Donald's most anxious desire now was to find a "public" in which to

quarter for the night; but, the hour being late, this was no easy

matter. Every door was shut, and the streets lonely and deserted. At

length, however, our hero stumbled on what appeared to him to be

something of the kind he wanted, although he could have wished it to

have been on a fully smaller and humbler scale. This was a large hotel,

in which every window was blazing with light, and the rooms were filled

with mirthful music. Donald's first impression was that it was a penny

wedding upon a great scale. It was, in truth, a masquerade; and as the

brandy which he had drunk in the earlier part of the evening was still

in his head, he proposed to himself taking a very active part in the

proceedings. On entering the hotel, however, which he did boldly, he was

rather surprised at the splendours of various kinds which greeted his

eyes--marble stairs, gorgeous lamps, gilt cornices, &c., &c., and sundry

other indications of grandeur which he had never seen equalled even in

Tain or Dingwall, to say nothing of his native parish of Macharuarich,

and he had been in his time in every public-house of any repute in all

of them. These circumstances did not disabuse Donald of his original

idea of its being a penny-wedding. He only thought that they conducted

these things in greater style in Spain than in Scotland, and with this

solution of the difficulty, suggested by the said splendours, Donald

mounted the broad marble staircase, and stalked into the midst of a

large apartment filled with dancers. The variety and elegance of the

dresses of these last again staggered Donald's belief in the nature of

the merry-making, and made him doubt whether he had conjectured aright.

These doubts, however, did not for an instant shake his determination to

have a share in the fun. It was a joyous dancing party, and that was

quite enough for him. In the meantime he contented himself with staring

at the strange but splendid figures by whom he was surrounded, and who

were, in various corners of the apartment, gliding through the "mazy

dance." But if Donald's surprise was great at the costumes which he was

now so intently marking, those who displayed them were no less surprised

at that which he exhibited. Donald's strange, but striking attire, in

truth, had attracted all eyes; and much did those who beheld it wonder

in all the earth to what country it belonged. But simple wonder and

admiration were not the only sensations which Donald's garb produced

on the masquers. His kilt had other effects. It drove half the ladies

screaming out of the apartment, to its wearer's great surprise and no

small displeasure. The guise which Donald wore, however, and which all

believed to have been donned for the occasion, was, on the whole, much

approved of, and the wearer, in more than one instance, complimented for

his taste in having selected so novel and striking a garb. But even his

warmest applauders objected to the scantiness of the kilt, and hinted

that, for decorum's sake, this part of his dress should have been

carried down to his heels. This improvement on his kilt was suggested,

in the most polite terms, to Donald himself, by a Spanish gentleman, who

spoke a little English, and who had ascertained that our hero was a

native of Great Britain, and whom he believed to be a man of note. To

this suggestion Donald made no other reply than by a look of the utmost

indignation and contempt. The Spanish gentleman, whose name was Don

Sebastanio, seeing that his remark had given offence, hastened to

apologise for the liberty he had taken--assuring Donald that he meant

nothing disrespectful or insulting. This apology was just made in time,

as the irritable Celt had begun to entertain the idea of challenging

the Spaniard to mortal combat. As it was, however, his good nature

at once gave way to the pacific overture that was made him. Seizing

the apologist by the hand, with a gripe that produced some dismal

contortions of countenance on the part of him on whom it was inflicted--

"Is no harm done at all, my friend. You'll not know no petter, having

never peen, I dare say, in our country, or seen a heelanman pefore."

The Spaniard declared he never had had either of these happinesses, and

concluded by inviting Donald to an adjoining apartment to have some

refreshment--an invitation which Donald at once obeyed.

"Now, my good sir," said his companion, on their entering a sort of

refectory where were a variety of tables spread with abundance of the

good things of this life and of Madrid, "what shall you prefer?"

"Herself's not fery hungry, but a little thirsty," said Donald, flinging

himself down on a seat in a free-and-easy way, with his legs astride, so

as to allow free suspension to his huge goat-skin purse, and doffing his

bonnet, and wiping the perspiration from his forehead--"Herself's no

fery hungry, but a little thirsty; and she'll teukit, if you please, a

fery small drop of whisky and water."

The Spaniard was nonplussed. He had never even heard of whisky in his

life, and was therefore greatly at a loss to understand what sort of

liquor his friend meant. Donald, perceiving his difficulty, and guessing

that it was of the same nature with the one which he had already

experienced, hastily transmuted his demand for whisky into one for

brandy, which was immediately supplied him, when Donald, pouring into

a rummer a quantity equal to at least six glasses, filled up with

water, and drank the whole off, to the inexpressible amazement of his

companion, who, however, although he looked unutterable things at the

enormous draught, was much too polite to say anything.

Thus primed a second time, Donald, seeing his new friend engaged with

some ladies who had unexpectedly joined him, returned alone to the

dancing apartment, which he entered with a whoop of encouragement to the

performers that startled every one present, and for an instant arrested

the motions of the dancers, who could not comprehend the meaning of his

uncouth cries. Regardless of this effect of his interference in the

proceedings of the evening, Donald, with a countenance beaming with

hilarity, and eyes sparkling with wild and reckless glee, took up a

conspicuous position in the room, and from thence commenced edifying the

dancers by a series of short abrupt shouts or yells, accompanied by a

vigorous clapping of his hands, at once to intimate his satisfaction

with the performances, and to encourage the performers themselves to

further exertions. Getting gradually, however, too much into the spirit

of the thing to be content with being merely an onlooker, Donald all at

once capered into the middle of the floor, snapping his fingers and

thumbs, and calling out to the musicians to strike up "Caber Feigh;"

and, without waiting to hear whether his call was obeyed, he commenced a

vigorous exhibition of the highland fling, to the great amazement of the

bystanders, who, instantly abandoning their own pursuits, crowded around

him to witness this to them most extraordinary performance. Thus

occupied, and thus situated--the centre of a "glittering ring"--Donald

continued to execute with unabated energy the various strongly-marked

movements of his national dance, amidst the loud applauses of the

surrounding spectators. On concluding--

"Oich, oich!" exclaimed Donald, out of breath with his exertion, and

looking laughingly round on the circle of bystanders. "Did ever I think

to dance ta heelan fling in Madrid! Och, no, no! Never, by Shoseph! But,

I dare say, it'll pe the first time that it was ever danced here."

From this moment Donald became a universal favourite in the room, and

the established lion of the night. Where-ever he went he was surrounded

with an admiring group, and was overloaded with civilities of all kinds,

including frequent offers of refreshment; so that he speedily found

himself in most excellent quarters. There was, however, one drawback in

his happiness. He could get no share in the dancing excepting what he

chose to perform solus, as there was nothing in that way to be seen in

the room in the shape of a reel, nor was there a single tune played of

which he could make either head or tail--nothing but "your foreign

trash, with neither spunk nor music in them." Determined, however,

since his highland fling had been so much approved of, to give a

specimen of the highland reel, if he could possibly make it out, Donald,

as a first step, looked around him for a partner; and seeing a very

handsome girl seated in one of the corners of the apartment, and

apparently disengaged, he made up to her, and, making one of his best bows,

solicited the honour of her joining him in a reel. Without understanding

the language in which she was addressed, but guessing that it conveyed

an invitation to the floor, the young lady at once arose and curtsied an

acquiescence, when Donald, taking her gallantly by the hand, led her up

to the front of the orchestra, in order that he might bespeak the

appropriate music for the particular species of dance he contemplated.

On approaching sufficiently near to the musicians--

"Fittlers," he shouted, at the top of his voice, "I say, can you'll kive

us 'Rothiemurchus' Rant,' or the 'Trucken Wives of Fochabers?'"

Then turning to his partner, and flinging his arms about her neck in an

ecstasy of Highland excitation, capering at the same time hilariously in

anticipation of the coming strain--

"Them's the tunes, my lass, for putting mettle in your heels."

A scream from the lady with whom Donald was using these unwarrantable

personal liberties, and a violent attempt on her part to escape

from them, suddenly arrested Donald's hilarity, and excited his

utmost surprise. In the next instant he was surrounded by at least

half-a-dozen angry cavaliers, amongst whom there was a brandishing of

swords and much violent denunciation, all directed against Donald, and

excited by his unmannerly rudeness to a lady. It was some seconds before

Donald could comprehend the meaning of all this wrath, or believe that

he was at once the cause and the object of it. But on this becoming

plain--

"Well, shentlemen," he said, "I did not mean anything wrong. No offence

at all to the girl. It was just the fashion of my country; and I'm sorry

for it."

To this apology of Donald's, of which, of course, not a word was

understood, the only reply was a more fierce flourishing of brands, and

a greater volubility and vehemence of abuse; the effect of which was at

once to arouse Donald's choler, and to urge him headlong on extremities.

"Well, well," he said, "if you'll not have satisfaction any other way

than py the sword, py the sword you shall have it."

And instantly drawing, he stood ready to encounter at once the whole

host of his enemies. What might have been the result of so unequal a

contest, had it taken place, we cannot tell--and this simply because

no encounter did take place. At the moment that Donald was awaiting

the onset of the foe--a proceeding, by the way, which they were now

marvellously slow in adopting, notwithstanding the fury with which

they had opened the assault, a party of the king's guard, with fixed

bayonets, rushed into the apartment, and bore Donald forcibly out into

the street, where they left him, with angry signs that if he attempted

to return, he would meet with still worse treatment. Donald had prudence

enough to perceive that any attempt to resent the insult that had been

offered him--seeing that it was perpetrated by a dozen men armed with

musket and bayonet--would be madness, and therefore contented himself

with muttering in Gaelic some expressions of high indignation and

contempt. Having delivered himself to this effect, he proudly adjusted

his plaid, and stalked majestically away.

It was now so far advanced in the morning that Donald abandoned all idea

of seeking for a bed, and resolved on prosecuting an assiduous search

for his brother. This he accordingly commenced, and numerous were the

calls at shops, and frequent the inquiries he made for Tuncan Gorm; but

unavailing were they all. No one understood a word of what he addressed

to them; and thus, of course, no one could give him the information he

desired. It was in vain, too, that Donald carefully scanned every sign

that he passed, to see that it did not bear the anxiously looked for

name. On none of them did it appear. They were all, as Donald himself

said, Fouros, and Beuros, and Lebranos, and Dranos, and other outlandish

and unchristian-like names. Not a heeland or lowland shopkeeper amongst

them. No such a decent and civilized name to be met with as Gorm, or

Brolachan, or M'Fadyen, or Macharuarich, or M'Cuallisky.

