had the effect of making the animal take the
motion of a horizontal wheel, or millstone. The weight of the riders
fell naturally to the outer side of the circle--Jock held by the
saddle, and the Eagle held by Jock--till down came the whole concern
with a thump on the moss. "I daresay, that beast's gane mad the
night," said Jock; and, rising, he made a spring at the bridle, for
the horse continued still to reel; but, in the dark, our hero missed
his hold--off went the horse, like an arrow out of a bow, and left our
hapless couple in the midst of a black moor.

"What shall we do now?--shall we turn back?" said Jock.

"Turn back!" said the Eagle; "certainly not, unless you hae ta'en the
rue."

"I wasna thinking o' that ava," said he; "but, O, it is an
unfortunate-like business--I dinna like their leaving o' us, nor can I
ken what's their meaning."

"They war fear'd for being catched, owing to the noise that you were
making," said she.

"And wha wad hae been the loser gin we had been catched? I think the
loss then wad hae faun on me," said Jock.

"We'll come better speed wanting the beast," said she; "I wadna wonder
that we are in Edinburgh afore them yet."

Wearied and splashed with mud, the two arrived at the sign of the
Harrow, a little after noon, and instantly made inquiries for the
bride and best-man. A description of one man answers well enough for
another to people quite indifferent. Such a country gentleman as the
one described, the landlady said, had called twice in the course of
the day, and looked into several rooms, without leaving his name. They
were both _sure_ it was Wat, and rested content. The gentleman came
_not_ back, so Jock and the Eagle sat and looked at one another. "They
will be looking at the grand things o' this grand town," said she.

"Ay, maybe," said Jock, in manifest discontent. "I couldna say what
they may be looking at, or what they may be doing. When folks gang
ower the march to be married, they should gang by themselves twa. But
some wadna be tauld sae."

"I canna comprehend where he has ta'en my sister to, or what he's
doing wi' her a' this time," said the Eagle.

"I couldna say," said Jock, his chagrin still increasing, a
disposition which his companion took care to cherish, by throwing out
hints and insinuations that kept him constantly in the fidgets; and he
seemed to be repenting heartily of the step he had taken. A late hour
arrived, and the two, having had a sleepless night and a toilsome day,
ordered supper, and apartments for the night. They had not yet sat
down to supper, when the landlord requested permission for two
gentlemen, acquaintances of his, to take a glass together in the same
room with our two friends, which being readily granted, who should
enter but the identical landlord and parson who had so opportunely
buckled the other couple! They had dined with Wat and his bride, and
the whisky-toddy had elicited the whole secret from the happy
bridegroom. The old gentlemen were highly tickled with the oddity of
the adventure, and particularly with the whimsical situation of the
pair at the Harrow; and away they went at length on a reconnoitring
expedition, having previously settled the measures to be pursued.

My landlord of the White Horse soon introduced himself to the good
graces of the hapless couple by his affability, jokes, quips, and
quibbles, and Jock and he were soon as intimate as brothers, and the
maid and he as sweethearts, or old intimate acquaintance. He commended
her as the most beautiful, handsome, courteous, and accomplished
country lady he ever had seen in his life, and at length asked Jock if
the lady was his sister. No, she was not. Some near relation, perhaps,
that he had the charge of.--No.--"Oh! Beg pardon--perceive very
well--plain--evident--wonder at my blindness," said my landlord of the
White Horse--"sweetheart--sweetheart? Hope 'tis to be a match? Not
take back such a flower to the wilderness unplucked--unappropriated
that is--to blush unseen--waste sweetness on the desert air? What?
Hope so? Eh? More sense than that, I hope?"

"You mistak, sir; you mistak. My case is a very particular ane," said
Jock.

"I wish it were mine, though," said he of the White Horse.

"Pray, sir, are you a married man?" said the Eagle.

"Married? Oh yes, mim, married, and settled in life, with a White
Horse," returned he.

"A grey mare, you mean," said the Eagle.

"Excellent! superlative!" exclaimed my landlord. "Minister, what think
you of that? I'm snubbed--cut down--shorn to the quick! Delightful
girl! something favoured like the young country bride we dined with
to-day. What say you, minister? Prettier, though--decidedly prettier.
More animation, too. Girls from the same country-side have always a
resemblance."

"Sir, did you say you dined with a bride from our country-side?" said
Jock.

"Did so--did so."

"What was the bridegroom like?"

"A soft-soles--milk-and-water."

"And his name? You will not tell, maybe,--a W and an S?"

"The same--the same--mum!--W.S., writer to the signet. The same. An M
and a T, too. You understand? Mum!"

"Sir, I'll be muckle obliged to you, gin ye'll tak me to where they
are. I hae something to say to them," said Jock, with great emphasis.

"Oh! you are the father, are you? Minister, I'll take you a bet this
is the bride's father and sister. You are too late, sir; far too late.
They are bedded long ago!"

"Bedded!" cried Jock, in a shrill and desperate tone of voice.

"The case is past redemption now," began mine host; "a father is to be
pitied! but--"

"Sir, you mistak--I'm not her father."

About this stage of the conversation, a letter was handed in "to Miss
Tod, at the Golden Harrow;" but the bearer went off, and waited no
answer. The contents were as follows:--


    "DEAR SISTER,

     This cometh to let you know, that I have married Walter, thinking
     you and John had turned on the height, and that he had taken the
     rue; so I thought, after leaving the country to be married, I
     could never set up my face in it again, without a husband; for
     you know a woman leaving home with a man, as we both have done,
     can never be received into a church or family again, unless she
     be married on him; and you must consider of this; for if you are
     comed to Edinburg with a man, you need never go home again. John
     hath used me very bad, and made me do the thing I may rue; but I
     could not help it. I hope he will die an old bachelor, as he is,
     and never taste the joys of the married state. We will remain
     here another night, for some refreshment, and then I go home to
     his mother. This business will make a terrible noise in the
     country. I would not have gone home, and me not married, for all
     the whole world."

When the Eagle read this, she assumed symptoms of great distress, and
after much beseeching and great attention from the two strangers, she
handed the letter to Jock, showing him that she could never go home
again after what had happened. He scratched his head often, and
acknowledged that "Maggy's was a ticklish case," and then observed
that he would see what was to be done about it to-morrow. My landlord
called for a huge bowl of punch, which he handed liberally round. The
matter was discussed in all its bearings. The minister made it clearly
out, that the thing had been foreordained, and it was out of their
power to counteract it. My landlord gave the preference to the Eagle
in every accomplishment. Jock's heart grew mellow, while the maid
blushed and wept; and in short, they went to bed that night a married
couple, to the great joy of the Eagle's heart; for it was never once
doubted that the whole scheme was a contrivance of her own--a bold
stroke to get hold of the man with the money. She knew Wat would marry
her sister at a word or hint, and then the Jewel had scarcely an
alternative. He took the disappointment and affront so much to heart,
that he removed with his Eagle to America, at the Whitsunday
following, where their success was beyond anticipation, and where they
were both living at an advanced age about twelve years ago, without
any surviving family.




CHAPTER II.

A STRANGE SECRET.


Some years ago, a poor man named Thomas Henderson came to me, and
presented me with a letter from a valued friend. I showed some little
kindness to the man; and as an acknowledgment, he gave me an account
of himself, in that plain, simple, and drawling style, which removed
all doubts of its authenticity. His story, as a whole, was one of very
deep interest to himself, no doubt, but of very little to me, as it
would be to the world at large if it were repeated; but as one will
rarely listen to even the most common-place individual without hearing
something to reward the attention bestowed upon him, so there was one
incident in this man Henderson's life which excited my curiosity very
much. I shall give it nearly in his own words:--

I was nine years a servant to the Earl of ----, (said he,) and when I
left him, he made me a handsome present; but it was on condition that
I should never again come within a hundred miles of his house. The
truth is, that I would have been there to this day, had I not chanced
to come at the knowledge of something relating to the family that I
ought not to have known, and which I never would have known, had I
gotten my own will. When the auld Earl died, there was an unco
confusion, and at length the young Lord came hame frae abroad, and
tuke the command. He hadna been master about twa years when he rings
the bell ae morning, and sends for me. I was merely a groom, and no
used to gang up stairs to my Lord; but he often spoke to me in the
stables, for I had the charge o' his favourites Cleopatra and Venus,
and I thought he wanted to gie me some directions about them. Weel, up
the stair I rins, wanting the jacket and bonnet, and I opens the door,
and I says, "What is't, my Lord?"--"Shut the door, and come in," says
he. Hech! what in the world is in the wind now! thinks I. Am I gaun to
be made some grand secreter?

"Tom, has the Lady Julia ordered the coach to-day?" says he.

"I believe she has, my Lord, I think Hector was saying so."

"And is it still to the old spot again, in the forest?"

"That winna be kenn'd till Hector is on the seat. But there is little
doubt that it is to the same place. She never drives to ony other."

"Tom, I was long absent from home, but you have been in the family all
the while, and must know all its secrets--What is it supposed my
sister Julia has always ado with the forester's wife at the shieling
of Aberduchra?"

"That has never been kenn'd to ane o' us, my Lord. But it is supposed
there is some secret business connected wi' her visits there."

"That is a great stretch of supposition, indeed, Tom! Of that there
can be no doubt. But what do the servants suppose the secret relates
to? Or what do _you_ suppose concerning it? Come, tell me honestly and
freely."

"Ou, naebody kens that, my Lord; for Lady Julia just lights at a
certain point o' the road, and orders the coach to be there again at a
certain hour at night; and that's a' that has ever been kenn'd about
it. But we a' notice that Lady Julia is sair altered. And folks they
say--but as to that I am ignorant--they say, ye ken, that auld Eppie
Cowan's a witch."

"And that it is on some business of enchantment or divination that my
sister goes to her?"

"Na, na, I dinna say that, my Lord; for a' that I say is just this,
that I believe naebody in this world, excepting Lady Julia and auld
Eppie themsells twa, kens what their business is thegither, or how
they came to be connected."

"Well, well, Tom, that is what I want particularly to know. Do you set
out just now; go over the shoulder of Beinny-Veol, and through
Glen-Ellich, by the straight route; get to Aberduchra before my
sister; conceal yourself somewhere, in the house or out of the house,
in a thicket or in a tree; note all that you see Lady Julia engaged
in--who meets her there--what they do, and what they say, and bring me
a time report of every thing; and your reward shall be according to
your success."

Weel, aff I rins, and ower the hills at the nearest, and sair wark had
I afore I got mysell concealed, for auld Eppie was running out and in,
and in and out again, in an unco fyke, weel kenning wha was to be her
visitor that day; for every time she cam to the door she gae a lang
look down the glen, and then a' round about her, as if feared for
being catched in a fault.

I had by this time got up to the top of a great elm-tree that almost
overlooked the door o' the shieling, but when I saw the auld roudess
looking about her sae sternly, I grew frighted; for I thought, if she
be a witch, I shall soon be discovered; and then, should she cast ony
cantrips that may dumfounder me, or should I see aught to put me
beside mysell, what a fa' I will get! I wad now hae gien a' the claes
on my back to have been safe down again, and had begun to study a
quick descent, when I perceived Lady Julia coming rapidly up the
glen, with manifest trepidation in her manner. My heart began now to
quake like an aspen leaf, for I suspected that some awesome scene was
gaun to be transacted, that could bring the accomplished Lady Julia to
that wild retired spot. And yet when she drew near, her modest mien
and fading beauty were sae unlike ony thing wicked or hellish,
that--in short I didna ken what to think or what to fear, but I had a
considerable allowance o' baith.

With many kind and obsequious courtesies did old Eppie receive the
lady on the green, and after exchanging a few words, they both
vanished into the cottage, and shut the door. Now, thinks I, the
infernal wark will begin; but goodness be thankit, I'll see nane o't
frae here.--I changed my place on the tree, however, and came as near
to the top of the lum as the branches would carry me. From thence I
heard the voices of the twa, but knew not what they were saying. The
Lady Julia's voice was seldom heard, but when it was, it had the
sounds of agony; and I certainly thought she was imploring the old hag
to desist from something which the other persisted in. The voice of
the latter never ceased; it went on with one continued mumble, like
the sound of a distant waterfall. The sounds still increased, and I
sometimes made myself believe that I heard the voice of a third
person. I cannot tell what I would then have given to have heard what
was going on, but though I strained my hearing to the uttermost, I
could not attain it.

At length, all at once, I heard a piercing shriek, which was followed
by low stifled moanings. "They are murdering a bairn, and what _will_
I do!" said I to myself, sobbing till my heart was like to burst. And
finding that I was just upon the point of losing my senses, as well as
my hold, and falling from the tree, I descended with all expedition,
and straightway ran and hid mysell under the bank of the burn behind
the house, that thereby I might avoid hearing the cries of the
suffering innocent, and secure myself from a fall.

Now, here shall be my watch, thinks I; for here I can see every ane
that passes out frae or into the house; and as for what is gaun on in
the inside, that's mair than I'll meddle wi'.

I had got a nice situation now, and a safe ane, for there was a thick
natural hedge of briers, broom, and brambles, down the back o' the
kail-yard. These overhung the burn-brae, so that I could hide mysell
frae every human ee in case of great danger, and there was an opening
in the hedge, through which I could see all that passed, and there I
cowered down on my knees, and lay wi' my een stelled on that shieling
o' sin and iniquity.

I hadna lain lang in this position till out comes the twasome, cheek
for chowe, and the auld ane had a coffin under her arm; and straight
on they comes for the very opening o' the hedge where I was lying.
Now, thinks I, I'm a gone man; for in below this very bank where I am
sitting, are they coming to hide the corpse o' the poor bairn, and
here ten might lie till they consumed, unkenn'd to the haill warld.
Ay, here they are coming, indeed, for there is not another bit in the
whole thicket where they can win through; and in half a minute, I will
have the witch and the murderess baith hinging at my throat like twa
wullcats!--I was aince just setting a' my joints to make a clean
splash down the middle of the burn like an otter; but the power was
denied me, and a' that I could do, was to draw mysell close into my
cove, like a hare into her form; and there I sat and heard the
following dialogue, and I think I remember it every word.

"Now, my good Eppie, are you certain that no person will come upon us,
or within view of us, before we have done?" (_Good_ Eppie! thinks I,
Heaven preserve us a' frae sic goodness!)

"Ay, ay, weel am I sure o' that, Leddy July, for my ain goodman is on
the watch, and he has a signal that I ken, which will warn us in good
time if ony body leave the high-way."

"Then open the lid, and let me look into it once more; for the poor
inanimate remains that are in that chest have a hold of this
disconsolate and broken heart, which nothing else in this world can
ever have again. O my dear boy! My comely, my beautiful, my murdered
boy!"

Here Lady Julia burst into the most violent and passionate grief,
shrieking and weeping like one in distraction. I was terrified out o'
a' bounds; but I couldna help thinking to mysell what a strange
inconsistent creature a woman was, first to take away a dear little
boy's life, and then rair and scraugh over what she had done, like a
madwoman! Her passion was sae violent and sae loud that I couldna take
up what the auld crone was saying, although her tongue never lay for a
moment; but I thought a' the time that she was trying to pacify and
comfort Lady Julia; and I thought I heard her saying that the boy
wasna murdered. Now, thinks I, that dings a' that ever I heard! If a
man aince understands a woman, he needna be feared to try ought in
nature.

"Now here they are, my Leddy July, just as your own fair hands laid
them. There's no ane o' them out o' its place yet. There they a' lie,
little and muckle, frae the crown o' the head to the soles o' the
feet."

"Gude forgie the woman!" says I to mysell--"Can these be the banes o'
bairns that she is speaking about? It is a question how mony has been
put into that black kist afore this time, and there their banes will
be lying, tier aboon tier, like the contents of a candlemaker's box!"

"Look, here is the first, my Leddy. This is the first year's anes.
Then, below that sheet o' silver paper, is the second year's, and on
sae to the third and the fourth."

I didna think there had been as muckle wickedness in human nature,
thought I; but if thae twa escape out o' this world without some
veesible judgment, I'm unco sair mistaen!

"Come now, Leddy July, and let us gae through them a' regularly; and
gie ower greeting. See, as I said, this contains the first year's
suits of a' kinds, and here, amang others, is the frock he was
bapteezed in, far, far frae here. Ay, weel I mind that day, and sae
may ye, Leddy July; when the Bishop flung the water on your boy's
face, how the little chub looked at him! Ech--ech--ech--I'll never
forget it! He didna whimper and whine, like ither bairns, but his
little arms gae a quiver wi' anger, and sic a look as he gae the
priest! Ay, it was as plain as he had said it in gude Scots, 'Billy,
I'll be about wi' you for this yet!' He--he--he--my brave boy! Ay,
there needed nae confessions, nor parish registers, to declare wha was
his father! 'Faith, billy, I'll be about wi' you for this insult!'
He--he--he! That was what he thought plainly enough, and he looked
_very_ angry at the Bishop the haill night.--O fie, Leddy July, dinna
stain the bonny frock wi' your tears. Troth, they are sae warm and
sae saut, that they will never wash out again. There now, there now.
We will hing them a' out to the sun ane by ane."

Shame fa' my stupidity! thought I to mysell. Is the haill terrible
affair endit in a bichel o' baby-clouts?--I then heard that they were
moving farther away from me, and ventured to peep through the boughs,
and saw the coffin standing open, about three feet from my nose. It
was a small low trunk, covered with green velvet, lined with white
satin, and filled with clothes that had belonged to a princely boy,
who, it appeared from what I overheard, had either been privately
murdered, or stolen away, or had somehow unaccountably disappeared.
This I gathered from the parts of the dialogue that reached me, for
always when they came near to the trunk, they were close beside me,
and I heard every word; but as they went farther away, hanging out the
bairn's claes to air, I lost the parts between. Auld Eppie spake
without intermission, but Lady Julia did little else save cry, and
weet the different parts of the dress with tears. It was excessively
affecting to see the bonny young lady, wha was the flower o' the haill
country, bending ower a wheen claes, pressing them to her bosom, and
greeting till the very heart within her was like to melt, and aye
crying, between every fit o' sobbing, "O my boy, my dear boy! my
noble, my beautiful boy! How my soul yearns after thee! Oh, Eppie, may
you never know what it is to have but one only son, and to be bereaved
of him in such a way as I have been!"

At one time I heard the old wife say, "See, here is the silk corslet
that he wore next his breast that very day;" on which the Lady Julia
seized the little tucker, and kissed it an hundred times, and then
said, "Since it once was warmed in his dear little bosom, it shall
never cool again as long as his mother's is warm." So saying, she
placed the relic in her breast, weeping bitterly.

Eppie's anecdotes of the boy were without end; the bereaved and
beautiful mother often rebuking her, but all the while manifestly
indulging in a painful pleasure. She showed her a pair of trews that
were discoloured, and added, "Ah, I ken brawly what made them sae dim.
His foster-brother, Ranald, and he were after a fine painted butterfly
one day. The creature took across a mire, a perfect stank. Ranald
stopped short, but Lewie made a bauld spring to clear it. He hardly
wan by the middle, where he stuck up to the waist in mire. Afore my
goodman reached him, there was naething aboon but the blue bonnet and
the feather. 'You little imp, how gat you in there?' said my husband.
'That's not your concern, sir, but how I shall get out again,' said
the little pestilence. Ah, he was the bairn that had the kind heart
when kindness was shown to him; but no ae thing in this 'versal world
wad he do by compulsion. We could never make him comprehend the power
of death; he always bit his lip, and scowled wi' his eebrows, as if
determined to resist it. At first he held him at defiance, threatening
to shoot or run him through the body; but when checked so that he
durst not openly defy him, his resolution was evidently unchanged. Ha!
he was the gallant boy; and if he lives to be a man, he winna have his
match in the three kingdoms."

"Alack, alack, my dear boy," exclaimed Lady Julia; "his beauty is long
ago defaced, his princely form decayed, and his little unripe bones
lie mouldering in some pit or concealed grave. Perhaps he was flung
from these rocks, and his fair and mangled form became the prey of the
raven or the eagle."

The lady's vehemence some way affected my heart, and raised siccan a
disposition in me to join her in crying, that in spite o' my heart, I
fell a-fuffing like a goose as I was, in below the burn-brae. I was
overheard; and then all was silence and consternation for about the
space of a minute, till I hears Eppie say, "Did you hear that, Leddy
July? What say ye? What in the world was that? I wish there may be nae
concealed spies. I hope nae unhallowed ee has seen our wark the day,
or unblest ear heard our words! Eh?

      Neck butt, neck ben,
    I find the smell o' quick men;
    But be he living or be he dead,
    I'll grind his bones to mix my bread."

So saying, the old hag in one moment rushed through the thin part of
the brake, by a retrograde motion, and drapping down from the hanging
bank, she lighted precisely with a foot on each side of my neck. I
tried to withdraw my head quietly and peaceably, but she held me as if
my head had been in a vice, and, with the most unearthly yells, called
out for a knife! a knife! I had now no other resource left but to make
a tremendous bolt forward, by which I easily overturned the old dame,
and off I ran plash for plash down the burn, till I came to an
opening, by which I reached the only path down the glen. I had lost my
bonnet, but got off with my head, which was more than the roudess
intended.

Such screaming and howling as the two carried on behind me, I never
heard. Their grand secret was now out; and I suppose they looked upon
the discovery as utter ruin, for both of them knew me perfectly well,
and guessed by whom I had been sent. I made the best of my way home,
where I arrived before dark, and gave my master, the Earl, a full and
faithful account of all that I had seen and all that I had heard. He
said not a word until I had ended, but his face grew dark, and his
eyes as red as a coal, and I easily perceived that he repented having
sent me. When I had concluded my narrative, he bit his lip for some
time, and then said, in a low smothered voice,--"I see how it has
been--I see how it has been; I understand it all perfectly well."
Then, after a short pause, he continued, "I believe, Tom, it will be
unsafe for you to stay longer here; for, if you do, you will not be
alive till to-morrow at midnight. Therefore haste to the south, and
never for your life come north of the Tweed again, or you are a dead
man, depend on that. If you promise me this, I will make you a present
of 10, over and above your wages; but if you refuse, I will take my
chance of having your motions watched, and you may take yours."

As I had often heard hints that certain officious people had vanished
from my Lord's mansion before this time, I was glad to make my escape;
and taking him at his offer, I was conveyed on shipboard that same
night, and have never again looked towards the north.

"It is a great pity, Thomas," said I, when he had finished this
recital, "that you can give me no account of the boy--whose son he
was, or what became of him. Was Lady Julia ever married?"

I couldna say, sir. I never heard it said either that she was married,
or that she was not married. I never had the slightest suspicion that
she was married till that day; but I certainly believe sinsyne, that
she aince _had_ been married at ony rate. Last year I met with one
John Ferguson from that country, who told me the Earl was dead, and
that there was some dispute about the heirship, and that some strange
secrets had come out; and he added, "For you know very weel, Thomas,
that that family never could do any thing like other people."

"Think you there is no person in that country to whom I could apply,"
said I, "for a developement of these mysterious circumstances?"

"There is only one person," said Henderson, "and I am sure he knows
every thing about it, and that is the Bishop; for he was almost
constantly in the family, was sent for on every emergency, and was
often away on long jaunts with Lady Julia alone. I am sure he can
inform you of every circumstance; but then it is almost certain either
that he will not dare, or that he will not choose, to disclose them."

       *       *       *       *       *

This story of Henderson's made so strong an impression upon me that I
could not refrain from addressing a letter to the Bishop, requesting,
in as polite terms as I could, an explanation of the events to which
it referred. I was not aware that the reverend prelate had been in any
way personally connected with the events referred to, nor did his
answer expressly admit that he was; but I could gather from it, that
he had a very intimate share in them, and was highly offended at the
liberty I had taken, upon an acquaintance that was certainly slight,
of addressing him on the subject. I was sorry that I should have
inadvertently disturbed his reverence's equanimity, for his reply
betrayed a good deal of angry feeling; and as in it he took the
trouble of entering at some length into a defence of the Roman
Catholic religion, against which I had made no insinuation, nor even
once referred to it, I suspected that there had been something wrong,
and, more and more resolved to get to the bottom of the affair, I next
wrote to the Protestant clergyman of the place. His reply informed me
that it was altogether out of his power to furnish the information
desired, inasmuch as he had come to the pastoral charge of his parish
many years subsequently to the period alluded to; and the Earl of
----'s family being Catholic, he had no intercourse with them. It was
considered unsafe to meddle with them, he said; they had the
reputation of being a dangerous race, and, interfering with no man's
affairs, allowed no interference with theirs. In conclusion, however,
my reverend correspondent referred me to a Mr MacTavish, tenant of
Innismore, as one who possessed more knowledge concerning the Earl's
family than any one out of it. This person, he farther stated, was
seventy years of age, and had lived in the district all his life,
though the late Earl tried every means to remove him.

Availing myself of this clew, I made it my business to address Mr
MacTavish in such a way as was most likely to ensure compliance with
my wishes. I was at some pains to procure introductions, and establish
a sort of acquaintance with him, and at last succeeded in gaining a
detail of the circumstances, in so far as he knew them, connected with
the adventure of Henderson at the shieling of Aberduchra. This detail
was given me in a series of letters of different dates, and many of
them at long intervals from each other, which I shall take the liberty
of throwing into a continuous narrative, retaining, however, the old
gentleman's own way of telling the story.

       *       *       *       *       *

About the time when the French were all to be killed in Lochaber (Mr
MacTavish's narrative commences), I was employed in raising the
militia soldiers, and so had often to make excursions through the
country, both by night and day. One morning, before dawn, as I was
riding up the Clunie side of the river, I was alarmed by perceiving a
huge black body moving along the road before me. I knew very well that
it was the Bogle of Glastulochan, and kept at a respectful distance
behind it. After I had ridden a considerable way in great terror, but
yet not daring to turn and fly, the light became more and more clear,
and the size of the apparition decreased, and, from a huge undefined
mass, assumed sundry shapes, which made it evident that it meditated
an attack on me, or, as I had some faint hopes, to evanish altogether.
To attempt to fly from a spirit I knew to be needless, so I held on my
way, in great perturbation. At last, as the apparition mounted an
eminence over which the road winded, and so came more distinctly
between me and the light, I discovered that it was two persons on
horseback, travelling the same way as myself. On coming up, I
recognised the Popish Bishop accompanied by the most beautiful young
lady I had ever seen.

"Good morrow to you, pretty lady, and to you, reverend sir," said I;
but not one of them answered a word. The lady, however, gazed intently
at me, as if she expected I had been some other, while the Bishop
seemed greatly incensed, and never once turned round his head. I
cannot tell how it was, but I became all at once greatly in love with
the lady, and resolved not to part till I discovered who she was. So
when we came to the house of Robert MacNab, I said, "Madam, do you
cross the corrie to-day?"

"No," said she.

"Then I shall stay on this side too," said I.

"Young soldier, we desire to be alone," said the Bishop, (and this was
the first time he had spoken,) "therefore be pleased to take your own
way, and to free us of your company."

"By no means," said I; "neither the lady nor your Reverence can be the
worse of my protection."

When I said "your Reverence," the Bishop started, and stared me in the
face; and after a long pause, once more desired me to leave them. I
would not do so, however, although I must acknowledge my behaviour was
exceedingly improper; but I was under the influence of a strange
fascination at the time, which I am the more convinced of now that I
know the events that have followed upon that rencounter.

"We travel by the Spean," said he.

"It is the nearest way," I replied, "and I shall go that way too." The
Bishop then became very angry, and I, I must confess, more and more
impertinent. "I know better," said I, "than to trust a Popish priest
with such a lovely and beautiful, and amiable dear lady in such a wild
and lonely place. I bear his Majesty's commission, and it is my duty
to protect all the ladies that are his true subjects." This was taking
a good deal upon me, but I thought I perceived that the Bishop had an
abashed look, as if detected in an affair he was ashamed of; and so I
determined to see the end of it. We travelled together till we arrived
at Fort William, where we were met by a gallant gentleman, who took
the lady from her horse, and kissed her, and made many fine speeches;
and she wept, and suffered herself to be led away towards the beach. I
went with them, and there being a great stir at the shore, and
fearing that they were going to take the lady on board by force, I
drew my sword, and advancing to the gentleman, commanded him not to
take the lady on board against her will, adding, that she was under my
protection.

"Is she indeed, sir?" said he. "And pray may I ask to whom she is
indebted for this kind and gratuitous protection?"

"That is to myself, sir," said I.

He pushed me aside in high disdain, and as I continued to show a
disposition to oppose by force his purpose of taking the lady on
board, I was surrounded by nine or ten fellows who were in readiness
to act upon his orders; they disarmed me, and persuading the
spectators that I was insane or intoxicated, bound me, as the only
means of preventing me from annoying their master. The whole party
then went on board, and sailed down the frith; and I saw no more of
them, nor discovered any more concerning the lady at that time.

Soon after this adventure, the Bishop returned home, but whenever he
saw my face, he looked as if he had seen a serpent ready to spring on
him. Many a sore and heavy heart I had about the lady that I saw
fallen among the Papists, and carried away by them; but for a long
while I remained in ignorance who she was, being only able to
conjecture that she was some young woman about to be made a nun,
contrary to her own inclination.

At length a fearful report began to spread through the country of the
loss of Lady Julia, and of her having been last seen in the company of
her confessor; but the Bishop frequented the Castle the same as
before, and therefore people shook their heads whenever the subject
was mentioned, as if much were suspected, though little durst be said.
I wondered greatly if that lady with whom I fell so much in love in
our passage through the Highlands, could have been this Lady Julia. My
father died that year, so I left the regiment in which I had been an
officer, and being in Glasgow about the end of September, I went from
thence in a vessel to Fort-William. As we passed the island of
Illismore, a lady came on board rather in a secret manner. She had a
maid-servant with her, who carried a child. The moment the lady
stepped up the ship's side, I perceived it to be the identical
beautiful creature with whom I had fallen in the year before, when the
Bishop was carrying her away. But what a change had taken place in her
appearance! her countenance was pale and emaciated, her looks
dejected, and she seemed to be heart-broken. At our first rencounter,
she looked me full in the face, and I saw that she recognised me, for
she hurried past me into the cabin, followed by her maid.

When we came to the fortress, and were paying our fares, I observed
some dispute between the lady and the mate or master of the boat and a
West-Islander, the one charging her for boat-fare, and the other for
board and lodging. "I give you my word of honour," she said, "that you
shall be paid double your demands in two weeks; but at present I have
no means of satisfying you."

"Words of honour won't pass current here, mistress," said the sailor;
"money or value I must have, for I am but a servant."

The West-Islander was less uncivil, and expressing his reluctance to
press a gentlewoman in a strait, said, if she would tell him who she
was, he would ask no more security.

"You are very good," said she, as she wiped away the tears that were
streaming down her cheeks; but she would not tell her name. Her
confusion and despair became extreme, so much so, that I could no
longer endure to see one who appeared so ingenuous, yet compelled to
shroud herself in mystery, suffer so much from so paltry a cause; and,
interfering, I satisfied the demands of the two men. The look of
gratitude which she cast upon me was most expressive; but she said
nothing. We travelled in company to Inverness, I supplying her with
what money was necessary to meet the expenses of the road, which she
took without offering a word of explanation. Before we parted, she
called me into an apartment, and assuring me that I should soon hear
from her, she thanked me briefly for the assistance I had afforded
her. "And this little fellow," continued she, "if he live to be a man,
shall thank you too for your kindness to his mother." She then asked
if I could know the child again, and I answered that I could not, all
infants were so much alike. She said there was a good reason why she
wished that I should be able to recognise the child at any future
period, and she would show me a private mark by which I should know
him as long as I lived. Baring his little bosom accordingly, she
displayed the mark of a gold ring, with a ruby, immediately below his
left breast. I said it was a very curious mark indeed, and one that I
could not mistake. She next asked me if I was a Roman Catholic? but I
shook my head, and said, God forbid! and so we parted.

I had learned from the West-Islander that his name was Malcolm M'Leod,
a poor and honest Roman Catholic, and that the child was born at his
house, one of the most remote places in the world, being on a
sequestered and inaccessible peninsula in one of the Western Isles.
The infant had been baptized privately by the Bishop of Illismore, by
the name of Lewis William. But farther the man either could not or
would not give me any information.

Before I left Inverness I learned that the lady was no other than the
noble and fair Lady Julia, and shortly after I got home to Innismore,
I received a blank letter, enclosing the sum I had expended on her
behalf. Not long after, a message came, desiring me to come express to
the Bishop's house. This was the whole amount of the message, and
although no definite object was held out to me, I undertook the
journey. Indeed, throughout the whole transactions connected with this
affair, I cannot understand what motives they were that I acted on. It
seems rather that I was influenced by a sort of fatality throughout,
as well as the other persons with whom I had to deal. What human
probability was there, for instance, that I would obey a summons of
this nature? and yet I was summoned. There was no inducement held out
to procure my compliance with the request; and yet I did comply with
it. Upon what pretext was I to gain admittance to the Bishop's house?
I could think of none. And if I am called upon to tell how I did gain
admittance, if it were not that subsequent events demonstrate that my
proceedings were in accordance with the decrees of a superior destiny,
I should say that it was by the mere force of impudence. As I
approached the house, I heard there was such a weeping, and screaming,
and lamentation, that I almost thought murder was going on within it.
There were many voices, all speaking at once; but the cries were heard
above all, and grew more woful and bitter. When I entered the house,
which I did without much ceremony, and flung open the door of the
apartment from which the noise proceeded, there was Lady Julia
screaming in an agony of despair, and holding her child to her bosom,
who was crying as bitterly as herself. She was surrounded by the
Bishop and three other gentlemen, one of them on his knees, as if
imploring her to consent to something, and the other three using
gentle force to take the child from her. My entrance seemed to strike
them with equal terror and astonishment; they commanded me loudly to
retire; but I forced myself forward, while Lady Julia called out and
named me, saying I was her friend and protector. She was quite in a
state of derangement through agony and despair, and I was much moved
when I saw how she pressed her babe to her bosom, bathed him with
tears, and kissed him and blessed him a thousand times.

"O Mr MacTavish," cried she, "they are going to take my child from
me,--my dear, dear boy! and I would rather part with my life. But they
cannot take my child from me if you will protect me. They cannot--they
cannot!" And in that way did she rave on, regardless of all their
entreaties.

"My dear Lady Julia, what madness has seized you?" said a
reverend-looking gentleman. "Are you going to bring ruin on yourself
and your whole family, and to disgrace the holy religion which you
profess? Did you not promise that you would give up the child? did you
not come here for that special purpose? and do not we all engage, in
the most solemn manner, to see him bred and educated as becomes his
birth?"

"No, no, no, no!" cried she; "I cannot, I cannot! I will not part with
him! I will go with him to the farthest ends of the world, where our
names were never heard of,--but, oh! do not separate me from my dear
boy!"

The men stared at one another, and held their peace.

"Madam," said I, "I will willingly protect your baby and you, if there
is occasion for it, as long as there is a drop of blood in my body;
but it strikes me that these gentlemen are in the right, and that you
are in the wrong. It is true, I speak in ignorance of circumstances;
but from all that I can guess, you cannot doubt of your baby's safety,
when all these honourable men stand security to you for him. But if it
is necessary that you should part with him, and if you will not
intrust him to them, give him to me. I will have him nursed and
educated in my own house, and under mine own eye."

"You are very good--you are very good!" said she, rather calmly.
"Well, let this worthy gentleman take the charge of him, and I yield
to give him up."

"No, no!" exclaimed they all at once, "no heretic can have the charge
of the boy; he must be brought up under our own auspices; therefore,
dearest Lady Julia, bethink you what you are doing, before you work
your own ruin, and his ruin, and the ruin of us all."

Lady Julia then burst into a long fit of weeping, and I saw she was
going to yield; she, however, requested permission to speak a few
words with me in private. This was readily granted, and all of them
retired. When we were alone, she said to me softly, "They are going to
take my child from me, and I cannot and dare not resist them any
longer, for fear a worse fate befall him. But I sent for you to be a
witness of our separation. You will know my poor hapless child as long
as he lives, from the mark that I showed you; and when they force him
from me, O watch where they take him, and to whatever quarter that may
be, follow, and bring me word, and high shall be your reward. Now,
farewell; remember I trust in you,--and God be with you! I do not wish
any one to see my last extremity, save those who cause it, for I know
my heart must break. Desire them to come in, and say that you have
persuaded me to yield to their will."

I did so; but I could see that they only regarded me with looks of
suspicion.

I lingered in the narrow lobby, and it was not two minutes, till two
persons, one of whom I had previously ascertained by his accent to be
an Irish gentleman, hurried by me with the child. I should have
followed, but, as, in their haste, they left open the door of the
apartment where Julia was, my attention was riveted on the lady; she
was paralysed with affliction, and clasped the air, as if trying to
embrace something,--but finding her child was no longer in her bosom,
she sprung up to an amazing height, uttered a terrible shriek, and
fell down strongly convulsed. Shortly after, she uttered a tremulous
moan, and died quite away. I had no doubt that her heart was broken,
and that she had expired; and indeed the Bishop, and the other
gentleman, who remained with her, seemed to be of the same opinion,
and were benumbed with astonishment. I called aloud for assistance,
when two women came bustling in with water; but the Bishop ordered one
of them, in an angry tone, to retire. He gave the command in Gaelic,
and the poor creature cowered like a spaniel under the lash, and made
all haste out of his sight. This circumstance caused me to take a look
at the woman, and I perceived at once that I knew her,--but the hurry
and confusion of the moment prevented me from thinking of the
incident, less or more, until long afterwards.

Lady Julia at length gave symptoms of returning animation, and then I
recollected the neglect of the charge she had committed to me. I
hurried out; but all trace of the child was lost. The two gentlemen
who took him from his mother, were walking and conversing deliberately
in the garden, as if nothing had happened, and all my inquiries of
them and of others were unavailing.

After the loss of Lady Julia's child, I searched the whole country,
but no child could I either see or hear of; and at length my only hope
rested on being able to remember who the old woman was whom the Bishop
ordered so abruptly out of his presence that day the child was
disposed of. I was sure, from the manner in which she skulked away, as
if afraid of being discovered, that she had taken him away, either
dead or alive. Of all the sensations I ever experienced I was now
subjected to the most teasing: I was sensible that I knew the woman
perfectly well,--so well, that at first I believed I could call her to
my recollection whenever I chose; but, though I put my memory to the
rack a thousand and a thousand times, the name, residence, and
connexions of the woman went farther and farther from my grasp, till
at last they vanished like clouds that mock us with forms of the
long-departed.

