The pair of friends had traversed with their usual cordiality the

grassy wilds of Liddesdale, and crossed the opposite part of Cumberland,

emphatically called The Waste. In these solitary regions the cattle

under the charge of our drovers derived their subsistence chiefly by

picking their food as they went along the drove-road, or sometimes by

the tempting opportunity of a START AND OWERLOUP, or invasion of the

neighbouring pasture, where an occasion presented itself. But now the

scene changed before them. They were descending towards a fertile and

enclosed country, where no such liberties could be taken with impunity,

or without a previous arrangement and bargain with the possessors of the

ground. This was more especially the case, as a great northern fair was

upon the eve of taking place, where both the Scotch and English drover

expected to dispose of a part of their cattle, which it was desirable

to produce in the market rested and in good order. Fields were therefore

difficult to be obtained, and only upon high terms. This necessity

occasioned a temporary separation betwixt the two friends, who went to

bargain, each as he could, for the separate accommodation of his herd.

Unhappily it chanced that both of them, unknown to each other, thought

of bargaining for the ground they wanted on the property of a country

gentleman of some fortune, whose estate lay in the neighbourhood. The

English drover applied to the bailiff on the property, who was known

to him. It chanced that the Cumbrian Squire, who had entertained some

suspicions of his manager’s honesty, was taking occasional measures

to ascertain how far they were well founded, and had desired that

any enquiries about his enclosures, with a view to occupy them for a

temporary purpose, should be referred to himself. As however, Mr. Ireby

had gone the day before upon a journey of some miles distance to the

northward, the bailiff chose to consider the check upon his full powers

as for the time removed, and concluded that he should best consult his

master’s interest, and perhaps his own, in making an agreement with

Harry Wakefield. Meanwhile, ignorant of what his comrade was doing,

Robin Oig, on his side, chanced to be overtaken by a good-looking smart

little man upon a pony, most knowingly hogged and cropped, as was then

the fashion, the rider wearing tight leather breeches, and long-necked

bright spurs. This cavalier asked one or two pertinent questions about

markets and the price of stock. So Robin, seeing him a well-judging

civil gentleman, took the freedom to ask him whether he could let him

know if there was any grass-land to be let in that neighbourhood, for

the temporary accommodation of his drove. He could not have put the

question to more willing ears. The gentleman of the buckskins was the

proprietor, with whose bailiff Harry Wakefield had dealt, or was in the

act of dealing.

“Thou art in good luck, my canny Scot,” said Mr. Ireby, “to have spoken

to me, for I see thy cattle have done their day’s work, and I have at

my disposal the only field within three miles that is to be let in these

parts.”

“The drove can pe gang two, three, four miles very pratty weel

indeed”--said the cautious Highlander; “put what would his honour pe

axing for the peasts pe the head, if she was to tak the park for twa or

three days?”

“We won’t differ, Sawney, if you let me have six stots for winterers, in

the way of reason.”

“And which peasts wad your honour pe for having?”

“Why--let me see--the two black--the dun one--yon doddy--him with the

twisted horn--the brockit--How much by the head?”

“Ah,” said Robin, “your honour is a shudge--a real shudge. I couldna

have set off the pest six peasts petter mysel’--me that ken them as if

they were my pairns, puir things.”

“Well, how much per head, Sawney?” continued Mr. Ireby.

“It was high markets at Doune and Falkirk,” answered Robin.

And thus the conversation proceeded, until they had agreed on the

PRIX JUSTE for the bullocks, the Squire throwing in the temporary

accommodation of the enclosure for the cattle into the boot, and Robin

making, as he thought, a very good bargain, provided the grass was but

tolerable. The Squire walked his pony alongside of the drove, partly

to show him the way, and see him put into possession of the field, and

partly to learn the latest news of the northern markets.

They arrived at the field, and the pasture seemed excellent. But what

was their surprise when they saw the bailiff quietly inducting the

cattle of Harry Wakefield into the grassy Goshen which had just been

assigned to those of Robin Oig M’Combich by the proprietor himself!

Squire Ireby set spurs to his horse, dashed up to his servant, and

learning what had passed between the parties, briefly informed

the English drover that his bailiff had let the ground without his

authority, and that he might seek grass for his cattle wherever he

would, since he was to get none there. At the same time he rebuked his

servant severely for having transgressed his commands, and ordered him

instantly to assist in ejecting the hungry and weary cattle of Harry

Wakefield, which were just beginning to enjoy a meal of unusual plenty,

and to introduce those of his comrade, whom the English drover now began

to consider as a rival.

The feelings which arose in Wakefield’s mind would have induced him

to resist Mr. Ireby’s decision; but every Englishman has a tolerably

accurate sense of law and justice, and John Fleecebumpkin, the bailiff,

having acknowledged that he had exceeded his commission, Wakefield saw

nothing else for it than to collect his hungry and disappointed charge,

and drive them on to seek quarters elsewhere. Robin Oig saw what had

happened with regret, and hastened to offer to his English friend

to share with him the disputed possession. But Wakefield’s pride was

severely hurt, and he answered disdainfully, “Take it all, man--take it

all; never make two bites of a cherry. Thou canst talk over the gentry,

and blear a plain man’s eye. Out upon you, man. I would not kiss any

man’s dirty latchets for leave to bake in his oven.”

Robin Oig, sorry but not surprised at his comrade’s displeasure,

hastened to entreat his friend to wait but an hour till he had gone to

the Squire’s house to receive payment for the cattle he had sold, and

he would come back and help him to drive the cattle into some convenient

place of rest, and explain to him the whole mistake they had both of

them fallen into. But the Englishman continued indignant: “Thou hast

been selling, hast thou? Ay, ay; thou is a cunning lad for kenning the

hours of bargaining. Go to the devil with thyself, for I will ne’er see

thy fause loon’s visage again--thou should be ashamed to look me in the

face.”

“I am ashamed to look no man in the face,” said Robin Oig, something

moved; “and, moreover, I will look you in the face this blessed day, if

you will bide at the Clachan down yonder.”

“Mayhap you had as well keep away,” said his comrade; and turning

his back on his former friend, he collected his unwilling associates,

assisted by the bailiff, who took some real and some affected interest

in seeing Wakefield accommodated.

After spending some time in negotiating with more than one of

the neighbouring farmers, who could not, or would not, afford the

accommodation desired, Henry Wakefield at last, and in his necessity,

accomplished his point by means of the landlord of the alehouse at which

Robin Oig and he had agreed to pass the night, when they first separated

from each other. Mine host was content to let him turn his cattle on a

piece of barren moor, at a price little less than the bailiff had asked

for the disputed enclosure; and the wretchedness of the pasture, as well

as the price paid for it, were set down as exaggerations of the breach

of faith and friendship of his Scottish crony. This turn of Wakefield’s

passions was encouraged by the bailiff, (who had his own reasons for

being offended against poor Robin, as having been the unwitting cause of

his falling into disgrace with his master), as well as by the innkeeper,

and two or three chance guests, who stimulated the drover in his

resentment against his quondam associate--some from the ancient grudge

against the Scots, which, when it exists anywhere, is to be found

lurking in the Border counties, and some from the general love of

mischief, which characterises mankind in all ranks of life, to the

honour of Adam’s children be it spoken. Good John Barleycorn also, who

always heightens and exaggerates the prevailing passions, be they

angry or kindly, was not wanting in his offices on this occasion, and

confusion to false friends and hard masters was pledged in more than one

tankard.

In the meanwhile Mr. Ireby found some amusement in detaining the

northern drover at his ancient hall. He caused a cold round of beef

to be placed before the Scot in the butler’s pantry, together with a

foaming tankard of home-brewed, and took pleasure in seeing the hearty

appetite with which these unwonted edibles were discussed by Robin Oig

M’Combich. The Squire himself lighting his pipe, compounded between his

patrician dignity and his love of agricultural gossip, by walking up and

down while he conversed with his guest.

“I passed another drove,” said the Squire, “with one of your countrymen

behind them. They were something less beasts than your drove--doddies

most of them. A big man was with them. None of your kilts, though, but a

decent pair of breeches. D’ye know who he may be?”

“Hout aye; that might, could, and would be Hughie Morrison. I didna

think he could hae peen sae weel up. He has made a day on us; but his

Argyleshires will have wearied shanks. How far was he pehind?”

“I think about six or seven miles,” answered the Squire, “for I passed

them at the Christenbury Crag, and I overtook you at the Hollan Bush. If

his beasts be leg-weary, he will be maybe selling bargains.”

“Na, na, Hughie Morrison is no the man for pargains--ye maun come to

some Highland body like Robin Oig hersel’ for the like of these. Put I

maun pe wishing you goot night, and twenty of them, let alane ane, and I

maun down to the Clachan to see if the lad Harry Waakfelt is out of his

humdudgeons yet.”

The party at the alehouse were still in full talk, and the treachery

of Robin Oig still the theme of conversation, when the supposed culprit

entered the apartment. His arrival, as usually happens in such a case,

put an instant stop to the discussion of which he had furnished the

subject, and he was received by the company assembled with that chilling

silence which, more than a thousand exclamations, tells an intruder

that he is unwelcome. Surprised and offended, but not appalled by the

reception which he experienced, Robin entered with an undaunted and even

a haughty air, attempted no greeting, as he saw he was received with

none, and placed himself by the side of the fire, a little apart from

a table at which Harry Wakefield, the bailiff, and two or three other

persons, were seated. The ample Cumbrian kitchen would have afforded

plenty of room, even for a larger separation.

Robin thus seated, proceeded to light his pipe, and call for a pint of

twopenny.

