A BALL IN THE OLDEN TIME.
Shades of my fathers, in your pasteboard skirts,
Your broidered waistcoats and your plaited shirts,
Your formal bag-wigs--wide extended cuffs,
Your five-inch chitterlings and nine-inch ruffs;
I see you move the solemn minuet o'er,
The modest foot scarce rising from the floor.
SALMAGUNDI.
On the south side of the city where the old Liberton road branching
off enters it by two diverging routes, one by the narrow and ancient
Potter Row, and the other by the street of the Bristo Port, a
formidable gate in the re-entering angle of the city-wall, which
bristled with cannon and overlooked the way that descended to the
Grass-market, there stood in 1688 (and yet stands) an antique mansion
of very picturesque aspect. It is furnished with numerous outshots
and projections, broad, dark, and bulky stacks of chimnies reared up
in unusual places, and having over the upper windows circular
pediments enriched with initials and devices, but now blackened by
age and encrusted with the smoky vapour of centuries.
It is still known as the "General's House," from its having been
anciently the residence appropriated to the Commander-in-chief of the
Scottish forces. A narrow passage leads to it from that ancient
suburban Burgh of Barony, the Potter's Row, where doubtless many a
psalm-singing puritan of Monk's Regiment, many a scarred trooper of
Leven's Iron Brigade, and many a stern veteran of the Covenant have
kept watch and ward, in the pathway which is still, as of old,
styled, _par excellence_, THE General's Entry.
Its garden has now become a lumber-yard, and is otherwise encroached
upon; its stables have long since vanished, and mean dwellings
surround and overtop it; the windows are stuffed with old hats and
bundles of straw or rags; brown paper flaps dismally in the broken
glasses, and its once gay chambers, where the "cunning George Monk,"
the grave and stern Leven, Dalyel of the iron-heart, and the gallant
Dunbarton feasted royally, and held wassail with their comrades,
have, like all the surrounding mansions of the great and noble of the
other days, been long since abandoned to citizens of the poorest and
humblest class.
In 1688 its aspect was very different.
Standing then on the very verge of the city, it was deemed in the
country, though now the gas lamps extend two miles beyond it, and
dense and populous streets occupy the sites of two straggling and
unpretending suburbs of thatched cottages and "sclaited lands." To
the southward of the road, a narrow rugged horseway, passed through
fields and thickets towards the great Loch of the Burgh, and
ascending its opposite bank, passed the straggling suburb named the
Causeway-side, where there were many noble old villas, the residences
of Sir Patrick Johnstone, of the Laird of Westerhall, and others, and
sweeping past the ruined convent of St. Catherine of Sienna, wound
over the hill (near a gibbet that was seldom unoccupied by sweltering
corpses and screaming ravens), towards the Barony of Liberton, a
lonely hamlet with a little stone spire, and the tall square tower of
the Winrams, in older days the patrimony of a lesser Baron named
Macbeth.
To the westward of the General's House were fertile fields that
extended close up to the defences of the city, then a long line of
lofty and embattled walls built of reddish-coloured sandstone,
strengthened at intervals by towers alternately of a round or square
form, which defended its various ports or barrier-gates. Within this
stony zone rose the dark and massive city, which for ages had been
increasing in denseness; for, in consequence of the nature of the
times, and the dubious relations of the country with its southern
neighbour, the citizens seldom dared to build beyond the narrow
compass of the walls.
From these causes, and in imitation of those bad allies the French,
Edinburgh, like ancient Paris, became deeper and closer, taller and
yet more tall; house arose upon house, street was piled upon street,
bartizan, gable, and tower shot up to an amazing height, and were
wedged within the walls, till the thoroughfares like those of Venice
were only three feet broad, and in some places exhibited fourteen
tiers of windows.