Tired and disappointed, Donald, after wandering up and down the streets

for several hours, bethought him of adjourning to a tavern to have

something to eat, and probably something to drink also. Seeing such a

house as he wanted, he entered, and desired the landlord to furnish him

with some dinner. In a few seconds two dishes were placed before him;

but what these dishes were, Donald could not at all make out. They

resembled nothing in the edible way he had ever seen before, and the

flavour was most alarming. Nevertheless, being pretty sharp-set, he

resolved to try them, and for this purpose drew one of the dishes

towards him, when, having peered as curiously and cautiously into it for

a few seconds as if he feared it would leap up in his face and bite him,

and curling his nose the while into strong disapprobation of its odour,

he lifted several spoonfuls of the black greasy mess on his plate. At

this point Donald found his courage failing him; but, as his host stood

behind his chair and was witness to all his proceedings, he did not like

either to express the excessive disgust he was beginning to feel, nor to

refuse tasting of what was set before him. Mustering all his remaining

courage, therefore, he plunged his spoon with desperate violence into

the nauseous mess, which seemed to Donald to be some villanous compound

of garlic, rancid oil, and dough; and raising it to his lips, shut his

eyes, and boldly thrust it into his mouth. Donald's resolution, however,

could carry him no farther. To swallow it he found utterly impossible,

now that the horrors of both taste and smell were full upon him. In this

predicament, Donald had no other way for it but to give back what he had

taken; and this course he instantly followed, adding a large interest,

and exclaiming--

"My Cot! what sort of a country is this? Your drinks is poison, and your

meats is poison, and everything is apominations apout you. Oich, oich! I

wish to Cot I was back to Eddernahulish again; for I'll pe either

poisoned or murdered amongst you if I remain much longer here. That's

peyond all doubt."

And having thus expressed himself, Donald started to his feet, and was

about to leave the house without any farther ceremony, when the landlord

adroitly planted himself between him and the door, and demanded the

reckoning. Donald did not know precisely what was asked of him, but

he guessed that it was a demand for payment, and this demand he was

determined to resist, on the ground that what he could not eat he ought

not to be called on to pay for. Full of this resolution, and having no

doubt that he was right in his conjecture as to the landlord's purpose

in preventing his exit--

"Pay for ta apominations!" said Donald, wrathfully. "Pay for ta poison!

It's myself will see you at Jericho first. Not a farthing, not one tam

farthing, will I pay you for ta trash. So stand out of the way, my

friend, pefore worse comes of it."

Saying this, Donald advanced to the door, and seizing its guardian by

the breast, laid him gently on his back on the floor, and stepping over

his prostrate body, walked deliberately out of the house, without

further interruption, mine host not thinking it advisable to excite

further the choler of so dangerous a customer, and one who had just

given him so satisfactory a specimen of his personal prowess. Another

day had now nearly passed away, and Donald was still as far, to all

appearance, from finding the object of his search as ever he had

been. He was, moreover, now both hungry and thirsty; but these were

evils which he soon after succeeded in obviating for the time, by

a more successful foray than the last. Going into another house of

entertainment, he contrived to make a demand for bread and cheese

intelligible--articles which he had specially condescended on, that

there might be "no mistake;" and with these and a pretty capacious

measure of brandy, he managed to effect a very tolerable passover.

Before leaving this house, Donald made once more the already oft

but vainly-repeated inquiry, whether he knew (he was addressing his

landlord) where one Duncan Gorm stopped. It did not now surprise Donald

to find that his inquiry was not understood; but it did both surprise

and delight him when his host, who had abruptly left the room for an

instant, returned with a person who spoke very tolerable English. This

man was a muleteer, and had resided for some years in London, in the

service of the Spanish ambassador. His name--a most convenient one for

Donald to pronounce--was Mendoza Ambrosius. On being introduced to this

personage, Donald expressed the utmost delight at finding in him one

who spoke a Christian language, as he called it; and, in the joy of

his heart with his good fortune, ordered in a jorum of brandy for the

entertainment of himself and Mr. Ambrosius. The liquor being brought,

and several horns of it discussed, Donald and his new friend got as

thick as "ben' leather." And on this happy understanding being

established, the former began to detail, at all the length it would

admit of, the purpose of his visit to Madrid, and the occurrences that

had befallen him since his arrival; prefacing these particulars with a

sketch of his history, and some account of the place of his nativity;

and concluding the whole by asking his companion if he could in any way

assist him to find his brother, Duncan Gorm.

The muleteer replied, in the best English he could command, that he did

not know the particular person inquired after, but that he knew the

residences of two or three natives of Britain, some of whom, he thought

it probable, might be acquainted with his brother; and that he would

have much pleasure in conducting him to these persons, for the purpose

of ascertaining this. Donald thanked his friend for his civility; and,

in a short time thereafter, the brandy having been finished in the

interim, the two set out together on their expedition of inquiry. It was

a clear, moonlight night; but, although it was so, and the hour what

would be considered in this country early, the streets were nearly

deserted, and as lonely and quiet as if Madrid were a city of the dead.

This stillness had the effect of making the smallest sound audible even

at a great distance, and to this stillness it was owing that Donald and

his friend suddenly heard, soon after they had set out, the clashing of

swords, intermingled with occasional shouts, at a remote part of the

street they were traversing.

"What's tat?" exclaimed Donald, stopping abruptly, and cocking his ears

at the well-known sound of clashing steel. His companion, accustomed to

such occurrences, replied, with an air of indifference, that it was

merely some street brawl.

"It'll pe these tam vinekar drinkers again," said Donald, with a lively

recollection of the assault that had been made upon himself; "maybe some

poor shentleman's in distress. Let us go and see, my tear sir." To this

proposal, the muleteer, with a proper sense of the folly of throwing

himself in the way of mischief unnecessarily, would at first by no means

accede; but, on being urged by Donald, agreed to move on a little with

him towards the scene of conflict. This proceeding soon brought them

near enough to the combatants to perceive that Donald's random

conjecture had not been far wrong, by discovering to them one person,

who, with his back to the wall, was bravely defending himself against

no fewer than four assailants, all being armed with swords.

"Did not I tell you so!" exclaimed Donald, in great excitation, on

seeing how matters stood. "Noo, Maister Tozy Brozy, shoulder to

shoulder, my tear, and we'll assist this poor shentleman." Saying this,

Donald drew his claymore, and rushed headlong on to the rescue, calling

on Tozy Brozy to follow him; but Tozy Brozy's feelings and impulses

carried him in a totally different direction. Fearing that his friend's

interference in the squabble might have the effect of directing some of

the blows his way, he fairly took to his heels, leaving Donald to do by

himself what to himself seemed needful in the case. In the meantime, too

much engrossed by the duty before him to mind much whether his friend

followed him or not, Donald struck boldly in, in aid of the "shentleman

in distress," exclaiming, as he did so--

"Fair play, my tears! Fair play's a shewel everywhere, and I suppose

here too." And, saying this, with one thundering blow that fairly split

the skull of the unfortunate wight on whom it fell in twain, Donald

lessened the number of the combatants by one. The person to whose aid he

had thus so unexpectedly and opportunely come, seeing what an effectual

ally he had got, gave a shout of triumphant joy, and, although much

exhausted by the violence and length of his exertions in defending

himself, instantly became the assailant in his turn. Inspired with new

life and vigour, he pressed on his enemies with a fury that compelled

them to give way; and, being splendidly seconded by Donald, whose

tremendous blows were falling with powerful effect on those against whom

they were directed, the result was, in a few seconds, the flight of the

enemy; who, in rapid succession, one after the other, took to their

heels, although not without carrying along with them several authentic

certificates of the efficiency of Donald's claymore.

On the retreat of the bravos--for such they were--the person whom Donald

had so efficiently served in his hour of need, flew towards him, and,

taking him in his arms, poured out a torrent of thanks for the prompt

and gallant aid he had afforded him. But, as these thanks were expressed

in Spanish, they were lost on him to whom they were addressed. Not so,

however, the indications of gratitude evinced in the acts by which they

were accompanied. These Donald perfectly understood, and replied to them

as if their sense had been conveyed to him in a language which he

comprehended.

"No thanks at all, my tear sir. A Heelantman will always assist a freend

where a few plows will do him goot. You would shust do the same to me,

I'm sure. But," added Donald, as he sheathed his most serviceable

weapon, "this is the tam place for fechtin' I have ever seen. I thocht

our own Heelants pad enough, but this is ten times worse, py Shoseph! I

have no peen more than four-and-twenty hours in Ma-a-treed, and I'll

have peen in tree fecht already."

More of this speech was understood by the person to whom it was

addressed, than might have been expected under all these circumstances.

This person was a Spanish gentleman of rank and great wealth, of the

name of Don Antonio Nunnez, whose acquirements included a very competent

knowledge of the English language, which, although he spoke it but

indifferently, he understood very well. Yet it certainly did require

all his knowledge of it, to recognise it in the shape in which Donald

presented it to him. This, however, to a certain extent, he did, and, in

English, now repeated his sense of the important obligation Donald had

conferred on him. But it was not to words alone that the grateful and

generous Spaniard meant to confine his acknowledgments of the service

that had been rendered him. Having ascertained that Donald was a perfect

stranger in the city, he insisted on his going home with him, and

remaining with him during his stay in Madrid, and further requesting

that he would seek at his hands, and no other's, any service or

obligation, of whatever nature it might be, of which he should stand

in need during his stay.

To these generous proffers, Donald replied, that the greatest service

that could be done him was to inform him where he could find his

brother, Duncan Gorm. Don Antonio first expressed surprise to learn that

Donald had a brother in Madrid, and then his sorrow that he did not

know, nor had ever heard of such a person.

"He'll keep a public," said Donald.

"What is that, my friend?" inquired Don Antonio.

"Sell a shill, to be sure--I'll thocht everybody know that," said

Donald, a good deal surprised at the other's ignorance.

"Shill? shill?" repeated the Spaniard--"and pray, my friend, what is a

shill?"

"Cot pless me! don't you'll know what a shill is?" rejoined Donald, with

increased amazement. "If you'll come with me to Eddernahulish, I'll show

you what a shill is, and help you to drink it too."

"Well, well, my friend," said Don Antonio. "I'll get an explanation of

what a 'shill' is from you afterwards; but, in the meantime, you'll come

with me, if you please, as I am anxious to introduce you to some friends

at home!"

Saying this, he took Donald's arm, in order to act as his conductor,

and, after leading him through two or three streets, brought him to the

door of a very large and handsome house. Don Antonio having knocked at

this door, it was immediately opened by a servant in splendid livery,

who, on recognising his master--for such was Donald's friend--instantly

stepped aside, and respectfully admitted the pair. In the vestibule, or

passage, which was exceedingly magnificent, were a number of other

serving men in rich liveries, who drew themselves up on either side, in

order to allow their master and his friend to pass; and much did they

marvel at the strange garb in which that friend appeared. Don Antonio

now conducted Donald up the broad marbled staircase, splendidly

illuminated with a variety of elegant lamps, in which the vestibule

terminated; and, on reaching the top of the first flight, ushered him

into a large and gorgeously-furnished apartment, in which were two

ladies dressed in deep mourning. To these ladies, one of whom was the

mother, the other the sister of Don Antonio, the latter introduced his

amazed and awe-stricken companion, as a person to whom he was indebted

for his life. He then explained to his relations what had occurred, and

did not fail to give Donald's promptitude and courage a due share of his

laudations. With a gratitude not less earnest than his own had been, the

mother and sister of Don Antonio took Donald by the hand; the one

taking the right, and the other the left, and, looking in his face,

with an expression of the utmost kindness, thanked him for the great

obligation he had conferred on them. These thanks were expressed in

Spanish; but, on Don Antonio's mentioning that Donald was a native of

Britain, and that he did not, as he rather thought, understand the

Spanish language, his sister, a beautiful girl of one or two-and-twenty,

repeated them, in somewhat minced, but perfectly intelligible English.