“We have no twopence ale,” answered Ralph Heskett the landlord; “but as

thou find’st thy own tobacco, it’s like thou mayst find thy own liquor

too--it’s the wont of thy country, I wot.”

“Shame, goodman,” said the landlady, a blithe, bustling housewife,

hastening herself to supply the guest with liquor. “Thou knowest well

enow what the strange man wants, and it’s thy trade to be civil, man.

Thou shouldst know, that if the Scot likes a small pot, he pays a sure

penny.”

Without taking any notice of this nuptial dialogue, the Highlander took

the flagon in his hand, and addressing the company generally, drank the

interesting toast of “Good markets” to the party assembled.

“The better that the wind blew fewer dealers from the north,” said

one of the farmers, “and fewer Highland runts to eat up the English

meadows.”

“Saul of my pody, put you are wrang there, my friend,” answered Robin,

with composure; “it is your fat Englishmen that eat up our Scots cattle,

puir things.”

“I wish there was a summat to eat up their drovers,” said another; “a

plain Englishman canna make bread within a kenning of them.”

“Or an honest servant keep his master’s favour but they will come

sliding in between him and the sunshine,” said the bailiff.

“If these pe jokes,” said Robin Oig, with the same composure, “there is

ower mony jokes upon one man.”

“It is no joke, but downright earnest,” said the bailiff. “Harkye, Mr.

Robin Ogg, or whatever is your name, it’s right we should tell you that

we are all of one opinion, and that is, that you, Mr. Robin Ogg, have

behaved to our friend Mr. Harry Wakefield here, like a raff and a

blackguard.”

“Nae doubt, nae doubt,” answered Robin, with great composure; “and you

are a set of very pretty judges, for whose prains or pehaviour I wad

not gie a pinch of sneeshing. If Mr. Harry Waakfelt kens where he is

wranged, he kens where he may be righted.”

“He speaks truth,” said Wakefield, who had listened to what passed,

divided between the offence which he had taken at Robin’s late

behaviour, and the revival of his habitual feelings of regard.

He now rose, and went towards Robin, who got up from his seat as he

approached, and held out his hand.

“That’s right, Harry--go it--serve him out,” resounded on all

sides--“tip him the nailer--show him the mill.”

“Hold your peace all of you, and be--,” said Wakefield; and then

addressing his comrade, he took him by the extended hand, with something

alike of respect and defiance. “Robin,” he said, “thou hast used me ill

enough this day; but if you mean, like a frank fellow, to shake hands,

and take a tussle for love on the sod, why I’ll forgie thee, man, and we

shall be better friends than ever.”

“And would it not pe petter to pe cood friends without more of the

matter?” said Robin; “we will be much petter friendships with our panes

hale than proken.”

Harry Wakefield dropped the hand of his friend, or rather threw it from

him.

“I did not think I had been keeping company for three years with a

coward.”

“Coward pelongs to none of my name,” said Robin, whose eyes began to

kindle, but keeping the command of his temper. “It was no coward’s legs

or hands, Harry Waakfelt, that drew you out of the fords of Frew,

when you was drifting ower the plack rock, and every eel in the river

expected his share of you.”

“And that is true enough, too,” said the Englishman, struck by the

appeal.

“Adzooks!” exclaimed the bailiff--“sure Harry Wakefield, the nattiest

lad at Whitson Tryste, Wooler Fair, Carlisle Sands, or Stagshaw Bank, is

not going to show white feather? Ah, this comes of living so long with

kilts and bonnets--men forget the use of their daddles.”

“I may teach you, Master Fleecebumpkin, that I have not lost the use of

mine,” said Wakefield and then went on. “This will never do, Robin. We

must have a turn-up, or we shall be the talk of the country-side. I’ll

be d--d if I hurt thee--I’ll put on the gloves gin thou like. Come,

stand forward like a man.”

“To be peaten like a dog,” said Robin; “is there any reason in that? If

you think I have done you wrong, I’ll go before your shudge, though I

neither know his law nor his language.”

A general cry of “No, no--no law, no lawyer! a bellyful and be friends,”

was echoed by the bystanders.

“But,” continued Robin, “if I am to fight, I have no skill to fight like

a jackanapes, with hands and nails.”

“How would you fight then?” said his antagonist; “though I am thinking

it would be hard to bring you to the scratch anyhow.”

“I would fight with proadswords, and sink point on the first plood

drawn--like a gentlemans.”

A loud shout of laughter followed the proposal, which indeed had rather

escaped from poor Robin’s swelling heart, than been the dictate of his

sober judgment.

“Gentleman, quotha!” was echoed on all sides, with a shout of

unextinguishable laughter; “a very pretty gentleman, God wot.--Canst get

two swords for the gentleman to fight with, Ralph Heskett?”

“No, but I can send to the armoury at Carlisle, and lend them two forks,

to be making shift with in the meantime.”

“Tush, man,” said another, “the bonny Scots come into the world with the

blue bonnet on their heads, and dirk and pistol at their belt.”

“Best send post,” said Mr. Fleecebumpkin, “to the Squire of Corby

Castle, to come and stand second to the GENTLEMAN.”

In the midst of this torrent of general ridicule, the Highlander

instinctively griped beneath the folds of his plaid,

“But it’s better not,” he said in his own language. “A hundred curses on

the swine-eaters, who know neither decency nor civility!”

“Make room, the pack of you,” he said, advancing to the door.

But his former friend interposed his sturdy bulk, and opposed his

leaving the house; and when Robin Oig attempted to make his way by

force, he hit him down on the floor, with as much ease as a boy bowls

down a nine-pin.

“A ring, a ring!” was now shouted, until the dark rafters, and the hams

that hung on them, trembled again, and the very platters on the BINK

clattered against each other. “Well done, Harry”--“Give it him home,

Harry”--“Take care of him now--he sees his own blood!”

Such were the exclamations, while the Highlander, starting from the

ground, all his coldness and caution lost in frantic rage, sprung at his

antagonist with the fury, the activity, and the vindictive purpose of

an incensed tiger-cat. But when could rage encounter science and temper?

Robin Oig again went down in the unequal contest; and as the blow was

necessarily a severe one, he lay motionless on the floor of the kitchen.

The landlady ran to offer some aid, but Mr. Fleecebumpkin would not

permit her to approach.

“Let him alone,” he said, “he will come to within time, and come up to

the scratch again. He has not got half his broth yet.”

“He has got all I mean to give him, though,” said his antagonist, whose

heart began to relent towards his old associate; “and I would rather by

half give the rest to yourself, Mr. Fleecebumpkin, for you pretend to

know a thing or two, and Robin had not art enough even to peel before

setting to, but fought with his plaid dangling about him.--Stand up,

Robin, my man! All friends now; and let me hear the man that will speak

a word against you, or your country, for your sake.”

Robin Oig was still under the dominion of his passion, and eager to

renew the onset; but being withheld on the one side by the peacemaking

Dame Heskett, and on the other, aware that Wakefield no longer meant to

renew the combat, his fury sunk into gloomy sullenness.

“Come, come, never grudge so much at it, man,” said the brave-spirited

Englishman, with the placability of his country; “shake hands, and we

will be better friends than ever.”

“Friends!” exclaimed Robin Oig with strong emphasis--“friends! Never.

Look to yourself, Harry Waakfelt.”

“Then the curse of Cromwell on your proud Scots stomach, as the man says

in the play, and you may do your worst, and be d--d; for one man can say

nothing more to another after a tussle, than that he is sorry for it.”

On these terms the friends parted. Robin Oig drew out, in silence, a

piece of money, threw it on the table, and then left the alehouse. But

turning at the door, he shook his hand at Wakefield, pointing with his

forefinger upwards, in a manner which might imply either a threat or a

caution. He then disappeared in the moonlight.

Some words passed after his departure, between the bailiff, who piqued

himself on being a little of a bully, and Harry Wakefield, who, with

generous inconsistency, was now not indisposed to begin a new combat

in defence of Robin Oig’s reputation, “although he could not use his

daddles like an Englishman, as it did not come natural to him.” But

Dame Heskett prevented this second quarrel from coming to a head by

her peremptory interference. “There should be no more fighting in

her house,” she said; “there had been too much already.--And you, Mr.

Wakefield, may live to learn,” she added, “what it is to make a deadly

enemy out of a good friend.”

“Pshaw, dame! Robin Oig is an honest fellow, and will never keep

malice.”

“Do not trust to that; you do not know the dour temper of the Scots,

though you have dealt with them so often. I have a right to know them,

my mother being a Scot.”

“And so is well seen on her daughter,” said Ralph Heskett.

This nuptial sarcasm gave the discourse another turn. Fresh customers

entered the tap-room or kitchen, and others left it. The conversation

turned on the expected markets, and the report of prices from different

parts both of Scotland and England. Treaties were commenced, and Harry

Wakefield was lucky enough to find a chap for a part of his drove,

and at a very considerable profit--an event of consequence more than

sufficient to blot out all remembrances of the unpleasant scuffle in the

earlier part of the day. But there remained one party from whose mind

that recollection could not have been wiped away by the possession of

every head of cattle betwixt Esk and Eden.

This was Robin Oig M’Combich. “That I should have had no weapon,” he

said, “and for the first time in my life! Blighted be the tongue that

bids the Highlander part with the dirk. The dirk--ha! the English blood!

My Muhme’s word! When did her word fall to the ground?”

The recollection of the fatal prophecy confirmed the deadly intention

which instantly sprang up in his mind.

“Ha! Morrison cannot be many miles behind; and if it were an hundred,

what then?”

