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aberUg  i^ot^eK 

VOL.  V. 

^\fz  i^onasterii.— '^Tfie  gtbfcot. 






M   DCCC    XLIV. 



'MH    MKDBfAS'orilM^lf, 

Sngrabings  on  ^tcel. 

Sultiict.  Drawn  by 

McLitosE  Abbey,  from  the  Quarry,  Roxburghshire    .  C.  Stanfield,  R.A. 

The  Vale  of  Gala  Water,  Roxburghshire C.  Stanfield,  R.A. 

Melrose,  from  Turn-Again,  Roxburghshire C.  Stanfield,  R.A. 

The  Regent  Murray Lodge 

lEngrafatngs  on  5i23ooti. 


Brandard    {„;^^^^_ 


.  Forrest      ...     41 


R.  Smith  ...  217 


B.  Shaw  ....  257 

Subject.  Dratcn  by  Engrared  by         I 

Illustrated   Title-page    to   j-AVeigall.  .  .  .  Thompson     . 

"  The  Monastery"    .  .  .   iHarvey    .  .  .  W.  G.  Mason 
Window  at  Melrose,  South 

Front Dickes   ....  Bishop   .... 

Monogram — Melrose,  i.  e. 

mel,  or  mall,  or  mallet, 

and  rose,  with  the  Goat's 

Head  crest  of  the  Borth- 

wick  Family,  from  a  wall 

near  the  Abbey D.Roberts, R.A.Mason   .  . 

Village  of   Melrose,  with 

George  Inn Paton T.  William 

Niche  in  South  Front  of 

Melrose  Abbey Bishop  .  . 

Costume    of   Benedictine 

Monk Dickes  ....  Mason   .  . 

Entry  to   Melrose   Abbey 

(South  Front) Dickes   ....  Bishop  .  . 

The  Author  of  Waverley . 

^/<er  G.S.Newton, R.A. Thompson    .     33 
Title  —  Sir    W.    Scott's 

Handwriting, Dickes   ....  Folkard.  ...     34 

Dryburgh  Abbey-EUdon  M//.rJ.M.W.->  ^j^^^^^  35 

HUls  in  the  distance  .  .   ••  Turner,R.A.J 
David    I.     of     Scotland, 

(founder    of    M  elrose, ) 

and  Malcolm  IV.    From  Old  Charter   .  Bishop  ....     37 
Stawarth  Bolton  and  the 

Glendinnings     .  .  .  C.Landseer,A.R.A.  S.  WUliams   .     38 
Ruins  of  Roxburgh  Castle 

— the  site  of  Somerset's 

Camp  after  the  Battle  of 

Pinkie Dickes    ....  Folkard    ...     43 

The  Protector  Somerset .  .  Holbein    .  .  .  Green 44 

Lady   Avenel  journeying 

toGlendearg Chisholm     .  .  Whimper.  .  .     47 

Lady  Avenel  reading  the 

Bible  to  the  FamOy  at 

Glendearg C.Laudseer,  a.r.a.  T.  Williams  .     49 

Sutfject.  Drawn  by 

Jewel-box  that  belonged  to 

Mary  of  Guise,   Abbots.  Dickes   .  .  .   . 

Father    PhUip    and    the 

White  Lady Fraser  .... 

Cistercian  Monks  in  walk- 
ing and  church-going 
Costume Dugdale    .  .  . 

Abbot  Boniface  engaged  in 

Meditation G.S. Newton, R. a. 

James  Hamilton,  Earl  of 
Arran,  Duke  of  Chatel- 
herault,  Regent  of 
Scotland Ketel 

Double  Bridge  over  the 
Tweed,  drawn  by  Mr. 
Skene,  underlie  inspec- 
tion of  Sir  W.  Scott,  as- 
sisted by  the  recollection 
of  an  aged  inhabitant 
of  Kennaquhair Dickes   .  .  .  . 

Coomslie  Tower,  near  Mel- 
rose, the  supposed  Glen- 
deargTowerofXale  after  Skene,  Peuson 

Father   Eustace  and   the 

White  Lady E.  Landseer,R.A. 

Portrait  of  CardinalBeaton  Lodge     .  .  .  . 

Seal  of  Robert  Avenel,  a 
benefactor  to  St.  Mary's 
in  the  reign  of  Malcolm 
IV^.,  motto  "  Sigillum 
Avenel."  From  a  Mel- 
rose Charter Dickes   .... 

Peel  House  at  Darnick, 
near  Melrose D.  O.  Hill   .  . 

Halbert  Glendinuing  invo- 

kmgthe  White  Lady.C.Laudseer,A.K.A. 

Hall  at  Smailholm  Tower, 
the  supposed  original  of 
Glendearg P.  Paton 

EiigraceUby         Page 

Swain 55 

T.  Williams    .     56 

Mason    ....     63 
Jno.  Williams     64 

J   Williams.  .     68 

T.  Williams  .     61* 

W lumper  . 

Armstrong  .  .     79 
Silverlock   .  .     87 

Mason  .  .  .93 
Baotin  ....  04 
Whimper.  .  .     99 

.   Evans     ....   104 


Branston    .  .  109 




Keck 127 

Swain 135 


.  Dalziel  .  .  .  : 
.  W.  G.  Mason  , 


Subject.  Draiin  by  Engraved  by        Page 

long-spiked  Rowel  Spur, 
temp.'EA-via.xiiy .Abbots.  Dickes 

Mary  Avenel  and  Mysie 
Happer C.Landseer,A.R.A.  T.  'Williams 

Prudhoe  Castle,  aStrength 
of  Piercie  Shafton's  cou- 
sin of  Northumberland.  Border  Antiq.  Kirchner  .  . 

Melrose,  from  North  Eastj^''^''"^--'^^-^^-)  Green    .  .  . 
<.  Turner,R.AJ 

Seal  of  Melrose  Abbey. 
From  Charter  of  Melrose. 
"  Communa:     Capitula 

Monas :  :  de :  Melrose."  Masters  ....  Mason  .  .  . 
Alnwick    Castle,   Seat   of 
the  Duke  of  Northum- 
berland  Dickes  . 

Suit  of  Black   and   Gold 

Italian  Armour,  Abbots.  Dickes  . 
Cauldshields  Loch,  on  the 
Abbotsford  Estate;  Eil- 
don  Hills  in  the  distance 

after  Morrison,  Dickes  . 
Costume  of  the  Period  at 

the  Court  of  England  .  .  Dickes  . 

Counter  Seal  of  Melrose 

View    of    Battle-field    at 

Pinkie  Cleugh Paton Measom.  .  .  .   147 


From  a  Design  by  Holbein.  .  .  .  Dalziel  ....  153 

Sir  Philip  Sydney Dickes Green 154 

Great  Seal  of  James  V.  of 

Scotland  (reverse)  .  .  .  .  Anderson    .  .  W.G.Mason.   160 
Glen  of  the  River  Allen, 
near  Melrose,  the  origi- 
nal of  Glendearg  .after  Skene, Penson  Whimper.  .  .  161 
James  V.,  from  a  carving 

at  Stirling Dickes  ....  Williams  ...   167 

Castle  of  Elen  Stalker  in 
Loch  Linn,  the  supposed 

Avenel  of  the  Tale  .  .  .  Clerk  of  Eldin  Jackson.  ...  1 72 
The  Hall  at  Avenel  Castle 
—  Julian       with       his 

hawks C.Landseer.A.R.A.  Thompson  .  .  176 

John      Knox's     Pulpit, — 

Soc.  of  Scottish  Antiq.  .  Dickes    ....  Mason   ....  184 

John  Knox Dickes   ....  Smith&Linton  185 

Thorn  Tree  in  Rhymer's 
Glen,  Abbotsford,  a 
favourite    walk    of    Sir 

Walter  Scott MissC.Cathcart  Greenaway  .  .  191 

Turn-Again,- — a  favourite 
resting-place  of  Sir  Wal- 
ter Scott,  in  the  woods  of 
Abbotsford,  looking  to- 
wards Melrose C.Stanfield,R.A.  Dalziel  ....  192 

Subject.  Drawn  by         P.iii'raved  by      Page 

Suit  of  English  bright  Ar- 
mour,   temp,    of    Tale, 

Abbotsford.  Dickes  ....  Smith&Linton  198 
Warkworth  Castle,  North- 
umberland, a  Stronghold 
of  Piercie  Shafton's  Cou- 
sin  Border  Antiq.  Green 199 

An    Iron    Lamp —  Scots 

Cruise.  .  .  .  Abbotsford  Dickes    ....  Branston .  .  .  207 
Smailholm    Tower,    Rox- 
burghshire, scene  of  Sir 
W.  Scott's  Childhood  .  . 

After  Turner  Dickes    ....  Green 208 

Hat  worn  by  the  Burgesses 
of  Stow  at  their  Inau- 
guration. .  .  Abbotsford  Dickes    ....  Bonner.  .  .  .  214 
Sir  Piercie    Shafton   and 
the  Miller's  Daughter  at 

the  Hostelry  ....  C.Landseer.A.H.A.  S.Williams  .  215 
Mary  of  Guise,  Queen  of 

James  V.  obit.  1560 .  .  .  Pinkerton  .  .  Dalziel  ....  224 
Henry  Warden  before  the 

Sub-Prior SirD.Wilkie,R.A.  J.  WilUams.  .  229 

Portrait  and  Autograph  of 

George  Buchanan Bishop 2,'!5 

High  Street  of  Edinburgh, 

House  of  John  Knox  .  .  Dickes  ....  J.  Williams  .  236 
Charter  of  Melrose  ....  Dickes  ....  Bishop  ....  241 
Melrose  Bridge  and  Eildon 

Hills Paton Bastin 242 

Sword  used  by  James  IV. 

at  Flodden  Field  ....  Ireland     .  .  .  Swain 248 

Town  Residence  of  the 
Prior  of  Melrose,  Strich- 

en's  Close,  Edinburgh.  .  Douglas.  .  .  .  Kirchner  .  .  .  249 
Fac-simile   of  Writing  in 

Melrose  Charter W.  G.  Mason  251 

Halbert  Glendinning    and 

Pedlar Frazer    ....  Wliimper  .  .  .  256 

Moray  House,  Canongate, 
Edinb.,  the  residence  of 

the  Regent  Murray  .  .  Paton Kirchner  .  .  .  262 

The  Bishop's  Branks,  for- 
merly kept  at  St.  Mary's 
Church,  St.  Andrew's, 
and  said  to  have  been 
fixed  on  the  head  of  Pa- 
trick Hamilton  and 
others,   when    burnt  in 

that  city   ....  Abbots.  Dickes.  .  .  .      Swain 270 

Sir  Piercie  Shafton  intro- 
ducing the  Miller's 
Daughter     to     Murray 

and  Morton C.Landseer,A.R.A.  S.  Williams    .  271 

Old  Cross  at  Melrose  .  .  .  Paton  .  .      .  .  Keck  ....      284 




IStigrabings  on  ^Utl 

Subjeel.  Drairn  by  Engraved  by  To  Oire 

LocHLEVEN  AND  Castle,  Kinross-shire     C.  Stanfield,  R.A.  W.  Miller.  .  {J'^oyei. 

The  Regent  Morton Lodge G.  B.  Shaw  ....  413 

Barnbougle  Castle,  AND  Firth  OF  Forth,  Mid-Lothian     C.  Stanfield,  R.A.  W.  Miller  ...     .  43-3 

Portrait  of  Queen  Mary Lodge G.  B.  Shaw  ....  5\5 

Dundrennan  Abbey,  Kirkcudbrightshire C.  Stanfield,  R.A.  J.  Cousen 57.5 

Engrabings  on  Oioo&. 

Drawn  by 
(Han-ey  . 


Abbot,  illustrated  Title 


Initial  Letter,  from  an  an- 
cient MS., — the  writer 
kneeling  to  St.  Cuthbert.  Dickes 

Bracket  from  Melrose 

Title— Sir  Waller  Scott's 
Handivriting.  —  Arch 
from  Melrose 


Levee  Room  at  Moray 
House,  Edinburgh,  the 
Scene  of  the  regent  Mur- 
ray's Councils Shepherd .  .  . 

Plan  of  Melrose  Abbey 

The    old    House    of    the 

Grange,  near  Edinburgh  Storer    .... 

Maitland   of   Lethington, 

Secretarj' to  Queen  Mary  Lodge    .... 

Roland  Graeme  and  Adam 

Woodcock F.  Tayler.  .  . 

Queen  Mary's  Boudoir, 
Holyrood.  (Scene  of  D. 
Riccio's  murder.)  Shield 
of  James  V.  and  Armour 
of  Darnley Dickes 

Riccio's   Walking-stick, — 

Soc.  of   Scottish  Antiq.  Dickes  .... 

Portrait  of  Darnley  ....  Lodge     .... 

Town  Seal  of  Jedbvirgh, 
(showing  Jeddart  Staff.) 
From  Impression  of  the 
Seal  at  Jedburgh 

Adam  Woodcock Frith 

Gold  Cross  found  on  the 
breast  of  St.  Cuthbert,  at 
Durham,  1S27 Raine 

Lindisfern     Abbey,     and 

Holy  Island  Castle  .  .  .  Dickes  .... 

Image    of    St.    Cuthbert, 

Durham Raine 

Canopy  of  Niche  at  Mel- 
rose   Rev. J. Morton 

Death  of  St.  Cuthbert,  from 
an  old  MS Raine 

Engraved  by         Pagt 


Bishop  ....  289 
W.  G.  Mason.  293 

Dakiel  ....  294 
.Gray 300 

T.  Williams  .  301 
Kirch  ner  ...  305 

Gray 306 

Dalziel  ....  314 

H.  Vizetelly  .  315 

Bastin    ....  323 

Folkard.  .  .  .  32fi 
Dalziel 327 

Withy 330 

Branston  ...  331 

Bishop  ....  336 

Bastin 337 

Bishop  ....  343 
W.  G.  Mason  344 
Withy  ...     .348 


Remains  of  the  Monastery 
of  St.  Catherine  de  Si- 
enna, near  Edinburgh  . 

Sacred  Banner  of  St. 

OldSeton  Castle.Hadding- 

toushire,  from  the  N.  W. 

After  Clerk  of  Eldin, 

Queen  Marj''s  Altar-piece, 

and  Stone  on  which  she 

kneeled  at  prayer  .... 


Bracketsupportiuga  Groin 
at  Melrose  Abbey .... 

Melrose  Abbey,  from  the 

Canopy  of  Niche  at  Mel- 

Bracket  supporting  a 
Groin,  Melrose 

Abbot  of  Unreason  .... 

Grotesque  Bracket  at  Mel- 

1.  Scottish  Dirk,  temp. 
Henry  VIII.  2.  Dagger, 
temp.  Edward  VI.  3. 
Dagger,  temp,  of  Tale.  . 

Interior  of  Melrose,  from 
the  West 

Canopy  of  Niche,  Melrose 

Melrose  Abbey,  from  the 

Craigmillar  Castle,  near 

HoljTood  Gate,  from  the 
Court  Yard 

Holyrood  Gate,  from  the 
Canongate,  showing 
Wing  of  Palace,  con- 
taining Queen  Mary's 

Morton's  Maiden.  .  .  Soc. 
of  Scottish  Antiq. 

Palace  of  HoljTood,  Edin- 

Dratcn  by  Engraved  by         Page 

Douglas   .  .  . 

Nichols  ....  349 
Withy 353 

M.  A.  Cadell  S.  Williams.  .  354 

Dickes  .... 
Rev.J. Morton 
Dickes  .... 
Rev.J.  Morton 

Kirchner  .  .  .  358 
W.  G.  Mason.  359 
Kirchner  .  .  .  365 
W.  G.  Mason.  369 

W.  G.  Mason.  371 
J.  Wilbams    .  372 

F.  Taylor .   . 

Rev.J. Morton   W.  G.  Mason.  377 

Meyrick.  .  .  .  W.  G.  Mason.  380 

Dickes  .... 
Rev.J. Morton 


Clerk  of  Eldin 

W.  G.  Mason.  381 

Andrew    ...  391 

Armstrong  .  .  396 

Gilks 405 

Skene.  .  . 

.  .  Gilks  .... 

.  406 

Dickes   .  . 

.  .  Bastin.  .  .  . 

.  415 

.  .  J.  Williams. 

.  41G 



SuhjL'Cl.  Diitii'iihy         Enssravedby         Page 

Great  Seal  of  Queen  Mary  Anderson.  .  .  W.  G.  Mason.  425 

Lord  Lindesay's  reception 
of  Roland  Grsme  on 
setting  out  for  Loch- 
leven  Castle F.  Tayler     .  .  T.  Thompson  426 

Rosythe  Castle,  near 
North  Queen's  Ferry  .  .  Shepherd.  .  .  Gray 435 

Signatures  to  Warrant 
committing  Queen  Mary 
to  Lochleven  Castle:  — 
1.  Atholl;  2.  Morton; 
3.  Glencairn  ;  4.  Mar  ; 
5.  Grahame ;  G.  Alexan- 
der, Lord  Home;  7.  San- 
quhar ;  8.  Ochiltree  ; 
9.  Seniple 436 

Gloves    worn    by    Queen 

Mary,  Soc.  ofScot.Antiq.  Dickes  ....  Kirchner  .  .  .  444 

The  Scottish  Lords  requir- 
ing Queen  Mary  to  sign 
her  Abdication.  .  .  .  T.Duncan,A.R.A.  Kirchner  .  .  .  445 

Autograph  of  Queen  Mary Slader 454 

Lochleven  Castle Clerk  of  Eldin  Smith&Linton  455 

Medal       commemorating 

Queen  Mary's  sufferings  Anderson.  .  .  W.  J.  Mason.  460 

Lochmaben  Castle,  Dum- 
friesshire, a  residence  of 
Mary  and  Darnley,  afler 
3.  M.  W.  Turner,  r.a.  Dickes  ....  Crane 461 

The  Crags  of  Benarty,  with 

a  part  of  Lochleven.  .  .  Clerk  of  Eldin  Whimper.  .  .  470 

Harp  of  Queen  Mary  .  .  .  Dickes   ....  Withy 476 

Kinross  in  1843 Paton J.  Williams   .  477 

Interior  of  Glass  Tower, 
Lochleven  Castle,  show- 
ing recess  in  which 
Queen  Mary's  Bed  stood  Paton Keck 482 

Portraits    of  Lord    Seton 

and  Family Pinkerton   .  .  J.  Williams.  .  483 

Old  Castle  of  Seton,  from 

the  South Clerk  of  Eldin  S.  WilUams.  .  490 

Lochleven  Castle ;  West 
Lomond  Hills  in  the 
distance Paton T.  Williams  .  498 

Chair,  in  Queen  Mary's 
Apartments,  Holyrood ; 
said  to  have  been  pre- 
pared for  her  Marriage 
with  Darnley Dickes   ....  Gilks 504 

The  Lennox  or  Darnley 
Jewel ;  now  in  the  Royal 
Collection.  Drawn  for 
this  Work  by  the  per- 
mission of  Her  Most 
Gracious  Majesty  .  .     .  Dickes    ....  Jn.  Williams.  505 


Subjett.  Dnui-ii  by  Engnn-eii  bij         I'utie 

Roland  Graeme's  Vault, 
Lochleven  Castle,  the 
supposed  Workshop  of 
Gregory  the  Armourer  .  Paton Andrew  ....  5 II 

Roland  Graeme  and  Cathe- 
rine Seton  before  Queen 
Mary SirD.Wilkie.R.A.  Green 512 

Chamber  at  Holyrood, 
showing  Queen  Mary's 
Bed  and  other  Furniture 
of  the  time; — her  Bou- 
doir in  which  Riceio  was 
assassinated,and  the  pri- 
vate stair  by  which  his 
murderers  entered   .  .      Dickes  ....  Kirchner.  .  .  519 

Arbour  in  Garden  of  Mo- 
ray House,  Edinburgh, 
often  resorted  to  by 
Queen  Mary Shepherd  .  .  .  Dalziel  .... 

Queen  Mary's  Work-box 
and  Chair  .  .  Holyrood  Dickes   .  .  .  .  W.  G.  Mason. 

Old  Church,  Kinross, 
showing  place  of  Queen 
Mary's  landing  on  her 
escape  from  Lochleven 
Castle Paton Mason  .  .  . 

The  Keyof  the  Apartments 
in  which  Queen  Mary 
was  confined,  in  the 
Castle  of  Lochleven 
(length 8| inches).  "The 
gift  of  Sir  Walter  Scott 
to  Lord  Chief  Commis- 
sioner Adam." Dickes   .... 

The  Escape  from  Loch- 
leven Castle SirD.Wilkie,R.A 

Niddry  Castle,  Linlith- 
gowshire    Skene.  .   .  . 

Langside  Battlefield.  .  .  .  Paton.    .  .  . 

Tomb    of    Queen    Mary, 

Westminster  Abbey.  .  .  Dickes  .... 

Ruins  of  Crookston  Castle, 
and  the  decayed  Trunk 
of  Queen  Mary's  Yew  .  Henderson  .  . 

Cathcart  Castle,  Renfrew- 
shire    Paton 

Dundrennan  Abbey,  Kirk- 
cudbrightshire, from  a 
Picture  in  the  possession 
of  Thomas  Maitland, 
Esq.  of  Dundrennan    .  H.W.Williams  Gray 

Port  Mary,  on  the  Solway 
Firth,  from  whence 
Queen  Mary  embarked 
for  England Skene Measo 

NichoUs    .  . 

.  544 

T.  Williams 

.  545 

Andrews  .  . 

.  554 

Evans .... 


Silverlock.  . 


Green .... 


Kirchner  .  . 


The  Engravings  on  Wood  under  the  Superintendence  of  Mu.  W.  Dickes. 



T  would  be  difficult  to  assign  any  good  reason  why  the 
author  of  Ivanhoe,  after  using,  in  that  work,  all  the  art 
he  possessed  to  remove  the  personages,  action,  and  manners 
of  the  tale,  to  a  distance  from  his  own  country,  should 
choose  for  the  scene  of  his  next  attempt  the  celebrated 
ruins  of  Melrose,  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  his 
own  residence.  But  the  reason,  or  caprice,  which  dictated 
his  change  of  system,  has  entirely  escaped  his  recollection, 
nor  is  it  worth  while  to  attempt  recalling  what  must  be  a 
matter  of  very  little  consequence. 

The  general  plan  of  the  story  was,  to  conjoin  two  cha- 
racters in  that  bustling  and  contentious  age,  who,  thrown 
into  situations  which  gave  them  different  views  on  the  sub- 
ject of  the  Reformation,  should,  with  the  same  sincerity  and 
purity  of  intention,  dedicate  themselves,  the  one  to  the  support 
of  the  sinking  fabric  of  the  Catholic  Church,  the  other  to  the 
establishment  of  the  Reformed  doctrines.     It  was  supposed 
that  some  interesting  subjects  for  narrative  might  be  derived  from  opposing 
two  such  enthusiasts  to  each  other  in  the  path  of  life,  and  contrasting  the  real 
worth  of  both  with  their  passions  and  prejudices.     The  localities  of  Meh'ose 
suited  well  the  scenery  of  the  proposed  story  ;  the  ruins  themselves  form  a 
splendid  theatre  for  any  tragic  incident  which  might  be  brought  forward  ; 
joined  to  the  vicinity  of  the  fine  river,  with  all  its  tributary  streams,  flowing  through  a 
.country  which    has  been  the  scene  of  so   much  fierce  fighting,  and  is  rich  with  so 
many  recollections   of    former  times,  and  lying   almost   under  the  immediate  eye  of 
the  author,  by  whom  they  were  to  be  used  in  composition. 

The  situation  possessed  farther  recommendations.  On  the  opposite  bank  of  the  Tweed 
might  be  seen  the  remains  of  ancient  enclosures,  suri-ounded  by  sycamores  and  ash-trees 
of  considerable  size.  These  had  once  formed  the  crofts  or  arable  ground  of  a  village, 
now  reduced  to  a  single  hut,  the  abode  of  a  fisherman,  who  also  manages  a  ferry.  The 
cottages,  even  the  church  which  once  existed  there,  have  sunk  into  vestiges  hardly  to  be 



traced  without  visiting  the  spot,  the  inhabitants  having  gradually  withdrawn  to  the  more 
prosperous  town  of  Galashiels,  which  has  risen  into  consideration,  within  two  miles  of 
their  neighbourhood.  Superstitious  eld,  however,  has  tenanted  the  deserted  groves  with 
aerial  beings,  to  supply  the  want  of  the  mortal  tenants  who  have  deserted  it.  The 
ruined  and  abandoned  churchyard  of  Boldside  has  been  long  believed  to  be  haunted  by 
the  Fairies,  and  the  deep  broad  current  of  the  Tweed,  wheeling  in  moonlight  round  the 
foot  of  the  steep  bank,  with  the  number  of  trees  originally  planted  for  shelter  round  the 
fields  of  the  cottagers,  but  now  presenting  the  effect  of  scattered  and  detached  groves, 
fill  up  the  idea  which  one  would  form  in  imagination  for  a  scene  that  Oberon  and  Queen 
Mab  might  love  to  revel  in.  There  are  evenings  when  the  spectator  might  believe,  with 
Father  Chaucer,  that  the 

Queen  of  Faery, 

With  harp,  and  pipe,  and  sjTnphony, 
Were  dwelling  in  the  place. 

Another,  and  even  a  more  familiar  refuge  of  the  elfin  race,  (if  tradition  is  to  be 
trusted,)  is  the  glen  of  the  river,  or  rather  brook,  named  the  Allen,  which  falls  into  the 
Tweed  from  the  northward,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  above  the  present  bridge.  As  the 
streamlet  finds  its  way  behind  Lord  Sommerville's  hunting-seat,  called  the  Pavilion,  its 
valley  has  been  popularly  termed  the  Fairy  Dean,  or  rather  the  Nameless  Dean,  because 
of  the  supposed  ill  luck  attached  by  the  popular  faith  of  ancient  times,  to  any  one  who 
might  name  or  allude  to  the  race,  whom  our  fathers  distinguished  as  the  Good  Neighbours, 
and  the  Highlanders  called  Daoine  Shie,  or  Men  of  Peace;  rather  by  way  of  compliment, 
than  on  account  of  any  particular  idea  of  friendship  or  pacific  relation  which  either  High- 
lander or  Borderer  entertained  towards  the  irritable  beings  Avhom  they  thus  distinguished, 
or  supposed  them  to  bear  to  humanity.* 

In  evidence  of  the  actual  operations  of  the  fairy  people  even  at  this  time,  little  pieces 
of  calcareous  matter  ai-e  found  in  the  glen  after  a  flood,  wduch  either  the  labours  of  those 
tiny  artists,  or  the  eddies  of  the  brook  among  the  stones,  have  formed  into  a  fantastic 
resemblance  of  cups,  saucers,  basins,  and  the  like,  in  which  children  who  gather  them 
pretend  to  discern  fairy  utensils. 

Besides  these  circumstances  of  romantic  locality,  7nea  paiipera  regna  (as  Captain 
Dalgetty  denominates  his  territory  of  Drumthwacket)  are  bounded  by  a  small  but  deep 
lake,  from  which  eyes  that  yet  look  on  the  light  are  said  to  have  seen  the  waterbuU 
ascend,  and  shake  the  hills  with  his  roar. 

Indeed,  the  country  around  Melrose,  if  possessing  less  of  romantic  beauty  than  some 
other  scenes  in  Scotland,  is  connected  with  so  many  associations  of  a  fanciful  nature,  in 
•which  the  imagination  takes  delight,  as  might  well  induce  one  even  less  attached  to  the 
spot  than  the  author,  to  accommodate,  after  a  general  manner,  the  imaginary  scenes  he 
was  framing  to  the  localities  to  which  he  was  partial.  But  it  would  be  a  misapprehen- 
sion to  suppose,  that,  because  Melrose  may  in  general  pass  for  Kennaquhair,  or  because 
it  agi'ees  with  scenes  of  the  Monastery  in  the  circumstances  of  the  drawbridge,  the  mill- 
dam,  and  other  points  of  resemblance,  that  therefore  an  accurate  or  perfect  local  similitude 
is  to  be  found  in  all  the  particulars  of  the  pictui-e.  It  was  not  the  purpose  of  the  author 
to  present  a  landscape  copied  from  nature,  but  a  piece  of  composition,  in  which  a  real 
scene,  with  which  he  is  familiar,  had  afforded  him  some  leading  outlines.  Thus  the 
resemblance  of  the  imaginary  Glendearg  with  the  real  vale  of  the  Allen,  is  far  from  b(!ing 
minute,  nor  did  the  author  aim  at  identifying  them.  This  must  appear  plain  to  all  who 
know  the  actual  character  of  the  Glen  of  Allen,  and  have  taken  the  trouble  to  read  the 
account  of  the  imaginary  Glendearg.  The  stream  in  the  latter  case  is  described  as 
wandering  down  a  romantic  little  valley,  shifting  itself,  after  the  fashion  of  such  a  brook, 
from  one  side  to  the  othei',  as  it  can  most  easily  find  its  passage,  and  touching  nothing 

*  See  Rob  Roy,  Note  p.  212. 


in  its  progress  that  gives  token  of  cultivation.     It  rises  near  a  solitary  tower,  the  abode 
of  a  supposed  church  vassal,  and  the  scene  of  several  incidents  in  the  Romance. 

The  real  Allen,  on  the  contrary,  after  traversing  the  romantic  ravine  called  the 
Nameless  Dean,  thrown  off  from  side  to  side  alternately,  like  a  billiard  ball  repelled  by 
the  sides  of  the  table  on  which  it  has  been  played,  and  in  that  part  of  its  course 
resembling  the  stream  which  pours  down  Glendearg,  may  be  traced  upwards  into  a  more 
open  country,  where  the  banks  retreat  farther  from  each  other,  and  the  vale  exhibits 
a  good  deal  of  dry  ground,  which  has  not  been  neglected  by  the  active  cultivators  of  the 
district.  It  arrives,  too,  at  a  sort  of  termination,  striking  in  itself,  but  totally  irrecon- 
cilable with  the  narrative  of  the  Romance.  Instead  of  a  single  peel-house,  or  border 
tower  of  defence,  such  as  Dame  Glendinning  is  supposed  to  have  inhabited,  the  head  of 
tlie  Allen,  about  five  miles  above  its  junction  with  the  Tweed,  shews  three  ruins  of 
Border  houses,  belonging  to  different  proprietors,  and  each,  from  the  desire  of  mutual 
support  so  natural  to  troublesome  times,  situated  at  the  extremity  of  the  property 
of  which  it  is  the  principal  messuage.  One  of  these  is  the  ruinous  mansion-house  of 
Hillslap,  formerly  the  property  of  the  Cairncrosses,  and  now  of  ]Mi\  Innes  of  Stow;  a 
second  the  tower  of  Colmslie,  an  ancient  inheritance  of  the  Borthwick  family,  as  is  testified 
by  their  crest,  the  Goat's  Head,  which  exists  on  the  ruin;*  a  third,  the  house  of  Langshaw, 
also  ruinous,  but  near  which  the  proprietor,  Mr.  Baillie  of  Jerviswood  and  Mellerstain, 
has  built  a  small  shooting  box. 

All  these  ruins,  so  strangely  huddled  together  in  a  very  solitary  spot,  have  recollec 
tions  and  traditions  of  their  own,  but  none  of  them  bear  the  most  distant  resemblance 
to  the  descriptions  in  the  Romance  of  the  Monastery;  and  as  the  author  could  hardly 
have  erred  so  grossly  regarding  a  spot  within  a  morning's  ride  of  his  own  house,  the 
inference  is,  that  no  resemblance  was  intended.  Hillslap  is  remembered  by  the  humours 
of  the  last  inhabitants,  two  or  three  elderly  ladies,  of  the  class  of  Miss  Raylands,  in  the 
Old  Manor  House,  though  less  important  by  birth  and  fortune.  Colmslie  is  comme- 
morated in  song : — 

Colmslie  stands  on  Colmslie  hill, 

The  water  it  flows  round  Colmslie  mill ; 

The  mill  and  the  kiln  gang  bonnily, 

And  it's  up  with  the  whippers  of  Colmslie  ! 

Langshaw,  although  larger  than  the  other  mansions  assembled  at  the  head  of  the 
supposed  Glendearg,  has  nothing  about  it  more  remarkable  than  the  inscription  of  the 
present  proprietor  over  his  shooting  lodge — Utinam  hanc  etiam  viris  hnpleom  amicis — 
a  modest  wish,  which  I  know  no  one  more  capable  of  attaining  upon  an  extended  scale, 
than  the  gentleman  who  has  expressed  it  upon  a  limited  one. 

Having  thus  shewn  that  I  could  say  something  of  these  desolated  towers,  which  the 
desire  of  social  intercourse,  or  the  facility  of  mutual  defence,  had  drawn  together  at  the 
head  of  this  Glen,  I  need  not  add  any  farther  reason  to  shew,  that  there  is  no  resemblance 
between  them  and  the  solitary  habitation  of  Dame  Elspeth  Glendinning.  Beyond  these 
dwellings  are  some  remains  of  natural  wood,  and  a  considerable  portion  of  morass  and 
bog ;  but  I  would  not  advise  any  who  may  be  curious  in  localities,  to  spend  time  in  look- 
ing for  the  fountain  and  holly-tree  of  the  "White  Lady. 

While  I  am  on  the  subject  I  may  add,  that  Captain  Clutterbuck,  the  imaginary  editor 

*  It  appears  that  Sir  Walter  Scott's  memor>'  was  not  quite  accurate  on  these  points.  John  Borthwick,  Esq.,  in  a  note  to  the 
publisher,  (June  14,  1843,)  says  that  Colmslie  belonged  to  Mr.  Innes  of  Stow,  while  Hillslap  forms  part  of  the  estate  of 
Crookston.  He  adds — "  In  proof  that  the  tower  of  Hillslap,  which  I  have  taken  measures  to  presers'e  from  injury,  was 
chiefly  in  his  head,  as  the  tower  of  Glendearg,  when  writing  the  Monastery,  I  may  mention  that,  on  one  of  the  occasions  when 
I  had  the  honour  of  being  a  \'isiter  at  Abbotsford,  the  stables  then  being  full,  I  sent  a  pony  to  be  put  up  at  our  tenant's  at 
Hillslap  ; — '  Well,'  said  Sir  Walter,  '  if  you  do  that,  you  must  trust  for  its  not  being  lifled  before  to-morrow,  to  the  protection 
of  Haltiert  Glendinning  against  Christie  of  the  Clintshill.'  At  page  58,  vol.  iii.,  flrst  edition,  the  '  winding  stair*  which  the 
monk  ascended  is  described.  The  winding  stone  stair  is  stiU  to  be  seen  in  Hillslap,  but  not  in  either  of  the  other  two  towers." 
It  is,  however,  probable,  from  the  Goat's-Head  crest  on  Colmslie,  that  that  tower  also  had  been  of  old  a  possession  of  the 
Borth  wicks. 


of  the  Monastery,  lias  no  real  prototype  in  the  village  of  Melrose  or  neighbourhood,  that 
ever  I  saw  or  heard  of.  To  give  some  individuality  to  this  personage,  he  is  described  as 
a  character  which  sometimes  occurs  in  actual  society — a  person  who,  having  spent  his 
life  within  the  necessary  duties  of  a  technical  profession,  from  which  he  has  been  at 
length  emancipated,  finds  himself  without  any  occupation  whatever,  and  is  apt  to  become 
the  prey  of  ennui,  until  he  discerns  some  petty  subject  of  investigation  commensurate  to 
his  talents,  the  study  of  which  gives  him  employment  in  solitude ;  while  the  conscious 
possession  of  information  peculiar  to  himself,  adds  to  his  consequence  in  society.  I  have 
often  observed,  that  the  lighter  and  trivial  branches  of  antiquarian  study  are  singularly 
useful  in  relieving  vacuity  of  such  a  kind,  and  have  known  them  serve  many  a  Captain 
Clutterbuck  to  retreat  upon ;  I  was  therefore  a  good  deal  surprised,  when  I  found  the 
antiquarian  Captain  identified  with  a  neighbour  and  friend  of  my  own,  who  could  never 
have  been  confounded  with  him  by  any  one  who  had  read  the  book,  and  seen  the  party 
alluded  to.  This  erroneous  identification  occurs  in  a  work  entitled,  "  Illustrations  of  the 
Author  of  Waverley,  being  Notices  and  Anecdotes  of  real  Characters,  Scenes,  and 
Incidents,  supposed  to  be  described  in  his  works,  by  Robert  Chambers."  This  work 
was,  of  course,  liable  to  many  errors,  as  any  one  of  the  kind  must  be,  whatever  may  be 
the  ingenuity  of  the  author,  which  takes  the  task  of  explaining  what  can  be  only  known 
to  another  person.  Mistakes  of  place  or  inanimate  things  referred  to,  are  of  very  little 
moment ;  but  the  ingenious  author  ought  to  have  been  more  cautious  of  attaching  real 
names  to  fictitious  characters.  I  think  it  is  in  the  Spectator  we  read  of  a  rustic  wag,  who, 
in  a  copy  of  "  The  "Whole  Duty  of  Man,"  wrote  opposite  to  every  vice  the  name  of  some 
individual  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  thus  converted  that  excellent  work  into  a  libel  on 
a  whole  parish. 

The  scenery  being  thus  ready  at  the  author's  hand,  the  reminiscences  of  the  country 
were  equally  favourable.  In  a  land  where  the  horses  remained  almost  constantly  saddled, 
and  the  sword  seldom  quitted  the  warrior's  side — where  war  was  the  natural  and  constant 
state  of  the  inhabitants,  and  peace  only  existed  in  the  shape  of  brief  and  feverish  truces 
— there  could  be  no  want  of  the  means  to  complicate  and  extricate  the  incidents  of  his 
narrative  at  pleasure.  There  was  a  disadvantage,  notwithstanding,  in  treading  this 
Border  disti'ict,  for  it  had  been  already  ransacked  by  the  author  himself,  as  well  as  others; 
and  unless  presented  under  a  new  light,  was  likely  to  afford  ground  to  the  objection  of 
Cramhe  his  cocta. 

To  attain  the  indispensable  quality  of  novelty,  something,  it  was  thought,  might  be 
gained  by  contrasting  the  character  of  the  vassals  of  the  church  with  those  of  the 
dependants  of  the  lay  barons,  by  whom  they  were  surrounded.  But  much  advantage 
could  not  be  dei'ived  from  this.  There  were,  indeed,  differences  betwixt  the  two  classes, 
but,  like  tribes  in  the  mineral  and  vegetable  world,  which,  resembling  each  other  to 
common  eyes,  can  be  sufficiently  well  discriminated  by  naturalists,  they  were  yet  too 
similar,  upon  the  whole,  to  be  placed  in  marked  contrast  with  each  other. 

Machinery  remained — the  introduction  of  the  supernatural  and  marvellous;  the  resort 
of  distressed  authors  since  the  days  of  Horace,  but  whose  privileges  as  a  sanctuary  have 
been  disputed  in  the  present  age,  and  well-nigh  exjiloded.  The  popular  belief  no  longer 
allows  the  possibility  of  existence  to  the  race  of  mysterious  beings  which  hovered  betwixt 
this  world  and  that  which  is  invisible.  The  fairies  have  abandoned  their  moonlight 
turf;  the  witch  no  longer  holds  her  black  orgies  in  the  hemlock  dell;  and 

Even  the  last  lingering  phantom  of  the  brain, 
The  churchyard  ghost,  is  now  at  rest  again. 

From  the  discredit  attached  to  the  vulgar  and  more  common  modes  in  which  the 
Scottish  superstition  displays  itself,  the  author  was  induced  to  have  recourse  to  the 
beautiful,  though  almost  forgotten,  theory  of  astral  spirits,  or  creatures  of  the  elements, 
surpassing  human  beings  in  knowledge  and  power,  but  inferior  to  them,  as  being  subject, 


after  a  certain  space  of  years,  to  a  death  which  is  to  them  annihilation,  as  they  have  no 
share  in  the  promise  made  to  the  sons  of  Adam.  These  spirits  are  supposed  to  be  of 
four  distinct  kinds,  as  the  elements  from  which  they  have  their  origin,  and  ai-e  known,  to 
those  who  have  studied  the  cabalistical  philosophy,  by  the  names  of  Sylphs,  Gnomes, 
Salamanders,  and  Naiads,  as  they  belong  to  the  elements  of  Air,  Eai'th,  Fire,  or  Water. 
The  general  reader  will  find  an  entertaining  account  of  these  elementary  spirits  in  the 
French  book  entitled,  "  Entretiens  de  Compte  du  Gabalis."  The  ingenious  Compte  de 
la  Motte  Fouque  composed,  in  German,  one  of  the  most  successful  productions  of  his 
fertile  brain,  where  a  beautiful  and  even  afflicting  eifect  is  produced  by  the  introduction 
of  a  water-nymph,  who  loses  the  privilege  of  immortality  by  consenting  to  become 
accessible  to  human  feelings,  and  uniting  her  lot  with  that  of  a  mortal,  who  treats  her 
with  ingratitude. 

In  imitation  of  an  example  so  successful,  the  White  Lady  of  Avenel  was  introduced 
into  the  following  sheets.  She  is  represented  as  connected  with  the  family  of  Avenel  by 
one  of  those  mystic  ties,  which,  in  ancient  times,  were  supposed  to  exist,  in  ^certain 
circumstances,  between  the  creatures  of  the  elements  and  the  children  of  men.  Such 
instances  of  mysterious  union  are  recognized  in  Ireland,  in  the  real  Milesian  families,  who 
are  possessed  of  a  Banshie;  and  they  are  known  among  the  traditions  of  the  Highlands, 
which,  in  many  cases,  attached  an  immortal  being  or  spirit  to  the  service  of  particular 
families  or  tribes.  These  demons,  if  they  are  to  be  called  so,  announced  good  or 
evil  fortune  to  the  families  connected  with  them;  and  though  some  only  condescended 
to  meddle  with  matters  of  importance,  others,  like  the  May  MoUach,  or  Maid  of  the 
Hairy  Arms,  condescended  to  mingle  in  ordinary  sports,  and  even  to  direct  the  Chief  how 
to  play  at  draughts. 

There  was,  therefore,  no  great  violence  in  supposing  such  a  being  as  this  to  have 
existed,  while  the  elementary  spirits  were  believed  in;  but  it  was  more  difficult  to 
describe  or  imagine  its  attributes  and  principles  of  action.  Shakspeare,  the  first  of 
authorities  in  such  a  case,  has  painted  Ariel,  that  beautiful  creature  of  his  fancy,  as  only 
approaching  so  near  to  humanity  as  to  know  the  nature  of  that  sympathy  which  the 
creatures  of  clay  felt  for  each  other,  as  we  learn  from  the  expression — "  Mine  would,  if 
I  were  human."  The  inferences  from  this  are  singular,  but  seem  capable  of  regular 
deduction.  A  being,  however  superior  to  man  in  length  of  life — in  power  over  the 
elements — in  certain  perceptions  respecting  the  present,  the  past,  and  the  future,  yet  still 
incapable  of  human  passions,  of  sentiments  of  moral  good  and  evil,  of  meriting  future 
rewards  or  punishments,  belongs  rather  to  the  class  of  animals,  than  of  human  creatures, 
and  must  therefore  be  presumed  to  act  more  from  temporary  benevolence  or  caprice,  than 
from  anything  approaching  to  feeling  or  reasoning.  Such  a  being's  superiority  in  power 
can  only  be  compared  to  that  of  the  elephant  or  lion,  who  are  greater  in  strength  than 
man,  though  inferior  in  the  scale  of  creation.  The  partialities  which  we  suppose  such 
spirits  to  entertain  must  be  like  those  of  the  dog;  their  sudden  starts  of  passion,  or  the 
indulgence  of  a  frolic,  or  mischief,  may  be  compared  to  those  of  the  numerous  varieties 
of  the  cat.  All  these  propensities  are,  however,  controlled  by  the  laws  which  render  the 
elementaiy  race  subordinate  to  the  command  of  man — liable  to  be  subjected  by  his 
science,  (so  the  sect  of  Gnostics  beheved,  and  on  this  turned  the  Rosicrucian  philosophy,) 
or  to  be  overpowered  by  his  superior  courage  and  daring,  when  it  set  their  illusions  at 

It  is  with  reference  to  this  idea  of  the  supposed  spirits  of  the  elements,  that  the  White 
Lady  of  Avenel  is  represented  as  acting  a  varying,  capricious,  and  inconsistent  part  in 
the  pages  assigned  to  her  in  the  narrative;  manifesting  interest  and  attachment  to  the 
family  with  whom  her  destinies  are  associated,  but  evincing  whim,  and  even  a  species  of 
malevolence,  towards  other  mortals,  as  the  Sacristan,  and  the  Border  robber,  whose 
incorrect  life  subjected  them  to  receive  petty  mortifications  at  her  hand.   The  White  Lady 

Vol.  V.  ^ 



is  scarcely  supposed,  however,  to  have  possessed  either  the  power  or  the  inclination  to 
do  more  than  inflict  terror  or  create  embarrassment,  and  is  also  subjected  by  those  mortals, 
who,  by  virtuous  resolution,  and  mental  energy,  could  assei't  superiority  over  her.  In 
these  particulars  she  seems  to  constitute  a  being  of  a  middle  class,  between  the  es2)rit 
follet  who  places  its  pleasure  in  misleading  and  tormenting  mortals,  and  the  benevolent 
Fairy  of  the  East,  who  uniformly  guides,  aids,  and  suj^ports  them. 

Either,  however,  the  author  executed  his  purpose  indifferently,  or  the  public  did  not 
approve  of  it;  for  the  White  Lady  of  Avenel  was  far  from  being  popular.  He  does  not 
now  make  the  present  statement,  in  the  view  of  arguing  readers  into  a  more  favourable 
opinion  on  the  subject,  but  merely  with  the  purpose  of  exculpating  himself  from  the 
charge  of  having  wantonly  intruded  into  the  narrative  a  being  of  inconsistent  powers  and 

In  the  delineation  of  another  character,  the  author  of  the  Monastery  failed,  where  he 
hoped  for  some  success.  As  nothing  is  so  successful  a  subject  for  ridicule  as  the 
fashionable  follies  ot  the  time,  it  occurred  to  him  that  the  more  serious  scenes  of  his 
narrative  might  be  relieved  by  the  humour  of  a  cavaliero  of  the  age  of  Queen 
Elizabeth.  In  every  period,  the  attempt  to  gain  and  maintain  the  highest  rank  of 
society,  has  depended  on  the  power  of  assuming  and  supporting  a  certain  fashionable 
kind  of  affectation,  usually  connected  with  some  vivacity  of  talent  and  energy  of 
character,  but  distinguished  at  the  same  time  by  a  transcendent  flight,  beyond  sound 
reason  and  common  sense;  both  faculties  too  vulgar  to  be  admitted  into  the  estimate  of 
one  who  claims  to  be  esteemed  "  a  choice  spirit  of  the  age."  These,  in  their  different 
phases,  constitute  the  gallants  of  the  day,  whose  boast  it  is  to  drive  the  whims  of  fashion 
to  extremity. 

On  all  occasions,  the  manners  of  the  sovereign,  the  court,  and  the  time,  must  give  the 
tone  to  the  peculiar  description  of  qualities  by  which  those  who  would  attain  the  height 
of  fashion  must  seek  to  distinguish  themselves.  The  reign  of  Elizabeth,  being  that  of  a 
maiden  queen,  was  distinguished  by  the  decorum  of  the  courtiers,  and  especially  the 
affectation  of  the  deepest  deference  to  the  sovereign.  After  the  acknowledgment  of  the 
Queen's  matchless  perfections,  the  same  devotion  was  extended  to  beauty  as  it  existed 
among  the  lesser  stars  in  her  court,  who  sparkled,  as  it  was  the  mode  to  say,  by  her 
reflected  lustre.  It  is  true,  that  gallant  knights  no  longer  vowed  to  Heaven,  the 
peacock,  and  the  ladies,  to  perform  some  feat  of  extravagant  chivalry,  in  which  they 
endangered  the  lives  of  others  as  well  as  their  own  ;  but  although  their  chivalrous 
displays  of  personal  gallantry  seldom  went  farther  in  Elizabeth's  days  than  the  tilt- 
yai'd,  where  barricades,  called  barriers,  prevented  the  shock  of  the  horses,  and  limited 
the  display  of  the  cavalier's  skill  to  the  comparatively  safe  encounter  of  their  lances, 
the  language  of  the  lovers  to  their  ladies  was  still  in  the  exalted  terms  which  Amadis 
would  have  addressed  to  Oriana,  befoi'e  encountering  a  dragon  for  her  sake.  This  tone 
of  romantic  gallantry  found  a  clever  but  conceited  author,  to  reduce  it  to  a  species  of 
constitution  and  form,  and  lay  down  the  courtly  manner  of  conversation,  in  a  pedantic 
book,  called  Euphues  and  his  England.  Of  this,  a  brief  account  is  given  in  the  text,  to 
which  it  may  now  be  proper  to  make  some  additions. 

The  extravagance  of  Euphuism,  or  a  symbolical  jargon  of  the  same  class,  predominates 
in  the  romances  of  Calprenade  and  Scuderi,  which  were  read  for  the  amusement  of  the 
fair  sex  of  France  during  the  long  reign  of  Louis  XIV.,  and  were  supposed  to  contain 
the  only  legitimate  language  of  love  and  gallantry.  In  this  reign  they  encountered  the 
satire  of  Moliere  and  Boileau.  A  similar  disorder,  spreading  into  private  society,  foi'med 
the  ground  of  the  affected  dialogue  of  the  Precietises,  as  they  were  styled,  who  formed 
the  coterie  of  the  Hotel  de  Rambouillet,  and  afforded  Moliere  matter  for  his  admirable 
comedy,  Les  Prccieums  Ridicules.  In  England,  the  humour  does  not  seem  to  have  long 
survived  the  accession  of  James  I. 


The  author  had  the  vanity  to  think  that  a  character,  whose  peculiarities  should  turn 
on  extravagances  which  were  once  universally  fashionable,  might  be  read  in  a  fictitious 
story  with  a  good  chance  of  affording  amusement  to  the  existing  generation,  who,  fond 
as  they  are  of  looking  back  on  the  actions  and  manners  of  their  ancestors,  might-  be  also 
supposed  to  be  sensible  of  their  absurdities.  He  must  fairly  acknowledge  that  he  was 
disappointed,  and  that  the  Euphuist,  far  from  being  accounted  a  well  drawn  and  humorous 
character  of  the  period,  was  condemned  as  unnatural  and  absurd. 

It  would  be  easy  to  account  for  this  failure,  by  supposing  the  defect  to  arise  from  the 
author's  want  of  skill,  and,  probably,  many  readers  may  not  be  inclined  to  look  farther. 
But,  as  the  author  himself  can  scarcely  be  supposed  willing  to  acquiesce  in  this  final 
cause,  if  any  other  can  be  alleged,  he  has  been  led  to  suspect,  that,  contrary  to  what  he 
oi-iginally  supposed,  liis  subject  was  injudiciously  chosen,  in  which,  and  not  in  his  mode 
of  treating  it,  lay  the  source  of  the  want  of  success. 

The  manners  of  a  rude  people  are  always  founded  on  nature,  and  therefore  the  feelings 
of  a  more  polished  generation  immediately  sympathize  with  them.  "We  need  no  numerous 
notes,  no  anticpiarian  dissertations,  to  enable  the  most  ignorant  to  recognize  the  sentiments 
and  diction  of  the  characters  of  Homer;  we  have  but,  as  Lear  says,  to  strip  off  our 
lendings — to  set  aside  the  factitious  principles  and  adornments  which  we  have  received 
from  our  comparatively  artificial  system  of  society,  and  our  natural  feelings  are  in  unison 
with  those  of  the  bard  of  Chios  and  the  heroes  who  live  in  his  verses.  It  is  the  same 
with  a  great  part  of  the  narratives  of  my  friend  jMr.  Cooper.  We  sympathize  with  his 
Indian  chiefs  and  back-woodsmen,  and  acknowledge,  in  the  characters  which  he  presents 
to  us,  the  same  truth  of  human  nature  by  which  we  should  feel  ourselves  influenced  it 
placed  in  the  same  condition.  So  much  is  this  the  case,  that,  though  it  is  difficult,  or 
almost  imj^ossible,  to  reclaim  a  savage,  bred  from  his  youth  to  war  and  the  chase,  to  the 
restraints  and  the  duties  of  civilized  life,  nothing  is  more  easy  or  common  than  to  find 
men  who  have  been  educated  in  all  the  habits  and  comforts  of  improved  society,  willing 
to  exchange  them  for  the  wild  labours  of  the  hunter  and  the  fisher.  The  very  amuse- 
ments most  pursued  and  relished  by  men  of  all  ranks,  whose  constitutions  permit  active 
exercise,  are  hunting,  fishing,  and,  in  some  instances,  war,  the  natural  and  necessary 
business  of  the  savage  of  Dryden,  where  his  hero  talks  of  being 

"  As  free  as  nature  first  made  man, 

When  wild  in  woods  the  noble  savage  ran." 

But  although  the  occupations,  and  even  the  sentiments,  of  human  beings  in  a  primitive 
state,  find  access  and  interest  in  the  minds  of  the  more  civilized  part  of  the  species,  it 
does  not  therefore  follow,  that  the  national  tastes,  opinions,  and  follies,  of  one  civilized 
period,  should  afford  either  the  same  interest  or  the  same  amusement  to  those  of  another. 
These  generally,  when  di-iven  to  extravagance,  are  founded,  not  upon  any  natural  taste 
proper  to  the  species,  but  upon  the  growth  of  some  peculiar  cast  of  affectation,  with  which 
mankind  in  general,  and  succeeding  generations  in  particular,  feel  no  common  interest  or 
sympathy.  The  extravagances  of  coxcombry  in  manners  and  apparel  are  indeed  the 
legitimate,  and  often  the  successful  objects  of  satire,  during  the  time  when  they  exist. 
In  evidence  of  this,  theatrical  critics  may  observe  how  many  dramatic  jeux  cV  esprit  are 
weU  received  every  season,  because  the  satirist  levels  at  some  well-known  or  fashionable 
absurdity;  or,  in  the  dramatic  phrase,  "shoots  folly  as  it  flies."  But  when  the  peculiar 
kind  of  foUy  keeps  the  wing  no  longer,  it  is  reckoned  but  waste  of  powder  to  pour  a 
discharge  of  ridicule  on  what  has  ceased  to  exist;  and  the  pieces  in  which  such  forgotten 
absurdities  are  made  the  subject  of  ridicule,  fall  quietly  into  oblivion  with  the  follies  which 
gave  them  fashion,  or  only  continue  to  exist  on  the  scene,  because  they  contain  some  other 
more  permanent  interest  than  that  which  connects  them  with  manners  and  foUies  of  a 
temporary  character. 

This,  perhaps,  affords  a  reason  why  the  comedies  of  Ben  Jonson,  founded  upon  system, 
or  what  the  age  termed  humours, — by  which  was  meant  factitious  niid  affected  characters, 

c  2 


superinduced  on  that  which  was  common  to  the  rest  of  their  race, — in  spite  of  acute 
satire,  deep  scholarship,  and  strong  sense,  do  not  now  afford  general  pleasure,  but  are  con- 
fined to  the  closet  of  the  antiquary,  whose  studies  have  assured  him  that  the  personages 
of  the  dramatist  w^ere  once,  though  they  are  now  no  longer,  portraits  of  existing  nature. 

Let  us  take  another  examjile  of  our  hypothesis  from  Shakspeare  himself,  who,  of  all 
authors,  drew  his  portraits  for  all  ages.  With  the  whole  sum  of  the  idolatry  which 
affects  us  at  his  name,  the  mass  of  readers  peruse,  without  amusement,  the  characters 
formed  on  the  extravagances  of  temporary  fashion;  and  the  Euphuist  Don  Armado,  the 
pedant  Holofernes,  even  Nym  and  Pistol,  are  read  with  little  pleasure  by  the  mass  of  the 
public,  being  portraits  of  which  we  cannot  recognize  the  humour,  because  the  originals 
no  longer  exist.  In  like  manner,  while  the  distresses  of  Romeo  and  Juliet  continue  to 
interest  every  bosom,  Mercutio,  drawn  as  an  accurate  representation  of  the  finished  fine 
gentleman  of  the  period,  and  as  such  received  by  the  unanimous  approbation  of 
contemporaries,  has  so  little  to  interest  the  present  age,  that,  stripped  of  all  his  puns  and 
quii'ks  of  verbal  wit,  he  only  retains  his  place  in  the  scene,  in  virtue  of  his  fine  and 
fanciful  speech  upon  dreaming,  which  belongs  to  no  particular  age,  and  because  he  is  a 
personage  whose  presence  is  indispensable  to  the  plot. 

We  have  already  pi'osecuted  perhaps  too  far  an  argument,  the  tendency  of  which  is  to 
prove,  that  the  introduction  of  an  humorist,  acting  like  Sir  Piercie  Shafton,  upon  some 
forgotten  and  obsolete  model  of  folly,  once  fashionable,  is  rather  likely  to  awaken  the 
disgust  of  the  reader,  as  unnatural,  than  find  him  food  for  laughter.  Whether  owing  to 
this  theory,  or  whether  to  the  more  simple  and  probable  cause  of  the  author's  failure  in 
the  delineation  of  the  subject  he  had  proposed  to  himself,  the  formidable  objection  of 
incredulus  odi  was  applied  to  the  Euphuist,  as  well  as  to  the  White  Lady  of  Avenel;  and 
the  one  was  denounced  as  unnatural,  while  the  other  was  rejected  as  impossible. 

There  was  little  in  the  story  to  atone  for  these  failures  in  two  principal  points.  The 
incidents  were  inartificially  huddled  together.  There  was  no  part  of  the  intrigue  to  which 
deep  interest  was  found  to  apply;  and  the  conclusion  was  brought  about,  not  by  incidents 
arising  out  of  the  story  itself,  but  in  consequence  of  public  transactions,  with  which  the 
narrative  has  little  connexion,  and  which  the  reader  had  little  opportunity  to  become 
acquainted  with. 

This,  if  not  a  positive  fault,  was  yet  a  great  defect  in  the  Romance.  It  is  true,  that 
not  only  the  practice  of  some  great  authors  in  this  department,  but  even  the  general 
course  of  human  life  itself,  may  be  quoted  in  favour  of  this  more  obvious,  and  less 
artificial  practice,  of  arranging  a  narrative.  It  is  seldom  that  the  same  circle  of 
personages  who  have  surrounded  an  individual  at  his  first  outset  in  life,  continue  to  have 
an  interest  in  his  career  till  his  fate  comes  to  a  crisis.  On  the  contrary,  and  more 
especially  if  the  events  of  his  life  be  of  a  varied  character,  and  worth  communicating  to 
others,  or  to  the  world,  the  hero's  later  connexions  are  usually  totally  separated  from  those 
with  whom  he  began  the  voyage,  but  Avhom  the  individual  has  outsailed,  or  who  have 
drifted  astray,  or  foundered  on  the  passage.  This  hackneyed  comparison  holds  good  in 
another  point.  The  numerous  vessels  of  so  many  different  sorts,  and  destined  for  such 
different  purposes,  which  are  launched  in  the  same  mighty  ocean,  although  each  endea- 
vours to  pursue  its  own  course,  are  in  every  case  more  influenced  by  the  winds  and  tides, 
which  are  common  to  the  element  which  they  all  navigate,  than  by  their  own  separate 
exertions.  And  it  is  thus  in  the  world,  that,  when  human  prudence  has  done  its  best, 
some  general,  perhaps  national,  event,  destroys  the  schemes  of  the  individual,  as  the 
casual  touch  of  a  more  powerful  being  sweeps  away  the  web  of  the  spider. 

Many  excellent  romances  have  been  composed  in  this  view  of  human  life,  where  the 
hero  is  conducted  through  a  variety  of  detached  scenes,  in  which  various  agents  appear 
and  disappear,  without,  perhaps,  having  any  permanent  influence  on  the  progress  of  the 
story.  Such  is  the  structure  of  Gil  Bias,  Roderick  Random,  and  the  lives  and  adventures 
of  many  other  heroes,  who  are  described  as  running  through  different  stations  of  life,  and 



encountering  various  adventures,  whicli  are  only  connected  with  each  other  by  having 
happened  to  be  witnessed  by  the  same  individual,  whose  identity  unites  them  together, 
as  the  string  of  a  necklace  links  the  beads,  which  are  otherwise  detached. 

But  though  such  an  unconnected  course  of  adventures  is  what  most  frequently  occurs  in 
nature,  yet  the  province  of  the  romance  writer  being  artificial,  there  is  more  required 
from  him  than  a  mere  compliance  with  the  simplicity  of  reality, — just  as  we  demand  from 
the  scientific  gardener,  that  he  shall  arrange,  in  curious  knots  and  artificial  parterres,  the 
flowers  which  "  nature  boon"  distributes  freely  on  hill  and  dale.  Fielding,  accordingly, 
in  most  of  his  novels,  but  especially  in  Tom  Jones,  his  chef-d'oeuvre,  has  set  the 
distinguished  example  of  a  story  regularly  built  and  consistent  in  all  its  parts,  in  which 
nothing  occurs,  and  scarce  a  personage  is  introduced,  that  has  not  some  share  in  tending 
to  advance  the  catastrophe. 

To  demand  equal  correctness  and  felicity  in  those  who  may  follow  in  the  track  of  that 
illustrious  novelist,  would  be  to  fetter  too  much  the  power  of  giving  pleasure,  by  sur- 
rounding it  with  penal  rules;  since  of  this  sort  of  light  literature  it  may  be  especially 
said — tout  genre  est  2'>ermh,  hors  le  genre  ennuyeux.  Still,  however,  the  more  closely 
and  happily  the  story  is  combined,  and  the  more  natural  and  felicitous  the  catastrophe, 
the  nearer  such  a  composition  will  approach  the  perfection  of  the  novelist's  art;  nor  can 
an  author  neglect  this  branch  of  his  profession,  without  incurring  proportional  censure. 

For  such  censure  the  Monastery  gave  but  too  much  occasion.  The  intrigue  of  the 
Romance,  neither  very  interesting  in  itself,  nor  very  happily  detailed,  is  at  length  finally 
disentangled  by  the  breaking  out  of  national  hostilities  between  England  and  Scotland, 
and  the  as  sudden  renewal  of  the  truce.  Instances  of  this  kind,  it  is  true,  cannot  in 
reality  have  been  uncommon,  but  the  resorting  to  such,  in  order  to  accomplish  the 
catastrophe,  as  by  a  tour  de  force,  was  objected  to  as  inartificial,  and  not  perfectly 
intelligible  to  the  general  reader. 

Still  the  Monastery,  though  exposed  to  severe  and  just  criticism,  did  not  fail,  judging 
from  the  extent  of  its  circulation,  to  have  some  interest  for  the  public.  And  this,  too? 
was  according  to  the  ordinary  course  of  such  matters ;  for  it  very  seldom  happens  that 
literary  reputation  is  gained  by  a  single  efibrt,  and  still  more  rarely  is  it  lost  by  a  solitary 

The  author,  therefore,  had  his  days  of  grace  allowed  him,  and  time,  if  he  pleased,  to 
comfort  himself  with  the  burden  of  the  old  Scots  song. 

'  If  it  isna  weel  bobbit, 
We'll  bob  it  again." 

Abbotsford,        ) 
1st  November,  1830.   / 


I        ffi''.>  'j 



LTITOUGH  I  do  not  pretend  to  tlie  pleasure  of  your  personal  acquaintance, 
like  many  whom  I  believe  to  be  equally  strangers  to  you,  I  am  never- 
theless interested  in  your  publications,  and  desire  their  continuance ; — not 
that  I  pretend  to  much  taste  in  fictitious  composition,  or  that  I  am  apt  to 
be  interested  in  your  grave  scenes,  or  amused  by  those  which  are  meant  to  be 
lively.  I  will  not  disguise  from  you,  that  I  have  yawned  over  the  last  inter- 
view of  Maclvor  and  his  sister,  and  fell  fairly  asleep  while  the  schoolmaster 
was  reading  the  humours  of  Dandie  Dinmont.  You  see,  sir,  that  I  scorn  to 
solicit  your  favour  in  a  way  to  which  you  are  no  stranger.  If  the  papers  I 
enclose  you  are  worth  nothing,  I  Avill  not  endeavour  to  recommend  them  by  personal 
flattery,  as  a  bad  cook  pours  rancid  butter  upon  stale  fish.  No,  sir!  what  I  respect 
in  you  is  the  light  you  have  occasionally  thi'own  on  national  antiquities,  a  study  which 
I  have  commenced  rather  late  in  life,  but  to  which  I  am  attached  with  the  devotions  of 
a  first  love,  because  it  is  the  only  study  I  ever  cared  a  ftirthing  for. 

You  shall  have  my  history,  sir,  (it  will  not  reach  to  three  volumes,)  before  that  of  my 
manuscrij^t ;  and  as  you  usually  throw  out  a  few  lines  of  verse  (by  way  of  skirmishers, 
I  suppose)  at  the  head  of  each  division  of  prose,  I  have  had  the  luck  to  light  upon  a 
stanza  in  the  schoolmaster's  copy  of  Burns  which  describes  me  exactly.  I  love  it  the 
better,  because  it  was  originally  designed  for  Captain  Grose,  an  excellent  antiquaiy, 
though,  like  yourself,  somewhat  too  apt  to  treat  with  levity  his  own  pursuits  : 


'Tis  said  he  was  a  soldier  bred, 
And  ane  wad  rather  fa'en  than  fled; 
But  now  he's  quit  the  spurtle  blade, 

And  dog-skin  wallet. 
And  ta'en  the — antiquarian  trade, 

I  think  they  call  it. 

I  never  could  conceive  what  influenced  me,  when  a  boy,  in  the  choice  of  a  profession. 
Military  zeal  and  ardour  it  was  not,  which  made  me  stand  out  for  a  commission  in  the 
Scots  Fusiliers,  when  my  tutors  and  curators  wished  to  bind  me  apprentice  to  old  David 
Stiles,  Clerk  to  his  Majesty's  Signet.  I  say,  military  zeal  it  was  not;  for  I  was  no 
fighting  boy  in  my  own  person,  and  cared  not  a  penny  to  read  the  history  of  the  heroes 
who  turned  the  world  upside  down  in  former  ages.  As  for  courage,  I  had,  as  I  have 
since  discovered,  just  as  much  of  it  as  served  my  turn,  and  not  one  grain  of  surplus.  I 
soon  found  out,  indeed,  that  in  action  there  was  more  danger  in  running  away  than  in 
standing  fast ;  and  besides,  I  could  not  afford  to  lose  my  commission,  which  was  my 
chief  means  of  support.  But,  as  for  that  overboiling  valour,  which  I  have  heard  many 
of  ours  talk  of,  though  I  seldom  observed  that  it  influenced  them  in  the  actual  aflliir — 
that  exuberant  zeal,  which  courts  Danger  as  a  bride, — truly  my  courage  was  of  a  com- 
plexion much  less  ecstatical. 

Again,  the  love  of  a  red  coat,  which,  in  default  of  all  other  aptitudes  to  the  profession, 
has  made  many  a  bad  soldier  and  some  good  ones,  was  an  utter  stranger  to  my  dispo- 
sition. I  cared  not  a  "  bodle"  for  the  company  of  the  misses :  Nay,  though  there  was  a 
boarding-school  in  the  village,  and  though  we  used  to  meet  with  its  fair  inmates  at  Simon 
Lightfoot's  weekly  Practising,  I  cannot  recollect  any  strong  emotions  being  excited  on 
these  occasions,  excepting  the  infinite  regret  with  which  I  went  through  the  polite 
ceremonial  of  presenting  my  partner  with  an  orange,  thrust  into  my  pocket  by  my  aunt 
for  this  special  purpose,  but  which,  had  I  dared,  I  certainly  would  have  secreted  for  my 
own  personal  use.  As  for  vanity,  or  love  of  finery  for  itself,  I  was  such  a  stranger  to 
it,  that  the  difficulty  was  great  to  make  me  brush  my  coat,  and  appear  in  proper  trim 
upon  parade.  I  shall  never  forget  the  rebuke  of  my  old  Colonel  on  a  morning  when 
the  King  reviewed  a  brigade  of  which  ours  made  part.  "  I  am  no  friend  to  extravagance. 
Ensign  Clutterbuck,"  said  he  ;  "  but,  on  the  day  when  we  are  to  pass  before  the  Sovereign 
of  the  kingdom,  in  the  name  of  God  I  would  have  at  least  shewn  him  an  inch  of  clean 

Thus,  a  stranger  to  the  ordinary  motives  which  lead  young  men  to  make  the  army 
their  choice,  and  without  the  least  desire  to  become  either  a  hero  or  a  dandy,  I  really  do 
not  know  what  determined  my  thoughts  that  way,  unless  it  were  the  happy  state  of 
half-pay  indolence  enjoyed  by  Captain  Doolittle,  who  had  set  up  his  staff  of  rest  in  my 
native  village.  Every  other  person  had,  or  seemed  to  have,  something  to  do,  less  or 
more.  They  did  not,  indeed,  precisely  go  to  school  and  learn  tasks,  that  last  of  evils  in 
my  estimation  ;  but  it  did  not  escape  my  boyish  observation,  that  they  were  all  bothered 
with  something  or  other  like  duty  or  labour — all  but  the  happy  Captain  Doolittle.  The 
minister  had  his  parish  to  visit,  and  his  preaching  to  prepare,  though  perhaps  he  made 
more  fuss  than  he  needed  about  both.  The  laird  had  his  farming  and  improving  opera- 
tions to  superintend ;  and,  besides,  he  had  to  attend  trustee  meetings,  and  lieutenancy 
meetings,  and  head-courts,  and  meetings  of  justices,  and  what  not — was  as  early  up, 
(that  I  detested,)  and  as  much  in  the  open  air,  wet  and  dry,  as  his  own  grieve.  The 
shopkeeper  (the  village  boasted  but  one  of  eminence)  stood  indeed  pretty  much  at  his 
ease  behind  his  counter,  for  his  custom  was  by  no  means  overburdensome ;  but  still  he 
enjoyed  his  status,  as  the  Bailie  calls  it,  upon  condition  of  tumbling  all  the  wares  in  his 
booth  over  and  over,  when  any  one  chose  to  want  a  yard  of  muslin,  a  mousetrap,  an 
ounce  of  caraways,  a  paper  of  pins,  the  Sermons  of  Mr.  Peden,  or  the  Life  of  Jack  the 
Giant- Queller,  (not  Killer,  as  usually  erroneously  written  and  pronounced. — See  my 
essay  on  the  true  history  of  this  worthy,  where  real  facts  have  in  a  peculiar  degree  been 


obscured  by  fable.)  In  short,  all  in  the  village  were  under  the  necessity  of  doing 
something  which  they  would  rather  have  left  undone,  excepting  Captain  Doolittle,  who 
walked  every  morning  in  the  open  street,  which  formed  the  high  mall  of  our  village,  in 
a  blue  coat  with  a  red  neck,  and  played  at  whist  the  whole  evening,  when  he  could  make 
up  a  party.  This  happy  vacuity  of  all  employment  appeared  to  me  so  delicious,  that  it 
became  the  primary  hint,  which,  according  to  the  system  of  Helvetius,  as  the  minister 
says,  determined  my  infant  talents  towards  the  profession  I  was  destined  to  illustrate. 

But  who,  alas  !  can  form  a  just  estimate  of  their  future  prospects  in  this  deceitful 
world  ?  I  was  not  long  engaged  in  my  new  profession,  before  I  discovered,  that  if  the 
independent  indolence  of  half-pay  was  a  paradise,  the  ofBcer  must  pass  through  the  pur- 
gatory of  duty  and  service  in  order  to  gain  admission  to  it.  Captain  Doolittle  might 
brush  his  blue  coat  with  the  red  neck,  or  leave  it  unbrushed,  at  his  pleasure ;  but  Ensign 
Clutterbuck  had  no  such  option.  Captain  Doolittle  might  go  to  bed  at  ten  o'clock,  if  he 
had  a  mind;  but  the  Ensign  must  make  the  rounds  in  his  turn.  What  was  worse,  the 
Captain  might  repose  under  the  tester  of  his  tent-bed  imtil  noon,  if  he  was  so  pleased ; 
but  the  Ensign,  God  help  him,  had  to  appear  upon  parade  at  peep  of  day.  As  for  duty, 
I  made  that  as  easy  as  I  could,  had  the  sei'geant  to  whisper  to  me  the  words  of  command, 
and  bustled  through  as  other  folks  did.  Of  service,  I  saw  enough  for  an  indolent  man — 
was  buffeted  up  and  down  the  world,  and  visited  both  the  East  and  "West  Indies,  Egypt, 
and  other  distant  places,  which  my  youth  had  scarce  dreamed  of.  The  French  I  saw, 
and  felt  too;  witness  two  fingei's  on  my  right  hand,  which  one  of  their  cursed  hussars 
took  off  with  his  sabre  as  neatly  as  an  hospital  surgeon.  At  length  the  death  of  an  old 
aunt,  who  left  me  some  fifteen  hundred  pounds,  snugly  vested  in  the  three  per  cents, 
gave  me  the  long-wished-for  opportunity  of  retiring,  with  the  prospect  of  enjoying  a 
clean  shirt  and  a  guinea  four  times  a-week  at  least. 

For  the  purpose  of  commencing  my  new  way  of  life,  I  selected  for  my  residence  the 
village  of  Kennaquhair,  in  the  south  of  Scotland,  celebrated  for  the  ruins  of  its  magni- 
ficent Monastery,  intending  there  to  lead  my  future  life  in  the  ot'mm  cum  dignitate  of 
half-pay  and  annuity.  I  was  not  long,  however,  in  making  the  grand  discovery,  that  in 
order  to  enjoy  leisure,  it  is  absolutely  necessary  it  should  be  preceded  by  occupation. 
For  some  time,  it  was  delightful  to  wake  at  daybreak,  dreaming  of  the  reveille — then  to 
recollect  my  happy  emancipation  from  the  slavery  that  doomed  me  to  start  at  a  piece  of 
clattering  parchment,  turn  on  my  other  side,  damn  the  parade,  and  go  to  sleep  again. 
But  even  this  enjoyment  had  its  termination ;  and  time,  when  it  became  a  stock  entirely 
at  my  own  disposal,  began  to  hang  heavy  on  my  hand. 

I  angled  for  two  days,  during  which  time  I  lost  twenty  hooks,  and  several  scores  of 
yards  of  gut  and  line,  and  caught  not  even  a  minnow.  Hunting  was  out  of  the  question, 
for  the  stomach  of  a  horse  by  no  means  agrees  with  the  half-pay  establishment.  When 
I  shot,  the  shepherds  and  ploughmen,  and  my  very  dog,  quizzed  me  every  time  that 
I  missed,  which  was,  generally  speaking,  every  time  I  fired.  Besides,  the  country 
gentlemen  in  this  quarter  like  their  game,  and  began  to  talk  of  prosecutions  and  inter- 
dicts. I  did  not  give  up  fighting  the  French  to  commence  a  domestic  war  with  the 
"  pleasant  men  of  Teviotdale,"  as  the  song  calls  them  ;  so  I  e'en  spent  three  days  (very 
agreeably)  in  cleaning  my  gun,  and  disposing  it  upon  two  hooks  over  my  chimney-piece. 

The  success  of  this  accidental  experiment  set  me  on  trying  my  skill  in  the  mechanical 
arts.  Accordingly  I  took  down  and  cleaned  my  landlady's  cuckoo-clock,  and  in  so  doing, 
silenced  that  companion  of  the  spring  for  ever  and  a  day.  I  mounted  a  turning-lathe, 
and  in  attempting  to  use  it,  I  very  nearly  cribbed  oif,  with  an  inch-and-half  former,  one 
of  the  fingers  which  the  hussar  had  left  me. 

Books  I  tried,  both  those  of  the  little  circulating  library,  and  of  the  more  rational 
subscription  collection  maintained  by  this  intellectual  people.  But  neither  the  light 
reading  of  the  one,  nor  the  heavy  artillery  of  the  other,  suited  my  purpose.     I  always 


fell  asleep  at  the  fourth  or  fifth  page  of  history  or  disquisition  ;  and  it  took  me  a  month's 
hard  reading  to  wade  through  a  half-bound  trashy  novel,  during  which  I  was  pestered 
with  applications  to  return  the  volumes,  by  every  half-bred  milliner's  miss  about  the  place. 
In  short,  during  the  time  when  all  the  town  besides  had  something  to  do,  I  had  nothing  for 
it,  but  to  walk  in  the  church-yard,  and  whistle  till  it  was  dinner-time. 

During  these  promenades,  the  ruins  necessarily  forced  themselves  on  my  attention,  and, 
by  degrees,  I  found  myself  engaged  in  studying  the  more  minute  ornaments,  and  at  length 
the  general  plan,  of  this  noble  structure.  The  old  sexton  aided  my  labours,  and  gave  me 
his  portion  of  traditional  lore.  Every  day  added  something  to  my  stock  of  knowledge 
respecting  the  ancient  state  of  the  building  ;  and  at  length  I  made  discoveries  concerning 
the  purpose  of  several  detached  and  very  ruinous  portions  of  it,  the  use  of  which  had 
hitherto  been  either  unknown  altogether  or  erroneously  explained. 

The  knoAvledge  which  I  thus  acquired  I  had  frequent  opportunities  of  retailing  to  those 
visiters  whom  the  progress  of  a  Scottish  tour  brought  to  visit  this  celebrated  spot. 
Without  encroaching  on  the  privilege  of  my  friend  the  sexton,  I  became  gradually  an 
assistant  Cicerone  in  the  task  of  description  and  explanation,  and  often  (seeing  a  fresh 
party  of  visiters  arrive)  has  he  turned  over  to  me  those  to  whom  he  had  told  half  his 
story,  with  the  flattering  observation,  "  What  needs  I  say  ony  mair  about  it  ?  There's 
the  Captain  kens  mair  anent  it  than  I  do,  or  any  man  in  the  town."  Then  would  I  salute 
the  strangers  courteously,  and  expatiate  to  their  astonished  minds  upon  crypts  and 
chancels,  and  naves,  arches,  Gothic  and  Saxon  architraves,  mullions  and  flying  buttresses. 
It  not  unfrequently  happened,  that  an  acquaintance  which  commenced  in  the  Abbey 
concluded  in  the  inn,  which  served  to  relieve  the  solitude  as  well  as  the  monotony  of 
my  landlady's  shoulder  of  mutton,  whether  roast,  cold,  or  hashed. 

By  degrees  my  mind  became  enlarged ;  I  found  a  book  or  two  which  enlightened  me 
on  the  subject  of  Gothic  architecture,  and  I  read  now  with  pleasure,  because  I  was  inter- 
ested in  what  I  read  about.  Even  my  character  began  to  dilate  and  expand.  I  spoke 
with  more  authority  at  the  club,  and  was  listened  to  with  deference,  because  on  one 
subject,  at  least,  I  possessed  more  information  than  any  of  its  members.  Indeed,  I  found 
that  even  my  stories  about  Egypt,  which,  to  say  truth,  were  somewhat  threadbare,  were 
now  listened  to  with  more  respect  than  formerly.  "  The  Captain,"  they  said,  "  had 
something  in  him  after  a', — there  were  few  folk  kend  sae  muckle  about  the  Abbey." 

With  this  general  approbation  waxed  my  own  sense  of  self-importance,  and  my  feeling 
of  general  comfort.  I  ate  with  more  appetite,  I  digested  with  more  ease,  I  lay  down 
at  night  with  joy,  and  slept  sound  till  morning,  when  I  arose  with  a  sense  of  busy  im- 
portance, and  hied  me  to  measure,  to  examine,  and  to  compare  the  vai'ious  parts  of  this 
interesting  structure.  I  lost  all  sense  and  consciousness  of  certain  unpleasant  sensations 
of  a  nondescript  nature,  about  my  head  and  stomach,  to  which  I  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
attending,  more  for  the  benefit  of  the  village  apothecary  than  my  own,  for  the  pure  want 
of  something  else  to  think  about.  I  had  found  out  an  occupation  unwittingly,  and  was 
happy  because  I  had  something  to  do.  In  a  word,  I  had  commenced  local  antiquary,  and 
was  not  unworthy  of  the  name. 

Whilst  I  was  in  this  pleasing  career  of  busy  idleness,  for  so  it  might  at  best  be  called, 
it  happened  that  I  was  one  night  sitting  in  my  little  parlour,  adjacent  to  the  closet  which 
my  landlady  calls  my  bedroom,  in  the  act  of  preparing  for  an  early  retreat  to  the  realms 

of  Morpheus.     Dugdale's  Monasticon,  borrowed  from  the  library  at  A ,  was  lying  on 

the  table  before  me,  flanked  by  some  excellent  Cheshire  cheese,  (a  present,  by  the  way, 
from  an  honest  London  citizen,  to  whom  I  had  explained  the  difference  between  a  Gothic 
and  a  Saxon  arch,)  and  a  glass  of  Vanderhagen's  best  ale.  Thus  armed  at  all  points 
against  my  old  enemy  Time,  I  was  leisurely  and  deliciously  preparing  for  bed — now 
reading  a  line  of  old  Dugdale — now  sipping  my  ale,  or  munching  my  bread  and  cheese — 
now  undoing  the  strings  at  my  breeches'  knees,  or  a  button  or  two  of  ray  waistcoat,  until 


the  village  clock  should  strike  ten,  before  which  time  I  make  it  a  rule  never  to  go  to  bed. 
A  loud  knocking,  however,  intei'rupted  my  ordinary  process  on  this  occasion,  and  the 
voice  of  my  honest  landlord  of  the  George  was  heard  vociferating,*  "  What  the  deevil, 
Mrs.  Grimslees,  the  Captain  is  no  in  his  bed  ?  and  a  gentleman  at  our  house  has  ordered 
a  fowl  and  minced  collops,  and  a  bottle  of  sherry,  and  has  sent  to  ask  him  to  supper,  to 
tell  him  all  about  the  Abbey." 

"  Na,"  answered  Luckie  Grimslees,  in  the  true  sleepy  tone  of  a  Scottish  matron  when 
ten  o'clock  is  going  to  strike,  "  he's  no  in  his  bed,  but  I'se  warrant  him  no  gae  out  at 
this  time  o' night  to  keep  folks  sitting  up  waiting  for  him — the  Captain's  a  decent  man." 

I  plainly  perceived  this  last  compliment  was  made  for  my  hearing,  by  way  both  of 
indicating  and  of  recommending  the  course  of  conduct  which  Mrs.  Grimslees  desired  I 
should  pursue.  But  I  had  not  been  knocked  about  the  world  for  thirty  years  and  odd, 
and  lived  a  bluff  bachelor  all  the  while,  to  come  home  and  be  put  under  petticoat  govern- 
ment by  my  landlady.  Accordingly  I  opened  my  chamber-door,  and  desired  my  old 
friend  David  to  walk  up  stairs. 

"  Captain,"  said  he,  as  he  entered,  "  I  am  as  glad  to  find  you  up  as  if  I  had  hooked  a 
twenty  pound  saumon.  There's  a  gentleman  up  yonder  that  will  not  sleep  sound  in  his 
bed  this  blessed  night  imless  he  has  the  pleasure  to  drink  a  glass  of  wine  with  you." 

"  You  know,  David,"  I  replied,  with  becoming  dignity,  "  that  I  cannot  with  propriety 
go  out  to  visit  strangers  at  this  time  of  night,  or  accept  of  invitations  from  people  of 
whom  I  know  nothing." 

David  swore  a  round  oath,  and  added,  "  "Was  ever  the  like  heard  of  ?  He  has  ordered 
a  fowl  and  egg  sauce,  a  pancake  and  minced  collops  and  a  bottle  of  sherry — D'ye  think 
I  wad  come  and  ask  you  to  go  to  keep  company  with  ony  bit  English  rider  that  sups  on 
toasted  cheese,  and  a  cheerer  of  rum-toddy  ?  This  is  a  gentleman  every  inch  of  him, 
and  a  virtuoso,  a  clean  virtuoso — a  sad-coloured  stand  of  claithes,  and  a  wig  like  the  curled 
back  of  a  mug-ewe.  The  very  first  question  he  s^Deered  was  about  the  auld  drawbrig 
that  has  been  at  the  bottom  of  the  water  these  twal  score  years — I  have  seen  the  funda- 
tions  when  we  were  sticking  saumon — And  how  the  deevil  suld  he  ken  ony  thing  about 
the  old  drawbrig,  unless  he  were  a  virtuoso  ?  "  f 

David  being  a  virtuoso  in  his  own  way,  and  moreover  a  landholder  and  hei'itor,  was  a 
qualified  judge  of  all  who  frequented  his  house,  and  therefore  I  could  not  avoid  again 
tying  the  strings  of  my  knees. 

"  That's  right.  Captain,"  vociferated  David ;  "  you  twa  will  be  as  thick  as  three  in  a 
bed  an  ance  ye  forgather.  I  haena  seen  the  like  o'  him  my  very  sell  since  I  saw  the  great 
Doctor  Samuel  Johnson  on  his  tower  through  Scotland,  Avhilk  tower  is  lying  in  my  back 
parlour  for  the  amusement  of  my   guests,  wi'  the  twa  boards  torn  aff." 

"  Then  the  gentleman  is  a  scholar,  David  ?" 

"  I'se  upliaud  him  a  scholar,"  answered  David :  "  he  has  a  black  coat  on,  or  a  brown 
ane,  at  ony  rate." 

"  Is  he  a  clergyman  ?  " 

"  I  am  thinking  no,  for  he  looked  after  his  horse's  supper  before  he  spoke  o'  his  ain," 
replied  mine  host. 

"  Has  he  a  servant?"  demanded  I. 

"  Nae  servant, "  answered  David  ;  "  but  a  grand  face  o'  his  ain,  that  wad  gar  ony  body 
be  willing  to  serve  him  that  looks  upon  him." 

"  And  what  makes  him  think  of  disturbing  me  ?    Ah,  David,  this  has  been  some  of 

*  The  George  was,  and  is,  the  principal  inn  in  the  village  of  Kennaquhair,  or  Melrose.  But  the  landlord  of  the  period  was 
not  the  same  civil  and  quiet  person  by  whom  the  inn  is  now  kept.  David  Kyle,  a  Melrose  proprietor  of  no  little  importance, 
a  first-rate  person  of  consequence  in  whatever  belonged  to  the  business  of  the  town,  was  the  original  owner  and  laudlord  of 
the  inn.  Poor  David,  like  many  other  busy  men,  took  so  much  care  of  public  atl'airs,  as  in  some  degree  to  neglect  his  own. 
There  are  persons  still  alive  at  Kennaquhair  who  can  recognise  him  and  his  peculiarities  in  the  following  sketch  of  mine  Host 
of  the  George. 

t  There  is  more  to  be  said  about  this  old  bridge  hereafter.    See  Note.  p.  GO. 


your  chattering  ;  you  are  perpetually  bringing  your  guests  on  my  shoulders,  as  if  it  were 
my  business  to  entertain  every  man  who  comes  to  the  George." 

"  What  the  deil  wad  ye  hae  me  do,  Captain  ? "  answered  mine  host ;  "a  gentleman 
lights  down,  and  asks  me,  in  a  most  earnest  manner,  what  man  of  sense  and  learning  there 
is  about  our  town,  that  can  tell  him  about  the  antiquities  of  the  place,  and  specially  about 
the  auld  Abbey — ye  wadna  hae  me  tell  the  gentleman  a  lee  ?  and  ye  ken  weel  eneugh 
there  is  naebody  in  the  town  can  say  a  reasonable  word  about  it,  be  it  no  yoursell,  except 
the  bedral,  and  he  is  as  fou  as  a  piper  by  this  time.  So,  says  I,  there's  Captain  Clutterbuck, 
that's  a  very  civil  gentleman,  and  has  little  to  do  forby  telling  a'  the  auld  cracks  about 
the  Abbey,  and  dwells  just  hard  by.  Then  says  the  gentleman  to  me,  '  Sir, '  says  he, 
very  civilly,  '  have  the  goodness  to  step  to  Captain  Clutterbuck  with  my  compliments, 
and  say  I  am  a  stranger,  who  have  been  led  to  these  parts  chiefly  by  the  fame  of  these 
Ruins,  and  that  I  would  call  upon  him,  but  the  hour  is  late.'  And  mair  he  said  that 
I  have  forgotten,  but  I  weel  remember  it  ended, — '  And,  landlord,  get  a  bottle  of  your 
best  sherry,  and  supper  for  two.' — Ye  wadna  have  had  me  refuse  to  do  the  gentleman's 
bidding,  and  me  a  publican?" 

*'  Well,  David,"  said  I,  "  I  wish  your  virtuoso  had  taken  a  fitter  hour — but  as  you  say 
he  is  a  gentleman " 

"  I'se  uphaud  him  that — the  order  speaks  for  itsell — a  bottle  of  sherry — minched 
coUops  and  a  fowl — that's  speaking  like  a  gentleman,  I  trow  ? — That's  right,  Captain, 
button  weel  up,  the  night's  raw — but  the  water's  clearing  for  a'  that ;  we'll  be  on't  neist 
night  wi'  my  Lord's  boats,  and  we'll  hae  ill  luck  if  I  dinna  send  you  a  kipper  to  relish 
your  ale  at  e'en."* 

In  five  minutes  after  this  dialogue,  I  found  myself  in  the  parlour  of  the  George,  and  in 
the  presence  of  the  stranger. 

He  was  a  grave  personage,  about  my  own  age,  (which  we  shall  call  about  fifty,)  and 
really  had,  as  my  friend  David  expressed  it,  something  in  his  face  that  inclined  men  to 
oblige  and  to  serve  him.  Yet  this  expression  of  authority  was  not  at  all  of  the  cast  which 
I  have  seen  in  the  countenance  of  a  general  of  brigade,  neither  was  the  stranger's  dress 
at  all  martial.  It  consisted  of  a  uniform  suit  of  iron-gray  clothes,  cut  in  rather  an  old- 
fashioned  form.  His  legs  were  defended  with  strong  leathern  gambadoes,  which, 
according  to  an  antiquarian  contrivance,  opened  at  the  sides,  and  were  secured  by  steel 
clasps.  His  countenance  was  worn  as  much  by  toil  and  sorrow  as  by  age,  for  it  intimated 
that  he  had  seen  and  endured  much.  His  address  was  singularly  pleasing  and  gentleman- 
like, and  the  apology  which  he  made  for  disturbing  me  at  such  an  hour,  and  in  such  a 
manner,  was  so  well  and  handsomely  expressed,  that  I  could  not  reply  otherwise  than  by 
declaring  my  willingness  to  be  of  service  to  him. 

"  I  have  been  a  traveller  to-day,  sir,"  said  he,  "  and  I  would  willingly  defer  the  little 
I  have  to  say  till  after  supper,  for  which  I  feel  rather  more  appetized  than  usual." 

We  sate  down  to  table,  and  notwithstanding  the  stranger's  alleged  appetite,  as  well  as 
the  gentle  preparation  of  cheese  and  ale  which  I  had  already  laid  aboard,  I  really  believe 
that  I  of  the  two  did  the  greater  honour  to  my  friend  David's  fowl  and  minced  collops. 

When  the  cloth  was  removed,  and  we  had  each  made  a  tumbler  of  negus,  of  that  liquor 
which  hosts  call  Sherry,  and  guests  call  Lisbon,  I  perceived  that  the  stranger  seemed 
pensive,  silent,  and  somewhat  embarrassed,  as  if  he  had  something  to  communicate  which 
he  knew  not  well  how  to  introduce.  To  pave  the  way  for  him,  I  spoke  of  the  ancient 
ruins  of  the  Monastery,  and  of  their  history.  But,  to  my  great  surprise,  I  found  I  had 
met  my  match  with  a  witness.  The  stranger  not  only  knew  all  that  I  could  tell  him,  but 
a  great  deal  more;  and,  what  was  still  more  mortifying,  he  was  able,  by  reference  to  dates, 

*  The  nobleman  whose  boats  are  mentioned  in  the  text,  is  the  late  kind  and  amiable  Lord  Sommerville,  an  intimate  friend 
of  the  author.     David  Kyle  was  a  constant  and  privileged  attendant  when  Lord  Sommerwlle  had  a  party  for  spearing  salmon 
on  such  occasions,  eighty  or  a  hundred  fisli  were  often  killed  between  Gleamer  and  Leaderfoot. 


charters,  and  other  evidence  of  facts,  that,  as  Burns  says,  "  downa  be  disputed,"  to  correct 
many  of  the  vague  tales  which  I  had  adopted  on  loose  and  vulgar  tradition,  as  well  as  to 
confute  more  than  one  of  my  favourite  theories  on  the  subject  of  the  old  monks  and  their 
dwellings,  which  I  had  sported  freely  in  all  the  presumption  of  superior  information. 
And  here  I  cannot  but  remark,  that  much  of  the  stranger's  arguments  and  inductions 
rested  upon  the  authority  of  Mr.  Deputy  Eegister  of  Scotland,*  and  his  lucubrations  ;  a 
gentleman  whose  indefatigable  research  into  the  national  records  is  like  to  destroy  my 
trade,  and  that  of  all  local  antiquaries,  by  substituting  truth  instead  of  legend  and 
romance.  Alas!  I  would  the  learned  gentleman  did  but  know  how  difficult  it  is  for 
us  dealers  in  petty  wares  of  antiquity  to — 

Pluck  from  our  memories  a  rooted  "  legend," 
Raze  out  the  written  records  of  our  brain, 
Or  cleanse  our  bosoms  of  that  perilous  stuff — 

and  so  forth.  It  would,  I  am  sure,  move  his  pity  to  think  how  many  old  dogs  he  hath 
set  to  learn  new  tricks,  how  many  venerable  parrots  he  hath  taught  to  sing  a  new  song, 
how  many  gray  heads  he  hath  addled  by  vain  attempts  to  exchange  their  old  Mtimjisimus 
for  his  new  Suvipsimus.  But  let  it  pass.  Humana  j^eryessi  sumiis — All  changes  round 
us,  past,  present,  and  to  come:  that  which  was  history  yesterday  becomes  fable  to-day, 
and  the  truth  of  to-day  is  hatched  into  a  lie  by  to-morrow. 

Finding  myself  like  to  be  overpowered  in  the  Monastery,  which  I  had  hitherto 
regarded  as  my  citadel,  I  began,  like  a  skilful  general,  to  evacuate  that  place  of  defence, 
and  fight  my  way  through  the  adjacent  country.  I  had  recourse  to  my  acquaintance 
with  the  families  and  antiquities  of  the  neighbourhood,  ground  on  which  I  thought 
I  might  skirmish  at  large  without  its  being  possible  for  the  stranger  to  meet  me  with 
advantage.     But  I  was  mistaken. 

The  man  in  the  iron-gray  suit  shewed  a  much  more  minute  knowledge  of  these 
particulars  than  I  had  the  least  pretension  to.  He  could  tell  the  very  year  in  which  the 
family  of  De  Haga  first  settled  on  their  ancient  barony. f  Not  a  Thane  witliin  reach  but 
he  knew  his  family  and  connexions,  how  many  of  his  ancestors  had  fallen  by  the  sword 
of  the  English,  how  many  in  domestic  brawl,  and  how  many  by  the  hand  of  the  executioner 
for  march-treason.  Their  castles  he  was  acquainted  with  from  turret  to  foundation- 
stone;  and  as  for  the  miscellaneous  antiquities  scattered  about  the  country,  he  knew  every 
one  of  them,  from  a  cromlech  to  a  cairn,  and  could  give  as  good  an  account  of  each  as  if 
he  had  lived  in  the  time  of  the  Danes  or  Druids. 

I  was  now  in  the  mortifying  predicament  of  one  who  suddenly  finds  himself  a  scholar 
when  he  came  to  teach,  and  nothing  was  left  for  me  but  to  pick  up  as  much  of  his  con- 
versation as  I  could,  for  the  benefit  of  the  next  company.  I  told,  indeed,  Allan  Ramsay's 
story  of  the  Monk  and  Miller's  Wife,  in  order  to  retreat  with  some  honour  under  cover 
of  a  parting  volley.     Here,  however,  my  flank  was  again  turned  by  the  eternal  stranger. 

"  You  are  pleased  to  be  facetious,  sir,"  said  he;  "  but  you  cannot  be  ignorant  that  the 
ludicrous  incident  you  mentioned  is  the  subject  of  a  tale  much  older  than  that  of  Allan 

I  nodded,  unwilling  to  acknowledge  my  ignorance,  though,  in  fact,  I  knew  no  more 
what  he  meant  than  did  one  of  my  friend  David's  post-horses. 

"  I  do  not  allude,"  continued  my  omniscient  companion,  "  to  the  curious  poem 
published  by  Pinkerton  from  the  Maitland  Manuscript,  called  the  Fryars  of  Berwick, 
although  it  presents  a  very  minute  and  amusing  picture  of  Scottish  manners  during  the 
reign  of  James  V. ;  but  rather  to  the  Italian  novelist,  by  whom,  so  far  as  I  know,  the 

*  Thomas  Thomson,  Esq.,  whose  well-dcsorved  panegyric  ought  to  be  found  on  another  page  than  one  written  by  an  inti- 
mate friend  of  thirty  years'  standing. 

+  The  family  of  De  IIaf?a,  modernised  into  Haig,  of  Bemerside,  is  of  the  highest  antiquity,  and  is  the  subject  of  one  of  the 
prophecies  of  Thomas  the  Rhymer : — 

Betide,  betide,  whate'er  betide, 
Haig  shall  be  Haig  of  Bemerside. 


story  was  first  printed,  altliough  unquestionably  he  first  took  liis  original  from  some 
ancient  fabliau."* 

"  It  is  not  to  be  doubted,"  answered  I,  not  very  well  understanding,  however,  the 
proposition  to  which  I  gave  such  unqualified  assent. 

"  Yet,"  continued  my  companion,  "  I  question  much,  had  you  known  my  situation  and 
profession,  whether  you  would  have  pitched  upon  this  precise  anecdote  for  my  amusement." 

This  observation  he  made  in  a  tone  of  perfect  good-humour.  I  pi'icked  up  my  ears  at 
the  hint,  and  answered  as  politely  as  I  could,  that  my  ignorance  of  his  condition  and  rank 
could  be  the  only  cause  of  my  having  stumbled  on  anything  disagreeable  ;  and  that  I  was 
most  willing  to  apologize  for  my  unintentional  ofience,  so  soon  as  I  should  know  wherein 
it  consisted. 

"  Nay,  no  oiFence,  sir,"  he  replied;  "  offence  can  only  exist  where  it  is  taken.  I  have 
been  too  long  accustomed  to  more  severe  and  cruel  misconstructions,  to  be  offended  at  a 
popular  jest,  though  directed  at  my  profession." 

"  Am  I  to  understand,  then,"  I  answered,  "  that  I  am  speaking  with  a  Catholic 
clergyman  ?" 

"  An  unworthy  monk  of  the  order  of  Saint  Benedict,"  said  the  stranger,  "  belonging 
to  a  community  of  your  own  countrymen,  long  established  in  France,  and  scattered 
unhappily  by  the  events  of  the  Revolution." 

"  Then,"  said  I,  "you  are  a  native  Scotchman,  and  from  this  neighbourhood?" 

"  Not  so,"  answered  the  monk  ;  "  I  am  a  Scotchman  by  extraction  only,  and  never  was 
in  this  neighbourhood  during  my  whole  life." 

"  Never  in  this  neighbourhood,  and  yet  so  minutely  acquainted  with  its  history,  its 
traditions,  and  even  its  external  scenery  !     You  surprise  me,  sir,"  I  replied. 

"  It  is  not  surprising,"  he  said,  "  that  I  should  have  that  sort  of  local  information, 
when  it  is  considered,  that  my  uncle,  an  excellent  man,  as  well  as  a  good  Scotchman,  the 
head  also  of  our  religious  community,  employed  much  of  his  leisure  in  making  me 
acquainted  with  these  particulars;  and  that  I  myself,  disgusted  with  what  has  been  passing 
around  me,  have  for  many  years  amused  myself,  by  digesting  and  arranging  the  various 
scraps  of  information  which  I  derived  from  my  worthy  relative,  and  other  aged  brethi'en 
of  our  order." 

"  I  presume,  sir,"  said  I,  "  though  I  would  by  no  means  intrude  the  question,  that  you 
are  now  returned  to  Scotland  with  a  view  to  settle  amongst  your  countrymen,  since  the 
great  political  catastrophe  of  our  time  has  reduced  your  corps  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  the  Benedictine,  "  such  is  not  my  intention.  A  European  potentate, 
who  stLU  cherishes  the  Catholic  faith,  has  offered  us  a  retreat  within  his  dominions,  where 
a  few  of  my  scattered  brethren  are  already  assembled,  to  pray  to  God  for  blessings  on 
their  protector,  and  pardon  to  their  enemies.  No  one,  I  believe,  will  be  able  to  object  to 
us  under  our  new  establishment,  that  the  extent  of  our  revenues  will  be  inconsistent 
with  our  vows  of  poverty  and  abstinence;  but,  let  us  strive  to  be  thankful  to  God,  that 
the  snare  of  temporal  abundance  is  removed  from  us." 

"  Many  of  your  convents  abroad,  sir,"  said  I,  "  enjoyed  very  handsome  incomes — and 
yet,  allowing  for  times,  I  question  if  any  were  better  provided  for  than  the  Monastery  of 
this  village.  It  is  said  to  have  possessed  nearly  two  thousand  pounds  in  yearly  money- 
rent,  fourteen  chalders  and  nine  bolls  of  wheat,  fifty-six  chalders  five  bolls  barley,  forty- 
four  chalders  and  ten  bolls  oats,  capons  and  poultry,  butter,  salt,  carriage  and  arriage, 
peats  and  kain,  wool  and  ale." 

"  Even  too  much  of  all  these  temporal  goods,  sir,"  said  my  companion,  "  which,  though 
well  intended  by  the  pious  donors,  served  only  to  make  the  establishment  the  envy  and 
the  prey  of  those  by  whom  it  was  finally  devoured." 

*  It  is  curious  to  remark  at  how  little  expense  of  invention  successive  ages  are  content  to  receive  amusement.  The  same 
story  which  Ramsay  and  Dunbar  have  successively  handled,  forms  also  the  subject  of  the  modern  farce,  No  Song,  no  Supper. 


"  In  the  meanwhile,  however,"  I  observed,  "  the  monks  had  an  easy  life  of  it,  and,  as 
the  old  song  goes, 

made  gude  kale 

On  Fridays  when  they  fasted." 

"  I  understand  you,  sii',"  said  the  Benedictine;  "  it  is  difficult,  saith  the  proverb,  to 
carry  a  fuU  cup  without  spilling.  Unquestionably  the  wealth  of  the  community,  as  it 
endangered  the  safety  of  the  establishment  by  exciting  the  cupidity  of  others,  was  also  in 
frequent  instances  a  snare  to  the  brethren  themselves.  And  yet  we  have  seen  the 
revenues  of  convents  expended,  not  only  in  acts  of  beneficence  and  hospitality  to 
individuals,  but  in  works  of  general  and  permanent  advantage  to  the  world  at  large.  The 
noble  folio  collection  of  French  historians,  commenced  in  1737,  under  the  inspection  and 
at  the  expense  of  the  community  of  Saint  Maur,  will  long  shew  that  the  revenues  of  the 
Benedictines  were  not  always  spent  in  self-indulgence,  and  that  the  members  of  that 
order  did  not  uniformly  slumber  in  sloth  and  indolence,  when  they  had  discharged  the 
formal  duties  of  their  rule." 

As  I  knew  nothing  earthly  at  the  time  about  the  community  of  St.  Maur,  and  their 
learned  labours,  I  could  only  return  a  mumbling  assent  to  this  proposition.  I  have  since 
seen  this  noble  work  in  the  library  of  a  distinguished  family,  and  I  must  own  I  am 
ashamed  to  reflect,  that,  in  so  wealthy  a  country  as  ours,  a  similar  digest  of  our  historians 
should  not  be  undertaken,  under  the  patronage  of  the  noble  and  the  learned,  in  rivalry 
of  that  which  the  Benedictines  of  Paris  executed  at  the  expense  of  their  own  con- 
ventual funds. 

"  I  perceive,"  said  the  ex-Benedictine,  smiling,  "  that  your  heretical  prejudices  are  too 
strong  to  allow  us  poor  brethren  any  merit,  whether  literary  or  spiritual." 

"  Far  from  it,  sir,"  said  I ;  "  I  assure  you  I  have  been  much  obliged  to  monks  in  my 
time.  \Yhen  I  was  quartered  in  a  Monastery  in  Flanders,  in  the  campaign  of  1793, 
I  never  lived  more  comfortably  in  my  life.  They  were  jolly  fellows,  the  Flemish  Canons, 
and  right  sorry  was  I  to  leave  my  good  quarters,  and  to  know  that  my  honest  hosts  were 
to  be  at  the  mercy  of  the  Sans-Culottes.     'But  fortune  de  la  guerre!" 

The  poor  Benedictine  looked  down  and  was  silent.  I  had  unwittingly  awakened  a 
train  of  bitter  reflections,  or  rather  I  had  touched  somewhat  rudely  upon  a  chord  which 
seldom  ceased  to  vibrate  of  itself.  But  he  was  too  much  accustomed  to  this  sorrowful 
train  of  ideas  to  suffer  it  to  overcome  him.  On  my  part,  I  hastened  to  atone  for  my 
blunder,  "  If  there  was  any  object  of  his  journey  to  this  country  in  which  I  could,  Avith 
propriety,  assist  him,  I  begged  to  offer  him  my  best  services,"  I  own  I  laid  some  little 
emphasis  on  the  words  "with  propriety,"  as  I  felt  it  would  ill  become  me,  a  sound 
Protestant,  and  a  servant  of  government  so  far  as  my  half-pay  was  concerned,  to 
implicate  myself  in  any  recruiting  which  my  companion  might  have  undertaken  in 
behalf  of  foreign  seminaries,  or  in  any  similar  design  for  the  advancement  of  Popery, 
which,  whether  the  Pope  be  actually  the  old  lady  of  Babylon  or  no,  it  did  not  become 
me  in  any  manner  to  advance  or  countenance. 

My  new  friend  hastened  to  relieve  my  indecision.  "I  was  about  to  request  your 
assistance,  sir,"  he  said,  "  in  a  matter  which  cannot  but  interest  you  as  an  antiquary,  and 
a  person  of  research.  But  I  assure  you  it  relates  entirely  to  events  and  persons  removed 
to  the  distance  of  two  centuries  and  a  half.  I  have  experienced  too  much  evil  from  the 
violent  unsettleraent  of  the  country  in  which  I  was  born,  to  be  a  rash  labourer  in  the 
work  of  innovation  in  that  of  my  ancestors." 

I  again  assured  him  of  my  willingness  to  assist  him  in  anything  that  was  not  contrary 
to  my  allegiance  or  religion. 

"  My  proposal,"  he  replied,  "  affects  neither. — May  God  bless  the  reigning  family  in 
Britain  !  They  are  not,  indeed,  of  that  dynasty  to  restore  which  my  ancestors  struggled 
and  suffered  in  vain ;  but  the  Providence  who  has  conducted  his  present  Majesty  to  the 


throne,  has  given  him  the  virtues  necessary  to  his  time — firmness  and  intrepidity — a 
true  love  of  his  country,  and  an  enlightened  view  of  the  dangers  by  which  she  is  sur- 
rounded.— For  the  religion  of  these  realms,  I  am  contented  to  hope  that  the  great 
Power,  whose  mysterious  dispensation  has  rent  them  from  the  bosom  of  the  church, 
will;  in  his  own  good  time  and  manner,  restore  them  to  its  holy  pale.  The  eiforts  of  an 
individual,  obscure  and  humble  as  myself,  might  well  retard,  but  could  never  advance, 
a  work  so  mighty." 

"  May  I  then  inquire,  sir,"  said  I,  "  with  what  purpose  you  seek  this  country?" 

Ere  my  companion  replied,  he  took  from  his  pocket  a  clasped  paper  book,  about  the 
size  of  a  regimental  orderly-book,  full,  as  it  seemed,  of  memoranda;  and,  drawing  one  of 
the  candles  close  to  him,  (for  David,  as  a  strong  proof  of  his  respect  for  the  stranger, 
had  indulged  us  with  two,)  he  seemed  to  peruse  the  contents  very  earnestly. 

"  There  is  among  the  ruins  of  the  western  end  of  the  Abbey  church,"  said  he,  looking 
up  to  me,  yet  keeping  the  memorandum-book  half  open,  and  occasionally  glancing  at  it, 
as  if  to  refresh  his  memory,  "  a  sort  of  recess  or  chapel  beneath  a  broken  arch,  and  in 
the  immediate  vicinity  of  one  of  those  shattered  Gothic  columns  which  once  supported 
the  magnificent  roof,  whose  fall  has  now  encumbered  that  part  of  the  building  with 
its  ruins." 

"  I  think,"  said  I,  "  that  I  know  whereabouts  you  are.  Is  there  not  in  the  side  wall  of 
the  chapel,  or  recess,  which  you  mention,  a  large  carved  stone,  bearing  a  coat  of  arms, 
which  no  one  hitherto  has  been  able  to  decipher  ?" 

"  You  are  right,"  answered  the  Benedictine  ;  and  again  consulting  his  memoranda,  he 
added,  "  the  arms  on  the  dexter  side  are  those  of  Glendinning,  being  a  cross  parted  by 
a  cross  indented  and  countercharged  of  the  same ;  and  on  the  sinister  three  spur-rowels 
for  those  of  Avenel ;  they  are  two  ancient  families,  now  almost  extinct  in  this  country 
— the  arms  part  y  j)er  pale." 

"  I  think,"  said  I,  "  there  is  no  part  of  this  ancient  structure  with  which  you  are  not 
as  well  acquainted  as  was  the  mason  who  built  it.  But  if  your  information  be  correct, 
he  who  made  out  these  bearings  must  have  had  better  eyes  than  mine." 

"  His  eyes,"  said  the  Benedictine,  "  have  long  been  closed  in  death  ;  probably  when 
he  inspected  the  monument  it  was  in  a  more  perfect  state,  or  he  may  have  derived  his 
information  from  the  tradition  of  the  place." 

"  I  assure  you,"  said  I,  "  that  no  such  tradition  now  exists.  I  have  made  several 
reconnoissances  among  the  old  people,  in  hopes  to  learn  something  of  the  armorial 
bearings,  but  I  never  heard  of  such  a  circumstance.  It  seems  odd  that  you  should  have 
acquired  it  in  a  foreign  land." 

"  These  trifling  particulars,"  he  replied,  "  were  formerly  looked  upon  as  more 
important,  and  they  were  sanctified  to  the  exiles  who  retained  recollection  of  them, 
because  they  related  to  a  place  dear  indeed  to  memory,  but  which  their  eyes  could  never 
again  behold.  It  is  possible,  in  like  manner,  that  on  the  Potomac  or  Susquehannah,  you 
may  find  traditions  current  concerning  places  in  England,  which  are  utterly  forgotten 
in  the  neighbourhood  where  they  originated.  But  to  my  purpose.  In  this  recess, 
marked  by  the  armoi-ial  bearings,  lies  buried  a  treasure,  and  it  is  in  order  to  remove  it 
that  I  have  undertaken  my  present  journey." 

"  A  treasure  ! "  echoed  I,  in  astonishment. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  monk,  "  an  inestimable  treasure,  for  those  who  know  how  to  use  it 

I  own  my  ears  did  tingle  a  little  at  the  word  treasure,  and  that  a  handsome  tilbury, 
with  a  neat  groom  in  blue  and  scarlet  livery,  having  a  smart  cockade  on  his  glazed  hat, 
seemed  as  it  were  to  glide  across  the  room  before  my  eyes,  while  a  voice,  as  of  a  crier, 
pronounced  in  my  ear,  "  Captain  Clutterbuck's  tilbury — drive  up."  But  I  resisted  the 
devil,  and  he  fled  from  me. 



"  I  believe,"  said  I,  "  all  hidden  treasure  belongs  either  to  the  king  or  the  lord  of  the 
soil ;  and  as  I  have  served  his  majesty,  I  cannot  concern  myself  in  any  adventure  which 
may  have  an  end  in  the  Court  of  Exchequer." 

"  The  treasure  I  seek,"  said  the  stranger,  smiling,  "  wiU  not  be  envied  by  princes  or 
nobles, — it  is  simply  the  heart  of  an  upright  man." 

"  Ah  !  I  understand  you,"  I  answered  ;  "  some  relic,  forgotten  in  the  confusion  of  the 
Reformation.  I  know  the  value  which  men  of  your  persuasion  put  upon  the  bodies  and 
limbs  of  saints.     I  have  seen  the  Three  Kings  of  Cologne." 

"  The  relics  which  I  seek,  however,"  said  the  Benedictine,  "  are  not  precisely  of  that 
nature.  The  excellent  relative  whom  I  have  already  mentioned,  amused  his  leisure 
hours  with  putting  into  form  the  traditions  of  his  family,  particularly  some  remarkable 
circumstances  which  took  place  about  the  first  breaking  out  of  the  schism  of  the  church 
in  Scotland.  He  became  so  much  interested  in  his  own  labours,  that  at  length  he 
resolved  that  the  heart  of  one  individual,  the  hero  of  his  tale,  should  rest  no  longer  in  a 
land  of  heresy,  now  deserted  by  all  his  kindred.  As  he  knew  where  it  was  deposited,  he 
formed  the  resolution  to  visit  his  native  country  for  the  purpose  of  recovering  this  valued 
relic.  But  age,  and  at  length  disease,  interfered  with  his  resolution,  and  it  was  on  his 
deathbed  that  he  charged  me  to  undertake  the  task  in  his  stead.  The  various  important 
events  which  have  crowded  upon  each  other,  our  ruin  and  our  exile,  have  for  many 
years  obliged  me  to  postpone  this  delegated  duty.  Why,  indeed,  transfer  the  relics  of  a 
holy  and  worthy  man  to  a  country,  where  religion  and  virtue  are  become  the  mockery  of 
the  scorner  ?  I  have  now  a  home,  which  I  trust  may  be  permanent,  if  any  thing  in  this 
earth  can  be  termed  so.  Thither  will  I  transport  the  heart  of  the  good  father,  and  beside 
the  shrine  which  it  shall  occupy,  I  will  construct  my  own  grave." 

"  He  must,  indeed,  have  been  an  excellent  man,"  replied  I,  "  whose  memory,  at  so 
distant  a  period,  calls  forth  such  strong  marks  of  regard." 

"  He  was,  as  you  justly  term  him,"  said  the  ecclesiastic,  "indeed  excellent — excellent 
in  his  life  and  doctrine — excellent,  above  all,  in  his  self-denied  and  disinterested  sacrifice 
of  all  that  life  holds  dear  to  principle  and  to  friendship.  But  you  shall  read  his 
history.  I  shall  be  happy  at  once  to  gratify  your  curiosity,  and  to  shew  my  sense  of 
your  kindness,  if  you  will  have  the  goodness  to  procure  me  the  means  of  accom- 
pishing  my  object." 

I  replied  to  the  Benedictine,  that,  as  the  rubbish  amongst  which  he  proposed  to  search 
was  no  part  of  the  ordinary  burial-ground,  and  as  I  was  on  the  best  terms  with  the 
sexton,  I  had  little  doubt  that  I  could  procure  him  the  means  of  executing  his  pious 

With  this  promise  we  parted  for  the  night ;  and  on  the  ensuing  morning  I  made  it 
my  business  to  see  the  sexton,  who,  for  a  small  gratuity,  readily  granted  permission  of 
search,  on  condition,  however,  that  he  should  be  present  himself,  to  see  that  the  stranger 
removed  nothing  of  intrinsic  value. 

"  To  banes,  and  skulls,  and  hearts,  if  he  can  find  ony,  he  shall  be  welcome,"  said  this 
guardian  of  the  ruined  Monastery,  "  there's  plenty  a'  about,  an  he's  curious  of  them ;  but 
if  there  be  ony  picts"  (meaning  perhaps  2W^)  "  or  chalishes,  or  the  like  of  such  Popish 
veshells  of  gold  and  silver,  deil  hae  me  an  I  conneve  at  their  being  removed." 

The  sexton  also  stipulated,  that  our  researches  should  take  place  at  night,  being 
unwilling  to  excite  observation,  or  give  rise  to  scandal. 

My  new  acquaintance  and  I  spent  the  day  as  became  lovers  of  hoar  antiquity.  We 
visited  every  corner  of  these  magnificent  ruins  again  and  again  during  the  forenoon ; 
and,  having  made  a  comfortable  dinner  at  David's,  we  walked  in  the  afternoon  to  such 
places  in  the  neighbourhood  as  ancient  tradition  or  modern  conjecture  had  rendered 
markworthy.  Night  found  us  in  the  interior  of  the  ruins,  attended  by  the  sexton,  who 
carried  a  dark  lantern,  and  stumbling  alternately  over  the  graves  of  the  dead,  and  tlie 


fragments  of  tliat  arcbitecture,  which  they  doubtless  trusted  would  have  canopied  their 
bones  till  doomsday." 

I  am  by  no  means  particularly  superstitious,  and  yet  there  was  that  in  the  present 
service  which  I  did  not  A^ery  much  like.  There  was  something  awful  in  the  resolution  of 
disturbing,  at  such  an  hour,  and  in  such  a  place,  the  still  and  mute  sanctity  of  the  grave. 
My  companions  were  free  from  this  impression — the  stranger  from  his  energetic  desire 
to  execute  the  purpose  for  which  he  came — and  the  sexton  from  habitual  indifference. 
We  soon  stood  in  the  aisle,  which,  by  the  account  of  the  Benedictine,  contained  the  bones 
of  the  family  of  Glendinning,  and  were  busily  employed  in  removing  the  rubbish  from  a 
corner  which  the  stranger  pointed  out.  If  a  half-pay  Captain  could  have  represented  an 
ancient  Border-knight,  or  an  ex-Benedictine  of  the  nineteenth  century  a  wizard  monk  of 
the  sixteenth,  we  might  have  aptly  enough  personified  the  search  after  Michael  Scott's 
lamp  and  book  of  magic  power.     But  the  sexton  would  have  been  de  trop  in  the  grouji.* 

Ere  the  stranger,  assisted  by  the  sexton  in  his  task,  had  been  long  at  work,  they  came 
to  some  hewn  stones,  which  seemed  to  have  made  part  of  a  small  shrine,  though  now 
displaced  and  destroyed. 

"  Let  us  remove  these  with  caution,  my  friend,"  said  the  stranger,  "  lest  we  injure  that 
which  I  come  to  seek." 

"  They  are  prime  stanes,"  said  the  sexton,  "  picked  free  every  ane  of  them  ; — warse 
than  the  best  wad  never  serve  the  monks,  I'se  warrant." 

A  minute  after  he  had  made  this  observation,  he  exclaimed,  "  I  hae  fund  something 
now  that  stands  again'  the  spade,  as  if  it  were  neither  earth  nor  stane." 

The  stranger  stooped  eagerly  to  assist  him. 

"  Na,  na,  haill  o'  my  ain,"  said  the  sexton  ;  "  nae  halves  or  quarters ;" — and  he  lifted 
from  amongst  the  ruins  a  small  leaden  box. 

"  You  will  be  disappointed,  my  friend,"  said  the  Benedictine,  "  if  you  expect  any  thing 
there  but  the  mouldering  dust  of  a  human  heart,  closed  in  an  inner  case  of  porphyry." 

I  intei-posed  as  a  neutral  party,  and  taking  the  box  from  the  sexton,  reminded  him,  that 
if  there  were  treasure  concealed  in  it,  still  it  could  not  become  the  property  of  the  finder. 
I  then  proposed,  that  as  the  place  was  too  dark  to  examine  the  contents  of  the  leaden 
casket,  we  should  adjourn  to  David's,  where  we  might  have  the  advantage  of  light  and 
fire  while  carrying  on  our  investigation.  The  stranger  requested  us  to  go  before,  assuring 
us  that  he  would  follow  in  a  few  minutes. 

I  fancy  that  old  Mattocks  suspected  these  few  minutes  might  be  employed  in  effecting 
farther  discoveries  amongst  the  tombs,  for  he  glided  back  through  a  side-aisle  to  watch 
the  Benedictine's  motions,  but  presently  returned,  and  told  me  in  a  whisper  that  "  the 
gentleman  was  on  his  knees  amang  the  cauld  stanes,  praying  like  ony  saunt." 

I  stole  back,  and  beheld  the  old  man  actually  employed  as  Mattocks  had  informed  me. 
The  language  seemed  to  be  Latin;  and  as  the  whispered,  yet  solemn  accent,  glided  away 
through  the  ruined  aisles,  I  could  not  help  reflecting  how  long  it  was  since  they  had  heard 
the  forms  of  that  religion,  for  the  exercise  of  which  they  had  been  reared  at  such  cost  of 
time,  taste,  labour,  and  expense.  "  Come  away,  come  away,"  said  I;  "  let  us  leave  him 
to  himself.  Mattocks;  this  is  no  business  of  ours." 

"  My  certes,  no.  Captain,"  said  Mattocks  ;  "  ne'ertheless,  it  winna  be  amiss  to  keep  an 
ee  on  him.  My  father,  rest  his  saul,  was  a  horse-couper,  and  used  to  say  he  never  was 
cheated  in  a  naig  in  his  life,  saving  by  a  west-country  whig  frae  Kilmarnock,  that  said  a 
grace  ower  a  dram  o'  whisky.     But  this  gentleman  will  be  a  Roman,  I'se  warrant?" 

"  You  are  perfectly  right  in  that,  Saunders,"  said  I. 