Great as Donald's perturbation was at finding himself so suddenly and

unexpectedly placed in a situation so much at variance with anything

he had been accustomed to, it did not prevent him marking, in a very

special manner, the dark sparkling eyes and rich sable tresses of Donna

Nunnez, the name of Don Antonio's sister. Nor, we must add, did the

former look with utter indifference on the manly form, so advantageously

set off as it was by his native dress, of Donald Gorm. But of this anon.

In a short time after, a supper, corresponding in elegance and splendour

to all the other elegances and splendours of this lordly mansion, was

served up; and, on its conclusion, Donald was conducted, by Don Antonio

himself, to a sleeping apartment, furnished with the same magnificence

that prevailed throughout the whole house. Having ushered him into his

apartment, Donald's host bade him a kind good-night, and left him to his

repose.

What Donald's feelings were on finding himself thus so superbly

quartered, now that he had time to think on the subject, and could do so

unrestrained by the presence of any one, we do not precisely know; but,

if one might have judged by the under-breath exclamations in which he

indulged, and by the looks of amazement and inquiry which he cast around

him, from time to time, on the splendours by which he was surrounded,

especially on the gorgeous bed, with its gilt canopy and curtains of

crimson silk, which was destined for his night's resting-place, these

feelings would appear to have been, after all, fully more perplexing

than pleasing. It was, in truth, just too much of a good thing; and

Donald felt it to be so. But still the whole had a smack of good fortune

about it that was very far from being disagreeable, and that certainly

had the effect of reconciling Donald to the little discordance between

former habits and present circumstances, which his position for the time

excited.

While at breakfast on the following morning with Don Antonio and his

mother and sister, the first asked Donald if he had any particular ties

in his own country that would imperatively demand his return home; and

on Donald's replying that there were none, Don Antonio immediately

inquired whether he would accept a commission in the King of Spain's

body-guards:--"Because," said he, "if you will, I have, I believe,

influence enough to procure it for you."

Donald said he had no objection in the world to try it for a year or

two, at any rate--only he would like to consult his "broder Tuncan"

first.

"True, true," said Don Antonio; "I promised to assist you in finding out

your relative--and I shall do so."

As good as his word in this particular, and a great deal better in many

others in which Donald was interested, Don Antonio instantly set an

inquiry on foot, which, in less than two hours, brought the brothers

together. The sequel of our story, although containing the very essence

of Donald's good fortune, is soon told. His brother, highly approving of

his accepting the commission offered to him, Don Antonio lost no time in

procuring him that appointment; and in less than three weeks from his

arrival in Madrid, Donald Gorm figured as a captain in the King of

Spain's body-guards, in which service he ultimately attained the rank

of colonel, together with a title of honour, which enabled him to ask,

without fear of giving offence, and to obtain, the hand of Donna Nunnez,

with a dowry second to that of no fair damsel in Spain. Donald never

again returned to Eddernahulish, but continued in the country of his

adoption till his death; and in that country some of his descendants

to this hour bear amongst the proudest names of which it can boast.

THE SURGEON'S TALES.

THE CURED INGRATE.

Every person who has studied, even in the most cursory manner, the

checkered page of human life, must have observed that there are in

continual operation through mankind some great secret moral agents,

the powers of which are exerted within the heart, and beyond the reach

of the consciousness or observation of the individual himself who is

subject to their influence. There is a steadfastness of virtue in some

high-minded men, which enables them to resist the insidious temptations

of the bad demon; there is also a stern stability of vice often found

in the unfortunate outlaw, which disregards, for a time, the voice of

conscience, and spurns the whispered wooing of the good principle,

"charm it never so wisely;" yet the real confessions of the hearts of

those individuals would show traces enough of the agency of the unseen

power to prove their want of title to an exception from the general rule

which includes all the sons of Adam. We find, also, that extraordinary

moral effects are often produced, in a dark and mysterious manner, from

physical causes: every medical man has the power of recording, if he has

had the faculty of observing, changes in the minds, principles, and

feelings of patients who have come through the fiery ordeal of a

terrible disease, altogether unaccountable on any rules of philosophy

yet discovered.

Not many years ago, a well-dressed young woman called one evening

upon me, and stated that her lady, whose name, she said, would be

communicated by herself, had been ill for some days, and wished me to

visit her privately. I asked her when she required my attendance; and

got for answer, that she, the messenger, would conduct me to the

residence of the patient, if it was convenient for me to go at that

time. I was disengaged, and agreed to accompany the young woman as soon

as I had given directions to my assistant regarding the preparation of

some medicines which required the application of chemical rules. To be

ingenuous, I was a little curious to know the secret of this private

call; for that there was a secret about it was plain, from the words,

and especially the manner, of the young woman, who spoke mysteriously,

and did not seem to wish any questions put to her on the subject of her

mission. The night was dark, but the considerate messenger had provided

a lantern; and, to anticipate my scruples, she said that the distance we

had to go would not render it necessary for me to take my carriage--a

five-minutes' walk being sufficient to take us to our destination.

Resigning myself to the guidance of my conductress, I requested her

to lead the way, and we proceeded along two neighbouring streets

of considerable length, and then turned up to ---- Square--a

place where the rich and fashionable part of the inhabitants of the town

have their residences. At the mouth of a coach entry, which ran along

the gable of a large house, and apparently led to the back offices

connected with the residence, the young woman stopped, and whispered to

me to take care of my feet, as she was to use the liberty of leading me

along a meuse lane to a back entrance, through which I was to be

conducted into the chamber of the sick lady. I obeyed her directions;

and, keeping close behind her, was led along the lane, and through

several turns and windings which I feared I might not again be able to

trace without a guide, until we came to a back door, when the young

woman--begging my pardon for her forwardness--took hold of my hand,

and led me along a dark passage, then up a stair, then along another

passage, which was lighted by some wax tapers placed in recesses in the

wall; at the end of which, she softly opened a door, and ushered me into

a very large bedroom, the magnificence of which was only partly revealed

to me by a small lamp filled with aromatic oil, whose fragrance filled

the apartment. The young woman walked quickly forward to a bed, hung

with light green silk damask curtains fringed with yellow, and

luxuriously ornamented with a superfluity of gilding; and, drawing aside

the curtains, she whispered a few words into the ear of some one lying

there, apparently in distress; then hurried out of the room, leaving me

standing on the floor, without introduction or explanation.

The novelty of my position deprived me for a moment of my

self-possession, and I stood stationary in the middle of the room,

deliberating upon whether I should call back my conductress, and ask

from her some explanation, or proceed forward to the couch, where,

no doubt, my services were required; but my hesitation was soon

resolved, by the extraordinary appearance of an Indian-coloured female

countenance, much emaciated, and lighted up with two bright orbs,

occupying the interstice between the curtains, and beckoning on me,

apparently with a painful effort, forward. I obeyed, and, throwing open

the large folds of damask, had as full a view of my extraordinary

patient as the light that emanated from the perfumed lamp, and shone

feebly on her dark countenance, would permit. She beckoned to me to take

a chair, which stood by the side of the bed; and, having complied with

her mute request, I begged to know what was the complaint under which

she laboured, that I might endeavour to yield her such relief as was in

the power of our professional art. I thus limited my question to the

nature of her disease, in the expectation that she herself would clear

up the mystery which hung around the manner in which I was called, and

introduced to so extraordinary a scene as that which was now before me.

Her great weakness seemed to require some composure, and a collecting of

her scattered and reduced energies, before she could answer my simple

question. I now observed more perfectly than I had yet done the

character and style of the room into which I had been introduced--its

furniture, ornaments, and luxuries; and, above all, the extraordinary,

foreign-looking invalid who seemed to be the mistress of so much

grandeur. Though a bedroom, the apartment seemed to have had lavished

upon its fitting-up as much money as is often expended on a lord's

drawing-room--the bed itself, the wardrobes, pier-glasses, toilets,

and dressing-cases, being of the most elaborate workmanship and costly

character--the pictures numerous, and magnificently framed; while on all

sides were to be seen foreign ornaments, chiefly Chinese and Indian, of

brilliant appearance, and devoted to purposes and uses of refined luxury

of which I could form no adequate conception. On a small table, near the

bed, there was a multiplicity of boxes, vials, trinkets, and bijouterie

of all kinds; and fragrant mixtures, intended to perfume the apartment,

were exposed in various quarters, and even scattered exuberantly on

spread covers of satin, with a view to their yielding their sweets

more freely, and filling all the corners of the room. In full contrast

with all this array of grandeur and luxury, lay the strange-looking

individual already mentioned, on the gorgeous bed. She was apparently

an East Indian; and, though possessed of comely features, she was even

darker than the fair Hindoos we often see in this country. The sickness

under which she laboured, and which appeared to be very severe, had

rendered her thin and cadaverous-looking--making the balls of her

brilliant eyes assume the appearance of being protruded, and imparting

to all her features a sharp, prominent aspect, the very reverse of the

natural Indian type; yet, true to her sex and the manners of her

country, she was splendidly decorated, even in this state of dishabille

and distress; the coverlet being of rich Indian manufacture, and

resplendent with the dyes of the East--her gown and cap decorated with

costly needlework--her fingers covered with a profusion of rings, while

a cambric handkerchief, richly embroidered, in her right hand, had

partly enveloped in its folds a large golden vinegarette, set profusely

with glittering gems.

The rapid survey which enabled me to gather this general estimate of

what was presented to me, was nearly completed before the invalid had

collected strength enough to answer my question; and she was just

beginning to speak--having as yet pronounced only a few inarticulate

syllables--when she was interrupted by the entrance of the same young

woman who had acted as my conductress, and who now exhibited a manner

the very opposite of the soft, quiet, slipping nature of her former

carriage. The suddenness, and even impetuosity of her entry, was

inconsistent with the character of nurse to a lady in so distressed a

condition as that of her apparent mistress; but her subsequent conduct

was much more incomprehensible and extraordinary; for, without speaking

and without stopping, she rushed forward, and, taking me by the arm,

hurried me away through the door by which I had entered, along the

lighted passage, down the stair, and never stopped until she landed me

on the threshold of the back-door by which I entered the house. At this

time I heard the bell of, as I thought, the fore or street door of the

house ringing violently; and my conductress, without saying a word, ran

away as fast as the darkness would permit, leaving me, perplexed and

confounded at what I had seen and heard, to find my way home in the best

way I could.