And now I am going to tell a very marvellous story: One day, when I
was hunting in Correi-beg of Glen-Anam, I shot so well that I wondered
at myself. Before my unerring aim, whole coveys of moor game
fluttered to the earth; and as for the ptarmigans, they fell like
showers of hailstones. At length I began to observe that the wounded
birds eyed me with strange, unearthly looks, and recollecting the
traditions of the glen, and its name, I suspected there was some
enchantment in the case. What, thought I, if I am shooting good
fairies, or little harmless hill spirits, or mayhap whole flocks of
Papists trying feats of witchcraft!--and to think that I am carrying
all these on my back! While standing in this perplexity, I heard a
voice behind me, which said, "O Sandy MacTavish, Sandy MacTavish, how
will you answer for this day's work? What will become of me! what will
become of me!"

I turned round in great consternation, my hairs all standing on
end--but nothing could I see, save a wounded ptarmigan, hopping among
the greystones. It looked at its feathery legs and its snow-white
breast all covered with blood,--and at length the creature said, in
Gaelic, as before, for it could not be expected that a ptarmigan
should have spoken English, "How would you like to find all your
family and friends shot and mangled in this way when you gang hame?
Ay, if you do not catch me, you will rue this morning's work as long
as you live,--and long, long afterwards. But if you catch me, your
fortune is made, and you will gain both great riches and respect."

"Then have with you, creature!" exclaimed I, "for it strikes me that I
can never make a fortune so easily;" and I ran at it, with my bonnet
in both hands, to catch it.

"Hee-hee-hee!" laughed the creature; and away it bounded among the
grey stones, jumping like a jackdaw with a clipped wing. I ran and
ran, and every time that I tried to clap my bonnet above it, down I
came with a rattle among the stones--"Hee-hee-hee!" shouted the bird
at every tumble. So provoking was this, and so eager did I become in
the pursuit, that I flung away my gun and my load of game, and ran
after the bird like a madman, floundering over rugged stones, laying
on with my bonnet, and sometimes throwing myself above the little
creature, which always eluded me.

I knew all this while that the creature was a witch, or a fairy, or
something worse,--but natheless I could not resist chasing it, being
resolved to catch it, cost what it would; and on I ran, by cliff and
corrie, till I came to a cottage which I remembered having seen once
before. The creature, having involved me in the linns of the glen, had
got considerably a-head of me, and took shelter in the cottage. I was
all covered with blood as well as the bird, and in that state I ran
into the bothy after my prey.

On entering, I heard a great bustle, as if all the inmates were
employed in effecting the concealment of something. I took it for a
concern of smuggling, and went boldly forward, with a "Hilloa! who
bides here?"

At the question there appeared one I had good reason to recollect, at
sight of whom my heart thrilled. This was no other than the old woman
I had seen at the Bishop's house. I knew her perfectly well, for I had
been in the same bothy once before, when out hunting, to get some
refreshment. I now wondered much that I should never have been able to
recollect who the beldam was, till that moment, when I saw her again
in her own house. Her looks betrayed the utmost confusion and dismay,
as she addressed me in these words, "Hee-hee, good Mr MacTavish, what
will you be seeking so far from home to-day?"

"I am only seeking a wounded ptarmigan, mistress," said I; "and if it
be not a witch and yourself that I have wounded, I must have it,--for
a great deal depends upon my getting hold of the creature."

"Ha, ha! you are coming pursuing after your fortune the day, Mr
MacTavish," said she, "and mayhap you may seize her; but we have a
small piece of an operation to go through before that can take place."

"And pray, what is that, Mrs Elspeth?" said I; "for if it be any of
your witchcraft doings, I will have no hand in it. Give me my bird;
that is all I ask of you."

"And so you really and positively believe it was a bird you chased in
here to-day, Mr MacTavish?"

"Why, what could I think, mistress? It had the appearance of a bird."

"Margati Cousland! come hither," said the old witch; "what is ordained
must be done;--lay hold of him, Margati."

The two women then laid hold of me, and being under some spell, I had
no power to resist; so they bound my hands and feet, and laid me on a
table, laughing immoderately at my terrors. They then begged I would
excuse them, for they were under the necessity of going on with the
operation, though it might not be quite agreeable to me in the first
instance.

"And pray, Mrs Elspeth, what is this same operation?" said I.

"Why," said she, "you have come here chasing after a great fortune,
and there is no other way of attaining it save by one,--and that is,
YOUR HEART'S BLOOD MUST BE LET OUT."

"That is a very uncommon way of attaining a fortune, Mrs Elspeth,"
said I, as good-humouredly as I could, although my heart was quaking
within me.

"It is nevertheless a very excellent plan," said the witch, "and it is
very rarely that a fortune can be made without it." So saying, the
beldam plunged a skein-ochil into my breast, with a loud and a
fiendish laugh. "There goes the heart's blood of black Sandy
MacTavish!" cried she; and that instant I heard the sound of it
rushing to the floor. It was not like the sound of a cataract of
blood, however, but rather like the tinkling of a stream of gold
guineas. I forced up my head, and behold, there was a stream of pure
and shining gold pieces issuing from my bosom; while a number of
demons, some in black gowns, and others in white petticoats, were
running off with them, and flinging them about in every direction! I
could stand this no longer; to have parted with a little blood I found
would have been nothing, but to see my vitals drained of a precious
treasure, which I knew not had been there, was more than human nature
could bear; so I roared out, in a voice that made all the house and
all the hills to yell, "Murder! thieves! thieves! robbers!--Murder!
Ho! ho! ho!" Thus did I continue loudly to shout, till one of the
witches, or infernals, as I thought, dashed a pail of water on my
face, a portion of which going into my mouth and windpipe, choked my
utterance; but natheless the remorseless wretch continued to dash
water upon me with an unsparing hand, till at last the spell was
broke, and the whole illusion vanished.

In order to establish the credibility of the above relation, I must
tell another story, which shall be a very short one.

"Our mhaster slheeps fery lhang this tay, Mrs Roy MacCallum," said my
man, Donald, to my old housekeeper.

"Huh aye, and that she does, Tonald; and Cot pe plessing her slheep to
her, honest shentlemans! Donald MacIntosh."

"Huh aye, Mrs Roy MacCallum. But hersell looked just pen te house to
see if mhaster was waking and quite coot in health; and, would you
pelieve it, Mrs MacCallum? her is lying staring and struggling as if
her were quite mhad."

"Cot forpit, Tonald MacIntosh!"

"Huh aye, to be sure, Mrs MacCallum, Cot forpit, to be sure; but her
pe mhad for all tat; and tere pe one creat trial, Mrs Roy MacCallum,
and we mhust mhake it, and tat is py water."

"It pe te creat and lhast trial; let us ply te water," rejoined the
sage housekeeper.

With that, Mrs Roy MacCallum and Donald MacIntosh came into my
sleeping-room with pails of water, and began to fling it upon me in
such copious showers that I was wellnigh choked; and to prevent myself
from being drowned, I sprung up; but still they continued to dash
water upon me. At length I knew my own man Donald's voice as I heard
him calling out, "Clash on, Mrs MacCallum! it pe for life or teath."

"Huh aye, ply on te water, Tonald!" cried the other.

"Hold, hold, my good friends," cried I, skipping round the room all
dripping wet--"Hold, hold, I am wide awake now, and better."

"Huh! plessit pe Cot, and plessit pe te creat MacTavish!" cried they
both at once.

"But where is the witch of the glen?" cried I. "And where is the
wounded ptarmigan?--and where is all the gold that came out with my
heart's blood?"

"Clash on te water, Mrs MacCallum!" exclaimed Donald; and the
indefatigable pails of Donald and the housekeeper were again put in
requisition to some purpose. Having skipped about for some time, I at
last escaped into a closet, and locked the door. I had then leisure to
remonstrate with them through the key-hole; but still there were many
things about which we could not come to a right understanding, and I
began to dread a tremendous shower-bath from above, as I heard them
carrying water up stairs; and that dread brought me first to my proper
and right senses.

It will now be perceived that the whole of my adventure in the glen,
with the ptarmigan and the witches, was nothing more than a dream. But
yet in my opinion it was more than a dream, for it was the same as
reality to me. I had all the feelings and sensations of a rational
being, and every circumstance was impressed on my mind the same as if
I had transacted it awake. Besides, there was a most singular and
important revelation imparted to me by the vision: I had discovered
who the old woman was whose identity had before perplexed me so much,
and who I was sure either had Lady Julia's boy, or knew where he was.
About five years previous to this I had come into the same woman's
house, weary and hungry, and laden with game, and was very kindly
treated. Of course, her face was quite familiar to me; but till I had
this singular dream, all the efforts of my memory could not recall the
woman's name and habitation, nor in what country or circumstances I
had before seen her. From that morning forth I thought of nothing else
save another visit to the forester's cottage in the glen; and, though
my heart foreboded some evil, I rested not till I had accomplished it.

It was not long till I made a journey to Aberduchra, in search of the
old witch whom I had seen in my dream. I found her; and apparently she
had recently suffered much from distress of mind; her eyes were red
with weeping, her hairs were hanging in elf-switches, and her dress in
much disorder. She knew me, and said, "God bless you, Mr MacTavish,
where are you travelling this way?"

"In truth, Mrs Cowan," I replied, "I am just come to see after Lady
Julia's little boy, poor Lewis William, you know, who was put under
your care by the Bishop, on the first of November last year."

She held up her hands and stared, and then fell a-crying most
bitterly, striking her breast, and wringing her hands, like one
distracted, but still without answering me one word.

"Ochon, ochon!" said I; "then it is all as I suspected, and the dear
child is indeed murdered!"

On this she sprung to her feet, and uttered an appalling scream, and
then yelled out, "Murdered! murdered! Is the dear boy murdered? Is
he--is he murdered?"

This vehemence of feeling on her part at the idea of the boy's being
cut off, convinced me that she had not murdered the child herself; and
being greatly relieved in my heart, I sat still as in astonishment,
until she again put the question if her dear foster-child was
murdered.

"Why, Mrs Cowan, not to my knowledge," I replied. "I did not see him
murdered; but if he has not been foully dealt with, what has become of
him?--for well I know he was put under your charge; and before the
world, and before the judges of the land, I shall make you render an
account of him."

"Was the boy yours, Mr MacTavish," said she, "that you are so deeply
interested in him? For the love of Heaven, tell me who was his father,
and then I shall confess to you every thing that I know concerning
him."

I then told the old woman the whole story as I have here related it,
and requested her to inform me what had become of the boy.

"He was delivered to me after the most solemn injunctions of
concealment," said she; "and these were accompanied with threatenings,
in case of disobedience, of no ordinary nature. He was to be brought
up in this inaccessible wild with us as our grandson; and farther than
that, no being was to know. Our reward was to be very high--too high,
I am afraid, which may have caused his abstraction. But O he was a
dear delightful boy! and I loved him better than my own grandson. He
was so playful, so bold, and, at the same time, so forgiving and
generous!

"Well, he lived on with us, and grew, and no one acknowledged or
noticed him until a little while ago, that one Bill Nicol came into
the forest as fox-hunter, and came here to board, to be near the
foxes, having, as he pretended, the factor's orders for doing so; and
every day he would sport with the two boys, who were both alike fond
of him,--and every day would he be giving them rides on his pony,
which put them half crazy about the man. And then one day, when he was
giving them a ride time about, the knave mounted behind poor little
Lewie, and rode off with him altogether into the forest, and there was
an end of him. Ranald ran crying after them till he could run no
farther, and then, losing sight of them, he sat down and wept. I was
busy at work, and thought always that my two little fellows were
playing not far off, until I began to wonder where they could be, and
ran out to the top of the little birky knowe-head there, and called,
and louder called them; but nothing answered me, save the echoes of my
own voice from the rocks and trees; so I grew very greatly distracted,
and ran up Glen-Caolas, shouting as I went, and always praying between
whiles to the Holy Virgin and to the good saints to restore me my
boys. But they did not do it--Oh no, they never did! I then began to
suspect that this pretended fox-hunter might have been the Wicked One
come in disguise to take away my children; and the more so, as I knew
not if Lewie had been blessed in holy church. But what could I do but
run on, calling, and crying, and raving all the way, until I came to
the pass of Bally-keurach, and then I saw that no pony's foot had
passed on that path, and turned and ran home; but it was growing dark,
and there was nobody there, so I took to the woods again. How I spent
that night I do not know, but I think I had fallen into a trance
through sorrow and fatigue.

"Next morning, when I came to my senses, the first thing I saw was a
man who came by me, chasing a wounded bird, like a white moorfowl, and
he was always trying to catch it with his bonnet, and many a hard fall
he got among the stones. I called after him, for I was glad to see a
human being in that place, and I made all the speed I could to follow;
but he regarded me not, but ran after the wounded bird. He went down
the linns, which retarded him a good deal, and I got quite near him.
Then from that he went into a small hollow straight before me, to
which I ran, for I wanted to tell him my tale, and beg his assistance
in raising the country in the strath below. When I came into the
little hollow, he had vanished, although a hare could not have left it
without my seeing it. I was greatly astonished, assured that I had
seen a vision. But how much more was I astonished to find, on the very
spot where he had disappeared, my grandson, Ranald, lying sound
asleep, and quite motionless, through hunger and fatigue! At first I
thought he was dead, and lost all recollection of the wonderful way in
which I had been led to him; but when I found he was alive and
breathing, I took him up in my arms, and carried him home, and there
found the same man, or rather the same apparition, busily employed
hunting the wounded bird within this same cottage, and he declared
that have it he must. I was terrified almost out of my wits, but tried
to thank the mysterious being for leading me to my perishing child.
His answer--which I shall never forget--was, 'Yes, I have found one,
and I will find the other too, if the Almighty spare me in life.' And
when the apparition said so, it gave me such a look in the face--Oh!
ah! What is this! what is this!"

Here the old woman began to shriek like one distracted, and appeared
in an agony of terror; and, to tell the truth, I was not much better
myself, when I heard the story of the wounded ptarmigan. But I tried
to support the old woman, and asked what ailed her.

"Well you may ask what ails me!" said she. "Oh Mr MacTavish, what did
I see just now but the very same look that the apparition gave that
morning! The same look, and from the very same features; for indeed it
was the apparition of yourself, in every lineament, and in every
article of dress:--your very self. And it is the most strange vision
that ever happened to me in all my visionary life!"

"I will tell you what it is, Mrs Elspeth Cowan," said I, "you do not
know one half of its strangeness yet; but tell me the day of the week
and the day of the month when you beheld this same vision of myself."

"Ay, that day I never shall forget," answered Elspeth; "for of all the
days of the year it was the one after I lost my dear foster-son, and
that was the seventh of Averile. I have always thought my boy was
stolen to be murdered, or put out of the way most unfairly, till this
very day; but now, when I see the same man in flesh and blood, whom I
saw that day chasing the wounded bird, I am sure poor Lewie will be
found; for with that very look which you gave me but a minute ago, and
in that very place where you stand, your apparition or yourself said
to me, 'Yes, I have found the one, and I will find the other if the
Almighty spare me in life.'"

"I do not recollect of saying these words, Mrs Cowan," said I.

"Recollect?" said she; "what is it you mean? Sure you were not here
your own self that morning?"

"Why, to tell you the solemn truth," replied I, "I was in the glen
that very morning chasing a wounded ptarmigan, and I now have some
faint recollection of seeing a red-haired boy lying asleep in a little
green hollow beside a grey stone,--and I think I did say these words
to some one too. But was not there something more? Was not there
something about letting out somebody's heart's blood?"

"Yes; but then that was only a dream I had," said she, "while the
other was no dream, but a sad reality. But how, in the name of the
blessed saints, do you happen to know of that dream?"

"It is not easy, now-a-days," answered I, "to say what is a dream and
what is a reality. For my part, from this moment I renounce all
certainty of the distinction. It is a fact, that on that very morning,
and at that hour, I was in this glen and in this cottage,--and yet I
was neither in this glen nor in this cottage. So, if you can unriddle
that, you are welcome."

"I knew you were not here in flesh and blood. I knew it was your
wraith, or _anam_, as we call it; for, first, you vanished in the
hollow before my eyes; then you appeared here again, and when you went
away in haste, I followed you to beg your assistance; and all that I
could hear was your spirit howling under a waterfall of the linn."

This confounded me more than ever, and it was some time before I
recovered my self-possession so far as to inquire if what she had
related to me was all she knew about the boy.

"Nothing more," she said, "save that you are destined to discover him
again, either dead or alive--for I can assure you, from the words that
I heard out of your own spirit's mouth, that if you do not find him,
and restore him to his birthright, he never will be discovered by
mortal man. I went, poor, sachless, and helpless being as I was, to
the Bishop, and told him my woful story; for I durst do nothing till I
asked counsel of him. He was, or rather pretended to be, very angry,
and said I deserved to be burnt for my negligence, for there was no
doubt the boy had fallen over some precipice. It was in vain that I
told him how my own grandson had seen him carried off on the pony by
the pretended fox-hunter; he persisted in his own belief, and would
not suffer me to mention the circumstances to a single individual. So,
knowing that the counsel of the Lord was with his servant, I could do
nothing but weep in secret, and hold my peace."

Thus ended my interview with Elspeth of the glen.

After my visit to the old sibyl, my mind ran much on the extraordinary
vision I had had, and on the old witch's having actually seen a being
in my shape at the very instant of time that I myself weened and felt
that I was there.

I have forgot whether I went to Lady Julia that very night or some
time after, but I did carry her the tidings, which threw her into an
agony of the deepest distress. She continued for a long space to
repeat that her child was murdered,--her dear, her innocent child. But
before I left her, she said her situation was a very peculiar one, and
therefore she entreated me to be secret, and to tell no one of the
circumstance, yet by all means to lose no time in endeavouring to
trace the fox-hunter, and to find out, if possible, whether the boy
was dead or alive. She concluded by saying, "Exert yourself like a man
and a true friend, as you have always been to me. Spare no expense in
attaining your object, and my whole fortune is at your disposal." I
was so completely involved in the business, that I saw no alternative
but that of proceeding,--and not to proceed with vigour was contrary
to my nature.

Lady Julia had all this time been kept in profound ignorance where
the child had been concealed, and the very next day after our
interview, she paid a visit to old Elspeth Cowan at the remote cottage
of Aberduchra, and there I again met with her as I set out on the
pursuit. Long and serious was our consultation, and I wrote down all
the marks of the man and the horse from Elspeth's mouth; and the child
Ranald also gave me some very nice marks of the pony.

The only new thing that had come out, was that the boy Ranald had
persisted in saying, that the fox-hunter took his brother Lewie _down_
the glen, in place of up, which every other circumstance seemed to
indicate. Elspeth had seen them go all three up the glen, the two boys
riding on the pony, and the fox-hunter leading it, and Ranald himself
was found far up the glen; but yet when we took him to the spot, and
pointed up the glen, he said, No, they did not go that way, but the
other. Elspeth said it was not possible, but I thought otherwise; for
when I asked at Ranald where he thought Nicol the fox-hunter was going
with his brother, he said he thought he was taking him home, and that
he would come back for him. Elspeth wanted me to take the route
through the hills towards the south; but as soon as I heard the boy's
tale, I suspected the Bishop had had some share in the abstraction of
the missing child, and set out on my search in the direction of his
mansion. I asked at every house and at every person, for such a man
and such a pony as I described, making no mention of a boy; but no
such man had been seen. At length I chanced to be asking at a
shieling, within a mile of the Bishop's house, if, on such a day, they
had seen such a man ride by on a black pony. They had not seen him;
but there was a poor vagrant boy chanced to be present, and heard my
inquiry, and he said he saw a man like that ride by on a black pony
one day, but it could not be the man I wanted, for he had a bonny boy
on the horse before him.

"Indeed?" said I. "O, then, it could not be the man I want. Had the
pony any mark by which you could remember it?"

"_Cheas gear_," said the boy. This was the very mark that little
Ranald had given me of the pony. Oho! I have my man now! thought I; so
I said no more, but shook my head and went away. Every thing was kept
so close about the Bishop's house, I could get no intelligence there,
nor even entrance--and in truth, I durst hardly be seen about the
premises.

In this dilemma, I recollected the words of the sibyl of the glen, as
I had heard them in my strange vision, namely, that my only sure way
of making a fortune was by letting out my heart's blood; and also,
that when my heart's blood was let out, it proved to be a flood of
guineas. Now, thought I to myself, what does making a fortune mean
but carrying out successfully any enterprise one may have in hand? and
though to part with money is a very hard matter, especially in an
affair in which I have no concern, yet I will try the efficacy of it
here, and so learn whether the experiment is worth making in other
cases where I am more closely interested.--The truth is, I found that
I _was_ deeply interested in the affair, although, not being able to
satisfy my own mind with reasons why I should be so, I affected to
consider myself mightily indifferent about it. In pursuance,
therefore, of the plan suggested in my dream, and on a proper
opportunity, by means of a present administered to one of the Bishop's
servants, I learnt, that about the time when the boy had been carried
off by the fox-hunter, a priest of the name of O'Callaghan had made
his appearance at the Bishop's house; that he was dressed in a dark
grey jacket and trowsers, and rode a black pony with cropped ears;
that he was believed to have some secret business with the Bishop, and
had frequent consultations with him; and my informant, becoming more
and more free in his communications, as the facts, one after another,
were drawn from him, confessed to me that he had one night overheard
quarrelling between O'Callaghan and his master, and having stolen to
the door of the apartment, listened for some time, but was unable to
make out more of the angry whisperings within than a threat from
O'Callaghan, that if the Bishop would not give him more, "he
(O'Callaghan) would throw him overboard into the first salt dub he
came to." On interrogating my informant if he knew whom O'Callaghan
meant, when he said he would "throw him overboard," he replied that he
could not guess. I had, however, no doubt, that it was the boy I was
in search of, and I had as little doubt that the fellow knew to whom
the threat referred; but I have often known people have no scruple in
telling all about a secret, so as to give any one a key to the
complete knowledge of it, who would yet, upon no consideration, give
utterance to the secret itself; and judging this to be the case in the
present instance, I contented myself with learning farther, that when
the priest left the Bishop's, he went directly to Ireland, of which
country he was a native, and would, in all probability, ere long
revisit Scotland.

Possessed of this clew, I was nevertheless much at a loss to determine
what was the most advisable way of following it out. My inclination
led me to wait the fellow's return, and to have him seized and
examined. But then I bethought me, if I could be instrumental in
saving the boy's life, or of discovering where he was placed, or how
circumstanced, it would avail me more, and give Lady Julia more
satisfaction than any punishment that might be inflicted on the
perpetrators of this deed afterwards. So after a troubled night and
day, which I spent in preparation, I armed myself with a pair of
pistols and a pair of Highland dirks, a long and a short one, and set
out in my arduous undertaking, either to recover the boy or perish in
the attempt. And it is needless for me to deny to you, sir, that the
vision, and the weird wife of the glen's prophecy, had no small part
in urging me to this adventure.

I got no trace of the priest till I went to Abertarf, where I found
out that he had lodged in the house of a Catholic, and that he had
shown a good deal of kindness and attention to the boy, while the boy
seemed also attached to him, but still more to the pony. I went to the
house of this man, whose name was Angus Roy MacDonald; but he was
close as death, suspicious, and sullen, and would tell me nothing of
O'Callaghan's motions. I succeeded, however, in tracing him till he
went on board of a Liverpool sloop at Arisaig. I was much at a loss
how to proceed, when, in the evening, perceiving a vessel in the
offing, bearing against the tide, and hoping that the persons I sought
might be aboard of her, I hired a boat to take me out; but we lost
sight of her in the dusk of the evening, and I was obliged to bribe
the boatmen to take me all the way to Tobermory, having been assured
that the Liverpool vessel would be obliged to put in there, in order
to clear at the custom-house. We did not reach Tobermory till the next
day at noon; and as we entered the narrow passage that leads into the
harbour, a sloop came full sail by us right before the wind, and I saw
a pretty boy standing on the poop. I called out "Lewis" to him, but he
only looked over his shoulder as for some one else, and did not answer
me. The ship going on, as she turned her stern right towards us, I saw
"The Blake of Boston" in golden letters, and thought no more of the
encounter till I went on shore, and there I learned on the quay that
she was the identical Liverpool vessel of which I was in pursuit, and
the boy I had seen, the very one I was in search of. I learnt that he
was crying much when ashore, and refused to go on shipboard again till
taken by force; and that he told the people boldly, that that man,
Nicol the fox-hunter, had taken him from his mother and father, and
his brother Ranald, having enticed him out to give him a ride, and
never taken him home again. But the fellow telling them a plausible
story, they durst not meddle in the matter. It was known, however,
that the vessel had to go round by the Shannon, as she had some
valuable loading on board for Limerick.

This was heavy news, as how to get a passage thither I wist not. But
the thoughts of the poor boy crying for his home hung about my heart,
and so, going to Greenock I took a passage for Belfast, and travelled
on foot or on horseback as I could, all the way to Limerick. When I
got there, matters looked still worse. The Blake had not come up to
Limerick, but discharged her bales at the mouth of the river, and
again sailed; and here was I in a strange country with no one perhaps
to believe my tale. The Irish, however, showed no signs of apathy or
indifference to my case, as my own countrymen did. They manifested the
utmost sympathy for me, and the utmost indignation against
O'Callaghan; and the man being known in the country, he was soon found
out by the natives. Yet, strange to say! though found out by twenty
men all eagerly bent on the discovery, as soon as he gave them a hint
respecting the person by whom he was employed, off they went, and
never so much as came back to tell either the Mayor or myself that
their search had been successful or not.

But two or three officers, who were Protestants, being dispatched in
search of him, they soon brought him to Limerick, where he and I were
both examined, and he was committed to jail till the next court day.
He denied all knowledge of the boy, and all concern whatever in the
crime he was charged with; and the ship being gone I could procure no
evidence against him. There was nothing but the allegations of
parties, upon which no judgment could be given: I had to pay the
expenses of process, and he gave securities for his appearance at the
court of Inverness, if he should be cited. I spent nine days more in
searching for the boy on the Clare side of the river; but all my
efforts were fruitless. I found that my accusation of their vagrant
priest rendered me very unpopular among the natives, and was obliged
to relinquish the investigation.

O'Callaghan was in Scotland before me, and on my arrival I caused him
to be instantly seized, secure now of enough of witnesses to prove the
fact of his having taken off the boy. Old Elspeth of the glen and her
husband were summoned, as were Lady Julia and Angus Roy MacDonald.
When the day of trial came, O'Callaghan's indictment was read in
court, charging him with having abstracted a boy from the sheiling of
Aberduchra. The Bishop being present, and a great number of his
adherents, the panel boldly denied every circumstance; and what was my
astonishment to find, on the witnesses' names being called, that not
one of them was there! The officers were called and examined, who
declared that they could not find one of the witnesses in the whole
country. The forester and his wife, they said, had left Aberduchra,
and gone nobody knew whither; Lady Julia had gone to France, and Angus
MacDonald to the Lowlands, it was supposed, with cows. The court
remarked it was a singular and rather suspicious circumstance, that
the witnesses should all be absent. O'Callaghan said something in his
own defence, and having made a reference to the Bishop for his
character, his reverence made a long speech in his praise. The
consequence was, that as not one witness was produced in support of
the accusation, O'Callaghan was once more liberated.

I would never have learned what became of the boy, had not a young
soldier, a cousin's son of mine, come to Innismore the other year. He
was a fine lad, and I soon became a good deal attached to him; and he
being one of a company stationed in the neighbourhood to guard the
passes for the prevention of smuggling, he lived a good deal at my
house, while his officer remained nightly at the old mansion-house,
the guest of Lady Julia and the young Lord.

It is perhaps proper here to mention that Lady Julia was now the only
remaining member of the late Earl's family, and the heir of entail,
being the son of a distant relation, had been sent from Ireland to be
brought up by Lady Julia. He was a perverse and wicked boy, and
grieved her heart every day.

The young man, my relation, was one day called out to follow his
captain on a private expedition against some smugglers. The next day
one of his comrades came and told me that they had had a set battle
with a great band of smugglers, in which several were killed and
wounded. "Among the rest," said he, "our gallant commander, Captain
MacKenzie, is killed, and your nephew is lying mortally wounded at the
still-house."

I lost no time in getting ready, and mounting one horse, and causing
the soldier to take another, I bade him lead the way, and I followed.
It may well be supposed that I was much astonished on finding that the
lad was leading me straight to the cottage of Aberduchra! Ever since
the old forester and his wife had been removed, the cottage had stood
uninhabited; and it seems that, from its inaccessible situation, it
had been pitched upon as a still-house, and occupied as such, for
several years, by a strong band of smugglers from the Deveron. They
were all bold, resolute fellows, and when surprised by MacKenzie and
his party, and commanded to yield, they soon showed that there was
nothing farther from their intention. In one moment every one had a
weapon in his hand; they rushed upon the military with such fury that
in a few minutes they beat them back, after having run their captain
and another man through the body, and wounded several besides. Captain
MacKenzie had slain one of the smugglers at the first onset; but the
next instant he fell, and his party retired. The smugglers then staved
their casks, and fled, leaving the military in possession of the field
of battle, and of the sheiling, in which nothing was found save a
great rubbish of smashed utensils and the killed and wounded of both
sides.

In this state I found the cottage of Aberduchra. There were one
smuggler and a soldier quite dead, and a number badly wounded; and
among the latter was the young man, my relative, who was sore wounded
in the left shoulder. My whole attention was instantly turned towards
him. He was very faint, but the bleeding was stanched, and I had hopes
of his recovery. I gave him some brandy and water, which revived him a
great deal; and as soon as he could speak, he said, in a low voice,
"For God's sake, attend to our gallant captain's wound. Mine is
nothing, but, if he is still living, his, I fear, is dangerous; and a
nobler youth never breathed."

I found him lying on a bed of rushes, one soldier supporting his head,
and another sitting beside him with a dish of cold water. I asked the
captain how he did; but he only shook his head, and pointed to the
wound in his side. I mixed a good strong cup of brandy and water, and
gave it him. He swallowed it greedily, and I had then no doubt that
the young man was near his last. "I am a great deal the better of
that," said he. I requested him not to speak, and then asked the
soldiers if the wound had bled freely, but they said no, it had
scarcely bled any. I was quite ignorant of surgery, but it struck me
that, if possible, the wound should be made to bleed, to prevent it
from bleeding inwardly. Accordingly, the men having kindled a good
fire in the cottage, I got some warm water, and began to foment the
wound. As the stripes of crusted blood began to disappear, judge of my
astonishment, when I perceived the mark of a ruby ring below his left
breast! There was no mistaking the token. I knew that moment that I
was administering to Lady Julia's son, for whom I had travelled so far
in vain, and over whom my soul had yearned as over a lost child of my
own. The basin fell from my hands, my hair stood on end, and my whole
frame grew rigid, so that the soldiers stared at me, thinking I was
bewitched, or seized with some strange malady. The captain, however,
made signs for them to proceed with the fomentation, which they did,
until the wound bled considerably; and I began to have some hopes that
there might be a possibility of saving his life. I then sent off a
soldier on one of my horses for the nearest surgeon, and I myself rode
straight to the Castle to Lady Julia, and informed her of the
captain's wound, and the miserable state in which he was lying at the
sheiling of Aberduchra. She held up her hands, and had nearly fainted,
and made a lamentation so grievous, that I was convinced she already
knew who the young man was. She instantly ordered the carriage to be
got ready, and a bed put into it, in order to have the captain
conveyed straight to the Castle. I expected she would have gone in the
carriage herself, but when she only gave charges to the servants and
me, I then knew that the quality and propinquity of her guest were
not known to her.

My reflections on the scenes that had happened at that cottage, made a
deep impression on me that night, as well they might, considering how
singular they were. At that cottage I had once been in spirit, though
certainly not in the body, yet there my bodily form was seen speaking
and acting as I would have done, and as at the same moment I believed
I was doing. By that vision I discovered where the lost boy was to be
found, and there I found him; and when he was lost again, on that very
same spot was I told that I should find him, else he never would be
discovered by man. And now, after a lapse of fifteen years, and a
thousand wanderings on his part overgone, on that very same spot did I
again discover him.

Captain MacKenzie was removed to the Castle, and his recovery watched
by Lady Julia and myself with the utmost solicitude--a solicitude on
her part which seemed to arise from some mysterious impulse of the tie
that connected her with the sufferer; for had she known that she was
his mother, her care and anxiety about him could scarcely have been
greater. When his wound was so far recovered, that no danger was to be
apprehended from the agitating discovery, the secret of his birth was
communicated to himself and Lady Julia. It is needless for me to trace
farther the details of their eventful history. That history, the
evidence adduced before the courts of law for the rights of heritage,
and before the Peers for the titles, have now been divulged and laid
quite open, so that the deeds done in darkness have been brought to
light, and that which was meant to have been concealed from the
knowledge of all mankind, has been published to the whole world, even
in its most minute and intricate windings. It is therefore needless
for me to recapitulate all the events that preceded the time when this
narrative begins. Let it suffice, that Lady Julia's son has been fully
proved legitimate, and we have now a Protestant Earl, in spite of all
that the Bishop did to prevent it. And it having been, in a great
measure, owing to my evidence that the identity of the heir was
established, I have now the prospect of being, if not the richest, at
least, the most independent man of either Buchan or Mar.




CHAPTER III.

THE MARVELLOUS DOCTOR.


When my parents lived in the old Manse of Ettrick, which they did for
a number of years, an old grey-headed man came one summer and lived
with them nearly a whole half year, paying my mother at the rate of
ten shillings a-month for bed, board, and washing. He was a mysterious
being, and no one knew who he was, or what he was; but all the
neighbourhood reckoned him "uncanny;" which in that part of the
country means, a warlock, or one some way conversant with beings of
another nature.

I remember him well; he was a tall ungainly figure, dressed in a long
black coat, the longest and the narrowest coat I ever saw; his vest
was something like blue velvet, and his breeches of leather, buckled
with silver knee-buckles. He wore always white thread stockings, and
as his breeches came exactly to the knap of the knee, his legs
appeared so long and thin that it was a marvel to me how they carried
him. Take in black spats, and a very narrow-brimmed hat, and you have
the figure complete; any painter might take his likeness, provided he
did not make him too straight in the back, which would never answer,
as his formed the segment of a great circle. He was a doctor; but
whether of law, medicine, or divinity, I never learned; perhaps of
them all, for a doctor he certainly was--we called him so, and never
knew him by any other name; some, indeed, called him the Lying Doctor,
some the Herb Doctor, and some the Warlock Doctor; but my mother,
behind his back, called him always THE MARVELLOUS DOCTOR, which I have
chosen to retain, as the one about whose accuracy there can be no
dispute.

His whole occupation was in gathering flowers and herbs, and arranging
them; and, as he picked a number of these out of the churchyard, the
old wives in the vicinity grew terribly jealous of him. He seemed, by
his own account, to have been over the whole world, on what business
or in what capacity he never mentioned; but from his stories of
himself, and of his wonderful feats, one might have concluded that he
had been every thing. I remember a number of these stories quite
distinctly, for at that time I believed them all for perfect truth,
though I have been since led to suspect that it was scarcely
consistent with nature or reason they could be so. One or two of these
tales I shall here relate, but with this great disadvantage, that I
have, in many instances, forgot the names of the places where they
happened. I knew nothing about geography then, or where the places
were, and the faint recollection I have of them will only, I fear,
tend to confuse my narrative the more.

One day, while he was very busy arranging his flowers and herbs, and
constantly speaking to himself, my mother said to him, "Doctor, you
that kens sae weel about the nature of a' kinds o' plants and yirbs,
will ye tell me gin there be sic a yirb existing as that, if ye pit it
either on beast or body, it will gar that beast or body follow you?"

"No, Margaret, there is not an herb existing which has that power by
itself; but there is a decoction from certain rare herbs, of which I
have had the honour, or rather the misfortune, to be the sole
discoverer, which has that effect infallibly."

"Dear Doctor, there was sic a kind of charm i' the warld hunders o'
years afore ye were born."

"So it has been said, Margaret, so it has been said; but falsely, I
assure you. It cost me seven years' hard study and hard labour, both
by night and by day, and some thousands of miles' travelling; but at
last I effected it, and then I thought my fortune was made. But--would
you believe it, Margaret?--my fortune was lost, my time was lost, and
I myself was twenty times on the point of being lost too."

"Dear Doctor, tell us some o' your ploys wi' that drog; for they
surely must be very curious, especially if you used it as a love-charm
to gar the lasses follow you."--The Doctor, be it observed, was one of
the most unlikely persons in the world to be the object of a tender
passion.

"I did use it as a love-charm," replied the sage, smiling grimly; "and
sometimes got those to follow me that I did not want, as you shall
hear by and by. But before I proceed, I may inform you, that I was
offered a hundred thousand pounds by the College of Physicians in
Spain, and twice the sum by the Queen of that country, if I would
impart my discovery to them in full; and I refused it! Yes, for the
sake of human nature I refused it. I durst not take the offer, for my
life."

"What for, Doctor?"

"What for, woman? Do you say, what for? Don't you see that it would
have turned the world upside down, and inverted the whole order of
nature? The lowest miscreant in the country might have taken away the
first lady--might have taken her from her parents, or her husband, and
kept her a slave to him for life; and no opiate in nature to
counteract the power of the charm. The secret shall go to the grave
with me; for were it once to be made public in any country, that
country would be ruined; and for the sake of good order among mankind,
I have slighted all the grandeur that this world could have bestowed.
The first great trial of my skill was a public one;"--and the Doctor
went on to relate that it occurred as follows:

                          The Spanish Professor.

Having brought my valued charm to full perfection abroad, I returned
to Britain to enjoy the fruit of my labours, convinced that I would
ensure a patent, and carry all the world before me. But on my arrival
in London, I was told that a great Spanish Professor had made the
discovery five years before, and had arrived at great riches and
preferment on that account, under the patronage of the Queen.
Convinced that no man alive was thoroughly master of the charm but
myself, I went straight to Spain, and waited on this eminent
Professor, whose name was Don Felix de Valdez. This man lived in a
style superior to the great nobility and grandees of his country. He
had a palace that was not exceeded in splendour by any in the city,
and a suite of lacqueys, young gentlemen, and physicians, attending
him, as if he had been the greatest man in the world. It cost me much
trouble, and three days' attendance, before I could be admitted to his
presence; and even then he received me so cavalierly that my British
blood boiled with indignation.

"What is it you want with me, fellow?" said he.

"Sir, I would have you know," said I, "that I am an English Doctor,
and Master of Arts, and _your_ fellow in any respect. So far good. I
was told in my own country, sir, that you are a pretender to the
profound art of attachment; or, in other words, that you have made a
discovery of that divine elixir, which attaches every living creature
touched with it to your person. Do you pretend to such a discovery? Or
do you not, sir?"

"And what if I do, most sublime Doctor and Master of Arts? In what way
does that concern your great sapience?"