*  This  is  one  of  those  passages  which  must  now  read  awkwardly,  since  every  one  knows  that  the  Novelist  and  the  author 
of  the  Lay  of  the  Minstrel,  is  the  same  person.  But  before  the  avowal  was  made,  the  author  was  forced  into  this  and  similar 
offences  against  good  taste,  to  meet  an  argument,  often  repeated,  that  there  was  something  very  mysterious  in  the  Author  of 
Waverley's  reserve  concerning  Sir  Walter  Scott,  an  author  sufficiently  voluminous  at  least.  I  had  a  great  mind  to  remove  the 
passages  from  this  edition,  but  the  more  candid  way  is  to  explain  how  they  came  there. 

Vol.  V.  D 


"  Ay,  I  have  seen  twa  or  three  of  their  priests  that  were  chased  ower  here  some  score 
o'  years  syne.  They  just  danced  like  mad  when  they  looked  on  the  friars'  heads,  and  the 
nuns'  heads,  in  the  cloister  yonder ;  they  took  to  them  like  auld  acquaintance  like. — Od, 
he  is  not  stirring  yet,  mair  than  he  were  a  through-stane!  *  I  never  kend  a  Roman, 
to  say  kend  him,  but  ane — mair  by  token,  he  was  the  only  ane  in  the  town  to  ken — and 
that  was  auld  Jock  of  the  Fend,  It  wad  hae  been  lang  ere  ye  fand  Jock  praying  in  the 
Abbey  in  a  thick  night,  wi'  his  knees  on  a  cauld  stane.  Jock  likit  a  kirk  wi'  a  chimley 
in't.  Mony  a  merry  ploy  I  hae  had  wi'  him  down  at  the  inn  yonder;  and  when  he  died, 
decently  I  wad  hae  earded  him;  but,  or  I  gat  his  grave  weel  howkit,  some  of  the 
quality,  that  were  o'  his  ain  unhappy  persuasion,  had  the  corpse  whirried  away  up  the 
water,  and  buried  him  after  their  ain  pleasure,  doubtless — they  kend  best.  I  wad  hae 
made  nae  great  charge.  I  wadna  hae  excised  Johnnie,  dead  or  alive. — Stay,  see — the 
strange  gentleman  is  coming." 

"  Hold  the  lantern  to  assist  him.  Mattocks,"  said  I. — "  This  is  rough  walking,  sir." 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  Benedictine ;  "  I  may  say  with  a  poet,  who  is  doubtless  familiar  to 
you " 

I  should  be  surprised  if  he  were,  thought  I  internally. 

Tlie  stranger  continued : 

"  Saint  Francis  be  my  speed  !   how  oft  to-night 
Have  my  old  feet  stumbled  at  graves!" 

"  We  are  now  clear  of  the  churchyard,"  said  I,  "  and  have  but  a  short  walk  to  David's, 
where  I  hope  we  shall  find  a  cheerful  fire  to  enliven  us  after  our  night's  work." 

We  entered,  accordingly,  the  little  pai'lour,  into  which  Mattocks  was  also  about  to 
push  himself  with  sufficient  eiFrontery,  when  David,  with  a  most  astounding  oath, 
expelled  him  by  head  and  shoulders,  d — ning  his  curiosity,  that  would  not  let  gentlemen 
be  private  in  their  own  inn.  Apparently  mine  host  considered  his  own  presence  as 
no  intrusion,  for  he  crowded  up  to  the  table  on  which  I  had  laid  down  the  leaden 
box.  It  was  frail  and  wasted,  as  might  be  guessed,  from  having  lain  so  many  years  in  the 
ground.  On  opening  it,  we  found  deposited  within,  a  case  made  of  porphyry,  as  the 
stranger  had  announced  to  us. 

"  I  fancy,"  he  said,  "  gentlemen,  your  curiosity  will  not  be  satisfied, — perhaps  I  should 
say  that  your  suspicions  will  not  be  removed, — unless  I  undo  this  casket;  yet  it  only 
contains  the  mouldering  remains  of  a  heart,  once  the  seat  of  the  noblest  thoughts." 

He  undid  the  box  with  great  caution  ;  but  the  shrivelled  substance  which  it  contained 
bore  now  no  resemblance  to  what  it  might  once  have  been,  the  means  used  having  been 
apparently  unequal  to  preserve  its  shape  and  colour,  although  they  were  adequate  to 
prevent  its  total  decay.  We  were  quite  satisfied,  notwithstanding,  that  it  was,  what  the 
stranger  asserted,  the  remains  of  a  human  heart;  and  David  readily  promised  his  influence 
in  the  village,  which  was  almost  co-ordinate  with  that  of  the  bailie  himself,  to  silence  all 
idle  rumours.  He  was,  moreover,  pleased  to  favour  us  with  his  company  to  supper;  and 
having  taken  the  lion's  share  of  two  bottles  of  sherry,  he  not  only  sanctioned  with  his 
plenary  authox-ity  the  stranger's  removal  of  the  heart,  but,  I  believe,  would  have 
authorized  the  removal  of  the  Abbey  itself,  were  it  not  that  it  happens  considerably  to 
advantage  the  worthy  publican's  own  custom. 

The  object  of  the  Benedictine's  visit  to  the  land  of  his  forefathers  being  now  accom- 
plished, he  announced  his  intention  of  leaving  us  early  in  the  ensuing  day,  but  requested 
my  company  to  breakfast  with  him  before  his  deiiarture.  I  came  accordingly,  and  when 
we  had  finished  our  morning's  meal,  the  priest  took  me  apart,  and  pulling  from  his  pocket 
a  large  bundle  of  papers,  he  put  them  into  my  hands.  "  These,"  said  he,  "  Captain 
Clutterbuck,  are  genuine  Memoirs  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  exhibit  in  a  singular, 
and,  as  I  think,  an  interesting  point  of  view,  the  manners  of  that  period.     I  am  induced 

*  A  tombstone. 


to  believe  tliat  their  jjublication  will  not  be  an  unacceptable  present  to  the  British  public ; 
and  willingly  make  over  to  you  any  profit  that  may  accrue  from  such  a  transaction." 

I  stared  a  little  at  this  annunciation,  and  observed,  that  the  hand  seemed  too  modern 
for  the  date  he  assigned  to  the  manuscript. 

"  Do  not  mistake  me,  sir,"  said  the  Benedictine ;  "  I  did  not  mean  to  say  the  Memoirs 
were  written  in  the  sixteenth  century,  but  only,  that  they  were  compiled  from  authentic 
materials  of  that  period,  but  written  in  the  taste  and  language  of  the  present  day.  My 
uncle  commenced  this  book  ;  and  I,  partly  to  improve  my  habit  of  English  composition, 
partly  to  divert  melancholy  thoughts,  amused  my  leisure  hours  with  continuing  and 
concluding  it.  You  will  see  the  period  of  the  story  where  my  uncle  leaves  off  his 
narrative,  and  I  commence  mine.  In  fact,  they  relate  in  a  great  measure  to  different 
persons,  as  well  as  to  a  different  period." 

Retaining  the  papers  in  my  hand,  I  proceeded  to  state  to  him  my  doubts,  whether,  as 
a  good  Protestant,  I  could  undertake  or  superintend  a  publication  written  probably  in 
the  spirit  of  Popery. 

"  You  will  find,"  he  said,  "  no  matter  of  controversy  in  these  sheets,  nor  any  sentiments 
stated,  with  wliich,  I  trust,  the  good  in  all  persuasions  will  not  be  willing  to  join. 
I  remembered  I  was  writing  for  a  land  unhappily  divided  from  the  Catholic  faith;  and  I 
have  taken  care  to  say  nothing  which,  justly  interpreted,  could  give  ground  for  accusing 
me  of  partiality.  But  if,  upon  collating  my  narrative  with  the  proofs  to  which  I  refer 
you — for  you  will  find  copies  of  many  of  the  original  papers  in  that  parcel — you  are  of 
opinion  that  I  have  been  partial  to  my  own  faith,  I  freely  give  you  leave  to  correct  my 
errors  in  that  respect.  I  own,  however,  I  am  not  conscious  of  this  defect,  and  have 
rather  to  fear  that  the  Catholics  may  be  of  opinion,  that  I  have  mentioned  circumstances 
respecting  the  decay  of  discipline  which  preceded,  and  partly  occasioned,  the  great  schism, 
called  by  you  the  Reformation,  over  which  I  ought  to  have  drawn  a  veil.  And  indeed, 
this  is  one  reason  why  I  choose  the  papers  should  appear  in  a  foreign  land,  and  pass  to  the 
press  through  the  hands  of  a  stranger." 

To  this  I  had  nothing  to  reply,  unless  to  object  my  own  incompetency  to  the  task  the 
good  father  was  desirous  to  impose  upon  me.  On  this  subject  he  was  pleased  to  say 
more,  I  fear,  than  his  knowledge  of  me  fully  warranted — more,  at  any  i-ate,  than  my 
modesty  will  permit  me  to  record.  At  length  he  ended,  with  advising  me,  if  I  continued 
to  feel  the  diffidence  which  I  stated,  to  apply  to  some  veteran  of  literature,  whose 
experience  might  supply  my  deficiencies.  Upon  these  terms  we  parted,  with  mutual 
expressions  of  regard,  and  I  have  never  since  heard  of  him. 

After  several  attempts  to  peruse  the  quires  of  paper  thus  singularly  conferred  on  me, 
in  which  I  was  interrupted  by  the  most  inexplicable  fits  of  yawning,  I  at  length,  in  a  sort 
of  despair,  communicated  them  to  our  village  club,  from  whom  they  found  a  more 
favourable  reception  than  the  unlucky  conformation  of  my  nerves  had  been  able  to  afford 
them.  They  unanimously  pronounced  the  work  to  be  exceedingly  good,  and  assured  me 
I  would  be  guilty  of  the  greatest  possible  injury  to  our  flourishing  village,  if  I  should 
suppress  what  threw  such  an  interesting  and  radiant  light  upon  the  history  of  the  ancient 
Monastery  of  Saint  Mary. 

At  length,  by  dint  of  listening  to  their  opinion,  I  became  dubious  of  my  own  ;  and, 
indeed,  when  I  heard  passages  read  forth  by  the  sonorous  voice  of  our  worthy  pastor, 
I  was  scarce  more  tired  than  I  have  felt  myself  at  some  of  his  own  sermons.  Such,  and 
so  great  is  the  difference  betwixt  reading  a  thing  one's  self,  making  toilsome  way  through 
all  the  difficulties  of  manuscript,  and,  as  the  man  says  in  the  play,  "  having  the  same 
read  to  you  ;" — it  is  positively  like  being  wafted  over  a  creek  in  a  boat,  or  wading  through 
it  on  your  feet,  with  the  mud  up  to  your  knees.  Still,  however,  there  remained  the  great 
difficulty  of  finding  some  one  who  could  act  as  editor,  corrector  at  once  of  the  press  and 
of  the  language,  which,  according  to  the  schoolmaster,  was  absolutely  necessary. 



Since  the  trees  walked  fortli  to  choose  themselves  a  king,  never  was  an  honour  so  bandied 
about.  The  parson  would  not  leave  the  quiet  of  his  chimney-corner — the  bailie  pleaded 
the  dignity  of  his  situation,  and  the  approach  of  the  great  annual  fair,  as  reasons  against 
going  to  Edinburgh  to  make  arrangements  for  printing  the  Benedictine's  manuscript. 
The  schoolmaster  alone  seemed  of  malleable  stuff;  and,  desirous  perhaps  of  emulating 
the  fame  of  Jedediah  Cleishbotham,  evinced  a  wish  to  undertake  this  momentous  commission. 
But  a  remonstrance  from  three  ojoulent  farmers,  whose  sons  he  had  at  bed,  board,  and 
schooling,  for  twenty  pounds  per  annum  a-head,  came  like  a  frost  over  the  blossoms  of 
his  literary  ambition,  and  he  was  compelled  to  decline  the  service. 

In  these  circumstances,  sir,  I  apply  to  you,  by  the  advice  of  our  little  council  of  war, 
nothing  doubting  you  will  not  be  disinclined  to  take  the  duty  upon  you,  as  it  is  much 
connected  with  that  in  which  you  have  distinguished  yourself.  What  I  request  is,  that 
you  will  review,  or  4-ather  revise  and  correct,  the  enclosed  packet,  and  prepare  it  for  the 
press,  by  such  alterations,  additions,  and  curtailments,  as  you  think  necessary.  Foi'give 
my  hinting  to  you,  that  the  deepest  well  may  be  exhausted,- — the  best  corps  of  grena- 
diers, as  our  old  general  of  brigade  expressed  himself,  may  be  used  up.  A  few  hints  can 
do  you  no  harm  ;  and,  for  the  prize-money,  let  the  battle  be  first  won,  and  it  shall  be 
parted  at  the  drum-head.  I  hope  you  will  take  nothing  amiss  that  I  have  said.  I  am 
a  plain  soldier,  and  little  accustomed  to  compliments.  I  may  add,  that  I  should  be  well 
contented  to  march  in  the  front  with  you — that  is,  to  put  my  name  with  yours  on  the 
title-page.     I  have  the  honour  to  be, 

Your  unknown  humble  Servant, 

Village  of  Kenaquhair, 
of  April,  18  — 

For  the  Author  of  "  Waverley"  ^c.~\ 
care  of  Mr.  John  Ballunlyne,  \ 
Hanover  Street,  Edinburgh.      J 

f  "^/^S:--^ 




Dear  Captain, 

O  not  admire,  that,  notwithstanding  the  distance  and 
ceremony  of  your  address,  I  return  an  answer  in  the 
terms  of  fjimiliarity.  The  trutli  is,  your  origin  and 
native  country  are  better  known  to  me  than  even  to 
yourself.  You  derive  your  respectable  parentage,  if 
i  am  not  greatly  mistaken,  from  a  land  which  has  afforded 
much  pleasure,  as  well  as  profit,  to  those  who  have  traded 
to  it  successfully, — I  mean  that  part  of  the  ten'a  incofj- 
nita  which  is  called  the  province  of  Utopia.  Its  productions, 
though  censured  by  many  (and  some  who  use  tea  and  tobacco 
without  sci'uple)  as  idle  and  unsubstantial  luxuries,  have  never- 
theless, like  many  other  luxuries,  a  general  acceptation,  and  are 
secretly  enjoyed  even  by  those  who  express  the  greatest  scorn  and 
dislike  of  them  in  public.  The  dram-drinker  is  often  the  first  to 
be  shocked  at  the  smell  of  spirits — it  is  not  unusual  to  hear  old 
maiden  ladies  declaim  against  scandal — the  private  book-cases  of  some  grave-seeming  men 
would  not  brook  decent  eyes — and  many,  I  say  not  of  the  wise  and  learned,  but  of  those 
most  anxious  to  seem  such,  when  the  spring-lock  of  their  library  is  drawn,  their  velvet  cap 
pulled  over  their  ears,  their  feet  insinuated  into  their  turkey  slippers,  are  to  be  found, 
wei*e  their  retreats  suddenly  intruded  upon,  busily  engaged  with  the  last  new  novel. 

I  have  said,  the  truly  wise  and  learned  disdain  these  shifts,  and  will  open  the  said  novel 
as  avowedly  as  they  would  the  lid  of  their  snuff-box.  I  will  only  quote  one  instance, 
though  I  know  a  hundred.  Did  you  know  the  celebrated  Watt  of  Birmingham,  Captain 
Clutterbuck  ?  I  believe  not,  though,  from  what  I  am  about  to  state,  he  would  not  have 
failed  to  have  sought  an  acquaintance  with  you.  It  was  ovlIj  once  my  fortune  to  meet 
him,  whether  in  body  or  in  spirit  it  matters  not.  There  were  assembled  about  half  a 
score  of  our  Northern  Lights,  who  had  amongst  them.  Heaven  knows  how,  a  well-known 
character  of  your  country,  Jedediah  Cleishbotham.  Tliis  worthy  person,  having  come 
to  Edinburgh  during  the  Christmas  vacation,  had  become  a  sort  of  lion  in  the  place,  and 
was  led  in  leash  from  house  to  house  along  with  the  guisards,  the  stone-cater,  and  other 
amusements  of  the  season,  which  "  exhibited  their  unparalleled  feats  to  private  family- 
parties,  if   required."     Amidst  this  company  stood   IMr.  Watt,   the  man  whose  genius 


discovered  the  means  of  multiplying  our  national  resources  to  a  degree  perhaps  even  beyond 
his  own  stupendous  powers  of  calculation  and  combination  ;  bringing  the  treasures  of  the 
abyss  to  the  summit  of  the  earth — giving  the  feeble  arm  of  man  the  momentum  of  an 
Afrite — commanding  manufactures  to  arise,  as  the  rod  of  the  prophet  produced  water  in 
the  desert — affording  the  means  of  dispensing  with  that  time  and  tide  which  wait  for  no 
man,  and  of  sailing  without  that  wind  which  defied  the  commands  and  threats  of  Xerxes 
himself.*  This  potent  commander  of  the  elements — this  abridger  of  time  and  space — this 
magician,  whose  cloudy  machinery  has  produced  a  change  on  the  world,  the  effects  of 
which,  extraordinary  as  they  are,  are  perhaps  only  now  beginning  to  be  felt — was  not 
only  the  most  profound  man  of  science,  the  most  successful  combiner  of  powers  and 
calculator  of  numbers  as  adapted  to  practical  purposes, — was  not  only  one  of  the  most 
generally  well-informed, — but  one  of  the  best  and  kindest  of  human  beings. 

There  he  stood,  surrounded  by  the  little  band  I  have  mentioned  of  Northern  literati, 
men  not  less  tenacious,  generally  speaking,  of  their  own  fame  and  their  own  opinions, 
than  the  national  regiments  are  supposed  to  be  jealous  of  the  high  character  which  they 
have  won  upon  service.  Methinks  I  yet  see  and  hear  what  T  shall  never  see  or  hear 
again.  In  his  eighty-fifth  year,  the  alert,  kind,  benevolent  old  man,  had  his  attention 
alive  to  every  one's  question,  his  information  at  every  one's  command. 

His  talents  and  fancy  overflowed  on  every  subject.  One  gentleman  was  a  deep  philo- 
logist,— he  talked  with  him  on  the  origin  of  the  alphabet  as  if  he  had  been  coeval  with 
Cadmus ;  another  a  celebrated  critic, — you  would  have  said  the  old  man  had  studied 
political  economy  and  belles-lettres  all  his  life, — of  science  it  is  unnecessary  to  speak,  it 
was  his  own  distinguished  walk.  And  yet.  Captain  Clutterbuck,  when  he  spoke  with 
your  countryman  Jedediah  Cleishbotham,  you  would  have  sworn  he  had  been  coeval 
with  Claver'se  and  Burley,  with  the  persecutors  and  persecuted,  and  could  number  every 
shot  the  dragoons  had  fired  at  the  fugitive  Covenanters.  In  fact,  we  discovered  that  no 
novel  of  the  least  celebi'ity  escaped  his  perusal,  and  that  the  gifted  man  of  science  was 
as  much  addicted  to  the  productions  of  your  native  country,  (the  land  of  Utopia  afore- 
said,) in  other  words,  as  shameless  and  obstinate  a  peruser  of  novels,  as  if  he  had  been  a 
very  milliner's  apprentice  of  eighteen.  I  know  little  apology  for  troubling  you  with  these 
things,  excepting  the  desire  to  commemorate  a  delightful  evening,  and  a  wish  to  encourage 
you  to  shake  off  that  modest  diffidence  which  makes  you  afraid  of  being  supposed  con- 
nected with  the  fairy-land  of  delusive  fiction.  I  will  requite  your  tag  of  verse,  from 
Horace  himself,  with  a  paraphrase  for  your  own  use,  my  dear  Captain,  and  for  that  of 
your  country  club,  excepting  in  reverence  the  clergyman  and  schoolmaster : — 

Ne  sit  ancill(B  tibi  amor  pudori,  SfC. 

Take  tliou  no  scorn, 

Of  fiction  born, 
Fair  fiction's  muse  to  woo: 

Old  Homer's  theme 

Was  but  a  dream. 
Himself  a  fiction  too. 

Having  told  you  your  country,  I  must  next,  my  dear  Captain  Clutterbuck,  make  free 
to  mention  your  own  immediate  descent.  You  are  not  to  suppose  your  land  of  prodigies 
so  little  known  to  us  as  the  cai'eful  concealment  of  your  origin  would  seem  to  imply. 
But  you  have  it  in  common  with  many  of  your  country,  studiously  and  anxiously  to 
hide  any  connexion  with  it.  There  is  this  difference,  indeed,  betwixt  your  countrymen 
and  those  of  our  more  material  world,  that  many  of  the  most  estimable  of  them,  such  as 
an  old  Highland  gentleman  called  Ossian,  a  monk  of  Bristol  called  Eowley,  and  others, 
are  inclined  to  pass  themselves  off  as  denizens  of  the  land  of  reality,  whereas  most  of  our 

*  Probably  the  ingenious  author  alludes  to  the  national  adage: 

The  king  said  sail,  ^ 

But  the  wind  said  no. 
Our  schoolmaster  (who  is  also  a  land-surveyor)  thinks  this  whole  passage  refers   to  Mr.  Watt's  improvements  on  the  steam 
engine. — Note  hy  Captain  Clutterbuck. 


fellow-citizens  who  deny  their  country  are  such  as  that  country  would  be  very  willing  to 
disclaim.  The  especial  circumstances  you  mention  relating  to  your  life  and  services, 
impose  not  upon  us.  "VVe  know  the  versatility  of  the  unsubstantial  species  to  which  you 
belong  permits  them  to  assume  all  manner  of  disguises ;  we  have  seen  them  appa- 
relled in  the  caftan  of  a  Persian,  and  the  silken  robe  of  a  Chinese,*  and  are  prepared 
to  suspect  their  real  character  under  every  disguise.  But  how  can  we  be  ignorant  of 
your  country  and  manners,  or  deceived  by  the  evasion  of  its  inhabitants,  vrhen  the 
voyages  of  discovery  which  have  been  made  to  it  rival  in  number  those  recorded  by 
Purchas  or  by  Hackluyt  ?  f  And  to  shew  the  skill  and  perseverance  of  your  navigators 
and  travellers,  we  have  only  to  name  Sindbad,  Aboulfouaris,  and  Robinson  Crusoe. 
These  were  the  men  for  discoveries.  Could  we  have  sent  Captain  Greenland  to  look  out 
for  the  north-west  passage,  or  Peter  Wilkins  to  examine  Baffin's  Bay,  what  discoveries 
might  we  not  have  expected  ?  But  there  are  feats,  and  these  both  numerous  and  extra- 
ordinary, perfoi'med  by  the  inhabitants  of  your  country,  which  we  read  without  once 
attempting  to  emulate. 

I  wander  from  my  purpose,  which  was  to  assure  you,  that  I  know  you  as  well  as  the 
mother  who  did  not  bear  you,  for  MacDuiF's  peculiarity  sticks  to  your  whole  race. 
You  are  not  born  of  woman,  unless,  indeed,  in  that  figurative  sense,  in  which  the  cele- 
brated Maria  Edgeworth  may,  in  her  state  of  single  blessedness,  be  termed  mother  of 
the  finest  family  in  England.  You  belong,  sir,  to  the  Editors  of  the  land  of  Utopia, 
a  sort  of  persons  for  whom  I  have  the  highest  esteem.  How  is  it  possible  it  should  be 
otherwise,  when  you  reckon  among  your  corporation  the  sage  Cid  Hamet  Benengeli,  the 
short-faced  president  of  the  Spectator's  Club,  poor  Ben  Silton,  and  many  others,  who  have 
acted  as  gentlemen-ushers  to  works  which  have  cheered  our  heaviest,  and  added  wings 
to  our  lightest  hours? 

"What  I  have  remarked  as  peculiar  to  Editors  of  the  class  in  which  I  venture  to  enrol 
you,  is  the  happy  combination  of  fortuitous  circumstances  which  usually  put  you  in 
possession  of  the  works  which  you  have  the  goodness  to  bring  into  public  notice.  One 
walks  on  the  sea-shore,  and  a  wave  casts  on  land  a  small  cylindrical  trunk  or  casket, 
containing  a  manuscript  much  damaged  with  sea-water,  which  is  with  difficulty  deciphered, 
and  so  forth.|  Another  steps  into  a  chandler's  shop,  to  purchase  a  pound  of  butter,  and, 
behold  !  the  waste-paper  on  which  it  is  laid  is  the  manuscript  of  a  cabalist.§  A  third  is 
so  fortunate  as  to  obtain  from  a  woman  who  lets  lodgings,  the  curious  contents  of  an 
antique  bureau,  the  property  of  a  deceased  lodger.  ||  All  these  are  certainly  possible 
occurrences ;  but,  I  know  not  how,  they  seldom  occur  to  any  Editors  save  those  of  your 
country.  At  least  I  can  answer  for  myself,  that  in  my  solitary  walks  by  the  sea,  I  never 
saw  it  cast  ashore  any  thing  but  dulse  and  tangle,  and  now  and  then  a  deceased  star-fish ; 
my  landlady  never  presented  me  with  any  manuscript  save  her  cursed  bill ;  and  the 
most  interesting  of  my  discoveries  in  the  way  of  waste-paper,  was  finding  a  favourite 
passage  of  one  of  my  own  novels  wrapt  round  an  ounce  of  snuffi  No,  Captain,  the  funds 
from  which  I  have  drawn  my  power  of  amusing  the  public,  have  been  bought  otherwise 
than  by  fortuitous  adventure.  I  have  buried  myself  in  libraries  to  extract  from  the 
nonsense  of  ancient  days  new  nonsense  of  my  own.  I  have  turned  over  volumes,  which, 
from  the  pot-hooks  I  was  obliged  to  decipher,  might  have  been  the  cabalistic  manuscripts 
of  Cornelius  Agrippa,  although  I  never  saw  "the  door  open  and  the  devil  come  in."^ 
But  all  the  domestic  inhabitants  of  the  libraries  were  disturbed  by  the  vehemence  of 
my  studies  ; — 

From  my  research  the  boldest  spider  fled, 
And  moths,  retreating,  trembled  as  I  read. 

*  See  the  Persian  Lettters,  and  the  Citizen  of  the  World.  t  See  Les  Voyages  Imaginaires. 

J  See  the  Histoi-y  of  Automathes.  §  Adventures  of  a  Guinea.  ||  Adventures  of  an  Atom, 

5  See  Southey's  Ballad  on  the  Young  Man  who  read  in  a  Conjuror's  Books. 


From  this  learned  sepulchre  I  emerged  like  the  Magician  in  the  Persian  Tales,  from 
his  twelve-month's  residence  in  the  mountain,  not  like  him  to  soar  over  the  heads  of  the 
multitude,  but  to  mingle  in  the  crowd,  and  to  elbow  amongst  the  throng,  making  my 
way  from  the  highest  society  to  the  lowest,  undergoing  the  scorn,  or,  what  is  harder  to 
brook,  the  patronizing  condescension  of  the  one,  and  enduring  the  vulgar  familiarity  of 
the  other, — and  all,  you  will  say,  for  what? — to  collect  materials  for  one  of  those  manu- 
scripts with  which  mere  chance  so  often  accommodates  your  countrymen;  in  other  words, 
to  write  a  successful  novel. — "  O  Athenians,  how  hard  we  labour  to  deserve  your  praise!" 
I  might  stop  here,  my  dear  Clutterbuck ;  it  would  have  a  touching  eifect,  and  the  air 
of  proper  defei'ence  to  our  dear  Public.  But  I  will  not  be  false  with  you, — (though 
falsehood  is — excuse  the  observation — the  current  coin  of  your  country,)  the  truth  is,  I 
have  studied  and  lived  for  the  purpose  of  gratifying  my  own  curiosity,  and  passing  my 
own  time ;  and  though  the  result  has  been,  that,  in  one  shape  or  other,  I  have  been 
frequently  before  the  Public,  perhaps  more  frequently  than  prudence  warranted,  yet 
I  cannot  claim  from  them  the  favour  due  to  those  who  have  dedicated  their  ease  and 
leisure  to  the  improvement  and  entertainment  of  others. 

Having  communicated  thus  freely  with  you,  my  dear  Captain,  it  follows,  of  course,  that 
I  Avill  gratefully  accept  of  your  communication,  which,  as  your  Benedictine  observed, 
divides  itself  both  by  subject,  manner,  and  age,  into  two  parts.  But  I  am  sorry  I  cannot 
gratify  your  literaiy  ambition,  by  suffering  your  name  to  appear  upon  the  title-page  ;  and 
I  will  candidly  tell  you  the  reason. 

The  Editors  of  your  country  are  of  such  a  soft  and  passive  disposition,  that  they  have 
frequently  done  themselves  great  disgrace  by  giving  up  the  coadjutors  who  first  brought 
them  into  public  notice  and  public  favoui',  and  suffering  their  names  to  be  used  by  those 
quacks  and  impostors  who  live  upon  ihe  ideas  of  others.  Thus  I  shame  to  tell  how  the 
sage  Cid  Plamet  Benengeli  was  induced  by  one  Juan  Avellancda  to  play  the  Turk  with 
the  ingenious  Miguel  Cervantes,  and  to  publish  a  Second  Part  of  the  adventures  of  his 
hero  the  renowned  Don  Quixote,  without  the  knowledge  or  co-operation  of  his  principal 
aforesaid.  It  is  true,  the  Arabian  sage  returned  to  his  allegiance,  and  thereafter  com- 
posed a  genuine  continuation  of  the  Knight  of  La  Mancha,  in  which  the  said  Avellaneda 
of  Tordesillas  is  severely  chastised.  For  in  this  you  pseudo-editors  resemble  the  juggler's 
disciplined  ape,  to  which  a  sly  old  Scotsman  likened  James  I.,  "  if  you  have  Jackoo  in 
your  hand,  you  can  make  him  bite  me  ;  if  I  have  Jackoo  in  my  hand,  I  can  make  him  bite 
you."  Yet,  notwithstanding  the  amende  honorable  thus  made  by  Cid  Hamet  Benengeli, 
his  temporary  defection  did  not  the  less  occasion  the  decease  of  the  ingenious  Hidalgo 
Don  Quixote,  if  he  can  be  said  to  die,  whose  memory  is  immortal.  Cervantes  put  him 
to  death,  lest  he  should  again  fall  into  bad  hands.  Awful,  yet  just  consequence  of  Cid 
Hamet's  defection  ! 

To  quote  a  more  modern  and  much  less  important  instance.  I  am  sorry  to  observe 
my  old  acquaintance  Jedediah  Cleishbotham  has  misbehaved  himself  so  far  as  to  desert 
his  original  patron,  and  set  up  for  himself.  I  am  afraid  the  poor  pedagogue  will  make 
little  by  his  new  allies,  unless  the  pleasure  of  entertaining  tlie  public,  and,  for  aught  I 
know,  the  gentlemen  of  the  long  robe,  with  disputes  about  his  identity,*  Observe,  there- 
fore. Captain  Clutterbuck,  that,  wise  by  these  great  examples,  I  receive  you  as  a  partner, 
but  a  sleeping  partner  only.  As  I  give  you  no  title  to  employ  or  use  the  firm  of  the 
copartnery  we  are  about  to  form,  I  will  announce  my  property  in  my  title-page,  and  put 

*  I  am  since  more  correctlj'  informed,  that  Mr.  Cleishbotham  died  some  months  since  at  Gandercleugh,  and  that  the  person 
assuming  his  name  is  an  impostor.  Tlie  real  Jedediah  made  a  most  Christian  and  edifying  end;  and,  as  I  am  credibly 
informed,  having  sent  for  a  Canieronian  clergyman  when  he  was  in  extremis,  was  so  fortunate  as  to  convince  the  good  man, 
that,  after  all,  he  had  no  wish  to  bring  down  on  the  scattered  remnant  of  Mountain  folks,  "  the  bonnets  of  Bonny  Dundee." 
Hard  that  the  speculators  in  print  and  paper  will  not  allow  a  good  man  to  rest  quiet  in  his  grave 

This  note,  and  the  passages  in  the  text,  were  occasioned  by  a  London  bookseller  having  printed,  as  a  speculation,  an 
a.lditioual  collection  of  Tales  of  My  Landlord,  which  was  not  so  fortunate  as  to  succeed  in  passing  on  the  world  as  genuine. 



my  own  mark  on  my  own  chattels,  which  the  attorney  tells  me  it  will  be  a  crime  to 
counterfeit,  as  much  as  it  would  to  imitate  the  autograph  of  any  other  empiric — a  crime 
amounting,  as  advertisements  upon  little  vials  assure  to  us,  to  nothing  short  of  felony. 
If,  therefore,  my  dear  friend,  your  name  should  hereafter  appear  in  any  title-page  without 
mine,  readers  will  know  what  to  think  of  you.  I  scorn  to  use  either  arguments  or 
threats ;  but  you  cannot  but  be  sensible,  that,  as  you  owe  your  literary  existence  to  me 
on  the  one  hand,  so,  on  the  other,  your  very  all  is  at  my  disposal.  I  can  at  pleasure  cut 
off  your  annuity,  strike  your  name  from  the  half-pay  establishment,  nay,  actually  put  you 
to  death,  without  being  answerable  to  any  one.  These  are  plain  words  to  a  gentleman 
who  has  served  during  the  whole  war;  but,  I  am  aware,  you  will  take  nothing  amiss 
at  my  hands. 

And  now,  my  good  sir,  let  us  address  ourselves  to  our  task,  and  arrange,  as  we  best 
can,  the  manuscript  of  your  Benedictine,  so  as  to  suit  the  taste  of  this  critical  age.  You 
will  find  I  have  made  very  liberal  use  of  his  permission,  to  alter  whatever  seemed  too 
f\ivourable  to  the  Church  of  Rome,  which  I  abominate,  were  it  but  for  her  fasts  and 

Our  reader  is  doubtless  impatient,  and  we  must  own,  with  John  Bunyan, 

We  have  too  long  detain'd  him  in  the  porch, 
And  kept  him  from  the  sunshine  with  a  torch. 

Adieu,  therefore,  my  dear  Captain — remember  me  respectfully  to  the  parson,  the  school- 
master, and  the  bailie,  and  all  friends  of  the  happy  club  in  the  village  of  Kennaquhair. 
I  have  never  seen,  and  never  shall  see,  one  of  their  faces  ;  and  notwithstanding,  I  believe 
that  as  yet  I  am  better  acquainted  with  them  than  any  other  man  who  lives. — I  shall  soon 
introduce  you  to  my  jocund  friend,  Mr.  John  Ballantyne  of  Trinity  Grove,  whom  you 
will  find  warm  from  his  match  at  single-stick  with  a  brother  Publisher.*  Peace  to  their 
differences  !  It  is  a  wrathful  trade,  and  the  irritahile  genus  comprehends  the  bookselling 
as  well  as  the  book-writing  species. — Once  more  adieu ! 

The  Author  of  Waverley. 

*  In  consequence  of  the  pseudo  Tales  of  My  Landlord  printed  in  London,  as  already  mentioned,  the  late  Mr.  John 
BallantjTie,  the  author's  publisher,  had  a  controversy  with  the  interloping  bibliopoUst,  each  insisting  that  his  Jedediali 
Cleishbotham  was  the  real  Simon  Pure. 


Claplir  tie  dFk^t 

0  ay!  the  Monks,  the  Monks  they  did  the  mischief! 
Theirs  all  the  grossness,  all  the  superstition 

Of  a  most  gross  and  superstitious  age — 

May  He  be  praised  that  sent  the  healthful  tempest 

And  scatter'd  all  these  pestilential  vapours ! 

But  that  we  owed  them  all  to  yonder  Harlot 

Throned  on  the  seven  hills  with  her  cup  of  gold, 

1  will  as  soon  believe,  with  kind  Sir  Roger, 

That  old  Moll  White  took  wing  with  cat  and  broomstick , 
And  raised  the  last  night's  thunder. 

Old  Play. 

jlj  ^  HE  village  described  in  the  Benedictine's  manuscript  by  the  name 
of  Kennaquhair,  bears  the  same  Celtic  termination  which  occurs  in 
'v;  Traquhair,  Caquhair,  and  other  compounds.  The  learned  Chalmers 
derives  this  word  Quhair,  from  the  winding  course  of  a  stream;  a 
(|^  definition  which  coincides,  in  a  remarkable  degree,  with  the  serpentine 
— ^  turns  of  the  river  Tweed  near  the  village  of  which  we  speak.  It  has 
been  long  famous  for  the  splendid  Monastery  of  Saint  Mary,  founded  by  David  the  First 
of  Scotland,  in  whose  reign  were  formed,  in  the  same  county,  the  no  less  splendid 
establishments  of  Melrose,  Jedburgh,  and  Kelso.  The  donations  of  land  with  which  the 
King  endowed  these  wealthy  fraternities  procured  him  from  the  Monkish  historians  the 
epithet  of  Saint,  and  from  one  of  his  impoverished  descendants  the  splenetic  censure, 
"  that  he  had  been  a  sore  saint  for  the  Crown." 

It  seems  probable,  notwithstanding,  that  David,  who  was  a  wise  as  well  as  a  pious 
monai'ch,  was  not  moved  solely  by  religious  motives  to  those  great  acts  of  munificence  to 
the  church,  but  annexed  political  views  to  his  pious  generosity.  His  possessions  in 
Northumberland  and  Cumberland  became  precarious  after  the  loss  of  the  Battle  of  the 
Standard;  and  since  the  comparatively  fertile  valley  of  Teviot-dale  was  likely  to  become 
the  frontier  of  his  kingdom,  it  is  probable  he  wished  to  secure  at  least  a  part  of  these 
valuable  possessions  by  placing  them  in  the  hands  of  the  monks,  whose  property  was  for 
a  long  time  respected,  even  amidst  the  rage  of  a  frontier  war.     In  this  manner  alone  had 



the  King  some  chance  of  ensuring  protection  and  security  to  the  cultivators  of  the  soil; 
and,  in  fact,  for  several  ages  the  possessions  of  these  Abbeys  were  each  a  sort  of  Goshen, 
enjoying  the  calm  light  of  peace  and  immunity,  while  the  rest  of  the  country,  occupied 
by  wild  clans  and  marauding  barons,  was  one  dark  scene  of  confusion,  blood,  and 
unremitted  outrage. 

But  these  immunities  did  not  continue  down  to  the  union  of  the  crowns.  Long  before 
that  period  the  wars  betwixt  England  and  Scotland  had  lost  their  original  character  of 
international   hostilities,  and    had    become  on  the  part  of   the  English  a  struggle  for 

subjugation,  on  that  of  the  Scots  a  desperate  and  infuriated  defence  of  their  liberties. 
This  introduced  on  both  sides  a  degree  of  fury  and  animosity  unknown  to  the  earlier 
period  of  their  history ;  and  as  religious  scruples  soon  gave  way  to  national  hatred 
spurred  by  a  love  of  plunder,  the  patrimony  of  the  Church  was  no  longer  sacred  from 
incursions  on  either  side.  Still,  however,  the  tenants  and  vassals  of  the  great  Abbeys 
had  many  advantages  over  those  of  the  lay  barons,  who  were  harassed  by  constant 
military  duty,  until  they  became  desperate,  and  lost  all  relish  for  the  arts  of  peace.  The 
vassals  of  the  church,  on  the  other  hand,  were  only  liable  to  be  called  to  arms  on  general 
occasions,  and  at  other  times  were  permitted  in  comparative  quiet  to  possess  their  farms 
and  feus.*  They  of  course  exhibited  superior  skill  in  every  thing  that  related  to  the 
cultivation  of  the  soil,  and  were  therefore  both  wealthier  and  better  informed  than  the 
military  retainers  of  the  restless  chiefs  and  nobles  in  their  neighbourhood. 

The  residence  of  these  church  vassals  was  usually  in  a  small  village  or  hamlet,  where, 
for  the  sake  of  mutual  aid  and  protection,  some  thirty  or  forty  families  dwelt  together. 
This  was  called  the  Town,  and  the  land  belonging  to  the  various  families  by  whom  the 
Town  was  inhabited,  was  called  the  Township.  They  usuaUy  possessed  the  land  in 
common,  though  in  various  proportions,  according  to  their  several  grants.  The  part  of 
the  Township  properly  arable,  and  kept  as  such  continually  under  the  plough,  was  called 
in-feld.  Here  the  use  of  quantities  of  manure  supplied  in  some  degree  the  exhaustion 
of  the  soil,  and  the  feuars  raised  tolerable  oats  and  bear,t  usually  sowed  on  alternate 

*  Small  possessions  conferred  upon  vassals  and  their  heirs,  held  for  a  small  quit-rent,  or  a  moderate  proportion  of  the 
produce.  This  was  a  favourite  manner,  by  which  the  churchmen  peopled  the  patrimony  of  their  convents ;  and  many 
descendants  of  such  feuars,  as  they  are  called,  are  still  to  be  found  in  possession  of  their  family  inheritances  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  the  great  Monasteries  of  Scotland. 

t  Or  bigg,  a  kind  of  coarse  barley. 


ridges,  on  which  the  labour  of  the  whole  community  was  bestowed  without  distinction, 
the  produce  being  divided  after  harvest,  agreeably  to  their  respective  interests. 

There  was,  besides,  out-field  land,  from  which  it  was  thought  possible  to  extract  a 
crop  now  and  then,  after  which  it  was  abandoned  to  the  "  skiey  influences,"  until  the 
exhausted  powers  of  vegetation  were  restored.  These  out-field  spots  were  selected  by 
any  feuar  at  his  own  choice,  amongst  the  sheep-walks  and  hills  which  were  always 
annexed  to  the  Township,  to  serve  as  pasturage  to  the  community.  The  trouble  of 
cultivating  these  patches  of  out-field,  and  the  precarious  chance  that  the  crop  w^ould  pay 
the  labour,  were  considered  as  giving  a  right  to  any  feuar,  who  chose  to  undertake  the 
adventure,  to  the  produce  which  might  result  from  it. 

There  remained  the  pasturage  of  extensive  moors,  where  the  valleys  often  afforded 
good  grass,  and  upon  which  the  whole  cattle  belonging  to  the  community  fed  in- 
discriminately during  the  summer,  under  the  charge  of  the  Town-herd,  w^ho  regularly 
drove  them  out  to  pasture  in  the  morning,  and  brought  them  back  at  night,  without 
which  precaution  they  would  have  fallen  a  speedy  prey  to  some  of  the  Snatchers  in  the 
neighbourhood.  These  are  things  to  make  modern  agriculturists  hold  up  their  hands 
and  stare;  but  the  same  mode  of  cultivation  is  not  yet  entirely  in  desuetude  in  some 
distant  parts  of  North  Britain,  and  may  be  witnessed  in  full  force  and  exercise  in  the 
Zetland  Archipelago. 

The  habitations  of  the  church-feuars  were  not  less  primitive  than  their  agriculture. 
In  each  village  or  town  w^ere  several  small  towers,  having  battlements  projecting  over 
the  side  walls,  and  usually  an  advanced  angle  or  two  with  shot-holes  for  flanking  the 
door-way,  which  was  always  defended  by  a  strong  door  of  oak,  studded  with  nails,  and 
often  by  an  exterior  grated  door  of  iron.  These  small  peel-houses  Avere  ordinarily 
inhabited  by  the  principal  feuars  and  their  families;  but,  upon  the  alarm  of  approaching 
danger,  the  whole  inhabitants  thronged  from  their  own  miserable  cottages,  which  were 
situated  around,  to  garrison  these  points  of  defence.  In  was  then  no  easy  matter  for  a 
hostile  party  to  penetrate  into  the  village,  for  the  men  were  habituated  to  the  use  of  bows 
and  fire-arms,  and  the  towers  being  generally  so  placed,  that  the  discharge  from  one 
crossed  that  of  another,  it  was  impossible  to  assault  any  of  them  individually. 

The  interior  of  these  houses  was  usually  sufficiently  wretched,  for  it  would  have  been 
folly  to  have  furnished  them  in  a  manner  which  could  excite  the  avarice  of  their  lawless 
neighbours.  Yet  the  families  themselves  exhibited  in  their  appearance  a  degree  of 
comfort,  information,  and  independence,  which  could  hardly  have  been  expected. 
Their  in-field  supplied  them  with  bread  and  home-brewed  ale,  their  herds  and  flocks 
with  beef  and  mutton  (the  extravagance  of  killing  lambs  or  calves  was  never  thought 
of).  Each  family  killed  a  mart,  or  fat  bullock,  in  November,  which  was  salted  up 
for  winter  use,  to  which  the  good  wife  could,  upon  great  occasions,  add  a  dish  of 
pigeons  or  a  fat  capon, — the  ill-cultivated  garden  afforded  "langcale," — and  the  river 
gave  salmon  to  serve  as  a  relish  during  the  season  of  Lent. 

Of  fuel  they  had  plenty,  for  the  bogs  afforded  turf;  and  the  remains  of  the  abused 
woods  continued  to  give  them  logs  for  burning,  as  well  as  timber  for  the  usual  domestic 
purposes.  In  addition  to  these  comforts  the  goodman  would  now  and  then  sally  forth  to 
the  greenwood,  and  mark  down  a  buck  of  season  with  his  gun  or  his  cross-bow ;  and  the 
Father  Confessor  seldom  refused  him  absolution  for  the  trespass,  if  duly  invited  to  take 
his  share  of  the  smoking  haunch.  Some,  still  bolder,  made,  either  with  their  own 
domestics,  or  by  associating  themselves  with  •  the  moss-troopers,  in  the  language  of 
shepherds,  "a  start  and  overloup;"  and  the  golden  ornaments  and  silken  head -gear  worn 
by  the  females  of  one  or  two  families  of  note,  were  invidiously  traced  by  their  neighbours 
to  such  successful  excursions.  This,  however,  was  a  more  inexpiable  crime  in  the  eyes 
of  the  Abbot  and  Community  of  Saint  Mary's,  than  the  borrowing  one  of  the  "  gude 
king's  deer;"  and  they  failed  not  to  discountenance  and  punish,  by  every  means  in  their 



power,  offences  wliicli  were  sure  to  lead  to  severe  retaliation  upon  tlie  property  of  the 
church,  and  wliicli  tended  to  alter  tlie  character  of  their  peaceful  vassalage. 

As  for  the  information  possessed  by  those  dependents  of  the  Abbacies,  they  might 
have  been  truly  said  to  be  better  fed  than  taught,  even  though  their  fare  had  been  worse 
than  it  was.  Still,  however,  they  enjoyed  opportunities  of  knowledge  from  which  others 
were  excluded.  The  monks  were  in  general  well  acquainted  with  their  vassals  and 
tenants,  and  familiar  in  the  families  of  the  better  class  among  them,  where  they  were 
sure  to  be  received  with  the  respect  due  to  their  twofold  character  of  spiritual  father  and 
secular  landlord.  Thus  it  often  happened,  when  a  boy  displayed  talents  and  inclination 
for  study,  one  of  the  brethren,  with  a  view  to  his  being  bred  to  the  church,  or  out  of 
good-nature,  in  order  to  pass  away  his  own  idle  time,  if  he  had  no  better  motive, 
initiated  him  into  the  mysteries  of  reading  and  writing,  and  imparted  to  him  such  other 
knowledge  as  he  himself  possessed.  And  the  heads  of  these  allied  families,  having  more 
time  for  reflection,  and  more  skill,  as  well  as  stronger  motives  for  improving  their  small 
properties,  bore  amongst  their  neighbours  the  character  of  shrewd,  intelligent  men,  who 
claimed  respect  on  account  of  their  comparative  wealth,  even  while  they  were  despised 
for  a  less  warhke  and  enterprising  turn  than  the  other  Borderers.  They  lived  as 
much  as  they  well  could  amongst  themselves,  avoiding  the  company  of  others,  and 
dreading  nothing  more  than  to  be  involved  in  the  deadly  feuds  and  ceaseless  con- 
tentions of  the  secular  landholders. 

Such  is  a  general  picture  of  these  communities.  During  the  fatal  wars  in  the 
commencement  of  Queen  Mary's  reign,  they  had  suffered  dreadfully  by  the  hostile 
invasions.  For  the  English,  now  a  Protestant  people,  were  so  far  from  sparing  the 
church-lands,  that  they  forayed  them  with  moi'e  unrelenting  severity  than  even  the 
possessions  of  the  laity.  But  the  peace  of  1550  had  restored  some  degi-ee  of  ti*anquiUity 
to  those  distracted  and  harassed  regions,  and  matters  began  again  gradually  to  settle  upon 
the  former  footing.  The  monks  repaired  their  ravaged  shrines — the  feu ar  again  roofed 
his  small  fortalice  which  the  enemy  had  ruined — the  poor  labourer  rebuilt  his  cottage — 
an  easy  task,  where  a  few  sods,  stones,  and  some  pieces  of  wood  from  the  next  copse, 
furnished  all  the  materials  necessary.  The  cattle,  lastly,  were  driven  out  of  the  wastes 
and  thickets  in  which  the  remnant  of  them  had  been  secreted;  and  the  mighty  bull 
moved  at  the  head  of  his  seragho  and  their  followers,  to  tidie  possession  of  their  wonted 
pastures.  There  ensued  peace  and  quiet,  the  state  of  the  age  and  nation  considered,  to 
the  Monastery  of  Saint  Mary,  and  its  dependencies,  for  several  tranquil  years. 

-CER    AP  A    — 

In  yon  lone  vale  his  early  youth  was  bred, 
Not  solitary  then — the  bugle-horn 
Of  fell  Alecto  often  waked  its  windings, 
From  where  the  brook  joins  the  majestic  river, 
To  the  wild  northern  bog,  the  curlew's  haunt, 
Where  oozes  forth  its  first  and  feeble  streamlet.- 

^E  have  said,  that  most  of  the  feuars  dwelt  in  the  village  belonging  to  their 
townships.  This  was  not,  however,  universally  the  case.  A  lonely  tower, 
to  which  the  reader  must  now  be  introduced,  was  at  least  one  exception 
to  the  general  rule. 

It  was  of  small  dimensions,  yet  larger  than  those  which  occurred  in 
the  village,  as  intimating  that,  in  case  of  assault,  the  proprietor  would 
have  to  rely  upon  his  own  unassisted  strength.    Two  or  three  miserable  huts,  at  the  foot 


of  the  fortalice,  held  the  bondsmen  and  tenants  of  the  feuar.  The  site  was  a  beautiful 
green  knoll,  which  started  up  suddenly  in  the  very  throat  of  a  wild  and  narrow  glen,  and 
which,  being  surrounded,  except  on  one  side,  by  the  winding  of  a  small  stream,  afforded 
a  position  of  considerable  strength. 

But  the  great  security  of  Glendearg,  for  so  the  place  was  called,  lay  in  its  secluded, 
and  almost  hidden  situation.  To  reach  the  tower,  it  was  necessary  to  travel  three  miles 
up  the  glen,  crossing  about  twenty  times  the  little  stream,  which,  winding  through  the 
narrow  valley,  encountered  at  every  hundred  yards  the  opposition  of  a  rock  or  precipitous 
bank  on  the  one  side,  which  altered  its  course,  and  caused  it  to  shoot  off  in  an  oblique 
direction  to  the  other.  The  hills  which  ascend  on  each  side  of  this  glen  ai-e  very  steep, 
and  rise  boldly  over  the  stream,  which  is  thus  imprisoned  within  their  barriers.  The 
sides  of  the  glen  are  impracticable  for  horse,  and  are  only  to  be  traversed  by  means  of 
the  sheep-paths  which  lie  along  their  sides.  It  would  not  be  readily  supposed  that  a  road 
so  hopeless  and  so  difficult  could  lead  to  any  habitation  more  important  than  the  summer 
shealing  of  a  shepherd. 

Yet  the  glen,  though  lonely,  nearly  inaccessible,  and  steril,  was  not  then  absolutely 
void  of  beauty.  The  turf  which  covered  the  small  portion  of  level  ground  on  the  sides 
of  the  stream,  was  as  close  and  verdant  as  if  it  had  occupied  the  scythes  of  a  hundred 
gardeners  once  a-fortnight ;  and  it  was  garnished  with  an  embroidery  of  daisies  and  wild 
flowers,  which  the  scythes  would  certainly  have  destroyed.  The  little  brook,  now 
confined  betwixt  closer  limits,  now  left  at  large  to  choose  its  course  through  the  narrow 
valley,  danced  carelessly  on  from  stream  to  pool,  light  and  unturbid,  as  that  better  class 
of  spirits  who  pass  their  way  through  life,  yielding  to  insurmountable  obstacles,  but  as 
far  from  being  subdued  by  them  as  the  sailor  who  meets  by  chance  with  an  unfavourable 
wind,  and  shapes  his  course  so  as  to  be  driven  back  as  little  as  possible. 

The  mountains,  as  they  would  have  been  called  in  England,  Scottice  the  steep  braes, 
rose  abruptly  over  the  little  glen,  here  presenting  the  gray  face  of  a  rock,  from  which  the 
turf  had  been  peeled  by  the  torrents,  and  there  displaying  patches  of  wood  and  copse, 
which  had  escaped  the  waste  of  the  cattle  and  the  sheep  of  the  feuars,  and  which,  feather- 
ing naturally  up  the  beds  of  empty  torrents,  or  occupying  the  concave  recesses  of  the 
bank,  gave  at  once  beauty  and  variety  to  the  landscape.  Above  these  scattered  woods  rose 
the  hill,  in  barren,  but  purple  majesty;  the  dark  rich  hue,  particularly  in  autumn,  con- 
trasting beautifully  with  the  thickets  of  oak  and  birch,  the  mountain  ashes  and  thorns, 
the  alders  and  quivering  aspens,  which  checquered  and  varied  the  descent,  and  not  less 
with  the  dark-green  and  velvet  turf,  which  composed  the  level  part  of  the  narrow  glen. 

Yet,  though  thus  embellished,  the  scene  could  neither  be  strictly  termed  sublime  nor 
beautiful,  and  scarcely  even  picturesque  or  striking.  But  its  extreme  solitude  pressed  on 
the  heart ;  the  traveller  felt  that  uncertainty  whither  he  was  going,  or  in  what  so  wild  a 
path  was  to  terminate,  which,  at  times,  strikes  more  on  the  imagination  than  the  grand 
features  of  a  show-scene,  when  you  know  the  exact  distance  of  the  inn  where  your  dinner 
is  bespoke,  and  at  the  moment  preparing.  These  are  ideas,  however,  of  a  far  later  age ; 
for  at  the  time  we  treat  of,  the  picturesque,  the  beautiful,  the  sublime,  and  all  their  inter- 
mediate shades,  were  ideas  absolutely  unknown  to  the  inhabitants  and  occasional  visiters 
of  Glendearg. 

These  had,  however,  attached  to  the  scene  feelings  fitting  the  time.  Its  name,  signi- 
fying the  Red  Valley,  seems  to  have  been  derived,  not  only  from  the  purple  colour  of  the 
heath,  with  which  the  upper  part  of  the  rising  banks  was  profusely  clothed,  but  also  from 
the  dark  red  colour  of  the  rocks,  and  of  the  precipitous  earthen  banks,  which  in  that 
country  are  called  scaurs.  Another  glen,  about  the  head  of  Ettrick,  has  acquired  the 
same  name  from  similar  circumstances  ;  and  there  are  probably  more  in  Scotland  to  which 
it  has  been  given. 

As  our  Glendearg  did  not  abound  in  mortal  visitants,  superstition,  that  it  might  not 


be  absolutely  destitute  of  inhabitants,  had  peopled  its  recesses  with  beings  belonging  to 
another  world.  The  savage  and  capricious  Brown  Man  of  the  Moors,  a  being  which 
seems  the  genuine  descendant  of  the  northern  dwarfs,  was  supposed  to  be  seen  there 
frequently,  especially  after  the  autumnal  equinox,  when  the  fogs  were  thick,  and  objects 
not  easily  distinguished.  The  Scottish  fairies,  too,  a  whimsical,  irritable,  and  mischievous 
tribe,  who,  though  at  times  capriciously  benevolent,  were  more  frequently  adverse  to 
mortals,  were  also  supposed  to  have  formed  a  residence  in  a  particularly  wild  recess  of 
the  glen,  of  which  the  real  name  was,  in  allusion  to  that  circumstance,  Corrie  nan  Shiein, 
which,  in  corrupted  CeUic,  signifies  the  HoUow  of  the  Fairies.  But  the  neighbours  were 
more  cautious  in  speaking  about  this  place,  and  avoided  giving  it  a  name,  from  an  idea 
common  then  throughout  all  the  British  and  Celtic  provinces  of  Scotland,  and  still 
retained  in  many  places,  that  to  speak  either  good  or  ill  of  this  capricious  race  of 
imaginary  beings,  is  to  provoke  their  resentment,  and  that  secrecy  and  silence  is  what 
they  chiefly  desire  from  those  who  may  intrude  upon  their  revels,  or  discover  their  haunts. 
A  mysterious  terror  was  thus  attached  to  the  dale,  which  afforded  access  from  the 
broad  valley  of  the  Tweed,  up  the  little  glen  we  have  described,  to  the  fortalice  called  the 
Tower  of  Glendearg.  Beyond  the  knoll,  where,  as  we  have  said,  the  tower  was  situated, 
the  hills  grew  more  steep,  and  narrowed  on  the  slender  brook,  so'  as  scarce  to  leave  a 
footpath ;  and  there  the  glen  terminatd  in  a  wild  waterfall,  where  a  slender  thread  of 
water  dashed  in  a  precipitous  line  of  foam  over  two  or  three  precipices.  Yet  farther  in 
the  same  direction,  and  above  these  successive  cataracts,  lay  a  wild  and  extensive  morass, 
frequented  only  by  waterfowl,  wide,  waste,  apparently  almost  interminable,  and  serving 
in  a  great  measure  to  separate  the  inhabitants  of  the  glen  from  those  who  lived  to  the 

To  restless  and  indefatigable  moss-troopers,  indeed,  these  morasses  were  well  known, 
and  sometimes  afforded  a  retreat.  They  often  rode  down  the  glen — called  at  this  tower 
— asked  and  received  hospitality — but  still  with  a  sort  of  reserve  on  the  part  of  its  more 
peaceful  inhabitants,  who  entertained  them  as  a  party  of  North- American  Indians  might 
be  received  by  a  new  Eui'opean  settler,  as  much  out  of  fear  as  hospitality,  while  the 
uppermost  wish  of  the  landlord  is  the  speedy  departure  of  the  savage  guests. 

This  had  not  always  been  the  current  of  feeling  in  the  little  valley  and  its  tower. 
Simon  Glendinning,  its  former  inhabitant,  boasted  his  connexion  by  blood  to  that  ancient 
family  of  Glendonwyne,  on  the  western  border.  He  used  to  narrate,  at  his  fireside,  in 
the  autumn  evenings,  the  feats  of  the  family  to  which  he  belonged,  one  of  whom  fell  by 
the  side  of  the  brave  Earl  of  Douglas  at  Otterbourne.  On  these  occasions  Simon  usually 
held  upon  his  knee  an  ancient  broadsword,  which  had  belonged  to  his  ancestors  before 
any  of  the  family  had  consented  to  accept  a  fief  under  the  peaceful  dominion  of  the 
monks  of  St.  Mary's.  In  modern  days,  Simon  might  have  lived  at  ease  on  his  own 
estate,  and  quietly  murmured  against  the  fate  that  had  doomed  him  to  dwell  there,  and 
cut  off  his  access  to  martial  renown.  But  so  many  opportunities,  nay  so  many  calls  there 
were  for  him,  who  in  those  days  spoke  big,  to  make  good  his  words  by  his  actions,  that 
Simon  Glendinning  was  soon  under  the  necessity  of  marching  with  the  men  of  the  Ilali- 
dome,  as  it  was  called,  of  St.  Mary's,  in  that  disastrous  campaign  which  was  concluded 
by  the  battle  of  Pinkie. 

The  Catholic  clergy  were  deeply  interested  in  that  national  quarrel,  the  principal  object 
of  which  was,  to  prevent  the  union  of  the  infant  Queen  Mary,  with  the  son  of  the 
heretical  Henry  VIII.  The  Monks  had  called  out  their  vassals,  under  an  experienced 
leader.  Many  of  themselves  had  taken  arms,  and  marched  to  the  field,  under  a  banner 
representing  a  female,  supposed  to  personify  the  Scottish  Church,  kneeling  in  the  attitude 
of  prayer,  with  the  legend,  AfflkUe  SponscB  ne  ohliviscaris* 

*  Forget  not  the  afilicted  spouse. 



The  Scots,  however,  in  all  their  wars,  had  more  occasion  for  good  and  cautious 
generals,  than  for  excitation,  whether  political  or  enthusiastic.  Their  headlong  and 
impatient  courage  unifoi'mly  induced  them  to  rush  into  action  without  duly  weighing 
either  their  own  situation,  or  that  of  their  enemies,  and  the  inevitable  consequence  was 
frequent  defeat.  With  the  dolorous  slaughter  of  Pinkie  we  have  nothing  to  do,  except- 
ing that,  among  ten  thousand  men  of  low  and  high  degree,  Simon  Glendinning,  of  the 
Tower  of  Glendearg,  bit  the  dust,  no  way  disparaging  in  his  death  that  ancient  race 
from  which  he  claimed  his  descent. 

When  the  doleful  news,  which  spread  terror  and  mourning  through  the  whole  of  Scot- 
land, reached  the  Tow'er  of  Glendearg,  the  widow  of  Simon,  Elspeth  Brydone  by  her  family 
name,  was  alone  in  that  desolate  habitation,  excepting  a  hind  or  two,  alike  past  martial 
and  agricultural  labour,  and  the  helpless  widows  and  families  of  those  who  had  fallen 
with  their  master.  The  feeling  of  desolation  was  universal; — but  what  availed  it? 
The  monks,  their  patrons  and  protectors,  were  driven  from  their  Abbey  by  the  English 
forces,  who  now  overran  the  country,  and  enforced  at  least  an  appearance  of  submission 
on  the  part  of  the  inhabitants.  The  Protector,  Somerset,  formed  a  strong  camp  among 
the  ruins  of  the  ancient  Castle  of  Roxburgh,  and  compelled  the  neighbouring  country 
to  come  in,  pay  tribute,  and  take  assurance  from  him,  as  the  phrase  then  went.  Indeed, 
there  was  no  power  of  resistance  remaining ;  and  the  few  barons,  whose  high  spirit 
disdained  even  the  appearance  of  surrender,  could  only  retreat  into  the  wildest  fastnesses 
of  the  country,  leaving  their  houses  and  property  to  the  wrath  of  the  English,  who 
detached  parties  everywhere  to  distress,  by  military  exaction,  those  whose  chiefs  had 
not  made  their  submission.  The  Abbot  and  his  community  having  retreated  beyond  the 
Forth,  their  lands  w^ere  severely  forayed,  as  their  sentiments  were  held  peculiarly  inimical 
to  the  alliance  with  England. 

Amongst  the  troops  detached  on  this  service  was  a  small  party,  commanded  by 
Stawarth  Bolton,  a  captain  in  the  English  army,  and  full  of  the  blunt  and  unpretending 
gallantry  and  generosity  which  has  so  often  distinguished  that  nation.  Resistance  was 
in  vain.  Elspeth  Brydone,  when  she  descried  a  dozen  of  horsemen  threading  their  way 
up  the  glen,  with  a  man  at  their  head,  whose  scarlet  cloak,  bright  armour,  and  dancing 
plume,  proclaimed  him  a  leader,  saw  no  better  protection  for  herself  than  to  issue  from 
the  iron  grate,  covered  with  a  long  mourning  veil,  and  holding  one  of  her  two  sons  in 
each  hand,  to  meet  the  Englishman — state  her  deserted  condition— place  the  little  tower 
at  his  command — and  beg  for  his  mercy.  She  stated,  in  a  few  brief  words,  her  intention, 
and  added,  "  I  submit,  because  I  have  nae  means  of  resistance." 

"  And  I  do  not  ask  your  submission,  mistress,  for  the  same  reason,"  replied  the 
Englishman.  "  To  be  satisfied  of  your  peaceful  intentions  is  all  I  ask ;  and,  from  what 
you  tell  me,  there  is  no  reason  to  doubt  them." 

"  At  least,  sir,"  said  Elspeth  Brydone,  "  take  share  of  what  our  spence  and  our  garners 
afford.     Your  horses  are  tired — your  folk  want  refreshment." 

"  Not  a  whit — not  a  whit,"  answered  the  honest  Englishman  ;  "  it  shall  never  be  said 
we  disturbed  by  carousal  the  widow  of  a  brave  soldier,  while  she  was  mourning  for  her 
husband. — Comrades,  face  about. — Yet  stay,"  he  added,  checking  his  war-horse,  "  my 
parties  are  out  in  every  direction  ;  they  must  have  some  token  that  your  family  are  under 
my  assurance  of  safety. — Here,  my  little  fellow,"  said  he,  speaking  to  the  eldest  boy,  who 
might  be  about  nine  or  ten  years  old,  "  lend  me  thy  bonnet." 

The  child  reddened,  looked  sulky,  and  hesitated,  while  the  mother,  with  many  a  f^e 
and  tiay  jyshaw,  and  such  sarsenet  chidings  as  tender  mothers  give  to  spoiled  children,  at 
length  succeeded  in  snatching  the  bonnet  from  him,  and  handing  it  to  the  English  leader. 

Stawarth  Bolton  took  his  embroidered  red  cross  from  his  barret-cap,  and  putting  it 
into  the  loop  of  the  boy's  bonnet,  said  to  the  mistress,  (for  the  title  of  lady  Avas  not 
given  to  dames  of  her  degree,)  "  By  this  token,  which  all  my  people  will  respect,  you 

Vol.  V.  E 


will  be  freed  from  any  importunity  on  tlie  part  of  our  forayers."*  He  placed  it  on  the 
boy's  head ;  but  it  was  no  sooner  there,  than  the  little  fellow,  his  veins  swelling,  and  his 
eyes  shooting  fire  through  tears,  snatched  the  bonnet  from  his  head,  and,  ere  his  mother 
could  interfere,  skimmed  it  into  the  brook.  The  other  boy  ran  instantly  to  fish  it  out 
again,  threw  it  back  to  his  brother,  first  taking  out  the  cross,  which,  with  great  veneration, 
he  kissed  and  put  into  his  bosom.  The  Englishman  was  half  diverted,  half  surprised, 
with  the  scene. 

"  What  mean  ye  by  throwing  away  Saint  George's  red  cross  ? "  said  he  to  the  elder 
boy,  in  a  tone  betwixt  jest  and  earnest. 

"Because  Saint  George  is  a  southern  saint,"  said  the  child,  sulkily. 

"  Good" — said  Stawarth  Bolton. — "And  what  did  you  mean  by  taking  it  out  of  the 
brook  again,  my  little  fellow  ? "  he  demanded  of  the  younger. 

"  Because  the  priest  says  it  is  the  common  sign  of  salvation  to  all  good  Christians." 

"  Why,  good  again  ! "  said  the  honest  soldier.  "  I  protest  unto  you,  mistress,  I  envy 
you  these  boys.     Are  they  both  yours  ?  " 

Stawarth  Bolton  had  reason  to  put  the  question,  for  Halbert  Glendinning,  the  elder 
of  the  two,  had  hair  as  dark  as  the  raven's  plumage,  black  eyes,  large,  bold,  and 
sparkling,  that  glittered  under  eyebrows  of  the  same  complexion  ;  a  skin  deep  embrowned, 
though  it  could  not  be  termed  swarthy,  and  an  air  of  activity,  frankness,  and  deter- 
mination, far  beyond  his  age.  On  the  other  hand,  Ed^'ard,  the  younger  brother,  was 
light-haired,  blue-eyed,  and  of  fairer  complexion,  in  countenance  rather  pale,  and  not 
exhibiting  that  rosy  hue  which  colours  the  sanguine  cheek  of  robust  health.  Yet  the 
boy  had  nothing  sickly  or  ill-conditioned  in  his  look,  but  was,  on  the  contrary,  a  fair  and 
handsome  child,  with  a  smiling  face,  and  mild,  yet  cheerful  eye. 

The  mother  glanced  a  proud  motherly  glance,  first  at  the  one,  and  then  at  the  other, 
ere  she  answered  the  Englishman,  "  Surely,  sir,  they  are  both  my  children." 

"And  by  the  same  father,  mistress?"  said  Stawarth;  but,  seeing  a  blush  of  dis- 
pleasure arise  on  her  brow,  he  instantly  added,  "  Nay,  I  mean  no  offence ;  I  would  have 
asked  the  same  question  at  any  of  my  gossips  in  merry  Lincoln. — Well,  dame,  you  have 
two  fair  boys ;  I  would  I  could  borrow  one,  for  Dame  Bolton  and  I  live  childless  in  our 
old  hall. — Come,  little  fellows,  which  of  you  will  go  with  me?" 

The  trembling  mother,  half-fearing  as  he  spoke,  drew  the  children  towards  her,  one 
with  either  hand,  while  they  both  answered  the  stranger.  "  I  will  not  go  with  you," 
said  Halbert,  boldly,  "  for  you  are  a  false-hearted  Southern  ;  and  the  Southerns  killed 
my  father;  and  I  will  war  on  you  to  the  death,  when  I  can  draw  my  father's  sword." 

"  God-a-mercy,  my  little  levin-bolt,"  said  Stawarth,  "  the  goodly  custom  of  deadly 
feud  will  never  go  down  in  thy  day,  I  presume. — And  you,  my  fine  white-head,  will  you 
not  go  with  me,  to  ride  a  cock-horse?" 

"  No,"  said  Edward,  demurely,  "  for  you  are  a  heretic." 

"Why,  God-a-mercy  still!"  said  Stawarth  Bolton.  "Well,  dame,  I  see  I  shall  find 
no  recruits  for  my  troop  from  you;  and  yet  I  do  envy  you  these  two  little  chubby 
knaves."  He  sighed  a  moment,  as  was  visible,  in  spite  of  gorget  and  corslet,  and  then 
added,  "  And  yet,  my  dame  and  I  would  but  quarrel  which  of  the  knaves  we  should  like 

*  As  gallantry  of  all  times  and  nations  has  the  same  mode  of  thinking  and  acting,  so  it  often  expresses  itself  by  the  same 
symbols.  In  the  civil  war  1745-6,  a  party  of  Highlanders,  under  a  Chieftain  of  rank,  came  to  Rose  Castle,  the  seat  of  the 
Bishop  of  Carlisle,  but  then  occupied  by  the  family  of  Squire  Dacre  of  Cumberland.  They  demanded  quarters,  which  of  were  not  to  be  refused  to  armed  men  of  a  strange  attire  and  unknown  language.  But  the  domestic  represented  to  the 
captain  of  the  mountaineers,  that  the  lady  of  the  mansion  had  been  just  delivered  of  a  daughter,  and  expressed  her  hope, 
that,  under  these  circumstances, his  party  would  give  as  little  trouble  as  possible.  "  God  forbid,"  said  the  gallant  chief,"  that 
I  or  mine  should  be  the  means  of  adding  to  a  lady's  inconvenience  at  such  a  time.  May  I  request  to  see  the  infant?"  The 
child  was  brought,  and  the  Highlander,  taking  his  cockade  out  of  his  bonnet,  and  pinning  it  on  the  child's  breast,  "  That  will 
be  a  token,"  he  said,  "  to  any  of  our  people  who  may  come  hither,  that  Donald  M'Donald  of  Kinloch-Moidart,  has  taken 
the  family  of  Rose  Castle  under  his  protection."  The  lady  who  received  in  infancy  this  gage  of  Highland  protection,  is  now 
Mary,  Lady  Clerk  of  Pennycuik ;  and  on  the  10th  of  June  still  wears  the  cockade  which  was  pinned  on  her  breast,  with  a 
white  rose  as  a  kindred  decoration. 


best;  for  I  should  wish  for  the  black-eyed  rogue — and  she,  I  warrant  me,  for  that  blue- 
eyed,  fair-haired  darling.  Natheless,  we  must  brook  our  solitary  wedlock,  and  wish  joy 
to  those  that  are  more  fortunate.  Sergeant  Brittson,  do  thou  remain  here  till  recalled — 
protect  this  family,  as  under  assui'ance — do  them  no  wrong,  and  suffer  no  wrong  to  be 
done  to  them,  as  thou  wilt  answer  it. — Dame,  Brittson  is  a  married  man,  old  and  steady; 
feed  him  on  what  you  will,  but  give  him  not  over  much  liquor." 

Dame  Glendinning  again  offered  refreshments,  but  with  a  faltering  voice,  and  an 
obvious  desire  her  invitation  should  not  be  accepted.  The  fact  was,  that,  supposing  her 
boys  as  precious  in  the  eyes  of  the  Englishman  as  in  her  own,  (the  most  ordinary  of 
parental  errors,)  she  was  half  afraid,  that  the  admiration  he  expressed  of  them  in  his 
blunt  manner  might  end  in  his  actually  carrying  off  one  or  other  of  the  little  darlings 
whom  he  appeared  to  covet  so  much.  She  kept  hold  of  their  hands,  therefore,  as  if  her 
feeble  strength  could  have  been  of  service,  had  any  violence  been  intended,  and  saw  with 
joy  she  could  not  disguise,  the  little  party  of  horse  countermarch,  in  order  to  descend  the 
glen.  Her  feelings  did  not  escape  Stawarth  Bolton :  "  I  forgive  you,  dame,"  he  said, 
"  for  being  suspicious  that  an  English  falcon  was  hovering  over  your  Scottish  moor- 
brood.  But  fear  not— those  who  have  fewest  children  have  fewest  cares;  nor  does  a 
wise  man  covet  those  of  another  household.  Adieu,  dame;  when  the  black-eyed  rogue 
is  able  to  drive  a  foray  from  England,  teach  him  to  spare  women  and  children,  for  the 
sake  of  Stawarth  Bolton." 

"  God  be  with  you,  gallant  Southern!"  said  Elspeth  Glendinning,  but  not  till  he  was 
out  of  hearing,  spurring  on  his  good  horse  to  regain  the  head  of  his  party,  whose  plumage 
and  ai-mour  were  now  glancing  and  gradually  disappearing  in  the  distance,  as  they  winded 
down  the  glen. 

"  Mother,"  said  the  elder  boy,  "  I  will  not  say  amen  to  a  prayer  for  a  Southern." 
"Mother,"  said  the  younger,  more  reverentially,  "  is  it  right  to  pray  for  a  heretic?" 
"  The  God  to  whom  I  pray  only  knows,"  answered  poor  Elspeth ;  "  but  these  two 
words.  Southern  and  heretic,  have  already  cost  Scotland  ten  thousand  of  her  best  and 
bravest,  and  me  a  husband,  and  you  a  father;  and,  whether  blessing  or  banning,  I  never 
wish  to  hear  them  more. — Follow  me  to  the  Place,  sir,"  she  said  to  Brittson,  "  and  such 
as  we  have  to  offer  you  shall  be  at  your  disposal." 

E  2 

<E|!j}a;ptit  ill  tritoH, 

Tliey  lighted  down  on  Tweed  water, 

And  blew  their  coals  sae  het, 
And  fired  the  March  and  Teviotdale, 

All  in  an  evening  late. 

AuLD  Maitland. 

^  HE  report  soon  spread  through  the  patrimony  of  Saint  Mary's  and  its 
K  vicinity,  that  the  Mistress  of  Glendearg  had  received  assurance  from 
'^NA  the  English  Captain,  and  that  her  cattle  were  not  to  be  driven  off,  or 
'  y  ",  her  corn  burned.  Among  others  who  heard  this  report,  it  reached  the 
S[^  ears  of  a  lady,  who,  once  much  higher  in  rank  than  Elspeth  Glendinning, 
"^^  was  now  by  the  same  calamity  reduced  to  even  greater  misfortune. 
She  was  the  widow  of  a  brave  soldier,  Walter  Avenel,  descended  of  a  very  ancient 
Border  family,  who  once  possessed  immense  estates  in  Eskdale.  These  had  long  since 
passed  from  them  into  other  hands,  but  they  still  enjoyed  an  ancient  Barony  of  con- 
siderable extent,  not  very  far  from  the  patrimony  of  Saint  Mary's,  and  lying  upon  the 
same  side  of  the  river  Avith  the  narrow  vale  of  Glendearg,  at  the  head  of  which  Avas  the 
little  tower  of  the  Glendinnings.  Here  they  had  lived,  bearing  a  respectable  rank 
amongst  the  gentry  of  their  province,  though  neither  wealthy  nor  powerful.  This 
general  regard  had  been  much  augmented  by  the  skill,  courage,  and  enterprise  which 
had  been  displayed  by  Walter  Avenel,  the  last  Baron. 

When  Scotland  began  to  recover  from  the  dreadful  shock  she  had  sustained  after  the 
battle  of  Pinkie-Cleuch,  Avenel  was  one  of  the  first  who,  assembling  a  small  force,  set 
an  exami:)le  in  those  bloody  and  unsparing  skirmishes,  which  shewed  that  a  nation, 
though  conquered  and  overrun  by  invaders,  may  yet  wage  against  them  such  a  war  of 


detail  as  shall  in  the  end  become  fatal  to  the  foreigners.  In  one  of  these,  however, 
"Walter  Avenel  fell,  and  the  news  which  came  to  the  house  of  his  fathers  was  followed 
by  the  distracting  intelligence,  that  a  party  of  Englishmen  were  coming  to  plunder  the 
mansion  and  lands  of  his  widow,  in  order,  by  this  act  of  terroi*,  to  prevent  others  from 
following  the  example  of  the  deceased. 

The  unfortunate  lady  had  no  better  refuge  than  the  miserable  cottage  of  a  shepherd 
among  the  hills,  to  which  she  was  hastily  removed,  scarce  conscious  where  or  for  what 
purpose  her  terrified  attendants  were  removing  her  and  her  infant  daughter  from  her 
own  house.  Here  she  was  tended  with  all  the  duteous  service  of  ancient  times  by  the 
shepherd's  wife,  Tibb  Tacket,  who  in  better  days  had  been  her  own  bowerwoman.  For 
a  time  the  lady  was  unconscious  of  her  misery;  but  when  the  first  stunning  effect  of 
grief  was  so  far  passed  away  that  she  could  form  an  estimate  of  her  own  situation,  the 
widow  of  Avenel  had  cause  to  envy  the  lot  of  her  husband  in  his  dark  and  silent  abode. 
The  domestics  who  had  guided  her  to  her  place  of  refuge,  were  presently  obliged  to 
disperse  for  their  own  safety,  or  to  seek  for  necessary  subsistence;  and  the  shepherd  and 
his  wife,  whose  poor  cottage  she  shared,  were  soon  after  deprived  of  the  means  of 
affording  their  late  mistress  even  that  coarse  sustenance  which  they  had  gladly  shared 
with  her.  Some  of  the  English  forayers  had  discovered  and  driven  off  the  few  sheep 
which  had  escaped  the  first  researches  of  their  avarice.  Two  cows  shared  the  fate  of 
the  remnant  of  their  stock;  they  had  afforded  the  family  almost  their  sole  support,  and 
now  famine  appeared  to  stare  them  in  the  face. 

"  We  are  broken  and  beggared  now,  out  and  out,"  said  old  Martin  the  shepherd — and 
he  wrung  his  hands  in  the  bitterness  of  agony,  "the  thieves,  the  harrying  thieves!  not 
a  cloot  left  of  the  haill  hirsel ! " 

"  And  to  see  poor  Grizzy  and  Crumble,"  said  his  wife,  "  turning  back  their  necks  to 
the  byre,  and  routing  while  the  stony-hearted  villains  were  brogging  them  on  wi'  their 

"  There  were  but  four  of  them,"  said  Martin,  "  and  I  have  seen  the  day  forty  wad 
not  have  ventured  this  length.  But  our  strength  and  manhood  is  gane  with  our  puir 

"  For  the  sake  of  the  holy  rood,  whisht,  man,"  said  the  goodvvife,  "  our  leddy  is  half 
gane  already,  as  ye  may  see  by  that  fleightering  of  the  ee-lid — a  word  mair  and  she's 
dead  outright." 

"  I  could  almost  wish,"  said  Martin,  "  we  were  a'  gane,  for  what  to  do  passes  my  puir 
wit.  I  care  little  for  mysell,  or  you,  Tibb, — we  can  make  a  fend — work  or  want — we 
can  do  baith,  but  she  can  do  neither." 

They  canvassed  their  situation  thus  openly  before  the  lady,  convinced  by  the  paleness 
of  her  look,  her  quivering  lip,  and  dead-set  eye,  that  she  neither  heard  nor  understood 
what  they  were  saying. 

"  There  is  a  way,"  said  the  shepherd,  "  but  I  kenna  if  she  could  bring  her  heart  to 
it, — there's  Simon  Glendinning's  widow  of  the  glen  yonder,  has  had  assurance  from  the 
Southern  loons,  and  nae  soldier  to  steer  them  for  one  cause  or  other.  Now,  if  the  leddy 
could  bow  her  mind  to  take  quarters  with  Elspeth  Glendinning  till  better  days  cast  up, 
nae  doubt  it  wad  be  doing  an  honour  to  the  like  of  her,  but " 

"  An  honour,"  answered  Tibb,  "  ay,  by  my  word,  sic  an  honour  as  wad  be  pride  to 
her  kin  mony  a  lang  year  after  her  banes  were  in  the  mould.  Oh!  gudeman,  to  hear  ye 
even  the  Lady  of  Avenel  to  seeking  quarters  wi'  a  Kirk-vassal's  widow  !" 

"  Loath  should  I  be  to  wish  her  to  it,"  said  Martin  ;  "  but  what  may  we  do  ? — to  stay 
here  is  mere  starvation  ;  and  where  to  go,  I'm  sure  I  ken  nae  mair  than  ony  tup  I  ever 

"  Speak  no  more  of  it,"  said  the  widow  of  Avenel,  suddenly  joining  in  the  con- 
versation, "I  will  go  to  the  tower. — Dame  Elspeth  is  of  good  folk,  a  widow,  and  tlie 


mother  of  orphans, — she  will  give  us  house-room  until  something  be  thought  upon. 
These  evil  showers  make  the  low  bush  better  than  no  bield." 

"  See  there,  see  there,"  said  Martin,  "  you  see  the  leddy  has  twice  our  sense." 

"  And  natural  it  is,"  said  Tibb,  "  seeing  that  she  is  convent-bred,  and  can  lay  silk 
broidery,  forby  white-seam  and  shell-work." 

"  Do  you  not  think,"  said  the  lady  to  Martin,  still  clasping  her  child  to  her  bosom 
and  making  it  clear  from  what  motives  she  desired  the  refuge,  "  that  Dame  Glendinning 
will  make  us  welcome  ?  " 

"  Blithely  welcome,  blithely  welcome,  my  leddy,"  answered  Martin,  cheerily,  "  and  we 
shall  deserve  a  welcome  at  her  hand.  Men  are  scarce  now,  my  leddy,  with  these  wars  ; 
and  gie  me  a  thought  of  time  to  it,  I  can  do  as  good  a  day's  darg  as  ever  I  did  in  my 
life,  and  Tibb  can  sort  cows  with  ony  living  woman." 

"  And  muckle  mair  could  I  do,"  said  Tibb,  "  were  it  ony  feasible  house ;  but  there 
will  be  neither  pearlins  to  mend,  nor  pinners  to  busk  up,  in  Elspeth  Glendinning's." 

"  Whisht  wi'  your  pi-ide,  woman,"  said  the  shepherd ;  "  eneugh  ye  can  do,  baith  outside 
and  inside,  an  ye  set  your  mind  to  it ;  and  hard  it  is  if  we  twa  canna  work  for  three 
folk's  meat,  forby  my  dainty  wee  leddy  there.  Come  awa,  come  awa,  nae  use  in  staying 
here  langer ;  we  have  five  Scots  miles  over  moss  and  muir,  and  that  is  nae  easy  walk 
for  a  leddy  born  and  bred." 

Household  stuff  there  was  little  or  none  to  remove  or  care  for ;  an  old  pony  which 
had  escaped  the  plunderers,  owing  partly  to  its  pitiful  appearance,  partly  from  the 
reluctance  which  it  shewed  to  be  caught  by  strangers,  was  employed  to  carry  the  few 
blankets  and  other  trifles  which  they  possessed.  When  Shagram  came  to  his  master's 
well-known  whistle,  he  was  surprised  to  find  the  poor  thing  ha4  been  wounded,  though 
slightly,  by  an  arrow,  which  one  of  the  forayers  had  shot  off  in  anger  after  he  had  long 
chased  it  in  vain. 

"  Ay,  Shagram,"  said  the  old  man,  as  he  applied  something  to  the  wound,  "  must  you 
rue  the  lang-bow  as  weel  as  all  of  us?" 

"  What  corner  in  Scotland  rues  it  not ! "  said  the  Lady  of  Avenel. 

"  Ay,  ay,  madam,"  said  Mai'tin,  "  God  keep  the  kindly  Scot  from  the  cloth-yai'd  shaft, 
and  he  will  keep  himself  from  the  handy  stroke.  But  let  us  go  our  way ;  the  trash  that 
is  left  I  can  come  back  for.  There  is  nae  ane  to  stir  it  but  the  good  neighbours,  and 
they " 

"  For  the  love  of  God,  goodman,"  said  his  wife,  in  a  remonstrating  tone,  "  baud  your 
peace  !  Think  what  ye're  saying,  and  we  hae  sae  muckle  wild  land  to  go  over  before 
we  win  to  the  girth  gate." 

The  husband  nodded  acquiescence ;  for  it  was  deemed  highly  imprudent  to  speak  of 
the  fairies,  either  by  their  title  of  (jood  neighbours  or  by  any  other,  especially  when  about 
to  pass  the  places  which  they  were  supposed  to  haunt.* 

*  This  superstition  continues  to  prevail,  though  one  would  suppose  it  ni\ist  now  be  antiquated.  It  is  only  a  year  or  two 
since  an  itinerant  puppet  show-man,  who,  disdainingto  acknowledge  the  profession  of  Gines  de  Passamonte,  called  himself  an 
artist  from  Vauxhall,  brought  a  complaint  of  a  singular  nature  before  the  author,  as  Sherift'  of  Selkirkshire.  The  singular 
dexterity  with  which  the  show-man  had  exhibited  the  machinery  of  his  little  stage,  had,  upon  a  Selkirk  fair-day,  excited  the 
eager  curiosity  of  some  mechanics  of  Galashiels.  These  men,  from  no  worse  motive  that  could  be  discovered  than  a  thirst 
after  knowledge  beyond  their  sphere,  committed  a  burglary  upon  the  barn  in  which  the  puppets  had  been  consigned  to  repose, 
and  carried  them  off  in  the  nook  of  their  plaids,  when  returning  from  Selkirk  to  their  own  village. 

"  But  with  the  morning  cool  reflection  came." 
The  party  found,  however,  they- could  not  make  Punch  dance,  and  that  the  whole  troop  were  equally  intractable;  they  had 
also,  perhaps,  some  apprehensions  of  the  Rhadamanth  of  tlie  district;  and,  willing  to  be  quit  of  their  booty,  they  left  the 
puppets  seated  in  a  grove  by  the  side  of  the  Ettrick,  where  they  were  sure  to  be  touched  by  the  first  beams  of  the  rising  sun. 
Here  a  shepherd,  who  was  on  foot  with  sunrise  to  pen  his  master's  sheep  on  a  field  of  turnips,  to  his  utter  astonishment,  saw 
this  train,  profusely  gay,  sitting  in  the  little  grotto.     His  examination  proceeded  thus  : — 

Sheriff.     You  saw  these  gay-looking  things?  what  did  you  think  they  were  ? 

Shrpherd.     Ou,  I  am  no  that  free  to  say  what  I  might  think  they  were. 

Sheriff.     Come,  lad,  I  must  have  a  direct  answer — who  did  you  think  they  were  ? 

Shepherd.     Ou,  sir,  troth  I  am  no  that  free  to  say  that  I  mind  wha  I  might  think  they  were. 

Sheriff.     Come,  come  sir  !  I  ask  you  distinctly,  did  you  think  they  were  the  fairies  you  saw  ? 

Shepherd.     Indeed,  sir,  and  I  winna  say  but  I  might  think  it  was  the  Good  Neighbours. 
Thus  unwillingly  was  he  brought  to  allude  to  the  irritable  and  captious  inhabitants  of  fairy  land. 


They  set  forward  on  their  pilgrimage  on  the  last  day  of  October.  *'  This  is  thy  birth- 
day, my  sweet  Mary,"  said  the  mother,  as  a  sting  of  bitter  recollection  crossed  her  mind. 
"  Oh,  who  could  have  believed  that  the  head,  which,  a  few  years  since,  was  cradled 
amongst  so  many  rejoicing  friends,  may  perhaps  this  night  seek  a  cover  in  vain  !" 

The  exiled  family  then  set  forward, — Mary  Avenel,  a  lovely  girl  between  five  and 
six  years  old,  riding  gipsy  fashion  upon  Shagram,  betwixt  two  bundles  of  bedding ;  the 
Lady  of  Avenel  Avalking  by  the  animal's  side ;  Tibb  leading  the  bridle,  and  old  Martin 
walking  a  little  before,  looking  anxiously  around  him  to  explore  the  way. 

Martin's  task  as  guide,  after  two  or  three  miles'  walking,  became  more  difficult  than 
he  himself  had  expected,  or  than  he  was  willing  to  avow.  It  happened  that  the  extensive 
range  of  pasturage,  with  which  he  was  conversant,  lay  to  the  west,  and  to  get  into  the 
little  valley  of  Glendearg  he  had  to  proceed  eastei'ly.  In  the  wilder  districts  of  Scotland, 
the  passage  from  one  vale  to  another,  otherwise  than  by  descending  that  which  you  leave, 
and  reascending  the  other,  is  often  very  difficult. — Heights  and  hollows,  mosses  and  rocks 
intervene,  and  all  those  local  impediments  which  throw  a  traveller  out  of  his  course.  So 
that  Martin,  however  sure  of  his  general  direction,  became  conscious,  and  at  length  was 
forced  reluctantly  to  admit,  that  he  had  missed  the  direct  road  to  Glendearg,  though  he 
insisted  they  must  be  very  near  it.  "  If  we  can  but  win  across  this  wide  bog,"  he  said, 
"  I  shall  warrant  ye  are  on  the  top  of  the  tower." 

But  to  get  across  the  bog  was  a  point  of  no  small  difficulty.  The  farther  they  ventured 
into  it,  though  proceeding  with  all  the  caution  which  Martin's  experience  recommended, 
the  more  unsound  the  ground  became,  until,  after  they  had  passed  some  places  of  great 
peril,  their  best  argument  for  going  forward  came  to  be,  that  they  had  to  encounter  equal 
danger  in  returning. 

The  Lady  of  Avenel  had  been  tenderly  nurtured,  but  what  will  not  a  woman  endure 
when  her  child  is  in  danger?  Complaining  less  of  the  dangers  of  the  road  than  her  atten- 
dants, who  had  been  inured  to  such  from  their  infancy,  she  kept  herself  close  by  the  side 
of  the  pony,  watching  its  every  footstep,  and  ready,  if  it  should  flounder  in  the  morass, 
to  snatch  her  little  Mary  from  its  back.  At  length  they  came  to  a  place  where  the  guide 
greatly  hesitated,  for  all  around  him  was  broken  lumps  of  heath,  divided  from  each  other 
by  deep  sloughs  of  black  tenacious  mire.  After  great  consideration,  Martin,  selecting 
what  he  thought  the  safest  path,  began  himself  to  lead  forward  Shagram,  in  order  to 


afford  greater  security  to  the  child.  But  Shagram  snorted,  laid  his  ears  back,  stretched 
his  two  feet  forward,  and  drew  his  hind  feet  under  him,  so  as  to  adopt  the  best  possible 
posture  for  obstinate  resistance,  and  refused  to  move  one  yard  in  the  direction  indicated. 
Old  Martin,  much  puzzled,  now  hesitated  whether  to  exert  his  absolute  authority,  or  to 
defer  to  the  contumacious  obstinacy  of  Shagram,  and  was  not  greatly  comforted  by  his 
wife's  observation,  who,  seeing  Shagram  stare  with  his  eyes,  distend  his  nostrils,  and 
tremble  with  terror,  hinted  that  "  he  surely  saw  more  than  they  could  see." 

In  this  dilemma,  the  child  suddenly  exclaimed — "  Bonny  leddy  signs  to  us  to  come 
yon  gate."  They  all  looked  in  the  direction  where  the  child  pointed,  but  saw  nothing, 
save  a  wreath  of  rising  mist,  which  fancy  might  form  into  a  human  figure  ;  but  which 
afforded  to  Martin  only  the  sorrowful  conviction,  that  the  danger  of  their  situation  was 
about  to  be  increased  by  a  heavy  fog.  He  once  more  essayed  to  lead  forward  Shagram ; 
but  the  animal  was  inflexible  in  its  determination  not  to  move  in  the  direction  Martin 
recommended.  "  Take  your  awn  way  for  it,  then,"  said  Martin,  "  and  let  us  see  what 
you  can  do  for  us." 

vShagram,  abandoned  to  the  discretion  of  his  OAvn  free-will,  set  off  boldly  in  the  direc- 
tion the  child  had  pointed.  There  was  nothing  wonderful  in  this,  nor  in  its  bringing 
them  safe  to  the  other  side  of  the  dangerous  morass ;  for  the  instinct  of  these  animals  in 
traversing  bogs  is  one  of  the  most  curious  parts  of  their  nature,  and  is  a  fact  generally 
established.  But  it  was  remarkable,  that  the  child  more  than  once  mentioned  the  beau- 
tiful lady  and  her  signals,  and  that  Shagram  seemed  to  be  in  the  secret,  always  moving 
in  the  same  direction  which  she  indicated.  The  Lady  of  Avenel  took  little  notice  at  the 
time,  her  mind  being  probably  occupied  by  the  instant  danger ;  but  her  attendants 
changed  expressive  looks  with  each  other  more  than  once. 

"■  All-Hallow  Eve  ! "  said  Tibb,  in  a  whisper  to  Martin. 

"  For  the  mercy  of  Our  Lady,  not  a  word  of  that  now!"  said  Martin  in  reply.  "  Tell 
your  beads,  woman,  if  you  cannot  be  silent." 

When  they  got  once  more  on  firm  ground,  Martin  recognized  certain  land-marks,  or 
cairns,  on  the  tops  of  the  neighbouring  hills,  by  which  he  was  enabled  to  guide  his  course, 
and  ere  long  they  arrived  at  the  Tower  of  Glendearg. 

It'was  at  the  sight  of  this  little  fortalice  that  the  misery  of  her  lot  pressed  hard  on  the 
poor  Lady  of  Avenel.  When  by  any  accident  they  had  met  at  church,  market,  or  other 
place  of  public  resort,  she  remembered  the  distant  and  respectful  air  with  which  the  wife 
of  the  warlike  baron  was  addressed  by  the  spouse  of  the  humble  feuar.  And  now,  so 
much  was  her  pride  humbled,  that  she  was  to  ask  to  share  the  precarious  safety  of  the 
same  feuar's  widow,  and  her  pittance  of  food,  which  might  perhaps  be  yet  more  precarious. 
Martin  probably  guessed  what  was  passing  in  her  mind,  for  he  looked  at  her  with  a 
wistful  glance,  as  if  to  deprecate  any  change  of  resolution  ;  and  answering  to  his  looks, 
rather  than  his  words,  she  said,  while  the  sparkle  of  subdued  pride  once  more  glanced 
from  her  eye,  "  If  it  were  for  myself  alone,  I  could  but  die — but  for  this  infant— the  last 
pledge  of  Avenel " 

"  True,  my  lady,"  said  Martin,  hastily;  and,  as  if  to  prevent  the  possibility  of  her 
retracting,  he  added,  "  I  will  step  on  and  see  Dame  Elspeth — I  kend  her  husband  weel, 
and  have  bought  and  sold  with  him,  for  as  great  a  man  as  he  was." 

Martin's  tale  was  soon  told,  and  met  all  acceptance  from  her  companion  in  misfortune. 
The  Lady  of  Avenel  had  been  meek  and  courteous  in  her  prosperity;  in  adversity,  there- 
fore, she  met  with  the  greatest  sympathy.  Besides,  there  was  a  point  of  pride  in  shelter- 
ing and  supporting  a  woman  of  such  superior  birth  and  rank  ;  and,  not  to  do  Elspeth 
Glendinning  injustice,  she  felt  sympathy  for  one  whose  fate  resembled  her  own  in  so  many 
points,  yet  was  so  much  more  severe.  Every  species  of  hospitality  was  gladly  and  respect- 
fully extended  to  the  distressed  travellers,  and  they  were  kindly  requested  to  stay  as  long 
at  Glendearg  as  their  circumstances  rendered  necessary,  or  their  inclination  prompted. 

©Iiapiler  'i|j)i  #©ir:t$). 

Ne'er  be  I  found  by  thee  unawed, 
On  that  thrice  hallow'd  eve  abroad, 
When  goblins  haunt  from  flood  and  fen, 

The  steps  of  men. 

CoLLiNs's  Ode  to  Fear. 


S  the  country  became  more  settled,  the  Lady  of  Avenel  would  have 

willingly  returned  to  her  husband's  mansion.     But  that  was  no  longer  in 

t',^'^  her  power.     It  was  a  reign  of  minority,  when  the  strongest  had  the  best 

-"    right,  and  Avhen  acts  of  usurpation  were  frequent  amongst  those  who  had 

much  power  and  little  conscience. 

Julian  Avenel,  the  younger  brother  of  the  deceased  Walter,  was  a 
person  of  this  description.  He  hesitated  not  to  seize  upon  his  brother's  house  and  lands, 
so  soon  as  the  retreat  of  the  English  permitted  him.     At  first,  he  occupied  the  property 



in  the  name  of  liis  niece ;  but  when  the  lady  proposed  to  return  with  her  child  to  the 
mansion  of  its  fathers,  he  gave  her  to  understand,  that  Avenel,  being  a  male  fief, 
descended  to  the  brother,  instead  of  the  daughter,  of  the  last  possessor.  The  ancient 
philosopher  declined  a  dispute  with  the  emperor  who  commanded  twenty  legions,  and 
the  widow  of  Walter  Avenel  was  in  no  condition  to  maintain  a  contest  with  the  leader 
of  twenty  moss-troopers.  Julian  was  also  a  man  of  service,  who  could  back  a  friend  in 
case  of  need,  and  was  sure,  therefore,  to  find  protectors  among  the  ruling  powers.  In 
short,  however  clear  the  little  Mai'y's  right  to  the  possessions  of  her  father,  her  mother 
saw  the  necessity  of  giving  way,  at  least  for  the  time,  to  the  usurpation  of  her  uncle. 

Her  patience  and  foi-bearance  were  so  far  attended  with  advantage,  that  Julian,  for 
very  shame's  sake,  could  no  longer  suffer  her  to  be  absolutely  dependant  on  the  charity 
of  Elspeth  Glendinning.  A  drove  of  cattle  and  a  bull  (which  were  probably  missed  by 
some  English  farmer)  were  driven  to  the  pastures  of  Glendearg;  presents  of  raiment  and 
household  stuff  were  sent  liberally,  and  some  little  money,  though  with  a  more  sparing 
hand :  for  those  in  the  situation  of  Julian  Avenel  could  come  more  easily  by  the  goods, 
than  the  representing  medium  of  value,  and  made  their  payments  chiefly  in  kind. 

In  the  meantime,  the  widows  of  Walter  Avenel  and  Simon  Glendinning  had  become 
habituated  to  each  other's  society,  and  were  unwilling  to  part.  The  lady  could  hope  no 
more  secret  and  secure  residence  than  in  the  Tower  of  Glendearg,  and  she  was  now  in 
a  condition  to  support  her  share  of  the  mutual  housekeeping.  Elspeth,  on  the  other  hand, 
felt  pride,  as  well  as  pleasure,  in  the  society  of  a  guest  of  such  distinction,  and  was  at  all 
times  willing  to  pay  much  greater  deference  than  the  Lady  of  Walter  Avenel  could  be 
prevailed  on  to  accept. 

Martin  and  his  wife  diligently  served  the  united  family  in  their  several  vocations,  and 
yielded  obedience  to  both  mistresses,  though  always  considering  themselves  as  the  especial 
servants  of  the  Lady  of  Avenel.  This  distinction  sometimes  occasioned  a  slight  degree 
of  difference  between  Dame  Elspeth  and  Tibb ;  the  former  being  jealous  of  her  own 
consequence,  and  the  latter  apt  to  lay  too  much  stress  upon  the  rank  and  family  of  her 
mistress.  But  both  were  alike  desirous  to  conceal  such  petty  squabbles  from  the  lady, 
her  hostess  scarce  yielding  to  her  old  domestic  in  respect  for  her  person.  Neither  did 
the  difference  exist  in  such  a  degree  as  to  interrupt  the  general  harmony  of  the  family, 
for  the  one  wisely  gave  way  as  she  saw  the  other  become  warm ;  and  Tibb,  though  she 
often  gave  the  first  provocation,  had  generally  the  sense  to  be  the  first  in  relinquishing 
the  argument. 

The  world  which  lay  beyond  was  gradually  forgotten  by  the  inhabitants  of  this 
sequestered  glen,  and  unless  when  she  attended  mass  at  the  Monastery  Church  upon 
some  high  holiday,  Alice  of  Avenel  almost  forgot  that  she  once  held  an  equal  rank  with 
the  proud  wives  of  the  neighbouring  barons  and  nobles  who  on  such  occasions  crowded 
to  the  solemnity.  The  recollection  gave  her  little  pain.  She  loved  her  husband  for 
himself,  and  in  his  inestimable  loss  all  lesser  subjects  of  regret  had  ceased  to  interest  her. 
At  times,  indeed,  she  thought  of  claiming  the  protection  of  the  Queen  Regent  (Mary  of 
Guise)  for  her  little  orphan,  but  the  fear  of  Julian  Avenel  always  came  between.  She 
was  sensible  that  he  would  have  neither  scruple  nor  difficulty  in  spiriting  away  the  child, 
(if  he  did  not  proceed  farther,)  should  he  once  consider  its  existence  as  formidable  to  his 
interest.  Besides,  he  led  a  wild  and  unsettled  life,  mingling  in  all  feuds  and  forays, 
wherever  there  was  a  spear  to  be  bi'oken ;  he  evinced  no  purpose  of  marrying,  and  the 
fate  which  he  continutdly  was  braving  might  at  length  remove  him  from  his  usurped 
inheritance.  Alice  of  Avenel,  therefoi'c,  judged  it  wise  to  check  all  ambitious  thoughts 
for  the  present,  and  remain  quiet  in  the  rude,  but  peaceable  retreat,  to  which  Providence 
had  conducted  her. 

It  was  upon  an  All-Hallow's  eve,  when  the  family  had  resided  together  for  the  space 
of  three  years,  that  the  domestic  circle  was  assembled  round  the  blazing  turf-fire,  in  the 


old  narrow  hall  of  the  Tower  of  Glendearg.  The  idea  of  the  master  or  mistress  of  the 
mansion  feeding  or  living  apart  from  their  domestics,  was  at  this  period  never  entertained. 
The  highest  end  of  the  board,  the  most  commodious  settle  by  the  fii'e, — these  were  the 
only  marks  of  distinction ;  and  the  servants  mingled,  with  deference  indeed,  but  unre- 
proved  and  with  fi'eedom,  in  whatever  conversation  was  going  forward.  But  the  two  or 
three  domestics,  kept  merely  for  agricultural  purposes,  had  retired  to  their  own  cottages 
without,  and  with  them  a  couple  of  wenches,  usually  employed  within  doors,  the 
daughters  of  one  of  the  hinds. 

After  their  departure,  Martin  locked,  first,  the  iron  grate ;  and,  secondly,  the  inner 
door  of  the  tower,  when  the  domestic  circle  was  thus  arranged.  Dame  Elspeth  sate 
pulling  the  thread  from  her  distaff ;  Tibb  watched  the  progress  of  scalding  the  whey, 
which  hung  in  a  large  pot  upon  the  crook,  a  chain  terminated  by  a  hook,  which  was 
suspended  in  the  chimney  to  serve  the  purpose  of  the  modern  crane.  Martin,  while 
busied  in  repairing  some  of  the  household  articles,  (for  every  man  in  those  days  was  his 
own  carpenter  and  smith,  as  well  as  his  own  tailor  and  shoemaker,)  kept  from  time  to 
time  a  watchful  eye  upon  the  three  children. 

They  were  allowed,  however,  to  exercise  their  juvenile  restlessness  by.  running  up  and 
down  the  hall,  behind  the  seats  of  the  elder  members  of  the  family,  with  the  privilege  of 
occasionally  making  excursions  into  one  or  two  small  apartments  which  opened  from  it, 
and  gave  excellent  opportunity  to  play  at  hide-and-seek.  This  night,  however,  the 
children  seemed  not  disposed  to  avail  themselves  of  their  privilege  of  visiting  these  dark 
regions,  but  preferred  cai-ryiug  on  their  gambols  in  the  vicinity  of  the  light. 

In  the  meanwhile,  Alice  of  Avenel,  sitting  close  to  an  iron  candlestick,  which  supported 
a  misshapen  torch  of  domestic  manufacture,  read  small  detached  passages  from  a  thick 
clasped  volume,  which  she  preserved  with  the  greatest  care.  The  art  of  reading  the 
lady  had  acquired  by  her  residence  in  a  nunnery  during  her  youth,  but  she  seldom,  of 
late  years,  put  it  to  any  other  use  than  perusing  this  little  volume,  which  formed  her 
whole  library.  The  family  listened  to  the  portions  which  she  selected,  as  to  some  good 
thing  which  there  was  a  merit  in  hearing  with  respect,  whether  it  was  fully  understood 
or  no.  To  her  daughter,  Alice  of  Avenel  had  determined  to  impart  their  mystery  more 
fully,  but  the  knowledge  was  at  that  period  attended  with  personal  danger,  and  was  not 
rashly  to  be  trusted  to  a  child. 

The  noise  of  the  romping  children  interrupted,  from  time  to  time,  the  voice  of  the  lady, 
and  drew  on  the  noisy  culprits  the  rebuke  of  Elspeth. 

"  Could  they  not  go  farther  a-field,  if  they  behoved  to  make  such  a  din,  and  disturb 
the  lady's  good  words  ?  "  And  this  command  was  backed  with  the  threat  of  sending  the 
whole  party  to  bed  if  it  was  not  attended  to  punctually.  Acting  under  the  injunction, 
the  children  first  played  at  a  greater  distance  from  the  party,  and  more  quietly,  and  then 
began  to  stray  into  the  adjacent  apartments,  as  they  became  impatient  of  the  restraint  to 
which  they  were  subjected.  But,  all  at  once,  the  two  boys  came  open-mouthed  into  the 
hall,  to  tell  that  there  was  an  armed  man  in  the  spence. 

"  It  must  be  Christie  of  Cliut-hill,"  said  Martin,  rising  ;  "what  can  have  brought  him 
here  at  this  time  ? " 

"  Or  how  came  he  in  ?"  said  Elspeth. 

"  Alas  !  what  can  he  seek  ?  "  said  the  Lady  of  Avenel,  to  whom  this  man,  a  retainer 
of  her  husband's  brother,  and  who  sometimes  executed  his  commissions  at  Glendearg, 
was  an  object  of  secret  apprehension  and  suspicion.  "  Gracious  heavens  ! "  she  added, 
rising  up,  "where  is  my  child?"  All  rushed  to  the  spence,  Halbert  Glendinning  first 
arming  himself  with  a  rusty  sword,  and  the  younger  seizing  upon  the  lady's  book.  They 
hastened  to  the  spence,  and  were  relieved  of  a  part  of  their  anxiety  by  meeting  Mary  at 
the  door  of  the  apartment.  She  did  not  seem  in  the  slightest  degree  alarmed,  or  disturbed. 


They  rushed  into  the  spence,  (a  sort  of  interior  apartment  in  which  the  family  ate  their 
victuals  in  the  summer  season,)  but  there  was  no  one  there. 

"  Where  is  Christie  of  Clint -hill  ?  "  said  Martin. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  little  Mary  ;  "  I  never  saw  him." 

"  And  what  naade  you,  ye  misleard  loons,"  said  Dame  Elspeth  to  her  two  boys,  "  come 
yon  gate  into  the  ha',  roaring  like  buUsegs,  to  frighten  the  leddy,  and  her  far  frae  strong  ?  " 
The  boys  looked  at  each  other  in  silence  and  confusion,  and  their  mother  proceeded  with 
her  lecture.  "  Could  ye  find  nae  night  for  daffin  but  Hallowe'en,  and  nae  time  but  when 
the  leddy  was  reading  to  us  about  the  holy  Saints  ?  May  ne'er  be  in  my  fingers,  if  I  dinna 
sort  ye  baith  for  it ! "  The  eldest  boy  bent  his  eyes  on  the  ground,  the  younger  began  to 
weep,  but  neither  spoke ;  and  the  mother  would  have  proceeded  to  extremities,  but  for 
the  interposition  of  the  little  maiden. 

"  Dame  Elspeth,  it  was  my  fault — I  did  say  to  them,  that  I  saw  a  man  in  the  spence." 

"  And  what  made  you  do  so,  child,"  said  her  mother,  "to  startle  us  all  thus?" 

"  Because,"  said  Mary,  lowering  her  voice,  "  I  could  not  help  it." 

"  Not  help  it,  IMary ! — you  occasioned  all  this  idle  noise,  and  you  could  not  help  it  ? 
How  mean  you  by  that,  minion  ?  " 

"There  really  was  an  armed  man  in  this  spence,"  said  Mary;  "and  because  I  was 
surprised  to  see  him,  I  cried  out  to  Halbert  and  Edward " 

"  She  has  told  it  herself,"  said  Halbert  Glendinning,  "  or  it  had  never  been  told  by  me." 

"  Nor  by  me  neither,"  said  Edward,  emulously. 

"  Mistress  Mary,"  said  Elspeth,  "  you  never  told  us  anything  before  that  was  not  true  ; 
tell  us  if  this  was  a  Hallowe'en  cantrip,  and  make  an  end  of  it."  The  Lady  of  Avenel 
looked  as  if  she  would  have  interfered,  but  knew  not  how ;  and  Elspeth,  who  was  too 
eagerly  curious  to  regard  any  distant  hint,  persevered  in  her  inquiries.  "  Was  it  Christie 
of  the  Clint-hill  ? — I  would  not  for  a  mark  that  he  were  about  the  house,  and  a  body  no 
ken  whare." 

"  It  was  not  Christie,"  said  Mary;  "it  was — it  was  a  gentleman — a  gentleman  with  a 
bright  breastplate,  like  what  I  hae  seen  langsyne,  when  we  dwelt  at  Avenel " 

"  What  like  was  he  ?  "  continued  Tibb,  who  now  took  share  in  the  investigation. 

"  Black-haired,  black-eyed,  with  a  peaked  black  beard,"  said  the  child,  "  and  many  a 
fold  of  pearling  round  his  neck,  and  hanging  down  his  breast  ower  his  breastplate ;  and 
he  had  a  beautiful  hawk,  with  silver  bells,  standing  on  his  left  hand,  with  a  crimson  silk 
hood  upon  its  head " 

"  Ask  her  no  more  questions,  for  the  love  of  God,"  said  the  anxious  menial  to  Elspeth, 
"  but  look  to  my  leddy  ! "  But  the  Lady  of  Avenel,  taking  Mary  in  her  hand,  turned 
hastily  away,  and,  Avalking  into  the  hall,  gave  them  no  opportunity  of  remarking  in  what 
manner  she  received  the  child's  communication,  which  she  thus  cut  short.  What  Tibb 
thought  of  it  appeared  from  her  crossing  herself  repeatedly,  and  whispering  into  Elspeth's 
ear,  "  Saint  Mary  preserve  us  ! — the  lassie  has  seen  her  fother  !  " 

When  they  reached  the  hall,  they  found  the  lady  holding  her  daughter  on  her  knee, 
and  kissing  her  repeatedly.  When  they  entered,  she  again  arose,  as  if  to  shun  observa- 
tion, and  retired  to  the  little  apartment  where  her  child  and  she  occupied  the  same  bed. 

The  boys  were  also  sent  to  their  cabin,  and  no  one  remained  by  the  hall  fire  save  the 
faithful  Tibb  and  Dame  Elspeth,  excellent  persons  both,  and  as  thorough  gossips  as  ever 
wagged  a  tongue. 

It  was  but  natural  that  they  should  instantly  resume  the  subject  of  the  supernatural 
appearance,  for  such  they  deemed  it,  which  had  this  night  alarmed  the  fomily. 

"  I  could  hae  wished  it  had  been  the  deil  himself — be  good  to  and  preserve  us  ! — rather 
than  Christie  o'  the  Clint-hill,"  said  the  matron  of  the  mansion,  "  for  the  word  runs  rife 
in  the  country,  that  he  is  ane  of  the  maist  masterfu'  thieves  ever  lap  on  horse." 

"  Hout-tout,  Dame  Elspeth,"  said  Tibb,  "  fear  ye  naething  frae  Christie ;    tods  keep 


their  ain  holes  clean.  You  kiik-folk  make  sic  a  fasherie  about  men  shifting  a  wee  bit  for 
their  living  !  Our  Border-lairds  would  ride  with  few  men  at  their  back,  if  a'  the  light- 
handed  lads  wei'e  out  o'  gate." 

"  Better  they  rade  wi'  nane  than  distress  the  country-side  the  gate  they  do,"  said  Dame 

"  But  wha  is  to  hand  back  the  Southron,  then,"  said  Tibb,  "  if  ye  take  away  the  lances 
and  broadswords  ?  I  trow  we  auld  wives  couldna  do  that  wi'  rock  and  wheel,  and  as 
little  the  monks  wi'  bell  and  book." 

"  And  sae  weel  as  the  lances  and  broadswords  hae  kept  them  back,  I  trow  ! — I  was 
mair  beholden  to  ae  Southron,  and  that  was  Stawarth  Bolton,  than  to  a'  the  border-riders 
ever  wore  Saint  Andrew's  cross — I  reckon  their  skelping  back  and  forward,  and  lii'ting 
honest  men's  gear,  has  been  a  main  cause  of  a'  the  breach  betv\^een  us  and  England,  and  I 
am  sure  that  cost  me  a  kind  goodman.  They  spoke  about  the  wedding  of  the  Prince  and 
our  Queen,  but  it's  as  like  to  be  the  driving  of  the  Cumberland  folk's  stocking  that 
brought  them  down  on  us  like  dragons."  Tibb  would  not  have  failed  in  other  circum- 
stances to  answer  what  she  thought  reflections  disparaging  to  her  country  folk ;  but  she 
recollected  that  Dame  Elspeth  was  mistx-ess  of  the  family,  curbed  her  own  zealous 
patriotism,  and  hastened  to  change  the  subject. 

"  And  is  it  not  strange,"  she  said,  "  that  the  heiress  of  Avenel  should  have  seen  her 
father  this  blessed  night  ?  " 

"  And  ye  think  it  was  her  fathei",  then  ?  "  said  Elspeth  Glendinning. 

"  What  else  can  I  think  ?  "  said  Tibb. 

"  It  may  hae  been  something  waur,  in  his  likeness,"  said  Dame  Glendinning. 

"  I  ken  naething  about  that,"  said  Tibb, — "  but  his  likeness  it  was,  that  I  will  be  sworn 
to,  just  as  he  used  to  ride  out  a-hawking ;  for  having  enemies  in  the  country,  he  seldom 
laid  off  the  breast-plate  ;  and  for  my  part,"  added  Tibb,  "  I  dinna  think  a  man  looks  like 
a  man  unless  he  has  steel  on  his  breast,  and  by  his  side  too." 

"  I  have  no  skill  of  your  harness  on  breast  or  side  either,"  said  Dame  Glendinning  ; 
"  but  I  ken  there  is  little  luck  in  Hallowe'en  sights,  for  I  have  had  ane  mysell." 

"  Indeed,  Dame  Elspeth  ?  "  said  old  Tibb,  edging  her  stool  closer  to  the  huge  elbow- 
chair  occupied  by  her  friend,  "  I  should  like  to  hear  about  that." 

"  Ye  maun  ken,  then,  Tibb,"  said  Dame  Glendinning,  "  that  when  I  was  a  hempie  of 
nineteen  or  twenty,  it  wasna  my  fault  if  I  wasna  at  a'  the  merry-makings  time  about." 

"That  was  very  natural,"  said  Tibb;  "but  ye  hae  sobered  since  that,  or  ye  wadna 
haud  our  braw  gallants  sae  lightly." 

"  I  have  had  that  wad  sober  me  or  ony  ane,"  said  the  matron.  "  Aweel,  Tibb,  a  lass 
like  me  wasna  to  lack  wooers,  for  I  wasna  sae  ill-favoured  that  the  tikes  wad  bark 
after  me." 

"  How  should  that  be,"  said  Tibb,  "  and  you  sic  a  weel-favoured  woman  to  this  day  ?  " 

"  Fie,  fie,  cummer,"  said  the  matron  of  Glendearg,  hitching  her  seat  of  honour,  in  her 
turn,  a  little  nearer  to  the  cuttie-stool  on  which  Tibb  was  seated  ;  "  weel-favoured  is  past 
my  time  of  day ;  but  I  might  pass  then,  for  I  wasna  sae  tocherless  but  what  I  had  a  bit 
land  at  my  breast-lace.     My  father  was  portioner  of  Little-dearg." 

"  Ye  hae  tell'd  me  that  before,"  said  Tibb ;  "  but  anent  the  Hallowe'en?" 

"  Aweel,  aweel,  I  had  mair  joes  than  ane,  but  I  favoured  nane  o'  them ;  and  sae,  at 
Hallowe'en,  Father  Nicolas  the  cellarer — he  was  cellarer  before  this  father.  Father 
Clement,  that  now  is — was  cracking  his  nuts  and  drinking  his  brown  beer  with  us,  and 
as  blithe  as  might  be,  and  they  would  have  me  try  a  cantrip  to  ken  wha  suld  wed  me : 
and  the  monk  said  there  was  nae  ill  in  it,  and  if  there  was,  he  would  assoil  me  for  it. 
■And  wha  but  I  into  the  barn  to  winnow  my  three  weights  o'  naething — sair,  sair  my 
mind  misgave  me  for  fear  of  wrang-doing  and  wrang-sufFering  baith  ;  but  I  had  aye  a 
bauld  spirit.     I  had  not  winnowed  the  last  weight  clean  out,  and  the  moon  was  shining 


bright  vipon  the  floor,  when  in  stalked  the  presence  of  my  dear  Simon  Glendinning,  that 
is  now  happy.  I  never  saw  him  plainer  in  my  life  than  I  did  that  moment ;  he  held  up 
an  arrow  as  he  passed  me,  and  I  swarf'd  awa  wi'  fright.  Muckle  wark  there  was  to  bring 
me  to  mysell  again,  and  sair  they  tried  to  make  me  believe  it  was  a  trick  of  Father 
Nicolas  and  Simon  between  them,  and  that  the  arrow  was  to  signify  Cupid's  shaft,  as  the 
Father  called  it ;  and  mony  a  time  Simon  wad  threep  it  to  me  after  I  was  married — gude 
man,  he  liked  not  it  should  be  said  that  he  was  seen  out  o'  the  body  ! — But  mark  the  end 
o'  it,  Tibb ;  we  were  married,  and  the  gi'ay -goose  wing  was  the  death  o'  him  after  a'!  " 

"  As  it  has  been  of  ower  mony  brave  men,"  said  Tibb;  "  I  wish  there  wasna  sic  a  bird 
as  a  goose  in  the  wide  warld,  forby  the  decking  that  we  hae  at  the  burn-side." 

"  But  tell  me,  Tibb,"  said  Dame  Glendinning,  "  what  does  your  leddy  aye  do  reading 
out  o'  that  thick  black  book  wi'  the  silver  clasps? — there  are  ower  mony  gude  words  in  it 
to  come  frae  ony  body  but  a  priest — An  it  were  about  Robin  Hood,  or  some  o'  David 
Lindsay's  ballants,  ane  wad  ken  better  what  to  say  to  it.  I  am  no  misdoubting  your 
mistress  nae  way,  but  I  wad  like  ill  to  hae  a  decent  house  haunted  wi'  ghaists  and  gyre- 

"  Ye  hae  nae  reason  to  doubt  my  leddy,  or  ony  thing  she  says  or  does.  Dame 
Glendinning,"  said  the  faithful  Tibb,  something  offended  ;  "  and  touching  the  bairn,  it's 
weel  kend  she  was  born  on  Hallowe'en,  was  nine  years  gane,  and  they  that  are  born  on 
Hallowe'en  whiles  see  mair  than  ither  folk." 

"  And  that  wad  be  the  cause,  then,  that  the  bairn  didna  mak  muckle  din  about  what 
it  saw? — if  it  had  been  my  Halbert  himself,  forby  Edward,  who  is  of  softer  nature,  he 
wad  hae  yammered  the  haill  night  of  a  constancy.  But  it's  like  Mistress  Mary  hae  sic 
sights  mair  natural  to  her," 

"  That  may  weel  be,"  said  Tibb ;  "  for  on  Hallowe'en  she  was  born,  as  I  tell  ye,  and 
our  auld  parish  priest  wad  fain  hae  had  the  night  ower,  and  All-Hallow  day  begun. 
But  for  a'  that,  the  sweet  bairn  is  just  like  ither  bairns,  as  ye  may  see  yourself;  and 
except  this  blessed  night,  and  ance  before  when  we  were  in  that  weary  bog  on  the  road 
here,  I  kenna  that  it  saw  mair  than  ither  folk." 

"  But  what  saw  she  in  the  bog,  then,"  said  Dame  Glendinning,  "  forby  moor-cocks  and 
heather-blutters  ?  " 

"  The  wean  saw  something  like  a  white  leddy  that  weised  us  the  gate,"  said  Tibb; 
"  when  we  were  like  to  hae  perished  in  the  moss-hags — certain  it  was  that  Shagram 
reisted,  and  I  ken  Martin  thinks  he  saw  something." 

"  And  what  might  the  white  leddy  be?"  said  Elspeth;  "  have  ye  ony  guess  o'  that?" 

"  It's  weel  kend  that,  Dame  Elspeth,"  said  Tibb;  "  if  ye  had  lived  under  grit  folk,  as 
I  hae  dune,  ye  wadna  be  to  seek  in  that  matter." 

