I was born in the upper district and amidst the mountains of
Dumfriesshire. My father, who died ere I had attained my second
birthday, had seen better times; but, having engaged in mercantile
speculations, had been overreached or unfortunate, or both, and during
the latter years of his life had carried a gun, kept an amazing pointer
bitch (of which my mother used to discourse largely), and had ultimately
married in a fit of despondency. My mother, to whom he had long been
affianced, was nearly connected with the Lairds of Clauchry, of which
relationship she was vain; and in all her trials, of which she had no
ordinary share, she still retained somewhat of the feelings, as well as
the appearance of a gentlewoman. I remember, for example, a pair of
high-heeled red Morocco shoes, overhung by the ample drapery of a
quilted silk gown, in which habiliments she appeared on great occasions.
Soon after my father's decease, my mother found it convenient and
advisable to remove from the neighbourhood of the Clauchry to a cottage,
or cottier as it was called, on her brother's farm, in the upper
division of the parish of Closeburn.
Few situations could be better fitted for the purpose of a quiet and
sequestered retreat. The scene is now as vividly before me as it was on
that day when I last saw it, and felt that, in all probability, I viewed
it for the last time. A snug kailyard, surrounded by a fullgrown bushy
hedge of bourtree, saugh, and thorn, lay along the border of a small
mountain stream, and hard by a thatched cottage, with a peat-stack at
the one end and a small byre at the other. All this was nestled as it
were in the bosom of mountains, which, to the north and the east in
particular, presented a defence against all winds, and an outline of
bold grandeur exceedingly impressive. The south and the west were more
open; consequently the mid-day and afternoon sun reposed, with
delightful and unobstructed radiance, on the green border of the stream,
and the flowery foliage of the brae. And when the evening was calm, and
the season suitable, the blue smoke winded upwards, and the birds sang
delightfully amidst hazel, and oak, and birch, with a profusion of which
the eastern bank was covered. It was here that I spent my early days;
and it was in this scene of mountain solitude, with no immediate
associate but my mother, and for a few years of my existence my
grandmother, that my "feelings and fortunes were formed and shaped out."
To be brought up amidst mountain scenery, apart and afar from the busy
or polluted haunts of man; to place one's little bare foot, with its
first movement, on the greensward, the brown heath, or in the pure
stream; to live in the retired glen, a perceptible part of all that
lives and enjoys; to feel the bracing air of freedom in every breeze; to
be possessed of elbow room from ridge to summit, from bank to
brae,--this is, indeed, the most delightful of all infant schools, and,
above all, prepares the young and infant mind for enlarged conception
and resolute daring.
"To sit on rocks; to muse o'er flood and fell;
To slowly trace the forest's shady scene,
Where things that own not man's dominion dwell,
And mortal foot hath ne'er or seldom been;
To climb the trackless mountain all unseen,
With the wild flock that never needs a fold;
Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean:
This is not solitude--'tis but to hold
Converse with Nature's God, and see his works unrolled."
Here, indeed, are the things that own not the dominion of man! The
everlasting hills, in their outlines of rock and heath; the floods that
leap in freedom, or rush in defiance from steep to steep, from gullet to
pool, and from pool to plain; the very tempest that overpowers; and
heaven, through which the fowls of air sail with supreme and
unchallenged dominion,--all these inspire the young heart with
independence and self-reliance. True it is that the child, and even the
boy, reflects not at all on the advantages of his situation; and this is
the very reason that his whole imagination and heart are under their
influence. He that is ever arresting and analyzing the current of his
thoughts, will seldom think correctly; and he who examines with a
microscopic eye the sources of beauty and sublimity, will seldom feel
the full force and sway of such impressions. Early and lasting
friendships are the fruit of accident, rather than of calculation--of
feeling, rather than of reflection; and the circumstances of scenery and
habit, which modify the child, and give a bent, a bias, and a character
to the after-life, pass all unestimated in regard to such tendency at
the time. The bulrush is not less unconscious of the marsh which
modifies its growth, or the wallflower of the decay to which it clings,
and by which alone its nature and growth would be most advantageously
marked and perfected, than is the mountain child of that moral as well
as physical development, which such peculiar circumstances are
calculated to effect. If, through all the vicissitudes and trials of my
past life, I have ever retained a spirit of independence, a spirit
which has not, as the sequel (which I may yet give) will evince, proved
at all times advantageous to my worldly advancement--if such has been
the case, I owe it, in a great measure, to the impression which the home
of my youth was calculated to make.
My mother had originally received a better education than in those days
was customary with individuals of her class; and, in addition to this
advantage, she had long acted as housekeeper to an unmarried brother,
the minister of a parish in Galloway. In this situation, she had access
to a large and well-chosen library; and at leisure intervals had
improved the opportunity thus presented. She was quite familiar with
Young, and Pope, and Dryden, as well as with Tate's translation of
Ovid's Epistles. These latter, in particular, she used to repeat to me
during the winter evenings, with a tone of plaintiveness which I felt at
the time, and the impression of which can never be obliterated. From
these early associations and impressions I am enabled to deduce a taste
for poetry, which, while it has served to beguile many an otherwise
unsupportable sorrow, has largely contributed to the actual enjoyments
of life. There are, indeed, moments of sadness and of joy, to which
poetry can bring neither alleviation nor zest; but these, when compared
with the more softening shadings, are but rare; and when the intensity
of grief or of delight has yielded, or is in the act of yielding, to
time or reflection, it is then, in the gloaming or the twilight, as
darkness passes into light, or light into darkness, that the soothing
and softening notes of poesy come over the soul like the blessed south.