His impetuous spirit had now a fixed purpose and motive of action, and

he turned the light foot of his country towards the wilds, through which

he knew, by Mr. Ireby’s report, that Morrison was advancing. His mind

was wholly engrossed by the sense of injury--injury sustained from a

friend; and by the desire of vengeance on one whom he now accounted

his most bitter enemy. The treasured ideas of self-importance and

self-opinion--of ideal birth and quality, had become more precious to

him, (like the hoard to the miser) because he could only enjoy them in

secret. But that hoard was pillaged--the idols which he had secretly

worshipped had been desecrated and profaned. Insulted, abused, and

beaten, he was no longer worthy, in his own opinion, of the name

he bore, or the lineage which he belonged to. Nothing was left to

him--nothing but revenge; and as the reflection added a galling spur

to every step, he determined it should be as sudden and signal as the

offence.

When Robin Oig left the door of the alehouse, seven or eight English

miles at least lay betwixt Morrison and him. The advance of the former

was slow, limited by the sluggish pace of his cattle; the latter

left behind him stubble-field and hedgerow, crag and dark heath, all

glittering with frost-rime in the broad November moonlight, at the rate

of six miles an hour. And now the distant lowing of Morrison’s cattle is

heard; and now they are seen creeping like moles in size and slowness

of motion on the broad face of the moor; and now he meets them--passes

them, and stops their conductor.

“May good betide us,” said the Westlander. “Is this you, Robin

M’Combich, or your wraith?”

“It is Robin Oig M’Combich,” answered the Highlander, “and it is not.

But never mind that, put pe giving me the skene-dhu.”

“What! you are for back to the Highlands! The devil! Have you selt all

off before the fair? This beats all for quick markets!”

“I have not sold--I am not going north--maype I will never go north

again. Give me pack my dirk, Hugh Morrison, or there will pe words

petween us.”

“Indeed, Robin, I’ll be better advised before I gie it back to you; it

is a wanchancy weapon in a Highlandman’s hand, and I am thinking you

will be about some harns-breaking.”

“Prutt, trutt! let me have my weapon,” said Robin Oig impatiently.

“Hooly and fairly,” said his well-meaning friend. “I’ll tell you

what will do better than these dirking doings. Ye ken Highlander, and

Lowlander, and Border-men are a’ ae man’s bairns when you are over

the Scots dyke. See, the Eskdale callants, and fighting Charlie of

Liddesdale, and the Lockerby lads, and the four Dandies of Lustruther,

and a wheen mair grey plaids, are coming up behind; and if you are

wranged, there is the hand of a Manly Morrison, we’ll see you righted,

if Carlisle and Stanwix baith took up the feud.”

“To tell you the truth,” said Robin Oig, desirous of eluding the

suspicions of his friend, “I have enlisted with a party of the Black

Watch, and must march off to-morrow morning.”

“Enlisted! Were you mad or drunk? You must buy yourself off. I can lend

you twenty notes, and twenty to that, if the drove sell.”

“I thank you--thank ye, Hughie; but I go with good-will the gate that I

am going. So the dirk, the dirk!”

“There it is for you then, since less wunna serve. But think on what

I was saying. Waes me, it will be sair news in the braes of Balquidder

that Robin Oig M’Combich should have run an ill gate, and ta’en on.”

“Ill news in Balquidder, indeed!” echoed poor Robin. “But Cot speed you,

Hughie, and send you good marcats. Ye winna meet with Robin Oig again,

either at tryste or fair.”

So saying, he shook hastily the hand of his acquaintance, and set out in

the direction from which he had advanced, with the spirit of his former

pace.

“There is something wrang with the lad,” muttered the Morrison to

himself; “but we will maybe see better into it the morn’s morning.”

But long ere the morning dawned, the catastrophe of our tale had taken

place. It was two hours after the affray had happened, and it was

totally forgotten by almost every one, when Robin Oig returned to

Heskett’s inn. The place was filled at once by various sorts of men, and

with noises corresponding to their character. There were the grave low

sounds of men engaged in busy traffic, with the laugh, the song, and

the riotous jest of those who had nothing to do but to enjoy themselves.

Among the last was Harry Wakefield, who, amidst a grinning group of

smock-frocks, hobnailed shoes, and jolly English physiognomies, was

trolling forth the old ditty,--

“What though my name be Roger,

Who drives the plough and cart--”

when he was interrupted by a well-known voice saying in a high and stern

voice, marked by the sharp Highland accent, “Harry Waakfelt--if you be a

man stand up!”

“What is the matter?--what is it?” the guests demanded of each other.

“It is only a d--d Scotsman,” said Fleecebumpkin, who was by this time

very drunk, “whom Harry Wakefield helped to his broth to-day, who is now

come to have HIS CAULD KAIL het again.”

“Harry Waakfelt,” repeated the same ominous summons, “stand up, if you

be a man!”

There is something in the tone of deep and concentrated passion, which

attracts attention and imposes awe, even by the very sound. The guests

shrunk back on every side, and gazed at the Highlander as he stood

in the middle of them, his brows bent, and his features rigid with

resolution.

“I will stand up with all my heart, Robin, my boy, but it shall be to

shake hands with you, and drink down all unkindness. It is not the fault

of your heart, man, that you don’t know how to clench your hands.”

By this time he stood opposite to his antagonist, his open and

unsuspecting look strangely contrasted with the stern purpose, which

gleamed wild, dark, and vindictive in the eyes of the Highlander.

“‘Tis not thy fault, man, that, not having the luck to be an Englishman,

thou canst not fight more than a school-girl.”

“I can fight,” answered Robin Oig sternly, but calmly, “and you shall

know it. You, Harry Waakfelt, showed me to-day how the Saxon churls

fight; I show you now how the Highland Dunnie-wassel fights.”

He seconded the word with the action, and plunged the dagger, which he

suddenly displayed, into the broad breast of the English yeoman, with

such fatal certainty and force that the hilt made a hollow sound against

the breast-bone, and the double-edged point split the very heart of

his victim. Harry Wakefield fell and expired with a single groan. His

assassin next seized the bailiff by the collar, and offered the bloody

poniard to his throat, whilst dread and surprise rendered the man

incapable of defence.

“It were very just to lay you peside him,” he said, “but the blood of a

pase pickthank shall never mix on my father’s dirk, with that of a brave

man.”

As he spoke, he cast the man from him with so much force that he fell on

the floor, while Robin, with his other hand, threw the fatal weapon into

the blazing turf-fire.

“There,” he said, “take me who likes--and let fire cleanse blood if it

can.”

The pause of astonishment still continuing, Robin Oig asked for a

peace-officer, and a constable having stepped out, he surrendered

himself to his custody.

“A bloody night’s work you have made of it,” said the constable.

“Your own fault,” said the Highlander. “Had you kept his hands off me

twa hours since, he would have been now as well and merry as he was twa

minutes since.”

“It must be sorely answered,” said the peace-officer.

“Never you mind that--death pays all debts; it will pay that too.”

The horror of the bystanders began now to give way to indignation, and

the sight of a favourite companion murdered in the midst of them, the

provocation being, in their opinion, so utterly inadequate to the excess

of vengeance, might have induced them to kill the perpetrator of the

deed even upon the very spot. The constable, however, did his duty on

this occasion, and with the assistance of some of the more reasonable

persons present, procured horses to guard the prisoner to Carlisle, to

abide his doom at the next assizes. While the escort was preparing,

the prisoner neither expressed the least interest, nor attempted the

slightest reply. Only, before he was carried from the fatal apartment,

he desired to look at the dead body, which, raised from the floor,

had been deposited upon the large table (at the head of which Harry

Wakefield had presided but a few minutes before, full of life, vigour,

and animation), until the surgeons should examine the mortal wound. The

face of the corpse was decently covered with a napkin. To the surprise

and horror of the bystanders, which displayed itself in a general AH!

drawn through clenched teeth and half-shut lips, Robin Oig removed the

cloth, and gazed with a mournful but steady eye on the lifeless visage,

which had been so lately animated that the smile of good-humoured

confidence in his own strength, of conciliation at once and contempt

towards his enemy, still curled his lip. While those present expected

that the wound, which had so lately flooded the apartment with gore,

would send forth fresh streams at the touch of the homicide, Robin Oig

replaced the covering with the brief exclamation, “He was a pretty man!”

My story is nearly ended. The unfortunate Highlander stood his trial

at Carlisle. I was myself present, and as a young Scottish lawyer, or

barrister at least, and reputed a man of some quality, the politeness of

the Sheriff of Cumberland offered me a place on the bench. The facts

of the case were proved in the manner I have related them; and whatever

might be at first the prejudice of the audience against a crime so

un-English as that of assassination from revenge, yet when the rooted

national prejudices of the prisoner had been explained, which made him

consider himself as stained with indelible dishonour, when subjected to

personal violence--when his previous patience, moderation, and endurance

were considered--the generosity of the English audience was inclined

to regard his crime as the wayward aberration of a false idea of honour

rather than as flowing from a heart naturally savage, or perverted by

habitual vice. I shall never forget the charge of the venerable judge to

the jury, although not at that time liable to be much affected either by

that which was eloquent or pathetic.

“We have had,” he said, “in the previous part of our duty” (alluding

to some former trials), “to discuss crimes which infer disgust and

abhorrence, while they call down the well-merited vengeance of the law.

It is now our still more melancholy task to apply its salutary though

severe enactments to a case of a very singular character, in which

the crime (for a crime it is, and a deep one) arose less out of the

malevolence of the heart, than the error of the understanding--less from

any idea of committing wrong, than from an unhappily perverted notion of

that which is right. Here we have two men, highly esteemed, it has been

stated, in their rank of life, and attached, it seems, to each other as

friends, one of whose lives has been already sacrificed to a punctilio,

and the other is about to prove the vengeance of the offended laws;

and yet both may claim our commiseration at least, as men acting in

ignorance of each other’s national prejudices, and unhappily misguided

rather than voluntarily erring from the path of right conduct.