"Only thus far, Professor Don Felix de Valdez," says I, "that the
discovery is my own, wholly my own, and solely my own; and after
travelling over half the world in my researches for the proper
ingredients, and making myself master of the all-powerful nostrum, is
it reasonable, do you think, that I should be deprived of my honour
and emolument without an effort? I am come from Britain, sir, for the
sole purpose of challenging you to a trial of skill before your
sovereign and all his people, as well as the learned world in general.
I throw down the gauntlet, sir. Dare you enter the lists with me?"

"Desire my lacqueys to take away this mad foreigner," said he to an
attendant. "Beat him well with staves, for his impertinence, and give
him up to the officers of police, to be put in the House of
Correction; and say to Signior Philippo that I ordered it."

"You ordered it!" said I. "And who are you, to order such a thing? I
am a free-born British subject, a Doctor, and Master of Arts and
Sciences, and I have a pass from your government to come to Madrid to
exercise my calling; and I dare any of you to touch a hair of my
head."

"Let him be taken away," said he, nodding disdainfully, "and see that
you deal with him as I have commanded."

The students then conducted me gently forth, pretending to pay me
great deference; but when I was put into the hands of the vulgar
lacqueys, they made sport of me, and having their master's orders,
used me with great rudeness, beating me, and pricking me with
needle-pointed stilettos, till I was in great fear for my life, and
was glad when put into the hands of the police.

Being liberated immediately on making known my country and erudition,
I set myself with all my might to bring this haughty and insolent
Professor to the test. A number of his students having heard the
challenge, it soon made a great noise in Madrid; for the young King,
Charles the Third, and particularly his Queen, were half mad about the
possession of such a nostrum at that period. In order, therefore, to
add fuel to the flame now kindled, I published challenges in every
one of the Spanish journals, and causing three thousand copies to be
printed, I posted them up in every corner of the city, distributing
them to all the colleges of the kingdom, and to the college of Toledo
in particular, of which Don Felix was the Principal--I sent a sealed
copy to every one of its twenty-four professors, and caused some
hundreds to be distributed amongst the students.

This challenge made a great noise in the city, and soon reached the
ears of the Queen, who became quite impatient to witness a trial of
our skill in this her favourite art. She harassed his Majesty with
such effect, that he was obliged to join her in a request to Professor
Don Felix de Valdez, that he would vouchsafe a public trial of skill
with this ostentatious foreigner.

The Professor besought that he might be spared the indignity of a
public exhibition along with the crazy half-witted foreigner,
especially as his was a secret art, and ought only to be practised in
secret. But the voices of the court and the colleges were loud for the
trial, and the Professor was compelled to consent and name a day. We
both waited on their Majesties to settle the order and manner of
trial; and on drawing lots who was to exhibit first, the Professor got
the preference. The Prado was the place appointed for the exhibition,
and Good Friday the day. The Professor engaged to enter the lists
precisely at half past twelve o'clock; but he begged that he might be
suffered to come in disguise, in order to do away all suspicions of a
private understanding with others; and assured their Majesties that he
would soon be known to them by his works.

When the appointed day arrived, I verily believed that all Spain had
assembled to witness the trial. I was placed next to the royal stage,
in company with many learned doctors, the Queen being anxious to
witness the effect that the display of her wonderful Professor's skill
produced on me, and to hear my remarks. The anxiety that prevailed for
almost a whole hour was wonderful; for no one knew in what guise the
Professor would appear, or how attended, or who were the persons on
whom the effect of the unguent was to be tried. Whenever a throng or
bustle was perceived in any part of the parade, then the buzz began,
"Yonder he is now! Yon must be he, our great Professor, Don Felix de
Valdez, the wonder of Spain and of the world!"

The Queen was the first to perceive him, perhaps from some private
hint given her in what disguise he would appear; on which she motioned
to me, pointing out a mendicant Friar as my opponent, and added, that
she thought it but just and right that I should witness all his
motions, his feats, and the power of his art. I did so, and thought
very meanly of the whole exhibition, it being, in fact, nothing else
than a farce got up among a great number of associates, all of whom
were combined to carry on the deception, and share in the profits
accruing therefrom. The Friar did nothing till he came opposite to the
royal stage, when, beckoning slightly to her Majesty, he began to look
out for his game, and perceiving an elegant lady sitting on a stage
with her back towards him, he took a phial from his bosom, and letting
the liquid touch the top of his finger, he reached up that finger and
touched the hem of the lady's robe. She uttered a scream, as if
pierced to the heart, sprung to her feet, and held her breast as if
wounded; then, after looking round and round, as if in great
agitation, she descended from the stage, followed the Friar, kneeled
at his feet, and entreated to be allowed to follow and serve him. He
requested her to depart, as he could not be served by woman; but she
wept and followed on. He came to a thick-lipped African, who was
standing grinning at the scene. The Professor touched him with his
unguent, and immediately blackie fell a-striving with the lady, who
should walk next the wonderful sage, and the two actually went to
blows, to the great amusement of the spectators, who applauded these
two feats prodigiously, and hailed their Professor as the greatest man
in the world. He walked twice the length of the promenade, and
certainly every one whom he touched with his ointment followed him, so
that if he had been a stranger in the community as I was, there could
scarcely have been a doubt of the efficacy of his unguent of
attraction. When he came last before the royal stage, and ours, he was
encumbered by a crowd of persons following and kneeling to him;
apparently they were of all ranks, from the highest to the lowest. He
then caused proclamation to be made from a stage, that if any doubted
the power of his elixir, he might have it proved on himself without
danger or disgrace; a dowager lady defied him, but he soon brought her
to her knee with the rest, and no one of the whole begged to be
released.

The King and Queen, and all the judges, then declaring themselves
satisfied, the Professor withdrew, with his motley followers, to undo
the charm in secret; after that, he returned in most brilliant and
gorgeous array, and was received on the royal stage, amid deafening
shouts of applause. The King then asked me, if I deemed myself still
able to compete with his liege kinsman, Professor Don Felix de Valdez?
or if I joined the rest in approval, and yielded the palm to his
merits in good fellowship?

I addressed his Majesty with all humility, acknowledged the extent of
the Professor's powers, as very wonderful, provided they were all
real; but of that there was no proof to me. "If he had been a
foreigner, and a stranger, as I am, in this place, and if prejudices
had been excited against him," added I, "then I would have viewed this
exhibition of his art as highly wonderful; but, as it is, I only look
on it as a well contrived farce."

The Professor reddened, and bit his lip in the height of scorn and
indignation; and indeed their Majesties and all the nobility seemed
offended at my freedom; on which I added, "My exhibition, my liege,
shall be a very short one; and I shall at least convince your Majesty,
that there is no deceit nor collusion in it." And with that I took a
small syringe from my bosom, which I had concealed there for the
purpose, as the liquor, to have due effect, must be always warm with
the heat of the body of him that sprinkles it; and with that small
instrument, I squirted a spray of my elixir on Professor Don Felix's
fine head of hair, that hung in wavy locks almost to his waist.

At that moment there were thousands all standing agape, eager to
witness the effect of this bold appeal. The Professor stood up, and
looked at me, while the tears stood in his eyes. That was the proudest
moment of my life! For about the space of three minutes, his pride
seemed warring with his feelings; but the energy and impulse of the
latter prevailed, and he came and kneeled at my feet.

"Felix, you dog! what is the meaning of this?" cried I. "How dare you
go and dress yourself like a grandee of the kingdom, and then come
forth and mount the stage in the presence of royalty, knowing, as you
do, that you were born to be my slave? Go this instant! doff that
gorgeous apparel, and put on my livery, and come and wait here at my
heel. And, do you hear, bring my horse properly caparisoned, and one
to yourself; for I ride into the country to dinner. Take note of what
I order, and attend to it, else I'll beat you to a jelly, and have you
distilled into the elixir of attraction. Presumption indeed, to come
into my presence in a dress like that!"

He ran to obey my orders, and then the admiration so lately expressed
was turned into contempt. All the people were struck with awe and
astonishment. They could not applaud, for they were struck dumb, and
eyed me with terror, as if I had been a divinity. "This exceeds all
comprehension," said the judges. "If he had told me that he could have
upheaved the Pyrenean mountains from their foundations, I could as
well have believed it," said the King. But the Queen was the most
perverse of all, for she would not believe it, though she witnessed
it; and she declared she never would believe it to be a reality, for I
had only thrown glamour in their eyes. "Is it possible," said she,
"that the most famous man in Spain, or perhaps in the world, who has
hundreds to serve him, and run at his bidding, should all at once, by
his own choice, submit to become a slave to an opponent whom he
despised, and be buffeted like a dog, without resenting it? No; I'll
never believe it is any thing but an illusion."

"There is no denying of your victory," said King Charles to me; "for
you have humbled your opponent in the dust.--You must dine with me
to-night, as we have a great entertainment to the learned of our
kingdom, over all of whom you shall be preferred to the highest place.
But as Don Felix de Valdez is likewise an invited guest, let me
entreat you to disenchant him, that he may be again restored to his
place in society."

"I shall do myself the distinguished honour of dining with your
exalted and most Catholic Majesty," I replied. "But will it be no
degradation to your high dignity, for the man who has worn my livery
in public, to appear the same day at the table of royalty?"

"This is no common occurrence," answered the King. "Although, by one
great effort of art, nature has been overpowered, it would be hard
that a great man should remain degraded for ever."

"Well, then, I shall not only permit him to leave my service, but I
shall order him from it, and beat him from it. I can do no more to
oblige your Majesty at present."

"What! can you not then remove the charm?" said he. "You saw the
Professor could do that at once."

"A mere trick," said I. "If the Professor, Don Felix, had been in the
least conscious of the power of his liquor, he would at once have
attacked and degraded me. It is quite evident. I expected a trial at
least, as I am sure all the company did; but I stood secure, and held
him and his art at defiance. He is a sheer impostor, and his boasted
discovery a cheat."

"Nay, but I have tried the power of his unguent again and again, and
proved it," said the Queen. "But, indeed, its effect is of very short
duration; therefore, all I request is, that you will give the
Professor his liberty; and take my word for it, it will soon be
accepted."

I again promised that I would; but at the same time I shook my head,
as much as to signify to the Queen, she was not aware of the power of
my elixir; and I determined to punish the Professor for his insolence
to me, and the sound beating I got in the court of his hotel. While we
were speaking, Don Felix approached us, dressed in my plain yellow
livery, leading my horse, and mounted on a grand one of his own, that
cost two hundred gold ducats, while mine was only a hack, and no very
fine animal either.

"How dare you have the impudence to mount my horse, sir?" exclaimed
I, taking his gold-headed whip from him, and lashing him with it. "Get
off instantly, you blundering booby, take your own spavined jade, and
ride off where I may never see your face again."

"I beg your pardon, honoured master," said he, humbly; "I will take
any horse you please; but I thought this had been mine."

"You thought, sirrah! What right have you to think?" I demanded. "I
desire no more of your attendance," I continued. "Here, before their
Majesties, and all their court and people, I discharge you my service,
and dare you, on the penalty of your life, ever to approach my
presence."

"Pardon me this time," said he; "I'll sooner die than leave you."

"But you shall leave me or do worse," said I, "and therefore disappear
instantly;" and I pushed him through the throng away from me, and
lashed him with the whip till he screamed and wept like a lubberly
boy.

"You must have some one to ride with you and be your guide," he said;
"and why will you not suffer me to do so? You know I cannot leave
you."

His Majesty, taking pity on the helpless Professor, sent a livery-man
to take his place, and attend me on my little jaunt, at the same time
entreating him to desist, and remember who he was. It was all in
vain. He fought with the King's servant for the privilege, mounted my
hack, and followed me to the villa, about six miles from the city,
where I had been engaged to dine. The news had not arrived of my
victory when I got there. The lord of the manor was at the exhibition,
and he not having returned, the ladies were all impatience to learn
the result.

"It becomes not me, noble ladies," said I, "to bring the news of my
own triumph, which you might very reasonably expect to be untrue, or
overcharged; but you shall witness my power yourselves."

Then they set up eldrich screams in frolic, and begged, for the sake
of the Virgin, that I would not put my skill to the test on any of
them, for they had no desire to follow to England even a master of the
arts and sciences; and every one assured me personally that she would
be a horrid plague to me, and that I had better pause before I made
the experiment.

"My dear and noble dames," said I, "there is nothing farther from my
intention than to make any of you the objects of fascination. But come
all hither," and I threw up the sash of the window--"Come all hither,
and behold a proof; and if more is required, it shall not be lacking.
See; do you all know that gentleman there?"

"What gentleman? Where is he? I see no gentleman," was the general
rejoinder.

"That gentleman who is holding my horse--he on the sorry hack there,
with yellow livery. You all know him assuredly. That is your great
Professor, Don Felix de Valdez, accounted the most wonderful man in
Spain, and by many of you the greatest in the world."

They would not believe it, until I called him close up to the door of
the chateau, and showed him to them like any wild beast or natural
curiosity, and called him by his name. Then they grew frightened, or
pretended to be so, at being in the presence of a man of so much
power, for they all knew the Professor personally; and if one could
have believed them, they were like to go into hysterics for fear of
fascination. Yet, for all that, I perceived they were dying for a
specimen of my art, and that any of them would rather the experiment
should be made on herself, than not witness it.

Accordingly, there was a very handsome and engaging brunette of the
party, named Donna Rashelli, on whom I could not help sometimes
casting an eye, being a little fascinated myself. This was soon
perceived by the lively group, and they all gathered round me, and
teased me to try the power of my philtre on Rashelli. I asked the
lady's consent, on which she answered rather disdainfully, that "she
_would_ be fascinated _indeed_ if she followed _me_! and therefore she
held me at defiance, provided I did not _touch_ her, which she would
_not_ allow."

Without more ado, I took my tube from my bosom, and squirted a little
of the philtre on her left-foot shoe--at least I meant it so, though I
afterwards perceived that some of it had touched her stocking.

"And now, Donna Rashelli," said I, "you are in for your part in this
drama, and you little know what you have authorized." She turned from
me in disdain; but it was not long till I beheld the tears gathering
in her eyes; she retired hastily to a recess in a window, covered her
face with her hands, and wept bitterly. The others tried to comfort
her, and laugh her out of her frenzy, but that was of no avail; she
broke from them, and, drowned in tears, embraced my knees, requesting
in the most fervent terms to be allowed the liberty of following me
over the world.

The ladies were all thrown by this into the utmost consternation, and
besought me to undo the charm, both for the sake of the young lady
herself and her honourable kin; but I had taken my measures, and paid
no regard to their entreaties. On the contrary, I made my apology for
not being able to dine there, owing to the King's commanding my
attendance at the palace, took a hasty leave, mounted my horse, and,
with Don Felix at my back, rode away.

I knew all their power could not detain Donna Rashelli, and, riding
slowly, I heard the screams of madness and despair as they tried to
hold her. She tore their head-dresses and robes in pieces, and fought
like a fury, till they were glad to suffer her to go; but they all
followed in a group, to overtake and entreat me to restore their
friend to liberty.

I forded the stream that swept round the grounds, and waited on the
other bank, well knowing what would occur, as a Spanish maiden never
crosses even a rivulet without taking off her shoes and stockings.
Accordingly she came running to the side of the stream, followed by
all the ladies of the chateau, calling to me, and adjuring me to have
pity on them. I laughed aloud at their tribulation, saying, I had done
nothing but at their joint request, and they must now abide by the
consequences. Rashelli threw off her shoes and stockings in a moment,
and rushed into the stream, for fear of being detained; but before
taking two steps, the charm being removed with her left-foot shoe, she
stood still, abashed; and so fine a model of blushing and repentant
beauty I never beheld, with her raven hair hanging dishevelled far
over her waist, her feet and half her limbs of alabaster bathing in
the stream, and her cheek overspread with the blush of shame.

"What am I about?" cried she. "Am I mad? or bewitched? or possessed of
a demon, to run after a mountebank, that I would order the menials to
drive from my door!"

"So you are gone, then, dear Donna Rashelli?" cried I. "Farewell,
then, and peace be with you. Shall I not see you again before leaving
this country?" but she looked not up, nor deigned to reply. Away she
tripped, led by one lady on each hand, barefooted as she was, till
they came to the gravel walk, and then she slipped on her morocco
shoes. The moment her left-foot shoe was on, she sprung towards me
again, and all the dames after her full cry. It was precisely like a
hare-hunt, and so comic, that even the degraded Don Felix laughed
amain at the scene. Again she plunged into the stream, and again she
returned, weeping for shame; and this self-same scene was acted seven
times over. At length I took compassion on the humbled beauty, and
called to her aunt to seize her left-foot shoe, and wash it in the
river. She did so; and I, thinking all was then over and safe, rode on
my way. But I had not gone three furlongs till the chase again
commenced as loud and as violently as ever, and in a short time the
lady was again in the stream. I was vexed at this, not knowing what
was the matter, and terrified that I might have attached her to me for
life; but I besought her friends to keep her from putting on her
stocking likewise, till it was washed and fomented as well as her
shoe. This they went about with great eagerness, an old dame seizing
the stocking, and hiding it in her bosom; and when I saw this I rode
quickly away, afraid I should be too late for my engagement with the
King.

We had turned the corner of a wood, when again the screams and yells
of females reached our ears.

"What, in the name of St Nicholas, is this now?" said I.

"I suppose the hunt is up again, sir; but surely our best plan is to
ride off and leave them," replied Don Felix.

"That will never do," returned I; "I cannot have a lady of rank
attending me at the palace; and no power on earth, save iron and
chains, can detain her, if one-thousandth part of a drop of my elixir
remain about her person."

We turned back, and behold there was the old dowager coming waddling
along, with a haste and agitation not to be described, and all her
daughters, nieces, and maidens, after her. She had taken the river at
the broadest, shoes and all, and had got so far a-head of her pursuers
that she reached me first, and seizing me by the leg, embraced and
kissed it, begging and praying all the while for my favour, in the
most breathless and grotesque manner imaginable. I knew not what to
do; not in the least aware how she became affected, till Donna
Rashelli called out, "O, the stocking, sir, the stocking!" on which I
caused them to take it from her altogether, and give it to me, and
then they went home in peace.

I dined that night with their Majesties, not indeed at the same
table, but at the head of the table in the anteroom, from whence I had
a full view of them. I was a great and proud man that night, and
neither threats nor persuasions could drive the great Professor from
waiting at the back of my chair, and frequently serving me kneeling.
After dinner I had an audience of the Queen, who offered me a galleon
laden with gold for the receipt of my divine elixir of love. But I
withstood it, representing to her Majesty the great clanger of
imparting such a secret, because, after it had escaped from my lips, I
could no more recall it, and knew not what use might be made of it; I
accounted myself answerable, I said, to my Maker for the abuse of
talents bestowed on me, and, therefore, was determined that the secret
should go to the grave with me. I was, however, reduced to the
necessity of giving her Majesty a part of the pure and sublime elixir
ready prepared, taking her solemn promise, however, not to communicate
any portion of it to another. She had found a ready use for it, for in
a few days she requested more, and more, and more, till I began to
think it was high time for me to leave the country.

Having now got as much money as I wanted, and a great deal more than I
knew what to do with, I prepared for leaving Spain; for I was afraid
that I should be made accountable for the effects produced by the
charm in the hands of a capricious woman. Had I yielded to the
requests of the young nobles for supplies, I might almost have
exhausted the riches of Spain; but as it was, I had got more than my
own weight in gold, part of which I forwarded to London, and put the
remainder out to interest in Spain, and left Madrid not without fear
of being seized and sent to the Inquisition as a necromancer. In place
of that, however, the highest honours were bestowed on me, and I was
accompanied to the port by numbers of the first people of the realm,
and by all the friends of the Professor Don Felix de Valdez. These
people had laid a plot to assassinate me, which they would have
executed but for fear that the charm would never leave their friend;
and as Felix himself discovered it to me, I kept him in bondage till
the very day I was about to sail; then I caused his head to be shaved,
and washed with a preparation of vinegar, alum, and cinnamon; and he
returned to his senses and right feelings once more. But he never
could show his face again in the land wherein he had been so much
caressed and admired, but changed his name and retired to Peru, where
he acquired both fame and respectability.

                             The Countess.

When a man gains great wealth too suddenly and With much ease, it is
not unusual for him to throw it away with as little concern as he had
anxiety in the gathering of it. This I was aware of, and determined
to avoid. I began, therefore, without loss of time, to look about me
for a respectable settlement in life; and having, after much inquiry,
obtained a list of the unmarried ladies possessing the greatest
fortunes in England, I fixed on a young Countess, who was a widow, had
a large fortune, and suited my wishes in every respect. Possessing as
I did the divine cordial of love, I had no fears of her ready
compliance; so, after providing myself with a suitable equipage, I set
off to her residence to Court and win her without any loss of time.

On arriving at her mansion about noon, I was rather coldly received,
which was not surprising, for I had no introduction, but trusted to my
own powers alone. Though shy and reserved at first, she, however, at
length invited me to an early dinner, letting me know at the same time
that no visitor remained there over-night when her brother was not
present. This was so much gained; so I made my acknowledgments, and
accepted the invitation,--thinking to myself, My pretty Countess,
before you and I part, your haughtiness shall be wonderfully
abated!--I waited my opportunity, and as she was leaving the
apartment, aimed a small sprinkling of my cordial at her bushy locks;
but owing to a sudden cast of her head, as ladies will affect pretty
airs of disdain, the spray of my powerful elixir of love fell on an
embroidered scarf that hung gracefully on her shoulder.

I was now sure of the effect, provided she did not throw the scarf
aside before I got her properly sprinkled anew, but I had hopes its
operation would be too instant and potent to permit that. I judged
right; in three minutes she returned to the drawing-room, and proposed
that we two should take a walk in her park before dinner, as she had
some curiosities to show me. I acquiesced with pleasure, as may well
be supposed.--I have you now, my pretty Countess, thought I; if it be
in your power to escape me, I shall account you more than woman.

This park of hers was an immense field enclosed with a high wall, with
a rail on the top. She had some roes in it, one couple of fallow deer,
and a herd of kine. This last was what she pretended that she wished
to show me; they were all milk-white, nay, as white as snow. They were
not of the wild bison breed, but as gentle and tame as lambs--came to
her when called by their names, and seemed so fond of being caressed,
that several were following and teasing her at the same time. One
favourite in particular was so fond, that she became troublesome; and
the lady wished to be quit of her. But the beast would not go away.
She followed on, humming, and rubbing on her mistress with her cheek,
till at last the latter, to rid herself of the annoyance, took her
scarf, and struck the cow sharply across the face with it! The tassels
of the scarf fastened on the far horn of the cow, and the animal being
a little hurt by the stroke, as well as blinded, it sprung away; and
in one moment the lady lost hold of her scarf. This was death and
destruction to me; for the lady was thus bereaved of all her
attachment to me in an instant, and what the Countess had lost was
transferred to the cow. I therefore pursued the animal with my whole
speed, calling her many kind and affectionate names, to make her stop.
These she did not seem to understand, for stop she would not; but
perceiving that she was a little blindfolded with the scarf, I slid
quietly forward, and making a great spring, seized the embroidered
scarf by the corner. The cow galloped, and I ran and held, determined
to have the scarf, though I should tear it all to pieces,--for I knew
well that my divine elixir had the effect of rousing animals into
boundless rage and madness,--and held with a desperate grasp. I could
not obtain it! All that I effected was to fasten the other horn in it
likewise, and away went the cow flaunting through the park, like a
fine madam in her gold embroidery.

I fled to the Countess as fast as my feet could carry me, and begged
her, for Heaven's sake, to fly with me, for that our lives were at
stake. She could not understand this; and moreover, she, that a minute
or two before had been clinging to me with as much confidence as if
our acquaintance had been of many years' standing, and of the most
intimate kind, appeared to have conceived a sort of horror of me, and
would not allow me to approach her. There was no time to parley; so I
left her to shift for herself, and fled with all my might towards the
gate at which we entered, knowing of no other point of egress. Time
was it; for the creature instantly became furious, and came after me
at full speed, bellowing like some agonized fiend escaped from the
infernal regions. The herd was roused by the outrageous sounds, and
followed in the same direction, every one galloping faster and roaring
louder than another, apparently for company's sake; but, far a-head of
them all, the cow came with the embroidered scarf flying over her
shoulders, hanging out her tongue and bellowing, and gaining every
minute on me. Next her in order came a stately milk-white bull, tall
as a hunting steed, and shapely as a deer. My heart became chill with
horror; for of all things on this earth, I stood in the most mortal
terror of a bull. I saw, however, that I would gain the wicket before
I was overtaken; and, in the brightness of hope, I looked back to see
what had become of the Countess. She had fallen down on a rising
ground in a convulsion of laughter! This nettled me exceedingly;
however, I gained the gate; but, O misery and despair! it was fast
locked, the Countess having the pass-key. To clear the wall was out of
my power in such a dilemma as I then was in, so I had nothing left
for it but swiftness of foot. Often had I valued myself on that
qualification, but little expected ever to have so much need of it. So
I ran and ran, pursued by twenty milk-white kine and a bull, all
bellowing like as many infernal creatures. Never was there such
another chase! I tried to reach the place where the Countess was,
thinking she might be able, by her voice, to stay them, or, at all
events, that she would tell me how I could escape from their fury. But
the drove having all got between her and me, I could not effect it,
and was obliged to run at random, which I continued to do, straining
with all my might, but now found that my breath was nearly gone, and
the terrible race drawing to a crisis.

What was to be done? Life was sweet, but expedients there were none.
There were no trees in the park save young ones, dropped down, as it
were, here and there, with palings round them, to prevent the cattle
from destroying them. The only one that I could perceive was a tall
fir, I suppose of the larch species, which seemed calculated to afford
a little shelter in a desperate case; so I made towards it with a last
effort. There was a triangular paling around it, setting my foot on
which, I darted among the branches, clomb like a cat, and soon
vanished among the foliage.

Then did I call aloud to the Countess for assistance, imploring her
to raise the country for my rescue; but all that she did, was to come
towards me herself, slowly and with lagging pace, for she was feeble
with laughing; and when she did come, the cattle were all so
infuriated that they would not once regard her.

"What is the matter with my cattle, sir?" cried she. "They are surely
bewitched."

"I think they are bedeviled, and that is worse, madam," returned I.
"But, for Heaven's sake, try to regain the scarf. It is the scarf
which is the cause of all this uproar."

"What is in the scarf?" said she. "It can have no effect in raising
this deadly enmity against you, if all is as it should be, which I now
begin to suspect, from some strange diversity of feelings I have
experienced."

"It is merely on account of the gold that is on it, madam," said I.
"You cannot imagine how mad the sight of gold, that pest of the earth,
makes some animals; and it was the effort I made to get it from the
animal that has excited in her so much fury against me."

"That is most strange indeed!" exclaimed the lady. "Then the animal
shall keep it for me, for I would not for half my fortune that these
favourites should be driven to become my persecutors."

She now called the cattle by their names, and some of them left me;
for it was evident that, save the charmed animal, the rest of the herd
were only running for company or diversion's sake. Still their looks
were exceedingly wild and unstable, and the one that wore the anointed
shawl, named Fair Margaret, continued foaming mad, and would do
nothing but stand and bellow, toss her adorned head, and look up to
the tree. I would have given ten thousand pounds to have got hold of
that vile embroidered scarf, but to effect it, and retain my life, at
that time was impracticable.

And now a scene ensued, which, for horror to me could not be equalled,
although, to any unconcerned beholder, it must have appeared ludicrous
in the extreme. The bull, perceiving one of his favourite mates thus
distempered, showed a great deal of anxiety; he went round her, and
round her, and perceiving the flaunting thing on her head and
shoulders, he seemed to entertain some kind of idea that it was the
cause of this unwonted and obstreperous noise. He tried to fling it
off with his horns, I know not how oft; but so awkward were his
efforts that they all failed. Enraged at being thus baffled, he then
had recourse to a most unexpected expedient--he actually seized the
scarf with his great mouth, tore it off, and in a few seconds
swallowed it every thread!

What was I to do now? Here was a new enemy, and one ten times more
formidable than the other, who had swallowed up the elixir, and whom,
therefore, it was impossible ever to discharm; who, I knew, would
pursue me to the death, even though at the distance of fifty miles. I
was in the most dreadful agony of terror imaginable, as well I might,
for the cow went away shaking her ears, as if happily quit of a
tormentor, and the bull instantly began to tear up the earth with hoof
and horn, while the late bellowings of the cow were, to his, like the
howl of a beagle to the roar of a lion. They made the very earth to
quake; while distant woods, and walls, and the very skies, returned
the astounding echoes. He went round and round the tree, digging
graves on each side of it; and his fury still increasing, he broke
through the paling as it had been a spider's web, and setting his head
to the trunk, pushed with all his mighty force, doubled by
supernatural rage. The tree yielded like a bulrush, until I hung
dangling from it as if suspended from a cross-beam; still I durst not
quit my hold, having no other resource. While in this situation, I
observed the Countess speeding away. It seemed to me as if she were
Hope flying from me and abandoning me to my fate, and I uttered some
piercing cries of desperation. The tree, however, was young and
elastic, and always as the infuriated animal withdrew his force for a
new attack, it sprung up to its original slender and stately form, and
then down it went again; so that there was I swinging between heaven
and earth, expecting every moment to be my last; and if the bull had
not, in his mad efforts, wheeled round to the contrary side, I might
have been swinging there to this day. When he changed sides, the
fibres of the tree weakened, and at last I came down to the earth, and
he made at me with full force; it was in vain that I called to him to
keep off, and bullied him, and pretended to hunt dogs on him; on he
came, and plunged his horns into the foliage; the cows did the same
for company's sake, and, I'm sure, never was there a poor soul so
completely mobbed by a vulgar herd. Still the tree had as much
strength left as to heave me gently above their reach, and no more,
and I now began to lose all power through terror and despair, and
merely kept my hold instinctively, as a drowning man would hold by a
rush. The next push the tree got it was again laid prostrate, and
again the bull dashed his horns into the foliage, and through that
into the earth. I now saw there was no longer any hope of safety if I
remained where I was, and therefore quitted hold of the tree. How I
escaped I scarce can tell, but I did escape through amongst the feet
of the cows.

At first I stole away like a hare from a cover, and could not help
admiring the absurdity of the cows, that continued tossing and tearing
the tree with their horns, as if determined not to leave a stiver of
it; whilst the bull continued grovelling with his horns, down through
the branches and into the ground. Heavens! with what velocity I clove
the wind! I have fled from battle--I have fled from the face of the
lions of Asia, the dragons of Africa, and the snakes of America--I
have fled before the Indians with their scalping knives; but never in
my life was I enabled to run with such speed as I did from this
infuriated monster.

He was now coming full speed after me, as I knew he would, the moment
he disengaged himself; but I had got a good way a-head, and, I assure
you, was losing no time, and as I was following a small beaten track,
I came to a stile over the wall. I never was so thankful for any thing
since I was born! It was a crooked stone stair, with angles to hinder
animals from passing, and a locked door on the top, about the height
of an ordinary man. I easily surmounted this, by getting hold of the
iron spikes on the top; and now, being clear of my adversary, I set my
head over the door and looked him in the face, mocking and provoking
him all that I could, for I had no other means of retaliation, and
felt exceedingly indignant at having been put in danger of my life by
so ignoble an enemy. I never beheld a more hideous picture of rage! He
was foaming at the mouth, and rather belching than bellowing; his tail
was writhing in the air like a serpent, and his eyes burning like
small globes of bright flame. He grew so enraged at length, that he
rushed up the stone stair, and the frame-work at the angles began to
crash before him. Thinks I to myself, Friend, I do not covet such a
close vicinity with you; so, with your leave, I'll keep a due
distance; and then descending to the high road, I again began to speed
away, though rather leisurely, knowing that he could not possibly get
over the iron-railed wall.

There was now a close hedge on every side of me, about eight or ten
feet high, and as a man who has been in great jeopardy naturally looks
about him for some safe retreat in case of an emergency, so I
continued jogging on and looking for such, but perceived none; when,
hearing a great noise far behind me, I looked back, and saw the
irresistible monster coming tumbling from the wall, bringing gates,
bars, and railing, all before him. He fell with a tremendous crash,
and I had great hopes his neck was broken, for at first he tried to
rise, and, stumbling, fell down again; but, to my dismay, he was soon
again on the chase, and making ground on me faster than ever. He came
close on me at last, and I had no other shift than to throw off my
fine coat, turn round to await him, and fling it over his horns and
eyes.

This not only marred him, but detained him long wreaking his vengeance
on the coat, which he tore all to pieces with his feet and horns,
taking it for a part of me. By this time I had reached a willow-tree
in the hedge, the twigs of which hung down within reach. I seized on
two or three of these, wrung them together like a rope, and by the
assistance of that, swung myself over the hedge. Still I slackened not
my pace, knowing that the devil was in the beast, and that nothing but
blood would allay his fury. Accordingly, it was not long till I saw
him plunging in the hedge; and through it he came.

I now perceived a fine sheet of water on my left, about a mile broad,
I knew not whether a lake or river, never having been in those bounds
before. I made towards it with all my remaining energy, which was not
great. I cleared many common stone-walls in my course, but these
proved no obstacles to my pursuer, and before I reached the lake, he
came so close upon me, that I was obliged to fling my hat in his face,
and as he fortunately took that for my head, it served him a good
while to crush it in pieces, so that I made to the lake and plunged
in. At the very first, I dived and swam under water as long as I could
keep my breath, assured that my enemy would lose all traces of me
then; but when I came to the surface, I found him puffing within two
yards of me. I was in such horror, that I knew not what to do, for I
found he could swim twice as fast as I could; so I dived again, but my
breath being gone, I could not remain below, and whenever I came to
the surface, there was he.

If I had had the smallest reasoning faculty left, or had once
entertained a thought of resistance, I might easily have known that I
was now perfectly safe. The beast could not harm me. Whenever he made
a push at me, his head went below the water, which confounded him. My
perturbation was so extreme, that I was on the point of perishing from
exhaustion, before I perceived this to be the case. When, however, I
did observe it, I took courage, seized him by the tail, clomb upon his
back, and then rode in perfect safety.

I never got a more complete and satisfactory revenge of an enemy, not
even over the Spanish Professor, and that was complete enough; but
here I had nothing to do but to sit exulting on the monster's back,
while he kept wallowing and struggling in the waves. I then took my
penknife, and stabbed him deliberately over the whole body, letting
out his heart's blood. He took this very much amiss, but he had now
got enough of blood around him, and began to calm himself. I kept my
seat nevertheless, to make all sure, till his head sunk below the
water, while his huge hinder parts turned straight upmost, and I left
him floating away like a huge buoy that had lost its anchor.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Now, Doctor, gin a' tales be true, yours is nae lee, that is
certain," said my mother, at the conclusion of this narration; "but I
want some explanations--it's a grand story, but I want to take the
consequences alang wi' me. What did the Queen o' Spain wi' a' the
ointment you left wi' her? I'm thinking there wad be some strange
scenes about that Court for a while."

"Why, Margaret, to say the truth, the elixir was not used in such a
way as might have been expected. The truth appeared afterwards to have
been this: The King had at that time resolved on that ruinous, and
then very unpopular war, about what was called the Family Compact; and
finding that the clergy, and a part of the principal nobility, were in
opposition to it, and that, without their concurrence, the war could
not be prosecuted with any effect, the Queen took this very politic
method of purchasing plenty of my divine elixir of attachment, and
giving them all a touch of it every one. The effect was, of course,
instant, potent, and notorious; and it is a curious and incontestable
fact, that the effects of that sprinkling have continued the mania of
attachment among that class of Spain to this day."

"And how came you on wi' your grand Countess? Ye wad be a bonny figure
gaun hame again to her place, half-naked, and like a droukit craw, wi'
the life of her favourite animal to answer for!"

"That is rather a painful subject, Margaret--rather a painful subject.
I never saw her again! I had lost my coat and hat. I had lost all my
money, which was in notes, in swimming and diving. I had lost my
carriage and horses, and I had lost my good name, which was worst of
all; for from that day forth, I was branded and shunned as a
necromancer. The abrupt and extraordinary changes in the lady's
sentiments had not escaped her own notice, while the distraction of
the animals on the transference of the enchanted scarf to them,
confirmed her worst suspicions, that I was a dealer in unlawful arts,
and come to gain possession of herself and fortune, by the most
infamous measures; and as I did not choose to come to an explanation
with her on that subject, I escaped as quietly from the district as
possible.

"It surely can be no sin to dive into the hidden mysteries of nature,
particularly those of plants and flowers. Why, then, have I been
punished as never pharmacopolist was punished before; can you tell me
that, Margaret?"

"Indeed, can I--weel enough--Doctor. Other men have studied the
qualities o' yirbs to assist nature; but ye have done it only to
pervert nature,--and I hope you hae read your sin in your punishment."

"The very sentiment that my heart has whispered to me a thousand
times! It indeed occurred to me, whilst skulking about on my escape
after the adventure with the Countess; but it was not until farther
and still more bitter experience of the dangerous effects of my
secret, that I could bring myself to destroy the maddening liquid. It
had taken years of anxiety and labour to perfect a mixture, from which
I anticipated the most beneficial results. The consequences which it
drew upon me, although, at first, they promised to be all I could
wish, proved in the end every way annoying, and often wellnigh fatal,
and I carefully consumed with fire every drop of the potion, and every
scrap of writing, in which the progress of the discovery had been
noted. I cannot myself forget the painful and tedious steps by which
it was obtained. And even after all the disasters to which it has
subjected me--after the miserable wreck of all my high-pitched
ambition, I cannot but feel a pride in the consciousness that I carry
with me the knowledge of a secret never before possessed by mortal
man, which no one shall learn from me, and which it is all but certain
that none after me will have perseverance enough, or genius, to arrive
at!"

The learned Doctor usually wound up the history of an adventure with a
sonorous conclusion like the above, the high-wrought theatrical tone
of which, as it was incomprehensible to his hearers, for the most part
produced a wonderful effect. Looking upon the gaunt form of the sage,
I was penetrated with immeasurable reverence, and though the
fascination of his marvellous stories kept me listening with eager
curiosity while they lasted, I always retired shortly after he ceased
speaking, not being able to endure the august presence of so wise a
personage as he appeared to me to be.