In religion, or rather in politics--in as far, at least, as they are
interwoven with and inseparable from the Presbyterian faith--my mother
was a staunch Covenanter. Nor was it at all surprising that one whose
forefathers had suffered so severely in defence of the Covenant, and in
opposition to oppression, should imbibe their sentiments. Her maternal
grandfather had suffered at the Gallowlee; and her grandmother, who
refused to give information to Clavers respecting the retreat of her
husband, had her new-born babe plucked from her breast, dashed upon the
floor, and the very bed, from which, to rescue her babe, she had sprung,
pierced and perforated in a thousand places by the swords of the
ruffians. Whilst this tragedy was enacting within doors, and in what, in
these simple times, was denominated the _chaumer_, her eldest son, a boy
of about twelve years of age, was arrested, and because he would not, or
in all probability could not, disclose his father's retreat, he was
blindfolded, tied to a tree, and taught to expect that every ball which
he heard whizzing past his ear was aimed at his head. The boy was left
bound; and, upon his being released by a menial, it was discovered that
his reason had fled--and for ever! He died a few years afterwards, being
known in the neighbourhood by the name of the Martyred Innocent! I have
often looked at the bloody stone (for such stains are well known to be
like those upon Lady Macbeth's hand, indelible,) where fell, after being
perforated by a brace of bullets, Daniel M'Michael, a faithful witness
to the truth, whose tomb, with its primitive and expressive inscription,
is still to be seen in the churchyard of Durisdeer. Grierson of Lag made
a conspicuous figure in the parish of Closeburn in particular; nor did
my mother neglect to point out to me the ruined tower and the waste
domain around it, which bespoke, according to her creed, the curse of
God upon the seed of the persecutor. His elegy--somewhat lengthy and
dull--I could once repeat. I can now only recall the striking lines
where the Devil is introduced as lamenting over the death of his
faithful and unflinching ally:--
"What fatal news is this I hear?--
On earth who shall my standard bear?--
For Lag, who was my champion brave,
Is dead, and now laid in his grave.
"The want of him is a great grief--
He was my manager-in-chief,
Who sought my kingdom to improve;
And to my laws he had great love," etc.
* * * * *
And so on, through at least two hundred lines, composing a pamphlet,
hawked about, in my younger days, in every huckster's basket, and sold
in thousands to the peasantry of Dumfriesshire and Galloway, at the
price of one penny. Whilst, however, the storm of evil passions raged
with such fury in what was termed the western districts in particular,
the poor, shelterless, and persecuted Covenanter was not altogether
destitute of help or comfort. According to his own apprehension, at
least, his Maker was on his side; his prayers, offered up on the
mountain and in the cave, were heard and answered; and a watchful
Providence often interfered, miraculously, both to punish his
oppressors, and warn him against the approach of danger. In evidence of
this, my mother was wont, amongst many others, to quote the following
instances, respecting which she herself entertained no doubt
whatever--instances which, having never before been committed to paper,
have at least the recommendation of novelty in their favour.
One of the chief rendezvous of the Covenant was Auchincairn, in the
eastern district of Closeburn. To this friendly, but, on that account,
suspected roof, did the poor wanderer of the mist, the glen, and the
mountain repair, at dead of night, to obtain what was barely necessary
for the support of nature. Grierson of Lag was not ignorant of the fact,
and accordingly, by a sudden movement, was often found surrounding the
steading with men and horses before daybreak; yet, prompt and well
arranged as his measures were, they were never successful. The objects
of his search uniformly escaped before the search was made. And this
singular good fortune was owing, according to my authority, to the
following circumstance. On the night previous to such an unwelcome
visit, a little bird, of a peculiar feather and note, such as are not to
be found in this country, came, and perching upon the topmost branch of
the old ash tree in the corner of the garden, poured forth its notes of
friendly intimation. To these the poor skulking friend of the Covenant
listened, by these he was warned, lifted his eyes and his feet to the
mountain, and was safe.
The curate of Closeburn was eminently active in distressing his flock.
He was one of those Aberdeen divines whom the wisdom of the Glasgow
council had placed in the three hundred pulpits vacated in consequence
of a drunken and absurd decree. As his church was deserted, he had had
recourse to compulsory measures to enforce attendance, and had actually
dragged servants and children, in carts and hurdles, to hear his
spiritual and edifying addresses; whilst, on the other hand, his spies
and emissaries were busied in giving information against such masters
and parents as fled from his grasp, or resisted it. He had even gone so
far, under the countenance and sanction of the infamous Lauderdale, as
to forbid Christian burial in every case where there was no attendance
on his ministry. Such was the character, and such the conduct of the man
against whom the prayers of a private meeting of the friends of
Presbytery were earnestly directed on the following occasion. The eldest
son of the guidman of Auchincairn had paid the debt of nature, and
behooved to be buried with his fathers in the churchyard of the parish.
To this, from the well-known character both of curate and father, it was
anticipated that resistance would be made. Against this resistance,
however, measures were taken of a somewhat decided character. The body
was to be borne to the churchyard by men in arms, whilst a part of the
attendants were to remain at home, for the purpose of addressing their
Maker in united prayer and supplication. Thus, doubly armed and
prepared, the funeral advanced towards the church and manse. Meanwhile
the prayer and supplication were warm, and almost expostulatory, that
_His_ arm might be stretched forth in behalf of His own covenanted
servants. A poor idiot, who had not been judged a proper person to join
in this service, was heard to approach, and, after listening with great
seeming attention to the strain of the petitions which were made, he, at
length, unable to constrain himself any longer, was heard to exclaim,
"Haud at him, sirs, haud at him--he's just at the pit brow!" Surprising
as it may appear, and incredulous as some may be, there is sufficient
evidence to prove that, just about the time when this prediction was
uttered, the curate of Closeburn, whilst endeavouring to head and hurry
on a party of the military, suddenly dropped down and expired.
Is it, then, matter of surprise that with my mother's milk I imbibed a
strong aversion to all manner of oppression, and that, in the broadest
and best sense of the word, I became "a Whig?" To the mountain, then,
and the flood, I owe my spirit of independence--that shelly-coat
covering against which many arrows have been directed; to my mother,
and her Cameronian and political bias, I owe my detestation of
oppression--in other words, my political creed--together with my
poetical leanings. But to my venerated grandmother, in particular, I am
indebted for my early acquaintance with the whole history and economy of
the spiritual kingdoms, divided as they are into bogle, ghost, and
fairy-land.
I shall probably be regarded as an enthusiast whose feelings no future
evidence can reclaim from early impressions, when I express my regret
that the dreams of my infancy and boyhood have fled--those dreams of
dark and bright agency, which shall probably never again return, to
agitate and interest--those dreams which charmed me in the midst of a
spiritual world, and taught me to consider mere matter as only the
visible and tangible instrument through which spirit was constantly
acting--those dreams which appear as the shadow and reflection of sacred
intimation, and which serve to guard the young heart, in particular,
from the cold and revolting tenets of materialism. From the malevolence
of him who walks and who works in darkness--who goes about like a
roaring lion (but, in our climate and country, more frequently like a
bull-dog, or a nondescript bogle), seeking whom he may terrify--I was
taught to fly into the protecting arms of the omnipotent Jehovah; that
no class of beings could break loose upon another without His high
permission; that the Evil One, under whatever disguise or shape he might
appear, was still restrained and over-mastered by the Source of all good
and of all safety; whilst with the green-coated fairy, the laborious
brownie, and the nocturnal hearth-bairn, I almost desired to live upon
more intimate and friendly terms!