“In the original cause of the misunderstanding, we must in justice give

the right to the prisoner at the bar. He had acquired possession of the

enclosure, which was the object of competition, by a legal contract

with the proprietor, Mr. Ireby; and yet, when accosted with reproaches

undeserved in themselves, and galling, doubtless, to a temper at least

sufficiently susceptible of passion, he offered notwithstanding,

to yield up half his acquisition, for the sake of peace and good

neighbourhood, and his amicable proposal was rejected with scorn. Then

follows the scene at Mr. Heskett the publican’s, and you will observe

how the stranger was treated by the deceased, and, I am sorry to

observe, by those around, who seem to have urged him in a manner which

was aggravating in the highest degree. While he asked for peace and

for composition, and offered submission to a magistrate, or to a mutual

arbiter, the prisoner was insulted by a whole company, who seem on this

occasion to have forgotten the national maxim of ‘fair play;’ and while

attempting to escape from the place in peace, he was intercepted, struck

down, and beaten to the effusion of his blood.

“Gentlemen of the jury, it was with some impatience that I heard my

learned brother who opened the case for the crown give an unfavourable

turn to the prisoner’s conduct on this occasion. He said the prisoner

was afraid to encounter his antagonist in fair fight, or to submit to

the laws of the ring; and that therefore, like a cowardly Italian, he

had recourse to his fatal stiletto, to murder the man whom he dared not

meet in manly encounter. I observed the prisoner shrink from this part

of the accusation with the abhorrence natural to a brave man; and as I

would wish to make my words impressive when I point his real crime, I

must secure his opinion of my impartiality by rebutting everything that

seems to me a false accusation. There can be no doubt that the prisoner

is a man of resolution--too much resolution. I wish to Heaven that he

had less--or, rather that he had had a better education to regulate it.

“Gentlemen, as to the laws my brother talks of, they may be known in the

bull-ring, or the bear-garden, or the cock-pit, but they are not known

here. Or, if they should be so far admitted as furnishing a species of

proof that no malice was intended in this sort of combat, from which

fatal accidents do sometimes arise, it can only be so admitted when both

parties are IN PARI CASU, equally acquainted with, and equally willing

to refer themselves to, that species of arbitrament. But will it be

contended that a man of superior rank and education is to be subjected,

or is obliged to subject himself, to this coarse and brutal strife,

perhaps in opposition to a younger, stronger, or more skilful opponent?

Certainly even the pugilistic code, if founded upon the fair play of

Merry Old England, as my brother alleges it to be, can contain nothing

so preposterous. And, gentlemen of the jury, if the laws would support

an English gentleman, wearing, we will suppose, his sword, in defending

himself by force against a violent personal aggression of the nature

offered to this prisoner, they will not less protect a foreigner and a

stranger, involved in the same unpleasing circumstances. If, therefore,

gentlemen of the jury, when thus pressed by a VIS MAJOR, the object of

obloquy to a whole company, and of direct violence from one at least,

and, as he might reasonably apprehend, from more, the panel had produced

the weapon which his countrymen, as we are informed, generally carry

about their persons, and the same unhappy circumstance had ensued which

you have heard detailed in evidence, I could not in my conscience have

asked from you a verdict of murder. The prisoner’s personal defence

might indeed, even in that case, have gone more or less beyond the

MODERAMEN INCULPATAE TUTELAE, spoken of by lawyers; but the punishment

incurred would have been that of manslaughter, not of murder. I beg

leave to add that I should have thought this milder species of charge

was demanded in the case supposed, notwithstanding the statute of James

I. cap. 8, which takes the case of slaughter by stabbing with a short

weapon, even without MALICE PREPENSE, out of the benefit of clergy.

For this statute of stabbing, as it is termed, arose out of a temporary

cause; and as the real guilt is the same, whether the slaughter be

committed by the dagger, or by sword or pistol, the benignity of the

modern law places them all on the same, or nearly the same, footing.

“But, gentlemen of the jury, the pinch of the case lies in the interval

of two hours interposed betwixt the reception of the injury and

the fatal retaliation. In the heat of affray and CHAUDE MELEE, law,

compassionating the infirmities of humanity, makes allowance for the

passions which rule such a stormy moment--for the sense of present

pain, for the apprehension of further injury, for the difficulty of

ascertaining with due accuracy the precise degree of violence which is

necessary to protect the person of the individual, without annoying or

injuring the assailant more than is absolutely necessary. But the time

necessary to walk twelve miles, however speedily performed, was an

interval sufficient for the prisoner to have recollected himself; and

the violence with which he carried his purpose into effect, with so many

circumstances of deliberate determination, could neither be induced by

the passion of anger, nor that of fear. It was the purpose and the act

of predetermined revenge, for which law neither can, will, nor ought to

have sympathy or allowance.

“It is true, we may repeat to ourselves, in alleviation of this poor

man’s unhappy action, that his case is a very peculiar one. The country

which he inhabits was, in the days of many now alive, inaccessible

to the laws, not only of England, which have not even yet penetrated

thither, but to those to which our neighbours of Scotland are subjected,

and which must be supposed to be, and no doubt actually are, founded

upon the general principles of justice and equity which pervade every

civilized country. Amongst their mountains, as among the North American

Indians, the various tribes were wont to make war upon each other, so

that each man was obliged to go armed for his own protection. These men,

from the ideas which they entertained of their own descent and of

their own consequence, regarded themselves as so many cavaliers or

men-at-arms, rather than as the peasantry of a peaceful country. Those

laws of the ring, as my brother terms them, were unknown to the race of

warlike mountaineers; that decision of quarrels by no other weapons

than those which nature has given every man must to them have seemed as

vulgar and as preposterous as to the NOBLESSE of France. Revenge, on the

other hand, must have been as familiar to their habits of society as to

those of the Cherokees or Mohawks. It is indeed, as described by Bacon,

at bottom a kind of wild untutored justice; for the fear of retaliation

must withhold the hands of the oppressor where there is no regular law

to check daring violence. But though all this may be granted, and though

we may allow that, such having been the case of the Highlands in the

days of the prisoner’s fathers, many of the opinions and sentiments must

still continue to influence the present generation, it cannot, and ought

not, even in this most painful case, to alter the administration of the

law, either in your hands, gentlemen of the jury, or in mine. The first

object of civilisation is to place the general protection of the law,

equally administered, in the room of that wild justice which every man

cut and carved for himself, according to the length of his sword and

the strength of his arm. The law says to the subjects, with a voice only

inferior to that of the Deity, ‘Vengeance is mine.’ The instant that

there is time for passion to cool, and reason to interpose, an injured

party must become aware that the law assumes the exclusive cognisance

of the right and wrong betwixt the parties, and opposes her inviolable

buckler to every attempt of the private party to right himself. I repeat

that this unhappy man ought personally to be the object rather of our

pity than our abhorrence, for he failed in his ignorance, and from

mistaken notions of honour. But his crime is not the less that of

murder, gentlemen, and, in your high and important office, it is your

duty so to find. Englishmen have their angry passions as well as Scots;

and should this man’s action remain unpunished, you may unsheath, under

various pretences, a thousand daggers betwixt the Land’s-End and the

Orkneys.”

The venerable Judge thus ended what, to judge by his apparent emotion,

and by the tears which filled his eyes, was really a painful task. The

jury, according to his instructions, brought in a verdict of Guilty; and

Robin Oig M’Combich, ALIAS McGregor, was sentenced to death, and left

for execution, which took place accordingly. He met his fate with great

firmness, and acknowledged the justice of his sentence. But he repelled

indignantly the observations of those who accused him of attacking an

unarmed man. “I give a life for the life I took,” he said, “and what can

I do more?” [See Note 11.--Robert Donn’s Poems.]

*****

NOTES.

NOTES TO CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE.

Note 1.--HOLYROOD.

The reader may be gratified with Hector Boece’s narrative of the

original foundation of the famous abbey of Holyrood, or the Holy Cross,

as given in Bellenden’s translation:--

“Eftir death of Alexander the first, his brothir David come out of

Ingland, and wes crownit at Scone, the yeir of God MCXXIV yeiris, and

did gret justice, eftir his coronation, in all partis of his realme. He

had na weris during the time of King Hary; and wes so pietuous, that he

sat daylie in judgement, to caus his pure commonis to have justice; and

causit the actionis of his noblis to be decidit be his othir jugis. He

gart ilk juge redres the skaithis that come to the party be his wrang

sentence; throw quhilk, he decorit his realm with mony nobil actis, and

ejeckit the vennomus custome of riotus cheir, quhilk wes inducit afore

be Inglismen, quhen thay com with Quene Margaret; for the samin wes

noisum to al gud maneris, makand his pepil tender and effeminat.

“In the fourt yeir of his regne, this nobill prince come to visie the

madin Castell of Edinburgh. At this time, all the boundis of Scotland

were ful of woddis, lesouris, and medois; for the countre wes more gevin

to store of bestiall, than ony productioun of cornis; and about this

castell was ane gret forest, full of haris, hindis, toddis, and siclike

maner of beistis. Now was the Rude Day cumin, called the Exaltation of

the Croce; and, becaus the samin wes ane hie solempne day, the king past

to his contemplation. Eftir the messis wer done with maist solempnitie

and reverence, comperit afore him mony young and insolent baronis of

Scotland, richt desirus to haif sum plesur and solace, be chace of

hundis in the said forest. At this time wes with the king ane man of

singulare and devoit life, namit Alkwine, channon eftir the ordour of

Sanct Augustine, quhilk well lang time confessoure, afore, to King David

in Ingland, the time that he wes Erle of Huntingtoun and Northumbirland.

