Walter Scott: Rob Roy
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<titlepage>

			  ROB ROY

		 BY SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART



	For why? Because the good old rule
	  Sufficeth them; the simple plan,
	That they should take who have the power,
	  And they should keep who can.
			_Rob Roy's Grave_---Wordsworth


<advertisement>

	ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIRST EDITION


  When the Editor of the following volumes published, about two
years since, the work called the ``Antiquary,'' he announced that he
was, for the last time, intruding upon the public in his present
capacity. He might shelter himself under the plea that every
anonymous writer is, like the celebrated Junius, only a phantom,
and that therefore, although an apparition, of a more benign, as well
as much meaner description, he cannot be bound to plead to a charge
of inconsistency. A better apology may be found in the imitating
the confession of honest Benedict, that, when he said he would die a
bachelor, he did not think he should live to be married. The best of
all would be, if, as has eminently happened in the case of some distinguished
contemporaries, the merit of the work should, in the
reader's estimation, form an excuse for the Author's breach of promise.
Without presuming to hope that this may prove the case, it is only
further necessary to mention, that his resolution, like that of Benedict,
fell a sacrifice, to temptation at least, if not to stratagem.

  It is now about six months since the Author, through the medium
of his respectable Publishers, received a parcel of Papers, containing
the Outlines of this narrative, with a permission, or rather with a
request, couched in highly flattering terms, that they might be given
to the Public, with such alterations as should be found suitable.<*>

* As it maybe necessary, in the present Edition(1829), to speak upon the square,
* the Author thinks it proper to own, that the communication alluded to is entirely
* imaginary.

These were of course so numerous, that, besides the suppression of
names, and of incidents approaching too much to reality, the work
may in a great measure be, said to be new written. Several anachronisms
have probably crept in during the course of these changes;
and the mottoes for the Chapters have been selected without any
reference to the supposed date of the incidents. For these, of course,
the Editor is responsible. Some others occurred in the original
materials, but they are of little consequence. In point of minute
accuracy, it may be stated, that the bridge over the Forth, or rather
the Avondhu (or Black River), near the hamlet of Aberfoil, had not
an existence thirty years ago. It does not, however, become the
Editor to be the first to point out these errors; and he takes this
public opportunity to thank the unknown and nameless correspondent,
to whom the reader will owe the principal share of any amusement
which he may derive from the following pages.


1st December 1817.


<introduction>

	INTRODUCTION---(1829)

  When the author projected this further encroachment on the patience
of an indulgent public, he was at some loss for a title; a good name
being very nearly of as much consequence in literature as in life.
The title of _Rob Roy_ was suggested by the late Mr. Constable, whose
sagacity and experience foresaw the germ of popularity which it
included.

  No introduction can be more appropriate to the work than some
account of the singular character whose name is given to the title-page,
and who, through good report and bad report, has maintained
a wonderful degree of importance in popular recollection. This
cannot be ascribed to the distinction of his birth, which, though that
of a gentleman, had in it nothing of high destination, and gave him
little right to command in his clan. Neither, though he lived a
busy, restless, and enterprising life, were his feats equal to those of
other freebooters, who have been less distinguished. He owed his
fame in a great measure to his residing on the very verge of the
Highlands, and playing such pranks in the beginning of the 18th
century, as are usually ascribed to Robin Hood in the middle ages,---
and that within forty miles of Glasgow, a great commercial city, the
seat of a learned university. Thus a character like his, blending the
wild virtues, the subtle policy, and unrestrained license of an
American Indian, was flourishing in Scotland during the Augustan
age of Queen Anne and George I. Addison, it is probable, or Pope,
would have been considerably surprised if they had known that there,
existed in the same island with them a personage of Rob Roy's
peculiar habits and profession. It is this strong contrast betwixt
the civilised and cultivated mode of life on the one side of the Highland
line, and the wild and lawless adventures which were habitually
undertaken and achieved by one who dwelt on the opposite side of that
ideal boundary, which creates the interest attached to his name.
Hence it is that even yet,

	Far and near, through vale and hill,
	  Are faces that attest the same,
	And kindle like a fire new stirr'd,
	  At sound of Rob Roy's name.

  There were several advantages which Rob Roy enjoyed for sustaining
to advantage the character which he assumed.

  The most prominent of these was his descent from, and connection
with, the clan MacGregor, so famous for their misfortunes, and the
indomitable spirit with which they maintained themselves as a clan,
linked and banded together in spite of the most severe laws, executed
with unheard-of rigour against those who bore this forbidden surname.
Their history was that of several others of the original Highland
clans, who were suppressed by more powerful neighbours, and either
extirpated, or forced to secure themselves by renouncing their own
family appellation, and assuming that of the conquerors. The
peculiarity in the story of the MacGregors, is their retaining, with
such tenacity, their separate existence and union as a clan under
circumstances of the utmost urgency. The history of the tribe is
briefly as follows------But we must premise that the tale depends in
some degree on tradition; therefore, excepting when written documents
are, quoted, it must be considered as in some degree dubious.

  The sept of MacGregor claimed a descent from Gregor, or
Gregorius, third son, it is said, of Alpin King of Scots, who
flourished about 787. Hence their original patronymic is MacAlpine,
and they are usually termed the Clan Alpine. An individual
tribe of them retains the same name. They are accounted one
of the most ancient clans in the Highlands, and it is certain they
were a people of original Celtic descent, and occupied at one period
very extensive possessions in Perthshire and Argyleshire, which they
imprudently continued to hold by the _coir a glaive,_ that is, the right
of the sword. Their neighbours, the Earls of Argyle and Breadalbane,
in the meanwhile, managed to leave the lands occupied by the
MacGregors engrossed in those charters which they easily obtained
from the Crown; and thus constituted a legal right in their own
favour, without much regard to its justice. As opportunity occurred
of annoying or extirpating their neighbours, they gradually extended
their own domains, by usurping, under the pretext of such royal
grants, those of their more uncivilised neighbours. A Sir Duncan
Campbell of Lochow, known in the Highlands by the name of
_Donacha Dhu nan Churraichd,_ that is, Black Duncan with the
Cowl, it being his pleasure to wear such a head-gear, is said to have
been peculiarly successful in those acts of spoliation upon the clan
MacGregor.

  The devoted sept, ever finding themselves iniquitously driven from
their possessions, defended themselves by force, and occasionally gained
advantages, which they used cruelly enough. This conduct, though
natural, considering the country and time, was studiously represented
at the capital as arising from an untameable and innate ferocity,
which nothing, it was said, could remedy, save cutting off the tribe
of MacGregor root and branch.

  In an act of Privy Council at Stirling, 22d September 1563, in
the reign of Queen Mary, commission is granted to the most powerful
nobles, and chiefs of the clans, to pursue the clan Gregor with fire and
sword. A similar warrant in 1563, not only grants the like powers
to Sir John Campbell of Glenorchy, the descendant of Duncan with
the Cowl, but discharges the lieges to receive or assist any of the clan
Gregor, or afford them, under any colour whatever, meat, drink, or
clothes.

  An atrocity which the clan Gregor committed in 1589, by the
murder of John Drummond of Drummond-ernoch, a forester of the
royal forest of Glenartney, is elsewhere given, with all its horrid circumstances.
The clan swore upon the severed head of the murdered
man, that they would make common cause in avowing the deed.
This led to an act of the Privy Council, directing another crusade
against the ``wicked clan Gregor, so long continuing in blood,
slaughter, theft, and robbery,'' in which letters of fire and sword are
denounced against them for the space of three years. The reader
will find this particular fact illustrated in the Introduction to the
Legend of Montrose in the present edition of these Novels.

  Other occasions frequently occurred, in which the MacGregors
testified contempt for the laws, from which they had often experienced
severity, but never protection. Though they were gradually deprived
of their possessions, and of all ordinary means of procuring subsistence,
they could not, nevertheless, be supposed likely to starve for
famine, while they had the means of taking from strangers what they
considered as rightfully their own. Hence they became versed in
predatory forays, and accustomed to bloodshed. Their passions were
eager, and, with a little management on the part of some of their
most powerful neighbours, they could easily be _hounded out,_ to use
an expressive Scottish phrase, to commit violence, of which the wily
instigators took the advantage, and left the ignorant MacGregors an
undivided portion of blame and punishment. This policy of pushing
on the fierce clans of the Highlands and Borders to break the peace of
the country, is accounted by the historian one of the most dangerous
practices of his own period, in which the MacGregors were considered
as ready agents.

  Notwithstanding these severe denunciations,---which were acted
upon in the same spirit in which they were conceived, some of the
clan still possessed property, and the chief of the name in 1592 is
designed Allaster MacGregor of Glenstrae. He is said to have been
a brave and active man; but, from the tenor of his confession at his
death, appears to have been engaged in many and desperate feuds,
one of which finally proved fatal to himself and many of his followers.
This was the celebrated conflict at Glenfruin, near the southwestern
extremity of Loch Lomond, in the vicinity of which the MacGregors
continued to exercise much authority by the _coir a glaive,_ or right of
the strongest, which we have already mentioned.

  There had been a long and bloody feud betwixt the MacGregors
and the Laird of Luss, head of the family of Colquhoun, a powerful
race on the lower part of Loch Lomond. The MacGregors' tradition
affirms that the quarrel began on a very trifling subject. Two of the
MacGregors being benighted, asked shelter in a house belonging to a
dependant of the Colquhouns, and were refused. They then retreated
to an out-house, took a wedder from the fold, killed it, and supped
off the carcass, for which (it is said) they offered payment to the
proprietor. The Laird of Luss seized on the offenders, and, by the
summary process which feudal barons had at their command, had
them both condemned and executed. The MacGregors verify this
account of the feud by appealing to a proverb current amongst them,
execrating the hour _(Mult dhu an Carbail ghil)_ that the black wedder.
with the white tail was ever lambed. To avenge this quarrel, the
Laird of MacGregor assembled his clan, to the number of three or
four hundred men, and marched towards Luss from the banks of
Loch Long, by a pass called _Raid na Gael,_ or the Highlandman's
Pass.

  Sir Humphrey Colquhoun received early notice of this incursion,
and collected a strong force, more than twice the number of that of
the invaders. He had with him the gentlemen of the name of
Buchanan, with the Grahams, and other gentry of the Lennox, and
a party of the citizens of Dumbarton, under command of Tobias
Smollett, a magistrate, or bailie, of that town, and ancestor of the
celebrated author.

  The parties met in the valley of Glenfruin, which signifies the
Glen of Sorrow---a name that seemed to anticipate the event of the
day, which, fatal to the conquered party, was at least equally so to
the victors, the ``babe unborn'' of Clan Alpine having reason to
repent it. The MacGregors, somewhat discouraged by the appearance
of a force much superior to their own, were cheered on to the attack
by a Seer, or second-sighted person, who professed that he saw the
shrouds of the dead wrapt around their principal opponents. The
clan charged with great fury on the front of the enemy, while John
MacGregor, with a strong party, made an unexpected attack on the
flank. A great part of the Colquhouns' force consisted in cavalry,
which could not act in the boggy ground. They were said to have
disputed the field manfully, but were at length completely routed, and
a merciless slaughter was exercised on the fugitives, of whom betwixt
two and three hundred fell on the field and in the pursuit. If the
MacGregors lost, as is averred, only two men slain in the action, they
had slight provocation for an indiscriminate massacre. It is said
that their fury extended itself to a party of students for clerical orders,
who had imprudently come to see the battle. Some doubt is thrown
on this fact, from the indictment against the chief of the clan Gregor
being silent on the subject, as is the historian Johnston, and a Professor
Ross, who wrote an account of the battle twenty-nine years after
it was fought. It is, however, constantly averred by the tradition of
the country, and a stone where the deed was done is called _Leck-a-Mhinisteir,_
the Minister or Clerk's Flagstone. The MacGregors, by
a tradition which is now found to be inaccurate, impute this cruel
action to the ferocity of a single man of their tribe, renowned for size
and strength, called Dugald, _Ciar Mhor,_ or the great Mouse-coloured
Man. He was MacGregor's foster-brother, and the chief committed
the youths to his charge, with directions to keep them safely till the
affray was over. Whether fearful of their escape, or incensed by
some sarcasms which they threw on his tribe, or whether out of mere
thirst of blood, this savage, while the other MacGregors were engaged
in the pursuit, poniarded his helpless and defenceless prisoners.
When the chieftain, on his return, demanded where the youths were,
the _Ciar_ (pronounced Kiar) _Mhor_ drew out his bloody dirk, saying
in Gaelic, ``Ask that, and God save me!'' The latter words allude.
to the exclamation which his victims used when he was murdering
them. It would seem, therefore, that this horrible part of the story
is founded on fact, though the number of the youths so slain is
probably exaggerated in the Lowland accounts. The common people
say that the blood of the Ciar Mhor's victims can never be washed off
the stone. When MacGregor learnt their fate, he expressed the
utmost horror at the deed, and upbraided his foster-brother with having
done that which would occasion the destruction of him and his clan.
This supposed homicide was the ancestor of Rob Roy, and the tribe
from which he was descended. He lies buried at the church of
Fortingal, where his sepulchre, covered with a large stone,<*> is still

* Note A. The Grey Stone of MacGregor.

shown, and where his great strength and courage are the theme of
many traditions.<*>

* Note B. Dugald Ciar Mhor.


  MacGregor's brother was one of the very few of the tribe who was
slain. He was buried near the field of battle, and the place is
marked by a rude stone, called the Grey Stone of MacGregor.

  Sir Humphrey Colquhoun, being well mounted, escaped for the
time to the castle of Banochar, or Benechra. It proved no sure defence,
however, for he was shortly after murdered in a vault of the
castle,---the family annals say by the MacGregors, though other
accounts charge the deed upon the MacFarlanes.

  This battle of Glenfruin, and the severity which the victors
exercised in the pursuit, was reported to King James VI. in a
manner the most unfavourable to the clan Gregor, whose general
character, being that of lawless though brave men, could not much
avail them in such a case. That James might fully understand the
extent of the slaughter, the widows of the slain, to the number of
eleven score, in deep mourning, riding upon white palfreys, and each
bearing her husband's bloody shirt on a spear, appeared at Stirling,
in presence of a monarch peculiarly accessible to such sights of fear
and sorrow, to demand vengeance for the death of their husbands,
upon those by whom they had been made desolate.

  The remedy resorted to was at least as severe as the cruelties which
it was designed to punish. By an Act of the Privy Council, dated
3d April 1603, the name of MacGregor was expressly abolished, and
those who had hitherto borne it were commanded to change it for other
surnames, the pain of death being denounced against those who should
call themselves Gregor or MacGregor, the names of their fathers.
Under the same penalty, all who had been at the conflict of Glenfruin,
or accessory to other marauding parties charged in the act, were prohibited
from carrying weapons, except a pointless knife to eat their
victuals. By a subsequent act of Council, 24th June 1613, death
was denounced against any persons of the tribe formerly called MacGregor,
who should presume to assemble in greater numbers than four.
Again, by an Act of Parliament, 1617, chap. 26, these laws were
continued, and extended to the rising generation, in respect that great
numbers of the children of those against whom the acts of Privy
Council had been directed, were stated to be then approaching to
maturity, who, if permitted to resume the name of their parents,
would render the clan as strong as it was before.

  The execution of those severe acts was chiefly intrusted in the west
to the Earl of Argyle and the powerful clan of Campbell, and to the
Earl of Athole and his followers in the more eastern Highlands of
Perthshire. The MacGregors failed not to resist with the most determined
courage; and many a valley in the West and North Highlands
retains memory of the severe conflicts, in which the proscribed
clan sometimes obtained transient advantages, and always sold their
lives dearly. At length the pride of Allaster MacGregor, the chief
of the clan, was so much lowered by the sufferings of his people, that
he resolved to surrender himself to the Earl of Argyle, with his
principal followers, on condition that they should be sent out of Scotland.
If the unfortunate chief's own account be true, he had more
reasons than one for expecting some favour from the Earl, who had
in secret advised and encouraged him to many of the desperate actions
for which he was now called to so severe a reckoning. But Argyle,
as old Birrell expresses himself, kept a Highlandman's promise with
them, fulfilling it to the ear, and breaking it to the sense. MacGregor
was sent under a strong guard to the frontier of England,
and being thus, in the literal sense, sent out of Scotland, Argyle was
judged to have kept faith with him, though the same party which
took him there brought him back to Edinburgh in custody.

  MacGregor of Glenstrae was tried before the Court of Justiciary,
20th January 1604, and found guilty. He appears to have been
instantly conveyed from the bar to the gallows; for Birrell, of the
same date, reports that he was hanged at the Cross, and, for distinction
sake, was suspended higher by his own height than two of his
kindred and friends.

  On the 18th of February following, more men of the MacGregors
were executed, after a long imprisonment, and several others in the
beginning of March.

  The Earl of Argyle's service, in conducting to the surrender of the
insolent and wicked race and name of MacGregor, notorious common
malefactors, and in the in-bringing of MacGregor, with a great many
of the leading men of the clan, worthily executed to death for their
offences, is thankfully acknowledged by an Act of Parliament, 1607,
chap. 16, and rewarded with a grant of twenty chalders of victual
out of the lands of Kintire.

  The MacGregors, notwithstanding the letters of fire and sword, and
orders for military execution repeatedly directed against them by the
Scottish legislature, who apparently lost all the calmness of conscious
dignity and security, and could not even name the outlawed clan
without vituperation, showed no inclination to be blotted out of the
roll of clanship. They submitted to the law, indeed, so far as to
take the names of the neighbouring families amongst whom they
happened to live, nominally becoming, as the case might render it
most convenient, Drummonds, Campbells, Grahams, Buchanans,
Stewarts, and the like; but to all intents and purposes of combination
and mutual attachment, they remained the clan Gregor, united
together for right or wrong, and menacing with the general vengeance
of their race, all who committed aggressions against any individual
of their number.

  They continued to take and give offence with as little hesitation as
before the legislative dispersion which had been attempted, as appears
from the preamble to statute 1633, chapter 30, setting forth, that the
clan Gregor, which had been suppressed and reduced to quietness by
the great care of the late King James of eternal memory, had nevertheless
broken out again, in the counties of Perth, Stirling, Clackmannan,
Monteith, Lennox, Angus, and Mearns; for which reason
the statute re-establishes the disabilities attached to the clan, and,
grants a new commission for enforcing the laws against that wicked
and rebellious race.

  Notwithstanding the extreme severities of King James I. and
Charles I. against this unfortunate people, who were rendered furious
by proscription, and then punished for yielding to the passions which
had been wilfully irritated, the MacGregors to a man attached themselves
during the civil war to the cause of the latter monarch. Their
bards have ascribed this to the native respect of the MacGregors for
the crown of Scotland, which their ancestors once wore, and have
appealed to their armorial bearings, which display a pine-tree crossed
saltire wise with a naked sword, the point of which supports a royal
crown. But, without denying that such motives may have had their
weight, we are disposed to think, that a war which opened the low
country to the raids of the clan Gregor would have more charms for
them than any inducement to espouse the cause of the Covenanters,
which would have brought them into contact with Highlanders as
fierce as themselves, and having as little to lose. Patrick MacGregor,
their leader, was the son of a distinguished chief, named Duncan
Abbarach, to whom Montrose wrote letters as to his trusty and
special friend, expressing his reliance on his devoted loyalty, with an
assurance, that when once his Majesty's affairs were placed upon a
permanent footing, the grievances of the clan MacGregor should be
redressed.

  At a subsequent period of these melancholy times, we find the clan
Gregor claiming the immunities of other tribes, when summoned by
the Scottish Parliament to resist the invasion of the Commonwealth's
army, in 1651. On the last day of March in that year, a supplication
to the King and Parliament, from Calum MacCondachie Vich
Euen, and Euen MacCondachie Euen, in their own name, and that
of the whole name of MacGregor, set forth, that while, in obedience to
the orders of Parliament, enjoining all clans to come out in the
present service under their chieftains, for the defence of religion, king,
and kingdoms, the petitioners were drawing their men to guard
the passes at the head of the river Forth, they were interfered with by
the Earl of Athole and the Laird of Buchanan, who had required
the attendance of many of the clan Gregor upon their arrays. This
interference was, doubtless, owing to the change of name, which seems
to have given rise to the claim of the Earl of Athole and the Laird
of Buchanan to muster the MacGregors under their banners, as
Murrays or Buchanans. It does not appear that the petition of the
MacGregors, to be permitted to come out in a body, as other clans,
received any answer. But upon the Restoration, King Charles, in
the first Scottish Parliament of his reign (statute 1661, chap. 195),
annulled the various acts against the clan Gregor, and restored them
to the full use of their family name, and the other privileges of liege
subjects, setting forth, as a reason for this lenity, that those who were
formerly designed MacGregors had, during the late troubles, conducted
themselves with such loyalty and affection to his Majesty, as might
justly wipe off all memory of former miscarriages, and take away all
marks of reproach for the same.

  It is singular enough, that it seems to have aggravated the feelings
of the non-conforming Presbyterians, when the penalties which were
most unjustly imposed upon themselves were relaxed towards the poor
MacGregors;---so little are the best men, any more than the worst,
able to judge with impartiality of the same measures, as applied to
themselves, or to others. Upon the Restoration, an influence inimical
to this unfortunate clan, said to be the same with that which afterwards
dictated the massacre of Glencoe, occasioned the re-enaction of
the penal statutes against the MacGregors. There are no reasons
given why these highly penal acts should have been renewed; nor is
it alleged that the clan had been guilty of late irregularities. Indeed,
there is some reason to think that the clause was formed of set purpose,
in a shape which should elude observation; for, though containing
conclusions fatal to the rights of so many Scottish subjects, it is
neither mentioned in the title nor the rubric of the Act of Parliament
in which it occurs, and is thrown briefly in at the close of the statute
1693, chap. 61, entitled, an Act for the Justiciary in the Highlands.

  It does not, however, appear that after the Revolution the acts
against the clan were severely enforced; and in the latter half of
the eighteenth century, they were not enforced at all. Commissioners
of supply were named in Parliament by the proscribed title of MacGregor,
and decrees of courts of justice were pronounced, and legal
deeds entered into, under the same appellative. The MacGregors,
however, while the laws continued in the statute-book, still suffered
under the deprivation of the name which was their birthright, and
some attempts were made for the purpose of adopting another, MacAlpine
or Grant being proposed as the title of the whole clan in
future. No agreement, however, could be entered into; and the evil
was submitted to as a matter of necessity, until full redress was
obtained from the British Parliament, by an act abolishing for ever
the penal statutes which had been so long imposed upon this ancient
race. This statute, well merited by the services of many a gentleman
of the clan in behalf of their King and country, was passed, and the
clan proceeded to act upon it with the same spirit of ancient times,
which had made them suffer severely under a deprivation that would
have been deemed of little consequence by a great part of their fellow-subjects.

  They entered into a deed recognising John Murray of Lanrick,
Esq. (afterwards Sir John MacGregor, Baronet), representative of
the family of Glencarnock, as lawfully descended from the ancient
stock and blood of the Lairds and Lords of MacGregor, and therefore
acknowledged him as their chief on all lawful occasions and causes
whatsoever. The deed was subscribed by eight hundred and twenty-six
persons of the name of MacGregor, capable of bearing arms. A
great many of the clan during the last war formed themselves into
what was called the Clan Alpine Regiment, raised in 1799, under
the command of their Chief and his brother Colonel MacGregor.

  Having briefly noticed the history of this clan, which presents a
rare and interesting example of the indelible character of the patriarchal
system, the author must now offer some notices of the individual
who gives name to these volumes.

  In giving an account of a Highlander, his pedigree is first to be
considered. That of Rob Roy was deduced from Ciar Mhor, the
great mouse-coloured man, who is accused by tradition of having
slain the young students at the battle of Glenfruin.

  Without puzzling ourselves and our readers with the intricacies
of Highland genealogy, it is enough to say, that after the death of
Allaster MacGregor of Glenstrae, the clan, discouraged by the unremitting
persecution of their enemies, seem not to have had the means
of placing themselves under the command of a single =chief.= According
to their places of residence and immediate descent, the several
families were led and directed by _Chieftains,_ which, in the Highland
acceptation, signifies the head of a particular branch of a tribe, in
opposition to _Chief,_ who is the leader and commander of the whole
name.

  The family and descendants of Dugald Ciar Mhor lived chiefly
in the mountains between Loch Lomond and Loch Katrine, and
occupied a good deal of property there---whether by sufferance, by the
right of the sword, which it was never safe to dispute with them, or
by legal titles of various kinds, it would be useless to inquire and
unnecessary to detail. Enough;---there they certainly were---a
people whom their most powerful neighbours were desirous to conciliate,
their friendship in peace being very necessary to the quiet of the
vicinage, and their assistance in war equally prompt and effectual.

  Rob Roy MacGregor Campbell, which last name he bore in consequence
of the Acts of Parliament abolishing his own, was the younger
son of Donald MacGregor of Glengyle, said to have been a Lieutenant-Colonel
(probably in the service of James II.), by his wife, a
daughter of Campbell of Glenfalloch. Rob's own designation was of
Inversnaid; but he appears to have acquired a right of some kind
or other to the property or possession of Craig Royston, a domain of
rock and forest, lying on the east side of Loch Lomond, where that
beautiful lake stretches into the dusky mountains of Glenfalloch.

  The time of his birth is uncertain. But he is said to have been
active in the scenes of war and plunder which succeeded the Revolution;
and tradition affirms him to have been the leader in a predatory
incursion into the parish of Kippen, in the Lennox, which took
place in the year 1691. It was of almost a bloodless character, only
one person losing his life; but from the extent of the depredation, it
was long distinguished by the name of the Her'-ship, or devastation, of
Kippen.<*> The time of his death is also uncertain, but as he is
said to have survived the year 1733, and died an aged man, it is

* See _Statistcal Account of Scotland,_ 1st edition, vol. xviii. p. 332. Parish of
* Kippen.

probable he may have been twenty-five about the time of the Her'-ship
of Kippen, which would assign his birth to the middle of the 17th
century.

  In the more quiet times which succeeded the Revolution, Rob Roy,
or Red Robert, seems to have exerted his active talents, which were of
no mean order, as a drover, or trader in cattle, to a great extent.
It may well be supposed that in those days no Lowland, much less
English drovers, ventured to enter the Highlands. The cattle, which
were the staple commodity of the mountains, were escorted down to
fairs, on the borders of the Lowlands, by a party of Highlanders,
with their arms rattling around them; and who dealt, however, in
all honour and good faith with their Southern customers. A fray,
indeed, would sometimes arise, when the Lowlandmen, chiefly Borderers,
who had to supply the English market, used to dip their
bonnets in the next brook, and wrapping them round their hands,
oppose their cudgels to the naked broadswords, which had not always
the superiority. I have heard from aged persons who had been
engaged in such affrays, that the Highlanders used remarkably fair
play, never using the point of the sword, far less their pistols or
daggers; so that

	With many a stiff thwack and many a bang,
	Hard crabtree and cold iron rang.

  A slash or two, or a broken head, was easily accommodated, and
as the trade was of benefit to both parties, trifling skirmishes were
not allowed to interrupt its harmony. Indeed it was of vital interest
to the Highlanders, whose income, so far as derived from their estates,
depended entirely on the sale of black cattle; and a sagacious and
experienced dealer benefited not only himself, but his friends and
neighbours, by his speculations. Those of Rob Roy were for several
years so successful as to inspire general confidence, and raise him in
the estimation of the country in which he resided.

  His importance was increased by the death of his father, in consequence
of which he succeeded to the management of his nephew Gregor
MacGregor of Glengyle's property, and, as his tutor, to such influence
with the clan and following as was due to the representative of
Dugald Ciar. Such influence was the more uncontrolled, that this
family of the MacGregors seemed to have refused adherence to MacGregor
of Glencarnock, the ancestor of the present Sir Ewan MacGregor,
and asserted a kind of independence.

  It was at this time that Rob Roy acquired an interest by purchase,
wadset, or otherwise, to the property of Craig Royston already mentioned.
He was in particular favour, during this prosperous period
of his life, with his nearest and most powerful neighbour, James, first
Duke of Montrose, from whom he received many marks of regard.
His Grace consented to give his nephew and himself a right of property
on the estates of Glengyle and Inversnaid, which they had till
then only held as kindly tenants. The Duke also, with a view to
the interest of the country and his own estate, supported our adventurer
by loans of money to a considerable amount, to enable him to
carry on his speculations in the cattle trade.

  Unfortunately that species of commerce was and is liable to sudden
fluctuations; and Rob Roy was, by a sudden depression of markets,
and, as a friendly tradition adds, by the bad faith of a partner
named MacDonald, whom he had imprudently received into his confidence,
and intrusted with a considerable sum of money, rendered
totally insolvent. He absconded, of course---not empty-handed, if it
be true, as stated in an advertisement for his apprehension, that he
had in his possession sums to the amount of <L>1000 sterling, obtained
from several noblemen and gentlemen under pretence of purchasing
cows for them in the Highlands. This advertisement appeared in
June 1712, and was several times repeated. It fixes the period when
Rob Roy exchanged his commercial adventures for speculations of a
very different complexion.<*>

* See Appendix, No. I.


  He appears at this period first to have removed from his ordinary
dwelling at Inversnaid, ten or twelve Scots miles (which is double
the number of English) farther into the Highlands, and commenced
the lawless sort of life which he afterwards followed. The Duke of
Montrose, who conceived himself deceived and cheated by MacGregor's
conduct, employed legal means to recover the money lent to him. Rob
Roy's landed property was attached by the regular form of legal procedure,
and his stock and furniture made the subject of arrest and sale.

  It is said that this diligence of the law, as it is called in Scotland,
which the English more bluntly term distress, was used in this case
with uncommon severity, and that the legal satellites, not usually the
gentlest persons in the world, had insulted MacGregor's wife, in a
manner which would have aroused a milder man than he to thoughts
of unbounded vengeance. She was a woman of fierce and haughty
temper, and is not unlikely to have disturbed the officers in the execution
of their duty, and thus to have incurred ill treatment, though,
for the sake of humanity, it is to be hoped that the story sometimes
told is a popular exaggeration. It is certain that she felt extreme
anguish at being expelled from the banks of Loch Lomond, and gave
vent to her feelings in a fine piece of pipe-music, still well known to
amateurs by the name of ``Rob Roy's Lament.''

  The fugitive is thought to have found his first place of refuge in
Glen Dochart, under the Earl of Breadalbane's protection; for,
though that family had been active agents in the destruction of the
MacGregors in former times, they had of late years sheltered a great
many of the name in their old possessions. The Duke of Argyle
was also one of Rob Roy's protectors, so far as to afford him, according
to the Highland phrase, wood and water---the shelter, namely,
that is afforded by the forests and lakes of an inaccessible country.

  The great men of the Highlands in that time, besides being
anxiously ambitious to keep up what was called their Following,
or military retainers, were also desirous to have at their disposal
men of resolute character, to whom the world and the world's law
were no friends, and who might at times ravage the lands or destroy
the tenants of a feudal enemy, without bringing responsibility on
their patrons. The strife between the names of Campbell and
Graham, during the civil wars of the seventeenth century, had been
stamped with mutual loss and inveterate enmity. The death of the
great Marquis of Montrose on the one side, the defeat at Inverlochy,
and cruel plundering of Lorn, on the other, were reciprocal injuries
not likely to be forgotten. Rob Roy was, therefore, sure of refuge in
the country of the Campbells, both as having assumed their name, as
connected by his mother with the family of Glenfalloch, and as an
enemy to the rival house of Montrose. The extent of Argyle's
possessions, and the power of retreating thither in any emergency,
gave great encouragement to the bold schemes of revenge which he had
adopted.

  This was nothing short of the maintenance of a predatory war
against the Duke of Montrose, whom he considered as the author of
his exclusion from civil society, and of the outlawry to which he had
been sentenced by letters of horning and caption (legal writs so called),
as well as the seizure of his goods, and adjudication of his landed
property. Against his Grace, therefore, his tenants, friends, allies,
and relatives, he disposed himself to employ every means of annoyance
in his power; and though this was a circle sufficiently extensive
for active depredation, Rob, who professed himself a Jacobite, took
the liberty of extending his sphere of operations against all whom he
chose to consider as friendly to the revolutionary government, or to
that most obnoxious of measures---the Union of the Kingdoms.
Under one or other of these pretexts, all his neighbours of the Lowlands
who had anything to lose, or were unwilling to compound for
security by paying him an annual sum for protection or forbearance,
were exposed to his ravages.

  The country in which this private warfare, or system of depredation,
was to be carried on, was, until opened up by roads, in the
highest degree favourable for his purpose. It was broken up into
narrow valleys, the habitable part of which bore no proportion to the
huge wildernesses of forest, rocks, and precipices by which they were
encircled, and which was, moreover, full of inextricable passes,
morasses, and natural strengths, unknown to any but the inhabitants
themselves, where a few men acquainted with the ground were capable,
with ordinary address, of baffling the pursuit of numbers.

  The opinions and habits of the nearest neighbours to the Highland
line were also highly favourable to Rob Roy's purpose. A large proportion
of them were of his own clan of MacGregor, who claimed
the property of Balquhidder, and other Highland districts, as having
been part of the ancient possessions of their tribe; though the harsh
laws, under the severity of which they had suffered so deeply, had
assigned the ownership to other families. The civil wars of the
seventeenth century had accustomed these men to the use of arms, and
they were peculiarly brave and fierce from remembrance of their
sufferings. The vicinity of a comparatively rich Lowland district
gave also great temptations to incursion. Many belonging to other
clans, habituated to contempt of industry, and to the use of arms,
drew towards an unprotected frontier which promised facility of
plunder; and the state of the country, now so peaceable and quiet,
verified at that time the opinion which Dr. Johnson heard with doubt
and suspicion, that the most disorderly and lawless districts of the
Highlands were those which lay nearest to the Lowland line. There
was, therefore, no difficulty in Rob Roy, descended of a tribe which
was widely dispersed in the country we have described, collecting any
number of followers whom he might be able to keep in action, and to
maintain by his proposed operations.

  He himself appears to have been singularly adapted for the profession
which he proposed to exercise. His stature was not of the
tallest, but his person was uncommonly strong and compact. The
greatest peculiarities of his frame were the breadth of his shoulders,
and the great and almost disproportionate length of his arms; so
remarkable, indeed, that it was said he could, without stooping, tie
the garters of his Highland hose, which are placed two inches below
the knee. His countenance was open, manly, stern at periods of
danger, but frank and cheerful in his hours of festivity. His hair
was dark red, thick, and frizzled, and curled short around the face.
His fashion of dress showed, of course, the knees and upper part of
the leg, which was described to me, as resembling that of a Highland
bull, hirsute, with red hair, and evincing muscular strength similar
to that animal. To these personal qualifications must be added a
masterly use of the Highland sword, in which his length of arm gave
him great advantage---and a perfect and intimate knowledge of all
the recesses of the wild country in which he harboured, and the
character of the various individuals, whether friendly or hostile, with
whom he might come in contact.

  His mental qualities seem to have been no less adapted to the circumstances
in which he was placed. Though the descendant of the
blood-thirsty Ciar Mhor, he inherited none of his ancestor's ferocity.
On the contrary, Rob Roy avoided every appearance of cruelty, and
it is not averred that he was ever the means of unnecessary bloodshed,
or the actor in any deed which could lead the way to it. His
schemes of plunder were contrived and executed with equal boldness
and sagacity, and were almost universally successful, from the skill
with which they were laid, and the secrecy and rapidity with which
they were executed. Like Robin Hood of England, he was a kind
and gentle robber,---and, while he took from the rich, was liberal in
relieving the poor. This might in part be policy; but the universal
tradition of the country speaks it to have arisen from a better motive.
All whom I have conversed with, and I have in my youth seen some
who knew Rob Roy personally, give him the character of a benevolent
and humane man ``in his way.''

  His ideas of morality were those of an Arab chief, being such as
naturally arose out of his wild education. Supposing Rob Roy to
have argued on the tendency of the life which he pursued, whether
from choice or from necessity, he would doubtless have assumed to
himself the character of a brave man, who, deprived of his natural
rights by the partiality of laws, endeavoured to assert them by the
strong hand of natural power; and he is most felicitously described
as reasoning thus, in the high-toned poetry of my gifted friend
Wordsworth:

	Say, then, that he was wise as brave,
	  As wise in thought as bold in deed;
	For in the principles of things
	  _He_ sought his moral creed.

	Said generous Rob, ``What need of Books?
	  Burn all the statutes and their shelves!
	They stir us up against our kind,
	  And worse, against ourselves.

	``We have a passion, make a law,
	  Too false to guide us or control;
	And for the law itself we fight
	  In bitterness of soul.

	``And puzzled, blinded, then we lose
	  Distinctions that are plain and few;
	These find I graven on my heart,
	  That tells me what to do.

	``The creatures see of flood and field,
	  And those that travel on the wind
	With them no strife can last; they live
	  In peace, and peace of mind.

	``For why? Because the good old rule
	  Sufficeth them; the simple plan,
	That they should take who have the power,
	  And they should keep who can.

	``A lesson which is quickly learn'd,
	  A signal through which all can see;
	Thus, nothing here provokes the strong
	  To wanton cruelty.

	``And freakishness of mind is check'd,
	  He tamed who foolishly aspires,
	While to the measure of his might
	  Each fashions his desires.

	``All kinds and creatures stand and fall
	  By strength of prowess or of wit;
	'Tis God's appointment who must sway,
	  And who is to submit.

	``Since then,'' said Robin, ``right is plain,
	  And longest life is but a day,
	To have my ends, maintain my rights,
	  I'll take the shortest way.''

	And thus among these rocks he lived,
	  Through summer's heat and winter's snow
	The eagle, he was lord above,
	  And Rob was lord below.

We are not, however, to suppose the character of this distinguished
outlaw to be that of an actual hero, acting uniformly and consistently
on such moral principles as the illustrious bard who, standing by his
grave, has vindicated his fame. On the contrary, as is common with
barbarous chiefs, Rob Roy appears to have mixed his professions of
principle with a large alloy of craft and dissimulation, of which his
conduct during the civil war is sufficient proof. It is also said, and
truly, that although his courtesy was one of his strongest characteristics,
yet sometimes he assumed an arrogance of manner which was
not easily endured by the high-spirited men to whom it was addressed,
and drew the daring outlaw into frequent disputes, from which he
did not always come off with credit. From this it has been inferred,
that Rob Roy w as more of a bully than a hero, or at least that he
had, according to the common phrase, his fighting days. Some aged
men who knew him well, have described him also as better at a _taich-tulzie,_
or scuffle within doors, than in mortal combat. The tenor of
his life may be quoted to repel this charge; while, at the same time,
it must be allowed, that the situation in which he was placed
rendered him prudently averse to maintaining quarrels, where nothing
was to be had save blows, and where success would have raised up
against him new and powerful enemies, in a country where revenge
was still considered as a duty rather than a crime. The power of
commanding his passions on such occasions, far from being inconsistent
with the part which MacGregor had to perform, was essentially
necessary, at the period when he lived, to prevent his career from
being cut short.

  I may here mention one or two occasions on which Rob Roy
appears to have given way in the manner alluded to. My late
venerable friend, John Ramsay of Ochtertyre, alike eminent as a
classical scholar and as an authentic register of the ancient history
and manners of Scotland, informed me, that on occasion of a public
meeting at a bonfire in the town of Doune, Rob Roy gave some offence
to James Edmondstone of Newton, the same gentleman who was unfortunately
concerned in the slaughter of Lord Rollo (see Maclaurin's
Criminal Trials, No. IX.), when Edmondstone compelled MacGregor
to quit the town on pain of being thrown by him into the bonfire.
``I broke one off your ribs on a former occasion,'' said he, ``and now,
Rob, if you provoke me farther, I will break your neck.'' But it
must be remembered that Edmondstone was a man of consequence in
the Jacobite party, as he carried the royal standard of James VII.
at the battle of Sheriffmuir, and also, that he was near the door of
his own mansion-house, and probably surrounded by his friends and
adherents. Rob Roy, however, suffered in reputation for retiring
under such a threat.

  Another well-vouched case is that of Cunningham of Boquhan.

  Henry Cunningham, Esq. of Boquhan, was a gentleman of
Stirlingshire, who, like many _exquisites_ of our own time, united
a natural high spirit and daring character with an affectation of
delicacy of address and manners amounting to foppery.<*> He

* His courage and affectation of foppery were united, which is less frequently the
* case, with a spirit of innate modesty. He is thus described in Lord Binning's
* satirical verses, entitled ``Argyle's Levee:''---
* 
*	``Six times had Harry bowed unseen,
*	    Before he dared advance;
*	The Duke then, turning round well pleased,
*	    Said, `Sure you've been in France!
*	A more polite and jaunty man
*	    I never saw before:'
*	Then Harry bowed, and blushed, and bowed,
*	    And strutted to the door.''
*
* See a Collection of original Poems, by Scotch Gentlemen, vol. ii. p. 125.

chanced to be in company with Rob Roy, who, either in contempt of
Boquhan's supposed effeminacy, or because he thought him a safe
person to fix a quarrel on (a point which Rob's enemies alleged he
was wont to consider), insulted him so grossly that a challenge passed
between them. The goodwife of the clachan had hidden Cunningham's
sword, and while he rummaged the house in quest of his own
or some other, Rob Roy went to the Shieling Hill, the appointed place
of combat, and paraded there with great majesty, waiting for his antagonist.
In the meantime, Cunningham had rummaged out an old
sword, and, entering the ground of contest in all haste, rushed on the
outlaw with such unexpected fury that he fairly drove him off the field,
nor did he show himself in the village again for some time. Mr.
MacGregor Stirling has a softened account of this anecdote in his
new edition of Nimmo's Stirlingshire; still he records Rob Roy's discomfiture.

  Occasionally Rob Roy suffered disasters, and incurred great personal
danger. On one remarkable occasion he was saved by the coolness
of his lieutenant, Macanaleister or Fletcher, the _Little John_ of
his band---a fine active fellow, of course, and celebrated as a marksman.
It happened that MacGregor and his party had been surprised
and dispersed by a superior force of horse and foot, and the word
was given to ``split and squander.'' Each shifted for himself, but
a bold dragoon attached himself to pursuit of Rob, and overtaking
him, struck at him with his broadsword. A plate of iron in his
bonnet saved the MacGregor from being cut down to the teeth; but
the blow was heavy enough to bear him to the ground, crying as he
fell, ``Oh, Macanaleister, is there naething in her?'' (_i.e._ in the
gun). The trooper, at the same time, exclaiming, ``D---n ye, your
mother never wrought your night-cap!'' had his arm raised for a
second blow, when Macanaleister fired, and the ball pierced the
dragoon's heart.

  Such as he was, Rob Roy's progress in his occupation is thus
described by a gentleman of sense and talent, who resided within the
circle of his predatory wars, had probably felt their effects, and speaks
of them, as might be expected, with little of the forbearance with
which, from their peculiar and romantic character, they are now
regarded.

  ``This man (Rob Roy MacGregor) was a person of sagacity, and
neither wanted stratagem nor address; and having abandoned himself
to all licentiousness, set himself at the head of all the loose,
vagrant, and desperate people of that clan, in the west end of Perth
and Stirling shires, and infested those whole countries with thefts,
robberies, and depredations. Very few who lived within his reach
(that is, within the distance of a nocturnal expedition) could promise
to themselves security, either for their persons or effects, without
subjecting themselves to pay him a heavy and shameful tax of _black-mail._
He at last proceeded to such a degree of audaciousness that
he committed robberies, raised contributions, and resented quarrels,
at the head of a very considerable body of armed men, in open day,
and in the face of the government.''<*>

* Mr. Grahame of Gartmore's Causes of the Disturbances in the Highlands. See
* Jamieson's edition of Burt's Letters from the North of Scotland, Appendix, vol.
* ii. p. 348.


  The extent and success of these depredations cannot be surprising,
when we consider that the scene of them was laid in a country where
the general law was neither enforced nor respected.

  Having recorded that the general habit of cattle-stealing had
blinded even those of the better classes to the infamy of the practice,
and that as men's property consisted entirely in herds, it was rendered
in the highest degree precarious, Mr. Grahame adds---

  ``On these accounts there is no culture of ground, no improvement
of pastures, and from the same reasons, no manufactures, no trade;
in short, no industry. The people are extremely prolific, and therefore
so numerous, that there is not business in that country, according
to its present order and economy, for the one-half of them.
Every place is full of idle people, accustomed to arms, and lazy in
everything but rapines and depredations. As _buddel_ or _aquavit<ae>_
houses are to be found everywhere through the country, so in these
they saunter away their time, and frequently consume there the returns
of their illegal purchases. Here the laws have never been executed,
nor the authority of the magistrate ever established. Here the
officer of the law neither dare nor can execute his duty, and several
places are about thirty miles from lawful persons. In short, here is
no order, no authority, no government.''

  The period of the rebellion, 1715, approached soon after Rob Roy
had attained celebrity. His Jacobite partialities were now placed
in opposition to his sense of the obligations which he owed to the indirect
protection of the Duke of Argyle. But the desire of ``drowning
his sounding steps amid the din of general war'' induced him to
join the forces of the Earl of Mar, although his patron the Duke of
Argyle was at the head of the army opposed to the Highland insurgents.

  The MacGregors, a large sept of them at least, that of Ciar Mhor,
on this occasion were not commanded by Rob Roy, but by his nephew
already mentioned, Gregor MacGregor, otherwise called James
Grahame of Glengyle, and still better remembered by the Gaelic epithet
of _Ghlune Dhu, i.e._ Black Knee, from a black spot on one of his
knees, which his Highland garb rendered visible. There can be no
question, however, that being then very young, Glengyle must have
acted on most occasions by the advice and direction of so experienced
a leader as his uncle.

  The MacGregors assembled in numbers at that period, and began
even to threaten the Lowlands towards the lower extremity of Loch
Lomond. They suddenly seized all the boats which were upon the
lake, and, probably with a view to some enterprise of their own, drew
them overland to Inversnaid, in order to intercept the progress of a
large body of west-country whigs who were in arms for the government,
and moving in that direction.

  The whigs made an excursion for the recovery of the boats. Their
forces consisted of volunteers from Paisley, Kilpatrick, and elsewhere,
who, with the assistance of a body of seamen, were towed up the
river Leven in long-boats belonging to the ships of war then lying in
the Clyde. At Luss they were joined by the forces of Sir Humphrey
Colquhoun, and James Grant, his son-in-law, with their followers,
attired in the Highland dress of the period, which is picturesquely
described.<*> The whole party crossed to Craig-Royston, but the MacGregors

* ``At night they arrived at Luss, where they were joined by Sir Humphrey
* Colquhoun of Luss, and James Grant of Plascander, his son-in-law, followed by
* forty or fifty stately fellows in their short hose and belted plaids, armed each of
* them with a well-fixed gun on his shoulder, a strong handsome target, with a
* sharp-pointed steel of above half an ell in length screwed into the navel of it, on
* his left arm, a sturdy claymore by his side, and a pistol or two, with a dirk and
* knife, in his belt.''---_Rae's History of the Rebellion,_ 4to, p. 287.

did not offer combat. If we are to believe the account of the
expedition given by the historian Rae, they leapt on shore at Craig-Royston
with the utmost intrepidity, no enemy appearing to oppose
them, and by the noise of their drums, which they beat incessantly,
and the discharge of their artillery and small arms, terrified the
MacGregors, whom they appear never to have seen, out of their fastnesses,
and caused them to fly in a panic to the general camp of the
Highlanders at Strath-Fillan.<*> The low-country men succeeded in

* Note C. The Loch Lomond Expedition.

getting possession of the boats at a great expenditure of noise and
courage, and little risk of danger.

  After this temporary removal from his old haunts, Rob Roy was
sent by the Earl of Mar to Aberdeen, to raise, it is believed, a part
of the clan Gregor, which is settled in that country. These men
were of his own family (the race of the Ciar Mhor). They were the
descendants of about three hundred MacGregors whom the Earl of
Murray, about the year 1624, transported from his estates in Menteith
to oppose against his enemies the MacIntoshes, a race as hardy
and restless as they were themselves.

  But while in the city of Aberdeen, Rob Roy met a relation of a
very different class and character from those whom he was sent to
summon to arms. This was Dr. James Gregory (by descent a MacGregor),
the patriarch of a dynasty of professors distinguished for
literary and scientific talent, and the grandfather of the late eminent
physician and accomplished scholar, Professor Gregory of Edinburgh.
This gentleman was at the time Professor of Medicine in King's
College, Aberdeen, and son of Dr. James Gregory, distinguished in
science as the inventor of the reflecting telescope. With such a family
it may seem our friend Rob could have had little communion. But
civil war is a species of misery which introduces men to strange bed-fellows.
Dr. Gregory thought it a point of prudence to claim kindred,
at so critical a period, with a man so formidable and influential.
He invited Rob Roy to his house, and treated him with so much
kindness, that he produced in his generous bosom a degree of gratitude
which seemed likely to occasion very inconvenient effects.

  The Professor had a son about eight or nine years old,---a lively,
stout boy of his age,---with whose appearance our Highland Robin
Hood was much taken. On the day before his departure from the
house of his learned relative, Rob Roy, who had pondered deeply how
he might requite his cousin's kindness, took Dr. Gregory aside, and
addressed him to this purport:---``My dear kinsman, I have been
thinking what I could do to show my sense of your hospitality.
Now, here you have a fine spirited boy of a son, whom you are ruining
by cramming him with your useless book-learning, and I am
determined, by way of manifesting my great good-will to you and
yours, to take him with me and make a man of him.'' The learned
Professor was utterly overwhelmed when his warlike kinsman
announced his kind purpose in language which implied no doubt of
its being a proposal which, would be, and ought to be, accepted with
the utmost gratitude. The task of apology or explanation was of a
most delicate description; and there might have been considerable
danger in suffering Rob Roy to perceive that the promotion with which
he threatened the son was, in the father's eyes, the ready road to the
gallows. Indeed, every excuse which he could at first think of---
such as regret for putting his friend to trouble with a youth who had
been educated in the Lowlands, and so on---only strengthened the
chieftain's inclination to patronise his young kinsman, as he supposed
they arose entirely from the modesty of the father. He would for a
long time take no apology, and even spoke of carrying off the youth
by a certain degree of kindly violence, whether his father consented, or
not. At length the perplexed Professor pleaded that his son was very
young, and in an infirm state of health, and not yet able to endure
the hardships of a mountain life; but that in another year or two
he hoped his health would be firmly established, and he would be in
a fitting condition to attend on his brave kinsman, and follow out
the splendid destinies to which he opened the way. This agreement
being made, the cousins parted,---Rob Roy pledging his honour to
carry his young relation to the hills with him on his next return to
Aberdeenshire, and Dr. Gregory, doubtless, praying in his secret soul
that he might never see Rob's Highland face again.

  James Gregory, who thus escaped being his kinsman's recruit, and
in all probability his henchman, was afterwards Professor of Medicine
in the College, and, like most of his family, distinguished by his
scientific acquirements. He was rather of an irritable and pertinacious
disposition; and his friends were wont to remark, when he
showed any symptom of these foibles, ``Ah! this comes of not having
been educated by Rob Roy.''

  The connection between Rob Roy and his classical kinsman did not
end with the period of Rob's transient power. At a period considerably
subsequent to the year 1715, he was walking in the Castle Street
of Aberdeen, arm in arm with his host, Dr. James Gregory, when the
drums in the barracks suddenly beat to arms, and soldiers were seen
issuing from the barracks. ``If these lads are turning out,'' said
Rob, taking leave of his cousin with great composure, ``it is time for
me to look after my safety.'' So saying, he dived down a close, and,
as John Bunyan says, ``went upon his way and was seen no more.''<*>

* The first of these anecdotes, which brings the highest pitch of civilisation so
* closely in contact with the half-savage state of society, I have heard told by the
* late distinguished Dr. Gregory; and the members of his family have had the kindness
* to collate the story with their recollections and family documents, and furnish
* the authentic particulars. The second rests on the recollection of an old man, who
* was present when Rob took French leave of his literary cousin on hearing the
* drums beat, and communicated the circumstance to Mr. Alexander Forbes, a connection
* of Dr. Gregory by marriage, who is still alive.


  We have already stated that Rob Roy's conduct during the insurrection
of 1715 was very equivocal. His person and followers were
in the Highland army, but his heart seems to have been with the
Duke of Argyle's. Yet the insurgents were constrained to trust to
him as their only guide, when they marched from Perth towards
Dunblane, with the view of crossing the Forth at what are called the
Fords of Frew, and when they themselves said he could not be relied
upon.

  This movement to the westward, on the part of the insurgents,
brought on the battle of Sheriffmuir---indecisive, indeed, in its immediate
results, but of which the Duke of Argyle reaped the whole
advantage. In this action, it will be recollected that the right wing
of the Highlanders broke and cut to pieces Argyle's left wing, while
the clans on the left of Mar's army, though consisting of Stewarts,
Mackenzies, and Camerons, were completely routed. During this
medley of flight and pursuit, Rob Roy retained his station on a hill
in the centre of the Highland position; and though it is said his
attack might have decided the day, he could not be prevailed upon to
charge. This was the more unfortunate for the insurgents, as the
leading of a party of the Macphersons had been committed to MacGregor.
This, it is said, was owing to the age and infirmity of the
chief of that name, who, unable to lead his clan in person, objected
to his heir-apparent, Macpherson of Nord, discharging his duty on
that occasion; so that the tribe, or a part of them, were brigaded
with their allies the MacGregors. While the favourable moment for
action was gliding away unemployed, Mar's positive orders reached
Rob Roy that he should presently attack. To which he coolly replied,
``No, no! if they cannot do it without me, they cannot do it with
me.'' One of the Macphersons, named Alexander, one of Rob's
original profession, _videlicet,_ a drover, but a man of great strength
and spirit, was so incensed at the inactivity of this temporary leader,
that he threw off his plaid, drew his sword, and called out to his
clansmen, ``Let us endure this no longer! if he will not lead you I
will.'' Rob Roy replied, with great coolness, ``Were the question
about driving Highland stots or kyloes, Sandie, I would yield to
your superior skill; but as it respects the leading of men, I must be
allowed to be the better judge.''---``Did the matter respect driving
Glen-Eigas stots,'' answered the Macpherson, ``the question with Rob
would not be, which was to be last, but which was to be foremost.''
Incensed at this sarcasm, MacGregor drew his sword, and they would
have fought upon the spot if their friends on both sides had not interfered.
But the moment of attack was completely lost. Rob did
not, however, neglect his own private interest on the occasion. In
the confusion of an undecided field of battle, he enriched his followers
by plundering the baggage and the dead on both sides.

  The fine old satirical ballad on the battle of Sheriffmuir does not
forget to stigmatise our hero's conduct on this memorable occasion---

	Rob Roy he stood watch
	On a hill for to catch
	  The booty for aught that I saw, man;
	For he ne'er advanced
	From the place where he stanced,
	  Till nae mair was to do there at a', man.

  Notwithstanding the sort of neutrality which Rob Roy had continued
to observe during the progress of the Rebellion, he did not escape some
of its penalties. He was included in the act of attainder, and the
house in Breadalbane, which was his place of retreat, was burned by
General Lord Cadogan, when, after the conclusion of the insurrection,
he marched through the Highlands to disarm and punish the offending
clans. But upon going to Inverary with about forty or fifty of
his followers, Rob obtained favour, by an apparent surrender of their
arms to Colonel Patrick Campbell of Finnah, who furnished them
and their leader with protections under his hand. Being thus in a
great measure secured from the resentment of government, Rob Roy
established his residence at Craig-Royston, near Loch Lomond, in the
midst of his own kinsmen, and lost no time in resuming his private
quarrel with the Duke of Montrose. For this purpose he soon got on
foot as many men, and well armed too, as he had yet commanded.
He never stirred without a body-guard of ten or twelve picked followers,
and without much effort could increase them to fifty or sixty.

  The Duke was not wanting in efforts to destroy this troublesome
adversary. His Grace applied to General Carpenter, commanding
the forces in Scotland, and by his orders three parties of soldiers were
directed from the three different points of Glasgow, Stirling, and
Finlarig near Killin. Mr. Graham of Killearn, the Duke of Montrose's
relation and factor, Sheriff-depute also of Dumbartonshire, accompanied
the troops, that they might act under the civil authority,
and have the assistance of a trusty guide well acquainted with the
hills. It was the object of these several columns to arrive about the
same time in the neighbourhood of Rob Roy's residence, and surprise
him and his followers. But heavy rains, the difficulties of the
country, and the good intelligence which the Outlaw was always
supplied with, disappointed their well-concerted combination. The
troops, finding the birds were flown, avenged themselves by destroying
the nest. They burned Rob Roy's house,---though not with impunity;
for the MacGregors, concealed among the thickets and cliffs, fired on
them, and killed a grenadier.

  Rob Roy avenged himself for the loss which he sustained on this
occasion by an act of singular audacity. About the middle of
November 1716, John Graham of Killearn, already mentioned as
factor of the Montrose family, went to a place called Chapel Errock,
where the tenants of the Duke were summoned to appear with their
termly rents. They appeared accordingly, and the factor had received
ready money to the amount of about <L>300, when Rob Roy entered
the room at the head of an armed party. The Steward endeavoured
to protect the Duke's property by throwing the books of accounts and
money into a garret, trusting they might escape notice. But the experienced
freebooter was not to be baffled where such a prize was at
stake. He recovered the books and cash, placed himself calmly in
the receipt of custom, examined the accounts, pocketed the money,
and gave receipts on the Duke's part, saying he would hold reckoning
with the Duke of Montrose out of the damages which he had
sustained by his Grace's means, in which he included the losses he
had suffered, as well by the burning of his house by General Cadogan,
as by the later expedition against Craig-Royston. He then requested
Mr. Graham to attend him; nor does it appear that he treated him
with any personal violence, or even rudeness, although he informed
him he regarded him as a hostage, and menaced rough usage in case
he should be pursued, or in danger of being overtaken. Few more
audacious feats have been performed. After some rapid changes of
place (the fatigue attending which was the only annoyance that Mr.
Graham seems to have complained of), he carried his prisoner to an
island on Loch Katrine, and caused him to write to the Duke, to
state that his ransom was fixed at <L>3400 merks, being the balance
which MacGregor pretended remained due to him, after deducting all
that he owed to the Duke of Montrose.

  However, after detaining Mr. Graham five or six days in custody
on the island, which is still called Rob Roy's Prison, and could be
no comfortable dwelling for November nights, the Outlaw seems to
have despaired of attaining further advantage from his bold attempt,
and suffered his prisoner to depart uninjured, with the account-books,
and bills granted by the tenants, taking especial care to retain the
cash.<*>

* The reader will find two original letters of the Duke of Montrose, with that
* which Mr. Graham of Killearn despatched from his prison-house by the Outlaw's
* command, in the Appendix, No. II.


  About 1717, our Chieftain had the dangerous adventure of falling
into the hands of the Duke of Athole, almost as much his enemy as
the Duke of Montrose himself; but his cunning and dexterity again
freed him from certain death. See a contemporary account of this
curious affair in the Appendix, No. V.

  Other pranks are told of Rob, which argue the same boldness and
sagacity as the seizure of Killearn. The Duke of Montrose, weary
of his insolence, procured a quantity of arms, and distributed them
among his tenantry, in order that they might defend themselves
against future violences. But they fell into different hands from those
they were intended for. The MacGregors made separate attacks on
the houses of the tenants, and disarmed them all one after another,
not, as was supposed, without the consent of many of the persons so
disarmed.

  As a great part of the Duke's rents were payable in kind, there
were girnels (granaries) established for storing up the corn at Moulin,
and elsewhere on the Buchanan estate. To these storehouses Rob Roy
used to repair with a sufficient force, and of course when he was
least expected, and insist upon the delivery of quantities of grain---
sometimes for his own use, and sometimes for the assistance of the
country people; always giving regular receipts in his own name, and
pretending to reckon with the Duke for what sums he received.

  In the meanwhile a garrison was established by Government, the
ruins of which may be still seen about half-way betwixt Loch Lomond
and Loch Katrine, upon Rob Roy's original property of Inversnaid.
Even this military establishment could not bridle the restless MacGregor.
He contrived to surprise the little fort, disarm the soldiers,
and destroy the fortification. It was afterwards re-established, and
again taken by the MacGregors under Rob Roy's nephew Ghlune
Dhu, previous to the insurrection of 1745-6. Finally, the fort of
Inversnaid was a third time repaired after the extinction of civil
discord; and when we find the celebrated General Wolfe commanding
in it, the imagination is strongly affected by the variety of time and
events which the circumstance brings simultaneously to recollection.
It is now totally dismantled.<*>

* About 1792, when the author chanced to pass that way while on a tour through
* the Highlands, a garrison, consisting of a single veteran, was still maintained at
* Inversnaid. The venerable warder was reaping his barley croft in all peace and
* tranquillity and when we asked admittance to repose ourselves, he told us we
* would find the key of the Fort under the door.


  It was not, strictly speaking, as a professed depredator that Rob
Roy now conducted his operations, but as a sort of contractor for the
police; in Scottish phrase, a lifter of black-mail. The nature of
this contract has been described in the Novel of Waverley, and in the
notes on that work. Mr. Grahame of Gartmore's description of the
character may be here transcribed:---

``The confusion and disorders of the country were so great, and the
Government go absolutely neglected it, that the sober people were obliged to
purchase some security to their effects by shameful and ignominious contracts
of _black-mail._ A person who had the greatest correspondence with the
thieves was agreed with to preserve the lands contracted for from thefts,
for certain sums to be paid yearly. Upon this fund he employed one half
of the thieves to recover stolen cattle, and the other half of them to steal, in
order to make this agreement and black-mail contract necessary. The
estates of those gentlemen who refused to contract, or give countenance to
that pernicious practice, are plundered by the thieving part of the watch,
in order to force them to purchase their protection. Their leader calls
himself the _Captain_ of the _Watch,_ and his banditti go by that name. And
as this gives them a kind of authority to traverse the country, so it makes
them capable of doing any mischief. These corps through the Highlands
make altogether a very considerable body of men, inured from their infancy
to the greatest fatigues, and very capable, to act in a military way when
occasion offers.

  ``People who are ignorant and enthusiastic, who are in absolute dependence
upon their chief or landlord, who are directed in their consciences by
Roman Catholic priests, or nonjuring clergymen, and who are not masters
of any property, may easily be formed into any mould. They fear no
dangers, as they have nothing to lose, and so can with ease be induced to
attempt anything. Nothing can make their condition worse: confusions
and troubles do commonly indulge them in such licentiousness, that by these
they better it.''<*>

* Letters from the North of Scotland, vol. ii. pp. 344, 345.


  As the practice of contracting for black-mail was an obvious
encouragement to rapine, and a great obstacle to the course of justice,
it was, by the statute 1567, chap. 21, declared a capital crime both
on the part of him who levied and him who paid this sort of tax.
But the necessity of the case prevented the execution of this severe
law, I believe, in any one instance; and men went on submitting to
a certain unlawful imposition rather than run the risk of utter ruin
---just as it is now found difficult or impossible to prevent those who
have lost a very large sum of money by robbery, from compounding
with the felons for restoration of a part of their booty.

  At what rate Rob Roy levied black-mail I never heard stated;
but there is a formal contract by which his nephew, in 1741, agreed
with various landholders of estates in the counties of Perth, Stirling,
and Dumbarton, to recover cattle stolen from them, or to pay the
value within six months of the loss being intimated, if such intimation
were made to him with sufficient despatch, in consideration of a
payment of <L>5 on each <L>100 of valued rent, which was not a very
heavy insurance. Petty thefts were not included in the contract;
but the theft of one horse, or one head of black cattle, or of sheep
exceeding the number of six, fell under the agreement.

  Rob Roy's profits upon such contracts brought him in a considerable
revenue in money or cattle, of which he made a popular use;
for he was publicly liberal as well as privately beneficent. The
minister of the parish of Balquhidder, whose name was Robertson,
was at one time threatening to pursue the parish for an augmentation
of his stipend. Rob Roy took an opportunity to assure him
that he would do well to abstain from this new exaction---a hint
which the minister did not fail to understand. But to make him
some indemnification, MacGregor presented him every year with a
cow and a fat sheep; and no scruples as to the mode in which the
donor came by them are said to have affected the reverend gentleman's
conscience.

  The following amount of the proceedings of Rob Roy, on an application
to him from one of his contractors, had in it something very
interesting to me, as told by an old countryman in the Lennox who
was present on the expedition. But as there is no point or marked
incident in the story, and as it must necessarily be without the half-frightened,
half-bewildered look with which the narrator accompanied
his recollections, it may possibly lose, its effect when transferred to
paper.

  My informant stated himself to have been a lad of fifteen, living
with his father on the estate of a gentleman in the Lennox, whose
name I have forgotten, in the capacity of herd. On a fine morning
in the end of October, the period when such calamities were almost
always to be apprehended, they found the Highland thieves had been
down upon them, and swept away ten or twelve head of cattle. Rob
Roy was sent for, and came with a party of seven or eight armed
men. He heard with great gravity all that could be told him of the
circumstances of the _creagh,_ and expressed his confidence that the
_herd-widdiefows_<*> could not have carried their booty far, and that

* Mad herdsmen---a name given to cattle-stealers [properly one who deserves
* to fill a _widdie,_ or halter].

he should be able to recover them. He desired that two Lowlanders
should be sent on the party, as it was not to be expected that any of
his gentlemen would take the trouble of driving the cattle when he
should recover possession of them. My informant and his father
were despatched on the expedition. They had no good will to the
journey; nevertheless, provided with a little food, and with a dog to
help them to manage the cattle, they set off with MacGregor. They
travelled a long day's journey in the direction of the mountain Benvoirlich,
and slept for the night in a ruinous hut or bothy. The
next morning they resumed their journey among the hills, Rob Roy
directing their course by signs and marks on the heath which my informant
did not understand.

  About noon Rob commanded the armed party to halt, and to lie
couched in the heather where it was thickest. ``Do you and your
son,'' he said to the oldest Lowlander, ``go boldly over the hill;---
you will see beneath you, in a glen on the other side, your master's
cattle, feeding, it may be, with others; gather your own together, taking
care to disturb no one else, and drive them to this place. If any one
speak to or threaten you, tell them that I am here, at the head of
twenty men.''---``But what if they abuse us, or kill us?'' said the
Lowland, peasant, by no means delighted at finding the embassy imposed
on him and his son. ``If they do you any wrong,'' said Rob,
``I will never forgive them as long as I live.'' The Lowlander was
by no means content with this security, but did not think it safe to
dispute Rob's injunctions.

  He and his son climbed the hill therefore, found a deep valley,
where there grazed, as Rob had predicted, a large herd of cattle.
They cautiously selected those which their master had lost, and took
measures to drive them over the hill. As soon as they began to remove
them, they were surprised by hearing cries and screams; and
looking around in fear and trembling they saw a woman seeming to
have started out of the earth, who _flyted_ at them, that is, scolded
them, in Gaelic. When they contrived, however, in the best Gaelic
they could muster, to deliver the message Rob Roy told them, she
became silent, and disappeared without offering them any further
annoyance. The chief heard their story on their return, and spoke
with great complacency of the art which he possessed of putting such
things to rights without any unpleasant bustle. The party were now
on their road home, and the danger, though not the fatigue, of the
expedition was at an end.

  They drove on the cattle with little repose until it was nearly dark,
when Rob proposed to halt for the night upon a wide moor, across
which a cold north-east wind, with frost on its wing, was whistling
to the tune of the Pipers of Strath-Dearn.<*> The Highlanders,

* The winds which sweep a wild glen in Badenoch are so called.

sheltered by their plaids, lay down on the heath comfortably enough,
but the Lowlanders had no protection whatever. Rob Roy observing
this, directed one of his followers to afford the old man a portion of
his plaid; ``for the callant (boy), he may,'' said the freebooter,
``keep himself warm by walking about and watching the cattle.''
My informant heard this sentence with no small distress; and as
the frost wind grew more and more cutting, it seemed to freeze the
very blood in his young veins. He had been exposed to weather all
his life, he said, but never could forget the cold of that night; insomuch
that, in the bitterness of his heart, he cursed the bright moon
for giving no heat with so much light. At length the sense of cold
and weariness became so intolerable that he resolved to desert his
watch to seek some repose and shelter. With that purpose he couched
himself down behind one of the most bulky of the Highlanders, who
acted as lieutenant to the party. Not satisfied with having secured
the shelter of the man's large person, he coveted a share of his plaid,
and by imperceptible degrees drew a corner of it round him. He
was now comparatively in paradise, and slept sound till daybreak,
when he awoke, and was terribly afraid on observing that his nocturnal
operations had altogether uncovered the dhuiniewassell's neck and
shoulders, which, lacking the plaid which should have protected them,
were covered with _cranreuch_ (_i.e._ hoar frost). The lad rose in great
dread of a beating, at least, when it should be found how luxuriously
he had been accommodated at the expense of a principal person of the
party. Good Mr. Lieutenant, however, got up and shook himself,
rubbing off the hoar frost with his plaid, and muttering something
of a _cauld neight._ They then drove on the cattle, which were restored
to their owner without farther adventure---The above can hardly be
termed a tale, but yet it contains materials both for the poet and
artist.

  It was perhaps about the same time that, by a rapid march into
the Balquhidder hills at the head of a body of his own tenantry, the
Duke of Montrose actually surprised Rob Roy, and made him
prisoner. He was mounted behind one of the Duke's followers, named
James Stewart, and made fast to him by a horse-girth. The person
who had him thus in charge was grandfather of the intelligent man
of the same name, now deceased, who lately kept the inn in the
vicinity of Loch Katrine, and acted as a guide to visitors through
that beautiful scenery. From him I learned the story many years
before he was either a publican, or a guide, except to moorfowl shooters.
---It was evening (to resume the story), and the Duke was pressing
on to lodge his prisoner, so long sought after in vain, in some place
of security, when, in crossing the Teith or Forth, I forget which,
MacGregor took an opportunity to conjure Stewart, by all the ties of
old acquaintance and good neighbourhood, to give him some chance of
an escape from an assured doom. Stewart was moved with compassion,
perhaps with fear. He slipt the girth-buckle, and Rob, dropping
down from behind the horse's croupe, dived, swam, and escaped,
pretty much as described in the Novel. When James Stewart came
on shore, the Duke hastily demanded where his prisoner was; and
as no distinct answer was returned, instantly suspected Stewart's
connivance at the escape of the Outlaw; and, drawing a steel pistol
from his belt, struck him down with a blow on the head, from the
effects of which, his descendant said, he never completely recovered.

  In the success of his repeated escapes from the pursuit of his
powerful enemy, Rob Roy at length became wanton and facetious.
He wrote a mock challenge to the Duke, which he circulated among
his friends to amuse them over a bottle. The reader will find this
document in the Appendix.<*> It is written in a good hand, and not

* Appendix, No. III.

particularly deficient in grammar or spelling. Our Southern readers
must be given to understand that it was a piece of humour,---a _quiz,_
in short,---on the part of the Outlaw, who was too sagacious to propose
such a rencontre in reality. This letter was written in the year 1719.

  In the following year Rob Roy composed another epistle, very little
to his own reputation, as he therein confesses having played booty
during the civil war of 1715. It is addressed to General Wade, at
that time engaged in disarming the Highland clans, and making
military roads through the country. The letter is a singular composition.
It sets out the writer's real and unfeigned desire to have
offered his service to King George, but for his liability to be thrown
into jail for a civil debt, at the instance of the Duke of Montrose.
Being thus debarred from taking the right side, he acknowledged he
embraced the wrong one, upon Falstaff's principle, that since the King
wanted men and the rebels soldiers, it were worse shame to be idle in
such a stirring world, than to embrace the worst side, were it as black
as rebellion could make it. The impossibility of his being neutral in
such a debate, Rob seems to lay down as an undeniable proposition.
At the same time, while he acknowledges having been forced into an
unnatural rebellion against King George, he pleads that he not only
avoided acting offensively against his Majesty's forces on all occasions,
but, on the contrary, sent to them what intelligence he could collect
from time to time; for the truth of which he refers to his Grace the
Duke of Argyle. What influence this plea had on General Wade,
we have no means of knowing.

  Rob Roy appears to have continued to live very much as usual.
His fame, in the meanwhile, passed beyond the narrow limits of the
country in which he resided. A pretended history of him appeared
in London during his lifetime, under the title of the Highland Rogue.
It is a catch-penny publication, bearing in front the effigy of a species
of ogre, with a beard of a foot in length; and his actions are as much
exaggerated as his personal appearance. Some few of the best known
adventures of the hero are told, though with little accuracy; but the
greater part of the pamphlet is entirely fictitious. It is great pity so
excellent a theme for a narrative of the kind had not fallen into the
hands of De Foe, who was engaged at the time on subjects somewhat
similar, though inferior in dignity and interest.

  As Rob Roy advanced in years, he became more peaceable in his
habits, and his nephew Ghlune Dhu, with most of his tribe, renounced
those peculiar quarrels with the Duke of Montrose, by which
his uncle had been distinguished. The policy of that great family
had latterly been rather to attach this wild tribe by kindness than to
follow the mode of violence which had been hitherto ineffectually resorted
to. Leases at a low rent were granted to many of the MacGregors,
who had heretofore held possessions in the Duke's Highland
property merely by occupancy; and Glengyle (or Black-knee), who
continued to act as collector of black-mail, managed his police, as a
commander of the Highland watch arrayed at the charge of Government.
He is said to have strictly abstained from the open and lawless
depredations which his kinsman had practised,

  It was probably after this state of temporary quiet had been obtained,
that Rob Roy began to think of the concerns of his future
state. He had been bred, and long professed himself, a Protestant;
but in his later years he embraced the Roman Catholic faith,---
perhaps on Mrs. Cole's principle, that it was a comfortable religion
for one of his calling. He is said to have alleged as the cause of his
conversion, a desire to gratify the noble family of Perth, who were
then strict Catholics. Having, as he observed, assumed the name of
the Duke of Argyle, his first protector, he could pay no compliment
worth the Earl of Perth's acceptance save complying with his mode
of religion. Rob did not pretend, when pressed closely on the subject,
to justify all the tenets of Catholicism, and acknowledged that extreme
unction always appeared to him a great waste of _ulzie,_ or oil.<*>

* Such an admission is ascribed to the robber Donald Bean Lean in Waverley,
* chap. lxii,


In the last years of Rob Roy's life, his clan was involved in a
dispute with one more powerful than themselves. Stewart of Appin,
a chief of the tribe so named, was proprietor of a hill-farm in the
Braes of Balquhidder, called Invernenty. The MacGregors of Rob
Roy's tribe claimed a right to it by ancient occupancy, and declared
they would oppose to the uttermost the settlement of any person upon
the farm not being of their own name. The Stewarts came down
with two hundred men, well armed, to do themselves justice by main
force. The MacGregors took the field, but were unable to muster an
equal strength. Rob Roy, fending himself the weaker party, asked a
parley, in which he represented that both clans were friends to the
_King,_ and, that he was unwilling they should be weakened by mutual
conflict, and thus made a merit of surrendering to Appin the disputed
territory of Invernenty. Appin, accordingly, settled as tenants
there, at an easy quit-rent, the MacLarens, a family dependent on
the Stewarts, and from whose character for strength and bravery, it
was expected that they would make their right good if annoyed by the
MacGregors. When all this had been amicably adjusted, in presence
of the two clans drawn up in arms near the Kirk of Balquhidder,
Rob Roy, apparently fearing his tribe might be thought to have conceded
too much upon the occasion, stepped forward and said, that
where so many gallant men were met in arms, it would be shameful
to part without it trial of skill, and therefore he took the freedom to
invite any gentleman of the Stewarts present to exchange a few blows
with him for the honour of their respective clans. The brother-in-law
of Appin, and second chieftain of the clan, Alaster Stewart of
Invernahyle, accepted the challenge, and they encountered with broadsword
and target before their respective kinsmen.<*> The combat

* Some accounts state that Appin himself was Rob Roy's antagonist on this
* occasion. My recollection, from the account of Invernahyle himself, was as stated
* in the text. But the period when I received the information is now so distant,
* that it is possible I may be mistaken. Invernahyle was rather of low stature, but
* very well made, athletic, and an excellent swordsman.

lasted till Rob received a slight wound in the arm, which was the
usual termination of such a combat when fought for honour only,
and not with a mortal purpose. Rob Roy dropped his point, and
congratulated his adversary on having been the first man who ever
drew blood from him. The victor generously acknowledged, that
without the advantage of youth, and the agility accompanying it, he
probably could not have come off with advantage.

  This was probably one of Rob Roy's last exploits in arms. The
time of his death is not known with certainty, but he is generally
said to have survived 1738, and to have died an aged man. When
he found himself approaching his final change, he expressed some
contrition for particular parts of his life. His wife laughed at these
scruples of conscience, and exhorted him to die like a man, as he had
lived. In reply, he rebuked her for her violent passions, and the
counsels she had given him. ``You have put strife,'' he said,
``betwixt me and the best men of the country, and now you would
place enmity between me and my God.''

  There is a tradition, no way inconsistent with the former, if
the character of Rob Roy be justly considered, that while on his
deathbed, he learned that a person with whom he was at enmity
proposed to visit him. ``Raise me from my bed,'' said the invalid;
``throw my plaid around me, and bring me my claymore, dirk, and
pistols---it shall never be said that a foeman saw Rob Roy MacGregor
defenceless and unarmed.'' His foeman, conjectured to be one
of the MacLarens before and after mentioned, entered and paid his
compliments, inquiring after the health of his formidable neighbour.
Rob Roy maintained a cold haughty civility during their short conference,
and so soon as he had left the house. ``Now,'' he said, ``all
is over---let the piper play, _Ha til mi tulidh_'' (we return no more);
and he is said to have expired before the dirge was finished.

  This singular man died in bed in his own house, in the parish of
Balquhidder. He was buried in the churchyard of the same parish,
where his tombstone is only distinguished by a rude attempt at the
figure of a broadsword.

  The character of Rob Roy is, of course, a mixed one. His
sagacity, boldness, and prudence, qualities so highly necessary to
success in war, became in some degree vices, from the manner in
which they were employed. The circumstances of his education, however,
must be admitted as some extenuation of his habitual transgressions
against the law; and for his political tergiversations, he
might in that distracted period plead the example of men far more
powerful, and less excusable in becoming the sport of circumstances,
than the poor and desperate outlaw. On the other hand, he was in
the constant exercise of virtues, the more meritorious as they seem
inconsistent with his general character. Pursuing the occupation of
a predatory chieftain,---in modern phrase a captain of banditti,---
Rob Roy was moderate in his revenge, and humane in his successes.
No charge of cruelty or bloodshed, unless in battle, is brought against
his memory. In like manner, the formidable outlaw was the friend
of the poor, and, to the utmost of his ability, the support of the
widow and the orphan---kept his word when pledged---and died
lamented in his own wild country, where there were hearts grateful
for his beneficence, though their minds were not sufficiently instructed
to appreciate his errors.

  The author perhaps ought to stop here; but the fate of a part of
Rob Roy's family was so extraordinary, as to call for a continuation
of this somewhat prolix account, as affording an interesting chapter,
not on Highland manners alone, but on every stage of society in
which the people of a primitive and half-civilised tribe are brought
into close contact with a nation, in which civilisation and polity
have attained a complete superiority.

  Rob had five sons,---Coll, Ronald, James, Duncan, and Robert.
Nothing occurs worth notice concerning three of them; but James,
who was a very handsome man, seems to have had a good deal of his
father's spirit, and the mantle of Dougal Ciar Mhor had apparently
descended on the shoulders of Robin Oig, that is, young Robin.
Shortly after Rob Roy's death, the ill-will which the MacGregors
entertained against the MacLarens again broke out, at the instigation,
it was said, of Rob's widow, who seems thus far to have deserved the
character given to her by her husband, as an At<e'> stirring up to blood
and strife. Robin Oig, under her instigation, swore that as soon as
he could get back a certain gun which had belonged to his father, and
had been lately at Doune to be repaired, he would shoot MacLaren,
for having presumed to settle on his mother's land.<*> He was as

* This fatal piece was taken from Robin Oig, when he was seized many years
* afterwards. It remained in possession of the magistrates before whom he was
* brought for examination, and now makes part of a small collection of arms belonging
* to the Author. It is a Spanish-barrelled gun, marked with the letters R. M. C., for
* Robert MacGregor Campbell.

good as his word, and shot MacLaren when between the stilts of his
plough, wounding him mortally.

  The aid of a Highland leech was procured, who probed the wound
with a probe made out of a castock; _i.e._, the stalk of a colewort or
cabbage. This learned gentleman declared he would not venture to
prescribe, not knowing with what shot the patient had been wounded.
MacLaren died, and about the same time his cattle were houghed,
and his live stock destroyed in a barbarous manner.

  Robin Oig, after this feat---which one of his biographers represents
as the unhappy discharge of a gun---retired to his mother's house,
to boast that he had drawn the first blood in the quarrel aforesaid.
On the approach of troops, and a body of the Stewarts, who were
bound to take up the cause of their tenant, Robin Oig absconded, and
escaped all search.

  The doctor already mentioned, by name Callam MacInleister,
with James and Ronald, brothers to the actual perpetrator of the
murder, were brought to trial. But as they contrived to represent the
action as a rash deed committed by ``the daft callant Rob,'' to which
they were not accessory, the jury found their accession to the crime
was Not Proven. The alleged acts of spoil and violence on the MacLarens'
cattle, were also found to be unsupported by evidence. As it
was proved, however, that the two brothers, Ronald and James, were
held and reputed thieves, they were appointed to find caution to the
extent of <L>200, for their good behaviour for seven years.<*>

* Note D. Author's expedition against the MacLarens.


  The spirit of clanship was at that time, so strong---to which must
be added the wish to secure the adherence of stout, able-bodied, and,
as the Scotch phrase then went, _pretty_ men---that the representative
of the noble family of Perth condescended to act openly as patron of
the MacGregors, and appeared as such upon their trial. So at least
the author was informed by the late Robert MacIntosh, Esq., advocate.
The circumstance may, however, have occurred later than 1736---the
year in which this first trial took place.

  Robin Oig served for a time in the 42d regiment, and was present
at the battle of Fontenoy, where he was made prisoner and wounded.
He was exchanged, returned to Scotland, and obtained his discharge.
He afterwards appeared openly in the MacGregor's country; and,
notwithstanding his outlawry, married a daughter of Graham of
Drunkie, a gentleman of some property. His wife died a few years
afterwards.

  The insurrection of 1745 soon afterwards called the MacGregors
to arms. Robert MacGregor of Glencarnoch, generally regarded as
the chief of the whole name, and grandfather of Sir John, whom the
clan received in that character, raised a MacGregor regiment, with
which he joined the standard of the Chevalier. The race of Ciar
Mhor, however, affecting independence, and commanded by Glengyle
and his cousin James Roy MacGregor, did not join this kindred
corps, but united themselves to the levies of the titular Duke of Perth,
until William MacGregor Drummond of Bolhaldie, whom they
regarded as head of their branch, of Clan Alpine, should come over
from France. To cement the union after the Highland fashion,
James laid down the name of Campbell, and assumed that of Drummond,
in compliment to Lord Perth. He was also called James
Roy, after his father, and James Mhor, or Big James, from his
height. His corps, the relics of his father Rob's band, behaved with
great activity; with only twelve men he succeeded in surprising and
burning, for the second time, the fort at Inversnaid, constructed for
the express purpose of bridling the country of the MacGregors.

  What rank or command James MacGregor had, is uncertain.
He calls himself Major; and Chevalier Johnstone calls him Captain.
He must have held rank under Ghlune Dhu, his kinsman, but his
active and audacious character placed him above the rest of his
brethren. Many of his followers were unarmed; he supplied the.
want of guns and swords with scythe-blades set straight upon their
handles.

  At the battle of Prestonpans, James Roy distinguished himself.
``His company,'' says Chevalier Johnstone, ``did great execution with
their scythes.'' They cut the legs of the horses in two---the riders
through the middle of their bodies. MacGregor was brave and intrepid,
but at the same time, somewhat whimsical and singular.
When advancing to the charge with his company, he received five
wounds, two of them from balls that pierced his body through and
through. Stretched on the ground, with his head resting on his
hand, he called out loudly to the Highlanders of his company, ``My
lads, I am not dead. By G---, I shall see if any of you does not
do his duty.'' The victory, as is well known, was instantly obtained.

  In some curious letters of James Roy,<*> it appears that his thigh-bone

* Published in Blackwood's Magazine, vol. ii. p. 228.

was broken on this occasion, and that he, nevertheless, rejoined
the army with six companies, and was present at the battle of
Culloden. After that defeat, the clan MacGregor kept together in a
body, and did not disperse till they had returned into their own
country. They brought James Roy with them in a litter; and,
without being particularly molested, he was permitted to reside in the
MacGregor's country along with his brothers.

  James MacGregor Drummond was attainted for high treason with
persons of more importance. But it appears he had entered into
some communication with Government, as, in the letters quoted, he
mentions having obtained a pass from the Lord Justice-Clerk in
1747, which was a sufficient protection to him from the military.
The circumstance is obscurely stated in one of the letters already
quoted, but may perhaps, joined to subsequent incidents, authorise the
suspicion that James, like his father, could look at both sides of the
cards. As the confusion of the country subsided, the MacGregors,
like foxes which had baffled the hounds, drew back to their old haunts,
and lived unmolested. But an atrocious outrage, in which the sons
of Rob Roy were concerned, brought at length on the family the full
vengeance of the law.

  James Roy was a married man, and had fourteen children. But
his brother, Robin Oig, was now a widower; and it was resolved,
if possible, that he should make his fortune by carrying off and
marrying, by force if necessary, some woman of fortune from the
Lowlands.

  The imagination of the half-civilised Highlanders was less shocked
at the idea of this particular species of violence, than might be expected
from their general kindness to the weaker sex when they make
part of their own families. But all their views were tinged with
the idea that they lived in a state of war; and in such a state, from
the time of the siege of Troy to ``the moment when Previsa fell,''<*>

* Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto II.

the female captives are, to uncivilised victors, the most valuable part
of the booty---

	``The wealthy are slaughtered, the lovely are spared.''

  We need not refer to the rape of the Sabines, or to a similar
instance in the Book of Judges, for evidence that such deeds of
violence have been committed upon a large scale. Indeed, this sort
of enterprise was so common along the Highland line as to give rise
to a variety of songs and ballads.<*> The annals of Ireland, as well

* See Appendix, No. VI.

as those of Scotland, prove the crime to have been common in the more
lawless parts of both countries; and any woman who happened to
please a man of spirit who came of a good house, and possessed a
few chosen friends, and a retreat in the mountains, was not permitted
the alternative of saying him nay. What is more, it would seem
that the women themselves, most interested in the immunities of their
sex, were, among the lower classes, accustomed to regard such
marriages as that which is presently to be detailed as ``pretty
Fanny's way,'' or rather, the way of Donald with pretty Fanny.
It is not a great many years since a respectable woman, above the
lower rank of life, expressed herself very warmly to the author on his
taking the freedom to censure the behaviour of the MacGregors on the
occasion in question. She said ``that there was no use in giving a
bride too much choice upon such occasions; that the marriages were
the happiest long syne which had been done offhand.'' Finally, she
averred that her ``own mother had never seen her father till the night
he brought her up from the Lennox, with ten head of black cattle,
and there had not been a happier couple in the country.''

  James Drummond and his brethren having similar opinions with
the author's old acquaintance, and debating how they might raise the
fallen fortunes of their clan, formed a resolution to settle their
brother's fortune by striking up an advantageous marriage betwixt
Robin Oig and one Jean Key, or Wright, a young woman scarce
twenty years old, and who had been left about two months a widow
by the death of her husband. Her property was estimated at only
from 16,000 to 18,000 merks, but it seems to have been sufficient
temptation to these men to join in the commission of a great crime.

  This poor young victim lived with her mother in her own house at
Edinbilly, in the parish of Balfron and shire of Stirling. At this
place, in the night of 3d December 1750, the sons of Rob Roy, and
particularly James Mhor and Robin Oig, rushed into the house where
the object of their attack was resident, presented guns, swords, and
pistols to the males of the family, and terrified the women by threatening
to break open the doors if Jean Key was not surrendered, as,
said James Roy, ``his brother was a young fellow determined to make
his fortune.'' Having, at length, dragged the object of their lawless
purpose from her place of concealment, they tore her from her mother's
arms, mounted her on a horse before one of the gang, and carried
her off in spite, of her screams and cries, which were long heard after
the terrified spectators of the outrage could no longer see the party
retreat through the darkness. In her attempts to escape, the poor
young woman threw herself from the horse on which they had placed
her, and in so doing wrenched her side. They then laid her double
over the pummel of the saddle, and transported her through the
mosses and moors till the pain of the injury she had suffered in her
side, augmented by the uneasiness of her posture, made her consent to
sit upright. In the execution of this crime they stopped at more
houses than one, but none of the inhabitants dared interrupt their
proceedings. Amongst others who saw them was that classical and
accomplished scholar the late Professor William Richardson of
Glasgow, who used to describe as a terrible dream their violent and
noisy entrance into the house where he was then residing. The
Highlanders filled the little kitchen, brandishing their arms, demanding
what they pleased, and receiving whatever they demanded.
James Mhor, he said, was a tall, stern, and soldier-like man.
Robin Oig looked more gentle; dark, but yet ruddy in complexion---
a good-looking young savage. Their victim was so dishevelled in her
dress, and forlorn in her appearance and demeanour, that he could
hardly tell whether she was alive or dead.

  The gang carried the unfortunate woman to Rowardennan, where
they had a priest unscrupulous enough to read the marriage service,
while James Mhor forcibly held the bride up before him; and the
priest declared the couple man and wife, even while she protested
against the infamy of his conduct. Under the same threats of
violence, which had been all along used to enforce their scheme, the
poor victim was compelled to reside with the pretended husband who
was thus forced upon her. They even dared to carry her to the public
church of Balquhidder, where the officiating clergyman (the same who
had been Rob Roy's pensioner) only asked them if they were married
persons. Robert MacGregor answered in the affirmative; the terrified
female was silent.

  The country was now too effectually subjected to the law for this
vile outrage to be followed by the advantages proposed by the actors,
Military parties were sent out in every direction to seize the MacGregors,
who were for two or three weeks compelled to shift from one
place to another in the mountains, bearing the unfortunate Jean Key
along with them. In the meanwhile, the Supreme Civil Court issued
a warrant, sequestrating the property of Jean Key, or Wright, which
removed out of the reach of the actors in the violence the prize which
they expected. They had, however, adopted a belief of the poor
woman's spirit being so far broken that she would prefer submitting
to her condition, and adhering to Robin Oig as her husband, rather
than incur the disgrace, of appearing in such a cause in an open
court. It was, indeed, a delicate experiment; but their kinsman
Glengyle, chief of their immediate family, was of a temper averse to
lawless proceedings;<*> and the captive's friends having had recourse

* Such, at least, was his general character; for when James Mhor, while perpetrating
* the violence at Edinbilly, called out, in order to overawe opposition, that
* Glengyle was lying in the moor with a hundred men to patronise his enterprise,
* Jean Key told him he lied, since she was confident Glengyle would never countenance
* so scoundrelly a business.

to his advice, they feared that he would withdraw his protection if
they refused to place the prisoner at liberty.

  The brethren resolved, therefore, to liberate the unhappy woman, but
previously had recourse to every measure which should oblige her,
either from fear or otherwise, to own her marriage with Robin Oig.
The cailliachs (old Highland hags) administered drugs, which were
designed to have the effect of philtres, but were probably deleterious.
James Mhor at one time threatened, that if she did not acquiesce in
the match she would find that there were enough of men in the Highlands
to bring the heads of two of her uncles who were pursuing the
civil lawsuit. At another time he fell down on his knees, and confessed
he had been accessory to wronging her, but begged she would
not ruin his innocent wife and large family. She was made to
swear she would not prosecute the brethren for the offence they had
committed; and she was obliged by threats to subscribe papers which
were tendered to her, intimating that she was carried off in consequence
of her own previous request.

  James Mhor Drummond accordingly brought his pretended sister-in-law
to Edinburgh, where, for some little time, she was carried
about from one house to another, watched by those with whom she
was lodged, and never permitted to go out alone, or even to approach
the window. The Court of Session, considering the peculiarity of
the case, and regarding Jean Key as being still under some forcible
restraint, took her person under their own special charge, and appointed
her to reside in the family of Mr. Wightman of Mauldsley, a gentleman
of respectability, who was married to one of her near relatives.
Two sentinels kept guard on the house day and night---a precaution
not deemed superfluous when the MacGregors were in question. She
was allowed to go out whenever she chose, and to see whomsoever she
had a mind, as well as the men of law employed in the civil suit on
either side. When she first came to Mr. Wightman's house she
seemed broken down with affright and suffering, so changed in features
that her mother hardly knew her, and so shaken in mind that she
scarce could recognise her parent. It was long before she could be
assured that she was in perfect safely. But when she at length received
confidence in her situation, she made a judicial declaration,
or affidavit, telling the full history of her wrongs, imputing to fear
her former silence on the subject, and expressing her resolution not to
prosecute those who had injured her, in respect of the oath she had
been compelled to take. From the possible breach of such an oath,
though a compulsory one, she was relieved by the forms of Scottish
jurisprudence, in that respect more equitable than those of England,
prosecutions for crimes being always conducted at the expense and
charge of the King, without inconvenience or cost to the private party
who has sustained the wrong. But the unhappy sufferer did not
live to be either accuser or witness against those who had so deeply
injured her.

  James Mhor Drummond had left Edinburgh so soon as his half-dead
prey had been taken from his clutches. Mrs. Key, or Wright,
was released from her species of confinement there, and removed to
Glasgow, under the escort of Mr. Wightman. As they passed the
Hill of Shotts, her escort chanced to say, ``this is a very wild spot;
what if the MacGregors should come upon us?''---``God forbid!''
was her immediate answer, ``the very sight of them would kill me.''
She continued to reside at Glasgow, without venturing to return to
her own house at Edinbilly. Her pretended husband made some
attempts to obtain an interview with her, which she steadily rejected.
She died on the 4th October 1751. The information for the Crown
hints that her decease might be the consequence of the usage she received.
But there is a general report that she died of the small-pox.
In the meantime, James Mhor, or Drummond, fell into the hands
of justice. He was considered as the instigator of the whole affair.
Nay, the deceased had informed her friends that on the night of her
being carried off, Robin Oig, moved by her cries and tears, had partly
consented to let her return, when James came up with a pistol in his
hand, and, asking whether he was such a coward as to relinquish an
enterprise in which he had risked everything to procure him a fortune,
in a manner compelled his brother to persevere. James's trial took
place on 13th July 1752, and was conducted with the utmost fairness
and impartiality. Several witnesses, all of the MacGregor family,
swore that the marriage was performed with every appearance of
acquiescence on the woman's part; and three or four witnesses, one
of them sheriff-substitute of the county, swore she might have made
her escape if she wished, and the magistrate stated that he offered her
assistance if she felt desirous to do so. But when asked why he, in
his official capacity, did not arrest the MacGregors, he could only
answer, that he had not force sufficient to make the attempt.

  The judicial declarations of Jean Key, or Wright, stated the
violent manner in which she had been carried off, and they were confirmed
by many of her friends, from her private communications
with them, which the event of her death rendered good evidence.
Indeed, the fact of her abduction (to use a Scottish law term) was
completely proved by impartial witnesses. The unhappy woman
admitted that she had pretended acquiescence in her fate on several
occasions, because she dared not trust such as offered to assist her to
escape, not even the sheriff-substitute.

  The jury brought in a special verdict, finding that Jean Key, or
Wright, had been forcibly carried off from her house, as charged in
the indictment, and that the accused had failed to show that she was
herself privy and consenting to this act of outrage. But they found the
forcible marriage, and subsequent violence, was not proved; and also
found, in alleviation of the panel's guilt in the premises, that Jean
Key did afterwards acquiesce in her condition. Eleven of the jury,
using the names of other four who were absent, subscribed a letter to
the Court, stating it was their purpose and desire, by such special
verdict, to take the panel's case out of the class of capital crimes.

  Learned informations (written arguments) on the import of the
verdict, which must be allowed a very mild one in the circumstances,
were laid before the High Court of Justiciary. This point is very
learnedly debated in these pleadings by Mr. Grant, Solicitor for the
Crown, and the celebrated Mr. Lockhart, on the part of the prisoner;
but James Mhor did not wait the event of the Court's decision.

  He had been committed to the Castle of Edinburgh on some reports
that an escape would be attempted. Yet he contrived to achieve his
liberty even from that fortress. His daughter had the address to
enter the prison, disguised as a cobbler, bringing home work, as she
pretended. In this cobbler's dress her father quickly arrayed himself.
The wife and daughter of the prisoner were heard by the sentinels
scolding the supposed cobbler for having done his work ill, and the
man came out with his hat slouched over his eyes, and grumbling, as
if at the manner in which they had treated him. In this way the
prisoner passed all the guards without suspicion, and made his escape
to France. He was afterwards outlawed by the Court of Justiciary,
which proceeded to the trial of Duncan MacGregor, or Drummond,
his brother, 15th January 1753. The accused had unquestionably
been with the party which carried off Jean Key; but no evidence
being brought which applied to him individually and directly, the
jury found him not guilty---and nothing more is known of his fate.

  That of James MacGregor, who, from talent and activity, if not
by seniority, may be considered as head of the family, has been long
misrepresented; as it has been generally averred in Law Reports, as
well as elsewhere, that his outlawry was reversed, and that he returned
and died in Scotland. But the curious letters published in Blackwood's
Magazine for December 1817, show this to be an error. The
first of these documents is a petition to Charles Edward. It is dated
20th September 1753, and pleads his service to the cause of the Stuarts,
ascribing his exile to the persecution of the Hanoverian Government,
without any allusion to the affair of Jean Key, or the Court of
Justiciary. It is stated to be forwarded by MacGregor Drummond
of Bohaldie, whom, as before mentioned, James Mhor acknowledged
as his chief.

  The effect which this petition produced does not appear. Some
temporary relief was perhaps obtained. But, soon after, this daring
adventurer was engaged in a very dark intrigue against an exile of
his own country, and placed pretty nearly in his own circumstances.
A remarkable Highland story must be here briefly alluded to. Mr.
Campbell of Glenure, who had been named factor for Government on
the forfeited estates of Stewart of Ardshiel, was shot dead by an
assassin as he passed through the wood of Lettermore, after crossing
the ferry of Ballachulish. A gentleman, named James Stewart, a
natural brother of Ardshiel, the forfeited person, was tried as being
accessory to the murder, and condemned and executed upon very
doubtful evidence; the heaviest part of which only amounted to the
accused person having assisted a nephew of his own, called Allan
Breck Stewart, with money to escape after the deed was done. Not
satisfied with this vengeance, which was obtained in a manner little
to the honour of the dispensation of justice at the time, the friends of
the deceased Glenure were equally desirous to obtain possession of the
person of Allan Breck Stewart, supposed to be the actual homicide.
James Mhor Drummond was secretly applied to to trepan Stewart
to the sea-coast, and bring him over to Britain, to almost certain
death. Drummond MacGregor had kindred connections with the
slain Glenure; and, besides, the MacGregors and Campbells had been
friends of late, while the former clan and the Stewarts had, as we
have seen, been recently at feud; lastly, Robert Oig was now in
custody at Edinburgh, and James was desirous to do some service by
which his brother might be saved. The joint force of these motives
may, in James's estimation of right and wrong, have been some
vindication for engaging in such an enterprise, although, as must be
necessarily supposed, it could only be executed by treachery of a gross
description. MacGregor stipulated for a license to return to England,
promising to bring Allan Breck thither along with him. But the
intended victim was put upon his guard by two countrymen, who
suspected James's intentions towards him. He escaped from his
kidnapper, after, as MacGregor alleged, robbing his portmanteau of
some clothes and four snuff-boxes. Such a charge, it may be observed,
could scarce have been made unless the parties had been living on a
footing of intimacy, and had access to each other's baggage.

  Although James Drummond had thus missed his blow in the
matter of Allan Breck Stewart, he used his license to make a journey
to London, and had an interview, as he avers, with Lord Holdernesse.
His Lordship, and the Under-Secretary, put many puzzling questions
to him; and, as he says, offered him a situation, which would bring
him bread, in the Government's service. This office was advantageous
as to emolument; but in the opinion of James Drummond, his acceptance
of it would have been a disgrace to his birth, and have rendered
him a scourge to his country. If such a tempting offer and sturdy
rejection had any foundation in fact, it probably relates to some plan
of espionage on the Jacobites, which the Government might hope to
carry on by means of a man who, in the matter of Allan Breck
Stewart, had shown no great nicety of feeling. Drummond MacGregor
was so far accommodating as to intimate his willingness to act
in any station in which other gentlemen of honour served, but not
otherwise;---an answer which, compared with some passages of his
past life, may remind the reader of Ancient Pistol standing upon
his reputation.

  Having thus proved intractable, as he tells the story, to the proposals
of Lord Holdernesse, James Drummond was ordered instantly
to quit England.

  On his return to France, his condition seems to have been utterly
disastrous. He was seized with fever and gravel---ill, consequently,
in body, and weakened and dispirited in mind. Allan Breck Stewart
threatened to put him to death in revenge of the designs he had
harboured against him.<*> The Stewart clan were in the highest degree

* Note E. Allan Breck Stewart.

unfriendly to him: and his late expedition to London had been
attended with many suspicious circumstances, amongst which it was
not the slightest that he had kept his purpose secret from his chief
Bohaldie. His intercourse with Lord Holdernesse was suspicious.
The Jacobites were probably, like Don Bernard de Castel Blaze, in
Gil Blas, little disposed to like those who kept company with Alguazils.
Mac-Donnell of Lochgarry, a man of unquestioned honour, lodged
an information against James Drummond before the High Bailie of
Dunkirk, accusing him of being a spy, so that he found himself
obliged to leave that town and come to Paris, with only the sum of
thirteen livres for his immediate subsistence, and with absolute
beggary staring him in the face.

  We do not offer the convicted common thief, the accomplice in
MacLaren's assassination, or the manager of the outrage against Jean
Key, as an object of sympathy; but it is melancholy to look on the
dying struggles even of a wolf or a tiger, creatures of a species directly
hostile to our own; and, in like manner, the utter distress of this
man, whose faults may have sprung from a wild system of education,
working on a haughty temper, will not be perused without some pity.
In his last letter to Bohaldie, dated Paris, 25th September 1754, he
describes his state of destitution as absolute, and expresses himself
willing to exercise his talents in breaking or breeding horses, or as a
hunter or fowler, if he could only procure employment in such an
inferior capacity till something better should occur. An Englishman
may smile, but a Scotchman will sigh at the postscript, in which the
poor starving exile asks the loan of his patron's bagpipes that he
might play over some of the melancholy tunes of his own land. But
the effect of music arises, in a great degree, from association; and
sounds which might jar the nerves of a Londoner or Parisian, bring
back to the Highlander his lofty mountain, wild lake, and the deeds
of his fathers of the glen. To prove MacGregor's claim to our reader's
compassion, we here insert the last part of the letter alluded to.

  ``By all appearance I am born to suffer crosses, and it seems they're not
at an end; for such is my wretched case at present, that I do not know
earthly where to go or what to do, as I have no subsistence to keep body and
soul together. All that I have carried here is about 13 livres, and have
taken a room at my old quarters in Hotel St. Pierre, Rue de Cordier. I
send you the bearer, begging of you to let me know if you are to be in town
soon, that I may have the pleasure of seeing you, for I have none to make
application to but you alone; and all I want is, if it was possible you could
contrive where I could be employed without going to entire beggary. This
probably is a difficult point, yet unless it's attended with some difficulty,
you might think nothing of it, as your long head can bring about matters of
much more difficulty and consequence than this. If you'd disclose this
matter to your friend Mr. Butler, it's possible he might have some employ
wherein I could be of use, as I pretend to know as much of breiding and
riding of horse as any in France, besides that I am a good hunter either
on horseback or by footing. You may judge my reduction, as I propose
the meanest things to lend a turn till better cast up. I am sorry that I
am obliged to give you so much trouble, but I hope you are very well assured
that I am grateful for what you have done for me, and I leave you to judge
of my present wretched case. I am, and shall for ever continue, dear
Chief, your own to command,                               Jas. MacGregor.

``P. S.---If you'd send your pipes by the bearer, and all the other little
trinkims belonging to it, I would put them in order, and play some
melancholy tunes, which I may now with safety, and in real truth. Forgive
my not going directly to you, for if I could have borne the seeing of
yourself, I could not choose to be seen by my friends in my wretchedness,
nor by any of my acquaintance.''

  While MacGregor wrote in this disconsolate manner, Death, the
sad but sure remedy for mortal evils, and decider of all doubts and
uncertainties, was hovering near him. A memorandum on the back
of the letter says the writer died about a week after, in October 1754.

  It now remains to mention the fate of Robin Oig---for the other
sons of Rob Roy seem to have been no way distinguished. Robin was
apprehended by a party of military from the fort of Inversnaid, at
the foot of Gartmore, and was conveyed to Edinburgh 26th May
1753. After a delay, which may have been protracted by the negotiations
of James for delivering up Allan Breck Stewart upon promise
of his brother's life, Robin Oig, on the 24th of December 1753,
was brought to the bar of the High Court of Justiciary, and indicted
by the name of Robert MacGregor, alias Campbell, alias Drummond,
alias Robert Oig; and the evidence led against him resembled exactly
that which was brought by the Crown on the former trial. Robert's
case was in some degree more favourable than his brother's;---for,
though the principal in the forcible marriage, he had yet to plead
that he had shown symptoms of relenting while they were carrying
Jean Key off, which were silenced by the remonstrances and threats of
his harder natured brother James. A considerable space of time had
also elapsed since the poor woman died, which is always a strong circumstance
in favour of the accused; for there is a sort of perspective
in guilt, and crimes of an old date seem less odious than those of recent
occurrence. But notwithstanding these considerations, the jury,
in Robert's case, did not express any solicitude to save his life as they
had done that of James. They found him guilty of being art and
part in the forcible abduction of Jean Key from her own dwelling.<*>

* The Trials of the Sons of Rob Roy, with anecdotes of Himself and his Family,
* were published at Edinburgh, 1818, in 12mo.


  Robin Oig was condemned to death, and executed on the 14th
February 1754. At the place of execution he behaved with great
decency; and professing himself a Catholic, imputed all his misfortunes
to his swerving from the true church two or three years before.
He confessed the violent methods he had used to gain Mrs. Key, or
Wright, and hoped his fate would stop further proceedings against
his brother James.<*>

* James died near three months before, but his family might easily remain a
* long time without the news of that event.

  The newspapers observed that his body, after hanging the usual
time, was delivered to his friends to be carried to the Highlands.
To this the recollection of a venerable friend, recently taken from us
in the fulness of years, then a schoolboy at Linlithgow, enables the
author to add, that a much larger body of MacGregors than had
cared to advance to Edinburgh received the corpse at that place with
the coronach and other wild emblems of Highland mourning, and so
escorted it to Balquhidder. Thus we may conclude this long account
of Rob Roy and his family with the classic phrase,

		Ite. Conclamatum est.

  I have only to add, that I have selected the above from many
anecdotes of Rob Roy which were, and may still be, current among
the mountains where he flourished; but I am far from warranting
their exact authenticity. Clannish partialities were very apt to guide
the tongue and pen, as well as the pistol and claymore, and the
features of an anecdote are wonderfully softened or exaggerated as the
story is told by a MacGregor or a Campbell.


<text>

		ROB ROY

		CHAPTER FIRST.

     How have I sinn'd, that this affliction
     Should light so heavy on me? I have no more sons,
     And this no more mine own.---My grand curse
     Hang o'er his head that thus transformed thee!---Travel?
     I'll send my horse to travel next.
					Monsieur Thomas.

  You have requested me, my dear friend, to bestow some of that
leisure, with which Providence has blessed the decline of my
life, in registering the hazards and difficulties which attended
its commencement. The recollection of those adventures, as you
are pleased to term them, has indeed left upon my mind a
chequered and varied feeling of pleasure and of pain, mingled, I
trust, with no slight gratitude and veneration to the Disposer of
human events, who guided my early course through much risk
and labour, that the ease with which he has blessed my prolonged
life might seem softer from remembrance and contrast.
Neither is it possible for me to doubt, what you have often
affirmed, that the incidents which befell me among a people
singularly primitive in their government and manners, have
something interesting and attractive for those who love to hear
an old man's stories of a past age.

  Still, however, you must remember, that the tale told by one
friend, and listened to by another, loses half its charms when
committed to paper; and that the narratives to which you have
attended with interest, as heard from the voice of him to whom
they occurred, will appear less deserving of attention when perused
in the seclusion of your study. But your greener age and
robust constitution promise longer life than will, in all human
probability, be the lot of your friend. Throw, then, these sheets
into some secret drawer of your escritoire till we are separated
from each other's society by an event which may happen at any
moment, and which must happen within the course of a few---
a very few years. When we are parted in this world, to meet,
I hope, in a better, you will, I am well aware, cherish more than
it deserves the memory of your departed friend, and will find in
those details which I am now to commit to paper, matter for
melancholy, but not unpleasing reflection. Others bequeath to
the confidants of their bosom portraits of their external features
---I put into your hands a faithful transcript of my thoughts
and feelings, of my virtues and of my failings, with the assured
hope, that the follies and headstrong impetuosity of my youth
will meet the same kind construction and forgiveness which have
so often attended the faults of my matured age.

  One advantage, among the many, of addressing my Memoirs
(if I may give these sheets a name so imposing) to a dear and
intimate friend, is, that I may spare some of the details, in this
case unnecessary, with which I must needs have detained a
stranger from what I have to say of greater interest. Why
should I bestow all my tediousness upon you, because I have
you in my power, and have ink, paper, and time before me?
At the same time, I dare not promise that I may not abuse the
opportunity so temptingly offered me, to treat of myself and my
own concerns, even though I speak of circumstances as well
known to you as to myself. The seductive love of narrative,
when we ourselves are the heroes of the events which we tell,
often disregards the attention due to the time and patience of
the audience, and the best and wisest have yielded to its fascination.
I need only remind you of the singular instance evinced
by the form of that rare and original edition of Sully's Memoirs,
which you (with the fond vanity of a book-collector) insist upon
preferring to that which is reduced to the useful and ordinary
form of Memoirs, but which I think curious, solely as illustrating
how far so great a man as the author was accessible to the foible
of self-importance. If I recollect rightly, that venerable peer
and great statesman had appointed no fewer than four gentlemen
of his household to draw up the events of his life, under the title
of Memorials of the Sage and Royal Affairs of State, Domestic,
Political, and Military, transacted by Henry IV., and so forth.
These grave recorders, having made their compilation, reduced
the Memoirs containing all the remarkable events of their
master's life into a narrative, addressed to himself in _propria
persona._ And thus, instead of telling his own story, in the third
person, like Julius C<ae>sar, or in the first person, like most who,
in the hall, or the study, undertake to be the heroes of their
own tale, Sully enjoyed the refined, though whimsical pleasure,
of having the events of his life told over to him by his secretaries,
being himself the auditor, as he was also the hero, and
probably the author, of the whole book. It must have been a
great sight to have seen the ex-minister, as bolt upright as a
starched ruff and laced cassock could make him, seated in state
beneath his canopy, and listening to the recitation of his compilers,
while, standing bare in his presence, they informed him
gravely, ``Thus said the duke---so did the duke infer---such
were your grace's sentiments upon this important point---such
were your secret counsels to the king on that other emergency,''
---circumstances, all of which must have been much better known
to their hearer than to themselves, and most of which could only
be derived from his own special communication.

  My situation is not quite so ludicrous as that of the great
Sully, and yet there would be something whimsical in Frank
Osbaldistone giving Will Tresham a formal account of his birth,
education, and connections in the world. I will, therefore,
wrestle with the tempting spirit of P. P., Clerk of our Parish,
as I best may, and endeavour to tell you nothing that is familiar
to you already. Some things, however, I must recall to your
memory, because, though formerly well known to you, they may
have been forgotten through lapse of time, and they afford the
ground-work of my destiny.

  You must remember my father well; for, as your own was a
member of the mercantile house, you knew him from infancy.
Yet you hardly saw him in his best days, before age and infirmity
had quenched his ardent spirit of enterprise and speculation.
He would have been a poorer man, indeed, but perhaps as happy,
had he devoted to the extension of science those active energies,
and acute powers of observation, for which commercial pursuits
found occupation. Yet, in the fluctuations of mercantile speculation,
there is something captivating to the adventurer, even
independent of the hope of gain. He who embarks on that
fickle sea, requires to possess the skill of the pilot and the
fortitude of the navigator, and after all may be wrecked and
lost, unless the gales of fortune breathe in his favour. This
mixture of necessary attention and inevitable hazard,---the
frequent and awful uncertainty whether prudence shall overcome
fortune, or fortune baffle the schemes of prudence, affords
full occupation for the powers, as well as for the feelings of the
mind, and trade has all the fascination of gambling without its
moral guilt.

  Early in the 18th century, when I (Heaven help me) was a
youth of some twenty years old, I was summoned suddenly from
Bourdeaux to attend my father on business of importance. I
shall never forget our first interview. You recollect the brief,
abrupt, and somewhat stern mode in which he was wont to
communicate his pleasure to those around him. Methinks I see
him even now in my mind's eye;---the firm and upright figure,
---the step, quick and determined,---the eye, which shot so keen
and so penetrating a glance,---the features, on which care had
already planted wrinkles,---and hear his language, in which he
never wasted word in vain, expressed in a voice which had
sometimes an occasional harshness, far from the intention of the
speaker.

  When I dismounted from my post-horse, I hastened to my
father's apartment. He was traversing it with an air of composed
and steady deliberation, which even my arrival, although
an only son unseen for four years, was unable to discompose.
I threw myself into his arms. He was a kind, though not a
fond father, and the tear twinkled in his dark eye, but it was
only for a moment.

  ``Dubourg writes to me that he is satisfied with you, Frank.''

  ``I am happy, sir''------

  ``But I have less reason to be so'' he added, sitting down
at his bureau.

  ``I am sorry, sir''---

  ``Sorry and happy, Frank, are words that, on most occasions,
signify little or nothing---Here is your last letter.''

  He took it out from a number of others tied up in a parcel of
red tape, and curiously labelled and filed. There lay my poor
epistle, written on the subject the nearest to my heart at the
time, and couched in words which I had thought would work
compassion if not conviction,---there, I say, it lay, squeezed up
among the letters on miscellaneous business in which my father's
daily affairs had engaged him. I cannot help smiling internally
when I recollect the mixture of hurt vanity, and wounded feeling,
with which I regarded my remonstrance, to the penning of which
there had gone, I promise you, some trouble, as I beheld it
extracted from amongst letters of advice, of credit, and all the
commonplace lumber, as I then thought them, of a merchant's
correspondence. Surely, thought I, a letter of such importance
(I dared not say, even to myself, so well written) deserved a
separate place, as well as more anxious consideration, than those
on the ordinary business of the counting-house.

  But my father did not observe my dissatisfaction, and would
not have minded it if he had. He proceeded, with the letter
in his hand. ``This, Frank, is yours of the 21st ultimo, in
which you advise me (reading from my letter), that in the most
important business of forming a plan, and adopting a profession
for life, you trust my paternal goodness will hold you entitled
to at least a negative voice; that you have insuperable---ay,
insuperable is the word---I wish, by the way, you would write
a more distinct current hand---draw a score through the tops of
your t's, and open the loops of your l's---insuperable objections
to the arrangements which I have proposed to you. There is
much more to the same effect, occupying four good pages of
paper, which a little attention to perspicuity and distinctness of
expression might have comprised within as many lines. For,
after all, Frank, it amounts but to this, that you will not do as
I would have you.''

  ``That I cannot, sir, in the present instance, not that I will
not.''

  ``Words avail very little with me, young man,'' said my
father, whose inflexibility always possessed the air of the most
perfect calmness of self-possession. ``_Can not_ may be a more
civil phrase than _will not,_ but the expressions are synonymous
where there is no moral impossibility. But I am not a friend
to doing business hastily; we will talk this matter over after
dinner.---Owen!''

  Owen appeared, not with the silver locks which you were
used to venerate, for he was then little more than fifty; but he
had the same, or an exactly similar uniform suit of light-brown
clothes,---the same pearl-grey silk stockings,---the same stock,
with its silver buckle,---the same plaited cambric ruffles, drawn
down over his knuckles in the parlour, but in the counting-house
carefully folded back under the sleeves, that they might remain
unstained by the ink which he daily consumed;---in a word,
the same grave, formal, yet benevolent cast of features, which
continued to his death to distinguish the head clerk of the great
house of Osbaldistone and Tresham.

  ``Owen,'' said my father, as the kind old man shook me
affectionately by the hand, ``you must dine with us to-day,
and hear the news Frank has brought us from our friends in
Bourdeaux.''

  Owen made one of his stiff bows of respectful gratitude; for,
in those days, when the distance between superiors and inferiors
was enforced in a manner to which the present times are
strangers, such an invitation was a favour of some little consequence.

  I shall long remember that dinner-party. Deeply affected by
feelings of anxiety, not unmingled with displeasure, I was unable
to take that active share in the conversation which my father
seemed to expect from me; and I too frequently gave unsatisfactory
answers to the questions with which he assailed me.
Owen, hovering betwixt his respect for his patron, and his love
for the youth he had dandled on his knee in childhood, like the
timorous, yet anxious ally of an invaded nation, endeavoured at
every blunder I made to explain my no-meaning, and to cover
my retreat; man<oe>uvres which added to my father's pettish displeasure,
and brought a share of it upon. my kind advocate,
instead of protecting me. I had not, while residing in the
house of Dubourg, absolutely conducted myself like

	A clerk condemn'd his father's soul to cross,
	Who penn'd a stanza when he should engross;---

but, to say truth, I had frequented the counting-house no more
than I had thought absolutely necessary to secure the good
report of the Frenchman, long a correspondent of our firm,
to whom my father had trusted for initiating me into the
mysteries of commerce. In fact, my principal attention had
been dedicated to literature and manly exercises. My father
did not altogether discourage such acquirements, whether mental
or personal. He had too much good sense not to perceive, that
they sate gracefully upon every man, and he was sensible that
they relieved and dignified the character to which he wished me
to aspire. But his chief ambition was, that I should succeed
not merely to his fortune, but to the views and plans by which
he imagined he could extend and perpetuate the wealthy inheritance
which he designed for me.