How poor, comparatively speaking, are the incidents, how uninteresting
is the machinery, of a modern fictitious narrative!--sudden and
unlooked-for reappearances of those who were thought to be dead,
discoveries of substituted births, with various chances and
misnomers--"antres vast, and deserts wild!" One good, tall, stalking
ghost, with its compressed lips and pointed fingers, with its glazed eye
and measured step, is worth them all! Oh for a real "_white lady_" under
the twilight of the year seventeen hundred and forty! When the elegant
Greek or warlike Roman walked abroad or dined at home, he was surrounded
by all the influences of an interesting and captivating mythology--by
nymphs of the oak, of the mountain, and of the spring--by the Lares and
Penates of his fireside and gateway--by the genius, the Ceres and the
Bacchus of his banquet. When our forefathers contended for religious and
civil liberty on the mountain--when they prayed for it in the glen, and
in the silent darkness of the damp and cheerless cave--they were
surrounded, not by material images, but by popular conceptions. The
tempter was still in the wilderness, with his suggestions and his
promises; and there, too, was the good angel, to warn and to comfort, to
strengthen and to cheer. The very fowls of heaven bore on their wing and
in their note a message of warning or a voice of comforting; and when
the sound of psalms commingled with the swelling rush of the cascade,
there were often heard, as it were, the harping of angels, the
commingling of heavenly with earthly melody. All this was elevating and
comforting precisely in proportion to the belief by which it was
supported; and it may fairly be questioned whether such men as Peden and
Cameron would have maintained the struggle with so much nerve and
resolution if the sun of their faith had not been surrounded by a
halo--if the noonday of the gospel had not shaded away imperceptibly
into the twilight of superstition. In fact, superstition, in its softer
and milder modifications, seems to form a kind of barrier or fence
around the "sacred territory;" and it seldom if ever fails to happen
that, when the outworks are driven in, the citadel is in danger; when
the good old woman has been completely disabused of her harmless
fancies, she may then aspire to the faith and the religious comforts of
the philosophy of Volney.
In confirmation of these observations, I may adduce the belief and life
of my nearest relatives. To them, amidst all their superstitious
impressions, religion, pure and undefiled, was still the main hold--the
sheet anchor, stayed and steadied by which they were enabled to bear up
amidst the turmoils and tempests of life. To an intimate acquaintance
with, and a frequent reading of the sacred volume, was added, under our
humble roof, family prayer both morning and evening--an exercise which
was performed by mother and daughter alternately, and in a manner which,
had I not actually thought them inspired, would have surprised me. Those
who are unacquainted with the ancient Doric of our devotional and
intelligent peasantry, and with that musical accentuation or chant of
which it is not only susceptible, but upon which it is in a manner
constructed, can have but a very imperfect notion of family prayer,
performed in the manner I refer to. Many there are who smile at that
familiarity of address and homeliness of expression which are generally
made use of; but under that homely address there lie a sincerity and
earnestness, a soothing, arousing, and penetrating eloquence, which
neither in public nor in private prayer have ever been excelled. Again
and again I have felt my breast swell and my eyes fill whilst the prayer
of a parent was presented at a throne of grace in words to the
following purpose:--"Help him, good Lord!" (speaking in reference to
myself), "oh help my puir, faitherless bairn in the day of frowardness
and in the hour of folly--in the season of forgetfulness and of
unforeseen danger--in trial and in difficulty--in life and in death.
Good Lord, for his sainted father's sake (who is now, we trust, with
Thee), for my puir sake, who am unworthy to ask the favour, and, far
aboon and above a', for thine own well-beloved Son's sake, do _Thou_ be
pleased to keep, counsel, and support my puir helpless wean, when mine
eyes shall be closed, and my lips shall be shut, and my hands shall have
ceased to labour. Thou that didst visit Hagar and her child in the
thirsty wilderness--Thou that didst bring thy servant Joseph from the
pit and the miry clay--Thou that didst carry thy beloved people Israel
through a barren desert to a promised and fruitful land--do Thou be a
husband and a father to me and mine; and oh forbid that, in adversity or
in prosperity, by day or by night, in the solitude or in the city, we
should ever forget Thee!"
In an age when, amongst our peasantry in particular, family prayer is so
extensively and mournfully neglected--when the farmer, the manufacturer,
the mechanic, not to mention the more elevated orders, have ceased to
obey the injunction laid upon all Presbyterian parents in baptism--it is
refreshing to look back to the time when the taking of the book, as it
was termed, returned as regularly as the rising and the setting of the
sun--when the whole household convened together, morning and evening, to
worship the God of their fathers. In public worship, as well as in
private prayer, there is much of comforting and spiritual support. It is
pleasing, as well as useful, to unite voice with voice, and heart with
heart; it is consolatory, as well as comforting, to retire from the
world to commune with one's heart and be still; but it is not the less
delightful and refreshing to unite in family prayer the charities and
sympathies of life--to come to the throne of mercy and of pardon in the
attitude and capacity of parent and child, brother and sister, husband
and wife, master and servant, and to express, in the common confession,
petition, and thanksgiving, our united feelings of sinfulness,
resignation, and gratitude.
Milton paints beautifully the first impressions which death made upon
Eve; and sure I am that, though conceived in sin and brought forth in
iniquity, I remember the time when I was entirely ignorant of death. I
had indeed been informed that I had a father; but as to any change which
had been effected upon him by death, I was as ignorant as if I had been
embowered from my birth amidst the evergreens of paradise. Everything
around me appeared to be permanent and undying, almost unchanging. The
sun set only to rise again; the moon waned, and then reappeared,
reassured in strength and repaired in form; the stars, in their courses,
walked steadily and uniformly over my head; the flowers faded and
nourished; the birds exchanged silence for song; the domestic animals
were all my acquaintances from the dawn of memory. To me, and to those
associated with me, similar events happened: we ate, drank, went to
sleep, and arose again, with the utmost regularity. I had, indeed, heard
of death as of some inconceivable evil; but, in my imagination, its
operation had no figure. I had not even seen a dog die; for my father's
favourite Gipsy lived for nine years after his death--a cherished and
respected pensioner. At last, however, the period arrived when the spell
was to be broken for ever--when I was to be let into the secret of the
house of corruption, and made acquainted with the change which death
induces upon the human countenance.