This religious man dissuadit the king, be mony reasonis, to pas to this

huntis; and allegit the day wes so solempne, be reverence of the haly

croce, that he suld gif him erar, for that day, to contemplation, than

ony othir exersition. Nochtheles, his dissuasion is litill avalit; for

the king wes finallie so provokit, be inoportune solicitatioun of his

baronis, that he past, nochtwithstanding the solempnite of this day, to

his hountis. At last, quhen he wes cumin throw the vail that lyis to the

gret eist fra the said castell, quhare now lyis the Canongait, the staik

past throw the wod with sic noyis and din of rachis and bugillis, that

all the bestis were rasit fra thair dennis. Now wes the king cumin to

the fute of the crag, and all his nobilis severit, heir and thair, fra

him, at thair game and solace; quhen suddenlie apperit to his sicht the

fairist hart that evir wes sene afore with levand creature. The noyis

and din of this hart rinnand, as apperit, with awful and braid tindis,

maid the kingis hors so effrayit, that na renzeis micht hald him, bot

ran, perforce, ouir mire and mossis, away with the king. Nochtheles, the

hart followit so fast, that he dang baith the king and his hors to the

ground. Than the king kest abak his handis betwix the tindis of this

hart, to haif savit him fra the strak thairof; and the haly croce slaid,

incontinent, in his handis. The hart fled away with gret violence, and

evanist in the same place quhare now springis the Rude Well. The pepil

richt affrayitly, returnit to him out of all partis of the wod, to

comfort him efter his trubill; and fell on kneis, devotly adoring the

haly croce; for it was not cumin but sum hevinly providence, as weill

apperis; for thair is na man can schaw of quhat mater it is of, metal

or tre. Sone eftir, the king returnit to his castell; and in the nicht

following, he was admonist, be ane vision in his sleip, to big ane abbay

of channonis regular in the same place quhare he gat the croce. Als sone

as he was awalkinnit, he schew his visione to Alkwine, his confessoure;

and he na thing suspended his gud mind, bot erar inflammit him with

maist fervent devotion thairto. The king, incontinent, send his traist

servandis in France and Flanderis, and brocht richt crafty masonis to

big this abbay; syne dedicat it in the honour of this haly croce. The

croce remanit continewally in the said abbay, to the time of King David

Bruce; quhilk was unhappily tane with it at Durame, quhare it is haldin

yit in gret veneration.”--BOECE, BOOK 12, CH. 16.

It is by no means clear what Scottish prince first built a palace,

properly so called, in the precincts of this renowned seat of sanctity.

The abbey, endowed by successive sovereigns and many powerful nobles

with munificent gifts of lands and tithes, came, in process of time,

to be one of the most important of the ecclesiastical corporations of

Scotland; and as early as the days of Robert Bruce, parliaments were

held occasionally within its buildings. We have evidence that James

IV. had a royal lodging adjoining to the cloister; but it is generally

agreed that the first considerable edifice for the accommodation of the

royal family erected here was that of James V., anno 1525, great part

of which still remains, and forms the north-western side of the existing

palace. The more modern buildings which complete the quadrangle were

erected by King Charles II. The name of the old conventual church

was used as the parish church of the Canongate from the period of the

Reformation, until James II. claimed it for his chapel royal, and had it

fitted up accordingly in a style of splendour which grievously outraged

the feelings of his Presbyterian subjects. The roof of this fragment of

a once magnificent church fell in in the year 1768, and it has remained

ever since in a state of desolation. For fuller particulars, see the

PROVINCIAL ANTIQUITIES OF SCOTLAND, or the HISTORY OF HOLYROOD, BY MR.

CHARLES MACKIE.

The greater part of this ancient palace is now again occupied by his

Majesty Charles the Tenth of France, and the rest of that illustrious

family, which, in former ages so closely connected by marriage and

alliance with the house of Stewart, seems to have been destined to run a

similar career of misfortune. REQUIESCANT IN PACE!

Note 2.--STEELE, A COVENANTER, SHOT BY CAPTAIN CREICHTON.

The following extract from Swift’s Life of Creichton gives the

particulars of the bloody scene alluded to in the text:--

“Having drank hard one night, I (Creichton) dreamed that I had found

Captain David Steele, a notorious rebel, in one of the five farmers’

houses on a mountain in the shire of Clydesdale, and parish of

Lismahago, within eight miles of Hamilton, a place that I was well

acquainted with. This man was head of the rebels since the affair of

Airs-Moss, having succeeded to Hackston, who had been there taken, and

afterward hanged, as the reader has already heard; for, as to Robert

Hamilton, who was then Commander-in-chief at Bothwell Bridge, he

appeared no more among them, but fled, as it was believed, to Holland.

“Steele, and his father before him, held a farm in the estate of

Hamilton, within two or three miles of that town. When he betook himself

to arms, the farm lay waste, and the Duke could find no other person who

would venture to take it; whereupon his Grace sent several messages to

Steele, to know the reason why he kept the farm waste. The Duke received

no other answer than that he would keep it waste, in spite of him and

the king too; whereupon his Grace, at whose table I had always the

honour to be a welcome guest, desired I would use my endeavours to

destroy that rogue, and I would oblige him for ever.”

*****

“I return to my story. When I awaked out of my dream, as I had done

before in the affair of Wilson (and I desire the same apology I made in

the introduction to these Memoirs may serve for both), I presently rose,

and ordered thirty-six dragoons to be at the place appointed by break

of day. When we arrived thither, I sent a party to each of the five

farmers’ houses. This villain Steele had murdered above forty of the

king’s subjects in cold blood, and, as I was informed, had often laid

snares to entrap me; but it happened that, although he usually kept a

gang to attend him, yet at this time he had none, when he stood in the

greatest need. One of the party found him in one of the farmers’ houses,

just as I happened to dream. The dragoons first searched all the rooms

below without success, till two of them hearing somebody stirring over

their heads, went up a pair of turnpike stairs. Steele had put on his

clothes while the search was making below; the chamber where he lay was

called the Chamber of Deese, [Or chamber of state; so called from the

DAIS, or canopy and elevation of floor, which distinguished the part of

old halls which was occupied by those of high rank. Hence the phrase was

obliquely used to signify state in general.] which is the name given to

a room where the laird lies when he comes to a tenant’s house. Steele

suddenly opening the door, fired a blunderbuss down at the two dragoons,

as they were coming up the stairs; but the bullets grazing against the

side of the turnpike, only wounded, and did not kill them. Then Steele

violently threw himself down the stairs among them, and made towards the

door to save his life, but lost it upon the spot; for the dragoons who

guarded the house dispatched him with their broadswords. I was not with

the party when he was killed, being at that time employed in searching

one of the other houses, but I soon found what had happened, by hearing

the noise of the shot made with the blunderbuss; from whence I returned

straight to Lanark, and immediately sent one of the dragoons express

to General Drummond at Edinburgh.”--SWIFT’S WORKS, VOL.XII. (MEMOIRS OF

CAPTAIN JOHN CREICHTON), pages 57-59, Edit. Edinb. 1824.

Woodrow gives a different account of this exploit:--“In December this

year, (1686), David Steil, in the parish of Lismahagow, was surprised in

the fields by Lieutenant Creichton, and after his surrender of himself

on quarters, he was in a very little time most barbarously shot, and

lies buried in the churchyard there.”

Note 3.--IRON RASP.

The ingenious Mr. R. CHAMBERS’S Traditions of Edinburgh give the

following account of the forgotten rasp or risp:--

“This house had a PIN or RISP at the door, instead of the more modern

convenience--a knocker. The pin, rendered interesting by the figure

which it makes in Scottish song, was formed of a small rod of iron,

twisted or notched, which was placed perpendicularly, starting out a

little from the door, and bore a small ring of the same metal, which an

applicant for admittance drew rapidly up and down the NICKS, so as to

produce a grating sound. Sometimes the rod was simply stretched across

the VIZZYING hole, a convenient aperture through which the porter could

take cognisance of the person applying; in which case it acted also as

a stanchion. These were almost all disused about sixty years ago, when

knockers were generally substituted as more genteel. But knockers at

that time did not long remain in repute, though they have never been

altogether superseded, even by bells, in the Old Town. The comparative

merit of knockers and pins was for a long time a subject of doubt,

and many knockers got their heads twisted off in the course of the

dispute.”--CHAMBERS’S TRADITIONS OF EDINBURGH.

Note 4.--COUNTESS OF EGLINTON.

Susannah Kennedy, daughter of Sir Archibald Kennedy of Cullean, Bart.,

by Elizabeth Lesly, daughter of David Lord Newark, third wife of

Alexander 9th Earl of Eglinton, and mother of the 10th and 11th Earls.

She survived her husband, who died 1729, no less than fifty-seven years,

and died March 1780, in her ninety-first year. Allan Ramsay’s Gentle

Shepherd, published 1726, is dedicated to her, in verse, by Hamilton of

Bangour.

The following account of this distinguished lady is taken from Boswell’s

Life of Johnson by Mr. Croker:--

“Lady Margaret Dalrymple, only daughter of John, Earl of Stair, married

in 1700, to Hugh, third Earl of Loudoun. She died in 1777, aged ONE

HUNDRED. Of this venerable lady, and of the Countess of Eglintoune, whom

Johnson visited next day, he thus speaks in his JOURNEY:--‘Length of

life is distributed impartially to very different modes of life, in very

different climates; and the mountains have no greater examples of age

than the Lowlands, where I was introduced to two ladies of high quality,

one of whom (Lady Loudoun) in her ninety-fourth year, presided at her

table with the full exercise of all her powers, and the other (Lady

Eglintoun) had attained her eighty-fourth year, without any diminution

of her vivacity, and little reason to accuse time of depredations on her

beauty.’”