  Love of his profession was the motive which he chose should
be most ostensible, when he urged me to tread the same path;
but he had others with which I only became acquainted at a
later period. Impetuous in his schemes, as well as skilful and
daring, each new adventure, when successful, became at once
the incentive, and furnished the means, for farther speculation.
It seemed to be necessary to him, as to an ambitious conqueror,
to push on from achievement to achievement, without stopping
to secure, far less to enjoy, the acquisitions which he made.
Accustomed to see his whole fortune trembling in the scales of
chance, and dexterous at adopting expedients for casting the
balance in his favour, his health and spirits and activity seemed
ever to increase with the animating hazards on which he staked
his wealth; and he resembled a sailor, accustomed to brave the
billows and the foe, whose confidence rises on the eve of tempest
or of battle. He was not, however, insensible to the changes
which increasing age or supervening malady might make in his
own constitution; and was anxious in good time to secure in
me an assistant, who might take the helm when his hand grew
weary, and keep the vessel's way according to his counsel and
instruction. Paternal affection, as well as the furtherance of
his own plans, determined him to the same conclusion. Your
father, though his fortune was vested in the house, was only a
sleeping partner, as the commercial phrase goes; and Owen,
whose probity and skill in the details of arithmetic rendered his
services invaluable as a head clerk, was not possessed either of
information or talents sufficient to conduct the mysteries of the
principal management. If my father were suddenly summoned
from life, what would become of the world of schemes which he
had formed, unless his son were moulded into a commercial
Hercules, fit to sustain the weight when relinquished by the
falling Atlas? and what would become of that son himself, if,
a stranger to business of this description, he found himself at
once involved in the labyrinth of mercantile concerns, without
the clew of knowledge necessary for his extraction? For all
these reasons, avowed and secret, my father was determined I
should embrace his profession; and when he was determined,
the resolution of no man was more immovable. I, however,
was also a party to be consulted, and, with something of his own
pertinacity, I had formed a determination precisely contrary.
It may, I hope, be some palliative for the resistance which,
on this occasion, I offered to my father's wishes, that I did not
fully understand upon what they were founded, or how deeply
his happiness was involved in them. Imagining myself certain
of a large succession in future, and ample maintenance in the
meanwhile, it never occurred to me that it might be necessary,
in order to secure these blessings, to submit to labour and limitations
unpleasant to my taste and temper. I only saw in my
father's proposal for my engaging in business, a desire that I
should add to those heaps of wealth which he had himself
acquired; and imagining myself the best judge of the path to
my own happiness, I did not conceive that I should increase
that happiness by augmenting a fortune which I believed was
already sufficient, and more than sufficient, for every use,
comfort, and elegant enjoyment.

  Accordingly, I am compelled to repeat, that my time at
Bourdeaux had not been spent as my father had proposed to
himself. What he considered as the chief end of my residence
in that city, I had postponed for every other, and would (had
I dared) have neglected altogether. Dubourg, a favoured
and benefited correspondent of our mercantile house, was too
much of a shrewd politician to make such reports to the head
of the firm concerning his only child, as would excite the displeasure
of both; and he might also, as you will presently hear,
have views of selfish advantage in suffering me to neglect the
purposes for which I was placed under his charge. My conduct
was regulated by the bounds of decency and good order, and
thus far he had no evil report to make, supposing him so disposed;
but, perhaps, the crafty Frenchman would have been
equally complaisant, had I been in the habit of indulging worse
feelings than those of indolence and aversion to mercantile
business. As it was, while I gave a decent portion of my time
to the commercial studies he recommended, he was by no means
envious of the hours which I dedicated to other and more
classical attainments, nor did he ever find fault with me for
dwelling upon Corneille and Boileau, in preference to Postlethwayte
(supposing his folio to have then existed, and Monsieur
Dubourg able to have pronounced his name), or Savary, or any
other writer on commercial economy. He had picked up somewhere
a convenient expression, with which he rounded off every
letter to his correspondent,---``I was all,'' he said, ``that a father
could wish.''

  My father never quarrelled with a phrase, however frequently
repeated, provided it seemed to him distinct and expressive;
and Addison himself could not have found expressions so satisfactory
to him as, ``Yours received, and duly honoured the bills
enclosed, as per margin.''

  Knowing, therefore, very well what he desired me to, be, Mr.
Osbaldistone made no doubt, from the frequent repetition of
Dubourg's favourite phrase, that I was the very thing he wished
to see me; when, in an evil hour, he received my letter, containing
my eloquent and detailed apology for declining a place in
the firm, and a desk and stool in the corner of the dark counting-house
in Crane Alley, surmounting in height those of Owen, and
the other clerks, and only inferior to the tripod of my father
himself. All was wrong from that moment. Dubourg's reports
became as suspicious as if his bills had been noted for dishonour.
I was summoned home in all haste, and received in the manner
I have already communicated to you.



		CHAPTER SECOND.

    I begin shrewdly to suspect the young man of a terrible taint---Poetry;
    with which idle disease if he be infected, there's no hope of him in a
    state course. _Actum est_ of him for a commonwealth's man, if he go
    to't in rhyme once.
				Ben Jonson's _Bartholomew Fair._

  My father had, generally speaking, his temper under complete
self-command, and his anger rarely indicated itself by words, except
in a sort of dry testy manner, to those who had displeased
him. He never used threats, or expressions of loud resentment.
All was arranged with him on system, and it was his practice to
do ``the needful'' on every occasion, without wasting words about
it. It was, therefore, with a bitter smile that he listened to my
imperfect answers concerning the state of commerce in France,
and unmercifully permitted me to involve myself deeper and
deeper in the mysteries of agio, tariffs, tare and tret; nor can I
charge my memory with his having looked positively angry, until
he found me unable to explain the exact effect which the depreciation
of the louis d'or had produced on the negotiation of bills
of exchange. ``The most remarkable national occurrence in my
time,'' said my father (who nevertheless had seen the Revolution)---
``and he knows no more of it than a post on the quay!''

  ``Mr. Francis,'' suggested Owen, in his timid and conciliatory
manner, ``cannot have forgotten, that by an _arret_ of the King of
France, dated 1st May 1700, it was provided that the _porteur,_
within ten days after due, must make demand''------

  ``Mr. Francis,'' said my father, interrupting him, ``will, I
dare say, recollect for the moment anything you are so kind as
hint to him. But, body o' me! how Dubourg could permit him!
Hark ye, Owen, what sort of a youth is Clement Dubourg, his
nephew there, in the office, the black-haired lad?''

  ``One of the cleverest clerks, sir, in the house; a prodigious
young man for his time,'' answered Owen; for the gaiety and
civility of the young Frenchman had won his heart.

  ``Ay, ay, I suppose _he_ knows something of the nature of exchange.
Dubourg was determined I should have one youngster
at least about my hand who understood business. But I see his
drift, and he shall find that I do so when he looks at the balance-sheet.
Owen, let Clement's salary be paid up to next quarter-day,
and let him ship himself back to Bourdeaux in his father's
ship, which is clearing out yonder.''

  ``Dismiss Clement Dubourg, sir?'' said Owen, with a faltering
voice.

  ``Yes, sir, dismiss him instantly; it is enough to have a stupid
Englishman in the counting-house to make blunders, without
keeping a sharp Frenchman there to profit by them.''

  I had lived long enough in the territories of the _Grand Monarque_
to contract a hearty aversion to arbitrary exertion of authority,
even if it had not been instilled into me with my earliest
breeding; and I could not refrain from interposing, to prevent
an innocent and meritorious young man from paying the penalty
of having acquired that proficiency which my father had desired
for me.

  ``I beg pardon, sir,'' when Mr. Osbaldistone had done speaking;
``but I think it but just, that if I have been negligent of my
studies, I should pay the forfeit myself. I have no reason to
charge Monsieur Dubourg with having neglected to give me
opportunities of improvement, however little I may have profited
by them; and with respect to Monsieur Clement Dubourg''------

  ``With respect to him, and to you, I shall take the measures
which I see needful,'' replied my father; ``but it is fair in you,
Frank, to take your own blame on your own shoulders---very
fair, that cannot be denied.---I cannot acquit old Dubourg,''
he said, looking to Owen, ``for having merely afforded Frank
the means of useful knowledge, without either seeing that he
took advantage of them or reporting to me if he did not. You
see, Owen, he has natural notions of equity becoming a British
merchant.''

  ``Mr. Francis,'' said the head-clerk, with his usual formal inclination
of the head, and a slight elevation of his right hand,
which he had acquired by a habit of sticking his pen behind his
ear before he spoke---``Mr. Francis seems to understand the fundamental
principle of all moral accounting, the great ethic rule
of three. Let A do to B, as he would have B do to him; the
product will give the rule of conduct required.''

  My father smiled at this reduction of the golden rule to arithmetical
form, but instantly proceeded.

  ``All this signifies nothing, Frank; you have been throwing
away your time like a boy, and in future you must learn to live
like a man. I shall put you under Owen's care for a few months,
to recover the lost ground.''

  I was about to reply, but Owen looked at me with such a supplicatory
and warning gesture, that I was involuntarily silent.

  ``We will then,'' continued my father, ``resume the subject of
mine of the 1st ultimo, to which you sent me an answer which
was unadvised and unsatisfactory. So now, fill your glass, and
push the bottle to Owen.''

  Want of courage---of audacity if you will---was never my
failing. I answered firmly, ``I was sorry that my letter was
unsatisfactory, unadvised it was not; for I had given the proposal
his goodness had made me, my instant and anxious attention,
and it was with no small pain that I found myself obliged
to decline it.''

  My father bent his keen eye for a moment on me, and instantly
withdrew it. As he made no answer, I thought myself
obliged to proceed, though with some hesitation, and he only
interrupted me by monosyllables.---``It is impossible, sir, for
me to have higher respect for any character than I have for the
commercial, even were it not yours.''

  ``Indeed!''

  ``It connects nation with nation, relieves the wants, and
contributes to the wealth of all; and is to the general commonwealth
of the civilised world what the daily intercourse of ordinary
life is to private society, or rather, what air and food are
to our bodies.''

  ``Well, sir?''

  ``And yet, sir, I find myself compelled to persist in declining
to adopt a character which I am so ill qualified to support.''

  ``I will take care that you acquire the qualifications necessary.
You are no longer the guest and pupil of Dubourg.''

  ``But, my dear sir, it is no defect of teaching which I plead,
but my own inability to profit by instruction.''

  ``Nonsense.---Have you kept your journal in the terms I
desired?''

  ``Yes, sir.''

  ``Be pleased to bring it here.''

  The volume thus required was a sort of commonplace book,
kept by my father's recommendation, in which I had been
directed to enter notes of the miscellaneous information which I
had acquired in the course of my studies. Foreseeing that he
would demand inspection of this record, I had been attentive to
transcribe such particulars of information as he would most likely
be pleased with, but too often the pen had discharged the task
without much correspondence with the head. And it had also
happened, that, the book being the receptacle nearest to my
hand, I had occasionally jotted down memoranda which had little
regard to traffic. I now put it into my father's hand, devoutly
hoping he might light on nothing that would increase his displeasure
against me. Owen's face, which had looked something
blank when the question was put, cleared up at my ready answer,
and wore a smile of hope, when I brought from my apartment,
and placed before my father, a commercial-looking volume,
rather broader than it was long, having brazen clasps and a
binding of rough calf. This looked business-like, and was encouraging
to my benevolent well-wisher. But he actually smiled
with pleasure as he heard my father run over some part of the
contents, muttering his critical remarks as he went on.

  ``_---Brandies---Barils and barricants, also tonneaux.---At Nantz
29---Velles to the barique at Cognac and Rochelle 27---At Bourdeaux
32_---Very right, Frank---_Duties on tonnage and custom-house,
see Saxby's Tables_---That's not well; you should have
transcribed the passage; it fixes the thing in the memory---_Reports
outward and inward---Corn debentures---Over-sea Cockets---
Linens---Isingham---Gentish---Stock-fish---Titling---Cropling---
Lub-fish._ You should have noted that they are all, nevertheless
to be entered as titlings.---How many inches long is a
titling?''

  Owen, seeing me at fault, hazarded a whisper, of which I fortunately
caught the import.

  ``Eighteen inches, sir.''------

  ``And a lub-fish is twenty-four---very right. It is important
to remember this, on account of the Portuguese trade---But
what have we here?---_Bourdeaux founded in the year---Castle
of the Trompette---Palace of Gallienus_---Well, well, that's very
right too.---This is a kind of waste-book, Owen, in which all the
transactions of the day,---emptions, orders, payments, receipts,
acceptances, draughts, commissions, and advices,---are entered
miscellaneously.''

  ``That they may be regularly transferred to the day-book and
ledger,'' answered Owen: ``I am glad Mr. Francis is so methodical.''

  I perceived myself getting so fast into favour, that I began
to fear the consequence would be my father's more obstinate perseverance
in his resolution that I must become a merchant; and
as I was determined on the contrary, I began to wish I had not,
to use my friend Mr. Owen's phrase, been so methodical. But I
had no reason for apprehension on that score; for a blotted piece
of paper dropped out of the book, and, being taken up by my
father, he interrupted a hint from Owen, on the propriety of
securing loose memoranda with a little paste, by exclaiming,
``To the memory of Edward the Black Prince---What's all this?
---verses!---By Heaven, Frank, you are a greater blockhead than
I supposed you!''

  My father, you must recollect, as a man of business, looked
upon the labour of poets with contempt; and as a religious man,
and of the dissenting persuasion, he considered all such pursuits
as equally trivial and profane. Before you condemn him, you
must recall to remembrance how too many of the poets in the
end of the seventeenth century had led their lives and employed
their talents. The sect also to which my father belonged, felt, or
perhaps affected, a puritanical aversion to the lighter exertions
of literature. So that many causes contributed to augment the
unpleasant surprise occasioned by the ill-timed discovery of this
unfortunate copy of verses. As for poor Owen, could the bob-wig
which he then wore have uncurled itself, and stood on end with
horror, I am convinced the morning's labour of the friseur would
have been undone, merely by the excess of his astonishment at
this enormity. An inroad on the strong-box, or an erasure in the
ledger, or a mis-summation in a fitted account, could hardly
have surprised him more disagreeably. My father read the lines
sometimes with an affectation of not being able to understand the
sense---sometimes in a mouthing tone of mock heroic---always
with an emphasis of the most bitter irony, most irritating to the
nerves of an author.

	``O for the voice of that wild horn,
	  On Fontarabian echoes borne,
		The dying hero's call,
	  That told imperial Charlemagne,
	  How Paynim sons of swarthy Spain
		Had wrought his champion's fall.

  ``_Fontarabian echoes!_'' continued my father, interrupting himself;
``the Fontarabian Fair would have been more to the purpose---
_Paynim!_---What's Paynim?---Could you not say Pagan
as well, and write English at least, if you must needs write nonsense?---

	``Sad over earth and ocean sounding.
	  And England's distant cliffs astounding.
		Such are the notes should say
	How Britain's hope, and France's fear,
	Victor of Cressy and Poitier,
		In Bordeaux dying lay.''

  ``Poitiers, by the way, is always spelt with an _s,_ and I know
no reason why orthography should give place to rhyme.---

	`` `Raise my faint head, my squires,' he said,
	  `And let the casement be display'd,
		That I may see once more
	  The splendour of the setting sun
	  Gleam on thy mirrored wave, Garonne,
		And Blaye's empurpled shore.

  ``_Garonne_ and _sun_ is a bad rhyme. Why, Frank, you do not
even understand the beggarly trade you have chosen.

	`` `Like me, he sinks to Glory's sleep,
	  His fall the dews of evening steep,
		As if in sorrow shed,
	  So soft shall fall the trickling tear,
	  When England's maids and matrons hear
		Of their Black Edward dead.

	`` `And though my sun of glory set,
	  Nor France, nor England, shall forget
		The terror of my name;
	  And oft shall Britain's heroes rise,
	  New planets in these southern skies,
		Through clouds of blood and flame.'

  ``A cloud of flame is something new---Good-morrow, my
masters all, and a merry Christmas to you!---Why, the bellman
writes better lines.'' He then tossed the paper from him with an
air of superlative contempt, and concluded---``Upon my credit,
Frank, you are a greater blockhead than I took you for.''

  What could I say, my dear Tresham? There I stood, swelling
with indignant mortification, while my father regarded me with
a calm but stern look of scorn and pity; and poor Owen, with
uplifted hands and eyes, looked as striking a picture of horror as
if he had just read his patron's name in the Gazette. At length
I took courage to speak, endeavouring that my tone of voice
should betray my feelings as little as possible.

  ``I am quite aware, sir, how ill qualified I am to play the conspicuous
part in society you have destined for me; and, luckily,
I am not ambitious of the wealth I might acquire. Mr. Owen
would be a much more effective assistant.'' I said this in some
malice, for I considered Owen as having deserted my cause a
little too soon.

  ``Owen!'' said my father---``The boy is mad---actually insane.
And, pray, sir, if I may presume to inquire, having coolly turned
me over to Mr. Owen (although I may expect more attention from
any one than from my son), what may your own sage projects
be?''

  ``I should wish, sir,'' I replied, summoning up my courage,
``to travel for two or three years, should that consist with your
pleasure; otherwise, although late, I would willingly spend the
same time at Oxford or Cambridge.''

  ``In the name of common sense! was the like ever heard?---
to put yourself to school among pedants and Jacobites, when you
might be pushing your fortune in the world! Why not go to
Westminster or Eton at once, man, and take to Lilly's Grammar
and Accidence, and to the birch, too, if you like it?''

  ``Then, sir, if you think my plan of improvement too late, I
would willingly return to the Continent.''

  ``You have already spent too much time there to little purpose,
Mr. Francis.''

  ``Then I would choose the army, sir, in preference to any
other active line of life.''

  ``Choose the d---l!'' answered my father, hastily, and then
checking himself---``I profess you make me as great a fool as
you are yourself. Is he not enough to drive one mad, Owen?''
---Poor Owen shook his head, and looked down. ``Hark ye,
Frank,'' continued my father, ``I will cut all this matter very
short. I was at your age when my father turned me out of
doors, and settled my legal inheritance on my younger brother. I
left Osbaldistone Hall on the back of a broken-down hunter, with
ten guineas in my purse. I have never crossed the threshold
again, and I never will. I know not, and I care not, if my fox-hunting
brother is alive, or has broken his neck; but he has
children, Frank, and one of them shall be my son if you cross me
farther in this matter.''

  ``You will do your pleasure,'' I answered---rather, I fear, with
more sullen indifference than respect, ``with what is your own.''

  ``Yes, Frank, what I have _is_ my own, if labour in getting, and
care in augmenting, can make a right of property; and no drone
shall feed on my honeycomb. Think on it well: what I have said
is not without reflection, and what I resolve upon I will execute.''

  ``Honoured sir!---dear sir!'' exclaimed Owen, tears rushing
into his eyes, ``you are not wont to be in such a hurry in transacting
business of importance. Let Mr. Francis run up the balance
before you shut the account; he loves you, I am sure; and when
he puts down his filial obedience to the _per contra,_ I am sure his
objections will disappear.''

  ``Do you think I will ask him twice,'' said my father, sternly,
``to be my friend, my assistant, and my confidant?---to be a partner
of my cares and of my fortune?---Owen, I thought you had
known me better.''

  He looked at me as if he meant to add something more, but
turned instantly away, and left the room abruptly. I was, I own,
affected by this view of the case, which had not occurred to me;
and my father would probably have had little reason to complain
of me, had he commenced the discussion with this argument.

  But it was too late. I had much of his own obduracy of resolution,
and Heaven had decreed that my sin should be my
punishment, though not to the extent which my transgression
merited. Owen, when we were left alone, continued to look at me
with eyes which tears from time to time moistened, as if to discover,
before attempting the task of intercessor, upon what point
my obstinacy was most assailable. At length he began, with
broken and disconcerted accents,---``O L---d, Mr. Francis!---Good
Heavens, sir!---My stars, Mr. Osbaldistone!---that I should ever
have seen this day---and you so young a gentleman, sir!---For
the love of Heaven! look at both sides of the account---think
what you are going to lose---a noble fortune, sir---one of the
finest houses in the City, even under the old firm of Tresham
and Trent, and now Osbaldistone and Tresham---You might
roll in gold, Mr. Francis---And, my dear young Mr. Frank, if
there was any particular thing in the business of the house which
you disliked, I would'' (sinking his voice to a whisper) ``put it
in order for you termly, or weekly, or daily, if you will---Do, my
dear Mr. Francis, think of the honour due to your father, that
your days may be long in the land.''

  ``I am much obliged to you, Mr. Owen,'' said I---``very much
obliged indeed; but my father is best judge how to bestow his
money. He talks of one of my cousins: let him dispose of his
wealth as he pleases---I will never sell my liberty for gold.''

  ``Gold, sir?---I wish you saw the balance-sheet of profits at
last term---It was in five figures---five figures to each partner's
sum total, Mr. Frank---And all this is to go to a Papist, and a
north-country booby, and a disaffected person besides---It will
break my heart, Mr. Francis, that have been toiling more like a
dog than a man, and all for love of the firm. Think how it will
sound, Osbaldistone, Tresham, and Osbaldistone---or perhaps,
who knows'' (again lowering his voice), ``Osbaldistone, Osbaldistone,
and Tresham, for our Mr. Osbaldistone can buy them all
out.''

  ``But, Mr. Owen, my cousin's name being also Osbaldistone,
the name of the company will sound every bit as well in your
ears.''

  ``O fie upon you, Mr. Francis, when you know how well I
love you---Your cousin, indeed!---a Papist, no doubt, like his
father, and a disaffected person to the Protestant succession---
that's another item, doubtless.''

  ``There are many very good men Catholics, Mr. Owen,'' rejoined
I.

  As Owen was about to answer with unusual animation, my
father re-entered the apartment.

  ``You were right,'' he said, ``Owen, and I was wrong; we
will take more time to think over this matter.---Young man,
you will prepare to give me an answer on this important subject
this day month.''

  I bowed in silence, sufficiently glad of a reprieve, and trusting
it might indicate some relaxation in my father's determination.

  The time of probation passed slowly, unmarked by any
accident whatever. I went and came, and disposed of my time
as I pleased, without question or criticism on the part of my
father. Indeed, I rarely saw him, save at meal-times, when he
studiously avoided a discussion which you may well suppose I
was in no hurry to press onward. Our conversation was of the
news of the day, or on such general topics as strangers discourse
upon to each other; nor could any one have guessed, from its
tenor, that there remained undecided betwixt us a dispute of
such importance. It haunted me, however, more than once,
like the nightmare. Was it possible he would keep his word,
and disinherit his only son in favour of a nephew whose very
existence he was not perhaps quite certain of? My grandfather's
conduct, in similar circumstances, boded me no good,
had I considered the matter rightly. But I had formed an
erroneous idea of my father's character, from the importance
which I recollected I maintained with him and his whole family
before I went to France. I was not aware that there are men
who indulge their children at an early age, because to do so
interests and amuses them, and who can yet be sufficiently
severe when the same children cross their expectations at a
more advanced period. On the contrary, I persuaded myself,
that all I had to apprehend was some temporary alienation of
affection---perhaps a rustication of a few weeks, which I thought
would rather please me than otherwise, since it would give me
an opportunity of setting about my unfinished version of Orlando
Furioso, a poem which I longed to render into English verse.
I suffered this belief to get such absolute possession of my
mind, that I had resumed my blotted papers, and was busy
in meditation on the oft-recurring rhymes of the Spenserian
stanza, when I heard a low and cautious tap at the door of my
apartment. ``Come in,'' I said, and Mr. Owen entered. So
regular were the motions and habits of this worthy man, that
in all probability this was the first time he had ever been in
the second story of his patron's house, however conversant with
the first; and I am still at a loss to know in what manner he
discovered my apartment.

  ``Mr. Francis,'' he said, interrupting my expression of surprise
and pleasure at seeing, him, ``I do not know if I am doing well
in what I am about to say---it is not right to speak of what
passes in the compting-house out of doors---one should not tell,
as they say, to the post in the warehouse, how many lines there
are in the ledger. But young Twineall has been absent from
the house for a fortnight and more, until two days since.''

  ``Very well, my dear sir, and how does that concern us?''

  ``Stay, Mr. Francis;---your father gave him a private commission;
and I am sure he did not go down to Falmouth about
the pilchard affair; and the Exeter business with Blackwell and
Company has been settled; and the mining people in Cornwall,
Trevanion and Treguilliam, have paid all they are likely to pay;
and any other matter of business must have been put through
my books:---in short, it's my faithful belief that Twineall has
been down in the north.''

  ``Do you really suppose?'' so said I, somewhat startled.

  ``He has spoken about nothing, sir, since he returned, but
his new boots, and his Ripon spurs, and a cockfight at York---
it's as true as the multiplication-table. Do, Heaven bless you,
my dear child, make up your mind to please your father, and
to be a man and a merchant at once.''

  I felt at that instant a strong inclination to submit, and to
make Owen happy by requesting him to tell my father that I
resigned myself to his disposal. But pride---pride, the source
of so much that is good and so much that is evil in our course
of life, prevented me. My acquiescence stuck in my throat;
and while I was coughing to get it up, my father's voice summoned
Owen. He hastily left the room, and the opportunity
was lost.

  My father was methodical in everything. At the very same
time of the day, in the same apartment, and with the same
tone and manner which he had employed an exact month before,
he recapitulated the proposal he had made for taking me into
partnership, and assigning me a department in the counting-house,
and requested to have my final decision. I thought at
the time there was something unkind in this; and I still think
that my father's conduct was injudicious. A more conciliatory
treatment would, in all probability, have gained his purpose.
As it was, I stood fast, and, as respectfully as I could, declined
the proposal he made to me. Perhaps---for who can judge
of their own heart?---I felt it unmanly to yield on the first
summons, and expected farther solicitation, as at least a pretext
for changing my mind. If so, I was disappointed; for my
father turned coolly to Owen, and only said, `` You see it is as
I told you.---Well, Frank'' (addressing me), ``you are nearly
of age, and as well qualified to judge of what will constitute
your own happiness as you ever are like to be; therefore, I
say no more. But as I am not bound to give in to your plans,
any more than you are compelled to submit to mine, may I
ask to know if you have formed any which depend on my
assistance?''

  I answered, not a little abashed, ``That being bred to no
profession, and having no funds of my own, it was obviously
impossible for me to subsist without some allowance from my
father; that my wishes were very moderate; and that I hoped
my aversion for the profession to which he had designed me,
would not occasion his altogether withdrawing his paternal
support and protection.''

  ``That is to say, you wish to lean on my arm, and yet to
walk your own way? That can hardly be, Frank;---however,
I suppose you mean to obey my directions, so far as they do
not cross your own humour?''

  I was about to speak---``Silence, if you please,'' he continued.
``Supposing this to be the case, you will instantly set out for
the north of England, to pay your uncle a visit, and see the
state of his family. I have chosen from among his sons (he
has six, I believe) one who, I understand, is most worthy to fill
the place I intended for you in the counting-house. But some
farther arrangements may be necessary, and for these your
presence may be requisite. You shall have farther instructions
at Osbaldistone Hall, where you will please to remain until you
hear from me. Everything will be ready for your departure
to-morrow morning.''

  With these words my father left the apartment.

  ``What does all this mean, Mr. Owen?'' said I to my sympathetic
friend, whose countenance wore a cast of the deepest
dejection.

  ``You have ruined yourself, Mr. Frank, that's all. When
your father talks in that quiet determined manner, there will
be no more change in him than in a fitted account.''

  And so it proved; for the next morning, at five o'clock, I
found myself on the road to York, mounted on a reasonably
good horse, and with fifty guineas in my pocket; travelling, as
it would seem, for the purpose of assisting in the adoption of a
successor to myself in my father's house and favour, and, for
aught I knew, eventually in his fortune also.



        	CHAPTER THIRD.

	The slack sail shifts from side to side,
	The boat, untrimm'd, admits the tide,
	Borne down, adrift, at random tost,
	The oar breaks short, the rudder's lost.
					Gay's _Fables._

  I have tagged with rhyme and blank verse the subdivisions of
this important narrative, in order to seduce your continued
attention by powers of composition of stronger attraction than
my own. The preceding lines refer to an unfortunate navigator,
who daringly unloosed from its moorings a boat, which he was
unable to manage, and thrust it off into the full tide of a
navigable river. No schoolboy, who, betwixt frolic and defiance,
has executed a similar rash attempt, could feel himself,
when adrift in a strong current, in a situation more awkward
than mine, when I found myself driving, without a compass, on
the ocean of human life. There had been such unexpected ease
in the manner in which my father slipt a knot, usually esteemed
the strongest which binds society together, and suffered me to
depart as a sort of outcast from his family, that it strangely
lessened the confidence in my own personal accomplishments,
which had hitherto sustained me. Prince Prettyman, now a
prince, and now a fisher's son, had not a more awkward sense
of his degradation. We are so apt, in our engrossing egotism,
to consider all those accessories which are drawn around us by
prosperity, as pertaining and belonging to our own persons, that
the discovery of our unimportance, when left to our own proper
resources, becomes inexpressibly mortifying. As the hum of
London died away on my ear, the distant peal of her steeples
more than once sounded to my ears the admonitory ``Turn
again,'' erst heard by her future Lord Mayor; and when I
looked back from Highgate on her dusky magnificence, I felt as
if I were leaving behind me comfort, opulence, the charms of
society, and all the pleasures of cultivated life.

  But the die was cast. It was, indeed, by no means probable
that a late and ungracious compliance with my father's wishes
would have reinstated me in the situation which I had lost.
On the contrary, firm and strong of purpose as he himself was,
he might rather have been disgusted than conciliated by my
tardy and compulsory acquiescence in his desire that I should
engage in commerce. My constitutional obstinacy came also to
my aid, and pride whispered how poor a figure I should make,
when an airing of four miles from London had blown away
resolutions formed during a month's serious deliberation. Hope,
too, that never forsakes the young and hardy, lent her lustre to
my future prospects. My father could not be serious in the
sentence of foris-familiation, which he had so unhesitatingly
pronounced. It must be but a trial of my disposition, which,
endured with patience and steadiness on my part, would raise
me in his estimation, and lead to an amicable accommodation
of the point in dispute between us. I even settled in my own
mind how far I would concede to him, and on what articles of
our supposed treaty I would make a firm stand; and the result
was, according to my computation, that I was to be reinstated
in my full rights of filiation, paying the easy penalty of some
ostensible compliances to atone for my past rebellion.

  In the meanwhile, I was lord of my person, and experienced
that feeling of independence which the youthful bosom receives
with a thrilling mixture of pleasure and apprehension. My
purse, though by no means amply replenished, was in a situation
to supply all the wants and wishes of a traveller. I had been
accustomed, while at Bourdeaux, to act as my own valet; my
horse was fresh, young, and active, and the buoyancy of my
spirits soon surmounted the melancholy reflections with which
my journey commenced.

  I should have been glad to have journeyed upon a line of road
better calculated to afford reasonable objects of curiosity, or a
more interesting country, to the traveller. But the north road
was then, and perhaps still is, singularly deficient in these
respects; nor do I believe you can travel so far through Britain
in any other direction without meeting more of what is worthy
to engage the attention. My mental ruminations, notwithstanding
my assumed confidence, were not always of an unchequered
nature. The Muse too,---the very coquette who had led me
into this wilderness,---like others of her sex, deserted me in my
utmost need, and I should have been reduced to rather an uncomfortable
state of dulness, had it not been for the occasional
conversation of strangers who chanced to pass the same way.
But the characters whom I met with were of a uniform and
uninteresting description. Country parsons, jogging homewards
after a visitation; farmers, or graziers, returning from a distant
market; clerks of traders, travelling to collect what was due to
their masters, in provincial towns; with now and then an officer
going down into the country upon the recruiting service, were,
at this period, the persons by whom the turnpikes and tapsters
were kept in exercise. Our speech, therefore, was of tithes and
creeds, of beeves and grain, of commodities wet and dry, and
the solvency of the retail dealers, occasionally varied by the
description of a siege, or battle, in Flanders, which, perhaps,
the narrator only gave me at second hand. Robbers, a fertile and
alarming theme, filled up every vacancy; and the names of the
Golden Farmer, the Flying Highwayman, Jack Needham, and
other Beggars' Opera heroes, were familiar in our mouths as
household words. At such tales, like children closing their
circle round the fire when the ghost story draws to its climax,
the riders drew near to each other, looked before and behind
them, examined the priming of their pistols, and vowed to stand
by each other in case of danger; an engagement which, like
other offensive and defensive alliances, sometimes glided out of
remembrance when there was an appearance of actual peril.

  Of all the fellows whom I ever saw haunted by terrors of this
nature, one poor man, with whom I travelled a day and a half,
afforded me most amusement. He had upon his pillion a very
small, but apparently a very weighty portmanteau, about the
safety of which he seemed particularly solicitous; never trusting
it out of his own immediate care, and uniformly repressing the
officious zeal of the waiters and ostlers, who offered their services
to carry it into the house. With the same precaution he
laboured to conceal, not only the purpose of his journey, and
his ultimate place of destination, but even the direction of each
day's route. Nothing embarrassed him more than to be asked
by any one, whether be was travelling upwards or downwards,
or at what stage he intended to bait. His place of rest for the
night he scrutinised with the most anxious care, alike avoiding
solitude, and what he considered as bad neighbourhood; and at
Grantham, I believe, he sate up all night to avoid sleeping in
the next room to a thick-set squinting fellow, in a black wig,
and a tarnished gold-laced waistcoat. With all these cares on
his mind, my fellow traveller, to judge by his thews and sinews,
was a man who might have set danger at defiance with as much
impunity as most men. He was strong and well built; and,
judging from his gold-laced hat and cockade, seemed to have
served in the army, or, at least, to belong to the military profession
in one capacity or other. His conversation also, though
always sufficiently vulgar, was that of a man of sense, when the
terrible bugbears which haunted his imagination for a moment
ceased to occupy his attention. But every accidental association
recalled them. An open heath, a close plantation, were alike
subjects of apprehension; and the whistle of a shepherd lad was
instantly converted into the signal of a depredator. Even the
sight of a gibbet, if it assured him that one robber was safely
disposed of by justice, never failed to remind him how many
remained still unhanged.

  I should have wearied of this fellow's company, had I not
been still more tired of my own thoughts. Some of the marvellous
stories, however, which he related, had in themselves a
cast of interest, and another whimsical point of his peculiarities
afforded me the occasional opportunity of amusing myself at his
expense. Among his tales, several of the unfortunate travellers
who fell among thieves, incurred that calamity from associating
themselves on the road with a well-dressed and entertaining
stranger, in whose company they trusted to find protection as
well as amusement; who cheered their journey with tale and
song, protected them against the evils of over-charges and false
reckonings, until at length, under pretext of showing a near
path over a desolate common, he seduced his unsuspicious
victims from the public road into some dismal glen, where,
suddenly blowing his whistle, he assembled his comrades from
their lurking-place, and displayed himself in his true colours---
the captain, namely, of the band of robbers to whom his unwary
fellow-travellers had forfeited their purses, and perhaps their
lives. Towards the conclusion of such a tale, and when my
companion had wrought himself into a fever of apprehension by
the progress of his own narrative, I observed that he usually
eyed me with a glance of doubt and suspicion, as if the possibility
occurred to him, that he might, at that very moment, be in
company with a character as dangerous as that which his tale
described. And ever and anon, when such suggestions pressed
themselves on the mind of this ingenious self-tormentor, he
drew off from me to the opposite side of the high-road, looked
before, behind, and around him, examined his arms, and seemed
to prepare himself for flight or defence, as circumstances might
require.

  The suspicion implied on such occasions seemed to me only
momentary, and too ludicrous to be offensive. There was, in
fact, no particular reflection on my dress or address, although I
was thus mistaken for a robber. A man in those days might
have all the external appearance of a gentleman, and yet turn
out to be a highwayman. For the division of labour in every
department not having then taken place so fully as since that
period, the profession of the polite and accomplished adventurer,
who nicked you out of your money at White's, or bowled
you out of it at Marylebone, was often united with that of the
professed ruffian, who on Bagshot Heath, or Finchley Common,
commanded his brother beau to stand and deliver. There was
also a touch of coarseness and hardness about the manners of
the times, which has since, in a great degree, been softened and
shaded away. It seems to me, on recollection, as if desperate
men had less reluctance then than now to embrace the most
desperate means of retrieving their fortune. The times were
indeed past, when Anthony-a-Wood mourned over the execution
of two men, goodly in person, and of undisputed courage and
honour, who were hanged without mercy at Oxford, merely
because their distress had driven them to raise contributions on
the highway. We were still farther removed from the days of
``the mad Prince and Poins.'' And yet, from the number of
unenclosed and extensive heaths in the vicinity of the metropolis,
and from the less populous state of remote districts, both
were frequented by that species of mounted highwaymen, that
may possibly become one day unknown, who carried on their
trade with something like courtesy; and, like Gibbet in the
Beaux Stratagem, piqued themselves on being the best behaved
men on the road, and on conducting themselves with all appropriate
civility in the exercise of their vocation. A young man,
therefore, in my circumstances was not entitled to be highly
indignant at the mistake which confounded him with this
worshipful class of depredators.

  Neither was I offended. On the contrary, I found amusement
in alternately exciting, and lulling to sleep, the suspicions
of my timorous companion, and in purposely so acting as still
farther to puzzle a brain which nature and apprehension had
combined to render none of the clearest. When my free conversation
had lulled him into complete security, it required only
a passing inquiry concerning the direction of his journey, or the
nature of the business which occasioned it, to put his suspicions
once more in arms. For example, a conversation on the comparative
strength and activity of our horses, took such a turn
as follows:---

  ``O sir,'' said my companion, ``for the gallop I grant you;
but allow me to say, your horse (although he is a very handsome
gelding---that must be owned,) has too little bone to be a
good roadster. The trot, sir'' (striking his Bucephalus with
his spurs),---``the trot is the true pace for a hackney; and, were
we near a town, I should like to try that daisy-cutter of yours
upon a piece of level road (barring canter) for a quart of claret
at the next inn.''

  ``Content, sir,'' replied I; ``and here is a stretch of ground
very favourable.''

  ``Hem, ahem,'' answered my friend with hesitation; ``I
make it a rule of travelling never to blow my horse between
stages; one never knows what occasion he may have to put him
to his mettle: and besides, sir, when I said I would match you,
I meant with even weight; you ride four stone lighter than I.''

  ``Very well; but I am content to carry weight. Pray, what
may that portmanteau of yours weigh?''

  ``My p-p-portmanteau?'' replied he, hesitating---``O very
little---a feather---just a few shirts and stockings.''

  ``I should think it heavier, from its appearance. I'll hold
you the quart of claret it makes the odds betwixt our weight.''

  ``You're mistaken, sir, I assure you---quite mistaken,'' replied
my friend, edging off to the side of the road, as was his wont
on these alarming occasions.

  ``Well, I am willing to venture the wine; or, I will bet you
ten pieces to five, that I carry your portmanteau on my croupe,
and out-trot you into the bargain.''

  This proposal raised my friend's alarm to the uttermost. His
nose changed from the natural copper hue which it had acquired
from many a comfortable cup of claret or sack, into a palish
brassy tint, and his teeth chattered with apprehension at the
unveiled audacity of my proposal, which seemed to place the
barefaced plunderer before him in full atrocity. As he faltered
for an answer, I relieved him in some degree by a question
concerning a steeple, which now became visible, and an observation
that we were now so near the village as to run no risk
from interruption on the road. At this his countenance cleared
up: but I easily perceived that it was long ere he forgot a
proposal which seemed to him so fraught with suspicion as that
which I had now hazarded. I trouble you with this detail of
the man's disposition, and the manner in which I practised
upon it, because, however trivial in themselves, these particulars
were attended by an important influence on future incidents
which will occur in this narrative. At the time, this person's
conduct only inspired me with contempt, and confirmed me in
an opinion which I already entertained, that of all the propensities
which teach mankind to torment themselves, that of
causeless fear is the most irritating, busy, painful, and pitiable.



			CHAPTER FOURTH.

	The Scots are poor, cries surly English pride.
	True is the charge; nor by themselves denied.
	Are they not, then, in strictest reason clear,
	Who wisely come to mend their fortunes here?
						Churchill.

  There was, in the days of which I write, an old-fashioned
custom on the English road, which I suspect is now obsolete,
or practised only by the vulgar. Journeys of length being
made on horseback, and, of course, by brief stages, it was usual
always to make a halt on the Sunday in some town where the
traveller might attend divine service, and his horse have the
benefit of the day of rest, the institution of which is as humane
to our brute labourers as profitable to ourselves. A counterpart
to this decent practice, and a remnant of old English hospitality,
was, that the landlord of a principal inn laid aside his character
of a publican on the seventh day, and invited the guests who
chanced to be within his walls to take a part of his family beef
and pudding. This invitation was usually complied with by all
whose distinguished rank did not induce them to think compliance
a derogation; and the proposal of a bottle of wine after
dinner, to drink the landlord's health, was the only recompense
ever offered or accepted.

  I was born a citizen of the world, and my inclination led me
into all scenes where my knowledge of mankind could be
enlarged; I had, besides, no pretensions to sequester myself on
the score of superior dignity, and therefore seldom failed to
accept of the Sunday's hospitality of mine host, whether of
the Garter, Lion, or Bear. The honest publican, dilated into
additional consequence by a sense of his own importance, while
presiding among the guests on whom it was his ordinary duty
to attend, was in himself an entertaining, spectacle; and around
his genial orbit, other planets of inferior consequence performed
their revolutions. The wits and humorists, the distinguished
worthies of the town or village, the apothecary, the attorney,
even the curate himself, did not disdain to partake of this
hebdomadal festivity. The guests, assembled from different
quarters, and following different professions, formed, in language,
manners, and sentiments, a curious contrast to each other, not
indifferent to those who desired to possess a knowledge of
mankind in its varieties.

  It was on such a day, and such an occasion, that my timorous
acquaintance and I were about to grace the board of the ruddy-faced
host of the Black Bear, in the town of Darlington, and
bishopric of Durham, when our landlord informed us, with a
sort of apologetic tone, that there was a Scotch gentleman to
dine with us.

  ``A gentleman!---what sort of a gentleman?'' said my companion
somewhat hastily---his mind, I suppose, running on
gentlemen of the pad, as they were then termed.

  ``Why, a Scotch sort of a gentleman, as I said before,''
returned mine host; ``they are all gentle, ye mun know, though
they ha' narra shirt to back; but this is a decentish hallion---
a canny North Briton as e'er cross'd Berwick Bridge---I trow
he's a dealer in cattle.''

  ``Let us have his company, by all means,'' answered my
companion; and then, turning to me, he gave vent to the
tenor of his own reflections. ``I respect the Scotch, sir; I
love and honour the nation for their sense of morality. Men
talk of their filth and their poverty: but commend me to
sterling honesty, though clad in rags, as the poet saith. I have
been credibly assured, sir, by men on whom I can depend, that
there was never known such a thing in Scotland as a highway
robbery.''

  ``That's because they have nothing to lose,'' said mine host,
with the chuckle of a self-applauding wit.

  ``No, no, landlord,'' answered a strong deep voice behind
him, ``it's e'en because your English gaugers and supervisors,<*>

* The introduction of gaugers, supervisors, and examiners, was one of
* the great complaints of the Scottish nation, though a natural consequence
* of the Union.

that you have sent down benorth the Tweed, have taen up the
trade of thievery over the heads of the native professors.''

  ``Well said, Mr. Campbell,'' answered the landlord; ``I did
not think thoud'st been sae near us, mon. But thou kens
I'm an outspoken Yorkshire tyke. And how go markets in
the south?''

  ``Even in the ordinar,'' replied Mr. Campbell; ``wise folks
buy and sell, and fools are bought and sold.''

  ``But wise men and fools both eat their dinner,'' answered
our jolly entertainer; ``and here a comes---as prime a buttock
of beef as e'er hungry men stuck fork in.''

  So saying, he eagerly whetted his knife, assumed his seat of
empire at the head of the board, and loaded the plates of his
sundry guests with his good cheer.

  This was the first time I had heard the Scottish accent, or,
indeed, that I had familiarly met with an individual of the
ancient nation by whom it was spoken. Yet, from an early
period, they had occupied and interested my imagination. My
father, as is well known to you, was of an ancient family in
Northumberland, from whose seat I was, while eating the aforesaid
dinner, not very many miles distant. The quarrel betwixt
him and his relatives was such, that he scarcely ever mentioned
the race from which he sprung, and held as the most contemptible
species of vanity, the weakness which is commonly termed
family pride. His ambition was only to be distinguished
as William Osbaldistone, the first, at least one of the first,
merchants on Change; and to have proved him the lineal
representative of William the Conqueror would have far less
flattered his vanity than the hum and bustle which his approach
was wont to produce among the bulls, bears, and brokers of
Stock-alley. He wished, no doubt, that I should remain in
such ignorance of my relatives and descent as might insure a
correspondence between my feelings and his own on this subject.
But his designs, as will happen occasionally to the wisest, were,
in some degree at least, counteracted by a being whom his
pride would never have supposed of importance adequate to
influence them in any way. His nurse, an old Northumbrian
woman, attached to him from his infancy, was the only person
connected with his native province for whom he retained any
regard; and when fortune dawned upon him, one of the first
uses which he made of her favours, was to give Mabel Rickets
a place of residence within his household. After the death of
my mother, the care of nursing me during my childish illnesses,
and of rendering all those tender attentions which infancy
exacts from female affection, devolved on old Mabel. Interdicted
by her master from speaking to him on the subject of
the heaths, glades, and dales of her beloved Northumberland,
she poured herself forth to my infant ear in descriptions of the
scenes of her youth, and long narratives of the events which
tradition declared to have passed amongst them. To these I
inclined my ear much more seriously than to graver, but less
animated instructors. Even yet, methinks I see old Mabel, her
head slightly agitated by the palsy of age, and shaded by a
close cap, as white as the driven snow,---her face wrinkled, but
still retaining the healthy tinge which it had acquired in rural
labour---I think I see her look around on the brick walls and
narrow street which presented themselves before our windows,
as she concluded with a sigh the favourite old ditty, which I
then preferred, and---why should I not tell the truth?---which
I still prefer to all the opera airs ever minted by the capricious
brain of an Italian Mus. D.---

	Oh, the oak, the ash, and the bonny ivy tree,
	They flourish best at home in the North Countrie!

Now, in the legends of Mabel, the Scottish nation was ever
freshly remembered, with all the embittered declamation of
which the narrator was capable. The inhabitants of the opposite
frontier served in her narratives to fill up the parts
which ogres and giants with seven-leagued boots occupy in the
ordinary nursery tales. And how could it be otherwise? Was
it not the Black Douglas who slew with his own hand the heir
of the Osbaldistone family the day after he took possession of
his estate, surprising him and his vassals while solemnizing a
feast suited to the occasion? Was it not Wat the Devil, who
drove all the year-old hogs off the braes of Lanthorn-side, in
the very recent days of my grandfather's father? And had we
not many a trophy, but, according to old Mabel's version of
history, far more honourably gained, to mark our revenge of
these wrongs? Did not Sir Henry Osbaldistone, fifth baron of
the name, carry off the fair maid of Fairnington, as Achilles did
his Chryseis and Briseis of old, and detain her in his fortress
against all the power of her friends, supported by the most
mighty Scottish chiefs of warlike fame? And had not our
swords shone foremost at most of those fields in which England
was victorious over her rival? All our family renown was
acquired---all our family misfortunes were occasioned---by the
northern wars.

  Warmed by such tales, I looked upon the Scottish people
during my childhood, as a race hostile by nature to the more
southern inhabitants of this realm; and this view of the matter
was not much corrected by the language which my father
sometimes held with respect to them. He had engaged in
some large speculations concerning oak-woods, the property of
Highland proprietors, and alleged, that he found them much
more ready to make bargains, and extort earnest of the purchase-money,
than punctual in complying on their side with
the terms of the engagements. The Scottish mercantile men,
whom he was under the necessity of employing as a sort of
middle-men on these occasions, were also suspected by my
father of having secured, by one means or other, more than
their own share of the profit which ought to have accrued. In
short, if Mabel complained of the Scottish arms in ancient
times, Mr. Osbaldistone inveighed no less against the arts of
these modern Sinons; and between them, though without any
fixed purpose of doing so, they impressed my youthful mind
with a sincere aversion to the northern inhabitants of Britain,
as a people bloodthirsty in time of war, treacherous during
truce, interested, selfish, avaricious, and tricky in the business
of peaceful life, and having few good qualities, unless there
should be accounted such, a ferocity which resembled courage
in martial affairs, and a sort of wily craft which supplied the
place of wisdom in the ordinary commerce of mankind. In
justification, or apology, for those who entertained such prejudices,
I must remark, that the Scotch of that period were
guilty of similar injustice to the English, whom they branded
universally as a race of purse-proud arrogant epicures. Such
seeds of national dislike remained between the two countries,
the natural consequences of their existence as separate and
rival states. We have seen recently the breath of a demagogue
blow these sparks into a temporary flame, which I sincerely
hope is now extinguished in its own ashes. <*>

* This seems to have been written about the time of Wilkes and
* Liberty.


  It was, then, with an impression of dislike, that I contemplated
the first Scotchman I chanced to meet in society. There
was much about him that coincided with my previous conceptions.
He had the hard features and athletic form said to
be peculiar to his country, together with the national intonation
and slow pedantic mode of expression, arising from a desire to
avoid peculiarities of idiom or dialect. I could also observe the
caution and shrewdness of his country in many of the observations
which he made, and the answers which he returned. But
I was not prepared for the air of easy self-possession and superiority
with which he seemed to predominate over the company
into which he was thrown, as it were by accident. His dress
was as coarse as it could be, being still decent; and, at a time
when great expense was lavished upon the wardrobe, even of
the lowest who pretended to the character of gentleman, this
indicated mediocrity of circumstances, if not poverty. His
conversation intimated that he was engaged in the cattle trade,
no very dignified professional pursuit. And yet, under these
disadvantages, he seemed, as a matter of course, to treat the
rest of the company with the cool and condescending politeness
which implies a real, or imagined, superiority over those towards
whom it is used. When he gave his opinion on any
point, it was with that easy tone of confidence used by those
superior to their society in rank or information, as if what he
said could not be doubted, and was not to be questioned. Mine
host and his Sunday guests, after an effort or two to support
their consequence by noise and bold averment, sunk gradually
under the authority of Mr. Campbell, who thus fairly possessed
himself of the lead in the conversation. I was tempted, from
curiosity, to dispute the ground with him myself, confiding in
my knowledge of the world, extended as it was by my residence
abroad, and in the stores with which a tolerable education
had possessed my mind. In the latter respect he offered no
competition, and it was easy to see that his natural powers
had never been cultivated by education. But I found him
much better acquainted than I was myself with the present
state of France, the character of the Duke of Orleans, who
had just succeeded to the regency of that kingdom, and that
of the statesmen by whom he was surrounded; and his
shrewd, caustic, and somewhat satirical remarks, were those
of a man who had been a close observer of the affairs of that
country.

  On the subject of politics, Campbell observed a silence and
moderation which might arise from caution. The divisions of
Whig and Tory then shook England to her very centre, and a
powerful party, engaged in the Jacobite interest, menaced the
dynasty of Hanover, which had been just established on the
throne. Every alehouse resounded with the brawls of contending
politicians, and as mine host's politics were of that
liberal description which quarrelled with no good customer,
his hebdomadal visitants were often divided in their opinion as
irreconcilably as if he had feasted the Common Council. The
curate and the apothecary, with a little man, who made no
boast of his vocation, but who, from the flourish and snap of
his fingers, I believe to have been the barber, strongly espoused
the cause of high church and the Stuart line. The excise-man,
as in duty bound, and the attorney, who looked to some
petty office under the Crown, together with my fellow-traveller,
who seemed to enter keenly into the contest, staunchly supported
the cause of King George and the Protestant succession.
Dire was the screaming---deep the oaths! Each party
appealed to Mr. Campbell, anxious, it seemed, to elicit his
approbation.

  ``You are a Scotchman, sir; a gentleman of your country
must stand up for hereditary right,'' cried one party.

  ``You are a Presbyterian,'' assumed the other class of disputants;
``you cannot be a friend to arbitrary power.''

  ``Gentlemen,'' said our Scotch oracle, after having gained,
with some difficulty, a moment's pause, ``I havena much dubitation
that King George weel deserves the predilection of his
friends; and if he can haud the grip he has gotten, why, doubtless,
he may made the gauger, here, a commissioner of the
revenue, and confer on our friend, Mr. Quitam, the preferment
of solicitor-general; and he may also grant some good deed or
reward to this honest gentleman who is sitting upon his portmanteau,
which he prefers to a chair: And, questionless, King
James is also a grateful person, and when he gets his hand in
play, he may, if he be so minded, make this reverend gentleman
archprelate of Canterbury, and Dr. Mixit chief physician to his
household, and commit his royal beard to the care of my friend
Latherum. But as I doubt mickle whether any of the competing
sovereigns would give Rob Campbell a tass of aquavit<ae>, if
he lacked it, I give my vote and interest to Jonathan Brown,
our landlord, to be the King and Prince of Skinkers, conditionally
that he fetches us another bottle as good as the last.''

  This sally was received with general applause, in which the
landlord cordially joined; and when he had given orders for
fulfilling the condition on which his preferment was to depend,
he failed not to acquaint them, ``that, for as peaceable a gentleman
as Mr. Campbell was, he was, moreover, as bold as a lion
---seven highwaymen had he defeated with his single arm, that
beset him as he came from Whitson-Tryste.''

  ``Thou art deceived, friend Jonathan,'' said Campbell, interrupting
him; ``they were but barely two, and two cowardly
loons as man could wish to meet withal.''

  ``And did you, sir, really,'' said my fellow-traveller, edging
his chair (I should have said his portmanteau) nearer to Mr.
Campbell, ``really and actually beat two highwaymen yourself
alone?''

  ``In troth did I, sir,'' replied Campbell; ``and I think it nae
great thing to make a sang about.''

  ``Upon my word, sir,'' replied my acquaintance, ``I should be
happy to have the pleasure of your company on my journey---
I go northward, sir.''

  This piece of gratuitous information concerning the route he
proposed to himself, the first I had heard my companion bestow
upon any one, failed to excite the corresponding confidence of
the Scotchman.

  ``We can scarce travel together,'' he replied, drily. ``You,
sir, doubtless, are well mounted, and I for the present travel
on foot, or on a Highland shelty, that does not help me much
faster forward.''

  So saying, he called for a reckoning for the wine, and throwing
down the price of the additional bottle which he had himself
introduced, rose as if to take leave of us. My companion made
up to him, and taking him by the button, drew him aside into
one of the windows. I could not help overhearing him pressing
something---I supposed his company upon the journey, which
Mr. Campbell seemed to decline.

  ``I will pay your charges, sir,'' said the traveller, in a tone
as if he thought the argument should bear down all opposition.

  ``It is quite impossible,'' said Campbell, somewhat contemptuously;
``I have business at Rothbury.''

  ``But I am in no great hurry; I can ride out of the way, and
never miss a day or so for good company.''

  ``Upon my faith, sir,'' said Campbell, ``I cannot render you
the service you seem to desiderate. I am,'' he added, drawing
himself up haughtily, ``travelling on my own private affairs,
and if ye will act by my advisement, sir, ye will neither unite
yourself with an absolute stranger on the road, nor communicate
your line of journey to those who are asking ye no questions
about it.'' He then extricated his button, not very ceremoniously,
from the hold which detained him, and coming up to me
as the company were dispersing, observed, ``Your friend, sir, is
too communicative, considering the nature of his trust.''

  ``That gentleman,'' I replied, looking towards the traveller,
``is no friend of mine, but an acquaintance whom I picked up
on the road. I know neither his name nor business, and you
seem to be deeper in his confidence than I am.''

  ``I only meant,'' he replied hastily, ``that he seems a thought
rash in conferring the honour of his company on those who
desire it not.''

  ``The gentleman,'' replied I, ``knows his own affairs best, and
I should be sorry to constitute myself a judge of them in any
respect.''

  Mr. Campbell made no farther observation, but merely
wished me a good journey, and the party dispersed for the
evening.

  Next day I parted company with my timid companion, as I
left the great northern road to turn more westerly in the direction
of Osbaldistone Manor, my uncle's seat. I cannot tell
whether he felt relieved or embarrassed by my departure, considering
the dubious light in which he seemed to regard me.
For my own part, his tremors ceased to amuse me, and, to say
the truth, I was heartily glad to get rid of him.



			CHAPTER FIFTH.

	How melts my beating heart as I behold
	Each lovely nymph, our island's boast and pride,
	Push on the generous steed, that sweeps along
	O'er rough, o'er smooth, nor heeds the steepy hill,
	Nor falters in the extended vale below!
						The Chase.

  I approached my native north, for such I esteemed it, with
that enthusiasm which romantic and wild scenery inspires in
the lovers of nature. No longer interrupted by the babble of
my companion, I could now remark the difference which the
country exhibited from that through which I had hitherto
travelled. The streams now more properly deserved the name,
for, instead of slumbering stagnant among reeds and willows,
they brawled along beneath the shade of natural copsewood;
were now hurried down declivities, and now purled more
leisurely, but still in active motion, through little lonely valleys,
which, opening on the road from time to time, seemed to invite
the traveller to explore their recesses. The Cheviots rose before
me in frowning majesty; not, indeed, with the sublime variety
of rock and cliff which characterizes mountains of the primary
class but huge, round-headed, and clothed with a dark robe of
russet, gaining, by their extent and desolate appearance, an influence
upon the imagination, as a desert district possessing a
character of its own.

  The abode of my fathers, which I was now approaching, was
situated in a glen, or narrow valley, which ran up among those
hills. Extensive estates, which once belonged to the family of
Osbaldistone, had been long dissipated by the misfortunes or
misconduct of my ancestors; but enough was still attached to
the old mansion, to give my uncle the title of a man of large
property. This he employed (as I was given to understand by
some inquiries which I made on the road) in maintaining the
prodigal hospitality of a northern squire of the period, which he
deemed essential to his family dignity.

  From the summit of an eminence I had already had a distant
view of Osbaldistone Hall, a large and antiquated edifice, peeping
out from a Druidical grove of huge oaks; and I was
directing my course towards it, as straightly and as speedily as
the windings of a very indifferent road would permit, when my
horse, tired as he was, pricked up his ears at the enlivening
notes of a pack of hounds in full cry, cheered by the occasional
bursts of a French horn, which in those days was a constant
accompaniment to the chase. I made no doubt that the pack
was my uncle's, and drew up my horse with the purpose of
suffering the hunters to pass without notice, aware that a hunting-field
was not the proper scene to introduce myself to a keen
sportsman, and determined when they had passed on, to proceed
to the mansion-house at my own pace, and there to await the
return of the proprietor from his sport. I paused, therefore,
on a rising ground, and, not unmoved by the sense of interest
which that species of silvan sport is so much calculated to
inspire (although my mind was not at the moment very accessible
to impressions of this nature), I expected with some eagerness
the appearance of the huntsmen.

  The fox, hard run, and nearly spent, first made his appearance
from the copse which clothed the right-hand side of the valley.
His drooping brush, his soiled appearance, and jaded trot, proclaimed
his fate impending; and the carrion crow, which hovered
over him, already considered poor Reynard as soon to be his
prey. He crossed the stream which divides the little valley,
and was dragging himself up a ravine on the other side of its
wild banks, when the headmost hounds, followed by the rest of
the pack in full cry, burst from the coppice, followed by the
huntsman and three or four riders. The dogs pursued the
trace of Reynard with unerring instinct; and the hunters
followed with reckless haste, regardless of the broken and
difficult nature of the ground. They were tall, stout young
men, well mounted, and dressed in green and red, the uniform
of a sporting association, formed under the auspices of old Sir
Hildebrand Osbaldistone.---``My cousins!'' thought I, as they
swept past me. The next reflection was, what is my reception
likely to be among these worthy successors of Nimrod? and how
improbable is it that I, knowing little or nothing of rural sports,
shall find myself at ease, or happy, in my uncle's family. A
vision that passed me interrupted these reflections.

  It was a young lady, the loveliness of whose very striking
features was enhanced by the animation of the chase and the
glow of the exercise, mounted on a beautiful horse, jet black,
unless where he was flecked by spots of the snow-white foam
which embossed his bridle. She wore, what was then somewhat
unusual, a coat, vest, and hat, resembling those of a man,
which fashion has since called a riding habit. The mode had
been introduced while I was in France, and was perfectly new
to me. Her long black hair streamed on the breeze, having in
the hurry of the chase escaped from the ribbon which bound
it. Some very broken ground, through which she guided her
horse with the most admirable address and presence of mind,
retarded her course, and brought her closer to me than any of
the other riders had passed. I had, therefore, a full view of
her uncommonly fine face and person, to which an inexpressible
charm was added by the wild gaiety of the scene, and the
romance of her singular dress and unexpected appearance. As
she passed me, her horse made, in his impetuosity, an irregular
movement, just while, coming once more upon open ground,
she was again putting him to his speed. It served as an
apology for me to ride close up to her, as if to her assistance.
There was, however, no cause for alarm; it was not a stumble,
nor a false step; and, if it had, the fair Amazon had too much
self-possession to have been deranged by it. She thanked my
good intentions, however, by a smile, and I felt encouraged to
put my horse to the same pace, and to keep in her immediate
neighbourhood. The clamour of ``Whoop! dead! dead!''---
and the corresponding flourish of the French horn, soon
announced to us that there was no more occasion for haste,
since the chase was at a close. One of the young men whom
we had seen approached us, waving the brush of the fox in
triumph, as if to upbraid my fair companion,

  ``I see,'' she replied,---``I see; but make no noise about it:
if Ph<oe>be,'' she said, patting the neck of the beautiful animal
on which she rode, ``had not got among the cliffs, you would
have had little cause for boasting.''

  They met as she spoke, and I observed them both look at me,
and converse a moment in an under-tone, the young lady
apparently pressing the sportsman to do something which he
declined shyly, and with a sort of sheepish sullenness. She
instantly turned her horse's head towards me, saying,---``Well,
well, Thornie, if you won't, I must, that's all.---Sir,'' she continued,
addressing me, ``I have been endeavouring to persuade
this cultivated young gentleman to make inquiry of you whether,
in the course of your travels in these parts, you have heard anything
of a friend of ours, one Mr. Francis Osbaldistone, who has
been for some days expected at Osbaldistone Hall?''

  I was too happy to acknowledge myself to be the party
inquired after, and to express my thanks for the obliging
inquiries of the young lady.

  ``In that case, sir,'' she rejoined, ``as my kinsman's politeness
seems to be still slumbering, you will permit me (though I
suppose it is highly improper) to stand mistress of ceremonies,
and to present to you young Squire Thorncliff Osbaldistone,
your cousin, and Die Vernon, who has also the honour to be
your accomplished cousin's poor kinswoman.''

  There was a mixture of boldness, satire, and simplicity in
the manner in which Miss Vernon pronounced these words.
My knowledge of life was sufficient to enable me to take up a
corresponding tone as I expressed my gratitude to her for her
condescension, and my extreme pleasure at having met with
them. To say the truth, the compliment was so expressed,
that the lady might easily appropriate the greater share of it,
for Thorncliff seemed an arrant country bumpkin, awkward,
shy, and somewhat sulky withal. He shook hands with me,
however, and then intimated his intention of leaving me that
he might help the huntsman and his brothers to couple up the
hounds,---a purpose which he rather communicated by way of
information to Miss Vernon than as apology to me.

  ``There he goes,'' said the young lady, following him with
eyes in which disdain was admirably painted---``the prince of
grooms and cock-fighters, and blackguard horse-coursers. But
there is not one of them to mend another.---Have you read
Markham?'' said Miss Vernon.

  ``Read whom, ma'am?---I do not even remember the author's
name.''

  ``O lud! on what a strand are you wrecked!'' replied the
young lady. ``A poor forlorn and ignorant stranger, unacquainted
with the very Alcoran of the savage tribe whom you
are come to reside among---Never to have heard of Markham,
the most celebrated author on farriery! then I fear you are
equally a stranger to the more modern names of Gibson and
Bartlett?''

  ``I am, indeed, Miss Vernon.''

  ``And do you not blush to own it?'' said Miss Vernon.
``Why, we must forswear your alliance. Then, I suppose, you
can neither give a ball, nor a mash, nor a horn!''

  ``I confess I trust all these matters to an ostler, or to my
groom.''

  ``Incredible carelessness!---And you cannot shoe a horse, or
cut his mane and tail; or worm a dog, or crop his ears, or cut
his dew-claws; or reclaim a hawk, or give him his casting-stones,
or direct his diet when he is sealed; or''------

  ``To sum up my insignificance in one word,'' replied I, ``I
am profoundly ignorant in all these rural accomplishments.''

  ``Then, in the name of Heaven, Mr. Francis Osbaldistone,
what _can_ you do?''

  ``Very little to the purpose, Miss Vernon; something, however,
I can pretend to---When my groom has dressed my horse I
can ride him, and when my hawk is in the field, I can fly him.''

  ``Can you do this?'' said the young lady, putting her horse
to a canter.

  There was a sort of rude overgrown fence crossed the path
before us, with a gate composed of pieces of wood rough from
the forest; I was about to move forward to open it, when Miss
Vernon cleared the obstruction at a flying leap. I was bound
in point of honour to follow, and was in a moment again at her
side. ``There are hopes of you yet,'' she said. ``I was afraid
you had been a very degenerate Osbaldistone. But what on
earth brings you to Cub-Castle?---for so the neighbours have
christened this hunting-hall of ours. You might have stayed
away, I suppose, if you would?''

  I felt I was by this time on a very intimate footing with my
beautiful apparition, and therefore replied, in a confidential
under-tone---``Indeed, my dear Miss Vernon, I might have
considered it as a sacrifice to be a temporary resident in Osbaldistone
Hall, the inmates being such as you describe them; but
I am convinced there is one exception that will make amends
for all deficiencies.''

  ``O, you mean Rashleigh?'' said Miss Vernon.

  ``Indeed I do not; I was thinking---forgive me---of some
person much nearer me.''

  ``I suppose it would be proper not to understand your
civility?---But that is not my way---I don't make a courtesy for
it because I am sitting on horseback. But, seriously, I deserve
your exception, for I am the only conversable being about the
Hall, except the old priest and Rashleigh.''

  ``And who is Rashleigh, for Heaven's sake?''

  ``Rashleigh is one who would fain have every one like him
for his own sake. He is Sir Hildebrand's youngest son---about
your own age, but not so---not well looking, in short. But
nature has given him a mouthful of common sense, and the
priest has added a bushelful of learning; he is what we call a
very clever man in this country, where clever men are scarce.
Bred to the church, but in no hurry to take orders.''

  ``To the Catholic Church?''

  ``The Catholic Church? what Church else?'' said the young
lady. ``But I forgot---they told me you are a heretic. Is that
true, Mr. Osbaldistone?''

  ``I must not deny the charge.''

  ``And yet you have been abroad, and in Catholic countries?''

  ``For nearly four years.''

  ``You have seen convents?''

  ``Often; but I have not seen much in them which recommended
the Catholic religion.''

  ``Are not the inhabitants happy?''

  ``Some are unquestionably so, whom either a profound sense
of devotion, or an experience of the persecutions and misfortunes
of the world, or a natural apathy of temper, has led into retirement.
Those who have adopted a life of seclusion from sudden
and overstrained enthusiasm, or in hasty resentment of some
disappointment or mortification, are very miserable. The
quickness of sensation soon returns, and like the wilder animals
in a menagerie, they are restless under confinement, while others
muse or fatten in cells of no larger dimensions than theirs.''

  ``And what,'' continued Miss Vernon, ``becomes of those
victims who are condemned to a convent by the will of others?
what do they resemble? especially, what do they resemble, if
they are born to enjoy life, and feel its blessings?''

  ``They are like imprisoned singing-birds,'' replied I, ``condemned
to wear out their lives in confinement, which they try
to beguile by the exercise of accomplishments which would have
adorned society had they been left at large.''

  ``I shall be,'' returned Miss Vernon---``that is,'' said she,
correcting herself---``I should be rather like the wild hawk,
who, barred the free exercise of his soar through heaven, will
dash himself to pieces against the bars of his cage. But to
return to Rashleigh,'' said she, in a more lively tone, ``you will
think him the pleasantest man you ever saw in your life, Mr.
Osbaldistone,---that is, for a week at least. If he could find
out a blind mistress, never man would be so secure of conquest;
but the eye breaks the spell that enchants the ear.---But here
we are in the court of the old hall, which looks as wild and old-fashioned
as any of its inmates. There is no great toilette kept
at Osbaldistone Hall, you must know; but I must take off these
things, they are so unpleasantly warm,---and the hat hurts my
forehead, too,'' continued the lively girl, taking it off, and shaking
down a profusion of sable ringlets, which, half laughing, half
blushing, she separated with her white slender fingers, in order
to clear them away from her beautiful face and piercing hazel
eyes. If there was any coquetry in the action, it was well disguised
by the careless indifference of her manner. I could not
help saying, ``that, judging of the family from what I saw, I
should suppose the toilette a very unnecessary care.''

  ``That's very politely said---though, perhaps, I ought not to
understand in what sense it was meant,'' replied Miss Vernon;
``but you will see a better apology for a little negligence when
you meet the Orsons you are to live amongst, whose forms no
toilette could improve. But, as I said before, the old dinner-bell
will clang, or rather clank, in a few minutes---it cracked of its
own accord on the day of the landing of King Willie, and my
uncle, respecting its prophetic talent, would never permit it to be
mended. So do you hold my palfrey, like a duteous knight, until
I send some more humble squire to relieve you of the charge.''

  She threw me the rein as if we had been acquainted from our
childhood, jumped from her saddle, tripped across the courtyard,
and entered at a side-door, leaving me in admiration of her beauty,
and astonished with the over-frankness of her manners, which
seemed the more extraordinary at a time when the dictates of
politeness, flowing from the court of the Grand Monarque Louis
XIV., prescribed to the fair sex an unusual severity of decorum.
I was left awkwardly enough stationed in the centre of the
court of the old hall, mounted on one horse, and holding
another in my hand.

  The building afforded little to interest a stranger, had I been
disposed to consider it attentively; the sides of the quadrangle
were of various architecture, and with their stone-shafted latticed
windows, projecting turrets, and massive architraves, resembled
the inside of a convent, or of one of the older and less splendid
colleges of Oxford. I called for a domestic, but was for some
time totally unattended to; which was the more provoking, as I
could perceive I was the object of curiosity to several servants,
both male and female, from different parts of the building, who
popped out their heads and withdrew them, like rabbits in a
warren, before I could make a direct appeal to the attention of any
individual. The return of the huntsmen and hounds relieved
me from my embarrassment, and with some difficulty I got one
down to relieve me of the charge of the horses, and another
stupid boor to guide me to the presence of Sir Hildebrand.
This service he performed with much such grace and good-will,
as a peasant who is compelled to act as guide to a hostile patrol;
and in the same manner I was obliged to guard against his deserting
me in the labyrinth of low vaulted passages which conducted
to ``Stun Hall,'' as he called it, where I was to be introduced
to the gracious presence of my uncle.

  We did, however, at length reach a long vaulted room, floored
with stone, where a range of oaken tables, of a weight and size
too massive ever to be moved aside, were already covered for
dinner. This venerable apartment, which had witnessed the
feasts of several generations of the Osbaldistone family, bore also
evidence of their success in field sports. Huge antlers of deer,
which might have been trophies of the hunting of Chevy Chace,
were ranged around the walls, interspersed with the stuffed skins
of badgers, otters, martins, and other animals of the chase.
Amidst some remnants of old armour, which had, perhaps,
served against the Scotch, hung the more valued weapons of
silvan war, cross-bows, guns of various device and construction,
nets, fishing-rods, otter-spears, hunting-poles, with many other
singular devices, and engines for taking or killing game. A few
old pictures, dimmed with smoke, and stained with March beer,
hung on the walls, representing knights and ladies, honoured,
doubtless, and renowned in their day; those frowning fearfully
from huge bushes of wig and of beard; and these looking delightfully
with all their might at the roses which they brandished in
their hands.

  I had just time to give a glance at these matters, when about
twelve blue-coated servants burst into the hall with much tumult
and talk, each rather employed in directing his comrades than in
discharging his own duty. Some brought blocks and billets to
the fire, which roared, blazed, and ascended, half in smoke, half
in flame, up a huge tunnel, with an opening wide enough to accommodate
a stone seat within its ample vault, and which was
fronted, by way of chimney-piece, with a huge piece of heavy
architecture, where the monsters of heraldry, embodied by the
art of some Northumbrian chisel, grinned and ramped in red free-stone,
now japanned by the smoke of centuries. Others of these
old-fashioned serving-men bore huge smoking dishes, loaded with
substantial fare; others brought in cups, flagons, bottles, yea
barrels of liquor. All tramped, kicked, plunged, shouldered, and
jostled, doing as little service with as much tumult as could well
be imagined. At length, while the dinner was, after various
efforts, in the act of being arranged upon the board, ``the clamour
much of men and dogs,'' the cracking of whips, calculated for
the intimidation of the latter, voices loud and high, steps which,
impressed by the heavy-heeled boots of the period, clattered like
those in the statue of the _Festin de Pierre,_<*> announced the arrival

* Now called Don Juan.

of those for whose benefit the preparations were made. The
hubbub among the servants rather increased than diminished as
this crisis approached. Some called to make haste,---others to
take time,---some exhorted to stand out of the way, and make
room for Sir Hildebrand and the young squires,---some to close
round the table and be _in_ the way,---some bawled to open, some
to shut, a pair of folding-doors which divided the hall from a
sort of gallery, as I afterwards learned, or withdrawing-room,
fitted up with black wainscot. Opened the doors were at length,
and in rushed curs and men,---eight dogs, the domestic chaplain,
the village doctor, my six cousins, and my uncle.
 


			CHAPTER SIXTH.

	The rude hall rocks---they come, they come,---
	The din of voices shakes the dome;---
	In stalk the various forms, and, drest
	In varying morion, varying vest,
	All march with haughty step---all proudly shake the crest.
						Penrose.

  If Sir Hildebrand Osbaldistone was in no hurry to greet his
nephew, of whose arrival he must have been informed for some
time, he had important avocations to allege in excuse. ``Had
seen thee sooner, lad,'' he exclaimed, after a rough shake of the
hand, and a hearty welcome to Osbaldistone Hall, ``but had to
see the hounds kennelled first. Thou art welcome to the Hall,
lad---here is thy cousin Percie, thy cousin Thornie, and thy
cousin John---your cousin Dick, your cousin Wilfred, and---stay,
where's Rashleigh?---ay, here's Rashleigh---take thy long body
aside Thornie, and let's see thy brother a bit---your cousin
Rashleigh. So, thy father has thought on the old Hall, and
old Sir Hildebrand at last---better late than never---Thou art
welcome, lad, and there's enough. Where's my little Die?---
ay, here she comes---this is my niece Die, my wife's brother's
daughter---the prettiest girl in our dales, be the other who she
may---and so now let's to the sirloin.''---

  To gain some idea of the person who held this language, you
must suppose, my dear Tresham, a man aged about sixty, in a
hunting suit which had once been richly laced, but whose
splendour had been tarnished by many a November and December
storm. Sir Hildebrand, notwithstanding the abruptness of
his present manner, had, at one period of his life, known courts
and camps; had held a commission in the army which encamped
on Hounslow Heath previous to the Revolution---and, recommended
perhaps by his religion, had been knighted about the
same period by the unfortunate and ill-advised James II. But
the Knight's dreams of further preferment, if he ever entertained
any, had died away at the crisis which drove his patron from the
throne, and since that period he had spent a sequestered life
upon his native domains. Notwithstanding his rusticity, however,
Sir Hildebrand retained much of the exterior of a gentleman,
and appeared among his sons as the remains of a Corinthian
pillar, defaced and overgrown with moss and lichen, might have
looked, if contrasted with the rough unhewn masses of upright
stones in Stonhenge, or any other Druidical temple. The sons
were, indeed, heavy unadorned blocks as the eye would desire to
look upon. Tall, stout, and comely, all and each of the five
eldest seemed to want alike the Promethean fire of intellect,
and the exterior grace and manner, which, in the polished world,
sometimes supply mental deficiency. Their most valuable
moral quality seemed to be the good-humour and content which
was expressed in their heavy features, and their only pretence
to accomplishment was their dexterity in field sports, for which
alone they lived. The strong Gyas, and the strong Cloanthus,
are not less distinguished by the poet, than the strong Percival,
the strong Thorncliff, the strong John, Richard, and Wilfred
Osbaldistones, were by outward appearance.

  But, as if to indemnify herself for a uniformity so uncommon
in her productions, Dame Nature had rendered Rashleigh Osbaldistone
a striking contrast in person and manner, and, as I
afterwards learned, in temper and talents, not only to his
brothers, but to most men whom I had hitherto met with.
When Percie, Thornie, and Co. had respectively nodded, grinned,
and presented their shoulder rather than their hand, as their father
named them to their new kinsman, Rashleigh stepped forward,
and welcomed me to Osbaldistone Hall, with the air and manner
of a man of the world. His appearance was not in itself prepossessing.
He was of low stature, whereas all his brethren
seemed to be descendants of Anak; and while they were
handsomely formed, Rashleigh, though strong in person, was
bull-necked and cross-made, and from some early injury in his
youth had an imperfection in his gait, so much resembling an
absolute halt, that many alleged that it formed the obstacle to
his taking orders; the Church of Rome, as is well known, admitting
none to the clerical profession who labours under any
personal deformity. Others, however, ascribed this unsightly
defect to a mere awkward habit, and contended that it did not
amount to a personal disqualification from holy orders.

  The features of Rashleigh were such, as, having looked upon,
we in vain wish to banish from our memory, to which they recur
as objects of painful curiosity, although we dwell upon them
with a feeling of dislike, and even of disgust. It was not the
actual plainness of his face, taken separately from the meaning,
which made this strong impression. His features were, indeed,
irregular, but they were by no means vulgar; and his keen dark
eyes, and shaggy eyebrows, redeemed his face from the charge
of commonplace ugliness. But there was in these eyes an expression
of art and design, and, on provocation, a ferocity
tempered by caution, which nature had made obvious to the
most ordinary physiognomist, perhaps with the same intention
that she has given the rattle to the poisonous snake. As if to
compensate him for these disadvantages of exterior, Rashleigh
Osbaldistone was possessed of a voice the most soft, mellow, and
rich in its tones that I ever heard, and was at no loss for language
of every sort suited to so fine an organ. His first sentence of
welcome was hardly ended, ere I internally agreed with Miss
Vernon, that my new kinsman would make an instant conquest
of a mistress whose ears alone were to judge his cause. He was
about to place himself beside me at dinner, but Miss Vernon,
who, as the only female in the family, arranged all such matters
according to her own pleasure, contrived that I should sit betwixt
Thorncliff and herself; and it can scarce be doubted that
I favoured this more advantageous arrangement.

  ``I want to speak with you,'' she said, ``and I have placed
honest Thornie betwixt Rashleigh and you on purpose. He will
be like---

	Feather-bed 'twixt castle wall
	And heavy brunt of cannon ball,

while I, your earliest acquaintance in this intellectual family, ask
of you how you like us all?''

  ``A very comprehensive question, Miss Vernon, considering
how short while I have been at Osbaldistone Hall.''

  ``Oh, the philosophy of our family lies on the surface---there
are minute shades distinguishing the individuals, which require
the eye of an intelligent observer; but the species, as naturalists
I believe call it, may be distinguished and characterized at
once.''

  ``My five elder cousins, then, are I presume of pretty nearly
the same character.''

  ``Yes, they form a happy compound of sot, gamekeeper, bully,
horse-jockey, and fool; but as they say there cannot be found
two leaves on the same tree exactly alike, so these happy ingredients,
being mingled in somewhat various proportions in each
individual, make an agreeable variety for those who like to study
character.''

  ``Give me a sketch, if you please, Miss Vernon.''

  ``You shall have them all in a family-piece, at full length---
the favour is too easily granted to be refused. Percie, the son
and heir, has more of the sot than of the gamekeeper, bully,
horse-jockey, or fool---My precious Thornie is more of the bully
than the sot, gamekeeper, jockey, or fool---John, who sleeps
whole weeks amongst the hills, has most of the gamekeeper---
The jockey is powerful with Dickon, who rides two hundred
miles by day and night to be bought and sold at a horse-race---
And the fool predominates so much over Wilfred's other qualities,
that he may be termed a fool positive.''

  ``A goodly collection, Miss Vernon, and the individual varieties
belong to a most interesting species. But is there no room on
the canvas for Sir Hildebrand?''

  ``I love my uncle,'' was her reply: ``I owe him some kindness
(such it was meant for at least), and I will leave you to draw his
picture yourself, when you know him better.''

  ``Come,'' thought I to myself, ``I am glad there is some forbearance.
After all, who would have looked for such bitter
satire from a creature so young, and so exquisitely beautiful?''

  ``You are thinking of me,'' she said, bending her dark eyes
on me, as if she meant to pierce through my very soul.

  ``I certainly was,'' I replied, with some embarrassment at
the determined suddenness of the question, and then, endeavouring
to give a complimentary turn to my frank avowal---``How
is it possible I should think of anything else, seated as I have
the happiness to be?''

  She smiled with such an expression of concentrated haughtiness
as she alone could have thrown into her countenance. ``I
must inform you at once, Mr. Osbaldistone, that compliments
are entirely lost upon me; do not, therefore, throw away your
pretty sayings---they serve fine gentlemen who travel in the
country, instead of the toys, beads, and bracelets, which navigators
carry to propitiate the savage inhabitants of newly-discovered
lands. Do not exhaust your stock in trade;---you
will find natives in Northumberland to whom your fine things
will recommend you---on me they would be utterly thrown
away, for I happen to know their real value.''

  I was silenced and confounded.

  ``You remind me at this moment,'' said the young lady,
resuming her lively and indifferent manner, ``of the fairy tale,
where the man finds all the money which he had carried to
market suddenly changed into pieces of slate. I have cried
down and ruined your whole stock of complimentary discourse
by one unlucky observation. But come, never mind it---You
are belied, Mr. Osbaldistone, unless you have much better conversation
than these _fadeurs,_ which every gentleman with a
toupet thinks himself obliged to recite to an unfortunate girl,
merely because she is dressed in silk and gauze, while he wears
superfine cloth with embroidery. Your natural paces, as any
of my five cousins might say, are far preferable to your complimentary
amble. Endeavour to forget my unlucky sex; call
me Tom Vernon, if you have a mind, but speak to me as you
would to a friend and companion; you have no idea how much
I shall like you.''

  ``That would be a bribe indeed,'' returned I.

  ``Again!'' replied Miss Vernon, holding up her finger; ``I
told you I would not bear the shadow of a compliment. And
now, when you have pledged my uncle, who threatens you
with what he calls a brimmer, I will tell you what you think
of me.''

  The bumper being pledged by me, as a dutiful nephew, and
some other general intercourse of the table having taken place,
the continued and business-like clang of knives and forks, and
the devotion of cousin Thorncliff on my right hand, and cousin
Dickon, who sate on Miss Vernon's left, to the huge quantities
of meat with which they heaped their plates, made them serve
as two occasional partitions, separating us from the rest of the
company, and leaving us to our _t<e^>te-<a`>-t<e^>te._ ``And now,'' said
I, ``give me leave to ask you frankly, Miss Vernon, what you
suppose I am thinking of you!---I could tell you what I really
_do_ think, but you have interdicted praise.''

  ``I do not want your assistance. I am conjuror enough to
tell your thoughts without it. You need not open the casement
of your bosom; I see through it. You think me a strange
bold girl, half coquette, half romp; desirous of attracting
attention by the freedom of her manners and loudness of her
conversation, because she is ignorant of what the Spectator calls
the softer graces of the sex; and perhaps you think I have
some particular plan of storming you into admiration. I should
be sorry to shock your self-opinion, but you were never more
mistaken. All the confidence I have reposed in you, I would
have given as readily to your father, if I thought he could
have understood me. I am in this happy family as much
secluded from intelligent listeners as Sancho in the Sierra
Morena, and when opportunity offers, I must speak or die. I
assure you I would not have told you a word of all this
curious intelligence, had I cared a pin who knew it or knew
it not.''

  ``It is very cruel in you, Miss Vernon, to take away all
particular marks of favour from your communications, but I
must receive them on your own terms.---You have not included
Mr. Rashleigh Osbaldistone in your domestic sketches.''

  She shrunk, I thought, at this remark, and hastily answered,
in a much lower tone, ``Not a word of Rashleigh! His ears
are so acute when his selfishness is interested, that the sounds
would reach him even through the mass of Thorncliff's person,
stuffed as it is with beef, venison-pasty, and pudding.''

  ``Yes,'' I replied; ``but peeping past the living screen which
divides us, before I put the question, I perceived that Mr.
Rashleigh's chair was empty---he has left the table.''

  ``I would not have you be too sure of that,'' Miss Vernon
replied. ``Take my advice, and when you speak of Rashleigh,
get up to the top of Otterscope-hill, where you can see for
twenty miles round you in every direction---stand on the very
peak, and speak in whispers; and, after all, don't be too sure
that the bird of the air will not carry the matter, Rashleigh
has been my tutor for four years; we are mutually tired of
each other, and we shall heartily rejoice at our approaching
separation.''

  ``Mr. Rashleigh leaves Osbaldistone Hall, then?''

  ``Yes, in a few days;---did you not know that?---your father
must keep his resolutions much more secret than Sir Hildebrand.
Why, when my uncle was informed that you were to
be his guest for some time, and that your father desired to have
one of his hopeful sons to fill up the lucrative situation in his
counting-house which was vacant by your obstinacy, Mr.
Francis, the good knight held a _cour pl<e'>ni<e`>re_ of all his family,
including the butler, housekeeper, and gamekeeper. This
reverend assembly of the peers and household officers of Osbaldistone
Hall was not convoked, as you may suppose, to elect
your substitute, because, as Rashleigh alone possessed more
arithmetic than was necessary to calculate the odds on a fighting
cock, none but he could be supposed qualified for the
situation. But some solemn sanction was necessary for transforming
Rashleigh's destination from starving as a Catholic
priest to thriving as a wealthy banker; and it was not without
some reluctance that the acquiescence of the assembly was
obtained to such an act of degradation.''

  ``I can conceive the scruples---but how were they got
over?''

  ``By the general wish, I believe, to get Rashleigh out of the
house,'' replied Miss Vernon. ``Although youngest of the
family, he has somehow or other got the entire management
of all the others; and every one is sensible of the subjection,
though they cannot shake it off. If any one opposes him, he
is sure to rue having done so before the year goes about; and
if you do him a very important service, you may rue it still
more.''

  ``At that rate,'' answered I, smiling, ``I should look about
me; for I have been the cause, however unintentionally, of his
change of situation.''

  ``Yes; and whether he regards it as an advantage or disadvantage,
he will owe you a grudge for it---But here comes
cheese, radishes, and a bumper to church and king, the hint for
chaplains and ladies to disappear; and I, the sole representative
of womanhood at Osbaldistone Hall, retreat, as in duty bound.''

  She vanished as she spoke, leaving me in astonishment at
the mingled character of shrewdness, audacity, and frankness,
which her conversation displayed. I despair conveying to you
the least idea of her manner, although I have, as nearly as I
can remember, imitated her language. In fact, there was a
mixture of untaught simplicity, as well as native shrewdness
and haughty boldness, in her manner, and all were modified
and recommended by the play of the most beautiful features I
had ever beheld. It is not to be thought that, however strange
and uncommon I might think her liberal and unreserved communications,
a young man of two-and-twenty was likely to be
severely critical on a beautiful girl of eighteen, for not observing
a proper distance towards him. On the contrary, I was
equally diverted and flattered by Miss Vernon's confidence, and
that notwithstanding her declaration of its being conferred on
me solely because I was the first auditor who occurred, of
intelligence enough to comprehend it. With the presumption
of my age, certainly not diminished by my residence in France,
I imagined that well-formed features, and a handsome person,
both which I conceived myself to possess, were not unsuitable
qualifications for the confidant of a young beauty. My vanity
thus enlisted in Miss Vernon's behalf, I was far from judging
her with severity, merely for a frankness which I supposed was
in some degree justified by my own personal merit; and the
feelings of partiality, which her beauty, and the singularity of
her situation, were of themselves calculated to excite, were
enhanced by my opinion of her penetration and judgment in her
choice of a friend.

  After Miss Vernon quitted the apartment, the bottle circulated,
or rather flew, around the table in unceasing revolution.
My foreign education had given me a distaste to intemperance,
then and yet too common a vice among my countrymen. The
conversation which seasoned such orgies was as little to my taste,
and if anything could render it more disgusting, it was the relationship
of the company. I therefore seized a lucky opportunity,
and made my escape through a side door, leading I knew
not whither, rather than endure any longer the sight of father
and sons practising the same degrading intemperance, and holding
the same coarse and disgusting conversation. I was pursued,
of course, as I had expected, to be reclaimed by force, as a deserter
from the shrine of Bacchus. When I heard the whoop and
hollo, and the tramp of the heavy boots of my pursuers on the
winding stair which I was descending, I plainly foresaw I should
be overtaken unless I could get into the open air. I therefore
threw open a casement in the staircase, which looked into an
old-fashioned garden, and as the height did not exceed six feet,
I jumped out without hesitation, and soon heard far behind the
``hey whoop! stole away! stole away!'' of my baffled pursuers.
I ran down one alley, walked fast up another; and then, conceiving
myself out of all danger of pursuit, I slackened my pace
into a quiet stroll, enjoying the cool air which the heat of the
wine I had been obliged to swallow, as well as that of my rapid
retreat, rendered doubly grateful.

  As I sauntered on, I found the gardener hard at his evening
employment, and saluted him, as I paused to look at his work.

  ``Good even, my friend.''

  ``Gude e'en---gude e'en t'ye,'' answered the man, without
looking up, and in a tone which at once indicated his northern
extraction.

  ``Fine weather for your work, my friend.''

  ``It's no that muckle to be compleened o','' answered the man,
with that limited degree of praise which gardeners and farmers
usually bestow on the very best weather. Then raising his head,
as if to see who spoke to him, he touched his Scotch bonnet
with an air of respect, as he observed, ``Eh, gude safe us!---it's
a sight for sair een, to see a gold-laced jeistiecor in the Ha'garden
sae late at e'en.''

  ``A gold-laced what, my good friend?''

  ``Ou, a jeistiecor<*>---that's a jacket like your ain, there. They

* Perhaps from the French _Juste-au-corps._

hae other things to do wi' them up yonder---unbuttoning them
to make room for the beef and the bag-puddings, and the claret-wine,
nae doubt---that's the ordinary for evening lecture on this
side the border.''

  ``There's no such plenty of good cheer in your country, my
good friend,'' I replied, ``as to tempt you to sit so late at it.''

  ``Hout, sir, ye ken little about Scotland; it's no for want of
gude vivers---the best of fish, flesh, and fowl hae we, by sybos,
ingans, turneeps, and other garden fruit. But we hae mense
and discretion, and are moderate of our mouths;---but here, frae
the kitchen to the ha', it's fill and fetch mair, frae the tae end
of the four-and-twenty till the tother. Even their fast days---
they ca' it fasting when they hae the best o' sea-fish frae Hartlepool
and Sunderland by land carriage, forbye trouts, grilses, salmon,
and a' the lave o't, and so they make their very fasting a kind
of luxury and abomination; and then the awfu' masses and
matins of the puir deceived souls---But I shouldna speak about
them, for your honour will be a Roman, I'se warrant, like the
lave.''

  ``Not I, my friend; I was bred an English presbyterian, or
dissenter.''

  ``The right hand of fellowship to your honour, then,'' quoth
the gardener, with as much alacrity as his hard features were
capable of expressing, and, as if to show that his good-will did
not rest on words, he plucked forth a huge horn snuff-box, or
mull, as he called it, and proffered a pinch with a most fraternal
grin.

  Having accepted his courtesy, I asked him if he had been long
a domestic at Osbaldistone Hall.

  ``I have been fighting with wild beasts at Ephesus,'' said he,
looking towards the building, ``for the best part of these four-and-twenty
years, as sure as my name's Andrew Fairservice.''

  ``But, my excellent friend, Andrew Fairservice, if your religion
and your temperance are so much offended by Roman rituals
and southern hospitality, it seems to me that you must have been
putting yourself to an unnecessary penance all this while, and
that you might have found a service where they eat less, and
are more orthodox in their worship. I dare say it cannot be
want of skill which prevented your being placed more to your
satisfaction.''

  ``It disna become me to speak to the point of my qualifications,''
said Andrew, looking round him with great complacency;
``but nae doubt I should understand my trade of horticulture,
seeing I was bred in the parish of Dreepdaily, where they raise
lang-kale under glass, and force the early nettles for their spring
kale. And, to speak truth, I hae been flitting every term these
four-and-twenty years; but when the time comes, there's aye
something to saw that I would like to see sawn,---or something
to maw that I would like to see mawn,---or something to ripe
that I would like to see ripen,---and sae I e'en daiker on wi' the
family frae year's end to year's end. And I wad say for certain,
that I am gaun to quit at Cannlemas, only I was just as positive
on it twenty years syne, and I find mysell still turning up the
mouls here, for a' that. Forbye that, to tell your honour the
evendown truth, there's nae better place ever offered to Andrew.
But if your honour wad wush me to ony place where I wad hear
pure doctrine, and hae a free cow's grass, and a cot, and a yard,
and mair than ten punds of annual fee, and where there's nae
leddy about the town to count the apples, I'se hold mysell muckle
indebted t'ye.''

  ``Bravo, Andrew! I perceive you'll lose no preferment for
want of asking patronage.''

  ``I canna see what for I should,'' replied Andrew; ``it's no a
generation to wait till ane's worth's discovered, I trow.''

  ``But you are no friend, I observe, to the ladies.''

  ``Na, by my troth, I keep up the first gardener's quarrel to
them. They're fasheous bargains---aye crying for apricocks,
pears, plums, and apples, summer and winter, without distinction
o' seasons; but we hae nae slices o' the spare rib here, be
praised for't! except auld Martha, and she's weel eneugh
pleased wi' the freedom o' the berry-bushes to her sister's weans,
when they come to drink tea in a holiday in the housekeeper's
room, and wi' a wheen codlings now and then for her ain private
supper.''

  ``You forget your young mistress.''

  ``What mistress do I forget?---whae's that?''

  ``Your young mistress, Miss Vernon.''

  ``What! the lassie Vernon?---She's nae mistress o' mine,
man. I wish she was her ain mistress; and I wish she mayna
be some other body's mistress or it's lang---She's a wild slip
that.''

  ``Indeed!'' said I, more interested than I cared to own to
myself, or to show to the fellow---``why, Andrew, you know all
the secrets of this family.''

  ``If I ken them, I can keep them,'' said Andrew; ``they
winna work in my wame like harm in a barrel, I'se warrant ye.
Miss Die is---but it's neither beef nor brose o' mine.''

  And he began to dig with a great semblance of assiduity.

  ``What is Miss Vernon, Andrew? I am a friend of the
family, and should like to know.''

  ``Other than a gude ane, I'm fearing,'' said Andrew, closing
one eye hard, and shaking his head with a grave and mysterious
look---``something glee'd---your honour understands me?''

  ``I cannot say I do,'' said I, ``Andrew; but I should like to
hear you explain yourself;'' and therewithal I slipped a crown-piece
into Andrew's horn-hard hand. The touch of the silver
made him grin a ghastly smile, as he nodded slowly, and
thrust it into his breeches pocket; and then, like a man who
well understood that there was value to be returned, stood up,
and rested his arms on his spade, with his features composed
into the most important gravity, as for some serious communication.

  ``Ye maun ken, then, young gentleman, since it imports you
to know, that Miss Vernon is''------

  Here breaking off, he sucked in both his cheeks, till his
lantern jaws and long chin assumed the appearance of a pair of
nut-crackers; winked hard once more, frowned, shook his head,
and seemed to think his physiognomy had completed the information
which his tongue had not fully told.

  ``Good God!'' said I---``so young, so beautiful, so early lost!''

  ``Troth ye may say sae---she's in a manner lost, body and
saul; forby being a Papist, I'se uphaud her for''---and his
northern caution prevailed, and he was again silent.

  ``For what, sir?'' said I sternly. ``I insist on knowing the
plain meaning of all this.''

  ``On, just for the bitterest Jacobite in the haill shire.''

  ``Pshaw! a Jacobite?---is that all?''

  Andrew looked at me with some astonishment, at hearing his
information treated so lightly; and then muttering, ``Aweel,
it's the warst thing I ken aboot the lassie, howsoe'er,'' he resumed
his spade, like the king of the Vandals, in Marmontel's
late novel.



			CHAPTER SEVENTH.

    _Bardolph._---The sheriff, with a monstrous watch, is at the door.
					Henry IV. _First Part._

  I found out with some difficulty the apartment which was destined
for my accommodation; and having secured myself the
necessary good-will and attention from my uncle's domestics, by
using the means they were most capable of comprehending, I
secluded myself there for the remainder of the evening, conjecturing,
from the fair way in which I had left my new relatives,
as well as from the distant noise which continued to echo from
the stone-hall (as their banqueting-room was called), that they
were not likely to be fitting company for a sober man.

  ``What could my father mean by sending me to be an inmate
in this strange family?'' was my first and most natural reflection.
My uncle, it was plain, received me as one who was to make
some stay with him, and his rude hospitality rendered him as
indifferent as King Hal to the number of those who fed at his
cost. But it was plain my presence or absence would be of as
little importance in his eyes as that of one of his blue-coated
serving-men. My cousins were mere cubs, in whose company I
might, if I liked it, unlearn whatever decent manners, or elegant
accomplishments, I had acquired, but where I could attain no
information beyond what regarded worming dogs, rowelling horses,
and following foxes. I could only imagine one reason, which
was probably the true one. My father considered the life which
was led at Osbaldistone Hall as the natural and inevitable pursuits
of all country gentlemen, and he was desirous, by giving
me an opportunity of seeing that with which he knew I should
be disgusted, to reconcile me, if possible, to take an active share
in his own business. In the meantime, he would take Rashleigh
Osbaldistone into the counting-house. But he had an hundred
modes of providing for him, and that advantageously, whenever
he chose to get rid of him. So that, although I did feel a certain
qualm of conscience at having been the means of introducing
Rashleigh, being such as he was described by Miss Vernon, into
my father's business---perhaps into his confidence---I subdued it
by the reflection that my father was complete master of his own
affairs---a man not to be imposed upon, or influenced by any one
---and that all I knew to the young gentleman's prejudice was
through the medium of a singular and giddy girl, whose communications
were made with an injudicious frankness, which
might warrant me in supposing her conclusions had been hastily
or inaccurately formed. Then my mind naturally turned to Miss
Vernon herself; her extreme beauty; her very peculiar situation,
relying solely upon her reflections, and her own spirit, for guidance
and protection; and her whole character offering that
variety and spirit which piques our curiosity, and engages our
attention in spite of ourselves. I had sense enough to consider
the neighbourhood of this singular young lady, and the chance
of our being thrown into very close and frequent intercourse, as
adding to the dangers, while it relieved the dulness, of Osbaldistone
Hall; but I could not, with the fullest exertion of my
prudence, prevail upon myself to regret excessively this new and
particular hazard to which I was to be exposed. This scruple I
also settled as young men settle most difficulties of the kind---
I would be very cautious, always on my guard, consider Miss
Vernon rather as a companion than an intimate; and all would
do well enough. With these reflections I fell asleep, Miss
Vernon, of course, forming the last subject of my contemplation.

  Whether I dreamed of her or not, I cannot satisfy you, for I
was tired and slept soundly. But she was the first person I
thought of in the morning, when waked at dawn by the cheerful
notes of the hunting horn. To start up, and direct my horse to
be saddled, was my first movement; and in a few minutes I was
in the court-yard, where men, dogs, and horses, were in full
preparation. My uncle, who, perhaps, was not entitled to expect
a very alert sportsman in his nephew, bred as he had been
in foreign parts, seemed rather surprised to see me, and I thought
his morning salutation wanted something of the hearty and hospitable
tone which distinguished his first welcome. ``Art there,
lad?---ay, youth's aye rathe---but look to thysell---mind the old
song, lad---

	He that gallops his horse on Blackstone edge
	May chance to catch a fall.''

  I believe there are few young men, and those very sturdy
moralists, who would not rather be taxed with some moral peccadillo
than with want of knowledge in horsemanship. As I was
by no means deficient either in skill or courage, I resented my
uncle's insinuation accordingly, and assured him he would find
me up with the hounds.

  ``I doubtna, lad,'' was his reply; ``thou'rt a rank rider, I'se
warrant thee---but take heed. Thy father sent thee here to me
to be bitted, and I doubt I must ride thee on the curb, or we'll
hae some one to ride thee on the halter, if I takena the better
heed.''

  As this speech was totally unintelligible to me---as, besides,
it did not seem to be delivered for my use, or benefit, but was
spoken as it were aside, and as if expressing aloud something
which was passing through the mind of my much-honoured uncle,
I concluded it must either refer to my desertion of the bottle on
the preceding evening, or that my uncle's morning hours being
a little discomposed by the revels of the night before, his temper
had suffered in proportion. I only made the passing reflection,
that if he played the ungracious landlord, I would remain the
shorter while his guest, and then hastened to salute Miss Vernon,
who advanced cordially to meet me. Some show of greeting also
passed between my cousins and me; but as I saw them maliciously
bent upon criticising my dress and accoutrements, from the cap
to the stirrup-irons, and sneering at whatever had a new or
foreign appearance, I exempted myself from the task of paying
them much attention; and assuming, in requital of their grins
and whispers, an air of the utmost indifference and contempt, I
attached myself to Miss Vernon, as the only person in the party
whom I could regard as a suitable companion. By her side,
therefore, we sallied forth to the destined cover, which was a
dingle or copse on the side of an extensive common. As we
rode thither, I observed to Diana, ``that I did not see my cousin
Rashleigh in the field;'' to which she replied,---``O no---he's a
mighty hunter, but it's after the fashion of Nimrod, and his
game is man.''

  The dogs now brushed into the cover, with the appropriate
encouragement from the hunters---all was business, bustle, and
activity. My cousins were soon too much interested in the
business of the morning to take any further notice of me, unless
that I overheard Dickon the horse-jockey whisper to Wilfred the
fool---``Look thou, an our French cousin be nat off a' first burst.''

  To which Wilfred answered, ``Like enow, for he has a queer
outlandish binding on's castor.''

  Thorncliff, however, who in his rude way seemed not absolutely
insensible to the beauty of his kinswoman, appeared
determined to keep us company more closely than his brothers,
---perhaps to watch what passed betwixt Miss Vernon and me---
perhaps to enjoy my expected mishaps in the chase. In the
last particular he was disappointed. After beating in vain for
the greater part of the morning, a fox was at length found,
who led us a chase of two hours, in the course of which, notwithstanding
the ill-omened French binding upon my hat, I
sustained my character as a horseman to the admiration of my
uncle and Miss Vernon, and the secret disappointment of those
who expected me to disgrace it. Reynard, however, proved too
wily for his pursuers, and the hounds were at fault. I could at
this time observe in Miss Vernon's manner an impatience of
the close attendance which we received from Thorncliff Osbaldistone;
and, as that active-spirited young lady never hesitated
at taking the readiest means to gratify any wish of the moment,
she said to him, in a tone of reproach---``I wonder, Thornie,
what keeps you dangling at my horse's crupper all this morning,
when you know the earths above Woolverton-mill are not stopt.''

  ``I know no such an thing then, Miss Die, for the miller swore
himself as black as night, that he stopt them at twelve o'clock
midnight that was.''

  ``O fie upon you, Thornie! would you trust to a miller's
word?---and these earths, too, where we lost the fox three times
this season! and you on your grey mare, that can gallop there
and back in ten minutes!''

  ``Well, Miss Die, I'se go to Woolverton then, and if the
earths are not stopt, I'se raddle Dick the miller's bones for him.''

  ``Do, my dear Thornie; horsewhip the rascal to purpose---
via---fly away, and about it;''---Thorncliff went off at the
gallop---``or get horsewhipt yourself, which will serve my
purpose just as well.---I must teach them all discipline and
obedience to the word of command. I am raising a regiment,
you must know. Thornie shall be my sergeant-major, Dickon
my riding-master, and Wilfred, with his deep dub-a-dub tones,
that speak but three syllables at a time, my kettle-drummer.''

  ``And Rashleigh?''

  ``Rashleigh shall be my scout-master.''
 
  ``And will you find no employment for me, most lovely
colonel?''

  ``You shall have the choice of being pay-master, or plunder-master,
to the corps. But see how the dogs puzzle about there.
Come, Mr. Frank, the scent's cold; they won't recover it there
this while; follow me, I have a view to show you.''

  And in fact, she cantered up to the top of a gentle hill,
commanding an extensive prospect. Casting her eyes around,
to see that no one was near us, she drew up her horse beneath
a few birch-trees, which screened us from the rest of the hunting-field---
``Do you see yon peaked, brown, heathy hill, having
something like a whitish speck upon the side?''

  ``Terminating that long ridge of broken moorish uplands?---
I see it distinctly.''

  ``That whitish speck is a rock called Hawkesmore-crag, and
Hawkesmore-crag is in Scotland.''

  ``Indeed! I did not think we had been so near Scotland.''

  ``It is so, I assure you, and your horse will carry you there
in two hours.''

  ``I shall hardly give him the trouble; why, the distance
must be eighteen miles as the crow flies.''

  ``You may have my mare, if you think her less blown---I
say, that in two hours you may be in Scotland.''

  ``And I say, that I have so little desire to be there, that if
my horse's head were over the Border, I would not give his tail
the trouble of following. What should I do in Scotland?''

  ``Provide for your safety, if I must speak plainly. Do you
understand me now, Mr. Frank?''

  ``Not a whit; you are more and more oracular.''

  ``Then, on my word, you either mistrust me most unjustly,
and are a better dissembler than Rashleigh Osbaldistone himself,
or you know nothing of what is imputed to you; and then
no wonder you stare at me in that grave manner, which I can
scarce see without laughing.''

  ``Upon my word of honour, Miss Vernon,'' said I, with an
impatient feeling of her childish disposition to mirth, ``I have
not the most distant conception of what you mean. I am happy
to afford you any subject of amusement, but I am quite ignorant
in what it consists.''

  ``Nay, there's no sound jest after all,'' said the young lady,
composing herself; ``only one looks so very ridiculous when he
is fairly perplexed. But the matter is serious enough. Do you
know one Moray, or Morris, or some such name?''

  ``Not that I can at present recollect.''

  ``Think a moment. Did you not lately travel with somebody
of such a name?''

  ``The only man with whom I travelled for any length of
time was a fellow whose soul seemed to lie in his portmanteau.''

  ``Then it was like the soul of the licentiate Pedro Garcias,
which lay among the ducats in his leathern purse. That man
has been robbed, and he has lodged an information against you,
as connected with the violence done to him.''

  ``You jest, Miss Vernon!''

  ``I do not, I assure you---the thing is an absolute fact.''

  ``And do you,'' said I, with strong indignation, which I did
not attempt to suppress, ``do you suppose me capable of meriting
such a charge?''

  ``You would call me out for it, I suppose, had I the advantage
of being a man---You may do so as it is, if you like it---I can
shoot flying, as well as leap a five-barred gate.''

  ``And are colonel of a regiment of horse besides,'' replied I,
reflecting how idle it was to be angry with her---``But do explain
the present jest to me.''

  ``There's no jest whatever,'' said Diana; ``you are accused
of robbing this man, and my uncle believes it as well as I did.''

  ``Upon my honour, I am greatly obliged to my friends for
their good opinion!''

  ``Now do not, if you can help it, snort, and stare, and snuff
the wind, and look so exceedingly like a startled horse---There's
no such offence as you suppose---you are not charged with any
petty larceny or vulgar felony---by no means. This fellow was
carrying money from Government, both specie and bills, to pay
the troops in the north; and it is said he has been also robbed
of some despatches of great consequence.''

  ``And so it is high treason, then, and not simple robbery, of
which I am accused!''

  ``Certainly---which, you know, has been in all ages accounted
the crime of a gentleman. You will find plenty in this
country, and one not far from your elbow, who think it a
merit to distress the Hanoverian government by every means
possible.''

  ``Neither my politics nor my morals, Miss Vernon, are of a
description so accommodating.''

  ``I really begin to believe that you are a Presbyterian and
Hanoverian in good earnest. But what do you propose to do?''

  ``Instantly to refute this atrocious calumny.---Before whom,''
I asked, ``was this extraordinary accusation laid.''

  ``Before old Squire Inglewood, who had sufficient unwillingness
to receive it. He sent tidings to my uncle, I suppose,
that he might smuggle you away into Scotland, out of reach of
the warrant. But my uncle is sensible that his religion and
old predilections render him obnoxious to Government, and
that, were he caught playing booty, he would be disarmed, and
probably dismounted (which would be the worse evil of the
two), as a Jacobite, papist, and suspected person.''<*>

* On occasions of public alarm, in the beginning of the eighteenth century,
* the horses of the Catholics were often seized upon, as they were
* always supposed to be on the eve of rising in rebellion.


  ``I can conceive that, sooner than lose his hunters, he would
give up his nephew.''

  ``His nephew, nieces, sons---daughters, if he had them, and
whole generation,'' said Diana;---``therefore trust not to him,
even for a single moment, but make the best of your way before
they can serve the warrant.''

  ``That I shall certainly do; but it shall be to the house of
this Squire Inglewood---Which way does it lie?''

  ``About five miles off, in the low ground, behind yonder
plantations---you may see the tower of the clock-house.''

  ``I will be there in a few minutes,'' said I, putting my horse
in motion.

  ``And I will go with you, and show you the way,'' said Diana,
putting her palfrey also to the trot.

  ``Do not think of it, Miss Vernon,'' I replied. ``It is not---
permit me the freedom of a friend---it is not proper, scarcely
even delicate, in you to go with me on such an errand as I am
now upon.''

  ``I understand your meaning,'' said Miss Vernon, a slight
blush crossing her haughty brow;---``it is plainly spoken;''
and after a moment's pause she added, ``and I believe kindly
meant.''

  ``It is indeed, Miss Vernon. Can you think me insensible
of the interest you show me, or ungrateful for it?'' said I, with
even more earnestness than I could have wished to express.
``Yours is meant for true kindness, shown best at the hour of
need. But I must not, for your own sake---for the chance of
misconstruction---suffer you to pursue the dictates of your generosity;
this is so public an occasion---it is almost like venturing
into an open court of justice.''

  ``And if it were not almost, but altogether entering into an
open court of justice, do you think I would not go there if I
thought it right, and wished to protect a friend? You have
no one to stand by you---you are a stranger; and here, in the
outskirts of the kingdom, country justices do odd things. My
uncle has no desire to embroil himself in your affair; Rashleigh
is absent, and were he here, there is no knowing which side he
might take; the rest are all more stupid and brutal one than
another. I will go with you, and I do not fear being able to
serve you. I am no fine lady, to be terrified to death with
law-books, hard words, or big wigs.''

  ``But my dear Miss Vernon''------

  ``But my dear Mr. Francis, be patient and quiet, and let me
take my own way; for when I take the bit between my teeth,
there is no bridle will stop me.''

  Flattered with the interest so lovely a creature seemed to
take in my fate, yet vexed at the ridiculous appearance I should
make, by carrying a girl of eighteen along with me as an
advocate, and seriously concerned for the misconstruction to
which her motives might be exposed, I endeavoured to combat
her resolution to accompany me to Squire Inglewood's. The
self-willed girl told me roundly, that my dissuasions were
absolutely in vain; that she was a true Vernon, whom no
consideration, not even that of being able to do but little to
assist him, should induce to abandon a friend in distress; and
that all I could say on the subject might be very well for pretty,
well-educated, well-behaved misses from a town boarding-school,
but did not apply to her, who was accustomed to mind nobody's
opinion but her own.

  While she spoke thus, we were advancing hastily towards
Inglewood Place, while, as if to divert me from the task of further
remonstrance, she drew a ludicrous picture of the magistrate
and his clerk.---Inglewood was---according to her description---
a white-washed Jacobite; that is, one who, having been long a
non-juror, like most of the other gentlemen of the country, had
lately qualified himself to act as a justice, by taking the oaths
to Government. ``He had done so,'' she said, ``in compliance
with the urgent request of most of his brother squires, who
saw, with regret, that the palladium of silvan sport, the game-laws,
were likely to fall into disuse for want of a magistrate
who would enforce them; the nearest acting justice being the
Mayor of Newcastle, and he, as being rather inclined to the
consumption of the game when properly dressed, than to its
preservation when alive, was more partial, of course, to the
cause of the poacher than of the sportsman. Resolving, therefore,
that it was expedient some one of their number should sacrifice
the scruples of Jacobitical loyalty to the good of the community,
the Northumbrian country gentlemen imposed the duty
on Inglewood, who, being very inert in most of his feelings and
sentiments, might, they thought, comply with any political
creed without much repugnance. Having thus procured the
body of justice, they proceeded,'' continued Miss Vernon, ``to
attach to it a clerk, by way of soul, to direct and animate its
movements. Accordingly they got a sharp Newcastle attorney,
called Jobson, who, to vary my metaphor, finds it a good thing
enough to retail justice at the sign of Squire Inglewood, and,
as his own emoluments depend on the quantity of business
which he transacts, he hooks in his principal for a great deal
more employment in the justice line than the honest squire had
ever bargained for; so that no apple-wife within the circuit of
ten miles can settle her account with a costermonger without
an audience of the reluctant Justice and his alert clerk, Mr.
Joseph Jobson. But the most ridiculous scenes occur when
affairs come before him, like our business of to-day, having any
colouring of politics. Mr. Joseph Jobson (for which, no doubt,
he has his own very sufficient reasons) is a prodigious zealot for
the Protestant religion, and a great friend to the present establishment
in church and state. Now, his principal, retaining a
sort of instinctive attachment to the opinions which he professed
openly until he relaxed his political creed with the patriotic
view of enforcing the law against unauthorized destroyers of
black-game, grouse, partridges, and hares, is peculiarly embarrassed
when the zeal of his assistant involves him in judicial
proceedings connected with his earlier faith; and, instead of
seconding his zeal, he seldom fails to oppose to it a double dose
of indolence and lack of exertion. And this inactivity does
not by any means arise from actual stupidity. On the contrary,
for one whose principal delight is in eating and drinking, he
is an alert, joyous, and lively old soul, which makes his assumed
dulness the more diverting. So you may see Jobson on such
occasions, like a bit of a broken down blood-tit condemned
to drag an overloaded cart, puffing, strutting, and spluttering,
to get the Justice put in motion, while, though the wheels
groan, creak, and revolve slowly, the great and preponderating
weight of the vehicle fairly frustrates the efforts of the willing
quadruped, and prevents its being brought into a state of actual
progression. Nay more, the unfortunate pony, I understand,
has been heard to complain that this same car of justice, which
he finds it so hard to put in motion on some occasions, can
on others run fast enough down hill of its own accord, dragging
his reluctant self backwards along with it, when anything
can be done of service to Squire Inglewood's quondam friends.
And then Mr. Jobson talks big about reporting his principal
to the Secretary of State for the Home Department, if it were
not for his particular regard and friendship for Mr. Inglewood
and his family.''

  As Miss Vernon concluded this whimsical description, we
found ourselves in front of Inglewood Place, a handsome,
though old-fashioned building. which showed the consequence
of the family.



			CHAPTER EIGHTH.

	``Sir,'' quoth the Lawyer, ``not to flatter ye,
	You have as good and fair a battery
	As heart could wish, and need not shame
	The proudest man alive to claim.''
					Butler.

  Our horses were taken by a servant in Sir Hildebrand's livery,
whom we found in the court-yard, and we entered the house.
In the entrance-hall I was somewhat surprised, and my fair
companion still more so, when we met Rashleigh Osbaldistone,
who could not help showing equal wonder at our rencontre.

  ``Rashleigh,'' said Miss Vernon, without giving him time to
ask any question, ``you have heard of Mr. Francis Osbaldistone's
affair, and you have been talking to the Justice about it?''

  ``Certainly,'' said Rashleigh, composedly---``it has been my
business here.---I have been endeavouring,'' he said, with a bow
to me, ``to render my cousin what service I can. But I am
sorry to meet him here.''

  ``As a friend and relation, Mr. Osbaldistone, you ought to
have been sorry to have met me anywhere else, at a time when
the charge of my reputation required me to be on this spot as
soon as possible.''

  ``True; but judging from what my father said, I should have
supposed a short retreat into Scotland---just till matters should
be smoothed over in a quiet way''------

  I answered with warmth, ``That I had no prudential measures
to observe, and desired to have nothing smoothed over;---
on the contrary, I was come to inquire into a rascally calumny,
which I was determined to probe to the bottom.''

  ``Mr. Francis Osbaldistone is an innocent man, Rashleigh,''
said Miss Vernon, ``and he demands an investigation of the
charge against him, and I intend to support him in it.''

  ``You do, my pretty cousin?---I should think, now, Mr.
Francis Osbaldistone was likely to be as effectually, and rather
more delicately, supported by my presence than by yours.''

  ``Oh, certainly; but two heads are better than one, you
know.''