My grandmother had attained a very advanced old age, yet was she
straight in person, and perfect in all her mental faculties. Her
countenance, which I still see distinctly, was expressive of good-will;
and the wrinkles on her brow served to add a kind of intellectual
activity to a face naturally soft, and even comely. She had told me so
many stories, given me so many good advices, initiated me so carefully
in the elements of all learning, "the small and capital letters," and,
lastly, had so frequently interposed betwixt me and parental
chastisement, that I bore her as much good-will and kindly feeling as a
boy of seven years could reasonably be expected to exhibit. True it is,
and of verity, that this kindly feeling was not incompatible with many
acts of annoyance, for which I now take shame and express regret; but
these acts were anything but malevolent, being committed under the view
of self-indulgence merely. It was, therefore, with infinite concern that
I received the intelligence from my mother that grannie was, in all
probability, on the point of leaving us, and for ever.
"Leaving us, and for ever," sounded in my ears like a dream of the
night, in which I had seen the stream which passed our door swell
suddenly into a torrent, and the torrent into a flood, carrying me, and
everything around me, away in its waters. I felt unassured in regard to
my condition, and was half disposed to believe that I was still asleep
and imagining horrors! But when my mother told me that the disease which
had for days confined my grandmother to bed would end in death--in other
words, would place her alongside of my father's grave in the churchyard
of Closeburn--I felt that I was not asleep, but awake to some dreadful
reality, which was about to overtake us. From this period till within a
few hours of her dissolution, I kept cautiously and carefully aloof from
all intercourse with my grandmother--I felt, as it were, unwilling to
renew an intercourse which was so certainly, and so soon, and so
permanently to be interrupted; so I betook myself to the hills, and to
the pursuit of all manner of bees and butterflies. I would not, in fact,
rest; and as I lay extended on my back amidst the heath, and marked the
soft and filmy cloud swimming slowly along, "making the blue one white,"
I thought of her who was dying, and of some holy and happy residence far
beyond the utmost elevation of cloud, or sun, or sky. Again and again I
have risen from such reveries to plunge myself headlong into the pool,
or pursue with increased activity the winged insects which buzzed and
flitted around me. Strange indeed are the impressions made upon our yet
unstamped, unbiassed nature; and could we in every instance recall them,
their history would be so unlike our more recent experience, as to make
us suspect our personal identity. I do not remember any more recent
feeling which corresponded in character and degree with this, whose
wayward and strange workings I am endeavouring to describe; and yet in
this case, and in all its accompaniments, I have as perfect a
recollection of facts, and reverence of feeling, as if I were yet the
child of seven, visited for the first time with tidings of death.
My grandmother's end drew nigh, and I was commanded, or rather dragged,
to her bedside. There I still see her lying, calm, but emaciated, in
remarkably white sheets, and a head dress which seemed to speak of some
approaching change. It was drawn closely over her brow, and covered the
chin up to her lips. Nature had manifestly given up the contest; and
although her voice was scarcely audible, her reason evidently continued
unclouded and entire. She spoke to me slowly and solemnly of religion,
obedience to my mother, and being obliging to every one; laid, by my
mother's assistance, her hand upon my head, as I kneeled at her bedside,
and in a few instants had ceased to breathe. I lifted up my head at my
mother's bidding, and beheld a corpse. What I saw or what I felt, I can
never express in words. I can only recollect that I sprang immediately,
horror-struck, to my feet, rushed out at the door, made for the closest
and thickest part of the brushwood of the adjoining brae, and, casting
myself headlong into the midst of it, burst into tears. I wept, nay,
roared aloud; my grief and astonishment were intense whilst they lasted,
but they did not last long; for when I returned home about dusk, I found
a small table spread over with a clean cloth, upon which was placed a
bottle with spirits, a loaf of bread, and cheese cut into pretty large
pieces. Around this table sat my mother, with two old women from the
nearest hamlet. They were talking in a low but in a wonderfully cheerful
tone, as I thought, and had evidently been partaking of refreshment.
Being asked to join them, I did so; but ever and anon the white sheet in
the bed, which shaped itself out most fearfully into the human form,
drew my attention, and excited something of the feeling which a ghost
might have occasioned. I had ceased in a great measure to feel for my
grandmother's death. I now felt the alarms and agitations of
superstition. It was not because she had fled from us that I was
agitated, but because that, though dead, she still seemed present, in
all the inconceivable mystery of a dead life!
The funeral called forth, from the adjoining glens and cottages, a
respectable attendance, and at the same time gave me an opportunity of
partaking, unnoticed, of more refreshment than suited the occasion or my
years; in fact, I became little less than intoxicated, and was
exceedingly surprised at finding myself, towards evening, in the midst
of the same bush where I had experienced my paroxysm of grief, singing
aloud, in all the exultation of exhilarated spirits. Such is infancy and
boyhood--
"The tear forgot, as soon as shed."
I returned, however, home, thoughtful and sad, and never, but once,
thought the house so deserted and solitary as during that evening.
My mother was not a Cameronian by communion, but she was in fact one in
spirit. This spirit she had by inheritance, and it was kept alive by an
occasional visit from "Fairly." This redoubted champion of the Covenant
drew me one day towards him, and, placing me betwixt his knees,
proceeded to question me how I would like to be a minister; and as I
preserved silence, he proceeded to explain that he did not mean a parish
minister, with a manse and glebe and stipend, but a poor Cameronian
hill-preacher like himself. As he uttered these last words, I looked up,
and saw before me an austere countenance, and a threadbare black coat
hung loosely over what is termed a hunchback. I had often heard Fairly
mentioned, not only with respect, but enthusiasm, and had already
identified him and his followers with the "guid auld persecuted folks"
of whom I had heard so much. Yet there was something so strange, not to
say forbidding, in Fairly's appearance, that I hesitated to give my
consent, and continued silent; whereupon Fairly rose to depart,
observing to my mother, that "my time was not come yet." I did not then
fully comprehend the meaning of this expression, nor do I perhaps now,
but it passed over my heart like an awakening breeze over the strings of
an AEolian harp. I immediately sprang forward, and catching Fairly by the
skirt of his coat, exclaimed--
"Oh stay, sir!--dinna gang and leave us, and I will do onything ye
like."
"But then mind, my wee man," continued Fairly in return, "mind that, if
ye join us, ye will have neither house nor hame, and will often be cauld
and hungry, without a bed to lie on."
"I dinna care," was my uncouth, but resolute response.
