Thareby so fearlesse and so fell he grew,
That his own syre and maister of his guise
Did often tremble at his horrid view;
And if for dread of hurt would him advise,
The angry beastes not rashly to despise,
Nor too much to provoke; for he would learne
The lion stoup to him in lowly wise,
(A lesson hard,) and make the libbard sterne
Leave roaring, when in rage he for revenge did earne.--SPENSER.
Notwithstanding the proverbial epicurism of the English,--proverbial,
that is to say, in Scotland at the period,--the English visitors made
no figure whatever at the entertainment, compared with the portentous
voracity of Captain Dalgetty, although that gallant soldier had already
displayed much steadiness and pertinacity in his attack upon the lighter
refreshment set before them at their entrance, by way of forlorn hope.
He spoke to no one during the time of his meal; and it was not until
the victuals were nearly withdrawn from the table, that he gratified
the rest of the company, who had watched him with some surprise, with an
account of the reasons why he ate so very fast and so very long.
“The former quality,” he said, “he had acquired, while he filled a place
at the bursar’s table at the Mareschal-College of Aberdeen; when,” said
he; “if you did not move your jaws as fast as a pair of castanets, you
were very unlikely to get any thing to put between them. And as for the
quantity of my food, be it known to this honourable company,” continued
the Captain, “that it’s the duty of every commander of a fortress, on
all occasions which offer, to secure as much munition and vivers as
their magazines can possibly hold, not knowing when they may have to
sustain a siege or a blockade. Upon which principle, gentlemen,” said
he, “when a cavalier finds that provant is good and abundant, he will,
in my estimation, do wisely to victual himself for at least three days,
as there is no knowing when he may come by another meal.”
The Laird expressed his acquiescence in the prudence of this principle,
and recommended to the veteran to add a tass of brandy and a flagon of
claret to the substantial provisions he had already laid in, to which
proposal the Captain readily agreed.
When dinner was removed, and the servants had withdrawn, excepting the
Laird’s page, or henchman, who remained in the apartment to call for or
bring whatever was wanted, or, in a word, to answer the purposes of a
modern bell-wire, the conversation began to turn upon politics, and
the state of the country; and Lord Menteith enquired anxiously and
particularly what clans were expected to join the proposed muster of the
King’s friends.
“That depends much, my lord, on the person who lifts the banner,” said
the Laird; “for you know we Highlanders, when a few clans are assembled,
are not easily commanded by one of our own Chiefs, or, to say the truth,
by any other body. We have heard a rumour, indeed, that Colkitto--that
is, young Colkitto, or Alaster M’Donald, is come over the Kyle from
Ireland, with a body of the Earl of Antrim’s people, and that they had
got as far as Ardnamurchan. They might have been here before now, but, I
suppose, they loitered to plunder the country as they came along.”
“Will Colkitto not serve you for a leader, then?” said Lord Menteith.
“Colkitto?” said Allan M’Aulay, scornfully; “who talks of
Colkitto?--There lives but one man whom we will follow, and that is
Montrose.”
“But Montrose, sir,” said Sir Christopher Hall, “has not been heard of
since our ineffectual attempt to rise in the north of England. It is
thought he has returned to the King at Oxford for farther instructions.”
“Returned!” said Allan, with a scornful laugh; “I could tell ye, but it
is not worth my while; ye will know soon enough.”
“By my honour, Allan,” said Lord Menteith, “you will weary out your
friends with this intolerable, froward, and sullen humour--But I know
the reason,” added he, laughing; “you have not seen Annot Lyle to-day.”
“Whom did you say I had not seen?” said Allan, sternly.
“Annot Lyle, the fairy queen of song and minstrelsy,” said Lord
Menteith.
“Would to God I were never to see her again,” said Allan, sighing, “On
condition the same weird were laid on you!”
“And why on me?” said Lord Menteith, carelessly.
“Because,” said Allan, “it is written on your forehead, that you are to
be the ruin of each other.” So saying, he rose up and left the room.
“Has he been long in this way?” asked Lord Menteith, addressing his
brother.