  ``Especially such a head as yours, my pretty Die,'' advancing
and taking her hand with a familiar fondness, which made me
think him fifty times uglier than nature had made him. She
led him, however, a few steps aside; they conversed in an under
voice, and she appeared to insist upon some request which he
was unwilling or unable to comply with. I never saw so strong
a contrast betwixt the expression of two faces. Miss Vernon's,
from being earnest, became angry; her eyes and cheeks became
more animated, her colour mounted, she clenched her little hand,
and stamping on the ground with her tiny foot, seemed to listen
with a mixture of contempt and indignation to the apologies,
which, from his look of civil deference, his composed and respectful
smile, his body rather drawing back than advanced,
and other signs of look and person, I concluded him to be pouring
out at her feet. At length she flung away from him, with
``I _will_ have it so.''

  ``It is not in my power---there is no possibility of it.---Would
you think it, Mr. Osbaldistone?'' said he, addressing me---

  ``You are not mad?'' said she, interrupting him.

  ``Would you think it?'' said he, without attending to her
hint---``Miss Vernon insists, not only that I know your innocence
(of which, indeed, it is impossible for any one to be
more convinced), but that I must also be acquainted with the
real perpetrators of the outrage on this fellow---if indeed such
an outrage has been committed. Is this reasonable, Mr. Osbaldistone?''

  ``I will not allow any appeal to Mr. Osbaldistone, Rashleigh,''
said the young lady; ``he does not know, as I do, the incredible
extent and accuracy of your information on all points.''

  ``As I am a gentleman, you do me more honour than I
deserve.''

  ``Justice, Rashleigh---only justice:---and it is only justice
which I expect at your hands.''

  ``You are a tyrant, Diana,'' he answered, with a sort of sigh
---``a capricious tyrant, and rule your friends with a rod of
iron. Still, however, it shall be as you desire. But you ought
not to be here---you know you ought not;---you must return
with me.''

  Then turning from Diana, who seemed to stand undecided,
he came up to me in the most friendly manner, and said, ``Do
not doubt my interest in what regards you, Mr. Osbaldistone.
If I leave you just at this moment, it is only to act for your
advantage. But you must use your influence with your cousin
to return; her presence cannot serve you, and must prejudice
herself.''

  ``I assure you, sir,'' I replied, ``you cannot be more convinced
of this than I; I have urged Miss Vernon's return as anxiously
as she would permit me to do.''

 ``I have thought on it,'' said Miss Vernon after a pause,
``and I will not go till I see you safe out of the hands of the
Philistines. Cousin Rashleigh, I dare say, means well; but he
and I know each other well. Rashleigh, I will =not= go;---I
know,'' she added, in a more soothing tone, ``my being here
will give you more motive for speed and exertion.''

  ``Stay then, rash, obstinate girl,'' said Rashleigh; ``you know
but too well to whom you trust;'' and hastening out of the hall,
we heard his horse's feet a minute afterwards in rapid motion.

  ``Thank Heaven he is gone!'' said Diana. ``And now let
us seek out the Justice.''

  ``Had we not better call a servant?''

  ``Oh, by no means; I know the way to his den---we must
burst on him suddenly---follow me.''

  I did follow her accordingly, as she tripped up a few gloomy
steps, traversed a twilight passage, and entered a sort of ante-room,
hung round with old maps, architectural elevations, and
genealogical trees. A pair of folding-doors opened from this
into Mr. Inglewood's sitting apartment, from which was heard
the fag-end of an old ditty, chanted by a voice which had been
in its day fit for a jolly bottle-song.

	``O, in Skipton-in-Craven
	Is never a haven,
	    But many a day foul weather;
	And he that would say
	A pretty girl nay,
	    I wish for his cravat a tether.''

  ``Heyday!'' said Miss Vernon, ``the genial Justice must have
dined already---I did not think it had been so late.''

  It was even so. Mr. Inglewood's appetite having been
sharpened by his official investigations, he had antedated his
meridian repast, having dined at twelve instead of one o'clock,
then the general dining hour in England. The various occurrences
of the morning occasioned our arriving some time
after this hour, to the Justice the most important of the four-and-twenty,
and he had not neglected the interval.

  ``Stay you here,'' said Diana. ``I know the house, and I
will call a servant; your sudden appearance might startle the
old gentleman even to choking;'' and she escaped from me,
leaving me uncertain whether I ought to advance or retreat.
It was impossible for me not to hear some part of what passed
within the dinner apartment, and particularly several apologies
for declining to sing, expressed in a dejected croaking voice, the
tones of which, I conceived, were not entirely new to me.

  ``Not sing, sir? by our Lady! but you must---What! you
have cracked my silver-mounted cocoa-nut of sack, and tell me
that you cannot sing!---Sir, sack will make a cat sing, and speak
too; so up with a merry stave, or trundle yourself out of my
doors!---Do you think you are to take up all my valuable time
with your d-d declarations, and then tell me you cannot
sing?''

  ``Your worship is perfectly in rule,'' said another voice, which,
from its pert conceited accent, might be that of the cleric, ``and
the party must be conformable; he hath _canet_ written on his
face in court hand.''

  ``Up with it then,'' said the Justice, ``or by St. Christopher,
you shall crack the cocoa-nut full of salt-and-water, according to
the statute for such effect made and provided.''

  Thus exhorted and threatened, my quondam fellow-traveller,
for I could no longer doubt that he was the recusant in question,
uplifted, with a voice similar to that of a criminal singing his
last psalm on the scaffold, a most doleful stave to the following
effect:---

	``Good people all, I pray give ear,
	A woeful story you shall hear,
	'Tis of a robber as stout as ever
	Bade a true man stand and deliver.
	    With his foodle doo fa loodle loo.

	``This knave, most worthy of a cord,
	Being armed with pistol and with sword,
	'Twixt Kensington and Brentford then
	Did boldly stop six honest men.
	    With his foodle doo, etc.

	``These honest men did at Brentford dine,
	Having drank each man his pint of wine,
	When this bold thief, with many curses,
	Did say, You dogs, your lives or purses.
	    With his foodle doo,'' etc.

  I question if the honest men, whose misfortune is commemorated
in this pathetic ditty, were more startled at the appearance
of the bold thief than the songster was at mine; for,
tired of waiting for some one to announce me, and finding my
situation as a listener rather awkward, I presented myself to
the company just as my friend Mr. Morris, for such, it seems,
was his name, was uplifting the fifth stave of his doleful ballad.
The high tone with which the tune started died away in a
quaver of consternation on finding himself so near one whose
character he supposed to be little less suspicious than that of
the hero of his madrigal, and he remained silent, with a mouth
gaping as if I had brought the Gorgon's head in my hand.

  The Justice, whose eyes had closed under the influence of
the somniferous lullaby of the song, started up in his chair as it
suddenly ceased, and stared with wonder at the unexpected
addition which the company had received while his organs of
sight were in abeyance. The clerk, as I conjectured him to be
from his appearance, was also commoved; for, sitting opposite
to Mr. Morris, that honest gentleman's terror communicated
itself to him, though he wotted not why.

  I broke the silence of surprise occasioned by my abrupt
entrance.---``My name, Mr. Inglewood, is Francis Osbaldistone;
I understand that some scoundrel has brought a complaint
before you, charging me with being concerned in a loss which
he says he has sustained.''

  ``Sir,'' said the Justice, somewhat peevishly, ``these are matters
I never enter upon after dinner;---there is a time for everything,
and a justice of peace must eat as well as other folks.''

  The goodly person of Mr. Inglewood, by the way, seemed
by no means to have suffered by any fasts, whether in the
service of the law or of religion.

  ``I beg pardon for an ill-timed visit, sir; but as my reputation
is concerned, and as the dinner appears to be concluded''-------

  ``It is not concluded, sir,'' replied the magistrate; ``man
requires digestion as well as food, and I protest I cannot have
benefit from my victuals unless I am allowed two hours of
quiet leisure, intermixed with harmless mirth, and a moderate
circulation of the bottle.''

  ``If your honour will forgive me,'' said Mr. Jobson, who had
produced and arranged his writing implements in the brief space
that our conversation afforded; ``as this is a case of felony, and
the gentleman seems something impatient, the charge is _contra
pacem domini regis_''------

  ``D---n _dominie regis!_'' said the impatient Justice---``I hope
it's no treason to say so; but it's enough to made one mad to
be worried in this way.	Have I a moment of my life quiet for
warrants, orders, directions, acts, bails, bonds, and recognisances?
---I pronounce to you, Mr. Jobson, that I shall send you and
the justiceship to the devil one of these days.''

  ``Your honour will consider the dignity of the office one of
the quorum and custos rotulorum, an office of which Sir Edward
Coke wisely saith, The whole Christian world hath not the like
of it, so it be duly executed.''

  ``Well,'' said the Justice, partly reconciled by this eulogium
on the dignity of his situation, and gulping down the rest of
his dissatisfaction in a huge bumper of claret, ``let us to this
gear then, and get rid of it as fast as we can.---Here you, sir---
you, Morris---you, knight of the sorrowful countenance---is this
Mr. Francis Osbaldistone the gentleman whom you charge with
being art and part of felony?''

  ``I, sir?'' replied Morris, whose scattered wits had hardly
yet reassembled themselves; ``I charge nothing---I say nothing
against the gentleman,''

  ``Then we dismiss your complaint, sir, that's all, and a good
riddance---Push about the bottle---Mr. Osbaldistone, help yourself.''

  Jobson, however, was determined that Morris should not
back out of the scrape so easily. ``What do you mean, Mr.
Morris?---Here is your own declaration---the ink scarce dried---
and you would retract it in this scandalous manner!''

  ``How do I know,'' whispered the other in a tremulous tone,
``how many rogues are in the house to back him? I have read
of such things in Johnson's Lives of the Highwaymen. I protest
the door opens''------

  And it did open, and Diana Vernon entered---``You keep
fine order here, Justice---not a servant to be seen or heard of.''

  ``Ah!'' said the Justice, starting up with an alacrity which
showed that he was not so engrossed by his devotions to Themis
or Comus, as to forget what was due to beauty---``Ah, ha!
Die Vernon, the heath-bell of Cheviot, and the blossom of the
Border, come to see how the old bachelor keeps house? Art
welcome, girl, as flowers in May.''

  ``A fine, open, hospitable house you do keep, Justice, that
must be allowed---not a soul to answer a visitor.''

  ``Ah, the knaves! they reckoned themselves secure of me
for a couple of hours---But why did you not come earlier?---
Your cousin Rashleigh dined here, and ran away like a poltroon
after the first bottle was out---But you have not dined---we'll
have something nice and ladylike---sweet and pretty like yourself,
tossed up in a trice.''

  ``I may eat a crust in the ante-room before I set out,''
answered Miss Vernon---``I have had a long ride this morning;
but I can't stay long, Justice---I came with my cousin, Frank
Osbaldistone, there, and I must show him the way back again
to the Hall, or he'll lose himself in the wolds.''

  ``Whew! sits the wind in that quarter?'' inquired the
Justice---

	``She showed him the way, she showed him the way,
	She showed him the way to woo.

What! no luck for old fellows, then, my sweet bud of the
wilderness?''

  ``None whatever, Squire Inglewood; but if you will be a
good kind Justice, and despatch young Frank's business, and
let us canter home again, I'll bring my uncle to dine with you
next week, and we'll expect merry doings.''

  ``And you shall find them, my pearl of the Tyne---Zookers,
lass, I never envy these young fellows their rides and scampers,
unless when you come across me. But I must not keep you
just now, I suppose?---I am quite satisfied with Mr. Francis
Osbaldistone's explanation---here has been some mistake, which
can be cleared at greater leisure.''

  ``Pardon me, sir,'' said I; ``but I have not heard the nature
of the accusation yet.''

  ``Yes, sir,'' said the clerk, who, at the appearance of Miss
Vernon, had given up the matter in despair, but who picked
up courage to press farther investigation on finding himself
supported from a quarter whence assuredly he expected no
backing---``Yes, sir, and Dalton saith, That he who is apprehended
as a felon shall not be discharged upon any man's
discretion, but shall be held either to bail or commitment,
paying to the clerk of the peace the usual fees for recognisance
or commitment.''

  The Justice, thus goaded on, gave me at length a few words
of explanation.

  It seems the tricks which I had played to this man Morris
had made a strong impression on his imagination; for I found
they had been arrayed against me in his evidence, with all the
exaggerations which a timorous and heated imagination could
suggest. It appeared also, that on the day he parted from me,
he had been stopped on a solitary spot and eased of his beloved
travelling-companion, the portmanteau, by two men, well
mounted and armed, having their faces covered with vizards.

  One of them, he conceived, had much of my shape and air,
and in a whispering conversation which took place betwixt the
freebooters, he heard the other apply to him the name of
Osbaldistone. The declaration farther set forth, that upon
inquiring into the principles of the family so named, he, the
said declarant, was informed that they were of the worst
description, the family, in all its members, having been Papists
and Jacobites, as he was given to understand by the dissenting
clergyman at whose house he stopped after his rencontre, since
the days of William the Conqueror.

  Upon all and each of these weighty reasons, he charged me
with being accessory to the felony committed upon his person;
he, the said declarant, then travelling in the special employment
of Government, and having charge of certain important papers,
and also a large sum in specie, to be paid over, according to his
instructions, to certain persons of official trust and importance
in Scotland.

  Having heard this extraordinary accusation, I replied to it,
that the circumstances on which it was founded were such as
could warrant no justice, or magistrate, in any attempt on my
personal liberty. I admitted that I had practised a little upon
the terrors of Mr. Morris, while we travelled together, but in
such trifling particulars as could have excited apprehension in no
one who was one whit less timorous and jealous than himself.
But I added, that I had never seen him since we parted, and if
that which he feared had really come upon him, I was in nowise
accessory to an action so unworthy of my character and station
in life. That one of the robbers was called Osbaldistone, or
that such a name was mentioned in the course of the conversation
betwixt them, was a trifling circumstance, to which no
weight was due. And concerning the disaffection alleged against
me, I was willing to prove, to the satisfaction of the Justice, the
clerk, and even the witness himself, that I was of the same
persuasion as his friend the dissenting clergyman; had been
educated as a good subject in the principles of the Revolution,
and as such now demanded the personal protection of the laws
which had been assured by that great event.

  The Justice fidgeted, took snuff, and seemed considerably
embarrassed, while Mr. Attorney Jobson, with all the volubility
of his profession, ran over the statute of the 34 Edward III.,
by which justices of the peace are allowed to arrest all those
whom they find by indictment or suspicion, and to put them
into prison. The rogue even turned my own admissions against
me, alleging, ``that since I had confessedly, upon my own
showing, assumed the bearing or deportment of a robber or
malefactor, I had voluntarily subjected myself to the suspicions
of which I complained, and brought myself within the compass
of the act, having wilfully clothed my conduct with all the
colour and livery of guilt.''

  I combated both his arguments and his jargon with much
indignation and scorn, and observed, ``That I should, if necessary,
produce the bail of my relations, which I conceived could not be
refused, without subjecting the magistrate in a misdemeanour.''

  ``Pardon me, my good sir---pardon me,'' said the insatiable
clerk; ``this is a case in which neither bail nor mainprize can
be received, the felon who is liable to be committed on heavy
grounds of suspicion, not being replevisable under the statute
of the 3d of King Edward, there being in that act an express
exception of such as be charged of commandment, or force, and
aid of felony done;'' and he hinted that his worship would do
well to remember that such were no way replevisable by common
writ, nor without writ.

  At this period of the conversation a servant entered, and
delivered a letter to Mr. Jobson. He had no sooner run it
hastily over, than he exclaimed, with the air of one who wished
to appear much vexed at the interruption, and felt the consequence
attached to a man of multifarious avocations---``Good
God!---why, at this rate, I shall have neither time to attend
to the public concerns nor my own---no rest---no quiet---I
wish to Heaven another gentleman in our line would settle
here!''

  ``God forbid!'' said the Justice in a tone of _sotto-voce_ deprecation;
``some of us have enough of one of the tribe.''

  ``This is a matter of life and death, if your worship pleases.''

  ``In God's name! no more justice business, I hope,'' said the
alarmed magistrate.

  ``No---no,'' replied Mr. Jobson, very consequentially; ``old
Gaffer Rutledge of Grime's-hill is subp<oe>naed for the next world;
he has sent an express for Dr. Kill-down to put in bail---another
for me to arrange his worldly affairs.''

  ``Away with you, then,'' said Mr. Inglewood, hastily; ``his
may not be a replevisable case under the statute, you know, or
Mr. Justice Death may not like the doctor for a _main pernor,_
or bailsman.''

  ``And yet,'' said Jobson, lingering as he moved towards the
door, ``if my presence here be necessary---I could make out the
warrant for committal in a moment, and the constable is below
---And you have heard,'' he said, lowering his voice, ``Mr.
Rashleigh's opinion''---the rest was lost in a whisper.

  The Justice replied aloud, ``I tell thee no, man, no---we'll do
nought till thou return, man; 'tis but a four-mile ride---Come,
push the bottle, Mr. Morris---Don't be cast down, Mr. Osbaldistone
---And you, my rose of the wilderness---one cup of claret
to refresh the bloom of your cheeks.''

  Diana started, as if from a reverie, in which she appeared to
have been plunged while we held this discussion. ``No, Justice
---I should be afraid of transferring the bloom to a part of my
face where it would show to little advantage; but I will pledge
you in a cooler beverage;'' and filling a glass with water, she
drank it hastily, while her hurried manner belied her assumed
gaiety.

  I had not much leisure to make remarks upon her demeanour,
however, being full of vexation at the interference of fresh
obstacles to an instant examination of the disgraceful and
impertinent charge which was brought against me. But there
was no moving the Justice to take the matter up in absence of
his clerk, an incident which gave him apparently as much
pleasure as a holiday to a schoolboy. He persisted in his
endeavours to inspire jollity into a company, the individuals of
which, whether considered with reference to each other, or to
their respective situations, were by no means inclined to mirth.
``Come, Master Morris, you're not the first man that's been
robbed, I trow---grieving ne'er brought back loss, man. And
you, Mr. Frank Osbaldistone, are not the first bully-boy that
has said stand to a true man. There was Jack Winterfield, in
my young days, kept the best company in the land---at horse-races
and cock-fights who but he---hand and glove was I with
Jack. Push the bottle, Mr. Morris, it's dry talking---Many
quart bumpers have I cracked, and thrown many a merry main
with poor Jack---good family---ready wit---quick eye---as honest
a fellow, barring the deed he died for---we'll drink to his memory,
gentlemen---Poor Jack Winterfield---And since we talk of him,
and of those sort of things, and since that d---d clerk of mine
has taken his gibberish elsewhere, and since we're snug among
ourselves, Mr. Osbaldistone, if you will have my best advice, I
would take up this matter---the law's hard---very severe---
hanged poor Jack Winterfield at York, despite family connections
and great interest, all for easing a fat west-country
grazier of the price of a few beasts---Now, here is honest Mr.
Morris, has been frightened, and so forth---D---n it, man, let
the poor fellow have back his portmanteau, and end the frolic
at once.''

  Morris's eyes brightened up at this suggestion, and he began
to hesitate forth an assurance that he thirsted for no man's
blood, when I cut the proposed accommodation short, by resenting
the Justice's suggestion as an insult, that went directly to
suppose me guilty of the very crime which I had come to his
house with the express intention of disavowing. We were in
this awkward predicament when a servant, opening the door,
announced, ``A strange gentleman to wait upon his honour;''
and the party whom he thus described entered the room without
farther ceremony.



			CHAPTER NINTH.

	One of the thieves come back again! I'll stand close,
	He dares not wrong me now, so near the house,
	And call in vain 'tis, till I see him offer it.
						The Widow.

  ``A stranger!'' echoed the Justice---``not upon business, I
trust, for I'll be''------

  His protestation was cut short by the answer of the man
himself. ``My business is of a nature somewhat onerous and
particular,'' said my acquaintance, Mr. Campbell---for it was
he, the very Scotchman whom I had seen at Northallerton---
``and I must solicit your honour to give instant and heedful
consideration to it.---I believe, Mr. Morris,'' he added, fixing
his eye on that person with a look of peculiar firmness and
almost ferocity---``I believe ye ken brawly what I am---I believe
ye cannot have forgotten what passed at our last meeting on
the road?'' Morris's jaw dropped---his countenance became
the colour of tallow---his teeth chattered, and he gave visible
signs of the utmost consternation. ``Take heart of grace,
man,'' said Campbell, ``and dinna sit clattering your jaws
there like a pair of castanets! I think there can be nae difficulty
in your telling Mr. Justice, that ye have seen me of
yore, and ken me to be a cavalier of fortune, and a man of
honour. Ye ken fu' weel ye will be some time resident in my
vicinity, when I may have the power, as I will possess the
inclination, to do you as good a turn.''

  ``Sir---sir---I believe you to be a man of honour, and, as you
say, a man of fortune. Yes, Mr. Inglewood,'' he added, clearing
his voice, ``I really believe this gentleman to be so.''

  ``And what are this gentleman's commands with me?''
said the Justice, somewhat peevishly. ``One man introduces
another, like the rhymes in the `house that Jack built,' and I
get company without either peace or conversation!''

  ``Both shall be yours, sir,'' answered Campbell, ``in a brief
period of time. I come to release your mind from a piece of
troublesome duty, not to make increment to it.''

  ``Body o' me! then you are welcome as ever Scot was to
England, and that's not saying much. But get on, man---let's
hear what you have got to say at once.''

  ``I presume, this gentleman,'' continued the North Briton,
``told you there was a person of the name of Campbell with him,
when he had the mischance to lose his valise?''

  ``He has not mentioned such a name, from beginning to end
of the matter,'' said the Justice.

  ``Ah! I conceive---I conceive,'' replied Mr. Campbell;---
``Mr. Morris was kindly afeared of committing a stranger into
collision wi' the judicial forms of the country; but as I understand
my evidence is necessary to the compurgation of one
honest gentleman here, Mr. Francis Osbaldistone, wha has been
most unjustly suspected, I will dispense with the precaution.
Ye will therefore'' (he added addressing Morris with the same
determined look and accent) ``please tell Mr. Justice Inglewood,
whether we did not travel several miles together on the road,
in consequence of your own anxious request and suggestion,
reiterated ance and again, baith on the evening that we were
at Northallerton, and there declined by me, but afterwards
accepted, when I overtook ye on the road near Cloberry Allers,
and was prevailed on by you to resign my ain intentions of
proceeding to Rothbury; and, for my misfortune, to accompany
you on your proposed route.''

  ``It's a melancholy truth,'' answered Morris, holding down
his head, as he gave this general assent to the long and leading
question which Campbell put to him, and seemed to acquiesce
in the statement it contained with rueful docility.

  ``And I presume you can also asseverate to his worship, that
no man is better qualified than I am to bear testimony in this
case, seeing that I was by you, and near you, constantly during
the whole occurrence.''

  ``No man better qualified, certainly,'' said Morris, with a
deep and embarrassed sigh.

  ``And why the devil did you not assist him, then,'' said the
Justice, ``since, by Mr. Morris's account, there were but two
robbers; so you were two to two, and you are both stout likely
men?''

  ``Sir, if it please your worship,'' said Campbell, ``I have been
all my life a man of peace and quietness, noways given to broils
or batteries. Mr. Morris, who belongs, as I understand, or hath
belonged, to his Majesty's army, might have used his pleasure
in resistance, he travelling, as I also understand, with a great
charge of treasure; but, for me, who had but my own small
peculiar to defend, and who am, moreover, a man of a pacific
occupation, I was unwilling to commit myself to hazard in the
matter.''

  I looked at Campbell as he muttered these words, and never
recollect to have seen a more singular contrast than that
between the strong daring sternness expressed in his harsh
features, and the air of composed meekness and simplicity which
his language assumed. There was even a slight ironical smile
lurking about the corners of his mouth, which seemed, involuntarily
as it were, to intimate his disdain of the quiet and
peaceful character which he thought proper to assume, and
which led me to entertain strange suspicions that his concern in
the violence done to Morris had been something very different
from that of a fellow-sufferer, or even of a mere spectator.

  Perhaps some suspicious crossed the Justice's mind at the
moment, for he exclaimed, as if by way of ejaculation, ``Body
o' me! but this is a strange story.''

  The North Briton seemed to guess at what was passing in
his mind; for he went on, with a change of manner and tone,
dismissing from his countenance some part of the hypocritical
affectation of humility which had made him obnoxious to
suspicion, and saying, with a more frank and unconstrained
air, ``To say the truth, I am just ane o' those canny folks wha
care not to fight but when they hae gotten something to fight
for, which did not chance to be my predicament when I fell in
wi' these loons. But that your worship may know that I am a
person of good fame and character, please to cast your eye over
that billet.''

  Mr. Inglewood took the paper from his hand, and read, half
aloud, ``These are to certify, that the bearer, Robert Campbell
of---of some place which I cannot pronounce,'' interjected the
Justice---``is a person of good lineage, and peaceable demeanour,
travelling towards England on his own proper affairs, &c.
&c. &c. Given under our hand, at our Castle of Inver---Invera
---rara---Argyle.''

  ``A slight testimonial, sir, which I thought fit to impetrate
from that worthy nobleman'' (here he raised his hand to his
head, as if to touch his hat), ``MacCallum More.''

  ``MacCallum who, sir?'' said the Justice.

  ``Whom the Southern call the Duke of Argyle.''

  ``I know the Duke of Argyle very well to be a nobleman of
great worth and distinction, and a true lover of his country. I
was one of those that stood by him in 1714, when he unhorsed
the Duke of Marlborough out of his command. I wish we had
more noblemen like him. He was an honest Tory in those
days, and hand and glove with Ormond. And he has acceded
to the present Government, as I have done myself, for the peace
and quiet of his country; for I cannot presume that great man
to have been actuated, as violent folks pretend, with the fear of
losing his places and regiment. His testimonial, as you call it,
Mr. Campbell, is perfectly satisfactory; and now, what have
you got to say to this matter of the robbery?''

  ``Briefly this, if it please your worship,---that Mr. Morris
might as weel charge it against the babe yet to be born, or
against myself even, as against this young gentleman, Mr.
Osbaldistone; for I am not only free to depone that the person
whom he took for him was a shorter man, and a thicker man,
but also, for I chanced to obtain a glisk of his visage, as his
fause-face slipped aside, that he was a man of other features
and complexion than those of this young gentleman, Mr.
Osbaldistone. And I believe,'' he added, turning round with
a natural, yet somewhat sterner air, to Mr. Morris, ``that the
gentleman will allow I had better opportunity to take cognisance
wha were present on that occasion than he, being, I believe,
much the cooler o' the twa.''

  ``I agree to it, sir---I agree to it perfectly,'' said Morris,
shrinking back as Campbell moved his chair towards him to
fortify his appeal---``And I incline, sir,'' he added, addressing
Mr. Inglewood, ``to retract my information as to Mr. Osbaldistone;
and I request, sir, you will permit him, sir, to go
about his business, and me to go about mine also; your worship
may have business to settle with Mr. Campbell, and I am
rather in haste to be gone.''

  ``Then, there go the declarations,'' said the Justice, throwing
them into the fire---``And now you are at perfect liberty, Mr
Osbaldistone. And you, Mr. Morris, are set quite at your ease.''

  ``Ay,'' said Campbell, eyeing Morris as he assented with a
rueful grin to the Justice's observations, ``much like the ease
of a tod under a pair of harrows---But fear nothing, Mr.
Morris; you and I maun leave the house thegither. I will see
you safe---I hope you will not doubt my honour, when I say
sae---to the next highway, and then we part company; and
if we do not meet as friends in Scotland, it will be your ain
fault.''

  With such a lingering look of terror as the condemned criminal
throws, when he is informed that the cart awaits him, Morris
arose; but when on his legs, appeared to hesitate. ``I tell
thee, man, fear nothing,'' reiterated Campbell; ``I will keep
my word with you---Why, thou sheep's heart, how do ye ken
but we may can pick up some speerings of your valise, if ye
will be amenable to gude counsel?---Our horses are ready. Bid
the Justice fareweel, man, and show your Southern breeding.''

  Morris, thus exhorted and encouraged, took his leave, under
the escort of Mr. Campbell; but, apparently, new scruples and
terrors had struck him before they left the house, for I heard
Campbell reiterating assurances of safety and protection as they
left the ante-room---``By the soul of my body, man, thou'rt as
safe as in thy father's kailyard---Zounds! that a chield wi' sic a
black beard should hae nae mair heart than a hen-partridge!---
Come on wi' ye, like a frank fallow, anes and for aye.''

  The voices died away, and the subsequent trampling of their
horses announced to us that they had left the mansion of Justice
Inglewood.

  The joy which that worthy magistrate received at this easy
conclusion of a matter which threatened him with some trouble
in his judicial capacity, was somewhat damped by reflection on
what his clerk's views of the transaction might be at his return.
``Now, I shall have Jobson on my shoulders about these d---d
papers---I doubt I should not have destroyed them, after all---
But hang it! it is only paying his fees, and that will make all
smooth---And now, Miss Die Vernon, though I have liberated
all the others, I intend to sign a writ for committing you to the
custody of Mother Blakes, my old housekeeper, for the evening,
and we will send for my neighbour Mrs. Musgrave, and the
Miss Dawkins, and your cousins, and have old Cobs the fiddler,
and be as merry as the maids; and Frank Osbaldistone and I
will have a carouse that will make us fit company for you in
half-an-hour.''

  ``Thanks, most worshipful,'' returned Miss Vernon; ``but, as
matters stand, we must return instantly to Osbaldistone Hall,
where they do not know what has become of us, and relieve my
uncle of his anxiety on my cousin's account, which is just the
same as if one of his own sons were concerned.''

  ``I believe it truly,'' said the Justice; ``for when his eldest
son, Archie, came to a bad end, in that unlucky affair of Sir
John Fenwick's, old Hildebrand used to hollo out his name
as readily as any of the remaining six, and then complain that
he could not recollect which of his sons had been hanged. So,
pray hasten home, and relieve his paternal solicitude, since go
you must. But hark thee hither, heath-blossom,'' he said, pulling
her towards him by the hand, and in a good-humoured tone
of admonition, ``another time let the law take its course, without
putting your pretty finger into her old musty pie, all full of
fragments of law gibberish---French and dog-Latin---And, Die,
my beauty, let young fellows show each other the way through
the moors, in case you should lose your own road, while you are
pointing out theirs, my pretty Will o' the Wisp.''

  With this admonition, he saluted and dismissed Miss Vernon,
and took an equally kind farewell of me.

  ``Thou seems to be a good tight lad, Mr. Frank, and I remember
thy father too---he was my playfellow at school. Hark
thee, lad,---ride early at night, and don't swagger with chance
passengers on the king's highway. What, man! all the king's
liege subjects are not bound to understand joking, and it's ill
cracking jests on matters of felony. And here's poor Die Vernon
too---in a manner alone and deserted on the face of this wide
earth, and left to ride, and run, and scamper, at her own silly
pleasure. Thou must be careful of Die, or, egad, I will turn a
young fellow again on purpose, and fight thee myself, although
I must own it would be a great deal of trouble. And now, get
ye both gone, and leave me to my pipe of tobacco, and my
meditations; for what says the song---

	The Indian leaf doth briefly burn;
	So doth man's strength to weakness turn
	The fire of youth extinguished quite,
	Comes age, like embers, dry and white.
	    Think of this as you take tobacco.''<*>

* [The lines here quoted belong to or were altered from a set of verses at one
* time very popular in England, beginning, _Tobacco that is withered quite._ In Scotland,
* the celebrated Ralph Erskine, author of the _Gospel Sonnets,_ published what
* he called ``_Smoking Spiritualized,_ in two parts. The first part being an Old Meditation
* upon Smoking Tobacco.'' It begins---
*
*	This Indian weed now withered quite,
*	Tho' green at noon, cut down at night,
*	    Shows thy decay;
*	    All flesh is hay.
*	Thus thank, and smoke tobacco.]


  I was much pleased with the gleams of sense and feeling
which escaped from the Justice through the vapours of sloth
and self-indulgence, assured him of my respect to his admonitions,
and took a friendly farewell of the honest magistrate and
his hospitable mansion.

  We found a repast prepared for us in the ante-room, which
we partook of slightly, and rejoined the same servant of Sir
Hildebrand who had taken our horses at our entrance, and who
had been directed, as he informed Miss Vernon, by Mr. Rashleigh,
to wait and attend upon us home. We rode a little way
in silence, for, to say truth, my mind was too much bewildered
with the events of the morning, to permit me to be the first to
break it. At length Miss Vernon exclaimed, as if giving vent
to her own reflections, ``Well, Rashleigh is a man to be feared
and wondered at, and all but loved; he does whatever he
pleases, and makes all others his puppets---has a player ready
to perform every part which he imagines, and an invention and
readiness which supply expedients for every emergency.''

  ``You think, then,'' said I, answering rather to her meaning,
than to the express words she made use of, ``that this Mr.
Campbell, whose appearance was so opportune, and who trussed
up and carried off my accuser as a falcon trusses a partridge,
was an agent of Mr. Rashleigh Osbaldistone's?''

  ``I do guess as much,'' replied Diana; ``and shrewdly suspect,
moreover, that he would hardly have appeared so very much in
the nick of time, if I had not happened to meet Rashleigh in
the hall at the Justice's.''

  ``In that case, my thanks are chiefly due to you, my fair
preserver.''

  ``To be sure they are,'' returned Diana; ``and pray, suppose
them paid, and accepted with a gracious smile, for I do not
care to be troubled with hearing them in good earnest, and am
much more likely to yawn than to behave becoming. In short,
Mr. Frank, I wished to serve you, and I have fortunately been
able to do so, and have only one favour to ask in return, and
that is, that you will say no more about it.---But who comes
here to meet us, `bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste?'
It is the subordinate man of law, I think---no less than Mr.
Joseph Jobson.''

  And Mr. Joseph Jobson it proved to be, in great haste, and,
as it speedily appeared, in most extreme bad humour. He
came up to us, and stopped his horse, as we were about to pass
with a slight salutation.

  ``So, sir---so, Miss Vernon---ay, I see well enough how it is
---bail put in during my absence, I suppose---I should like to
know who drew the recognisance, that's all. If his worship uses
this form of procedure often, I advise him to get another clerk,
that's all, for I shall certainly demit.''

  ``Or suppose he get this present clerk stitched to his sleeve,
Mr. Jobson,'' said Diana; ``would not that do as well? And
pray, how does Farmer Rutledge, Mr. Jobson? I hope you
found him able to sign, seal, and deliver?''

  This question seemed greatly to increase the wrath of the man
of law. He looked at Miss Vernon with such an air of spite
and resentment, as laid me under a strong temptation to knock
him off his horse with the butt-end of my whip, which I only
suppressed in consideration of his insignificance.

  ``Farmer Rutledge, ma'am?'' said the clerk, as soon as his
indignation permitted him to articulate, ``Farmer Rutledge is
in as handsome enjoyment of his health as you are---it's all a
bam, ma'am---all a bamboozle and a bite, that affair of his illness;
and if you did not know as much before, you know it
now, ma'am.''

  ``La you there now!'' replied Miss Vernon, with an affectation
of extreme and simple wonder, ``sure you don't say so, Mr.
Jobson?''

  ``But I _do_ say so, ma'am,'' rejoined the incensed scribe;
``and moreover I say, that the old miserly clod-breaker called
me pettifogger---pettifogger, ma'am---and said I came to hunt
for a job, ma'am---which I have no more right to have said to
me than any other gentleman of my profession, ma'am---
especially as I am clerk to the peace, having and holding said
office under _Trigesimo Septimo Henrici Octavi_ and _Primo Gulielmi,_
the first of King William, ma'am, of glorious and immortal
memory---our immortal deliverer from papists and pretenders,
and wooden shoes and warming pans, Miss Vernon.''

  ``Sad things, these wooden shoes and warming pans,'' retorted
the young lady, who seemed to take pleasure in augmenting his
wrath;---``and it is a comfort you don't seem to want a warming
pan at present, Mr. Jobson. I am afraid Gaffer Rutledge
has not confined his incivility to language---Are you sure he did
not give you a beating?''

  ``Beating, ma'am!---no''---(very shortly)---``no man alive
shall beat me, I promise you, ma'am.''

  ``That is according as you happen to merit, sir,'' said I:
``for your mode of speaking to this young lady is so unbecoming,
that, if you do not change your tone, I shall think it worth
while to chastise you myself.''

  ``Chastise, sir? and---me, sir?---Do you know whom you
speak to, sir?''

  ``Yes, sir,'' I replied; ``you say yourself you are clerk of
peace to the county; and Gaffer Rutledge says you are a pettifogger;
and in neither capacity are you entitled to be impertinent
to a young lady of fashion.''

  Miss Vernon laid her hand on my arm, and exclaimed,
``Come, Mr. Osbaldistone, I will have no assaults and battery
on Mr. Jobson; I am not in sufficient charity with him to
permit a single touch of your whip---why, he would live on it
for a term at least. Besides, you have already hurt his feelings
sufficiently---you have called him impertinent.''

  ``I don't value his language, Miss,'' said the clerk, somewhat
crestfallen: ``besides, impertinent is not an actionable word;
but pettifogger is slander in the highest degree, and that I will
make Gaffer Rutledge know to his cost, and all who maliciously
repeat the same, to the breach of the public peace, and the
taking away of my private good name.''

  ``Never mind that, Mr. Jobson,'' said Miss Vernon; ``you
know, where there is nothing, your own law allows that the
king himself must lose his rights; and for the taking away of
your good name, I pity the poor fellow who gets it, and wish
you joy of losing it with all my heart.''

  ``Very well, ma'am---good evening, ma'am---I have no more
to say---only there are laws against papists, which it would be
well for the land were they better executed. There's third and
fourth Edward VI., of antiphoners, missals, grailes, professionals,
manuals, legends, pies, portuasses, and those that have such
trinkets in their possession, Miss Vernon---and there's summoning
of papists to take the oaths---and there are popish recusant
convicts under the first of his present Majesty---ay, and there
are penalties for hearing mass---See twenty-third of Queen
Elizabeth, and third James First, chapter twenty-fifth. And
there are estates to be registered, and deeds and wills to be
enrolled, and double taxes to be made, according to the acts in
that case made and provided''-----

  ``See the new edition of the Statutes at Large, published
under the careful revision of Joseph Jobson, Gent., Clerk of the
Peace,'' said Miss Vernon.

  ``Also, and above all,'' continued Jobson,---``for I speak to
your warning---you, Diana Vernon, spinstress, not being a
_femme couverte,_ and being a convict popish recusant, are bound
to repair to your own dwelling, and that by the nearest way,
under penalty of being held felon to the king---and diligently
to seek for passage at common ferries, and to tarry there but
one ebb and flood; and unless you can have it in such places,
to walk every day into the water up to the knees, assaying to
pass over.''

  ``A sort of Protestant penance for my Catholic errors, I
suppose,'' said Miss Vernon, laughing.---``Well, I thank you
for the information, Mr. Jobson, and will hie me home as fast
as I can, and be a better housekeeper in time coming. Good-night,
my dear Mr. Jobson, thou mirror of clerical courtesy.''

  ``Good-night, ma'am, and remember the law is not to be
trifled with.''

  And we rode on our separate ways.

  ``There he goes for a troublesome mischief-making tool,'' said
Miss Vernon, as she gave a glance after him; it is hard that
persons of birth and rank and estate should be subjected to the
official impertinence of such a paltry pickthank as that, merely
for believing as the whole world believed not much above a
hundred years ago---for certainly our Catholic Faith has the
advantage of antiquity at least.''

  ``I was much tempted to have broken the rascal's head,'' I
replied.

  ``You would have acted very like a hasty young man,'' said
Miss Vernon; ``and yet, had my own hand been an ounce
heavier than it is, I think I should have laid its weight upon
him. Well, it does not signify complaining, but there are
three things for which I am much to be pitied, if any one
thought it worth while to waste any compassion upon me.''

  ``And what are these three things, Miss Vernon, may I ask?''

  ``Will you promise me your deepest sympathy, if I tell you?''

  ``Certainly;---can you doubt it?'' I replied, closing my horse
nearer to hers as I spoke, with an expression of interest which
I did not attempt to disguise.

  ``Well, it is very seducing to be pitied, after all; so here are
my three grievances: In the first place, I am a girl, and not a
young fellow, and would be shut up in a mad-house if I did
half the things that I have a mind to;---and that, if I had
your happy prerogative of acting as you list, would make all
the world mad with imitating and applauding me.''

  ``I can't quite afford you the sympathy you expect upon this
score,'' I replied; ``the misfortune is so general, that it belongs
to one half of the species; and the other half''------

  ``Are so much better cared for, that they are jealous of their
prerogatives,'' interrupted Miss Vernon---``I forgot you were a
party interested. Nay,'' she said, as I was going to speak,
``that soft smile is intended to be the preface of a very pretty
compliment respecting the peculiar advantages which Die
Vernon's friends and kinsmen enjoy, by her being born one of
their Helots; but spare me the utterance, my good friend, and
let us try whether we shall agree better on the second count of
my indictment against fortune, as that quill-driving puppy
would call it. I belong to an oppressed sect and antiquated
religion, and, instead of getting credit for my devotion, as is
due to all good girls beside, my kind friend, Justice Inglewood,
may send me to the house of correction, merely for worshipping
God in the way of my ancestors, and say, as old Pembroke did
to the Abbess of Wilton,<*> when he usurped her convent and

* Note F. The Abbess of Wilton.

establishment, `Go spin, you jade,---Go spin.' ''

  ``This is not a cureless evil,'' said I gravely. ``Consult some
of our learned divines, or consult your own excellent understanding,
Miss Vernon; and surely the particulars in which
our religious creed differs from that in which you have been
educated''------

  ``Hush!'' said Diana, placing her fore-finger on her mouth,
---``Hush! no more of that. Forsake the faith of my gallant
fathers! I would as soon, were I a man, forsake their banner
when the tide of battle pressed hardest against it, and turn,
like a hireling recreant, to join the victorious enemy.''

  ``I honour your spirit, Miss Vernon; and as to the inconveniences
to which it exposes you, I can only say, that wounds
sustained for the sake of conscience carry their own balsam
with the blow.''

  ``Ay; but they are fretful and irritating, for all that. But I
see, hard of heart as you are, my chance of beating hemp, or
drawing out flax into marvellous coarse thread, affects you as
little as my condemnation to coif and pinners, instead of beaver
and cockade; so I will spare myself the fruitless pains of telling
my third cause of vexation.''

  ``Nay, my dear Miss Vernon, do not withdraw your confidence,
and I will promise you, that the threefold sympathy due
to your very unusual causes of distress shall be all duly and
truly paid to account of the third, providing you assure me,
that it is one which you neither share with all womankind, nor
even with every Catholic in England, who, God bless you, are
still a sect more numerous than we Protestants, in our zeal for
church and state, would desire them to be.''

  ``It is indeed,'' said Diana, with a manner greatly altered,
and more serious than I had yet seen her assume, ``a misfortune
that well merits compassion. I am by nature, as you
may easily observe, of a frank and unreserved disposition---a
plain true-hearted girl, who would willingly act openly and
honestly by the whole world, and yet fate has involved me in
such a series of nets and toils, and entanglements, that I dare
hardly speak a word for fear of consequences---not to myself,
but to others.''

  ``That is indeed a misfortune, Miss Vernon, which I do
most sincerely compassionate, but which I should hardly have
anticipated. ''

  ``O, Mr. Osbaldistone, if you but knew---if any one knew,
what difficulty I sometimes find in hiding an aching heart with
a smooth brow, you would indeed pity me. I do wrong, perhaps,
in speaking to you even thus far on my own situation; but you
are a young man of sense and penetration---you cannot but
long to ask me a hundred questions on the events of this day---
on the share which Rashleigh has in your deliverance from this
petty scrape---upon many other points which cannot but excite
your attention; and I cannot bring myself to answer with the
necessary falsehood and finesse---I should do it awkwardly, and
lose your good opinion, if I have any share of it, as well as my
own. It is best to say at once, Ask me no questions,---I have
it not in my power to reply to them.''

  Miss Vernon spoke these words with a tone of feeling
which could not but make a corresponding impression upon
me. I assured her she had neither to fear my urging her with
impertinent questions, nor my misconstruing her declining to
answer those which might in themselves be reasonable, or at
least natural.

  ``I was too much obliged,'' I said, ``by the interest she had
taken in my affairs, to misuse the opportunity her goodness had
afforded me of prying into hers---I only trusted and entreated,
that if my services could at any time be useful, she would command
them without doubt or hesitation.''

  ``Thank you---thank you,'' she replied; ``your voice does
not ring the cuckoo chime of compliment, but speaks like
that of one who knows to what he pledges himself. If---but
it is impossible---but yet, if an opportunity should occur, I
will ask you if you remember this promise; and I assure you,
I shall not be angry if I find you have forgotten it, for it is
enough that you are sincere in your intentions just now---much
may occur to alter them ere I call upon you, should that
moment ever come, to assist Die Vernon, as if you were Die
Vernon's brother.''

  ``And if I were Die Vernon's brother,'' said I, ``there could
not be less chance that I should refuse my assistance---And now
I am afraid I must not ask whether Rashleigh was willingly
accessory to my deliverance?''

  ``Not of me; but you may ask it of himself, and depend
upon it, he will say _yes;_ for rather than any good action should
walk through the world like an unappropriated adjective in an
ill-arranged sentence, he is always willing to stand noun substantive
to it himself.''

  ``And I must not ask whether this Campbell be himself the
party who eased Mr. Morris of his portmanteau,---or whether
the letter, which our friend the attorney received, was not a
finesse to withdraw him from the scene of action, lest he should
have marred the happy event of my deliverance? And I must
not ask''------

  ``You must ask nothing of me,'' said Miss Vernon; ``so it is
quite in vain to go on putting cases. You are to think just as
well of me as if I had answered all these queries, and twenty
others besides, as glibly as Rashleigh could have done; and
observe, whenever I touch my chin just so, it is a sign that I
cannot speak upon the topic which happens to occupy your
attention. I must settle signals of correspondence with you,
because you are to be my confidant and my counsellor, only you
are to know nothing whatever of my affairs.''

  ``Nothing can be more reasonable,'' I replied, laughing; ``and
the extent of your confidence will, you may rely upon it, only
be equalled by the sagacity of my counsels.''

  This sort of conversation brought us, in the highest good-humour
with each other, to Osbaldistone Hall, where we found
the family far advanced in the revels of the evening.

  ``Get some dinner for Mr. Osbaldistone and me in the library,''
said Miss Vernon to a servant.---``I must have some compassion
upon you,'' she added, turning to me, ``and provide against your
starving in this mansion of brutal abundance; otherwise I am
not sure that I should show you my private haunts. This same
library is my den---the only corner of the Hall-house where I
am safe from the Ourang-Outangs, my cousins. They never
venture there, I suppose for fear the folios should fall down
and crack their skulls; for they will never affect their heads in
any other way---So follow me.''

  And I followed through hall and bower, vaulted passage and
winding stair, until we reached the room where she had ordered
our refreshments.



			CHAPTER TENTH.

	In the wide pile, by others heeded not,
	Hers was one sacred solitary spot,
	Whose gloomy aisles and bending shelves contain
	For moral hunger food, and cures for moral pain.
						Anonymous.

  The library at Osbaldistone Hall was a gloomy room, whose
antique oaken shelves bent beneath the weight of the ponderous
folios so dear to the seventeenth century, from which, under
favour be it spoken, we have distilled matter for our quartos
and octavos, and which, once more subjected to the alembic,
may, should our sons be yet more frivolous than ourselves, be
still farther reduced into duodecimos and pamphlets. The
collection was chiefly of the classics, as well foreign as ancient
history, and, above all, divinity. It was in wretched order.
The priests, who in succession had acted as chaplains at the
Hall, were, for many years, the only persons who entered its
precincts, until Rashleigh's thirst for reading had led him to
disturb the venerable spiders, who had muffled the fronts of
the presses with their tapestry. His destination for the church
rendered his conduct less absurd in his father's eyes, than if any
of his other descendants had betrayed so strange a propensity,
and Sir Hildebrand acquiesced in the library receiving some
repairs, so as to fit it for a sitting-room. Still an air of dilapidation,
as obvious as it was uncomfortable, pervaded the large
apartment, and announced the neglect from which the knowledge
which its walls contained had not been able to exempt it.
The tattered tapestry, the worm-eaten shelves, the huge and
clumsy, yet tottering, tables, desks, and chairs, the rusty grate,
seldom gladdened by either sea-coal or faggots, intimated the
contempt of the lords of Osbaldistone Hall for learning, and
for the volumes which record its treasures.

  ``You think this place somewhat disconsolate, I suppose?''
said Diana, as I glanced my eye round the forlorn apartment;
``but to me it seems like a little paradise, for I call it my own,
and fear no intrusion. Rashleigh was joint proprietor with me,
while we were friends.''

  ``And are you no longer so?'' was my natural question.
Her fore-finger immediately touched her dimpled chin, with an
arch look of prohibition.

  ``We are still _allies,_'' she continued, ``bound, like other confederate
powers, by circumstances of mutual interest; but I am
afraid, as will happen in other cases, the treaty of alliance has
survived the amicable dispositions in which it had its origin.
At any rate, we live less together; and when he comes through
that door there, I vanish through this door here; and so, having
made the discovery that we two were one too many for this apartment,
as large as it seems, Rashleigh, whose occasions frequently
call him elsewhere, has generously made a cession of his rights in
my favour; so that I now endeavour to prosecute alone the
studies in which he used formerly to be my guide.''

  ``And what are those studies, if I may presume to ask?''

  ``Indeed you may, without the least fear of seeing my fore-finger
raised to my chin. Science and history are my principal
favourites; but I also study poetry and the classics.''

  ``And the classics? Do you read them in the original?''

  ``Unquestionably. Rashleigh, who is no contemptible scholar,
taught me Greek and Latin, as well as most of the languages of
modern Europe. I assure you there has been some pains taken
in my education, although I can neither sew a tucker, nor work
cross-stitch, nor make a pudding, nor---as the vicar's fat wife,
with as much truth as elegance, good-will, and politeness, was
pleased to say in my behalf---do any other useful thing in the
varsal world.''

  ``And was this selection of studies Rashleigh's choice, or your
own, Miss Vernon?'' I asked.

  ``Um!'' said she, as if hesitating to answer my question,---
``It's not worth while lifting my finger about, after all. Why,
partly his and partly mine. As I learned out of doors to ride
a horse, and bridle and saddle him in cue of necessity, and to
clear a five-barred gate, and fire a gun without winking, and all
other of those masculine accomplishments that my brute cousins
run mad after, I wanted, like my rational cousin, to read Greek
and Latin within doors, and make my complete approach to the
tree of knowledge, which you men-scholars would engross to
yourselves, in revenge, I suppose, for our common mother's share
in the great original transgression.''

  ``And Rashleigh indulged your propensity to learning?''

  ``Why, he wished to have me for his scholar, and he could
but teach me that which he knew himself---he was not likely to
instruct me in the mysteries of washing lace-ruffles, or hemming
cambric handkerchiefs, I suppose.''

  ``I admit the temptation of getting such a scholar, and have
no doubt that it made a weighty consideration on the tutor's
part.''

  ``Oh, if you begin to investigate Rashleigh's motives, my
finger touches my chin once more. I can only be frank where
my own are inquired into. But to resume---he has resigned the
library in my favour, and never enters without leave had and
obtained; and so I have taken the liberty to make it the place
of deposit for some of my own goods and chattels, as you may see
by looking round you.''

  ``I beg pardon, Miss Vernon, but I really see nothing around
these walls which I can distinguish as likely to claim you as
mistress.''

  ``That is, I suppose, because you neither see a shepherd or
shepherdess wrought in worsted, and handsomely framed in
black ebony, or a stuffed parrot,---or a breeding-cage, full of
canary birds,---or a housewife-case, broidered with tarnished
silver,---or a toilet-table with a nest of japanned boxes, with as
many angles as Christmas minced-pies,---or a broken-backed
spinet,---or a lute with three strings,---or rock-work,---or shell-work,
---or needle-work, or work of any kind,---or a lap-dog with
a litter of blind puppies---None of these treasures do I possess,''
she continued, after a pause, in order to recover the breath she
had lost in enumerating them---``But there stands the sword of
my ancestor Sir Richard Vernon, slain at Shrewsbury, and sorely
slandered by a sad fellow called Will Shakspeare, whose Lancastrian
partialities, and a certain knack at embodying them, has
turned history upside down, or rather inside out;---and by that
redoubted weapon hangs the mail of the still older Vernon,
squire to the Black Prince, whose fate is the reverse of his
descendant's, since he is more indebted to the bard who took the
trouble to celebrate him, for good-will than for talents,---

	Amiddes the route you may discern one
	Brave knight, with pipes on shield, ycleped Vernon
	Like a borne fiend along the plain he thundered,
	Prest to be carving throtes, while others plundered.

Then there is a model of a new martingale, which I invented
myself---a great improvement on the Duke of Newcastle's; and
there are the hood and bells of my falcon Cheviot, who spitted
himself on a heron's bill at Horsely-moss---poor Cheviot, there
is not a bird on the perches below, but are kites and riflers compared
to him; and there is my own light fowling-piece, with an
improved firelock; with twenty other treasures, each more
valuable than another---And there, that speaks for itself.''

  She pointed to the carved oak frame of a full-length portrait
by Vandyke, on which were inscribed, in Gothic letters, the
words _Vernon semper viret._ I looked at her for explanation.
``Do you not know,'' said she, with some surprise, ``our motto---
the Vernon motto, where,

	Like the solemn vice iniquity,
	We moralise two meanings in one word

And do you not know our cognisance, the pipes?'' pointing to the
armorial bearings sculptured on the oaken scutcheon, around
which the legend was displayed.

  ``Pipes!---they look more like penny-whistles---But, pray, do
not be angry with my ignorance,'' I continued, observing the
colour mount to her cheeks, ``I can mean no affront to your
armorial bearings, for I do not even know my own.''

  ``You an Osbaldistone, and confess so much!'' she exclaimed.
``Why, Percie, Thornie, John, Dickon---Wilfred himself, might
be your instructor. Even ignorance itself is a plummet over
you.''

  ``With shame I confess it, my dear Miss Vernon, the mysteries
couched under the grim hieroglyphics of heraldry are to me as
unintelligible as those of the pyramids of Egypt.''

  ``What! is it possible?---Why, even my uncle reads Gwillym
sometimes of a winter night---Not know the figures of heraldry!
---of what could your father be thinking?''

  ``Of the figures of arithmetic,'' I answered; ``the most insignificant
unit of which he holds more highly than all the
blazonry of chivalry. But, though I am ignorant to this inexpressible
degree, I have knowledge and taste enough to admire
that splendid picture, in which I think I can discover a family
likeness to you. What ease and dignity in the attitude!---what
richness of colouring---what breadth and depth of shade!''

  ``Is it really a fine painting?'' she asked.

  ``I have seen many works of the renowned artist,'' I replied,
``but never beheld one more to my liking!''

  ``Well, I know as little of pictures as you do of heraldry,''
replied Miss Vernon; ``yet I have the advantage of you, because
I have always admired the painting without understanding its
value.''

  ``While I have neglected pipes and tabors, and all the
whimsical combinations of chivalry, still I am informed that
they floated in the fields of ancient fame. But you will allow
their exterior appearance is not so peculiarly interesting to the
uninformed spectator as that of a fine painting.---Who is the person
here represented?''

  ``My grandfather. He shared the misfortunes of Charles I.,
and, I am sorry to add, the excesses of his son. Our patrimonial
estate was greatly impaired by his prodigality, and was
altogether lost by his successor, my unfortunate father. But
peace be with them who have got it!---it was lost in the cause
of loyalty.''

  ``Your father, I presume, suffered in the political dissensions
of the period?''

  ``He did indeed;---he lost his all. And hence is his child a
dependent orphan---eating the bread of others---subjected to
their caprices, and compelled to study their inclinations; yet
prouder of having had such a father, than if, playing a more
prudent but less upright part, he had left me possessor of all
the rich and fair baronies which his family once possessed.''

  As she thus spoke, the entrance of the servants with dinner
cut off all conversation but that of a general nature.

  When our hasty meal was concluded, and the wine placed
on the table, the domestic informed us, ``that Mr. Rashleigh
had desired to be told when our dinner was removed.''

  ``Tell him,'' said Miss Vernon, ``we shall be happy to see
him if he will step this way---place another wineglass and chair,
and leave the room.---You must retire with him when he goes
away, she continued, addressing herself to me; ``even _my_ liberality
cannot spare a gentleman above eight hours out of the
twenty-four; and I think we have been together for at least
that length of time.''

  ``The old scythe-man has moved so rapidly,'' I answered,
``that I could not count his strides.''

  ``Hush!'' said Miss Vernon, ``here comes Rashleigh;'' and
she drew off her chair, to which I had approached mine rather
closely, so as to place a greater distance between us.
A modest tap at the door,---a gentle manner of opening when
invited to enter,---a studied softness and humility of step and
deportment, announced that the education of Rashleigh Osbaldistone
at the College of St. Omers accorded well with the ideas I
entertained of the manners of an accomplished Jesuit. I need
not add, that, as a sound Protestant, these ideas were not the
most favourable. ``Why should you use the ceremony of knocking,''
said Miss Vernon, ``when you knew that I was not alone?''

  This was spoken with a burst of impatience, as if she had felt
that Rashleigh's air of caution and reserve covered some insinuation
of impertinent suspicion. ``You have taught me the form
of knocking at this door so perfectly, my fair cousin,'' answered
Rashleigh, without change of voice or manner, ``that habit has
become a second nature.''

  ``I prize sincerity more than courtesy, sir, and you know I
do,'' was Miss Vernon's reply.

  ``Courtesy is a gallant gay, a courtier by name and by profession,''
replied Rashleigh, ``and therefore most fit for a lady's
bower.''

  ``But Sincerity is the true knight,'' retorted Miss Vernon,
``and therefore much more welcome, cousin. But to end a debate
not over amusing to your stranger kinsman, sit down, Rashleigh,
and give Mr. Francis Osbaldistone your countenance to his
glass of wine. I have done the honours of the dinner, for the
credit of Osbaldistone Hall.''

  Rashleigh sate down, and filled his glass, glancing his eye from
Diana to me, with an embarrassment which his utmost efforts
could not entirely disguise. I thought he appeared to be uncertain
concerning the extent of confidence she might have reposed
in me, and hastened to lead the conversation into a channel which
should sweep away his suspicion that Diana might have betrayed
any secrets which rested between them. ``Miss Vernon,'' I said,
``Mr. Rashleigh, has recommended me to return my thanks to
you for my speedy disengagement from the ridiculous accusation
of Morris; and, unjustly fearing my gratitude might not be
warm enough to remind me of this duty, she has put my curiosity
on its side, by referring me to you for an account, or rather explanation,
of the events of the day.''

  ``Indeed?'' answered Rashleigh; ``I should have thought''
(looking keenly at Miss Vernon) ``that the lady herself might
have stood interpreter;'' and his eye, reverting from her face,
sought mine, as if to search, from the expression of my features,
whether Diana's communication had been as narrowly limited as
my words had intimated. Miss Vernon retorted his inquisitorial
glance with one of decided scorn; while I, uncertain whether to
deprecate or resent his obvious suspicion, replied, ``If it is your
pleasure, Mr. Rashleigh, as it has been Miss Vernon's, to leave
me in ignorance, I must necessarily submit; but, pray, do not
withhold your information from me on the ground of imagining
that I have already obtained any on the subject. For I tell you,
as a man of honour, I am as ignorant as that picture of anything
relating to the events I have witnessed to-day, excepting that I
understand from Miss Vernon, that you have been kindly active
in my favour.''

  ``Miss Vernon has overrated my humble efforts,'' said Rashleigh,
``though I claim full credit for my zeal. The truth is,
that as I galloped back to get some one of our family to join me.
in becoming your bail, which was the most obvious, or, indeed,
I may say, the only way of serving you which occurred to my
stupidity, I met the man Cawmil---Colville---Campbell, or whatsoever
they call him. I had understood from Morris that he
was present when the robbery took place, and had the good fortune
to prevail on him (with some difficulty, I confess) to tender
his evidence in your exculpation---which I presume was the
means of your being released from an unpleasant situation.''

  ``Indeed?---I am much your debtor for procuring such a
seasonable evidence in my behalf. But I cannot see why (having
been, as he said, a fellow-sufferer with Morris) it should have
required much trouble to persuade him to step forth and bear
evidence, whether to convict the actual robber, or free an innocent
person.''

  ``You do not know the genius of that man's country, sir,''
answered Rashleigh;---``discretion, prudence, and foresight, are
their leading qualities; these are only modified by a narrow-spirited,
but yet ardent patriotism, which forms as it were the
outmost of the concentric bulwarks with which a Scotchman fortifies
himself against all the attacks of a generous philanthropical
principle. Surmount this mound, you find an inner and still
dearer barrier---the love of his province, his village, or, most
probably, his clan; storm this second obstacle, you have a third
---his attachment to his own family---his father, mother, sons,
daughters, uncles, aunts, and cousins, to the ninth generation.
It is within these limits that a Scotchman's social affection
expands itself, never reaching those which are outermost, till
all means of discharging itself in the interior circles have been
exhausted. It is within these circles that his heart throbs,
each pulsation being fainter and fainter, till, beyond the widest
boundary, it is almost unfelt. And what is worst of all, could
you surmount all these concentric outworks, you have an inner
citadel, deeper, higher, and more efficient than them all---a
Scotchman's love for himself.''

  ``All this is extremely eloquent and metaphorical, Rashleigh,''
said Miss Vernon, who listened with unrepressed impatience;
``there are only two objections to it: first, it is _not_ true; secondly,
if true, it is nothing to the purpose.''

  ``It _is_ true, my fairest Diana,'' returned Rashleigh; ``and
moreover, it is most instantly to the purpose. It is true, because
you cannot deny that I know the country and people intimately,
and the character is drawn from deep and accurate consideration
---and it is to the purpose, because it answers Mr. Francis Osbaldistone's
question, and shows why this same wary Scotchman,
considering our kinsman to be neither his countryman, nor a
Campbell, nor his cousin in any of the inextricable combinations
by which they extend their pedigree; and, above all, seeing no
prospect of personal advantage, but, on the contrary, much hazard
of loss of time and delay of business''------

  ``With other inconveniences, perhaps, of a nature yet more
formidable,'' interrupted Miss Vernon.

  ``Of which, doubtless, there might be many,'' said Rashleigh,
continuing in the same tone---``In short, my theory shows why
this man, hoping for no advantage, and afraid of some inconvenience,
might require a degree of persuasion ere he could be
prevailed on to give his testimony in favour of Mr. Osbaldistone.''

  ``It seems surprising to me,'' I observed, ``that during the
glance I cast over the declaration, or whatever it is termed, of
Mr. Morris, he should never have mentioned that Campbell was
in his company when he met the marauders.''

  ``I understood from Campbell, that he had taken his solemn
promise not to mention that circumstance,'' replied Rashleigh:
``his reason for exacting such an engagement you may guess from
what I have hinted---he wished to get back to his own country,
undelayed and unembarrassed by any of the judicial inquiries
which he would have been under the necessity of attending, had
the fact of his being present at the robbery taken air while he
was on this side of the Border. But let him once be as distant
as the Forth, Morris will, I warrant you, come forth with all he
knows about him, and, it may be, a good deal more. Besides,
Campbell is a very extensive dealer in cattle, and has often
occasion to send great droves into Northumberland; and, when
driving such a trade, he would be a great fool to embroil himself
with our Northumbrian thieves, than whom no men who
live are more vindictive.''

  ``I dare be sworn of that,'' said Miss Vernon, with a tone
which implied something more than a simple acquiescence in
the proposition.

  ``Still,'' said I, resuming the subject, ``allowing the force of
the reasons which Campbell might have for desiring that Morris
should be silent with regard to his promise when the robbery
was committed, I cannot yet see how he could attain such an
influence over the man, as to make him suppress his evidence
in that particular, at the manifest risk of subjecting his story to
discredit.''

  Rashleigh agreed with me, that it was very extraordinary,
and seemed to regret that he had not questioned the Scotchman
more closely on that subject, which he allowed looked extremely
mysterious. ``But,'' he asked, immediately after this acquiescence, 
``are you very sure the circumstance of Morris's being
accompanied by Campbell is really not alluded to in his examination?''

  ``I read the paper over hastily,'' said I; ``but it is my strong
impression that no such circumstance is mentioned;---at least,
it must have been touched on very slightly, since it failed to
catch my attention.''

  ``True, true,'' answered Rashleigh, forming his own inference
while he adopted my words; ``I incline to think with you, that
the circumstance must in reality have been mentioned, but so
slightly that it failed to attract your attention. And then, as
to Campbell's interest with Morris, I incline to suppose that it
must have been gained by playing upon his fears. This chicken-hearted
fellow, Morris, is bound, I understand, for Scotland,
destined for some little employment under Government; and,
possessing the courage of the wrathful dove, or most magnanimous
mouse, he may have been afraid to encounter the ill-will
of such a kill-cow as Campbell, whose very appearance would
be enough to fright him out of his little wits. You observed
that Mr. Campbell has at times a keen and animated manner---
something of a martial cast in his tone and bearing.''

  ``I own,'' I replied, ``that his expression struck me as being
occasionally fierce and sinister, and little adapted to his peaceable
professions. Has he served in the army?''

  ``Yes---no---not, strictly speaking, _served;_ but he has been,
I believe, like most of his countrymen, trained to arms. Indeed,
among the hills, they carry them from boyhood to the grave.
So, if you know anything of your fellow-traveller, you will easily
judge, that, going to such a country, he will take cue to avoid
a quarrel, if he can help it, with any of the natives. But, come,
I see you decline your wine---and I too am a degenerate Osbaldistone,
so far as respects the circulation of the bottle. If
you will go to my room, I will hold you a hand at piquet.''

  We rose to take leave of Miss Vernon, who had from time
to time suppressed, apparently with difficulty, a strong temptation
to break in upon Rashleigh's details. As we were about
to leave the room, the smothered fire broke forth.

  ``Mr. Osbaldistone,'' she said, ``your own observation will
enable you to verify the justice, or injustice, of Rashleigh's
suggestions concerning such individuals as Mr. Campbell and
Mr. Morris. But, in slandering Scotland, he has borne false
witness against a whole country; and I request you will allow
no weight to his evidence.''

  ``Perhaps,'' I answered, ``I may find it somewhat difficult
to obey your injunction, Miss Vernon; for I must own I was
bred up with no very favourable idea of our northern neighbours.''

  ``Distrust that part of your education, sir,'' she replied, ``and
let the daughter of a Scotchwoman pray you to respect the land
which gave her parent birth, until your own observation has
proved them to be unworthy of your good opinion. Preserve
your hatred and contempt for dissimulation, baseness, and
falsehood, wheresoever they are to be met with. You will find
enough of all without leaving England.---Adieu, gentlemen, I
wish you good evening.''

  And she signed to the door, with the manner of a princess
dismissing her train.

  We retired to Rashleigh's apartment, where a servant brought
us coffee and cards. I had formed my resolution to press
Rashleigh no farther on the events of the day. A mystery,
and, as I thought, not of a favourable complexion, appeared to
hang over his conduct; but to ascertain if my suspicions were
just, it was necessary to throw him off his guard. We cut for
the deal, and were soon earnestly engaged in our play. I
thought I perceived in this trifling for amusement (for the
stake which Rashleigh proposed was a mere trifle) something
of a fierce and ambitious temper. He seemed perfectly to
understand the beautiful game at which he played, but preferred,
as it were on principle, the risking bold and precarious strokes
to the ordinary rules of play; and neglecting the minor and
better-balanced chances of the game, he hazarded everything
for the chance of piqueing, repiqueing, or capoting his adversary.
So soon as the intervention of a game or two at piquet, like the
music between the acts of a drama, had completely interrupted
our previous course of conversation, Rashleigh appeared to tire
of the game, and the cards were superseded by discourse, in
which he assumed the lead.

  More learned than soundly wise---better acquainted with
men's minds than with the moral principles that ought to
regulate them, he had still powers of conversation which I have
rarely seen equalled, never excelled. Of this his manner implied
some consciousness; at least, it appeared to me that he had
studied hard to improve his natural advantages of a melodious
voice, fluent and happy expression, apt language, and fervid
imagination. He was never loud, never overbearing, never so
much occupied with his own thoughts as to outrun either the
patience or the comprehension of those he conversed with.
His ideas succeeded each other with the gentle but unintermitting
flow of a plentiful and bounteous spring; while I have
heard those of others, who aimed at distinction in conversation,
rush along like the turbid gush from the sluice of a mill-pond,
as hurried, and as easily exhausted. It was late at night ere I
could part from a companion so fascinating; and, when I gained
my own apartment, it cost me no small effort to recall to my
mind the character of Rashleigh, such as I had pictured him
previous to this _t<e^>te-<a`>-t<e^>te._

  So effectual, my dear Tresham, does the sense of being
pleased and amused blunt our faculties of perception and discrimination
of character, that I can only compare it to the
taste of certain fruits, at once luscious and poignant, which
renders our palate totally unfit for relishing or distinguishing
the viands which are subsequently subjected to its criticism.



			CHAPTER ELEVENTH.

	What gars ye gaunt, my merrymen a'?
	  What gars ye look sae dreary?
	What gars ye hing your head sae sair
	  In the castle of Balwearie?
				Old Scotch Ballad.

  The next morning chanced to be Sunday, a day peculiarly hard
to be got rid of at Osbaldistone Hall; for after the formal
religious service of the morning had been performed, at which
all the family regularly attended, it was hard to say upon which
individual, Rashleigh and Miss Vernon excepted, the fiend of
ennui descended with the most abundant outpouring of his
spirit. To speak of my yesterday's embarrassment amused Sir
Hildebrand for several minutes, and he congratulated me on
my deliverance from Morpeth or Hexham jail, as he would have
done if I had fallen in attempting to clear a five-barred gate,
and got up without hurting myself.

  ``Hast had a lucky turn, lad; but do na be over venturous
again. What, man! the king's road is free to all men, be they
Whigs, be they Tories.''

  ``On my word, sir, I am innocent of interrupting it; and it
is the most provoking thing on earth, that every person will
take it for granted that I am accessory to a crime which I
despise and detest, and which would, moreover, deservedly forfeit
my life to the laws of my country.''

  ``Well, well, lad; even so be it; I ask no questions---no man
bound to tell on himsell---that's fair play, or the devil's in't.''

  Rashleigh here came to my assistance; but I could not help
thinking that his arguments were calculated rather as hints to
his father to put on a show of acquiescence in my declaration
of innocence, than fully to establish it.

  ``In your own house, my dear sir---and your own nephew---
you will not surely persist in hurting his feelings by seeming
to discredit what he is so strongly interested in affirming. No
doubt, you are fully deserving of all his confidence, and I am
sure, were there anything you could do to assist him in this
strange affair, he would have recourse to your goodness. But
my cousin Frank has been dismissed as an innocent man, and
no one is entitled to suppose him otherwise. For my part, I
have not the least doubt of his innocence; and our family
honour, I conceive, requires that we should maintain it with
tongue and sword against the whole country.''

  ``Rashleigh,'' said his father, looking fixedly at him, ``thou
art a sly loon---thou hast ever been too cunning for me, and
too cunning for most folks. Have a care thou provena too
cunning for thysell---two faces under one hood is no true
heraldry. And since we talk of heraldry, I'll go and read
Gwillym.''

  This resolution he intimated with a yawn, resistless as that
of the Goddess in the Dunciad, which was responsively echoed
by his giant sons, as they dispersed in quest of the pastimes to
which their minds severally inclined them---Percie to discuss a
pot of March beer with the steward in the buttery,---Thorncliff
to cut a pair of cudgels, and fix them in their wicker hilts,---
John to dress May-flies,---Dickon to play at pitch and toss by
himself, his right hand against his left,---and Wilfred to bite
his thumbs and hum himself into a slumber which should last
till dinner-time, if possible. Miss Vernon had retired to the
library.

  Rashleigh and I were left alone in the old hall, from which
the servants, with their usual bustle and awkwardness, had at
length contrived to hurry the remains of our substantial breakfast.
I took the opportunity to upbraid him with the manner
in which he had spoken of my affair to his father, which I
frankly stated was highly offensive to me, as it seemed rather
to exhort Sir Hildebrand to conceal his suspicions, than to root
them out.

  ``Why, what can I do, my dear friend?'' replied Rashleigh
``my father's disposition is so tenacious of suspicions of all
kinds, when once they take root (which, to do him justice, does
not easily happen), that I have always found it the best way to
silence him upon such subjects, instead of arguing with him.
Thus I get the better of the weeds which I cannot eradicate,
by cutting them over as often as they appear, until at length
they die away of themselves. There is neither wisdom nor
profit in disputing with such a mind as Sir Hildebrand's, which
hardens itself against conviction, and believes in its own inspirations
as firmly as we good Catholics do in those of the Holy
Father of Rome.''

  ``It is very hard, though, that I should live in the house of
a man, and he a near relation too, who will persist in believing
me guilty of a highway robbery.''

  ``My father's foolish opinion, if one may give that epithet to
any opinion of a father's, does not affect your real innocence;
and as to the disgrace of the fact, depend on it, that, considered
in all its bearings, political as well as moral, Sir Hildebrand
regards it as a meritorious action---a weakening of the enemy
---a spoiling of the Amalekites; and you will stand the higher
in his regard for your supposed accession to it.''

  ``I desire no man's regard, Mr. Rashleigh, on such terms as
must sink me in my own; and I think these injurious suspicions
will afford a very good reason for quitting Osbaldistone
Hall, which I shall do whenever I can communicate on the
subject with my father.''

  The dark countenance of Rashleigh, though little accustomed
to betray its master's feelings, exhibited a suppressed smile,
which he instantly chastened by a sigh.
 
  ``You are a happy man, Frank---you go and come, as the
wind bloweth where it listeth. With your address, taste, and
talents, you will soon find circles where they will be more
valued, than amid the dull inmates of this mansion; while
I------'' he paused.

  ``And what is there in your lot that can make you or any
one envy mine,---an outcast, as I may almost term myself,
from my father's house and favour?''

  ``Ay, but,'' answered Rashleigh, ``consider the gratified sense
of independence which you must have attained by a very temporary
sacrifice,---for such I am sure yours will prove to be;
consider the power of acting as a free agent, of cultivating your
own talents in the way to which your taste determines you, and
in which you are well qualified to distinguish yourself. Fame
and freedom are cheaply purchased by a few weeks' residence
in the North, even though your place of exile be Osbaldistone
Hall. A second Ovid in Thrace, you have not his reasons for
writing Tristia.''

  ``I do not know,'' said I, blushing as became a young scribbler,
``how you should be so well acquainted with my truant
studies.''

  ``There was an emissary of your father's here some time since,
a young coxcomb, one Twineall, who informed me concerning
your secret sacrifices to the muses, and added, that some of your
verses had been greatly admired by the best judges.''

  Tresham, I believe you are guiltless of having ever essayed
to build the lofty rhyme; but you must have known in your
day many an apprentice and fellow-craft, if not some of the
master-masons, in the temple of Apollo. Vanity is their
universal foible, from him who decorated the shades of Twickenham,
to the veriest scribbler whom he has lashed in his
Dunciad. I had my own share of this common failing, and
without considering how little likely this young fellow Twineall
was, by taste and habits, either to be acquainted with one or
two little pieces of poetry, which I had at times insinuated
into Button's coffee-house, or to report the opinion of the
critics who frequented that resort of wit and literature, I
almost instantly gorged the bait; which Rashleigh perceiving,
improved his opportunity by a diffident, yet apparently very
anxious request to be permitted to see some of my manuscript
productions.

  ``You shall give me an evening in my own apartment,'' he
continued; ``for I must soon lose the charms of literary society
for the drudgery of commerce, and the coarse every-day avocations
of the world. I repeat it, that my compliance with my
father's wishes for the advantage of my family, is indeed a
sacrifice, especially considering the calm and peaceful profession
to which my education destined me.''

  I was vain, but not a fool, and this hypocrisy was too strong
for me to swallow. ``You would not persuade me,'' I replied,
that you really regret to exchange the situation of an obscure
Catholic priest, with all its privations, for wealth and society,
and the pleasures of the world?''

  Rashleigh saw that he had coloured his affectation of moderation
too highly, and, after a second's pause, during which, I
suppose, he calculated the degree of candour which it was necessary
to use with me (that being a quality of which he was never
needlessly profuse), he answered, with a smile---``At my age, to
be condemned, as you say, to wealth and the world, does not,
indeed, sound so alarming as perhaps it ought to do. But, with
pardon be it spoken, you have mistaken my destination---a
Catholic priest, if you will, but not an obscure one. No, sir,---
Rashleigh Osbaldistone will be more obscure, should he rise to
be the richest citizen in London, than he might have been as a
member of a church, whose ministers, as some one says, `set
their sandall'd feet on princes.' My family interest at a certain
exiled court is high, and the weight which that court ought to
possess, and does possess, at Rome is yet higher---my talents not
altogether inferior to the education I have received. In sober
judgment, I might have looked forward to high eminence in the
church---in the dream of fancy, to the very highest. Why might
not''---(he added, laughing, for it was part of his manner to keep
much of his discourse apparently betwixt jest and earnest)---
``why might not Cardinal Osbaldistone have swayed the fortunes
of empires, well-born and well-connected, as well as the low-born
Mazarin, or Alberoni, the son of an Italian gardener?''

  ``Nay, I can give you no reason to the contrary; but in your
place I should not much regret losing the chance of such precarious
and invidious elevation.''

  ``Neither would I,'' he replied, ``were I sure that my present
establishment was more certain; but that must depend upon
circumstances which I can only learn by experience---the disposition
of your father, for example.''

  ``Confess the truth without finesse, Rashleigh; you would
willingly know something of him from me?''

  ``Since, like Die Vernon, you make a point of following the
banner of the good knight Sincerity, I reply---certainly.''

  ``Well, then, you will find in my father a man who has
followed the paths of thriving more for the exercise they afforded
to his talents, than for the love of the gold with which they are
strewed. His active mind would have been happy in any situation
which gave it scope for exertion, though that exertion had
been its sole reward. But his wealth has accumulated, because,
moderate and frugal in his habits, no new sources of expense
have occurred to dispose of his increasing income. He is a man
who hates dissimulation in others; never practises it himself;
and is peculiarly alert in discovering motives through the colouring
of language. Himself silent by habit, he is readily disgusted
by great talkers; the rather, that the circumstances by which
he is most interested, afford no great scope for conversation.
He is severely strict in the duties of religion; but you have no
reason to fear his interference with yours, for he regards toleration
as a sacred principle of political economy. But if you have
any Jacobitical partialities, as is naturally to be supposed, you
will do well to suppress them in his presence, as well as the least
tendency to the highflying or Tory principles; for he holds both
in utter detestation. For the rest, his word is his own bond,
and must be the law of all who act under him. He will fail in
his duty to no one, and will permit no one to fail towards him;
to cultivate his favour, you must execute his commands, instead
of echoing his sentiments. His greatest failings arise out of
prejudices connected with his own profession, or rather his exclusive
devotion to it, which makes him see little worthy of
praise or attention, unless it be in some measure connected with
commerce.''

  ``O rare-painted portrait!'' exclaimed Rashleigh, when I was
silent---``Vandyke was a dauber to you, Frank. I see thy sire
before me in all his strength and weakness; loving and honouring
the King as a sort of lord mayor of the empire, or chief of
the board of trade---venerating the Commons, for the acts regulating
the export trade---and respecting the Peers, because the
Lord Chancellor sits on a woolsack.''

  ``Mine was a likeness, Rashleigh; yours is a caricature.
But in return for the _carte du pays_ which I have unfolded to
you, give me some lights on the geography of the unknown
lands''---

  ``On which you are wrecked,'' said Rashleigh. ``It is not
worth while; it is no Isle of Calypso, umbrageous with shade
and intricate with silvan labyrinth---but a bare ragged Northumbrian
moor, with as little to interest curiosity as to delight
the eye; you may descry it in all its nakedness in half an hour's
survey, as well as if I were to lay it down before you by line
and compass.''

  ``O, but something there is, worthy a more attentive survey
---What say you to Miss Vernon? Does not she form an interesting
object in the landscape, were all round as rude as Iceland's
coast?''

  I could plainly perceive that Rashleigh disliked the topic now
presented to him; but my frank communication had given me
the advantageous title to make inquiries in my turn. Rashleigh
felt this, and found himself obliged to follow my lead, however
difficult he might find it to play his cards successfully. ``I have
known less of Miss Vernon,'' he said, ``for some time, than I was
wont to do formerly. In early age I was her tutor; but as she
advanced towards womanhood, my various avocations,---the
gravity of the profession to which I was destined,---the peculiar
nature of her engagements,---our mutual situation, in short,
rendered a close and constant intimacy dangerous and improper.
I believe Miss Vernon might consider my reserve as unkindness,
but it was my duty; I felt as much as she seemed to do, when
compelled to give way to prudence. But where was the safety
in cultivating an intimacy with a beautiful and susceptible girl,
whose heart, you are aware, must be given either to the cloister
or to a betrothed husband?''

  ``The cloister or a betrothed husband?'' I echoed---``Is that
the alternative destined for Miss Vernon?''

  ``It is indeed,'' said Rashleigh, with a sigh. ``I need not, I
suppose, caution you against the danger of cultivating too closely
the friendship of Miss Vernon;---you are a man of the world,
and know how far you can indulge yourself in her society with
safety to yourself, and justice to her. But I warn you, that,
considering her ardent temper, you must let your experience keep
guard over her as well as yourself, for the specimen of yesterday
may serve to show her extreme thoughtlessness and neglect of
decorum.''

  There was something, I was sensible, of truth, as well as good
sense, in all this; it seemed to be given as a friendly warning,
and I had no right to take it amiss; yet I felt I could with
pleasure have run Rashleigh Osbaldistone through the body all
the time he was speaking.

  ``The deuce take his insolence!'' was my internal meditation.
``Would he wish me to infer that Miss Vernon had fallen in
love with that hatchet-face of his, and become degraded so low
as to require his shyness to cure her of an imprudent passion? I
will have his meaning from him,'' was my resolution, ``if I should
drag it out with cart-ropes.''

  For this purpose, I placed my temper under as accurate a
guard as I could, and observed, ``That, for a lady of her good
sense and acquired accomplishments, it was to be regretted that
Miss Vernon's manners were rather blunt and rustic.''

  ``Frank and unreserved, at least, to the extreme,'' replied
Rashleigh: ``yet, trust me, she has an excellent heart. To tell
you the truth, should she continue her extreme aversion to the
cloister, and to her destined husband, and should my own labours
in the mine of Plutus promise to secure me a decent independence,
I shall think of reviewing our acquaintance and sharing it with
Miss Vernon.''

  ``With all his fine voice, and well-turned periods,'' thought
I, ``this same Rashleigh Osbaldistone is the ugliest and most
conceited coxcomb I ever met with!''

  ``But,'' continued Rashleigh, as if thinking aloud, ``I should
not like to supplant Thorncliff.''

  ``Supplant Thorncliff!---Is your brother Thorncliff,'' I inquired,
with great surprise, ``the destined husband of Diana
Vernon?''

  ``Why, ay, her father's commands, and a certain family-contract,
destined her to marry one of Sir Hildebrand's sons. A
dispensation has been obtained from Rome to Diana Vernon to
marry _Blank_ Osbaldistone, Esq., son of Sir Hildebrand Osbaldistone,
of Osbaldistone Hall, Bart., and so forth; and it only
remains to pitch upon the happy man whose name shall fill the
gap in the manuscript. Now, as Percie is seldom sober, my
father pitched on Thorncliff, as the second prop of the family,
and therefore most proper to carry on the line of the Osbaldistones.''

  ``The young lady,'' said I, forcing myself to assume an air of
pleasantry, which, I believe, became me extremely ill, ``would
perhaps have been inclined to look a little lower on the family-tree,
for the branch to which she was desirous of clinging.''

  ``I cannot say,'' he replied. ``There is room for little choice
in our family; Dick is a gambler, John a boor, and Wilfred an
ass. I believe my father really made the best selection for poor
Die, after all.''

  ``The present company,'' said I, ``being always excepted.''

  ``Oh, my destination to the church placed me out of the
question; otherwise I will not affect to say, that, qualified by
my education both to instruct and guide Miss Vernon, I might
not have been a more creditable choice than any of my elders.''

  ``And so thought the young lady, doubtless?''

  ``You are not to suppose so,'' answered Rashleigh, with an
affectation of denial which was contrived to convey the strongest
affirmation the case admitted of: ``friendship---only friendship
---formed the tie betwixt us, and the tender affection of an
opening mind to its only instructor---Love came not near us---
I told you I was wise in time.''

  I felt little inclination to pursue this conversation any farther,
and shaking myself clear of Rashleigh, withdrew to my own
apartment, which I recollect I traversed with much vehemence
of agitation, repeating aloud the expressions which had most
offended me.---``Susceptible---ardent---tender affection---Love---
Diana Vernon, the most beautiful creature I ever beheld, in
love with him, the bandy-legged, bull-necked, limping scoundrel!
Richard the Third in all but his hump-back!---And yet the
opportunities he must have had during his cursed course of
lectures; and the fellow's flowing and easy strain of sentiment;
and her extreme seclusion from every one who spoke and acted
with common sense; ay, and her obvious pique at him, mixed
with admiration of his talents, which looked as like the result
of neglected attachment as anything else---Well, and what is
it to me, that I should storm and rage at it? Is Diana
Vernon the first pretty girl that has loved and married an ugly
fellow? And if she were free of every Osbaldistone of them,
what concern is it of mine?---a Catholic---a Jacobite---a
termagant into the boot---for me to look that way were utter
madness.''

  By throwing such reflections on the flame of my displeasure,
I subdued it into a sort of smouldering heart-burning, and
appeared at the dinner-table in as sulky a humour as could well
be imagined.




		CHAPTER TWELFTH.

	Drunk?---and speak parrot?---and squabble?---swagger?---
	Swear?---and discourse fustian with one's own shadow?
							Othello.

  I have already told you, my dear Tresham, what probably was
no news to you, that my principal fault was an unconquerable
pitch of pride, which exposed me to frequent mortification. I
had not even whispered to myself that I loved Diana Vernon;
yet no sooner did I hear Rashleigh talk of her as a prize which
he might stoop to carry off, or neglect, at his pleasure, than
every step which the poor girl had taken, in the innocence and
openness of her heart, to form a sort of friendship with me,
seemed in my eyes the most insulting coquetry.---``Soh! she
would secure me as a _pis aller,_ I suppose, in case Mr. Rashleigh
Osbaldistone should not take compassion upon her! But I will
satisfy her that I am not a person to be trepanned in that
manner---I will make her sensible that I see through her arts,
and that I scorn them.''

  I did not reflect for a moment, that all this indignation,
which I had no right whatever to entertain, proved that I was
anything but indifferent to Miss Vernon's charms; and I sate
down to table in high ill-humour with her and all the daughters
of Eve.

  Miss Vernon heard me, with surprise, return ungracious
answers to one or two playful strokes of satire which she threw
out with her usual freedom of speech; but, having no suspicion
that offence was meant, she only replied to my rude repartees
with jests somewhat similar, but polished by her good temper,
though pointed by her wit. At length she perceived I was
really out of humour, and answered one of my rude speeches
thus:---

  ``They say, Mr. Frank, that one may gather sense from
fools---I heard cousin Wilfred refuse to play any longer at
cudgels the other day with cousin Thornie, because cousin
Thornie got angry, and struck harder than the rules of
amicable combat, it seems, permitted. `Were I to break your
head in good earnest,' quoth honest Wilfred, `I care not how
angry you are, for I should do it so much the more easily
but it's hard I should get raps over the costard, and only pay
you back in make-believes'---Do you understand the moral of
this, Frank?''

  ``I have never felt myself under the necessity, madam, of
studying how to extract the slender portion of sense with which
this family season their conversation.''

  ``Necessity! and madam!---You surprise me, Mr. Osbaldistone.''

  ``I am unfortunate in doing so.''

  ``Am I to suppose that this capricious tone is serious? or is
it only assumed, to make your good-humour more valuable?''

  ``You have a right to the attention of so many gentlemen in
this family, Miss Vernon, that it cannot be worth your while to
inquire into the cause of my stupidity and bad spirits.''

  ``What!'' she said, ``am I to understand, then, that you
have deserted my faction, and gone over to the enemy?''

  Then, looking across the table, and observing that Rashleigh,
who was seated opposite, was watching us with a singular
expression of interest on his harsh features, she continued---

	``Horrible thought!---Ay, now I see 'tis true,
	For the grim-visaged Rashleigh smiles on me,
	And points at thee for his!------

Well, thank Heaven, and the unprotected state which has
taught me endurance, I do not take offence easily; and that I
may not be forced to quarrel, whether I like it or no, I have
the honour, earlier than usual, to wish you a happy digestion
of your dinner and your bad humour.''

  And she left the table accordingly.

  Upon Miss Vernon's departure, I found myself very little
satisfied with my own conduct. I had hurled back offered
kindness, of which circumstances had but lately pointed out
the honest sincerity, and I had but just stopped short of insulting
the beautiful, and, as she had said with some emphasis,
the unprotected being by whom it was proffered. My conduct
seemed brutal in my own eyes. To combat or drown these
painful reflections, I applied myself more frequently than usual
to the wine which circulated on the table.

  The agitated state of my feelings combined with my habits of
temperance to give rapid effect to the beverage. Habitual
topers, I believe, acquire the power of soaking themselves with
a quantity of liquor that does little more than muddy those intellects
which in their sober state are none of the clearest; but
men who are strangers to the vice of drunkenness as a habit, are
more powerfully acted upon by intoxicating liquors. My spirits,
once aroused, became extravagant; I talked a great deal, argued
upon what I knew nothing of, told stories of which I forgot the
point, then laughed immoderately at my own forgetfulness; I
accepted several bets without having the least judgment; I
challenged the giant John to wrestle with me, although he had
kept the ring at Hexham for a year, and I never tried so much
as a single fall.

  My uncle had the goodness to interpose and prevent this consummation
of drunken folly, which, I suppose, would have otherwise
ended in my neck being broken.

  It has even been reported by maligners, that I sung a song
while under this vinous influence; but, as I remember nothing
of it, and never attempted to turn a tune in all my life before
or since, I would willingly hope there is no actual foundation
for the calumny. I was absurd enough without this exaggeration.
Without positively losing my senses, I speedily lost all
command of my temper, and my impetuous passions whirled me
onward at their pleasure. I had sate down sulky and discontented,
and disposed to be silent---the wine rendered me loquacious,
disputatious, and quarrelsome. I contradicted whatever
was asserted, and attacked, without any respect to my uncle's
table, both his politics and his religion. The affected moderation
of Rashleigh, which he well knew how to qualify with irritating
ingredients, was even more provoking to me than the noisy and
bullying language of his obstreperous brothers. My uncle, to
do him justice, endeavoured to bring us to order; but his
authority was lost amidst the tumult of wine and passion. At
length, frantic at some real or supposed injurious insinuation, I
actually struck Rashleigh with my fist. No Stoic philosopher,
superior to his own passion and that of others, could have received
an insult with a higher degree of scorn. What he himself
did not think it apparently worth while to resent, Thorncliff
resented for him. Swords were drawn, and we exchanged one
or two passes, when the other brothers separated us by main
force; and I shall never forget the diabolical sneer which writhed
Rashleigh's wayward features, as I was forced from the apartment
by the main strength of two of these youthful Titans.
They secured me in my apartment by locking the door, and I
heard them, to my inexpressible rage, laugh heartily as they
descended the stairs. I essayed in my fury to break out; but
the window-grates, and the strength of a door clenched with
iron, resisted my efforts. At length I threw myself on my bed,
and fell asleep amidst vows of dire revenge to be taken in the
ensuing day.

  But with the morning cool repentance came. I felt, in the
keenest manner, the violence and absurdity of my conduct, and
was obliged to confess that wine and passion had lowered my
intellects even below those of Wilfred Osbaldistone, whom I held
in so much contempt. My uncomfortable reflections were by no
means soothed by meditating the necessity of an apology for my
improper behaviour, and recollecting that Miss Vernon must be
a witness of my submission. The impropriety and unkindness of
my conduct to her personally, added not a little to these galling
considerations, and for this I could not even plead the miserable
excuse of intoxication.

  Under all these aggravating feelings of shame and degradation,
I descended to the breakfast hall, like a criminal to receive sentence.
It chanced that a hard frost had rendered it impossible
to take out the hounds, so that I had the additional mortification
to meet the family, excepting only Rashleigh and Miss Vernon,
in full divan, surrounding the cold venison pasty and chine of
beef. They were in high glee as I entered, and I could easily
imagine that the jests were furnished at my expense. In fact,
what I was disposed to consider with serious pain, was regarded
as an excellent good joke by my uncle, and the greater part of
my cousins. Sir Hildebrand, while he rallied me on the exploits
of the preceding evening, swore he thought a young fellow had
better be thrice drunk in one day, than sneak sober to bed like
a Presbyterian, and leave a batch of honest fellows, and a double
quart of claret. And to back this consolatory speech, he poured
out a large bumper of brandy, exhorting me to swallow ``a hair
of the dog that had bit me.''

  ``Never mind these lads laughing, nevoy,'' he continued; ``they
would have been all as great milksops as yourself, had I not
nursed them, as one may say, on the toast and tankard.''

  Ill-nature was not the fault of my cousins in general; they
saw I was vexed and hurt at the recollections of the preceding
evening, and endeavoured, with clumsy kindness, to remove the
painful impression they had made on me. Thorncliff alone looked
sullen and unreconciled. This young man had never liked me from
the beginning; and in the marks of attention occasionally shown
me by his brothers, awkward as they were, he alone had never
joined. If it was true, of which, however, I began to have my
doubts, that he was considered by the family, or regarded himself,
as the destined husband of Miss Vernon, a sentiment of
jealousy might have sprung up in his mind from the marked
predilection which it was that young lady's pleasure to show for
one whom Thorncliff might, perhaps, think likely to become a
dangerous rival.

  Rashleigh at last entered, his visage as dark as mourning weed
---brooding, I could not but doubt, over the unjustifiable and
disgraceful insult I had offered to him. I had already settled in
my own mind how I was to behave on the occasion, and had
schooled myself to believe, that true honour consisted not in
defending, but in apologising for, an injury so much disproportioned
to any provocation I might have to allege.

  I therefore hastened to meet Rashleigh, and to express myself
in the highest degree sorry for the violence with which I had
acted on the preceding evening. ``No circumstances,'' I said,
``could have wrung from me a single word of apology, save my
own consciousness of the impropriety of my behaviour. I hoped
my cousin would accept of my regrets so sincerely offered, and
consider how much of my misconduct was owing to the excessive
hospitality of Osbaldistone Hall.''

  ``He shall be friends with thee, lad,'' cried the honest knight,
in the full effusion of his heart; ``or d---n me, if I call him son
more!---Why, Rashie, dost stand there like a log? _Sorry for it_
is all a gentleman can say, if he happens to do anything awry,
especially over his claret. I served in Hounslow, and should
know something, I think, of affairs of honour. Let me hear no
more of this, and we'll go in a body and rummage out the badger
in Birkenwood-bank.''

  Rashleigh's face resembled, as I have already noticed, no other
countenance that I ever saw. But this singularity lay not only
in the features, but in the mode of changing their expression.
Other countenances, in altering from grief to joy, or from anger
to satisfaction, pass through some brief interval, ere the expression
of the predominant passion supersedes entirely that of its
predecessor. There is a sort of twilight, like that between the
clearing up of the darkness and the rising of the sun, while the
swollen muscles subside, the dark eye clears, the forehead relaxes
and expands itself, and the whole countenance loses its sterner
shades, and becomes serene and placid. Rashleigh's face exhibited
none of these gradations, but changed almost instantaneously
from the expression of one passion to that of the
contrary. I can compare it to nothing but the sudden shifting
of a scene in the theatre, where, at the whistle of the prompter,
a cavern disappears, and a grove arises.

  My attention was strongly arrested by this peculiarity on the
present occasion. At Rashleigh's first entrance, ``black he stood
as night!'' With the same inflexible countenance he heard my
excuse and his father's exhortation; and it was not until Sir
Hildebrand had done speaking, that the cloud cleared away at
once, and he expressed, in the kindest and most civil terms,
his perfect satisfaction with the very handsome apology I had
offered.

  ``Indeed,'' he said, ``I have so poor a brain myself, when I
impose on it the least burden beyond my usual three glasses,
that I have only, like honest Cassio, a very vague recollection
of the confusion of last night---remember a mass of things, but
nothing distinctly---a quarrel, but nothing wherefore--So, my dear
Cousin,'' he continued, shaking me kindly by the hand, ``conceive
how much I am relieved by finding that I have to receive an
apology, instead of having to make one---I will not have a
word said upon the subject more; I should be very foolish to
institute any scrutiny into an account, when the balance, which
I expected to be against me, has been so unexpectedly and
agreeably struck in my favour. You see, Mr. Osbaldistone, I
am practising the language of Lombard Street, and qualifying
myself for my new calling.''

  As I was about to answer, and raised my eyes for the purpose,
they encountered those of Miss Vernon, who, having entered the
room unobserved during the conversation, had given it her close
attention. Abashed and confounded, I fixed my eyes on the
ground, and made my escape to the breakfast-table, where I
herded among my busy cousins.

  My uncle, that the events of the preceding day might not
pass out of our memory without a practical moral lesson, took
occasion to give Rashleigh and me his serious advice to correct
our milksop habits, as he termed them, and gradually to inure
our brains to bear a gentlemanlike quantity of liquor, without
brawls or breaking of heads. He recommended that we should
begin piddling with a regular quart of claret per day, which,
with the aid of March beer and brandy, made a handsome
competence for a beginner in the art of toping. And for our
encouragement, he assured us that he had known many a man
who had lived to our years without having drunk a pint of wine
at a sitting, who yet, by falling into honest company, and following
hearty example, had afterwards been numbered among the
best good fellows of the time, and could carry off their six bottles
under their belt quietly and comfortably, without brawling or
babbling, and be neither sick nor sorry the next morning.

  Sage as this advice was, and comfortable as was the prospect
it held out to me, I profited but little by the exhortation---
partly, perhaps, because, as often as I raised my eyes from the
table, I observed Miss Vernon's looks fixed on me, in which I
thought I could read grave compassion blended with regret and
displeasure. I began to consider how I should seek a scene of
explanation and apology with her also, when she gave me to
understand she was determined to save me the trouble of soliciting
an interview. ``Cousin Francis,'' she said, addressing me
by the same title she used to give to the other Osbaldistones,
although I had, properly speaking, no title to be called her kinsman,
``I have encountered this morning a difficult passage in the
Divina Comm<e'>dia of Dante; will you have the goodness to step
to the library and give me your assistance? and when you have
unearthed for me the meaning of the obscure Florentine, we will
join the rest at Birkenwood-bank, and see their luck at unearthing
the badger.''

  I signified, of course, my readiness to wait upon her. Rashleigh
made an offer to accompany us. ``I am something better
skilled,'' he said, ``at tracking the sense of Dante through the
metaphors and elisions of his wild and gloomy poem, than at
hunting the poor inoffensive hermit yonder out of his cave.''

  ``Pardon me, Rashleigh,'' said Miss Vernon, ``but as you are
to occupy Mr. Francis's place in the counting-house, you must
surrender to him the charge of your pupil's education at Osbaldistone
Hall. We shall call you in, however, if there is any
occasion; so pray do not look so grave upon it. Besides, it is a
shame to you not to understand field-sports---What will you do
should our uncle in Crane-Alley ask you the signs by which you
track a badger?''

  ``Ay, true, Die,---true,'' said Sir Hildebrand, with a sigh,
``I misdoubt Rashleigh will be found short at the leap when he
is put to the trial. An he would ha' learned useful knowledge
like his brothers, he was bred up where it grew, I wuss; but
French antics, and book-learning, with the new turnips, and the
rats, and the Hanoverians, ha' changed the world that I ha' known
in Old England---But come along with us, Rashie, and carry my
hunting-staff, man; thy cousin lacks none of thy company as now,
and I wonna ha' Die crossed---It's ne'er be said there was but
one woman in Osbaldistone Hall, and she died for lack of her
will.''

  Rashleigh followed his father, as he commanded, not, however,
ere he had whispered to Diana, ``I suppose I must in discretion
bring the courtier, Ceremony, in my company, and knock when
I approach the door of the library?''

  ``No, no, Rashleigh,'' said Miss Vernon; ``dismiss from your
company the false archimage Dissimulation, and it will better
ensure your free access to our classical consultations.''

  So saying, she led the way to the library, and I followed---
like a criminal, I was going to say, to execution; but, as I
bethink me, I have used the simile once, if not twice before.
Without any simile at all, then, I followed, with a sense of awkward
and conscious embarrassment, which I would have given a
great deal to shake off. I thought it a degrading and unworthy
feeling to attend one on such an occasion, having breathed the
air of the Continent long enough to have imbibed the notion that
lightness, gallantry, and something approaching to well-bred self-assurance,
should distinguish the gentleman whom a fair lady
selects for her companion in a _t<e^>te-<a`>-t<e^>te._

  My English feelings, however, were too many for my French
education, and I made, I believe, a very pitiful figure, when Miss
Vernon, seating herself majestically in a huge elbow-chair in the
library, like a judge about to hear a cause of importance, signed
to me to take a chair opposite to her (which I did, much like
the poor fellow who is going to be tried), and entered upon conversation
in a tone of bitter irony.



			CHAPTER THIRTEENTH.

	Dire was his thought, who first in poison steeped
	The weapon formed for slaughter---direr his,
	And worthier of damnation, who instilled
	The mortal venom in the social cup,
	To fill the veins with death instead of life.
						Anonymous.

  ``Upon my Word, Mr. Francis Osbaldistone,'' said Miss Vernon,
with the air of one who thought herself fully entitled to assume
the privilege of ironical reproach, which she was pleased to exert,
``your character improves upon us, sir---I could not have thought
that it was in you. Yesterday might be considered as your assay-piece,
to prove yourself entitled to be free of the corporation of
Osbaldistone Hall. But it was a masterpiece.''

  ``I am quite sensible of my ill-breeding, Miss Vernon, and I
can only say for myself that I had received some communications
by which my spirits were unusually agitated. I am conscious
I was impertinent and absurd.''

  ``You do yourself great injustice,'' said the merciless monitor
---``you have contrived, by what I saw and have since heard, to
exhibit in the course of one evening a happy display of all the
various masterly qualifications which distinguish your several
cousins;---the gentle and generous temper of the benevolent
Rashleigh,---the temperance of Percie,---the cool courage of
Thorncliff,---John's skill in dog-breaking,---Dickon's aptitude to
betting,---all exhibited by the single individual, Mr. Francis, and
that with a selection of time, place, and circumstance, worthy
the taste and sagacity of the sapient Wilfred.''

  ``Have a little mercy, Miss Vernon,'' said I; for I confess I
thought the schooling as severe as the case merited, especially
considering from what quarter it came, ``and forgive me if I
suggest, as an excuse for follies I am not usually guilty of, the
custom of this house and country. I am far from approving of
it; but we have Shakspeare's authority for saying, that good
wine is a good familiar creature, and that any man living may
be overtaken at some time.''

  ``Ay, Mr. Francis, but he places the panegyric and the
apology in the mouth of the greatest villain his pencil has
drawn. I will not, however, abuse the advantage your quotation
has given me, by overwhelming you with the refutation with
which the victim Cassio replies to the tempter Iago. I only
wish you to know, that there is one person at least sorry to see
a youth of talents and expectations sink into the slough in
which the inhabitants of this house are nightly wallowing.''

  ``I have but wet my shoe, I assure you, Miss Vernon, and
am too sensible of the filth of the puddle to step farther in.''

  ``If such be your resolution,'' she replied, ``it is a wise one.
But I was so much vexed at what I heard, that your concerns
have pressed before my own,---You behaved to me yesterday,
during dinner, as if something had been told you which lessened
or lowered me in your opinion---I beg leave to ask you what it
was?''

  I was stupified. The direct bluntness of the demand was
much in the style one gentleman uses to another, when requesting
explanation of any part of his conduct in a good-humoured
yet determined manner, and was totally devoid of the circumlocutions,
shadings, softenings, and periphrasis, which usually
accompany explanations betwixt persons of different sexes in
the higher orders of society.

  I remained completely embarrassed; for it pressed on my
recollection, that Rashleigh's communications, supposing them
to be correct, ought to have rendered Miss Vernon rather an
object of my compassion than of my pettish resentment; and
had they furnished the best apology possible for my own conduct,
still I must have had the utmost difficulty in detailing what
inferred such necessary and natural offence to Miss Vernon's
feelings. She observed my hesitation, and proceeded, in a tone
somewhat more peremptory, but still temperate and civil---``I
hope Mr. Osbaldistone does not dispute my title to request this
explanation. I have no relative who can protect me; it is,
therefore, just that I be permitted to protect myself.''

  I endeavoured with hesitation to throw the blame of my rude
behaviour upon indisposition---upon disagreeable letters from
London. She suffered me to exhaust my apologies, and fairly
to run myself aground, listening all the while with a smile of
absolute incredulity.

  ``And now, Mr. Francis, having gone through your prologue
of excuses, with the same bad grace with which all prologues
are delivered, please to draw the curtain, and show me that
which I desire to see. In a word, let me know what Rashleigh
says of me; for he is the grand engineer and first mover of all
the machinery of Osbaldistone Hall.''

  ``But, supposing there was anything to tell, Miss Vernon,
what does he deserve that betrays the secrets of one ally to
another?---Rashleigh, you yourself told me, remained your ally,
though no longer your friend.''

  ``I have neither patience for evasion, nor inclination for
jesting, on the present subject. Rashleigh cannot---ought not
---dare not, hold any language respecting me, Diana Vernon,
but what I may demand to hear repeated. That there are
subjects of secrecy and confidence between us, is most certain;
but to such, his communications to you could have no relation;
and with such, I, as an individual, have no concern.''

  I had by this time recovered my presence of mind, and hastily
determined to avoid making any disclosure of what Rashleigh
had told me in a sort of confidence. There was something
unworthy in retailing private conversation; it could, I thought,
do no good, and must necessarily give Miss Vernon great pain.
I therefore replied, gravely, ``that nothing but frivolous talk
had passed between Mr. Rashleigh Osbaldistone and me on the
state of the family at the Hall; and I protested, that nothing
had been said which left a serious impression to her disadvantage.
As a gentleman,'' I said, ``I could not be more explicit in
reporting private conversation.''

She started up with the animation of a Camilla about to
advance into battle. ``This shall not serve your turn, sir,---I
must have another answer from you.'' Her features kindled---
her brow became flushed---her eye glanced wild-fire as she
proceeded---``I demand such an explanation, as a woman basely
slandered has a right to demand from every man who calls
himself a gentleman---as a creature, motherless, friendless, alone
in the world, left to her own guidance and protection, has a
right to require from every being having a happier lot, in the
name of that God who sent _them_ into the world to enjoy, and
_her_ to suffer. You shall not deny me---or,'' she added, looking
solemnly upwards, ``you will rue your denial, if there is justice
for wrong either on earth or in heaven.''

  I was utterly astonished at her vehemence, but felt, thus
conjured, that it became my duty to lay aside scrupulous delicacy,
and gave her briefly, but distinctly, the heads of the
information which Rashleigh had conveyed to me.

  She sate down and resumed her composure, as soon as I
entered upon the subject, and when I stopped to seek for the
most delicate turn of expression, she repeatedly interrupted me
with ``Go on---pray, go on; the first word which occurs to you
is the plainest, and must be the best. Do not think of my
feelings, but speak as you would to an unconcerned third party.''

  Thus urged and encouraged, I stammered through all the
account which Rashleigh had given of her early contract to
marry an Osbaldistone, and of the uncertainty and difficulty of
her choice; and there I would willingly have paused. But
her penetration discovered that there was still something behind,
and even guessed to what it related.

  ``Well, it was ill-natured of Rashleigh to tell this tale on me.
I am like the poor girl in the fairy tale, who was betrothed in
her cradle to the Black Bear of Norway, but complained chiefly
of being called Bruin's bride by her companions at school. But
besides all this, Rashleigh said something of himself with
relation to me---Did he not?''

  ``He certainly hinted, that were it not for the idea of supplanting
his brother, he would now, in consequence of his
change of profession, be desirous that the word Rashleigh should
fill up the blank in the dispensation, instead of the word
Thorncliff.''

  ``Ay? indeed?'' she replied---``was he so very condescending?
---Too much honour for his humble handmaid, Diana Vernon---
And she, I suppose, was to be enraptured with joy could such
a substitute be effected?''

  ``To confess the truth, he intimated as much, and even
farther insinuated''------

  ``What?---Let me hear it all!'' she exclaimed, hastily.

  ``That he had broken off your mutual intimacy, lest it should
have given rise to an affection by which his destination to the
church would not permit him to profit.''

  ``I am obliged to him for his consideration,'' replied Miss
Vernon, every feature of her fine countenance taxed to express
the most supreme degree of scorn and contempt. She paused
a moment, and then said, with her usual composure, ``There is
but little I have heard from you which I did not expect to
hear, and which I ought not to have expected; because, bating
one circumstance, it is all very true. But as there are some
poisons so active, that a few drops, it is said, will infect a whole
fountain, so there is one falsehood in Rashleigh's communication,
powerful enough to corrupt the whole well in which Truth
herself is said to have dwelt. It is the leading and foul falsehood,
that, knowing Rashleigh as I have reason too well to
know him, any circumstance on earth could make me think of
sharing my lot with him. No,'' she continued with a sort of
inward shuddering that seemed to express involuntary horror,
``any lot rather than that---the sot, the gambler, the bully, the
jockey, the insensate fool, were a thousand times preferable to
Rashleigh:---the convent---the jail---the grave, shall be welcome
before them all.''

  There was a sad and melancholy cadence in her voice, corresponding
with the strange and interesting romance of her
situation. So young, so beautiful, so untaught, so much
abandoned to herself, and deprived of all the support which
her sex derives from the countenance and protection of female
friends, and even of that degree of defence which arises from
the forms with which the sex are approached in civilised life,---
it is scarce metaphorical to say, that my heart bled for her.
Yet there was an expression of dignity in her contempt of
ceremony---of upright feeling in her disdain of falsehood---of
firm resolution in the manner in which she contemplated the
dangers by which she was surrounded, which blended my pity
with the warmest admiration. She seemed a princess deserted
by her subjects, and deprived of her power, yet still scorning
those formal regulations of society which are created for persons
of an inferior rank; and, amid her difficulties, relying boldly
and confidently on the justice of Heaven, and the unshaken
constancy of her own mind.

  I offered to express the mingled feelings of sympathy and
admiration with which her unfortunate situation and her high
spirit combined to impress me, but she imposed silence on me
at once.

  ``I told you in jest,'' she said, ``that I disliked compliments
---I now tell you in earnest, that I do not ask sympathy, and
that I despise consolation. What I have borne, I have borne
---What I am to bear I will sustain as I may; no word of
commiseration can make a burden feel one feather's weight
lighter to the slave who must carry it. There is only one
human being who could have assisted me, and that is he who
has rather chosen to add to my embarrassment---Rashleigh
Osbaldistone.---Yes! the time once was that I might have
learned to love that man---But, great God! the purpose for
which he insinuated himself into the confidence of one already
so forlorn---the undeviating and continued assiduity with which
he pursued that purpose from year to year, without one single
momentary pause of remorse or compassion---the purpose for
which he would have converted into poison the food he administered
to my mind---Gracious Providence! what should I have
been in this world, and the next, in body and soul, had I fallen
under the arts of this accomplished villain!''

  I was so much struck with the scene of perfidious treachery
which these words disclosed, that I rose from my chair hardly
knowing what I did, laid my hand on the hilt of my sword, and
was about to leave the apartment in search of him on whom I
might discharge my just indignation. Almost breathless, and
with eyes and looks in which scorn and indignation had given
way to the most lively alarm, Miss Vernon threw herself between
me and the door of the apartment.

  ``Stay!'' she said---``stay!---however just your resentment,
you do not know half the secrets of this fearful prison-house.''
She then glanced her eyes anxiously round the room, and sunk
her voice almost to a whisper---``He bears a charmed life; you
cannot assail him without endangering other lives, and wider
destruction. Had it been otherwise, in some hour of justice he
had hardly been safe, even from this weak hand. I told you,''
she said, motioning me back to my seat, ``that I needed no
comforter. I now tell you I need no avenger.''

  I resumed my seat mechanically, musing on what she said,
and recollecting also, what had escaped me in my first glow of
resentment, that I had no title whatever to constitute myself
Miss Vernon's champion. She paused to let her own emotions
and mine subside, and then addressed me with more composure.

  ``I have already said that there is a mystery connected with
Rashleigh, of a dangerous and fatal nature. Villain as he is.
and as he knows he stands convicted in my eyes, I cannot---
dare not, openly break with or defy him. You also, Mr.
Osbaldistone, must bear with him with patience, foil his artifices
by opposing to them prudence, not violence; and, above all,
you must avoid such scenes as that of last night, which cannot
but give him perilous advantages over you. This caution I
designed to give you, and it was the object with which I desired
this interview; but I have extended my confidence farther than
I proposed.''

  I assured her it was not misplaced.

  ``I do not believe that it is,'' she replied. ``You have that
in your face and manners which authorises trust. Let us continue
to be friends. You need not fear,'' she said, laughing,
while she blushed a little, yet speaking with a free and unembarrassed
voice, ``that friendship with us should prove only a
specious name, as the poet says, for another feeling. I belong,
in habits of thinking and acting, rather to your sex, with which
I have always been brought up, than to my own. Besides, the
fatal veil was wrapt round me in my cradle; for you may easily
believe I have never thought of the detestable condition under
which I may remove it. The time,'' she added, ``for expressing
my final determination is not arrived, and I would fain have
the freedom of wild heath and open air with the other commoners
of nature, as long as I can be permitted to enjoy them.
And now that the passage in Dante is made so clear, pray go
and see what has become of the badger-baiters. My head aches
so much that I cannot join the party.''

  I left the library, but not to join the hunters. I felt that a
solitary walk was necessary to compose my spirits before I
again trusted myself in Rashleigh's company, whose depth of
calculating villany had been so strikingly exposed to me. In
Dubourg's family (as he was of the reformed persuasion) I had
heard many a tale of Romish priests who gratified, at the
expense of friendship, hospitality, and the most sacred ties of
social life, those passions, the blameless indulgence of which is
denied by the rules of their order. But the deliberate system
of undertaking the education of a deserted orphan of noble
birth, and so intimately allied to his own family, with the
perfidious purpose of ultimately seducing her, detailed as it was
by the intended victim with all the glow of virtuous resentment,
seemed more atrocious to me than the worst of the tales
I had heard at Bourdeaux, and I felt it would be extremely
difficult for me to meet Rashleigh, and yet to suppress the abhorrence
with which he impressed me. Yet this was absolutely
necessary, not only on account of the mysterious charge which
Diana had given me, but because I had, in reality, no ostensible
ground for quarrelling with him.

  I therefore resolved, as far as possible, to meet Rashleigh's
dissimulation with equal caution on my part during our residence
in the same family; and when he should depart for London, I
resolved to give Owen at least such a hint of his character as
might keep him on his guard over my father's interests.
Avarice or ambition, I thought, might have as great, or greater
charms, for a mind constituted like Rashleigh's, than unlawful
pleasure; the energy of his character, and his power of assuming
all seeming good qualities, were likely to procure him a high
degree of confidence, and it was not to be hoped that either
good faith or gratitude would prevent him from abusing it.
The task was somewhat difficult, especially in my circumstances,
since the caution which I threw out might be imputed to
jealousy of my rival, or rather my successor, in my father's
favour. Yet I thought it absolutely necessary to frame such
a letter, leaving it to Owen, who, in his own line, was wary,
prudent, and circumspect, to make the necessary use of his
knowledge of Rashleigh's true character. Such a letter, therefore,
I indited, and despatched to the post-house by the first
opportunity.

  At my meeting with Rashleigh, he, as well as I, appeared to
have taken up distant ground, and to be disposed to avoid all
pretext for collision. He was probably conscious that Miss
Vernon's communications had been unfavourable to him, though
he could not know that they extended to discovering his meditated
villany towards her. Our intercourse, therefore, was
reserved on both sides, and turned on subjects of little interest.
Indeed, his stay at Osbaldistone Hall did not exceed a few days
after this period, during which I only remarked two circumstances
respecting him. The first was the rapid and almost
intuitive manner in which his powerful and active mind seized
upon and arranged the elementary principles necessary to his
new profession, which he now studied hard, and occasionally
made parade of his progress, as if to show me how light it was
for him to lift the burden which I had flung down from very
weariness and inability to carry it. The other remarkable
circumstance was, that, notwithstanding the injuries with which
Miss Vernon charged Rashleigh, they had several private interviews
together of considerable length, although their bearing
towards each other in public did not seem more cordial than
usual.

  When the day of Rashleigh's departure arrived, his father
bade him farewell with indifference; his brothers with the ill-concealed
glee of school-boys who see their task-master depart
for a season, and feel a joy which they dare not express; and I
myself with cold politeness. When he approached Miss Vernon,
and would have saluted her she drew back with a look of
haughty disdain; but said, as she extended her hand to him,
``Farewell, Rashleigh; God reward you for the good you have
done, and forgive you for the evil you have meditated.''

  ``Amen, my fair cousin,'' he replied, with an air of sanctity,
which belonged, I thought, to the seminary of Saint Omers;
``happy is he whose good intentions have borne fruit in deeds,
and whose evil thoughts have perished in the blossom.''

  These were his parting words. ``Accomplished hypocrite!''
said Miss Vernon to me, as the door closed behind him---``how
nearly can what we most despise and hate, approach in outward
manner to that which we most venerate!''