Many of his relations were still more marvellous than those I have
preserved; but these are sufficient for a specimen, and it would be
idle to pursue the Doctor's hallucinations farther. All I can say
about these adventures of his is, that when I heard them first, I
received them as strictly true; my mother believed them most
implicitly, and the Doctor related them as if he had believed in the
truth of them himself. But there were disputes every day between my
mother and him about the invention of the charm, the former always
maintaining that it was known to the chiefs of the gipsy tribes for
centuries bygone; and as proofs of her position, she cited Johnie
Faa's seduction of the Earl of Cassillis's lady, so well known in
Lowland song, and Hector Kennedy's seduction of three brides, all of
high quality, by merely touching the palms of their hands, after which
no power could prevent any of them from following him. She likewise
told a very affecting story of an exceedingly beautiful girl, named
Sophy Sloan, who left Kirkhope, and eloped after the gipsies, though
she had never exchanged a word with one of them. Her father and uncle
followed, and found her with them in an old kiln on the water of Milk.
Her head was wounded, bloody, and tied up with a napkin. They had
pawned all her good clothes, and covered her with rags, and though
weeping with grief and despair, yet she refused to leave them. The man
to whom she was attached had never asked her to go with him; he even
threatened her with death if she would not return with her father, but
she continued obstinate, and was not suffered long to outlive her
infatuation and disgrace. This story _was_ a fact; yet the Doctor held
all these instances in utter contempt, and maintained his prerogative,
as the sole and original inventor of THE ELIXIR OF LOVE.

There was not a doubt that the Doctor was skulking, and in terror of
being apprehended for some misdemeanour, all the time he was at
Ettrick Manse; and never one of us had a doubt that it was on account
of some enchantment. But I had reason to conclude, long afterwards,
that his seclusion then, and all the latter part of his life, was
owing to an unfortunate and fatal experiment in pharmacy, which
deprived society of a number of valuable lives. The circumstances are
related in a note to the third volume of Eustace's _Pharmacopoeia_,
and it will there be seen that the description of the delinquent suits
exactly with that of THE MARVELLOUS DOCTOR.




CHAPTER IV.

THE WITCHES OF TRAQUAIR.


There was once a young man, a native of Traquair, in the county of
Peebles, whose name was Colin Hyslop, and who suffered more by
witchcraft, and the intervention of supernatural beings, than any man
I ever heard of.

Traquair was a terrible place then! There was a witch almost in every
hamlet, and a warlock here and there besides. There were no fewer than
twelve witches in one straggling hamlet, called Taniel Burn, and five
in Kirk Row. What a desperate place Traquair had been in those days!
But there is no person who is so apt to overshoot his mark as the
Devil. He must be a great fool in the main; for, with all his supposed
acuteness, he often runs himself into the most confounded blunders
that ever the leader of an opposition got into the midst of.
Throughout all the annals of the human race, it is manifest, that
whenever he was aiming to do the most evil, he was uniformly employed
in such a way as to bring about the most good; and it seems to have
been so, in a particular manner, in the case with which my tale shall
make the reader acquainted.

The truth is, that Popery was then on its last legs, and the Devil,
finding it (as then exercised) a very convenient and profitable sort
of religion, exerted himself beyond measure to give its motley hues a
little more variety; and the making witches and warlocks, and holding
nocturnal revels with them, where every sort of devilry was exercised,
was at that time with him a favourite plan. It was also favourably
received by the meaner sort of the populace. Witches gloried in their
power, and warlocks in their foreknowledge of events, and the energies
of their master. Women, beyond a certain age, when the pleasures and
hopes of youth delighted no more, flew to an intercourse with the
unseen powers, as affording an excitement of a higher and more
terrible nature; and men, whose tempers had been soured by
disappointment and ill usage, betook themselves to the Prince of the
Power of the Air, enlisting under his banner, in hopes of obtaining
revenge on their oppressors, or those against whom they had conceived
displeasure. However extravagant this may appear, there is no doubt of
the fact, that, in those days, the hopes of attaining some energies
beyond the reach of mere human capability, inflamed the ignorant and
wicked to attempts and acts of the most diabolical nature; for
hundreds acknowledged their principles, and gloried in them, before
the tribunals that adjudged them to the stake.

"I am now fairly under the power of witchcraft," said Colin Hyslop, as
he sat on the side of the Feathen Hill, with his plaid drawn over his
head, the tears running down his brown manly cheek, and a paper marked
with uncouth lines and figures in his hand,--"I am now fairly under
the power of witchcraft, and must submit to my fate; I am entangled,
enchained, enslaved; and the fault is all my own, for I have committed
that degree of sin which my sainted and dying father assured me would
subject me to the snares of my hellish neighbours and sworn
adversaries. My pickle sheep have a' been bewitched, and a great part
o' them have died dancing hornpipes and French curtillions. I have
been changed, and ower again changed, into shapes and forms that I
darena think of, far less name; and a' through account of my ain sin.
Hech! but it is a queer thing that sin! It has sae mony inroads to the
heart, and outlets by the senses, that we seem to live and breathe in
it. And I canna trow that the Deil is the wyte of a' our sins neither.
Na, na; black as he is, he canna be the cause and the mover of a' our
transgressions, for I find them often engendering and breeding in my
heart as fast as maggots on tainted carrion; and then it is out o'
the power of man to keep them down. My father tauld me, that if ance I
let the Deil get his little finger into _ane_ o' my transactions, he
wad soon hae his haill hand into them a'. Now I hae found it in
effect, but not in belief; for, from a' that I can borrow frae Rob
Kirkwood, the warlock, and my aunty Nans, the wickedest witch in
Christendye, the Deil appears to me to be a geyan obliging chap. That
he is wayward and fond o' sin, I hae nae doubt; but in that he has
mony neighbours. And then his great power over the senses and
conditions of men, over the winds, the waters, and the element of
flame, is to me incomprehensible, and would make him appear rather a
sort of vicegerent over the outskirts and unruly parts of nature, than
an opponent to its lawful lord.--What then shall I do with this?"
looking at the scroll; "shall I subscribe to the conditions, and
enlist under his banner, or shall I not? O love, love! were it not for
thee, all the torments that Old Mahoun and his followers could
inflict, should not induce me to quit the plain path of Christianity.
But that disdainful, cruel, and lovely Barbara! I must and will have
her, though my repentance should be without measure and without end.
So then it is settled! Here I will draw blood from my arm--blot out
the sign of the cross with it, and form that of the crescent, and
these other things, the meaning of which I do not know.--Halloo!
What's that? Two beautiful deers, as I am a sinner, and one of them
lame. What a prey for poor ruined Colin! and fairly off the royal
bounds, too. Now for it, Bawty, my fine dog! now for a clean chase! A'
the links o' the Feathen Wood winna hide them from your infallible
nose, billy Bawty. Halloo! off you go! and now for the bow and the
broad arrow at the head slap!--What! ye winna hunt a foot-length after
them, will ye no? Then, Bawty, there's some mair mischief in the wind
for me! I see what your frighted looks tell me. That they dinna leave
the scent of other deers on their track, but ane that terrifies you,
and makes your blood creep. It is hardly possible, ane wad think, that
witches could assume the shapes of these bonny harmless creatures; but
their power has come to sic a height hereabouts, that nae man alive
can tell what they can do. There's my aunt Nans has already turned me
into a gait, then to a gainder, and last of a' into a three-legged
stool!

"I am a ruined man, Bawty! your master is a ruined man, and a lost
man, that's far waur. He has sold himself for love to one beautiful
creature, the comelies of all the human race. And yet that beautiful
creature must be a witch, else how could a' the witches o' Traquair
gie me possession o' her?

"Let me consider and calculate. Now, supposing they are deceiving
me--for that's their character; and supposing they can never put me
in possession of her, then I hae brought myself into a fine scrape.
How terrible a thought this is! Let me see; is all over? Is this
scroll signed and sealed; and am I wholly given up to this unknown and
untried destiny?" (Opens his scroll with trembling agitation, and
looks over it.) "No, thanks to the Lord of the universe, I am yet a
Christian. The cross stands uncancelled, and there is neither sign nor
superscription in my blood. How did this happen? I had the blood
drawn--the pen filled--and the scroll laid out. Let me consider what
it was that prevented me? The deers? It was, indeed, the two comely
deers. What a strange intervention this is! Ah! these were no witches!
but some good angels, or happy fays, or guardian spirits of the wild,
sent to snatch an abused youth from destruction. Now, thanks be to
Heaven, though poor and reduced to the last extremity, I am yet a free
man, and in my Maker's hand. My resolution is changed--my promise is
broken, and here I give this mystic scroll to the winds of the glen.

"Alas, alas! to what a state sin has reduced me! Now shall I be
tortured by night, and persecuted by day; changed into monstrous
shapes, torn by cats, pricked by invisible bodkins, my heart racked by
insufferable pangs of love, until I either lose my reason, and yield
to the dreadful conditions held out to me, or abandon all hope of
earthly happiness, and yield up my life. Oh, that I were as free of
sin as that day my father gave me his last blessing! then might I
withstand all their charms and enchantments. But that I will never be.
So as I have brewed so must I drink. These were his last words to me,
which I may weel remember:--'You will have many enemies of your soul
to contend with, my son; for your nearest relations are in compact
with the devil; and as they have hated and persecuted me, so will they
hate and persecute you; and it will only be by repeating your prayers
evening and morning, and keeping a conscience void of all offence
towards God and towards man, that you can hope to escape the snares
that will be laid for you. But the good angels from the presence of
the Almighty will, perhaps, guard my poor orphan boy, and protect him
from the counsels of the wicked.'

"Now, in the first place, I have never prayed at all; and, in the
second place, I have sinned so much, that I have long ago subjected
myself to their snares, and given myself up for lost. What will become
of me? flight is in vain, for they can fly through the air, and follow
me wherever I go. And then, Barbara,--O that lovely and bewitching
creature! in leaving her I would leave life and saul behind!"

After this long and troubled soliloquy, poor Colin burst into tears,
and wished himself a dove, or a sparrow-hawk, or an eagle, to fly
away and be seen no more; but, in either case, to have bonny Barbara
for his mate. At this instant Bawty began to cock up his ears, and
turn his head first to the one side and then to the other; and, when
Colin looked up, he beheld two hares cowering away from a bush behind
him. There was nothing that Colin was so fond of as a chase. He sprung
up, pursued the hares, and shouted to his dog, Halloo, halloo! No,
Bawty would not pursue them a foot, but whenever he came to the place
where he had seen them, and put his nose to the ground, ran back,
hanging his tail, and uttering short barks, as he was wont to do when
attacked by witches in the night. Colin's hair rose up on his head,
for he instantly suspected that the two hares were Robin Kirkwood and
his aunt Nans, watching his motions, and the fulfilment of his promise
to them. Colin was horrified, and knew not what to do. He did not try
to pray, for he could not; but he wished, in his heart, that his
father's dying prayer for him had been heard.

He rose, and hastened away in the direction contrary to that the hares
had taken, as may well be supposed; and as he jogged along, in
melancholy mood, he was aware of two damsels, who approached him
slowly and cautiously. They were clothed in white, with garlands on
their heads; and, on their near approach, Colin perceived that one of
them was lame, and the other supported her by the hand. The two
comely hinds that had come upon him so suddenly and unexpectedly, and
had prevented him, at the very decisive moment, from selling his
salvation for sensual enjoyment, instantly came over Colin's awakened
recollection, and he was struck with indescribable awe. Bawty was
affected somewhat in the same manner with his master. The dismay he
manifested was different from that inspired by the attacks of witches
and warlocks; he crept close to the ground, and turning his face half
away from the radiant objects, uttered a sort of stifled murmur, as if
moved both by respect and fear. Colin perceived, from these infallible
symptoms, that the beings with whom he was now coming in contact were
not the subjects of the Power of Darkness.

He therefore threw his plaid over his shoulder in the true
shepherd-style, took his staff below his left arm, so that his right
hand might be at liberty to lift his bonnet when the fair damsels
accosted him, and, not choosing to advance direct upon them, he paused
at a respectful distance, straight in their path. When they came
within a few paces of him, they turned gently from the path, as if to
pass him on the left side, but all the while kept their bright eyes
fixed on him, and whispered to each other. Colin was grieved that so
much comeliness should pass by without saluting him, and kept his
regretful eyes steadily on them. At length they paused, and one of
them called, in a sweet but solemn voice, "Ah, Colin Hyslop, Colin
Hyslop! you are on the braid way for destruction."

"How do ye ken that, madam?" returned Colin. "Do you ca' the road up
the Kirk Rigg the braid way to destruction?"

"Ay, up the rigg or down the rigg, cross the rigg or round the rigg,
all is the same for you, Colin. You are a lost man; and it is a great
pity. One single step farther on the path you are now treading, and
all is over."

"What wad ye hae me to do, sweet madam? Wad ye hae me to stand still
and starve here on the crown o' the Kirk Rigg?"

"Better starve in a dungeon than take the steps you are about to take.
You were at a witch and warlock meeting yestreen."

"It looks like as gin you had been there too, madam, that you ken sae
weel."

"Yes, I _was_ there, but under concealment, and not for the purpose of
making any such vows and promises as you made. O wretched Colin
Hyslop, what is to become of you!"

"I did naething, madam, but what I couldna help; and my heart is sair
for it the day."

"Can you lay your hand on that heart and say so?"

"Yes, I can, dear madam, and swear to it too."

"Then follow us down to this little green knowe, and recount to us
the circumstances of your life, and I will inform you of a secret I
heard yestreen."

"Aha, madam, but yon is a fairy ring, and I hae gotten sae mony cheats
wi' changelings, that I hae muckle need to be on my guard. However,
things can hardly be waur wi' me. Lead on, and I shall e'en follow."

The two female figures walked before him to a fairy knowe, on the top
of the Feathen Hill, and sat down, with their faces towards him, till
he recounted the incidents of his life, the outline of which was
this:--His father was a sincere adherent of the Reformers, and a good
Christian; but poor Colin was born at Taniel-Burn, in the midst of
Papists and witches; and the nearest relation he had, a maternal aunt,
was the leading witch of the neighbourhood. Consequently, Colin was
nurtured in sin, and inured to iniquity, until all the kindly and
humane principles of his nature were erased, or so much distorted, as
to appear like their very opposites; and when this was accomplished,
his wicked aunt and her associate hags, judging him fairly gained, and
without the pale of redemption, began to exercise cantrips, the most
comical, and, at the same time, the most refined in cruelty, at his
expense; and at length, on being assured of every earthly enjoyment,
he engaged to join their hellish community, only craving three days to
study their mysteries, before he should bleed himself, and, with the
blood extracted from his veins, extinguish the sign of the cross, and
thereby renounce his hope in mercy, and likewise make some
hieroglyphics of strange shapes and mysterious efficacy, and finally
subscribe his name to the whole.

When the relation was finished, one of the lovely auditors said,--"You
are a wicked and abandoned person, Colin Hyslop. But you were reared
up in iniquity, and know no better; and the mercy of Heaven is most
readily extended to such. You have, besides, some good points in your
character still; for you have told us the truth, however much to your
own disadvantage."

"Aha, madam! How do you ken sae weel that I hae been telling you a'
the truth?"

"I know all concerning you better than you do yourself. There is
little, very little, of a redeeming nature in your own history; but
you had an upright and devout father, and the seed of the just may not
perish for ever. I have been young, and now am old, yet have I never
seen the good man forsaken, nor his children cast out as vagabonds in
the land of their fathers."

"Ah, na, na, madam! ye canna be auld. It is impossible! But goodness
kens! there are sad changelings now-a-days. I have seen an auld
wrinkled wife blooming o'ernight like a cherub."

"Colin, you are a fool! And folly in youth leads to misery in old
age. But I am your friend, and you have not another on earth this
night but myself and my sister here, and one more. Pray, will you keep
this little vial, and drink it for my sake?"

"Will it no change me, madam?"

"Yes, it will."

"Then I thank you; but will have nothing to do with it. I have had
enow of these kind o' drinks in my life."

"But suppose it change you for the better? Suppose it change you to a
new creature?"

"Weel, suppose it should, what will that creature be? Tell me that
first. Will it no be a fox, nor a gainder, nor a bearded gait,
nor--nor--a three-legged stool, which is no a creature ava?"

"Ah, Colin, Colin!" exclaimed she, smiling through tears, "your own
wickedness and unbelief gave the agents of perdition power over you.
It is that power which I wish to counteract. But I will tell you
nothing more. If you will not take this little vial, and drink it, for
my sake,--why, then, let it alone, and follow your own course."

"O dear madam! ye ken little thing about me. I was only joking wi'
you, for the sake o' hearing your sweet answers. For were that bit
glass fu' o' rank poison, and were it to turn me intil a taed or a
worm, I wad drink it aff at your behest. I hae been sae little
accustomed to hear aught serious or friendly, that my very heart
clings to you as it wad do to an angel coming down frae heaven to save
me. Ay, and ye said something kind and respectfu' about my auld father
too. That's what I hae been as little used to. Ah, but he was a douce
man! Wasna he, mem?--Drink that bit bottle o' liquor for your sake!
Od, I wish it were fu' to the brim, and that's no what it is by
twa-thirds."

"Ay, but it has this property, Colin, that drinking will never exhaust
it; and the langer you drink it, the sweeter it will become."

"Say you sae? Then here's till ye. We'll see whether drinking winna
exhaust it or no."

Colin set the vial to his lips, with intent of draining it; but the
first portion that he swallowed made him change his countenance, and
shudder from head to heel.

"Ah! sweeter did you say, madam? by the faith of my heart, it has
muckle need; for siccan a potion for bitterness never entered the
mouth of mortal man. Oh, I am ruined, poisoned, and undone!"

With that poor Colin drew his plaid over his head, fell flat on his
face, and wept bitterly, while his two comely visitants withdrew,
smiling at the success of their mission. As they went down by the side
of the Feathen Wood, the one said to the other, "Did you not perceive
two of that infatuated community haunting this poor hapless youth to
destruction? Let us go and hear their schemes, that we may the better
counteract them."

They skimmed over the lea fields, and, in a thicket of brambles,
briers, and nettles, they found--not two hares, but the identical Rob
Kirkwood, the warlock, and Colin's aunt Nans, in close and unholy
consultation. This bush has often been pointed out to me as the scene
of that memorable meeting. It perhaps still remains at the side of a
little hollow, nigh to the east corner of the Feathen arable fields;
and the spots occupied by the witch and warlock, without a green shrub
on them, are still as visible as on the day they left them. The two
sisters, having chosen a disguise that, like Jack the Giant-Killer's
coat of darkness, completely concealed them, heard the following
dialogue, from beginning to end.

"Kimmer, I trow the prize is won. I saw his arm bared; the red blood
streaming; the scroll in the one hand, and the pen in the other."

"He's ours! he's ours!"

"He's nae mair yours."

"We'll ower the kirkstyle, and away wi' him!"

"I liked not the appearance of yon two pale hinds at such a moment. I
wish the fruit of all our pains be not stolen from us when ready for
our lord and master's board. How he will storm and misuse us if this
has befallen!"

"What of the two hinds? What of them, I say? I like to see blood. It
is a beautiful thing blood."

"Thou art as gross as flesh and blood itself, and hast nothing in thee
of the true sublimity of a supernatural being. I love to scale the
thundercloud; to ride on the topmost billow of the storm; to roost by
the cataract, or croon the anthem of hell at the gate of heaven. But
_thou_ delightest to see blood,--rank, reeking, and baleful Christian
blood. What pleasure is in that, dotard?"

"Humph! I like to see Christian blood, howsomever. It bodes luck,
kimmer--it bodes luck."

"It bodes that thou art a mere block, Rob Kirkwood! but it is needless
to upbraid thee, senseless as thou art. Listen then to me:--It has
been our master's charge to us these seven years to gain that goodly
stripling, my nephew; and you know that you and I engaged to
accomplish it; if we break that engagement, woe unto us! Our master
bore a grudge at his father; but he particularly desires the son,
because he knows that, could we gain him, all the pretty girls of the
parish would flock to our standard.--But, Robin Kirkwood, I say, Robin
Kirkwood, what two white birds are these always hopping around us? I
dinna like their looks unco weel. See, the one of them is lame too;
and they seem to have a language of their own to one another. Let us
leave this place, Robin; my heart is quaking like an aspen."

"Let them hap on. What ill can wee bits o' birdies do till us? Come,
let us try some o' yon cantrips our master learned us. Grand sport
yon, Nans!"

"Robin, did not you see that the birds hopped three times round us! I
am afraid we are charmed to the spot."

"Never mind, auld fool! It's a very good spot.--Some of our cantrips!
some of our cantrips!"

What cantrips they performed is not known; but, on that day fortnight,
the two were found still sitting in the middle of the bush, the two
most miserable and disgusting figures that ever shocked humanity.
Their cronies came with a hurdle to take them home; but Nans expired
by the way, uttering wild gibberish and blasphemy, and Rob Kirkwood
died soon after he got home. The last words he uttered were, "Plenty
o' Christian blood soon! It will be running in streams!--in
streams!--in streams!"

We now return to Colin, who, freed of his two greatest adversaries,
now spent his time in a state bordering on happiness, compared with
the life he had formerly led. He wept much, staid on the hill by
himself, and pondered deeply on something--nobody knew what, and it
was believed he did not know well himself. He was in love--over head
and ears in love; which may account for any thing in man, however
ridiculous. He was in love with Barbara Stewart, an angel in
loveliness as well as virtue; but she had hitherto shunned a young man
so dissolute and unfortunate in his connexions. To her rejection of
his suit were attributed Colin's melancholy and retirement from
society; and it might be partly the cause, but there were other
matters that troubled his inmost soul.

Ever since he had been visited by the two mysterious dames, he had
kept the vial close in his bosom, and had drunk of the bitter potion
again and again. He felt a change within him, a certain renovation of
his nature, and a new train of thoughts, to which he was an utter
stranger; yet he cherished them, tasting oftener and oftener his vial
of bitterness, and always, as he drank, the liquor increased in
quantity.

While in this half-resigned, half-desponding state, he ventured once
more to visit Barbara. He thought to himself that he would go and see
her, if but to take farewell of her; for he resolved not to harass so
dear a creature with a suit which was displeasing to her. But, to his
utter surprise, Barbara received him kindly. His humbled look made a
deep impression on her; and, on taking leave, he found that she had
treated him with as much favour as any virtuous maiden could display.

He therefore went home rather too much uplifted in spirit, which his
old adversaries, the witches, perceived, and having laid all their
snares open to entrap him, they in part prevailed, and he returned, in
the moment of temptation, to his old courses. The day after, as he
went out to the hill, he whistled and sung,--for he durst not
think,--till, behold, at a distance, he saw his two lovely monitors
approaching. He was confounded and afraid, for he found his heart was
not right for the encounter; so he ran away with all his might, and
hid himself in the Feathen Wood.

As soon as he was alone, he took the vial from his bosom, and,
wondering, beheld that the bitter liquid was dried up all to a few
drops, although the glass was nearly full when he last deposited it in
his bosom. He set it eagerly to his lips, lest the last remnant should
have escaped him; but never was it so bitter as now; his very heart
and spirit failed him, and, trembling, he lay down and wept. He tried
again to drain out the dregs of his cup of bitterness; but still, as
he drank, it increased in quantity, and became more and more
palatable; and he now continued the task so eagerly, that in a few
days it was once more nearly full.

The two lovely strangers coming now often in his mind, he regretted
running from them, and longed to see them again. So, going out, he sat
down within the fairy ring, on the top of the Feathen Hill, with a
sort of presentiment that they would appear to him. Accordingly, it
was not long till they made their appearance, but still at a distance,
as if travelling along the kirk-road. Colin, perceiving that they were
going to pass, without looking his way, thought it his duty to wait on
them. He hasted across the moor, and met them; nor did they now shun
him. The one that was lame now addressed him, while she who had
formerly accosted him, and presented him with the vial, looked shy,
and kept a marked distance, which Colin was exceedingly sorry for, as
he loved her best. The other examined him sharply concerning all his
transactions since they last met. He acknowledged every thing
candidly--the great folly of which he had been guilty, and likewise
the great terror he was in of being changed into some horrible bestial
creature, by the bitter drug they had given him. "For d'ye ken,
madam," said he, "I fand the change beginning within, at the very core
o' the heart, and spreading aye outward and outward, and I lookit aye
every minute when my hands and my feet wad change into clutes; for I
expeckit nae less than to have another turn o' the gait, or some waur
thing, kenning how weel I deserved it. And when I saw that I keepit my
right proportions, I grat for my ain wickedness, that had before
subjected me to such unhallowed influence."

The two sisters now looked to each other, and a heavenly benevolence
shone through the smiles with which that look was accompanied. The
lame one said, "Did I not say, sister, that there was some hope?" She
then asked a sight of his vial, which he took from his bosom, and put
into her hands; and when she had viewed it carefully, she returned it,
without any injunction; but taking from her own bosom a medal of pure
gold, which seemed to have been dipped in blood, she fastened it round
his neck with a chain of steel. "As long as you keep that vial, and
use it," said she, "the other will never be taken from you, and with
these two you may defy all the Powers of Darkness."

As soon as Colin was alone, he surveyed his purple medal with great
earnestness, but could make nothing of it; there was a mystery in the
characters and figures which he could not in the least comprehend; yet
he kept all that had happened closely concealed; and walked softly.

The witches now found that he was lost to their community, and,
enraged beyond measure at being deprived of such a prize, which they
had judged fairly their own, and of which their master was so
desirous, they now laid a plan to destroy him.

Colin went down to the Castle one night to see Barbara Stewart, who
talked to him much of religion and of the Bible; but of these things
Colin knew very little. He engaged, however, to go with her to the
house of prayer--not the Popish chapel, where he had once been a most
irreverent auditor, but to the Reformed church, which then began to
divide the parish, and the pastor of which was a devout man.

On taking leave of Barbara, and promising to attend her on the
following Sabbath, a burst of eldrich laughter arose close by, and a
voice, with a hoarse and giggling sound, exclaimed, "No sae fast,
canny lad--no sae fast. There will maybe be a whipping o' cripples
afore that play be played."

Barbara consigned them both to the care of the Almighty with great
fervency, wondering how they could have been watched and overheard in
such a place. Colin trembled from head to foot, for he knew the laugh
too well to be that of Maude Stott, the leading witch of the Traquair
gang, now that his aunt was removed. He had no sooner crossed the
Quair, than, at the junction of a little streamlet, called to this day
the Satyr Sike, he was set upon by a countless number of cats, which
surrounded him, making the most infernal noises, and putting
themselves into the most threatening attitudes. For a good while they
did not touch him, but leaped around him, often as high as his throat,
screaming most furiously; but at length his faith failed him, and he
cried out in utter despair. At that moment, they all closed upon him,
some round his neck, some round his legs, and some endeavouring to
tear out his heart and bowels. At length one or two that came in
contact with the medal in his bosom fled away, howling most fearfully,
and did not return. Still he was in great jeopardy of being instantly
torn to pieces; on which he flung himself flat on his face in the
midst of his devouring enemies, and invoked a sacred name. That moment
he felt partial relief, as if some one were driving them off one by
one, and on raising his head, he beheld his lovely lame visitant of
the mountains, driving these infernals off with a white wand, and
mocking their threatening looks and vain attempts to return. "Off with
you, poor infatuated wretches!" cried she: "Minions of perdition, off
to your abodes of misery and despair! Where now is your boasted
whipping of cripples? See if one poor cripple cannot whip you all!"

By this time the monsters had all taken their flight, save one, that
had fastened its talons in Colin's left side, and was making a last
and desperate effort to reach his vitals; but he, being now freed from
the rest, lent it a blow with such good-will, as made it speedily
desist, and fly tumbling and mewing down the brae. He shrewdly guessed
who this inveterate assailant was. Nor was he mistaken; for next day
Maude Stott was lying powerless on account of a broken limb, and
several of her cronies were in great torment, having been struck by
the white rod of the Lady of the Moor.

But the great Master Fiend, seeing now that his emissaries were all
baffled and outdone, was enraged beyond bounds, and set himself with
all his wit, and with all his power, to be revenged on poor Colin. As
to his power, no one disputed it; but his wit and ingenuity always
appear to me to be very equivocal. He tried to assault Colin's humble
dwelling that same night, in sundry terrific shapes; but many of the
villagers perceived a slender form, clothed in white, that kept watch
at his door until the morning twilight. The next day, he haunted him
on the hill in the form of a great shaggy bloodhound, infected with
madness; but finding his utter inability to touch him, he uttered a
howl that made all the hills quake, and, like a flash of lightning,
darted into Glendean Banks.

He next set himself to procure Colin's punishment by other means,
namely, by the hands of Christian men, the only way now left for him.
He accordingly engaged his emissaries to inform against him to holy
Mother Church, as a warlock and necromancer. The Crown and the Church
had at that time joined in appointing judges of these difficult and
interesting questions. The quorum amounted to seven, consisting of the
King's Advocate, and an equal number of priests and laymen, all of
them in opposition to the principles of the Reformation, which was at
that time obnoxious at court, Colin was seized, arraigned, and lodged
in prison at Peebles; and never was there such clamour and discontent
in Strathquair. The young women wept, and tore their hair, for the
goodliest lad in the valley; their mothers scolded; and the old men
scratched their grey polls, bit their lips, and remained quiescent,
but were at length compelled to join the combination.

Colin's trial came on; and his accusers being summoned as witnesses
against him, it may well be supposed how little chance he had of
escaping, especially as the noted David Beatoun sat that day as judge,
a severe and bigoted Papist. There were many things proven against
poor Colin,--as much as would have been at one time sufficient to
bring all the youth of Traquair to the stake.

For instance, three sportsmen swore, that they had started a large
he-fox in the Feathen Wood, and, after pursuing him all the way to
Glenrath-hope, with horses and hounds, on coming up, they found Colin
Hyslop lying panting in the midst of the hounds, and caressing and
endeavouring to pacify them. It was farther deponed, that he had been
discovered in the shape of a huge gander sitting on eggs; and in the
shape of a three-legged stool, which, on being tossed about and
overturned, as three-legged stools are apt to be, had groaned, and
given other symptoms of animation, by which its identity with Colin
Hyslop was discovered.

But when they came to the story of a he-goat, which had proceeded to
attend the service in the chapel of St John the Evangelist, and which
said he-goat proved to be the unhappy delinquent, Beatoun growled with
rage and indignation, and said, that such a dog deserved to suffer
death by a thousand tortures, and to be excluded from the power of
repentance by the instant infliction of them. The most of the judges
were not, however, satisfied of the authenticity of this monstrous
story, and insisted on examining a great number of witnesses, both
young and old, many of whom happened to be quite unconnected with the
horrid community of the Traquair witches. Among the rest, a girl,
named Tibby Frater, was examined about that, as well as the
three-legged stool; and her examination may here be copied verbatim.
The querist, who was a cunning man, began as follows:--

"Were you in St John's Chapel, Isabel, on the Sunday after Easter?"

"Yes."

"Did you there see a man changed into a he-goat?"

"I saw a gait in the chapel that day."

"Did he, as has been declared, seem intent on disturbing divine
worship?"

"He was playing some pranks. But what else could you expect of a
gait?"

"Please to describe what you saw."

"Oo, he was just rampauging about, and dinging folk ower. The clerk
and the sacristan ran to attack him, but he soon laid them baith
prostrate. Mess John prayed against him, in Latin, they said, and
tried to lay him, as if he had been a deil; but he never heedit that,
and just rampit on."

"Did he ever come near or molest you in the chapel?"

"Ay, he did that."

"What did he do to you?--describe it all."

"Oo, he didna do that muckle ill, after a'; but if it was the poor
young man that was changed, I'll warrant he had nae hand in it, for
dearly he paid the kain. Ere long there were fifty staves raised
against him, and he was beaten till there was hardly life left in
him."

"And what were the people's reasons for believing that this he-goat
and the prisoner were the same?"

"He was found a' wounded and bruised the next day. But, in truth, I
believe he never denied these changes wrought on him, to his intimate
friends; but we a' ken weel wha it was that effected them. Od help
you! ye little ken how we are plaguit and harassed down yonder-abouts,
and what scathe the country suffers, by the emissaries o' Satan! If
there be any amang you that ken the true marks o' the beast, you will
discern plenty o' them here-about, amang some that hae been witnessing
against this poor abused and unfortunate young man."

The members of the community of Satan were now greatly astounded.
Their eyes gleamed with the desire of vengeance, and they gnashed
their teeth on the maiden. But the buzz ran through the assembly
against them, and execrations were poured from every corner of the
crowded court. Cries of--"Plenty o' proof o' what Tibby has
said!"--"Let the saddle be laid on the right horse!"--"Down wi' the
plagues o' the land!" and many such exclamations, were sent forth by
the good people of Traquair. They durst not meddle with the witches at
home, because, when any thing was done to disoblige them, the sheep
and cattle were seized with new and frightful distempers, the corn and
barley were shaken, and the honest people themselves quaked under
agues, sweatings, and great horrors of mind. But now that they had
them all collected in a court of justice, and were all assembled
themselves, and holy men present, they hoped to bring the delinquents
to due punishment at last. Beatoun, however, seemed absolutely bent on
the destruction of Colin, alleging, that the depravity of his heart
was manifest in every one of his actions during the periods of his
metamorphoses, even although he himself had no share in effecting
these metamorphoses; he therefore sought a verdict against the
prisoner, as did also the King's Advocate. Sir James Stuart of
Traquair, however, rose up, and spoke with great eloquence and energy
in favour of his vassal, and insisted on having his accusers tried
face to face with him, when, he had no doubt, it would be seen on
which side the sorcery had been exercised. "For I appeal to your
honourable judgments," continued he, "if any man would transform
himself into a fox, for the sake of being hunted to death, and torn
into pieces by hounds? Neither, I think, would any person choose to
translate himself into a gander, for the purpose of bringing out a few
worthless goslings! But, above all, I am morally certain, that no
living man would turn himself into a three-legged stool, for no other
purpose but to be kicked into the mire, as the evidence shows this
stool to have been. And as for a very handsome youth turning himself
into a he-goat, in order to exhibit his prowess in outbraving and
beating the men of the whole congregation, that would be a supposition
equally absurd. But as we have a thousand instances of honest men
being affected and injured by spells and enchantments, I give it as my
firm opinion, that this young man has been abused grievously in this
manner, and that these his accusers, afraid of exposure through his
agency, are trying in this way to put him down."

Sir James's speech was received with murmurs of applause through the
whole crowded court: but the principal judge continued obstinate, and
made a speech in reply. Being a man of a most austere temperament, and
as bloody-minded as obstinate, he made no objections to the seizing of
the youth's accusers, and called to the officers to guard the door; on
which the old sacristan of Traquair remarked aloud, "By my faith in
the holy Apostle John, my lord governor, you must be quick in your
seizures; for an ye gie but the witches o' Traquair ten minutes, ye
will hae naething o' them but moorfowls and paitricks blattering about
the rigging o' the kirk; and a' the offishers ye hae will neither
catch nor keep them."

They were, however, seized and incarcerated. The trials lasted for
three days, at which the most amazing crowds attended; for the
evidence was of the most extraordinary nature ever elicited,
displaying such a system of diablerie, malevolence, and unheard-of
wickedness, as never came to light in a Christian land. Seven women
and two men were found guilty, and condemned to be burnt at the stake;
and several more would have shared the same fate, had the private
marks, which were then thoroughly and perfectly known, coincided with
the evidence produced. This not having been the case, they were
banished out of the Scottish dominions, any man being at liberty to
shoot them, if found there under any shape whatever, after sixty-one
hours from that date.

There being wise men who attended the courts in those days, called
Searchers or Triers, they were ordered to take Colin into the vestry,
(the trials having taken place in a church,) and examine him strictly
for the diabolical marks. They could find none; but in the course of
their investigation they found the vial in his bosom, as well as the
medal that wore the hue of blood, and which was locked to his neck, so
that the hands of man could not remove it. They returned to the judge,
bearing the vial in triumph, and saying they had found no private
mark, as proof of the master he served, but that here was an unguent,
which they had no doubt was proof sufficient, and would, if they
judged aright, when accompanied by proper incantations, transform a
human being into any beast or monster intended. It was handed to the
judge, who shook his head, and acquiesced with the searchers. It was
then handed around, and Mr Wiseheart, or Wishart, a learned man,
deciphered these words on it, in a sacred language,--"The Vial of
Repentance."

The judges looked at one another when they heard these ominous words
so unlooked for; and Wishart remarked, with a solemn assurance, that
neither the term, nor the cup of bitterness, was likely to be in use
among the slaves of Satan, and the bounden drudges of the land of
perdition.

The searchers now begged the Court to suspend their judgment for a
space, as the prisoner wore a charm of a bloody hue, which was locked
to his body with steel, so that no hands could loose it, and which
they judged of far more ominous import than all the other proofs put
together. Colin was then brought into Court once more, and the medal
examined carefully; and lo! on the one side were engraved, in the same
character, two words, the meanings of which were decided to be,
"Forgiveness" above, and "Acceptance" below. On the other side was a
representation of the Crucifixion, and these words in another
language, _Cruci, dum spiro, fido_; which words struck the judges with
great amazement. They forthwith ordered the bonds to be taken off the
prisoner, and commanded him to speak for himself, and tell, without
fear and dread, how he came by these precious and holy bequests.

Colin, who was noted for sincerity and simplicity, began and related
the circumstances of his life, his temptations, his follies, and his
disregard of all the duties of religion, which had subjected him in no
common degree to the charms and enchantments of his hellish
neighbours, whose principal efforts and energies seemed to be aimed at
his destruction. But when he came to the vision of the fair virgins on
the hill, and of their gracious bequests, that had preserved him
thenceforward, both from the devil in person, and from the vengeance
of all his emissaries combined, so well did this suit the strenuous
efforts then making to obtain popularity for a falling system of
faith, that the judges instantly claimed the miracle to their own
side, and were clamorous with approbation of his modesty, and cravings
of forgiveness for the insults and contumely which they had heaped
upon this favourite of Heaven. Barbara Stewart was at this time
sitting on the bench close behind Colin, weeping for joy at this
favourable turn of affairs, having, for several days previous to that,
given up all hopes of his life, when Mr David Beatoun, pointing to the
image of the Holy Virgin, asked if the fair dame who bestowed these
invaluable and heavenly relics bore any resemblance to that divine
figure. Colin, with his accustomed blunt honesty, was just about to
answer in the negative, when Barbara exclaimed in a whisper behind
him, "Ah! how like!"

"How do you ken, dearest Barbara?" said he, softly, over his shoulder.

"Because I saw her watching your door once when surrounded by
fiends--Ah! how like!"

"Ah, how like!" exclaimed Colin, by way of response to one whose
opinion was to him as a thing sacred, and not to be disputed. How much
hung on that moment! A denial might perhaps have still subjected him
to obloquy, bonds, and death, but an anxious maiden's ready expedient
saved him; and now it was with difficulty that Mr Wishart could
prevent the Catholic part of the throng from falling down and
worshipping him, whom they had so lately reviled and accused of the
blackest crimes.