An Act of the Scottish Legislature was found absolutely necessary to
curb the rage for stupendous houses, and in 1698 it was enacted, that
none should be erected within the liberties of the city exceeding
five stories in height. Prior to the middle of the seventeenth
century Edinburgh could not boast of one court or square save that of
White Horse Hostel, if indeed it could be termed either.
The access to these vast and imperishable piles was by turnpike
stairs, steep, narrow, dark, and mysterious. The population of the
city was then about 50,000; but as it increased, so did the denseness
of the houses; even the buttresses of the great cathedral were all
occupied by little dwellings, till the venerable church resembled a
hen with a brood under her wings. Year by year for seven centuries
the alleys had become higher and narrower, till Edinburgh looked like
a vast city crowded in close column on the steep faces of a hill,
until the building of a bridge to the north, when it burst from the
embattled girdle that for ages had pent it up, and more like another
Babylon than a "modern Athens" spread picturesquely over every steep
rock and deep defile in its vicinity. But to return:
On a dusky evening Walter Fenton and Douglas of Finland, muffled in
their ample scarlet rocquelaures, which completely hid their rich
dresses, came stumbling along the dark and narrow Potter's Row,
towards the gate of the General's House, where a mounted guard of the
Grey Dragoons sat motionless as twenty statues, the conical fur cap
of each trooper forming the apex of a pyramid, which his wide cloak
made, when spread over the crupper of his horse. Still and firm as
if cast in bronze, were every horse and man. Each trooper rested his
short musquetoon on his thigh, with the long dagger screwed on its
muzzle. This guard of honour was under arms to receive the General's
military guests, and the fanfare of the trumpets and a ruffle on the
kettle-drum announced that Sir Thomas Dalyel of Binns had just
arrived.
In the entry stood a foot soldier muffled in his sentinel's coat.
"One of ours, I think," said Douglas; "Art one of the old Die-hards,
good fellow?"
"Hab Elshender, at your service, Laird."
"Hah! hath the Lady Bruntisfield arrived?" asked Walter.
"Ay, Sir," replied Hab, with a knowing Scots' grin; for he understood
the drift of the question: "Ay, Sir--and Madam Lilian too--looking
for a' the world like the queen of the fairies."
Within the gate the court was filled with light and bustle.
Carriages of ancient fashion and clumsy construction profusely
decorated with painting and gilding, with coats armorial on the
polished pannels and waving hammer-cloths, rolled up successively to
the doorway; sedans gaudy with brass nails, red silk blinds, and
scarlet poles, military chargers, and servants on foot and horseback
in gorgeous liveries, all glittering in the light of the flaring
links which usually preceded every person of note when threading the
gloomy and narrow thoroughfares of Edinburgh after nightfall.
Impatient at every moment which detained him from the side of Lilian,
now, when he could appear before her to the utmost advantage, Walter,
heedless of preceding his friend, sprang up the handsome staircase of
carved oak, the walls of which were covered with painted panels and
trophies of arms, conspicuous among which was the standard of the
unfortunate Argyle taken in the conflict of Muirdykes three years
before. Here they threw their broad hats and red mantles to the
servants, and were immediately ushered into a long suite of
apartments, which were redolent of perfume and brilliant with light
and gaiety.
Douglas, whose extremely handsome features were of a dark and olive
hue, like all those of his surname generally, wore the heavy cavalier
wig falling over his collar of point d'Espagne and gold-studded
breastplate. Walter had his own natural hair hanging in dark curls
on a cuirass of silver, polished so bright that the fair dancers who
flitted past every moment saw their flushed faces reflected in its
glassy surface.
Their coats and breeches were of scarlet, pinked with blue silk and
laced with gold; their sashes were of yellow silk, but had massive
tassels of gold; and their formidable bowl-hilted rapiers were slung
in shoulder-belts of velvet embroidered with silver. Their long
military gloves almost met the cuffs of their coats, which were
looped up to display the shirt-sleeves--a new fashion of James VII.;
and everything about them was perfumed to excess. Such was the
attire of the military of that day, as regulated by the "Royal
Orders" of the King.
