{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_39959/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_39959","id":"gutenberg_39959","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/39959","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Adventure","Category: British Literature","Category: Historical Novels","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Science-Fiction & Fantasy","Historical fiction","Scotland -- History -- Robert II, 1371-1390 -- Fiction"],"text":"Produced by Henry Flower, Carlo Traverso and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This\nbook was produced from scanned images of public domain\nmaterial from the Google Print project.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n    THE\n\n    THREE PERILS OF MAN:\n\n    _A BORDER ROMANCE_.\n\n\n\n\n    THE\n    THREE PERILS OF MAN;\n\n    OR,\n    War, Women, and Witchcraft.\n\n    _A BORDER ROMANCE._\n\n    BY JAMES HOGG,\n    AUTHOR OF \"WINTER-EVENING TALES,\" \"BROWNIE OF\n    BODSBECK,\" \"QUEEN'S WAKE,\" _&c._ _&c._\n\n    IN THREE VOLUMES.\n\n    VOL. III.\n\n    Beshrew me if I dare open it.\n        FLETCHER.\n\n    LONDON:\n    LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN,\n    PATERNOSTER-ROW.\n\n    1822.\n\n\n\n\nJohn Moir, Printer, Edinburgh, 1822.\n\n\n\n\nTHE\n\nTHREE PERILS OF MAN.\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. I.\n\n    And he said unto Satan; whence comest thou?\n    And he answered, and said, thou knowest it is true,\n    That I come from wandering on the earth,\n    And from going to and fro on it,\n    Like a masterless dog, with my bow-wow-wow.\n\n        _Zach. Boyd's Bible._\n\n\nAt the very time they were disputing about the right of Tam to proceed\nwith his tale, their ears were astounded by a loud hollo! at the gate.\nEvery man's heart leaped for joy, and every one was instantly on his\nfeet; but Charlie was first on the platform, and answered the hollo!\nwith full stentorian voice. The same voice called again,\n\n\"A Bellandine.\"\n\n\"Where bye?\" answered Charlie.\n\n\"By the moon,\" said the voice.\n\n\"And the seven stars!\" rejoined Yardbire, clapping his hands, and\nshouting for joy, \"The Warden for ever! My chief for ever! He is the\nman that cares for his own! Ah! he is the noble master.\"\n\nCharlie well knew the voice that hailed him. It was that of his friend\nand companion in arms, Dan Chisholm, whom the Warden had indeed\ndespatched all the way from Northumberland to Aikwood, to see what was\nbecome of his embassy, with six-and-twenty chosen troopers. Charlie\nScott's arm was a bulwark of strength, and his breast a tower of\nfidelity, the value of which Sir Ringan knew how to estimate, while\nhis acts of kindness and regard made a deep impression on Charlie's\nhonest unsophisticated heart; and before he would say a word about the\nsituation of either himself or his associates, he caused Dan to inform\nhim of the Warden's fortune and success in their absence. Being\nsatisfied concerning these, he called out,\n\n\"What ither uncos, Dan? What mair news are come out?\"\n\n\"O, God shield you!\" cried Dan, \"Do nae ye ken that the world's\namaist turned up-side-down sin ye left us? The trees hae turned their\nwrang ends upmost--the waters hae drowned the towns, and the hills hae\nbeen rent asunder and riddled up like heaps o' chaff. 'Tis thought\nthat there has been a siege o' hell, and that the citadel has been\nwon, for the deils are a' broken loose and rinning jabbering through\nthe land. They hae been seen, and they hae been heard; and nae man\nkens what's to be the issue, or what's to fa' out neist.\"\n\n\"Blaw lown, Dan; ye dinna ken wha may hear ye,\" said Charlie. \"We hae\nhad hand in these matter oursels: But for the sake of a' that's dear\nto you and to us bring gavelocks and ern mells, pinching-bars, and\nhowies, and break open every gate, bar, and door in this castle; for\nhere are we a' imprisoned on the top of it, and famishing to dead wi'\nhunger and starvation.\"\n\n\"That I will do wi' a' expedition,\" answered Dan. \"It is a shame for\nthe master of the castle to imprison his kinsmen's friends, who came\nto him in peace and good fellowship. What strength of opposition\nholds he?\"\n\n\"Nane, good Chisholm, but these gates. The great Master is himself a\nprisoner, and suffering with us.\"\n\n\"That dings a'!\" said Dan; \"I canna understand it! But its a' ane for\nthat; ye maunna stay there. I shall gar his gates flee a' into as mony\nflinders as there are hairs on his grey beard.\"\n\n\"If you demolish one bar of these gates, young man,\" cried the Master\nfiercely, \"you do it at your peril.\"\n\n\"So I do, and so I will,\" answered Dan: \"Either bring down my friends\nand companions to me this instant, or--I have orders,--and here goes.\"\n\n\"Man of mystery and of misery, what dost thou mean?\" said the friar.\n\"Lo I have saved thy life; and if thou refusest to let us escape from\nthe face of death, I will even throw thee from the top of thy tower,\nand thy blood shall be sprinkled on the wall.\"\n\nThe Master gave him a fierce look, but made no reply. As he strode the\nbattlement, however, he muttered to himself with great violence,\n\"Does the Christian dog dare to beard me thus? To what am I fallen? I\nam fallen low, but not to this. And not to know what I am! nor what\npower remains with me? Would that I were in the midst of my arcana and\nof the spirits once more! Young warrior, use your liberty. Break up\nand demolish. Set us all free, and see who is the profiter.\"\n\nDan scarcely needed such permission. He and twenty others had each a\nstone of at least half his own weight heaved on his shoulder, which,\nat a given signal, they all dashed on the gate at once. The bars bent,\nbut nothing gave way; and it was not before the twentieth broadside,\nin the same irresistible style, that the cross bars became like a bow\nand the lock slipped. As for the large bolt, one of the men had\nclimbed over the counterguard on the shoulders of the rest and drawn\nit. When they came to the gate of the castle, entrance seemed\nhopeless. It was stedfast and immoveable, the door being double. Dan\nbellowed for the porter, and asked those on the top what was become of\nhim; but none made answer to his rash question. After waiting a while\nfor it, with his face placed horizontally, he muttered to himself,\n\"Aha! mum there! He has gane nae gude gate, I'll warrant him. It's a\nqueer place this, an' as queer folk about it.\"\n\n\"What's queer about it, lad,\" said a strange voice through the key\nhole, whence it would not speak again.\n\nThey had nothing for it but to begin with such awkward mattocks as\nthey had, namely, a score of huge stones; but, to their excessive joy,\nthe doors gave both way at the first assault. This was owing to a most\nfortunate blunder of the friar, who, during the time he was in\npossession of the keys, had gone forth to provide for his mule, which\nhe did in an ample manner, but, on returning, had either been unable\nor unwilling to turn the tremendous locks again into their sockets;\nand open flew the gates with a jarring sound. Of course, it was not\nlong till our yeomen were thundering at the iron door on the small\nstair. It was a double door of strong iron bars, and the lock was\ninclosed between them, so that all attempts to open it appeared\nfruitless, one man only being able to get to it at once, (that is, one\non each side,) and these had no footing. After tugging at it in vain\nfor a space, Dan swore that, to open it, it would be necessary either\nto begin at the top of the tower and demolish downward, or at the\nbottom and demolish upward. This appeared a job so tedious to starving\npeople, that it was agreed to feed them with meat and drink through\nthe bars. Every man readily proffered the contents of his wallet; but\nthe getting of these through the bars required ingenuity. They poured\nthe meal through in tubes made of leather, and water and strong drink\nin the same way; but the flesh could only be got through in long small\npieces; and Tam Craik having taken his station at the back of the\ndoor, in order to hand up the provisions to his companions, none of\nthe butcher-meat (as it is now called) found its way farther. By the\ntime they had got a supply of meal, water, and distilled liquor, some\nof Dan's party, by the direction of the Master, went to bring mattocks\nfor raising the stair, and forcing a passage through below the door;\nothers had gone to the brook for more water; so that none remained in\nthe narrow stair save Dan Chisholm and another person.\n\nBy this time there was one who had been silently watching the progress\nof affairs at Aikwood castle, where he had long been accustomed to\nreckon on every thing as his own; but now there were some things\npassed under his potent eye, the true motives for which he could not\ncomprehend, and these actions were still growing more and more\nequivocal; so he resolved on trusting his sworn vassals no more to\ntheir own guardianship, but to take an active management in guiding\nthe events that so deeply concerned his honour and power. Who this\naugust personage was the reader will scarcely guess. He may perhaps\ndiscover it in the detail.\n\nIt was wearing toward evening, the sun being either set or hid behind\ndark clouds; for, short as these tales may appear as here related by\nIsaac the curate, they had taken a day in telling by the wights\nthemselves. The individuals who had been shut up were all light of\nheart and rejoicing. Delany had fainted in ecstacy, or partly,\nperhaps, by exhaustion, but was soon recovered by a cup of cold water.\nThey had got plenty of stores laid in for a night and more; so that\nthey were freed from the dread of perishing by starvation, or saving\ntheir lives by a resource of all others the most repulsive to\nhumanity. Such was the state of affairs, when the most appalling noise\nwas heard somewhere about the castle,--a noise which neither could be\ndescribed nor the cause of it discovered. The people below ran out to\nthe court or to the tops of the outer walls, and those above to the\nbattlements--but they saw nothing save the troopers' horses scowering\noff in all directions, every one of them snorting aloud, and cocking\ntheir heads and their tails. Tam Craik and Dan Chisholm were still\nstanding with their noses close to the iron door, and conversing\nthrough it. Another trooper stood close at Dan's back; and, when the\nrushing sound arose, the one said to the other,\n\n\"What the devil is that?\"\n\n\"Take care wha ye speak about here, friend, or wi' reverence be it\nspoken,\" said Tam. Then turning round, he called out, \"Yardbire, what\nhurly-burly is that?\"\n\n\"I cannot tell,\" answered Charlie; \"only I think the devil be entered\ninto the horses.\"\n\nTam, who did not hear distinctly from the top, answered Dan thus: \"He\nsays its only the devil entered into the horses.\" Dan was just about\nto reply, when the trooper tapped him on the shoulder, and said in a\nwhisper, \"Hush, squire! Good Lord! look what is behind us.\" He looked\nabout, and saw a terrific being standing on the landing-place,\nbeckoning him to come down. From an irresistible impulse, he lost no\ntime in obeying; and, pushing the trooper down before him, he\ndescended the steps. When he came to the bottom he got a full view of\nthe figure, that stood upright between two pilasters, with its face\nstraight to the aperture that lighted the place. One may judge of our\nyeomen's feelings when they gazed on a being which they always\ndescribed as follows:\n\nIt appeared about double the human size, both in might and proportion,\nits whole body being of the colour of bronze, as well as the crown\nupon its head. The skin appeared shrivelled, as if seared with fire,\nbut over that there was a polish that glittered and shone. Its eyes\nhad no pupil nor circle of white; they appeared like burning lamps\ndeep in their sockets; and when it gazed, they rolled round with a\ncircular motion. There was a hairy mantle hung down and covered its\nfeet that they could not be seen; but Dan saw its right hand, as it\npointed to them to retire, every finger of which terminated in a long\ncrooked talon that seemed of the colour of molten gold. It once opened\nits mouth, not as if to speak but to breathe, and as it stooped\nforward at the time, both of them saw it within. It had neither teeth,\ntongue, nor throat, its whole inside being hollow, and of the colour\nof burning glass.\n\nIt pointed with its right hand across its bosom for them to be gone,\nand, as they passed by with hurried strides, it drew a stroke with its\npaw which threatened to send them heels over head down the stair; but\nit withheld the blow in a moment, as if moved to some higher revenge;\nand all the way down the great winding stair, it followed and showered\non them such a torrent of burning sulphur that they were almost\noverwhelmed, all the while vomiting it from its burning bosom, with a\nnoise that resembled the hissing of a thousand great serpents. Besides\nthis, on every landing-place there were a pair of monsters placed as\nguards, immense snakes, bears, tigers, and lions, all with eyes like\nburning candles. For all these, our two yeomen still kept their feet,\nwhich was a wonder, and escaped fairly into the court of the castle.\n\nWhen they arrived there, every one of their companions had taken\nleg-bail, and were running as if for death or life; and after what our\ntwo champions had seen, there was no occasion to bid them run after\nthe others. Those above heard only the rushing noise, which still\nincreased as long as there was one of those below within the gate, but\nthey saw nothing further,--and wondered not a little when they saw\nfirst the horses run away, and then the men after them. When Charlie\nsaw that they _were_ gone, and his brother-in-arms Dan leaving the\nouter-gate the last, he called after him to go _by the mill, and see\nthat Corbie got plenty of water_.\n\nWhat our prisoners had witnessed was, like every thing else about that\ncastle, quite incomprehensible. Even the great Master himself was\nmanifestly at a loss; when he first heard the sound, and saw the\nbeginning of the confusion, his eyes beamed with exultation. He\ngave three stamps with his foot, and called aloud, as to some\ninvisible being, in an unknown tongue; but on receiving no answer his\ncountenance fell, and he looked on in gloomy mood.\n\nThe flyers vanished after their horses on the hill to the eastward of\nthe castle. Once a few of them rallied and faced about; but on the\nnext one coming up they betook them again to their heels; and thus was\nour hapless embassy left in the same state as before, save that they\nwere rather in higher spirits, their situation being now known, and\ninstant death averted. After they had refreshed themselves, most of\nthem fell into a slumber; but at length, as the evening advanced, the\npoet claimed his privilege of telling a story. Some of them proposed\nthat the conversation should be general instead, seeing the great\nstake for which they contended was now, in all likelihood, superseded.\nThe poet, however, was of a different opinion, on the ground that the\nhighest stake, in his estimation, still remained. \"What though my life\nmay not be forfeited,\" said he, \"to feed the hungry and carnivorous\nmaw of this outrageous baconist; although my warm and oozing blood may\nnot be sucked up like the stagnant marsh by bittern vile, or by the\ntawney snipe; yea, though my joints should not be skatched and\ncollared by the steel, or sinews gnawed up by officious grinder:\nWhat's that to me? a gem of higher worth, of richer acceptation, still\nremains. Beauty unsullied! pure simplicity! with high endowments, in\naffliction nursed, and cramped by bondage! Oh my very heart yearns to\ncall such a pearl of lustre mine! A kindred soul! A bosom friend! A\noh--oh--oach.\"\n\nCharlie hasted to clap his hand on the poet's mouth, as he burst out\na-crying, \"Hout, hout, Colly!\" said he, \"I am quite o' your opinion;\nbut truly this is carrying the joke ower far. I wish ye maunna hae\nbeen hauddin rather freely to your head o' thae strong liquors; for\nthe singing crew are a' drowthy deils, ilk ane o' them. Whisht,\nwhisht, and ye sal tell your tale, or sing your sang, which you like;\nand then you are free to take a collop, or gie a collop, wi' the best\no' them.\"\n\n\"I flatter myself that's rather a good thing? Eh?\" said the poet.\n\n\"What thing?\" said the other.\n\n\"The song that we overheard just now. Do you know who made that song?\nEh?\"\n\n\"Not I.\"\n\n\"But you have heard our maidens chaunt it,--have you not? God bless\nthem! Sweet, dear, sweet, sweet creatures! Why, Sir, that song happens\nto be mine; and I think I may say, without vanity, it is as good a\nthing of the kind as you ever heard? Eh?\"\n\n\"Faith, I believe it is,\" said Charlie--not knowing well what to say,\nfor he had heard no song whatever; and then turning to the rest, while\nthe poet was enlarging on the excellency of his song, he said, in an\nunder voice, \"Gude faith, the poet's either gaen clean daft, or else\nhe's drunk. What shall I say to him?\"\n\nThe poet tapped him on the shoulder, seeing he was not paying\nattention.\n\n\"It is not for this, I say, that I judge the piece worthy of\nattention; nor yet what it shows of ability, hability, docility,\nor any of the terms that end in _ility_; nor for its allegory,\ncategory, or any of the terms that end in _ory_. Neither is it for its\nversification, imagination, nor any of the thousand abominable terms\nthat end in _ation_. No, sir, the properties of all my songs, I am\nthankful to Saint Martin, end in _icity_ and _uity_. You know the\nsong, Yardbire?\"\n\n\"O yes. Quite weel.\"\n\nWhat do you think of the eleventh verse? Let me see. No, it is the\nthirteenth verse.\" \"Good Friday! are there so many?\" \"Hem--m--m.\nThe tenth is, the Ox-eye, I am sure of that. The eleventh is the\nMill-stone. The twelfth, the Cloudberry and the Shepherd Boy. The\nthirteenth, is the Gander and Water-Wagtail. It is the fourteenth.\nWhat do you think of the fourteenth? Ay, it is the Gowans and the\nLaverock that you will like best. You remember that, I am sure?\"\n\n\"O yes; to be sure I do,\"--(Aside,) \"Good Lord, the poet's horn mad!\nHeard ever any body the like o' this?\"\n\n\"How is this it runs? Ay,\n\n    When the bluart bears a pearl,\n      And the daisy turns a pea,\n    And the bonny lucken gowan\n      Has fauldit up his ee,\n    Then the laverock frae the blue lift,\n      Doops down and thinks nae shame\n    To woo his bonny lassie,\n      When the kye come hame.\n\n\"The song is good, and the music of the song also is delectable,\" said\nthe friar; \"but the voice of the singer is like a sweet psaltery that\nhath lost a string, and hath its belly rent by the staff of the\nbeater. Lo, I would even delight to hear the song from beginning to\nend.\" \"Sing it, poet, and let it stand for the tale,\" cried two of\nthem at once. \"That I will not,\" answered he; \"I will tell my tale in\nmy own style, and my own manner, as the rest have done: nevertheless,\nif my throat were not so dry, I would sing the song.\" \"It is\nplain what he wants,\" said Charlie. \"'Tis the gate wi' a' the\nminstrels,--_wet the whistle, or want the spring_.\"\n\nCharlie handed him another cup of strong drink, desiring him to take\nit off and sing. He did the first freely, and attempted the second\nwith equal alacrity; but his voice and memory both failed him by the\nway, to the great amusement of the whole party,--even the captive boy\nscreamed with laughter, and the great Master was twice constrained to\nsmile. But we must describe this scene as Isaac himself gives it.\n\nThe poet was sitting on a bench, with Charlie on the one hand, and\nDelany on the other; and, fixing his eyes on the ceiling, and clasping\nhis hands, which he heaved up at every turn of the tune, he went on\nthus:\n\n    THE SWEETEST THING THE BEST THING.\n\n    _A SONG._\n\n    VERSE FIRST.\n\n    Come tell me a' you shepherds\n      That love the tarry woo',\n    And tell me a' you jolly boys\n      That whistle at the plow,\n    What is the greatest bliss\n      That the tongue of man can name,\n    'Tis \"To woo a bonny lassie\n      When the kye come hame.\"\n    When the kye come hame,\n      When the kye come hame,\n    'Tween the gloaming and the mirk,\n      When the kye come hame.\n\nThat's the burden, or the quoir, as father Cormack calls it;--the\no'erword, like.\n\n    VERSE SECOND.\n\n    'Tis not beneath the burgonet,\n      Nor yet beneath the crown,\n    'Tis not on couch of velvet,\n      Nor yet in bed of down;\n    'Tis beneath the spreading birch\n      In the dell without the name,\n    Wi' a bonny bonny lassie,\n      When the kye come hame.\n    When the kye come hame, &c.\n\n    VERSE THIRD.\n\n    There the blackbird bigs his nest\n      For the mate he lo'es to see,\n    And on the topmost bough,\n      Oh a happy bird is he!\n    There he pours his melting ditty,\n      And love 'tis a' the theme;\n    And he'll woo his bonny lassie\n      When the kye come hame.\n    When the kye come hame, &c.\n\n    VERSE FOURTH.\n\n    When the little wee bit heart\n      Rises high in the breast,\n    And the little wee bit starn\n      Rises red in the east,\n    O there's a joy sae dear,\n      That the heart can hardly frame,\n    Wi' a bonny bonny lassie,\n      When the kye come hame.\n    When the kye come hame, &c.\n\n    VERSE FIFTH.\n\n    Then the eye shines sae bright,\n      The hale soul to beguile,\n    There's love in every whisper,\n      And joy in every smile.\n    O wha wad chuse a crown\n      Wi' its perils and its fame,\n    And miss a bonny lassie\n      When the kye come hame.\n    When the kye come hame, &c.\n\nHere the poet warred a long time with recollection, always repeating,\n\"I made the thing, and it is impossible I can forget it--I can't\ncomprehend----\" At length he sung the following verse, which he said\nwas the fifteenth.\n\n    VERSE THE FIFTEENTH.\n\n    See yonder pawky shepherd,\n      That lingers on the hill,\n    His ewes are in the fauld\n      And his lambs are lying still;\n    Yet he downa gang to bed,\n      For his heart is in a flame,\n    To meet his bonnie lassie,\n      When the kye come hame.\n    When the kye come hame, &c.\n\n    VERSE SIXTEENTH AND LAST.\n\n    Away wi' fame and fortune,\n      What comfort can they gie?\n    And a' the arts that prey\n      On man's life and libertye;\n    Gie me the highest joy\n      That the heart of man can frame,\n    My bonny, bonny lassie,\n      When the kye come hame.\n    When the kye come hame,\n      When the kye come hame;\n    'Tween the gloaming and the mirk,\n      When the kye come hame.\n\n\"I made the thing,\" added the poet; \"but God knows how I have forgot\nit. Since I came to the top of this cursed tower, the wind has blown\nit out of my head.\" With these words he fell into a profound sleep,\nwhich they suffered him to enjoy, before he began his competition. In\nthe meantime, Isaac relates an extraordinary story of a certain\nconsultation that took place in the castle in that very interim, but\ndoes not say on what authority he had it, none of the parties yet\nnamed having apparently heard it.\n\nThe castle of Aikwood, says he, being left as before, an ample\nand perilous void, some old and frequent inmates took undisputed\npossession. The leader and convoker of this gang was no other than\nthe Master Fiend who ordered our yeomen out of the castle, and chased\nthem forth, with so little ceremony. In the great Master's study was\nhis gigantic and commanding frame placed at the end of the board,\nwhile the three pages, Prig, Prim, and Pricker, were waiting his beck.\n\n\"Come nigh me, my friends,\" said he; \"and read me what is to be done\nwith this king of mighty conjurors now?\"\n\n\"What thou willest, our Lord and Master,\" was the reply: \"Give the\ncommand with the power, and thy pleasure shall be done.\"\n\n\"How canst thou answer for thy negligence in suffering this cowled and\ncanting vagabond to gain admittance here with his saws and parables,\nhis crosiers and his writings?\"\n\n\"We meant to devour him, but our power extended not to it. Thou hast\nseen the bones of one whom we suspected.\"\n\n\"You are indolent and wayward slaves. Either separate our greatest\nvassal on earth from this captious professor, or you shall be\npunished with many stripes. Our sway is dishonoured if such a man as\nhe is suffered to take shelter under a crosier, and there hold our\npower at bay,--our control at defiance.\"--\"Return to him that power\nwhich since his dejection has been withdrawn, and you are sure of him\nstill. Riches and honours he despises: feasting and wine-bibing he\nabhors: but for power to do what no other man can perform, he would\nsell twenty souls, were they in his power of disposal.\"\n\n\"He is a great man, and well suited for our free independent\ngovernment. By his principle of insubordination to established\nauthorities, I yet hope to bring all mankind to my own mind and my own\ncountry. Read me my riddle, you three slaves. What is the most hateful\nthing in nature?\"\n\n\"A saint.\"\n\n\"More ready than right, and more right than ingenious. Show cause.\"\n\n\"Because he is the greatest coward, and all that he does springs from\nthe detestable passion of terror.\"\n\n\"Right. Which being is the most noble?\"\n\n\"The opposer of all established authorities ordained by the tyrant of\nthe universe.\"\n\n\"Right! Right! These are the men for me, and of these this Master was\na great ensample. Therefore, Separate! Separate! Separate! My\nelemental power is solemnly engaged; but on the morning of the third\nday, it shall be given to you to work again at your Master's will.\nTill that time it will be as well to prevent all ingress and egress\nhere; and at that time I will come again. Speed you well, nimble\nnoddies; shape well and shard well, and the day is your own. While I\ntransform my shape, sing me the song that I love. Whenever I hear it,\nmy furtherance is the better. The imps complied, and the redoubted\nfiend laughed till the walls of the castle shook, while those on the\ntop took it for the great bittern of the Hartwood, called there the\nBogbumper.\n\n          HYMN TO THE DEVIL.\n\n          SPEED thee, speed thee!\n          Liberty lead thee!\n    Many this night shall hearken and heed thee.\n            Far abroad,\n            Demigod!\n        What shall appal thee?\n    Javel, or Devil, or how shall we call thee?\n    Thine the night voices of joy and of weeping,\n    The whisper awake, and the vision when sleeping:\n    The bloated kings of the earth shall brood\n    On princedoms and provinces bought with blood,\n    Shall slubber, and snore, and to-morrow's breath\n    Shall order the muster and march of death:\n    The trumpets shall sound, and the gonfalons flee,\n    And thousands of souls step home to thee.\n      Speed thee, speed thee, &c.\n\n    The warrior shall dream of battle begun,\n    Of field-day and foray, and foeman undone;\n    Of provinces sacked, and warrior store,\n    Of hurry and havoc, and hampers of ore;\n    Of captive maidens for joys abundant,\n    And ransom vast when these grow redundant.\n    Hurray! for the foray. Fiends ride forth a souling,\n    For the dogs of havock are yelping and yowling.\n        Speed thee, speed thee, &c.\n\n          Make the bedesman's dream\n          With treasure to teem;\n            To-day and to-morrow\n            He has but one aim,\n      And 'tis still the same, and 'tis still the same.\n    But well thou knowest the sot's demerit,\n    His richness of flesh, and his poorness of spirit;\n    And well thy images thou canst frame,\n    On canvas of pride, with pencil of flame:\n    A broad demesne is a view of glory,\n    For praying a soul from purgatory:\n    And, O let the dame be fervent and fair,\n    Amorous, and righteous, and husband beware!\n    For there's a confession so often repeated,\n    The eyes are enlightened, the life-blood is heated.\n    Hish!--Hush!--soft foot and silence,\n    The sons of the abbot are lords of the Highlands.\n    Thou canst make lubbard and lighthead agree,\n    Wallow a while, and come home to thee.\n          Speed thee, speed thee, &c.\n\n    Where goest thou next, by hamlet or shore,\n    When kings, when warriors, and priests are o'er?\n    These for thee have the most to do,\n    And these are the men must be looked unto.\n    On courtier deign not to look down,\n    Who swells at a smile, and faints at a frown.\n    With noble maid stay not to parle,\n    But give her one glance of the golden arle.\n    Then, oh, there's a creature thou needs must see,\n    Upright, and saintly, and stern is she!\n    'Tis the old maid, with visage demure,\n    With cat on her lap, and dogs on the floor.\n    Master, she'll prove a match for thee,\n    With her psalter, and crosier, and Ave Mari.\n    Move her with things above and below,\n    Tickle her and teaze her from lip to toe;\n    Should all prove vain, and nothing can move;\n    If dead to ambition, and cold to love,\n    One passion still success will crown,\n    A glorious energy all thine own!\n    'Tis envy; a die that never can fail\n    With children, matron, or maiden stale.\n    Shew them in dreams from night to day\n    A happy mother, and offspring gay;\n    Show them the maiden in youthful prime,\n    Followed and wooed, improving her time;\n    And their hearts will sicken with envy and spleen,\n    A leperous jaundice of yellow and green:\n    And though frightened for hell to a boundless degree,\n    They'll singe their dry perriwigs yet with thee.\n        Speed thee, speed thee, &c.\n\n    Where goest thou next? Where wilt thou hie thee?\n    Still there is rubbish enough to try thee.\n    Whisper the matron of lordly fame,\n    There's a greater than she in splendor and name;\n    And her bosom shall swell with the grievous load,\n    And torrents of slander shall volley abroad,\n    Imbued with venom and bitter despair:\n    O sweet are the sounds to the Prince of the Air!\n    Reach the proud yeoman a bang with a spear,\n    And the tippling burgess a yerk on the ear;\n    Put fees in the eye of the poisoning leech,\n    And give the dull peasant a kick on the breech:\n    As for the flush maiden, the rosy elf,\n    You may pass her by, she will dream of herself.\n    But that all may be gain, and nothing loss,\n    Keep eye on the men with the cowl and the cross;\n    Then shall the world go swimming before thee,\n    In a full tide of liberty, licence, and glory!\n            Speed thee, speed thee, &c.\n\n    Hail, patriot spirit! thy labours be blest!\n    For of all great reformers thyself wert the first;\n    Thou wert the first, with discernment strong,\n    To perceive that all rights divine were wrong;\n    And long hast thou spent thy sovereign breath,\n    In heaven above and in earth beneath,\n    And roared it from thy burning throne,\n    The glory of independence alone;\n    Proclaiming to all, with fervor and irony,\n    That kingly dominion's all humbug and tyranny;\n    And whoso listeth may be free,\n    For freedom, full freedom's the word with thee!\n    That life has its pleasures--the rest is a sham,\n    And all that comes after a flim and a flam!\n            Speed thee! Speed thee!\n            Liberty lead thee!\n    Many this night shall hearken and heed thee.\n                Hie abroad,\n                Demigod!\n            Who shall defame thee?\n    King of the Elements! how shall we name thee?\n\nAs the imps concluded their song, our prisoners on the top of the\ncastle perceived a large rough watch-dog jogging out at the gate of\nthe castle, and following in the direction of the fugitives. When the\nbrute saw that he was perceived he turned round, set up his snout\ntoward the battlements, and uttered a loud bow-wow-wow, which, when\nthe great Master heard, he started to his feet, and, with wild staring\nlooks, and his hair standing on end, took shelter behind the friar.\"\n\n\"Behold thou, and see with thine eyes, that it is only a watch-dog\ncome from the camp of our captain,\" said the friar. \"Lo, thy very\nnature is changed since first I saw thee.\"\n\n\"Then, would to the gods that I had never seen thee, or that I had\nseen thee sooner,\" said the Master; and strode away to discourage any\nfarther reply. The dog followed the fugitives, and bent his course\ntoward the mill.\n\nThat being the next inhabited house to the eastward, Dan Chisholm and\nhis yeomen landed all there; and in full assembly he related, to\ntheir terror and astonishment, how he had seen the devil himself and\nseveral of his monstrous agents, who had chased him from the castle,\nspuing fire and brimstone on him like a cataract. The rest said, that\nthough they had not seen the devil, they had seen and heard enough to\nput any rational being out of his senses, and as much as to teach them\nnever to go there again. Dan swore that they were not to be taught any\nsuch thing; for, said he, \"Our captain's friends, and our own brethren\nin arms, are most unwarrantably, and I must also say unaccountably,\nconfined there,--and we will either free them or perish in the\nattempt. I can find plenty of holy men that, with book and candle, can\nwithstand the devil, and shall make him flee from his stronghold like\nfire from the flint. If I had the gospel friar on the one side of him,\nand Father Brand, or Capuchin Cairnabie, on the other, I shall gar him\nskip.\" While Dan was in the middle of this speech, in comes the great\nrough watch-dog; who, after fawning on some of the warriors as on old\nacquaintances, took his station in a dark corner of the miller's\nthronged hall, and began a licking his feet, but at the same time\ntaking good heed to all that passed. It was finally agreed that Dan\nand a companion should ride straight to Melrose, and represent their\ncase to the holy abbot there, who was devoted to the interests of\ntheir captain, and who, it was not doubted, would devise means of\nexpelling the old demon from his guardship, and letting free their\nfriends, who were all baptised men and good Christians. As they formed\nthese sapient devices, many hard things were said of the devil; and\nour warriors seemed rather inclined to make a laughing-stock of him,\ntill the miller's maid interrupted them with the following question:\n\n\"Wha o' you trooper chaps does this maskis dog belang to?\"\n\n\"To nane o' us,\" was answered by several at the same time.\n\n\"I wish ye wad tent him, then,\" said she, \"for, this wee while bygane,\nhis een hae been glentin like twa blue burnin candles: I wish he be\nnae a mad ane.\"\n\n\"Sneck doors, and out swords,\" cried the miller: \"We'll hae him\nproven.\"\n\nThe doors were shut, and the yeomen surrounded the dog with their\ndrawn weapons. The poor beast lay as harmless-like as a lamb, with his\nhead upon his fore feet so as to hide them, turning up his eyes from\nbelow his shaggy brows in a beseeching manner, and wagging his tail\ntill it played thump, thump, on the floor. But this did not hinder the\nmiller from reconnoitring, though it gave him rather a favourable\nopinion of his shaggy guest. \"Poor fellow,\" said the miller, \"wha's\ndog may ye be?\" The dog forgot himself; he lifted up his head in a\nkind acknowledging manner to the miller, who, looking narrowly at him,\ncried out: \"A marvel! a marvel! saw ever ony mortal man the like o'\nthis? Here's a tyke wi' cloven cloots like a gait, fairney cloots and\na' thegither. The Holy Virgin be wi' us! I believe we hae gotten\nthe----\"\n\nHere the miller was interrupted, without getting the sentence\nconcluded. The dog sprung to his feet, appearing twice as big as when\nhe entered. \"Bow-wow-wow!\" roared he in the miller's face with the\nvoice of an enraged lion; \"Bow-wow-wow!\" And as he bayed from side to\nside on the warrior circle, they all retreated backward till the wall\nstopped them. Well might they,--for they perceived, by his open mouth,\nthe same appearance that Dan had before witnessed, namely, a stomach\nand chest of burning flame. \"Bow-wow-wow!\" reiterated he: \"Youph,\nyouph, youph.\" All fled back aghast; but the attack was of short\nduration. The miller had a huge fire of seeds, above a burning log of\nwood, which he had heaped on for the comfort of his guests. When the\ndog reached that, he broke into it, appearing to bury himself in the\ncoil of fiery dust. It flashed upwards in millions of burning atoms,\nand in the midst of them up flew the dog out at the top of the lum,\nwith a tremendous \"Bow-wow-wow!\"\n\nAll was silence for a few seconds, while our yeomen stood in a circle,\nwith their weapons drawn, and their backs at the wall, gaping with\naffright, and staring on one another. \"By Saint Thomas, we are\nhaunted!\" cried Dan, breaking silence; \"That is the same chap I\nforgathered wi' afore in the staircase of the castle, I ken him by his\nlowin lungs, though he has changed his shape.\" He was interrupted by a\nloud laugh on the top of the house, and a voice that said, in a\njeering tone, \"Ha, ha, ha! Andrew Chisholm is that you? I have found\nout a' your plans,--and ride you to Melrose, or ride you to Dryburgh,\nI'll be there afore you to lend you a lift. Ay, and I'll keep Aikwood\ncastle in spite o' you and a' your master's men.\"\n\nDan could not contain his indignation on hearing this brag. He ran\nforward to the brace, put his neck under it, and turning his nose up\nthe lum (or rustic chimney) answered, \"Deil o' that ye're fit to do,\nauld tyke. Ye're but a liar at best and the father o' liars. Gang and\ntoast heathen bacon in your ain het hame. What seek ye here amang leel\nmen?\"\n\n\"Weel answered, and like yoursel, Dan!\" said one of the yeomen, and\nslapped him on the shoulder, which rousing his spirit still farther,\nhe added, \"Confound you Robin's Geordie o' Feindhope-haugh, what for\ndidna ye strike when the foul thief set up his gousty gab at your nose\nwi' his impudent bow-wow-wow; I see nae right ony o' God's creatures\nhae to be hurlbarrowed out o' their standing wi' him.\"\n\nAs he finished the remark, there was something came to the door, and\ngave two or three rude impatient scratches, exactly in the same manner\nthat a strong dog does that wants to be in. This instantly changed the\ncheer of our sturdy group, that with one involuntary movement closed\nround the hearth, as the point the most distant from the door.\n\n\"That's him again,\" said the miller's lass.\n\n\"The Lord forbid,\" said the miller: \"I wonder what multure he wants\nfrae me. Though I live on the lands of a Master of Arts, I had nae\ninkling that I was thirl to hell. Brave lads, can nane of you rhame a\nmass, a credo, or a paternoster? He is but a coward at best; I hae\nkend a monk, wi' his crosier and his cowl, chace him like a rabbit.\"\n\n\"I fear we'll prove but lame hands at that,\" said Dan, \"and think we\nhad better sally out on him sword in hand, and see what he can either\nsay or do for himself. But, Chryste, I needna say that, considering\nthat I ken sae weel what his lining's made of.\"\n\n\"I hae a cross and chain in the house,\" said the miller, \"that was\nconsecrated at the shrine of St Bothan; whoever will be our leader\nshall bear that before him, and we'll bang the auld thief away frae\nour bigging.\"\n\nThe scratching was renewed with redoubled fury. Our yeomen crowded\ncloser around the fire, till all at once their ears were saluted by a\nfurious \"bow-wow-wow\" down the lum, which, in spite of their utmost\nresolution, scattered them like a covey of heath-fowl over which the\nhawk is hovering, when every one endeavours to shift for itself, and\nhide in its own heather bush.\n\nTheir faces were by this time flushed with shame as well as fear, that\nthey should be thus cuffed about by \"the auld thief,\" as they styled\nhim. Resolved, therefore, to make one great and strenuous effort, the\nmiller brought out his consecrated cross, some tied sticks, and others\nhorn spoons across, till all were armed with the same irresistible\nsymbol, and then they marshalled up before the fire, uncovered their\nheads, and with the ensigns reared before them, waited for a moment\nthe word of command to march out to the grand attack. The arch fiend,\nnot choosing to wait the issue, raised such a horse laugh on the top\nof the lum that their ears were deafened with the noise; and clapping\nhis paws that sounded like the strokes of battering ram's horns, he\nlaughed till the upper and nether millstones chattered against each\nother, and away he bounded through the clouds of the night, apparently\nin an agony of laughter.\n\n\"Aha! there he goes!\" said Dan: \"There's nae guidance to be had o'\nhim, and as little mense in meddling wi' him.\"\n\n\"Ay, let him e'en gang,\" said the miller; \"he's the warst mouse o' the\nmill. Ane had better tine the blind bitch's litter than hae the mill\nsinged wi' brimstone. I lurd rather deal wi' the thankless maltster,\nthat neither gi'es coup, neivefu', nor lippie, than wi' him. I have no\npart of the breviary but a glorious preamble; kneel till I repeat it.\"\n\nThe troopers kneeled round the miller, who, lifting up his hands,\nsaid, with great fervour, \"O semper timidum scelus! Obstupui,\nsteteruntque com\u00e6 et vox faucibus h\u00e6sit. O Deus; nusquam tuta fides!\nAmen.\" \"Amen!\" repeated all the group, and arose greatly strengthened\nand encouraged by the miller's _preamble_.\n\nThey spent that night around the miller's hearth, and had a cog of\ngood brose to their supper. The next morning Dan and two associates\nrode off for Melrose, to lay their case before the friendly abbot, and\nto beg assistance; which, notwithstanding the devil's brag, they were\nnot afraid of obtaining. But the important events that followed must\nbe related in course, while we return to those friends in their\nelevated confinement, to whom that night the poet related the\nfollowing tale.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n    _Lord Duf._ Did you not wake them, Cornaro?\n\n      _Cor._ Alas! my lord, I could not.\n        Their slumber was so deep, it seemed to me\n        A sleep eternal. Not a sleep of death,\n        But of extatic silence. Such a beam\n        Of joy and happiness I ne'er beheld\n        Shed from the human face.\n\n        _The Prioress, a Tragedy._\n\n\nThe Poet's Tale.\n\nFain would I tell my friends and fellow-sufferers of my translation\nhence. Of all the joys and ecstacies of that celestial clime, ycleped\nthe land of faery; were it not that one is here whose sex forbids it,\nand whose gentle nature from such a tale would shrink, as doth the\nflower before the nipping gale. You all have heard of that celestial\nform, the white lady? And of that wan and beatific presence there\nlives in my remembrance some faint image of saintly beauty. But list\nto me, my friends, and do not smile, far less break forth with loud\nuncourteous neigh, like war horse in the charge,--vile waste of\nbreath! convulsive, unrestrained. But hear the truth: _It was not she\nwho bore me from this land_,--not she, _the white lady_, as all\ndivined. No, it was a form of flesh, and that flesh too of most rare\nquality. Fair, witching, plump, rosy and amorous; and of unmarred\nproportions. Sooth, she who lured me from my rustic home no other was\nthan wandering minstreless, queen to the mightiest harper ever born.\nSole empress of a tuneful wayward choir, thoughtless and giddy. But\ntheir music stole my very soul away. What could I do but follow it, to\nlisten and to sing. In that bright train I sought the Scottish court,\nthe nobles' hall, and every motely scene of loud festivity throughout\nthe land. There have I heard and seen such scenes of love, of\ndalliance, and of mirth, of deep intrigue and violent cruelty, as eye\nof minstrel hath not witnessed. Yes, I have seen things not to be\nexpressed, at least not here. Therefore I'll change the rule this\nnight pursued, of saying what myself have seen and done. The fairy\nland in which I sojourned was fair Caledon; and there I had my living\nminstrel joys in high abundance. But I grieve to say, a fatal brawl\nplaced all of us within the line to which the sword of vengeance\nextends its dreadful sway. Our group dispersed. The soul of melody was\nthen no more! The sounds of harmony divine were hushed; all scattered\non the winds of other lands, and other climes, to charm with wailing\nnumbers. Southward I came, amid the border clans to trust my life, men\nlawless as myself. They once had saved me when a helpless orphan. Whom\ncould I better trust? And I have found their generosity alone out-done\nby their own courage. For my adventures, let this sketch suffice. And\nthough not of the fairyland, I will relate a tale, as pure, as\nwonderful and full of mystery, as if in other worlds I'd learned it. I\nhad it from a simple peasant's mouth, an old grey hind upon the Sidley\nhills, who vouched its truth. With faltering tongue, and palpitating\nheart, for love, for life, and all the soul holds dear, I say my tale.\nO be my soul rapt to the estimate at which I hold the prize, and the\ndivine and holy narrative.\n\nOnce on a time, in that sweet northern land called Otholine, the\nheathen Hongar landed, and o'er-ran city and dale. The rampart and the\nflood in vain withstood his might. Even to the base of the unconquered\nGrampians did he wend with fire and sword; and all who would not\nkneel, and sacrifice to his strange northern gods, he tortured to the\ndeath. Some few renounced the cross, for sordid life, and dread of\nunheard torments. Men were roasted; matrons impaled; and pure\nvirginity was given up to the rude soldiery to be abused, or humbled\nas they termed it. Then were they decked with flowers and ornaments,\nled forth in pairs unto the horrid shrine, and sacrificed to Odin.\n\nAt that time there lived three beauteous sisters of the line of mighty\nkings. They were so passing fair, that all who saw them wondered, and\nall who wondered loved. Hongar and Hubba, these two heathen brothers,\nand princes of the Danes, heard of their fame, their beauty, and their\nexcellencies of nature, and sent to seize them in their father's\ntower, that in the heights of Stormonth stood secure. The castle was\nsurprised, the virgins seized, and carried to the camp. There to their\ndreadful trial were they brought, and bid to curse the sacred name\nthey feared and worshipped; to renounce the holy cross, and worship\nOdin, or give up their bodies to shame, to ignominy, and to death on\nOdin's hideous altar. Marley and Morna both kneeled and intreated,\nbegged a little time to ponder on the dread alternative. But the young\nsprightly Lena, fairest she of Albyn's virgins, browed the invader's\nthreat with dauntless eye: That eye whose liquid smile in love's sweet\nconverse had been formed to beam.\n\n\"Thou savage heathen!\" cried she, \"dost thou think to intimidate the\nroyal maids of Caledon to thy most barbarous faith? Tyrant, thou art\ndeceived. I dare thine ire. Thou may'st torment me; for I'm in thine\nhands, and thy heart ne'er knew pity. Thou may'st tear this tender\nfragile form with pincing irons. But my soul's purity thou never\nshall subdue by threat, by engine, or by flame. Thee and thy god I\nscorn--I curse you both. I lean upon the rock that will not yield; and\nput my trust in one whose mighty arm can crush thee mid thy idol to an\natom. I know he'll save me. He will save us all, if we but trust him\nwithout sinful dread. Here, underneath his bleeding cross, I kneel,\nand cast myself and my poor sisters here, upon his mercy. Here I make\na vow to stand for him, and for his sacred truth, and for no other.\nNow, thou ruthless savage, here I defy thee. Do thy worst to us, and\nthou shalt see if Jesus or if Odin shall prevail, and who can best\npreserve their worshippers.\n\nThe heathen brothers smiled; and Hongar said, \"How wildly sweet the\nlittle Christian looks! I make my choice to humble and prepare her for\nthe base slaves of Odin's warlike halls. Go warriors, lock them up in\ndonjon deep, until the hour of midnight, when the rites of Odin shall\nbegin. Then will we send and bring them to the test; and all shall\nsee whose God is most in might, and who must yield.\n\nIn prison dark the virgins were immured, with sevenfold gates and\nsevenfold bars shut in. Soon as they were alone, the sisters twain,\nMarley and Morna, in fond tears embraced their youngest sister, lauded\nher high soul, and vowed with her to stand, with her to die, unsullied\nin the faith they had been taught.\n\nThen did they kneel on the cold dungeon floor, and one by one offered\ntheir fervent prayers at mercy's footstool. But chiefly were their\nvows made to the Holy Virgin; for they hoped that she would save their\npure virginity from sin's pollution. Never did prayers ascend up to\nheaven with greater fervency. And as the hour of midnight on them\ndrew, they kneeled; and, side by side, with lifted hands, and eyes\nturned toward heaven, sang aloud this holy simple hymn to their\nRedeemer.\n\nHYMN TO THE REDEEMER.\n\n    SON of the Virgin, hear us! hear us!\n    Son of the living God, be near us!\n    Thou who art man in form and feature,\n    Yet God of glory, and God of nature.\n    Thou who led'st the star of the East,\n    Yet helpless lay at a Virgin's breast;\n    Slept in the manger, and cried on the knee,\n    Yet rulest o'er Time and Eternity.\n    Pity thy creatures here kneeling in dust;\n    Pity the beings in Thee that trust!\n      Thou who fed'st the hungry with bread,\n    And raised'st from the grave the mouldering dead;\n    Who walked'st on the waves of the rolling main,\n    Who cried'st to thy Father, and cried'st in vain;\n    Yet wept for the woes and the sins of man,\n    And prayed'st for them when thy life-blood ran;\n    With thy last breath who cried'st FORGIVE!\n    When bleeding and dying, that man might live!\n    Over death and the grave hast the victory won,\n    And now art enthroned by the stars and the sun.\n    For thy name's glory, hear us, and come,\n    And show thy power over idols dumb.\n      O leave the abodes of glory and bliss,\n    The realms of heavenly happiness;\n    Come swifter than the gale of even\n    On thy lightning's wing, the chariot of heaven;\n    By the gates of light and the glowing sphere,\n    O come on thy errand of mercy here!\n      But Lord of glory we know not thee,\n        We know not what we say;\n      We cannot from thy presence be,\n        Nor from thine eye away:\n    For though on the right hand of God,\n    Thou art here in this dark and drear abode:\n    Beyond the moon and the starry way\n    Thou holdest thy Almighty sway,\n    Where spirits in floods of light are swimming,\n    And angels round thy throne are hymning;\n    Yet present with all who call on thee\n    In this world of wo and adversity.\n      Then, O, thou Son of the Virgin, hear us!\n    God of love and of life be near us!\n    Our hour of trial is at hand,\n    And without thy aid how shall we stand?\n    Our stains wash out, our sins forgive;\n    And before thee may our spirits live.\n    For thee and thy truth be our bosoms steeled:\n    O be our help, our stay, our shield:\n    Show thy dread power for mercy's sake,\n    For thy name, and thy glory, and all is at stake;\n    Bow down thy heavens, and rend them asunder,\n    And come in the cloud, in the flame, or the thunder.\n\nThe trumpets now were sounding, while the host arose from wine and\nwassail, to prepare the baleful sacrifice of Christian souls. The\nvirgins heard, and trembled as they kneeled; and beauteous Lena\nraised her slender hands, and prayed, with many tears, that the\nAlmighty would stretch out his right hand and close their eyes in\neverlasting sleep, to save them from self-slaughter, or the fate they\ndreaded more.\n\nWhile yet the words were but in utterance, and ere the vow was vowed,\nthey heard the gates unbarred one after one, and saw the lights glance\nthrough the lurid gloom. Each youthful heart turned, as it were, to\nstone; for well they weened the Danish soldiers came to bring them\nforth to shame and death. They kept their humble posture, with hands\nand eyes upraised, for they expected no pity or compassion save from\nheaven.\n\nThe inmost door upon its hinges turned, like thunder out of tune; and,\nlo! there entered,--no heathen soldier,--but a radiant form covered\nwith light as with a flowing robe. In his right hand he bore a golden\nrod, and in his left a lamp that shone as bright as the noon-day sun.\nA thousand thousand gems, from off his raiment, cast their dazzling\nlustre. Diamonds and rubies formed alternate stars, while all between\nwas rayed and spangled o'er with ever-varying brightness. Round his\nhead he wore a wreath of emeralds; these were set with never-fading\ngreen. They deemed he was the great high priest of Odin come to lead\nthem to the sacrifice. But yet his look, so mild and so benign, raised\nhalf a hope within their breasts of pity and regard. They were about\nto plead; but ere a sound breathed from their lips, the stranger\nbeckoned them to silence. Then, in mild and courteous strain, in their\nown tongue, he thus accosted them:\n\n\"To ONE already have your vows been framed; and would you bow to\nanother? You have pleaded to heaven's high King; and would you plead\nto man? Rise up, and follow me.\" The virgins rose; they had not power\nto stay,--and followed him, alas! they knew not whither. They had no\nvoice to question or complain. Door after door they passed; gate after\ngate; and still their guide touching them with his golden rod, they\nclosed in jangling fury. Onward still they moved, and met the heathen\nbands, led by their chiefs, Hongar and Hubba. They were drunk with\nwine; and loudly did they halloo when they saw their prey escaped, and\nwalking on the street all beauteous and serene: Closing around the\nfugitives, and jabbering uncouth terms and words obscene, the chiefs\nopened their arms to seize the helpless three. Just then their guide\nturned round unmoved, and waving his bright rod, the heathens\nstaggered, uttered mumbling sounds, and, trying vainly to support\nthemselves, reeling they sunk enfeebled to the earth, where all as\nstill and motionless they lay as piles of lifeless corpses. How the\nvirgins wondered at what they saw! and fearless now they followed\ntheir bright leader. Next they met the priests of Odin, in their wild\nattire, marching in grand procession to the scene of mighty sacrifice.\nAloft they bore their hideous giant idol; by his sides his loathsome\nconsort and his monster son, Freya and Thor, while all their followers\nsung this choral hymn in loud and warlike strains:\n\nHYMN TO ODIN.\n\n    I.\n\n        HE comes! he comes!\n        Great Odin comes!\n    Who can rise or stand before him?\n        The god of the bloody field,\n        The sword, and the ruddy shield;\n    The god of the Danes, let all adore him.\n\n    II.\n\n        Wake the glad measure to\n        The goddess of pleasure too,\n    Who fills every hero with joy and with love!\n        And hail to dread Thor,\n          Great son of great sire,\n        The quaffer of gore,\n          And the dweller in fire:\n    The god of the sun, and the lightnings above.\n\n    III.\n\n        Prepare! prepare!\n        The feast prepare,\n    Since mighty Thor our guest shall be:\n        Three times three,\n        And three times three,\n    This day shall bleed for repast to thee!\n\n    IV.\n\n        Strike the light,\n        Make the flame burn bright,\n    Since Freya is here who gives delight!\n        Three times three,\n        And nine times nine,\n    This day shall bleed on altar of thine.\n\n    V.\n\n        Shout and sing,\n        Till the mountains ring!\n    The father of men, and of gods the king!\n        See him advance\n        With sword and lance;\n    Billows of life-blood, heroes, bring!\n\n    VI.\n\n        God of Alhallah's dome!\n        God of the warrior's home!\n    Who can withstand thee in earth or heaven?\n        Bring to his altar then,\n        Of Christian dames and men,\n    Nine times nine, and seven times seven.\n\n    VII.\n\n        Bend to your place of birth,\n        Children of sordid earth;\n    The god of battles your homage disdains.\n        Who dare oppose him?\n        Christian or Moslem?\n    Who is like Odin, the god of the Danes?\n\nThe maids and their angelic guide went on following the cross; and as\nthey went, they sung in sweet and humble aspirations the song of the\nLamb. They met the gorgeous files. Fair met with fair. The hideous\nidols sat an hundred cubits high; whereas the cross a maiden's hand\nupbore. But when they met, the proud and mighty peal, swelling from\nOdin's worshippers, was hushed as with a sob. The hills rang with the\nsound; and the o'erburdened air bore the last knell up to the skies.\nIt quavered through the spheres, and died in distance, to be heard no\nmore, while nought but the sweet notes the virgins sung rose on the\npaths of night. The motely mass of heathens stood amazed, and as they\nstood they listened and they quaked. The words were these at which\nthey paused, and which the virgins sung:\n\n           *       *       *       *       *\n\n    Silence the blasphemers thee that defy,\n    Strike down the mighty, Son of the Most High;\n    Rise in thy power, that the heathen may see,\n    What dust are their gods and their glory to thee;\n    Raise thy right hand, and in pieces them shiver,\n    That to the true God may the praise be for ever.\n\nAt every line the bearers and their gods trembled the more, and as the\nlast notes closed, the mighty Odin toppled from his throne, and\ncrashed amid his powerless worshippers. His wooden spouse and son fell\nwith the sire of Gods and men, and in a thousand pieces their gilded\nframes were dashed. Confusion reigned. The host fled in dismay; but\nOdin's priests sunk down in low prostration, groaning and howling for\nthe fall of Odin,--the shield and glory of the Danish host.