Times were now altered with Colin Hyslop. David Beatoun took him to
Edinburgh in his chariot, and presented him to the Queen Regent, who
put a ring on his right hand, a chain of gold about his neck, and
loaded him with her bounty. All the Catholic nobles of the court
presented him with valuable gifts, and then he was caused to make the
tour of all the rich abbeys of Fife and the Border; so that, without
ever having one more question asked him about his tenets, he returned
home the richest man of all Traquair, even richer, as men supposed,
than Sir James Stuart himself. He married Barbara Stewart, and
purchased the Plora from the female heirs of Alexander Murray, where
he built a mansion, planted a vineyard, and lived in retirement and
happiness till the day of his death.

I have thus recorded the leading events of this tale, although many of
the incidents, as handed down by tradition, are of so heinous a nature
as not to bear recital. It has always appeared to me to have been
moulded on the bones of some ancient religious allegory, and by being
thus transformed into a nursery tale, rendered unintelligible. It
would be in vain now to endeavour to restore its original structure,
in the same way as Mr Blore can delineate an ancient abbey from the
smallest remnant; but I should like exceedingly to understand properly
what was represented by the two lovely and mysterious sisters, one of
whom was lame. It is most probable that they were supposed apparitions
of renowned female saints; or perhaps Faith and Charity. This,
however, is manifest, that it is a Reformer's tale, founded on a
Catholic allegory.

Of the witches of Traquair there are many other traditions extant, as
well as many authentic records; and so far the tale accords with the
history of the times. That they were tried and suffered there is no
doubt; and the Devil lost all his popularity in that district ever
after, being despised by his friends for his shallow and rash
politics, and hooted and held up to ridicule by his enemies. I still
maintain, that there has been no great personage since the world was
framed, so apt to commit a manifest blunder, and to overshoot his
mark, as he is.




CHAPTER V.

SHEEP.


The sheep has scarcely any marked character, save that of natural
affection, of which it possesses a very great share. It is otherwise a
stupid, indifferent animal, having few wants, and fewer expedients.
The old black-faced, or Forest breed, have far more powerful
capabilities than any of the finer breeds that have been introduced
into Scotland; and therefore the few anecdotes that I have to relate,
shall be confined to them.

So strong is the attachment of sheep to the place where they have been
bred, that I have heard of their returning from Yorkshire to the
Highlands. I was always somewhat inclined to suspect that they might
have been lost by the way. But it is certain, however, that when once
one, or a few sheep, get away from the rest of their acquaintances,
they return homeward with great eagerness and perseverance. I have
lived beside a drove-road the better part of my life, and many
stragglers have I seen bending their steps northward in the spring of
the year. A shepherd rarely sees these journeyers twice; if he sees
them, and stops them in the morning, they are gone long before night;
and if he sees them at night, they will be gone many miles before
morning. This strong attachment to the place of their nativity, is
much more predominant in our old aboriginal breed, than in any of the
other kinds with which I am acquainted.

The most singular instance that I know of, to be quite well
authenticated, is that of a black ewe, that returned with her lamb
from a farm in the head of Glen-Lyon, to the farm of Harehope, in
Tweeddale, and accomplished the journey in nine days. She was soon
missed by her owner, and a shepherd was dispatched in pursuit of her,
who followed her all the way to Crieff, where he turned, and gave her
up. He got intelligence of her all the way, and every one told him
that she absolutely persisted in travelling on--She would not be
turned, regarding neither sheep nor shepherd by the way. Her lamb was
often far behind, and she had constantly to urge it on, by impatient
bleating. She unluckily came to Stirling on the morning of a great
annual fair, about the end of May, and judging it imprudent to venture
through the crowd with her lamb, she halted on the north side of the
town the whole day, where she was seen by hundreds, lying close by
the road-side. But next morning, when all became quiet, a little after
the break of day, she was observed stealing quietly through the town,
in apparent terror of the dogs that were prowling about the street.
The last time she was seen on the road, was at a toll-bar near St
Ninian's; the man stopped her, thinking she was a strayed animal, and
that some one would claim her. She tried several times to break
through by force when he opened the gate, but he always prevented her,
and at length she turned patiently back. She had found some means of
eluding him, however, for home she came on a Sabbath morning, the 4th
of June; and she left the farm of Lochs, in Glen-Lyon, either on the
Thursday afternoon, or Friday morning, a week and two days before. The
farmer of Harehope paid the Highland farmer the price of her, and she
remained on her native farm till she died of old age, in her
seventeenth year.

There is another peculiarity in the nature of sheep, of which I have
witnessed innumerable examples. But as they are all alike, and show
how much the sheep is a creature of habit, I shall only relate one:

A shepherd in Blackhouse bought a few sheep from another in Crawmel,
about ten miles distant. In the spring following, one of the ewes went
back to her native place, and yeaned on a wild hill, called Crawmel
Craig. One day, about the beginning of July following, the shepherd
went and brought home his ewe and lamb--took the fleece from the ewe,
and kept the lamb for one of his stock. The lamb lived and throve,
became a hog and a gimmer, and never offered to leave home; but when
three years of age, and about to have her first lamb, she vanished;
and the morning after, the Crawmel shepherd, in going his rounds,
found her with a new-yeaned lamb on the very gair of the Crawmel
Craig, where she was lambed herself. She remained there till the first
week of July, the time when she was brought a lamb herself, and then
she came home with hers of her own accord; and this custom she
continued annually with the greatest punctuality as long as she lived.
At length her lambs, when they came of age, began the same practice,
and the shepherd was obliged to dispose of the whole breed.

With regard to the natural affection of this animal, stupid and
actionless as it is, the instances that might be mentioned are without
number. When one loses its sight in a flock of short sheep, it is
rarely abandoned to itself in that hapless and helpless state. Some
one always attaches itself to it, and by bleating calls it back from
the precipice, the lake, the pool, and all dangers whatever. There is
a disease among sheep, called by shepherds the Breakshugh, a deadly
sort of dysentery, which is as infectious as fire, in a flock.
Whenever a sheep feels itself seized by this, it instantly withdraws
from all the rest, shunning their society with the greatest care; it
even hides itself, and is often very hard to be found. Though this
propensity can hardly be attributed to natural instinct, it is, at all
events, a provision of nature of the greatest kindness and
beneficence.

Another manifest provision of nature with regard to these animals, is,
that the more inhospitable the land is on which they feed, the greater
their kindness and attention to their young. I once herded two years
on a wild and bare farm called Willenslee, on the border of
Mid-Lothian, and of all the sheep I ever saw, these were the kindest
and most affectionate to their young. I was often deeply affected at
scenes which I witnessed. We had one very hard winter, so that our
sheep grew lean in the spring, and the thwarter-ill (a sort of
paralytic affection) came among them, and carried off a number. Often
have I seen these poor victims when fallen down to rise no more, even
when unable to lift their heads from the ground, holding up the leg,
to invite the starving lamb to the miserable pittance that the udder
still could supply. I had never seen aught more painfully affecting.

It is well known that it is a custom with shepherds, when a lamb dies,
if the mother have a sufficiency of milk, to bring her from the hill,
and put another lamb to her. This is done by putting the skin of the
dead lamb upon the living one; the ewe immediately acknowledges the
relationship, and after the skin has warmed on it, so as to give it
something of the smell of her own progeny, and it has sucked her two
or three times, she accepts and nourishes it as her own ever after.
Whether it is from joy at this apparent reanimation of her young one,
or because a little doubt remains on her mind which she would fain
dispel, I cannot decide; but, for a number of days, she shows far more
fondness, by bleating, and caressing, over this one, than she did
formerly over the one that was really her own.

But this is not what I wanted to explain; it was, that such sheep as
thus lose their lambs, must be driven to a house with dogs, so that
the lamb may be put to them; for they will only take it in a dark
confined place. But at Willenslee, I never needed to drive home a
sheep by force, with dogs, or in any other way than the following: I
found every ewe, of course, standing hanging her head over her dead
lamb, and having a piece of twine with me for the purpose, I tied that
to the lamb's neck, or foot, and trailing it along, the ewe followed
me into any house or fold that I chose to lead her. Any of them would
have followed me in that way for miles, with her nose close on the
lamb, which she never quitted for a moment, except to chase my dog,
which she would not suffer to walk near me. I often, out of
curiosity, led them in to the side of the kitchen fire by this means,
into the midst of servants and dogs; but the more that dangers
multiplied around the ewe, she clung the closer to her dead offspring,
and thought of nothing whatever but protecting it.

One of the two years while I remained on this farm, a severe blast of
snow came on by night about the latter end of April, which destroyed
several scores of our lambs; and as we had not enow of twins and odd
lambs for the mothers that had lost theirs, of course we selected the
best ewes, and put lambs to them. As we were making the distribution,
I requested of my master to spare me a lamb for a hawked ewe which he
knew, and which was standing over a dead lamb in the head of the hope,
about four miles from the house. He would not do it, but bid me let
her stand over her lamb for a day or two, and perhaps a twin would be
forthcoming. I did so, and faithfully she did stand to her charge; so
faithfully, that I think the like never was equalled by any of the
woolly race. I visited her every morning and evening, and for the
first eight days never found her above two or three yards from the
lamb; and always, as I went my rounds, she eyed me long ere I came
near her, and kept tramping with her foot, and whistling through her
nose, to frighten away the dog; he got a regular chase twice a-day as
I passed by: but, however excited and fierce a ewe may be, she never
offers any resistance to mankind, being perfectly and meekly passive
to them. The weather grew fine and warm, and the dead lamb soon
decayed, which the body of a dead lamb does particularly soon; but
still this affectionate and desolate creature kept hanging over the
poor remains with an attachment that seemed to be nourished by
hopelessness. It often drew the tears from my eyes to see her hanging
with such fondness over a few bones, mixed with a small portion of
wool. For the first fortnight she never quitted the spot, and for
another week she visited it every morning and evening, uttering a few
kindly and heart-piercing bleats each time; till at length every
remnant of her offspring vanished, mixing with the soil, or wafted
away by the winds.




CHAPTER VI.

PRAYERS.


There is, I believe, no class of men professing the Protestant faith,
so truly devout as the shepherds of Scotland. They get all the
learning that the parish schools afford; are thoroughly acquainted
with the Scriptures; deeply read in theological works, and really, I
am sorry to say it, generally much better informed on these topics
than their masters. Every shepherd is a man of respectability--he must
be so, else he must cease to be a shepherd. His master's flock is
entirely committed to his care, and if he does not manage it with
constant attention, caution, and decision, he cannot be employed. A
part of the stock is his own, however, so that his interest in it is
the same with that of his master; and being thus the most independent
of men, if he cherishes a good behaviour, and the most insignificant
if he loses the esteem of his employers, he has every motive for
maintaining an unimpeachable character.

It is almost impossible, also, that he can be other than a religious
character, being so much conversant with the Almighty in his works, in
all the goings-on of nature, and in his control of the otherwise
resistless elements. He feels himself a dependent being, morning and
evening, on the great Ruler of the universe; he holds converse with
him in the cloud and the storm--on the misty mountain and the darksome
waste--in the whirling drift and the overwhelming thaw--and even in
voices and sounds that are only heard by the howling cliff or solitary
dell. How can such a man fail to be impressed with the presence of an
eternal God, of an omniscient eye, and an almighty arm?

The position generally holds good; for, as I have said, the shepherds
are a religious and devout set of men, and among them the antiquated
but delightful exercise of family worship is never neglected. It is
always gone about with decency and decorum; but formality being a
thing despised, there is no composition that I ever heard so truly
original as these prayers occasionally are; sometimes for rude
eloquence and pathos, at other times for a nondescript sort of pomp,
and not unfrequently for a plain and somewhat unbecoming familiarity.

One of the most notable men for this sort of family eloquence was Adam
Scott, in Upper Dalgliesh. I had an uncle who herded with him, from
whom I heard many quotations from Scott's prayers:--a few of them are
as follows.

"We particularly thank thee for thy great goodness to Meg, and that
ever it came into your head to take any thought of sic an useless
baw-waw as her." (This was a little girl that had been somewhat
miraculously saved from drowning.)

"For thy mercy's sake--for the sake of thy poor sinfu' servants that
are now addressing thee in their ain shilly-shally way, and for the
sake o' mair than we dare weel name to thee, hae mercy on Rob. Ye ken
yoursell he is a wild mischievous callant, and thinks nae mair o'
committing sin than a dog does o' licking a dish; but put thy hook in
his nose, and thy bridle in his gab, and gar him come back to thee wi'
a jerk that he'll no forget the langest day he has to leeve."

"Dinna forget poor Jamie, wha's far away frae amang us the night. Keep
thy arm o' power about him, and O, I wish ye wad endow him wi' a
little spunk and smeddum to act for himsell. For if ye dinna, he'll be
but a bauchle in this world, and a backsitter in the neist."

"We desire to be submissive to thy will and pleasure at a' times; but
our desires are like new-bridled colts, or dogs that are first laid to
the brae--they run wild frae under our control. Thou hast added one to
our family--so has been thy will; but it would never hae been mine.
If it's of thee, do thou bless and prosper the connexion; but if the
fool hath done it out of carnal desire, against all reason and credit,
may the cauld rainy cloud of adversity settle on his habitation; till
he shiver in the flame that his folly hath kindled." (I think this was
said to be in allusion to the marriage of one of his sons.)

"We're a' like hawks, we're a' like snails, we're a' like slogie
riddles;--like hawks to do evil, like snails to do good, and like
slogie riddles, that let through a' the good, and keep the bad."

"Bring down the tyrant and his lang neb, for he has done muckle ill
the year, and gie him a cup o' thy wrath, and gin he winna tak that,
gie him kelty." (_Kelty_ signifies double, or two cups. This was an
occasional petition for one season only, and my uncle never could
comprehend what it meant.)

The general character of Scott was one of decision and activity;
constant in the duties of religion, but not over strict with regard to
some of its moral precepts.

I have heard the following petitions sundry times in the family
prayers of an old relation of my own, long since gone to his rest.

"And mairower and aboon, do thou bless us a' wi' thy best warldly
blessings--wi' bread for the belly and theeking for the back, a lang
stride and a clear ee-sight. Keep us from a' proud prossing and
upsetting--from foul flaips, and stray steps, and from all
unnecessary trouble."

But, in generalities, these prayers are never half so original as when
they come to particular incidents that affect only the petitioners;
for some things happen daily, which they deem it their bounden duty to
remember before their Maker, either by way of petition, confession, or
thanksgiving. The following was told to me as a part of the same
worthy old man's prayer occasionally, for some weeks before he left a
master, in whose father's service and his own the decayed shepherd had
spent the whole of his life.

"Bless my master and his family with thy best blessings in Christ
Jesus. Prosper all his worldly concerns, especially that valuable part
which is committed to my care. I have worn out my life in the service
of him and his fathers, and thou knowest that I have never bowed a
knee before thee without remembering them. Thou knowest, also, that I
have never studied night's rest, nor day's comfort, when put in
competition with their interest. The foulest days and the stormiest
nights were to me as the brightest of summer; and if he has not done
weel in casting out his auld servant, do thou forgive him. I forgive
him with all my heart, and will never cease to pray for him; but when
the hard storms o' winter come, may he miss the braid bonnet and the
grey head, and say to himsell, 'I wish to God that my auld herd had
been here yet!' I ken o' neither house nor habitation this night, but
for the sake o' them amang us that canna do for themsells, I ken thou
wilt provide ane; for though thou hast tried me with hard and sair
adversities, I have had more than my share of thy mercies, and thou
kens better than I can tell thee that thou hast never bestowed them on
an unthankful heart."

This is the sentence, exactly as it was related to me, but I am sure
it is not correct; for, though very like his manner, I never heard him
come so near the English language in one sentence in my life. I once
heard him say, in allusion to a chapter he had been reading about
David and Goliath, and just at the close of his prayer: "And when our
besetting sins come bragging and blowstering upon us, like Gully o'
Gath, O enable us to fling off the airmer and hairnishing o' the law,
whilk we haena proved, and whup up the simple sling o' the gospel, and
nail the smooth stanes o' redeeming grace into their foreheads."

Of all the compositions, for simple pathos, that I ever saw or heard,
his prayer, on the evening of that day on which he buried his only
son, excelled; but at this distance of time, it is impossible for me
to do it justice; and I dare not take it on me to garble it. He began
the subject of his sorrows thus:--

"Thou hast seen meet, in thy wise providence, to remove the staff out
of my right hand, at the very time when, to us poor sand-blind
mortals, it appeared that I stood maist in need o't. But O it was a
sicker ane, and a sure ane, and a dear ane to my heart! and how I'll
climb the steep hill o' auld age and sorrow without it, thou mayst
ken, but I dinna."

His singing of the psalms surpassed all exhibitions that ever were
witnessed of a sacred nature. He had not the least air of sacred
music; there was no attempt at it; it was a sort of recitative of the
most grotesque kind; and yet he delighted in it, and sung far more
verses every night than is customary. The first time I heard him, I
was very young; but I could not stand it, and leaned myself back into
a bed, and laughed till my strength could serve me no longer. He had
likewise an out-of-the-way custom, in reading a portion of Scripture
every night, of always making remarks as he went on. And such remarks!
One evening I heard him reading a chapter--I have forgot where it
was--but he came to words like these: "And other nations, whom the
great and noble Asnapper brought over"----John stopped short, and,
considering for a little, says: "Asnapper! whaten a king was he that?
I dinna mind o' ever hearing tell o' him afore."--"I dinna ken," said
one of the girls; "but he has a queer name."--"It is something like a
goolly knife," said a younger one. "Whisht, dame," said John, and
then went on with the chapter. I believe it was about the fourth or
fifth chapter of Ezra. He seldom, for a single night, missed a few
observations of the same sort.

Another night, not long after the time above noticed, he was reading
of the feats of one Sanballat, who set himself against the building of
the second temple; on closing the Bible John uttered a long hemh! and
then I knew there was something forthcoming. "He has been another nor
a gude ane that," added he; "I hae nae brow o' their Sandy-ballet."

Upon another occasion he stopped in the middle of a chapter and
uttered his "hemh!" of disapproval, and then added, "If it had been
the Lord's will, I think they might hae left out that verse."--"It
hasna been his will, though," said one of the girls.--"It seems sae,"
said John. I have entirely forgot what he was reading about, and am
often vexed at having forgot the verse that John wanted expunged from
the Bible. It was in some of the minor prophets.

There was another time he came to his brother-in-law's house, where I
was then living, and John being the oldest man, the Bible was laid
down before him to make family worship. He made no objections, but
began, as was always his custom, by asking a blessing on their
devotions; and when he had done, it being customary for those who make
family worship to sing straight through the Psalms from beginning to
end, John says, "We'll sing in your ordinary. Where is it?"--"We do
not always sing in one place," said the goodman of the house. "Na, I
daresay no, or else ye'll make that place threadbare," said John, in a
short crabbed style, manifestly suspecting that his friend was not
regular in his family devotions. This piece of sharp wit after the
worship was begun had to me an effect highly ludicrous.

When he came to give out the chapter, he remarked, that there would be
no ordinary there either, he supposed. "We have been reading in Job
for a lang time," said the goodman. "How lang?" said John slyly, as he
turned over the leaves, thinking to catch his friend at fault. "O, I
dinna ken that," said the other; "but there's a mark laid in that will
tell you the bit."--"If you hae read _vera_ lang in Job," says John,
"you will hae made him threadbare too, for the mark is only at the
ninth chapter." There was no answer, so he read on. In the course of
the chapter he came to these words--"Who commandeth the sun, and it
riseth not."--"I never heard of Him doing that," says John. "But Job,
honest man, maybe means the darkness that was in the land o' Egypt. It
wad be a fearsome thing an the sun warna till rise." A little farther
on he came to these words--"Which maketh Arcturus, Orion, and
Pleiades, and the chambers of the south."--"I hae often wondered at
that verse," says John. "Job has been a grand philosopher! The
Pleiades are the Se'en Sterns,--I ken them; and Orion, that's the
King's Ellwand; but I'm never sae sure about Arcturus. I fancy he's
ane o' the plennits, or maybe him that hauds the Gowden Plough."

On reading the last chapter of the book of Job, when he came to the
enumeration of the patriarch's live stock, he remarked, "He has had an
unco sight o' creatures. Fourteen thousand sheep! How mony was
that?"--"He has had seven hundred scores," said one. "Ay," said John,
"it was an unco swarm o' creatures. There wad be a dreadfu' confusion
at his clippings and spainings. Six thousand camels, a thousand yoke
of oxen, and a thousand she-asses. What, in the wide warld, did he do
wi' a' thae creatures? Wad it no hae been mair purpose-like if he had
had them a' milk kye?"--"Wha wad he hae gotten to have milked them?"
said one of the girls. "It's vera true," said John.

One time, during a long and severe lying storm of snow, in allusion to
some chapter he had been reading, he prayed as follows: (This is from
hearsay.) "Is the whiteness of desolation to lie still on the
mountains of our land for ever? Is the earthly hope o' thy servants to
perish frae the face of the earth? The flocks on a thousand hills are
thine, and their lives or deaths wad be naething to thee--thou wad
neither be the richer nor the poorer; but it is a great matter to us.
Have pity, then, on the lives o' thy creatures, for beast and body
are a' thy handywark, and send us the little wee cludd out o' the sea
like a man's hand, to spread and darken, and pour and plash, till the
green gladsome face o' nature aince mair appear."

During the smearing season one year, it was agreed that each shepherd,
young and old, should ask a blessing and return thanks at meal-time,
in his turn, beginning at the eldest, and going off at the youngest;
that, as there was no respect of persons with God, so there should be
none shown among neighbours. John being the eldest, the graces began
with him, and went decently on till they came to the youngest, who
obstinately refused. Of course it devolved again on John, who, taking
off his broad bonnet, thus addressed his Maker with great fervency:--

"O our gracious Lord and Redeemer, thou hast said, in thy blessed
word, that those who are ashamed of thee and thy service, of them thou
wilt be ashamed when thou comest into thy kingdom. Now, all that we
humbly beg of thee at this time is, that Geordie may not be reckoned
amang that unhappy number. Open the poor chield's heart and his een to
a sight o' his lost condition; and though he be that prood that he'll
no ask a blessing o' thee, neither for himsell nor us, do thou grant
us a' thy blessing ne'ertheless, and him amang the rest, for Christ's
sake. Amen."

The young man felt the rebuke very severely, his face grew as red as
flame, and it was several days before he could assume his usual
hilarity. Had I lived with John a few years, I could have picked up
his remarks on the greater part of the Scriptures, for to read and not
make remarks was out of his power. The story of Ruth was a great
favourite with him--he often read it to his family of a Sabbath
evening, as "a good lesson on naturality;" but he never failed making
the remark, that "it was nae mair nor decency in her to creep in
beside the douss man i' the night-time when he was sleeping."




CHAPTER VII.

ODD CHARACTERS.


Many single anecdotes of country life might be collected--enough,
perhaps, to form a volume as amusing as others connected with higher
names--but in this place I shall confine myself to a few, of which
several relate to the same person, and are thus illustrative of
individual character. The first that claim attention are those
concerning a man very famous in his own sphere, an ancestor of my
own,--the redoubted

                          Will o' Phaup.

Will o' Phaup, one of the genuine Laidlaws of Craik, was born at that
place in 1691. He was shepherd in Phaup for fifty-five years. For
feats of frolic, strength, and agility, he had no equal in his day. In
the hall of the laird, at the farmer's ingle, and in the shepherd's
cot, Will was alike a welcome guest; and in whatever company he was,
he kept the whole in one roar of merriment. In Will's days, brandy
was the common drink in this country; as for whisky, it was, like
silver in the days of Solomon, nothing accounted of. Good black French
brandy was the constant beverage; and a heavy neighbour Will was on
it. Many a hard bouse he had about Moffat, and many a race he ran,
generally for wagers of so many pints of brandy; and in all his life
he never was beat. He once ran at Moffat for a wager of five guineas,
which one of the chiefs of the Johnstons betted on his head. His
opponent was a celebrated runner from Crawford-Muir, of the name of
Blaikley, on whose head, or rather on whose feet, a Captain Douglas
had wagered. Will knew nothing of the match till he went to Moffat,
and was very averse to it. "No that he was ony way fear'd for the
chap," he said; "but he had on a' his ilka-day claes, and as mony
leddies and gentlemen war to be there to see the race, he didna like
to appear afore them like an assie whalp."

However, he was urged, and obliged to go out and strip; and, as he
told it, "a poor figure I made beside the chield wi' his grand ruffled
sark. I was sae affrontit at thinking that Will o' Phaup should hae
made sic a dirty shabby appearance afore sae mony grit folks and bonny
leddies, that not a fit I could rin mair nor I had been a diker. The
race was down on Annan-side, and jimply a mile, out and in; and, at
the very first, the man wi' the ruffled sark flew off like a hare,
and left poor Will o' Phaup to come waughling up ahint him like a
singit cur, wi' his din sark and his cloutit breeks. I had neither
heart nor power, till a very queer accident befell me; for, Scots
grund! disna the tying o' my cloutit breeks brek loose, and in a
moment they war at my heels, and there was I standing like a
hapshekel'd staig! 'Off wi' them, Phaup! Off wi' them!' cries ane. Od,
sir, I just sprang out o' them; and that instant I fand my spirits
rise to the proper pitch. The chield was clean afore me, but I fand
that if he war a yeagle I wad o'ertak him, for I scarcely kenn'd
whether I was touching the grund or fleeing in the air, and as I came
by Mr Welch, I heard him saying, 'Phaup has him yet!' for he saw
Blaikley failing. I got by him, but I had not muckle to brag o', for
he keepit the step on me till within a gun-shot o' the starting-post.

"Then there was sic a fraze about me by the winning party, and
naething wad serve them but that I should dine wi' them in the public
room. 'Na, fiend be there then, Mr Johnston,' says I, 'for though your
leddies only leuch at my accident, if I war to dinner wi' them in this
state, I kenna how they might tak it.'"

When Will was a young lad, only sixteen years of age, and the very
first year he was in Phaup, his master betted the price of his whole
drove of Phaup hogs on his head, at a race with an Englishman on
Stagshawbank. James Anderson, Esq. of Ettrickhall, was then farmer of
Phaup, and he had noted at the shedding, before his young shepherd
left home, that whenever a sheep got by wrong, he never did more than
run straight after it, lay hold of it by sheer speed, and bring it
back in his arms. So the laird having formed high ideas of Will's
swiftness, without letting him know of the matter, first got an
English gentleman into a heat, by bragging the English runners with
Scots ones, and then proffered betting the price of his 300 wedder
hogs, that he had a poor starved barefooted boy who was helping to
drive them,--whom he believed to be about the worst runner in
Scotland,--who would yet beat the best Englishman that could be found
in Stagshawbank-fair.

The Englishman's national pride was touched, as well it might, his
countrymen being well known as the superior runners. The bet was
taken, and Will won it with the greatest ease, for his master, without
being made aware of the stake for which he ran. This he never knew
till some months afterwards, that his master presented him with a
guinea, a pair of new shoes, and a load of oatmeal, for winning him
the price of the Phaup hogs. Will was exceedingly proud of the feat he
had performed, as well as of the present, which, he remarked, was as
much to him as the price of the hogs was to his master. From that day
forth he was never beat at a fair race.

He never went to Moffat, that the farmers did not get him into their
company, and then never did he get home to Phaup sober. The mad feats
which he then performed, were, for an age, the standing jokes of the
country, and many of his sayings settled into regular proverbs or
by-words. His great oath was "Scots grund!" And "Scots grund, quo'
Will o' Phaup," is a standing exclamation to this day--"One plash
more, quo' Will o' Phaup," is another,--and there are many similar
ones. The last mentioned had its origin in one of those Moffat bouses,
from which the farmer of Selcouth and Will were returning by night
greatly inebriated, the former riding, and Will running by his side.
Moffat water being somewhat flooded, the farmer proposed taking
Laidlaw on the horse behind him. Will sprang on, but, as he averred,
never got seated right, till the impatient animal plunged into the
water, and the two friends came off, and floated down the river,
hanging by one another. The farmer got to his feet first, but in
pulling out Will, lost his equilibrium a second time, and plunging
headlong into the stream, down he went. Will was then in the utmost
perplexity, for, with the drink and ducking together, he was quite
benumbed, and the night was as dark as pitch; he ran down the side of
the stream to succour his friend, and losing all sight of him, he knew
not what to do; but hearing a great plunge, he made towards the
place, calling out, "One plash more, sir, and I have you--One plash
more, quo' Will o' Phaup!" but all was silent! "Scots grund! quo' Will
o' Phaup--a man drown'd, and me here!" Will ran to a stream, and took
his station in the middle of the water, in hopes of feeling his
drowning friend come against his legs;--but the farmer got safely out
by himself.

There was another time at Moffat, that he was taken in, and had to pay
a dinner and drink for a whole large party of gentlemen. I have forgot
how it happened, but think it was by a wager. He had not only to part
with all his money, but had to pawn his whole stock of sheep. He then
came home with a heavy heart, told his wife what he had done, and that
he was a ruined man. She said, that since he had saved the cow, they
would do well enough.

The money was repaid afterwards, so that Will did not actually lose
his stock; but after that he went seldomer to Moffat. He fell upon a
much easier plan of getting sport; for, at that period, there were
constantly bands of smugglers passing from the Solway, through the
wild region where he lived, towards the Lothians. From these Will
purchased occasionally a stock of brandy, and then the gentlemen and
farmers came all and drank with him, paying him at the enormous rate
of a shilling per bottle, all lesser measures being despised, and out
of repute, at Phaup. It became a place of constant rendezvous, but a
place where they drank too deep to be a safe place for gentlemen to
meet. There were two rival houses of Andersons at that time that never
ceased quarrelling, and they were wont always to come to Phaup with
their swords by their sides. Being all exceedingly stout men, and
equally good swordsmen, it may easily be supposed they were dangerous
neighbours to meet in such a wild remote place. Accordingly, there
were many quarrels and bloody bouts there as long as the Andersons
possessed Phaup; after which, the brandy system was laid aside. Will
twice saved his master's life in these affrays;--once, when he had
drawn on three of the Amoses, tenants of Potburn, and when they had
mastered his sword, broken it, and were dragging him to the river by
the neckcloth. Will knocked down one, cut his master's neckcloth, and
defended him stoutly till he gathered his breath; and then the two
jointly did thrash the Amoses to their heart's satisfaction! And
another time, from the sword of Michael of Tushielaw; but he could not
help the two fighting a duel afterwards, which was the cause of much
mischief, and many heart-burnings, among these haughty relatives.

Will and his master once fought a battle themselves two, up in a wild
glen called Phaup Coom. They differed about a young horse, which the
Laird had sent there to graze, and which he thought had not been well
treated; and so bitter did the recriminations grow between them, that
the Laird threatened to send Will to hell. Will defied him; on which
he attacked him furiously with his cane, while the shepherd defended
himself as resolutely with his staff. The combat was exceedingly sharp
and severe; but the gentleman was too scientific for the shepherd, and
hit him many blows about the head and shoulders, while Will could not
hit him once, "all that he could thrash on." The latter was
determined, however, not to yield, and fought on, although, as he
termed it, "the blood began to blind his een." He tried several times
to close with his master, but found him so complete in both his
defences and offences, that he never could accomplish it, but always
suffered for his temerity. At length he "jouked down his head, took a
lounder across the shoulders, and, in the meantime, hit his master
across the shins." This ungentlemanly blow quite paralysed the Laird,
and the cane dropped out of his hand, on which Will closed with him,
mastered him with ease, laying him down, and holding him fast;--but
all that he could do, he could not pacify him,--he still swore he
would have his heart's blood. Will had then no recourse, but to spring
up, and bound away to the hill. The Laird pursued for a time, but he
might as well have tried to catch a roe-buck; so he went back to
Phaup, took his horse in silence, and rode away home. Will expected a
summons of removal next day, or next term at the farthest; but Mr
Anderson took no notice of the affair, nor ever so much as mentioned
it again.

Will had many pitched battles with the bands of smugglers, in defence
of his master's grass, for they never missed unloading on the lands of
Phaup, and turning their horses to the best grass they could find.
According to his account, these fellows were exceedingly lawless, and
accounted nothing of taking from the country people whatever they
needed in emergencies. The gipsies, too, were then accustomed to
traverse the country in bands of from twenty to forty, and were no
better than freebooters. But to record every one of Will o' Phaup's
heroic feats, would require a volume. I shall, therefore, only mention
one trait more of his character, which was this--

He was the last man of this wild region, who heard, saw, and conversed
with the Fairies; and that not once or twice, but at sundry times and
seasons. The sheiling at which Will lived for the better part of his
life, at Old Upper Phaup, was one of the most lonely and dismal
situations that ever was the dwelling of human creatures. I have often
wondered how such a man could live so long, and rear so numerous and
respectable a family, in such a habitation. It is on the very
outskirts of Ettrick Forest, quite out of the range of social
intercourse, a fit retirement for lawless banditti, and a genial one
for the last retreat of the spirits of the glen--before taking their
final leave of the land of their love, in which the light of the
gospel then grew too bright for their tiny moonlight forms. There has
Will beheld them riding in long and beautiful array, by the light of
the moon, and even in the summer twilight; and there has he seen them
sitting in seven circles, in the bottom of a deep ravine, drinking
nectar out of cups of silver and gold, no bigger than the dew-cup
flower; and there did he behold their wild unearthly eyes, all of one
bright sparkling blue, turned every one upon him at the same moment,
and heard their mysterious whisperings, of which he knew no word, save
now and then the repetition of his own name, which was always done in
a strain of pity. Will was coming from the hill one dark misty evening
in winter, and, for a good while, imagined he heard a great gabbling
of children's voices, not far from him, which still grew more and more
audible; it being before sunset, he had no spark of fear, but set
about investigating whence the sounds and laughter proceeded. He, at
length, discovered that they issued from a deep cleugh not far
distant, and thinking it was a band of gipsies, or some marauders, he
laid down his bonnet and plaid, and creeping softly over the heath,
reached the brink of the precipice, peeped over, and to his utter
astonishment, beheld the Fairies sitting in seven circles, on a green
spot in the bottom of the dell, where no green spot ever was before.
They were apparently eating and drinking; but all their motions were
so quick and momentary, he could not well say what they were doing.
Two or three at the queen's back appeared to be baking bread. The
party consisted wholly of ladies, and their numbers quite
countless--dressed in green pollonians, and grass-green bonnets on
their heads. He perceived at once, by their looks, their giggling, and
their peals of laughter, that he was discovered. Still fear took no
hold of his heart, for it was daylight, and the blessed sun was in
heaven, although obscured by clouds; till at length he heard them
pronounce his own name twice; Will then began to think it might not be
quite so safe to wait till they pronounced it a third time, and at
that moment of hesitation it first came into his mind that it was All
Hallow Eve! There was no farther occasion to warn Will to rise and
run; for he well knew the Fairies were privileged, on that day and
night, to do what seemed good in their own eyes. "His hair," he said,
"stood all up like the birses on a sow's back, and every bit o' his
body, outside and in, prinkled as it had been brunt wi' nettles." He
ran home as fast as his feet could carry him, and greatly were his
children astonished (for he was then a widower) to see their father
come running like a madman, without either his bonnet or plaid. He
assembled them to prayers, and shut the door, but did not tell them
what he had seen for several years.

Another time he followed a whole troop of them up a wild glen called
Entertrony, from one end to the other, without ever being able to come
up with them, although they never appeared to be more than twenty
paces in advance. Neither were they flying from him; for instead of
being running at their speed, as he was doing, they seemed to be
standing in a large circle. It happened to be the day after a Moffat
fair, and he supposed them to be a party of his neighbours returning
from it, who wished to lead him a long chase before they suffered
themselves to be overtaken. He heard them speaking, singing, and
laughing; and being a man so fond of sociality, he exerted himself to
come up with them, but to no purpose. Several times did he hail them,
and desire them to halt, and tell him the news of the fair; but
whenever he shouted, in a moment all was silent, until in a short time
he heard the same noise of laughing and conversation at some distance
from him. Their talk, although Will could not hear the words of it
distinctly, was evidently very animated, and he had no doubt they were
recounting their feats at the fair. This always excited his curiosity
afresh, and he made every exertion to overtake the party; and when he
judged, from the sounds, that he was close upon them, he sent forth
his stentorian hollo--"Stop, lads, and tell us the news o' the fair!"
which produced the same effect of deep silence for a time. When this
had been repeated several times, and after the usual pause, the
silence was again broken by a peal of eldrich laughter, that seemed to
spread along the skies over his head. Will began to suspect that that
unearthly laugh was not altogether unknown to him. He stood still to
consider, and that moment the laugh was repeated, and a voice out of
the crowd called to him, in a shrill laughing tone, "Ha, ha, ha! Will
o' Phaup, look to your ain hearth-stane the night." Will again threw
off every encumbrance, and fled home to his lonely cot, the most
likely spot in the district for the Fairies to congregate; but it is
wonderful what an idea of safety is conferred by the sight of a man's
own hearth and family circle.

When Will had become a right old man, and was sitting on a little
green hillock at the end of his house, one evening, resting himself,
there came three little boys up to him, all exactly like one another,
when the following short dialogue ensued between Will and them.

"Good e'en t'ye, Will Laidlaw."

"Good e'en t'ye, creatures. Where ir ye gaun this gate?"

"Can ye gie us up-putting for the night?"

"I think three siccan bits o' shreds o' hurchins winna be ill to put
up.--Where came ye frae?"

"Frae a place that ye dinna ken. But we are come on a commission to
you."

"Come away in then, and tak sic cheer as we hae."

Will rose and led the way into the house, and the little boys
followed; and as he went, he said carelessly, without looking back,
"What's your commission to me, bairns?" He thought they might be the
sons of some gentleman, who was a guest of his master's.

"We are sent to demand a silver key that you have in your possession."

Will was astounded; and standing still to consider of some old
transaction, he said, without lifting his eyes from the ground,--

"A silver key? In God's name, where came ye from?"

There was no answer, on which Will wheeled round, and round, and
round; but the tiny beings were all gone, and Will never saw them
more. At the name of God, they vanished in the twinkling of an eye. It
is curious that I never should have heard the secret of the silver
key, or indeed, whether there was such a thing or not.