Threading their way through a crowd of dancers, whose magnificent
dresses of bright-hued satins and velvets laced with silver or gold,
and blazing with jewels, sparkled and shone as they glided from hand
to hand to the music of an orchestra perched in a recessed gallery of
echoing oak, they passed into an inner apartment to pay their devoirs
to the Countess, who for a time had relinquished the dance to
overlook the tea-board--a solemn, arduous, and highly-important duty,
which was executed by her lady-in-waiting, a starched demoiselle of
very doubtful age.
Though rather diminutive in person, the Countess of Dunbarton was a
very beautiful woman, and possessed all that dazzling fairness of
complexion which is so characteristic of her country-women. She was
English, and a sister of the then Duchess of Northumberland. Her
eyes were of a bright and merry blue; her hair of the richest auburn;
her small face was quite enchanting in expression, and very piquant
in its beauty; while her fine figure was decidedly inclined to
_embonpoint_.
She was one of the fashionable mirrors of the day, and the standard
by whom the stately belles of Craig's Close and the Blackfriars Wynd
regulated the depth of their stomachers and the length of their
trains--the star of Mary d'Este's balls at Holyrood, where, in the
splendour of her jewels, she had nearly rivalled the famous Duchess
of Lauderdale; and though an Englishwoman, notwithstanding the
jealousy and dislike which from time immemorial had existed between
the two kingdoms, she was, from the suavity of her manner, the
brilliancy of her wit, and the amiability of her disposition, both
admired and beloved in Edinburgh.
With a pretty and affected air, she held her silver pouncet-box in an
ungloved and beautifully-formed hand, which was whiter than the
bracelet of pearls that encircled it. Close by, upon a satin
cushion, reposed a pursy, pug-nosed, and silky little lap-dog, of his
late Majesty's favourite and long-eared breed. It had been a present
from himself, and bore the royal cypher on its silver collar. Near
her on a little tripod table of ebony stood the tea-board, with its
rich equipage and a multitude of little china cups glittering with
blue and gold.
The tea, dark, fragrant, and priceless beyond any now in use, was
served by the prim gentlewoman before mentioned (the daughter of some
decayed family), who acted as her useful friend and companion; and
slowly it was poured out like physic from a little silver pot of
curious workmanship, a gift from Mary Stuart (then Princess of
Orange), and the same from which she was wont to regale the ladies of
Holyrood.
Tea was unknown in London at the time of the Restoration; and when
introduced a few years afterwards by the Lords Arlington and Ossory,
was valued at sixty shillings the pound; but the beautiful Mary
d'Este of Modena was the first who made it known in the Scottish
capital in 1681. This new and costly beverage was still one of the
wonders and innovations of the age, and was only within the reach of
the great and wealthy until about 1750; but the royal tea-parties,
masks and entertainments of the Duchess Mary and her affable
daughters, were long the theme of many a tall great-grandmother, and
remembered with veneration and regret among other vanished glories,
when, by the cold blight that fell upon her, poor Scotland felt too
surely that "a stranger" filled the throne of the Stuarts.
Lady Grisel of Bruntisfield, and other venerable dowagers and ancient
maiden gentlewomen (a species in which some old Scottish families are
still very prolific), all as stiff as pride, brocade, starch, and
buckram could make them, were sitting very primly and uprightly in
their high-backed chairs, clustered round the Countess's little
tripod table, like pearls about a diamond, when the cavaliers
advanced to pay their respects.
"Welcome! Finland," said the Countess, addressing Douglas according
to the etiquette of the country. "My old friend Walter, your most
obedient servant. How fortunate!--we have just been disputing about
romances, and drawing comparisons between that lumbering folio _The
Banished Virgin_ and the _Cassandra_. You will act our umpire. My
dear boy, let me look at you; how well you look, and so handsome, in
all this bravery; doth he not, Mistress Lilian?"