*****

“Lady Eglintoune, though she was now in her eighty-fifth year, and had

lived in the retirement of the country for almost half a century, was

still a very agreeable woman. She was of the noble house of Kennedy, and

had all the elevation which the consciousness of such birth inspires.

Her figure was majestic, her manners high-bred, her reading extensive,

and her conversation elegant. She had been the admiration of the gay

circles of life, and the patroness of poets. Dr. Johnson was delighted

with his reception here. Her principles in church and state were

congenial with his. She knew all his merit, and had heard much of him

from her son, Earl Alexander, who loved to cultivate the acquaintance of

men of talents in every department.”

*****

“In the course of our conversation this day, it came out that Lady

Eglintoune was married the year before Dr. Johnson was born; upon which

she graciously said to him, that she might have been his mother, and

that she now adopted him, and when we were going away, she embraced him,

saying, ‘My dear son, farewell!’ My friend was much pleased with this

day’s entertainment, and owned that I had done well to force him out.”

*****

“At Sir Alexander Dick’s, from that absence of mind to which every man

is at times subject, I told, in a blundering manner, Lady Eglintoune’s

complimentary adoption of Dr. Johnson as her son; for I unfortunately

stated that her ladyship adopted him as her son, in consequence of her

having been married the year AFTER he was born. Dr. Johnson instantly

corrected me. ‘Sir, don’t you perceive that you are defaming the

Countess? For, supposing me to be her son, and that she was not married

till the year after my birth, I must have been her NATURAL son.’ A young

lady of quality who was present very handsomely said, ‘Might not the

son have justified the fault?’ My friend was much flattered by this

compliment, which he never forgot. When in more than ordinary spirits,

and talking of his journey in Scotland, he has called to me, ‘Boswell,

what was it that the young lady of quality said of me at Sir Alexander

Dick’s?’ Nobody will doubt that I was happy in repeating it.”

Note 5.--EARL OF WINTON.

The incident here alluded to is thus narrated in Nichols’ Progresses of

James I., Vol.III. p.306:--

“The family” (of Winton) “owed its first elevation to the union of Sir

Christopher Seton with a sister of King Robert Bruce. With King James

VI. they acquired great favour, who, having created his brother Earl of

Dunfermline in 1599, made Robert, seventh Lord Seton, Earl of Winton in

1600. Before the King’s accession to the English throne, his Majesty

and the Queen were frequently at Seton, where the Earl kept a very

hospitable table, at which all foreigners of quality were entertained on

their visits to Scotland. His Lordship died in 1603, and was buried on

the 5th of April, on the very day the King left Edinburgh for England.

His Majesty, we are told, was pleased to rest himself at the south-west

round of the orchard of Seton, on the highway, till the funeral was

over, that he might not withdraw the noble company; and he said that he

had lost a good, faithful, and loyal subject.”--NICHOLS’ PROGRESSES OF

K. JAMES I., VOL.III. p.306.

Note 6.--MACGREGOR OF GLENSTRAE.

“The 2 of Octr: (1603) Allaster MacGregor of Glenstrae tane be the laird

Arkynles, bot escapit againe; bot after taken be the Earle of Argyll the

4 of Januarii, and brought to Edr: the 9 of Januar: 1604, wt: 18 mae

of hes friendes MacGregors. He wes convoyit to Berwick be the gaird,

conform to the Earle’s promes; for he promesit to put him out of Scottis

grund: Sua, he keipit an Hielandman’s promes, in respect he sent the

gaird to convoy him out of Scottis grund; bot yai wer not directit to

pairt wt: him, bot to fetche him bak againe. The 18 of Januar, he came

at evin againe to Edinburghe; and upone the 20 day, he was hangit at the

crosse, and ij of his freindes and name, upon ane gallows: himself

being chieff, he was hangit his awin hight above the rest of hes

freindis.”--BIRRELL’S DIARY, (IN DALZELL’S FRAGMENTS OF SCOTTISH

HISTORY),pp.60,61.

NOTES TO THE HIGHLAND WIDOW.

Note 7.--LOCH AWE.

“Loch Awe, upon the banks of which the scene of action took place, is

thirty-four miles in length. The north side is bounded by wide muirs and

inconsiderable hills, which occupy an extent of country from twelve to

twenty miles in breadth, and the whole of this space is enclosed as

by circumvallation. Upon the north it is barred by Loch Eitive, on the

south by Loch Awe, and on the east by the dreadful pass of Brandir,

through which an arm of the latter lake opens, at about four miles from

its eastern extremity, and discharges the river Awe into the former.

The pass is about three miles in length; its east side is bounded by the

almost inaccessible steeps which form the base of the vast and

rugged mountain of Cruachan. The crags rise in some places almost

perpendicularly from the water, and for their chief extent show no space

nor level at their feet, but a rough and narrow edge of stony beach.

Upon the whole of these cliffs grows a thick and interwoven wood of

all kinds of trees, both timber, dwarf, and coppice; no track existed

through the wilderness, but a winding path, which sometimes crept along

the precipitous height, and sometimes descended in a straight pass along

the margin of the water. Near the extremity of the defile, a narrow

level opened between the water and the crag; but a great part of this,

as well as of the preceding steeps, was formerly enveloped in a thicket,

which showed little facility to the feet of any but the martens and wild

cats. Along the west side of the pass lies a wall of sheer and barren

crags. From behind they rise in rough, uneven, and heathy declivities,

out of the wide muir before mentioned, between Loch Eitive and Loch Awe;

but in front they terminate abruptly in the most frightful precipices,

which form the whole side of the pass, and descend at one fall into the

water which fills its trough. At the north end of the barrier, and at

the termination of the pass, lies that part of the cliff which is called

Craiganuni; at its foot the arm of the lake gradually contracts its

water to a very narrow space, and at length terminates at two rocks

(called the Rocks of Brandir), which form a strait channel, something

resembling the lock of a canal. From this outlet there is a continual

descent towards Loch Eitive, and from hence the river Awe pours out its

current in a furious stream, foaming over a bed broken with holes, and

cumbered with masses of granite and whinstone.

“If ever there was a bridge near Craiganuni in ancient times, it must

have been at the Rocks of Brandir. From the days of Wallace to those of

General Wade, there were never passages of this kind but in places of

great necessity, too narrow for a boat, and too wide for a leap; even

then they were but an unsafe footway formed of the trunks of trees

placed transversely from rock to rock, unstripped of their bark, and

destitute of either plank or rail. For such a structure there is

no place in the neighbourhood of Craiganuni but at the rocks above

mentioned. In the lake and on the river the water is far too wide; but

at the strait the space is not greater than might be crossed by a tall

mountain pine, and the rocks on either side are formed by nature like a

pier. That this point was always a place of passage is rendered probable

by its facility and the use of recent times. It is not long since it was

the common gate of the country on either side the river and the pass:

the mode of crossing is yet in the memory of people living, and was

performed by a little currach moored on either side the water, and a

stout cable fixed across the stream from bank to bank, by which the

passengers drew themselves across in the manner still practised in

places of the same nature. It is no argument against the existence of

a bridge in former times that the above method only existed in ours,

rather than a passage of that kind, which would seem the more improved

expedient. The contradiction is sufficiently accounted for by the decay

of timber in the neighbourhood. Of old, both oaks and firs of an immense

size abounded within a very inconsiderable distance; but it is now many

years since the destruction of the forests of Glen Eitive and Glen Urcha

has deprived the country of all the trees of sufficient size to cross

the strait of Brandir; and it is probable that the currach was not

introduced till the want of timber had disenabled the inhabitants of the

country from maintaining a bridge. It only further remains to be noticed

that at some distance below the Rocks of Brandir there was formerly a

ford, which was used for cattle in the memory of people living; from the

narrowness of the passage, the force of the stream, and the broken

bed of the river, it was, however, a dangerous pass, and could only

be attempted with safety at leisure and by experience.”--NOTES TO THE

BRIDAL OF CAOLCHAIRN.

Note 8.--BATTLE BETWIXT THE ARMIES OF THE BRUCE AND MACDOUGAL OF LORN.