\n\nFrom out this wild confusion the bright guide conducted the three\nvirgins, to a cave close by the river's brink, and charged them hide\nuntil the wrath of the enraged foe should be abated. Here, said he,\nyou are in perfect safety. No one living knows of this retreat. Here\nsleep and take your rest. May angels watch around your flinty couch.\nFarewell, I must begone on the employ assigned me by your father and\nby mine. He left the lamp and went his way. Forthwith they kneeled in\nprayer, thanking their Saviour for their great deliverance, then laid\nthem down to rest. They kissed the cross, and folded closely in each\nother's arms, cheek leaning unto cheek, with holy hymns they sung\nthemselves asleep.\n\nGreat was the rage among the Danish chiefs, and wide the search for\nthese presumptuous and bold aggressors. The host was all discouraged\nand amazed, and nought but terror reigned. Earldoms were offered for\nthe audacious maids, dead or alive. But nor alive nor dead could they\nbe found, either by friend or foe. O dreadful were the execrations\nuttered by the Danes. They called them demons, witches, and the worst\nof all incendiaries. Well they might. The terror of their arms was\nbroken. Great was the rejoicing mid the hills and glens of Albyn, but\nthe eastern vallies groaned beneath the fury of the savage Dane, and\nChristian blood was shed on every cross.\n\nThe virgins waked at morn, and still the lamp sent forth its feeble\nglimmer through the cave. The day-beam through the crevice of the rock\nstreamed in and mixed with it. The virgins strove to rise, to\nspeak--to sing a morning hymn. But all their limbs were cold, and\ntheir tongues clove fast to their thirsty palates. Lena, first of all\nthe three, upraised her pallid form, and on the lamp turning her\ndrowsy eye, there did it settle, closed, and oped again, but still\nwith faded and uncertain light, as if the mind were lacking. Long she\nsat, half raised in this uneasy torpid state,--this struggle 'twixt\noblivion and life. Oft she assayed her sisters to awake, by naming\nthem; but still as oft the names died in a whisper. By degrees her\nmind dawned into recollection, as the moon breaks o'er the sullen\ntwilight. Then the wonders, that she had seen o'ernight, aroused her\nsoul to all its wonted energy. She kneeled, and thanked her Maker for\nthe great deliverance to them vouchsafed. And when her sisters woke,\nthey woke to join her in a heavenly song.\n\n\"What ails our sister? Here we are in safety. Why does our dear\nbeloved not rest in peace? The night is not far spent: the dawn of\nmorn is yet far distant. O dear Lena sleep. Sleep on, and take your\nrest. The morning sun is yet beneath the deep. Our limbs are cold; our\neyes are heavy; yet we cannot rise, for we are weary, and not half\nawake.\"\n\n\"Wake, my beloved sisters. It is time. The noon is at its height. See\nhow the sun peeps through the granite cliffs, and on the stream sheds\nray of trembling silver. Let us rise and talk of all the wonders we\nhave seen.\"\n\nLong they conversed in tears of gratitude, still peeping from\ntheir cavern, lest the Dane again should find and drag them to\nthe altar. Sore were they pressed by hunger. From the stream they drank\nabundantly with thankful hearts. But food for many a day and many a\nnight they scarce had tasted, and they longed for it with more than\nordinary longing. Night approached; and there they sat, not knowing\nwhat to do, a prey to gnawing hunger. At the last, young Lena said, \"I\ncannot ween that heaven hath wrought a miracle for our relief, and for\nno higher purpose than that we should be left to die of hunger in this\ndark and hideous den. Again I'll put my life into its hand, and go\ninto the city after twilight in search of bread; and if I die I die:\nHeaven's will be done.\" Her sisters looked at her, and blessed her in\nthe holy Virgin's name. They could not bid her go where danger waited,\nso great, so imminent; and yet they felt they could not press her\nstay. With cautious eye, and with enfeebled step, trembling she sought\nthe city gate. But when, afar, she saw by torch-light porters striding\nto and fro, with glittering lances of enormous length, and ponderous\nbattle axes, her heart failed, and she drew back. But then she thought\nagain of those she left behind, and all the throes of perishing\nwith hunger, and resolved to risk all hazards. The huge gate stood\nopen, and strangers went and came. \"I'll join,\" thought she, \"this\nstraggling crew, and enter among them; they speak my native tongue.\nAh! they must be a band of traitorous base renegades, that have\nrenounced the cross and joined the Dane; else wherefore free to go and\ncome and trade? I'm all unsafe with such. The strangers eyed her with\nmost curious and piercing looks, and whispered as they went. They\nseemed afraid, and shunned her by the way, as they who shun a being\ninfected by the pestilence, or spirit from the dead. No one addressed\na word to her, but hurried to the gate.\n\nShe came alone, for feeble was her step, and her breast palpitating as\nwith throb of burning fever, hopeless of admission.\n\nThe porters stared with wide extended gaze, and eyes protruding; but\nno word they spoke, nor crossed their lances. Straight she entered\nin. \"What can this mean?\" thought she; \"There is a change since\nyester-even that it passes thought to comprehend. These keepers are\nnot Danes; I heard them speak in Albyn's ancient tongue; and yet\nmethinks they wear the Danish garb. How's this? that I am free to come\nand go, as in my childhood, when the land was free?\"\n\nShe passed the sacred fane, and there beheld crowds entering in; but\nfast she sped away, weening they went to Odin's cursed rites.\n\nShe went to those that sold, and asked for bread. The woman stared at\nher with silent gaze. She asked again, and straight the huckster fled\nin floundering haste. Poor Lena stood amazed. \"How's this?\" said she,\n\"where'er I show my face the people shun me. Here I shall remain, for\nI am faint with hunger, till I taste some of these cakes, which I can\nwell repay.\"\n\nShe stood not long until she was accosted by holy bedesman, who, with\ncautious step, and looks of terror, entered, fast repeating his _Ave\nMaria_. \"In the Virgin's name,\" cried he, \"and under sanction of this\ncross, I charge thee tell who or from whence thou art.\"\n\nThe virgin kneeled, and kissed the holy symbol, but waived direct\nreply. \"I lack some bread to give to those that famish, and I'll pay\nfor that which I receive,\" was her reply.\n\n\"Then 'tis the bread of life that thou dost lack; man's natural food I\nfear thou can'st not use, for thou art not a being of this world, but\nsavour'st of the grave. Thy robes are mouldy, and fall from off thy\nframe? Thy lips are parched and colourless. These eyes have not the\nlight of human life. Thou ominous visitant, declare from whence thou\nart, and on what mission thou com'st to this devoted wasted land?\"\n\nLena looked up. The holy father's face to her appeared familiar. But\nhow great the change since last she saw it. \"Father Brand, dost thou\nnot know me?\" was her home reply.\n\nWith blenching cheek and with unstable eye the father gazed, and,\nfaultering, stammered forth, \"No. Jesu Maria, be thy servant's shield!\nYes. Now I know thee. Art thou not the spirit of the hapless Ellamere,\nwho was put down within our convent for a wilful breach of its most\nsacred law? Avaunt! Begone! Nor come thou here t' accuse those that\ngrieved for thee, while they executed just vengeance on thy life.\nInjurious ghost! Thy curses have fallen heavy on our heads, and\nbrought the wrath of heaven upon our land in tenfold measure. In the\nSaviour's name, whose delegate I am, I charge thee hence unto thy\nresting-place,--to that award that heaven's strict justice hath\nordained for thee; and come not, with that pale and withering look,\nmore curses and more judgments to pronounce.\"\n\n\"Reach me thine hand,\" said she, and held her's forth, meaning to work\nconviction on his mind that she was flesh and blood. Her arm was wan\nas death itself, emaciated and withered, and furred with lines, livid\nand colourless, as by corrodent vapours of the grave. The monk\nwithdrew his hand within his frock, shook his grey locks, and, with\nslow palsied step, moved backward till the threshold stone he gained;\nthen turned and fled amain. The household dame fled also from her\ninner door, from which she peered and listened, and the wondering\nvirgin again was left alone. She waited there in wild and dumb\nincertitude a space; then took some bread, some fruits, and baken\nmeat, laid some money down as an equivalent, and went away to seek her\ndark retreat.\n\nBut as she passed the fane, with wary step she ventured to the porch,\nand, marvelling, heard the whole assembly, joined in rapt devotion,\npraising the name of Jesus. Close she stood, and, darkling as it was,\njoined in the choir so much beloved. But all the wonders she so late\nhad seen yielded to this. In one short night, one strange eventful\nnight, such things were done as human intellect, with all its\ncunning, could not calculate.\n\nShe passed the gate. The gaping sentinels stood, as they did before,\nimmoveable, each casting sidelong glances unto his mate, to note who\nfirst should fly or call the word. She beckoned them as with intent to\nspeak; but in one moment porters, spears, and axes scattered and\nvanished in the darksome shade.\n\nReaching the cave, she found the lamp gone out that their mysterious\ndeliverer had left them over night. First she regaled her sisters'\nhearts with the miraculous tidings that all the people worshipped\nJesus' name without dismay or molestation, who, but the night before,\nnot for their lives durst have acknowledged him: That all seemed free\nto go and come, and pray to whom they listed. The tale seemed a\nromance,--a dream of wild delirium. The Danes could not be banished in\na night, and all the land cleared of the vile idolatry of Odin. They\ndisbelieved the whole, as well they might, but held their peace,\ndreading their sister's mind mazed in derangement. Still, as she went\non, saying that all whom she had met or seen supposed her one arisen\nfrom the dead, or ghost of some departed criminal, strangled for\nbreach of a monastic vow, then did they grasp each other's hands, and\nweep for their dear sister's sad mishap. They deemed her mad as raving\nwhirlwind, or the music of mountain cataract. Yet she had brought them\nfood of various sorts, which in the dark she gave them; and they fed,\nor strove to feed,--but small indeed the portion they devoured.\n\n\"How's this,\" cried Morna, \"that my little cake grows ne'er the less?\nCan it be so that we are truly spirits,--ghosts of the three maids\nthat overthrew the Danish god last night? I hunger and I thirst, 'tis\ntrue. Tell me, Can spirits drink the element of water? Certes they\nmay. But then, how did we die, or when? for I cannot remember me of\npassing death's hideous and dreary bourn, though something of a weary\npainful dream hangs round my heart.\"\n\nThis vague disjointed speech, the wayward visions of distemperature,\nstruck the two others motionless, and set them on cogitations\nwandering and wild as meteors o'er a dreary wilderness. The thought of\nbeing in a new existence, with all its unknown trials, powers, and\nlimits, their struggling minds essayed in vain to grasp.\n\nReason returned, but as a step-mother returns to frenzied orphan's dying\nbed. They felt each other's pulses. There was life,--corporeal life;\nbut still there was a change, which no one chose to mention,--yet a\nchange quite unaccountable for one night's sleep to have effected.\nFrom their cavern's porch they viewed the stars of heaven. They were\nthe same as they were wont. They saw the golden wain, the polar\nplough tilling his ample field with slow unwearied furrow, and the\nsisters,--the seven lovely sisters of the sky, arching their gorgeous\npath. Far to the east they spied a star beloved, which in their\nchildhood they oft had watched, and named the \"tiger's eye,\" changing\nits vivid colours as of yore. And then they wept to think of former\ndays of innocence and joy. And thus in tears, clasped in each other's\narms, they laid them down their mazed and oppressed spirits to\ncompose.\n\nWhile thus they lay, romantic Morna said: \"My sisters, it is evident\nto all that some great change has happed to us last night. We are not\nwhat we were. What can it be but change from one existence to another?\nA mortal creature cannot touch or feel a disembodied spirit; but we\nknow not how spirits feel each other. Sure as life and death hold\nopposition in this world, from the one into the other we have passed.\nI feel it in my being. So do you, though unacknowledged. Let us rise\nand walk as spirits do by night, and we shall see the change in us,\nnot over a whole land in one short night. Come, let us roam abroad.\nI feel a restlessness,--a strong desire to flit from place to\nplace,--perchance to fly between the mountain and the cloud, and view\nthe abodes of those we love.\n\nThis wild romance waked in the virgins' hearts an energy between\ndespair and madness. All extremes erratic and unnatural, on the minds\nof females, act like the infection of virulent disease. Up they arose,\nand, stepping from their cavern, took their way along the river's\nbrink. Midnight was past. The tiger's eye had climbed the marble path\nthat branches through the heaven, and goggled forth, now red, now\nblue, now purple and now green, down from his splendid ceiling far on\nhigh. 'Twas like a changeful spirit. In the east the hues of morning\nrose in towering streaks, as if the Almighty had caused light to grow\nlike cedars from the summits of the hills. It was a scene for spirits!\nThere were three abroad that morn before the twilight rose,--three\ncreatures spiritual, yet made of flesh! First they espied an aged\nfisherman, who passed without regard. Then did they deem they were\ninvisible, and wilder still their fancies worked. The suburbs now they\ngained of the resplendent ancient Otholine, the emporium of the east,\nand hand in hand, with hurried, but enfeebled step, they trode its\nlanes and alleys. Those who saw them said their motions were erratic,\nlike the gait of beings overcome with wine, or creatures learning to\nwalk for the first time on earth. The early matron, and the twilight\ngroom, fled with hysteric cries at their approach. The gates were left\na-jar, the streets a waste: porter and sentinel joined in the flight,\nand nought but terror and confusion reigned.\n\nThe virgin sisters wist not what to do, or what to dread. Within the\nconvent's porch, they halted, turned, and gazed on one another, and\nwondered what they were, that nature thus shuddered at their approach,\nand held aloof. Three creatures spiritual yet made of flesh, belonging\nnot to heaven nor earth! but shunned by the inhabitants of both. Just\nthen, while standing in despondency, they heard the grey cock crow;\nthe eldritch clarion note chilled every heart, and twanged on every\nnerve.\n\n\"That is our warning call,\" wild Morna said: \"My sisters now we must\nhence and begone: that is the roll-call of the murdering spirits. We\nshall be missed at matins. To your homes! your damp and mouldering\nhomes, ye ghastly shades! The daylight will dissolve you! Does that\nvoice not say so?\"\n\n\"Hush thee, gentle Morna! drive us not to distraction. Here we'll wait\nuntil the convent matin; then we'll ask the holy prioress what things\nwe are. What say you, gentle sisters? can we live outcasts on earth in\nsuch incertitude? Our father's towers are distant. We can glide,\nlike passing shades with slow and feeble motion, but nothing more\nspirits;--can sail the air in skiff of mist or on the breeze's wing.\nSuch powers we have not; and to journey there we lack ability. Here\nthen we stay until we are resolved what strange events have happened\nto us, to our native land, and church, of late so grievously\noppressed.\"\n\n\"Yes, here we'll stay. Come, rouse the porteress! For see the sun tips\nthe far hills with gold, and we shall melt before his tepid ray, all\ngentle as it is at early morn! My frame is like a mildew. The hoar\nfrost of death hath fallen on it. Oh, for the guide--the angelic\nyouth that left us yester-eve. Ho! daughters of the Cross! If any here\nhath 'scaped the murderous Dane, come forth and welcome the conquerors\nof Odin. Ho! within! Wake ere the sun upbraids you. He is up, on\nservice to his Maker, yet you sleep. I say, wake.\"\n\n\"Who calls? What are you there?\"\n\n\"We know not what we are. For that we come, to see if any here can us\nresolve. But two short nights ago, we were three maids of royal\nlineage. Thou stern porteress, come forth and look on us. Canst thou\nnot tell what we are made of? Why stand'st thou aloof?\"\n\n\"Speak calmly, sister Morna. See she trembles and dares not answer.\nGentle dame, we pray admission to your lady prioress, for sake of him\nwho died upon the cross, whose name we worship.\" Straight she vanished\nupon her fearful mission, glad to 'scape from such a colloquy. Soon\nthen arrived the aged prioress, who them approached with dauntless\ncountenance, and, unappalled, asked of their errand. \"Venerable dame,\ndost thou not know, or hast thou never heard of the three maids of\nStormont, who of late, led by a heavenly messenger, o'erthrew the god\nof Denmark, and upheld the cross triumphant o'er the breasts of\nprostrate heathens?\"\n\n\"Ay, I have heard of them; and often joined in prayer and thanksgiving\nfor the deliverance wrought by these royal virgins. That was a\nconquest that roused the spirit of the Christian to deeds of more than\nmortal energy, and humbled the proud confidence the Dane placed in his\nidols. Ay, that was a conquest shall cloud the brow of the idolater\nwhile the world stands! But what was it you spoke of yester eve?\nEither you are deranged, or shallow poor impostors: for that time hath\nlong gone past, and the three wondrous maids were in the sight, and\nfrom the middle of that mighty host translated into heaven. Unless you\ncame from thence on sacred mission, and bringest evidence of identity\nby further miracle, better you had keep silence and depart.\"\n\n\"We are those maids, the maids of Stormont, nieces to the king; and\nwe require of you lodging and fair protection, till we prove our\nlineage. There is something passing strange hath happed to us. But\nwhat the circumstance, or how accordant with the works of God, is far\nbeyond the fathom and the height of our capacity. We are the maids of\nStormont. To that truth we will make oath upon the holy cross.\"\n\nThe prioress crossed herself, commended her to heaven, and, with deep\nawe and dire astonishment, admitted them. She gazed upon them: their\nfair cheeks were pale, and their benignant eyes looked through a haze\nthat was not earthly; it was like the blue mists of the dawning. All\ntheir robes were of the fashion of a former day; and they were damp\nand mouldy, falling piecemeal from off their bodies with their\nrottenness.\n\n\"I dread to question you, mysterious things. That you are earthly\nforms, I see and feel. Whence are you? In what dreary unknown clime\nhave you been sojourning? Or are you risen from out your graves? If\nyou have truth in you, and power to tell it, pray resolve me this; for\nI am lost in wonder.\"\n\n\"What we are we know not. For that purpose we came hither, that you\nmight tell us. All we know is this: Last night but one we were the\nmaids of Stormont, doomed to a dreadful fate. An heavenly one came to\nour rescue; led us through the gates of iron and of brass. Still as we\nwent, we conquered. Ranks of proud idolaters fell prostrate in the\ndust; and the great god, the mighty Odin, was o'erthrown, and dashed\ninto a thousand pieces. Straight our blessed guide conducted us into a\nlonely cave close by the river's brink, and bade us sleep and take our\nrest until the day should dawn and shadows fly away. We slept, and\nyester-morn, when we awoke, the lamp our guide had left still feebly\nburned. Impelled by hunger, from our cave we ventured. All people fly\nfrom us; the Danes are gone; the name of Christ is mentioned. Nought\nwe see and nought we hear is comprehensible.\"\n\n\"A miracle! a mighty miracle! Within that secret cavern you have slept\nfor days and years, in quiet sweet repose, the lamp of heaven still\nburning over you, until the day hath dawned,--such day of grace as\nScotland hath not seen. The heathen Dane, with all his hideous gods,\nwas vanquished, but days of darkness and contention rose, until this\ntime, when all the glorious rays of mercy and of grace have shed their\ninfluence on this benighted persecuted land; and you are waked to\nenjoy it. Let us go straight to the altar, and beneath the cross join\nin elated thanksgiving.\"\n\nThe chancel door opened before the altar. When the three virgins\nentered in, and saw the figure on the cross, they cried aloud with one\ncombined voice, \"'Tis he, 'Tis he! What? Have these heathens dared to\nlay their impious hands on him? 'Tis he! 'Tis he! Our heavenly guide\nthat saved us from the death. And have they slain him? Has the cursed\nDane----\"\n\n\"Hold, hold, for mercy's sake; you do not know the things you utter.\nWhat you look upon, hangs there to represent the death of him who\ndied that man might live.\"\n\n\"And is it so? Then be our lives sacred unto the service of him who\nlaid his life down for our race, and sent his angel to deliver us,\nin his own likeness too; for this is he who came to us in great\nextremity, when we called on the name of our Redeemer in agony of\nsoul.\"\n\n\"Remain with me till our great festival. This miracle must be made\nknown to all that trust in Jesus' name. Meanwhile I will cherish and\ncomfort the beloved of heaven.\"\n\nThe day arrived of the great festival, the anniversary of the\noverthrow of mighty Odin,--that sublime event that broke the bands of\niron and of steel, and threw the gates of superstition open to Albyn's\nChristian triumph. On that day the king's whole household, nobles of\nthe realm, high dames and commons, abbots, monks, and mendicants, a\nmotely and a countless multitude, assembled early at the monastery of\nancient Otholine, to render thanks for their deliverance. Masses were\nsaid; and holy hymns of praise ascended to the skies. With one accord,\nthen all the grateful multitude agreed to canonize the three heroic\nvirgins, who, with the aid of angels, had wrought out the Christian's\ntriumph, the beloved of heaven, translated to the blest beatitude,\nwhere souls of saints and blessed martyrs dwell, and whose joint\nprayers might with the holy Virgin much avail.\n\nA joyful clamour for the ordinance then spread around, so eager were\nthe crowd to kneel and pay their humble adorations to the three maids,\ntranslated to the heavens with bodies like their own. Applauses rang;\nand from behind the altar was given forth a song divine, in which a\nthousand voices joined, till all were hushed at this ecstatic strain.\n\n    Hail to the happy three!\n    Vessels of sanctity!\n    Now honoured to stand\n    At the Virgin's right hand.\n      (Mater Dei!\n      Remember me!)\n    Remember us all, and send us for good,\n    Bone of our bone, and blood of our blood.--\n      Song of harp, and voice be dumb!--\n    The heaven is oped. They come, they come!\n\nA bustle rose. The abbot on his knees sunk down and leaned upon the\naltar-cloth, and only a few voices whispered round, \"They come, they\ncome!\" The congregation turned their eyes into the chancel, and beheld\nthree virgins, all in robes of purest white, stand over against the\naltar. The loud choir was hushed, and every brow was forward bent in\nlow obeisance: All believing these three beauteous flowers from\nparadise had come arrayed in robes of heaven, with angel forms that\nbloomed like winter roses newly oped, in high approval of the\nfestival, and sacred honours to be paid to them.\n\nThe virgins beckoned, raised their flowing veils, and their right\nhands to heaven. \"Stay, they cried, stay the solemnity, ere you\nprofane the name and altar of the God of heaven. Here stand the three\nunworthy maids of Stormont whom you would deify. Come nigh to us our\nfather and our king, and ye chaste ministers of him we serve: Come\nnigh, and feel that we are mortal like yourselves, and stop the rite.\nPay adoration to that Holy One who pitied us in misery extreme, and\nyou in grievous bonds. There be your vows and worship paid, in which\nwe three shall join. He hath indeed done wondrous things for us, works\nof amazement, which you all shall hear, and whoso heareth shall\nrejoice in heart.\"\n\nThen came they all unto their father's knee, kneeled and embraced him,\nwhile the good old earl shed tears of joy, and rendered thanks to\nheaven; their sovereign next, their former lovers, friends, and all\nthey knew in that mixed multitude, they did embrace, that no remaining\ndoubt might spring and spread of their identity. It was a joyful\nmeeting, such a one as hath not been in any land for happiness and\nholy ecstacy. They lived beyond the years of women,--but their lives\nwere spent in acts of holiness, apart from grandeur's train. In curing\nof the sick, clothing the naked, ministering to all in want and\nwretchedness, and speaking peace unto poor wandering and benighted\nsouls. Their evening of life was like the close of summer day, pure,\nplacid, and serene,--the twilight long, but when at last it closed, it\nwas with such a heavenly glow, it gave pure prospect of a joyous day\nto come. Thus ends my legend; and, with all submission, I bow to your\nawards, and wait my doom.\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. III.\n\n    _Garolde._ Prick on good Markham. That galled jade of yours\n              Moves with a hedgehog's pace. Is this a time\n              To amble like a belle at tournament,\n              When life and death hang on our enterprize?\n\n      _Mark._ We've had long stages, Garolde;\n              We must take up. What miscreants have we here?\n\n        _The Prioress._\n\n\n\"Lo, have not I taken great delight in the words of thy mouth?\" said\nthe friar, \"for it is a legend of purity and holiness which thou hast\ntold, and the words of truth are contained in it. Peradventure it may\nbe an ancient allegory of our nation, in which manner of instruction\nthe fathers of Christianity amongst us took great delight. But,\nwhether it be truth, or whether it be fiction, the tendency is good;\nand behold, is it not so; do not I even thank thee for thy tale?\"\n\n\"It is the most diffuse, extravagant, and silly legend that ever was\ninvented by votary of a silly and inconsistent creed,\" said the\nMaster.\n\n\"I side wi' you, Master Michael Scott,\" said Tam Craik; \"I think the\ntale is nought but a string of bombastical nonsense.\"\n\n\"Excepting ane about fat flesh, I think I never heard the match o't,\"\nsaid the laird of the Peatstacknowe; \"It brings me a-mind o' our\nhost's dinner, that was a' show but nae substance.\"\n\n\"If I foresee aught aright,\" said the Master, \"of many a worse dinner\nshall I see thee partake, and enjoy the sight.\"\n\n\"Was not that a beautiful and sublime tale, father?\" said Delany: \"I\ncould sit and listen to such divine legends for ever.\" The poet's eyes\nshone with tears when he heard the maid he loved say these words to\nthe friar apart, who answered and said unto her, \"Lo, there are many\nmore sublime and more wonderful in thy little book; nevertheless\nthe tale is good for instruction to those that are faithless and\ndoubting.\"\n\n\"Alak! I fear I shall not live to learn and enjoy these. Do not you\nthink, father, that we shall all perish in this miserable place,\"\nadded Delany,--\"this horrible place of witchcraft and divination?\"\nCharlie Scott stepped forward when he overheard some of these words.\n\"Eh? what was the lassie saying?\" said he. \"Eh? I'll tell ye what it\nis, hinney: I believe ye see things as they are. There's naething but\nwitchcraft gaun on here; and it is that, and that alone, that a' our\nperils and mischances rise frae. Begging your pardon, father, I canna\nhelp thinking what I think, and seeing what I see. But, gude faith! we\nmaun blaw lown till we win aff the tap o' this bigging, if that ever\nbe.\"\n\n\"My hand hath prevailed against his hand,\" said the friar, \"and my\nmaster over his master; and had it not been for this miserable\naccident we should have had nothing to fear from his divinations,\nsublime and mighty as they are. What hath become of the mighty men of\nvalour from the camp of our captain?\"\n\n\"O there's nae mortal can tell,\" said Charlie: \"It was not for\nnaething that Dan and his lads ran off and left us without ever\nlooking ower their shoulders. A' witchcraft! a' witchcraft! Ane may\nstand against muckle, but nae man can stand against that. I wish we\nwere where sword and shield could aince mair stand us in stead. But\nthis I'm sure o'--Now that our situation is kend to our kinsman, it\nwinna be lang before some aid appear. O if it wad but come afore we\nare driven to that last and warst of a' shifts to keep in life.\"\n\n\"We canna live another day,\" said Tam: \"I therefore propose that the\nmaid and the boy try ilk ane their hand at a tale too, and stand their\nchances with the rest of us. Their lives are of less value, and their\nbodies very tender and delicate.\"\n\nEvery one protested against Tam's motion with abhorrence; and it was\nagreed that they would now appeal to the Master who had told the\nworst tale. Not that the unfortunate victim was to be immediately\nsacrificed, nor even till the very last extremity; but with that\nimpatience natural to man, they longed to be put out of pain; every\none having hopes that his own merits protected himself from danger.\nEvery one also believed that judgment would be given against Tam,\nexcept he himself; and that, at all events, such an award would put an\nend to his disagreeable and endless exultations of voracious delight.\nThey then went before the renowned wizard, and desired him to give\njudgment who of them had related the worst and most inefficient tale,\nlaying all prejudice with regard to creeds and testimonies aside.\n\nHe asked them if they referred the matter entirely to him, or if they\nwished to have each one a vote of their own? Tam said it was an\nunderstanding at first that each should have a vote, and, as he had\nmade up his mind on the subject, he wished to give his. Charlie said\nit was a hard matter to vote away the life of a friend; and, for his\npart, he would rather appeal to the great Master altogether. But if\nany doubts should remain with any one of their host's impartiality, he\nthought it fairer that they should cast lots, and hazard all alike.\nThe poet, who had heard the Master's disapprobation given pointedly of\nhis tale, sided with Yardbire, and voted that it should be decided by\nlot. Gibbie, though quite convinced in his own mind that he had told\nthe best story, yet having heard the _morality_ of it doubted, and\ndreading on that score to have some voices against him, called also\nfor a vote; for he said the referring the matter to the Master brought\nhim in mind of the story of the fox sitting in judgment, and deciding\nagainst the lamb. The friar also said, \"Verily, I should give my voice\nfor the judgment of the Master to stand decisive: But, lo! is it not\napparent that his thoughts are not like the thoughts of other men?\nNeither is his mind governed by the motives of the rest of the\nchildren of men. I do therefore lift up my voice for the judgment that\ngoeth by lot. I would, notwithstanding of all this, gladly hear what\nthe Master would say.\"\n\n\"I will be so far just that I shall give you your choice,\" said Master\nMichael Scott: \"Nevertheless I can tell you, if there be any justice\nin the decision by lot, on whom the lot will fall.\" A pause of\nbreathless anxiety occurred, and every eye was fixed on the grim and\nstern visage of the great necromancer, over whose features there\nappeared to pass a gleam of wild delight. \"It will fall,\" added he,\n\"on that man of fables and similitudes, who himself bears the\nsimilitude of a man, just as the lion's hide stuffed does the\nresemblance of a real one. How do you call that beautiful and amiable\nbeing with the nose that would split a drop of rain without being\nwet?\"\n\n\"Most illustrious knight, and master of the arts of mystery,\" said the\nfriar,--\"as this man is, so is his name; for he is called Jordan,\nafter the great river that is in the east, which overfloweth its banks\nat certain seasons, and falls into the stagnant lake called the Dead\nSea, whose waters are diseased. So doth the matter of this our friend\noverflow, pass away, and is lost. But what sayest thou of the default\nof his story? Dost thou remember that it is not for the best story\nthat we cast lots, but the worst?\"\n\n\"Ay, that's weel said, good friar,\" said Charlie; \"for, trifling as\nthe laird's story was, I never heard ought sae queer, or that\ninterested ane mair. If there be ony justice in lots, the laird's\nsafe.\"\n\n\"Your's was the best tale, gallant yeoman,\" said the Master, \"and you\nmay rest assured that you are safe. The dumb judge will not err, and\nthere is one overlooks the judgment by lot, of whom few are aware. I\nsay your's was the best tale.\n\n\"Thank ye kindly, Master Michael Scott,\" said Charlie; \"I'm feared ilk\nane winna be o' your opinion.\"\n\nThe friar then took from the side-pockets of his frock a few scraps\nof parchment, amounting to fifteen. Twelve of these he marked with\na red cross, and three with a black one, to prevent all infernal\ninterference; then rolling them closely up, he counted them all into\nhis cowl before his companions, and, shaking them together, he caused\nevery one to do the same. Then putting the cowl into the virgin's\nhand, they desired her to hold it until they drew forth their scraps\none by one. She did so, while her bright eyes were drowned in tears,\nand each of the candidates put in his hand, selecting his lot.\n\n\"Let them be opened, one by one, before all these witnesses,\" cried\nthe Master; \"that no suspicions of foul play whatever may remain.\"\n\nThe friar drew forth his without one muscle of his unyielding features\nbeing altered, and turning deliberately about, he opened it before\nthem all. It was red. The friar bowed his head, and made the sign of\nthe cross. Charlie thrust in his hand,--pulled out a ticket,--and tore\nit open, all in one moment, and with the same impatience that he\nfought in a battle. His was likewise red.\n\n\"Gude faith I'm aince ower the water,\" said Charlie.\n\nTam put in his hand with a decision that would have done honour to a\nbetter man, the form of his mouth only being a little altered.\n\n\"Now, who will take me a bet of a three-year old cout,\" cried Gibbie,\n\"that the next shall turn out a black one?\" and he grinned a ghastly\nsmile, in anticipation of the wished event. Tam kept his hand within\nthe cowl for a good while, as if groping which to select. At length he\ndrew one forth; and before he got it opened, Gibbie's long nose and\nhis own had met above it, so eager was each of them to see what it\ncontained. It was opened. Each of them raised up his face, and looked\nat the face of his opponent; but with what different expressions\nof countenance! The cross on the lot was red! Grief, dread, and\ndisappointment were all apparent in the features of poor Jordan, while\nthe exulting looks of his provoking neighbour were hardly to be\nendured.\n\n\"What think you o' that now, laird?\" cried he. \"What does that bring\nyou in mind o'? Eh? I say, wha's jugular vein swells highest now; or\nwha's shoulder-blade stands maist need o' clawing?\"\n\nThis was rather more than Gibbie was disposed at that juncture to\nbear; and when Tam, as he concluded, put forth his forefinger to\nascertain the thickness of fat on the laird's ribs, the latter struck\nhim with such force on the wrist, that he rendered his arm powerless\nfor a space. He put his hand to his sword, but could not grasp it;\nwhile Gibbie, seeing the motion, had his out in a twinkling; and if\nthe staunch friar had not turned it aside, he would have had it\nthrough the heart of the deil's Tam in a second, which might have\nprevented the further drawing of lots for that present time, and\nthereby put an end to a very critical and disagreeable business.\nGibbie was far from being a hot or passionate man; but whether his\nrage was a manoere to put by the decision, or if he really was\noffended at being handled like a wedder for slaughter, the curate\npretends not to guess. He however raged and fumed exceedingly, and\ntried again and again to wound Tam, while the rest were remonstrating\nwith him; nor would he be pacified, until Tam's disabled arm by\ndegrees regaining somewhat of its pristine nerve, he retreated back\ntowards the battlement for sword-room, and dared the laird to the\ncombat. Gibbie struggled hard; but finding that they were about to\nlet him go, his wrath subsided a little; he put up his sword, and said\nthe whole business reminded him of a story of the laird of Tweelsdon\nand his two brothers, which he assured them was a prime story, and\nbegged permission to tell it. This was protested against with one\nvoice until the business of the lots was decided, and then all were\nwilling to hear it. \"Oh, the lots? that is quite true,\" said Gibbie:\n\"I declare that business had gone out of my head. Let us see what\ncasts up next.\" There was a relaxation in every muscle of Gibbie's\nface as he put his hand into the cowl. But Gibbie's was a sort of a\ncross face. It did not grow long and sallow as most other men's faces\ndo when they are agitated. The jaws did not fall down, they closed up;\nso that his face grew a great deal shorter and broader. The eye-brows\nand the cheek-bones met, and the nose and chin approached to a close\nvicinity. He drew forth the momentous scrap, and, with fumbling and\nparalytic hand, opened it before them. The cross was black. He dared\nnot lift his eyes to any face there save to Delany's, and when he saw\nit covered with tears his looks again reverted that way. This lot it\nis true was not decisive, yet it placed Gibbie on ticklish ground; it\nhaving been agreed, that whoever should draw the two first black\ncrosses, subjected himself to immolation, if the necessity of the case\nrequired it. The great Master and Tam were visibly well pleased with\nthe wicked chance that had fallen to the laird. The motives of the\nformer for this delight were quite a mystery to those who beheld it;\nas for Tam, he seemed determined to keep no more terms with poor\nGibbie.\n\nThe poet also drew a red one; and then it was decreed, that the next\nround Gibbie should have his choice of the time, if he judged it any\nadvantage either to be first or last. He seemed quite passive, and\nsaid it was all one to him, he should draw at any time they chose, and\ndesired his friend Yardbire, as he termed him, to choose for him.\nCharlie said he deemed the first chance the best, as he had then four\nchances to be right, for one of being wrong; and it would be singular\nindeed if his hand fixed on a black cross again for a time or two,\nwhen more of them might be on an equal footing.\n\nGibbie accordingly turned round, and drew out one more of the ominous\nscraps, opening it under the eyes of all the circle with rather a\nhopeful look. \"If the deil be nae in the cowl, I shall hae a red ane\nthis time,\" said he, as he unrolled it; but as soon as the head of the\ncross appeared the ticket fell from his hand; and, as the friar\nexpressed it, there was no more strength remaining in him. \"Verily, my\nson, thy fate is decided,\" said the latter worthy; \"and that in a\nwonderful and arbitrary manner. As the Master said, so hath it come to\npass, although to judge of any thing having been done unfairly is\nimpossible.\"\n\n\"It is absolute nonsense to talk of aught being done fairly in this\nplace,\" said Charlie Scott: \"There's naething but witchcraft gaun. I\ntell ye a' things here are done by witchery an' the black arts; and\nafter what I heard the king of a' warlocks say, that the lot wad fa'\nin this way, I winna believe that honest Gibbie has gotten fair play\nfor his life.\"\n\n\"If you would try it an hundred times over,\" said the Master, \"you\nwould see it turn out in the same way. Did not I say to you that there\nwas a power presided over the decision by lot, which you neither know\nnor comprehend. Man of metaphors and old wives' fables, where art thou\nnow?\" \"Keep a gude heart, Peatstacknowe,\" said Charlie; \"perhaps\nthings may not come to the worst. I have great dependence on Dan\nChisholm and the warden's good men. I wonder they have not appeared\nwi' proper mattocks, or ladders, by this time o' the morning.\"\n\n\"If they should,\" said the Master, \"and if we were all set at liberty\nthis minute, he shall remain my bondsman, in place of these two and\nhim of whom your arts have bereaved me. Remember to what you agreed\nformerly, of which I now remind you.\"\n\n\"I think that is but fair,\" said the poet.\n\n\"I do not know, gentlemen, what you call fair or foul,\" said Gibbie:\n\"I think there is little that is favourable going for somebody. Of the\ntwo evils, I judge the last the worst. I appeal to my captain the\nWarden.\" Gibbie's looks were so rueful and pitiable when he said this,\nthat no one had the heart to remonstrate farther with him on the\njustice or injustice of his doom. The Master and Tam enjoyed his\nplight exceedingly; the poet rejoiced in it, as it tended to free\nDelany from a vile servitude; and the friar also was glad of the\nrelease of the darling of his younger years, the grand-daughter of\nGalli the scribe. Charlie and Delany were the only two that appeared\nto suffer on account of the laird's dismal prospects, and their\nfeelings were nearly as acute as his own. Stories and all sorts of\namusements were now discontinued. A damp was thrown over these by the\ndismal gloom on the laird's countenance, and the congenial feelings of\nothers on his account. The night had passed over without any more\nvisitants from the infernal regions; the day had arisen in the midst\nof heaviness and gloom; and every eye was turned towards the mill, in\nthe expecsation of seeing the approach of Dan and his companions.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n        Ask me not whence I am;\n    My vesture speaks mine office.\n\n        _Female Parliamenters, a MS. Com._\n\n\nAfter the frightsome encounter at the mill, with \"the masterless dog\nand his bow-wow-wow,\" Dan and his companions spent a sleepless night,\nnot without several alarms and breathless listenings on the occurrence\nof any noise without. Few were the nightly journies on the banks of\nthe Ettrick in those days, and few the midnight noises that occurred,\nsave from the wild beasts of the forest. There were no wooer lads\nstraying at that still and silent hour, to call up their sweethearts\nfor an hour's kind conversation. Save when the English marauders were\nabroad, all was quietness by hamlet and steading. The land was the\nabode of the genii of the woods, the rocks, and the rivers; and of\nthis the inhabitants were well aware, and kept within locked doors,\nwhose lintels were made of the mountain ash, and nightly sprinkled\nwith holy water. Cradle and bed were also fenced with cross, book, and\nbead; for the inmates knew that in no other way could they be safe, or\nrest in peace. They knew that their green and solitary glens were the\nnightly haunts of the fairies, and that they held their sports and\namorous revels in the retiring dells by the light of the moon.\nThe mermaid sung her sweet and alluring strains by the shores of\nthe mountain lake, and the kelpie sat moping and dripping by his\nfrightsome pool, or the boiling caldron at the foot of the cataract.\nThe fleeting wraiths hovered round the dwellings of those who were\nsoon to die, and the stalking ghost perambulated the walks of him that\nwas lately living, or took up his nightly stand over the bones of the\nunhouseholded or murdered dead. In such a country, and among such\nsojourners, who durst walk by night?\n\nBut these were the natural residenters in the wilds of the woodland,\nthe aboriginal inhabitants of the country; and however inimical their\nways might be to the ways of men, the latter laid their account with\nthem. There were defences to be had against them from holy church,\nwhich was a great comfort. But ever since Master Michael Scott came\nfrom the colleges abroad to reside at the castle of Aikwood, the\nnature of demonology in the forest glades was altogether changed, and\na full torrent of necromancy, or, as Charlie Scott better expressed\nit, of _witchcraft_, deluged the country all over,--an art of the most\nmalignant and appalling kind, against which no fence yet discovered\ncould prevail. How different, indeed, became the situation of the\nlonely hind. Formerly he only heard at a distance on moonlight eves\nthe bridle bells of the fairy troopers, which haply caused him to\nhaste homeward. But when the door was barred and fenced, he sat safe\nin the middle of his family circle as they closed round the hearth,\nand talked of the pranks of _the gude neyboris_. When the speats\ndescended, and floods roared and foamed from bank to brae, then would\nthey perceive the malevolent kelpie rolling and tumbling down the\ntorrent like a drowning cow, or mountain stag, to allure the hungry\npeasant into certain destruction. But, aware of the danger, he only\nkept the farther aloof, quaking at the tremendous experiment made by\nthe spirit of the waters. It was in vain that the mermaid sung the\nsweetest strain s that ever breathed over the evening lake, or sunk\nand rose again, spreading her hands for assistance, like a drowning\nmaiden, at the bottom of the abrupt cliff washed by the waves,--he\n_would not_ be allured to her embraces.\n\nBut what could he do now? His daughters were turned into roes and\nhares, to be hunted down for sport to the Master. The old wives of the\nhamlet were saddled and bridled by night, and urged with whip and spur\nover whole realms. The cows were deprived of their milk,--the hinds\ncast their young, and no domestic cat in the whole district could be\nkept alive for one year. That infernal system of witchcraft then\nbegan, which the stake and the gibbet could scarcely eradicate in a\nwhole century. It had at this time begun to spread all around Aikwood;\nbut of these things our Border troopers were not altogether aware.\nThey dreaded the spirits of the old school, the devil in particular;\nbut of the new prevailing system of metamorphoses they had no\ncomprehension.\n\nDan and three chosen companions, mounting their horses by the break of\nday, rode straight for the abbey of Melrose, to lodge their complaint\nagainst the great enemy of mankind, and request assistance from the\nholy fathers in rescuing their friends out of his hands. They reached\nDarnick-burn before the rising of the sun; and just as they passed by\na small deep-wooded dell, they espied four horsemen approaching them,\nwho, from their robes and riding appurtenances, appeared to belong to\nthe abbey, and to rank high among its dignitaries. They were all\nmounted on black steeds, clothed in dark flowing robes that were\nfringed with costly fringes, and they had caps on their heads that\nwere horned like the new moon. The foremost, in particular, had a\nformidable and majestic mitre on his head, that seemed all glancing\nwith gems, every one of which was either black, or a certain dazzling\nred of the colour of flame.\n\nDan doffed his helmet to this dignified and commanding personage, but\nhe deigned not either to return our yeoman's low bow, that brought his\nface in contact with the mane of his steed, or once to cross his hand\non his brow in token of accepting the submission proffered. He,\nhowever, reined up his black steed, and sat upright on his saddle, as\nif in the act of listening what this bold and blunt trooper had to\nsay.\n\n\"Begging pardon of your grand and sublime reverence,\" said Dan, \"I\npresume, from your lofty and priest-like demeanour, habiliments, and\ngoodly steed, and also from that twa-horned helmet on your head, that\nyou are the very chap I want. I beg your pardon I canna keep up my\nstyle to suit your dignity. But are nae ye Father Lawrence, the great\nprimate, that acts as a kind o' king or captain ower a' the holy men\nof Scotland, and has haudding in that abbey down by there?\"\n\n\"Certes I am Father Lawrence. Dost thou doubt it?\"\n\n\"No, no; what for should I doubt it when your worship has said it? An\nwe dinna find truth aneath the mitre and the gown, where are we to\nlook for it?\"\n\nThe sublime abbot shook his head as if in scorn and derision of the\napothegm, and sat still upright on his steed, with his face turned\naway. Dan looked round to his companions with a meaning look, as much\nas to say, \"What does the body mean?\" But seeing that he sat still in\nthe act of listening, he proceeded.\n\n\"Worthy Sir Priest, ye ken our captain, Sir Ringan Redhough, warden of\nthe Border. He has helpit weel to feather your nest, ye ken.\"\n\n\"He has. There is no one can dispute it,\" said the abbot, nodding\nassent.\n\n\"Then ye'll no be averse, surely, to the lending o' him and his a\nhelping hand in your ain way.\"\n\nThe priest nodded assent.\n\n\"Weel, ye see, Sir Priest, there is a kinsman of our master's lives up\nby here at Aikwood, a rank warlock, and master o' the arts of\nwitchcraft and divination. He is in compact wi' the deil, and can do\nthings far ayont the power o' mortal man. What do ye think, Sir\nPriest? he can actually turn a man into a dog, and an auld wife into a\nhare; a mouse into a man, and a cat into a good glyde-aver. And mair\nthan that, Sir, he can raise storms and tempests in the air; can gar\nthe rivers rin upward, and the trees grow down. He can shake the solid\nyird; and, look ye, Sir, he can cleave a great mountain into three,\nand lift the divisions up like as mony gowpens o' sand.\"\n\nThe stern abbot gave a glance up to the three new hills of Eildon,\nthat towered majestically over their heads; but it seemed rather a\nlook of exultation than one either of wonder or regret.\n\n\"Weel, Sir, disna our captain send a few chosen friends, a wheen queer\ndevils to be sure, on a message of good friendship to this auld\nwarlock Master Michael Scott, merely with a request to read him some\ntrivial weird. And what does the auld knave, but pricks them a' up on\nthe top o' his castle, wi' a lockit iron-door aneath them, and there\nhas keepit them in confinement till they are famishing of hunger, and\nI fear by this time they are feeding on ane another. And the warst o't\nava, Sir, is this, I wad break his bolts and his bars to atoms for\nhim, but has nae he the deil standing sentry on the stair, spuing fire\nand brimstone on a' that come near him in sic torrents that it is like\nthe fa' o' the Grey-mare's-tail. Now, maist reverend and worthy Sir,\nmy errand and request to you is, that, for my master's sake, and for\nhis men's sake, that are a' good Christians, for ought that I ken to\nthe contrary, you will lend us a lift wi' book and bead, Ave Marias,\nand other powerful things, to drive away this auld sneckdrawing thief,\nthe devil, and keep him away till I get my friends released; and I\npromise you, in my master's name, high bounty and reward.\"\n\n\"Ha! is it so?\" said the abbot, in a hollow, tremulous voice. \"Are my\nfriend and fellow-soldier's men detained in that guise? Come, my\nbrethren, let us ride,--let us fly to their release, and we shall see\nwhose power can stand against our own. For Aikwood, ho!\"\n\n\"For Aikwood, ho!\" shouted Dan and his companions, as they took the\nrear of the four sable dignitaries; and striking the spurs into their\nsteeds all at the same time, they went off at their horses' utmost\nspeed, but in a short time the four yeomen were distanced. The black\nsteeds and their riders went at such a pace as warrior had never\nbefore witnessed. Up by the side of Hindly-burn they sped, with the\nmost rapid velocity,--over mire, over ditch, over ford, without stay\nor stumble. Dan and his companions posted on behind, sparing neither\nwhip nor spur, for they were affronted that these gownsmen should\ndisplay more energy in their master's cause, and the cause of his\nfriends, than they should do themselves. But their horses floundered,\nand blew, and snorted, and puffed, and whisked their tails with a\nwhistling sound, and still lagged farther and farther behind.\n\n\"Come, come, callants,\" cried Dan to his companions, \"let us rein up.\nThese bedesmen's horses are ower weel fed for our bog-trotting nags.\nThey fly like the wind. Od, we may as weel try to ride wi' the devil.\"\n\n\"Whisht, whisht,\" said Will Martin; \"I dinna like to mak ower familiar\nwi' that name now-a-days. We never ken wha's hearing us in this\ncountry.\"\n\nThey were nigh to the heights when these words passed, and the four\nblack horsemen perceiving them to take it leisurely, they paused and\nwheeled about, and the majestic primate taking off his cornuted\nchaperon, waved it aloft, and called aloud, \"For shame, sluggish\nhinds! Why won't you speed, before the hour of prevention is lost? For\nAikwood, ho, I say!\" As he said these words, his black courser plunged\nand reared at a fearful rate; and, as our troopers thought, at one\nbolt sprung six or seven yards from the ground. The marks of that\nblack horse's hoofs remain impressed in the sward to this day, and\nthe spot is still called _The Abbot's lee_. At least it had been so\ncalled when Isaac the curate wrote this history.\n\nTo keep clear of the wood that was full of thickets, they turned a\nlittle to the left, and pursued their course; and the ground becoming\nsomewhat firmer, our yeomen pursued hard after them. But on coming\nover the steep brow of a little hill, the latter perceived a mountain\nlake of considerable extent that interrupted their path, and, to their\nutter astonishment, the four black horsemen going straight across it,\nat about the same rate that the eagle traverses the firmament. \"The\nloch is frozen and bears over,\" said Dan: \"Let us follow them across.\"\n\n\"The loch is frozen indeed,\" said Will Martin, \"but, ony man may see,\nthat ice winna bear a cat.\"\n\n\"Haud your tongue, you gouk,\" said Dan: \"Do ye think the thing that\nbore them winna bear us?\" And as he spurred foremost down the steep,\nhe took the lake at the broad side; but the ice offering no manner of\nresistance, horse and man were in one moment out of sight. The sable\nhorsemen on the other side shouted with laughter, and called aloud to\nthe troopers, \"to venture on, and haste forward, for the ice was\nsufficiently strong.\"\n\nThe bold trooper and his horse were extricated with some difficulty,\nand the monks testifying the utmost impatience he remounted, dripping\nas he was, and not being able to find the passage across the lake on\nthe ice, he and his companions gallopped around the head of it. As he\nrode, the morning being frosty, he chanced to utter these words:\n\"Heigh-ho, but I be a _cauld cheil_!\" Which words, says Isaac, gave\nthe name to that lake and the hill about it to all future ages; and\nfrom those perilous days of witchcraft and divination, and the\nshocking incidents that befel to men, adds he, have a great many of\nthe names of places all over our country had their origin.\n\nThe dark horsemen always paused until the troopers were near them, as\nif to encourage them on, but they never suffered them to join\ncompany. When they came over a ridge above old Lindean they were hard\nupon them, but lost sight of them for a short space on the height;\nand, coming on full speed, they arrived on the brink of a deep wooded\ndell, and to their utter astonishment saw the four gownsmen on the\nother side, riding deliberately along, and beckoning them forward.\n\n\"I am sair mista'en,\" said Will Martin, \"gin thae chaps hae nae gaen\nower the cleugh at ae bound. An it warna for their habits I wad take\nthem for something nouther good nor cannie.\"\n\n\"Haud your tongue, or else speak feasible things,\" said Dan; \"Can the\nworthy Father Lawrence, and his chief priors and functionaries ever be\nsuspected as warlocks, or men connected wi' the devil and his arts. If\nsic were to be the case, we hae nae mair trust to put in aught on this\nearth. The dell maun be but a step across. Here is a good passable\nroad; come, let us follow them.\n\nDan led the way, and they dived into the dell by a narrow track,\nrather like a path for a wild goat than men and horses; however, by\nleaping, sliding, and pushing one another's horses behind, they got to\nthe bottom of the precipice, and perceiving a path on the other side,\nthey expected to reach the western brink immediately. But in this they\nwere mistaken; abrupt rocks, and impenetrable thickets barred their\nprogress on every side, and they found it impossible to extricate\nthemselves without leaving their horses. They tried every quarter with\nthe same success, and at the last attempted to ascend by the way they\ncame; but that too they found impracticable, and all the while they\nheard the voices of their fellow travellers chiding their stay from\nabove, and shaming them for their stupidity in taking the wrong path.\nAt one time they heard them calling on them to come this way, here was\nan excellent out-gate; and when the toiled yeomen stuck fairly still\nin that direction, they instantly heard other voices urging them to\nascend by some other quarter. At other times they thought they heard\nrestrained bursts of giggling laughter. After a great deal of\nexertion to no manner of purpose, they grew they neither knew what to\ndo nor what they were doing, and at last were obliged to abandon their\nhorses, and climb the ascent by hanging by the bushes and roots of\ntrees. When they emerged from the deep hollow, they perceived\neight black horsemen awaiting them instead of four; but as the\ncountry around Melrose and Dryburgh swarmed with members of the holy\nbrotherhood of every distinction and rank, the troopers took no notice\nof it, thinking these were some of the head functionaries come to wait\non their abbot. The latter chided our yeomen in sharp and resentful\nlanguage for their utter stupidity in taking the wrong path, and\nregretted exceedingly the long delay their mistake had occasioned, his\ntime he said being limited, as was also the time that his power\nprevailed in a more particular way over the powers of darkness. \"For\nus to go alone,\" added he, \"would signify nothing. The manual labour\nof breaking through the iron gates we cannot perform; therefore,\nunless you can keep up with us, we may return home by the way we\ncame.