Lilian, who, in all the splendour of diamonds and full dress, was
leaning on Aunt Grisel's chair, blushed too perceptibly at this very
pointed question, but was spared attempting a reply, for the gay
Countess continued:
"Remember, Walter, that the great Middleton, who became an earl, and
lieutenant-general of the Scots' Horse, began his career like
yourself, by trailing a partisan in the old Royals--then Hepburn's
pikemen in the French service; and who knoweth, my dear child, where
yours may end? Heigho! These perilous times are the making and
unmaking of many a brave man. So, Mr. Douglas, we were disputing
about----(Madam Ruth, assist the gentlemen to dishes of
tea)----about--what was it?--O, a passage in the _Cassandra_."
"I shall be happy to be of any service to your Ladyship," began
Finland, with his blandest smile, while raising to his
well-moustachioed lip a little thimbleful of the new-fashioned
beverage, which he cordially detested, but took for form's sake.
"We are in great doubts whether Lysimachus was justified in running
his falchion through poor Oleander, for merely desiring the
charioteer of the beautiful princesses to drive faster. You will
remember the passage. We all think it very cruel, and that no lover
is entitled to be so outrageous."
Douglas knew the pages of his muster-roll better than those of the
romance in question, but he answered promptly:
"I think Master Oleander was an impudent rascal, and well deserving a
few inches of cold iron, or a sound truncheoning at the hands of the
provost-marshal. I remember doing something of that kind myself
about the time that old Mareschal de Crecqui was blocked up and taken
in Treves."
"Ay, Douglas, that was when we were with the column of the Moselle,"
said the Earl, who now approached and leaned on the back of the
Countess's chair. "It was shortly after the brave Turenne had been
killed by that unlucky cannonball that deprived France of her best
chevalier. We were in full retreat across the river. Some ladies of
the army were with us in a handsome calêche, as gay a one as ever
rolled along the Parisian Boulevards. There was a devil of a press
at the barrier gate of Montroyale, and an officer of the Regiment de
Picardie was urging the horses of the vehicle to full speed by
goading them with his half-pike, regardless of the cries of the
ladies, when Finland, by one blow of his baton, unhorsed him, and
some say he never marched more."
"O! Mr. Douglas!" said the Countess, holding up her hands.
"There was an old feud between us and the chevaliers de Picardie,"
continued the Earl; "but the worst of this malheur was, that the poor
officer was the husband of one of the demoiselles in question; and as
she was extremely handsome, and Finland, by becoming her very devoted
serviteur, endeavoured, during the remainder of the campaign, to make
every amends for the loss he had occasioned her; the gallants of the
army said----"
"Marry, come up! My Lord, dost take my boudoir for a tavern or a
sutler's tent? Fie! Laird of Finland, you are worse than the
Lysimachus of the romance. But what think you, Walter, of that hero
becoming enamoured of the fair prisoner committed to his care, the
Princess Parisatis? It would seem that in ancient times, as well as
modern, that beauty must be a dangerous trust for a young soldier."
The Earl laughed till he shook the perfume from his wig; Walter
smiled, and stole one glance at Lilian. She, too, was smiling, and
playing with her fan; but her long lashes were cast down, and her
cheek was burning with blushes.
"So dangerous, indeed, is beauty," said the Earl, "that had I any
fair prisoners, I would entrust them only to old fellows with leather
visages and tough hearts, ancient routiers, like Will Wemyss, or, if
they were remarkably handsome, why, I might keep them in my own
immediate charge."
"Indeed, my Lord--quotha?" said the Countess, pouting.
"Believe me, dear Lætitia," said the handsome noble, patting her
white shoulder, "they could not be in safer keeping than the wardship
of your husband. He can never see beauty in others."