  I had written to my father by Rashleigh, and also a few
lines to Owen, besides the confidential letter which I have
already mentioned, and which I thought it more proper and
prudent to despatch by another conveyance. In these epistles,
it would have been natural for me to have pointed out to my
father and my friend, that I was at present in a situation where
I could improve myself in no respect, unless in the mysteries of
hunting and hawking; and where I was not unlikely to forget,
in the company of rude grooms and horse-boys, any useful
knowledge or elegant accomplishments which I had hitherto
acquired. It would also have been natural that I should have
expressed the disgust and tedium which I was likely to feel
among beings whose whole souls were centred in field-sports
or more degrading pastimes---that I should have complained of
the habitual intemperance of the family in which I was a guest,
and the difficulty and almost resentment with which my uncle,
Sir Hildebrand, received any apology for deserting the bottle.
This last, indeed, was a topic on which my father, himself a
man of severe temperance, was likely to be easily alarmed, and
to have touched upon this spring would to a certainty have
opened the doors of my prison-house, and would either have
been the means of abridging my exile, or at least would have
procured me a change of residence during my rustication.

  I say, my dear Tresham, that, considering how very unpleasant
a prolonged residence at Osbaldistone Hall must have
been to a young man of my age, and with my habits, it might
have seemed very natural that I should have pointed out all
these disadvantages to my father, in order to obtain his consent
for leaving my uncle's mansion. Nothing, however, is more
certain, than that I did not say a single word to this purpose
in my letters to my father and Owen. If Osbaldistone Hall
had been Athens in all its pristine glory of learning, and inhabited
by sages, heroes, and poets, I could not have expressed
less inclination to leave it.

  If thou hast any of the salt of youth left in thee, Tresham,
thou wilt be at no loss to account for my silence on a topic
seemingly so obvious. Miss Vernon's extreme beauty, of which
she herself seemed so little conscious---her romantic and mysterious
situation---the evils to which she was exposed---the courage
with which she seemed to face them---her manners, more frank
than belonged to her sex, yet, as it seemed to me, exceeding
in frankness only from the dauntless consciousness of her
innocence,---above all, the obvious and flattering distinction
which she made in my favour over all other persons, were at
once calculated to interest my best feelings, to excite my curiosity,
awaken my imagination, and gratify my vanity. I dared
not, indeed, confess to myself the depth of the interest with
which Miss Vernon inspired me, or the large share which she
occupied in my thoughts. We read together, walked together,
rode together, and sate together. The studies which she had
broken off upon her quarrel with Rashleigh, she now resumed,
under the auspices of a tutor whose views were more sincere,
though his capacity was far more limited.

  In truth, I was by no means qualified to assist her in the
prosecution of several profound studies which she had commenced
with Rashleigh, and which appeared to me more fitted
for a churchman than for a beautiful female. Neither can I
conceive with what view he should have engaged Diana in the
gloomy maze of casuistry which schoolmen called philosophy,
or in the equally abstruse though more certain sciences of
mathematics and astronomy; unless it were to break down and
confound in her mind the difference and distinction between
the sexes, and to habituate her to trains of subtle reasoning,
by which he might at his own time invest that which is wrong
with the colour of that which is right. It was in the same
spirit, though in the latter case the evil purpose was more
obvious, that the lessons of Rashleigh had encouraged Miss
Vernon in setting at nought and despising the forms and ceremonial
limits which are drawn round females in modern
society. It is true, she was sequestrated from all female company,
and could not learn the usual rules of decorum, either
from example or precept; yet such was her innate modesty,
and accurate sense of what was right and wrong, that she would
not of herself have adopted the bold uncompromising manner
which struck me with so much surprise on our first acquaintance,
had she not been led to conceive that a contempt of
ceremony indicated at once superiority of understanding and
the confidence of conscious innocence. Her wily instructor had,
no doubt, his own views in levelling those outworks which
reserve and caution erect around virtue. But for these, and
for his other crimes, he has long since answered at a higher
tribunal.

  Besides the progress which Miss Vernon, whose powerful
mind readily adopted every means of information offered to it,
had made in more abstract science, I found her no contemptible
linguist, and well acquainted both with ancient and modern
literature. Were it not that strong talents will often go farthest
when they seem to have least assistance, it would be almost
incredible to tell the rapidity of Miss Vernon's progress in
knowledge; and it was still more extraordinary, when her
stock of mental acquisitions from books was compared with
her total ignorance of actual life. It seemed as if she saw and
knew everything, except what passed in the world around her;
---and I believe it was this very ignorance and simplicity of
thinking upon ordinary subjects, so strikingly contrasted with
her fund of general knowledge and information, which rendered
her conversation so irresistibly fascinating, and rivetted the
attention to whatever she said or did; since it was absolutely
impossible to anticipate whether her next word or action was
to display the most acute perception, or the most profound
simplicity. The degree of danger which necessarily attended
a youth of my age and keen feelings from remaining in close
and constant intimacy with an object so amiable, and so peculiarly
interesting, all who remember their own sentiments at
my age may easily estimate.




		CHAPTER FOURTEENTH.

	Yon lamp its line of quivering light
	Shoots from my lady's bower;
	But why should Beauty's lamp be bright
	At midnight's lonely hour?
				OLD BALLAD.

  The mode of life at Osbaldistone Hall was too uniform to admit
of description. Diana Vernon and I enjoyed much of our time
in our mutual studies; the rest of the family killed theirs in
such sports and pastimes as suited the seasons, in which we also
took a share. My uncle was a man of habits, and by habit
became so much accustomed to my presence and mode of life,
that, upon the whole, he was rather fond of me than otherwise.
I might probably have risen yet higher in his good graces, had
I employed the same arts for that purpose which were used by
Rashleigh, who, availing himself of his father's disinclination
to business, had gradually insinuated himself into the management
of his property. But although I readily gave my uncle
the advantage of my pen and my arithmetic so often as he
desired to correspond with a neighbour, or settle with a tenant,
and was, in so far, a more useful inmate in his family than any
of his sons, yet I was not willing to oblige Sir Hildebrand by
relieving him entirely from the management of his own affairs;
so that, while the good knight admitted that nevoy Frank was
a steady, handy lad, he seldom failed to remark in the same
breath, that he did not think he should ha' missed Rashleigh
so much as he was like to do.

  As it is particularly unpleasant to reside in a family where
we are at variance with any part of it, I made some efforts to
overcome the ill-will which my cousins entertained against me.
I exchanged my laced hat for a jockey-cap, and made some
progress in their opinion; I broke a young colt in a manner
which carried me further into their good graces. A bet or two
opportunely lost to Dickon, and an extra health pledged with
Percie, placed me on an easy and familiar footing with all the
young squires, except Thorncliff.

  I have already noticed the dislike entertained against me by
this young fellow, who, as he had rather more sense, had also a
much worse temper, than any of his brethren. Sullen, dogged,
and quarrelsome, he regarded my residence at Osbaldistone Hall
as an intrusion, and viewed with envious and jealous eyes my intimacy
with Diana Vernon, whom the effect proposed to be given
to a certain family-compact assigned to him as an intended spouse.
That he loved her, could scarcely be said, at least without much
misapplication of the word; but he regarded her as something
appropriated to himself, and resented internally the interference
which he knew not how to prevent or interrupt. I attempted
a tone of conciliation towards Thorncliff on several occasions;
but he rejected my advances with a manner about as gracious as
that of a growling mastiff, when the animal shuns and resents a
stranger's attempts to caress him. I therefore abandoned him
to his ill-humour, and gave myself no further trouble about the
matter.

  Such was the footing upon which I stood with the family
at Osbaldistone Hall; but I ought to mention another of its
inmates with whom I occasionally held some discourse. This
was Andrew Fairservice, the gardener who (since he had discovered
that I was a Protestant) rarely suffered me to pass him
without proffering his Scotch mull for a social pinch. There
were several advantages attending this courtesy. In the first
place, it was made at no expense, for I never took snuff; and
secondly, it afforded an excellent apology to Andrew (who was
not particularly fond of hard labour) for laying aside his spade
for several minutes. But, above all, these brief interviews gave
Andrew an opportunity of venting the news he had collected,
or the satirical remarks which his shrewd northern humour suggested.

  ``I am saying, sir,'' he said to me one evening, with a face
obviously charged with intelligence, ``I hae been down at the
Trinlay-knowe.''

  ``Well, Andrew, and I suppose you heard some news at the
alehouse?''

  ``Na, sir; I never gang to the yillhouse---that is unless ony
neighbour was to gie me a pint, or the like o' that; but to gang
there on ane's ain coat-tail, is a waste o' precious time and hard-won
siller.---But I was doun at the Trinlay-knowe, as I was
saying, about a wee bit business o' my ain wi' Mattie Simpson,
that wants a forpit or twa o' peers that will never be missed in
the Ha'-house---and when we were at the thrangest o' our
bargain, wha suld come in but Pate Macready the travelling
merchant?''

  ``Pedlar, I suppose you mean?''

  ``E'en as your honour likes to ca' him; but it's a creditable
calling and a gainfu', and has been lang in use wi' our folk.
Pate's a far-awa cousin o' mine, and we were blythe to meet wi'
ane anither.''

  ``And you went and had a jug of ale together, I suppose,
Andrew?---For Heaven's sake, cut short your story.''

  ``Bide a wee---bide a wee; you southrons are aye in sic a
hurry, and this is something concerns yourself, an ye wad tak
patience to hear't---Yill?---deil a drap o' yill did Pate offer me;
but Mattie gae us baith a drap skimmed milk, and ane o' her
thick ait jannocks, that was as wat and raw as a divot. O for
the bonnie girdle cakes o' the north!---and sae we sat doun and
took out our clavers.''

  ``I wish you would take them out just now. Pray, tell me
the news, if you have got any worth telling, for I can't stop
here all night.''

  ``Than, if ye maun hae't, the folk in Lunnun are a' clean wud
about this bit job in the north here.''

  ``Clean wood! what's that?''

  ``Ou, just real daft---neither to haud nor to bind---a' hirdy-girdy
---clean through ither---the deil's ower Jock Wabster.''

  ``But what does all this mean? or what business have I with
the devil or Jack Webster?''

  ``Umph!'' said Andrew, looking extremely knowing, ``it's
just because---just that the dirdum's a' about yon man's pokmanty.''

  ``Whose portmanteau? or what do you mean?''

  ``Ou, just the man Morris's, that he said he lost yonder: but
if it's no your honour's affair, as little is it mine; and I mauna
lose this gracious evening.''

  And, as if suddenly seized with a violent fit of industry,
Andrew began to labour most diligently.

  My attention, as the crafty knave had foreseen, was now
arrested, and unwilling, at the same time, to acknowledge any
particular interest in that affair, by asking direct questions, I
stood waiting till the spirit of voluntary communication should
again prompt him to resume his story. Andrew dug on manfully,
and spoke at intervals, but nothing to the purpose of
Mr. Macready's news; and I stood and listened, cursing him in
my heart, and desirous at the same time to see how long his
humour of contradiction would prevail over his desire of
speaking upon the subject which was obviously uppermost in
his mind.

  ``Am trenching up the sparry-grass, and am gaun to saw
some Misegun beans; they winna want them to their swine's
flesh, I'se warrant---muckle gude may it do them. And siclike
dung as the grieve has gien me!---it should be wheat-strae, or
aiten at the warst o't, and it's pease dirt, as fizzenless as chuckie-stanes.
But the huntsman guides a' as he likes about the stable-yard,
and he's selled the best o' the litter, I'se warrant. But,
howsoever, we mauna lose a turn o' this Saturday at e'en, for
the wather's sair broken, and if there's a fair day in seven,
Sunday's sure to come and lick it up---Howsomever, I'm no
denying that it may settle, if it be Heaven's will, till Monday
morning,---and what's the use o' my breaking my back at this
rate?---I think, I'll e'en awa' hame, for yon's the curfew, as they
ca' their jowing-in bell.''

  Accordingly, applying both his hands to his spade, he pitched
it upright in the trench which he had been digging and, looking
at me with the air of superiority of one who knows himself
possessed of important information, which he may communicate
or refuse at his pleasure, pulled down the sleeves of his shirt,
and walked slowly towards his coat, which lay carefully folded
up upon a neighbouring garden-seat.

  ``I must pay the penalty of having interrupted the tiresome
rascal,'' thought I to myself, ``and even gratify Mr. Fairservice
by taking his communication on his own terms.'' Then raising
my voice, I addressed him,---``And after all, Andrew, what are
these London news you had from your kinsman, the travelling
merchant?''

  ``The pedlar, your honour means?'' retorted Andrew---``but
ca' him what ye wull, they're a great convenience in a country-side
that's scant o' borough-towns like this Northumberland---
That's no the case, now, in Scotland;---there's the kingdom of
Fife, frae Culross to the East Nuik, it's just like a great combined
city---sae mony royal boroughs yoked on end to end, like
ropes of ingans, with their hie-streets and their booths, nae
doubt, and their kr<ae>mes, and houses of stane and lime and fore-stairs---
Kirkcaldy, the sell o't, is langer than ony town in England.''

  ``I daresay it is all very splendid and very fine---but you were
talking of the London news a little while ago, Andrew.''

  ``Ay,'' replied Andrew; ``but I dinna think your honour
cared to hear about them---Howsoever'' (he continued, grinning
a ghastly smile), ``Pate Macready does say, that they are sair
mistrysted yonder in their Parliament House about this rubbery
o' Mr. Morris, or whatever they ca' the chiel.''

  ``In the House of Parliament, Andrew!---how came they to
mention it there?''

  ``Ou, that's just what I said to Pate; if it like your honour,
I'll tell you the very words; it's no worth making a lie for the
matter---`Pate,' said I, `what ado had the lords and lairds and
gentles at Lunnun wi' the carle and his walise?---When we
had a Scotch Parliament, Pate,' says I (and deil rax their
thrapples that reft us o't!) `they sate dousely down and made
laws for a haill country and kinrick, and never fashed their
beards about things that were competent to the judge ordinar
o' the bounds; but I think,' said I, `that if ae kailwife pou'd aff
her neighbour's mutch they wad hae the twasome o' them into
the Parliament House o' Lunnun. It's just,' said I, `amaist as
silly as our auld daft laird here and his gomerils o' sons, wi' his
huntsmen and his hounds, and his hunting cattle and horns,
riding haill days after a bit beast that winna weigh sax punds
when they hae catched it.' ''

  ``You argued most admirably, Andrew,'' said I, willing to
encourage him to get into the marrow of his intelligence; ``and
what said Pate?''

  ``Ou,'' he said, ``what better could be expected of a wheen
pock-pudding English folk?---But as to the robbery, it's like
that when they're a' at the thrang o' their Whig and Tory wark,
and ca'ing ane anither, like unhanged blackguards---up gets ae
lang-tongued chield, and he says, that a' the north of England
were rank Jacobites (and, quietly, he wasna far wrang maybe),
and that they had levied amaist open war, and a king's messenger
had been stoppit and rubbit on the highway, and that
the best bluid o' Northumberland had been at the doing o't---
and mickle gowd ta'en aff him, and mony valuable papers;
and that there was nae redress to be gotten by remeed of law
for the first justice o' the peace that the rubbit man gaed
to, he had fund the twa loons that did the deed birling and
drinking wi' him, wha but they; and the justice took the word
o' the tane for the compearance o' the tither; and that they
e'en gae him leg-bail, and the honest man that had lost his
siller was fain to leave the country for fear that waur had come
of it.''

  ``Can this be really true?'' said I.

  ``Pate swears it's as true as that his ellwand is a yard lang---
(and so it is, just bating an inch, that it may meet the English
measure)---And when the chield had said his warst, there was
a terrible cry for names, and out comes he wi' this man Morris's
name, and your uncle's, and Squire Inglewood's, and other folk's
beside'' (looking sly at me)---``And then another dragon o' a
chield got up on the other side, and said, wad they accuse the
best gentleman in the land on the oath of a broken coward?---
for it's like that Morris had been drummed out o' the army for
rinning awa in Flanders; and he said, it was like the story had
been made up between the minister and him or ever he had
left Lunnun; and that, if there was to be a search-warrant
granted, he thought the siller wad be fund some gate near to
St. James's Palace. Aweel, they trailed up Morris to their bar,
as they ca't, to see what he could say to the job; but the folk
that were again him, gae him sic an awfu' throughgaun about
his rinnin' awa, and about a' the ill he had ever dune or said
for a' the forepart o' his life, that Patie says he looked mair
like ane dead than living; and they cou'dna get a word o' sense
out o' him, for downright fright at their growling and routing.
He maun be a saft sap, wi' a head nae better than a fozy frosted
turnip---it wad hae ta'en a hantle o' them to scaur Andrew
Fairservice out o' his tale.''

  ``And how did it all end, Andrew? did your friend happen
to learn?''

  ``Ou, ay; for as his walk is in this country, Pate put aff his
journey for the space of a week or thereby, because it wad be
acceptable to his customers to bring down the news. It's just
a' gaed aft like moonshine in water. The fallow that began it
drew in his horns, and said, that though he believed the man
had been rubbit, yet he acknowledged he might hae been
mista'en about the particulars. And then the other chield got
up, and said, he caredna whether Morris was rubbed or no,
provided it wasna to become a stain on ony gentleman's honour
and reputation, especially in the north of England; for, said he
before them, I come frae the north mysell, and I carena a
boddle wha kens it. And this is what they ca' explaining---the
tane gies up a bit, and the tither gies up a bit, and a' friends
again. Aweel, after the Commons' Parliament had tuggit, and
rived, and rugged at Morris and his rubbery till they were tired
o't, the Lords' Parliament they behoved to hae their spell o't.
In puir auld Scotland's Parliament they a' sate thegither, cheek
by choul, and than they didna need to hae the same blethers
twice ower again. But till't their lordships went wi' as muckle
teeth and gude-will, as if the matter had been a' speck and span
new. Forbye, there was something said about ane Campbell,
that suld hae been concerned in the rubbery, mair or less, and
that he suld hae had a warrant frae the Duke of Argyle, as a
testimonial o' his character. And this put MacCallum More's
beard in a bleize, as gude reason there was; and he gat up wi' an
unco bang, and garr'd them a' look about them, and wad ram
it even doun their throats, there was never ane o' the Campbells
but was as wight, wise, warlike, and worthy trust, as auld Sir
John the Gr<ae>me. Now, if your honour's sure ye arena a drap's
bluid a-kin to a Campbell, as I am nane mysell, sae far as I
can count my kin, or hae had it counted to me, I'll gie ye my
mind on that matter.''

  ``You may be assured I have no connection whatever with
any gentleman of the name.''

  ``Ou, than we may speak it quietly amang oursells. There's
baith gude and bad o' the Campbells, like other names, But
this MacCallum More has an unco sway and say baith, amang
the grit folk at Lunnun even now; for he canna preceesely be
said to belang to ony o' the twa sides o' them, sae deil any o'
them likes to quarrel wi' him; sae they e'en voted Morris's tale
a fause calumnious libel, as they ca't, and if he hadna gien
them leg-bail, he was likely to hae ta'en the air on the pillory
for leasing-making.''

  So speaking, honest Andrew collected his dibbles, spades, and
hoes, and threw them into a wheel-barrow,---leisurely, however,
and allowing me full time to put any further questions which
might occur to me before he trundled them off to the tool-house,
there to repose during the ensuing day. I thought
it best to speak out at once, lest this meddling fellow should
suppose there were more weighty reasons for my silence than
actually existed.

  ``I should like to see this countryman of yours, Andrew
and to hear his news from himself directly. You have probably
heard that I had some trouble from the impertinent folly
of this man Morris'' (Andrew grinned a most significant grin),
``and I should wish to see your cousin the merchant, to ask
him the particulars of what he heard in London, if it could be
done without much trouble.''

  ``Naething mair easy,'' Andrew observed; ``he had but to
hint to his cousin that I wanted a pair or twa o' hose, and he
wad be wi' me as fast as he could lay leg to the grund.''

  ``O yes, assure him I shall be a customer; and as the night
is, as you say, settled and fair, I shall walk in the garden until
he comes; the moon will soon rise over the fells. You may
bring him to the little back-gate; and I shall have pleasure,
in the meanwhile, in looking on the bushes and evergreens by
the bright frosty moonlight.''

  ``Vara right, vara right---that's what I hae aften said; a
kail-blade, or a colliflour, glances sae glegly by moonlight, it's
like a leddy in her diamonds.''

  So saying, off went Andrew Fairservice with great glee. He
had to walk about two miles, a labour he undertook with the
greatest pleasure, in order to secure to his kinsman the sale of
some articles of his trade, though it is probable he would not
have given him sixpence to treat him to a quart of ale. ``The
good will of an Englishman would have displayed itself in a
manner exactly the reverse of Andrew's,'' thought I, as I paced
along the smooth-cut velvet walks, which, embowered with
high, hedges of yew and of holly, intersected the ancient garden
of Osbaldistone Hall.

  As I turned to retrace my steps, it was natural that I should
lift up my eyes to the windows of the old library; which, small
in size, but several in number, stretched along the second story
of that side of the house which now faced me. Light glanced
from their casements. I was not surprised at this, for I knew
Miss Vernon often sat there of an evening, though from motives
of delicacy I put a strong restraint upon myself, and never
sought to join her at a time when I knew, all the rest of
the family being engaged for the evening, our interviews
must necessarily have been strictly _t<e^>te-<a`>-t<e^>te._ In the mornings
we usually read together in the same room; but then it often
happened that one or other of our cousins entered to seek some
parchment duodecimo that could be converted into a fishing-book,
despite its gildings and illumination, or to tell us of some
``sport toward,'' or from mere want of knowing where else to
dispose of themselves. In short, in the mornings the library
was a sort of public room, where man and woman might meet
as on neutral ground. In the evening it was very different
and bred in a country where much attention is paid, or was at
least then paid, to _biens<e'>ance,_ I was desirous to think for Miss
Vernon concerning those points of propriety where her experience
did not afford her the means of thinking for herself. I made
her therefore comprehend, as delicately as I could, that when
we had evening lessons, the presence of a third party was proper.

  Miss Vernon first laughed, then blushed, and was disposed
to be displeased; and then, suddenly checking herself, said, ``I
believe you are very right; and when I feel inclined to be a
very busy scholar, I will bribe old Martha with a cup of tea to
sit by me and be my screen.''

  Martha, the old housekeeper, partook of the taste of the
family at the Hall. A toast and tankard would have pleased
her better than all the tea in China. However, as the use of
this beverage was then confined to the higher ranks, Martha
felt some vanity in being asked to partake of it; and by dint
of a great deal of sugar, many words scarce less sweet, and
abundance of toast and butter, she was sometimes prevailed
upon to give us her countenance. On other occasions, the servants
almost unanimously shunned the library after nightfall,
because it was their foolish pleasure to believe that it lay on
the haunted side of the house. The more timorous had seen
sights and heard sounds there when all the rest of the house
was quiet; and even the young squires were far from having
any wish to enter these formidable precincts after nightfall
without necessity.

  That the library had at one time been a favourite resource
of Rashleigh---that a private door out of one side of it communicated
with the sequestered and remote apartment which
he chose for himself, rather increased than disarmed the terrors
which the household had for the dreaded library of Osbaldistone
Hall. His extensive information as to what passed in the
world---his profound knowledge of science of every kind---a few
physical experiments which he occasionally showed off, were, in
a house of so much ignorance and bigotry, esteemed good
reasons for supposing him endowed with powers over the
spiritual world. He understood Greek, Latin, and Hebrew;
and, therefore, according to the apprehension, and in the phrase
of his brother Wilfred, needed not to care ``for ghaist or bar-ghaist,
devil or dobbie.'' Yea, the servants persisted that they
had heard him hold conversations in the library, when every
varsal soul in the family were gone to bed; and that he spent
the night in watching for bogles, and the morning in sleeping in
his bed, when he should have been heading the hounds like a
true Osbaldistone.

  All these absurd rumours I had heard in broken hints and
imperfect sentences, from which I was left to draw the inference;
and, as easily may be supposed, I laughed them to scorn. But
the extreme solitude to which this chamber of evil fame was
committed every night after curfew time, was an additional
reason why I should not intrude on Miss Vernon when she chose
to sit there in the evening.

  To resume what I was saying,---I was not surprised to see a
glimmering of light from the library windows: but I was a little
struck when I distinctly perceived the shadows of two persons
pass along and intercept the light from the first of the windows,
throwing the casement for a moment into shade. ``It must be
old Martha,'' thought I, ``whom Diana has engaged to be her
companion for the evening; or I must have been mistaken,
and taken Diana's shadow for a second person. No, by Heaven!
it appears on the second window,---two figures distinctly traced;
and now it is lost again---it is seen on the third---on the fourth
---the darkened forms of two persons distinctly seen in each
window as they pass along the room, betwixt the windows and
the lights. Whom can Diana have got for a companion?''---
The passage of the shadows between the lights and the casements
was twice repeated, as if to satisfy me that my observation
served me truly; after which the lights were extinguished,
and the shades, of course, were seen no more.

  Trifling as this circumstance was, it occupied my mind for a
considerable time. I did not allow myself to suppose that my
friendship for Miss Vernon had any directly selfish view; yet
it is incredible the displeasure I felt at the idea of her admitting
any one to private interviews, at a time, and in a place, where,
for her own sake, I had been at some trouble to show her that
it was improper for me to meet with her.

  ``Silly, romping, incorrigible girl!'' said I to myself, ``on
whom all good advice and delicacy are thrown away! I have
been cheated by the simplicity of her manner, which I suppose
she can assume just as she could a straw bonnet, were it the
fashion, for the mere sake of celebrity. I suppose, notwithstanding
the excellence of her understanding, the society of half
a dozen of clowns to play at whisk and swabbers would give
her more pleasure than if Ariosto himself were to awake from
the dead.''

  This reflection came the more powerfully across my mind,
because, having mustered up courage to show to Diana my
version of the first books of Ariosto, I had requested her to invite
Martha to a tea-party in the library that evening, to which
arrangement Miss Vernon had refused her consent, alleging
some apology which I thought frivolous at the time. I had
not long speculated on this disagreeable subject, when the back
garden-door opened, and the figures of Andrew and his country-man---
bending under his pack---crossed the moonlight alley, and
called my attention elsewhere.

  I found Mr. Macready, as I expected, a tough, sagacious,
long-headed Scotchman, and a collector of news both from choice
and profession. He was able to give me a distinct account of
what had passed in the House of Commons and House of Lords
on the affair of Morris, which, it appears, had been made by both
parties a touchstone to ascertain the temper of the Parliament.
It appeared also, that, as I had learned from Andrew, by second
hand, the ministry had proved too weak to support a story
involving the character of men of rank and importance, and
resting upon the credit of a person of such indifferent fame as
Morris, who was, moreover, confused and contradictory in his
mode of telling the story. Macready was even able to supply
me with a copy of a printed journal, or News-Letter, seldom
extending beyond the capital, in which the substance of the
debate was mentioned; and with a copy of the Duke of Argyle's
speech, printed upon a broadside, of which he had purchased
several from the hawkers, because, he said, it would be a saleable
article on the north of the Tweed. The first was a meagre
statement, full of blanks and asterisks, and which added little
or nothing to the information I had from the Scotchman; and
the Duke's speech, though spirited and eloquent, contained
chiefly a panegyric on his country, his family, and his clan, with
a few compliments, equally sincere, perhaps, though less glowing,
which he took so favourable an opportunity of paying to himself.
I could not learn whether my own reputation had been directly
implicated, although I perceived that the honour of my uncle's
family had been impeached, and that this person Campbell,
stated by Morris to have been the most active robber of the two
by whom he was assailed, was said by him to have appeared in
the behalf of a Mr. Osbaldistone, and by the connivance of the
Justice procured his liberation. In this particular, Morris's
story jumped with my own suspicions, which had attached to
Campbell from the moment I saw him appear at Justice Inglewood's.
Vexed upon the whole, as well as perplexed, with
this extraordinary story, I dismissed the two Scotchmen, after
making some purchases from Macready, and a small compliment
to Fairservice, and retired to my own apartment to consider
what I ought to do in defence of my character thus publicly
attacked.

 


		CHAPTER FIFTEENTH.

		Whence, and what art you?
					Milton.

  After exhausting a sleepless night in meditating on the intelligence
I had received, I was at first inclined to think that I
ought, as speedily as possible, to return to London, and by my
open appearance repel the calumny which had been spread
against me. But I hesitated to take this course on recollection
of my father's disposition, singularly absolute in his decisions as
to all that concerned his family. He was most able, certainly,
from experience, to direct what I ought to do, and from his
acquaintance with the most distinguished Whigs then in power,
had influence enough to obtain a hearing for my cause. So,
upon the whole, I judged it most safe to state my whole story
in the shape of a narrative, addressed to my father; and as the
ordinary opportunities of intercourse between the Hall and the
post-town recurred rarely, I determined to ride to the town,
which was about ten miles' distance, and deposit my letter in
the post-office with my own hands.

  Indeed I began to think it strange that though several weeks
had elapsed since my departure from home, I had received no
letter, either from my father or Owen, although Rashleigh had
written to Sir Hildebrand of his safe arrival in London, and of
the kind reception he had met with from his uncle. Admitting
that I might have been to blame, I did not deserve, in my own
opinion at least, to be so totally forgotten by my father; and I
thought my present excursion might have the effect of bringing
a letter from him to hand more early than it would otherwise
have reached me. But before concluding my letter concerning
the affair of Morris, I failed not to express my earnest hope and
wish that my father would honour me with a few lines, were it
but to express his advice and commands in an affair of some
difficulty, and where my knowledge of life could not be supposed
adequate to my own guidance. I found it impossible to prevail
on myself to urge my actual return to London as a place of
residence, and I disguised my unwillingness to do so under
apparent submission to my father's will, which, as I imposed it
on myself as a sufficient reason for not urging my final departure
from Osbaldistone Hall, would, I doubted not, be received as
such by my parent. But I begged permission to come to London,
for a short time at least, to meet and refute the infamous
calumnies which had been circulated concerning me in so public
a manner. Having made up my packet, in which my earnest
desire to vindicate my character was strangely blended with reluctance
to quit my present place of residence, I rode over to
the post-town, and deposited my letter in the office. By doing
so, I obtained possession, somewhat earlier than I should otherwise
have done, of the following letter from my friend Mr.
Owen:---

  ``Dear Mr. Francis,

  ``Yours received per favour of Mr. R. Osbaldistone, and note
the contents. Shall do Mr. R. O. such civilities as are in my
power, and have taken him to see the Bank and Custom-house.
He seems a sober, steady young gentleman, and takes to business;
so will be of service to the firm. Could have wished another
person had turned his mind that way; but God's will be done.
As cash may be scarce in those parts, have to trust you will excuse
my enclosing a goldsmith's bill at six days' sight, on Messrs.
Hooper and Girder of Newcastle, for <L>100, which I doubt not
will be duly honoured.---I remain, as in duty bound, dear Mr.
Frank, your very respectful and obedient servant,
					``Joseph Owen.

  ``_Postscriptum._---Hope you will advise the above coming safe
to hand. Am sorry we have so few of yours. Your father says
he is as usual, but looks poorly.''

  From this epistle, written in old Owen's formal style, I was
rather surprised to observe that he made no acknowledgment
of that private letter which I had written to him, with a view
to possess him of Rashleigh's real character, although, from the
course of post, it seemed certain that he ought to have received
it. Yet I had sent it by the usual conveyance from the Hall,
and had no reason to suspect that it could miscarry upon the
road. As it comprised matters of great importance both to my
father and to myself, I sat down in the post-office and again
wrote to Owen, recapitulating the heads of my former letter, and
requesting to know, in course of post, if it had reached him in
safety. I also acknowledged the receipt of the bill, and promised
to make use of the contents if I should have any occasion for
money. I thought, indeed, it was odd that my father should
leave the care of supplying my necessities to his clerk; but I
concluded it was a matter arranged between them. At any
rate, Owen was a bachelor, rich in his way, and passionately
attached to me, so that I had no hesitation in being obliged to
him for a small sum, which I resolved to consider as a loan, to
be returned with my earliest ability, in case it was not previously
repaid by my father; and I expressed myself to this purpose to
Mr. Owen. A shopkeeper in a little town, to whom the post-master
directed me, readily gave me in gold the amount of my
bill on Messrs. Hooper and Girder, so that I returned to Osbaldistone
Hall a good deal richer than I had set forth. This recruit
to my finances was not a matter of indifference to me, as
I was necessarily involved in some expenses at Osbaldistone
Hall; and I had seen, with some uneasy impatience, that the
sum which my travelling expenses had left unexhausted at my
arrival there was imperceptibly diminishing. This source of
anxiety was for the present removed. On my arrival at the
Hall I found that Sir Hildebrand and all his offspring had
gone down to the little hamlet, called Trinlay-knowes, ``to see,''
as Andrew Fairservice expressed it, ``a wheen midden cocks
pike ilk ither's barns out.''

  ``It is indeed a brutal amusement, Andrew; I suppose you
have none such in Scotland?''

  ``Na, na,'' answered Andrew boldly; then shaded away his
negative with, ``unless it be on Fastern's-e'en, or the like o'
that---But indeed it's no muckle matter what the folk do to the
midden pootry, for they had siccan a skarting and scraping in
the yard, that there's nae getting a bean or pea keepit for them.
---But I am wondering what it is that leaves that turret-door
open;---now that Mr. Rashleigh's away, it canna be him, I
trow.''

  The turret-door to which he alluded opened to the garden at
the bottom of a winding stair, leading down from Mr. Rashleigh's
apartment. This, as I have already mentioned, was situated
in a sequestered part of the house, communicating with the
library by a private entrance, and by another intricate and dark
vaulted passage with the rest of the house. A long narrow
turf walk led, between two high holly hedges, from the turret-door
to a little postern in the wall of the garden. By means of
these communications Rashleigh, whose movements were very
independent of those of the rest of his family, could leave the
Hall or return to it at pleasure, without his absence or presence
attracting any observation. But during his absence the stair
and the turret-door were entirely disused, and this made Andrew's
observation somewhat remarkable.

  ``Have you often observed that door open?'' was my question.

  ``No just that often neither; but I hae noticed it ance or
twice. I'm thinking it maun hae been the priest, Father
Vaughan, as they ca' him. Ye'll no catch ane o' the servants
gauging up that stair, puir frightened heathens that they are,
for fear of bogles and brownies, and lang-nebbit things frae the
neist warld. But Father Vaughan thinks himself a privileged
person---set him up and lay him down!---I'se be caution the
warst stibbler that ever stickit a sermon out ower the Tweed
yonder, wad lay a ghaist twice as fast as him, wi' his holy water
and his idolatrous trinkets. I dinna believe he speaks gude
Latin neither; at least he disna take me up when I tell him
the learned names o' the plants.''

  Of Father Vaughan, who divided his time and his ghostly
care between Osbaldistone Hall and about half a dozen mansions
of Catholic gentlemen in the neighbourhood, I have as
yet said nothing, for I had seen but little. He was aged about
sixty---of a good family, as I was given to understand, in the
north---of a striking and imposing presence, grave in his exterior,
and much respected among the Catholics of Northumberland as
a worthy and upright man. Yet Father Vaughan did not altogether
lack those peculiarities which distinguish his order.
There hung about him an air of mystery, which, in Protestant
eyes, savoured of priestcraft. The natives (such they might be
well termed) of Osbaldistone Hall looked up to him with much
more fear, or at least more awe, than affection. His condemnation
of their revels was evident, from their being discontinued
in some measure when the priest was a resident at the Hall.
Even Sir Hildebrand himself put some restraint upon his conduct
at such times, which, perhaps, rendered Father Vaughan's
presence rather irksome than otherwise. He had the well-bred,
insinuating, and almost flattering address peculiar to the clergy
of his persuasion, especially in England, where the lay Catholic,
hemmed in by penal laws, and by the restrictions of his sect
and recommendation of his pastor, often exhibits a reserved, and
almost a timid manner in the society of Protestants; while the
priest, privileged by his order to mingle with persons of all
creeds, is open, alert, and liberal in his intercourse with them,
desirous of popularity, and usually skilful in the mode of obtaining
it.

  Father Vaughan was a particular acquaintance of Rashleigh's,
otherwise, in all probability, he would scarce have been able to
maintain his footing at Osbaldistone Hall. This gave me no
desire to cultivate his intimacy, nor did he seem to make any
advances towards mine; so our occasional intercourse was confined
to the exchange of mere civility. I considered it as extremely
probable that Mr. Vaughan might occupy Rashleigh's
apartment during his occasional residence at the Hall; and his
profession rendered it likely that he should occasionally be a
tenant of the library. Nothing was more probable than that
it might have been his candle which had excited my attention
on a preceding evening. This led me involuntarily to recollect
that the intercourse between Miss Vernon and the priest was
marked with something like the same mystery which characterised
her communications with Rashleigh. I had never heard
her mention Vaughan's name, or even allude to him, excepting
on the occasion of our first meeting, when she mentioned the
old priest and Rashleigh as the only conversable beings, besides
herself, in Osbaldistone Hall. Yet although silent with respect
to Father Vaughan, his arrival at the Hall never failed to
impress Miss Vernon with an anxious and fluttering tremor,
which lasted until they had exchanged one or two significant
glances.

  Whatever the mystery might be which overclouded the
destinies of this beautiful and interesting female, it was clear
that Father Vaughan was implicated in it; unless, indeed, I
could suppose that he was the agent employed to procure her
settlement in the cloister, in the event of her rejecting a union
with either of my cousins,---an office which would sufficiently
account for her obvious emotion at his appearance. As to the
rest, they did not seem to converse much together, or even to
seek each other's society. Their league, if any subsisted between
them, was of a tacit and understood nature, operating on their
actions without any necessity of speech. I recollected, however,
on reflection, that I had once or twice discovered signs pass
betwixt them, which I had at the time supposed to bear reference
to some hint concerning Miss Vernon's religious observances,
knowing how artfully the Catholic clergy maintain, at all times
and seasons, their influence over the minds of their followers.
But now I was disposed to assign to these communications a
deeper and more mysterious import. Did he hold private
meetings with Miss Vernon in the library? was a question
which occupied my thoughts; and if so, for what purpose?
And why should she have admitted an intimate of the deceitful
Rashleigh to such close confidence?

  These questions and difficulties pressed on my mind with an
interest which was greatly increased by the impossibility of
resolving them. I had already begun to suspect that my
friendship for Diana Vernon was not altogether so disinterested
as in wisdom it ought to have been. I had already felt myself
becoming jealous of the contemptible lout Thorncliff, and taking
more notice, than in prudence or dignity of feeling I ought to
have done, of his silly attempts to provoke me. And now I
was scrutinising the conduct of Miss Vernon with the most
close and eager observation, which I in vain endeavoured to
palm on myself as the offspring of idle curiosity. All these,
like Benedick's brushing his hat of a morning, were signs that
the sweet youth was in love; and while my judgment still
denied that I had been guilty of forming an attachment so
imprudent, she resembled those ignorant guides, who, when
they have led the traveller and themselves into irretrievable
error, persist in obstinately affirming it to be impossible that
they can have missed the way.



			CHAPTER SIXTEENTH.

	It happened one day about noon, going to my boat, I was exceedingly
	surprised with the print of a man's naked foot on the shore, which
	was very plain to be seen on the sand.
						Robinson Crusoe.

  With the blended feelings of interest and jealousy which
were engendered by Miss Vernon's singular situation, my observations
of her looks and actions became acutely sharpened, and
that to a degree which, notwithstanding my efforts to conceal
it, could not escape her penetration. The sense that she was
observed, or, more properly speaking, that she was watched by
my looks, seemed to give Diana a mixture of embarrassment,
pain, and pettishness. At times it seemed that she sought an
opportunity of resenting a conduct which she could not but feel
as offensive, considering the frankness with which she had
mentioned the difficulties that surrounded her. At other times
she seemed prepared to expostulate upon the subject. But
either her courage failed, or some other sentiment impeded her
seeking an _<e'>claircissement._ Her displeasure evaporated in repartee,
and her expostulations died on her lips. We stood in
a singular relation to each other,---spending, and by mutual
choice, much of our time in close society with each other, yet
disguising our mutual sentiments, and jealous of, or offended
by, each other's actions. There was betwixt us intimacy without
confidence;---on one side, love without hope or purpose,
and curiosity without any rational or justifiable motive; and
on the other, embarrassment and doubt, occasionally mingled
with displeasure. Yet I believe that this agitation of the
passions (such is the nature of the human bosom), as it continued
by a thousand irritating and interesting, though petty
circumstances, to render Miss Vernon and me the constant
objects of each other's thoughts, tended, upon the whole, to
increase the attachment with which we were naturally disposed
to regard each other. But although my vanity early discovered
that my presence at Osbaldistone Hall had given Diana some
additional reason for disliking the cloister, I could by no means
confide in an affection which seemed completely subordinate to
the mysteries of her singular situation. Miss Vernon was of
a character far too formed and determined, to permit her love for
me to overpower either her sense of duty or of prudence, and she
gave me a proof of this in a conversation which we had together
about this period.

  We were sitting together in the library. Miss Vernon, in
turning over a copy of the Orlando Furioso, which belonged to
me, shook a piece of writing paper from between the leaves. I
hastened to lift it, but she prevented me.---``It is verse,'' she
said, on glancing at the paper; and then unfolding it, but as
if to wait my answer before proceeding---``May I take the
liberty?---Nay, nay, if you blush and stammer, I must do
violence to your modesty, and suppose that permission is
granted.''

  ``It is not worthy your perusal---a scrap of a translation---
My dear Miss Vernon, it would be too severe a trial, that you,
who understand the original so well, should sit in judgment.''

  ``Mine honest friend,'' replied Diana, ``do not, if you will be
guided by my advice, bait your hook with too much humility;
for, ten to one, it will not catch a single compliment. You
know I belong to the unpopular family of Tell-truths, and would
not flatter Apollo for his lyre.''

  She proceeded to read the first stanza, which was nearly to
the following purpose:---

	``Ladies, and knights, and arms, and love's fair flame,
	  Deeds of emprize and courtesy, I sing;
	What time the Moors from sultry Africk came,
	  Led on by Agramant, their youthful king---
	He whom revenge and hasty ire did bring
	  O'er the broad wave, in France to waste and war;
	Such ills from old Trojano's death did spring,
	  Which to avenge he came from realms afar,
	And menaced Christian Charles, the Roman Emperor.
	  Of dauntless Roland, too, my strain shall sound,
	In import never known in prose or rhyme,
	  How He, the chief, of judgment deemed profound,
	For luckless love was crazed upon a time''---

There is a great deal of it,'' said she, glancing along the
paper, and interrupting the sweetest sounds which mortal ears
can drink in,---those of a youthful poet's verses, namely, read
by the lips which are dearest to him.

  ``Much more than ought to engage your attention, Miss
Vernon,'' I replied, something mortified; and I took the verses
from her unreluctant hand---``And yet,'' I continued, ``shut up
as I am in this retired situation, I have felt sometimes I could
not amuse myself better than by carrying on---merely for my
own amusement, you will of course understand---the version of
this fascinating author, which I began some months since when
I was on the banks of the Garonne.''

  ``The question would only be,'' said Diana, gravely, ``whether
you could not spend your time to better purpose?''

  ``You mean in original composition?'' said I, greatly flattered
---``But, to say truth, my genius rather lies in finding words
and rhymes than ideas; and therefore I am happy to use those
which Ariosto has prepared to my hand. However, Miss Vernon,
with the encouragement you give''------

  ``Pardon me, Frank---it is encouragement not of my giving,
but of your taking. I meant neither original composition nor
translation, since I think you might employ your time to far
better purpose than in either. You are mortified,'' she continued,
``and I am sorry to be the cause.''

  ``Not mortified,---certainly not mortified,'' said I, with the
best grace I could muster, and it was but indifferently assumed;
``I am too much obliged by the interest you take in me.''

  ``Nay, but,'' resumed the relentless Diana, ``there is both
mortification and a little grain of anger in that constrained
tone of voice; do not be angry if I probe your feelings to the
bottom---perhaps what I am about to say will affect them still
more.''

  I felt the childishness of my own conduct. and the superior
manliness of Miss Vernon's, and assured her, that she need not
fear my wincing under criticism which I knew to be kindly
meant.

  ``That was honestly meant and said,'' she replied; ``I knew
full well that the fiend of poetical irritability flew away with
the little preluding cough which ushered in the declaration.
And now I must be serious---Have you heard from your father
lately?''

  ``Not a word,'' I replied; ``he has not honoured me with a
single line during the several months of my residence here.''

  ``That is strange!---you are a singular race, you bold
Osbaldistones. Then you are not aware that he has gone to
Holland, to arrange some pressing affairs which required his
own immediate presence?''

  ``I never heard a word of it until this moment.''

  ``And farther, it must be news to you, and I presume scarcely
the most agreeable, that he has left Rashleigh in the almost
uncontrolled management of his affairs until his return.''

  I started, and could not suppress my surprise and apprehension.

  ``You have reason for alarm,'' said Miss Vernon, very gravely;
``and were I you, I would endeavour to meet and obviate the
dangers which arise from so undesirable an arrangement.''

  ``And how is it possible for me to do so?''

  ``Everything is possible for him who possesses courage and
activity,'' she said, with a look resembling one of those heroines
of the age of chivalry, whose encouragement was wont to give
champions double valour at the hour of need; ``and to the timid
and hesitating, everything is impossible, because it seems so.''

  ``And what would you advise, Miss Vernon?'' I replied,
wishing, yet dreading, to hear her answer.

  She paused a moment, then answered firmly---``That you
instantly leave Osbaldistone Hall, and return to London. You
have perhaps already,'' she continued, in a softer tone, ``been
here too long; that fault was not yours. Every succeeding
moment you waste here will be a crime. Yes, a crime: for I
tell you plainly, that if Rashleigh long manages your father's
affairs, you may consider his ruin as consummated.''

  ``How is this possible?''

  ``Ask no questions,'' she said; ``but believe me, Rashleigh's
views extend far beyond the possession or increase of commercial
wealth: he will only make the command of Mr. Osbaldistone's
revenues and property the means of putting in motion his own
ambitious and extensive schemes. While your father was in
Britain this was impossible; during his absence, Rashleigh will
possess many opportunities, and he will not neglect to use them.''

  ``But how can I, in disgrace with my father, and divested of
all control over his affairs, prevent this danger by my mere
presence in London?''

  ``That presence alone will do much. Your claim to interfere
is a part of your birthright, and it is inalienable. You
will have the countenance, doubtless, of your father's head-clerk,
and confidential friends and partners. Above all, Rashleigh's
schemes are of a nature that''---(she stopped abruptly, as if
fearful of saying too much)---``are, in short,'' she resumed, ``of
the nature of all selfish and unconscientious plans, which are
speedily abandoned as soon as those who frame them perceive
their arts are discovered and watched. Therefore, in the language
of your favourite poet---

	To horse! to horse! Urge doubts to those that fear.''

  A feeling, irresistible in its impulse, induced me to reply---
``Ah! Diana, can _you_ give me advice to leave Osbaldistone
Hall?---then indeed I have already been a resident here too
long!''

  Miss Vernon coloured, but proceeded with great firmness---
``Indeed, I do give you this advice---not only to quit Osbaldistone
Hall, but never to return to it more. You have only one
friend to regret here,'' she continued, forcing a smile, ``and she
has been long accustomed to sacrifice her friendships and her
comforts to the welfare of others. In the world you will meet
a hundred whose friendship will be as disinterested---more useful
---less encumbered by untoward circumstances---less influenced
by evil tongues and evil times.''

  ``Never!'' I exclaimed, ``never!---the world can afford me
nothing to repay what I must leave behind me.'' Here I took
her hand, and pressed it to my lips.

  ``This is folly!'' she exclaimed---``this is madness!'' and she
struggled to withdraw her hand from my grasp, but not so
stubbornly as actually to succeed until I had held it for nearly
a minute. ``Hear me, sir!'' she said, ``and curb this unmanly
burst of passion. I am, by a solemn contract, the bride of
Heaven, unless I could prefer being wedded to villany in the
person of Rashleigh Osbaldistone, or brutality in that of his
brother. I am, therefore, the bride of Heaven,---betrothed to
the convent from the cradle. To me, therefore, these raptures
are misapplied---they only serve to prove a farther necessity
for your departure, and that without delay.'' At these words
she broke suddenly off, and said, but in a suppressed tone of
voice, ``Leave me instantly---we will meet here again, but it
must be for the last time.''

  My eyes followed the direction of hers as she spoke, and I
thought I saw the tapestry shake, which covered the door of
the secret passage from Rashleigh's room to the library. I
conceived we were observed, and turned an inquiring glance on
Miss Vernon.

  ``It is nothing,'' said she, faintly; ``a rat behind the arras.''

  ``Dead for a ducat,'' would have been my reply, had I dared
to give way to the feelings which rose indignant at the idea of
being subjected to an eaves-dropper on such an occasion. Prudence,
and the necessity of suppressing my passion, and obeying
Diana's reiterated command of ``Leave me! leave me!'' came in
time to prevent my rash action. I left the apartment in a wild
whirl and giddiness of mind, which I in vain attempted to
compose when I returned to my own.

  A chaos of thoughts intruded themselves on me at once,
passing hastily through my brain, intercepting and overshadowing
each other, and resembling those fogs which in mountainous
countries are wont to descend in obscure volumes, and disfigure
or obliterate the usual marks by which the traveller steers his
course through the wilds. The dark and undefined idea of
danger arising to my father from the machinations of such a
man as Rashleigh Osbaldistone---the half declaration of love
that I had offered to Miss Vernon's acceptance---the acknowledged
difficulties of her situation, bound by a previous contract
to sacrifice herself to a cloister or to an ill-assorted marriage,---
all pressed themselves at once upon my recollection, while my
judgment was unable deliberately to consider any of them in
their just light and bearings. But chiefly and above all the
rest, I was perplexed by the manner in which Miss Vernon had
received my tender of affection, and by her manner, which,
fluctuating betwixt sympathy and firmness, seemed to intimate
that I possessed an interest in her bosom, but not of force
sufficient to counterbalance the obstacles to her avowing a
mutual affection. The glance of fear, rather than surprise,
with which she had watched the motion of the tapestry over
the concealed door, implied an apprehension of danger which I
could not but suppose well grounded; for Diana Vernon was
little subject to the nervous emotions of her sex, and totally
unapt to fear without actual and rational cause. Of what
nature could those mysteries be, with which she was surrounded
as with an enchanter's spell, and which seemed continually to
exert an active influence over her thoughts and actions, though
their agents were never visible? On this subject of doubt my
mind finally rested, as if glad to shake itself free from investigating
the propriety or prudence of my own conduct, by transferring
the inquiry to what concerned Miss Vernon. I will be
resolved, I concluded, ere I leave Osbaldistone Hall, concerning
the light in which I must in future regard this fascinating
being, over whose life frankness and mystery seem to have
divided their reign,---the former inspiring her words and sentiments---
the latter spreading in misty influence over all her
actions.

  Joined to the obvious interests which arose from curiosity
and anxious passion, there mingled in my feelings a strong,
though unavowed and undefined, infusion of jealousy. This
sentiment, which springs up with love as naturally as the tares
with the wheat, was excited by the degree of influence which
Diana appeared to concede to those unseen beings by whom
her actions were limited. The more I reflected upon her
character, the more I was internally though unwillingly convinced,
that she was formed to set at defiance all control,
excepting that which arose from affection; and I felt a strong,
bitter, and gnawing suspicion, that such was the foundation of
that influence by which she was overawed.

  These tormenting doubts strengthened my desire to penetrate
into the secret of Miss Vernon's conduct, and in the prosecution
of this sage adventure, I formed a resolution, of which,
if you are not weary of these details, you will find the result in
the next chapter.



		CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH.

	I hear a voice you cannot hear,
	  Which says, I must not stay;
	I see a hand you cannot see,
	  Which beckons me awry.
				Tickell.

  I have already told you, Tresham, if you deign to bear it in
remembrance, that my evening visits to the library had seldom
been made except by appointment, and under the sanction of
old Dame Martha's presence. This, however, was entirely a
tacit conventional arrangement of my own instituting. Of late,
as the embarrassments of our relative situation had increased,
Miss Vernon and I had never met in the evening at all. She
had therefore no reason to suppose that I was likely to seek a
renewal of these interviews, and especially without some previous
notice or appointment betwixt us, that Martha might, as
usual, be placed upon duty; but, on the other hand, this
cautionary provision was a matter of understanding, not of
express enactment. The library was open to me, as to the
other members of the family, at all hours of the day and night,
and I could not be accused of intrusion, however suddenly and
unexpectedly I might made my appearance in it. My belief
was strong, that in this apartment Miss Vernon occasionally
received Vaughan, or some other person, by whose opinion she
was accustomed to regulate her conduct, and that at the times
when she could do so with least chance of interruption. The
lights which gleamed in the library at unusual hours---the
passing shadows which I had myself remarked---the footsteps
which might be traced in the morning-dew from the turret-door
to the postern-gate in the garden---sounds and sights
which some of the servants, and Andrew Fairservice in particular,
had observed, and accounted for in their own way,---all
tended to show that the place was visited by some one different
from the ordinary inmates of the hall. Connected as this visitant
probably must be with the fates of Diana Vernon, I did not
hesitate to form a plan of discovering who or what he was,---
how far his influence was likely to produce good or evil consequences
to her on whom he acted;---above all, though I endeavoured
to persuade myself that this was a mere subordinate
consideration, I desired to know by what means this person had
acquired or maintained his influence over Diana, and whether
he ruled over her by fear or by affection. The proof that this
jealous curiosity was uppermost in my mind, arose from my
imagination always ascribing Miss Vernon's conduct to the influence
of some one individual agent, although, for aught I knew
about the matter, her advisers might be as numerous am Legion.
I remarked this over and over to myself; but I found that
my mind still settled back in my original conviction, that one
single individual, of the masculine sex, and in all probability
young and handsome, was at the bottom of Miss Vernon's conduct;
and it was with a burning desire of discovering, or rather
of detecting, such a rival, that I stationed myself in the garden
to watch the moment when the lights should appear in the
library windows.

  So eager, however, was my impatience, that I commenced
my watch for a phenomenon, which could not appear until
darkness, a full hour before the daylight disappeared, on a July
evening. It was Sabbath, and all the walks were still and
solitary. I walked up and down for some time, enjoying the
refreshing coolness of a summer evening, and meditating on
the probable consequences of my enterprise. The fresh and
balmy air of the garden, impregnated with fragrance, produced
its usual sedative effects on my over-heated and feverish blood.
As these took place, the turmoil of my mind began proportionally
to abate, and I was led to question the right I had to
interfere with Miss Vernon's secrets, or with those of my uncle's
family. What was it to me whom my uncle might choose to
conceal in his house, where I was myself a guest only by tolerance?
And what title had I to pry into the affairs of Miss
Vernon, fraught, as she had avowed them to be, with mystery,
into which she desired no scrutiny?

  Passion and self-will were ready with their answers to these
questions. In detecting this secret, I was in all probability
about to do service to Sir Hildebrand, who was probably ignorant
of the intrigues carried on in his family---and a still more
important service to Miss Vernon, whose frank simplicity of
character exposed her to so many risks in maintaining a private
correspondence, perhaps with a person of doubtful or dangerous
character. If I seemed to intrude myself on her confidence, it
was with the generous and disinterested (yes, I even ventured
to call it the _disinterested_) intention of guiding, defending, and
protecting her against craft---against malice,---above all, against
the secret counsellor whom she had chosen for her confidant.
Such were the arguments which my will boldly preferred to my
conscience, as coin which ought to be current, and which conscience,
like a grumbling shopkeeper, was contented to accept,
rather than come to an open breach with a customer, though
more than doubting that the tender was spurious.

  While I paced the green alleys, debating these things _pro_ and
_con,_ I suddenly alighted upon Andrew Fairservice, perched up
like a statue by a range of bee-hives, in an attitude of devout
contemplation---one eye, however, watching the motions of the
little irritable citizens, who were settling in their straw-thatched
mansion for the evening, and the other fixed on a book of devotion,
which much attrition had deprived of its corners, and
worn into an oval shape; a circumstance which, with the close
print and dingy colour of the volume in question, gave it an air
of most respectable antiquity.

  ``I was e'en taking a spell o' worthy Mess John Quackleben's
Flower of a Sweet Savour sawn on the Middenstead of this
World,'' said Andrew, closing his book at my appearance, and
putting his horn spectacles, by way of mark, at the place where
he had been reading.

  ``And the bees, I observe, were dividing your attention,
Andrew, with the learned author?''

  ``They are a contumacious generation,'' replied the gardener;
``they hae sax days in the week to hive on, and yet it's a
common observe that they will aye swarm on the Sabbath-day,
and keep folk at hame frae hearing the word---But there's nae
preaching at Graneagain chapel the e'en---that's aye ae mercy.''

  ``You might have gone to the parish church as I did, Andrew,
and heard an excellent discourse.''

  ``Clauts o' cauld parritch---clauts o' cauld parritch,'' replied
Andrew, with a most supercilious sneer,---``gude aneueh for
dogs, begging your honour's pardon---Ay! I might nae doubt
hae heard the curate linking awa at it in his white sark yonder,
and the musicians playing on whistles, mair like a penny-wedding
than a sermon---and to the boot of that, I might hae
gaen to even-song, and heard Daddie Docharty mumbling his
mass---muckle the better I wad hae been o' that!''

  ``Docharty!'' said I (this was the name of an old priest, an
Irishman, I think, who sometimes officiated at Osbaldistone
Hall)---``I thought Father Vaughan had been at the Hall.
He was here yesterday.''

  ``Ay,'' replied Andrew; ``but he left it yestreen, to gang to
Greystock, or some o' thae west-country haulds. There's an
unco stir among them a' e'enow. They are as busy as my bees
are---God sain them! that I suld even the puir things to the
like o' papists. Ye see this is the second swarm, and whiles
they will swarm off in the afternoon. The first swarm set off
sune in the morning.---But I am thinking they are settled in
their skeps for the night; sae I wuss your honour good-night,
and grace, and muckle o't.''

  So saying, Andrew retreated, but often cast a parting glance
upon the _skeps,_ as he called the bee-hives.

  I had indirectly gained from him an important piece of
information, that Father Vaughan, namely, was not supposed
to be at the Hall. If, therefore, there appeared light in the
windows of the library this evening, it either could not be his,
or he was observing a very secret and suspicious line of conduct.
I waited with impatience the time of sunset and of twilight.
It had hardly arrived, ere a gleam from the windows of the
library was seen, dimly distinguishable amidst the still enduring
light of the evening. I marked its first glimpse, however, as
speedily as the benighted sailor descries the first distant twinkle
of the lighthouse which marks his course. The feelings of
doubt and propriety, which had hitherto contended with my
curiosity and jealousy, vanished when an opportunity of gratifying
the former was presented to me. I re-entered the house,
and avoiding the more frequented apartments with the consciousness
of one who wishes to keep his purpose secret, I
reached the door of the library---hesitated for a moment as my
hand was upon the latch---heard a suppressed step within---
opened the door---and found Miss Vernon alone.

  Diana appeared surprised,---whether at my sudden entrance,
or from some other cause, I could not guess; but there was in
her appearance a degree of flutter, which I had never before
remarked, and which I knew could only be produced by unusual
emotion. Yet she was calm in a moment; and such is the
force of conscience, that I, who studied to surprise her, seemed
myself the surprised, and was certainly the embarrassed person.

  ``Has anything happened?'' said Miss Vernon---``has any
one arrived at the Hall?''

  ``No one that I know of,'' I answered, in some confusion;
``I only sought the Orlando.''

  ``It lies there,'' said Miss Vernon, pointing to the table.
In removing one or two books to get at that which I pretended
to seek, I was, in truth, meditating to make a handsome
retreat from an investigation to which I felt my assurance
inadequate, when I perceived a man's glove lying upon the
table. My eyes encountered those of Miss Vernon, who blushed
deeply.

  ``It is one of my relics,'' she said with hesitation, replying
not to my words but to my looks; ``it is one of the gloves of
my grandfather, the original of the superb Vandyke which you
admire.''

  As if she thought something more than her bare assertion
was necessary to prove her statement true, she opened a drawer
of the large oaken table, and taking out another glove, threw
it towards me.---When a temper naturally ingenuous stoops to
equivocate, or to dissemble, the anxious pain with which the
unwonted task is laboured, often induces the hearer to doubt
the authenticity of the tale. I cast a hasty glance on both
gloves, and then replied gravely---``The gloves resemble each
other, doubtless, in form and embroidery; but they cannot form
a pair, since they both belong to the right hand.''

  She bit her lip with anger, and again coloured deeply.

  ``You do right to expose me,'' she replied, with bitterness:
``some friends would have only judged from what I said, that
I chose to give no particular explanation of a circumstance
which calls for none---at least to a stranger. You have judged
better, and have made me feel, not only the meanness of duplicity,
but my own inadequacy to sustain the task of a dissembler.
I now tell you distinctly, that that glove is not the fellow, as
you have acutely discerned, to the one which I just now produced;
---it belongs to a friend yet dearer to me than the
original of Vandyke's picture---a friend by whose counsels I
have been, and will be, guided---whom I honour---whom I''------
she paused.

  I was irritated at her manner, and filled up the blank in my
own way---``Whom she _loves_, Miss Vernon would say.''

  ``And if I do say so,'' she replied haughtily, ``by whom shall
my affection be called to account?''

  ``Not by me, Miss Vernon, assuredly---I entreat you to hold
me acquitted of such presumption.---_But,_'' I continued, with
some emphasis, for I was now piqued in return, ``I hope Miss
Vernon will pardon a friend, from whom she seems disposed to
withdraw the title, for observing''------

  ``Observe nothing, sir,'' she interrupted with some vehemence,
except that I will neither be doubted nor questioned. There
does not exist one by whom I will be either interrogated or
judged; and if you sought this unusual time of presenting yourself
in order to spy upon my privacy, the friendship or interest
with which you pretend to regard me, is a poor excuse for your
uncivil curiosity.''

  ``I relieve you of my presence,'' said I, with pride equal to
her own; for my temper has ever been a stranger to stooping,
even in cases where my feelings were most deeply interested---
``I relieve you of my presence. I awake from a pleasant, but a
most delusive dream; and---but we understand each other.''

  I had reached the door of the apartment, when Miss Vernon,
whose movements were sometimes so rapid as to seem almost
instinctive, overtook me, and, catching hold of my arm, stopped
me with that air of authority which she could so whimsically
assume, and which, from the _na<i:>vet<e'>_ and simplicity of her manner,
had an effect so peculiarly interesting.

  ``Stop, Mr. Frank,'' she said, ``you are not to leave me in
that way neither; I am not so amply provided with friends,
that I can afford to throw away even the ungrateful and the
selfish. Mark what I say, Mr. Francis Osbaldistone. You
shall know nothing of this mysterious glove,'' and she held it up as
she spoke---``nothing---no, not a single iota more than you know
already; and yet I will not permit it to be a gauntlet of strife
and defiance betwixt us. My time here,'' she said, sinking into
a tone somewhat softer, ``must necessarily be very short; yours
must be still shorter: we are soon to part never to meet again;
do not let us quarrel, or make any mysterious miseries the pretext
for farther embittering the few hours we shall ever pass together
on this side of eternity.''

  I do not know, Tresham, by what witchery this fascinating
creature obtained such complete management over a temper
which I cannot at all times manage myself. I had determined
on entering the library, to seek a complete explanation with Miss
Vernon. I had found that she refused it with indignant defiance,
and avowed to my face the preference of a rival; for what other
construction could I put on her declared preference of her mysterious
confidant? And yet, while I was on the point of leaving
the apartment, and breaking with her for ever, it cost her
but a change of look and tone, from that of real and haughty
resentment to that of kind and playful despotism, again shaded
off into melancholy and serious feeling, to lead me back to my
seat, her willing subject, on her own hard terms.

  ``What does this avail?'' said I, as I sate down. ``What can
this avail, Miss Vernon? Why should I witness embarrassments
which I cannot relieve, and mysteries which I offend you even
by attempting to penetrate? Inexperienced as you are in the
world, you must still be aware that a beautiful young woman
can have but one male friend. Even in a male friend I will be
jealous of a confidence shared with a third party unknown and
concealed; but with _you,_ Miss Vernon''------

  ``You are, of course, jealous, in all the tenses and moods of that
amiable passion? But, my good friend, you have all this time
spoke nothing but the paltry gossip which simpletons repeat
from play-books and romances, till they give mere cant a real
and powerful influence over their minds. Boys and girls prate
themselves into love; and when their love is like to fall asleep,
they prate and tease themselves into jealousy. But you and I,
Frank, are rational beings, and neither silly nor idle enough to
talk ourselves into any other relation than that of plain honest
disinterested friendship. Any other union is as far out of our
reach as if I were man, or you woman---To speak truth,'' she
added, after a moment's hesitation, ``even though I am so complaisant
to the decorum of my sex as to blush a little at my own
plain dealing, we cannot marry if we would; and we ought not
if we could.''

  And certainly, Tresham, she did blush most angelically, as she
made this cruel declaration. I was about to attack both her
positions, entirely forgetting those very suspicions which had
been confirmed in the course of the evening, but she proceeded
with a cold firmness which approached to severity---``What I
say is sober and indisputable truth, on which I will neither hear
question nor explanation. We are therefore friends, Mr. Osbaldistone
---are we not?'' She held out her hand, and taking
mine, added---``And nothing to each other now, or henceforward,
except as friends.''

  She let go my hand. I sunk it and my head at once, fairly
_overcrowed,_ as Spenser would have termed it, by the mingled
kindness and firmness of her manner. She hastened to change
the subject.

  ``Here is a letter,'' she said, ``directed for you, Mr. Osbaldistone,
very duly and distinctly; but which, notwithstanding
the caution of the person who wrote and addressed it, might
perhaps never have reached your hands, had it not fallen into
the possession of a certain Pacolet, or enchanted dwarf of mine,
whom, like all distressed damsels of romance, I retain in my
secret service.''

  I opened the letter and glanced over the contents. The
unfolded sheet of paper dropped from my hands, with the involuntary
exclamation of ``Gracious Heaven! my folly and disobedience
have ruined my father!''

  Miss Vernon rose with looks of real and affectionate alarm---
``You grow pale---you are ill---shall I bring you a glass of
water? Be a man, Mr. Osbaldistone, and a firm one. Is your
father---is he no more?''

  ``He lives,'' said I, ``thank God! but to what distress and
difficulty''------

  ``If that be all, despair not, May I read this letter?'' she
said, taking it up.

  I assented, hardly knowing what I said. She read it with
great attention.

  ``Who is this Mr. Tresham, who signs the letter?''

  ``My father's partner''---(your own good father, Will)---``but
he is little in the habit of acting personally in the business of
the house.''

  ``He writes here,'' said Miss Vernon, ``of various letters sent
to you previously.''

  ``I have received none of them,'' I replied.

  ``And it appears,'' she continued, ``that Rashleigh, who has
taken the full management of affairs during your father's absence
in Holland, has some time since left London for Scotland, with
effects and remittances to take up large bills granted by your
father to persons in that country, and that he has not since been
heard of.''

  ``It is but too true.''

  ``And here has been,'' she added, looking at the letter, ``a
head-clerk, or some such person,---Owenson---Owen---despatched
to Glasgow, to find out Rashleigh, if possible, and you are entreated
to repair to the same place, and assist him in his
researches.''

  ``It is even so, and I must depart instantly.''

  ``Stay but one moment,'' said Miss Vernon. ``It seems to
me that the worst which can come of this matter, will be the
loss of a certain sum of money;---and can that bring tears into
your eyes? For shame, Mr. Osbaldistone!''

  ``You do me injustice, Miss Vernon,'' I answered. ``I grieve
not for the loss of the money, but for the effect which I know
it will produce on the spirits and health of my father, to whom
mercantile credit is as honour; and who, if declared insolvent,
would sink into the grave, oppressed by a sense of grief, remorse,
and despair, like that of a soldier convicted of cowardice or a
man of honour who had lost his rank and character in society.
All this I might have prevented by a trifling sacrifice of the
foolish pride and indolence which recoiled from sharing the
labours of his honourable and useful profession. Good Heaven!
how shall I redeem the consequences of my error?''

  ``By instantly repairing to Glasgow, as you are conjured to
do by the friend who writes this letter.''

  ``But if Rashleigh,'' said I, ``has really formed this base and
unconscientious scheme of plundering his benefactor, what prospect
is there that I can find means of frustrating a plan so
deeply laid?'

  ``The prospect,'' she replied, ``indeed, may be uncertain;
but, on the other hand, there is no possibility of your doing
any service to your father by remaining here. Remember, had
you been on the post destined for you, this disaster could not
have happened: hasten to that which is now pointed out, and
it may possibly be retrieved.---Yet stay---do not leave this room
until I return.''

 She left me in confusion and amazement; amid which, however,
I could find a lucid interval to admire the firmness, composure,
and presence of mind which Miss Vernon seemed to
possess on every crisis, however sudden.

  In a few minutes she returned with a sheet of paper in her
hand, folded and sealed like a letter, but without address. ``I
trust you,'' she said, ``with this proof of my friendship, because
I have the most perfect confidence in your honour. If I understand
the nature of your distress rightly, the funds in Rashleigh's
possession must be recovered by a certain day---the 12th
of September, I think is named---in order that they may be
applied to pay the bills in question; and, consequently, that if
adequate funds be provided before that period, your father's
credit is safe from the apprehended calamity.''

  ``Certainly---I so understand Mr. Tresham''---I looked at
your father's letter again, and added, ``There cannot be a doubt
of it.''

  ``Well,'' said Diana, ``in that case my little Pacolet may be
of use to you. You have heard of a spell contained in a letter.
Take this packet; do not open it until other and ordinary
means have failed. If you succeed by your own exertions, I
trust to your honour for destroying it without opening or suffering
it to be opened;---but if not, you may break the seal within
ten days of the fated day, and you will find directions which
may possibly be of service to you. Adieu, Frank; we never
meet more---but sometimes think of your friend Die Vernon.''

  She extended her hand, but I clasped her to my bosom. She
sighed as she extricated herself from the embrace which she permitted---
escaped to the door which led to her own apartment---
and I saw her no more.



		CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH.

	And hurry, hurry, off they rode,
	  As fast as fast might be;
	Hurra, hurra, the dead can ride,
	  Dost fear to ride with me?
				Burger.

  There is one advantage in an accumulation of evils, differing
in cause and character, that the distraction which they afford
by their contradictory operation prevents the patient from being
overwhelmed under either. I was deeply grieved at my separation
from Miss Vernon, yet not so much so as I should have been,
had not my father's apprehended distresses forced themselves on
my attention; and I was distressed by the news of Mr. Tresham,
yet less so than if they had fully occupied my mind. I was
neither a false lover nor an unfeeling son; but man can give
but a certain portion of distressful emotions to the causes which
demand them; and if two operate at once, our sympathy, like
the funds of a compounding bankrupt, can only be divided
between them. Such were my reflections when I gained my
apartment---it seems, from the illustration, they already began
to have a twang of commerce in them.

  I set myself seriously to consider your father's letter. It was
not very distinct, and referred for several particulars to Owen,
whom I was entreated to meet with as soon as possible at a
Scotch town called Glasgow; being informed, moreover, that
my old friend was to be heard of at Messrs. MacVittie, MacFin,
and Company, merchants in the Gallowgate of the said town.
It likewise alluded to several letters,---which, as it appeared to
me, must have miscarried or have been intercepted, and complained
of my obdurate silence, in terms which would have,
been highly unjust, had my letters reached their purposed
destination. I was amazed as I read. That the spirit of
Rashleigh walked around me, and conjured up these doubts
and difficulties by which I was surrounded, I could not doubt
for one instant; yet it was frightful to conceive the extent of
combined villany and power which he must have employed in
the perpetration of his designs. Let me do myself justice in
one respect. The evil of parting from Miss Vernon, however
distressing it might in other respects and at another time have
appeared to me, sunk into a subordinate consideration when I
thought of the dangers impending over my father. I did not
myself set a high estimation on wealth, and had the affectation
of most young men of lively imagination, who suppose that
they can better dispense with the possession of money, than
resign their time and faculties to the labour necessary to acquire
it. But in my father's case, I knew that bankruptcy would be
considered as an utter and irretrievable disgrace, to which life
would afford no comfort, and death the speediest and sole relief.

  My mind, therefore, was bent on averting this catastrophe,
with an intensity which the interest could not have produced
had it referred to my own fortunes; and the result of my
deliberation was a firm resolution to depart from Osbaldistone
Hall the next day and wend my way without loss of time to
meet Owen at Glasgow. I did not hold it expedient to intimate
my departure to my uncle, otherwise than by leaving a
letter of thanks for his hospitality, assuring him that sudden
and important business prevented my offering them in person.
I knew the blunt old knight would readily excuse ceremony;
and I had such a belief in the extent and decided character of
Rashleigh's machinations, that I had some apprehension of his
having provided means to intercept a journey which was undertaken
with a view to disconcert them, if my departure were publicly
announced at Osbaldistone Hall.

  I therefore determined to set off on my journey with daylight
on the ensuing morning, and to gain the neighbouring
kingdom of Scotland before any idea of my departure was entertained
at the Hall. But one impediment of consequence was
likely to prevent that speed which was the soul of my expedition.
I did not know the shortest, nor indeed any road to Glasgow;
and as, in the circumstances in which I stood, despatch was of
the greatest consequence, I determined to consult Andrew Fairservice
on the subject, as the nearest and most authentic authority
within my reach. Late as it was, I set off with the intention
of ascertaining this important point, and after a few minutes'
walk reached the dwelling of the gardener.

  Andrew's dwelling was situated at no great distance from the
exterior wall of the garden---a snug comfortable Northumbrian
cottage, built of stones roughly dressed with the hammer, and
having the windows and doors decorated with huge heavy
architraves, or lintels, as they are called, of hewn stone, and
its roof covered with broad grey flags, instead of slates, thatch,
or tiles. A jargonelle pear-tree at one end of the cottage, a
rivulet and flower-plot of a rood in extent in front, and a
kitchen-garden behind; a paddock for a cow, and a small field,
cultivated with several crops of grain, rather for the benefit of
the cottager than for sale, announced the warm and cordial
comforts which Old England, even at her most northern extremity,
extends to her meanest inhabitants.

  As I approached the mansion of the sapient Andrew, I heard
a noise, which, being of a nature peculiarly solemn, nasal, and
prolonged, led me to think that Andrew, according to the decent
and meritorious custom of his countrymen, had assembled some
of his neighbours to join in family exercise, as he called evening
devotion. Andrew had indeed neither wife, child, nor female
inmate in his family. ``The first of his trade,'' he said, ``had
had eneugh o'thae cattle.'' But, notwithstanding, he sometimes
contrived to form an audience for himself out of the neighbouring
Papists and Church-of-Englandmen---brands, as he expressed
it, snatched out of the burning, on whom he used to exercise
his spiritual gifts, in defiance alike of Father Vaughan, Father
Docharty, Rashleigh, and all the world of Catholics around him,
who deemed his interference on such occasions an act of heretical
interloping. I conceived it likely, therefore, that the well-disposed
neighbours might have assembled to hold some chapel
of ease of this nature. The noise, however, when I listened
to it more accurately, seemed to proceed entirely from the lungs
of the said Andrew; and when I interrupted it by entering the
house, I found Fairservice alone, combating as he best could, with
long words and hard names, and reading aloud, for the purpose
of his own edification, a volume of controversial divinity.

  ``I was just taking a spell,'' said he, laying aside the huge
folio volume as I entered, ``of the worthy Doctor Lightfoot.''

  ``Lightfoot!'' I replied, looking at the ponderous volume with
some surprise; ``surely your author was unhappily named.''

  ``Lightfoot was his name, sir; a divine he was, and another
kind of a divine than they hae now-adays. Always, I crave
your pardon for keeping ye standing at the door, but having
been mistrysted (gude preserve us!) with ae bogle the night
already, I was dubious o' opening the yett till I had gaen through
the e'ening worship; and I had just finished the fifth chapter
of Nehemiah---if that winna gar them keep their distance, I
wotna what will.''

  ``Trysted with a bogle!'' said I; ``what do you mean by
that, Andrew?''

  ``I said mistrysted,'' replied Andrew; ``that is as muckle as
to say, fley'd wi' a ghaist---Gude preserve us, I say again!''

  ``Flay'd by a ghost, Andrew! how am I to understand
that?''

  ``I did not say flay'd,'' replied Andrew, ``but _fley'd,_---that
is, I got a fleg, and was ready to jump out o' my skin, though
naebody offered to whirl it aff my body as a man wad bark a
tree.''

  ``I beg a truce to your terrors in the present case, Andrew,
and I wish to know whether you can direct me the nearest way
to a town in your country of Scotland, called Glasgow?''

  ``A town ca'd Glasgow!'' echoed Andrew Fairservice. ``Glasgow's
a ceety, man.---And is't the way to Glasgow ye were
speering if I ken'd?---What suld ail me to ken it?---it's no
that dooms far frae my ain parish of Dreepdaily, that lies a
bittock farther to the west. But what may your honour be
gaun to Glasgow for?''

  ``Particular business,'' replied I.

  ``That's as muckle as to say, Speer nae questions, and I'll
tell ye nae lees.---To Glasgow?''---he made a short pause---``I
am thinking ye wad be the better o' some ane to show you the
road.''

  ``Certainly, if I could meet with any person going that way.''

  ``And your honour, doubtless, wad consider the time and
trouble?''

  ``Unquestionably---my business is pressing, and if you can
find any guide to accompany me, I'll pay him handsomely.''

  ``This is no a day to speak o' carnal matters,'' said Andrew,
casting his eyes upwards; ``but if it werena Sabbath at e'en, I
wad speer what ye wad be content to gie to ane that wad bear
ye pleasant company on the road, and tell ye the names of the
gentlemen's and noblemen's seats and castles, and count their
kin to ye?''

  ``I tell you, all I want to know is the road I must travel; I
will pay the fellow to his satisfaction---I will give him anything
in reason.''

  ``Onything,'' replied Andrew, ``is naething; and this lad
that I am speaking o' kens a' the short cuts and queer by-paths
through the hills, and''------

  ``I have no time to talk about it, Andrew; do you make the
bargain for me your own way.''

  ``Aha! that's speaking to the purpose,'' answered Andrew.---
``I am thinking, since sae be that sae it is, I'll be the lad that
will guide you mysell.''

  ``You, Andrew?---how will you get away from your employment?''

  ``I tell'd your honour a while syne, that it was lang that I
hae been thinking o' flitting, maybe as lang as frae the first
year I came to Osbaldistone Hall; and now I am o' the mind
to gang in gude earnest---better soon as syne---better a finger
aff as aye wagging.''

  ``You leave your service, then?---but will you not lose your
wages?''

  ``Nae doubt there will be a certain loss; but then I hae
siller o' the laird's in my hands that I took for the apples in
the auld orchyard---and a sair bargain the folk had that bought
them---a wheen green trash---and yet Sir Hildebrand's as keen
to hae the siller (that is, the steward is as pressing about it)
as if they had been a' gowden pippins---and then there's the
siller for the seeds---I'm thinking the wage will be in a manner
decently made up.---But doubtless your honour will consider
my risk of loss when we win to Glasgow---and ye'll be for
setting out forthwith?''

  ``By day-break in the morning,'' I answered.

  ``That's something o' the suddenest---whare am I to find a
naig?---Stay---I ken just the beast that will answer me.''

  ``At five in the morning, then, Andrew, you will meet me at
the head of the avenue.''

  ``Deil a fear o' me (that I suld say sae) missing my tryste,''
replied Andrew, very briskly; ``and if I might advise, we wad
be aff twa hours earlier. I ken the way, dark or light, as weel
as blind Ralph Ronaldson, that's travelled ower every moor in
the country-side, and disna ken the colour of a heather-cowe
when a's dune.''

  I highly approved of Andrew's amendment on my original
proposal, and we agreed to meet at the place appointed at three
in the morning. At once, however, a reflection came across the
mind of my intended travelling companion.

  ``The bogle! the bogle! what if it should come out upon
us?---I downa forgather wi' thae things twice in the four-and-twenty
hours.''

  ``Pooh! pooh!'' I exclaimed, breaking away from him, ``fear
nothing from the next world---the earth contains living fiends,
who can act for themselves without assistance, were the whole
host that fell with Lucifer to return to aid and abet them.''

  With these words, the import of which was suggested by my
own situation, I left Andrew's habitation, and returned to the
Hall.

  I made the few preparations which were necessary for my proposed
journey, examined and loaded my pistols, and then threw
myself on my bed, to obtain, if possible, a brief sleep before the
fatigue of a long and anxious journey. Nature, exhausted by
the tumultuous agitations of the day, was kinder to me than I
expected, and I stink into a deep and profound slumber, from
which, however, I started as the old clock struck two from a
turret adjoining to my bedchamber. I instantly arose, struck a
light, wrote the letter I proposed to leave for my uncle, and leaving
behind me such articles of dress as were cumbrous in carriage,
I deposited the rest of my wardrobe in my valise, glided down
stairs, and gained the stable without impediment. Without
being quite such a groom as any of my cousins, I had learned
at Osbaldistone Hall to dress and saddle my own horse, and in
a few minutes I was mounted and ready for my sally.

  As I paced up the old avenue, on which the waning moon
threw its light with a pale and whitish tinge, I looked back
with a deep and boding sigh towards the walls which contained
Diana Vernon, under the despondent impression that we had probably
parted to meet no more. It was impossible, among the
long and irregular lines of Gothic casements, which now looked
ghastly white in the moonlight, to distinguish that of the
apartment which she inhabited. ``She is lost to me already,''
thought I, as my eye wandered over the dim and indistinguishable
intricacies of architecture offered by the moonlight view of
Osbaldistone Hall---``She is lost to me already, ere I have left
the place which she inhabits! What hope is there of my
maintaining any correspondence with her, when leagues shall lie
between?''

  While I paused in a reverie of no very pleasing nature, the
``iron tongue of time told three upon the drowsy ear of night,''
and reminded me of the necessity of keeping my appointment
with a person of a less interesting description and appearance---
Andrew Fairservice.

  At the gate of the avenue I found a horseman stationed in
the shadow of the wall, but it was not until I had coughed
twice, and then called ``Andrew,'' that the horticulturist replied,
``I'se warrant it's Andrew.''

  ``Lead the way, then,'' said I, ``and be silent if you can, till
we are past the hamlet in the valley.''

  Andrew led the way accordingly, and at a much brisker pace
than I would have recommended.---and so well did he obey my
injunctions of keeping silence, that he would return no answer
to my repeated inquiries into the cause of such unnecessary
haste. Extricating ourselves by short cuts, known to Andrew,
from the numerous stony lanes and by-paths which intersected
each other in the vicinity of the Hall, we reached the open
heath and riding swiftly across it, took our course among the
barren hills which divide England from Scotland on what are
called the Middle Marches. The way, or rather the broken
track which we occupied, was a happy interchange of bog and
shingles; nevertheless, Andrew relented nothing of his speed,
but trotted manfully forward at the rate of eight or ten miles
an hour. I was both surprised and provoked at the fellow's
obstinate persistence, for we made abrupt ascents and descents
over ground of a very break-neck character, and traversed the
edge of precipices, where a slip of the horse's feet would have
consigned the rider to certain death. The moon, at best,
afforded a dubious and imperfect light; but in some places we
were so much under the shade of the mountain as to be in total
darkness, and then I could only trace Andrew by the clatter of
his horse's feet, and the fire which they struck from the flints.
At first, this rapid motion, and the attention which, for the
sake of personal safety, I was compelled to give to the conduct
of my horse, was of service, by forcibly diverting my thoughts
from the various painful reflections which must otherwise have
pressed on my mind. But at length, after hallooing repeatedly
to Andrew to ride slower, I became seriously incensed at his
impudent perseverance in refusing either to obey or to reply to
me. My anger was, however, quite impotent. I attempted
once or twice to get up alongside of my self-willed guide, with
the purpose of knocking him off his horse with the butt-end of
my whip; but Andrew was better mounted than I, and either
the spirit of the animal which he bestrode, or more probably
some presentiment of my kind intentions towards him, induced
him to quicken his pace whenever I attempted to make up to
him. On the other hand, I was compelled to exert my spurs
to keep him in sight, for without his guidance I was too well
aware that I should never find my way through the howling
wilderness which we now traversed at such an unwonted pace.
I was so angry at length, that I threatened to have recourse to
my pistols, and send a bullet after the Hotspur Andrew, which
should stop his fiery-footed career, if he did not abate it of his
own accord. Apparently this threat made some impression on
the tympanum of his ear, however deaf to all my milder entreaties;
for he relaxed his pace upon hearing it, and, suffering me to close
up to him, observed, ``There wasna muckle sense in riding at sic
a daft-like gate.''

  ``And what did you mean by doing so at all, you self-willed
scoundrel?'' replied I; for I was in a towering passion,---to
which, by the way, nothing contributes more than the having
recently undergone a spice of personal fear, which, like a few
drops of water flung on a glowing fire, is sure to inflame the
ardour which it is insufficient to quench.

  ``What's your honour's wull?'' replied Andrew, with impenetrable
gravity.

  ``My will, you rascal?---I have been roaring to you this hour
to ride slower, and you have never so much as answered me---
Are you drunk or mad to behave so?''

  ``An it like your honour, I am something dull o' hearing;
and I'll no deny but I might have maybe taen a stirrup-cup at
parting frae the auld bigging whare I hae dwelt sae lang; and
having naebody to pledge, nae doubt I was obliged to do mysell
reason, or else leave the end o' the brandy stoup to thae papists---
and that wad be a waste, as your honour kens.''

  This might be all very true,---and my circumstances required
that I should be on good terms with my guide; I therefore
satisfied myself with requiring of him to take his directions from
me in future concerning the rate of travelling.

  Andrew, emboldened by the mildness of my tone, elevated
his own into the pedantic, conceited octave, which was familiar
to him on most occasions.

  ``Your honour winna persuade me, and naebody shall persuade
me, that it's either halesome or prudent to tak the night
air on thae moors without a cordial o' clow-gilliflower water, or
a tass of brandy or aquavit<ae>, or sic-like creature-comfort. I
hae taen the bent ower the Otterscrape-rigg a hundred times,
day and night, and never could find the way unless I had taen
my morning; mair by token that I had whiles twa bits o' ankers
o' brandy on ilk side o' me.''---

  ``In other words, Andrew,'' said I, ``you were a smuggler---
how does a man of your strict principles reconcile yourself to
cheat the revenue?''

  ``It's a mere spoiling o' the Egyptians,'' replied Andrew;
``puir auld Scotland suffers eneugh by thae blackguard loons o'
excisemen and gaugers, that hae come down on her like locusts
since the sad and sorrowfu' Union; it's the part of a kind son
to bring her a soup o' something that will keep up her auld
heart,---and that will they nill they, the ill-fa'ard thieves!''

  Upon more particular inquiry, I found Andrew had frequently
travelled these mountain-paths as a smuggler, both before and
after his establishment at Osbaldistone Hall---a circumstance
which was so far of importance to me, as it proved his capacity
as a guide, notwithstanding the escapade of which he had been
guilty at his outset, Even now, though travelling at a more
moderate pace, the stirrup-cup, or whatever else had such an
effect in stimulating Andrew's motions, seemed not totally to
have lost its influence. He often cast a nervous and startled look
behind him; and whenever the road seemed at all practicable,
showed symptoms of a desire to accelerate his pace, as if he
feared some pursuit from the rear. These appearances of alarm
gradually diminished as we reached the top of a high bleak
ridge, which ran nearly east and west for about a mile, with a
very steep descent on either side. The pale beams of the
morning were now enlightening the horizon, when Andrew
cast a look behind him, and not seeing the appearance of a
living being on the moors which he had travelled, his hard
features gradually unbent, as he first whistled, then sung, with
much glee and little melody, the end of one of his native songs

	``Jenny, lass! I think I hae her
	Ower the muir amang the heather,
	All their clan shall never get her.''

He patted at the same time the neck of the horse which had
carried him so gallantly; and my attention being directed by
that action to the animal, I instantly recognised a favourite
mare of Thorncliff Osbaldistone. ``How is this, sir?'' said I
sternly; ``that is Mr. Thorncliff's mare!''

  ``I'll no say but she may aiblins hae been his honour's Squire
Thorncliff's in her day---but she's mine now.''

  ``You have stolen her, you rascal.''

  ``Na, na, sir---nae man can wyte me wi' theft. The thing
stands this gate, ye see. Squire Thorncliff borrowed ten punds
o' me to gang to York Races---deil a boddle wad he pay me
back again, and spake o' raddling my banes, as he ca'd it, when
I asked him but for my ain back again;---now I think it will
riddle him or he gets his horse ower the Border again---unless
he pays me plack and bawbee, he sall never see a hair o' her
tail. I ken a canny chield at Loughmaben, a bit writer lad,
that will put me in the way to sort him. Steal the mear! na,
na, far be the sin o' theft frae Andrew Fairservice---I have just
arrested her _jurisdictionis fandandy causey._ Thae are bonny
writer words---amaist like the language o' huz gardeners and
other learned men---it's a pity they're sae dear;---thae three
words were a' that Andrew got for a lang law-plea and four
ankers o' as gude brandy as was e'er coupit ower craig---Hech,
sirs! but law's a dear thing.''

  ``You are likely to find it much dearer than you suppose,
Andrew, if you proceed in this mode of paying yourself, without
legal authority.''

  ``Hout tout, we're in Scotland now (be praised for't!) and I
can find baith friends and lawyers, and judges too, as weel as
ony Osbaldistone o' them a'. My mither's mither's third cousin
was cousin to the Provost o' Dumfries, and he winna see a drap
o' her blude wranged. Hout awa! the laws are indifferently
administered here to a' men alike; it's no like on yon side,
when a chield may be whuppit awa' wi' ane o' Clerk Jobson's
warrants, afore he kens where he is. But they will hae little
enough law amang them by and by, and that is ae grand reason
that I hae gi'en them gude-day.''

  I was highly provoked at the achievement of Andrew, and
considered it as a hard fate, which a second time threw me into
collision with a person of such irregular practices. I determined,
however, to buy the mare of him, when he should reach the
end of our journey, and send her back to my cousin at Osbaldistone
Hall; and with this purpose of reparation I resolved to
make my uncle acquainted from the next post-town. It was
needless, I thought, to quarrel with Andrew in the meantime,
who had, after all, acted not very unnaturally for a person in
his circumstances. I therefore smothered my resentment, and
asked him what he meant by his last expressions, that there
would be little law in Northumberland by and by?

  ``Law!'' said Andrew, ``hout, ay---there will be club-law
eneugh. The priests and the Irish officers, and thae papist
cattle that hae been sodgering abroad, because they durstna
bide at hame, are a' fleeing thick in Northumberland e'enow;
and thae corbies dinna gather without they smell carrion. As
sure as ye live, his honour Sir Hildebrand is gaun to stick his
horn in the bog---there's naething but gun and pistol, sword
and dagger, amang them---and they'll be laying on, I'se warrant;
for they're fearless fules the young Osbaldistone squires,
aye craving your honour's pardon.''

  This speech recalled to my memory some suspicions that I
myself had entertained, that the Jacobites were on the eve of
some desperate enterprise. But, conscious it did not become
me to be a spy on my uncle's words and actions, I had rather
avoided than availed myself of any opportunity which occurred
of remarking upon the signs of the times.---Andrew Fairservice
felt no such restraint, and doubtless spoke very truly in stating
his conviction that some desperate plots were in agitation, as a
reason which determined his resolution to leave the Hall.

  ``The servants,'' he stated, ``with the tenantry and others,
had been all regularly enrolled and mustered, and they wanted
me to take arms also. But I'll ride in nae siccan troop---they
little ken'd Andrew that asked him. I'll fight when I like
mysell, but it sall neither be for the hure o' Babylon, nor any
hure in England.''



		CHAPTER NINETEENTH.

	Where longs to fall yon rifted spire,
	  As weary of the insulting air,---
	The poet's thoughts, the warrior's fire,
	  The lover's sighs, are sleeping there.
					Langhorne.

  At the first Scotch town which we reached, my guide sought
out his friend and counsellor, to consult upon the proper and
legal means of converting into his own lawful property the
``bonny creature,'' which was at present his own only by one
of those sleight-of-hand arrangements which still sometimes took
place in that once lawless district. I was somewhat diverted
with the dejection of his looks on his return. He had, it seems,
been rather too communicative to his confidential friend, the
attorney; and learned with great dismay, in return for his
unsuspecting frankness, that Mr. Touthope had, during his
absence, been appointed clerk to the peace of the county, and
was bound to communicate to justice all such achievements as
that of his friend Mr. Andrew Fairservice. There was a necessity,
this alert member of the police stated, for arresting the
horse, and placing him in Bailie Trumbull's stable, therein to
remain at livery, at the rate of twelve shillings (Scotch) per
diem, until the question of property was duly tried and debated.
He even talked as if, in strict and rigorous execution of his
duty, he ought to detain honest Andrew himself; but on my
guide's most piteously entreating his forbearance, he not only
desisted from this proposal, but made a present to Andrew of a
broken-winded and spavined pony, in order to enable him to
pursue his journey. It is true, he qualified this act of generosity
by exacting from poor Andrew an absolute cession of his
right and interest in the gallant palfrey of Thorncliff Osbaldistone---
a transference which Mr. Touthope represented as of
very little consequence, since his unfortunate friend, as he facetiously
observed, was likely to get nothing of the mare excepting
the halter.

  Andrew seemed woeful and disconcerted, as I screwed out of
him these particulars; for his northern pride was cruelly
pinched by being compelled to admit that attorneys were
attorneys on both sides of the Tweed; and that Mr. Clerk
Touthope was not a farthing more sterling coin than Mr. Clerk
Jobson.

  ``It wadna hae vexed him half sae muckle to hae been
cheated out o' what might amaist be said to be won with the
peril o' his craig, had it happened amang the Inglishers; but
it was an unco thing to see hawks pike out hawks' e'en, or
ae kindly Scot cheat anither. But nae doubt things were
strangely changed in his country sin' the sad and sorrowfu'
Union;'' an event to which Andrew referred every symptom
of depravity or degeneracy which he remarked among his
countrymen, more especially the inflammation of reckonings,
the diminished size of pint-stoups, and other grievances, which
he pointed out to me during our journey.

  For my own part, I held myself, as things had turned out,
acquitted of all charge of the mare, and wrote to my uncle the
circumstances under which she was carried into Scotland, concluding
with informing him that she was in the hands of justice,
and her worthy representatives, Bailie Trumbull and Mr. Clerk
Touthope, to whom I referred him for farther particulars.
Whether the property returned to the Northumbrian fox-hunter,
or continued to bear the person of the Scottish attorney,
it is unnecessary for me at present to say.

  We now pursued our journey to the north-westward, at a rate
much slower than that at which we had achieved our nocturnal
retreat from England. One chain of barren and uninteresting
hills succeeded another, until the more fertile vale of Clyde
opened upon us; and, with such despatch as we might, we
gained the town, or, as my guide pertinaciously termed it, the
city, of Glasgow. Of late years, I understand, it has fully
deserved the name, which, by a sort of political second sight,
my guide assigned to it. An extensive and increasing trade
with the West Indies and American colonies, has, if I am
rightly informed, laid the foundation of wealth and prosperity,
which, if carefully strengthened and built upon, may one day
support an immense fabric of commercial prosperity; but in
the earlier time of which I speak, the dawn of this splendour
had not arisen. The Union had, indeed, opened to Scotland
the trade of the English colonies; but, betwixt want of capital,
and the national jealousy of the English, the merchants of
Scotland were as yet excluded, in a great measure, from the
exercise of the privileges which that memorable treaty conferred
on them. Glasgow lay on the wrong side of the island for
participating in the east country or continental trade, by which
the trifling commerce as yet possessed by Scotland chiefly supported
itself. Yet, though she then gave small promise of the
commercial eminence to which, I am informed, she seems now
likely one day to attain, Glasgow, as the principal central town
of the western district of Scotland, was a place of considerable
rank and importance. The broad and brimming Clyde, which
flows so near its walls, gave the means of an inland navigation
of some importance. Not only the fertile plains in its immediate
neighbourhood, but the districts of Ayr and Dumfries
regarded Glasgow as their capital, to which they transmitted
their produce, and received in return such necessaries and
luxuries as their consumption required.

  The dusky mountains of the western Highlands often sent
forth wilder tribes to frequent the marts of St. Mungo's favourite
city. Hordes of wild shaggy, dwarfish cattle and ponies, conducted
by Highlanders, as wild, as shaggy, and sometimes as
dwarfish, as the animals they had in charge, often traversed the
streets of Glasgow. Strangers gazed with surprise on the antique
and fantastic dress, and listened to the unknown and dissonant
sounds of their language, while the mountaineers, armed, even
while engaged in this peaceful occupation, with musket and
pistol, sword, dagger, and target, stared with astonishment on
the articles of luxury of which they knew not the use, and with
an avidity which seemed somewhat alarming on the articles
which they knew and valued. It is always with unwillingness
that the Highlander quits his deserts, and at this early period
it was like tearing a pine from its rock, to plant him elsewhere.
Yet even then the mountain glens were over-peopled, although
thinned occasionally by famine or by the sword, and many of
their inhabitants strayed down to Glasgow---there formed settlements---
there sought and found employment, although different,
indeed, from that of their native hills. This supply of a hardy
and useful population was of consequence to the prosperity of
the place, furnished the means of carrying on the few manufactures
which the town already boasted, and laid the foundation
of its future prosperity.

  The exterior of the city corresponded with these promising
circumstances. The principal street was broad and important,
decorated with public buildings, of an architecture rather striking
than correct in point of taste, and running between rows of tall
houses, built of stone, the fronts of which were occasionally richly
ornamented with mason-work---a circumstance which gave the
street an imposing air of dignity and grandeur, of which most
English towns are in some measure deprived, by the slight, insubstantial,
and perishable quality and appearance of the bricks
with which they are constructed.

  In the western metropolis of Scotland, my guide and I arrived
on a Saturday evening, too late to entertain thoughts of business
of any kind. We alighted at the door of a jolly hostler-wife, as
Andrew called her,---the Ostelere of old father Chaucer,---by
whom we were civilly received.

  On the following morning the bells pealed from every steeple,
announcing the sanctity of the day. Notwithstanding, however,
what I had heard of the severity with which the Sabbath is
observed in Scotland, my first impulse, not unnaturally, was to
seek out Owen; but on inquiry I found that my attempt would
be in vain, ``until kirk time was ower.'' Not only did my landlady
and guide jointly assure me that ``there wadna be a living
soul either in the counting-house or dwelling-house of Messrs.
MacVittie, MacFin, and Company,'' to which Owen's letter
referred me, but, moreover, ``far less would I find any of the
partners there. They were serious men, and wad be where a'
gude Christians ought to be at sic a time, and that was in the
Barony Laigh Kirk.''<*>

* [The Laigh Kirk or Crypt of the Cathedral of Glasgow served for more
* than two centuries as the church of the Barony Parish, and, for a time, was
* converted into a burial-place. In the restorations of this grand building
* the crypt was cleared out, and is now admired as one of the richest specimens
* of Early English architecture existing in Scotland.]


  Andrew Fairservice, whose disgust at the law of his country
had fortunately not extended itself to the other learned professions
of his native land, now sung forth the praises of the
preacher who was to perform the duty, to which my hostess
replied with many loud amens. The result was, that I determined
to go to this popular place of worship, as much with the
purpose of learning, if possible, whether Owen had arrived in
Glasgow, as with any great expectation of edification. My
hopes were exalted by the assurance, that if Mr. Ephraim
MacVittie (worthy man) were in the land of life, he would
surely honour the Barony Kirk that day with his presence; and
if he chanced to have a stranger within his gates, doubtless he
would bring him to the duty along with him. This probability
determined my motions, and under the escort of my faithful
Andrew, I set forth for the Barony Kirk.

  On this occasion, however, I had little need of his guidance;
for the crowd, which forced its way up a steep and rough-paved
street, to hear the most popular preacher in the west of Scotland,
would of itself have swept me along with it. On attaining the
summit of the hill, we turned to the left, and a large pair of
folding doors admitted us, amongst others, into the open and
extensive burying-place which surrounds the Minster or Cathedral
Church of Glasgow. The pile is of a gloomy and massive,
rather than of an elegant, style of Gothic architecture; but its
peculiar character is so strongly preserved, and so well suited
with the accompaniments that surround it, that the impression
of the first view was awful and solemn in the extreme. I was
indeed so much struck, that I resisted for a few minutes all
Andrew's efforts to drag me into the interior of the building, so
deeply was I engaged in surveying its outward character.

  Situated in a populous and considerable town, this ancient
and massive pile has the appearance of the most sequestered
solitude. High walls divide it from the buildings of the city
on one side; on the other it is bounded by a ravine, at the
bottom of which, and invisible to the eye, murmurs a wandering
rivulet, adding, by its gentle noise, to the imposing solemnity
of the scene. On the opposite side of the ravine rises a steep
bank, covered with fir-trees closely planted, whose dusky shade
extends itself over the cemetery with an appropriate and gloomy
effect. The churchyard itself had a peculiar character; for
though in reality extensive, it is small in proportion to the
number of respectable inhabitants who are interred within it,
and whose graves are almost all covered with tombstones.
There is therefore no room for the long rank grass, which, in
most cases, partially clothes the surface of those retreats where
the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.
The broad flat monumental stones are placed so close to each
other, that the precincts appear to be flagged with them, and,
though roofed only by the heavens, resemble the floor of one of
our old English churches, where the pavement is covered with
sepulchral inscriptions. The contents of these sad records of
mortality, the vain sorrows which they preserve, the stern lesson
which they teach of the nothingness of humanity, the extent
of ground which they so closely cover, and their uniform and
melancholy tenor, reminded me of the roll of the prophet, which
was ``written within and without, and there was written therein
lamentations and mourning and woe.''

  The Cathedral itself corresponds in impressive majesty with
these accompaniments. We feel that its appearance is heavy,
yet that the effect produced would be destroyed were it lighter
or more ornamental. It is the only metropolitan church in
Scotland, excepting, as I am informed, the Cathedral of Kirkwall,
in the Orkneys, which remained uninjured at the Reformation;
and Andrew Fairservice, who saw with great pride
the effect which it produced upon my mind, thus accounted for
its preservation---``Ah! it's a brave kirk---nane o' yere whig-maleeries
and curliewurlies and opensteek hems about it---a'
solid, weel-jointed mason-wark, that will stand as lang as the
warld, keep hands and gunpowther aff it. It had amaist a
douncome lang syne at the Reformation, when they pu'd doun
the kirks of St. Andrews and Perth, and thereawa', to cleanse
them o' Papery, and idolatry, and image worship, and surplices,
and sic like rags o' the muckle hure that sitteth on seven hills,
as if ane wasna braid eneugh for her auld hinder end. Sae the
commons o' Renfrew, and o' the Barony, and the Gorbals and
a' about, they behoved to come into Glasgow no fair morning,
to try their hand on purging the High Kirk o' Popish nick-nackets.
But the townsmen o' Glasgow, they were feared their
auld edifice might slip the girths in gaun through siccan rough
physic, sae they rang the common bell, and assembled the
train-bands wi' took o' drum. By good luck, the worthy James
Rabat was Dean o' Guild that year---(and a gude mason he was
himself, made him the keener to keep up the auld bigging)---
and the trades assembled, and offered downright battle to the
commons, rather than their kirk should coup the crans as others
had done elsewhere. It wasna for luve o' Paperie---na, na!---
nane could ever say that o' the trades o' Glasgow---Sae they sune
came to an agreement to take a' the idolatrous statues of sants
(sorrow be on them) out o' their neuks---and sae the bits o' stane
idols were broken in pieces by Scripture warrant, and flung into
the Molendinar burn, and the auld kirk stood as crouse as a cat
when the flaes are kaimed aff her, and a' body was alike pleased.
And I hae heard wise folk say, that if the same had been done
in ilka kirk in Scotland, the Reform wad just hae been as pure
as it is e'en now, and we wad hae mair Christian-like kirks; for
I hae been sae lang in England, that naething will drived out o'
my head, that the dog-kennel at Osbaldistone Hall is better than
mony a house o' God in Scotland.''

  Thus saying, Andrew led the way into the place of worship.



			CHAPTER TWENTIETH.

	------It strikes an awe
	And terror on my aching sight; the tombs
	And monumental caves of death look cold,
	And shoot a chillness to the trembling heart.
					Mourning Bride.

  Notwithstanding the impatience of my conductor, I could
not forbear to pause and gaze for some minutes on the exterior
of the building, rendered more impressively dignified by the
solitude which ensued when its hitherto open gates were closed,
after having, as it were, devoured the multitude which had
lately crowded the churchyard, but now, enclosed within the
building, were engaged, as the choral swell of voices from
within announced to us, in the solemn exercises of devotion.
The sound of so many voices united by the distance into one
harmony, and freed from those harsh discordances which jar
the ear when heard more near, combining with the murmuring
brook, and the wind which sung among the old firs, affected
me with a sense of sublimity. All nature, as invoked by the
Psalmist whose verses they chanted, seemed united in offering
that solemn praise in which trembling is mixed with joy as she
addressed her Maker. I had heard the service of high mass in
France, celebrated with all the _<e'>clat_ which the choicest music,
the richest dresses, the most imposing ceremonies, could confer
on it; yet it fell short in effect of the simplicity of the Presbyterian
worship. The devotion in which every one took a share
seemed so superior to that which was recited by musicians as a
lesson which they had learned by rote, that it gave the Scottish
worship all the advantage of reality over acting.

  As I lingered to catch more of the solemn sound, Andrew,
whose impatience became ungovernable, pulled me by the
sleeve---``Come awa', sir---come awa'; we maunna be late o'
gaun in to disturb the worship; if we bide here the searchers
will be on us, and carry us to the guard-house for being idlers
in kirk-time.''

  Thus admonished, I followed my guide, but not, as I had
supposed, into the body of the cathedral. ``This gate---this
gate, sir,'' he exclaimed, dragging me off as I made towards
the main entrance of the building---``There's but cauldrife
law-work gaun on yonder---carnal morality, as dow'd and as
fusionless as rue leaves at Yule---Here's the real savour of
doctrine.''

  So saying, we entered a small low-arched door, secured by a
wicket, which a grave-looking person seemed on the point of
closing, and descended several steps as if into the funeral vaults
beneath the church. It was even so; for in these subterranean
precincts,---why chosen for such a purpose I knew not,---was
established a very singular place of worship.

  Conceive, Tresham, an extensive range of low-browed, dark,
and twilight vaults, such as are used for sepulchres in other
countries, and had long been dedicated to the same purpose in
this, a portion of which was seated with pews, and used as a
church. The part of the vaults thus occupied, though capable
of containing a congregation of many hundreds, bore a small
proportion to the darker and more extensive caverns which
yawned around what may be termed the inhabited space. In
those waste regions of oblivion, dusky banners and tattered
escutcheons indicated the graves of those who were once, doubtless,
``princes in Israel.'' Inscriptions, which could only be
read by the painful antiquary, in language as obsolete as the
act of devotional charity which they employed, invited the
passengers to pray for the souls of those whose bodies rested
beneath. Surrounded by these receptacles of the last remains
of mortality, I found a numerous congregation engaged in the
act of prayer. The Scotch perform this duty in a standing
instead of a kneeling posture---more, perhaps, to take as broad
a distinction as possible from the ritual of Rome than for any
better reason; since I have observed, that in their family
worship, as doubtless in their private devotions, they adopt, in
their immediate address to the Deity, that posture which other
Christians use as the humblest and most reverential. Standing,
therefore, the men being uncovered, a crowd of several hundreds
of both sexes, and all ages, listened with great reverence and
attention to the extempore, at least the unwritten, prayer of an
aged clergyman,<*> who was very popular in the city. Educated

* I have in vain laboured to discover this gentleman's name, and the
* period of his incumbency. I do not, however, despair to see these points,
* with some others which may elude my sagacity, satisfactorily elucidated by
* one or other of the periodical publications which have devoted their pages
* to explanatory commentaries on my former volumes; and whose research
* and ingenuity claim my peculiar gratitude, for having discovered many
* persons and circumstances connected with my narratives, of which I myself
* never so much as dreamed.

in the same religious persuasion, I seriously bent my mind to
join in the devotion of the day; and it was not till the congregation
resumed their seats, that my attention was diverted
to the consideration of the appearance of all around me.

  At the conclusion of the prayer, most of the men put on their
hats or bonnets, and all who had the happiness to have seats
sate down. Andrew and I were not of this number, having been
too late of entering the church to secure such accommodation.
We stood among a number of other persons in the same situation,
forming a sort of ring around the seated part of the congregation.
Behind and around us were the vaults I have
already described; before us the devout audience, dimly shown
by the light which streamed on their faces through one or two
low Gothic windows, such as give air and light to charnel-houses.
By this were seen the usual variety of countenances
which are generally turned towards a Scotch pastor on such occasions,
almost all composed to attention, unless where a father
or mother here and there recalls the wandering eyes of a lively
child, or disturbs the slumbers of a dull one. The high-boned
and harsh countenance of the nation, with the expression of
intelligence and shrewdness which it frequently exhibits, is seen
to more advantage in the act of devotion, or in the ranks of
war, than on lighter and more cheerful occasions of assemblage.
The discourse of the preacher was well qualified to call forth
the various feelings and faculties of his audience.

  Age and infirmities had impaired the powers of a voice originally
strong and sonorous. He read his text with a pronunciation
somewhat inarticulate; but when he closed the Bible, and
commenced his sermon, his tones gradually strengthened, as he
entered with vehemence into the arguments which he maintained.
They related chiefly to the abstract points of the
Christian faith,---subjects grave, deep, and fathomless by mere
human reason, but for which, with equal ingenuity and propriety,
he sought a key in liberal quotations from the inspired
writings. My mind was unprepared to coincide in all his
reasoning, nor was I sure that in some instances I rightly comprehended
his positions. But nothing could be more impressive
than the eager enthusiastic manner of the good old man, and
nothing more ingenious than his mode of reasoning. The
Scotch, it is well known, are more remarkable for the exercise
of their intellectual powers, than for the keenness of their feelings;
they are, therefore, more moved by logic than by rhetoric,
and more attracted by acute and argumentative reasoning on
doctrinal points, than influenced by the enthusiastic appeals to
the heart and to the passions, by which popular preachers in
other countries win the favour of their hearers.

  Among the attentive group which I now saw, might be distinguished
various expressions similar to those of the audience
in the famous cartoon of Paul preaching at Athens. Here sat
a zealous and intelligent Calvinist, with brows bent just as
much as to indicate profound attention; lips slightly compressed;
eyes fixed on the minister with an expression of decent
pride, as if sharing the triumph of his argument; the forefinger
of the right hand touching successively those of the left, as the
preacher, from argument to argument, ascended towards his
conclusion. Another, with fiercer and sterner look, intimated
at once his contempt of all who doubted the creed of his pastor,
and his joy at the appropriate punishment denounced against
them. A third, perhaps belonging to a different congregation,
and present only by accident or curiosity, had the appearance
of internally impeaching some link of the reasoning; and you
might plainly read, in the slight motion of his head, his doubts
as to the soundness of the preacher's argument. The greater
part listened with a calm, satisfied countenance, expressive of a
conscious merit in being present, and in listening to such an
ingenious discourse, although perhaps unable entirely to comprehend
it. The women in general belonged to this last division
of the audience; the old, however, seeming more grimly intent
upon the abstract doctrines laid before them; while the younger
females permitted their eyes occasionally to make a modest
circuit around the congregation; and some of them, Tresham
(if my vanity did not greatly deceive me), contrived to distinguish
your friend and servant, as a handsome young stranger
and an Englishman. As to the rest of the congregation, the
stupid gaped, yawned, or slept, till awakened by the application
of their more zealous neighbours' heels to their shins; and the
idle indicated their inattention by the wandering of their eyes,
but dared give no more decided token of weariness. Amid the
Lowland costume of coat and cloak, I could here and there discern
a Highland plaid, the wearer of which, resting on his
basket-hilt, sent his eyes among the audience with the unrestrained
curiosity of savage wonder; and who, in all probability,
was inattentive to the sermon for a very pardonable reason---
because he did not understand the language in which it was
delivered. The martial and wild look, however, of these
stragglers, added a kind of character which the congregation
could not have exhibited without them. They were more numerous,
Andrew afterwards observed, owing to some cattle-fair in
the neighbourhood.

  Such was the group of countenances, rising tier on tier, discovered
to my critical inspection by such sunbeams as forced
their way through the narrow Gothic lattices of the Laigh Kirk
of Glasgow; and, having illuminated the attentive congregation,
lost themselves in the vacuity of the vaults behind, giving to
the nearer part of their labyrinth a sort of imperfect twilight,
and leaving their recesses in an utter darkness, which gave them
the appearance of being interminable.

  I have already said that I stood with others in the exterior
circle, with my face to the preacher, and my back to those
vaults which I have so often mentioned. My position rendered
me particularly obnoxious to any interruption which arose from
any slight noise occurring amongst these retiring arches, where
the least sound was multiplied by a thousand echoes. The
occasional sound of rain-drops, which, admitted through some
cranny in the ruined roof, fell successively, and splashed upon
the pavement beneath, caused me to turn my head more than
once to the place from whence it seemed to proceed, and when
my eyes took that direction, I found it difficult to withdraw
them; such is the pleasure our imagination receives from the
attempt to penetrate as far as possible into an intricate labyrinth,
imperfectly lighted, and exhibiting objects which irritate
our curiosity, only because they acquire a mysterious interest
from being undefined and dubious. My eyes became habituated
to the gloomy atmosphere to which I directed them, and
insensibly my mind became more interested in their discoveries
than in the metaphysical subtleties which the preacher was
enforcing.

  My father had often checked me for this wandering mood of
mind, arising perhaps from an excitability of imagination to
which he was a stranger; and the finding myself at present
solicited by these temptations to inattention, recalled the time
when I used to walk, led by his hand, to Mr. Shower's chapel,
and the earnest injunctions which he then laid on me to redeem
the time, because the days were evil. At present, the picture
which my thoughts suggested, far from fixing my attention,
destroyed the portion I had yet left, by conjuring up to my
recollection the peril in which his affairs now stood. I endeavoured,
in the lowest whisper I could frame, to request Andrew
to obtain information, whether any of the gentlemen of the
firm of MacVittie & Co. were at present in the congregation.
But Andrew, wrapped in profound attention to the sermon,
only replied to my suggestion by hard punches with his elbow,
as signals to me to remain silent. I next strained my eyes,
with equally bad success, to see if, among the sea of up-turned
faces which bent their eyes on the pulpit as a common centre,
I could discover the sober and business-like physiognomy of
Owen. But not among the broad beavers of the Glasgow
citizens, or the yet broader brimmed Lowland bonnets of the
peasants of Lanarkshire, could I see anything resembling the
decent periwig, starched ruffles, or the uniform suit of light-brown
garments appertaining to the head-clerk of the establishment
of Osbaldistone and Tresham. My anxiety now returned
on me with such violence as to overpower not only the novelty
of the scene around me, by which it had hitherto been diverted,
but moreover my sense of decorum. I pulled Andrew hard by
the sleeve, and intimated my wish to leave the church, and
pursue my investigation as I could. Andrew, obdurate in the
Laigh Kirk of Glasgow as on the mountains of Cheviot, for
some time deigned me no answer; and it was only when he
found I could not otherwise be kept quiet, that he condescended
to inform me, that, being once in the church, we could not
leave it till service was over, because the doors were locked so
soon as the prayers began. Having thus spoken in a brief
and peevish whisper, Andrew again assumed the air of intelligent
and critical importance, and attention to the preacher's
discourse.

  While I endeavoured to make a virtue of necessity, and recall
my attention to the sermon, I was again disturbed by a singular
interruption. A voice from behind whispered distinctly in my
ear, ``You are in danger in this city.''---I turned round, as if
mechanically.

  One or two starched and ordinary-looking mechanics stood
beside and behind me,---stragglers, who, like ourselves, had
been too late in obtaining entrance. But a glance at their
faces satisfied me, though I could hardly say why, that none of
these was the person who had spoken to me. Their countenances
seemed all composed to attention to the sermon, and
not one of them returned any glance of intelligence to the
inquisitive and startled look with which I surveyed them. A
massive round pillar, which was close behind us, might have
concealed the speaker the instant he uttered his mysterious
caution; but wherefore it was given in such a place, or to what
species of danger it directed my attention, or by whom the
warning was uttered, were points on which my imagination
lost itself in conjecture. It would, however, I concluded, be
repeated, and I resolved to keep my countenance turned towards
the clergyman, that the whisperer might be tempted to renew
his communication under the idea that the first had passed
unobserved.

  My plan succeeded. I had not resumed the appearance of
attention to the preacher for five minutes, when the same
voice whispered, ``Listen, but do not look back.'' I kept my
face in the same direction. ``You are in danger in this place,''
the voice proceeded; ``so am I---meet me to-night on the
Brigg, at twelve preceesely---keep at home till the gloaming,
and avoid observation.''

  Here the voice ceased, and I instantly turned my head. But
the speaker had, with still greater promptitude, glided behind
the pillar, and escaped my observation. I was determined to
catch a sight of him, if possible, and extricating myself from
the outer circle of hearers, I also stepped behind the column.
All there was empty; and I could only see a figure wrapped in
a mantle, whether a Lowland cloak, or Highland plaid, I could
not distinguish, which traversed, like a phantom, the dreary
vacuity of vaults which I have described.

  I made a mechanical attempt to pursue the mysterious form,
which glided away and vanished in the vaulted cemetery, like
the spectre of one of the numerous dead who rested within its
precincts. I had little chance of arresting the course of one
obviously determined not to be spoken with; but that little
chance was lost by my stumbling and falling before I had made
three steps from the column. The obscurity which occasioned
my misfortune, covered my disgrace; which I accounted rather
lucky, for the preacher, with that stern authority which the
Scottish ministers assume for the purpose of keeping order in
their congregations, interrupted his discourse, to desire the
``proper officer'' to take into custody the causer of this disturbance
in the place of worship. As the noise, however, was not
repeated, the beadle, or whatever else he was called, did not
think it necessary to be rigorous in searching out the offender.
so that I was enabled, without attracting farther observation,
to place myself by Andrew's side in my original position. The
service proceeded, and closed without the occurrence of anything
else worthy of notice.