But Will once saw a vision which was more unaccountable than this
still. On his way from Moffat one time, about midnight, he perceived
a light very near to the verge of a steep hill, which he knew
perfectly well, on the lands of Selcouth. The light appeared exactly
like one from a window, and as if a lamp moved frequently within. His
path was by the bottom of the hill, and the light being almost close
at the top, he had at first no thoughts of visiting it: but as it
shone in sight for a full mile, his curiosity to see what it was
continued still to increase as he approached nearer. At length, on
coming to the bottom of the steep bank, it appeared so bright and
near, that he determined to climb the hill and see what it was. There
was no moon, but it was a starry night and not very dark, and Will
clambered up the precipice, and went straight to the light, which he
found to proceed from an opening into a cavern, of about the
dimensions of an ordinary barn. The opening was a square one, and just
big enough for a man to creep in. Will set in his head, and beheld a
row of casks from one end to the other, and two men with long beards,
buff belts about their waists, and torches in their hands, who seemed
busy in writing something on each cask. They were not the small casks
used by smugglers, but large ones, about one half bigger than common
tar-barrels, and all of a size, save two very huge ones at the further
end. The cavern was all neat and clean, but there was an appearance of
mouldiness about the casks, as if they had stood there for ages. The
men were both at the farther end when Will looked in, and busily
engaged; but at length one of them came towards him, holding his torch
above his head, and, as Will thought, having his eyes fixed on him.
Will never got such a fright in his life;--many a fright he had got
with unearthly creatures, but this was the worst of all. The figure
that approached him from the cavern was of gigantic size, with grizly
features, and a beard hanging down to his belt. Will did not stop to
consider what was best to be done, but, quite forgetting that he was
on the face of a hill, almost perpendicular, turned round, and ran
with all his might. It was not long till he missed his feet, fell, and
hurling down with great celerity, soon reached the bottom of the
steep, and getting on his feet, pursued his way home in the utmost
haste, terror, and amazement; but the light from the cavern was
extinguished on the instant--he saw it no more.

Will apprised all the people within his reach, the next morning, of
the wonderful discovery he had made; but the story was so like a
fantasy or a dream, that most of them were hard of belief; and some
never did believe it, but ascribed all to the Moffat brandy. However,
they sallied out in a body, armed with cudgels and two or three rusty
rapiers, to reconnoitre; but the entrance into the cave they could not
find, nor has it ever been discovered to this day. They observed very
plainly the rut in the grass which Will had made in his rapid descent
from the cave, and there were also found evident marks of two horses
having been fastened that night in a wild cleuch-head, at a short
distance from the spot they were searching. But these were the only
discoveries to which the investigation led. If the whole of this was
an optical delusion, it was the most singular I ever heard or read of.
For my part, I do not believe it was; I believe there was such a
cavern existing at that day, and that vestiges of it may still be
discovered. It was an unfeasible story altogether for a man to invent;
and, moreover, though Will was a man whose character had a deep tinge
of the superstitions of his own country, he was besides a man of
probity, truth, and honour, and never told that for the truth, which
he did not believe to be so.

                             Daft Jock Amos

Daft Jock Amos was another odd character, of whom many droll sayings
are handed down. He was a lunatic; but having been a scholar in his
youth, he was possessed of a sort of wicked wit, and wavering
uncertain intelligence, that proved right troublesome to those who
took it on them to reprove his eccentricities. As he lived close by
the church, in the time of the far-famed Boston, the minister and he
were constantly coming in contact, and many of their little dialogues
are preserved.

"The mair fool are ye, quo' Jock Amos to the minister," is a constant
by-word in Ettrick to this day. It had its origin simply as
follows:--Mr Boston was taking his walk one fine summer evening after
sermon, and in his way came upon Jock, very busy cutting some
grotesque figures in wood with his knife. Jock, looking hastily up,
found he was fairly caught, and not knowing what to say, burst into a
foolish laugh--"Ha! ha! ha! Mr Boston, are you there? Will you coss a
good whittle wi' me?"

"Nay, nay, John, I will not exchange knives to-day."

"The mair fool are ye," quo' Jock Amos to the minister.

"But, John, can you repeat the fourth commandment?--I hope you
can--Which is the fourth commandment?"

"I daresay, Mr Boston, it'll be the ane after the third."

"Can you not repeat it?"

"I am no sure about it--I ken it has some wheeram by the rest."

Mr Boston repeated it, and tried to show him his error in working
with knives on the Sabbath day. John wrought away till the divine
added,

"But why won't you rather come to church, John?--what is the reason
you never come to church?"

"Because you never preach on the text I want you to preach on."

"What text would you have me to preach on?"

"On the nine-and-twenty knives that came back from Babylon."

"I never heard of them before."

"It is a sign you have never read your Bible. Ha, ha, ha, Mr Boston!
sic fool sic minister."

Mr Boston searched long for John's text that evening, and at last
finding it recorded in Ezra, i. 9., he wondered greatly at the
acuteness of the fool, considering the subject on which he had been
reproving him.

"John, how auld will you be?" said a sage wife to him one day, when
talking of their ages.

"O, I dinna ken," said John. "It wad tak a wiser head than mine to
tell you that."

"It is unco queer that you dinna ken how auld you are," returned she.

"I ken weel enough how auld I am," said John; "but I dinna ken how
auld I'll be."

An old man, named Adam Linton, once met him running from home in the
grey of the morning. "Hey, Jock Amos," said he, "where are you bound
for so briskly this morning?"

"Aha! He's wise that wats that, and as daft wha speers," says Jock,
without taking his eye from some object that it seemed to be
following.

"Are you running after any body?" said Linton.

"I am that, man," returned Jock; "I'm rinning after the deil's
messenger. Did you see ought o' him gaun by?"

"What was he like?" said Linton.

"Like a great big black corbie," said Jock, "carrying a bit tow in his
gab. And what do you think?--he has tauld me a piece o' news the day!
There's to be a wedding ower by here the day, man--ay, a wedding! I
maun after him, for he has gien me an invitation."

"A wedding? Dear Jock, you are raving. What wedding can there be
to-day?" said Linton.

"It is Eppy Telfer's, man--auld Eppy Telfer's to be wed the day; and
I'm to be there; and the minister is to be there, and a' the elders.
But Tammie, the Cameronian, he darena come, for fear he should hae to
dance wi' the kimmers. There will be braw wark there the day, Aedie
Linton,--braw wark there the day!" And away ran Jock towards
Ettrickhouse, hallooing and waving his cap for joy. Old Adam came in,
and said to his wife, who was still in bed, that he supposed the moon
was at the full, for Jock Amos was "gane quite gyte awthegither, and
was away shouting to Ettrickhouse to Eppy Telfer's wedding."

"Then," said his wife, "if he be ill, she will be waur, for they are
always affected at the same time; and, though Eppy is better than Jock
in her ordinary way, she is waur when the moon-madness comes ower
her." (This woman, Eppy Telfer, was likewise subject to lunatic fits
of insanity, and Jock had a great ill will at her; he could not even
endure the sight of her.)

The above little dialogue was hardly ended before word came that Eppy
Telfer had "put down" herself over night, and was found hanging dead
in her own little cottage at day-break. Mr Boston was sent for, who,
with his servant man and one of his elders, attended, but in a state
of such perplexity and grief, that he seemed almost as much dead as
alive. The body was tied on a deal, carried to the peak of the Wedder
Law, and interred there, and all the while Jock Amos attended, and
never in his life met with an entertainment that appeared to please
him more. While the men were making the grave, he sat on a stone near
by, jabbering and speaking one while, always addressing Eppy, and
laughing most heartily at another.

After this high fit Jock lost his spirits entirely, and never more
recovered them. He became a complete nonentity, and lay mostly in his
bed till the day of his death.

                            Willie Candlem

Another notable man of that day was William Stoddart, nicknamed
Candlem, one of the feuars of Ettrickhouse. He was simple, unlettered,
and rude, as all his sayings that are preserved testify. Being about
to be married to one Meggie Coltard, a great penny-wedding was
announced, and the numbers that came to attend it were immense.
Candlem and his bride went to Ettrick church to be married, and Mr
Boston, who was minister there, perceiving such a motley crowd
following them, repaired into the church; and after admitting a few
respectable witnesses, he set his son John, and his servant John
Currie, to keep the two doors, and restrain the crowd from entering.
Young Boston let in a number at his door, but John Currie stood
manfully in the breach, refusing entrance to all. When the minister
came to put the question, "Are you willing to take this woman," &c.

"I wat weel I was thinking sae," says Candlem.--"Haud to the door,
John Currie!"

When the question was put to Meggie, she bowed assent like a dumb
woman, but this did not satisfy Willie Candlem.--"What for d'ye no
answer, Meggie?" says he. "Dinna ye hear what the honest man's
speering at ye?"

In due time Willie Candlem and Meggie had a son, and as the custom
then was, it was decreed that the first Sabbath after he was born he
should be baptized. It was about the Martinmas time, the day was
stormy, and the water flooded; however, it was agreed that the baptism
could not be put off, for fear of the fairies; so the babe was well
rolled up in swaddling clothes, and laid on before his father on the
white mare,--the stoutest of the kimmers stemming the water on foot.
Willie Candlem rode the water slowly and cautiously. When about the
middle of the stream, he heard a most unearthly yelling and screaming
rise behind him; "What are they squeeling at?" said he to himself, but
durst not look back for fear of his charge. After he had crossed the
river safely, and a sand-bed about as wide, Willie wheeled his white
mare's head about, and exclaimed--"Why, the ne'er a haet I hae but the
slough!" Willie had dropped the child into the flooded river, without
missing it out of the huge bundle of clothes; but luckily, one of he
kimmers picked him up, and as he showed some signs of life, they
hurried into a house at Goosegreen, and got him brought round again.
In the afternoon he was so far recovered, that the kimmers thought he
might be taken up to church for baptism, but Willie Candlem made this
sage remark--"I doubt he's rather unfeiroch to stand it;--he has
gotten eneugh o' the water for ae day." On going home to his poor
wife, his first address to her was--"Ay, ye may take up your
handywark, Meggie, in making a slough open at baith ends. What
signifies a thing that's open at baith ends?"

Another time, in harvest, it came a rainy day, and the Ettrick began
to look very big in the evening. Willie Candlem, perceiving his crop
in danger, yoked the white mare in the sledge, and was proceeding to
lead his corn out of watermark; but out came Meggie, and began
expostulating with him on the sinfulness of the act,--"Put in your
beast again, like a good Christian man, Willie," said she, "and dinna
be setting an ill example to a' the parish. Ye ken, that this vera day
the minister bade us lippen to Providence in our straits, and we wad
never rue't. He'll take it very ill off your hand, the setting of sic
an example on the Lord's day; therefore, Willie, my man, take his
advice and mine, and lippen to Providence this time."

Willie Candlem was obliged to comply, for who can withstand the
artillery of a woman's tongue? So he put up his white mare, and went
to bed with a heavy heart; and the next morning, by break of day, when
he arose and looked out, behold the greater part of his crop was
gone.--"Ye may take up your Providence now, Meggie! Where's your
Providence now? A' down the water wi' my corn! Ah! I wad trust mair
to my gude white mare than to you and Providence baith!"

Meggie answered him meekly, as her duty and custom was--"O Willie!
dinna rail at Providence, but down to the meadow-head and claim
first." Willie Candlem took the hint, galloped on his white mare down
to the Ettrick meadows, over which the river spread, and they were
covered with floating sheaves; so Willie began and hauled out, and
carried out, till he had at least six times as much corn as he had
lost. At length one man came, and another, but Willie refused all
partition of the spoil. "Ay, ye may take up your corn now where ye can
find it, lads," said Willie; "I keppit nane but my ain. Yours is gane
farther down. Had ye come when I came, ye might have keppit it a'." So
Willie drove and drove, till the stackyard was full.

"I think the crop has turn'd no that ill out after a'," said Meggie.
"You've been nae the waur o' trusting to Providence."

"Na," rejoined Willie, "nor o' taking your advice, Meggie, and ganging
down to kep and claim at the meadow-head."




CHAPTER VIII.

NANCY CHISHOLM.


John Chisholm, farmer of Moorlaggan, was, in the early part of his
life, a wealthy and highly respectable man, and associated with the
best gentlemen of the country; and in those days he was accounted to
be not only reasonable, but mild and benevolent in his disposition. A
continued train of unfortunate speculations, however, at last reduced
his circumstances so much, that, though at the time when this tale
commences, he still continued solvent, it was well enough known to all
the country that he was on the brink of ruin; and, by an unfortunate
fatality, too inherent in human nature, still as he descended in
circumstances, he advanced in pride and violence of temper, until his
conduct grew so intolerable, as scarcely to be submitted to even by
his own family.

Mr Chisholm had five daughters, well brought up, and well educated;
but the second, whose name was Nancy Chisholm, was acknowledged to be
the most beautiful and accomplished of them all. She was so buoyant
of spirits, that she hardly appeared to know whether she was treading
on the face of the earth, or bounding on the breeze; and before Nancy
was eighteen, as was quite natural, she was beloved by the handsomest
lad in the parish, whose proper Christian name was Archibald Gillies,
but who, by some patronymic or designation of whose import I am
ignorant, was always called Gillespick.

Young Gillies was quite below Nancy in rank, although in circumstances
they were by this time much the same. His father being only a small
sub-tenant of Mr Chisholm's, the latter would have thought his child
degraded, had she been discovered even speaking to the young man. He
had, moreover, been bred to the profession of a tailor, which, though
an honest occupation, and perhaps more lucrative than many others, is
viewed, in the country places of Scotland, with a degree of contempt
far exceeding that with which it is regarded in more polished
communities. Notwithstanding of all this, Gillespick Gillies, the
tailor, had the preference of all others in the heart of pretty Nancy;
and, as he durst not pay his addresses to her openly, or appear at
Moorlaggan by day, they were driven to an expedient quite in mode with
the class to which Gillies belonged, but as entirely inconsistent with
that propriety of conduct which ought to be observed by young ladies
like those of Moorlaggan--they met by night; that is, about night-fall
in summer, and at the same hour in winter, which made it very late in
the night.

Now it unluckily had so happened, that Gillies, the young dashing
tailor, newly arrived from Aberdeen, had, at a great wedding the
previous winter, paid all his attentions to Siobla, Nancy's eldest
sister. This happened, indeed, by mere accident, owing to Nancy's many
engagements; but Siobla did not know that; and Gillies, being the best
dancer in the barn, led her to the head every time, and behaved so
courteously, that he made a greater impression on her heart than she
was willing to acknowledge. As all ranks mingle at a country wedding,
the thing was noted and talked of, both among the low and high; but
neither the high nor the low thought or said that young Gillies had
made a very prudent choice. She was not, however, the tailor's choice;
for his whole heart was fixed on her sister Nancy.

The two slept in one chamber, and it was impossible for the younger to
escape to her lover without confiding the secret to Siobla, which,
therefore, she was obliged to do; and from that moment jealousy--for
jealousy it was, though Miss Siobla called it by another name--began
to rankle in her elder sister's bosom. She called Gillies every
degrading name she could invent,--a profligate, a libertine,--and to
sum up all, she called him _a tailor_, thereby finishing the sum of
degeneracy, and crowning the climax of her reproaches.

Nancy was, nevertheless, exceedingly happy with her handsome lover,
who all but adored her. She enjoyed his company perhaps the more on
two accounts, one of which she might probably deduce from the words of
the wise man, that "stolen waters are sweet, and bread eaten in secret
is pleasant;" but another most certainly was, that Gillies having
opened her eyes to the true state of her father's affairs, and by this
led her to perceive that she was only "a pennyless lass wi' a lang
pedigree," she could not help drawing the conclusion, that the tailor
was as good as she, and that the course she was taking, besides being
very agreeable to her own wishes, was the most prudent that could be
conceived.

This information preying on Nancy's mind, she could not help
communicating it in confidence to one of her sisters, (Siobla, it is
to be supposed,) who, believing the report to be a malicious
falsehood, went straight to her father with the news, as soon as he
arrived from the market. Some vexatious occurrences connected with his
depressed fortunes, had put him sorely out of humour that night, and
he had likewise been drinking a good deal, which made matters worse;
so that when Siobla informed him of the country rumour, that he was
about to become a bankrupt, his fury rose to an ungovernable pitch,
and, seizing her by the arm, he adjured her forthwith to name her
informer, against whom he at the same time vowed the most consummate
vengeance. His daughter was frightened, and without hesitation told
him that she had learnt the report from her sister Nancy. Nancy was a
favourite with old Chisholm, but that circumstance seemed only to
inflame him the more; that one so much cherished and beloved should
make herself instrumental in breaking his credit, was, he thought, a
degree of ingratitude that justified his severest resentment, and with
a countenance of the utmost fury, he turned on her, and demanded if
what he had heard was true. With a face as pale as death, and
trembling lips, she acknowledged that it was. But when desired to name
her informer, she remained silent, trembled, and wept. On being
further urged, and threatened, she said, hesitatingly, that she did
not invent the story; and supposed she had heard it among the
servants.

"This will not do, miss," exclaimed her father; "tell me at once the
name of your informer; and depend upon it, that person, whoever it is,
had better never been born."

Nancy could not answer, but sobbed and wept.

Just at that unlucky moment, a whistle was heard from the wood
opposite the window. This was noticed by Mr Chisholm, who looked a
little startled, and enquired what or who it was; but no one gave him
any answer.

It had been settled between the two lovers, that when Gillies came to
see Nancy, he was to whistle from a certain spot in a certain manner,
while she was to open the window, and hold the light close to the
glass for an instant, that being the token that she heard and
understood the signal. In the present dilemma, the performance of her
part of the agreement was impracticable; and, of course, when old
Chisholm was once more rising into a paroxysm of rage at his daughter,
the ominous whistle was repeated.

"What _is_ this?" demanded he, in a peremptory tone. "Tell me
instantly; for I see by your looks you know and understand what it is.
Siobla, do you know?"

"Yes, I do," replied Siobla. "I know well enough what it is--I do not
hear it so seldom."

"Well, then, inform me at once what it means," said her father.

"It is Nancy's sweetheart come to whistle her out--young tailor
Gillies;" answered Siobla, without any endeavour to avert her father's
wrath, by giving the information in an indirect way.

"Oho! Is it thus?" exclaimed the infuriated father. "And Nancy always
answers and attends to this audacious tailor's whistle, does she?"

"Indeed she does, sir; generally once or twice every week," replied
the young woman, in the same willing tone.

"The secret is then out!" said old Chisholm, in words that quavered
with anger. "It is plain from whence the injurious report has been
attained! Too fond father! alas, poor old man! Have matters already
come thus low with thee? And hast thou indeed nourished and cherished
this favourite child, giving her an education fitting her for the
highest rank in society, and all that she might throw herself away
upon a--a--a tailor!--Begone, girls! I must converse with this
degraded creature alone."

When her sisters had left the apartment, Nancy knelt, wept, prayed,
and begged forgiveness; but a temporary distraction had banished her
father's reason, and he took hold of her long fair hair, wound it
round his left hand in the most methodical manner, and began to beat
her with his cane. She uttered a scream; on which he stopped, and told
her that if she uttered another sound before he had done chastising
her, it should be her last; but this causing her to scream only ten
times louder he beat her with such violence that he shivered the cane
to pieces. He then desisted, calling her the ruin of her sisters, of
himself, and all her father's house; opened the door, and was about
to depart and leave her, when the tailor's whistle again sounded in
his ears, louder and nearer than before. This once more drove him to
madness, and seizing a heavy dog-whip that hung in the lobby, he
returned into the parlour, and struck his daughter repeatedly in the
most unmerciful manner. During the concluding part of this horrid
scene, she opened not her mouth, but eyed her ferocious parent with
composure, thinking she had nothing but death to expect from his
hands.

Alas! death was nothing to the pangs she then suffered, and those she
was doomed to suffer! Her father at last ceased from his brutal
treatment, led her from the house, threw her from him, with a curse,
and closed the door with a force that made the casements of the house
clatter.

There never was perhaps a human being whose circumstances in life were
as suddenly changed, or more deplorable than Nancy Chisholm's were
that night. But it was not only her circumstances in life that were
changed: she felt at once that the very nature within her was changed
also, and that from being a thing of happiness and joy, approaching to
the nature of a seraph, she was now converted into a fiend. She had a
cup measured to her which nature could not endure, and its baneful
influences had the instant effect of making her abhor her own nature,
and become a rebel to all its milder qualities.

The first resolution she formed was that of full and ample revenge.
She determined to make such a dreadful retaliation, as should be an
example to all jealous sisters and unnatural parents, while the world
lasted. Her plan was to wait till after midnight, and then set fire to
the premises, and burn her father, her sisters, and all that pertained
to them, to ashes. In little more than an instant was her generous
nature so far altered, that she exulted in the prospect of this horrid
catastrophe.

With such a purpose, the poor wretch went and hid herself until all
was quiet; and there is no doubt that she would have put her scheme in
execution, had it not been for the want of fire to kindle the house;
for as to going into any dwelling, or seeing the face of an
acquaintance, in her present degraded condition, her heart shrunk from
it. So, after spending some hours in abortive attempts at raising
fire, she was obliged to depart, bidding an eternal adieu to all that
she had hitherto held dear on earth.

On the approach of daylight, she retired into a thicket, and, at a
brook, washed and bathed her bloated arms and face, disentangled and
combed her yellow hair with her fingers, and when she thought she was
unobserved, drew the train of her gown over her head, and sped away
on her journey, whither she knew not. No distinct account of her
escape, or of what became of her for some time, can be given; but the
whole bent of her inclinations was to do evil; she felt herself
impelled to it by a motive she could not account for, but which she
had no power or desire to resist. She felt it as it were incumbent on
her always to retaliate evil for good,--the most fiendish disposition
that the human heart could feel. She had a desire that the Evil One
would appear in person, that she might enter into a formal contract to
do evil. She had a longing to impart to others some share of the
torment she had herself endured, and missed no opportunity of
inflicting such. Once in the course of her wanderings, she met, in a
sequestered place, a little girl, whom she seized, and beat her
"within an inch of her life," as she called it. She was at this period
quite a vagabond, and a pest wherever she went.

The manner in which she first got into a place was not the least
remarkable of her adventures. On first coming to Aberdeen, she went
into the house of one Mr Simon Gordon, in the upper Kirkgate, and
asked some food, which was readily granted her by the housekeeper;
for, owing to her great beauty and superior address, few ever refused
her any thing she asked. She seemed little disposed to leave the house
again, and by no means could the housekeeper prevail upon her to
depart, unless she were admitted to speak with Mr Gordon.

This person was an old bachelor, rich and miserly; and the housekeeper
was terrified at the very idea of acknowledging to him that she had
disposed of the least morsel of food in charity; far less dared she
allow a mendicant to carry her petition into her master's very
presence. But the pertinacity of the individual she had now to deal
with fairly overcame her fears, and she carried up to Mr Simon Gordon
the appalling message, that a "seeking woman," that is, a begging
woman, demanded to speak with him. Whether it was that Mr Simon's
abhorrence of persons of that cast was driven from the field by the
audacity of the announcement, I cannot pretend to say; but it is
certain that he remitted in his study of the state of the public
funds, and granted the interview. And as wonders when they once
commence, are, for the most part, observed to continue to follow each
other for a time, he not only astounded the housekeeper by his ready
assent to let the stranger have speech of him: but the poor woman had
nearly sunk into the ground with dismay when she heard him, after the
interview was over, give orders that this same wanderer was to be
retained in the house in the capacity of her assistant. Here, however,
the miraculous part of this adventure stops; for the housekeeper, who
had previously been a rich old miser's only servant, did, in the
first place, remonstrate loudly against any person being admitted to
share her labours, or her power; and on finding all that could be said
totally without effect, she refused to remain with her master any
longer, and immediately departed, leaving Nancy Chisholm in full
possession of the premises.

Being now in some degree tired of a wandering unsettled life, she
continued with Mr Gordon, testifying her hatred of the world rather by
a sullen and haughty apathy, than by any active demonstrations of
enmity; and what was somewhat remarkable, by her attention to the
wants of the peevish and feeble old man, her master, she gained
greatly upon his good-will.

In this situation her father discovered her, after an absence of three
years, during which time his compunctious visitings had never either
ceased or diminished from the time he had expelled her his house,
while under the sway of unbridled passion. He never had more heart for
any thing in the world. All his affairs went to wreck; he became
bankrupt, and was driven from his ample possessions, and was forced to
live in a wretched cottage in a sort of genteel penury. But all his
misfortunes and disappointments put together did not affect him half
so much as the loss of his darling daughter; he never doubted that she
had gone to the home of her lover, to the house of old Gillies; and
this belief was one that carried great bitterness to his heart. When
he discovered that she had never been seen there, his next terror was
that she had committed suicide; and he trembled night and day,
anticipating all the horrid shapes in which he might hear that the
desperate act had been accomplished. When the dread of this began to
wear away, a still more frightful idea arose to haunt his troubled
imagination--it was that of his once beloved child driven to lead a
life of infamy and disgrace. This conclusion was but too natural, and
he brooded on it with many repentant tears for the space of nearly two
years, when he at last set out with a resolution either to find his
lost daughter, or spend the remainder of his life in search of her.

It is painful to think of the scenes that he went through in this
harassing and heart-rending search, until he at length discovered her
in the house of Mr Simon Gordon. For a whole week he had not the
courage to visit her, though he stole looks of her every day; but he
employed himself in making every inquiry concerning her present
situation.

One day she was sitting, in gay attire, sewing, and singing the
following rhyme, in crooning of which she spent a part of every day:

    I am lost to peace, I am lost to grace,
      I am lost to all that's beneath the sun;
    I have lost my way in the light of day,
      And the gates of heaven I will never won.

    If one sigh would part from my burning heart,
      Or one tear would rise in my thirsty eye,
    Through wo and pain it might come again--
      The soul that fled, from deep injury.

    In one hour of grief I would find relief,
      One pang of sorrow would ease my pain;
    But joy or wo, in this world below,
      I can never never know again!

While she was thus engaged, old Chisholm, with an agitated heart and
trembling frame, knocked gently at the door, which was slowly and
carelessly opened by his daughter; for she performed every thing as if
she had no interest in it. The two gazed on one another for a moment,
without speaking; but the eyes of the father were beaming with love
and tenderness, while those of the daughter had that glazed and
joyless gleam which too well bespoke her hardened spirit. The old man
spread out his arms to embrace her; but she closed the door upon him.
He retired again to his poor lodgings, from whence he sent her a
letter fraught with tenderness and sorrow, which produced no answer.

There was another besides her father who had found her out before this
time, though he had never ventured to make himself known to her; and
that was her former lover, Gillespick Gillies, the tailor. He had
traced her in all her wanderings, and though it had been once his
intention to settle in Edinburgh, yet for her sake, he hired himself
to a great clothier and tailor in the city of Aberdeen. After her
father's ineffectual application to her, young Gillies ventured to
make his appearance; but his reception was far from what he hoped. She
was embarrassed and cold, attaching blame to him for every thing,
particularly for persuading her out to the woods by night, which had
been the means of drawing down her father's anger upon her. He
proffered all the reparation in his power; but she would not hear him
speak, and even forbade him ever to attempt seeing her again.

The tailor's love was, however, too deeply rooted to be so easily
overcome. He would not he said nay, but waited upon her evening and
morning; still she remained callous and unmoved, notwithstanding of
all his kind attentions.

The frame of her spirit at this period must have been an anomaly in
human nature; she knew no happiness, and shunned, with the utmost
pertinacity, every avenue leading towards its heavenly shrine. She
often said afterwards, that she believed her father's rod had beat an
angel out of her, and a demon into its place.

But Gillespick, besides being an affectionate and faithful lover, was
a singularly acute youth. He told this perverse beauty again and again
that she was acknowledged the flower of all Aberdeen, saving a Miss
Marshall, who sat in the College Church every Sunday, to whom some
gentlemen gave the preference; and then he always added, "But I am
quite certain that were you to appear there dressed in your best
style, every one would at once see how much you outshine her." He went
over this so often, that Nancy's vanity became interested, and she
proffered, of her own accord, to accompany him one day to the College
Kirk.

From the time that Gillies got her to enter the church-door again,
although she went from no good motive, he considered the victory won,
and counted on the certainty of reclaiming his beloved from despair
and destruction. All eyes were soon turned on her beauty, but hers
sought out and rested on Mary Marshall alone. She was convinced of her
own superiority, which added to the elegance of her carriage and
gaiety of her looks; so that she went home exceedingly well pleased
with--_the ministers sermon_!

She went back in the afternoon, the next day, and every day
thereafter; and her lover noted that she sometimes appeared to fix her
attention on the minister's discourse. But one day in particular, when
he was preaching on that divine precept, contained in St Luke's
Gospel, "Bless them that curse you, and pray for them which
despitefully use you," she seemed all the while enrapt by the most
ardent feelings, and never for one moment took her eye from the
speaker. Her lover perceived this, and kept his eyes steadfastly fixed
on her face. At last the reverend divine, in his application of this
doctrine to various characters, painted her own case in such a light
that it appeared drawn from nature. He then expatiated on the sweet
and heavenly joys of forgiveness with such ardour and devotion, that
tears once more began to beam in those bright eyes, whose fountains
seemed long to have been dried up; and ere the preacher concluded, she
was forced to hide her face, and give free vent to her feelings,
weeping abundantly.

Her lover conducted her home, and observed a total alteration in her
manner towards him. This change on her seared and hardened spirit, was
more, however, than her frame could brook. The next day she was ill,
and she grew worse and worse daily; a strange disease was hers, for
she was seized with stubborn and fierce paroxysms, very much
resembling those possessed of devils in the dawning of Christianity.
It appeared exactly as if a good spirit and an evil one were
contending for the possession of her person as their tabernacle, none
of the medical faculty being able to account for these extraordinary
changes in a natural way. Her lover hired a sick-nurse, who attended
both on her and the old man, which pleased the latter well, and he
thought there was not such a man in the city of Aberdeen as the young
tailor.

Nancy's disease was at length mastered, but it left her feeble and
emaciated, and from that time forth, she showed herself indeed an
altered woman. The worthy divine who first opened her eyes to her lost
condition, had visited her frequently in her sickness, and repeated
his exhortations. Her lover waited on her every day; and not only
this, but being, as I before observed, an acute youth, he carried to
the house with him cordials for the old miser, and told or read him
the news from the Stock Exchange. Nancy was now attached to Gillespick
with the most ardent and pure affection, and more deeply than in her
early days of frolic and thoughtlessness; for now her love toward him
was mellowed by a ray from heaven. In few words, they were married.
Old Simon Gordon died shortly after, and left them more than half his
fortune, amounting, it was said, to 11,000; a piece of generosity to
which he was moved, not only by the attention shown him in his latter
days by the young pair, but, as he expressed it in his will, "being
convinced that Gillies would take care of the money." This legacy was
a great fortune for an Aberdeen tailor and clothier. He bought the
half of his master's stock and business, and in consequence of some
army and navy contracts, realized a very large fortune in a short
time.

Old Chisholm was by this time reduced to absolute beggary; he lived
among his former wealthy acquaintances, sometimes in the hall,
sometimes in the parlour, as their good or bad humour prevailed. His
daughters, likewise, were all forced to accept situations as upper
servants, and were, of course, very unhappily placed, countenanced by
no class, being too proud to associate with those in the station to
which they had fallen. The company of lowlanders that had taken
Moorlaggan on Chisholm's failure, followed his example, and failed
also. The farm was again in the market, and nobody to bid any thing
for it; at length an agent from Edinburgh took it for a rich lady, at
half the rent that had been paid for it before; and then every one
said, had old John Chisholm held it at such a rent, he would have been
the head of the country to that day. The whole of the stock and
furniture were bought up from the creditors, paid in ready money, and
the discount returned; and as this was all done by the Edinburgh
agent, no one knew who was to be the farmer, although the shepherds
and servants were hired, and the business of the farm went on as
before.

Old Chisholm was at this time living in the house of a Mr Mitchell, on
Spey, not far from Pitmain, when he received a letter from this same
Edinburgh agent, stating, that the new farmer of Moorlaggan wanted to
speak with him on very important business relating to that farm; and
that all his expenses would be paid to that place, and back again, or
to what other place in the country he chose to go. Chisholm showed Mr
Mitchell the letter, who said, he understood it was to settle the
marches about some disputed land, and it would be as well for him to
go and make a good charge for his trouble, and at the same time
offered to accommodate him with a pony. Mr Mitchell could not spare
his own saddle-horse, having to go a journey; so he mounted Mr
Chisholm on a small shaggy highland nag, with crop ears, and equipped
with an old saddle, and a bridle with hair reins. It was the evening
of the third day after he left Mr Mitchell's house before he reached
Moorlaggan; and as he went up Coolen-aird, he could not help
reflecting with bitterness of spirit on the alteration of times with
him. It was not many years ago when he was wont to ride by the same
path, mounted on a fine horse of his own, with a livery servant behind
him; now he rode a little shabby nag, with crop ears and a hair
bridle, and even that diminutive creature belonged to another man.
Formerly he had a comfortable home, and a respectful family to welcome
him; now he had no home, and that family was all scattered abroad.
"Alas!" said he to himself, "times are indeed sadly altered with me;
ay, and I may affect to blame misfortune for all that has befallen me;
but I cannot help being persuaded that the man who is driven by
unmanly passions to do that of which he is ashamed both before God and
man, can never prosper. Oh, my child! my lost and darling child! What
I have suffered for her both in body, mind, and outward estate!"

In this downcast and querulous mood did the forlorn old man reach his
former habitation. All was neat and elegant about the place, and there
was a chaise standing at the end of the house. When old Chisholm saw
this, he did not venture up to the front door, but alighted, and led
his crop-eared pony to the back door, at which he knocked, and having
stated the errand upon which he came, was, after some delay, ushered
into the presence of a courtly dame, who accosted him in proud and
dignified language as follows:--

"Your name is Mr John Chisholm, I believe?"

"It is, madam; at your service."

"And you were once farmer here, I believe?" (A bow.) "Ay. Hem. And how
did you lose your farms?"

"Through misfortunes, madam, and by giving too much credit to
insufficient parties."

"Ay--so! That was not prudent in you to give so much credit in such
quarters--Eh?"

"I have been favoured with a letter from your agent, madam," said
Chisholm, to whom this supercilious tone of cross-questioning was far
from being agreeable, "and I beg to know what are your commands with
me."

"Ay. True. Very right. So you don't like to talk of your own affairs,
don't you? No; it seems not.--Why, the truth is, that my agent wished
me to employ you as factor or manager of these lands, as my husband
and I must live for the greater part of the year at a great distance.
We are willing to give a good salary; and I believe there is no man so
fit for our purpose. But I have heard accounts of you that I do not
like,--that you were an inexorable tyrant in your own family, abusing
and maltreating the most amiable of them in a very unmanly manner.
And, I have heard, but I hope not truly, that you drove one daughter
to disgrace and destruction."

Here Chisholm turned his face towards the window, burst into tears,
and said, he hoped she had not sent for a miserable and degraded old
man to torture his feelings by probing those wounds of the soul that
were incurable.

"Nay, I beg your pardon, old gentleman. I sent for you to do you a
service. I was only mentioning a vile report that reached my ear, in
hopes you could exculpate yourself."

"Alas, madam, I cannot."

"Dreadful! Dreadful! Father of heaven, could thy hand frame a being with
feelings like this! But I hope you did not, as is reported,--No--you
could not--you did not strike her, did you?"

"Alas! alas!" exclaimed the agonized old man.

"What? Beat her--scourge her--throw her from your house at midnight
with a father's curse upon her head?"

"I did! I did! I did!"

"Monster! Monster! Go, and hide your devoted and execrable head in
some cavern in the bowels of the earth, and wear out the remainder of
your life in praying to thy God for repentance; for thou art not fit
to herd with the rest of his creatures!"

"My cup of sorrow and misery is now full," said the old man as he
turned, staggering, towards the door. "On the very spot has this
judgment fallen on me."

"But stop, sir--stop for a little space," said the lady. "Perhaps I
have been too hasty, and it may be you have repented of that unnatural
crime already?"

"Repented! Ay, God is my witness, not a night or day has passed over
this grey head on which I have not repented; in that bitterness of
spirit too, which the chief of sinners only can feel."

"Have you indeed repented of your treatment of your daughter? Then all
is forgiven on her part. And do you, father, forgive me too!"

The old man looked down with bewildered vision, and, behold, there was
the lady of the mansion kneeling at his feet, and embracing his knees!
She had thrown aside her long flowing veil, and he at once discovered
the comely face of his beloved daughter.

That very night she put into her father's hand the new lease of all
his former possessions, and receipts for the stock, crop, and
furniture. The rest of the family were summoned together, and on the
following Sabbath they went all to church and took possession of their
old family seat, every one sitting in the place she occupied formerly,
with Siobla at the head. But the generous creature who had thus repaid
good for evil, was the object of attraction for every eye, and the
admiration of every heart.

This is a true story, and it contains not one moral, but many, as
every true portraiture of human life must do: It shows us the danger
of youthful imprudence, of jealousy, and of unruly passions; but,
above all, it shows, that without a due sense of religion there can be
no true and disinterested love.




CHAPTER IX.

SNOW-STORMS.


Snow-storms constitute the various eras of the pastoral life. They are
the red lines in the shepherd's manual--the remembrancers of years and
ages that are past--the tablets of memory by which the ages of his
children, the times of his ancestors, and the rise and downfall of
families, are invariably ascertained. Even the progress of improvement
in Scotch farming can be traced traditionally from these, and the rent
of a farm or estate given with precision, before and after such and
such a storm, though the narrator be uncertain in what century the
said notable storm happened. Mar's Year, and "that year the Hielanders
raid," are but secondary mementos to the Year Nine and the Year
Forty--these stand in bloody capitals in the annals of the pastoral
life, as well as many more that shall hereafter be mentioned.

The most dismal of all those on record is the Thirteen Drifty Days.
This extraordinary storm, as near as I have been able to trace, must
have occurred in the year 1660. The traditionary stories and pictures
of desolation that remain of it, are the most dire imaginable; and the
mentioning of the Thirteen Drifty Days to an old shepherd, in a stormy
winter night, never fails to impress his mind with a sort of religious
awe, and often sets him on his knees before that Being who alone can
avert such another calamity.

It is said that for thirteen days and nights the snow-drift never once
abated--the ground was covered with frozen snow when it commenced, and
during all the time of its continuance the sheep never broke their
fast. The cold was intense to a degree never before remembered; and
about the fifth and sixth days of the storm, the young sheep began to
fall into a sleepy and torpid state, and all that were so affected in
the evening died over-night. The intensity of the frost-wind often cut
them off when in that state quite instantaneously. About the ninth and
tenth days, the shepherds began to build up huge semicircular walls of
their dead, in order to afford some shelter for the living remainder,
but such shelter availed little, for about the same time the want of
food began to be felt so severely that they were frequently seen
tearing one another's wool with their teeth.

When the storm abated, on the fourteenth day from its commencement,
there was on many a high-lying farm not a living sheep to be seen.
Large misshapen walls of dead, surrounding a small prostrate flock
likewise all dead, and frozen stiff in their lairs, were all that
remained to the forlorn shepherd and his master; and though on
low-lying farms, where the snow was not so hard before the tempest
began, numbers of sheep weathered the storm, yet their constitutions
received such a shock, that the greater part of them perished
afterwards; and the final consequence was, that about nine-tenths of
all the sheep in the South of Scotland were destroyed.