She smiled at the Earl's compliment, and turning to the blushing
Lilian, said:
"In sooth, madam, Walter Fenton was always somewhat addicted to
gallantry, though Mistress Ruth and he were ever at drawn daggers
while he was about me. While a boy, he was quite a little cavaliero;
and when obeying my orders, always preferred a kiss to any other
reward. But by my honour, little Walter was so pretty a boy, that I
gave him enough to have made my Lord the Earl quite jealous. Even
Anne of Monmouth and Buccleugh, never had a page so handsome and so
gay; and I doubt not, boy, thou prove a true Scottish cavalier in
those sad wars which all men say are fast approaching."
Walter's only reply was pressing to his lips the white hand of the
beautiful English woman; for his heart was too full to speak.
"And now, Walter," she continued, "as a mark of my favour you shall
dance with me, while Lord Dunbarton leads out the young lady of
Bruntisfield. I have not been on the floor since the first cotillon
with Claverhouse. Madam Ruth, you will please preside at the
tea-board. Mr. Douglas--Finland, as you Scots name him, where is he?"
"Gone to look for the Lily of Maxwelton, I warrant," said the Earl.
"Then he may even spare himself the trouble, poor man! she has been
coquetting for this hour past with the Laird of Craigdarroch, a
gentleman of the Life Guards. On, on, or we shall be late for the
cotillon. Ah, Walter, you are still looking after that fair girl
Napier. She is very pretty; but are you really in love with her?
You blush! Bless you, my poor boy, she is immensely rich they
say--and--but you shall dance with her next."
As they advanced among the dancers, a tall lady in scarlet brocade,
with a stomacher blazing with diamonds, swept past. She was led by a
gentleman gorgeously attired in a coat of pink velvet, lined and
slashed with yellow satin, and looped and buttoned with gold. Like
all the rest, his voluminous wig was of the most glossy black. His
dark stern eyes glared for a moment upon Walter, as he bowed
profoundly to the Countess and passed on.
"'Tis Mary of Charteris, and that fearful man Lord Clermistonlee,"
said she. "We cannot omit him here though we detest him. How
handsome, how noble he looks; and yet, how repulsive!"
A crash of music burst from the arched gallery, and after a few
preliminary flourishes, a cotillon commenced. This graceful dance
was then the universal favourite, but has long been superseded or
merged in the modern quadrille, where some of its figures are still
retained. Though stately in measure and elaborate in step, the
cotillon had none of that grave solemnity which characterises the
latter. When our forefathers danced, they did so in good earnest,
and the whole ballroom became instinct with life, action, and agile
grace, as the dancers swept to the right and to the left, the tall
ladies with their high plumage floating, trains sweeping, and
red-heeled slippers pattering, while their pendants and lappets,
flounces and frills, and pompoons and puffs were flashing, glinting,
and waving among the curled wigs and laced coats, diamond hilted
swords and brocade-vests of the gentlemen. In what might (now) be
deemed odd contrast with the richness of their attire, and the
starched dignity of their demeanour, familiar and homely expressions
were heard from time to time, such as,--
"My Leddy Becky, your hand--Drumdryan, you're a' gaun agee,
man!--Pardon, my Lord Spynie, your rapier's tirled wi' mine--Haud ye
a', my Leddy Pituchar has drappit her pouncet-box!--Hoots, Laird
Holster, are you daft?--Pilrig, set to her Leddyship," and so forth.
Meanwhile Douglas wandered through the glittering throng in quest of
his beautiful Anne, nodding briefly on all hands; for Dick, the Laird
of Finland, was one of those gay fellows whom every body knew; but
his fair one was nowhere visible. He began to wax fearfully wroth,
and resolving to dance with no one else, continued his search until
he found himself at the end of the suite of apartments, in a handsome
little room wainscotted with gilt panels, and having a large sun
gilded over the mantel-piece, from the centre of which, as from a
reflector, a blaze of yellow light was thrown by an alabaster lamp.
