Another consequence of the change at court was, that the Duke of Lennox
was forced to leave the kingdom. The Presbyterian historians relate
the manner of his departure with evident relish. ‘The duke departed
out of the town, after noon, accompanied with the provost, bailies,
and five hundred men.... He rode towards Glasgow, accompanied by the
Lord Maxwell, the Master of Livingstone, the Master of Eglintoun,
Ferniehirst, and sundry other gentlemen.’[127]... He ‘remained in
Dunbarton at the West Sea, where, or [ere] he gat passage, he was put
to as hard a diet as he caused the Earl of Morton to use there; yea,
even to the other extremity that he had used at court; for, whereas
his kitchen was sae sumptuous that lumps of butter was cast in the
fire when it soked [grew dull], and twa or three crowns waired upon a
stock of kale dressing, he was fain to eat of a meagre guse, scoudered
with beare strae.’[128] Died in Edinburgh, George Buchanan, at the
age of seventy-eight, immediately after concluding his _History of
Scotland_. His high literary accomplishments, especially his exquisite
Latin composition, have made his name permanently famous. His personal
character was not without its shades, yet it stands forth amidst the
rough scenes of that time as something, on the whole, venerable. Sir
James Melville, in noting that, while acting as one of the king’s
preceptors, he kept the young monarch in great awe, goes on to speak
of him as ‘a stoic philosopher,’ who did not act in that capacity with
any view to his worldly interests. ‘A man of notable endowments for his
learning and knowledge in Latin poesy,’ says this mild contemporary,
‘much honoured in other countries, pleasant in conversation, rehearsing
at all occasions moralities short and instructive, whereof he had
abundance, inventing where he wanted. He was also religious, but was
easily abused, and so facile, that he was led by every company that
he haunted, which made him factious in his old days, for he spoke and
wrote as those who were about him informed him; for he was become
careless, following in many things the vulgar opinion; for he was
naturally popular, and extremely revengeful against any man who had
offended him, which was his greatest fault. For he did write despiteful
invectives against the Earl of Monteith, for some particulars that were
between him and the Laird of Buchanan. He became the Earl of Morton’s
great enemy, for that a nag of his chanced to be taken from his servant
during the civil troubles, and was bought by the Regent, who had no
will to part with the said horse, he was so sure-footed and so easy,
that albeit Mr George had ofttimes required him again, he could not
get him. And, therefore, though he had been the Regent’s great friend
before, he became his mortal enemy, and from that time forth spoke evil
of him in all places, and at all occasions.’
[Sidenote: 1582.]
A little while before Buchanan’s death, while his history was passing
through the press of Alexander Arbuthnot in Edinburgh, the Rev. James
Melville, accompanied by his uncle Andrew, came from St Andrews
‘anes-errand’--that is, on set purpose--to see him and his work. ‘When
we came to his chalmer,’ says Melville, ‘we fand him sitting in his
chair, teaching his young man that servit in his chalmer, to spell, a,
b, ab; e, b, eb; &c. After salutation, Mr Andrew says: “I see, sir,
ye are not idle.” “Better this,” quoth he, “nor stealing sheep, or
sitting idle, whilk is as ill.” Thereafter he shew[ed] us the Epistle
Dedicatory to the King; the whilk when Mr Andrew had read he tauld him
it was obscure in some places, and wanted certain words to perfite the
sentence. Says he: “I may do nae mair for thinking on another matter.”
“What is that?” says Mr Andrew. “To die,” quoth he; “but I leave that
and mony mae things for you to help.”
‘We went from him to the printer’s wark-house, whom we fand at the
end of the 17 buik of his chronicle, at a place whilk we thought very
hard for the time, whilk might be an occasion of staying the haill
wark, anent the burial of Davie.[129] Thereafter, staying the printer
from proceeding, we came to Mr George again, and fand him bedfast
by [contrary to] his custom; and asking him how he did--“Even going
the way of weelfare,” says he. Mr Thomas, his cousin, shews him the
hardness of that part of his story, [and] that the king might be
offended with it, and it might stay all the wark. “Tell me, man,” says
he, “gif I have tauld the truth?” “Yes,” says Mr Thomas, “sir, I think
sae.” “I will bide his feid, and all his kin’s then,” quoth he: “pray,
pray to God for me, and let Him direct all.”’
The sternness of Scottish prejudices here reaches the heroic.
With its eight centuries of fable in the front, and its glaring
partisanship in the latter part, we cannot now attach much importance
to Buchanan’s history. Yet in respect of its literary character, it
contains some truly felicitous touches, as where he describes the
surface of Galloway in four words--‘_in modicos colles tumet_;’ or
the remarkable sea-board of Fife in two--‘_oppidulis præcingitur_.’
Expressions like these shew the master of literary art.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: DEC. 10.]
The king’s new councillors of course felt that hard measure had been
dealt to the ex-Regent. At this date, ‘the Earl of Morton’s head was
taken down off the prick which is upon the high gavell of the Tolbooth,
with the king’s licence, at the eleventh hour of the day; was laid
in a fine cloth, convoyed honourably, and laid in the kist where his
body was buried. The Laird of Carmichael carried it, shedding tears
abundantly by the way.’--_Cal._
* * * * *
[Sidenote: 1582-3.