"  I  hae  aye  keepit  my  ain  ha'  house  abune  my  head,"  said  Elspeth,  not  without 
emphasis,  "  and  if  I  havena  lived  wi'  grit  folk,  grit  folk  have  lived  wi'  me." 

"  Weel,  weel,  dame,"  said  Tibb,  "  your  pardon's  prayed,  there  was  nae  offence  meant. 
But  ye  maun  ken  the  great  ancient  families  canna  be  just  served  wi'  the  ordinary  saunts, 
(praise  to  them  !)  like  Saunt  Anthony,  Saunt  Cuthbert,  and  the  like,  that  come  and  gang 
at  every  sinner's  bidding,  but  they  hae  a  sort  of  saunts  or  angels,  or  what  not,  to 
themsells;  and  as  for  the  "White  Maiden  of  Avenel,  she  is  kend  ower  the  haill  country. 
And  she  is  aye  seen  to  yammer  and  wail  before  ony  o'  that  family  dies,  as  was  weel  kend 
by  twenty  folk  before  the  death  of  Walter  Avenel,  haly  be  his  cast ! " 

"  If  she  can  do  nae  mair  than  that,"  said  Elspeth,  somewhat  scornfully,  "  they  needna 
make  mony  vows  to  her,  I  trow.  Can  she  make  nae  better  fend  for  them  than  that,  and 
has  naething  better  to  do  than  wait  on  them?" 

"  Mony  braw  services  can  the  White  Maiden  do  for  them  to  the  boot  of  that,  and  has 
dune  in  the  auld  histories,"  said  Tibb,  *'  but  I  mind  o'  naething  in  my  day,  except  it  was 
her  that  the  bairn  saw  in  the  bos." 



"Aweel,  aweel,  Tibb,"  said  Dame  Glendinning,  rising  and  lighting  the  iron  lamp,  "these 
are  great  privileges  of  your  grand  folk.  But  our  Lady  and  Saunt  Paul  are  good  eneugh 
saunts  for  me,  and  I'se  warrant  them  never  leave  me  in  a  bog  that  they  can  help  me  out 
o,'  seeing  I  send  four  waxen  candles  to  their  chapels  every  Candlemas ;  and  if  they  are 
not  seen  to  weep  at  my  death,  I'se  warrant  them  smile  at  my  joyful  rising  again,  whilk 
Heaven  send  to  all  of  us.  Amen." 

"  Amen,"  answered  Tibb,  devoutly ;  "  and  now  it's  time  I  should  hap  up  the  wee  bit 
gathering  turf,  as  the  fire  is  ower  low." 

Busily  she  set  herself  to  perform  this  duty.  The  relict  of  Simon  Glendinning  did  but 
pause  a  moment  to  cast  a  heedful  and  cautious  glance  all  around  the  hall,  to  see  that 
nothing  was  out  of  its  proper  place ;  then,  wishing  Tibb  good-night,  she  retired  to  repose. 

"  The  deil's  in  the  carline,"  said  Tibb  to  herself,  "  because  she  was  the  wife  of  a  cock- 
laird,  she  thinks  herself  grander,  I  trow,  than  the  bowerwoman  of  a  lady  of  that  ilk ! " 
Having  given  vent  to  her  suppressed  spleen  in  this  little  ejaculation,  Tibb  also  betook 
herself  to  slumber. 

A  priest,  ye  cry,  a  priest!— lame  sheplierds  they. 
How  shall  they  gather  in  the  straggling  flock? 
Dumb  dogs  which  bark  not— how  shall  they  compel 
The  loitering  vagrants  to  the  Master's  fold? 
Fitter  to  bask  before  the  blazing  fire, 
And  snuff  the  mess  neat-handed  Phillis  dresses, 
Tlian  on  the  snow-wreath  battle  with  the  wolf. 


HE  health  of  the  Lady  of  Avenel  had  been  gradually  decaying  ever  sinoe 
her  disaster.  It  seemed  as  if  the  few  years  which  followed  her  husband's 
death  had  done  on  her  the  work  of  half  a  century.  She  lost  the  fresh 
elasticity  of  form,  the  colour  and  the  mien  of  health,  and  became  wasted, 
wan,  and  feeble.  She  appeared  to  have  no  formed  complaint;  yet  it  was 
evident  to  those  who  looked  on  her,  that  her  strength  waned  daily.  Her 
lips  at  length  became  blenched  and  her  eye  dim  ;  yet  she  spoke  not  of  any  desire  to  see 
a  priest,  until  Elspeth  Glendinning  in  her  zeal  could  not  refrain  from  touching  upon  a 
point  which  she  deemed  essential  to  salvation.  Alice  of  Avenel  received  her  hint  kindly, 
and  thanked  her  for  it. 

"  If  any  good  priest  would  take  the  trouble  of  such  a  journey,"  she  said,  "  he  should 

be  welcome  ;  for  the  prayers  and  lessons  of  the  good  must  be  at  all  times  advantageous." 

This  quiet  acquiescence  was  not  quite  what  Elspeth  Glendinning  wished  or  expected. 

She  made  up,  however,  by  her  own  enthusiasm,  for  the  lady's  want  of  eagex'ness  to  avail 


herself  of  ghostly  counsel,  and  Martin  was  despatched  with  such  haste  as  Shagram  would 
make,  to  pray  one  of  the  religious  men  of  Saint  Mary's  to  come  up  to  administer  the  last 
consolations  to  the  widow  of  Walter  Avenel. 

When  the  Sacristan  had  announced  to  the  Lord  Abbot,  that  the  Lady  of  the  umquhile 
Walter  de  Avenel  was  in  very  weak  health  in  the  Tower  of  Glendearg,  and  desired  the 
assistance  of  a  father  confessor,  the  lordly  monk  paused  on  the  request. 

"  We  do  remember  Walter  de  Avenel,"  he  said ;  "  a  good  knight  and  a  valiant  ; 
he  was  dispossessed  of  his  lands,  and  slain  by  the  Southron — May  not  the  lady  come  hither 
to  the  sacrament  of  confession  ?  the  road  is  distant  and  painful  to  travel." 

"  The  lady  is  unwell,  holy  father,"  answered  the  Sacristan,  "  and  unable  to  bear  the 

"  True — ay, — yes — then  must  one  of  our  brethren  go  to  her — Knowest  thou  if  she 
hath  aught  of  a  jointui-e  from  this  Walter  de  Avenel?" 

"  Yery  little,  holy  father,"  said  the  Sacristan;  "  she  hath  resided  at  Glendearg  since 
her  husband's  death,  well-nigh  on  the  charity  of  a  poor  widow,  called  Elspeth  Glen- 

"  Why,  thou  knowest  all  the  widows  in  the  country-side  !"  said  the  Abbot.  "  Ho  !  ho  ! 
ho  !"  and  he  shook  his  portly  sides  at  his  own  jest. 

"  Ho!  ho!  ho!"  echoed  the  Sacristan,  in  the  tone  and  tune  in  which  an  inferior 
applauds  the  jest  of  his  superior. — Then  added,  with  a  hypocritical  snuffle,  and  a  sly 
twinkle  of  his  eye,  "  It  is  our  duty,  most  holy  father,  to  comfort  the  widow — He  !  he  !  he  !" 

This  last  laugh  was  more  moderate,  until  the  Abbot  should  put  his  sanction  on  the  jest. 

"  Ho !  ho ! "  said  the  Abbot ;  "  then,  to  leave  jesting,  Father  Philip,  take  thou  thy 
riding  gear,  and  go  to  confess  this  Dame  Aveneh" 

"  But,"  said  the  Sacristan 

"  Give  me  no  Buts ;  neither  But  nor  If  pass  between  monk  and  Abbot,  Father 
Philip ;  the  bands  of  discipline  must  not  be  relaxed — heresy  gathers  force  like  a  snow- 
ball— the  multitude  expect  confessions  and  preachings  from  the  Benedictine,  as  they 
would  from  so  many  beggarly  friars — and  we  may  not  desert  the  vineyard,  though  the 
toil  be  grievous  unto  us." 

"  And  with  so  little  advantage  to  the  holy  monastery,"  said  the  Sacristan. 

"  True,  Father  Philip  ;  but  wot  you  not  that  what  preventeth  harm  doth  good  ?  This 
Julian  de  Avenel  lives  a  light  and  evil  life,  and  should  we  neglect  the  widow  of  his 
brother,  he  might  foray  our  lands,  and  we  never  able  to  shew  who  hurt  us— moreover  it 
is  our  duty  to  an  ancient  family,  who,  in  their  day,  have  been  benefactors  to  the  Abbey. 
Away  with  thee  instantly,  brother ;  ride  night  and  day,  an  it  be  necessary,  and  let  men 
see  how  diligent  Abbot  Boniface  and  his  faithful  children  are  in  the  execution  of  their 
spiritual  duty — toil  not  deterring  them,  for  the  glen  is  five  miles  in  length — fear  not 
withholding  them,  for  it  is  said  to  be  haunted  of  spectres — nothing  moving  them  from 
pursuit  of  their  spiritual  calling  ;  to  the  confusion  of  calumnious  heretics,  and  the  comfort 
and  edification  of  all  true  and  faithful  sons  of  the  Catholic  Church.  I  wonder  what 
our  brother  Eustace  will  say  to  this  ?  " 

Breathless  with  his  own  picture  of  the  dangers  and  toil  which  he  was  to  encounter,  and 
the  fame  which  he  was  to  acquire,  (both  by  proxy,)  the  Abbot  moved  slowly  to  finish  his 
luncheon  in  the  refectory,  and  the  Saci'istan,  with  no  very  good  will,  accompanied  old 
Martin  in  his  return  to  Glendearg ;  the  greatest  impediment  in  the  journey  being  the 
trouble  of  restraining  his  pampered  mule,  that  she  might  tread  in  something  like  an  equal 
pace  with  poor  jaded  Shagram. 

After  remaining  an  hour  in  private  with  his  penitent,  the  monk  returned  moody  and 
full  of  thought.  Dame  Elspeth,  who  had  placed  for  the  honoured  guest  some  refreshment 
in  the  hall,  was  struck  with  the  embai-rassment  which  appeared  in  his  countenance. 
Elspeth  watched  him  with  great  anxiety.      She  observed  there  was  that  on  his  brow 


whicli  i-atlier  resembled  a  person  come  from  hearing  the  confession  of  some  enormous 
crime,  than  the  look  of  a  confessor  who  resigns  a  reconciled  penitent,  not  to  earth,  but  to 
heaven.  After  long  hesitating,  she  could  not  at  length  refrain  from  hazarding  a  question. 
She  was  sure,  she  said,  the  leddy  had  made  an  easy  shrift.  Five  years  had  they  resided 
together,  and  she  could  safely  say,  no  woman  lived  better. 

"  Woman,"  said  the  Sacristan,  sternly,  "  thou  speakest  thou  knowest  not  what — "What 
avails  clearing  the  outside  of  the  plattei',  if  the  inside  be  foul  with  heresy  ?" 

"  Our  dishes  and  trenchers  are  not  so  clean  as  they  could  be  wished,  holy  father," 
said  Elspeth,  but  half  understanding  what  he  said,  and  beginning  with  her  apron  to  wipe 
the  dust  from  the  plates,  of  which  she  supposed  him  to  complain. 

"  Forbear,  Dame  Elspeth,"  said  the  monk  ;  "  your  plates  are  as  clean  as  wooden 
trenchers  and  pewter  flagons  can  well  be ;  the  foulness  of  which  I  speak  is  of  that 
pestilential  heresy  which  is  daily  becoming  ingrained  in  this  our  Holy  Church  of  Scotland, 
and  as  a  canker-worm  in  the  rose-garland  of  the  Spouse." 

"  Holy  Mother  of  Heaven  ! "  said  Dame  Elspeth,  crossing  herself,  "  have  I  kept  house 
with  a  heretic?" 

"  No,  Elspeth,  no,"  replied  the  monk ;  "  it  were  too  strong  a  speech  for  me  to  make  of 
this  unhappy  lady,  but  I  would  I  could  say  she  is  free  from  heretical  opinions.  Alas ! 
they  fly  about  like  the  pestilence  by  noon-day,  and  infect  even  the  first  and  fairest  of  the 
flock  !  For  it  is  easy  to  see  of  this  dame,  that  she  hath  been  high  in  judgment  as  in 

"  And  she  can  write  and  read,  I  had  almost  said,  as  weel  as  your  reverence,"  said 

"  Whom  doth  she  write  to,  and  what  doth  she  read?"  said  the  monk,  eagerly. 

"  Nay,"  replied  Elspeth,  "  I  cannot  say  I  ever  saw  her  write  at  all,  but  her  maiden 
that  was — she  now  serves  the  family — says  she  can  write — And  for  reading,  she  has  often 
read  to  us  good  things  out  of  a  thick  black  volume  with  silver  clasps." 

"  Let  me  see  it,"  said  the  monk,  hastily,  "  on  your  allegiance  as  a  true  vassal — on  your 
faith  as  a  Catholic  Christian — instantly — instantly  let  me  see  it." 

The  good  woman  hesitated,  alarmed  at  the  tone  in  which  the  confessor  took  up  her 
information;  and  being  moreover  of  opinion,  that  what  so  good  a  woman  as  the  Lady  of 
Avenel  studied  so  devoutly,  could  not  be  of  a  tendency  actually  evil.  But  borne  down 
by  the  clamour,  exclamations,  and  something  like  threats  used  by  Father  Philip,  she  at 
length  brought  him  the  fatal  volume.  It  was  easy  to  do  this  without  suspicion  on  the 
part  of  the  owner,  as  she  lay  on  her  bed  exhausted  with  the  fatigue  of  a  long  conference 
with  her  confessor,  and  as  the  small  round,  or  turret  closet,  in  which  was  the  book  and 
her  other  trifling  property,  was  accessible  by  another  door.  Of  all  her  effects  the  book 
was  the  last  she  would  have  thought  of  securing,  for  of  what  use  or  interest  could  it  be 
in  a  family  who  neither  read  themselves,  nor  were  in  the  habit  of  seeing  any  who  did? 
so  that  Dame  Elspeth  had  no  difficulty  in  possessing  herself  of  the  volume,  although  her 
heart  all  the  Avhile  accused  her  of  an  ungenei'ous  and  an  inhospitable  part  towards  her 
friend  and  inmate.  The  double  power  of  a  landlord  and  a  feudal  superior  was  before 
her  eyes;  and  to  say  truth,  the  boldness,  with  which  she  might  otherwise  have  resisted 
this  double  authority,  was,  I  grieve  to  say  it,  much  qualified  by  the  curiosity  she 
entertained,  as  a  daughter  of  Eve,  to  have  some  explanation  respecting  the  mysterious 
volume  which  the  lady  cherished  with  so  much  care,  yet  whose  contents  she  imparted 
with  such  caution.  For  never  had  Alice  of  Avenel  read  them  any  passage  from  the 
book  in  question  until  the  iron  door  of  the  tower  was  locked,  and  all  possibility  of  intrusion 
prevented.  Even  then  she  had  shewn,  by  the  selection  of  particular  passages,  that  she 
was  more  anxious  to  impress  on  their  minds  the  principles  which  the  volume  contained, 
than  to  introduce  them  to  it  as  a  new  rule  of  faith. 

When  Elspeth,  half  cm-ious,  half  remorseful,  had  placed  the  book  in  the  monk's  hands, 


he  exclaimed,  after  turning  over  the  leaves,  "  Now,  by  mine  order,  it  is  as  I  suspected! 
— My  mule,  my  mule  I — I  will  abide  no  longer  here — well  hast  thou  done,  darae,  in 
placing  in  my  hands  this  perilous  volume." 

"  Is  it  then  witchcraft  or  devil's  work?  "  said  Dame  Elspeth,  in  great  agitation. 

"  Nay,  God  forbid ! "  said  the  monk,  signing  himself  with  the  cross,  "  it  is  the  Holy 
Scripture.  But  it  is  rendered  into  the  vulgar  tongue,  and  therefore,  by  the  order  of  the 
Holy  Catholic  Church,  unfit  to  be  in  the  hands  of  any  lay  person." 

"  And  yet  is  the  Holy  Scripture  communicated  for  our  common  salvation,"  said  Elspeth. 
*'  Good  Father,  you  must  instruct  mine  ignorance  better;  but  lack  of  wit  cannot  be  a 
deadly  sin,  and  truly,  to  my  poor  thinking,  I  should  be  glad  to  read  the  Holy  Scripture." 

"  I  dare  say  thou  wouldst,"  said  the  monk;  "  and  even  thus  did  our  mother  Eve  seek  to 
have  knowledge  of  good  and  evil,  and  thus  Sin  came  into  the  world,  and  Death  by  Sin." 

"  I  am  sure,  and  it  is  true,"  said  Elspeth.  "  Oh,  if  she  had  dealt  by  the  counsel  of 
Saint  Peter  and  Saint  Paul ! " 

"  If  she  had  reverenced  the  command  of  Heaven,"  said  the  monk,  "  ^vhich,  as  it  gave 
her  birth,  life,  and  happiness,  fixed  upon  the  grant  such  conditions  as  best  corresponded 
with  its  holy  pleasure.  I  tell  thee,  Elspeth,  tha  Wo?'d  slayeth — that  is,  the  text  alone, 
read  with  unskilled  eye  and  unhallowed  lips,  is  like  those  strong  medicines  which  sick 
men  take  by  the  advice  of  the  learned.  Such  patients  recover  and  thrive;  while  those 
dealing  in  them  at  their  own  hand,  shall  perish  by  their  own  deed." 

"  Nae  doubt,  nae  doubt,"  said  the  poor  woman,  "  your  reverence  knows  best." 

"  Not  I,"  said  Father  Philip,  in  a  tone  as  deferential  as  he  thought  could  possibly 
become  the  Sacristan  of  Saint  Mary's, — "  Not  I,  but  the  Holy  Father  of  Christendom, 
and  our  own  holy  father  the  Lord  Abbot,  know  best.  I,  the  poor  Sacristan  of  Saint 
Mary's,  can  but  repeat  what  I  hear  from  others  my  superiors.  Yet  of  this,  good  w^oman, 
be  assured, — the  Word,  the  mere  Word,  slayeth.  But  the  church  hath  her  ministers  to 
gloze  and  to  expound  the  same  unto  her  faithful  congregation;  and  this  I  say,  not  so 
much,  my  beloved  brethren — I  mean  my  beloved  sister,"  (for  the  Sacristan  had  got  into 
the  end  of  one  of  his  old  sermons,) — "  This  I  speak  not  so  much  of  the  rectors,  cui'ates, 
and  secular  clergy,  so  called  because  they  live  after  the  fashion  of  the  seculum  or  age, 
unbound  by  those  ties  which  sequestrate  us  from  the  world;  neither  do  I  speak  this  of 
the  mendicant  friars,  whether  black  or  gray,  whether  crossed  or  uncrossed;  but  of  the 
monks,  and  especially  of  the  monks  Benedictine,  reformed  on  the  rule  of  Saint  Bernard 
of  Clairvaux,  thence  called  Cistercian,  of  which  Monks,  Christian  brethren — sister,  I 
would  say — great  is  the  happiness  and  glory  of  the  country  in  possessing  the  holy 
ministers  of  Saint  Mary's,  whereof  I,  though  an  unworthy  brother,  may  say  it  hath 
produced  more  saints,  more  bishops,  more  popes— may  our  patrons  make  us  thankful! — 

than  any  holy  foundation  in  Scotland.     Wherefore But  I  see  Martin  hath  my  mule 

in  readiness,  and  I  will  but  salute  you  with  the  kiss  of  sisterhood,  which  maketh  not 
ashamed,  and  so  betake  me  to  my  toilsome  return,  for  the  glen  is  of  bad  reputation  for 
the  evil  spirits  which  haunt  it.  Moreover,  I  may  arrive  too  late  at  the  bridge,  whereby 
I  may  be  obliged  to  take  the  river,  which  I  obsei'ved  to  be  somewhat  waxen." 

Accordingly,  he  took  his  leave  of  Dame  Elspeth,  who  was  confounded  by  the  rapidity 
of  his  utterance,  and  the  doctrine  he  gave  forth,  and  by  no  means  easy  on  the  subject  of 
the  book,  which  her  conscience  told  her  she  should  not  have  communicated  to  any  one, 
without  the  knowledge  of  its  owner. 

Notwithstanding  the  haste  which  the  monk  as  well  as  his  mule  made  to  return  to  better 
quarters  than  they  had  left  at  the  head  of  Glendearg;  notwithstanding  the  eager  desire 
Father  Philip  had  to  be  the  very  first  who  should  acquaint  the  Abbot  that  a  copy  of  the 
book  they  most  dreaded  had  been  found  within  the  Halidome,  or  patrimony  of  the  Abbey; 
notwithstanding,  moreover,  certain  feelings  which  induced  him  to  hurry  as  fast  as 
possible  through  the  gloomy  and  evil-reputed  glen,  still  the  difiiculties  of  the  road,  and 

F  2 


the  rider's  want  of  habitude  of  quick  motion,  were  such,  that  twihght  came  upon  him  ere 
he  had  nearly  cleared  the  narrow  valley. 

It  was  indeed  a  gloomy  ride.  The  two  sides  of  the  vale  were  so  near,  that  at  every 
double  of  the  river  the  shadows  from  the  western  sky  fell  upon,  and  totally  obscured,  the 
eastern  bank;  the  thickets  of  copsewood  seemed  to  wave  with  a  portentous  agitation  of 
boughs  and  leaves,  and  the  very  crags  and  scaurs  seemed  higher  and  grimmer  than  they 
had  appeared  to  the  monk  while  he  was  travelling  in  daylight,  and  in  company.  Father 
Philip  was  heartily  rejoiced,  when,  emerging,  from  the  narrow  glen,  he  gained  the  open 
valley  of  the  Tweed,  which  held  on  its  majestic  course  from  current  to  pool,  and  from 
pool  stretched  away  to  other  currents,  with  a  dignity  peculiar  to  itself  amongst  the  Scottish 
rivers;  for  whatever  may  have  been  the  drought  of  the  season,  the  Tweed  usually  fills  up 
the  space  between  its  banks,  seldom  leaving  those  extensive  sheets  of  shingle  which 
deform  the  margins  of  many  of  the  celebrated  Scottish  streams. 

The  monk,  insensible  to  beauties  which  the  age  had  not  regarded  as  deserving  of 
notice,  was,  nevertheless,  like  a  prudent  general,  pleased  to  find  himself  out  of  the  narrow 
glen  in  which  the  enemy  might  have  stolen  upon  him  unperceived.  He  drew  up  his 
bridle,  reduced  his  mule  to  her  natural  and  luxurious  amble,  instead  of  the  agitating  and 
broken  trot  at  which,  to  his  no  small  inconvenience,  she  had  hitherto  proceeded,  and, 
wipino-  his  brow,  gazed  forth  at  leisure  on  the  broad  moon,  which,  now  mingling  with  the 
lights  of  evening,  was  rising  over  field  and  forest,  village  and  fortalice,  and,  above  all, 
over  the  stately  ]Monastery,  seen  far  and  dim  amid  the  yellow  light. 

The  worst  part  of  the  magnificent  view,  in  the  monk's  apprehension,  was,  that  the 
Monastery  stood  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  and  that  of  the  many  fine  bridges 
which  have  since  been  built  across  that  classical  stream,  not  one  then  existed.  There 
was,  however,  in  recompense,  a  bridge  then  standing  which  has  since  disappeared,  although 
its  ruins  may  still  be  traced  by  the  curious. 

It  was  of  a  very  peculiar  form.  Two  strong  abutments  were  built  on  either  side  of 
the  river,  at  a  part  where  the  stream  was  peculiarly  contracted.  Upon  a  rock  in  the 
centre  of  the  current  was  built  a  solid  piece  of  masonry,  constructed  like  the  pier  of  a 
bridge,  and  presenting,  like  a  pier,  an  angle  to  the  current  of  the  stream.  The  masonry 
continued  solid  until  the  pier  rose  to  a  level  with  the  two  abutments  upon  either  side,  and 
from  thence  the  building  rose  in  the  foi-m  of  a  tower.  The  lower  story  of  this  tower 
consisted  only  of  an  archway  or  passage  through  the  building,  over  either  entrance  to 
which  hung  a  drawbridge  with  counterpoises,  either  of  which,  when  dropped,  connected 
the  archway  with  the  opposite  abutment,  where  the  farther  end  of  the  drawbridge  rested. 
"When  both  bridges  were  thus  lowered,  the  passage  over  the  river  was  complete. 

The  bridge-keeper,  who  was  the  dependant  of  a  neighbouring  baron,  resided  with  his 
family  in  the  second  and  third  stories  of  the  tower,  which,  when  both  drawbridges  were 
■raised,  formed  an  insulated  fortalice  in  the  midst  of  the  river.  He  was  entitled  to  a  small 
toll  or  custom  for  the  passage,  concerning  the  amount  of  which  disputes  sometimes  arose 
between  him  and  the  passengers.  It  is  needless  to  say,  that  the  bridge-ward  had  usually 
the  better  in  these  questions,  since  he  could  at  pleasure  detain  the  traveller  on  the 
opposite  side;  or,  suffering  him  to  pass  half  way,  might  keep  him  prisoner  in  his  tower 
till  they  were  agreed  on  the  rate  of  pontage.* 

*  A  bridge  of  the  very  peculiar  construction  described  in  the  text,  actually  existed  at  a  small  hamlet  about  a  mile  and  a  half 
above  Melrose,  called  from  the  circumstance  Bridge-end.     It  is  thus  noticed  in  Gordon's  Her  Scpientriovale  .— 

"  In  another  journey  through  the  south  parts  of  Scotland,  about  a  mile  and  a  half  from  Melrose,  in  the  shire  of  Teviotdale, 
I  saw  the  remains  of  a  curious  bridge  over  the  river  Tweed,  consisting  of  three  octangular  pillars,  or  rather  towers,  standing 
within  the  water,  without  any  arches  to  join  them.  The  middle  one,  which  is  the  most  entire,  has  a  door  towards  the  north, 
and  I  suppose,  another  opposite  one  toward  the  south,  which  I  could  not  see  without  crossing  the  water.  In  the  middle  of 
this  tower  is  a  projection  or  cornice  surrounding  it:  the  whole  is  hollow  from  the  door  upwards,  and  now  open  at  the  top,  near 
which  is  a  small  window.  I  was  informed  that  not  long  ago  a  countryman  and  his  family  lived  in  this  tower— and  got  his 
livelihood  by  laying  out  planks  from  pillar  to  pillar,  and  conveying  passengers  over  the  river.  Whether  this  be  ancient  or 
modern,  I  know  not ;  but  as  it  is  singular  in  its  kind  I  have  thought  fit  to  exhibit  it." 

The  vestiges  of  this  uncommon  species  of  bridge  still  exist,  and  the  author  has  often  seen  the  foundations  of  the  columns 
when  drifting  down  the  Tweed  at  night,  for  the  purpose  of  killing  salmon  by  torch-light.     Mr.  John  Mtrcer  of  Bridge-end 


But  it  was  most  frequently  with  the  Monks  of  Saint  Mary's  that  the  warder  had  to 
dispute  his  perquisites.  These  holy  men  insisted  for,  and  at  length  obtained,  a  right  of 
gratuitous  passage  to  themselves,  greatly  to  the  discontent  of  the  bridge-keeper.  But 
when  they  demanded  the  same  immunity  for  the  numerous  pilgrims  who  visited  the 
shrine,  the  bridge-keeper  waxed  restive,  and  was  supported  by  his  lord  in  his  resistance. 
The  controversy  grew  animated  on  both  sides;  the  Abbot  menaced  excommunication,  and 
the  keeper  of  the  bridge,  though  unable  to  retaliate  in  kind,  yet  made  each  individual 
monk  who  had  to  cross  and  recross  the  river,  endure  a  sort  of  purgatory,  ere  he  would 
accommodate  them  with  a  passage.  This  was  a  great  inconvenience,  and  would  have 
proved  a  more  serious  one,  but  that  the  river  was  fordable  for  man  and  horse  in 
ordinary  weather. 

It  was  a  fine  moonlight  night,  as  we  have  already  said,  when  Father  Philip  approached 
this  bridge,  the  singular  construction  of  which  gives  a  curious  idea  of  the  insecurity  of 
the  times.  The  river  was  not  in  flood,  but  it  was  above  its  ordinary  level — a  heavy 
water,  as  it  is  called  in  that  country,  through  which  the  monk  had  no  particular  inclination 
to  ride,  if  he  could  manage  the  matter  better. 

"Peter,  my  good  friend,"  cried  the  Sacristan,  raising  his  voice;  "my  very  excellent 
friend,  Peter,  be  so  kind  as  to  lower  the  drawbridge.  Peter,  I  say,  dost  thou  not  hear? 
— it  is  thy  gossip,  Father  Philip,  who  calls  thee." 

Peter  heard  him  perfectly  well,  and  saw  him  into  the  bargain ;  but  as  he  had 
considered  the  Sacristan  as  peculiarly  his  enemy  in  his  dispute  with  the  convent,  he  went 
quietly  to  bed,  after  reconnoitering  the  monk  through  his  loop-hole,  observing  to  his 
wife,  that  "  riding  the  water  in  a  moonlight  night  would  do  the  Sacristan  no  harm,  and 
would  teach  him  the  value  of  a  brig  the  neist  time,  on  whilk  a  man  might  pass  high  and 
dry,  winter  and  summer,  flood  and  ebb." 

After  exhausting  his  voice  in  entreaties  and  threats,  which  were  equally  unattended  to 
by  Peter  of  the  Brig,  as  he  was  called.  Father  Philip  at  length  moved  down  the  river  to 
take  the  ordinary  ford  at  the  head  of  the  next  stream.  Cursing  the  rustic  obstinacy  of 
Peter,  he  began,  nevertheless,  to  persuade  himself  that  the  passage  of  the  river  by  the  ford 
was  not  only  safe,  but  pleasant.  The  banks  and  scattered  trees  were  so  beautifully  reflected 
from  the  bosom  of  the  dark  stream,  the  whole  cool  and  delicious  picture  formed  so  pleasing 
a  contrast  to  his  late  agitation,  to  the  warmth  occasioned  by  his  vain  endeavours  to  move 
the  relentless  porter  of  the  bridge,  that  the  result  was  rather  agreeable  than  otherwise. 

As  Father  Philip  came  close  to  the  water's  edge,  at  the  spot  where  he  was  to  enter  it, 
there  sat  a  female  under  a  large  broken  scathed  oak-tree,  or  rather  under  the  remains  of 
such  a  tree,  weeping,  wringing  her  hands,  and  looking  earnestly  on  the  current  of  the 
river.  The  monk  was  struck  with  astonishment  to  see  a  female  there  at  that  time  of 
night.  But  he  was,  in  all  honest  service, — and  if  a  step  farther,  I  put  it  upon  his  own 
conscience, — a  devoted  squire  of  dames.  After  observing  the  maiden  for  a  moment, 
although  she  seemed  to  take  no  notice  of  his  presence,  he  was  moved  by  her  distress,  and 
willing  to  oiFer  his  assistance.  "  Damsel,"  said  he,  "  thou  seemest  in  no  ordinary  distress; 
perad venture,  like  myself,  thou  hast  been  refused  passage  at  the  bridge  by  the  churlish 
keeper,  and  thy  crossing  may  concern  thee  either  for  performance  of  a  vow,  or  some 
other  weighty  charge." 

The  maiden  uttered  some  inarticulate  sounds,  looked  at  the  river,  and  then  in  the  face 
of  the  Sacristan.  It  struck  Father  Philip  at  that  instant,  that  a  Highland  Chief  of 
distinction  had  been  for  some  time  expected  to  pay  his  vows  at  the  shrine  of  Saint 

recollects,  that  about  fifty  years  ago  the  pillars  were  visible  above  water  ;  and  the  late  Mr.  David  Kyle,  of  the  George  Inn, 
Melrose,  told  the  author  that  he  saw  a  stone  taken  from  the  river  bearing  this  inscription  : — 

"  I,  Sir  John  Pringle  of  Palmer  stede, 

Give  an  hundred  markis  of  gowd  sae  reid, 

To  help  to  bigg  my  brigg  ower  Tweed." 
Pringle  of  Galashiels,  afterivards  cf  \\'hytbank,  was  the  Baron  to  whom  the  bridge  belonged. 


Mary's ;  and  that  possibly  this  fair  maiden  might  be  one  of  his  family,  travelling  alone 
for  accomplishment  of  a  vow,  or  left  behind  by  some  accident,  to  whom,  therefore,  it 
would  be  but  right  and  prudent  to  use  every  civility  in  his  power,  especially  as  she 
seemed  unacquainted  with  the  Lowland  tongue.  Such  at  least  was  the  only  motive  the 
Sacristan  was  ever  known  to  assign  for  his  courtesy ;  if  there  was  any  other,  I  once 
more  refer  it  to  his  own  conscience. 

To  express  himself  by  signs,  the  common  language  of  all  nations,  the  cautious 
Sacristan  first  pointed  to  the  river,  then  to  his  mule's  crupper,  and  then  made,  as  grace- 
fully as  he  could,  a  sign  to  induce  the  fair  solitary  to  mount  behind  him.  She  seemed 
to  understand  his  meaning,  for  she  rose  up  as  if  to  accept  his  oiFer;  and  while  the  good 
monk,  who,  as  we  have  hinted,  was  no  great  cavalier,  laboured,  with  the  pressure  of  the 
right  leg  and  the  use  of  the  left  rein,  to  place  his  mule  with  her  side  to  the  bank  in  such 
a  position  that  the  lady  might  mount  with  ease,  she  rose  from  the  ground  with  rather 
portentous  activity,  and  at  one  bound  sate  behind  the  monk  upon  the  animal,  much  the 
firmer  rider  of  the  two.  The  mule  by  no  means  seemed  to  approve  of  this  double 
burden;  she  bounded,  bolted,  and  would  soon  have  thrown  Father  Philip  over  her  head, 
had  not  the  maiden  with  a  firm  hand  detained  him  in  the  saddle. 

At  length  the  restive  brute  changed  her  humour;  and,  from  refusing  to  budge  off  the 
spot,  suddenly  stretched  her  nose  homeward,  and  daslied  into  the  ford  as  fast  as  she  could 
scamper.  A  new  terror  now  invaded  the  monk's  mind — the  ford  seemed  unusually 
deep,  the  water  eddied  off  in  strong  ripple  from  the  counter  of  tlie  mule,  and  began  to 
rise  upon  her  side.  Philip  lost  his  presence  of  mind,  which  was  at  no  time  his  most 
ready  attribute,  the  mule  yielded  to  the  weight  of  the  cuxTcnt,  and  as  the  rider  was  not 
attentive  to  keep  her  head  turned  up  the  river,  she  drifted  downward,  lost  the  ford  and 
her  footing  at  once,  and  began  to  swim  with  her  head  down  the  stream.  And  what  was 
sufficiently  strange,  at  the  same  moment,  notwithstanding  the  extreme  peril,  the  damsel 
began  to  sing,  thereby  increasing,  if  anything  could  increase,  the  bodily  fear  of  the 
worthy  Sacristan. 

I.  "I- 

Merrily  swim  we,  the  moon  shines  bright,  Merrily  swim  we,  the  moon  shines  bright, 

Both  current  and  ripple  are  dancing  in  light.  Downward  we  drift  through  shadow  and  light. 

We  have  roused  the  night  raven,  I  heard  him  croak,  Under  yon  rock  the  eddies  sleep, 

As  we  plashed  along  beneath  the  oak  Calm  and  silent,  dark  and  deep, 

That  flings  its  broad  branches  so  far  and  so  wide,  The  Kelpy  has  risen  from  the  fathomless  pool, 

Their  shadows  are  dancing  in  midst  of  the  tide.  He  has  lighted  his  candle  of  death  and  of  dool. 

"  Who  wakens  my  nestlings,"  the  raven  he  said,  Look,  Father,  look,  and  you'll  laugh  to  see 

"  My  beak  shall  ere  morn  in  his  blood  be  red.  How  he  gapes  and  glares  with  his  eyes  on  thee  1 

For  a  blue  swoln  corpse  is  a  dainty  meal, 

And  I'll  have  my  share  with  the  pike  and  the  eel."  .  '^'• 

II.  Good  luck  to  your  fishing,  whom  watch  ye  to  night  ? 
Merrily  swim  we,  the  moon  shines  bright,  A  man  of  mean,  or  a  man  of  might? 

There's  a  golden  gleam  on  the  distant  height;  Is  it  layman  or  priest  that  must  float  in  your  cove, 

There's  a  silver  shower  on  the  alders  dank.  Or  lover  who  crosses  to  visit  his  love? 

And  the  drooping  willows  that  wave  on  the  bank.  Hark!  heard  ye  the  Kelpy  reply,  as  we  pass'd, — 

I  see  the  abbey,  both  turret  and  tower,  "  God's  blessing  on  the  warder,  he  lock'd  the  bridge 

It  is  all  astir  for  the  vesper  hour;  fast! 

The  monks  for  the  chapel  are  leaving  each  cell.  All  that  come  to  my  cove  are  sunk. 

But  Where's  Father  Philip,  should  toll  the  bell  ?  Priest  or  layman,  lover  or  monk." 

How  long  the  damsel  might  have  continued  to  sing,  or  where  the  terrified  monk's 
journey  might  have  ended,  is  uncertain.  As  she  sung  the  last  stanza,  they  arrived  at, 
or  rather  in,  a  broad  tranquil  sheet  of  water,  caused  by  a  strong  wear  or  damhead, 
running  across  the  river,  which  dashed  in  a  broad  cataract  over  the  barrier.  The  mule, 
whether  from  choice,  or  influenced  by  the  suction  of  the  current,  made  towards  the 
cut  intended  to  supply  the  convent  mills,  and  entered  it  half  swimming  half  wading, 
and  pitching  the  unlucky  monk  to  and  fro  in  the  saddle  at  a  fearful  rate. 

As  his  person  flew  hither  and  thither,  his  garment  became  loose,  and  in  an  effort  to 
retain  it,  his  hand  lighted  on  the  volume  of  the  Lady  of  Avenel  which  Avas  in  his  bosom. 



No  sooner  had  he  grasped  it,  than  his  companion  pitched  him  out  of  the  saddle  into  the 
stream,  where,  still  keeping  her  hand  on  his  collar,  she  gave  him  two  or  three  good  souses 
in  the  watery  fluid,  so  as  to  ensure  that  every  other  part  of  him  had  its  share  of  wetting, 
and  then  quitted  her  hold  when  he  was  so  near  the  side  that  by  a  slight  effort  (of  a  great 
one  he  was  incapable)  he  might  scramble  on  shore.  This  accordingly  he  accomplished, 
and  turning  his  eyes  to  see  what  had  become  of  his  extraordinary  companion,  she  was 
nowhere  to  be  seen;  but  still  he  heard,  as  if  from  the  surface  of  the  river,  and  mixing 
with  the  noise  of  the  water  breaking  over  the  damhead,  a  fragment  of  her  wild  song, 
which  seemed  to  run  thus  : — 

Landed — landed!  the  black  book  hath  won, 
Else  had  you  seen  Berwick  with  morning  sun ! 
Sain  ye,  and  save  ye,  and  blithe  mot  ye  be, 
For  seldom  they  land  that  go  swimming  with  rae. 

The  ecstasy  of  the  monk's  terror  could  be  endured  no  longer ;  his  head  grew  dizzy, 
and,  after  staggering  a  few  steps  onward  and  running  himself  against  a  wall,  he  sunk 
down  in  a  state  of  insensibility. 

ClDapieT  f^i  Bn^iX 

Now  let  us  sit  in  conclave.     That  these  weeds 

Be  rooted  from  the  vineyard  of  the  church, 

That  these  foul  tares  be  severed  from  the  wheat, 

We  are,  I.  trust,  agreed. — Yet  how  to  do  this, 

Nor  hurt  the  wholesome  crop  and  tender  vine-plants, 

Craves  good  advisement. 

The  Reformation. 

HE  vesper  service  in  the  Monastery  Church  of  Saint  Mary's  was  now 
over.  The  Abbot  had  disrobed  himself  of  his  magnificent  vestures  of 
ceremony,  and  resumed  his  ordinary  habit,  which  was  a  black  gown, 
worn  over  a  white  cassock,  Avith  a  narrow  scapulary  ;  a  decent  and 
venerable  dress,  which  was  calculated  to  set  off  to  advantage  the  portly 
mien  of  Abbot  Boniface. 
In  quiet  times  no  one  could  have  filled  the  state  of  a  mitred  Abbot,  for  such  was  his 
dignity,  more  respectably  than  this  worthy  prelate.  lie  had,  no  doubt,  many  of  those 
habits  of  self-indulgence  which  men  are  apt  to  acquire  who  live  for  themselves  alone. 
He  was  vain,  moreover ;  and  when  boldly  confronted,  had  sometimes  shewn  symptoms 
of  timidity,  not  very  consistent  with  the  high  claims  which  he  preferred  as  an  eminent 
member  of  the  church,  or  with  the  punctual  deference   which    he  exacted  from    his 


religious  brethren,  and  all  who  were  placed  under  his  command.  But  he  was  hospitable, 
charitable,  and  by  no  means  of  himself  disposed  to  proceed  with  severity  against  any 
one.  In  short,  he  would  in  other  times  have  slumbered  out  his  term  of  preferment  with 
as  much  credit  as  any  other  "  purple  Abbot,"  who  lived  easily,  but  at  the  same  time 
decorously — slept  soundly,  and  did  not  disquiet  himself  with  dreams. 

But  the  wide  alarm  spread  through  the  whole  Church  of  Rome  by  the  progress  of  the 
reformed  doctrines,  sorely  disturbed  the  repose  of  Abbot  Boniface,  and  opened  to  him  a 
wide  field  of  duties  and  cares  which  he  had  never  so  much  as  dreamed  of.  There  were 
opinions  to  be  combated  and  refuted — practices  to  be  inquired  into — heretics  to  be 
detected  and  puni&hed — the  fallen  off  to  be  reclaimed — the  wavering  to  be  confirmed — 
scandal  to  be  removed  from  the  clergy,  and  the  vigour  of  discipline  to  be  re-established. 
Post  upon  post  arrived  at  the  Monastery  of  St.  Mary's — horses  reeking,  and  riders 
exhausted — this  from  the  Privy  Council,  that  from  the  Primate  of  Scotland,  and  this 
other  again  from  the  Queen  Mother,  exhorting,  approving,  condemning,  requesting 
advice  upon  this  subject,  and  requiring  information  upon  that. 

These  missives  Abbot  Boniface  received  with  an  important  air  of  helplessness,  or  a 
helpless  air  of  importance,  whichever  the  reader  may  please  to  term  it,  evincing  at  once 
gratified  vanity,  and  profound  trouble  of  mind. 

The  sharp-witted  Primate  of  Saint  Andrews  had  foreseen  the  deficiencies  of  the  Abbot 
of  St.  Mary's,  and  endeavoured  to  provide  for  them  by  getting  admitted  into  his  Monas- 
tery as  Sub-Prior  a  brother  Cistercian,  a  man  of  parts  and  knowledge,  devoted  to  the 
service  of  the  Catholic  Church,  and  very  capable  not  only  to  advise  the  Abbot  on 
occasions  of  difficulty,  but  to  make  him  sensible  of  his  duty  in  case  he  should,  from 
good-nature  or  timidity,  be  disposed  to  shrink  from  it. 

Father  Eustace  played  the  same  part  in  the  Monastery  as  the  old  general  who,  in 
foreign  armies,  is  placed  at  the  elbow  of  the  Prince  of  the  Blood,  who  nominally 
commands  in  chief,  on  condition  of  attempting  nothing  without  the  advice  of  his 
dry-nurse;  and  he  shared  the  fate  of  all  such  dry-nurses,  being  heartily  disliked  as  well 
as  feared  by  his  principal.  Still,  however,  the  Primate's  intention  was  fully  answered. 
Father  Eustace  became  the  constant  theme  and  often  the  bugbear  of  the  worthy  Abbot, 
who  hardly  dared  to  turn  himself  in  his  bed  Avithout  considering  what  Father  Eustace 
would  think  of  it.  In  every  case  of  difficulty,  Father  Eustace  was  summoned,  and  his 
opinion  asked ;  and  no  soone'r  was  the  embarrassment  removed,  than  the  Abbot's  next 
thought  was  how  to  get  rid  of  his  adviser.  In  every  letter  which  he  wrote  to  those  in 
power,  he  recommended  Father  Eustace  to  some  high  church  preferment,  a  bishopric  or 
an  abbey;  and  as  they  dropped  one  after  another,  and  were  otherwise  conferred,  he  began 
to  think,  as  he  confessed  to  the  Sacristan  in  the  bitterness  of  his  spirit,  that  the  Monastery 
of  St.  Mary's  had  got  a  life-rent  lease  of  their  Sub-Prior. 

Yet  more  indignant  he  would  have  been,  had  he  suspected  that  Father  Eustace's 
ambition  was  fixed  upon  his  own  miti'e,  which,  from  some  attacks  of  an  apoplectic  nature, 
deemed  by  the  Abbot's  friends  to  be  more  serious  than  by  himself,  it  was  supposed  miglit 
be  shortly  vacant.  But  the  confidence  which,  like  otlier  dignitaries,  he  reposed  in  his 
own  health,  prevented  Abbot  Boniface  from  imagining  that  it  held  any  concatenation 
with  the  motions  of  Father  Eustace. 

The  necessity  under  which  he  found  himself  of  consulting  with  his  grand  adviser,  in 
cases  of  real  difficulty,  rendered  the  worthy  Abbot  particularly  desirous  of  doing  without 
him  in  all  ordinary  cases  of  administration,  though  not  without  considering  what  Father 
Eustace  would  have  said  of  the  matter.  He  scorned,  therefore,  to  give  a  hint  to  the 
Sub-Prior  of  the  bold  stroke  by  Avhich  he  had  despatched  Brother  Philip  to  Glendearg; 
but  when  the  vespers  came  without  his  re-appearance  he  became  a  little  uneasy,  the 
more  as  other  matters  weighed  upon  his  mind.  The  feud  with  the  warder  or  keeper  of 
the  bridge  threatened  to  be  attended  with  bad  consequences,  as  the  man's  quarrel  was 


taken  up  by  the  martial  baron  under  whom  he  served ;  and  pressing  letters  of  an 
unpleasant  tendency  had  just  arrived  from  the  Primate.  Like  a  gouty  man,  who  catches 
hold  of  his  crutch  while  he  curses  the  infirmity  that  reduces  him  to  use  it,  the  Abbot, 
however  reluctant,  found  himself  obliged  to  require  Eustace's  presence,  after  the  service 
was  over,  in  his  house,  or  rather  palace,  which  was  attached  to,  and  made  part  of,  the 

Abbot  Boniface  was  seated  in  his  high-backed  chair,  the  grotesque  carved  back  of 
which  terminated  in  a  mitre,  before  a  fire  where  two  or  three  large  logs  were  reduced  to 
one  red  glowing  mass  of  charcoal.  At  his  elbow,  on  an  oaken  stand,  stood  the  remains 
of  a  roasted  capon,  on  which  his  reverence  had  made  his  evening  meal,  flanked  by  a 
goodly  stoup  of  Bourdeaux  of  excellent  flavour.  He  was  gazing  indolently  on  the  fire, 
partly  engaged  in  meditation  on  his  past  and  present  fortunes,  partly  occupied  by 
endeavouring  to  trace  towers  and  steeples  in  the  red  embers. 

"  Yes,"  thought  the  Abbot  to  himself,  "  in  that  red  perspective  I  could  fancy  to  myself 
the  peaceful  towers  of  Dundrennan,  where  I  passed  my  life  ere  I  was  called  to  pomp  and 
to  trouble.  A  quiet  brotherhood  we  were,  regular  in  our  domestic  duties  ;  and  when  the 
frailties  of  humanity  prevailed  over  us,  we  confessed,  and  were  absolved  by  each  other, 
and  the  most  formidable  part  of  the  penance  was  the  jest  of  the  convent  on  the  culprit. 
I  can  almost  fancy  that  I  see  the  cloister  garden,  and  the  pear-trees  which  I  grafted  with 
my  own  hands.  And  for  what  have  I  changed  all  this,  but  to  be  overwhelmed  with 
business  which  concerns  me  not,  to  be  called  My  Lord  Abbot,  and  to  be  tutored  by 
Father  Eustace  ?  I  would  these  toAvers  were  the  Abbey  of  Aberbrothwick,  and  Father 
Eustace  the  Abbot, — or  I  would  he  were  in  the  fire  on  any  terms,  so  I  were  rid  of  him! 
The  Primate  says  our  Holy  Father  the  Pope  hath  an  adviser — I  am  sure  he  could  not  live 
a  week  with  such  a  one  as  mine.  Then  there  is  no  learning  what  Father  Eustace  thinks 
till  you  confess  your  own  difficulties— No  hint  will  bring  forth  his  opinion — he  is  like  a 
miser,  who  will  not  unbuckle  his  purse  to  bestow  a  farthing,  until  the  wretch  who  needs 
it  has  owned  his  excess  of  poverty,  and  wrung  out  the  boon  by  importunity.  And  thus 
I  am  dishonoured  in  the  eyes  of  my  religious  brethren,  who  behold  me  treated  like  a  child 
which  hath  no  sense  of  its  own — I  will  bear  it  no  longer! — Brother  Bennet," — (a  lay 
brother  answered  to  his  call) — "  tell  Father  Eustace  that  I  need  not  his  presence." 

"  I  came  to  say  to  your  reverence,  that  the  holy  father  is  entering  even  now  from  the 

"  Be  it  so,"  said  the  Abbot,  "  he  is  welcome, — remove  these  things— or  rather,  place 
a  trencher,  the  holy  father  may  be  a  little  hungry — yet,  no — remove  them,  for  there  is 
no  good  fellowship  in  him — Let  the  stoup  of  wine  remain,  however,  and  place  another 

The  lay  brother  obeyed  these  contradictory  commands  in  the  way  he  judged  most 
seemly — he  removed  the  carcass  of  the  half-sacked  capon,  and  placed  two  goblets  beside 
the  stoup  of  Bourdeaux.     At  the  same  instant  entered  Father  Eustace. 

He  was  a  thin,  sharp-faced,  slight-made  little  man,  whose  keen  grey  eyes  seemed  almost 
to  look  through  the  person  to  whom  he  addressed  himself.  His  body  was  emaciated  not 
only  with  the  fasts  which  he  observed  with  rigid  punctuality,  but  also  by  the  active  and 
unwearied  exercise  of  his  sharp  and  piercing  intellect ; — 

A  fiery  soul,  which,  working  out  its  way. 

Fretted  the  puny  body  to  decay. 

And  o'er-infomi'd  the  tenement  of  clay. 

He  turned  with  conventual  reverence  to  the  Lord  Abbot ;  and  as  they  stood  together, 
it  was  scarce  possible  to  see  a  more  complete  difference  of  form  and  expression.  The 
good-natured  rosy  face  and  laughing  eye  of  the  Abbot,  which  even  his  present  anxiety 
could  not  greatly  ruffle,  was  a  wonderful  contrast  to  the  thin  pallid  cheek  and  quick 


penetrating  glance  of  tlie  monk,  in  wliicli  an  eager  and  keen  spirit  glanced  through  eyes 
to  which  it  seemed  to  give  supernatural  lustre. 

The  Abbot  opened  the  conversation  by  motioning  to  his  monk  to  take  a  stool,  and 
inviting  to  a  cup  of  wine.  The  courtesy  was  declined  with  respect,  yet  not  without  a 
remark,  that  the  vesper  service  was  past. 

"  For  the  stomach's  sake,  brother,"  said  the  Abbot,  colouring  a  little — "  You  know 
the  text," 

"  It  is  a  dangerous  one,"  answered  the  monk,  "  to  handle  alone,  or  at  late  hours.  Cut 
off  from  human  society,  the  juice  of  the  grape  becomes  a  perilous  companion  of  solitude, 
and  therefore  I  ever  shun  it." 

Abbot  Boniface  had  poured  himself  out  a  goblet  which  might  hold  about  half  an 
English  pint ;  but,  either  struck  with  the  truth  of  the  observation,  or  ashamed  to  act  in 
direct  opposition  to  it,  he  suffered  it  to  remain  untasted  before  him,  and  immediately 
changed  the  subject. 

"  The  Primate  hath  written  to  us,"  said  he,  "  to  make  strict  search  within  our  bounds 
after  the  heretical  persons  denounced  in  this  list,  who  have  withdrawn  themselves  from 
the  justice  which  their  opinions  deserve.  It  is  deemed  probable  that  they  will  attempt 
to  retire  to  England  by  our  Borders,  and  the  Primate  requireth  me  to  watch  with  vigi- 
lance, and  what  not." 

"  Assuredly,"  said  the  monk,  "  the  magistrate  should  not  bear  the  sword  in  vain — 
those  be  they  that  turn  the  world  upside  down — and  doubtless  your  reverend  wisdom 
will  with  due  diligence  second  the  exertions  of  the  Right  Reverend  Father  in  God,  being 
in  the  peremptory  defence  of  the  Holy  Church." 

"  Ay,  but  how  is  this  to  be  done  ?"  answered  the  Abbot ;  "  Saint  Mary  aid  us  !  The 
Primate  writes  to  me  as  if  I  were  a  temporal  baron — a  man  under  command,  having 
soldiers  under  him  !  He  says,  send  forth — scour  the  country — guard  the  passes — Truly 
these  men  do  not  travel  as  those  who  would  give  their  lives  for  nothing — the  last  who 
went  south  passed  the  dry-march  at  the  Riding-burn  with  an  escort  of  thirty  spears,  as 
our  reverend  brother  the  Abbot  of  Kelso  did  write  unto  us.  How  are  cowls  and  scapu- 
laries  to  stop  the  way  ?  " 

"  Your  bailiff  is  accounted  a  good  man  at  arms,  holy  father,"  said  Eustace ;  "  your 
vassals  are  obliged  to  rise  for  the  defence  of  the  Holy  Kirk — it  is  the  tenure  on  which  they 
hold  their  lands — if  they  wiU  not  come  forth  for  the  Church  which  gives  them  bread,  let 
their  possessions  be  given  to  others." 

"  We  shall  not  be  wanting,"  said  the  Abbot,  collecting  himself  with  importance,  "  to 
do  whatever  may  advantage  Holy  Kirk — thyself  shall  hear  the  charge  to  our  Bailiff  and 
our  officials — but  here  again  is  our  controversy  with  the  warden  of  the  bridge  and  the 
Baron  of  Meigallot — Saint  Mary !  vexations  do  so  multiply  upon  the  House,  and  upon 
the  generation,  that  a  man  wots  not  where  to  turn  to  !  Thou  didst  say.  Father  Eustace, 
thou  wouldst  look  into  our  evidents  touching  this  free  passage  for  the  pilgrims  ?  " 

"  I  have  looked  into  the  Chartulary  of  the  House,  holy  father,"  said  Eustace,  "  and 
therein  I  find  a  written  and  formal  grant  of  all  duties  and  customs  payable  at  the  draw- 
bridge of  Brigton,  not  only  by  ecclesiastics  of  this  foundation,  but  by  every  pilgrim  truly 
designed  to  accomplish  his  vows  at  this  House,  to  the  Abbot  Ailford,  and  the  Monks  of 
the  House  of  Saint  Mary  in  Kennaquhair,  from  that  time  and  for  ever.  The  deed  is 
dated  on  Saint  Bridget's  Even,  in  the  year  of  Redemption,  1137,  and  bears  the  sign 
and  seal  of  the  granter,  Charles  of  Meigallot,  great-great-grandfather  of  this  baron, 
and  purports  to  be  granted  for  the  safety  of  his  own  soul,  and  for  the  weal  of  the  souls 
of  his  father  and  mother,  and  of  all  his  predecessors  and  successors,  being  Barons  of 

"  But  he  alleges,"  said  the  Abbot,  "  that  the  bridge-wards  have  been  in  possession  of 
these  dues,  and  have  rendered  them  available  for  more  than  fifty  years — and  the  baron 



threatens  violence — meanwhile,  the  journey  of  the  pilgrims  is  interrupted,  to  the  prejudice 
of  their  own  souls  and  the  diminution  of  the  revenues  of  Saint  Mary.  The  Sacristan 
advised  us  to  put  on  a  boat ;  but  the  warden,  whom  thou  knowest  to  be  a  godless  man, 
has  sworn  the  devil  tear  him,  but  that  if  they  put  on  a  boat  on  the  laird's  stream,  he 
will  rive  her  board  from  board — and  then  some  say  we  should  compound  the  claim  for  a 
small  sum  in  silver."  Here  the  Abbot  paused  a  moment  for  a  reply,  but  receiving  none, 
he  added,  "  But  what  thinkest  thou,  Father  Eustace?  why  art  thou  silent?" 

"  Because  I  am  surprised  at  the  question  which  the  Lord  Abbot  of  Saint  Mary's  asks 
at  the  youngest  of  his  brethren." 

"  Youngest  in  time  of  your  abode  with  us,  Brother  Eustace,"  said  the  Abbot,  "  not 
youngest  in  years,  or  I  think  in  experience.      Sub-Prior  also  of  this  convent." 

"  I  am  astonished,"  continued  Eustace,  "  that  the  Abbot  of  this  venerable  house  should 
ask  of  any  one  whether  he  can  alienate  the  patrimony  of  our  holy  and  divine  patroness, 
or  give  up  to  an  unconscientious,  and  perhaps,  a  heretic  baron,  the  rights  confei'red  on 
this  church  by  his  devout  progenitor.  Popes  and  councils  alike  prohibit  it — the  honour 
of  the  living,  and  the  weal  of  departed  souls,  alike  forbid  it — it  may  not  be.  To  force, 
if  he  dare  use  it,  we  must  surrender ;  but  never  by  our  consent  should  we  see  the  goods 
of  the  church  plundered,  with  as  little  scruple  as  he  would  drive  off  a  herd  of  English 
beeves.  Rouse  yourself,  Reverend  father,  and  doubt  nothing  but  that  the  good  cause 
shall  prevail.  Whet  the  spiritual  sword,  and  direct  it  against  the  wicked  who  would 
usurp  our  holy  rights.  Whet  the  temporal  sword,  if  it  be  necessary,  and  stir  up  the 
courage  and  zeal  of  your  loyal  vassals." 

The  Abbot  sighed  deeply.     "  All  this,"  he  said,  "  is  soon  spoken  by  him  who  hath  to 

act  it  not ;  but "     He  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  Bennet  rather  hastily. 

"  The  mule  on  which  the  Sacristan  had  set  out  in  the  morning  had  returned,"  he  said, 
"  to  the  convent  stable  all  over  wet,  and  with  the  saddle  turned  round  beneath  her  belly." 

"  Sancta  Maria  !"  said  the  Abbot,  "  our  dear  brother  hath  perished  by  the  way  !" 

"  It  may  not  be,"  said  Eustace,  hastily — "  let  the  bell  be  tolled — cause  the  brethren  to 
get  torches — alarm  the  village — hurry  down  to  the  river — I  myself  will  be  the  foremost." 

The  real  Abbot  stood  astonished  and  agape,  when  at  once  he  beheld  his  office  filled, 
and  saw  all  which  he  ought  to  have  ordered,  going  forward  at  the  dictates  of  the  youngest 
monk  in  the  convent.  But  ere  the  orders  of  Eustace,  which  nobody  dreamed  of  dis- 
puting, were  carried  into  execution,  the  necessity  was  prevented  by  the  sudden  apparition 
of  the  Sacristan,  whose  supposed  danger  excited  all  the  alarm. 

(gr|)3i.pjir  tfi  ^5^nit|. 

Raze  out  the  written  troubles  of  the  brain, 
Cleanse  the  foul  bosom  of  the  perilous  stuff 
That  weighs  upon  the  heart. 


HAT  betwixt  cold  and  fright  the  afflicted  Sacristan  stood  before  liis 
Superior,  propped  on  the  friendly  arm  of  the  convent  miller,  drenched 
with  water,  and  scarce  able  to  utter  a  syllable. 

After  various  attempts  to  speak,  the  first  words  he  uttered  were, 

"  Swim  we  merrily — the  moon  shines  bright." 

"Swim  we  merrily!"  retorted  the  Abbot,  indignantly;  "a  merry  night  have  ye 
chosen  for  swimming,  and  a  becoming  salutation  to  your  Superior  !" 

"  Our  brother  is  bewildered,"  said  Eustace  ; — "  speak,  Father  Philip,  how  is  it  with 

"  Good  luck  to  your  fishing," 

continued  the  Sacristan,  making  a  most  dolorous  attempt  at  the  tune  of  his  strange 

"  Good  luck  to  your  fishing  ! "  repeated  the  Abbot,  still  more  surprised  than  displeased ; 
"  by  my  halidome  he  is  drunken  with  wine,  and  comes  to  our  presence  with  his  jolly 
catches  in  his  throat !     If  bread  and  w^ater  can  cure  this  folly " 

"  "With  your  pardon,  venerable  father,"  said  the  Sub-Prior,  "of  water  our  brother  has 
had  enough ;  and  methinks,  the  confusion  of  his  eye,  is  rather  that  of  terroi',  than  of 
aught  unbecoming  his  profession.     Where  did  you  find  him.  Hob  Miller?" 

"'  An  it  please  your  reverence,  I  did  but  go  to  shut  the  sluice  of  the  mill — and  as 
I  was  going  to  shut  the  sluice,  I  heard  something  groan  near  to  me ;  but  judging  it  was 
one  of  Giles  Fletcher's  hogs — for  so  please  you  he  never  shuts  his  gate — I  caught  up  my 
lever,  and  was  about — Saint  Mary  forgive  me  ! — to  strike  where  I  heard  the  sound,  when. 


as  the  saints  would  have  it,  I  heard  the  second  groan  just  like  that  of  a  living  man.  So 
I  called  up  my  knaves,  and  found  the  Father  Sacristan  lying  wet  and  senseless  under 
the  wall  of  our  kiln.  So  soon  as  we  brought  him  to  himself  a  bit,  he  prayed  to  be 
brought  to  your  reverence,  but  I  doubt  me  his  wits  have  gone  a  bell-wavering  by  the 
road.     It  was  but  now  that  he  spoke  in  somewhat  better  form." 

"  Well !  "  said  Brother  Eustace,  "  thou  hast  done  well.  Hob  Miller  ;  only  begone  now, 
and  remember  a  second  time  to  pause,  ere  you  strike  in  the  dark." 

"  Please  your  reverence,  it  shall  be  a  lesson  to  me,"  said  the  miller,  "  not  to  mistake  a 
holy  man  for  a  hog  again,  so  long  as  I  live."  And,  making  a  bow,  with  profound 
humility,  the  miller  withdrew. 

"  And  now  that  this  churl  is  gone,  Father  Philip,"  said  Eustace,  "  wilt  thou  tell  our 
venerable  Superior  what  ails  thee  ?  art  thou  vino  gnivatus,  man  ?  if  so  we  will  have  thee 
to  thy  cell." 

"  Water  1  water  !  not  wine,"  muttered  the  exhausted  Sacristan. 

"  Nay,"  said  the  monk,  "  if  that  be  thy  complaint,  wine  may  perhaps  cure  thee  ;" 
and  he  reached  him  a  cup,  which  the  patient  drank  off  to  his  great  benefit. 

"  And  now,"  said  tlie  Abbot,  "  let  his  garments  be  changed,  or  rather  let  him  be 
carried  to  the  infirmary;  for  it  will  prejudice  our  health,  should  we  hear  his  narrative 
while  he  stands  there,  steaming  like  a  rising  hoar-frost." 

"  I  will  hear  his  adventure,"  said  Eustace,  "  and  report  it  to  your  reverence."  And, 
accordingly,  he  attended  the  Sacristan  to  his  cell.  In  about  half  an  hour  he  returned  to 
the  Abbot. 

"How  is  it  with  Father  Philip?"  said  the  Abbot;  "  and  through  what  came  he  into 
such  a  state  ?  " 

"  He  comes  from  Glendearg,  reverend  sir,"  said  Eustace ;  "  and  for  the  rest,  he  telleth 
such  a  legend,  as  has  not  been  heard  in  this  Monastery  for  many  a  long  day."  He  then 
gave  the  Abbot  the  outlines  of  the  Sacx'istan's  adventures  in  the  homeward  journey,  and 
added,  that  for  some  time  he  was  inclined  to  think  his  brain  was  infirm,  seeing  he  had 
sung,  laughed,  and  wept  all  in  the  same  breath. 

"  A  wonderful  thing  it  is  to  us,"  said  the  Abbot,  "  that  Satan  has  been  permitted  to 
put  forth  his  hand  thus  far  on  one  of  our  sacred  brethren  ! " 

"  True,"  said  Father  Eustace  ;  "  but  for  every  text  there  is  a  paraphrase ;  and  I  have 
my  suspicions,  that  if  the  drenching  of  Father  Philip  cometh  of  the  Evil  one,  yet  it  may 
not  have  been  altogether  without  his  own  personal  fault." 

"  How  ! "  said  the  Father  Abbot ;  "  I  will  not  believe  that  thou  makest  doubt  that 
Satan,  in  former  days,  hath  been  permitted  to  afflict  saints  and  holy  men,  even  as  he 
afflicted  the  pious  Job  ?" 

"  God  forbid  I  should  make  question  of  it,''  said  the  monk,  crossing  himself;  "yet, 
where  there  is  an  exposition  of  the  Sacristan's  tale,  which  is  less  than  miraculous,  I  hold 
it  safe  to  consider  it  at  least,  if  not  to  abide  by  it.  Now,  this  Hob  the  Miller  hath  a 
buxom  daughter.  Suppose — I  say  only  suppose — that  our  Sacristan  met  her  at  the 
ford  on  her  return  from  her  uncle's  on  the  other  side,  for  there  she  hath  this  evening 
been — suppose,  that,  in  courtesy,  and  to  save  her  stripping  hose  and  shoon,  the  Sacristan 
brought  her  across  behind  him — suppose  he  carried  his  familiarities  farther  than  the 
maiden  was  willing  to  admit ;  and  we  may  easily  suppose,  farther,  that  this  wetting  was 
the  result  of  it." 

"  And  this  legend  invented  to  deceive  us  !"  said  the  Superior,  reddening  with  wrath  ; 
"  but  most  strictly  shall  it  be  sifted  and  inquired  into  ;  it  is  not  upon  us  that  Father 
Philip  must  hope  to  pass  the  result  of  his  own  evil  practices  for  doings  of  Satan.  To- 
morrow cite  the  wench  to  appear  before  us — we  will  examine,  and  we  will  punish." 

"Under  your  reverence's  favour,"  said  Eustace,  "that  were  but  poor  policy.  As 
things  now  stand  with  us,  the  heretics  catch  hold  of  each  flying  report  which  tends  to  the 


scandal  of  oui-  clergy.  We  must  abate  the  evil,  not  only  by  sti'engtliening  discipline,  but 
also  by  suppressing  and  stifling  the  voice  of  scandal.  If  my  conjectures  are  true,  the 
miller's  daughter  will  be  silent  for  her  own  sake ;  and  your  reverence's  authority  may 
also  impose  silence  on  her  father,  and  on  the  Sacristan.  If  he  is  again  found  to  atford 
room  for  throwing  dishonour  on  his  order,  he  can  be  punished  with  severity,  but  at  the 
same  time  with  secrecy.  For  what  say  the  Decretals  !  Facinora  ostendi  dum  punientur, 
Jlagitia  autem  ahscondi  debent." 

A  sentence  of  Latin,  as  Eustace  had  before  observed,  had  often  much  influence  on  the 
Abbot,  because  he  understood  it  not  fluently,  and  was  ashamed  to  acknowledge  his  igno- 
rance.    On  these  terms  they  parted  for  the  night. 

The  next  day,  Abbot  Boniface  strictly  interrogated  Philip  on  the  real  cause  of  his 
disaster  of  the  previous  night.  But  the  Sacristan  stood  firm  to  his  story ;  nor  was  he 
found  to  vary  from  any  point  of  it,  although  the  answers  he  returned  were  in  some  degree 
incoherent,  owing  to  his  intermingling  Avith  them  ever  and  anon  snatches  of  the  strange 
damsel's  song,  which  had  made  such  deep  impression  on  his  imagination,  that  he  could 
not  prevent  himself  from  imitating  it  repeatedly  in  the  course  of  his  examination.  The 
Abbot  had  compassion  with  the  Sacristan's  involuntary  frailty,  to  which  something  super- 
natural seemed  annexed,  and  finally  became  of  opinion,  that  Father  Eustace's  more 
natural  explanation  was  rather  plausible  than  just.  And,  indeed,  although  we  have 
recorded  the  adventure  as  we  find  it  written  down,  we  cannot  forbear  to  add  that  there 
was  a  schism  on  the  subject  in  the  convent,  and  that  several  of  the  brethren  pretended  to 
have  good  reason  for  thinking  that  the  miller's  black-eyed  daughter  was  at  the  bottom 
of  the  affair  after  all.  Whichever  way  it  might  be  interpreted,  all  agreed  that  it  had 
too  ludicrous  a  sound  to  be  permitted  to  get  abroad,  and  therefore  the  Sacristan  was 
charged,  on  his  vow  of  obedience,  to  say  no  more  of  his  ducking ;  an  injunction  which, 
having  once  eased  his  mind  by  telling  his  story,  it  may  be  well  conjectured  that  he 
joyfully  obeyed. 

The  attention  of  Father  Eustace  was  much  less  foi-cibly  arrested  by  the  marvellous 
tale  of  the  Sacristan's  danger,  and  his  escape,  than  by  the  mention  of  the  volume  which 
he  had  brought  with  him  from  the  Tower  of  Glendearg.  A  copy  of  the  Scriptures, 
translated  into  the  vulgar  tongue,  had  found  its  way  even  into  the  proper  territory  of  the 
church,  and  had  been  discovered  in  one  of  the  most  hidden  and  sequestered  recesses  of 
the  Halidome  of  Saint  Mary's. 

He  anxiously  requested  to  see  the  volume.  In  this  the  Sacristan  was  unable  to  gratify 
him,  for  he  had  lost  it,  as  far  as  he  recollected,  when  the  supernatural  being,  as  he 
conceived  her  to  be,  took  her  departure  from  him.  Father  Eustace  went  down  to  the 
spot  in  person,  and  searched  all  around  it,  in  hopes  of  recovering  the  volume  in  question  ; 
but  his  labour  was  in  vain.  He  returned  to  the  Abbot,  and  reported  that  it  must  have 
fallen  into  the  river  or  the  mill-stream;  "for  I  will  hardly  believe,"  he  said,  "that 
Father  Philip's  musical  friend  would  fly  off  with  a  copy  of  the  Holy  Scriptures." 

"  Being,"  said  the  Abbot,  "  as  it  is,  an  heretical  translation,  it  may  be  thought  that 
Satan  may  have  power  over  it." 

"  Ay  !"  said  Father  Eustace,  "it is  indeed  his  chiefest  magazine  of  artillery,  when  he 
inspireth  presumptuous  and  daring  men  to  set  forth  their  own  opinions  and  expositions 
of  Holy  Writ.  But  though  thus  abused,  the  Scriptures  are  the  source  of  our  salvation, 
and  are  no  more  to  be  reckoned  unholy,  because  of  these  rash  men's  proceedings,  than 
a  powerful  medicine  is  to  be  contemned,  or  held  poisonous,  because  bold  and  evil  leeches 
have  employed  it  to  the  prejudice  of  their  patients.  With  the  permission  of  your  reve- 
rence, I  would  that  this  matter  were  looked  into  more  closely.  I  will  myself  visit  the 
Tower  of  Glendearg  ere  I  am  many  hours  older,  and  we  shall  see  if  any  spectre  or  white 
woman  of  the  wild  will  venture  to  interrupt  my  journey  or  return.  Have  I  your  reverend 
permission  and  your  blessing  ?"  he  added,  but  in  a  tone  that  appeared  to  set  no  great 
store  by  either. 


"  Thou  hast  both,  my  brother,"  said  the  Abbot ;  but  no  sooner  had  Eustace  left  the 
apartment,  than  Boniface  could  not  help  breaking  on  the  willing  ear  of  the  Sacristan  his 
sincere  wish,  that  any  spirit,  black,  white,  or  gray,  would  read  the  adviser  such  a 
lesson,  as  to  cure  him  of  his  presumption  in  esteeming  himself  wiser  than  the  whole 

"  I  wish  him  no  worse  lesson,"  said  the  Sacristan,  "  than  to  go  swimming  merrily 
down  the  river  with  a  ghost  behind,  and  Kelpies,  night-crows,  and  mud-eels,  all  waiting 
to  have  a  snatch  at  him. 

Merrily  swim  we,  the  moon  shines  bright! 

Good  luck  to  your  fishing,  whom  watch  you  to-night?" 

"Brother  Pliilip,"  said  the  Abbot,  "we  exhort  thee  to  say  thy  prayers,  compose  thy- 
self, and  banish  that  foolish  chant  from  thy  mind  ; — it  is  but  a  deception  of  the  devil's." 

"  I  will  essay,  reverend  Father,"  said  the  Sacristan,  "  but  the  tune  hangs  by  my 
memory  like  a  bur  in  a  beggar's  rags;  it  mingles  with  the  psalter — the  very  bells  of 
the  convent  seem  to  repeat  the  words,  and  jingle  to  the  tune  ;  and  were  you  to  put  me 
to  death  at  this  very  moment,  it  is  my  belief  I  should  die  singing  it — '  Now  swim  we 
mei'rily ' — it  is  as  it  were  a  spell  upon  me." 

He  then  again  began  to  warble 

"  Good  luck  to  your  fishing." 

And  checking  himself  in  the  strain  with  difficulty,  he  exclaimed,  "  It  is  too  certain — 
I  am  but  a  lost  priest !  Swim  we  merrily — I  shall  sing  it  at  the  very  mass — Wo  is  me  I 
I  shall  sing  all  the  remainder  of  my  life,  and  yet  never  be  able  to  change  the  tune  !" 

The  honest  Abbot  replied,  "  he  knew  many  a  good  fellow  in  the  same  condition  ; "  and 
concluded  the  remark  with  "  ho  !  ho  !  ho  ! "  for  his  reverence,  as  the  reader  may  partly 
have  observed,  was  one  of  those  dull  folks  who  love  a  quiet  joke. 

The  Sacristan,  well  acquainted  with  his  Superior's  humoui',  endeavoured  to  join  in  the 
laugh,  but  his  unfortunate  canticle  came  again  across  his  imagination,  and  interrupted 
the  hilarity  of  his  customary  echo. 

"  By  the  rood.  Brother  Philip,"  said  the  Abbot,  much  moved,  "  you  become  altogether 
intolerable !  and  I  am  convinced  that  such  a  spell  could  not  subsist  over  a  person  of 
religion,  and  in  a  religious  house,  unless  he  were  under  mortal  sin.  Wherefore,  say  the 
seven  penitentiary  psalms — make  diligent  use  of  thy  scourge  and  hair-cloth — refrain  for 
three  days  from  all  food,  save  bread  and  water — I  myself  will  shrive  thee,  and  we  will 
see  if  this  singing  devil  may  be  driven  out  of  thee ;  at  least  I  think  Father  Eustace 
himself  could  devise  no  better  exorcism." 

The  Sacristan  sighed  deeply,  but  knew  remonstrance  was  vain.  He  retired  there- 
fore to  his  cell,  to  try  how  far  psalmody  might  be  able  to  drive  off  the  sounds  of  the 
syren  tune  which  haunted  his  memory. 

Meanwhile,  Father  Eustace  proceeded  to  the  drawbridge,  in  his  way  to  the  lonely 
valley  of  Glendearg.  In  a  brief  conversation  with  the  churlish  warder,  he  had  the 
address  to  render  him  more  tractable  in  the  controversy  betwixt  him  and  the  convent. 
He  reminded  him  that  his  father  had  been  a  vassal  under  the  community;  that  his  brother 
was  childless ;  and  that  their  possession  would  revert  to  the  church  on  his  death,  and 
might  be  either  granted  to  himself  the  warder,  or  to  some  greater  favourite  of  the 
Abbot,  as  matters  chanced  to  stand  betwixt  them  at  the  time.  The  Sub-Prior  suggested 
to  him  also,  the  necessary  connexion  of  interests  betwixt  the  Monastery  and  the  office 
which  this  man  enjoyed.  He  listened  with  temper  to  his  rude  and  churlish  answers ; 
and  by  keeping  his  own  interest  firm  pitched  in  his  view,  he  had  the  satisfaction  to  find 
that  Peter  gradually  softened  his  tone,  and  consented  to  let  every  pilgrim  who  travelled 
upon  foot  pass  free  of  exaction  until  Pentecost  next ;  they  who  travelled  on  horseback 
or  otherwise,  contenting  to  pay  the  ordinary  custom.  Having  thus  accommodated  a 
matter  in  which  the  weal  of  the  convent  was  so  deeply  interested.  Father  Eustace  pro- 
ceeded on  his  journey. 


^^upit  f^t  iitiM, 

Kay,  dally  not  with  time,  the  wise  man's  treasure, 
Though  fools  are  lavish  on't — the  fatal  Fisher 
Hooks  souls,  while  we  waste  moments. 

Olb  Pla 

XO"VTMBER  mist  overspread  tlie  little  valley,  up  which  slowly  but 
steadily  I'ode  the  Monk  Eustace.  He  was  not  insensible  to  the  feeling 
of  melancholy  inspired  by  the  scene  and  by  the  season.  The  stream 
seemed  to  murmur  with  a  deep  and  oppressed  note,  as  if  bewailing  the 
departure  of  autumn.  Among  the  scattered  copses  which  here  and  there 
fringed  its  banks,  the  oak-trees  only  retained  that  pallid  green  that  pre- 
cedes their  russet  hue.  The  leaves  of  the  willows  were  most  of  them  stripped  from  the 
branches,  lay  rustling  at  each  breath,  and  disturbed  by  every  step  of  the  mule ;  while  the 
foliage  of  other  trees,  totally  withered,  kept  still  precarious  possession  of  tlie  boughs, 
waiting  the  first  wind  to  scatter  them. 

The  monk  dropped  into  the  natural  train  of  pensive  thought  which  these  autumnal 
emblems  of  mortal  hopes  are  peculiarly  calculated  to  inspire.  "  There,"  he  said,  looking 
at  the  leaves  which  lay  strewed  around,  "  lie  the  hopes  of  early  youth,  first  formed  that 
they  may  soonest  wither,  and  loveliest  in  spring  to  become  most  contemptible  in  winter ; 
but  you,  ye  lingerers,"  he  added,  looking  to  a  knot  of  beeches  which  stiU  bore  their 
withered  leaves,  "you  are  the  proud  plans  of  adventurous  manhood,  formed  later,  and 
still  clinging  to  the  mind  of  age,  although  it  acknowledges  their  inanity  !  ISTone  lasts — 
none  endures,  save  the  foliage  of  the  hardy  oak,  which  only  begins  to  shew  itself  when 
that  of  the  rest  of  the  forest  has  enjoyed  half  its  existence.  A  pale  and  decayed  hue 
is  all  it  possesses,  but  still  it  retains  that  symptom  of  vitality  to  the  last. —  So  be  it  with 
Father  Eustace  I  The  fairy  hopes  of  my  youth  I  have  trodden  under  foot  like  those 
neglected  rustlers — to  the  prouder  dreams  of  my  manhood  I  look  back  as  to  lofty 
chimeras,  of  which  the  pith  and  essence  have  long  since  faded ;  but  my  religious  vows. 

Vol.  V.  G 


the  faithful  profession  which  I  have  made  in  my  maturer  age,  shall  retain  life  while 
aught  of  Eustace  lives.  Dangerous  it  may  be — feeble  it  must  be — yet  live  it  shall,  the 
proud  determination  to  serve  the  Church  of  which  I  am  a  member,  and  to  combat  the 
heresies  by  which  she  is  assailed."  Thus  spoke,  at  least  thus  thought,  a  man  zealous 
according  to  his  imperfect  knowledge,  confounding  the  vital  interests  of  Christianity 
with  the  extravagant  and  usurped  claims  of  the  Church  of  Rome,  and  defending  his 
cause  with  an  ardour  worthy  of  a  better. 

While  moving  onward  in  this  contemplative  mood,  he  could  not  help  thinking  more 
than  once,  that  he  saw  in  his  path  the  form  of  a  female  dressed  in  white,  who  appeared 
in  the  attitude  of  lamentation.  But  the  impression  was  only  momentary,  and  whenever 
he  looked  steadily  to  the  point  where  he  conceived  the  figure  appeared,  it  always  proved 
that  he  had  mistaken  some  natural  object,  a  white  crag,  or  the  trunk  of  a  decayed  birch- 
tree  with  its  silver  bark,  for  the  appearance  in  question. 

Father  Eustace  had  dwelt  too  long  in  Rome  to  partake  the  superstitious  feelings  of  the 
more  ignorant  Scottish  clergy ;  yet  he  certainly  thought  it  extraordinary,  that  so  strong 
an  impression  should  have  been  made  on  his  mind  by  the  legend  of  the  Sacristan.  "  It 
is  strange,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  that  this  story,  which  doubtless  was  the  invention  of 
Brother  Philip  to  cover  his  own  impropriety  of  conduct,  should  run  so  much  in  my  head, 
and  disturb  my  more  serious  thoughts — I  am  wont,  I  think,  to  have  more  command  over 
my  senses.     I  will  repeat  my  prayers,  and  banish  such  folly  from  my  recollection." 

The  monk  accordingly  began  with  devotion  to  tell  his  beads,  in  pursuance  of  the 
prescribed  rule  of  his  order,  and  was  not  again  disturbed  by  any  wanderings  of  the 
imagination,  until  he  found  himself  beneath  the  little  fortalice  of  Glendearg. 

Dame  Glendinning,  who  stood  at  the  gate,  set  up  a  shout  of  surprise  and  joy  at  seeing 
the  good  father.  "  Martin,"  she  said,  "  Jasper,  where  be  a'  the  folk  ? — help  the  right 
reverend  Sub-Prior  to  dismount,  and  take  his  mule  from  him. — O  father  !  God  has  sent 
you  in  our  need — I  was  just  going  to  send  man  and  horse  to  the  convent,  though  I  ought 
to  be  ashamed  to  give  so  much  trouble  to  your  reverences." 

"  Our  trouble  matters  not,  good  dame,"  said  Father  Eustace  ;  "  in  what  can  I  pleasure 
you  ?  I  came  hither  to  visit  the  Lady  of  Avenel." 

"  "Well-a-day  ! "  said  Dame  Alice,  "  and  it  was  on  her  part  that  I  had  the  boldness  to 
think  of  summoning  you,  for  the  good  lady  will  never  be  able  to  wear  over  the  day ! — 
Would  it  please  you  to  go  to  her  chamber  ?  " 

"  Hath  she  not  been  shriven  by  Father  Philip  ?  "  said  the  monk. 

"  Shriven  she  was,"  said  the  Dame  of  Glendearg,  "  and  by  Father  Philip,  as  your 
reverence  truly  says — but — I  wish  it  may  have  been  a  clean  shrift — Methought  Father 
Philip  looked  but  moody  upon  it — and  there  was  a  book  which  he  took  away  with  him, 

that "  She  paused  as  if  unwilling  to  proceed. 

"  Speak  out.  Dame  Glendinning,"  said  the  Father ;  "  with  us  it  is  your  duty  to  have 
no  secrets." 

"  Nay,  if  it  please  your  reverence,  it  is  not  that  I  would  keep  anything  from  your 
reverence's  knowledge,  but  I  fear  I  should  prejudice  the  lady  in  your  opinion ;  for  she  is 
an  excellent  lady — months  and  years  has  she  dwelt  in  this  tower,  and  none  more 
exemplary  than  she ;  but  this  matter,  doubtless,  she  will  explain  it  herself  to  your 

"  I  desire  first  to  know  it  from  you,  Dame  Glendinning,"  said  the  Monk  ;  "  and  I  again 
repeat,  it  is  your  duty  to  tell  it  to  me." 

"  This  book,  if  it  please  your  reverence,  which  Father  Philip  removed  from  Glendearg, 
was  this  morning  returned  to  us  in  a  strange  manner,"  said  the  good  widow. 
"  Returned  ! "  said  the  monk  ;  "  how  mean  you  ?" 

"  I  mean,"  answered  Dame  Glendinning,  "  that  it  was  brought  back  to  the  tower  of 
Glendearg,  the  saints  best  know  how — that  same  book  which  Father  Philip  carried  with 


him  but  yesterday.  Old  Martin,  that  is  my  tasker  and  tlie  lady's  servant,  was  driving 
out  the  cows  to  the  pasture — for  we  have  three  good  milk-oows,  reverend  father,  blessed 
be  Saint  "Waldave,  and  thanks  to  the  holy  Monastery " 

The  monk  groaned  with  impatience ;  but  he  remembered  that  a  woman  of  the  good 
dame's  condition  was  like  a  top,  which,  if  you  let  it  spin  on  untouched,  must  at  last  come 
to  a  pause ;  but,  if  you  interrupt  it  by  tlogging,  there  is  no  end  to  its  gyrations.  "  But, 
to  speak  no  more  of  the  cows,  your  reverence,  though  they  are  likely  cattle  as  ever  were 
tied  to  a  stake,  the  tasker  was  di-iving  them  out,  and  the  lads,  that  is  my  Halbert  and  my 
Edward,  that  your  reverence  has  seen  at  church  on  holidays,  and  especially  Halbert, — 
for  you  patted  him  on  the  head  and  gave  him  a  brooch  of  Saint  Cuthbert,  which  he  wears 
in  his  bonnet, — and  little  Mary  Avenel,  that  is  the  lady's  daughter,  they  ran  all  after  the 
cattle,  and  began  to  play  up  and  down  the  pasture  as  young  folk  will,  your  reverence. 
And  at  length  they  lost  sight  of  Martin  and  the  cows ;  and  they  began  to  run  up  a  little 
cleugh  which  we  call  Corrl-nan-Shian,  where  there  is  a  wee  bit  stripe  of  a  burn,  and 
they  saw  there — Good  guide  us  ! — a  White  "Woman  sitting  on  the  burn-side  wringing 
her  hands — so  the  bairns  were  frighted  to  see  a  strange  woman  sitting  there,  all  but 
Halbert,  who  will  be  sixteen  come  Whitsuntide ;  and,  besides,  he  never  feared  ony  thing 
- — and  when  they  went  up  to  her — behold  she  was  passed  away  ! " 

"  For  shame,  good  woman  !  "  said  Father  Eustace  ;  "  a  woman  of  your  sense  to  listen 
to  a  tale  so  idle  ! — the  young  folk  told  you  a  lie,  and  that  was  all." 

"  Nay,  sir,  it  was  more  than  that,"  said  the  old  dame ;  "  for,  besides  that  they  never 
told  me  a  lie  in  their  lives,  I  must  warn  you  that  on  the  very  ground  where  the  White 
Woman  was  sitting,  they  found  the  Lady  of  Avenel's  book,  and  brought  it  with  them  to 
the  tower." 

"  That  is  worthy  of  mark  at  least,"  said  the  monk.  "  Know  you  no  other  copy  of  this 
volume  within  these  bounds  ?  " 

"  None,  your  reverence,"  returned  Elspeth  ;  "  why  should  there  ? — no  one  could  read 
it  were  there  twenty." 

"  Then  you  are  sure  it  is  the  very  same  volume  which  you  gave  to  Father  Philip  ?  " 
said  the  monk. 

"  As  sure  as  that  I  now  speak  with  your  reverence." 

'■'  It  is  most  singular  I  "  said  the  Monk  ;  and  he  walked  across  the  room  in  a  musing 

"  I  have  been  upon  nettles  to  hear  what  your  reverence  would  say,"  continued  Dame 
Glendinning,  "  respecting  this  matter — There  is  nothing  I  would  not  do  for  the  Lady  of 
Avenel  and  her  family,  and  that  has  been  proved,  and  for  her  servants  to  boot,  both 
Martin  and  Tibb,  although  Tibb  is  not  so  civil  sometimes  as  altogether  I  have  a  right  to 
expect ;  but  I  cannot  think  it  beseeming  to  have  angels,  or  ghosts,  or  fairies,  or  the  like, 
waiting  upon  a  leddy  when  she  is  in  another  woman's  house,  in  respect  it  is  no  ways 
creditable.  Ony  thing  she  had  to  do  was  always  done  to  her  hand,  without  costing  her 
either  pains  or  pence,  as  a  country  body  says ;  and  besides  the  discredit,  I  cannot  but 
think  that  there  is  no  safety  in  having  such  unchancy  creatures  about  ane.  But  I  have 
tied  red  thread  round  the  bairns's  throats,"  (so  her  fondness  still  called  them,)  "  and  given 
ilk  ane  of  them  a  riding-wand  of  rowan-tree,  forby  sewing  up  a  slip  of  witch-elm  into 
their  doublets  ;  and  I  wish  to  know  of  your  reverence  if  there  be  ony  thing  mair  that  a 
lone  woman  can  do  in  the  matter  of  ghosts  and  fairies  ? — Be  here  !  that  I  should  have 
named  their  unlucky  names  twice  ower  ! " 

"  Dame  Glendinning,"  answered  the  monk,  somewhat  abruptly,  when  the  good  woman 
had  finished  her  narrative,  "  I  pray  you,  do  you  know  the  miller's  daughter?" 

"  Did  I  know  Kate  Happer  ?  "  replied  the  widow  ;  "  as  well  as  the  beggar  knows  his 
dish — a  canty  quean  was  Kate,  and  a  special  cummer  of  my  ain  may  be  twenty  years  syne." 

G  2 


"  She  cannot  be  the  wench  1  mean,"  said  Father  Eustace ;  "  slie  after  whom  I  inquire 
is  scarce  fifteen,  a  bhick-eyed  girl — you  may  have  seen  her  at  the  kirk." 

"  Your  reverence  must  be  in  the  right ;  and  she  is  my  cummer's  niece,  doubtless,  that 
you  are  pleased  to  speak  of:  But  I  thank  God  I  have  always  been  too  duteous  in  attention 
to  the  mass,  to  know  whether  young  wenches  have  black  eyes  or  green  ones." 

The  good  father  had  so  much  of  the  world  about  him,  that  he  was  unable  to  avoid 
smiling,  when  the  dame  boasted  her  absolute  resistance  to  a  temptation,  which  was  not 
quite  so  liable  to  beset  her  as  those  of  the  other  sex. 

"  Perhaps,  then,"  he  said,  "  you  know  her  usual  di'css.  Dame  Glendinning  ?  " 

"  Ay,  ay,  father,"  answered  the  dame  readily  enough,  "  a  white  kirtle  the  wench 
wears,  to  hide  the  dust  of  the  mill,  no  doubt — and  a  blue  hood,  that  might  weel  be  spared, 
for  pridefulness." 

"  Then,  may  it  not  be  she,"  said  the  father,  "  who  has  brought  back  this  book,  and 
stepped  out  of  the  way  when  the  children  came  near  her  ?  " 

The  dame  paused — was  unwilling  to  combat  the  solution  suggested  by  the  monk — but 
was  at  a  loss  to  conceive  why  the  lass  of  the  mill  should  come  so  far  from  home  into  so 
wild  a  corner  merely  to  leave  an  old  book  with  three  children,  from  whose  observation 
she  wished  to  conceal  herself.  Above  all,  she  could  not  understand  why,  since  she  had 
acquaintances  in  the  family,  and  since  the  Dame  Glendinning  had  always  paid  her 
multure  and  knaveship  duly,  the  said  lass  of  the  mill  had  not  come  in  to  rest  herself  and 
eat  a  morsel,  and  tell  her  the  current  news  of  the  water. 

These  very  objections  satisfied  the  monk  that  his  conjectures  were  right.  "  Dame," 
he  said,  "  you  must  be  cautious  in  what  you  say.  This  is  an  instance — I  would  it  were 
the  sole  one — of  the  power  of  the  Enemy  in  these  days.  The  matter  must  be  sifted  with 
a  curious  and  careful  hand." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Elspeth,  trying  to  catch  and  chime  in  wath  the  ideas  of  the  Sub-Prior, 
"  I  have  often  thought  the  miller's  folk  at  the  Monastery-miU  were  far  over  careless  in 
sifting  our  melder,  and  in  bolting  it  too — some  folk  say  they  will  not  stick  at  whiles  to 
put  in  a  handful  of  ashes  amongst  Christian  folk's  corn-meal." 

"  That  shall  be  looked  after  also,  dame,"  said  the  Sub-Prior,  not  displeased  to  see  that 
the  good  old  woman  went  off  on  a  false  scent ;  "  and  now,  by  your  leave,  I  will  see  this 
lady — do  you  go  before,  and  prepare  her  to  see  me." 

Dame  Glendinning  left  the  lower  apartment  accordingly,  which  the  monk  paced  in 
anxious  reflection,  considering  how  he  might  best  discharge,  with  humanity  as  well  as 
with  effect,  the  important  duty  imposed  on  him.  He  resolved  to  approach  the  bedside  of 
the  sick  person  with  reprimands,  mitigated  only  by  a  feeling  for  her  weak  condition — he 
determined,  in  case  of  her  reply,  to  which  late  examples  of  hardened  heretics  might 
encourage  her,  to  be  prepared  with  answers  to  their  customary  scruples.  High  fraught, 
also,  with  zeal  against  her  unauthorized  intrusion  into  the  priestly  function,  by  study  of 
the  Sacred  Scriptures,  he  imagined  to  himself  the  answers  which  one  of  the  modern 
school  of  heresy  might  return  to  him — the  victorious  refutation  which  should  lay  the 
disputant  prostrate  at  the  Confessor's  mercy — and  the  healing,  yet  awful  exhortation, 
which,  under  pain  of  refusing  the  last  consolations  of  religion,  he  designed  to  make  to 
the  penitent,  conjuring  her,  as  she  loved  her  own  soul's  welfare,  to  disclose  to  him  what 
she  knew  of  the  dark  mystery  of  iniquity,  by  which  heresies  were  introduced  into  the 
most  secluded  spots  of  the  very  patrimony  of  the  Church  herself — what  agents  they  had 
who  could  thus  glide,  as  it  were  unseen,  from  place  to  place,  bring  back  the  volume 
which  the  Church  had  interdicted  to  the  spots  from  which  it  had  been  removed  under  her 
express  auspices;  and  who,  by  encouraging  the  daring  and  profane  thirst  after  knowledge 
forbidden  and  useless  to  the  laity,  had  encouraged  the  fisher  of  souls  to  use  with  effect 
his  old  bait  of  ambition  and  vain-glory. 

Much  of  this  premeditated  disi)utation  escaped  the  good  father,  when  Elspeth  returned, 


her  tears  flowing  faster  than  her  apron  could  diy  them,  and  made  him  a  signal  to  follow 
her.  "  How,"  said  the  monk,  "  is  she  then  so  near  her  end  ? — nay,  the  Church  must  not 
break  or  bruise,  when  comfort  is  yet  possible;"  and  forgetting  his  polemics,  the  good 
Sub-Prior  hastened  to  the  little  apartment,  where,  on  the  wretched  bed  which  she  had 
occupied  since  her  misfortunes  had  driven  her  to  the  Tower  of  Glendearg,  the  widow 
of  Walter  Avenel  had  rendered  up  her  spirit  to  her  Creator.  "My  God!"  said  the 
Sub-Prior,  "  and  has  my  unfortunate  dallying  suiFered  her  to  depart  without  the  Church's 
consolation  !  Look  to  her,  dame,"  he  exclaimed,  with  eager  impatience ;  "  is  there  not 
yet  a  sparkle  of  the  life  left  ? — may  she  not  be  recalled — recalled  but  for  a  moment  ? — 
Oh !  would  that  she  could  express,  but  by  the  most  imperfect  Avord — but  by  the  most 
feeble  motion,  her  acquiescence  in  the  needful  task  of  penitential  prayer  ! — Does  she  not 
breathe?— Art  thou  sure  she  doth  not?" 

"  She  will  never  breathe  more,"  said  the  matron.  "  Oh!  the  poor  fatherless  girl — now 
motherless  also — Oh,  the  kind  companion  I  have  had  these  many  years,  whom  I  shall 
never  see  again!  But  she  is  in  heaven  for  certain,  if  ever  woman  went  there;  for  a 
woman  of  better  life " 

"  Wo  to  me,"  said  the  good  monk,  "  if  indeed  she  went  not  hence  in  good  assurance — 
wo  to  the  reckless  shepherd,  who  suffered  the  wolf  to  carry  a  choice  one  from  the  flock, 
while  he  busied  himself  with  trimming  his  sling  and  his  staff  to  give  the  monster  battle! 
Oh!  if  in  the  long  Hereafter,  aught  but  weal  should  that  poor  spirit  share,  what  has 
my  delay  cost? — the  value  of  an  immortal  soul!" 

He  then  approached  the  body,  full  of  the  deep  remorse  natural  to  a  good  man  of  his 
persuasion,  who  devoutly  believed  the  doctx-ines  of  the  Catholic  Church.  "  Ay,"  said  he, 
gazing  on  the  pallid  corpse,  fi'om  which  the  spirit  had  parted  so  placidly  as  to  leave 
a  smile  upon  the  thin  blue  lips,  which  had  been  so  long  wasted  by  decay  that  they 
had  parted  with  the  last  breath  of  animation  without  the  slightest  convulsive  tremor — 
"  Ay,"  said  Father  Eustace,  "  there  lies  the  faded  tree,  and,  as  it  fell,  so  it  lies — awful 
thought  for  me,  should  my  neglect  have  left  it  to  descend  in  an  evil  direction!"  He  then 
again  and  again  conjured  Dame  Glendinning  to  tell  him  what  she  knew  of  the  demeanour 
and  ordinary  walk  of  the  deceased. 

All  tended  to  the  high  honour  of  the  deceased  lady;  for  her  companion,  who  admired 
her  sufficiently  while  alive,  notwithstanding  some  trifling  points  of  jealousy,  now 
idolized  her  after  her  death,  and  could  think  of  no  attribute  of  praise  with  which  she  did 
not  adorn  her  memory. 

Indeed,  the  Lady  of  Avenel,  however  she  might  privately  doubt  some  of  the  doctrines 
announced  by  the  Church  of  Rome,  and  although  she  had  probably  tacitly  appealed  from 
that  corrupted  system  of  Christianity  to  the  volume  on  which  Christianity  itself  is  founded, 
had  nevertheless  been  regular  in  her  attendance  on  the  worship  of  the  Church,  not, 
perhaps,  extending  her  scruples  so  far  as  to  break  off  communion.  Such  indeed  was  the 
first  sentiment  of  the  earlier  reformers,  who  seemed  to  have  studied,  for  a  time  at  least, 
to  avoid  a  schism,  until  the  violence  of  the  Pope  rendered  it  inevitable. 

Father  Eustace,  on  the  present  occasion,  listened  with  eagerness  to  everything  which 
could  lead  to  assure  him  of  the  lady's  orthodoxy  in  the  main  points  of  belief;  for  his 
conscience  reproached  him  sorely,  that,  instead  of  protracting  conversation  with  the  Dame 
of  Glendearg,  he  had  not  instantly  hastened  where  his  presence  was  so  necessary.  "  If,"  he 
said,  addressing  the  dead  bodj^  "  thou  art  yet  free  from  the  utmost  penalty  due  to  the 
followers  of  false  doctrine — if  thou  dost  but  suffer  for  a  time,  to  expiate  fiiults  done 
in  the  body,  but  partaking  of  mortal  frailty  more  than  of  deadly  sin,  fear  not  that  thy 
abode  shall  be  long  in  the  penal  regions  to  which  thou  mayest  be  doomed — if  vigils — 
if  masses — if  penance — if  maceration  of  my  body,  till  it  resembles  that  extenuated  form 
which  the  soul  hath  abandoned,  may  assure  thy  deliverance.  The  Holy  Church — the 
godly  foundation — our  blessed  Patroness  herself,  shall  intercede  for  one  whose  errors  were 


counterbalanced  by  so  many  virtues. — Leave  me,  dame — here,  and  by  her  bed-side,  will 
I  perform  tliose  duties  which  this  piteous  case  demands!" 

Elspeth  left  the  monk,  who  employed  himself  in  fervent  and  sincere,  though  erroneous 
prayers,  for  the  weal  of  the  departed  spirit.  For  an  hour  he  remained  in  the  apartment 
of  death,  and  then  returned  to  the  hall,  where  he  found  the  still  weeping  friend  of  the 

But  it  would  be  injustice  to  Mrs.  Glendinning's  hospitality,  if  we  suppose  her  to  have 
been  weeping  during  this  long  interval,  or  rather  if  we  suppose  her  so  entirely  absorbed 
by  the  tribute  of  sorrow  which  she  paid  frankly  and  plentifully  to  her  deceased  friend,  as 
to  be  incapable  of  attending  to  the  rights  of  hospitality  due  to  the  holy  visiter — who  was 
confessor  at  once,  and  Sub-Prior — mighty  in  all  religious  and  secular  considerations,  so 
far  as  the  vassals  of  the  Monastery  were  interested. 

Her  barley -bread  had  been  toasted — her  choicest  cask  of  home-brewed  ale  had  been 
broached — her  best  butter  had  been  placed  on  the  hall-table,  along  with  her  most  savoury 
ham,  and  her  choicest  cheese,  ere  she  abandoned  herself  to  the  extremity  of  sorrow;  and 
it  was  not  till  she  had  arranged  her  little  repast  neatly  on  the  board,  that  she  sat  down  in 
the  chimney  corner,  threw  her  checked  apron  over  her  head,  and  gave  way  to  the  curi-ent 
of  tears  and  sobs.  In  this  there  was  no  grimace  or  affectation.  The  good  dame  held  the 
honours  of  her  house  to  be  as  essential  a  duty,  especially  when  a  monk  was  her  visitant, 
as  any  other  pressing  call  upon  her  conscience;  nor  until  these  Avere  suitably  attended 
to  did  she  find  herself  at  liberty  to  indulge  her  sorrow  for  her  deported  friend. 

When  she  was  conscious  of  the  Sub-Prior's  presence,  she  rose  with  the  same  attention 
to  his  reception ;  but  he  declined  all  the  offers  of  hospitality  with  which  she  endeavoured 
to  tempt  him.  Not  her  butter,  as  yellow  as  gold,  and  the  best,  she  assured  him,  that  was 
made  in  the  pati'imony  of  St.  Mary — not  the  barley  scones,  wdiich  "  the  departed  saint, 
God  sain  her!  used  to  say  were  so  good" — not  the  ale,  nor  any  other  cates  which  poor 
Elspeth's  stores  afforded,  could  prevail  on  the  Sub-Prior  to  break  his  fast. 

"  This  day,"  he  said,  "  I  must  not  taste  food  until  the  sun  go  down,  happy  if,  in  so  doing, 
I  can  expiate  my  own  negligence — happier  still,  if  my  sufferings  of  this  trifling  nature, 
undertaken  in  pure  faith  and  singleness  of  heart,  may  benefit  the  soul  of  the  deceased. 
Yet,  dame,"  he  added,  "  I  may  not  so  far  forget  the  living  in  my  cai'es  for  the  dead,  as  to 
leave  behind  me  that  book,  which  is  to  the  ignorant  what,  to  our  first  parents,  the  tree  of 
Knowledge  of  Good  and  Evil  unhappily  proved — excellent  indeed  in  itself,  but  fatal 
because  used  by  those  to  whom  it  is  prohibited." 

"  Oh,  blithely,  reverend  father,"  said  the  widow  of  Simon  Glendinning,  "will  I  give 
you  the  book,  if  so  be  I  can  while  it  from  the  bairns;  and  indeed,  poor  things,  as  the  case 
stands  with  them  even  now,  you  might  take  the  heart  out  of  their  bodies,  and  they  never 
find  it  out,  they  are  sae  begrutten."* 

"  Give  them  this  missal  instead,  good  dame,"  said  the  father,  drawing  from  his  pocket 
one  which  was  curiously  illuminated  with  paintings,  "  and  I  will  come  myself,  or  send 
one  at  a  fitting  time,  and  teach  them  the  meaning  of  these  pictures." 

"The  bonny  images!"  said  Dame  Glendinning,  forgetting  for  an  instant  her  grief  in  her 
admii'ation,  "and  weel  I  wot,"  added  she,  "  it  is  another  sort  of  a  book  than  the  poor 
Lady  of  Avenel's ;  and  blessed  might  we  have  been  this  day,  if  your  reverence  had  found 
the  way  up  the  glen,  instead  of  Father  Philip,  though  the  Sacristan  is  a  powerful  man 
too,  and  speaks  as  if  he  would  ger  the  house  fly  abroad,  save  that  the  walls  are  gey 
thick.     Simon's  forebears  (may  he  and  they  be  blessed!)  took  care  of  that." 

Tlie  monk  ordered  his  mule,  and  was  about  to  take  his  leave;  and  the  good  dame  was 
still  delaying  him  with  questions  about  the  funeral,  when  a  horseman,  armed  and 
accoutred,  rode  into  the  little  court-yard  which  surrounded  the  Keep. 

*  Begrtillen — over-weeped. 


C!])a.;pifi:  ^z  JiOT;t|). 

For  since  they  rode  among  our  doors 
With  splent  on  spauld  and  rusty  spurs, 
There  grows  no  fruit  into  our  furs; 
Thus  said  Jolin  Up-on-land. 

Bankatyxe  MS. 

HE  Scottish  law?,  whicli  were  as  wisely  and  judiciously  made  as  they 
were  carelessly  and  ineffectually  executed,  had  in  vain  endeavoured  to 
restrain  the  damage  done  to  agriculture,  by  the  chiefs  and  landed 
proprietors  retaining  in  their  service  what  were  called  jack-men,  from 
the  jack,  or  doublet  quilted  with  iron  which  they  wore  as  defensive 
armour.  These  military  retainers  conducted  themselves  with  great 
insolence  towards  the  industrious  part  of  the  community — lived  in  a  great  measure  by 
plunder,  and  were  ready  to  execute  any  commands  of  their  master,  however  unlawful. 
In  adopting  this  mode  of  life,  men  resigned  the  quiet  hopes  and  regular  labours  of 
industry,  for  an  unsettled,  precarious,  and  dangerous  trade,  which  yet  had  such  charms 
for  those  once  accustomed  to  it,  that  they  became  incapable  of  following  any  other. 
Hence  the  complaint  of  John  Upland,  a  fictitious  character,  representing  a  countryman, 
into  whose  mouth  the  poets  of  the  day  put  their  general  satires  upon  men  and  manners. 

They  ride  about  in  such  a  rage, 
By  forest,  frith,  and  field, 

With  buckler,  bow,  and  brand. 
Lo !  where  they  ride  out  through  the  rye ! 
The  Devil  mot  save  the  company, 

Quoth  John  Up-on-land. 


Christie  of  tlie  Cliiitliill,  the  horseman  who  now  arrived  at  the  little  Tower  of  Glendearg, 
Avas  one  of  the  hopeful  company  of  whom  the  poet  complains,  as  was  indicated  by  his 
"splent  on  spauld,"  (iron-plates  on  his  shoulder,)  his  rusted  spurs,  and  his  long  lance. 
An  iron  skull-cap,  none  of  the  brightest,  bore  for  distinction  a  sprig  of  the  holly,  which 
was  Avenel's  badge.  A  long  two-edged  straight  sword,  having  a  handle  made  of  polished 
oak,  hung  down  by  his  side.  The  meagre  condition  of  his  horse,  and  the  wild  and 
emaciated  look  of  the  rider,  shewed  their  occupation  could  not  be  accounted  an  easy  or 
a  thriving  one.  He  saluted  Dame  Glendinning  with  little  courtesy,  and  the  monk  with 
less ;  for  the  growing  disrespect  to  the  religious  orders  had  not  failed  to  extend  itself 
among  a  class  of  men  of  such  disorderly  habits,  although  it  may  be  supposed  they  were 
tolerably  indifferent  alike  to  the  new  or  the  ancient  doctrines, 

"  So,  our  lady  is  dead.  Dame  Glendinning?"  said  the  jack-man  ;  "my  master  has  sent 
you  even  now  a  fat  bullock  for  her  mart — it  may  serve  for  her  funeral.  I  have  left  him 
in  the  upper  cleugh,  as  he  is  somewhat  kenspeckle,*  and  is  marked  both  with  cut  and 
■birn — the  sooner  the  skin  is  off,  and  he  is  in  saultfat,  the  less  like  you  are  to  have  trouble 
— you  understand  me  ?  Let  me  have  a  peck  of  corn  for  my  horse,  and  beef  and  beer  for 
myself,  for  I  must  go  on  to  the  Monastery— though  I  think  this  monk  here  might  do 
mine  ei'rand." 

"  Tliine  errand,  rude  man  ! "  said  the  Sub-Prior,  knitting  his  brows 

"  For  God's  sake  ! "  cried  poor  Dame  Glendinning,  terrified  at  the  idea  of  a  quarrel 
between  them, — "  O  Christie  ! — it  is  the  Sub-Prior — O  reverend  sir,  it  is  Christie  of  the 
Clinthill,  the  laird's  chief  jack-man  ;  ye  know  that  little  havings  can  be  expected  from 
the  like  o'  them." 

"  Are  you  a  retainer  of  the  Laird  of  Avenel?"  said  the  monk,  addressing  himself  to 
the  horseman,  "  and  do  you  speak  thus  rudely  to  a  brother  of  Saint  Mary's,  to  whom  thy 
master  is  so  much  beholden?" 

"  He  means  to  be  yet  more  beholden  to  your  house,  Sir  Monk,"  answered  the  fellow ; 
"  for  hearing  his  sister-in-law,  the  widow  of  Walter  of  Avenel,  was  on  her  death-bed,  he 
sent  me  to  say  to  the  Father  Abbot  and  the  brethren,  that  he  will  hold  the  funeral-feast 
at  their  convent,  and  invites  himself  thereto,  with  a  score  of  horse  and  some  friends, 
and  to  abide  there  for  three  days  and  three  nights, — ^having  horse-meat  and  men's-meat 
at  the  charge  of  the  community;  of  which  his  intention  he  sends  due  notice,  that  fitting 
preparation  may  be  timeously  made." 

"  Friend,"  said  the  Sub-Prior,  "  believe  not  that  I  will  do  to  the  Father  Abbot  the 
indignity  of  delivering  such  an  errand. — Think'st  thou  the  goods  of  the  church  were 
bestowed  upon  her  by  holy  princes  and  pious  nobles,  now  dead  and  gone,  to  be  consumed 
in  revelry  by  every  profligate  layman  who  numbers  in  his  train  more  followers  than  he 
can  support  by  honest  means,  or  by  his  own  incomings  ?  Tell  thy  master,  from  the  Sub- 
Prior  of  Saint  Mary's,  that  the  Primate  hath  issued  his  commands  to  us  that  we  submit 
no  longer  to  this  compulsory  exaction  of  hospitality  on  slight  or  false  pretences.  Our 
lands  and  goods  were  given  to  relieve  pilgrims  and  pious  persons,  not  to  feast  bands  of 
rude  soldiers." 

"  This  to  me  !"  said  the  angry  spearman,  "this  to  me  and  to  my  master — Look  to 
yourself  then.  Sir  Priest,  and  try  ii  Ave  and  Credo  will  keep  bullocks  from  wandering, 
and  hay-stacks  from  burning." 

"  Dost  thou  menace  the  Holy  Church's  patrimony  with  waste  and  fire-raising,"  said  the 
Sub-Prior,  "  and  that  in  the  face  of  the  sun  ?  I  call  on  all  who  hear  me  to  bear  witness 
to  the  words  this  ruffian  has  spoken.  Remember  how  the  Lord  James  drowned  such  as 
you  by  scores  in  the  black  pool  at  Jeddart. — To  him  and  to  the  Primate  will  I  complain." 
The  soldier  shifted  the  position  of  his  lance,  and  brought  it  down  to  a  level  with  the 
monk's  body. 

*  Krn.ipeckle — tliat  which  is  easily  recognizerl  by  the  eye. 


Dame  Glendinning  began  to  shriek  for  assistance.  "  Tibb  Tacket!  Martin!  where  be 
ye  all? — Christie,  for  the  love  of  God,  consider  he  is  a  man  of  Holy  Kirk ! " 

"  I  care  not  for  his  spear,"  said  the  Sub-Prior;  "if  I  am  slain  in  defending  the  rights 
and  privileges  of  my  community,  the  Primate  wiU  know  how  to  take  vengeance." 

"  Let  him  look  to  himself,"  said  Christie,  but  at  the  same  time  depositing  his  lance 
against  the  wall  of  the  tower;  "if  the  Fife  men  spoke  true  who  came  hither  with  the 
Governor  in  the  last  raid,  Norman  Leslie  has  him  at  feud,  and  is  like  to  set  him  hard. 
We  know  Norman  a  true  bloodhound,  who  will  never  quit  the  slot.  But  I  had  no  design 
to  offend  the  holy  father,"  he  added,  thinking  perhaps  he  had  gone  a  little  too  far;  "  I  am 
a  rude  man,  bred  to  lance  and  stirrup,  and  not  used  to  deal  with  book -learned  men  and 
priests;  and  I  am  willing  to  ask  his  forgiveness — and  his  blessing,  if  I  have  said  ought 

"For  God's  sake!  your  reverence,"  said  the  widow  of  Glendearg  apart  to  the  Sub- 
Prior,  "  bestow  on  him  your  forgiveness — how  shall  we  poor  folk  sleep  in  security  in  the 
dark  nights,  if  the  convent  is  at  feud  with  such  men  as  he  is?" 

"  You  are  right,  dame,"  said  the  Sub-Prior,  "  your  safety  should,  and  must  be,  in  the 
first  instance  consulted. — Soldier,  I  forgive  thee,  and  may  God  bless  thee  and  send  thee 

Christie  of  the  Clinthill  made  an  unwilling  inclination  with  his  head,  and  muttered 
apart,  "  that  is  as  much  as  to  say,  God  send  thee  starvation.  But  now  to  my  master's 
demand.  Sir  Priest?     What  answer  am  I  to  return?" 

"  That  the  body  of  the  widow  of  Walter  of  Avenel,"  answered  the  Father,  "  shall  be 
interred  as  becomes  her  rank,  and  in  the  tomb  of  her  valiant  husband.  For  your  master's 
proffered  visit  of  three  days,  with  such  a  company  and  retinue,  I  have  no  authority  to 
reply  to  it;  you  must  intimate  your  Chiefs  purpose  to  the  Reverend  Lord  Abbot." 

"  That  will  cost  me  a  further  ride,"  said  the  man,  "  but  it  is  all  in  the  day's  work. — 
How  now,  my  lad,"  said  he  to  Halbert,  who  was  handling  the  long  lance  which  he  had 
laid  aside;  "  how  do  you  like  such  a  plaything? — will  you  go  with  me  and  be  a  moss- 

"  The  Saints  in  their  mercy  forbid!"  said  the  poor  mother;  and  then,  afraid  of  having 
displeased  Christie  by  the  vivacity  of  her  exclamation,  she  followed  it  up  by  explaining, 
that  since  Simon's  death  she  could  not  look  on  a  spear  or  a  bow,  or  any  implement  of 
destruction  without  trembling. 

"Pshaw!"  answered  Christie,  "thou  shouldst  take  another  husband,  dame,  and  drive 
such  follies  out  of  thy  thoughts — what  sayst  thou  to  such  a  strapping  lad  as  I  ?  Why, 
this  old  tower  of  thine  is  fensible  enough,  and  there  is  no  want  of  cleuchs,  and  crags,  and 
bogs,  and  thickets,  if  one  was  set  hard;  a  man  might  bide  here  and  keep  his  half-score  of 
lads,  and  as  many  geldings,  and  live  on  what  he  could  lay  his  hand  on,  and  be  kind  to 
thee,  old  wench." 

"  Alas!  Master  Christie,"  said  the  matron,  "that  you  should  talk  to  a  lone  woman  in 
such  a  fashion,  and  death  in  the  house  besides ! " 

"Lone  woman! — why,  that  is  the  very  reason  thou  shouldst  take  a  mate.  Thy  old 
friend  is  dead,  why,  good — choose  thou  another  of  somewhat  tougher  frame,  and  that 
will  not  die  of  the  pip  like  a  young  chicken. — Better  still — Come,  dame,  let  me  have 
something  to  eat,  and  we  will  talk  more  of  this." 

Dame  Elspeth,  though  she  well  knew  the  character  of  the  man,  whom  in  fact  she  both 
disliked  and  feared,  coidd  not  help  simpering  at  the  personal  address  which  he  thought 
proper  to  make  to  her.  She  whispered  to  the  Sub-Prior,  "ony  thing  just  to  keep 
him  quiet,"  and  went  into  the  tower  to  set  before  the  soldier  the  food  he  desired, 
trusting  betwixt  good  cheer,  and  the  power  of  her  own  charms,  to  keep  Christie  of  the 
Clinthill  so  well  amused,  that  the  altercation  betwixt  him  and  the  holy  father  should 
not  be  renewed. 


The  Sub-Prior  was  equally  unwilling  to  hazard  any  unnecessary  rupture  between  the 
community  and  such  a  person  as  Julian  of  Avenel.  He  was  sensible  that  modei*ation,  as 
well  as  firmness,  was  necessary  to  support  the  tottering  cause  of  the  Church  of  Rome; 
and  that,  contrary  to  former  times,  the  quarrels  betwixt  the  clergy  and  laity  had,  in 
the  present,  usually  terminated  to  the  advantage  of  the  latter.  He  resolved,  therefore, 
to  avoid  farther  strife  by  withdrawing,  but  failed  not,  in  the  first  place,  to  possess 
himself  of  the  volume  which  the  Sacristan  carried  off  the  evening  before,  and  which 
had  been  returned  to  the  glen  in  such  a  marvellous  manner. 

Edward,  the  younger  of  Dame  Elspeth's  boys,  made  great  objections  to  the  book's 
being  removed,  in  which  Mary  would  probably  have  joined,  but  that  she  was  now 
in  her  little  sleeping-chamber  with  Tibb,  who  was  exerting  her  simple  skill  to  console 
the  young  lady  for  her  mother's  death.  But  the  younger  Glendinning  stood  up  in 
defence  of  her  property,  and,  with  a  positiveness  which  had  hitherto  made  no  part  of 
his  character,  declared,  that  now  the  kind  lady  was  dead,  the  book  Avas  Mary's,  and 
no  one  but  Mary  should  have  it. 

"  But  if  it  is  not  a  fit  book  for  Mary  to  read,  my  dear  boy,"  said  the  father,  gently, 
"you  would  not  wish  it  to  remain  with  her?" 

"The  lady  read  it,"  answered  the  young  champion  of  property;  "and  so  it  could  not 
be  wrong — it  shall  not  be  taken  away. — I  wonder  where  Halbert  is? — listening  to  the 
bravading  tales  of  gay  Christie,  I  reckon, — he  is  always  wishing  for  fighting,  and  now 
he  is  out  of  the  way." 

"  Why,  Edward,  you  would  not  fight  with  me,  who  am  both  a  priest  and  an  old  man^" 
"  If  you  were  as  good  a  priest  as  the  Pope,"  said  the  boy,  "  and  as  old  as  the  hills  to 
boot,  you  shall  not  carry  away  Mary's  book  without  her  leave.     I  will  do  battle  for  it." 

"  But  see  you,  my  love,"  said  the  monk,  amused  with  the  resolute  friendship  manifested 
by  the  boy,  "I  do  not  take  it;  I  only  borrow  it;  and  I  leave  in  its  place  my  own  gay 
missal,  as  a  pledge  I  will  bring  it  again." 

.  Edward  opened  the  missal  with  eager  curiosity,  and  glanced  at  the  pictures  with  which 
it  was  illustrated.  "  Saint  George  and  the  dragon — Halbert  will  like  that ;  and  Saint 
Michael  brandishing  his  sword  over  the  head  of  the  Wicked  One — and  that  will  do  for 
Halbert  too.  And  see  the  Saint  John  leading  his  lamb  in  the  wilderness,  with  his  little 
cross  made  of  reeds,  and  his  scrip  and  staff — that  shall  be  my  favourite;  and  where  shall 
we  find  one  for  poor  Mary? — here  is  a  beautiful  woman  weeping  and  lamenting  herself." 
"  This  is  Saint  Mary  Magdalen  repenting  of  her  sins,  my  dear  boy,"  said  the  father. 
"  That  will  not  suit  our  Mary;  for  she  commits  no  faults,  and  is  never  angry  Avith  us, 
but  when  we  do  something  wrong." 

"  Then,"  said  the  father,  "  I  will  shew  you  a  Mary,  who  will  protect  her  and  you, 
and  all  good  children.  See  how  fairly  she  is  represented,  Avith  her  gown  covered  Avith 
golden  stars." 

The  boy  Avas  lost  in  wonder  at  the  portrait  of  the  Virgin,  Avhich  the  Sub-Prior 
turned  up  to  him. 

"This,"  he  said,  "is  really  like  our  sweet  Mary;  and  I  think  I  will  let  you  take 
away  the  black  book,  that  has  no  such  goodly  shows  in  it,  and  leave  this  for  Mary  instead. 
But  you  must  promise  to  bring  back  the  book,  good  father — for  noAv  I  think  upon  it, 
Mary  may  like  that  best  which  was  her  mother's." 

"  I  Avill  certainly  return,"  said  the  monk,  evading  his  answer,  "  and  perhaps  I  may 
teach  you  to  write  and  read  such  beautiful  letters  as  you  see  there  Avritten,  and  to  paint 
them  blue,  green,  and  yelloAv,  and  to  blazon  them  with  gold." 

"Ay,  and  to  make  such  figures  as  these  blessed  Saints,  and  especially  these  two 
Marys?"  said  the  boy. 

"  With  their  blessing,"  said  the  Sub-Prior,  "  I  can  teach  you  that  art  too,  so  far  as  I 
am  myself  capable  of  sliewing,  and  you  of  learning  it." 