In my professional capacity I had not been accustomed to any mysterious

or secret practice of our art, which, being exercised ostensibly and in

reality for the benefit of mankind, requires no cloak to cover its

operations; and, though I was curious to know the secret of such

incomprehensible proceedings, I felt no admiration of, or relish

for adventures so unsuited to the life and manners of a sober,

practical man. One thing, however, was clear, and seemed sufficient

to reconcile my practical, every-day notions of life with this mysterious

negotiation, and even to solve the doubt I entertained whether I should

again trust myself as a party to the devices of secrecy--and that was,

that the individual I had been thus called to see professionally was in

such a condition of body as required urgently the administrations of a

medical practitioner. On the following day, I resolved upon making some

inquiries, with a view to ascertain who and what the individual was that

occupied the house to which I had been introduced, and which, upon a

survey in daylight, I could have no difficulty in tracing; but I

happened to be too much occupied to be able to put my purpose into

execution; and was thus obliged to remain, during the day, in a state

of suspense and ignorance of the secret involved in my previous night's

professional adventure. In the evening, however, and about the same hour

at which the messenger called for me on the previous occasion, the

same individual waited on me, with an apology for the apparently

unceremonious treatment I had received, and which, she said, would be

explained to my satisfaction; and a renewed request that I would again

accompany her to the same house, and on the same errand. I told the

messenger that I bore no great love to these secret adventures, but that

I would consent, on this occasion, to make a sacrifice of my principles

and feelings to the hope of being able to be of some use, in a

professional way, to the distressed lady I had seen on the previous

occasion, whose situation, so far as I could judge from appearances, was

not far removed from the extremity of danger. I again, accordingly,

committed myself to the guidance of the young woman; and, after a

repetition of the windings and evolutions of the previous visit, soon

found myself again seated in the chair that stood by the gorgeous bed of

the strange invalid. Everything seemed to be in the same situation as

before: the lamp gave out its weak light, the perfumes exhaled their

sweets, and the distressed lady exhibited the same strange contrast

between her reduced sickly condition and the superb finery of her

dishabille.

I had not been long seated, when she struggled to inform me, in a very

weak voice, that she was much beholden to me for my attention, and

grieved for the unceremonious treatment I had received on my last

visit. I replied, that I laid my account with much greater personal

inconvenience, in the pursuit of my profession, than any to which she

had subjected or could subject me--all such considerations being, in my

apprehension, of small importance in comparison with the good we had

often the power of administering to individuals in distress; and begged

to know the nature of the complaint under which she too evidently

laboured, that I might endeavour to ameliorate her sufferings, and

restore her to that health without which the riches she apparently was

mistress of, could be of small avail in rendering her happy. She

appeared grateful for the sentiments I expressed; and proceeded to tell

me, still with the same struggling difficulty of utterance, arising from

her extreme weakness, that she was the wife of Colonel P----, the

proprietor of the mansion into which I had been thus secretly

introduced, for reasons she would explain in the course of her

narrative. She had been married to her husband, she proceeded, in the

East Indies, of which country she was a native; and, having succeeded

to a large fortune on the death of her father, had given it all freely

without bond, contract, or settlement, to her husband, whom she loved,

honoured, and worshipped, beyond all earthly beings, and with an ardour

which had never abated from the first moment she had become his wife.

Nor was the affection limited to one side of the house; for she was

more than satisfied that her lord and master--grateful, no doubt, for

the rank, honour, riches, and independence to which she had raised

him--loved her with an affection at least equal to her own. But all

these advantages (and she sighed deeply as she proceeded) were of little

consequence to the production of happiness, if the greatest of all

blessings, health, were denied to the possessor; and that too she had

enjoyed, uninterruptedly, until about a month previously, when she was

seized with an illness, the nature of which she could not comprehend;

and which, notwithstanding all the anxious efforts of her husband, had

continued unabated to that hour.

She paused, and seemed much exhausted by the struggle she made to let

me thus far into her history. The concluding part of her statement,

combined with the still unexplained secrecy of my call, surprised me,

and defied my powers of penetration. This lady had been dangerously ill

for a month, during all which time no medical man had been called to

her aid; and even now, when her body was attenuated, and her strength

exhausted to the uttermost, professional assistance had been introduced

into the house by stealth, as if it were against the laws to ameliorate

human sufferings by curing diseases. This apparent anomaly in human

conduct struck me so forcibly that I could not refrain from asking the

patient, even before she recovered strength enough to answer me, what

was her or her husband's reason for not calling assistance; and why that

assistance was at last requested under the cloud of secrecy and

apprehension.

"That I intended to explain to you," she said, after a pause. "When I

felt myself ill (and my complaint commenced by excruciating pains in my

stomach, accompanied with vomiting), I told my husband that I feared it

would be necessary to call a doctor; but, ah, sir! the very thought

of the necessity of medical aid to the object of so much love and

tenderness, put him almost frantic. He confessed that it was a weakness;

but declared his inability to conquer it. Yet, alas! his unremitting

kindness has not diminished my disease. Though I have taken everything

his solicitude has suggested and offered to me, my pains still continue,

my appetite is entirely gone, and the weakness of my body has approached

that of the helpless infant. Three days ago I thought I would have

breathed my last; and parting thoughts of my native country, and the

dear friends I left there to follow the fortunes of a dearer stranger,

passed through my mind with the feeling of a long and everlasting

farewell. My husband wept over me, and prayed for my recovery; but he

could not think me so ill as to make the call of the doctor imperative;

and I did not press a subject which I saw was painful to him. No, sir,

I would rather have died than have produced in him the slightest

uneasiness; and my object in calling you in the secret manner you have

witnessed, was simply to avoid causing to him the pain of thinking that

my illness was so great as to render your services absolutely

necessary."

The communication I now heard, which was spoken in broken sentences

and after considerable pauses, in place of clearing up my difficulty,

increased it, and added to my surprise. Some light was, no doubt, thrown

on the cause which produced the secret manner of my visitation; but

every other circumstance attending the unfortunate lady's case was

merged in deeper gloom and mystery. The circumstance of a husband who

loved his wife refusing to call professional assistance, appeared to be

not less extraordinary than the reason assigned for it--even with all

the allowances, justified by a very prevailing prejudice, in some weak

minds, against the extremity of calling a doctor. I had heard something

of Colonel P----; that he was considered to be immensely rich, and known

to be a deep gambler, but I never understood that he was a victim of

weak or imaginary fears, and I was therefore inclined to doubt the truth

of the reason assigned by the unsuspecting invalid, for the scrupulous

delicacy of her husband's affection and solicitude. I pondered for a

moment, and soon perceived that the nature of her complaint, and the

kind of restoratives or medicines she might have been receiving, would,

in all likelihood, yield me more information on the subject of my

difficulty than I could procure from her broken sentences, which, at the

best, only expressed the sentiments of a mind clouded with the prejudice

of a devoted love and unbounded credulity. I proceeded, therefore, to

ascertain the nature of her complaint; and soon discovered that the seat

of it was, as she had said, in the region of the stomach, which not only

produced to her great pain internally, but felt sore on the application

of external pressure on the _praecordia_. Other symptoms of a disease in

this principal organ were present: such as fits of painful vomiting

after attempting to eat, her great emaciation, anxiety of countenance,

thirst, restlessness, and debility; and, in ordinary circumstances, I

would have been inclined to conclude that she laboured under some

species of what we denominate _gastritis_, or inflammation of the

stomach, though I could not account for such a disease not having been

resolved and ended in much shorter time than the period which embraced

her sufferings.

I next proceeded to ascertain what she had been taking in the form of

medicaments; and discovered that her husband, proceeding on the idea

that her stomach laboured under weakness and required some tonic

medicine, had administered to her, on several occasions, what we term

_limatura ferri_ (iron filings)--a remedy for cases of dyspepsia and bad

stomachs, but not suited to the inflammatory disorders of the kind under

which she was suffering. I asked her if she had any of the medicine

lying by her, and she replied, with simplicity, that her husband

generally took charge of it himself; but that he had that evening laid

a small paper, containing a portion of it, on the top of a side-table,

until he administered to her the dose she was in the habit of receiving,

and had gone away without laying it past, according to his custom. I

took up the paper, examined it, and found, according to the rapid

investigation I bestowed on it, without the aid of any tests, that it

possessed all the appearances of the genuine medicine. I, however, took

the precaution of emptying a small portion of it into another paper, and

slipping it into my pocket unobserved by the patient. I then told her

that I thought she should discontinue the use of the powder, which was

entirely unsuited to her ailment.

"That is a cruel advice, sir," she cried, in a tone of great excitement.

"How can I discontinue a medicine offered to me by the hands of a

husband, without being able to give any reason for rejecting his

kindness? I tremble to think of repaying all the attentions of that dear

man with ingratitude, and wounding his sensibility by rejecting this

testimony of his solicitude and affection. I cannot--I feel I cannot.

The grief I would thereby produce to him would be reflected, by

sympathy, on this weak frame, which is unable to struggle much longer

with the pains of flesh alone, far less with the additional anguish of a

wounded mind, grieved to death at causing sorrow to the man I so dearly

love. Do not, oh! do not, sir, make me an ingrate."

I was struck with the devotion of this gentle being, who actually

trembled at the idea of producing uneasiness to the man whom she had

raised to affluence, and who yet would not allow her the benefit of a

doctor in her distress; but, while I was pleased with this exhibition of

a feature in the female character I had never before seen so strongly

developed, though I had read and heard much of the fidelity and

affection of the women of the east, I was much chagrined at the idea

that so fair and beautiful a virtue would probably prevent me from doing

anything effectual for a creature who, independently of her distance

from her country, had so many other claims on my sympathy. I told her

that I feared I could be of little service to her if she could not

resolve upon discontinuing her husband's medicine; and tried to impress

upon her the necessity of conforming to my advice, if she wished to make

herself well--the best mode, assuredly, of making her husband happy;

but she replied that she expected I would have been able to give her

something to restore her to health independently of what she got from

her husband--a result she wished above all things, as she sighed for the

opportunity of delighting him, by attributing to his medicines and care

her restoration and happiness. I replied that that was impossible--a

statement that stung her with disappointment and pain.

"Then I will take my beloved's medicines, and die!" she cried, with a

low struggling voice--resigning herself to the power of her weakness.

This extraordinary resolution of a female devotee put me in mind of the

immolating custom of her countrywomen, called the _suttee_. It was a

complete _ultima ratio_, and put all my remedial plans at fault in an

instant. Her extreme weakness, or her devoted resolution, prevented her

from speaking, and I sat by her bedside totally at a loss what to do,

whether to persevere in my attempt to get her to renounce her husband's

medicine and to conform to my prescriptions, or to leave her to the fate

she seemed to court. I put several more questions to her, but received

no other answer than a wave of the hand--a plain token of her wish that

I should leave her to the tender mercies of her husband. I had now no

alternative; and, rising, I bowed to her, and took my leave. I had some

difficulty in finding my way out of the house; but, after several

ineffectual turns through wrong passages, I reached the door through

which I had entered, and returned home.

The extraordinary scene I had witnessed engaged my attention during the

evening, but all my efforts at clearing up the mystery that enveloped

the proceedings of these individuals were met by difficulties which for

a time seemed insuperable. I sat cogitating and recogitating various

theories and probabilities, and had several times examined the iron

powder, which, for better observation, I had scattered on a sheet of

white paper that lay on my table. My intention was to test it, and I

waited the incoming of my assistant to aid me in my experiment. As I

looked at it at intervals between my trains of thought, I was struck

with a kind of glittering appearance it exhibited, and which was more

observable when it caught my eye obliquely and collaterally, during the

partial suspension of my perception by my cogitations. Roused by this

circumstance, I proceeded instantly to a more minute investigation; and

having, by means of a magnet, removed all the particles of iron, what

was my surprise to find a residuum of triturated glass--one of the most

searching and insidious poisons known in toxicology. Good God! what were

my thoughts and feelings when the first flash of this discovery flared

upon my mind--solving, in an instant, by the intensity of its painful

light, all my doubts, and realizing all my suspicions. Every

circumstance of this mysterious affair stood now revealed in clear

relief--a dark scheme of murder, more revolting in its features than

any recorded in the malefactor's journal, was illumined and exposed by a

light which exhibited not only the workings of the design itself, but

the reason which led to its perpetration. This man had married the

confiding and devoted foreigner for the sake of her immense wealth,

which raised him in an instant from mediocrity to magnificence; and,

having attained the object of his ambition, he had resolved--with a view

to the concealment of the means whereby he effected his purpose, and

regardless of the sacred obligation of gratitude he owed to her who had

left her country, her relations, and friends, to trust herself to his

protection and love--to immolate the faithful, kind-hearted, and

affectionate creature, by a cruel and protracted murder. In her own

country the cowardly wretch could not have braved the vengeance of her

countrymen; but, in a distant land, where few might be expected to stand

up for the rights of the injured foreigner, he had thought he might

execute his scheme with secrecy and success. But now it was discovered!