  As the congregation departed and dispersed, my friend Andrew
exclaimed, ``See, yonder is worthy Mr. MacVittie, and Mrs.
MacVittie, and Miss Alison MacVittie, and Mr. Thamas MacFin,
that they say is to marry Miss Alison, if a' bowls row right---
she'll hae a hantle siller, if she's no that bonny.''

  My eyes took the direction he pointed out. Mr. MacVittie
was a tall, thin, elderly man, with hard features, thick grey
eyebrows, light eyes, and, as I imagined, a sinister expression of
countenance, from which my heart recoiled. I remembered the
warning I had received in the church, and hesitated to address
this person, though I could not allege to myself any rational
ground of dislike or suspicion.

  I was yet in suspense, when Andrew, who mistook my hesitation
for bashfulness, proceeded to exhort me to lay it aside.
``Speak till him---speak till him, Mr. Francis---he's no provost
yet, though they say he'll be my lord neist year. Speak till him,
then---he'll gie ye a decent answer for as rich as he is, unless ye
were wanting siller frae him---they say he's dour to draw his
purse.''

  It immediately occurred to me, that if this merchant were
really of the churlish and avaricious disposition which Andrew
intimated, there might be some caution necessary in making
myself known, as I could not tell how accounts might stand
between my father and him. This consideration came in aid of
the mysterious hint which I had received, and the dislike which
I had conceived at the man's countenance. Instead of addressing
myself directly to him, as I had designed to have done, I contented
myself with desiring Andrew to inquire at Mr. MacVittie's house
the address of Mr. Owen, an English gentleman; and I charged
him not to mention the person from whom he received the commission,
but to bring me the result to the small inn where we
lodged. This Andrew promised to do. He said something of
the duty of my attending the evening service; but added with
a causticity natural to him, that ``in troth, if folk couldna keep
their legs still, but wad needs be couping the creels ower through-stanes,
as if they wad raise the very dead folk wi' the clatter,
a kirk wi' a chimley in't was fittest for them.''



			CHAPTER TWENTY-FIRST.

	On the Rialto, every night at twelve,
	I take my evening's walk of meditation:
	There we two will meet.
					Venice Preserved.

  Full of sinister augury, for which, however, I could assign no
satisfactory cause, I shut myself up in my apartment at the
inn, and having dismissed Andrew, after resisting his importunity
to accompany him to St. Enoch's Kirk,<*> where, he said,

* This I believe to be an anachronism, as Saint Enoch's Church was not
* built at the date of the story. [It was founded in 1780, and has since
* been rebuilt.]

``a soul-searching divine was to haud forth,'' I set myself
seriously to consider what were best to be done. I never was
what is properly called superstitious; but I suppose that all
men, in situations of peculiar doubt and difficulty, when they
have exercised their reason to little purpose, are apt, in a sort
of despair, to abandon the reins to their imagination, and be
guided altogether by chance, or by those whimsical impressions
which take possession of the mind, and to which we give way
as if to involuntary impulses. There was something so singularly
repulsive in the hard features of the Scotch trader, that I
could not resolve to put myself into his hands without transgressing
every caution which could be derived from the rules
of physiognomy; while, at the same time, the warning voice,
the form which flitted away like a vanishing shadow through
those vaults, which might be termed ``the valley of the shadow
of death,'' had something captivating for the imagination of a
young man, who, you will farther please to remember, was also
a young poet.

  If danger was around me, as the mysterious communication
intimated, how could I learn its nature, or the means of averting
it, but by meeting my unknown counsellor, to whom I could
see no reason for imputing any other than kind intentions.
Rashleigh and his machinations occurred more than once to
my remembrance;---but so rapid had my journey been, that I
could not suppose him apprised of my arrival in Glasgow, much
less prepared to play off any stratagem against my person. In
my temper also I was bold and confident, strong and active in
person, and in some measure accustomed to the use of arms, in
which the French youth of all kinds were then initiated. I did
not fear any single opponent; assassination was neither the
vice of the age nor of the country; the place selected for our
meeting was too public to admit any suspicion of meditated
violence. In a word, I resolved to meet my mysterious counsellor
on the bridge, as he had requested, and to be afterwards
guided by circumstances. Let me not conceal from you, Tresham,
what at the time I endeavoured to conceal from myself---the
subdued, yet secretly-cherished hope, that Diana Vernon might
---by what chance I knew not---through what means I could not
guess---have some connection with this strange and dubious
intimation conveyed at a time and place, and in a manner so
surprising. She alone---whispered this insidious thought---she
alone knew of my journey; from her own account, she possessed
friends and influence in Scotland; she had furnished me with
a talisman, whose power I was to invoke when all other aid
failed me; who then but Diana Vernon possessed either means,
knowledge, or inclination, for averting the dangers, by which, as
it seemed, my steps were surrounded? This flattering view of
my very doubtful case pressed itself upon me again and again.
It insinuated itself into my thoughts, though very bashfully,
before the hour of dinner; it displayed its attractions more
boldly during the course of my frugal meal, and became so
courageously intrusive during the succeeding half-hour (aided
perhaps by the flavour of a few glasses of most excellent claret),
that, with a sort of desperate attempt to escape from a delusive
seduction, to which I felt the danger of yielding, I pushed my
glass from me, threw aside my dinner, seized my hat, and
rushed into the open air with the feeling of one who would fly
from his own thoughts. Yet perhaps I yielded to the very
feelings from which I seemed to fly, since my steps insensibly
led me to the bridge over the Clyde, the place assigned for the
rendezvous by my mysterious monitor.

  Although I had not partaken of my repast until the hours of
evening church-service were over,---in which, by the way, I complied
with the religious scruples of my landlady, who hesitated
to dress a hot dinner between sermons, and also with the admonition
of my unknown friend, to keep my apartment till twilight,
---several hours had still to pass away betwixt the time of my
appointment and that at which I reached the assigned place of
meeting. The interval, as you will readily credit, was wearisome
enough; and I can hardly explain to you how it passed away.
Various groups of persons, all of whom, young and old, seemed
impressed with a reverential feeling of the sanctity of the day,
passed along the large open meadow which lies on the northern
bank of the Clyde, and serves at once as a bleaching-field and
pleasure-walk for the inhabitants, or paced with slow steps the
long bridge which communicates with the southern district of
the county. All that I remember of them was the general,
yet not unpleasing, intimation of a devotional character impressed
on each little party---formally assumed perhaps by some, but sincerely
characterising the greater number---which hushed the petulant
gaiety of the young into a tone of more quiet, yet more
interesting, interchange of sentiments, and suppressed the vehement
argument and protracted disputes of those of more advanced
age. Notwithstanding the numbers who passed me, no general
sound of the human voice was heard; few turned again to take
some minutes' voluntary exercise, to which the leisure of the
evening, and the beauty of the surrounding scenery, seemed to
invite them: all hurried to their homes and resting-places. To
one accustomed to the mode of spending Sunday evenings abroad,
even among the French Calvinists, there seemed something
Judaical, yet, at the same time striking and affecting, in this
mode of keeping the Sabbath holy. Insensibly I felt my mode
of sauntering by the side of the river, and crossing successively
the various persons who were passing homeward, and without
tarrying or delay, must expose me to observation at least, if not
to censure; and I slunk out of the frequented path, and found
a trivial occupation for my mind in marshalling my revolving
walk in such a manner as should least render me obnoxious to
observation. The different alleys lined out through this extensive
meadow, and which are planted with trees, like the Park of
St. James's in London, gave me facilities for carrying into effect
these childish man<oe>uvres.

  As I walked down one of these avenues, I heard, to my surprise,
the sharp and conceited voice of Andrew Fairservice, raised
by a sense of self-consequence to a pitch somewhat higher than
others seemed to think consistent with the solemnity of the day.
To slip behind the row of trees under which I walked was perhaps
no very dignified proceeding; but it was the easiest mode
of escaping his observation, and perhaps his impertinent assiduity,
and still more intrusive curiosity. As he passed, I heard him
communicate to a grave-looking man, in a black coat, a slouched
hat, and Geneva cloak, the following sketch of a character, which
my self-love, while revolting against it as a caricature, could not,
nevertheless, refuse to recognise as a likeness.

  ``Ay, ay, Mr. Hammorgaw, it's e'en as I tell ye. He's no
a'thegither sae void o' sense neither; he has a gloaming sight o'
what's reasonable---that is anes and awa'---a glisk and nae mair;
but he's crack-brained and cockle-headed about his nipperty-tipperty
poetry nonsense---He'll glowr at an auld-warld barkit aik-snag
as if it were a queezmaddam in full bearing; and a naked
craig, wi' a bum jawing ower't, is unto him as a garden garnisht
with flowering knots and choice pot-herbs. Then he wad rather
claver wi' a daft quean they ca' Diana Vernon (weel I wet they
might ca' her Diana of the Ephesians, for she's little better than
a heathen---better? she's waur---a Roman, a mere Roman)---he'll
claver wi' her, or any ither idle slut, rather than hear what might
do him gude a' the days of his life, frae you or me, Mr. Hammorgaw,
or ony ither sober and sponsible person. Reason, sir, is
what he canna endure---he's a' for your vanities and volubilities;
and he ance tell'd me (puir blinded creature!) that the Psalms
of David were excellent poetry! as if the holy Psalmist thought
o' rattling rhymes in a blether, like his ain silly clinkum-clankum
things that he ca's verse. Gude help him!---twa lines o' Davie
Lindsay would ding a' he ever clerkit.''

  While listening to this perverted account of my temper and
studies, you will not be surprised if I meditated for Mr. Fairservice
the unpleasant surprise of a broken pate on the first
decent opportunity. His friend only intimated his attention by
``Ay, ay!'' and ``Is't e'en sae?'' and suchlike expressions of interest,
at the proper breaks in Mr. Fairservice's harangue, until
at length, in answer to some observation of greater length, the
import of which I only collected from my trusty guide's reply,
honest Andrew answered, ``Tell him a bit o'my mind, quoth ye?
Wha wad be fule then but Andrew? He's a red-wad deevil,
man---He's like Giles Heathertap's auld boar;---ye need but
shake a clout at him to make him turn and gore. Bide wi' him,
say ye?---Troth, I kenna what for I bide wi' him mysell. But
the lad's no a bad lad after a'; and he needs some carefu' body
to look after him. He hasna the right grip o' his hand---the
gowd slips through't like water, man; and it's no that ill a thing
to be near him when his purse is in his hand, and it's seldom
out o't. And then he's come o' guid kith and kin---My heart
warms to the poor thoughtless callant, Mr. Hammorgaw---and
then the penny fee''------

  In the latter part of this instructive communication, Mr. Fairservice
lowered his voice to a tone better beseeming the conversation
in a place of public resort on a Sabbath evening, and his
companion and he were soon beyond my hearing. My feelings
of hasty resentment soon subsided, under the conviction that, as
Andrew himself might have said, ``A harkener always hears a
bad tale of himself,'' and that whoever should happen to overhear
their character discussed in their own servants'-hall, must prepare
to undergo the scalpel of some such anatomist as Mr. Fairservice.
The incident was so far useful, as, including the feelings to which
it gave rise, it sped away a part of the time which hung so
heavily on my hand.

  Evening had now closed, and the growing darkness gave to
the broad, still, and deep expanse of the brimful river, first a
hue sombre and uniform---then a dismal and turbid appearance,
partially lighted by a waning and pallid moon. The massive
and ancient bridge which stretches across the Clyde was now
but dimly visible, and resembled that which Mirza, in his unequalled
vision, has described as traversing the valley of Bagdad.
The low-browed arches, seen as imperfectly as the dusky current
which they bestrode, seemed rather caverns which swallowed up
the gloomy waters of the river, than apertures contrived for
their passage. With the advancing night the stillness of the
scene increased. There was yet a twinkling light occasionally
seen to glide along by the stream, which conducted home one
or two of the small parties, who, after the abstinence and religious
duties of the day, had partaken of a social supper---the only meal
at which the rigid Presbyterians made some advance to sociality
on the Sabbath. Occasionally, also, the hoofs of a horse were
heard, whose rider, after spending the Sunday in Glasgow, was
directing his steps towards his residence in the country. These
sounds and sights became gradually of more rare occurrence; at
length they altogether ceased, and I was left to enjoy my solitary
walk on the shores of the Clyde in solemn silence, broken only
by the tolling of the successive hours from the steeples of the
churches.

  But as the night advanced my impatience at the uncertainty
of the situation in which I was placed increased every moment,
and became nearly ungovernable. I began to question whether
I had been imposed upon by the trick of a fool, the raving of a
madman, or the studied machinations of a villain, and paced the
little quay or pier adjoining the entrance to the bridge, in a
state of incredible anxiety and vexation. At length the hour of
twelve o'clock swung its summons over the city from the belfry
of the metropolitan church of St. Mungo, and was answered and
vouched by all the others like dutiful diocesans. The echoes had
scarcely ceased to repeat the last sound, when a human form---
the first I had seen for two hours---appeared passing along the
bridge from the southern shore of the river. I advanced to
meet him with a feeling as if my fate depended on the result of the
interview, so much had my anxiety been wound up by protracted
expectation. All that I could remark of the passenger as we
advanced towards each other, was that his frame was rather beneath
than above the middle size, but apparently strong, thick-set,
and muscular; his dress a horseman's wrapping coat. I slackened
my pace, and almost paused as I advanced in expectation that
he would address me. But to my inexpressible disappointment
he passed without speaking, and I had no pretence for being
the first to address one who, notwithstanding his appearance at
the very hour of appointment, might nevertheless be an absolute
stranger. I stopped when he had passed me, and looked
after him, uncertain whether I ought not to follow him. The
stranger walked on till near the northern end of the bridge, then
paused, looked back, and turning round, again advanced towards
me. I resolved that this time he should not have the apology
for silence proper to apparitions, who, it is vulgarly supposed,
cannot speak until they are spoken to. ``You walk late, sir,''
said I, as we met a second time.

  ``I bide tryste,'' was the reply; ``and so I think do you, Mr.
Osbaldistone.''

  ``You are then the person who requested to meet me here at
this unusual hour?''

  ``I am,'' he replied. ``Follow me, and you shall know my
reasons.''

  ``Before following you, I must know your name and purpose,''
I answered.

  ``I am a man,'' was the reply; ``and my purpose is friendly
to you.''

  ``A man!'' I repeated;---``that is a very brief description.''

  ``It will serve for one who has no other to give,'' said the
stranger. ``He that is without name, without friends, without
coin, without country, is still at least a man; and he that has
all these is no more.''

  ``Yet this is still too general an account of yourself, to say
the least of it, to establish your credit with a stranger.''

  ``It is all I mean to give, howsoe'er; you may choose to
follow me, or to remain without the information I desire to afford
you.''

  ``Can you not give me that information here?'' I demanded.

  ``You must receive it from your eyes, not from my tongue---
you must follow me, or remain in ignorance of the information
which I have to give you.''

  There was something short, determined, and even stern, in
the man's manner, not certainly well calculated to conciliate undoubting
confidence.

  ``What is it you fear?'' he said impatiently. ``To whom,
think ye, is your life of such consequence, that they should seek
to bereave ye of it?''

  ``I fear nothing,'' I replied firmly, though somewhat hastily.
``Walk on---I attend you.''

  We proceeded, contrary to my expectation, to re-enter the
town, and glided like mute spectres, side by side, up its empty
and silent streets. The high and gloomy stone fronts, with the
variegated ornaments and pediments of the windows, looked yet
taller and more sable by the imperfect moonshine. Our walk
was for some minutes in perfect silence. At length my conductor
spoke.

  ``Are you afraid?''

  ``I retort your own words,'' I replied: ``wherefore should I
fear?''

  ``Because you are with a stranger---perhaps an enemy, in a
place where you have no friends and many enemies.''

  ``I neither fear you nor them; I am young, active, and
armed.''

  ``I am not armed,'' replied my conductor: ``but no matter,
a willing hand never lacked weapon. You say you fear nothing;
but if you knew who was by your side, perhaps you might underlie
a tremor.''

  ``And why should I?''  replied I. ``I again repeat, I fear
nought that you can do.''

  ``Nought that I can do?---Be it so. But do you not fear the
consequences of being found with one whose very name whispered
in this lonely street would make the stones themselves rise up
to apprehend him---on whose head half the men in Glasgow
would build their fortune as on a found treasure, had they the
luck to grip him by the collar---the sound of whose apprehension
were as welcome at the Cross of Edinburgh as ever the news of
a field stricken and won in Flanders?''

  ``And who then are you, whose name should create so deep a
feeling of terror?'' I replied.

  ``No enemy of yours, since I am conveying you to a place,
where, were I myself recognised and identified, iron to the heels
and hemp to the craig would be my brief dooming.''

  I paused and stood still on the pavement, drawing back so as
to have the most perfect view of my companion which the light
afforded me, and which was sufficient to guard against any
sudden motion of assault.

  ``You have said,'' I answered, ``either too much or too little
---too much to induce me to confide in you as a mere stranger,
since you avow yourself a person amenable to the laws of the
country in which we are---and too little, unless you could show
that you are unjustly subjected to their rigour.''

  As I ceased to speak, he made a step towards me. I drew
back instinctively, and laid my hand on the hilt of my sword.

  ``What!'' said he---``on an unarmed man, and your friend?''

  ``I am yet ignorant if you are either the one or the other,'' I
replied; ``and to say the truth, your language and manner might
well entitle me to doubt both.''

  ``It is manfully spoken,'' replied my conductor; ``and I respect
him whose hand can keep his head.---I will be frank and free
with you---I am conveying you to prison.''

  ``To prison!'' I exclaimed---``by what warrant or for what
offence?---You shall have my life sooner than my liberty---I
defy you, and I will not follow you a step farther.''

  ``I do not,'' he said, ``carry you there as a prisoner; I am,''
he added, drawing himself haughtily up, ``neither a messenger
nor sheriff's officer. I carry you to see a prisoner from whose
lips you will learn the risk in which you presently stand. Your
liberty is little risked by the visit; mine is in some peril; but
that I readily encounter on your account, for I care not for risk,
and I love a free young blood, that kens no protector but the
cross o' the sword.''

  While he spoke thus, we had reached the principal street,
and were pausing before a large building of hewn stone, garnished,
as I thought I could perceive, with gratings of iron before the
windows.

  ``Muckle,'' said the stranger, whose language became more
broadly national as he assumed a tone of colloquial freedom---
``Muckle wad the provost and bailies o' Glasgow gie to hae him
sitting with iron garters to his hose within their tolbooth that
now stands wi' his legs as free as the red-deer's on the outside
on't. And little wad it avail them; for an if they had me there
wi' a stane's weight o' iron at every ankle, I would show them a
toom room and a lost lodger before to-morrow---But come on,
what stint ye for?''

  As he spoke thus, he tapped at a low wicket, and was answered
by a sharp voice, as of one awakened from a dream or
reverie,---``Fa's tat?---Wha's that, I wad say?---and fat a deil
want ye at this hour at e'en?---Clean again rules---clean again
rules, as they ca' them.''

  The protracted tone in which the last words were uttered,
betokened that the speaker was again composing himself to
slumber. But my guide spoke in a loud whisper---``Dougal,
man! hae ye forgotten Ha nun Gregarach?''

  ``Deil a bit, deil a bit,'' was the ready and lively response,
and I heard the internal guardian of the prison-gate bustle up
with great alacrity. A few words were exchanged between my
conductor and the turnkey in a language to which I was an
absolute stranger. The bolts revolved, but with a caution which
marked the apprehension that the noise might be overheard, and
we stood within the vestibule of the prison of Glasgow,---a small,
but strong guard-room, from which a narrow staircase led upwards,
and one or two low entrances conducted to apartments
on the same level with the outward gate, all secured with the
jealous strength of wickets, bolts, and bars. The walls, otherwise
naked, were not unsuitably garnished with iron fetters,
and other uncouth implements, which might be designed for purposes
still more inhuman, interspersed with partisans, guns,
pistols of antique manufacture, and other weapons of defence and
offence.

  At finding myself so unexpectedly, fortuitously, and, as it
were, by stealth, introduced within one of the legal fortresses of
Scotland, I could not help recollecting my adventure in Northumberland,
and fretting at the strange incidents which again, without
any demerits of my own, threatened to place me in a
dangerous and disagreeable collision with the laws of a country
which I visited only in the capacity of a stranger.



			CHAPTER TWENTY-SECOND.

	Look round thee, young Astolpho: Here's the place
	Which men (for being poor) are sent to starve in;
	Rude remedy, I trow, for sore disease.
	Within these walls, stifled by damp and stench,
	Doth Hope's fair torch expire; and at the snuff,
	Ere yet 'tis quite extinct, rude, wild, and way-ward,
	The desperate revelries of wild despair,
	Kindling their hell-born cressets, light to deeds
	That the poor captive would have died ere practised,
	Till bondage sunk his soul to his condition.
					The Prison, _Scene III. Act I._

  At my first entrance I turned an eager glance towards my
conductor; but the lamp in the vestibule was too low in flame
to give my curiosity any satisfaction by affording a distinct
perusal of his features. As the turnkey held the light in his
hand, the beams fell more full on his own scarce less interesting
figure. He was a wild shock-headed looking animal, whose
profusion of red hair covered and obscured his features, which
were otherwise only characterised by the extravagant joy that
affected him at the sight of my guide. In my experience I
have met nothing so absolutely resembling my idea of a very
uncouth, wild, and ugly savage, adoring the idol of his tribe.
He grinned, he shivered, he laughed, he was near crying, if he
did not actually cry. He had a ``Where shall I go?---What
can I do for you?'' expression of face; the complete, surrendered,
and anxious subservience and devotion of which it is difficult to
describe, otherwise than by the awkward combination which I
have attempted. The fellow's voice seemed choking in his
ecstasy, and only could express itself in such interjections as
``Oigh! oigh!---Ay! ay!---it's lang since she's seen ye!'' and
other exclamations equally brief, expressed in the same unknown
tongue in which he had communicated with my conductor while
we were on the outside of the jail door. My guide received all
this excess of joyful gratulation much like a prince too early
accustomed to the homage of those around him to be much
moved by it, yet willing to requite it by the usual forms of royal
courtesy. He extended his hand graciously towards the turnkey,
with a civil inquiry of ``How's a' wi' you, Dougal?''

  ``Oigh! oigh!'' exclaimed Dougal, softening the sharp exclamations
of his surprise as he looked around with an eye of
watchful alarm---``Oigh! to see you here---to see you here!---
Oigh!---what will come o' ye gin the bailies suld come to get
witting---ta filthy, gutty hallions, tat they are?''

  My guide placed his finger on his lip, and said, ``Fear nothing,
Dougal; your hands shall never draw a bolt on me.''

  ``Tat sall they no,'' said Dougal; ``she suld---she wad---that
is, she wishes them hacked aff by the elbows first---But when
are ye gaun yonder again? and ye'll no forget to let her ken---
she's your puir cousin, God kens, only seven times removed.''

  ``I will let you ken, Dougal, as soon as my plans are settled.''

  ``And, by her sooth, when you do, an it were twal o' the
Sunday at e'en, she'll fling her keys at the provost's head or
she gie them anither turn, and that or ever Monday morning
begins---see if she winna.''

  My mysterious stranger cut his acquaintance's ecstasies short
by again addressing him, in what I afterwards understood to
be the Irish, Earse, or Gaelic, explaining, probably, the services
which he required at his hand. The answer, ``Wi' a' her heart
---wi' a' her soul,'' with a good deal of indistinct muttering in a
similar tone, intimated the turnkey's acquiescence in what he
proposed. The fellow trimmed his dying lamp, and made a
sign to me to follow him.

  ``Do you not go with us?'' said 1, looking to my conductor.

  ``It is unnecessary,'' he replied; ``my company may be inconvenient
for you, and I had better remain to secure our retreat.''

  ``I do not suppose you mean to betray me to danger,'' said I.

  ``To none but what I partake in doubly,'' answered the
stranger, with a voice of assurance which it was impossible to
mistrust.

  I followed the turnkey, who, leaving the inner wicket unlocked
behind him, led me up a _turnpike_ (so the Scotch call
a winding stair), then along a narrow gallery---then opening
one of several doors which led into the passage, he ushered me
into a small apartment, and casting his eye on the pallet-bed
which occupied one corner, said with an under voice, as he placed
the lamp on a little deal table, ``She's sleeping.''

  ``She!---who?---can it be Diana Vernon in this abode of
misery?''

  I turned my eye to the bed, and it was with a mixture of
disappointment oddly mingled with pleasure, that I saw my
first suspicion had deceived me. I saw a head neither young
nor beautiful, garnished with a grey beard of two days' growth,
and accommodated with a red nightcap. The first glance put
me at ease on the score of Diana Vernon; the second, as the
slumberer awoke from a heavy sleep, yawned, and rubbed his
eyes, presented me with features very different indeed---even
those of my poor friend Owen. I drew back out of view an
instant, that he might have time to recover himself; fortunately
recollecting that I was but an intruder on these cells of sorrow,
and that any alarm might be attended with unhappy consequences.

  Meantime, the unfortunate formalist, raising himself from the
pallet-bed with the assistance of one hand, and scratching his
cap with the other, exclaimed in a voice in which as much
peevishness as he was capable of feeling, contended with drowsiness,
``I'll tell you what, Mr. Dug-well, or whatever your name
may be, the sum-total of the matter is, that if my natural rest
is to be broken in this manner, I must complain to the lord
mayor.''

  ``Shentlemans to speak wi' her,'' replied Dougal, resuming
the true dogged sullen tone of a turnkey, in exchange for the
shrill clang of Highland congratulation with which he had
welcomed my mysterious guide; and, turning on his heel, he
left the apartment.

  It was some time before I could prevail upon the unfortunate
sleeper awakening to recognise me; and when he did so, the
distress of the worthy creature was. extreme, at supposing, which
he naturally did, that I had been sent thither as a partner of
his captivity.

  ``O, Mr. Frank, what have you brought yourself and the
house to?---I think nothing of myself, that am a mere cipher,
so to speak; but you, that was your father's sum-total---his
omnium,---you that might have been the first man in the first
house in the first city, to be shut up in a nasty Scotch jail,
where one cannot even get the dirt brushed off their clothes!''

  He rubbed, with an air of peevish irritation, the once stainless
brown coat, which had now shared some of the impurities
of the floor of his prison-house,---his habits of extreme punctilious
neatness acting mechanically to increase his distress.---
``O Heaven be gracious to us!'' he continued. ``What news
this will be on 'Change! There has not the like come there
since the battle of Almanza, where the total of the British loss
was summed up to five thousand men killed and wounded,
besides a floating balance of missing---but what will that be to
the news that Osbaldistone and Tresham have stopped!''

  I broke in on his lamentations to acquaint him that I was
no prisoner, though scarce able to account for my being in that
place at such an hour. I could only silence his inquiries by
persisting in those which his own situation suggested; and at
length obtained from him such information as he was able to
give me. It was none of the most distinct; for, however clear-headed
in his own routine of commercial business, Owen, you
are well aware, was not very acute in comprehending what lay
beyond that sphere.

  The sum of his information was, that of two correspondents
of my father's firm at Glasgow, where, owing to engagements
in Scotland formerly alluded to, he transacted a great deal of
business, both my father and Owen had found the house of
MacVittie, MacFin, and Company, the most obliging and
accommodating. They had deferred to the great English house
on every possible occasion; and in their bargains and transactions
acted, without repining, the part of the jackall, who
only claims what the lion is pleased to leave him. However
small the share of profit allotted to them, it was always, as they
expressed it, ``enough for the like of them;'' however large the
portion of trouble, ``they were sensible they could not do too
much to deserve the continued patronage and good opinion of
their honoured friends in Crane Alley.''

  The dictates of my father were to MacVittie and MacFin
the laws of the Medes and Persians, not to be altered, innovated,
or even discussed; and the punctilios exacted by Owen
in their business transactions, for he was a great lover of form,
more especially when he could dictate it _ex cathedra,_ seemed
scarce less sanctimonious in their eyes. This tone of deep and
respectful observance went all currently down with Owen; but
my father looked a little closer into men's bosoms, and whether
suspicious of this excess of deference, or, as a lover of brevity
and simplicity in business, tired with these gentlemen's long-winded
professions of regard, he had uniformly resisted their
desire to become his sole agents in Scotland. On the contrary,
he transacted many affairs through a correspondent of a character
perfectly different--a man whose good opinion of himself
amounted to self-conceit, and who, disliking the English in
general as much as my father did the Scotch, would hold no
communication but on a footing of absolute equality; jealous,
moreover; captious occasionally; as tenacious of his own
opinions in point of form as Owen could be of his; and totally
indifferent though the authority of all Lombard Street had
stood against his own private opinion.

  As these peculiarities of temper rendered it difficult to transact
business with Mr. Nicol Jarvie,---as they occasioned at times
disputes and coldness between the English house and their
correspondent, which were only got over by a sense of mutual
interest,---as, moreover, Owen's personal vanity sometimes
suffered a little in the discussions to which they gave rise, you
cannot be surprised, Tresham, that our old friend threw at all
times the weight of his influence in favour of the civil, discreet,
accommodating concern of MacVittie and MacFin, and spoke of
Jarvie as a petulant, conceited Scotch pedlar, with whom there
was no dealing.

  It was also not surprising, that in these circumstances, which
I only learned in detail some time afterwards, Owen, in the
difficulties to which the house was reduced by the absence of
my father, and the disappearance of Rashleigh, should, on his
arrival in Scotland, which took place two days before mine,
have recourse to the friendship of those correspondents, who
had always professed themselves obliged, gratified, and devoted
to the service of his principal. He was received at Messrs.
MacVittie and MacFin's counting-house in the Gallowgate,
with something like the devotion a Catholic would pay to his
tutelar saint. But, alas! this sunshine was soon overclouded,
when, encouraged by the fair hopes which it inspired, he opened
the difficulties of the house to his friendly correspondents, and
requested their counsel and assistance. MacVittie was almost
stunned by the communication; and MacFin, ere it was completed,
was already at the ledger of their firm, and deeply
engaged in the very bowels of the multitudinous accounts
between their house and that of Osbaldistone and Tresham, for
the purpose of discovering on which side the balance lay. Alas!
the scale depressed considerably against the English firm; and
the faces of MacVittie and MacFin, hitherto only blank and
doubtful, became now ominous, grim, and lowering. They
met Mr. Owen's request of countenance and assistance with a
counter-demand of instant security against imminent hazard of
eventual loss; and at length, speaking more plainly, required
that a deposit of assets, destined for other purposes, should be
placed in their hands for that purpose. Owen repelled this
demand with great indignation, as dishonourable to his constituents,
unjust to the other creditors of Osbaldistone and
Tresham, and very ungrateful on the part of those by whom it
was made.

  The Scotch partners gained, in the course of this controversy,
what is very convenient to persons who are in the wrong, an
opportunity and pretext for putting themselves in a violent
passion, and for taking, under the pretext of the provocation
they had received, measures to which some sense of decency, if
not of conscience, might otherwise have deterred them from
resorting.

  Owen had a small share, as I believe is usual, in the house
to which he acted as head-clerk, and was therefore personally
liable for all its obligations. This was known to Messrs. MacVittie
and MacFin; and, with a view of making him feel their
power, or rather in order to force him, at this emergency, into
those measures in their favour, to which he had expressed
himself so repugnant, they had recourse to a summary process
of arrest and imprisonment,---which it seems the law of Scotland
(therein surely liable to much abuse) allows to a creditor, who
finds his conscience at liberty to make oath that the debtor
meditates departing from the realm. Under such a warrant
had poor Owen been confined to durance on the day preceding
that when I was so strangely guided to his prison-house.

  Thus possessed of the alarming outline of facts, the question
remained, what was to be done and it was not of easy determination.
I plainly perceived the perils with which we were
surrounded, but it was more difficult to suggest any remedy.
The warning which I had already received seemed to intimate,
that my own personal liberty might be endangered by an open
appearance in Owen's behalf. Owen entertained the same
apprehension, and, in the exaggeration of his terror, assured me
that a Scotchman, rather than run the risk of losing a farthing
by an Englishman, would find law for arresting his wife, children,
man-servant, maidservant, and stranger within his household.
The laws concerning debt, in most countries, are so unmercifully
severe, that I could not altogether disbelieve his statement; and
my arrest, in the present circumstances, would have been a
_coup-de-grace_ to my father's affairs. In this dilemma, I asked
Owen if he had not thought of having recourse to my father's
other correspondent in Glasgow, Mr. Nicol Jarvie?

  ``He had sent him a letter,'' he replied, ``that morning; but
if the smooth-tongued and civil house in the Gallowgate<*> had

* [A street in the old town of Glasgow.]

used him thus, what was to be expected from the cross-grained
crab-stock in the Salt-Market? You might as well ask a broker
to give up his percentage, as expect a favour from him without
the _per contra._ He had not even,'' Owen said, ``answered his
letter though it was put into his hand that morning as he went
to church.'' And here the despairing man-of-figures threw
himself down on his pallet, exclaiming,---``My poor dear
master! My poor dear master! O Mr. Frank, Mr. Frank,
this is all your obstinacy!---But God forgive me for saying so
to you in your distress! It's God's disposing, and man must
submit.''

  My philosophy, Tresham, could not prevent my sharing in the
honest creature's distress, and we mingled our tears,---the more
bitter on my part, as the perverse opposition to my father's will,
with which the kind-hearted Owen forbore to upbraid me, rose
up to my conscience as the cause of all this affliction.

  In the midst of our mingled sorrow, we were disturbed and
surprised by a loud knocking at the outward door of the prison.
I ran to the top of the staircase to listen, but could only hear
the voice of the turnkey, alternately in a high tone, answering
to some person without, and in a whisper, addressed to the person
who had guided me hither---``She's coming---she's coming,''
aloud; then in a low key, ``O hon-a-ri! O hon-a-ri! what'll
she do now?---Gang up ta stair, and hide yourself ahint ta
Sassenach shentleman's ped.---She's coming as fast as she can.---
Ahellanay! it's my lord provosts, and ta pailies, and ta guard---
and ta captain's coming toon stairs too---Got press her! gang up
or he meets her.---She's coming---she's coming---ta lock's sair
roosted.''

  While Dougal, unwillingly, and with as much delay as possible,
undid the various fastenings to give admittance to those
without, whose impatience became clamorous, my guide ascended
the winding stair, and sprang into Owen's apartment, into which
I followed him. He cast his eyes hastily round, as if looking
for a place of concealment; then said to me, ``Lend me your
pistols---yet it's no matter, I can do without them---Whatever
you see, take no heed, and do not mix your hand in another
man's feud---This gear's mine, and I must manage it as I dow;
but I have been as hard bested, and worse, than I am even
now.''

  As the stranger spoke these words, he stripped from his person
the cumbrous upper coat in which he was wrapt, confronted the
door of the apartment, on which he fixed a keen and determined
glance, drawing his person a little back to concentrate his force,
like a fine horse brought up to the leaping-bar. I had not a
moment's doubt that he meant to extricate himself from his embarrassment,
whatever might be the cause of it, by springing
full upon those who should appear when the doors opened, and
forcing his way through all opposition into the street;---and
such was the appearance of strength and agility displayed in his
frame, and of determination in his look and manner, that I did
not doubt a moment but that he might get clear through his opponents,
unless they employed fatal means to stop his purpose.
It was a period of awful suspense betwixt the opening of the
outward gate and that of the door of the apartment, when there
appeared---no guard with bayonets fixed, or watch with clubs,
bills, or partisans, but a good-looking young woman, with grogram
petticoats, tucked up for trudging through the streets, and
holding a lantern in her hand. This female ushered in a more
important personage, in form, stout, short, and somewhat corpulent;
and by dignity, as it soon appeared, a magistrate, bob-wigged,
bustling, and breathless with peevish impatience. My
conductor, at his appearance, drew back as if to escape observation;
but he could not elude the penetrating twinkle with which
this dignitary reconnoitered the whole apartment.

  ``A bonny thing it is, and a beseeming, that I should be kept
at the door half an hour, Captain Stanchells,'' said he, addressing
the principal jailor, who now showed himself at the door as if in
attendance on the great man, ``knocking as hard to get into the
tolbooth as onybody else wad to get out of it, could that avail
them, poor fallen creatures!---And how's this?---how's this?---
strangers in the jail after lock-up hours, and on the Sabbath
evening!---I shall look after this, Stanchells, you may depend
on't---Keep the door locked, and I'll speak to these gentlemen
in a gliffing---But first I maun hae a crack wi' an auld acquaintance
here.---Mr. Owen, Mr. Owen, how's a' wi' ye, man?''

  ``Pretty well in body, I thank you, Mr. Jarvie,'' drawled out
poor Owen, ``but sore afflicted in spirit.''

  ``Nae doubt, nae doubt---ay, ay---it's an awfu' whummle---
and for ane that held his head sae high too---human nature,
human nature---Ay ay, we're a' subject to a downcome. Mr.
Osbaldistone is a gude honest gentleman; but I aye said he was
ane o' them wad make a spune or spoil a horn, as my father the
worthy deacon used to say. The deacon used to say to me,
`Nick---young Nick' (his name was Nicol as weel as mine; sae
folk ca'd us in their daffin', young Nick and auld Nick)---
`Nick,' said he, `never put out your arm farther than ye can
draw it easily back again.' I hae said sae to Mr. Osbaldistone,
and he didna seem to take it a'thegither sae kind as I wished---
but it was weel meant---weel meant.''

  This discourse, delivered with prodigious volubility, and a
great appearance of self-complacency, as he recollected his own
advice and predictions, gave little promise of assistance at the
hands of Mr. Jarvie. Yet it soon appeared rather to proceed
from a total want of delicacy than any deficiency of real kindness;
for when Owen expressed himself somewhat hurt that
these things should be recalled to memory in his present situation,
the Glaswegian took him by the hand, and bade him ``Cheer
up a gliff! D'ye think I wad hae comed out at twal o'clock at
night, and amaist broken the Lord's day, just to tell a fa'en man
o' his backslidings? Na, na, that's no Bailie Jarvie's gate, nor
was't his worthy father's the deacon afore him. Why, man!
it's my rule never to think on warldly business on the Sabbath,
and though I did a' I could to keep your note that I gat this
morning out o' my head, yet I thought mair on it a' day, than
on the preaching---And it's my rule to gang to my bed wi' the
yellow curtains preceesely at ten o'clock---unless I were eating
a haddock wi' a neighbour, or a neighbour wi' me---ask the
lass-quean there, if it isna a fundamental rule in my household;
and here hae I sitten up reading gude books, and gaping as if I
wad swallow St. Enox Kirk, till it chappit twal, whilk was a
lawfu' hour to gie a look at my ledger, just to see how things
stood between us; and then, as time and tide wait for no man,
I made the lass get the lantern, and came slipping my ways here
to see what can be dune anent your affairs. Bailie Jarvie can
command entrance into the tolbooth at ony hour, day or night;
---sae could my father the deacon in his time, honest man, praise
to his memory.''

  Although Owen groaned at the mention of the ledger, leading
me grievously to fear that here also the balance stood in the
wrong column; and although the worthy magistrate's speech
expressed much self-complacency, and some ominous triumph in
his own superior judgment, yet it was blended with a sort of
frank and blunt good-nature, from which I could not help deriving
some hopes. He requested to see some papers he mentioned,
snatched them hastily from Owen's hand, and sitting on
the bed, to ``rest his shanks,'' as he was pleased to express the
accommodation which that posture afforded him, his servant girl
held up the lantern to him, while, pshawing, muttering, and
sputtering, now at the imperfect light, now at the contents of
the packet, he ran over the writings it contained.

  Seeing him fairly engaged in this course of study, the guide
who had brought me hither seemed disposed to take an unceremonious
leave. He made a sign to me to say nothing, and
intimated, by his change of posture, an intention to glide
towards the door in such a manner as to attract the least possible
observation. But the alert magistrate (very different from my
old acquaintance, Mr. Justice Inglewood) instantly detected and
interrupted his purposes. ``I say, look to the door, Stanchells
---shut and lock it, and keep watch on the outside.''

  The stranger's brow darkened, and he seemed for an instant
again to meditate the effecting his retreat by violence; but ere
he had determined, the door closed, and the ponderous bolt revolved.
He muttered an exclamation in Gaelic, strode across
the floor, and then, with an air of dogged resolution, as if fixed
and prepared to see the scene to an end, sate himself down on
the oak table, and whistled a strathspey.

  Mr. Jarvie, who seemed very alert and expeditious in going
through business, soon showed himself master of that which he
had been considering, and addressed himself to Mr. Owen in
the following strain:---``Weel, Mr. Owen, weel---your house are
awin' certain sums to Messrs. MacVittie and MacFin (shame
fa' their souple snouts! they made that and mair out o' a bargain
about the aik-woods at Glen-Cailziechat, that they took
out atween my teeth---wi' help o' your gude word, I maun needs
say, Mr. Owen---but that makes nae odds now)---Weel, sir,
your house awes them this siller; and for this, and relief of
other engagements they stand in for you, they hae putten a
double turn o' Stanchells' muckle key on ye.---Weel, sir, ye awe
this siller---and maybe ye awe some mair to some other body
too---maybe ye awe some to myself, Bailie Nicol Jarvie.''

  ``I cannot deny, sir, but the balance may of this date be
brought out against us, Mr. Jarvie,'' said Owen; ``but you'll
please to consider''------

  ``I hae nae time to consider e'enow, Mr. Owen---Sae near
Sabbath at e'en, and out o' ane's warm bed at this time o' night,
and a sort o' drow in the air besides---there's nae time for considering
---But, sir, as I was saying, ye awe me money---it winna
deny---ye awe me money, less or mair, I'll stand by it. But
then, Mr. Owen, I canna see how you, an active man that understands
business, can redd out the business ye're come down
about, and clear us a' aff---as I have gritt hope ye will---if ye're
keepit lying here in the tolbooth of Glasgow. Now, sir, if you
can find caution _judicio sisti,_---that is, that ye winna flee the
country, but appear and relieve your caution when ca'd for in
our legal courts, ye may be set at liberty this very morning.''

  ``Mr. Jarvie,'' said Owen, ``if any friend would become surety
for me to that effect, my liberty might be usefully employed,
doubtless, both for the house and all connected with it.''

  ``Aweel, sir,'' continued Jarvie, ``and doubtless such a friend
wad expect ye to appear when ca'd on, and relieve him o' his
engagement.''

  ``And I should do so as certainly, bating sickness or death,
as that two and two make four.''

  ``Aweel, Mr. Owen,'' resumed the citizen of Glasgow, ``I
dinna misdoubt ye, and I'll prove it, sir---I'll prove it. I am a
carefu' man, as is weel ken'd, and industrious, as the hale town
can testify; and I can win my crowns, and keep my crowns, and
count my crowns, wi' onybody in the Saut Market, or it may be
in the Gallowgate. And I'm a prudent man, as my father the
deacon was before me;---but rather than an honest civil gentleman,
that understands business, and is willing to do justice to
all men, should lie by the heels this gate, unable to help himsell
or onybody else---why, conscience, man! I'll be your bail myself
---But ye'll mind it's a bail _judicio sisti,_ as our town-clerk says,
not _judicatum solvi;_ ye'll mind that, for there's muckle difference.''

  Mr. Owen assured him, that as matters then stood, he could
not expect any one to become surety for the actual payment of
the debt, but that there was not the most distant cause for
apprehending loss from his failing to present himself when lawfully
called upon.

  ``I believe ye---I believe ye. Eneugh said---eneugh said.
We'se hae your legs loose by breakfast-time.---And now let's hear
what thir chamber chiels o' yours hae to say for themselves, or
how, in the name of unrule, they got here at this time o' night.''



		CHAPTER TWENTY-THIRD.

	Hame came our gudeman at e'en,
	  And hame came he,
	And there he saw a man
	  Where a man suldna be.
	``How's this now, kimmer?
	  How's this?'' quo he,---
	``How came this carle here
	  Without the leave o' me?''
				Old Song.

  The magistrate took the light out of the servant-maid's hand,
and advanced to his scrutiny, like Diogenes in the street of
Athens, lantern-in-hand, and probably with as little expectation
as that of the cynic, that he was likely to encounter any especial
treasure in the course of his researches. The first whom he
approached was my mysterious guide, who, seated on a table as
I have already described him, with his eyes firmly fixed on the
wall, his features arranged into the utmost inflexibility of
expression, his hands folded on his breast with an air betwixt
carelessness and defiance, his heel patting against the foot of the
table, to keep time with the tune which he continued to whistle,
submitted to Mr. Jarvie's investigation with an air of absolute
confidence and assurance which, for a moment, placed at fault
the memory and sagacity of the acute investigator.

  ``Ah!---Eh!---Oh!'' exclaimed the Bailie. ``My conscience!
---it's impossible!---and yet---no!---Conscience!---it canna be!
---and yet again---Deil hae me, that I suld say sae!---Ye robber
---ye cateran---ye born deevil that ye are, to a' bad ends and nae
gude ane!---can this be you?''

  ``E'en as ye see, Bailie,'' was the laconic answer.

  ``Conscience! if I am na clean bumbaized---_you_, ye cheat-the-wuddy
rogue---_you_ here on your venture in the tolbooth o' Glasgow?
---What d'ye think's the value o' your head?''

  ``Umph!---why, fairly weighed, and Dutch weight, it might
weigh down one provost's, four bailies', a town-clerk's, six deacons',
besides stent-masters' ''------

  ``Ah, ye reiving villain!'' interrupted Mr. Jarvie. ``But tell
ower your sins, and prepare ye, for if I say the word''------

  ``True, Bailie,'' said he who was thus addressed, folding his
hands behind him with the utmost _nonchalance,_ ``but ye will
never say that word.''

  ``And why suld I not, sir?'' exclaimed the magistrate---``Why
suld I not? Answer me that---why suld I not?''

  ``For three sufficient reasons, Bailie Jarvie.---First, for auld
langsyne; second, for the sake of the auld wife ayont the fire at
Stuckavrallachan, that made some mixture of our bluids, to my
own proper shame be it spoken! that has a cousin wi' accounts,
and yarn winnles, and looms and shuttles, like a mere mechanical
person; and lastly, Bailie, because if I saw a sign o' your betraying
me, I would plaster that wa' with your harns ere the hand
of man could rescue you!''

  ``Ye're a bauld desperate villain, sir,'' retorted the undaunted
Bailie; ``and ye ken that I ken ye to be sae, and that I wadna
stand a moment for my ain risk.''

  ``I ken weel,'' said the other, ``ye hae gentle bluid in your
veins, and I wad be laith to hurt my ain kinsman. But I'll
gang out here as free as I came in, or the very wa's o' Glasgow
tolbooth shall tell o't these ten years to come.''

  ``Weel, weel,'' said Mr. Jarvie, ``bluid's thicker than water;
and it liesna in kith, kin, and ally, to see motes in ilka other's
een if other een see them no. It wad be sair news to the auld
wife below the Ben of Stuckavrallachan, that you, ye Hieland
limmer, had knockit out my harns, or that I had kilted you up
in a tow. But ye'll own, ye dour deevil, that were it no your
very sell, I wad hae grippit the best man in the Hielands.''

  ``Ye wad hae tried, cousin,'' answered my guide, ``that I wot
weel; but I doubt ye wad hae come aff wi' the short measure;
for we gang-there-out Hieland bodies are an unchancy generation
when you speak to us o' bondage. We downa bide the coercion
of gude braid-claith about our hinderlans, let a be breeks o' free-stone,
and garters o' iron.''

  ``Ye'll find the stane breeks and the airn garters---ay, and
the hemp cravat, for a' that, neighbour,'' replied the Bailie.

  ``Nae man in a civilised country ever played the pliskies ye hae
done---but e'en pickle in your ain pock-neuk---I hae gi'en ye
wanting.''

  ``Well, cousin,'' said the other, ``ye'll wear black at my
burial.''

  ``Deil a black cloak will be there, Robin, but the corbies
and the hoodie-craws, I'se gie ye my hand on that. But whar's
the gude thousand pund Scots that I lent ye, man, and when
am I to see it again?''

  ``Where it is,'' replied my guide, after the affectation of considering
for a moment, ``I cannot justly tell---probably where
last year's snaw is.''

  ``And that's on the tap of Schehallion, ye Hieland dog,''
said Mr. Jarvie; ``and I look for payment frae you where ye
stand.''

  ``Ay,'' replied the Highlander, ``but I keep neither snaw nor
dollars in my sporran. And as to when you'll see it---why, just
when the king enjoys his ain again, as the auld sang says.''

  ``Warst of a', Robin,'' retorted the Glaswegian,---``I mean,
ye disloyal traitor---Warst of a'!---Wad ye bring popery in on
us, and arbitrary power, and a foist and a warming-pan, and
the set forms, and the curates, and the auld enormities o' surplices
and cerements? Ye had better stick to your auld trade
o' theft-boot, black-mail, spreaghs, and gillravaging---better
stealing nowte than ruining nations.''

  ``Hout, man---whisht wi' your whiggery,'' answered the Celt;
``we hae ken'd ane anither mony a lang day. I'se take care
your counting-room is no cleaned out when the Gillon-a-naillie<*>

* The lads with the kilts or petticoats.

come to redd up the Glasgow buiths, and clear them o' their
auld shop-wares. And, unless it just fa' in the preceese way o'
your duty, ye maunna see me oftener, Nicol, than I am disposed
to be seen.''

  ``Ye are a dauring villain, Rob,'' answered the Bailie; ``and
ye will be hanged, that will be seen and heard tell o'; but I'se
ne'er be the ill bird and foul my nest, set apart strong necessity
and the skreigh of duty, which no man should hear and be
inobedient. And wha the deevil's this?'' he continued, turning
to me---``Some gillravager that ye hae listed, I daur say. He
looks as if he had a bauld heart to the highway, and a lang
craig for the gibbet.''

  ``This, good Mr. Jarvie,'' said Owen, who, like myself, had
been struck dumb during this strange recognition, and no less
strange dialogue, which took place betwixt these extraordinary
kinsmen---``This, good Mr. Jarvie, is young Mr. Frank Osbaldistone,
only child of the head of our house, who should have
been taken into our firm at the time Mr. Rashleigh Osbaldistone,
his cousin, had the luck to be taken into it''---(Here Owen
could not suppress a groan)---``But howsoever''------

  ``Oh, I have heard of that smaik,'' said the Scotch merchant,
interrupting him; ``it is he whom your principal, like an
obstinate auld fule, wad make a merchant o', wad he or wad he
no,---and the lad turned a strolling stage-player, in pure dislike
to the labour an honest man should live by. Weel, sir, what
say you to your handiwork? Will Hamlet the Dane, or Hamlet's
ghost, be good security for Mr. Owen, sir?''

  ``I don't deserve your taunt,'' I replied, ``though I respect
your motive, and am too grateful for the assistance you have
afforded Mr. Owen, to resent it. My only business here was to
do what I could (it is perhaps very little) to aid Mr. Owen in
the management of my father's affairs. My dislike of the commercial
profession is a feeling of which I am the best and sole
judge.''

  ``I protest,'' said the Highlander, ``I had some respect for
this callant even before I ken'd what was in him; but now I
honour him for his contempt of weavers and spinners, and sic-like
mechanical persons and their pursuits.''

  ``Ye're mad, Rob,'' said the Bailie---``mad as a March hare
---though wherefore a hare suld be mad at March mair than at
Martinmas, is mair than I can weel say. Weavers! Deil shake
ye out o' the web the weaver craft made. Spinners! ye'll spin
and wind yourself a bonny pirn. And this young birkie here,
that ye're hoying and hounding on the shortest road to the
gallows and the deevil, will his stage-plays and his poetries help
him here, dye think, ony mair than your deep oaths and drawn
dirks, ye reprobate that ye are?---Will _Tityre tu patul<ae>,_ as they
ca' it, tell him where Rashleigh Osbaldistone is?, or Macbeth,
and all his kernes and galla-glasses, and your awn to boot, Rob,
procure him five thousand pounds to answer the bills which fall
due ten days hence, were they a' rouped at the Cross,---basket-hilts,
Andra-Ferraras, leather targets, brogues, brochan, and
sporrans?''

  ``Ten days,'' I answered, and instinctively drew out Diana
Vernon's packet; and the time being elapsed during which I
was to keep the seal sacred, I hastily broke it open. A sealed
letter fell from a blank enclosure, owing to the trepidation with
which I opened the parcel. A slight current of wind, which
found its way through a broken pane of the window, wafted the
letter to Mr. Jarvie's feet, who lifted it, examined the address
with unceremonious curiosity, and, to my astonishment, handed
it  to his Highland kinsman, saying, ``Here's a wind has blown
a letter to its right owner, though there were ten thousand
chances against its coming to hand.''

  The Highlander, having examined the address, broke the
letter open without the least ceremony. I endeavoured to
interrupt his proceeding.

  ``You must satisfy me, sir,'' said I, ``that the letter is intended
for you before I can permit you to peruse it.''

  ``Make yourself quite easy, Mr. Osbaldistone,'' replied the
mountaineer with great composure.---``remember Justice Inglewood,
Clerk Jobson, Mr. Morris---above all, remember your
vera humble servant, Robert Cawmil, and the beautiful Diana
Vernon. Remember all this, and doubt no longer that the
letter is for me.''

  I remained astonished at my own stupidity.---Through the
whole night, the voice, and even the features of this man, though
imperfectly seen, haunted me with recollections to which I could
assign no exact local or personal associations. But now the
light dawned on me at once; this man was Campbell himself.
His whole peculiarities flashed on me at once,---the deep strong
voice---the inflexible, stern, yet considerate cast of features---
the Scottish brogue, with its corresponding dialect and imagery,
which, although he possessed the power at times of laying them
aside, recurred at every moment of emotion, and gave pith to
his sarcasm, or vehemence to his expostulation. Rather beneath
the middle size than above it, his limbs were formed upon the
very strongest model that is consistent with agility, while from
the remarkable ease and freedom of his movements, you could
not doubt his possessing the latter quality in a high degree of
perfection. Two points in his person interfered with the rules
of symmetry; his shoulders were so broad in proportion to his
height, as, notwithstanding the lean and lathy appearance of
his frame, gave him something the air of being too square in
respect to his stature; and his arms, though round, sinewy, and
strong, were so very long as to be rather a deformity. I afterwards
heard that this length of arm was a circumstance on
which he prided himself; that when he wore his native Highland
garb, he could tie the garters of his hose without stooping;
and that it gave him great advantage in the use of the broad-sword,
at which he was very dexterous. But certainly this
want of symmetry destroyed the claim he might otherwise have
set up, to be accounted a very handsome man; it gave something
wild, irregular, and, as it were, unearthly, to his appearance,
and reminded me involuntarily of the tales which Mabel
used to tell of the old Picts who ravaged Northumberland in
ancient times, who, according to her tradition, were a sort of
half-goblin half-human beings, distinguished, like this man, for
courage, cunning, ferocity, the length of their arms, and the
squareness of their shoulders.

  When, however, I recollected the circumstances in which we
formerly met, I could not doubt that the billet was most probably
designed for him. He had made a marked figure among
those mysterious personages over whom Diana seemed to exercise
an influence, and from whom she experienced an influence
in her turn. It was painful to think that the fate of a being
so amiable was involved in that of desperadoes of this man's
description;---yet it seemed impossible to doubt it. Of what
use, however, could this person be to my father's affairs?---I
could think only of one. Rashleigh Osbaldistone had, at the
instigation of Miss Vernon, certainly found means to produce
Mr. Campbell when his presence was necessary to exculpate me
from Morris's accusation---Was it not possible that her influence,
in like manner, might prevail on Campbell to produce
Rashleigh? Speaking on this supposition, I requested to know
where my dangerous kinsman was, and when Mr. Campbell had
seen him. The answer was indirect.

  ``It's a kittle cast she has gien me to play; but yet it's fair
play, and I winna baulk her. Mr. Osbaldistone, I dwell not
very far from hence---my kinsman can show you the way---
Leave Mr. Owen to do the best he can in Glasgow---do you
come and see me in the glens, and it's like I may pleasure you,
and stead your father in his extremity. I am but a poor man;
but wit's better than wealth---and, cousin'' (turning from me
to address Mr. Jarvie), ``if ye daur venture sae muckle as to eat
a dish of Scotch collops, and a leg o' red-deer venison wi' me,
come ye wi' this Sassenach gentleman as far as Drymen or
Bucklivie,---or the Clachan of Aberfoil will be better than ony
o' them,---and I'll hae somebody waiting to weise ye the gate to
the place where I may be for the time---What say ye, man?
There's my thumb, I'll ne'er beguile thee.''

  ``Na, na, Robin,'' said the cautious burgher, ``I seldom like
to leave the Gorbals;<*> I have nae freedom to gang among your

* [The _Gorbals_ or ``suburbs'' are situate on the south side of the River.]

wild hills, Robin, and your kilted red-shanks---it disna become
my place, man.''

  ``The devil damn your place and you baith!'' reiterated
Campbell. ``The only drap o' gentle bluid that's in your body
was our great-grand-uncle's that was justified<*> at Dumbarton,

* [Executed for treason.]

and you set yourself up to say ye wad derogate frae your place
to visit me! Hark thee, man---I owe thee a day in harst---I'll
pay up your thousan pund Scots, plack and bawbee, gin ye'll be
an honest fallow for anes, and just daiker up the gate wi' this
Sassenach.''

  ``Hout awa' wi' your gentility,'' replied the Bailie; ``carry
your gentle bluid to the Cross, and see what ye'll buy wi't. But,
if I _were_ to come, wad ye really and soothfastly pay me the
siller?''

  ``I swear to ye,'' said the Highlander, ``upon the halidome of
him that sleeps beneath the grey stane at Inch-Cailleach.''<*>

* Inch-Cailleach is an island in Lochlomond, where the clan of MacGregor
* were wont to be interred, and where their sepulchres may still be
* seen. It formerly contained a nunnery: hence the name of lnch-Cailleach,
* or the island of Old Women.


  ``Say nae mair, Robin---say nae mair---We'll see what may
be dune. But ye maunna expect me to gang ower the Highland
line---I'll gae beyond the line at no rate. Ye maun meet me
about Bucklivie or the Clachan of Aberfoil,---and dinna forget
the needful.''

  ``Nae fear---nae fear,'' said Campbell; ``I'll be as true as the
steel blade that never failed its master. But I must be budging,
cousin, for the air o' Glasgow tolbooth is no that ower
salutary to a Highlander's constitution.''

  ``Troth,'' replied the merchant, ``and if my duty were to be
dune, ye couldna change your atmosphere, as the minister ca's
it, this ae wee while.---Ochon, that I sud ever be concerned in
aiding and abetting an escape frae justice! it will be a shame
and disgrace to me and mine, and my very father's memory, for
ever.''

  ``Hout tout, man! let that flee stick in the wa','' answered
his kinsman; ``when the dirt's dry it will rub out---Your
father, honest man, could look ower a friend's fault as weel as
anither.''

  ``Ye may be right, Robin,'' replied the Bailie, after a moment's
reflection; ``he was a considerate man the deacon; he
ken'd we had a' our frailties, and he lo'ed his friends---Ye'll no
hae forgotten him, Robin?'' This question he put in a softened
tone, conveying as much at least of the ludicrous as the pathetic.

  ``Forgotten him!'' replied his kinsman---``what suld ail me
to forget him?---a wapping weaver he was, and wrought my
first pair o' hose.---But come awa', kinsman,

	Come fill up my cap, come fill up my cann,
	Come saddle my horses, and call up my man;
	Come open your gates, and let me gae free,
	I daurna stay langer in bonny Dundee.''

  ``Whisht, sir!'' said the magistrate, in an authoritative tone
---``lilting and singing sae near the latter end o' the Sabbath!
This house may hear ye sing anither tune yet---Aweel, we hae
a' backslidings to answer for---Stanchells, open the door.''

  The jailor obeyed, and we all sallied forth. Stanchells looked
with some surprise at the two strangers, wondering, doubtless,
how they came into these premises without his knowledge; but
Mr. Jarvie's ``Friends o' mine, Stanchells---friends o' mine,''
silenced all disposition to inquiries. We now descended into
the lower vestibule, and hallooed more than once for Dougal, to
which summons no answer was returned; when Campbell
observed with a sardonic smile, ``That if Dougal was the lad he
kent him, he would scarce wait to get thanks for his ain share
of the night's wark, but was in all probability on the full trot
to the pass of Ballamaha''------

  ``And left us---and, abune a', me, mysell, locked up in the
tolbooth a' night!'' exclaimed the Bailie, in ire and perturbation.
``Ca' for forehammers, sledge-hammers, pinches, and
coulters; send for Deacon Yettlin, the smith, an let him ken
that Bailie Jarvie's shut up in the tolbooth by a Highland
blackguard, whom he'll hang up as high as Haman''------

  ``When ye catch him,'' said Campbell, gravely; ``but stay---
the door is surely not locked.''

  Indeed, on examination, we found that the door was not only
left open, but that Dougal in his retreat had, by carrying off the
keys along with him, taken care that no one should exercise his
office of porter in a hurry.

  ``He has glimmerings o' common sense now, that creature
Dougal,'' said Campbell.---``he ken'd an open door might hae
served me at a pinch.''

  We were by this time in the street.

  ``I tell you, Robin,'' said the magistrate, ``in my puir mind,
if ye live the life ye do, ye suld hae ane o' your gillies door-keeper
in every jail in Scotland, in case o' the warst.''

  ``Ane o' my kinsmen a bailie in ilka burgh will just do as
weel, cousin Nicol---So, gude-night or gude-morning to ye; and
forget not the Clachan of Aberfoil.''

  And without waiting for an answer, he sprung to the other
side of the street, and was lost in darkness. Immediately on
his disappearance, we heard him give a low whistle of peculiar
modulation, which was instantly replied to.

  ``Hear to the Hieland deevils,'' said Mr. Jarvie; ``they think
themselves on the skirts of Benlomond already, where they may
gang whewingand whistling about without minding Sunday or
Saturday.'' Here he was interrupted by something which fell
with a heavy clash on the street before us---``Gude guide us
what's this mair o't?---Mattie, haud up the lantern---Conscience
if it isna the keys!---Weel, that's just as weel---they cost the
burgh siller, and there might hae been some clavers about
the loss o' them. O, an Bailie Grahame were to get word o'
this night's job, it would be a sair hair in my neck!''

  As we were still but a few steps from the tolbooth door, we
carried back these implements of office, and consigned them to
the head jailor, who, in lieu of the usual mode of making good
his post by turning the keys, was keeping sentry in the vestibule
till the arrival of some assistant, whom he had summoned in
order to replace the Celtic fugitive Dougal.

  Having discharged this piece of duty to the burgh, and my
road lying the same way with the honest magistrate's, I profited
by the light of his lantern, and he by my arm, to find our way
through the streets, which, whatever they may now be, were
then dark, uneven, and ill-paved. Age is easily propitiated by
attentions from the young. The Bailie expressed himself interested
in me, and added, ``That since I was nane o' that play-acting
and play-ganging generation, whom his saul hated, he
wad be glad if I wad eat a reisted haddock or a fresh herring,
at breakfast wi' him the morn, and meet my friend, Mr. Owen,
whom, by that time, he would place at liberty.''

  ``My dear sir,'' said I, when I had accepted of the invitation
with thanks, ``how could you possibly connect me with the
stage?''

  ``I watna,'' replied Mr. Jarvie;---``it was a bletherin' phrasin'
chield they ca' Fairservice, that cam at e'en to get an order to
send the crier through the toun for ye at skreigh o' day the
morn. He tell't me whae ye were, and how ye were sent frae
your father's house because ye wadna be a dealer, and that ye
mightna disgrace your family wi' ganging on the stage. Ane
Hammorgaw, our precentor, brought him here, and said he was
an auld acquaintance; but I sent them both away wi' a flae in
their lug for bringing me sic an errand, on sic a night. But I
see he's a fule-creature a'thegither, and clean mistaen about ye.
I like ye, man,'' he continued; ``I like a lad that will stand by his
friends in trouble---I aye did it mysell, and sae did the deacon
my father, rest and bless him! But ye suldna keep ower
muckle company wi' Hielandmen and thae wild cattle. Can a
man touch pitch and no be defiled?---aye mind that. Nae
doubt, the best and wisest may err---Once, twice, and thrice
have I backslidden, man, and dune three things this night---my
father wadna hae believed his een if he could hae looked up and
seen me do them.''

  He was by this time arrived at the door of his own dwelling.
He paused, however, on the threshold, and went on in a solemn
tone of deep contrition,---``Firstly, I hae thought my ain thoughts
on the Sabbath---secondly, I hae gi'en security for an Englishman
---and, in the third and last place, well-a-day! I hae let an ill-doer
escape from the place of imprisonment---But there's balm
in Gilead, Mr. Osbaldistone---Mattie, I can let mysell in---see
Mr. Osbaldistone to Luckie Flyter's, at the corner o' the wynd.
---Mr. Osbaldistone''---in a whisper---``ye'll offer nae incivility
to Mattie---she's an honest man's daughter, and a near cousin
o' the Laird o' Limmerfield's.''



		CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURTH.
	
	``Will it please your worship to accept of my poor service? I beseech
	that I may feed upon your bread, though it be the brownest, and
	drink of your drink, though it be of the smallest; for I will do your
	Worship as much service for forty shillings as another man shall for
	three pounds.''
							Greene's _Tu Quoque._


  I remembered the honest Bailie's parting charge, but did not
conceive there was any incivility in adding a kiss to the half-crown
with which I remunerated Mattie's attendance;---nor did
her ``Fie for shame, sir!'' express any very deadly resentment of
the affront. Repeated knocking at Mrs. Flyter's gate awakened
in due order, first, one or two stray dogs, who began to bark
with all their might; next two or three night-capped heads,
which were thrust out of the neighbouring windows to reprehend
me for disturbing the solemnity of the Sunday night by that
untimely noise. While I trembled lest the thunders of their
wrath might dissolve in showers like that of Xantippe, Mrs.
Flyter herself awoke, and began, in a tone of objurgation not
unbecoming the philosophical spouse of Socrates, to scold one
or two loiterers in her kitchen, for not hastening to the door to
prevent a repetition of my noisy summons.

  These worthies were, indeed, nearly concerned in the fracas
which their laziness occasioned, being no other than the faithful
Mr. Fairservice, with his friend Mr. Hammorgaw, and another
person, whom I afterwards found to be the town-crier, who
were sitting over a cog of ale, as they called it (at my expense,
as my bill afterwards informed me), in order to devise the
terms and style of a proclamation to be made through the
streets the next day, in order that ``the unfortunate young
gentleman,'' as they had the impudence to qualify me, might
be restored to his friends without farther delay. It may be
supposed that I did not suppress my displeasure at this impertinent
interference with my affairs; but Andrew set up
such ejaculations of transport at my arrival, as fairly drowned
my expressions of resentment. His raptures, perchance, were
partly political; and the tears of joy which he shed had
certainly their source in that noble fountain of emotion, the
tankard. However, the tumultuous glee which he felt, or
pretended to feel, at my return, saved Andrew the broken head
which I had twice destined him;---first, on account of the
colloquy he had held with the precentor on my affairs; and
secondly, for the impertinent history he had thought proper to
give of me to Mr. Jarvie. I however contented myself with
slapping the door of my bedroom in his face as he followed
me, praising Heaven for my safe return, and mixing his joy
with admonitions to me to take care how I walked my own
ways in future. I then went to bed, resolving my first business
in the morning should be to discharge this troublesome, pedantic,
self-conceited coxcomb, who seemed so much disposed to constitute
himself rather a preceptor than a domestic.

  Accordingly in the morning I resumed my purpose, and
calling Andrew into my, apartment, requested to know his
charge for guiding and attending me as far as Glasgow. Mr.
Fairservice looked very blank at this demand, justly considering
it as a presage to approaching dismission.

  ``Your honour,'' he said, after some hesitation, ``wunna think
---wunna think''------

  ``Speak out, you rascal, or I'll break your head,'' said I, as
Andrew, between the double risk of losing all by asking too
much, or a part, by stating his demand lower than what I might
be willing to pay, stood gasping in the agony of doubt and
calculation.

  Out it came with a bolt, however, at my threat; as the kind
violence of a blow on the back sometimes delivers the windpipe
from an intrusive morsel.---``Aughteen pennies sterling per
diem---that is, by the day---your honour wadna think unconscionable.''

  ``It is double what is usual, and treble what you merit,
Andrew; but there's a guinea for you, and get about your
business.''

  ``The Lord forgi'e us! Is your honour mad?'' exclaimed
Andrew.

  ``No; but I think you mean to make me so---I give you a
third above your demand, and you stand staring and expostulating
there as if I were cheating you. Take your money, and
go about your business.''

  ``Gude safe us!'' continued Andrew, ``in what can I hae
offended your honour? Certainly a' flesh is but as the flowers
of the field; but if a bed of camomile hath value in medicine,
of a surety the use of Andrew Fairservice to your honour is
nothing less evident---it's as muckle as your life's worth to part
wi' me.''

  ``Upon my honour,'' replied I, ``it is difficult to say whether
you are more knave or fool. So you intend then to remain
with me whether I like it or no?''

  ``Troth, I was e'en thinking sae,'' replied Andrew, dogmatically;
``for if your honour disna ken when ye hae a gude
servant, I ken when I hae a gude master, and the deil be in my
feet gin I leave ye---and there's the brief and the lang o't
besides I hae received nae regular warning to quit my place.''

  ``Your place, sir!'' said I;---``why, you are no hired servant
of mine,---you are merely a guide, whose knowledge of the
country I availed myself of on my road.''

  ``I am no just a common servant, I admit, sir,'' remonstrated
Mr. Fairservice; ``but your honour kens I quitted a gude place
at an hour's notice, to comply wi' your honour's solicitations.
A man might make honestly, and wi' a clear conscience, twenty
sterling pounds per annum, weel counted siller, o' the garden
at Osbaldistone Hall, and I wasna likely to gi'e up a' that for a
guinea, I trow---I reckoned on staying wi' your honour to the
term's end at the least o't; and I account my wage, board-wage,
fee and bountith,---ay, to that length o't at the least.''

  ``Come, come, sir,'' replied I, ``these impudent pretensions
won't serve your turn; and if I hear any more of them, I shall
convince you that Squire Thorncliff is not the only one of my
name that can use his fingers.''

  While I spoke thus, the whole matter struck me as so ridiculous,
that, though really angry, I had some difficulty to forbear
laughing at the gravity with which Andrew supported a
plea so utterly extravagant. The rascal, aware of the impression
he had made on my muscles, was encouraged to perseverance.
He judged it safer, however, to take his pretensions a peg lower,
in case of overstraining at the same time both his plea and my
patience.

  ``Admitting that my honour could part with a faithful servant,
that had served me and mine by day and night for twenty years,
in a strange place, and at a moment's warning, he was weel
assured,'' he said, ``it wasna in my heart, nor in no true gentleman's,
to pit a puir lad like himself, that had come forty or fifty,
or say a hundred miles out o' his road purely to bear my honour
company, and that had nae handing but his penny-fee, to sic a
hardship as this comes to.''

  I think it was you, Will, who once told me, that, to be an
obstinate man, I am in certain things the most gullable and
malleable of mortals. The fact is, that it is only contradiction
which makes me peremptory, and when I do not feel myself
called on to give battle to any proposition, I am always willing
to grant it, rather than give myself much trouble. I knew this
fellow to be a greedy, tiresome, meddling coxcomb; still, however,
I must have some one about me in the quality of guide
and domestic, and I was so much used to Andrew's humour,
that on some occasions it was rather amusing. In the state of
indecision to which these reflections led me, I asked Fairservice
if he knew the roads, towns, etc., in the north of Scotland, to
which my father's concerns with the proprietors of Highland
forests were likely to lead me. I believe if I had asked him the
road to the terrestrial paradise, he would have at that moment
undertaken to guide me to it; so that I had reason afterwards
to think myself fortunate in finding that his actual knowledge
did not fall very much short of that which he asserted himself
to possess. I fixed the amount of his wages, and reserved to
myself the privilege of dismissing him when I chose, on paying
him a week in advance. I gave him finally a severe lecture on
his conduct of the preceding day, and then dismissed him rejoicing
at heart, though somewhat crestfallen in countenance, to
rehearse to his friend the precentor, who was taking his morning
draught in the kitchen, the mode in which he had ``cuitled up
the daft young English squire.''

  Agreeable to appointment, I went next to Bailie Nicol Jarvie's,
where a comfortable morning's repast was arranged in the parlour,
which served as an apartment of all hours, and almost all
work, to that honest gentleman. The bustling and benevolent
magistrate had been as good as his word. I found my friend
Owen at liberty, and, conscious of the refreshments and purification
of brush and basin, was of course a very different person
from Owen a prisoner, squalid, heart-broken, and hopeless. Yet
the sense of pecuniary difficulties arising behind, before, and
around him, had depressed his spirit, and the almost paternal
embrace which the good man gave me, was embittered by a sigh
of the deepest anxiety. And when he sate down, the heaviness
in his eye and manner, so different from the quiet composed
satisfaction which they usually exhibited, indicated that he was
employing his arithmetic in mentally numbering up the days,
the hours, the minutes, which yet remained as an interval between
the dishonour of bills and the downfall of the great commercial
establishment of Osbaldistone and Tresham. It was
left to me, therefore, to do honour to our landlord's hospitable
cheer---to his tea, right from China, which he got in a present
from some eminent ship's-husband at Wapping---to his coffee,
from a snug plantation of his own, as he informed us with a
wink, called Saltmarket Grove, in the island of Jamaica---to
his English toast and ale, his Scotch dried salmon, his Lochfine
herrings, and even to the double-damask table-cloth, ``wrought
by no hand, as you may guess,'' save that of his deceased father
the worthy Deacon Jarvie.

  Having conciliated our good-humoured host by those little
attentions which are great to most men, I endeavoured in my
turn to gain from him some information which might be useful
for my guidance, as well as for the satisfaction of my curiosity.
We had not hitherto made the least allusion to the transactions
of the preceding night, a circumstance which made my question
sound somewhat abrupt, when, without any previous introduction
of the subject, I took advantage of a pause when the history
of the table-cloth ended, and that of the napkins was about to
commence, to inquire, ``Pray, by the by, Mr. Jarvie, who may
this Mr. Robert Campbell be, whom we met with last night?''

  The interrogatory seemed to strike the honest magistrate,
to use the vulgar phrase, ``all of a heap,'' and instead of answering,
he returned the question---``Whae's Mr. Robert Campbell?
---ahem! ahay! Whae's Mr. Robert Campbell, quo' he?''

  ``Yes,'' said I, ``I mean who and what is he?''

  ``Why, he's---ahay!---he's---ahem!---Where did ye meet with
Mr. Robert Campbell, as ye ca' him?''

  ``I met him by chance,'' I replied, ``some months ago in the
north of England.''

  ``Ou then, Mr. Osbaldistone,'' said the Bailie, doggedly, ``ye'll
ken as muckle about him as I do.''

  ``I should suppose not, Mr. Jarvie,'' I replied;---``you are his
relation, it seems, and his friend.''

  ``There is some cousin-red between us, doubtless,'' said the
Bailie reluctantly; ``but we hae seen little o' ilk other since
Rob gae tip the cattle-line o' dealing, poor fallow! he was
hardly guided by them might hae used him better---and they
haena made their plack a bawbee o't neither. There's mony
ane this day wad rather they had never chased puir Robin frae
the Cross o' Glasgow---there's mony ane wad rather see him
again at the tale o' three hundred kyloes, than at the head o'
thirty waur cattle.''

  ``All this explains nothing to me, Mr. Jarvie, of Mr. Campbell's
rank, habits of life, and means of subsistence,'' I replied.

  ``Rank?'' said Mr. Jarvie; ``he's a Hieland gentleman, nae
doubt---better rank need nane to be;---and for habit, I judge
he wears the Hieland habit amang the hills, though he has
breeks on when he comes to Glasgow;---and as for his subsistence,
what needs we care about his subsistence, sae lang as he
asks naething frae us, ye ken? But I hae nae time for clavering
about him e'en now, because we maun look into your father's
concerns wi' all speed.''

  So saying, he put on his spectacles, and sate down to examine
Mr. Owen's states, which the other thought it most prudent to
communicate to him without reserve. I knew enough of business
to be aware that nothing could be more acute and sagacious
than the views which Mr. Jarvie entertained of the matters
submitted to his examination; and, to do him justice, it was
marked by much fairness, and even liberality. He scratched
his ear indeed repeatedly on observing the balance which stood
at the debit of Osbaldistone and Tresham in account with himself
personally.

  ``It may be a dead loss,'' he observed; ``and, conscience!
whate'er ane o' your Lombard Street goldsmiths may say to it,
it's a snell ane in the Saut-Market<*> o' Glasgow. It will be a

* [The Saltmarket. This ancient street, situate in the heart of Glasgow,
* has of late been almost entirely renovated.]

heavy deficit---a staff out o' my bicker, I trow. But what
then?---I trust the house wunna coup the crane for a' that's
come and gane yet; and if it does, I'll never bear sae base a
mind as thae corbies in the Gallowgate---an I am to lose by ye,
I'se ne'er deny I hae won by ye mony a fair pund sterling---Sae,
an it come to the warst, I'se een lay the head o' the sow to the
tail o' the grice.''<*>

* _Anglice,_ the head of the sow to the tail of the pig.


  I did not altogether understand the proverbial arrangement
with which Mr. Jarvie consoled himself, but I could easily see
that he took a kind and friendly interest in the arrangement
of my father's affairs, suggested several expedients, approved
several plans proposed by Owen, and by his countenance and
counsel greatly abated the gloom upon the brow of that afflicted
delegate of my father's establishment.

  As I was an idle spectator on this occasion, and, perhaps, as
I showed some inclination more than once to return to the prohibited,
and apparently the puzzling subject of Mr. Campbell,
Mr. Jarvie dismissed me with little formality, with an advice to
``gang up the gate to the college, where I wad find some chields
could speak Greek and Latin weel---at least they got plenty o'
siller for doing deil haet else, if they didna do that; and where
I might read a spell o' the worthy Mr. Zachary Boyd's translation
o' the Scriptures---better poetry need nane to be, as he had
been tell'd by them that ken'd or suld hae ken'd about sic
things.'' But he seasoned this dismission with a kind and
hospitable invitation ``to come back and take part o' his family-chack
at ane preceesely---there wad be a leg o' mutton, and, it
might be, a tup's head, for they were in season;'' but above all,
I was to return at ``ane o'clock preceesely---it was the hour he
and the deacon his father aye dined at---they pat it off for
naething nor for naebody.''



		CHAPTER TWENTY-FIFTH.

	So stands the Thracian herdsman with his spear
	Full in the gap, and hopes the hunted bear;
	And hears him in the rustling wood, and sees
	His course at distance by the bending trees,
	And thinks---Here comes my mortal enemy,
	And either he must fall in fight, or I.
					Palamon and Arcite.

  I took the route towards the college, as recommended by
Mr. Jarvie, less with the intention of seeking for any object of
interest or amusement, than to arrange my own ideas, and
meditate on my future conduct. I wandered from one quadrangle
of old-fashioned buildings to another, and from thence
to the College-yards, or walking ground, where, pleased with
the solitude of the place, most of the students being engaged in
their classes, I took several turns, pondering on the waywardness
of my own destiny.

  I could not doubt, from the circumstances attending my first
meeting with this person Campbell, that he was engaged in
some strangely desperate courses; and the reluctance with which
Mr. Jarvie alluded to his person or pursuits, as well as all the
scene of the preceding night, tended to confirm these suspicions.
Yet to this man Diana Vernon had not, it would seem, hesitated
to address herself in my behalf; and the conduct of the magistrate
himself towards him showed an odd mixture of kindness,
and even respect, with pity and censure. Something there
must be uncommon in Campbell's situation and character; and
what was still more extraordinary, it seemed that his fate was
doomed to have influence over, and connection with, my own.
I resolved to bring Mr. Jarvie to close quarters on the first
proper opportunity, and learn as much as was possible on the
subject of this mysterious person, in order that I might judge
whether it was possible for me, without prejudice to my reputation,
to hold that degree of farther correspondence with him to
which he seemed to invite.

  While I was musing on these subjects, my attention was
attracted by three persons who appeared at the upper end of
the walk through which I was sauntering, seemingly engaged
in very earnest conversation. That intuitive impression which
announces to us the approach of whomsoever we love or hate
with intense vehemence, long before a more indifferent eye can
recognise their persons, flashed upon my mind the sure conviction
that the midmost of these three men was Rashleigh Osbaldistone.
To address him was my first impulse;---my second
was, to watch him until he was alone, or at least to reconnoitre
his companions before confronting him. The party was still
at such distance, and engaged in such deep discourse, that I
had time to step unobserved to the other side of a small hedge,
which imperfectly screened the alley in which I was walking.
It was at this period the fashion of the young and gay to
wear, in their morning walks, a scarlet cloak, often laced and
embroidered, above their other dress, and it was the trick of the
time for gallants occasionally to dispose it so as to muffle a
part of the face. The imitating this fashion, with the degree
of shelter which I received from the hedge, enabled me to meet
my cousin, unobserved by him or the others, except perhaps as
a passing stranger. I was not a little startled at recognising in
his companions that very Morris on whose account I had been
summoned before Justice Inglewood, and Mr. MacVittie the
merchant, from whose starched and severe aspect I had recoiled
on the preceding day.

  A more ominous conjunction to my own affairs, and those of
my father, could scarce have been formed. I remembered
Morris's false accusation against me, which he might be as easily
induced to renew as he had been intimidated to withdraw; I
recollected the inauspicious influence of MacVittie over my
father's affairs, testified by the imprisonment of Owen;---and
I now saw both these men combined with one, whose talent for
mischief I deemed little inferior to those of the great author of
all ill, and my abhorrence of whom almost amounted to dread.

  When they had passed me for some paces, I turned and
followed them unobserved. At the end of the walk they
separated, Morris and MacVittie leaving the gardens, and
Rashleigh returning alone through the walks. I was now
determined to confront him, and demand reparation for the
injuries he had done my father, though in what form redress
was likely to be rendered remained to be known. This, however,
I trusted to chance; and flinging back the cloak in which
I was muffled, I passed through a gap of the low hedge, and
presented myself before Rashleigh, as, in a deep reverie, he
paced down the avenue.

  Rashleigh was no man to be surprised or thrown off his guard
by sudden occurrences. Yet he did not find me thus close to
him, wearing undoubtedly in my face the marks of that indignation
which was glowing in my bosom, without visibly starting
at an apparition so sudden and menacing.

  ``You are well met, sir,'' was my commencement; ``I was
about to take a long and doubtful journey in quest of you.''

  ``You know little of him you sought then,'' replied Rashleigh,
with his usual undaunted composure. ``I am easily found by
my friends---still more easily by my foes;---your manner compels
me to ask in which class I must rank Mr. Francis
Osbaldistone?''

  ``In that of your foes, sir,'' I answered---``in that of your
mortal foes, unless you instantly do justice to your benefactor,
my father, by accounting for his property.''

  ``And to whom, Mr. Osbaldistone,'' answered Rashleigh, ``am
I, a member of your father's commercial establishment, to be
compelled to give any account of my proceedings in those
concerns, which are in every respect identified with my own?---
Surely not to a young gentleman whose exquisite taste for
literature would render such discussions disgusting and unintelligible.''

  ``Your sneer, sir, is no answer; I will not part with you
until I have full satisfaction concerning the fraud you meditate
---you shall go with me before a magistrate.''

  ``Be it so,'' said Rashleigh, and made a step or two as if to
accompany me; then pausing, proceeded---``Were I inclined to
do so as you would have me, you should soon feel which of us
had most reason to dread the presence of a magistrate. But I
have no wish to accelerate your fate. Go, young man! amuse
yourself in your world of poetical imaginations, and leave the
business of life to those who understand and can conduct it.''

  His intention, I believe, was to provoke me, and he succeeded.
``Mr. Osbaldistone,'' I said, ``this tone of calm insolence
shall not avail you. You ought to be aware that the
name we both bear never submitted to insult, and shall not in
my person be exposed to it.''

  ``You remind me,'' said Rashleigh, with one of his blackest
looks, ``that it was dishonoured in my person!---and you remind
me also by whom! Do you think I have forgotten the evening
at Osbaldistone Hall when you cheaply and with impunity played
the bully at my expense? For that insult---never to be washed
out but by blood!---for the various times you have crossed my
path, and always to my prejudice---for the persevering folly
with which you seek to traverse schemes, the importance of
which you neither know nor are capable of estimating,---for all
these, sir, you owe me a long account, for which there shall
come an early day of reckoning.''

  ``Let it come when it will,'' I replied, ``I shall be willing
and ready to meet it. Yet you seem to have forgotten the
heaviest article---that I had the pleasure to aid Miss Vernon's
good sense and virtuous feeling in extricating her from your
infamous toils.''

  I think his dark eyes flashed actual fire at this home-taunt,
and yet his voice retained the same calm expressive tone with
which he had hitherto conducted the conversation.

  ``I had other views with respect to you, young man,'' was his
answer: ``less hazardous for you, and more suitable to my
present character and former education. But I see you will
draw on yourself the personal chastisement your boyish insolence
so well merits.  Follow me to a more remote spot, where
we are less likely to be interrupted.''

  I followed him accordingly, keeping a strict eye on his
motions, for I believed him capable of the very worst actions.
We reached an open spot in a sort of wilderness, laid out in the
Dutch taste, with clipped hedges, and one or two statues. I
was on my guard, and it was well with me that I was so; for
Rashleigh's sword was out and at my breast ere I could throw
down my cloak, or get my weapon unsheathed, so that I only
saved my life by springing a pace or two backwards. He had
some advantage in the difference of our weapons; for his sword,
as I recollect, was longer than mine, and had one of those
bayonet or three-cornered blades which are now generally worn;
whereas mine was what we then called a Saxon blade---narrow,
flat, and two-edged, and scarcely so manageable as that of my
enemy. In other respects we were pretty equally matched:
for what advantage I might possess in superior address and
agility, was fully counterbalanced by Rashleigh's great strength
and coolness. He fought, indeed, more like a fiend than a
man---with concentrated spite and desire of blood, only allayed
by that cool consideration which made his worst actions appear
yet worse from the air of deliberate premeditation which seemed
to accompany them. His obvious malignity of purpose never
for a moment threw him off his guard, and he exhausted every
feint and stratagem proper to the science of defence; while, at
the same time, he meditated the most desperate catastrophe to
our rencounter.

  On my part, the combat was at first sustained with more
moderation. My passions, though hasty, were not malevolent;
and the walk of two or three minutes' space gave me time to
reflect that Rashleigh was my father's nephew, the son of an
uncle, who after his fashion had been kind to me, and that his
falling by my hand could not but occasion much family distress.
My first resolution, therefore, was to attempt to disarm
my antagonist---a man<oe>uvre in which, confiding in my superiority
of skill and practice, I anticipated little difficulty. I
found, however, I had met my match; and one or two foils
which I received, and from the consequences of which I narrowly
escaped, obliged me to observe more caution in my mode of
fighting. By degrees I became exasperated at the rancour with
which Rashleigh sought my life, and returned his passes with
an inveteracy resembling in some degree his own; so that the
combat had all the appearance of being destined to have a tragic
issue. That issue had nearly taken place at my expense. My
foot slipped in a full lounge which I made at my adversary,
and I could not so far recover myself as completely to parry
the thrust with which my pass was repaid. Yet it took but
partial effect, running through my waistcoat, grazing my ribs,
and passing through my coat behind. The hilt of Rashleigh's
sword, so great was the vigour of his thrust, struck against my
breast with such force as to give me great pain, and confirm me
in the momentary belief that I was mortally wounded. Eager
for revenge, I grappled with my enemy, seizing with my left
hand the hilt of his sword, and shortening my own with the
purpose of running him through the body. Our death-grapple
was interrupted by a man who forcibly threw himself between
us, and pushing us separate from each other, exclaimed, in a
loud and commanding voice, ``What! the sons of those fathers
who sucked the same breast shedding each others bluid as
it were strangers'!---By the hand of my father, I will cleave
to the brisket the first man that mints another stroke!''

  I looked up in astonishment. The speaker was no other
than Campbell. He had a basket-hilted broadsword drawn in
his hand, which he made to whistle around his head as he
spoke, as if for the purpose of enforcing his mediation. Rashleigh
and I stared in silence at this unexpected intruder, who
proceeded to exhort us alternately:---``Do you, Maister Francis,
opine that ye will re-establish your father's credit by cutting
your kinsman's thrapple, or getting your ain sneckit instead
thereof in the College-yards of Glasgow?---Or do you, Mr
Rashleigh, think men will trust their lives and fortunes wi' ane,
that, when in point of trust and in point of confidence wi' a great
political interest, gangs about brawling like a drunken gillie?---
Nay, never look gash or grim at me, man---if ye're angry, ye
ken how to turn the buckle o' your belt behind you.''

  ``You presume on my present situation,'' replied Rashleigh,
``or you would have hardly dared to interfere where my honour
is concerned.''

  ``Hout! tout! tout!---Presume? And what for should it be
presuming?---Ye may be the richer man, Mr. Osbaldistone, as
is maist likely; and ye may be the mair learned man, whilk I
dispute not: but I reckon ye are neither a prettier man nor a
better gentleman than mysell---and it will be news to me when
I hear ye are as gude. And _dare_ too? Muckle daring there's
about it---I trow, here I stand, that hae slashed as het a haggis
as ony o' the twa o' ye, and thought nae muckle o' my morning's
wark when it was dune. If my foot were on the heather as it's
on the causeway, or this pickle gravel, that's little better, I hae
been waur mistrysted than if I were set to gie ye baith your
ser'ing o't.''

  Rashleigh had by this time recovered his temper completely.
``My kinsman,'' he said, ``will acknowledge he forced this
quarrel on me. It was none of my seeking. I am glad we
are interrupted before I chastised his forwardness more severely.''

  ``Are ye hurt, lad?'' inquired Campbell of me, with some
appearance of interest.

  ``A very slight scratch,'' I answered, ``which my kind cousin
would not long have boasted of had not you come between us.''

  ``In troth, and that's true, Maister Rashleigh,'' said Campbell;
``for the cauld iron and your best bluid were like to hae
become acquaint when I mastered Mr. Frank's right hand.
But never look like a sow playing upon a trump for the luve of
that, man---come and walk wi' me. I hae news to tell ye, and
ye'll cool and come to yourself, like MacGibbon's crowdy, when
he set it out at the window-bole.''

  ``Pardon me, sir,'' said I. ``Your intentions have seemed
friendly to me on more occasions than one; but I must not, and
will not, quit sight of this person until he yields up to me those
means of doing justice to my father's engagements, of which he
has treacherously possessed himself.''

  ``Ye're daft, man,'' replied Campbell; ``it will serve ye naething
to follow us e'enow; ye hae just enow o' ae man---wad ye
bring twa on your head, and might bide quiet?''

  ``Twenty,'' I replied, ``if it be necessary.''

  I laid my hand on Rashleigh's collar, who made no resistance,
but said, with a sort of scornful smile, ``You hear him, MacGregor!
he rushes on his fate---will it be my fault if he falls
into it?---The warrants are by this time ready, and all is
prepared.''

  The Scotchman was obviously embarrassed. He looked
around, and before, and behind him, and then said---``The
ne'er a bit will I yield my consent to his being ill-guided for
standing up for the father that got him---and I gie God's
malison and mine to a' sort o' magistrates, justices, bailies.,
sheriffs, sheriff-officers, constables, and sic-like black cattle, that
hae been the plagues o' puir auld Scotland this hunder year.---
it was a merry warld when every man held his ain gear wi' his
ain grip, and when the country side wasna fashed wi' warrants
and poindings and apprizings, and a' that cheatry craft. And
ance mair I say it, my conscience winna see this puir thoughtless
lad ill-guided, and especially wi' that sort o' trade. I wad
rather ye fell till't again, and fought it out like douce honest
men.''

  ``Your conscience, MacGregor!'' said Rashleigh; ``you forget
how long you and I have known each other.''

  ``Yes, my conscience,'' reiterated Campbell, or MacGregor,
or whatever was his name; ``I hae such a thing about me,
Maister Osbaldistone; and therein it may weel chance that I
hae the better o' you. As to our knowledge of each other,---if
ye ken what I am, ye ken what usage it was made me what I
am; and, whatever you may think, I would not change states
with the proudest of the oppressors that hae driven me to tak
the heather-bush for a beild. What _you_ are, Maister Rashleigh,
and what excuse ye hae for being _what_ you are, is between your
ain heart and the lang day.---And now, Maister Francis, let go
his collar; for he says truly, that ye are in mair danger from a
magistrate than he is, and were your cause as straight as an
arrow, he wad find a way to put you wrang---So let go his craig,
as I was saying.''

  He seconded his words with an effort so sudden and unexpected,
that he freed Rashleigh from my hold, and securing me,
notwithstanding my struggles, in his own Herculean gripe, he
called out---``Take the bent, Mr. Rashleigh---Make ae pair o'
legs worth twa pair o' hands; ye hae dune that before now.''

  ``You may thank this gentleman, kinsman,'' said Rashleigh,
``if I leave any part of my debt to you unpaid; and if I quit
you now, it is only in the hope we shall soon meet again without
the possibility of interruption.''

  He took up his sword, wiped it, sheathed it, and was lost
among the bushes.

  The Scotchman, partly by force, partly by remonstrance, prevented
my following him; indeed I began to be of opinion my
doing so would be to little purpose.

  ``As I live by bread,'' said Campbell, when, after one or two
struggles in which he used much forbearance towards me, he
perceived me inclined to stand quiet, ``I never saw sae daft a
callant! I wad hae gien the best man in the country the
breadth o' his back gin he had gien me sic a kemping as ye
hae dune. What wad ye do?---Wad ye follow the wolf to his
den? I tell ye, man, he has the auld trap set for ye---He has
got the collector-creature Morris to bring up a' the auld story
again, and ye maun look for nae help frae me here, as ye got
at Justice Inglewood's;---it isna good for my health to come in
the gate o' the whigamore bailie bodies. Now gang your ways
hame, like a gude bairn---jouk and let the jaw gae by---Keep
out o' sight o' Rashleigh, and Morris, and that MacVittie animal
---Mind the Clachan of Aberfoil, as I said before, and by the
word of a gentleman, I wunna see ye wranged. But keep a calm
sough till we meet again---I maun gae and get Rashleigh out o'
the town afore waur comes o't, for the neb o' him's never out o'
mischief---Mind the Clachan of Aberfoil.''

  He turned upon his heel, and left me to meditate on the
singular events which had befallen me. My first care was to
adjust my dress and reassume my cloak, disposing it so as to conceal
the blood which flowed down my right side. I had scarcely
accomplished this, when, the classes of the college being dismissed,
the gardens began to be filled with parties of the students.
I therefore left them as soon as possible; and in my way towards
Mr. Jarvie's, whose dinner hour was now approaching, I stopped
at a small unpretending shop, the sign of which intimated the
indweller to be Christopher Neilson, surgeon and apothecary.
I requested of a little boy who was pounding some stuff in a
mortar, that he would procure me an audience of this learned
pharmacopolist. He opened the door of the back shop, where
I found a lively elderly man, who shook his head incredulously
at some idle account I gave him of having been wounded accidentally
by the button breaking off my antagonist's foil while I
was engaged in a fencing match. When he had applied some
lint and somewhat else he thought proper to the trifling wound
I had received, he observed---``There never was button on the
foil that made this hurt. Ah! young blood! young blood!---
But we surgeons are a secret generation---If it werena for hot
blood and ill blood, what wad become of the twa learned
faculties?''

  With which moral reflection he dismissed me; and I experienced
very little pain or inconvenience afterwards from the
scratch I had received.



		CHAPTER TWENTY-SIXTH.

	An iron race the mountain-cliffs maintain,
	Foes to the gentler genius of the plain.
	*     *     *     *     *     *     *
	Who while their rocky ramparts round they see,
	The rough abode of want and liberty,
	As lawless force from confidence will grow,
	Insult the plenty of the vales below.
						Gray.

  ``What made ye sae late?'' said Mr. Jarvie, as I entered the
dining-parlour of that honest gentleman; ``it is chappit ane the
best feek o' five minutes by-gane. Mattie has been twice at the
door wi' the dinner, and weel for you it was a tup's head, for
that canna suffer by delay. A sheep's head ower muckle boiled
is rank poison, as my worthy father used to say---he likit the lug
o' ane weel, honest man.''

  I made a suitable apology for my breach of punctuality, and
was soon seated at table, where Mr. Jarvie presided with great
glee and hospitality, compelling, however, Owen and myself to
do rather more justice to the Scottish dainties with which his
board was charged, than was quite agreeable to our southern
palates. I escaped pretty well, from having those habits of society
which enable one to elude this species of well-meant persecution.
But it was ridiculous enough to see Owen, whose ideas of politeness
were more rigorous and formal, and who was willing, in all
acts of lawful compliance, to evince his respect for the friend of
the firm, eating with rueful complaisance mouthful after mouthful
of singed wool, and pronouncing it excellent, in a tone in
which disgust almost overpowered civility.

  When the cloth was removed, Mr. Jarvie compounded with
his own hands a very small bowl of brandy-punch, the first
which I had ever the fortune to see.

  ``The limes,'' he assured us, ``were from his own little farm
yonder-awa'' (indicating the West Indies with a knowing shrug
of his shoulders), ``and he had learned the art of composing the
liquor from auld Captain Coffinkey, who acquired it,'' he added
in a whisper, ```as maist folk thought, among the Buccaniers.
But it's excellent liquor,'' said he, helping us round; ``and good
ware has aften come frae a wicked market. And as for Captain
Coffinkey, he was a decent man when I kent him, only he used
to swear awfully---But he's dead, and gaen to his account, and
I trust he's accepted---I trust he's accepted.''

  We found the liquor exceedingly palatable, and it led to a
long conversation between Owen and our host on the opening
which the Union had afforded to trade between Glasgow and
the British Colonies in America and the West Indies, and on
the facilities which Glasgow possessed of making up sortable
cargoes for that market. Mr. Jarvie answered some objection
which Owen made on the difficulty of sorting a cargo for
America, without buying from England, with vehemence and
volubility.

  ``Na, na, sir, we stand on our ain bottom---we pickle in our
ain pock-neuk---We hae our Stirling serges, Musselburgh stuffs,
Aberdeen hose, Edinburgh shalloons, and the like, for our
woollen or worsted goods---and we hae linens of a' kinds better
and cheaper than you hae in Lunnon itsell---and we can buy
your north o' England wares, as Manchester wares, Sheffield
wares, and Newcastle earthenware, as cheap as you can at
Liverpool---And we are making a fair spell at cottons and
muslins---Na, na! let every herring hing by its ain head, and
every sheep by its ain shank, and ye'll find, sir, us Glasgow
folk no sae far ahint but what we may follow.---This is but poor
entertainment for you, Mr. Osbaldistone'' (observing that I had
been for some time silent); ``but ye ken cadgers maun aye be
speaking about cart-saddles.''

  I apologised, alleging the painful circumstances of my own
situation, and the singular adventures of the morning, as the
causes of my abstraction and absence of mind. In this manner
I gained what I sought---an opportunity of telling my story
distinctly and without interruption. I only omitted mentioning
the wound I had received, which I did not think worthy
of notice. Mr. Jarvie listened with great attention and apparent
interest, twinkling his little grey eyes, taking snuff, and
only interrupting me by brief interjections. When I came to
the account of the rencounter, at which Owen folded his hands
and cast up his eyes to Heaven, the very image of woeful surprise,
Mr. Jarvie broke in upon the narration with ``Wrang
now---clean wrang---to draw a sword on your kinsman is
inhibited by the laws o' God and man; and to draw a sword
on the streets of a royal burgh is punishable by fine and imprisonment---
and the College-yards are nae better privileged---
they should be a place of peace and quietness, I trow. The
College didna get gude <L>600 a year out o' bishops' rents (sorrow
fa' the brood o' bishops and their rents too!), nor yet a lease
o' the archbishopric o' Glasgow the sell o't, that they suld let
folk tuilzie in their yards, or the wild callants bicker there wi'
snaw-ba's as they whiles do, that when Mattie and I gae through,
we are fain to make a baik and a bow, or run the risk o' our
harns being knocked out---it suld be looked to.<*>---But come awa'

* The boys in Scotland used formerly to make a sort of Saturnalia in a
* snow-storm, by pelting passengers with snowballs. But those exposed to
* that annoyance were excused from it on the easy penalty of a baik (courtesy)
* from a female, or a bow from a man. It was only the refractory who
* underwent the storm.

wi' your tale---what fell neist?''

  On my mentioning the appearance of Mr. Campbell, Jarvie
arose in great surprise, and paced the room, exclaiming, ``Robin
again!---Robert's mad---clean wud, and waur---Rob will be
hanged, and disgrace a' his kindred, and that will be seen and
heard tell o'. My father the deacon wrought him his first hose---
Od, I am thinking Deacon Threeplie, the rape-spinner, will be
twisting his last cravat. Ay, ay, puir Robin is in a fair way o'
being hanged---But come awa', come awa'---let's hear the lave
o't.''

  I told the whole story as pointedly as I could; but Mr.
Jarvie still found something lacking to make it clear, until I
went back, though with considerable reluctance, on the whole
story of Morris, and of my meeting with Campbell at the house
of Justice Inglewood. Mr. Jarvie inclined a serious ear to all
this, and remained silent for some time after I had finished my
narrative.

  ``Upon all these matters I am now to ask your advice, Mr.
Jarvie, which, I have no doubt, will point out the best way to
act for my father's advantage and my own honour.''

  ``Ye're right, young man---ye're right,'' said the Bailie.
``Aye take the counsel of those who are aulder and wiser than
yourself, and binna like the godless Rehoboam, who took the
advice o' a wheen beardless callants, neglecting the auld counsellors
who had sate at the feet o' his father Solomon, and, as
it was weel put by Mr. Meiklejohn, in his lecture on the chapter,
were doubtless partakers of his sapience. But I maun hear
naething about honour---we ken naething here but about credit.
Honour is a homicide and a bloodspiller, that gangs about
making frays in the street; but Credit is a decent honest man,
that sits at hame and makes the pat play.''

  ``Assuredly, Mr. Jarvie,'' said our friend Owen, ``credit is
the sum total; and if we can but save that, at whatever
discount''------

  ``Ye are right, Mr. Owen---ye are right; ye speak weel and
wisely; and I trust bowls will row right, though they are a wee
ajee e'enow. But touching Robin, I am of opinion he will
befriend this young man if it is in his power. He has a gude
heart, puir Robin; and though I lost a matter o' twa hundred
punds wi' his former engagements, and haena muckle expectation
ever to see back my thousand punds Scots that he promises
me e'enow, yet I will never say but what Robin means fair by
men.''

  ``I am then to consider him,'' I replied, ``as an honest
man?''

  ``Umph!'' replied Jarvie, with a precautionary sort of cough
---``Ay, he has a kind o' Hieland honesty---he's honest after a
sort, as they say. My father the deacon used aye to laugh when
he tauld me how that by-word came up. Ane Captain Costlett
was cracking crouse about his loyalty to King Charles, and Clerk
Pettigrew (ye'll hae heard mony a tale about him) asked him
after what manner he served the king, when he was fighting
again him at Wor'ster in Cromwell's army; and Captain Costlett
was a ready body, and said that he served him _after a sort._ My
honest father used to laugh weel at that sport---and sae the by-word
came up.''

  ``But do you think,'' I said, ``that this man will be able to
serve me after a sort, or should I trust myself to this place of
rendezvous which he has given me?''

  ``Frankly and fairly, it's worth trying. Ye see yourself
there's some risk in your staying here. This bit body Morris
has gotten a custom-house place doun at Greenock---that's a
port on the Firth doun by here; and tho' a' the world kens
him to be but a twa-leggit creature, wi' a goose's head and a
hen's heart, that goes about on the quay plaguing folk about
permits, and cockits, and dockits, and a' that vexatious trade,
yet if he lodge an information---ou, nae doubt a man in magisterial
duty maun attend to it, and ye might come to be clapped
up between four wa's, whilk wad be ill-convenient to your father's
affairs.''

  ``True,'' I observed; ``yet what service am I likely to render
him by leaving Glasgow, which, it is probable, will be the principal
scene of Rashleigh's machinations, and committing myself
to the doubtful faith of a man of whom I know little but that
he fears justice, and has doubtless good reasons for doing so;
and that, for some secret, and probably dangerous purpose, he
is in close league and alliance with the very person who is like
to be the author of our ruin?''

  ``Ah, but ye judge Rob hardly,'' said the Bailie, ``ye judge
him hardly, puir chield; and the truth is, that ye ken naething
about our hill country, or Hielands, as we ca' them. They are
clean anither set frae the like o' huz;---there's nae bailie-courts
amang them---nae magistrates that dinna bear the sword in vain,
like the worthy deacon that's awa', and, I may say't, like mysell
and other present magistrates in this city---But it's just the laird's
command, and the loon maun loup; and the never another law
hae they but the length o' their dirks---the broadsword's pursuer,
or plaintiff, as you Englishers ca' it, and the target is defender;
the stoutest head bears langest out;---and there's a Hieland plea
for ye.''

  Owen groaned deeply; and I allow that the description did
not greatly increase my desire to trust myself in a country so
lawless as he described these Scottish mountains.

  ``Now, sir,'' said Jarvie, ``we speak little o' thae things,
because they are familiar to oursells; and where's the use o'
vilifying ane's country, and bringing a discredit on ane's kin,
before southrons and strangers? It's an ill bird that files its
ain nest.''

  ``Well, sir, but as it is no impertinent curiosity of mine, but
real necessity, that obliges me to make these inquiries, I hope
you will not be offended at my pressing for a little farther
information. I have to deal, on my father's account, with
several gentlemen of these wild countries, and I must trust
your good sense and experience for the requisite lights upon the
subject.''

  This little morsel of flattery was not thrown out in vain.
``Experience!'' said the Bailie---``I hae had experience, nae
doubt, and I hae made some calculations---Ay, and to speak
quietly amang oursells, I hae made some perquisitions through
Andrew Wylie, my auld clerk; he's wi' MacVittie & Co. now---
but he whiles drinks a gill on the Saturday afternoons wi' his
auld master. And since ye say ye are willing to be guided by
the Glasgow weaver-body's advice, I am no the man that will
refuse it to the son of an auld correspondent, and my father the
deacon was nane sic afore me. I have whiles thought o' letting
my lights burn before the Duke of Argyle, or his brother Lord
Ilay (for wherefore should they be hidden under a bushel?),
but the like o' thae grit men wadna mind the like o' me, a puir
wabster body---they think mair o' wha says a thing, than o'
what the thing is that's said. The mair's the pity---mair's the
pity. Not that I wad speak ony ill of this MacCallum More---
`Curse not the rich in your bedchamber,' saith the son of Sirach,
`for a bird of the air shall carry the clatter, and pint-stoups hae
lang lugs.' ''

  I interrupted these prolegomena, in which Mr. Jarvie was apt
to be somewhat diffuse, by praying him to rely upon Mr. Owen
and myself as perfectly secret and safe confidants.

  ``It's no for that,'' he replied, ``for I fear nae man---what
for suld I?---I speak nae treason---Only thae Hielandmen hae
lang grips, and I whiles gang a wee bit up the glens to see
some auld kinsfolks, and I wadna willingly be in bad blude wi'
ony o' their clans. Howsumever, to proceed---ye maun understand
I found my remarks on figures, whilk as Mr. Owen here
weel kens, is the only true demonstrable root of human knowledge.''

  Owen readily assented to a proposition so much in his own
way, and our orator proceeded.

  ``These Hielands of ours, as we ca' them, gentlemen, are but
a wild kind of warld by themsells, full of heights and howes,
woods, caverns, lochs, rivers, and mountains, that it wad tire
the very deevil's wings to flee to the tap o' them. And in this
country, and in the isles, whilk are little better, or, to speak
the truth, rather waur than the mainland, there are about twa
hunder and thirty parochines, including the Orkneys, where,
whether they speak Gaelic or no I wotna, but they are an
uncivilised people. Now, sirs, I sall haud ilk parochine at the
moderate estimate of eight hunder examinable persons, deducting
children under nine years of age, and then adding one-fifth
to stand for bairns of nine years auld, and under, the whole
population will reach to the sum of---let us add one-fifth to 800
to be the multiplier, and 230 being the multiplicand''------

  ``The product,'' said Mr. Owen, who entered delightedly into
these statistics of Mr. Jarvie, ``will be 230,000.''

  ``Right, sir---perfectly right; and the military array of this
Hieland country, were a' the men-folk between aughteen and
fifty-six brought out that could bear arms, couldna come weel
short of fifty-seven thousand five hundred men. Now, sir, it's
a sad and awfu' truth, that there is neither wark, nor the very
fashion nor appearance of wark, for the tae half of thae puir
creatures; that is to say, that the agriculture, the pasturage,
the fisheries, and every species of honest industry about the
country, cannot employ the one moiety of the population, let
them work as lazily as they like, and they do work as if a
pleugh or a spade burnt their fingers. Aweel, sir, this moiety
of unemployed bodies, amounting to''------

  ``To one hundred and fifteen thousand souls,'' said Owen,
``being the half of the above product.''

  ``Ye hae't, Mr. Owen---ye hae't---whereof there may be
twenty-eight thousand seven hundred able-bodied gillies fit to
bear arms, and that do bear arms, and will touch or look at nae
honest means of livelihood even if they could get it---which,
lack-a-day! they cannot.''

  ``But is it possible,'' said I, ``Mr. Jarvie, that this can be a
just picture of so large a portion of the island of Britain?''

  ``Sir, I'll make it as plain as Peter Pasley's pike-staff. I will
allow that ilk parochine, on an average, employs fifty pleughs,
whilk is a great proportion in sic miserable soil as thae creatures
hae to labour, and that there may be pasture enough for pleugh-horses,
and owsen, and forty or fifty cows; now, to take care o'
the pleughs and cattle, we'se allow seventy-five families of six
lives in ilk family, and we'se add fifty mair to make even
numbers, and ye hae five hundred souls, the tae half o' the
population, employed and maintained in a sort o' fashion, wi'
some chance of sour-milk and crowdie; but I wad be glad to
ken what the other five hunder are to do?''

  ``In the name of God!'' said I, ``what _do_ they do, Mr. Jarvie?
It makes me shudder to think of their situation.''

  ``Sir,'' replied the Bailie, ``ye wad maybe shudder mair if ye
were living near hand them. For, admitting that the tae half
of them may make some little thing for themsells honestly in
the Lowlands by shearing in harst, droving, hay-making, and
the like; ye hae still mony hundreds and thousands o' lang-legged
Hieland gillies that will neither work nor want, and
maun gang thigging and sorning<*> about on their acquaintance,

* _Thigging_ and _sorning_ was a kind of genteel begging, or rather something
* between begging and robbing, by which the needy in Scotland used
* to extort cattle, or the means of subsistence, from those who had any to
* give.

or live by doing the laird's bidding, be't right or be't wrang.
And mair especially, mony hundreds o' them come down to the
borders of the low country, where there's gear to grip, and live
by stealing, reiving, lifting cows, and the like depredations---a
thing deplorable in ony Christian country!---the mair especially,
that they take pride in it, and reckon driving a spreagh (whilk
is, in plain Scotch, stealing a herd of nowte) a gallant, manly
action, and mair befitting of pretty<*> men (as sic reivers will

* The word _pretty_ is or was used in Scotch, in the sense of the German
* _pr<a:>chtig,_ and meant a gallant, alert fellow, prompt and ready at his
* weapons.

ca' themselves), than to win a day's wage by ony honest thrift.
And the lairds are as bad as the loons; for if they dinna bid
them gae reive and harry, the deil a bit they forbid them; and
they shelter them, or let them shelter themselves, in their
woods and mountains, and strongholds, whenever the thing's
dune. And every ane o' them will maintain as mony o' his
ane name, or his clan, as we say, as he can rap and rend means
for; or, whilk's the same thing, as mony as can in ony fashion,
fair or foul, mainteen themsells. And there they are wi' gun
and pistol, dirk and dourlach, ready to disturb the peace o' the
country whenever the laird likes; and that's the grievance of
the Hielands, whilk are, and hae been for this thousand years
by-past, a bike o' the maist lawless unchristian limmers that
ever disturbed a douce, quiet, God-fearing neighbourhood, like
this o' ours in the west here.''

  ``And this kinsman of yours, and friend of mine, is he one of
those great proprietors who maintain the household troops you
speak of?'' I inquired.

  ``Na, na,'' said Bailie Jarvie; ``he's nane o' your great
grandees o' chiefs, as they ca' them, neither. Though he is
weel born, and lineally descended frae auld Glenstrae---I ken
his lineage---indeed he is a near kinsman, and, as I said, of gude
gentle Hieland blude, though ye may think weel that I care
little about that nonsense---it's a' moonshine in water---waste
threads and thrums, as we say---But I could show ye letters
frae his father, that was the third aff Glenstrae, to my father
Deacon Jarvie (peace be wi' his memory!) beginning, Dear
Deacon, and ending, your loving kinsman to command,---they
are amaist a' about borrowed siller, sae the gude deacon, that's
dead and gane, keepit them as documents and evidents---He was
a carefu' man.''

  ``But if he is not,'' I resumed, ``one of their chiefs or
patriarchal leaders, whom I have heard my father talk of, this
kinsman of yours has, at least, much to say in the Highlands, I
presume?''

  ``Ye may say that---nae name better ken'd between the
Lennox and Breadalbane. Robin was ance a weel-doing, painstaking
drover, as ye wad see amang ten thousand---It was a
pleasure to see him in his belted plaid and brogues, wi' his
target at his back, and claymore and dirk at his belt, following
a hundred Highland stots, and a dozen o' the gillies, as rough
and ragged as the beasts they drave. And he was baith civil
and just in his dealings; and if he thought his chapman had
made a hard bargain, he wad gie him a luck-penny to the
mends. I hae ken'd him gie back five shillings out o' the pund
sterling.''

  ``Twenty-five per cent,'' said Owen---``a heavy discount.''

  ``He wad gie it though, sir, as I tell ye; mair especially if
he thought the buyer was a puir man, and couldna stand by a
loss. But the times cam hard, and Rob was venturesome. It
wasna my faut---it wasna my faut; he canna wyte me---I aye
tauld him o't---And the creditors, mair especially some grit
neighbours o' his, gripped to his living and land; and they say
his wife was turned out o' the house to the hill-side, and sair
misguided to the boot. Shamefu'! shamefu'!---I am a peacefu'
man and a magistrate, but if ony ane had guided sae muckle
as my servant quean, Mattie, as it's like they guided Rob's wife,
I think it suld hae set the shabble<*> that my father the deacon

* Cutlass.

had at Bothwell brig a-walking again. Weel, Rob cam hame,
and fand desolation, God pity us! where he left plenty; he
looked east, west, south, north, and saw neither hauld nor hope
---neither beild nor shelter; sae he e'en pu'd the bonnet ower
his brow, belted the broadsword to his side, took to the brae-side,
and became a broken man.''<*>

* An outlaw.


  The voice of the good citizen was broken by his contending
feelings. He obviously, while he professed to contemn the
pedigree of his Highland kinsman, attached a secret feeling of
consequence to the connection, and he spoke of his friend in his
prosperity with an overflow of affection, which deepened his
sympathy for his misfortunes, and his regret for their consequences.

  ``Thus tempted and urged by despair,'' said I, seeing Mr.
Jarvie did not proceed in his narrative, ``I suppose your kinsman
became one of those depredators you have described to
us?''

  ``No sae bad as that,'' said the Glaswegian,---``no a'thegither
and outright sae bad as that; but he became a levier of black-mail,
wider and farther than ever it was raised in our day, a
through the Lennox and Menteith, and up to the gates o'
Stirling Castle.''

  ``Black-mail?---I do not understand the phrase,'' I remarked.

  ``Ou, ye see, Rob soon gathered an unco band o' blue-bonnets
at his back, for he comes o' a rough name when he's kent by
his ain, and a name that's held its ain for mony a lang year,
baith again king and parliament, and kirk too, for aught I ken
---an auld and honourable name, for as sair as it has been
worried and hadden down and oppressed. My mother was a
MacGregor---I carena wha kens it---And Rob had soon a gallant
band; and as it grieved him (he said) to see sic _hership_ and
waste and depredation to the south o' the Hieland line, why,
if ony heritor or farmer wad pay him four punds Scots out of
each hundred punds of valued rent, whilk was doubtless a
moderate consideration, Rob engaged to keep them scaithless;
---let them send to him if they lost sae muckle as a single cloot
by thieving, and Rob engaged to get them again, or pay the
value---and he aye keepit his word---I canna deny but he keepit
his word---a' men allow Rob keeps his word.''

  ``This is a very singular contract of assurance,'' said Mr.
Owen.

  ``It's clean again our statute law, that must be owned,'' said
Jarvie, ``clean again law; the levying and the paying black-mail
are baith punishable: but if the law canna protect my
barn and byre, whatfor suld I no engage wi' a Hieland gentleman
that can?---answer me that.''

  ``But,'' said I, ``Mr. Jarvie, is this contract of black-mail,
as you call it, completely voluntary on the part of the landlord
or farmer who pays the insurance? or what usually happens,
in case any one refuses payment of this tribute?''

  ``Aha, lad!'' said the Bailie, laughing, and putting his finger
to his nose, ``ye think ye hae me there. Troth, I wad advise
ony friends o' mine to gree wi' Rob; for, watch as they like,
and do what they like, they are sair apt to be harried<*> when

* Plundered.

the lang nights come on. Some o' the Grahame and Cohoon
gentry stood out; but what then?---they lost their haill stock
the first winter; sae maist folks now think it best to come into
Rob's terms. He's easy wi' a' body that will be easy wi' him;
but if ye thraw him, ye had better thraw the deevil.''

  ``And by his exploits in these vocations,'' I continued, ``I
suppose he has rendered himself amenable to the laws of the
country?''