Lord Mersington, accurately attired in black velvet, plainly laced
with silver, Dalyel, with his long white beard and mail-rusted buff
coat, looking as ferocious as ever, with his enormous toledo, and
Swedish jingle-spurs, which in lieu of rowels had each four metal
balls in a bell, and consequently made a great noise when he walked;
the unfortunate President Lockhart, the "bluidy Advocate," Mackenzie,
the two ancient maiden dames of Pheesgil, Lady Grisel Napier, and
Madam Drumsturdy, a tall and raw-boned dowager in black taffeta with
pearls, plumes and heartbreakers (or false ringlets) were all
intently playing at the old-fashioned game of Primero.
"Hee, hee, my Lady Drumsturdy," said Mersington, simpering like an
ape at his partner in his attempts to be pleasing, "the general is a
kittle opponent. A spade led."
"Your Lordship will not turn my flank gif I can help it--'tis a
knave;" replied the old cavalier, sorting his suite. "I ken Primero
weel. Mony a time and oft, d--n me! I have played a round game at
it, and Ombre, Knave-out-o'-doors, Post-and-pair on the head o' a
kettle-drum, and mony a score o' roubles I have swept off the same
gude table: but troth, Mersington, ye are waur to warsle wi' then a
Don Cossack--(play, Sir George)--o' whom God wot, I have had some
experience in my time."
"Ay, ay--hee, hee--a diamond was played," said Mersington, as the
card party exchanged glances of impatience, confidently foreseeing
the infliction of some of Sir Thomas's Russian reminiscences.
"Speaking o' Don Cossacks," said he, starting off without further
preamble, and clanking his enormous spurs; "it was just this time
thirty years ago that we sacked Smolensko and Kiow, after storming
them from the Polanders. Dags and pistols! but my squadron of
Cossacks shewed themselves born deevils that day. Sabre and spear
was the cry. Some braw pickings we got, your ladyships, in that same
province of Lithuania, which to an industrious cavalier, who knoweth
the fashion of war, is as fine a place for free inquartering as the
Garden of Eden would have been, d--n me!"
"Oh! Sir Thomas," said Lady Grisel deprecatingly. "But is it true
that in Muscovy no man will either beck, bow, or veil bonnet to a
woman in the streets?"
"I hope no true-born Russ would undervalue himsel' so far," replied
Sir Thomas, stroking his silver beard. "He would as soon put his
head in the fire as bend it to any woman, his ain mother even; and as
for adoring beauty--udsdaggers! a Muscovite would sooner think of
adoring his horse's tail. I assure you, ladies, that the great Duke
of Muscovy himsel' would not permit his mother, wife, or daughter to
eat at the same buird wi' him, even if it were to save their lives.
'Tis the law o' the land, and a very gude ane too."
Here the old ladies held up their hands and eyes, but the General
continued.
"They are fine cheilds those same Russians though, and I will at one
sliver cut the throat of any loon that gainsayeth it. Had your
ladyships seen Salcroff's Black Cuirassiers sweeping ten thousand
wild Tartars before them, and driving them with levelled lances into
the foaming waters of the Vistula, it would have been a sight to mind
o'. Udsdaggers! that was different work from riding owre a band o'
puir psalm-singing deevils o' Covenanters, just as ane would trot
owre a corn-rig. Ay, _those_ were the days, and _that_ was the
service, for a pretty man! My Lord President, play if it please you."
"You are an awfu' man, Binns," said Mersington; "a perfect auld
deil's buckie, and weel kent to be a most unrelenting tulzier, that
caresna whether a man crieth _quarter_ in our decent Scots' tongue,
or in that o' an Englishman, Tartar, or other unco body, death being
the doom o' all alike."
"And what for no, my lord?" rejoined this ferocious commander,
knitting his formidable brows. "Are these times in whilk to shew
mercy to low-born rapscallions? A bonny spot o' work this is in the
north: these deevils the Clandonald o' Keppoch and the Fusileer Guard
hae been at it ding-dong wi' pike and broadsword every day for this
week past. But I have heard that Captain Crichton is off on the spur
wi' some horse and dragoons, to tak' a turn against the Hielandmen;
and if he sends a pockfu' o' heads now and then to the Council, he
will not be riding aboon the King's commission."