By one of those extraordinary detached traces of the finger of the

Almighty, exposed to the convicting power of divine intellect, it was

discovered!

The great excitement produced in my mind by this miraculous discovery

prevented me for some time from calmly deliberating on the steps I ought

to pursue, with the view of saving the poor foreigner from the designs

of her murderer. The picture of the devoted being lying, like a queen,

in the midst of the wealth she had brought to her husband, and trembling

at the very thought of rejecting his poison, for fear of giving him the

slightest pain--yet on the very point of being sacrificed; her wealth,

love, confidence, and gentleness, repaid by death, and her body

consigned, unlamented by friends--who might never hear of her fate--to

foreign dust, rose continually on my imagination, and interested my

feelings to a degree incompatible with the exercise of a calm judgment.

In proportion as my emotion subsided, the difficulty of my situation

appeared to increase. I was, apparently, the only person who knew

anything of this extraordinary purpose, and I saw the imprudence of

taking upon myself the total responsibility of a report to the public

authorities in a case where the chances of conviction would be

diminished to nothing by the determination of the victim to save her

destroyer, whom she never would believe guilty, and by the want of

evidence of a direct nature that the powder I had tested was truly

destined for her reception; while, in the event of an impeachment and

acquittal of the culprit, I would be exposed to his vengeance, and his

poor wife would be for ever subjected to his tyranny and oppression. On

the other hand, I was at a loss to know how I could again get access to

the sick victim, whom I had left without being requested to repeat my

visit; and, even if that could be accomplished, I had many doubts

whether she would pay the slightest attention or regard to my statement,

that her husband, whom she seemed to prefer to her own divine Brama,

designed to poison her. Yet it was clear that the poor victim behoved to

be saved, in some way, from the dreadful fate which impended over her;

and the necessity of some steps being taken with rapidity and efficacy,

behoved to resolve scruples and doubts which otherwise might have been

considered worthy of longer time and consideration.

Next day I found I had made little progress in coming to a resolution

what step to pursue, yet every hour and minute that passed reproached me

with cruelty, and my imagination brought continually before my eyes the

poor victim swallowing the stated periodical quota of her death-drug. I

could have no rest or peace of mind till something was done, at least to

the extent of putting her on her guard against the schemes of her cruel

destroyer; and, after all my cogitations, resolutions, and schemes, I

found myself compelled to rest satisfied with seeing her, laying before

her the true nature of her danger, and leaving to the operation of the

instinctive principle of self-preservation the working out of her

ultimate safety. At the same hour of the evening at which my former

visit was made, I repaired to the back entrance of the large mansion,

and, upon rapping at the door, was fortunate enough to be answered by

the young woman who acted formerly as my guide. She led me, at my

request, instantly to the sickroom of her lady, who, having immediately

before been seized with an attack of vomiting, was lying in a state of

exhaustion approaching to the inanity of death. I spoke to her, and she

languidly opened her eyes. I saw no prospect of being able to impress

upon her comatose mind the awful truth I had come to communicate; yet I

had no alternative but to make the attempt; and I accordingly proceeded,

with as few words as possible, and in a tone of voice suited to the

lethargic state of her mind and senses, to inform her that the medicines

she was getting from the hands of her husband were fraught with deadly

poison, which was alone the cause of all her sufferings and agonies, and

would soon be the means of a painful death. These words I spoke slowly

and impressively, and watched the effect of them with anxiety and

solicitude. A convulsive shudder passed over her, and shook her

violently. She opened her eyes, which I saw fill with tears, and fixed

a steady look on my countenance.

"_It is impossible_," she said, with a low, guttural tone, but with much

emphasis; "and if it _were_ possible, I would still take his medicine,

and die, rather than outlive the consciousness of love and fidelity."

These words she accompanied with a wave of her hand, as if she wished

me to depart. I could not get her to utter another syllable. I had

discharged a painful duty; and, casting a look upon her, which I verily

believed would be the last I would have it in my power to bestow on this

personification of fidelity and gentleness, I took my departure.

I felt myself placed in a very painful position for two or three days

after this interview, arising from a conviction that I had not done

enough for the salvation of this poor victim, and yet without being able

to fix upon any other means of rendering her any assistance, unless I

put into execution a resolution that floated in my mind, to admonish her

husband, by an anonymous communication, and threaten to divulge the

secret of his guilt, unless he instantly desisted from his nefarious

purpose--a plan that did not receive the entire sanction of my honour,

however much it enlisted the approbation of my feelings. Some further

time passed, and added, with its passing minutes, to my mental

disquietude. One evening, when I was sitting meditating painfully on

this sombre subject, a lackey, superbly dressed, was introduced to me by

my servant, and stated that he had been commanded by his master Colonel

P----, to request my attendance at his house without delay. I started

at the mention of the name, and the nature of the message; and the

man stared at me, as I exhibited the irresolution of doubt and the

perturbation of surprise, in place of returning him a direct answer.

Recovering myself, I replied, that I would attend upon the instant;

and, indeed, I felt a greater anxiety to fly to that house on which my

thoughts were painfully fixed, than I ever did to visit the most valued

friend I ever attended in distress. As I hurried along, I took little

time to think of the object of my call; but I suspected, either that

Colonel P---- had got some notice of my having secretly visited,

in my professional capacity, his wife, and being therefore privy to

his design--a state of opposing circumstances, which he was now to

endeavour in some way to counteract--or that, finding, from the

extremity to which his wife was reduced, that he was necessitated to

call a doctor, as a kind of cloak or cover to his cruel act, he had thus

made a virtue of necessity, when, alas! it would be too late for my

rendering the unfortunate creature any service. "He shall not, however,

escape," muttered I, vehemently, through my teeth, as I proceeded. "He

little knows that he is now calling to his assistance the man that shall

hang him."

I soon arrived at the house, and rung the front door bell. The same

powdered lackey who had preceded me, opened the door. I was led up two

pair of stairs, and found myself in the same lobby with which I had

already become somewhat familiar. I proceeded forward, thinking I was

destined for the sick chamber of the lady; but the servant opened a door

immediately next to that of her room, and ushered me into an apartment

furnished in an elegant style, but much inferior to that occupied by his

wife. In a bed lay a man of a genteel, yet sinister cast of countenance,

with a large aquiline nose, and piercing black eyes. He appeared very

pale and feverish, and threw upon me that anxious eye which we often

find in patients who are under the first access of a serious disease;

as if nature, while she kept her secret from the understanding,

communicated it to the feelings, whose eloquence, expressed through the

senses, we can often read with great facility. I knew, in an instant,

that he was committed, by a relentless hand, to suffering, in all

likelihood, in the form of a fever. He told me he was Colonel P----, and

that, having been very suddenly taken ill, he had become alarmed for

himself, and sent for me to administer to him my professional services.

I looked at him intently; but he construed my stare into the eagerness

of professional investigation. At that instant, a piercing scream rang

through the house, and made my ears tingle. I asked him who had uttered

that scream, which must have come from some creature in the very

extremity of agony, and made an indication as if I would hasten to

administer relief to the victim. In an instant, I was close and firm in

the trembling clutch of the sick man, who, with a wild and confused

look, begged me not to sacrifice him to any attention to the cause

of this disturbance, which was produced by a servant in the house

habitually given, through fits of hysterics, to the utterance of these

screams. I put on an appearance of being satisfied with this statement;

but I fixed my eye relentlessly on him, as he still shook, from the

combined effects of his incipient disease, and his fear of my

investigating the cause of the scream. I proceeded to examine into the

nature of his complaint. The symptoms described by him, and detected by

my observation, satisfied me that he had been seized with an attack

of virulent typhus; and from the intensity of some of the

indications--particularly his languor and small pulse, his loss of

muscular strength, violent pains in the head, the inflammation of his

eyes, the strong throbbing of his temporal arteries, his laborious

respiration, parched tongue, and hot breath--I was convinced he had

before him the long sands of a rough and rapid race with death. At the

close of my investigation he looked anxiously and wistfully in my face,

and asked me what I conceived to be the nature of his complaint. I told

him at once, and with greater openness and readiness than I usually

practise, that I was very much afraid he was committed for a severe

course of virulent typhus. He felt the full force of an announcement

which, to those who have had any experience of this king of fevers,

cannot fail to carry terror in every syllable; and falling back on his

pillow, turned up his eye to heaven. At this moment, a succession of

screams, or rather yells, sounded through the house; but as I now saw

that I had a chance of saving the innocent sufferer, I pretended not to

regard the dreadful sounds, and purposely averted my eyes to escape the

inquiring, nervous look of the sick man. I gave him some directions,

promised to send some medicines, and took my leave.

As I shut the door, the waiting-maid, whom I had seen before, was

standing in the door of her mistress's apartment, and beckoned me in,

with a look of terror and secrecy. I was as anxious to visit her gentle

mistress as she was to call me. On entering, which I did slowly and

silently, to escape the ear of her husband, I found the unfortunate

creature in the most intense state of agony. The ground glass she had

swallowed, and a great part of which, doubtless, adhered to the stomach,

was too clearly the cause of her screams; but, to my surprise, I

discovered, from her broken ejaculations, that the grief of her

husband's illness had been able, in its strength, to fight its way to

her heart, through all her bodily agonies produced by his poison. My

questions regarding her own condition were answered by hysterical

sobs, mixed with ejaculations of pity, and requests to know how he

was, and what was the nature of the complaint by which he had been

attacked--hinting, in dubious terms, that she had been the cause of his

illness, by entailing upon him the necessity of attending her, and

wounding his sensitive heart by her distress. My former communications

to her concerning the poison, and my caution against her acceptance of

it from the hands of her intended murderer, had produced no effect upon

a mind predetermined to believe nothing against the man she loved and

trusted beyond all mortals. She had received it again from him after my

communication; the effects of it were now exhibited in her tortured,

burning viscera; and yet, in the very midst of her agonies, her faith,

confidence, and love stood unshaken; a noble yet melancholy emblem of

the most elevated, yet often least valued and most abused virtues of her

sex. I endeavoured to answer her fevered inquiries about her husband, by

telling her that he stood in great _need of her attendance_; and that,

if she would agree to follow my precepts, and put herself entirely under

my advice and direction, she might, in a very short time, be enabled to

perform her duty of a faithful wife and a kind nurse to her distressed

partner. The first perception she caught of the meaning of my

communication, lighted up her eye, even in the midst of her wringing

pains; and, starting up, she cried, that she would be the most abject

slave to my will, and obey me in all things, if I could assure her of

the blessing of being able to act as nurse and comforter to her husband.