\"\n\n\"I am truly grieved,\" said Dan, \"at our misfortune. We have certainly\nbeen more forward than wise, and I fear have marred the fairest chance\nwe will ever have for the deliverance of our friends. But I have a few\nfellow warriors at the mill who will accompany you for a word of your\nmouth. I beg that you will not think of returning, for the case brooks\nno delay. We have lost our horses, and can hardly reach the castle on\nfoot before it be evening. I wot not what we shall do.\"\n\n\"Brethren, I am afraid I must request of you to lend these brave\ntroopers your horses,\" said the abbot to the four last comers. \"My\nesteem for the doughty champion of my domains is such, that I would\ngladly do him a favour.\" \"O thank you, thank you, kind sir; we are\nmair behadden to you than tongue can tell,\" said Dan. The four new\ncome brethren dismounted at their abbot's request; and, without taking\na moment to hesitate, the four yeomen mounted their horses. The abbot\nLawrence charged them to urge the steeds to their utmost speed. Away\nwent the abbot and his three sable attendants, and away went the four\ntroopers after them; but from the first moment that they started the\nlatter lost sight of the ground, unless it was, as they thought, about\na mile below their feet. The road seemed to be all one marble\npavement, or sheet of solid alabaster; there was neither height nor\nhollow in it that they could distinguish; but the fire flew from the\nheels of the horses, and sparkled across the firmament like thousands\nof flying stars. The velocity at which they went was such, that the\nborderers could not draw their breath save by small broken gulps; but\nas they imagined they rode at such an immense distance from the\nground, they kept firm by their seats for bare life, leaning forward\nwith their eyes and their mouths wide open. Having never in all their\nlives rode on such a path, they were soon convinced that they could\nnot be riding toward Aikwood, around which the roads were very\ndifferent. They often attempted to speak to one another, but could\nnot utter any thing farther than one short sound, for the swiftness\nwith which they clove the atmosphere cut their voices short. At length\nDan, perceiving his comrade, Will Martin, scouring close by his side,\nforced out the following sentence piecemeal:\n\n\"Where--the--devil--are we--gaun--now?\"\n\n\"Straight--to--hell.--What--need--ye--speer?\"\n\n\"The--lord--for--for--for--bid--Will Martin,\" was the reply, which has\nsince grown to a proverb.\n\nOn they flew, over hill, over dale, over rock and river, over town,\ntower, and steeple, as our yeomen deemed; but they might deem what\nthey pleased, for they saw nothing except now and then the tails of\nthe churchmen's gowns flapping in the air before them. However, they\ncame to their goal sooner than they expected, and that in a way as\nsingular as that by which they reached it.\n\nThe miller at Aikwood-mill had a whole hill of kiln-seeds, or\nshealings of oats, thrown out in a heap adjoining to the mill. Ere\never our yeomen knew what they were doing from the time they mounted,\nthey were all lying in this immense heap of kiln-seeds, perfectly\ndizzy and dumfoundered, and setting up their heads from among them\nwith the same sort of staring stupid attempt at consideration as the\nheads of so many frogs which may be seen newly popped up out of a\nmarsh. The bedesmen were a-head of them to the end of the course, and\ndrew up by wheeling their horses round the kiln as if it had been a\nwinning-post; but the yeomen's horses, in making the wheel, threw\ntheir riders, one by one, with a jerk over head and ears among the\nloose heap of seeds, and galloping off around the corner of the hill,\nthey never saw another hair of their tails.\n\nThe miller came running out from his mill with his broad dusty bonnet;\nthe smoky half-roasted kiln-man out from his logie; the mill-maidens\ncame skipping from the meal-trough, as white as lilies; the rest of\nthe warden's men, and the four sable dignitaries of the church came\nalso, and all of them stood in a ring round our dismounted troops,\nsome asking one question, some another, but all in loud fits of\nlaughter. Their wits could not be rallied in an instant; and all that\nthey could do or say was to blow the seeds out of their mouths, with\nwhich they were literally filled, and utter some indefinite sentences,\nsuch as, \"Rather briskish yauds these same!\" \"May the like o' mine\nnever be crossed by man again!\" \"Hech! but they are the gear for the\nlang road!\" \"What's become o' them? I wad like to take a right look o'\nthem for aince.\" \"Do ye want to look if they have mark o' mouth, Will?\nYou may look at some o' these that came foremost then. Yours are aff\nwi' their tails on their rigging; there are some cheated if ever you\nsee mair o' them.\" Will Martin looked at the abbot's horse; but when\nhe saw the glance of his eye, he would not have taken him by the jaws\nto have looked his mouth for all Christendom.\n\nThe four sable horsemen led the way, and all the yeomen followed on\nfoot, bearing with them such mattocks as they had been able to\nprocure about Selkirk that morning, and away they marched in a body to\nAikwood castle. That was a blyth sight to our forlorn and starving\nprisoners; even Gibbie had some hopes of a release: but whenever\nMaster Michael Scott got a near view of the four sable equestrians, he\nsunk into profound and gloomy silence, and every now and then his\nwhole frame was observed to give a certain convulsed shake, or\nshudder, which cannot be described. The rest of the sufferers supposed\nit to proceed from his rooted aversion to holy and devout men; but\nthey were so intent on regaining their own liberty that they paid\nlittle attention to the manner in which he was affected. Father\nLawrence bade the men proceed to work, and he would retire into an\ninner chamber and exercise himself so as to keep from them all sorts\nof interruption from spirits of whatever denomination, and he pledged\nhimself for their protection. They thanked him, and hasted to execute\ntheir design; nor were they long in accomplishing it. By the help of\nhuge scaling hammers they broke down a part of the narrow stair-case,\nand actually set their friends at liberty. But the abbot enjoined them\nin nowise to depart, or to do any thing contrary to the desire of the\nmighty Master, while they remained in his premises, else he could not\nanswer for the consequences. This our yeomen readily assented to, and\nundertook to prevail with their friends to acquiesce in the same\nmeasure.\n\nAs soon as the iron-door was forced, the abbot Lawrence sent one of\nhis officers to desire Master Michael Scott to come and speak to him\nprivately in the secret chamber. The wizard looked at the messenger as\na sovereign does to a minister of whom he is afraid, or a master to a\nslave, who, he knows, would assassinate him if he could; nevertheless\nhe rose and followed him to his superior. What passed between these\ntwo dignified characters it is needless here to relate, as the\nsubstance of the matter will appear in the sequel. But the Master\nreturned into the great hall, where the warden's men were by that time\nall assembled, an altered man indeed. His countenance glanced with a\nsublime but infernal exultation. His eye shone with ten times the\nvigour of youthful animation. It was like a dying flame relumined,\nthat flashes with more than pristine brightness; and the tones of his\nvoice were like those of a conqueror on the field of battle. With this\nvoice, and with this mien, he ordered the friar and his ward Delany\ninstantly to quit the castle; and if an hour hence they were found on\nhis domains, he would cause them to be hewed into so many pieces as\nthere were hairs on their heads.\n\n\"Lo thy threats are unto me as the east wind,\" said the friar: \"Yea as\nthe wind that cometh from the desert, and puffeth up the vapours on\nthe stagnant pools of water. If my companions in adversity go, then\nwill I also go along with them. But if they remain, by the life of\nPharaoh, so likewise will thy servant; and what hast thou more to say,\nthou man of Belial?\"\n\nThe Master shook his grey locks and his dark silvery beard in\nderision; and Charlie Scott, whose confidence in his friend the friar\nwas now unbounded, stepped up to back what he had said, and to protest\nagainst parting company. Dan, however, interfered hastily, and told\nthem he was bound by a promise to the holy father, who had wrought\ntheir liberty, to do nothing adverse to the will of the Master, while\nthey remained in his castle and on his domains; and therefore he\nbegged they would comply without more words, and without delay. The\nfriar then consented, much against Charlie's inclination; and taking\nDelany by the hand, he said: \"Lo I will even depart; but I will remain\nat the ford of Howden-burn until my friends arrive, for then am I from\noff the territory of this blasphemer and worker of all manner of\niniquity. See that you tarry not at the wine, neither let your eyes\nbehold strange women, that it may be well with you.\" So the two went\naway, and did as they had said. The friar found his mule in good\nkeeping, and he remained with the maid in a cottage at the fords of\nHowden-burn, to await the issue of this singular and unfortunate\nembassy.\n\n\"Now shall I have my will, and do that which seems meet to me,\" said\nthe Master, as he strode the hall with unrestrained energy. \"Did the\ndolt imagine he could, with his tricks of legerdemain, outdo me in the\npowers and mysteries of my art? No, that man is unborn! Let him go\nwith his crosiers and his breviaries; I am Michael Scott once again!\"\n\n\"It is needless to say ought here,\" said Charlie Scott aside to his\ncompanions: \"Fock should ken weel what they say, and where they are\nsaying it. But the truth is, that the friar was the greatest man o'\nthe twa; and that auld birkie was right sair cowed in his presence. It\nis sair against my will that we hae been obliged, by your promise,\nDan, to part wi' the gospel friar; for, d'ye ken, I feel amaist as the\nbuckler were ta'en aff my arm, to want him as lang as I am here. What\ndo you think the carl did, Dan? Come here, you and Will, and I'll tell\nyou. When we came here, ye see, the master had a steward, a perfect\nhound o' hell, wha thought to guide us waur than dogs; and he crossed\nthe friar unco sair, till at length he lost a' patience wi' him, and,\nlord sauf us! sent him up through the clouds in a flash o' fire; and\nthere has never been mair o' him seen, but some wee bits o' fragments.\nI can tell you the loss o' sic a man as the friar, out o' sic a place\nas this, is a loss no easily made up.\"\n\n\"Have a little patience, brave Yardbire,\" said Dan: \"We have the great\nand the grave abbot Lawrence in his place. He is our firm friend and\nour captain's friend, and every thing will now be settled in the most\namicable manner.\"--\"That holy father and his assistants are the only\nhope I hae,\" returned Charlie: \"An it warna for their presence, I\nwadna stay another half hour in sic a place as this. Ye little ken\nwhat scenes we ha'e witnessed during the days and nights that we ha'e\nbeen here. However, as I had the charge of the embassage, I will gang\nand speak to the auld billy. He seems to be in a high key. Master\nMichael Scott; ye ken that yoursel' and our auld friar, by your\ntrials o' skill in your terrible arts o' witchcraft, brought about an\naccident that has kept us ower lang here, to the great trouble and\ninconveniency of our captain, your own brave kinsman. Now, since we\nare a' at liberty again, we beseech you to give us our answer; and if\nyou canna read the weird that he desires of you, why tell us sae at\naince, and let us gang about our business.\"\n\n\"Gallant yeoman, your request shall be granted without loss of time,\"\nsaid the Master. \"But it is the venerable father's request that I\nshould regale my kinsman's people before dismissing them, to make some\nsmall return for the privations they have suffered. Be satisfied then\nto remain for a few hours, till you taste of my cheer; and in the\nmeanwhile I will look into the book of fate, and not only tell you\nwhat your captain, Sir Ringan, ought to do, but I will show you\ndemonstratively what he _must_ do, if he would succeed in raising his\nname and his house above that of every Scottish baron.\" \"Thank ye,\nnoble sir,\" said Charlie: \"There shall never be another word about\nit. If we gain our errand sae satisfactorily at last, I'll count a'\nthat we ha'e bidden weel wared.\"\n\n\"Noble and worthy Sir, you never yet have said who told the most\nefficient tale, and unto whom the maiden should belong,\" said the\npoet.\n\n\"'Twas he, your captain there, who said the tale I most approved, and\nto him I award my right in the toy, the trifle you call maiden,\"\nreturned the Master. \"And it is well remembered, squire; amongst you,\nyou deprived me of my steward, a man that could have accomplished a\ngreat deal,--I therefore claim this worthy in his stead, as agreed;\nand glad may he be that he escapes so well.\"\n\n\"I fear I will be a bad cook, and an awkward valet,\" said Gibbie. \"I\nwas never very handy at ought that way. Tam wad answer a great deal\nbetter, an it were your will.\"\n\n\"We will have you taught practically, and to profit,\" said the Master:\n\"The three brethren, attendants on father Lawrence, shall take you to\ntask this instant. They will act as your assistants and masters\nto-day, and to their hands I recommend you. Be expert, and spare no\ncost.\" So saying, he gave three tramps with his heel, as he was wont\nto do in time past, and instantly the three sable monks stood before\nhim. \"Take that comely youth,\" said he, \"and bestow on him a few\ncogent lessons in the mysteries of the culinary art. You may teach him\na few _varieties_.\" As he said this, there was a malignant smile\nrather darkened than lighted up his stern features, and on the instant\nthe three monks had Gibbie from the ground; and one holding by each\narm and another by both his feet, they rushed out of the hall with\nhim, in the same way that one drives a wheelbarrow. When the men of\nthe embassy heard the three tramps, and the words about the varieties,\nthey looked at one another with rather uneasy sensations. But the\npresence of father Lawrence, and the other three holy brethren,\nencouraged them still to acquiesce in the Master's request.\n\nA short time after this, as they were sauntering about the castle,\nthey heard some loud giggling laughter, intermixed with squeaking\ncries of despair; which last they could well distinguish as proceeding\nfrom the lungs of poor Gibbie Jordan; and immediately after that there\ncame among them a huge red capon, fluttering and screaming in a most\ndesperate and deplorable manner, and all the three monks pursuing him\nwith shouts of delight. The feathers were half plucked off him, and\nhis breath quite spent, so that they easily laid hold of him, and\ncarried him away by the neck to have him spitted living, as they said.\nOur yeomen saw nothing but an overgrown bird, but they heard well that\nthe voice was the voice of Jordan. \"These monks are trifling and\namusing themselves,\" said Tam; \"we shall get no dinner before night.\"\n\nThe words were hardly well said when the castle bell rung, and in they\nall rushed to the great hall where stood a plentiful dinner smoking\nalong the board, and the abbot and the Master both seated at the upper\nend, side by side. Our yeomen thought it extraordinary to see the\ngreat warlock and the reverend father in such close compact, but they\nheld their peace. The abbot rose and pronounced a blessing on the\nfood, but it was in an unknown tongue, and little did they wot of its\npurport. There was great variety on the table of every kind of food,\nyet there was not one of our yeomen knew of what the greater part of\nthe dishes consisted. But the huge capon stood at the head of the\ntable, and though he had been killed and cooked in a few minutes, the\nbird looked exceedingly well. The abbot and the Master devoured him\nwith so much zest, that no one liked to call for a piece of him, save\nTam Craik, who eat a wing of him; but there was no broad bone in his\nshoulder, yet Tam declared him the first meat he had ever tasted, save\nonce, in his life. Charlie was placed next the Master, and Dan next\nthe abbot Lawrence. The three monks, attendants on the latter, served\nthe table, but nothing of the new steward made his appearance. The\nwine and other strong liquors were served round in great abundance,\nand the quality was so excellent, that, notwithstanding of the friar's\ncharge, every one drank liberally, and soon got into high glee.\nWhenever the supreme and haughty abbot swallowed a cup of wine, Dan,\nwho sat next him, heard always a hissing sound within his breast, as\nif one had been pouring water on red hot iron. This startled the\ntrooper terribly for two or three times at first, but his surprise\nlessened and wore off by degrees as the liquor continued to exalt his\nspirits. The feast went on, and the wine flowed; but, as on a former\noccasion, the men ate without being satisfied. The wines and liquor\nwere all however real, and had their due effect, so that the spirit of\nhilarity rose to a great height.\n\nIt was observed that father Lawrence conversed with no one but the\nMaster, and the dialogue they held was all in an unknown tongue, in\nwhich tongue also, they sometimes conferred with the servitors. The\nMaster left the table three several times, for he had a charm going\non in another part of the castle, and at the third time returned with\nthe black book of fate, the book of the dynasties of men below his\narm, and laid it closed on the table before him.\n\n\"Now, my brave and warlike guests,\" said he. \"Before I open this awful\nbook, it is meet that every one of you be blind-folded. I ask this for\nyour own sakes. If any one of you were to look but on one character of\nthis book, his brain would be seared to a cinder, his eyes would fly\nout of their sockets, and perhaps his whole frame might be changed\ninto something unspeakable and monstrous.\"\n\n\"Gude faith, sir Master, I'll haud my een as close as they were sewed\nup wi' an elshin and a lingel,\" said Charlie. So said they all, but\nthey were not trusted; the monks were ordered to go round the table\nand tie every one's eyes closely up; and when this was done, they were\ndesired to lay all their heads down upon their hands on the board, and\nto sit without moving, whatever they might hear. He then proceeded to\nopen the massy iron clasps, and as soon as they were unloosed, three\nspirits burst from the book with loud shrieks, and escaped through the\nbarbican. The yells were so piercing that some of our yeomen started\nfrom their seats, but dared not lift their heads. \"Ah! They are gone,\"\nsaid the Master: \"This weird will cost me dear!\"\n\n\"Fear nothing, but proceed,\" said father Lawrence.\n\nHe opened the book, and three peals of thunder ensued that shook the\ncastle to its foundations, every one of them louder than the last; and\nthough our yeomen sat trembling in utter darkness, they heard voices\naround them as if the hall had been crowded full of people; among\nothers, they deemed that they could distinguish the voices of the\nwarden and his lady. They, however, sat still as if chained to their\nplaces, awaiting the issue; and, after much noise and apparent\ninterruptions, the great Master read out as follows:\n\n    \"He for whom this weird is read,\n    Be he son of battle bred,\n    Be he baron born to peril,\n    Be he lord, or be he earl,\n    Let him trust his gallant kin,\n    And the sword below the skin.\n    When the red buck quits the cover,\n    When the midnight watch is over,\n    Then, whatever may betide,\n    Trust the horn, and trust the hide,\n    He that drives shall feel the gin,\n    But he that's driven shall get in.\n    All for whom this weird is read,\n    For the living, for the dead,\n    From the chief with corslet shorn,\n    To the babe that is unborn,\n    Let them to the sceptre lean,\n    Till the place where they have been\n    See their sway expand untroubled,\n    Doubled, doubled, nine times doubled;\n    First to rise and rule the rings,\n    Mixed with blood of mighty kings.\n    This is read for princes, peers,\n    And children of a thousand years;\n    Now begins their puissant story;\n    Strike the blow and gain the glory.\n    Rise not against feudal union,\n    No advance but in communion,\n    Though through battle, broil, and murther.--\n    Shut the book, and read no further.\"\n\nThe book was closed, and loud shouts of applause, as from a great\nmultitude, were heard at a distance; as that died away, a peal of\nthunder burst forth over their heads, which rolled away with an\nundulating sound, till lost in the regions of the western heavens.\n\nOur yeomen's eyes were then unbound, and when they looked up the book\nof fate was removed, and the Master was fallen back on his seat, with\nhis countenance mightily distorted; but the abbot and his attendants\nwould not suffer any to touch him till he recovered of himself. He\nagain rose into high and unwonted spirits; but his elevation was\nrather like the delirium of a man driven to desperation, than that\nflow of delightful hilarity, the offspring of a temperate and well\nregulated mind. The borderers persevered in their libations, and the\nmirth and noise increased till near the fall of the evening, when\nCharlie again proposed to go; but the Master protested against it for\na short space, adding, that he had to give them a practical lesson how\ntheir captain ought to proceed, if he would be the greatest man in\nScotland. This was quite sufficient to prevail on Yardbire, and none\nof the rest appeared much disposed to move.\n\nAbout this time some of our yeomen, sitting with their faces toward\nthe casement, beheld a novel scene, which they called up the rest to\nwitness. This was the Master's new steward, the late laird of the\nPeatstacknowe, making his escape from the castle with all possible\nspeed. He was stripped half naked, and bareheaded; had thrown himself\nover the outer wall, lest he should be seen going by the gate, and\nwas running up the hollow of Aikwood burn, among the trees, to\nelude discovery. Presently afterwards they beheld two of the monks\nstretching after him with a swiftness not to be outrun. Poor Gibbie\nwas soon overhied and brought back, not in the most gentle manner;\nand, instead of carrying him round by the gate, which, having been\nbroken up, stood wide open, they took him by the heels, and threw him\nover the wall, at the place he had leaped before. Gibbie gave a loud\nsqueak in the air, as he came over the wall with a wheeling motion;\nand falling on the other side, every one believed that there would not\nbe a whole bone left in his body. Instead of that he sprung to his\nfeet, and ran across the court, saying to himself, \"I'll tell you\nwhat--It minds me o' hell this place,--if ever there was ane upon\nearth.\" He got not time to finish the sentence till he was again\nseized, and hauled into the castle.\n\n\"Master Michael Scott, I protest in my master's name against this\nusage of a leal vassal and tiend laird,\" said Charlie.\n\n\"The comely youth is mine by your own agreement,\" said the Master:\n\"He shall be well seen to. Perhaps I shall only keep him for a\nseason, until better supplied. Be content; the matter is now beyond\ndisputation. In the meantime I will proceed to give you a specimen of\nmy profound art, of which you have now seen many instances; and also\nof my esteem for your captain, to whom you will be so good as repeat\nthis.\"\n\nHe then went away to his arcana, and brought a bason of liquor,\nresembling wine, which he sprinkled on all his guests in small\nproportions, and taking his seat beside the supercilious abbot, the\ntwo sat apparently waiting for some grand metamorphosis. The spell,\npowerful as it was, had not the effect that was surmised. These rude\nwarriors of a former age had principles of virtue and honour in their\nnatures that withstood the charms of necromancy,--those charms before\nwhich noble dames, cruel laymen, and selfish clergy sunk down\nconfounded and overpowered. The countenances of a few of the troopers\nwere somewhat changed by the spell, assuming thereby a sort of\nresemblance to beasts, but this their associates only laughed at,\ndeeming it occasioned by the drunkenness of the individuals affected.\nThe two great personages at the head of the table viewed the matter in\na different light, and that with evident symptoms of disappointment.\nThey comprehended the reason, for they knew there was but one against\nwhich the powers of darkness could not prevail; and, after holding a\nconversation about it in their own mysterious language, they set about\nthe accomplishment of their desires, for, though a matter of no great\navail, the Master could not brook to be baulked in any of his works\nof divination. The purport of this conversation was, what the Master\nhad once proposed before, that the men must be made accessory to their\nown transformation; and in this project he forthwith engaged with all\nmanner of earnestness.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n    He can turn a man into a boy;\n      A boy into an ass;\n    He can change your gold into white moneye;\n      Your white moneye into brass;\n    He can turn our goodman to a beast\n      With hoof, but, an' with horn,\n    And chap the goodwife in her cheer,\n      This little John Barleycorn.\n\n        _Old Song._\n\n\nThe plan of our great necromancer was no other than that of pushing\nround the wine, and other strong intoxicating liquors, to the utmost\nextremity; and it is well known that these stimulating beverages have\ncharms that no warrior, or other person accustomed to violent\nexertions, can withstand, after indulging in them to a certain extent.\nThe mirth and argument, or rather the bragg of weir, grew first\nobstreperous, afterwards boisterous and unruly, and several of the men\ngot up and strode the hall with drawn swords, without being able to\ntell with whom they were offended or going to fight. Neither the\nMaster nor the abbot discouraged this turmoil, but pushed round the\nliquor, till some of the most intimate friends and associates of the\nparty, in the extravagance of intoxication, actually wounded one\nanother, and afterwards blubbered, like children, for vexation. While\nthey were all in this state of unnatural elevation, father Lawrence\ngot up, and addressed himself to the party, for the first time. He\nrepresented to them, by striking metaphors, the uncertainty and toil\nof the warrior's life; and requested all such of them as loved ease,\nfreedom, and independence, to become inmates of his habitation; and\nduring the time of their noviciates, he promised them every good\nthing. Several of them pretended to snap at the proffer, some on one\ncondition, some on another; but when he presented a scroll of\nparchment, written in red characters, for their marks or signatures,\nno one would sign and seal, save Tam Craik, who put his mark to it\nthree times with uncommon avidity, on the positive condition that he\nwas to have as much fat flesh as he could eat for the first three\nyears, at all times that he chose, by day or by night.\n\nWhen matters were at this pass, and our brave yeomen could with\ndifficulty rise to their feet, they heard a chorus of sweet and\nmelodious music approaching, which still drew nearer and nearer. This\nwas a treat they little expected in such an habitation; but how much\ngreater was their surprise, when the hall-door was thrown open, and\nthere were ushered in thirty of the most lovely maidens that the eyes\nof men had ever beheld. They seemed, too, to be all of noble lineage,\nfor they were dressed like eastern princesses, rustling in their\nsilks, and covered over with dazzling gems. The Master welcomed them\nwith stately courtesy, apologizing for the state of his castle, and\nthe necessity they would be under of sitting down and sharing the\nfeast with warriors, who, however, he assured them were all gallant\ngentlemen, of his own kin, and some of them of his own name. The\nsplendid dames answered, that nothing on earth would give them so\nmuch delight as to share the feast with gentlemen and warriors, the\nnatural protectors of their helpless sex, to whom it should be their\nprincipal aim to pay all manner of deference.\n\nAs soon as the door was opened, our brave yeomen, with the profound\nrespect that men of their boisterous occupation always pay to female\nbeauty and rare accomplishments, started all to their feet, and made\ntheir obeisance. But the worst concern for them was, that they could\nnot stand on their feet. Some of them propped themselves on the hilts\nof their sheathed swords, leaning the points backward against the\nwall. Others kept a sly hold of the buff-belt of the comrade next to\nhim; and a few, of whom the poet was one, and Tam another, lost their\nbalance, and fell back over the benches, showing the noble dames the\nsoles of their sandals. All was silence and restraint, and a view of\nno group could be more amusing; for though our heroes were hardly able\nto behave themselves with the utmost propriety, yet they were all\nendeavouring to do it; some keeping their mouths close shut, that no\nmisbecoming word might possibly escape from their lips; some turning\nup their white faces, manifesting evident symptoms of sickness, and\nsome unable to refrain their joy at this grand addition to their\nparty.\n\nThe first breaking up of the conversation was likewise extremely\ncurious; but it was begun in so many corners about the same time, it\nis impossible to detail it all. Will Martin, with a lisping unbowsome\ntongue, addressed the one next him to the following effect.\n\n\"Fine evening this, noble dame.\"\n\n\"Do you account this so very fine an evening, gallant knight?\"\n\n\"Hem, hem; glorious roads too; most noble lady,--paced all\nwith--marble, you know. Hem! Came you by the marble path, fair lady?\nHem! hem!\"\n\n\"Not by the marble path, most courteous knight, but on one of\nalabaster, bordered with emeralds, rubies, and diamonds you know. Hem!\nhem!\"\n\n\"May all the powers--Hem--powers of beauty, you know--Ay--hem! and\nlove. Hem! What was I about to say?\"\n\n\"Could not guess, knight.\"\n\n\"That smile is so sweet. Will such an--hem!--such an angelic\ncreature,--really con--descend to converse familiarly with a plain,\nhomely warrior.\"\n\n\"Your notice does me far too much honour, worthy knight.\" And so\nsaying she put the tip of her palm gently on the warrior's rough hand.\nIntoxicated as Will was with wine, he was petrified with astonishment\nand delight, and could not find terms to express his gratitude and\nadoration. Many others were likewise by the same time testifying, by\ntheir bright and exulting looks, the joy and delight they were\nexperiencing in the conversation of those most beautiful and refined\nof all earthly objects. Tam Craik beheld, or thought he beheld, his\nlovely Kell among them, blooming in tenfold loveliness. He was so\ndrunk that he could not articulate one syllable; but he fixed his long\ncoulter-nose and grey eyes steadily in the direction of her face, and\nput his hand below the table and scratched.\n\nStill the cup and the cates circulated without any respite. The Master\nand the abbot both called them round and round; and though the lovely\nand high-born dames tasted sparingly, nevertheless the circumstance of\ntheir having touched the cup with their lips was sufficient to induce\nthe enamoured warriors to drink to them in healths deep and dangerous.\nReason had long been tottering on her throne with the best of them,\nbut these amorous draughts of homage overthrew her completely, and\nlaid her grovelling in the dust. The heroes fell from their seats\nfirst by ones, but ere the last in threes and fours. Still the\ncourteous and sympathetic beauties tried to administer comfort and\nassistance to their _natural protectors_, by holding up their heads,\nand chafing their temples; but, in spite of all they could do, total\noblivion of passing events ensued to the whole of our incautious\ntroopers.\n\nThe next morning presented a scene in the great hall of Aikwood,\nwhich, if it cannot be described, neither can it ever be conceived.\nThere lay our troop of gallant yeomen, as good as ever heaved buckler,\nscattered over the floor; some in corners, some below benches, every\none of their eyes sealed in profound slumber though the day was well\nadvanced, and every one having an inamorata in his arms, or clinging\nclose to him of her own accord. At a given signal, the great bell of\nthe castle was rung with a knell that might have wakened the dead. The\nsleepers raised their drowsy and aching heads all at the same time;\nand, as was natural, every one turned his eyes first toward the\npartner of his slumbers. Their sensations may be in some measure\nconceived, when, instead of the youthful, blooming, angelic beings,\nwhom they had seen over-night, there lay a group of the most horrible\nhags that ever opened eyes on the light of day. Instead of the light,\nflowing, and curled hair, there hung portions of grey dishevelled\nlocks. Instead of the virgin bloom of the cheek, and the brilliant\nenamel of the eye, all was rheum, haggardness, and deformity. Some\nhad two or three long pitted teeth, of the colour of amber; some had\nnone. Their lovely mouths were adorned with curled and silvery\nmustachios; and their fair necks were shrivelled and seriated like the\nbark of a pine-tree. Instead of the rustling silks and dazzling\njewels, they were all clothed in noisome rags; and, to crown the\nhorror of our benumbed and degraded Bacchanalians, every one of the\nwitches had her eyes fixed on her partner, gleaming with hellish\ndelight at the state to which they had reduced themselves, and the\nhorrors of their feelings. The poet, and two or three others, fell\ninto convulsions; and all of them turned away groaning, and hid their\nfaces from these objects of abhorrence.\n\nThe Master came with his enchanted liquor once more, and sprinkled it\nover the prostrate and humbled group, who were now in that state of\nmental agony that rendered them indifferent to aught that could occur;\nand, as he sprinkled them, he said to himself, \"I now have the power\nover you, though you had been seven times anointed in holy church.\"\n\n\"Aye, seven times seven,\" said a tremendous voice; and the words were\nfollowed by a laugh that shook the vault of the hall, which laugh was\nechoed by three or four accordant voices, and afterwards by all the\nwitches in the apartment. The astounded warriors again raised their\nheads, and beheld their friend, the abbot, stalking along and along\nthe hall in the midst of them in majesty sublime. He wore the same\nsable and flowing robes, and the same mitre, that he did on the\npreceding day; but he was now striding openly in his own character,\nwith his legs shagged and hairy, shaped like those of a goat, and his\nfeet cloven into two distinct and horny hoofs. The three attendants\nwere there also, but they were no more three monks, but the identical,\nPrig, Prim, and Pricker, the infernal pages of Master Michael Scott.\nIn short, our yeomen discovered, to their utter despair, that they had\nbeen riding, eating, and drinking, hand to fist, with the devil in\n_propria persona_.\n\nBefore giving any of them time to recover their senses, he strode up\nto Dan Chisholm, and stooping over him with exultation, he said, \"Did\nnot I tell you, Christian droich, when I bayed you at the mill, that I\nwould be before hand with you at Melrose, and have not I kept my\nword?\" As he said these words, Dan once more saw down his throat, and\nbeheld the burning flame within. Half-dead with fright, he threw\nhimself back on the floor, and held up one foot and one hand, as his\nlast inefficient defence, on which his infernal Majesty vomited such a\ntorrent of sparkling flame out upon him and his forlorn partners, that\nthey lost all hope of ever again moving from the place where they\nwere.\n\n\"Take heart, my brave fellows,\" said the Master. \"This great primate,\nyou see, is no other than the prince of the power of the air, the\ngreat controller of the mighty elements, who has honoured us with his\ncompany. You are now in his power, and lie at his mercy; but he is\nmore of a gentleman than he is generally represented to be, and will\nscorn to take advantage of a few poor insignificant creatures, who\ncall themselves Christians, of whose company he is sure before he\nwants it. He knows you will fume, and bully, and fight for a few short\nyears, sending one another home to his ample mansions in myriads\nbefore your time. Both he and I would scorn to take farther advantage\nof beings so blind ignorant, and inconsistent, than suits our own\namusement. We only love to mock you, show you your own littleness, and\nhow easy a prey you would be, were there a being in the universe that\nwatched for ever over your destruction. Cheer up, gallant soldiers!\nand now for the long-waited developement of mighty moment. I will show\nyou the manner, and very mode, by which your captain must only hope to\nsucceed in his great enterprise.\"\n\nHe then touched every one of them with the divining-rod that was in\nhis hand, pronouncing at the same time some mystic words, which none\nof them comprehended. While he was thus occupied, the witches rushed\nfrom the hall, and as soon as he had touched the hindmost, he himself\nalso made his escape, and looked from a crevice of an inner wall. The\nenchantment began immediately to take effect; the warriors rolled\nabout on the floor in strong convulsions, bellowing and flouncing,\ntrying always to run on all-four, and then tumbling over again. At\nlength their noses and chins began to grow forward in hideous\ndisproportion, till their heads began to assume something of the forms\nof the heads of beasts, and liker to those of calves than any things\nelse. The laughter that pealed from loop-hole, crevice, and barbican,\nwas, at this eventual period, excessive. The devil, the three wicked\nspirits, the great enchanter, and his conventicle of witches, seemed\nall to be in convulsions at witnessing how the metamorphosed champions\nshook their long heads, looked at one another, and tried to speak. How\ntheir language changed from long-drawn words, half pronounced, to\ndownright confused bellowings; and how their forms, in the space of a\nfew minutes, gradually assumed those of as many mighty and ferocious\nbulls.\n\n\"I have now given you your own proper shapes, and showed you in frames\nsuited to your natures,\" cried the Master, from a crevice.\n\n\"Pass forth, and be gone; and carry my respects to your captain.\"\n\nThen there was a combined bellow of rage arose in the hall that would\nhave rent any castle to the top but that of Aikwood; and benches,\nboards, and couches, flew about in flinders on the horns of the\nfurious monsters. Forthwith they rushed out into the great court, and\nfrom that to the side of the hill, bellowing, and tearing up the\nground with hoof and horn, till the country was alarmed for many miles\nround; and, believing that all hell was broke loose from the castle of\nAikwood that day, they betook them to their heels, and fled away out\nof sight and out of hearing.\n\nThe outrageous drove looked back as they ascended the brae to the\neastward of the castle, and saw the devil and the great warlock,\nstanding on the topmost tower, laughing at them; the former appearing\nof a size and dimensions equal to those of another castle. The grand\nmitre that he wore on his head, shaped like a crescent to conceal his\nhorns, now moved like a cornuted black cloud amid the firmament; his\neyes glimmered like two of the reddest of the stars of heaven; and the\nsceptre that he waved in his right hand was like a tremendous pine all\nin flame, or rather like a burning aerial meteor. Our transformed\nwarriors gallopped away in terror as fast as cloven hoofs could carry\nthem, with one mighty bison, that had once been Charlie Scott, far\na-head of all the rest; for, notwithstanding of all that Charlie had\nseen and heard in favours of the devil, he felt as much affrighted for\nhim as ever, degraded as he was in form. No wonder was it that our\ntumultuous group was terrified and galloped off; for at the same time\nthat they saw Satan stretching out his sceptre in his right hand, he\nheld out Tam Craik by the nape of the neck in his left, while the poor\nfellow was seen sprawling and spurning the air over an unfathomed\nvoid. When the arch-fiend made his retreat from among the warriors\nthat morning, in the midst of the confusion he carried Tam off with\nhim, according to compact--fed him for some time on animal food of the\nrichest quality, which, never once satisfying him, the devil grew\nweary of such a voracious cur, and twisted his neck about.\n\nThe drove was no sooner out of sight, than the Master said to one of\nhis pages, \"Pricker, assume thou the habit that thou hadst yester-eve;\nmount, and ride after these wild cattle, and deliver them over to the\ncharge of their dolt of a confessor. He will try to rescue them from\ntheir present degraded and brutal forms, but he will not be able.\nSpirit, thou sawest a part of the charms performed. Give him the\nproper directions how to find it out before leaving him. It boots\nnothing offending my kinsman, the Warden.\"\n\nPricker mounted his horse, and rode straight for the fords of\nHowden-burn, where he knew the friar was awaiting his companions, and\nmeant to have driven them all up before him to the cottage door, where\nthe friar and his fair ward sojourned, and there delivered them over\nto the care of these two, as a present of fine beeves from the great\nMaster to Sir Ringan Redhough. But before the infernal page overtook\nthem they were all at the door of the cottage, bellowing and kneeling,\nand trying in vain to make their hard case known to the friar.\n\nPricker came up, and saluted the friar, who, observing his clerical\nhabit, returned the compliment in a hurried and careless manner--for\nhe was confounded by the arrival of so many mad bulls.\n\n\"Reverend brother mine,\" said the page, \"I deliver over into thy\ncharge this herd of beautiful cattle, the best breed that ever roamed\nthe forests of Caledon. They are a present from Master Michael Scott\nto his cousin the Warden of the middle marches. See that you deliver\nthem safe and sound.\"\n\n\"Lo, thou seest with thine eyes, and thou also hearest with the hearing\nof the ear,\" said the friar, \"that the creatures are outrageous, and\nnot to be governed by the hand of a single man. And thinkest thou a\nbrother of the holy order of Benedict would take a goad in his hand,\nand ride forth after these bulls of Bashan? Lo, would they not even\nrun headlong upon my mule, and thrust their horns into his side? Thy\nservant also, and this maiden, would they tread under their feet? Go\nto! Thou speakest as one lacking understanding.\"\n\n\"I give them in charge to thee, as desired by one with whom it is\ndangerous to contend,\" said the page; \"and alongst with them this\nrequest, that your captain will make away with them as quickly as\npossible for food to his army.\"\n\nAt these words of the apparent sacristan there was such a roaring and\nbellowing commenced among the herd, that, for the first time, the\nfriar began to suspect some horrid enchantment, but wist not what to\ndread. The drove turned round their heads to the speaker,--shook them\nin disapproval of what he had said, and joined in such a ferocious\nroar against him, that it was not like ought the friar had ever\nwitnessed among the brute creation before. The metamorphosed troopers,\nhowever, knew too well now who Pricker was to attack him, but,\nturning again round, they came in a row, and kneeled around the friar,\nlooking at him with the most supplicating expressions of countenance\nthat ever cattle put on.\"\n\n\"Lo, methinks I have looked upon these wild beasts of the forest in\nsome of the days that are past,\" said the friar, \"and that their\ncountenances are not entirely unknown to me; though when, or in what\nplace, in that thing my memory upholdeth me not. I pray thee, brother,\nto declare unto thy servant where thou camest by these beasts of mine\nacquaintance. If thou art a follower of the worthy Father Lawrence,\nthou must speak the truth.--Tell me, art thou a Christian?\"\n\nThe bulls gave not the infernal page time to reply. They turned about,\nshook their heads, and tossed the earth at him with their horns,\nraising at the same time such an outcry of rage against him that the\nfriar himself was afraid, and retreated within the door of the\ncottage; and he thought that, amid their confused bellowings, he\ncould distinguish as it were these words pronounced, \"He a Christian!\nAway with him! Away with him!\"\n\n\"Lo, what am I to understand by all this?\" said the friar.\n\n\"Come near unto me, thou man of mystery, that comest like one of the\nchildren of Esau, with thy cattle and thy herds, and tell unto thy\nservant what are these?\"\n\nPricker would not, however, come nigh the friar, but still kept his\ndistance; for against the friar's spiritual armour he durst not\nengage; but he called out to him, in mockery, \"I then declare unto\nthee, O thou great magician, who camest to cope with the prince of all\nmagicians, Master Michael Scott, that these are thy master's yeomen\nwhom thou leftest with him yesterday. Now, what sayest thou? Hast thou\never witnessed power like this?\"\n\nThe friar lifted up his eyes to heaven, and tears fell down on his\ndark beard. \"O wretched man that I am!\" cried he, \"why did I leave my\nchildren in the lion's den? yea, even in the den of the great lion.\nWo is me, that this breach hath been made among the followers of my\nMaster! But there is One that can yet controul all the powers of\ndarkness, and to Him alone must I apply without delay.\"\n\nThe friar went instantly to his devotions, and performed many rites of\na nature too sacred to be here minutely described; yet, after all his\nexorcisms, the men could not regain their natural shapes, but lay and\nrolled about on the valley in awful convulsions. The hellish page, who\nhad kept far aloof during the time of the friar's sacred appeal, now\ncame galloping near to enjoy the convulsions of the herd, and the\ngrief and astonishment of the friar; and after mocking for some time,\nin obedience to the great wizard's command, he called to the\nfriar, and said, \"I see he that brought about this wonderful\nmetamorphosis,--for which you shall one day be grateful,--can only\neffect the counter-charm. Look into the manes on their foreheads, and\nlook narrowly;\" and having said these words, he darted off towards\nAikwood with the speed of lightning.\n\nThe friar did as this flying horseman had directed, and searching the\nlong curled mane between the horns of the first monster that came to\nhis hand, he there found stitched a small scroll of parchment, neatly\nrolled up, and written in blood. Then he caused them to bring him\nfire, in which he burnt it, and presently there stood up at his\nhand one of Sir Ringan Redhough's warriors, in all his arms and\naccoutrements as he first arrived at the castle of Aikwood. \"By the\nlife of Pharaoh!\" cried the friar, \"surely this excelleth all that I\nbeheld heretofore!\"\n\nThe spell was now quickly dissolved; but no pen can do any justice to\nthe feelings of our amazed troopers, as they again strode the green in\ntheir own forms and vigour, embracing the friar, and thanking him as\ntheir deliverer. They returned back over the ridge, not without some\ndreadful apprehensions, to the mill of Aikwood for their horses, but\nwent no more in view of the portentous castle. They found their horses\nat good feed; and whenever Charlie saw Corby's skin, that glittered\nlike the plumes of the raven, he cried, \"Aha, Corby lad, ye haena\nwantit either meat or drink, ye rascal! Od ye hae fared better than\nyour master, ye cock-luggit glooming thief; stall up, ye dog, till I\ncaparison you, and then let us bound for the border.\"\n\nBut the most curious and least suspected of all the circumstances\nattending the horses was, that Dan Chisholm's horse and those of his\nthree companions, that they left stabled in the deep dell above\nLindean, were all found standing at the mill among the rest. The\nmiller could give no farther account about them, than that a lad\nbrought them all tied to one another's tails, and said they belonged\nto four of the baron of Mountcomyn's men that were gone to Aikwood.\n\"By the Lord Soules,\" cried Dan, \"then it is true that Master Michael\nScott said of the devil being more of a gentleman than he had been\ngenerally represented. For all the pranks he has played us, I'll think\nthe better of him for this the longest day I have to live. What say\nyou to this, friend Yardbire?\"\n\n\"I shall be twenty miles off Aikwood at least afore I speak another\nsentence about either him or some others that I ken o.' Mercy on us!\npoor Tam Craik! What an end he has made wi' his fat bacon! Hech, but\nit be a despisable thing to rin open mouth to the--I'll no mention\nwhae--for their greed o' meat. Some may hae gotten nae mair than what\nthey deserved; but as for sachless Gibbie Jordan, he has been right\nhardly dealt wi'. My heart's unco wae for the poor laird, and I think\nsomething should be done to recover him.\"\n\n\"Something _shall_ be done for him,\" said the friar, and that of such\nmomentous consequence, that, if his own iniquities keep him not in\nbondage, all the powers of the evil one shall be unequal to the task.\"\n\nAfter all these horrid perils of weird women and witchcraft thus\nmiraculously overcome, our troop rode straight on to the camp of the\nWarden, and found him in the vicinity of Wooller, having come into\nthose parts to counteract the rising about Berwick in behalf of the\nEnglish garrison. And the time being at hand on which he must either\ndo or not do, either join with heart and hand in the cause of the\nDouglas, or leave him to stand or fall by himself, and abide by the\nconsequences--his impatience for the return of his men from Aikwood\ncastle had been commensurate with the importance that he attached to\ntheir mission. But when they informed him of all the wonders they had\nwitnessed, and the transmutations they had seen and undergone--how the\nwarlock and his spirits had raised the tempests, deluged the plains,\nlevelled the forests, and cleft asunder the everlasting mountains, the\nbaron was like one in a trance. It was long before they could make\nthemselves accredited, or impress him with any other idea than that it\nwas a story made up to astonish him. With the feats performed by the\nfriar, he was particularly pleased, and from that time forth paid him\nmore honour than he had ever been seen pay to man. But the precise\nmeaning of the destiny, read for him out of the book of fate, puzzled\nand interested him most of all. It was dark and full of intricacies;\nand it was not till after long consultation with wise men, as well as\nwomen, that any thing like a guess could be formed of its tendency. By\nmaking words and actions to coalesce, a mode of procedure was at the\nlast pitched on as the only one reconcileable with the predictions.\nThis mode will eventually appear without giving the detail at present,\nand the reader will then be better able to judge whether or not the\nRedhough and his sages understood the Master's signs and injunctions\nproperly.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n    Here away, there away, wandering Willie,\n    Here away, there away, haud away hame.\n\n        _Old Song._\n\n\nWe have now performed the waggoner's difficult and tedious task with\ngreat patience, and scarcely less discretion, having brought all the\nvarious groups of our _dramatis personae_, up to the same period of\ntime. It now behoves us (that is, Isaac the curate and me,) to return\nagain to the leading event, namely, the siege of Roxburgh.\n\nThe state of mind to which the two commanders were now reduced was\ntruly pitiable. Within the castle of Roxburgh, all was sullen gloom\nand discontent. In one thing, and that only, were they unanimous,\nwhich was in a frantic inveteracy against the Scots; and though\nMusgrave, with the feelings of a man, would gladly have saved those\ndearest to him in life, yet he found that to have proposed such a\nthing as yielding to the garrison, would have been but adding fuel to\nflame in order to extinguish it. Their small supply soon began again\nto wear short; and, moreover, the privations to which they were\nsubjected, had brought on an infectious distemper among them, of which\nsome died every day; but every item added to their sufferings, fell\ninto the scale against the Scots, and all the cruelties exercised by\nthe latter, in order to break the spirits of their opponents, only\nmilitated against themselves. Opposition to the last man was a\nsentiment nursed in every English bosom within the garrison, with a\nbrooding enthusiasm of delight. There can be no doubt that they felt\nintensely for their gallant captain, considering the dismal situation\nin which he stood with respect to their enemies, and the strong hold\nthey had been enabled to keep over his heart. It was probably the\nburning intensity of these feelings that was the great source of their\nunhappiness, and gave rise to the fierce spirit of dissension that\ndaily manifested itself. Although they detested the deed the Scots\nhad committed in executing Sir Richard, yet they felt his death a sort\nof relief, as by it one-half of the cord which their hated adversaries\nheld round the breast of their commander was broken, and there is\nlittle doubt that they wished themselves free of Lady Jane Howard, by\nfair and gentle means if possible, but at all events to be rid of that\nremaining tie, which almost maddened them to think of\n\nThere was one circumstance which of late was to all of them wholly\nunaccountable. As the day of the Conception of the blessed Virgin\napproached, the mind of Lord Musgrave, instead of becoming altogether\nderanged as they had foreboded, became more and more steady and\ncollected. He watched over every part of the economy within that huge\nfortress, and gave his orders with punctuality and decision, although\nwith a degree of sternness that had not previously been observed.\n\nThe dreaded day of the Conception at length arrived; and, before noon,\ncrowds of the citizens, and people from the surrounding country, began\nto assemble around the Scottish camp. These were forcibly kept beyond\nthe line of circumvallation, while the regular troops were drawn up in\ncolumns both to the east and west of the fortress, and particularly\nround the gibbet on the Bush-Law. At eleven o'clock the Scottish\ntrumpets sounded; the English soldiers crowded to the battlements\naround the western tower of the citadel, and Lord Musgrave came up\namong the rest, arrayed in a splendid suit of light armour, and\ngallantly attended.\n\nThese battlements and the new gibbet were, as before stated, right\nopposite to one another, and separated only by the breadth of the moat\nand a very small slope on the western ascent; so that every object\ncould be distinctly seen from the one place to the other, and, by\nraising the voice somewhat, a conversation could be carried on across.\nAt the very time that Lord Musgrave thus appeared on the wall, the\nLady Jane Howard and Sir _Richard_ Musgrave were introduced on the\nboards of the gibbet. Yes,--read it over again. I say Sir Richard\nMusgrave, for it was truly he. The Douglas, seeing that he could not\nprevail, and that the gallant youth was given up by his brother and\nthe English to his fate, could not brook the idea of losing by his\ndeath the one-half of the influence he held over Musgrave. But that he\nmight try it by stretching it to the very last, he clothed another\nculprit in Sir Richard's habiliments, tied a white cloth over his\nface, let him stand a proclaimed space on the boards with the cord\nabout his neck, and, at the last moment of the given time, there being\nno parley sounded for the delivering up of the keys of the fortress,\nthe board sunk, and the man died; but Sir Richard was safe in hold.\n\nHe was again produced that day, being the eighth of December, along\nwith Lady Jane. He was dressed in the suit of armour in which he\nfought on the day he was taken prisoner, and Lady Jane in pure\nsnow-white robes, betokening her spotless virginity. Sir Richard's eye\nbeamed with manly courage, but the fresh hues of the rose on the\ncheeks of Lady Jane had blenched, and given place to the most deadly\npaleness. Both hosts were deeply affected with the sight, and on this\noccasion both felt alike. There was not a heart amongst them that did\nnot overflow with pity at the unhappy fate of the two youthful\nprisoners, whose dismal doom could now no longer be averted, unless by\na sacrifice on the part of the English, with which even the most\nsanguine of the beleaguering army doubted their compliance.