"There's mair metal in that callant than ye're aware o'," rejoined
Fairly, addressing himself to my mother, and looking all the while most
affectionately into my countenance. "Here, my little fellow, here's a
penny for ye, to buy a _charitcher_; and gin ye leeve to be a man, ye'll
aiblins be honoured wi' upholding the doctrines which it contains, on
the mountain and in the glen, when my auld banes are mixed wi' the
clods."
I looked again at Fairly as he pronounced these words, and had an angel
descended from heaven in all the radiance and benignity of undimmed
glory, such a presence would not have impressed me more deeply with
feelings of love, veneration, and esteem.
This colloquy, short as it was, exercised considerable influence over my
future life.
I cannot suppose anything more imposing, and better calculated to excite
the imagination, than the meetings of these Cameronians or hill-men.
They are still vividly under my view: the precipitous and green hills of
Durrisdeer on each side--the tent adjoining to the pure mountain stream
beneath--the communion table stretching away in double rows from the
tent towards the acclivity--the vast multitude in one wide amphitheatre
round and above--the spring gushing solemnly and copiously from the
rock, like that of Meribah, for the refreshment of the people--the still
or whispering silence when Fairly appeared, with the Bible under his
arm, without gown, or band, or any other clerical badge of
distinction--the tent-ladder, ascended by the bald-headed and venerable
old man, and his almost divine regard of benevolence, cast abroad upon a
countless multitude--his earnestness in prayer--his plain and colloquial
style of address--the deep and pious attention paid to him, from the
plaided old woman at the front of the tent to the gaily dressed lad and
lass on the extremity of the ground--his descent, and the communion
service--his solemn and powerful consecration prayer, over which the
passing cloud seemed to hover, and the sheep on the hill-side to forego
for a time their pasture--his bald head (like a bare rock encompassed
with furze) slightly fringed with grey hairs, remaining uncovered under
the plashing of a descending torrent, and his right hand thrust upward,
in holy indignation against the proffered umbrella;--all this I see
under the alternating splendours and darkenings, lights and shadows, of
a sultry summer's day. The thunder is heard in its awful sublimity; and
whilst the hearts of man and of beast are quaking around and above,
Fairly's voice is louder and more confirmed, his countenance is
brighter, and his eye more assured, and stedfastly fixed on the
muttering heaven. "Thou, O Lord, art ever near us, but we perceive Thee
not; Thou speakest from Zion, and in a still small voice, but it is
drowned in the world's murmurings. Then Thou comest forth as now, in thy
throne of darkness, and encompassest thy Sinai with thunderings and
lightnings; and then it is, that like silly and timid sheep who have
strayed from their pasture, we stand afar off and tremble. _This_ flash
of thy indignant majesty, which has now crossed these aged eyes, might,
hadst Thou but so willed it, have dimmed them for ever; and this vast
assemblage of sinful life might have been, in the twinkling of an eye,
as the hosts of Assyria, or the inhabitants of Admah and Zeboim; but
Thou knowest, O Lord, that Thou hast more work for me, and more mercy
for them, and that the prayers of penitence which are now knocking hard
for entrance and answer, must have time and trial to prove their
sincerity. So be it, good Lord! for thine ire, that hath suddenly
kindled, hath passed; and the Sun of Righteousness himself hath bid his
own best image come forth from the cloud to enliven our assembly." In
fact, the thunder-cloud had passed, and under the strong relief of a
renewed effulgence, was wrapping in its trailing ascent the summits of
the more distant mountains.
"I to the hills will lift mine eyes,
From whence doth come mine aid:
My safety cometh from the Lord"----
These were the notes which pealed in the after-service of that memorable
occasion from at least ten thousand hearts. Nor is there any object in
nature better calculated to call forth the most elevated sentiments of
devotion, than such a simultaneous concordant union of voice and
purpose, in praise of Him "who heaven and earth hath made."
"All people that on earth do dwell,
Sing to the Lord"----
So says the divine monitor; but what says modern fashion and refinement?
Let them answer in succession for themselves. And first, then, in
reference to fashion. When examined and duly purged, she deposeth that
the time was when men were not ashamed to praise their God "before his
people all;" when they even rejoiced with what tones they might to unite
their tributary stream of praise to that vast flood which rolled, in
accumulated efficacy, towards the throne on high; when lord and lady,
husbandman and mechanic, learned and unlearned, prince and people, sent
forth their hearts in their united voices towards Him who is the God
over all and the Saviour of all. She further deposeth that the venerated
founders of our Presbyterian Church were wont to scare the curlew and
the bittern of the mountain and the marsh by their nightly songs of
solemn and combined thanksgiving and praise; and that, with the view of
securing a continuance of this delightful exercise, our Confession of
Faith strictly enjoins us, providing, by the reading of "the line,"
against cases of extreme ignorance or bodily infirmity; and yet she
averreth that, in defiance of law and practice, of reason and
revelation, of good feeling and common-sense, hath it become
unfashionable to be seen or to be heard praising God. It is vulgar and
unseemly, it would appear, in the extreme, to modulate the voice or to
compose the countenance into any form or expression which might imply an
interest in the exercise of praise. The young Miss in her teens, whose
tender and susceptible heart is as wax to impressions, is half betrayed
into a spontaneous exhibition of devotional feeling; but she looks at
the marble countenance and changeless aspect of Mamma, and is silent.
The home-bred, unadulterated peasant would willingly persevere in a
practice to which he has been accustomed from his first entrance at the
church stile; but his superiors, from pew and gallery, discountenance
his feelings, and indicate by the carelessness--I had almost added the
levity--of their demeanour, that they are thinking of anything, of
everything, but God's praise; whilst the voices of the hired precentor
and of a few old women and rustics are heard uniting in suppressed and
feeble symphony. Nay, there is a case still more revolting than any
which has been hitherto denounced--that, namely, of our young
probationers and ministers, who, in many instances, refuse even in the
pulpit that example which, with their last breath, they were perhaps
employed in recommending. There they sit or stoop whilst the psalm is
singing, busily employed in revising their MS., or in reviewing the
congregation, in selecting and marking for emphasis the splendid
passages, or in noting for observation whatever of interesting the dress
or the countenances of the people may suggest. So much for _fashion_;
and now for the deposition of _refinement_ on the same subject.