Now I saw my opportunity. On the instant I called up and despatched the

waiting-maid to my home, with directions to my assistant, to send me

instantly an oleaginous mixture, and some powerful emetics, which

I described in a _recipe_. I waited the return of the messenger,

administered the medicines, and watched for a time their operation and

effects. Notwithstanding the continued attacks that had been made on her

system by the doses of an active poison, I was satisfied that, if my

energies were not, in some unforeseen way, thwarted and opposed, I would

be able to bring this deserving wife and pattern of her sex from the

brink of the grave that had been dug for her by the hand of her husband.

After leaving with the waiting-maid some directions, I proceeded home,

for the purpose of preparing the necessary medicines for my other

patient.

I now commenced a series of regular visits to my two patients--the

illness of the husband affording me the most ample scope for saving his

wife. As he gradually descended into the unavoidable depths of his

inexorable disease, she, by the elastic force of youth and a good

constitution, operating in unison with my medicines, which were

administered with the greatest regularity, gradually threw off the

lurking poison, and advanced to a state of comparative safety and

strength. I was much pleased to observe the salutary effects of my

professional interference in behalf of my interesting patient; but could

scarcely credit my own perceptions, as I had exhibited to me the most

undoubted proofs, that the desire to minister to the wants and comforts

of her sick husband, engrossed so completely every other feeling that

might have been supposed consequent upon a restoration to health, that

she seemed to disregard all other considerations. Her questions about

the period when she might be able to attend him were unremitting; and

every hour she was essaying to walk, though her efforts often ended in

weak falls, or sinkings on the ground, when some one was required to

assist her in getting up and returning to bed. She entreated me to allow

her to be _carried_ to his bedside; where, she said, they might mix

their tears and console each other; and all my arguments against the

impropriety of such an obvious mode of increasing her husband's illness,

and augmenting those sufferings she was so solicitous to ameliorate,

were scarcely sufficient to prevent her from putting her design into

execution.

The husband's disease, which often runs a course of two months,

though the crisis occurs generally between the third and fourth week,

progressed steadily and relentlessly, mocking, as the fevers of that

type generally do, all the boasted art of our profession. His pulse rose

to the alarming height of 120; he exhibited the oppression at the chest,

increased thirst, blackfurred tongue, and inarticulate, muttering

speech, which are considered to be unfavourable indications; and there

was, besides, a clear tendency to delirium--a common, yet critical

symptom--leaving, even after the patient has recovered, and often for

years, its marks in the weakened intellect. One evening I was standing

by his bedside, studying his symptoms; witnessing the excess of his

sufferings, and listening to the bursts of incoherent speech which, from

time to time, came from him, as if expelled from his sick spirit by some

internal power. He spoke often of his wife, whom he called by the name

of Espras; and, in the midst of his broken ejaculations, gushes of

intense feeling came on him, filling his yellow sunken eyes with rheumy

tears, and producing heavy sobs, which, repressed by his loaded chest,

assumed sounds unlike anything I ever heard, and beyond my power of

description. I could not well understand these indications of the

working of his spirit; but I fancied that, when he felt his own agonies,

became conscious of what it is to suffer a certain extremity of pain,

and learned, for the first time in his life, the sad experience of an

inexorable disease, which presented to him the prospect of a lingering

death, his mind recurred to the situation of his wife, who, as he

thought, was, or might be, enduring tortures produced by his hand,

transcending even his sufferings. There seemed to be less of conscience

in his mental operations, than a new-born sorrow or sympathy, wrung out

of a heart naturally obdurate, by the anguish of a personal experience

of the pain he himself had produced in another, who had the strongest

claims on his protection and love. His mind, though volatile and

wandering, and not far from verging on delirium, was not yet deranged;

and I was about to put a question to him concerning his wife, whom he

had not directly mentioned to me, when the door opened, and the still

pale and emaciated figure of Mrs. P----, dressed in a white morning

gown, entered the apartment, struggling with her weakness to get

forward, and clutching, in her breathless efforts, at whatever presented

itself to her nerveless arms, to support her, and aid her in her

progress to the sick-bed of her husband. The bed being in the middle of

a large room, she was necessitated to trust partly to the weak powers of

her limbs, which having failed her, she, in an attempt to spring forward

and reach it before sinking, came short of her aim, and fell with a

crash on the floor, uttering, as she stumbled, a scream of sorrow,

wrung from her by the sight of her husband lying extended on a bed of

sickness. The noise started the invalid, who turned his eyes wildly in

the direction of the disturbance; and I rushed forwards to raise in

my arms the exhausted victim. I had scarcely got her placed on her

feet, when she again struggled to reach the bed; and having, by my

assistance, got far enough forward, she threw herself on the body of

the fever-ridden patient, ejaculating, as she seized him in her arms,

and bedewed his pale face with tears--

"Frederick! my honoured husband, whom I am bound to cherish and nurse

as becomes the fondest of wives, why is it that I have been deprived

of this luxury of the grief-stricken heart--to watch your looks, and

anticipate your wants? Thanks to the blessed powers of your faith and of

mine, I have you now in my arms, and no mortal shall come between me and

my love! Night and day I will watch and tend you, till the assiduities

of my affection weary out the effects of your cruel disease brought on

you--O God!--by your grief for me, your worthless Espras."

And she buried her head in the bosom of the sick man, and sobbed

intensely. This scene, from the antithesis of its circumstances,

appeared to me the most striking I had ever beheld; and, though it was

my duty to prevent so exciting a cause of disturbance to the patient, I

felt I had no power to stop this burst of true affection. I watched

narrowly the eye of the patient; but it was too much clouded by the

effects of the fever, and too nervous and fugacious, to enable me to

distinguish between the effects of disease and the working of the

natural affections. But that his mind and feelings were working, and

were responding to this powerful moral impulse, was proved fearfully by

his rapid indistinct muttering and jabbering, mixed with deep sighs, and

the peculiar sound of the repressed sobs which I have already mentioned,

but cannot assimilate to any sound I ever heard. All my efforts to

remove the devoted wife by entreaty were vain; she still clung to him,

as if he had been on the eve of being taken from her by death. Her

sobbing continued unabated, and her tears fell on his cheek. These

intense expressions of love and sorrow awoke the sympathy which I

thought had previously been partially excited, for I now observed that

he turned away his head, while a stream of tears flowed down his face.

It was now, I found, necessary, for the sake of the patient, to remove

the excited lady; and I was obliged to apply a gentle force before I

could accomplish my purpose. She insisted, however, upon remaining in

the room, and beseeched me so piteously for this privilege, that I

consented to a couch being made up for her at a little distance from the

bed of her husband, whom it was her determination to tend and nurse, to

the exclusion of all others. I was not, indeed, ill pleased at this

resolution, for I anticipated, from her unexampled love and devotedness,

an effect on the heart of her husband which might cure its vices and

regenerate its affections.

On the next occasion of my stated visit, I found my patient had at last

fallen into a state of absolute delirium. On a soft arm-chair, situated

by his bedside, sat his wife, the picture of despair, wringing her

hands, and indulging in the most extravagant demonstrations of grief

and affection. The wretched man exhibited the ordinary symptoms of that

unnatural excitement of the brain under which he laboured--relapsing

at times into silence, then uttering a multiplicity of confused

words--jabbering wildly--looking about him with that extraordinary

expression of the eye, as if every individual present was viewed as a

murderer--then starting up, and, with an overstrained and choking voice,

vociferating his frenzied thoughts, and then again relapsing into

silence. It is but little we can do for patients in this extreme

condition; but the faith his wife reposed in professional powers that

had already saved her, suggested supplications and entreaties which I

told her she had better direct to a higher Dispensator of hope and

relief. The tumultuous thoughts of the raving victim were still at

intervals rolling forth; and, all of a sudden, I was startled by a great

increase of the intensity and connectedness of his speech. He had struck

the chord that sounded most fearfully in his own ears. His attempt to

murder the creature who now sat and heard his wild confession, was

described by himself in intelligible, though broken sentences:--

"The fortune brought me by Espras," he vociferated, "is loaded by the

burden of herself--that glass is not well ground--you are not so ill, my

dear Espras, as to require a doctor--I cannot bear the thought of you

labouring under that necessity--who can cure you so well as your devoted

husband? Take this--fear not--why should love have suspicions? When she

is gone, I shall have a wife of whom I may not be ashamed--yet, is she

not a stranger in a foreign land? Has she not left her country, her

relations, her friends, her gods, for me, whom she has raised to

opulence? Cease, cease--I cannot stand these thoughts--there is a strife

in this heart between the powers of hell and heaven--when will it

terminate, and who shall rule my destiny?"

These words, which he accompanied with wild gestures, were followed by

his usual indistinct muttering and jabbering. I directed my gaze upon

his wife. She sat in the chair, motionless, with her eyes fixed on the

ground as if she had been struck with death in that position, and been

stiffened into a rigidity which retained her in her place. The issues

of her tenderness and affection seemed to have been sent back upon the

heart, whose pulses they stopped. The killing pain of an ingratitude,

ingeniously heightened to the highest grade of that hell-king of all

human crimes, operating upon a mind rendered so sensitively susceptible

of its influences, paralyzed the whole moral constitution of the devoted

creature, and realized the poetical creation of despair. I felt inclined

to soften the sternness of her grief, by quickening her disbelief of the

raving thoughts of a fever-maniac; but I paused as I thought of the

probable necessity of her suspicion for her future safety from the

schemes of a murderer, whose evil desires might be resuscitated by the

return of health. I could do nothing more at that time for the dreadful

condition of the wretched husband, and less for the more dreadful state

of the miserable wife; and the personal pain I experienced in witnessing

this high-wrought scene of terror, forced me to depart, leaving the one

still raving in his madness, and the other bound in the stern grasp of

the most awful of all moral visitations.

I expected that on my next visit I would find such a change on my

patient as would enable me to decide whether he would live or die; but

he was still delirious, with the crowded thoughts of the events of his

past life careering through his fevered brain, as if their restlessness

and agitation were produced by the burning fires that chased them from

their legitimate territory of the mind. There was, however, a change

in one quarter. His wife's confidence and affection had withstood and

triumphed over the attack of the previous day, and she was again

occupied in hanging over her raving husband, shedding on his unconscious

face the tear of pity, and supplying, by anticipation, every want that

could be supposed incident to his miserable condition. This new and

additional proof of the strength of this woman's steadfastness, in her

unparalleled fidelity and love, struck me even more forcibly than the

previous indications she had given of this extraordinary feature in her

character. But I was uncertain yet whether to construe her conduct as

salutary or dangerous to her own personal interests--a circumstance

depending on the further development of the sentiments of her husband.