\n\nThe Douglas then caused a herald to make proclamation in a stentorian\nvoice; first stating the cause why he had put off the execution of Sir\nRichard Musgrave until that day, namely, his anxious desire to\nsave the life of the noble youth, on the ground that the purposed\nholding out of the garrison till the twenty-fourth was a chimera;\nand, secondly, declaring that, unless the keys of the castle were\npreviously delivered up to him, precisely at the hour of noon, the\nnoble and gallant Sir Richard, the flower of English chivalry, should\nbe put down; and the beautiful and accomplished Lady Jane Howard, the\nbetrothed bride and devoted lover of Lord Musgrave, subjected to a\nfate the most humiliating, and the most deplorable, that ever noble\nmaiden suffered, and that in full view of both armies. A loud murmur\nof detestation sounded from the walls of the castle, but the columns\nof the Scottish army stood and looked on in mute and tender sorrow.\nLord Musgrave placed himself right opposite the prisoners, turned his\nface straight toward them, and gazed with an unmoved and undaunted\nair. Sir Richard addressed him in the same sentiments he had formerly\nexpressed, the purport of which was, it will be remembered, the\nmadness and folly of holding out the castle, now when the bright and\nunequalled prize for which he contended was lost. For his own life, he\nsaid, he accounted it as nothing in the scale; but the fate that\nawaited the lady of his love, who had shewn such devotion to his\nperson and interests, was not to be endured or permitted by any knight\nof honour. Lady Jane cried out to him to save her from a doom before\nwhich her whole soul shrunk; adding, that she had done much, and\nsuffered much, for him, and would he not make one effort, one\nsacrifice, to save her?\n\n\"Lord Douglas,\" cried Musgrave, \"Will not a formal consignment of all\nmy lands, titles, and privileges in the dominions of England, ransom\nthe lives of these two?\"\n\n\"Not if they were ten times doubled,\" returned the Douglas: \"Nor shall\nany earthly thing ransom them, save the full and free possession of\nthe castle of Roxburgh. I have myself suffered a loss at your hands,\nof which you are not aware; and I long and thirst to revenge it on you\nand your house.\"\n\n\"Then my resolution is fixed!\" cried Musgrave: \"Though all England\nshould deprecate the deed, and though I know my brethren in arms\ndisapprove of it, I must and will redeem the lives of these two. Yes,\nI will save them, and that without abating one iota from the honour of\nthe house of Musgrave. Not make one effort, Lady Jane? Not one\nsacrifice to save your honour and life? Effort, indeed, I will make\nnone. But, _without_ an effort, I will make a sacrifice of as high\nestimation for you as ever knight offered up for the lady of his love.\nPerhaps it may not be in my power to save you; but in the sight\nof these rival armies,--in yours my only brother and betrothed\nbride,--and in the sight of heaven,--I offer the last ransom that can\nbe offered by man.\" As he said these words, he flung himself headlong\nfrom the battlement of the western tower, struck on the mural parapet\naround the lower platform, then on the rampart, from which he flew\nwith a rolling bound, and flashed with prodigious force into the ample\nmoat. There, by the weight of his armour, he sunk forthwith to rise no\nmore. The troops of the rival nations stood aghast, with uplifted\nhands, gazing on the scene; but no more was to be seen of the gallant\nMusgrave! A gurgling boil of bloody water arose above him as he sank\nto the bottom,--and that was the last movement caused in this world by\none whose life had been spent in deeds of high chivalry and restless\ncommotion.\n\nExcepting one shriek uttered by Lady Jane, the Douglas was the first\nto break the awful silence, which he did by these words: \"There fell\na hero indeed! Noble and resolute Musgrave! I cannot but envy you such\na chivalrous fate as this!\" Many such expressions of enthusiastic\nadmiration burst from both armies, not in shouts of applause, for\nthese were suppressed by sorrow, but in a low and melting pathos that\nbespoke the soul's regret as well as approval.\n\nWhen these first expressions of feeling were over, the dark and\nmanly countenance of Douglas sunk into more than usual gloom and\ndejection. All the advantages given him, and which he had deemed\ninsurmountable by his opponents, were by this desperate act of\nMusgrave's extinguished. He had now no more power over the English\ngarrison than what he could make good with his sword and his bow. To\nhave executed his threats on Sir Richard, and the lovely and romantic\nLady Jane, would only have been an act of poor and despicable revenge,\nwhich would have disgusted his own followers, and could in no degree\nhave furthered his cause; so he ordered them back to confinement,\nwith directions that they should be attended according to their rank.\n\nWhat was next to be done? That was the great question. Douglas never\nonce conceived the idea of giving up the enterprise; for though the\nprincess for whom he had undertaken it was now no more, his broad\ndomains were all engaged. The very existence of the house of Douglas\ndepended on his success; and, besides, the king had more daughters,\nthough none like his beloved and accomplished Margaret. Therefore\nDouglas had no hesitation regarding the necessity of taking the\ncastle. He was determined to have it. But what to do next, in order to\naccomplish this determination, was the question. Circumstances were\ngrievously changed with him. The garrison had got a supply across the\nTeviot-bridge during the time of the flood and the tempest, but the\nScots could not ascertain to what amount. Sir Thomas Musgrave had been\njoined by some troops from the shores of Northumberland, and had\nissued forth with these and the greater part of the garrison of\nBerwick, to the amount of 5000 men, in order to make a diversion in\nfavour of the garrison of Roxburgh. This movement by the governor of\nBerwick disconcerted the Douglas most of all. A party of these\nmarauders had shewed themselves on the height about Hume castle, with\ntrumpets sounding and colours waving in the air. From thence they\nmarched on, keeping the backs of the hills, until they came into the\nlower parts of Leaderdale, which they harried, burning in their way\nthe town and castle of Ercildon. They next made a movement towards\nMelrose, meaning to establish themselves in the rear of Douglas, and\neither to cut off his supplies, or force him to abandon the siege, in\norder to preserve his own country behind him. But when they came to\nthe river Tweed they were opposed by the brave abbot Lawrence, not the\nfeigned and infernal abbot that our yeomen left at Aikwood, but the\nreal worthy and apostolic Lawrence himself. He had raised all the\nabbey vassals and retainers, and shewed fairly disposed to dispute\nthe passage of the English over the river. In the meantime he posted\nmessage after message to Douglas, to come, or send to his assistance,\nbefore the abbey of the holy Virgin, with all its sacred stores,\nshould fall into the hands of their ruthless enemies.\n\nDouglas was hardly put to it. If he drew off from a close blockade,\nthe English were sure to take advantage of his absence, make a sally,\nand procure plenty of more provisions; and, in that case, his only\nprobable hope of success was cut off. On the other hand, if he\nsuffered himself to be inclosed between two armies, his situation\nwould become every day more precarious, and perhaps in the issue quite\nuntenable. He was, therefore, in a manner forced to the resolution of\nmaking an effort to join father Lawrence, and of giving the captain of\nBerwick battle before he attained possession of the rich monastry of\nMelrose.\n\nThe time was now arrived when the support of Sir Ringan Redhough\nand his borderers was become absolutely necessary. Without their\nco-operation in a more close and decisive manner than that in which\nthey had hitherto conducted themselves, he could not now proceed one\nfoot, and his great cause was ruined. He therefore dispatched a\npressing message to the chief, conjuring him as his friend and\nfellow-soldier, either to come and supply his place in the blockade of\nRoxburgh, or march with all expedition to Melrose, and give battle to\nthe governor of Berwick. The dogged and unyielding Warden returned for\nanswer, that it had always been his chief and undivided aim to act in\nconcert with his noble and gallant friend, and lord superior, the Earl\nof Douglas and Mar. But that he had a peculiar charge from his\nSovereign, of the English marches, which it was his bounden duty to\nattend to, prior to all other considerations. Whatever he could do\nconformable with this first duty, should not be wanting. Finally, he\nsent him word, as he had done formerly, \"that if he coudna take the\ncastle, and confessed that he coudna take it, he might send word to\nhim, and he wad take it for him.\"\n\n\"What does the crabbed carle always mean by that answer?\" said the\nDouglas, when it was reported to him: \"Perhaps he has some means of\ncommunication with those within the fortress, some secret friend\nin disguise among our enemies. Perhaps he knows of some weak or\naccessible point among these extensive bulwarks, or perhaps he reckons\non some plausible means of surmounting them; for the devil's head is\nnot more fruitful in expedients than his. This is a matter of such\nimportance to me at present, that I must try to probe it to the\nbottom. Were I sure that he could accomplish his boasted feat, I had\nbetter engage him to it with one-third of my dominions; and at all\nevents, I must procure the active assistance of his energetic force at\npresent, whatever may be the equivalent required. Let my white stead\nBeaver be caparisoned, and my attendants in readiness; I must have an\ninterview with this man of the mountains before I sleep.\"\n\nThe Warden had drawn his force down to Wooller, with the intention of\nco-operating more effectively with the Douglas. He had heard of the\nadvantages that lord held over his adversaries, but nothing of the\nlate catastrophe by which they were all removed. Deeming therefore\nthat the chances were mainly on the side of the Douglas, he judged it\nhis safest course to act in complete concert with him. Above all, the\nwords out of the black book of fate had been conveyed to him as read\nby the greatest magician in the world. From all that could be made out\nof that mystic rhyme, after long consultation, it appeared that it\nbehoved the Warden and his friends to go hand in hand with Douglas.\n\"Rise not against feudal union--No advance but in communion,\" were\nwords hardly to be misinterpreted. The words of the prophecy, and the\nludicrous metamorphosis were all taken into account, compared,\ncomputed, and over again computed,--and the sequel was a decisive\nresolution to support the Douglas and join issues with him. But, in\nthe meantime, _still to make the most of a bad bargain_.\n\nThis resolution had been taken, and so far acted upon, that trusty\nagents had been despatched all over the country in disguise, to\nexecute a portion of the great concerted plan, when the Douglas, at a\nlate hour in the evening, arrived in the Warden's camp. He then had\nproofs experimentally of the Warden's caution and vigilance. He came\nupon his outposts at a great distance from the main body of his army.\nThese withstood his passage, but seeing his retinue so small, for he\nwas attended only by two knights, a squire, and a guide, they\nconducted him from one post to another, till at length they brought\nhim completely guarded to the Warden's head-quarters; which was\nnothing more than a lowly cottage at Wooller haugh-head.\n\nThe doughty chief and his kinsmen were still sitting in earnest\nconversation round a rustic table, with a tremendous torch in the\nmiddle of it. This was nothing less than a huge broken jar full of\nrefined ox's tallow, and a flow peat stuck to the head in the middle,\nwhich being kindled emitted a blaze like a fish light. The gallant\nkinsmen were in deep consultation anent their grand plan of warlike\noperations, and the more they conversed about it the more eligible\ndid it still appear to them, and the more deeply did they get\ninterested in it; so that when the knight in waiting announced a\nstranger who requested an interview with Sir Ringan, every one seemed\ndisposed to refuse him admission.\n\n\"Tell him I am engaged,\" said the Warden.\n\n\"O yes. By all means. Tell him we are engaged,\" said Dickie o'\nDryhope.\n\n\"If it is another message from the Douglas, I have had enough of him,\"\nsaid the Warden.\n\n\"Ay, faith, we have had enough of him,\" said Dickie.\n\n\"It is perhaps from Master Michael Scott'\" said Yardbire: \"Or maybe\nhimsel, wha kens. Lord sauff us!\" \"D'ye think sae?\" said the Warden,\nstarting to his feet: \"That would indeed alter the case!\"\n\n\"Ay, that would alter the case indeed!\" said Dickie, starting to his.\n\n\"Who is he? or what is he like?\" enquired the Warden.\n\n\"Ay, that is the principal thing to be attended to,\" said Dickie;\n\"What is he like?\"\n\n\"He is delivered as a knight of most noble bearing and courtly\ndeportment,\" answered the knight in waiting. \"I suppose we must admit\nhim, and hear what he has to say,\" said the Warden, again taking his\nseat.\n\n\"O yes. By all means. Let us hear what he has to say,\" said Dickie,\nsitting down likewise.\n\nAs the courtly and athletic form of the Lord Douglas came up the\nhovel, the Border gentlemen stood all up to receive him, save Sir\nRingan, who throwing himself back on his seat, leaned his chin on his\nhand, and in that indifferent posture awaited till the quality of his\nguest was made manifest. But no sooner did the voice of Douglas reach\nhis ear, than he rose up to salute and receive him with as much ease\nas if he had been his daily visitor.\n\n\"You are hard of admission, noble Sir Ringan,\" said he, \"thus to let\nyour friends wait at the door of your pavilion, after riding so far in\nthe dark to see you.\"\n\n\"I am chafed with visitors from both countries every hour of the day,\nLord Douglas; many of them coming with complaints which it is out of\nmy power to rectify. I have therefore a sly inquisition established\naround me, that might haply give your Lordship some interruption. But\nit was your own blame. Had you announced the name of Douglas, that\nwould have opened a lane for you from my farthest outpost to this\nchair, which I request you to occupy, while I take my place here at\nyour right hand. You are welcome, noble Earl of Douglas and Mar, to\nour rude habitation. There is no man more so, beneath our sovereign\nlord the King. I give you and your attendants all kind welcome and\ngreeting.\"\n\n\"You are become as much an accomplished courtier among these wild\nwastes as you were before an accomplished warrior, Sir Ringan,\" said\nDouglas.\n\n\"I always make points of speaking as I am spoken to, drinking as I am\ndrunk to, and going to a battle when sent for,\" said the Warden. \"H'm\nh'm h'm,\" neighed Dickie o' Dryhope, screwing up his mouth on one\nside like a shrew: \"It is all true our Captain tells you, Lord\nDouglas. That's his rule. Mh? mh? Mh? H'm h'm h'm.\" The Douglas cast\nat Dickie a curious searching glance from his dark eye that was half\nhid by a shaggy eyebrow; and then turning to Sir Ringan, replied, \"I\nam heartily glad of it, noble Baron of Mountcomyn, it having been for\nthat very purpose I sought this interview with you. Sir Ringan\nRedhough, you must to battle with me to-morrow.\"\n\n\"With all my heart, my lord,\" was the reply.\n\n\"Come, that is as it should be. We'll no more of it. We _can_ have no\nmore of it,\" said Douglas: \"Let us have a flaggon of your best wine to\ndrink success to our arms.\"\n\nThe wine was soon produced, with plenty of other good cheer, with\nwhich the Warden's camp was then abundantly stored; and the two chiefs\nconversed together with as much freedom, and as little apparent\njealousy with regard to rank or fame, as if they had been two\nbrothers. The Douglas delineated his affairs as in that posture in\nwhich success could not fail him; at the same time he admitted the\nticklish situation in which he stood, owing to the diversion made by\nthe captain of Berwick, and that without an instant effort he would be\ninclosed between two fires. Sir Ringan answered, that he had heard of\nthe incursion, and therefore he had drawn his troops down from the\ndales of Northumberland to support his friend and firm ally in any\ncase of necessity; and he concluded by boldly proffering either to\nsupply the Douglas's place in the blockade, or march to the west, and\nhold Sir Thomas Musgrave in check. Douglas was delighted to find the\ncrabbed, cross-grained Warden, as he was wont to call him, in such a\ncomplaisant humour; and testified that delight by many well-turned\ncompliments and encomiums on his vigilance and gallant support. He got\nintroduced to all the gentlemen of the party, with whom he exchanged\ncivilities, desiring them all to regard him as their friend, and one\nready to do them a kindness whenever it lay in his power. \"And now,\nSir Ringan, since you hold the taking of the castle of Roxburgh so\nlight,\" said he, \"I think it is meet that my men and I should march\nand give battle to Musgrave. Probably you may have taken possession of\nthat troublesome garrison before we return.\"\n\n\"If I do, my Lord of Douglas, I take it for myself,\" replied Sir\nRingan; \"and claim all the privileges, rights, and immunities that\nwere to devolve on you as the reducer of it. Now, if I should take the\ncastle of Roxburgh before your return, I suspect you would find it as\nhard work to expel me, and these Border warriors of mine, as the\nhalf-starved English that you have there already. I have all these\nbrave fellows to hold in beef and malt, my Lord of Douglas; and for\ntheir sakes I have laid down a golden rule to walk by, which is, _To\ndo nothing for nothing_. If I take the castle of Roxburgh, I take it\nfor myself and them.\"\n\nDouglas, who knew nothing of the prophecy and injunctions from the\nbook of the destinies of men, became more convinced than ever, that\nthe Warden knew of some flaw or some tangible point in the garrison;\nand if there existed a knowledge of such a thing, he resolved to avail\nhimself of it by any means. He knew Sir Ringan too well to suppose he\nwould confide his secret to him, without a certainty of reaping due\nadvantage; and that, therefore, it behoved to give him a prevailing\ninterest in it. With this view, he answered him, jocularly: \"Though\nyou were to receive all that was promised to me, in the event of my\nsuccess, you would probably find yourself only a loser by the\nguerdon.\"\n\n\"Why, are you not to be made the king's son-in-law,\" replied Sir\nRingan? \"and thereby the first subject, or rather the first man of the\nrealm; for, by the indolence and retired habits of our sovereign, you\nwould have the whole kingdom at your beck. Call you this nothing, my\nLord? Or would it be fair and reasonable,--supposing the thing\npossible, which I do not pretend to say it is,--that if my warriors\nand I should put you in possessession of all this power, riches, and\nhonours, would it be fair, I say, that we should be again turned out\nto these Border wastes, to live by our shifts, without reaping any\nthing of the benefit?\"\n\n\"Should you take the castle for me, in my absence, noble Sir Ringan,\nyour reward shall be of your own naming.\"\n\n\"Would it not be better, Lord Douglas, that the reward were settled\nbefore-hand; and, then, I lose or gain at my own risk and peril. If I\ndeliver you no produce, I ask no pay.\"\n\n\"And what is the reward Sir Ringan would ask for such a piece of\nincalculable service?\"\n\n\"My choice of seven baronies on the West Border, to divide amongst\nthese gentlemen commoners, to whose support I owe every thing.\"\n\n\"You are a master worth serving, brave Sir Ringan. But such a grant\nwould break my power on the Border for ever.\"\n\n\"It is that your power on the Border _may not_ be broken for ever,\nLord Douglas, that I make the proffer. I am safer without the\nventure. But you are a day's march nearer to the English army,--draw\noff your men silently before the break of day, and march against it. I\nshall supply your place at the blockade, to the west of the castle,\nwithout loss of time, and answer to you at your return for all ingress\nor egress that takes place in that division. If Sir Thomas proves hard\nfor you, you have only to keep your men together, and fall back toward\nthe entrenchments. You shall find you have some good back-friends\nthere.\"\n\nDouglas had determined on no account to let this proffer of the\nWarden's ingenious head and powerful arm in the taking of the fortress\npass without trial; so, without more ado, he called for the friar's\ntablets, and made out a grant to Sir Ringan, in free present, of the\nbarony and lands of Gilterscleuch, and his choice of seven of the best\nbaronies belonging to the house of Douglas in the districts adjoining\nto the West Border, in the event of his putting James, Lord of Douglas\nand Mar, in full possession of the castle of Roxburgh. This grant\nsigned and sealed, the Douglas departed, after pledging the Warden and\nhis friends in a hearty stirrup cup, both chiefs being alike well\npleased with the agreement they had entered into. The Douglas posted\nback to Roxburgh, and reached it just in time to put the western\ndivision of his army in motion at break of day; while Sir Ringan made\nhis musters by the light of the moon, and marched off to the siege of\nRoxburgh.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n    Aboon his skins he sat and rockit,\n    And fiercely up his bonnet cockit;\n    Then at ha' doors he crousely knockit\n                  Withouten dread,\n    Till wives and bairns around him flockit,\n                  But now he's dead.\n\n    Then he wad claw, and he wad hustle,\n                  Till all the skins played rap and rustle;\n    While up his thighs, wi' devilish bustle,\n                  Ran mony a ked;\n    Now they hae lost their eume and gustle,\n                  Sin' Robin's dead.\n\n    De'il on the yaud, that I should ban!\n    That brak the neck of sic ane man;\n    Now wha will wucked dames traupan\n                  Wi' siccan speed?\n    Or drive the hides to them wha tan,\n                  Sin' Robin's dead?\n\n        _Rob Paterson's Elegy._\n\n\nOn the same day that Douglas marched his men up the Tweed towards\nMelrose, and the Warden his troopers across the Border to the siege of\nRoxburgh, a band of twelve men and thirty horses came up out of\nEskdale towards Craik-Cross, the most motely group that had ever been\nseen traversing that wild country. The men were dressed as English\npeasants of the lowest order, with broad unshapely hats, made of a\nrude felt of wool and hair mixed; wide coarse jockey-coats that came\nbelow their knees; and, instead of loops or buttons, these were bound\nround the middle with a broad buff-belt; the rest of their dress was\nall conformable, save that each of them had a noble broad-sword\ngirded by his side. Some of their horses were loaden, some of them\nhalf-loaden, and a few had scarcely any thing on their backs at all.\nBut no man will guess what that loading consisted of. Not to keep the\nreader in suspense, it was of _nolt-hides_; that is, of cow-hides,\noxen-hides, bull-hides, and all sorts of hides that ever came from the\nbacks of cattle. There were raw hides and dried hides, black hides and\nwhite hides, hides with horns, and hides without horns; and of these\nconsisted their loading, and nothing else.\n\nThe men alighted at Craik-Cross to bait their horses, and the\nfollowing conversation ensued, which will let the reader into the\nsecret who these skin-dealers were, thus strangely accoutred.\n\n\"Will Laidlaw o' Craik, ye're a gayan auld-farrant chield. Come near\nme, and sit down, and tell me gin ye can hae ony guess what our master\nthe Warden can be wanting wi' a' thir confoundit ill-smelled hides?\"\n\n\"I hae puzzled my brain to nae purpose about it, Dan Chisholm; but am\nconvinced it is some way connected wi' the siege of that unlucky\ncastle; and the maist part o' us trows that they are for making\nraip-ladders, or rather whing-ladders, for climbing ower the wa's; an\ngin that be the case, Dan, there will mony ane o' us throw away our\nlives to little purpose.\"\n\n\"Now to hear you talk about fock throwing away their lives! You that\nwad risk your life for naething but a broken crown every day o' the\nyear. Why, Will Laidlaw, I hae foughten often in the same field wi'\nyou afore this time, and I never saw you set your life at a cow's\nhorn, let be the hide o' ane (for whilk we wad gie a good deal the\nday.) I hae seen ye ride from your ain party, when that wing wasna\nhotly enough engaged, and blatter into the very thickest and hettest\npart o' the field, just girning and laying on like some lang-nosed\ndeil come out o' the pit. But let me tell ye, Will o' Craik, it is a\nsair fault o' your's, and it is a clagg o' the hale clan,--the deil be\nyour landlord, (as he has already been mine, quietly,) gin the hale\ntott o' ye be nae ill for saying ae thing an' thinking another. If ane\nhear a Laidlaw complaining of pinching and poverty, ye may amaist be\nsure that he has the best stockit mailings, and the best filled\nbeef-barrels in the country. If ye hear him complaining, that the\nEnglish are herrying the Scots up, stoop and roop, ye may rely on it\nthe Scots hae been getting the upper hand and enriching themsels; and\nand if ye hear a Laidlaw pretending to be averse to a foray or a\nbattle, ye may depend on it that his very knuckles are itching, and\nhis teeth watering, to be at it.--Na, ye needna waul wi' your muckle\neen, Will, for ye canna deny the thing; and it is a d--n'd provoking\ngate ye hae.\"\n\n\"Hout, dear Dan! we just hae it by kind to try what fock thinks on the\nsubject a wee; to sound them like, afore we tell our hale minds. But\na' comes aye freely out ere the hinder-end. But the truth is, about\nthis that we were cracking, ye ken. I dinna mind a bodle what the\nWarden be gaun to do wi' the skins, provided he keep his promise, and\ngie me a living English cow for the hides of every three dead anes\nthat I bring him.\"\n\n\"There it goes now! There you go again! Weel I ken ye carena ae doit\nabout the kye. Ye hae plenty o' baith kye and ewes already, and, on\nthe contrary, ye wad _gi'e them a'_ to ken what our chief is gaun to\nbe about wi' thir hides. But it is needless to fight w'ye! Ye canna\nhelp that cross gate o' expressing yoursel. Gin ever ye be drowned we\nmay seek you up the water. There's ae thing, Will,--ye may see the\nWarden means some general good to us a' by this project, whatever it\nis, for he has sent ae man o' every name to gather up the skins o' his\nnative district. Ae Oliver, ae Armstrong, ae Laidlaw, ae Chisholm,\nand twa o' the Redhoughs; for ye ken he is always maist behadden to\nhis ain name. But what can be the meaning o' this ugly disguise, I\ncanna form a single conjecture; and he is sae strick about it too,\nthat if ane o' us let oursels be found out, we lose a' chance of\nreward or advantage. Sae, Will, ye're unco weel kend about Craik\nand Howpasley, and a' the links o' Borthwick, and so am I about\nCastle-Wearie and Chisholm, and thereabouts. Gang ye into my father's\nhouse a' night, and I'll gang to Craik; gather ye up the hides o'\nTeviot, and I shall take Borthwick in my road. My father will maybe be\na wee sweer to take ye in, but ye maun make your way on him the best\ngate ye can; he has the best stockit pantry on Teviot head, but a bit\nof a Laidlaw's fault, complaining aye maist when he has least reason.\nHe has a capital stock o' hides, but seeing that English disguise he\nmay deny them; therefore try him first, and if he winna produce them,\ngang up the burn about half a mile, and in a lown crook, weel hidden\nfrae a' the world, ye'll find a bit housie wi' a dozen o' good hides\nin it. If he winna gi'e you them at a fair price, ye maun e'en take\nthem for naething, as it is a' for his ain advantage.\"\n\n\"Na, na, Dan. Weel I wat I'll do nae sic thing! I wadna dispute wi'\nthe auld man, nor anger him for a' the hides in the hale barony.\"\n\n\"There again! Aye the auld man! Now, the Lord forgi'e ye; for ye never\nmet wi' him a' your life but ye baith angered him and disputed wi'\nhim. But nae mair about it. Take ye Sandy Pot o' the Burnfit, the\nqueer hairum skairum devil, Tam Oliver, Bauldy Elliot, and Bauldy\nArmstrong wi' you; and I'll take Jamie Telfer o' the Dodhead, Jock o'\nthe Delorrin, Jock Anderson o' nae place, and Geordie Bryden o' every\nplace, wi' me,--and good luck to the skin trade!\"\n\nIt was one of those sort of winter days that often occur in January,\nwhen the weather is what the shepherds call \"in the deadthraw,\" that\nis, in a struggle between frost and thaw. There was a dark cloud of\nrime resting on the tops of the hills, which shrouded them in a veil\nimpervious to vision beyond the space of a few yards, and within that\ncloud the whole height appeared to be covered with millions of razors,\nevery pile of bent and heath being loaded with ice on the one side, so\nthat each had the exact resemblance to a razor blade, all of which\nappeared to be cast in the same mould, and of the same beautiful\nmetal. The feet of the horses as they travelled through this made a\njingling noise, as if they had been wading among crystal. As they came\nlower down on the hills the air became softer, and the ground was free\nof those ice-candles; but an uncommon gloom hung over holm and dale.\n\nOld Peter Chisholm was walking on the green to the westward of his\nhouse, looking at his ewes coming bleating down from among the dark\nfoldings of the rime, and saying to himself, \"I wonder what can be\nword o' thae dirty herd callants the day, that they are letting the\nsheep come a' stringing in lang raws, and rairing and bleating, into\nthe how o' the water that gate. The country's in a loose state e'now,\nfor the strength is a' out o't; a raid o' thirty stout English thieves\nwad herry the hale water. An sic were to come this gate the day, my\nstock wad be a' gane.\"\n\nPeter was proud of his ewes for all that, and, giving them a whistle,\nhe threw the plaid over his shoulder, set his broad bonnet up before,\nand turned about to go home to look after the shepherd lads. As he\nturned his face to the north, he naturally cast his eye up toward the\nLimycleuch hills, where it instantly embraced the appalling sight of\nWill Laidlaw o' Craik, and his disguised compeers, with their fifteen\nhorses, coming stretching down the ridge, right opposite to Pate\nChisholm's hirsel of bonny wheel-horned ewes. The old man's eyes were\ndazzled in his head, and a paralytic affection seized his whole frame.\n\"Lord pity us! Now see what's coming yonder,\" said Peter: \"I tauld\nthem aye what wad happen! but no ane wad heed me! O dool to the day! A\nman may soon hae muckle, and soon hae naething in this wearifu'\ncountry. O Dan, Simon, and Jock, the strength o' my house! wherefore\nare ye a' gane and left your gear to gang as it came! Dear bought!\nfar sought! and little for the haudding.\"\n\nBy the time Peter got thus far with his soliloquy he was quite out of\nbreath; for he was not only walking fast, but he was absolutely running\ntowards home, with a sore stoop, and knees bent much forward. Still as\nhe hobbled he continued to apostrophise in short sentences, as he could\ngather a little breath now and then to utter a small portion of the\nconcatenation of repulsive ideas that presented themselves one after\nanother--\"Naething but trash left--Heh-heh--Rob-in-Laid-law!--I\nhae seen--Heh-heh the--day, but--Heh--that's--gane,--Lasses,\ntoo!--Hoh--oh!--O ay!--Half--breed--bring--up--Oh--Dan--Dan, &c. &c.\nDaughter! Bessy Chisholm--Heh! Are ye therein? May Chisholm--where's\nyour titty? Poor tafferel ruined tawpies! What are ye gaun gaindering\nabout that gate for, as ye didna ken whilk end o' ye were uppermost?\"\n\"That's easily kend father. What has come ower ye? Hae ye seen a warlock\nthat ye are gaping and glowring at sic a dismal rate?\" \"War than ony\nwarlock, ye twa glaikit idle hizzies. Off wi' jerkin and wilycoat, and\non wi' doublet, breeks, and buskins instantly. Belt on bow, buckler, and\nbrand, and stand for life, limb, gear, and maidhood, or a's gane in ae\nkink. O dool be to the day! dool be to the day! What are ye standing\nglinting, and looking at ane anither there for? Cast your een up to the\nCarlin-rigg, and see what's coming. A' harried! ravaged! and murdered!\nCome, come: Don your billies' claes; let us make some show; it will\nmaybe save something. Warn the herd callants; let the stoutest of them\narm, and the weakest rin and drive sheep and cattle an' a' out o' sight\namang the clouds. O dool to the day! Na, na; for a' the houses that are\nin the country here they come straight! Nae winning by this place.\"\n\nThe lasses seeing their father in such a querulous mood, and the\nmotely troop fast approaching, acquiesced in his mandate, and without\ndelay mounted themselves each in a suit of their younger brother's\nclothes, while old Peter stood over them to see that they put all to\nrights, always giving such directions as these: \"Come, come, come!\nstrap, clasp, belt and buckle; and gude-sake fauld up your cuffs. Your\narms hing at your shoulder blades as they were off joint. Hout fie!\nhout fie! Wha ever saw young chields hae sic luchts o' yellow hair\nhingin fleeing in the wind? Come, come, strap and string down; swaddle\nit round wi' sax dizzen o' wheelbands, and fasten a steel-belted fur\ncap ower aboon a'. Yare, yare! Lord sauff us! Here they come! What's\nto be our fate? Keep close for a wee while.\"\n\n\"Hilloa! Wha hauds the house!\" was vollied from the door by the\ndeep-toned voice of Will Laidlaw.\n\n\"There's nae body in but me, and I downa come to the door. Ye had\nbetter ride on,\" cried old Peter, in a weak tremulous voice.\n\n\"Wilt thou answer to thy name, or hast thou a name to answer to?\" said\nWill, feigning to speak the broad Northumberland dialect, which sorted\nvery ill with his tongue: \"An thou be'st leel man and true, coome and\nbid thee guests wailcome. It is God speed, or spulzie wi' thee in\nthree handclaps.\"\n\n\"Spulzie, quo the man!\" exclaimed Peter: \"The muckle fiend spulzie the\nunmannerly gab that spake it!\"--and with that he came stooping over\nhis staff, and coughing to the door, speaking in a quavering treble\nkey. \"A bonny like purpose! What wad ye spulzie frae a poor auld man\nthat hasna as muckle atween him and the grave as will pay for howking\nit, and buy a hagabag winding sheet? Spulzie, quo he! That is a good\njoke!--he--he--he, (cough) hoh--hoh--hoh. I'm sae ill wi' that host!\nEh? wha hae we a' here? Strangers, I think!\n\n\"Goodman, we were directed to your house for a night's entertainment\nor two, if you are the old rich yeoman ycleped Patrick Chisholm of\nCastle-Weary.\"\n\n\"Na, na! I'm nae rich yeoman! I'm naething but a poor herried,\nforsaken, reduced auld man! I hae nae up-putting for ought better than\na flea. Ye had better ride on down to Commonside. There's plenty\nthere baith for man and horse. Come away, I'll set you down the length\no' the ford, and let ye see the right gate.\"\n\n\"Come neighbours, let us go away as he says, We'll never make our\nquarters good on this auld carle,\" said Sandy Pot, in a whisper to his\ncompanions: \"And troth do ye ken I wad rather lie at the back of the\ndike, before I imposed myself on ony body. Od my heart's wae for the\npoor auld niggard.\"\n\n\"Come away, lads, come away,\" cried Peter. \"The days are unco short\ne'now; ye haena time to put off.\"\n\n\"Stop short there, my good fellow,\" cried Laidlaw, \"We have some other\nfish to fry with you before we go. I am informed you have a large\nstock in hand of the goods in which we deal. You have had lucky lifts\nthis year. Plenty of good hides with you?\"\n\n\"Rank misprision, and base rascally jests on a poor auld man. Not a\nsingle hide about the hale town, foreby the ane on my back,\" cried old\nPeter.\n\n\"My orders are, worthy old yeoman, to give fair prices to such as\nproduce their hides,\" said Laidlaw. But whoever refuses, I am obliged\nto search for them; and if I find any I take them at my own price.\"\n\n\"O dear, honest gentlemen, I downa joke wi' ye: hoh, hoh,\" coughed\nPeter. \"Gin ye be for a place to stay in a' night, come away as lang\nas it is daylight.\"\n\n\"Why, with your leave my good fellow, we must lodge with you to-night.\nHearth-room and ha'-room, steed-room and sta'-room, is the friendly\nstranger's right here. Small things will serve: a stone of English\nbeef or so, and two or three pecks of oats.\"\n\n\"Beef, quoth the man? Ye may as weel look for a white corby as beef in\nmy pantry, or aits in my barn. Will ye no come away.\"\n\n\"Not till I makes a search for your nolt hides, honest yeoman. To that\nam I bound.\"\n\nThe four skin-dealers next the door alighted and went in, leaving\ntheir horses with the other two, who went and put them up in a good\nlarge stable with plenty of stalls. Peter ran back to the house in\nperfect agony, speaking to himself all the way. \"They are very\nmisleared chaps thae. They maun surely either be Low Dutch, or else\nsutors o' Selkirk, that they are sae mad about skins. I little wat how\nI am to get rid o' them.\"\n\nThe two lasses appeared armed cap-a-pee like two young men; and though\nBess was Will Laidlaw's own sweetheart, he did not recognize her\nthrough the disguise, neither did she once suspect him. The two made a\nlittle swaggering about the _pelt-dealers_ as they called them\nentering the pantry, but not choosing to measure arms with them, the\nweak suffered the strong to pass; and Will having his cue, soon\ndiscovered the huge barrels of beef below the ground, with empty ones\nabove them. Old Peter shed tears of vexation when he saw this huge and\nhighly-valued store was all discovered, but had not a word to say for\nhimself, save now and then \"A' fairly come by, and hardly won; and\nthere is nae right nor law that says honest men should be eaten up wi'\nsorners. May ane speir where ye come frae, or by wha's right ye do\nthis!\"\n\n\"Why man dost thou no hear and dost thou no see that we're coome joost\nfrom Nworthoomberland!\"\n\n\"Aha!\" thought Peter to himself; \"English thieves after a! I had some\nhopes that I could distinguish Scots tongues in their heads. But a's\ngane, a's gane!\"\n\n\"Now auld yeoman, if thou hast a word of trooth in thee, tell us where\nthe hides are, and we will pay thee for them.\"\n\n\"No ae hide about the town. No ane, either little or muckle.\"\n\n\"Why soore am I them coos doodnae coome to thee withoot heydes, did\nthey? That I can answer for, they had a' heydes and bonns baith when\nthey came from hwome.\"\n\n\"Waur than ever! Waur than ever!\" exclaimed Pate Chisholm to himself\nas he sought another apartment: \"The very men that the kye were reaved\nfrae come to take revenge! Callant, come here and speak wi' me. Haste\nto a neighbour's house, and raise the fray. We shall never be a'\nquietly put down wi' half a dozen.\"\n\n\"Dearest father,\" said May, \"I dinna think the men mean ony ill, if\nye wad be but civil.\"\n\n\"Civil or no civil, wench, it is as good to have half a dozen armed\nmen lying concealed near us,\" said Peter: \"An we dinna need them, the\nbetter. Rin your ways, and gar raise a' the auld men and the young\nlads in the two neist towns, for there is nae ither left. Pith's good\nin a' play.\"\n\nThe maid did as she was ordered, and Peter, seeing that no better\nwould be, tried to compel himself to a sort of civility, which,\nhowever, sat on him with a very bad grace. But, hides! hides!--nothing\nbut hides was the burden of their enquiries; while Peter durst not for\nhis life produce the hides, deeming that every man would know the\nhides of his own kine, and wreak tenfold vengeance on himself and\nhousehold. He knew not, he said, what his son Dan, who took care of\nall these matters, had made of them,--sold them he supposed to the\ncurriers and sutors of Selkirk,--and more than this Pate would not\nacknowledge. There was no other thing for it, nor perhaps did Laidlaw\nwant any thing else, than for him and his companions to walk up the\nburn and make a seizure of the whole of Peter's excellent hides, with\nwhich they returned loaden to his dwelling. His confusion and distress\nof mind were most appalling when Laidlaw spread them all out before\nhim, and asked in a very particular manner to be informed where he had\ngot them. O! Peter knew nothing about them. They were not his at all.\nHe did not know to whom they belonged. But he would not stand to\nspeak, turning his back always on the men, and hasting away, coughing\nand speaking to himself. He could have seen these presumptuous\nskin-men roasted on a brander, for they had now put him out of all\npatience, and all hope!\n\n\"Pray thee now, mine good friend, inform me this,\" said Laidlaw;\n\"Did'st thou nwot get this seame fleckered one, and this brwoad one\nhere, on the third of the last mwonth; and here's wother three, did'st\nthou nwo get them on the twentieth of the seame mwonth? Now tell me\nthis I say? Why where is thou gwoing groombling inte theesel? Turn\nabout thee feace to the heydes, and answer to the pwoint.\"\n\n\"Aff hands is fair play,\" said old Pate: \"I winna be forced wi' ony\nunmannerly English lown that ever I saw atween the een;\" and with that\nhe heaved his staff and struck Laidlaw across the shoulders, and over\nthe steel bonnet repeatedly, who was like to burst with repressed\nlaughter, but still persisted in his queries.\n\n\"What ails the owld catwiddied carle,\" said he, \"that he winno answer\na ceevil question? I's jwost wanting to tauk to thee aboot boosiness,\nand thou flees out in a reage and breaks me head. Come tourn again,\nand tell me when and where thou got'st this one, see, this wheyte one\nhere! What's 't moombling at? Wolt thou tell me the price of them,\nthen?\"\n\n\"I want to hae naething to do wi' you, and as little to say to you;\ntherefore, gang about your business, and dinna plague a poor auld\nunfeiroch man. The gate is afore ye, and your company's wanted\nelsewhere.\"\n\nWill would take none of those hints; he followed his uncourteous host\nabout and about, till at last he fairly holded him beyond the fire;\nand then he took his seat over against him and conversed on, while his\ncompanions dropped in one by one and joined in it. For a while they\ngot it all to themselves, but at length Pate, not being able to make\nbetter of it, suffered himself to be drawn in by degrees to join them,\nstill preserving the same strain of disingeniousness. They asked who\nthe two handsome striplings were that attended him, and spread the\nboard with provisions? He answered that they were two sons of his own.\n\"Sons of thine?\" said Laidlaw, \"Whoy, what are their neames?\" \"Simon\nand John,\" answered he; \"or rather Sim and Jock, for that's how we ca'\nthem.\"\n\n\"Whoy, mon, that is the queerest thing I ever heard,\" said Laidlaw:\n\"Then thou hast two swons of the neame of Jock, and other two of the\nneame of Sim, for I saw two of that neame, strapping youths, in the\nWarden's camp.\"\n\nPeter wist not well what answer to make; and, therefore, only added,\n\"Ay, Ay! Were you in the Warden's camp? Then tell me, is their ony\nword frae my son Dan?\"\n\n\"Ay man, I can tell thee sic news of Dan as thou never heard'st; he\nhas sitten at his supper hand and neive wi' the deil.\" At these words\none of the young men behind them (May Chisholm to wit,) uttered a\nsuppressed scream, and from that moment Will Laidlaw smelled a rat,\nand soon discovered his own beloved Bess Chisholm standing gazing at\nhim as he related the wonderful story of her brother's adventures with\nthe devil, the warlock, and the three evil spirits; of his race\nwith those infernals along the marble pavement of the air; his\ntransformation into a horned beast; and of his eating and drinking\nwith the prince of darkness. But the two striplings were most of all\nshocked at hearing of the devil's burning stomach, and how the wine\n_fizzed_ as it went down.\n\nAfter listening and wondering while all these things were in relation,\nBess said to the skin-dealer next to her, who chanced to be Sandy Pot,\n\"Pray, Sir, when you were in the camp of Sir Ringan Redhough, did you\nnote a brave trooper, a friend of ours, named Laidlaw?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, that I did,\" said Sandy: \"I know him well.\" This was a\nglorious joke for Pot, and his comrades were afraid he would persevere\nin it till he put their secret out altogether.\n\n\"How is he reported in the army?\" said she: \"Is it still alleged that\nhe is the bravest and most successful battler in the baron's array?\"\n\n\"_Bottler_, I suppose you mean,\" said Sandy, \"for as to his battling,\nGod mend that. He is not noted for ought that I ever heard of, except\nfor keeping a flunkey, or a wall-i'-the-chamber, as the Frenchmen ca'\nit; and it is reported thro' all the army, that that _wally_ o' his is\nan English girl. I can tell you that your neighbour, Will Laidlaw, is\nnotorious for nothing else beside this.\"\n\n\"It is false as thyself, and thy perjured ungenerous nation,\" said the\ndisguised maiden. \"I know my friend to be honour's self, and of a\nhouse whose courage and integrity were never called in question. The\nman that dares to slander him had better do it somewhere else than in\nmy presence, and under my father's roof. But I degraded him myself, by\nputting his name into the mouth of such a mean forager as thou art!\nThe man whose actions are base, always accuses the brave and generous\nof deeds such as his own.\"\n\n\"Bless me, what ails the chiel?\" said Sandy, laughing good\nhumouredly:--\"What's the great ill o' keeping _a wally_? I aince\nkeepit ane mysel, there's nae doubt o't, till my uncle, Gideon Scott,\nset up his birse, and gart me part wi' the creature.\"\n\nThe rest laughed at Sandy being put out of countenance by the\nindignant stripling; but Bessy Chisholm turned on her heel, and walked\nout at the door, muttering expressions about vulgarity, raw hides, and\nmaggots; and Will Laidlaw, not able to contain himself, rose and\nwalked out after her, in a visible state of mental agitation. As he\napproached the stable door quietly, into which she had turned, he\nheard her saying to herself. \"Laidlaw keep an English mistress in\ndisguise! No, the fellow is a poltroon, and a liar, and I will not\nbelieve it.\" Will entering at that moment, seized her hand between\nboth his, and kissed it, saying, in a passionate style, \"My own dear\nand high-spirited Bess Chisholm still!\"\n\nNever was there seen such a statue of amazement! The tones of the\nvoice, now uttered in its natural key, were familiar to her. But the\nfigure that uttered them! To be addressed in that style by a great\nburly thief of an English skin-buyer, outwent all comprehension. She\nwas in a man's dress, be it remembered,--and there she stood, with her\nface half raised, her ruddy lips wide apart, and her set eyes of\nlucent blue showing a mixture of astonishment and disdain. \"What?\nwhat? Sir,\" was all that she could say, until the ragamuffin figure\nreminded her of the weaponshaw at Mountcomyn, and some love-tokens and\nvows, of which none knew save one. But, with a woman's natural\ncaprice, she now was angry at him in turn having discovered her true\nsentiments, and refused to acknowledge him as her lover in that\nhateful disguise, unless the meaning of it was explained to her. He\ntold her, that the meaning of it was unknown to himself; that he took\nit at his captain's command; but that his fortune depended on the\nsecret being kept.\n\n\"There you are safe, at all events,\" said she; \"and it is well you\nhave disclosed yourself in time, for my father has raised the country,\nand it is not improbable that, before to-morrow, you should have been\nall dead men.\"\n\n\"I think we have been in greater jeopardies,\" said he: \"But in the\nmean time keep up your disguise, that my comrades may not discover\nyour sex;--and we two must have some private discourse during the\nnight, for I have much to say to you.\"\n\n\"Not I, master, I winna court ae word wi' a man in the dress of a\nvulgar English boor; for it is sae hatefu' to me, I can like nought\nthat's within it. Ah me! I wot ill how it is; but I think I hardly\ndetest it sae sair already.\"\n\n\"My bonny, haughty, pawkie, sweet Elizabeth!\" cried Laidlaw.--But\nIsaac the curate says, that, being himself a married man, he could\nnot go on with all the overcharged outrageous stuff that passed\nbetween these two fond lovers; so he passes it over, as well as the\nconversation at their evening meal, which Bess took care to make a\nplentiful and savoury one; and in the mean time, she was in such high\nspirits herself, that the troopers, who did not know her, took the\nyoung man for the most swaggering puppy they had ever seen. She\nchallenged Sandy Pot to fight her with single rapier, knowing well\nthat Laidlaw would find some means of preventing it; but it was\nevident that old Peter thought her entirely out of her senses, for he\ntried to get her away from about the house to the residence of one of\nthe neighbouring gentlemen yeomen for the night, but the experiment\nwas vain.\n\nWhen he saw such a goodly supper, or dinner, (for they were both in\none,) set down to these uncouth, and, to him, unwelcome guests, he\ncould not contain his chagrin, and at first refused to turn out to\nthe board, or partake with the rest. But when he saw that the good\nfare would all go, he grew as restless as if he had been sitting on\npins, till Bess, who knew his way, took him by the arm, and pretended\nto force him jocularly out to the table. But Peter was not ill to\nforce; for in place of receding, he made all the haste into the head\nof the board that he could, though at the same time always repeating,\n\"I tell ye, callant, it is downright wastery.\" He, however, plied as\ngood a knife and as good a horn-spoon as any of them all.\n\nWhile they were yet busily engaged at their meal, the tramp of horses\nwas heard approaching the door in a cautious and uncertain manner, and\nby a circuitous way. The two disguised maids, (whom, by-the-by, we\nshould distinguish by the names of Sim and Jock, as they sustained\nthese that night,) were standing eating at the hall-dresser, behind\nthe backs of the troopers; and when the trampling was first heard,\nJock grew as pale as death, but Sim, who knew what guests were\nwithin, which the other did not know, shewed a courage so undaunted,\nthat it appeared wonderful to all present, save one, but to Jock in\nparticular: \"O ho! The nearer night the mae beggars,\" cried Sim. \"Who\nhave we next?\"\n\n\"That beats ought I ever heard in my life!\" exclaimed Pate: \"I think\nthe fock be gane distractedly mad! What brings them a' here? Is there\nno another ha' house and pantry in the hale country but mine? It is\nhard to be eaten out o' house and hald wi' sorners and stravaegers\nthis gate. May Liberton's luck befa' the hale o' them. Callant Jock,\nset by that meat out o' sight.\" \"Stop for a wee bit, an ye like,\ngoodman,\" said Bauldy Armstrong: \"It is best aye to do ae thing afore\nanother.\"\n\nBy this time the dialogue had commenced in the court; Simmy went\nbriskly to the door by himself, and demanded of the strangers who they\nwere, and what they wanted? They answered, with hesitation, that they\nsupposed they had lost their way, and requested to know who held the\nhouse, and how it was called? \"The house is held by my father, a leel\nScottish yeoman,\" said the youth; \"and already full of strangers to\nthe door, as well as every stall of his stable with their horses. Pass\non your way, and peace be with you.\" \"Did not I tell you we had _lost_\nour way,\" said the first speaker, riding up to the door. \"Pray, who\nare the strangers within? We have lost a party of our friends.\"\n\n\"The men are from the south, master: free-traders, they may be called.\nMen of horns, hides, and hair, Sir. You, I suppose, are of the same\nprofession?\" \"Precisely of the same,\" said the stranger, alighting\nfrom his horse, and entering the house.\n\nHe was followed by other two, for there were but four in all, and the\nfourth was a a boy whom they left holding their horses. When they came\nin upon Peter and his jolly hide-merchants, they were visibly\ndisappointed, and viewed the grotesque-looking group with marked\ncuriosity. These were not the men they expected to have found, that\nwas evident; but perceiving their English habits, they ventured to\naddress them. They were answered in blunt cutting terms; for our\ntroopers knew, although the disguise prevented their being known\nagain. Having learned the name of the house and its owner, they began\nforthwith to inquire if any thing of a young nobleman had been seen at\nthat place, with such and such attendants; for they had traced them to\nthat very house, they said, and if the possessors could give no\naccount of them they would be held as responsible. Old Peter said,\nthere were so many people came to that house, that it was impossible\nhe could tell a tale of one of them distinct from another; but the\nintrepid Sim, knowing his back friends, told him the whole story in a\nfew words, and then asked them in turn what they had to say concerning\nit.\n\n\"Whoy, I has joost to say this, young chap, that I am to boond thee\nand all the faymilie, and carry you all to answer before a meeting of\nthe wardens.\"\n\n\"Ay, and it is prwoper reyght and prwoper reason too, that they\nshould, friend,\" said Laidlaw, pretending to take his part, to see\nwhat he would say. Will knew the three men to be three notorious\nEnglish thieves, of the set of the Halls and Reids, and that they\ncould not, in fact, be sent in search of the Lady Jane Howard; but he\ncould not divine their motive for coming there, or making the inquiry;\ntherefore he took the Northumberland tongue as well as he could, and\nencouraged them in conversation till a late hour. Yet he could learn\nnothing; only he was sure they were come about no good end. As for old\nPeter, when he saw two parties of Englishmen come upon him, and heard\nthat they laid their heads together, he gave himself and all that he\nhad up for lost; and hoping to conciliate their favour in some\nmeasure, he actually intreated these last comers to sit down and share\nof the remnants of their supper, which they did in a right liberal\nmanner, while Peter went out and in to learn the news. He found by\nthis time nine men, well armed, assembled in the barn, that had\ngathered from the neighbouring houses, whose inhabitants were all\nbound to rise and assist one another on any emergency. These were\nmostly old men or very young ones, the flower of the Border districts\nbeing all in the Warden's camp. Will likewise informed his sweetheart\nprivately of his suspicions; and perceiving that the strangers were\nextremely well mounted, and heavily armed, he desired her, if\npossible, to find means of concealing their horses. This the supposed\nSim soon effected. The boy still held them at forage by the side of\nthe old castle-wall; and he being brought in, and set down to supper,\nsome of those in the barn were warned to take the horses quietly to\nthe concealed house up in the hollow burn. They were soon secured\nthere; and the thieves perceiving that no one left the house, never\nhad the smallest suspicion of any trick, the boy being fast asleep\nbehind the board. At length all of them grew drowsy, andbegan to\ncompose themselves to rest as they best could, save two fond lovers,\nthat were whispering their vows and their secrets to each other in the\nlittle chamber mentioned in a former part of this history.\n\nAbout midnight, when all was quiet, these two heard the cry of\n_Welhee!_ _Welhee!_ from a neighbouring mountain, which in a short\ntime was returned from two different places in the valley.\n\n\"Now, I will lay my neck in wad,\" whispered Will to his sweetheart,\n\"that there is a thief-raid to-night; and that these three have either\ncome here to watch you, or to cut your throats in case of resistance;\nor perhaps they may have indeed lost their party in the mist. But this\nI ken, neither a Reid nor a Hall ever came thus far into Scotland for\ngood. If the fray rise, take you the command, and fear nothing. My\nfriends and I will defend you, and clear your way.\"\n\n\"But what shall we do, dear Laidlaw, with these three moss-troopers\nand the boy?\"\n\n\"We must either slay or bind them the first thing we do, or perhaps\nleave them to waddle to the hills in their armour on foot the best way\nthey can.\"\n\nThe maiden's heart trembled at the thoughts of what lay before her; as\nfor old Pate, he kept going out and in like a restless spirit; and if\nhe had not lost his daughter, and knew not where she was, he proposed\nto have fastened doors and windows, and burnt all the nine Englishmen\nwhere they lay, for he had no faith in any of them, and weened them\nall come for the purpose of ruining him. As he was going about\npreparing matters for this laudable purpose, one of the shepherd lads\ncame with the fray, and related a dismal tale. He said, that he and\nhis companions had driven out all the sheep and cattle to the heights\namong the mist, as they had been commanded; that in the course of the\nevening they heard many calls and whistles around them; and just as\nthe moon rose, a band of English thieves came round them, and drove\nthem all off towards Bilhope-head. Peter's assembled friends advised\nhim to take the skin-men's fifteen horses, and what remained at home\nof his own, and ride off and try to recover the prey, without alarming\nhis dangerous guests; but Peter was bent on fastening the doors, and\nburning them skin and bone, for, he said, they would never get so\neasily quit of them. The two anxious lovers hearing a bustle without,\nopened the casement, and overheard a part of these perplexed words and\nreasonings. Then hastening out to join counsel, they raised the fray\nopenly. The heroic Sim flew to horse, and desired all that were\nfriends to the Scots to follow, while Laidlaw addressed his compeers,\nsaying, \"Up, lads, and let us ride; our host must not be herried while\nwe are under his roof.