"Oh, Sir Thomas!" ejaculated Lady Grisel again, "the brave are ever
merciful."
"So, please your ladyship, I have often ridden by the side of a
certain cavalier, Sir Archibald Napier of Bruntisfield, whom Montrose
esteemed as brave a man as put foot in stirrup; and, like mysel',
_he_ shewed but small favour to the canting, crop-luggit, covenanting
rapscallions o' his time. Puir Paton o' Meadowhead and Wallace o'
Auchans, whom thrice at Pentland I had this very blade upraised to
smite, were the only honest men that followed their banner. God sain
them baith! for they were pretty men, and knew the wars like
mysel'.--Lady Drumsturdy, a spade if you please."
"Sir Thomas," said the soft voice of Lady Grisel, "no marvel it is
that the poor nonjurors shrink before you, even as from--from----"
"Our gude friend wi' the forkit tail," added Mersington, closing the
sentence, while Dalyel's bushy beard shook with his laughter as he
replied--
"Ou ay; and like Claver'se, Glenæ, Lag, and a few mair o' our leal
royal commanders, I am proof to lead and steel--ha! ha! Weel may
these sniveling loons, who sold their King for a groat, and
sacrificed their country for its d--n'd Kirk, quail before the eye of
a leal man and true. I am an auld gentleman trooper, and trailed a
pike under the Muscovite eagle owre lang to hae mony remains o'
tenderness, whilk is a failing I believe few folk will accuse me o'.
Uds-daggers, Finland, I see you listening, my braw man. Your beard
may grow white like mine (though, after the fashion o' these
degenerate days, your chin is as smooth as a Christmas apple), but
never will ye ride owre the spur-leathers in Tartar gore as I have
done. Braw gallants as ye are, in your plate corslets and pinkit
doublets, laced and perfumed, tasselled and tagged, and jagged and
bedeevilled like state trumpeters, ye would be but puir hands at
resisting a charge o' mailed horse or heavy dragoons."
"Under favour, General Dalyel," replied the handsome lieutenant
laughing, "I hope not; and Monmouth's cavaliers found lately, that a
stand of Scottish pikes are still as firm as when levelled on the
fields of Sark or Otterburn. By my faith, their spurred horses
recoiled from our solid squares like water from a rock."
"Awa'," replied Sir Thomas sternly; "it beseemeth not a laddie like
you to venture an opinion on that fray at Sedgemoor. Had ye seen the
field of Smolensko on the day that great battle was fought and won,
then might ye speak o' sic matters. There, mair than a hundred
thousand matchlocks and petronels rung like thunder in the frosty
sky; bombs were bursting, cannon-shot and barbed arrow fleein' thick
as hail; while helmet and corslet rang like siller bells to the clink
o' cimitar and mace. Oh! for a deep wassail bowl to drink to the
brave that fought there, for my auld heart warms to their memory.
Like the wind o' their snowy deserts, the squadrons of horse swept
with uplifted lances to the heidlong charge. Alexis on the
right--Sinboirs on the left, and myself the leal Laird o' Binns, in
the centre wi' the eagle--whoop! then came a crash, and all gave way
before us, like a Dutchman's dyke when the dam breaks. Loud aboon a'
the din o' war thundered the great battle-drum of the Muscovite host,
carried on four horses, and having aucht loons loundering on't wi'
wooden mells. Sedgemoor!--It was bairns' play to such a field as
Smolensko; and gif mortal man gainsayeth it, there is the hand that
will right the matter! I mind the fray as if 'twere yesterday; and I
assure you, Lady Grisel, that I had a braw supper that night on the
field, cooked from a horse's flank by some of the Tartar women I kept
about me."