On that same evening the change suspected took place: the delirium

abated, and consciousness, that had been driven forcibly from her

throne, hastened to assume the sceptre of her authority. The crisis was

past, and the patient began to be sensible of those attentions on the

part of his devoted wife, which had not only the merit of being

unremitting, but that of being sweetened by the tears of solicitude and

the blandness of love. I marked attentively the first impressions made

by her devotedness on the returning sense. I saw his look following her

eye, which was continually inflamed and bedewed by the effects of her

grief; and, after he had for a period of time fixed his half-conscious,

half-wondering gaze on her, he turned it suddenly away, but not before

he gave sufficient indications of sympathy and sorrow in a gush of

tears. These manifestations were afterwards often repeated; but I

thought I sometimes could perceive an abruptness in his manner, and a

painful impatience of the minute, refined, and ingenious attentions of a

highly-impassioned affection, which left me in doubt whether, after his

disease was removed, sufficient reliance could be placed on the

stability of his regeneration.

In my subsequent visits I kept up my study of the operations of his mind

as well as the changes of his disease. His wife's attentions seemed

rather to increase with the improvement of his health and her increased

ability to discharge the duties of affection. He had improved so far as

to be in a condition to receive medicines for the recovery of the tone

of his stomach. I seized the opportunity of his wife leaving for a short

time his sick room, and, as I seated myself on her chair by the bedside,

I took from my pocket the powder of iron-filings and triturated glass he

had prepared for the poisoning of her who had latterly been contributing

all the energies of love to the saving of his life.

"A chalybeate mixture," said I, while I fixed my eyes on his

countenance, "has been recommended for patients in your condition, for

improving the power of the stomach weakened by the continued nausea of

a protracted fever. Here is a powder composed of iron-filings, a good

chalybeate, which I found lying in your wife's apartment. I have none

better in my laboratory, and would recommend to you a full dose of it

before I depart."

The electric effect of this statement was instantaneous and remarkable.

He seemed like one who had felt the sharp sting of a musket bullet sent

into his body by a hand unseen--uncertain of the nature of the wound, or

of the aim by which it is produced. A sudden suspicion relieved his

still fevered eye, which threw upon me the full blaze of staring wonder

and terror, while an accompanying uncertainty of my intention sealed his

mouth and added curiosity to his look. But I followed up my intention

resolutely and determinedly.

"Here is on the table," continued I, "a mucilaginous vehicle for its

conveyance into the stomach. I shall prepare it instantly. To seize

quickly the handle of an auspicious occasion is the soul of our

art."--(Approaching the bed with the medicine in my hand.)

"I cannot, I cannot take that medicine," he cried, wildly. "What means

this? Help me, Heaven, in this emergency! I cannot, I dare not take that

medicine."

"Why?" said I, still eyeing him intently. "Is it because there is

ground glass in it? That cannot be; because I understand it was intended

for Espras, your loving, faithful wife; and who would administer so

dreadful a poison to a creature so gentle and interesting? She is,

besides, a foreigner in our land; and who would treat the poor

unprotected stranger with the dainty that has concealed in it a lurking

death? Is this the hospitality of Britain?"

Every word was a thunderstroke to his heart. All uncertainty fled before

these flaming sarcasms, which carried, on the bolt of truth, the

keenness of his own poison. His pain became intense, and exhibited the

peculiarity of a mixture of extreme terror, directed towards me as one

that had the power of hanging him, and of intense sorrow for the injury

he had produced to the wife of his bosom, whose emaciated figure,

hanging over him in his distress, must have been deeply imprinted on

his soul. Yet it was plain that his sorrow overcame his fear; for I

saw his bosom heaving with an accumulation of hysterical emotions, which

convulsed his frame in the intense manner of the aerial ball that chokes

the female victim of excited nerves. The struggle lasted for several

minutes, and at last a burst of dissolving tenderness, removing all the

obstructions of prudence or terror, and stunning my ear with its loud

sound, afforded him a temporary relief. Tears gushed down his cheeks,

and groans of sorrow filled the room, and might have been heard in the

apartment of his wife, whose entry, I feared, might have interrupted the

extraordinary scene. Looking at me wistfully, he held out his hands, and

sobbed out, in a tone of despair--

"Are you my friend, or are you my enemy?"

I answered him that I was the friend of his wife--one of the brightest

patterns of female fidelity I had ever seen; and if by declaring myself

his friend I would save her from the designs of the poisoner, and him

from the pains of the law and the fire of hell, I would instantly sign

the bond of amity.

"You have knocked from my soul the bonds of terror," he cried out, still

sobbing; "and if I knew and were satisfied of one thing more, I would

resign myself to God and my own breaking heart. Did Espras--yet why

should I suspect one who rejects suspicion as others do the poison she

would swallow from my hand, though labelled by the apothecary?--did

Espras tell you what you have so darkly and fearfully hinted to me?"

I replied to him that, in place of telling me, the faithful unsuspecting

creature had to that hour rejected and spurned the suspicion, as

unworthy of her pure, confiding spirit.

"It is over!--it is over!" cried the changed man. "O God! How powerful

is virtue! How strong is the force of those qualities of the heart which

we men often treat as weak baubles to toy with, and throw away in our

fits of proud spleen--the softness, the gentleness, the fidelity and

devotedness of woman! How strangely, how wonderfully formed is the heart

of man, which, disdaining the terrors of the rope of the executioner,

breaks and succumbs at the touch of the thistle-down of a woman's love!

This creature, sir, gave me my fortune, made me what I am, left for me

her country and her friends, adhered to me through good and evil

report--and I prepared for her a cruel death! Dreadful contrast! Who

shall describe the shame, the sorrow, the humiliation, of the ingrate

whose crime has risen to the fearful altitude of this enormity; and who,

by the tenderness and love of his devoted victim, is forced to turn his

eye on the grim reward of death for love, riches, and life? Gentle,

beloved, injured Espras! that emaciated form, these trembling limbs,

these sunken eyes, and these weak and whispering sounds of pity and

affection have touched my heart with a power that never was vouchsafed

to the tongue of eloquence. Transcending the rod of Moses, they have

brought from the rock streams of blood; and every pulse is filled with

tenderness and pity. Wretched fool! I was ashamed of your nativity,

and of the colour you inherited from nature, and never estimated the

qualities of your heart; but when shall the red-and-white beauty of

England transcend my Espras in her fidelity and love, as she does in the

skin-deep tints of a beguiling, treacherous face? God! what a change has

come over this heart! Thanks, and prayers, and tears of blood, never can

express the gratitude it owes to the great Author of our being for this

miraculous return to virtue, effected by the simple means of a woman's

confidence and love."

As he finished this impassioned speech, which I have repeated as

correctly as my memory enabled me to commit to my note-book, he turned

his eyes upwards, and remained for at least five minutes in silent

prayer. As he was about finishing his wife entered. Her appearance

called forth from his excited mind a burst of affection, and seizing her

in his arms, he wept over her like a child. He was met as fervently by

the gentle and affectionate creature, who, grateful to God for this

renewed expression of her husband's love, turned up her eyes to heaven,

and wept aloud. I never witnessed a scene like this. I left them to

their enjoyment, and returned home.

I was subsequently a constant visitor at the house of Colonel P----;

and, about eighteen months after his recovery, I officiated as

accoucheur to his wife on the occasion of the birth of a son. Other

children followed afterwards, and bound closer the bonds of that

conjugal love which I had some hand in producing, and which I saw

increase daily through a long course of years.

THE ADOPTED SON.

A TALE OF THE TIMES OF THE COVENANTERS.

"Oh, for the sword of Gideon, to rid the land of tyrants, to bring down

the pride of apostates, and to smite the ungodly with confusion!"

muttered John Brydone to himself, as he went into the fields in the

September of 1645, and beheld that the greater part of a crop of oats,

which had been cut down a few days before, was carried off. John was the

proprietor of about sixty acres on the south bank of the Ettrick, a

little above its junction with the Tweed. At the period we speak of,

the talented and ambitious Marquis of Montrose, who had long been an

apostate to the cause of the Covenant--and not only an apostate, but

its most powerful enemy--having, as he thought, completely crushed its

adherents in Scotland, in the pride of his heart led his followers

towards England, to support the tottering cause of Charles in the south,

and was now with his cavalry quartered at Selkirk, while his infantry

were encamped at Philiphaugh, on the opposite side of the river.

Every reader has heard of Melrose Abbey--which is still venerated

in its decay, majestic in its ruins--and they have read, too, of the

abode of the northern wizard, who shed the halo of his genius over

the surrounding scenery. But many have heard of Melrose, of Scott,

and of Abbotsford, to whom the existence of Philiphaugh is unknown.

It, however, is one of those places where our forefathers laid the

foundation of our freedom with the bones of its enemies, and cemented it

with their own blood. If the stranger who visits Melrose and Abbotsford

pursue his journey a few miles farther, he may imagine that he is still

following the source of the Tweed, until he arrive at Selkirk, when he

finds that for some miles he has been upon the banks of the Ettrick, and

that the Tweed is lost among the wooded hills to the north. Immediately

below Selkirk, and where the forked river forms a sort of island, on the

opposite side of the stream, he will see a spacious haugh, surrounded by

wooded hills, and forming, if we may so speak, an amphitheatre bounded

by the Ettrick, between the Yarrow and the Tweed. Such is Philiphaugh;

where the arms of the Covenant triumphed, and where the sword of

Montrose was blunted for ever.

Now, the sun had not yet risen, and a thick, dark mist covered the face

of the earth, when, as we have said, John Brydone went out into his

fields, and found that a quantity of his oats had been carried away. He

doubted not but they had been taken for the use of Montrose's cavalry;

and it was not for the loss of his substance that he grieved, and that

his spirit was wroth, but because it was taken to assist the enemies of

his country, and the persecutors of the truth; for than John Brydone,

humble as he was, there was not a more dauntless or a more determined

supporter of the Covenant in all Scotland. While he yet stood by the

side of his field, and, from the thickness of the morning, was unable to

discern objects at a few yards' distance, a party of horsemen rode up to

where he stood. "Countryman," said one who appeared to be their leader,

"can you inform us where the army of Montrose is encamped?"

John, taking them to be a party of the Royalists, sullenly

replied--"There's mony ane asks the road they ken," and was proceeding

into the field.

"Answer me!" demanded the horseman angrily, and raising a pistol in his

hand--"Sir David Lesly commands you."

"Sir David Lesly!" cried John--"the champion of the truth!--the defender

of the good cause! If ye be Sir David Lesly, as I trow ye be, get yer

troops in readiness, and, before the mist vanish on the river, I will

deliver the host o' the Philistines into your hand."

"See that ye play not the traitor," said Lesly, "or the nearest tree

shall be unto thee as the gallows was to Haman which he prepared for

Mordecai."

"Do even so to me, and more also," replied John, "if ye find me false.

But think ye that I look as though I bore the mark of the beast upon my

forehead?" he continued, taking off his Lowland bonnet, and gazing

General Lesly full in the face.

"I will trust you," said the General; and, as he spoke, the van of his

army appeared in sight.

John having described the situation of the enemy to Sir David, acted as

their guide until they came to the Shaw Burn, when the General called a

halt. Each man having partaken of a hurried repast, by order of Sir

David, the word was given along the line that they should return thanks

for being conducted to the place where the enemy of the Kirk and his

army slept in imaginary security. The preachers at the head of the

different divisions of the army gave out a psalm, and the entire host of

the Covenanters, uncovering their heads, joined at the same moment in

thanksgiving and praise. John Brydone was not a man of tears, but, as he

joined in the psalm, they rolled down his cheeks, for his heart felt,

while his tongue uttered praise, that a day of deliverance for the

people of Scotland was at hand. The psalm being concluded, each preacher

offered up a short but earnest prayer; and each man, grasping his

weapon, was ready to lay down his life for his religion and his liberty.