*'  Then,"  said  Edward,  "  will  I  paint  Mary's  pictiu-e — and  remember  you  are  to  bring 
back  the  black  book;  that  you  must  promise  me." 

The  Sub-Prior,  anxious  to  get  rid  of  the  boy's  pertinacity,  and  to  set  forward  on  his 
return  to  the  convent,  without  having  any  further  interview  with  Christie  the  galloper, 
answered  by  giving  the  promise  Edward  required,  mounted  his  mide,  and  set  forth  on 
his  return  homeward. 

The  November  day  was  well  spent  ere  the  Sub-Prior  resumed  his  journey;  for  the 
difficulty  of  the  road,  and  the  various  delays  which  he  had  met  with  at  the  tower,  had 
detained  him  longer  than  he  proposed.  A  chill  easterly  wind  Avas  sighing  among  the 
withered  leaves,  and  stripping  them  from  the  hold  they  had  yet  retained  on  the  parent 

"  Even  so,"  said  the  monk,  "  our  prospects  in  this  vale  of  time  grow  more  disconsolate 
as  the  stream  of  years  passes  on.  Little  have  I  gained  by  my  journey,  saving  the  cer- 
tainty that  heresy  is  busy  among  us  with  more  than  his  usual  activity,  and  that  the  spirit 
of  insulting  religious  orders,  and  plundering  the  Church's  property,  so  general  in  the 
eastern  districts  of  Scotland,  has  now  come  nearer  home." 

The  tread  of  a  horse  which  came  up  behind  him,  interrupted  his  reverie,  and  he  soon 
saw  he  was  mounted  by  the  same  wild  rider  whom  he  had  left  at  the  tower. 

"  Good  even,  my  son,  and  benedicite,"  said  the  Sub-Prior  as  he  passed ;  but  the  rude 
soldier  scarce  acknowledged  the  greeting,  by  bending  his  head;  and  dashing  the  spurs 
into  his  horse,  went  on  at  a  pace  which  soon  left  the  monk  and  his  mule  far  behind. 
And  there,  thought  the  Sub-Prior,  goes  another  plague  of  the  times — a  fellow  whose  birth 
designed  him  to  cultivate  the  earth,  but  who  is  perverted  by  the  unhallowed  and 
unchristian  divisions  of  the  country,  into  a  daring  and  dissolute  robber.  The  barons  of 
Scotland  are  now  turned  masterful  thieves  and  ruffians,  oppressing  the  poor  by  violence, 
and  wasting  tlie  Church,  by  extorting  free-quarters  from  abbeys  and  pi'iories,  without 
either  shame  or  reason.  I  fear  me  I  shall  be  too  late  to  counsel  the  Abbot  to  make  a 
stand  against  these  daring  sorners* — I  must  make  haste."  He  struck  his  mule  with  his 
riding  wand  accordingly;  but,  instead  of  mending  her  pace,  the  animal  suddenly  started 
from  the  path,  and  the  rider's  utmost  efforts  could  not  force  her  forward. 

"Art  thou,  too,  infected  with  the  spirit  of  the  times?"  said  the  Sub-Prior;  "thou 
wert  wont  to  be  ready  and  serviceable,  and  art  now  as  restive  as  any  wild  jack-man  or 
stubborn  heretic  of  them  all." 

While  he  was  contending  with  the  startled  animal,  a  voice,  like  that  of  a  female, 
chanted  in  his  ear,  or  at  least  very  close  to  it, 

"  Good  evening,  Sir  Priest,  and  so  late  as  you  ride, 
With  your  mule  so  fair,  and  your  mantle  so  wide; 
But  ride  you  through  valley,  or  ride  you  o'er  hill, 
There  is  one  that  has  warrant  to  wait  on  you  still. 

Back,  back. 

The  volume  black ! 
I  have  a  warrant  to  carry  it  back." 

The  Sub-Prior  looked  around,  but  neither  bush  nor  brake  was  near  which  could 
conceal  an  ambushed  songstress.  "May  Our  Lady  have  mercy  on  me!"  he  said; 
"  I  trust  my  senses  have  not  forsaken  me — yet  how  my  thoughts  should  arrange  them- 
selves into  rhymes  which  I  despise,  and  music  which  I  care  not  for,  or  why  there  should 
be  the  sound  of  a  female  voice  in  ears,  in  which  its  melody  has  been  so  long  indifferent, 
baffles  my  comprehension,  and  almost  realizes  the  vision  of  Philip  the  Sacristan.  Come, 
good  mule,  betake  thee  to  the  path,  and  let  us  hence  while  our  judgment  serves  us." 

But  the  mule  stood  as  if  it  had  been  rooted  to  the  spot,  backed  from  the  point  to  which 

*  To  some,  in  Scotland,  is  to  exact  free  quarters  against  the  will  of  the  landlord.  It  is  declared  equivalent  to  theft,  by  a 
statute  passed  in  the  year  1445.  The  great  chieftains  oppressed  the  monasteries  very  much  by  exactions  of  this  nature.  The 
community  of  Aberbrothwick  complained  of  an  Earl  of  Angus,  I  think,  who  was  in  the  regular  habit  of  visiting  them  once 
a-year,  with  a  train  of  a  thousand  horse,  and  abiding  till  the  whole  winter  provisions  of  the  convent  were  exhausted. 


it  was  pressed  by  its  rider,  and  by  her  ears  laid  close  into  her  neck,  and  her  eyes  almost 
starting  from  their  sockets,  testified  that  she  was  under  great  terror. 

While  the  Sub-Prior,  by  alternate  threats  and  soothing,  endeavoured  to  reclaim  the 
wayward  animal  to  her  duty,  the  wild  musical  voice  was  again  heard  close  beside  him. 

"  What,  ho  !  Suh-Prior,  and  came  you  but  here 
To  conjure  a  book  from  a  dead  woman's  bier? 
Sain  you,  and  save  you,  be  wary  and  wise. 
Ride  back  witli  the  book,  or  you'll  pay  for  your  prize. 

Back,  back. 

There's  death  in  the  track! 
In  the  name  of  my  master  I  bid  thee  bear  back." 

"  In  the  name  of  my  Master,"  said  the  astonished  monk,  "  that  name  before  which  all 
things  created  tremble,  I  conjure  thee  to  say  what  thou  art  that  hauntest  me  thus?  " 
The  same  voice  replied, 

"  That  which  is  neither  ill  nor  well, 
That  which  belongs  not  to  Heaven  nor  to  hell, 
A  wreath  of  the  mist,  a  bubble  of  the  stream, 
'Twixt  a  waking  thought  and  a  sleeping  dream ; 
A  form  that  men  spy 
With  the  half-shut  eye. 
In  the  beams  of  the  setting  sun,  am  I." 

"  This  is  more  than  simple  fantasy,"  said  the  Sub-Prior,  rousing  himself ;  though, 
notwithstanding  the  natural  hardihood  of  his  temper,  the  sensible  presence  of  a  super- 
natural being  so  near  him,  failed  not  to  make  his  blood  run  cold,  and  his  hair  bristle. 
"  I  charge  thee,"  he  said  aloud,  "  be  thine  eiTand  what  it  will,  to  depart  and  trouble  me 
no  more  !     False  spirit,  thou  canst  not  appal  any  save  those  Avho  do  the  work  negligently." 

The  voice  immediately  answered : 

"  Vainly,  Sir  Prior,  wouldst  thou  bar  me  my  right! 
Like  the  star  when  it  shoots,  I  can  dart  through  the  night; 
I  can  dance  on  the  torrent  and  ride  on  the  air, 
And  travel  the  world  with  the  bonny  night-mare. 

Again,  again. 

At  the  crook  of  the  glen, 
"UTiere  bickers  the  buruie,  I'll  meet  thee  again." 

The  road  was  now  apparently  left  open ;  for  the  mule  collected  herself,  and  changed 
fi'om  her  posture  of  teiTor  to  one  which  promised  advance,  although  a  profuse  perspi- 
ration, and  general  trembling  of  tlie  joints,  indicated  the  bodily  terror  she  had  under- 

"  I  used  to  doubt  the  existence  of  Cabalists  and  Rosicrucians,"  thought  the  Sub-Prior, 
"  but,  by  my  Holy  Order,  I  know  no  longer  what  to  say  I — My  pulse  beats  temperately 
— my  hand  is  cool — I  am  fasting  from  everything  but  sin,  and  possessed  of  my  ordi- 
nary faculties — Either  some  fiend  is  permitted  to  bewilder  me,  or  the  tales  of  Cornelius 
Agrippa,  Paracelsus,  and  others  who  treat  of  occult  philosophy,  are  not  without  founda- 
tion.— At  the  crook  of  the  glen  ?  I  could  have  desired  to  avoid  a  second  meeting,  but 
I  am  on  the  service  of  the  Church,  and  the  gates  of  hell  shall  not  prevail  against  me." 

He  moved  around  accordingly,  but  with  precaution,  and  not  without  fear ;  for  he 
neither  knew  the  manner  in  which,  or  the  place  where  his  journey  might  be  next  inter- 
rupted by  his  invisible  attendant.  He  descended  the  glen  without  interruption  for  about 
a  mile  farther,  when,  just  at  the  spot  where  the  brook  approached  the  steep  hill,  with 
a  winding  so  abrupt  as  to  leave  scarcely  room  for  a  horse  to  pass,  the  mule  was  again 
visited  with  the  same  symptoms  of  tei'ror  which  had  before  interrupted  her  course. 
Better  acquainted  than  before  with  tlie  cause  of  her  restiveness,  the  Priest  employed  no 
effort  to  make  her  proceed,  but  addressed  himself  to  the  object,  which  he  doubted  not 
was  the  same  that  had  formei-ly  interrupted  him,  in  the  words  of  solemn  exorcism  pre- 
scribed by  the  Church  of  Rome  on  such  occasions. 

In  reply  to  his  demand,  the  voice  again  sung  ; — 


"  Men  of  good  are  bold  as  sack] ess  * 
Men  of  rude  are  wild  and  reckless, 
Lie  thou  still 
In  the  nook  of  the  hill, 
For  those  be  before  thee  that  wish  thee  ill." 

While  the  Sub-Prior  listened,  with  his  head  turned  in  the  direction  from  which  the 
sounds  seemed  to  come,  he  felt  as  if  something  rushed  against  him ;  and  ere  he  could 
discover  the  cause,  he  was  pushed  from  his  saddle  with  gentle  but  irresistible  force. 
Before  he  reached  the  ground  his  senses  were  gone,  and  he  lay  long  in  a  state  of  insen- 
sibility ;  for  the  sunset  had  not  ceased  to  gild  the  top  of  the  distant  hill  when  he  fell, — 
and  when  he  again  became  conscious  of  existence,  the  pale  moon  was  gleaming  on  the 
landscape.  He  awakened  in  a  state  of  terror,  from  which,  for  a  few  minutes,  he  found 
it  difficult  to  shake  himself  free.  At  length  he  sate  upon  the  grass,  and  became  sensible, 
by  repeated  exertion,  that  the  only  personal  injury  which  he  had  sustained  was  the 
numbness  arising  from  extreme  cold.  The  motion  of  something  near  him  made  the 
blood  again  run  to  his  heart,  and  by  a  sudden  eifort  he  started  up,  and,  looking  around, 
saw  to  his  relief  that  the  noise  was  occasioned  by  the  footsteps  of  his  own  mule.  The 
peaceable  animal  had  remained  quietly  beside  her  master  during  his  trance,  browsing  on 
the  grass  which  grew  plentifully  in  that  sequestered  nook. 

With  some  exertion  he  collected  himself,  remounted  the  animal,  and  meditating  upon 
his  wild  adventure,  descended  the  glen  till  its  junction  with  the  broader  valley  through 
which  the  Tweed  winds.  The  drawbridge  was  readily  dropped  at  liis  first  summons ; 
and  so  much  had  he  won  upon  the  heart  of  the  churlish  warden,  that  Peter  appeared 
himself  with  a  lantern  to  shew  the  Sub-Prior  his  way  over  the  perilous  pass. 

"  By  my  sooth,  sir,"  he  said,  holding  the  light  up  to  Father  Eustace's  face,  "  you  look 
sorely  travelled  and  deadly  pale— but  a  little  matter  serves  to  weary  out  you  men  of  the 
cell.  I  now  who  speak  to  you — I  have  ridden — before  I  was  perched  up  here  on  this 
pillar  betwixt  wind  and  water — it  may  be  thirty  Scots  miles  before  I  broke  my  fast,  and 
have  had  the  red  of  a  bramble  rose  in  my  cheek  all  the  while — But  will  you  taste  some 
food,  or  a  cup  of  distilled  waters  ?" 

"  I  may  not,"  said  Father  Eustace,  "  being  under  a  vow ;  but  I  thank  you  for  your 
kindness,  and  pray  you  to  give  what  I  may  not  accept  to  the  next  poor  pilgrim  who 
comes  hither  pale  and  fainting,  for  so  it  shall  be  the  better  both  with  him  here,  and  with 
you  hereafter." 

"  By  my  faith,  and  I  will  do  so,"  said  Peter  Bridge-Ward,  "  even  for  thy  sake — It  is 
strange  now,  how  this  Sub-Prior  gets  round  one's  heart  more  than  the  rest  of  these 
cowled  gentry,  that  think  of  nothing  but  quaffing  and  stuffing  ! — Wife,  I  say — wife,  we 
will  give  a  cup  of  distilled  waters  and  a  crust  of  bread  unto  the  next  pilgrim  that  comes 
over;  and  ye  may  keep  for  the  purpose  the  grunds  of  the  last  greybeard,  f  and  the  ill- 
baked  bannock  which  the  bairns  couldna  eat." 

While  Peter  issued  these  charitable,  and,  at  the  same  time,  prudent  injunctions,  the 
Sub-Prior,  whose  mild  interference  had  awakened  the  Bridge-Ward  to  such  an  act  of 
unwonted  generosity,  was  pacing  onward  to  the  Monastery.  In  the  way,  he  had  to  com- 
mune with  and  subdue  his  own  rebellious  heart,  an  enemy,  he  was  sensible,  more  formi- 
dable than  any  which  the  external  powers  of  Satan  could  place  in  his  way. 

Father  Eustace  had  indeed  strong  temptation  to  suppress  the  extraordinary  incident 
which  had  befallen  him,  which  he  was  the  more  reluctant  to  confess,  because  he  had 
passed  so  severe  a  judgment  upon  Father  Philip,  who,  as  he  was  not  unwilling  to  allow, 
had,  on  his  return  from  Glendearg,  encountered  obstacles  somewhat  similar  to  his  own. 
Of  this  the  Sub-Prior  was  the  more  convinced,  when,  feeling  in  his  bosom  for  the  Book 
which  he  had  brought  off  from  the  Tower  of  Glendearg,  he  found  it  was  amissing,  which 
he  could  only  account  for  by  supposing  it  had  been  stolen  from  him  during  his  trance. 

*  Sackless — Innocent.  t  An  old-fashioned  name  for  an  earthen  jar  for  holding  spirits. 


"  If  I  confess  this  strange  visitation,"  thought  the  Sub-Prior,  "  I  become  the  ridicule 
of  all  my  brethren — I  whom  the  Primate  sent  hither  to  be  a  watch,  as  it  were,  and  a 
check  upon  their  follies.  I  give  the  Abbot  an  advantage  over  me  which  I  shall  never 
again  recover,  and  Heaven  only  knows  how  he  may  abuse  it,  in  his  foolish  simplicity,  to 
the  dishonour  and  loss  of  Holy  Kirk. — But  then,  if  I  make  not  true  confession  of  my  shame, 
with  what  face  can  I  again  presume  to  admonish  or  restrain  others? — Avow,  proud  heart," 
continued  he,  addressing  himself,  "  that  the  weal  of  Holy  Church  interests  thee  less  in  this 
matter  than  thine  own  humiliation — Yes,  Heaven  has  punished  thee  even  in  that  point 
in  which  thou  didst  deem  thyself  most  strong,  in  thy  spiritual  pride  and  thy  carnal 
wisdom.  Thou  hast  laughed  at  and  derided  the  inexperience  of  thy  brethren — stoop 
thyself  in  turn  to  their  derision — tell  what  they  may  not  believe — affirm  that  which  they 
will  ascribe  to  idle  fear,  or  perhaps  to  idle  falsehood — sustain  the  disgrace  of  a  silly 
visionary,  or  a  wilful  deceiver. — Be  it  so ;  I  will  do  my  duty,  and  make  ample  confession 
to  my  Superior.  If  the  discharge  of  this  duty  destroys  my  usefulness  in  this  house,  God 
and  Our  Lady  will  send  me  where  I  can  better  serve  them." 

There  w^as  no  little  merit  in  the  resolution  thus  piously  and  generously  formed  by 
Father  Eustace.  To  men  of  any  rank  the  esteem  of  their  order  is  naturally  most  dear ; 
but  in  the  monastic  establishment,  cut  off,  as  the  brethren  are,  from  other  objects  of 
ambition,  as  well  as  from  all  exterior  friendship  and  relationship,  the  place  which  they 
hold  in  the  opinion  of  each  other  is  all  in  all. 

But  the  consciousness  how  much  he  should  rejoice  the  Abbot  and  most  of  the  other 
monks  of  Saint  Mary's,  who  were  impatient  of  the  unauthorized,  yet  irresistible  control, 
which  he  was  wont  to  exercise  in  the  affixirs  of  the  convent,  by  a  confession  which  would 
put  him  in  a  ludicrous,  or  perhaps  even  in  a  criminal  point  of  view,  could  not  weigh  with 
Father  Eustace  in  comparison  with  the  task  which  his  belief  enjoined. 

As,  strong  in  his  feelings  of  duty,  he  approached  the  exterior  gate  of  the  Monastery, 
he  was  surprised  to  see  torches  gleaming,  and  men  assembled  around  it,  some  on  horse- 
back, some  on  foot,  while  several  of  the  monks,  distinguished  through  the  night  by  their 
white  scapularies,  were  making  themselves  busy  among  the  crowd.  The  Sub-Prior  was 
received  Avith  a  unanimous  shout  of  joy,  which  at  once  made  him  sensible  that  he  had 
himself  been  the  object  of  their  anxiety. 

"  There  he  is  !  there  he  is  !  God  be  thanked — there  he  is,  hale  and  fear  !"  exclaimed 
the  vassals  ;  while  the  monks  exclaimed,  "  Te  Deuni  laudamus — the  blood  of  thy  servants 
is  precious  in  thy  sight  ! " 

"  What  is  the  matter,  children?  what  is  the  matter,  my  brethren?"  said  Father  Eustace, 
dismounting  at  the  gate. 

"  Nay,  brother,  if  thou  know'st  not,  we  will  not  tell  thee  till  thou  art  in  the  refectory," 
answered  the  monks ;  "  suffice  it  that  the  Lord  Abbot  had  ordered  these,  our  zealous  and 
faithful  vassals,  instantly  to  set  forth  to  guard  thee  from  imminent  peril — Ye  may  ungirth 
your  horses,  children,  and  dismiss  ;  and  to-morrow,  each  who  was  at  this  rendezvous  may 
send  to  the  convent  kitchen  for  a  quarter  of  a  yard  of  roast  beef,  and  a  black-jack  full  of 
double  ale."* 

The  vassals  dispersed  with  joyful  acclamation,  and  the  monks,  with  equal  jubilee,  con- 
ducted the  Sub-Prior  into  the  refectory. 

*  It  was  one  of  the  few  reminiscences  of  Old  Parr,  or  Henry  Jenkins,  1  forget  which,  that,  at  some  convent  in  the  veteran's 
neighbourhood,  the  community,  before  the  dissolution,  used  to  dole  out  roast-beef  by  the  measure  of  feet  and  yards. 

"Here  we  stand ' 

Woundless  and  well,  may  Heaven's  high  name  be  bless'd  for't ! 
As  erst,  ere  treason  couch'd  a  lance  against  us. 


0  sooner  was  the  Sub-Prior  hurried  into  the  refectory  by  his  rejoicing 
companions,  tlaan  the  first  person  on  whom  he  fixed  his  eye  proved  to  be 
Christie  of  the  Clintliill.  He  was  seated  in  the  chimney-corner,  fettered 
and  guarded,  liis  features  drawn  into  that  air  of  sulky  and  turbid  resolution 
with  which  those  hardened  in  guilt  are  accustomed  to  view  the  approach 
of  punishment.  But  as  the  Sub-Prior  drew  near  to  him,  his  face  assumed 
a  more  wild  and  startled  expression,  while  he  exclaimed — "  The  devil !  the  devil  himself, 
brings  the  dead  back  upon  the  living!" 

"  Nay,"  said  a  monk  to  him,   "  say  rather  that  Our  Lady  foils  the  attempts  of  the 
wicked  on  her  faithful  servants — our  dear  brother  lives  and  moves." 

"  Lives  and  moves  ! "  said  the  ruffian,  rising  and  shuffling  towards  the  Sub-Prior  as 
well  as  his  chains  would  permit ;  "  nay,  then,  I  will  never  trust  ashen  shaft  and  steel 
point  more — It  is  even  so,"  he  added,  as  he  gazed  on  the  Sub-Prior  with  astonishment ; 
'•  neither  wem  nor  wound — not  as  much  as  a  rent  in  his  frock  ! " 
"  And  whence  should  my  wound  have  come?"  said  Father  Eustace. 
"  From  the  good  lance  that  never  failed  me  before,"  replied  Christie  of  the  Clinthill. 
"Heaven  absolve  thee  for  thy  purpose  !"  said  the  Sub-Prior;  "  wouldst  thou  have 
slain  a  servant  of  the  altar?" 

"  To  choose  !"  answered  Christie  ;  "  the  Fifemen  say,  an  the  whole  pack  of  ye  were 
slain,  there  were  more  lost  at  Flodden." 

"  Villain  !  art  thou  heretic  as  well  as  murderer?" 

"  Not  I,  by  Saint  Giles,"  replied  the  rider;  "  I  listened  blithely  enough  to  the  Laird 
of  Monance,  when  he  told  me  ye  were  all  cheats  and  knaves ;  but  when  he  Avould  have 


had  me  go  hear  one  Wiselieart,  a  gospeller  as  tliey  call  him,  he  might  as  well  have 
persuaded  the  wild  colt  that  had  flung  one  rider  to  kneel  down  and  help  another  into 
the  saddle." 

"  There  is  some  goodness  about  him  yet,"  said  the  Sacristan  to  the  Abbot,  who  at  that 
moment  entered — "  He  refused  to  hear  a  heretic  preacher." 

'•'  The  better  for  him  in  the  next  world,"  answered  the  Abbot.  "  Prepare  for  death, 
my  son, — we  deliver  thee  over  to  the  secular  arm  of  our  bailie,  for  execution  on  the 
Gallow-hill  by  peep  of  light." 

"  Amen  !  "  said  the  ruthan ;  *'  'tis  the  end  I  must  have  come  by  sooner  or  later — and 
what  care  I  whether  I  feed  the  crows  at  Saint  Mary's  or  at  Carlisle  ?" 

"  Let  me  implore  your  reverend  patience  for  an  instant,"  said  the  Sub-Prior ;  "  until 
I  shall  inquire " 

"  What !"  exclaimed  the  Abbot,  observing  him  for  the  first  time — "  Our  dear  brother 
restored  to  us  when  his  life  was  unhoped  for  ! — nay,  kneel  not  to  a  sinner  like  me — stand 
up — thou  hast  my  blessing.  "When  this  villain  came  to  the  gate,  accused  by  his  own  evil 
conscience,  and  crying  out  he  had  murdered  thee,  I  thought  that  the  pillar  of  our  main 
aisle  had  fallen — no  more  shall  a  life  so  precious  be  exposed  to  such  risks  as  occur  in  this 
border  country ;  no  longer  shall  one  beloved  and  rescued  of  Heaven  hold  so  low  a  station 
in  the  church  as  that  of  a  poor  Sub-Prior — I  will  write  by  express  to  the  Primate  for 
thy  speedy  removal  and  advancement." 

"  Nay,  but  let  me  understand,"  said  the  Sub-Prior ;  "  did  this  soldier  say  he  had  slain 

"  That  he  had  transfixed  you,"  answered  the  Abbot,  "  in  full  career  with  his  lance — 
but  it  seems  he  had  taken  an  indiiferent  aim.  But  no  sooner  didst  thou  fall  to  the 
ground  mortally  gored,  as  he  deemed,  with  his  weapon,  than  our  blessed  Patroness 
appeared  to  him,  as  he  averred " 

"  I  averred  no  such  thing,"  said  the  prisoner ;  "  I  said  a  woman  in  white  interrupted 
me,  as  I  was  about  to  examine  the  priest's  cassock,  for  they  are  usually  well  lined — she 
had  a  bulrush  in  her  hand,  with  one  touch  of  which  she  struck  me  from  my  horse, 
as  I  might  strike  down  a  child  of  four  years  old  with  an  iron  mace — and  then,  like 
a  singing  fiend  as  she  was,  she  sung  to  me, 

'  Thank  the  holly-bush 

That  nods  on  thy  brow ; 
Or  with  this  slender  rush 

I  had  strangled  thee  now.' 

I  gathered  myself  up  with  fear  and  difficulty,  threw  myself  on  my  horse,  and  came 
hither  like  a  fool  to  get  myself  hanged  for  a  rogue." 

"  Thou  seest,  honoured  brother,"  said  the  Abbot  to  the  Sub-Prioi',  "  in  what  favour 
thou  art  with  our  blessed  Patroness,  that  she  herself  becomes  the  guardian  of  thy  paths 
— Not  since  the  days  of  our  blessed  founder  hath  she  shewn  such  grace  to  any  one.  All 
unworthy  were  we  to  hold  spiritual  superiority  over  thee,  and  we  pray  thee  to  prepare 
for  thy  speedy  removal  to  Aberbrothwick." 

"  Alas !  my  lord  and  father,"  said  the  Sub-Prior,  "  your  words  pierce  my  very  soul. 
Under  the  seal  of  confession  will  I  presently  tell  thee  why  I  conceive  myself  rather  the 
baffled  sport  of  a  spirit  of  another  sort,  than  the  protected  favourite  of  the  heavenly 
powers.     But  first  let  me  ask  this  unhappy  man  a  question  or  two." 

"  Do  as  ye  list,"  replied  the  Abbot — "  but  you  shall  not  convince  me  that  it  is  fitting 
you  remain  in  this  inferior  office  in  the  convent  of  Saint  Mary." 

"  I  would  ask  of  this  poor  man,"  said  Father  Eustace,  "  for  what  purpose  he  nourished 
the  thought  of  putting  to  death  one  who  never  did  him  evil  ?  " 

"  Ay  !  but  thou  didst  menace  me  with  evil,"  said  the  ruffian,  "  and  no  one  but  a  fool 
is  menaced  twice.     Dost  thou  not  remember  what  you  said  touching  the  Primate  and 


Lord  James,  and  the  black  pool  of  Jedwood  ?  Didst  thou  think  me  fool  enough  to  wait 
till  thou  hadst  betrayed  me  to  the  sack  and  the  fork !  There  were  small  wisdom  in  that, 
methinks — as  little  as  in  coming  hither  to  tell  my  own  misdeeds — I  think  the  devil  was 
in  me  when  I  took  this  road — I  might  have  remembered  the  proverb,  '  Never  Friar 
forgot  feud.' " 

"  And  it  was  solely  for  that — for  that  only  hasty  word  of  mine,  uttered  in  a  moment 
of  impatience,  and  forgotten  ere  it  was  well  spoken?"  said  Father  Eustace. 

"  Ay  !  for  that,  and — for  the  love  of  thy  gold  crucifix,"  said  Christie  of  the  Clinthill, 

"  Gracious  Heaven  !  and  could  the  yellow  metal — the  glittering  earth — so  far  overcome 
every  sense  of  what  is  thereby  represented  ? — Father  Abbot,  I  pray,  as  a  dear  boon,  you 
will  deliver  this  guilty  person  to  my  mercy." 

"  Nay,  brother,"  interposed  the  Sacristan,  "  to  your  doom,  if  you  Avill,  not  to  your 
mercy — Remember,  we  are  not  all  equally  favoured  by  our  blessed  Lady,  nor  is  it  likely 
that  every  frock  in  the  Convent  will  serve  as  a  coat  of  proof  when  a  lance  is  couched 
against  it." 

"  For  that  very  reason,"  said  the  Sub-Prior,  "  I  would  not  that  for  my  worthless  self 
the  community  were  to  fall  at  feud  with  Julian  of  Avenel,  this  man's  master." 

"  Our  Lady  forbid ! "  said  the  Sacristan,  "  he  is  a  second  Julian  the  Apostate." 

"  "With  our  reverend  father  the  Abbot's  permission,  then,"  said  Father  Eustace, 
"  I  desire  this  man  be  freed  from  his  chains,  and  suffered  to  depart  uninjured; — and  here, 
friend,"  he  added,  giving  him  the  golden  crucifix,  "  is  the  image  for  which  thou  wert 
willing  to  stain  thy  hands  with  murder.  View  it  well,  and  may  it  inspire  thee  with  other 
and  better  thoughts  than  those  which  referred  to  it  as  a  piece  of  bullion!  Part  with  it, 
nevertheless,  if  thy  necessities  require,  and  get  thee  one  of  such  coarse  substance  that 
Mammon  shall  have  no  share  in  any  of  the  reflections  to  which  it  gives  rise.  It  was 
the  bequest  of  a  dear  friend  to  me ;  but  dearer  service  can  it  never  do  than  that  of 
winning  a  soul  to  Heaven." 

The  Borderer,  now  freed  from  his  chains,  stood  gazing  alternately  on  the  Sub-Prior, 
and  on  the  golden  crucifix.  "  By  Saint  Giles,"  said  he,  "  I  understand  ye  not ! — An  ye 
give  me  gold  for  couching  my  lance  at  thee,  what  would  you  give  me  to  level  it  at  a 

"  The  Church,"  said  the  Sub-Prior,  "  will  try  the  effect  of  her  spiritual  censures  to 
bring  these  stray  sheep  into  the  fold,  ere  she  employ  the  edge  of  the  sword  of  Saint 

"  Ay,  but,"  said  the  ruffian,  "  they  say  the  Primate  recommends  a  little  strangling  and 
burning  in  aid  both  of  censure  and  of  sword.  But  fare  ye  weel,  I  owe  you  a  life,  and  it 
.may  be  I  will  not  forget  my  debt." 

The  bailie  now  came  bustling  in,  dressed  in  his  blue  coat  and  bandaliers,  and  attended 
by  two  or  three  halberdiers.  "  I  have  been  a  thought  too  late  in  waiting  upon  your 
reverend  lordship.  I  am  grown  somewhat  fatter  since  the  field  of  Pinkie,  and  my 
leathern  coat  slips  not  on  so  soon  as  it  was  wont ;  but  the  dungeon  is  ready,  and  though, 
as  I  said,  I  have  been  somewhat  late " 

Here  his  intended  prisoner  walked  gravely  up  to  the  officer's  nose,  to  his  great 

"  You  have  been  indeed  somewhat  late,  bailie,"  said  he,  "  and  I  am  greatly  obligated 
to  your  buff-coat,  and  to  the  time  you  took  to  put  it  on.  If  the  secular  arm  had  arrived 
some  quarter  of  an  hour  sooner,  I  had  been  out  of  the  reach  of  spiritual  grace ;  but  as  it 
is,  I  wish  you  good  even,  and  a  safe  riddance  out  of  your  garment  of  durance,  in  which 
you  have  much  the  air  of  a  hog  in  armour." 

Wroth  was  the  bailie  with  this  comparison,  and  exclaimed  in  ire — "  An  it  were  not 
for  the  presence  of  the  venerable  Lord  Abbot,  thou  knave " 

Vol.  v.  H 


"  Naj,  an  thou  wouldst  try  conclusions,"  said  Christie  of  the  Clinthill,  "  I  will  meet 
thee  at  day-break  by  Saint  Mary's  Well." 

"  Hardened  wretch !"  said  Father  Eustace,  "  art  thou  but  this  instant  delivered  from 
death,  and  dost  thou  so  soon  morse  thoughts  of  slaughter?" 

"  I  will  meet  with  thee  ere  it  be  long,  thou  knave,"  said  the  bailie,  "  and  teach  thee 
thine  Oremus." 

"  I  will  meet  thy  cattle  in  a  moonlight  night  before  that  day,"  said  he  of  the  Clinthill. 

"  I  will  have  thee  by  the  neck  one  misty  morning,  thou  strong  thief,"  answered  the 
secular  officer  of  the  Church, 

"  Thou  art  thyself  as  strong  a  thief  as  ever  rode,"  retorted  Christie  ;  "  and  if  the  worms 
were  once  feasting  on  that  fat  carcass  of  thine,  I  might  well  hope  to  have  thine  oflB.ce,  by 
favour  of  these  reverend  men," 

'•'  A  cast  of  their  office,  and  a  cast  of  mine,"  answered  the  bailie ;  "  a  cord  and  a 
confessor,  that  is  aU  thou  wilt  have  from  us," 

"  Sirs,"  said  the  Sub-Prior,  observing  that  his  brethren  began  to  take  more  interest 
than  was  exactly  decorous  in  this  wrangling  betwixt  justice  and  iniquity,  "  I  pray  you 
both  to  depart — Master  Bailie,  retire  with  your  halberdiers,  and  trouble  not  the  man  whom 
we  have  dismissed, — And  thou,  Christie,  or  whatever  be  thy  name,  take  thy  departure, 
and  remember  thou  owest  thy  life  to  the  Lord  Abbot's  clemency." 

"  Nay,  as  to  that,"  answered  Christie,  "  I  judge  that  I  owe  it  to  your  own  ;  but  impute 
it  to  whom  ye  list,  I  owe  a  life  among  ye,  and  there  is  an  end,"  And  whistling  as  he 
went,  he  left  the  apartment,  seeming  as  if  he  held  the  life  which  he  had  forfeited  not 
worthy  farther  thanks, 

"  Obstinate  even  to  brutality  ! "  said  Father  Eustace ;  "  and  yet  who  knows  but  some 
better  ore  may  lie  under  so  rude  an  exterior  ?  " 

"  Save  a  thief  from  the  gallows,"  said  the  Sacristan — "  you  know  the  rest  of  the 
proverb  ;  and  admitting,  as  may  Heaven  grant,  that  our  lives  and  limbs  are  safe  from 
this  outrageous  knave,  who  shall  insure  our  meal  and  our  malt,  our  herds  and  our 

"  Marry,  that  will  I,  my  brethren,"  said  an  aged  monk,  "  Ah,  brethren,  you  little 
know  what  may  be  made  of  a  repentant  robber.  In  Abbot  Ingilram's  days — ay,  and 
I  remember  them  as  it  were  yesterday — the  freebooters  were  the  best  welcome  men  that 
came  to  Saint  Mary's,  Ay,  they  paid  tithe  of  every  drove  that  they  brought  over  from 
the  South,  and  because  they  were  something  lightly  come  by,  I  have  known  them  make 
the  tithe  a  seventh — that  is,  if  their  confessor  knew  his  business — ay,  when  we  saw  from 
the  tower  a  score  of  fat  bullocks,  or  a  drove  of  sheep,  coming  down  the  valley,  with  two 
or  thi-ee  stout  men-at-arms  behind  them  with  their  glittering  steel  caps,  and  their  black- 
jacks, and  their  long  lances,  the  good  Lord  Abbot  Ingilram  was  wont  to  say — he  was  a 
merry  man — there  come  the  tithes  of  the  spoilers  of  the  Egyptians  !  Ay,  and  I  have 
seen  the  famous  John  the  Armstrang — a  fair  man  he  was  and  a  goodly,  the  more  pity 
that  hemp  was  ever  heckled  for  him — I  have  seen  him  come  into  the  Abbey-church  with 
nine  tassels  of  gold  in  his  bonnet,  and  every  tassel  made  of  nine  English  nobles,  and  he 
would  go  from  chapel  to  chapel,  and  from  image  to  image,  and  from  altar  to  altar,  on  his 
knees — and  leave  here  a  tassel,  and  there  a  noble,  till  there  was  as  little  gold  on  his 
bonnet  as  on  my  hood — you  will  find  no  such  Border  thieves  now  ! " 

"  No  truly,  Brother  Nicolas,"  answered  the  Abbot ;  "  they  ai-e  more  apt  to  take  any 
gold  the  Church  has  left,  than  to  bequeath  or  bestow  any — and  for  cattle,  beshrew  me  if 
I  think  they  care  whether  beeves  have  fed  on  the  meadows  of  Lanercost  Abbey  or  of 
Saint  Mary's  !" 

"  There  is  no  good  thing  left  in  them,"  said  Father  Nicolas ;  "  they  are  clean  naught 
— Ah,  the  thieves  that  I  liave  seen ! — such  proper  men !  and  as  pitiful  as  proper,  and  as 
pious  as  pitiful ! " 


"  It  skills  not  talking  of  it,  Brotker  Nicolas,"  said  the  Abbot ;  "  and  [  will  now  dismiss 
you,  my  brethren,  holding  your  meeting  upon  this  our  inquisition  concerning  the  danger 
of  our  reverend  Sub-Prior,  instead  of  the  attendance  on  the  lauds  this  evening — Yet  let 
the  bells  be  duly  rung  for  the  edification  of  the  laymen  without,  and  also  that  the  novices 
may  give  due  reverence. — And  now,  benedicite,  brethren  I  The  cellarer  wall  bestow  on 
each  a  grace-cup  and  a  morsel  as  ye  pass  the  buttery,  for  ye  have  been  turmoiled  and 
anxious,  and  dangerous  it  is  to  fall  asleep  in  such  case  with  empty  stomach." 

"  Gratias  aghmis  quam  maximas,  Doviine  reverendissime,"  replied  the  brethren, 
departing  in  their  due  order. 

But  the  Sul)-Prior  remained  behind,  and  falling  on  his  knees  before  the  Abbot,  as  he 
■was  about  to  withdraw,  craved  him  to  hear  under  the  seal  of  confession  the  adventures 
of  the  day.  The  reverend  Lord  Abbot  yawned,  and  would  have  alleged  fatigue ;  but  to 
Father  Eustace,  of  all  men,  he  was  ashamed  to  shew  indifference  in  his  religious  duties. 
The  confession,  therefore,  proceeded,  in  which  Father  Eustace  told  aU  the  extraordinary 
circumstances  which  had  befallen  him  during  the  journey.  And  being  questioned  by  the 
Abbot,  whether  he  was  not  conscious  of  any  secret  sin,  through  which  he  might  have 
been  subjected  for  a  time  to  the  delusions  of  evil  spirits,  the  Sub-Prior  admitted,  with 
frank  avowal,  that  he  thought  he  might  have  deserved  such  penance  for  having  judged 
with  unfraternal  rigour  of  the  report  of  Father  Philip  the  Sacristan. 

"  Heaven,"  said  the  penitent,  "  may  have  been  willing  to  convince  me,  not  only  that 
he  can  at  pleasure  open  a  communication  betwixt  us  and  beings  of  a  different,  and,  as  we 
word  it,  supernatural  class,  but  also  to  punish  our  pride  of  superior  wisdom,  or  superior 
courage,  or  superior  learning." 

It  is  well  said  that  virtue  is  its  own  reward ;  and  I  question  if  duty  was  ever  more 
completely  recompensed,  than  by  the  audience  which  the  reverend  Abbot  so  unwillingly 
yielded  to  the  confession  of  the  Sub-Prior.  To  find  the  object  of  his  fear  shall  we  say, 
or  of  his  envy,  or  of  both,  accusing  himself  of  the  very  error  with  which  he  had  so 
tacitly  charged  him,  was  a  corroboration  of  the  Abbot's  judgment,  a  soothing  of  his  pride, 
and  an  allaying  of  his  fears.  The  sense  of  triumph,  however,  rather  increased  than 
diminished  his  natural  good-humour  ;  and  so  far  was  Abbot  Boniface  from  being  disposed 
to  tyrannize  over  his  Sub-Prior,  in  consequence  of  this  discovery,  that  in  his  exhortation 
he  hovered  somewhat  ludicrously  betwixt  the  natural  expression  of  his  own  gratified 
vanity,  and  his  timid  reluctance  to  hurt  the  feelings  of  Father  Eustace. 

"  My  brother,"  said  he,  ex  cathedra,  "  it  cannot  have  escaped  your  judicious  observa- 
tion, that  we  have  often  declined  our  own  judgment  in  favour  of  your  opinion,  even  about 
those  matters  which  most  nearly  concerned  the  community.  Nevertheless,  grieved  would 
we  be,  could  you  think  that  we  did  this,  either  because  we  deemed  our  own  opinion  less 
pregnant,  or  our  wit  more  shallow,  than  that  of  our  other  brethren.  For  it  was  done 
exclusively  to  give  our  younger  brethren,  such  as  your  much  esteemed  self,  my  dearest 
brother,  that  courage  which  is  necessary  to  a  free  deliverance  of  your  opinion, — 
we  ofttimes  setting  apart  our  proper  judgment,  that  our  inferiors,  and  especially  our 
dear  brother  the  Sub-Prior,  may  be  comforted  and  encouraged  in  proposing  valiantly 
his  own  thoughts.  Which  our  deference  and  humility  may,  in  some  sort,  have  produced 
in  your  mind,  most  reverend  brother,  that  self-opinion  of  parts  and  knowledge,  which 
hath  led  unfortunately  to  your  over-estimating  your  own  faculties,  and  thereby  subjecting 
yourself,  as  is  but  too  visible,  to  the  japes  and  mockeries  of  evil  spirits.  For  it  is  assured 
that  Heaven  always  holdeth  us  in  the  least  esteem  when  we  deem  of  ourselves  most 
highly,  and  also,  on  the  other  hand,  it  may  be  that  we  have  somewhat  departed  from 
what  became  our  high  seat  in  this  Abbey,  in  suffering  ourselves  to  be  too  much  guided, 
and  even,  as  it  were,  controlled,  by  the  voice  of  our  inferior.  Wherefore,"  continued  the 
Lord  Abbot,  "in  both  of  us  such  faults  shall  and  must  be  amended — you  hereafter  pre- 
suming less  upon  your  gifts  and  carnal  wisdom,   and  I  taking  heed  not  so  easily  to 


relinquish  mine  own  opinion  for  that  of  one  lower  in  place  and  in  office.  Nevertheless, 
we  would  not  that  we  should  thereby  lose  the  high  advantage  which  we  have  derived,  and 
may  yet  derive,  from  your  wise  counsels,  which  liatli  been  so  often  recommended  to  us  by 
our  most  reverend  Primate.  Wherefore,  on  affairs  of  high  moment,  we  will  call  you  to 
our  presence  in  private,  and  listen  to  your  opinion,  which,  if  it  shall  agree  with  our  own, 
we  will  deliver  to  the  Chapter,  as  emanating  directly  from  ourselves ;  thus  sparing  you, 
dearest  brother,  that  seeming  victory  which  is  so  apt  to  engender  spiritual  pride,  and 
avoiding  ourselves  the  temptation  of  falling  into  that  modest  facility  of  opinion,  whereby 
our  office  is  lessened  and  our  person  (were  that  of  consequence)  rendered  less  important 
in  the  eyes  of  the  community  over  which  we  preside." 

Notwithstanding  the  high  notions  which,  as  a  rigid  Catholic,  Father  Eustace  enter- 
tained of  the  sacrament  of  confession,  as  his  Church  calls  it,  there  was  some  danger  that 
a  sense  of  the  ridiculous  might  have  stolen  on  him,  when  he  heard  his  Superior,  with 
such  simple  cunning,  lay  out  a  little  plan  for  availing  himself  of  the  Sub-Prior's  wisdom 
and  experience,  while  he  should  take  the  whole  ci-edit  to  himself.  Yet  his  conscience 
immediately  told  him  that  he  was  right. 

"  I  should  have  thought  more,"  he  reflected,  "of  the  spiritual  Superior,  and  less  of  the 
individual.  I  should  have  spread  my  mantle  over  the  frailties  of  my  spiritual  father, 
and  done  what  I  might  to  support  his  character,  and,  of  course,  to  extend  his  utility 
among  the  brethren,  as  well  as  with  others.  The  Abbot  cannot  be  humbled,  but  what 
the  community  must  be  humbled  in  his  person.  Her  boast  is,  that  over  all  her  children, 
especially  over  those  called  to  places  of  distinction,  she  can  diffuse  those  gifts  which  are 
necessary  to  render  them  illustrious." 

Actuated  by  these  sentiments,  Father  Eustace  frankly  assented  to  the  charge  which 
his  Superior,  even  in  that  moment  of  authority,  had  rather  intimated  than  made,  and 
signified  his  humble  acquiescence  in  any  mode  of  communicating  his  counsel  which  might 
be  most  agreeable  to  the  Lord  Abbot,  and  might  best  remove  from  himself  all  temptation 
to  glory  in  his  own  wisdom.  He  then  prayed  the  reverend  Father  to  assign  him  such 
penance  as  might  best  suit  his  offence,  intimating,  at  the  same  time,  that  he  had  already 
fasted  the  whole  day. 

"  And  it  is  that  I  complain  of,"  answered  the  Abbot,  instead  of  giving  him  credit  for 
his  abstinence ;  "  it  is  these  very  penances,  fasts,  and  vigils,  of  which  we  complain  ;  as 
tending  only  to  generate  airs  and  fumes  of  vanity,  which,  ascending  from  the  stomach 
into  the  head,  do  but  puff  us  up  with  vain-glory  and  self-opinion.  It  is  meet  and  beseem- 
ing that  novices  should  undergo  fists  and  vigils  ;  for  some  part  of  every  community  must 
fiist,  and  young  stomachs  may  best  endure  it.  Besides,  in  them  it  abates  wicked  thoughts, 
and  the  desire  of  worldly  delights.  But,  reverend  brothei",  for  those  to  fast  who  are 
dead  and  mortified  to  the  woi'ld,  as  I  and  thou,  is  work  of  supererogation,  and  is  but  the 
matter  of  spiritual  pride.  Wherefore,  I  enjoin  thee,  most  reverend  brother,  go  to  the 
buttery,  and  drink  two  cups  at  least  of  good  wine,  eating  withal  a  comfortable  morsel, 
such  as  may  best  suit  thy  taste  and  stomach.  And  in  respect  that  thine  opinion  of  thy 
own  wisdom  hath  at  times  made  thee  less  conformable  to,  and  companionable  with,  the 
weaker  and  less  learned  brethren,  I  enjoin  thee,  during  the  said  repast,  to  choose  for  thy 
companion,  our  reverend  brother  Nicolas,  and  without  interruption  or  impatience,  to 
listen  for  a  stricken  hour  to  his  narration,  concerning  those  things  which  befel  in  the 
times  of  our  venerable  predecessor,  Abbot  Ingilram,  on  whose  soul  may  Heaven  have 
mercy  !  And  for  such  holy  exercises  as  may  farther  advantage  your  soul,  and  expiate 
the  faults  whereof  you  have  contritely  and  humbly  avowed  yourself  guilty,  we  will  ponder 
upon  that  matter,  and  announce  our  will  unto  you  the  next  morning." 

It  was  remarkable,  that  after  this  memorable  evening,  the  feelings  of  the  worthy  Abbot 
towai'ds  his  adviser  were  much  more  kindly  and  friendly  than  when  he  deemed  the  Sub- 
Prior  the  impeccable  and  infallible  person,  in  whose  garment  of  virtue  and  wisdom  no 



flaw  was  to  be  discerned.  It  seemed  as  if  this  avowal  of  his  own  imperfections  had 
recommended  Father  Eustace  to  the  friendship  of  the  Superior,  although  at  the  same 
time  this  increase  of  benevolence  was  attended  with  some  circumstances,  which,  to  a  man 
of  the  Sub-Prior's  natural  elevation  of  mind  and  temper,  were  more  grievous  than  even 
undergoing  the  legends  of  the  dull  and  verbose  Father  Nicolas.  For  instance,  the 
Abbot  seldom  mentioned  him  to  the  other  monks,  without  designing  him  our  beloved 
Brother  Eustace,  poor  man  ! — and  now  and  then  he  used  to  warn  the  younger  brethren 
against  the  snares  of  vain-glory  and  spiritual  pride,  which  Satan  sets  for  the  more 
rigidly  righteous,  with  such  looks  and  demonstrations  as  did  all  but  expressly  designate 
the  Sub-Prior  as  one  who  had  fallen  at  one  time  under  such  delusions.  Upon  these 
occasions,  it  required  all  the  votive  obedience  of  a  monk,  all  the  philosophical  discipline 
of  the  schools,  and  all  the  patience  of  a  Christian,  to  enable  Father  Eustace  to  endure 
the  pompous  and  patronizing  parade  of  his  honest,  but  somewhat  thick-headed  Superior. 
He  began  himself  to  be  desirous  of  leaving  the  Monastery,  or  at  least  he  manifestly 
declined  to  interfere  with  its  aifau's,  in  that  marked  and  authoritative  manner,  which  he 
had  at  first  practised. 


You  call  this  education,  do  you  not? 

Why  'tis  the  forced  march  of  a  herd  of  bullocks 

Before  a  shouting  drover.     The  glad  van 

Move  on  at  ease,  and  pause  a  while  to  snatch 

A  passing  morsel  from  the  dewy  greensward, 

While  all  the  blows,  the  oaths,  the  indignation. 

Fall  on  the  croupe  of  the  ill-fated  laggard 

That  cripples  In  the  rear.  Old  Play. 

,  WO  or  three  years  glided  on,  during  which  the  stoi'm  of  the  approaching 
;  alteration  in  church  government  became  each  day  louder  and  more 
perilous.  Owing  to  the  circumstances  which  we  have  intimated  in  the 
end  of  the  last  chapter,  the  Sub-Prior  Eustace  appeared  to  have  altered 
considerably  his  habits  of  life.  He  afforded,  on  all  extraordinary  occa- 
sions, to  the  Abbot,  whether  privately,  or  in  the  assembled  Chapter, 
the  support  of  his  wisdom  and  experience ;  but  in  his  ordinary  habits  he  seemed  now  to 
live  more  for  himself,  and  less  for  the  community,  than  had  been  his  former  practice. 

He  often  absented  himself  for  whole  days  from  the  convent ;  and  as  the  adventure  of 
Glendearg  dwelt  deeply  on  his  memory,  he  was  repeatedly  induced  to  visit  that  lonely 
tower,  and  to  take  an  interest  in  the  orphans  who  had  their  shelter  under  its  roof. 
Besides,  he  felt  a  deep  anxiety  to  know  whether  the  volume  which  he  had  lost,  when  so 
strangely  preserved  fi'om  the  lance  of  the  murderer,  had  again  found  its  way  back  to  the 
Tower  of  Glendearg.  "  It  was  strange,"  he  thought,  "  that  a  spirit,"  for  such  he  could 
not  help  judging  the  being  whose  voice  he  had  heard,  "  should,  on  the  one  side,  seek  the 
advancement  of  heresy,  and,  on  the  other,  interpose  to  save  the  life  of  a  zealous  Catholic 

But  from  no  inquiry  which  he  made  of  the  various  inhabitants  of  the  Tower  of  Glen- 
dearg could  he  learn  that  the  copy  of  the  translated  Scriptures,  for  which  he  made  such 
diligent  inquiry,  had  again  been  seen  by  any  of  them. 


In  the  meanwhile  the  good  father's  occasional  visits  were  of  no  small  consequence  to 
Edward  Glendinning  and  to  Mary  Avenel.  The  former  displayed  a  power  of  appre- 
hending and  retaining  whatever  was  taught  him,  which  filled  Father  Eustace  with 
admiration.  He  was  at  once  acute  and  industrious,  alert  and  accurate ;  one  of  those 
rare  combinations  of  talent  and  industry,  which  are  seldom  united. 

It  was  the  earnest  desire  of  Father  Eustace  that  the  excellent  qualities  thus  early 
displayed  by  Edward  should  be  dedicated  to  the  service  of  the  Church,  to  which  he  thought 
the  youth's  own  consent  might  be  easily  obtained,  as  he  was  of  a  calm,  contemplative, 
retired  habit,  and  seemed  to  consider  knowledge  as  the  principal  object,  and  its  enlarge- 
ment as  the  greatest  pleasure,  in  life.  As  to  the  mother,  the  Sub-Prior  had  little  doubt 
that,  trained  as  she  was  to  view  the  monks  of  Saint  Mary's  with  such  profound  reverence, 
she  would  be  but  too  happy  in  an  opportunity  of  enrolling  one  of  her  sons  in  its  honoured 
community.     But  the  good  Fatlier  proved  to  be  mistaken  in  both  these  particulars. 

"When  he  spoke  to  Elspeth  Glendinning  of  that  which  a  mother  best  loves  to  hear — 
the  proficiency  and  abilities  of  her  son — she  listened  with  a  delighted  ear.  But  when 
Father  Eustace  hinted  at  the  duty  of  dedicating  to  the  service  of  the  Church,  talents 
which  seemed  fitted  to  defend  and  adorn  it,  the  dame  endeavoured  always  to  shift  the 
subject;  and  when  pressed  farther,  enlarged  on  her  own  incapacity,  as  a  lone  woman,  to 
manage  the  feu ;  on  the  advantage  which  her  neighbours  of  the  township  were  often 
taking  of  her  unprotected  state,  and  on  the  wish  she  had  that  Edward  might  fill  his 
father's  place,  remain  in  the  tower,  and  close  her  eyes. 

On  such  occasions  the  Sub-Pi-ior  would  answer,  that  even  in  a  worldly  point  of  view 
the  welfare  of  the  family  would  be  best  consulted  by  one  of  the  sons  entering  into  the 
community  of  Saint  Mary's,  as  it  was  not  to  be  supposed  that  he  would  fail  to  afford  his 
family  the  important  protection  which  he  could  then  easily  extend  towards  them.  What 
could  be  a  more  pleasing  prospect  than  to  see  him  high  in  honour  ?  or  what  more  sweet 
than  to  have  the  last  duties  rendered  to  her  by  a  son,  revered  for  his  holiness  of  life  and 
exemplary  manners  ?  Besides,  he  endeavoured  to  impress  upon  the  dame,  that  her  eldest 
son,  Halbert,  whose  bold  temper  and  headstrong  indulgence  of  a  wandering  humour, 
rendered  him  incapable  of  learning,  was,  for  that  reason,  as  well  as  that  he  was  her  eldest 
born,  fittest  to  bustle  through  the  affairs  of  the  world,  and  manage  the  little  fief. 

Elspeth  durst  not  directly  dissent  from  what  was  proposed,  for  fear  of  giving  displea- 
sure, and  yet  she  always  had  something  to  say  against  it.  Halbert,  she  said,  was  not  like 
any  of  the  neighbour  boys — he  was  taller  by  the  head,  and  stronger  by  the  half,  than 
any  boy  of  his  years  within  the  Halidome.  But  he  was  fit  for  no  peaceful  work  that 
could  be  devised.  If  he  liked  a  book  ill,  he  liked  a  plough  or  a  pattle  worse.  He 
had  scoured  his  father's  old  broadsword — suspended  it  by  a  belt  round  his  waist,  and 
seldom  stirred  without  it.  He  was  a  sweet  boy  and  a  gentle  if  spoken  fair,  but  cross 
him  and  he  was  a  born  devil.  "  In  a  word,"  she  said,  bursting  into  tears,  "deprive  me 
of  Edward,  good  father,  and  ye  bereave  my  house  of  prop  and  pillar ;  for  my  heart  tells 
me  that  Halbert  will  take  to  his  father's  gates,  and  die  his  father's  death." 

When  the  conversation  came  to  this  crisis,  the  good-humoured  monk  was  always 
content  to  drop  the  discussion  for  the  time,  trusting  some  opportunity  would  occur  of 
removing  her  prejudices,  for  such  he  thought  them,  against  Edward's  proposed  des- 

When,  leaving  the  mother,  the  Sub-Prior  addressed  himself  to  the  son,  animating  his 
zeal  for  knowledge,  and  pointing  out  how  amply  it  might  be  gratified  should  he  agree  to 
take  holy  orders,  he  found  the  same  repugnance  which  Dame  Elspeth  had  exhibited. 
Edward  pleaded  a  want  of  sufficient  vocation  to  so  serious  a  profession — his  reluctance 
to  leave  his  mother,  and  other  objections,  which  the  Sub-Prior  treated  as  evasive. 

"  I  plainly  perceive,"  he  said  one  day,  in  answer  to  them,  "  that  the  devil  has  his 
factors  as  well  as  Heaven,  and  that  they  are  equally,  or,  alas !  the  former  are  perhaps 


more  active,  in  bespeaking  for  their  master  tlie  first  of  tlie  market.  I  trust,  young  man, 
that  neither  idleness,  nor  licentious  pleasure,  nor  the  love  of  worldly  gain  and  worldly 
grandeur,  the  chief  baits  with  which  the  great  Fisher  of  souls  conceals  his  hook,  are 
the  causes  of  your  declining  the  career  to  which  I  would  incite  you.  But  above  all 
I  trust — above  all  I  hope — that  the  vanity  of  superior  knowledge — a  sin  with  which 
those  who  have  made  proficiency  in  learning  are  most  frequently  beset — has  not  led  you 
into  the  awful  hazard  of  listening  to  the  dangerous  doctrines  which  are  now  afloat 
concerning  religion.  Better  for  you  that  you  were  as  grossly  ignorant  as  the  beasts 
which  perish,  than  that  the  pride  of  knowledge  should  induce  you  to  lend  an  ear  to  the 
voice  of  heretics."  Edward  Glendinning  listened  to  the  rebuke  with  a  downcast  look, 
and  failed  not,  when  it  was  concluded,  earnestly  to  vindicate  himself  from  the  charge  of 
having  pushed  his  studies  into  any  subjects  which  the  Church  inhibited ;  and  so  the 
monk  was  left  to  form  vain  conjectures  respecting  the  cause  of  his  reluctance  to  embrace 
the  monastic  state. 

It  is  an  old  proverb,  used  by  Chaucer,  and  quoted  by  Elizabeth,  that  "  the  greatest 
clerks  are  not  the  wisest  men ; "  and  it  is  as  true  as  if  the  poet  had  not  rhymed,  or  the 
queen  reasoned  on  it.  If  Father  Eustace  had  not  had  his  thoughts  turned  so  much  to 
the  progress  of  heresy,  and  so  little  to  what  was  passing  in  the  tower,  he  might  have 
read,  in  the  speaking  eyes  of  Mary  Avenel,  now  a  girl  of  fourteen  or  fifteen,  reasons 
which  might  disincline  her  youthful  companion  towards  the  monastic  vows.  I  have 
said,  that  she  also  was  a  promising  pupil  of  the  good  father,  upon  whom  her  innocent 
and  infantine  beauty  had  an  effect  of  which  he  was  himself,  perhaps,  unconscious.  Her 
rank  and  expectations  entitled  her  to  be  taught  the  arts  of  reading  and  writing ; — and 
each  lesson  which  the  monk  assigned  her  was  conned  over  in  company  with  Edward,  and 
by  him  explained  and  re-explained,  and  again  illustrated,  until  she  became  perfectly 
mistress  of  it. 

In  the  beginning  of  their  studies,  Halbert  had  been  their  school  companion.  But  the 
boldness  and  impatience  of  his  disposition  soon  quarrelled  with  an  occupation  in  which, 
without  assiduity  and  unremitted  attention,  no  progress  was  to  be  expected.  The 
Sub-Prior's  visits  were  at  irregular  intervals,  and  often  weeks  would  intervene  between 
them,  in  which  case  Halbert  was  sure  to  forget  all  that  had  been  prescribed  for  him  to 
learn,  and  much  which  he  had  partly  acquired  before.  His  deficiencies  on  these 
occasions  gave  him  pain,  but  it  was  not  of  that  sort  which  produces  amendment. 

For  a  time,  like  all  who  are  fond  of  idleness,  he  endeavoured  to  detach  the  attention 
of  his  brother  and  Mary  Avenel  from  their  task,  rather  than  to  learn  his  own,  and  such 
dialogues  as  the  following  would  ensue : 

"  Take  your  bonnet,  Edwax'd,  and  make  haste— the  Laird  of  Colmslie  is  at  the  head 
of  the  glen  with  his  hounds." 

"  I  care  not,  Halbert,"  answered  the  younger  brother  ;  "  two  brace  of  dogs  may  kill 
a  deer  without  my  being  there  to  see  them,  and  I  must  help  Mary  Avenel  with  her 

''  Ay !  you  will  labour  at  the  monk's  lessons  till  you  turn  monk  yourself,"  answered 
Halbert. — "  Mary,  will  you  go  with  me,  and  I  will  shew  you  the  cushat's  nest  I  told 
you  of?" 

"  I  cannot  go  with  you,  Halbert,"  answered  Mary,  "  because  I  must  study  this  lesson 
- — it  will  take  me  long  to  learn  it — I  am  sorry  I  am  so  dull,  for  if  I  could  get  my  task 
as  fast  as  Edward,  I  should  like  to  go  with  you." 

"  Should  you  indeed?"  said  Halbert;  "  then  I  will  wait  for  you — and,  what  is  more, 
I  will  try  to  get  my  lesson  also." 

With  a  smile  and  a  sigh  he  took  up  the  primer,  and  began  heavily  to  con  over  the 
task  which  had  been  assigned  him.  As  if  banished  from  the  society  of  the  two  others, 
he  sat  sad  and  solitary  in  one  of  the  deep  window-recesses,  and  after  in  vain  struggling 


with  tlie  difficulties  of  his  task,  and  his  disinclination  to  learn  it,  he  found  himself 
involuntarily  engaged  in  watching  the  movements  of  the  other  two  students,  instead  of 
toiling  any  longer. 

The  picture  which  Halbert  looked  upon  was  delightful  in  itself,  but  somehow  or  other 
it  afforded  very  little  pleasure  to  him.  The  beautiful  girl,  with  looks  of  simple,  yet 
earnest  anxiety,  was  bent  on  disentangling  those  intricacies  which  obstructed  her  pro^-ress 
to  knowledge,  and  looking  ever  and  anon  to  Edward  for  assistance,  while,  seated  close 
by  her  side,  and  watchful  to  remove  every  obstacle  from  her  way,  he  seemed  at  once  to 
be  proud  of  the  progress  which  his  pupil  made,  and  of  the  assistance  which  he  was  able 
to  render  her.  There  was  a  bond  betwixt  them,  a  strong  and  interesting  tie,  the  desire 
of  obtaining  knowledge,  the  pride  of  surmounting  difficulties. 

Feeling  most  acutely,  yet  ignorant  of  the  nature  and  source  of  his  own  emotions, 
Halbert  could  no  longer  endure  to  look  upon  this  quiet  scene,  but,  starting  up,  dashed 
his  book  from  him,  and  exclaimed  aloud,  "  To  the  fiend  I  bequeath  all  books,  and  the 
dreamers  that  make  them  ! — I  would  a  score  of  Southrons  would  come  up  the  glen,  and 
we  should  learn  how  little  all  this  muttering  and  scribbling  is  worth." 

Mary  Avenel  and  his  brother  started,  and  looked  at  Halbert  with  surprise,  while  he 
went  on  with  great  animation,  his  featui-es  swelling,  and  the  tears  starting  into  his  eyes 
as  he  spoke. — "  Yes,  Mary — I  wish  a  score  of  Southrons  came  up  the  glen  this  very 
day ;  and  you  should  see  one  good  hand,  and  one  good  sword,  do  more  to  protect  you, 
than  all  the  books  that  were  ever  opened,  and  all  the  pens  that  ever  grew  on  a  goose's 

Mary  looked  a  little  surprised  and  a  little  frightened  at  his  vehemence,  but  instantly 
replied  affectionately,  "  You  are  vexed,  Halbert,  because  you  do  not  get  your  lesson  so 
fast  as  Edward  can;  and  so  am  I,  for  I  am  as  stupid  as  you — But  come,  and  Edward 
shall  sit  betwixt  us  and  teach  us." 

"  He  shall  not  teach  me,"  said  Halbert,  in  the  same  angry  mood ;  "  I  never  can  teach 
him  to  do  any  thing  that  is  honourable  and  manly,  and  he  shall  not  teach  me  any  of  his 
monkish  tricks. — I  hate  the  monks,  with  their  drawling  nasal  tone  like  so  many  frogs, 
and  their  long  black  petticoats  like  so  many  women,  and  their  reverences,  and  their 
lordships,  and  their  lazy  vassals  that  do  nothing  but  peddle  in  the  mire  with  plough 
and  harrow  from  Yule  to  Michaelmas.  I  will  call  none  loi'd,  but  him  who  wears  a 
sword  to  make  his  title  good ;  and  I  will  call  none  man,  but  he  that  can  bear  himself 
manlike  and  masterful." 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  peace,  brother!"  said  Edward;  "if  such  words  were  taken  up 
and  reported  out  of  the  house,  they  would  be  our  mother's  ruin." 

"  Report  them  yourself,  then,  and  they  will  be  your  making,  and  nobody's  marring 
save  mine  own.  Say  that  Halbert  Glendinning  will  never  be  vassal  to  an  old  man  with 
a  cowl  and  shaven  crown,  while  there  are  twenty  barons  who  wear  casque  and  plume 
that  lack  bold  followers.  Let  them  grant  you  these  wretched  acres,  and  much  meal  may 
they  bear  you  to  make  your  hrochan."  He  left  the  room  hastily,  but  instantly  returned, 
and  continued  to  speak  with  the  same  tone  of  quick  and  irritated  feeling.  "  And  you 
need  not  think  so  much,  neither  of  you,  and  especially  you,  Edward,  need  not  think  so 
much  of  your  parchment  book  there,  and  your  cunning  in  reading  it.  By  my  faith, 
I  will  soon  learn  to  read  as  well  as  you ;  and — for  I  know  a  better  teacher  than  your 
grim  old  monk,  and  a  better  book  than  his  printed  breviary ;  and  since  you  like 
scholarcraft  so  well,  Mary  Avenel,  you  shall  see  whether  Edward  or  I  have  most  of 
it."     He  left  the  apartment,  and  came  not  again. 

"  What  can  be  the  matter  with  him  ? "  said  Mary,  following  Halbert  with  her  eyes 
from  the  window,  as  with  hasty  and  unequal  steps  he  ran  up  the  wild  glen — "Where 
can  your  brother  be  going,  Edward  ? — what  book  ? — what  teacher  does  he  talk  of  ?  " 

"  It  avails  not  guessing,"  said  Edward.     "  Halbert  is  angry,  he  knows  not  why,  and 


speaks  of  he  knows  not  wliat ;  let  us  go  again  to  our  lessons,  and  he  will  come  home 
when  he  has  tired  himself  with  scrambling  among  the  crags  as  usual." 

But  Mary's  anxiety  on  account  of  Halbert  seemed  more  deeply  rooted.  She  declined 
prosecuting  the  task  in  which  they  had  been  so  pleasingly  engaged,  under  the  excuse  of 
a  headach  ;  nor  could  Edward  prevail  upon  her  to  resume  it  again  that  morning. 

Meanwhile  Halbert,  his  head  unbonneted,  his  features  swelled  with  jealous  anger,  and 
the  tear  still  in  his  eye,  sped  up  the  wild  and  upper  extremity  of  the  little  valley  of 
Glendearg  with  the  speed  of  a  roebuck,  choosing,  as  if  in  desperate  defiance  of  the 
difficulties  of  the  way,  the  wildest  and  most  dangerous  paths,  and  voluntarily  exposing 
himself  a  hundred  times  to  dangers  which  he  might  have  escaped  by  turning  a  little 
aside  from  them.  It  seemed  as  if  he  wished  his  course  to  be  as  straight  as  that  of  the 
arrow  to  its  mark. 

He  arrived  at  length  in  a  narrow  and  secluded  cleuch,  or  deep  ravine,  which  ran  down 
into  the  valley,  and  contributed  a  scanty  rivulet  to  the  supply  of  the  brook  with  which 
Glendearg  is  watered.  Up  this  he  sped  with  the  same  precipitate  haste  which  had 
marked  his  departure  from  the  tower,  nor  did  he  pause  and  look  around  until  he  had 
reached  the  fountain  from  which  the  rivulet  had  its  rise. 

Here  Halbert  stopt  short,  and  cast  a  gloomy,  and  almost  a  frightened  glance  around 
him.  A  huge  rock  rose  in  front,  from  a  cleft  of  which  grew  a  wild  holly-tree,  whose 
dark  green  branches  rustled  over  the  spring  which  arose  beneath.  The  banks  on  either 
hand  rose  so  high,  and  approached  each  other  so  closely,  that  it  was  only  when  the  sun 
was  at  its  meridian  height,  and  during  the  summer  solstice,  that  its  rays  could  reach  the 
bottom  of  the  chasm  in  which  he  stood.  But  it  was  now  summer,  and  the  hour  was 
noon,  so  that  the  unwonted  reflection  of  the  sun  was  dancing  in  the  pellucid  fountain. 

"It  is  the  season  and  the  hour,"  said  Halbert  to  himself;  "and  now  I 1  might 

soon  become  wiser  than  Edward  with  all  his  pains!  Mary  should  see  whether  he  alone  is 
fit  to  be  consulted,  and  to  sit  by  her  side,  and  hang  over  her  as  she  reads,  and  point  out 
every  word  and  every  letter.  And  she  loves  me  better  than  him — I  am  sure  she  does — 
for  she  comes  of  noble  blood,  and  scorns  sloth  and  cowardice. — And  do  I  myself  not 
stand  here  slothful  and  cowardly  as  any  priest  of  them  all  ? — Why  should  I  fear  to  call 
upon  this  form — this  shape  ? — Already  have  I  endured  the  vision,  and  why  not  again  ? 
What  can  it  do  to  me,  who  am  a  man  of  lith  and  limb,  and  have  by  my  side  my  fathei-'s 
sword  ?  Does  my  heart  beat— do  my  hairs  bristle,  at  the  thought  of  calling  up  a  painted 
shadow,  and  how  should  I  face  a  band  of  Southrons  in  flesh  and  blood  ?  By  the  soul  of 
the  first  Glendinning,  I  will  make  proof  of  the  charm!" 

He  cast  the  leathern  brogue  or  buskin  from  his  right  foot,  planted  himself  in  a  firm 
posture,  unsheathed  his  sword,  and  first  looking  around  to  collect  his  resolution,  he 
bowed  three  times  deliberately  towards  the  holly-tree,  and  as  often  to  the  little  fountain, 
repeating  at  the  same  time,  with  a  determined  voice,  the  following  rhyme : 

"  Thrice  to  the  holly  brake —  Noon  gleams  on  the  Lake — 
Thrice  to  the  well : —  Noon  glows  on  the  Fell — 

I  bid  thee  awake,  Wake  thee,  O  wake. 

White  Maid  of  Avenel !  White  Maid  of  Avenel !" 

These  lines  were  hardly  uttered,  when  there  stood  the  figure  of  a  female  clothed  in 
white,  within  three  steps  of  Halbert  Glendinning. 

"  I  guess  'twas  frightful  there  to  see 
A  lady  richly  clad  as  she — 
Beautiful  exceedingly."  * 

*  Coleridge's  Christabelle. 







lEIaiiiir  t^i  Cltoilfil, 

There's  something  in  that  ancient  superstition, 

Which,  erring  as  it  is,  our  fancy  loves. 

The  spring  that,  with  its  thousand  crystal  bubbles, 

Bursts  from  the  bosom  of  some  desert  rock 

In  secret  solitude,  may  well  be  deem'd 

The  haunt  of  something  purer,  more  refined, 

And  mightier  than  ourselves.  Old  Play. 

OUNG  Halbert  Glendinning  had  scarcely  pronounced  the  mystical 
rhymes,  than,  as  we  haA'e  mentioned  in  the  conclusion  of  the  last  chapter, 
an  appearance,  as  of  a  beautiful  female,  dressed  in  white,  stood  within 
two  yards  of  him.  His  terror  for  the  moment  overcame  his  natural 
courage,  as  well  as  the  strong  resolution  which  he  had  formed,  that  the 
figure  which  he  had  now  twice  seen  should  not  a  third  time  daunt  him. 
But  it  would  seem  there  is  something  thrilling  and  abhorrent  to  flesh  and  blood,  in  the 
consciousness  that  we  stand  in  presence  of  a  being  in  form  like  to  ourselves,  but  so 
dijSFerent  in  faculties  and  nature,  that  we  can  neither  understand  its  purposes,  nor  calculate 
its  means  of  pursuing  them. 


Halbert  stood  silent  and  gasped  for  breath,  his  hairs  erecting  themselves  on  his  head — 
his  mouth  open — his  eyes  fixed,  and,  as  the  sole  remaining  sign  of  his  late  determined 
purpose,  his  sword  pointed  towards  the  apparition.  At  length,  with  a  voice  of  ineffable 
sweetness,  the  "White  Lady,  for  by  that  name  we  shall  distinguish  this  being,  ,sung,  or 
rather  chanted,  the  following  lines  : — 

"  Youth  of  the  dark  eye,  wherefore  didst  thou  call  me  1 
AVherefore  art  thou  here,  if  terrors  can  appal  thee  ? 
He  that  seeks  to  deal  with  us  must  know  no  fear  nor  failing! 
To  coward  and  churl  our  speech  is  dark,  our  gifts  are  unavailing. 
The  breeze  that  brought  me  hither  now,  must  sweep  Egyptian  ground. 
The  fleecy  cloud  on  which  I  ride  for  Araby  is  bound; 
The  fleecy  cloud  is  drifting  by,  the  breeze  sighs  for  my  stay. 
For  I  must  sail  a  thousand  miles  before  the  close  of  day." 

The  astonishment  of  Halbert  began  once  more  to  give  way  to  his  resolution,  and  he 
gained  voice  enough  to  say,  though  with  a  faltering  accent,  "  In  the  name  of  God,  what 
art  thou  ?"    The  answer  was  in  melody  of  a  different  tone  and  measure  : — 

"  What  I  am  I  must  not  shew —  While  o'er  our  frozen  minds  they  pass. 

What  I  am  thou  couldst  not  know —  Like  shadows  from  the  mirror'd  glass. 

Something  betwixt  heaven  and  hell —  Wayward,  fickle  is  our  mood. 

Something  that  neither  stood  nor  fell —  Hovering  betwixt  bad  and  good. 

Something  that  through  thy  wit  or  will  Happier  than  brief-dated  man, 

May  work  thee  good — may  work  thee  ill.  Living  twenty  times  his  span ; 

Neither  substance  quite  nor  shadow.  Far  less  happy,  for  we  have 

Haunting  lonely  moor  and  meadow.  Help  nor  hope  beyond  the  grave ! 

Dancing  by  the  haunted  spring,  Man  awakes  to  joy  or  sorrow ; 

Riding  on  the  whirlwind's  wing  ;  Ours  the  sleep  that  knows  no  morrow. 

Aping  in  fantastic  fashion  This  is  all  that  I  can  shew— 

Every  change  of  human  passion,  This  is  all  that  thou  mayest  know." 

The  White  Lady  paused,  and  appeared  to  await  an  answer  ;  but,  as  Halbert  hesitated 
how  to  frame  his  speech,  the  vision  seemed  gradually  to  fade,  and  became  more  and  more 
incorporeal.  Justly  guessing  this  to  be  a  symptom  of  her  disappearance,  Halbert  com- 
pelled himself  to  say, — "  Lady,  when  I  saw  you  in  the  glen,  and  when  you  brought  back 
the  black  book  of  Mary  of  Avenel,  thou  didst  say  I  should  one  day  learn  to  read  it." 

The  White  Lady  replied, 

"  Ay!  and  I  taught  thee  the  word  and  the  spell. 
To  waken  me  here  by  the  Fairies'  Well, 
But  thou  hast  loved  the  heron  and  hawk, 
More  than  to  seek  my  haunted  walk; 
And  thou  hast  loved  the  lance  and  the  sword. 
More  than  good  text  and  holy  word ; 
And  thou  hast  loved  the  deer  to  track, 
More  than  the  lines  and  the  letters  black; 
And  thou  art  a  ranger  of  moss  and  of  wood, 
And  scornest  the  nurture  of  gentle  blood." 

"  I  will  do  so  no  longer,  fair  maiden,"  said  Halbert  ;  "  I  desire  to  learn  ;  and  thou 
didst  promise  me,  that  when  I  did  so  desire,  thou  wouldst  be  my  helper  ;  I  am  no  longer 
afraid  of  thy  presence,  and  I  am  no  longer  regardless  of  instruction."  As  he  uttered 
these  words,  the  figure  of  the  White  Maiden  grew  gradually  as  distinct  as  it  had  been  at 
first ;  and  what  had  well-nigh  faded  into  an  ill-defined  and  colourless  shadow,  again 
assumed  an  appearance  at  least  of  corporeal  consistency,  although  the  hues  were  less 
vivid,  and  the  outline  of  the  figure  less  distinct  and  defined — so  at  least  it  seemed  to 
Halbert — than  those  of  an  ordinary  inhabitant  of  the  earth.  "  Wilt  thou  grant  my 
request,"  he  said,  "  fair  Lady,  and  give  to  my  keeping  the  holy  book  which  Mary  of 
Avenel  has  so  often  wept  for  ?  " 

The  White  Lady  replied  : 

"  Thy  craven  fear  my  truth  accused,  There  is  a  star  for  thee  wliich  bum'd, 

Thine  idlehood  my  trust  abused;  Its  influence  wanes,  its  course  is  turn'd ; 

He  that  draws  to  harbour  late,  Valour  and  constancy  iilone 

Must  sleep  without,  or  burst  the  gate.  Can  bring  thee  back  the  chance  that's  flown." 

"  If  I  have  been  a  loiterer,  Lady,"  answered  young  Glendinning,    "  thou   shalt  now 
find  me  willing  to  press  forward  with  double  speed.      Other  thoughts  have  filled  my  mind, 


other  thoughts  have  engaged  my  heart,  within  a  brief  period — and  by  Heaven,  other 
occupations  shall  henceforward  fill  up  my  time.  I  have  lived  in  this  day  the  space  of 
years — I  came  hither  a  boy — I  will  return  a  man — a  man,  such  as  may  converse  not  only 
with  his  own  kind,  but  with  whatever  God  permits  to  be  visible  to  him.  I  wiU  learn 
the  contents  of  that  mysterious  volume — I  will  learn  why  the  Lady  of  Avenel  loved  it — 
why  the  priests  feared,  and  would  have  stolen  it — why  thou  didst  twice  recover  it  from 
their  hands. — What  mystery  is  wrapt  in  it?— Speak,  I  conjure  thee  !  "  The  lady  assumed 
an  air  peculiarly  sad  and  solemn,  as  drooping  her  head,  and  folding  her  arms  on  her 
bosom,  she  replied : 

"  Within  that  awful  volume  lies  To  read,  to  fear,  to  hope,  to  pray, 

The  mystery  of  mysteries !  To  lift  the  latch,  and  force  the  way; 

Happiest  they  of  human  race,  And  better  had  they  ne'er  been  born. 

To  whom  God  has  granted  grace  Who  read  to  doubt,  or  read  to  scorn." 

"Give  me  the  volume,  Lady,"  said  young  Glendinning.  "They  call  me  idle — they 
call  me  dull — in  this  pursuit  my  industry  shall  not  fail,  nor,  with  God's  blessing,  shall  my 
understanding.     Give  me  the  volume."     The  apparition  again  replied : 

"  Many  a  fathom  dark  and  deep 
I  have  laid  the  book  to  sleep; 
Ethereal  fires  around  it  glowing — 
Ethereal  music  ever  flowing — • 
The  sacred  pledge  of  Heav'n 
All  things  revere. 
Each  in  his  sphere. 
Save  man  for  whom  'twas  giv'n : 
Lend  thy  hand,  and  thou  shalt  spy 
Tilings  ne'er  seen  by  mortal  eye." 

Halbert  Glendinning  boldly  reached  his  hand  to  the  White  Lady. 
"  Fearest  thou  to  go  with  me  ?  "  she  said,  as  his  hand  trembled  at  the  soft  and  cold 
touch  of  her  own — 

"  Fearest  thou  to  go  with  me? 
Still  it  is  free  to  thee 

A  peasant  to  dwell ; 
Thou  mayst  drive  the  dull  steer. 
And  chase  the  king's  deer, 
But  never  more  come  near 

This  haunted  well." 

"  If  what  thou  sayest  be  true,"  said  the  undaunted  boy,  "  my  destinies  are  higher  than 
thine  own.  There  shall  be  neither  well  nor  wood  which  I  dare  not  visit.  No  fear  of 
aught,  natural  or  supernatural,  shall  bar  my  path  through  my  native  valley." 

He  had  scarce  uttered  the  words,  when  they  both  descended  through  the  earth  with  a 
rapidity  which  took  away  Halbert's  breath  and  every  other  sensation,  saving  that  of  being 
hurried  on  with  the  utmost  velocity.  At  length  they  stopped  with  a  shock  so  sudden, 
that  the  mortal  journeyer  through  this  unknown  space  must  have  been  thrown  down 
with  violence,  had  he  not  been  upheld  by  his  supernatural  companion. 

It  was  more  than  a  minute,  ere,  looking  around  him,  he  beheld  a  grotto,  or  natural 
cavern,  composed  of  the  most  splendid  spars  and  crystals,  which  returned  in  a  thousand 
prismatic  hues  the  light  of  a  brilliant  flame  that  glowed  on  an  altar  of  alabaster.  This 
altar,  with  its  fire,  formed  the  central  point  of  the  grotto,  which  was  of  a  round  form, 
and  very  high  in  the  roof,  resembling  in  some  respects  the  dome  of  a  cathedi-al.  Cor- 
responding to  the  four  points  of  the  compass,  there  went  off  four  long  galleries,  or  arcades, 
constructed  of  the  same  brilliant  materials  with  the  dome  itself,  and  the  termination  of 
Avhich  was  lost  in  darkness. 

No  human  imagination  can  conceive,  or  words  sufllce  to  describe,  the  glorious  radiance 
which,  shot  fiercely  forth  by  the  flame,  was  returned  from  so  many  hundred  thousand 
points  of  reflection,  afforded  by  the  sparry  pillars  and  their  numerous  angular  crystals. 
The  fire  itself  did  not  remain  steady  and  unmoved,  but  rose  and  fell,  sometimes  ascending 
in  a  brilliant  pyramid  of  condensed  flame  half  way  up  the  lofty  expanse,  and  again  fading 
into  a  softer  and  more  rosy  hue,  and  hovering,  as  it  were,  on  the  surface  of  the  altar  to 


collect  its  strength  for  another  powerful  exertion.  There  was  no  visible  fuel  by  which 
it  was  fed,  nor  did  it  emit  either  smoke  or  vapour  of  any  kind. 

What  was  of  all  the  most  remai'kable,  the  black  volume  so  often  mentioned  lay  not 
only  unconsumed,  but  untouched  in  the  slightest  degree,  amid  this  intensity  of  fire,  which, 
while  it  seemed  to  be  of  force  sufficient  to  melt  adamant,  had  no  effect  whatever  on  the 
sacred  book  thus  subjected  to  its  utmost  influence. 

The  White  Lady,  having  paused  long  enough  to  let  young  Glendinning  take  a  complete 
survey  of  what  was  around  him,  now  said  in  her  usual  chant, 

"  Here  lies  the  volume  thou  boldly  hast  sought; 
Touch  it,  and  take  it, — 'twill  dearly  be  bought!" 

Familiarized  in  some  degree  with  marvels,  and  desperately  desirous  of  shewing  the 
courage  he  had  boasted,  Halbert  plunged  his  hand,  without  hesitation,  into  the  flame, 
trusting  to  the  rapidity  of  the  motion,  to  snatch  out  the  volume  before  the  fire  could 
greatly  affect  him.  But  he  was  much  disappointed.  The  flame  instantly  caught  upon 
his  sleeve,  and  though  he  withdrew  his  hand  immediately,  yet  his  arm  was  so  dreadfully 
scorched,  that  he  had  weU-nigh  screamed  with  pain.  He  suppressed  the  natural  expres- 
sion of  anguish,  however,  and  only  intimated  the  agony  which  he  felt  by  a  contortion  and 
a  muttered  groan.  The  White  Lady  passed  her  cold  hand  over  his  arm,  and,  ere  she 
had  finished  the  following  metrical  chant,  his  pain  had  entirely  gone,  and  no  mark  of  the 
scorching  was  visible  :  ,.  r^.j,  thy  deed, 

Mortal  weed 
To  immortal  flames  applying; 
Rasher  trust 
Has  thing  of  dust, 
On  his  own  weak  worth  relying: 
strip  thee  of  such  fences  vain. 
Strip,  and  prove  thy  luck  again." 

Obedient  to  what  he  understood  to  be  the  meaning  of  his  conductress,  Halbert  bared  his 
arm  to  the  shoulder,  throwing  down  the  remains  of  his  sleeve,  which  no  sooner  touched 
the  floor  on  which  he  stood  than  it  collected  itself  together,  shrivelled  itself  up,  and  was 
without  any  visible  fire  reduced  to  light  tinder,  which  a  sudden  breath  of  wind  dispersed 
into  empty  space.     The  White  Lady,  observing  the  surprise  of  the  youth,  immediately 

repeated  u  Mortal  warp  and  mortal  woof. 

Cannot  brook  this  charmed  roof; 
All  that  mortal  art  hath  wrought, 
In  our  cell  returns  to  nought. 
The  molten  gold  returns  to  clay, 
The  polish'd  diamond  melts  away 
All  is  alter'd,  all  is  flown. 
Nought  stands  fast  but  truth  alone. 
Not  for  that  thy  quest  give  o'er: 
Courage!  prove  thy  chance  once  more." 

Imboldened  by  her  words,  Halbert  Glendinning  made  a  second  effort,  and,  plunging 
his  bare  arm  into  the  flame,  took  out  the  sacred  volume  without  feeling  either  heat  or 
inconvenience  of  any  kind.  Astonished,  and  almost  terrified  at  his  own  success,  he 
beheld  the  flame  collect  itself,  and  shoot  up  into  one  long  and  final  stream,  which  seemed 
as  if  it  would  ascend  to  the  very  roof  of  the  cavern,  and  then,  sinking  as  suddenly,  became 
totally  extinguished.  The  deepest  darkness  ensued  ;  but  Halbert  had  no  time  to  consider 
his  situation,  for  the  White  Lady  had  already  caught  his  hand,  and  they  ascended  to 
upper  air  with  the  same  velocity  with  which  they  had  sunk  into  the  earth. 

They  stood  by  the  fountain  in  the  Corri-nan-shian  when  they  emerged  from  the  bowels 
of  the  earth ;  but  on  casting  a  bewildered  glance  around  him,  the  youth  was  surprised  to 
observe,  that  the  shadows  had  fallen  far  to  the  east,  and  that  the  day  was  well-nigh  spent. 
He  gazed  on  his  conductress  for  explanation,  but  her  figure  began  to  fade  before  his  eyes 
— her  cheeks  grew  paler,  her  features  less  distinct,  her  form  became  shadowy,  and  blended 
itself  with  the  mist  which  was  ascending  the  hollow  ravine.  What  had  late  the  sym- 
metry of  form,  and  the  delicate,  yet  clear  hues  of  feminine  beauty,  now  resembled  the 


flitting  and  pale  ghost  of  some  maiden  who  has  died  for  love,  as  it  is  seen  indistinctly  and 
by  moonlight,  by  her  perjured  lover. 

"  Stay,  spirit ! "  said  the  youth,  imboldened  by  his  success  in  the  subterranean  dome, 
"  thy  kindness  must  not  leave  me,  as  one  encumbered  with  a  weapon  he  knows  not  how 
to  wield.  Thou  must  teach  me  the  art  to  read,  and  to  understand  this  volume ;  else 
what  avails  it  me  that  I  possess  it  ?  " 

But  the  figure  of  the  White  Lady  still  waned  before  his  eye,  until  it  became  an  outline 
as  pale  and  indistinct  as  that  of  the  moon,  when  the  winter  morning  is  far  advanced,  and 
ere  she  had  ended  the  following  chant,  she  was  entirely  invisible : — 

"  Alas  !  alas! 

Not  ours  the  grace 

These  holy  characters  to  trace: 

Idle  forms  of  painted  air, 

Not  to  us  is  given  to  share 
The  boon  bestow'd  on  Adam's  race! 

With  patience  bide, 

Heaven  will  provide 
The  fitting  time,  the  fitting  guide." 

The  form  was  already  gone,  and  now  the  voice  itself  had  melted  away  in  melancholy 
cadence,  softening,  as  if  the  Being  who  spoke  had  been  slowly  wafted  from  the  spot  where 
she  had  commenced  her  melody. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  Halbert  felt  the  extremity  of  the  terror  which  he  had 
hitherto  so  manfully  suppressed.  The  very  necessity  of  exertion  had  given  him  spirit 
to  make  it,  and  the  presence  of  the  mysterious  Being,  while  it  was  a  subject  of  fear  in 
itself,  had  nevertheless  given  him  the  sense  of  protection  being  near  to  him.  It  was  when 
he  could  reflect  with  composure  on  what  had  passed,  that  a  cold  tremor  shot  across  his 
limbs,  his  hair  bristled,  and  he  was  afraid  to  look  around  lest  he  should  find  at  his  elbow 
something  more  frightful  than  the  first  vision.  A  breeze  arising  suddenly  realized  the 
beautiful  and  wild  idea  of  the  most  imaginative  of  our  modern  bards  * — 

It  fann'd  his  cheek,  it  raised  his  hair, 

Like  a  meadow  gale  in  spring ; 
It  mingled  strangely  with  his  fears, 

Yet  it  felt  like  a  welcoming. 

The  youth  stood  silent  and  astonished  for  a  few  minutes.  It  seemed  to  him  that  the 
extraordinary  Being  he  had  seen,  half  his  terror,  half  his  protectress,  was  still  hovering 
on  the  gale  which  swept  past  him,  and  that  she  might  again  make  herself  sensible  to  his 
organs  of  sight.  "  Speak!  "  he  said,  wildly  tossing  his  arms,  "  speak  yet  again — be  once 
more  present,  lovely  vision! — thrice  have  I  now  seen  thee,  yet  the  idea  of  thy  invisible 
presence  around  or  beside  me,  makes  my  heart  beat  faster  than  if  the  earth  yawned  and 
gave  up  a  demon." 

But  neither  sound  nor  appearance  indicated  the  presence  of  the  White  Lady,  and 
nothing  preternatural  beyond  what  he  had  already  vvdtnessed,  was  again  audible  or  visible. 
Halbert,  in  the  meanwhile,  by  the  very  exertion  of  again  inviting  the  presence  of  this 
mysterious  Being,  had  recovered  his  natural  audacity.  He  looked  around  once  more, 
and  resumed  his  solitary  path  down  the  valley  into  whose  recesses  he  had  penetrated. 

Nothing  could  be  more  strongly  contrasted  than  the  storm  of  passion  with  which  he 
had  bounded  over  stock  and  crag,  in  order  to  plunge  himself  into  the  Corri-nan-sliian, 
and  the  sobered  mood  in  which  he  now  retui'ned  homeward,  industriously  seeking  out  the 
most  practicable  path,  not  from  a  wish  to  avoid  danger,  but  that  he  might  not  by  personal 
toil  distract  his  attention,  deeply  fixed  on  the  extraordinary  scene  which  he  had  witnessed. 
In  the  former  case,  he  had  sought  by  hazard  and  bodily  exertion  to  indulge  at  once  the 
fiery  excitation  of  passion,  and  to  banish  the  cause  of  the  excitement  from  his  recollection; 
while  now  he  studiously  avoided  all  interruption  to  his  contemplative  walk,  lest  the 
difficulty  of  the  way  should  interfere  with,  or  disturb,  his  own  deep  reflections.  Thus 
slowly  pacing  forth  his  course,  with  the  air  of  a  pilgrim  rather  than  of  a  deer-hunter, 
Halbert  about  the  close  of  the  evening  regained  his  paternal  tower. 

•  Coleridge. 

Tlie  Miller  was  of  manly  make, 

To  meet  him  was  na  mows; 
There  durst  na  ten  come  him  to  take, 

Sae  noited  he  their  pows. 

Christ's  Kirk  on  the  Green. 

^B^Tfi"  "^  ^'^^^  after  sunset,  as  we  have  already  stated,  when  Halbert  Glendinning 
'  vi  ^\  I'cturiied  to  the  abode  of  his  father.  The  hour  of  dinner  was  at  noon,  and 
iw^fjM  that  of  supper  about  an  hour  after  sunset  at  this  period  of  the  year. 
yir  The  former  had  passed  without  Kalbert's  appearing ;  but  this  was  no  un- 
i^^l^^  common  circumstance,  for  the  chase,  or  any  other  pastime  which  occurred, 
made  Halbert  a  frequent  neglecter  of  hours ;  and  his  mother,  though 
angry  and  disappointed  when  she  saw  him  not  at  table,  was  so  much  accustomed  to 
his  occasional  absence,  and  knew  so  little  how  to  teach  him  more  regularity,  that  a 
testy  observation  was  almost  all  the  censure  with  which  such  omissions  were  visited. 

On  the  present  occasion,  however,  the  wrath  of  good  Dame  Elspeth  soared  higher  than 
usual.  It  was  not  merely  on  account  of  the  special  tup's-head  and  trotters,  the  haggis 
and  the  side  of  mutton,  with  which  her  table  was  set  forth,  but  also  because  of  the  arrival 
of  no  less  a  person  than  Hob  Miller,  as  he  was  universally  termed,  though  the  man's  name 
was  Happer. 

The  object  of  the  Miller's  visit  to  the  Tower  of  Glendearg  was  like  the  purpose  of 
those  embassies  which  potentates  send  to  each  other's  courts,  partly  ostensible,  partly 
politic.  In  outward  show,  Hob  came  to  visit  his  friends  of  the  Halidome,  and  share  the 
festivity  common  among  country  folk,  after  the  barn-yard  has  been  filled,  and  to  renew 
old  intimacies  by  new  conviviality.  But  in  very  truth  he  also  came  to  have  an  eye  upon 
the  contents  of  each  stack,  and  to  obtain  such  information  respecting  the  extent  of  tlie 
crop  reaped  and  gathered  in  by  each  feuar,  as  might  prevent  the  possibility  of  abstracted 


All  the  world  knows  that  the  cultivators  of  each  barony  or  regality,  temporal  or 
spiritual,  in  Scotland,  are  obliged  to  bring  their  corn  to  be  grinded  at  the  mill  of  the 
territory,  for  which  they  pay  a  heavy  charge,  called  the  intomn  multures.  I  could  speak 
to  the  thirlage  of  invecta  et  illata  too,  but  let  that  pass.  I  have  said  enough  to  intimate 
that  I  talk  not  without  book.  Those  of  the  Sucken,  or  enthralled  ground,  were  liable  in 
penalties,  if,  deviating  from  this  thirlage,  (or  thraldom,)  they  carried  their  grain  to  another 
mill.  Now  such  another  mill,  erected  on  the  lands  of  a  lay-baron,  lay  within  a  tetnpting 
and  convenient  distance  of  Glendearg ;  and  the  Miller  was  so  obliging,  and  his  charges 
so  moderate,  that  it  required  Hob  Miller's  utmost  vigilance  to  prevent  evasions  of  his 
right  of  monoi^oly. 

The  most  effectual  means  he  could  devise  was  this  show  of  good  fellowship  and  neigh- 
bourly friendship, — under  colour  of  which  he  made  his  annual  cruise  through  the 
barony — numbered  every  corn-stack,  and  computed  its  contents  by  the  boll,  so  that  he 
could  give  a  shrewd  hint  afterwards  whether  or  not  the  grist  came  to  the  right  mill. 

Dame  Elspeth,  like  her  compeers,  was  obliged  to  take  these  domiciliary  visits  in  the 
sense  of  politeness ;  but  in  her  case  they  had  not  occurred  since  her  husband's  death, 
probably  because  the  Tower  of  Glendearg  was  distant,  and  there  was  but  a  trifling 
quantity  of  arable  or  infield  land  attached  to  it.  This  year  there  had  been,  upon  some 
speculation  of  old  Martin's,  several  bolls  sown  in  the  out -field,  which,  the  season  being 
fine,  had  ripened  remarkably  well.  Perhaps  this  circumstance  occasioned  the  honest 
Miller's  including  Glendearg,  on  this  occasion,  in  his  annual  round. 

Dame  Glendinning  received  with  pleasure  a  visit  which  she  used  formerly  only  to 
endure  with  patience  ;  and  she  had  changed  her  view  of  the  matter  chiefly,  if  not  entirely, 
because  Hob  had  brought  with  him  his  daughter  Mysie,  of  whose  features  she  could  give 
so  slight  an  account,  but  whose  dress  she  had  described  so  accurately  to  the  Sub-Prior. 

Hitherto  this  girl  had  been  an  object  of  very  trifling  consideration  in  the  eyes  of  the 
good  widow;  but  the  Sub- Prior's  particular  and  somewhat  mysterious  inquiries  had  set 
her  brains  to  work  on  the  subject  of  Mysie  of  the  Mill ;  and  she  had  here  asked  a  broad 
question,  and  there  she  had  thrown  out  an  innuendo,  and  there  again  she  had  gradually 
led  on  to  a  conversation  on  the  subject  of  poor  Mysie.  And  from  all  inquiries  and  in- 
vestigations she  had  collected,  that  Mysie  was  a  dark-eyed  laughter-loving  wench,  with 
cherry-cheeks,  and  a  skin  as  white  as  her  father's  finest  bolted  flour,  out  of  which  was 
made  the  Abbot's  own  wastel-bread.  For  her  temper,  she  sung  and  laughed  from 
morning  to  night ;  and  for  her  fortune,  a  material  article,  besides  that  which  the  Miller 
might  have  amassed  by  means  of  his  proverbial  golden  thumb,  Mysie  was  to  inherit  a 
good  handsome  lump  of  land,  with  a  prospect  of  the  mill  and  mill-acres  descending  to  her 
husband  on  an  easy  lease,  if  a  fair  word  were  spoken  in  season  to  the  Abbot,  and  to  the 
Prior,  and  to  the  Sub-Prior,  and  to  the  Sacristan,  and  so  forth. 

By  turning  and  again  turning  these  advantages  over  in  her  own  mind,  Elspeth  at 
length  came  to  be  of  opinion,  that  the  only  way  to  save  her  son  Halbert  from  a  life  of 
"  spur,  spear,  and  snafle,"  as  they  called  that  of  the  border-riders,  from  the  dint  of  a  cloth- 
yard  shaft,  or  the  loop  of  an  inch-cord,  was,  that  he  should  marry  and  settle,  and  that 
Mysie  Happer  should  be  his  destined  bride. 

As  if  to  her  wish.  Hob  Miller  arrived  on  his  strong-built  mare,  bearing  on  a  pillion 
behind  him  the  lovely  Mysie,  with  cheeks  like  a  peony-rose,  (if  Dame  Glendinning  had 
ever  seen  one,)  spirits  all  afloat  with  rustic  coquetry,  and  a  profusion  of  hair  as  black  as 
ebony.  The  heau-ideal  which  Dame  Glendinning  had  been  bodying  forth  in  her 
imagination,  became  unexpectedly  realized  in  the  buxom  form  of  Mysie  Happer,  whom,  in 
the  course  of  half  an  hour,  she  settled  upon  as  the  maiden  who  was  to  fix  the  restless  and 
untutored  Halbert.  True,  Mysie,  as  the  dame  soon  saw,  was  like  to  love  dancing  round  a 
May-pole  as  well  as  managing  a  domestic  establishment,  and  Halbert  was  like  to  break 
more  heads  than  he  would  grind  stacks  of  corn.     But  then  a  miller  should  always  be  of 


manly  make,  and  lias  been  described  so  since  the  days  of  Chaucer  and  James  I.*  Indeed, 
to  be  able  to  outdo  and  bully  the  whole  Sucken,  (once  more  we  use  this  barbarous  phrase,) 
in  all  athletic  exercises,  was  one  way  to  render  easy  the  collection  of  dues  which  men 
would  have  disputed  with  a  less  formidable  champion.  Then,  as  to  the  deiicioncies  of 
the  miller's  wife,  the  dame  was  of  opinion  that  they  might  be  supplied  by  the  activity  of 
the  miller's  mother.  "  I  will  keep  house  for  the  young  folk  myself,  for  the  tower  is 
grown  very  lonely,"  thought  Dame  Glendinning,  "and  to  live  near  the  kirk  will  be  mair 
comfortable  in  my  auld  age — and  then  Edward  may  agi'ee  with  his  brother  about  the  feu, 
more  especially  as  he  is  a  favourite  with  the  Sub-Prior,  and  then  he  may  live  in  the  aukl 
tower  like  his  worthy  father  before  him — and  Avha  kens  but  Mary  Avenei,  high-blood  as 
she  is,  may  e'en  draw  in  her  stool  to  the  chimney-nook,  and  sit  down  here  for  good  and 
a'? — It's  true  she  has  no  tocher,  but  the  like  of  her  for  beauty  and  sense  ne'er  crossed  my 
een ;  and  I  have  kend  every  wench  in  the  Halidome  of  St.  Mary's — ay,  and  their 
mothers  that  bore  them — ay,  she  is  a  sweet  and  a  lovely  creature  as  ever  tied  snood  over 
brown  liair — ay,  and  then,  though  her  uncle  keeps  her  out  of  her  ain  for  the  present  time, 
yet  it  is  to  be  thought  the  gray-goose  shaft  will  find  a  hole  in  his  coat  of  proof,  as,  God 
help  tJS !  it  has  done  in  many  a  better  man's — And,  moreover,  if  they  should  stand  on 
their  pedigree  and  gentle  race,  Edward  might  say  to  them,  that  is,  to  her  gentle  kith  and 
kin,  '  whilk  o'  ye  was  her  best  friend  when  she  came  down  the  glen  to  Glendearg  in  a 
misty  evening,  on  a  beast  mair  like  a  cuddie  than  aught  else  ? ' — And  if  they  tax  him 
with  churl's  blood,  Edward  might  say,  that,  forby  the  old  proverb,  how 

Gentle  deed 
Makes  gentle  bkid ; 

yet,  moreover,  there  comes  no  churl's  blood  from  Glendinning  or  Brydone  ;  for,  says 
Edward " 

The  hoarse  voice  of  the  Miller  at  this  moment  recalled  the  dame  from  her  reverie,  and 
compelled  her  to  remember  that  if  she  meant  to  realize  her  airy  castle,  she  must  begin  by 
laying  the  foundation  in  civility  to  her  guest  and  his  daughter,  whom  she  was  at  that 
moment  most  strangely  neglecting,  though  her  whole  plan  turned  on  conciliating  their 
favour  and  good  opinion,  and  that,  in  fact,  while  arranging  matters  for  so  intimate  a 
union  with  her  company,  she  was  suffering  them  to  sit  unnoticed,  and  in  their  riding 
gear,  as  if  about  to  resume  their  journey.  "  And  so  I  say,  dame,"  concluded  the  Miller, 
(for  she  had  not  marked  the  beginning  of  his  speech,)  "  an  ye  be  so  busied  with  your 
housekep,  or  ought  else,  why,  Mysie  and  I  will  trot  our  way  down  the  glen  again  to 
Johnnie  Broxmouth's,  who  pressed  us  right  kindly  to  bide  with  him." 

Starting  at  once  from  her  dream  of  marriages  and  intermarriages,  mills,  mill-lands, 
and  baronies.  Dame  Elspeth  felt  for  a  moment  like  the  milk-maid  in  the  fable,  when  she 
overset  the  pitcher,  on  the  contents  of  which  so  many  golden  dreams  were  founded.  But 
the  foundation  of  Dame  Glendinning's  hopes  was  only  tottering,  not  overthrown,  and 
she  hastened  to  restore  its  equilibrium.  Instead  of  attempting  to  account  for  her  absence 
of  mind  and  want  of  attention  to  her  guests,  which  she  might  have  found  something 
difficult,  she  assumed  the  offensive,  like  an  able  general  when  he  finds  it  necessary,  by  a 
bold  attack,  to  disguise  his  weakness. 

A  loud  exclamation  she  made,  and  a  passionate  complaint  she  set  up  against  the 
unkindness   of  her  old  friend,   who  could   for   an  instant  doubt  the  heartiness  of  her 

*  The  verse  we  have  chosen  for  a  motto,  is  from  a  poem  imputed  to  James  1.  of  Scotland.  As  for  the  Miller  who  figures 
among  the  Canterbury  pilgrims,  besides  his  sword  and  buckler,  he  boasted  other  attributes,  all  of  which,  but  especially  the 
last,  shew  that  he  relied  more  on  the  strength  of  the  outside  than  that  of  the  inside  of  his  skull. 

The  miller  was  a  stout  carl  for  the  nones, 

Full  big  he  was  of  brawn,  and  eke  of  bones; 

That  proved  well,  for  wheresoe'r  he  cam; 

At  wrestling  he  wold  bear  away  the  ram; 

He  was  short  shoulder'd,  broad,  a  thick  gnar; 

There  n'as  no  door  that  he  n'old  heave  of  bar, 

Or  break  it  at  a  running  with  his  head,  &c. 


welcome  to  him  and  to  his  hopeful  daughter;  and  then  to  think  of  his  going  back  to  John 
Broxmouth's,  when  the  auld  tower  stood  where  it  did,  and  had  room  in  it  for  a  friend  or 
two  in  the  worst  of  times— and  he  too  a  neighbour  that  his  umquhile  gossip  Simon, 
blessed  be  his  cast,  used  to  think  the  best  friend  he  had  in  the  Halidome!  And  on  she 
went,  urging  her  complaint  with  so  much  seriousness,  that  she  had  well  nigh  imposed  on 
herself  as  well  as  upon  Hob  Miller,  who  had  no  mind  to  take  any  thing  in  dudgeon;  and 
as  it  suited  his  plans  to  pass  the  night  at  Glendearg,  would  have  been  equally  contented 
to  do  so  even  had  his  reception  been  less  vehemently  hospitable. 

To  all  Elspeth's  expostulations  on  the  unkindness  of  his  proposal  to  leave  her  dwelling, 
he  answered  composedly,  "Nay,  dame  what  could  I  tell?  ye  might  have  had  other 
grist  to  grind,  for  ye  looked  as  if  ye  scarce  saw  us — or  what  know  I  ?  ye  might  bear  in 
mind  the  words  Martin  and  I  had  about  the  last  barley  ye  sawed — for  I  ken  dry 
multures*  will  sometimes  stick  in  the  throat.  A  man  seeks  but  his  awn,  and  yet  folk 
shall  hold  him  for  both  miller  and  miller's  man,  that  is  miliar  and  knave,f  all  the  country 

"Alas,  that  you  wiU  say  so,  neighbour  Hob,"  said  Dame  Elspeth,  "or  that  Martin 
should  have  had  any  words  with  you  about  the  mill-dues!  I  will  chide  him  roundly  for 
it,  I  promise  you,  on  the  faith  of  a  true  widow.  You  know  fuU  well  that  a  lone  woman 
is  sore  put  upon  by  her  servants." 

"  Nay,  dame,"  said  the  miller,  unbuckling  the  broad  belt  which  made  fast  his  cloak, 
and  served,  at  the  same  time,  to  suspend  by  his  side  a  swinging  Andrea  Ferrara,  "  bear 
no  grudge  at  Martin,  for  I  bear  none — I  take  it  on  me  as  a  thing  of  mine  office,  to 
maintain  my  right  of  multure,  lock,  and  goupen.|  And  reason  good,  for  as  the  old  song 

I  live  by  my  mill,  God  bless  her, 
She's  parent,  child,  and  wife. 

The  poor  old  slut,  I  am  beholden  to  her  for  my  living,  and  bound  to  stand  by  her,  as  I 
say  to  my  mill  knaves,  in  right  and  in  wrong.  And  so  should  evei'y  honest  fellow  stand 
by  his  bread-winner. — And  so,  Mysie,  ye  may  doff  your  cloak  since  our  neighbour  is  so 
kindly  glad  to  see  us — why,  I  think,  we  are  as  bhthe  to  see  her — not  one  in  the  Halidome 
pays  their  multures  more  duly,  sequels,  arriage,  and  carriage,  and  miU-services,  used  and 

With  that  the  Miller  hung  his  ample  cloak  without  farther  ceremony  upon  a  huge 
pair  of  stag's  antlers,  which  adorned  at  once  the  naked  walls  of  the  tower,  and  served  for 
what  we  vulgarly  call  cloak-pins. 

In  the  meantime  Dame  Elspeth  assisted  to  disembarrass  the  damsel  whom  she  destined 
for  her  future  daughter-in-law,  of  her  hood,  mantle,  and  the  rest  of  her  riding  gear, 
giving  her  to  appear  as  beseemed  the  buxom  daughter  of  the  wealthy  Miller,  gay  and 
goodly,  in  a  white  kirtle,  the  seams  of  which  were  embroidered  with  green  silken  lace  or 
fringe,  entwined  with  some  silver  thread.  An  anxious  glance  did  Elspeth  cast  upon  the 
good-humoured  face,  which  was  now  more  fully  shewn  to  her,  and  was  only  obscured  by 
a  quantity  of  raven  black  hair,  which  the  maid  of  the  mill  had  restrained  by  a  snood  of 
green  silk,  embroidered  with  silver,  corresponding  to  the  trimmings  of  her  kirtle.  The 
countenance  itself  was  exceedingly  comely — the  eyes  black,  large,  and  roguishly  good- 
humoured — the  mouth  was  small— the  lips  well  formed,  though  somewhat  full — the  teeth 
were  pearly  white— and  the  chin  had  a  very  seducing  dimple  in  it.    The  form  belonging 

*  Dry  multures  were  a  fine,  or  compensation  in  money,  for  not  grinding  at  the  mill  of  the  thirl.  It  was,  and  is,  accounted 
a  vexatious  exaction. 

t  The  under  miller  is,  in  the  language  of  thirlage,  called  the  knave,  which,  indeed,  signified  originally  his  lad,  {Knabe — 
German,)  but  by  degrees  came  to  be  taken  in  a  worse  sense.  In  the  old  translations  of  the  Bible,  Paul  is  made  to  term 
himself  the  knave  of  our  Saviour.     The  allowance  of  meal  taken  by  the  miller's  servant  was  called  knave-ship. 

X  The  multure  was  the  regular  exaction  for  grinding  the  meal.  The  Inclx,  signifying  a  small  quantity,  and  the  gotvpeti,  a 
handful,  were  additional  perquisites  demanded  by  the  miller,  and  submitted  to  or  resisted  by  the  SucTiener  as  circumstances 
permitted.     These  and  other  petty  dues  were  called  in  general  the  Sequels. 

I  2 


to  this  joyous  face  was  full  and  round,  and  firm  and  fair.  It  might  become  coarse  and 
masculine  some  years  hence,  which  is  the  common  fault  of  Scottish  beauty ;  but  in 
Mysie's  sixteenth  year  she  had  the  shape  of  a  Hebe.  The  anxious  Elspeth,  with  all 
her  maternal  partiality,  could  not  help  admitting  within  herself,  that  a  better  man 
than  Halbert  might  go  firther  and  fare  worse.  She  looked  a  little  giddy,  and  Halbert 
was  not  nineteen ;  still  it  was  time  he  should  be  settled,  for  to  that  point  the  dame 
always  returned;  and  here  was  an  excellent  opportunity. 

The  simple  cunning  of  Dame  Elspeth  now  exhausted  itself  in  commendations  of 
her  foir  guest,  from  the  snood,  as  they  say,  to  the  single-soled  shoe.  Mysie  listened 
and  blushed  with  pleasure  for  the  first  five  minutes;  but  ere  ten  had  elapsed,  she 
began  to  view  the  old  lady's  compliments  rather  as  subjects  of  mirth  than  of  vanity, 
and  was  much  more  disposed  to  laugh  at  than  to  be  flattered  with  them,  for  Nature  had 
mingled  the  good-humour  with  which  she  had  endowed  the  damsel  with  no  small  portion 
of  shrewdness.  Even  Hob  himself  began  to  tire  of  hearing  his  daughter's  praises,  and 
broke  in  with,  "  Ay,  ay,  she  is  a  clever  quean  enough;  and,  were  she  five  years  older,  she 
shall  lay  a  loaded  sack  on  an  over*  with  e'er  a  lass  in  the  Halidome.  But  I  have  been 
looking  for  your  two  sons,  dame.  Men  say  downby  that  Halbert's  turned  a  wild 
springald,  and  that  we  may  have  word  of  him  from  Westmoreland  one  moonlight  night 
or  another." 

"  God  forbid,  my  good  neighbour;  God,  in  his  mercy,  forbid!"  said  Dame  Glendinning, 
earnestly;  for  it  was  touching  the  very  key-note  of  her  apprehensions,  to  hint  any 
probability  that  Halbert  might  become  one  of  the  marauders  so  common  in  the  age  and 
country.  Bvit,  fearful  of  having  betrayed  too  much  alarm  on  this  subject,  she  immediately 
added,  "  That  though,  since  the  last  rout  at  Pinkiecleuch,  she  had  been  all  of  a  tremble 
when  a  gun  or  a  spear  was  named,  or  when  men  spoke  of  fighting;  yet,  thanks  to  God 
and  our  Lady,  her  sons  were  like  to  live  and  die  honest  and  peaceful  tenants  to  the 
Abbey,  as  their  father  might  have  done,  but  for  that  awful  hosting  which  he  went  forth 
to  with  mony  a  brave  man  that  never  returned." 

"  Ye  need  not  tell  me  of  it,  dame,"  said  the  MiUer,  "  since  I  was  there  myself,  and 
made  two  pair  of  legs  (and  these  were  not  mine,  but  my  mare's,)  worth  one  pair  of  hands. 
I  judged  how  it  would  be,  when  I  saw  our  host  break  ranks,  with  rushing  on  through 
that  broken  ploughed  field,  and  so  as  they  had  made  a  pricker  of  me,  I  e'en  pricked  off 
with  myself  while  the  play  was  good." 

"Ay,  ay,  neighbour,"  said  the  dame,  "ye  were  aye  a  wise  and  a  wary  man;  if  my 
Simon  had  had  your  wit,  he  might  have  been  here  to  speak  about  it  this  day;  but  he 
was  aye  cracking  of  his  good  blood  and  his  high  kindred,  and  less  would  not  serve  him 
than  to  bide  the  bang  to  the  last,  with  the  earls,  and  knights,  and  squires,  that  had  no 
wives  to  greet  for  them,  or  else  had  wives  that  cared  not  how  soon  they  were  widows : 
but  that  is  not  for  the  like  of  us.  But  touching  my  son  Halbert,  there  is  no  fear  of  him; 
for  if  it  should  be  his  misfortune  to  be  in  the  like  case,  he  has  the  best  pair  of  heels  in 
the  Halidome,  and  could  run  almost  as  fast  as  your  mare  herself." 

"Is  this  he,  neighbour?"  quoth  the  Miller. 

"  No,"  replied  the  mother;  "  that  is  my  youngest  son,  Edward,  who  can  read  and  write 
like  the  Lord  Abbot  himself,  if  it  were  not  a  sin  to  say  so." 

"  Ay,"  said  the  Miller;  "  and  is  that  the  young  clerk  the  Sub-Prior  thinks  so  much  of? 
they  say  he  will  come  far  ben  that  lad ;  wha  kens  but  he  may  come  to  be  Sub-Prior 
himself? — as  broken  a  ship  has  come  to  land." 

"  To  be  a  Prior,  neighbour  Miller,"  said  Edward,  "  a  man  must  first  be  a  priest,  and 
for  that  I  judge  I  have  little  vocation." 

"He  will  take  to  the  pleugh-pettle,  neighbour,"  said  the  good  dame;  "and  so  will 
Halbert  too,  I  trust.     I  wish  you  saw  Halbert. — Edward,  where  is  your  brother?" 

*  Aver — properly  a  horse  of  labour. 


"Hunting,  I  think,"  replied  Edward;  "  at  least  lie  left  us  this  morning  to  join  the 
Laird  of  Colmslie  and  his  hounds.     I  have  heard  them  baying  in  the  glen  all  day." 

"  And  if  I  had  heard  that  music,"  said  the  JMiller,  "  it  would  have  done  my  heart 
good,  ay,  and  may  be  taken  me  two  or  three  miles  out  of  my  road.  When  I  was 
the  Miller  of  Morebattle's  knave,  I  have  followed  the  hounds  from  Eckford  to 
the  foot  of  Hounam-law — followed  them  on  foot,  Dame  Glendinning,  ay,  and  led  the 
chase  when  the  Laird  of  Cessford  and  his  gay  riders  were  all  thrown  out  by  the  mosses 
and  gills.  I  brought  the  stag  on  my  back  to  Hounam  Cross,  when  the  dogs  had  pulled 
him  down.  I  think  I  see  the  old  gray  knight,  as  he  sate  so  upright  on  his  strong  war- 
horse,  all  white  with  foam;  and  'Miller,'  said  he  to  me,  'an  thou  wilt  turn  thy  back  on 
the  mill,  and  wend  with  me,  I  will  make  a  man  of  thee.'  But  I  chose  rather  to  abide  by 
clap  and  happer,  and  the  better  luck  was  mine;  for  the  proud  Percy  caused  hang  five  of 
the  Laird's  henchmen  at  Alnwick  for  burning  a  rickle  of  houses  some  gate  beyond 
Fowberry,  and  it  might  have  been  my  luck  as  well  as  another  man's." 

"Ah,  neighbour,  neighbour,"  said  Dame  Glendinning,  "you  were  aye  wise  and  wary; 
but  if  you  like  hunting,  I  must  say  Halbert's  the  lad  to  please  you.  He  hath  all  those 
fair  holiday  terms  of  hawk  and  hound  as  ready  in  his  mouth  as  Tom  with  the  tod's  tail, 
that  is  the  Lord  Abbot's  ranger." 

"  Ranges  he  not  homeward  at  dinner-time,  dame,"  demanded  the  ]\IiUer;  "  for  we  call 
noon  the  dinner-hour  at  Kennaquhair?" 

The  widow  was  forced  to  admit  that,  even  at  this  important  period  of  the  day,  Halbert 
was  frequently  absent;  at  which  the  Miller  shook  his  head,  intimating,  at  the  same  time, 
some  allusion  to  the  proverb  of  MacFarlane's  geese,  which  "  liked  their  play  better  than 
their  meat."* 

That  the  delay  of  dinner  might  not  increase  the  Miller's  disposition  to  prejudge 
Halbert,  Dame  Glendinning  called  hastily  on  Mary  Avenel  to  take  her  task  of  en- 
tertaining Mysie  Happer,  while  she  herself  rushed  to  the  kitchen,  and,  entering  at 
once  into  the  province  of  Tibb  Tacket,  rummaged  among  trenchers  and  dishes,  snatched 
pots  fi'om  the  fire,  and  placed  pans  and  gridirons  on  it,  accompanying  her  own  feats 
of  personal  activity  with  such  a  continued  list  of  injunctions  to  Tibb,  that  Tibb  at  length 
lost  patience,  and  said,  "  Here  was  as  muckle  wark  about  meating  an  auld  miller,  as  if 
they  had  been  to  banquet  the  blood  of  Bruce."  But  this,  as  it  was  supposed  to  be  spoken 
aside,  Dame  Glendinning  did  not  think  it  convenient  to  hear. 

*  A  brood  of  wild-geese,  which  long  frequented  one  of  the  uppermost  islands  in  Loch-Lomond,  called  Inch-Tavoe,  were 
supposed  to  have  some  mysterious  connexion  with  the  ancient  family  of  Mac  Farlane  of  that  ilk,  and  it  is  said  were  never  seen 
after  the  ruin  and  extinction  of  that  house.  The  MacFarlanes  had  a  house  and  garden  upon  that  same  island  of  Inch-Tavoe. 
Here  James  VI.  was,  on  one  occasion,  regaled  by  the  chieftain.  His  Majesty  had  been  previously  much  amused  by  the 
geese  pursuing  each  other  on  the  Loch.  But,  when  one  which  was  brought  to  table,  was  found  to  be  tough  and  ill  fed,  James 
observed,  —  "  that  Mac  Farlane's  geese  liked  their  play  better  than  their  meat,"  a  proverb  which  has  been  current  ever  since. 

Nay,  let  me  liave  the  friends  who  eat  my  victuals, 
As  various  as  my  dishes. — The  feast's  naught, 
Where  one  huge  plate  predominates.     John  Plainte.xt, 
He  shall  be  mighty  beef,   our  English  staple ; 
The  worthy  Aldennan,  a  butter'd  dumpling; 
Yon  pair  of  whisker'd  Cornets,  ruffs  and  rees : 
Their  friend  the  Dandy,  a  green  goose  in  sippets. 
And  so  the  board  is  spread  at  once  and  fill'd 
On  the  same  principle — Variety. 

New  Play. 

ND  what  brave  lass  is  this  ?  "  said  Hob  Miller,  as  Marj  Avenel  entered 
the  apartment  to  supply  the  absence  of  Dame  Elspeth  Glendinning. 

"  The  }oung  Lady  of  Avenel,  father,"  said  the  Maid  of  the  Mill, 
drop])ing  as  low  a  curtsy  as  her  rustic  manners  enabled  her  to  make. 
The  Miller,  her  father,  doffed  his  bonnet,  and  made  his  reverence,  not 
altogether  so  low  perhaps  as    if   the  young  lady  had  appeared  in  the 

pride  of  rank  and  riches,  yet  so  as  to  give  high  birth  the  due  homage  which  the  Scotch 

for  a  length  of  time  scrupulously  rendered  to  it. 

Indeed,  from  having  had  her  mother's  example  before  her  for  so  many  years,  and  from 

a  native  sense  of  propriety  and  even  of  dignity,  Mary  Avenel  had  acquired  a  demeanour, 


which  marked  her  title  to  consideration,  and  effectually  checked  any  attempt  at  familiarity 
on  the  part  of  those  who  might  be  her  associates  in  her  present  situation,  but  could  not 
be  well  termed  her  equals.  She  was  by  nature  mild,  pensive,  and  contemplative,  gentle 
in  disposition,  and  most  placable  when  accidentally  offended  ;  but  still  she  was  of  a  retired 
and  reserved  habit,  and  shunned  to  mix  in  ordinary  sports,  even  when  the  rare  occurrence 
of  a  fair  or  wake  gave  her  an  opportunity  of  mingling  with  companions  of  her  own  age. 
If  at  such  scenes  she  was  seen  for  an  instant,  she  appeared  to  behold  them  with  the  com- 
posed indifference  of  one  to  whom  their  gaiety  was  a  matter  of  no  interest,  and  who 
seemed  only  desirous  to  glide  away  from  the  scene  as  soon  as  she  possibly  could. 