Tired of this conversation, Douglas left the old beaux to do the
agreeable to the brocaded dowagers of the Canongate, and lounged
through the glittering rooms, continuing his search for Annie Laurie.
Leaning on the arm of the handsome Claverhouse, who over a coat of
white velvet, richly laced and slashed, wore a sash and gorget of
burnished gold, with the collar of the Thistle, the Countess of
Dunbarton slowly promenaded past.
"Ah, laird of Finland," said she archly, "I know for whom you are
still looking so anxiously."
"In sooth, madam, I scarcely know myself."
"All the better is such philosophy, for she has been coquetting all
night with the young laird of Craigdarroch."
They parted. At that moment a flourish of music swept along the
painted ceilings, and the dancers began to arrange themselves for a
new cotillon. Douglas, now seriously angry, cast a rapid and
impatient glance round the bright throng, and caught a glimpse of his
fair one in all the glory of white satin, white lace and white
pearls, her eyes sparkling with pleasure, and the braids of her
auburn hair with diamonds and spangles. She was chatting gaily with
Lady Mary Charteris, one of those beautiful romps who flourished in
ancient Edina, notwithstanding the starched demureness of the time.
Fearful of being anticipated, he advanced at once, and requested her
hand for the next dance.
"And now, Finland," said she, placing her soft hand in his, "What
have you to say for yourself?"
"How, fair Annie?"
"That until this moment you have never approached me; and I have been
forced to endure the vanity of Craigdarroch, who, like all Claver'se
gentlemen-troopers, thinks he is quite a Palladin, because he guards
the High Commissioner, rides with the Parliament, and (like yourself)
terrifies the old cummers of the Kailmarket, or some poor
cock-lairdie, to abjure the Covenant, or hang on the next tree. Is
it not so?"
Douglas laughed as his merry mistress spoke; for Craigdarroch was the
only man in Edinburgh of whom he felt a little jealous, or whose
influence he valued a rush. Tall and handsome, an accomplished
gentleman, an expert horseman and fencer, and a brave and
good-hearted fellow to boot, young Fergusson was altogether a rival
quite calculated to create some uneasiness; and his whole regiment
were a source of dread to the beaux and dandies of the capital.
There was a certain dashing and indescribable bearing attached to all
the cavalier troopers of the Scottish Life Guard, which, with the
unusual splendour of their garb and armour, their rank in society,
courage in the field, and that high _esprit-du-corps_ which
necessarily pervaded a band so very exclusive and prætorian, made
every one a formidable rival. Thus, notwithstanding his own rank,
figure, and bearing, Douglas felt considerable anxiety whenever
Craigdarroch approached his mistress; nor could he at times repress a
sigh of anger and regret at her gaiety and volatility, which charmed
him one moment and provoked him the next.
The cotillon commenced. Happy Walter and his beautiful Lilian were
their vis-à-vis. They were chatting very gaily on the trivial
matters of the day--De Scuderi's last, but ponderous romance--the new
comedy performed by his Majesty's servants at the little theatre in
the Tennis-court--new-fashioned suits of Genoa velvet laced with
Bruxelles--gloves of Blois--perfumes and balls of pomme d'ambre--a
witch that was to be burned next day on the Castlehill, by the
economical provost and baillies, in the same bonfire lit in honour of
the victory at Bothwell, on its eighth anniversary.
The whole city was agog "anent the worrying" (as the term was) of
this famous sorceress, who had been unanimously condemned by a pious
and intelligent jury (principally composed of Kirk-elders) for
sailing across to Fife in a sieve instead of the Kinghorn cutter; for
causing a neighbour's calf to have two heads; for raising a storm to
sink the good ship _Charles the Second_ of Leith, by performing
certain diabolical cantrips over a kail-blade full of water; and
various other enormities, which made every hair in the wigs of the
fifteen Lords of Session and Justiciary stand on end with horror and
amazement.