\"\n\n\"No, no!\" exclaimed the thieves, all in a breath; \"he must not be\nherried and we under his roof;\" and no one appeared in half such hurry\nas they were to mount and be gone.\n\n\"Stop short, my good fellows, till I speak with you for a minute,\"\nsaid Laidlaw: \"Make me sure which side you will take before you go,\nelse one foot you stir not from that fire-side. I know you for Anthony\nReid of Whickhope, and those for two of your cousins of Tersithead,\nand shrewdly suspect you to be at the head of the foray.\"\n\nAnthony drew his sword: so did Laidlaw. But the English troopers were\nbold and desperate fellows; and before Laidlaw's friends could gather\nround him to his assistance, the three having covered themselves with\ntheir bucklers, forced their way out, back to back, and ran Sandy Pot\nthrough the left shoulder, who pressed on them too rashly. When they\nmissed their horses, and saw that they were clean gone, they foamed\nlike as many furies, and, setting their backs to the wall, swore\nthey would fight it out. The combat might have been attended with\nmuch bloodshed, had not all the people rushed from the barn, and\noverpowered them. They were then taken into the house and bound, while\nPot and May Chisholm, alias Jock, were left as guards on them, with\norders to kill the first that should offer to loose either himself or\nany of his companions. This whole scene was quite beyond Peter\nChisholm's capacity. He could in nowise conceive how the one party of\nEnglishmen assisted with such energy in detecting and binding the\nothers. Still he was any thing but satisfied; the matter having\noutgone his comprehension, as well as that of all his associates, save\none.\n\nThey now mounted without delay, and rode with all manner of speed\ntoward the Pass of the Hermitage, by which path they supposed the\ndroves must necessarily proceed; and just as they went down the\nRedcleuch, leading their horses, they saw the cattle passing at the\nfoot of it. The party amounted scarcely to their own number; but the\nsheep-drivers were not come in view; so they mounted their horses, and\ninstantly mixed with the men behind the drove, without offering to\nstop the cattle. At the same time they placed a guard of two farther\nbehind, to prevent all intelligence from passing between the two\nparties. When this was effected, Simmy challenged the cattle as his\nfather's, and desired the drivers to give them up; but to this the\ncaptain of the gang, whose name was Gabriel Reid, the younger brother\nof Anthony, and captain in his absence, only mocked, imitating the\nsharp treble notes of the petulant younker, and telling him that he\nwould not give them up for three score such men as _he_ was, else he\nwas better than he looked. As he said this, however, he kept a curious\neye on the rough exterior of the tall athletic English peasants by\nwhom the youth was surrounded, which Laidlaw perceiving, accosted him\nin his feigned tone.\n\n\"Whoy, friend, we are countrymen of thee own, and know thee full weel.\nThou's Gabriel Reid of Trochend. But thee billy Anty is taken prisoner\nthis seame mworning, and if thou disna gie up the kie, his head will\nbe chappit off, as weel as these of thee twa coosins the Ha's. Sae\nthou hast ney choice left but to yield up thee ill gotten gain.\"\n\n\"And what dog art thou, that takest part against thee own countrymen?\"\nsaid Reid.\n\n\"Oo, I's a dealer in the leather line, as weel as all my friends\nthere. We have our free passages and warranty for the good of both\ncountries; but we are honest men, and by chance were lodged in the\nhouse of the owner of these coos, and must see joostice doone to him.\nI boond thee brwother with mee own hands.\"\n\n\"Then the devil bind thee, thou traitor knave! and for thee reward,\nthis to thy harnpan!\" said Gabriel, drawing out his sword, and\nattacking Laidlaw without more ado. Will, who was never backward at a\nbrulzie, received the encounter without flinching, and, calling for\nfair play and elbow-room, both proceeded to decide the day by single\ncombat, while the rest drew aloof and looked on, encouraging them only\nwith cheers and applausive words. Laidlaw was mounted on Anthony\nReid's gallant steed, which Gabriel remarked, and that added to his\nrancour against the skin-man at least ten degrees. The ground was\nexceedingly bad, so that they could not wheel for weapon-space without\na parley; but neither would ask it. They fought close together, first\nwith their sword-blades, and afterwards, as their horses came in\ncontact, they dashed each other with their hilts. Both were slightly\nwounded, but Laidlaw rather had the worst of it. \"Beshrew thine heart,\nif thou hast been a skin-merchant all thy life,\" said Gabriel, as he\nturned his horse in the path for another encounter. They had now\nchanged sides, and this encounter was longer and more inveterate than\nthe first. Laidlaw not being quite master of his mighty and furious\nsteed, was twice in imminent danger, losing his broad slouched hat in\nthe struggle, the crown of which was cross-barred with steel.\n\nPoor Sim had changed colours ten times since the combat began; and, on\nseeing this last struggle, he lost all command of himself, and rushed\nwith his sword drawn to Laidlaw's rescue. _Himself_, did I say? alas,\nno one knew the true sex, save her lover, and no one interfered till\nshe was met by an English trooper half-way, who unhorsed and wounded\nher with as much ease, of course, as she had been a child. Will's eye\ncaught the first glance of her, as she was falling, and galloping up\nto the rescue, bare-headed as he was, he clove the trooper's burgonet,\nand slew him at the first stroke. Reid followed him up; but Laidlaw's\nspirit, now fully proportioned to the high mettle of his steed, was a\nmatch for any thing. He rode against his antagonist with all his fury,\nand having the advantage of the brae, overthrew horse and man, and\ngalloped over them. Then throwing himself from his horse, and seizing\nthe forlorn warrior by the throat, called out with a voice of\nfury,--\"Rescue or no rescue?\" \"No rescue! Redsdale to the fray!\" was\nthe resolute and fatal reply. Will could not stand to reason any more\nat that time, so, without more ado, he ran him through the body, and\nflew to the rescue of his beloved and heroic Elizabeth, for there the\ncombat began to thicken. She was on her feet ere he arrived, and well\nguarded, and, mounting her palfrey, she bade her lover head the fray,\nand pay no regard to her, for she was nothing the worse. He, however,\nsaw the blood upon her bassonet, and was roused to perfect fury. The\nbattle now became general; but it was no regular engagement, being\nscattered here and there through all the drove--some fought before the\ncattle, some behind them, and some in the middle. It was reported,\nthat at one time there were fifteen single combats all going on at\nthe same instant. Therefore, to have been an engagement on a small\nscale, it proved a very bloody one, many being slain and wounded on\nboth sides. But the tremendous skin-merchants bore down all before\nthem wherever they went. These were inured to battle, while the\nthieving moss-troopers, as well as the hinds on the Scottish side,\nwere only used to desultory warfare. The bare-headed leather-merchant,\nin particular, was a dismal sight to the forayers, for having soon rid\nhimself of his first antagonists, he continued galloping about the\nfield wherever he saw two engaged, and cut down all of the adverse\nparty as he went, or rode them down, giving, with every stroke, a hard\ngrin and a grunt. The men thought the devil was come among them, or\nelse that he had fairly taken possession of a skin-merchant; and,\ngiving up the contest, a few of them tried to escape by flight, which\nthey did by quitting their horses, and gaining some inaccessible\nground. The drivers of the sheep likewise made their escape, for they\nfound the droves deserted in the Hope. The weakest of the men having\nbeen left behind with them, they had come in view of the field of\ncombat, and, marking how it terminated, had sped them away out of\ndanger.\n\nChisholm's party brought home five prisoners with them, twelve English\nhorses well caparisoned, and all the prey, save one ox that Will\nLaidlaw had ridden over and slain in the plenitude of his wrath. The\nScots had no fewer than nine killed and grievously wounded out of\ntheir small party, of whom one of the latter was the brave and lovely\nBess Chisholm, who was so faint, that Will was obliged to carry her\nall the way home on his horse before him, clasped to his bosom, he not\nfailing to kiss her pallid cheek many a time by the way, while all the\nrest wondered at Laidlaw's great concern about the youth. When Peter\nsaw his child borne into the house pale and wounded, he lost all\nrecollection of the secret of her sex, and cried out \"O my poor Bess!\nmy dear daughter! What had I ado making a man of thee! Thy blood is\non thy old father's head. \"Alas, for my beloved daughter!\"\n\n\"Daughter!\" exclaimed they all again and again, \"Daughter!\" re-echoed\nWill Laidlaw, as if he had not known well before. \"Daughter?\" cried\nthe skin-men: \"Have we then been led to the field by a maid? Shame on\nour heads that suffered the overthrow! against the rules of chivalry\nas her attempt was! Alas, for the gallant and high spirited young\ndame!\"\n\nThey put her to bed, and dressed her wounds, and from all appearances\nhad high hopes that she was more afraid and fatigued than hurt. She\nsoon fell into a quiet slumber, in which they left her, and retired to\ntake some refreshment, and talk over their morning's adventure. It\nturned out as suggested, that their three prisoners were the three\nchief men of the gang, who had completely lost themselves and all\ntraces of their companions among the mist; and having heard a report\nof the seizure formerly made at that place, they cunningly tried\nto pass themselves off as messengers sent in search of the lost\ntravellers. If they had been with their own party, that would have\nproved an overmatch for the Chisholms. The Reids and Halls had been\nherried of their whole live stock by the Warden's people, and learning\nthat the greater part of it was driven up into these mountains, they\nnaturally wanted to make some reprisals and recover their own again.\nHad it not been for their misfortune in separating, and the exertions\nof the gallant hide-men, they would have effected their purpose with\nthe utmost ease. It proved a luckless raid for them, for they lost all\ntheir horses, the greater part of their men, and the chief, squire\nAnthony, and six of his friends, were sent prisoners to the castle of\nMountcomyn.\n\nThe country people at Chisholm's board were loud in praise of the\nskin-men, and of their trusty and gallant behaviour; in particular,\nthey averred that Laidlaw had killed the half of the thieves with his\nown hand, for that he rode about the field like a resistless angel,\ndestroying all before him. When Peter heard that he fought so\nvaliantly for the recovery of his stock, and regained his darling\ndaughter's life, his heart warmed toward him, and he bid him ask any\nthing of him he chose that was in his power to give, and he should not\nbe said nay. Will at once asked the maid whose life he had saved for\nhis wife. Peter hesitated, and said it was hard to bestow the flower\nof all the Chisholms on an English skin-merchant, a man who seemed to\nhave neither house nor name, or was ashamed to own them. However, as\nhe had proved himself a warrior and a hero, Peter consented, provided\nthe maid grew better, and was herself satisfied with the match. Will\nsaid he asked her on no other terms, and went ben to see her before\nhe departed. She was still sound asleep, or pretended to be so;\ntherefore, unwilling to disturb her, he breathed a blessing over her,\nand impressed two or three warm affectionate kisses on her lips. As he\ncame away he felt a slight pressure of her arms around his neck.\n\nWhen Sandy Pot learned that the lovely youth with whom he had watched\nthe prisoners all the night and morning of the battle was a maid, and\nthe younger sister of his gallant friend Dan, Sandy's wound grew so\nill that he could not be removed, so he remained where he was, and the\nother four went off with their uncouth loading. They found Dan\nChisholm at Hawick waiting for them in the utmost impatience, having\ncollected no fewer than twenty horse-loads of hides, every one of them\nin size like a hay-stack; and away the motely train marched and joined\nthe Warden on the night after his arrival before the walls of\nRoxburgh.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n    So they shot out and they shot in,\n      Till the morn that it was day,\n    When mony o' the Englishmen\n      About the draw-brigg lay;\n    When they hae yoket carts and wains,\n      To ca' their dead away,\n    And shot auld dikes aboon the lave,\n      In gutters where they lay.\n\n        _Ball. of Old Mettlin._\n\n\nThe expedition of the Douglas against Musgrave is, like the\ninnumerable Border battles of that reign, only shortly mentioned by\nhistorians; and although it was a notable encounter, and is detailed\nby Isaac at great length, it lies out of our way here. Let it suffice\nthat they skirmished cautiously for two days with various success, and\nat last came to an engagement on a field right opposite to the\njunction of the Tweed and Gala. After a hard fought battle, Douglas'\nleft wing was discomfitted; and just as he was arranging his force so\nas to cover the retreat, an unaccountable confusion was noted among\nthe English ranks, which seemed to be engaged anew, and with one\nanother, there being no other army nigh. Douglas, recalling his routed\nsquadrons, faced about, but advanced with caution, till he saw\nMusgrave's army broken and flying in all directions. This gallant feat\nwas accomplished by a Sir John Gordon, who was on his way with seven\nhundred fresh men to the assistance of Douglas; and as he came on the\nEnglish ranks behind at that important crisis, he broke them at the\nfirst onset, and took Sir Thomas Musgrave prisoner with his own hand.\n\nThus far the affairs of Douglas wore the aspect of prosperity--but a\nsettled gloom hung over his mind; an oppression of spirits was apparent\nin every sentence that he uttered and every plan he suggested, and these\nwere far from being traits of his wonted disposition. But the monk\nBenjamin had been with him again and again!--had been harrassing his\nsoul with commissions and messages from the mansions of the dead; and\none night he heard the voice of his lost and dearly regretted princess,\nspeaking to him in his tent, as it were out of the canvas. Still the\nmost solemn injunctions of secrecy were imposed on him, insomuch that he\ndeemed himself not at liberty to open his mind to any one. Besides all\nthis, the disconsolate Mary Kirkmichael had been constantly lingering\nnigh to him, and always presenting herself in the utmost agony of mind,\nto make enquiries about her royal mistress. That lady's appearance\nbecame so terrible to him that he was unable to bear it, and gave strict\ncharges that she should not be suffered to come within the limits of his\ncamp. But for all that, availing herself of her rank and her sex's\nprivilege, she forced her way to him several times, and at every visit\nfilled his soul with the most racking torments; so that, harrassed with\n_war_ as he was, he found this his first intercourse with _women_,\nattended with ten times more distracting and grievous perils than the\nformer. While, on the other hand, the heroes that visited the castle of\nAikwood, even those who escaped, not including the wretched victims who\nremained behind, discovered, to their dear bought experience, that\nthere were perils in nature infinitely superior to both.\n\nIt is now absolutely necessary to shorten the curate's narrative, to\nprevent this work running to an inordinate length; and though two of\nhis tales have been left out already, the great events that follow\nmust also be related in a style abbreviated, though not mangled by\nindistinctness.\n\nAfter the intrepid Lord Musgrave had sacrificed his own life in order\nto save those of his only brother and the lady of his love, Clavering\nwas unanimously chosen captain in his room, and every soldier took a\nnew oath to him to die in defence of the fortress. The commission of\nwhich he accepted was a dismal one; but he entered into all the\nfeelings of the famishing inmates in their hatred of the Scots, and\nimplacable enmity against them,--therefore, he was the very man for\ntheir purpose.\n\nEvery attempt of the besiegers to scale the walls of the castle, or to\ngain an entrance by fraud or force, had hitherto proved utterly\nabortive; the determined sons of England laughed at them, regarding\nthem in no other light than as freaks of mere insanity, or the gambols\nof children. The fortress was impregnable with such heroes within, had\nthey been supplied with sufficient stores of food and of arrows, both\nof which had long been exhausted; and though a small and welcome\nsupply of the former had been obtained during the tempest and the\nflood which followed, for which they were obliged to the devil and\nMaster Michael Scott, yet, like all the benefits derived from that\nquarter, it proved rather more hurtful than advantageous, for they\ndevoured it with such avidity that the distemper, with which they had\nformerly been visited, broke out among them with greater violence than\never. Yet disregarding all these privations, which a looker-on would\nsuppose might naturally tend to break the human heart and daunt the\nresolution of the boldest,--with famine and pestilence both staring\nthem in the face,--they bound themselves by a new and fearful\noath never to yield the fortress to the Scots while a man of them\nremained alive. Every new calamity acted but as a new spur to their\nresolution; and their food being again on the very eve of exhaustion,\ntheir whole concern was how to procure a new supply. Not that they\nvalued their own lives or their own sufferings,--these had for a good\nwhile been only a secondary consideration,--but from the excruciating\ndread that they should die out, and the Scots attain possession of the\nfortress before Christmas.\n\nThe warders soon noted the alteration that had taken place in the\nbeleaguering army. They perceived the ground that had formerly been\noccupied by the Angus men, and the Mar Highlanders, now taken up by\nthe tall, athletic, and careless looking borderers, against whom they\nfound their antipathy was not so mortal: and they had some surmisings\nof what really was the case, that a strong diversion had been made in\ntheir favours, that had drawn off their inveterate and hateful enemy\nDouglas from the siege. Every hour convinced them farther of the truth\nof this suggestion; for they perceived a laxness in the manner of\nconducting the blockade which they had not witnessed for many days,\nand all their conversation turned on the manner in which they ought to\navail themselves of it. The carelessness of the besiegers themselves,\nor something subordinate thereto, soon furnished an opportunity to\nthem of putting their policy once more to the test, and that by an\nadventure the most ardently desired. On the second day after the\ndeparture of Douglas the warder on the topmost tower perceived, on a\nrising ground two miles to the southward, about thirty head of cattle,\nthat came gradually in view as a wing of a large drove might be\nsupposed to do; and after they had fed for some time there, two men\ncame before them and chased them back out of sight of the castle, as\nif a great oversight had been committed by letting them come in view\nof it. Notice of this important discovery was instantly given to the\ncaptain, and the news spreading among the garrison, many a long and\nlonging look was cast from the battlements and loopholes of the high\nwestern tower that day. They were not cast in vain. Just toward the\nfall of evening they perceived a part of the drove appear again only a\nvery short space from the castle, and they likewise perceived by their\ncolours that they were a drove of English beasts which had been\nbrought from their native pastures by the strong hand of rapine, for\nthe supply of this new come border army. They perceived likewise that\nthey approached the army by a concealed way, that the two glances they\ngot of them were merely casual, and that they were very slightly\nguarded.\n\nA council of war was immediately called, in which it was agreed,\nwithout one dissentient voice, that the garrison should make a sham\nsally at the eastern draw-bridge, as if with intent to gain the city,\nin order that they might draw the attention of the besiegers to that\npoint; and in the meantime the captain, with the choicest of the\nmen were to march out by Teviot-bridge, of which the garrison\nhad necessarily the sole possession, and endeavour to seize the\nprey. Thence they were to proceed westward, and try to elude the\nenemy's posts, or give them battle, if the former were found to\nbe impracticable; but at all events, either to die or succeed in\nattaining that valuable supply, or a part of it. The success of the\ncontest now turned on that single point as on a pivot; the balance was\nagainst them, but, that turned in their favours by an exertion of\nwarrior prowess, they could then reckon on a complete triumph over\ntheir unappeasable foes.\n\nBesides, every thing seemed to concur in support of their gallant\nexpedition. The nights were dark even beyond their usual darkness at\nthat gloomy season, and the moon did not arise till two in the\nmorning. Both these circumstances were in their favour,--the one in\nattaining possession of the prey unperceived, and the other in\nenabling them to fight their way home; for they knew that though they\nthemselves might pass the strong Scottish posts favoured by the deep\ndarkness, still it was impossible to bring the drove through them, and\nalong the bridge, without a hard skirmish. The captain, therefore,\ngave command to the division left behind, that the more noise they\nheard of an engagement about the bridge of Teviot, and the gate toward\nthe west, the more they should press their battle eastward, to divert\nthe strength of the army to that quarter. Because on that side the\nScots could make no impression, and the English could lose nothing\nthere save a few lives, which they accounted of small avail; but if\nthe expedition to the west failed, their cause was finally ruined.\n\nThat was a busy evening within the walls of Roxburgh, while all was\nquietness and indifference without. Within there was arming and\ndisarming, for the suits of armour that once fitted these emaciated\nwarriors would not now hang on their frames. There was grinding of\nswords, pointing of spears and ox-goads, and even the slaughter-houses\nof the fort were cleared, with a provident concern seldom overlooked\nby Englishmen; and at eleven o'clock at night, by the convent matin\nbell, Clavering, with five hundred chosen men, well armed, issued\nsilently from the garrison, creeping along the Teviot-bridge on their\nhands and knees. From that they proceeded westward in the most\nprofound silence, and so close by the Scottish posts, that they heard\nthem breathing and conversing together. One party crept up all the way\nwithin the water-brae, and the other, led by Clavering himself, past\nthrough between two Scottish posts, drawing themselves along the\nground close on their breasts, and once or twice were obliged to squat\nclose down, and lie silent for a considerable space, while the\nfollowing dialogue passed between the sentinels.\n\n\"Od, Sandie Scott, think ye it can be true that the English are eating\nane another?\"\n\n\"There's nae doubt o't. I hear that they're snapping up five o' the\nfattest o' their number every day. They will eat themsels out bit by\nbit that gate.\"\n\n\"Aih wow, man! I wad rather die o' hunger than pick the banes of ane\nacquaintance. Bursten devils, that they are!\"\n\n\"Aha, Sandie, billie, ye dinna ken till ye be tried. A man will do\nought or he die o' hunger. An do you ken, Sandie Scott, I think our\ncaptain has done wrang in bringing sae mony fat bullocks a' sae near\nthe castle at ae time. Thae hungered louns will hae a haud o' some o'\nthem, and maybe cut a wheen o' our throats into the bargain, some o'\nthir dark nights.\"\n\n\"Now, ye see neighbour, I ken sae weel that our master never does the\nsma'est thing without some design, that I think he wants to wile out\nthe English, and then kill them; and that he has brought a' thir braw\nstots o'er the border, just on the same principle that a fisher throws\na bait into the water.\"\n\n\"Na, na, Sandie, that canna be the case, for he has gi'en strict\norders that no ane o' them be suffered to come within sight o' the\ncastle. He just thinks the beasts canna be sae safe ony where else as\nbeside himsel' and his lads. But hunger has sharp een, and I wadna\nwonder if this drove should lead to some hard tulzie.\"\n\n\"Whisht! Godsake, haud your tongue! What's that I hear?\"\n\n\"The English, I'll warrant you. If hunger hae clear een, fear has unco\nlang lugs. What was it that Sandie heard?\"\n\n\"I heard a kind o' rubbing and thristing, as a fox or a foumart had\nbeen drawing himsel through a hole aneath the ground. Hilloa! What\nguard?\"\n\n\"Howpasley and Gemelscleugh.\"\n\n\"Watch weel. There's something stirring.\"\n\n\"Not a mouse.\"\n\n\"So say the sleeping foresters; but I can tell you, men o'\nGemelscleuch and Howpasley, an there be nought stirring aboon the\nground, the moudies are very busy aneath it the night. Clap close, and\nkeep an ee on the withergloom. I had a heavy dream at nightfa', and\nI'm resolved no to close an ee. Come, neighbour, tell a tale, or say a\nrhame to keep us wauking.\"\n\n\"Have ye heard the new ballant made by the rhiming dominie o'\nSelchrit, the queerest thing ever was heard? It begins this gate:\n\n    The Devil he sat in Dornock tower,\n      And out at a slip-hole keekit he,\n    And he saw three craws come yont the lift,\n      And they winged their flight to the Eildon tree.\n    O whow, O whow, quo the muckle deil,\n      But yon's a sight that glads my ee,\n    For I'll lay the steel-brander o' hell\n      There's a storm a-brewing in the west countrye.\"\n\n           *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"Whisht, for heaven's sake! I heard the tod again, Hilloa!\nGemelscleuch to the glaive! Have lug and hawk e'e, or there'll be news\nafore the morn that's unheard tell o' yet.\"\n\n\"And that there will! Saint David be with us! and the blessed Saint\nMary, the mother of God, be with us! Hist havering, say Benedicite.\"\n\nAt that instant a sharp breeze arose which drowned the noise, and\nClavering and his men passed fairly by on their perilous expedition.\nBeyond the next hollow they found the cattle all lying puffing and\ndozing on a round hill. An immense drove of them there seemed to be,\nfor the hill appeared to be literally covered, but the night was as\ndark as pitch, and they could see nothing distinctly. Clavering gave\nhis commands in a whisper to his chief men, to surround the whole\ndrove, and drive them furiously, that by these means they might throw\nthe enemy's lines into confusion. \"We have the advantage of the\nground,\" said he; \"the bridge is clear, and the gates open. Let us\nplay the men for once, and our difficulties are all over. Providence\nhas favoured us beyond what could have been calculated on. Our force\nis superior to that of our enemies on this side the river. On whatever\nside our column is attacked, let us keep a running fight, so as to\npush on and preserve the prey, and the day is our own: And now, Saint\nAnthony for the right!\"\n\nThe men then formed themselves into a crescent behind the cattle\nsix-line deep, and with club, goad, and spear pushed them on. There\nwere a few dour lazy driving runts behind that bore all the thumps,\nbut the bulk were high-spirited, and galloped off on the path toward\nRoxburgh with the utmost fury, insomuch that the delighted drivers\nnever got a sight of them. They broke through the Scottish lines\nwithout either stop or stay. The alarm was instantly given, but a\nnight muster is always attended with some delay. So the English\nthought,--so they said; and to their great joy they found their\nsuggestions realized; for not till the last cow was past the strong\nline of posts on the height were they attacked by the Scots. But then,\nindeed, the Gemelscleuch and Howpasley men set upon them with\nunparallelled fury, and being every five minutes joined by more of\ntheir companions, they pressed hard upon the English, who, being\nobliged to keep up a retreating battle, fell thick on the brae beyond\nthe bridge. The brave and judicious Longspeare himself led the attack,\nand behaved like a lion; for though wounded in three different places\nof the body, he fought in the front of the main battle all that night.\n\nThe Scots, to the utter amazement of their enemies, never once offered\nto stop the cattle, but merely attacking the English crescent behind,\ndrove them and cattle and all towards the bridge. This Clavering and\nhis chief men attributed wholly to the surprise by which the Scots\nwere taken; and when the former saw the dark column of cattle take the\nbridge, he thanked the God of heaven, the blessed Virgin, and all the\nsaints whose names were known to him, for such a wonderful success and\nmerciful deliverance. The English host then raised such a shout of\ntriumph that the echoes called from the castled towers to the forest,\nand from the forest to the distant rocks. The Scots soon joined in it\nwith equal enthusiasm; and the two armies then engaged at the eastern\ngate, also joined their voices to the general chorus. The gray friars\nof Roxburgh, and the Benedictine monks of Kelso, raised their heads\nfrom their flinty pillows, committed themselves to heaven, and\ndeplored the madness and folly of the men of the world. The city dames\nwept and prayed, and the men ran to head-quarters to learn the cause\nof the uproar. The sounds were actually heard in the camp of Douglas,\nat the distance of sixteen miles; and when this was reported to him\nnext morning, he said, \"There was the Redhough on the ramparts of\nRoxburgh!\"\n\nBut man's thoughts are vanity! He cannot judge of events so as to\ncalculate on what is to happen from one moment to another: incidents\nof the slightest moment so often having the effect of overturning the\ngreatest and most momentous enterprizes. Never was there one so\nnearly overturned as this, although it was not once thought of till\nafterwards,--and it was on this wise: There was a strong guard of\nEnglish placed at the south end of the bridge, to guide the foremost\nof the drove on to it, or help to cut a way for the cattle through\nsuch troops as might interpose. The cattle, as was said, came\ngalloping furiously without intervention, and, as if led by an unseen\nprovidence, took the bridge with all their vigour, the battle being\nthen raging behind them, and the shouts beginning to rend the sky.\nThis guard had nothing to do, of course, but to open into two lines,\nand give them head. But at the end of the bridge there was a deep\npuddle, and among the men there chanced to be a little boy, who was\nrunning about and thrashing the cattle as they went through this\npuddle, which made them spring up the arch with redoubled velocity,\nwhich the urchin thought good sport. But in the midst of this\nfrolic he bolted away at once with such velocity that he had almost\noverthrown one of the men in the file, and as he ran he cried out,\n\"Lord, saw ever ony mortal the like o' that?\" \"What was it, rash\nidiot?\" said the man. \"Grace and mercy, man, did you not see how yon\ngreat black stott stood straight up on his hind legs and waded the\npool?\" said the boy. \"Take that to clear your eyes, impertinent brat,\"\nsaid the man, and gave him a blow with his fist that made him run away\nhowling and crying, always repeating as he went, \"I'll tell your\ncaptain,--now! 'at will I that--now!\"\n\nThe combat behind the cattle thickened apace. The English were sore\nborne down on the hill, but when they came to the little plain at the\nbridge-end they stood firm, and gave as hard blows as they got. They\nhad fairly gained their aim, and their spirits, so long depressed,\nmounted to an unusual height. The last lingering hoof of the whole\ncountless drove was now on the arch, and they could calculate on\nholding out the fortress against their hated foes not only till\nChristmas, but till that time twelvemonth. Their shouts of joy were\nredoubled. So also were those of the Scots. \"The people are mad!\" said\nthey, \"thus to shout for their own loss and their own defeat. It is a\nsmall trait of the cursed perversity of the whole nation!\"\n\nThe English narrowed their front and narrowed their front still as\ntheir files found room on the arch of the bridge, which was long and\nnarrow, and very steep at the south end, that rose directly from the\nplain. But the road up to the castle by the two tremendous iron gates\nwas likewise exceedingly steep, and went by a winding ascent, so that\nthe latter end of the drove, those dull driving ones that bore all the\nstrokes, got very slowly up, and with great difficulty. There was a\nguard of considerable strength left in this gateway by Clavering, lest\nany attempt should be made by the enemy to enter in his absence. But\nthese men had strict charges to clear the way for the cattle, and help\nto drive the foremost ones up the steep. The fore part of the drove\nhowever came up the steep with such main fury, that the men were glad\nto clear a way for them, by flying out of the path, up to the citadel.\nThere was not a man left in the gateway, save two at each of the iron\nportcullises, and these stood in deep niches of the wall, out of all\ndanger. Each of these men held the end of a chain that was twisted\nround an immense bolt in the wall,--and these bolts, Isaac says, are\nto be seen sticking to this day. On untwisting this chain the\nportcullises fell down, and when they were to raise up it was done\nwith levers. Well, as the two outermost men stood in their niches,\nholding by the ends of their chains, they observed, that two of the\noxen that first came in, nay the very first two that came in, turned\nround their ugly heads, leaned their sides to the wall, and kept in\ntheir places, the one on the one side and the other on the other, till\nthe whole drove passed them. The men could not move from their posts\nto drive them on with the rest, but they wondered at the beasts; and\nthe one cried to the other, \"What can ail them two chaps?\" \"O them are\ntwo tired ones,\" said the other: \"Dom them for two ugly monsters! they\nlook as them hod been dead and roosen again.\"\n\nAt length, by dint of sore driving and beating, the last hoof of the\nWarden's choice drove passed inward through the castle gate of\nRoxburgh, for the maintenance of his irascible enemies. Could any\nthing be so unfortunate? or how was he to set up his face, and answer\nto the Douglas now? But the Redhough was determined that he would set\nup his face and answer to the Douglas and his country too, as well as\nto his kinsmen and followers, whom he valued highest of all. Just as\nthe last lazy cow crossed the gate, and when the triumphant shouts of\nthe English were at the loudest, the two great lubberly oxen that\nstood shaking their ugly heads, and leaning against the wall, ripped\nup their own bellies; and out of two stuffed hides two most ingenious\ncases, started up two no less men than Sir Ringan Redhough and his\ndoughty friend Charlie Scott of Yardbire. Off went the heads of the\ntwo porters in one moment, and down came the portcullis with a\nthundering rattle, and a clank that made the foundations of the gate\nshake. \"Now, southron lads, haud ye there!\" cried the Redhough: \"Time\nabout is fair play. Keep ye the outside o' the door threshold as lang\nas ye hae gart us keep it.\"\n\nThey next went up and seized the other two porters, whom they saved\nalive, to teach them how to bolt, bar, open, and shut the gates; but\nthe men had taken the oaths with the rest, and remained obstinate. No\nthreatening could make them move either finger or tongue except in\nmockery, which provoked the Redhough so that he despatched them\nlikewise. On reaching the great square the Warden found his men in\npeaceable possession. Six score brave chosen men had entered among the\ncattle, each in a stuffed ox or cow hide, and had now like their\ncaptain cast their sloughs, and stood armed at all points to execute\nhis commands. They found nothing to do, save a prodigious difficulty\nin working their way from the western to the eastern gate. There were\nso many turnings and windings; so many doors and wickets; so many\nascents and descents,--that an army might have gained possession of\nthe one end and yet have been kept out of the other for years. But the\nsurprise here was so complete, that the Borderers had in fact nothing\nto do but to keep the possession, thus obtained in so easy and at the\nsame time so gallant a style. The shouts that arose from the western\nbattle had so much encouraged those at the eastern gate, that they had\nsallied out, and attacking the besiegers sword in hand, had driven\nthem back within their strong line of defence. This retreat was a part\nof the plan of the Scots, to draw off the remaining force from the\ngate, and while they were in the hottest of the skirmish, down came\nRedhough and his lads from the interior of the castle behind them, cut\ndown the few guards about the entrance and the draw-bridge with ease,\nand having raised that, and shut the double gates on that quarter\nlikewise, he placed the Armstrongs there as a guard, and returned into\nthe interior, still uncertain what enemies he had to combat within.\n\nThis mighty fortress was, from the one drawbridge to the other, a full\nquarter of a mile in length, walled and moated round, and contained\nseven distinct squares or castles, every one of which was a fortress\nof itself. But the strongest of all was the division on the western\npart, which was denominated the citadel, and had gates and bars of its\nown, and towers that rose far above the rest. Into this strong place\nthe sole remnant of the English soldiers had retreated, which\nconsisted merely of the guard that kept the western porch and made way\nfor the cattle, a few stragglers beside, and some official people that\nkept always within. Through every other part of the castle the Scots\nfound free passage; and by the time the moon had been risen for an\nhour, the shouts of \"A Douglas! a Douglas! a Redhough! a Redhough!\"\nwere heard from every part of the walls, excepting the western tower.\nThere indeed a faint and subdued shout announced at intervals the name\nof the King of England, for it was now no more a Musgrave! and as for\nClavering they wist not whether he was dead or alive, taken or at\nliberty.\n\nWhen the first ranks of the Englishmen that came up behind the cattle\nsaw the gates shut against them, they took it for some accident, or\nsome mistake that the porters had fallen into, on listening to the\nshouts of the adverse parties: but after calling and remonstrating to\nno purpose, they began to suspect that there was treason at the bottom\nof it, and the whisper of treason spread among that part of the forces\nwhich was now forced against the gate. They could do nothing; for they\nneither had room to fight nor fly, and they knew not whom to suspect,\nor what had befallen them. As for those at the farther end of the\nbridge, they were so hotly engaged with their opponents, that they had\nlittle time to consider of any thing; but finding themselves fixed to\nthe spot, and no movement making toward the gate, they conceived that\nsomething there was wrong, which retarded the regular entrance of the\ntroops for so long a time. They now fought only three to three abreast\non the steep arch of the bridge, down which the English drove the\nScots six or seven times, the latter always returning to the charge\nwith that vigour which a certainty of success inspires. Clavering\nfought them in the rear, and in the hottest of the battle still\nencouraging his men to deeds of desperate valour, little weening how\nmatters went within. But when the names of the Scottish chiefs were\nresounded from the walls, every heart among the English was chilled,\nand every arm unnerved in one instant. They had no conception how the\nthing could have happened; it appeared so far beyond all human power\nto have effected it, that it was several hours before it gained\ngeneral credit among them. They had kept the fortress so long, with so\nlittle dread of its being wrested from them, and withal suffered so\nmuch in it, that they could not believe the evidence of their senses,\nthat by a course of events entirely of their own planning, they\nshould be all without the walls, and the Scots within. It was like a\nwork of enchantment. Like some of the late inconceivable works of the\nspirits of divination.\n\nThe Scots could make no impression on them upon that long narrow\nbridge; but they could not long stand cooped up there; and when\nthey saw that all hope was lost of regaining entrance, they threw\nthemselves over a high parapet, and took possession of the steep bank\nbetween the bottom of the southern wall and the river Teviot. The\nriver being dammed below, it stood like a frith round the bottom of\nthis bank, which was so steep that they could not stand on it, but\nwere obliged to clamber alongst it on their hands and feet. Escape\nbeing impracticable, the Scots suffered them to take possession of\nthat bank undisputed, and to keep it, supposing they must surrender\nnext day; but a great number were slain before the latter end of the\ntrain was disentangled of the bridge.\n\nThe Scots had now free access to the gate, into which Gemelscleuch and\nHowpasley were admitted. The Warden embraced them, and thanked them\nfor their wise counsel, as well as their great bravery; and they again\nset about traversing and surveying the fortress, concerning which\nCharlie Scott said, \"It wad tak a man a year and a day to find out a'\nthe turnings and windings about it.\"\n\nThe battle at the eastern draw-bridge had continued from midnight\nwithout intermission; and after the break of day our chiefs witnessed\na scene from the walls that was without a parallel. That division of\nthe Scots army was composed of Douglas' men, being the same troops\nthat were there before, and they were commanded by Sir James Douglas\nof Dalkeith. That knight got private intelligence of the Warden's\nintention to storm the castle, by what means he knew not, but resolved\nto hold himself in readiness; and, as he was desired, when the sortie\nwas made, he retreated at first, drawing them off from the gate. When\nthe cry arose that the castle was taken, his men became frantic with\njoy, and resolute on taking ample vengeance on their enemies, they\nburst upon them without regularity, making great havock, and at the\nsame time throwing away many of their own lives. Sir James with great\ndifficulty restrained them, called a parley, and offered the expelled\ngarrison quarter; but they returned for answer, that they weened he\nhad called the parley to ask quarter of them, and they had determined\nto refuse it. They concluded by telling him to see to himself, and\ninsult them no more by such messages, for as yet he knew not with whom\nhe was warring. The battle was then renewed by the light of the moon\nwith greater fury than ever; they fought like baited bears, with\nrecklessness of life and the silence of death. Deadly hate was in\nevery thrust, and the last words of every falling warrior were, \"Have\nat them yet.\"\n\nWhen the day light arose, the English fought within a semicircular\nwall of mangled carcasses; for, grievous to relate, they were not\ncorpses; yet were they piled in a heap higher than a man's height,\nwhich was moving with agonized life from top to bottom, and from the\none end to the other; for the men having all fallen by sword wounds,\nfew of them were quite dead. The English were now reduced to a small\nnumber, yet, in the strife, their ardour seemed to prevail over that\nof their opponents. The Border chiefs, inured as they were to war,\nstood amazed, and even shocked, at the scene presented to their\nview. Yardbire was the first to deprecate it in these words: \"Gude\nfaith, Sirs, it strikes me, that this is rather carrying war to an\nextremity.\"\n\n\"Rescue! rescue!\" shouted the Warden: \"Give quarter to these men for\nmy sake. I will pay their ransom myself.\"\n\nWhen the Douglas' vassals heard this, they lowered the points of their\nswords, and drew back from the slaughter, commanding the English to\nground their weapons. The latter consulted together for a few minutes,\nand void of all dread, save that of being obliged to submit to the\nScots, they broke with one consent over the pile of human bodies, and,\ncarrying destruction before them, opened a way into the middle of the\nScottish columns; nor ceased they fighting until every man of them\nwas cut down. The rest of the English army were in a fold. Escape was\nimpossible. Ten men could have prevented it on all sides, yet for a\nwhole day and night did they hold their tenure of that perpendicular\nbank, although before the evening many were losing their holds, and\nrolling into the river from exhaustion. Then the sudden immersion\narousing them somewhat from their torpor, scores of them might be seen\nat a time crawling to the side of the water, and endeavouring to\nclamber once more up the bank; but at last they sunk back into the\ndeep, and their last breath arose to the surface in small chains of\nfetid air bubbles. No one knew what became of the young and intrepid\nClavering,--at what time, or in what place he fell; and without a head\nas these men were, it was not till the second morning, when the breath\nof revenge had cooled, and after much expostulation on the part of the\nconquerors, that the wretched remnant yielded themselves prisoners of\nwar, and were all suffered to depart on their parole, with high\nencomiums on their valour. But these commendations were received with\nthe gall of bitterness; and none of them could tell, when they went\nhome, how or by what means they were expelled.\n\nThe Warden and his men now set themselves with all their endeavour to\ntake the citadel; and, feebly as it was defended, it cost them no\nlittle trouble. It is probable that it might have held out a few days\nlonger, but when Douglas and his army were seen approaching on their\nreturn from the battle, the impatience of the Borderers could be no\nlonger restrained; and Yardbire, with a remnant of his Olivers, Potts,\nand Laidlaws, scaled the wall in the faces of the enemy, who had\nscarcely power left to cleave a head without a helmet, and throwing\nthemselves into the square, became masters of the gate in a few\nminutes; so that before Douglas reached the top of the hill of Barns,\nhis colours were placed on the topmost tower of the citadel.\n\nIt may easily be conceived with what joy, wonder, and admiration he\ngazed on this phenomenon. Joy that his broad lands and possessions\nwere thus insured to him, of which for some time past he scarcely\nretained a hope; and admiration how that indefatigable chief had\naccomplished, in a few days, that which he had exerted himself in vain\nto accomplish for the space of as many months. The idea of being so\nfar outdone in policy was without doubt somewhat bitter to the palate\nof a Douglas, for never till this day can they brook a competitor in\nthe field; but, considering how matters stood, it would have been the\nworst of policy to have let such a feeling appear. Douglas therefore\ntestified the highest satisfaction, extolling the Warden's head to\nconceive and hand to accomplish, in terms such as he had never been\nheard to utter. \"Glorious Redhough! unparallelled Redhough!\" exclaimed\nhe again and again: \"Thou and thy lads are the men to trust.\"\n\nThe chief received him at the castle gate, welcoming him in jocular\nterms of high chivalry to the castle of Roxburgh, which he took care\nalways to denominate \"my castle.\" This was soon noted by the Douglas:\nand as soon as they entered the governor's house in the citadel,\nDouglas made over to him, by regular deeds and instruments, the seven\nfirst baronies he chose to name. This document, together with the\nroyal charters confirming it, is extant, and in the possession of one\nof the Warden's lineal descendants at this day. On receiving this\ngrant, signed, sealed, and witnessed, Sir Ringan delivered over the\nkeys of the castle to the Earl of Douglas and Mar, and the two\nexchanged seats at the table. Douglas also conferred the honours of\nknighthood on Charlie Scott, Simon Longspeare, and John of Howpasley;\nwhile Sir Ringan bestowed one of his new baronies on each of these\nbrave gentlemen in support of their new dignities, burdened only with\na few additional servitudes. On his right hand hero, the hereditary\nclaimant of the post of honour, he conferred the barony of Raeburn and\nCraik, that he might thenceforward be the natural head of his\nhard-headed Olivers and skrae-shankit Laidlaws. To Longspeare he gave\nTemadale; and to Howpasley, Phingland and Langshaw. When Charlie first\nrose from his knee, and was saluted as Sir Charles Scott of Raeburn\nand Yardbire, he appeared quite cast down, and could not answer a\nword. It was supposed that his grateful heart was overcome with the\nthought that the reward bestowed on him by his generous chief had been\nfar above his merits.\n\nThe news of the capture were transmitted to court with all expedition;\non which King Robert returned word, that he would, with his queen,\nvisit the Douglas in the castle of Roxburgh, and there, in the\npresence of the royal family, and the nobles of the court, confer on\nhim his daughter's hand in marriage, along with such other royal\ngrants and privileges as his high gallantry and chivalrous spirit\ndeserved. He added, that he had just been apprized by his consort,\nthat his daughter, the princess Margaret, had been for some time\nliving in close concealment in the vicinity of Roxburgh, watching the\nprogress of her lover with a devotion peculiar to her ardent and\naffectionate nature. If the Douglas was aware of this, which the King\nhad some reasons for supposing, he requested that he would defer\nseeing her until in the presence of her royal parents. There was a\nthrust indeed! An eclaircissement was approaching too much for man to\nbear.--But that heart-rending catastrophe must be left to the next\nchapter. In the meantime, for perspicuity's sake, we must relate how\nthis grand device of the Warden's originated, by which the castle was\nwon, and himself and followers honoured and enriched.\n\nIt was wholly owing to the weird read by the great enchanter Master\nMichael Scott. So that though the reader must have felt (as the editor\ndid in a very peculiar manner,) that Isaac kept his guests too long in\nthat horrible place the castle of Aikwood, it will now appear that not\none iota of that long interlude of his could have been omitted; for\ntill the weird was read, and the transformation consummated, the\nembassy could not depart,--and unless these had been effected, the\ncastle could not have been taken. The editor, for brevity's sake left\nout both the youth's and maiden's characteristic tales, which shall\nappear by and by, but more he durst not cancel.\n\nWhen the passage out of the book of fate was repeated to Sir Ringan,\nhe never for a moment doubted either its truth or fulfilment, provided\nhe and his friends could discover its true meaning. But the words were\nwrapt in mystery; and, when conjoined with the enchantment practised\non his men, were for a long time so completely unintelligible, that\nall save Sir Ringan himself, and his echo Dickie of Dryhope, gave up\nthe hope of reconciling the given destiny with reason or common sense.\nAs for the friar, he entered his protest against paying any regard to\nit from the beginning, on the principle that all the Master's powers\nand foreknowledge were deputed to him by subordinate and malevolent\nspirits, and that good could not arise out of evil. The Warden's\nphilosophy, on the other hand, taught him to estimate facts and\nknowledge as he found them developed among mankind, without enquiring\ntoo nicely into the spirit of their origin; for the more deeply that\nwas wrapt in mystery, the more powerful was its sway over his\nimagination. Charlie Scott felt much disposed to coincide with his\nmaster in these principles, but in all deep matters he was diffident\nin offering his advice or sentiments. He, however, hit upon the right\ncue in this instance, and that by the most natural combination of\nideas that ever presented themselves to mortal man. The right\nunderstanding of the prophecy was about to be given up in despair. The\nintervals of silence during the discussion were becoming longer and\nlonger each time. It was in order to break one of these, rather than\nto impose his advice on his chief, that Charlie ventured to deliver\nhimself as follows: \"Gude faith, my masters, I see nothing for it, but\nthat we get Master Michael Scott to turn us into fat owsen again, or\nbulls, or stotts, or what ye like. Then the English will drive us a'\ngladly into the castle for marts to their beef barrels. But when we\nare fairly in, we wad need the gospel friar to change us to men again,\nor, gude faith, we wad be in a bad predicament. But I hae some faith\nto put in auld Michael's power, (as I hae good right,) and gin that\ncould be done as he seemed to hint, by the blood of Bruce! but we wad\ndowss their doublets for them.\"\n\n\"Might we not rather disguise ourselves as cattle, cousin?\" said\nHowpasley.\n\n\"I have seen our jugglers and mountebank players,\" said Longspeare,\n\"disguise themselves as a lion, a tiger, a bear, a wolf, and even as a\ngreat serpent, and dragon, so that I myself took them for these\nanimals.\"\n\n\"Why then may not we disguise ourselves as oxen, so that we may pass\nfor them in a dark night?\" said the Warden.\n\n\"Ay, in a dark night,\" said Dickie; \"what is to hinder us? If we but\nwalk on all four we will pass with hungry men for oxen in a dark\nnight.\"\n\nThus was the hint given, which was improved on as above related, till\nit effected the desired and important event, the taking of Roxburgh\ncastle, and that in the most masterly and prudent style ever conceived\nby man. They had a small drove of cattle collected, as well as hides;\nbut the disguised ones took care to keep in the front or the middle\nof these, in short on the side farthest from an Englishman. The one\nwho walked through the dub in an upright posture, had not perceived\nthe shabby boy so near him.\n\nAbundance of all the good things that the kingdom could produce were\nnow poured into the castle with all expedition; and every preparation\nmade for the reception of the King and Queen of Scotland. The carnage\nhad been so great at the two gates that night the fortress was taken,\nthat the citizens of Roxburgh, as well as the three establishments of\nmonks and friars in the vicinity, besought of Douglas that the slain\nmight not be buried nigh to the city, for fear of infection; and if\nthis was granted, they proffered to be at the sole charge of removing\nand burying them with all holy observances. This was readily granted,\nand they were removed to a little plain behind the present village,\nwhere thousands of their bones have lately been dug up. The burying\ncontinued for three days.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\n    O I hae seen the gude auld day,\n      The day o' pride and chieftain glory,\n    When royal Stuarts bore the sway,\n      And ne'er heard tell o' Whig nor Tory.\n    Though lyart be my locks and gray,\n      And eild has crook'd me down,--what matter?\n    I'll dance and sing ae ither day,\n      That day our King comes o'er the water.\n\n        _Jacobite Song._\n\n\nFrom the time of the taking of the castle until the arrival of King\nRobert, was an interval of high festivity. The Border chiefs and\nyeomen went home to their respective places of abode with abundant\nspoil, having been loaded with rich presents from the Douglas, as well\nas their share of Sir Ringan's numberless booties, which he always\ndivided among them with great liberality; and it was computed that, in\nthe course of that predatory warfare, he drove thirty thousand\ndomestic animals out of the English territory. The Scottish Border\ndistricts were never so well stocked before. For a century previous to\nthat, they had lain waste, having been entirely depopulated, and left\nno better than a hunting forest. That reign enriched them, and its\nhappy effects have never since been obliterated.\n\nAmong other things that happened in this joyful interval, old Peter\nChisholm received a message one day, informing him, that the stranger\nto whom he had betrothed his daughter would appear next day to claim\nthe fulfilment of his promise.\n\n\"They'll eat up every thing that's within the house,\" said Peter: \"If\nhe will have her, it wad suit better for us to meet them at Hawick.\nThe half o' the expences there wad lye to him at ony rate; and if he\nmade weel through wi' his hides, mayhap he wad pay the halewort. He's\na brave chield enough, it wad appear; but I wish he had fawn aff the\ntap o' his humphed ill-smelled hides, and broken the bane o' his neck;\nfor it will be a wae sight to me to see the flower of a' the Chisholms\ngang away wi' an English cadger. Oh, wae be to the day!\"\n\n\"What is a man but his word, father?\" said Dan. \"I think the gallant\nway in which the stranger behaved entitles him well, not only to the\nflower o' the Chisholms, but to the best in the house beside.