Something  also  had  transpired  concerning  her  being  born  on  All-hallow  Eve,  and  the 
powers  with  which  that  circumstance  was  supposed  to  invest  her  over  the  invisible  world. 
And  from  all  these  particulars  combined,  the  young  men  and  women  of  the  Halidome 
used  to  distinguish  Mary  among  themselves  by  the  name  of  the  Spirit  of  Avenel,  as  if 
the  fair  but  fragile  fox*m,  the  beautiful  but  rather  colourless  cheek,  the  dark  blue  eye,  and 
the  shady  hair,  had  belonged  rather  to  the  immaterial  than  the  substantial  world.  The 
general  tradition  of  the  White  Lady,  who  was  supposed  to  wait  on  the  fortunes  of  the 
family  of  Avenel,  gave  a  sort  of  zest  to  this  piece  of  rural  wit.  It  gave  great  offence, 
however,  to  the  two  sons  of  Simon  Glendinning  ;  and  when  the  expression  was  in  their 
presence  applied  to  the  young  lady,  Edward  was  wont  to  check  the  petulance  of  those 
who  used  it  by  strength  of  argument,  and  Halbert  by  strength  of  arm.  In  such  cases 
Halbert  had  this  advantage,  that  although  he  could  render  no  aid  to  his  brother's  argu- 
ment, yet  when  circumstances  required  it,  he  was  sure  to  have  that  of  Edward,  who 
never  indeed  himself  commenced  a  fray,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  did  not  testify  any 
reluctance  to  enter  into  combat  in  Halbert's  behalf  or  in  his  rescue. 

But  the  zealous  attachment  of  the  two  youths,  being  themselves,  from  the  retired 
situation  in  which  they  dwelt,  comparative  strangers  in  the  Halidome,  did  not  serve  in 
any  degree  to  alter  the  feelings  of  the  inhabitants  towards  the  young  lady,  who  seemed 
to  have  dropped  amongst  them  from  another  sphere  of  Ufe.  Still,  however,  she  was 
regarded  with  respect,  if  not  with  fondness ;  and  the  attention  of  the  Sub-Prior  to  the 
family,  not  to  mention  the  formidable  name  of  Julian  Avenel,  which  every  new  incident 
of  those  tumultuous  times  tended  to  render  more  famous,  attached  to  his  niece  a  certain 
importance.  Thus  some  aspired  to  her  acquaintance  out  of  pride,  while  the  more  timid 
of  the  feuars  were  anxious  to  incidcate  upon  their  children  the  necessity  of  being 
respectful  to  the  noble  orphan.  So  that  Mary  Avenel,  little  loved  because  little  known, 
was  regarded  with  a  mysterious  awe,  partly  derived  from  fear  of  her  uncle's  moss- 
troopers, and  partly  from  her  own  retired  and  distant  habits,  enhanced  by  the  super- 
stitious opinions  of  the  time  and  countiy. 

It  was  not  without  some  portion  of  this  awe,  that  Mysie  felt  herself  left  alone  in 
company  with  a  young  person  so  distant  in  rank,  and  so  different  in  beai'ing,  from  herself; 
for  her  worthy  father  had  taken  the  first  opportunity  to  step  out  unobserved,  in  order  to 
mark  how  the  barnyard  was  filled,  and  what  prospect  it  afforded  of  grist  to  the  mill. 
In  youth,  however,  there  is  a  sort  of  free-masonry,  wliich,  without  much  conversation, 
teaches  young  persons  to  estimate  each  other's  character,  and  places  them  at  ease  on  the 
shortest  acquaintance.  It  is  only  when  taught  deceit  by  the  commerce  of  the  world,  that 
we  learn  to  shroud  our  character  from  observation,  and  to  disguise  our  real  sentiments 
from  those  with  whom  we  are  placed  in  communion. 

Accordingly,  the  two  young  women  were  soon  engaged  in  such  objects  of  interest  as 
best  became  their  age.  They  visited  Mary  Avenel's  pigeons,  which  she  nursed  with  the 
tenderness  of  a  mother ;  they  turned  over  her  slender  stores  of  finery,  which  yet  con- 
tained some  articles  that  excited  the  respect  of  her  companion,  though  Mysie  was  too 
good-humoured  to  nourish  envy.  A  golden  rosary,  and  some  female  ornaments  marking 
superior  rank,  had  been  rescued  in  the  moment  of  their  utmost  adversity,  more  by  Tibb 


Tacket's  presence  of  mincl,  than  by  the  care  of  their  owner,  who  was  at  that  sad  period 
too  much  sunk  in  grief  to  pay  any  attention  to  such  circumstances.  They  struck  Mysie 
with  a  deep  impression  of  veneration  ;  for,  excepting  what  the  Lord  Abbot  and  the  convent 
might  possess,  she  did  not  believe  there  was  so  much  real  gold  in  the  world  as  was 
exhibited  in  these  few  trinkets,  and  Maiy,  however  sage  and  serious,  was  not  above  being 
pleased  with  the  admiration  of  her  rustic  companion. 

Nothing,  indeed,  could  exhibit  a  stronger  contrast  than  the  appearance  of  the  two 
girls ; — the  good-humoured  laughter-loving  countenance  of  the  Maid  of  the  Mill,  who 
stood  gazing  with  unrepressed  astonishment  on  whatever  was  in  her  inexperienced  eye 
rare  and  costly,  and  with  an  humble,  and  at  the  same  time  cheerful  acquiescence  in  her 
inferiority,  asking  all  the  little  queries  about  the  use  and  value  of  the  ornaments,  while 
Mary  Avenel,  with  her  quiet  composed  dignity  and  placidity  of  manner,  produced  them 
one  after  another  for  the  amusement  of  her  companion. 

As  they  became  gradually  more  familiar,  Mysie  of  the  IMill  was  just  venturing  to  ask, 
why  Mary  Avenel  never  appeared  at  the  May-pole,  and  to  express  her  wonder  when  the 
young  lady  said  she  disliked  dancing,  when  a  trampling  of  horses  at  the  gate  of  the  tower 
interrupted  their  conversation. 

Mysie  flew  to  the  shot  window  in  the  full  ardour  of  unrestrained  female  curiosity. 
"  Saint  Mary!  sweet  lady!  here  come  two  well-mounted  gallants ;  will  you  step  this  way 
to  look  at  them?" 

"  No,"  said  Mary  Avenel,  "  you  shall  tell  me  who  they  are." 

"  Well,  if  you  like  it  better,"  said  Mysie — "but  how  shall  I  know  them? — Stay,  I  do 
know  one  of  them,  and  so  do  you,  lady;  he  is  a  blithe  man,  somewhat  light  of  hand,  they 
say,  but  the  gallants  of  these  days  think  no  great  harm  of  that.  He  is  your  uncle's 
henchman,  that  they  call  Christie  of  the  Clinthill ;  and  he  has  not  his  old  green  jerkin 
and  the  rusty  black-jack  over  it,  but  a  scarlet  cloak,  laid  down  with  silver  lace  three 
inches  broad,  and  a  bi-east- plate  you  might  see  to  dress  your  hair  in,  as  well  as  in  that 
keeking-glass  in  the  ivory  frame  that  you  shewed  me  even  now.  Come,  dear  lady,  come 
to  the  shot-window  and  see  him." 

"  If  it  be  the  man  you  mean,  Mysie,"  replied  the  orphan  of  Avenel,  "  I  shall  see  him 
soon  enough,  considering  either  the  pleasure  or  comfo-rt  the  sight  will  give  me." 

"  Nay,  but  if  you  will  not  come  to  see  gay  Christie,"  replied  the  Maid  of  the  Mill,  her 
face  flushed  with  eager  curiosity,  "  come  and  tell  me  who  the  gallant  is  that  is  with 
him,  the  handsomest,  the  very  lovesomest  young  man  I  ever  saw  with  sight." 

"  It  is  my  foster-bi'other,  Halbert  Glendinning,"  said  Mary,  with  apparent  indiflerence; 
for  she  had  been  accustomed  to  call  the  sons  of  Elspeth  her  foster-brethren,  and  to  live 
with  them  as  if  they  had  been  brothers  in  earnest. 

"  Nay,  by  Our  Lady,  that  it  is  not,"  said  Mysie  ;  "  I  know  the  favour  of  both  the  Glen- 
dinnings  well,  and  I  think  this  rider  be  not  of  our  country.  He  has  a  ci'imson  velvet 
bonnet,  and  long  brown  hair  falling  down  under  it,  and  a  beard  on  his  upper  lip,  and 
his  chin  clean  and  close  shaved,  save  a  small  patch  on  the  point  of  the  chin,  and  a  sk}'-- 
blue  jerkin  slashed  and  lined  with  white  satin,  and  trunk-hose  to  suit,  and  no  weapon  but 
a  rapier  and  dagger — "Well,  if  I  was  a  man,  I  would  never  wear  weapon  but  the  rapier ! 
it  is  so  slender  and  becoming,  instead  of  having  a  cartload  of  iron  at  my  back,  like  my 
father's  broad-sword  with  its  great  rusty  basket-hilt.  Do  you  not  delight  in  the  rapier 
and  poniard,  lady?" 

"  The  best  sword,"  answered  Mary,  "  if  I  must  needs  answer  a  question  of  the  sort,  is 
that  which  is  drawn  in  the  best  cause,  and  which  is  best  used  when  it  is  out  of  the  scabbard." 

"  But  can  you  not  guess  who  this  stranger  should  be?"  said  Mysie. 

"  Indeed,  I  cannot  even  attempt  it ;  but  to  judge  by  his  companion,  it  is  no  matter  how 
little  he  is  known,"  replied  Mary. 

"  My  benison  on  his  bonny  face,"  said  Mysie,  "  if  he  is  not  going  to  alight  hex'e  !  Now, 


I  am  as  much  pleased  as  if  my  father  had  given  me  the  silver  earrings  he  has  promised  me 
so  often ; — nay,  you  had  as  well  come  to  the  window,  for  you  must  see  him  by  and  by 
whether  you  will  or  not." 

I  do  not  know  how  much  sooner  Mary  Avenel  might  have  sought  the  point  of  obser- 
vation, if  she  had  not  been  scared  from  it  by  the  unrestrained  curiosity  expressed  by  her 
buxom  friend ;  but  at  length  the  same  feeling  prevailed  over  her  sense  of  dignity,  and 
satisfied  with  having  displayed  all  the  indifference  that  Avas  necessary  in  point  of  decorum, 
she  no  longer  thought  herself  bound  to  restrain  her  curiosity. 

From  the  out-shot  or  projecting  window,  she  could  perceive  that  Christie  of  the  Clint- 
hill  was  attended  on  the  present  occasion  by  a  very  gay  and  gallant  cavalier,  who  from 
the  nobleness  of  his  countenance  and  manner,  his  rich  and  handsome  dress,  and  the  showy 
appearance  of  his  horse  and  furniture,  must,  she  agreed  with  her  new  friend,  be  a  person 
of  some  consequence. 

Christie  also  seemed  conscious  of  something,  which  made  him  call  out  with  more  than 
his  usual  insolence  of  manner,  "  What,  ho!  so  ho!  the  house  !  Churl  peasants,  will  no 
one  answer  when  I  call? — Ho!  Martin, — Tibb, — Dame  Glendinning! — a  murrain  on 
you,  must  we  stand  keeping  our  horses  in  the  cold  here,  and  they  steaming  with  heat, 
when  we  have  ridden  so  sharply?" 

At  length  he  was  obeyed,  and  old  Martin  made  his  appearance.  "  Ha!"  said  Christie, 
"  art  thou  there,  old  Truepenny?  here,  stable  me  these  steeds  and  see  them  well  bedded, 
and  stretch  thine  old  limbs  by  rubbing  them  down ;  and  see  thou  quit  not  the  stable  till 
there  is  not  a  turned  hair  on  either  of  them," 

Martin  took  the  horses  to  the  stable  as  commanded,  but  suppressed  not  his  indignation 
a  moment  after  he  could  vent  it  with  safety.  "  AYould  not  any  one  think,"  he  said  to 
Jasper,  an  old  ploughman,  who,  in  coming  to  his  assistance,  had  heard  Christie's  imperious 
injunctions,  "  that  this  loon,  this  Christie  of  the  Clinthill,  was  laird  or  lord  at  least  of 
him?  No  such  thing,  man!  I  remember  him  a  little  dirty  turnspit  boy  in  tlie  house  of 
Avenel,  that  every  body  in  a  frosty  morning  like  this  warmed  his  fingers  by  kicking  or 
cufiing!  and  now  he  is  a  gentleman,  and  swears,  d — n  him  and  renounce  him,  as  if  the 
gentlemen  could  not  so  much  as  keep  their  own  wickedness  to  themselves,  without  the 
like  of  him  going  to  hell  in  their  very  company,  and  by  the  same  road.  I  have  as  much 
a  mind  as  ever  I  had  to  my  dinner,  to  go  back  and  tell  him  to  sort  his  horse  himself,  since 
he  is  as  able  as  I  am." 

"  Hout  tout,  man!"  answered  Jasper,  "  keep  a  calm  sough;  better  to  fleech  a  fool  than 
fight  with  him." 

Martin  acknowledged  the  truth  of  the  proverb,  and,  much  comforted  therewith,  betook 
himself  to  cleaning  the  stranger's  horse  with  great  assiduity,  remarking,  it  was  a  pleasure 
to  handle  a  handsome  nag,  and  turned  over  the  other  to  the  charge  of  Jasper.  Nor  was 
it  until  Christie's  commands  were  literally  complied  with  that  he  deemed  it  proper,  after 
fitting  ablutions,  to  join  the  party  in  the  spence ;  not  for  the  purpose  of  waiting  upon 
them,  as  a  mere  modern  reader  might  possibly  expect,  but  that  he  might  have  his  share 
of  dinner  in  their  company. 

In  the  meanwhile  Christie  had  presented  his  companion  to  Dame  Glendinning  as  Sir 
Piercie  Shafton,  a  friend  of  his  and  of  his  master,  come  to  spend  three  or  four  days  with 
little  din  in  the  tower.  The  good  dame  could  not  conceive  how  she  was  entitled  to  such 
an  honour,  and  would  fain  have  pleaded  her  want  of  every  sort  of  convenience  to  enter- 
tain a  guest  of  that  quality.  But,  indeed,  the  visiter,  when  he  cast  his  eyes  round  the 
bare  walls,  eyed  the  huge  black  chimney,  scrutinized  the  meagre  and  broken  furniture  of 
the  apartment,  and  beheld  the  embarrassment  of  the  mistress  of  the  family,  intimated 
great  reluctance  to  intrude  upon  Dame  Glendinning  a  visit,  which  could  scarce,  from  all 
appearances,  prove  otherwise  than  an  inconvenience  to  her,  and  a  penance  to  himself. 

But  the  reluctant  hostess  and  her  guest  had  to  do  with  an  inexorable  man,  who  silenced 


all  expostulations  with,  "  such  was  his  master's  pleasure.  And,  moreover,"  he  continued, 
"  though  the  Baron  of  Avenel's  will  must,  and  ought  to  prove  law  to  all  within  ten  miles 
around  him,  yet  here,  dame,"  he  said,  "  is  a  letter  from  your  petticoated  baron,  the  lord- 
priest  yonder,  who  enjoins  you,  as  you  regard  his  pleasure,  that  you  afford  to  this  good 
knight  such  decent  accommodation  as  is  in  your  power,  suffering  him  to  live  as  privately 
as  he  shall  desire. — And  for  you.  Sir  Piercie  Shafton,"  continued  Christie,  "  you  will 
judge  for  yourself,  whether  secrecy  and  safety  is  not  more  your  object  even  now,  than 
soft  beds  and  high  cheer.  And  do  not  judge  of  the  dame's  goods  by  the  semblance  of  her 
cottage;  for  you  will  see  by  the  dinner  she  is  about  to  spread  for  us,  that  the  vassal  of 
the  kirk  is  seldom  found  with  her  basket  bare."  To  Mary  Avenel  Christie  presented  the 
stranger,  after  the  best  fashion  he  could,  as  to  the  niece  of  his  master  the  baron. 

While  he  thus  laboured  to  reconcile  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  to  his  fate,  the  widow,  having 
consulted  her  son  Edward  on  the  real  import  of  the  Lord  Abbot's  injunction,  and  having 
found  that  Christie  had  given  a  true  exposition,  saw  nothing  else  left  for  her  but  to  make 
that  fate  as  easy  as  she  could  to  the  stranger.  He  himself  also  seemed  reconciled  to  his 
lot  by  some  feeling  probably  of  strong  necessity,  and  accepted  with  a  good  grace  the 
hospitality  which  the  dame  offered  with  a  very  indifferent  one. 

In  fact,  the  dinner,  which  soon  smoked  before  the  assembled  guests,  was  of  that 
substantial  kind  which  warrants  plenty  and  comfort.  Dame  Glendinning  had  cooked  it 
after  her  best  manner ;  and,  delighted  with  the  handsome  appearance  which  her  good 
cheer  made  when  placed  on  the  table,  forgot  both  her  plans  and  the  vexations  which 
interrupted  them,  in  the  hospitable  duty  of  pressing  her  assembled  visiters  to  eat  and 
drink,  watching  every  trencher  as  it  waxed  empty,  and  loading  it  with  fresh  supplies  ere 
the  guest  could  utter  a  negative. 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  company  attentively  regarded  each  other's  motions,  and 
seemed  endeavouring  to  form  a  judgment  of  each  other's  character.  Sir  Piercie 
Shafton  condescended  to  speak  to  no  one  but  to  Mary  Avenel,  and  on  her  he  con- 
ferred exactly  the  same  familiar  and  compassionate,  though  somewhat  scornful  sort 
of  attention,  which  a  pretty  fellow  of  these  days  will  sometimes  condescend  to  bestow  on 
a  country  miss,  when  there  is  no  prettier  or  more  fashionable  woman  present.  The 
manner  indeed  was  different,  for  the  etiquette  of  those  times  did  not  permit  Sir  Piercie 
Shafton  to  pick  his  teeth,  or  to  yawn,  or  to  gabble  like  the  beggar  whose  tongue  (as  he 
says)  was  cut  out  by  the  Turks,  or  to  affect  deafness  or  blindness,  or  any  other  infirmity 
of  the  organs.  But  though  the  embroidery  of  his  conversation  was  different,  the 
groundwork  was  the  same,  and  the  high-flown  and  ornate  compliments  with  which  the 
gallant  knight  of  the  sixteenth  century  interlarded  his  conversation,  were  as  much  the 
offspring  of  egotism  and  self-conceit,  as  the  jargon  of  the  coxcombs  of  our  own  days. 

The  English  knight  was,  however,  something  daunted  at  finding  that  Mary  Avenel 
listened  with  an  air  of  indifference,  and  answered  with  wonderful  brevity,  to  all  the 
fine  things  which  ought,  as  he  conceived,  to  have  dazzled  her  with  their  brilliancy, 
and  puzzled  her  by  their  obscurity.  But  if  he  was  disappointed  in  making  the  desired, 
or  rather  the  expected  impression,  upon  her  whom  he  addressed.  Sir  Piercie  Shafton's 
discourse  was  marvellous  in  the  ears  of  Mysie  the  Miller's  daughter,  and  not  the  less 
so  that  she  did  not  comprehend  the  meaning  of  a  single  word  which  he  uttered.  Indeed, 
the  gallant  knight's  language  was  far  too  courtly  to  be  understood  by  persons  of  much 
greater  acuteness  than  Mysie's. 

It  was  about  this  period,  that  the  "  only  rare  poet  of  his  time,  the  witty,  comical, 
facetiously-quick,  and  quickly-facetious,  John  Lylly — he  that  sate  at  Apollo's  table,  and 
to  whom  Phoebus  gave  a  wreath  of  his  own  bays  without  snatching  "* — he,  in  short,  who 

*  Such,  and  yet  more  extravagant,  are  the  compliments  paid  to  this  author  by  his  editor,  Blount.  Notwithstanding  all 
exaggeration,  Lylly  was  really  a  man  of  wit  and  imagination,  though  both  were  deformed  by  the  most  unnatural  affectation 
that  ever  disgraced  a  printed  page. 


wrote  that  singularly  coxcomical  work,  called  Etqyhucs  and  his  England,  was  in  the  very- 
zenith  of  his  absurdity  and  reputation.  The  quaint,  forced,  and  unnatural  style  which 
he  introduced  by  his  "  Anatomy  of  Wit,"  had  a  fashion  as  rapid  as  it  was  momentary — 
all  the  court  ladies  were  his  scholars,  and  to  purler  Euphuisme,  was  as  necessary  a 
qualification  to  a  courtly  gallant,  as  those  of  understanding  how  to  use  his  rapier,  or  to 
dance  a  measure. 

It  was  no  wonder  that  the  Maid  of  the  Mill  was  soon  as  eiFectually  blinded  by 
the  intricacies  of  this  erudite  and  courtly  style  of  conversation,  as  she  had  ever  been 
by  the  dust  of  her  fiither's  own  meal-sacks.  But  there  she  sate  with  her  mouth  and 
eyes  as  open  as  the  mill-door  and  the  two  windows,  shewing  teeth  as  white  as  her  father's 
bolted  Hour,  and  endeavouring  to  secure  a  word  or  two  for  her  own  future  use  out  of 
the  pearls  of  rhetoric  which  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  scattered  around  him  with  such  bounteous 

For  the  male  part  of  the  company,  Edward  felt  ashamed  of  his  own  manner  and 
slowness  of  speech,  when  he  observed  the  handsome  young  courtier,  with  an  ease  and 
volubility  of  which  he  had  no  conception,  run  over  all  the  commonplace  topics  of  high- 
flown  gallantry.  It  is  true  the  good  sense  and  natural  taste  of  young  Glendinning  soon 
informed  him  that  the  gallant  cavalier  was  speaking  nonsense.  But,  alas!  where  is  the 
man  of  modest  merit,  and  real  talent,  who  has  not  suffered  from  being  outshone  in 
conversation  and  outstripped  in  the  race  of  life,  by  men  of  less  reserve,  and  of  qualities 
more  showy,  though  less  substantial?  and  well  constituted  must  the  mind  be,  that  can 
yield  up  the  prize  without  envy  to  competitors  more  Avorthy  than  himself. 

Edward  Glendinning  had  no  such  philosophy.  "While  he  despised  the  jargon  of  the 
gay  cavalier,  he  envied  the  facility  with  which  he  could  run  on,  as  well  as  the  courtly 
tone  and  expression,  and  the  perfect  ease  and  elegance  with  which  he  offered  all  the 
little  acts  of  politeness  to  which  the  duties  of  the  table  gave  opportunity.  And  if  I  am 
to  speak  truth,  I  must  own  that  he  envied  those  qualities  the  more  as  they  were  all 
exercised  in  Mary  Avenel's  service,  and,  although  only  so  far  accepted  as  they  could  not 
be  refused,  intimated  a  wish  on  the  stranger's  part  to  place  himself  in  her  good  graces,  as 
the  only  person  in  the  room  to  whom  he  thought  it  worth  while  to  recommend  himself. 
His  title,  rank,  and  very  handsome  figure,  together  with  some  sparks  of  wit  and  spirit 
which  flashed  across  the  cloud  of  nonsense  which  he  uttered,  rendered  him,  as  the  words 
of  the  old  song  say,  "a  lad  for  a  lady's  viewing;"  so  that  poor  Edward,  with  all  his  real 
worth  and  acquired  knowledge,  in  his  home-spun  doublet,  blue  cap,  and  deerskin 
trowsers,  looked  like  a  clown  beside  the  courtier,  and,  feeling  the  full  inferiority, 
nourished  no  good-will  to  him  by  whom  he  was  eclipsed. 

Christie,  on  the  other  hand,  as  soon  as  he  had  satisfied  to  the  full  a  commodious 
appetite,  by  means  of  which  persons  of  his  profession  could,  like  the  wolf  and  eagle,  gorge 
themselves  with  as  much  food  at  one  meal  as  might  serve  them  for  several  days,  began  also 
to  feel  himself  more  in  the  back-ground  than  he  liked  to  be.  This  worthy  had,  amongst 
his  other  good  qualities,  an  excellent  opinion  of  himself ;  and,  being  of  a  bold  and  forward 
disposition,  had  no  mind  to  be  thrown  into  the  shade  by  any  one.  With  an  impudent 
familiarity  which  such  persons  mistake  for  graceful  ease,  he  broke  in  upon  the  knight's 
finest  speeches  with  as  little  remorse  as  he  would  have  driven  the  point  of  his  lance 
through  a  laced  doublet. 

Sir  Piercie  Shafton,  a  man  of  rank  and  high  birth,  by  no  means  encouraged  or  endured 
this  familiarity,  and  requited  the  intruder  either  with  total  neglect,  or  such  laconic  replies 
as  intimated  a  sovereign  contempt  for  the  rude  spearman,  who  affected  to  converse  with 
him  upon  terms  of  equality. 

The  Miller  held  his  peace ;  for,  as  his  usual  conversation  turned  chiefly  on  his 
clapper  and  toll-dish,  he  had  no  mind  to  brag  of  his  wealth  in  presence  of  Christie 
of  the  Clinthill,  or  to  intrude  his  discourse  on  the  English  cavaUer. 


A  little  specimen  of  the  conversation  may  not  be  out  of  place,  were  it  but  to 
shew  young  ladies  what  fine  things  they  have  lost  by  living  when  Euphuism  is  out 
of  fashion. 

"  Credit  me,  fairest  lady,"  said  the  knight,  "  that  such  is  the  cunning  of  our  English 
courtiers,  of  the  hodiernal  strain,  that,  as  they  have  infinitely  refined  upon  the  plain  and 
rusticial  discourse  of  our  fathers,  which,  as  I  may  say,  more  beseemed  the  mouths  of 
country  roisterers  in  a  May -game  than  that  of  courtly  gallants  in  a  galliard,  so  I  hold  it 
ineffably  and  unutterably  impossible,  that  those  who  may  succeed  us  in  that  garden  of  wit 
and  courtesy  shall  alter  or  amend  it.  Venus  delighted  but  in  the  language  of  Mercury, 
Bucephalus  will  stoop  to  no  one  but  Alexander,  none  can  sound  Apollo's  pipe  but 

"  Valiant  sir,"  said  Mary,  who  could  scarcely  help  laughing,  "  we  have  but  to  rejoice 
in  the  chance  which  hath  honoured  this  solitude  with  a  glimpse  of  the  sun  of  courtesy, 
though  it  rather  blinds  tlian  enlightens  us." 

"  Pretty  and  quaint,  fairest  lady,"  answered  the  Euphuist.  "  Ah,  that  I  had  with  me 
my  Anatomy  of  Wit — that  all-to-be-unparalleled  volume — that  quintessence  of  human 
wit — that  treasury  of  quaint  invention — that  exquisitively-pleasant-to-read,  and  in- 
evitably-necessary-to-be-remembered manual,  of  all  that  is  worthy  to  be  known — which 
indoctrines  the  rude  in  civility,  the  dull  in  intellectuality,  the  heavy  in  jocosity,  the  blunt 
in  gentility,  the  vulgar  in  nobility,  and  all  of  them  in  that  unutterable  perfection  of 
human  utterance,  that  eloquence  which  no  other  eloquence  is  sufficient  to  praise,  that  art 
which,  when  we  call  it  by  its  own  name  of  Euphuism,  we  bestow  on  it  its  richest 

"  By  Saint  Mary,"  said  Christie  of  the  Clinthill,  "  if  your  worship  had  told  me  that 
you  had  left  such  stores  of  wealth  as  you  talk  of  at  Prudhoe  Castle,  Long  Dickie  and  I 
would  have  had  them  off"  with  us  if  man  and  horse  could  have  carried  them;  but  you  told 
us  of  no  treasure  I  wot  of,  save  the  silver  tongs  for  turning  up  your  mustachoes." 

The  knight  treated  this  intruder's  mistake — for  certainly  Christie  had  no  idea  that  all 
these  epithets  wliich  sounded  so  rich  and  splendid,  were  lavished  upon  a  small  quarto 
volume — with  a  stare,  and  then  turning  again  to  Mary  Avenel,  the  only  person  whom  he 
thought  worthy  to  address,  he  proceeded  in  his  strain  of  high-flown  oratory,  "  Even  thus," 
said  he,  "do  hogs  contemn  the  splendour  of  Oriental  pearls;  even  thus  ai'e  the  delicacies 
of  a  choice  repast  in  vain  offered  to  the  long-eared  grazer  of  the  common,  who  turneth 
from  them  to  devour  a  thistle.  Surely  as  idle  is  it  to  pour  forth  the  treasures  of  oratory 
before  the  eyes  of  the  ignorant,  and  to  spread  the  dainties  of  the  intellectual  banquet 
before  those  who  are,  morally  and  metaphysically  speaking,  no  better  than  asses." 

"  Sir  Knight,  since  that  is  your  quality,"  said  Edward,  "  we  cannot  strive  with  you  in 
loftiness  of  language;  but  J  pray  you  in  fair  courtesy,  while  you  honour  my  father's 
house  with  your  presence,  to  spare  us  such  vile  comparisons." 

"  Peace,  good  viUagio,"  said  the  knight,  gracefully  waving  his  hand,  "  I  prithee  peace, 
kind  rustic;  and  you,  my  guide,  whom  I  may  scarce  call  honest,  let  me  prevail  upon  you 
to  imitate  the  laudable  taciturnity  of  that  honest  yeoman,  who  sits  as  mute  as  a  mill-post, 
and  of  that  comely  damsel,  who  seems  as  with  her  ears  she  drank  in  what  she  did  not 
altogether  comprehend,  even  as  a  palfrey  listening  to  a  lute,  whereof,  howsoever,  he 
knoweth  not  the  gamut." 

"  Marvellous  fine  words,"  at  length  said  dame  Glendinning,  who  began  to  be  tired  of 
sitting  so  long  silent,  "  marvellous  fine  words,  neighbour  Happer,  are  they  not?" 

"Brave  words — very  brave  words — very  exceeding  pyet  words,"  answered  the  Miller; 
"  nevertheless,  to  speak  my  mind,  a  lippy  of  bran  were  worth  a  bushel  of  them." 

"  I  think  so  too,  under  his  worship's  favour,"  answered  Christie  of  the  Clinthill.  "  1 
well  remember  that  at  the  race  of  Morham,  as  we  call  it,  near  Berwick,  I  took  a  young 
Southern  fellow  out  of  saddle  with  my  lance,  and  cast  him,  it  might  be,  a  gad's  length 


from  his  nag;  and  so,  as  he  had  some  gold  on  his  laced  doublet,  I  deemed  he  might  ha'  the 
like  on  it  in  his  pocket  too.  though  that  is  a  rule  that  does  not  aye  hold  good — So  I  was 
speaking  to  him  of  ransom,  and  out  he  comes  with  a  handful  of  such  terms  as  his 
honour  there  hath  gleaned  up,  and  ci'aved  me  for  mercy,  as  I  was  a  true  son  of  Mars, 
and  such  like." 

"  And  obtained  no  mercy  at  thy  hand,  I  dare  be  sworn,"  said  the  knight,  who  deigned 
not  to  speak  Euphuism  excepting  to  the  fair  sex. 

"  By  my  troggs,"  replied  Clu-istie,  "  I  would  have  thrust  my  lance  down  his  throat, 
but  just  then  they  flung  open  that  accursed  postern-gate,  and  forth  pricked  old  Hunsdon, 
and  Henry  Carey,  and  as  many  fellows  at  their  heels  as  turned  the  chase  northward 
again.  So  I  e'en  pricked  Bayard  with  the  spur,  and  went  off  with  the  rest ;  for  a  man 
should  ride  when  he  may  not  wrestle,  as  they  say  in  Tynedale." 

"  Trust  me,"  said  the  knight,  again  turning  to  Mary  Avenel,  "  if  I  do  not  pity  you, 
lady,  who,  being  of  noble  blood,  are  thus  in  a  manner  compelled  to  abide  in  the  cottage 
of  the  ignorant,  like  the  precious  stone  in  the  head  of  the  toad,  or  like  a  precious  garland 
on  the  brow  of  an  ass. — But  soft,  what  gallant  have  we  here,  whose  garb  savoui*eth  more 
of  the  rustic  than  doth  his  demeanour,  and  whose  looks  seem  more  lofty  than  his  habit ; 
even  as " 

"  I  pray  you,  Sir  Knight,"  said  Mary,  "  to  spare  your  courtly  similitudes  for  refined 
ears,  and  give  me  leave  to  name  unto  you  my  foster-brother,  Halbert  Glendinning." 

"  The  son  of  the  good  dame  of  the  cottage,  as  I  opine,"  answered  the  English  knight ; 
"  for  by  some  such  name  did  my  guide  discriminate  the  mistress  of  this  mansion,  which 
you,  madam,  enrich  with  your  presence. — And  yet,  touching  this  juvenal,  he  hath  that 
about  him  which  belongeth  to  higher  birth,  for  all  are  not  black  who  dig  coals " 

"  Nor  all  white  who  are  millers,"  said  honest  Happer,  glad  to  get  in  a  word,  as  they 
say,  edgeways. 

Halbert,  who  had  sustained  the  glance  of  the  Englishman  with  some  impatience,  and 
knew  not  what  to  make  of  his  manner  and  language,  replied  with  some  asperity,  "  Sir 
Knight,  we  have  in  this  land  of  Scotland  an  ancient  saying,  '  Scorn  not  the  bush  that 
bields  you' — you  are  a  guest  of  my  fathei-'s  house  to  shelter  you  from  danger,  if  I  am 
rightly  informed  by  the  domestics.  Scoff  not  its  homeliness,  nor  that  of  its  inmates — 
ye  might  long  have  abidden  at  the  court  of  England,  ere  we  had  sought  your  favour,  or 
cumbered  you  with  our  society.  Since  your  fate  has  sent  you  hither  amongst  us,  be 
contented  with  such  fare  and  such  converse  as  we  can  afford  you,  and  scorn  us  not  for 
our  kindness ;  for  the  Scots  wear  short  patience  and  long  daggers." 

All  eyes  were  turned  on  Halbert  while  he  was  thus  speaking,  and  there  was  a  "-eneral 
feeling  that  his  countenance  had  an  expression  of  intelligence,  and  his  person  an  air  of 
dignity,  which  they  had  never  before  observed.  Whether  it  were  that  the  wonderful 
Being  with  whom  he  had  so  lately  held  communication,  had  bestowed  on  him  a  grace 
and  dignity  of  look  and  bearing  which  he  had  not  before,  or  whether  the  being  conversant 
in  high  matters,  and  called  to  a  destiny  beyond  that  of  other  men,  had  a  natural  effect  in 
giving  becoming  confidence  to  his  language  and  manner,  we  j^retend  not  to  determine. 
But  it  was  evident  to  all,  that,  from  this  day,  young  Halbert  was  an  altered  man ;  that 
he  acted  with  the  steadiness,  promptitude,  and  determination,  which  belonged  to  riper 
years,  and  bore  himself  with  a  manner  which  appertained  to  higher  rank. 

The  knight  took  the  rebuke  with  good  humour.  "  By  my  mine  honour,"  he  said 
^'  thou  hast  reason  on  thy  side,  good  juvenal — nevertheless,  I  spoke  not  as  in  ridicule 
of  the  roof  which  relieves  me,  but  rather  in  your  own  praise,  to  whom,  if  this  roof  be 
native,  thou  mayst  nevertheless  rise  from  its  lowliness ;  even  as  the  lark,  which  maketh 
its  humble  nest  in  the  furrow,  ascendeth  towards  the  sun,  as  well  as  the  eao^le  which 
buildeth  her  eyry  in  the  cliff." 

This  high-flown  discourse  was  interrupted  by  Dame  Glendinning,  who,  with  all  the 


busy  anxiety  of  a  mother,  was  loading  her  son's  trencher  with  food,  and  dinning  in  his 
ear  her  reproaches  on  account  of  his  prolonged  absence.  "  And  see,"  she  said,  "  that  you 
do  not  one  day  get  such  a  sight  while  you  are  walking  about  among  the  haunts  of  thera 
that  are  not  of  our  flesh  and  bone,  as  befell  Mungo  Murray  when  he  slept  on  the  green- 
sward ring  of  the  Auld  Kirkhill  at  sunset,  and  wakened  at  daybreak  in  the  wild  hills  of 
Breadalbane.  And  see  that,  when  you  are  looking  for  deer,  the  red  stag  does  not  gall 
you  as  he  did  Diccon  Thorburn,  who  never  overcast  the  wound  that  he  took  from  a 
buck's  horn.  And  see,  when  you  go  swaggering  about  with  a  long  broadsword  by  your 
side,  whilk  it  becomes  no  peaceful  man  to  do,  that  you  dinna  meet  with  them  that  have 
broadsword  and  lance  both — there  are  enow  of  rank  riders  in  this  land,  that  neither  fear 
God  nor  regard  man." 

Here  her  eye  "  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling,"  fell  full  upon  that  of  Christie  of  the  Clinthill, 
and  at  once  her  fears  for  having  given  offence  interrupted  the  current  of  maternal  rebuke, 
which,  like  rebuke  matrimonial,  may  be  often  better  meant  than  timed.  There  was 
something  of  sly  and  watchful  significance  in  Christie's  eye,  an  eye  gray,  keen,  fierce, 
yet  wily,  formed  to  express  at  once  cunning,  and  malice,  which  made  the  dame  instantly 
conjecture  she  had  said  too  much,  while  she  saw  in  imagination  her  twelve  goodly  cows 
go  lowing  down  the  glen  in  a  moonlight  night,  with  half  a  score  of  Border  spearsmen  at 
their  heels. 

Her  voice,  therefore,  sunk  from  the  elevated  tone  of  maternal  authority  into  a  whim- 
pering apologetic  sort  of  strain,  and  she  proceeded  to  say,  "  It  is  no  that  I  have  ony  ill 
thoughts  of  the  Border  riders,  for  Tibb  Tacket  there  has  often  heard  me  say  that  I 
thought  spear  and  bridle  as  natural  to  a  Borderman  as  a  pen  to  a  priest,  or  a  feather-fan 
to  a  lady;  and — have  you  not  heard  me  say  it,  Tibb?" 

Tibb  shewed  something  less  than  her  expected  alacrity  in  attesting  her  mistress's  deep 
respect  for  the  freebooters  of  the  southland  hills  ;  but,  thus  conjured,  did  at  length  reply, 
"  Hout  ay,  mistress,  I'se  warrant  I  have  heard  you  say  something  like  that." 

"Mother!"  said  Halbert,  in  a  firm  and  commanding  tone  of  voice,  "what  or  whom 
is  it  that  you  fear  under  my  father's  roof  ? — I  well  hope  that  it  harbours  not  a  guest  in 
whose  presence  you  are  afraid  to  say  your  pleasure  to  me  or  my  brother?  I  am  sorry 
I  have  been  detained  so  late,  being  ignorant  of  the  fair  company  which  I  should  encounter 
on  my  return. — I  pray  you  let  this  excuse  sufiice:  and  what  satisfies  you,  will,  I  trust, 
be  nothing  less  than  acceptable  to  your  guests." 

An  answer  calculated  so  justly  betwixt  the  submission  due  to  his  parent,  and  the 
natural  feeling  of  dignity  in  one  who  was  by  birth  master  of  the  mansion,  excited 
universal  satisfaction.  And  as  Elspeth  herself  confessed  to  Tibb  on  the  same  evening, 
"  She  did  not  think  it  had  been  in  the  callant.  Till  that  night,  he  took  pets  and 
passions  if  he  was  spoke  to,  and  lap  through  the  house  like  a  four-year-auld  at  the  least 
word  of  advice  that  was  minted  at  him,  but  now  he  spoke  as  grave  and  as  douce  as  the 
Lord  Abbot  himself.  She  kendna,"  she  said,  "  what  might  be  the  upshot  of  it,  but  it 
was  like  he  was  a  wonderfu'  callant  even  now." 

The  party  then  separated,  the  young  men  retiring  to  their  apartments,  the  elder  to 
their  household  cares.  "While  Christie  went  to  see  his  horse  properly  accommodated, 
Edward  betook  himself  to  his  book,  and  Halbert,  who  was  as  ingenious  in  employing  his 
bands  as  he  had  hitherto  appeared  imperfect  in  mental  exertion,  applied  himself  to  con- 
structing a  place  of  concealment  in  the  floor  of  his  apartment  by  raising  a  plank,  beneath 
which  he  resolved  to  deposit  that  copy  of  the  Holy  Scriptures  which  had  been  so  strangely 
regained  from  the  possession  of  men  and  spirits. 

In  the  meanwhile  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  sate  still  as  a  stone,  in  the  chair  in  which  he  had 
deposited  himself,  his  hands  folded  on  his  breast,  his  legs  stretched  straight  out  before 
him  and  resting  upon  the  heels,  his  eyes  cast  up  to  the  ceiling  as  if  he  had  meant  to  count 
every  mesh  of  every  cobweb  with  which  the  arched  roof  was  canopied,  wearing  at  the 



same  time  a  face  of  as  solemn  and  imperturbable  gravity,  as  if  Lis  existence  had  depended 
on  the  accuracy  of  his  calculation. 

He  could  scarce  be  roused  from  his  listless  state  of  contemplative  absorption  so  as  to 
take  some  supper,  a  meal  at  which  the  younger  females  appeared  not.  Sir  Piercie 
stared  around  twice  or  thrice  as  if  he  missed  something ;  but  he  asked  not  for  them,  and 
only  evinced  his  sense  of  a  proper  audience  being  wanting,  by  his  abstraction  and 
absence  of  mind,  seldom  speaking  until  he  was  twice  addressed,  and  then  replying, 
without  trope  or  figure,  in  that  plain  English,  which  nobody  could  speak  better  when 
he  had  a  mind. 

Christie,  finding  himself  in  undistui'bed  possession  of  the  conversation,  indulged  all 
who  chose  to  listen  with  details  of  his  own  wild  and  inglorious  warfare,  while  Dame 
Elspeth's  curch  bristled  with  horror,  and  Tibb  Tacket,  rejoiced  to  find  herself  once  more 
in  the  company  of  a  jackman,  listened  to  his  tales,  like  Desdemona  to  Othello's,  with 
undisguised  delight.  Meantime  the  two  young  Glendinnings  were  each  wrapped  up  in 
his  own  reflections,  and  only  interrupted  in  them  by  the  signal  to  move  bedward. 


©liaMtfir  U}t  MfUmt% 

He  strikes  no  coin,  'tis  true,  but  coins  new  phrases, 
And  vends  them  forth  as  knaves  vend  gilded  counters, 
Which  wise  men  scorn,  and  fools  accept -in  payment. 

Olb  Play. 

^^^£^^^^r(%  N  the  morning  Christie  of  the  Clinthill  was  nowliere  to  be  seen 

iV*;tei  f  <rv< ■"'■/'  this  worthy  per 


sonage  did  seldom  pique  himself  on  sounding  a  trumpet 

before  his  movements,  no  one  was  surprised  at  his  moonlight  departure, 

though  some  alarm  was  excited  lest  he  had  not  made  it  empty-handed. 

So,  in  the  language  of  the  national  ballad, 

Some  ran  to  clipboard,  and  some  to  kist. 
But  nought  was  away  that  could  be  mist. 

All  was  in  order,  the  key  of  the  stable  left  above  the  door,  and  that  of  the  iron- 
grate  in  the  inside  of  the  lock.  In  short,  the  retreat  had  been  made  with  scrupulous 
attention  to  the  security  of  the  garrison,  and  so  far  Christie  left  them  nothing  to 
complain  of. 

The  safety  of  the  premises  was  ascertained  by  Halbert,  who  instead  of  catching  up  a 
gun  or  cross-bow,  and  sallying  out  for  the  day  as  had  been  his  frequent  custom,  now, 
with  a  gravity  beyond  his  years,  took  a  survey  of  all  around  the  tower,  and  then  returned 
to  the  spence,  or  public  apartment,  in  which,  at  the  early  hour  of  seven,  the  morning 
meal  was  prepared. 

There  he  found  the  Euphuist  in  the  same  elegant  postui'e  of  abstruse  calculation  which 
he  had  exhibited  on  the  preceding  evening,  his  ai'ms  folded  in  the  same  angle,  his  eyes 
turned  up  to  the  same  cobwebs,  and  his  heels  resting  on  the  ground  as  before.     Tired  of 



this  affectation  of  indolent  importance,  and  not  much  flattered  with  his  guest's  perse- 
vering in  it  to  the  last,  Halbert  resolved  at  once  to  break  the  ice,  being  determined  to 
know  what  circumstance  had  brought  to  the  Tower  of  Glendinning  a  guest  at  once  so 
supercilious  and  so  silent. 

"  Sir  Knight,"  he  said  with  some  firmness,  "  I  have  twice  given  you  good  morning, 
to  which  the  absence  of  your  mind  hath,  I  presume,  prevented  you  from  yielding  atten- 
tion, or  from  making  return.  This  exchange  of  courtesy  is  at  your  pleasure  to  give  or 
withhold — But,  as  what  I  have  farther  to  say  concerns  your  comfort  and  your  motions  in  an 
especial  manner,  I  will  entreat  you  to  give  me  some  signs  of  attention,  that  I  may  be 
sure  I  am  not  wasting  my  words  on  a  monumental  image." 

At  this  unexpected  address,  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  opened  his  eyes,  and  afforded  the 
speaker  a  broad  stare ;  but  as  Halbert  returned  the  glance  without  either  confusion  or 
dismay,  the  knight  thought  proper  to  change  his  posture,  draw  in  his  legs,  raise  his  eyes, 
fix  them  on  young  Glendinning,  and  assume  the  appearance  of  one  who  listens  to  what 
is  said  to  him.  Nay,  to  make  his  purpose  more  evident,  he  gave  voice  to  his  resolution 
in  these  words,  "  Speak  !  we  do  hear." 

"  Sir  Knight,"  said  the  youth,  "  it  is  the  custom  of  this  Halidome,  or  patrimony  of 
St.  Mary's,  to  trouble  with  inquiries  no  guests  who  receive  our  hospitality,  providing  they 
tarry  in  our  house  only  for  a  single  revolution  of  the  sun.  "We  know  that  both  criminals 
and  debtors  come  hither  for  sanctuary,  and  we  scorn  to  extort  from  the  pilgrim,  whom 
chance  may  make  our  guest,  an  avowal  of  the  cause  of  his  pilgrimage  and  penance.  But 
w^hen  one  so  high  above  our  rank  as  yourself.  Sir  Knight,  and  especially  one  to  whom 
the  possession  of  such  pre-eminence  is  not  indifferent,  shews  his  determination  to  be  our 
guest  for  a  longer  time,  it  is  our  usage  to  inquire  of  him  whence  he  comes,  and  what  is 
the  cause  of  his  journey?" 

The  English  knight  gaped  twice  or  thrice  before  he  answered,  and  then  replied  in  a 
bantering  tone,  "  Truly,  good  villagio,  your  question  hath  in  it  somewhat  of  embarrass- 
ment, for  you  ask  me  of  things  concerning  which  I  am  not  as  yet  altogether  determined 
what  answer  I  may  find  it  convenient  to  make.  Let  it  suffice  thee,  kind  juvenal,  that 
thou  hast  the  Lord  Abbot's  authority  for  treating  me  to  the  best  of  that  power  of  thine, 
which,  indeed,  may  not  always  so  well  suffice  for  my  accommodation  as  either  of  us 
would  desire." 

"  I  must  have  a  more  precise  answer  than  this,  Sir  Knight,"  said  the  young  Glen- 

"  Friend,"  said  the  knight,  "  be  not  outrageous.  It  may  suit  your  northern  manners 
thus  to  press  harshly  upon  the  secrets  of  thy  betters ;  but  believe  me,  that  even  as  the 

lute,  struck  by  an  unskilful  hand,  doth  produce  discords,  so "     At  this  moment  the 

door  of  the  apartment  opened,  and  Mary  Avenel  presented  herself — "  But  who  can  talk 
of  discords,"  said  the  knight,  assuming  his  complimentary  vein  and  humour,  "  when  the 
soul  of  harmony  descends  upon  us  in  the  presence  of  surpassing  beauty !  For  even  as 
foxes,  wolves,  and  other  animals  void  of  sense  and  reason,  do  fly  from  the  presence  of  the 
resplendent  sun  of  heaven  when  he  arises  in  his  glory,  so  do  strife,  wrath,  and  all  ireful 
passions  retreat,  and,  as  it  were,  scud  away,  from  the  face  which  now  beams  upon 
us,  with  power  to  compose  our  angry  passions,  illuminate  our  errors  and  difficulties, 
soothe  our  wounded  minds,  and  lull  to  rest  our  disorderly  apprehensions  ;  for  as  the  heat 
and  warmth  of  the  eye  of  day  is  to  the  material  and  physical  w^orld,  so  is  the  eye  which 
I  now  bow  down  before  to  that  of  the  intellectual  microcosm." 

He  concluded  with  a  profound  bow  ;  and  Mary  Avenel,  gazing  from  one  to  the  other, 
and  plainly  seeing  that  something  w^as  amiss,  could  only  say,  "  For  heaven's  sake,  what 
is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  " 

The  newly-acquired  tact  and  intelligence  of  her  foster-brother  was  as  yet  insufficient 
to  enable  him  to  give  an  answer.     He  was  quite  uncertain  how  he  ought  to  deal  with  a 

Vol.  V.  K 


guest,  who,  preserving  a  singularly  high  tone  of  assumed  superiority  and  importance, 
seemed  nevertheless  so  little  serious  in  what  he  said,  that  it  was  quite  impossible  to 
discern  with  accuracy  whether  he  was  in  jest  or  earnest. 

Forming,  however,  the  internal  resolution  to  bring  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  to  a  reckoning 
at  a  more  fit  place  and  season,  he  resolved  to  prosecute  the  matter  no  farther  at 
present ;  and  the  entrance  of  his  mother  with  the  damsel  of  the  Mill,  and  the  return  of 
the  honest  Miller  from  the  stack-yard,  where  he  had  been  numbering  and  calculating 
the  probable  amount  of  the  season's  grist,  rendered  farther  discussion  impossible  for 
the  moment. 

In  the  course  of  the  calculation  it  could  not  but  strike  the  man  of  meal  and  grind- 
stones, that,  after  the  church's  dues  were  paid,  and  after  all  which  he  himself  could  by 
any  means  deduct  from  the  crop,  still  the  residue  which  must  revert  to  Dame  Glen- 
dinning  could  not  be  less  than  considerable.  I  wot  not  if  this  led  the  honest  Miller  to 
nourish  any  plans  similar  to  those  adopted  by  Elspeth ;  but  it  is  certain  that  he  accepted 
with  grateful  alacrity  an  invitation  which  the  dame  gave  to  his  daughter,  to  remain 
a  week  or  two  as  her  guest  at  Glendearg. 

The  principal  persons  being  thus  in  high  good  humour  with  each  other,  all  business 
gave  place  to  the  hilarity  of  the  morning  repast ;  and  so  much  did  Sir  Piercie  appear 
gratified  by  the  attention  which  was  paid  to  every  word  that  he  uttered  by  the  nut-brown 
Mysie,  that,  notwithstanding  his  high  bii-th  and  distinguished  quality,  he  bestowed  on 
her  some  of  the  more  ordinary  and  second-rate  tropes  of  his  elocution. 

Maiy  Avenel,  when  relieved  from  the  awkwardness  of  feeling  the  full  weight  of  his 
conversation  addressed  to  herself,  enjoyed  it  much  more  ;  and  the  good  knight,  encouraged 
by  those  conciliating  marks  of  approbation  from  the  sex,  for  whose  sake  he  cultivated  his 
oratorical  talents,  made  speedy  intimation  of  his  purpose  to  be  more  communicative  than 
he  had  shewn  himself  in  his  conversation  with  Halbert  Glendinning,  and  gave  them  to 
understand,  that  it  was  in  consequence  of  some  pressing  danger  that  he  was  at  present 
their  involuntary  guest. 

The  conclusion  of  the  breakfast  was  a  signal  for  the  separation  of  the  company.  The 
Miller  went  to  prepare  for  his  departure ;  his  daughter  to  arrange  matters  for  her  unex- 
pected stay;  Edward  was  summoned  to  consultation  by  Martin  concerning  some  agricul- 
tural matter,  in  which  Halbert  could  not  be  brought  to  interest  himself;  the  dame  left 
tiie  room  upon  her  household  concerns,  and  Mary  was  in  the  act  of  following  her,  when 
she  suddenly  recollected,  that  if  she  did  so,  the  strange  knight  and  Halbert  must  be  left 
alone  together,  at  the  risk  of  another  quarrel. 

The  maiden  no  sooner  observed  this  circumstance,  than  she  instantly  returned  from  the 
door  of  the  apartment,  and,  seating  herself  in  a  small  stone  window-seat,  resolved  to 
maintain  that  curb  which  she  was  sensible  her  presence  imposed  on  Halbert  Glendinning, 
of  whose  quick  temper  she  had  some  apprehensions. 

The  stranger  marked  her  motions,  and,  either  interpreting  them  as  inviting  his  society, 
or  obedient  to  those  laws  of  gallantry  which  permitted  him  not  to  leave  a  lady  in  silence 
and  solitude,  he  instantly  placed  himself  near  to  her  side  and  opened  the  conversation 
as  follows  : — • 

"  Credit  me,  fair  lady,"  he  said,  addressing  Mary  Avenel,  "  it  much  rejoiceth  me, 
being,  as  I  am,  a  banished  man  fi'om  the  delights  of  mine  own  country,  that  I  shall  find 
here,  in  this  obscure  and  silvan  cottage  of  the  north,  a  fair  form  and  a  candid  soul,  with 
whom  I  may  explain  my  mutual  sentiments.  And  let  me  pray  you  in  particular,  lovely 
lady,  that,  according  to  the  universal  custom  now  predominant  in  our  court,  the  garden  of 
superior  wits,  you  will  exchange  with  me  some  epithet  whereby  you  may  mark  ray 
devotion  to  your  service.  Be  henceforward  named,  for  example,  my  Protection,  and  let 
me  be  your  Aflfability." 

THE    5IOXASTERY.  123 

*=  Our  northern  and  country  manners,  Sir  Kniglit,  do  not  permit  us  to  exchan"-e 
epithets  with  those  to  whom  we  are  strangers,"  replied  Mary  Avenel. 

"  Nay,  but  see  now,"  said  the  knight,  "  how  you  are  startled  !  even  as  the  unbi^oken 
steed,  which  swerves  aside  from  the  shaking  of  a  handkerchief,  though  he  must  in  time 
encounter  the  waving  of  a  pennon.  This  courtly  exchange  of  epithets  of  honour,  is  no 
more  than  the  compliments  which  pass  between  valour  and  beauty,  wherever  they  meet, 
and  under  whatever  circumstances.  Elizabeth  of  England  herself  calls  Philij)  Sydney 
her  Courage,  and  he  in  return  calls  that  princess  his  Inspiration.  Wherefore,  my  fair 
Protection,  for  by  such  epithet  it  shall  be  mine  to  denominate  you " 

"  Xot  without  the  young  lady's  consent,  sir  I "  interrupted  Plalbcrt ;  "  most  truly  do 
I  hope  your  courtly  and  quaint  breeding  will  not  so  far  prevail  over  the  more  ordinary 
rules  of  civil  behaviour." 

"  Fair  tenant  of  an  indifferent  copyhold,"  replied  the  knight,  with  the  same  coolness 
and  civility  of  mien,  but  in  a  tone  somewhat  more  lofty  than  he  used  to  the  young  lady, 
"  we  do  not  in  the  southern  parts,  much  intermingle  discourse,  save  with  those  with 
whom  we  may  stand  on  some  footing  of  equality;  and  I  must,  in  all  discretion,  remind 
yon,  that  the  necessity  which  makes  us  inhabitants  of  the  same  cabin,  doth  not  place  us 
otherwise  on  a  level  with  each  other." 

"  By  Saint  Mary,"  replied  young  Glendinning,  "  it  is  my  thought  that  it  does ;  for 
plain  men  hold,  that  he  who  asks  the  shelter  is  indebted  to  him  who  gives  it ;  and  so  far 
therefore,  is  our  rank  equalized  while  this  roof  covers  us  both." 

"  Thou  art  altogether  deceived,"  answered  Sir  Piercie ;  "  and  that  thou  mayst  fully 
adapt  thyself  to  our  relative  condition,  know  that  I  account  not  myself  thy  guest,  but  that 
of  thy  master,  the  Lord  Abbot  of  Saint  Mary's,  who,  for  reasons  best  known  to  himself 
and  me,  chooseth  to  administer  his  hospitality  to  me  through  the  means  of  thee,  his 
servant  and  vassal,  who  art,  therefore,  in  good  truth,  as  passive  an  instrument  of  my 
accommodation  as  this  ill-made  and  rugged  joint-stool  on  which  I  sit,  or  as  the  wooden 
trencher  from  which  I  eat  my  coarse  commons.  "Wherefore,"  he  added,  turning  to  Mary, 
"fairest  mistress,  or  rather,  as  I  said  before,  most  lovely  Protection* " 

Mary  Avenel  was  about  to  reply  to  him,  when  the  stern,  fierce,  and  resentful  expres- 
sion of  voice  and  countenance  with  which  Halbert  exclaimed,  "  not  from  the  Kino-  of 
Scotland,  did  he  live,  would  I  brook  such  terms  ! "  induced  her  to  throw  herself  between 
him  and  the  stranger,  exclaiming,  "  for  God's  sake,  Halbert,  beware  what  you  do  I " 

"Fear  not,  fairest  Protection,"  replied  Sir  Piercie,  with  the  utmost  serenity,  "that 
1  can  be  provoked  by  this  rustical  and  mistaught  juvenal  to  do  aught  misbecoming  your 
presence  or  mine  own  dignity;  for  as  soon  shall  the  gunner's  linstock  give  fire  unto  the 
icicle,  as  the  spark  of  passion  inflame  my  blood,  tempered  as  it  is  to  serenity  by  the 
respect  due  to  the  presence  of  my  gracious  Protection." 

"You  may  well  call  her  your  protection,  Sir  Knight,"  said  Halbert;  "by  Saint 
Andrew,  it  is  the  only  sensible  word  I  have  heard  you  speak  !  But  we  may  meet  where 
her  protection  shall  no  longer  afford  you  shelter." 

"  Fairest  Protection,"  continued  the  courtier,  not  even  honouring  with  a  look,  far  less 
with  a  direct  reply,  the  threat  of  the  incensed  Halbert,  "doubt  not  that  thy  faithful 
Affability  will  be  more  commoved  by  the  speech  of  this  rudesby,  than  the  bright  and 

*  There  are  many  instances  to  be  met  with  in  the  ancient  dramas  of  this  whimsical  and  conceited  custom  of  persons  who 
formed  an  intimacj-,  distinguishing  each  other  by  some  quaint  epithet.  In  Erery  Man  out  of  his  Humour,  there  is  a  humorous 
debate  upon  names  most  fit  to  bind  the  relation  betwixt  Sogliardo  and  Caraliero  Shift,  wliich  ends  by  adopting  those  of 
Countenance  and  Resolution.  What  is  more  to  the  point  is  in  the  speech  of  Hedon,  a  voluptuary  and  a  courtier  in  Cynthia's 
Bevels.  "  You  know  that  I  call  Madam  Plilantia  my  Honour,  and  she  calls  me  her  Ambition.  Xow,  when  I  meet  her  in 
the  presence,  anon,  I  will  come  to  her  and  say,  '  Sweet  Honour,  I  have  hitherto  contented  my  sense  with  the  lilies  of  your 
hand,  and  now  I  will  taste  the  roses  of  your  lip.'  To  which  she  cannot  but  blushing  answer,  '  Nay,  now  you  are  too  ambitious ;' 
and  then  do  I  reply,  '  I  cannot  be  too  ambitious  of  Honour,  sweet  lady.  Wilt  not  be  good?'" — I  think  there  is  some  remnant 
of  this  fopperj'  preser\ed  in  masonic  lodges,  where  each  brother  is  distinguished  by  a  name  in  the  Lodge,  signifj-ing  some 
abstract  quality,  as  Discretion,  or  the  like.     See  the  poems  of  Ga\in  Wilson. 

K  2 


serene  moon  is  perturbed  by  the  baying  of  the  cottage-cur,  proud  of  the  height  of  his 
own  dunghill,  which,  in  his  conceit,  lifteth  him  nearer  unto  the  majestic  luminary." 

To  what  lengths  so  unsavoury  a  simile  might  have  driven  Halbert's  indignation,  is 
left  uncertain ;  for  at  that  moment  Edward  rushed  into  the  apartment  with  the  intelli- 
gence that  two  most  important  officers  of  the  Convent,  the  Kitchener  and  Refectioner, 
were  just  arrived  with  a  sumpter-mule,  loaded  with  provisions,  announcing  that  the 
Lord  Abbot,  the  Sub-Prior,  and  the  Sacristan,  were  on  their  way  thither.  A  circum- 
stance so  very  extraordinary  had  never  been  recorded  in  the  annals  of  Saint  Mary's,  or 
in  the  traditions  of  Glendearg,  though  there  was  a  faint  legendary  report  that  a  certain 
Abbot  had  dined  there  in  old  days,  after  having  been  bewildered  in  a  hunting  expedition 
amongst  the  wilds  which  lie  to  the  northward.  But  that  the  present  Lord  Abbot  should 
have  taken  a  voluntary  journey  to  so  wild  and  dreary  a  spot,  the  very  Kamtschatka  of 
the  Halidome,  was  a  thing  never  dreamt  of ;  and  the  news  excited  the  greatest  surprise 
in  all  the  members  of  the  family  saving  Halbert  alone. 

This  fiery  youth  was  too  full  of  the  insult  he  had  received  to  think  of  anything  as 
unconnected  with  it.  "  I  am  glad  of  it,"  he  exclaimed ;  "  I  am  glad  the  Abbot  comes 
hither.  I  will  know  of  him  by  what  right  this  stranger  is  sent  hither  to  domineer  over 
us  under  our  father's  roof,  as  if  we  were  slaves  and  not  freemen.  I  will  tell  the  proud 
priest  to  his  beard " 

"  Alas !  alas  !  my  brother,"  said  Edward,  "  think  what  these  words  may  cost  thee !" 

"  And  what  will,  or  what  can  they  cost  me,"  said  Halbert,  "  that  I  should  sacrifice  my 
human  feelings  and  my  justifiable  resentment  to  the  fear  of  what  the  Abbot  can  do?" 

"  Our  mother — our  mother  ! "  exclaimed  Edward ;  "  think,  if  she  is  deprived  of  her 
home,  expelled  from  her  property,  how  can  you  amend  what  your  rashness  may  ruin?" 

"  It  is  too  true,  by  Heaven  ! "  said  Halbert,  striking  his  forehead.  Then,  stamping 
his  foot  against  the  floor  to  express  the  full  energy  of  the  passion  to  which  he  dared  no 
longer  give  vent,  he  turned  round  and  left  the  apartment. 

Mary  Avenel  looked  at  the  stranger  knight,  while  she  was  endeavouring  to  frame 
a  request  that  he  would  not  report  the  intemperate  violence  of  her  foster-brother  to  the 
prejudice  of  his  family,  in  the  mind  of  the  Abbot.  But  Sir  Piercie,  the  very  pink  of 
courtesy,  conjectured  her  meaning  from  her  embarrassment,  and  waited  not  to  be 

"  Credit  me,  fairest  Protection,"  said  he,  "  your  Affability  is  less  than  capable  of 
seeing  or  hearing,  far  less  of  reciting  or  reiterating,  aught  of  an  unseemly  nature  which 
may  have  chanced  while  I  enjoyed  the  Elysium  of  your  presence.  The  winds  of  idle 
passion  may  indeed  rudely  agitate  the  bosom  of  the  rude ;  but  the  heart  of  the  courtier 
is  polished  to  resist  them.  As  the  frozen  lake  receives  not  the  influence  of  the  breeze, 
even  so " 

The  voice  of  Dame  Glendinning,  in  shrill  summons,  here  demanded  Mary  Avenel's 
attendance,  who  instantly  obeyed,  not  a  little  glad  to  escape  from  the  compliments  and 
similes  of  this  courtlike  gallant.  Nor  was  it  apparently  less  a  relief  on  his  part ;  for  no 
sooner  was  she  past  the  threshold  of  the  room,  than  he  exchanged  the  look  of  formal  and 
elaborate  politeness  which  had  accompanied  each  word  he  had  uttered  hitherto,  for  an 
expression  of  the  utmost,  lassitude  and  ennui ;  and  after  indulging  in  one  or  two 
portentous  yawns,  broke  forth  into  a  soliloquy. 

"  What  the  foul  fiend  sent  this  wench  hither?  As  if  it  were  not  sufficient  plague  to  be 
harboured  in  a  hovel  that  would  hardly  serve  for  a  dog's  kennel  in  England,  baited  by  a 
rude  peasant-boy,  and  dependent  on  the  faith  of  a  mercenary  ruffian,  but  I  cannot  even 
have  time  to  muse  over  my  own  mishap,  but  must  come  aloft,  frisk,  fidget,  and  make 
speeches,  to  please  this  pale  hectic  phantom,  because  she  has  gentle  blood  in  her  veins  1 
By  mine  honour,  setting  prejudice  aside,  the  mill- wench  is  the  more  attractive  of  the  two 
— But  patienza,  Piercie  Shafton;  thou  must  not  lose  thy  well-earned  claim  to  be  accounted 


a  devout  servant  of  the  fair  sex,  a  witty-brained,  prompt,  and  accomplished  courtier. 
Rather  thank  heaven,  Piercie  Shafton,  which  hath  sent  thee  a  subject,  wherein,  without 
derogating  from  thy  rank,  (since  the  honours  of  the  Avenel  family  are  beyond  dispute,) 
thou  mayest  find  a  whetstone  for  thy  witty  compliments,  a  strop  whereon  to  sharpen  thine 
acute  ingine,  a  butt  whereat  to  shoot  the  arrows  of  thy  gallantry.     For  even  as  a  Bilboa 

blade,  the  more  it  is  rubbed,  the  brighter  and  the  sharper  will  it  prove,  so But  what 

need  I  waste  my  stock  of  similitudes  in  holding  converse  with  myself? — Yonder  comes 
the  monkish  retinue,  like  some  half  score  of  crows  winging  their  way  slowly  up  the  valley — 
I  hope,  a'gad,  they  have  not  forgotten  my  trunk-mails  of  apparel  amid  the  ample  provision 
they  have  made  for  their  own  belly-timber — Mercy,  a'gad,  I  were  finely  holped  up  if  the 
vesture  has  miscarried  among  the  the  thievish  Borderers ! " 

Stung  by  this  reflection,  he  ran  hastily  down  stairs,  and  caused  his  horse  to  be  saddled, 
that  he  might,  as  soon  as  possible,  ascertain  this  important  point,  by  meeting  the  Lord 
Abbot  and  his  retinue  as  they  came  up  the  glen.  He  had  not  ridden  a  mile  before  he 
met  them  advancing  with  the  slowness  and  decorum  which  became  persons  of  their 
dignity  and  profession.  The  knight  failed  not  to  greet  the  Lord  Abbot  with  all  the 
formal  compliments  with  which  men  of  rank  at  that  period  exchanged  courtesies.  He 
had  the  good  fortune  to  find  that  his  mails  were  numbered  among  the  train  of  basrsraffe 
which  attended  upon  the  party;  and,  satisfied  in  that  particular,  he  turned  his  horse's 
head,  and  accompanied  the  Abbot  to  the  Tower  of  Glendearg. 

Great,  in  the  meanwhile,  had  been  the  turmoil  of  the  good  Dame  Elspeth  and  her 
coadjutors,  to  prepare  for  the  fitting  reception  of  the  Father  Lord  Abbot  and  his  retinue. 
The  monks  had  indeed  taken  care  not  to  trust  too  much  to  the  state  of  her  pantry;  but  she 
was  not  the  less  anxious  to  make  such  additions  as  might  enable  her  to  claim  the  thanks 
of  her  feudal  lord  and  spiritual  father.  Meeting  Halbert,  as,  with  his  blood  on  fire,  he 
returned  from  his  altercation  with  her  guest,  she  commanded  him  instantly  to  go  forth  to 
the  hill,  and  not  to  return  without  venison ;  reminding  him  that  he  was  apt  enough  to  go 
thither  for  his  own  pleasure,  and  must  now  do  so  for  the  credit  of  the  house. 

The  Miller,  who  was  now  hastening  his  journey  homewards,  promised  to  send  up  some 
salmon  by  his  own  servant.  Dame  Elspeth,  who  by  this  time  thought  she  had  guests 
enough,  had  begun  to  repent  of  her  invitation  to  poor  Mysie,  and  was  just  considering 
by  what  means,  short  of  giving  offence,  she  could  send  off"  the  Maid  of  the  Mill  behind 
her  father,  and  adjourn  all  her  own  aerial  architecture  till  some  future  opportunity,  when 
this  unexpected  generosity  on  the  part  of  the  sire  rendered  any  present  attempt  to  return 
his  daughter  on  his  hands  too  liighly  ungracious  to  be  farther  thought  on.  So  the 
Miller  departed  alone  on  his  homeward  journey. 

Dame  Elspeth's  sense  of  hospitality  proved  in  this  instance  its  own  reward;  for 
Mysie  had  dwelt  too  near  the  Convent  to  be  altogether  ignorant  of  the  noble  art  of  cookery, 
which  her  father  patronized  to  the  extent  of  consuming  on  festival  days  such  dainties  as 
his  daughter  could  prepare  in  emulation  of  the  luxuries  of  the  Abbot's  kitchen.  Laying 
aside,  therefore,  her  holiday  kirtle,  and  adopting  a  dress  more  suitable  to  the  occasion, 
the  good-humoured  maiden  bared  her  snowy  arms  above  the  elbows;  and,  as  Elspeth 
acknowledged,  in  the  language  of  the  time  and  country,  took  "  entire  and  aefauld  part 
with  her"  in  the  labours  of  the  day;  shewing  unparalleled  talent,  and  indefatigable 
industry,  in  the  preparation  of  viorti^eux,  hlanc -manger,  and  heaven  knows  what  delicacies 
besides,  which  Dame  Glendinning,  unassisted  by  her  skill,  dared  not  even  have  dreamt 
of  presenting. 

Leaving  this  able  substitute  in  the  kitchen,  and  regretting  that  Mary  Avenel  was  so 
brought  up,  that  she  could  intrust  nothing  to  her  care,  unless  it  might  be  seeing  the  great 
chamber  strewed  with  rushes,  and  ornamented  with  such  flowers  and  branches  as  the  season 
afforded.  Dame  Elspeth  hastily  donned  her  best  attire,  and  with  a  beating  heart  presented 
herself  at  the  door  of  her  little  tower,  to  make  her  obeisance  to  the  Lord  Abbot  as  he 



crossed  her  humble  threshold,  Edward  stood  by  his  mother,  and  felt  the  same  palpitation, 
which  his  philosophy  was  at  a  loss  to  account  for.  He  was  yet  to  learn  how  long  it  is 
ere  our  reason  is  enabled  to  triumph  over  the  force  of  external  circumstances,  and  how 
much  our  feelings  are  affected  by  novelty,  and  blunted  by  use  and  habit. 

On  the  present  occasion,  he  witnessed  with  wonder  and  awe  the  approach  of  some  half- 
score  of  riders,  sober  men  upon  sober  palfreys,  muffled  in  their  long  black  garments,  and 
only  relieved  by  their  white  scapularies,  shewing  more  like  a  funeral  procession  than 
aught  else,  and  not  quickening  their  pace  beyond  that  which  permitted  easy  conversation 
and  easy  digestion.  The  sobriety  of  the  scene  was  indeed  somewhat  enlivened  by  the 
presence  of  Sir  Piercie  Shafton,  who,  to  shew  that  his  skill  in  the  manege  was  not 
inferior  to  his  other  accomplishments,  kept  alternately  pressing  and  checking  his  gay 
courser,  forcing  him  to  piaffe,  to  caracole,  to  passage,  and  to  do  all  the  other  feats  of  the 
school,  to  the  great  annoyance  of  the  Lord  Abbot,  the  wonted  sobriety  of  whose  palfrey 
became  at  length  discomposed  by  the  vivacity  of  its  companion,  while  the  dignitary 
kept  crying  out  in  bodily  alarm,  "  I  do  pray  you,  sir — Sir  Knight — good  now,  Sir 
Piercie — Be  quiet,  Benedict,  there  is  a  good  steed — soh,  poor  fellow!"  and  uttering 
all  the  other  precatory  and  soothing  exclamations  by  which  a  timid  horseman  usually 
besjieaks  the  favour  of  a  frisky  companion,  or  of  his  own  unquiet  nag,  and  concluding 
the  bead-roll  with  a  sincere  Deo  gratias  so  soon  as  he  alighted  in  the  court-yard  of 
the  Tower  of  Glendearg. 

The  inhabitants  unanimously  knelt  down  to  kiss  the  hand  of  the  Lord  Abbot,  a 
ceremony  which  even  the  monks  were  often  condemned  to.  Good  Abbot  Boniface  was 
too  much  fluttered  by  the  incidents  of  the  latter  part  of  his  journey,  to  go  tln-ough  this 
ceremony  with  much  solemnity,  or  indeed  with  much  patience.  He  kept  wiping  his  brow 
with  a  snow'white  handkerchief  with  one  hand,  while  another  was  abandoned  to  the 
homage  of  his  vassals;  and  then  signing  the  cross  with  his  outstretched  arm,  and  exclaiming, 
"  Bless  ye — bless  ye,  my  children!"  he  hastened  into  the  house,  and  murmured  not  a  little 
at  the  darkness  and  steepness  of  the  rugged  winding  stair,  whereby  he  at  length  scaled 
the  spence  destined  for  his  entertainment,  and,  ovei-come  with  fatigue,  threw  himself,  I 
do  not  say  into  an  easy  chair,  but  into  the  easiest  the  apartment  afforded. 


A  courtier  extraordinarj-,  who  by  diet 

Of  meats  and  drinks,  his  temperate  exercise, 

Choice  music,  frequent  bath,  his  horary  shifts 

Of  shirts  and  waistcoat?,  means  to  immortalize 

Mortahty  itself,  and  makes  the  essence 

Of  his  whole  happiness  the  trim  of  court. 

Magnetic  Lady. 

-^  HEN  the  Lord  Abbot  had  suddenly  and  superciliously  vanished  from 
^  the  eyes  of  his  expectant  vassals,  the  Sub-Prior  made  amends  for  the 
negligence  of  his  principal,  by  the  kind  and  affectionate  greeting  which  he 
gave  to  all  the  members  of  the  family,  but  especially  to  Dame  Elspeth, 
her  foster-daughter,  and  her  son  Edward.  "  T\"]iere,"  he  even  condescended 
to  inquire,  "is  that  naughty  Isimrod,  Halbert? — He  hath  not  yet,  I  trust, 
turned,  like  his  great  prototype,  his  hunting-spear  against  man ! " 

"  O  no,  an  it  please  your  reverence,"  said  Dame  Glendinning,  "  Halbert  is  up  at  the 
glen  to  get  some  venison,  or  surely  he  would  not  have  been  absent  when  such  a  day  of 
honour  dawned  upon  me  and  mine." 

"  Oh,  to  get  savoury  meat,  such  as  our  soul  loveth,"  muttered  the  Sub-Prior;  "  it  has 
been  at  times  an  acceptable  gift. — I  bid  you  good  morrow,  my  good  dame,  as  I  must 
attend  upon  his  lordship  the  Father  Abbot." 

"  And  O,  reverend  sir,"  said  the  good  widow,  detaining  him,  "if  it  might  be  your 
pleasure  to  take  part  with  us  if  there  is  any  thing  wrong;  and  if  there  is  any  thing 
wanted,  to  say  that  it  is  just  coming,  or  to  make  some  excuses  your  learning  best  knows 
how.  Every  bit  of  vassail  and  silver  work  have  we  been  spoiled  of  since  Pinkie  Cleuch, 
when  I  lost  poor  Simon  Glendinning,  that  was  the  warst  of  a'." 

"  Never  mind — never  fear,"  said  the  Sub-Prior,  gently  extricating  his  garment  from 


the  anxious  grasp  of  Dame  Elspeth,  "  the  Eefectioner  has  with  him  the  Abbot's  plate  and 
drinking  cups;  and  I  pray  you  to  believe  that  whatever  is  short  in  your  entertainment 
will  be  deemed  amply  made  up  in  your  good-will." 

So  saying,  he  escaped  from  her  and  went  into  the  spence,  where  such  preparations  as 
haste  permitted  were  making  for  the  noon  collation  of  the  Abbot  and  the  English 
knight.  Here  he  found  the  Lord  Abbot,  for  whom  a  cushion,  composed  of  all  the  plaids 
in  the  house,  had  been  unable  to  render  Simon's  huge  elbow-chair  a  soft  or  comfortable 
place  of  rest. 

"Benedicite!"  said  Abbot  Boniface,  "now  marry  fie  upon  these  hard  benches  with  all 
my  heart — they  are  as  uneasy  as  the  scaheUa  of  our  novices.  Saint  Jude  be  with  us, 
Sir  Knight,  how  have  you  contrived  to  pass  over  the  night  in  this  dungeon?  An  your 
bed  was  no  softer  than  your  seat,  you  might  as  well  have  slept  on  the  stone  couch  of 
Saint  Pacomius.  After  trotting  a  full  ten  miles,  a  man  needs  a  softer  seat  than  has  fallen 
to  my  hard  lot." 

With  sympathizing  fiices,  the  Sacristan  and  the  Refectioner  ran  to  raise  the  Lord 
Abbot,  and  to  adjust  his  seat  to  his  mind,  which  was  at  length  accomplished  in  some  sort, 
although  he  continued  alternately  to  bewail  his  fatigue,  and  to  exult  in  the  conscious 
sense  of  having  discharged  an  arduous  duty.  "  You  errant  cavaliers,"  said  he,  addressing 
the  knight,  "may  now  perceive  that  others  have  their  travail  and  their  toils  to  undergo 
as  well  as  your  honoured  faculty.  And  this  I  will  say  for  myself  and  the  soldiers  of  Saint 
Mary,  among  Avhom  I  may  be  termed  captain,  that  it  is  not  our  wont  to  flinch  from  the 
heat  of  the  service,  or  to  withdraw  from  the  good  fight.  No,  by  Saint  Mai'y ! — no  sooner 
did  I  learn  that  you  were  here,  and  dared  not  for  certain  reasons  come  to  the  Monastery, 
where,  with  as  good  will,  and  with  more  convenience,  we  might  have  given  you  a  better 
reception,  than,  striking  the  table  with  my  hammer,  I  called  a  brother — Timothy,  said  I, 
let  them  saddle  Benedict — let  them  saddle  my  black  palfrey,  and  bid  the  Sub-Prior  and 
some  half-score  of  attendants  be  in  readiness  to-morrow  after  matins — we  would  ride  to 
Glendearg. — Brother  Timothy  stared,  thinking,  I  imagine,  that  his  ears  had  scarce  done 
him  justice — but  I  repeated  my  commands,  and  said.  Let  the  Kitchener  and  Refectionei* 
go  before  to  aid  the  poor  vassals  to  whom  the  place  belongs  in  making  a  suitable  collation. 
So  that  you  will  consider,  good  Sir  Piercie,  our  mutual  incommodities,  and  forgive 
whatever  you  may  find  amiss." 

"By  my  faith,"  said  Sir  Piercie  Shafton,  "there  is  nothing  to  forgive — If  you 
spiritual  warriors  have  to  submit  to  the  grievous  incommodities  which  your  lordship 
narrates,  it  would  ill  become  me,  a  sinful  and  secular  man,  to  complain  of  a  bed  as  hard 
as  a  board,  of  broth  which  relished  as  if  made  of  burnt  wool,  of  flesh,  which,  in  its  sable 
and  singed  shape,  seemed  to  put  me  on  a  level  with  Richard  Coeur-de-Lion,  when  he  ate 
up  the  head  of  a  Moor  carbonadoed,  and  of  other  viands  savouring  rather  of  the  I'usticity 
of  this  northern  region." 

"  By  the  good  Saints,  sir,"  said  the  Abbot,  somewhat  touched  in  point  of  his  character 
for  hospitality,  of  which  he  was  in  truth  a  most  faithful  and  zealous  professor,  "  it  grieves 
me  to  the  heart  that  you  have  found  our  vassals  no  better  provided  for  your  reception- 
Yet  I  crave  leave  to  observe,  that  if  Sir  Piercie  Shafton's  affairs  had  permitted  him 
to  honour  with  his  company  our  poor  house  of  Saint  Mary's,  he  might  have  had  less  to 
complain  of  in  respect  of  easements." 

"  To  give  your  lordship  the  reasons,"  said  Sir  Piercie  Shafton,  "  why  I  could  not  at 
this  present  time  approach  your  dwelling,  or  avail  myself  of  its  well-known  and  undoubted 
hospitality,  craves  either  some  delay,  or,"  looking  around  him,  "  a  limited  audience." 

The  Lord  Abbot  immediately  issued  his  mandate  to  the  Refectioner  :  "  Hie  thee  to 
the  kitchen.  Brother  Hilarius,  and  there  make  inquiry  of  our  brother  the  Kitchener, 
within  what  time  he  opines  that  our  collation  may  be  prepared,  since  sin  and  sorrow  it 
wei-e,  considering  the  hardships  of  this  noble  and  gallant  knight,  no  whit  mentioning  or 


weiglilng  those  we  ourselves  have  endured,  if  we  were  now  either  to  advance  or  retard 
the  hour  of  refection  beyond  the  time  when  the  viands  are  fit  to  be  set  before  us." 

Brother  Hilarius  parted  with  an  eager  alertness  to  execute  the  will  of  his  Superior, 
and  returned  with  the  assurance,  that  punctually  at  one  afternoon  would  the  collation  be 

"  Before  that  time,"  said  the  accurate  Refectioner,  "  the  wafers,  flamms,  and  pastry- 
meat,  will  scarce  have  had  the  just  degree  of  fire  which  learned  pottingers  prescribe  as 
fittest  for  the  body;  and  if  it  should  be  past  one  o'clock,  were  it  but  ten  minutes,  our 
brother  the  Kitchener  opines,  that  the  haunch  of  venison  would  suffer  in  spite  of  the 
skill  of  the  little  turn-broche  whom  he  has  recommended  to  your  holiness  by  his  praises." 
"  How  !"  said  the  Abbot,  "  a  haunch  of  venison  ! — from  whence  comes  that  dainty? 
I  remember  not  thou  didst  intimate  its  presence  in  thy  hamper  of  vivers." 

"  So  please  your  holiness  and  lordship,"  said  the  Refectioner,  "  he  is  a  son  of  the 
woman  of  the  house  who  hath  shot  it  and  sent  it  in — killed  but  now ;  yet,  as  the  animal 
heat  hath  not  left  the  body,  the  Kitchener  undertakes  it  shall  eat  as  tender  as  a  young 
chicken — and  this  youth  hath  a  special  gift  in  shooting  deer,  and  never  misses  the  heart 
or  the  brain  ;  so  that  the  blood  is  not  driven  through  the  flesh,  as  happens  too  often  with 
us.     It  is  a  hart  of  grease — your  holiness  has  seldom  seen  such  a  haunch." 

"  Silence,  Brother  Hilarius,"  said  the  Abbot,  wiping  his  mouth  ;  "  it  is  not  beseeming 
our  oi'der  to  talk  of  food  so  earnestly,  especially  as  we  must  oft  have  our  animal  powers 
exhausted  by  fasting,  and  be  accessible  (as  being  ever  mere  mortals)  to  those  signs  of 
longing  "  (he  again  wiped  his  mouth)  "  which  arise  on  the  mention  of  victuals  to  an 
hungry  man. — Minute  down,  however,  the  name  of  that  youth — it  is  fitting  merit  should 
be  rewarded,  and  he  shall  hereafter  be  a  frater  ad  succurrendum  in  the  kitchen  and 

"  Alas  !  reverend  Father,  and  my  good  lord,"  replied  the  Refectioner,  "  I  did  inquire 
after  the  youth,  and  I  learn  he  is  one  who  prefers  the  casque  to  the  cowl,  and  the  sword 
of  the  flesh  to  the  weapons  of  the  spirit." 

"  And  if  it  be  so,"  said  the  Abbot,  "  see  that  thou  retain  him  as  a  deputy-keeper  and 
man-at-arms,  and  not  as  a  lay  brother  of  the  Monastery — for  old  Tallboy,  our  forester, 
waxes  dim-eyed,  and  hath  twice  spoiled  a  noble  buck,  by  hitting  him  unwarily  on  the 
haunch.  Ah  !  'tis  a  foul  fault,  the  abusing  by  evil-killing,  evil-dressing,  evil-appetite,  or 
otherwise,  the  good  creatures  indulged  to  us  for  our  use.  Wherefore,  secure  us  the 
service  of  this  youth,  Brother  Hilarius,  in  the  way  that  may  best  suit  him. — And  now, 
Sir  Piercie  Shafton,  since  the  fates  have  assigned  us  a  space  of  well-nigh  an  hour,  ere  we 
dare  hope  to  enjoy  more  than  the  vapour  or  savour  of  our  repast,  may  I  pray  you,  of 
your  courtesy,  to  tell  me  the  cause  of  this  visit ;  and,  above  all,  to  inform  us,  why  you 
will  not  approach  our  more  pleasant  and  better  furnished  hospitium?" 

"  Reverend  Father,  and  my  very  good  lord,"  said  Sir  Piercie  Shafton,  "  it  is  well 
known  to  your  wisdom,  that  there  are  stone  walls  which  have  ears,  and  that  secrecy  is  to 
be  looked  to  in  matters  which  concern  a  man's  head." 

The  Abbot  signed  to  his  attendants,  excepting  the  Sub-Prior,  to  leave  the  room,  and 
then  said,  "  Your  valour.  Sir  Piercie,  may  freely  unburden  yourself  before  our  faithful 
friend  and  counsellor  Father  Eustace,  the  benefits  of  whose  advice  we  may  too  soon  lose, 
inasmuch  as  his  merits  will  speedily  recommend  him  to  an  higher  station,  in  which,  we 
trust,  he  may  find  the  blessing  of  a  friend  and  adviser  as  valuable  as  himself,  since  I  may 
say  of  him,  as  our  claustral  rhyme  goeth,* 

'  Dixit  Abbas  ad  prioris, 
Tu  es  homo  boni  moris, 
Quia  semper  sanioris 
Mihi  das  concilia.' 

The  rest  of  this  doggerel  rhyme  may  be  found  in  Fosbrooke's  learned  work  on  British  Monacliism. 


Indeed,"  he  added,  "  the  office  of  Sub-Prior  is  altogether  beneath  our  dear  brother ;  nor 
can  we  elevate  him  unto  that  of  Prior,  which,  for  certain  reasons,  is  at  present  kept  vacant 
amongst  us.  Howbeit,  Father  Eustace  is  fully  possessed  of  my  confidence,  and  worthy  of 
yours,  and  well  may  it  be  said  of  him,  Intravit  in  secretis  nostris." 

Sir  Piercie  Shafton  bowed  to  the  reverend  brethren,  and,  heaving  a  sigh,  as  if  he  would 
have  burst  his  steel  cuirass,  he  thus  commenced  his  speech  :  — 

"  Certes,  reverend  sirs,  I  may  well  heave  such  a  suspiration,  who  have,  as  it  were, 
exchanged  heaven  for  purgatory,  leaving  the  lightsome  sphere  of  the  royal  court  of 
England,  for  a  remote  nook  in  this  inaccessible  desert — quitting  the  tilt-yard,  where 
I  was  ever  ready  among  my  compeers  to  splinter  a  lance,  either  for  the  love  of  honour, 
or  for  the  honour  of  love,  in  order  to  couch  my  knightly  spear  against  base  and  pilfering 
besognios  and  marauders — exchanging  the  lighted  halls,  wherein  I  used  nimbly  to  pace 
the  swift  coranto,  or  to  move  with  a  loftier  grace  in  the  stately  galliard,  for  this  rugged 
and  decayed  dungeon  of  rusty-coloured  stone — quitting  the  gay  theatre,  for  the  solitary 
chimney-nook  of  a  Scottish  dog-house — bartering  the  sounds  of  the  soul-ravishing  lute, 
and  the  love-awakening  viol-de-gamba,  for  the  discordant  squeak  of  a  northern  bagpipe — 
above  all,  exchanging  the  smiles  of  those  beauties,  who  form  a  galaxy  around  the  throne 
of  England,  for  the  cold  courtesy  of  an  untaught  damsel,  and  the  bewildered  stare  of  a 
miller's  maiden.  More  might  I  say,  of  the  exchange  of  the  conversation  of  gallant 
knights  and  gay  courtiers  of  mine  own  order  and  capacity,  whose  conceits  are  bright 
and  vivid  as  the  lightning,  for  that  of  monks  and  churchmen — but  it  were  discourteous 
to  urge  that  topic." 

The  Abbot  listened  to  this  list  of  complaints  with  great  round  eyes,  which  evinced  no 
exact  intelligence  of  the  orator's  meaning  ;  and  when  the  knight  paused  to  take  breath, 
he  looked  with  a  doubtful  and  inquiring  eye  at  the  Sub- Prior,  not  well  knowing  in  what 
tone  he  should  reply  to  an  exordium  so  extraordinary.  The  Sub-Prior  accordingly 
stepped  in  to  the  relief  of  his  principal. 

"  We  deeply  sympathize  with  you,  Sir  Knight,  in  the  several  mortifications  and  hard- 
ships to  which  fate  has  subjected  you,  particulai-ly  in  that  which  has  thrown  you  into  the 
society  of  those,  who,  as  they  were  conscious  they  deserved  not  such  an  honour,  so 
neither  did  they  at  all  desire  it.  But  all  this  goes  little  way  to  expound  the  cause  of 
this  train  of  disasters,  or,  in  plainer  words,  the  reason  which  has  compelled  you  into 
a  situation  having  so  few  charms  for  you." 

"  Gentle  and  reverend  sir,"  replied  the  knight,  "  forgive  an  unhappy  person,  who,  in 
giving  a  history  of  his  miseries,  dilateth  upon  them  extremely,  even  as  he  who,  having 
fallen  from  a  precipice,  looketh  upward  to  measure  the  height  from  which  he  hath  been 

"  Yea,  but,"  said  Father  Eustace,  "  methinks  it  were  wiser  in  him  to  tell  those  who 
come  to  lift  him  up,  which  of  his  bones  have  been  broken." 

"  You,  reverend  sir,"  said  the  knight,  "  have,  in  the  encounter  of  our  wits,  made  a 
fair  attaint ;  whereas  I  may  be  in  some  sort  said  to  have  broken  my  staff  across,*  Pardon 
me,  grave  sir,  that  I  speak  the  language  of  the  tilt-yard,  which  is  doubtless  strange  to 
your  reverend  ears. — Ah  !  brave  resort  of  the  noble,  the  fair  and  the  gay  ! — Ah  !  throne 
of  love,  and  citadel  of  honour  ! — Ah  !  celestial  beauties,  by  whose  bright  eyes  it  is  graced  ! 
Never  more  shall  Piercie  Shafton  advance,  as  the  centre  of  your  radiant  glances,  couch 
his  lance,  and  spur  his  horse  at  the  sound  of  the  spirit-stirring  trumpets,  nobly  called 
the  voice  of  war — never  more  shall  he  baffle  his  adversary's  encounter  boldly,  break 
his  spear  dexterously,  and  ambling  around  the  lovely  circle,  receive  the  rewards  with 
which  beauty  honours  chivalry  ! " 

*  Attaint  vras  a  terra  of  tilting  used  to  express  the  champion's  having  att(iincd\\\5ma.x\,  or,  in  other  words,  struck  liis  lance 
straight  and  fair  against  the  helmet  or  breast  of  his  adversary.  Whereas  to  break  the  lance  across,  intimated  a  total  failure  in 
directing  the  point  of  the  weapon  on  the  object  of  his  aim. 


Here  he  paused,  wrung  his  hands,  looked  upwards,  and  seemed  lost  in  contemplation 
of  his  own  fallen  fortunes. 

"  Mad,  very  mad,"  whispered  the  Abbot  to  the  Sub-Prior ;  "  I  would  we  were  fairly- 
rid  of  him;  for,  of  a  truth,  I  expect  he  will  proceed  from  raving  to  mischief — Were  it 
not  better  to  call  up  the  rest  of  the  brethren?" 

But  the  Sub-Prior  knew  better  than  his  Superior  how  to  distinguish  the  jargon  of 
affectation  from  the  ravings  of  insanity,  and  although  the  extremity  of  the  knight's 
passion  seemed  altogether  fantastic,  yet  he  was  not  ignorant  to  what  extravagancies  the 
fashion  of  the  day  can  conduct  its  votaries. 

Allowing,  therefore,  two  minutes'  space  to  permit  the  knight's  enthusiastic  feelings  to 
exhaust  themselves,  he  again  gravely  reminded  him  that  the  Lord  Abbot  had  taken  a 
journey,  unwonted  to  his  age  and  habits,  solely  to  learn  in  what  he  could  serve  Sir  Piercie 
Shafton — that  it  was  altogether  impossible  he  could  do  so  without  his  receiving  distinct 
information  of  the  situation  in  which  he  had  now  sought  refuge  in  Scotland. — "  The  day 
wore  on,"  he  observed,  looking  at  the  window ;  "  and  if  the  Abbot  should  be  obliged  to 
return  to  the  Monastery  without  obtaining  the  necessary  intelligence,  the  regret  might 
be  mutual,  but  the  inconvenience  was  like  to  be  aU  on  Sir  Piercie's  own  side." 

The  hint  was  not  thrown  away. 

"  O,  goddess  of  courtesy  ! "  said  the  knight,  "  can  I  have  so  far  forgotten  thy  behests 
as  to  make  this  good  pi'elate's  ease  and  time  a  sacrifice  to  my  vain  complaints  !  Know, 
then,  most  worthy,  and  not  less  worshipful,  that  I,  your  poor  visiter  and  guest,  am  by 
birth  nearly  bound  to  the  Piercie  of  Northumberland,  whose  fame  is  so  widely  blown 
through  all  parts  of  the  world  where  English  worth  hath  been  known.  Now,  this  present 
Earl  of  Northumberland,  of  whom  I  propose  to  give  you  the  brief  history " 

"  It  is  altogether  unnecessary,"  said  the  Abbot ;  "  we  know  him  to  be  a  good  and  true 
nobleman,  and  a  sworn  upholder  of  our  Catholic  faith,  in  the  spite  of  the  heretical  woman 
who  now  sits  upon  the  throne  of  England.  And  it  is  specially  as  his  kinsman,  and  as 
knowing  that  ye  partake  with  him  in  such  devout  and  faithful  belief  and  adherence  to 
our  holy  Mother  Church,  that  we  say  to  you,  Sir  Piercie  Shafton,  that  ye  be  heartily 
welcome  to  us,  and  that,  an  we  wist  how,  we  would  labour  to  do  you  good  service  in  your 

"  For  such  kind  offer  I  rest  your  most  humble  debtor,"  said  Sir  Piercie  ;  "  nor  need 
I  at  this  moment  say  more  than  that  my  Right  Honourable  Cousin  of  Northumberland, 
having  devised  with  me  and  some  others,  the  choice  and  picked  spirits  of  the  age,  how 
and  by  what  means  the  worship  of  God,  according  to  the  Catholic  Church,  might  be 
again  introduced  into  this  distracted  kingdom  of  England,  (even  as  one  deviseth,  by  the 
assistance  of  his  friend,  to  catch  and  to  bridle  a  runaway  steed,)  it  pleased  him  so  deeply 
to  intrust  me  in  those  communications,  that  my  personal  safety  becomes,  as  it  were, 
entwined  or  complicated  therewith.  Natheless,  as  we  have  had  sudden  reason  to  believe, 
this  Princess  Elizabeth,  who  maintaineth  around  her  a  sort  of  counsellors  skilful  in 
tracking  whatever  schemes  may  be  pursued  for  bringing  her  title  into  challenge,  or  for 
erecting  again  the  discipline  of  the  Catholic  church,  has  obtained  certain  knowledge  of 
the  trains  which  we  had  laid  before  we  could  give  fire  unto  them.  Wherefore,  my  Right 
Honourable  Cousin  of  Northumberland,  thinking  it  best  belike  that  one  man  should  take 
both  blame  and  shame  for  the  whole,  did  lay  the  burden  of  all  this  trafficking  upon  my 
back ;  which  load  I  am  the  rather  content  to  bear,  in  that  he  hath  always  shewn  him- 
self my  kind  and  honourable  kinsman,  as  well  as  that  my  estate,  I  wot  not  how,  hath  of 
late  been  somewhat  insufficient  to  maintain  the  expense  of  those  braveries,  wherewith  it 
is  incumbent  on  us,  who  are  chosen  and  selected  spirits,  to  distinguish  ourselves  from  the 

"  So  that  possibly,"  said  the  Sub-Prior,  "your  private  affairs  rendered  a  foreign 
journey  less  incommodious  to  you  than  it  might  have  been  to  the  noble  earl,  your  right 
worthy  cousin  ?" 


"  You  are  right,  reverend  sir,"  answered  the  courtier  ;  "  re^n  acu — you  have  touched 
the  point  Avith  a  needle — My  cost  and  expenses  had  been  indeed  somewhat  lavish  at 
the  late  triumphs  and  tourneys,  and  the  flat-capp'd  citizens  had  shewn  themselves 
unwilling  to  furnish  my  pocket  for  new  gallantries  for  the  honour  of  the  nation,  as  well 
as  for  mine  own  peculiar  glory — and,  to  speak  truth,  it  was  in  some  part  the  hope  of 
seeing  these  matters  amended  that  led  me  to  desire  a  new  world  in  England." 

"  So  that  the  miscarriage  of  your  public  enterprise,  with  the  derangement  of  your  own 
pi'ivate  aflftiirs,"  said  the  Sub-Pi"ioi',  "  have  induced  you  to  seek  Scotland  as  a  place  of 
refuge  ?  " 

"  Rem  acii,  once  again,"  said  Sir  Piercie ;  "  and  not  without  good  cause,  since  my 
neck,  if  I  remained,  might  have  been  brought  within  the  circumstances  of  a  halter — and  so 
speedy  was  my  journey  noi'thward,  that  I  had  but  time  to  exchange  my  peach-coloured 
doublet  of  Genoa  velvet,  thickly  laid  over  with  goldsmith's  work,  for  this  cuirass,  which 
was  made  by  Bonamico  of  Milan,  and  travelled  northward  with  all  speed,  judging  that 
I  might  do  well  to  visit  my  Right  Honourable  Cousin  of  Northumberland,  at  one  of  his 
numerous  castles.  But  as  I  posted  towards  Alnwick,  even  with  the  speed  of  a  star,  which, 
darting  from  its  native  sphere,  shoots  wildly  downwards,  I  was  met  at  Northallerton  by 
one  Henry  Vaughan,  a  servant  of  my  right  honourable  kinsman,  who  shewed  me,  that 
as  then  I  might  not  with  safety  come  to  his  presence,  seeing  that,  in  obedience  to  orders 
from  his  court,  he  was  obliged  to  issue  out  letters  for  my  incarceration." 

"  This,"  said  the  Abbot,  "  seems  but  hard  measure  on  the  part  of  your  honourable 

"  It  might  be  so  judged,  my  lord,"  replied  Sir  Piercie ;  "  nevertheless,  I  will  stand  to 
the  death  for  the  honour  of  my  Right  Honourable  Cousin  of  Northumberland.  Also, 
Henry  Vaughan  gave  me,  from  my  said  cousin,  a  good  horse,  and  a  purse  of  gold,  with 
two  Border-prickers,  as  they  are  called,  for  my  guides,  who  conducted  me,  by  such  roads 
and  by-paths  as  have  never  been  seen  since  the  days  of  Sir  Lancelot  and  Sir  Tristrem, 
into  this  kingdom  of  Scotland,  and  to  the  house  of  a  certain  baron,  or  one  who  holds  the 
style  of  such,  called  Julian  Aveuel,  with  whom  I  found  such  reception  as  the  place  and 
party  could  afford." 

"  And  that,"  said  the  Abbot,  "  must  have  been  right  wretched  ;  "  for,  to  judge  from 
the  appetite  which  Julian  sheweth  when  abroad,  he  hath  not,  I  judge,  over-abundant 
provision  at  home." 

"  You  are  right,  sir — your  revei-ence  is  in  the  right,"  continued  Sir  Piercie ;  "  we  had 
but  lenten  fare,  and,  what  was  worse,  a  score  to  clear  at  the  departure ;  for  though  this 
Julian  Avenel  called  us  to  no  reckoning,  yet  he  did  so  extravagantly  admire  the  fashion 
of  my  poniard — the  poignet  being  of  silver  exquisitely  hatched,  and  indeed  the  weapon 
being  altogether  a  piece  of  exceeding  rare  device  and  beauty — that  in  faith  I  could  not 
for  very  shame's  sake  but  pray  his  acceptance  of  it ;  words  which  he  gave  me  not  the 
trouble  of  repeating  twice,  before  he  had  stuck  it  into  his  greasy  buff-belt,  where,  credit 
me,  reverend  sir,  it  shewed  more  like  a  butcher's  knife  than  a  gentleman's  dagger." 

"  So  goodly  a  gift  might  at  least  have  purchased  you  a  few  days'  hospitality,"  said 
Father  Eustace. 

"  Reverend  sir,"  said  Sir  Piercie,  "  had  I  abidden  with  him,  I  should  have  been  com- 
plimented out  of  every  remnant  of  my  wardrobe — actually  flayed,  by  the  hospitable  gods 
I  swear  it !  Sir,  he  secured  my  spare  doublet,  and  had  a  pluck  at  my  galligaskins — 
I  was  enforced  to  beat  a  retreat  before  I  was  altogether  unrigged.  That  Border  knave, 
his  serving-man,  had  a  pluck  at  me  too,  and  usurped  a  scarlet  cassock  and  steel  cuirass 
belonging  to  the  page  of  my  body,  whom  I  was  fain  to  leave  behind  me.  In  good  time 
I  received  a  letter  from  my  Right  Honourable  Cousin,  shewing  me  that  he  had  written 
to  you  in  my  behalf,  and  sent  to  your  charge  two  mails  filled  with  wearing  apparel — 
namely,  my  rich  crimson  silk  doublet,  slashed  out  and  lined  with  cloth  of  gold,  which  I 
wore  at  the  last  revels,  with  baldric  and  trimmings  to  correspond — also  two  pair  black 


silk  slops,  with  hanging  garters  of  carnation  silk — also  the  flesh-coloured  silken  doublet, 
with  the  trimmings  of  fur,  in  which  I  danced  the  salvage  man  at  the  Gray's-Inn 
mummery — also " 

"  Sir  Knight,"  said  the  Sub-Prior,  "  I  pray  you  to  spare  the  farther  inventory  of  your 
wardrobe.  The  monks  of  Saint  Mary's  are  no  free-booting  barons,  and  whatever  part 
of  your  vestments  arrived  at  our  house,  have  been  this  day  faithfully  brought  hither, 
with  the  mails  which  contained  them.  I  may  presume  from  Avhat  has  been  said,  as  we 
have  indeed  been  given  to  understand  by  the  Earl  of  Northumberland,  that  your  desire 
is  to  remain  for  the  present  as  unknown  and  as  unnoticed,  as  may  be  consistent  with 
your  high  worth  and  distinction?" 

"  Alas,  reverend  father  ! "  replied  the  courtier,  "  a  blade  when  it  is  in  the  scabbard 
cannot  give  lustre,  a  diamond  when  it  is  in  the  casket  cannot  give  light,  and  worth,  when 
it  is  compelled  by  circumstances  to  obscure  itself,  cannot  draAV  observation — my  retreat 
can  only  attract  the  admiration  of  those  few  to  whom  circumstances  permit  its  dis- 
playing itself." 

"  I  conceive  now,  my  venerable  father  and  lord,"  said  the  Sub-Prior,  "  that  your 
wisdom  will  assign  such  a  course  of  conduct  to  this  noble  knight,  as  may  be  alike  con- 
sistent with  his  safety,  and  with  the  weal  of  the  community.  For  you  wot  well,  that 
perilous  strides  have  been  made  in  these  audacious  days,  to  the  destruction  of  all  eccle- 
siastical foundations,  and  that  our  holy  community  has  been  repeatedly  menaced. 
Hitherto  they  have  found  no  flaw  in  our  raiment ;  but  a  party,  friendly  as  well  to  the 
Queen  of  England,  as  to  the  heretical  doctrines  of  the  schismatical  church,  or  even  to 
worse  and  wilder  forms  of  heresy,  prevails  now  at  the  court  of  our  sovereign,  who 
dare  not  yield  to  her  suffering  clergy  the  protection  she  would  gladly  extend  to  them." 

*'  My  lord,  and  reverend  sir,"  said  the  knight,  "  I  will  gladly  relieve  you  of  my 
presence,  while  ye  canvass  this  matter  at  your  freedom  ;  and  to  speak  truly,  I  am  desirous 
to  see  in  what  case  the  chamberlain  of  my  noble  kinsman  hath  found  my  wardrobe,  and 
how  he  hath  packed  the  same,  and  whether  it  has  suffered  from  the  journey — there  are  four 
suits  of  as  pure  and  elegant  device  as  ever  the  fancy  of  a  fair  lady  doated  upon,  every 
one  having  a  treble,  and  appropriate  change  of  ribbons,  trimmings,  and  fringes,  which, 
in  case  of  need,  may  as  it  were  renew  each  of  them,  and  multiply  the  four  into  twelve. — 
There  is  also  my  sad-coloured  riding-suit,  and  three  cut-work  shirts  with  falling  bands — 
I  pray  you,  pardon  me — I  must  needs  see  how  matters  stand  with  them  without  farther 

Thus  speaking,  he  left  the  room;  and  the  Sub-Prior,  looking  after  him  significantly, 
added,  "  Where  the  treasure  is  will  the  heart  be  also." 

"  Saint  Mary  preserve  our  wits  ! "  said  the  Abbot,  stunned  with  the  knight's  abundance 
of  words  ;  "  were  man's  brains  ever  so  stuffed  with  silk  and  broadcloth,  cut-work,  and 
I  wot  not  what  besides  !  And  what  could  move  the  Earl  of  Northumberland  to  assume 
for  his  bosom  counsellor,  in  matters  of  death  and  danger,  such  a  feather-brained  coxcomb 
as  this?" 

"  Had  he  been  other  than  what  he  is,  venerable  father,"  said  the  Sub-Prior,  "  he  had 
been  less  fitted  for  the  part  of  scape-goat,  to  which  his  Right  Honourable  Cousin  had 
probably  destined  him  from  the  commencement,  in  case  of  their  plot  failing.  I  know 
something  of  this  Piercie  Shafton.  The  legitimacy  of  his  mother's  descent  from  the 
Piercie  family,  the  point  on  which  he  is  most  jealous,  hath  been  called  in  question.  If 
hairbrained  courage,  and  an  outrageous  spirit  of  gallantry,  can  make  good  his  pretensions 
to  the  high  lineage  he  claims,  these  qualities  have  never  been  denied  him.  For  the  rest, 
he  is  one  of  the  rufiling  gallants  of  the  time,  like  Rowland  Yorke,  Stukely,*  and  others, 

*  "  Yorke,"  says  Camden,  "  was  a  Londoner,  a  man  of  loose  and  dissolute  behaviour,  and  desperately  audacious — famous 
in  his  time  amongst  the  common  bullies  and  swaggerers,  as  beingthefirst  that,  to  the  great  admiration  of  many  at  his  boldness, 

1  3  i  WAVERLEY    NOVELS. 

who  wear  out  their  fortunes,  and  endanger  their  lives,  in  idle  braveries,  in  order  that  they 
may  be  esteemed  the  only  choice  gallants  of  the  time  ;  and  afterwards  endeavour  to  repair 
their  estate,  by  engaging  in  the  desperate  plots  and  conspiracies  which  wiser  heads  have 
devised.  To  use  one  of  his  own  conceited  similitudes,  such  courageous  fools  resemble 
hawks,  which  the  wiser  conspirator  keeps  hooded  and  blinded  on  his  wrist  until  the 
quarry  is  on  the  wing,  and  who  are  then  flown  at  them." 

"  Saint  ]Mary,"  said  the  Abbot,  "  he  were  an  evil  guest  to  introduce  into  our  quiet 
household.  Our  young  monks  make  bustle  enough,  and  more  than  is  beseeming  God's 
servants,  about  their  outward  attire  already — this  knight  were  enough  to  turn  their 
brains,  from  the  Vestiarius  down  to  the  very  scullion  boy." 

"  A  worse  evil  might  follow,"  said  the  Sub-Prior:  "  in  these  bad  days,  the  patrimony 
of  the  church  is  bought  and  sold,  forfeited  and  distrained,  as  if  it  were  the  unhallowed 
soil  appertaining  to  a  secular  baron.  Think  what  penalty  awaits  us,  were  we  convicted 
of  harbouring  a  rebel  to  her  whom  they  call  the  Queen  of  England!  There  would 
neither  be  wanting  Scottish  parasites  to  beg  the  lands  of  the  foundation,  nor  an  army 
from  England  to  burn  and  harry  the  Halidome.  The  men  of  Scotland  were  once  Scots- 
men, firm  and  united  in  their  love  of  their  country,  and  throwing  every  other  considera- 
tion aside  when  the  frontier  was  menaced — now  they  are — what  shall  I  call  them — the 
one  part  French,  the  other  part  English,  considering  their  dear  native  country  merely 
as  a  prize-fighting  stage,  upon  which  foreigners  are  welcome  to  decide  their  quarrels." 

"  Benedicite ! "  replied  the  Abbot,  "  they  ai'e  indeed  slippery  and  evil  times." 

"  And  therefore,"  said  Father  Eustace,  "  we  must  walk  warily — we  must  not,  for 
example,  bring  this  man — this  Sir  Piercie  Shafton,  to  our  house  of  Saint  Mary's." 

"  But  how  then  shall  we  dispose  of  him?"  replied  the  Abbot ;  "  bethink  thee  that  he 
is  a  sufferer  for  holy  Church's  sake — that  his  patron,  the  Earl  of  Northumberland,  hath 
been  our  friend,  and  that,  lying  so  near  us,  he  may  work  us  weal  or  wo  according  as  we 
deal  with  his  kinsman." 

"  And,  accordingly,"  said  the  Sub-Prior,  "  for  these  reasons,  as  well  as  for  discharge 
of  the  great  duty  of  Christian  charity,  I  would  protect  and  relieve  this  man.  Let  him 
not  go  back  to  Julian  Avenel — that  unconscientious  baron  would  not  stick  to  plunder 
the  exiled  strangei" — Let  him  remain  here — the  spot  is  secluded,  and  if  the  accommoda- 
tion be  beneath  his  quality,  discovery  Avill  become  the  less  likely.  We  will  make  such 
means  for  his  convenience  as  we  can  devise." 

"Will  he  be  persuaded,  thinkest  thou?"  said  the  Abbot;  "I  will  leave  my  own 
travelling  bed  for  his  repose,  and  send  up  a  suitable  easy-chair." 

"With  such  easements,"  said  the  Sub-Prior,  "he  must  not  complain;  and  then,  if 
threatened  by  any  sudden  danger,  he  can  soon  come  down  to  the  sanctuary,  Avhere  we 
will  harbour  him  in  secret  until  means  can  be  devised  of  dismissing  him  in  safety." 

"  Were  we  not  better,"  said  the  Abbot,  "  send  him  on  to  the  court,  and  get  rid  of  him 
at  once  ?" 

brought  into  England  the  bold  and  dangerous  way  of  fencing  with  the  rapier  in  duelling.  Whereas,  till  that  time,  the  English 
used  to  fight  witli  long  swords  and  bucklers,  striking  with  the  edge,  and  thought  it  no  part  of  man  either  to  push  or  strike 
beneath  the  girdle. 

Having  a  command  in  the  Low  Countries,  Yorke  revolted  to  the  Spaniards,  and  died  miserably,  poisoned,  as  was  supposed, 
by  his  new  allies.     Three  years  afterwards,  his  bones  were  dug  up  and  gibbeted  by  the  command  of  the  States  of  Holland. 

Thomas  Stukely,  another  distinguished  gallant  of  the  time,  was  bred  a  merchant,  being  the  son  of  a  rich  clothier  in  the 
west.  He  wedded  the  daughter  and  heiress  of  a  wealthy  alderman  of  London,  named  Curtis,  after  whose  death  he  squandered 
the  riches  he  thus  acquired  in  all  manner  of  extravagance.  His  wife,  whose  fortune  supplied  his  waste,  represented  to  him 
that  he  ought  to  make  more  of  her.  Stukely  replied,  "  I  will  make  as  much  of  thee,  believe  me,  as  it  is  possible  for  any  to 
do ;"  and  he  kept  his  word  in  one  sense,  having  stripped  her  even  of  her  wearing  apparel,  before  he  finally  ran  away  from  her. 

Having  fled  to  Italy,  he  contrived  to  impose  upon  the  Pope,  with  a  plan  of  invading  Ireland,  for  which  he  levied  soldiers, 
and  made  some  preparations,  but  ended  by  engaging  himself  and  his  troops  in  the  service  of  King  Sebastian  of  Portugal.  He 
sailed  with  that  prince  on  his  fatal  voyage  to  Barbary,  and  fell  with  him  at  the  battle  of  Alcazar. 

Stukely,  as  one  of  the  first  gallants  of  the  time,  has  had  the  honour  to  be  chronicled  in  song,  in  Evans'  Old  Ballads,  vol.  iii. 
edition  1810.  His  fate  is  also  introduced  in  a  tragedy,  by  George  Peel,  as  has  been  supposed,  called  the  Battle  of  Alcazar, 
from  which  play  Dryden  is  alleged  to  have  taken  the  idea  of  Don  Sebastian;  if  so,  it  is  surprising  he  omitted  a  character  so 
congenial  to  King  Charles  the  Second's  time,  as  the  witty,  brave,  and  profligate  Thomas  Stukely. 

TUE    JIOXASrEKV.  135 

"  Aj,  but  at  the  expense  of  our  friends — this  butterfly  may  fold  his  wings,  and  lie 
under  cover  in  the  cold  air  of  Glendearg;  but  were  he  at  Holyrood,  he  would,  did  his 
life  depend  on  it,  expand  his  spangled  drapery  in  the  eyes  of  the  queen  and  court — 
Rather  than  fail  of  distinction,  he  would  sue  for  love  to  our  gracious  sovereign — the  eyes 
of  all  men  would  be  upon  him  in  the  course  of  three  short  days,  and  the  international 
peace  of  the  two  ends  of  the  island  endangered  for  a  creature,  who,  like  a  silly  moth, 
cannot  abstain  from  fluttering  round  a  light." 

"  Thou  hast  prevailed  with  me,  Father  Eustace,"  said  the  Abbot,  "  and  it  will  go 
hard  but  I  improve  on  thy  plan — I  will  send  up  in  secret,  not  only  household  stuff,  but 
wine  and  wassell-bread.  There  is  a  young  swankie  here  who  shoots  venison  well.  I 
will  give  him  directions  to  see  that  the  knight  lacks  none." 

"  Whatever  accommodation  he  can  have,  which  infers  not  a  risk  of  discovery,"  said 
the  Sub-Prior,  "  it  is  our  duty  to  aflbrd  him." 

"  Nay,"  said  the  Abbot,  '•'  we  will  do  more,  and  will  instantly  despatch  a  servant 
express  to  the  keeper  of  our  revestiary  to  send  us  such  things  as  he  may  want,  even  this 
night.     See  it  done,  good  father." 

"  I  will,"  answered  Father  Eustace ;  "  but  I  hear  the  gull  clamorous  for  some  one  to 
truss  his  points.*  He  will  be  fortunate  if  he  lights  on  any  one  here  who  can  do  him  the 
ofRce  of  groom  of  the  chamber." 

"  I  would  he  would  appear,"  said  the  Abbot,  "  for  here  comes  the  Refectioner  with 
the  collation — By  my  faith,  the  ride  hath  given  me  a  sharp  appetite  !" 

*  The  points  were  the  strings  of  cord  or  ribbon,  (so  called,  because  pointed  with  metal  like  the  laces  of  women's  stays,) 
which  attached  the  doublet  to  the  hose.  They  were  verj'  numerous,  and  required  assistance  to  tie  them  properly,  which  was 
called  trussing. 

I'll  seek  for  other  aid— Spirits,  they  say, 
Flit  round  invisible,  as  thick  as  motes 
Dance  in  the  sunbeam.     If  that  spell 
Or  necromancer's  sigil  can  compel  them. 
They  shall  hold  council  with  me. 

James  Duff. 

HE  reader's  attention  must  be  recalled  to  Halbert  Glendinning,  who  liad 
left  the  Tower  of  Glendearg  immediately  after  his  quarrel  with  its  new 
guest,  Sir  Piercie  Shafton.  As  he  walked  with  a  rapid  pace  up  the 
glen,  Old  Martin  followed  him,  beseeching  him  to  be  less  hasty. 

"  Halbert,"  said  the  old  man,  "  you  will  never  live  to  have  white 
hair,  if  you  take  fire  thus  at  every  spark  of  provocation." 
"And  why  should  I  wish  it,  old  man,"  said  Halbert,  "if  I  am  to  be  the  butt  that 
every  fool  may  aim  a  shaft  of  scorn  against  ? — What  avails  it,  old  man,  that  you  yourself 
move,  sleep,  and  wake,  eat  thy  niggard  meal,  and  repose  on  thy  hard  pallet  ? — Why  art 
thou  so  well  pleased  that  the  morning  should  call  thee  up  to  daily  toil,  and  the  evening 
again  lay  thee  down  a  wearied-out-wretch  ?  Were  it  not  better  sleep  and  wake  no 
more,  than  to  undergo  this  dull  exchange  of  labour  for  insensibility  and  of  insensibility 
for  labour  ?  " 

"  God  help  me,"  answered  Martin,  "  there  may  be  truth  in  what  thou  sayest — but 
walk  slower,  for  my  old  limbs  cannot  keep  pace  with  your  young  legs — walk  slower,  and 
I  will  tell  you  why  age,  though  unlovely,  is  yet  endurable." 

"  Speak  on  then,"  said  Halbert,  slackening  his  pace,  "  but  remember  we  must  seek 
venison  to  refresh  the  fatigues  of  these  holy  men,  who  will  this  morning  have  achieved 


a  journey  of  ten  miles  ;  and  if  we  reach  not  tlie  Brock sburn  head  we  are  scarce  like  to 
see  an  antler." 

"  Then  know,  my  good  Halbert,"  said  Martin,  "  whom  I  love  as  my  own  son,  that 
I  am  satisfied  to  live  till  death  calls  me,  because  my  Maker  wills  it.  Ay,  and  although 
I  spend  what  men  call  a  hard  life,  pinched  with  cold  in  winter,  and  burnt  with  heat  in 
summer,  though  I  feed  hard  and  sleep  hard,  and  am  held  mean  and  despised,  yet 
I  bethink  me,  that  were  I  of  no  use  on  the  face  of  this  fair  creation,  God  would  withdraw 
me  from  it." 

"  Thou  poor  old  man,"  said  Halbert,  "  and  can  such  a  vain  conceit  as  this  of  thy 
fancied  use,  reconcile  thee  to  a  world  where  thou  playest  so  poor  a  part  ?" 

"  My  part  was  nearly  as  poor,"  said  Martin,  "  my  person  nearly  as  much  despised,  the 
day  that  I  saved  my  mistress  and  her  child  from  perishing  in  the  wilderness." 

"Right,  Martin,"  answered  Halbert;  "there,  indeed,  thou  didst  what  might  be  a 
sufficient  apology  for  a  whole  life  of  insignificance." 

"  And  do  you  account  it  for  nothing,  Halbert,  that  I  should  have  the  power  of  giving 
you  a  lesson  of  patience,  and  submission  to  the  destinies  of  Providence?  Methinks  there 
is  use  for  the  grey  hairs  on  the  old  seal}),  wei-e  it  but  to  instruct  the  green  head  by 
precept  and  by  example." 

Halbert  held  down  his  face,  and  remained  silent  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  then  resumed 
his  discourse:  "Martin,  seest  thou  aught  changed  in  me  of  late?" 

"  Surely,"  said  Martin.  "  I  have  always  known  you  hasty,  wild,  and  inconsiderate, 
rude,  and  prompt  to  speak  at  the  volley  and  without  reflection  ;  but  now,  methinks, 
your  bearing,  without  losing  its  natural  fire,  has  something  in  it  of  force  and  dignity 
which  it  had  not  before.  It  seems  as  if  you  had  fallen  asleep  a  carle,  and  awakened 
a  gentleman." 

"  Thou  canst  judge,  then,  of  noble  beai'ing?"  said  Plalbert. 

"  Surely,"  answered  Martin,  "  in  some  sort  I  can  ;  for  I  have  travelled  through  court, 
and  camp,  and  city,  with  my  master,  Walter  Aveuel,  although  he  could  do  nothing  for 
me  in  the  long  run,  but  give  me  room  for  two  score  of  sheep  on  the  hill — and  surely 
even  now,  while  I  speak  with  you,  I  feel  sensible  that  my  language  is  more  refined  than 
it  is  my  wont  to  use,  and  that — though  I  know  not  the  reason — the  rude  northern 
dialect,  so  familiar  to  my  tongue,  has  given  place  to  a  more  town-bred  speech." 

"  And  this  change  in  thyself  and  me,  thou  canst  by  no  means  account  for  ? "  said 
young  Glendinning. 