Refinement has indeed much to answer for; she has brushed the coat
threadbare; she has wiredrawn the thread till it can scarcely support
its own weight; and in no one instance has her besetting sin been more
conspicuous than in her intercommunings with our church psalmody. The
old women who, from the original establishment of Presbytery, have
continued to occupy and grace our pulpit stairs, are oftentimes
defective in point of sweetness and delicacy of voice; in fact, they do
not sing, but croon, and in some instances they have even been known to
outrun the precentor by several measures, and to return upon him a
second time ere the conclusion of the line. What then?--they always
croon in a low key; and if _they_ are gratified, their Maker pleased,
and the congregation in general undisturbed, the principal parties are
disposed of. There is no doubt something unpleasing to a refined ear in
the jarring concord of a rustic euphony, when, in full voice, of a
sacramental Sabbath evening, they are inclined to hold on with
irresistible swing. But what they want in harmony, they have in
good-will; what they lose in melody, they gain in the ringing echo of
their voices from roof and ceiling. And were it possible, without
silencing the uninstructed, to gratify and encourage the refined and the
disciplined, then were there at once a union and a unison of agreeables;
but as this object has never been effected, or even attempted, and as
refinement has at once laid aside all regard for the humble and
untrained worshipper, and has set her stamp and seal upon a trained band
of vocal performers, it becomes the duty of all rightly constituted
minds to oppose, if they cannot stem the tide--to mark and stigmatize
that as unbecoming and absurd which the folly of the age would have us
consider as improvement. It is of little moment whether the office of
psalm-singing be committed to a select band, who surround, with their
merry faces and tenor pipes, the precentor's seat, or be entrusted to
separate parties scattered through the congregation; still, so long as
the _taught_ alone are expected to sing, the original end of
psalm-singing is lost sight of, the habits of a Presbyterian
congregation are violated, and _manner_ being preferred to _matter_--an
attuned voice to a fervent spirit--a manifest violence is done to the
feelings of the truly devout.
No two things are probably more distinct and separate in the reader's
mind than preaching and fishing; yet in mine they are closely
associated.
And is not fishing or angling with the rod a most fascinating amusement?
There is just enough of address required to admit and imply a gratifying
admixture of self-approbation; and enough, at the same time, of chance
or circumstance, over which the fisher has no control, to keep
expectation alive even during the most deplorable luck. Hence a real
fisher is seldom found, from want of success merely, to relinquish his
rod in disgust; but, with the spirit of a true hill-man of the old
school, he is patient in tribulation, rejoicing in hope. "_Meliore
opera_" is written upon his countenance; and whilst mischance and
misfortune haunt him, it may be, from stream to stream, or from pool to
pool, he still looks down the glen and along the river's course; he
still regards in anxious expectation the alluring and more promising
curl, the circulating and creamy froth, the suddenly broken and
hesitating gullet, and the dark clayey bank, under which the water runs
thick and the foam-bells figure bright and starry. He knows that one
single hour of successful adventure, when the cloud has ascended and the
shadow is deep, and the breeze comes upwards on the stream, and the
whole finny race are in eager expectation of the approaching
shower--that one single hour of this description will amply repay him
for every discouragement and misfortune.
And who that has enjoyed this one little hour of success would consider
the purchase as dearly made? Is it with bait that you are angling?--and
in the solitude of a mountain glen can you discover the stream of your
hope, stretching away like a blue pennant waving into the distance, and
escaping from view behind some projecting angle of the hill? Your
fishing-rod is tight and right, your line is in order, your hook
penetrates your finger to the barb; other companions than the plover,
the lark, and the water-wagtail you have none. This is no hour for
chirping grasshopper, or flaunting butterfly, or booming bee; the
overshaded and ruffled water receives your bait with a plump; and ere it
has travelled to the distance of six feet, it is nailed down to the
leeward of a stone. You pull recklessly and fearlessly, and flash after
flash, and flap after flap, comes there in upon your hull the spotted
and ponderous inmate of the flood! Or is it the fly with which you are
plying the river's fuller and more seaward flow? The wide extent of
streamy pool is before you, and beyond your reach. Fathom after fathom
goes reeling from your pirn, but still you are barely able to drop the
far fly into the distant curl. "Habet!" he has it; and proudly does he
bear himself in the plenitudes of strength, space, and freedom. Your
line cuts and carves the water into all manner of squares, triangles,
and parallelograms. Now he makes a few capers in the air, and shows you,
as an opera dancer would do, his proportions and agility: now again he
is sulky and restive, and gives you to understand that the _vis inertiae_
is strong within him. But fate is in all his operations, and his last
convulsive effort makes the sand and the water commingle at the
landing-place.
The resort of the fisher is amidst the retirements of what, and what
alone, can be justly denominated undegraded nature. The furnace, and the
manufactory, and the bleaching-green, and the tall red smoke-vomiting
chimney are his utter aversion. The village, the clachan, the city, he
avoids: he flies from them as something intolerably hostile to his
hopes. He holds no voluntary intercourse with man, or with his petty and
insignificant achievements. "He lifts his eyes to the hills," and his
steps lie through the retired glen, and winding vale, and smiling
strath, up to the misty eminence and cairn-topped peak. He catches the
first beams of the sun, not through the dim and disfiguring smoke of a
city, but over the sparkling and diamonded mountain, above the unbroken
and undulating line of the distant horizon. His conversation is with
heaven, with the mist, and the cloud, and the sky; the great, the
unmeasured, the incomprehensible are around him; and all the agitation
and excitement to which his hopes and fears as a mere fisher subject
him, cannot completely withdraw his soul from that character of
sublimity by which the mountain solitude is so perceptibly impressed.