“But the King, whose dear-bought experience in war had taught him

extreme caution, remained in the Braes of Balquhidder till he had

acquired by his spies and outskirries a perfect knowledge of the

disposition of the army of Lorn, and the intention of its leader. He

then divided his force into two columns, entrusting the command of the

first, in which he placed his archers and lightest armed troops, to Sir

James Douglas, whilst he himself took the leading of the other, which

consisted principally of his knights and barons. On approaching the

defile, Bruce dispatched Sir James Douglas by a pathway which the enemy

had neglected to occupy, with directions to advance silently, and gain

the heights above and in front of the hilly ground where the men of

Lorn were concealed; and having ascertained that this movement had been

executed with success, he put himself at the head of his own division,

and fearlessly led his men into the defile. Here, prepared as he was for

what was to take place, it was difficult to prevent a temporary panic

when the yell which, to this day, invariably precedes the assault of the

mountaineer, burst from the rugged bosom of Ben Cruachan; and the woods

which, the moment before, had waved in silence and solitude, gave forth

their birth of steel-clad warriors, and, in an instant, became instinct

with the dreadful vitality of war. But although appalled and checked for

a brief space by the suddenness of the assault, and the masses of rock

which the enemy rolled down from the precipices, Bruce, at the head of

his division, pressed up the side of the mountain. Whilst this party

assaulted the men of Lorn with the utmost fury, Sir James Douglas and

his party shouted suddenly upon the heights in their front, showering

down their arrows upon them; and, when these missiles were exhausted,

attacking them with their swords and battle-axes. The consequence of

such an attack, both in front and rear, was the total discomfiture

of the army of Lorn; and the circumstances to which this chief had so

confidently looked forward, as rendering the destruction of Bruce almost

inevitable, were now turned with fatal effect against himself. His great

superiority of numbers cumbered and impeded his movements. Thrust by

the double assault, and by the peculiar nature of the ground, into

such narrow room as the pass afforded, and driven to fury by finding

themselves cut to pieces in detail, without power of resistance, the men

of Lorn fled towards Loch Eitive, where a bridge thrown over the Awe,

and supported upon two immense rocks, known by the name of the Rocks of

Brandir, formed the solitary communication between the side of the river

where the battle took place and the country of Lorn. Their object was to

gain the bridge, which was composed entirely of wood, and having availed

themselves of it in their retreat, to destroy it, and thus throw the

impassable torrent of the Awe between them and their enemies. But their

intention was instantly detected by Douglas, who, rushing down from

the high grounds at the head of his archers and light-armed foresters,

attacked the body of the mountaineers, which had occupied the bridge,

and drove them from it with great slaughter, so that Bruce and his

division, on coming up, passed it without molestation; and this last

resource being taken from them, the army of Lorn were, in a few hours,

literally cut to pieces, whilst their chief, who occupied Loch Eitive

with his fleet, saw, from his ships, the discomfiture of his men, and

found it impossible to give them the least assistance.”--TYTLER’S LIFE

OF BRUCE.

Note 9.--MASSACRE OF GLENCOE.

The following succinct account of this too celebrated event, may be

sufficient for this place:--

“In the beginning of the year 1692 an action of unexampled barbarity

disgraced the government of King William III. in Scotland. In the August

preceding, a proclamation had been issued, offering an indemnity to such

insurgents as should take the oaths to the King and Queen, on or before

the last day of December; and the chiefs of such tribes, as had been

in arms for James, soon after took advantage of the proclamation. But

Macdonald of Glencoe was prevented by accident, rather than design, from

tendering his submission within the limited time. In the end of December

he went to Colonel Hill, who commanded the garrison in Fort William, to

take the oaths of allegiance to the government; and the latter having

furnished him with a letter to Sir Colin Campbell, Sheriff of the county

of Argyll, directed him to repair immediately to Inverary, to make his

submission in a legal manner before that magistrate. But the way

to Inverary lay through almost impassable mountains, the season was

extremely rigorous, and the whole country was covered with a deep snow.

So eager, however, was Macdonald to take the oaths before the limited

time should expire, that, though the road lay within half a mile of

his own house, he stopped not to visit his family, and, after various

obstructions, arrived at Inverary. The time had elapsed, and the sheriff

hesitated to receive his submission; but Macdonald prevailed by

his importunities, and even tears, in inducing that functionary to

administer to him the oath of allegiance, and to certify the cause of

his delay. At this time Sir John Dalrymple, afterwards Earl of Stair,

being in attendance upon William as Secretary of State for Scotland,

took advantage of Macdonald’s neglecting to take the oath within the

time prescribed, and procured from the King a warrant of military

execution against that chief and his whole clan. This was done at the

instigation of the Earl of Breadalbane, whose lands the Glencoe men had

plundered, and whose treachery to government in negotiating with the

Highland clans Macdonald himself had exposed. The King was accordingly

persuaded that Glencoe was the main obstacle to the pacification of the

Highlands; and the fact of the unfortunate chief’s submission having

been concealed, the sanguinary orders for proceeding to military

execution against his clan were in consequence obtained. The warrant was

both signed and countersigned by the King’s own hand, and the Secretary

urged the officers who commanded in the Highlands to execute their

orders with the utmost rigour. Campbell of Glenlyon, a captain in

Argyll’s regiment, and two subalterns, were ordered to repair to Glencoe

on the first of February with a hundred and twenty men. Campbell being

uncle to young Macdonald’s wife, was received by the father with all

manner of friendship and hospitality. The men were lodged at free

quarters in the houses of his tenants, and received the kindest

entertainment. Till the 13th of the month the troops lived in the utmost

harmony and familiarity with the people, and on the very night of the

massacre the officers passed the evening at cards in Macdonald’s house.

In the night Lieutenant Lindsay, with a party of soldiers, called in

a friendly manner at his door, and was instantly admitted. Macdonald,

while in the act of rising to receive his guest, was shot dead through

the back with two bullets. His wife had already dressed; but she was

stripped naked by the soldiers, who tore the rings off her fingers

with their teeth. The slaughter now became general, and neither age

nor infirmity was spared. Some women, in defending their children, were

killed; boys, imploring mercy, were shot dead by officers on whose knees

they hung. In one place nine persons, as they sat enjoying themselves

at table, were butchered by the soldiers. In Inverriggon, Campbell’s own

quarters, nine men were first bound by the soldiers, and then shot

at intervals, one by one. Nearly forty persons were massacred by the

troops, and several who fled to the mountains perished by famine and

the inclemency of the season. Those who escaped owed their lives to a

tempestuous night. Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton, who had received the

charge of the execution from Dalrymple, was on his march with four

hundred men, to guard all the passes from the valley of Glencoe; but

he was obliged to stop by the severity of the weather, which proved the

safety of the unfortunate clan. Next day he entered the valley, laid

the houses in ashes, and carried away the cattle and spoil, which were

divided among the officers and soldiers.”--ARTICLE “BRITAIN;” ENCYC.

BRITANNICA--NEW EDITION.

Note 10.--FIDELITY OF THE HIGHLANDERS.

Of the strong, undeviating attachment of the Highlanders to the

person, and their deference to the will or commands of their chiefs

and superiors--their rigid adherence to duty and principle--and their

chivalrous acts of self-devotion to these in the face of danger and

death, there are many instances recorded in General Stewart of Garth’s

interesting Sketches of the Highlanders and Highland Regiments,

which might not inaptly supply parallels to the deeds of the Romans

themselves, at the era when Rome was in her glory. The following

instances of such are worthy of being here quoted:--

“In the year 1795 a serious disturbance broke out in Glasgow among the

Breadalbane Fencibles. Several men having been confined and threatened

with corporal punishment, considerable discontent and irritation were

excited among their comrades, which increased to such violence, that,

when some men were confined in the guard-house, a great proportion

of the regiment rushed out and forcibly released the prisoners.

This violation of military discipline was not to be passed over, and

accordingly measures were immediately taken to secure the ringleaders.

But so many were equally concerned, that it was difficult, if not

impossible, to fix the crime on any, as being more prominently guilty.

And here was shown a trait of character worthy of a better cause, and

which originated from a feeling alive to the disgrace of a degrading

punishment. The soldiers being made sensible of the nature of their

misconduct, and the consequent necessity of public example, SEVERAL MEN

VOLUNTARILY OFFERED THEMSELVES TO STAND TRIAL, and suffer the sentence

of the law as an atonement for the whole. These men were accordingly

marched to Edinburgh Castle, tried, and four condemned to be shot. Three

of them were afterwards reprieved, and the fourth, Alexander Sutherland,

was shot on Musselburgh Sands.

“The following semi-official account of this unfortunate

misunderstanding was published at the time:--

“‘During the afternoon of Monday, when a private of the light company of

the Breadalbane Fencibles, who had been confined for a MILITARY

offence, was released by that company, and some other companies, who

had assembled in a tumultuous manner before the guard-house, no person

whatever was hurt, and no violence offered; and however unjustifiable

the proceedings, it originated not from any disrespect or ill-will to

their officers, but from a mistaken point of honour, in a particular

set of men in the battalion, who thought themselves disgraced by the

impending punishment of one of their number. The men have, in every

respect, since that period conducted themselves with the greatest

regularity, and strict subordination. The whole of the battalion seemed

extremely sensible of the improper conduct of such as were concerned,

whatever regret they might feel for the fate of the few individuals who

had so readily given themselves up as prisoners, to be tried for their

own and others’ misconduct.’

“On the march to Edinburgh a circumstance occurred, the more worthy of

notice, as it shows a strong principle of honour and fidelity to his

word and to his officer in a common Highland soldier. One of the men

stated to the officer commanding the party, that he knew what his fate

would be, but that he had left business of the utmost importance to a

friend in Glasgow, which he wished to transact before his death; that,

as to himself, he was fully prepared to meet his fate; but with regard

to his friend, he could not die in peace unless the business was

settled, and that, if the officer would suffer him to return to Glasgow,

a few hours there would be sufficient, and he would join him before he

reached Edinburgh, and march as a prisoner with the party. The soldier

added, ‘You have known me since I was a child; you know my country and

kindred; and you may believe I shall never bring you to any blame by

a breach of the promise I now make, to be with you in full time to

be delivered up in the Castle.’ This was a startling proposal to the

officer, who was a judicious, humane man, and knew perfectly his risk

and responsibility in yielding to such an extraordinary application.

However, his confidence was such, that he complied with the request of

the prisoner, who returned to Glasgow at night, settled his business,

and left the town before daylight to redeem his pledge. He took a long

circuit to avoid being seen, apprehended as a deserter, and sent back to

Glasgow, as probably his account of his officer’s indulgence would not

have been credited. In consequence of this caution, and the lengthened

march through woods and over hills by an unfrequented route, there

was no appearance of him at the hour appointed. The perplexity of the

officer when he reached the neighbourhood of Edinburgh may be easily

imagined. He moved forward slowly indeed, but no soldier appeared; and

unable to delay any longer, he marched up to the Castle, and as he

was delivering over the prisoners, but before any report was given in,

Macmartin, the absent soldier, rushed in among his fellow prisoners, all

pale with anxiety and fatigue, and breathless with apprehension of the

consequences in which his delay might have involved his benefactor.