In the extensive pastoral district of Eskdale-muir, which maintains
upwards of 20,000 sheep, it is said none were left alive, but forty
young wedders on one farm, and five old ewes on another. The farm of
Phaup remained without a stock and without a tenant for twenty years
after the storm; and when at length one very honest and liberal-minded
man ventured to take a lease of it, it was at the annual rent of "a
grey coat and a pair of hose!" It is now rented at 500. An extensive
glen in Tweedsmuir, now belonging to Sir James Montgomery of Stanhope,
became a common at that time, to which any man drove his flocks that
pleased, and it continued so for nearly a century. On one of Sir
Patrick Scott of Thirlestane's farms, that keeps upwards of 900 sheep,
they all died save one black ewe, from which the farmer had high hopes
of preserving a breed; but some unlucky dogs, that were all laid idle
for want of sheep to run at, fell upon this poor solitary remnant of a
good stock, and chased her into St Mary's Loch, where she was drowned.
When word of this was brought to John Scott the farmer, commonly
called Gouffing Jock, he is reported to have expressed himself as
follows: "Ochon, ochon! and is that the gate o't?--a black beginning
maks aye a black end." Then taking down an old rusty sword, he added,
"Come thou away, my auld friend; thou and I maun e'en stock Bowerhope
Law ance mair. Bessy, my dow, how gaes the auld sang?--

    There's walth o' kye i' bonny Braidlees;
      There's walth o' yowes i' Tyne;
    There's walth o' gear i' Gowanburn--
      And they shall a' be thine."

It is a pity that tradition has not preserved any thing farther of the
history of Gouffing Jock than this one saying.

The next memorable event of this nature is the Blast o' March, which
happened on the 27th day of that month, in the year 1724, on a Monday
morning; and though it lasted only for one forenoon, it was calculated
that it destroyed upwards of a thousand scores of sheep, as well as a
number of shepherds. There is one anecdote of this storm that is
worthy of being preserved, as it shows with how much attention
shepherds, as well as sailors, should observe the appearances of the
sky. The previous Sunday evening was so warm that the lasses went home
from church barefoot, and the young men threw off their plaids and
coats, and carried them over their shoulders. A large group of these
younkers, going home from the church of Yarrow, equipped in this
manner, chanced to pass by an old shepherd on the farm of Newhouse,
named Walter Blake, who had all his sheep gathered to the side of a
wood. They asked Wattie, who was a very religious man, what could have
induced him to gather his sheep on the Sabbath day? He answered, that
he had seen an ill-hued weather-gaw that morning, and was afraid it
was going to be a drift. They were so much amused at Wattie's
apprehensions, that they clapped their hands, and laughed at him, and
one pert girl cried, "Aye, fie tak care, Wattie; I wadna say but it
may be thrapple deep or the morn." Another asked, "If he wasna rather
feared for the sun burning the een out o' their heads?" and a third,
"If he didna keep a correspondence wi' the thieves, and ken they were
to ride that night?" Wattie was obliged to bear all this, for the
evening was fine beyond any thing generally seen at that season, and
only said to them at parting, "Weel, weel, callants, time will try a';
let him laugh that wins, but slacks will be sleek, a hogg for the
howking; we'll a' get horns to tout on the morn." The saying grew
proverbial; but Wattie was the only man in that country who saved the
whole of his flock.

The years 1709, 1740, and 1772, were likewise all years notable for
severity, and for the losses sustained among the flocks of sheep. In
the latter, the snow lay from the middle of December until the middle
of April, and was all that time hard frozen. Partial thaws always kept
the farmer's hopes of relief alive, and thus prevented him from
removing his sheep to a lower situation, till at length they grew so
weak that they could not be removed. There has not been such a general
loss in the days of any man living as in that year. It is by these
years that the severity of all subsequent hard winters has been
estimated, and also, of late, by that of 1795; and when the balance
turns out in favour of the calculator, there is always a degree of
thankfulness expressed, as well as a composed submission to the awards
of Divine providence. The daily feeling naturally impressed on the
shepherd's mind, that all his comforts are so entirely in the hand of
Him that rules the elements, contributes not a little to that firm
spirit of devotion for which the Scottish shepherd is so
distinguished. I know of no scene so impressive, as that of a family
sequestered in a lone glen during the time of a winter storm;--and
where is the glen in the kingdom that wants such a habitation? There
they are left to the protection of Heaven; and they know and feel it.
Throughout all the wild vicissitudes of nature, they have no hope of
assistance from man, but expect to receive it from the Almighty alone.
Before retiring to rest, the shepherd uniformly goes out to examine
the state of the weather, and make his report to the little dependent
group within--nothing is to be seen but the conflict of the elements,
nor heard but the raving of the storm--then they all kneel around him,
while he recommends them to the protection of Heaven; and though their
little hymn of praise can scarcely be heard even by themselves, as it
mixes with the roar of the tempest, they never fail to rise from their
devotions with their spirits cheered and their confidence renewed, and
go to sleep with an exaltation of mind of which kings and conquerors
have no share. Often have I been a sharer in such scenes; and never,
even in my youngest years, without having my heart deeply impressed by
the circumstances. There is a sublimity in the very idea. There we
lived, as it were, inmates of the cloud and the storm; but we stood in
a relationship to the Ruler of these, that neither time nor eternity
could ever cancel. Woe to him that would weaken the bonds with which
true Christianity connects us with Heaven and with each other!

But of all the storms that ever Scotland witnessed, or I hope ever
will again behold, there is none of them that can once be compared
with that of the memorable night between Friday the 24th and Saturday
the 25th of January, 1794. This storm fell with peculiar violence on
that division of the South of Scotland that lies between Crawford-muir
and the Border. In these bounds seventeen shepherds perished, and
upwards of thirty were carried home insensible, who afterwards
recovered. The number of sheep that were lost far outwent any
possibility of calculation. One farmer alone, Mr Thomas Beattie, lost
seventy-two scores--and many others, in the same quarter, from thirty
to forty scores each. Whole flocks were overwhelmed with snow, and no
one ever knew where they were till the snow was dissolved, and they
were all found dead. I myself witnessed one particular instance of
this, on the farm of Thickside: there were twelve scores of excellent
ewes, all one age, that were missing all the time that the snow lay,
which was only a week, and no traces of them could be found; when the
snow went away, they were discovered all lying dead, with their heads
one way, as if a flock of sheep had dropped dead going from the
washing. Many hundreds were driven into waters, burns, and lakes, by
the violence of the storm, where they were buried or frozen up, and
these the flood carried away, so that they were never seen or found by
the owners at all. The following anecdote somewhat illustrates the
confusion and devastation bred in the country:--The greater part of
the rivers on which the storm was most deadly, run into the Solway
Frith, on which there is a place called the Beds of Esk, where the
tide throws out, and leaves whatever is carried into it by the rivers.
When the flood after the storm subsided, there were found on that
place, and the shores adjacent, one thousand eight hundred and forty
sheep, nine black cattle, three horses, two men, one woman, forty-five
dogs, and one hundred and eighty hares, besides a number of meaner
animals.

The snow lay a week on the ground, the thaw having begun on Friday,
the 31st of January. Some registers that I have seen, place the date
of this storm on the 24th of December, a month too early; but that day
was one of the finest winter days I ever saw.

To relate all the particular scenes of distress that occurred during
this tremendous hurricane is impossible--a volume would not contain
them. I shall, therefore, in order to give a true picture of the
storm, merely relate what I saw, and shall in nothing exaggerate. But
before doing this, I must mention a circumstance, curious in its
nature, and connected with others that afterwards occurred.

Some time before that, a few young shepherds (of whom I was one, and
the youngest, though not the least ambitious, of the number) had
formed themselves into a sort of literary society, that met
periodically, at one or other of the houses of its members, where
each read an essay on a subject previously given out; and after that,
every essay was minutely investigated and criticised. We met in the
evening, and continued our important discussions all night. Friday the
24th of January was the day appointed for one of these meetings, and
it was to be held at Entertrony, a wild and remote shieling, at the
very sources of the Ettrick. I had the honour of being named
preses--so, leaving the charge of my flock with my master, off I set
from Blackhouse, on Thursday, a very ill day, with a flaming
bombastical essay in my pocket, and my tongue trained to many wise and
profound remarks, to attend this extraordinary meeting, though the
place lay at the distance of twenty miles, over the wildest hills in
the kingdom, and the time the depth of winter. I remained that night
with my parents at Ettrickhouse, and next day again set out on my
journey. I had not, however, proceeded far, before I perceived, or
thought I perceived, symptoms of an approaching storm, and that of no
ordinary nature. I remember the day well: the wind, which was rough on
the preceding day, had subsided into a dead calm; there was a slight
fall of snow, which descended in small thin flakes, that seemed to
hover and reel in the air, as if uncertain whether to go upward or
downward--the hills were covered down to the middle with deep folds
of rime, or frost-fog--in the cloughs the fog was dark, dense, and
seemed as if it were heaped and crushed together--but on the brows of
the hills it had a pale and fleecy appearance; and, altogether, I
never beheld a day of such gloomy aspect. A thought now began to
intrude itself on me, though I strove all that I could to get quit of
it, that it would be a wise course in me to return home to my sheep.
Inclination urged me on, and I tried to bring reason to her aid, by
saying to myself, "I have no reason in the world to be afraid of my
sheep; my master took the charge of them cheerfully; there is not a
better shepherd in the kingdom, and I cannot doubt his concern in
having them right." All would not do; I stood still and contemplated
the day, and the more closely I examined it, the more was I impressed
that some mischief was brewing; so, with a heavy heart, I turned on my
heel, and made the best of my way back the road I came;--my elaborate
essay, and all my wise observations, had been provided in vain.

On my way home, I called at a place named the Hopehouse, to see a
maternal uncle, whom I loved; he was angry when he saw me, and said it
was not like a prudent lad to be running up and down the country in
such weather, and at such a season; and urged me to make haste home,
for it would be a drift before next morning. He accompanied me to the
top of the height, called the Black Gate-head, and on parting, he
shook his head, and said, "Ah! it is a dangerous-looking day! In troth
I'm amaist fear'd to look at it." I said I would not mind it, if any
one knew from what quarter the storm would arise; but we might, in all
likelihood, gather our sheep to the place where they would be most
exposed to danger. He bade me keep a good look-out all the way home,
and whenever I observed the first opening through the rime, to be
assured the wind would rise directly from that point: I did as he
desired me, but the clouds continued close-set all around, till the
fall of evening; and as the snow had been accumulating all day, so as
to render walking very unfurthersome, it was that time before I
reached home. The first thing I did was to go to my master, and
inquire where he had left my sheep. He told me; but though I had
always the most perfect confidence in his experience, I was not
pleased with what he had done--he had left a part of them far too high
out on the hills, and the rest were not where I would have had them;
and I told him so: he said he had done all for the best, but if there
appeared to be any danger, if I would call him up in the morning, he
would assist me. We had two beautiful servant girls, and with them I
sat chattering till past eleven o'clock, and then I went down to the
Old Tower. What could have taken me to that ruinous habitation of the
Black Douglasses at that untimeous hour, I cannot recollect, but it
certainly must have been from a supposition that one of the girls
would follow me, or else that I would see a hare--both very unlikely
events to have taken place on such a night. However, certain it is,
that there I was at midnight, and it was while standing on the top of
the staircase turret, that I first beheld a bright bore through the
clouds, towards the north, which reminded me of my uncle's warning
about the point from which the wind would rise. But at this time a
smart thaw had commenced, and the breeze seemed to be coming from the
south, so that I laughed in my heart at his prediction, and accounted
it quite absurd.--Short was the time till awful experience told me how
true it was!

I then went to my bed in the byre-loft, where I slept with a neighbour
shepherd, named Borthwick; but though fatigued with walking through
the snow, I could not close an eye, so that I heard the first burst of
the storm, which commenced between one and two, with a fury that no
one can conceive who does not remember it. Besides, the place where I
lived being exposed to two or three "gathered winds," as they are
called by shepherds, the storm raged there with redoubled fury. It
began all at once, with such a tremendous roar, that I imagined it was
a peal of thunder, until I felt the house trembling to its foundation.
In a few minutes I thrust my naked arm through a hole in the roof, in
order, if possible, to ascertain what was going on without, for not a
ray of light could I see. I could not then, nor can I yet, express my
astonishment: So completely was the air overloaded with falling and
driving snow, that, but for the force of the wind, I felt as if I had
thrust my arm into a wreath of snow. I deemed it a judgment sent from
Heaven upon us, and went to bed again, trembling with agitation. I lay
still for about an hour, in hopes that it might prove only a temporary
hurricane; but, hearing no abatement of its fury, I awakened
Borthwick, and bade him get up, for it was come on such a night or
morning, as never blew from the heavens. He was not long in obeying,
for as soon as he had heard the turmoil, he started from his bed, and
in one minute throwing on his clothes, he hastened down the ladder,
and opening the door, remained for a good while, uttering exclamations
of astonishment. The door where he stood was not above fourteen yards
from the door of the dwelling-house; but a wreath was already heaped
between them, as high as the walls of the house--and in trying to get
round or through this, Borthwick lost himself, and could neither find
the house nor his way back to the byre; and about six minutes after, I
heard him calling my name, in a shrill desperate tone of voice, at
which I could not refrain from laughing immoderately, notwithstanding
the dismal prospect that lay before us. I heard from his cries where
he was. He had tried to make his way over the top of a large dunghill,
but going to the wrong side, had fallen over, and wrestled long among
snow, quite over the head. I did not think proper to move to his
assistance, but lay still, and shortly after, heard him shouting at
the kitchen-door for instant admittance. I kept my bed for about three
quarters of an hour longer; and then rose, and on reaching the house
with much difficulty, found our master, the ploughman, Borthwick, and
the two servant maids, sitting round the kitchen fire, with looks of
dismay, I may almost say despair. We all agreed at once, that the
sooner we were able to reach the sheep, the better chance we had to
save a remnant; and as there were eight hundred excellent ewes, all in
one lot, but a long way distant, and the most valuable lot of any on
the farm, we resolved to make a bold effort to reach them. Our master
made family worship, a duty he never neglected; but that morning, the
manner in which he expressed our trust and confidence in Heaven, was
particularly affecting. We took our breakfast--filled our pockets with
bread and cheese--sewed our plaids around us--tied down our hats with
napkins coming below our chins--and each taking a strong staff in his
hand, we set out on the attempt.

No sooner was the door closed behind us than we lost sight of each
other; seeing there was none--it was impossible for a man to see his
hand held up before him--and it was still two hours till day. We had
no means of keeping together but by following to one another's voices,
nor of working our way save by groping before us with our staves. It
soon appeared to me a hopeless concern, for, ere ever we got clear of
the houses and hay-stacks, we had to roll ourselves over two or three
wreaths which it was impossible to wade through; and all the while the
wind and drift were so violent, that every three or four minutes we
were obliged to hold our faces down between our knees to recover our
breath.

We soon got into an eddying wind that was altogether insufferable,
and, at the same time, we were struggling among snow so deep, that our
progress in the way we proposed going was very equivocal indeed, for
we had, by this time, lost all idea of east, west, north, or south.
Still we were as busy as men determined on an enterprise of moment
could be, and persevered on we knew not whither, sometimes rolling
over the snow, and sometimes weltering in it up to the chin. The
following instance of our successful exertions marks our progress to a
tittle: There was an enclosure around the house to the westward, which
we denominated "the Park," as was customary in Scotland at that
period, and in that quarter, where a farm seldom boasted more than
one enclosed piece of ground. When we went away we calculated that it
was two hours until day; the Park did not extend above three hundred
yards; and we were still engaged in it when daylight appeared.

When we got free of the Park, we also got free of the eddy of the
wind. It was now straight in our faces; we went in a line before each
other, and changed places every three or four minutes, and at length,
after great fatigue, reached a long ridge of a hill where the snow was
thinner, having been blown off by the force of the wind, and by this
we had hopes of reaching within a short space of the ewes, which were
still a mile and a half distant. Our master had taken the lead; I was
next him, and soon began to suspect, from the depth of the snow, that
he was leading us quite wrong; but as we always trusted implicitly to
the person that was foremost for the time, I said nothing for a good
while, until satisfied that we were going in a direction very nearly
right opposite to that we intended. I then tried to expostulate with
him; but he did not seem to understand what I said; and, on getting a
glimpse of his countenance, I perceived that it was quite altered. Not
to alarm the others, nor even himself, I said I was becoming terribly
fatigued, and proposed that we should lean on the snow and take each a
little whisky, (for I had brought a small bottle in my pocket for
fear of the worst), and some bread and cheese. This was unanimously
agreed to, and I noted that he swallowed the spirits rather eagerly, a
thing not usual with him, and when he tried to eat, it was long before
he could swallow any thing. I was convinced that he would fail
altogether, but, as it would have been easier to have got him to the
shepherd's house, which was before us, than home again, I made no
proposal for him to return. On the contrary, I said, if they would
trust themselves entirely to me, I would engage to lead them to the
ewes without going a foot out of the way. The other two agreed to
this, and acknowledged that they knew not where they were; but he
never opened his mouth, nor did he speak a word for two hours
thereafter. It had only been a temporary exhaustion, however, for he
afterwards recovered, and wrought till night as well as any of us;
though he never could recollect a single circumstance that occurred
during that part of our way, nor a word that was said, nor of having
got any refreshment whatever.

At about half an hour past ten, we reached the flock, and just in time
to save them. Before that, both Borthwick and the ploughman had lost
their hats, notwithstanding all their precautions; and to impede us
still farther, I went inadvertently over a precipice, and going down
head foremost, between the scaur and the snow, found it impossible to
extricate myself, for the more I struggled I went the deeper. For all
our troubles, I heard Borthwick above convulsed with laughter;--he
thought he had got the affair of the dunghill paid back. By holding by
one another, and letting down a plaid to me, they hauled me up; but I
was terribly incommoded by snow that had got inside my clothes.

The ewes were standing in a close body; one half of them were covered
over with snow to the depth of ten feet, the rest were forced against
a brae. We knew not what to do, for we had no spades to dig them out;
but to our agreeable astonishment, when those in front were removed,
the rest walked out from below the snow after their neighbours in a
body, for they had been so closely pent together, as to be all
touching one another. If the snow-wreath had not broke, and crumbled
down upon a few that were hindmost, we should have got them all out,
without putting a hand to them. This was effecting a good deal more
than any of the party expected a few hours before. There were one
hundred ewes in another place near by, but of these we could only get
out a very few, and lost all hopes of saving what remained.

It was now wearing towards mid-day, and there were occasionally short
intervals in which we could see round us for perhaps a score of yards;
but we got only one momentary glance of the hills around us all that
day. I grew quite impatient to be at my own charge, and leaving the
rest I went away to them by myself, that is, I went to the division
that was left far out on the hills, while our master and the ploughman
volunteered to rescue those that were down on the lower ground. I
found mine in miserable circumstances, but making all possible
exertion, I got out about one half of them, which I left in a place of
safety, and made towards home, for it was beginning to grow dark, and
the storm was again raging in all its darkness and fury. I was not in
the least afraid of losing my way, for I knew all the declivities of
the hills so well, that I could have come home with my eyes bound up;
and indeed, long ere I got home, they were of no use to me. I was
terrified for the water (Douglas Burn), for in the morning it was
flooded and gorged up with snow in a dreadful manner, and I judged
that it would be now quite impassable. At length I came to a place
where I thought the water should be, and fell a-boring and groping for
it with my long staff. No: I could find no water, and began to dread
that, in spite of my supposed accuracy, I had gone wrong. This greatly
surprised me, and standing still to consider, I looked up towards
Heaven, I shall not say for what cause, and to my utter amazement
thought I beheld trees over my head, flourishing abroad over the whole
sky. I never had seen such an optical delusion before; it was so like
enchantment that I knew not what to think, but dreaded that some
extraordinary thing was coming over me, and that I was deprived of my
right senses. I concluded that the storm was a great judgment sent on
us for our sins, and that this strange phantasy was connected with it,
an illusion effected by evil spirits. I stood a good while in this
painful trance; but at length, on making a bold exertion to escape
from the fairy vision, I came all at once in contact with the Old
Tower. Never in my life did I experience such a relief; I was not only
all at once freed from the fairies, but from the dangers of the gorged
river. I had come over it on some mountain of snow, I knew not how nor
where, nor do I know to this day. So that, after all, what I had seen
_were_ trees, and trees of no great magnitude neither; but their
appearance to my eyes it is impossible to describe. I thought they
flourished abroad, not for miles, but for hundreds of miles, to the
utmost verges of the visible heavens. Such a day and such a night may
the eye of a shepherd never again behold!

On reaching home, I found our women-folk sitting in woful plight. It
is well known how wonderfully acute they generally are, either at
raising up imaginary evils, or magnifying those that exist; and ours
had made out a theory so fraught with misery and distress, that the
poor things were quite overwhelmed with grief; "There was none of us
ever to see the house again _in life_. There was no possibility of the
thing happening, all circumstances considered. There was not a sheep
in the country to be saved, nor a single shepherd left alive--nothing
but _women_! and there they were left, three poor helpless creatures,
and the men lying dead out among the snow, and none to bring them
home. Lord help them, what was to become of them!" They perfectly
agreed in all this; there was no dissenting voice; and then prospects
still continuing to darken with the fall of night, they had no other
resource left them, long before my arrival, but to lift up their
voices and weep. The group consisted of a young lady, our master's
niece, and two servant girls, all of the same age, and beautiful as
three spring days, all of which are mild and sweet, but differ only a
little in brightness. No sooner had I entered, than every tongue and
every hand was put in motion, the former to pour forth queries faster
than six tongues of men could answer with any degree of precision, and
the latter to rid me of the incumbrances of snow and ice with which I
was loaded. One slit up the sewing of my frozen plaid, another brushed
the icicles from my locks, and a third unloosed my clotted snow-boots.
We all arrived within a few minutes of each other, and all shared the
same kind offices; even our dogs shared of their caresses and ready
assistance in ridding them of the frozen snow, and the dear
consistent creatures were six times happier than if no storm or danger
had ever existed.--Let no one suppose that, even amid toils and
perils, the shepherd's life is destitute of enjoyment.

Borthwick had found his way home without losing his aim in the least.
I had deviated but little, save that I lost the river, and remained a
short time in the country of the Fairies; but the other two had a hard
struggle for life. They went off, as I said formerly, in search of
seventeen scores of my flock that had been left in a place not far
from the house; but being unable to find one of them, in searching for
these they lost themselves, while it was yet early in the afternoon.
They supposed that they had gone by the house very near to it, for
they had toiled till dark among deep snow in the burn below; and if
John Burnet, a neighbouring shepherd, had not heard them calling, and
found and conducted them home, it would have stood hard with them
indeed, for none of us would have looked for them in that direction.
They were both very much exhausted, and the goodman could not speak
above his breath that night.

Next morning the sky was clear; but a cold intemperate wind still blew
from the north. The face of the country was entirely altered. The form
of every hill was changed, and new mountains leaned over every valley.
All traces of burns, rivers, and lakes, were obliterated; for the
frost had been commensurate with the storm, and such as had never
been witnessed in Scotland.

There having been three hundred and forty of my flock that had never
been found at all during the preceding day, as soon as the morning
dawned, we set all out to look after them. It was a hideous-looking
scene--no one could cast his eyes around him and entertain any
expectation of sheep being saved. It was one picture of desolation.
There is a deep glen between Blackhouse and Dryhope, called the
Hawkshaw Cleuch, which is full of trees. There was not the top of one
of them to be seen. This may convey some idea how the country looked;
and no one can suspect that I would state circumstances otherwise than
they were, when there are so many living that could confute me.

When we came to the ground where the sheep should have been, there was
not one of them above the snow. Here and there, at a great distance
from each other, we could perceive the heads or horns of stragglers
appearing; and these were easily got out: but when we had collected
these few, we could find no more. They had been lying all abroad in a
scattered state when the storm came on, and were covered over just as
they had been lying. It was on a kind of sloping ground, that lay half
beneath the wind, and the snow was uniformly from six to eight feet
deep. Under this the hogs were lying scattered over at least one
hundred acres of heathery ground. It was a very ill-looking concern.
We went about boring with our long poles, and often did not find one
hog in a quarter of an hour. But at length a white shaggy colly, named
Sparkie, that belonged to the cowherd boy, seemed to have comprehended
something of our perplexity, for we observed him plying and scraping
in the snow with great violence, and always looking over his shoulder
to us. On going to the spot, we found that he had marked straight
above a sheep. From that he flew to another, and so on to another, as
fast as we could dig them out, and ten times faster, for he sometimes
had twenty or thirty holes marked beforehand.

We got out three hundred of that division before night, and about half
as many on the other parts of the farm, in addition to those we had
rescued the day before; and the greater part of these would have been
lost had it not been for the voluntary exertions of Sparkie. Before
the snow went away (which lay only eight days) we had got out every
sheep on the farm, either dead or alive, except four; and that these
were not found was not Sparkie's blame, for though they were buried
below a mountain of snow at least fifty feet deep, he had again and
again marked on the top of it above them. The sheep were all living
when we found them; but those that were buried in the snow to a
certain depth, being, I suppose, in a warm, half-suffocated state,
though on being taken out they bounded away like roes, were instantly
after paralyzed by the sudden change of atmosphere, and fell down,
deprived of all power in their limbs. We had great numbers of these to
carry home and feed with the hand; but others that were buried very
deep, died outright in a few minutes. We did not, however, lose above
sixty in all; but I am certain Sparkie saved us at least two hundred.

We were for several days utterly ignorant how affairs stood with the
country around us, all communication between farms being cut off, at
least in the wild district where I lived; but John Burnet, a
neighbouring shepherd, on another farm, was remarkably good at picking
up the rumours that were afloat in the country, which he delighted to
circulate without abatement. Many people tell their stories by halves,
and in a manner so cold and indifferent, that the purport can scarcely
be discerned, and if it is, cannot be believed; but that was not the
case with John; he gave them with _interest_, and we were very much
indebted to him for the intelligence that we daily received that week.
No sooner was the first brunt of the tempest over, than John made a
point of going off at a tangent every day, to learn what was going on,
and to bring us word of it. The accounts were most dismal; the country
was a charnel-house. The first day he brought us tidings of the loss
of thousands of sheep, and likewise of the death of Robert Armstrong,
a neighbour shepherd, one whom we all knew well, he having but lately
left the Blackhouse to herd on another farm. He died not above three
hundred paces from a farm-house, while at the same time it was known
to all the inmates where he was. His companion left him at a
dike-side, and went in to procure assistance; yet, near as it was,
they could not reach him, though they attempted it again and again;
and at length they were obliged to return, and suffer him to perish at
the side of the dike. Three of my own intimate acquaintances perished
that night. There was another shepherd named Watt, the circumstances
of whose death were peculiarly affecting. He had gone to see his
sweetheart the night before, with whom he had finally agreed and
settled every thing about their marriage; but it so happened, in the
inscrutable awards of Providence, that at the very time when the banns
of his marriage were proclaimed in the church of Moffat, his
companions were carrying him home a corpse from the hill.

It may not be amiss here to remark, that it was a received opinion all
over the country, that sundry lives were lost, and a great many more
endangered, by the administering of ardent spirits to the sufferers
while in a state of exhaustion. It was a practice against which I
entered my vehement protest, although the voice of the multitude
should never be disregarded. A little bread and sweet milk, or even a
little bread and cold water, proved a much safer restorative in the
fields. There is no denying, that some who took a glass of spirits
that night never spoke another word, even though they were continuing
to walk and converse when their friends found them.

On the other hand, there was one woman who left her children, and
followed her husband's dog, which brought her to his master lying in a
state of insensibility. He had fallen down bareheaded among the snow,
and was all covered over, save one corner of his plaid. She had
nothing better to take with her, when she set out, than a bottle of
sweet milk and a little oatmeal cake, and yet, with the help of these,
she so far recruited his strength as to get him safe home, though not
without long and active perseverance. She took two little vials with
her, and in these she heated the milk in her bosom.--That man would
not be disposed to laugh at the silliness of the fair sex for some
time.

It is perfectly unaccountable how easily people died. The frost must
certainly have been prodigious; so intense as to have seized
momentarily on the vitals of those that overheated themselves by
wading and toiling too impatiently among the snow, a thing that is
very aptly done. I have conversed with five or six that were carried
home in a state of insensibility, who never would again have moved
from the spot where they lay, and were only brought to life by rubbing
and warm applications; and they uniformly declared, that they felt no
kind of pain or debility, farther than an irresistible desire to
sleep. Many fell down while walking and speaking, in a sleep so sound
as to resemble torpidity; and there is little doubt that those who
perished slept away in the same manner. I knew a man well, whose name
was Andrew Murray, that perished in the snow on Minchmoor; and he had
taken it so deliberately, that he had buttoned his coat and folded his
plaid, which he had laid beneath his head for a bolster.

But it is now time to return to my notable literary society. In spite
of the hideous prognostications that appeared, the members actually
met, all save myself, in that solitary shieling before mentioned. It
is easy to conceive how they were confounded and taken by surprise,
when the storm burst forth on them in the middle of the night, while
they were in the heat of sublime disputation. There can be little
doubt that some loss was sustained in their respective flocks, by
reason of that meeting; but this was nothing, compared with the
obloquy to which they were subjected on another account, and one which
will scarcely be believed, even though the most part of the members
are yet alive to bear testimony to it.

The storm was altogether an unusual convulsion of nature. Nothing like
it had ever been seen or heard of among us before; and it was enough
of itself to arouse every spark of superstition that lingered among
these mountains. It did so. It was universally viewed as a judgment
sent by God for the punishment of some heinous offence; but what that
offence was, could not for a while be ascertained. When, however, it
came out, that so many men had been assembled in a lone unfrequented
place, and busily engaged in some mysterious work at the very instant
that the blast came on, no doubts were entertained that all had not
been right there, and that some horrible rite or correspondence with
the powers of darkness had been going on. It so happened, too, that
this shieling of Entertrony was situated in the very vortex of the
storm; the devastations made by it extended all around that to a
certain extent, and no farther on any one quarter than another. This
was easily and soon remarked; and, upon the whole, the first view of
the matter had rather an equivocal appearance to those around, who had
suffered so severely by it.

But still as the rumour grew, the certainty of the event gained
ground--new corroborative circumstances were every day divulged, till
the whole district was in an uproar, and several of the members began
to meditate a speedy retreat from the country; some of them, I know,
would have fled, if it had not been for the advice of the late worthy
and judicious Mr Bryden of Crosslee. The first intimation that I had
of it was from my friend John Burnet, who gave it me with his
accustomed energy and full assurance. He came over one evening, and I
saw by his face he had some great news. I think I remember, as I well
may, every word that passed between us on the subject.

"Weel, chap," said he to me, "we hae fund out what has been the cause
of a' this mischief now."

"What do you mean, John?"

"What do I mean?--It seems that a great squad o' birkies that ye are
conneckit wi', had met that night at the herd's house o' Ever
Phawhope, and had raised the deil amang them!"

Every countenance in the kitchen changed; the women gazed at John, and
then at me, and their lips grew white. These kind of feelings are
infectious, people may say what they will; fear begets fear as
naturally as light springs from reflection. I reasoned stoutly at
first against the veracity of the report, observing that it was utter
absurdity, and a shame and disgrace for the country to believe such a
ridiculous lie.

"Lie!" said John, "It's nae lie; they had him up amang them like a
great rough dog at the very time that the tempest began, and were glad
to draw cuts, and gie him ane o' their number to get quit o' him
again."

Every hair of my head, and inch of my frame, crept when I heard this
sentence; for I had a dearly loved brother who was of the number, and
several full cousins and intimate acquaintances; indeed, I looked upon
the whole assembly as my brethren, and considered myself involved in
all their transactions. I could say no more in defence of the
society's proceedings; for, to tell the truth, though I am ashamed to
acknowledge it, I suspected that the allegation might be true.

"Has the deil actually taen awa ane o' them bodily?" said Jean.

"He has that," returned John, "and it's thought the skaith wadna hae
been grit, had he taen twa or three mae o' them. Base villains! that
the haill country should hae to suffer for their pranks! But, however,
the law's to tak its course on them, and they'll find, ere a' the play
be played, that he has need of a lang spoon that sups wi' the deil."

The next day John brought us word, that it was "_only_ the
servant-maid that the Ill Thief had taen away;" and the next again,
that it was actually Bryden of Glenkerry; but, finally, he was obliged
to inform us, "That a' was exactly true, as it was first tauld, but
only that Jamie Bryden, after being a-wanting for some days, had
casten up again."

There has been nothing since that time that has caused such a ferment
in the country--nought else could be talked of; and grievous was the
blame attached to those who had the temerity to raise up the devil to
waste the land. Legal proceedings, it is said, were actually
meditated, and attempted; but lucky it was for the shepherds that they
agreed to no reference, for such were the feelings of the country, and
the opprobrium in which the act was held, that it is likely it would
have fared very ill with them;--at all events, it would have required
an arbiter of some decision and uprightness to have dared to oppose
the prejudices that were entertained. Two men were sent to come to the
house as by chance, and endeavour to learn from the shepherd, and
particularly from the servant-maid, what grounds there were for
inflicting legal punishment; but before that happened, I had the good
luck to hear her examined myself, and that in a way by which all
suspicions were put to rest, and simplicity and truth left to war with
superstition alone. I deemed it very curious at the time, and shall
give it verbatim, as nearly as I can recollect.

Being all impatience to learn particulars, as soon as the waters
abated, so as to become fordable, I hasted over to Ettrick, and the
day being fine, I found numbers of people astir on the same errand
with myself,--the valley was moving with people, gathered in from the
glens around, to hear and relate the dangers and difficulties that
were just overpast. Among others, the identical girl who served with
the shepherd in whose house the meeting took place, had come down to
Ettrick School-house to see her parents. Her name was Mary Beattie, a
beautiful sprightly lass, about twenty years of age; and if the devil
had taken her in preference to any one of the shepherds, his good
taste could scarcely have been disputed. The first person I met was my
friend, the late Mr James Anderson, who was as anxious to hear what
had passed at the meeting as I was, so we two contrived a scheme
whereby we thought we would hear every thing from the girl's own
mouth.

We sent word to the School-house for Mary, to call at my father's
house on her return up the water, as there was a parcel to go to
Phawhope. She came accordingly, and when we saw her approaching, we
went into a little sleeping apartment, where we could hear every thing
that passed, leaving directions with my mother how to manage the
affair. My mother herself was in perfect horror about the business,
and believed it all; as for my father, he did not say much either the
one way or the other, but bit his lip, and remarked, that, "folk would
find that it was an ill thing to hae to do wi' the Enemy."

My mother would have managed extremely well, had her own early
prejudices in favour of the doctrine of all kinds of apparitions not
got the better of her. She was very kind to the girl, and talked with
her about the storm, and the events that had occurred, till she
brought the subject of the meeting forward herself, on which the
following dialogue commenced:--

"But, dear Mary, my woman, what were the chiels a' met about that
night?"

"O, they were just gaun through their papers and arguing."

"Arguing! what were they arguing about?"

"I have often thought about it sinsyne, but really I canna tell
precisely what they were arguing about."

"Were you wi' them a' the time?"

"Yes, a' the time, but the wee while I was milking the cow."

"And did they never bid ye gang out?"

"Oo no; they never heedit whether I gaed out or in."

"It's queer that ye canna mind ought ava;--can ye no tell me ae word
that ye heard them say?"

"I heard them saying something about the fitness o' things."

"Ay, that was a braw subject for them! But, Mary, did ye no hear them
saying nae ill words?"

"No."

"Did ye no hear them speaking naething about the deil?"

"Very little."

"What were they saying about _him_?"

"I thought I aince heard Jamie Fletcher saying there was nae deil
ava."

"Ah! the unwordy rascal! How durst he for the life o' him! I wonder he
didna think shame."

"I fear aye he's something regardless, Jamie."

"I hope nane that belangs to me will ever join him in sic wickedness!
But tell me, Mary, my woman, did ye no see nor hear naething uncanny
about the house yoursell that night?"

"There was something like a plover cried twice i' the peat-neuk, in at
the side o' Will's bed."

"A plover! His presence be about us! There was never a plover at this
time o' the year. And in the house too! Ah, Mary, I'm feared and
concerned about that night's wark! What thought ye it was that it
cried?"

"I didna ken what it was,--it cried just like a plover."

"Did the callants look as they war fear'd when they heard it?"

"They lookit geyan queer."

"What did they say?"

"Ane cried, 'What is that?' and another said, 'What can it
mean?'--'Hout,' quo' Jamie Fletcher, 'it's just some bit stray bird
that has lost itsell.'--'I dinna ken,' quo' your Will, 'I dinna like
it unco weel.'"

"Think ye, did nane o' the rest see ony thing?"

"I believe there was something seen."

"What was't?" (in a half whisper, with manifest alarm.)

"When Will gaed out to try if he could gang to the sheep, he met wi' a
great big rough dog, that had very near worn him into a linn in the
water."

My mother was now deeply affected, and after two or three smothered
exclamations, she fell a-whispering; the other followed her example,
and shortly after, they rose and went out, leaving my friend and me
very little wiser than we were, for we had heard both these incidents
before with little variation. I accompanied Mary to Phawhope, and met
with my brother, who soon convinced me of the falsehood and absurdity
of the whole report; but I was grieved to find him so much cast down
and distressed about it. None of them durst well show then faces at
either kirk or market for a whole year, and more. The weather
continuing fine, we two went together and perambulated Eskdale Moor,
visiting the principal scenes of carnage among the flocks, where we
saw multitudes of men skinning and burying whole droves of sheep,
taking with them only the skins and tallow.

I shall now conclude this long account of the storm, and its
consequences, by an extract from a poet for whose works I always feel
disposed to have a great partiality; and whoever reads the above will
not doubt on what incident the description is founded, nor yet deem
it greatly overcharged.

       *       *       *       *       *

    "Who was it rear'd these whelming waves?
      Who scalp'd the brows of old Cairn Gorm,
    And scoop'd these ever-yawning caves?"--
      "'Twas I, the Spirit of the Storm!"

    He waved his sceptre north away,
      The arctic ring was reft asunder;
    And through the heaven the startling bray
      Burst louder than the loudest thunder.

    The feathery clouds, condensed and furl'd,
      In columns swept the quaking glen;
    Destruction down the dale was hurl'd,
      O'er bleating flocks and wondering men.

    The Grampians groan'd beneath the storm;
      New mountains o'er the correi lean'd;
    Ben Nevis shook his shaggy form,
      And wonder'd what his Sovereign mean'd.