I shall never forget one day's sport. The morning was warm, and in fact
somewhat sultry; and swarms of insects arose on my path. As every gullet
was gushing with water, it behoved me to ascend, even beyond my former
travel, to the purest streams or feeders, which ran unseen, in general,
among the hills. The clouds, as I hurried on my way, began to gather up
into a dense and darkening awning. There was a slight and somewhat
hesitating breeze on the hill-side, for I could see the heath and
bracken bending under it, but it was scarcely perceptible beneath. This,
however, I regretted the less, as the mountain torrent to which I had
attached myself was too precipitous and streamy in its course to require
the aids of wind and curl to forward the sport. Let the true fisher--for
he only can appreciate the circumstances--say what must have been my
delight, my rapture, as I proceeded to prepare my rod, open out my line
over the brink of a gullet, along which the water rushed like porter
through the neck of a bottle, and at the lower extremity of which the
froth tilted round and round in most inviting eddies! Here there was no
springing of trouts to the surface, nor coursing of alarmed shoals
beneath. The darkened heaven was reflected back by the darker water; and
the torrent kept dashing, tumbling, and brawling along under the impulse
and agitation of a swiftly ebbing flood. I had hit upon that very
critical shade, betwixt the high brown and soft blue colour, which
every mountain angler knows well how to appreciate; and I felt as if
every turn and entanglement of my line formed a barrier betwixt me and
paradise. The very first throw was successful, ere the bait had
travelled twice round the eddy at the bottom of the gullet. When trouts
in such circumstances take at all, they do so in good earnest. They are
all on the outlook for food, and dash at the swiftly-descending bait
with a freedom and good-will which almost uniformly insures their
capture. And here, for the benefit of bait fishers, it may be proper to
mention, that success depends not so much on the choosing and preparing
of the worms--though these undoubtedly are important points--as in the
throwing and drawing, or rather dragging of the line. In such mountain
rapids, the trout always turn their heads to the current, and never
gorge the bait till they have placed themselves lower down in the water;
consequently, by pulling _downwards_, two manifest advantages are
gained: the trout is often hooked without gorging, or even biting at
all, and the current assists the fisher in landing his prize, which, in
such circumstances, may be done in an instant, and at a single pull. But
to return. My success on this occasion was altogether beyond precedent:
at every turn and wheel of the winding torrent, I was sure to grace the
green turf or sandy channel with another and another yellow-sided and
brightly-spotted half-pounder. The very sheep, as they travelled along
their mountain pathway, stopped and gazed down on the sport. The season
was harvest, and the Lammas floods had brought up the bull or sea
trouts. I had all along hoped that one or two stragglers might have
reached my position; and this hope had animated every pull. It was not,
however, till the day was well advanced, that I had the good fortune to
succeed in hooking a large, powerful, active, and new-run "milter." In
fisher weight he might seem _five_, but in imperial he would possibly
not exceed two or three pounds. Immediately upon his feeling the steel
he plunged madly, flung himself into the air, dived again into the
depths, and flounced about in the most active and courageous style
imaginable. At last, taking the stream-head somewhat suddenly, he showed
tail and fin above the surface of the water, brought his two extremities
almost into contact, shot himself upwards like an arrow, and was off
with the hook and a yard of line ere I had time to prepare against the
danger; but as unforeseen circumstances led to this catastrophe,
occurrences equally unlooked-for repaired the loss; for in an instant I
secured the disengaged captive whilst floundering upon the sand, having,
by his headlong precipitancy, fairly pitched himself out of his native
element. There he lay, like a ship in the shallows, exhibiting scale and
fin, and shoulder and spot, of the most fascinating hue; and, ever and
anon, as the recollection of the fatal precipitancy seemed to return
upon him, he cut a few capers and exhibited a few somersets, which
contributed materially to insure his capture, and increase my delight.
By this time I had ascended nearly to the source of the stream; and at
every opening up of the glen I could perceive a sensible diminution of
the current. I was quite alone in the solitude; and my unwonted success
had rendered me insensible to the escape of time. The glen terminated at
last in a linn and scaur, beyond which it did not appear probable that
trouts would ascend. Whilst I was engaged in the consideration of the
objects around me, with a reference to my return home, I became all at
once enveloped in mist and darkness. The mist was dense and close and
suffocating, while the darkness increased every instant. I felt a
difficulty in breathing, as if I had been shut up in an empty oven; my
situation stared me at once in the face, and I took to my heels over the
heath, in what I considered a homeward direction. Now that my ears were
relieved from the gurgling sound of the water, I could perceive, through
the stillness of the air, that the thunder was behind me. I had been
taught to consider thunder as the voice of the "Most High," when He
speaks in his wrath, and felt my whole soul prostrated under the divine
rebuke. Some passages of the 18th Psalm rushed on my remembrance; and as
the lightnings began to kindle, and the thunder to advance, I could hear
myself involuntarily repeating--
"Up from his nostrils came a smoke,
And from his mouth there came
Devouring fire; and coals by it
Were turned into flame.
"The Lord God also in the heavens
Did thunder in his _ire_,
And there the Highest gave his voice--
Hail-stones and coals of fire."
Such was the subject of my meditation, as the muttering and seemingly
subterraneous thunder boomed and quavered behind me. At last, one broad
and whizzing flash passed over, around, beneath, and I could almost
imagine, _through_ me. The clap followed instantly, and, by its
deafening knell, drove me head foremost into the heathy moss. Had the
earth now opened (as to Curtius of old) before me, I should certainly
have dashed into the crater, in order to escape from that explosive
omnipotence which seemed to overtake me. Peal after peal pitched, with a
rending and tearing sound, upon the drum of my ear and the parapet of my
brain; whilst the mist and the darkness were kindled up around me into
an open glow. I could hear a strange rush upon the mountain, and along
the glen, as if the Solway had overleaped all bounds, and was careering
some thousand feet abreast over Criffel and Queenberry. Down it came at
last, in a swirl and a roar, as if rocks and cairns and heath were
commingled in its sweep. This terrible blast was only the immediate
precursor of a hail-storm, which, descending at first in separate and
distinct pieces, as if the powers of darkness and uproar had been
pitching marbles, came on at last with a rush, as if Satan himself had
been dumriddling the elements. The water in the moss-hag rose up, and
boiled and sputtered in the face of heaven, and a rock, underneath the
hollow corner of which I had now crept on hands and knees, rattled all
over, as if assailed by musketry. I lay now altogether invisible to
mortal eye, amidst the mighty movements of the elements--a thing of
nought, endeavouring to crawl into nonentity--a tiny percipient amidst
the blind urgency of nature. I lay in all the prostration of a bruised
and subdued spirit, praying fervently and loudly unto God that He might
be pleased to cover me with his hand till his wrath was overpast. And,
to my persuasion at the time, my prayers were not altogether
insufficient: the storm softened, rain succeeded hail, a pause followed
the hurricane, and the thunder's voice had already travelled away over
the brow of the onward mountain.