John Brydone, with his bonnet in hand, approaching Sir David,

said--"Now, sir, I that ken the ground, and the situation o' the enemy,

would advise ye, as a man who has seen some service mysel', to halve

your men; let the one party proceed by the river to attack them on the

one side, and the other go round the hills to cut off their retreat."[J]

[J]

"But halve your men in equal parts,

Your purpose to fulfil;

Let ae half keep the water-side,

The rest gae round the hill."

_Battle of Philiphaugh--Border Ballad._

"Ye speak skilfully," said Sir David, and he gave orders as John Brydone

had advised.

The Marquis of Montrose had been disappointed in reinforcements from his

sovereign. Of two parties which had been sent to assist him in his raid

into England, one had been routed in Yorkshire, and the other defeated

on Carlisle sands, and only a few individuals from both parties joined

him at Selkirk. A great part of his Highlanders had returned home to

enjoy their plunder; but his army was still formidable, and he imagined

that he had Scotland at his feet, and that he had nothing to fear from

anything the Covenanters could bring against him. He had been writing

despatches throughout the night; and he was sitting in the best house

in Selkirk, penning a letter to his sovereign, when he was startled

by the sounds of cannon and of musketry. He rushed to the street. The

inhabitants were hurrying from their houses--many of his cavalry were

mingling, half-dressed, with the crowd. "To horse!--to horse!" shouted

Montrose. His command was promptly obeyed; and, in a few minutes, at

the head of his cavalry, he rushed down the street leading to the river

towards Philiphaugh. The mist was breaking away, and he beheld his army

fleeing in every direction. The Covenanters had burst upon them as a

thunderbolt. A thousand of his best troops lay dead upon the field.[K]

He endeavoured to rally them, but in vain; and, cutting his way through

the Covenanters, he fled at his utmost speed, and halted not until he

had arrived within a short distance of where the delightful watering

town of Innerleithen now stands, when he sought a temporary

resting-place in the house of Lord Traquair.

[K] Sir Walter Scott says that "the number of slain in the field did

not exceed three or four hundred." All the authorities I have seen state

the number at a thousand. He also accuses Lesly of abusing his victory

by slaughtering many of his prisoners in cold blood. Now, it is true that

a hundred of the Irish adventurers were shot; but this was in pursuance

of an act of both Parliaments, and not from any private revenge on the

part of General Lesly.

John Brydone, having been furnished with a sword, had not been idle

during the engagement; but, as he had fought upon foot, and the greater

part of Lesly's army were cavalry, he had not joined in the pursuit;

and, when the battle was over, he conceived it to be as much his duty

to act the part of the Samaritan, as it had been to perform that of a

soldier. He was busied, therefore, on the field in administering, as he

could, to the wounded; and whether they were Cavalier or Covenanter, it

was all one to John; for he was not one who could trample on a fallen

foe, and in their hour of need he considered all men as brothers. He was

passing within about twenty yards of a tent upon the Haugh, which had a

superior appearance to the others--it was larger, and the cloth which

covered it was of a finer quality; when his attention was arrested by a

sound unlike all that belonged to a battle-field--the wailing and the

cries of an infant! He looked around, and near him lay the dead body of

a lady, and on her breast, locked in her cold arms, a child of a few

months old was struggling. He ran towards them--he perceived that

the lady was dead--he took the child in his arms--he held it to his

bosom--he kissed its cheek--"Puir thing!--puir thing!" said John; "the

innocent hae been left to perish amang the unrighteous." He was bearing

away the child, patting its cheek, and caressing it as he went, and

forgetting the soldier in the nurse, when he said unto himself--"Puir

innocent!--an' belike yer wrang-headed faither is fleeing for his life,

an' thinking aboot ye an' yer mother as he flees! Weel, ye may be

claimed some day, an' I maun do a' in my power to gie an account o' ye."

So John turned back towards the lifeless body of the child's mother; and

he perceived that she wore a costly ring upon her finger, and bracelets

on her arms; she also held a small parcel, resembling a book, in her

hands, as though she had fled with it, without being able to conceal it,

and almost at the door of her tent she had fallen with her child in her

arms, and her treasure in her hand. John stooped upon the ground, and

took the ring from her finger, and the bracelets from her arms; he took

also the packet from her hands, and in it he found other jewels, and a

purse of gold pieces. "These may find thee a faither, puir thing," said

he; "or if they do not, they may befriend thee when John Brydone

cannot."

He carried home the child to his own house, and his wife having at that

time an infant daughter at her breast, she took the foundling from her

husband's arms, and became unto it as a mother, nursing it with her own

child. But John told not his wife of the purse, nor the ring, nor the

rich jewels.

The child had been in their keeping for several weeks, but no one

appeared to claim him. "The bairn may hae been baptized," said John;

"but it wud be after the fashion o' the sons o' Belial; but he is a

brand plucked from the burning--he is my bairn noo, and I shall be unto

him as a faither--I'll tak upon me the vows--and, as though he were

flesh o' my ain flesh, I will fulfil them." So the child was baptized.

In consequence of his having been found on Philiphaugh, and of the

victory there gained, he was called Philip; and as John had adopted him

as his son, he bore also the name of Brydone. It is unnecessary for

us to follow the foundling through his years of boyhood. John had two

children--a son named Daniel, and Mary, who was nursed at his mother's

breast with the orphan Philip. As the boy grew up, he called his

protectors by the name of father and mother; but he knew they were not

such, for John had shown him the spot upon the Haugh where he had found

him wailing on the bosom of his dead mother. Frequently, too, when he

quarrelled with his playfellows, they would call him the "Philiphaugh

foundling," and "the Cavalier's brat;" and on such occasions Mary was

wont to take his part, and, weeping, say "he was her brother." As he

grew up, however, it grieved his protector to observe that he manifested

but little of the piety, and less of the sedateness of his own children.

"What is born i' the bane, isna easily rooted oot o' the flesh," said

John; and in secret he prayed and wept that his adopted son might be

brought to a knowledge of the truth. The days of the Commonwealth had

come, and John and his son Daniel rejoiced in the triumphs of the

Parliamentary armies, and the success of its fleets; but, while they

spoke, Philip would mutter between his teeth--"It is the triumph of

murderers!" He believed that but for the ascendancy of the Commonwealth,

he might have obtained some tidings of his family; and this led him to

hate a cause which the activity of his spirit might have tempted him to

embrace.

Mary Brydone had always been dear to him; and, as he grew towards

manhood, he gazed on her beautiful features with delight; but it was not

the calm delight of a brother contemplating the fair face of a sister;

for Philip's heart glowed as he gazed, and the blush gathered on his

cheek. One summer evening they were returning from the fields together,

the sun was sinking in the west, the Ettrick murmured along by their

side, and the voice of the wood-dove was heard from the copse-wood which

covered the hills.

"Why are you so sad, brother Philip?" said Mary; "would you hide

anything from your own sister?"

"Do not call me _brother_, Mary," said he earnestly--"do not call me

_brother_!"

"Who would call you brother, Philip, if I did not?" returned she

affectionately.

"Let Daniel call me brother," said he, eagerly; "but not you--not you!"

She burst into tears. "When did I offend you, Philip," she added, "that

I may not call you brother?"

"Never, Mary!--never!" he exclaimed; "call me Philip--_your_

Philip!--anything but brother!" He took her hand within his--he pressed

it to his bosom. "Mary," he added, "I have neither father, mother,

brother, nor kindred--I am alone in the world--let there be something

that I can call _mine_--something that will love me in return! Do you

understand me, Mary?"

"You are cruel, Philip," said she, sobbing as she spoke; "you know I

love you--I have always loved you!"

"Yes! as you love Daniel--as you love your father; but not as"----

"You love Mr. Duncan," he would have said; but his heart upbraided him

for the suspicion, and he was silent. It is here necessary to inform the

reader that Mr. Duncan was a preacher of the Covenant, and John Brydone

revered him much. He was much older than Mary, but his heart cleaved to

her, and he had asked her father's consent to become his son-in-law.

John, though a stern man, was not one who would force the inclination

of his daughter; but Mr. Duncan was, as he expressed it, "one of the

faithful in Israel," and his proposal was pleasing to him. Mary,

however, regarded the preacher with awe, but not with affection.

Mary felt that she understood Philip--that she loved him, and not as a

brother. She hid her face upon his shoulder, and her hand returned the

pressure of his. They entered the house together, and her father

perceived that his daughter's face was troubled. The manner of both was

changed. He was a shrewd man as well as a stern man, and he also

suspected the cause.

"Philip," said he calmly, "for twenty years hae I protected ye, an'

watched ower ye wi' a faither's care, an' I fear that, in return

for my care, ye hae brought sorrow into the bosom o' my family, an'

instilled disobedience into the flesh o' my ain flesh. But though

ye hae cleaved--as it maun hae been inherent in your bluid--into the

principles o' the sons o' this warld, yet, as I ne'er found ye guilty

o' a falsehood, an' as I believe ye incapable o' are, tell me truly,

why is your countenance an' that o' Mary changed--and why are ye baith

troubled to look me straight in the face? Answer me--hae ye taught her

to forget that she is your sister?"

"Yes!" answered Philip; "and can it offend the man who saved me, who has

watched over me, and sheltered me from infancy till now, that I should

wish to be his son in more than in name?"

"It does offend me, Philip," said the Covenanter; "even unto death it

offends me! I hae consented that my dochter shall gie her hand to a

guid an' a godly man, who will look after her weelfare baith here and

hereafter. And ye kenned this--she kenned it, and she didna refuse; but

ye hae come like the son o' darkness, an' sawn tares amang the wheat."

"Father," said Philip, "if you will still allow me to call you by that

name--foundling though I am--unknown as I am--in what am I worse than

him to whom you would sacrifice your daughter's happiness?"

"Sacrifice her happiness!" interrupted the old man; "hoo daur ye speak

o' happiness, wha kens nae meanin' for the word but the vain pleasures

o' this sinfu' warld! Think ye that, as a faither, an' as ane that has

my offspring to answer for, that I daur sacrifice the eternal happiness

o' my bairn, for the gratification o' a temporary feelin' which ye

encourage the day and may extinguish the morn? Na, sir; they wha wad ken

what true happiness is, maun first learn to crucify human passions.

Mary," added he, sternly, turning to his daughter, "repeat the fifth

commandment."

She had been weeping before, and she now wept aloud.

"Repeat it!" replied her father yet more sternly.

"Honour thy father and thy mother," added she, sobbing as she spoke.

"See, then, bairn," replied her father, "that ye remember that

commandment in yer heart, as weel as on yer tongue. Remember, too, that

o' a' the commands, it's the only ane to which a promise is attached;

and, noo, mark what I say, an', as ye wadna disobey me, see, at yer

peril, that ye ne'er permit this young man to speak to ye again, save

only as a brither."

"Sir," said Philip, "we have grown up together like twin tendrils on the

same vine, and can ye wonder that our hearts have become entwined round

each other, or that they can tear asunder because ye command it! Or,

could I look on the face of an angel"----