\"\n\n\"Ay, ay, that's aye the gate! fling away! fling away! till ye'll soon\nfling away every plack your auld father has gathered for ye. But, hark\nye, callant Dan: Gin ye will stand by me, I'll gainsay the fellow yet,\nand refuse to gie him my Bess.\"\n\n\"Hear what Bess says hersel,\" said Dan, \"and then I'll gie my answer.\"\n\nBess was sent for, who declared not only her willingness, but her\nresolution to abide by her father's agreement; but, added, that if a\nbetter came before him, and made her an offer, she would not wait a\nminute on her leather-merchant.\n\n\"Heard ever ony body the like o' that?' said Peter: \"What trow ye is\nthe chance for that? How lang hae ye hung on the tree wi' a red cheek\nan' a ripe lip, and never man to streek out the hand to pu' ye? There\nwas aince a neighbour I had some hopes o'; an' he has a good heart\ntoo, for a' his jibes, an ane durst but tell him!\"\n\nPeter said these last words to himself, as he was turning about to\nleave the apartment,--for he was at that time forming in his mind one\nof those superlative schemes which strike dotage as plans of the\nmightiest and most acute device, but which youth and energy laugh at.\nThis was no other than to be early astir next morning, and, before any\nof his family was aware, gallop over to Craik, a matter of seven\nmiles, and beg of Will Laidlaw to come and run off with his daughter\nbefore she fell into the hands of an English skin-man. This grand\nscheme he actually put in practice, but met Laidlaw and his jovial\nparty by the way, who wondered not a little when they saw old Pate\ncoming gallopping up the Fanesh ridge, having his great pike staff\nheaved over his shoulder, with which he was every now and then\nsaluting the far loin of his mare, and that with an energy that made\nall his accoutrements wallop. He never perceived the bridal party till\nclose on them, and till he was asked by half a score voices at once,\n\"What's the great haste, Castleweary! Where are ye gawn at sic a rate\nsae early in the morning? Are your ha's burnt? Are your cattle driven?\nHave the Ha's and the Reids been o'er the fells aince mair?\" And many\nother such questions were put, before Peter got a word spoken or a\nthought thought. He only bit his lip, and looked very angry, at being\ncaught in such a plight. But seeing Will Laidlaw at the head of his\nkinsmen, he took him aside, and imparted his grand secret. Will's\nsides were like to burst with laughter. He, however, contained\nhimself, while Peter went on \"But ye had better turn a' that clan\nagain, wha hae nought ado at a' wi' us but put things to waste. The\nless din about the thing the better.\"\n\n\"But how are we to answer the skin-merchant when he comes then,\nCastleweary? That tremendous buyer of hides will hew us all to\npieces.\"\n\n\"Ay, ye maun just take a' the blame on yoursels, you and Bess. He'll\nno mak muckle at the Laidlaw's hands, or he'll do what never ony did\nafore him.\"\n\n\"I certainly have the greatest respect for your daughter; but times\nare hard and dangerous, and I have nae great opinion o' marriage.\"\n\n\"Come, now, I like to hear that; for ye ken fock maun ay read a\nLaidlaw backward; and if the times are hard, I shall be satisfied with\na very small dowry. Perhaps the matter o' ten tup hogs aff the\nCrib-law, sax owsen aff Hosecot, and----\n\n\"Hold there, my old friend; and I will run all risks, and take away\nyour daughter Elizabeth; let the skin-man look to himself.\"\n\n\"Weel, God bless ye wi' her. Ye'll get the flower of a' the Chisholms,\nand the best bairn o' the bike.\"\n\nBess was a winsome and a blithe bride that day, and though the wounds\nshe received in the engagement with the marauders were not quite\nwhole, she danced the best at the wedding, and was the first that\nlighted on Craik-green. Dan entertained his fellow-soldiers nobly; but\nold Peter was terribly in the fidgets, not only at the huge waste of\nmeat and drink that he now saw going on, but for fear of the arrival\nof the outrageous and ill-used hide-merchant, and never till his dying\nday could he be brought to identify his son-in-law with the stranger\nto whom he first promised his daughter. But for many a day, when the\ndogs barked, he hasted out in great agitation, lest the dealer in\nskins and his associates should come upon him unawares. Sandie Pott\nhaving found a very kind, attentive, and, withal, a very indulgent\nnurse, in the younger daughter, May Chisholm, there chanced two\nweddings at Castleweary on the same day.\n\nAmong other matters of that eventful period, Isaac the curate mentions\nalso a petition of the friar to Sir Ringan, that he would use his\ninterest to get the youthful bard, who had come an adventurer into his\narmy, replaced in his rights of the lordship of Ravensworth; and\nlikewise that he would grant him the captive maid, Delany, for his\nbride. These important connections had never before come to the\nWarden's ears; and when he heard the extraordinary adventures, and\nearly misfortunes of the twain, he manifested the greatest concern for\ntheir welfare. But the maid, by the laws of those days, was the right\nand property of Sir Charles Scott, who seemed unwilling to part with\nher, and she not less so to be divided from him, now that his late\nhonours became him so well. This was a distressing consideration to\nthe poet, and he would in nowise leave her, to lay claim to his\npaternal estate, till he saw how matters would turn in his favour. But\nthe friar still encouraged him, assuring him, \"that he should be\nrestored to the house and to the inheritance of his fathers; and that\nthe fairest among the daughters of women, even the sole remaining stem\nof the house of Galli the scribe, should be unto him as a spouse and a\ncomforter.\"\n\nBut among all the festivities at Roxburgh, and all the mighty\npreparations for the reception of royalty, and the spending of the\nChristmas holidays in such company, the countenance of Douglas was\nmanifestly overcast. He affected mirth and gaiety, but a hideous and\nterrific gloom frequently settled on his dark manly countenance. The\nprincess's shameful and untimely death hung heavy on his mind, and the\nsecret of it still heavier. His conscience upbraided him, not with any\nblame in the matter, for he was alike ignorant of the rank and sex of\nhis fantastical page: But her devotion to his cause and person; the\nmanner in which she had exerted herself by putting her rival into his\nhands; the love-tokens slily given to him by her own dear self; her\nadmonitory letters; and all her whimsical and teazing inuendos, came\nover his mind, and combined in rendering her memory ten times dearer\nto him than ever he conceived that of human being could have been. And\nthen, how was all this requited? By bad humour, disrespect, and a\ntotal disregard of her danger and sufferings. The most enthusiastic,\naffectionate, and accomplished lady of the age in which she lived, was\nsuffered to be put down as a common criminal, without one effort\nbeing made to save her; and that delicate and beautiful form thrust\ndown into a common charnel-house among the vulgar dead. Knowing all\nthese things as he did, how could he again behold her royal parents?\nand knowing all these things as he did, why had he not related\nthe lamentable facts as they had happened, and conducted himself\naccordingly? There was fixed the acme of his dilemma. The detail of\nthat lady's love and fate rose before his mind's eye, like a dark\nunseemly arch, of which this was the key-stone; and there was a power\nstood above it that held his soul in controul, and beyond that he\ncould not pass. Was it indeed true, that the spirit of his royal and\nbeloved mistress walked the earth, and from day to day laid her stern\nbehests upon him? And could it be that such a spirit attended upon him\nin his most secret retirements; and, though unseen, watched over\nall his motions, words, and actions? Or how else could the very\nthoughts and purposes of his heart, together with his most secret\ntransactions, be repeated to him by this holy monk? Nay, though he had\nnever actually seen this apparition, he had heard his mistress's voice\none night speaking to him as from behind the hangings, and charging\nhim, as he respected his own and her soul's welfare, to keep her fate\nconcealed from all flesh.\n\nWhenever the Douglas got leisure to think at all, amid the hurry of\nhis military duties, these cogitations preyed on his mind; and one\nnight when they had thrown him into a deep reverie, the monk Benjamin\nwas announced.\n\n\"I cannot see him to-night: Tell him to come and speak with me\nto-morrow,\" said Douglas.\n\n\"He craves only a few moments audience, Lord of Douglas; and he says,\nthat, unless he is admitted, a visitor of another nature will wait on\nyou forthwith.\"\n\n\"What is the meaning of this?\" said Douglas: \"Must my privacy be\nbroken in upon, and my mind placed on the rack, at the pleasure of\nevery fanatical devotee? Tell him that I will not be disturbed\nto-night. But--I think not what I am saying. Admit him. Well, reverend\nand holy father--madman rather! What is your important business with\nme?\"\n\n\"That saintly vision has again been with me.\"\n\n\"Out upon thee, maniac and liar! There has been no such thing with\nthee; and thou hast trumped up a story in order to keep the power of\nthe Douglas under thy ghostly and interested controul.\"\n\n\"If I am a visionary, Lord, it is for thyself to judge. I speak\nnothing as of myself, but the words of one that has sent me. If thou\ndarest say they are the visions of a maniac, in future I keep them to\nmyself, and do you abide by the consequences.\"\n\n\"Thinkest thou that I will not, or that I dare not abide by any\nconsequences? Hence! Begone!\"\n\n\"Rash precipitate man! thou shall repent this! What interest can I\npossibly have in whispering these truths in thine ear? Did I ever ask\nor hint at a favour from thee? Or was aught ever, save thy own\nwelfare, the purport of my messages? Adieu, my lord! There must\nanother commissioner wait on you presently, and one who will elude the\nmost vigilant of your sentinels.\"\n\n\"Stay, Benjamin: Thou art, indeed, blameless. If thou hast ought to\nwarn me of, say it and have done, for I am not in a mood to be trifled\nwith.\"\n\n\"I have been bid to caution you to look to yourself, for that there is\ntreason within the walls of this castle. Will you answer me one or two\nqueries truly and seriously, that I may know whether the being that\ncommissioned me be a true spirit or a false one?\"\n\n\"I will.\"\n\n\"Have you got a private offer to a prodigious amount for the ransom of\nLady Jane Howard?\"\n\n\"Monk, thou hast had this from hell.--I have.\"\n\n\"Which thou hast rejected, with the secret intent of asking her in\nmarriage yourself, should circumstances concur to favour the device?\"\n\n\"It is false!--false as the source whence thou hadst it.\"\n\n\"Ah! Then have I done! my informant is a false one.\"\n\n\"Or, if I had, it was some passing thought, which no man can gainsay,\nand for which none are accountable.\"\n\n\"Neither is it true that you visited her in disguise last night?\"\n\nThe Douglas gazed upon the monk in silence, with an eye in which there\nwas an unnatural gleam of madness. He drew his breath three times, as\nif he would have spoken, but made no answer. The monk continued:\n\"If these are truths, then list to the following behest,--if they\nare false thou needest not regard it: There is a conspiracy among\nthy people for the rescue of Lady Jane. They have been bribed by\nunheard-of rewards. Thy guards are of course to be cut down, otherwise\nthe rescue cannot be effected; and if thy own head is added to the\nconvoy, the guerdons are all to be doubled.\"\n\nThe Douglas started to his feet, and held up both his hands: \"By the\nblessed Virgin it is true!\" exclaimed he--\"True every word of it!\nThere have been petitions made to me for the use of certain keys\nalready. Ay, and I have granted some of them too. I see through a part\nof the conspiracy. But I'll sift the traitors! I'll make carrion of\nthem.\"\n\n\"If I am rightly informed, it may yet be prevented without being made\nmanifest, which would be greatly preferable. Beware of Kinlossie. And\nlist, for my time is expired: If you value your own name, see not the\nface of Lady Jane again, till you present her to your sovereign.\"\n\nThe monk retired with precipitation, and left the Douglas overwhelmed\nwith tumultuary and adverse passions. \"Still the Lady Jane Howard!\"\nsaid he to himself: \"Nothing but the Lady Jane Howard! Is it possible\nthis can be an agent of hers? But the inference contradicts the whole\nscope and tendency of his missions. I must investigate this matter\nwithout delay.\" He raised his small bugle to his mouth, for in those\ndays that answered all the purposes of a house bell, and many more.\nEvery officer in castle or camp knew, by the blast blown, when\nhis personal attendance was required. Douglas lifted his to his\nmouth,--but before he sounded it, the knight in waiting announced \"a\nlady.\" No bolder heart than that of Douglas beat in a Scottish bosom.\nNevertheless it quaked; for he thought of the threatening of the monk,\nthat another commissioner should visit him, whom his guards should not\nbe able to repel. His agitation was now wrought up to the highest\npitch, for he attempted to pronounce some words, of which the knight\nknew not the import,--probably it was a command to expel her, or to\ncall in some guards; but before the order could be understood or\ncomplied with, the lady herself entered. \"There she is, my lord!\" said\nthe knight in a whisper; \"and none of us know whence or how she came\nhither.\"\n\nThe lady came slowly by, and the knight retired with all speed. She\nbore indeed the figure and form of the late princess, but the roses of\nyouth and beauty were gone, and in their room a clayey paleness\npervaded the features, which were even whiter than the cambric by\nwhich the face was surrounded. The figure held up its right hand as it\nadvanced, and fixed its eyes on the earl; but no man to this day ever\nknew any thing farther of that conference. The knight in waiting,\nshortly after he had retired, heard a noise within as of a man choking\nand endeavouring to cry out; and, bringing two more attendants with\nhim, they all three rushed into the apartment, and found the Douglas\nfallen back on the embroidered couch in a state of mental abstraction,\nor rather of total insensibility, and the lady was gone. They\nimmediately applied themselves to the restoration of their lord, which\nthey effected in a short time. Animation soon returned, but reason\nwavered in a state of insensibility for several hours. During that\nperiod he had for a number of times inquired who admitted that\nstranger, or who saw her depart? The men assuring him each time, that\nno one saw her till she was observed standing in the anti-chamber; and\nthat none was either admitted into the citadel or seen depart, save the\nstarveling monk who attended him frequently as his confessor. \"There has\nbeen another lady,\" they added, begging admission to your presence for a\nwhole day and night, which has always been refused here, in consequence\nof your peremptory order. She has at the last resorted to the means\nalways at a woman's command, tears and threatenings; and she vows, that\nif she is not admitted to an audience, you shall dearly repent it.\"\n\n\"What, another still?\" said the Douglas: \"No, I'll see no more women\nto-day, nor to-morrow, nor next day. Do you know, Eveldon, what I\nthink of women?\"\n\n\"No, Lord Douglas, but well what I think of them myself, which is,\nthat they are nature's masterpieces.\"\n\n\"The pests of society, Eveldon. I deem them subordinate creatures,\ncreated solely for man's disquietude. The warrior is naturally\nsurrounded by dangers; but, till he engages with women, he rises\nsuperior to them all; it is then that his troubles and perils begin.\nNo, I'll see no more women to-night.\"\n\n\"Might I advise, my lord, it would be, that you should give her\nadmission. It appears so strange to see a lovely and most courtly dame\nstanding weeping at your gate. The very commonest of the people\nsympathise with her, and blame your neglect. Beshrew me, if any knight\nin the realm would refuse such a suit; no, not the King himself.\"\n\n\"Do you think, Sir John of Eveldon, that I can submit to be ruled by\nwomen and their agents? I, who never held them as ought save as beings\nformed for man's pleasures or his interests. My hands are free of\ntheir blood, Sir John,--my heart, if ever it was in bonds, is now\nemancipated; and yet, by their means, has my life of late been held in\nthraldom.\"\n\n\"Say that I may admit this dame, my lord.\"\n\n\"Well, be it so, and let us be quit of her. In the mean time, let the\nguards be tripled, and stand to your arms. I have had strange\nintelligence to-night; if true, there will be a dangerous commotion in\nless than an hour hence.\"\n\n\"The forces of the two kingdoms cannot disturb you here to-night, Lord\nDouglas.\"\n\n\"See to it,--there is treason within our walls. Who are on guard?\"\n\n\"The Gordons, and Lindsay of Kinlossie's men.\"\n\n\"The Gordons I can trust,--let the others be changed without delay,\nSir John, and see them consorted to the camp.--Call up the Douglasses\nof the Dales, and let them look to themselves. Admit that petitioner\nin whom you are so much interested, and call me on the slightest\nappearance of insubordination.\"\n\nSir John did as he was commanded, and forthwith introduced Mary\nKirkmichael of Balmedie. The impatience and mortification that the\nDouglas manifested under this trial is not to be described, for he\nhad promised to give her information of her royal mistress as soon as\nhe had it in his power, and yet he neither had the heart nor the\nresolution, after the charges he had received of secrecy, to tell her\nof her mistress' woeful fate. At Mary's first entrance into his\npresence, she rushed forward and kneeled at his feet, crying, in the\nmost passionate manner, \"O, my dear lord, tell me what has become of\nmy mistress. This suspense is dreadful. The castle is now in your\nhands, and all the prisoners, if such there were; but there are\nshocking insinuations whispered abroad. Her father and mother are on\ntheir way to visit you here; and what shall I say to them for the loss\nof my dear mistress? O, Lord Douglas, if you know of her, as know of\nher you must, tell me where I can see her. Dead or alive, let me but\nsee her. Or tell me when I shall see her.\"\n\n\"Lady, that is more than I can tell you; but if it will give you any\nheart's ease, as certainly as I speak to you I saw her in this\napartment to-night.\"\n\n\"Blessed are the news to me, my lord! But why, then, won't you admit\nme to her? Send me instantly to her presence, Lord Douglas, for I know\nshe cannot be in any state of concealment in which my company cannot\nbe welcome. I implore of you to send me forthwith to her presence.\"\n\n\"Send you to her presence? That would be a cruel act! Dame, you and\nyour sex have moved my spirit from its erect and heavenward position.\nIt is like a tree bowed by the wind, and the branch of memory is\nstripped of its fruit. Did I say I saw the Princess Margaret in this\napartment?--You must not credit it. There's an incoherence in the\nprinciple, or nature has hasty productions not accounted for. You must\nnot believe it, lady; for till the porter opens the great gate to you,\nyour royal mistress you shall not see again.\"\n\n\"Are not all the gates opened or shut at your controul, my lord? You\nspeak to me in paradoxes. I comprehend it all well enough, however. I\nwill go in or out at any gate; only, in one word, conduct me to my\nmistress.\"\n\n\"Hell has no plague like this! No, there are no other fiends that can\ntorment a man in this manner.\" He blew his bugle.--\"Eveldon, conduct\nthis dame to her mistress. She in the great state prison, you know,\nthe receptacle of royalty and thraldom, and let me not hear another\nword. I'll throw him over the battlements that next mentions the name\nof a woman to me.\"\n\nThe lady curtsied, and thanked the Douglas; and Sir John, mistaking\nhis lord's frantic sarcasm for a serious command, hurried Mary\nKirkmichael up stairs to the topmost apartment of the great tower, and\nushered her in, without farther ceremony, to Lady Jane Howard and her\nattendant. Lady Jane rose and came running toward them; but, seeing\nwho approached, she started, and retreated to her place. As the two\nascended the narrow staircase, there was a great commotion in the\nsquare below, therefore, Sir John turned the key and hastened down\nagain. The noise increased, and he heard there was a stern engagement,\nin which the name of Lady Jane was given as a rallying word on the one\nside. At the bottom of the stair the conspirators met him, having\nbroken through the ranks in that direction; for the Gordons flew to\nguard the apartments of the Douglas, not knowing what the object of\nthe insurrection was. Sir John had just time to shut a double-barred\ndoor in front of them; and, retreating up one storey, he shouted from\nthe balcony to apprize the Douglas, else the Lady Jane Howard was\ngone. One from the ranks ran to apprize the captain, but losing\nhimself among the intricacies of the entrance, he shouted out, \"Lord\nDouglas! Lord Douglas!\" with the utmost vociferation. The Douglas was\nsitting in a deep reverie; his drawn sword was lying on the table\nbeside him. He heaved it above his shoulder, and running to the door\nof the apartment, opened it, and asked the fellow, who was still\nbawling in the dark, what it was? \"'Tis the Lady Jane Howard!\"\nanswered he, in the same shouting voice. \"Damnation on the tongue that\nsays it!\" exclaimed the Douglas in ire: \"Am I never more to hear aught\nrepeated but the names of women? Do you know the penalty of that word,\nrecreant? I have sworn to throw you from the battlements, but that\nshall not prevent me from cleaving you to the earth in the first\nplace. Women! women! Nothing but one woman after another! I'll cut\ndown every man that dares name one to me in that manner!\" As he said\nthese words, he rushed toward the soldier with his heavy sword heaved,\nbut the man, flying with all expedition, escaped into the court. The\nDouglas followed him, and was soon in the midst of a confused\nengagement; and hearing the conspirators shouting the same name, \"Lady\nJane Howard!\" he took it as in derision, and flew on their ranks with\nsuch fury, that every man at whom he struck fell to the ground. The\nGordons followed him up, crying \"A Douglas!\" but the conspirators\nwere the stronger party, and would ultimately have prevailed, had not\nthe Douglasses of the Dales arrived to change guard as formerly\nordered; and then, Kinlossie having fallen in an attempt to slay the\nDouglas, his party surrendered. There was a strong troop of English\nhorsemen waiting on the other side of the Teviot with a raft, to whom\nshe was to have been let down from the wall. But the information\nlodged by the monk not only frustrated the whole of this desperate\nexpedition of the Howards, but saved the life of Douglas. For the\nconspirators receiving the unexpected orders to depart to the camp,\nwere driven to make the attempt prematurely; before their measures\nformerly concocted were ripe for execution.\n\nOf all the circumstances that had hitherto occurred, the reflection\nupon this bewildered the mind of Douglas the most. The manner in\nwhich these secret combinations had been revealed to him filled his\nheart both with gratitude and amazement; and as all endeavours at\nreconciling them with nature or reason only increased the mystery, he\nresolved to shake the load from his spirits and think no more of them.\nThat he might effect this with greater promptitude, he kept his noble\nkinsmen constantly about him by night as well as by day. The Redhough\nalso returned from his visit to Mountcomyn, as did all the knights and\ngentlemen commoners of his party from their respective homes, mounted\nin their most splendid accoutrements, to greet their Sovereign, render\nhim an account of their services, and proffer him due homage. But,\namong all these Border chiefs, there was none whose appearance\nattracted so much admiration as that of Sir Charles Scott of Raeburn\nand Yardbire. Before that time, the only attention he had ever paid to\nhis habiliments, was that of procuring the best suits of armour that\ncould possibly be obtained. As the leader of the Warden's vanguard\ncolumn, and his right-hand files in line, he knew it behoved him to be\nwell armed, and in that article he was never deficient. But now that\nhe had to appear before his Sovereign in full pride of array, as the\nknight of Raeburn and the Warden's right-hand man, he deemed it\nrequisite to have an equipment becoming his rank; so he rummaged the\nold oaken wardrobe and armour-chest at Yardbire, and from the knightly\nspoils of ages got himself fitted out, by a skilful hand, in a style\nthat amazed all his former compeers. Both himself and his horse Corbie\nwere literally covered with burnished gold; while the playful\nrestiveness of the one, and the manly and almost colossal figure of\nthe other, rendered the appearance of our warrior a sight truly worthy\nof admiration. The activity and elasticity of all his motions,\ncombined with his invincible muscular strength, and urbanity of\ncountenance and manners, rendered Charlie at all times an interesting\nobject; but till once he appeared in his plumes and light armour\nstudded with gold, no one could have believed that he was so comely\nand graceful a personage. At the same time the very consciousness of\nhis appearance, and the rank that he was obliged to support, raised\nhis personal carriage and address many degrees, as by a charm; so\nthat whenever the Warden and his train presented themselves, strangers\nalways appeared disposed to move their bonnets to Sir Charles, whom\nthey took for a king, or an earl at the very least.\n\nThe arrival of these heroes added a great deal to the hilarity,\ntilting, and other military amusements at Roxburgh; until at last the\n24th of December arrived, and with it the word that the King and Queen\nwere on their way to Roxburgh, and approaching by the wild path of\nSoutra-edge. There was no bustle at the castle or city of Roxburgh,\nsave by the city dames and maidens, for whom the approaching festival\nappeared a glorious epocha; for since the days of Edward Longshanks,\nwho kept his court there for some weeks, there had not been a crowned\nhead within the precincts of that illustrious city. Consequently, with\nthese fair denizens, and with the merchants who attended that mart\nonce a year from many of the towns on the Continent, it was a time of\nhurry and preparation; but with the warriors it was far otherwise.\nThey were ready before; every one being alike anxious to fulfil the\npart entrusted to him,--so that they had nothing ado but to mount and\nride in the order assigned to them.\n\nFirst of all rode Sir Ringan Redhough, supported by all the gentlemen of\nthe middle and west marches--the Scotts, the Elliots, the Armstrongs,\nand the Olivers, were the most powerful of these: And next in order came\nthe Laidlaws, the Brydens, the Glendenyngs, and the Potts. After them\nrode the copper-nosed Kers, the towzy Turnbulls, and the red-wudd\nRidderfords; for in those days every sept had some additional\nappellative or by-name. These were also mixed with a number of smaller\nsepts, such as the Robsons, the Dicksons, the hurkle-backed Hendersons,\nand the rough-riding Riddels; and they were all headed by the doughty\nSir Andrew Ker of Aultonburn. Next in order rode Old Willie Wiliecoat,\nnamed also _Willie wi' the white doublet_, the ancestor of the Earls of\nHome,--a brave and dauntless character, who for the space of forty\nyears had been a sight of terror to the English, with his white jacket.\nWith him rode the gentlemen of his own name, the hard-rackle Homes, the\ndorty Dunbars, the strait-laced Somervilles, and the Baillies. Then came\nthe proud Pringles, a powerful sept, mixed with a countless number of\ndependent families, headed by Pringle of Galashiels; and after them the\nGordons, led by Sir John of that ilk.\n\nAll these held lands of the Douglas, on conditions of certain\nservices; they were nevertheless all independent chiefs, these\nservices performed; but at this time they attended personally, with\ntheir kinsmen, to pay their dutiful respects to their Sovereign. Last\nof all came the Douglasses, in five separate bodies, every one headed\nby a lord or knight of the name; and these made up one-third of the\nwhole cavalcade, the Earl himself being with the last party of all,\nand most gallantly attended.\n\nThe two parties met at Earlston, but the royal party was nothing in\npoint of bearing and splendour to that of the Douglasses. The King and\nQueen travelled each in a litter borne by two gallant steeds. These\ncarriages were very splendid in their decorations, and constructed in\nthe same way as a sedan chair, and it was truly wonderful with what\nvelocity they were borne along. They were contrived for the King's\nuse, who had a halt, and could not travel on horseback; and they\nsuited the state of the roads in Scotland at that period exceedingly.\nTwo heralds rode before his Majesty, who introduced the various chiefs\nto him as he passed, and those others of whose names he enquired,\namong whom Sir Charles Scott was the first. The Queen and her Maries\nalso saluted him along with the Warden. The whole procession then drew\nup in files until their Majesties passed, after which they fell all\ninto their places, the order of precedency being then reversed, and\nthe Douglasses next to the Sovereign. There was no time for delay,\nconsidering the season, the darkness of the night, and the shortness\nof the day; so they posted on with all manner of expedition, and yet\nit was dark before they reached the abbey of Kelso. But all the way,\nby the cloisters, the bridge, and up the High-street of the city of\nRoxburgh, there were tiers of torches raised above one another that\nmade it lighter than the noon-day. Never was there such a scene of\nsplendour witnessed in that ancient and noble city; to which the\ndarkness of the canopy above, and the glare of torch-light below,\nadded inconceivable grandeur. It seemed as if all the light and beauty\nof the universe had been confined within that narrow space, for\nwithout all was blackness impervious to the eye, but within there was\nnothing but brilliancy, activity, and joy. Seven score musical\ninstruments, and as many trilling but discordant voices, yelled forth,\nfrom the one end of the street to the other, that old song beginning,\n\n    \"The King came to our town;\n      Ca' Cuddie, ca' Cuddie!\n    The King came to our town,\n      Low on the Border.\"\n\nThe trumpets sounded before, and the bugles behind; and the Border\nyouths and maidens were filled with enthusiastic delight at the\nnovelty of the spectacle. They followed with shouts to the castle\ngate, and then returned to talk of what they had seen, and what they\nshould see on the morrow.\n\nThe royal party was conducted to the citadel, where every thing was in\nreadiness for a grand entertainment; and there the Douglas delivered\ninto the King's hands the keys of the castle of Roxburgh. His Majesty\nreceived them most graciously, and thanked him for all the cost,\npains, and trouble that he had taken for the good of the realm;\nand added, that he came prepared in heart and mind to fulfil his\nengagements to him in return. There was now a manifest embarrassment\non the part of the Douglas; his countenance changed, and he looked as\nhe would have asked for the Princess, or, at least, as if some one\nwere wanting that ought to have been there; but after an agitated\npause, he could only stammer out, that \"he was much beholden to his\nMajesty, who might at all times command his utmost services without\nbounty or reward.\"\n\n\"I trust that is not as much as to say that you now decline the\nstipulated reward for this high service,\" said the King.\n\n\"Sire, I see none either for your Majesty to give, or your servant to\nreceive,\" said the Douglas; and at the same time he cast a hasty and\nperturbed glance at the courtiers and warriors ranged around the hall.\nThe king nodded by way of assent to his hint; and at the same time\nsaid to him, aside, \"I understand you, Lord Douglas. You will explain\nthis gallantry of yours, in keeping your sovereign's daughter in\nconcealment from her natural guardians, in private to-morrow. But,\npray, can we not see our darling to-night?\"\n\n\"Alas, my liege lord and sovereign,\" said Douglas, passionately, \"sure\nyou jest with your servant, thus to tax him with that of which he is\ninnocent.\"\n\nThe King smiled, and waving his hand jocularly, by way of intimating\nthat he thought his affected secrecy prudence at that time, left him,\nand forthwith went halting up among the Borderers, to converse with\nthem about the affairs of the English marches. The stately and\ncommanding figure of Charlie Scott, who was like Saul among the\npeople, again attracted the King's eyes, and he went familiarly\nup to him, and said at once, \"Well, gallant knight, how have\naccounts balanced between you and your southern neighbours since\nlast Lammas-tide?\"\n\n\"Gude faith, my liege lord and king, I can hardly tell you,\" said Sir\nCharles, without hesitation: \"There hae been some hard yerks gaun; but\nthe last quarter stands rather aboon an average wi' us. It is a kittle\nbauk that hings o'er the Border, my liege; it is often nae sooner down\nto the yird than it is up to the starns again.\"\n\n\"Well said, knight! I like your fair wit and free humour,\" said the\nKing. \"So, upon the whole, you judge that the balance preponderates on\nour side just now?\"\n\n\"I should think sae, Sire, when sic a clod as this castle of Roxburgh\nis thrown into the bucket. It is nae witherweight this for the end of\na weigh-bauk. A' the kye o' the Seven Dales winna carry the swee to\nthe south side again.\"\n\nThe Queen, hearing her lord conversing so freely and jocularly with\nthis goodly personage, came also up with two of her ladies of honour,\nin order to put in a word; \"for (says Isaac, with great simplicity)\nwomen always like to be striking kemps with a handsome and proper man;\nand the bigger of bone, and the stronger of muscle, the more is he the\nobject of their admiration.\"\n\nWhen Sir Charles had finished the last remark, therefore, the Queen\nsmiled complacently in his face, and said, \"You must certainly\nacknowledge, gallant knight, that you have been much indebted to\nheaven for your singular success in this instance?\"\n\nSir Charles nodded his head. \"Its a' that ye ken about it, my lady\nqueen. But saft be the sough that says it. I trow we were mair\nindebted to some other place in the first instance.\"\n\nThe Queen held up her hands: \"Uh! what does the knight mean? Say, my\nlord, What? What place?\" Then turning to Sir Ringan, who was terribly\nin the fidgets about what had dropped from his kinsman, she added, \"I\ntrust our right traist warden and loving cousin did not practise any\nof the diabolical arts, so prevalent of late, to accomplish his hard\ntask?\" And then, with a woman's natural volubility, when once her\ntongue is set a-going, she added, turning to Charlie, without waiting\nthe Warden's reply, \"What place does Sir Charles mean? I hope you\nwould not insinuate that you had any dealings with the spirits of\ndarkness?\"\n\n\"Not with hell directly, madam,\" answered Charlie, (for Isaac can\nnever help calling him occasionally by his old title,) \"but I canna\nsay that we didna get a strong hint frae ane or twa of its principal\nagents. No offence, my lady queen. I ken by report, that your Majesty\ntakes supreme delight in religious devotions; and, to tell the truth,\nI have always had a strong hankering that gate mysel', and hope I will\nhae till the day of my death. But there is ae thing in the whilk I am\ngreatly altered. Pray, may I take the liberty to ask what is your\nMajesty's opinion about the deil?\"\n\n\"Uh! gracious St Mary be with us! What a question, knight! Why, what\ncan I think but that he is the great enemy of God and man, and the\nauthor of universal evil?\"\n\n\"There I think differently,\" said Charlie, bowing very low: \"Always\nbegging my lady queen's gracious pardon, that's the only tenet o' my\nbelief that is altered;--at least an it be nae fairly altered, it is\nconsiderably jumbled, and nought like sae steadfast as it was. Always\nbegging your pardon though, madam.\"\n\n\"I am quite confounded,\" said the Queen. \"Pray, warrior, what do you\nmean?\"\n\n\"Plainly this, my lady queen; that I think the old gentleman has been\nsair abused; and that there are some na meikle better than him wha\nhave been a great deal better ca'd. It may sound a little odd in your\nears, but I hae now seen him. I hae sat wi' him; I hae eaten, I hae\ndrunken wi' him; and gin it hadna been for the interference of women,\nwe wad hae partit civilly. But whenever they get a finger in a pye,\nthere will be some ane burnt in the opening o't. Always begging your\nMajesty's pardon, though.\"\n\n\"The Queen crossed herself, and counted her beads; but at the same\ntime bestowed a smile and look of admiration on this extraordinary\nhero who had accomplished such singular adventures. These encouraging\nSir Charles to finish his sentence, he added: \"They hae frightit me\nwi' him lang; and sair has my neb been hauden at the grindstane wi'\nthe fear o' him. I durst hardly say or think that ane of a' the\nmembers of my body was my ain wi' perfect terror. But thae days are a'\no'er. An' the bedesmen be gaun to fright me ony langer wi' a deil,\nthey maun get a new ane; for the auld ane winna stand his ground to\nany extent wi' me on that score. He has doubtless some bad qualities;\nsome wicked vagaries about him; but, upon the whole, I have met wi'\nwaur fellows.\"\n\nThis introduction, in spite of Sir Ringan's endeavours to waive the\nsubject, led to the whole narrative of the transactions at Aikwood, of\nwhich the Queen and her maidens of honour were never wearied,\nalthough at the same time many an Ave Maria and Paternoster the\nsubject cost them. When obliged, from the lateness of the hour, to\ndesist listening to the agitating theme, the Queen was never at rest\nuntil it was renewed next day; nor even then till she had gone and\nvisited the great hill of Eildon thus miraculously cleft asunder and\ndivided into three; and even after quaking at the scene, she grew\nstill more importunate in her inquiries, so that there was no\nsatisfying her curiosity on the subject of the enchantments of Master\nMichael Scott all the time she remained in Roxburgh.\n\nWhen she retired to her chamber that first night she inquired\nfor a confessor, and the knight in waiting introduced the monk\nBenjamin; intimating, that since the capture of the castle he had been\nconfessor-general to all within its walls. The Queen's devotions that\nnight were prolonged until an early hour next morning; nevertheless she\narose from her sleep greatly refreshed, and in high spirits, and at the\nbreakfast-table was more than usually gay. Not so with Douglas, over\nwhose countenance, in spite of all exertions to the contrary, hung a\nheavy gloom, as well as a manifest abstraction of thought. The King, who\nwas a person of strong discernment, observed this, and, from some\nindefinite dread of the cause, involuntarily partook of the sensation.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\n    I want none of your gold, Douglas,\n      I want none of your fee,\n    But swear by the faith of thy right hand\n      That you'll love only me:\n    And I'll leave my country and my kin\n      And wend along with thee.\n\n        _May Marley._\n\n\nWhen the mass, and a plentiful morning meal, were over next day, every\none began to prepare for such exercises as the season admitted. All\nlingered about for some time, but seeing that no orders were likely to\nbe given out for any procession or general rendezvous during the day,\nwhich every one had expected, some betook them to the chace, others to\nequestrian exercises with sword and spear, while the Homes and the\nGordons joined in an excursion into English ground, keeping along the\nsouthern bank of the Tweed. The King observing them all about to\ndisperse, reminded the Douglas that it was a high festal day; on\nwhich the latter made a low obeisance, and remarked, that he was only\nnow a guest in the castle of Roxburgh, and that his honoured liege\nsovereign was host; that his foresters and sumptuary officers had got\ntimeous notice, and nothing would be lacking that his Majesty could\ndesire for the entertainment of his nobles and friends. The King then\ncaused it to be intimated, that he would be happy to meet all his\nlords and nobles in the banquet-hall at even-tide, where every knight,\ngentleman, and yeoman, were expected to attend in their several\nplaces, and all should be heartily welcome. \"And now, Lord Douglas,\"\nsaid he, leading the way into an anti-chamber, \"let us two retire by\nourselves, and consult what is to be done next.\"\n\nLord Douglas followed, but ill prepared to answer the inquiries about\nto be put to him. He had received injunctions of secrecy from one who\nhad in no instance misled him, and to whom he had been of late\nindebted for the preservation of his life. But how was he now to\nconduct himself, or how answer his sovereign in any other way than\naccording to the truth as it had been stated unto him? His predicament\nwas a hard one; for he was, in the first place, ashamed of the part he\nhad acted, of never having discovered his royal mistress while\nattached to his side, notwithstanding of all the evidences in\nconfirmation of the fact, which he had never once seen till too late.\nAnd then to have suffered even his mistress' page to fall a victim to\nsuch a shameful death, without either making an effort to save him, or\nso much as missing him from his hand, or mentioning his loss,--were\ncircumstances not quite consistent with the high spirit of gallantry, as\nwell as chivalry, he had displayed at first by the perilous undertaking.\nGladly would he have kept his knowledge of the transaction a secret; but\nthen there was the monk Benjamin, who, by some supernatural agency, had\nbeen given to understand the whole scope and tenor of it; and there was\ndame Mary Kirkmichael knew the whole, except the degrading catastrophe,\nand had unfolded it all to him when it was too late. He run over all\nthese things in his mind, and was as little, as at any previous period,\nprepared what part to act, when the King turned round, and, in the most\nanxious and earnest manner, said, \"Lord Douglas, where is our daughter?\"\n\n\"My liege lord and sovereign, ought not I rather to have asked that\nquestion of you?\" said the Douglas: \"And I would have done it at our\nfirst meeting, only that I would not trifle with your feelings on such\na serious matter, perceiving that you laboured under a grievous\nmisconception regarding my conduct. You have not, it seems, brought\nthe princess Margaret along with you, as was expected by all my\nfriends and followers?\"\n\n\"Not by yourself, I am certain. I say, Lord Douglas, where is my\ndaughter? I demand a categorical answer.\"\n\n\"Sire, in what way am I accountable for your daughter?\"\n\n\"Lord Douglas, I hate all evasion. I request an answer as express\nas my question. I know my darling child, in admiration of your\nchivalrous enterprise, resolved, in the true spirit of this romantic\nage, to take some active part in the perils undertaken solely on her\naccount: I know her ingenuity, which was always boundless, was\ninstrumental in performing some signal services to you; and that\nfinally she attached herself to your side in a disguise which she\ndeemed would ensure her a kind and honourable protection. Thus far I\nknow; and, though the whole was undertaken and transacted without my\nknowledge, when I was absent in the Highlands, I am certain as to the\ntruth of every circumstance; and I am farther certified that you know\nall this.\"\n\n\"Hear me, my liege sovereign. Admitting that your daughter, or any\nother king's, lord's, or commoner's daughter, should put herself into\na page's raiment, and\"----\n\n\"Silence, lord!\" cried the King, furiously, interrupting him: \"Am I to\nbe mocked thus, and answered only with circumlocution, notwithstanding\nmy express command to the contrary? Answer me in one word. My Lord of\nDouglas, where is my daughter?\"\n\n\"Where God will, sire,\" was the short and emphatic reply. The king\neyed Douglas with a keen and stern regard, and the eagle eye of the\nlatter met that of his sovereign without any abashment. But yet this\nlook of the Douglas, unyielding as it was, manifested no daring or\noffensive pride; it was one rather of stern sorrow and regret;\nnevertheless he would not withdraw it, but, standing erect, he looked\nKing Robert in the face, until the eyes of the latter were gradually\nraised from his toward heaven. \"Almighty Father!\" cried he, clasping\nhis hands together,--\"Where, then, is it thy will that my beloved\nchild should be? O Douglas! Douglas! In the impatience and warmth of\ntemper peculiar to my race, I was offended at your pertinacity; but I\ndread it was out of respect to a father's feelings. I forgive it, now\nthat I see you are affected, only, in pity to this yearning bosom,\nrelate to me all that you know. Douglas! can you not inform me what\nhas befallen to my daughter?\"\n\n\"No, my liege, I cannot. I know nothing, or at least little save from\nreport; but the little that I have heard, and the little that I have\nseen, shall never be reported by my tongue.\"\n\n\"Then hope is extinct!\" cried the King. \"The scene that can draw tears\nfrom the stern eye of the Douglas, even by an after reflection, is one\nunmeet for a parent's ear. The will of the Almighty be done! He hath\ngiven and he hath taken away: blessed be his name! But why have the\nmen of my household, and the friends in whom I trusted, combined\nagainst my peace?\" The King said this in a querulous mood. \"Why did\nyou not tell me sooner?\" cried he, turning to Douglas, his tone\naltering gradually from one of penitence and deep humiliation to one\nof high displeasure: \"Why bring me on this fool's errand, when I ought\nto have been sitting in sack-cloth and ashes, and humbling myself for\nthe sins of my house? These must have been grievous indeed, that have\ndrawn down such punishments on me. But the indifference of those in\nwhom we trusted is the worst of all! O, my child! My darling child,\nMargaret! Never was there a parent so blest in a daughter as I was in\nthee! The playfulness of the lamb or the kid,--the affection of\nthe turtle-dove, were thine. Thy breast was all enthusiasm and\nbenevolence, and every emotion of thy soul as pure as the ray of\nheaven. I loved thee with more than parental affection, and, if I am\nbereaved of thee, I will go mourning to my grave. Is there no one in\nthis place that can inform me of my daughter's fate? Her lady\nconfidant, I understand, is still lingering here. Send for her\ninstantly. Send for her confessor also, that I may confront you\naltogether, and ascertain the hideous and unwelcome truth. If I cannot\nhave it here, I shall have it elsewhere, or wo be to all that have\neither been instrumental in her fate or lax in warding it off! Do you\nthink, Lord of Douglas, that I can be put off with a hum and a haw,\nand a shake of the head, and, 'it's 'God's will?' Do you think I\nshould, when I am inquiring about my own daughter, whom I held\ndearest of all earthly beings? No, I'll scrutinize it to a pin's\npoint. I'll wring every syllable of the truth out of the most secret\nheart and the most lying tongue. I'll move heaven and hell, but I'll\nknow every circumstance that has befallen to my daughter. Send, I say,\nfor her foster-sister and faithful attendant, dame Mary Kirkmichael.\nSend also for her confessor, and for all to whom she has but once\nspoken since she arrived here. Why are they not sent for before this\ntime?\"\n\n\"My liege lord, restrain your impatience. They are sent for; but they\nwill tell you nothing that can mitigate your sorrow. If it be all true\nthat has been told to me, and that you yourself have told to me, of\nthe disguise the Princess assumed, then is it also true that you will\nnever again see your daughter in this state of existence.\"\n\n\"Ah! is it even so! Then is the flower of the realm fallen! then is\nthe solace of my old age departed! But she is happy in the realms of\nblessedness. While love, joy, and truth are the delight of heaven,\nthere will my Margaret find a place! O, that she had staid by her\nfather's hand! Why was my jewel entrusted to the care and honour of\nthose who care but for themselves, and who have suffered the loveliest\nflower of the world to be cropped in its early blossom? nay, left it\nto be sullied and trodden down in forgetfulness. Lord Douglas, did you\nsee my daughter perish?\"\n\n\"Now, my liege lord, can I act the man no longer. Forgive me; and may\nthe holy Virgin, the mother of God, forgive me; for I indeed saw with\nthese eyes that inestimable treasure cut off, without one effort on my\npart to save her, and without a tear wetting my cheeks.\"\n\n\"Then may all the powers of darkness blast thy soul, thou unfeeling\ntraitor! Thus! thus will I avenge me on the culprit who could give up\nhis sovereign's daughter, and his own betrothed bride, to a violent\ndeath, and that without a tear! O thou incarnate fiend! shalt thou not\nbewail this adown the longest times of eternity? Darest thou not draw\nagainst an injured father and king?\"\n\n\"Put up thy sword, sire. The Douglas draws not but on his equals, and\nthou art none of them. Thy person is sacred and thy frame debilitated.\nHe holds thee inviolate; but he holds thee also as nothing!\"\n\n\"Thou shall know, proud lord, that the King of Scotland fears no\nsingle arm, and that he can stand on one limb to avenge the blood of\nhis royal house.\"\n\n\"My gracious lord, this is the mere raving of a wounded spirit, and I\ngrieve that I should have for one moment regarded it otherwise than\nwith veneration. I had deserved to die an hundred deaths, if I had\nknown who the dear sufferer was; but, alas! I know not ought of the\nsex or rank of my page, who was taken prisoner in the great night\nengagement. But I can tell you no more, Sire; nor is it needful; you\nnow know all. I am guiltless as the babe unborn of my royal mistress's\nblood; but I will never forgive myself for my negligence and want of\nperception; nor do I anticipate any more happiness in this world. I\nhave been laid under some mysterious restraints, and have suffered\ndeeply already. And now, my gracious lord, I submit myself to your\nawards.\"\n\n\"Alas, Lord Douglas, you are little aware of the treasure you have\nlost. Your loss is even greater than mine. It behoves us, therefore, to\nlament and bewail our misfortunes together, rather than indulge in\nbitter upbraidings.\"\n\nHere they were interrupted by the entrance of the Queen, who brought\nwith her the Lady Jane Howard, dressed in a style of eastern\nmagnificence, to introduce her to the King. The King, amid all the grief\nthat overwhelmed his spirit, was struck with her great beauty, and paid\nthat respect and homage to her which high birth and misfortune always\ncommand from the truly great; and the Queen, with the newfangledness of\nher sex, appeared wholly attached to this captive stranger, and had\nbrought her down at that time to intercede with the King and Lord\nDouglas for her liberty, loading her with commendations and kind\nattentions. To check the Queen's volatility of spirits, the King\ninformed her shortly of the irreparable loss both of them had suffered,\nbut the effect was manifestly not at all proportionate to the cause. She\nappeared indeed much moved, and had well nigh fallen into hysterics; but\nif her grief was not assumed, it bore strong symptoms of being so. She\nfirst railed at, and then tried to comfort the Douglas; but finally\nturned again to Lady Jane, (who wept bitterly, out of true sympathy, for\nthe Princess's cruel and untimely fate,) and caressed her, trying to\nconsole her in the most extravagant terms. The King, on the other hand,\nsobbed from his inmost soul, and bewailed his loss in terms so pathetic\nand moving, that the firm soul of Douglas was overcome, and he entered\ninto all his Sovereign's feelings with the keenest sensations. It was a\nscene of sorrow and despair, which was rather increased than mitigated\nby the arrival of two more who had lately been sent for. These were the\nmonk Benjamin and the lady Mary Kirkmichael, whom the King began anew to\nexamine, dwelling on every circumstance that occurred during the course\nof his darling child's extravagant adventure with a painful anxiety. But\nevery now and then he became heated with anger, blaming some one for the\nwant of discernment or respect. When he came to examine the monk, who\nshewed great energy and acuteness of speech, he lost his temper\naltogether at some part of the colloquy; but the monk was not to be\ndaunted; he repelled every invective with serenity of voice and manner,\nand at sundry times rather put the monarch to shame.\n\n\"Hadst thou ever an opportunity of confessing and shriving my child,\nprevious to the time she fell into the hands of her enemies, reverend\nbrother.\"\n\n\"No Sire, she never made confession to me, nor asked absolution at my\nhand.\"\n\n\"And wherefore didst thou not proffer it, thou shriveled starveling?\nWere there no grants to bestow? no rich benefices to confer for the\nwell-being of a royal virgin's soul, that caused thee to withold these\npoor alms of grace? Who was it that bestowed on thy unconscionable\norder all that they possess in this realm? And yet thou wilt suffer\none of their posterity to come into thy cell, to ask thy assistance,\nwithout bestowing a mass or benediction for the sake of heaven.\"\n\n\"Sire, it is only to the ignorant and the simple that we proffer our\nghostly rites. Those who are enlightened in the truths and mysteries\nof religion it behoves to judge for themselves, and to themselves we\nleave the state of their consciences, in all ordinary cases.\" The monk\nwas robed in a very wide flowing grey frock, and cowled over the eyes,\nwhile his thin and effeminate-looking beard trembled adown his breast\nwith the fervency of his address. As he said these last words, he\nstretched his right hand forth toward the King, and raising the left\nup behind him, his robe was by that means extended and spread forth in\na manner that increased the tiny monk to triple the size he was\nbefore. \"And for you, King of Scotland,\" added he, raising his keen\nvoice that quavered with energy, \"I say such a demeanour is unseemly.\nIs it becoming the head and guardian of the Christian church in this\nrealm,--him that should be a pattern to all in the lower walks of\nlife,--thus to threat and fume beneath the chastening of his Maker?\nYou ask me who bestowed these ample bounds on my order? I ask you in\nreturn who it was that bestowed them on thy progenitors and thee, and\nfor what purpose? Who gave thee a kingdom, a people, and a family of\nthy own? Was it not he before whose altar thou hast this day kneeled,\nand vowed to be for him and not for another? And what he has bestowed\nhas he not a right to require of thee again, in his own time, and in\nhis own way?\" The King bowed with submission to the truth of this bold\nexpostulation, and the impetuous and undaunted monk went on: \"It is\nrather thy duty, most revered monarch, to bow with deep humiliation to\nthe righteous awards of the Almighty, for just and righteous they are,\nhowever unequal they may appear to the purblind eyes of mortal men. If\nhe has taken a beloved child from thee, rest assured that he has only\nsnatched her from evil to come, and translated her to a better and a\nhappier home. Why then wilt thou not acknowledge the justice of this\ndispensation, and rather speak comfort to the weaker vessels than give\nway to ill-timed and unkingly wrath.\n\n\"As for thee, noble lord, to the eyes of men thine may appear a hard\nlot indeed. For the love of one thou adventuredst thy life and the\nvery existence of thy house and name. The stake was prodigious, and\nwhen thou hadst won it with great labour and perseverance, the prize\nwas snatched from thy grasp. Thy case will to all ages appear a\npeculiarly hard one; still there is this consolation in it--\"\n\n\"There is no grain of consolation in it,\" said Douglas interrupting\nhim: \"There can be none! The blow on my head, and my hopes of\nhappiness, is irretrievable.\"\n\n\"Yes lord, there is,\" said the monk; \"for has it not been decreed in\nheaven above, that this union was never to be consummated? Man may\npropose and scheme and lay out plans for futurity, but it is good for\nhim that the fulfilment is vested in other hands than his. This then\nis consolation, to know that it was predestinated in the counsels of\none who cannot err, that that royal maid never was to be thine; and\ntherefore all manner of repining is not only unmanly and unmeet, but\nsinful. It behoves now thy sovereign, in reward of thy faithful\nservices, to bestow on thee another spouse with the same dowry he\nmeant to bestow on his daughter. And it behoves you to accept of this\nas the gift of heaven, proffered to thee in place of the one it\nsnatched from thy grasp. As its agent, therefore, and the promoter of\npeace, love, and happiness among men, I propose that King Robert\nbestow upon thee this noble and high born dame for thy consort. Both\nof you have been bereaved of those to whom you were betrothed, and it\ncannot fail to strike every one that this seems a fortune appointed\nfor you two by Providence; nor can I form in my mind the slightest\nobjection that can be urged to it on either side. It is desirable on\nevery account, and may be the means of promoting peace between the two\nsister kingdoms, wasted by warfare and blood, which every true\nChristian must deplore. I propose it as a natural consequence, and a\nthing apparently foreordained by my master; and give my voice for it.