"  Change !"  replied  Martin,  "  by  our  Lady  it  is  not  so  much  a  change  which  I  feel, 
as  a  recalling  and  renewing  sentiments  and  expressions  which  I  had  some  thirty  years 
since,  ere  Tibb  and  I  set  up  our  humble  household.  It  is  singular,  that  your  society 
should  have  this  sort  of  influence  over  me,  Halbert,  and  that  I  should  never  have 
experienced  it  ere  now." 

"  Thinkest  thou,"  said  Halbert,  "  thou  seest  in  me  aught  that  can  raise  me  from  this 
base,  low,  despised  state,  into  one  where  I  may  rank  with  those  proud  men,  who  now 
despise  my  clownish  poverty  ?  " 

Martin  paused  an  instant,  and  then  answered,  "  Doubtless  you  may,  Plalbert ;  as 
broken  a  ship  has  come  to  land.  Heard  ye  never  of  Hughie  Dun,  who  left  this  Halidome 
some  thirty-five  years  gone  by  ?  A  deliverly  fellow  was  Hughie — could  read  and  write 
like  a  priest,  and  could  wield  brand  and  buckler  with  the  best  of  the  riders.  I  mind 
him — the  like  of  him  was  never  seen  in  the  Halidome  of  Saint  Mary's,  and  so  was  seen 
of  the  preferment  that  God  sent  him." 

"  And  what  was  that?"  said  Halbert,  his  eyes  sparkling  with  eagerness. 

"  Nothing  less,"  answered  Martin,  "  than  body-servant  to  the  Archbishop  of  Saint 
Andrews ! " 

Halbert's  countenance  fell. — "  A  servant — and  to  a  priest  ?  Was  this  all  that  know- 
ledge and  activity  could  raise  him  to?" 

Vol.  V.  L 


Martin,  in  his  turn,  looked  with  wistful  surprise  in  the  face  of  his  young  friend. 
"And  to  what  could  fortune  lead  him  farther?"  answered  he.  "The  son  of  a  kirk- 
feuar  is  not  the  stuiF  that  lords  and  knights  are  made  of.  Courage  and  school  craft 
cannot  change  churl's  blood  into  gentle  blood,  I  trow.  I  have  heard,  forby,  that  Hughie 
Dun  left  a  good  five  hundred  j^unds  of  Scots  money  to  his  only  daughter,  and  that  she 
married  the  Bailie  of  Pittenweem." 

At  this  moment,  and  while  Halbert  was  embarrassed  with  devising  a  suitable  answer, 
a  deer  bounded  across  their  patli.  In  an  instant  the  cross-bow  was  at  the  youth's 
shoulder,  the  bolt  whistled,  and  the  deer,  after  giving  one  bound  upright,  dropt  dead  on 
the  green  sward. 

"  There  lies  the  venison  our  dame  wanted,"  said  Martin;  "who  would  have  thought 
of  an  out-lying  stag  being  so  low  down  the  glen  at  this  season  ? — And  it  is  a  hart  of 
grease  too,  in  full  season,  and  thi'ee  inches  of  fat  on  the  brisket.  Now  this  is  all  your 
luck,  Ilalbert,  that  follows  you,  go  where  you  like.  Were  you  to  put  in  for  it,  I  would 
warrant  you  were  made  one  of  the  Abbot's  yeoman-prickers,  and  ride  about  in  a  purple 
doublet  as  bold  as  the  best." 

"  Tush,  man,"  answered  Halbert,  "  I  will  serve  the  Queen  or  no  one.  Take  thou 
care  to  have  down  the  venison  to  the  Tower,  since  tliey  expect  it.  I  will  on  to  the 
moss.     I  have  two  or  thi'ee  bird-bolts  at  my  girdle,  and  it  may  be  I  shall  find  wild-fowl." 

He  hastened  his  pace,  and  was  soon  out  of  sight.  Martin  paused  for  a  moment,  and 
looked  after  him.  "  There  goes  the  making  of  a  right  gallant  stripling,  an  ambition 
have  not  the  spoiling  of  him — Serve  the  Queen!  said  he.  By  my  faith,  and  she  hath 
worse  servants,  from  aU  that  I  e'er  heard  of  him.  And  wherefore  should  he  not  keep 
a  high  head  ?  They  that  ettle  to  the  top  of  tlie  ladder  will  at  least  get  up  some  rounds. 
They  that  mint  *  at  a  gown  of  gold,  Avill  always  get  a  sleeve  of  it.  But  come,  sir, 
(addressing  the  stag,)  you  shall  go  to  Glendearg  on  my  two  legs  somewhat  more  slowly 
than  you  were  frisking  it  even  now  on  your  own  four  nimble  shanks.  Nay,  by  my  faith, 
if  you  be  so  heavy,  I  will  content  me  with  the  best  of  you,  and  that's  the  haunch  and 
the  nombles,  and  e'en  heave  up  the  rest  on  the  old  oak-tree  yonder,  and  come  back  for 
it  with  one  of  the  yauds."  f 

While  Martin  returned  to  Glendearg  with  the  venison,  Halbert  prosecuted  his  walk, 
breathing  more  easily  since  he  was  free  of  his  companion.  "  The  domestic  of  a  proud 
and  lazy  priest — body-squire  to  the  Archbishop  of  Saint  Andrews,"  he  repeated  to 
himself ;  "  and  this,  with  the  privilege  of  allying  his  blood  with  the  Bailie  of 
Pittenweem,  is  thought  a  preferment  worth  a  brave  man's  struggling  for ; — nay  more, 
a  preferment  which,  if  allowed,  should  crown  the  hopes,  past,  present,  and  to  come,  of 
the  son  of  a  Kirk-vassal!  By  Heaven,  but  that  I  find  in  me  a  reluctance  to  practise 
their  acts  of  nocturnal  rapine,  I  would  rather  take  the  jack  and  lance,  and  join  with  the 
Border-riders. — Something  I  will  do.  Here,  degraded  and  dishonoured,  I  will  not 
live  the  scorn  of  each  whiffling  stranger  from  the  South,  because,  forsooth,  he  wears 
tinkling  spurs  on  a  tawney  boot.  This  thing — this  phantom,  be  it  what  it  will,  I  will 
see  it  once  more.  Since  I  spoke  with  her,  and  touched  her  hand,  thoughts  and  feelings 
have  dawned  on  me,  of  which  my  former  life  had  not  even  dreamed ;  but  shall  I,  who 
feel  my  father's  glen  too  narrow  for  my  expanding  spirit,  brook  to  be  bearded  in  it  by 
this  vain  gewgaw  of  a  courtier,  and  in  the  sight  too  of  Mary  Avenel  ?  I  will  not  stoop 
to  it,  by  Heaven  ! " 

As  he  spoke  thus,  he  arrived  in  the  sequestered  glen  of  Corri-nan-shian,  as  it  verged 
upon  the  hour  of  noon.  A  few  moments  he  remained  looking  upon  the  fountain,  and 
doubting  in  his  own  mind  with  what  countenance  the  White  Lady  might  receive  him. 
She  had  not  indeed  expressly  forbidden  his  again  evoking  her ;  but  yet  there  was 
something  like  such  a  prohibition  implied  in  the  farewell,  which  recommended  him  to 
wait  for  another  guide. 

■*  Mint-^aim  at.  +   Yauds — horses  ;  more  particularly  horses  of  labour. 

THE    IklONASTERT.  139 

Halbert  Glendiuning  did  not  long,  however,  allow  himself  to  pause.  Hardihood 
was  the  natural  characteristic  of  his  mind ;  and  under  the  expansion  and  modification 
which  his  feelings  had  lately  undergone,  it  had  been  augmented  rather  than  diminished. 
He  drew  his  sword,  undid  the  buskin  from  his  foot,  bowed  three  times  with  deliberation 
towards  the  fountain,  and  as  often  towards  the  tree,  and  repeated  the  same  rhyme  as 
formerly, — 

"  Thrice  to  the  holy  brake —  Noon  gleams  on  the  lake — 

Thrice  to  the  well; —  Noon  glows  on  the  fell — 

I  bid  thee  awake,  Wake  thee,  O  wake, 

White  Maid  of  Avenel !  White  Maid  of  Avenel!" 

His  eye  was  on  the  holly  bush  as  he  spoke  the  last  line  ;  and  it  was  not  without  an 
involuntary  shuddering  that  he  saw  the  air  betwixt  his  eye  and  that  object  become  more 
dim,  and  condense,  as  it  were,  into  the  faint  appearance  of  a  form,  through  which, 
however,  so  thin  and  transparent  was  the  first  appearance  of  the  phantom,  he  could 
discern  the  outline  of  the  bush,  as  through  a  veil  of  fine  crape.  But,  gradually,  it 
darkened  into  a  more  substantial  appearance,  and  the  White  Lady  stood  before  him  with 
displeasure  on  her  brow.  She  spoke,  and  her  speech  was  still  song,  or  rather  measured 
chant ;  but,  as  if  now  more  familiar,  it  flowed  occasionally  in  modulated  blank-verse, 
and  at  other  times  in  the  lyrical  measure  which  she  had  used  at  their  former  meeting, 

"  This  is  the  day  when  the  fairy  kind 

Sits  weeping  alone  for  their  hopeless  lot, 
And  the  wood-maiden  sighs  to  the  sighing  wind. 

And  the  mer-maiden  weeps  in  her  crj-stal  grot: 
For  this  is  the  day  that  a  deed  was  wrought. 

In  which  we  have  neither  part  nor  share. 
For  the  children  of  clay  was  salvation  bought, 

But  not  for  the  forms  of  sea  or  air ! 
And  ever  the  mortal  is  most  forlorn, 
Wlio  meeteth  our  race  on  the  Friday  mom." 

"  Spirit,"  said  Halbert  Glendinning,  boldly,  "  it  is  bootless  to  thi-eaten  one  who  holds 
his  life  at  no  rate.  Thine  anger  can  but  slay ;  nor  do  I  think  thy  power  extendeth,  or 
thy  will  stretcheth,  so  far.  The  terrors  which  your  i-ace  produce  upon  others,  are  vain 
against  me.  My  heart  is  hardened  against  fear,  as  by  a  sense  of  despair.  If  I  am,  as 
thy  words  infer,  of  a  race  more  peculiarly  the  care  of  Heaven  than  thine,  it  is  mine  to 
call,  it  must  be  thine  to  answer.     I  am  the  nobler  being." 

As  he  spoke,  the  figure  looked  upon  him  with  a  fierce  and  ireful  countenance,  which, 
without  losing  the  similitude  of  that  which  it  usually  exhibited,  had  a  wilder  and  more 
exaggerated  cast  of  features.  The  eyes  seemed  to  contract  and  become  more  fiery,  and 
slight  convulsions  passed  over  the  face,  as  if  it  was  about  to  be  transformed  into  some- 
thing hideous.  The  whole  appearance  resembled  those  faces  which  the  imagination 
summons  up  when  it  is  disturbed  by  laudanum,  but  which  do  not  remain  under  the 
visionary's  command,  and,  beautiful  in  their  first  appearance,  become  wild  and  grotesque 
ere  we  can  arrest  them. 

But  when  Halbert  had  concluded  his  bold  speech,  the  Wliite  Lady  stood  before  him 
with  the  same  pale,  fixed,  and  melancholy  aspect,  which  she  usually  bore.  He  had 
expected  the  agitation  which  she  exhibited  would  conclude  in  some  frightful  metamor- 
phosis.    Folding  her  arms  on  her  bosom,  the  phantom  replied, — 

"  Daring  youth  !   for  thee  it  is  well.  Did  one  limb  shiver, 
Here  calling  me  in  haunted  dell,  Or  an  eyelid  quiver, 

That  th}-  heart  has  not  quail'd.  Thou  wert  lost  for  ever. 

Nor  thy  courage  fail'd,  Though  I  am  form'd  from  the  ether  blue, 

And  that  thou  couldst  brook  And  my  blood  is  of  the  unfallen  dew. 
The  angry  look  And  thou  art  framed  of  mud  and  d\ist. 

Of  Her  of  Avenel.  'Tis  thine  to  speak,  reply  I  must." 

"  I  demand  of  thee,  then,"  said  the  youth,  "  by  what  charm  it  is  that  I  am  thus  altered 
in  mind  and  in  wishes — that  I  think  no  longer  of  deer  or  dog,  of  bow  or  bolt — that  my 
soul  spurns  the  bounds  of  this  obscure  glen — that  my  blood  boils  at  an  insult  from  one 
by  whose  stirrup  I  would  some  days  since  have  run  for  a  whole  summer's  morn,  con- 
tented and  honoured  by  the  notice  of  a  single  word  ?     "Why  do  I  now  seek  to  mate  me 

h  2 


with  princes,  and  knights,  and  nobles  ? — Am  I  the  same,  who  but  yesterday,  as  it  were, 
shimbei'ed  in  contented  obscurity,  but  who  am  to-day  awakened  to  glory  and  ambition  ? 
— Speak — tell  me,  if  thou  canst,  the  meaning  of  this  change  ? — Am  I  spell-bound  ? — or 
have  I  till  now  been  under  the  influence  of  a  spell,  that  I  feel  as  another  being,  yet  am 
conscious  of  remaining  the  same  ?  Speak  and  tell  me,  is  it  to  thy  influence  that  the 
change  is  owing?" 

The  White  Lady  replied, — 

"  A  mightier  wizard  far  than  I 

Wields  o'er  tiie  universe  his  power; 
Him  owns  the  eagle  in  the  sky, 

The  turtle  in  the  bower. 
Changeful  in  shape,  yet  mightiest  still, 
He  wieldo  the  heart  of  man  at  will, 
From  ill  to  good,  from  good  to  ill, 

In  cot  and  castle-tower." 

"  Speak  not  thus  darkly,"  said  the  youth,  colouring  so  deeply,  that  face,  neck,  and 
hands  were  in  a  sanguine  glow;  "  make  me  sensible  of  thy  purpose." 
The  spirit  answered, — 

"  Ask  thy  heart,  whose  secret  cell 
Is  till'd  with  Mary  Avenel! 
Ask  thy  pride,  why  scornful  look 
In  Mary's  view  it  will  not  brook  ? 
Ask  it,  why  thou  seek'st  to  rise 
Among  the  mighty  and  the  wise  ?— 
Why  thou  spurn'st  thy  lowly  lot? — 
Why  thy  pastimes  are  forgot? 
Why  thou  wouldst  in  bloody  strife 
Mend  thy  luck  or  lose  thy  life? 
Ask  thy  heart,  and  it  shall  tell, 
Sighing  from  its  secret  cell, 
'Tis  for  Mary  Avenel." 

"  Tell  me,  then,"  said  Halbert,  his  cheek  still  deeply  crimsoned,  "  thdu  who  hast  said 
to  me  that  which  I  dared  not  stiy  to  myself,  by  what  means  shall  I  urge  my  passion — 
by  what  means  make  it  known  ?' 

The  White  Lady  replied^ — 

"  Do  not  ask  me ; 
On  doubts  like  these  thou  canst  not  task  me. 
We  only  see  the  passing  show 
Of  human  passions'  ebb  and  flow ; 
And  view  the  pageant's  idle  glance 
As  mortals  eye  the  northern  dance. 
When  thousand  streamers,  flashing  bright. 
Career  it  o'er  the  brow  of  night, 
And  gazers  mark  their  changeful  gleams. 
But  feel  no  influence  from  their  beams." 

"  Yet  thine  own  fate,"  replied  Halbert,  "  unless  men  greatly  err,  is  linked  with  that  of 

The  phantom  answered, ' 

"  By  ties  mysterious  link'd,  our  fated  race 
Holds  strange  connexion  with  the  sons  of  men. 
The  star  that  rose  upon  the  House  of  Avenel, 
When  Norman  Ulric  first  assumed  the  name, 
That  star,  when  culminating  in  its  orbit, 
Shot  from  its  sphere  a  drop  of  diamond  dew. 
And  this  bright  font  received  it -and  a  Spirit 
Rose  from  the  fountain,  and  her  date  of  life 
Hath  co-existence  with  the  House  of  Avenel, 
And  with  the  star  that  rules  it." 

"  Speak  yet  more  plainly,"  answered  young  Glendinning ;  "  of  this  I  can  understand 
nothing.  Say,  what  hath  forged  thy  wierded*  link  of  destiny  with  the  House  of  Avenel? 
Say,  especially,  what  fate  now  overhangs  that  house?" 

The  White  Lady  replied, — 

"  Look  on  my  girdle— on  this  thread  of  gold — 
'Tis  fine  as  web  of  lightest  gossamer, 
And,  but  there  is  a  spell  on't,  woiild  not  bind, 

*   Wierded — fated. 


Light  as  they  are,  the  folds  of  my  thin  robe. 
But  when  'twas  donn'd,  it  was  a  massive  chain, 
Such  as  might  bind  the  champion  of  the  Jews, 
Even  when  his  locks  were  longest— it  hath  dwindled. 
Hath  minish'd  hi  its  substance  and  its  strength. 
As  sunk  the  greatness  of  the  House  of  Avenel. 
When  this  frail  thread  gives  way,  I  to  the  elements 
Resign  the  principles  of  life  they  lent  me. 
Ask  me  no  more  of  this! — the  stars  forbid  it." 

"  Then  canst  thou  read  the  stars,"  answered  the  youth  ;  "  and  mayest  tell  me  the  fate 
of  my  passion,  if  thou  canst  not  aid  it  ?  " 
The  White  Lady  again  replied, — 

"  Dim  bums  the  once  bright  star  of  Avenel, 
Dim  as  the  beacon  when  the  morn  is  nigh. 
And  the  o'er-wearied  warder  leaves  the  light-house; 
There  is  an  influence  sorrowful  and  fearful. 
That  dogs  its  downward  course.    Disastrous  passion, 
Fierce  hate  and  rivalry,  are  in  the  aspect 
That  lowers  upon  its  fortunes." 

"And  rivalry?"  repeated  Glendinning ;  "it  is,  then,  as  I  feared! — But  shall  that 
English  silkworm  presume  to  beard  me  in  my  father's  house,  and  in  the  presence  of 
JMary  Avenel  ? — Give  me  to  meet  him,  spirit — give  me  to  do  away  the  vain  distinction 
of  rank  on  which  he  refuses  me  the  combat.  Place  us  on  equal  terms,  and  gleam 
the  stars  with  what  aspect  they  Avill,  the  sword  of  my  father  shall  control  their 

She  answered  as  promptly  as  before, — 

"  Complain  not  of  me,  child  of  clay. 
If  to  thy  harm  I  yield  the  way. 
We,  who  soar  thy  sphere  above. 
Know  not  aught  of  hate  or  love ; 
As  will  or  wisdom  rules  thy  mood. 
My  gifts  to  evil  tuni,  or  good." 

"  Give  me  to  redeem  my  honour,"  said  Halbert  Glendinning — "  give  me  to  retort  on 
my  proud  rival  the  insults  he  has  thrown  on  me,  and  let  the  rest  fare  as  it  will.  If 
I  cannot  revenge  my  wrong,  I  shall  sleep  quiet,  and  know  nought  of  my  disgrace." 

The  phantom  failed  not  to  reply, — 

"  When  Piercie  Shafton  boasteth  high. 
Let  this  token  meet  his  eye. 
The  sun  is  westering  from  the  dell. 
Thy  wish  is  granted — fare  thee  well !'' 

As  the  White  Lady  spoke  or  chanted  these  last  words,  she  undid  from  her  locks  a 
silver  bodkin  around  which  they  were  twisted,  and  gave  it  to  Halbert  Glendinning  ;  tlien 
shaking  her  dishevelled  hair  till  it  fell  like  a  veil  around  her,  the  outlines  of  her  form 
gradually  became  as  diffuse  as  her  flowing  tresses,  her  countenance  grew  pale  as  the 
moon  in  her  first  quarter,  her  features  became  indistinguishable,  and  she  melted  into 
the  air. 

Habit  inures  us  to  wonders ;  but  the  youth  did  not  find  himself  alone  by  the  fountain 
without  experiencing,  though  in  a  much  less  degree,  the  revulsion  of  spirits  which  he 
had  felt  upon  the  phantom's  former  disappearance.  A  doubt  strongly  pressed  upon  his 
mind,  whether  it  were  safe  to  avail  himself  of  the  gifts  of  a  spirit  which  did  not  even 
pretend  to  belong  to  the  class  of  angels,  and  might,  for  aught  he  knew,  have  a  much 
worse  lineage  than  that  which  she  was  pleased  to  avow.     "  I  will  speak  of  it,"  he  said 

"  to  Edward,  who  is  clerkly  learned,  and  will  tell  me  what  I  should  do.     And  yet,  no 

Edward  is  scrupulous  and  wary. — I  will  prove  the  effect  of  her  gift  on   Sir  Piercie 
Shafton  if  he  again  braves  me,  and  by  the  issue,  I  will  be  myself  a  sufficient  judo-e 
whether  there  is  danger  in  resorting  to  her  counsel.     Home,  then,  home — and  we  shall 
soon  learn  whether  that  home  shall  longer  hold  me ;  for  not  again  will  I  brook  insult 
with  my  father's  sword  by  my  side,  and  Mary  for  the  spectator  of  my  disgrace." 

€?]l3jHiipJfX  t|)l  €ti|i]l)Ji?Oiiit|, 

1  give  thee  eighteeiipeuce  a-daj'^ 

And  my  bow  shalt  thou  bear, 
And  over  all  the  nortli  country, 

I  make  thee  the  chief  rydere. 
And  I  thirteenpence  a-day,  quotli  tlie  queeiiy 

By  God  and  by  my  faye, 
Come  fetcli  thy  payment  wlien  thou  wilt, 

No  man  shall  say  thee  nay. 

William  of  CiouDESLEf, 

,  HE  manners  of  the  age  did  not  permit  the  inhabitants  of  Glendeafg  fa 
partake  of  the  coUation  which  was  placed  in  the  spence  of  that  ancient 
tower,  before  the  Lord  Abbot  and  his  attendants,  and  Sir  Piercie 
Shafton.  Dame  Glendinning  was  excluded,  both  by  inferiority  of  rank 
and  by  sex,  for  (though  it  was  a  rule  often  neglected)  the  Superior  of 
Saint  Mary's  was  debarred  from  taking  bis  meals  in  female  society.  To 
Mary  Avenel  the  latter,  and  to  Edward  Glendinning  the  former,  incapacity  attached  ; 
but  it  pleased  his  lordship  to  require  their  presence  in  the  apartment,  and  to  say  sundry 
kind  words  to  them  upon  the  ready  and  hospitable  reception  which  they  had  afforded 

The  smoking  haunch  now  stood  upon  the  table ;  a  napkin,  white  as  snov\r,  was,  with 
due  reverence,  tucked  under  the  chin  of  the  Abbot  by  the  Refectioner  ;  and  nought  was 
wanting  to  commence  the  repast,  save  the  presence  of  Sir  Piercie  Shafton,  who  at  length 
appeared,  glittering  like  the  sun,  in  a  carnation-velvet  doublet,  slashed  and  puffed  out 
with  cloth  of  silver,  his  hat  of  the  newest  block,  surrounded  by  a  hatband  of  goldsmith*s 
•vvork,  while  around  his  neck  he  wore  a  collar  of  gold,  set  with  rubies  and  topazes  so 


rich,  that  it  vindicated  his  anxiety  for  the  safety  of  his  baggage  from  being  founded  upon 
bis  love  of  mere  finery.  This  gorgeous  collar  or  chain,  resembling  those  worn  by  the 
knights  of  the  highest  orders  of  chivalry,  fell  down  on  his  breast,  and  terminated  in  a 

"  We  waited  for  Sir  Piercie  Shafton,"  said  the  Abbot,  hastily  assuming  his  place  in 
the  great  chair  which  the  Kitchener  advanced  to  the  table  with  ready  hand. 

"  I  pray  your  pardon,  reverend  father,  and  my  good  lord,"  replied  that  pink  of 
courtesy;  "I  did  but  wait  to  cast  my  riding  slough,  and  to  transmew  myself  into  some 
civil  form  meeter  for  this  worshipful  company." 

"  I  cannot  but  praise  your  gallantry.  Sir  Knight,"  said  the  Abbot,  "  and  your  prudence, 
also,  for  choosing  the  fitting  time  to  appear  thus  adorned.  Certes,  had  that  goodly  chain 
been  visible  in  some  part  of  your  late  progress,  there  was  risk  tliat  the  lawful  owner 
might  have  parted  company  therewith." 

"  This  chain,  said  your  reverence?"  answered  Sir  Piercie;  "  surely  it  is  but  a  toy, 
a  trifle,  a  slight  thing  which  shews  but  poorly  with  this  doublet— marry,  when  I  wear 
that  of  the  murrey-coloiired  double-piled  Genoa  velvet,  puffed  out  with  ciprus,  the  gems, 
being  relieved  and  set  off  by  the  darker  and  more  grave  ground  of  the  stuff,  shew  like 
stars  giving  a  lustre  through  dark  clouds." 

"  I  nothing  doubt  it,"  said  the  Abbot,  "  but  I  pray  you  to  sit  down  at  the  board." 

But  Sir  Piercie  had  now  got  into  his  element,  and  was  not  easily  interrupted  — 
"I  own,"  he  continued,  "that,  slight  as  the  toy  is,  it  might  perchance  have  had  some 
captivation  for  Julian — Santa  Maria  !  "  said  he,  interrupting  himself ;  "  what  was  I  about 
to  say,  and  my  fair  and  beauteous  Protection,  or  shall  I  rather  term  her  my  Discretion, 
here  in  presence! — Indiscreet  hath  it  been  in  your  Affability,  O  most  lovely  Discretion, 
to  suffer  a  stray  word  to  have  broke  out  of  the  penfold  of  his  mouth,  that  might  overleap 
the  fence  of  civility,  and  trespass  on  the  manor  of  decoitim." 

"Marry I"  said  the  Abbot,  somewhat  impatiently,  "the  greatest  discretion  that  I  can 
see  in  the  matter  is,  to  eat  our  victuals  being  hot — Father  Eustace,  say  the  Benedicite,  and 
cut  up  the  haunch." 

The  Sub-Prior  readily  obeyed  the  first  part  of  the  Abbot's  injunction,  but  paused 
upon  the  second — "  It  is  Friday,  most  reverend,"  he  said  in  Latin,  desirous  that  the  hint 
should  escape,  if  possible,  the  ears  of  the  stranger. 

"  "We  are  travellers,"  said  the  Abbot,  in  reply,  "  and  viatorihus  licitum  est — You  know 
the  canon — a  traveller  must  eat  what  food  his  hard  fate  sets  before  him.  I  grant  you  all 
a  dispensation  to  eat  flesh  this  day,  conditionally  that  you,  brethren,  say  the  Confiteor  at 
curfew  time,  that  the  knight  give  alms  to  his  ability,  and  that  all  and  each  of  you  fast 
from  flesh  on  such  day  within  the  next  month  that  shall  seem  most  convenient ;  where- 
fore fall  to  and  eat  your  food  with  cheerful  countenances,  and  you.  Father  Refectioner, 
da  mixtus." 

While  the  Abbot  was  thus  stating  the  conditions  on  which  his  indulgence  was  granted, 
he  had  already  half  finished  a  slice  of  the  noble  haunch,  and  now  washed  it  down  with  a 
flagon  of  rhenish,  modestly  temjiered  with  water. 

"  AYell  is  it  said,"  he  observed,  as  he  required  from  the  Refectioner  another  slice, 
"  that  virtue  is  its  own  reward  ;  for  though  this  is  but  humble  fare,  and  hastily  prepared, 
and  eaten  in  a  poor  chamber,  I  do  not  remember  me  of  having  had  such  an  appetite 
since  I  was  a  simple  brother  in  the  Abbey  of  Dundrennan,  and  was  wont  to  labour  in  the 
garden  from  morning  until  nones,  when  our  Abbot  struck  the  Cymhalum.  Then  would 
I  enter  keen  with  hunger,  parched  with  thirst,  {da  milii  vinum  quceso,  et  merum  sit,)  and 
partake  with  appetite  of  whatever  was  set  before  us,  according  to  our  rule  ;  feast  or  fast- 
day,  caritas  or  penitentia,  was  the  same  to  me.  I  had  no  stomach  complaints  then,  which 
now  crave  both  the  aid  of  wine  and  choice  cookery,  to  render  my  food  acceptable  to 
my  palate,  and  easy  of  digestion." 


"  It  may  be,  holy  father,"  said  the  Sub-Prior,  "  an  occasional  ride  to  the  extremity  of 
Saint  Mary's  patrimony,  may  have  the  same  happy  effect  on  your  health  as  the  air  of  the 
garden  at  Dundrennan." 

"  Perchance,  witli  our  patroness's  blessing,  such  progresses  may  advantage  us,"  said 
the  Abbot;  "  having  an  especial  eye  that  our  venison  is  carefully  killed  by  some  woods- 
man that  is  master  of  his  craft." 

"  If  the  Lord  Abbot  will  permit  me,"  said  the  Kitchener.  "  I  think  the  best  way  to 
assure  his  loi-dship  on  that  important  point,  would  be  to  retain  as  a  yeoman-pricker,  or 
deputy-ranger,  the  eldest  son  of  this  good  woman.  Dame  Glendinning,  who  is  here  to 
wait  upon  us.  I  should  know  by  mine  office  what  belongs  to  killing  of  game,  and  I 
can  safely  pronounce,  that  never  saw  I,  or  any  other  coquinarius,  a  bolt  so  justly  shot. 
It  has  cloven  the  very  heart  of  the  buck." 

"  What  speak  you  to  us  of  one  good  shot,  father?"  said  Sir  Piercie;  "  I  would  advise 
you  that  such  no  more  maketh  a  shooter,  than  doth  one  swallow  make  a  summer — I  have 
seen  this  springald  of  wliom  you  speak,  and  if  his  hand  can  send  forth  his  shafts  as 
boldly  as  his  tongue  doth  utter  presumptuous  speeches,  I  will  own  him  as  good  an  archer 
as  Robin  Hood." 

"  Marry,"  said  the  Abbot,  "  and  it  is  fitting  we  know  the  truth  of  this  matter  from  the 
dame  herself;  for  ill  advised  were  we  to  give  way  to  any  rashness  in  this  matter,  whereby 
the  bounties  which  Heaven  and  our  patroness  provide  might  be  unskilfully  mangled,  and 
rendered  unfit  for  worthy  men's  use. —  Stand  forth,  therefore,  Dame  Glendinning,  and 
tell  to  us,  as  thy  liege  lord  and  spiritual  Superior,  using  plainness  and  truth,  without 
either  fear  or  favour,  as  being  a  matter  wherein  we  are  deeply  interested,  Doth  this  son 
of  thine  use  his  bow  as  well  as  the  Father  Kitchener  avers  to  us?" 

"  So  please  your  noble  fatherhood,"  answered  Dame  Glendinning,  with  a  deep  curtsy, 
"  I  should  know  somewhat  of  archery  to  my  cost,  seeing  my  husband — God  assoilzie 
him! — was  slain  in  the  field  of  Pinkie  with  an  arrow-shot,  while  he  was  fighting  under 
the  Kirk's  banner,  as  became  a  liege  vassal  of  the  Halidome.  He  was  a  valiant  man, 
please  your  reverence,  and  an  honest;  and  saving  that  he  loved  a  bit  of  venison,  and 
shifted  for  his  living  at  a  time  as  Border-men  will  sometimes  do,  I  wot  not  of  sin  that 
he  did.  And  yet,  though  I  have  paid  for  mass  after  mass  to  the  matter  of  a  forty 
shilling,  besides  a  quarter  of  wheat  and  four  firlocks  of  rye,  I  can  have  no  assurance  yet 
that  he  has  been  delivered  from  purgatory." 

"Dame,"  said  the  Lord  Abbot,  "this  shall  be  looked  into  heedfuUy;  and  since  thy 
husband  fell,  as  thou  sayest,  in  the  Kirk's  quarrel,  and  under  her  banner,  rely  upon  it 
that  we  will  have  him  out  of  purgatory  forthwith — that  is,  always  provided  he  be  there. 
— But  it  is  not  of  thy  husband  whom  we  now  devise  to  speak,  but  of  thy  son ;  not  of  a 
shot  Scotsman,  but  of  a  shot  deer — Wherefore,  I  say,  answer  me  to  the  point,  is  thy  son 
a  practised  archer,  ay  or  no?" 

"  Alack  !  my  reverend  lord,"  replied  the  widow,  "  and  my  ci'oft  would  be  better  tilled, 
if  I  could  answer  your  reverence  that  he  is  not. — Practised  archer! — marry,  holy  sir,  I 
would  he  would  practise  something  else — cross-bow  and  long-bow,  hand-gun  and  hack- 
but, falconet  and  saker,  he  can  shoot  with  them  all.  And  if  it  would  please  this  right 
honourable  gentleman,  our  guest,  to  hold  out  his  hat  at  the  distance  of  a  hundred  yards, 
our  Halbert  shall  send  shaft,  bolt,  or  bullet  through  it,  (so  that  right  honourable  gentle- 
man swerve  not,  but  hold  out  steady,)  and  I  will  forfeit  a  quarter  of  barley  if  he  touch 
but  a  knot  of  his  ribands.  I  have  seen  our  old  Martin  do  as  much,  and  so  has  our  right 
reverend  the  Sub-Prior,  if  he  be  pleased  to  remember  it." 

"  I  am  not  like  to  forget  it,  dame,"  said  Father  Eustace  ;  "  for  I  knew  not  which  most 
to  admire,  the  composure  of  the  young  marksman,  or  the  steadiness  of  the  old  mark. 
Yet  I  presume  not  to  advise  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  to  subject  his  valuable  beaver,  and  yet 
more  valuable  person,  to  such  a  risk,  unless  it  should  be  his  own  special  pleasure." 


"Be  assured  it  is  not,"  said  Sir  Piercie  Shafton,  something  hastily;  "  be  well  assured, 
holy  father,  that  it  is  not.  I  dispute  not  the  lad's  qualities,  for  which  your  reverence 
vouches.  But  bows  are  but  Wood,  strings  are  but  flax,  or  the  silk-worm  excrement  at 
best;  archers  are  but  men,  fingers  may  slip,  eyes  may  dazzle,  the  blindest  may  hit  the 
butt,  the  best  marker  may  shoot  a  bow's  length  beside.  Therefore  will  we  try  no  peril- 
ous experiments." 

"Be  that  as  you  will.  Sir  Piercie,"  said  the  Abbot ;  "meantime  we  will  name  this 
youth  bow-bearer  in  the  forest  granted  to  us  by  good  King  David,  that  the  chase  might 
recreate  our  wearied  spirits,  the  flesh  of  the  deer  improve  our  poor  commons,  and  the 
hides  cover  the  books  of  our  library;  thus  tending  at  once  to  the  sustenance  of  body 
and  soul." 

"  Kneel  down,  woman,  kneel  down,"  said  the  Refectioner  and  the  Kitchener,  with  one 
voice,  to  Dame  Glendinning,  "  and  kiss  his  lordship's  hand,  for  the  grace  which  he  has 
granted  to  thy  son." 

They  then,  as  if  they  had  been  chanting  the  service  and  the  responses,  set  off  in  a 
sort  of  duetto,  enumerating  the  advantages  of  the  situation. 

"A  green  gown  and  a  pair  of  leathern  galligaskins  every  Pentecost,"  said  the 

"  Four  marks  by  the  year  at  Candlemas,"  answered  the  Refectioner. 

"  An  hogshead  of  ale  at  Martlemas,  of  the  double  strike,  and  single  ale  at  pleasure,  as 
he  shall  agree  with  the  Cellarer " 

"  Who  is  a  reasonable  man,"  said  the  Abbot,  "  and  will  encourage  an  active  servant 
of  the  convent." 

"  A  mess  of  broth  and  a  dole  of  mutton  or  beef,  at  the  Kitchener's,  on  each  high 
holiday,"  resumed  the  Kitchener. 

"  The  gang  of  tAvo  cows  and  a  palfrey  on  our  Lady's  meadow,"  answered  his  brother 

"An  ox-hide  to  make  buskins  of  yearly,  because  of  the  brambles,"  echoed  the  Kitchener. 

"  And  various  other  perquisites,  qum  mine  prcpscriber-e  longum,"  said  the  Abbot, 
summing,  with  his  own  lordly  voice,  the  advantages  attached  to  the  ofliice  of  conventual 

Dame  Glendinning  was  all  this  while  on  her  knees,  her  head  mechanically  turning 
from  the  one  church  officer  to  the  other,  which,  as  they  stood  one  on  each  side  of  her, 
had  much  the  appearance  of  a  figure  moved  by  clock-work,  and  so  soon  as  they  were 
silent,  most  devotedly  did  she  kiss  the  munificent  hand  of  the  Abbot.  Conscious,  how- 
ever, of  Halbert's  intractability  in  some  points,  she  could  not  help  qualifying  her  grateful 
and  reiterated  thanks  for  the  Abbot's  bountiful  proffer,  with  a  hope  that  Halbert  would 
see  his  wisdom,  and  accept  of  it. 

"How,"  said  the  Abbot,  bending  liis  brows,  "accept  of  it? — "VYoman,  is  thy  son  in  his 
right  wits?" 

Elspeth,  stunned  by  the  tone  in  which  this  question  was  asked,  was  altogether  unable 
to  reply  to  it.  Indeed,  any  answer  she  might  have  made  could  hardly  have  been  heard, 
as  it  pleased  the  two  office-bearers  of  the  Abbot's  table  again  to  recommence  their 
alternate  dialogue. 

"Refuse!"  said  the  Kitchener. 

"  Refuse!"  answered  the  Refectioner,  echoing  the  other's  word  in  a  tone  of  still  louder 

"  Refuse  four  marks  by  the  year!"  said  the  one. 

"Ale  and  beer — broth  and  mutton — cow's  grass  and  palfrey's!"  shouted  the  Kitchener. 

"  Gown  and  galligaskins !"  responded  the  Refectioner. 

"A  moment's  patience,  my  brethren,"  answered  the  Sub-Prior,  "and  let  us  not  be 
thus  astonished   before  cause  is  afforded  of  our  amazement.     This  good  dame  best 


knoweth  the  temper  and  spirit  of  her  son— this  much  I  can  say,  that  it  lietli  not  towards 
letters  or  learning,  of  which  I  have  in  vain  endeavoured  to  instil  into  him  some  tincture. 
Nevertheless,  he  is  a  youth  of  no  common  spirit,  but  much  like  those  (in  my  weak 
judgment)  Avhom  God  raises  up  among  a  people  when  he  meaneth  that  their  deliverance 
shall  be  wrought  out  with  strength  of  hand  and  valour  of  heart.  Such  men  we  have 
seen  marked  by  a  waywardness,  and  even  an  obstinacy  of  character,  which  hath  appeared 
intractability  and  stupidity  to  those  among  whom  they  waU^ed  and  were  conversant, 
until  the  very  opportunity  hath  arrived  in  which  it  was  the  will  of  Providence  that  they 
should  be  the  fitting  instrument  of  great  things." 

"Now,  in  good  time  hast  thou  spoken,  Father  Eustace,"  said  the  Abbot;  "and  we 
will  see  this  swankie  before  we  decide  upon  the  means  of  employing  him. — How  say 
you.  Sir  Piercie  Shafton,  is  it  not  the  court  fashion  to  suit  the  man  to  the  office,  and  not 
the  office  to  the  man?" 

"  So  please  your  reverence  and  lordship,"  answered  the  Northumbrian  kniglit,  "  I  do 
partly,  that  is,  in  some  sort,  subscribe  to  what  your  wisdom  hath  delivered — Nevertheless, 
under  reverence  of  the  Sub  Prior,  we  do  not  look  for  gallant  leaders  and  national 
deliverers  in  the  hovels  of  the  mean  common  people.  Credit  me,  that  if  there  be  some 
flashes  of  martial  spirit  about  this  young  person,  which  I  am  not  called  upon  to  dispute, 
(though  I  have  seldom  seen  that  presumption  and  arrogance  were  made  good  upon  the 
upshot  by  deed  and  action,)  yet  still  these  will  prove  insufficient  to  distinguish  him,  save 
in  his  own  limited  and  lowly  sphere — even  as  the  glowworm,  which  makes  a  goodly  show 
among  the  grass  of  the  field,  would  be  of  little  avail  if  deposited  in  a  beacon-grate." 

"Now,  in  good  time,"  said  the  Sub-Prior,  "and  here  comes  the  young  huntsman  to 
speak  for  himself;"  for,  being  placed  opposite  to  the  window,  he  could  observe  Halbert 
as  he  ascended  the  little  mound  on  which  the  tower  was  situated. 

"  Summon  him  to  our  presence,"  said  the  Lord  Abbot;  and  with  an  obedient  start  the 
two  attendant  monks  went  off  with  emulous  alertness.  Dame  Glendinning  sprung  away 
at  the  same  moment,  partly  to  gain  an  instant  to  recommend  obedience  to  her  son,  partly 
to  prevail  with  him  to  change  his  apparel  before  coming  in  presence  of  the  Abbot.  But 
the  Kitchener  and  Eefectioner,  both  speaking  at  once,  had  already  seized  each  an  arm, 
and  wei-e  leading  Halbert  in  triumph  into  the  apartment,  so  that  she  could  only  ejaculate, 
"  His  will  be  done;  but  an  he  had  but  had  on  him  his  Sunday's  hose!" 

Limited  and  humble  as  this  desire  was,  the  fates  did  not  grant  it,  for  Halbert  Glen- 
dinning was  hurried  into  the  presence  of  the  Lord  Abbot  and  his  party  without  a 
word  of  explanation,  and  without  a  moment's  time  being  allowed  to  assume  his  lioliday 
hose,  which,  in  the  language  of  the  time,  implied  both  breeches  and  stockings. 

Yet,  though  thus  suddenly  presented  amid  the  centre  of  all  eyes,  there  was  something 
in  Halbert's  appeai'ance  which  commanded  a  certain  degree  of  respect  from  the  company 
into  which  he  was  so  unceremoniously  intruded,  and  the  greater  part  of  whom  were 
disposed  to  consider  him  with  hauteur  if  not  witla  absolute  contempt.  But  his  appear- 
ance and  reception  we  must  devote  to  another  chapter. 

fti  'Kimitmf^. 

Kow  choose  thee,  gallant,  betwixt  wealth  and  honoui' 
There  lies  the  pelf,  in  sum  to  bear  thee  through 
The  dance  of  youtli,  and  the  turmoil  of  manhood, 
Yet  leave  enough  for  age's  cliimney-corner; 
But  an  thou  grasp  to  it,  farewell  ambition, 
Farewell  each  hope  of  bettering  thy  condition. 
And  raising  thy  low  rank  above  the  churls 
That  till  the  earth  for  bread. 

Old  Play. 

Halbert  was  now  about  nineteen  years  old,  tall  and  active  rather  than 
strong,  yet  of  that  hardy  conformation  of  limb  and  sinew,  which  promises 
"""""^  — .  gj,g^^  strength  when  the  growth  shall  be  complete,  and  the  system 
confirmed.  He  was  perfectly  well  made,  and,  like  most  men  who  have  that  advantage, 
possessed  a  grace  and  natural  ease  of  manner  and  carriage,  which  prevented  his  height 
from  being  the  distinguished  part  of  his  external  appearance.  It  was  not  until  you  had 
compared  his  stature  with  that  of  those  amongst  or  near  to  whom  he  stood,  that  you 
became  sensible  that  the  young  Glendinning  was  upwards  of  six  feet  high.  In  the 
combination  of  unusual  height  with  perfect  symmetry,  ease,  and  grace  of  carriage,  the 
young  heir  of  Glendearg,  notwithstanding  his  rustic  birth  and  education,  had  greatly  the 
advantage  even  of  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  himself,  whose  stature  was  lower,  and  his  limbs, 
though  there  was  no  particular  point  to  object  to,  were  on  the  whole  less  exactly 
proportioned.  On  the  other  hand.  Sir  Piercie's  very  handsome  countenance  aiforded  him 
as  decided  an  advantage  over  the  Scotsman,  as  regularity  of  features  and  brilliance  of 


complexion  could  give  over  traits  which  were  rather  strongly  marked  than  beautiful,  and 
vipon  whose  complexion  the  "  skyey  influences,"  to  which  he  was  constantly  exposed,  had 
blended  the  red  and  white  into  the  purely  nut-brown  hue,  which  coloured  alike  cheeks,  neck, 
and  forehead,  and  blushed  only  in  a  darker  glow  upon  the  former. — Halbert's  eyes  supplied 
a  marked  and  distinguished  part  of  his  physiognomy.  They  were  large  and  of  a  hazel 
colour,  and  sparkled  in  moments  of  animation  with  such  uncommon  brilliancy,  that  it 
seemed  as  if  they  actually  emitted  light.  Nature  had  closely  curled  the  locks  of  dark- 
brown  hair,  which  relieved  and  set  off  the  features,  such  as  we  have  described  them, 
displaying  a  bold  and  animated  disposition,  much  more  than  might  liave  been  expected 
from  his  situation,  or  from  his  previous  manners,  which  hitherto  had  seemed  bashful, 
homely,  and  awkward. 

Halbert's  dress  w^as  certainly  not  of  that  description  which  sets  off  to  the  best  advantage 
a  presence  of  itself  prepossessing,  His  jerkin  and  hose  were  of  coarse  rustic  cloth,  and 
his  cap  of  the  same.  A  belt  round  his  waist  served  at  once  to  sustain  the  broad-sword 
which  we  have  already  mentioned,  and  to  hold  five  or  six  arrows  and  bird-bolts,  which 
were  stuck  into  it  on  the  right  side,  along  with  a  large  knife  hilted  with  buck-horn,  or, 
as  it  was  then  called,  a  dudgeon-dagger.  To  complete  his  dress,  we  must  notice  Lis  loose 
buskins  of  deer's-hide,  formed  so  as  to  draw  up  on  the  leg  as  high  as  the  knee,  or  at 
pleasure  to  be  thrust  down  lower  than  the  calves.  These  were  generally  used  at  the 
period  by  such  as  either  had  their  principal  occupation,  or  their  chief  pleasure,  in  silvan 
sports,  as  they  served  to  protect  the  legs  against  the  rough  and  tangled  thickets  into 
which  the  pursuit  of  game  frequently  led  them. — And  these  trifling  particulars  complete 
his  external  appearance. 

It  is  not  so  easy  to  do  justice  to  the  manner  in  which  young  Glendinning's  soul  spoke 
through  his  eyes  when  ushered  so  suddenly  into  the  company  of  those  whom  his  earliest 
education  had  taught  him  to  treat  with  awe  and  reverence.  The  degree  of  embarrassment, 
which  his  demeanour  evinced,  had  nothing  in  it  either  meanly  servile,  or  utterly 
disconcerted.  It  was  no  more  than  became  a  generous  and  ingenuous  youth  of  a  bold 
spirit,  but  totally  inexperienced,  who  should  for  the  first  time  be  called  upon  to  think  and 
act  for  himself  in  such  society  and  under  such  disadvantageous  circumstances.  There 
was  not  in  his  carriage  a  grain  either  of  forwardness  or  of  timidity,  which  a  friend  could 
have  wished  away. 

He  kneeled  and  kissed  the  Abbot's  hand,  then  rose,  and  retiring  two  paces,  bowed 
respectfully  to  the  circle  around,  smiling  gently  as  he  received  an  encouraging  nod  from 
the  Sub-Prior,  to  whom  alone  he  was  personally  known,  and  blushing  as  he  encountered 
the  anxious  look  of  Mary  Avenel,  who  beheld  with  painful  interest  the  sort  of  ordeal  to 
which  her  foster-brother  was  about  to  be  subjected.  Recovering  from  the  transient 
flurry  of  spirits  into  which  the  encounter  of  her  glance  had  thrown  him,  he  stood  com- 
posedly awaiting  till  the  Abbot  should  express  his  pleasure. 

The  ingenuous  expression  of  countenance,  noble  form,  and  graceful  attitude  of  the 
young  man,  failed  not  to  prepossess  in  his  favour  the  churchmen  in  whose  presence  he 
stood.  The  Abbot  looked  round,  and  exchanged  a  grapious  and  approving  glance  with 
his  counsellor  Father  Eustace,  although  probably  the  appointment  of  a  ranger,  or  bow- 
bearer,  was  one  in  which  he  might  have  been  disposed  to  proceed  without  the  Sub-Prior's 
advice,  were  it  but  to  shew  his  own  free  agency.  But  the  good  mien  of  the  young  man 
now  in  nomination  was  such,  that  he  rather  hastened  to  exchange  congratulation  on 
meeting  with  so  proper  a  subject  of  promotion,  than  to  indulge  any  other  feeling.  Father 
Eustace  enjoyed  the  pleasure  which  a  well-constituted  mind  derives  from  seeing  a  benefit 
light  on  a  deserving  object;  for  as  he  had  not  seen  Halbert  since  circumstances  had  made 
so  material  a  change  in  his  manner  and  feelings,  he  scarce  doubted  that  the  proffered 
appointment  would,  notwithstanding  his  mother's  uncertainty,  suit  the  disposition  of  a 
youth  who  had  appeared  devoted  to  woodland  sports,  and  a  foe  alike  to  sedentary  or 


settled  occupation  of  any  kind.  The  Refectioner  and  Kitchener  were  so  well  pleased  with 
Halbert's  prepossessing  appearance,  that  they  seemed  to  think  that  the  salary,  emoluments, 
and  perquisites,  the  dole,  the  grazing,  the  gown,  and  the  galligaskins,  could  scarce  be 
better  bestowed  than  on  the  active  and  graceful  figure  before  them. 

Sir  Piercie  Shafton,  whether  from  being  more  deeply  engaged  in  his  OAvn  cogitations, 
or  that  the  subject  was  unworthy  of  his  notice,  did  not  seem  to  partake  of  the  general 
feeling  of  approbation  excited  by  the  young  man's  presence.  He  sate  with  his  eyes  half 
shut,  and  his  arms  folded,  appearing  to  be  wrapped  in  contemplations  of  a  nature  deeper 
than  those  arising  out  of  the  scene  before  him.  But,  notwithstanding  his  seeming 
abstraction  and  absence  of  mind,  there  was  a  flutter  of  vanity  in  Sir  Piercie's  very 
handsome  countenance,  an  occasional  change  of  posture  from  one  striking  attitude  (or 
what  he  conceived  to  be  such)  to  another,  and  an  occasional  stolen  glance  at  the  female 
part  of  the  company,  to  spy  how  far  he  succeeded  in  riveting  their  attention,  which  gave 
a  marked  advantage,  in  comparison,  to  the  less  regular  and  more  harsh  features  of 
Halbert  Glendinning,  with  their  composed,  manly,  and  deliberate  expression  of  mental 

Of  the  females  belonging  to  the  family  of  Glendearg,  the  Miller's  daughter  alone  had 
her  mind  sufiiciently  at  leisure  to  admire,  from  time  to  time,  the  graceful  attitudes  of  Sir 
Piercie  Shafton  ;  for  both  Mary  Avenel  and  Dame  Glendinning  were  waiting  in  anxiety 
and  apprehension  the  answer  which  Halbert  was  to  return  to  the  Abbot's  proposal,  and 
fearfully  anticipating  the  consequences  of  his  probable  refusal.  The  conduct  of  his 
brother  Edward,  for  a  lad  constitutionally  shy,  respectful,  and  even  timid,  was  at  once 
affectionate  and  noble.  This  younger  son  of  Dame  Elspeth  had  stood  unnoticed  in  a 
corner,  after  the  Abbot,  at  the  request  of  the  Sub-Prior,  had  honoured  him  with  some 
passing  notice,  and  asked  him  a  few  common-place  questions  about  his  progress  in 
Donatus,  and  in  the  Promptuarium  Parvidorum,  without  waiting  for  the  answers. 
From  his  corner  he  now  glided  round  to  his  brother's  side,  and  keeping  a  little 
behind  him,  slid  his  right  hand  into  the  huntsman's  left,  and  by  a  gentle  pressure, 
which  Halbert  instantly  and  ardently  returned,  expressed  at  once  his  interest  in  his 
situation,  and  his  resolution  to  share  his  fate. 

The  group  was  thus  arranged,  when,  after  the  pause  of  two  or  three  minutes, 
which  he  employed  in  slowly  sipping  his  cup  of  wine,  in  order  that  he  might  enter 
on  his  proposal  with  due  and  deliberate  dignity,  the  Abbot  at  length  expressed  himself 
thus : — 

"  My  son — we  your  lawful  Superior,  and  the  Abbot,  under  God's  favour,  of  the 
community  of  Saint  Mary's,  have  heard  of  your  manifold  good  gifts — a-hem — especially 
touching  wood-craft — and  the  huntsman-like  fashion  in  which  you  strike  your  game, 
truly  and  as  a  yeoman  should,  not  abusing  Heaven's  good  benefits  by  spoiling  the  flesh, 
as  is  too  often  seen  in  careless  rangers — a-hem."  He  made  here  a  pause,  but  observing 
that  Glendinning  only  replied  to  his  compliment  by  a  bow,  he  proceeded, — "  My  son,  we 
commend  your  modesty ;  nevertheless,  we  will  that  thou  shouldst  speak  freely  to  us 
touching  that  which  we  have  premeditated  for  thine  advancement,  meaning  to  confer  on 
thee  the  office  of  bow-bearer  and  ranger,  as  well  over  the  chases  and  forests  wherein 
our  house  hath  privilege  by  the  gifts  of  pious  kings  and  nobles,  whose  souls  now  enjoy 
the  fruits  of  their  bounties  to  the  Church,  as  to  those  which  belong  to  us  in  exclusive 
right  of  property  and  perpetuity.  Thy  knee,  my  son — that  we  may,  with  our  own  hand, 
and  without  loss  of  time,  induct  thee  into  office." 

"  Kneel  down,"  said  the  Kitchener  on  the  one  side ;  and  "  Kneel  down,"  said  the 
Eefectioner  on  the  other. 

But  Halbert  Glendinning  remained  standing. 

"  Were  it  to  shew  gratitude  and  good-will  for  your  reverend  lordship's  noble  offer, 
I  could  not,"  he  said,  "  kneel  low  enough,  or  remain  long  enough  kneeling.     But  I  may 


not  kneel  to  take  investvire  of  your  noble  gift,  my  Lord  Abbot,  being  a  man  determined 
to  seek  my  fortune  otherwise." 

"  How  is  that,  sir?"  said  the  Abbot,  knitting  his  brows  ;  "  do  I  hear  you  speak  aright? 
and  do  you,  a  born  vassal  of  the  Halidome,  at  the  moment  when  I  am  destining  to  you 
such  a  noble  expression  of  my  good-will,  propose  exchanging  my  service  for  that  of 
any  other?" 

"My  lord,"  said  Halbert  Glendinning,  "it  grieves  me  to  think  you  hold  me  capable  of 
undervaluing  your  gracious  offer,  or  of  exchanging  your  service  for  another.  But  your 
noble  proffer  doth  but  hasten  the  execution  of  a  determination  which  I  have  long  since 

"Ay,  my  son,"  said  the  Abbot,  "is  it  indeed  so? — right  early  have  you  learned  to 
form  resolutions  without  consulting  those  on  whom  you  naturally  depend.  But  what 
may  it  be,  this  sagacious  resolution,  if  I  may  so  far  pray  you?" 

"  To  yield  up  to  my  brother  and  mother,"  answered  Halbert,  "  mine  interest  in  the 
fief  of  Glendearg,  lately  possessed  by  my  father,  Simon  Glendinning  :  and  having  prayed 
your  lordship  to  be  the  same  kind  and  generous  master  to  them,  that  your  predecessors, 
the  venerable  Abbots  of  Saint  Mary's,  have  been  to  my  fathers  in  time  past ;  for  myself, 
I  am  determined  to  seek  my  fortune  where  I  may  best  find  it." 

Dame  Glendinning  here  ventured,  emboldened  by  maternal  anxiety,  to  break  silence 
with  an  exclamation  of  "  O  my  son  ! "  Edward  clinging  to  his  brother's  side,  half  spoke, 
half  whispered,  a  similar  ejaculation,  of  "  Brother  !  brother  ! " 

The  Sub-Prior  took  up  the  matter  in  a  tone  of  grave  reprehension,  which,  as  he 
conceived,  the  interest  he  had  always  taken  in  the  family  of  Glendearg  required  at 
his  hand. 

"  Wilful  young  man,"  he  said,  "  what  folly  can  urge  thee  to  push  back  the  hand  that 
is  stretched  out  to  aid  thee  ?  "What  visionary  aim  hast  thou  before  thee,  that  can  com- 
pensate for  the  decent  and  sufficient  independence  which  thou  art  now  rejecting  with 

"  Four  marks  by  the  year,  duly  and  truly,"  said  the  Kitchener. 

"  Cow's-grass,  doublet,  and  galligaskins,"  responded  the  Refectioner. 

"  Peace,  my  brethren,"  said  the  Sub-Prior  ;  "  and  may  it  please  your  lordship,  vene- 
rable father,  upon  my  petition,  to  allow  this  headstrong  youth  a  day  for  consideration, 
and  it  shall  be  my  part  so  to  indoctrinate  him,  as  to  convince  him  what  is  due  on  this 
occasion  to  your  lordship,  and  to  his  family,  and  to  himself." 

"Your  kindness,  reverend  father,"  said  the  youth,  "craves  my  dearest  thanks — it  is 
the  continuance  of  a  long  train  of  benevolence  towards  me,  for  wliich  I  give  you  my 
gratitude,  for  I  have  nothing  else  to  offer.  It  is  my  mishap,  not  your  fault,  that  your 
intentions  have  been  frustrated.  But  my  present  resolution  is  fixed  and  unalterable. 
I  cannot  accept  the  generous  offer  of  the  Lord  Abbot ;  my  fate  calls  me  elsewhere,  to 
scenes  where  I  shall  end  it  or  mend  it." 

"  By  our  Lady,"  said  the  Abbot,  "  I  think  the  youth  be  mad  indeed — or  that  you.  Sir 
Piercie,  judged  of  him  most  truly,  when  you  prophesied  that  he  would  prove  unfit  for 
the  promotion  w^e  designed  him — it  may  be  you  knew  something  of  this  wayward 
humour  before?" 

"  By  the  mass,  not  I,"  answered  Sir  Piercie  Shafton,  with  his  usual  indifference. 
"'  I  but  judged  of  him  by  his  birth  and  breeding ;  for  seldom  doth  a  good  hawk  come  out 
of  a  kite's  egg." 

"  Thou  art  thyself  a  kite,  and  kestrel  to  boot,"  replied  Halbert  Glendinning,  without  a 
moment's  hesitation. 

"  This  in  our  pi-esence,  and  to  a  man  of  worship?"  said  the  Abbot,  the  blood  rushing 
to  his  face. 

"  Yes,  my  lord,"  answered  the  youth ;  "  even  in  your  pi-esence  I  return  to  this  gay 


man's  face,  the  causeless  dishonour  which  he  has  flung  on  my  name.     My  brave  father 
who  fell  in  the  cause  of  his  country,  demands  that  justice  at  the  hands  of  his  son  !" 

"  Unmannered  boy!"  said  the  Abbot. 

"  Nay,  my  good  lord,"  said  the  knight,  "  praying  pardon  for  the  coarse  interruption, 
let  me  entreat  you  not  to  be  wroth  with  this  rustical — Credit  me,  the  north  wind  shall  as 
soon  puff  one  of  your  rocks  from  its  basis,  as  aught  which  I  hold  so  slight  and  incon- 
siderate as  the  churlish  speech  of  an  untaught  churl,  shall  move  the  spleen  of  Piercie 

"  Proud  as  you  are,  Sir  Knight,"  said  Halbert,  "  in  your  imagined  superiority,  be  not 
too  confident  that  you  cannot  be  moved." 

"  Faith,  by  nothing  that  thou  canst  urge,"  said  Sir  Piercie. 

"  Knowest  thou,  then,  this  token  ? "  said  young  Glendinning,  offering  to  him  the 
silver  bodkin  which  he  had  received  from  the  White  Lady. 

Never  was  such  an  instant  change,  from  the  most  contemptuous  serenity,  to  the  most 
furious  state  of  passion,  as  that  which  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  exhibited.  It  was  the 
diiference  between  a  cannon  lying  quiet  in  its  embrasure,  and  the  same  gun  when 
touched  by  the  linstock.  He  started  up,  every  limb  quivering  with  rage,  and  his 
features  so  inflamed  and  agitated  by  passion,  that  he  more  resembled  a  demoniac,  than  a 
man  under  the  regulation  of  reason.  He  clenched  both  his  fists,  and  thrusting  them 
forward,  offered  them  furiously  at  the  face  of  Glendinning,  who  was  even  himself 
startled  at  the  frantic  state  of  excitation  which  his  action  had  occasioned.  The  next 
moment  he  withdrew  them,  struck  liis  open  palm  against  his  own  forehead,  and  rushed 
out  of  the  room  in  a  state  of  indescribable  agitation.  The  whole  matter  had  been  so 
sudden,  that  no  person  present  had  time  to  interfere. 

When  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  had  left  the  apartment,  there  was  a  moment's  pause  of 
astonishment ;  and  then  a  general  demand  that  Halbert  Glendinning  should  instantly 
explain  by  what  means  he  had  produced  such  a  violent  change  in  the  deportment  of  the 
English  cavalier. 

"  I  did  nouglit  to  him,"  answered  Halbert  Glendinning,  "  but  what  you  all  saw — am 
I  to  answer  for  his  fantastic  freaks  of  humour?" 

"  Boy,"  said  the  Abbot,  in  his  most  authoritative  manner,  "  these  subterfuges  shall 
not  avail  thee.  This  is  not  a  man  to  be  driven  from  his  temperament  without  some 
sufficient  cause.  That  cause  was  given  by  thee,  and  must  have  been  known  to  thee. 
I  command  thee,  as  thou  wilt  save  thyself  from  worse  measure,  to  explain  to  me  by 
what  means  thou  hast  moved  our  friend  thus — We  choose  not  that  our  vassals  shall 
drive  our  guests  mad  in  our  very  presence,  and  we  remain  ignorant  of  the  means 
whereby  that  purpose  is  effected." 

"  So  may  it  please  your  reverence,  I  did  but  show  him  this  token,"  said  Halbert 
Glendinning,  delivering  it  at  the  same  time  to  the  Abbot,  who  looked  at  it  with  much 
attention,  and  then,  shaking  his  head,  gravely  delivered  it  to  the  Sub-Prior,  without 
speaking  a  word. 

Father  Eustace  looked  at  the  mysterious  token  with  some  attention ;  and  then 
addressing  Halbert  in  a  stern  and  severe  voice,  said,  "  Young  man,  if  thou  wouldst  not 
have  us  suspect  thee  of  some  strange  double-dealing  in  this  matter,  let  us  instantly 
know  whence  thou  hadst  this  token,  and  how  it  possesses  an  influence  on  Sir  Piercie 
Shafton  ? " — It  would  have  been  extremely  difficult  for  Halbert,  thus  hard  pressed,  to 
have  either  evaded  or  answered  so  puzzling  a  question.  To  have  avowed  the  truth 
might,  in  those  times,  have  occasioned  his  being  burnt  at  a  stake,  although,  in  ours,  his 
confession  would  have  only  gained  for  him  the  credit  of  a  liar  beyond  all  rational 
credibility.  He  was  fortunately  relieved  by  the  return  of  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  himself, 
whose  ear  caught,  as  he  entered,  the  sound  of  the  Sub-Prior's  question. 

Without  waiting  until  Halbert  Glendinning  replied,  he  came  forward,  whispering  to 


him   as   he  passed,  "Be  secret— thou  shalt  have  the  satisfaction  thou   hast  dared  to 
seek  for." 

When  he  returned  to  his  place,  there  were  still  marks  of  discomposure  on  his  brow  ; 
but,  becoming  apparently  collected  and  calm,  he  looked  around  him,  and  apologized  for 
the  indecorum  of  which  he  had  been  guilty,  which  he  ascribed  to  sudden  and  severe 
indisposition.     All  were  silent,  and  looked  on  each  other  with  some  surprise. 

The  Lord  Abbot  gave  orders  for  all  to  retire  from  the  apartment,  save  himself.  Sir 
Piercie  Shafton,  and  the  Sub-Prior.  "  And  have  an  eye,"  he  added,  "  on  that  bold 
youth,  that  he  escape  not ,-  for  if  he  hath  practised  by  charm,  or  otherwise,  on  the 
health  of  our  worshipful  guest,  I  swear  by  the  alb  and  mitre  which  I  wear,  that  his 
punishment  shall  be  most  exemplary." 

"  My  lord  and  venerable  fathei',"  said  Halbert,  bowing  respectfully,  "  fear  not  but 
that  I  will  abide  my  doom.  I  think  you  will  best  learn  from  the  worshipful  knight 
himself,  what  is  the  cause  of  his  distemperature,  and  how  slight  my  share  in  it  has 

"  Be  assured,"  said  the  knight,  without  looking  up,  however,  while  he  spoke,  "  I  will 
satisty  the  Lord  Abbot." 

With  these  words  the  company  retired,  and  with  thera  young  Glendinning. 

When  the  Abbot,  the  Sub-Prior,  and  the  English  knight  were  left  alone,  Father 
Eustace,  contrary  to  his  custom,  could  not  help  speaking  the  first.  "  Expound  unto  us, 
noble  sir,"  he  said,  "  by  what  mysterious  means  the  production  of  this  simple  toy  could 
so  far  move  your  spirit,  and  overcome  your  patience,  after  you  had  shewn  yourself 
proof  to  all  the  provocation  offered  by  this  self-sufficient  and  singular  youth  ?" 

The  knight  took  the  silver  bodkin  from  the  good  father's  hand,  looked  at  it  with  great 
composure,  and,  having  examined  it  all  over,  returned  it  to  the  Sub-Prior,  saying  at  the 
same  time,  "  In  truth,  venerable  father,  I  cannot  but  marvel,  that  the  wisdom  implied 
alike  in  your  silver  hairs,  and  in  your  eminent  rank,  should,  like  a  babbling  hound, 
(excuse  the  similitude,)  open  thus  loudly  on  a  false  scent.  I  were,  indeed,  more  slight 
to  be  moved  than  the  leaves  of  the  aspen-tree,  which  wag  at  the  least  breath  of  heaven, 
could  I  be  touched  by  such  a  trifle  as  this,  which  in  no  way  concerns  me  more  than  if 
the  same  quantity  of  silver  were  stricken  into  so  many  groats.  Truth  is,  that  from  my 
youth  upward,  I  have  been  subjected  to  such  a  malady  as  you  saw  me  visited  with  even 
now — a  cruel  and  searching  pain,  which  goeth  through  nerve  and  bone,  even  as  a  good 
brand  in  the  hands  of  a  brave  soldier  sheers  through  limb  and  sinew — but  it  passes 
away  speedily,  as  you  yourselves  may  judge," 

"  Still,"  said  the  Sub-Prior,  "  this  will  not  account  for  the  youth  offering  to  you  this 
piece  of  silver,  as  a  token  by  which  you  were  to  understand  something,  and,  as  we  must 
needs  conjecture,  something  disagreeable." 

"Your  reverence  is  to  conjecture  what  you  will,"  said  Sir  Piercie;  "but  I  cannot 
pretend  to  lay  your  judgment  on  the  right  scent  when  I  see  it  at  fault.  I  hope  I  am 
not  liable  to  be  called  upon  to  account  for  the  foolish  actions  of  a  malapert  boy?" 

"  Assuredly,"  said  the  Sub-Prior,  "  we  shall  prosecute  no  inquiry  which  is  dis- 
agreeable to  our  guest.  Nevertheless,"  said  he,  looking  to  his  Superior,  "  this  chance 
may,  in  some  sort,  alter  the  plan  your  lordship  had  formed  for  your  worshipful  guest's 
residence  for  a  brief  term  in  this  tower,  as  a  place  alike  of  secrecy  and  of  security ; 
both  of  which,  in  the  terms  which  we  now  stand  on  with  England,  are  circumstances  to 
be  desired." 

"In  truth,"  said  the  Abbot,  "and  the  doubt  is  well  thought  on,  were  it  as  well 
removed ;  for  I  scarce  know  in  the  Halidome  so  fitting  a  place  of  refuge,  yet  see  I  not 
how  to  recommend  it  to  our  worshipful  guest,  considering  the  unrestrained  petulance  of 
this  headstrong  youth." 

"Tush!  reverend  sirs — what  would  you  make  of  me?"  said  Sir  Piercie  Shafton. 



"  I  protest,  by  mine  honour,  I  would  abide  in  this  house  were  I  to  choose.  What ! 
I  take  no  exceptions  at  the  youth  for  shewing  a  flash  of  spirit,  though  the  spark  may 
light  on  mine  own  head.  I  honour  the  lad  for  it.  I  protest  I  will  abide  here,  and  he 
shall  aid  me  in  striking  down  a  deer.  I  must  needs  be  friends  with  him,  and  he  be  such 
a  shot :  and  we  will  speedily  send  down  to  my  lord  Abbot  a  buck  of  the  iirst  head, 
killed  so  artificially  as  shall  satisfy  even  the  reverend  Kitchener." 

This  was  said  with  such  apparent  ease  and  good-humour,  that  the  Abbot  made  no 
farther  observation  on  what  had  passed,  but  proceeded  to  acquaint  his  guest  with  the 
details  of  furniture,  hangings,  provisions,  and  so  forth,  which  he  proposed  to  send  up 
to  the  Tower  of  Glendearg  for  his  accommodation.  This  discourse,  seasoned  with  a  cuj) 
or  two  of  wine,  served  to  prolong  the  time  until  the  reverend  Abbot  ordered  his 
cavalcade  to  prejjare  for  their  return  to  the  Monastery. 

"As  we  have,"  he  said,  "in  the  course  of  this  our  toilsome  journey,  lost  our 
meridian,*  indulgence  shall  be  given  to  those  of  our  attendants  who  shall,  from  very 
weariness,  be  unable  to  attend  the  duty  at  prime,  f  and  this  by  way  of  misericoi'd  or 
indulgentia"  \ 

Having  benevolently  intimated  a  boon  to  his  faithful  followers,  which  he  probably 
judged  would  be  far  from  unacceptable,  the  good  Abbot,  seeing  all  ready  for  his 
journey,  bestowed  his  blessing  on  the  assembled  household — gave  his  hand  to  be  kissed 
by  Dame  Glendinning — himself  kissed  the  cheek  of  Mary  Avenel,  and  even  of  the 
Miller's  maiden,  when  they  approached  to  render  him  the  same  homage — commanded 
Halbert  to  rule  his  temper,  and  to  be  aiding  and  obedient  in  all  things  to  the  English 
Knight — admonished  Edwai'd  to  be  discipulus  imjnger  atque  strenuus — then  took  a 
courteous  farewell  of  Sir  Piercie  Shafton,  advising  him  to  lie  close,  for  fear  of  the 
English  borderers,  who  might  be  employed  to  kidnap  him ;  and  having  discharged  these 
various  offices  of  courtesy,  moved  forth  to  the  court-yard,  followed  by  the  whole 
establishment.  Here,  with  a  heavy  sigh  approaching  to  a  groan,  the  venerable  father 
heaved  himself  upon  his  palfrey,  whose  dark  purple  housings  swept  the  ground ;  and, 
greatly  comforted  that  the  discretion  of  the  animal's  pace  would  be  no  longer  disturbed 
by  the  gambadoes  of  Sir  Piercie  and  his  prancing  war-horse,  he  set  forth  at  a  sober  and 
steady  trot  upon  his  return  to  the  Monastery. 

When  the  Sub-Prior  had  mounted  to  accompany  his  principal,  his  eye  sought  out 
Halbert,  who,  partly  hidden  by  a  projection  of  the  outward  wall  of  the  court,  stood 
apart  from,  and  gazing  upon  the  departing  cavalcade,  and  the  group  which  assembled 
around  them.  Unsatisfied  with  the  explanation  he  had  received  concerning  the 
mysterious  transaction  of  the  silver  bodkin,  yet  interesting  himself  in  the  youth,  of 
whose  character  he  had  formed  a  favourable  idea,  the  worthy  monk  resolved  to  take  an 
early  opportunity  of  investigating  that  matter.  In  the  meanwhile,  he  looked  upon 
Halbert  with  a  serious  and  warning  aspect,  and  held  up  his  finger  to  him  as  he  sio-ned 
farewell.  He  then  joined  the  rest  of  the  churchmen,  and  followed  his  Superior  down 
the  valley. 

*  The  hour  of  repose  at  noon,  which,  in  the  middle  ages,  was  employed  in  slumber,  and  which  the  monastic  rules  of 
nocturnal  vigils  rendered  necessary. 

t  Prime  was  tlie  midnight  service  of  the  monks. 

%  Misericoid,  according  to  the  learned  work  of  Fosbrooke  on  British  Monachism,  meant  not  only  an  indulgence,  or  exone- 
ration from  particular  duties,  but  also  a  particular  apartment  in  a  convent,  where  the  monks  assembled  to  enjoy  such 
indulgences  or  allowances  as  were  granted  beyond  the  rule. 

Vol.  V. 


I  hope  you'll  give  me  cause  to  think  you  noble, 
And  do  me  riglit  with  your  sword,  sir,  as  becomes 
One  gentleman  of  honour  to  another ; 
All  this  is  fair,  sir — let  us  make  no  days  on't, 
I'll  lead  your  way. 

Love's  Pilgrimage. 

HE   look  and  sign  of  ■warning  which  the  Sub-Prior  gave  to  Halbert 

Glendinning   as  they  parted,  went  to  his   heart;  for  although  he  had 

t3i   profited  much  less  than  Edward  by  the  good  man's  instructions,  he  had 

)  /%  a  sincere  reverence  for  his  person ;  and  even  the  short  time  he  had 

^^^^^^^i^  foi'  deliberation  tended    to  shew  him   he  was  embarked  in   a  perilous 

^°**^''^°~''^  adventure.     The  nature  of  the  provocation  which  he  had  given  to  Sir 

Piercie  Shafton  he  could  not  even  conjecture  ;  but  he  saAv  that  it  was  of  a  mortal  quality, 

and  he  was  now  to  abide  the  consequences. 

That  he  might  not  force  these  consequences  forward  by  any  premature  renewal  of 
their  quarrel,  he  resolved  to  walk  apart  for  an  hour,  and  consider  on  what  terms  he  was 
to  meet  this  haughty  foreigner.  The  time  seemed  propitious  for  his  doing  so  without 
having  the  appearance  of  wilfully  shunning  the  stranger,  as  all  the  members  of  the 
little  household  were  dispersing  either  to  perform  such  tasks  as  had  been  interrupted  by 
the  arrival  of  the  dignitaries,  or  to  put  in  order  what  had  been  deranged  by  their  visit. 
Leaving  the  tower,  therefore,  and  descending,  unobserved  as  he  thought,  the  knoll  on 
which  it  stood,  Halbert  gained  the  little  piece  of  level  ground  which  extended  betwixt 


the  descent  of  the  hill,  and  the  first  sweep  made  by  the  brook  after  washing  the  foot  of 
the  eminence  on  which  the  tower  was  situated,  where  a  few  straggling  birch  and 
oak-ti'ees  served  to  secure  him  from  observation.  But  scarcely  had  he  reached  the 
spot,  when  he  was  surprised  to  feel  a  smart  tap  upon  the  shoulder,  and,  turning  around, 
he  perceived  he  had  been  closely  followed  by  Sir  Piercie  Shafton. 

"When,  whether  from  our  state  of  animal  spirits,  want  of  confidence  in  the  justice  of 
our  cause,  or  any  other  motive,  our  own  courage  happens  to  be  in  a  wavering  condition, 
nothing  tends  so  much  altogether  to  disconcert  us,  as  a  great  appearance  of  promptitude 
on  the  part  of  our  antagonist.  Halbert  Glendinning,  both  morally  and  constitutionally 
intrepid,  was  nevertheless  somewhat  troubled  at  seeing  the  stranger,  whose  resentment 
he  had  provoked,  appear  at  once  before  him,  and  with  an  aspect  which  boded  hostility. 
But  though  his  heart  might  beat  somewhat  thicker,  he  was  too  high-spirited  to  exhibit 
any  external  signs  of  emotion. — "What  is  your  pleasure.  Sir  Piercie?"  he  said  to  the 
English  knight,  enduring  without  apparent  discomposure  all  the  terrors  which  his 
antagonist  had  summoned  into  his  aspect. 

"What  is  my  pleasure?"  answered  Sir  Piercie ;  "a  goodly  question  after  the  part 
you  have  acted  towaixls  me  ! — Young  man,  I  know  not  v.hat  infatuation  has  led  thee  to 
place  thyself  in  direct  and  insolent  opposition  to  one  who  is  a  guest  of  thy  liege-lord  the 
Abbot,  and  who,  even  from  the  courtesy  due  to  thy  mother's  roof,  had  a  right  to  remain 
there  without  meeting  insult.  Neither  do  I  ask,  or  care,  by  what  means  thou  hast 
become  possessed  of  the  fatal  secret  by  which  thou  hast  dared  to  offer  me  open  shame. 
But  I  must  now  tell  thee,  that  the  possession  of  it  hath  cost  thee  thy  life." 

"  Not,  I  trust,  if  my  hand  and  sword  can  defend  it,"  replied  Halbert,  boldly. 

"  True,"  said  the  Englishman,  "  I  mean  not  to  deprive  thee  of  thy  fair  chance  of  self- 
defence.  I  am  only  sorry  to  think,  that,  young  and  country-bred  as  thou  art,  it  can  but 
little  avail  thee.  But  thou  must  be  well  aware,  that  in  this  quarrel  I  shall  use  no  terms 
of  quarter." 

"  Rely  on  it,  proud  man,"  answered  the  youth,  "  that  I  shall  ask  none  ;  and  although 
thou  speakest  «fB  if  I  lay  already  at  thy  feet,  trust  me,  that  as  I  am  determined  never  to 
ask  thy  mercy,  so  I  am  not  fearful  of  needing  it." 

"  Thou  wilt,  then,"  said  the  knight,  "  do  nothing  to  avert  the  certain  fate  which  thou 
hast  provoked  with  such  wantonness?" 

"  And  how  were  that  to  be  purchased?"  replied  Halbert  Glendinning,  more  with  the 
wish  of  obtaining  some  farther  insight  into  the  terms  on  which  he  stood  with  this 
stranger,  than  to  make  him  the  submission  which  he  might  require. 

"  Explain  to  me  instantly,"  said  Sir  Piercie,  "  without  equivocation  or  delay,  by  what 
means  thou  wert  wound  my  honour  so  deeply — and  shouldst  thou  point  out 
to  me  by  so  doing  an  enemy  more  worthy  of  my  resentment,  I  will  permit  thine  own 
obscure  insignificance  to  draw  a  veil  over  thine  insolence." 

"  This  is  too  high  a  flight,"  said  Glendinning,  fiercely,  "  for  thine  own  presumption 
to  soar  without  being  checked.  Thou  hast  come  to  my  father's  house,  as  well  as  I  can 
guess,  a  fugitive  and  an  exile,  and  thy  first  greeting  to  its  inhabitants  has  been  that  of 
contempt  and  injury.  By  what  means  I  have  been  able  to  retort  that  contempt,  let  thine 
own  conscience  tell  thee.  Enough  for  rae  that  I  stand  on  the  privilege  of  a  free  Scotch- 
man, and  will  brook  no  insult  unreturned,  and  no  injury  imrequited." 

"  It  is  well,  then,"  said  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  ;  "we  will  dispute  this  matter  to-morrow 
morning  with  our  swords.  Let  the  time  be  daybreak,  and  do  thou  assign  the  place. 
We  will  go  forth  as  if  to  strike  a  deer." 

"  Content,"  replied  Halbert  Glendinning :  "  I  will  guide  thee  to  a  spot  where  an 
hundred  men  might  fight  and  fall  without  any  chance  of  interruption." 

"  It  is  well,"  answered  Sir  Piercie  Shafton.  "  Here  then  we  part. — Many  will  say, 
that  in  thus  indulging  the  right  of  a  gentleman  to  the  son  of  a  clod-breaking  peasant^ 

M  2 


I  derogate  from  my  sphere,  even  as  the  blessed  sun  would  derogate  should  he  condescend 
to  compare  and  match  his  golden  beams  with  the  twinkle  of  a  pale,  blinking,  expiring, 
gross-fed  taper.  But  no  consideration  of  rank  shall  prevent  my  avenging  the  insult 
thou  hast  offered  me.  We  bear  a  smooth  face,  observe  me.  Sir  Villagio,  before  the 
worshipful  inmates  of  yonder  cabin,  and  to-morrow  we  try  conclusions  with  our  swords." 
So  saying,  he  turned  away  towards  the  tower. 

It  may  not  be  unworthy  of  notice,  that  in  the  last  speech  only,  had  Sir  Piercie  used 
some  of  those  flowers  of  rhetoric  which  characterized  the  usual  style  of  his  conversation. 
Apparently,  a  sense  of  wounded  honour,  and  the  deep  desire  of  vindicating  his  injured 
feelings,  had  proved  too  strong  for  the  fantastic  affectation  of  his  acquired  habits. 
Indeed,  such  is  usually  the  influence  of  energy  of  mind,  when  called  forth  and  exerted, 
that  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  had  never  appeared  in  the  eyes  of  his  youthful  antagonist  half 
so  much  deserving  of  esteem  and  respect  as  in  this  brief  dialogue,  by  which  they 
exchanged  mutual  defiance.  As  he  followed  him  slowly  to  the  tower,  he  could  not  help 
thinking  to  himself,  that,  had  the  English  knight  always  displayed  this  superior  tone  of 
bearing  and  feeling,  he  would  not  probably  have  felt  so  earnestly  disposed  to  take  offence 
at  his  hand.  Mortal  offence,  however,  had  been  exchanged,  and  the  matter  was  to  be 
put  to  mortal  ai'bitrement. 

The  family  met  at  the  evening  meal,  when  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  extended  the  benignity 
of  his  countenance  and  the  graces  of  his  conversation  far  more  generally  over  the  party 
than  he  had  hitherto  condescended  to  do.  The  greater  part  of  his  attention  was,  of 
course,  still  engrossed  by  his  divine  and  inimitable  Discretion,  as  he  chose  to  term  Maiy 
Avenel;  but,  nevertheless,  there  were  interjectional  flourishes  to  the  Maid  of  the  Mill, 
under  the  title  of  Comely  Damsel,  and  to  the  Dame,  under  that  of  Worthy  Matron. 
Nay,  lest  he  should  fail  to  excite  their  admiration  by  the  graces  of  his  rhetoric,  he  gene- 
rously, and  Avithout  solicitation,  added  those  of  his  voice ;  and  after  regretting 
bitterly  the  absence  of  his  viol-de-gamba,  he  regaled  them  with  a  song,  "  which,"  said 
he,  "  the  inimitable  Astrophel,  whom  mortals  call  Philip  Sidney,  composed  in  the 
nonage  of  his  muse,  to  shew  the  world  what  they  are  to  expect  from  his  riper  years,  and 
which  will  one  day  see  the  light  in  that  not-to-be-paralleled  perfection  of  human  wit, 
which  he  has  addressed  to  his  sister,  the  matchless  Parthenope,  whom  men  call  Countess 
of  Pembroke  ;  a  work,"  he  continued,  "  whereof  his  friendship  hath  permitted  me,  though 
unworthy,  to  be  an  occasional  partaker,  and  whereof  I  may  Avell  say,  that  the  deep 
afflictive  tale  which  awakeneth  our  sorrows,  is  so  relieved  with  brilliant  similitudes,  dulcet 
descriptions,  pleasant  poems,  and  engaging  interludes,  that  they  seem  as  the  stars  of  the 
firmament,  beautifying  the  dusky  robe  of  night.  And  though  I  wot  well  how  much 
the  lovely  and  quaint  language  will  suffer  by  my  widowed  voice,  widowed  in  that  it  is 
no  longer  matched  by  my  beloved  viol-de-gamba,  I  will  essay  to  give  you  a  taste  of  the 
ravishing  sweetness  of  the  poesy  of  the  un-to-be-imitated  Astrophel." 

So  saying,  he  sung  without  mercy  or  remorse  about  five  hundred  verses,  of  which  the 
two  first  and  the  four  last  may  suflace  for  a  specimen — 

"  What  tongue  can  her  perfections  tell, 
On  whose  each  part  all  pens  may  dwell. 
«  *  »  *  * 

Of  whose  high  praise  and  praiseful  bliss, 
Goodness  the  pen.  Heaven  paper  is ; 
The  ink  immortal  fame  doth  send, 
As  I  began  so  I  must  end." 

As  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  always  sung  with  his  eyes  half  shut,  it  was  not  until,  agreeably 
to  the  promise  of  poetry,  he  had  fairly  made  an  end,  that  looking  round,  he  discovered 
that  the  greater  part  of  his  audience  had,  in  the  meanwhile,  yielded  to  the  charms  of 
repose.  Mary  Avenel,  indeed,  from  a  natural  sense  of  politeness,  had  contrived  to  keep 
awake  through  all  the  prolixities  of  the  divine  Astrophel ;  but  Mysie  was  transported 


in  dreams  back  to  the  dusty  atmosphere  of  her  father's  mill.  Edward  himself,  who  had 
given  his  attention  for  some  time,  had  at  length  fallen  fast  asleep ;  and  the  good  dame's 
nose,  could  its  tones  have  been  put  under  regulation,  might  have  supplied  the  bass  of 
the  lamented  viol-de-gamba.  Halbert,  however,  who  had  no  temptation  to  give  way  to 
the  charms  of  slumber,  remained  awake  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  songster ;  not  that  he 
was  better  entertained  with  the  words,  or  more  ravished  with  the  execution,  than  the 
rest  of  the  company,  but  rather  because  he  admired,  or  perhaps  envied,  the  composure, 
which  could  thus  spend  the  evening  in  interminable  madrigals,  when  the  next  morning 
was  to  be  devoted  to  deadly  combat.  Yet  it  struck  his  natural  acuteness  of  observation, 
that  the  eye  of  the  gallant  cavalier  did  now  and  then,  furtively  as  it  were,  seek  a  glance 
of  his  countenance,  as  to  discover  how  he  was  taking  the  exhibition  of  his  antagonist's 
composure  and  serenity  of  mind. 

He  shall  read  nothing  in  my  countenance,  thought  Halbert,  proudly,  that  can  make 
him  think  my  indifference  less  than  his  own. 

And  taking  from  the  shelf  a  bag  full  of  miscellaneous  matters  collected  for  the  purpose, 
he  began  with  great  industry  to  dress  hooks,  and  had  finished  half-a-dozen  of  flies  (we 
are  enabled,  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  admire  the  antiquities  of  the  gentle  art  of 
angling,  to  state  that  they  were  brown  hackles)  by  the  time  that  Sir  Piercie  had  arrived 
at  the  conclusion  of  his  long-winded  strophes  of  the  divine  Astrophel.  So  that  he  also 
testified  a  magnanimous  contempt  of  that  which  to-morrow  should  bring  forth. 

As  it  now  waxed  late,  the  family  of  Glendearg  separated  for  the  evening ;  Sir  Piercie 

first  saying  to  the  dame,  that  "  her  son  Albert " 

"  Halbert,"  said  Elspeth,  with  emphasis,  "  Halbert,  after  his  goodsire,  Halbert 

"  Well,  then,  I  have  prayed  your  son,  Halbert,  that  we  may  strive  to-morrow,  with 
the  sun's  earliness,  to  wake  a  stag  from  his  lair,  that  I  may  see  whether  he  be  as  prompt 
at  that  sport  as  fame  bespeaks  him." 

"Alas  !  sir,"  answered  Dame  Elspeth,  "  he  is  but  too  prompt,  an  you  talk  of  prompti- 
tude, at  any  thing  that  has  steel  at  one  end  of  it,  and  mischief  at  the  other.  But  he  is 
at  your  honourable  disposal,  and  I  trust  you  will  teach  him  how  obedience  is  due  to  our 
venerable  father  and  lord,  the  Abbot,  and  prevail  with  him  to  take  the  bow-bearer's  place 
in  fee ;  for,  as  the  two  worthy  monks  said,  it  will  be  a  great  help  to  a  widow-woman." 

"  Trust  me,  good  dame,"  replied  Sir  Piercie,  "  it  is  my  purpose  so  to  indoctrinate  him, 
touching  his  conduct  and  bearing  towards  his  betters,  that  he  shall  not  lightly  depart 
from  the  reverence  due  to  them. — We  meet,  then,  beneath  the  birch-trees  in  the  plain," 
he  said,  looking  to  Halbert,  "  so  soon  as  the  eye  of  day  hath  opened  its  lids." — Halbert 
answered  with  a  sign  of  acquiescence,  and  the  knight  proceeded,  "  And  now,  having 
wished  to  my  fairest  Discretion  those  pleasant  dreams  which  wave  their  pinions  around 
the  couch  of  sleeping  beauty,  and  to  this  comely  damsel  the  bounties  of  Morpheus,  and 
to  all  others  the  common  good-night,  I  will  crave  you  leave  to  depart  to  my  place  of 
rest,  though  I  may  say  with  the  poet, 

'  Ah  rest ! — no     rest  but  change  of  place  and  posture : 
Ah  sleep! — no  sleep  but  worn-out  Nature's  swooning; 
Ah  bed! — no  bed  but  cushion  fill'd  with  stones: 
Rest,  sleep,  nor  bed,  await  not  on  an  exile.'  " 

With  a  delicate  obeisance  he  left  the  room,  evading  Dame  Glendinning,  who  hastened 
to  assure  him  he  would  find  his  accommodations  for  repose  much  more  agreeable  than 
they  had  been  the  night  before,  there  having  been  store  of  warm  coverlets,  and  a  soft 
feather-bed,  sent  up  from  the  Abbey.  But  the  good  knight  probably  thought  that  the 
grace  and  effect  of  his  exit  would  be  diminished,  if  he  were  recalled  from  his  hei'oics  to 
discuss  such  sublunary  and  domestic  topics,  and  therefore  hastened  away  without  waiting 
to  hear  her  out. 

"  A  pleasant  gentleman,"   said   Dame  Glendinning ;    "  but   I  will   warrant   him   an 


humorous* — And  sings  a  sweet  song,  though  it  is  somewhat  of  the  longest. — "Well,  I 
make  mine  avow  he  is  goodly  company — I  wonder  when  he  will  go  away." 

Having  thus  expressed  her  respect  for  her  guest,  not  without  intimation  that  she  was 
heartily  tired  of  his  company,  the  good  dame  gave  the  signal  for  the  family  to  disperse, 
and  laid  her  injunctions  on  Halbert  to  attend  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  at  daybreak,  as  he 

When  stretched  on  his  pallet  by  his  brother's  side,  Halbert  had  no  small  cause  to 
envy  the  sound  sleep  which  instantly  settled  on  the  eyes  of  Edward,  but  refused  him  any 
share  of  its  influence.  He  saw  now  too  well  what  the  spirit  had  darkly  indicated,  that, 
in  granting  the  boon  which  he  had  asked  so  unadvisedly,  she  had  contributed  more  to  his 
harm  than  his  good.  He  was  now  sensible,  too  late,  of  the  various  dangers  and  incon- 
veniences with  which  his  dearest  friends  were  threatened,  alike  by  his  discomfiture  or 
his  success  in  the  approaching  duel.  If  he  fell,  he  might  say  personally,  "good-night 
all."  But  it  was  not  the  less  certain  that  he  should  leave  a  dreadful  legacy  of  distress 
and  embarrassment  to  his  mother  and  family, — an  anticipation  which  by  no  means  tended 
to  render  the  front  of  death,  in  itself  a  grisly  object,  more  agreeable  to  his  imagination. 
The  veno-eance  of  the  Abbot,  his  conscience  told  him,  was  sure  to  descend  on  his  mother 
and  brother,  or  could  only  be  averted  by  the  generosity  of  tiie  victor — And  Mary  Avenel 

he  should  have  shewn  himself,  if  he  succumbed  in  the  present  combat,  as  inefficient  in 

protecting  her,  as  he  had  been  unnecessarily  active  in  bringing  disaster  on  her,  and  on 
the  house  in  which  she  had  been  protected  from  infancy.  And  to  this  view  of  the  case 
were  to  be  added  all  those  imbittered  and  anxious  feelings  with  which  the  bravest  men, 
even  in  a  better  or  less  doubtful  quarrel,  regard  the  issue  of  a  dubious  conflict,  the  first 
time  when  it  has  been  their  fate  to  engage  in  an  affair  of  that  nature. 

But  however  disconsolate  the  prospect  seemed  in  the  event  of  his  being  conquered, 
Halbert  could  expect  from  victory  little  more  than  the  safety  of  his  own  life,  and  the 
gratification  of  his  wounded  pride.  To  his  friends — to  his  mother  and  brother — espe- 
cially to  Mary  Avenel — the  consequences  of  his  triumph  would  be  more  certain  destruc- 
tion than  the  contingency  of  his  defeat  and  death.  If  the  English  knight  survived,  he 
mio-ht  in  courtesy  extend  his  protection  to  them ;  but  if  he  fell,  nothing  was  likely  to 
screen  them  from  the  vindictive  measures  which  the  Abbot  and  convent  would  surely  adopt 
ao-ainst  the  violation  of  the  peace  of  the  Halidome,  and  the  slaughter  of  a  protected  guest 
by  one  of  their  own  vassals,  within  whose  house  they  had  lodged  him  for  shelter.  These 
thoughts,  in  which  neither  view  of  the  case  augured  aught  short  of  ruin  to  his  family, 
and  that  ruin  entirely  brought  on  by  his  own  rashness,  were  thorns  in  Halbert  Glendin- 
ning's  pillow,  and  deprived  his  soul  of  peace  and  his  eyes  of  slumber. 

There  appeared  no  middle  course,  saving  one  which  was  marked  by  degradation,  and 
which,  even  if  he  stooped  to  it,  was  by  no  means  free  of  danger.  He  might  indeed 
confess  to  the  English  knight  the  strange  circumstances  which  led  to  his  presenting  him 
with  that  token  which  the  White  Lady  (in  her  displeasure  as  it  now  seemed)  had  given 
him,  that  he  might  offer  it  to  Sir  Piercie  Shafton.  But  to  this  avowal  his  pride  could 
not  stoop,  and  reason,  who  is  wonderfully  ready  to  be  of  counsel  with  pride  on  such 
occasions,  offered  many  arguments  to  shew  it  would  be  useless  as  well  as  mean  so  far  to 
degrade  himself.  "  If  I  tell  a  tale  so  wonderful,"  thought  he,  "  shall  I  not  either  be 
stigmatized  as  a  liar,  or  punished  as  a  wizard  ? — Were  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  generous, 
noble,  and  benevolent,  as  the  champions  of  whom  we  hear  in  romance,  I  might  indeed 
gain  his  ear,  and,  without  demeaning  myself,  escape  from  the  situation  in  which  I  am 
placed.  But  as  he  is,  or  at  least  seems  to  be,  self-conceited,  arrogant,  vain,  and  pre- 
sumptuous— I  should  but  humble  myself  in  vain — and  I  will  not  humble  myself!"  he 
said,  starting  out  of  bed,  grasping  his  broadsword,  and  brandishing  it  in  the  light  of 

■*  Humorous — full  of  whims— thus  Shakspeare,   "  Humorous  as  winter." — The  vulgar  word  humorsome  comes  nearest  to 
the  meaning. 


the  moon,  which  streamed  through  the  deep  niche  that  served  them  as  a  window  ;  when, 
to  his  extreme  surprise  and  tei'roi',  an  airy  form  stood  in  the  moonlight,  but  intercepted 
not  the  reflection  on  the  floor.  Dimly  as  it  was  expressed,  the  sound  of  the  voice  soon 
made  him  sensible  he  saw  the  "White  Lady. 

At  no  time  had  her  presence  seemed  so  terrific  to  him  ;  for  when  he  had  invoked  her,  it 
was  with  the  expectation  of  the  apparition,  and  the  determination  to  abide  the  issue. 
But  now  she  had  come  uncalled,  and  her  presence  impressed  him  with  a  sense  of 
approaching  misfortune,  and  with  the  hideous  apprehension  that  he  had  associated  him- 
self with  a  demon,  over  whose  motions  he  had  no  control,  and  of  whose  powers  and 
quality  he  had  no  certain  knowledge.  He  remained,  therefoi'e,  in  mere  terror,  gazing 
on  the  apparition,  which  chanted  or  recited  in  cadence  the  following  lines — 

'  He  whose  heart  for  vengeance  sued, 
Must  not  shrink  from  shedding  blood; 
Tlie  knot  that  thou  hast  tied  with  word, 
Thou  must  loose  by  edge  of  sword." 

"  Avaunt  thee,  false  Spirit ! "  said  Halbert  Glendinning  ;  "  I  have  bought  thy  advice 
too  dearly  already — Begone  in  the  name  of  God  ! " 

The  Spirit  laughed ;  and  the  cold  unnatural  sound  of  her  laughter  had  something  in 
it  more  feai'ful  than  the  usually  melancholy  tones  of  her  voice.     She  then  replied, — 

"  You  have  summon'd  me  once — ^you  have  summon'd  me  twice, 
And  without  e'er  a  summons  I  come  to  you  thrice ; 
Unask'd  for,  unsued  for,  you  came  to  my  glen; 
Unsued  and  unask'd  I  am  with  you  again." 

Halbert  Glendinning  gave  way  for  a  moment  to  terror,  and  called  on  his  brother, 
"  Edward  !  waken,  waken,  for  Our  Lady's  sake ! " 

Edward  awaked  accordingly,  and  asked  what  he  wanted. 

"  Look  out,"  said  Halbert,  "  look  up  1  seest  thou  no  one  in  the  room  ?" 

"  No,  upon  my  good  word,"  said  Edward,  looking  out, 

"  "What !  seest  thou  nothing  in  the  moonshine  upon  the  floor  there  ?  " 

"  No,  nothing,"  answered  Edward,  "  save  thyself  resting  on  thy  naked  sword.  I  tell 
thee,  Halbert,  thou  shouldst  trust  more  to  thy  spiritual  arms,  and  less  to  those  of  steel 
and  iron.  For  this  many  a  night  hast  thou  started  and  moaned,  and  cried  out  of  fighting, 
and  of  spectres,  and  of  goblins — thy  sleep  hath  not  refreshed  thee — thy  waking  hath 
been  a  dream, — Credit  me,  dear  Halbert,  say  the  Pater  and  Credo,  resign  thyself  to 
the  protection  of  God,  and  thou  wilt  sleep  sound  and  wake  in  comfort." 

"  It  may  be,"  said  Halbert  slowly,  and  having  his  eye  still  bent  on  the  female  form 
which  to  him  seemed  distinctly  visible, — "  it  may  be— But  tell  me,  dear  Edward,  seest 
thou  no  one  on  the  chamber  floor  but  me  ?" 

"  No  one,"  answered  Edward,  raising  himself  on  his  elbow  ;  "  dear  brother,  lay  aside 
thy  weapon,  say  thy  prayers,  and  lay  tliee  down  to  rest." 

"While  he  thus  spoke,  the  Spirit  smiled  at  Halbert  as  if  in  scorn  ;  her  wan  cheek  faded 
in  the  wan  moonlight  even  before  the  smile  had  passed  away,  and  Halbert  himself  no 
longer  beheld  the  vision  to  which  he  had  so  anxiously  solicited  his  brother's  attention, 
"  May  God  preserve  my  wits ! "  he  said,  as,  laying  aside  his  weapon,  he  again  threw 
himself  on  his  bed, 

"  Amen  !  my  dearest  brother,"  answered  Edward  ;  "  but  we  must  not  provoke  that 
Heaven  in  om*  wantonness  which  we  invoke  in  our  misery, — Be  not  angry  with  me,  my 
dear  brother — I  know  not  why  you  have  totally  of  late  estranged  yourself  from  me — It 
is  true,  I  am  neither  so  athletic  in  body,  nor  so  alert  in  courage,  as  you  have  been  from 
your  infancy ;  yet,  till  lately,  you  have  not  absolutely  cast  off*  my  society — Believe  me, 
I  have  wept  in  secret,  though  I  forbore  to  intrude  myself  on  your  privacy.  The  time 
has  been  when  you  held  me  not  so  cheap ;  and  when,  if  I  could  not  follow  the  game  so 
closely,  or  mark  it  so  truly  as  you,  I  could  fill  up  our  intervals  of  pastime  with  pleasant 



tales  of  the  olden  times,  whicli  I  had  read  or  heard,  and  which  excited  even  your  attention 
as  we  sate  and  ate  our  provision  by  some  pleasant  spring — but  now  1  have,  though  I  know 
not  why,  lost  thy  regard  and  affection. — Nay,  toss  not  thy  arms  about  thee  thus  wildly," 
said  the  younger  brother ;  "  from  thy  strange  dreams,  I  fear  some  touch  of  fever  hath 
affected  thy  blood— let  me  draw  closer  around  thee  thy  mantle." 

"  Forbear,"  said  Halbert — "  your  care  is  needless — your  complaints  are  without  reason 
— your  fears  on  my  account  are  in  vain." 

"  Nay,  but  hear  me,  brother,"  said  Edward.  "  Your  speech  in  sleep,  and  now  even 
your  waking  dreams,  are  of  beings  which  belong  not  to  this  world,  or  to  our  race — Our 
good  Father  Eustace  says,  that  howbeit  we  may  not  do  well  to  receive  aU  idle  tales  of 
goblins  and  spectres,  yet  there  is  warrant  from  holy  Scripture  to  believe,  that  the 
fiends  haunt  waste  and  solitary  places ;  and  that  those  who  frequent  such  wildernesses 
alone,  are  the  prey,  or  the  sport,  of  these  wandering  demons.  And  therefore,  I  pray 
thee,  brother,  let  me  go  with  you  when  you  go  next  up  the  glen,  where,  as  you  well  know, 
there  be  places  of  evil  reputation — Thou  carest  not  for  my  escort ;  but,  Halbert,  such 
dangers  are  more  safely  encountered  by  the  wise  in  judgment,  than  by  the  bold  in  bosom  ; 
and  though  I  have  small  cause  to  boast  of  my  own  wisdom,  yet  I  have  that  which  ariseth 
from  the  written  knowledge  of  elder  times." 

There  was  a  moment  daring  this  discourse,  when  Halbert  had  well-nigh  come  to  the 
resolution  of  disburdening  his  own  breast,  by  intrusting  Edward  with  all  that  weighed 
upon  it.  But  when  his  brother  reminded  him  that  this  was  the  morning  of  a  high 
holiday,  and  that,  setting  aside  all  other  business  or  pleasure,  he  ought  to  go  to  the 
Monastery  and  shrive  himself  before  Father  Eustace,  who  would  that  day  occupy  the 
confessional,  pride  stepped  in  and  confirmed  his  wavering  resolution.  "  I  will  not  avow," 
he  thought,  "  a  tale  so  extraordinary,  that  I  may  be  considered  as  an  impostor  or  some- 
thing worse — I  will  not  fly  from  this  Englishman,  whose  arm  and  sword  may  be  no 
better  than  my  own.  My  fathers  have  faced  his  betters,  were  he  as  much  distinguished 
in  battle  as  he  is  by  his  quaint  discourse." 

Pride,  which  has  been  said  to  save  man,  and  woman  too,  from  falling,  has  yet  a  stronger 
influence  on  the  mind  when  it  embraces  the  cause  of  passion,  and  seldom  fails  to  render 
it  victorious  over  conscience  and  reason.  Halbert,  once  determined,  though  not  to  the 
better  course,  at  length  slept  soundly,  and  was  only  awakened  by  the  dawn  of  day. 

(g^l])fii|)tCT  t|)i  d!Eimt35=iFir^t 

Indifferent,  but  indifferent — pshaw,  he  doth  it  not 
Like  one  who  is  his  craft's  master— ne'er  the  less 
I  have  seen  a  clown  confer  a  bloody  coxcomb 
On  one  who  was  a  master  of  defence. 

Old  Plat. 

ITH  the  first  gray  peep  of  dawn,  Halbert  Glendinning  arose  and  hastened 
to  dress  himself,  girded  on  his  weapon,  and  took  a  cross-bow  in  his  hand, 
as  if  his  usual  sport  had  been  his  sole  object.  He  groped  his  way  down 
,  the  dark  and  winding  staircase,  and  undid,  with  as  little  noise  as  possible, 
the  fastenings  of  the  inner  door,  and  of  the  exterior  iron  grate.  At  length 
he  stood  free  in  the  court-yard,  and  looking  up  to  the  tower,  saw  a  signal  made  with  a 
handkerchief  from  the  window.  Nothing  doubting  that  it  was  his  antagonist,  he  paused, 
expecting  him.  But  it  was  Mary  Avenel,  who  ghded  like  a  spirit  from  under  the  low 
and  rugged  portal. 

Halbert  was  much  surprised,  and  felt,  he  knew  not  why,  like  one  caught  in  the  act  of 
a  meditated  trespass.  The  presence  of  Mary  Avenel  had  till  that  moment  never  given 
him  pain.  She  spoke,  too,  in  a  tone  where  sorrow  seemed  to  mingle  with  reproach,  while 
she  asked  him  with  emphasis,  "  What  he  was  about  to  do  ?  " 

He  shewed  his  cross-bow,  and  was  about  to  express  the  pretext  he  had  meditated,  when 
Mary  interrupted  him. 

"  Not  so,  Halbert — that  evasion  were  unworthy  of  one  whose  word  has  hitherto  been 
truth.  You  meditate  not  the  destruction  of  the  deer — your  hand  and  your  heart  are 
aimed  at  other  game — you  seek  to  do  battle  with  this  stranger." 

"And  wherefore  should  I  quarrel  with  our  guest?"  answered  Halbert,  blushing 

"  There  are,  indeed,  many  reasons  why  you  should  not,"  replied  the  maiden,  "  nor  is 
there  one  of  avail  wherefore  you  should — yet  nevertheless,  such  a  quarrel  you  are  now 
searching  after." 


"  Why  should  you  suppose  so,  Mary?"  said  Halbert,  endeavourhig  to  hide  his  con- 
scious purpose — "  he  is  my  mother's  guest — he  is  protected  by  the  Abbot  and  the  com- 
munity, who  are  our  masters — he  is  of  high  degree  also, — and  wherefore  should  you 
think  that  I  can,  or  dare,  resent  a  hasty  word,  which  he  has  perchance  thrown  out  against 
me  more  from  the  Avantonness  of  his  wit,  than  the  purpose  of  his  heart  ? " 

"Alas!"  answered  the  maiden,  "the  very  asking  that  question  puts  your  resolution 
beyond  a  doubt.  Since  your  childhood  you  were  ever  daring,  seeking  danger  rather  than 
avoiding  it — delighting  in  whatever  had  the  air  of  adventure  and  of  courage :  and  it  is 
not  from  fear  that  you  will  now  blench  from  your  purpose — Oh,  let  it  then  be  from  pity ! 
— from  pity,  Halbert,  to  your  aged  mother,  whom  your  death  or  victoiy  will  alike  deprive 
of  the  comfort  and  stay  of  her  age." 

"  She  has  my  brother  Edward,"  said  Halbert,  turning  suddenly  from  her. 

"  She  has  indeed,"  said  Mary  Avenel,  "  the  calm,  the  noble-minded,  the  considerate 
Edward,  who  has  thy  courage,  Halbert,  without  thy  fiery  rashness, — thy  generous  spirit, 
with  more  of  reason  to  guide  it.  He  would  not  have  heard  his  mother,  would  not  have 
heard  his  adopted  sister,  beseech  him  in  vain  not  to  ruin  himself^  and  tear  up  their  future 
hopes  of  happiness  and  protection." 

Halbert's  heart  swelled  as  he  replied  to  this  reproach.  "  "Well — what  avails  it 
speaking  ? — you  have  him  that  is  better  than  me — wiser,  more  considerate — braver, 
for  aught  I  know — you  ai'e  provided  with  a  protector,  and  need  care  no  more  for  me." 

Again  he  turned  to  depart,  but  Mary  Avenel  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm  so  gently  that 
he  scarce  felt  her  hold,  yet  felt  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  strike  it  off.  There  he 
stood,  one  foot  advanced  to  leave  the  court-yard,  but  so  little  determined  on  departure, 
that  he  resembled  a  traveller  arrested  by  the  spell  of  a  magician,  and  unable  either  to 
quit  the  attitude  of  motion,  or  to  proceed  on  his  course. 

Mary  Avenel  availed  herself  of  his  state  of  suspense.  "  Hear  me,"  she  said,  "  hear 
me,  Halbert ! — I  am  an  orphan,  and  even  Heaven  hears  the  orphan — I  have  been  the 
companion  of  your  infancy,  and  if  you  will  not  hear  me  for  an  instant,  from  whom 
may  Mary  Avenel  claim  so  poor  a  boon?" 

*'  I  hear  you,"  said  Halbert  Glendinning,  "  but  be  brief,  dear  Mary — you  mistake  the 
nature  of  my  business — it  is  but  a  morning  of  summer  sport  which  we  propose." 

"  Say  not  thus,"  said  the  maiden,  interrupting  him,  "  say  not  thus  to  me — others  thou 
mayst  deceive,  but  me  thou  canst  not — There  has  been  that  in  me  from  the  earliest 
youth,  which  fraud  flies  from,  and  which  imposture  cannot  deceive.  For  what  fate  has 
given  me  such  a  power  I  know  not ;  but  bred  an  ignorant  maiden,  in  this  sequestered 
valley,  mine  eyes  can  too  often  see  what  man  would  most  willingly  hide — I  can  judge 
of  the  dark  purpose,  though  it  is  hid  under  the  smiling  brow,  and  a  glance  of  the  eye 
says  more  to  me  than  oaths  and  protestations  do  to  others." 

"  Then,"  said  Halbert,  "  if  thou  canst  so  read  the  human  heart, — say,  dear  Mary — 
what  dost  thou  see  in  mine  ? — tell  me  that — say  that  what  thou  seest — what  thou  readest 
in  this  bosom,  does  not  offend  thee —say  but  that,  and  thou  shalt  be  the  guide  of  my 
actions,  and  mould  me  now  and  henceforward  to  honour  or  to  dishonour  at  thy  own 

Mary  Avenel  became  first  red,  and  then  deadly  pale,  as  Halbert  Glendinning  spoke. 
But  when,  turning  round  at  the  close  of  his  address,  he  took  her  hand,  she  gently 
withdrew  it,  and  replied,  "  I  cannot  read  the  heart,  Halbert,  and  I  would  not  of  my 
will  know  aught  of  yours,  save  what  beseems  us  both — I  only  can  judge  of  signs,  words, 
and  actions  of  little  outward  import,  more  truly  than  those  around  me,  as  my  eyes,  thou 
knowest,  have  seen  objects  not  presented  to  those  of  others." 

"  Let  them  gaze  then  on  one  whom  they  shall  never  see  more,"  said  Halbert,  once 
more  turning  from  her,  and  rushing  out  of  the  court-yard  without  again  looking  back, 

Mary  Avenel  gave  a  faint  scream,  and  clasped  both  her  hands  firmly  on  her  forehead 


and  eyes.  She  had  been  a  minute  in  this  attitude,  when  she  was  thus  greeted  by  a  voice 
from  behind :  "  Generously  done,  my  most  clement  Discretion,  to  hide  those  brilliant 
eyes  from  the  far  inferior  beams  which  even  now  begin  to  gild  the  eastern  horizon — 
Certes,  peril  there  were  that  Phoebus,  outshone  in  splendour,  might  in  very  shame- 
facedness  turn  back  his  car,  and  rather  leave  the  world  in  darkness,  than  incur  the 
disgrace  of  such  an  encounter — Credit  me,  lovely  Discretion " 

But  as  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  (the  reader  will  readily  set  down  these  flowers  of  eloquence 
to  the  proper  owner)  attempted  to  take  Mary  Avenel's  hand,  in  order  to  proceed  in  his 
speech,  she  shook  him  abruptly  off,  and  regarding  him  with  an  eye  which  evinced  terror 
and  agitation,  rushed  past  him  into  the  tower. 

The  knight  stood  looking  after  her  with  a  countenance  in  which  contempt  was  strongly 
mingled  with  mortification.  "By  my  knighthood!"  he  ejaculated,  "I  have  thrown  away 
upon  this  rude  rustic  Phidele  a  speech,  which  the  proudest  beauty  at  the  court  of  Felicia 
(so  let  me  call  the  Elysium  from  which  I  am  banished !)  might  have  termed  the  very 
matins  of  Cupid.  Hard  and  inexorable  was  the  fate  that  sent  thee  thither,  Piercie 
Shafton,  to  waste  thy  wit  upon  country  wenches,  and  thy  valour  upon  hob-nailed 
clowns  !  But  that  insult — that  affi'ont — had  it  been  offered  to  me  by  the  lowest  plebeian, 
he  must  have  died  for  it  by  my  hand,  in  respect  the  enormity  of  the  offence  doth 
countervail  the  inequality  of  him  by  whom  it  is  given.  I  trust  I  shall  find  this 
clownish  roisterer  not  less  willing  to  deal  in  blows  than  in  taunts." 

While  he  held  this  conversation  with  himself,  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  was  hastening  to 
the  little  tuft  of  birch-trees  which  had  been  assigned  as  the  place  of  meeting.  He 
greeted  his  antagonist  with  a  courtly  salutation,  followed  by  this  commentary :  "  I  pray 
you  to  observe,  that  I  doff  my  hat  to  you,  though  so  much  my  inferior  in  rank,  without 
derogation  on  my  part,  inasmuch  as  my  having  so  far  honoured  you  in  receiving  and 
admitting  your  defiance,  doth,  in  the  judgment  of  the  best  martialists,  in  some  sort  and 
for  the  time,  raise  you  to  a  level  with  me — an  honour  which  you  may  and  ought  to 
account  cheaply  purchased,  even  with  the  loss  of  your  life,  if  such  should  chance  to  be 
the  issue  of  this  duello." 

"  For  which  condescension,"  said  Halbert,  "  I  have  to  thank  the  token  Avhicli  I  pre- 
sented to  you." 

The  knight  changed  colour,  and  grinded  his  teeth  with  rage — "  Draw  your  weapon  ! " 
said  he  to  Glendinning. 

"  Not  in  this  spot,"  answered  the  youth  ;  "  we  should  be  liable  to  interruption — Follow 
me,  and  I  will  bring  you  to  a  place  whei-e  we  shall  encounter  no  such  risk." 

He  proceeded  to  walk  up  the  glen,  resolving  that  their  place  of  combat  should  be 
in  the  entrance  of  the  Corri-nan-shian ;  both  because  the  spot,  lying  under  the 
reputation  of  being  haunted,  was  very  little  frequented,  and  also  because  he  regarded 
it  as  a  place  which  to  him  might  be  termed  fated,  and  which  he  therefore  resolved 
should  witness  his  death  or  victory. 

They  walked  up  the  glen  for  some  time  in  silence,  like  honourable  enemies  who  did  not 
wish  to  contend  with  words,  and  who  had  nothing  friendly  to  exchange  with  each  other. 
Silence,  however,  was  always  an  irksome  state  with  Sir  Piercie,  and,  moreover,  his 
anger  was  usually  a  hasty  and  short-lived  passion.  As,  therefore,  he  went  forth,  in  his 
own  idea,  in  all  love  and  honour  towards  his  antagonist,  he  saw  not  any  cause  for  sub- 
mitting longer  to  the  painful  restraint  of  positive  silence.  He  began  by  complimenting 
Halbert  on  the  alert  activity  with  which  he  surmounted  the  obstacles  and  impediments 
of  the  way. 

"  Trust  me,"  said  he,  "  worthy  rustic,  we  have  not  a  lighter  or  a  firmer  step  in  our 
courtlike  revels,  and  if  duly  set  forth  by  a  silk  hose,  and  trained  unto  that  stately 
exercise,  your  leg  would  make  an  indifferent  good  show  in  a  pavin  or  a  gaUiard.  And 
I  doubt  nothing,"  he  added,  "  that  you  have  availed  yourself  of  some  opportunity  to 


improve  yourself  in  tte  art  of  fence,  which  is  more  akin  than  dancing  to  our  present 
purpose  ?  " 

"  I  know  nothing  more  of  fencing,"  said  Halbert,  "than  hath  been  taught  me  by  an 
old  shepherd  of  ours,  called  Martin,  and  at  whiles  a  lesson  from  Christie  of  the 
Clinthill — for  the  rest,  I  must  trust  to  good  sword,  strong  arm,  and  sound  heart," 

"  Marry  and  I  am  glad  of  it,  young  Audacity,  (I  will  call  you  my  Audacity,  and  you 
will  call  me  your  Condescension,  while  we  are  on  these  terms  of  unnatural  equality,) 
I  am  glad  of  your  ignorance  with  all  my  heart.  For  we  martialists  proportion  the 
punishments  which  we  inflict  upon  our  opposites,  to  the  length  and  hazard  of  the 
efforts  wherewith  they  oppose  themselves  to  us.  And  I  see  not  why  you,  being  but 
a  tyro,  may  not  be  held  sufficiently  punished  for  your  outrecuidance,  and  orgillous 
presumption,  by  the  loss  of  an  ear,  an  eye,  or  even  a  finger,  accompanied  by  some 
flesh-wound  of  depth  and  severity,  suited  to  your  error — whereas,  had  you  been  able 
to  stand  more  effectually  on  your  defence,  I  see  not  how  less  than  your  life  could  have 
atoned  sufficiently  for  your  presumption." 

"  Now,  by  God  and  Our  Lady,"  said  Halbert,  unable  any  longer  to  restrain  himself, 
"  thou  art  thyself  over  presumptuous,  who  speakest  thus  daringly  of  the  issue  of  a 
combat  which  is  not  yet  even  begun — Are  you  a  god,  that  you  already  dispose  of  my 
life  and  limbs?  or  are  you  a  judge  in  the  justice-air,  telling  at  your  ease  and  without 
risk,  how  the  head  and  quarters  of  a  condemned  criminal  are  to  be  disposed  of?" 

"  Not  so,  O  thou,  whom  I  have  well  permitted  to  call  thyself  my  Audacity  ?  I,  thy 
Condescension,  am  neither  a  god  to  judge  the  issue  of  the  combat  before  it  is  fought, 
nor  a  judge  to  dispose  at  my  ease  and  in  safety  of  the  limbs  and  head  of  a  condemned 
criminal ;  but  I  am  an  indifferent  good  master  of  fence,  being  the  first  pupil  of  the  first 
master  of  the  first  school  of  fence  that  our  royal  ^England  affords,  the  said  master  being 
no  other  than  the  truly  noble,  and  ail-unutterably  skilful  Vincentio  Saviola,  from  whom 
I  learned  the  firm  step,  quick  eye,  and  nimble  hand — of  which  qualities  thou,  O  my 
most  rustical  Audacity,  art  full  like  to  reap  the  fruits  so  soon  as  we  shall  find  a  piece  of 
ground  fitting  for  such  experiments." 

They  had  now  reached  the  gorge  of  the  ravine,  where  Halbert  had  at  first  intended 
to  stop  ;  but  when  he  observed  the  narrowness  of  the  level  ground,  he  began  to  consider 
that  it  was  only  by  superior  agility  that  he  could  expect  to  make  up  his  deficiency  in 
the  science,  as  it  was  called,  of  defence.  He  found  no  spot  which  afforded  sufficient 
room  to  traverse  for  this  purpose,  until  he  gained  the  well-known  fountain,  by  whose 
margin,  and  in  front  of  the  huge  rock  from  Avhich  it  sprung,  was  an  amphitheatre  of 
level  turf,  of  small  space  indeed,  compared  with  the  great  height  of  the  cliffs  with  which 
it  was  surrounded  on  every  point  save  that  from  which  the  rivulet  issued  forth,  yet 
large  enough  for  their  present"purpose. 

When  they  had  reached  this  spot  of  ground,  fitted  well  by  its  gloom  and  sequestered 
situation  to  be  a  scene  of  mortal  strife,  both  were  surprised  to  observe  that  a  grave  was 
dug  close  by  the  foot  of  the  rock  with  great  neatness  and  regularity,  the  green  turf 
being  laid  down  upon  the  one  side,  and  the  earth  thrown  out  in  a  heap  upon  the  other. 
A  mattock  and  shovel  lay  by  the  verge  of  the  grave. 

Sir  Piercie  Shafton  bent  his  eye  with  unusual  seriousness  upon  Halbert  Glendinning, 
as  he  asked  him  sternly,  "  Does  this  bode  treason,  young  man?  And  have  you  purpose 
to  set  upon  me  here  as  in  an  emboscata  or  place  of  vantage  ?  " 

"Not  on  my  part,  by  Heaven!"  answered  the  youth:  "I  told  no  one  of  our  purpose, 
nor  would  I  for  the  throne  of  Scotland  take  odds  against  a  single  arm." 

"  I  believe  thou  wouldst  not,  mine  Audacity,"  said  the  knight,  i-esuming  the  affected 
manner  which  was  become  a  second  nature  to  him ;  "  nevertheless  this  fosse  is  curiously 
well  shaped,  and  might  be  the  masterpiece  of  Nature's  last  bed-maker,  I  would  say  the 
sexton— Wherefore,  let  us  be  thankful  to  chance  or  some  unknown  friend,  who  hath 


thu3  provided  for  one  of  us  the  decencies  of  sepulture,  and  let  us  proceed  to  determine 
which  shall  have  the  advantage  of  enjoying  this  place  of  undisturbed  slumber." 

So  saying,  he  stripped  off  his  doublet  and  cloak,  which  he  folded  up  with  great  care, 
and  deposited  upon  a  large  stone,  while  Halbert  Glendinning,  not  without  some  emotion, 
followed  his  example.  Their  vicinity  to  the  favourite  haunt  of  the  ^Vhite  Lady  led  him 
to  form  conjectures  concerning  the  incident  of  the  grave — "  It  must  have  been  her  work!" 
he  thought :  "  the  Spirit  foresaw  and  has  provided  for  the  fatal  event  of  the  combat — 
I  must  return  from  this  place  a  homicide,  or  I  must  remain  here  for  ever ! " 

The  bridge  seemed  now  broken  down  behind  him,  and  the  chance  of  coming  off 
honourably  without  killing  or  being  killed,  (the  hope  of  which  issue  has  cheered  the 
sinking  heart  of  many  a  duellist,)  seemed  now  altogether  to  be  removed.  Yet  the  very 
desperation  of  his  situation  gave  him,  on  an  instant's  reflection,  both  firmness  and  courage, 
and  presented  to  him  one  sole  alternative,  conquest,  namely,  or  death. 