“In whatever light the conduct of the officer (my respectable friend,

Major Colin Campbell) may be considered, either by military men

or others, in this memorable exemplification of the characteristic

principle of his countrymen, fidelity to their word, it cannot but be

wished that the soldier’s magnanimous self-devotion had been taken as

an atonement for his own misconduct and that of the whole, who also had

made a high sacrifice, in the voluntary offer of their lives for the

conduct of their brother soldiers. Are these a people to be treated as

malefactors, without regard to their feelings and principles? and might

not a discipline, somewhat different from the usual mode, be, with

advantage, applied to them?”--Vol.II. pp.413-15. 3rd Edit.

“A soldier of this regiment, (The Argyllshire Highlanders) deserted,

and emigrated to America, where he settled. Several years after his

desertion, a letter was received from him, with a sum of money, for the

purpose of procuring one or two men to supply his place in the regiment,

as the only recompense he could make for ‘breaking his oath to his God

and his allegiance to his King, which preyed on his conscience in such a

manner, that he had no rest night nor day.’

“This man had had good principles early instilled into his mind, and the

disgrace which he had been originally taught to believe would attach

to a breach of faith now operated with full effect. The soldier who

deserted from the 42nd Regiment at Gibraltar, in 1797, exhibited the

same remorse of conscience after he had violated his allegiance. In

countries where such principles prevail, and regulate the character of

a people, the mass of the population may, on occasions of trial, be

reckoned on as sound and trustworthy.”--Vol.II., p.218. 3rd Edit.

“The late James Menzies of Culdares, having engaged in the rebellion of

1715, and been taken at Preston, in Lancashire, was carried to London,

where he was tried and condemned, but afterwards reprieved. Grateful

for this clemency, he remained at home in 1745, but, retaining a

predilection for the old cause, he sent a handsome charger as a present

to Prince Charles, when advancing through England. The servant who led

and delivered the horse was taken prisoner, and carried to Carlisle,

where he was tried and condemned. To extort a discovery of the person

who sent the horse, threats of immediate execution in case of

refusal, and offers of pardon on his giving information, were held out

ineffectually to the faithful messenger. He knew, he said, what the

consequence of a disclosure would be to his master, and his own life was

nothing in the comparison. When brought out for execution, he was

again pressed to inform on his master. He asked if they were serious in

supposing him such a villain. If he did what they desired, and forgot

his master and his trust, he could not return to his native country, for

Glenlyon would be no home or country for him, as he would be despised

and hunted out of the glen. Accordingly he kept steady to his trust,

and was executed. This trusty servant’s name was John Macnaughton, from

Glenlyon, in Perthshire. He deserves to be mentioned, both on account

of his incorruptible fidelity, and of his testimony to the honourable

principles of the people, and to their detestation of a breach of trust

to a kind and honourable master, however great might be the risk, or

however fatal the consequences, to the individual himself.”--Vol.1., pp.

52,53, 3rd Edit.

NOTE TO THE TWO DROVERS.

Note 11.--ROBERT DONN’S POEMS.

I cannot dismiss this story without resting attention for a moment on

the light which has been thrown on the character of the Highland Drover

since the time of its first appearance, by the account of a drover poet,

by name Robert Mackay, or, as he was commonly called, Rob Donn--that

is, Brown Robert--and certain specimens of his talents, published in the

ninetieth number of the Quarterly Review. The picture which that paper

gives of the habits and feelings of a class of persons with which the

general reader would be apt to associate no ideas but those of wild

superstition and rude manners, is in the highest degree interesting,

and I cannot resist the temptation of quoting two of the songs of this

hitherto unheard-of poet of humble life. They are thus introduced by the

reviewer:--

“Upon one occasion, it seems, Rob’s attendance upon his master’s cattle

business detained him a whole year from home, and at his return he found

that a fair maiden to whom his troth had been plighted of yore had lost

sight of her vows, and was on the eve of being married to a rival (a

carpenter by trade), who had profited by the young drover’s absence.

The following song was composed during a sleepless night, in the

neighbourhood of Creiff, in Perthshire, and the home sickness which it

expresses appears to be almost as much that of the deer-hunter as of the

loving swain.

‘EASY IS MY BED, IT IS EASY,

BUT IT IS NOT TO SLEEP THAT I INCLINE;

THE WIND WHISTLES NORTHWARDS, NORTHWARDS,

AND MY THOUGHTS MOVE WITH IT.

More pleasant were it to be with thee

In the little glen of calves,

Than to be counting of droves

In the enclosures of Creiff.

EASY IS MY BED, ETC.

‘Great is my esteem of the maiden

Towards whose dwelling the north wind blows;

She is ever cheerful, sportive, kindly,

Without folly, without vanity, without pride.

True is her heart--were I under hiding,

And fifty men in pursuit of my footsteps,

I should find protection, when they surrounded me most

closely,

In the secret recess of that shieling.

EASY IS MY BED, ETC.

‘Oh for the day for turning my face homeward,

That I may see the maiden of beauty--

Joyful will it be to me to be with thee,

Fair girl with the long heavy locks!

Choice of all places for deer-hunting

Are the brindled rock and the ridge!

How sweet at evening to be dragging the slain deer

Downwards along the piper’s cairn!

EASY IS MY BED, ETC.

‘Great is my esteem for the maiden

Who parted from me by the west side of the enclosed field;

Late yet again will she linger in that fold,

Long after the kine are assembled.

It is I myself who have taken no dislike to thee,

Though far away from thee am I now.

It is for the thought of thee that sleep flies from me;

Great is the profit to me of thy parting kiss!

EASY IS MY BED, ETC.

‘Dear to me are the boundaries of the forest;

Far from Creiff is my heart;

My remembrance is of the hillocks of sheep,

And the heath of many knolls.

Oh for the red-streaked fissures of the rock,

Where in spring time the fawns leap;

Oh for the crags towards which the wind is blowing--

Cheap would be my bed to be there!

EASY IS MY BED, ETC.’

“The following describes Rob’s feelings on the first discovery of his

damsel’s infidelity. The airs of both these pieces are his own, and, the

Highland ladies say, very beautiful.

‘Heavy to me is the shieling, and the hum that is in it,

Since the ear that was wont to listen is now no more on the

watch.

Where is Isabel, the courteous, the conversable, a sister in

kindness?

Where is Anne, the slender-browed, the turret-breasted, whose

glossy hair pleased me when yet a boy?

HEICH! WHAT AN HOUR WAS MY RETURNING!

PAIN SUCH AS THAT SUNSET BROUGHT, WHAT AVAILETH ME TO TELL IT?

‘I traversed the fold, and upward among the trees--

Each place, far and near, wherein I was wont to salute my

love.

When I looked down from the crag, and beheld the fair-haired

stranger dallying with his bride,

I wished I had never revisited the glen of my dreams.

SUCH THINGS CAME INTO MY HEART AS THAT SUN WAS GOING DOWN,

A PAIN OF WHICH I SHALL NEVER BE RID, WHAT AVAILETH ME TO TELL

IT?

‘Since it has been heard that the carpenter had persuaded thee,

My sleep is disturbed--busy is foolishness within me at

midnight.

The kindness that has been between us, I cannot shake off that

memory in visions;

Thou callest me not to thy side; but love is to me for a

messenger.

THERE IS STRIFE WITHIN ME, AND I TOSS TO BE AT LIBERTY;

AND EVER THE CLOSER IT CLINGS, AND THE DELUSION IS GROWING TO

ME AS A TREE.

‘Anne, yellow-haired daughter of Donald, surely thou knowest

not how it is with me--

That it is old love, unrepaid, which has worn down from me my

strength;

That when far from thee, beyond many mountains, the wound in

my heart was throbbing,

Stirring, and searching for ever, as when I sat beside thee on

the turf.

NOW, THEN, HEAR ME THIS ONCE, IF FOR EVER I AM TO BE WITHOUT

THEE,

MY SPIRIT IS BROKEN--GIVE ME ONE KISS ERE I LEAVE THIS LAND!

‘Haughtily and scornfully the maid looked upon me:--

Never will it be work for thy fingers to unloose the band from

my curls.

Thou hast been absent a twelvemonth, and six were seeking me

diligently;

Was thy superiority so high that there should be no end of

abiding for thee?

HA! HA! HA! HAST THOU AT LAST BECOME SICK?

IS IT LOVE THAT IS TO GIVE DEATH TO THEE? SURELY THE ENEMY

HAS BEEN IN NO HASTE.

‘But how shall I hate thee, even though towards me thou hast

become cold?

When my discourse is most angry concerning thy name in thine

absence,

Of sudden thine image, with its old dearness, comes visibly

into my mind,

And a secret voice whispers that love will yet prevail!

AND I BECOME SURETY FOR IT ANEW, DARLING,

AND IT SPRINGS UP AT THAT HOUR LOFTY AS A TOWER.’

“Rude and bald as these things appear in a verbal translation, and rough

as they might possibly appear, even were the originals intelligible, we

confess we are disposed to think they would of themselves justify Dr.

Mackay (their Editor) in placing this herdsman-lover among the true sons

of song.”--QUARTERLY REVIEW, NO. XC., JULY 1831.

End of Project Gutenberg’s Chronicles of the Canongate, by Sir Walter Scott