\nKing and Queen of Scotland what say you?\"\n\n\"I hold the matter that this holy and enlightened brother has\nuttered to be consistent with truth, reason, and religion,\" said the\nKing,--\"and the union has my hearty and free approval. I farther\npromise to behave to this lady as a father to a daughter, and to\nbestow upon our trusty and leal cousin, the Lord Douglas, such\nhonours, power, and distinction as are most due for the great services\nrendered to this realm. The match has my hearty concurrence.\"\n\n\"And mine,\" said the Queen: \"I not only acquiesce in the reverend\nbrother's proposal, but I lay my commands on my noble kinsman the Lord\nDouglas to accept of this high boon of heaven.\"\n\n\"Pause my sovereign lady,\" said the Douglas, \"before you proceed too\nfar. In pity to the feelings that rend this bosom, let me hear no more\nof the subject at present. In pity to that lovely and angelic lady's\nfeelings, that must be acute as my own, I implore that you will not\ninsist farther in this proposal. Do not wound a delicate female\nbreast, pressed down by misfortunes.\"\n\n\"This is something like affectation, Lord Douglas,\" rejoined the\nQueen: \"If I answer for the lady Jane's consent, what have you then to\nsay against this holy brother's proposal?\"\n\n\"Ay, if your Queen stand security for the lady's consent, and if _I\nstand security for it likewise_,\" said the monk--\"what have you to say\nagainst the union then? Look at her again, lord. Is not she _a lovely_\nand _angelic_ being? Confess the truth now. For I know it to be the\ntruth, that never since you could distinguish beauty from deformity,\nhave your eyes beheld _so lovely_ and _so angelic_ a lady? Pressed\ndown by misfortunes, too! Does that not add a triple charm to all her\nexcellencies? You know what has been done for her? what has been\nsuffered for her? what a noble and gallant life was laid down for\nher? Was such a sacrifice ever made for a lady or princess of your\nown country? No, never, heroic lord! Therefore bless your stars that\nhave paved out a way for your union with such a _lovely_, _angelic_,\nand _matchless lady_; and take her! take her to your longing and\naching bosom.\"\n\n\"Moderate your fervour, holy brother,\" said the Douglas, \"which\nappears to me rather to be running to unwarrantable extremes. Granting\nthat the lady Jane Howard is perhaps unequalled in beauty and elegant\naccomplishments----\"\n\n\"Is she not so? Is she not so?\" cried the monk with a fervour that\nraised his voice to a scream of passion: \"Did I not say that she was?\nAnd now am I not warranted by your own sentiments, _freely expressed_\nenough. Sure, lord, you cannot deny that I said, that I told you, the\nlady was _peerless in beauty and accomplishments_? I knew it, and told\nyou before that she was the _queen of beauty_. Why then do you\nhesitate, and make all this foolish opposition to an union which we\nall know you are eager to consummate? Yes; you are: And we all know\nit. You are!\"\n\n\"Holy brother, what unaccountable phrenzy has seized upon you,\" said\nthe Douglas; \"and why all this extravagant waste of declamation? Let\nme not hear another sentence, nor another word on the subject: only\nsuffer me to finish what I had begun. I say then, granting that the\nlady Jane were peerless in beauty and accomplishments, still there is\nan impression engraven on my heart that can never be removed, or give\nplace to another; and there will I cherish it as sacred, till the day\nof my death. And, that no reckless importunity may ever be wasted on\nme again, here I kneel before the holy rood, which I kiss, and swear\nbefore God and his holy angels, that since I have been bereaved of the\nsovereign mistress of my heart and all my affections,--of her in whom\nall my hopes of happiness in this world were placed, and who to me was\nall in all of womankind--that never shall another of the sex be folded\nin the arms of Douglas, or call him husband! So help me thou Blessed\nOne, and all thy holy saints and martyrs, in the performance of this\nvow!\"\n\nDuring the time of this last speech and solemn oath, the sobs of the\nmonk Benjamin became so audible that all eyes were turned to him, for\nthey thought that his delicate frame would burst with its emotions.\nAnd, besides, he was all the while fumbling about his throat, so that\nthey dreaded he had purposed some mortal injury to himself. But in\nplace of that, he had been unloosing some clasps or knots about his\ntunick; for with a motion quicker than thought, he flung at once his\ncowl, frock, and beard away,--and there stood arrayed as a royal bride\nthe Princess Margaret of Scotland! \"Journeyer of earth, where art thou\nnow?\"\n\nYes; there stood, in one moment, disclosed to the eyes of all present,\n_the princess Margaret Stuart herself_, embellished in all the\nornaments of virgin royalty, and blooming in a glow of new born\nbeauties.\"\n\n\"Thank heaven I have been deceived!\" cried she, with great emphasis;\nand when she had said this, she stood up motionless by the side of\nlady Jane Howard, and cast her eyes on the ground. No pen can do\njustice to the scene. It must be left wholly to conception, after the\nfact is told that no one present had the slightest conception of the\ndisguise save the Queen, who had been initiated into the princess's\nproject of trying the real state of the Douglas's affections on the\npreceding night. It was like a scene of enchantment, such as might\nhave been produced at the castle of Aikwood. But a moment ago all was\nsorrow and despair; now all was one burst of joyful surprise. And, to\nmake it still more interesting, there stood the two rival beauties of\nScotland and England, side by side, as if each were vying with the\nother for the palm to be bestowed on her native country. But to this\nday the connoisseurs in female beauty have never decided whether the\ndark falcon eyes and lofty forehead of the one, or the soft blushing\nroses and blue liquid eyes of the other, were the most irresistible.\n\nThe King was the first to burst from the silence of surprise. He flew\nto his daughter's arms with more vigour than a cripple could well be\nsupposed to exert, kissed and embraced her, took her on his knee and\nwept on her neck; then, striking his crutch on the floor, he scolded\nher most heartily for the poignant and unnecessary pain she had\noccasioned to him. \"And the worst of it is,\" added he, \"that you have\ncaused me show too much interest in an imp that has been the constant\nplague of my life with her whims and vagaries; an interest, and an\nintensity of feeling, that I shall be ashamed of the longest day I\nhave to live.\"\n\n\"Indeed but you shall not, my dear lord and father, for I will now\nteaze another than you, and teaze him only to deeds of valour and\nrenown; to lead your troops to certain conquest, till you are fully\navenged of the oppressors of your people.\"\n\nMary Kirkmichael hung by her seymar and wept. The Douglas kneeled at\nher feet, and in an ecstacy took her hand and pressed it to his lips.\n\"I do not know whether or not I shall have reason to bless heaven all\nmy life for this singular restoration,\" said he; \"but for the present\nI do it with all my heart. Tell me, thou lovely cameleon, what am I to\nthink of this? Wert thou indeed, as was related to me, the page Colin\nRoy Macalpin? He with the carroty locks and the flippant tongue?\"\n\n\"You need not doubt it, lord Douglas. I was. And I think during our\nfirst intimacy that I teazed you sufficiently.\"\n\n\"Then that delicate neck of yours, for all its taper form and lily hue\nis a charmed one, and rope proof; for, sure as I look on you now, I\nsaw you swing from a beam's end on the battlement of this same tower.\"\n\n\"Oh! no, no, my lord! It was not I. Never trust this head again if it\nshould suffer its neck to be noosed. _You_ suffered it though; that\nyou must confess. And I dare say, though a little sorry, felt a dead\nweight removed from about your neck. You suffered me to be taken\nprisoner out of your tent, and mured up among rude and desperate men\nin a dungeon. It cost me all my wits then to obtain my release. But I\neffected it. Swung from a beam's end. quoth he! Och! what a vulgar\nidea! No my lord, the page whom you saw swung was a _tailor's\napprentice_, whom I hired to carry a packet up to your lordship, with\nmy green suit of clothes, and a promise of a high place of preferment,\nand I kept my word to the brat! An intolerable ape it was. Many better\nlives have been lost in this contention; few of less value--I never\ndeemed he was so soon to be strung, and my heart smote me for the part\nI had acted. But the scheme of turning monk and confessor suited me\nbest of all: I then got my shacles of mystery riveted on you; and,\nheavens! what secrets I have found out.\"\n\nAt this part of the narrative, Isaac the curate bestows a whole\nchapter and a half on the description of the wedding, and all the\nprocessions, games, and feasting that ensued; but as none of these\nthings bore the slightest resemblance to ought that has ever been\nwitnessed in the present age, like a judicious editor I have passed\nthem over. Suffice it that the Border never witnessed such splendor of\narray, such tournaments, such feasting, and such high wassail. For\nwhy? because it never witnessed the marriage of a king's daughter\nbefore. The streets of the city, and the square of the fortress, that\nhad so lately been dyed with blood, now \"ran red with Rhenish wine.\"\nAnd be it farther known, that Sir Charles Scott and his horse Corbie\nbore off every prize in the tilting matches, till at last no knight\nwould enter the lists with him; but the fair dames were all in\nraptures with the gallantry of his bearing, and the suavity of his\nmanners. As for the Queen, she became so much enamoured of the hero,\nthat she was scarcely to be kept in due bounds, and if she had not\nbeen advanced in years he might have deemed she was in love with him.\nIn the lists she drew up her snow-white palfrey by Corbie's side, and\nin the revel hall the royal dame herself was sure to be at the\nknight's side, except when at table, on pretence of hearing something\nmore about his perils at Aikwood, and in particular about the scene\nwith the beautiful and splendid witches; at which, as Sir Charles\nrelated it with abashed countenance, the Queen and her Maries laughed\ntill the salt tears ran from their eyes. As for the description of\ntheir appearance the succeeding morning, and the feelings of the\nwarrior, both then and afterward when transformed to a huge bull,\nthese never failed to throw the gamesome group into convulsions of\nmirth. In short, the knight of Raeburn was of all the gallants quite\nthe favourite at that splendid festival in the hall, as well as the\nhero in the lists, in which he six times received the prize of honour\nfrom the hands of the royal bride and those of lady Jane Howard, who,\nat the Queen's earnest request was made principal bride's-maid, and\npresiding lady at the sports.\n\nBut if Charles was the hero of those engaged in the games, his friend\nthe gospel friar was as completely so among the gay onlookers, and\ncreated them more sport often than all in the lists. Ever since the\nvarious affrays in which his mule had been engaged, and come off with\nsuch decided success, the mongrel had learned to value himself solely\nas a beast of warfare, and no man who rode near him was sure of\nkeeping his seat a minute, especially if he rode a high mettled and\ncapricious charger. By the side of a horse of modesty that bore\nhimself with candour and humility of countenance, the mule was a beast\nof sociality and decorum; but whenever he saw a steed begin to cut\nany unnecessary capers, he deemed himself insulted or put to the\nchallenge, and on the instant began to lay back his long ears and\nswitch with his tail, while his grey sunk eyes emitted a hellish\ngleam. It was no matter at what distance such a horse made his\nappearance, if the mule disliked his deportment, he would have flown\nacross a whole field to attack and humble him. He had borne his master\nheadlong into so many unpremeditated and unwarrantable scuffles since\nhis return from Aikwood, that he had bestowed on him the name of\nGoliah of Gath; and besides giving him that veteran title, he often\naverred that he believed one of the necromancer's imps of darkness had\ntaken possession of his beast.\n\nThe friar had, however, learned to distinguish all his motions, and\nknew from these the exact points and stages of his irritation; and\nwhen his offence began to reach its acme, he had no other resource\nthan that of wheeling his head forcibly around, and turning his tail\ntoward the object of his displeasure. Without this precaution, the\nfriar would have been carried into the lists every day merely to\ngratify the spleen of Goliah, who could not endure the curvetting and\njangling that was going on there. And even this inverse precaution did\nnot at all times prove effectual, as in the following pleasant\ninstance.\n\nIt chanced one day that the knight of Kraeland entered the lists\nalone, no opponent appearing against him, owing to some mistake made\nin the arrangement by the officers. He was a goodly youth, but\nuplifted above the earth with vanity, and of his vapouring and airs\nthere were no end. Imagining that he attracted the eyes of all the\nbeholders, and elated because no one had the courage to appear against\nhim, for so he affected to regard the circumstance, he paraded the\ncircle round and round, brandished his lance, and made his horse to\ncurvette, rear, and wheel, accomplishing many grand evolutions. The\nlookers on were all beginning to get sick of him, and to view his\nvaporous manoeuvres with disdain, but amongst them all there was\nnone so much moved with spleen as Goliah of Gath. From the first\nmoment that the knight entered the lists that uncircumcised Philistine\nbegan to manifest a mortal dislike towards him; the more so it\nwas believed that he was mounted on a milk-white steed, a colour\npeculiarly disagreeable to the mule's optics. The judges of the games\nwist not what to do, and appealed to the King, who gave it as his\nopinion that this unchallenged appearance should be accounted as a\nvictory, and that the knight should take his course in the next round;\nand the heralds got directions to make proclamation accordingly.\n\nBut long before this period the friar had been compelled to turn away\nthe face of Goliah from this scene of vanity, and, as chance would\nhave had it, he was in the innermost circle, so that retreat outward\nthrough the innumerable files was utterly impracticable, and there sat\nthe gruff uncourtly form of the gospel friar, with the tail of his\nbeast where the head should have been, to the great amusement of the\nspectators. For all this the malevolent eye of Goliah, as well\naccustomed to look backward as forward, perceived all the outrageous\nrearings and snortings of that proud and gaudy animal, and became\nmoved with so much indignation that he would no longer be restrained,\neither by bit or spur, soothing or threatening. Just as the herald had\ntaken his place to make proclamation, the mule fell a running\nbackward; and the more fiercely that the friar spurred, and the more\nbitterly he threatened, the beast of Belial retrogaded the faster,\ntill at last, after two or three intemperate plunges, he got his head\nstraight to the white charger, and then in one moment he was upon him,\nand had him by the brisket with his teeth. The horse reared furiously,\nbut the mule pressed still closer to him, fixing his long teeth in the\nhorse's shoulder, till on a sudden, in an attempt to clear both\nGoliah and his rider, or, at least, to leap over the mule's neck, the\nwhite steed was overturned, and thrown right on his back, above his\noverweening rider. All this was transacted in a space of time shorter\nthan the time taken up in reading the relation; and the moment that\nGoliah of Gath had achieved this overthrow, he wheeled about with a\nmettledness and inveteracy beyond all description, and attacked the\ncouple with his heels, prostrate as they were, yerk for yerk,\nindiscriminately. The friar sunk the rowels of his spurs to the head\nin his sides, and uttered some strong declamatory sentences against\nhim in the style of the nations of the East; but Goliah plied his\niron-heels still the faster, although he groaned, as he kicked, in the\nbitterness of his spirit. The scene was perfectly irresistible,\ngrievous as the consequences threatened to be on the one side. The\nlists were all in convulsions of laughter, and involuntary shouts of\napplause shook the storeys of the firmament. The King laughed till he\nsunk down in his litter, and his attendants had some fears that he\nwould expire in a convulsive fit. The knight of Kraeland was carried\nout of the lists, maimed, and in a state of insensibility; and the\nfriar, maugre all he could advance in opposition to the award, was\nproclaimed the victor in that course, and obliged to appear in the\nnext encounter in opposition to the knight who had been the conqueror\nin the preceding combat.\n\nHad Goliah of Gath restrained his wrath when this conquest was\nachieved, it would have been all very well, save for Kraeland and his\nwhite charger; but the mongrel's wrath once aroused was not easily\nabated. Therefore, when the friends of the fallen knight and his\nsquire forced the Philistine to forego his attack and battery, his\ngleaming eyes glanced all around for another proper object whereon to\nwreak his horrid revenge. Now it so happened, that the Queen and her\nMaries were all mounted on white palfreys; and as these stood in the\ninner circles, arching their proud necks, and champing the bits, he\nwas moved with choler against them, and resolved within himself to\ngive them a surprise, and shew them the prowess of a veteran warrior;\nfor, over and above their saucy demeanor, the glaring whiteness of\ncolour that pervaded them and their riders his heart could not endure:\nAnd, besides all these, the shouts and laughter of the multitude were\nthought to have added greatly to his ire. The friar, who knew him\nwell, said so; \"for\" added he, \"the shouts of joy and laughter are\nunto him as a portion of gall and of worm-wood.\" Certes, when he was\ndriven from the prostrate champion, by dint of club and lance, he\nstraightway laid back his long ears, and with a swiftness hardly\nimaginable, scoured the plain to the attack of the dames and their\nstrutting genets. The friar soon perceived the dangerous dilemma into\nwhich he was about to be precipitated; and, all unable to restrain\nthis champion of the Philistines, he cried out with a loud voice, \"O\nwretched man that I am! lo, I shall work destruction among the\ndaughters of women! Will no man come to the assistance of those who\nhave no strength of man at all? Wo is me! will the mighty men stand\nand look on till the daughters of their people are cut off from the\nface of the earth?\"\n\nLong ere this sentence had proceeded out of the friar's mouth, the\nwork of deray and confusion was begun. The column of white palfreys\nwere routed in one moment, and their gentle and affrighted riders\nkicked off in pairs, like so many diving swans. Never was there a\nwarrior like Goliah of Gath! for he tore with his teeth, and struck\nwith both hind feet and fore feet, all at the same instant. The Queen\nof Scotland would in all probability have been laid low with the rest,\nhad it not been for the prowess of her favourite hero, who sprung from\nCorbie's back, and seized the audacious mule by the bridle. \"Smite\nhim, my son!\" cried the friar, with a loud voice: \"Draw thou forth thy\nsword, and smite him to the earth, for it is better for him to die\nthan to live.\"\n\nThe mule thought to prove contumacious at the first; but feeling\nCharlie's powerful grasp, he calmed himself, turned the one ear back,\nthe other forward, and switched his tail, listening with much\ngratification to the hysterical cries of the discomfited damsels. Not\nso his master, who was grieved in spirit, and very wroth with his old\nservant and companion; insomuch that when he alighted from his back,\nand seized his curb, he exclaimed, \"O thou limb of the wicked\none! Thou emblem of the evil principle working in the children of\ndisobedience! What shall I do unto thee? Lo, now, if I had a sword in\nmine hand, would I not strike thy head from off thy body, and cause\nthee to be buried with the burial of an ass?\" The mule let his ears\nfall down very wide asunder, like the horns of a Lancashire ox,\nputting on a face of great humility, as he looked out from beneath his\nheavy eyebrows, with many a sly demure glance at the friar's face. The\ngood man led him around the lists in search of an opening to get out,\nfor he durst not again mount him for fear of being instrumental in\nsome farther outrage among the ranks of the great and the noble. As he\npassed by the King, his Majesty caused him to be called up into his\npresence, and asked him what sum it would please him to ask as the\nprice of his mule?\n\n\"Verily, my lord, O King,\" answered the friar, with great readiness,\n\"that beast hath been unto thy servant as a friend and an inheritance.\nHe hath borne me over the mountains of Palestine, and hath drunk from\nthe fords of Jordan, as well as from Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of\nDamascus. Yea, bestriding that woful beast, hath thy servant fought\nthe battles of the cross; and the hooves that have in thy sight been\nlifted up against the fair and the lovely, the meek and the innocent,\nhave been dyed red in the blood of infidels. Money is of no avail to\nthy servant; and he cannot part with his old and trusty companion,\neven though the spirit of those that are cursed from the heavens be in\nhim.\"\n\n\"Then wilt thou come thyself unto me at the Scottish court?\" said the\nKing to him, somewhat in his own style,--\"and I will cherish both thee\nand thy doughty companion, and thou shalt minister unto me in holy\nthings, and shalt be unto me as a father, and I and my children will\nbe to thee as sons and as daughters; for my trusty and well tried\nfriend, Sir Ringan of Mountcomyn, saith well of thee and of thy great\nwisdom, valour, and prudence.\"\n\n\"Verily, most noble King, I have yet many things to accomplish in\nother lands than this, which, by the strength of the Lord, must be\nfulfilled; when these are finished, then shall thy servant come unto\nthee, and visit thee for good.\"\n\n\"And thou shalt be a welcome guest,\" said the King: \"Wear thou this\nring for my sake, which I give thee as a pledge of friendship, and of\nprotection through my kingdom. Remain in the lists, for thou hast yet\nbattle to do against two knights of the lance and the sword.\"\n\n\"Lo, I will even strike with the sword and the spear, if my lord the\nKing commandeth it. But I lack armour, and am not a man of war, save\nwhen the lives of the innocent or the cause of the cross is at stake.\nAnd, moreover, the beast that thou seest is as a beast of the\nbottomless pit; he hath antipathies and sympathies of his own; and\ninstead of bearing me full force against my opponent, he may carry me\nto make war against women and children. Nevertheless, I will do all\nthat it behooveth me to do. Who are my adversaries?\"--He was told they\nwere the knights of Gemelscleuch and Raeburn.--\"Then God do so to me,\nand more also, if I lift up my hand against any of these my brethren,\nthe men of my right hand, and the preservers of my life. Neither will\none of them put his spear in rest against me; so that the battle would\nperish. Thy servant is not afraid to fight, but as a gladiator he is\nunwilling to exhibit; therefore my lord, O King, suffer him to depart\nin peace.\"\n\nThese reasons were cogent, so the King admitted them; and the worthy\nand heroic friar was suffered to lead off Goliah of Gath, amid\nthundering shouts of applause.\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. XI.\n\n     This general doctrine of the text explained, I proceed, in what\n     remains of this discourse, to point out to you three important and\n     material considerations concerning the nature and character of\n     woman. These shall be, _1stly_, What she was; _2dly_, What she is;\n     and, _3dly_, What she will be hereafter. And are not these, my\n     brethren, matters of high importance?\n\n        _Dickson's Sermons._\n\n\nAll things of this world wear to an end, saith Isaac; so also did this\nhigh Christmas festival within the halls and towers of Roxburgh. The\nlady Jane had borne a principal share in all the sports, both in and\nout of doors. In the hall she was led up to every dance, and in the\nlists she presided as the queen of the games, distributing the prizes\nwith her own fair hands to the Scottish heroes, and, of course,\ncrowning her old friend Charlie with the bays at least once a day. Sir\nCharles was a most unassuming character, and seldom adventured\non addressing his superiors first. But when once they addressed\ndiscourse to him, he never failed answering them with perfect ease and\nunconcern; and often, as is well known ere this time, with more\nvolubility than he himself approved of. Once, and only once during all\nthese days of his triumph and high honours, did the lady Jane remember\nhim of having brought her into captivity, and of the high bribe he had\nrefused for her liberty. \"An' if it be your will, honoured lady, I\nwish ye wadna say ony mair about that matter,\" said Sir Charles; \"for\nmony queer fidgetty kind o' feelings I hae had about it sinsyne. And\nif I had kend then what I ken now,--if I had kend wha I had in my\narms, and what I had in my arms, I had nae borne the honours that I\nwear the day. My heart had some sair misgiving aince about you, when\nthere were hard news gaun of your great jeopardy; but now that you are\nin sic high favour, I am e'en glad that I brought you, for troth ye\nhae a face and a form that does ane good to look at.\"\n\nThe lady Jane only sighed at this address, and looked down, thinking,\nwithout doubt, of the long and dismal _widowhood_ which it would\nbehoove her to keep for the dismal end of her betrothed knight, and\nthen a virgin widowhood too, which was the worst of all. There was an\nobscure glimpse of the same sort of ideas glanced on Charlie's mind as\nhe viewed her downcast blushing countenance; and afraid of giving\nbirth to any painful sensations in such a lovely lady's mind, he\ndesisted from further conversation.\n\nThe Queen was still so much interested in that lady as to endeavour by\nall means to procure her liberty without any ransom, somewhat contrary\nto her son-in-law's opinion. The Queen reasoned, that she was not a\nlawful prisoner of war; the Douglas that she was, there being no bond\nof peace subsisting between the nations, and she entering Scotland\nwith forged credentials, at least signed and sealed in favour of\nanother and non-existing person. She applied to the King, who gave his\nconsent, but, at the same time, professed having nothing to do in the\nmatter. At length she teazed Lord Douglas so much that he resolved to\nindulge her Majesty before the court took leave of him, but to leave\nit until the very last day. He, however, reckoned before his host; for\nnow that the abbot of Melrose had conjoined him with royalty, he found\nthat he had at the very least two to please instead of one.\n\nHere, we must, with that regard to veracity which so well becomes\nevery narrator of a true tale, divulge a disagreeable secret; that is,\nwe must delineate truly a trait in the character of our heroine, the\nlady Douglas, (lately the princess Margaret of Scotland,) which we\nwould rather have concealed, had it been possible to have done so. But\nshe could not conceal it any longer herself,--and why should Isaac and\nI vex ourselves about it; for one day when Mary Kirkmichael waited on\nher in her chamber, she found her drowned in tears, and with great\nperplexity, and no less curiosity, set herself to discover the cause.\n\n\"What? My dearest and most noble lady in tears?\" exclaimed she. \"Now,\na plague on these teazing, battling, boisterous, deluding creatures\ncalled men, that will not let poor innocent maids alone to live at\nheart's ease, but hold them thus in constant ferment, married or\nunmarried! Well did I ween from experience, that the maiden's troubles\nwere the most insufferable to be borne! The neglects--the disappointed\nhopes--the fears--and, above all, the jealousies! Oh these jealousies!\nWhat infernal tormentors they are! But now little wot I what to say,\nor what to think; for beshrew me if I remember the time when I saw my\nroyal mistress in tears before. Let me recollect. No, not since dame\nMary Malcolm's palfrey leaped the ravine before the lords of Huntly\nand Athol, and yours refused. Then, indeed, you wept; and when I\nlaughed you struck me. Yes, you know you struck me, and that had\nnearly made matters worse.\"\n\n\"Pray, madam,\" said lady Douglas, \"could you conveniently command\nyourself so far as to bring a surgeon here on the instant?\"\n\n\"A surgeon! Sanct Marie's grace! what is your ailment, my dearest\nlady?\"\n\n\"It is not for myself, it is for you I want him. You are very ill of a\nquinsey, dame, and bleeding below the tongue is necessary. Go bring\nmy father's leech to me, without delay, and come with him.\"\n\n\"You have not forgot your sweet maiden frolics for all that is come\nand all that is done. Well, I am glad you are still in that whimsical\nhumour. I was afraid you were grievously vexed or disappointed at\nsomething in your new state.\"\n\n\"Step forth, I say, and bring me in a surgeon, for I insist on having\nyou bleeded under the tongue. You are very ill indeed, and the disease\nis infectious.\"\n\n\"By my maidhood, and by your own, sweet lady, (the Douglas's I mean,)\nthere shall no leech that ever drew lancet open a vein in my blessed\nand valuable member. No, not were it to humour a queen, or a _lady\nJane Howard_.\"\n\n\"Now, may all the plagues that prey on the heart of woman seize and\ntorment thee if thou hast not guessed the cause of my uneasiness.\nThere's a latent devil within thee that whispers to thy imagination\nthe thoughts that are passing in my heart. O Kirkmichael, I am ill! I\nhave suffered many distresses in my time! many, many distresses!\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed you have, my royal mistress! many, many distresses!\"\n\n\"Bring the surgeon, I say. Cannot you, for the life of you, compose\nyourself for a little space, when you see me in such distress? Your\nroyal mistress, Mary? I am no royal mistress now! No, I a'nt! Nothing\nbut a plain jog-trot wife of a lord, or earl, or how do you call that\nbeautiful title? While the lady Jane Howard!--Oh Kirkmichael, I cannot\ntell you the half of what I feel!\"\n\n\"I know it all. Jealousy! my dear lady, jealousy! Think you I know not\nwhat it is to suffer that? Do you remember young Spinola, that came to\nour court from the places abroad? He loved me the best after all; I\nhad certain demonstrative proofs of it. But do you know what I\nsuffered? Racks, tortures, strangulations! Fiends tearing out my eyes,\npouring hellebore into my ears, and boring through my heart with red\nhot irons! Not know what jealousy is? Was not I telling your royal\nself the last minute\"--\n\n\"Mary! stop, and be advised. You are very ill.\"\n\n\"I humbly ask forgiveness. I was coming to it. Dear lady, I have noted\nyour trouble these nine days past, and that it was still gaining\nground. But I can partly account for it, so that, with a little\nprudence and patience, it may be removed. Ever since the day on which\nyou was a bride, or the one following perhaps, there has been more\ncourt and more flattery paid to the southern beauty than to the\nnorthern one. It is the course of nature, madam; you are now a married\nwife, and your charms must be admired at a distance with respect and\nawe. The maid must still be courted and flattered. Quite natural,\nmadam, I assure you. Think you any knight durst caper and bow, and\nprate to the lady Douglas, as they do to _the English puppet_?\"\n\n\"Mary, I will give you all my wedding apparel for these two last\nwords. Is not she a mere puppet, without soul or magnanimity?\nBut--Mary!--How gladly would I change places with her, Mary! She has\nconquered after all. Yes: She has conquered Margaret Stuart, there is\nno denying of it to one's own heart.\"\n\n\"Gramercy, dearest lady, are you not raving? Has not the noble lord of\nyour adoption proved victorious, and gained you with all honour and\napprobation?\"\n\n\"But then the lord of _her_ adoption _died_ for her, Mary. Think of\nthat. The gallant, faithful, and magnanimous Musgrave _died_ for the\nmistress of his affections. But who died for the poor degraded lady\nMargaret of Scotland? I am conquered with my own weapons. There is no\ndenying of it! I would rather that one lover had laid down his life\nfor me than have had fifty husbands.\"\n\n\"Palpably wrong! I'll prove it. Fifty husbands! How delightful--Beg\npardon, madam.\"\n\n\"I tried the Douglas hardly for it. But he was too selfish, and would\nnot die for me. Base, cruel knight! No, he _would not_ die for me;\neven though I got him to believe that I was put to death, and my\nghost haunting him, yet he _would not_ kill himself. What a value\nthose monstrous men set upon their lives! Musgrave died. Lady Jane has\nconquered, and I am _married_! I wish I were dead, Kirkmichael!\"\n\n\"'Tis a pity but that you were, madam! If ladies are to live on these\nterms with the world, they had better be out of it. For you know if\nthe man that one loves best will not condescend always to die when the\ngratification of his mistress' vanity requires it, why there is an end\nof all endurance. I managed otherwise with young Spinola.\"\n\n\"Mention the name of your Spinola again to me for the head that stands\non your body, since you deprecate the more gentle prescription of\nbleeding below the tongue; and now find me some anodyne without delay\nfor the distemper that is preying on my vitals. None of your jeers and\nyour jibes, Kirkmichael, for I am not in humour to bear them. The\nworst thing of all is yet to come. This puppet,--this painted\ndoll,--this thing of wax! after triumphing over me in my own country\nand among my own people,--after being died for, while I was only\nlived for,--after being courted, and flattered, and smiled on, while I\nwas only bowed to and gazed on,--after being carressed by my father,\nand bedaubed with praises by my newfangled and volatile mother,--after\nall this, I say, there is she going to be set at liberty, and without\nall question wedded to one of the royal dukes, one of the princes of\nthe blood! How shall the blood of the Bruce and the spirit of the\nStuart brook this? Before I heard of that lady's name, I knew not what\njealousy was. Ever since that time has she held me in misery. I\nthought I had once achieved the greatest conquest that ever was\naccomplished by heroine. And I _did_ seize a noble prize! How has it\nturned out?--in every instance to her honour, and my disparagement.\nAnd there, through the unnatural fondness of my doating mother, will\nshe return home, and be courted for her princely fortune, not for her\nbeauty I am sure! But then, they will hear that the bravest and most\nchivalrous knight in England _died for her_; and as certainly as I\nspeak to you, will she achieve a higher marriage than Margaret, and\nhow shall she ever show her face again?\"\n\n\"A higher marriage than you, dearest lady? Then must she be married to\nsome of the kings on the continent, for in all the dominion of England\nthere is not a subject of such power as your lord, the Earl of Douglas\nand Mar, nor one whose military honours flourish so proudly.\"\n\n\"My lord and husband is all that I could wish in man, only----\"\n\n\"Only that he is _not dead_. That's all.\"\n\n\"You had better! _Only_ I say that he is not _a prince of the blood\nroyal_, Mary. Think of that. There are many such in England. And there\nto a certainty will my great and only rival be wedded to one of these.\nThe Duke of York or Glocester, mayhap; or to Prince Henry, the heir of\nthe house of Mortimer, and then she'll be _a queen_! Yes, Kirkmichael!\nthen she will be _queen of England_!--And I--what will I be? No more\nthan plain _Lady Douglas_! The wife of the _Black Douglas_!--Och! what\nshall I do, Mary? I'll go and wipe my shoes on her as long as I have\nit in my power.\"\n\n\"Tarry for a small space; there is time enough for that afterward, my\ndearest lady. Be staid for a little while, till I tell you a secret. A\nvery important and profound one it is, and it behoves you to know it.\nThere is a certain distemper that young newly married ladies are\nsubjected to, which, is entitled PHRENZY, or some such delightful\nname. Some call it _derangement of intellect_, but that is too long a\nname, I hate long names, or very long things of any sort. So you must\nknow, madam, that this delightful trouble, for it is delightful in its\nway, produces a great deal of animation. It is quite proper you\nshould know this grand matrimonial secret, madam. This delicious,\nspirit-stirring trouble then soon goes off, and when it goes all the\ngiddy vapours of youth fly with it. The mirror of the eye is changed,\nits convex being thence turned inward, reflecting all nature on the\nsoul in a different light from that in which it had ever appeared\nbefore; and, at the same time the whole structure and frame of the\ncharacter is metamorphosed, and the being that is thus transmuted\nbecomes a more rational and respectable creature than it was previously,\nand at the same time a more happy one, although it must be acknowledged\nits happiness is framed on a different model. This is my secret, and it\nis quite proper that every _young_ lady who is married should be\ninitiated into it. As for the old ones, they are too wise to be\ninitiated into any thing; or for any thing to be initiated into them.\"\n\n\"Now, you imagine you have said a very wise thing; and it is not\nwithout shrewdness. But I can add a principal part which you have\nwholly left out, and it is this: When the patient is labouring under\nthis disease, it is absolutely necessary that she be indulged, and\nhumoured in every one of her caprices, else her convalesence is highly\nequivocal. Don't you acknowledge this?\"\n\n\"I grant it. And the first case that comes under my care I promise to\nabide by this prescription.\"\n\n\"That is spoken like yourself,--like the trusty friend and\nconfidante. What then is to be done? for something must be done, and\nthat suddenly.\"\n\n\"That is easily decided. She must be kept in confinement. Kept here a\nprisoner at large, until she turn an old maid and lose a few of her\nfore-teeth. That will be delightful! Eh! Then make her believe all the\ntime that it is a duty incumbent on her to remain in that widowed\nstate for the sake of Musgrave--Hoh! beg pardon, madam!\"\n\n\"I charge you never to let that triumph of hers sound in my ears\nagain. It creates the same feeling within me as if you informed me\nthat an adder was laced in my stays. Kirkmichael, you never took any\nthing in hand that you did not accomplish for me. This lady must be\nretained for the present, till we can determine on some other course.\nI gave my lord a lesson about it already, but his reply was not only\nunsatisfactory but mortifying in the extreme. It has almost put me\nbeside myself, and my pride will not suffer me to apply to him again.\n\"My dearest love,\" said he, \"I pray that you will not shew a a\nsense of any inferiority by a jealousy of that unfortunate lady.\"\nInferiority! I never had such a sentiment as a feeling of inferiority!\nWhat absurd notions these men imbibe. Is it possible, Mary, that I can\nhave a sense of inferiority?\"\n\n\"No, no! quite impossible! Think no more of such antiquated and absurd\napothegms as these. I will manage it for you. I take in hand to keep\nher as long as I live, if that will satisfy you. But are you sure that\nyour brother will not fall in love with her, and marry her, and then\nshe will be queen of Scotland?\"\n\n\"Ooh!--Oooh! Give me a drink, Mary. I am going into fits! Ooh!--Yes:\nas sure as you stand there, he will. The prince is his mother all\nover, newfangled and volatile in the extreme, and amorous to an\nintolerable degree. Disgustingly amorous, she is the very sort of food\nfor his passion. Then her princely fortune, and the peace of the two\nrealms! Oh! give me another drink, Mary; and bathe my hands--and my\nbrow--That is kindly done. Queen of Scotland! Then I must pay court\nto her,--perhaps be preferred as lady of the bed-chamber. No, no. To\nthe Scottish court she _must not go_!\"\n\n\"Be calm, my sweet lady! I have it. You shall assume your brother's\ncharacter once more--pay court to her--seduce her, and have her\ndisgraced.\"\n\n\"What did you say, Kirkmichael? repeat that again. What did you say\nabout disgracing? I am so very ill.\"\n\n\"O no! That scheme will not do. It will end ill! it will end ill! You\nare lady Douglas now, not the maiden princess. Why, I will get her\nmarried to one of your footmen for you. That will do.\"\n\n\"Prithee speak of things possible, and within some bounds of\nprobability. If she were but married to a knight but one step below my\nlord in dignity, I would be satisfied. Nay, were that step only ideal\nit would give my heart content.\"\n\n\"Is that then so much to make such a pother about? I will accomplish\nit in two days. So difficult to get a maid of her complexion to marry?\nDifficulty in fattening--a pig! baiting a hook for a bagrel!--a\nstickleback!--a perch! I'll do it in two days--in one day--in half a\nday, else never call me Mary Kirkmichael of Balmedie again. Difficulty\nin marrying a maid with light blue eyes--golden locks and rosy\ncheeks--with a languishing smile always on her countenance? and that\nmaid an English one too? Peugh! Goodbye, my lady, Lady Black Douglas.\nI'm off. (Opening the door again.) It is a shame and a disgrace for\nany gentleman not to _die_ for his mistress! I say it is! Young\nSpinola would have died for me cheerfully if I would have suffered\nhim,--that he would! Goodbye, madam.\"\n\nMary was as busy all the remaining part of that day as ever was a bee\nin a meadow. She had private business with the Queen, and had art or\ninterest enough to get two private audiences. She had business with\nthe lady Jane Howard; a word to say to the King, and two or three to\nthe lord Douglas--But it is a great loss that these important\ndisclosures cannot be imparted here,--for every word that she told to\neach of them was a profound secret! Not a word of it ever to be\nrepeated till death! What a loss for posterity! It had one quality,\nthere was not a word of truth in all this important disclosure; but an\ningenious lie by a woman is much more interesting than one of her true\nstories. There was, however, one of Mary Kirkmichael's secrets came to\nlight, though none of those above-mentioned; and from the complexion\nof that, a good guess may be made at the matter of all the rest.\n\nSir Charles Scott, alias Muckle Charlie of Yardbire, was standing at\nthe head of his hard-headed Olivers, his grimy Potts, and his\nskrae-shankit Laidlaws, in all amounting now to 140 brave and well\nappointed soldiers. He had them all dressed out in their best light\nuniform, consisting of deer-skin jackets with the hair outside;\nbuckskin breeches, tanned white as snow, with the hair inside; blue\nbonnets as broad as the rim of a lady's spinning wheel, and clouted\nsingle-soaled shoes. He was training them to some evolutions for a\ngrand parade before the King, and was himself dressed in his splendid\nbattle array, with his plumes and tassels of gold. His bonnet was of\nthe form of a turban, and his tall nodding plumes consisted of three\nfox tails, two of them dyed black, and the middle one crimson. A\ngoodlier sight than Sir Charles at the head of his borderers, no eye\nof man (or woman either) ever beheld. As he stood thus giving the word\nof command, and brandishing the Eskdale souple by way of example, in\nthe great square in the middle of the fortress, a little maid came\nsuddenly to his side and touched him. Charles was extending his voice\nat the time, and the interruption made him start inordinately, and cut\na loud syllable short in the middle. The maid made a low courtesy,\nwhile Charles stooped forward and looked at her as a man does who has\ndropt a curious gem or pin on the ground, and cannot find it. \"Eh? God\nbless us, what is't hinny? Ye war amaist gart me start.\"\n\n\"My mistress requests a few minutes private conversation with you, sir\nknight.\"\n\n\"Whisht dame! speak laigh,\" said Sir Charles, half whispering, and\nlooking raised-like at his warriors: \"Wha's your mistress, my little\nbonny dow? Eh? Oh you're nodding and smirking, are you? Harkee, It's\nno the auld Queen, is it? Eh?\"\n\n\"You will see who it is presently, gallant knight. It is a matter of\nthe greatest import to you, as well as your captain.\"\n\n\"Ha! Gude faith, then it maunna be neglected. I'll be w'ye even now,\nlads; saunter about, but dinna quit this great four-nooked fauld till\nI come back again. Come along, then, my wee bonny hen chicken. Raux up\nan' gie me a grip o' your finger-ends. Side for side's neighbour\nlike.\" So away went Sir Charles, leading his tiny conductor by the\nhand, and was by her introduced into one of the hundred apartments in\nthe citadel.\n\n\"Our captain is gaun aff at the nail now,\" said Will Laidlaw; \"Thae\nnew honours o' his are gaun to be his ruin. He's getting far ower\nmuckle in favour wi' the grit fo'k.\"\n\n\"I wonder to hear ye speak that gate,\" said Gideon Pott of Bilhope: \"I\nthink it be true that the country says, that ye maun aye read a\nLaidlaw backward. What can contribute sae muckle to advance a\ngentleman and his friends as to be in favour with the great?\"\n\n\"I am a wee inclined to be of Laidlaw's opinion,\" said Peter Oliver of\nthe Langburnsheils, (for these three were the headsmen of the three\nnames marshalled under Sir Charles,)--\"Sudden rise, sudden fa'; that\nwas a saying o' my grandfather's, and he was very seldom in the wrong.\nI wadna wonder a bit to see our new knight get his head choppit off;\nfor I think, if he haud on as he is like to do, he'll soon be ower\ngrit wi' the Queen. Fo'k should bow to the bush they get bield frae,\nbut take care o' lying ower near the laiggens o't. That was a saying\no' my grandfather's aince when they wantit him to visit at the castle\nof Mountcomyn.\"\n\n\"There is he to the gate now,\" said Laidlaw, \"and left his men, his\nbread-winners, in the very mids o' their lessons; and as sure as we\nsaw it, some o' thae imps will hae his simple honest head into Hoy's\nnet wi' some o' thae braw women. Wha wins at their hands will lose at\nnaething. I never bodit ony good for my part o' the gowden cuishes and\nthe gorget, and the three walloping tod tails. Mere eel-baits for\ncatching herons!\"\n\n\"Ay weel I wat that's little short of a billyblinder, lad!\" said Peter\nOliver; \"I trow I may say to you as my grandfather said to the ghost,\n'Ay, ay, Billy Baneless, 'an a' tales be true, yours is nae lie,' quo'\nhe; and he was a right auldfarrant man.\"\n\nBut as this talk was going on among the borderers, Sir Charles, as\nbefore said, was introduced into a private chamber, where sat no less\na dame than the officious and important lady of all close secrets,\nMistress Mary Kirkmichael of Balmedie, who rose and made three low\ncourtesies, and then with an affected faultering tongue and downcast\nlook, addressed Sir Charles as follows: \"Most noble and gallant\nknight,--hem--Pardon a modest and diffident maiden, sir knight!--pink\nof all chivalry and hero of the Border: I say be so generous as\nto forgive the zeal of a blushing virgin for thus presuming to\ninterrupt your warrior avocations.--(Sir Charles bowed.)--But, O\nknight--hem--there is a plot laying, or laid against your freedom.\nPray may I take the liberty to ask, Are you free of any love\nengagement?\"\n\n\"Perfectly so, madam, at--hem!----\"\n\n\"At my service. Come that is so far well. You could not then possibly\nhave any objections to a young lady of twenty-one or thereby, nobly\ndescended, heir to seven ploughgates of land, and five half-davochs,\nand most violently in love with you.\"\n\n\"I maun see her first, and hear her speak,\" said the knight, \"and ken\nwhat blood and what name; and whether she be Scots or English.\"\n\n\"Suppose that you _have_ seen her and heard her speak,\" said the dame;\n\"and suppose she was of Fife blood; and that her name was _lady_ Mary\nKirkmichael: What would you then say against her?\"\n\n\"Nothing at all, madam,\" said Sir Charles, bowing extremely low.\n\n\"Do you then consent to accept of such a one for your lady?\"\n\n\"How can I possibly tell? Let me see her.\"\n\n\"O Sir Charles! gallant and generous knight! do not force a young\nblushing virgin to disclose what she would gladly conceal. You _do_\nsee her, Sir Charles! You _do_ see her and hear her speak too. Nay,\nyou see her kneeling at your feet, brave and generous knight! You see\nher _tears_ and you hear her _weep_,--and what hero can withstand\nthat? Oh Sir Charles!--\n\n\"Hout, hout, hout!\" cried Sir Charles interrupting her, and raising\nher gently with both hands, \"Hout, hout, hout! for heaven's sake\nbehave yoursel, and dinna flee away wi' the joke athegither, sweet\nlady. Ye may be very weel, and ye are very weel for ought that I see,\nbut troth ye ken a man maun do ae thing afore another, and a woman\ntoo. Ye deserve muckle better than the likes o' me, but I dinna\nincline marriage; and mair than that, I hae nae time to spare.\"\n\n\"Ah, Sir Charles, you should not be so cruel. You should think better\nof the fair sex, Sir Charles! Look at this face. What objections have\nyou to it, Sir Charles?\"\n\n\"The face is weel enough, but it will maybe change. The last blooming\nface that took me in turned put a very different article the next day.\nAh, lady! Ye little ken what I hae suffered by women and witchcraft,\nor ye wadna bid me think weel o' them.\"\n\n\"Well, knight, since I cannot melt your heart, I must tell you that\nthere is a plot against your liberty, and you will be a married man\nbefore to morrow's night. It is a grand plot, and I am convinced it is\nmade solely to entrap you to marry an English heiress that is a captive\nhere, who is fallen so deeply in love with you that, if she does not\nattain you for her lover and husband, her heart will break. She has made\nher case known to the Queen, and I have come by it: therefore, sir\nknight, as you value my life, keep this a _profound_ secret. I thought\nit a pity not to keep you out of English connections; therefore I sent\nfor you privily to offer you my own hand, and then you could get off on\nthe score of engagement.\"\n\n\"Thank you kindly, madam.\"\n\n\"Well, Sir. On pretence of an appendage to the marriage of the king's\nfavourite daughter with the greatest nobleman of the land, before the\nfestival conclude, it is agreed on that there are to be a number of\nweddings beside, which are all to be richly endowed. The ladies are to\nchoose among the heroes of the games; and this lady Jane Howard is\ngoing to make choice of you, and the law is to be framed in such a\nmanner that there will be no evading it with honour. You have been a\nmortal enemy to the English; so have they to you. Had not you better\nthen avoid the connection by a previous marriage, or an engagement\nsay?\n\n\"I think I'll rather take chance, with your leave, madam: Always\nbegging your pardon, ye see. But, depend on it, I'll keep your secret,\nand am indebted to you for your kind intentions. I'll take chance.\nThey winna surely force a wife on ane whether he will or no?\"\n\n\"Perhaps not. One who does _not incline marriage_, and has not _time\nto spare_ to be married, may be excused. Tell me, seriously; surely\nyou will never think of accepting of her?\"\n\n\"It is time to decide about that when aince I get the offer. I can\nhardly trow what ye say is true; but if the King and the Warden will\nhae it sae, ye ken what can a body do?\"\n\n\"Ah, there it is! Cruel Sir Charles! But you know you really have not\na minute's _time to spare_ for marriage, and the want of _inclination_\nis still worse. I have told you, sir knight, and the plot will be\naccomplished to-morrow. I would you would break her heart, and\nabsolutely refuse her, for I hate the rosy minx. But three earldoms\nand nine hundred thousand marks go far! Ah me! Goodbye, noble knight.\nBe secret for my sake.\"\n\nSir Charles returned to his men in the great square, laughing in his\nsleeve all the way. He spoke some to himself likewise, but it was only\none short sentence, which was this: \"Three earldoms and nine hundred\nthousand marks! Gudefaith, Corbie will be astonished.\"\n\nIt was reported afterwards, that this grand story of Mary's to Sir\nCharles was was nothing at all in comparison with what she told\nto lady Jane, of flames and darts, heroism, royal favour, and\ndistinction; and, finally, of endless captivity in the event of utter\nrejection. However that was, when the troops assembled around the\nfortress in the evening, and the leaders in the hall, proclamations\nwere made in every quarter, setting forth, that all the champions who\nhad gained prizes since the commencement of the Christmas games were\nto meet together, and contend at the same exercises before the King,\nfor other prizes of higher value; and, farther, that every successful\ncandidate should have an opportunity of acquiring his mistress' hand\nin marriage, with rich dowries, honours, manors, and privileges, to be\nconferred by the King and Queen; who, at the same time gave forth\ntheir peremptory commands, that these gallants should meet with\nno denial, and this on pain of forfeiting the royal favour and\nprotection, not only towards the dame so refusing, but likewise to her\nparents, guardians, and other relations.\n\nNever was there a proclamation issued that made such a deray among the\nfair sex as this. All the beauty of the Lowlands of Scotland was\nassembled at this royal festival. The city of Roxburgh and the town of\nKelso were full of visitors; choke full of them! There were ladies in\nevery house, beside the inmates; and, generally speaking, three _at an\naverage_ for every male, whether in the city or suburbs. Yet, for all\nthese lovely women of high rank and accomplishments, none else fled\nfrom the consequences of the mandate but one alone, who dreaded a\nrival being preferred,--a proof how little averse the ladies of that\nage were to the bonds of matrimony. Such a night as that was in the\ncity! There were running to and fro, rapping at doors, and calling of\nnames during the whole night. It was a terrible night for the\ndressmakers; for there was such a run upon them, and they had so much\nado, that they got nothing done at all, except the receiving of orders\nwhich there was no time to execute.\n\nNext morning, at eight of the day, by the abbey bell, the multitude\nwere assembled, when the names of the former heroes were all called\nover, but only sixteen appeared, although twenty-two stood on the\nlist. The candidates were then all taken into an apartment by\nthemselves, and treated with viands and wines, with whatever else they\nrequired. There also they were instructed in the laws of the game.\nEvery one was obliged to contend at every one of the exercises;\nand the conqueror in each was to retire into the apartment of the\nladies, where they were all placed in a circle, lay his prize at his\nmistress's feet, and retire again to the sports without uttering a\nword.\n\nThe exercises were held on the large plain south of the Teviot, so\nthat they were beheld by the whole multitude without any inconveniency.\nThe flowers of the land also beheld from their apartment in the castle,\nalthough no one saw them in return, save the fortunate contenders in\nthe field. The first trial was a foot race for a chain of gold, given by\nthe lady Douglas, and all the sixteen being obliged to run, the sport\nafforded by the race was excellent; for the eager desire to be foremost\nacted not more powerfully to urge the candidates to exertion than the\ndread of being the last, so that the two hindmost were straining every\nnerve, and gasping as voraciously for breath as the two foremost. Sir\nCharles Scott took the lead, leaving the rest quite behind, so far that\nevery one thought he would gain with all manner of ease, and they began\nto hail him as conqueror. But owing to his great weight he lost breath,\nand in spite of all he could do the poet made by him and won the prize,\nwhich he took with a proud and a joyful heart, and laid at the feet of\nDelany. \"Bauchling shurf!\" exclaimed Sir Charles, laughing when he saw\nthe poet passing his elbow, \"Useless bauchling shurf! an I had kend I\nwad hae letten ye lie, and been singit to an izle in the low o'\nRavensworth.\"\n\n\"Knight, I think ye hae lost,\" cried one.\n\n\"I think sae, too,\" said Charles. \"I liket aye better to rin ahint an\nEnglishman than afore him a' my life.\"\n\nThe next game given out was a trial in leaping, for a pair of\nbracelets, clasped with gold, and set with jewels, given by the Queen.\nThese also the poet won, and laid at Delany's feet. Sir Charles won\nthree; one for tilting on horseback, one for wrestling, and one for\npitching the iron bar, and he laid all the three prizes at the feet of\nlady Jane Howard. Two lords won each of them two prizes, and other two\nknights won each of them one; and all, unknown to one another, laid\nthem at the feet of lady Jane Howard.