"  As  we  are  here,"  said  Sir  Piercie  Shafton,  "  unaccompanied  by  any  patrons  or 
seconds,  it  were  well  you  should  pass  your  hands  over  my  sides,  as  I  shall  over  yours ; 
not  that  I  suspect  you  to  use  any  quaint  device  of  privy  armour,  but  in  order  to  comply 
with  the  ancient  and  laudable  custom  practised  on  all  such  occasions." 

While,  complying  with  his  antagonist's  humour,  Halbert  Glendinning  went  through 
this  ceremony,  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  did  not  fail  to  solicit  his  attention  to  the  quality  and 
fineness  of  his  wrought  and  embroidered  shirt — "  In  this  very  shirt,"  said  he,  "  O  mine 
Audacity! — I  say  in  this  very  garment,  in  which  I  am  now  to  combat  a  Scottish  rustic 
like  thyself,  it  was  my  envied  lot  to  lead  the  winning  party  at  that  wonderous  match  at 
ballon,  made  betwixt  the  divine  Astrophel,  (  our  matchless  Sidney,)  and  the  right 
honourable  my  very  good  lord  of  Oxford.  All  the  beauties  of  Felicia  (by  which  name 
I  distinguish  our  beloved  England)  stood  in  the  gallery,  waving  their  kerchiefs  at  each 
turn  of  the  game,  and  cheering  the  winners  by  their  plaudits.  After  which  noble  sport 
we  were  refreshed  by  a  suitable  banquet,  whereat  it  pleased  the  noble  Urania  (being  the 
unmatched  Countess  of  Pembroke)  to  accommodate  me  with  her  fan  for  the  cooling  my 
somewhat  too  much  inflamed  visage,  to  requite  which  courtesy,  I  said,  casting  my  features 
into  a  smiling,  yet  melancholy  fashion,  O  divinest  Urania !  receive  again  that  too  fatal 
gift,  which  not  like  the  Zephyr  cooleth,  but  hke  the  hot  breath  of  the  Sirocco,  heateth 
yet  more  that  which  is  already  inflamed.  "Whereupon,  looking  upon  me  somewhat  scorn- 
fully, yet  not  so  but  what  the  experienced  courtier  might  perceive  a  certain  cast  of 
approbative  affection " 

Here  the  knight  was  interrupted  by  Halbert,  who  had  waited  with  courteous  patience 
for  some  little  time,  tiU  he  found,  that  far  from  drawing  to  a  close,  Sir  Piercie  seemed 
rather  inclined  to  wax  prolix  in  his  reminiscences. 

"  Sir  Knight,"  said  the  youth,  "  if  this  matter  be  not  very  much  to  the  purpose,  we 
will,  if  you  object  not,  proceed  to  that  which  we  have  in  hand.  You  should  have  abidden 
in  England  had  you  desired  to  waste  time  in  words,  for  here  we  spend  it  in  blows." 

"  I  crave  your  pardon,  most  rusticated  Audacity,"  answered  Sir  Piercie  ;  "  truly 
I  become  oblivious  of  every  thing  beside,  when  the  recollections  of  the  divine  court  of 
Felicia  press  upon  my  wakened  memory,  even  as  a  saint  is  dazzled  when  he  bethinks 
him  of  the  beatific  vision.  Ah,  felicitous  Feliciana  !  delicate  nurse  of  the  fair,  chosen 
abode  of  the  wise,  the  birth-place  and  cradle  of  nobiUty,  the  temple  of  courtesy,  the  fane 
of  sprightly  chivalry — Ah,  heavenly  court,  or  rather  courtly  heaven !  cheered  with 
dances,  lulled  asleep  with  harmony,  wakened  with  sprightly  sports  and  tourneys,  decored 
with  silks  and  tissues,  glittering  with  diamonds  and  jewels,  standing  on  end  with  double 
piled  velvets,  satins,  and  satinettas  ! " 

"  The  token,  Sir  Knight,  the  token  !"  exclaimed  Halbert  Glendinning,  who,  impatient 
of  Sir  Piercie's  interminable  oratory,  reminded  him  of  the  ground  of  their  quarrel,  as 
the  best  way  to  compel  him  to  the  purpose  of  their  meeting. 


And  he  judged  right ;  for  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  no  sooner  heard  him  speak,  than  he 
exclaimed,  "  Thy  death-hour  has  struck — betake  thee  to  thy  sword — Via  ! " 

Both  swords  were  unsheathed,  and  the  combatants  commenced  their  engagement. 
Halbert  became  immediately  aware,  that,  as  he  had  expected,  he  was  far  inferior  to  his 
adversary  in  the  use  of  his  weapon.  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  had  taken  no  more  than  his 
own  share  of  real  merit,  when  he  termed  himself  an  absolutely  good  fencer ;  and  Glen- 
dinning  soon  found  that  he  should  have  great  difficulty  in  escaping  with  life  and  honour 
from  such  a  master  of  the  sword.  The  English  knight  was  master  of  all  the  mystery  of 
the  stoccata,  imbrocata,  j)unto-reverso,  incartata,  and  so  forth,  which  the  Italian  masters 
of  defence  had  lately  introduced  into  general  practice.  But  Glendinning,  on  his  part, 
was  no  novice  in  the  principles  of  the  art,  according  to  the  old  Scottish  fashion,  and 
possessed  the  first  of  all  qualities,  a  steady  and  collected  mind.  At  first,  being  desirous 
to  try  the  skill,  and  become  acquainted  with  the  play  of  his  enemy,  he  stood  on  his 
defence,  keeping  his  foot,  hand,  eye,  and  body,  in  perfect  unison,  and  holding  his  sword 
short,  and  with  the  point  towards  his  antagonist's  face,  so  that  Sir  Piercie,  in  order 
to  assail  him,  was  obliged  to  make  actual  passes,  and  could  not  avail  himself  of  his 
skill  in  making  feints ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  Halbert  was  prompt  to  parry  these 
attacks,  either  by  shifting  his  ground,  or  with  the  sword.  The  consequence  was,  that 
after  two  or  three  sharp  attempts  on  the  part  of  Sir  Piercie,  which  were  evaded  or  dis- 
concerted by  the  address  of  his  opponent,  he  began  to  assume  the  defensive  in  his  turn, 
fearful  of  giving  some  advantage  by  being  repeatedly  the  assailant.  But  Halbert  was 
too  cautious  to  press  on  a  swordsman  whose  dexterity  had  already  more  than  once  placed 
him  within  a  hair's  breadth  of  death,  which  he  had  only  escaped  by  uncommon  watchful- 
ness and  agility. 

When  each  had  made  a  feint  or  two,  there  was  a  pause  in  the  conflict,  both  as  if  by 
one  assent  dropping  their  swords'  point,  and  looking  on  each  other  for  a  moment  without 
speaking.  At  length  Halbert  Glendinning,  who  felt  perhaps  more  uneasy  on  account  of 
his  family  than  he  had  done  before  he  had  displayed  his  own  courage,  and  proved  the 
strength  of  his  antagonist,  could  not  help  saying,  "  Is  the  subject  of  our  quarrel,  Sir 
Knight,  so  mortal,  that  one  of  our  two  bodies  must  needs  fill  up  that  grave  ?  or  may  we 
with  honour,  having  px'oved  ourselves  against  each  other,  sheathe  our  swords  and  depart 

"  Valiant  and  most  rustical  Audacity,"  said  the  Southron  knight,  "  to  no  man  on  earth 
could  you  have  put  a  question  on  the  code  of  honoui*,  who  was  more  capable  of  rendering 
you  a  reason.  Let  us  pause  for  the  space  of  one  venue,  until  I  give  you  my  opinion  on 
this  dependence,*  for  certain  it  is,  that  brave  men  should  not  run  upon  their  fate  like  brute 
and  furious  wild  beasts,  but  should  slay  each  other  deliberately,  decently,  and  with  reason. 
Therefore,  if  we  coolly  examine  the  state  of  our  dependence,  we  may  the  better  appre- 
hend whether  the  sisters  three  have  doomed  one  of  us  to  expiate  the  same  with  his  blood 
— Dost  thou  understand  me?" 

"I  have  heard  Father  Eustace,"  said  Halbert,  after  a  moment's  recollection,  "speak 
of  the  three  furies,  with  their  thread  and  their  shears." 

"  Enough — enough," — interrupted  Sir  Piercie  Shafton,  crimsoning  with  a  new  fit  of 
rage,  "  the  thread  of  thy  life  is  spun  ! " 

And  with  these  words  he  attacked  with  the  utmost  ferocity  the  Scottish  youth,  who  had 
but  just  time  to  throw  himself  into  a  posture  of  defence.  But  the  rash  fury  of  the 
assailant,  as  frequently  happens,  disappointed  its  own  purpose ;  for,  as  he  made  a  desperate 
thrust,  Halbert  Glendinning  avoided  it,  and  ere  the  knight  could  recover  his  weapon, 
requited  him  (to  use  his  own  language)  with  a  resolute  stoccata,  which  passed  through 
his  body,  and  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  fell  to  the  ground. 

*  Dependence — A  plirase  among  the  brethren  of  the  sword  for  an  existing  quarrel. 

Yes,  life  hath  left  him — every  busy  thought, 
Each  fiery  passion,  every  strong  affection, 
All  sense  of  outward  ill  and  inward  sorrow. 
Are  fled  at  once  from  the  pale  trmik  before  me ; 
And  I  have  given  that  which  spoke  and  moved, 
Thought,  acted,  sufTer'd  as  a  living  man. 
To  be  a  ghastly  form  of  bloody  clay, 
Soon  the  foul  food  for  reptiles.  Or,D  Play. 

^rvc^  BELIEVE  few  successful  duellists  (if  the  word  successful  can  be  applied 
^'^'■k  to  a  superiority  so  fatal)  have  beheld  their  dead  antagonist  stretched  on 
l\'^]  the  earth  at  their  feet,  without  wishing  they  could  redeem  with  their  own 
'  v^  blood  that  which  it  has  been  their  fate  to  spill.  Least  of  all  could  such 
WKM  iiitlifference  be  the  lot  of  so  young  a  man  as  Halbert  Glendinning,  who, 
unused  to  the  sight  of  human  blood,  was  not  only  struck  with  sorrow, 
but  with  terror,  when  he  beheld  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  lie  stretched  on  the  green-sward 
before  him,  vomiting  gore  as  if  impelled  by  the  strokes  of  a  pump.  He  threw  his  bloody 
sword  on  the  ground,  and  hastened  to  kneel  down  and  support  him,  vainly  striving, 
at  the  same  time,  to  stanch  his  wound,  which  seemed  rather  to  bleed  inwardly  than 

The  unfortunate  knight  spoke  at  intervals,  when  the  syncope  would  permit  him,  and 
his  words,  so  far  as  intelligible,  partook  of  his  affected  and  conceited,  yet  not  ungenerous 

"  Most  rustical  youth,"  he  said,  "  thy  fortune  hath  prevailed  over  knightly  skill — and 
Audacity  hath  overcome  Condescension,  even  as  the  kite  hath  sometimes  hawked  at  and 
struck  down  the  falcon-gentle. — Fly  and  save  thyself! — Take  my  purse — it  is  in  the 
nether  pocket  of  my  carnation-coloured  hose — and  is  woi-th  a  clown's  acceptance.     See 


that  my  mails,  with  my  vestments,  be  sent  to  the  Monastery  of  Saint  Mary's" — (here 
his  voice  grew  weak,  and  his  mind  and  recollection  seemed  to  waver) — "  I  bestow  the 
cut  velvet  jerkin,  with  close  breeches  conforming — for — oh  ! — the  good  of  my  soul." 

"  Be  of  good  comfort,  sir,"  said  Halbert,  half  distracted  with  his  agony  of  pity  and 
remorse.     "  I  trust  you  shall  yet  do  well — Oh  for  a  leech  !" 

"  Were  there  twenty  physicians,  O  most  generous  Audacity,  and  that  were  a  grave 
spectacle — I  might  not  survive,  my  life  is  ebbing  fast. — Commend  me  to  the  rustical 
nymph  whom  I  called  my  Discretion — O  Claridiana  ! — true  empress  of  this  bleeding  heart 
— which  now  bleedeth  in  sad  earnest ! — Place  me  on  the  ground  at  my  length,  most 
rustical  victor,  born  to  quench  the  pride  of  the  burning  light  of  the  most  felicitous  court 
of  Feliciana — O  saints  and  angels — knights  and  ladies — masques  and  theatres — quaint 
devices — chain-work  and  broidery — love,  honour,  and  beauty ! " 

"While  muttering  these  last  words,  which  slid  from  him,  as  it  were  unawares,  while 
doubtless  he  was  recalling  to  mind  the  glories  of  the  English  court,  the  gallant  Sir  Piercie 
Shafton  stretched  out  his  limbs — groaned  deeply,  shut  his  eyes,  and  became  motionless. 

The  victor  tore  his  hair  for  very  sorrow,  as  he  looked  on  the  pale  countenance  of  his 
victim.  Life,  he  thought,  had  not  utterly  fled,  but  without  better  aid  than  his  own,  he 
saw  not  how  it  could  be  preserved. 

"  Wliy,"  he  exclaimed,  in  vain  penitence,  "  why  did  I  provoke  him  to  an  issue  so  fatal ! 
Would  to  God  I  had  submitted  to  the  worst  insult  man  could  receive  from  man,  rather 
than  be  the  bloody  instrument  of  this  bloody  deed — and  doubly  cursed  be  this  evil-boding 
spot,  which,  haunted  as  I  knew  it  to  be  by  a  witch  or  a  devil,  I  yet  chose  for  the  place 
of  combat !  In  any  other  place,  save  this,  there  had  been  help  to  be  gotten  by  speed  of 
foot,  or  by  uplifting  of  voice — but  here  there  is  no  one  to  be  found  by  search,  no  one 
to  hear  my  shouts,  save  the  evil  spirit  who  has  counselled  this  mischief.  It  is  not  her 
hour — I  will  essay  the  spell  howsoever  ;  and  if  she  can  give  me  aid,  she  shall  do  it,  or 
know  of  what  a  madman  is  capable  even  against  those  of  another  world  ! " 

He  spurned  his  bloody  shoe  from  his  foot,  and  repeated  the  spell  with  which  the  reader 
is  well  acquainted ;  but  there  was  neither  voice,  apparition,  nor  signal  of  answer.  The 
youth,  in  the  impatience  of  his  despair,  and  with  the  rash  hardihood  which  formed  the 
basis  of  his  character,  shouted  aloud,  "  Witch — Sorceress — Fiend  ! — art  thou  deaf  to  my 
cries  of  help,  and  so  ready  to  appear  and  answer  those  of  vengeance  ?  Arise  and  speak 
to  me,  or  I  will  choke  up  thy  fountain,  tear  down  thy  hollybush,  and  leave  thy  haunt  as 
waste  and  bare  as  thy  fatal  assistance  has  made  me  waste  of  comfort  and  bare  of  counsel ! '' 
— This  furious  and  raving  invocation  was  suddenly  interrupted  by  a  distant  sound, 
resembling  a  hollo,  from  the  gorge  of  the  ravine.  "  Now  may  Saint  Mary  be  praised," 
said  the  youth,  hastily  fastening  his  sandal,  "  I  hear  the  voice  of  some  living  man,  who 
may  give  me  counsel  and  help  in  this  fearful  extremity." 

Having  donned  his  sandal,  Halbert  Glendinning,  hallooing  at  intervals,  in  answer  to 
the  sound  which  he  had  heard,  ran  with  the  speed  of  a  hunted  buck  down  the  rugged 
defile,  as  if  paradise  had  been  before  him,  hell  and  all  her  furies  behind,  and  his  eternal 
happiness  or  misery  had  depended  upon  the  speed  which  he  exerted.  In  a  space  incre- 
dibly short  for  any  one  but  a  Scottish  mountaineer  having  his  nerves  strung  by  the 
deepest  and  most  passionate  interest,  the  youth  reached  the  entrance  of  the  ravine, 
through  which  the  rill  that  flows  down  Corri-nan-shian  discharges  itself,  and  unites  with 
the  brook  that  waters  the  little  valley  of  Glendearg. 

Here  he  paused,  and  looked  around  him  upwards  and  downwards  through  the  glen, 
without  perceiving  a  human  form.  His  heart  sank  within  him.  But  the  windings  of 
the  glen  intercepted  his  prospect,  and  the  person,  whose  voice  he  had  heard,  might 
therefore,  be  at  no  great  distance,  though  not  obvious  to  his  sight.  The  branches  of  an 
oak-tree,  which  shot  straight  out  from  the  face  of  a  tall  cliff,  proffered  to  his  bold  spirit, 
steady  head,  and  active  limbs,  the  means  of  ascending  it  as  a  place  of  out-look,  although 


the  enterprise  was  what  most  men  would  have  shrunk  from.  But  by  one  bound  from 
the  earth,  the  active  youth  caught  hold  of  the  lower  branch,  and  swung  himself  up  into  the 
tree,  and  in  a  minute  more  gained  the  top  of  the  cliff,  from  w^hich  he  could  easily  descry 
a  human  figure  descending  the  valley.  It  was  not  that  of  a  shepherd,  or  of  a  hunter,  and 
scarcely  any  others  used  to  traverse  this  deserted  solitude,  especially  coming  from  the 
north,  since  the  reader  may  remember  that  the  brook  took  its  rise  from  an  extensive 
and  dangerous  morass  which  lay  in  that  direction. 

But  Halbert  Glendinning  did  not  pause  to  consider  who  the  traveller  might  be,  or  what 
might  be  the  purpose  of  his  journey.  To  know  that  he  saw  a  human  being,  and  might 
receive,  in  the  extremity  of  his  distress,  the  countenance  and  advice  of  a  fellow-creature, 
was  enough  for  him  at  the  moment.  He  threw  himself  from  the  pinnacle  of  the  cliflF  once 
more  into  the  arms  of  the  projecting  oak-tree,  whose  boughs  waved  in  middle  air,  anchored 
by  the  roots  in  a  huge  rift  or  chasm  of  the  rock.  Catching  at  the  branch  which  was 
nearest  to  him,  he  dropped  himself  from  that  height  upon  the  ground  ;  and  such  was 
the  athletic  springiness  of  his  youthful  sinews,  that  he  pitched  there  as  lightly,  and 
Avith  as  little  injury,  as  the  falcon  stooping  fi-om  her  wheel. 

To  resume  his  race  at  full  speed  up  the  glen,  was  the  work  of  an  instant ;  and  as  he 
turned  angle  after  angle  of  the  indented  banks  of  the  valley,  without  meeting  that  which 
he  sought,  he  became  half  afraid  that  the  form  which  he  had  seen  at  such  a  distance  had 
already  melted  into  thin  air,  and  was  either  a  deception  of  his  own  imagination,  or  of  the 
elementary  spirits  by  which  the  valley  was  supposed  to  be  haunted. 

But  to  his  inexjiressible  joy,  as  he  turned  round  the  base  of  a  huge  and  distinguished 
crag,  he  saw,  straight  before  and  very  near  to  him,  a  person,  whose  dress,  as  he  viewed 
it  hastily,  resembled  that  of  a  pilgrim. 

He  was  a  man  of  advanced  life,  and  wearing  a  long  beard,  having  on  his  head  a  large 
slouched  hat,  without  either  band  or  brooch.  His  dress  was  a  tunic  of  black  serge,  which 
like  those  commonly  called  hussar-cloaks,  had  an  upper  part,  which  covered  the  arms 
and  fell  down  on  the  low^er  ;  a  small  scrip  and  bottle,  which  hung  at  his  back,  with  a  stout 
staff  in  his  hand,  completed  liis  equipage.  His  step  was  feeble,  like  that  of  one  exhausted 
by  a  toilsome  journey. 

"  Save  ye,  good  father  !"  said  the  youth.  "  God  and  Our  Lady  have  sent  you  to  my 

"  And  in  what,  my  son,  can  so  frail  a  creature  as  I  am,  be  of  service  to  you  ?"  said 
the  old  man,  not  a  little  surprised  at  being  thus  accosted  by  so  handsome  a  youth,  his 
features  discomposed  by  anxiety,  his  face  flushed  with  exertion,  his  hands  and  much  of 
his  dress  stained  with  blood." 

"  A  man  bleeds  to  death  in  the  valley  here,  hard  by.  Come  with  me — come  with  me  ! 
You  are  aged — you  have  experience — you  have  at  least  your  senses — and  mine  have  well 
nigh  left  me." 

"  A  man — and  bleeding  to  death — and  here  in  this  desolate  spot ! "  said  the  stranger. 

"  Stay  not  to  question  it,  father,"  said  the  youth,  "  but  come  instantly  to  his  rescue. 
Follow  me, — follow  me,  without  an  instant's  delay." 

"  Nay,  but,  my  son,"  said  the  old  man,  "  we  do  not  lightly  follow  the  guides  who 
present  themselves  thus  suddenly  in  the  bosom  of  a  howling  wilderness.  Ere  I  follow 
thee,  thou  must  expound  to  me  thy  name,  thy  purpose,  and  thy  cause." 

"  There  is  no  time  to  expound  any  thing,"  said  Halbert ;  "  I  tell  thee  a  man's  life  is 
at  stake,  and  thou  must  come  to  aid  him,  or  I  will  carry  thee  thither  by  force  ! " 

"  Nay,  thou  shalt  not  need,"  said  the  traveller ;  "  if  it  indeed  be  as  thou  sayest, 
I  will  follow  thee  of  free-will — the  rather  that  I  am  not  wholly  unskilled  in  leech-craft, 
and  have  in  my  scrip  that  which  may  do  thy  friend  a  service— Yet  walk  more  slowly, 
I  pray  thee,  for  I  am  already  well-nigh  forespent  with  travel." 


With  the  indignant  impatience  of  the  fiery  steed  when  compelled  by  his  rider  to  keep 
pace  Avith  some  slow  drudge  upon  the  highway,  Halbert  accompanied  the  wayfarei', 
burning  with  anxiety  which  he  endeavoured  to  subdue,  that  he  might  not  alarm  his 
companion,  who  was  obviously  afraid  to  trust  him.  Wlien  they  reached  the  place  where 
they  were  to  turn  oif  the  wider  glen  into  the  Corri,  the  traveller  made  a  doubtful  pause, 
as  if  unwilling  to  leave  the  broader  path — "  Young  man,"  he  said,  "  if  thou  meanest 
aught  but  good  to  these  gray  hairs,  thou  wilt  gain  little  by  thy  cruelty — I  have  no  earthly 
treasure  to  tempt  either  robber  or  murderer." 

"  And  I,"  said  the  youth,  "  am  neither — and  yet — God  of  Heaven  ! — I  7nay  be  a 
murderer,  unless  your  aid  comes  in  time  to  this  wounded  wretch  ! " 

"  Is  it  even  so,"  said  the  traveller ;  "  and  do  human  passions  disturb  the  breast  of 
nature,  even  in  her  deepest  solitude  ? — Yet  why  should  I  marvel  that  where  darkness 
abides  the  works  of  darkness  should  abound? — By  its  fruits  is  the  tree  known — Lead  on, 
unhappy  youth — I  follow  thee  I " 

And  with  better  will  to  the  journey  than  he  had  evinced  hitherto,  the  stranger  exerted 
himself  to  the  uttermost,  and  seemed  to  forget  his  own  fatigue  in  his  efforts  to  keep  pace 
with  his  impatient  guide. 

What  was  the  surprise  of  Plalbert  Glendinning,  when,  upon  arriving  at  the  fatal 
spot,  he  saw  no  appearance  of  the  body  of  Sir  Piercie  Shafton !  The  traces  of  the  fray 
were  otherwise  sufficiently  visible.  The  knight's  cloak  had  indeed  vanished  as  well  as 
his  body,  but  his  doublet  remained  where  he  had  laid  it  down,  and  the  turf  on  which  he 
had  been  stretched  was  stained  with  blood  in  many  a  dark  crimson  spot. 

As  he  gazed  round  him  in  terror  and  astonishment,  Halbert's  eyes  fell  upon  the  place 
of  sepulture  which  had  so  lately  appeared  to  gape  for  a  victim.  It  was  no  longer  open, 
and  it  seemed  that  earth  had  received  the  expected  tenant ;  for  the  usual  narrow  hillock 
was  piled  over  what  had  lately  been  an  open  grave,  and  the  green  sod  was  adjusted  over 
all  with  the  accuracy  of  an  experienced  sexton.  Halbert  stood  aghast.  The  idea  rushed 
on  his  mind  irresistibly,  that  the  earth-heap  before  him  enclosed  what  had  lately  been 
a  living,  moving,  and  sentient  fellow-creature,  whom,  on  little  provocation,  his  fell  act 
had  reduced  to  a  clod  of  the  valley,  as  senseless  and  as  cold  as  the  turf  under  which  he 
rested.  The  hand  that  scooped  the  grave  had  completed  its  work ;  and  whose  hand 
could  it  be  save  that  of  the  mysterious  being  of  doubtful  quality,  whom  his  rashness  had 
invoked,  and  whom  he  had  suffered  to  intermingle  in  his  destinies  ? 

As  he  stood  with  clasped  hands  and  uplifted  eyes,  bitterly  ruing  his  rashness,  he  was 
roused  by  the  voice  of  the  stranger,  whose  suspicions  of  his  guide  had  again  been 
awakened  by  finding  the  scene  so  different  from  what  Halbert  had  led  him  to  expect. — 
"  Young  man,"  he  said,  "  hast  thou  baited  thy  tongue  with  fixlsehood  to  cut  perhaps  only 
a  few  days  from  the  life  of  one  whom  Nature  will  soon  call  home,  without  guilt  on  thy 
part  to  hasten  his  journey?" 

<'By  the  blessed  Heaven  ! — by  our  dear  Lady!"  ejaculated  Halbert 

"  Swear  not  at  all !"  said  the  stranger,  interrupting  him,  "  neither  by  Heaven,  for  it 
is  God's  throne,  nor  by  earth,  for  it  is  his  footstool—  nor  by  the  creatiu'es  whom  he  hath 
made,  for  they  are  but  earth  and  clay  as  we  are.  Let  thy  yea  be  yea,  and  thy  nay,  nay. 
Tell  me  in  a  word,  why  and  for  what  purpose  thou  hast  feigned  a  tale,  to  lead  a 
bewildered  traveller  yet  farther  astray?" 

"  As  I  am  a  Christian  man,"  said  Glendinning,  "  I  left  him  here  bleeding  to  death — 
and  now  I  nowhere  spy  him,  and  much  I  doubt  that  the  tomb  that  thou  seest  has 
closed  on  his  mortal  remains  ! " 

"  And  who  is  he  for  wliose  fate  thou  art  so  anxious?"  said  the  stranger  ;  "  or  how  is 
it  possible  that  this  wounded  man  could  have  been  either  removed  from,  or  interred  in, 
a  place  so  solitary?" 


"His  name,"  said  Halbert,  after  a  moment's  pause,  "is  Piercie  Shafton— there,  on 
that  very  spot,  I  left  him  bleeding ;  and  what  power  has  conveyed  him  hence,  I  know 
no  more  than  thou  dost." 

"  Piercie  Shafton?"  said  the  stranger;  "  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  of  Wilvertou,  a  kinsman, 
as  it  is  said,  of  the  great  Piercie  of  Northumberland?  If  thou  hast  slain  him,  to  return 
to  the  territories  of  the  proud  Abbot  is  to  give  thy  neck  to  the  gallows.  He  is  well 
known,  that  Piercie  Shafton;  the  meddling  tool  of  wiser  plotters — a  harebrained  trafficker 
in  treason — a  champion  of  the  Pope,  employed  as  a  forlorn  hope  by  those  more  politic 
heads,  who  have  more  will  to  work  mischief,  than  valour  to  encounter  danger. — Come 
with  me,  youth,  and  save  thyself  from  the  evil  consequences  of  this  deed— Guide  me  to 
the  Castle  of  Avenel,  and  thy  reward  shall  be  protection  and  safety." 

Again  Halbert  paused,  and  summoned  his  mind  to  a  hasty  council.  The  vengeance 
with  which  the  Abbot  was  likely  to  visit  the  slaughter  of  Shallon,  his  friend,  and  in 
some  measure  his  guest,  was  likely  to  be  severe  ;  yet,  in  tlie  various  contingencies  which  he 
had  considered  previous  to  their  duel,  he  had  unaccountably  omitted  to  reflect  what  was 
to  be  his  line  of  conduct  in  case  of  Sir  Piercie  falling  by  his  hand.  If  he  returned  to 
Glendearg,  he  was  sure  to  draw  on  his  whole  family,  including  Mary  Avenel,  the  resent- 
ment of  the  Abbot  and  community,  whereas  it  was  possible  that  flight  might  make  him 
be  regarded  as  the  sole  author  of  the  deed,  and  might  avert  the  indignation  of  the  monks 
from  the  rest  of  the  inhabitants  of  his  paternal  tower.  Halbert  recollected  also  the 
favour  expressed  for  the  household,  and  especially  for  Edward,  by  the  Sub-Prior ;  and 
he  conceived  that  he  could,  by  communicating  his  own  guilt  to  that  worthy  ecclesiastic, 
when  at  a  distance  from  Glendearg,  secure  his  powerful  interposition  in  fiivour  of  his 
family.  These  thoughts  rapidly  passed  through  his  mind,  and  he  determined  on  flight. 
The  stranger's  company  and  his  promised  protection  came  in  aid  of  that  resolution  ;  but 
he  was  unable  to  reconcile  the  invitation  which  the  old  man  gave  him  to  accompany  him 
for  safety  to  the  Castle  of  Avenel,  with  the  connexions  of  Julian,  the  present  usurper 
of  that  inheritance.  "  Good  father,"  he  said,  "  I  fear  that  you  mistake  the  man  with 
whom  you  wish  me  to  harbour.  Avenel  guided  Piercie  Shafton  into  Scotland,  and  his 
henchman,  Christie  of  the  Clinthill,  brought  the  Southron  hither." 

"  Of  that,"  said  the  old  man,  "  I  am  well  aware.  Yet  if  thou  wilt  trust  to  me,  as  I 
have  shewn  no  reluctance  to  confide  in  thee,  thou  shalt  find  with  Julian  Avenel  welcome, 
or  at  least  safety." 

"  Father,"  replied  Halbert,  "  though  I  can  ill  reconcile  what  thou  sayest  with  what 
Julian  Avenel  hath  done,  yet  caring  little  about  the  safety  of  a  creature  so  lost  as  myself, 
and  as  thy  words  seem  those  of  truth  and  honesty,  and  finally,  as  thou  didst  render 
thyself  frankly  up  to  my  conduct,  I  will  return  the  confidence  thou  hast  shewn,  and 
accompany  thee  to  the  Castle  of  Avenel  by  a  road  which  thou  thyself  couldst  never 
liave  discovered."     He  led  the  way,  and  the  old  man  followed  for  some  time  in  silence. 

N  2 

€'ll]ja-ptrr  t^z  Z'!mmi^=%luM, 

'Tis  when  the  wound  is  stiffening  with  the  cold, 
The  warrior  first  feels  pain — 'tis  when  the  heat 
And  fiery  fever  of  his  soul  is  pass'd, 
The  sinner  feels  remorse.  Old  Play. 

p^  HE  feelings  of  compunction  with  which  Halbert  Glendinning  was  visited 
fw  upon  this  painful  occasion,  were  deeper  than  belonged  to  an  age  and 
country  in  which  human  life  was  held  so  cheap.  They  fell  far  short 
certainly  of  those  which  might  have  afflicted  a  mind  regulated  by  better 
religious  precepts,  and  more  strictly  trained  under  social  laws ;  but  still 
they  were  deep  and  severely  felt,  and  divided  in  Halbert's  heart  even  the 
regret  with  which  he  parted  from  Mary  Avenel  and  the  tower  of  his  fathers. 

The  old  traveller  walked  silently  by  his  side  for  some  time,  and  then  addressed  him. — 
"  My  son,  it  has  been  said  that  sorrow  must  speak  or  die — Why  art  thou  so  much  cast 
down? — Tell  me  thy  unhappy  tale,  and  it  may  be  that  my  gray  head  may  devise  counsel 
and  aid  for  your  young  life." 

"Alas!"  said  Halbert  Glendinning,  "can  you  wonder  why  I  am  cast  down? — I  am 
at  this  instant  a  fugitive  from  my  father's  house,  from  my  mother,  and  from  my  friends, 
and  I  bear  on  my  head  the  blood  of  a  man  who  injured  me  but  in  idle  words,  which  I 
have  thus  bloodily  requited.  My  heart  now  tells  me  I  have  done  evil — it  were  harder 
than  these  rocks  if  it  could  bear  unmoved  the  thought,  that  I  have  sent  this  man  to 
a  long  account,  unhousled  and  unshrieved  ! " 

"  Pause  there,  my  son,"  said  the  traveller,  "  That  thou  hast  defaced  God's  image  in 
thy  neighbour's  person — that  thou  hast  sent  dust  to  dust  in  idle  wrath  or  idler  pride,  is 
indeed  a  sin  of  the  deepest  dye — that  thou  hast  cut  short  the  space  which  Heaven  might 
have  allowed  him  for  repentance,  makes  it  yet  more  deadly — but  for  all  this  there  is 
balm  in  Gilead." 

"  I  understand  you  not,  father,"  said  Halbert,  struck  by  the  solemn  tone  which  was 
assumed  by  his  companion. 

The  old  man  proceeded.     "  Thou  hast  slain  thine  enemy — it  was  a  cruel  deed :  thou 


hast  cut  him  off  perchance  in  his  sins — it  is  a  fearful  aggravation.  Do  yet  by  my 
counsel,  and  in  lieu  of  him  whom  thou  hast  perchance  consigned  to  the  kingdom  of 
Satan,  let  thine  efforts  wrest  another  subject  from  the  reign  of  the  Evil  One." 

"  I  understand  you,  father,"  said  Halbert ;  "  thou  wouldst  have  me  atone  for  ray  rash- 
ness by  doing  service  to  tlie  soul  of  my  adversary — But  how  may  this  be  ?  I  have  no 
money  to  purchase  masses,  and  ghxdly  would  I  go  barefoot  to  the  Holy  Land  to  free  his 
spirit  from  purgatory,  only  that " 

"  My  son,"  said  the  old  man,  interrupting  him,  "  the  sinner  for  whose  redemption  I 
entreat  you  to  labour,  is  not  the  dead  but  the  living.  It  is  not  for  the  soul  of  thine 
enemy  I  would  exhort  thee  to  pray — that  has  already  had  its  final  doom  from  a  Judge  as 
merciful  as  he  is  just ;  nor,  wert  thou  to  coin  that  rock  into  ducats,  and  obtain  a  mass 
for  each  one,  would  it  avail  the  departed  spirit.  Where  the  ti'ee  hath  fallen,  it  must  lie. 
But  the  sapling,  which  hath  in  it  yet  the  vigour  and  juice  of  life,  may  be  bended  to  the 
point  to  which  it  ought  to  incline." 

"  Art  thou  a  priest,  father?"  said  the  young  man,  "  or  by  what  commission  dost  thou 
talk  of  such  high  matters?" 

"  By  that  of  my  Almighty  Master,"  said  the  traveller,  "  under  whose  banner  I  am  an 
enlisted  soldier." 

Halbert's  acquaintance  with  religious  matters  was  no  deeper  than  could  be  derived 
from  the  Archbishop  of  Saint  Andrew's  Catechism,  and  the  pamphlet  called  the  Twa- 
pennie  Faith,  both  which  were  industriously  circulated  and  recommended  by  the 
monks  of  Saint  Mai'y's.  Yet,  however  indifferent  and  superficial  a  theologian,  he 
began  to  suspect  that  he  was  now  in  company  with  one  of  the  gospellers,  or  heretics, 
before  whose  influence  the  ancient  system  of  religion  now  tottered  to  the  very  foun- 
dation. Bred  up,  as  may  well  be  presumed,  in  a  holy  horror  against  these  formidable 
sectaries,  the  youth's  first  feelings  were  those  of  a  loyal  and  devoted  church  vassal. 
"  Old  man,"  he  said,  "  wert  thou  able  to  make  good  with  thy  hand  the  words  that  thy 
tongue  hath  spoken  against  our  Holy  Mother  Church,  we  should  have  tried  upon  this 
moor  which  of  our  creeds  hath  the  better  champion." 

*'  Nay,"  said  the  stranger,  "  if  thou  art  a  true  soldier  of  Rome,  thou  wilt  not  pause 
from  thy  purpose  because  thou  hast  the  odds  of  years  and  of  strength  on  thy  side. 
Hearken  to  me,  my  son.  I  have  shewed  thee  how  to  make  thy  peace  with  Heaven,  and 
thou  hast  rejected  my  proffer.  I  will  now  shew  thee  how  thou  shalt  make  thy  recon- 
ciliation with  the  powers  of  this  world.  Take  this  gray  head  from  the  frail  body  which 
supports  it,  and  carry  it  to  the  chair  of  proud  Abbot  Boniface ;  and  when  thou  tellest 
him  thou  hast  slain  Piercie  Shafton,  and  his  ire  I'ises  at  the  deed,  lay  the  head  of  Henry 
"Warden  at  his  foot,  and  thou  shalt  have  praise  instead  of  censure." 

Halbert  Glendinning  stepped  back  in  surprise.  "  What !  are  you  that  Henry  Warden 
so  famous  among  the  heretics,  that  even  Knox's  name  is  scarce  more  frequently  in  their 
mouths  ?     Art  thou  he,  and  darest  thou  to  approach  the  Halidome  of  Saint  Mary's?" 

"  I  am  Henry  Warden,  of  a  surety,"  said  the  old  man,  "  far  unworthy  to  be  named 
in  the  same  breath  with  Knox,  but  yet  willing  to  venture  on  whatever  dangers  my 
master's  service  may  call  me  to." 

"  Hearken  to  me,  then,"  said  Halbert ;  "  to  slay  thee,  I  have  no  heart — to  make  thee 
prisoner,  were  equally  to  bring  thy  blood  on  my  head— to  leave  thee  in  this  wild  with- 
out a  guide,  were  little  better.  I  will  conduct  thee,  as  I  promised,  in  safety  to  the 
Castle  of  Avenel ;  but  breathe  not,  while  we  are  on  the  journey,  a  word  against  the 
doctrines  of  the  holy  church  of  which  I  am  an  unworthy — but  though  an  ignorant,  a  zealous 
member. — When  thou  art  there  arrived,  beware  of  thyself— there  is  a  high  price  upon 
thy  head,  and  Julian  Avenel  loves  the  glance  of  gold  bonnet-pieces."* 

*  A  gold  coin  of  James  V.,  the  most  beautiful  of  the  Scottish  series ;    so  called  because  the  effigy  of  the  sovereignty 
is  represented  wearing  a  bonnet. 



"  Yet  thou  sayest  not,"  answered  the  Protestant  preacher,  for  such  he  was,  "  that  for 
lucre  he  would  sell  the  blood  of  his  guest  ?  " 

"  Not  if  thou  comest  an  invited  stranger,  relying  on  his  ftiith,"  said  the  youth  ;  "  evil 
as  Julian  may  be,  he  dare  not  break  the  rites  of  hospitality;  for,  loose  as  we  on  these 
marches  may  be  in  all  other  ties,  these  are  respected  amongst  us  even  to  idolatry,  and  his 
nearest  relations  would  think  it  incumbent  on  them  to  spill  his  blood  themselves,  to  efface 
the  disgrace  such  treason  would  bring  upon  their  name  and  lineage.  But  if  thou  goest 
self-invited,  and  without  assurance  of  safety,  I  promise  thee  thy  risk  is  great." 

"  I  am  in  God's  hand,"  answered  the  preacher ;  "  it  is  on  His  errand  that  I  traverse 
these  wilds  amidst  dangers  of  every  kind ;  while  I  am  useful  for  my  master's  service, 
they  shall  not  prevail  against  me,  and  when,  like  the  barren  fig-tree,  I  can  no  longer 
produce  fruit,  what  imports  it  when  or  by  whom  the  axe  is  laid  to  the  root?" 

"  Your  courage  and  devotion,"  said  Glendinning,  "  are  worthy  of  a  better  cause." 

"  That,"  said  Warden,  "  cannot  be — mine  is  the  very  best." 

They  continued  their  journey  in  silence,  Halbert  Glendinning  tracing  with  the  utmost 
accuracy  the  mazes  of  the  dangerous  and  intricate  morasses  and  hills  which  divided  the 
llalidorae  from  the  barony  of  Avenel.  From  time  to  time  he  was  obliged  to  stop,  in 
order  to  assist  his  companion  to  ci-oss  the  black  intervals  of  quaking  bog,  called  in  the 
Scottish  dialect  hags,  by  which  the  firmer  parts  of  the  morass  were  intersected. 

"  Courage,  old  man,"  said  Halbert,  as  he  saw  his  companion  almost  exhausted  with 
fatigue,  "  we  shall  soon  be  upon  hard  ground.  And  yet  soft  as  this  moss  is,  I  have  seen 
the  merry  falconers  go  through  it  as  light  as  deer  when  the  quarry  was  upon  the  flight." 

"  True,  my  son,"  answered  Warden,  "  for  so  I  will  still  call  you,  though  you  term  me 
no  longer  father ;  and  even  so  doth  headlong  youth  pursue  its  pleasures,  without  regard 
to  the  mire  and  the  peril  of  the  paths  through  which  they  are  hurried." 

"  I  have  already  told  thee,"  answered  Halbert  Glendinning,  sternly,  "  that  I  will  hear 
nothing  from  thee  that  savours  of  doctrine." 

"  Nay,  but,  my  son,"  answered  Warden,  "  thy  spiritual  father  himself  would  surely  not 
dispute  the  truth  of  what  I  have  now  spoken  for  your  edification  ! " 

Glendinning  stoutly  replied,  "  I  know  not  how  that  may  be — but  I  wot  well  it  is  the 
fashion  of  your  brotherhood  to  bait  your  hook  with  fair  discourse,  and  to  hold  yourselves 
up  as  angels  of  light,  that  you  may  the  better  extend  the  kingdom  of  darkness." 

"May  God,"  replied  the  preacher,  "pardon  those  who  have  thus  reported  of  his 
servants  !  I  will  not  ofiend  thee,  my  son,  by  being  instant  out  of  season — thou  speakest 
but  as  thou  art  taught — yet  sure  I  trust  that  so  goodly  a  youth  will  be  still  rescued,  like 
a  brand  from  the  burning." 

While  he  thus  spoke,  the  verge  of  the  morass  was  attained,  and  their  path  lay  on  the 
declivity.  Green-sward  it  was,  and,  viewed  from  a  distance,  chequered  with  its  narrow 
and  verdant  line  the  dark -brown  heath  which  it  traversed,  though  the  distinction  was 
not  so  easily  traced  when  they  were  walking  on  it.*  The  old  man  pursued  his  journey 
with  comparative  ease ;  and,  unwilling  again  to  awaken  the  jealous  zeal  of  his  young 
companion  for  the  Roman  faith,  he  discoursed  on  other  matters.  The  tone  of  his  con- 
versation was  still  grave,  moral,  and  instructive.  He  had  travelled  much,  and  knew 
both  the  language  and  manners  of  other  countries,  concerning  which  Halbert  Glen- 
dinning, already  anticipating  the  possibility  of  being  obliged  to  leave  Scotland  for  the 
deed  he  had  done,  was  naturally  and  anxiously  desirous  of  information.  By  degrees  he 
was  more  attracted  by  the  charms  of  the  stranger's  conversation  tlian  repelled  by  the 
dread  of  his  dangerous  character  as  a  heretic,  and  Halbert  had  called  him  father  more 
than  once,  ere  the  turrets  of  Avenel  Castle  came  in  view. 

This  sort  of  path,  visible  when  looked  at  froin  a  distance,  but  not  to  be  seen  when  you  are  upon  it,  is  called  on  the 
Border  by  the  significant  name  of  a  Blind-road. 


Tlie  situation  of  this  ancient  fortress  was  remarkable.  It  occupied  a  small  rocky  i,<let 
in  a  mountain  lake,  or  tarn,  as  such  a  piece  of  water  is  called  in  Westmoreland.  The 
lake  might  be  about  a  mile  in  circumference,  surrounded  by  hills  of  considerable  height, 
which,  except  where  old  trees  and  brushwood  occupied  the  ravines  that  divided  them 
from  each  other,  were  bare  and  heathy.  The  surprise  of  the  spectator  was  chiefly  excited 
by  finding  a  piece  of  water  situated  in  that  liigh  and  mountainous  region,  and  the  land- 
scape around  had  features  which  might  rather  be  termed  wild,  than  either  romantic  or 
sublime ;  yet  the  scene  was  not  without  its  charms.  Under  the  burning  sun  of  summer, 
the  clear  azure  of  the  deep  unruffled  lake  refreshed  the  eye,  and  impressed  the  mind  with 
a  pleasing  feeling  of  deep  solitude.  In  winter,  when  the  snow  lay  on  the  mountains 
around,  these  dazzling  masses  appeared  to  ascend  far  beyond  their  wonted  and  natural 
height,  while  the  lake,  which  stretched  beneath,  and  filled  their  bosom  with  all  its  frozen 
waves,  lay  like  the  surface  of  a  darkened  and  broken  mirror  ai'ound  the  black  and  rocky 
islet,  and  the  Avails  of  the  gray  castle  with  which  it  was  crowned. 

As  the  castle  occupied,  either  with  its  principal  buildings,  or  with  its  flanking  and 
outward  walls,  every  projecting  point  of  rock,  which  served  as  its  site,  it  seemed  as 
completely  surrounded  by  water  as  the  nest  of  a  wild  swan,  save  where  a  narrow  cause- 
way extended  betwixt  the  islet  and  the  shore.  But  the  fortress  was  larger  in  appearance 
than  in  reality ;  and  of  the  buildings  which  it  actually  contained,  many  had  become 
ruinous  and  uninhabitable.  In  the  times  of  the  grandeur  of  the  Avenel  family,  these 
had  been  occupied  by  a  considerable  garrison  of  followers  and  retainers,  but  they  Avere 
now  in  a  great  measure  deserted ;  and  Julian  Avenel  Avould  probably  have  fixed  his 
habitation  in  a  residence  better  suited  to  his  diminished  fortunes,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
great  security  Avhich  the  situation  of  the  old  castle  afforded  to  a  man  of  his  precarious 
and  perilous  mode  of  life.  Indeed,  in  this  respect,  the  spot  could  scarce  have  been 
more  happily  chosen,  for  it  could  be  rendered  almost  completely  inaccessible  at  the 
pleasure  of  the  inhabitant.  The  distance  betAvixt  the  nearest  shore  and  the  islet  Avas 
not  indeed  above  an  hundred  yards  ;  but  then  the  causcAvay  Avhich  connected  them  was 
extremely  narrow,  and  completely  divided  by  two  cuts,  one  in  the  mid-way  between 
the  islet  and  shore,  and  another  close  under  the  outward  gate  of  the  castle.  These 
formed  a  formidable,  and  almost  insurmountable  interruption  to  any  hostile  approach. 
Each  Avas  defended  by  a  drawbridge,  one  of  Avhich,  being  that  nearest  to  the  castle,  Avas 
regularly  raised  at  all  times  during  the  day,  and  both  were  lifted  at  night.* 

The  situation  of  Julian  Avenel,  engaged  in  a  variety  of  feuds,  and  a  party  to  almost 
every  dark  and  mysterious  transaction  which  was  on  foot  in  that  wild  and  military 
frontier,  required  all  these  precautions  for  his  security.  His  own  ambiguous  and 
doubtful  course  of  policy  had  increased  these  dangers ;  for  as  he  made  professions  to 
both  parties  in  the  state,  and  occasionally  united  more  actively  Avith  either  the  one  or 
the  other,  as  chanced  best  to  serve  his  immediate  purpose,  he  could  not  be  said  to  have 
either  firm  allies  and  protectors,  or  determined  enemies.  His  life  was  a  life  of 
expedients  and  of  peril ;  and  Avhile,  in  pursuit  of  his  interest,  he  made  all  the  doubles 
Avhich  he  thought  necessary  to  attain  his  object,  he  often  overran  his  prey,  and  missed 
that  which  he  might  have  gained  by  observing  a  straighter  course. 

*  It  is  in  vain  to  search  rear  Melrose  for  any  such  castle  as  is  here  described.  The  lakes  at  the  head  of  the  Yarrow,  and 
those  at  the  rise  of  the  water  of  Ale,  present  no  object  of  the  kind.  But  in  Yetholm  Loch,  (a  romantic  sheet  of  water,  in  the 
dry  inarch,  as  it  is  called,)  there  are  the  remains  of  a  fortress  called  Lochside  Tower,  which,  like  the  supposed  Castle  of 
Avenel,  is  built  upon  an  island,  and  connected  with  the  land  by  a  causeway.  It  is  much  smaller  than  the  Castle  of  Avenel 
is  described,  consisting  only  of  a  single  ruinous  tower. 


,,iiill':":i  ^/Z/y^/A 



dm;riit$ir  il|i  CStoiii[^=#(B)mii|). 

I'll  walk  on  tiptoe  ;  arm  my  eye  with  caution, 

My  lieart  with  courage,  and  my  hand  with  weapon, 

Like  him  who  ventures  on  a  lion's  den. 

Old  Play. 

^ii3^Sg?3^  HEN,  issuing  from  the  gorge  of  a  pass  which  terminated  upon  the  lake, 
"^  -^'^--*-  ^^^^  travellers  came  in  sight  of  the  ancient  castle  of  Avenel,  the  old  man 
looked  with  earnest  attention  upon  the  scene  before  him.  The  castle 
was,  as  we  have  said,  in  many  places  ruinous,  as  was  evident,  even  at 
this'  distance,  by  the  broken,  rugged,  and  irregular  outline  of  the  walls 
and  of  the  towers.     In  others  it  seemed  more  entire,  and  a  pillar  of 

dark   smoke,  which  ascended    from    the  chimneys  of   the  donjon,  and    spread  its  long 


dusky  pennon  through  the  clear  ether,  indicated  that  it  was  inhabited.  But  no  corn- 
fields or  enclosed  pasture-grounds  on  the  side  of  the  lake  showed  that  provident  attention 
to  comfort  and  subsistence  which  usually  appeared  near  the  houses  of  the  greater,  and 
even  of  the  lesser  barons.  There  were  no  cottages  with  their  patches  of  infield,  and 
their  crofts  and  gardens,  surrounded  by  rows  of  massive  sycamores ;  no  church  with  its 
simj)le  tower  in  the  valley  ;  no  herds  of  sheep  among  the  hills;  no  cattle  on  the  lower 
ground ;  nothing  which  intimated  the  occasional  prosecution  of  the  arts  of  peace  and  of 
industry.  It  was  plain  that  the  inhabitants,  whether  few  or  numerous,  must  be  con- 
sidered as  the  garrison  of  the  castle,  living  within  its  defended  precincts,  and  sub- 
sisting by  means  which  were  other  than  peaceful. 

Probably  it  was  with  this  conviction  that  the  old  man,  gazing  on  the  castle,  muttered 
to  himself,  ^^  Lapis  offensionis  et  pefra  scandali!"  and  then,  turning  to  Halbert  Glen- 
dinning,  he  added.  We  may  say  of  yonder  fort  as  King  James  did  of  another  fastness  in 
this  province,  that  he  who  built  it  was  a  thief  in  his  heart."  * 

"  But  it  was  not  so,"  answered  Glendinning  ;  "  yonder  castle  was  built  by  the  old  lords 
of  Avenel,  men  as  much  beloved  in  peace  as  they  were  respected  in  war.  They  were 
the  bulwark  of  the  frontiers  against  foreigners,  and  the  protectors  of  the  natives  from 
domestic  oppression.  The  present  usurper  of  their  inheritance  no  more  resembles  them, 
than  the  niglit-prowling  owl  resembles  a  falcon,  because  she  builds  on  the  same  rock." 

"  This  Julian  Avenel,  then,  holds  no  high  place  in  the  love  and  regard  of  his  neigh- 
bours ? "  said  "Warden. 

"  So  little,"  answered  Halbert,  "  that  besides  the  jack-men  and  riders  with  whom  he 
has  associated  himself,  and  of  whom  he  has  many  at  his  disposal,  I  know  of  few  who 
voluntarily  associate  with  him.  He  has  been  more  than  once  outlawed  both  by  England 
and  Scotland,  his  lands  declared  forfeited,  and  his  head  set  at  a  price.  But  in  these 
unquiet  times,  a  man  so  daring  as  Julian  Avenel  has  ever  found  some  friends  willing  to 
protect  him  against  the  penalties  of  the  law,  on  condition  of  his  secret  services." 
"  You  describe  a  dangerous  man,"  replied  Warden. 

"  You  may  have  experience  of  that,"  replied  the  youth,  "  if  you  deal  not  the  more 
warily ; — though  it  may  be  that  he  also  has  forsaken  the  community  of  the  church,  and 
gone  astray  in  the  path  of  heresy." 

"  What  your  blindness  terms  the  path  of  heresy,"  answered  the  reformer,  "  is  Indeed 
the  straight  and  narrow  way,  wherein  he  who  walks  turns  not  aside,  whether  for  worldly 
wealth  or  for  worldly  passions.  Would  to  God  this  man  were  moved  by  no  other  and 
no  worse  spirit  than  that  which  prompts  my  poor  endeavours  to  extend  the  kingdom  of 
Heaven  !  This  Baron  of  Avenel  is  personally  unknown  to  me,  is  not  of  our  congre- 
gation or  of  our  counsel;  yet  I  bear  to  him  charges  touching  my  safety,  from  those 
whom  he  must  fear  if  he  does  not  respect  them,  and  upon  that  assurance  I  will  venture 
upon  his  hold — I  am  now  sufficiently  refreshed  by  these  few  minutes  of  repose." 

"  Take  then  this  advice  for  your  safety,"  said  Halbert,  "  and  believe  that  it  is  founded 
upon  the  usage  of  this  country  and  its  inhabitants.  If  you  can  better  shift  for  yourself, 
go  not  to  the  Castle  of  Avenel — if  you  do  risk  going  thither,  obtain  from  him,  if 
possible,  his  safe-conduct,  and  beware  that  he  swears  it  by  the  Black  Rood — And  lastly, 
observe  whether  he  eats  with  you  at  the  board,  or  pledges  you  in  the  cup ;  for  if  he 
gives  you  not  these  signs  of  welcome,  his  thoughts  are  evil  towards  you." 

"  Alas  !"  said  the  preacher,  I  have  no  better  earthly  refuge  for  the  present  than  these 
frowning  towers,  but  I  go  thither  trusting  to  aid  which  is  not  of  this  earth — But  thou, 
good  youth,  needest  thou  trust  thyself  in  this  dangerous  den  ?" 

"I,"   answered  Halbert,    "am  in  no  danger.     I   am  well  known  to  Christie  of  the 

■*  It  was  of  Lochwood,  tlic  hereditary  fortress  of  the  Johnstones  of  Aiinandale,  a  strong  castle  situated  in  the  centre  of  a 
fjuaking  bog,  that  James  VI.  made  this  remark. 


CHntbill,  the  liencliman  of  this  Julian  Avenel ;  and,  what  is  a  yet  better  protection, 
I  have  nothing  either  to  provoke  malice  or  to  tempt  plunder." 

The  tramp  of  a  steed,  which  clattered  along  the  shingly  banks  of  the  loch,  was  now 
heard  behind  them ;  and,  when  they  looked  back,  a  rider  was  visible,  his  steel  cap  and 
the  point  of  his  long  lance  glancing  in  the  setting  sun,  as  he  rode  rapidly  towards  them. 

Halbert  Glendinning  soon  recognized  Christie  of  the  Clinthill,  and  made  his  com- 
panion aware  that  the  henchman  of  Julian  Avenel  was  approaching. 

"  Ha,  youngling  ! "  said  Christie  to  Halbert,  as  he  came  up  to  them,  "  thou  hast  made 
good  my  word  at  last,  and  come  to  take  service  with  my  noble  master,  hast  thou  not  ? 
Thou  shalt  find  a  good  friend  and  a  true ;  and  ere  Saint  Barnaby  come  round  again, 
thou  shalt  know  every  pass  betwixt  Millburn  Plain  and  Netherby,  as  if  thou  hadst  been 
born  with  a  jack  on  thy  back,  and  a  lance  in  thy  hand. — AVhat  old  carle  hast  thou  with 
thee  ? — He  is  not  of  the  brotherhood  of  Saint  Mary's — at  least  he  has  not  the  buist  *  of 
these  black  cattle." 

"  He  is  a  wayfaring  man,"  said  Halbert,  "  who  has  concerns  with  Julian  of  Avenel. 
For  myself,  I  intend  to  go  to  Edinburgh  to  see  the  court  and  the  Queen,  and  M^hen 
I  return  hither  we  will  talk  of  your  proffer.  Meantime,  as  thou  hast  often  invited  me 
to  the  castle,  I  crave  hospitality  there  to-night  for  myself  and  my  companion." 

"  For  thyself  and  welcome,  young  comrade,"  replied  Christie ;  "  but  we  harbour  no 
pilgrims,  nor  aught  that  looks  like  a  pilgrim." 

"  So  please  you,"  said  Warden,  "  I  have  letters  of  commendation  to  thy  master  from 
a  sure  friend,  whom  he  will  right  willingly  oblige  in  higher  matters  than  in  affording  me 
a  brief  protection. — And  I  am  no  pilgrim,  but  renounce  the  same,  with  all  its  super- 
stitious observances." 

He  offered  his  letters  to  the  horseman,  who  shook  his  head. 

"  These,"  he  said,  "  are  matters  for  my  master,  and  it  will  be  well  if  he  can  read  them 
himself;  for  me,  sword  and  lance  are  my  book  and  psalter,  and  have  been  since  I  was 
twelve  years  old.  But  I  will  guide  you  to  the  castle,  and  the  Baron  of  Avenel  will 
himself  j  udge  of  your  errand." 

By  this  time  the  party  had  reached  the  causeway,  along  which  Christie  advanced  at 
a  trot,  intimating  his  presence  to  the  warders  within  the  castle  by  a  shrill  and  peculiar 
whistle.  At  this  signal  the  farther  drawbridge  was  lowered.  The  horseman  passed  it, 
and  disappeared  under  the  gloomy  portal  which  was  beyond  it. 

Glendinning  and  his  companion  advancing  more  leisurely  along  the  rugged  causeway, 
stood  at  length  under  the  same  gateway,  over  which  frowned,  in  dark  red  freestone,  the 
ancient  armorial  bearings  of  the  house  of  Avenel,  which  represented  a  female  figure 
shrouded  and  muffled,  which  occupied  the  whole  field.  The  cause  of  their  assuming  so 
singular  a  device  was  uncertain,  but  the  figure  was  generally  supposed  to  represent  the 
mysterious  being  called  the  White  Lady  of  Avenel.f  The  sight  of  this  mouldering 
shield  awakened  in  the  mind  of  Halbert  the  strange  circumstances  which  had  connected 
his  fate  with  that  of  Mary  Avenel,  and  with  the  doings  of  the  spiritual  being  who  was 
attached  to  her  house,  and  Avhom  he  saw  here  represented  in  stone,  as  he  had  before 
seen  her  effigy  upon  the  seal  ring  of  Walter  Avenel,  which,  with  other  trinkets  formerly 
mentioned,  had  been  saved  from  pillage,  and  brought  to  Glendearg,  when  Mary's  mother 
was  driven  from  her  habitation. 

"  You  sigh,  my  son,"  said  the  old  man,  observing  the  impression  made  on  his  youthful 
companion's  countenance,  but  mistaking  the  cause ;  "  if  you  fear  to  enter,  we  may  yet 

"  That  can  ye  not,"  said  Christie  of  the  Clinthill,  who  emerged  at  that  instant  from 

*  Buial — The  brand,  ov  mark,  set  upon  sheep  or  cattle  by  their  owners. 

+  Tliere  is  an  ancient  English  family,  I  believe,  which  bears,  or  did  bear,  a  gliost  or  spirit  passant  sable  in  a  field  argent. 
This  seems  to  have  been  a  device  of  a  punning  or  canting  herald. 


the  side-door  nnder  the  archway.      "  Look  yonder,  and  choose  whether  yon  will  return 
skimming  the  water  like  a  wild-duck,  or  winging  the  air  like  a  plover." 

They  looked,  and  saw  that  the  drawbridge  which  they  had  just  crossed  was  again 
raised,  and  now  interposed  its  planks  betwixt  the  setting  sun  and  the  portal  of  the 
castle,  deepening  the  gloom  of  the  arch  under  which  they  stood.  Christie  laughed  and 
bid  them  follow  him,  saying,  by  way  of  encouragement,  in  Halbert's  ear,  "  Answer 
boldly  and  readily  to  whatever  the  Baron  asks  you.  Never  stop  to  pick  your  words, 
and  above  all  shew  no  fear  of  him — the  devil  is  not  so  black  as  he  is  painted." 

As  he  spoke  thus,  he  introduced  them  into  the  large  stone  hall,  at  the  upper  end  of 
which  blazed  a  huge  fire  of  wood.  The  long  oaken  table,  which,  as  usual,  occupied  the 
midst  of  the  apartment,  was  covered  with  rude  preparations  for  the  evening  meal  of  the 
Baron  and  his  chief  domestics,  five  or  six  of  whom,  strong,  athletic,  savage-looking 
men,  paced  up  and  down  the  lower  end  of  the  hall,  which  rang  to  the  jan-ing  clang  of 
their  long  swords  that  clashed  as  they  moved,  and  to  the  heavy  tramp  of  their  high- 
heeled  jack-boots.  Iron  jacks,  or  coats  of  buff,  formed  the  principal  part  of  their  dress, 
and  steel-bonnets,  or  large  slouched  hats  with  Spanish  plumes  drooping  backwards, 
were  their  head  attire. 

The  Baron  of  Avenel  was  one  of  those  tall,  muscular,  martial  figures,  which  are  the 
favourite  subjects  of  Salvator  Eosa.  He  wore  a  cloak  which  had  been  once  gaily 
trimmed,  but  which,  by  long  wear  and  frequent  exposure  to  the  weather,  was  now  faded 
in  its  colours.  Thrown  negligently  about  his  tall  person,  it  partly  hid,  and  partly 
shewed,  a  short  doublet  of  buff",  under  which  was  in  some  places  visible  that  light  shirt 
of  mail  which  was  called  a  secret,  because  worn  instead  of  more  ostensible  armour  to 
protect  against  private  assassination.  A  leathern  belt  sustained  a  large  and  heavy 
sword  on  one  side,  and  on  the  other  that  gay  poniard  which  had  once  called  Sir  Piercie 
Shafton  master,  of  which  the  hatchments  and  gildings  were  already  much  defaced,  either 
by  rough  usage  or  neglect. 

Notwithstanding  the  rudeness  of  his  apparel,  Julian  Avenel's  manner  and  coun- 
tenance had  far  more  elevation  than  those  of  the  attendants  who  surrounded  him.  He 
might  be  fifty  or  upwards,  for  his  dark  hair  was  mingled  with  gray,  but  age  had  neither 
tamed  the  fire  of  his  eye  nor  the  enterprise  of  his  disposition.  His  countenance  had 
been  handsome,  for  beauty  was  an  attribute  of  the  family  ;  but  the  lines  were  roughened 
by  fatigue  and  exposure  to  the  weather,  and  rendered  coarse  by  the  habitual  indulgence 
of  violent  passions. 

He  seemed  in  deep  and  moody  reflection,  and  was  pacing  at  a  distance  from  his 
dependents  along  the  upper  end  of  the  hall,  sometimes  stopping  from  time  to  time  to 
caress  and  feed  a  gos-hawk,  which  sat  upon  his  wrist,  with  its  jesses  (/.  e.  the  leathern 
straps  fixed  to  its  legs)  wrapt  around  his  hand.  The  bird,  which  seemed  not  insensible 
to  its  master's  attention,  answei'ed  his  caresses  by  ruffling  forward  its  feathers,  and 
pecking  playfully  at  his  finger.  At  such  intervals  the  Baron  smiled,  but  instantly 
resumed  the  darksome  air  of  sullen  meditation.  He  did  not  even  deign  to  look  upon  an 
object,  which  few  could  have  passed  and  repassed  so  often  without  bestowing  on  it  a 
transient  glance. 

This  was  a  woman  of  exceeding  beauty,  rather  gaily  than  richly  attired,  who  sat  on 
a  low  seat  close  by  the  huge  hall  chimney.  The  gold  chains  round  her  neck  and 
arms, — the  gay  gown  of  green  which  swept  the  floor, — the  silver  embroidered  girdle, 
with  its  bunch  of  keys,  depending  in  house-wifely  pride  by  a  silver  chain, — the  yelloAv 
silken  couvrechef  (Scottice,  curcli)  which  was  disposed  around  her  head,  and  partly 
concealed  her  dark  profusion  of  hair, — above  all,  the  circumstance  so  delicately  touched 
in  the  old  ballad,  that  "  the  girdle  was  too  short,"  the  "  gown  of  green  all  too  strait," 
for  the  wearer's  present  shape,  would  have  intimated  the  Baron's  lady.  But  then  the 
lowly  seat, — the  expression  of  deep  melancholy,  which  Avas  changed  into  a  timid  smile 


whenever  she  saw  the  least  chance  of  catching  the  eye  of  Julian  Avenel, — the  subdued 
look  of  grief,  and  the  starting  tear  for  which  that  constrained  smile  was  again  exchanged 
when  she  saw  herself  entirely  disregarded, — these  were  not  the  attributes  of  a  wife, 
or  they  were  those  of  a  dejected  and  afflicted  female,  who  had  yielded  her  love  on  less 
than  legitimate  terms. 

Julian  Avenel,  as  we  have  said,  continued  to  pace  the  hall  without  paying  any  of  that 
mute  attention  which  is  rendered  to  almost  every  female  either  by  affection  or  courtesy. 
He  seemed  totally  unconscious  of  her  presence,  or  of  that  of  his  attendants,  and  was 
only  roused  from  his  own  dark  reflections  by  the  notice  he  paid  to  the  falcon,  to  which, 
however,  the  lady  seemed  to  attend,  as  if  studying  to  find  either  an  opportunity  of 
speaking  to  the  Baron,  or  of  finding  something  enigmatical  in  the  expressions  which  he 
used  to  the  bird.  All  this  the  strangers  had  time  enough  to  remark ;  for  no  sooner  had 
they  entered  the  apartment  than  their  usher,  Christie  of  the  Clinthill,  after  exchanging 
a  significant  glance  with  the  menials  or  troopers  at  the  lower  end  of  the  apartment, 
signed  to  Halbert  Glendinning  and  to  his  companion  to  stand  still  near  the  door,  while 
he  himself,  advancing  nearer  the  table,  placed  himself  in  such  a  situation  as  to  catch  the 
Baron's  observation  when  he  should  be  disposed  to  look  around,  but  without  presuming 
to  intrude  himself  on  his  master's  notice.  Indeed,  the  look  of  this  man,  naturally  bold, 
hardy,  and  audacious,  seemed  totally  changed  when  he  was  in  presence  of  his  master, 
and  resembled  the  dejected  and  cowering  manner  of  a  quarrelsome  dog  when  rebuked 
by  his  owner,  or  when  he  finds  himself  obliged  to  deprecate  the  violence  of  a  superior 
adversary  of  his  own  species. 

In  spite  of  the  novelty  of  his  own  situation,  and  every  painful  feeling  connected  with 
it,  Halbert  felt  his  curiosity  interested  in  the  female,  who  sate  by  the  chimney  unnoticed 
and  unregarded.  He  marked  with  what  keen  and  trembling  solicitude  she  watched  the 
broken  words  of  Julian,  and  how  her  glance  stole  towards  him,  ready  to  be  averted  upon 
the  slightest  chance  of  his  perceiving  himself  to  be  watched. 

Meantime  he  went  on  with  his  dalliance  with  his  feathered  ftivourite,  now  giving,  now 
withholding,  the  morsel  with  which  he  was  about  to  feed  the  bird,  and  so  exciting  its 
appetite  and  gratifying  it  by  turns.  "  What !  more  yet  ? — thou  foul  kite,  thou  wouldst 
never  have  done — give  thee  pai't  thou  wilt  have  all — Ay,  prune  thy  feathers,  and  prink 
thyself  gay — much  thou  wilt  make  of  it  now — dost  tliink  I  know  thee  not  ? — dost  think  I 
see  not  that  all  that  ruffling  and  pluming  of  wing  and  feathers  is  not  for  thy  master,  but 
to  try  what  thou  canst  make  of  him,  thou  greedy  gled  ? — well — there — take  it  then,  and 
rejoice  thyself — ^little  boon  goes  far  with  thee,  and  with  all  thy  sex— and  so  it  should." 

He  ceased  to  look  on  the  bird,  and  again  traversed  the  apartment.  Then  taking 
another  small  piece  of  raw  meat  from  the  trencher,  on  which  it  was  placed  ready  cut  for 
his  use,  he  began  once  again  to  tempt  and  tease  the  bird,  by  offering  and  withdrawing  it, 
until  he  awakened  its  wild  and  bold  disposition.  "  What !  struggling,  fluttering,  aiming 
at  me  with  beak  and  single  ?*  Sola!  Sola!  wouldst  mount?  wouldst  fly?  the  jesses 
are  round  thy  clutches,  fool — thou  canst  neither  stir  nor  soar  but  by  my  will — BcAvare 
thou  come  to  reclaim,  wench,  else  I  will  wring  thy  head  off  one  of  these  days — Well, 
have  it  then,  and  well  fare  thou  with  it. — So  ho,  Jenkin  !"  One  of  the  attendants  stepped 
forward — "Take  the  foul  gled  hence  to  the  mew — or,  stay;  leave  her,  but  look  well  to 
her  casting  and  to  her  bathing — we  will  see  her  fly  to-morrow. — How  now,  Christie,  so 
soon  returned  ! " 

Christie  advanced  to  his  master,  and  gave  an  account  of  himself  and  his  journey,  in  the 
way  in  which  a  police-officer  holds  communication  with  his  magistrate,  that  is,  as  much 
by  signs  as  by  words. 

"  Noble  sir,"  said  that  worthy  satellite,  "  the  Laird  of ,"  he  named  no  place,  but 

*   In  llic  kiiiillij  language  of  hawking,  as  Lady  Juliana  Bernors  terms  it,  hawks'  talons  are  called  their  siiiylcs. 

THE    3I0NASTERY.  181 

pointed  with  his  finger  in  a  south-western  direction, — "  may  not  ride  witli  you  the  day 
he  purposed,  because  tlie  Lord  Warden  has  threatened  that  he  will " 

Here  another  blank,  intelligibly  enough  made  up  by  the  speaker  touching  his  own 
neck  with  his  left  fore-finger,  and  leaning  his  head  a  little  to  one  side. 

"  Cowardly  caitiff!"  said  Julian  ;  "  by  Heaven  !  the  whole  world  turns  sheer  naught 
— it  is  not  worth  a  brave  man's  living  in — ye  may  ride  a  day  and  night,  and  never  see  a 
feather  wave  or  hear  a  horse  prance — the  spirit  of  our  fathers  is  dead  amongst  us — the 
very  brutes  are  degenerated — the  cattle  we  bring  home  at  our  life's  risk  are  mere  carrion 
- — our  hawks  are  riflers* — our  hounds  are  turnspits  and  trindle-tails — our  men  are  women 
— and  our  women  are — ■ — " 

He  looked  at  the  female  for  the  first  time,  and  stopped  short  in  the  midst  of  what  he 
was  about  to  say,  though  there  was  something  so  contemptuous  in  the  glance,  that  the 
blank  might  have  been  thus  filled  up — "  Our  women  are  such  as  she  is." 

He  said  it  not,  however,  and  as  if  desirous  of  attracting  his  attention  at  all  risks,  and 
in  whatever  manner,  she  rose  and  came  forward  to  him,  but  with  a  timorousness  ill- 
disguised  by  affected  gaiety. — "  Our  women,  Julian — what  would  you  say  of  the 
w^omen  ?" 

"  Nothing,"  answered  Julian  Avenel,  "  at  least  nothing  but  that  they  are  kind-hearted 
Avenches  like  thyself,  Kate."  The  female  coloured  deeply,  and  returned  to  her  seat. — 
"  And  what  strangers  hast  thou  brought  with  thee,  Christie,  that  stand  yonder  like  two 
stone  statues  ?"  said  the  Baron. 

"  The  taller,"  answered  Christie,  "  is,  so  please  you,  a  young  fellow  called  Halbert 
Glendinning,  the  eldest  son  of  the  old  widow  at  Glendearg." 

"What  brings  him  here?"  said  the  Baron;  "hath  he  any  message  from  Mary 

"  Not  as  I  think,"  said  Christie ;  "  the  youth  is  roving  the  country — he  was  always  a 
wild  slip,  for  I  have  known  him  since  he  was  the  height  of  my  sword," 

"  What  qualities  hath  he?"  said  the  Baron. 

"  All  manner  of  qualities,"  answered  his  follower — "  he  can  strike  a  buck,  track  a 
deer,  fly  a  hawk,  halloo  to  a  hound — he  shoots  in  the  long  and  cross-bow  to  a  hair's- 
breadth — wields  a  lance  or  sword  like  myself  nearly — backs  a  horse  manfully  and  fairly 
— I  wot  not  what  more  a  man  need  to  do  to  make  him  a  gallant  companion." 

"  And  who,"  said  the  Baron,  "  is  the  old  miser  f  who  stands  beside  him  ?" 

"  Some  cast  of  a  priest  as  I  fancy — he  says  he  is  charged  with  letters  to  you." 

"  Bid  them  come  forward,"  said  the  Baron ;  and  no  sooner  had  they  approached  him 
more  nearly,  than,  struck  by  the  fine  form  and  strength  displayed  by  Halbert  Glendinning, 
he  addressed  him  thus :  I  am  told,  young  Swankie,  that  you  are  roaming  the  world  to 
seek  your  fortune, — if  you  will  serve  Julian  Avenel,  you  may  find  it  without  going 

"  So  please  you,"  answered  Glendinning,  "  something  has  chanced  to  me  that  makes 
it  better  I  should  leave  this  land,  and  I  am  bound  for  Edinburgh." 

"  What ! — thou  hast  stricken  some  of  the  king's  deer,  I  w^arrant, — or  lightened  the 
meadows  of  Saint  Mary's  of  some  of  their  beeves — or  thou  hast  taken  a  moonlight  leap 
over  the  border  ?  " 

"  No  sir,"  said  Halbert,  "  my  case  is  entirely  different." 

"  Then  I  warrant  thee,"  said  the  Baron,  "  thou  hast  stabbed  some  brother  churl  in  a 
fray  about  a  wrench— thou  art  a  likely  lad  to  wrangle  in  such  a  cause." 

Ineffably  disgusted  at  his  tone  and  manner,  Halbert  Glendinning  remained  silent, 
while  the  thought  darted  across  his  mind,  what  would  Julian  Avenel  have  said,  had  he 

»  So  called  when  the)-  only  caught  their  prey  by  the  feathers. 

1   Miser,  used  in  the  sense  in  which  it  often  occurs  in  Spenser,  and  which  is  indeed  its  literal  import. — "  wretched  old  man." 


known  the  quarrel,  of  which  he  spoke  so  liglitly,  had  arisen  on  account  of  his  own 
brother's  daughter  !  "  But  be  thy  cause  of  flight  wliat  it  will,"  said  Julian,  in  continua- 
tion, "  dost  thou  think  the  law  or  its  emissaries  can  follow  thee  into  this  island,  or  arrest 
thee  under  the  standard  of  Avenel  ? — Look  at  the  depth  of  the  lake,  the  strength  of  the 
walls,  the  length  of  the  causeway — look  at  my  men,  and  think  if  they  are  likely  to  see  a 
comrade  injured,  or  if  I,  their  master,  am  a  man  to  desert  a  faithful  follower,  in  good  or 
evil.  I  tell  thee  it  shall  be  an  eternal  day  of  truce  betwixt  thee  and  justice,  as  they  call 
it,  from  the  instant  thou  hast  put  my  colours  into  thy  cap — thou  shalt  ride  by  the  Warden's 
nose  as  thou  wouldst  pass  an  old  market-woman,  and  ne'er  a  cur  which  follows  him  shall 
dare  to  bay  at  thee  ! " 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  offers,  noble  sir,"  replied  Halbert,  "  but  I  must  answer  in  brief, 
that  I  cannot  profit  by  them — my  fortunes  lead  me  elsewhere." 

"  Thou  art  a  self-willed  fool  for  thy  pains,"  said  Julian,  turning  from  him;  and  signing 
Christie  to  approach,  he  whispered  in  his  ear,  "  there  is  promise  in  that  young  fellow's 
looks,  Christie,  and  we  want  men  of  limbs  and  sinews  so  compacted — those  thou  hast 
brought  to  me  of  late  are  the  mere  refuse  of  mankind,  wretches  scarce  worth  the  arrow 
that  ends  them :  this  youngster  is  limbed  like  Saint  George.  Ply  him  with  wine  and 
wassail — let  the  wenches  weave  their  meshes  about  him  like  spiders — thou  understandest?" 
Christie  gave  a  sagacious  nod  of  intelligence,  and  fell  back  to  a  respectful  distance  from 
his  master. — "  And  thou,  old  man,"  said  the  Baron,  turning  to  the  elder  traveller,  "  hast 
thou  been  I'oaming  the  world  after  fortune  too  ? — it  seems  not  she  has  fallen  into 
thy  way." 

"  So  please  you,"  replied  Warden,  "  I  were  perhaps  more  to  be  pitied  than  I  am  now, 
had  I  indeed  met  with  that  fortune,  which,  like  others,  I  have  sought  in  my  greener 

"  Nay,  understand  me,  friend,"  said  the  Baron  ;  "  if  thou  art  satisfied  with  thy  buckram 
gown  and  long  staff,  I  also  am  well  content  thou  shouldst  be  as  poor  and  contemptible 
as  is  good  for  the  health  of  thy  body  and  soul — All  I  care  to  know  of  thee  is,  the  cause 
which  hath  brought  thee  to  my  castle,  where  few  crows  of  thy  kind  care  to  settle. 
Thou  art,  I  warrant  thee,  some  ejected  monk  of  a  suppressed  convent,  paying  in  his  old 
days  the  price  of  the  luxurious  idleness  in  which  he  spent  his  youth. — Ay,  or  it  may  be 
some  pilgrim  with  a  budget  of  lies  from  Saint  James  of  Compostella,  or  Our  Lady 
of  Loretto ;  or  thou  mayest  be  some  pardoner  with  his  budget  of  relics  from  Rome, 
forgiving  sins  at  a  penny  a-dozen,  and  one  to  the  tale. — Ay,  I  guess  why  I  find  thee  in 
this  boy's  company,  and  doubtless  thou  wouldst  have  such  a  strapping  lad  as  he  to 
cai'ry  thy  wallet,  and  relieve  thy  lazy  shoulders ;  but  by  the  mass  I  will  cross  thy 
cunning.  I  make  my  vow  to  sun  and  moon,  I  will  not  see  a  proper  lad  so  misleard 
as  to  run  the  country  with  an  old  knave  like  Simmie  and  his  brother.*  Away  with 
thee ! "  he  added,  rising  in  wrath,  and  speaking  so  fast  as  to  give  no  opportunity  of 
answer,  being  probably  determined  to  terrify  the  elder  guest  into  an  abrupt  flight — 
"  Away  with  thee,  with  thy  clouted  coat,  scrip,  and  scallop-shell,  or,  by  the  name  of 
Avenel,  I  will  have  them  loose  the  hounds  on  thee." 

Warden  waited  with  the  gi'eatest  patience  until  Julian  Avenel,  astonished  that  the 
threats  and  violence  of  his  language  made  no  impression  on  him,  paused  in  a  sort  of 
wonder,  and  said  in  a  less  imperious  tone,  "  Why  the  fiend  dost  thou  not  answer  me  ?" 

"  When  you  have  done  speaking,"  said  Warden,  in  the  same  composed  manner,  "  it 
will  be  full  time  to  reply." 

"  Say  on  man,  in  the  devil's  name — but  take  heed — beg  not  here — were  it  but  for  the 
rinds  of  cheese,  the  refuse  of  tliiC  rats,  or  a  morsel  that  my  dogs  would  turn  from — • 
neither  a  grain  of  meal,  nor  the  nineteenth  part  of  a  gray  groat,  will  I  give  to  any 
feigned  limmar  of  thy  coat." 

*  TLVioqnrestiuiiarii,  or  begging  friars,  whose  aceoutrenionts  and  roguery  make  the  subject  of  an  old  Scottish  satirical  jioem. 

THE    MONASTERr.  183 

"  It  may  be,"  aaswered  Warden,  "  that  you  would  have  less  quarrel  with  my  coat  if 
you  knew  what  it  covers.  I  am  neither  a  friar  nor  mendicant,  and  would  be  right  glad 
to  hear  thy  testimony  against  these  foul  deceivers  of  God's  church,  and  usurpers  of  his 
I'ights  over  the  Christian  flock,  were  it  given  in  Christian  charity." 

"  And  who  or  what  art  thou,  then,"  said  Avenel,  "  that  thou  comest  to  this  Border 
land,  and  art  neither  monk,  nor  soldiei',  nor  broken  man ! " 

"  I  am  an  humble  teacher  of  the  holy  word,"  answered  Warden.  "  This  letter  from 
a  most  noble  person  will  speak  why  I  am  hei-e  at  this  present  time." 

He  delivered  the  letter  to  the  Baron,  who  i-egarded  the  seal  with  some  surprise,  and 
then  looked  on  the  letter  itself,  which  seemed  to  excite  still  more.  He  then  fixed  his 
eyes  on  the  stranger,  and  said,  in  a  menacing  tone,  "  I  think  thou  darest  not  betray  me 
or  deceive  me  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  the  man  to  attempt  eitlier,"  was  the  concise  reply. 

Julian  Avenel  carried  the  letter  to  the  window,  where  he  perused,  or  at  least  attempted 
to  peruse  it  more  than  once,  often  looking  from  the  paper  and  gazing  on  the  stranger 
who  had  delivered  it,  as  if  he  meant  to  read  the  purport  of  the  missive  in  the  face  of 
the  messenger.  Julian  at  length  called  to  the  female, — "  Catherine,  bestir  thee,  and 
fetch  me  presently  that  letter  which  I  bade  thee  keep  ready  at  hand  in  thy  casket,  having 
no  sure  lockfast  place  of  my  own." 

Cathei-ine  went  with  the  readiness  of  one  willing  to  be  employed  ;  and  as  she  walked, 
the  situation  which  requires  a  wider  gown  and  a  longer  girdle,  and  in  which  Avoman 
claims  from  man  a  double  portion  of  the  most  anxious  care,  was  still  more  visible  than 
before.  She  soon  returned  with  the  paper,  and  was  rewarded  with  a  cold — "  I  thank 
thee,  wench ;  thou  art  a  careful  secretary," 

This  second  paper  he  also  perused  and  reperused  more  than  once,  and  still,  as  he  read 
it,  bent  from  time  to  time  a  wary  and  observant  eye  upon  Henry  Warden.  This  exami- 
nation and  re-examination,  though  both  the  man  and  the  place  were  dangerous,  the 
preacher  endured  with  the  most  composed  and  steady  countenance,  seeming,  under  the 
eagle,  or  rather  the  vulture  eye  of  the  baron,  as  unmoved  as  under  the  gaze  of  an 
ordinary  and  peaceful  peasant.  At  length  Julian  Avenel  folded  both  papers,  and  having 
put  them  into  the  pocket  of  his  cloak,  cleared  his  brow,  and,  coming  forward,  addressed 
his  female  companion.  "Catherine,"  said  he,  "I  have  done  this  good  man  injustice, 
when  I  mistook  him  for  one  of  the  drones  of  Rome.  He  is  a  preacher,  Catherine — 
a  preacher  of  the — the  new  doctrine  of  the  Lords  of  the  Congregation." 

"  The  doctrine  of  the  blessed  Scriptures,"  said  the  preacher,  "  purified  from  the 
devices  of  men." 

"  Sayest  thou  ?  "  said  Julian  Avenel — "  Well,  thou  mayst  call  it  what  thou  lists  ;  but 
to  me  it  is  recommended,  because  it  flings  ofi:'  all  those  sottish  dreams  about  saints  and 
angels  and  devils,  and  unhorses  lazy  monks  that  have  ridden  us  so  long,  and  spur-galled 
us  so  hard.  No  more  masses  and  coi-pse-gifts — no  more  tithes  and  offerings  to  make 
men  poor — no  more  prayers  or  psalms  to  make  men  cowards — no  luore  christenings  and 
penances,  and  confessions  and  marriages." 

"  So  please  you,"  said  Henry  AVarden,  "  it  is  against  the  corruptions,  not  against  the 
fundamental  doctrines,  of  the  church,  which  we  desire  to  renovate,  and  not  to  abolish." 

"  Prithee,  peace,  man,"  said  the  Baron ;  "  we  of  the  laity  care  not  what  you  set  up,  so 
you  pull  merrily  down  what  stands  in  our  way.  Specially  it  suits  well  with  us  of  the 
Southland  fells  ;  for  it  is  our  profession  to  turn  the  world  upside  down,  and  we  live  ever 
the  blithest  life  when  the  downer  side  is  uppermost." 

Warden  would  have  replied  ;  but  the  Baron  allowed  him  not  time,  striking  the  table 
with  the  hilt  of  his  dagger,  and  crying  out, — "  Ha !  you  loitering  knaves,  bring  our 
supper-meal  quickly.  See  you  not  this  holy  man  is  exhausted  for  lack  of  food  !  heard 
ye  ever  of  priest  or  preacher  that  devoured  not  his  five  meals  a-day  ?  " 



The  attendants  bustled  to  and  fro,  and  speedily  brought  in  several  large  smoking 
platters  filled  with  huge  pieces  of  beef,  boiled  and  roasted,  but  without  any  variety  what- 
soever ;  without  vegetables,  and  almost  without  bread,  though  there  Avas  at  the  upper 
end  a  few  oat-cakes  in  a  basket.     Julian  Avenel  made  a  sort  of  apology  to  Warden. 

"  You  have  been  commended  to  our  care,  Sir  Preacher,  since  that  is  your  style,  by  a 
person  whom  we  highly  honour." 

"  I  am  assured,"  said  Warden,  "  that  the  most  noble  Lord " 

"  Prithee,  peace,  man,"  said  Avenel ;  "  what  need  of  naming  names,  so  we  understand 
each  other  ?  I  meant  but  to  speak  in  reference  to  your  safety  and  comfort,  of  which  he 
desires  us  to  be  chary.  Now,  for  your  safety,  look  at  my  walls  and  water.  But  touching 
your  comfort,  we  have  no  corn  of  our  own,  and  the  meal-girnels  of  the  south  are  less 
easily  transported  than  their  beeves,  seeing  they  have  no  legs  to  walk  upon.  But  what 
though  ?  a  stoup  of  wine  thou  shalt  have,  and  of  the  best — thou  shalt  sit  betwixt 
Catherine  and  me  at  the  board-end. — And,  Christie,  do  thou  look  to  the  young  springald, 
and  call  to  the  cellarer  for  a  flagon  of  the  best." 

The  baron  took  his  wonted  place  at  the  upper  end  of  the  board ;  his  Catherine  sate 
down,  and  courteously  pointed  to  a  seat  betwixt  them  for  their  reverend  guest.  But 
notwithstanding  the  influence  both  of  hunger  and  fatigue,  Henry  Warden  I'etained  his 
standing  posture. 


€l;11j)®piti'r  t^i  ^^■mt^=^ifi% 

When  lovely  woman  stoops  to  folly, 
And  finds  too  late  that  men  betray- 

fp,  ULIAN   Avenel   saw   with   surprise   the  demeanour  of  the  reverend 

'^'"f  stranger.     "  Beshrew  me,"  he  said,  "  these  new-fasliioned  religioners  have 

!(-■-»  1    %[/  fast-days,   I  warrant  me — the  old  ones  used  to   confer  these  blessings 

■  '^-^P)  "  ^^^  acknowledge  no  such  rule,"  said  the  preacher — "  We  hold  that 
our  faith  consists  not  in  using  or  abstaining  from  special  meats  on  special 
days  ;  and  in  fasting  we  rend  our  hearts,  and  not  our  garments." 

"  The  better — the  better  for  yourselves,  and  the  worse  for  Tom  Tailor,"  said  the 
Baron ;  "  but  come,  sit  down,  or,  if  thou  needs  must  e'en  give  us  a  cast  of  thy  office, 
mutter  thy  charm." 

"  Sir  Baron,"  said  the  preacher,  "  I  am  in  a  strange  land,  where  neither  mine  office 
nor  my  doctrine  are  known,  and  where,  it  would  seem,  both  are  greatly  misunderstood. 
It  is  my  duty  so  to  bear  me,  that  in  my  person,  however  unworthy,  my  Master's  dignity 
may  be  respected,  and  that  sin  may  take  not  confidence  from  relaxation  of  the  bonds  of 

"  Ho  la  !  halt  there,"  said  the  Baron  ;  "thou  wert  sent  hither  for  thy  safety,  but  not, 
I  think,  to  preach  to  me,  or  control  me.  "What  is  it  thou  wouldst  have.  Sir  Preacher  ? 
Remember  thou  speakest  to  one  somewhat  short  of  patience,  Avho  loves  a  short  health  and 
a  long  draught." 

"  In  a  word,  then,"  said  Henry  "Warden,  "  that  lady " 

"How?"  said  the  Baron,  starting — "what  of  her? — what  hast  thou  to  say  of  that 


"  Is  she  thy  house-dame  ?  "  said  the  preacher,  after  a  moment's  pause,  in  which  he 
seemed  to  seek  for  the  best  mode  of  expressing  what  he  had  to  say — "  Is  she,  in  brief, 
thy  wife  ?  " 

The  unfortunate  young  woman  pressed  both  her  hands  on  her  face,  as  if  to  hide  it,  but 
the  deep  blush  which  crimsoned  her  brow  and  neck,  shewed  that  her  cheeks  were  also 
glowing ;  and  the  bursting  tears,  which  found  their  way  betwixt  her  slender  fingers,  bore 
witness  to  her  sorrow,  as  well  as  to  her  shame. 

"  Now,  by  my  father's  ashes  !  "  said  the  Baron,  rising  and  spurning  from  him  his  foot- 
stool with  such  violence,  that  it  hit  the  wall  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  apartment — then 
instantly  constraining  himself,  he  muttered,  "  What  need  to  run  myself  into  trouble  for  a 
fool's  word  ? " — then  resuming  his  seat,  he  answered  coldly  and  scornfully — "  No,  Sir 
Priest  or  Sir  Preacher,  Catherine  is  not  my  wife — Cease  thy  whimpering,  thou  foolish 
wench — she  is  not  my  wife,  but  she  is  handfasted  with  me,  and  that  makes  her  as  honest 
a  woman." 

"  Handfasted  ?  " — repeated  "Warden. 

"  Knowest  thou  not  that  rite,  holy  man  ? "  said  Avenel,  in  the  same  tone  of  derision  ; 
"  then  I  will  tell  thee.  We  Border-men  are  more  wary  than  your  inland  clowns  of  Fife 
and  Lothian — no  jump  in  the  dark  for  us — no  clenching  the  fetters  around  our  wrists 
till  we  know  how  they  will  wear  with  us — we  take  our  wives,  like  our  horses,  upon  trial. 
When  we  are  handfasted,  as  we  term  it,  we  are  man  and  wife  for  a  year  and  day — that 
space  gone  by,  each  may  choose  another  mate,  or,  at  their  pleasure,  may  call  the  priest 
to  marry  them  for  lifew— and  this  we  call  handfasting."  * 

"  Then,"  said  the  preacher,  "  I  tell  thee,  noble  Baron,  in  brotherly  love  to  thy  soul,  it  is 
a  custom  licentious,  gross,  and  corrupted,  and,  if  persisted  in,  dangerous,  yea,  damnable. 
It  binds  thee  to  the  frailer  being  while  she  is  the  object  of  desire — it  relieves  thee  when 
she  is  most  the  subject  of  pity — it  gives  all  to  brutal  sense,  and  nothing  to  generous  and 
gentle  affection.  I  say  to  thee,  that  he  who  can  meditate  the  breach  of  such  an  engage- 
ment, abandoning  the  deluded  woman  and  the  helpless  offspring,  is  worse  than  the  birds 
of  prey ;  for  of  them  the  males  remain  with  their  mates  until  the  nestlings  can  take  wing. 
Above  all,  I  say  it  is  contrary  to  the  pure  Christian  doctrine,  which  assigns  woman  to 
man  as  the  partner  of  his  labour,  the  soother  of  his  evil,  his  helpmate  in  peril,  his  friend 
in  affliction ;  not  as  the  toy  of  his  looser  hours,  or  as  a  flower,  which,  once  cropped,  he 
may  throw  aside  at  pleasure." 

"Now,  by  the  Saints,  a  most  virtuous  homily  !"  said  the  Baron;  "quaintly  conceived 
and  curiously  pronounced,  and  to  a  well-chosen  congregation.  Hark  ye.  Sir  Gospeller! 
trow  ye  to  have  a  fool  in  hand  ?  Know  I  not  that  your  sect  rose  by  bluff  Harry  Tudor, 
merely  because  ye  aided  him  to  change  his  Kate ;  and  wherefore  should  I  not  use  the 
same  Christian  liberty  with  mine?  Tush,  man  !  bless  the  good  food,  and  meddle  not  with 
what  concei'ns  thee  not — thou  hast  no  gull  in  Julian  Avenel." 

"  He  hath  gulled  and  cheated  himself,"  said  the  preacher,  "  should  he  even  incline  to 
do  that  poor  sharer  of  his  domestic  cares  the  imperfect  justice  that  remains  to  him.  Can 
he  now  raise  her  to  the  rank  of  a  pure  and  uncontaminated  matron  ? — Can  he  deprive 
his  child  of  the  misery  of  owing  birth  to  a  mother  who  has  erred  ?  He  can  indeed  give 
them  both  the  rank,  the  state  of  married  wife  and  of  lawful  son  ;  but,  in  public  opinion, 
their  names  will  be  smirched  and  sullied  with  a  stain  which  his  tardy  efforts  cannot  entirely 
efface.  Yet  render  it  to  them.  Baron  of  Avenel,  render  to  them  this  late  and  imperfect 
justice.  Bid  me  bind  you  together  for  ever,  and  celebrate  the  day  of  your  bridal,  not 
with  feasting  or  wassail,  but  with  sorrow  for  past  sin,  and  the  resolution  to  commence  a 
better  life.     Happy  then  will  have  the  chance  been  that  has  drawn  me  to  this  castle, 

*  This  custom  of  handfasting  actually  prevailed  in  the  upland  days.  It  arose  partly  from  the  want  of  priests.  Wliile  the 
convents  subsisted,  monks  were  detached  on  regular  circuits  through  the  wilder  districts,  to  marry  those  who  had  Uved  in  this 
si>ecies  of  connexion.     A  practice  of  the  same  kind  existed  in  the  Isle  of  Portland. 


though  I  come  di-iven  by  calamity,  and  unknowing  where  my  course  is  bound,  like  a  leaf 
travelling  on  the  noi'th  wind." 

The  plain,  and  even  coarse  features,  of  the  zealous  speaker,  were  warmed  at  once  and 
ennobled  by  the  dignity  of  his  enthusiasm  ;  and  the  wild  Baron,  lawless  as  he  was,  and 
accustomed  to  spurn  at  the  control  whether  of  religious  or  moral  law,  felt,  for  the  first 
time  perhaps  in  his  life,  that  he  was  under  subjection  to  a  mind  superior  to  his  own. 
He  sat  mute  and  suspended  in  his  deliberations,  hesitating  betwixt  anger  and  shame,  yet 
borne  down  by  the  weight  of  the  just  rebuke  thus  boldly  fulminated  against  him. 

The  unfortunate  young  woman,  conceiving  hopes  from  her  tyrant's  silence  and  apparent 
indecision,  forgot  both  her  fear  and  shame  in  her  timid  expectation  that  Avenel  would 
relent ;  and  fixing  upon  him  her  anxious  and  beseeching  eyes,  gradually  drew  near  and 
nearer  to  his  seat,  till  at  length,  laying  a  trembling  hand  on  his  cloak,  she  ventured  to 
utter,  "  0  noble  Julian,  listen  to  the  good  man  ! " 

The  speech  and  the  motion  were  ill-timed,  and  wrought  on  that  proud  and  wayward 
spirit  the  reverse  of  her  wishes. 

The  fierce  Baron  started  up  in  a  fury,  exclaiming,  "  What !  thou  foolish  callet,  art 
thou  confederate  with  this  strolling  vagabond,  whom  thou  hast  seen  beard  me  in  my  own 
hall  !  Hence  with  thee,  and  think  that  I  am  proof  both  to  male  and  female  hypocrisy  ! " 
The  poor  girl  started  back,  astounded  at  his  voice  of  thunder  and  looks  of  fury,  and, 
turning  pale  as  death,  endeavoured  to  obey  his  orders,  and  tottered  towards  the  door 
Her  limbs  failed  in  the  attempt,  and  she  fell  on  the  stone  floor  in  a  manner  which  her 
situation  might  have  rendered  fatal — The  blood  gushed  from  her  face. — Halbert  Glen- 
dinning  brooked  not  a  sight  so  brutal,  but,  uttering  a  deep  imprecation,  started  from  his 
seat,  and  laid  his  hand  on  his  sword,  under  the  strong  impulse  of  passing  it  through  the 
body  of  the  cruel  and  hard-hearted  ruffian.  But  Christie  of  the  Clinthill,  guessing  his 
intention,  threw  his  arms  around  him,  and  prevented  him  from  stirring  to  execute  his 

The  impulse  to  such  an  act  of  violence  was  indeed  but  momentary,  as  it  instantly 
appeared  that  Avenel  himself,  shocked  at  the  effects  of  his  violence,  was  lifting  up  and 
endeavouring  to  soothe  in  his  own  way  the  terrified  Catherine. 

"  Peace,"  he  said,  "  prithee,  peace,  thou  silly  minion — why,  Kate,  though  I  listen  not 
to  this  tramping  preacher,  I  said  not  what  might  happen  an  thou  dost  bear  me  a  stout 
boy.  There — there — dry  thy  tears — call  thy  women. — So  ho  ! — where  be  these  queans  ? 
— Christie — Rowley — Hutcheon — drag  them  hither  by  the  hair  of  the  head  !" 

A  half  dozen  of  startled  wild-looking  females  rushed  into  the  room,  and  bore  out  her 
who  might  be  either  tei-med  their  mistress  or  their  companion.  She  showed  little  sign  of 
life,  except  by  groaning  faintly  and  keeping  her  hand  on  her  side. 

No  sooner  had  this  luckless  female  been  conveyed  from  the  apartment,  than  the  Baron 
advancing  to  the  table,  filled  and  drank  a  deep  goblet  of  wine  ;  then,  putting  an  obvious 
restraint  on  his  passions,  turned  to  the  preacher,  who  stood  horror-struck  at  the  scene  he 
had  witnessed,  and  said,  "  You  have  borne  too  hard  on  us,  Sir  Preacher — but  coming  with 
the  commendations  which  you  have  brought  me,  I  doubt  not  but  your  meaning  was  good. 
But  we  are  a  wilder  folk  than  you  inland  men  of  Fife  and  Lothian.  Be  advised,  there- 
fore, by  me — Spur  not  an  unbroken  horse — put  not  your  ploughshare  too  deep  into  new 
land — Preach  to  us  spiritual  liberty,  and  we  will  hearken  to  you. — But  we  will  give  no 
way  to  spiritual  bondage. —  Sit,  therefore,  down,  and  pledge  me  in  old  sack,  and  we  will 
talk  over  other  matters." 

"  It  is  from  spiritual  bondage,"  said  the  preacher,  in  the  same  tone  of  admonitory 
reproof,  "  that  I  came  to  deliver  you — it  is  from  a  bondage  more  fearful  than  that  of 
the  heaviest  earthly  gyves — it  is  from  your  own  evil  passions." 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Avenel,  fiercely  ;  "  sit  down  while  the  play  is  good —  else  by  my 
father's  crest  and  my  mother's  honour  ! " 



"  Now,"  whispered  Christie  of  the  Clinthill  to  Halbert,  "  if  he  refuse  to  sit  down, 
I  would  not  give  a  gray  groat  for  his  head." 

"  Lord  Baron,"  said  Warden,  "  thou  hast  placed  me  in  extremity.  But  if  the 
question  be,  whether  I  am  to  hide  the  light  which  I  am  commanded  to  shew  forth,  or  to 
lose  the  light  of  this  world,  my  choice  is  made.  I  say  to  thee,  like  the  Holy  Baptist  to 
Herod,  it  is  not  lawful  for  thee  to  have  this  woman  ;  and  I  say  it  though  bonds  and 
death  be  the  consequence,  counting  my  life  as  nothing  in  comparison  of  the  ministry  to 
which  I  am  called." 

Julian  Avenel,  enraged  at  the  firmness  of  this  reply,  flung  from  his  right  hand  the 
cup  in  which  he  was  about  to  drink  to  his  guest,  and  from  the  other  cast  off  the  hawk, 
which  flew  wildly  through  the  apartment.  His  first  motion  was  to  lay  hand  upon  his 
dagger.  But,  changing  his  resolution,  he  exclaimed,  "  To  the  dungeon  with  this  insolent 
stroller ! — I  will  hear  no  man  speak  a  word  for  him. — Look  to  the  falcon,  Christie,  thou 
fool — an  she  escape,  I  will  despatch  you  after  her  every  man — Away  with  that  hypocritical 
dreamer — drag  him  hence  if  he  resist!" 

He  was  obeyed  in  both  points.  Christie  of  the  Clinthill  arrested  the  hawk's  flight, 
by  putting  his  foot  on  her  jesses,  and  so  holding  her  fast,  while  Henry  Warden  was  led 
off,  without  having  shewn  the  slightest  symptoms  of  terror,  by  two  of  the  Baron's 
satellites.  Julian  Avenel  walked  the  apartment  for  a  short  time  in  sullen  silence,  and 
despatching  one  of  his  attendants  with  a  whispered  message,  which  probably  related  to 
the  health  of  the  unfortunate  Catherine,  he  said  aloud,  "  These  rash  and  meddling 
priests — By  Heaven  !  they  make  us  worse  than  we  would  be  without  them."  * 

The  answer  which  he  presently  received  seemed  somewhat  to  pacify  his  angry  moodj 
and  he  took  his  place  at  the  board,  commanding  his  retinue  to  do  the  like.  All  sat 
down  in  silence,  and  began  the  repast. 

During  the  meal  Christie  in  vain  attempted  to  engage  his  youthful  companion  in 
carousal,  or,  at  least,  in  conversation.  Halbert  Glendinning  pleaded  fatigue,  and 
expressed  himself  unwilling  to  take  any  liquor  stronger  than  the  heather  ale,  which  was 
at  that  time  frequently  used  at  meals.  Thus  every  effort  at  jovialty  died  away,  until 
the  Baron,  striking  his  hand  against  the  table,  as  if  impatient  of  the  long  unbroken 
silence,  cried  out  aloud,  "  What,  ho !  my  masters — are  ye  Border-riders,  and  sit  as  mute 
over  your  meal  as  a  mess  of  monks  and  friars  ? — Some  one  sing,  if  no  one  list  to  speak. 
Meat  eaten  without  either  mirth  or  music  is  ill  of  digestion.— Louis,"  he  added,  speaking 

*  If  it  wore  necessary  to  name  a  prototype  for  this  brutal,  licentious  and  cruel  Border  chief,  in  an  age  which  shewed  but 
too  many  such,  the  Laird  of  Black  Ormiston  might  be  selected  for  that  purpose.  He  was  a  friend  and  confidant  of  Bothwell, 
,  and  an  agent  in  Henry  Darnley's  murder.  At  his  last  stage,  he  was,  like  other  great  offenders,  a  seeming  penitent ;  and,  as 
his  confession  bears,  divers  gentlemen  and  servants  being  in  the  chamber,  he  said,  "  For  God's  sake,  sit  down  and  pray  for 
me,  for  I  have  been  a  great  sinner  otherwise,"  (that  is,  besides  liis  share  in  Darnley's  death,)  "  for  the  which  God  is  this  day 
punishing  me;  for  of  all  men  on  the  earth,  I  have  been  one  of  the  proudest,  and  most  high-minded,  and  most  unclean  of  my 
-body.  But  specially  I  have  shed  the  innocent  blood  of  one  Michael  Hunter  with  my  own  hands.  Alas,  therefore!  because 
the  said  Michael,  having  me  lying  on  my  back,  having  a  fork  in  his  hand,  might  h.ave  slain  me  if  he  had  pleased,  and  did  it 
not,  which  of  all  things  grieves  me  most  in  conscience.  Also,  in  a  rage,  I  hanged  a  poor  man  for  a  horse  ; — with  many  other 
wicked  deeds,  for  whilk  I  ask  my  God  mercy.  It  is  not  marvel  I  have  been  wicked,  considering  the  wicked  company  that 
ever  I  have  been  in,  but  specially  within  the  seven  years  by-past,  in  which  I  never  saw  two  good  men  or  one  good  deed,  but 
all  kind  of  wickedness,  and  yet  God  would  not  suffer  me  to  be  lost." — See  the  whole  confession  in  the  State  Trials. 

Another  worthy  of  the  Borders,  called  Geordy  Bourne,  of  somewhat  subordinate  rank,  was  a  similar  picture  of  profligacy. 
He  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  Sir  Robert  Carey,  then  Warden  of  the  English  East  Marches,  who  gives  the  following  account 
of  his  prisoner's  confession: — 

"  Wlien  all  things  were  quiet,  and  the  watch  set  at  night,  after  supper,  about  ten  of  the  clock,  I  took  one  of  my  men's 
liveries,  and  put  it  about  me,  and  took  two  other  of  my  servants  with  me  in  their  liveries  ;  and  we  three,  as  the  Warden's  men, 
came  to  the  Provost  Marshal's  where  Bourne  was,  and  were  let  into  his  chamber.  We  sate  down  by  him,  and  told  him  that 
we  were  desirous  to  see  him,  because  we  heard  he  was  stout  and  valiant,  and  true  to  his  friend,  and  that  we  were  sorry  our 
master  could  not  be  moved  to  save  his  life.  He  voluntarily  of  himself  said,  that  he  had  lived  long  enough  to  do  so  many 
villanies  as  he  had  done  ;  and  withal  told  us,  that  he  had  lain  with  above  forty  men's  wives,  what  in  England  what  in  Scot- 
land ;  and  that  he  had  killed  seven  Englishmen  with  his  own  hands,  cruelly  murdering  them ;  and  that  he  had  spent  his 
whole  time  in  whoring,  drinking,  stealing,  and  taking  deep  revenge  for  slight  offences.  He  seemed  to  be  very  penitent,  and 
much  desired  a  minister  for  the  comfort  of  his  soul.  We  promised  him  to  let  our  master  know  his  desire,  who,  we  knew 
would  promptly  grant  it.  We  took  leave  of  him  ;  and  presently  I  took  order  that  Mr.  Selby,  a  very  honest  preacher,  should 
.go  to  him,  and  not  stir  from  him  till  his  execution  the  next  morning;  for  after  I  had  heard  his  own  confession,  I  was  resolved 
no  conditions  should  save  his  life,  and  so  took  order,  that  at  the  gates  opening  the  next  morning,  he  should  be  carried  to 
execution,  which  accordingly  was  performed."— ilfemo?^  of  Sir  Robert  Careij  Earl  of  Monmouth. 


to  one  of  the  youngest  of  his  followers,  "  thou  art  ready  enough  to  sing  when  no  one 
bids  thee." 

The  young  man  looked  first  at  his  master,  then  up  to  the  arched  roof  of  the  hall,  then 
drank  off  the  horn  of  ale,  or  wine,  which  stood  beside  him,  and  with  a  rough,  yet  not 
unmelodious  voice,  sung  the  following  ditty  to  the  ancient  air  of  "Blue  Bonnets  over 

the  Border." 

I.  11. 

March,  march,  Ettrick  and  Teviotdale,  Come  from  the  hills  where  '.he  hirsels  are  grazing, 

Why  the  deil  dinna  ye  mareh  forward  in  order  i  Come  from  the  glen  of  the  buck  and  the  roe; 

March,  march,  Eskdale  and  Liddesdale,  Come  to  the  crag  where  the  beacon  is  blazing, 

All  the  Blue  Bonnets  are  bound  for  the  Border.  Come  with  the  buckler,  the  lance,  and  the  bow. 

Many  a  banner  spread.  Trumpets  are  sounding, 

Flutters  abt)ve  your  head,  War-steeds  are  bounding, 

Many  a  crest  that  is  famous  in  story,  Stand  to  your  arms  then,  and  march  in  good  order, 

Mount  and  make  ready  then,  England  shall  many  a  day 

Sons  of  the  mountain  glen,  Tell  of  the  bloody  fray, 

Fight  for  the  Queen  and  the  old  Scottish  glory  !  AMien  the  Blue  Bonnets  came  over  the  Border! 

The  song,  rude  as  it  was,  had  in  it  that  warlike  character  which  at  any  other  time 
would  have  roused  Halbert's  spirit ;  but  at  present  the  charm  of  minstrelsy  had  no 
effect  upou  him.  He  made  it  his  request  to  Christie  to  suffer  him  to  retire  to  rest, 
a  request  with  which  that  worthy  person,  seeing  no  chance  of  making  a  favourable 
impression  on  his  intended  proselyte  in  his  present  humour,  was  at  length  pleased  to 
comply.  But  no  Sergeant  Kite,  who  ever  practised  the  profession  of  recruiting,  was 
more  attentive  that  his  object  should  not  escape  him,  than  was  Christie  of  the  Clinthill. 
He  indeed  conducted  Halbert  Glendinning  to  a  small  apartment  overlooking  the  lake, 
Avhich  was  accommodated  with  a  truckle  bed.  But  before  quitting  him,  Christie  took 
special  care  to  give  a  look  to  the  bars  which  crossed  the  outside  of  the  window,  and 
when  he  left  the  apartment,  he  failed  not  to  give  the  key  a  double  turn ;  circumstances 
which  convinced  young  Glendinning  that  there  was  no  intention  of  suffering  him  to 
depart  from  the  Castle  of  Avenel  at  his  own  time  and  pleasure.  He  judged  it,  however, 
most  prudent  to  let  these  alarming  symptoms  pass  without  observation. 

No  sooner  did  he  find  himself  in  undisturbed  solitude,  than  he  ran  rapidly  over  the 
events  of  the  day  in  his  recollection,  and  to  his  surprise  found  that  his  own  precarious 
fate,  and  even  the  death  of  Piercie  Shafton,  made  less  impression  on  him  than  the 
singularly  bold  and  determined  conduct  of  his  companion,  Henry  Warden.  Providence, 
which  suits  its  instruments  to  the  end  they  are  to  achieve,  had  awakened  in  the  cause  of 
Reformation  in  Scotland,  a  body  of  preachers  of  more  energy  than  refinement,  bold  in 
spirit,  and  strong  in  faith,  contemners  of  whatever  stood  betwixt  them  and  their  prin- 
cipal object,  and  seeking  the  advancement  of  the  great  cause  in  which  they  laboured  by 
the  roughest  road,  provided  it  were  the  shortest.  The  soft  breeze  may  wave  the  willow, 
but  it  requires  the  voice  of  the  tempest  to  agitate  the  boughs  of  the  oak  ;  and,  accord- 
ingly, to  milder  hearers,  and  in  a  less  rude  age,  their  manners  would  have  been  ill 
adapted,  but  they  were  singularly  successful  in  their  mission  to  the  rude  people  to  whom 
it  was  addressed. 

Owing  to  these  reasons,  Halbert  Glendinning,  who  had  resisted  and  repelled  the 
arguments  of  the  preacher,  was  forcibly  struck  by  the  firmness  of  his  demeanour  in  the 
dispute  with  Julian  Avenel.  It  might  be  discourteous,  and  most  certainly  it  was 
incautious,  to  choose  such  a  place  and  such  an  audience,  for  upbraiding  with  bis 
transgressions  a  baron,  whom  both  manners  and  situation  placed  in  full  possession  of 
independent  power.  But  the  conduct  of  the  preacher  was  uncompromising,  firm, 
manly,  and  obviously  grounded  upon  the  deepest  conviction  which  duty  and  principle 
could  afford ;  and  Glendinning,  who  had  viewed  the  conduct  of  Avenel  with  the  deepest 
abhorrence,  was  proportionally  interested  in  the  brave  old  man,  who  had^vehtured  life 
rather  than  withhold  the  censure  due  to  guilt.  Tliis  pitch  of  virtue  seemed  to  him  to 
be  in  religion  what  was  demanded  by  chivalry  of  her  votaries  in  war ;  an  absolute 


surrender  of  all  selfish  feelings,  and  a  combination  of  every  energy  proper  to  the  human 
mind,  to  discharge  the  task  which  duty  demanded. 

Halbert  was  at  the  period  when  youth  was  most  open  to  generous  emotions,  and 
knows  best  how  to  appreciate  them  in  others,  and  he  felt,  although  he  hardly  knew  why, 
that,  whether  catholic  or  heretic,  the  safety  of  this  man  deeply  interested  him.  Curiosity 
mingled  with  the  feeling,  and  led  him  to  wonder  what  the  nature  of  those  doctrines 
could  be,  which  stole  their  votary  so  completely  fi-om  himself,  and  devoted  him  to  chains 
or  to  death  as  their  sworn  champion.  He  had  indeed  been  told  of  saints  and  martyrs  of 
former  days,  who  had  braved  for  their  religious  faith  the  extremity  of  death  and  torture. 
But  their  spirit  of  enthusiastic  devotion  had  long  slept  in  the  ease  and  indolent  habits  of 
their  successors,  and  their  adventures,  like  those  of  knights-errant,  were  rather  read 
for  amusement  than  for  edification.  A  new  impulse  had  been  necessary  to  rekindle  the 
energies  of  religious  zeal,  and  that  impulse  was  now  operating  in  favour  of  a  purer 
religion,  with  one  of  whose  steadiest  votaries  the  youth  had  now  met  for  the  first  time. 

The  sense  that  he  himself  was  a  prisoner,  under  the  power  of  this  savage  chieftain,  by 
no  means  diminished  Halbert's  interest  in  the  fate  of  his  fellow-sufferer,  while  he  deter- 
mined at  the  same  time  so  far  to  emulate  his  fortitude,  that  neither  threats  nor  suffering 
should  compel  him  to  enter  into  the  service  of  such  a  master.  The  possibility  of  escape 
next  occurred  to  him,  and  though  with  little  hope  of  effecting  it  in  that  way,  Glendinning 
proceeded  to  examine  more  particularly  the  window  of  the  apartment.  The  apartment 
was  situated  in  the  first  story  of  the  castle ;  and  was  not  so  far  from  the  rock  on  which 
it  was  founded,  but  that  an  active  and  bold  man  might  with  little  assistance  descend  to 
a  shelf  of  the  rock  which  was  immediately  below  the  window,  and  from  thence  either  leap 
or  drop  himself  down  into  the  lake  which  lay  before  his  eye,  clear  and  blue  in  the  placid 
light  of  a  full  summer's  moon. — "  Were  I  once  placed  on  that  ledge,"  thought  Glen- 
dinning, "  Julian  Avenel  and  Christie  had  seen  the  last  of  me."  The  size  of  the  window 
favoured  such  an  attempt,  but  the  stanchions  or  iron  bars  seemed  to  form  an  insur- 
mountable obstacle. 

"While  Halbert  Glendinning  gazed  from  the  window  with  that  eagerness  of  hope 
which  was  prompted  by  the  energy  of  his  character  and  his  determination  not  to  yield 
to  circumstances,  his  ear  caught  some  sounds  from  below,  and  listening  with  more 
attention,  he  could  distinguish  the  voice  of  the  preacher  engaged  in  his  solitary  devotions. 
To  open  a  correspondence  with  him  became  immediately  his  object,  and  failing  to  do  so 
by  less  marked  sounds,  he  at  length  ventured  to  speak,  and  was  answered  from  beneath 
— "  Is  it  thou,  my  son?"  The  voice  of  the  prisoner  now  sounded  more  distinctly  than 
when  it  was  first  heard,  for  Warden  had  approached  the  small  aperture,  which,  serving 
his  prison  for  a  window,  opened  just  betwixt  the  wall  and  the  rock,  and  admitted 
a  scanty  portion  of  light  through  a  wall  of  immense  thickness.  This  soicpirail  being 
placed  exactly  under  Halbert's  window,  the  contiguity  permitted  the  prisoners  to  converse 
in  a  low  tone,  when  Halbert  declared  his  intention  to  escape,  and  the  possibility  he  saw 
of  achieving  his  purpose,  but  for  the  iron  stanchions  of  the  window — "Prove  thy 
strength,  my  son,  in  the  name  of  God!"  said  the  preacher.  Halbert  obeyed  him  more 
in  despair  than  hope,  but  to  his  great  astonishment,  and  somewhat  to  his  terror,  the  bar 
parted  asunder  near  the  bottom,  and  the  longer  part  being  easily  bent  outwards,  and  not 
secured  with  lead  in  the  upper  socket,  dropt  out  into  Halbert's  hand.  He  immediately 
whispered,  but  as  energetically  as  a  whisper  could  be  expressed — "  By  Heaven,  the  bar 
has  given  way  in  my  hand!" 

"  Thank  Heaven,  my  son,  instead  of  swearing  by  it,"  answered  Warden  from  his 

With  little  effort  Halbert  Glendinning  forced  himself  through  the  opening  thus 
wonderfully  effected,  and  using  his  leathern  sword-belt  as  a  rope  to  assist  him,  let 
himself  safely  drop  on  the  shelf  of  rock  upon  which  the  preacher's  window  opened. 



But  through  this  no  passage  could  be  effected,  being  scarce  larger  than  a  loophole  for 
musketry,  and  apparently  constructed  for  that  purpose. 

"  Are  there  no  means  by  which  I  can  assist  your  escape,  my  father  ? "  said  Halbert. 

"  There  are  none,  my  son,"  answered  the  preacher ;  "  but  if  thou  wilt  ensure  my 
safety,  that  may  be  in  thy  power." 

"  I  will  labour  earnestly  for  it,"  said  the  youth. 

"  Take  then  a  letter  which  I  will  presently  write,  for  I  have  the  means  of  light  and 
writing  materials  in  my  scrip — Hasten  towards  Edinburgh,  and  on  the  way  thou  wilt 
meet  a  body  of  horse  marching  southwards — Give  this  to  their  leader,  and  acquaint  him 
of  the  state  in  which  thou  hast  left  me.  It  may  hap  that  thy  doing  so  will  advantage 

In  a  minute  or  two  the  light  of  a  taper  gleamed  through  the  shot-hole,  and  very 
shortly  after,  the  preacher,  with  the  assistance  of  his  staff,  pushed  a  billet  to  Glendinning 
through  the  window. 

"  God  bless  thee,  my  son,"  said  the  old  man,  "  and  complete  the  marvellous  work 
which  he  has  begun." 

"  Amen  ! "  answered  Halbert,  with  solemnity,  and  proceeded  on  his  enterprise. 

He  hesitated  a  moment  whether  he  should  attempt  to  descend  to  the  edge  of  the  water; 
but  the  steepness  of  the  rock,  and  darkness  of  the  night,  rendered  the  enterprise  too 
dangerous.  He  clasped  his  hands  above  his  head  and  boldly  sprung  from  the  preci- 
pice, shooting  himself  forward  into  the  air  as  far  as  he  could  for  fear  of  sunken  rocks, 
and  alighted  on  the  lake,  head  foremost,  with  such  force  as  sunk  him  for  a  minute  below 
the  surface.  But  strong,  long-breathed,  and  accustomed  to  such  exercise,  Halbert,  even 
though  encumbered  with  his  sword,  dived  and  rose  like  a  sea-fowl,  and  swam  across  the 
lake  in  the  northern  direction.  When  he  landed  and  looked  back  on  the  castle,  he  could 
observe  that  the  alarm  had  been  given,  for  lights  glanced  from  window  to  window,  and 
he  heard  the  drawbridge  lowered,  and  the  tread  of  horses'  feet  upon  the  causeway.  But, 
little  alarmed  for  the  consequence  of  a  pursuit  during  the  darkness,  he  wrung  the  water 
from  his  dress,  and,  plunging  into  the  moors,  directed  his  course  to  the  north-east  by 
the  assistance  of  the  polar  star. 

Why,  what  an  intricate  impeach  is  this! 

I  think  you  all  have  drank  of  Circe's  cup. 

If  here  you  housed  him,  here  he  would  have  been; 

If  he  were  mad,  he  would  not  plead  so  coldly. 

Comedy  of  Errors. 

j^^Q  HE  course  of  our  story,  leaving  for  the  present  Halbert  Glendinning  to 
the  guidance  of  his  courage  and  his  fortune,  returns  to  the  Tower  of 
Glendearg,  where  matters  in  the  meanwhile  fell  out,  with  which  it  is 
most  fitting  that  the  reader  should  be  acquainted. 

The  meal  was  prepared  at  noontide  with  all  the  care  which  Elspeth 
and  Tibb,  assisted  by  the  various  accommodations  which  had  been 
supplied  from  the  Monastery,  could  bestow  on  it.  Their  dialogue  ran  on  as  usual  in  the 
intervals  of  their  labour,  partly  as  between  mistress  and  servant,  partly  as  maintained  by 
gossips  of  nearly  equal  quality. 