  ``Amenable?---ye may say that; his craig wad ken the weight
o' his hurdies if they could get haud o' Rob. But he has gude
friends amang the grit folks; and I could tell ye o' ae grit family
that keeps him up as far as they decently can, to be a them
in the side of another. And then he's sic an auld-farran lang-headed
chield as never took up the trade o' cateran in our time;
mony a daft reik he has played---mair than wad fill a book,
and a queer ane it wad be---as gude as Robin Hood, or William
Wallace---a' fu' o' venturesome deeds and escapes, sic as folk
tell ower at a winter ingle in the daft days. It's a queer thing
o' me, gentlemen, that am a man o' peace mysell, and a peacefu
man's son---for the deacon my father quarrelled wi' nane out o
the town-council---it's a queer thing, I say, but I think the
Hieland blude o' me warms at thae daft tales, and whiles I like
better to hear them than a word o' profit, gude forgie me!
But they are vanities---sinfu' vanities---and, moreover, again
the statute law---again the statute and gospel law.''

  I now followed up my investigation, by inquiring what means
of influence this Mr. Robert Campbell could possibly possess
over my affairs, or those of my father.

  ``Why, ye are to understand,'' said Mr. Jarvie in a very subdued
tone---``I speak amang friends, and under the rose---Ye
are to understand, that the Hielands hae been keepit quiet since
the year aughty-nine---that was Killiecrankie year. But how
hae they been keepit quiet, think ye? By siller, Mr. Owen---
by siller, Mr. Osbaldistone. King William caused Breadalbane
distribute twenty thousand oude punds sterling amang them,
and it's said the auld Hieland Earl keepit a lang lug o't in his
ain sporran. And then Queen Anne, that's dead, gae the
chiefs bits o' pensions, sae they had wherewith to support their
gillies and caterans that work nae wark, as I said afore; and
they lay by quiet eneugh, saying some spreagherie on the Lowlands,
whilk is their use and wont, and some cutting o' thrapples
amang themsells, that nae civilised body kens or cares onything
anent.---Weel, but there's a new warld come up wi' this King
George (I say, God bless him, for ane)---there's neither like to
be siller nor pensions gaun amang them; they haena the means
o' mainteening the clans that eat them up, as ye may guess
frae what I said before; their credit's gane in the Lowlands;
and a man that can whistle ye up a thousand or feifteen hundred
linking lads to do his will, wad hardly get fifty punds on
his band at the Cross o' Glasgow---This canna stand lang---
there will be an outbreak for the Stuarts---there will be an outbreak---
they will come down on the low country like a flood, as
they did in the waefu' wars o' Montrose, and that will be seen
and heard tell o' ere a twalmonth gangs round.''

  ``Yet still,'' I said, ``I do not see how this concerns Mr.
Campbell, much less my father's affairs.''

  ``Rob can levy five hundred men, sir, and therefore war suld
concern him as muckle as maist folk,'' replied the Bailie; ``for
it is a faculty that is far less profitable in time o' peace. Then,
to tell ye the truth, I doubt he has been the prime agent between
some o' our Hieland chiefs and the gentlemen in the
north o' England. We a' heard o' the public money that was
taen frae the chield Morris somewhere about the fit o' Cheviot
by Rob and ane o' the Osbaldistone lads; and, to tell ye the
truth, word gaed that it was yoursell Mr. Francis,---and sorry
was I that your father's son suld hae taen to sic practices---Na,
ye needna say a word about it---I see weel I was mistaen; but
I wad believe onything o' a stage-player, whilk I concluded ye
to be. But now, I doubtna, it has been Rashleigh himself or
some other o' your cousins---they are a' tarred wi' the same stick
---rank Jacobites and papists, and wad think the government
siller and government papers lawfu' prize. And the creature
Morris is sic a cowardly caitiff, that to this hour he daurna say
that it was Rob took the portmanteau aff him; and troth he's
right, for your custom-house and excise cattle are ill liket on a'
sides, and Rob might get a back-handed lick at him, before the
Board, as they ca't, could help him.''

  ``I have long suspected this, Mr. Jarvie,'' said I, ``and perfectly
agree with you. But as to my father's affairs''------

  ``Suspected it?---it's certain---it's certain---I ken them that
saw some of the papers that were taen aff Morris---it's needless
to say where. But to your father's affairs---Ye maun think
that in thae twenty years by-gane, some o' the Hieland lairds
and chiefs hae come to some sma' sense o' their ain interest---
your father and others hae bought the woods of Glen-Disseries,
Glen Kissoch, Tober-na-Kippoch, and mony mair besides, and
your father's house has granted large bills in payment,---and as
the credit o' Osbaldistone and Tresham was gude---for I'll say
before Mr. Owen's face, as I wad behind his back, that, bating
misfortunes o' the Lord's sending, nae men could be mair
honourable in business---the Hieland gentlemen, holders o'
thae bills, hae found credit in Glasgow and Edinburgh---(I
might amaist say in Glasgow wholly, for it's little the pridefu'
Edinburgh folk do in real business)---for all, or the greater part
of the contents o' thae bills. So that---Aha! d'ye see me
now?''

  I confessed I could not quite follow his drift.

  ``Why,'' said he, ``if these bills are not paid, the Glasgow
merchant comes on the Hieland lairds, whae hae deil a boddle
o' siller, and will like ill to spew up what is item a' spent---
They will turn desperate---five hundred will rise that might
hae sitten at hame---the deil will gae ower Jock Wabster---and
the stopping of your father's house will hasten the outbreak
that's been sae lang biding us.''

  ``You think, then,'' said I, surprised at this singular view of
the case, ``that Rashleigh Osbaldistone has done this injury to
my father, merely to accelerate a rising in the Highlands, by
distressing  the gentlemen to whom these bills were originally
granted?''

  ``Doubtless---doubtless---it has been one main reason, Mr.
Osbaldistone. I doubtna but what the ready money he carried
off wi' him might be another. But that makes comparatively
but a sma' part o' your father's loss, though it might make the
maist part o' Rashleigh's direct gain. The assets he carried off
are of nae mair use to him than if he were to light his pipe wi'
them. He tried if MacVittie & Co. wad gie him siller on
them---that I ken by Andro Wylie---but they were ower auld
cats to draw that strae afore them---they keepit aff, and gae
fair words. Rashleigh Osbaldistone is better ken'd than trusted
in Glasgow, for he was here about some jacobitical papistical
troking in seventeen hundred and seven, and left debt ahint
him. Na, na---he canna pit aff the paper here; folk will misdoubt
him how he came by it. Na, na---he'll hae the stuff safe
at some o' their haulds in the Hielands, and I daur say my
cousin Rob could get at it gin he liked.''

  ``But would he be disposed to serve us in this pinch, Mr.
Jarvie?'' said I. ``You have described him as an agent of the
Jacobite party, and deeply connected in their intrigues: will
he be disposed for my sake, or, if you please, for the sake of
justice, to make an act of restitution, which, supposing it in his
power, would, according to your view of the case, materially
interfere with their plans?''

  ``I canna preceesely speak to that: the grandees among
them are doubtfu' o' Rob, and he's doubtfu' o' them.---And he's
been weel friended wi' the Argyle family, wha stand for the
present model of government. If he was freed o' his hornings
and captions, he would rather be on Argyle's side than he wad
be on Breadalbane's, for there's auld ill-will between the
Breadalbane family and his kin and name. The truth is, that
Rob is for his ain hand, as Henry Wynd feught<*>---he'll take

* Two great clans fought out a quarrel with thirty men of a side, in
* presence ot the king, on the North Inch of Perth, on or about the year
* 1392; a man was amissing on one side, whose room was filled by a little
* bandy-legged citizen of Perth. This substitute, Henry Wynd---or, as the
* Highlanders called him, _Gow Chrom,_ that is, the bandy-legged smith---
* fought well, and contributed greatly to the fate of the battle, without
* knowing which side he fought on;---so, ``To fight for your own hand, like
* Henry Wynd,'' passed into a proverb. [This incident forms a conspicuous
* part of the subsequent novel, ``The Fair Maid of Perth.'']

the side that suits him best; if the deil was laird, Rob wad be
for being tenant; and ye canna blame him, puir fallow, considering
his circumstances. But there's ae thing sair again ye---
Rob has a grey mear in his stable at hame.''
 
  ``A grey mare?'' said I. ``What is that to the purpose?''

  ``The wife, man---the wife,---an awfu' wife she is. She
downa bide the sight o' a kindly Scot, if he come frae the Lowlands,
far less of an Inglisher, and she'll be keen for a' that can
set up King James, and ding down King George.''

  ``It is very singular,'' I replied, ``that the mercantile transactions
of London citizens should become involved with revolutions
and rebellions.''

  ``Not at a', man---not at a','' returned Mr. Jarvie; ``that's a'
your silly prejudications. I read whiles in the lang dark nights,
and I hae read in Baker's Chronicle<*> that the merchants o'

* [_The Chronicle of the Kings of England,_ by Sir Richard Baker, with
* continuations, passed through several editions between 1641 and 1733.  
* Whether any of them contain the passage alluded to is doubtful.]

London could gar the Bank of Genoa break their promise to
advance a mighty sum to the King o' Spain, whereby the sailing
of the Grand Spanish Armada was put aff for a haill year
---What think you of that, sir?''

  ``That the merchants did their country golden service, which
ought to be honourably remembered in our histories.''

  ``I think sae too; and they wad do weel, and deserve weal
baith o' the state and o' humanity, that wad save three or four
honest Hieland gentlemen frae louping heads ower heels into
destruction, wi' a' their puir sackless<*> followers, just because

* Sackless, that is, innocent.

they canna pay back the siller they had reason to count upon
as their ain---and save your father's credit---and my ain gude
siller that Osbaldistone and Tresham awes me into the bargain.
I say, if ane could manage a' this, I think it suld be done and
said unto him, even if he were a puir ca'-the-shuttle body, as
unto one whom the king delighteth to honour.''

  ``I cannot pretend to estimate the extent of public gratitude,''
I replied; ``but our own thankfulness, Mr. Jarvie,
would be commensurate with the extent of the obligation.''

  ``Which,'' added Mr. Owen, ``we would endeavour to balance
with a _per contra,_ the instant our Mr. Osbaldistone returns
from Holland.''

  ``I doubtna---I doubtna---he is a very worthy gentleman,
and a sponsible, and wi' some o' my lights might do muckle
business in Scotland---Weel, sir, if these assets could be redeemed
out o' the hands o' the Philistines, they are gude paper
---they are the right stuff when they are in the right hands,
and that's yours, Mr. Owen. And I'se find ye three men in
Glasgow, for as little as ye may think o' us, Mr. Owen---that's
Sandie Steenson in the Trade's-Land, and John Pirie in
Candleriggs, and another that sall be nameless at this present,
sall advance what soums are sufficient to secure the credit of
your house, and seek nae better security.''

  Owen's eyes sparkled at this prospect of extrication; but his
countenance instantly fell on recollecting how improbable it
was that the recovery of the assets, as he technically called them,
should be successfully achieved.

  ``Dinna despair, sir---dinna despair,'' said Mr. Jarvie; ``I
hae taen sae muckle concern wi' your affairs already, that it
maun een be ower shoon ower boots wi' me now. I am just
like my father the deacon (praise be wi' him!) I canna meddle
wi' a friend's business, but I aye end wi' making it my ain---Sae,
I'll e'en pit on my boots the morn, and be jogging ower Drymen
Muir wi' Mr. Frank here; and if I canna mak Rob hear
reason, and his wife too, I dinna ken wha can---I hae been a
kind freend to them afore now, to say naething o' ower-looking
him last night, when naming his name wad hae cost him his life
---I'll be hearing o' this in the council maybe frae Bailie Grahame.
and MacVittie, and some o' them. They hae coost up my
kindred to Rob to me already---set up their nashgabs! I tauld
them I wad vindicate nae man's faults; but set apart what he
had done again the law o' the country, and the hership o' the
Lennox, and the misfortune o' some folk losing life by him, he
was an honester man than stood on ony o' their shanks---And
whatfor suld I mind their clavers? If Rob is an outlaw, to
himsell be it said---there is nae laws now about reset of inter-communed
persons, as there was in the ill times o' the last
Stuarts---I trow I hae a Scotch tongue in my head---if they
speak, I'se answer.''

  It was with great pleasure that I saw the Bailie gradually
surmount the barriers of caution, under the united influence of
public spirit and good-natured interest in our affairs, together
with his natural wish to avoid loss and acquire gain, and not a
little harmless vanity. Through the combined operation of
these motives, he at length arrived at the doughty resolution of
taking the field in person, to aid in the recovery of my father's
property. His whole information led me to believe, that if the
papers were in possession of this Highland adventurer, it might
be possible to induce him to surrender what he could not keep
with any prospect of personal advantage; and I was conscious
that the presence of his kinsman was likely to have considerable
weight with him. I therefore cheerfully acquiesced in
Mr. Jarvie's proposal that we should set out early next morning.

  That honest gentleman was indeed as vivacious and alert in
preparing to carry his purpose into execution, as he had been
slow and cautious in forming it. He roared to Mattie to ``air
his trot-cosey, to have his jack-boots greased and set before the
kitchen-fire all night, and to see that his beast be corned, and a'
his riding gear in order.'' Having agreed to meet him at five
o'clock next morning, and having settled that Owen, whose
presence could be of no use to us upon this expedition, should
await our return at Glasgow, we took a kind farewell of this
unexpectedly zealous friend. I installed Owen in an apartment
in my lodgings, contiguous to my own, and, giving orders to
Andrew Fairservice to attend me next morning at the hour appointed,
I retired to rest with better hopes than it had lately
been my fortune to entertain.



		CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVENTH.

	Far as the eye could reach no tree was seen,
	Earth, clad in russet, scorned the lively green;
	No birds, except as birds of passage flew;
	No bee was heard to hum, no dove to coo;
	No streams, as amber smooth-as amber clear,
	Were seen to glide, or heard to warble here.
					Prophecy of Famine.

  It was in the bracing atmosphere of a harvest morning, that I
met by appointment Fairservice, with the horses, at the door of
Mr. Jarvie's house, which was but little space distant from Mrs.
Flyter's hotel. The first matter which caught my attention
was, that whatever were the deficiencies of the pony which Mr.
Fairservice's legal adviser, Clerk Touthope, generously bestowed
upon him in exchange for Thorncliff's mare, he had contrived to
part with it, and procure in its stead an animal with so curious
and complete a lameness, that it seemed only to make use of
three legs for the purpose of progression, while the fourth appeared
as if meant to be flourished in the air by way of accompaniment.
``What do you mean by bringing such a creature as
that here, sir? and where is the pony you rode to Glasgow
upon?'' were my very natural and impatient inquiries.

  ``I sell't it, sir. It was a slink beast, and wad hae eaten its
head aff, standing at Luckie Flyter's at livery. And I hae
bought this on your honour's account. It's a grand bargain---
cost but a pund sterling the foot---that's four a'thegither. The
stringhalt will gae aff when it's gaen a mile; it's a weel-ken'd
ganger; they call it Souple Tam.''

  ``On my soul, sir,'' said I, ``you will never rest till my supple-jack
and your shoulders become acquainted, If you do not go
instantly and procure the other brute, you shall pay the penalty
of your ingenuity.''

  Andrew, notwithstanding my threats, continued to battle the
point, as he said it would cost him a guinea of rue-bargain to
the man who had bought his pony, before he could get it back
again. Like a true Englishman, though sensible I was duped
by the rascal, I was about to pay his exaction rather than lose
time, when forth sallied Mr. Jarvie, cloaked, mantled, hooded,
and booted, as if for a Siberian winter, while two apprentices,
under the immediate direction of Mattie, led forth the decent
ambling steed which had the honour on such occasions to
support the person of the Glasgow magistrate. Ere he ``clombe
to the saddle,'' an expression more descriptive of the Bailie's
mode of mounting than that of the knights-errant to whom
Spenser applies it, he inquired the cause of the dispute betwixt
my servant and me. Having learned the nature of honest
Andrew's man<oe>uvre he instantly cut short all debate, by pronouncing,
that if Fairservice did not forthwith return the three-legged
palfrey, and produce the more useful quadruped which he
had discarded, he would send him to prison, and amerce him in
half his wages. ``Mr. Osbaldistone,'' said he, ``contracted for
the service of both your horse and you---twa brutes at ance---ye
unconscionable rascal!---but I'se look weel after you during this
journey.''

  ``It will be nonsense fining me,'' said Andrew, doughtily,
``that hasna a grey groat to pay a fine wi'---it's ill taking the
breeks aff a Hielandman.''

  ``If ye hae nae purse to fine, ye hae flesh to pine,'' replied the
Bailie, ``and I will look weel to ye getting your deserts the tae
way or the tither.''

  To the commands of Mr. Jarvie, therefore, Andrew was compelled
to submit, only muttering between his teeth, ``Ower
mony maisters,---ower mony maisters, as the paddock said to
the harrow, when every tooth gae her a tig.''

  Apparently he found no difficulty in getting rid of Supple
Tam, and recovering possession of his former Bucephalus, for
he accomplished the exchange without being many minutes
absent; nor did I hear further of his having paid any smart-money
for breach of bargain.

  We now set forward, but had not reached the top of the
street in which Mr. Jarvie dwelt, when a loud hallooing and
breathless call of ``Stop, stop!'' was heard behind us. We
stopped accordingly, and were overtaken by Mr. Jarvie's two
lads, who bore two parting tokens of Mattie's care for her master.
The first was conveyed in the form of a voluminous silk handkerchief,
like the mainsail of one of his own West-Indiamen,
which Mrs. Mattie particularly desired he would put about his
neck, and which, thus entreated, he added to his other integuments.
The second youngster brought only a verbal charge (I
thought I saw the rogue disposed to laugh as he delivered it)
on the part of the housekeeper, that her master would take care
of the waters. ``Pooh! pooh! silly hussy,'' answered Mr.
Jarvie; but added, turning to me, ``it shows a kind heart
though---it shows a kind heart in sae young a quean---Mattie's
a carefu' lass.'' So speaking, he pricked the sides of his palfrey,
and we left the town without farther interruption.

  While we paced easily forward, by a road which conducted
us north-eastward from the town, I had an opportunity to
estimate and admire the good qualities of my new friend.
Although, like my father, he considered commercial transactions
the most important objects of human life, he was not wedded
to them so as to undervalue more general knowledge. On the
contrary, with much oddity and vulgarity of manner,---with a
vanity which he made much more ridiculous by disguising it now
and then under a thin veil of humility, and devoid as he was of
all the advantages of a learned education, Mr. Jarvie's conversation
showed tokens of a shrewd, observing, liberal, and, to the
extent of its opportunities, a well-improved mind. He was a
good local antiquary, and entertained me, as we passed along, with
an account of remarkable events which had formerly taken place
in the scenes through which we passed. And as he was well
acquainted with the ancient history of his district, he saw with
the prospective eye of an enlightened patriot, the buds of many
of those future advantages which have only blossomed and ripened
within these few years. I remarked also, and with great pleasure,
that although a keen Scotchman, and abundantly zealous for the
honour of his country, he was disposed to think liberally of the
sister kingdom. When Andrew Fairservice (whom, by the way,
the Bailie could not abide) chose to impute the accident of one of
the horses casting his shoe to the deteriorating influence of the
Union, he incurred a severe rebuke from Mr. Jarvie.

  ``Whisht, sir!---whisht! it's ill-scraped tongues like yours, that
make mischief atween neighbourhoods and nations. There's naething
sae gude on this side o' time but it might hae been better,
and that may be said o' the Union. Nane were keener against
it than the Glasgow folk, wi' their rabblings and their risings,
and their mobs, as they ca' them now-a-days. But it's an ill wind
blaws naebody gude---Let ilka ane roose the ford as they find it
---I say let Glasgow flourish! whilk is judiciously and elegantly
putten round the town's arms, by way of by-word.---Now, since
St. Mungo catched herrings in the Clyde, what was ever like to
gar us flourish like the sugar and tobacco trade? Will onybody
tell me that, and grumble at the treaty that opened us a road
west-awa' yonder?''

  Andrew Fairservice was far from acquiescing in these arguments
of expedience, and even ventured to enter a grumbling
protest, ``That it was an unco change to hae Scotland's laws
made in England; and that, for his share, he wadna for a' the
herring-barrels in Glasgow, and a' the tobacco-casks to boot, hae
gien up the riding o' the Scots Parliament, or sent awa' our crown,
and our sword, and our sceptre, and Mons Meg,<*> to be keepit by

* Note G. Mons Meg.

thae English pock-puddings in the Tower o' Lunnon. What wad
Sir William Wallace, or auld Davie Lindsay, hae said to the
Union, or them that made it?''

  The road which we travelled, while diverting the way with
these discussions, had become wild and open, as soon as we had
left Glasgow a mile or two behind us, and was growing more
dreary as we advanced. Huge continuous heaths spread before,
behind, and around us, in hopeless barrenness---now level and
interspersed with swamps, green with treacherous verdure, or
sable with turf, or, as they call them in Scotland, peat-bogs,---
and now swelling into huge heavy ascents, which wanted the
dignity and form of hills, while they were still more toilsome to
the passenger. There were neither trees nor bushes to relieve
the eye from the russet livery of absolute sterility.  The very
heath was of that stinted imperfect kind which has little or no
flower, and affords the coarsest and meanest covering, which, as
far as my experience enables me to judge, mother Earth is ever
arrayed in. Living thing we saw none, except occasionally a
few straggling sheep of a strange diversity of colours, as black,
bluish, and orange. The sable hue predominated, however, in
their faces and legs. The very birds seemed to shun these
wastes, and no wonder, since they had an easy method of escaping
from them;---at least I only heard the monotonous and plaintive
cries of the lapwing and curlew, which my companions
denominated the peasweep and whaup.

  At dinner, however, which we took about noon, at a most
miserable alehouse, we had the good fortune to find that these
tiresome screamers of the morass were not the only inhabitants
of the moors. The goodwife told us, that ``the gudeman had
been at the hill;'' and well for us that he had been so, for we
enjoyed the produce of his _chasse_ in the shape of some broiled
moor-game,---a dish which gallantly eked out the ewe-milk
cheese, dried salmon, and oaten bread, being all besides that
the house afforded. Some very indifferent two-penny ale, and a
glass of excellent brandy, crowned our repast; and as our horses
had, in the meantime, discussed their corn, we resumed our
journey with renovated vigour.

  I had need of all the spirits a good dinner could give, to
resist the dejection which crept insensibly on my mind, when
I combined the strange uncertainty of my errand with the disconsolate
aspect of the country through which it was leading
me. Our road continued to be, if possible, more waste and
wild than that we had travelled in the forenoon. The few
miserable hovels that showed some marks of human habitation,
were now of still rarer occurrence; and at length, as we began
to ascend an uninterrupted swell of moorland, they totally disappeared.
The only exercise which my imagination received
was, when some particular turn of the road gave us a partial
view, to the left, of a large assemblage of dark-blue mountains
stretching to the north and north-west, which promised to
include within their recesses a country as wild perhaps, but
certainly differing greatly in point of interest, from that which
we now travelled. The peaks of this screen of mountains were
as wildly varied and distinguished, as the hills which we had
seen on the right were tame and lumpish; and while I gazed
on this Alpine region, I felt a longing to explore its recesses,
though accompanied with toil and danger, similar to that which
a sailor feels when he wishes for the risks and animation of a
battle or a gale, in exchange for the insupportable monotony
of a protracted calm. I made various inquiries of my friend
Mr. Jarvie respecting the names and positions of these remarkable
mountains; but it was a subject on which he had no
information, or did not choose to be communicative. ``They're
the Hieland hills---the Hieland hills---Ye'll see and hear eneugh
about them before ye see Glasgow Cross again---I downa look
at them---I never see them but they gar me grew. It's no for
fear---no for fear, but just for grief, for the puir blinded half-starved
creatures that inhabit them---but say nae mair about
it---it's ill speaking o' Hielandmen sae near the line. I hae
ken'd mony an honest man wadna hae ventured this length
without he had made his last will and testament---Mattie had
ill-will to see me set awa' on this ride, and grat awee, the sillie
tawpie; but it's nae mair ferlie to see a woman greet than to
see a goose gang barefit.''

  I next attempted to lead the discourse on the character and
history of the person whom we were going to visit; but on this
topic Mr. Jarvie was totally inaccessible, owing perhaps in part
to the attendance of Mr. Andrew Fairservice, who chose to keep
so close in our rear that his ears could not fail to catch every
word which was spoken, while his tongue assumed the freedom
of mingling in our conversation as often as he saw an opportunity.
For this he occasionally incurred Mr. Jarvie's reproof.

  ``Keep back, sir, as best sets ye,'' said the Bailie, as Andrew
pressed forward to catch the answer to some question I had
asked about Campbell.---``ye wad fain ride the fore-horse, an
ye wist how.---That chield's aye for being out o' the cheese-fat
he was moulded in.---Now, as for your questions, Mr. Osbaldistone,
now that chield's out of ear-shot, I'll just tell you it's
free to you to speer, and it's free to me to answer, or no---Gude
I canna say muckle o' Rob, puir chield; ill I winna say o' him,
for, forby that he's my cousin, we're coming near his ain country,
and there may be ane o' his gillies ahint every whin-bush, for
what I ken---And if ye'll be guided by my advice, the less ye
speak about him, or where we are gaun, or what we are gaun
to do, we'll be the mair likely to speed us in our errand. For
it's like we may fa' in wi' some o' his unfreends---there are e'en
ower mony o' them about---and his bonnet sits even on his brow
yet for a' that; but I doubt they'll be upsides wi' Rob at the last
---air day or late day, the fox's hide finds aye the flaying knife.''

  ``I will certainly,'' I replied, ``be entirely guided by your
experience.''

  ``Right, Mr. Osbaldistone---right. But I maun speak to this
gabbling skyte too, for bairns and fules speak at the Cross what
they hear at the ingle-side.---D'ye hear, you, Andrew---what's
your name?---Fairservice!''

  Andrew, who at the last rebuff had fallen a good way behind,
did not choose to acknowledge the summons.

  ``Andrew, ye scoundrel!'' repeated Mr. Jarvie; ``here, sir
here!''

  ``Here is for the dog.'' said Andrew, coming up sulkily.

  ``I'll gie you dog's wages, ye rascal, if ye dinna attend to
what I say t'ye---We are gaun into the Hielands a bit''------

  ``I judged as muckle,'' said Andrew.

  ``Haud your peace, ye knave, and hear what I have to say
till ye---We are gaun a bit into the Hielands''------

  ``Ye tauld me sae already,'' replied the incorrigible Andrew.

  ``I'll break your head,'' said the Bailie, rising in wrath, ``if
ye dinna haud your tongue.''

  ``A hadden tongue,'' replied Andrew, ``makes a slabbered
mouth.''

  It was now necessary I should interfere, which I did by commanding
Andrew, with an authoritative tone, to be silent at
his peril.

  ``I am silent,'' said Andrew. ``I'se do a' your lawfu' bidding
without a nay-say. My puir mother used aye to tell me,

	Be it better, be it worse,
	Be ruled by him that has the purse.

Sae ye may e'en speak as lang as ye like, baith the tane and
the tither o' you, for Andrew.''

  Mr. Jarvie took the advantage of his stopping after quoting
the above proverb, to give him the requisite instructions.
``Now, sir, it's as muckle as your life's worth---that wad be
dear o' little siller, to be sure---but it is as muckle as a' our
lives are worth, if ye dinna mind what I sae to ye. In this
public whar we are gaun to, and whar it is like we may hae to
stay a' night, men o' a' clans and kindred---Hieland and Lawland
---tak up their quarters---And whiles there are mair drawn
dirks than open Bibles amang them, when the usquebaugh gets
uppermost. See ye neither meddle nor mak, nor gie nae offence
wi' that clavering tongue o' yours, but keep a calm sough, and
let ilka cock fight his ain battle.''

  ``Muckle needs to tell me that,'' said Andrew, contemptuously,
``as if I had never seen a Hielandman before, and ken'd nae
how to manage them. Nae man alive can cuitle up Donald
better than mysell---I hae bought wi' them, sauld wi' them,
eaten wi' them, drucken wi' them''------

  ``Did ye ever fight wi' them?'' said Mr. Jarvie.

  ``Na, na,'' answered Andrew, ``I took care o' that: it wad
ill hae set me, that am an artist and half a scholar to my trade,
to be fighting amang a wheen kilted loons that dinna ken the
name o' a single herb or flower in braid Scots, let abee in the
Latin tongue.''

  ``Then,'' said Mr. Jarvie, ``as ye wad keep either your tongue
in your mouth, or your lugs in your head (and ye might miss
them, for as saucy members as they are), I charge ye to say nae
word, gude or bad, that ye can weel get by, to onybody that
may be in the Clachan. And ye'll specially understand that
ye're no to be bleezing and blasting about your master's name
and mine, or saying that this is Mr. Bailie Nicol Jarvie o' the
Saut Market, son o' the worthy Deacon Nicol Jarvie, that a'
body has heard about; and this is Mr. Frank Osbaldistone, son
of the managing partner of the great house of Osbaldistone and
Tresham, in the City.''

  ``Eneueh said,'' answered Andrew---``eneueh said. What
need ye think I wad be speaking about your names for?---I hae
mony things o' mair importance to speak about, I trow.''

  ``It's thae very things of importance that I am feared for, ye
blethering goose; ye maunna speak ony thing, gude or bad, that
ye can by any possibility help.''

  ``If ye dinna think me fit,'' replied Andrew, in a huff, ``to
speak like ither folk, gie me my wages and my board-wages, and
I'se gae back to Glasgow---There's sma' sorrow at our parting,
as the auld mear said to the broken cart.''

  Finding Andrew's perverseness again rising to a point which
threatened to occasion me inconvenience, I was under the
necessity of explaining to him, that he might return if he
thought proper, but that in that case I would not pay him a
single farthing for his past services. The argument _ad crumenam,_
as it has been called by jocular logicians, has weight with
the greater part of mankind, and Andrew was in that particular
far from affecting any trick of singularity. He ``drew in his
horns,'' to use the Bailie's phrase, on the instant, professed no
intention whatever to disoblige, and a resolution to be guided
by my commands, whatever they might be.

  Concord being thus happily restored to our small party, we
continued to pursue our journey. The road, which had ascended
for six or seven English miles, began now to descend for about
the same space, through a country which neither in fertility
nor interest could boast any advantage over that which we had
passed already, and which afforded no variety, unless when
some tremendous peak of a Highland mountain appeared at a
distance. We continued, however, to ride on without pause
and even when night fell and overshadowed the desolate wilds
which we traversed, we were, as I understood from Mr. Jarvie,
still three miles and a bittock distant from the place where we
were to spend the night.



		CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHTH.

		Baron of Bucklivie,
		May the foul fiend drive ye,
		And a' to pieces rive ye,
		For building sic a town,
	Where there's neither horse meat, nor man's meat, nor a chair
        to sit down.
			Scottish Popular Rhymes on a bad Inn.


  The night was pleasant, and the moon afforded us good light
for our journey. Under her rays, the ground over which we
passed assumed a more interesting appearance than during the
broad daylight, which discovered the extent of its wasteness.
The mingled light and shadows gave it an interest which naturally
did not belong to it; and, like the effect of a veil flung
over a plain woman, irritated our curiosity on a subject which
had in itself nothing gratifying.

  The descent, however, still continued, turned, winded, left
the more open heaths, and got into steeper ravines, which
promised soon to lead us to the banks of some brook or river,
and ultimately made good their presage. We found ourselves
at length on the bank of a stream, which rather resembled one
of my native English rivers than those I had hitherto seen in
Scotland. It was narrow, deep, still, and silent; although the
imperfect light, as it gleamed on its placid waters, showed also
that we were now among the lofty mountains which formed its
cradle. ``That's the Forth,'' said the Bailie, with an air of
reverence, which I have observed the Scotch usually pay to
their distinguished rivers. The Clyde, the Tweed, the Forth,
the Spey, are usually named by those who dwell on their banks
with a sort of respect and pride, and I have known duels
occasioned by any word of disparagement. I cannot say I have
the least quarrel with this sort of harmless enthusiasm. I
received my friend's communication with the importance which
he seemed to think appertained to it. In fact, I was not a little
pleased, after so long and dull a journey, to approach a region
which promised to engage the imagination. My faithful squire,
Andrew, did not seem to be quite of the same opinion, for he
received the solemn information, ``That is the Forth,'' with a
``Umph!---an he had said that's the public-house, it wad hae
been mair to the purpose.''

  The Forth, however, as far as the imperfect light permitted
me to judge, seemed to merit the admiration of those who
claimed an interest in its stream. A beautiful eminence of the
most regular round shape, and clothed with copsewood of hazels,
mountain-ash, and dwarf-oak, intermixed with a few magnificent
old trees, which, rising above the underwood, exposed their forked
and bared branches to the silver moonshine, seemed to protect
the sources from which the river sprung. If I could trust the
tale of my companion, which, while professing to disbelieve every
word of it, he told under his breath, and with an air of something
like intimidation, this hill, so regularly formed, so richly
verdant, and garlanded with such a beautiful variety of ancient
trees and thriving copsewood, was held by the neighbourhood to
contain, within its unseen caverns, the palaces of the fairies---a
race of airy beings, who formed an intermediate class between men
and demons, and who, if not positively malignant to humanity,
were yet to be avoided and feared, on account of their capricious,
vindictive, and irritable disposition.<*>

* Note H. Fairy Superstition.


  ``They ca' them,'' said Mr. Jarvie, in a whisper, ``_Daoine
Schie,_---whilk signifies, as I understand, men of peace; meaning
thereby to make their gudewill. And we may e'en as weel ca'
them that too, Mr. Osbaldistone, for there's nae gude in speaking
ill o' the laird within his ain bounds.'' But he added presently
after, on seeing one or two lights which twinkled before us, ``It's
deceits o' Satan, after a', and I fearna to say it---for we are near
the manse now, and yonder are the lights in the Clachan of
Aberfoil.''

  I own I was well pleased at the circumstance to which Mr.
Jarvie alluded; not so much that it set his tongue at liberty, in
his opinion, with all safety to declare his real sentiments with
respect to the _Daoine Schie,_ or fairies, as that it promised some
hours' repose to ourselves and our horses, of which, after a ride
of fifty miles and upwards, both stood in some need.

  We crossed the infant Forth by an old-fashioned stone bridge,
very high and very narrow. My conductor, however, informed
me, that to get through this deep and important stream, and to
clear all its tributary dependencies, the general pass from the
Highlands to the southward lay by what was called the Fords
of Frew, at all times deep and difficult of passage, and often
altogether unfordable. Beneath these fords, there was no pass
of general resort until so far east as the bridge of Stirling; so
that the river of Forth forms a defensible line between the
Highlands and Lowlands of Scotland, from its source nearly to
the Firth, or inlet of the ocean, in which it terminates. The
subsequent events which we witnessed led me to recall with
attention what the shrewdness of Bailie Jarvie suggested
in his proverbial expression, that ``Forth bridles the wild
Highlandman.''

  About half a mile's riding, after we crossed the bridge, placed
us at the door of the public-house where we were to pass the
evening. It was a hovel rather worse than better than that in
which we had dined; but its little windows were lighted up,
voices were heard from within, and all intimated a prospect of
food and shelter, to which we were by no means indifferent.
Andrew was the first to observe that there was a peeled willow-wand
placed across the half-open door of the little inn. He
hung back and advised us not to enter. ``For,'' said Andrew,
``some of their chiefs and grit men are birling at the usquebaugh
in by there, and dinna want to be disturbed; and the
least we'll get, if we gang ramstam in on them, will be a broken
head, to learn us better havings, if we dinna come by the length
of a cauld dirk in our wame, whilk is just as likely.''

  I looked at the Bailie, who acknowledged, in a whisper, ``that
the gowk had some reason for singing, ance in the year.''

  Meantime a staring half-clad wench or two came out of the
inn and the neighbouring cottages, on hearing the sound of our
horses' feet. No one bade us welcome, nor did any one offer
to take our horses, from which we had alighted; and to our
various inquiries, the hopeless response of ``Ha niel Sassenach,''
was the only answer we could extract. The Bailie, however,
found (in his experience) a way to make them speak English.
``If I gie ye a bawbee,'' said he to an urchin of about ten years
old, with a fragment of a tattered plaid about him, ``will you
understand Sassenach?''

  ``Ay, ay, that will I,'' replied the brat, in very decent English.
``Then gang and tell your mammy, my man, there's twa
Sassenach gentlemen come to speak wi' her.''

  The landlady presently appeared, with a lighted piece of split
fir blazing in her hand. The turpentine in this species of torch
(which is generally dug from out the turf-bogs) makes it blaze
and sparkle readily, so that it is often used in the Highlands in
lieu of candles. On this occasion such a torch illuminated the
wild and anxious features of a female, pale, thin, and rather
above the usual size, whose soiled and ragged dress, though
aided by a plaid or tartan screen, barely served the purposes of
decency, and certainly not those of comfort. Her black hair,
which escaped in uncombed elf-locks from under her coif, as well
as the strange and embarrassed look with which she regarded
us, gave me the idea of a witch disturbed in the midst of her
unlawful rites. She plainly refused to admit us into the house.
We remonstrated anxiously, and pleaded the length of our
journey, the state of our horses, and the certainty that there
was not another place where we could be received nearer than
Callander, which the Bailie stated to be seven Scots miles
distant. How many these may exactly amount to in English
measurement, I have never been able to ascertain, but I think
the double _ratio_ may be pretty safely taken as a medium computation.
The obdurate hostess treated our expostulation with
contempt.  ``Better gang farther than fare waur,'' she said,
speaking the Scottish Lowland dialect, and being indeed a
native of the Lennox district---``Her house was taen up wi'
them wadna like to be intruded on wi' strangers. She didna
ken wha mair might be there---red-coats, it might be, frae the
garrison.'' (These last words she spoke under her breath, and
with very strong emphasis.) ``The night,'' she said, ``was fair
abune head---a night amang the heather wad caller our bloods
---we might sleep in our claes, as mony a gude blade does in
the scabbard---there wasna muckle flowmoss in the shaw, if we
took up our quarters right, and we might pit up our horses to
the hill, naebody wad say naething against it.''

  ``But, my good woman,'' said I, while the Bailie groaned and
remained undecided, ``it is six hours since we dined, and we have
not taken a morsel since. I am positively dying with hunger,
and I have no taste for taking up my abode supperless among
these mountains of yours. I positively must enter; and make
the best apology you can to your guests for adding a stranger
or two to their number. Andrew, you will see the horses put
up.''

  The Hecate looked at me with surprise, and then ejaculated
---``A wilfu' man will hae his way---them that will to Cupar
maun to Cupar!---To see thae English belly-gods! he has had
ae fu' meal the day already, and he'll venture life and liberty,
rather than he'll want a het supper! Set roasted beef and
pudding on the opposite side o' the pit o' Tophet, and an
Englishman will mak a spang at it---But I wash my hands o't
---Follow me sir'' (to Andrew), ``and I'se show ye where to pit
the beasts.''

  I own I was somewhat dismayed at my landlady's expressions,
which seemed to be ominous of some approaching danger. I did
not, however, choose to shrink back after having declared my
resolution, and accordingly I boldly entered the house; and
after narrowly escaping breaking my shins over a turf back and
a salting tub, which stood on either side of the narrow exterior
passage, I opened a crazy half-decayed door, constructed not of
plank, but of wicker, and, followed by the Bailie, entered into
the principal apartment of this Scottish caravansary.

  The interior presented a view which seemed singular enough
to southern eyes. The fire, fed with blazing turf and branches
of dried wood, blazed merrily in the centre; but the smoke,
having no means to escape but through a hole in the roof,
eddied round the rafters of the cottage, and hung in sable folds
at the height of about five feet from the floor. The space
beneath was kept pretty clear by innumerable currents of air
which rushed towards the fire from the broken panel of basket-work
which served as a door---from two square holes, designed
as ostensible windows, through one of which was thrust a plaid,
and through the other a tattered great-coat---and moreover,
through various less distinguishable apertures in the walls of
the tenement, which, being built of round stones and turf,
cemented by mud, let in the atmosphere at innumerable
crevices.

  At an old oaken table, adjoining to the fire, sat three men,
guests apparently, whom it was impossible to regard with indifference.
Two were in the Highland dress; the one, a little
dark-complexioned man, with a lively, quick, and irritable
expression of features, wore the trews, or close pantaloons wove
out of a sort of chequered stocking stuff. The Bailie whispered
me, that ``he behoved to be a man of some consequence, for
that naebody but their Duinh<e'>wassels wore the trews---they
were ill to weave exactly to their Highland pleasure.''

  The other mountaineer was a very tall, strong man, with a
quantity of reddish hair, freckled face, high cheek-bones, and
long chin---a sort of caricature of the national features of
Scotland. The tartan which he wore differed from that of his
companion, as it had much more scarlet in it, whereas the
shades of black and dark-green predominated in the chequers
of the other. The third, who sate at the same table, was in
the Lowland dress,---a bold, stout-looking man, with a cast of
military daring in his eye and manner, his riding-dress showily
and profusely laced, and his cocked hat of formidable dimensions.
His hanger and a pair of pistols lay on the table before
him. Each of the Highlanders had their naked dirks stuck
upright in the board beside him,---an emblem, I was afterwards
informed, but surely a strange one, that their computation was
not to be interrupted by any brawl. A mighty pewter measure,
containing about an English quart of usquebaugh, a liquor
nearly as strong as brandy, which the Highlanders distil from
malt, and drink undiluted in excessive quantities, was placed
before these worthies. A broken glass, with a wooden foot,
served as a drinking cup to the whole party, and circulated
with a rapidity, which, considering the potency of the liquor,
seemed absolutely marvellous. These men spoke loudly and
eagerly together, sometimes in Gaelic, at other times in English.
Another Highlander, wrapt in his plaid, reclined on the floor,
his head resting on a stone, from which it was only separated
by a wisp of straw, and slept or seemed to sleep, without attending
to what was going on around him, He also was probably
a stranger, for he lay in full dress, and accoutred with the
sword and target, the usual arms of his countrymen when on a
journey. Cribs there were of different dimensions beside the
walls, formed, some of fractured boards, some of shattered
wicker-work or plaited boughs, in which slumbered the family
of the house, men, women, and children, their places of repose
only concealed by the dusky wreaths of vapour which arose
above, below, and around them.

  Our entrance was made so quietly, and the carousers I have
described were so eagerly engaged in their discussions, that we
escaped their notice for a minute or two. But I observed the
Highlander who lay beside the fire raise himself on his elbow as
we entered, and, drawing his plaid over the lower part of his
face, fix his look on us for a few seconds, after which he resumed
his recumbent posture, and seemed again to betake himself to
the repose which our entrance had interrupted,

  We advanced to the fire, which was an agreeable spectacle
after our late ride, during the chillness of an autumn evening
among the mountains, and first attracted the attention of the
guests who had preceded us, by calling for the landlady. She
approached, looking doubtfully and timidly, now at us, now at
the other party, and returned a hesitating and doubtful answer
to our request to have something to eat.

  ``She didna ken,'' she said, ``she wasna sure there was onything
in the house,'' and then modified her refusal with the
qualification---``that is, onything fit for the like of us.''

  I assured her we were indifferent to the quality of our supper;
and looking round for the means of accommodation, which were
not easily to be found, I arranged an old hen-coop as a seat for
Mr. Jarvie, and turned down a broken tub to serve for my own.
Andrew Fairservice entered presently afterwards, and took a
place in silence behind our backs. The natives, as I may call
them, continued staring at us with an air as if confounded by
our assurance, and we, at least I myself, disguised as well as we
could, under an appearance of indifference, any secret anxiety
we might feel concerning the mode in which we were to be
received by those whose privacy we had disturbed.

  At length, the lesser Highlander, addressing himself to me
said, in very good English, and in a tone of great haughtiness,
``Ye make yourself at home, sir, I see.''

  ``I usually do so,'' I replied, ``when I come into a house of
public entertainment.''

  ``And did she na see,'' said the taller man, ``by the white
wand at the door, that gentlemans had taken up the public-house
on their ain business?''

  ``I do not pretend to understand the customs of this country
but I am yet to learn,'' I replied, ``how three persons should be
entitled to exclude all other travellers from the only place of
shelter and refreshment for miles round.''

  ``There's nae reason for't, gentlemen,'' said the Bailie; ``we
mean nae offence---but there's neither law nor reason for't; but
as far as a stoup o' gude brandy wad make up the quarrel, we,
being peaceable folk, wad be willing.''

  ``Damn your brandy, sir!'' said the Lowlander, adjusting his
cocked hat fiercely upon his head; ``we desire neither your
brandy nor your company,'' and up he rose from his seat. His
companions also arose, muttering to each other, drawing up
their plaids, and snorting and snuffing the air after the mariner
of their countrymen when working themselves into a passion.

  ``I tauld ye what wad come, gentlemen,'' said the landlady,
``an ye wad hae been tauld:---get awa' wi' ye out o' my house,
and make nae disturbance here---there's nae gentleman be disturbed
at Jeanie MacAlpine's an she can hinder. A wheen idle
English loons, gaun about the country under cloud o' night, and
disturbing honest peaceable gentlemen that are drinking their
drap drink at the fireside!''

  At another time I should have thought of the old Latin
adage,

	``Dat veniam corvis, vexat censure columbas''------

But I had not any time for classical quotation, for there was
obviously a fray about to ensue, at which, feeling myself indiginant
at the inhospitable insolence with which I was treated, I
was totally indifferent, unless on the Bailie's account, whose
person and qualities were ill qualified for such an adventure. I
started up, however, on seeing the others rise, and dropped my.
cloak from my shoulders, that I might be ready to stand on the
defensive.

  ``We are three to three,'' said the lesser Highlander, glancing
his eyes at our party: ``if ye be pretty men, draw!'' and
unsheathing his broadsword, he advanced on me. I put myself
in a posture of defence, and aware of the superiority of my
weapon, a rapier or small-sword, was little afraid of the issue of
the contest. The Bailie behaved with unexpected mettle. As
he saw the gigantic Highlander confront him with his weapon
drawn, he tugged for a second or two at the hilt of his _shabble,_
as he called it; but finding it loth to quit the sheath, to which
it had long been secured by rust and disuse, he seized, as a
substitute, on the red-hot coulter of a plough which had been
employed in arranging the fire by way of a poker, and brandished
it with such effect, that at the first pass he set the
Highlander's plaid on fire, and compelled him to keep a
respectful distance till he could get it extinguished. Andrew,
on the contrary, who ought to have faced the Lowland champion,
had, I grieve to say it, vanished at the very commencement
of the fray. But his antagonist, crying ``Fair play, fair play!''
seemed courteously disposed to take no share in the scuffle.
Thus we commenced our rencontre on fair terms as to numbers.
My own aim was, to possess myself, if possible, of my antagonist's
weapon; but I was deterred from closing, for fear of
the dirk which he held in his left hand, and used in parrying
the thrusts of my rapier. Meantime the Bailie, notwithstanding
the success of his first onset, was sorely bested. The weight of
his weapon, the corpulence of his person, the very effervescence
of his own passions, were rapidly exhausting both his strength
and his breath, and he was almost at the mercy of his antagonist,
when up started the sleeping Highlander from the floor
on which he reclined, with his naked sword and target in his
hand, and threw himself between the discomfited magistrate
and his assailant, exclaiming, ``Her nainsell has eaten the town
pread at the Cross o' Glasgow, and py her troth she'll fight for
Bailie Sharvie at the Clachan of Aberfoil---tat will she e'en!''
And seconding his words with deeds, this unexpected auxiliary
made his sword whistle about the ears of his tall countryman,
who, nothing abashed, returned his blows with interest. But
being both accoutred with round targets made of wood, studded
with brass, and covered with leather, with which they readily
parried each other's strokes, their combat was attended with
much more noise and clatter than serious risk of damage. It
appeared, indeed, that there was more of bravado than of serious
attempt to do us any injury; for the Lowland gentleman, who,
as I mentioned, had stood aside for want of an antagonist when
the brawl commenced, was now pleased to act the part of moderator
and peacemaker.

  ``Hand your hands! haud your hands!---eneugh done!---
eneugh done! the quarrel's no mortal. The strange gentlemen
have shown themselves men of honour, and gien reasonable
satisfaction. I'll stand on mine honour as kittle as ony man,
but I hate unnecessary bloodshed.''

  It was not, of course, my wish to protract the fray---my adversary
seemed equally disposed to sheathe his sword---the Bailie,
gasping for breath, might be considered as _hors de combat,_ and
our two sword-and-buckler men gave up their contest with as
much indifference as they had entered into it.

  ``And now,'' said the worthy gentleman who acted as umpire,
``let us drink and gree like honest fellows---The house will
haud us a'. I propose that this good little gentleman, that
seems sair forfoughen, as I may say, in this tuilzie, shall send
for a tass o' brandy and I'll pay for another, by way of archilowe,<*>
and then we'll birl our bawbees a' round about, like
brethren.''

  ``And fa's to pay my new ponnie plaid,'' said the larger
Highlander, ``wi' a hole burnt in't ane might put a kail-pat
through? Saw ever onybody a decent gentleman fight wi' a
firebrand before?''

  ``Let that be nae hinderance,'' said the Bailie, who had now
recovered his breath, and was at once disposed to enjoy the
triumph of having behaved with spirit, and avoid the necessity
of again resorting to such hard and doubtful arbitrament--
``Gin I hae broken the head,'' he said, ``I sall find the plaister.
A new plaid sall ye hae, and o' the best---your ain clan-colours,
man,---an ye will tell me where it can be sent t'ye frae
Glasco.''

  ``I needna name my clan---I am of a king's clan, as is weel
ken'd,'' said the Highlander; ``but ye may tak a bit o' the
plaid---figh! she smells like a singit sheep's head!---and that'll
learn ye the sett---and a gentleman, that's a cousin o' my ain,
that carries eggs doun frae Glencroe, will ca' for't about Martimas,
an ye will tell her where ye bide. But, honest gentleman,
neist time ye fight, an ye hae ony respect for your athversary,
let it be wi' your sword, man, since ye wear ane, and no wi'
thae het culters and fireprands, like a wild Indian.''

  ``Conscience!'' replied the Bailie, ``every man maun do as
he dow. My sword hasna seen the light since Bothwell Brigg,
when my father that's dead and gane, ware it; and I kenna
weel if it was forthcoming then either, for the battle was o' the
briefest---At ony rate, it's glued to the scabbard now beyond
my power to part them; and, finding that, I e'en grippit at the
first thing I could make a fend wi'. I trow my fighting days
is done, though I like ill to take the scorn, for a' that.---But
where's the honest lad that tuik my quarrel on himself sae
frankly?---I'se bestow a gill o' aquavit<ae> on him, an I suld never
ca' for anither.''

* Archilowe, of unknown derivation, signifies a peace-offering.


  The champion for whom he looked around was, however, no
longer to be seen. He had escaped unobserved by the Bailie,
immediately when the brawl was ended, yet not before I had
recognised, in his wild features and shaggy red hair, our
acquaintance Dougal, the fugitive turnkey of the Glasgow jail.
I communicated this observation in a whisper to the Bailie, who
answered in the same tone, ``Weel, weel,---I see that him that
ye ken o' said very right; there _is_ some glimmering o' common
sense about that creature Dougal; I maun see and think o'
something will do him some gude.''

  Thus saying, he sat down, and fetching one or two deep
aspirations, by way of recovering his breath, called to the
landlady---``I think, Luckie, now that I find that there's nae
hole in my wame, whilk I had muckle reason to doubt frae the
doings o' your house, I wad be the better o' something to pit
intill't.''

  The dame, who was all officiousness so soon as the storm had
blown over, immediately undertook to broil something comfortable
for our supper. Indeed, nothing surprised me more, in
the course of the whole matter, than the extreme calmness
with which she and her household seemed to regard the martial
tumult that had taken place. The good woman was only
heard to call to some of her assistants---``Steek the door! steek
the door! kill or be killed, let naebody pass out till they hae
paid the lawin.'' And as for the slumberers in those lairs
by the wall, which served the family for beds, they only raised
their shirtless bodies to look at the fray, ejaculated, ``Oigh!
oigh!'' in the tone suitable to their respective sex and ages, and
were, I believe, fast asleep again, ere our swords were well returned
to their scabbards.

  Our landlady, however, now made a great bustle to get some
victuals ready, and, to my surprise, very soon began to prepare
for us in the frying-pan a savoury mess of venison collops,
which she dressed in a manner that might well satisfy hungry
men, if not epicures. In the meantime the brandy was placed
on the table, to which the Highlanders, however partial to
their native strong waters, showed no objection, but much the
contrary; and the Lowland gentleman, after the first cup had
passed round, became desirous to know our profession, and the
object of our journey.

  ``We are bits o' Glasgow bodies, if it please your honour,''
said the Bailie, with an affectation of great humility, ``travelling
to Stirling to get in some siller that is awing us.''

  I was so silly as to feel a little disconcerted at the unassuming
account which he chose to give of us; but I recollected my
promise to be silent, and allow the Bailie to manage the matter
his own way. And really, when I recollected, Will, that I had
not only brought the honest man a long journey from home,
which even in itself had been some inconvenience (if I were to
judge from the obvious pain and reluctance with which he
took his seat, or arose from it), but had also put him within a
hair's-breadth of the loss of his life, I could hardly refuse him
such a compliment. The spokesman of the other party, snuffing
up his breath through his nose, repeated the words with a sort
of sneer;---``You Glasgow tradesfolks hae naething to do but
to gang frae the tae end o' the west o' Scotland to the ither, to
plague honest folks that may chance to be awee ahint the hand,
like me.''

  ``If our debtors were a' sic honest gentlemen as I believe
you to be, Garschattachin,'' replied the Bailie, ``conscience! we
might save ourselves a labour, for they wad come to seek us.''

  ``Eh! what! how!'' exclaimed the person whom he had
addressed,---``as I shall live by bread (not forgetting beef and
brandy), it's my auld friend Nicol Jarvie, the best man that
ever counted doun merks on a band till a distressed gentleman.
Were ye na coming up my way?---were ye na coming up the
Endrick to Garschattachin?''

  ``Troth no, Maister Galbraith,'' replied the Bailie, ``I had
other eggs on the spit---and I thought ye wad be saying I cam
to look about the annual rent that's due on the bit heritable
band that's between us.''

  ``Damn the annual rent!'' said the laird, with an appearance
of great heartiness---``Deil a word o' business will you or I
speak, now that ye're so near my country. To see how a trot-cosey
and a joseph can disguise a man---that I suldna ken my
auld feal friend the deacon!''

  ``The Bailie, if ye please,'' resumed my companion; ``but I
ken what gars ye mistak---the band was granted to my father
that's happy, and he was deacon; but his name was Nicol as
weel as mine. I dinna mind that there's been a payment of
principal sum or annual rent on it in myday, and doubtless
that has made the mistake.''

  ``Weel, the devil take the mistake and all that occasioned
it!'' replied Mr. Galbraith. ``But I am glad ye are a bailie.
Gentlemen, fill a brimmer---this is my excellent friend, Bailie
Nicol Jarvie's health---I ken'd him and his father these twenty
years. Are ye a' cleared kelty aff?---Fill anither. Here's to
his being sune provost---I say provost---Lord Provost Nicol
Jarvie!---and them that affirms there's a man walks the Hie-street
o' Glasgow that's fitter for the office, they will do weel
not to let me, Duncan Galbraith of Garschattachin, hear them
say sae---that's all.'' And therewith Duncan Galbraith martially
cocked his hat, and placed it on one side of his head with
an air of defiance.

  The brandy was probably the best recommendation of there
complimentary toasts to the two Highlanders, who drank them
without appearing anxious to comprehend their purport. They
commenced a conversation with Mr. Galbraith in Gaelic, which
he talked with perfect fluency, being, as I afterwards learned, a
near neighbour to the Highlands.

  ``I ken'd that Scant-o'-grace weel eneugh frae the very outset,''
said the Bailie, in a whisper to me; ``but when blude was
warm, and swords were out at ony rate, wha kens what way he
might hae thought o' paying his debts? it will be lang or he
does it in common form. But he's an honest lad, and has a
warm heart too; he disna come often to the Cross o' Glasgow,
but mony a buck and blackcock he sends us doun frae the hills.
And I can want my siller weel eneugh. My father the deacon
had a great regard for the family of Garschattachin.''

  Supper being now nearly ready, I looked round for Andrew
Fairservice; but that trusty follower had not been seen by any
one since the beginning of the rencontre. The hostess, however,
said that she believed our servant had gone into the stable, and
offered to light me to the place, saying that ``no entreaties of
the bairns or hers could make him give any answer; and that
truly she caredna to gang into the stable herself at this hour.
She was a lone woman, and it was weel ken'd how the Brownie
of Ben-ye-gask guided the gudewife of Ardnagowan; and it was
aye judged there was a Brownie in our stable, which was just
what garr'd me gie ower keeping an hostler.''

  As, however, she lighted me towards the miserable hovel
into which they had crammed our unlucky steeds, to regale
themselves on hay, every fibre of which was as thick as an
ordinary goose-quill, she plainly showed me that she had another
reason for drawing me aside from the company than that which
her words implied. ``Read that,'' she said, slipping a piece of
paper into my hand, as we arrived at the door of the shed;
``I bless God I am rid o't. Between sogers and Saxons, and
caterans and cattle-lifters, and hership and bluidshed, an
honest woman wad live quieter in hell than on the Hieland
line.''

  So saying, she put the pine-torch into my hand, and returned
into the house,



		CHAPTER TWENTY-NINTH.

	Bagpipes, not lyres, the Highland hills adorn,
	MacLean's loud hollo, and MacGregor's horn.
			John Cooper's Reply to Allan Ramsay.

  I stopped in the entrance of the stable, if indeed a place be
entitled to that name where horses were stowed away along
with goats, poultry, pigs, and cows, under the same roof with
the mansion-house; although, by a degree of refinement unknown
to the rest of the hamlet, and which I afterwards heard
was imputed to an overpride on the part of Jeanie MacAlpine,
our landlady, the apartment was accommodated with an entrance
different from that used by her biped customers. By the light
of my torch, I deciphered the following billet, written on a wet,
crumpled, and dirty piece of paper, and addressed---``For the
honoured hands of Mr. F. O., a Saxon young gentleman---
These.'' The contents were as follows:---

  ``Sir,

  ``There are night-hawks abroad, so that I cannot give you
and my respected kinsman, B. N. J., the meeting at the Clachan
of Aberfoil, whilk was my purpose. I pray you to avoid unnecessary
communication with those you may find there, as it may
give future trouble. The person who gives you this is faithful
and may be trusted, and will guide you to a place where, God
willing, I may safely give you the meeting, when I trust my
kinsman and you will visit my poor house, where, in despite
of my enemies, I can still promise sic cheer as ane Hielandman
may gie his friends, and where we will drink a solemn health
to a certain D. V., and look to certain affairs whilk I hope to
be your aidance in; and I rest, as is wont among gentlemen,
your servant to command,                        R. M. C.''

  I was a good deal mortified at the purport of this letter,
which seemed to adjourn to a more distant place and date the
service which I had hoped to receive from this man Campbell.
Still, however, it was some comfort to know that he continued
to be in my interest, since without him I could have no hope
of recovering my father's papers. I resolved, therefore, to obey
his instructions; and, observing all caution before the guests, to
take the first good opportunity I could find to procure from the
landlady directions how I was to obtain a meeting with this
mysterious person.

  My next business was to seek out Andrew Fairservice, whom
I called several times by name, without receiving any answer,
surveying the stable all round, at the same time, not without
risk of setting the premises on fire, had not the quantity of wet
litter and mud so greatly counterbalanced two or three bunches
of straw and hay. At length my repeated cries of ``Andrew
Fairservice! Andrew! fool!---ass! where are you?'' produced
a doleful ``Here,'' in a groaning tone, which might have been
that of the Brownie itself. Guided by this sound, I advanced
to the corner of a shed, where, ensconced in the angle of the
wall, behind a barrel full of the feathers of all the fowls which
had died in the cause of the public for a month past, I found
the manful Andrew; and partly by force, partly by command
and exhortation, compelled him forth into the open air. The
first words he spoke were, ``I am an honest lad, sir.''

  ``Who the devil questions your honesty?'' said I, ``or what
have we to do with it at present? I desire you to come and
attend us at supper.''

  ``Yes,'' reiterated Andrew, without apparently understanding
what I said to him, ``I am an honest lad, whatever the Bailie
may say to the contrary. I grant the warld and the warld's
gear sits ower near my heart whiles, as it does to mony a ane---
But I am an honest lad; and, though I spak o' leaving ye in
the muir, yet God knows it was far frae my purpose, but just
like idle things folk says when they're driving a bargain, to get
it as far to their ain side as they can---And I like your honour
weel for sae young a lad, and I wadna part wi' ye lightly.''

  ``What the deuce are you driving at now?'' I replied. ``Has
not everything been settled again and again to your satisfaction?
And are you to talk of leaving me every hour, without either
rhyme or reason?''

  ``Ay,---but I was only making fashion before,'' replied Andrew;
``but it's come on me in sair earnest now---Lose or win,
I daur gae nae farther wi' your honour; and if ye'll tak my
foolish advice, ye'll bide by a broken tryste, rather than gang
forward yoursell. I hae a sincere regard for ye, and I'm sure
ye'll be a credit to your friends if ye live to saw out your wild
aits, and get some mair sense and steadiness---But I can follow
ye nae farther, even if ye suld founder and perish from the way
for lack of guidance and counsel. To gang into Rob Roy's
country is a mere tempting o' Providence.''

  ``Rob Roy?'' said I, in some surprise; ``I know no such
person. What new trick is this, Andrew?''

  ``It's hard,'' said Andrew---``very hard, that a man canna be
believed when he speaks Heaven's truth, just because he's whiles
owercome, and tells lees a little when there is necessary occasion.
Ye needna ask whae Rob Roy is, the reiving lifter that
he is---God forgie me! I hope naebody hears us---when ye
hae a letter frae him in your pouch. I heard ane o' his gillies bid
that auld rudas jaud of a gudewife gie ye that. They thought
I didna understand their gibberish; but, though I canna speak
it muckle, I can gie a gude guess at what I hear them say---I
never thought to hae tauld ye that, but in a fright a' things
come out that suld be keepit in. O, Maister Frank! a' your
uncle's follies, and a' your cousin's pliskies, were naething to
this! Drink clean cap out, like Sir Hildebrand; begin the
blessed morning with brandy sops, like Squire Percy; swagger,
like Squire Thorncliff; rin wud amang the lasses, like Squire
John; gamble, like Richard; win souls to the Pope and the
deevil, like Rashleigh; rive, rant, break the Sabbath, and do
the Pope's bidding, like them a' put thegither---But, merciful
Providence! take care o' your young bluid, and gang nae near
Rob Roy!''

  Andrew's alarm was too sincere to permit me to suppose he
counterfeited. I contented myself, however, with telling him,
that I meant to remain in the alehouse that night, and desired
to have the horses well looked after. As to the rest, I charged
him to observe the strictest silence upon the subject of his
alarm, and he might rely upon it I would not incur any serious
danger without due precaution. He followed me with a dejected
air into the house, observing between his teeth, ``Man
suld be served afore beast---I haena had a morsel in my mouth,
but the rough legs o' that auld muircock, this haill blessed day.''

  The harmony of the company seemed to have suffered some
interruption since my departure, for I found Mr. Galbraith and
my friend the Bailie high in dispute.

  ``I'll hear nae sic language,'' said Mr. Jarvie, as I entered,
``respecting the Duke o' Argyle and the name o' Campbell.
He's a worthy public-spirited nobleman, and a credit to the
country, and a friend and benefactor to the trade o' Glasgow.''

  ``I'll sae naething against MacCallum More and the Slioch-nan-Diarmid,''
said the lesser Highlander, laughing. ``I live on
the wrang side of Glencroe to quarrel with Inverara.''

  ``Our loch ne'er saw the Cawmil lymphads,''<*> said the bigger

* _Lymphads._ The galley which the family of Argyle and others of the
* Clan Campbell carry in their arms.

Highlander. ``She'll speak her mind and fear naebody---She
doesna value a Cawmil mair as a Cowan, and ye may tell MacCallum
More that Allan Iverach said sae---It's a far cry to
Lochow.''<*>

* Lochow and the adjacent districts formed the original seat of the
* Campbells. The expression of a ``far cry to Lochow'' was proverbial.


  Mr. Galbraith, on whom the repeated pledges which he had
quaffed had produced some influence, slapped his hand on the
table with great force, and said, in a stern voice, ``There's a
bloody debt due by that family, and they will pay it one day---
The banes of a loyal and a gallant Grahame hae lang rattled in
their coffin for vengeance on thae Dukes of Guile and Lords for
Lorn. There ne'er was treason in Scotland but a Cawmil was
at the bottom o't; and now that the wrang side's uppermost,
wha but the Cawmils for keeping down the right? But this
warld winna last lang, and it will be time to sharp the maiden<*>

* A rude kind of guillotine formerly used in Scotland.

for shearing o' craigs and thrapples. I hope to see the auld rusty
lass linking at a bluidy harst again.''

  ``For shame, Garschattachin!'' exclaimed the Bailie; ``fy
for shame, sir! Wad ye say sic things before a magistrate, and
bring yoursell into trouble?---How d'ye think to mainteen your
family and satisfy your creditors (mysell and others), if ye gang
on in that wild way, which cannot but bring you under the law,
to the prejudice of a' that's connected wi' ye?''

  ``D---n my creditors!'' retorted the gallant Galbraith, ``and
you if ye be ane o' them! I say there will be a new warld
sune---And we shall hae nae Cawmils cocking their bonnet sae
hie, and hounding their dogs where they daurna come themsells,
nor protecting thieves, nor murderers, and oppressors, to
harry and spoil better men and mair loyal clans than themsells.''

  The Bailie had a great mind to have continued the dispute,
when the savoury vapour of the broiled venison, which our landlady
now placed before us, proved so powerful a mediator, that
he betook himself to his trencher with great eagerness, leaving
the strangers to carry on the dispute among themselves.

  ``And tat's true,'' said the taller Highlander---whose name I
found was Stewart---``for we suldna be plagued and worried
here wi' meetings to pit down Rob Roy, if the Cawmils didna
gie him refutch. I was ane o' thirty o' my ain name---part
Glenfinlas, and part men that came down frae Appine. We
shased the MacGregors as ye wad shase rae-deer, till we came
into Glenfalloch's country, and the Cawmils raise, and wadna
let us pursue nae farder, and sae we lost our labour; but her
wad gie twa and a plack to be as near Rob as she was tat day.''

  It seemed to happen very unfortunately, that in every topic
of discourse which these warlike gentlemen introduced, my
friend the Bailie found some matter of offence. ``Ye'll forgie
me speaking my mind, sir; but ye wad maybe hae gien the best
bowl in your bonnet to hae been as far awae frae Rob as ye are
e'en now---Od! my het pleugh-culter wad hae been naething to
his claymore.''

  ``She had better speak nae mair about her culter, or, by
G---! her will gar her eat her words, and twa handfuls o' cauld
steel to drive them ower wi'!'' And, with a most inauspicious
and menacing look, the mountaineer laid his hand on his
dagger.

  ``We'll hae nae quarrelling, Allan,'' said his shorter companion;
``and if the Glasgow gentleman has ony regard for Rob Roy,
he'll maybe see him in cauld irons the night, and playing tricks
on a tow the morn; for this country has been owre lang plagued
wi' him, and his race is near-hand run---And it's time, Allan, we
were ganging to our lads.''

  ``Hout awa, Inverashalloch,'' said Galbraith;---``Mind the
auld saw, man---It's a bauld moon, quoth Bennygask---another
pint, quoth Lesley;---we'll no start for another chappin.''

  ``I hae had chappins eneugh,'' said Inverashalloch; ``I'll drink
my quart of usquebaugh or brandy wi' ony honest fellow, but
the deil a drap mair when I hae wark to do in the morning.
And, in my puir thinking, Garschattachin, ye had better be
thinking to bring up your horsemen to the Clachan before day,
that we may ay start fair.''

  ``What the deevil are ye in sic a hurry for?'' said Garschattachin;
``meat and mass never hindered wark. An it had been
my directing, deil a bit o' me wad hae fashed ye to come down
the glens to help us. The garrison and our ain horse could hae
taen Rob Roy easily enough. There's the hand,'' he said, holding
up his own, ``should lay him on the green, and never ask a
Hielandman o' ye a' for his help.''

  ``Ye might hae loot us bide still where we were, then,'' said
Inverashalloch. ``I didna come sixty miles without being sent
for. But an ye'll hae my opinion, I redd ye keep your mouth
better steekit, if ye hope to speed. Shored folk live lang, and
sae may him ye ken o'. The way to catch a bird is no to fling
your bannet at her. And also thae gentlemen hae heard some
things they suldna hae heard, an the brandy hadna been ower
bauld for your brain, Major Galbraith. Ye needna cock your
hat and bully wi' me, man, for I will not bear it.''

  ``I hae said it,'' said Galbraith, with a solemn air of drunken
gravity, ``that I will quarrel no more this night either with
broadcloth or tartan. When I am off duty I'll quarrel with
you or ony man in the Hielands or Lowlands, but not on duty
---no---no. I wish we heard o' these red-coats. If it had been
to do onything against King James, we wad hae seen them
lang syne---but when it's to keep the peace o' the country they
can lie as lound as their neighbours.''

  As he spoke we heard the measured footsteps of a body of
infantry on the march; and an officer, followed by two or three
files of soldiers, entered the apartment. He spoke in an English
accent, which was very pleasant to my ears, now so long accustomed
to the varying brogue of the Highland and Lowland
Scotch.---``You are, I suppose, Major Galbraith, of the squadron
of Lennox Militia, and these are the two Highland gentlemen
with whom I was appointed to meet in this place?''

  They assented, and invited the officer to take some refreshments,
which he declined.---``I have been too late, gentlemen,
and am desirous to make up time. I have orders to search for
and arrest two persons guilty of treasonable practices.''

  ``We'll wash our hands o' that,'' said Inverashalloch. ``I
came here wi' my men to fight against the red MacGregor that
killed my cousin, seven times removed, Duncan MacLaren, in
Invernenty;<*> but I will hae nothing to do touching honest

* This, as appears from the introductory matter to this Tale, is an anachronism.
* The slaughter of MacLaren, a retainer of the chief of Appine,
* by the MacGregors, did not take place till after Rob Roy's death, since it
* happened in 1736.

gentlemen that may be gaun through the country on their ain
business.''

  ``Nor I neither,'' said Iverach.

  Major Galbraith took up the matter more solemnly, and,
premising his oration with a hiccup, spoke to the following
purpose:---

  ``I shall say nothing against King George, Captain, because,
as it happens, my commission may rin in his name---But one
commission being good, sir, does not make another bad; and
some think that James may be just as good a name as George.
There's the king that is---and there's the king that suld of right
be---I say, an honest man may and suld be loyal to them both,
Captain. But I am of the Lord Lieutenant's opinion for the
time, as it becomes a militia officer and a depute-lieutenant
---and about treason and all that, it's lost time to speak of it---
least said is sunest mended.''

  ``I am sorry to see how you have been employing your time,
sir,'' replied the English officer---as indeed the honest gentleman's
reasoning had a strong relish of the liquor he had been
drinking---``and I could wish, sir, it had been otherwise on an
occasion of this consequence. I would recommend to you to try
to sleep for an hour.---Do these gentlemen belong to your party?''
---looking at the Bailie and me, who, engaged in eating our
supper, had paid little attention to the officer on his entrance.

  ``Travellers, sir,'' said Galbraith---``lawful travellers by sea
and land, as the prayer-book hath it.''

  ``My instructions.'' said the Captain, taking a light to survey
us closer, ``are to place under arrest an elderly and a young
person---and I think these gentlemen answer nearly the description.''

  ``Take care what you say, sir,'' said Mr. Jarvie; ``it shall
not be your red coat nor your laced hat shall protect you, if you
put any affront on me. I'se convene ye baith in an action of
scandal and false imprisonment---I am a free burgess and a
magistrate o' Glasgow; Nicol Jarvie is my name, sae was my
father's afore me---I am a bailie, be praised for the honour, and
my father was a deacon.''

  ``He was a prick-eared cur,'' said Major Galbraith, ``and
fought agane the King at Bothwell Brigg.''

  ``He paid what he ought and what he bought, Mr. Galbraith,''
said the Bailie, ``and was an honester man than ever stude on
your shanks.''

  ``I have no time to attend to all this,'' said the officer; ``I
must positively detain you, gentlemen, unless you can produce
some respectable security that you are loyal subjects.''

  ``I desire to be carried before some civil magistrate,'' said
the Bailie---``the sherra or the judge of the bounds;---I am not
obliged to answer every red-coat that speers questions at me.''

  ``Well, sir, I shall know how to manage you if you are silent
---And you, sir'' (to me), ``what may your name be?''

  ``Francis Osbaldistone, sir.''

  ``What, a son of Sir Hildebrand Osbaldistone of Northumberland?''

  ``No, sir,'' interrupted the Bailie; ``a son of the great William
Osbaldistone of the House of Osbaldistone and Tresham, Crane-Alley,
London.''

  ``I am afraid, sir,'' said the officer, ``your name only increases
the suspicions against you, and lays me under the necessity of
requesting that you will give up what papers you have in
charge.''

  I observed the Highlanders look anxiously at each other when
this proposal was made.

  ``I had none,'' I replied, ``to surrender.''

  The officer commanded me to be disarmed and searched. To
have resisted would have been madness. I accordingly gave up
my arms, and submitted to a search, which was conducted as
civilly as an operation of the kind well could. They found
nothing except the note which I had received that night through
the hand of the landlady.

  ``This is different from what I expected,'' said the officer;
``but it affords us good grounds for detaining you. Here I find
you in written communication with the outlawed robber, Robert
MacGregor Campbell, who has been so long the plague of this
district---How do you account for that?''

  ``Spies of Rob!'' said Inverashalloch. ``We wad serve them
right to strap them up till the neist tree.''

  ``We are gaun to see after some gear o' our ain, gentlemen,''
said the Bailie, ``that's fa'en into his hands by accident---there's
nae law agane a man looking after his ain, I hope?''

  ``How did you come by this letter?'' said the officer, addressing
himself to me.

  I could not think of betraying the poor woman who had given
it to me, and remained silent.

  ``Do you know anything of it, fellow?'' said the officer, looking
at Andrew, whose jaws were chattering like a pair of castanets
at the threats thrown out by the Highlander.

  ``O ay, I ken a' about it---it was a Hieland loon gied the
letter to that lang-tongued jaud the gudewife there; I'll be
sworn my maister ken'd naething about it. But he's wilfu' to
gang up the hills and speak wi' Rob; and oh, sir, it wad be a
charity just to send a wheen o' your red-coats to see him safe
back to Glasgow again whether he will or no---And ye can
keep Mr. Jarvie as lang as ye like---He's responsible enough
for ony fine ye may lay on him---and so's my master for that
matter; for me, I'm just a puir gardener lad, and no worth your
steering.''

  ``I believe,'' said the officer, ``the best thing I can do is to
send these persons to the garrison under an escort. They seem
to be in immediate correspondence with the enemy, and I shall
be in no respect answerable for suffering them to be at liberty.
Gentlemen, you will consider yourselves as my prisoners. So
soon as dawn approaches, I will send you to a place of security.
If you be the persons you describe yourselves, it will soon
appear, and you will sustain no great inconvenience from being
detained a day or two. I can hear no remonstrances,'' he continued,
turning away from the Bailie, whose mouth was open
to address him; ``the service I am on gives me no time for idle
discussions.''

  ``Aweel, aweel, sir,'' said the Bailie, ``you're welcome to a
tune on your ain fiddle; but see if I dinna gar ye dance till't
afore a's dune.''

  An anxious consultation now took place between the officer
and the Highlanders, but carried on in so low a tone, that it
was impossible to catch the sense. So soon as it was concluded
they all left the house. At their departure, the Bailie thus
expressed himself:---``Thae Hielandmen are o' the westland
clans, and just as light-handed as their neighbours, an a' tales
be true, and yet ye see they hae brought them frae the head o'
Argyleshire to make war wi' puir Rob for some auld ill-will
that they hae at him and his sirname. And there's the
Grahames, and the Buchanans, and the Lennox gentry, a'
mounted and in order---It's weel ken'd their quarrel; and I
dinna blame them---naebody likes to lose his kye. And then
there's sodgers, puir things, hoyed out frae the garrison at a'
body's bidding---Puir Rob will hae his hands fu' by the time
the sun comes ower the hill. Weel---it's wrang for a magistrate
to be wishing onything agane the course o' justice, but deil o'
me an I wad break my heart to hear that Rob had gien them
a' their paiks!''


		CHAPTER THIRTIETH.

		------ General,
	Hear me, and mark me well, and look upon me
	Directly in my face---my woman's face---
	See if one fear, one shadow of a terror,
	One paleness dare appear, but from my anger,
	To lay hold on your mercies.
					Bonduca.

  We were permitted to slumber out the remainder of the night
in the best manner that the miserable accommodations of the
alehouse permitted. The Bailie, fatigued with his journey and
the subsequent scenes---less interested also in the event of our
arrest, which to him could only be a matter of temporary inconvenience---
perhaps less nice than habit had rendered me about
the cleanliness or decency of his couch,---tumbled himself into
one of the cribs which I have already described, and soon was
heard to snore soundly. A broken sleep, snatched by intervals,
while I rested my head upon the table, was my only refreshment.
In the course of the night I had occasion to observe that there
seemed to be some doubt and hesitation in the motions of the
soldiery. Men were sent out, as if to obtain intelligence,
and returned apparently without bringing any satisfactory
information to their commanding officer. He was obviously
eager and anxious, and again despatched small parties of two
or three men, some of whom, as I could understand from what
the others whispered to each other, did not return again to the
Clachan.

  The morning had broken, when a corporal and two men
rushed into the hut, dragging after them, in a sort of triumph,
a Highlander, whom I immediately recognised as my acquaintance
the ex-turnkey. The Bailie, who started up at the noise
with which they entered, immediately made the same discovery,
and exclaimed---``Mercy on us! they hae grippit the puir
creature Dougal.---Captain, I will put in bail---sufficient bail,
for that Dougal creature.''

  To this offer, dictated undoubtedly by a grateful recollection
of the late interference of the Highlander in his behalf, the
Captain only answered by requesting Mr. Jarvie to ``mind his
own affairs, and remember that he was himself for the present
a prisoner.''

  ``I take you to witness, Mr. Osbaldistone,'' said the Bailie,
who was probably better acquainted with the process in civil
than in military cases, ``that he has refused sufficient bail.
It's my opinion that the creature Dougal will have a good
action of wrongous imprisonment and damages agane him, under
the Act seventeen hundred and one, and I'll see the creature
righted.''

  The officer, whose name I understood was Thornton, paying
no attention to the Bailie's threats or expostulations, instituted
a very close inquiry into Dougal's life and conversation, and
compelled him to admit, though with apparent reluctance, the
successive facts,---that he knew Rob Roy MacGregor---that he
had seen him within these twelve months---within these six
months---within this month---within this week; in fine, that he
had parted from him only an hour ago. All this detail came like
drops of blood from the prisoner, and was, to all appearance,
only extorted by the threat of a halter and the next tree, which
Captain Thornton assured him should be his doom, if he did not
give direct and special information.

  ``And now, my friend,'' said the officer, ``you will please
inform me how many men your master has with him at
present.''

  Dougal looked in every direction except at the querist, and
began to answer, ``She canna just be sure about that.''

  ``Look at me, you Highland dog,'' said the officer, ``and
remember your life depends on your answer. How many
rogues had that outlawed scoundrel with him when you left
him?''

  ``Ou, no aboon sax rogues when I was gane.''

  ``And where are the rest of his banditti?''

  ``Gane wi' the Lieutenant agane ta westland carles.''

  ``Against the westland clans?'' said the Captain. ``Umph
---that is likely enough; and what rogue's errand were you
despatched upon?''

  ``Just to see what your honour and ta gentlemen red-coats
were doing doun here at ta Clachan.''

  ``The creature will prove fause-hearted, after a','' said the
Bailie, who by this time had planted himself close behind me;
``it's lucky I didna pit mysell to expenses anent him.''

  ``And now, my friend,'' said the Captain, ``let us understand
each other. You have confessed yourself a spy, and should
string up to the next tree---But come, if you will do me one
good turn, I will do you another. You, Donald---you shall
just, in the way of kindness, carry me and a small party to the
place where you left your master, as I wish to speak a few words
with him on serious affairs; and I'll let you go about your
business, and give you five guineas to boot.''

  ``Oigh! oigh!'' exclaimed Dougal, in the extremity of distress
and perplexity; ``she canna do tat---she canna do tat; she'll
rather be hanged.''

  ``Hanged, then, you shall be, my friend'' said the officer;
``and your blood be upon your own head. Corporal Cramp, do
you play Provost-Marshal---away with him!''

  The corporal had confronted poor Dougal for some time,
ostentatiously twisting a piece of cord which he had found in
the house into the form of a halter. He now threw it about
the culprit's neck, and, with the assistance of two soldiers, had
dragged Dougal as far as the door, when, overcome with the
terror of immediate death, he exclaimed, ``Shentlemans, stops
---stops! She'll do his honour's bidding---stops!''

  ``Awa' wi' the creature!'' said the Bailie, ``he deserves hanging
mair now than ever; awa' wi' him, corporal. Why dinna
ye tak him awa'?''

  ``It's my belief and opinion, honest gentleman,'' said the
corporal, ``that if you were going to be hanged yourself, you
would be in no such d---d hurry.'

  This by-dialogue prevented my hearing what passed between
the prisoner and Captain Thornton; but I heard the former
snivel out, in a very subdued tone, ``And ye'll ask her to gang
nae farther than just to show ye where the MacGregor is?---
Ohon! ohon!''

  ``Silence your howling, you rascal---No; I give you my word
I will ask you to go no farther.---Corporal, make the men fall
in, in front of the houses. Get out these gentlemen's horses;
we must carry them with us. I cannot spare any men to guard
them here. Come, my lads, get under arms.''

  The soldiers bustled about, and were ready to move. We
were led out, along with Dougal, in the capacity of prisoners.
As we left the hut, I heard our companion in captivity remind
the Captain of ``ta foive kuineas.''

  ``Here they are for you,'' said the officer, putting gold into
his hand; ``but observe, that if you attempt to mislead me, I
will blow your brains out with my own hand.''

  ``The creature,'' said the Bailie, ``is waur than I judged him
---it is a warldly and a perfidious creature. O the filthy lucre
of gain that men gies themsells up to! My father the deacon
used to say, the penny siller slew mair souls than the naked
sword slew bodies.''

  The landlady now approached, and demanded payment of
her reckoning, including all that had been quaffed by Major
Galbraith and his Highland friends. The English officer
remonstrated, but Mrs. MacAlpine declared, if ``she hadna
trusted to his honour's name being used in their company, she
wad never hae drawn them a stoup o' liquor; for Mr. Galbraith,
she might see him again, or she might no, but weel did she wot
she had sma' chance of seeing her siller---and she was a puir
widow, had naething but her custom to rely on.''

  Captain Thornton put a stop to her remonstrances by paying
the charge, which was only a few English shillings, though the
amount sounded very formidable in Scottish denominations.
The generous officer would have included Mr. Jarvie and me in
this general acquittance; but the Bailie, disregarding an intimation
from the landlady to ``make as muckle of the Inglishers
as we could, for they were sure to gie us plague eneugh,'' went
into a formal accounting respecting our share of the reckoning,
and paid it accordingly. The Captain took the opportunity to
make us some slight apology for detaining us. ``If we were loyal
and peaceable subjects,'' he said, ``we would not regret being
stopt for a day, when it was essential to the king's service; if
otherwise, he was acting according to his duty.''

  We were compelled to accept an apology which it would have
served no purpose to refuse, and we sallied out to attend him on
his march.

  I shall never forget the delightful sensation with which I
exchanged the dark, smoky, smothering atmosphere of the
Highland hut, in which we had passed the night so uncomfortably,
for the refreshing fragrance of the morning air, and
the glorious beams of the rising sun, which, from a tabernacle
of purple and golden clouds, were darted full on such a scene
of natural romance and beauty as had never before greeted my
eyes. To the left lay the valley, down which the Forth wandered
on its easterly course, surrounding the beautiful detached
hill, with all its garland of woods. On the right, amid a
profusion of thickets, knolls, and crags, lay the bed of a broad
mountain lake, lightly curled into tiny waves by the breath
of the morning breeze, each glittering in its course under the
influence of the sunbeams. High hills, rocks, and banks,
waving with natural forests of birch and oak, formed the
borders of this enchanting sheet of water; and, as their leaves
rustled to the wind and twinkled in the sun, gave to the depth
of solitude a sort of life and vivacity. Man alone seemed to be
placed in a state of inferiority, in a scene where all the ordinary
features of nature were raised and exalted. The miserable
little _bourocks,_ as the Bailie termed them, of which about a
dozen formed the village called the Clachan of Aberfoil, were
composed of loose stones, cemented by clay instead of mortar,
and thatched by turfs, laid rudely upon rafters formed of native
and unhewn birches and oaks from the woods around. The
roofs approached the ground so nearly, that Andrew Fairservice
observed we might have ridden over the village the night before,
and never found out we were near it, unless our horses' feet had
``gane through the riggin'.''

  From all we could see, Mrs. MacAlpine's house, miserable as
were the quarters it afforded, was still by far the best in the
hamlet; and I dare say (if my description gives you any
curiosity to see it) you will hardly find it much improved
at the present day, for the Scotch are not a people who speedily
admit innovation, even when it comes in the shape of improvement.<*>

* Note I. Clachan of Aberfoil.


  The inhabitants of these miserable dwellings were disturbed
by the noise of our departure; and as our party of about twenty
soldiers drew up in rank before marching off, we were reconnoitred
by many a beldam from the half-opened door of her
cottage. As these sibyls thrust forth their grey heads, imperfectly
covered with close caps of flannel, and showed their
shrivelled brows, and long skinny arms, with various gestures,
shrugs, and muttered expressions in Gaelic addressed to each
other, my imagination recurred to the witches of Macbeth, and
I imagined I read in the features of these crones the malevolence
of the weird sisters. The little children also, who began to
crawl forth, some quite naked, and others very imperfectly
covered with tatters of tartan stuff, clapped their tiny hands,
and grinned at the English soldiers, with an expression of
national hate and malignity which seemed beyond their years.
I remarked particularly that there were no men, nor so much
as a boy of ten or twelve years old, to be seen among the inhabitants
of a village which seemed populous in proportion to its
extent; and the idea certainly occurred to me, that we were
likely to receive from them, in the course of our journey, more
effectual tokens of ill-will than those which lowered on the
visages, and dictated the murmurs, of the women and children.
It was not until we commenced our march that the malignity
of the elder persons of the community broke forth into expressions.
The last file of men had left the village, to pursue a
small broken track, formed by the sledges in which the natives
transported their peats and turfs, and which led through the
woods that fringed the lower end of the lake, when a shrilly
sound of female exclamation broke forth, mixed with the
screams of children, the whooping of boys, and the clapping of
hands, with which the Highland dames enforce their notes,
whether of rage or lamentation. I asked Andrew, who looked
as pale as death, what all this meant.

  ``I doubt we'll ken that ower sune,'' said he. ``Means? It
means that the Highland wives are cursing and banning the
red-coats, and wishing ill-luck to them, and ilka ane that ever
spoke the Saxon tongue. I have heard wives flyte in England
and Scotland---it's nae marvel to hear them flyte ony gate; but
sic ill-scrapit tongues as thae Highland carlines'---and sic grewsome
wishes, that men should be slaughtered like sheep---and
that they may lapper their hands to the elbows in their heart's
blude---and that they suld dee the death of Walter Cuming of
Guiyock,<*> wha hadna as muckle o' him left thegither as would

* A great feudal oppressor, who, riding on some cruel purpose through
* the forest of Guiyock, was thrown from his horse, and his foot being caught
* in the stirrup, was dragged along by the frightened animal till he was torn
* to pieces. The expression, ``Walter of Guiyock's curse,'' is proverbial.

supper a messan-dog---sic awsome language as that I ne'er
heard out o' a human thrapple;---and, unless the deil wad rise
amang them to gie them a lesson, I thinkna that their talent at
cursing could be amended. The warst o't is, they bid us aye
gang up the loch, and see what we'll land in.''

  Adding Andrew's information to what I had myself observed,
I could scarce doubt that some attack was meditated upon our
party. The road, as we advanced, seemed to afford every
facility for such an unpleasant interruption. At first it winded
apart from the lake through marshy meadow ground, overgrown
with copsewood, now traversing dark and close thickets which
would have admitted an ambuscade to be sheltered within a
few yards of our line of march, and frequently crossing rough
mountain torrents, some of which took the soldiers up to the
knees, and ran with such violence, that their force could only
be stemmed by the strength of two or three men holding fast
by each other's arms. It certainly appeared to me, though
altogether unacquainted with military affairs, that a sort of
half-savage warriors, as I had heard the Highlanders asserted
to be, might, in such passes as these, attack a party of regular
forces with great advantage. The Bailie's good sense and shrewd
observation had led him to the same conclusion, as I understood
from his requesting to speak with the captain, whom he addressed
nearly in the following terms:---``Captain, it's no to fleech ony
favour out o' ye, for I scorn it---and it's under protest that I
reserve my action and pleas of oppression and wrongous imprisonment;---
but, being a friend to King George and his army, I
take the liberty to speer---Dinna ye think ye might tak a better
time to gang up this glen? If ye are seeking Rob Roy, he's
ken'd to be better than half a hunder men strong when he's at
the fewest; an if he brings in the Glengyle folk, and the Glenfinlas
and Balquhidder lads, he may come to gie you your kail
through the reek; and it's my sincere advice, as a king's friend,
ye had better tak back again to the Clachan, for thae women at
Aberfoil are like the scarts and seamaws at the Cumries---there's
aye foul weather follows their skirting.''

  ``Make yourself easy, sir,'' replied Captain Thornton; ``I
am in the execution of my orders. And as you say you are
a friend to King George, you will be glad to learn that it is
impossible that this gang of ruffians, whose license has disturbed
the country so long, can escape the measures now taken to
suppress them. The horse squadron of militia, commanded by
Major Galbraith, is already joined by two or more troops of
cavalry, which will occupy all the lower passes of this wild
country; three hundred Highlanders, under the two gentlemen
you saw at the inn, are in possession of the upper part, and
various strong parties from the garrison are securing the hills
and glens in different directions. Our last accounts of Rob
Roy correspond with what this fellow has confessed, that,
finding himself surrounded on all sides, he had dismissed the
greater part of his followers, with the purpose either of lying
concealed, or of making his escape through his superior knowledge
of the passes.''

  ``I dinna ken,'' said the Bailie; ``there's mair brandy than
brains in Garschattachin's head this morning---And I wadna,
an I were you, Captain, rest my main dependence on the
Hielandmen---hawks winna pike out hawks' een. They may
quarrel among themsells, and gie ilk ither ill names, and maybe
a slash wi' a claymore; but they are sure to join in the lang
run, against a' civilised folk, that wear breeks on their hinder
ends, and hae purses in their pouches.''

  Apparently these admonitions were not altogether thrown
away on Captain Thornton. He reformed his line of march,
commanded his soldiers to unsling their firelocks and fix their
bayonets, and formed an advanced and rear-guard, each consisting
of a non-commissioned officer and two soldiers, who
received strict orders to keep an alert look-out. Dougal
underwent another and very close examination, in which he
steadfastly asserted the truth of what he had before affirmed;
and being rebuked on account of the suspicious and dangerous
appearance of the route by which he was guiding them, he
answered with a sort of testiness that seemed very natural,
``Her nainsell didna mak ta road; an shentlemans likit grand
roads, she suld hae pided at Glasco.''

  All this passed off well enough, and we resumed our progress.

  Our route, though leading towards the lake, had hitherto
been so much shaded by wood, that we only from time to time
obtained a glimpse of that beautiful sheet of water. But the
road now suddenly emerged from the forest ground, and, winding
close by the margin of the loch, afforded us a full view of
its spacious mirror, which now, the breeze having totally subsided,
reflected in still magnificence the high dark heathy
mountains, huge grey rocks, and shaggy banks, by which it is
encircled. The hills now sunk on its margin so closely, and
were so broken and precipitous, as to afford no passage except
just upon the narrow line of the track which we occupied, and
which was overhung with rocks, from which we might have
been destroyed merely by rolling down stones, without much
possibility of offering resistance. Add to this, that, as the road
winded round every promontory and bay which indented the
lake, there was rarely a possibility of seeing a hundred yards
before us. Our commander appeared to take some alarm at
the nature of the pass in which he was engaged, which displayed
itself in repeated orders to his soldiers to be on the alert,
and in many threats of instant death to Dougal, if he should
be found to have led them into danger. Dougal received
these threats with an air of stupid impenetrability, which
might arise either from conscious innocence, or from dogged
resolution.

  ``If shentlemans were seeking ta Red Gregarach,'' he said,
``to be sure they couldna expect to find her without some wee
danger.''

  Just as the Highlander uttered these words, a halt was made
by the corporal commanding the advance, who sent back one of
the file who formed it, to tell the Captain that the path in front
was occupied by Highlanders, stationed on a commanding point
of particular difficulty. Almost at the same instant a soldier
from the rear came to say, that they heard the sound of a bagpipe
in the woods through which we had just passed. Captain
Thornton, a man of conduct as well as courage, instantly resolved
to force the pass in front, without waiting till he was assailed
from the rear; and, assuring his soldiers that the bagpipes which
they heard were those of the friendly Highlanders who were
advancing to their assistance, he stated to them the importance
of advancing and securing Rob Roy, if possible, before these
auxiliaries should come up to divide with them the honour, as
well as the reward which was placed on the head of this celebrated
freebooter. He therefore ordered the rearguard to join
the centre, and both to close up to the advance, doubling his
files so as to occupy with his column the whole practicable part
of the road, and to present such a front as its breadth admitted.
Dougal, to whom he said in a whisper, ``You dog, if you have
deceived me, you shall die for it!'' was placed in the centre,
between two grenadiers, with positive orders to shoot him if he
attempted an escape. The same situation was assigned to us,
as being the safest, and Captain Thornton, taking his half-pike
from the soldier who carried it, placed himself at the
head of his little detachment, and gave the word to march
forward.

  The party advanced with the firmness of English soldiers.
Not so Andrew Fairservice, who was frightened out of his wits;
and not so, if truth must be told, either the Bailie or I myself,
who, without feeling the same degree of trepidation, could not
with stoical indifference see our lives exposed to hazard in a
quarrel with which we had no concern. But there was neither
time for remonstrance nor remedy.

  We approached within about twenty yards of the spot where
the advanced guard had seen some appearance of an enemy.
It was one of those promontories which run into the lake, and
round the base of which the road had hitherto winded in the
manner I have described. In the present case, however, the
path, instead of keeping the water's edge, sealed the promontory
by one or two rapid zigzags, carried in a broken track along the
precipitous face of a slaty grey rock, which would otherwise
have been absolutely inaccessible. On the top of this rock, only
to be approached by a road so broken, so narrow, and so precarious,
the corporal declared he had seen the bonnets and long-barrelled
guns of several mountaineers, apparently couched
among the long heath and brushwood which crested the eminence.
Captain Thornton ordered him to move forward with
three files, to dislodge the supposed ambuscade, while, at a more
slow but steady pace, he advanced to his support with the rest
of his party.

  The attack which he meditated was prevented by the unexpected
apparition of a female upon the summit of the rock.

  ``Stand!'' she said, with a commanding tone, ``and tell me what
ye seek in MacGregor's country?''

  I have seldom seen a finer or more commanding form than
this woman. She might be between the term of forty and fifty
years, and had a countenance which must once have been of a
masculine cast of beauty; though now, imprinted with deep
lines by exposure to rough weather, and perhaps by the wasting
influence of grief and passion, its features were only strong,
harsh, and expressive. She wore her plaid, not drawn around
her head and shoulders, as is the fashion of the women in
Scotland, but disposed around her body as the Highland soldiers
wear theirs. She had a man's bonnet, with a feather in it, an
unsheathed sword in her hand, and a pair of pistols at her girdle.

  ``It's Helen Campbell, Rob's wife,'' said the Bailie, in a
whisper of considerable alarm; ``and there will be broken heads
amang us or it's lang.''

  ``What seek ye here?'' she asked again of Captain Thornton,
who had himself advanced to reconnoitre.

  ``We seek the outlaw, Rob Roy MacGregor Campbell,''
answered the officer, ``and make no war on women; therefore
offer no vain opposition to the king's troops, and assure yourself
of civil treatment.''

  ``Ay,'' retorted the Amazon, ``I am no stranger to your
tender mercies. Ye have left me neither name nor fame---my
mother's bones will shrink aside in their grave when mine are
laid beside them---Ye have left me neither house nor hold,
blanket nor bedding, cattle to feed us, or flocks to clothe us---
Ye have taken from us all---all!---The very name of our ancestors
have ye taken away, and now ye come for our lives.''

  ``I seek no man's life,'' replied the Captain; ``I only execute
my orders. If you are alone, good woman, you have nought to
fear---if there are any with you so rash as to offer useless resistance,
their own blood be on their own heads. Move forward,
sergeant.''

  ``Forward! march!'' said the non-commissioned officer.
``Huzza, my boys, for Rob Roy's head and a purse of gold.''

  He quickened his pace into a run, followed by the six
soldiers; but as they attained the first traverse of the ascent,
the flash of a dozen of firelocks from various parts of the pass
parted in quick succession and deliberate aim. The sergeant,
shot through the body, still struggled to gain the ascent, raised
himself by his hands to clamber up the face of the rock, but
relaxed his grasp, after a desperate effort, and falling, rolled
from the face of the cliff into the deep lake, where he perished.
Of the soldiers, three fell, slain or disabled; the others retreated
on their main body, all more or less wounded.

  ``Grenadiers, to the front!'' said Captain Thornton.---You
are to recollect, that in those days this description of soldiers
actually carried that destructive species of firework from which
they derive their name. The four grenadiers moved to the
front accordingly. The officer commanded the rest of the party
to be ready to support them, and only saying to us, ``Look to
your safety, gentlemen,'' gave, in rapid succession, the word to
the grenadiers---``Open your pouches---handle your grenades---
blow your matches---fall on.''

  The whole advanced with a shout, headed by Captain Thornton,
---the grenadiers preparing to throw their grenades among
the bushes where the ambuscade lay, and the musketeers to
support them by an instant and close assault. Dougal, forgotten
in the scuffle, wisely crept into the thicket which overhung
that part of the road where we had first halted, which he
ascended with the activity of a wild cat. I followed his example,
instinctively recollecting that the fire of the Highlanders
would sweep the open track. I clambered until out of breath;
for a continued spattering fire, in which every shot was multiplied
by a thousand echoes, the hissing of the kindled fusees of
the grenades, and the successive explosion of those missiles,
mingled with the huzzas of the soldiers, and the yells and cries
of their Highland antagonists, formed a contrast which added---
I do not shame to own it---wings to my desire to reach a place
of safety. The difficulties of the ascent soon increased so much,
that I despaired of reaching Dougal, who seemed to swing
himself from rock to rock, and stump to stump, with the facility
of a squirrel, and I turned down my eyes to see what had
become of my other companions.   Both were brought to a very
awkward standstill.

  The Bailie, to whom I suppose fear had given a temporary
share of agility, had ascended about twenty feet from the path,
when his foot slipping, as he straddled from one huge fragment
of rock to another, he would have slumbered with his father the
deacon, whose acts and words he was so fond of quoting, but
for a projecting branch of a ragged thorn, which, catching hold
of the skirts of his riding-coat, supported him in mid-air, where
he dangled not unlike to the sign of the Golden Fleece over the
door of a mercer in the Trongate of his native city.

  As for Andrew Fairservice, he had advanced with better
success, until he had attained the top of a bare cliff, which,
rising above the wood, exposed him, at least in his own opinion,
to all the dangers of the neighbouring skirmish, while, at the
same time, it was of such a precipitous and impracticable
nature, that he dared neither to advance nor retreat. Footing
it up and down upon the narrow space which the top of the
cliff afforded (very like a fellow at a country-fair dancing upon
a trencher), he roared for mercy in Gaelic and English alternately,
according to the side on which the scale of victory
seemed to predominate, while his exclamations were only
answered by the groans of the Bailie, who suffered much, not
only from apprehension, but from the pendulous posture in
which he hung suspended by the loins.

  On perceiving the Bailie's precarious situation, my first idea
was to attempt to render him assistance; but this was impossible
without the concurrence of Andrew, whom neither sign,
nor entreaty, nor command, nor expostulation, could inspire with
courage to adventure the descent from his painful elevation,
where, like an unskilful and obnoxious minister of state, unable
to escape from the eminence to which he had presumptuously
ascended, he continued to pour forth piteous prayers for mercy,
which no one heard, and to skip to and fro, writhing his body
into all possible antic shapes to avoid the balls which he conceived
to be whistling around him.

  In a few minutes this cause of terror ceased, for the fire, at
first so well sustained, now sunk at once---a sure sign that the
conflict was concluded. To gain some spot from which I could
see how the day had gone was now my object, in order to
appeal to the mercy of the victors, who, I trusted (whichever
side might be gainers), would not suffer the honest Bailie to
remain suspended, like the coffin of Mahomet, between heaven
and earth, without lending a hand to disengage him. At length,
by dint of scrambling, I found a spot which commanded a view
of the field of battle. It was indeed ended; and, as my mind
already augured, from the place and circumstances attending
the contest, it had terminated in the defeat of Captain Thornton.
I saw a party of Highlanders in the act of disarming that
officer, and the scanty remainder of his party. They consisted
of about twelve men most of whom were wounded, who, surrounded
by treble their number, and without the power either
to advance or retreat, exposed to a murderous and well-aimed
fire, which they had no means of returning with effect, had at
length laid down their arms by the order of their officer, when
he saw that the road in his rear was occupied, and that protracted
resistance would be only wasting the lives of his brave
followers. By the Highlanders, who fought under cover, the
victory was cheaply bought, at the expense of one man slain
and two wounded by the grenades. All this I learned afterwards.
At present I only comprehended the general result of
the day, from seeing the English officer, whose face was covered
with blood, stripped of his hat and arms, and his men, with
sullen and dejected countenances which marked their deep
regret, enduring, from the wild and martial figures who surrounded
them, the severe measures to which the laws of war
subject the vanquished for security of the victors.


			CHAPTER THIRTY-FIRST.

	``Woe to the vanquished!'' was stern Brenno's word,
	When sunk proud Rome beneath the Gallic sword---
	``Woe to the vanquished!'' when his massive blade
	Bore down the scale against her ransom weigh'd;
	And on the field of foughten battle still,
	Woe knows no limits save the victor's will.
						The Gaulliad.

  I anxiously endeavoured to distinguish Dougal among the
victors. I had little doubt that the part he had played was
assumed, on purpose to lead the English officer into the defile, and
I could not help admiring the address with which the ignorant,
and apparently half-brutal savage, had veiled his purpose, and
the affected reluctance with which he had suffered to be extracted
from him the false information which it must have been his purpose
from the beginning to communicate. I foresaw we should
incur some danger on approaching the victors in the first flush of
their success, which was not unstained with cruelty; for one or
two of the soldiers, whose wounds prevented them from rising,
were poniarded by the victors, or rather by some ragged Highland
boys who had mingled with them. I concluded, therefore,
it would be unsafe to present ourselves without some mediator;
and as Campbell, whom I now could not but identify with the
celebrated freebooter Rob Roy, was nowhere to be seen, I resolved
to claim the protection of his emissary, Dougal.

  After gazing everywhere in vain, I at length retraced my steps
to see what assistance I could individually render to my unlucky
friend, when, to my great joy, I saw Mr. Jarvie delivered from
his state of suspense; and though very black in the face, and
much deranged in the garments, safely seated beneath the rock,
in front of which he had been so lately suspended. I hastened
to join him and offer my congratulations, which he was at first
far from receiving in the spirit of cordiality with which they
were offered. A heavy fit of coughing scarce permitted him
breath enough to express the broken hints which he threw out
against my sincerity.

  ``Uh! uh! uh! uh!---they say a friend---uh! uh!---a friend
sticketh closer than a brither---uh! uh! uh! When I came up
here, Maister Osbaldistone, to this country, cursed of God and
man---uh! uh---Heaven forgie me for swearing---on nae man's
errand but yours, d'ye think it was fair---uh! uh! uh!---to leave
me, first, to be shot or drowned atween red-wad Highlanders and
red-coats; and next to be hung up between heaven and earth,
like an auld potato-bogle, without sae muckle as trying---uh!
uh!---sae muckle as trying to relieve me?''

  I made a thousand apologies, and laboured so hard to represent
the impossibility of my affording him relief by my own unassisted
exertions, that at length I succeeded, and the Bailie, who was
as placable as hasty in his temper, extended his favour to me
once more. I next took the liberty of asking him how he had
contrived to extricate himself.

  ``Me extricate! I might hae hung there till the day of judgment
or I could hae helped mysell, wi' my head hinging down on
the tae side, and my heels on the tother, like the yarn-scales in
the weigh-house. It was the creature Dougal that extricated me,
as he did yestreen; he cuttit aff the tails o' my coat wi' his durk,
and another gillie and him set me on my legs as cleverly as if I
had never been aff them. But to see what a thing gude braid
claith is! Had I been in ony o' your rotten French camlets
now, or your drab-de-berries, it would hae screeded like an auld
rag wi' sic a weight as mine. But fair fa' the weaver that
wrought the weft o't---I swung and bobbit yonder as safe as a
gabbart<*> that's moored by a three-ply cable at the Broomielaw.''

* A kind of lighter used in the river Clyde,---probably from the French
* _abare._


  I now inquired what had become of his preserver.

  ``The creature,'' so he continued to call the Highlandman,
``contrived to let me ken there wad be danger in gaun near the
leddy till he came back, and bade me stay here. I am o' the
mind,'' he continued, ``that he's seeking after you---it's a considerate
creature---and troth, I wad swear he was right about
the leddy, as he ca's her, too---Helen Campbell was nane o' the
maist douce maidens, nor meekest wives neither, and folk say
that Rob himsell stands in awe o' her. I doubt she winna ken
me, for it's mony years since we met---I am clear for waiting for
the Dougal creature or we gang near her.''

  I signified my acquiescence in this reasoning; but it was not
the will of fate that day that the Bailie's prudence should profit
himself or any one else.

  Andrew Fairservice, though he had ceased to caper on the
pinnacle upon the cessation of the firing, which had given occasion
for his whimsical exercise, continued, as perched on the
top of an exposed cliff, too conspicuous an object to escape the
sharp eyes of the Highlanders, when they had time to look a
little around them. We were apprized he was discovered, by a
wild and loud halloo set up among the assembled victors, three or
four of whom instantly plunged into the copsewood, and ascended
the rocky side of the hill in different directions towards the place
where they had discovered this whimsical apparition.

  Those who arrived first within gunshot of poor Andrew, did
not trouble themselves to offer him any assistance in the ticklish
posture of his affairs, but levelling their long Spanish-barrelled
guns, gave him to understand, by signs which admitted of no
misconstruction, that he must contrive to come down and submit
himself to their mercy, or to be marked at from beneath, like a
regimental target set up for ball-practice. With such a formidable
hint for venturous exertion, Andrew Fairservice could no
longer hesitate; the more imminent peril overcame his sense of
that which seemed less inevitable, and he began to descend the
cliff at all risks, clutching to the ivy and oak stumps, and projecting
fragments of rock, with an almost feverish anxiety, and
never failing, as circumstances left him a hand at liberty, to extend
it to the plaided gentry below in an attitude of supplication,
as if to deprecate the discharge of their levelled firearms.
In a word, the fellow, under the influence of a counteracting
motive for terror, achieved a safe descent from his perilous
eminence, which, I verily believe, nothing but the fear of instant
death could have moved him to attempt. The awkward mode
of Andrew's descent greatly amused the Highlanders below, who
fired a shot or two while he was engaged in it, without the purpose
of injuring him, as I believe, but merely to enhance the
amusement they derived from his extreme terror, and the superlative
exertions of agility to which it excited him.

  At length he attained firm and comparatively level ground---
or rather, to speak more correctly, his foot slipping at the last
point of descent, he fell on the earth at his full length, and was
raised by the assistance of the Highlanders, who stood to receive
him, and who, ere he gained his legs, stripped him not only of
the whole contents of his pockets, but of periwig, hat, coat,
doublet, stockings, and shoes, performing the feat with such
admirable celerity, that, although he fell on his back a well-clothed
and decent burgher-seeming serving-man, he arose a
forked, uncased, bald-pated, beggarly-looking scarecrow. Without
respect to the pain which his undefended toes experienced
from the sharp encounter of the rocks over which they hurried
him, those who had detected Andrew proceeded to drag him
downward towards the road through all the intervening obstacles.

  In the course of their descent, Mr. Jarvie and I became
exposed to their lynx-eyed observation, and instantly half-a-dozen
of armed Highlanders thronged around us, with drawn dirks and
swords pointed at our faces and throats, and cocked pistols presented
against our bodies. To have offered resistance would
have been madness, especially as we had no weapons capable of
supporting such a demonstration. We therefore submitted to
our fate; and with great roughness on the part of those who
assisted at our toilette, were in the act of being reduced to as
unsophisticated a state (to use King Lear's phrase) as the plume-less
biped Andrew Fairservice, who stood shivering between fear
and cold at a few yards' distance. Good chance, however, saved
us from this extremity of wretchedness; for, just as I had
yielded up my cravat (a smart Steinkirk, by the way, and
richly laced), and the Bailie had been disrobed of the fragments
of his riding-coat---enter Dougal, and the scene was changed.
By a high tone of expostulation, mixed with oaths and threats,
as far as I could conjecture the tenor of his language from the
violence of his gestures, he compelled the plunderers, however
reluctant, not only to give up their further depredations on our
property, but to restore the spoil they had already appropriated.
He snatched my cravat from the fellow who had seized it, and
twisted it (in the zeal of his restitution) around my neck with such
suffocating energy as made me think that he had not only been,
during his residence at Glasgow, a substitute of the jailor, but
must moreover have taken lessons as an apprentice of the hangman.
He flung the tattered remnants of Mr. Jarvie's coat around
his shoulders, and as more Highlanders began to flock towards
us from the high road, he led the way downwards, directing and
commanding the others to afford us, but particularly the Bailie,
the assistance necessary to our descending with comparative ease
and safety. It was, however, in vain that Andrew Fairservice
employed his lungs in obsecrating a share of Dougal's protection,
or at least his interference to procure restoration of his shoes.

  ``Na, na,'' said Dougal in reply, ``she's nae gentle pody, I
trow; her petters hae ganged parefoot, or she's muckle mista'en.''
And, leaving Andrew to follow at his leisure, or rather at such
leisure as the surrounding crowd were pleased to indulge him
with, he hurried us down to the pathway in which the skirmish
had been fought, and hastened to present us as additional
captives to the female leader of his band.

  We were dragged before her accordingly, Dougal fighting,
struggling, screaming, as if he were the party most apprehensive
of hurt, and repulsing, by threats and efforts, all those who
attempted to take a nearer interest in our capture than he
seemed to do himself. At length we were placed before the
heroine of the day, whose appearance, as well as those of the
savage, uncouth, yet martial figures who surrounded us, struck
me, to own the truth, with considerable apprehension. I do
not know if Helen MacGregor had personally mingled in the
fray, and indeed I was afterwards given to understand the
contrary; but the specks of blood on her brow, her hands and
naked arms, as well as on the blade of her sword which she
continued to hold in her hand---her flushed countenance, and
the disordered state of the raven locks which escaped from
under the red bonnet and plume that formed her head-dress,
seemed all to intimate that she had taken an immediate share
in the conflict. Her keen black eyes and features expressed an
imagination inflamed by the pride of gratified revenge, and the
triumph of victory. Yet there was nothing positively sanguinary,
or cruel, in her deportment; and she reminded me,
when the immediate alarm of the interview was over, of some
of the paintings I had seen of the inspired heroines in the
Catholic churches of France. She was not, indeed, sufficiently
beautiful for a Judith, nor had she the inspired expression of
features which painters have given to Deborah, or to the wife
of Heber the Kenite, at whose feet the strong oppressor of
Israel, who dwelled in Harosheth of the Gentiles, bowed down,
fell, and lay a dead man. Nevertheless, the enthusiasm by
which she was agitated gave her countenance and deportment,
wildly dignified in themselves, an air which made her approach
nearly to the ideas of those wonderful artists who gave to the
eye the heroines of Scripture history.

  I was uncertain in what terms to accost a personage so
uncommon, when Mr. Jarvie, breaking the ice with a preparatory
cough (for the speed with which he had been brought
into her presence had again impeded his respiration), addressed
her as follows:---``Uh! uh! &c. &c. I am very happy to have
this _joyful_ opportunity'' (a quaver in his voice strongly belied
the emphasis which he studiously laid on the word joyful)---
``this joyful occasion,'' he resumed, trying to give the adjective
a more suitable accentuation, ``to wish my kinsman
Robin's wife a very good morning---Uh! uh!---How's a' wi' ye?''
(by this time he had talked himself into his usual jog-trot
manner, which exhibited a mixture of familiarity and self-importance)
---``How's a' wi' ye this lang time? Ye'll hae
forgotten me, Mrs. MacGregor Campbell, as your cousin---uh!
uh!---but ye'll mind my father, Deacon Nicol Jarvie, in the
Saut Market o' Glasgow?---an honest man he was, and a
sponsible, and respectit you and yours. Sae, as I said before,
I am right glad to see you, Mrs. MacGregor Campbell, as my
kinsman's wife. I wad crave the liberty of a kinsman to salute
you, but that your gillies keep such a dolefu' fast haud o' my
arms, and, to speak Heaven's truth and a magistrate's, ye
wadna be the waur of a cogfu' o' water before ye welcomed your
friends.''

  There was something in the familiarity of this introduction
which ill suited the exalted state of temper of the person to
whom it was addressed, then busied with distributing dooms of
death, and warm from conquest in a perilous encounter.

  ``What fellow are you,'' she said, ``that dare to claim kindred
with the MacGregor, and neither wear his dress nor speak his
language?---What are you, that have the tongue and the habit
of the hound, and yet seek to lie down with the deer?''

  ``I dinna ken,'' said the undaunted Bailie, ``if the kindred
has ever been weel redd out to you yet, cousin---but it's ken'd,
and can be prov'd. My mother, Elspeth MacFarlane, was the
wife of my father, Deacon Nicol Jarvie---peace be wi' them
baith!---and Elspeth was the daughter of Parlane MacFarlane,
at the Sheeling o' Loch Sloy. Now, this Parlane MacFarlane,
as his surviving daughter Maggy MacFarlane, _alias_ MacNab,
wha married Duncan MacNab o' Stuckavrallachan, can testify,
stood as near to your gudeman, Robert MacGregor, as in the
fourth degree of kindred, for''------

  The virago lopped the genealogical tree, by demanding
haughtily, ``If a stream of rushing water acknowledged any
relation with the portion withdrawn from it for the mean
domestic uses of those who dwelt on its banks?''

  ``Vera true, kinswoman,'' said the Bailie; ``but for a' that,
the burn wad be glad to hae the milldam back again in simmer,
when the chuckie-stanes are white in the sun. I ken weel
eneugh you Hieland folk haud us Glasgow people light and
cheap for our language and our claes;---but everybody speaks
their native tongue that they learned in infancy; and it would
be a daft-like thing to see me wi' my fat wame in a short
Hieland coat, and my puir short houghs gartered below the
knee, like ane o' your lang-legged gillies. Mair by token, kinswoman,''
he continued, in defiance of various intimations by
which Dougal seemed to recommend silence, as well as of the
marks of impatience which the Amazon evinced at his loquacity,
``I wad hae ye to mind that the king's errand whiles
comes in the cadger's gate, and that, for as high as ye may
think o' the gudeman, as it's right every wife should honour
her husband---there's Scripture warrant for that---yet as high
as ye haud him, as I was saying, I hae been serviceable to Rob
ere now;---forbye a set o' pearlins I sent yourself when ye was
gaun to be married, and when Rob was an honest weel-doing
drover, and nane o' this unlawfu' wark, wi' fighting, and flashes,
and fluff-gibs, disturbing the king's peace and disarming his
soldiers.''

  He had apparently touched on a key which his kinswoman
could not brook. She drew herself up to her full height, and
betrayed the acuteness of her feelings by a laugh of mingled
scorn and bitterness.

  ``Yes,'' she said, ``you, and such as you, might claim a
relation to us, when we stooped to be the paltry wretches fit
to exist under your dominion, as your hewers of wood and
drawers of water---to find cattle for your banquets, and subjects
for your laws to oppress and trample on. But now we are free---
free by the very act which left us neither house nor hearth, food
nor covering---which bereaved me of all---of all---and makes
me groan when I think I must still cumber the earth for other
purposes than those of vengeance. And I will carry on the
work, this day has so well commenced, by a deed that shall
break all bands between MacGregor and the Lowland churls.
Here Allan---Dougal---bind these Sassenachs neck and heel
together, and throw them into the Highland Loch to seek for
their Highland kinsfolk.''

  The Bailie, alarmed at this mandate, was commencing an
expostulation, which probably would have only inflamed the
violent passions of the person whom he addressed, when Dougal
threw himself between them, and in his own language, which
he spoke with a fluency and rapidity strongly contrasted by
the slow, imperfect, and idiot-like manner in which he expressed
himself in English, poured forth what I doubt not was a very
animated pleading in our behalf.

  His mistress replied to him, or rather cut short his harangue,
by exclaiming in English (as if determined to make us taste in
anticipation the full bitterness of death)---``Base dog, and son
of a dog, do you dispute my commands? Should I tell ye to
cut out their tongues and put them into each other's throats,
to try which would there best knap Southron, or to tear out
their hearts and put them into each other's breasts, to see which
would there best plot treason against the MacGregor---and such
things have been done of old in the day of revenge, when our
fathers had wrongs to redress---Should I command you to do
this, would it be your part to dispute my orders?''