\n\nWhen the sports of the day were finished, the seven conquerors, all\ncrowned with laurel, and gorgeously arrayed, were conducted to the\ngallery where the ladies still remained; and after walking round the\nroom to the sound of triumphal music, they were desired to kneel one\nby one in the order in which they had entered before, and each to\ninvoke his mistress's pity in his own terms. It fell to the poet's lot\nto kneel first, who stretched forth his hands toward a certain point\nin the room, and expressed himself as follows: \"O lovely darling of my\nsoul! in whom my every hope is centered; at whose feet I laid my\nhonours down. This laurel wreath I also consecrate to thee. By all the\nlove that I have borne for thee, the pains that I have suffered, I\nconjure you to raise me up, and say thou wilt be mine:--else here I'll\nkneel till doomsday!\"\n\nA pause ensued; the King and his nobles looked on in breathless\ncuriosity, for they knew not where he had bestowed his favours. The\ndames also gazed in envious silence, and in hopes that the supplicant\nwould be refused. He soon himself began to dread what they hoped; his\ncountenance changed; the wild lustre of his eye faded; and he began to\nlook around to see where he could get a sword on which to fall and\nkill himself. He cast one other pitiful look to Delany, but she\ndeigned no movement to his relief,--still keeping her seat, though\nvisibly in great agitation. But, at length, when hope was extinct in\nhis bosom, there appeared one to his relief. This was no other than\nhis old rival the gospel friar, who had been admitted in an official\ncapacity, in order to join hands and bless unions if any such chanced\nto be agreed on. He was standing ruminating behind backs; but seeing\nthe first offer about to be rejected, and aware of the force of\nexample, whether good or bad, and how little chance he had of\nemployment that day if the first effort misgave, he stepped briskly up\nto Delany, and, taking her hand, said, \"Lo, my daughter, have not I\ntravelled for thee in pain, and yearned over thee as a mother yearneth\nover the son of her youth? Why wilt thou break my heart, and the heart\nof him that burneth for thy love?\" Delany then rose, and with\ntrembling step came toward her lover, led by the grotesque form of the\ngood friar. The tears gushed from the poet's eyes as she lifted the\nlaurel crown from the floor, and replacing it on his head, said, as\nshe raised him up, \"Thou hast adventured and overcome. Hence be thou\nthe lord of my heart and affections.\"\n\nThe friar gave them no more time to palaver, but joined their hands,\npronounced them a married pair, and blessed their union in the name of\nthe Trinity. Then Sir Charles Scott kneeled, and, casting his eyes\ngravely toward the floor, said only these words: \"Will the lady whom I\nserve take pity on her humble slave, or shall he retire from this\npresence ashamed and disgraced.\"\n\nWoman, kind and affectionate woman, is ever more ready to confer an\nobligation on our sex than accept of one. Lady Jane arose without any\nhesitation, put the crown on the knight's head, and, with a most\nwinning grace, raised him up, and said, \"Gallant knight, thou wert\nborn to conquer my countrymen and me; I yield my hand and with it my\nheart.\" The friar lost no time in joining their hands; he judged it\nbest and safest to take women at their first words; and short time was\nit till the two were pronounced husband and wife, \"and whom God hath\njoined let no man dare to put asunder. Amen!\" said the friar, and\nbestowed on them an earnest blessing.--Isaac the curate expatiates\nlargely on the greatness and goodness of this couple; how they\nextended their possessions, and were beloved on the Border. Their son,\nhe says, was the famous Sir Robert of Eskdale, the warden of the\nmarches, from whom the families of Thirlstane, Harden, and many other\nopulent houses are descended. No union could be more happy; and\nbesides, it rendered the Lady Douglas the happiest of women, and Mary\nKirkmichael the proudest.\n\nBut to return to the scene in the gallery with the knights and their\nmistresses. The King and his nobles who accompanied the gallants into\nthe apartment of the ladies, knowing nothing of the choices each had\nmade, expected great amusement from compliances and non-compliances;\nand at all events, after so fair a beginning, a number of weddings to\nbe the result. Every one of the successful knights expected the same\nthing; for it is a curious fact, which shows the duplicity of our\ncharacter in a striking light, that, when the champions were all in\nthe apartment together in the morning, some mentioned one lady as the\nflower of the land and of all present, some mentioned another, and so\non. But no one ever mentioned the names either of _Delany_ or _Jane\nHoward_. Sir Charles indeed mentioned no name, but when each had named\na pretended favourite with mighty encomiums, he only added, \"I'll no\nsay muckle; but there's ane that I rank aboon a' thae.\"\n\nThe master of the ceremonies looked round to call the next champion to\nkneel; but, behold, he was not there! He called the next again. He was\ngone also! Every one of the knights had vanished, each thinking\n_himself_ slighted by the preference given to Sir Charles Scott, but\nnone knowing that for his sake they were all slighted alike. The\nnoblemen were all in the utmost consternation; the King became highly\noffended, and said \"What is the meaning of this? Have these knights\ndared to desert their colours on the very eve of action? This is not\nonly an affront put upon us, but upon our fair and noble visitors, of\nwhose honour and feelings we are more jealous than of our own.\"\n\nBut the friar, who was a man of peace, and disliked all sort of\noffence, when he saw the King was displeased, took speech to himself,\nand his speech set all the gallery into a burst of laughter. He was\nstanding in the midst of the floor, with his book in hand, ready and\neager to officiate still farther as a knitter and binder; but when he\nsaw the knights all fled, and the King offended, he uplifted both of\nhis hands and one of his feet, standing still on the other, and cried\nwith a loud voice, \"Behold my occupation is ended! Woe is me for the\nchildren of my people! For the spirit of man is departed away, and he\nhath no strength remaining. Oh what shall I do for the honour of my\nbrethren! For, lo, the virgins are come to the altar, and there is\nnone to accept of the offering. The men of might are dismissed, yea\nthey are confounded and fled away, and the daughters of the land are\nleft to bewail the months and years of their virginity. Woe is me, for\nmy hand findeth nothing more to do!\"\n\nThe ladies laughed immoderately at the cases of the forlorn and\ndiscomfited knights; for they had witnessed the proceedings, and saw\nthat all their devotions were paid to one object; and as no lady of\nScotland had been chosen, one could not envy another,--so they\ntittered and laughed off the affront as well as they could.\n\nThe friar got passports into England, and after much labour and pain\ngot the poet established in his father's possessions, and acknowledged\nas the lord of Ravensworth. He also regained for him his lady's\npossessions on the continent, which the Nevilles retained for the\nspace of two hundred years. That amiable couple cultivated the arts of\npeace, music, and song, as long as they lived. After these things, the\nfriar was preferred to great emoluments in his old age, and he spent\nthem all in acts of charity and benevolence.\n\nFrom Roxburgh the royal party proceeded to Melrose, where they remained\ntwo days, which they spent partly in devotion and thanksgivings,\nand partly in viewing the magnificent scenes in the neighbourhood,\nparticularly the great hill of Eildon, so lately reft asunder and\ndivided into three by the power of the elemental spirits. To this awful\ntheme the mind of the Queen still reverted; and, on her last visit to\nthese mountains, she passed through the recent chasms, gazing and\ntrembling at the effects produced by that tremendous convulsion of\nnature; and, at length, she had spoken and dreamed so much about it,\nthat she proposed to go and visit the castle of Aikwood, and if possible\nto get a sight of the great enchanter himself, before she left the\nBorder counties, where, she said, she might never be again. Every one\ntried to dissuade her from the attempt, and the King got into a high\npassion, but still she could not not be driven from her purpose. \"As we\nreturn to the abbey,\" said she, \"we will go by the ford of Dornick-burn\nat the foot of the deep dell that you told me of, where the devil first\nmade his appearance on horseback to the four warriors. I should not\nwonder that we shall see him there again under some disguise.\"\n\n\"I would not wonder that we should,\" said Sir Charles: \"I have been\ntold that he is sometimes seen there in the shape of a clerk;\nsometimes as a mariner; and sometimes in the form of the King of\nScotland. Always begging your pardon, royal madam.\"\n\n\"There is no offence, Sir Charles, as long as you do not tell me that\nhe appears in the shape of a Queen. I hope he has never yet been known\nto assume the shape of a woman.\"\n\n\"He has enow to appear for him in _that_ form, which I ken something\nabout to my cost; and which your royal majesty kens mair about than I\ncould have wished. What does your majesty account the greatest peril\nthat man is subject to in this world?\"\n\n\"Oh war, war, certainly! Nineteen out of twenty of his perils\nconcentrate in that, or are derived from it.\"\n\n\"Ye may be thankfu' ye ken nae mair about it than that, my lady queen!\nAince ye gang near the castle of Aikwood ye'll get a little mair\nexperience perhaps. Now ye are determined on ganging there the morn,\nand I am determined on accompanying you, since you will go. But troth\nI would be right wae to see my queen turned into a cow, and a little\ndeil set to drive her; or into a grey mare, and a witch or warlock set\nto gallop on her; or a doe, or a hare, or a she-fox, and a tichel o'\ntikes set after her to tear her a' to tareleathers. Always begging\nyour pardon, my liege lady.\"\n\nAs they were chatting on in this familiar and jocular style, they came\nto the identical little deep dell, at the meeting of two rivulets, or\nmoorland burns, where the devil and his three attendant imps had\nappeared to our warriors on their way to Melrose; and, as Dan Chisholm\nwas of the party, the Queen caused him to be called up to describe the\nwhole scene,--with the personal appearance of the arch fiend,--the\nwords he spoke, and also the extraordinary course that he had with him\nalong the marble pavement of the air. All these matters were detailed\nto her by the trooper with perfect seriousness and simplicity, which\nmade such an impression on the Queen's romantic and superstitious\nmind, that her countenance altered in every feature, and she was every\nnow and then gazing around as if expecting Satan's personal appearance\nbefore them once more. The party were sitting on horseback conversing\ntogether, when the sharp eye of Sir Charles, well accustomed to the\ndiscernment of all living or moving objects, whether by night or by\nday, perceived a miserable looking wight approaching them by the very\npath on which the infernal cavalcade had formerly proceeded. The Queen\nwas talking to Dan, still pushing her inquiries, when Sir Charles\ntouched her gently on the shoulder, and said, \"Hush, your majesty. See\nwho is this approaching us by the very road that the deils took? It is\na question who we have here. Ane is nae sure of ony shape that appears\nin sic a place and sic a time as this.\"\n\nThen there was such crossing and telling of beads, and calling on the\nnames of saints, took place with the Queen and her ladies, every one\nof them asking the same question in terrified whispers, \"Is it he,\nthink you? Is it he? Oh, is it he?\" Then there was a general request\nmade that they should take instant flight, and ride home to the abbey\nfull speed; but an opposition arose to this proposal from a quarter\nnot expected. This was from no other than Sir Charles' English lady,\nwhose education had taught her to despise the superstitions so\nprevalent in Scotland; and seeing them all about to fly from a poor\nwo-begone, half-famished wretch, she opposed it with indignation,\nadding, that she would abide his coming by herself if none else would.\nSir Charles was still far from being clear about these matters, hard\nexperience having taught him caution; however, he commended his lady's\nspirit, and drew up by her side: They rest marshalling behind them,\nthey awaited in a body the coming of this doubtful guest; and every\neye being fixed on his motions, so every tongue was busied in giving\nvent to the spontaneous movements of the mind. \"It is a palmer,\" said\none. \"It is a warlock,\" said another. \"It is the devil,\" said a third;\n\"I ken him by his lang nose!\" \"Aha, my royal and noble dames!\" cried\nSir Charles exultingly: \"If it be nae the deil, it's his man; sae we\nmay expect some important message, either frae his infernal majesty or\nthe great enchanter, for this is no other than his seneschal. My royal\nliege, this man that you see approaching is no other than Gilbert\nJordan, the late laird of the Peatstackknowe, who was drawn by lot to\nsupply the room of the wretch whom our gospel friar sent up through\nthe clouds in a convoy of fire and brimstone. Whether this be Gibbie\nor his ghaist, it is hard to say; but I ken weel by the coulter nose\nit is either the one or the other. Your majesty will scrimply believe\nit, but the last time I saw that carl the deil was hauding him by the\ncuff o' the neck ower the topmost tower of the castle of Aikwood, and\nthe poor laird was sprawling like a paddock in a gled's claws, when\nfifty fathom frae the ground. There is nought in nature I expected\nless to see than that creature again in the land of the living; yet it\nis actually he himself in flesh and blood, and that is all, for he is\nworn to skin and bone, and his nose is even longer than it was! Hech,\nlaird, is this you? And are you indeed returned to the Christian world\naince mair?\"\n\n\"Aye troth, Yardbire, it is a' that's to the fore of me. But who have\nyou got all here? Good-e'en to you, gentles. This brings me in mind of\na story, man, that I hae heard about the hunting of Stanebires' cat--\"\n\n\"Whisht, Gibbie,and gie us nane o' your auld stories about cats even\nnow. This is the Queen of Scots and her attendants. Rather tell us, in\none word, how you have made your escape from yon infernal gang in the\ncastle of Aikwood?\"\n\n\"Aha, Yardbire, that is a tale that winna tell in ae word, nor twa\nneither; it wad take a winter night in telling, and it is the\nawesomest ane that ever passed frae the lips o' man; but I am ower\nsair forespent at this time to begin to it.\"\n\n\"Oh, no!\" cried the Queen: \"Honest man, do not begin it at present. It\nshall serve for our evening's amusement, and you shall tell it before\nyour King and his nobles, after you have had such refreshment as you\nstand in need of.\" She then caused one of her squires to alight, and\nmounting the wearied and exhausted laird on his horse, they rode off\nto Melrose, where, after a plentiful meal, the laird was brought into\nthe apartment where the King, the Queen, the abbot, with the nobles\nand ladies of the court, were all assembled; and then, at the royal\nrequest, he related to them the following narrative.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\n    Commissions and black bills he had,\n    And a' the land went hey-gae mad,\n      The like was never seen, joe:\n\n           *       *       *       *       *\n\n    To dance and caper in the air,\n      And there's an end of him, joe.\n\n        _Old Jacobite Song._\n\n\nWeel, ye see, my masters and mistresses, this is what I never expected\nto see. There is something sae grand in being in the presence of a\nKing and Queen and their courtiers, that it brings me in mind of the\ndevil and his agents that I have been in the habit of entertaining for\na month bygane. But there is some wee difference in masters for a'\nthat; for, in my late service, if I had been brought in to entertain\nthem, in an instant they would have had me transformed into some\npaltry animal, and then amused themselves by tormenting that animal to\ndeath, by dissecting it while living. But the queerest thing of all\nwas this,--there was aye a spark of life that they could not destroy,\nwhich, for all their cruelties, remained active and intelligent as\nbefore; and the moment they put that spark of life out of one animal,\nthey popped it into another, and there was I obliged to undergo the\nsame dismemberment and pain once more, and so on for ever. The\ninflicting of torment was their chief delight, and of that delight\nthere was no satiety,--it seemed still to increase by gratification.\n\nOn the very first day that I entered on my probation they had a feast,\nas my comrades know, and as I also have good reason to know, for on\nthat day I suffered death nine times; and yet I was Gibbie Jordan\nagain before night. They first turned me into a cock, and after the\nthree pages had chased me round the castle, and thrown stones at me\ntill I was hanging out my tongue, and could not cackle another lilt,\nthey seized me, took me into the scullery, and drew my neck. Ere ever\nI was aware, they had me transformed into a huge lubberly calf, while\none of the hellish pages was dragging me by the neck with a prickly\nrope made of hurcheon hides, and the two others were belabouring my\nrumple with cudgels. I suspected their intentions, and being still\nterrified for death, and inclining rather to suffer any thing, I drew\nback, shook my head, and bellowed at them, while they still redoubled\ntheir blows on my carcase, and cursed me. In spite of all I could do,\nthey dragged me gasping into the slaughter-house, kept the knife an\nexcruciating long time at my throat, and then, after piercing the\njugular vein, they laughed immoderately to see me running about,\nbleeding to death, with my glazed stupid eyes; and when, through\nfaintness, I began to flounder and grovel on the floor, they laughed\namain, threshed me to make me plunge a little more, and when I could\ndo nothing farther than give a faint baa! they thought that the best\nsport of all, and mimicked me.\n\nI had scarcely ceased baaing as a calf, when I found myself a\nbeautiful cappercailzie, winging the winter cloud, and three devils of\nfalcons after me. 'Now,' thinks I to myself, 'If I do not give you\nthe glaiks now, my hellish masters, may I never wap a wing again. By\nall the powers of swiftness, but I shall try for once if the feathers\nshall not carry the flesh away.' Sanct Martha, as I did scour the rimy\nfirmament! I took the wind in my tail, but I went with such amazing\nvelocity that I left it behind me, and as I clove it, it seemed to\nreturn in my face. I reached the shoulder of a lofty mountain, and\nthen I laid back my wings, and bolted through the air like a flash of\nlightning. 'O ho! Messrs Hawks, where are you now?' thought I to\nmyself. Good Lord! ere ever I was aware, there was ane o' them\ngave me a nab on the crown, that dovered me, and gart me tumble\nheels-o'er-head down frae the shelves of the clouds; and lighting with\na dunt on the ground, I had nae shift but to stap my head in a heather\nbush, and let them pelt at me till I got some breath again. Then I\nmade for a cottage, thinking the inmates could not but pity my\ncondition, and drive the hawks away from me. I took cover among their\ncabbage, in the sight of both man and wife; but instead of pitying me,\nthe one came with an old spear, and the other with the tongs, to\nfinish my existence,--and always when the falcons came down on me with\ntheir talons, the two cried out, \"Weel done, little hawkie! Yether him\nup! puik him weel!\" I was forced to take wing again, till at length,\nthrough fatigue and want of feathers I dropt close to the castle\nwhence I had set out, and the three falcons, closing with me, first\npicked out my eyes and then my brains. I was stabbed as a salmon,\nhunted as a roe-buck, felled as a bull, and had my head chopped off\nfor a drake. The dinner was made up of me. I supplied every dish, and\nthen was forced to cook them all afterward. It was no wonder that I\ncould not partake of the fragments of the meal.\n\nFrom the moment that the Christian warriors were all dismissed with\ndisgrace from the castle, the devil became contumacious with the\nMaster, and assayed to carry matters with a very high hand. But he had\nto do with one that would not succumb, no not in the smallest point,\nbut who opposed him with a degree of virulence of which even the\nmaster fiend seemed scarcely capable. It was a scene of constant\ncontention and rage, and the little subordinate demons did not always\nknow which to obey. It was, if it please your Majesties, a scene acted\nin terrible magnificence, of which I have seen several poor and\nabortive emblems among mortal men. And henceforth I shall aways\nbelieve and feel, when I see a family or society constantly involved\nin disputes, wranglings, and angry emotions, that they are children of\nthe wicked one, and moved by the spirit of discord, that bane of the\nhuman race.\n\n\"The worthy gentleman hath said well,\" said the abbot. \"It is a moral\ntruth that can never be too deeply impressed, that _peace and love\nonly lead to happiness_. They are emanations from above, and the\ncontrary passions from beneath. All the fierce and fiery passions of\nthe soul are the offspring of hell fire. But a truce with preaching.\nHonest friend go on with your strange relation, and acquaint us in\nwhat manner his infernal majesty and the king of mortal magicians\nspent their time.\"\n\nIn constant discord and jarring. The devil challenged the Master with\nimpotency in entertaining a poor crazy monk, and submitting to be\nprotected and even cowed by him; at which the Master took high\noffence, and retorted in the bitterest terms; while the other always\nhinted that he would make him repent his intercourse with that\npreposterous and presumptive fool. So he termed our own worthy friar\nand head chaplain.\n\nIn one thing only they agreed, and that was in abusing the witches.\nNever were there poor deluded creatures guided in such a way as they.\nThe devil says to the Master one day in my hearing, \"Brother Michael,\"\nsays he, \"I have an act of justice to perform to all our true and\ntrusty female lieges in this quarter. I gave them my princely word of\nhonour, that on their yielding themselves up souls and bodies to me\nand to my service, they should all be married, and all to young and\ngoodly husbands too. That having been the principal, and almost the\nonly boon, the good consistent creatures required of me for the\nsacrifice they made, they must not be disappointed.\" The Master\nacquiesced, but at the same time remarked, with what I judged\nunreasonable chagrin, that when he was keeping his word so punctually,\nit betokened nothing good for those to whom he kept it.\n\nWell, we had a witch's wedding every night for nine nights running;\nbut such extreme of wickedness is past all human comprehension, beyond\nthe possibility of description. The marriage ceremony itself, always\nperformed by a demon in the habit of a friar, was a piece of the most\nhorrid blasphemy ever conceived; and every night one of the witches\nwas married to the devil in disguise. Sometimes the bridegroom made\nhis appearance as a gay cavalier, sometimes as a country squire, a\nforeign merchant, a minstrel, and a moss-trooper. The old wretch of a\nbride was all painted by some devilish cantrip, and bedecked with\nfalse jewels, and though she seemed always aware of the deceit in a\ncertain degree, from former experiences, yet it was wonderful with\nwhat avidity each of the old creatures clung to her enamoured and\ngoodly husband! How they mumped and minced in their talking, and ogled\nwith their old grey ropy eyes! And then how they danced! Gracious me,\nhow they flung, and danced among the deils and the warlocks! and\ncapered and snapped their fingers, giving their partners often a jerk\non the nose or the temple as they passed and repassed in the reel, as\nquick as green clocks on a pool. Then the bedding of the brides, these\nsurpassed all description; and as they had me fairly in thrall, I was\nsuffered to witness every thing. The first witch bride was led out at\nthe back door of the castle with much state and ceremony, into a place\nthat had been a bowling green, and in which there was nothing else\nsave a bowling green: Yet, to my amazement, there stood a bower of the\nmost superb magnificence; and there, in a chamber hung with gorgeous\ntapestry that glittered all with gold and rubies, the loving couple\nretired to their repose, and to all the delights and joys of so happy\nan union. Then wishing them the greatest conjugal felicity, all the\ngallants returned to the castle. But I, being curious to see what\nwould be the end of this grand pavilion in the bowling-green, which I\nknew must be merely a delusion, avision, a shadow of something that\nhad no stability of existence, went up to the top of the castle, and\nfrom a loop-hole sat and watched what was to be the end of this\nphenomenon. I waited a good long while, and began to think all was\nreal, and that the splendid witch had met with a happy fortune,--for I\nknew them too well to be all witches from former happy experience. But\nat length the lusty bridegroom, as I supposed, began to weary of his\nmate, for I saw the form of the bower beginning to change, and fall\nflat on the top, and its hue also became of a lurid fiery colour. I\ncannot tell your Majesties what sort of sensations I felt when I saw\nthe wedded couple sinking gradually down through a bed of red burning\nfire, and the poor old beldame writhing to death in the arms of a huge\nand terrible monster, that squeezed her in its embraces, and hugged\nher, and caressed her till the spark of wretched life was wholly\nextinguished. I saw distinctly by the light of the flame that\nsurrounded them, and marked every twist of the features, and every\nquiver of the convulsed limbs; yet these were not more impressive than\nthe joy of the exulting fiend, who continued to caress and kiss his\nagonized mate to the last, and called her his love, and his darling,\nand his heart's delight. At length the distortions of the human\ncountenance reached their acme--the shrivelled bosom forgot to throb,\nand, with the expiry of the mortal spark, the lurid flame that burnt\naround them also went out, and all was darkness, There was no bower,\nno chamber, no bridal bed, but a cold winter soil; and I thought that,\nthrough the gloom, I perceived the couple still lying on it.\n\nAs I could get no rest all that night for thinking of the terrible\nscene I had witnessed, as soon as the sun rose next morning I went out\nto the bowling-green, but found nothing there save the strangled body\nof the wretched woman,--a dismal and humbling sight,--squeezed almost\nto a jelly, and every bone broken as if it had been smashed on an\nanvil. Being curious to examine her robes in which she appeared with\nsuch splendour the evening before, and her jewels, part of which I had\nseen her lay carefully aside, I took every thing up as it lay. Her\nrobes were a small heap of the most wretched rags imaginable: her\npearl necklace was a string of dead beetles, and her diamond rings\npieces of thread, on which were fastened small knots of clay, and\nevery thing else proportionally mean. While I was standing considering\nthis vile degradation that had taken place, I heard a voice at a\nlittle distance that called to me and said, \"Gibbie Jordan! Gibbie\nJordan! why standest thou in amazement at a true emblem of all worldly\ngrandeur! It is all equally unreal and unsubstantial as that on which\nthou lookest, and to that it must all come at last.\"\n\n'Hout, friend,' thought I, 'it canna surely be a' sae perfectly unreal\nas this, else what does it signify?' But a' that I could look and\nglime about, I could never discover the speaker that said this; and\nwhen I thought seriously of the matter, I found that it comes a' to\nthe same thing in the end.\n\n\"Honest friend, thou hast again illustrated a momentous moral truth,\"\nsaid the abbot,--\"and I thank thee for it. Thou hast the art, in thy\nsimplicity, of extracting more good out of real evil than any expounder\nof divine truths throughout the land. Thou art both a moral and a\nnatural philosopher, and I intend conferring on thee some benefice under\nthe church, that thy talents may no longer remain locked up in a helmet.\nPrithee, go on with thy extraordinary narrative; but these witch\nweddings are too horrible for mortal ears.\"\n\nThen you may consider, my Lord Abbot, what they were for mortal eyes,\nespecially such a run of them, which were every night varied in their\nhorrors, and terminated in something perfectly distinct from all those\npreceding. On the second night the bridegroom was a foreign merchant, a\nman of bustle and punctuality, who said he could not remain late with\nhis kind convivial friends, and was under the necessity of carrying his\nbride off at an early hour, having business of importance to transact\non the morrow. It was a speculation, he said, on which he calculated\nmaking a good profit, and a man who was coming in to have a wife, and in\nall probability a small family to maintain, required to look after and\nattend to these matters. The witch caressed him in ecstacy when he made\nthis speech, and proffered to go with him as soon as he chose. She\nsaluted her cronies, and bade them farewell; and although there is no\nlove among those sort of people, yet there was still so much of human\nnature remaining, that there seemed to subsist a degree of regret that\nthey should never meet again. My own heart was even sore for the\nwretched beldame; for I had witnessed a scene the preceding night which\nhad been withheld from her view, and those of the other brides that were\nto be; and I knew that a fate somewhat similar awaited them all. They\nmounted this one behind the spruce merchant on a tall gallant charger\nwhose eyes gleamed like lightning, and away they set over the leas of\nCarterhaugh, at a light gallop; but at every bound the swiftness of the\nsteed increased, till it was quickly beyond the speed of the eagle. The\nwitch held like grim death, and would fain have expostulated with the\nbridegroom on the madness of risking their necks for a little per\ncentage,--but her velocity was such that she could make no farther\nspeech of it, than just a squeak now and then like a shot hare. The\nreckless merchant flew on, still increasing his rapidity, until he came\nto the very highest rock of the Harehead linn. The witch knew of the\ndreadful chasm that was before them, and weening that her husband did\nnot know she uttered a piercing shriek; but the void was only thirty\nyards across and a hundred deep, so the fearless merchant, meaning to\ntake it at one leap, made his charger bound from the top of the\nprecipice. The infernal courser cleared the linn, but the witch's head\nfailing, she toppled off about the middle space. There were two\nfishermen spearing salmon in the bottom of the gulf, who saw the\nphenomenon pass over their heads, and the wife lose her hold and fall\noff; they heard her likewise saying, as she came adown the air, \"Aih,\nwhat a fa' I will get!\" And as she said, so it fell out; for she\nalighted on the rocks a short space from the place where they stood, and\nwas literally dashed in pieces; but the steed ran away with the merchant\nover hill and dale like a thunderbolt, and neither the one nor the other\never looked over his shoulder to see what had befallen the bride.\n\nThis continuation of horrors still depriving me of rest, I went into\nthe linn the next morning to look after the corpse; but the three\npages, Prig, Prim, and Pricker, were engaged with it, cutting it\ntrimly up, and hanging it on the trees of the linn to be frozen, so\nthat they might thereby be enabled to preserve it for some grand\nexperiment. In the same manner did they serve the remains of all the\nbrides; none of them ever being buried,--but there was one taken away\nbodily. I shall now, in conformity with your reverence's hint, desist\nfrom the description of any more of these weddings, and proceed to the\nadventure by which I attained my liberty.\n\nI had often attempted this, both by night and by day, but these imps\nseemed to possess a sort of prescience, for in all my attempts I was\nseized and maltreated so grossly that I gave up all hopes of escape,\notherwise than by some upbreaking of the warlock's establishment, and\nof all such incidents I had resolved to avail myself, and you all see\nthat at last I have succeeded,--which happened on this wise.\n\nStill as Christmas tide drew on, the wranglings between my two chief\nmasters, the devil and the warlock, grew more and more fierce; and as\nI heard they were obliged to sever before that time, I both hoped and\ndreaded some terrible convulsion. The fiend, for several successive\ndays, was always hinting to the Master that it now behoved the latter\nto deliver him up the black book and the divining rod; and he tried to\ncajole him out of them by fair speeches and boundless promises: but\nwith these requests the Master testified no disposition to comply, and\nthe promises he utterly disregarded, bidding him bestow his promises\non those who did not know him. At length the fiend fairly told him,\nthat he must and would have the possession of these invaluable\ntreasures, which ought never to have been put into the hands of mortal\nman, and that now he would have them if he should tear his heart from\nhis bosom to attain the boon.\n\nI weened that matters were come to that pass now that the Master would\nbe obliged to yield, and that all this show of resistance was only the\nebullition of a proud and indignant spirit struggling against the yoke\nunder which it knew it was obliged to bow, like a horse that champs\nthe bit, to the sway of which it knows too well it must submit. In all\nthis, however, I had reckoned before mine host, and knew not the\nresources of the great magician. Beneath the influence of the cross I\nfound him a child, a novice, a nonentity, unresolved and inconsistent in\nhis actions. But amongst the beings with whom he associated I found him\na superior intelligence, a spirit formed to controul the mightiest\nenergies, and not brooking submission to any power unless by compulsion.\nTo my utter astonishment he not only gave the arch-fiend absolute\nrefusal, but haughty defiance; and then it was apparent, that, except\nfrom necessity, all forbearance was at an end.\n\n\"Preposterous madman! dost thou know whom thou beardest?\" said the\nfiend, gnashing his teeth with rage and thirst of vengeance: \"Knowest\nthou with whom thou art contending, thou maniac?--and that I can wring\nthy soul out of thy body, consigning the one to the dunghill, and the\nother to elemental slavery, at my will and pleasure?\"\n\n\"I defy thee,\" said the Master: \"Do thy worst. He that imparts a\nmoiety of his power to another, must abide by the consequences. Do I\nnot know with whom I am contending? Yes! I know thee! And thou art so\nwell aware that I do, that at this moment thou tremblest beneath my\nrod. I know thee for a liar, a deceiver, a backbiter, and a spirit of\ninsatiable malevolence. Who can lay one of these charges to my name?\nWere I immortal as thou art, how I would hurl thee from thy usurped\nand tyrannic sway over the mighty energies of nature. Were I freed of\nthe incumbrances of mortality,--of blood that may be let out by a\nbodkin,--bones that may be broken by the tip of an ox-goad,--and\nbreath that may be stopped by the twang of a bow-string; of vitals,\nsubjected to be torn by disease,--preyed on by hunger, thirst, and a\nthousand casualties beside:--yes, were I rid of these congregated\nimpediments, as I shall soon be, I would thrust thee down into that\nsubordinate sphere of action to which only thy perverse nature is\nfitted. This black book and this divining-rod are mine. They were\nconsigned to my hands by thyself and the four viceroys of the\nelements, and part with them shall I never, either in life or in\ndeath; and while I possess them I am thy superior. Begone, and let me\nhear no more of thy brawling at this time, lest I humble thee, and\ntrample on thee before thy day of power be expired.\"\n\nThis the Master pronounced in loud and furious accents; and as he\nfinished he struck the devil across the gorge with his golden rod.\nThe blow made him spring aloof, and tumble into the air, it had such\npowerful effect on his frame; and when he stood again on his feet, he\nroared with rage and indignation, in a voice that resembled thunder.\nThe Master had the black book belted to his bosom, with bands of\nsteel, that were hammered in the forge of hell; and laying his left\nhand upon that, and brandishing his divining-rod in his right, he\ndared the fiend to the combat. The latter approached, and poured from\nhis mouth and nostrils such a stream of liquid flame on the magician,\nthat it appeared like a fiery rainbow between them. This greatly\nincommoded the Master, and made him skip like a mountebank; but it was\nsoon exhausted, and then the fiend threw trees and rocks at him, some\nof the latter of the weight of five tons. All these the Master\neschewed; and though he sought no other weapons but his rod, he brake\nin upon his antagonist, and chaced him from the field. Then the war of\nwords again commenced, which increased to a tempest of threatening,\nwrath, and defiance. The arch-demon boasted of his legions, and of\ntheir irresistible power; and threatened to bring them all to the\ncontest, and annihilate the Master and his adherents, root and branch.\n\n\"I have already said that I fear neither them nor thee,\" said the\nMaster. \"What though thou hast the sovereignty over the element of\nfire, and all the fierce and indurated spirits that sojourn and ply in\nthe sultry regions of flame, as also of the grovelling spirits of the\nmould? Have not I at my command those of the air and the water? I can\nmuster against thee the storm, the whirlwind, and the raging tempest,\nthe overwhelming wave, and the descending torrent. These shall\nextinguish thy meteor hosts, and sweep thy mold-warps from the face of\nthe earth. I am in the midst of my elements here. Thou art out of\nthine, and that thou shalt feel when thou bringest it to trial.\"\n\nThus parted these two once-bound associates, but now jealous and\ninexorable foes,--a good lesson to all those who form combinations\ninimical to the laws or authority of the land in which they reside.\nLike those master-spirits, such are likewise conspirators against\nrightful sovereignty, although on a smaller scale; and like those whom\nthey imitate, and by whom they are moved, their counsels will always\nbe turned either to foolishness or against themselves.\n\n\"The sphere that this man hath filled in society,\" said the abbot, \"is\nfar below that in which he ought to have moved. If his narrative is\ntrue, which I can hardly believe, he turns it to most excellent uses;\nand if it is an apologue, it is one well conceived for the purposes of\ninstruction. Verily, this gentleman hath never moved in his proper\nsphere.\"\n\n\"I think it is not very unlikely that your reverence says,\" said Sir\nRingan, \"for he made no great figure in it. Tho' I had always a\npartiality for him, I had no great faith in his valour. He would\nrather have cut down a warrior behind his back than before his face\nany time. He has made mare quake this night wi' his tale than ever he\ndid wi' his weapon. I entreat ye to get on, laird, and let us hear\nhow they made up matters.\"\n\nMade up matters, does my chief say? That was a term no more mentioned\nbetween them. They separated but to raise their different forces, and\nmeet again with more fury and effect. The Master spoke to his three\npages, and asked if they were resolved to stand firm to his interest?\nThey answered, that they would, till the term of their bondage\nexpired.\n\n\"Then am I doubly armed!\" said the Master, exultingly; \"and I will\nshow your tyrant that I can quell his utmost rage. Speed thee, my\ntrusty and nimble spirits; speed to the western and northern spheres,\nand rouse the slumbering angels of the winds and the waters. Tell them\nto muster their array, and bear hitherward,--to rear the broad billows\nof the Atlantic up against the breast of heaven, and to make a bellows\nof every cloud to gather the winds up behind them. Then bring down the\nirresistible spirits of the frozen north in ambush,--and who shall\nstand against their fury! How soon will you execute your commissions?\"\n\n\"Master, I'll ring the surface of the ocean, from the line to the\nfirst field of pickled ice, before the hour-glass is half run.\"\n\n\"Master, I'll look south on the polar star,--call every whale,\nsea-monster, and ice-shagged spirit by his name, and return to you\nbefore the cock-bittern can boomb his vesper.\"\n\n    \"And I'll to the moon,\n    And the stars aboon,\n    And rack my invention\n    For the coming contention:\n    And the wind and the weet,\n    And the snow and the sleet,\n    I'll gather and gather,\n    And drive them on hither.\"\n\nWith that the three imps departed on their several missions, but not\nbefore they had seized me, and bound me to a ring on a turret of the\ncastle. The Master retired into his apartment for some time, but soon\ncame up to the level space on the top of the castle, our old birth,\nand strode about in the most violent agitation, but appearing rather\nto be moved by anger and impatience than by dread. At length, he came\nup to me, and said, \"How now, droich? What thinkest thou of all this?\"\n\nI said nothing, for I durst not answer a word.\n\n\"Dost thou think,\" continued he, \"that there exists another being,\neither mortal or immortal, like me, thy master?\"\n\nI still durst not answer a word; for if I had said _no_, it would have\nbeen blasphemy; and if I had said _yes_, it would have provoked him to\ndo me a mischief; so I looked at my bonds, and held my peace.\n\n\"Thou darest not say there is,\" continued he; \"but I know what thou\nthinkest. Sit thou there in peace till this great trial of power be\nover; and if thou darest for thy life invoke another name than mine,\nthou shalt never stir from that spot dead or alive. But if thou takest\nheed to this injunction, and cease from all petitions to, or mention\nof, a name which thou mayest judge superior to mine, then shalt thou\nbe set at liberty to join thy friends.\"\n\nI determined to attend to this,--but he waited not for my answer, but\nstrode away, looking now and then on the book of destiny, and at the\nwestern heaven alternately. At length he exclaimed, \"Yonder they come!\nYonder they rise in grand battalia! Noble and potent spirits! How\nspeedily have you executed your commission. Yonder comes the muster of\nmy array, and who shall stand against them!\"\n\nI looked towards the west when I heard him talking in such ecstacies,\nbut could see nothing save a phalanx of towering clouds, rolling up in\nwreaths from the dun horizon. I had seen the same scene a hundred\ntimes, and could hardly help smiling at his enthusiasm, especially\nwhen he went over a long muster-roll of the names of spirits and\nmonsters whom he saw approaching in the cloud. 'It is a sign that\nwarlocks have clear een,' thinks I, quietly, 'for I see nothing but a\nrange of rolling and restless clouds.' However, he was so overjoyed\nwith the sight of this visionary array, that, having no other to\ncommunicate with, he came rapidly up to me, and said, \"Tell me,\ndroich, didst thou ever witness any thing so truly grand as the\napproach of this host of mine?\"\n\n\"You must first lend me the use of your eyes that I may see them,\"\nsaid I; \"for, on my word, I see nothing save two or three files of\ncastled clouds, which I have seen an hundred times.\"\n\nWith that he lent me a blow with his rod, and said, though not\napparently in wrath, \"Thou hast no brighter eyes, and no brighter\nconceptions, than a hedgehog, but art a mere clod of the valley, a\nworm; if I knew of aught lower to liken thee to, I would do it! Dost\nthou see nothing like fleets and armies approaching yonder? Dost thou\nnot see an hundred and seven of the ships of the ocean above, coming\nfull sail, with colours flying, and canvas spread? Seest thou not\nalso, to the south of these, two files of behemoths, with ten thousand\nwarrior-spirits beside?\"\n\nI looked again, and though I was sensible it must be a delusion\nbrought on by by the stroke of his powerful rod, yet I did see the\nappearance of a glorious fleet of ships coming bounding along the\nsurface of the firmament of air, while every mainsail was bosomed out\nlike the side of a Highland mountain. I saw, besides, whole columns of\nwhat I supposed to be crocodiles, sharks, kelpies, and water-horses,\nwith a thousand monsters never dreamed of by human being. The Master\nmarked my astonishment, and exulted still the more; and then he\ndesired me to turn round, and look toward the north. At first I could\nsee nothing; but on being touched again with the divining-rod, I shall\nnever forget such a sight as opened gradually to my view. The whole\nnorthern hemisphere, from the eastern to the western horizon, was\ncovered with marshalled hosts of the shades of gigantic warriors. They\nwere all mailed in white armour, as if it had been sprinkled with\nhoar-frost; and their beards, which had the appearance of icicles,\nhung down, swinging in the wind, like so many inverted forests,\nstripped of their foliage and bark, and encrusted with ice. They were\nall mounted on the ghosts of crackens, whales, and walruses: and for\nbows and quivers each had a blown bladder on his bade as large as the\nhill of Ben-Nevis. My heart quaked at the view of these tremendous\npolar spirits, and I said, \"Great and magnificent Master, are yon\nterrible chaps all coming hither?\"\n\n\"Certes they are,\" said he: \"Why dost thou ask after having heard my\nmandate sent forth?\"\n\n\"Because,\" said I, \"If yon bearded spirits be a' coming here, I wish I\nwere somewhere else, for the like of yon was never beheld by man. If\nyour opponents dare face you, they have a spirit beyond what I can\nconceive.\"\n\n\"They will be here, and that instantly,\" said he, \"And lo! yonder they\ncome! I will go down and meet them on the open field. But, in the\nmeantime, I will loose you with my own hands, for who knows what may\nbe the issue of this day; remain where thou art, for here thou shalt\nbe safe, but no where else.\"\n\nI looked; and as far as my eyes could discern, I saw as it were a\nthousand thousand sparks of fire rising from the east, that came in a\nstraight line toward me, and with great velocity. As they came nearer\nI perceived that they were all fiery serpents, with faces like men,\nand small flaming spears issuing from their mouths, which they held\nbetween their teeth, or drew in as they listed. These were led on to\nthe combat by the arch-fiend himself who came at their head in the\nform of a huge fiery dragon with his iron crown on his head, and wings\nspringing from his shoulders behind, that reached as high as the hill\nof Blackandro. 'Aih! God guide us!' thinks I to mysel, 'Michael has an\nawsome adversary to contend with the day!' He was nothing daunted,\nhowever, but went boldly down the valley, where he was met by hosts of\ncrawling monsters, such as snakes, lizards, and a thousand others.\nThese I took to be the spirits of the element of earth,--but they were\nlubbards in a field of battle, for, at a brandish of the Master's\nmagical rod, they ran off wagging their tails in such a vengeance of\na hurry that they overturned one another.\n\nThe van of Michael's western array had by this time gained the middle\nsky, and hung boiling and wheeling like a troubled ocean straight\nabove his head and above mine. Its colour was as dark as pitch, but\nthere was now and then a shade of a dead white colour rolled out, and\nas suddenly again swallowed up in the darkness. I never saw ought so\nawfully sublime. It had now descended so low, that it hid the polar\ngiants entirely from my view, and the Master kept waving his rod\ntowards it, and clapping his left hand always on the black book, till\nat length, with the motion of a whirlpool, the cloud came and settled\nall round him. The fiend and his firebrands perceiving this, darted\nwith the utmost fury into the middle of it, and the most tremendous\ncrash of thunder ensued that ever shook heaven and earth. My eyes were\ndazzled so that I could not see ought distinctly, but I perceived\nthese flaming meteors glancing and quivering round the verges of the\ndarkness, and ever and anon darting again into it. Seven of these\npeals of thunder succeeded one another, and then I saw the spirits of\nflame would overcome, for the darkness began to scatter, and I saw\nthe Master hard bested, defending himself with his rod against a\nmultitude. He then cried with a loud voice, and waved his rod toward\nthe north, and that moment the giant warriors of the polar regions\nloosed all their quivers at once, and with such effect, that they\ntossed the opposing legions before them like chaff. The hailstones,\nthe snow, and the sleet, poured upon them thicker and faster, and the\nwind roared louder than their thunders had done before. There was no\nmore power in their foes to stand before them; they were scattered,\ndriven away, and extinguished. When the Master saw this, he shouted\naloud for joy, calling out 'Victory!' and leaping from the ground in\necstacy. But when he was in the very paroxysm of exultation, the great\ndragon came round with a circular motion behind the castle, and\napproaching behind the wizard's back before he was aware, seized him\nby the hair with one paw, and by the iron belt with the other, and\nbore him off into the air straight upward. The Master struggled and\nwrithed very hard, but never opened his lips. At length, after great\nexertion, he struck the monster a blow with his rod that made him quit\nhis hold, and fly away yelling after his discomfited legions.\n\nThe Master fell to the ground from a great height, and lay still, and\nwhen I saw no one to come near him, I left the corner where I had hid\nmyself, and ran to his assistance; but he was quite dead. His teeth\nhad severed his tongue in two, and were clenched close together; his\neyes were open, and every bone of his body was broken. Having\nwitnessed the unspeakable value of the golden rod, I put out my hand\nand took hold of it, wanting to bring it away with me, but I might as\nwell have tried to have heaved the castle from its foundations.\nBesides, when I tugged at it, the dead man turned his eyes toward me\nwith a fierceness that chilled me to the heart, so I fled and came\nhitherward with all my might. He is lying in a little hidden valley,\nat the side of the burn, immediately above the castle, with the book\nof fate locked in his bosom, his rod in his hand, and his eyes open. I\nhave now described to your Majesties this scene exactly as I saw it;\nbut I must also tell you, that when I came to the mill, both the\nmiller and his man, neither of whom knew me, said it had been an awful\nstorm of thunder and lightning. I asked if they perceived nothing\nabout it but a common storm of thunder and lightning? And they said,\nnothing, save that it was exceedingly violent, and rather uncommon at\nsuch a season of the year. I have, therefore, some suspicions that\nthere might be magical delusion operating on my sight; but of this I\nam certain, that the great enchanter was carried up into the middle\nspace between heaven and earth, fell down, and was killed.\"\n\n\"I think there can be no doubt,\" said the King, \"that what you have\ntold us is the plain and unvarnished truth, though, perhaps, the rod\nof divination might open your eyes to see the storm in a different\nlight from that seen by the eyes of common men. Of this there can be\nno doubt, that the greatest man, and the most profound scholar of the\nage, has perished in this conflict of the elements. He has not only\nkept the world in awe, but in dreadful agitation for the space of\nthirty years; let us, therefore, all go to-morrow and see him\nhonourably interred. I ask no rites of sepulture to be performed over\nhis remains, which, if living, he would have deprecated, only let us\nall go and see his body reverendly deposited in the tomb, lest it be\nleft to consume in the open fields.\"\n\nThey went, and found him lying as stated, only that his eyes were\nshut, some of his attendant elves having closed them over night. His\nbook was in his bosom, and his rod in his hand, from either of which\nno force of man could sever them, although when they lifted the body\nand these together, there was no difference in weight from the body of\nanother man. The King then caused these dangerous relics to be\ndeposited along with the body in an iron chest, which they buried in a\nvaulted aisle of the abbey of Melrose; and the castle of Aikwood has\nnever more been inhabited by mortal man.\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes\n\nThis text is a reproduction of the 1822 edition. It includes many\ndialect and archaic words and spellings, as well as many typographical\nerrors which have not been changed.\n\nSome characters were not printed clearly:\n\np. 79 The letter \"i\" in \"you would deify\" was not printed and is\nconjectural\n\np. 131 the line ending \"The wines and liquor\" does not meet the margin;\n\"liquor\" may be plural.\n\np. 151 the line ending \"of beings so blind\" does not meet the margin,\nand may end in a comma\n\np. 274 the colon in \"by the Douglas:\" is unclear and may be a semi-colon\n\np. 307 the semi-colon in \"the attempt prematurely;\" is unclear and may\nbe a comma\n\n\nChapters are inconsistently headed \"CHAPTER\" or \"CHAP.\"\n\nThe text includes the following inconsistent spellings:\n\nFather Lawrence and father Lawrence\n\ngalloped and gallopped\n\nCastle-Wearie and Castle-Weary\n\nCorby and Corbie\n\nchace and chase\n\n\nThe text includes many examples of inconsistent hyphenation. The\nfollowing are inconsistently hyphenated or printed as two words:\n\nyester eve and yester-eve\n\nall four and all-four\n\narch fiend and arch-fiend\n\nback friends and back-friends\n\nbowling green and bowling-green\n\ncoulter nose and coulter-nose\n\ndeep wooded and deep-wooded\n\ndivining rod and divining-rod\n\nhigh born and high-born\n\nhigh spirited and high-spirited\n\nhoar frost and hoar-frost\n\niron door and iron-door\n\n\nThe following are inconsistently hyphenated or printed as one word:\n\ndaylight and day-light\n\nCastlewearie and Castle-Wearie\n\ndrawbridge and draw-bridge\n\nauldfarrant and auld-farrant\n\nbareheaded and bare-headed\n\neyebrows and eye-brows\n\noutdone and out-done\n\nstaircase and stair-case\n\n\nThe following are inconsistently printed as one or two words:\n\nfairy land and fairyland\n\nGude faith and Gudefaith\n\nmean time and meantime\n\n\nThe text contains the following apparent errors:\n\np. 10 missing apostrophe (\"its only the devil\")\n\np. 17 missing quotation mark (\"What do you think\")\n\np. 25 missing quotation mark (\"is the better. The imps\")\n\np. 30 extra quotation mark (\"behind the friar.\"\")\n\np. 46 missing quotation mark (\"preserve their worshippers.\")\n\np. 47 missing quotation mark (\"and who must yield.\")\n\np. 60 missing quotation mark (\"all unsafe with such.\")\n\np. 62 question mark instead of full stop (\"off thy frame?\")\n\np. 68 missing quotation mark (\"those we love.\")\n\np. 79 two instances of missing quotation marks (\"\"Stay, they cried, stay\n          the solemnity,\")\n\np. 89 missing quotation mark (\"your's was the best tale.\")\n\np. 98 mis-spelling \"in the expecsation\"\n\np. 102 extra space in \"the sweetest strain s\"\n\np. 112 missing quotation mark (\"follow them.\")\n\np. 158 extra quotation mark (\"ever cattle put on.\"\")\n\np. 163 mis-placed apostrophe (\"that I ken o.'\")\n\np. 163 missing quotation mark (\"and that of such momentous\")\n\np. 168 missing full stop (\"them to think of\")\n\np. 183 extra quotation mark (\"Scott'\" said Yardbire:\")\n\np. 189 mis-spelling \"possessession\"\n\np. 196 duplicate word \"themsels; and and if ye hear a Laidlaw\"\n\np. 205 missing quotation mark (\"Strangers, I think!\")\n\np. 206 comma instead of full stop (\"he says, We'll never make\")\n\np. 207 missing quotation mark (\"But whoever refuses,\")\n\np. 213 mis-spelling \"disingeniousness\"\n\np. 222 duplicate word \"the fourth was a a boy\"\n\np. 225 missing space \"andbegan\"\n\np. 237 extra quotation mark (\"\"Alas, for my beloved\")\n\np. 284 single instead of double quotation mark (\"the like o' that?'\")\n\np. 299 missing quotation mark (\"begging admission to your\")\n\np. 321 extra quotation mark (\"\"The Queen crossed herself,\")\n\np. 331 extra quotation mark (\"'it's 'God's will?'\")\n\np. 346 extra quotation mark (\"new born beauties.\"\")\n\np. 349 full stop instead of comma (\"from a beam's end.\")\n\np. 378 mis-spelling \"convalesence\"\n\np. 379 missing quotation mark (\"apply to him again.\")\n\np. 380 duplicate word \"shew a a\"\n\np. 380 missing quotation mark (\"Inferiority!\")\n\np. 382 missing full stop (\"the lord Douglas--But\")\n\np. 389 missing quotation mark (\"Oh Sir Charles!--\")\n\np. 391 missing quotation mark (\"or an engagement say?\")\n\np. 393 duplicate word \"to Sir Charles was was nothing\"\n\np. 405 duplicate word \"she could not not be\"\n\np. 409 \"They\" instead of \"The\" (\"They rest marshalling\")\n\np. 410 mis-spelling \"Peatstackknowe\"\n\np. 411 missing space (\"Gibbie,and\")\n\np. 422 missing space (\"a delusion, avision\")\n\np. 423 comma instead of full stop (\"all was darkness, There was no\")\n\np. 440 duplicate word \"brought on by by the stroke\"\n\np. 447 extra quotation mark (\"was killed.\"\")","title":"The Three Perils of Man; or, War, Women, and Witchcraft, Vol. 3 (of 3)","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":82735}