    Even far on Yarrow's fairy dale,
      The shepherd paused in dumb dismay;
    And cries of spirits in the gale
      Lured many a pitying hind away.

    The Lowthers felt the tyrant's wrath;
      Proud Hartfell quaked beneath his brand;
    And Cheviot heard the cries of death,
      Guarding his loved Northumberland.

    But O, as fell that fateful night,
      What horrors Avin wilds deform,
    And choke the ghastly lingering light!
      There whirl'd the vortex of the storm.

    Ere morn the wind grew deadly still,
      And dawning in the air updrew,
    From many a shelve and shining hill,
      Her folding robe of fairy blue.

    Then what a smooth and wondrous scene
      Hung o'er Loch Avin's lovely breast!
    Not top of tallest pine was seen,
      On which the dazzled eye could rest;

    But mitred cliff and crested fell,
      In lucid curls, her brows adorn;
    Aloft the radiant crescents swell,
      All pure as robes by angels worn.

    Sound sleeps our seer, far from the day,
      Beneath yon sleek and wreathed cone;
    His spirit steals, unmiss'd, away,
      And dreams across the desert lone.

    Sound sleeps our seer!--the tempests rave,
      And cold sheets o'er his bosom fling;
    The moldwarp digs his mossy grave;
      His requiem Avin eagles sing.

       *       *       *       *       *




CHAPTER X.

THE SHEPHERD'S DOG.


A curious story that appeared lately of a dog belonging to a shepherd,
named John Hoy, has brought sundry similar ones to my recollection,
which I am sure cannot fail to be interesting to those unacquainted
with the qualities of that most docile and affectionate of the whole
animal creation--the shepherd's dog.

The story alluded to was shortly this. John was at a sacrament of the
Covenanters, and being loath to leave the afternoon sermon, and
likewise obliged to have his ewes at the bught by a certain hour, gave
his dog a quiet hint at the outskirts of the congregation, and
instantly she went away, took the hills, and gathered the whole flock
of ewes to the bught, as carefully and quietly as if her master had
been with her, to the astonishment of a thousand beholders, for the
ewes lay scattered over two large and steep hills.

This John Hoy was my uncle; that is, he was married to my mother's
sister. He was all his life remarkable for breeding up his dogs to
perform his commands with wonderful promptitude and exactness,
especially at a distance from him, and he kept always by the same
breed. It may be necessary to remark here, that there is no species of
animals so varied in their natures and propensities as the shepherd's
dog, and these propensities are preserved inviolate in the same breed
from generation to generation. One kind will manage sheep about hand,
about a bught, shedding, or fold, almost naturally; and those that
excel most in this kind of service, are always the least tractable at
a distance; others will gather sheep from the hills, or turn them this
way and that way, as they are commanded, as far as they can hear their
master's voice, or note the signals made by his hand, and yet can
never be taught to command sheep close around him. Some excel again in
a kind of social intercourse. They understand all that is said to
them, or of them, in the family; and often a good deal that is said of
sheep, and of other dogs, their comrades. One kind will bite the legs
of cattle, and no species of correction or disapprobation will
restrain them, or ever make them give it up; another kind bays at the
heads of cattle, and neither precept nor example will ever induce them
to attack a beast behind, or bite its legs.

My uncle Hoy's kind were held in estimation over the whole country for
their docility in what is termed _hirsel-rinning_; that is, gathering
sheep at a distance, but they were never very good at commanding
sheep about hand. Often have I stood with astonishment at seeing him
standing on the top of one hill, and the Tub, as he called an
excellent snow-white bitch that he had, gathering all the sheep from
another with great care and caution. I once saw her gathering the head
of a hope, or glen, quite out of her master's sight, while all that
she heard of him was now and then the echo of his voice or whistle
from another hill, yet, from the direction of that echo, she gathered
the sheep with perfect acuteness and punctuality.

I have often heard him tell an anecdote of another dog, called Nimble:
One drifty day, in _the seventy-four_, after gathering the ewes of
Chapelhope, he found that he wanted about an hundred of them. He again
betook himself to the heights, and sought for them the whole day
without being able to find them, and began to suspect that they were
covered over with snow in some ravine. Towards the evening it cleared
up a little, and as a last resource, he sent away Nimble. She had
found the scent of them on the hill while her master was looking for
them; but not having received orders to bring them, she had not the
means of communicating the knowledge she possessed. But as soon as
John gave her the gathering word, she went away, he said, like an
arrow out of a bow, and in less than five minutes he beheld her at
about a mile's distance, bringing them round a hill, called the
Middle, cocking her tail behind them, and apparently very happy at
having got the opportunity of terminating her master's disquietude
with so much ease.

I once witnessed another very singular feat performed by a dog
belonging to John Graham, late tenant in Ashesteel. A neighbour came
to his house after it was dark, and told him that he had lost a sheep
on his farm, and that if he (Graham) did not secure her in the morning
early, she would be lost, as he had brought her far. John said, he
could not possibly get to the hill next morning, but if he would take
him to the very spot where he lost the sheep, perhaps his dog
Chieftain would find her that night. On that they went away with all
expedition, lest the traces of the feet should cool; and I, then a
boy, being in the house, went with them. The night was pitch-dark,
which had been the cause of the man losing his ewe; and at length he
pointed out a place to John, by the side of the water, where he had
lost her. "Chieftain, fetch that," said John, "bring her back, sir."
The dog jumped around and around, and reared himself up on end, but
not being able to see any thing, evidently misapprehended his master;
on which John fell a-cursing and swearing at the dog, calling him a
great many blackguard names. He at last told the man, that he must
point out the _very track_ that the sheep went, otherwise he had no
chance of recovering it. The man led him to a grey stone, and said, he
was sure she took the brae within a yard of that. "Chieftain, come
hither to my foot, you great numb'd whelp," said John. Chieftain came.
John pointed with his finger to the ground, "Fetch that, I say, sir,
you stupid idiot--bring that back. Away!" The dog scented slowly about
on the ground for some seconds, but soon began to mend his pace, and
vanished in the darkness. "Bring her back--away, you great calf!"
vociferated John, with a voice of exultation, as the dog broke to the
hill; and as all these good dogs perform their work in perfect
silence, we neither saw nor heard any more for a long time. I think,
if I remember right, we waited there about half an hour; during which
time, all the conversation was about the small chance that the dog had
to find the ewe, for it was agreed on all hands, that she must long
ago have mixed with the rest of the sheep on the farm. How that was,
no man will ever be able to decide. John, however, still persisted in
waiting until his dog came back, either with the ewe or without her;
and at last the trusty animal brought the individual lost sheep to our
very foot, which the man took on his back, and went on his way
rejoicing. I remember the dog was very warm, and hanging out his
tongue--John called him all the ill names he could invent, which the
animal seemed to take in very good part. Such language seemed to be
John's flattery to his dog. For my part, I went home, fancying I had
seen a miracle, little weeting that it was nothing to what I myself
was to experience in the course of my pastoral life, from the sagacity
of the shepherd's dog.

My dog was always my companion. I conversed with him the whole day--I
shared every meal with him, and my plaid in the time of a shower; the
consequence was, that I generally had the best dogs in all the
country. The first remarkable one that I had was named Sirrah. He was
beyond all comparison the best dog I ever saw. He was of a surly
unsocial temper--disdained all flattery, and refused to be caressed;
but his attention to his master's commands and interests never will
again be equalled by any of the canine race. The first time that I saw
him, a drover was leading him in a rope; he was hungry, and lean, and
far from being a beautiful cur, for he was all over black, and had a
grim face striped with dark brown. The man had bought him of a boy for
three shillings, somewhere on the Border, and doubtless had used him
very ill on his journey. I thought I discovered a sort of sullen
intelligence in his face, notwithstanding his dejected and forlorn
situation; so I gave the drover a guinea for him, and appropriated the
captive to myself. I believe there never was a guinea so well laid
out; at least I am satisfied that I never laid out one to so good
purpose. He was scarcely then a year old, and knew so little of
herding, that he had never turned sheep in his life; but as soon as he
discovered that it was his duty to do so, and that it obliged me, I
can never forget with what anxiety and eagerness he learned his
different evolutions. He would try every way deliberately, till he
found out what I wanted him to do; and when once I made him to
understand a direction, he never forgot or mistook it again. Well as I
knew him, he very often astonished me, for when hard pressed in
accomplishing the task that he was put to, he had expedients of the
moment that bespoke a great share of the reasoning faculty. Were I to
relate all his exploits, it would require a volume; I shall only
mention one or two, to prove what kind of an animal he was.

I was a shepherd for ten years on the same farm, where I had always
about 700 lambs put under my charge every year at weaning-time. As
they were of the short, or black-faced breed, the breaking of them was
a very ticklish and difficult task. I was obliged to watch them night
and day for the first four days, during which time I had always a
person to assist me. It happened one year, that just about midnight
the lambs broke, and came up the moor upon us, making a noise with
their running louder than thunder. We got up and waved our plaids,
and shouted, in hopes to turn them, but we only made matters worse,
for in a moment they were all round us, and by our exertions we cut
them into three divisions; one of these ran north, another south, and
those that came up between us straight up the moor to the westward. I
called out, "Sirrah, my man, they're a' away;" the word, of all
others, that set him most upon the alert, but owing to the darkness of
the night, and blackness of the moor, I never saw him at all. As the
division of the lambs that ran southward were going straight towards
the fold, where they had been that day taken from their dams, I was
afraid they would go there, and again mix with them; so I threw off
part of my clothes, and pursued them, and by great personal exertion,
and the help of another old dog that I had besides Sirrah, I turned
them, but in a few minutes afterwards lost them altogether. I ran here
and there, not knowing what to do, but always, at intervals, gave a
loud whistle to Sirrah, to let him know that I was depending on him.
By that whistling, the lad who was assisting me found me out; but he
likewise had lost all trace whatsoever of the lambs. I asked if he had
never seen Sirrah? He said, he had not; but that after I left him, a
wing of the lambs had come round him with a swirl, and that he
supposed Sirrah had then given them a turn, though he could not see
him for the darkness. We both concluded, that whatever way the lambs
ran at first, they would finally land at the fold where they left
their mothers, and without delay we bent our course towards that; but
when we came there, there was nothing of them, nor any kind of
bleating to be heard, and we discovered with vexation that we had come
on a wrong track.

My companion then bent his course towards the farm of Glen on the
north, and I ran away westward for several miles, along the wild tract
where the lambs had grazed while following their dams. We met after it
was day, far up in a place called the Black Cleuch, but neither of us
had been able to discover our lambs, nor any traces of them. It was
the most extraordinary circumstance that had ever occurred in the
annals of the pastoral life! We had nothing for it but to return to
our master, and inform him that we had lost his whole flock of lambs,
and knew not what was become of one of them.

On our way home, however, we discovered a body of lambs at the bottom
of a deep ravine, called the Flesh Cleuch, and the indefatigable
Sirrah standing in front of them, looking all around for some relief,
but still standing true to his charge. The sun was then up; and when
we first came in view of them, we concluded that it was one of the
divisions of the lambs, which Sirrah had been unable to manage until
he came to that commanding situation, for it was about a mile and a
half distant from the place where they first broke and scattered. But
what was our astonishment, when we discovered by degrees that not one
lamb of the whole flock was wanting! How he had got all the divisions
collected in the dark is beyond my comprehension. The charge was left
entirely to himself from midnight until the rising of the sun; and if
all the shepherds in the Forest had been there to assist him, they
could not have effected it with greater propriety. All that I can say
farther is, that I never felt so grateful to any creature below the
sun as I did to Sirrah that morning.

I remember another achievement of his which I admired still more. I
was sent to a place in Tweeddale, called Stanhope, to bring home a
wild ewe that had strayed from home. The place lay at the distance of
about fifteen miles, and my way to it was over steep hills, and
athwart deep glens;--there was no path, and neither Sirrah nor I had
ever travelled the road before. The ewe was brought in and put into a
barn over night; and, after being frightened in this way, was set out
to me in the morning to be driven home by herself. She was as wild as
a roe, and bounded away to the side of the mountain like one. I sent
Sirrah on a circular route wide before her, and let him know that he
had the charge of her. When I left the people at the house, Mr
Tweedie, the farmer, said to me, "Do you really suppose that you will
drive that sheep over these hills, and out through the midst of all
the sheep in the country?" I said I would try to do it. "Then, let me
tell you," said he, "that you may as well try to travel to yon sun."
The man did not know that I was destined to do both the one and the
other! Our way, as I said, lay all over wild hills, and through the
middle of flocks of sheep. I seldom got a sight of the ewe, for she
was sometimes a mile before me, sometimes two; but Sirrah kept her in
command the whole way--never suffered her to mix with other
sheep--nor, as far as I could judge, ever to deviate twenty yards from
the track by which he and I went the day before. When we came over the
great height towards Manor Water, Sirrah and his charge happened to
cross it a little before me, and our way lying down hill for several
miles, I lost all traces of them, but still held on my track. I came
to two shepherd's houses, and asked if they had seen any thing of a
black dog, with a branded face and a long tail, driving a sheep? No;
they had seen no such thing; and, besides, all their sheep, both above
and below the houses, seemed to be unmoved. I had nothing for it but
to hold on my way homeward; and at length, on the corner of a hill at
the side of the water, I discovered my trusty coal-black friend
sitting with his eye fixed intently on the burn below him, and
sometimes giving a casual glance behind to see if I was coming:--he
had the ewe standing there, safe and unhurt.

When I got her home, and set her at liberty among our own sheep, he
took it highly amiss. I could scarcely prevail with him to let her go;
and so dreadfully was he affronted, that she should have been let go
free after all his toil and trouble, that he would not come near me
all the way to the house, nor yet taste any supper when we got there.
I believe he wanted me to take her home and kill her.

He had one very laughable peculiarity, which often created no little
disturbance about the house--it was an outrageous ear for music. He
never heard music, but he drew towards it; and he never drew towards
it, but he joined in it with all his vigour. Many a good psalm, song,
and tune, was he the cause of spoiling; for when he set fairly to, at
which he was not slack, the voices of all his coadjutors had no chance
with his. It was customary with the worthy old farmer with whom I
resided, to perform family worship evening and morning; and before he
began, it was always necessary to drive Sirrah to the fields, and
close the door. If this was at any time forgot or neglected, the
moment that the psalm was raised, he joined with all his zeal, and at
such a rate, that he drowned the voices of the family before three
lines could be sung. Nothing farther could be done till Sirrah was
expelled. But then! when he got to the peat-stack knowe before the
door, especially if he got a blow in going out, be _did_ give his
powers of voice full scope, without mitigation; and even at that
distance he was often a hard match for us all.

Some imagined that it was from a painful sensation that he did this.
No such thing. Music was his delight: it always drew him towards it
like a charm. I slept in the byre-loft--Sirrah in the hay-nook in a
corner below. When sore fatigued, I sometimes retired to my bed before
the hour of family worship. In such cases, whenever the psalm was
raised in the kitchen, which was but a short distance, Sirrah left his
lair; and laying his ear close to the bottom of the door to hear more
distinctly, he growled a low note in accompaniment, till the sound
expired; and then rose, shook his ears, and returned to his hay-nook.
Sacred music affected him most; but in either that or any slow tune,
when the tones dwelt upon the keynote, they put him quite beside
himself; his eyes had the gleam of madness in them; and he sometimes
quitted singing, and literally fell to barking. All his race have the
same qualities of voice and ear in a less or greater degree.

The most painful part of Sirrah's history yet remains; but, in memory
of himself, it must be set down. He grew old, and unable to do my work
by himself. I had a son of his coming up that promised well, and was a
greater favourite with me than ever the other was. The times were
hard, and the keeping of them both was a tax upon my master which I
did not like to impose, although he made no remonstrances. I was
obliged to part with one of them; so I sold old Sirrah to a
neighbouring shepherd for three guineas. He was accustomed, while I
was smearing, or doing any work about the farm, to go with any of the
family when I ordered him, and run at their bidding the same as at my
own; but then, when he came home at night, a word of approbation from
me was recompense sufficient, and he was ready next day to go with
whomsoever I commanded him. Of course, when I sold him to this lad, he
went away when I ordered him, without any reluctance, and wrought for
him all that day and the next as well as ever he did in his life. But
when he found that he was abandoned by me, and doomed to be the slave
of a stranger for whom he did not care, he would never again do
another feasible turn. The lad said that he ran in among the sheep
like a whelp, and seemed intent on doing him all the mischief he
could. The consequence was, that he was obliged to part with him in a
short time; but he had more honour than I had, for he took him to his
father, and desired him to foster Sirrah, and be kind to him as long
as he lived, _for the sake of what he had been_; and this injunction
the old man faithfully performed.

He came back to see me now and then for months after he went away,
but afraid of the mortification of being driven from the farm-house,
he never came there; but knowing well the road that I took to the hill
in the morning, he lay down near to that. When he saw me coming, he
did not venture near me, but walked round the hill, keeping always
about two hundred yards off, and then returned to his new master
again, satisfied for the time that there was no more shelter with his
beloved old one for him. When I thought how easily one kind word would
have attached him to me for life, and how grateful it would have been
to my faithful old servant and friend, I could not help regretting my
fortune that obliged us to separate. That unfeeling tax on the
shepherd's dog, his only bread-winner, has been the cause of much pain
in this respect. The parting with old Sirrah, after all that he had
done for me, had such an effect on my heart, that I have never been
able to forget it to this day; the more I have considered his
attachment and character, the more I have admired them; and the
resolution that he took up, and persisted in, of never doing a good
turn for any other of my race, after the ingratitude that he had
experienced from me, appeared to me to have a kind of heroism and
sublimity in it. I am, however, writing nothing but the plain simple
truth, to which there are plenty of living witnesses. I then made a
vow to myself, which I have religiously kept, and ever shall, never
to sell another dog; but that I may stand acquitted of all pecuniary
motives,--which indeed those who know me will scarcely suspect me
of,--I must add, that when I saw how matters went, I never took a
farthing of the stipulated price of old Sirrah. I have Sirrah's race
to this day; and though none of them has ever equalled him as a sheep
dog, yet they have far excelled him in all the estimable qualities of
sociality and humour.

A single shepherd and his dog will accomplish more in gathering a
stock of sheep from a Highland farm, than twenty shepherds could do
without dogs; and it is a fact, that, without this docile animal, the
pastoral life would be a mere blank. Without the shepherd's dog, the
whole of the open mountainous land in Scotland would not be worth a
sixpence. It would require more hands to manage a stock of sheep,
gather them from the hills, force them into houses and folds, and
drive them to markets, than the profits of the whole stock would be
capable of maintaining. Well may the shepherd feel an interest in his
dog; he it is indeed that earns the family's bread, of which he is
himself content with the smallest morsel; always grateful, and always
ready to exert his utmost abilities in his master's interest. Neither
hunger, fatigue, nor the worst of treatment, will drive him from his
side; he will follow him through fire and water, as the saying is,
and through every hardship, without murmur or repining, till he
literally fall down dead at his foot. If one of them is obliged to
change masters, it is sometimes long before he will acknowledge the
new one, or condescend to work for him with the same willingness as he
did for his former lord; but if he once acknowledge him, he continues
attached to him till death; and though naturally proud and
high-spirited, in as far as relates to his master, these qualities (or
rather failings) are kept so much in subordination, that he has not a
will of his own.

My own renowned Hector,[A] was the son and immediate successor of the
faithful old Sirrah; and though not nearly so valuable a dog, he was a
far more interesting one. He had three times more humour and whim; and
though exceedingly docile, his bravest acts were mostly tinctured with
a grain of stupidity, which showed his reasoning faculty to be
laughably obtuse.

I shall mention a striking instance of it. I was once at the farm of
Shorthope, in Ettrick head, receiving some lambs that I had bought,
and was going to take to market, with some more, the next day. Owing
to some accidental delay, I did not get final delivery of the lambs
till it was growing late; and being obliged to be at my own house that
night, I was not a little dismayed lest I should scatter and lose my
lambs, if darkness overtook me. Darkness did overtake me by the time I
got half way, and no ordinary darkness for an August evening. The
lambs, having been weaned that day, and of the wild black-faced breed,
became exceedingly unruly, and for a good while I lost hopes of
mastering them. Hector managed the point, and we got them safe home;
but both he and his master were alike sore forefoughten. It had become
so dark, that we were obliged to fold them with candles; and after
closing them safely up, I went home with my father and the rest to
supper. When Hector's supper was set down, behold he was wanting! and
as I knew we had him at the fold, which was within call of the house,
I went out, and called and whistled on him for a good while; but he
did not make his appearance. I was distressed about this; for, having
to take away the lambs next morning, I knew I could not drive them a
mile without my dog, if it had been to save me the whole drove.

The next morning, as soon as it was day, I arose, and enquired if
Hector had come home. No; he had not been seen. I knew not what to do;
but my father proposed that he would take out the lambs and herd them,
and let them get some meat to fit them for the road; and that I should
ride with all speed to Shorthope, to see if my dog had gone back
there. Accordingly, we went together to the fold to turn out the
lambs, and there was poor Hector sitting trembling in the very middle
of the fold door, on the inside of the flake that closed it, with his
eyes still steadfastly fixed on the lambs. He had been so hardly set
with them after it grew dark, that he durst not for his life leave
them, although hungry, fatigued, and cold; for the night had turned
out a deluge of rain. He had never so much as lain down, for only the
small spot that he sat on was dry, and there had he kept watch the
whole night. Almost any other colley would have discerned that the
lambs were safe enough in the fold; but Hector had not been able to
see through this. He even refused to take my word for it, for he durst
not quit his watch, though he heard me calling both at night and
morning.

Another peculiarity of his was, that he had a mortal antipathy at the
family mouser, which was ingrained in his nature from his very
puppyhood; yet so perfectly absurd was he, that no impertinence on her
side, and no baiting on, could ever induce him to lay his mouth on
her, or injure her in the slightest degree. There was not a day, and
scarcely an hour, passed over, that the family did not get some
amusement with these two animals. Whenever he was within doors, his
whole occupation was watching and pointing the cat from morning to
night. When she flitted from one place to another, so did he in a
moment; and then squatting down, he kept his point sedulously, till he
was either called off or fell asleep.

He was an exceedingly poor taker of meat, was always to press to it,
and always lean; and often he would not taste it till we were obliged
to bring in the cat. The malicious looks that he cast at her from
under his eyebrows on such occasions, were exceedingly ludicrous,
considering his utter incapability of wronging her. Whenever he saw
her, he drew near his bicker, and looked angry, but still he would not
taste till she was brought to it; and then he cocked his tail, set up
his birses, and began a-lapping furiously, in utter desperation. His
good nature was so immovable, that he would never refuse her a share
of what he got; he even lapped close to the one side of the dish, and
left her room--but mercy as he did ply!

It will appear strange to hear a dog's reasoning faculty mentioned, as
it has been; but I have hardly ever seen a shepherd's dog do any thing
without perceiving his reasons for it. I have often amused myself in
calculating what his motives were for such and such things, and I
generally found them very cogent ones. But Hector had a droll
stupidity about him, and took up forms and rules of his own, for which
I could never perceive any motive that was not even farther out of the
way than the action itself. He had one uniform practice, and a very
bad one it was, during the time of family worship,--that just three or
four seconds before the conclusion of the prayer, he started to his
feet, and ran barking round the apartment like a crazed beast. My
father was so much amused with this, that he would never suffer me to
correct him for it, and I scarcely ever saw the old man rise from the
prayer without his endeavouring to suppress a smile at the
extravagance of Hector. None of us ever could find out how he knew
that the prayer was near done, for my father was not formal in his
prayers; but certes he did know,--of that we had nightly evidence.
There never was any thing for which I was so puzzled to discover a
reason as this; but, from accident, I did discover it, and, however
ludicrous it may appear, I am certain I was correct. It was much in
character with many of Hector's feats, and rather, I think, the most
_outr_ of any principle he ever acted on. As I said, his chief daily
occupation was pointing the cat. Now, when he saw us all kneel down in
a circle, with our faces couched on our paws, in the same posture with
himself, it struck his absurd head, that we were all engaged in
pointing the cat. He lay on tenters all the time, but the acuteness of
his ear enabling him, through time, to ascertain the very moment when
we would all spring to our feet, he thought to himself, "I shall be
first after her for you all!"

He inherited his dad's unfortunate ear for music, not perhaps in so
extravagant a degree, but he ever took care to exhibit it on the most
untimely and ill-judged occasions. Owing to some misunderstanding
between the minister of the parish and the session clerk, the
precenting in church devolved on my father, who was the senior elder.
Now, my father could have sung several of the old church tunes
middling well, in his own family circle; but it so happened, that,
when mounted in the desk, he never could command the starting notes of
any but one (St Paul's), which were always in undue readiness at the
root of his tongue, to the exclusion of every other semibreve in the
whole range of sacred melody. The minister gave out psalms four times
in the course of every day's service, and consequently the
congregation were treated with St Paul's, in the morning, at great
length, twice in the course of the service, and then once again at the
close--nothing but St Paul's. And, it being of itself a monotonous
tune, nothing could exceed the monotony that prevailed in the
primitive church of Ettrick. Out of pure sympathy for my father alone,
I was compelled to take the precentorship in hand; and, having plenty
of tunes, for a good while I came on as well as could be expected, as
men say of their wives. But, unfortunately for me, Hector found out
that I attended church every Sunday, and though I had him always
closed up carefully at home, he rarely failed to make his appearance
in church at some time of the day. Whenever I saw him, a tremor came
over my spirits; for I well knew what the issue would be. The moment
he heard my voice strike up the psalm, "with might and majesty," then
did he fall in with such overpowering vehemence, that he and I seldom
got any to join in the music but our two selves. The shepherds hid
their heads, and laid them down on the backs of the seats wrapped in
their plaids, and the lasses looked down to the ground and laughed
till their faces grew red. I disdained to stick the tune, and
therefore was obliged to carry on in spite of the obstreperous
accompaniment; but I was, time after time, so completely put out of
all countenance by the brute, that I was obliged to give up my office
in disgust, and leave the parish once more to their old friend, St
Paul.

Hector was quite incapable of performing the same feats among sheep
that his father did; but, as far as his judgment served him, he was a
docile and obliging creature. He had one singular quality, of keeping
true to the charge to which he was set. If we had been shearing, or
sorting sheep in any way, when a division was turned out, and Hector
got the word to attend to them, he would have done it pleasantly, for
a whole day, without the least symptom of weariness. No noise or hurry
about the fold, which brings every other dog from his business, had
the least effect on Hector, save that it made him a little
troublesome on his own charge, and set him a-running round and round
them, turning them in at corners, out of a sort of impatience to be
employed as well as his baying neighbours at the fold. Whenever old
Sirrah found himself hard set, in commanding wild sheep on steep
ground, where they are worst to manage, he never failed, without any
hint to the purpose, to throw himself wide in below them, and lay
their faces to the hill, by which means he got the command of them in
a minute. I never could make Hector comprehend this advantage, with
all my art, although his father found it out entirely of himself. The
former would turn or wear sheep no other way, but on the hill above
them; and though very good at it, he gave both them and himself double
the trouble and fatigue.

It cannot be supposed that he could understand all that was passing in
the little family circle, but he certainly comprehended a good part of
it. In particular, it was very easy to discover that he rarely missed
aught that was said about himself, the sheep, the cat, or of a hunt.
When aught of that nature came to be discussed, Hector's attention and
impatience soon became manifest. There was one winter evening, I said
to my mother that I was going to Bowerhope for a fortnight, for that I
had more conveniencey for writing with Alexander Laidlaw, than at
home; and I added, "But I will not take Hector with me, for he is
constantly quarrelling with the rest of the dogs, singing music, or
breeding some uproar."--"Na, na," quoth she, "leave Hector with me; I
like aye best to have him at hame, poor fallow."

These were all the words that passed. The next morning the waters were
in a great flood, and I did not go away till after breakfast; but when
the time came for tying up Hector, he was wanting--"The deuce's in
that beast," said I; "I will wager that he heard what we were saying
yesternight, and has gone off for Bowerhope as soon as the door was
opened this morning."

"If that should really be the case, I'll think the beast no canny,"
said my mother.

The Yarrow was so large as to be quite impassable, so that I had to go
up by St Mary's Loch, and go across by the boat; and, on drawing near
to Bowerhope, I soon perceived that matters had gone precisely as I
suspected. Large as the Yarrow was, and it appeared impassable by any
living creature, Hector had made his escape early in the morning, had
swum the river, and was sitting, "like a drookit hen," on a knoll at
the east end of the house, awaiting my arrival with much impatience. I
had a great attachment to this animal, who, with a good deal of
absurdity, joined all the amiable qualities of his species. He was
rather of a small size, very rough and shagged, and not far from the
colour of a fox.

His son, Lion, was the very picture of his dad, had a good deal more
sagacity, but also more selfishness. A history of the one, however,
would only be an epitome of that of the other. Mr William Nicholson
took a fine likeness of this latter one, which that gentleman still
possesses. He could not get him to sit for his picture in such a
position as he wanted, till he exhibited a singularly fine picture of
his, of a small dog, on the opposite side of the room. Lion took it
for a real animal, and, disliking its fierce and important look
exceedingly, he immediately set up his ears and his shaggy birses, and
fixing a stern eye on the picture, in manifest wrath, he would then
sit for a whole day, and point his eye at it, without moving away or
altering his position.

It is a curious fact, in the history of these animals, that the most
useless of the breed have often the greatest degree of sagacity in
trifling and useless matters. An exceedingly good sheep-dog attends to
nothing else but that particular branch of business to which he is
bred. His whole capacity is exerted and exhausted on it, and he is of
little avail in miscellaneous matters; whereas, a very indifferent
cur, bred about the house, and accustomed to assist with every thing,
will often put the more noble breed to disgrace in these paltry
services. If one calls out, for instance, that the cows are in the
corn, or the hens in the garden, the house-colley needs no other hint,
but runs and turns them out. The shepherd's dog knows not what is
astir; and, if he is called out in a hurry for such work, all that he
will do is to break to the hill, and rear himself up on end, to see if
no sheep are running away. A bred sheep-dog, if coming ravening from
the hills, and getting into a milk-house, would most likely think of
nothing else than filling his belly with the cream. Not so his
initiated brother. He is bred at home, to a more civilized behaviour.
I have known such lie night and day, among from ten to twenty pails
full of milk, and never once break the cream of one of them with the
tip of his tongue, nor would he suffer cat, rat, or any other
creature, to touch it. This latter sort, too, are far more acute at
taking up what is said in a family. There was a farmer of this
country, a Mr Alexander Cuninghame, who had a bitch that, for the
space of three or four years, in the latter part of her life, met him
always at the boundary of his farm, about a mile and a half from his
house, on his way home. If he was half a day away, a week, or a
fortnight, it was all the same; she met him at that spot, and there
never was an instance known of her going to wait his arrival there on
a wrong day. If this was a fact, which I have heard averred by people
who lived in the house at that time, she could only know of his coming
home by hearing it mentioned in the family. The same animal would have
gone and brought the cows from the hill when it grew dark, without any
bidding, yet she was a very indifferent sheep-dog.

The anecdotes of these animals are all so much alike, that were I but
to relate the thousandth part of those I have heard, they would often
look very much like repetitions. I shall therefore only mention one or
two of the most singular, which I know to be well authenticated.

There was a shepherd lad near Langholm, whose name was Scott, who
possessed a bitch, famed over all the West Border for her singular
tractability. He could have sent her home with one sheep, two sheep,
or any given number, from any of the neighbouring farms; and in the
lambing season, it was his uniform practice to send her home with the
kebbed ewes just as he got them.--I must let the town reader
understand this. A kebbed ewe is one whose lamb dies. As soon as such
is found, she is immediately brought home by the shepherd, and another
lamb put to her; and this lad, on going his rounds on the hill,
whenever he found a kebbed ewe, immediately gave her in charge to his
bitch to take home, which saved him from coming back that way again,
and going over the same ground he had looked before. She always took
them carefully home, and put them into a fold which was close by the
house, keeping watch over them till she was seen by some one of the
family; and then that moment she decamped, and hasted back to her
master, who sometimes sent her three times home in one morning, with
different charges. It was the custom of the farmer to watch her, and
take the sheep in charge from her; but this required a good deal of
caution; for as soon as she perceived that she was seen, whether the
sheep were put into the fold or not, she conceived her charge at an
end, and no flattery could induce her to stay and assist in folding
them. There was a display of accuracy and attention in this, that I
cannot say I have ever seen equalled.

The late Mr Steel, flesher in Peebles, had a bitch that was fully
equal to the one mentioned above, and that in the very same
qualification too. Her feats in taking home sheep from the
neighbouring farms into the flesh-market at Peebles by herself, form
innumerable anecdotes in that vicinity, all similar to one another.
But there is one instance related of her, that combines so much
sagacity with natural affection, that I do not think the history of
the animal creation furnishes such another.

Mr Steel had such an implicit dependence on the attention of this
animal to his orders, that whenever he put a lot of sheep before her,
he took a pride in leaving it to herself, and either remained to take
a glass with the farmer of whom he had made the purchase, or took
another road, to look after bargains or other business. But one time
he chanced to commit a drove to her charge at a place called
Willenslee, without attending to her condition, as he ought to have
done. This farm is five miles from Peebles, over wild hills, and there
is no regularly defined path to it. Whether Mr Steel remained behind,
or took another road, I know not; but on coming home late in the
evening, he was astonished at hearing that his faithful animal had
never made her appearance with the drove. He and his son, or servant,
instantly prepared to set out by different paths in search of her; but
on their going out to the street, there was she coming with the drove,
no one missing; and, marvellous to relate, she was carrying a young
pup in her mouth! She had been taken in travail on the hills; and how
the poor beast had contrived to manage her drove in her state of
suffering, is beyond human calculation; for her road lay through sheep
the whole way. Her master's heart smote him when he saw what she had
suffered and effected; but she was nothing daunted; and having
deposited her young one in a place of safety, she again set out full
speed to the hills, and brought another, and another, till she brought
her whole litter, one by one; but the last one was dead. I give this
as I have heard it related by the country people; for though I knew Mr
Walter Steel well enough, I cannot say I ever heard it from his own
mouth. I never entertained any doubt, however, of the truth of the
relation, and certainly it is worthy of being preserved, for the
credit of that most docile and affectionate of all animals--the
shepherd's dog.

The stories related of the dogs of sheep-stealers are fairly beyond
all credibility. I cannot attach credit to those, without believing
the animals to have been devils incarnate, come to the earth for the
destruction of both the souls and bodies of men. I cannot mention
names, for the sake of families that still remain in the country; but
there have been sundry men executed, who belonged to this quarter of
the realm, for that heinous crime, in my own time; and others have
absconded, just in time to save their necks. There was not one of
these to whom I allude who did not acknowledge his dog to be the
greatest offender. One young man, in particular, who was, I believe,
overtaken by justice for his first offence, stated, that after he had
folded the sheep by moonlight, and selected his number from the flock
of a former master, he took them out, and set away with them towards
Edinburgh. But before he had got them quite off the farm, his
conscience smote him, as he said, (but more likely a dread of that
which soon followed,) and he quitted the sheep, letting them go again
to the hill. He called his dog off them; and mounting his pony, rode
away. At that time he said his dog was capering and playing around
him, as if glad of having got free of a troublesome business; and he
regarded him no more, till, after having rode about three miles, he
thought again and again that he heard something coming up behind him.
Halting, at length, to ascertain what it was, in a few minutes his dog
came up with the stolen drove, driving them at a furious rate to keep
pace with his master. The sheep were all smoking, and hanging out
their tongues, and their driver was fully as warm as they. The young
man was now exceedingly troubled; for the sheep having been brought so
far from home, he dreaded there would be a pursuit, and he could not
get them home again before day. Resolving, at all events, to keep his
hands clear of them, he corrected his dog in great wrath, left the
sheep once more, and taking his dog with him, rode off a second time.
He had not ridden above a mile, till he perceived that his dog had
again given him the slip; and suspecting for what purpose, he was
terribly alarmed as well as chagrined; for the daylight approached,
and he durst not make a noise calling on his dog, for fear of alarming
the neighbourhood, in a place where both he and his dog were known. He
resolved therefore to abandon the animal to himself, and take a road
across the country which he was sure his dog did not know, and could
not follow. He took that road; but being on horseback, he could not
get across the enclosed fields. He at length came to a gate, which he
closed behind him, and went about half a mile farther, by a zigzag
course, to a farm-house where both his sister and sweetheart lived;
and at that place he remained until after breakfast time. The people
of this house were all examined on the trial, and no one had either
seen sheep, or heard them mentioned, save one man, who came up to the
young man as he was standing at the stable-door, and told him that his
dog had the sheep safe enough down at the Crooked Yett, and he needed
not hurry himself. He answered, that the sheep were not his--they were
young Mr Thomson's, who had left them to his charge; and he was in
search of a man to drive them, which made him come off his road.

After this discovery, it was impossible for the poor fellow to get
quit of them; so he went down and took possession of the stolen
property once more, carried them on, and disposed of them; and,
finally, the transaction cost him his life. The dog, for the last four
or five miles that he had brought the sheep, could have no other guide
to the road his master had gone, but the smell of his pony's feet.

It is also well known that there was a notorious sheep-stealer in the
county of Mid-Lothian, who, had it not been for the skins and
sheep's-heads, would never have been condemned, as he could, with the
greatest ease, have proved an _alibi_ every time on which there were
suspicions cherished against him. He always went by one road, calling
on his acquaintances, and taking care to appear to every body by whom
he was known; while his dog went by another with the stolen sheep; and
then on the two felons meeting again, they had nothing more ado than
turn the sheep into an associate's enclosure, in whose house the dog
was well fed and entertained, and would have soon taken all the fat
sheep on the Lothian Edges to that house. This was likewise a female,
a jet-black one, with a deep coat of soft hair, but smooth-headed, and
very strong and handsome in her make. On the disappearance of her
master, she lay about the hills and the places he had frequented; but
never attempted to steal a drove by herself, nor yet any thing for her
own hand. She was kept a while by a relation of her master's; but
never acting heartily in his service, soon came to an untimely end. Of
this there is little doubt, although some spread the report that one
evening, after uttering two or three loud howls, she had vanished!


FOOTNOTE:-

[A] See the Mountain Bard.



THE END.


EDINBURGH: PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY, PAUL'S WORK, CANONGATE.



Transcriber's note:-

Some punctuation errors were corrected.

The following apparent printer's error was addressed.

Page 146 advenure changed to adventure.
 (my escape after the adventure)

The word saacred was spelled thus in both volumes and was left
unchanged.



[End of The Shepherd's Calendar, Vol. II, by James Hogg]