  ``To be sure, to be sure,'' Dougal replied, with accents of
profound submission; ``her pleasure suld be done---tat's but
reason; but an it were---tat is, an it could be thought the
same to her to coup the ill-faured loon of ta red-coat Captain,
and hims corporal Cramp, and twa three o' the red-coats, into
the loch, herself wad do't wi' muckle mair great satisfaction
than to hurt ta honest civil shentlemans as were friends to the
Gregarach, and came up on the Chiefs assurance, and not to do
no treason, as herself could testify.''

  The lady was about to reply, when a few wild strains of a
pibroch were heard advancing up the road from Aberfoil, the
same probably which had reached the ears of Captain Thornton's
rear-guard, and determined him to force his way onward
rather than return to the village, on finding the pass occupied.
The skirmish being of very short duration, the armed men who
followed this martial melody, had not, although quickening
their march when they heard the firing, been able to arrive in
time sufficient to take any share in the rencontre. The victory,
therefore, was complete without them, and they now arrived
only to share in the triumph of their countrymen.

  There was a marked difference betwixt the appearance of
these new comers and that of the party by which our escort
had been defeated---and it was greatly in favour of the former.
Among the Highlanders who surrounded the Chieftainess, if I
may presume to call her so without offence to grammar, were
men in the extremity of age, boys scarce able to bear a sword,
and even women---all, in short, whom the last necessity urges
to take up arms; and it added a shade of bitter shame to the
defection which clouded Thornton's manly countenance, when
he found that the numbers and position of a foe, otherwise so
despicable, had enabled them to conquer his brave veterans.
But the thirty or forty Highlanders who now joined the others,
were all men in the prime of youth or manhood, active clean-made
fellows, whose short hose and belted plaids set out their
sinewy limbs to the best advantage. Their arms were as superior
to those of the first party as their dress and appearance. The
followers of the female Chief had axes, scythes, and other
antique weapons, in aid of their guns; and some had only
clubs, daggers, and long knives. But of the second party, most
had pistols at the belt, and almost all had dirks hanging at the
pouches which they wore in front. Each had a good gun in
his hand, and a broadsword by his side, besides a stout round
target, made of light wood, covered with leather, and curiously
studded with brass, and having a steel spike screwed into the
centre. These hung on their left shoulder during a march, or
while they were engaged in exchanging fire with the enemy,
and were worn on their left arm when they charged with sword
in hand.

  But it was easy to see that this chosen band had not arrived
from a victory such as they found their ill-appointed companions
possessed of. The pibroch sent forth occasionally a few wailing
notes expressive of a very different sentiment from triumph;
and when they appeared before the wife of their Chieftain, it
was in silence, and with downcast and melancholy looks. They
paused when they approached her, and the pipes again sent forth
the same wild and melancholy strain.

  Helen rushed towards them with a countenance in which
anger was mingled with apprehension.---``What means this,
Alaster?'' she said to the minstrel---``why a lament in the
moment of victory?---Robert---Hamish---where's the MacGregor?
---where's your father?''

  Her sons, who led the band, advanced with slow and irresolute
steps towards her, and murmured a few words in Gaelic,
at hearing which she set up a shriek that made the rocks ring
again, in which all the women and boys joined, clapping their
hands and yelling as if their lives had been expiring in the
sound. The mountain echoes, silent since the military sounds
of battle had ceased, had now to answer these frantic and discordant
shrieks of sorrow, which drove the very night-birds
from their haunts in the rocks, as if they were startled to hear
orgies more hideous and ill-omened than their own, performed
in the face of open day.

  ``Taken!'' repeated Helen, when the clamour had subsided
---``Taken!---captive!---and you live to say so?---Coward
dogs! did I nurse you for this, that you should spare your
blood on your father's enemies? or see him prisoner, and come
back to tell it?''

  The sons of MacGregor, to whom this expostulation was
addressed, were youths, of whom the eldest had hardly attained
his twentieth year. _Hamish,_ or James, the elder of these
youths, was the tallest by a head, and much handsomer than
his brother; his light-blue eyes, with a profusion of fair hair,
which streamed from under his smart blue bonnet, made his
whole appearance a most favourable specimen of the Highland
youth. The younger was called Robert; but, to distinguish
him from his father, the Highlanders added the epithet _Oig,_ or
the young. Dark hair, and dark features, with a ruddy glow of
health and animation, and a form strong and well-set beyond his
years, completed the sketch of the young mountaineer.

  Both now stood before their mother with countenances
clouded with grief and shame, and listened, with the most
respectful submission, to the reproaches with which she loaded
them. At length when her resentment appeared in some
degree to subside, the eldest, speaking in English, probably that
he might not be understood by their followers, endeavoured
respectfully to vindicate himself and his brother from his
mother's reproaches. I was so near him as to comprehend
much of what he said; and, as it was of great consequence to
me to be possessed of information in this strange crisis, I failed
not to listen as attentively as I could.

  ``The MacGregor,'' his son stated, ``had been called out upon
a trysting with a Lowland hallion, who came with a token
from''---he muttered the name very low, but I thought it sounded
like my own. ``The MacGregor,'' he said, ``accepted of the invitation,
but commanded the Saxon who brought the message
to be detained, as a hostage that good faith should be observed
to him. Accordingly he went to the place of appointment''
(which had some wild Highland name that I cannot remember),
``attended only by Angus Breck and Little Rory, commanding
no one to follow him. Within half an hour Angus Breck came
back with the doleful tidings that the MacGregor had been
surprised and made prisoner by a party of Lennox militia, under
Galbraith of Garschattachin.'' He added, ``that Galbraith, on
being threatened by MacGregor, who upon his capture menaced
him with retaliation on the person of the hostage, had treated
the threat with great contempt, replying, `Let each side hang his
man; we'll hang the thief, and your catherans may hang the
gauger, Rob, and the country will be rid of two damned things
at once, a wild Highlander and a revenue officer.' Angus Breck,
less carefully looked to than his master, contrived to escape from
the hands of the captors, after having been in their custody long
enough to hear this discussion, and to bring off the news.''

  ``And did you learn this, you false-hearted traitor,'' said the
wife of MacGregor, ``and not instantly rush to your father's
rescue, to bring him off, or leave your body on the place?''

  The young MacGregor modestly replied, by representing the
very superior force of the enemy, and stated, that as they made
no preparation for leaving the country, he had fallen back up
the glen with the purpose of collecting a band sufficient to
attempt a rescue with some tolerable chance of success. At
length he said, ``the militiamen would quarter, he understood,
in the neighbouring house of Gartartan, or the old castle in the
port of Monteith, or some other stronghold, which, although
strong and defensible, was nevertheless capable of being surprised,
could they but get enough of men assembled for the
purpose.''

  I understood afterwards that the rest of the freebooter's
followers were divided into two strong bands, one destined to
watch the remaining garrison of Inversnaid, a party of which,
under Captain Thornton, had been defeated; and another to
show front to the Highland clans who had united with the
regular troops and Lowlanders in this hostile and combined
invasion of that mountainous and desolate territory, which
lying between the lakes of Loch Lomond, Loch Katrine, and
Loch Ard, was at this time currently called Rob Roy's, or the
MacGregor country. Messengers were despatched in great
haste, to concentrate, as I supposed, their forces, with a view to
the purposed attack on the Lowlanders; and the dejection and
despair, at first visible on each countenance, gave place to the
hope of rescuing their leader, and to the thirst of vengeance.
It was under the burning influence of the latter passion that
the wife of MacGregor commanded that the hostage exchanged
for his safety should be brought into her presence. I believe
her sons had kept this unfortunate wretch out of her sight, for
fear of the consequences; but if it was so, their humane precaution
only postponed his fate. They dragged forward at her
summons a wretch already half dead with terror, in whose
agonised features I recognised, to my horror and astonishment,
my old acquaintance Morris.

  He fell prostrate before the female Chief with an effort to
clasp her knees, from which she drew back, as if his touch had
been pollution, so that all he could do in token of the extremity
of his humiliation, was to kiss the hem of her plaid. I never
heard entreaties for life poured forth with such agony of spirit.
The ecstasy of fear was such, that instead of paralysing his
tongue, as on ordinary occasions, it even rendered him eloquent;
and, with cheeks pale as ashes, hands compressed in agony,
eyes that seemed to be taking their last look of all mortal
objects, he protested, with the deepest oaths, his total ignorance
of any design on the person of Rob Roy, whom he swore he
loved and honoured as his own soul. In the inconsistency of
his terror, he said he was but the agent of others, and he muttered
the name of Rashleigh. He prayed but for life---for life
he would give all he had in the world: it was but life he asked
---life, if it were to be prolonged under tortures and privations:
he asked only breath, though it should be drawn in the damps
of the lowest caverns of their hills.

  It is impossible to describe the scorn, the loathing, and contempt,
with which the wife of MacGregor regarded this wretched
petitioner for the poor boon of existence.

  ``I could have bid ye live,'' she said, ``had life been to you
the same weary and wasting burden that it is to me---that it is
to every noble and generous mind. But you---wretch! you
could creep through the world unaffected by its various disgraces,
its ineffable miseries, its constantly accumulating masses
of crime and sorrow: you could live and enjoy yourself, while
the noble-minded are betrayed---while nameless and birthless
villains tread on the neck of the brave and the long-descended:
you could enjoy yourself, like a butcher's dog in the shambles,
battening on garbage, while the slaughter of the oldest and best
went on around you! This enjoyment you shall not live to
partake of!---you shall die, base dog! and that before yon cloud
has passed over the sun.''

  She gave a brief command in Gaelic to her attendants, two of
whom seized upon the prostrate suppliant, and hurried him to
the brink of a cliff which overhung the flood. He set up the
most piercing and dreadful cries that fear ever uttered---I may
well term them dreadful, for they haunted my sleep for years
afterwards. As the murderers, or executioners, call them as
you will, dragged him along, he recognised me even in that
moment of horror, and exclaimed, in the last articulate words I
ever heard him utter, ``Oh, Mr. Osbaldistone, save me!---save
me!''

  I was so much moved by this horrid spectacle, that, although
in momentary expectation of sharing his fate, I did attempt to
speak in his behalf, but, as might have been expected, my
interference was sternly disregarded. The victim was held fast
by some, while others, binding a large heavy stone in a plaid,
tied it round his neck, and others again eagerly stripped him of
some part of his dress. Half-naked, and thus manacled, they
hurled him into the lake, there about twelve feet deep, with a
loud halloo of vindictive triumph,---above which, however, his
last death-shriek, the yell of mortal agony, was distinctly heard.
The heavy burden splashed in the dark-blue waters, and the
Highlanders, with their pole-axes and swords, watched an instant
to guard, lest, extricating himself from the load to which he was
attached, the victim might have struggled to regain the shore.
But the knot had been securely bound---the wretched man sunk
without effort; the waters, which his fall had disturbed, settled
calmly over him, and the unit of that life for which he had
pleaded so strongly, was for ever withdrawn from the sum of
human existence.



		CHAPTER THIRTY-SECOND.

	And be he safe restored ere evening set,
	Or, if there's vengeance in an injured heart,
	And power to wreak it in an armed hand,
	Your land shall ache for't.
					Old Play.

  I know not why it is that a single deed of violence and cruelty
affects our nerves more than when these are exercised on a more
extended scale. I had seen that day several of my brave
countrymen fall in battle: it seemed to me that they met a lot
appropriate to humanity, and my bosom, though thrilling with
interest, was affected with nothing of that sickening horror with
which I beheld the unfortunate Morris put to death without
resistance, and in cold blood. I looked at my companion, Mr.
Jarvie, whose face reflected the feelings which were painted in
mine. Indeed he could not so suppress his horror, but that the
words escaped him in a low and broken whisper,---

  ``I take up my protest against this deed, as a bloody and
cruel murder---it is a cursed deed, and God will avenge it in
his due way and time.''

  ``Then you do not fear to follow?'' said the virago, bending
on him a look of death, such as that with which a hawk looks
at his prey ere he pounces.

  ``Kinswoman,'' said the Bailie, ``nae man willingly wad cut
short his thread of life before the end o' his pirn was fairly
measured off on the yarn-winles---And I hae muckle to do, an
I be spared, in this warld---public and private business, as weel
that belonging to the magistracy as to my ain particular; and
nae doubt I hae some to depend on me, as puir Mattie, wha is
an orphan---She's a far-awa' cousin o' the Laird o' Limmerfield.
Sae that, laying a' this thegither---skin for skin, yea all that a
man hath, will he give for his life.''

  ``And were I to set you at liberty,'' said the imperious dame,
``what name could you give to the drowning of that Saxon
dog?''

  ``Uh! uh!---hem! hem!'' said the Bailie, clearing his throat
as well as he could, ``I suld study to say as little on that score
as might be---least said is sunest mended.''

  ``But if you were called on by the courts, as you term them,
of justice,'' she again demanded, ``what then would be your
answer?''

  The Bailie looked this way and that way, like a person who
meditates an escape, and then answered in the tone of one who,
seeing no means of accomplishing a retreat, determines to stand
the brunt of battle---``I see what you are driving me to the wa'
about. But I'll tell you't plain, kinswoman,---I behoved just to
speak according to my ain conscience; and though your ain
gudeman, that I wish had been here for his ain sake and
mine, as wool as the puir Hieland creature Dougal, can tell
ye that Nicol Jarvie can wink as hard at a friend's failings
as onybody, yet I'se tell ye, kinswoman, mine's ne'er be the
tongue to belie my thought; and sooner than say that yonder
puir wretch was lawfully slaughtered, I wad consent to be laid
beside him---though I think ye are the first Hieland woman
wad mint sic a doom to her husband's kinsman but four times
removed.''

  It is probable that the tone and firmness assumed by the
Bailie in his last speech was better suited to make an impression
on the hard heart of his kinswoman than the tone of supplication
he had hitherto assumed, as gems can be cut with steel,
though they resist softer metals. She commanded us both to
be placed before her. ``Your name,'' she said to me, ``is
Osbaldistone?---the dead dog, whose death you have witnessed,
called you so.''

  ``My name _is_ Osbaldistone,'' was my answer.

  ``Rashleigh, then, I suppose, is your Christian name?'' she
pursued.

  ``No,---my name is Francis.''

  ``But you know Rashleigh Osbaldistone,'' she continued.
``He is your brother, if I mistake not,---at least your kinsman
and near friend.''

  ``He is my kinsman,'' I replied, ``but not my friend. We
were lately engaged together in a rencontre, when we were
separated by a person whom I understand to be your husband.
My blood is hardly yet dried on his sword, and the wound on
my side is yet green. I have little reason to acknowledge him
as a friend.''

  ``Then,'' she replied, ``if a stranger to his intrigues, you can
go in safety to Garschattachin and his party without fear of
being detained, and carry them a message from the wife of the
MacGregor?''

  I answered that I knew no reasonable cause why the militia
gentlemen should detain me; that I had no reason, on my own
account, to fear being in their hands; and that if my going on
her embassy would act as a protection to my friend and servant,
who were here prisoners, I was ready to set out directly.'' I
took the opportunity to say, ``That I had come into this country
on her husband's invitation, and his assurance that he would
aid me in some important matters in which I was interested;
that my companion, Mr. Jarvie, had accompanied me on the same
errand.''

  ``And I wish Mr. Jarvie's boots had been fu' o' boiling water
when he drew them on for sic a purpose,'' interrupted the Bailie.

  ``You may read your father,'' said Helen MacGregor, turning
to her sons, ``in what this young Saxon tells us---Wise only
when the bonnet is on his head, and the sword is in his hand,
he never exchanges the tartan for the broad-cloth, but he runs
himself into the miserable intrigues of the Lowlanders, and becomes
again, after all he has suffered, their agent---their tool---
their slave.''

  ``Add, madam,'' said I, ``and their benefactor.''

  ``Be it so,'' she said; ``for it is the most empty title of them
all, since he has uniformly sown benefits to reap a harvest of the
most foul ingratitude.---But enough of this. I shall cause you
to be guided to the enemy's outposts. Ask for their commander,
and deliver him this message from me, Helen MacGregor;---
that if they injure a hair of MacGregor's head, and if they do
not set him at liberty within the space of twelve hours, there is
not a lady in the Lennox but shall before Christmas cry the
coronach for them she will be loath to lose,---there is not a
farmer but shall sing well-a-wa over a burnt barnyard and an
empty byre,---there is not a laird nor heritor shall lay his head
on the pillow at night with the assurance of being a live man in
the morning,---and, to begin as we are to end, so soon as the
term is expired, I will send them this Glasgow Bailie, and this
Saxon Captain, and all the rest of my prisoners, each bundled
in a plaid, and chopped into as many pieces as there are checks
in the tartan.''

  As she paused in her denunciation, Captain Thornton, who
was within hearing, added, with great coolness, ``Present my
compliments---Captain Thornton's of the Royals, compliments---
to the commanding officer, and tell him to do his duty and
secure his prisoner, and not waste a thought upon me. If I have
been fool enough to have been led into an ambuscade by these
artful savages, I am wise enough to know how to die for it
without disgracing the service. I am only sorry for my poor
fellows,'' he said, ``that have fallen into such butcherly hands.''

  ``Whist! whist!'' exclaimed the Bailie; ``are ye weary o' your
life?---Ye'll gie _my_ service to the commanding officer, Mr. Osbaldistone
---Bailie Nicol Jarvie's service, a magistrate o' Glasgow,
as his father the deacon was before him---and tell him, here
are a wheen honest men in great trouble, and like to come to
mair; and the best thing he can do for the common good, will
be just to let Rob come his wa's up the glen, and nae mair
about it. There's been some ill dune here already; but as it
has lighted chiefly on the gauger, it winna be muckle worth
making a stir about.''

  With these very opposite injunctions from the parties chiefly
interested in the success of my embassy, and with the reiterated
charge of the wife of MacGregor to remember and detail every
word of her injunctions, I was at length suffered to depart; and
Andrew Fairservice, chiefly, I believe, to get rid of his clamorous
supplications, was permitted to attend me. Doubtful, however,
that I might use my horse as a means of escape from my guides,
or desirous to retain a prize of some value, I was given to
understand that I was to perform my journey on foot, escorted
by Hamish MacGregor, the elder brother, who, with two
followers, attended, as well to show me the way, as to reconnoitre
the strength and position of the enemy. Dougal had
been at first ordered on this party, but he contrived to elude
the service, with the purpose, as we afterwards understood, of
watching over Mr. Jarvie, whom, according to his wild principles
of fidelity, he considered as entitled to his good offices, from
having once acted in some measure as his patron or master.

  After walking with great rapidity about an hour, we arrived
at an eminence covered with brushwood, which gave us a commanding
prospect down the valley, and a full view of the post
which the militia occupied. Being chiefly cavalry, they had
judiciously avoided any attempt to penetrate the pass which had
been so unsuccessfully essayed by Captain Thornton. They had
taken up their situation with some military skill, on a rising
ground in the centre of the little valley of Aberfoil, through
which the river Forth winds its earliest course, and which is
formed by two ridges of hills, faced with barricades of limestone
rock, intermixed with huge masses of breecia, or pebbles imbedded
in some softer substance which has hardened around them like
mortar; and surrounded by the more lofty mountains in the
distance. These ridges, however, left the valley of breadth
enough to secure the cavalry from any sudden surprise by the
mountaineers and they had stationed sentinels and outposts at
proper distances from this main body, in every direction, so that
they might secure full time to mount and get under arms upon
the least alarm. It was not, indeed, expected at that time,
that Highlanders would attack cavalry in an open plain, though
late events have shown that they may do so with success.<*>

* The affairs of Prestonpans and Falkirk are probably alluded to, which
* marks the time of writing the Memoirs as subsequent to 1745.

When I first knew the Highlanders, they had almost a superstitious
dread of a mounted trooper, the horse being so much more
fierce and imposing in his appearance than the little shelties of
their own hills, and moreover being trained, as the more ignorant
mountaineers believed, to fight with his feet and his teeth.
The appearance of the piequeted horses, feeding in this little
vale---the forms of the soldiers, as they sate, stood, or walked,
in various groups in the vicinity of the beautiful river, and of
the bare yet romantic ranges of rock which hedge in the landscape
on either side,---formed a noble foreground; while far to
the eastward the eye caught a glance of the lake of Menteith;
and Stirling Castle, dimly seen along with the blue and distant
line of the Ochil Mountains, closed the scene.

  After gazing on this landscape with great earnestness, young
MacGregor intimated to me that I was to descend to the station
of the militia and execute my errand to their commander,---
enjoining me at the same time, with a menacing gesture,
neither to inform them who had guided me to that place, nor
where I had parted from my escort. Thus tutored, I descended
towards the military post, followed by Andrew, who, only
retaining his breeches and stockings of the English costume,
without a hat, bare-legged, with brogues on his feet, which
Dougal had given him out of compassion, and having a tattered
plaid to supply the want of all upper garments, looked as if he
had been playing the part of a Highland Tom-of-Bedlam. We
had not proceeded far before we became visible to one of the
videttes, who, riding towards us, presented his carabine and commanded
me to stand. I obeyed, and when the soldier came
up, desired to be conducted to his commanding-officer. I was
immediately brought where a circle of officers, sitting upon the
grass, seemed in attendance upon one of superior rank. He
wore a cuirass of polished steel, over which were drawn the
insignia of the ancient Order of the Thistle. My friend Garschattachin,
and many other gentlemen, some in uniform, others
in their ordinary dress, but all armed and well attended, seemed
to receive their orders from this person of distinction. Many
servants in rich liveries, apparently a part of his household,
were also in waiting.

  Having paid to this nobleman the respect which his rank
appeared to demand, I acquainted him that I had been an
involuntary witness to the king's soldiers having suffered a
defeat from the Highlanders at the pass of Loch-Ard (such I
had learned was the name of the place where Mr. Thornton
was made prisoner), and that the victors threatened every species
of extremity to those who had fallen into their power, as well
as to the Low Country in general, unless their Chief, who had
that morning been made prisoner, were returned to them uninjured.
The Duke (for he whom I addressed was of no lower
rank) listened to me with great composure, and then replied,
that he should be extremely sorry to expose the unfortunate
gentlemen who had been made prisoners to the cruelty of the
barbarians into whose hands they had fallen, but that it was
folly to suppose that he would deliver up the very author of all
these disorders and offences, and so encourage his followers in
their license. ``You may return to those who sent you,'' he
proceeded, ``and inform them, that I shall certainly cause Rob
Roy Campbell, whom they call MacGregor, to be executed, by
break of day, as an outlaw taken in arms, and deserving death
by a thousand acts of violence; that I should be most justly
held unworthy of my situation and commission did I act otherwise;
that I shall know how to protect the country against
their insolent threats of violence; and that if they injure a hair
of the head of any of the unfortunate gentlemen whom an unlucky
accident has thrown into their power, I will take such
ample vengeance, that the very stones of their glens shall sing
woe for it this hundred years to come!''

  I humbly begged leave to remonstrate respecting the honourable
mission imposed on me, and touched upon the obvious
danger attending it, when the noble commander replied, ``that
such being the case, I might send my servant.''

  ``The deil be in my feet,'' said Andrew, without either having
respect to the presence in which he stood, or waiting till I
replied---``the deil be in my feet, if I gang my tae's length.
Do the folk think I hae another thrapple in my pouch after
John Highlandman's sneeked this ane wi' his joctaleg? or that
I can dive doun at the tae side of a Highland loch and rise at
the tother, like a shell-drake? Na, na---ilk ane for himsell,
and God for us a'. Folk may just make a page o' their ain age,
and serve themsells till their bairns grow up, and gang their
ain errands for Andrew. Rob Roy never came near the parish
of Dreepdaily, to steal either pippin or pear frae me or mine.''

  Silencing my follower with some difficulty, I represented to
the Duke the great danger Captain Thornton and Mr. Jarvie
would certainly be exposed to, and entreated he would make
me the bearer of such modified terms as might be the means of
saving their lives. I assured him I should decline no danger if
I could be of service; but from what I had heard and seen, I
had little doubt they would be instantly murdered should the
chief of the outlaws suffer death.

  The Duke was obviously much affected. ``It was a hard
case,'' he said, ``and he felt it as such; but he had a paramount
duty to perform to the country---Rob Roy must die!''

  I own it was not without emotion that I heard this threat of
instant death to my acquaintance Campbell, who had so often
testified his good-will towards me. Nor was I singular in the
feeling, for many of those around the Duke ventured to express
themselves in his favour. ``It would be more advisable,'' they
said, ``to send him to Stirling Castle, and there detain him a
close prisoner, as a pledge for the submission and dispersion of
his gang. It were a great pity to expose the country to be
plundered, which, now that the long nights approached, it
would be found very difficult to prevent, since it was impossible
to guard every point, and the Highlanders were sure to
select those that were left exposed.'' They added, that there
was great hardship in leaving the unfortunate prisoners to the
almost certain doom of massacre denounced against them,
which no one doubted would be executed in the first burst of
revenge.

  Garschattachin ventured yet farther, confiding in the honour
of the nobleman whom he addressed, although he knew he had
particular reasons for disliking their prisoner. ``Rob Roy,'' he
said, ``though a kittle neighbour to the Low Country, and
particularly obnoxious to his Grace, and though he maybe carried
the catheran trade farther than ony man o' his day, was
an auld-farrand carle, and there might be some means of making
him hear reason; whereas his wife and sons were reckless fiends,
without either fear or mercy about them, and, at the head of a'
his limmer loons, would be a worse plague to the country than
ever he had been.''

  ``Pooh! pooh!'' replied his Grace, ``it is the very sense and
cunning of this fellow which has so long maintained his reign
---a mere Highland robber would have been put down in as
many weeks as he has flourished years. His gang, without him,
is no more to be dreaded as a permanent annoyance---it will no
longer exist---than a wasp without its head, which may sting
once perhaps, but is instantly crushed into annihilation.''

  Garschattachin was not so easily silenced. ``I am sure, my
Lord Duke,'' he replied, ``I have no favour for Rob, and he as
little for me, seeing he has twice cleaned out my ain byres,
beside skaith amang my tenants; but, however''------

  ``But, however, Garschattachin,'' said the Duke, with a smile
of peculiar expression, ``I fancy you think such a freedom may
be pardoned in a friend's friend, and Rob's supposed to be no
enemy to Major Galbraith's friends over the water.''

  ``If it be so, my lord,'' said Garschattachin, in the same tone
of jocularity, ``it's no the warst thing I have heard of him. But
I wish we heard some news from the clans, that we have waited
for sae lang. I vow to God they'll keep a Hielandman's word
wi' us---I never ken'd them better---it's ill drawing boots upon
trews.''

  ``I cannot believe it,'' said the Duke. ``These gentlemen
are known to be men of honour, and I must necessarily suppose
they are to keep their appointment. Send out two more horse-men
to look for our friends. We cannot, till their arrival,
pretend to attack the pass where Captain Thornton has suffered
himself to be surprised, and which, to my knowledge, ten men
on foot might make good against a regiment of the best horse
in Europe---Meanwhile let refreshments be given to the men.''

  I had the benefit of this last order, the more necessary and
acceptable, as I had tasted nothing since our hasty meal at
Aberfoil the evening before. The videttes who had been despatched
returned without tidings of the expected auxiliaries,
and sunset was approaching, when a Highlander belonging to
the clans whose co-operation was expected, appeared as the
bearer of a letter, which he delivered to the Duke with a most
profound cong<e'>.

  ``Now will I wad a hogshead of claret,'' said Garschattachin,
``that this is a message to tell us that these cursed Highlandmen,
whom we have fetched here at the expense of so much
plague and vexation, are going to draw off, and leave us to do
our own business if we can.''

  ``It is even so, gentlemen,'' said the Duke, reddening with
indignation, after having perused the letter, which was written
upon a very dirty scrap of paper, but most punctiliously
addressed, ``For the much-honoured hands of Ane High and
Mighty Prince, the Duke,'' &c. &c. &c. ``Our allies,'' continued
the Duke, ``have deserted us, gentlemen, and have made
a separate peace with the enemy.''

  ``It's just the fate of all alliances,'' said Garschattachin,
``the Dutch were gaun to serve us the same gate, if we had not
got the start of them at Utrecht.''

  ``You are facetious, air,'' said the Duke, with a frown which
showed how little he liked the pleasantry; ``but our business
is rather of a grave cut just now.---I suppose no gentleman
would advise our attempting to penetrate farther into the
country, unsupported either by friendly Highlanders, or by
infantry from Inversnaid?''

  A general answer announced that the attempt would be
perfect madness.

  ``Nor would there be great wisdom,'' the Duke added, ``in
remaining exposed to a night-attack in this place. I therefore
propose that we should retreat to the house of Duchray and
that of Gartartan, and keep safe and sure watch and ward until
morning. But before we separate, I will examine Rob Roy
before you all, and make you sensible, by your own eyes and
ears, of the extreme unfitness of leaving him space for farther
outrage.'' He gave orders accordingly, and the prisoner was
brought before him, his arms belted down above the elbow, and
secured to his body by a horse-girth buckled tight behind him.
Two non-commissioned officers had hold of him, one on each
side, and two file of men with carabines and fixed bayonets
attended for additional security.

  I had never seen this man in the dress of his country, which
set in a striking point of view the peculiarities of his form.
A shock-head of red hair, which the hat and periwig of the
Lowland costume had in a great measure concealed, was seen
beneath the Highland bonnet, and verified the epithet of _Roy,_
or Red, by which he was much better known in the Low
Country than by any other, and is still, I suppose, best remembered.
The justice of the appellation was also vindicated by
the appearance of that part of his limbs, from the bottom of his
kilt to the top of his short hose, which the fashion of his country
dress left bare, and which was covered with a fell of thick,
short, red hair, especially around his knees, which resembled in
this respect, as well as from their sinewy appearance of extreme
strength, the limbs of a red-coloured Highland bull. Upon the
whole, betwixt the effect produced by the change of dress, and
by my having become acquainted with his real and formidable
character, his appearance had acquired to my eyes something so
much wilder and more striking than it before presented, that I
could scarce recognise him to be the same person.

  His manner was bold, unconstrained unless by the actual
bonds, haughty, and even dignified. He bowed to the Duke,
nodded to Garschattachin and others, and showed some surprise
at seeing me among the party.

  ``It is long since we have met, Mr. Campbell,'' said the
Duke.

  ``It is so, my Lord Duke; I could have wished it had been''
(looking at the fastening on his arms) ``when I could have
better paid the compliments I owe to your Grace;---but there's
a gude time coming.''

  ``No time like the time present, Mr. Campbell,'' answered
the Duke, ``for the hours are fast flying that must settle your
last account with all mortal affairs. I do not say this to insult
your distress; but you must be aware yourself that you draw
near the end of your career. I do not deny that you may
sometimes have done less harm than others of your unhappy
trade, and that you may occasionally have exhibited marks of
talent, and even of a disposition which promised better things.
But you are aware how long you have been the terror and the
oppressor of a peaceful neighbourhood, and by what acts of
violence you have maintained and extended your usurped
authority. You know, in short, that you have deserved death,
and that you must prepare for it.''

  ``My Lord,'' said Rob Roy, ``although I may well lay my
misfortunes at your Grace's door, yet I will never say that you
yourself have been the wilful and witting author of them. My
Lord, if I had thought sae, your Grace would not this day have
been sitting in judgment on me; for you have been three times
within good rifle distance of me when you were thinking but
of the red deer, and few people have ken'd me miss my aim.
But as for them that have abused your Grace's ear, and set you
up against a man that was ance as peacefu' a man as ony in the
land, and made your name the warrant for driving me to utter
extremity,---I have had some amends of them, and, for a' that
your Grace now says, I expect to live to hae mair.''

  ``I know,'' said the Duke, in rising anger, ``that you are a
determined and impudent villain, who will keep his oath if he
swears to mischief; but it shall be my care to prevent you.
You have no enemies but your own wicked actions.''

  ``Had I called myself Grahame, instead of Campbell, I might
have heard less about them,'' answered Rob Roy, with dogged
resolution.

  ``You will do well, sir,'' said the Duke, ``to warn your wife
and family and followers, to beware how they use the gentlemen
now in their hands, as I will requite tenfold on them, and their
kin and allies, the slightest injury done to any of his Majesty's
liege subjects.''

  ``My Lord,'' said Roy in answer, ``none of my enemies will
allege that I have been a bloodthirsty man, and were I now wi'
my folk, I could rule four or five hundred wild Hielanders as
easy as your Grace those eight or ten lackeys and foot-boys---
But if your Grace is bent to take the head away from a house,
ye may lay your account there will be misrule amang the
members.---However, come o't what like, there's an honest man,
a kinsman o' my ain, maun come by nae skaith. Is there ony
body here wad do a gude deed for MacGregor?---he may repay
it, though his hands be now tied.''

  The Highlander who had delivered the letter to the Duke
replied, ``I'll do your will for you, MacGregor; and I'll gang
back up the glen on purpose.''

  He advanced, and received from the prisoner a message to
his wife, which, being in Gaelic, I did not understand, but I
had little doubt it related to some measures to be taken for the
safety of Mr. Jarvie.

  ``Do you hear the fellow's impudence?'' said the Duke; ``he
confides in his character of a messenger. His conduct is of a
piece with his master's, who invited us to make common cause
against these freebooters, and have deserted us so soon as the
MacGregors have agreed to surrender the Balquhidder lands they
were squabbling about.

	No truth in plaids, no faith in tartan trews!
	Chameleon-like, they change a thousand hues.''

``Your great ancestor never said so, my Lord,'' answered
Major Galbraith;---``and, with submission, neither would your
Grace have occasion to say it, wad ye but be for beginning
justice at the well-head---Gie the honest man his mear again---
Let every head wear it's ane bannet, and the distractions o' the
Lennox wad be mended wi' them o' the land.''

  ``Hush! hush! Garschattachin,'' said the Duke; ``this is
language dangerous for you to talk to any one, and especially
to me; but I presume you reckon yourself a privileged person.
Please to draw off your party towards Gartartan; I shall myself
see the prisoner escorted to Duchray, and send you orders tomorrow.
You will please grant no leave of absence to any of
your troopers.''

  ``Here's auld ordering and counter-ordering,'' muttered Garschattachin
between his teeth. ``But patience! patience!---we
may ae day play at change seats, the king's coming.''

  The two troops of cavalry now formed, and prepared to
march off the ground, that they might avail themselves of the
remainder of daylight to get to their evening quarters. I received
an intimation, rather than an invitation, to attend the
party; and I perceived, that, though no longer considered as a
prisoner, I was yet under some sort of suspicion. The times
were indeed so dangerous,---the great party questions of Jacobite
and Hanoverian divided the country so effectually,---and
the constant disputes and jealousies between the Highlanders
and Lowlanders, besides a number of inexplicable causes of
feud which separated the great leading families in Scotland from
each other, occasioned such general suspicion, that a solitary
and unprotected stranger was almost sure to meet with something
disagreeable in the course of his travels.

  I acquiesced, however, in my destination with the best grace
I could, consoling myself with the hope that I might obtain
from the captive freebooter some information concerning Rashleigh
and his machinations. I should do myself injustice did I
not add, that my views were not merely selfish. I was too
much interested in my singular acquaintance not to be desirous
of rendering him such services as his unfortunate situation
might demand, or admit of his receiving.



		CHAPTER THIRTY-THIRD.

	And when he came to broken brigg,
	  He bent his bow and swam;
	And when he came to grass growing,
	  Set down his feet and ran.
				Gil Morrice.

  The echoes of the rocks and ravines, on either side, now rang
to the trumpets of the cavalry, which, forming themselves into
two distinct bodies, began to move down the valley at a slow
trot. That commanded by Major Galbraith soon took to the
right hand, and crossed the Forth, for the purpose of taking up
the quarters assigned them for the night, when they were to
occupy, as I understood, an old castle in the vicinity. They
formed a lively object while crossing the stream, but were soon
lost in winding up the bank on the opposite side, which was
clothed with wood.

  We continued our march with considerable good order. To
ensure the safe custody of the prisoner, the Duke had caused
him to be placed on horseback behind one of his retainers,
called, as I was informed, Ewan of Brigglands, one of the
largest and strongest men who were present. A horse-belt,
passed round the bodies of both, and buckled before the yeoman's
breast, rendered it impossible for Rob Roy to free himself
from his keeper. I was directed to keep close beside them, and
accommodated for the purpose with a troop-horse. We were
as closely surrounded by the soldiers as the width of the road
would permit, and had always at least one, if not two, on each
side, with pistol in hand. Andrew Fairservice, furnished with
a Highland pony, of which they had made prey somewhere or
other, was permitted to ride among the other domestics, of
whom a great number attended the line of march, though
without falling into the ranks of the more regularly trained
troopers.

  In this manner we travelled for a certain distance, until we
arrived at a place where we also were to cross the river. The
Forth, as being the outlet of a lake, is of considerable depth,
even where less important in point of width, and the descent
to the ford was by a broken precipitous ravine, which only permitted
one horseman to descend at once. The rear and centre
of our small body halting on the bank while the front files
passed down in succession, produced a considerable delay, as is
usual on such occasions, and even some confusion; for a number
of those riders, who made no proper part of the squadron,
crowded to the ford without regularity, and made the militia
cavalry, although tolerably well drilled, partake in some degree
of their own disorder.

  It was while we were thus huddled together on the bank that
I heard Rob Roy whisper to the man behind whom he was
placed on horseback, ``Your father, Ewan, wadna hae carried
an auld friend to the shambles, like a calf, for a' the Dukes in
Christendom.''

  Ewan returned no answer, but shrugged, as one who would
express by that sign that what he was doing was none of his
own choice.

  ``And when the MacGregors come down the glen, and ye
see toom faulds, a bluidy hearthstone, and the fire flashing
out between the rafters o' your house, ye may be thinking then,
Ewan, that were your friend Rob to the fore, you would have
had that safe which it will make your heart sair to lose.''

  Ewan of Brigglands again shrugged and groaned, but remained
silent.

  ``It's a sair thing,'' continued Rob, sliding his insinuations so
gently into Ewan's ear that they reached no other but mine,
who certainly saw myself in no shape called upon to destroy
his prospects of escape---``It's a sair thing, that Ewan of Brigglands,
whom Roy MacGregor has helped with hand, sword, and
purse, suld mind a gloom from a great man mair than a friend's
life.''

  Ewan seemed sorely agitated, but was silent.---We heard
the Duke's voice from the opposite bank call, ``Bring over the
prisoner.''

  Ewan put his horse in motion, and just as I heard Roy say,
``Never weigh a MacGregor's bluid against a broken whang o'
leather, for there will be another accounting to gie for it baith
here and hereafter,'' they passed me hastily, and dashing forward
rather precipitately, entered the water.

  ``Not yet, sir---not yet,'' said some of the troopers to me,
as I was about to follow, while others pressed forward into the
stream.

  I saw the Duke on the other side, by the waning light,
engaged in commanding his people to get into order, as they
landed dispersedly, some higher, some lower. Many had crossed,
some were in the water, and the rest were preparing to follow,
when a sudden splash warned me that MacGregor's eloquence
had prevailed on Ewan to give him freedom and a chance for
life. The Duke also heard the sound, and instantly guessed its
meaning. ``Dog!'' he exclaimed to Ewan as he landed, ``where
is your prisoner?'' and, without waiting to hear the apology
which the terrified vassal began to falter forth, he fired a pistol
at his head, whether fatally I know not, and exclaimed, ``Gentlemen,
disperse and pursue the villain---An hundred guineas
for him that secures Rob Roy!''

  All became an instant scene of the most lively confusion.
Rob Roy, disengaged from his bonds, doubtless by Ewan's
slipping the buckle of his belt, had dropped off at the horse's
tail, and instantly dived, passing under the belly of the troop-horse
which was on his left hand. But as he was obliged to come
to the surface an instant for air, the glimpse of his tartan plaid
drew the attention of the troopers, some of whom plunged into
the river, with a total disregard to their own safety, rushing,
according to the expression of their country, through pool and
stream, sometimes swimming their horses, sometimes losing
them and struggling for their own lives. Others, less zealous
or more prudent, broke off in different directions, and galloped
up and down the banks, to watch the places at which the
fugitive might possibly land. The hollowing, the whooping,
the calls for aid at different points, where they saw, or conceived
they saw, some vestige of him they were seeking,---the frequent
report of pistols and carabines, fired at every object which
excited the least suspicion,---the sight of so many horsemen
riding about, in and out of the river, and striking with their
long broadswords at whatever excited their attention, joined
to the vain exertions used by their officers to restore order and
regularity,---and all this in so wild a scene, and visible only by
the imperfect twilight of an autumn evening, made the most
extraordinary hubbub I had hitherto witnessed. I was indeed
left alone to observe it, for our whole cavalcade had dispersed
in pursuit, or at least to see the event of the search. Indeed,
as I partly suspected at the time, and afterwards learned with
certainty, many of those who seemed most active in their
attempts to waylay and recover the fugitive, were, in actual
truth, least desirous that he should be taken, and only joined
in the cry to increase the general confusion, and to give Rob
Roy a better opportunity of escaping.

  Escape, indeed, was not difficult for a swimmer so expert as
the freebooter, as soon as he had eluded the first burst of pursuit.
At one time he was closely pressed, and several blows
were made which flashed in the water around him; the scene
much resembling one of the otter-hunts which I had seen at
Osbaldistone Hall, where the animal is detected by the hounds
from his being necessitated to put his nose above the stream to
vent or breathe, while he is enabled to elude them by getting
under water again so soon as he has refreshed himself by
respiration. MacGregor, however, had a trick beyond the otter;
for he contrived, when very closely pursued, to disengage himself
unobserved from his plaid, and suffer it to float down the
stream, where in its progress it quickly attracted general
attention; many of the horsemen were thus put upon a false
scent, and several shots or stabs were averted from the party
for whom they were designed.

  Once fairly out of view, the recovery of the prisoner became
almost impossible, since, in so many places, the river was rendered
inaccessible by the steepness of its banks, or the thickets
of alders, poplars, and birch, which, overhanging its banks,
prevented the approach of horsemen. Errors and accidents had
also happened among the pursuers, whose task the approaching
night rendered every moment more hopeless. Some got themselves
involved in the eddies of the stream, and required the
assistance of their companions to save them from drowning.
Others, hurt by shots or blows in the confused mel<e'>e, implored
help or threatened vengeance, and in one or two instances such
accidents led to actual strife. The trumpets, therefore, sounded
the retreat, announcing that the commanding officer, with
whatsoever unwillingness, had for the present relinquished
hopes of the important prize which had thus unexpectedly
escaped his grasp, and the troopers began slowly, reluctantly,
and brawling with each other as they returned, again to assume
their ranks. I could see them darkening, as they formed on
the southern bank of the river,---whose murmurs, long drowned
by the louder cries of vengeful pursuit, were now heard hoarsely
mingling with the deep, discontented, and reproachful voices of
the disappointed horsemen.

  Hitherto I had been as it were a mere spectator, though far
from an uninterested one, of the singular scene which had
passed. But now I heard a voice suddenly exclaim, ``Where
is the English stranger?---It was he gave Rob Roy the knife
to cut the belt.''

  ``Cleeve the pock-pudding to the chafts!'' cried one voice.

  ``Weize a brace of balls through his harn-pan!'' said a
second.

  ``Drive three inches of cauld airn into his brisket!'' shouted
a third.

  And I heard several horses galloping to and fro, with the
kind purpose, doubtless, of executing these denunciations. I
was immediately awakened to the sense of my situation, and to
the certainty that armed men, having no restraint whatever on
their irritated and inflamed passions, would probably begin by
shooting or cutting me down, and afterwards investigate the
justice of the action. Impressed by this belief, I leaped from
my horse, and turning him loose, plunged into a bush of alder-trees,
where, considering the advancing obscurity of the night,
I thought there was little chance of my being discovered. Had
I been near enough to the Duke to have invoked his personal
protection, I would have done so; but he had already commenced
his retreat, and I saw no officer on the left bank of the
river, of authority sufficient to have afforded protection, in case
of my surrendering myself. I thought there was no point of
honour which could require, in such circumstances, an unnecessary
exposure of my life. My first idea, when the tumult
began to be appeased, and the clatter of the horses' feet was
heard less frequently in the immediate vicinity of my hiding-place,
was to seek out the Duke's quarters when all should be
quiet, and give myself up to him, as a liege subject, who had
nothing to fear from his justice, and a stranger, who had every
right to expect protection and hospitality. With this purpose
I crept out of my hiding-place, and looked around me.

  The twilight had now melted nearly into darkness; a few or
none of the troopers were left on my side of the Forth, and of
those who were already across it, I only heard the distant
trample of the horses' feet, and the wailing and prolonged sound
of their trumpets, which rung through the woods to recall
stragglers, Here, therefore, I was left in a situation of
considerable difficulty.  I had no horse, and the deep and
wheeling stream of the river, rendered turbid by the late tumult
of which its channel had been the scene, and seeming yet more
so under the doubtful influence of an imperfect moonlight, had
no inviting influence for a pedestrian by no means accustomed
to wade rivers, and who had lately seen horsemen weltering, in
this dangerous passage, up to the very saddle-laps. At the
same time, my prospect, if I remained on the side of the river
on which I then stood, could be no other than of concluding
the various fatigues of this day and the preceding night, by
passing that which was now closing in, _al fresco_ on the side of
a Highland hill.

  After a moment's reflection, I began to consider that Fairservice,
who had doubtless crossed the river with the other
domestics, according to his forward and impertinent custom of
putting himself always among the foremost, could not fail to
satisfy the Duke, or the competent authorities, respecting my
rank and situation; and that, therefore, my character did not
require my immediate appearance, at the risk of being drowned
in the river---of being unable to trace the march of the squadron
in case of my reaching the other side in safety---or, finally, of
being cut down, right or wrong, by some straggler, who might
think such a piece of good service a convenient excuse for not
sooner rejoining his ranks. I therefore resolved to measure my
steps back to the little inn, where I had passed the preceding
night. I had nothing to apprehend from Rob Roy. He was
now at liberty, and I was certain, in case of my falling in with
any of his people, the news of his escape would ensure me protection.
I might thus also show, that I had no intention to
desert Mr. Jarvie in the delicate situation in which he had
engaged himself chiefly on my account. And lastly, it was
only in this quarter that I could hope to learn tidings concerning
Rashleigh and my father's papers, which had been the
original cause of an expedition so fraught with perilous adventure.
I therefore abandoned all thoughts of crossing the Forth
that evening; and, turning my back on the Fords of Frew, began
to retrace my steps towards the little village of Aberfoil.

  A sharp frost-wind, which made itself heard and felt from
time to time, removed the clouds of mist which might otherwise
have slumbered till morning on the valley; and, though
it could not totally disperse the clouds of vapour, yet threw
them in confused and changeful masses, now hovering round the
heads of the mountains, now filling, as with a dense and voluminous
stream of smoke, the various deep gullies where masses
of the composite rock, or breccia, tumbling in fragments from
the cliffs, have rushed to the valley, leaving each behind its
course a rent and torn ravine resembling a deserted water-course.
The moon, which was now high, and twinkled with
all the vivacity of a frosty atmosphere, silvered the windings of
the river and the peaks and precipices which the mist left
visible, while her beams seemed as it were absorbed by the
fleecy whiteness of the mist, where it lay thick and condensed;
and gave to the more light and vapoury specks, which were
elsewhere visible, a sort of filmy transparency resembling the
lightest veil of silver gauze. Despite the uncertainty of my
situation, a view so romantic, joined to the active and inspiring
influence of the frosty atmosphere, elevated my spirits while
it braced my nerves. I felt an inclination to cast care away,
and bid defiance to danger, and involuntarily whistled, by way
of cadence to my steps, which my feeling of the cold led me to
accelerate, and I felt the pulse of existence beat prouder and
higher in proportion as I felt confidence in my own strength,
courage, and resources. I was so much lost in these thoughts,
and in the feelings which they excited, that two horsemen came
up behind me without my hearing their approach, until one was
on each side of me, when the left-hand rider, pulling up his
horse, addressed me in the English tongue---``So ho, friend!
whither so late?''

  ``To my supper and bed at Aberfoil,'' I replied.

  ``Are the passes open?'' he inquired, with the same commanding
tone of voice.

  ``I do not know,'' I replied; ``I shall learn when I get there.
But,'' I added, the fate of Morris recurring to my recollection,
``if you are an English stranger, I advise you to turn back
till daylight; there has been some disturbance in this neighbourhood,
and I should hesitate to say it is perfectly safe for
strangers.''

  ``The soldiers had the worst?---had they not?'' was the
reply.

  ``They had indeed; and an officer's party were destroyed or
made prisoners.''

  ``Are you sure of that?'' replied the horseman.

  ``As sure as that I hear you speak,'' I replied. ``I was an
unwilling spectator of the skirmish.''

  ``Unwilling!'' continued the interrogator. ``Were you not
engaged in it then?''

  ``Certainly no,'' I replied; ``I was detained by the king's
officer.''

  ``On what suspicion? and who are you? or what is your
name?'' he continued.

  ``I really do not know, sir,'' said I, ``why I should answer so
many questions to an unknown stranger. I have told you
enough to convince you that you are going into a dangerous
and distracted country. If you choose to proceed, it is your
own affair; but as I ask you no questions respecting your name
and business, you will oblige me by making no inquiries after
mine.''

  ``Mr. Francis Osbaldistone,'' said the other rider, in a voice
the tones of which thrilled through every nerve of my body,
``should not whistle his favourite airs when he wishes to remain
undiscovered.''

  And Diana Vernon---for she, wrapped in a horseman's cloak,
was the last speaker---whistled in playful mimicry the second
part of the tune which was on my lips when they came up.

  ``Good God!'' I exclaimed, like one thunderstruck, ``can it
be you, Miss Vernon, on such a spot---at such an hour---in such
a lawless country---in such''------

  ``In such a masculine dress, you would say.---But what
would you have? The philosophy of the excellent Corporal
Nym is the best after all; things must be as they may---_pauca
verba._''

  While she was thus speaking, I eagerly took advantage of an
unusually bright gleam of moonshine, to study the appearance
of her companion; for it may be easily supposed, that finding
Miss Vernon in a place so solitary, engaged in a journey so
dangerous, and under the protection of one gentleman only,
were circumstances to excite every feeling of jealousy, as well
as surprise. The rider did not speak with the deep melody of
Rashleigh's voice; his tones were more high and commanding;
he was taller, moreover, as he sate on horseback, than that
first-rate object of my hate and suspicion. Neither did the
stranger's address resemble that of any of my other cousins; it
had that indescribable tone and manner by which we recognise
a man of sense and breeding, even in the first few sentences he
speaks.

  The object of my anxiety seemed desirous to get rid of my
investigation.

  ``Diana,'' he said, in a tone of mingled kindness and authority,
``give your cousin his property, and let us not spend time
here.''

  Miss Vernon had in the meantime taken out a small case,
and leaning down from her horse towards me, she said, in a
tone in which an effort at her usual quaint lightness of expression
contended with a deeper and more grave tone of sentiment,
``You see, my dear coz, I was born to be your better angel.
Rashleigh has been compelled to yield up his spoil, and had
we reached this same village of Aberfoil last night, as we purposed,
I should have found some Highland sylph to have wafted to
you all these representatives of commercial wealth. But there
were giants and dragons in the way; and errant-knights and
damsels of modern times, bold though they be, must not, as of
yore, run into useless danger---Do not you do so either, my dear
coz.''

  ``Diana,'' said her companion, ``let me once more warn you
that the evening waxes late, and we are still distant from our
home.''

  ``I am coming, sir, I am coming---Consider,'' she added, with
a sigh, ``how lately I have been subjected to control---besides,
I have not yet given my cousin the packet, and bid him fare-well---
for ever. Yes, Frank,'' she said, ``for ever!---there is a
gulf between us---a gulf of absolute perdition;---where we go,
you must not follow---what we do, you must not share in---
Farewell---be happy!''

  In the attitude in which she bent from her horse, which was
a Highland pony, her face, not perhaps altogether unwillingly,
touched mine. She pressed my hand, while the tear that
trembled in her eye found its way to my cheek instead of her
own. It was a moment never to be forgotten---inexpressibly bitter,
yet mixed with a sensation of pleasure so deeply soothing and
affecting, as at once to unlock all the flood-gates of the heart.
It was _but_ a moment, however; for, instantly recovering from
the feeling to which she had involuntarily given way, she intimated
to her companion she was ready to attend him, and
putting their horses to a brisk pace, they were soon far distant
from the place where I stood.

  Heaven knows, it was not apathy which loaded my frame
and my tongue so much, that I could neither return Miss
Vernon's half embrace, nor even answer her farewell. The
word, though it rose to my tongue, seemed to choke in my
throat like the fatal _guilty,_ which the delinquent who makes
it his plea, knows must be followed by the doom of death. The
surprise---the sorrow, almost stupified me. I remained motionless
with the packet in my hand, gazing after them, as if endeavouring
to count the sparkles which flew from the horses'
hoofs. I continued to look after even these had ceased to be
visible, and to listen for their footsteps long after the last distant
trampling had died in my ears. At length, tears rushed to my
eyes, glazed as they were by the exertion of straining after what
was no longer to be seen. I wiped them mechanically, and
almost without being aware that they were flowing---but they
came thicker and thicker; I felt the tightening of the throat
and breast---the _hysterica passio_ of poor Lear; and sitting down
by the wayside, I shed a flood of the first and most bitter tears
which had flowed from my eyes since childhood.



		CHAPTER THIRTY-FOURTH.

	_Dangle._---Egad, I think the interpreter is the harder to be understood
	of the two. 
							Critic.

  I had scarce given vent to my feelings in this paroxysm, ere
was ashamed of my weakness. I remembered that I had been
for some time endeavouring to regard Diana Vernon, when her
idea intruded itself on my remembrance, as a friend, for whose
welfare I should indeed always be anxious, but with whom I
could have little further communication. But the almost unrepressed
tenderness of her manner, joined to the romance of our
sudden meeting where it was so little to have been expected,
were circumstances which threw me entirely off my guard. I
recovered, however, sooner than might have been expected, and
without giving myself time accurately to examine my motives. I
resumed the path on which I had been travelling when overtaken
by this strange and unexpected apparition.

  ``I am not,'' was my reflection, ``transgressing her injunction
so pathetically given, since I am but pursuing my own journey
by the only open route.---If I have succeeded in recovering my
father's property, it still remains incumbent on me to see my
Glasgow friend delivered from the situation in which he has
involved himself on my account; besides, what other place of
rest can I obtain for the night excepting at the little inn of
Aberfoil? They also must stop there, since it is impossible for
travellers on horseback to go farther---Well, then, we shall meet
again---meet for the last time perhaps---But I shall see and hear
her---I shall learn who this happy man is who exercises over her
the authority of a husband---I shall learn if there remains, in
the difficult course in which she seems engaged, any difficulty
which my efforts may remove, or aught that I can do to express
my gratitude for her generosity---for her disinterested
friendship.''

  As I reasoned thus with myself, colouring with every plausible
pretext which occurred to my ingenuity my passionate desire
once more to see and converse with my cousin, I was suddenly
hailed by a touch on the shoulder; and the deep voice of a
Highlander, who, walking still faster than I, though I was
proceeding at a smart pace, accosted me with, ``A braw night,
Maister Osbaldistone---we have met at the mirk hour before
now.''

  There was no mistaking the tone of MacGregor; he had
escaped the pursuit of his enemies, and was in full retreat to his
own wilds and to his adherents. He had also contrived to arm
himself, probably at the house of some secret adherent, for he
had a musket on his shoulder, and the usual Highland weapons
by his side. To have found myself alone with such a character
in such a situation, and at this late hour in the evening, might
not have been pleasant to me in any ordinary mood of mind;
for, though habituated to think of Rob Roy in rather a friendly
point of view, I will confess frankly that I never heard him
speak but that it seemed to thrill my blood. The intonation of
the mountaineers gives a habitual depth and hollowness to the
sound of their words, owing to the guttural expression so common
in their native language, and they usually speak with a good
deal of emphasis. To these national peculiarities Rob Roy added
a sort of hard indifference of accent and manner, expressive of a
mind neither to be daunted, nor surprised, nor affected by what
passed before him, however dreadful, however sudden, however
afflicting. Habitual danger, with unbounded confidence in his
own strength and sagacity, had rendered him indifferent to fear,
and the lawless and precarious life he led had blunted, though
its dangers and errors had not destroyed, his feelings for others.
And it was to be remembered that I had very lately seen the
followers of this man commit a cruel slaughter on an unarmed
and suppliant individual.

  Yet such was the state of my mind, that I welcomed the
company of the outlaw leader as a relief to my own overstrained
and painful thoughts; and was not without hopes that through
his means I might obtain some clew of guidance through the
maze in which my fate had involved me. I therefore answered
his greeting cordially, and congratulated him on his late escape
in circumstances when escape seemed impossible.

  ``Ay,'' he replied, ``there is as much between the craig and the
woodie<*> as there is between the cup and the lip. But my peril

* _i.e._ The throat and the withy. Twigs of willow, such as bind faggots,
* were often used for halters in Scotland and Ireland, being a sage economy
* of hemp.

was less than you may think, being a stranger to this country.
Of those that were summoned to take me, and to keep me, and
to retake me again, there was a moiety, as cousin Nicol Jarvie
calls it, that had nae will that I suld be either taen, or keepit
fast, or retaen; and of tother moiety, there was as half was
feared to stir me; and so I had only like the fourth part of fifty
or sixty men to deal withal.''

  ``And enough, too, I should think,'' replied I.

  ``I dinna ken that,'' said he; ``but I ken, that turn every
ill-willer that I had amang them out upon the green before the
Clachan of Aberfoil, I wad find them play with broadsword and
target, one down and another come on.''

  He now inquired into my adventures since we entered his
country, and laughed heartily at my account of the battle we
had in the inn, and at the exploits of the Bailie with the red-hot
poker.

  ``Let Glasgow Flourish!'' he exclaimed. ``The curse of
Cromwell on me, if I wad hae wished better sport than to see
cousin Nicol Jarvie singe Iverach's plaid, like a sheep's head
between a pair of tongs. But my cousin Jarvie,'' he added, more
gravely, ``has some gentleman's bluid in his veins, although he
has been unhappily bred up to a peaceful and mechanical craft,
which could not but blunt any pretty man's spirit.---Ye may
estimate the reason why I could not receive you at the Clachan
of Aberfoil as I purposed. They had made a fine hosenet for
me when I was absent twa or three days at Glasgow, upon the
king's business---But I think I broke up the league about their
lugs---they'll no be able to hound one clan against another as
they hae dune. I hope soon to see the day when a' Hielandmen
will stand shouther to shouther. But what chanced next?''

  I gave him an account of the arrival of Captain Thornton
and his party, and the arrest of the Bailie and myself under
pretext of our being suspicious persons; and upon his more
special inquiry, I recollected the officer had mentioned that,
besides my name sounding suspicious in his ears, he had orders
to secure an old and young person, resembling our description.
This again moved the outlaw's risibility.

  ``As man lives by bread,'' he said, ``the buzzards have mistaen
my friend the Bailie for his Excellency, and you for Diana
Vernon---O, the most egregious night-howlets!''

  ``Miss Vernon?'' said I, with hesitation, and trembling for
the answer---``Does she still bear that name? She passed but
now, along with a gentleman who seemed to use a style of
authority.''

  ``Ay, ay,'' answered Rob, ``she's under lawfu' authority now;
and full time, for she was a daft hempie---But she's a mettle
quean. It's a pity his Excellency is a thought eldern. The
like o' yourself, or my son Hamish, wad be mair sortable in
point of years.''

  Here, then, was a complete downfall of those castles of cards
which my fancy had, in despite of my reason, so often amused
herself with building. Although in truth I had scarcely anything
else to expect, since I could not suppose that Diana could
be travelling in such a country, at such an hour, with any but
one who had a legal title to protect her, I did not feel the blow
less severely when it came; and MacGregor's voice, urging me
to pursue my story, sounded in my ears without conveying any
exact import to my mind.

  ``You are ill,'' he said at length, after he had spoken twice
without receiving an answer; ``this day's wark has been ower
muckle for ane doubtless unused to sic things.''

  The tone of kindness in which this was spoken, recalling me
to myself, and to the necessities of my situation, I continued my
narrative as well as I could. Rob Roy expressed great exultation
at the successful skirmish in the pass.

  ``They say,'' he observed, ``that king's chaff is better than
other folk's corn; but I think that canna be said o' king's
soldiers, if they let themselves be beaten wi' a wheen auld carles
that are past fighting, and bairns that are no come till't, and
wives wi' their rocks and distaffs, the very wally-draigles o' the
countryside. And Dougal Gregor, too---wha wad hae thought
there had been as muckle sense in his tatty-pow, that ne'er had
a better covering than his ain shaggy hassock of hair!---But say
away---though I dread what's to come neist---for my Helen's an
incarnate devil when her bluid's up---puir thing, she has ower
muckle reason.''

  I observed as much delicacy as I could in communicating to
him the usage we had received, but I obviously saw the detail
gave him great pain.

  ``I wad rather than a thousand merks,'' he said, ``that I had
been at hame! To misguide strangers, and forbye a', my ain
natural cousin, that had showed me sic kindness---I wad rather
they had burned half the Lennox in their folly! But this comes
o' trusting women and their bairns, that have neither measure
nor reason in their dealings. However, it's a' owing to that dog
of a gauger, wha betrayed me by pretending a message from
your cousin Rashleigh, to meet him on the king's affairs, whilk
I thought was very like to be anent Garschattachin and a party
of the Lennox declaring themselves for King James. Faith!
but I ken'd I was clean beguiled when I heard the Duke was
there; and when they strapped the horse-girth ower my arms, I
might hae judged what was biding me; for I ken'd your kinsman,
being, wi' pardon, a slippery loon himself, is prone to employ
those of his ain kidney---I wish he mayna hae been at the
bottom o' the ploy himsell---I thought the chield Morris looked
devilish queer when I determined he should remain a wad, or
hostage, for my safe back-coming. But I _am_ come back, nae
thanks to him, or them that employed him; and the question is,
how the collector loon is to win back himsell---I promise him it
will not be without a ransom.''

  ``Morris,'' said I, ``has already paid the last ransom which
mortal man can owe.''

  ``Eh! What?'' exclaimed my companion hastily; `` what
d'ye say? I trust it was in the skirmish he was killed?''

  ``He was slain in cold blood after the fight was over, Mr.
Campbell.''

  ``Cold blood?---Damnation!'' he said, muttering betwixt his
teeth---``How fell that, sir? Speak out, sir, and do not Maister
or Campbell me---my foot is on my native heath, and my name
is MacGregor!''

  His passions were obviously irritated; but without noticing
the rudeness of his tone, I gave him a short and distinct account
of the death of Morris. He struck the butt of his gun with
great vehemence against the ground, and broke out---``I vow to
God, such a deed might make one forswear kin, clan, country,
wife, and bairns! And yet the villain wrought long for it.
And what is the difference between warsling below the water
wi' a stane about your neck, and wavering in the wind wi' a
tether round it?---it's but choking after a', and he drees the
doom he ettled for me. I could have wished, though, they had
rather putten a ball through him, or a dirk; for the fashion of
removing him will give rise to mony idle clavers---But every
wight has his weird, and we maun a' dee when our day comes
---And naebody will deny that Helen MacGregor has deep
wrongs to avenge.''

  So saying, he seemed to dismiss the theme altogether from
his mind, and proceeded to inquire how I got free from the party
in whose hands he had seen me.

  My story was soon told; and I added the episode of my having
recovered the papers of my father, though I dared not trust my
voice to name the name of Diana.

  ``I was sure ye wad get them,'' said MacGregor;---``the letter
ye brought me contained his Excellency's pleasure to that effect
and nae doubt it was my will to have aided in it. And I asked
ye up into this glen on the very errand. But it's like his Excellency
has foregathered wi' Rashleigh sooner than I expected.''

  The first part of this answer was what most forcibly struck
me.

  ``Was the letter I brought you, then, from this person you
call his Excellency? Who is he? and what is his rank and
proper name?''

  ``I am thinking,'' said MacGregor, ``that since ye dinna ken
them already they canna be o' muckle consequence to you, and
sae I shall say naething on that score. But weel I wot the
letter was frae his ain hand, or, having a sort of business of my
ain on my hands, being, as ye weel may see, just as much as I
can fairly manage, I canna say I would hae fashed mysell sae
muckle about the matter.''

  I now recollected the lights seen in the library---the various
circumstances which had excited my jealousy---the glove---the
agitation of the tapestry which covered the secret passage from
Rashleigh's apartment; and, above all, I recollected that Diana
retired in order to write, as I then thought, the billet to which
I was to have recourse in case of the last necessity. Her hours,
then, were not spent in solitude, but in listening to the addresses
of some desperate agent of Jacobitical treason, who was a secret
resident within the mansion of her uncle! Other young women
have sold themselves for gold, or suffered themselves to be
seduced from their first love from vanity; but Diana had sacrificed
my affections and her own to partake the fortunes of some
desperate adventurer---to seek the haunts of freebooters through
midnight deserts, with no better hopes of rank or fortune than
that mimicry of both which the mock court of the Stuarts at St.
Germains had in their power to bestow.

  ``I will see her,'' I said internally, ``if it be possible, once
more. I will argue with her as a friend---as a kinsman---on
the risk she is incurring, and I will facilitate her retreat to
France, where she may, with more comfort and propriety, as
well as safety, abide the issue of the turmoils which the political
trepanner, to whom she has united her fate, is doubtless busied
in putting into motion.''

  ``I conclude, then,'' I said to MacGregor, after about five
minutes' silence on both sides, ``that his Excellency, since you
give me no other name for him, was residing in Osbaldistone
Hall at the same time with myself?''

  ``To be sure---to be sure---and in the young lady's apartment,
as best reason was.'' This gratuitous information was adding
gall to bitterness. ``But few,'' added MacGregor, ``ken'd he
was derned there, save Rashleigh and Sir Hildebrand; for you
were out o' the question; and the young lads haena wit eneugh
to ca' the cat frae the cream---But it's a bra' auld-fashioned
house, and what I specially admire is the abundance o' holes
and bores and concealments---ye could put twenty or thirty men
in ae corner, and a family might live a week without finding
them out---whilk, nae doubt, may on occasion be a special convenience.
I wish we had the like o' Osbaldistone Hall on the
braes o' Craig-Royston---But we maun gar woods and caves
serve the like o' us puir Hieland bodies.''

  ``I suppose his Excellency,'' said I, ``was privy to the first
accident which befell''------

  I could not help hesitating a moment.

  ``Ye were going to say Morris,'' said Rob Roy coolly, for he
was too much accustomed to deeds of violence for the agitation
he had at first expressed to be of long continuance. ``I used
to laugh heartily at that reik; but I'll hardly hae the heart to
do't again, since the ill-far'd accident at the Loch. Na, na---
his Excellency ken'd nought o' that ploy---it was a' managed
atween Rashleigh and mysell. But the sport that came after---
and Rashleigh's shift o' turning the suspicion aff himself upon
you, that he had nae grit favour to frae the beginning---and then
Miss Die, she maun hae us sweep up a' our spiders' webs again,
and set you out o' the Justice's claws---and then the frightened
craven Morris, that was scared out o' his seven senses by seeing
the real man when he was charging the innocent stranger---and
the gowk of a clerk---and the drunken carle of a justice---Ohon!
ohon!---mony a laugh that job's gien me---and now, a' that I can
do for the puir devil is to get some messes said for his soul.''

  ``May I ask,'' said I, ``how Miss Vernon came to have so
much influence over Rashleigh and his accomplices as to derange
your projected plan?''

  ``Mine! it was none of mine. No man can say I ever laid
my burden on other folk's shoulders---it was a' Rashleigh's
doings. But, undoubtedly, she had great influence wi' us baith
on account of his Excellency's affection, as weel as that she
ken'd far ower mony secrets to be lightlied in a matter o' that
kind.---Deil tak him,'' he ejaculated, by way of summing up,
``that gies women either secret to keep or power to abuse---fules
shouldna hae chapping-sticks.''

  We were now within a quarter of a mile from the village,
when three Highlanders, springing upon us with presented
arms, commanded us to stand and tell our business. The
single word _Gregaragh,_ in the deep and commanding voice of
my companion, was answered by a shout, or rather yell, of joyful
recognition. One, throwing down his firelock, clasped his
leader so fast round the knees, that he was unable to extricate
himself, muttering, at the same time, a torrent of Gaelic gratulation,
which every now and then rose into a sort of scream
of gladness. The two others, after the first howling was over,
set off literally with the speed of deers, contending which should
first carry to the village, which a strong party of the MacGregors
now occupied, the joyful news of Rob Roy's escape and return.
The intelligence excited such shouts of jubilation, that the very
hills rung again, and young and old, men, women, and children,
without distinction of sex or age, came running down the vale
to meet us, with all the tumultuous speed and clamour of a
mountain torrent. When I heard the rushing noise and yells
of this joyful multitude approach us, I thought it a fitting
precaution to remind MacGregor that I was a stranger, and
under his protection. He accordingly held me fast by the
hand, while the assemblage crowded around him with such
shouts of devoted attachment, and joy at his return, as were
really affecting; nor did he extend to his followers what all
eagerly sought, the grasp, namely, of his hand, until he had
made them understand that I was to be kindly and carefully
used.

  The mandate of the Sultan of Delhi could not have been more
promptly obeyed. Indeed, I now sustained nearly as much
inconvenience from their well-meant attentions as formerly from
their rudeness. They would hardly allow the friend of their
leader to walk upon his own legs, so earnest were they in affording
me support and assistance upon the way; and at length,
taking advantage of a slight stumble which I made over a stone,
which the press did not permit me to avoid, they fairly seized
upon me, and bore me in their arms in triumph towards Mrs.
MacAlpine's.

  On arrival before her hospitable wigwam, I found power and
popularity had its inconveniences in the Highlands, as everywhere
else; for, before MacGregor could be permitted to enter
the house where he was to obtain rest and refreshment, he was
obliged to relate the story of his escape at least a dozen times
over, as I was told by an officious old man, who chose to
translate it at least as often for my edification, and to whom I
was in policy obliged to seem to pay a decent degree of attention.
The audience being at length satisfied, group after group
departed to take their bed upon the heath, or in the neighbouring
huts, some cursing the Duke and Garschattachin, some
lamenting the probable danger of Ewan of Brigglands, incurred
by his friendship to MacGregor, but all agreeing that the escape
of Rob Roy himself lost nothing in comparison with the exploit
of any one of their chiefs since the days of Dougal Ciar, the
founder of his line.

  The friendly outlaw, now taking me by the arm, conducted
me into the interior of the hut. My eyes roved round its smoky
recesses in quest of Diana and her companion; but they were
nowhere to be seen, and I felt as if to make inquiries might
betray some secret motives, which were best concealed. The only
known countenance upon which my eyes rested was that of the
Bailie, who, seated on a stool by the fireside, received with a
sort of reserved dignity, the welcomes of Rob Roy, the apologies
which he made for his indifferent accommodation, and his
inquiries after his health.

  ``I am pretty weel, kinsman,'' said the Bailie---``indifferent
weel, I thank ye; and for accommodations, ane canna expect
to carry about the Saut Market at his tail, as a snail does his
caup;---and I am blythe that ye hae gotten out o' the hands o'
your unfreends.''

  ``Weel, weel, then,'' answered Roy, ``what is't ails ye, man
---a's weel that ends weel!---the warld will last our day---Come,
take a cup o' brandy---your father the deacon could take ane at
an orra time.''

  ``It might be he might do sae, Robin, after fatigue---whilk
has been my lot mair ways than ane this day. But,'' he continued,
slowly filling up a little wooden stoup which might hold
about three glasses, ``he was a moderate man of his bicker, as
I am mysell---Here's wussing health to ye, Robin'' (a sip), ``and
your weelfare here and hereafter'' (another taste), ``and also to
my cousin Helen---and to your twa hopefu' lads, of whom mair
anon.''

  So saying, he drank up the contents of the cup with great
gravity and deliberation, while MacGregor winked aside to me,
as if in ridicule of the air of wisdom and superior authority
which the Bailie assumed towards him in their intercourse, and
which he exercised when Rob was at the head of his armed
clan, in full as great, or a greater degree, than when he was at
the Bailie's mercy in the Tolbooth of Glasgow. It seemed to
me, that MacGregor wished me, as a stranger, to understand,
that if he submitted to the tone which his kinsman assumed, it
was partly out of deference to the rights of hospitality, but still
more for the jest's sake.

  As the Bailie set down his cup he recognised me, and giving
me a cordial welcome on my return, he waived farther communication
with me for the present.---``I will speak to your matters
anon; I maun begin, as in reason, wi' those of my kinsman.---I
presume, Robin, there's naebody here will carry aught o' what I
am gaun to say, to the town-council or elsewhere, to my prejudice
or to yours?''

  ``Make yourself easy on that head, cousin Nicol,'' answered
MacGregor; ``the tae half o' the gillies winna ken what ye say,
and the tother winna care---besides that, I wad stow the tongue
out o' the head o' any o' them that suld presume to say ower again
ony speech held wi' me in their presence.''

  ``Aweel, cousin, sic being the case, and Mr. Osbaldistone here
being a prudent youth, and a safe friend---I'se plainly tell ye, ye
are breeding up your family to gang an ill gate.'' Then, clearing
his voice with a preliminary hem, he addressed his kinsman,
checking, as Malvolio proposed to do when seated in his state,
his familiar smile with an austere regard of control.---``Ye ken
yourself ye haud light by the law---and for my cousin Helen,
forbye that her reception o' me this blessed day---whilk I excuse
on account of perturbation of mind, was muckle on the north side
o' _friendly,_ I say (outputting this personal reason of complaint)
I hae that to say o' your wife''------

  ``Say _nothing_ of her, kinsman,'' said Rob, in a grave and
stern tone, ``but what is befitting a friend to say, and her
husband to hear. Of me you are welcome to say your full
pleasure.''

  ``Aweel, aweel,'' said the Bailie, somewhat disconcerted, ``we'se
let that be a pass-over---I dinna approve of making mischief in
families. But here are your twa sons, Hamish and Robin,
whilk signifies, as I'm gien to understand, James and Robert---
I trust ye will call them sae in future---there comes nae gude o'
Hamishes, and Eachines, and Angusses, except that they're the
names ane aye chances to see in the indictments at the Western
Circuits for cow-lifting, at the instance of his majesty's advocate
for his majesty's interest. Aweel, but the twa lads, as I was
saying, they haena sae muckle as the ordinar grunds, man, of
liberal education---they dinna ken the very multiplication table
itself, whilk is the root of a' usefu' knowledge, and they did naething
but laugh and fleer at me when I tauld them my mind on
their ignorance---It's my belief they can neither read, write, nor
cipher, if sic a thing could be believed o' ane's ain connections in
a Christian land.''

  ``If they could, kinsman,'' said MacGregor, with great indifference,
``their learning must have come o' free will, for whar
the deil was I to get them a teacher?---wad ye hae had me put
on the gate o' your Divinity Hall at Glasgow College, `Wanted,
a tutor for Rob Roy's bairns?' ''

  ``Na, kinsman,'' replied Mr. Jarvie, ``but ye might hae sent
the lads whar they could hae learned the fear o' God, and the
usages of civilised creatures. They are as ignorant as the
kyloes ye used to drive to market, or the very English churls
that ye sauld them to, and can do naething whatever to
purpose.''

  ``Umph!'' answered Rob; ``Hamish can bring doun a black-cock
when he's on the wing wi' a single bullet, and Rob can
drive a dirk through a twa-inch board.''

  ``Sae muckle the waur for them, cousin!---sae muckle the
waur for them baith!'' answered the Glasgow merchant in a
tone of great decision; ``an they ken naething better than that,
they had better no ken that neither. Tell me yourself, Rob,
what has a' this cutting, and stabbing, and shooting, and
driving of dirks, whether through human flesh or fir deals,
dune for yourself?---and werena ye a happier man at the tail
o' your nowte-bestial, when ye were in an honest calling, than
ever ye hae been since, at the head o' your Hieland kernes and
gally-glasses?''

  I observed that MacGregor, while his well-meaning kinsman
spoke to him in this manner, turned and writhed his body like
a man who indeed suffers pain, but is determined no groan
shall escape his lips; and I longed for an opportunity to interrupt
the well-meant, but, as it was obvious to me, quite
mistaken strain, in which Jarvie addressed this extraordinary
person. The dialogue, however, came to an end without my
interference.

  ``And sae,'' said the Bailie, ``I hae been thinking, Rob, that
as it may be ye are ower deep in the black book to win a
pardon, and ower auld to mend yourself, that it wad be a pity
to bring up twa hopefu' lads to sic a godless trade as your ain,
and I wad blythely tak them for prentices at the loom, as I
began mysell, and my father the deacon afore me, though, praise
to the Giver, I only trade now as wholesale dealer---And---
and''------

  He saw a storm gathering on Rob's brow, which probably
induced him to throw in, as a sweetener of an obnoxious proposition,
what he had reserved to crown his own generosity, had it
been embraced as an acceptable one;---``and Robin, lad, ye
needna look sae glum, for I'll pay the prentice-fee, and never
plague ye for the thousand merks neither.''

  ``_Ceade millia diaoul,_ hundred thousand devils!'' exclaimed
Rob, rising and striding through the hut, ``My sons weavers!
---_Millia molligheart!_---but I wad see every loom in Glasgow,
beam, traddles, and shuttles, burnt in hell-fire sooner!''

  With some difficulty I made the Bailie, who was preparing a
reply, comprehend the risk and impropriety of pressing our host
on this topic, and in a minute he recovered, or reassumed, his
serenity of temper.

  ``But ye mean weel---ye mean weel,'' said he; ``so gie me
your hand, Nicol, and if ever I put my sons apprentice, I will
gie you the refusal o' them. And, as you say, there's the
thousand merks to be settled between us.---Here, Eachin MacAnaleister,
bring me my sporran.''

  The person he addressed, a tall, strong mountaineer, who
seemed to act as MacGregor's lieutenant, brought from some
place of safety a large leathern pouch, such as Highlanders of
rank wear before them when in full dress, made of the skin
of the sea-otter, richly garnished with silver ornaments and
studs.

  ``I advise no man to attempt opening this sporran till he has
my secret,'' said Rob Roy; and then twisting one button in one
direction, and another in another, pulling one stud upward,
and pressing another downward, the mouth of the purse, which
was bound with massive silver plate, opened and gave admittance
to his hand. He made me remark, as if to break short
the subject on which Bailie Jarvie had spoken, that a small
steel pistol was concealed within the purse, the trigger of which
was connected with the mounting, and made part of the
machinery, so that the weapon would certainly be discharged,
and in all probability its contents lodged in the person of any
one, who, being unacquainted with the secret, should tamper
with the lock which secured his treasure. ``This,'' said he
touching the pistol---``this is the keeper of my privy purse.''

  The simplicity of the contrivance to secure a furred pouch,
which could have been ripped open without any attempt on the
spring, reminded me of the verses in the Odyssey, where Ulysses,
in a yet ruder age, is content to secure his property by casting
a curious and involved complication of cordage around the sea-chest
in which it was deposited.

  The Bailie put on his spectacles to examine the mechanism,
and when he had done, returned it with a smile and a sigh,
observing---``Ah! Rob, had ither folk's purses been as weel
guarded, I doubt if your sporran wad hae been as weel filled as
it kythes to be by the weight.''

  ``Never mind, kinsman,'' said Rob, laughing; ``it will aye
open for a friend's necessity, or to pay a just due---and here,''
he added, pulling out a rouleau of gold, ``here is your ten
hundred merks---count them, and see that you are full and
justly paid.''

  Mr. Jarvie took the money in silence, and weighing it in his
hand for an instant, laid it on the table, and replied, ``Rob, I
canna tak it---I downa intromit with it---there can nae gude
come o't---I hae seen ower weel the day what sort of a gate
your gowd is made in---ill-got gear ne'er prospered; and, to be
plain wi' you, I winna meddle wi't---it looks as there might be
bluid on't.''

  ``Troutsho!'' said the outlaw, affecting an indifference which
perhaps he did not altogether feel; ``it's gude French gowd, and
ne'er was in Scotchman's pouch before mine. Look at them,
man---they are a' louis-d'ors, bright and bonnie as the day they
were coined.''

  ``The waur, the waur---just sae muckle the waur, Robin,''
replied the Bailie, averting his eyes from the money, though,
like C<ae>sar on the Lupercal, his fingers seemed to itch for it---
``Rebellion is waur than witchcraft, or robbery either; there's
gospel warrant for't.''

  ``Never mind the warrant, kinsman,'' said the freebooter;
``you come by the gowd honestly, and in payment of a just debt
---it came from the one king, you may gie it to the other, if ye
like; and it will just serve for a weakening of the enemy, and
in the point where puir King James is weakest too, for, God
knows, he has hands and hearts eneugh, but I doubt he wants
the siller.''

  ``He'll no get mony Hielanders then, Robin,'' said Mr. Jarvie,
as, again replacing his spectacles on his nose, he undid the
rouleau, and began to count its contents.

  ``Nor Lowlanders neither,'' said MacGregor, arching his eyebrow,
and, as he looked at me, directing a glance towards Mr.
Jarvie, who, all unconscious of the ridicule, weighed each piece
with habitual scrupulosity; and having told twice over the sum,
which amounted to the discharge of his debt, principal and
interest, he returned three pieces to buy his kinswoman a gown,
as he expressed himself, and a brace more for the twa bairns,
as he called them, requesting they might buy anything they
liked with them except gunpowder. The Highlander stared at
his kinsman's unexpected generosity, but courteously accepted
his gift, which he deposited for the time in his well-secured
pouch.

  The Bailie next produced the original bond for the debt, on
the back of which he had written a formal discharge, which,
having subscribed himself, he requested me to sign as a witness.
I did so, and Bailie Jarvie was looking anxiously around for
another, the Scottish law requiring the subscription of two witnesses
to validate either a bond or acquittance. ``You will
hardly find a man that can write save ourselves within these
three miles,'' said Rob, ``but I'll settle the matter as easily;''
and, taking the paper from before his kinsman, he threw it in
the fire. Bailie Jarvie stared in his turn, but his kinsman
continued, ``That's a Hieland settlement of accounts. The
time might come, cousin, were I to keep a' these charges and
discharges, that friends might be brought into trouble for having
dealt with me.''

  The Bailie attempted no reply to this argument, and our
supper now appeared in a style of abundance, and even delicacy,
which, for the place, might be considered as extraordinary.
The greater part of the provisions were cold, intimating they
had been prepared at some distance; and there were some
bottles of good French wine to relish pasties of various sorts of
game, as well as other dishes. I remarked that MacGregor,
while doing the honours of the table with great and anxious
hospitality, prayed us to excuse the circumstance that some
particular dish or pasty had been infringed on before it was
presented to us. ``You must know,'' said he to Mr. Jarvie,
but without looking towards me, ``you are not the only guests
this night in the MacGregor's country, whilk, doubtless, ye will
believe, since my wife and the twa lads would otherwise have
been maist ready to attend you, as weel beseems them.''

  Bailie Jarvie looked as if he felt glad at any circumstance
which occasioned their absence; and I should have been entirely
of his opinion, had it not been that the outlaw's apology seemed
to imply they were in attendance on Diana and her companion,
whom even in my thoughts I could not bear to designate as her
husband.

  While the unpleasant ideas arising from this suggestion
counteracted the good effects of appetite, welcome, and good
cheer, I remarked that Rob Roy's attention had extended itself
to providing us better bedding than we had enjoyed the night
before. Two of the least fragile of the bedsteads, which stood
by the wall of the hut, had been stuffed with heath, then in
full flower, so artificially arranged, that, the flowers being uppermost,
afforded a mattress at once elastic and fragrant. Cloaks,
and such bedding as could be collected, stretched over this
vegetable couch, made it both soft and warm. The Bailie
seemed exhausted by fatigue. I resolved to adjourn my communication
to him until next morning; and therefore suffered
him to betake himself to bed so soon as he had finished a
plentiful supper. Though tired and harassed, I did not myself
feel the same disposition to sleep, but rather a restless and
feverish anxiety, which led to some farther discourse betwixt
me and MacGregor.



		CHAPTER THIRTY-FIFTH.

	A hopeless darkness settles o'er my fate;
	I've seen the last look of her heavenly eyes,---
	I've heard the last sound of her blessed voice,---
	I've seen her fair form from my sight depart;
	My doom is closed.
						Count Basil.

  ``I ken not what to make of you, Mr. Osbaldistone,'' said
MacGregor, as he pushed the flask towards me. ``You eat not,
you show no wish for rest; and yet you drink not, though that
flask of Bourdeaux might have come out of Sir Hildebrand's
ain cellar. Had you been always as abstinent, you would have
escaped the deadly hatred of your cousin Rashleigh.''

  ``Had I been always prudent,'' said I, blushing at the scene
he recalled to my recollection, ``I should have escaped a worse
evil---the reproach of my own conscience.''

  MacGregor cast a keen and somewhat fierce glance on me,
as if to read whether the reproof, which he evidently felt, had
been intentionally conveyed. He saw that I was thinking of
myself, not of him, and turned his face towards the fire with a
deep sigh. I followed his example, and each remained for a
few minutes wrapt in his own painful reverie. All in the hut
were now asleep, or at least silent, excepting ourselves.

  MacGregor first broke silence, in the tone of one who takes
up his determination to enter on a painful subject. ``My cousin
Nicol Jarvie means well,'' he said, ``but he presses ower hard
on the temper and situation of a man like me, considering what
I have been---what I have been forced to become---and, above
all, that which has forced me to become what I am.''

  He paused; and, though feeling the delicate nature of the
discussion in which the conversation was likely to engage me, I
could not help replying, that I did not doubt his present situation
had much which must be most unpleasant to his feelings.

  ``I should be happy to learn,'' I added, ``that there is an honourable
chance of your escaping from it.''

  ``You speak like a boy,'' returned MacGregor, in a low tone
that growled like distant thunder---``like a boy, who thinks the
auld gnarled oak can be twisted as easily as the young sapling.
Can I forget that I have been branded as an outlaw---stigmatised
as a traitor---a price set on my head as if I had been a
wolf---my family treated as the dam and cubs of the hill-fox,
whom all may torment, vilify, degrade, and insult---the very
name which came to me from a long and noble line of martial
ancestors, denounced, as if it were a spell to conjure up the
devil with?''

  As he went on in this manner, I could plainly see, that, by
the enumeration of his wrongs, he was lashing himself up into
a rage, in order to justify in his own eyes the errors they had
led him into. In this he perfectly succeeded; his light grey
eyes contracting alternately and dilating their pupils, until they
seemed actually to flash with flame, while he thrust forward
and drew back his foot, grasped the hilt of his dirk, extended
his arm, clenched his fist, and finally rose from his seat.

  ``And they _shall_ find,'' he said, in the same muttered but
deep tone of stifled passion, ``that the name they have dared
to proscribe---that the name of MacGregor---_is_ a spell to raise
the wild devil withal. _They_ shall hear of my vengeance, that
would scorn to listen to the story of my wrongs---The miserable
Highland drover, bankrupt, barefooted,---stripped of all, dishonoured
and hunted down, because the avarice of others
grasped at more than that poor all could pay, shall burst on
them in an awful change. They that scoffed at the grovelling
worm, and trode upon him, may cry and howl when they see
the stoop of the flying and fiery-mouthed dragon.---But why do
I speak of all this?'' he said, sitting down again, and in a
calmer tone---``Only ye may opine it frets my patience, Mr.
Osbaldistone, to be hunted like an otter, or a sealgh, or a salmon
upon the shallows, and that by my very friends and neighbours;
and to have as many sword-cuts made, and pistols flashed at
me, as I had this day in the ford of Avondow, would try a
saint's temper, much more a Highlander's, who are not famous
for that gude gift, as ye may hae heard, Mr. Osbaldistone.---
But as thing bides wi' me o' what Nicol said;---I'm vexed for
the bairns---I'm vexed when I think o' Hamish and Robert
living their father's life.'' And yielding to despondence on
account of his sons, which he felt not upon his own, the father
rested his head upon his hand.

  I was much affected, Will. All my life long I have been
more melted by the distress under which a strong, proud, and
powerful mind is compelled to give way, than by the more
easily excited sorrows of softer dispositions. The desire of
aiding him rushed strongly on my mind, notwithstanding the
apparent difficulty, and even impossibility, of the task.

  ``We have extensive connections abroad,'' said I: ``might
not your sons, with some assistance---and they are well entitled
to what my father's house can give---find an honourable resource
in foreign service?''

  I believe my countenance showed signs of sincere emotion;
but my companion, taking me by the hand, as I was going to
speak farther, said---``I thank---I thank ye---but let us say nae
mair o' this. I did not think the eye of man would again have
seen a tear on MacGregor's eye-lash.'' He dashed the moisture
from his long gray eye-lash and shaggy red eye-brow with the
back of his hand. ``To-morrow morning,'' he said, ``we'll talk
of this, and we will talk, too, of your affairs---for we are early
starters in the dawn, even when we have the luck to have good
beds to sleep in. Will ye not pledge me in a grace cup?'' I
declined the invitation.

  ``Then, by the soul of St. Maronoch! I must pledge myself,''
and he poured out and swallowed at least half-a-quart
of wine.

  I laid myself down to repose, resolving to delay my own
inquiries until his mind should be in a more composed state.
Indeed, so much had this singular man possessed himself of my
imagination, that I felt it impossible to avoid watching him for
some minutes after I had flung myself on my heath mattress to
seeming rest. He walked up and down the hut, crossed himself
from time to time, muttering over some Latin prayer of the
Catholic church; then wrapped himself in his plaid, with his
naked sword on one side, and his pistol on the other, so disposing
the folds of his mantle that he could start up at a
moment's warning, with a weapon in either hand, ready for
instant combat. In a few minutes his heavy breathing
announced that he was fast asleep. Overpowered by fatigue,
and stunned by the various unexpected and extraordinary
scenes of the day, I, in my turn, was soon overpowered by a
slumber deep and overwhelming, from which, notwithstanding
every cause for watchfulness, I did not awake until the next
morning.

  When I opened my eyes, and recollected my situation, I
found that MacGregor had already left the hut. I awakened
the Bailie, who, after many a snort and groan, and some heavy
complaints of the soreness of his bones, in consequence of the
unwonted exertions of the preceding day, was at length able to
comprehend the joyful intelligence, that the assets carried off
by Rashleigh Osbaldistone had been safely recovered. The
instant he understood my meaning, he forgot all his grievances,
and, bustling up in a great hurry, proceeded to compare the
contents of the packet which I put into his hands, with Mr.
Owen's memorandums, muttering, as he went on, ``Right,
right---the real thing---Bailie and Whittington---where's Bailie
and Whittington?---seven hundred, six, and eight---exact to a
fraction---Pollock and Peelman---twenty-eight, seven---exact---
Praise be blest!---Grub and Grinder---better men cannot be---
three hundred and seventy---Gliblad---twenty; I doubt Gliblad's
ganging---Slipprytongue; Slipprytongue's gaen---but they
are sma'sums---sma'sums---the rest's a'right---Praise be blest!
we have got the stuff, and may leave this doleful country. I
shall never think on Loch-Ard but the thought will gar me grew
again''

  ``I am sorry, cousin,'' said MacGregor, who entered the hut
during the last observation, ``I have not been altogether in
the circumstances to make your reception sic as I could have
desired---natheless, if you would condescend to visit my puir
dwelling''------

  ``Muckle obliged, muckle obliged,'' answered Mr. Jarvie,
very hastily---``But we maun be ganging---we maun be jogging,
Mr. Osbaldistone and me---business canna wait.''

  ``Aweel, kinsman,'' replied the Highlander, ``ye ken our
fashion---foster the guest that comes---further him that maun
gang. But ye cannot return by Drymen---I must set you on
Loch Lomond, and boat ye down to the Ferry o' Balloch, and
send your nags round to meet ye there. It's a maxim of a wise
man never to return by the same road he came, providing
another's free to him.''

  ``Ay, ay, Rob,'' said the Bailie, ``that's ane o' the maxims ye
learned when ye were a drover;---ye caredna to face the tenants
where your beasts had been taking a rug of their moorland
grass in the by-ganging, and I doubt your road's waur marked
now than it was then.''

  ``The mair need not to travel it ower often, kinsman,'' replied
Rob; ``but I'se send round your nags to the ferry wi' Dougal
Gregor, wha is converted for that purpose into the Bailie's man,
coming---not, as ye may believe, from Aberfoil or Rob Roy's
country, but on a quiet jaunt from Stirling. See, here he is.''

  ``I wadna hae ken'd the creature,'' said Mr. Jarvie; nor
indeed was it easy to recognise the wild Highlander, when he
appeared before the door of the cottage, attired in a hat,
periwig, and riding-coat, which had once called Andrew Fairservice
master, and mounted on the Bailie's horse, and leading
mine. He received his last orders from his master to avoid
certain places where he might be exposed to suspicion---to
collect what intelligence he could in the course of his journey,
and to await our coming at an appointed place, near the Ferry
of Balloch.

  At the same time, MacGregor invited us to accompany him
upon our own road, assuring us that we must necessarily march
a few miles before breakfast, and recommending a dram of
brandy as a proper introduction to the journey, in which he was
pledged by the Bailie, who pronounced it ``an unlawful and
perilous habit to begin the day wi' spirituous liquors, except
to defend the stomach (whilk was a tender part) against the
morning mist; in whilk case his father the deacon had recommended
a dram, by precept and example.''

  ``Very true, kinsman,'' replied Rob, ``for which reason we,
who are Children of the Mist, have a right to drink brandy from
morning till night.''

  The Bailie, thus refreshed, was mounted on a small Highland
pony; another was offered for my use, which, however, I declined;
and we resumed, under very different guidance and
auspices, our journey of the preceding day.

  Our escort consisted of MacGregor, and five or six of the
handsomest, best armed, and most athletic mountaineers of his
band, and whom he had generally in immediate attendance upon
his own person.

  When we approached the pass, the scene of the skirmish of
the preceding day, and of the still more direful deed which
followed it, MacGregor hastened to speak, as if it were rather
to what he knew must be necessarily passing in my mind, than
to any thing I had said---he spoke, in short, to my thoughts, and
not to my words.

  ``You must think hardly of us, Mr. Osbaldistone, and it is
not natural that it should be otherwise. But remember, at
least, we have not been unprovoked. We are a rude and an
ignorant, and it may be a violent and passionate, but we are
not a cruel people. The land might be at peace and in law
for us, did they allow us to enjoy the blessings of peaceful law.
But we have been a persecuted generation.''

  ``And persecution,'' said the Bailie, ``maketh wise men
mad.''

  ``What must it do then to men like us, living as our fathers
did a thousand years since, and possessing scarce more lights
than they did? Can we view their bluidy edicts against us---
their hanging, heading, hounding, and hunting down an ancient
and honourable name---as deserving better treatment than that
which enemies give to enemies?---Here I stand, have been in
twenty frays, and never hurt man but when I was in het bluid;
and yet they wad betray me and hang me like a masterless dog,
at the gate of ony great man that has an ill will at me.''

  I replied, ``that the proscription of his name and family
sounded in English ears as a very cruel and arbitrary law;''
and having thus far soothed him, I resumed my propositions
of obtaining military employment for himself, if he chose it, and
his sons, in foreign parts. MacGregor shook me very cordially
by the hand, and detaining me, so as to permit Mr. Jarvie to
precede us, a man<oe>uvre for which the narrowness of the road
served as an excuse, he said to me---``You are a kind-hearted
and an honourable youth, and understand, doubtless, that which
is due to the feelings of a man of honour. But the heather that
I have trode upon when living, must bloom ower me when I am
dead---my heart would sink, and my arm would shrink and
wither like fern in the frost, were I to lose sight of my native
hills; nor has the world a scene that would console me for the
loss of the rocks and cairns, wild as they are, that you see
around us.---And Helen---what could become of her, were I
to leave her the subject of new insult and atrocity?---or how
could she bear to be removed from these scenes, where the
remembrance of her wrongs is aye sweetened by the recollection
of her revenge?---I was once so hard put at by my Great
enemy, as I may well ca' him, that I was forced e'en to gie way
to the tide, and removed myself and my people and family from
our dwellings in our native land, and to withdraw for a time
into MacCallum More's country---and Helen made a Lament
on our departure, as weel as MacRimmon<*> himsell could hae

* The MacRimmons or MacCrimonds were hereditary pipers to the chiefs
* of MacLeod, and celebrated for their talents. The pibroch said to have
* been composed by Helen MacGregor is still in existence. See the Introduction
* to this Novel.

framed it---and so piteously sad and waesome, that our hearts
amaist broke as we sate and listened to her---it was like the
wailing of one that mourns for the mother that bore him---the
tears came down the rough faces of our gillies as they hearkened;
and I wad not have the same touch of heartbreak again, no,
not to have all the lands that ever were owned by MacGregor.''

  ``But your sons,'' I said---``they are at the age when your
countrymen have usually no objection to see the world?''

  ``And I should be content,'' he replied, ``that they pushed
their fortune in the French or Spanish service, as is the wont
of Scottish cavaliers of honour; and last night your plan
seemed feasible eneugh---But I hae seen his Excellency this
morning before ye were up.''

  ``Did he then quarter so near us?'' said I, my bosom throbbing
with anxiety.

  ``Nearer than ye thought,'' was MacGregor's reply; ``but
he seemed rather in some shape to jalouse your speaking to the
young leddy; and so you see''------

  ``There was no occasion for jealousy,'' I answered, with some
haughtiness;---``I should not have intruded on his privacy.''

  ``But ye must not be offended, or look out from amang your
curls then, like a wildcat out of an ivy-tod, for ye are to understand
that he wishes most sincere weel to you, and has proved it.
And it's partly that whilk has set the heather on fire e'en now.''

  ``Heather on fire?'' said I. ``I do not understand you.''

  ``Why,'' resumed MacGregor, ``ye ken weel eneugh that
women and gear are at the bottom of a' the mischief in this
warld. I hae been misdoubting your cousin Rashleigh since
ever he saw that he wasna to get Die Vernon for his marrow,
and I think he took grudge at his Excellency mainly on that
account. But then came the splore about the surrendering your
papers---and we hae now gude evidence, that, sae soon as he
was compelled to yield them up, he rade post to Stirling, and
tauld the Government all and mair than all, that was gaun
doucely on amang us hill-folk; and, doubtless, that was the
way that the country was laid to take his Excellency and the
leddy, and to make sic an unexpected raid on me. And I hae
as little doubt that the poor deevil Morris, whom he could gar
believe onything, was egged on by him, and some of the Lowland
gentry, to trepan me in the gate he tried to do. But if
Rashleigh Osbaldistone were baith the last and best of his
name, and granting that he and I ever forgather again, the
fiend go down my weasand with a bare blade at his belt, if we
part before my dirk and his best blude are weel acquainted thegither!''

  He pronounced the last threat with an ominous frown, and
the appropriate gesture of his hand upon his dagger.

  ``I should almost rejoice at what has happened,'' said I,
``could I hope that Rashleigh's treachery might prove the
means of preventing the explosion of the rash and desperate
intrigues in which I have long suspected him to be a prime
agen.''

  ``Trow ye na that,'' said Rob Roy; ``traitor's word never yet
hurt honest cause. He was ower deep in our secrets, that's
true; and had it not been so, Stirling and Edinburgh Castles
would have been baith in our hands by this time, or briefly
hereafter, whilk is now scarce to be hoped for. But there are
ower mony engaged, and far ower gude a cause to be gien up
for the breath of a traitor's tale, and that will be seen and heard
of ere it be lang. And so, as I was about to say, the best of
my thanks to you for your offer anent my sons, whilk last night
I had some thoughts to have embraced in their behalf. But I
see that this villain's treason will convince our great folks that
they must instantly draw to a head, and make a blow for it, or
be taen in their houses, coupled up like hounds, and driven up
to London like the honest noblemen and gentlemen in the year
seventeen hundred and seven. Civil war is like a cockatrice;---
we have sitten hatching the egg that held it for ten years, and
might hae sitten on for ten years mair, when in comes Rashleigh,
and chips the shell, and out bangs the wonder amang us,
and cries to fire and sword. Now in sic a matter I'll hae need
o' a' the hands I can mak; and, nae disparagement to the
Kings of France and Spain, whom I wish very weel to, King
James is as gude a man as ony o' them, and has the best right
to Hamish and Rob, being his natural-born subjects.''

  I easily comprehended that these words boded a general
national convulsion; and, as it would have been alike useless
and dangerous to have combated the political opinions of my
guide, at such a place and moment, I contented myself with
regretting the promiscuous scene of confusion and distress likely
to arise from any general exertion in favour of the exiled royal
family.

  ``Let it come, man---let it come,'' answered MacGregor; ``ye
never saw dull weather clear without a shower; and if the
world is turned upside down, why, honest men have the better
chance to cut bread out of it.''

  I again attempted to bring him back to the subject of Diana;
but although on most occasions and subjects he used a freedom
of speech which I had no great delight in listening to, yet upon
that alone which was most interesting to me, he kept a degree
of scrupulous reserve, and contented himself with intimating,
``that he hoped the leddy would be soon in a quieter country
than this was like to be for one while.'' I was obliged to be
content with this answer, and to proceed in the hope that
accident might, as on a former occasion, stand my friend, and
allow me at least the sad gratification of bidding farewell to the
object which had occupied such a share of my affections, so much
beyond even what I had supposed, till I was about to be separated
from her for ever.

  We pursued the margin of the lake for about six English
miles, through a devious and beautifully variegated path, until
we attained a sort of Highland farm, or assembly of hamlets,
near the head of that fine sheet of water, called, if I mistake
not, Lediart, or some such name. Here a numerous party of
MacGregor's men were stationed in order to receive us. The
taste as well as the eloquence of tribes in a savage, or, to speak
more properly, in a rude state, is usually just, because it is
unfettered by system and affectation; and of this I had an
example in the choice these mountaineers had made of a place
to receive their guests. It has been said that a British
monarch would judge well to receive the embassy of a rival
power in the cabin of a man-of-war; and a Highland leader
acted with some propriety in choosing a situation where the
natural objects of grandeur proper to his country might have
their full effect on the minds of his guests.

  We ascended about two hundred yards from the shores of the
lake, guided by a brawling brook, and left on the right hand
four or five Highland huts, with patches of arable land around
them, so small as to show that they must have been worked
with the spade rather than the plough, cut as it were out of the
surrounding copsewood, and waving with crops of barley and
oats. Above this limited space the hill became more steep;
and on its edge we descried the glittering arms and waving
drapery of about fifty of MacGregor's followers. They were
stationed on a spot, the recollection of which yet strikes me
with admiration. The brook, hurling its waters downwards
from the mountain, had in this spot encountered a barrier rock,
over which it had made its way by two distinct leaps. The
first fall, across which a magnificent old oak, slanting out from
the farther bank, partly extended itself as if to shroud the
dusky stream of the cascade, might be about twelve feet high;
the broken waters were received in a beautiful stone basin,
almost as regular as if hewn by a sculptor; and after wheeling
around its flinty margin, they made a second precipitous dash,
through a dark and narrow chasm, at least fifty feet in depth,
and from thence, in a hurried, but comparatively a more gentle
course, escaped to join the lake.

  With the natural taste which belongs to mountaineers, and
especially to the Scottish Highlanders, whose feelings, I have observed,
are often allied with the romantic and poetical, Rob Roy's
wife and followers had prepared our morning repast in a scene
well calculated to impress strangers with some feelings of awe.
They are also naturally a grave and proud people, and, however
rude in our estimation, carry their ideas of form and politeness
to an excess that would appear overstrained, except from the
demonstration of superior force which accompanies the display
of it; for it must be granted that the air of punctilious deference
and rigid etiquette which would seem ridiculous in an
ordinary peasant, has, like the salute of a _corps-de-garde,_ a
propriety when tendered by a Highlander completely armed.
There was, accordingly, a good deal of formality in our approach
and reception.

  The Highlanders, who had been dispersed on the side of the
hill, drew themselves together when we came in view, and,
standing firm and motionless, appeared in close column behind
three figures, whom I soon recognised to be Helen MacGregor
and her two sons. MacGregor himself arranged his attendants
in the rear, and, requesting Mr. Jarvie to dismount where the
ascent became steep, advanced slowly, marshalling us forward
at the head of the troop. As we advanced, we heard the wild
notes of the bagpipes, which lost their natural discord from
being mingled with the dashing sound of the cascade. When
we came close, the wife of MacGregor came forward to meet us.
Her dress was studiously arranged in a more feminine taste than
it had been on the preceding day, but her features wore the
same lofty, unbending, and resolute character; and as she folded
my friend the Bailie in an unexpected and apparently unwelcome
embrace, I could perceive by the agitation of his wig, his
back, and the calves of his legs, that he felt much like to one
who feels himself suddenly in the gripe of a she-bear, without
being able to distinguish whether the animal is in kindness or
in wrath.

  ``Kinsman,'' she said, ``you are welcome---and you, too,
stranger,'' she added, releasing my alarmed companion, who
instinctively drew back and settled his wig, and addressing
herself to me---``you also are welcome. You came,'' she added,
``to our unhappy country, when our bloods were chafed, and
our hands were red. Excuse the rudeness that gave you a
rough welcome, and lay it upon the evil times, and not upon
us.'' All this was said with the manners of a princess, and in
the tone and style of a court. Nor was there the least tincture
of that vulgarity, which we naturally attach to the Lowland
Scottish. There was a strong provincial accentuation, but,
otherwise, the language rendered by Helen MacGregor, out of
the native and poetical Gaelic, into English, which she had
acquired as we do learned tongues, but had probably never
heard applied to the mean purposes of ordinary life, was graceful,
flowing, and declamatory. Her husband, who had in his
time played many parts, used a much less elevated and emphatic
dialect;---but even _his_ language rose in purity of expression, as
you may have remarked, if I have been accurate in recording
it, when the affairs which he discussed were of an agitating and
important nature; and it appears to me in his case, and in
that of some other Highlanders whom I have known, that,
when familiar and facetious, they used the Lowland Scottish
dialect,---when serious and impassioned, their thoughts arranged
themselves in the idiom of their native language; and in the
latter case, as they uttered the corresponding ideas in English,
the expressions sounded wild, elevated, and poetical. In fact,
the language of passion is almost always pure as well as vehement,
and it is no uncommon thing to hear a Scotchman, when
overwhelmed by a countryman with a tone of bitter and fluent
upbraiding, reply by way of taunt to his adversary, ``You have
gotten to your English.''

  Be this as it may, the wife of MacGregor invited us to a
refreshment spread out on the grass, which abounded with all
the good things their mountains could offer, but was clouded
by the dark and undisturbed gravity which sat on the brow of
our hostess, as well as by our deep and anxious recollection of
what had taken place on the preceding day. It was in vain
that the leader exerted himself to excite mirth;---a chill hung
over our minds, as if the feast had been funereal; and every
bosom felt light when it was ended.

  ``Adieu, cousin,'' she said to Mr. Jarvie, as we rose from the
entertainment; ``the best wish Helen MacGregor can give to
a friend is, that he may see her no more.''

  The Bailie struggled to answer, probably with some commonplace
maxim of morality;---but the calm and melancholy sternness
of her countenance bore down and disconcerted the mechanical
and formal importance of the magistrate. He coughed,---
hemmed,---bowed,---and was silent.

  ``For you, stranger,'' she said, ``I have a token, from one
whom you can never''------

  ``Helen!'' interrupted MacGregor, in a loud and stern voice,
``what means this?---have you forgotten the charge?''

  ``MacGregor,'' she replied, ``I have forgotten nought that
is fitting for me to remember. It is not such hands as these,''
and she stretched forth her long, sinewy, and bare arm, ``that
are fitting to convey love-tokens, were the gift connected with
aught but misery. Young man,'' she said, presenting me with
a ring, which I well remembered as one of the few ornaments
that Miss Vernon sometimes wore, ``this comes from one whom
you will never see more. If it is a joyless token, it is well fitted
to pass through the hands of one to whom joy can never be
known. Her last words were---Let him forget me for ever.''

  ``And can she,'' I said, almost without being conscious that
I spoke, ``suppose that is possible?''

  ``All may be forgotten,'' said the extraordinary female who
addressed me,---``all---but the sense of dishonour, and the desire
of vengeance.''

  ``_Seid suas!_''<*> cried the MacGregor, stamping with impatience.

* ``Strike up.''

The bagpipes sounded, and with their thrilling and
jarring tones cut short our conference. Our leave of our hostess
was taken by silent gestures; and we resumed our journey with
an additional proof on my part, that I was beloved by Diana,
and was separated from her for ever.



		CHAPTER THIRTY-SIXTH.

	Farewell to the land where the clouds love to rest,
	Like the shroud of the dead, on the mountain's cold breast
	To the cataract's roar where the eagles reply,
	And the lake her lone bosom expands to the sky.

  Our route lay through a dreary, yet romantic country, which
the distress of my own mind prevented me from remarking
particularly, and which, therefore, I will not attempt to describe.
The lofty peak of Ben Lomond, here the predominant monarch
of the mountains, lay on our right hand, and served as a striking
landmark. I was not awakened from my apathy, until,
after a long and toilsome walk, we emerged through a pass in
the hills, and Loch Lomond opened before us. I will spare
you the attempt to describe what you would hardly comprehend
without going to see it. But certainly this noble lake, boasting
innumerable beautiful islands, of every varying form and outline
which fancy can frame,---its northern extremity narrowing
until it is lost among dusky and retreating mountains,---while,
gradually widening as it extends to the southward, it spreads
its base around the indentures and promontories of a fair and
fertile land, affords one of the most surprising, beautiful, and
sublime spectacles in nature. The eastern side, peculiarly rough
and rugged, was at this time the chief seat of MacGregor and
his clan,---to curb whom, a small garrison had been stationed
in a central position betwixt Loch Lomond and another lake.
The extreme strength of the country, however, with the numerous
passes, marshes, caverns, and other places of concealment
or defence, made the establishment of this little fort seem rather
an acknowledgment of the danger, than an effectual means of
securing against it.

  On more than one occasion, as well as on that which I witnessed,
the garrison suffered from the adventurous spirit of the
outlaw and his followers. These advantages were never sullied
by ferocity when he himself was in command; for, equally
good-tempered and sagacious, he understood well the danger of
incurring unnecessary odium. I learned with pleasure that he
had caused the captives of the preceding day to be liberated in
safety; and many traits of mercy, and even of generosity, are
recorded of this remarkable man on similar occasions.

  A boat waited for us in a creek beneath a huge rock, manned
by four lusty Highland rowers; and our host took leave of us
with great cordiality, and even affection. Betwixt him and
Mr. Jarvie, indeed, there seemed to exist a degree of mutual
regard, which formed a strong contrast to their different occupations
and habits. After kissing each other very lovingly,
and when they were just in the act of parting, the Bailie, in
the fulness of his heart, and with a faltering voice, assured his
kinsman, ``that if ever an hundred pund, or even twa hundred,
would put him or his family in a settled way, he need but just
send a line to the Saut-Market;'' and Rob, grasping his basket-hilt
with one hand, and shaking Mr. Jarvie's heartily with the
other, protested, ``that if ever anybody should affront his kinsman,
an he would but let him ken, he would stow his lugs out
of his head, were he the best man in Glasgow.''

  With these assurances of mutual aid and continued good-will,
we bore away from the shore, and took our course for the south-western
angle of the lake, where it gives birth to the river
Leven. Rob Roy remained for some time standing on the rock
from beneath which we had departed, conspicuous by his long
gun, waving tartans, and the single plume in his cap, which in
those days denoted the Highland gentleman and soldier; although
I observe that the present military taste has decorated the
Highland bonnet with a quantity of black plumage resembling
that which is borne before funerals. At length, as the distance
increased between us, we saw him turn and go slowly up the
side of the hill, followed by his immediate attendants or bodyguard.

  We performed our voyage for a long time in silence, interrupted
only by the Gaelic chant which one of the rowers sung
in low irregular measure, rising occasionally into a wild chorus,
in which the others joined.

  My own thoughts were sad enough;---yet I felt something
soothing in the magnificent scenery with which I was surrounded;
and thought, in the enthusiasm of the moment, that
had my faith been that of Rome, I could have consented to live
and die a lonely hermit in one of the romantic and beautiful
islands amongst which our boat glided.

  The Bailie had also his speculations, but they were of somewhat
a different complexion; as I found when, after about an
hour's silence, during which he had been mentally engaged in
the calculations necessary, he undertook to prove the possibility
of draining the lake, and ``giving to plough and harrow many
hundred, ay, many a thousand acres, from whilk no man could
get earthly gude e'enow, unless it were a gedd,<*> or a dish of

* A pike.

perch now and then.''

  Amidst a long discussion, which he ``crammed into mine ear
against the stomach of my sense,'' I only remember, that it was
part of his project to preserve a portion of the lake just deep
enough and broad enough for the purposes of water-carriage, so
that coal-barges and gabbards should pass as easily between
Dumbarton and Glenfalloch as between Glasgow and Greenock.

  At length we neared our distant place of landing, adjoining
to the ruins of an ancient castle, and just where the lake discharges
its superfluous waters into the Leven. There we found
Dougal with the horses. The Bailie had formed a plan with
respect to ``the creature,'' as well as upon the draining of the
lake; and, perhaps in both cases, with more regard to the
utility than to the practical possibility of his scheme. ``Dougal,''
he said, ``ye are a kindly creature, and hae the sense and feeling
o' what is due to your betters---and I'm e'en wae for you,
Dougal, for it canna be but that in the life ye lead you suld get
a Jeddart cast<*> ae day suner or later. I trust, considering my

* [``The memory of Dunbar's legal (?) proceedings at Jedburgh is preserved
* in the proverbial phrase _Jeddart Justice,_ which signifies trial _after_
* execution.''---_Minstrelsy of the Border,_ Preface, p. lvi.]

services as a magistrate, and my father the deacon's afore me, I
hae interest eneugh in the council to gar them wink a wee at a
waur faut than yours. Sae I hae been thinking, that if ye will
gang back to Glasgow wi' us, being a strong-backit creature, ye
might be employed in the warehouse till something better suld
cast up.''

  ``Her nainsell muckle obliged till the Bailie's honour,'' replied
Dougal; ``but teil be in her shanks fan she gangs on a cause-way'd
street, unless she be drawn up the Gallowgate wi' tows,
as she was before.''

  In fact, I afterwards learned that Dougal had originally come
to Glasgow as a prisoner, from being concerned in some depredation,
but had somehow found such favour in the eyes of the
jailor, that, with rather overweening confidence, he had retained
him in his service as one of the turnkeys; a task which Dougal
had discharged with sufficient fidelity, so far as was known,
until overcome by his clannish prejudices on the unexpected
appearance of his old leader.

  Astonished at receiving so round a refusal to so favourable
an offer, the Bailie, turning to me, observed, that the ``creature
was a natural-born idiot.'' I testified my own gratitude in a
way which Dougal much better relished, by slipping a couple of
guineas into his hand. He no sooner felt the touch of the gold,
than he sprung twice or thrice from the earth with the agility
of a wild buck, flinging out first one heel and then another, in a
manner which would have astonished a French dancing-master.
He ran to the boatmen to show them the prize, and a small
gratuity made them take part in his raptures. He then, to use
a favourite expression of the dramatic John Bunyan, ``went on
his way, and I saw him no more.''

  The Bailie and I mounted our horses, and proceeded on the
road to Glasgow. When we had lost the view of the lake, and
its superb amphitheatre of mountains, I could not help expressing
with enthusiasm, my sense of its natural beauties, although I
was conscious that Mr. Jarvie was a very uncongenial spirit to
communicate with on such a subject.

  ``Ye are a young gentleman,'' he replied, ``and an Englishman,
and a' this may be very fine to you; but for me, wha am
a plain man, and ken something o' the different values of land,
I wadna gie the finest sight we hae seen in the Hielands, for
the first keek o' the Gorbals o' Glasgow; and if I were ance
there, it suldna be every fule's errand, begging your pardon, Mr.
Francis, that suld take me out o' sight o' Saint Mungo's steeple
again!''

  The honest man had his wish; for, by dint of travelling very
late, we arrived at his own house that night, or rather on the
succeeding morning. Having seen my worthy fellow-traveller
safely consigned to the charge of the considerate and officious
Mattie, I proceeded to Mrs. Flyter's, in whose house, even at
this unwonted hour, light was still burning. The door was
opened by no less a person than Andrew Fairservice himself,
who, upon the first sound of my voice, set up a loud shout of
joyful recognition, and, without uttering a syllable, ran up stairs
towards a parlour on the second floor, from the windows of
which the light proceeded. Justly conceiving that he went to
announce my return to the anxious Owen, I followed him upon
the foot. Owen was not alone, there was another in the apartment---
it was my father.

  The first impulse was to preserve the dignity of his usual
equanimity,---``Francis, I am glad to see you.'' The next was
to embrace me tenderly,---``My dear---dear son!''---Owen
secured one of my hands, and wetted it with his tears, while he
joined in gratulating my return. These are scenes which
address themselves to the eye and to the heart rather than to
the ear---My old eye-lids still moisten at the recollection of our
meeting; but your kind and affectionate feelings can well
imagine what I should find it impossible to describe.

  When the tumult of our joy was over, I learnt that my father
had arrived from Holland shortly after Owen had set off for
Scotland. Determined and rapid in all his movements, he only
stopped to provide the means of discharging the obligations
incumbent on his house. By his extensive resources, with
funds enlarged, and credit fortified, by eminent success in his
continental speculation, he easily accomplished what perhaps
his absence alone rendered difficult, and set out for Scotland to
exact justice from Rashleigh Osbaldistone, as well as to put
order to his affairs in that country. My father's arrival in full
credit, and with the ample means of supporting his engagements
honourably, as well as benefiting his correspondents in future,
was a stunning blow to MacVittie and Company, who had
conceived his star set for ever. Highly incensed at the usage
his confidential clerk and agent had received at their hands,
Mr. Osbaldistone refused every tender of apology and accommodation;
and having settled the balance of their account,
announced to them that, with all its numerous contingent
advantages, that leaf of their ledger was closed for ever.

  While he enjoyed this triumph over false friends, he was not
a little alarmed on my account. Owen, good man, had not
supposed it possible that a journey of fifty or sixty miles, which
may be made with so much ease and safety in any direction
from London, could be attended with any particular danger.
But he caught alarm, by sympathy, from my father, to whom
the country, and the lawless character of its inhabitants, were
better known.