"  Look  to  the  minced  meat,  Tibb,"  said  Elspeth  ;  "  and  turn  the  broach  even,  thou 
good-for-nothing  Simmie, — thy  wits  are  hai'rying  birds'  nests,  child. — Weel,  Tibb,  this 
is  a  fasheous  job,  this  Sir  Piercie  lying  leaguer  with  us  up  here,  and  wha  kens  for 
how  lang  ?" 

"A  fasheous  job  indeed,"  answered  her  faithful  attendant,  "and  little  good  did  the 
name  ever  bring  to  fair  Scotland.  Ye  may  have  your  hands  fuller  of  them  than  they 
are  yet.  Mony  a  sair  heart  have  the  Piercies  given  to  Scots  wife  and  bairns  with 
their  pricking  on  the  Borders.  There  was  Hotspur  and  many  more  of  that  bloody 
kindred,  have  sate  in  our  skirts  since  Malcolm's  time,  as  Martin  says  !" 


"  Martin  should  keep  a  well-scrapit  tongue  in  his  head,"  said  Elspeth,  "  and  not  slander 
the  kin  of  any  body  that  quarters  at  Glendearg  ;  forby,  that  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  is  much 
respected  with  the  holy  fathers  of  the  community,  and  they  wiU  make  up  to  us  ony 
fasherie  that  we  may  have  with  him,  either  by  good  word  or  good  deed,  I'se  warrant 
them.     He  is  a  considerate  lord  the  Lord  Abbot." 

"  And  weel  he  likes  a  saft  seat  to  his  hinder  end,"  said  Tibb ;  "  I  have  seen  a 
belted  baron  sit  on  a  bare  bench,  and  find  nae  fault.  But  an  ye  are  pleased,  mistress, 
I  am  pleased." 

"  NoAv,  in  good  time,  here  comes  Mysie  of  the  Mill. — And  whare  hae  ye  been,  lass 
for  a's  gane  wrang  without  you  ?"  said  Elspeth. 

"I  just  gaed  a  blink  up  the  burn,"  said  Mysie,  "  for  the  young  lady  has  been  down 
on  her  bed,  and  is  no  just  that  weel — So  I  gaed  a  glifFup  the  burn." 

"To  see  the  young  lads  come  hame  frae  the  sport,  I  will  warrant  you,"  said  Elspeth, 
"  Ay,  ay,  Tibb,  that's  the  way  the  yoimg  folk  guide  us,  Tibbie — leave  us  to  do  the  Avark, 
and  out  to  the  play  themseUs." 

"  Ne'er  a  bit  of  that,  mistress,"  said  the  Maid  of  the  Mill,  stripping  her  round  pretty 
arms,  and  looking  actively  and  good-humouredly  round  for  some  duty  that  she  could 
discharge,  "  but  just — I  thought  ye  might  like  to  ken  if  they  were  coming  back,  just  to 
get  the  dinner  forward." 

"  And  saw  ye  ought  of  them  then  ?"  demanded  Elspeth. 

"  Not  the  least  tokening,"  said  Mysie,  "  though  I  got  to  the  head  of  a  knowe,  and 
though  the  English  knight's  beautiful  white  feather  could  have  been  seen  over  all  the 
bushes  in  the  Shaw." 

"  The  knight's  white  feather  !"  said  Dame  Glendinning  ;  "  ye  are  a  silly  hempie — my 
Halbert's  high  head  will  be  seen  farther  than  his  feather,  let  it  be  as  white  as  it  like, 
I  trow." 

Mysie  made  no  answer,  but  began  to  knead  dough  for  wastel-cake  with  all  despatch, 
observing  that  vSir  Piercie  had  partaken  of  that  dainty,  and  commended  it  upon  the  pve- 
ceding  day.  And  presently,  in  order  to  place  on  the  fire  the  girdle,  or  iron  plate  on 
which  these  cates  were  to  be  baked,  she  displaced  a  stew-pan  in  which  some  of  Tibb's 
delicacies  were  submitted  to  the  action  of  the  kitchen  fire.  Tibb  muttered  betwixt  her 
teeth — "  And  it  is  the  broth  for  my  sick  bairn,  that  maun  make  room  for  the  dainty 
Southron's  wastel-bread.  It  was  a  blithe  time  in  Wight  Wallace's  day,  or  good  King 
Robert's,  when  the  pock-puddings  gat  naething  here  but  hard  straiks  and  bloody  crowns. 
But  we  will  see  how  it  will  a'  end." 

Elspeth  did  not  think  it  proper  to  notice  these  discontented  expressions  of  Tibbie, 
but  they  sunk  into  her  mind  ;  for  she  was  apt  to  consider  her  as  a  sort  of  authority  in 
matters  of  war  and  policy,  with  which  her  foi'mer  experience  as  bower-woman  at  Avenel 
Castle  made  her  better  acquainted  than  were  the  peaceful  inhabitants  of  the  Halidome. 
Slie  only  spoke,  however,  to  express  her  sui*prise  that  the  hunters  did  not  return. 

"  An  they  come  not  back  the  sooner,"  said  Tibb,  "  they  will  fare  the  waur,  for  the 
meat  will  be  roasted  to  a  cinder — and  there  is  poor  Simmie  that  can  turn  the  spit  nae 
langer  :  the  bairn  is  melting  like  an  icicle  in  warm  water — Gang  awa,  bairn,  and  take  a 
mouthful  of  the  caller  air,  and  I  will  turn  the  broach  till  ye  come  back." 

"  Rin  up  to  the  bartizan  at  the  tower-head,  callant,"  said  Dame  Glendinning,  "  the 
air  will  be  callerer  thei'e  than  ony  gate  else,  and  bring  us  word  if  our  Halbert  and  the 
gentleman  are  coming  down  the  glen." 

The  boy  lingered  long  enough  to  allow  his  substitute,  Tibb  Tacket,  heartily  to  tire  of 
her  own  generosity,  and  of  his  cricket-stool  by  the  side  of  a  huge  fire.  He  at  length 
returned  with  the  news  that  he  had  seen  nobody. 

The  matter  was  not  remarkable  so  far  as  Halbert  Glendinning  was  concerned,  for, 
patient  alike  of  want  and  of  fatigue,  it  was  no  uncommon  circumstance  for  him  to  remain 


in  tlie  wilds  till  curfew  time.  But  nobody  had  given  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  credit  for 
being  so  keen  a  sportsman,  and  the  idea  of  an  Englishman  preferring  the  chase  to  his 
dinner  was  altogether  inconsistent  with  their  preconceptions  of  the  national  character. 
Amidst  wondering  and  conjecturing,  the  usual  dinner-hour  passed  long  away  ;  and  the 
inmates  of  the  tower,  taking  a  hasty  meal  themselves,  adjourned  their  more  solemn  pre- 
parations until  the  hunters'  return  at  night,  since  it  seemed  now  certain  that  their  sport 
had  either  carried  them  to  a  greater  distance,  or  engaged  them  for  a  longer  time  than  had 
been  expected. 

About  four  hours  after  noon,  arrived,  not  the  expected  sportsmen,  but  an  unlooked  for 
visitant,  the  Sub-Prior  from  the  Monastery.  The  scene  of  the  preceding  day  had  dwelt 
on  the  mind  of  Father  Eustace,  who  was  of  that  keen  and  penetrating  cast  of  mind  which 
loves  not  to  leave  unascertained  whatever  of  mysterious  is  subjected  to  its  inquiry.  His 
kindness  was  interested  in  the  family  of  Glendearg,  which  he  had  now  known  for  a  long 
time  ;  and  besides,  the  community  was  interested  in  the  preservation  of  the  peace  betwixt 
Sir  Piercie  Shafton  and  his  youthful  host,  since  whatever  might  draw  public  attention  on 
the  former,  could  not  ftiil  to  be  prejudicial  to  the  Monastery,  which  was  already  threat- 
ened by  the  hand  of  power.  He  found  the  family  assembled  aU  but  Mary  Avenel,  and 
was  informed  that  Halbert  Glendinning  had  accompanied  the  stranger  on  a  day's  sport. 
So  far  was  well.  They  had  not  returned  ;  but  when  did  youth  and  sport  conceive  them- 
selves bound  by  set  hours  ?  and  the  circumstance  excited  no  alarm  in  his  mind. 

While  he  was  conversing  with  Edward  Glendinning  touching  his  progress  in  the 
studies  he  had  pointed  out  to  him,  they  were  startled  by  a  shriek  from  Mary  Avenel's 
apartment,  which  drew  the  whole  family  thither  in  headlong  haste.  They  found  her  in 
a  swoon  in  the  arms  of  old  Martin,  who  was  bitterly  accusing  himself  of  having  killed 
her  ;  so  indeed  it  seemed,  for  her  pale  features  and  closed  eyes  argued  rather  a  dead  corpse 
than  a  living  person.  The  whole  family  were  instantly  in  tumult.  Snatching  her  from 
Martin's  arms  with  the  eagerness  of  affectionate  terror,  Edward  bore  her  to  the  casement, 
that  she  might  receive  the  influence  of  the  open  air  ;  the  Sub-Prior,  who,  like  many  of 
his  profession,  had  some  knowledge  of  medicine,  hastened  to  prescribe  the  readiest  remedies 
which  occurred  to  him,  and  the  terrified  females  contended  with,  and  impeded  each  other, 
in  their  rival  efforts  to  be  useful. 

"  It  has  been  ane  of  her  weary  ghaists,"  said  Dame  Glendinning. 

"  It's  just  a  trembling  on  her  spirits,  as  her  blessed  mother  used  to  have,"  said  Tibb. 

"  It's  some  ill  news  has  come  ower  her,"  said  the  miller's  maiden  ;  while  burnt  feathers, 
cold  water,  and  all  the  usual  means  of  restoring  suspended  animation,  were  employed 
alternately,  and  with  little  effect. 

At  length  a  new  assistant,  who  had  joined  the  group  unobserved,  tendered  his  aid  in 
the  following  terms  : — "  How  is  this,  my  most  fair  Discretion  ?  What  cause  hath  moved 
the  ruby  current  of  life  to  rush  back  to  the  citadel  of  the  heart,  leaving  pale  those  features 
in  which  it  should  have  delighted  to  meander  for  ever  ? — Let  me  approach  her,"  he  said, 
"  with  this  sovereign  essence,  distilled  by  the  fair  hands  of  the  divine  Urania,  and  powerful 
to  recall  fugitive  life,  even  if  it  were  trembling  on  the  verge  of  departure." 

Thus  speaking,  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  knelt  down,  and  most  gracefully  presented  to  the 
nostrils  of  Mary  Avenel  a  silver  pouncet-box,  exquisitely  chased,  containing  a  sponge 
dipt  in  the  essence  which  he  recommended  so  highly.  Yes,  gentle  reader,  it  was  Sir 
Piercie  Shafton  himself  who  thus  unexpectedly  proftered  his  good  offices  !  his  cheeks, 
indeed,  very  pale,  and  some  part  of  his  dress  stained  with  blood,  but  not  otherwise 
appearing  different  from  what  he  was  on  the  preceding  evening.  But  no  sooner  had 
Mary  Avenel  opened  her  eyes,  and  fixed  them  on  the  figure  of  the  officious  courtier, 
than  she  screamed  faintly,  and  exclaimed, — "  Secure  the  murderer  !" 

Those  present  stood  aghast  with  astonishment,  and  none  more  so  than  the  Euphuist, 
who  found  himself  so  suddenly  and  so  strangely  accused  by  the  patient  whom  he  was 


endeavouring  to  succour,  and  who  repelled  his  attempts  to  yield  her  assistance  with  all 
the  energy  of  abhorrence. 

"  Take  him  away  !"  she  exclaimed — "  take  away  the  murderer  !" 

"  Now,  by  my  knighthood,"  answered  Sir  Piercie,  "  your  lovely  faculties  either  of 
mind  or  body  are,  O  my  most  fair  Discretion,  obnubilated  by  some  strange  hallucination. 
For  either  your  eyes  do  not  discern  that  it  is  Piercie  Shafton,  your  most  devoted  Affa- 
bility, Avho  now  stands  before  you,  or  else,  your  eyes  discerning  truly,  your  mind  hath 
most  erroneously  concluded  that  he  hath  been  guilty  of  some  delict  or  violence  to  which 
his  hand  is  a  stranger.  No  murder,  O  most  scornful  Discretion,  hath  been  this  day  done, 
saving  but  that  which  your  angry  glances  are  now  performing  on  your  most  devoted 

He  was  here  interrupted  by  the  Sub-Prior,  who  had,  in  the  meantime,  been  speaking 
with  Martin  apart,  and  had  received  from  him  an  account  of  the  circumstances,  which, 
suddenly  communicated  to  Mary  Avenel,  had  thrown  her  into  this  state.  "  Sir  Knight," 
said  the  Sub-Prior,  in  a  very  solemn  tone,  yet  with  some  hesitation,  "  circumstances 
have  been  communicated  to  us  of  a  nature  so  extraordinary,  that,  reluctant  as  I  am  to 
exercise  such  authority  over  a  guest  of  our  venerable  community,  I  am  constrained  to 
request  from  you  an  explanation  of  them.  You  left  this  tower  early  in  the  morning,  ac- 
companied by  a  youth,  Halbert  Glendinning,  the  eldest  son  of  this  good  dame,  and  you 
return  hither  without  him.  Where,  and  at  what  hour,  did  you  part  company  from  him?  " 

The  English  knight  paused  for  a  moment,  and  then  replied, — "  I  marvel  that  your 
reverence  employs  so  grave  a  tone  to  enforce  so  light  a  question.  I  parted  with  the 
villagio  whom  you  call  Halbert  Glendinning  some  hour  or  twain  after  sunrise." 

"And  at  what  place,  I  pray  you  ?"  said  the  monk. 

"  In  a  deep  ravine,  where  a  fountain  rises  at  the  base  of  a  huge  rock ;  an  earth-born 
Titan,  which  heaveth  up  its  gray  head,  even  as " 

"  Spare  us  farther  description,"  said  the  Sub-Prior ;  "  we  know  the  spot.  But  that 
youth  hath  not  since  been  heard  of,  and  it  will  fall  on  you  to  account  for  him." 

"  My  bairn  !  my  bairn  ! "  exclaimed  Dame  Glendinning.  "  Yes,  holy  father,  make 
the  villain  account  for  my  bairn  ! " 

"  I  swear,  good  woman,  by  bread  and  by  water,  which  are  the  pi-ops  of  our  life " 

"  Swear  by  wine  and  wastel-bread,  for  these  are  the  props  of  thy  life,  thou  greedy 
Southron  ! "  said  Dame  Glendinning  ; — a  base  belly-god,  to  come  here  to  eat  the  best, 
and  practise  on  our  lives  that  give  it  to  him!" 

"  I  tell  thee,  woman,"  said  Sir  Piercie  Shafton,  "  I  did  but  go  with  thy  son  to  the 

"  A  black  hunting  it  has  been  to  him,  poor  bairn,"  replied  Tibb  ;  '^  and  sae  I  said  it 
wad  prove  since  I  first  saw  the  false  Southron  snout  of  thee.  Little  good  comes  of  a 
Piercie's  hunting,  from  Chevy  Chase  till  now." 

"  Be  silent,  woman,"  said  the  Sub-Prior,  "  and  rail  not  upon  the  English  knight ;  we 
do  not  yet  know  of  any  thing  beyond  suspicion." 

"  We  will  have  his  heart's  blood ! "  said  Dame  Glendinning ;  and,  seconded  by  the 
faithful  Tibbie,  she  made  such  a  sudden  onslaught  on  the  unlucky  Euphuist,  as  must 
have  terminated  in  something  serious,  had  not  the  monk,  aided  by  Mysie  Happer,  inter- 
posed to  protect  him  from  their  fury.  Edward  had  left  the  apartment  the  instant  the 
disturbance  broke  out,  and  now  entered,  sword  in  hand,  followed  by  Martin  and  Jasper, 
the  one  having  a  hunting  spear  in  his  hand,  the  other  a  cross-bow. 

"  Keep  the  door,"  he  said  to  his  two  attendants ;  "  shoot  him  or  stab  him  without 
mercy,  should  he  attempt  to  break  forth  ;  if  he  offers  an  escape,  by  Heaven  he  shall  die  I" 

"  How  now,  Edward,"  said  the  Sub-Prior ;  "  how  is  this  that  you  so  far  forget 
yourself?  meditating  violence  to  a  guest,  and  in  my  presence,  who  represent  your 
liege  lord  ?  " 


Edward  stepped  forward  with  his  drawn  sword  in  his  hand.  "  Pardon  me,  reverend 
father,"  he  said,  "  but  in  this  matter  the  voice  of  nature  speaks  louder  and  stronger  than 
yours.  I  turn  my  sword's  point  against  this  proud  man,  and  I  demand  of  him  the  blood 
of  my  brother — the  blood  of  my  father's  son — of  the  heir  of  our  name  !  If  he  denies  to 
give  me  a  true  account  of  him,  he  shall  not  deny  me  vengeance." 

Embarrassed  as  he  was,  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  shewed  no  personal  fear.  "  Put  up  thy 
sword,"  he  said,  "  young  man ;  not  in  the  same  day  does  Piercie  Shafton  contend  with 
two  peasants." 

"  Hear  him !  he  confesses  the  deed,  holy  father,"  said  Edward. 

"  Be  patient,  my  son,"  said  the  Sub-Prior,  endeavouring  to  soothe  the  feelings  which 
he  could  not  otherwise  control,  "  be  patient — thou  wilt  attain  the  ends  of  justice  better 
through  my  means  than  thine  own  violence — And  you,  women,  be  silent — Tibb,  remove 
your  mistress  and  Mary  Avenel." 

While  Tibb,  with  the  assistance  of  the  other  females  of  the  household,  bore  the  poor 
mother  and  Mary  Avenel  into  separate  apartments,  and  while  Edward,  stiU  keeping  his 
sword  in  his  hand,  hastily  traversed  the  room,  as  if  to  prevent  the  possibility  of  Sir 
Piercie  Shafton's  escape,  the  Sub-Prior  insisted  upon  knowing  from  the  perplexed 
knight  the  "^particulars  which  he  knew  respecting  Halbert  Glendinning.  His  situation 
became  extremely  embaiTassing,  for  what  he  might  with  safety  have  told  of  the  issue  of 
their  combat  was  so  revolting  to  his  pride,  that  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  enter  into 
the  detail ;  and  of  Halbert's  actual  fate  he  knew,  as  the  reader  is  well  aware,  absolutely 

The  father  in  the  meanwhile  pressed  him  with  remonstrances,  and  prayed  him  to 
observe,  he  would  greatly  prejudice  himself  by  declining  to  give  a  full  account  of  the 
transactions  of  the  day.  "  You  cannot  deny,"  he  said,  "  that  yesterday  you  seemed  to 
take  the  most  violent  offence  at  this  unfortunate  youth ;  and  that  you  suppressed  your 
resentment  so  suddenly  as  to  impress  us  all  with  surprise.  Last  night  you  proposed  to 
him  this  day's  hunting  party,  and  you  set  out  together  by  break  of  day.  You  parted, 
you  said,  at  the  fountain  near  the  rock,  about  an  hour  or  twain  after  sunrise,  and  it 
appears  that  before  you  parted  you  had  been  at  strife  together." 

"  I  said  not  so,"  replied  the  knight.  "  Here  is  a  coil  indeed  about  the'  absence  of  a 
rustical  bondsman,  who,  I  dare  say,  hath  gone  off  (if  he  be  gone)  to  join  the  next  rascally 
band  of  freebooters  !  Ye  ask  me,  a  knight  of  the  Piercie's  lineage,  to  account  for  such 
an  insignificant  fugitive,  and  I  answer, — let  me  know  the  price  of  his  head,  and  I  will 
pay  it  to  your  convent  treasurer." 

"You  admit,  then,  that  you  have  slain  my  brother?"  said  Edward,  interfering  once 
more ;  "  I  wiU  presently  shew  you  at  what  pi-ice  we  Scots  rate  the  lives  of  our  friends." 

"Peace,  Edward,  peace— I  entreat — I  command  thee,"  said  the  Sub-Prior.  "And 
you.  Sir  Knight,  think  better  of  us  than  to  suppose  you  may  spend  Scottish  blood,  and 
I'eckon  for  it  as  for  wine  spilt  in  a  di-unken  revel.  This  youth  was  no  bondsman — thou 
well  knowest,  that  in  thine  own  laud  thou  hadst  not  dared  to  lift  thy  sword  against  the 
meanest  subject  of  England,  but  her  laws  would  have  called  thee  to  answer  for  the  deed. 
Do  not  hope  it  will  be  otherwise  here,  for  you  will  but  deceive  yourself." 

"  You  drive  me  beyond  my  patience,"  said  the  Euphuist,  "  even  as  the  over-driven  ox 
is  urged  into  madness  ! — What  can  I  tell  you  of  a  young  fellow  whom  I  have  not  seen 
since  the  second  hour  after  sunrise  ? " 

"But  can  you  explain  in  what  circumstances  you  parted  with  him?"  said  the 

"  What  are  the  circumstances,  in  the  devil's  name,  which  you  desire  should  be 
explained  ? — for  although  I  protest  against  this  constraint  as  alike  unworthy  and  inhos- 
pitable, yet  would  I  willingly  end  this  fray,  provided  that  by  words  it  may  be  ended," 
said  the  knight. 


"  If  these  end  it  not,"  said  Edward,  "  blows  shall,  and  that  full  speedily." 
"Peace,  impatient  boy!"    said  the  S  ub -Prior ;  "and  do  you,    Sir  Piercie  Shafton, 
acquaint  me  why  the  gx-ound  is  bloody  by  the  verge  of  the  fountain  in  Corri-nan-shian, 
where,  as  you  say  yourself,  you  parted  from  Halbert  Glendinning  ?  " 

Resolute  not  to  avow  his  defeat  if  possibly  he  could  avoid  it,  the  knight  answered  in 
a  haughty  tone,  that  he  supposed  it  was  no  unusual  thing  to  find  the  turf  bloody  where 
hunters  had  slain  a  deer. 

"  And  did  you  bury  your  game  as  well  as  kill  it  ?"  said  the  monk.  "  We  must  know 
from  you  who  is  the  tenant  of  that  grave,  that  newiy-made  grave,  beside  the  very 
fountain  whose  margin  is  so  deeply  crimsoned  with  blood  ? — thou  seest  thou  canst  not 
evade  me ;  therefore  be  ingenuous,  and  tell  us  the  fate  of  this  unhappy  youth,  whose 
body  is  doubtless  lying  under  that  bloody  turf. 

"  If  it  be,"  said  Sir  Piercie,  "  they  must  have  buried  him  alive  5  for  I  swear  to  thee, 
reverend  father,  that  this  rustic  ju venal  parted  from  me  in  perfect  health.  Let  the 
grave  be  searched,  and  if  his  body  be  found,  then  deal  with  me  as  ye  list." 

"  It  is  not  my  sphere  to  determine  thy  fate.  Sir  Knight,  but  that  of  the  Lord  Abbot, 
and  the  right  reverend  Chapter.  It  is  but  my  duty  to  collect  such  information  as  may 
best  possess  their  wisdom  with  the  matters  which  have  chanced." 

"  Might  I  presume  so  far,  reverend  father,"  said  the  knight,  "  I  should  wish  to  know 
the  author  and  evidence  of  all  these  suspicions,  so  unfoundedly  urged  against  me  ?" 

"  It  is  soon  told,"  said  the  Sub-Prior ;  "  nor  do  I  wish  to  disguise  it,  if  it  can  avail 
you  in  your  defence.  This  maiden,  Mary  Avenel,  apprehending  that  you  nourished 
malice  against  her  foster-brother  under  a  friendly  brow,  did  advisedly  send  u})  the  old  man, 
Martin  Tacket,  to  follow  your  footsteps  and  to  prevent  mischief.  But  it  seems  that  your 
evil  passions  had  outrun  precaution :  for  when  he  came  to  the  spot,  guided  by  your  foot- 
steps upon  the  dew,  he  found  but  the  bloody  turf  and  the  new  covered  grave ;  and  after 
long  and  vain  search  through  the  wilds  after  Halbert  and  yourself,  he  brought  back  the 
sorrowful  news  to  her  who  had  sent  him." 

"  Saw  he  not  my  doublet,  I  pray  you  ? "  said  Sir  Piercie ;  "  for  when  I  came  to 
myself,  I  found  that  I  was  wrapped  in  my  cloak,  but  without  my  under  garment  as  your 
reverence  may  observe." 

So  saying,  he  opened  his  cloak,  forgetting,  with  his  characteristical  inconsistency,  that 
he  shewed  his  shirt  stained  with  blood. 

"  How  !  cruel  man,"  said  the  monk,  when  he  observed  this  confirmation  of  his  suspi- 
cions ;  "  wilt  thou  deny  the  guilt,  even  while  thou  bearest  on  thy  person  the  blood  thou 
hast  shed  ? — "Wilt  thou  longer  deny  that  thy  rash  hand  has  robbed  a  mother  of  a  son, 
our  community  of  a  vassal,  the  Queen  of  Scotland  of  a  liege  subject  ?  and  what  canst 
thou  expect,  but  that,  at  the  least,  we  deliver  thee  up  to  England,  as  undeserving  our 
farther  protection  ?  " 

"  By  the  Saints ! "  said  the  knight,  now  driven  to  extremity,  "  if  this  blood  be  the 
witness  against  me,  it  is  but  rebel  blood,  since  this  morning  at  sunrise  it  flowed  within 
my  own  veins." 

"  How  were  that  possible,  Sir  Piercie  Shafton,"  said  the  monk,  "  since  I  see  no  wound 
from  whence  it  can  have  flowed  ? " 

"  That,"  said  the  knight,  "  is  the  most  mysterious  part  of  the  transaction — See  here  !" 
So  saying,  he  undid  his  shirt  collar,  and,  opening  his  bosom,  shewed  the  spot  through 
which  Halbert's  sword  had  passed,  but  already  cicatrized,  and  bearing  the  appearance  of 
a  wound  lately  healed. 

"  This  exhausts  ray  patience.  Sir  Knight,"  said  the  Sub-Prior,  "  and  is  adding  insult 
to  violence  and  injury.  Do  you  hold  me  for  a  child  or  an  idiot,  that  you  pretend  to  make 
me  believe  that  the  fresh  blood  with  which  your  shirt  is  stained,  flowed  from  a  wound  which 
has  been  healed  for  weeks  or  months  ?     Unhappy  mocker,  thinkest  thou  thus  to  blind 



US  ?  Too  well  do  we  know  that  it  is  the  blood  of  your  victim,  wrestling  with  you  in  the 
desperate  and  mortal  struggle,  which  has  thus  dyed  your  apparel." 

•.  The  knight,  after  a  moment's  recollection,  said  in  reply,  *'  I  will  be  open  with  you,  my 
father — bid  these  men  stand  out  of  ear-shot,  and  I  will  tell  you  all  I  know  of  this 
mysterious  business ;  and  muse  not,  good  father,  though  it  may  pass  thy  wit  to  expound 
it,  for  I  avouch  to  you  it  is  too  dark  for  mine  own." 

The  monk  commanded  Edward  and  the  two  men  to  withdraw,  assuring  the  former  that 
his  conference  with  the  prisoner  should  be  brief,  and  giving  him  permission  to  keep  watch 
at  the  door  of  the  apartment ;  without  which  allowance  he  might,  perhaps,  have  had 
some  difficulty  in  procuring  his  absence.  Edward  had  no  sooner  left  the  chamber,  than 
he  despatched  messengers  to  one  or  two  families  of  the  Halidome,  with  whose  sons  his 
brother  and  he  sometimes  associated,  to  tell  them  that  Halbert  Glendinning  had  been 
murdered  by  an  Englishman,  and  to  require  them  to  repair  to  the  Tower  of  Glendearg 
without  delay.  The  duty  of  revenge  in  such  cases  was  held  so  sacred,  that  he  had  no 
reason  to  doubt  they  would  instantly  come  with  such  assistance  as  would  ensure  the 
detention  of  the  prisoner.  He  then  locked  the  doors  of  the  tower,  both  inner  and  outer, 
and  also  the  gate  of  the  court-yard.  Having  taken  these  precautions,  he  made  a  hasty 
visit  to  the  females  of  the  family,  exhausting  himself  in  efforts  to  console  them,  and  in 
protestations  that  he  would  have  vengeance  for  his  murdered  brother. 


Now,  by  Our  Lady,  Sheriff,  'tis  hard  reckoning, 
That  I,  witli  every  odds  of  birth  and  barony, 
Should  be  detain'd  here  for  the  casual  death 
Of  a  wild  forester,  whose  utmost  having 
Is  but  the  brazen  buckle  of  the  belt 
In  which  he  sticks  his  hedge-knife. 

Old  Plav. 

HILE  Edward  was  making  preparations  for  securing  and  punishing  the 
supposed  murderer  of  his  brother,  with  an  intense  thirst  for  vengeance, 
which  had  not  hitherto  shewn  itself  as  part  of  his  character,  Sir  Piercie 
vShafton  made  such  communications  as  it  pleased  him  to  the  Sub-Prior, 
who  listened  with  great  attention,  though  the  knight's  narrative  was  none 
of  the  clearest,  especially  as  his  self-conceit  led  him  to  conceal  or  abridge 
the  details  which  were  necespary  to  render  it  intelligible. 

"  You  are  to  know,"  he  said,  "  reverend  father,  that  this  rustical  juvenal  having  chosen 
to  offer  me,  in  the  presence  of  your  venerable  Superior,  yourself,  and  other  excellent 
and  worthy  persons,  besides  the  damsel,  Mary  Avenel,  whom  I  term  my  Discretion  in 
all  honour  and  kindness,  a  gross  insult,  rendered  yet  more  intolerable  by  the  time 
and  place,  my  just  resentment  did  so  gain  the  mastery  over  my  discretion,  that  I 
resolved  to  allow  him  the  privileges  of  an  equal,  and  to  indulge  him  with  the  combat." 
"  But,  Sir  Knight,"  said  the  Sub-Prior,  "  you  still  leave  two  matters  very  obscure. 
First,  why  the  token  he  presented  to  you  gave  you  so  much  offence,  as  I  with  others 
witnessed ;  and  then  again,  how  the  youth,  whom  you  then  met  for  the  first,  or,  at  least, 
the  second  time,  knew  so  much  of  your  history  as  enabled  him  so  greatly  to  move  you." 
The  knight  coloured  very  deeply. 

"  For  your  first  query,"   he  said,  "  most   reverend  father,  we  will,  if  you   please, 
pretermit  it  as  nothing  essential  to  the  matter  in  hand ;  and  for  the  second — I  protest 


to  you  that  I  know  as  little  of  his  means  of  knowledge  as  you  do,  and  that  I  am  well- 
nigh  persuaded  he  deals  with  Sathanas,  of  which  more  anon.— Well,  sir — In  the  evening, 
I  failed  not  to  veil  my  purpose  with  a  pleasant  brow,  as  is  the  custom  amongst  us 
martialists,  who  never  display  the  bloody  colours  of  defiance  in  our  countenance  until 
our  hand  is  armed  to  fight  under  them.  I  amused  the  fair  Discretion  with  some  can- 
zonettes,  and  other  toys,  which  could  not  but  be  ravishing  to  her  inexperienced  ears. 
I  arose  in  the  morning,  and  met  my  antagonist,  who,  to  say  truth,  for  an  inexperienced 
villagio,  comported  himself  as  stoutly  as  I  could  have  desired.— So,  coming  to  the 
encounter,  reverend  sir,  I  did  try  his  mettle  with  some  half-a-dozen  of  downright 
passes,  with  any  one  of  which  I  could  have  been  through  his  body,  only  that  I  was  loth 
to  take  so  fatal  an  advantage,  but  rather,  mixing  mercy  with  my  just  indignation,  studied 
to  inflict  upon  him  some  flesh-wound  of  no  very  fatal  quality.  But,  sir,  in  the  midst  of 
my  clemency,  he,  being  instigated,  I  think,  by  the  devil,  did  follow  up  his  first  offence 
with  some  insult  of  the  same  nature.  Whereupon,  being  eager  to  punish  him,  I  made 
an  estramazone,  and  my  foot  slipping  at  the  same  time, — not  from  any  fault  of  fence  on 
my  part,  or  any  advantage  of  skill  on  his,  but  the  devil  having,  as  I  said,  taken  up  the 
matter  in  hand,  and  the  grass  being  slippery, — ere  I  recovered  my  position  I  encountered 
his  sword,  which  he  had  advanced,  with  my  undefended  person,  so  that,  as  I  think, 
I  was  in  some  sort  run  through  the  body.  My  juvenal,  being  beyond  measure  appalled 
at  his  own  unexpected  and  unmerited  success  in  this  strange  encounter,  takes  the  flight 
and  leaves  me  there,  and  I  fall  into  a  dead  swoon  for  the  lack  of  the  blood  I  had  lost  so 
foolishly — and  when  I  awake,  as  from  a  sound  sleep,  I  find  myself  lying,  an  it  like  you, 
wrapt  up  in  my  cloak  at  the  foot  of  one  of  the  birch-trees  which  stand  together  in 
a  clump  near  to  this  place.  I  feel  my  limbs,  and  experience  little  pain,  but  much 
weakness — I  put  my  hand  to  the  wound— it  was  whole  and  skinned  over  as  you  now  see 
it — 1  rise  and  come  hither ;  and  in  these  words  you  have  my  whole  day's  story." 

"  I  can  only  reply  to  so  strange  a  tale,"  answered  the  monk,  "that  it  is  scarce  possible 
that  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  can  expect  me  to  credit  it.  Here  is  a  quarrel,  the  cause  of 
which  you  conceal,— a  wound  received  in  the  morning,  of  which  there  is  no  recent 
appearance  at  sunset,— a  grave  filled  up,  in  which  no  body  is  deposited— the  vanquished 
found  alive  and  well — the  victor  departed  no  man  knows  whither.  These  things.  Sir 
Knight,  hang  not  so  well  together,  that  I  should  receive  them  as  gospel." 

"  Reverend  father,"  answered  Sir  Piercie  Shafton,  "  I  pray  you  in  the  first  place  to 
observe,  that  if  I  offer  peaceful  and  civil  justification  of  that  which  I  have  already 
averred  to  be  true,  I  do  so  only  in  devout  deference  to  your  dress  and  to  your  order, 
protesting,  that  to  any  other  opposite,  saving  a  man  of  religion,  a  lady  or  my  liege 
prince,  I  would  not  deign  to  support  that  which  I  had  once  attested,  otherwise  than  with 
the  point  of  my  good  sword.  And  so  much  being  premised,  I  have  to  add,  that  I  can 
but  gage  my  honour  as  a  gentleman,  and  my  faith  as  a  catholic  Christian,  that  the  things 
which  I  have  described  to  you  have  happened  to  me  as  I  have  described  them,  and  not 

"It  is  a  deep  assertion.  Sir  Knight,"  answered  the  Sub-Prior;  "yet,  bethink  you,  it 
is  only  an  assertion,  and  that  no  reason  can  be  alleged  why  things  should  be  believed 
which  are  so  contrary  to  reason.  Let  me  pray  you  to  say  whether  the  grave,  which  has 
been  seen  at  your  place  of  combat,  was  open  or  closed  when  your  encounter  took  place?" 
"  Reverend  father,"  said  the  knight,  "  I  will  veil  from  you  nothing,  but  show  you 
each  secret  of  my  bosom  ;  even  as  the  pure  fountain  revealeth  the  smallest  pebble  which 

graces  the  sand  at  the  bottom  of  its  crj'stal  mirror,  and  as " 

"  Speak  in  plain  terms,  for  the  love  of  heaven ! "  said  the  monk ;  "  these  holiday 
phrases  belong  not  to  solemn  affairs— Was  the  grave  open  when  the  conflict  began  ?" 

"It  was,"  answered  the  knight,  "I  acknowledge  it;  even  as  he  that  acknow- 
ledgeth " 


"  Nay,  I  pray  you,  Mr  son,  forbear  these  similitudes,  and  observe  me.  On  yesterday 
at  even  no  grave  was  found  in  that  place,  for  old  Martin  chanced,  contrary  to  his  wont, 
to  go  thither  in  quest  of  a  strayed  sheep.  At  break  of  day,  by  your  own  confession, 
a  grave  was  opened  in  that  spot,  and  there  a  combat  was  fought  — only  one  of  the  com- 
batants appears,  and  he  is  covered  with  blood,  and  to  all  appearance  woundless." — Here 
the  knight  made  a  gesture  of  impatience. — "  Nay,  fair  son,  hear  me  but  one  moment — 
the  grave  is  closed  and  covered  by  the  sod — what  can  we  believe,  but  that  it  conceals 
the  bloody  corpse  of  the  fallen  duellist  ?" 

"By  Heaven,  it  cannot!"  said  the  knight,  "unless  the  juvenal  hath  slain  himself 
and  buried  himself,  in  order  to  place  me  in  the  predicament  of  his  murderer." 

"  The  grave  shall  doubtless  be  explored,  and  that  by  to-morrow's  dawn,"  said  the 
monk ;  "  I  will  see  it  done  with  mine  own  eyes." 

"  But,"  said  the  prisoner,  "  I  protest  against  all  evidence  which  may  arise  from  its 
contents,  and  do  insist  beforehand,  that  whatever  may  be  found  in  that  grave  shall  not 
prejudicate  me  in  my  defence.  I  have  been  so  haunted  by  diabolical  deceptions  in  this 
matter,  that  what  do  I  know  but  that  the  devil  maj  assume  the  form  of  this  rustical 
juvenal,  in  order  to  procure  me  farther  vexation  ? — I  protest  to  you,  holy  father,  it  is 
my  very  thought  that  there  is  witchcraft  in  all  that  hath  befallen  me.  Since  1  entered 
into  this  northern  land,  in  which  men  say  that  sorceries  do  abound,  I,  who  am  held  in 
awe  and  regard  even  by  the  prime  gallants  in  the  court  of  Feliciana,  have  been  here 
bearded  and  taunted  by  a  clod-treading  clown.  I,  whom  Vincentio  Saviola  termed  his 
nimblest  and  most  agile  disciple,  was,  to  speak  briefly,  foiled  by  a  cow-boy,  who  knew  no 
more  of  fence  than  is  used  at  every  country  wake.  I  am  run,  as  it  seemed  to  me, 
through  the  body,  with  a  very  sufficient  stoccata,  and  faint  on  the  spot ;  and  yet,  when 
I  recover,  I  find  myself  without  either  wem  or  wound,  and,  lacking  nothing  of  my  apparel, 
saving  my  murrey-coloured  doublet,  slashed  with  satin,  which  I  Avill  pray  may  be  inquired 
after,  lest  the  devil,  who  transported  me,  should  have  dropped  it  in  his  passage  among 
some  of  the  trees  or  bushes — it  being  a  choice  and  most  fanciful  piece  of  I'aiment, 
which  I  wore  for  the  first  time  at  the  Queen's  pageant  in  Southwark." 

"  Sir  Knight,"  said  the  monk,  "  you  do  again  go  astray  from  this  matter.  I  inquire 
of  you  respecting  that  which  concerns  the  life  of  another  man,  and  it  may  be,  touches 
your  own  also,  and  you  answer  me  with  the  tale  of  an  old  doublet ! " 

"  Old  ! "  exclaimed  the  knight ;  "  now,  by  the  gods  and  saints,  if  there  be  a  gallant  at 
the  British  Court  more  fancifully  considerate,  and  more  considerately  fanciful,  more 
quaintly  curious,  and  more  curiously  quaint,  in  frequent  changes  of  all  rich  articles  of 
vesture,  becoming  one  who  may  be  accounted  point-de-vice  a  courtier,  I  will  give  jou 
leave  to  term  me  a  slave  and  a  liar." 

The  monk  thought,  but  did  not  say,  that  he  had  already  acquired  right  to  doubt  the 
veracity  of  the  Euphuist,  considering  the  marvellous  tale  which  he  had  told.  Yet  his 
own  strange  adventure,  and  that  of  Father  Philip,  rushed  on  his  mind,  and  forbade  his 
coming  to  any  conclusion.  He  contented  himself,  therefore,  with  observing,  that  these 
were  certainly  strange  incidents,  and  requested  to  know  if  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  had  any 
other  reason  for  suspecting  himself  to  be  in  a  manner  so  particularly  selected  for  the 
sport  of  sorcery  and  witchcraft. 

"  Sir  Sub-Prior,"  said  the  Euphuist,  "  the  most  extraordinary  circumstance  remains 
behind,  which  alone,  had  I  neither  been  bearded  in  dispute,  nor  foiled  in  combat,  nor 
wounded  and  cured  in  the  space  of  a  few  hours,  would  nevertheless  of  itself,  and  without 
any  other  corroborative,  have  compelled  me  to  believe  myself  the  subject  of  some 
malevolent  fascination.  Eeverend  sir,  it  is  not  to  your  ears  that  men  should  tell  tales  of 
love  and  gallantry,  nor  is  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  one  who,  to  any  ears  whatsoever,  is  wont 
to  boast  of  his  fair  acceptance  with  the  choice  and  prime  beauties  of  the  court ;  insomuch 
that  a  lady,  none  of  the  least  resplendent  constellations  which  revolve  in  that  hemisphere 

Vol.  v.  P 


of  honour,  pleasure,  and  beauty,  but  whose  name  I  here  pretermit,  was  wont  to  call  me 
her  Taciturnity.  Nevertheless  truth  must  be  spoken ;  and  I  cannot  but  allow,  as  the 
general  report  of  the  court,  allowed  in  camps,  and  echoed  back  by  city  and  country, 
that  in  the  alacrity  of  the  accost,  the  tender  delicacy  of  the  regard,  the  facetiousness  of 
the  address,  the  adopting  and  pursuing  of  the  fancy,  the  solemn  close  and  the  graceful 
fall-off,  Piercie  Shafton  was  accounted  the  only  gallant  of  the  time,  and  so  well  accepted 
amongst  the  choicer  beauties  of  the  age,  that  no  silk-hosed  reveller  of  the  presence- 
chamber,  or  plumed  j  ouster  of  the  tilt-yard,  approached  him  by  a  bow's  length  in  the 
ladies'  regard,  being  the  mark  at  which  every  well-born  and  generous  juvenal  aimeth  his 
shaft.  Nevertheless,  reverend  sir,  having  found  in  this  rude  place  something  which  by 
blood  and  birth  might  be  termed  a  lady,  and  being  desirous  to  keep  my  gallant  humour 
in  exercise,  as  well  as  to  shew  my  sworn  devotion  to  the  sex  in  general,  I  did  shoot  off 
some  arrows  of  compliment  at  this  Mary  Avenel,  terming  her  my  Discretion,  with  other 
quaint  and  well-imagined  courtesies,  rather  bestowed  out  of  my  bounty  than  warranted 
by  her  merit,  or  perchance  like  unto  the  boyish  fowler,  who,  rather  than  not  exercise 
his  bird-piece,  will  shoot  at  crows  or  magpies  for  lack  of  better  game " 

"  Mary  Avenel  is  much  obliged  by  your  notice,"  answered  the  monk ;  "  but  to  what 
does  all  this  detail  of  past  and  present  gallantry  conduct  us  ?" 

"  Marry,  to  this  conclusion,"  answered  the  knight ;  "  that  either  this  my  Discretion, 
or  I  myself,  am  little  less  than  bewitched;  for,  instead  of  receiving  my  accost  with 
a  gratified  bow,  answering  my  regard  with  a  suppressed  smile,  accompanying  my  falling 
off  or  departure  with  a  slight  sigh — honours  with  which  I  protest  to  you  the  noblest 
dancers  and  proudest  beauties  in  Feliciana  have  graced  my  poor  services — she  hath  paid 
me  as  little  and  as  cold  regard  as  if  I  had  been  some  hob-nailed  clown  of  these  bleak 
mountains !  Nay,  this  very  day,  while  I  was  in  the  act  of  kneeling  at  her  feet  to  render 
her  the  succours  of  this  pungent  quintessence  of  purest  spirit  distilled  by  the  fairest 
hands  of  the  court  of  Feliciana,  she  pushed  me  from  her  with  looks  which  savoured  of 
repugnance,  and,  as  I  think,  thrust  at  me  with  her  foot  as  if  to  spurn  me  from  her 
presence.  These  things,  reverend  father,  are  strange,  portentous,  unnatural,  and  befall 
not  in  the  current  of  mortal  affairs,  but  are  symptomatic  of  sorcery  and  fascination.  So 
that,  having  given  to  your  reverence  a  perfect,  simple,  and  plain  account  of  all  that 
I  know  concerning  this  matter,  I  leave  it  to  your  wisdom  to  solve  what  may  be  found 
soluble  in  the  same,  it  being  my  purpose  to-morrow,  with  the  peep  of  dawn,  to  set 
forward  towards  Edinburgh." 

"I  grieve  to  be  an  interruption  to  your  designs,  Sir  Knight,"  said  the  monk,  "but 
that  purpose  of  thine  may  hardly  be  fulfilled." 

"  How,  reverend  father! "  said  the  knight,  with  an  air  of  the  utmost  surprise  ;  "  if  what 
you  say  respects  my  departure,  understand  that  it  must  be,  for  I  have  so  resolved  it." 

"  Sir  Knight,"  reiterated  the  Sub-Prior,  "  I  must  once  more  repeat,  this  cannot  be, 
until  the  Abbot's  pleasure  be  known  in  the  matter." 

*'  Reverend  sir,"  said  the  knight,  drawing  himself  up  with  great  dignity,  "  I  desire  my 
hearty  and  thankful  commendations  to  the  Abbot ;  but  in  this  matter  I  have  nothing  to 
do  with  his  reverend  pleasure,  designing  only  to  consult  my  own." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  the  Sub-Prior ;  "  the  Lord  Abbot  hath  in  this  matter  a  voice 

Sir  Piercie  Shafton's  colour  began  to  rise — "  I  marvel,"  he  said,  "  to  hear  your 
reverence  talk  thus — What !  will  you,  for  the  imagined  death  of  a  rude  low-born 
frampler  and  wrangler,  venture  to  impinge  upon  the  liberty  of  the  kinsman  of  the  house 
of  Piercie?" 

"  Sir  Knight,"  returned  the  Sub-Prior,  civilly,  "  your  high  lineage  and  your  kindling 
anger  will  avail  you  nothing  in  this  matter — You  shall  not  come  here  to  seek  a  shelter, 
and  then  spill  our  blood  as  if  it  were  water." 


"  I  tell  you,"  said  the  knight,  "  once  more,  as  I  have  told  you  already,  that  there  was 
no  blood  spilled  but  mine  own!" 

"  That  remains  to  be  proved,"  replied  the  Sub-Prior;  "we  of  the  community  of  Saint 
Mary's  of  Kennaquhair,  use  not  to  take  fairy  tales  in  exchange  for  the  lives  of  our  liege 

"  We  of  the  house  of  Piercie,"  answered  Shafton,  "  brook  neither  threats  nor  restraint 
— I  say  I  will  travel  to-morrow,  happen  what  may  I" 

"  And  I,"  answered  the  Sub-Prior,  in  the  same  tone  of  determination,  "  say  that  I 
will  bi'eak  your  journey,  come  what  may!" 

"Who  shall  gainsay  me,"  said  the  knight,  "if  I  make  my  way  by  force?" 

*'  You  will  judge  wisely  to  think  ere  you  make  such  an  attempt,"  answered  the  mojik, 
with  composure;  "there  are  men  enough  in  the  Halidome  to  vindicate  its  rights  over 
those  who  dare  to  infringe  them." 

"  My  cousin  of  Northumberland  will  know  how  to  revenge  this  usage  to  a  beloved 
kinsman  so  near  to  his  blood,"  said  the  Englishman. 

"  The  Lord  Abbot  will  know  how  to  protect  the  rights  of  his  territory,  both  with  the 
temporal  and  spiritual  sword,"  said  the  monk.  "  Besides,  consider,  were  we  to  send 
you  to  your  kinsman  at  Alnwick  or  Warkworth  to-morrow,  he  dare  do  nothing  but 
transmit  you  in  fetters  to  the  Queen  of  England.  Bethink,  Sir  Knight,  that  you  stand 
on  slippery  ground,  and  will  act  most  wisely  in  reconciling  yourself  to  be  a  prisoner  in 
this  place  until  the  Abbot  shall  decide  the  matter.  There  are  armed  men  enow  to 
countervail  all  your  efforts  at  escape.  Let  patience  and  resignation,  therefore,  arm  you 
to  a  necessary  submission." 

So  saying,  he  clapped  his  hands,  and  called  aloud.  Edward  entered,  accompanied  by 
two  young  men  who  had  already  joined  him,  and  were  well  armed. 

"  Edward,"  said  the  Sub-Prior,  "  you  will  supply  the  English  knight  here  in  this 
spence  with  suitable  food  and  accommodation  for  the  night,  treating  him  with  as  much 
kindness  as  if  nothing  had  happened  between  you.  But  you  will  place  a  sufficient  guard, 
and  look  carefully  that  he  make  not  his  escape.  Should  he  attempt  to  break  forth,  resist 
him  to  the  death;  but  in  no  other  case  harm  a  hair  of  his  head,  as  you  shall  be  answerable." 

Edward  Glendinning  replied, — "  That  I  may  obey  your  commands,  reverend  sir,  I 
wiU  not  again  oiFer  myself  to  this  person's  presence;  for  shame  it  were  to  me  to  break 
the  peace  of  the  Halidome,  but  not  less  shame  to  leave  my  brother's  death  unavenged." 

As  he  spoke,  his  lips  grew  livid,  the  blood  forsook  his  cheek,  and  he  was  about  to 
leave  the  apartment,  when  the  Sub-Prior  recalled  him  and  said  in  a  solemn  tone, — 
"Edward,  I  have  known  you  from  infancy — I  have  done  w^hat  lay  within  my  reach  to 
be  of  use  to  you — I  say  nothing  of  what  you  owe  to  me  as  the  representative  of  your 
spiritual  Superior — I  say  nothing  of  the  duty  from  the  vassal  to  the  Sub-Prior — But 
Father  Eustace  expects  from  the  pupil  whom  he  has  nurtured — he  expects  from  Edward 
Glendinning,  that  he  will  not  by  any  deed  of  sudden  violence,  however  justified  in  his 
own  mind  by  the  provocation,  break  through  the  respect  due  to  public  justice,  or  that 
which  he  has  an  especial  right  to  claim  from  him." 

"  Fear  nothing,  my  reverend  father,  for  so  in  an  hundred  senses  may  I  w^ell  term  you," 
said  the  young  man;  "fear  not,  I  would  say,  that  I  will  in  any  thing  diminish  the 
respect  I  owe  to  the  venerable  community  by  whom  we  have  so  long  been  protected,  far 
less  that  I  will  do  aught  which  can  be  personally  less  than  respectful  to  you.  But  the 
blood  of  my  brother  must  not  cry  for  vengeance  in  vain — your  reverence  knows  our 
Border  creed." 

"  '  Vengeance  is  mine,  saith  the  Lord,  and  I  will  requite  it,'  "  answered  the  monk.  "  The 
heathenish  custom  of  deadly  feud  which  prevails  in  this  land,  through  which  each  man 
seeks  vengeance  at  his  own  hand  when  the  death  of  a  friend  or  kinsman  has  chanced, 
hath  already  deluged  our  vales  with  the  blood  of  Scottish  men,  spilled  by  the  hands  of 


countrymen  and  kindred.  It  were  endless  to  count  up  the  fatal  results.  On  the  Eastern 
Border,  the  Homes  are  at  feud  with  the  Swintons  and  Cockburns  ;  in  our  Middle 
Marches,  the  Scotts  and  Kerrs  have  spilled  as  much  brave  blood  in  domestic  feud  as 
might  have  fought  a  pitched  field  in  England,  could  they  have  but  forgiven  and  forgotten 
a  casual  rencounter  that  placed  their  names  in  opposition  to  each  other.  On  the  west 
frontier,  the  Johnstones  are  at  war  with  the  Maxwells,  the  Jardines  with  the  Bells, 
drawing  with  them  the  flower  of  the  country,  which  should  place  their  breasts  as  a  bul- 
wark against  England,  into  private  and  bloody  warfare,  of  which  it  is  the  only  end  to 
waste  and  impair  the  forces  of  the  country,  already  divided  in  itself.  Do  not,  my  dear 
son  Edward,  permit  this  bloody  prejudice  to  master  your  mind.  I  cannot  ask  you  to 
think  of  the  crime  supposed  as  if  the  blood  spilled  had  been  less  dear  to  you — Alas !  I 
know  that  is  impossible.  But  I  do  require  you,  in  proportion  to  your  interest  in  the 
supposed  sutFerer,  (for  as  yet  the  whole  is  matter  of  supposition,)  to  bear  on  your 
mind  the  evidence  on  which  the  guilt  of  the  accused  person  must  be  tried.  He  hath 
spoken  with  me,  and  I  confess  his  tale  is  so  extraordinary,  that  I  should  have,  without  a 
moment's  hesitation,  rejected  it  as  incredible,  but  that  an  aflfair  which  chanced  to  myself 
in  this  very  glen — More  of  that  another  time — Suffice  it  for  the  present  to  say,  that 
from  what  I  have  myself  experienced,  I  deem  it  possible,  that,  extraordinary  as  Sir 
Piercie  Shafton's  story  may  seem,  I  hold  it  not  utterly  impossible." 

"  Father,"  said  Edward  Glendinning,  when  he  saw  that  his  j)receptor  paused,  unwill- 
ing farther  to  explain  upon  what  grounds  he  was  inclined  to  give  a  certain  degree  of 
credit  to  Sir  Piercie  Shafton's  story,  while  he  admitted  it  as  improbable — "  Father  to  me 
you  have  been  in  every  sense.  You  know  that  my  hand  grasped  more  readily  to  the 
book  than  to    the  sword;  and  that  I  lacked  utterly  the  ready  and  bold  spirit  which 

distinguished "  Here  his  voice  faltered,  and  he  paused  for  a  moment,  and  then  went 

on  with  resolution  and  rapidity — "  I  would  say,  that  I  was  unequal  to  Halbert  in 
promptitude  of  heart  and  of  hand  ;  but  Halbert  is  gone,  and  I  stand  his  representative, 
and  that  of  my  father — his  successor  in  all  his  rights,"  (while  he  said  this  his  eyes  shot 
fii*e,)  "and  bound  to  assert  and  maintain  them  as  he  would  have  done — therefore  I  am  a 
changed  man,  increased  in  courage  as  in  my  rights  and  pretensions.  And,  reverend 
father,  respectfully,  but  plainly  and  firmly  do  I  say,  his  blood,  if  it  has  been  shed  by  this 
man,  shall  be  atoned — Halbert  shall  not  sleep  neglected  in  his  lonely  grave,  as  if  with 
him  the  spirit  of  my  father  had  ceased  for  ever.  His  blood  flows  in  my  veins,  and  while 
his  has  been  poured  forth  unrequited,  mine  will  permit  me  no  rest.  My  poverty  and 
meanness  of  rank  shall  not  avail  the  lordly  murderer.  My  calm  nature  and  peaceful 
studies  shall  not  be  his  protection.  Even  the  obligations,  holy  father,  which  I  acknow- 
ledge to  you,  shall  not  be  his  protection.  I  wait  with  patience  the  judgment  of  the 
Abbot  and  Chapter,  for  the  slaughter  of  one  of  their  most  anciently  descended  vassals. 
If  they  do  right  to  my  brother's  memory,  it  is  well.  But  mark  me,  father,  if  they  shall 
fail  in  rendering  me  that  justice,  I  bear  a  heart  and  a  hand  which,  though  I  love  not 
such  extremities,  are  capable  of  remedying  such  an  error.  He  who  takes  up  my  brother's 
succession  must  avenge  his  death." 

The  monk  perceived  with  surprise,  that  Edward,  with  his  extreme  diffidence,  humility, 
and  obedient  assiduity,  for  such  were  his  general  characteristics,  had  still  boiling  in  his 
veins  the  wild  principles  of  those  from  whom  he  was  descended,  and  by  whom  he  was 
surrounded.  His  eyes  sparkled,  his  frame  was  agitated,  and  the  extremity  of  his  desire  of 
vengeance  seemed  to  give  a  vehemence  to  his  manner  resembling  the  restlessness  of  joy. 

"  May  God  help  us,"  said  Father  Eustace,  "  for,  frail  wretches  as  we  are,  we  cannot 
help  ourselves  under  sudden  and  strong  temptation. — Edward,  I  will  rely  on  your  word 
that  you  do  nothing  rashly." 

"  That  will  I  not,"  said  Edward, — "  that,  my  better  than  father,  I  surely  will  not. 
But   the  blood  of  my   brother, — the   tears  of  my  mother — and— and — and  of  Mary 


Avenel,  shall  not  be  shed  in  vain.  I  will  not  deceive  you,  father — if  this  Piercie  Shafton 
hath  slain  my  brother,  he  dies,  if  the  whole  blood  of  the  whole  house  of  Piercie  were 
in  his  veins." 

There  was  a  deep  and  solemn  determination  in  the  utterance  of  Edward  Glendinning 
expressive  of  a  rooted  resolution.  The  Sub-Prior  sighed  deeply,  and  for  the  moment 
yielded  to  circumstances,  and  urged  the  acquiescence  of  his  pupil  no  farther.  He  com- 
manded lights  to  be  placed  in  the  lower  chamber,  which  for  a  time  he  paced  in  silence. 

A  thousand  ideas,  and  even  diifering  principles,  debated  with  each  other  in  his  bosom. 
He  greatly  doubted  the  English  knight's  account  of  the  duel,  and  of  what  had  followed  it. 
Yet  the  extraordinary  and  supernatural  circumstances  which  had  befallen  the  Sacristan 
and  himself  in  that  very  glen,  prevented  him  from  being  absolutely  incredulous  on  the 
score  of  the  wonderful  wound  and  recovery  of  Sir  Piercie  Shafton,  and  prevented  him 
from  at  once  condemning  as  impossible  that  which  was  altogether  improbable.  Then  he 
was  at  a  loss  how  to  control  the  fraternal  affections  of  Edward,  with  respect  to  whom  he 
felt  something  like  the  keeper  of  a  wild  animal,  a  lion's  whelp  or  tiger's  cub,  which  he 
has  held  under  his  command  from  infancy,  but  which,  when  grown  to  maturity,  on  some 
sudden  provocation  displays  his  fangs  and  talons,  erects  his  crest,  resumes  his  savage 
nature,  and  bids  defiance  at  once  to  his  keeper  and  to  all  mankind. 

How  to  restrain  and  mitigate  an  ire  which  the  universal  example  of  the  times  rendered 
deadly  and  inveterate,  was  sufficient  cause  of  anxiety  to  Father  Eustace.  But  he  had 
also  to  consider  the  situation  of  his  community,  dishonoured  and  degraded  by  submitting 
to  suffer  the  slaughter  of  a  vassal  to  pass  unavenged;  a  circumstance  which  of  itself 
might  in  those  difficult  times  have  afforded  pretext  for  a  revolt  among  their  wavering 
adherents,  or,  on  the  other  hand,  exposed  the  community  to  imminent  danger,  should  they 
proceed  against  a  subject  of  England  of  high  degree,  connected  with  the  house  of 
Northumberland,  and  other  northern  families  of  high  rank,  who,  as  they  possessed  the 
means,  could  not  be  supposed  to  lack  inclination,  to  wreak  upon  the  patrimony  of  Saint 
Mary  of  Kennaquhair,  any  violence  which  might  be  offered  to  their  kinsman. 

In  either  case,  the  Sub-Prior  well  knew  that  the  ostensible  cause  of  feud,  insurrection, 
or  incursion,  being  once  afforded,  the  case  would  not  be  ruled  either  by  reason  or  by 
evidence,  and  he  groaned  in  spirit  when,  upon  counting  up  the  chances  which  arose  in 
this  ambiguous  dilemma,  he  found  he  had  only  a  choice  of  difficulties.  He  was  a  monk, 
but  he  felt  also  as  a  man,  indignant  at  the  supposed  slaughter  of  young  Glendinning  by 
one  skilful  in  all  the  practice  of  arms,  in  which  the  vassal  of  the  Monastery  was  most 
likely  to  be  deficient;  and  to  aid  the  resentment  which  he  felt  for  the  loss  of  a  youth 
whom  he  had  known  from  infancy,  came  in  full  force  the  sense  of  dishonour  arising  to 
his  community  from  passing  over  so  gross  an  insult  unavenged.  Then  the  light  in  which 
it  might  be  viewed  by  those  who  at  present  presided  in  the  stormy  Court  of  Scotland, 
attached  as  they  were  to  the  Reformation,  and  allied  by  common  faith  and  common 
interest  with  Queen  Elizabeth,  was  a  formidable  subject  of  apprehension.  The  Sub- 
Prior  well  knew  how  they  lusted  after  the  revenues  of  the  Church,  (to  express  it  in  the 
ordinary  phrase  of  the  religious  of  the  time,)  and  how  readily  they  would  grasp  at  such 
a  pretext  for  encroaching  on  those  of  Saint  Mary's,  as  would  be  afforded  by  the  suffering 
to  pass  unpunished  the  death  of  a  native  Scottishman  by  a  CatLolic  Englishman,  a  rebel 
to  Queen  Elizabeth. 

On  the  other  hand,  to  deliver  up  to  England,  or,  which  was  nearly  the  same  thing,  to 
the  Scottish  administration,  an  English  knight  leagued  with  tlie  Piercie  by  kindred  and 
political  intrigue,  a  faithful  follower  of  the  Catholic  Church,  who  had  fled  to  the  Hali- 
dome  for  protection,  was,  in  the  estimation  of  the  Sub-Prior,  an  act  most  unworthy  in 
itself,  and  meriting  the  malediction  of  Heaven,  besides  being,  moreover,  fraught  with 
great  temporal  risk.  If  the  government  of  Scotland  was  now  almost  entirely  in  the 
hands  of  the  Protestant  party,  the  Queen  was  still  a  Catholic,  and  there  was  no  knowing 


when,  amid  the  sudden  changes  which  agitated  that  tumultuous  country,  she  might  find 
hei'self  at  the  head  of  her  own  affairs,  and  able  to  protect  those  of  her  own  faith.  Then, 
if  the  Court  of  England  and  its  Queen  were  zealously  Protestant,  the  northern  counties, 
whose  friendship  or  enmity  were  of  most  consequence  in  the  first  instance  to  the  com- 
munity of  Saint  Mary's,  contained  many  Catholics,  the  heads  of  whom  were  able,  and 
must  be  supposed  willing,  to  avenge  any  injury  suffered  by  Sir  Piercie  Shafton. 

On  either  side,  the  Sub-Prior,  thinking,  according  to  his  sense  of  duty,  most  anxiously 
for  the  safety  and  welfare  of  his  Monastery,  saw  the  greatest  risk  of  damage,  blame, 
inroad,  and  confiscation.  The  only  course  on  which  he  could  determine,  was  to  stand 
by  the  helm  like  a  resolute  pilot,  watch  every  contingence,  do  his  best  to  weather  each 
reef  and  shoal,  and  commit  the  rest  to  heaven  and  his  patroness. 

As  he  left  the  apartment,  the  knight  called  after  him,  beseeching  he  would  order  his 
trunk-mails  to  be  sent  into  his  apartment,  understanding  he  was  to  be  guarded  there  for 
the  night,  as  he  wished  to  make  some  alteration  in  his  apparel.* 

*  Sir  Piercie  Shafton 's  extreme  love  of  dress  was  an  attribute  of  the  coxcombs  of  this  period.  The  display  made  by  their 
forefathers  was  in  the  numbers  of  their  retinue ;  but  as  the  actual  influence  of  the  nobility  began  to  be  restrained  both  in 
France  and  England  by  the  increasing  power  of  the  crown,  the  indulgence  of  vanity  in  personal  display  became  more 
inordinate.  There  are  many  allusions  to  this  change  of  custom  in  Shakspeare  and  other  dramatic  writers,  where  the  reader 
may  find  mention  made  of 

"  Bonds  enter'd  into 
For  gay  apparel  against  the  triumph  day." 

Jonson  inform.?  us,  that  for  the  first  entrance  of  a  gallant,  "  'twere  good  you  turned  four  or  five  hundred  acres  of  your  best 
land  into  two  or  three  trunks  of  apparel." — Every  Man  out  of  his  Humour. 

In  the  Memorie  of  the  Somerville  family,  a  curious  instance  occurs  of  this  fashionable  species  of  extravagance.  In  the 
year  1537,  when  James  V.  brought  over  his  shortlived  bride  from  France,  the  Lord  Somerville  of  the  day  was  so  profuse  in 
the  expense  of  his  apparel,  that  the  money  which  he  borrowed  on  the  occasion  was  compensated  by  a  perpetual  annuity  of 
threescore  pounds  Scottish,  payable  out  of  t!ie  barony  of  Carn  warth  till  doomsday,  which  was  assigned  by  the  creditor  to  Saint 
Magdalen's  Chapel.  By  this  deep  expense  the  Lord  Somerville  had  rendered  himself  so  glorious  in  apparel,  that  the  King, 
who  saw  so  brave  a  gallant  enter  the  gate  of  Holyrood,  followed  by  only  two  pages,  called  upon  several  of  the  courtiers  to 
ascertain  who  it  could  be  who  was  so  richly  dressed  and  so  slightly  attended,  and  he  was  not  recognised  until  he  entered  the 
presence  chamber.  "  You  are  very  brave,  my  lord,"  said  the  King,  as  he  received  his  homage  ;  "  but  where  are  all  your  men 
and  attendants?"  The  Lord  Somerville  readily  answered.  "  If  it  please  your  Majesty,  here  they  are,"  pointing  to  the  lace 
that  was  on  his  own  and  his  pages'  clothes  ;  whereat  the  King  laughed  heartily,  and  having  surveyed  the  finery  more  nearly, 
bade  him  have  away  with  it  all,  and  let  him  have  his  stout  band  of  spears  again. 

There  is  a  scene  in  Jonson's  "  Every  Man  out  of  his  Humour,"  (Act  IV.  Scene  6,)  in  which  a  Euphuist  of  the  time  gives  an 
account  of  the  effects  of  a  duel  on  the  clothes  of  himself  and  his  opponent,  and  never  departs  a  syllable  from  the  catalogue 
of  his  wardrobe.     We  shall  insert  it  in  evidence  that  the  foppery  of  our  ancestors  was  not  inferior  to  that  of  our  own  time. 

"  Fastidius.  Good  faith,  signior,  now  you  speak  of  a  quarrel,  I'll  acquaint  you  with  a  difference  that  happened  between 
a  gallant  and  myself.  Sir  Pnntarvolo.     You  know  him  if  I  should  name  him — Signior  Luculento. 

"  Punt.    Luculento  !  What  inauspicious  chance  interposed  itself  to  your  two  loves  ? 

"  Fast.  Faith,  sir,  the  same  that  sundered  Agamemnon,  and  great  Thetis'  son  ;  but  let  the  cause  escape,  sir.  He  sent  me 
a  challenge,  mixt  with  some  few  braves,  which  I  restored ;  and,  in  fine,  we  met.  Now  indeed,  sir,  I  must  tell  you,  he  did 
offer  at  first  very  desperately,  but  without  judgment ;  for  look  you,  sir,  I  cast  myself  into  this  figure  ;  now  he  came  violently 
on,  and  withal  advancing  his  rapier  to  strike,  1  thought  to  have  took  his  arm,  for  he  had  left  his  body  to  my  election,  and  I 
was  sure  he  could  not  recover  his  guard.  Sir,  I  mist  my  purpose  in  his  arm,  rashed  his  doublet  sleeves,  ran  him  close  by  the 
left  cheek  and  through  his  hair.  He,  again,  light  me  here — I  had  on  a  gold  cable  hat-band,  then  new  come  up,  about  a 
murrey  French  hat  I  had  ;  cuts  my  hat-band,  and  yet  it  was  massy  goldsmith's  work,  cuts  my  brim,  which,  by  good  fortune, 
being  thick  embroidered  with  gold  twist  and  spangles,  disappointed  the  force  of  the  blow;  nevertheless  it  grazed  on  my 
shoulder,  takes  me  away  six  purls  of  an  Italian  cut-work  band  I  wore,  cost  me  three  pounds  in  the  Exchange  but  three  days 

"  Punt.    This  was  a  strange  encounter. 

"  Fast.  Nay,  you  shall  hear,  sir.  With  this,  we  both  fell  out  and  breathed.  Now,  upon  the  second  sign  of  his  assault,  I 
betook  me  to  my  former  manner  of  defence;  he,  on  the  other  side,  abandoned  his  body  to  the  same  danger  as  before,  and 
follows  me  still  with  blows ;  but  I,  being  loath  to  take  the  deadly  advantage  that  lay  before  me  of  his  left  side,  made  a  kind  of 
stramazoun,  ran  him  up  to  the  hilt  through  the  doublet,  through  the  shirt,  and  yet  missed  the  skin.  He,  making  a  reverse 
blow,  falls  upon  my  embossed  girdle, — I  had  thrown  off  the  hangers  a  little  before, — strikes  off  a  skirt  of  a  thick-laced  satin 
doublet  I  had,  lined  with  four  taffetas,  cuts  off  two  panes  embroidered  with  pearl,  rends  through  the  drawings-out  of  tissue, 
enters  the  linings,  and  skips  the  flesh. 

"  Car.     I  wonder  he  speaks  not  of  his  wrought  shirt. 

"  Fast.  Here,  in  the  opinion  of  mutual  damage,  we  paused.  But,  ere  I  proceed,  I  must  tell  you,  signior,  that  in  the  last 
encounter,  not  having  leisure  to  put  off  my  silver  spurs,  one  of  the  rowels  catched  hold  of  the  ruffles  of  my  boot,  and,  being 
Spanish  leather  and  subject  to  tear,  overthrows  me,  rends  me  two  pair  of  silk  stockings  that  I  put  on,  being  somewhat  of  a 
raw  morning,  a  peach  colour  and  another,  and  strikes  me  some  half-inch  deep  into  the  side  of  the  calf:  He,  seeing  the  blood 
come,  presently  takes  horse  and  away;   I  having  bound  up  my  wound  with  a  piece  of  my  wrought  shirt— 

"Car.     O,  comes  it  in  there? 

"Fast.  Ride  after  him,  and,  lighting  at  the  court  gate  both  together,  embraced,  and  marched  hand  in  hand  up  into  the 
presence.     Was  not  this  business  well  carried  ? 

"  Mod.     Well !  yes  ;  and  by  this  we  can  guess  what  apparel  the  gentleman  wore. 

"  Punt.  'Forevalour!  it  was  a  designment  begun  with  much  resolution,  maintained  with  as  much  prowess,  and  ended  with 
more  humanity." 



"  Ay,  ay,"  said  the  monk,  muttering  as  he  went  up  the  winding  stair,  "  carry  him  his 
trumpery  with  all  despatch.  Alas  !  that  man,  with  so  many  noble  objects  of  pursuit, 
will  amuse  himself  like  a  jackanape,  with  a  laced  jerkin  and  a  cap  and  bells  ! — I  must 
now  to  the  melancholy  work  of  consoling  that  which  is  well-nigh  inconsolable,  a  mother 
weeping  for  her  first-born." 

Advancing,  after  a  gentle  knock,  into  the  apartment  of  the  women,  he  found  that  INIary 
Avenel  had  retired  to  bed,  extremely  indisposed,  and  that  Dame  Glendinning  and  Tibb 
were  indulging  their  sorrows  by  the  side  of  a  decaying  fire,  and  by  the  light  of  a  small 
iron  lamp,  or  cruize,  as  it  was  termed.  Poor  Elspeth's  apron  was  thrown  over  her  head, 
and  bitterly  did  she  sob  and  weep  for  "her  beautiful,  her  brave, — the  very  image  of  her 
dear  Simon  Glendinning,  the  stay  of  her  widowhood  and  the  support  of  her  old  age." 

The  faithful  Tibb  echoed  her  complaints,  and,  more  violently  clamorous,  made  deep 
promises  of  revenge  on  Sir  Piercie  Shafton,  "  if  there  were  a  man  left  in  the  south  who 
could  draw  a  whinger,  or  a  woman  that  could  thraw  a  rape."  The  presence  of  the  Sub- 
Prior  imposed  silence  on  these  clamours.  He  sate  down  by  the  unfortunate  mother,  and 
essayed,  by  such  topics  as  his  religion  and  reason  suggested,  to  interrupt  the  current  of 
Dame  Glendinning's  feelings ;  but  the  attempt  was  in  vain.  She  listened,  indeed,  with 
some  little  interest,  while  he  pledged  his  word  and  his  influence  with  the  Abbot,  that  the 
family  which  had  lost  their  eldest-born  by  means  of  a  guest  received  at  his  command, 
should  experience  particular  protection  at  the  hands  of  the  community ;  and  that  the 
fief  which  belonged  to  Simon  Glendinning  should,  with  extended  bounds  and  added  pri- 
vileges, be  conferred  on  Edward. 

But  it  was  only  for  a  very  brief  space  that  the  mother's  sobs  were  apparently  softer,  and 
her  grief  more  mild.  She  soon  blamed  hei-self  for  casting  a  moment's  thought  upon 
world's  gear  while  poor  Halbert  was  lying  stretched  in  his  bloody  shirt.  The  Sub-Prior 
was  not  more  fortunate,  when  he  promised  that  Halbert's  body  "should  be  removed  to 
hallowed  ground,  and  his  soul  secured  by  the  prayers  of  the  Church  in  his  behalf."  Grief 
would  have  its  natural  course,  and  the  voice  of  the  comforter  was  wasted  in  vain. 

He  is  at  liberty,  I  have  ventured  for  him  ! 

-if  the  law 

Find  and  condemn  me  for't,  some  livhig  wenches, 
Some  honest-hearted  maids  will  sing  my  dirge, 
And  tell  to  memory  my  death  was  noble, 
Dying  almost  a  martyr. 

The  Two  Noble  Kinsmen. 

^a^\«v<^^  HE  Sub-Prior  of  Saint  Mary's,  in  taking  his  departure  from  the  spence 

'  in  which  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  was  confined,  and  in  which  some  preparations 
were  made  for  his  passing  the  night  as  the  room  which  might  be  most  con- 

'^[  veniently  guarded,   left  more  than  one  perplexed  person    behind  him. 

§  There  Avas  connected  with  this  chamber,  and  opening  into  it,  a  small 
ouishot,  or  projecting  part  of  the  building,  occupied  by  a  sleeping 
apartment,  which  upon  ordinaiy  occasions,  was  that  of  Mary  Avenel,  and  which,  in  the 
unusual  number  of  guests  who  had  come  to  the  tower  on  tlie  former  evening,  had  also 
accommodated  Mysie  Happer,  the  Miller's  daughter ;  for  anciently,  as  well  as  in  the 
present  day,  a  Scottish  house  was  always  rather  too  narrow  and  limited  for  the  extent 
of  the  ownei-'s  hospitality,  and  some  shift  and  contrivance  was  necessary,  upon  any 
unusual  occasion,  to  ensure  the  accommodation  of  all  the  guests. 

The  fatal  news  of  Halbert  Glendinning's  death  had  thrown  all  former  arrangements 
into  confusion.  Mary  Avenel,  whose  case  required  immediate  attention,  had  been 
transported  into  the  apartment  hitherto  occupied  by  Halbert  and  his  brother,  as  the 
latter  proposed  to  watch  all  night,  in  order  to  prevent  the  escape  of  the  prisoner.  Poor 
Mysie  had  been  altogether  overlooked,  and  had  naturally  enough  betaken  herself  to  the 
little  apartment  which  she  had  hitherto  occupied,  ignorant  that  the  spence,  through  which 
lay  the  only  access  to  it,  was  to  be  the  sleeping  chamber  of  Sir  Piercie  Shafton.  The 
measures  taken  for  securing  him  there  had  been  so  sudden,  that  she  was  not  aware  of  it, 
until  she  found  that  the  other  females  had  been  removed  from  the  spence  by  the  Sub- 
Prior's  direction,  and  having  once  missed  the  opportunity  of  retreating  along  with  them, 
bashfulness,  and  the  high  respect  which  she  was  taught  to  bear  to  the  monks,  prevented 


her  venturing  forth  alone,  and  intruding  herself  on  the  presence  of  Father  Eustace, 
while  in  secret  conference  with  the  Southron.  There  appeared  no  remedy  but  to  wait 
till  their  interview- was  over ;  and,  as  the  door  was  thin,  and  did  not  shut  very  closely, 
she  could  hear  every  word  that  passed  betwixt  them. 

It  thus  happened,  that  without  any  intended  intrusion  on  her  part,  she  became  privy 
to  the  whole  conversation  of  the  Sub-Prior  and  the  English  knight,  and  could  also 
observe  from  the  window  of  her  little  retreat,  that  more  than  one  of  the  young  men 
summoned  by  Edward  arrived  successively  at  the  tower.  These  circumstances  led  her 
to  entertain  most  serious  apprehension  that  the  life  of  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  was  in  great 
and  instant  peril. 

"Woman  is  naturally  compassionate,  and  not  less  willingly  so  when  youth  and  fair  features 
are  on  the  side  of  him  who  claims  her  sympathy.  The  handsome  presence,  elaborate 
dress  and  address  of  Sir  Piercie  Shafton,  which  had  failed  to  make  any  favourable 
impression  on  the  grave  and  lofty  character  of  Mary  Avenel,  had  completely  dazzled  and 
bewildered  the  poor  Maid  of  the  Mill.  The  knight  had  perceived  this  result,  and, 
flattered  by  seeing  that  his  merit  was  not  universally  imderrated,  he  had  bestowed  on 
Mysie  a  good  deal  more  of  his  courtesy  than  in  his  opinion  her  rank  warranted.  It  was 
not  cast  away,  but  received  with  a  devout  sense  of  his  condescension,  and  with  gratitude 
for  his  personal  notice,  which,  joined  to  her  fears  for  his  safety,  and  the  natural  tender- 
ness of  her  disposition,  began  to  make  wild  work  in  her  heart. 

"  To  be  sure  it  was  very  wrong  in  him  to  slay  Halbert  Glendinning,"  (it  was  thus  she 
argued  the  case  with  herself,)  "but  then  he  was  a  gentleman  boi'n,  and  a  soldier,  and  so 
gentle  and  courteous  withal,  that  she  was  sure  the  quarrel  had  been  all  of  young 
Glendinning's  own  seeking ;  for  it  was  well  known  that  both  these  lads  were  so  taken  up 
with  that  JMary  Avenel,  that  they  never  looked  at  another  lass  in  the  Halidome,  more 
tlian  if  they  were  of  a  dilFerent  degree.  And  then  Halbert's  dress  was  as  clownish  as 
his  manners  were  haughty ;  and  this  poor  young  gentleman,  (who  was  habited  like  any 
prince,)  banished  from  his  own  land,  was  first  drawn  into  a  quarrel  by  a  rude  brangler, 
and  then  persecuted  and  like  to  be  put  to  death  by  his  kin  and  allies." 

Mysie  wept  bitterly  at  the  thought,  and  then  her  heart  rising  against  such  cruelty  and 
oppression  to  a  defenceless  stranger,  who  dressed  with  so  much  skill,  and  spoke  with  so 
much  grace,  she  began  to  consider  whether  she  could  not  render  him  some  assistance  in 
this  extremity. 

Her  mind  was  now  entirely  altered  from  its  original  purpose.  At  first  her  only 
anxiety  had  been  to  find  the  means  of  escaping  from  the  interior  apartment,  without 
being  noticed  by  any  one ;  but  now  she  began  to  think  that  Heaven  had  placed  her  there 
for  the  safety  and  protection  of  the  persecuted  stranger.  She  was  of  a  simj^le  and  affec- 
tionate, but  at  the  same  time  an  alert  and  enterprising  character,  possessing  more  than 
female  strength  of  body,  and  more  than  female  courage,  though  with  feelings  as  capable 
of  being  bewildered  with  gallantry  of  dress  and  language,  as  a  fine  gentleman  of  any 
generation  would  have  desired  to  exercise  his  talents  upon.  "I  will  save  him,"  she 
thought,  "that  is  the  first  thing  to  be  resolved — and  then  I  wonder  what  he  will  say  to 
the  poor  Miller's  maiden,  that  has  done  for  him  what  all  the  dainty  dames  in  London  or 
Holyrood  would  have  been  afraid  to  venture  upon." 

Prudence  began  to  pull  her  sleeve  as  she  indulged  speculations  so  hazardous,  and 
hinted  to  her  that  the  warmer  Sir  Piercie  Shafton's  gratitude  might  prove,  it  was  the 
more  likely  to  be  fraught  with  danger  to  his  benefactress.  Alas  !  poor  Prudence,  thou 
mayest  say  with  our  moral  teacher, 

"  I  preach  for  ever,  but  I  preach  in  vain." 

The  Miller's  maiden,  while  you  pour  your  warning  into  her  unwilling  bosom,  has  glanced 
her  eye  on  the  small  mirror  by  which  she  has  placed  her  little  lamp,  and  it  returns  to  her 


a  countenance  and  eyes,  pretty  and  sparkling  at  all  times,  but  ennobled  at  present  with 
the  energy  of  expression  proper  to  those  who  have  dared  to  form,  and  stand  prepared  to 
execute,  deeds  of  generous  audacity.  "  Will  these  features — will  these  eyes,  joined  to 
the  benefit  I  am  about  to  confer  upon  Sii'  Piercie  Shafton,  do  nothing  towards  removing 
the  distance  of  rank  between  us?" 

Such  was  the  question  which  female  vanity  asked  of  fancy ;  and  though  even  fancy 
dared  not  answer  in  a  ready  aifirmative,  a  middle  conclusion  was  adopted — "  Let  me  first 
succour  the  gallant  youth,  and  trust  to  fortune  for  the  rest." 

Banishing,  therefore,  from  her  mind  every  thing  that  was  personal  to  herself,  the  rash 
but  generous  girl  turned  her  whole  thoughts  to  the  means  of  executing  this  enterprise. 

The  difilculties  which  interposed  were  of  no  ordinary  nature.  The  vengeance  of  the 
men  of  that  country,  in  cases  of  deadly  feud,  that  is,  in  cases  of  a  quarrel  excited  by  the 
slaughter  of  any  of  their  relations,  was  one  of  their  most  marked  characteristics ;  and 
Edward,  however  gentle  in  other  respects,  was  so  fond  of  his  brother,  that  there  could 
be  no  doubt  that  he  would  be  as  signal  in  his  revenge  as  the  customs  of  the  country 
authorized.  There  were  to  be  passed  the  inner  door  of  the  apartment,  the  two 
gates  of  the  tower  itself,  and  the  gate  of  the  court-yard,  ere  the  prisoner  was  at  liberty ; 
and  then  a  guide  and  means  of  flight  were  to  be  provided,  otherwise  ultimate  escape  was 
impossible.  But  where  the  will  of  woman  is  strongly  bent  on  the  accomplishment  of  such 
a  purpose,  her  wit  is  seldom  baflled  by  difilculties,  however  embarrassing. 

The  Sub-Prior  had  not  long  left  the  apartment,  ere  Mysie  had  devised  a  scheme  for 
Sir  Piercie  Shafton's  freedom,  daring,  indeed,  but  likely  to  be  successful,  if  dexterously 
conducted.  It  was  necessary,  however,  that  she  should  remain  where  she  was  till  so  late 
an  hour,  that  all  in  the  tower  should  have  betaken  themselves  to  repose,  excepting  those 
whose  duty  made  them  watchers.  The  interval  she  employed  in  observing  the  move- 
ments of  the  person  in  whose  service  she  was  thus  boldly  a  volunteer. 

She  could  hear  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  pace  the  floor  to  and  fro,  in  reflection  doubtless  on 
his  own  untoward  fate  and  precarious  situation.  By  and  by  she  heard  him  making  a 
rustling  among  his  trunks,  which,  agreeable  to  the  order  of  the  Sub-Prior,  had  been  placed 
in  the  apartment  to  which  he  was  confined,  and  which  he  was  probably  amusing  more 
melancholy  thoughts  by  examining  and  arranging.  Then  she  could  hear  him  resume 
his  walk  through  the  room,  and,  as  if  his  spirits  had  been  somewhat  relieved  and  elevated 
by  the  survey  of  his  wardrobe,  she  could  distinguish  that  at  one  turn  he  half  recited  a 
sonnet,  at  another  half  whistled  a  galliard,  and  at  the  third  hummed  a  saraband.  At 
length  she  could  understand  that  he  extended  himself  on  the  temporary  couch  which 
had  been  allotted  to  him,  after  muttering  his  prayers  hastily,  and  in  a  short  time  she 
concluded  he  must  be  fast  asleep. 

She  employed  the  moments  which  intervened  in  considering  her  enterprize  under  every 
different  aspect ;  and  dangerous  as  it  was,  the  steady  review  which  she  took  of  the  various 
perils  accompanying  her  purpose,  furnished  her  with  plausible  devices  for  obviating  them. 
Love  and  generous  compassion,  which  give  singly  such  powerful  impulse  to  the  female 
heart,  were  in  this  case  united,  and  championed  her  to  the  last  extremity  of  hazard. 

It  was  an  hour  past  midnight.  All  in  the  tower  slept  sound  but  those  who  had 
undertaken  to  guard  the  English  prisoner;  or  if  sorrow  and  suffering  drove  sleep 
from  the  bed  of  Dame  Glendinning  and  her  foster-daughter,  they  were  too  much 
wrapt  in  their  own  griefs  to  attend  to  external  sounds.  The  means  of  striking  light 
were  at  hand  in  the  small  apartment,  and  thus  the  Miller's  maiden  was  enabled  to 
light  and  trim  a  small  lamp.  With  a  trembling  step  and  throbbing  heart,  she  undid 
the  door  which  separated  her  from  the  apartment  in  which  the  Southron  knight  was 
confined,  and  almost  flinched  from  her  fixed  purpose,  when  she  found  herself  in  the 
same  room  with  the  sleeping  prisoner.  She  scarcely  trusted  herself  to  look  upon  him, 
as  he  lay  wrapped  in  his  cloak,  and  fast  asleep  upon  the  pallet  bed,  but  turned  her 


eyes  away  wlnle  she  gently  pulled  his  mantle  with  no  more  force  than  was  just  equal 
to  awaken  him.  He  moved  not  until  she  had  twitched  his  cloak  a  second  and  a  third 
time,  and  then  at  length  looking  up,  was  about  to  make  an  exclamation  in  the  sud- 
denness of  his  surprise. 

Mysie's  bashfulness  was  conquered  by  her  fear.  She  placed  her  fingers  on  her  lips,  in 
token  that  he  must  observe  the  most  strict  silence,  and  then  pointed  to  the  door  to 
intimate  that  it  was  watched. 

Sir  Piercie  Shafton  now  collected  himself  and  sat  upright  on  his  couch.  He  gazed 
with  surprise  on  the  graceful  figure  of  the  young  woman  who  stood  before  him;  her 
well-formed  person,  her  flowing  hair,  and  the  outline  of  her  featui'es,  shewed  dimly, 
and  yet  to  advantage,  by  the  partial  and  feeble  light  which  she  held  in  her  hand.  The 
romantic  imagination  of  the  gallant  would  soon  have  coined  some  compliment  proper  for 
the  occasion,  but  Mysie  left  him  not  time. 

"  I  come,"  she  said,  "  to  save  your  life,  which  is  else  in  great  peril — if  you  answer  me, 
speak  as  low  as  you  can,  for  they  have  sentinelled  your  door  with  armed  men." 

"Comeliest  of  miller's  daughters,"  answered  Sir  Piercie,  who  by  this  time  was  sitting 
upright  on  his  couch,  "  dread  nothing  for  my  safety.  Credit  me,  that,  as  in  very  truth, 
I  have  not  spilled  the  red  puddle  (which  these  villagios  call  the  blood)  of  their  most 
uncivil  relation,  so  I  am  under  no  apprehension  whatever  for  the  issue  of  this  restraint, 
seeing  that  it  cannot  but  be  harmless  to  me.  Natheless,  to  thee,  O  most  Molendinar 
beauty,  I  return  the  thanks  which  thy  courtesy  may  justly  claim." 

"  Nay,  but,  Sir  Knight,"  answered  the  maiden,  in  a  whisper  as  low  as  it  was  tremulous, 
"  I  deserve  no  thanks  unless  you  will  act  by  my  counsel.  Edward  Glendinning  hath  sent 
for  Dan  of  the  Howlet-hirst,  and  young  Adie  of  Aikenshaw,  and  they  are  come  with 
three  men  more,  and  with  bow,  and  jack,  and  spear,  and  I  heard  them  say  to  each  other, 
and  to  Edward,  as  they  alighted  in  the  court,  that  they  would  have  amends  for  the  death 
of  their  kinsman,  if  the  monk's  cowl  should  smoke  for  it — And  the  vassals  are  so  wilful 
now,  that  the  Abbot  himself  dare  not  control  them,  for  fear  they  turn  heretics,  and  refuse 
to  pay  their  feu-duties." 

"  In  faith,"  said  Sir  Piercie  Shafton,  "  it  may  be  a  shrewd  temptation,  and  perchance 
the  monks  may  rid  themselves  of  trouble  and  cumber,  by  handing  me  over  the  march  to 
Sir  John  Foster  or  Lord  Hundson,  the  English  wardens,  and  so  make  peace  with  their 
vassals  and  with  England  at  once.  Fairest  Molinara,  I  will  for  once  walk  by  thy  rede, 
and  if  thou  dost  contrive  to  extricate  me  from  this  vile  kennel,  I  wiU  so  celebrate  thy  wit 
and  beauty,  that  the  Baker's  nymph  of  Raphael  d'Urbino  shall  seem  but  a  gipsey  in 
comparison  of  my  Molinara." 

"  I  pray  you,  then,  be  silent,"  said  the  Miller's  daughter;  "  for  if  your  speech  betrays 
that  you  are  awake,  my  scheme  fails  utterly,  and  it  is  Heaven's  mercy  and  Our  Lady's 
that  we  are  not  already  overheard  and  discovered." 

"  I  am  silent,"  replied  the  Southron,  "  even  as  the  starless  night — but  yet — if  this 
contrivance  of  thine  should  endanger  thy  safety,  fair  and  no  less  kind  than  fair  damsel, 
it  were  utterly  unworthy  of  me  to  accept  it  at  thy  hand." 

"  Do  not  think  of  me,"  said  Mysie,  hastily;  "  I  am  safe — I  will  take  thought  for  myself, 
if  I  once  saw  you  out  of  this  dangerous  dwelling — if  you  would  provide  yourself  with  any 
part  of  your  apparel  or  goods,  lose  no  time." 

The  knight  did,  however,  lose  some  time,  ere  he  could  settle  in  his  own  mind  what  to 
take  and  what  to  abandon  of  his  wardrobe,  each  article  of  which  seemed  endeared  to  him 
by  recollection  of  the  feasts  and  revels  at  which  it  had  been  exhibited.  For  some  little 
while  Mysie  left  him  to  make  his  selections  at  leisure,  for  she  herself  had  also  some 
preparations  to  make  for  flight.  But  when,  returning  from  the  chamber  into  which  she 
had  retired,  with  a  small  bundle  in  her  hand,  she  found  hira  still  indecisive,  she  insisted 
in  plain  terms,  that  he  should  either  make  up  his  baggage  for  the  enterprise,  or  give  it 


up  entirely.  Thus  urged,  the  disconsolate  knight  hastily  made  up  a  few  clothes  into  a 
bundle,  regarded  his  trunk-mails  with  a  mute  expression  of  parting  sorrow,  and  intimated 
his  readiness  to  wait  upon  his  kind  guide. 

She  led  the  way  to  the  door  of  the  apartment,  having  first  carefully  extinguished  her 
lamp,  and  motioning  to  the  knight  to  stand  close  behind  her,  tapped  once  or  twice  at  the 
door.  She  was  at  length  answered  by  Edward  Glendinniug,  who  demanded  to  know  who 
knocked  within,  and  what  was  desired. 

"  Speak  low,"  said  Mysie  Happer,  "  or  yovi  will  awaken  the  English  knight.  It  is  I, 
Mysie  Happer,  who  knock — I  wish  to  get  out — you  have  locked  me  up — and  I  was 
obliged  to  wait  till  the  Southron  slept." 

"Locked  you  up!"  replied  Edward,  in  surprise. 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  Miller's  daughter,  "  you  have  locked  me  up  into  this  room — 
I  was  in  Mary  Avenel's  sleeping  apartment." 

"  And  can  you  not  remain  there  till  morning,"  replied  Edward,  "  since  it  has  so 

"What!"  said  the  Miller's  daughter,  in  a  tone  of  offended  delicacy,  "I  remain  here 
a  moment  longer  than  I  can  get  out  without  discovery! — I  would  not,  for  all  the 
Halidome  of  St.  Mary's,  remain  a  minute  longer  in  the  neighbourhood  of  a  man's 
apartment  than  I  can  help  it — For  whom,  or  for  what  do  you  hold  me  ?  I  promise  you 
my  father's  daughter  has  been  better  brought  up  than  to  put  in  peril  her  good  name." 

"  Come  forth  then,  and  get  to  thy  chamber  in  silence,"  said  Edward. 

So  saying,  he  undid  the  bolt.  The  staircase  without  was  in  utter  darkness,  as  Mysie 
had  before  ascertained.  So  soon  as  she  stept  out,  she  took  hold  of  Edward  as  if  to 
support  herself,  thus  interposing  her  person  betwixt  him  and  Sir  Piercie  Shafton,  by 
whom  she  was  closely  followed.  Thus  screened  from  observation,  the  Englishman  slipped 
past  on  tiptoe,  unshod  and  in  silence,  while  the  damsel  complained  to  Edward  that  she 
wanted  a  light. 

"  I  cannot  get  you  a  light,"  said  he,  "for  I  cannot  leave  this  post;  but  there  is  a  fire 

"I  will  sit  below  till  morning,"  said  the  Maid  of  the  Mill;  and,  tripping  down 
stairs,  heard  Edward  bolt  and  bar  the  door  of  the  now  tenantless  apartment  with  vain 

At  the  foot  of  the  stair  which  she  descended,  she  found  the  object  of  her  care  waiting 
her  farther  directions.  She  recommended  to  him  the  most  absolute  silence,  which,  for 
once  in  his  life,  he  seemed  not  unwilling  to  observe,  conducted  him,  with  as  much  caution 
as  if  he  were  walking  on  cracked  ice,  to  a  dark  recess,  used  for  depositing  wood,  and 
instructed  him  to  ensconce  himself  behind  the  fagots.  She  herself  lighted  her  lamp  once 
more  at  the  kitchen  fire,  and  took  her  distaff  and  spindle,  that  she  might  not  seem  to  be 
unemployed,  in  case  any  one  came  into  the  apartment.  From  time  to  time,  however,  she 
stole  towards  the  window  on  tiptoe,  to  catch  the  first  glance  of  the  dawn,  for  the  farther 
prosecution  of  her  adventurous  project.  At  length  she  saw,  to  her  great  joy,  the  first 
peep  of  the  morning  brighten  upon  the  gray  clouds  of  the  east,  and,  clasping  her  hands 
together,  thanked  Our  Lady  for  the  sight,  and  implored  protection  during  the  remainder 
of  her  enterprise.  Ere  she  had  finished  her  prayer,  she  started  at  feeling  a  man's  arm 
across  her  shoulder,  while  a  rough  voice  spoke  in  her  ear — "What!  menseful  Mysie  of 
the  Mill  so  soon  at  her  prayers? — now,  benison  on  the  bonny  eyes  that  open  so  early! — I'll 
have  a  kiss  for  good  morrow's  sake." 

Dan  of  the  Howlet-hirst,  for  he  was  the  gallant  who  paid  Mysie  this  compliment, 
suited  the  action  with  the  word,  and  the  action,  as  is  usual  in  such  cases  of  rustic  gallantry, 
was  rewarded  with  a  cufi",  which  Dan  received  as  a  fine  gentleman  receives  a  tap  with  a 
fan,  but  which,  delivered  by  the  energetic  arm  of  the  Miller's  maiden,  would  have 
certainly  astonished  a  less  robust  gallant. 


•  "IIow  now,  Sir  Coxcomb!"  said  she,  "and  must  you  be  away  from  your  guard  over 
the  English  knight,  to  plague  quiet  folks  with  your  hoi'se-tricks!  " 

"  Truly  you  are  mistaken,  pretty  Mysie,"  said  the  clown,  "  for  I  have  not  yet  relieved 
Edward  at  his  post;  and  were  it  not  a  shame  to  let  him  stay  any  longer,  by  my  faith,  I 
could  find  it  in  my  heart  not  to  quit  you  these  two  hours." 

"  Oh,  you  have  hours  and  hours  enough  to  see  any  one,"  said  Mysie;  "  but  you  must 
think  of  the  distress  of  the  houseliold  even  now,  and  get  Edward  to  sleep  for  a  Avhile,  for 
he  has  kept  watch  this  whole  night." 

"  I  will  have  another  kiss  first,"  answered  Dan  of  the  Howlet-hirst. 

But  Mysie  was  now  on  her  guard,  and,  conscious  of  the  vicinity  of  the  wood-hole, 
offered  such  strenuous  resistance,  that  the  swain  cursed  the  nymph's  bad  humour  with 
very  unpastoral  phrase  and  emphasis,  and  ran  up  stairs  to  relieve  the  guard  of  his 
comrade.  Stealing  to  the  door,  she  heard  the  new  sentinel  hold  a  brief  conversation  with 
Edward,  after  which  the  latter  withdrew,  and  the  former  entered  upon  the  duties  of  his 

Mysie  suffered  him  to  walk  there  a  little  while  undisturbed,  until  the  dawning  became 
more  general,  by  which  time  she  supposed  he  might  have  digested  her  coyness,  and 
then  presenting  herself  before  the  watchful  sentinel,  demanded  of  him  "  the  keys  of  the 
outer  tower,  and  of  the  court-yard  gate." 

"And  for  what  purpose?"  answered  the  warder. 

"To  milk  the  cows,  and  drive  them  out  to  their  pasture,"  said  Mysie;  "you  would 
not  have  the  poor  beasts  kept  in  the  byre  a'  morning,  and  the  family  in  such  distress,  that 
there  is  na  ane  fit  to  do  a  turn  but  the  byre-woman  and  myself?" 

"  And  where  is  the  byre-woman?"  said  Dan. 

"  Sitting  with  me  in  the  kitchen,  in  case  these  distressed  folks  want  any  thing." 

"  There  are  the  keys,  then,  Mysie  Dorts,"  said  the  sentinel. 

"  Many  thanks,  Dan  Ne'er-do-weel,"  answered  the  Maid  of  the  Mill,  and  escaped  down 
stairs  in  a  moment. 

To  hasten  to  the  wood-hole,  and  there  to  robe  the  English  knight  in  a  short  gown  and 
petticoat,  which  she  had  provided  for  the  purpose,  was  the  work  of  another  moment. 
She  then  undid  the  gates  of  the  tower,  and  made  towards  the  byre,  or  cow-house,  which 
stood  in  one  corner  of  the  court-yard.  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  remonstrated  against  the 
delay  which  this  would  occasion. 

"  Fair  and  generous  Molinara,"  he  said,  "  had  we  not  better  undo  the  outward  gate, 
and  make  the  best  of  our  way  hence,  even  like  a  pair  of  sea-mews  who  make  towards 
shelter  of  the  rocks  as  the  storm  waxes  high?" 

"  We  must  drive  out  the  cows  first,"  said  Mysie,  "  for  a  sin  it  were  to  si^oil  the  poor 
widow's  cattle,  both  for  her  sake  and  the  poor  beasts'  own;  and  I  have  no  mind  any  one 
shall  leave  the  tower  in  a  hurry  to  follow  us.  Besides,  you  must  have  your  horse,  for 
you  will  need  a  fleet  one  ere  all  be  done." 

So  saying,  she  locked  and  double-locked  both  the  inward  and  outward  door  of  the 
tower,  proceeded  to  the  cow-house,  turned  out  the  cattle,  and,  giving  the  knight  his  own 
horse  to  lead,  drove  them  before  her  out  at  the  court-yard  gate,  intending  to  return  for 
her  own  palfrey.  But  the  noise  attending  the  first  operation  caught  the  wakeful  attention 
of  Edward,  who,  starting  to  the  bartizan,  called  to  know  what  the  matter  was. 

Mysie  answered  with  great  readiness,  that  "  she  was  driving  out  the  cows,  for  that 
they  would  be  spoiled  for  want  of  looking  to." 

"  I  thank  thee,  kind  maiden,"  said  Edward — "  and  yet,"  he  added,  after  a  moment's 
pause,  "what  damsel  is  that  thou  hast  with  thee?" 

Mysie  was  about  to  answer,  when  Sir  Piercie  Shafton,  who  apparently  did  not  desire 
that  the  great  work  of  his  liberation  should  be  executed  without  the  interposition  of  his 



own  ingenuity,  exclaimed  from  beneath,  "I  am  she,  O  most  bucolical  juvenal,  under 
whose  charge  are  placed  the  milky  mothers  of  the  herd." 

"Hell  and  darkness!"  exclaimed  Edward,  in  a  transport  of  fury  and  astonishment,  "it 
is Piercie  Shafton — What!  treason!  treason! — ^ho! — Dan — Jasper — Martin — the  villain 

"  To  horse !  to  horse !"  cried  Mysie,  and  in  an  instant  mounted  behind  the  knight,  who 
was  already  in  the  saddle. 

Edward  caught  up  a  cross-bow,  and  let  fly  a  bolt,  which  whistled  so  near  Mysie's  ear, 
that  she  called  to  her  companion, — "  Spur — spur.  Sir  Knight! — the  next  will  not  miss  us. 
— Had  it  been  Halbert  instead  of  Edward  who  bent  that  bow,  we  had  been  dead." 

The  knight  pressed  his  horse,  which  dashed  past  the  cows,  and  down  the  knoll  on 
which  the  tower  was  situated.  Then  taking  the  road  down  the  valley,  the  gallant  animal, 
reckless  of  its  double  burden,  soon  conveyed  them  out  of  hearing  of  the  tumult  and  alarm 
with  which  their  departure  filled  the  Tower  of  Glendearg. 

Thus  it  strangely  happened,  that  two  men  were  flying  in  different  directions  at  the 
same  time,  each  accused  of  being  the  other's  murderer. 

d])a;p-Jtr  t^t  '€tsimt^=^mfb' 

-Sure  he  cannot 

Be  so  unmanly  as  to  leave  me  here ; 
If  he  do,  maids  will  not  so  easily 
Trust  men  again. 

The  Two  Koble  Kissmek. 

HE  knight  continued  to  keep  the  good  horse  at  a  pace  as  quick  as  the  road 
permitted,  until  they  had  cleared  the  valley  of  Glendearg,  and  entered 
upon  the  broad  dale  of  the  Tweed,  which  now  rolled  before  them  in 
crystal  beauty,  displaying  on  its  opposite  bank  the  huge  gray  Monastery 
of  St.  Mary's,  whose  towers  and  pinnacles  were  scarce  yet  touched  by  the 
newly-risen  sun,  so  deeply  the  edifice  lies  shrouded  under  the  mountains 
which  rise  to  the  southward. 

Turning  to  the  left,  the  knight  continued  his  road  down  to  the  northern  bank  of  the 
river,  until  they  arrived  nearly  opposite  to  the  weir,  or  dam-dike,  where  father  Philip 
concluded  his  extraordinary  aquatic  excursion. 

Sir  Piercie  Shafton,  whose  brain  seldom  admitted  more  than  one  idea  at  a  time,  had 
hitherto  pushed  forward  without  very  distinctly  considering  where  he  was  going.  But 
the  sight  of  the  Monastery  so  near  to  him,  reminded  him  that  he  was  still  on  dangerous 
ground,  and  that  he  must  necessarily  provide  for  his  safety  by  choosing  some  settled 
plan  of  escape.  The  situation  of  his  guide  and  deliverer  also  occurred  to  him,  for  he  was 
far  from  being  either  selfish  or  ungrateful.  He  listened,  and  discovered  that  the  Miller's 
daughter  was  sobbing  and  weeping  bitterly  as  she  rested  her  head  on  his  shoulder. 


"What  ails  tliee,"  he  said,  "my  generous  Molinara? — is  there  aught  that  Piercie 
Shafton  can  do  which  may  shew  his  gratitude  to  his  deliverer?"  Mysie  pointed  with 
her  finger  across  the  river,  but  ventured  not  to  turn  her  eyes  in  that  direction.  "  Nay, 
but  speak  plain,  most  generous  damsel,"  said  the  knight,  who,  for  once,  was  puzzled  as 
much  as  his  own  elegance  of  speech  was  wont  to  puzzle  others,  "  for  I  swear  to  you  that 
I  comprehend  nought  by  the  extension  of  thy  fair  digit." 

"  Yonder  is  my  father's  house,"  said  Mysie,  in  a  voice  interrupted  by  the  increased 
burst  of  her  sorrow. 

"And  I  was  carrying  thee  discourteously  to  a  distance  from  thy  habitation?"  said 
Shafton,  imagining  he  had  found  out  the  source  of  her  grief.  "  Wo  worth  the  hour  that 
Piercie  Shafton,  in  attention  to  his  own  safety,  neglected  the  accommodation  of  any 
female,  far  less  of  his  most  beneficent  liberatrice  !  Dismount,  then,  O  lovely  Molinara, 
unless  thou  wouldst  rather  that  I  should  transport  thee  on  horseback  to  the  house  of  thy 
molendinary  father,  which,  if  thou  sayest  the  word,  I  am  prompt  to  do,  defying  all  dangers 
which  may  arise  to  me  personally,  whether  by  monk  or  miller." 

Mysie  suppressed  her  sobs,  and  with  considerable  difficulty  muttered  her  desire  to 
alight,  and  take  her  fortune  by  herself.  Sir  Piercie  Shafton,  too  devoted  a  squire  of 
dames  to  consider  the  most  lowly  as  exempted  from  a  respectful  attention,  independent 
of  the  claims  which  the  Millei-'s  maiden  possessed  over  him,  dismounted  instantly  from 
his  horse,  and  received  in  his  arms  the  poor  girl,  who  still  wept  bitterly,  and,  when  placed 
on  the  ground,  seemed  scarce  able  to  support  herself,  or  at  least  still  clung,  though,  as  it 
appeared,  unconsciously,  to  the  support  he  had  afforded.  He  carried  her  to  a  weeping 
birch  tree,  which  grew  on  the  green-sward  bank  around  which  the  road  winded,  and, 
placing  her  on  the  ground  beneath  it,  exhorted  her  to  compose  herself.  A  strong  touch 
of  natural  feeling  struggled  with,  and  half  overcame,  his  acquired  affectation,  while  he 
said,  "  Credit  me,  most  generous  damsel,  the  service  you  have  done  to  Piercie  Shafton 
he  would  have  deemed  too  dearly  bought,  had  he  foreseen  it  was  to  cost  you  these  tears 
and  singults.  Shew  me  the  cause  of  your  grief,  and  if  I  can  do  aught  to  remove  it, 
believe  that  the  rights  you  have  acquired  over  me  will  make  your  commands  sacred  as 
those  of  an  empress.  Speak,  then,  fair  Molinara,  and  command  him  whom  fortune  hath 
rendered  at  once  your  debtor  and  your  champion.     What  are  your  orders  ?  " 

"  Only  that  you  will  fly  and  save  yourself,"  said  Mysie,  mustering  up  her  utmost 
efforts  to  utter  these  few  words. 

"  Yet,"  said  the  knight,  "  let  me  not  leave  you  without  some  token  of  remembrance." 
Mysie  would  have  said  there  needed  none,  and  most  truly  would 'she  have  spoken,  could 
she  have  spoken  for  weeping.  "Piercie  Shafton  is  poor,"  he  continued,  "but  let  this 
chain  testify  he  is  not  ungrateful  to  his  deliverer." 

He  took  from  his  neck  the  rich  chain  and  medallion  we  have  formerly  mentioned,  and 
put  it  into  the  powerless  hand  of  the  poor  maiden,  who  neither  received  nor  rejected  it, 
but,  occupied  with  more  intense  feelings,  seemed  scarce  aware  of  what  he  was  doing. 

"  We  shall  meet  again,"  said  Sir  Piercie  Shafton,  "  at  least  I  trust  so ;  meanwhile, 
weep  no  more,  fair  Molinara,  an  thou  lovest  me." 

The  phrase  of  conjuration  was  but  used  as  an  ordinary  commonplace  expression  of  the 
time,  but  bore  a  deeper  sense  to  poor  Mysie's  ear.  She  dried  her  tears  ;  and  when  the 
knio-ht,  in  all  kind  and  chivalrous  courtesy,  stooped  to  embrace  her  at  their  parting,  she 
rose  humbly  up  to  receive  the  proffered  honour  in  a  posture  of  more  deference,  and 
meekly  and  gratefully  accepted  the  offered  salute.  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  mounted  his 
horse,  and  began  to  ride  off,  but  curiosity,  or  perhaps  a  stronger  feeling,  soon  induced 
him  to  look  back,  when  he  beheld  the  Miller's  daughter  standing  still  motionless  on  the 
spot  where  they  had  parted,  her  eyes  turned  after  him,  and  the  unheeded  chain  hanging 
fi'om  her  hand. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  a  glimpse  of  the  real  state  of  Mysie's  affections,  and  of  the 






the  disgrace  of  strolling  through  the  country  with  a  miller's  maiden  on  the  crupper  behind 
him,  and  was  even  ungrateful  enough  to  feel  some  emotions  of  shame,  when  he  halted  his 
horse  at  the  door  of  the  little  inn. 

But  the  alert  intelligence  of  Mysie  Happer  spared  him  farther  sense  of  derogation,  by 
instantly  springing  from  his  horse,  and  cramming  the  ears  of  mine  host,  who  came  out 
with  his  mouth  agape  to  receive  a  guest  of  the  knight's  appearance,  with  an  imagined 
tale,  in  which  circumstance  on  circumstance  were  huddled  so  fast,  as  to  astonish  Sir 
Piercie  Shafton,  whose  own  invention  was  none  of  the  most  brilliant.  She  explained 
to  the  publican  that  this  was  a  great  English  knight  travelling  from  the  INIonastery  to 
the  Court  of  Scotland,  after  having  paid  his  vows  to  Saint  Mary,  and  that  she  had  been 
directed  to  conduct  him  so  far  on  the  road ;  and  that  Ball,  her  palfrey,  had  fallen  by  the 
way,  because  he  had  been  over-wrought  with  carrying  home  the  last  melder  of  meal  to 
the  portioner  of  Langhope ;  and  that  she  had  turned  in  Ball  to  graze  in  the  Tasker's 
park,  near  Cripplecross,  for  he  had  stood  as  still  as  Lot's  wife  with  very  weariness ;  and 
that  the  knight  had  courteously  insisted  she  should  ride  behind  him,  and  that  she  had 
brought  him  to  her  kend  friend's  hostelry  rather  than  to  proud  Peter  Peddie's,  who  got 
his  malt  at  the  Mellerstane  mills ;  and  that  he  must  get  the  best  that  the  house  afforded, 
and  that  he  must  get  it  ready  in  a  moment  of  time,  and  that  she  was  ready  to  help  in  the 

All  this  ran  glibly  off  the  tongue  Avithout  pause  on  the  part  of  Mysie  Happer,  or  doubt 
on  that  of  the  landlord.  The  guest's  horse  was  conducted  to  the  stable,  and  he  himself 
installed  in  the  cleanest  corner  and  best  seat  which  the  place  afforded.  Mysie,  ever  active 
and  officious,  was  at  once  engaged  in  preparing  food,  in  spreading  the  table,  and  in  making 
all  the  better  arrangements  which  her  experience  could  suggest,  for  the  honour  and  com- 
fort of  her  companion.  He  would  fain  have  resisted  this ;  for  while  it  was  impossible 
not  to  be  gratified  with  the  eager  and  alert  kindness  which  was  so  active  in  his  service, 
he  felt  an  undefinable  pain  in  seeing  Mysinda  engaged  in  these  menial  services,  and  dis- 
charging them,  moreover,  as  one  to  whom  they  were  but  too  familiar.  Yet  this  jai-ring 
feeling  was  mixed  with,  and  perhaps  balanced  by,  the  extreme  grace  with  which  the 
neat-handed  maiden  executed  these  tasks,  however  mean  in  themselves,  and  gave  to 
the  wretched  corner  of  a  miserable  inn  of  the  period,  the  air  of  a  bower,  in  which  an 
enamoured  fairy,  or  at  least  a  shepherdess  of  Arcadia,  was  displaying,  with  unavailing 
solicitude,  her  designs  on  the  heart  of  some  knight,  destined  by  fortune  to  higher  thoughts, 
and  a  more  splendid  union. 

The  lightness  and  grace  with  which  Mysie  covered  the  little  round  table  with  a  snow- 
white  cloth,  and  arranged  upon  it  the  hastily-roasted  capon,  Avith  its  accompanying  stoup 
of  Bourdeaux,  were  but  plebeian  graces  in  themselves  ;  but  yet  there  were  very  flattering 
ideas  excited  by  each  glance.  She  was  so  very  well  made,  agile  at  once  and  graceful, 
with  her  hand  and  arm  as  white  as  snow,  and  her  face  in  which  a  smile  contended  with  a 
blush,  and  her  eyes  which  looked  ever  at  Shafton  when  he  looked  elsewhere,  and  were 
dropped  at  once  when  they  encountered  his,  that  she  was  irresistible  !  In  fine,  the  affec- 
tionate delicacy  of  her  whole  demeanour,  joined  to  the  promptitude  and  boldness  she  had 
so  lately  evinced,  tended  to  ennoble  the  services  she  had  rendered,  as  if  some 

sweet  engaging  Grace 

Put  on  some  clothes  to  come  abroad, 
And  took  a  waiter's  place. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  came  the  damning  reflection,  that  these  duties  were  not  taught 
her  by  Love,  to  serve  the  beloved  only,  but  arose  from  the  ordinary  and  natural  habits  of 
a  miller's  daughter,  accustomed,  doubtless,  to  render  the  same  service  to  every  wealthier 
churl  who  frequented  her  father's  mill.  This  stopped  the  mouth  of  vanity,  and  of  the  love 
which  vanity  had  been  hatching,  as  effectually  as  a  peck  of  literal  flour  would  have  done. 

Amidst  this  variety  of  emotions,  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  forgot  not  to  ask  the  object  of 



them  to  sit  down  and  partake  the  good  cheer  which  she  had  been  so  anxious  to  provide 
and  to  place  in  order.  He  expected  that  this  invitation  would  have  been  bashfully 
perhaps,  but  certainly  most  thankfully,  accepted ;  but  he  was  partly  flattered,  and  partly 
piqued,  by  the  mixture  of  deference  and  resolution  with  which  Mysie  declined  his  invi- 
tation. Immediately  after,  she  vanished  from  the  apartment,  leaving  the  Euphuist  to 
consider  whether  he  was  most  gratified  or  displeased  by  her  disappearance. 

In  fact,  this  was  a  point  on  which  he  would  have  found  it  difficult  to  make  up  his 
mind,  had  there  been  any  necessity  for  it.  As  there  was  none,  he  drank  a  few  cups  of 
claret,  and  sang  (to  himself)  a  strophe  or  two  of  the  canzonettes  of  the  divine  Astrophel, 
But  in  spite  both  of  wine  and  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  the  connexion  in  which  he  now  stood, 
and  that  which  he  was  in  future  to  hold,  with  the  lovely  Molinara,  or  Mysinda,  as  he  had 
been  pleased  to  denominate  Mysie  Happer,  recurred  to  his  mind.  The  fashion  of  the 
times  (as  we  have  already  noticed)  fortunately  coincided  with  his  own  natural  generosity 
of  disposition,  which  indeed  amounted  almost  to  extravagance,  in  prohibiting,  as  a  deadly 
sin,  alike  against  gallantry,  chivalry,  and  morality,  his  rewarding  the  good  offices  he  had 
received  from  this  poor  maiden,  by  abusing  any  of  the  advantages  which  her  confidence 
in  his  honour  had  afix)rded.  To  do  Sir  Piercie  justice,  it  was  an  idea  Avhich  never  entered 
into  his  head  ;  and  he  would  probably  have  dealt  the  most  scientific  hnhroccata,  sioccafa, 
or  punto  reverso,  which  the  school  of  Vincent  Saviola  had  taught  him,  to  any  man  who 
had  dared  to  suggest  to  him  such  selfish  and  ungrateful  meanness.  On  the  other  hand, 
he  was  a  man,  and  foresaw  various  circumstances  which  might  render  their  journey 
together  in  this  intimate  fashion  a  scandal  and  a  snare.  Moreover,  he  was  a  coxcomb  and 
a  courtier,  and  felt  there  was  something  ridiculous  in  travelling  the  land  with  a  miller's 
daughter  behind  his  saddle,  giving  rise  to  suspicions  not  very  creditable  to  either,  and  to 
ludicrous  constructions,  so  far  as  he  himself  was  concerned. 

"  I  would,"  he  said  half  aloud,  "  that  if  such  might  be  done  without  harm  or  discredit 
to  the  too-ambitious,  yet  too-well-distinguishing  Molinara,  she  and  I  were  fairly  severed, 
and  bound  on  our  difi'erent  courses ;  even  as  we  see  the  goodly  vessel  bound  for  the 
distant  seas  hoist  sails  and  bear  away  into  the  deep,  while  the  humble  fly-boat  carries  to 
shore  those  friends,  who,  with  wounded  hearts  and  watery  eyes,  have  committed  to  their 
higher  destinies  the  more  daring  adventurers  by  whom  the  fair  frigate  is  manned." 

He  had  scarce  uttered  the  wish  when  it  was  gratified ;  for  the  host  entered  to  say  that 
his  worshipful  knighthood's  horse  was  ready  to  be  brought  forth  as  he  had  desired ;  and 
on  his  inquiry  for  "  the — the  damsel — that  is — the  young  woman " 

"  Mysie  Plapper,"  said  the  landlord,  "  has  returned  to  her  father's ;  but  she  bade  me 
say,  you  could  not  miss  the  road  for  Edinburgh,  in  respect  it  was  neither  far  way  nor 
foul  gate." 

It  is  seldom  we  are  exactly  blessed  with  the  precise  fulfilment  of  our  wishes  at  the 
moment  when  we  utter  them  ;  perhaps,  because  Heaven  wisely  withholds  what,  if  granted, 
would  be  often  received  with  ingratitude.  So  at  least  it  chanced  in  the  present  instance  ; 
for  when  mine  host  said  that  Mysie  was  returned  homeward,  the  knight  was  tempted  to 
reply,  with  an  ejaculation  of  surprise  and  vexation,  and  a  hasty  demand,  whither  and  when 
she  had  departed  ?  The  first  emotions  his  prudence  suppressed,  the  second  found  utterance. 

"  Where  is  she  gane?"  said  the  host,  gazing  on  him,  and  repeating  his  question — 
"  She  is  gane  hame  to  her  father's,  it  is  like — and  she  gaed  just  when  she  gave  orders 
about  your  worship's  horse,  and  saw  it  well  fed,  (she  might  have  trusted  me,  but  millers 
and  millers'  kin  think  a'  body  as  thief-like  as  themselves,)  an'  she's  three  miles  on  the 
gate  by  this  time." 

"  Is  she  gone  then  ?"  muttered  Sir  Piercie,  making  two  or  three  hasty  strides  through 
the  narrow  apartment — "Is  she  gone?" — Well,  then,  let  her  go.  She  could  have  had 
but  disgrace  by  abiding  by  me,  and  I  little  credit  by  her  society.  That  I  should  have 
thought  there  was  such  difficulty  in  shaking  her  off !  I  warrant  she  is  by  this  time 
laughing  with  some  clown  she  has  encountered;  and  my  rich  chain  will  prove  a  good 

THE    MONASTERY.  221" 

dowry. — And  ought  it  not  to  pi'ove  so  ?  and  has  she  not  deserved  it,  were  it  ten  times 
more  valuable  ? — Piercie  Shafton !  Piercie  Shafton !  dost  thou  grudge  thy  deliverer  the 
guerdon  she  hath  so  dearly  won  ?  The  selfish  air  of  this  northern  land  hath  infected 
thee,  Piercie  Shafton!  and  blighted  the  blossoms  of  thy  generosity,  even  as  it  is  said  to 
shrivel  the  flowers  of  the  mulberry. — Yet  I  thought,"  he  added,  after  a  moment's  pause, 
"  that  she  would  not  so  easily  and  voluntarily  have  parted  from  me.  But  it  skills  not 
thinking  of  it. — Cast  my  reckoning,  mine  host,  and  let  your  groom  lead  forth  my  nag." 

The  good  host  seemed  also  to  have  some  mental  point  to  discuss,  for  he  answered  not 
instantly,  debating  perhaps  whether  his  conscience  would  bear  a  double  charge  for  the 
same  guests.  Apparently  his  conscience  replied  in  the  negative,  though  not  without 
hesitation,  for  he  at  length  replied — "  It's  daffing  to  lee ;  it  winna  deny  that  the  lawing 
is  clean  paid.  Ne'ertheless,  if  your  worshipful  knighthood  pleases  to  give  aught  for 
increase  of  trouble " 

"  How  !"  said  the  knight;  "the  reckoning  paid?  and  by  whom,  I  pray  you?" 

"  E'en  by  Mysie  Happer,  if  truth  maun  be  spoken,  as  I  said  before,"  answered  the 
honest  landlord,  with  as  many  compunctious  visitings  for  telling  the  verity  as  another 
might  have  felt  for  making  a  lie  in  the  circumstances — "  And  out  of  the  moneys  supplied 
for  your  honour's  journey  by  the  Abbot,  as  she  tauld  to  me.  And  laith  were  I  to  sur- 
charge any  gentleman  that  darkens  my  doors."  He  added  in  the  confidence  of  honesty 
■which  his  frank  avowal  entitled  him  to  entertain,  "  Nevertheless,  as  I  said  before,  if  it 
pleases  your  knighthood  of  fre