Whilst I was debating with myself whether it were safer, now that the
night had fairly closed in upon the pathless moor, to remain all night
in my present position, or to attempt once more my return home, I heard,
all of a sudden, the sound of human voices, which the violence of the
storm had prevented me from sooner perceiving. I scarcely knew whether I
was more alarmed or comforted by this discovery. From my previous state
of agitation, combined with my early and rooted belief in all manner of
supernaturals, I was strongly disposed to terror; but the accents were
so manifestly human, that, in spite of my apprehensions, they tended to
cheer me. As I continued, therefore, to listen with mouth and ears, the
voices became louder and louder, and more numerous, mixed and commingled
as they appeared at last to be with the tread and the plash of horses'
feet. These demonstrations of an approaching cavalcade naturally called
upon me to narrow, as much and as speedily as possible, my
circumference; in other words, to creep, as it were, into my shell, by
occupying the farthest extremity of the recess, to which I betook myself
at first for shelter, and now for concealment. There I lay like a limpet
stuck to the rock, against which I could feel my heart beat with
accelerated rapidity. In this situation I could distinguish voices and
expressions, and ultimately unravel the import of a conversation
interlarded with oaths and similar ornamental flourishes. There was a
proposal to halt, alight, and refresh in this sequestered situation.
Such a proposal, as may readily be supposed, was to me anything but
agreeable. Here was I, according to my reckoning, surrounded by a band
of robbers, and liable every instant to detection. Firearms were talked
of, and preparations, offensive and defensive, were proposed. I could
distinctly smell gunpowder. In the meantime, a fire was struck up at no
great distance, under the glare of which I could distinguish horses
heavily panniered, and strange-looking countenances, congregating within
fifty paces of my retreat. The shadow of the intervening corner of the
rock covered me, otherwise immediate detection would have been
inevitable. The thunder and lightnings with all their terrors were
nothing to this. In the one case, I was placed at the immediate disposal
of a merciful, as well as a mighty Being; but at present I ran every
risk of falling into the hands of those whose counsels I had overheard,
and whose tender mercies were only cruelty. As I lay--rod, basket, and
fish crumpled up into a corner of contracted dimensions--all ear,
however, and eye towards the light--I could mark the shadows of several
individuals who were manifestly engaged in the peaceful and ordinary
process of eating and drinking; hands, arms, and flagons projected in
lengthened obscurity over the mass, and intimated, by the rapidity and
character of their movements, that jaws were likewise in motion. The
long pull, with the accompanying _smack_, were likewise audible; and it
was manifest that the repast was not more substantial than the beverage
was exhilarating. "Word follows word, from question answer flows."
Dangers and contingencies--which, while the flame was kindling and the
flagon was filling, seemed to agitate and interest all--were now talked
of as bugbears; and oaths of heavy and horrifying defiance were hurled
into the ear of night, with many concomitant expressions of security and
self-reliance. The night, though dark, had now become still and warm;
and the ground which they occupied, like my own retreat, had been
partially protected from the hail and the rain by the projecting rock.
The stunted roots of burnt heath, or "brins," served them plentifully
for fuel; and altogether their situation was not so uncomfortable as
might have been expected. Still, however, their character, employment,
and conversation appeared to me a fearful mystery. One thing, however,
was evident, that they conceived themselves as engaged in some illegal
transactions. Their whole revel was tainted with treason and
insubordination: kings and rulers were disposed of with little
ceremony; and excise officers, in particular, were visited with
anathemas not to be mentioned. At this critical moment, when the whole
party seemed verging towards downright intoxication, a pistol bullet
burst itself to atoms on the projecting corner of the rock; and the
report which accompanied this demonstration was followed up by oaths of
challenge and imprecation. The fire went out as if by magic, and an
immediate rush to arms, accompanied by shots and clashing of lethal
weapons, indicated a struggle for life.
"Stand and surrender, you smuggling scoundrels! or by all that is
sacred, not one of you shall quit this spot in life!"
This salutation was answered by a renewed discharge of musketry; and the
darkness, which was relieved by the momentary flash, became instantly
more impenetrable than ever. Men evidently pursued men, and horses were
held by the bridle, or driven into speed as circumstances permitted. How
it happened that I neither screamed, fainted, nor died outright, I am
yet at a loss to determine. The darkness, however, was my covering; and
even amidst the unknown horrors of the onset, I felt in some degree
assured by the extinction of the fire. But this assurance was not of
long continuance: the assailing party had evidently taken possession of
the field; and, after a few questions of mutual recognition and
congratulation, proceeded to secure their booty, which consisted of one
horse, with a considerable assortment of barrels and panniers. This was
done under the light of the rekindled fire, around which a repetition of
the former festivities was immediately commenced. The fire, however, now
flared full in my face, and led to my immediate detection. I was
summoned to come forth, with the muzzle of a pistol placed within a few
inches of my ear--an injunction which I was by no means prepared to
resist. I rolled immediately outwards from under the rock, displaying my
basket and rod, and screaming all the while heartily for mercy. At this
critical moment a horse was heard to approach, and a challenge was
immediately sent through the darkness,--every musket was levelled in the
direction of the apprehended danger,--when a voice, to which I was by no
means a stranger, immediately restored matters to their former bearing.
"Now, what is the meaning o' a' this, my lads? And how come the king's
servants to be sae ill lodged at this time o' night? He must be a shabby
landlord that has naething better than the bare heath and the hard rock
to accommodate his guests wi'."
"Oh, Fairly, my old man of the Covenant," vociferated the leader of the
party, "how come you to be keeping company with the whaup and the curlew
at this time o' night? But a drink is shorter than a tale; fling the
bridle owre the grey yad's shoulders, an' ca' her to the bent, till we
mak ourselves better acquainted with this little natty gentleman, whom
we have so opportunely encountered on the moor"--displaying, at the same
time, a keg or small flask of liquor referred to, and shaking it
joyously till it clunked again.
In an instant Fairly was stationed by the side of the fire, with a can
of Martin's brandy in his hands, and an expression of exceeding surprise
on his countenance as he perceived my mother's son in full length
exhibited before him. I did not, however, use the ceremony of a formal
recognition; but, rushing on his person, I clung to it with all the
convulsive desperation of a person drowning. Matters were now adjusted
by mutual recognitions and explanations; and I learned that I had been
the unconscious spectator of a scuffle betwixt the "king's officers"
and a "band of smugglers;" and that Fairly, who had been preaching and
baptizing that day at Burnfoot, and was on his return towards Durrisdeer
(where he was next day to officiate), had heard and been attracted to
the spot by the firing. In these times to which I refer, the Isle of Man
formed a depot for illegal traffic. Tea, brandy, and tobacco, in
particular, found their way from the Calf of Man to the Rinns of
Galloway, Richmaden, and the mouth of the Solway. From the latter depot
the said articles were smuggled, during night marches, into the
interior, through such byways and mountain passes as were unfrequented
or inaccessible. After suitable libations had been made, I was mounted
betwixt a couple of panniers, and soon found myself in my own bed, some
time before
"That hour o' night's black arch the keystane!"