  These apprehensions were raised to agony, when, a few hours
before I arrived, Andrew Fairservice made his appearance, with
a dismal and exaggerated account of the uncertain state in
which he had left me. The nobleman with whose troops he
had been a sort of prisoner, had, after examination, not only
dismissed him, but furnished him with the means of returning
rapidly to Glasgow, in order to announce to my friends my
precarious and unpleasant situation.

  Andrew was one of those persons who have no objection to the
sort of temporary attention and woeful importance which attaches
itself to the bearer of bad tidings, and had therefore by no
means smoothed down his tale in the telling, especially as the
rich London merchant himself proved unexpectedly one of the
auditors. He went at great length into an account of the dangers
I had escaped, chiefly, as he insinuated, by means of his own
experience, exertion, and sagacity.

  ``What was to come of me now, when my better angel, in
his (Andrew's) person, was removed from my side, it was,'' he
said, ``sad and sair to conjecture; that the Bailie was nae better
than just naebody at a pinch, or something waur, for he was a
conceited body---and Andrew hated conceit---but certainly,
atween the pistols and the carabines of the troopers, that rappit
aff the tane after the tother as fast as hail, and the dirks and
claymores o' the Hielanders, and the deep waters and weils o' the
Avondow, it was to be thought there wad be a puir account of
the young gentleman.''

  This statement would have driven Owen to despair, had he
been alone and unsupported; but my father's perfect knowledge
of mankind enabled him easily to appreciate the character of
Andrew, and the real amount of his intelligence. Stripped of
all exaggeration, however, it was alarming enough to a parent.
He determined to set out in person to obtain my liberty by ransom
or negotiation, and was busied with Owen till a late hour,
in order to get through some necessary correspondence, and devolve
on the latter some business which should be transacted
during his absence; and thus it chanced that I found them
watchers.

  It was late ere we separated to rest, and, too impatient long
to endure repose, I was stirring early the next morning. Andrew
gave his attendance at my levee, as in duty bound, and,
instead of the scarecrow figure to which he had been reduced at
Aberfoil, now appeared in the attire of an undertaker, a goodly
suit, namely, of the deepest mourning. It was not till after one
or two queries, which the rascal affected as long as he could to
misunderstand, that I found out he ``had thought it but decent
to put on mourning, on account of my inexpressible loss; and
as the broker at whose shop he had equipped himself, declined
to receive the goods again, and as his own garments had been
destroyed or carried off in my honour's service, doubtless I and
my honourable father, whom Providence had blessed wi' the
means, wadna suffer a puir lad to sit down wi' the loss; a stand
o' claes was nae great matter to an Osbaldistone (be praised
for't!), especially to an old and attached servant o' the house.''

  As there was something of justice in Andrew's plea of loss in
my service, his finesse succeeded; and he came by a good suit
of mourning, with a beaver and all things conforming, as the
exterior signs of woe for a master who was alive and merry.

  My father's first care, when he arose, was to visit Mr. Jarvie,
for whose kindness he entertained the most grateful sentiments,
which he expressed in very few, but manly and nervous terms.
He explained the altered state of his affairs, and offered the
Bailie, on such terms as could not but be both advantageous
and acceptable, that part in his concerns which had been
hitherto managed by MacVittie and Company. The Bailie
heartily congratulated my father and Owen on the changed
posture of their affairs, and, without affecting to disclaim that
he had done his best to serve them, when matters looked otherwise,
he said, ``He had only just acted as he wad be done by---
that, as to the extension of their correspondence, he frankly
accepted it with thanks. Had MacVittie's folk behaved like
honest men,'' he said, ``he wad hae liked ill to hae come in
ahint them, and out afore them this gate. But it's otherwise,
and they maun e'en stand the loss.''

  The Bailie then pulled me by the sleeve into a corner, and,
after again cordially wishing me joy, proceeded, in rather an
embarrassed tone---``I wad heartily wish, Maister Francis, there
suld be as little said as possible about the queer things we saw
up yonder awa. There's nae gude, unless ane were judicially
examinate, to say onything about that awfu' job o' Morris---and
the members o' the council wadna think it creditable in ane of
their body to be fighting wi' a wheen Hielandmen, and singeing
their plaidens---And abune a', though I am a decent sponsible
man, when I am on my right end, I canna but think I maun
hae made a queer figure without my hat and my periwig, hinging
by the middle like bawdrons, or a cloak flung ower a cloak-pin.
Bailie Grahame wad hae an unco hair in my neck an he
got that tale by the end.''

  I could not suppress a smile when I recollected the Bailie's
situation, although I certainly thought it no laughing matter
at the time. The good-natured merchant was a little confused,
but smiled also when he shook his head---``I see how it is---I
see how it is. But say naething about it---there's a gude
callant; and charge that lang-tongued, conceited, upsetting
serving man o' yours, to sae naething neither. I wadna for ever
sae muckle that even the lassock Mattie ken'd onything about it.
I wad never hear an end o't.''

  He was obviously relieved from his impending fears of ridicule,
when I told him it was my father's intention to leave
Glasgow almost immediately. Indeed he had now no motive
for remaining, since the most valuable part of the papers carried
off by Rashleigh had been recovered. For that portion which
he had converted into cash and expended in his own or on
political intrigues, there was no mode of recovering it but by a
suit at law, which was forthwith commenced, and proceeded, as
our law-agents assured us, with all deliberate speed.

  We spent, accordingly, one hospitable day with the Bailie,
and took leave of him, as this narrative now does. He continued
to grow in wealth, honour, and credit, and actually rose to the
highest civic honours in his native city. About two years after
the period I have mentioned, he tired of his bachelor life, and
promoted Mattie from her wheel by the kitchen fire to the upper
end of his table, in the character of Mrs. Jarvie. Bailie Grahame,
the MacVitties, and others (for all men have their enemies,
especially in the council of a royal burgh), ridiculed this transformation.
``But,'' said Mr. Jarvie, ``let them say their say.
I'll ne'er fash mysell, nor lose my liking for sae feckless a matter
as a nine days' clash. My honest father the deacon had a
byword,

	Brent brow and lily skin,
	A loving heart, and a leal within,
	Is better than gowd or gentle kin.

Besides,'' as he always concluded, ``Mattie was nae ordinary
lassock-quean; she was akin to the Laird o' Limmerfield.''

  Whether it was owing to her descent or her good gifts, I do
not presume to decide; but Mattie behaved excellently in her
exaltation, and relieved the apprehensions of some of the Bailie's
friends, who had deemed his experiment somewhat hazardous.
I do not know that there was any other incident of his quiet and
useful life worthy of being particularly recorded.



		CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVENTH.

	``Come ye hither my `six' good sons,
	    Gallant men I trow ye be,
	  How many of you, my children dear,
	    Will stand by that good Earl and me?''

	``Five'' of them did answer make---
	  ``Five'' of them spoke hastily,
	``O father, till the day we die,
	  We'll stand by that good Earl and thee.''
					The Rising in the North.

  On the morning when we were to depart from Glasgow, Andrew
Fairservice bounced into my apartment like a madman, jumping
up and down, and singing, with more vehemence than tune,

	The kiln's on fire---the kiln's on fire---
	The kiln's on fire---she's a' in a lowe.

  With some difficulty I prevailed on him to cease his confounded
clamour, and explain to me what the matter was. He
was pleased to inform me, as if he had been bringing the finest
news imaginable, ``that the Hielands were clean broken out,
every man o' them, and that Rob Roy, and a' his breekless
bands, wad be down upon Glasgow or twenty-four hours o' the
clock gaed round.''

  ``Hold your tongue,'' said I, ``you rascal! You must be drunk
or mad; and if there is any truth in your news, is it a singing
matter, you scoundrel?''

  ``Drunk or mad? nae doubt,'' replied Andrew, dauntlessly;
``ane's aye drunk or mad if he tells what grit folks dinna like
to hear---Sing? Od, the clans will make us sing on the wrang
side o' our mouth, if we are sae drunk or mad as to bide their
coming.''

  I rose in great haste, and found my father and Owen also on
foot, and in considerable alarm.

  Andrew's news proved but too true in the main. The great
rebellion which agitated Britain in the year 1715 had already
broken out, by the unfortunate Earl of Mar's setting up the
standard of the Stuart family in an ill-omened hour, to the ruin
of many honourable families, both in England and Scotland.
The treachery of some of the Jacobite agents (Rashleigh among
the rest), and the arrest of others, had made George the First's
Government acquainted with the extensive ramifications of a
conspiracy long prepared, and which at last exploded prematurely,
and in a part of the kingdom too distant to have any vital
effect upon the country, which, however, was plunged into much
confusion.

  This great public event served to confirm and elucidate the
obscure explanations I had received from MacGregor; and I
could easily see why the westland clans, who were brought
against him, should have waived their private quarrel, in consideration
that they were all shortly to be engaged in the same
public cause. It was a more melancholy reflection to my mind,
that Diana Vernon was the wife of one of those who were most
active in turning the world upside down, and that she was herself
exposed to all the privations and perils of her husband's
hazardous trade.

  We held an immediate consultation on the measures we were
to adopt in this crisis, and acquiesced in my father's plan, that
we should instantly get the necessary passports, and make the
best of our way to London. I acquainted my father with my
wish to offer my personal service to the Government in any volunteer
corps, several being already spoken of. He readily acquiesced
in my proposal; for though he disliked war as a
profession, yet, upon principle, no man would have exposed his
life more willingly in defence of civil and religious liberty.

  We travelled in haste and in peril through Dumfriesshire and
the neighbouring counties of England. In this quarter, gentlemen
of the Tory interest were already in motion, mustering men
and horses, while the Whigs assembled themselves in the
principal towns, armed the inhabitants, and prepared for civil
war. We narrowly escaped being stopped on more occasions
than one, and were often compelled to take circuitous routes to
avoid the points where forces were assembling.

  When we reached London, we immediately associated with
those bankers and eminent merchants who agreed to support the
credit of Government, and to meet that run upon the funds, on
which the conspirators had greatly founded their hopes of
furthering their undertaking, by rendering the Government, as
it were, bankrupt. My father was chosen one of the members
of this formidable body of the monied interest, as all had the
greatest confidence in his zeal, skill, and activity. He was also
the organ by which they communicated with Government, and
contrived, from funds belonging to his own house, or over which
he had command, to find purchasers for a quantity of the
national stock, which was suddenly flung into the market at a
depreciated price when the rebellion broke out. I was not idle
myself, but obtained a commission, and levied, at my father's
expense, about two hundred men, with whom I joined General
Carpenter's army.

  The rebellion, in the meantime, had extended itself to England.
The unfortunate Earl of Derwentwater had taken arms
in the cause, along with General Foster. My poor uncle, Sir
Hildebrand, whose estate was reduced to almost nothing by his
own carelessness and the expense and debauchery of his sons
and household, was easily persuaded to join that unfortunate
standard. Before doing so, however, he exhibited a degree of
precaution of which no one could have suspected him---he made
his will!

  By this document he devised his estates at Osbaldistone Hall,
and so forth, to his sons successively, and their male heirs, until
he came to Rashleigh, whom, on account of the turn he had
lately taken in politics, he detested with all his might,---he cut
him off with a shilling, and settled the estate on me as his next
heir. I had always been rather a favourite of the old gentleman;
but it is probable that, confident in the number of gigantic
youths who now armed around him, he considered the destination
as likely to remain a dead letter, which he inserted chiefly
to show his displeasure at Rashleigh's treachery, both public
and domestic. There was an article, by which he, bequeathed
to the niece of his late wife, Diana Vernon, now Lady Diana
Vernon Beauchamp, some diamonds belonging to her late aunt,
and a great silver ewer, having the arms of Vernon and Osbaldistone
quarterly engraven upon it.

  But Heaven had decreed a more speedy extinction of his
numerous and healthy lineage, than, most probably, he himself
had reckoned on. In the very first muster of the conspirators,
at a place called Green-Rigg, Thorncliff Osbaldistone quarrelled
about precedence with a gentleman of the Northumbrian border,
to the full as fierce and intractable as himself. In spite of all
remonstrances, they gave their commander a specimen of how
far their discipline might be relied upon, by fighting it out with
their rapiers, and my kinsman was killed on the spot. His
death was a great loss to Sir Hildebrand, for, notwithstanding
his infernal temper, he had a grain or two of more sense than
belonged to the rest of the brotherhood, Rashleigh always
excepted.

  Perceval, the sot, died also in his calling. He had a wager
with another gentleman (who, from his exploits in that line,
had acquired the formidable epithet of Brandy Swalewell),
which should drink the largest cup of strong liquor when King
James was proclaimed by the insurgents at Morpeth. The exploit
was something enormous. I forget the exact quantity of
brandy which Percie swallowed, but it occasioned a fever, of
which he expired at the end of three days, with the word,
_water, water,_ perpetually on his tongue.

  Dickon broke his neck near Warrington Bridge, in an attempt
to show off a foundered blood-mare which he wished to palm
upon a Manchester merchant who had joined the insurgents.
He pushed the animal at a five-barred gate; she fell in the leap,
and the unfortunate jockey lost his life.

  Wilfred the fool, as sometimes befalls, had the best fortune
of the family. He was slain at Proud Preston, in Lancashire,
on the day that General Carpenter attacked the barricades,
fighting with great bravery, though I have heard he was never
able exactly to comprehend the cause of quarrel, and did not
uniformly remember on which king's side he was engaged. John
also behaved very boldly in the same engagement, and received
several wounds, of which he was not happy enough to die on the
spot.

  Old Sir Hildebrand, entirely brokenhearted by these successive
losses, became, by the next day's surrender, one of the
unhappy prisoners, and was lodged in Newgate with his
wounded son John.

  I was now released from my military duty, and lost no time,
therefore, in endeavouring to relieve the distresses of these new
relations. My father's interest with Government, and the general
compassion excited by a parent who had sustained the successive
loss of so many sons within so short a time, would have prevented
my uncle and cousin from being brought to trial for high treason.
But their doom was given forth from a greater tribunal. John
died of his wounds in Newgate, recommending to me in his last
breath, a cast of hawks which he had at the Hall, and a black
spaniel bitch called Lucy.

  My poor uncle seemed beaten down to the very earth by his
family calamities, and the circumstances in which he unexpectedly
found himself. He said little, but seemed grateful for such
attentions as circumstances permitted me to show him. I did
not witness his meeting with my father for the first time for so
many years, and under circumstances so melancholy; but, judging
from my father's extreme depression of spirits, it must have
been melancholy in the last degree. Sir Hildebrand spoke with
great bitterness against Rashleigh, now his only surviving child;
laid upon him the ruin of his house, and the deaths of all his
brethren, and declared, that neither he nor they would have
plunged into political intrigue, but for that very member of his
family, who had been the first to desert them. He once or twice
mentioned Diana, always with great affection; and once he said,
while I sate by his bedside---``Nevoy, since Thorncliff and all of
them are dead, I am sorry you cannot have her.''

  The expression affected me much at the time; for it was a
usual custom of the poor old baronet's, when joyously setting
forth upon the morning's chase, to distinguish Thorncliff, who
was a favourite, while he summoned the rest more generally;
and the loud jolly tone in which he used to hollo, ``Call Thornie
---call all of them,'' contrasted sadly with the woebegone and
self-abandoning note in which he uttered the disconsolate words
which I have above quoted. He mentioned the contents of his
will, and supplied me with an authenticated copy;---the original
he had deposited with my old acquaintance Mr. Justice Inglewood,
who, dreaded by no one, and confided in by all as a kind of
neutral person, had become, for aught I know, the depositary of
half the wills of the fighting men of both factions in the county
of Northumberland.

  The greater part of my uncle's last hours were spent in the
discharge of the religious duties of his church, in which he was
directed by the chaplain of the Sardinian ambassador, for whom,
with some difficulty, we obtained permission to visit him. I
could not ascertain by my own observation, or through the medical
attendants, that Sir Hildebrand Osbaldistone died of any
formed complaint bearing a name in the science of medicine.
He seemed to me completely worn out and broken down by
fatigue of body and distress of mind, and rather ceased to exist,
than died of any positive struggle,---just as a vessel, buffeted
and tossed by a succession of tempestuous gales, her timbers
overstrained, and her joints loosened, will sometimes spring a
leak and founder, when there are no apparent causes for her
destruction.

  It was a remarkable circumstance that my father, after the
last duties were performed to his brother, appeared suddenly to
imbibe a strong anxiety that I should act upon the will, and
represent his father's house, which had hitherto seemed to be
the thing in the world which had least charms for him. But
formerly, he had been like the fox in the fable, contemning
what was beyond his reach; and, moreover, I doubt not that
the excessive dislike which he entertained against Rashleigh
(now Sir Rashleigh) Osbaldistone, who loudly threatened to
attack his father Sir Hildebrand's will and settlement, corroborated
my father's desire to maintain it.

  ``He had been most unjustly disinherited,'' he said, ``by his
own father---his brother's will had repaired the disgrace, if not
the injury, by leaving the wreck of his property to Frank, the
natural heir, and he was determined the bequest should take
effect.''

  In the meantime, Rashleigh was not altogether a contemptible
personage as an opponent. The information he had given
to Government was critically well-timed, and his extreme
plausibility, with the extent of his intelligence, and the artful
manner in which he contrived to assume both merit and influence,
had, to a certain extent, procured him patrons among
Ministers. We were already in the full tide of litigation with
him on the subject of his pillaging the firm of Osbaldistone and
Tresham; and, judging from the progress we made in that
comparatively simple lawsuit, there was a chance that this
second course of litigation might be drawn out beyond the
period of all our natural lives.

  To avert these delays as much as possible, my father, by the
advice of his counsel learned in the law, paid off and vested in
my person the rights to certain large mortgages affecting
Osbaldistone Hall. Perhaps, however, the opportunity to convert
a great share of the large profits which accrued from the
rapid rise of the funds upon the suppression of the rebellion,
and the experience he had so lately had of the perils of commerce,
encouraged him to realise, in this manner, a considerable
part of his property. At any rate, it so chanced, that, instead
of commanding me to the desk, as I fully expected, having
intimated my willingness to comply with his wishes, however
they might destine me, I received his directions to go down to
Osbaldistone Hall, and take possession of it as the heir and
representative of the family. I was directed to apply to Squire
Inglewood for the copy of my uncle's will deposited with him,
and take all necessary measures to secure that possession which
sages say makes nine points of the law.

  At another time I should have been delighted with this
change of destination. But now Osbaldistone Hall was accompanied
with many painful recollections. Still, however, I
thought, that in that neighbourhood only I was likely to acquire
some information respecting the fate of Diana Vernon. I had
every reason to fear it must be far different from what I could
have wished it. But I could obtain no precise information on
the subject.

  It was in vain that I endeavoured, by such acts of kindness
as their situation admitted, to conciliate the confidence of some
distant relations who were among the prisoners in Newgate. A
pride which I could not condemn, and a natural suspicion of the
Whig Frank Osbaldistone, cousin to the double-distilled traitor
Rashleigh, closed every heart and tongue, and I only received
thanks, cold and extorted, in exchange for such benefits as I had
power to offer. The arm of the law was also gradually abridging
the numbers of those whom I endeavoured to serve, and the
hearts of the survivors became gradually more contracted towards
all whom they conceived to be concerned with the existing
Government. As they were led gradually, and by detachments,
to execution, those who survived lost interest in mankind, and
the desire of communicating with them. I shall long remember
what one of them, Ned Shafton by name, replied to my anxious
inquiry, whether there was any indulgence I could procure him?
``Mr. Frank Osbaldistone, I must suppose you mean me kindly,
and therefore I thank you. But, by G---, men cannot be fattened
like poultry, when they see their neighbours carried off
day by day to the place of execution, and know that their own
necks are to be twisted round in their turn.''

  Upon the whole, therefore, I was glad to escape from London,
from Newgate, and from the scenes which both exhibited, to
breathe the free air of Northumberland. Andrew Fairservice
had continued in my service more from my father's pleasure
than my own. At present there seemed a prospect that his
local acquaintance with Osbaldistone Hall and its vicinity might
be useful; and, of course, he accompanied me on my journey,
and I enjoyed the prospect of getting rid of him, by establishing
him in his old quarters. I cannot conceive how he could prevail
upon my father to interest himself in him, unless it were by
the art, which he possessed in no inconsiderable degree, of affecting
an extreme attachment to his master; which theoretical attachment
he made compatible in practice with playing all manner
of tricks without scruple, providing only against his master being
cheated by any one but himself.

  We performed our journey to the North without any remarkable
adventure, and we found the country, so lately agitated by
rebellion, now peaceful and in good order. The nearer we approached
to Osbaldistone Hall, the more did my heart sink at
the thought of entering that deserted mansion; so that, in
order to postpone the evil day, I resolved first to make my visit
at Mr. Justice Inglewood's.

  That venerable person had been much disturbed with thoughts
of what he had been, and what he now was; and natural recollections
of the past had interfered considerably with the
active duty which in his present situation might have been
expected from him. He was fortunate, however, in one respect;
he had got rid of his clerk Jobson, who had finally left him in
dudgeon at his inactivity, and become legal assistant to a certain
Squire Standish, who had lately commenced operations in those
parts as a justice, with a zeal for King George and the Protestant
succession, which, very different from the feelings of his
old patron, Mr. Jobson had more occasion to restrain within the
bounds of the law, than to stimulate to exertion.

  Old Justice Inglewood received me with great courtesy, and
readily exhibited my uncle's will, which seemed to be without a
flaw. He was for some time in obvious distress, how he should
speak and act in my presence; but when he found, that though
a supporter of the present Government upon principle, I was
disposed to think with pity on those who had opposed it on a
mistaken feeling of loyalty and duty, his discourse became a
very diverting medley of what he had done, and what he had
left undone,---the pains he had taken to prevent some squires
from joining, and to wink at the escape of others, who had been
so unlucky as to engage in the affair.

  We were _t<e^>te-<a`>-t<e^>te,_ and several bumpers had been quaffed by
the Justice's special desire, when, on a sudden, he requested me
to fill a _bona fide_ brimmer to the health of poor dear Die Vernon,
the rose of the wilderness, the heath-bell of Cheviot, and the
blossom that's transplanted to an infernal convent.

  ``Is not Miss Vernon married, then?'' I exclaimed, in great
astonishment. ``I thought his Excellency''------

  ``Pooh! pooh! his Excellency and his Lordship's all a humbug
now, you know---mere St. Germains titles---Earl of Beauchamp,
and ambassador plenipotentiary from France, when the
Duke Regent of Orleans scarce knew that he lived, I dare say.
But you must have seen old Sir Frederick Vernon at the Hall,
when he played the part of Father Vaughan?''

  ``Good Heavens! then Vaughan was Miss Vernon's father?''

  ``To be sure he was,'' said the Justice coolly;---``there's no
use in keeping the secret now, for he must be out of the country
by this time---otherwise, no doubt, it would be my duty to
apprehend him.---Come, off with your bumper to my dear lost
Die!

	And let her health go round, around, around,
	  And let her health go round;
	For though your stocking be of silk,
	  Your knees near kiss the ground, aground, aground.''<*>

* This pithy verse occurs, it is believed, in Shadwell's play of Bury Fair.


  I was unable, as the reader may easily conceive, to join in
the Justice's jollity. My head swam with the shock I had
received. ``I never heard,'' I said, ``that Miss Vernon's father
was living.''

  ``It was not our Government's fault that he is,'' replied
Inglewood, ``for the devil a man there is whose head would
have brought more money. He was condemned to death for
Fenwick's plot, and was thought to have had some hand in the
Knightsbridge affair, in King William's time; and as he had
married in Scotland a relation of the house of Breadalbane, he
possessed great influence with all their chiefs. There was a
talk of his being demanded to be given up at the peace of
Ryswick, but he shammed ill, and his death was given publicly
out in the French papers. But when he came back here on
the old score, we old cavaliers knew him well,---that is to say,
I knew him, not as being a cavalier myself, but no information
being lodged against the poor gentleman, and my memory being
shortened by frequent attacks of the gout, I could not have
sworn to him, you know.''

  ``Was he, then, not known at Osbaldistone Hall?'' I inquired.

  ``To none but to his daughter, the old knight, and Rashleigh,
who had got at that secret as he did at every one else, and held
it like a twisted cord about poor Die's neck. I have seen her
one hundred times she would have spit at him, if it had not
been fear for her father, whose life would not have been worth
five minutes' purchase if he had been discovered to the Government.
---But don't mistake me, Mr. Osbaldistone; I say the
Government is a good, a gracious, and a just Government; and
if it has hanged one-half of the rebels, poor things, all will
acknowledge they would not have been touched had they staid
peaceably at home.''

  Waiving the discussion of these political questions, I brought
back Mr. Inglewood to his subject, and I found that Diana,
having positively refused to marry any of the Osbaldistone
family, and expressed her particular detestation of Rashleigh,
he had from that time begun to cool in zeal for the cause of the
Pretender; to which, as the youngest of six brethren, and bold,
artful, and able, he had hitherto looked forward as the means of
making his fortune. Probably the compulsion with which he
had been forced to render up the spoils which he had abstracted
from my father's counting-house by the united authority of Sir
Frederick Vernon and the Scottish Chiefs, had determined his
resolution to advance his progress by changing his opinions and
betraying his trust. Perhaps also---for few men were better
judges where his interest was concerned---he considered their
means and talents to be, as they afterwards proved, greatly
inadequate to the important task of overthrowing an established
Government. Sir Frederick Vernon, or, as he was called among
the Jacobites, his Excellency Viscount Beauchamp, had, with
his daughter, some difficulty in escaping the consequences of
Rashleigh's information. Here Mr. Inglewood's information
was at fault; but he did not doubt, since we had not heard of
Sir Frederick being in the hands of the Government, he must
be by this time abroad, where, agreeably to the cruel bond he
had entered into with his brother-in-law, Diana, since she had
declined to select a husband out of the Osbaldistone family,
must be confined to a convent. The original cause of this
singular agreement Mr. Inglewood could not perfectly explain;
but he understood it was a family compact, entered into for the
purpose of securing to Sir Frederick the rents of the remnant of
his large estates, which had been vested in the Osbaldistone
family by some legal man<oe>uvre; in short, a family compact, in
which, like many of those undertaken at that time of day, the
feelings of the principal parties interested were no more regarded
than if they had been a part of the live-stock upon the
lands.

  I cannot tell,---such is the waywardness of the human heart,
---whether this intelligence gave me joy or sorrow. It seemed
to me, that, in the knowledge that Miss Vernon was eternally
divided from me, not by marriage with another, but by seclusion
in a convent, in order to fulfil an absurd bargain of this kind,
my regret for her loss was aggravated rather than diminished.
I became dull, low-spirited, absent, and unable to support the
task of conversing with Justice Inglewood, who in his turn
yawned, and proposed to retire early. I took leave of him
overnight, determining the next day, before breakfast, to ride
over to Osbaldistone Hall.

  Mr. Inglewood acquiesced in my proposal. ``It would be
well,'' he said, ``that I made my appearance there before I was
known to be in the country, the more especially as Sir Rashleigh
Osbaldistone was now, he understood, at Mr. Jobson's
house, hatching some mischief, doubtless. They were fit company,''
he added, ``for each other, Sir Rashleigh having lost all
right to mingle in the society of men of honour; but it was
hardly possible two such d---d rascals should collogue together
without mischief to honest people.''

  He concluded, by earnestly recommending a toast and tankard,
and an attack upon his venison pasty, before I set out in the
morning, just to break the cold air on the words.



		CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHTH.

	His master's gone, and no one now
	  Dwells in the halls of Ivor;
	Men, dogs, and horses, all are dead,
	  He is the sole survivor.
				Wordsworth.

  There are few more melancholy sensations than those with
which we regard scenes of past pleasure when altered and deserted.
In my ride to Osbaldistone Hall, I passed the same
objects which I had seen in company with Miss Vernon on the
day of our memorable ride from Inglewood Place. Her spirit
seemed to keep me company on the way; and when I approached
the spot where I had first seen her, I almost listened for the cry
of the hounds and the notes of the horn, and strained my eye
on the vacant space, as if to descry the fair huntress again
descend like an apparition from the hill. But all was silent,
and all was solitary. When I reached the Hall, the closed
doors and windows, the grass-grown pavement, the courts,
which were now so silent, presented a strong contrast to the gay
and bustling scene I had so often seen them exhibit, when the
merry hunters were going forth to their morning sport, or
returning to the daily festival. The joyous bark of the fox-hounds
as they were uncoupled, the cries of the huntsmen, the
clang of the horses' hoofs, the loud laugh of the old knight at
the head of his strong and numerous descendants, were all
silenced now and for ever.

  While I gazed round the scene of solitude and emptiness, I
was inexpressibly affected, even by recollecting those whom,
when alive, I had no reason to regard with affection. But the
thought that so many youths of goodly presence, warm with
life, health, and confidence, were within so short a time cold in
the grave, by various, yet all violent and unexpected modes of
death, afforded a picture of mortality at which the mind
trembled. It was little consolation to me, that I returned a
proprietor to the halls which I had left almost like a fugitive.
My mind was not habituated to regard the scenes around as
my property, and I felt myself an usurper, at least an intruding
stranger, and could hardly divest myself of the idea, that some
of the bulky forms of my deceased kinsmen were, like the
gigantic spectres of a romance, to appear in the gateway, and
dispute my entrance.

  While I was engaged in these sad thoughts, my follower
Andrew, whose feelings were of a very different nature, exerted
himself in thundering alternately on every door in the building,
calling, at the same time, for admittance, in a tone so loud as
to intimate, that _he,_ at least, was fully sensible of his newly
acquired importance, as squire of the body to the new lord of
the manor. At length, timidly and reluctantly, Anthony
Syddall, my uncle's aged butler and major-domo, presented
himself at a lower window, well fenced with iron bars, and
inquired our business.

  ``We are come to tak your charge aff your hand, my auld
friend,'' said Andrew Fairservice; ``ye may gie up your keys
as sune as ye like---ilka dog has his day. I'll tak the plate and
napery aff your hand. Ye hae had your ain time o't, Mr.
Syddall; but ilka bean has its black, and ilka path has its
puddle; and it will just set you henceforth to sit at the board-end,
as weel as it did Andrew lang syne.''

  Checking with some difficulty the forwardness of my follower,
I explained to Syddall the nature of my right, and the title I
had to demand admittance into the Hall, as into my own property.
The old man seemed much agitated and distressed, and
testified manifest reluctance to give me entrance, although it
was couched in a humble and submissive tone. I allowed for
the agitation of natural feelings, which really did the old man
honour; but continued peremptory in my demand of admittance,
explaining to him that his refusal would oblige me to
apply for Mr. Inglewood's warrant, and a constable.

  ``We are come from Mr. Justice Inglewood's this morning,''
said Andrew, to enforce the menace;---``and I saw Archie
Rutledge, the constable, as I came up by;---the country's no to
be lawless as it has been, Mr. Syddall, letting rebels and papists
gang on as they best listed.''

  The threat of the law sounded dreadful in the old man's
ears, conscious as he was of the suspicion under which he himself
lay, from his religion and his devotion to Sir Hildebrand
and his sons. He undid, with fear and trembling, one of the
postern entrances, which was secured with many a bolt and
bar, and humbly hoped that I would excuse him for fidelity in
the discharge of his duty.---I reassured him, and told him I had
the better opinion of him for his caution.

  ``Sae have not I,'' said Andrew; ``Syddall is an auld sneck-drawer;
he wadna be looking as white as a sheet, and his knees
knocking thegither, unless it were for something mair than he's
like to tell us.''

  ``Lord forgive you, Mr. Fairservice,'' replied the butler, ``to
say such things of an old friend and fellow-servant!---Where''---
following me humbly along the passage---``where would it be
your honour's pleasure to have a fire lighted? I fear me you
will find the house very dull and dreary---But perhaps you
mean to ride back to Inglewood Place to dinner?''

  ``Light a fire in the library,'' I replied.

  ``In the library!'' answered the old man;---``nobody has sat
there this many a day, and the room smokes, for the daws have
built in the chimney this spring, and there were no young men
about the Hall to pull them down.''

  ``Our ain reekes better than other folk's fire,'' said Andrew.
``His honour likes the library;---he's nane o' your Papishers,
that delight in blinded ignorance, Mr. Syddall.''

  Very reluctantly as it appeared to me, the butler led the way
to the library, and, contrary to what he had given me to expect,
the interior of the apartment looked as if it had been lately
arranged, and made more comfortable than usual. There was
a fire in the grate, which burned clearly, notwithstanding what
Syddall had reported of the vent. Taking up the tongs, as if
to arrange the wood, but rather perhaps to conceal his own
confusion, the butler observed, ``it was burning clear now, but
had smoked woundily in the morning.''

  Wishing to be alone, till I recovered myself from the first
painful sensations which everything around me recalled, I
desired old Syddall to call the land-steward, who lived at about
a quarter of a mile from the Hall. He departed with obvious
reluctance. I next ordered Andrew to procure the attendance
of a couple of stout fellows upon whom he could rely, the
population around being Papists, and Sir Rashleigh, who was
capable of any desperate enterprise, being in the neighbourhood.
Andrew Fairservice undertook this task with great cheerfulness,
and promised to bring me up from Trinlay-Knowe, ``twa true-blue
Presbyterians like himself, that would face and out-face
baith the Pope, the Devil, and the Pretender---and blythe will
I be o' their company mysell, for the very last night that I was
at Osbaldistone Hall, the blight be on ilka blossom in my bit
yard, if I didna see that very picture'' (pointing to the full-length
portrait of Miss Vernon's grandfather) ``walking by moonlight
in the garden! I tauld your honour I was fleyed wi' a bogle
that night, but ye wadna listen to me---I aye thought there was
witchcraft and deevilry amang the Papishers, but I ne'er saw't
wi' bodily een till that awfu' night.''

  ``Get along, sir,'' said I, ``and bring the fellows you talk of;
and see they have more sense than yourself, and are not
frightened at their own shadow.''

  ``I hae been counted as gude a man as my neighbours ere
now,'' said Andrew, petulantly; ``but I dinna pretend to deal
wi' evil spirits.'' And so he made his exit, as Wardlaw the
land-steward made his appearance.

  He was a man of sense and honesty, without whose careful
management my uncle would have found it difficult to have
maintained himself a housekeeper so long as he did. He examined
the nature of my right of possession carefully, and
admitted it candidly. To any one else the succession would
have been a poor one, so much was the land encumbered with
debt and mortgage. Most of these, however, were already vested
in my father's person, and he was in a train of acquiring the
rest; his large gains by the recent rise of the funds having
made it a matter of ease and convenience for him to pay off the
debt which affected his patrimony.

  I transacted much necessary business with Mr. Wardlaw,
and detained him to dine with me. We preferred taking our
repast in the library, although Syddall strongly recommended
our removing to the stone-hall, which he had put in order
for the occasion. Meantime Andrew made his appearance
with his true-blue recruits, whom he recommended in the
highest terms, as ``sober decent men, weel founded in doctrinal
points, and, above all, as bold as lions.'' I ordered them something
to drink, and they left the room. I observed old Syddall
shake his head as they went out, and insisted upon knowing the
reason.

  ``I maybe cannot expect,'' he said, ``that your honour should
put confidence in what I say, but it is Heaven's truth for all
that---Ambrose Wingfield is as honest a man as lives, but if
there is a false knave in the country, it is his brother Lancie;
---the whole country knows him to be a spy for Clerk Jobson
on the poor gentlemen that have been in trouble---But he's a
dissenter, and I suppose that's enough now-a-days.''

  Having thus far given vent to his feelings,---to which, however,
I was little disposed to pay attention,---and having placed
the wine on the table, the old butler left the apartment.

  Mr. Wardlaw having remained with me until the evening was
somewhat advanced, at length bundled up his papers, and removed
himself to his own habitation, leaving me in that confused
state of mind in which we can hardly say whether we
desire company or solitude. I had not, however, the choice
betwixt them; for I was left alone in the room of all others
most calculated to inspire me with melancholy reflections.

  As twilight was darkening the apartment, Andrew had the
sagacity to advance his head at the door,---not to ask if I wished
for lights, but to recommend them as a measure of precaution
against the bogles which still haunted his imagination. I rejected
his proffer somewhat peevishly, trimmed the wood-fire,
and placing myself in one of the large leathern chairs which
flanked the old Gothic chimney, I watched unconsciously the
bickering of the blaze which I had fostered. ``And this,'' said
I alone, ``is the progress and the issue of human wishes! Nursed
by the merest trifles, they are first kindled by fancy---nay, are
fed upon the vapour of hope, till they consume the substance
which they inflame; and man, and his hopes, passions, and desires,
sink into a worthless heap of embers and ashes!''

  There was a deep sigh from the opposite side of the room,
which seemed to reply to my reflections. I started up in amazement
---Diana Vernon stood before me, resting on the arm of a
figure so strongly resembling that of the portrait so often mentioned,
that I looked hastily at the frame, expecting to see it
empty. My first idea was, either that I had gone suddenly
distracted, or that the spirits of the dead had arisen and been
placed before me. A second glance convinced me of my being
in my senses, and that the forms which stood before me were
real and substantial. It was Diana herself, though paler and
thinner than her former self; and it was no tenant of the grave
who stood beside her, but Vaughan, or rather Sir Frederick
Vernon, in a dress made to imitate that of his ancestor, to whose
picture his countenance possessed a family resemblance. He
was the first that spoke, for Diana kept her eyes fast fixed on
the ground, and astonishment actually riveted my tongue to
the roof of my mouth.

  ``We are your suppliants, Mr. Osbaldistone,'' he said, ``and
we claim the refuge and protection of your roof till we can
pursue a journey where dungeons and death gape for me at every
step.''

  ``Surely,'' I articulated with great difficulty---``Miss Vernon
cannot suppose---you, sir, cannot believe, that I have forgot
your interference in my difficulties, or that I am capable of
betraying any one, much less you?''

  ``I know it,'' said Sir Frederick; ``yet it is with the most
inexpressible reluctance that I impose on you a confidence, disagreeable
perhaps---certainly dangerous---and which I would
have specially wished to have conferred on some one else. But
my fate, which has chased me through a life of perils and escapes,
is now pressing me hard, and I have no alternative.''

  At this moment the door opened, and the voice of the officious
Andrew was heard---``A'm bringin' in the caunles---Ye can
light them gin ye like---Can do is easy carried about wi' ane.''

  I ran to the door, which, as I hoped, I reached in time to
prevent his observing who were in the apartment, I turned
him out with hasty violence, shut the door after him, and locked
it---then instantly remembering his two companions below,
knowing his talkative humour, and recollecting Syddall's remark,
that one of them was supposed to be a spy, I followed him as
fast as I could to the servants' hall, in which they were assembled.
Andrew's tongue was loud as I opened the door, but
my unexpected appearance silenced him.

  ``What is the matter with you, you fool?'' said I; ``you stare
and look wild, as if you had seen a ghost.''

  ``N---n---no---nothing,'' said Andrew.---``but your worship
was pleased to be hasty.''

  ``Because you disturbed me out of a sound sleep, you fool.
Syddall tells me he cannot find beds for these good fellows tonight,
and Mr. Wardlaw thinks there will be no occasion to
detain them. Here is a crown-piece for them to drink my
health, and thanks for their good-will. You will leave the Hall
immediately, my good lads.''

  The men thanked me for my bounty, took the silver, and
withdrew, apparently unsuspicious and contented. I watched
their departure until I was sure they could have no further intercourse
that night with honest Andrew. And so instantly
had I followed on his heels, that I thought he could not have
had time to speak two words with them before I interrupted
him. But it is wonderful what mischief may be done by only
two words. On this occasion they cost two lives.

  Having made these arrangements, the best which occurred to
me upon the pressure of the moment, to secure privacy for my
guests, I returned to report my proceedings, and added, that I
had desired Syddall to answer every summons, concluding that it
was by his connivance they had been secreted in the Hall.
Diana raised her eyes to thank me for the caution.

  ``You now understand my mystery,'' she said;---``you know,
doubtless, how near and dear that relative is, who has so often
found shelter here; and will be no longer surprised that Rashleigh,
having such a secret at his command, should rule me with
a rod of iron.''

  Her father added, ``that it was their intention to trouble me
with their presence as short a time as was possible.''

  I entreated the fugitives to waive every consideration but
what affected their safety, and to rely on my utmost exertions
to promote it. This led to an explanation of the circumstances
under which they stood.

  ``I always suspected Rashleigh Osbaldistone,'' said Sir Frederick;
``but his conduct towards my unprotected child, which
with difficulty I wrung from her, and his treachery in your
father's affairs, made me hate and despise him. In our last interview
I concealed not my sentiments, as I should in prudence
have attempted to do; and in resentment of the scorn with
which I treated him, he added treachery and apostasy to his
catalogue of crimes. I at that time fondly hoped that his defection
would be of little consequence. The Earl of Mar had a
gallant army in Scotland, and Lord Derwentwater, with Forster,
Kenmure, Winterton, and others, were assembling forces on the
Border. As my connections with these English nobility and
gentry were extensive, it was judged proper that I should accompany
a detachment of Highlanders, who, under Brigadier MacIntosh
of Borlum, crossed the Firth of Forth, traversed the low
country of Scotland, and united themselves on the Borders with
the English insurgents. My daughter accompanied me through
the perils and fatigues of a march so long and difficult.''

  ``And she will never leave her dear father!'' exclaimed Miss
Vernon, clinging fondly to his arm.

  ``I had hardly joined our English friends, when I became
sensible that our cause was lost. Our numbers diminished instead
of increasing, nor were we joined by any except of our own persuasion.
The Tories of the High Church remained in general
undecided, and at length we were cooped up by a superior force
in the little town of Preston. We defended ourselves resolutely
for one day. On the next, the hearts of our leaders failed, and
they resolved to surrender at discretion. To yield myself up on
such terms, were to have laid my head on the block. About
twenty or thirty gentlemen were of my mind: we mounted our
horses, and placed my daughter, who insisted on sharing my fate,
in the centre of our little party. My companions, struck with
her courage and filial piety, declared that they would die rather
than leave her behind. We rode in a body down a street called
Fishergate, which leads to a marshy ground or meadow, extending
to the river Ribble, through which one of our party promised
to show us a good ford. This marsh had not been strongly invested
by the enemy, so that we had only an affair with a patrol
of Honeywood's dragoons, whom we dispersed and cut to pieces.
We crossed the river, gained the high road to Liverpool, and then
dispersed to seek several places of concealment and safety. My
fortune led me to Wales, where there are many gentlemen of my
religious and political opinions. I could not, however, find a safe
opportunity of escaping by sea, and found myself obliged again
to draw towards the North. A well-tried friend has appointed to
meet me in this neighbourhood, and guide me to a seaport on the
Solway, where a sloop is prepared to carry me from my native
country for ever. As Osbaldistone Hall was for the present uninhabited,
and under the charge of old Syddall, who had been
our confidant on former occasions, we drew to it as to a place of
known and secure refuge. I resumed a dress which had been
used with good effect to scare the superstitious rustics, or
domestics, who chanced at any time to see me; and we expected
from time to time to hear by Syddall of the arrival of our friendly
guide, when your sudden coming hither, and occupying this apartment,
laid us under the necessity of submitting to your mercy.''

  Thus ended Sir Fredericks story, whose tale sounded to me
like one told in a vision; and I could hardly bring myself to
believe that I saw his daughter's form once more before me in
flesh and blood, though with diminished beauty and sunk spirits.
The buoyant vivacity with which she had resisted every touch
of adversity, had now assumed the air of composed and submissive,
but dauntless resolution and constancy. Her father, though
aware and jealous of the effect of her praises on my mind, could
not forbear expatiating upon them.

  ``She has endured trials,'' he said, ``which might have dignified
the history of a martyr;---she has faced danger and death
in various shapes;---she has undergone toil and privation, from
which men of the strongest frame would have shrunk;---she has
spent the day in darkness, and the night in vigil, and has never
breathed a murmur of weakness or complaint. In a word, Mr.
Osbaldistone,'' he concluded, ``she is a worthy offering to that
God, to whom'' (crossing himself) ``I shall dedicate her, as all
that is left dear or precious to Frederick Vernon.''

  There was a silence after these words, of which I well understood
the mournful import. The father of Diana was still as
anxious to destroy my hopes of being united to her now as he
had shown himself during our brief meeting in Scotland.

  ``We will now,'' said he to his daughter, ``intrude no farther
on Mr. Osbaldistone's time, since we have acquainted him with the
circumstances of the miserable guests who claim his protection.''

  I requested them to stay, and offered myself to leave the
apartment. Sir Frederick observed, that my doing so could
not but excite my attendant's suspicion; and that the place of
their retreat was in every respect commodious, and furnished by
Syddall with all they could possibly want. ``We might perhaps
have even contrived to remain there, concealed from your observation;
but it would have been unjust to decline the most
absolute reliance on your honour.''

  ``You have done me but justice,'' I replied.---``To you, Sir
Frederick, I am but little known; but Miss Vernon, I am sure,
will bear me witness that''------

  ``I do not want my daughter's evidence,'' he said, politely,
but yet with an air calculated to prevent my addressing myself
to Diana, ``since I am prepared to believe all that is worthy of
Mr. Francis Osbaldistone. Permit us now to retire; we must
take repose when we can, since we are absolutely uncertain when
we may be called upon to renew our perilous journey.''

  He drew his daughter's arm within his, and with a profound
reverence, disappeared with her behind the tapestry.




		CHAPTER THIRTY-NINTH.

	But now the hand of fate is on the curtain,
	And gives the scene to light.
				Don Sebastian.

  I felt stunned and chilled as they retired. Imagination, dwelling
on an absent object of affection, paints her not only in the
fairest light, but in that in which we most desire to behold her.
I had thought of Diana as she was, when her parting tear dropped
on my cheek---when her parting token, received from the wife of
MacGregor, augured her wish to convey into exile and conventual
seclusion the remembrance of my affection. I saw her; and her
cold passive manner, expressive of little except composed melancholy,
disappointed, and, in some degree, almost offended me.

  In the egotism of my feelings, I accused her of indifference---of
insensibility. I upbraided her father with pride---with cruelty
---with fanaticism,---forgetting that both were sacrificing their
interest, and Diana her inclination, to the discharge of what they
regarded as their duty.

  Sir Frederick Vernon was a rigid Catholic, who thought the
path of salvation too narrow to be trodden by an heretic; and
Diana, to whom her father's safety had been for many years the
principal and moving spring of thoughts, hopes, and actions, felt
that she had discharged her duty in resigning to his will, not
alone her property in the world, but the dearest affections of her
heart. But it was not surprising that I could not, at such a
moment, fully appreciate these honourable motives; yet my
spleen sought no ignoble means of discharging itself.

  ``I am contemned, then,'' I said, when left to run over the
tenor of Sir Frederick's communications---``I am contemned,
and thought unworthy even to exchange words with her. Be
it so; they shall not at least prevent me from watching over
her safety. Here will I remain as an outpost, and, while under
my roof at least, no danger shall threaten her, if it be such as
the arm of one determined man can avert.''

  I summoned Syddall to the library. He came, but came
attended by the eternal Andrew, who, dreaming of great things
in consequence of my taking possession of the Hall and the
annexed estates, was resolved to lose nothing for want of
keeping himself in view; and, as often happens to men who
entertain selfish objects, overshot his mark, and rendered his
attentions tedious and inconvenient.

  His unrequired presence prevented me from speaking freely
to Syddall, and I dared not send him away for fear of increasing
such suspicions as he might entertain from his former
abrupt dismissal from the library. ``I shall sleep here, sir,'' I
said, giving them directions to wheel nearer to the fire an old-fashioned
day-bed, or settee. ``I have much to do, and shall
go late to bed.''

  Syddall, who seemed to understand my look, offered to procure
me the accommodation of a mattress and some bedding. I
accepted his offer, dismissed my attendant, lighted a pair of
candles, and desired that I might not be disturbed till seven in
the ensuing morning.

  The domestics retired, leaving me to my painful and ill-arranged
reflections, until nature, worn out, should require some
repose.

  I endeavoured forcibly to abstract my mind from the singular
circumstances in which I found myself placed. Feelings which
I had gallantly combated while the exciting object was remote,
were now exasperated by my immediate neighbourhood to her
whom I was so soon to part with for ever. Her name was
written in every book which I attempted to peruse; and her
image forced itself on me in whatever train of thought I strove
to engage myself. It was like the officious slave of Prior's
Solomon,---

	Abra was ready ere I named her name,
	And when I called another, Abra came.

  I alternately gave way to these thoughts, and struggled
against them, sometimes yielding to a mood of melting tenderness
of sorrow which was scarce natural to me, sometimes
arming myself with the hurt pride of one who had experienced
what he esteemed unmerited rejection. I paced the library
until I had chafed myself into a temporary fever. I then threw
myself on the couch, and endeavoured to dispose myself to
sleep;---but it was in vain that I used every effort to compose
myself---that I lay without movement of finger or of muscle, as
still as if I had been already a corpse---that I endeavoured to
divert or banish disquieting thoughts, by fixing my mind on
some act of repetition or arithmetical process. My blood throbbed,
to my feverish apprehension, in pulsations which resembled the
deep and regular strokes of a distant fulling-mill, and tingled in
my veins like streams of liquid fire.

  At length I arose, opened the window, and stood by it for
some time in the clear moonlight, receiving, in part at least,
that refreshment and dissipation of ideas from the clear and
calm scene, without which they had become beyond the command
of my own volition. I resumed my place on the couch---
with a heart, Heaven knows, not lighter but firmer, and more
resolved for endurance. In a short time a slumber crept over
my senses; still, however, though my senses slumbered, my
soul was awake to the painful feelings of my situation, and my
dreams were of mental anguish and external objects of terror.

  I remember a strange agony, under which I conceived myself
and Diana in the power of MacGregor's wife, and about to be
precipitated from a rock into the lake; the signal was to be
the discharge of a cannon, fired by Sir Frederick Vernon, who,
in the dress of a Cardinal, officiated at the ceremony. Nothing
could be more lively than the impression which I received of
this imaginary scene. I could paint, even at this moment, the
mute and courageous submission expressed in Diana's features
---the wild and distorted faces of the executioners, who crowded
around us with ``mopping and mowing;'' grimaces ever changing,
and each more hideous than that which preceded. I saw
the rigid and inflexible fanaticism painted in the face of the
father---I saw him lift the fatal match---the deadly signal exploded
---It was repeated again and again and again, in rival
thunders, by the echoes of the surrounding cliffs, and I awoke
from fancied horror to real apprehension.

  The sounds in my dream were not ideal. They reverberated
on my waking ears, but it was two or three minutes ere I could
collect myself so as distinctly to understand that they proceeded
from a violent knocking at the gate. I leaped from my couch
in great apprehension, took my sword under my arm, and
hastened to forbid the admission of any one. But my route
was necessarily circuitous, because the library looked not upon
the quadrangle, but into the gardens. When I had reached a
staircase, the windows of which opened upon the entrance court,
I heard the feeble and intimidated tones of Syddall expostulating
with rough voices, which demanded admittance, by the
warrant of Justice Standish, and in the King's name, and
threatened the old domestic with the heaviest penal consequences
if he refused instant obedience. Ere they had ceased,
I heard, to my unspeakable provocation, the voice of Andrew
bidding Syddall stand aside, and let him open the door.

  ``If they come in King George's name, we have naething to
fear---we hae spent baith bluid and gowd for him---We dinna
need to darn ourselves like some folks, Mr. Syddall---we are
neither Papists nor Jacobites, I trow.''

  It was in vain I accelerated my pace down stairs; I heard
bolt after bolt withdrawn by the officious scoundrel, while all
the time he was boasting his own and his master's loyalty to
King George; and I could easily calculate that the party must
enter before I could arrive at the door to replace the bars.
Devoting the back of Andrew Fairservice to the cudgel so soon
as I should have time to pay him his deserts, I ran back to the
library, barricaded the door as I best could, and hastened to
that by which Diana and her father entered, and begged for
instant admittance. Diana herself undid the door. She was
ready dressed, and betrayed neither perturbation nor fear.

  ``Danger is so familiar to us,'' she said, ``that we are always
prepared to meet it. My father is already up---he is in Rashleigh's
apartment. We will escape into the garden, and thence
by the postern-gate (I have the key from Syddall in case of
need.) into the wood---I know its dingles better than any one
now alive. Keep them a few minutes in play. And, dear,
dear Frank, once more fare-thee-well!''

  She vanished like a meteor to join her father, and the intruders
were rapping violently, and attempting to force the library
door by the time I had returned into it.

  ``You robber dogs!'' I exclaimed, wilfully mistaking the purpose
of their disturbance, ``if you do not instantly quit the house
I will fire my blunderbuss through the door.''

  ``Fire a fule's bauble!'' said Andrew Fairservice; ``it's Mr.
Clerk Jobson, with a legal warrant''------

  ``To search for, take, and apprehend,'' said the voice of that
execrable pettifogger, ``the bodies of certain persons in my
warrant named, charged of high treason under the 13th of
King William, chapter third.''

  And the violence on the door was renewed. ``I am rising,
gentlemen,'' said I, desirous to gain as much time as possible---
``commit no violence---give me leave to look at your warrant,
and, if it is formal and legal, I shall not oppose it.''

  ``God save great George our King!'' ejaculated Andrew. ``I
tauld ye that ye would find nae Jacobites here.''

  Spinning out the time as much as possible, I was at length
compelled to open the door, which they would otherwise have
forced.

  Mr. Jobson entered, with several assistants, among whom I
discovered the younger Wingfield, to whom, doubtless, he was
obliged for his information, and exhibited his warrant, directed
not only against Frederick Vernon, an attainted traitor, but
also against Diana Vernon, spinster, and Francis Osbaldistone,
gentleman, accused of misprision of treason. It was a case in
which resistance would have been madness; I therefore, after
capitulating for a few minutes' delay, surrendered myself a
prisoner.

  I had next the mortification to see Jobson go straight to the
chamber of Miss Vernon, and I learned that from thence, without
hesitation or difficulty, he went to the room where Sir
Frederick had slept. ``The hare has stolen away,'' said the
brute, ``but her form is warm---the greyhounds will have her
by the haunches yet.''

  A scream from the garden announced that he prophesied too
truly. In the course of five minutes, Rashleigh entered the
library with Sir Frederick Vernon and his daughter as prisoners.

  ``The fox,'' he said, ``knew his old earth, but he forgot it could
be stopped by a careful huntsman.---I had not forgot the garden-gate,
Sir Frederick---or, if that title suits you better, most noble
Lord Beauchamp.''

  ``Rashleigh,'' said Sir Frederick, ``thou art a detestable
villain!''

  ``I better deserved the name, Sir Knight, or my Lord, when,
under the direction of an able tutor, I sought to introduce civil
war into the bosom of a peaceful country. But I have done my
best,'' said he, looking upwards, ``to atone for my errors.''

  I could hold no longer. I had designed to watch their proceedings
in silence, but I felt that I must speak or die. ``If
hell,'' I said, ``has one complexion more hideous than another,
it is where villany is masked by hypocrisy.''

  ``Ha! my gentle cousin,'' said Rashleigh, holding a candle
towards me, and surveying me from head to foot; ``right
welcome to Osbaldistone Hall!---I can forgive your spleen---It
is hard to lose an estate and a mistress in one night; for we
shall take possession of this poor manor-house in the name of
the lawful heir, Sir Rashleigh Osbaldistone.''

  While Rashleigh braved it out in this manner, I could see
that he put a strong force upon his feelings, both of anger and
shame. But his state of mind was more obvious when Diana
Vernon addressed him. ``Rashleigh,'' she said, ``I pity you---
for, deep as the evil is which you have laboured to do me, and
the evil you have actually done, I cannot hate you so much as
I scorn and pity you. What you have now done may be the
work of an hour, but will furnish you with reflection for your
life---of what nature I leave to your own conscience, which will
not slumber for ever.''

  Rashleigh strode once or twice through the room, came up
to the side-table, on which wine was still standing, and poured
out a large glass with a trembling hand; but when he saw that
we observed his tremor, he suppressed it by a strong effort, and,
looking at us with fixed and daring composure, carried the
bumper to his head without spilling a drop. ``It is my father's
old burgundy,'' he said, looking to Jobson; ``I am glad there
is some of it left.---You will get proper persons to take care of
old butler, and that foolish Scotch rascal. Meanwhile we will
convey these persons to a more proper place of custody. I have
provided the old family coach for your convenience,'' he said,
``though I am not ignorant that even the lady could brave the
night-air on foot or on horseback, were the errand more to her
mind.''

  Andrew wrung his hands.---``I only said that my master was
surely speaking to a ghaist in the library---and the villain Lancie
to betray an auld friend, that sang aff the same Psalm-book wi'
him every Sabbath for twenty years!''

  He was turned out of the house, together with Syddall, without
being allowed to conclude his lamentation. His expulsion,
however, led to some singular consequences. Resolving, according
to his own story, to go down for the night where Mother
Simpson would give him a lodging for old acquaintance' sake,
he had just got clear of the avenue, and into the old wood, as
it was called, though it was now used as a pasture-ground
rather than woodland, when he suddenly lighted on a drove of
Scotch cattle, which were lying there to repose themselves after
the day's journey. At this Andrew was in no way surprised, it
being the well-known custom of his countrymen, who take care
of those droves, to quarter themselves after night upon the best
unenclosed grass-ground they can find, and depart before day-break
to escape paying for their night's lodgings. But he was
both surprised and startled, when a Highlander, springing up,
accused him of disturbing the cattle, and refused him to pass
forward till he had spoken to his master. The mountaineer
conducted Andrew into a thicket, where he found three or four
more of his countrymen. ``And,'' said Andrew, ``I saw sune
they were ower mony men for the drove; and from the questions
they put to me, I judged they had other tow on their rock.''

  They questioned him closely about all that had passed at
Osbaldistone Hall, and seemed surprised and concerned at the
report he made to them.

  ``And troth,'' said Andrew, ``I tauld them a' I ken'd; for
dirks and pistols were what I could never refuse information to
in a' my life.''

  They talked in whispers among themselves, and at length
collected their cattle together, and drove them close up to the
entrance of the avenue, which might be half a mile distant
from the house. They proceeded to drag together some felled
trees which lay in the vicinity, so as to make a temporary
barricade across the road, about fifteen yards beyond the
avenue. It was now near daybreak, and there was a pale eastern
gleam mingled with the fading moonlight, so that objects
could be discovered with some distinctness. The lumbering
sound of a coach drawn by four horses, and escorted by six
men on horseback, was heard coming up the avenue. The
Highlanders listened attentively. The carriage contained Mr.
Jobson and his unfortunate prisoners. The escort consisted of
Rashleigh, and of several horsemen, peace-officers and their
assistants. So soon as we had passed the gate at the head of
the avenue, it was shut behind the cavalcade by a Highland-man,
stationed there for that purpose. At the same time the
carriage was impeded in its farther progress by the cattle,
amongst which we were involved, and by the barricade in
front. Two of the escort dismounted to remove the felled trees,
which they might think were left there by accident or carelessness.
The others began with their whips to drive the cattle
from the road.

  ``Who dare abuse our cattle?'' said a rough voice.---``Shoot
him, Angus!''

  Rashleigh instantly called out---``A rescue! a rescue!'' and,
firing a pistol, wounded the man who spoke.

  ``_Claymore!_'' cried the leader of the Highlanders, and a
scuffle instantly commenced. The officers of the law, surprised
at so sudden an attack, and not usually possessing the most
desperate bravery, made but an imperfect defence, considering
the superiority of their numbers. Some attempted to ride back
to the Hall, but on a pistol being fired from behind the gate,
they conceived themselves surrounded, and at length galloped
of in different directions. Rashleigh, meanwhile, had dismounted,
and on foot had maintained a desperate and single-handed
conflict with the leader of the band. The window of the
carriage, on my side, permitted me to witness it. At length
Rashleigh dropped.

  ``Will you ask forgiveness for the sake of God, King James,
and auld friendship?'' said a voice which I knew right well.

  ``No, never!'' said Rashleigh, firmly.

  ``Then, traitor, die in your treason!'' retorted MacGregor,
and plunged his sword in his prostrate antagonist.

  In the next moment he was at the carriage door---handed
out Miss Vernon, assisted her father and me to alight, and
dragging out the attorney, head foremost, threw him under the
wheel.

  ``Mr. Osbaldistone,'' he said, in a whisper, ``you have nothing
to fear---I must look after those who have---Your friends will
soon be in safety---Farewell, and forget not the MacGregor.''

  He whistled---his band gathered round him, and, hurrying
Diana and her father along with him, they were almost instantly
lost in the glades of the forest. The coachman and postilion
had abandoned their horses, and fled at the first discharge of
firearms; but the animals, stopped by the barricade, remained
perfectly still; and well for Jobson that they did so, for the
slightest motion would have dragged the wheel over his body.
My first object was to relieve him, for such was the rascal's
terror that he never could have risen by his own exertions. I
next commanded him to observe, that I had neither taken part
in the rescue, nor availed myself of it to make my escape, and
enjoined him to go down to the Hall, and call some of his party,
who had been left there, to assist the wounded.---But Jobson's
fears had so mastered and controlled every faculty of his mind,
that he was totally incapable of moving. I now resolved to go
myself, but in my way I stumbled over the body of a man, as I
thought, dead or dying. It was, however, Andrew Fairservice,
as well and whole as ever he was in his life, who had only
taken this recumbent posture to avoid the slashes, stabs, and
pistol-balls, which for a moment or two were flying in various
directions. I was so glad to find him, that I did not inquire how
he came thither, but instantly commanded his assistance.

  Rashleigh was our first object. He groaned when I approached
him, as much through spite as through pain, and shut his eyes,
as if determined, like Iago, to speak no word more. We lifted
him into the carriage, and performed the same good office to
another wounded man of his party, who had been left on the
field. I then with difficulty made Jobson understand that he
must enter the coach also, and support Sir Rashleigh upon the
seat. He obeyed, but with an air as if he but half comprehended
my meaning. Andrew and I turned the horses' heads
round, and opening the gate of the avenue, led them slowly back
to Osbaldistone Hall.

  Some fugitives had already reached the Hall by circuitous
routes, and alarmed its garrison by the news that Sir Rashleigh,
Clerk Jobson, and all their escort, save they who escaped to
tell the tale, had been cut to pieces at the head of the avenue
by a whole regiment of wild Highlanders. When we reached
the mansion, therefore, we heard such a buzz as arises when
bees are alarmed, and mustering in their hives. Mr. Jobson,
however, who had now in some measure come to his senses, found
voice enough to make himself known. He was the more anxious
to be released from the carriage, as one of his companions (the
peace-officer) had, to his inexpressible terror, expired by his side
with a hideous groan.

  Sir Rashleigh Osbaldistone was still alive, but so dreadfully
wounded that the bottom of the coach was filled with his
blood, and long traces of it left from the entrance-door into the
stone-hall, where he was placed in a chair, some attempting to
stop the bleeding with cloths, while others called for a surgeon,
and no one seemed willing to go to fetch one. ``Torment me
not,'' said the wounded man---``I know no assistance can avail
me---I am a dying man.'' He raised himself in his chair,
though the damps and chill of death were already on his brow,
and spoke with a firmness which seemed beyond his strength.
``Cousin Francis,'' he said, ``draw near to me.'' I approached
him as he requested.---``I wish you only to know that the
pangs of death do not alter I one iota of my feelings towards
you. I hate you!'' he said, the expression of rage throwing
a hideous glare into the eyes which were soon to be closed for
ever---``I hate you with a hatred as intense, now while I lie
bleeding and dying before you, as if my foot trode on your
neck.''

  ``I have given you no cause, sir,'' I replied,---``and for your
own sake I could wish your mind in a better temper.''

  ``You _have_ given me cause,'' he rejoined. ``In love, in
ambition, in the paths of interest, you have crossed and
blighted me at every turn. I was born to be the honour of my
father's house---I have been its disgrace---and all owing to you.
My very patrimony has become yours---Take it,'' he said, ``and
may the curse of a dying man cleave to it!''

  In a moment after he had uttered this frightful wish, he fell
back in the chair; his eyes became glazed, his limbs stiffened,
but the grin and glare of mortal hatred survived even the last
gasp of life. I will dwell no longer on so painful a picture,
nor say any more of the death of Rashleigh, than that it gave
me access to my rights of inheritance without farther challenge,
and that Jobson found himself compelled to allow, that the
ridiculous charge of misprision of high treason was got up on
an affidavit which he made with the sole purpose of favouring
Rashleigh's views, and removing me from Osbaldistone Hall.
The rascal's name was struck off the list of attorneys, and he
was reduced to poverty and contempt.

  I returned to London when I had put my affairs in order at
Osbaldistone Hall, and felt happy to escape from a place which
suggested so many painful recollections. My anxiety was now
acute to learn the fate of Diana and her father. A French
gentleman who came to London on commercial business, was
intrusted with a letter to me from Miss Vernon, which put my
mind at rest respecting their safety.

  It gave me to understand that the opportune appearance of
MacGregor and his party was not fortuitous. The Scottish
nobles and gentry engaged in the insurrection, as well as those
of England, were particularly anxious to further the escape of
Sir Frederick Vernon, who, as an old and trusted agent of the
house of Stuart, was possessed of matter enough to have ruined
half Scotland. Rob Roy, of whose sagacity and courage they
had known so many proofs, was the person whom they pitched
upon to assist his escape, and the place of meeting was fixed at
Osbaldistone Hall. You have already heard how nearly the
plan had been disconcerted by the unhappy Rashleigh. It
succeeded, however, perfectly; for when once Sir Frederick and
his daughter were again at large, they found horses prepared
for them, and, by MacGregor's knowledge of the country---for
every part of Scotland, and of the north of England, was familiar
to him---were conducted to the western sea-coast, and safely
embarked for France. The same gentleman told me that Sir
Frederick was not expected to survive for many months a
lingering disease, the consequence of late hardships and privations.
His daughter was placed in a convent, and although it
was her father's wish she should take the veil, he was understood
to refer the matter entirely to her own inclinations.

  When these news reached me, I frankly told the state of my
affections to my father, who was not a little startled at the idea
of my marrying a Roman Catholic. But he was very desirous
to see me ``settled in life,'' as he called it; and he was sensible
that, in joining him with heart and hand in his commercial
labours, I had sacrificed my own inclinations. After a brief
hesitation, and several questions asked and answered to his
satisfaction, he broke out with---``I little thought a son of mine
should have been Lord of Osbaldistone Manor, and far less that
he should go to a French convent for a spouse. But so dutiful
a daughter cannot but prove a good wife. You have worked
at the desk to please me, Frank; it is but fair you should wive
to please yourself.''

  How I sped in my wooing, Will Tresham, I need not tell
you. You know, too, how long and happily I lived with Diana.
You know how I lamented her; but you do not---cannot know,
how much she deserved her husband's sorrow.

  I have no more of romantic adventure to tell, nor, indeed,
anything to communicate farther, since the latter incidents of
my life are so well known to one who has shared, with the most
friendly sympathy, the joys, as well as the sorrows, by which its
scenes have been chequered. I often visited Scotland, but never
again saw the bold Highlander who had such an influence on
the early events of my life. I learned, however, from time to
time, that he continued to maintain his ground among the
mountains of Loch Lomond, in despite of his powerful enemies,
and that he even obtained, to a certain degree, the connivance
of Government to his self-elected office of protector of the
Lennox, in virtue of which he levied black-mail with as much
regularity as the proprietors did their ordinary rents. It seemed
impossible that his life should have concluded without a violent
end. Nevertheless he died in old age and by a peaceful death,
some time about the year 1733, and is still remembered in
his country as the Robin Hood of Scotland---the dread of the
wealthy, but the friend of the poor---and possessed of many
qualities, both of head and heart, which would have graced a
less equivocal profession than that to which his fate condemned
him.

  Old Andrew Fairservice used to say, that ``There were many
things ower bad for blessing, and ower gude for banning, like
Rob Roy.''


  _Here the original manuscript ends somewhat abruptly. I have
reason to think that what followed related to private a affairs._



		POSTSCRIPT.

  The second article of the Appendix to the Introduction to
Rob Roy contains two curious letters respecting the
arrest of Mr. Grahame of Killearn by that daring freebooter,
while levying the Duke of Montrose's rents. These were taken
from scroll copies in the possession of his Grace the present
Duke, who kindly permitted the use of them in the present
publication.---The Novel had but just passed through the press,
when the Right Honourable Mr. Peel---whose important state
avocations do not avert his attention from the interests of
literature---transmitted to the author copies of the original
letters and enclosure, of which he possessed only the rough
draught. The originals were discovered in the State Paper
Office, by the indefatigable researches of Mr. Lemon, who is
daily throwing more light on that valuable collection of records.
From the documents with which the Author has been thus
kindly favoured, he is enabled to fill up the addresses which were
wanting in the scrolls. That of the 21st Nov. 1716 is addressed
to Lord Viscount Townshend, and is accompanied by one of
the same date to Robert Pringle, Esquire, Under-Secretary of
State, which is here inserted as relative to so curious an
incident:---

  _Letter from the Duke of Montrose, to Robert Pringle, Esq.,
Under-Secretary to Lord Viscount Townshend._

  ``S<r>,                              _Glasgow,_ 21 _Nov._ 1716.

  ``Haveing had so many dispatches to make this night, I hope
ye'l excuse me that I make use of another hand to give yow a
short account of the occasion of this express, by which I have
written to my Ld. Duke of Roxburgh, and my Lord Townshend,
which I hope ye'l gett carefully deleivered.

  ``Mr. Graham, younger of Killearn, being on Munday last in
Menteith att a country house, collecting my rents, was about
nine o'clock that same night surprised by Rob Roy with a party
of his men in arms, who haveing surrounded the house and
secured the avenues, presented their guns in at the windows,
while he himself entered the room with some others with cokt
pistolls, and seased Killearn with all his money, books, papers,
and bonds, and carryed all away with him to the hills, at the
same time ordering Killearn to write a letter to me (of which
ye have the copy inclosed), proposeing a very honourable treaty
to me. I must say this story was as surprising to me as it was
insolent; and it must bring a very great concern upon me, that
this gentleman, my near relation, should be brought to suffer
all the barbaritys and crueltys, which revenge and mallice may
suggest to these miscreants, for his haveing acted a faithfull
part in the service of the Government, and his affection to me
in my concerns.

  ``I need not be more particular to you, since I know that
my Letter to my Lord Townshend will come into your hands,
so shall only now give you the assurances of my being, with
great sincerity,

  		``S<r>, y<r> most humble servant,

			(Signed)	``Montrose.

  ``I long exceedingly for a return of my former dispatches to
the Secretary's about Methven and Col<ll> Urquhart, and my
wife's cousins, Balnamoon and Phinaven.

  ``I must beg yow'll give my humble service to Mr. Secretary
Methven, and tell him that I must referr him to what I have
written to My Lord Townshend in this affair of Rob Roy,
believing it was needless to trouble both with letters.''

	Examined,		Robt. Lemon,

			_Deputy Keeper of State Papers._

	STATE PAPER OFFICE,
	_Nov._ 4, 1829

  Note.---The enclosure referred to in the preceding letter is
another copy of the letter which Mr. Grahame of Killearn was
compelled by Rob Roy to write to the Duke of Montrose, and
is exactly the same as the one enclosed in his Grace's letter to
Lord Townshend, dated November 21st, 1716.

				R. L.

  The last letter in the Appendix No. II. (28th November),
acquainting the Government with Killearn's being set at
liberty, is also addressed to the Under-Secretary of State, Mr.
Pringle.

  The Author may also here remark, that immediately previous
to the insurrection of 1715, he perceives, from some notes of
information given to Government, that Rob Roy appears to
have been much employed and trusted by the Jacobite party,
even in the very delicate task of transporting specie to the Earl
of Breadalbane, though it might have somewhat resembled
trusting Don Raphael and Ambrose de Lamela with the church
treasure.


	NOTES TO ROB ROY.


Note A.---The Grey Stone of MacGregor.

  I have been informed that, at no very remote period, it was proposed to
take this large stone, which marks the grave of Dugald Ciar Mhor, and
convert it to the purpose of the lintel of a window, the threshold of a door,
or some such mean use. A man of the clan MacGregor, who was somewhat
deranged, took fire at this insult; and when the workmen came to remove
the stone, planted himself upon it, with a broad axe in his hand, swearing
he would dash out the brains of any one who should disturb the monument.
Athletic in person, and insane enough to be totally regardless of consequences,
it was thought best to give way to his humour; and the poor
madman kept sentinel on the stone day and night, till the proposal of
removing it was entirely dropped.


Note B.---Dugald Ciar Mhor.

  The above is the account which I find in a manuscript history of the
clan MacGregor, of which I was indulged with a perusal by Donald MacGregor,
Esq., late Major of the 33d regiment, where great pains have been
taken to collect traditions and written documents concerning the family.
But an ancient and constant tradition, preserved among the inhabitants of
the country, and particularly those of the clan MacFarlane, relieves Dugald
Ciar Mhor of the guilt of murdering the youths, and lays the blame on a
certain Donald or Duncan Lean, who performed the act of cruelty, with the
assistance of a gillie who attended him, named Charlioch, or Charlie. They
say that the homicides dared not again join their clan, but that they resided
in a wild and solitary state as outlaws, in an unfrequented part of the MacFarlanes'
territory. Here they lived for some time undisturbed, till
they committed an act of brutal violence on two defenceless women, a
mother and daughter of the MacFarlane clan. In revenge of this atrocity,
the MacFarlanes hunted them down, and shot them. It is said that the
younger ruffian, Charlioch, might have escaped, being remarkably swift of
foot. But his crime became his punishment, for the female whom he had
outraged had defended herself desperately, and had stabbed him with his
own dirk in the thigh. He was lame from the wound, and was the more
easily overtaken and killed.

  I always inclined to think this last the true edition of the story, and
that the guilt was transferred to Dugald Ciar Mhor, as a man of higher
name, but I have learned that Dugald was in truth dead several years
before the battle---my authority being his representative, Mr. Gregorson
of Ardtornish. [See also note to introduction, ``Legend of Montrose,''
vol. vi.]


Note C.---The Loch Lomond Expedition.

  The Loch Lomond expedition was judged worthy to form a separate
pamphlet, which I have not seen; but, as quoted by the historian Rae, it
must be delectable.

  ``On the morrow, being Thursday the 13th, they went on their expedition, and
about noon came to Inversnaid, the place of danger, where the Paisley men and
those of Dumbarton, and several of the other companies, to the number of an
hundred men, with the greatest intrepidity leapt on shore, got up to the top of the
mountains, and stood a considerable time, beating their drums all the while; but
no enemy appearing, they went in quest of their boats, which the rebels had seized,
and having casually lighted on some ropes and oars hid among the shrubs, at
length they found the boats drawn up a good way on the land, which they hurled
down to the loch. Such of them as were not damaged they carried off with them,
and such as were, they sank and hewed to pieces. That same night they returned
to Luss, and thence next day to Dumbarton, from whence they had at first set out,
bringing along with them the whole boats they found in their way on either side of
the loch, and in the creeks of the isles, and mooring them under the cannon of the
castle. During this expedition, the pinnaces discharging their patararoes, and the
men their small-arms, made such a thundering noise, through the multiplied
rebounding echoes of the vast mountains on both sides of the loch, that the MacGregors
were cowed and frighted away to the rest of the rebels who were encamped
at Strath Fillan.''---_Rae's History of the Rebellion,_ 4to, p. 287.


Note D.---Author's Expedition against the MacLarens.

  The Author is uncertain whether it is worth while to mention, that he
had a personal opportunity of observing, even in his own time, that the
king's writ did not pass quite current in the Brass of Balquhidder. There
were very considerable debts due by Stewart of Appin (chiefly to the
author's family), which were likely to be lost to the creditors, if they
could not be made available out of this same farm of Invernenty, the scene
of the murder done upon MacLaren.

  His family, consisting of several strapping deer-stalkers, still possessed
the farm, by virtue of a long lease, for a trifling rent. There was no
chance of any one buying it with such an encumbrance, and a transaction
was entered into by the MacLarens, who, being desirous to emigrate to
America, agreed to sell their lease to the creditors for <L>500, and to remove
at the next term of Whitsunday. But whether they repented their bargain,
or desired to make a better, or whether from a mere point of honour, the
MacLarens declared they would not permit a summons of removal to be
executed against them, which was necessary for the legal completion of
the bargain. And such was the general impression that they were men
capable of resisting the legal execution of warning by very effectual means,
no king's messenger would execute the summons without the support of a
military force. An escort of a sergeant and six men was obtained from a
Highland regiment lying in Stirling; and the Author, then a writer's
apprentice, equivalent to the honourable situation of an attorney's clerk,
was invested with the superintendence of the expedition, with directions
to see that the messenger discharged his duty fully, and that the gallant
sergeant did not exceed his part by committing violence or plunder. And
thus it happened, oddly enough, that the Author first entered the romantic
scenery of Loch Katrine, of which he may perhaps say he has somewhat
extended the reputation, riding in all the dignity of danger, with a front
and rear guard, and loaded arms. The sergeant was absolutely a Highland
Sergeant Kite, full of stories of Rob Roy and of himself, and a very good
companion. We experienced no interruption whatever, and when we came
to Invernenty, found the house deserted. We took up our quarters for
the night, and used some of the victuals which we found there. On the
morning we returned as unmolested as we came.

  The MacLarens, who probably never thought of any serious opposition,
received their money and went to America, where, having had some slight
share in removing them from their _paupera regna,_ I sincerely hope they
prospered.

  The rent of Invernenty instantly rose from œ10 to œ70 or œ80; and
when sold, the farm was purchased (I think by the late Laird of MacNab)
at a price higher in proportion than what even the modern rent authorised
the parties interested to hope for.


Note E.---Allan Breck Stewart.

  Allan Breck Stewart was a man likely in such a matter to keep his
word. James Drummond MacGregor and he, like Katherine and Petruchio,
were well matched ``for a couple of quiet ones.'' Allan Breck lived till
the beginning of the French Revolution. About 1789, a friend of mine,
then residing at Paris, was invited to see some procession which was
supposed likely to interest him, from the windows of an apartment
occupied by a Scottish Benedictine priest. He found, sitting by the fire,
a tall, thin, raw-boned, grim-looking, old man, with the petit croix of
St. Louis. His visage was strongly marked by the irregular projections
of the cheek-bones and chin. His eyes were grey. His grizzled hair
exhibited marks of having been red, and his complexion was weather-beaten,
and remarkably freckled. Some civilities in French passed
between the old man and my friend, in the course of which they talked
of the streets and squares of Paris, till at length the old soldier, for such
he seemed, and such he was, said with a sigh, in a sharp Highland accent,
``Deil ane o' them a' is worth the Hie Street of Edinburgh!'' On inquiry,
this admirer of Auld Reekie, which he was never to see again, proved to
be Allan Breck Stewart. He lived decently on his little pension, and had,
in no subsequent period of his life, shown anything of the savage mood in
which he is generally believed to have assassinated the enemy and oppressor,
as he supposed him, of his family and clan.


Note F.---The Abbess of Wilton.

  The nunnery of Wilton was granted to the Earl of Pembroke upon its
dissolution, by the magisterial authority of Henry VIII., or his son Edward
VI. On the accession of Queen Mary, of Catholic memory, the Earl found
it necessary to reinstate the Abbess and her fair recluses, which he did
with many expressions of his remorse, kneeling humbly to the vestals,
and inducting them into the convent and possessions from which he had
expelled them. With the accession of Elizabeth, the accommodating Earl
again resumed his Protestant faith, and a second time drove the nuns from
their sanctuary. The remonstrances of the Abbess, who reminded him of
his penitent expressions on the former occasion, could wring from him no
other answer than that in the text---``Go spin, you jade!---Go spin!''


Note G.---Mons Meg.

  Mons Meg was a large old-fashioned piece of ordnance, a great favourite
with the Scottish common people; she was fabricated at Mons, in Flanders,
in the reign of James IV. or V. of Scotland. This gun figures frequently
in the public accounts of the time, where we find charges for grease, to
grease Meg's mouth withal (to increase, as every schoolboy knows, the
loudness of the report), ribands to deck her carriage, and pipes to play
before her when she was brought from the Castle to accompany the Scottish
army on any distant expedition. After the Union, there was much popular
apprehension that the Regalia of Scotland, and the subordinate Palladium,
Mons Meg, would be carried to England to complete the odious surrender of
national independence. The Regalia, sequestered from the sight of the
public, were generally supposed to have been abstracted in this manner.
As for Mons Meg, she remained in the Castle of Edinburgh, till, by order
of the Board of Ordnance, she was actually removed to Woolwich about
1757. The Regalia, by his Majesty's special command, have been brought
forth from their place of concealment in 1818, and exposed to the view of
the people, by whom they must be looked upon with deep associations;
and, in this very winter of 1828-9, Mons Meg has been restored to the
country, where that, which in every other place or situation was a mere
mass of rusty iron, becomes once more a curious monument of antiquity.


Note H.----Fairy Superstition.

  The lakes and precipices amidst which the Avon-Dhu, or River Forth,
has its birth, are still, according to popular tradition, haunted by the Elfin
people, the most peculiar, but most pleasing, of the creations of Celtic
superstitions. The opinions entertained about these beings are much
the same with those of the Irish, so exquisitely well narrated by Mr.
Crofton Croker. An eminently beautiful little conical hill, near the eastern
extremity of the valley of Aberfoil, is supposed to be one of their peculiar
haunts, and is the scene which awakens, in Andrew Fairservice, the terror
of their power. It is remarkable, that two successive clergymen of this
parish of Aberfoil have employed themselves in writing about this fairy
superstition. The eldest of these was Robert Kirke, a man of some
talents, who translated the Psalms into Gaelic verse. He had formerly
been minister at the neighbouring parish of Balquhidder, and died at Aberfoil
in 1688, at the early age of forty-two.

  He was author of the Secret Commonwealth, which was printed after his
death in 1691---(an edition which I have never seen)---and was reprinted
in Edinburgh, 1815. This is a work concerning the fairy people, in whose
existence Mr. Kirke appears to have been a devout believer. He describes
them with the usual powers and qualities ascribed to such beings in Highland
tradition.

  But what is sufficiently singular, the Rev. Robert Kirke, author of the
said treatise, is believed himself to have been taken away by the fairies,---
in revenge, perhaps, for having let in too much light upon the secrets of
their commonwealth. We learn this catastrophe from the information of his
successor, the late amiable and learned Dr. Patrick Grahame, also minister
at Aberfoil, who, in his Sketches of Perthshire, has not forgotten to touch
upon the _Daoine Schie,_ or men of peace.

  The Rev. Robert Kirke was, it seems, walking upon a little eminence to
the west of the present manse, which is still held a _Dun Shie,_ or fairy
mound, when he sunk down, in what seemed to mortals a fit, and was supposed
to be dead. This, however, was not his real fate.

  ``Mr. Kirke was the near relation of Graham of Duchray, the ancestor
of the present General Graham Stirling. Shortly after his funeral, he
appeared, in the dress in which he had sunk down, to a medical relation of
his own, and of Duchray. `Go,' said he to him, `to my cousin Duchray,
and tell him that I am not dead. I fell down in a swoon, and was carried
into Fairyland, where I now am. Tell him, that when he and my friends
are assembled at the baptism of my child (for he had left his wife pregnant),
I will appear in the room, and that if he throws the knife which he holds
in his hand over my head, I will be released and restored to human society.'
The man, it seems, neglected, for some time, to deliver the message. Mr.
Kirke appeared to him a second time, threatening to haunt him night and
day till he executed his commission, which at length he did. The time of
the baptism arrived. They were seated at table; the figure of Mr. Kirke
entered, but the Laird of Duchray, by some unaccountable fatality, neglected
to perform the prescribed ceremony. Mr. Kirke retired by another door,
and was seen no wore. It is firmly believed that he is, at this day, in
Fairyland.''---(_Sketches of Perthshire,_ p. 254.)

  [The treatise by Robert Kirke, here mentioned, was written in the year
1691, but not printed till 1815.]


Note I.---Clachan of Aberfoil.

  I do not know how this might stand in Mr. Osbaldistone's day, but I
can assure the reader, whose curiosity may lead him to visit the scenes of
these romantic adventures, that the Clachan of Aberfoil now affords a very
comfortable little inn. If he chances to be a Scottish antiquary, it will be
an additional recommendation to him, that he will find himself in the
vicinity of the Rev. Dr. Patrick Grahame, minister of the gospel at
Aberfoil, whose urbanity in communicating information on the subject of
national antiquities, is scarce exceeded even by the stores of legendary lore
which he has accumulated.---_Original Note._ The respectable clergyman
alluded to has been dead for some years. [See note H.]



	APPENDIX TO INTRODUCTION.


	No. I.---ADVERTISEMENT
	FOR THE APPREHENSION OF ROB ROY.

(From the Edinburgh Evening Courant, June 18 to June 21, A.D. 1732. No. 1058.)

  ``That Robert Campbell, commonly known by the name of Rob Roy
MacGregor, being lately intrusted by several noblemen and gentlemen with
considerable sums for buying cows for them in the Highlands, has treacherously
gone off with the money, to the value of <L>1000 sterling, which he
carries along with him. All Magistrates and Officers of his Majesty's
forces are intreated to seize upon the said Rob Roy, and the money which
he carries with him, until the persons concerned in the money be heard
against him; and that notice be given, when he is apprehended, to the
keepers of the Exchange Coffee-house at Edinburgh, and the keeper of the
Coffee-house at Glasgow, where the parties concerned will be advertised,
and the seizers shall be very reasonably rewarded for their pains.''

  It is unfortunate that this Hue and Cry, which is afterwards repeated
in the same paper, contains no description of Rob Roy's person, which, of
course, we must suppose to have been pretty generally known. As it is
directed against Rob Roy personally, it would seem to exclude the idea of
the cattle being carried off by his partner, MacDonald, who would certainly
have been mentioned in the advertisement, if the creditors concerned had
supposed him to be in possession of the money.



	No. II.---LETTERS
	FROM AND TO THE DUKE OF MONTROSE
	RESPECTING ROB ROY'S ARREST OF MR. GRAHAME OF KILLEARN.

	_The Duke of Montrose to------------_<*>

* It does not appear to whom this letter was addressed. Certainly, from its
* style and tenor, It was designed for some person high in rank and office---perhaps
* the King's Advocate for the time.


				``Glasgow, the 21st November, 1716.

  ``My Lord,---I was surprised last night with the account of a very remarkable
instance of the insolence of that very notorious rogue Rob Roy,
whom your lordship has often heard named. The honour of his Majesty's
Government being concerned in it, I thought it my duty to acquaint your
lordship of the particulars by an express.

  ``Mr. Grahame of Killearn (whom I have had occasion to mention frequently
to you, for the good service he did last winter during the rebellion)
having the charge of my Highland estate, went to Monteath, which is a
part of it, on Monday last, to bring in my rents, it being usual for him to
be there for two or three nights together at this time of the year, in a
country house, for the conveniency of meeting the tenants, upon that
account. The same night, about 9 of the clock, Rob Roy, with a party of
those ruffians whom he has still kept about him since the late rebellion, surrounded
the house where Mr. Grahame was with some of my tenants doing
his business, ordered his men to present their guns in att the windows of
the room where he was sitting, while he himself at the same time with
others entered at the door, with cocked pistols, and made Mr. Grahame
prisoner, carreing him away to the hills with the money he had got, his
books and papers, and my tenants' bonds for their fines, amounting to
above a thousand pounds sterling, whereof the one-half had been paid last
year, and the other was to have been paid now; and att the same time had
the insolence to cause him to write a letter to me (the copy of which is
enclosed) offering me terms of a treaty.

  ``That your Lordship may have the better view of this matter, it will
be necessary that I should inform you, that this fellow has now, of a long
time, put himself at the head of the Clan M`Gregor, a race of people who
in all ages have distinguished themselves beyond others, by robberies, depredations,
and murders, and have been the constant harbourers and entertainers
of vagabonds and loose people. From the time of the Revolution
he has taken every opportunity to appear against the Government,
acting rather as a robber than doing any real service to those whom he
pretended to appear for, and has really done more mischief to the countrie
than all the other Highlanders have done.

  ``Some three or four years before the last rebellion broke out, being
overburdened with debts, he quitted his ordinary residence, and removed
some twelve or sixteen miles farther into the Highlands, putting himself
under the protection of the Earl of Bredalbin. When my Lord Cadogan
was in the Highlands, he ordered his house att this place to be burnt,
which your Lordship sees he now places to my account.

  ``This obliges him to return to the same countrie he went from, being a
most rugged inaccessible place, where he took up his residence anew
amongst his own friends and relations; but well judging that it was possible
to surprise him, he, with about forty-five of his followers, went to
Inverary, and made a sham surrender of their arms to Coll. Campbell of
Finab, Commander of one of the Independent Companies, and returned
home with his men, each of them having the Coll.'s protection. This
happened in the beginning of summer last; yet not long after he appeared
with his men twice in arms, in opposition to the King's troops: and one
of those times attackt them, rescued a prisoner from them, and all this
while sent abroad his party through the countrie, plundering the countrie
people, and amongst the rest some of my tenants.

  ``Being informed of these disorders after I came to Scotland, I applied
to Lieut.-Genll. Carpenter, who ordered three parties from Glasgow, Stirling,
and Finlarig, to march in the night by different routes, in order to surprise
him and his men in their houses, which would have its effect certainly, if
the great rains that happened to fall that verie night had not retarded the
march of the troops, so as some of the parties came too late to the stations
that they were ordered for. All that could be done upon the occasion was
to burn a countrie house, where Rob Roy then resided, after some of his
clan had, from the rocks, fired upon the king's troops, by which a grenadier
was killed.

  ``Mr. Grahame of Killearn, being my deputy-sheriff in that countrie,
went along with the party that marched from Stirling; and doubtless will
now meet with the worse treatment from that barbarous people on that
account. Besides, that he is my relation, and that they know how active
he has been in the service of the Government---all which, your Lordship
may believe, puts me under very great concern for the gentleman, while, at
the same time, I can foresee no manner of way how to relieve him, other
than to leave him to chance and his own management.

  ``I had my thoughts before of proposing to Government the building of
some barracks as the only expedient for suppressing these rebels, and
securing the peace of the countrie; and in that view I spoke to Genll. Carpenter,
who has now a scheme of it in his hands; and I am persuaded that
will be the true method for restraining them effectually; but, in the meantime,
it will be necessary to lodge some of the troops in those places,
upon which I intend to write to the Generall.

  ``I am sensible I have troubled your Lordship with a very long letter,
which I should be ashamed of, were I myself singly concerned; but where
the honour of the King's Government is touched, I need make no apologie,
and I shall only beg leave to add, that I am, with great respect, and truth,

				`` My Lord,

			``y<r>. Lord<s>. most humble and obedient servant,

						``MONTROSE''

COPY OF GRAHAME OF KILLEARN'S LETTER, ENCLOSED IN THE PRECEDING.

				``Chappellarroch, Nov. 19th, 1716.

  ``May it please your Grace,---I am obliged to give your Grace the
trouble of this, by Robert Roy's commands, being so unfortunate at present
as to be his prisoner. I refer the way and manner I was apprehended,
to the bearer, and shall only, in short, acquaint your Grace with the demands,
which are, that your Grace shall discharge him of all soumes he
owes your Grace, and give him the soume of 3400 merks for his loss and
damages sustained by him, both at Craigrostown and at his house, Auchinchisallen;
and that your Grace shall give your word not to trouble or
prosecute him afterwards; till which time he carries me, all the money I
received this day, my books and bonds for entress, not yet paid, along
with him, with assurance of hard usage, if any party are sent after him.
The soume I received this day, conform to the nearest computation I can
make before several of the gentlemen, is 3227<L>. 2sh. 8d. Scots, of which
I gave them notes. I shall wait your Grace's return, and ever am,

			``Your Grace's most obedient, faithful,

				``humble servant,

	_Sic subscribitur,_		``John Grahame.''



	THE DUKE OF MONTROSE TO ------------

	28_th Nov._ 1716---_Killearn's Release._

				``Glasgow, 28th Nov. 1716.

  ``Sir,---Having acquainted you by my last, of the 21st instant, of what
had happened to my friend, Mr. Grahame of Killearn, I'm very glad now
to tell you, that last night I was very agreeably surprised with Mr.
Grahame's coming here himself, and giving me the first account I had
had of him from the time of his being carried away. It seems Rob Roy,
when he came to consider a little better of it, found that, he could not
mend his matters by retaining Killearn his prisoner, which could only
expose him still the more to the justice of the Government; and therefore
thought fit to dismiss him on Sunday evening last, having kept him from
the Monday night before, under a very uneasy kind of restraint, being
obliged to change continually from place to place. He gave him back the
books, papers, and bonds, but kept the money.

			``I am, with great truth, Sir,

				``your most humble servant,

					``MONTROSE.''

  [Some papers connected with Rob Roy Macgregor, signed ``Ro. Campbell,''
in 1711, were lately presented to the Society of Antiquaries. One of
these is a kind of contract between the Duke of Montrose and Rob Roy, by
which the latter undertakes to deliver within a given time ``Sixtie good and
sufficient Kintaill highland Cowes, betwixt the age of five and nine years,
at fourtene pounds Scotts per peice, with ane bull to the bargane, and that
at the head dykes of Buchanan upon the twenty-eight day of May next.''---
Dated December 1711.---See _Proceedings,_ vol. vii. p. 253.]





	No. III.---CHALLENGE BY ROB ROY.

  ``Rob Roy _to ain hie and mighty Prince,_ James Duke of Montrose.

  ``In charity to your Grace's couradge and conduct, please know, the only
way to retrive both is to treat Rob Roy like himself, in appointing tyme,
place, and choice of arms, that at once you may extirpate your inveterate
enemy, or put a period to your punny (puny?) life in falling gloriously by
his hands. That impertinent criticks or flatterers may not brand me for
challenging a man that's repute of a poor dastardly soul, let such know
that I admit of the two great supporters of his character and the captain
of his bands to joyne with him in the combat. Then sure your Grace
wont have the impudence to clamour att court for multitudes to hunt me
like a fox, under pretence that I am not to be found above ground. This
saves your Grace and the troops any further trouble of searching; that is,
if your ambition of glory press you to embrace this unequald venture
offerd of Rob's head. But if your Grace's piety, prudence, and cowardice,
forbids hazarding this gentlemanly expedient, then let your desire of peace
restore what you have robed from me by the tyranny of your present
cituation, otherwise your overthrow as a man is determined; and advertise
your friends never more to look for the frequent civility payed them, of
sending them home without their arms only. Even their former cravings
wont purchase that favour; so your Grace by this has peace in your offer,
if the sound of wax be frightful, and chuse you whilk, your good friend or
mortal enemy.''

  This singular rhodomontade is enclosed in a letter to a friend of Rob Roy,
probably a retainer of the Duke of Argyle in Isle, which is in these
words:---

  ``Sir,---Receive the enclosd paper, q<n> you are takeing yor Botle it will
divert yorself and comrad's. I gote noe news since I seed you, only q<t>
wee had before about the Spainyard's is like to continue. If I'll get any
further account about them I'll be sure to let you know of it, and till then
I will not write any more till I'll have more sure account. and I am

			``Sir, your most affectionate C<n> [cousin],

				``and most humble servant,

					``Ro: Roy.''

  ``_Apryle_ 16_th,_ 1719.

``To Mr. Patrick Anderson, at Hay---These.'

	The seal, _a stag_---no bad emblem of a wild cateran.

  It appears from the envelope that Rob Roy still continued to act as
Intelligencer to the Duke of Argyle, and his agents. The war he alludes to
is probably some vague report of invasion from Spain. Such rumours
were likely enough to be afloat, in consequence of the disembarkation of
the troops who were taken at Glensheal in the preceding year, 1718.



	No. IV.---LETTER

	FROM ROBERT CAMPBELL, _alias_ M`GREGOR,
	COMMONLY CALLED ROB ROY, TO FIELD-MARSHAL WADE,

	Then receiving the submission of disaffected Chieftains and Clans.*

* This curious epistle is copied from an authentic narrative of Marshal Wade's
* proceedings in the Highlands, communicated by the late eminent antiquary, George
* Chalmers, Esq., to Mr. Robert Jamieson, of the Register House, Edinburgh, and
* published in the Appendix to an Edition of Burt's Letters from the North of Scotland,
* 2 vols. 8vo, Edinburgh, 1818.

  Sir,---The great humanity with which you have constantly acted in the
discharge of the trust reposed in you, and your ever having made use of
the great powers with which you were vested as the means of doing good
and charitable offices to such as ye found proper objects of compassion,
will, I hope, excuse my importunity in endeavouring to approve myself not
absolutely unworthy of that mercy and favour which your Excellency has
so generously procured from his Majesty for others in my unfortunate
circumstances. I am very sensible nothing can be alledged sufficient to
excuse so great a crime as I have been guilty of it, that of Rebellion. But
I humbly beg leave to lay before your Excellency some particulars in the
circumstance of my guilt, which, I hope, will extenuate it in some
measure. It was my misfortune, at the time the Rebellion broke out, to
be liable to legal diligence and caption, at the Duke of Montrose's instance,
for debt alledged due to him. To avoid being flung into prison, as I must
certainly have been, had I followed my real inclinations in joining the
King's troops at Stirling, I was forced to take party with the adherents of
the Pretender; for the country being all in arms, it was neither safe
nor indeed possible for me to stand neuter. I should not, however, plead
my being forced into that unnatural rebellion against his Majesty, King
George, if I could not at the same time assure your Excellency, that I not
only avoided acting offensively against his Majesty's forces upon all
occasions, but on the contrary, sent his Grace the Duke of Argyle all the
intelligence I could from time to time, of the strength and situation of the
rebels; which I hope his Grace will do me the justice to acknowledge.
As to the debt to the Duke of Montrose, I have discharged it to the
utmost farthing. I beg your Excellency would be persuaded that, had it
been in my power, as it was in my inclination, I should always have acted
for the service of his Majesty King George, and that one reason of my
begging the favour of your intercession with his Majesty for the pardon of
my life, is the earnest desire I have to employ it in his service, whose good-
ness, justice, and humanity, are so conspicuous to all mankind.---I am,
with all duty and respect, your Excellency's most, &c.,

				``Robert Campbell.''



	No. V.---LETTER.

	ESCAPE OF ROB ROY FROM THE DUKE OF ATHOLE.

  The following copy of a letter which passed from one clergyman of the
Church of Scotland to another, was communicated to me by John Gregorson,
Esq. of Ardtornish. The escape of Rob Roy is mentioned, like other
interesting news of the time with which it is intermingled. The disagreement
between the Dukes of Athole and Argyle seems to have animated the
former against Rob Roy, as one of Argyle's partisans.

  ``Rev. and dear Brother,

  Y<rs> of the 28th Jun I had by the bearer. I<m> pleased
yo have got back again y<r> Delinquent which may probably safe you of the
trouble of her child. I'm sory I've yet very little of certain news to give
you from Court tho' I've seen all the last weekes prints, only I find in
them a pasage which is all the account I can give you of the Indemnity
y<t> when the estates of forfaulted Rebells Comes to be sold all Just debts
Documented are to be preferred to Officers of the Court of enquiry. The
Bill in favours of that Court against the Lords of Session in Scotland in
past the house of Commons and Come before the Lords which is thought
to be considerably more ample y<n> formerly w<t> respect to the Disposeing of
estates Canvassing and paying of Debts. It's said y<t> the examinations of
Cadugans accounts is droped but it wants Confirmations here as yet. Oxford's
tryals should be entered upon Saturday last. We hear that the
Duchess of Argyle is w<t> child. I doe not hear y<t> the Divisions at Court
are any thing abated or of any appearance of the Dukes having any thing
of his Maj: favour. I heartily wish the present humours at Court may
not prove an encouragm<t> to watchfull and restles enemies.

  My accounts of Rob Roy his escape are y<t> after severall Embassies between
his Grace (who I hear did Correspond w<t> some at Court about it)
and Rob he at length upon promise of protectione Came to waite upon the
Duke & being presently secured his Grace sent post to Ed<r> to acquent the
Court of his being aprehended & call his friends at Ed<r> and to desire a
party from Ge<n> Carpinter to receive and bring him to Ed<r> which party
came the length of Kenross in Fife, he was to be delivered to them by a
party his Grace had demanded from the Governour at Perth, who when
upon their march towards Dunkell to receive him, were mete w<t> and returned
by his Grace having resolved to deliver him by a party of his own
men and left Rob at Logierate under a strong guard till y<t> party should be
ready to receive him. This space of time Rob had Imployed in taking the
other dram heartily w<t> the Guard & q<n> all were pretty hearty, Rob is delivering
a letter for his wife to a servant to whom he most needs deliver
some private instructions at the Door (for his wife) where he's attended
wt on the Guard. When serious in this privat Conversations he is making
some few steps carelessly from the Door about the house till he comes
close by this horse which he soon mounted and made off. This is no small
mortifican to the guard because of the delay it give to there hopes of a
Considerable additionall charge ag<t> John Roy.<*> my wife was upon

* _i.e._ John the Red---John Duke of Argyle, so called from his complexion, more
* commonly styled ``Red John the Warriour.''

Thursday last delivered of a Son after sore travell of which she still continues
very weak. I give y<l> Lady hearty thanks for the Highland plaid.
It's good cloath but it does not answer the sett I sent some time agae
w<t> McArthur & tho it had I told in my last y<t> my wife was obliged to provid
herself to finish her bed before she was lighted but I know y<t> let<r> came
not timely to y<r> hand------I'm sory I had not mony to send by the
bearer having no thought of it & being exposed to some little expenses last
week but I expect some sure occasion when             order by a letter to
receive it. excuse this freedom from &c.

  ``_Manse of Comrie, July_ 2_d,_ 1717.

  ``I salute yr lady I wish my .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
her Daughter much Joy.''



	No. VI.---HIGHLAND WOOING.

  There are many productions of the Scottish Ballad Poets upon the lion-like
mode of wooing practised by the ancient Highlanders when they had
a fancy for the person (or property) of a Lowland damsel. One example
is found in Mr. Robert Jamieson's Popular Scottish Songs:---

	Bonny Babby Livingstone
	  Gaed out to see the kye,
	And she has met with Glenlyon,
	  Who has stolen her away.

	He took free her her sattin coat,
	  But an her si1ken gown,
	Syne roud her in his tartan plaid,
	  And happd her round and roun'.

In another ballad we are told how---

	Four-and-twenty Hieland men,
	  Came doun by Fiddoch Bide,
	And they have sworn a deadly aith,
	  Jean Muir suld be a bride:

	And they have sworn a deadly aith,
	  Ilke man upon his durke,
	That she should wed with Duncan Ger,
	  Or they'd make bloody works.

  This last we have from tradition, but there are many others in the collections
of Scottish Ballads to the same purpose.

  The achievement of Robert Oig, or young Rob Roy, as the Lowlanders
called him, was celebrated in a ballad, of which there are twenty different
and various editions. The tune is lively and wild, and we select the fol-
lowing words from memory:---

	Rob Roy is frae the Hielands come,
	  Down to the Lowland border;
	And he has stolen that lady away,
	  To haud his house in order.

	He set her on a milk-white steed,
	  Of none he stood in awe;
	Untill they reached the Hieland hills,
	  Aboon the Balmaha'!<*>

* A pass on the eastern margin of Loch Lomond, and an entrance to the Highlands.

	Saying, Be content, be content,
	  Be content with me, lady;
	Where will ye find in Lennox land,
	  Sae braw a man as me, lady?

	Rob Roy he was my father called,
	  MacGregor was his name, lady;
	A' the country, far and near,
	  Have heard MaeGregor's fame, lady.

	He was a hedge about his friends,
	  A heckle to his foes, lady;
	If any man did him gainsay,
	  He felt his deadly blows, lady.

	I am as bold, I am as bold,
	  I am as bold and more, lady;
	Any man that doubts my word,
	  May try my gude claymore, lady.

	Then be content, be content.
	  Be content with me, lady;
	For now you are my wedded wife,
	  Until the day you die, lady.



	No. VI---GHLUNE DHU.

  The following notices concerning this Chief fell under the Author's eye
while the sheets were in the act of going through the press. They occur
in manuscript memoirs, written by a person intimately acquainted with the
incidents of 1745.

  This Chief had the important task intrusted to him of defending the
Castle of Doune, in which the Chevalier placed a garrison to protect his
communication with the Highlands, and to repel any sallies which might
be made from Stirling Castle---Ghlune Dhu distinguished himself by his
good conduct in this charge.

  Ghlune Dhu is thus described:---``Glengyle is, in person, a tall handsome
man, and has more of the mien of the ancient heroes than our modern
fine gentlemen are possessed of. He is honest and disinterested to a proverb
---extremely modest---brave and intrepid---and born one of the best
partisans in Europe. In short, the whole people of that country declared
that never did men live under so mild a government as Glengyle's, not a
man having so much as lost a chicken while he continued there.''

  It would appear from this curious passage, that Glengyle---not Stewart
of Balloch, as averred in a note on Waverley---commanded the garrison of
Doune. Balloch might, no doubt, succeed MacGregor in the situation.



                  GLOSSARY
                     OF
      CERTAIN SCOTCH WORDS AND PHRASES,
           AS APPLIED IN ROB ROY.



Aiblins,	perhaps.
Aik,		oak.
Airn,		iron.
Aits,		oats.
An,		if.
Andrea Ferrara,	Highland broadsword.
Auldfarran,	sagacious.

Bailie,		a Scotch magistrate.
Bairn,		a child.
Ban,		curse.
Barkit aik snag, barked oak stick.
Barkit,		tanned.
Barm,		yeast.
Bawbee,		halfpenny.
Baudron,	a cat,
Bent,		the moor or hill-side.
Bicker,		a wooden vessel.
Bicker,		to throw stones, to quarrel.
Bide,		wait.
Bield,		shelter.
Bigging,	building.
Bike,		nest.
Birkie,		lively fellow.
Birl,		toss.
Bittock,	more than a bit.
Blether,	rattling nonsense.
Blether,	to spout nonsense.
Blythe,		happy,
Boddle,		a farthing.
Bogle,		ghost, scarecrow,
Bole,		an aperture.
Bonnie,		pretty.
Braw,		fine, brave.
Breeks,		breeches
Brig,		bridge.
Brocan,		_Gaelic_ for porridge,
Brogue,		Highland shoe.
Brose,		a sort of pottage.
Brownie,	ghost.

Callant,	a lad
Caller,		fresh.
Calm sough,	a quiet mind or tongue.
Canny,		quiet, sensible.
Cannelmas,	Scotch term, 2d February.
Cateran,	a robber.
Caunle,		candle.
Caup,		a shell.
Chack,		sneck.
Chap,		strike.
Chappin, choppin, a liquid measure.
Chiel,		a fellow.
Chimley,	chimney.
Chuckie-stanes, small pebbles.
Clachan,	_Gaelic,_ village.
Clash,		scandal
Claut,		clot.
Clavers,	gossip, scandal.
Clerkit,	written.
Cloot,		a rag, cloth.
Codlings,	baking apples.
Cogue,		wooden vessel.
Coost,		cast.
Corbie,		crow.
Coup,		upset.
Cowe,		stalk.
Crack,		to gossip, jaw.
Craig,		the neck.
Creagh,		_Gaelic,_ pillage.
Creel,		basket.
Crouse,		confident, cheery.
Crowdy,		a sort of pottage made of oat-meal.
Cuitle up,	tickle up, to do for.
Curle,		a fellow.
Curlie-Wurlie,	twisting.

Daffin',	frolicking.
Daft,		crazy.
Daiker,		(toil) up the gate (way).
Darn,		conceal.
Deil's ower Jock Wabster,
		all to the devil.
Ding,		pull down.
Dirdum,		an ado.
Divot,		a turf.
Dour,		stubborn.
Dourlach,	_Gaelic,_ satchel.
Douse,		quiet.
Dew,		can.
Downa,		do not like.
Dree,		to suffer.
Duinhewassel,	_Gaelic,_ gentleman.

Een,		eyes.
E'en,		evening.
Ettle,		intend.

Fa',		_Highland,_ who.
Fashious,	troublesome.
Fa'ard,		favoured.
Feal,		faithful.
Feck,		part.
Ferlie,		wonderful.
Fizzinless,	tasteless, useless.
Flae,		flea.
Fleech,		wheedle.
Fleg,		fright.
Fley,		frighten.
Flit,		remove.
Flow-moss,	wet moss.
Flyte,		scold.
Forbye,		besides.
Forfoughen,	blown, breathless.
Forgather,	make friends with, take up with.
Forpit,		fourth part of a peck.
Fozy,		soft.
Fushionless,	tasteless, useless.

Gabble,		absurd talk.
Galla Glass,	an armed retainer---
		``---The merciless Macdonald
		  ---From the Western Isles
		  Of Kernes and Gallowglasses is supplied.''
				Macbeth, _Act I., Scene_ 2.
Gang-there-out,	wandering.
Gar,		make, oblige.
Gash,		sour-looking.  
Gate,		way, manner.
Gauger,		exciseman.
Gaun,		going.
Gillie,		Highland foot-boy.
Gilravaging,	devouring.
Gleed,		twisted.
Gleg,		quick, active.
Gliff,		an instant.
Glisk,		a spark.
Gloamin,	twilight.
Gloom,		a frown.
Glower,		gaze.
Glum,		sour-looking.
Gomeril,	fool, lout.
Gowd,		gold.
Gowk,		fool.
Gree,		agree.
Greet,		cry, weep.
Grew,		shiver.
Grewsome,	ill-omened, bitter.
Grieve,		a bailiff, or steward.
Gudeman,	husband, head of the house.
Guide,		use, employ.

Ha niel Sassenach (corrupt Gaelic),
		I have no English.
Ha nun Gregarach (corrupt Gaelic),
		It is a MacGregor.
Haggis,		a Scotch pudding of minced meat, oatmeal, etc.
Hail,		whole.
Hallion,	rascal
Harns,		brains.
Harst,		harvest.
Haud,		hold.
Hantle,		a number of
Her,		_Highland,_ my.
Her-nainsel,	_Highland,_ myself.
Hership,	plunder.
het,		hot.
Hinderlans,	buttocks.
Hosenet,	a small net used for rivulet fishing; also an
		entanglement or confusion.
Hough,		thigh, ham.
Howe,		hollow.
Howlet,		owl.
Hurdies,	buttocks.
Hussy,		jade.

Ilk,		each.
Ingan,		onion.
Ivy-tod,	ivy-bush

Jalouse,	suspect.
Jannock,	bannock.
Joctaleg,	clasp-knife.
Joseph,		a riding cloak.
Jouk,		(dive) and let the jaw (wave) go by.

Kail through the Reek,
		the soup through the smoke: to suffer reproof,
		blame, or retribution.
Kail-yard,	cabbage-garden.
Kale,		greens, sometimes broth.
Kaim,		comb.
Kemp,		strive and fight.
Ken,		know.
Kerne,		a retainer or gillie.
Kraem,		a stall or shop,
Kyloes,		Highland cattle.
Kythe,		seem.

Lassock,	girl.
Lave,		the remainder.
Lawing,		reckoning.
Limmer,		jade.
Loon,		fellow.
Loup,		leap.
Luckie,		goodie! addressed to a woman.
Lug,		the ear.

Malison,	curse.
Manse,		house, parsonage.
Maun,		must.
Maw,		to mow.
Mense,		sense.
Mint,		aim, intend.
Mistryst,	disappoint, deceive.
Moul,		the sod.
Muckle,		much.
Mutch,		cap.

Napery,		table-linen.
Natheless,	nevertheless.
Nowte,		black cattle.

Opensteek,	open stich.
Opine,		suppose, presume.
Orra,		odd.
Ower,		over.
Owsen,		oxen.

Paiks,		chastisement, a kicking.
Parochine,	parish.
Parritch,	porridge.
Pat,		pot.
Peers,		pears.
Pirn,		a reel.
Plack,		third of a penny.
Pliskie,	trick.
Pock,		a poke, bag.
Pock-neuk,	one's own means or exertions.
Pootry,		poultry.
Pow,		head.
Pretty,		_Highland,_ brave, smart.
Provost,	a Scotch Mayor.

Quean,		a flirt.
Queez madan,	a French pear.

Rathe,		ready, quick.
Rax,		stretch.
Redd,		clear up.
Reek,		smoke.
Reft,		seized.
Reisted,	roasted, smoked.
Reive,		to break, pillage.
Roose,		praise.
Roup,		auction.

Sark,		a shirt.
Sau,		sow.
Scart,		a cormorant.
Sea-maw,	a gall.
Searcher,	a town officer.
Sell o't,	itself.
Ser'ing,	serving.
Shanks,		legs.
Shaw,		a green blade.
She,		_Highland,_ I or he.
Shear,		clip, cut, reap.
Sic,		such.
Siller,		money.
Skart,		scratch.
Skirl,		scream.
Skreigh,	scream.
Skyte,		a wretched fellow.
Slabber,	froth.
Slink,		worthless.
Smaik,		a fool, or spoon.
Sneckdrawer,	a sly cunning person.
Snell,		sharp, severe, terrible.
Snag,		a stick, branch.
Soothfast,	honest.
Sough,		sigh.
Spang,		to spring.
Sparry-grass,	asparagus.
Speer,		enquire.
Splore,		a row.
Sporran,	_Gaelic,_ purse.
Spreagh,	cattle-lifting.
Spune,		a spoon.
Steek,		shut.
Steer,		molest.
Stibbler,	a poor preacher.
Stint,		stop.
Stot,		a bullock.
Stoup,		a liquid measure.
Strae,		straw.
Sybo,		a kind of onion, or raddish.
Syne,		since, ago.

Tae,		the one.
Tass,		a glass, cup,
Tatty,		potato.
Thrang,		thronged, busy.
Thrapple,	throat.
Thraw,		thwart, twist.
Through-gaun,	a down-setting.
Thrum,		a story.
Toom,		empty.
Tow,		a rope.
Troke,		transact, dabble witlb.
Trotcosie,	riding-hood.
Troth,		truth! sure!
Trow,		trust.
Tuilzie,	scuffle.
Tup,		a ram.
Twal,		twelve.

Unco,		very particularly.
Unco think,	a sad thing.
Usquebaugh, 	_Gaelic,_ whisky.

Vivers,		victuals.

Wabster,	a weaver.
Wally draigh,	a feeble person.
Wame,		belly, hollow.
Wappin,		stout, clever.
Warstle, 	wrestle.
Waur,		worse.
Wean,		an infant.
Wee,		little.
Weird,		destiny.
Weise,		guide.
Wheen,		a few.
Wigmaleerie,	gimcrack.
Whilk,		which.
Whin,		gorse.
Whummle,	turn over.
Will to Cupar maun to Cupar,
		a wilful man must have his way.
Winnle,		turning frame.
Wud,		mad.
Wuddie,		gallows-rope.
Wuss,		wish.
Wyte,		blame.

Yill,		ale.


------------------------------------------------------------


  This electronic transcription of Scott's `Rob Roy' is
based on the Centenary Edition of the Waverley Novels,
published in 1870 by Adam & Charles Black, Edinburgh, and
printed by R. Clark, Edinburgh.

* The following changes have been made to the text:

  Page divisions and column titles have been removed.

 All end-of-line hyphenation have been removed, and the de-
hyphenated words placed at the end of the first line.  The guide
for whether to keep or remove the hyphen has been the text
itself.

  Internal page references (mainly references to the appendixes
to the introduction) have been removed.

  The following misprints have been corrected:

p.  97, l.-10: ... thy cousin Thornie, ...	(was: Cousin)
p. 115, l. 3: ...sons---daughters...		(was: danghters)
p. 156, l. 23: writing Tristia.''		(missing quotes)
p. 172, l.-11: gentleman,'' I said, ``I		(missing quotes)
p. 328, l.-1:---``You are, I suppose		(missing quotes)
p. 350, l. 2: Mrs. MacGregor Campbell		(was: Mac-Gregor)
p. 360, l. 32: to set out directly. I took	(was: directly.'')
p. 361m l. 7: ... she said; ``for		(missing quotes)
p. 411, l.23: such a subject.			(was: subject.'')
p. 415, l.24: as this narrative now does.	(was: narative)

p. 413, l.20:''---and Andrew hated conceit---``	(was: missing quotes?)

   This sentence seems to read better with quotes than without.
   Scott seems to use that kind of construction for parenthetical
   remarks, so it seems a reasonable correction.


* Some oddities, left for future textual archaeologists:

	Craig Royston vs. Craig-Royston
	Loch Ard vs. Loch-Ard
	Benlomond vs. Ben Lomond
	trot-cosey vs. trotcosie (glossary)
	kr<ae>mes vs. kraem (glossary)

	dhuinewassell vs. duinh<'e>wassel vs. duinhewassel

The first may be a misprint for one of the other forms. 

* Markup:

  The following markup has been added:

  Each paragraph begins with two spaces indentation.

_ _	indicates text in italics
= =	indicates texts in small caps (extra emphasis)

---	indicates an em dash.  Longer sequences represent correspondingly
	longer dashes.

<a:>	a umlaut
<a`>	a grave
<ae>	ae ligature
<e'>	e acute
<a`>	e grave
<e^>	e circumflex
<i:>	i dieresis
<l>	l superscript
<ll>	ll superscript
<L>	Pounds sterling
<m>	m superscript
<n>	n suprescript
<oe>	oe ligature
<r>	r superscript
<rs>	rs superscript
<s>	s superscript
<t>	t superscript

<*>	footnote


Revision history:


Version: 1.0	1995-04-03
Version: 1.1	1995-09-15	Some extra spaces removed,
					one mistranscription
Version: 1.2	1996-11-04	Moved <text> to correct place,
				  added <advertisement> and
				  <introduction>


  The transcription and proof-reading was done by Anders
Thulin, Rydsvagen 288, S-582 58 Linkoping, Sweden.  (Email:
ath@linkoping.trab.se)

  As far as I am concerned, this electronical edition is
free, and may be used in any way for any purpose whatever.

  I'd be glad to hear of any errors or omissions you might
find.