“About three days,” answered Angus; “the fit is wellnigh over, he will
be better to-morrow.--But come, gentlemen, don’t let the tappit-hen
scraugh to be emptied. The King’s health, King Charles’s health! and
may the covenanting dog that refuses it, go to Heaven by the road of the
Grassmarket!”
The health was quickly pledged, and as fast succeeded by another, and
another, and another, all of a party cast, and enforced in an earnest
manner. Captain Dalgetty, however, thought it necessary to enter a
protest.
“Gentlemen cavaliers,” he said, “I drink these healths, PRIMO, both out
of respect to this honourable and hospitable roof-tree, and, SECUNDO,
because I hold it not good to be preceese in such matters, INTER POCULA;
but I protest, agreeable to the warrandice granted by this honourable
lord, that it shall be free to me, notwithstanding my present
complaisance, to take service with the Covenanters to-morrow, providing
I shall be so minded.”
M’Aulay and his English guests stared at this declaration, which would
have certainly bred new disturbance, if Lord Menteith had not taken up
the affair, and explained the circumstances and conditions. “I trust,”
he concluded, “we shall be able to secure Captain Dalgetty’s assistance
to our own party.”
“And if not,” said the Laird, “I protest, as the Captain says, that
nothing that has passed this evening, not even his having eaten my bread
and salt, and pledged me in brandy, Bourdeaux, or usquebaugh, shall
prejudice my cleaving him to the neck-bone.”
“You shall be heartily welcome,” said the Captain, “providing my sword
cannot keep my head, which it has done in worse dangers than your fend
is likely to make for me.”
Here Lord Menteith again interposed, and the concord of the company
being with no small difficulty restored, was cemented by some deep
carouses. Lord Menteith, however, contrived to break up the party
earlier than was the usage of the Castle, under pretence of fatigue and
indisposition. This was somewhat to the disappointment of the valiant
Captain, who, among other habits acquired in the Low countries, had
acquired both a disposition to drink, and a capacity to bear, an
exorbitant quantity of strong liquors.
Their landlord ushered them in person to a sort of sleeping gallery, in
which there was a four-post bed, with tartan curtains, and a number
of cribs, or long hampers, placed along the wall, three of which,
well stuffed with blooming heather, were prepared for the reception of
guests.
“I need not tell your lordship,” said M’Aulay to Lord Menteith, a little
apart, “our Highland mode of quartering. Only that, not liking you
should sleep in the room alone with this German land-louper, I have
caused your servants’ beds to be made here in the gallery. By G--d, my
lord, these are times when men go to bed with a throat hale and sound as
ever swallowed brandy, and before next morning it may be gaping like an
oyster-shell.”
Lord Menteith thanked him sincerely, saying, “It was just the
arrangement he would have requested; for, although he had not the least
apprehension of violence from Captain Dalgetty, yet Anderson was a
better kind of person, a sort of gentleman, whom he always liked to have
near his person.”
“I have not seen this Anderson,” said M’Aulay; “did you hire him in
England?”
“I did so,” said Lord Menteith; “you will see the man to-morrow; in the
meantime I wish you good-night.”
His host left the apartment after the evening salutation, and was about
to pay the same compliment to Captain Dalgetty, but observing him deeply
engaged in the discussion of a huge pitcher filled with brandy posset,
he thought it a pity to disturb him in so laudable an employment, and
took his leave without farther ceremony.
Lord Menteith’s two attendants entered the apartment almost immediately
after his departure. The good Captain, who was now somewhat encumbered
with his good cheer, began to find the undoing of the clasps of his
armour a task somewhat difficult, and addressed Anderson in these words,
interrupted by a slight hiccup,--“Anderson, my good friend, you may
read in Scripture, that he that putteth off his armour should not boast
himself like he that putteth it on--I believe that is not the right
word of command; but the plain truth of it is, I am like to sleep in my
corslet, like many an honest fellow that never waked again, unless you
unloose this buckle.”
“Undo his armour, Sibbald,” said Anderson to the other servant.
“By St. Andrew!” exclaimed the Captain, turning round in great
astonishment, “here’s a common fellow--a stipendiary with four pounds
a-year and a livery cloak, thinks himself too good to serve Ritt-master
Dugald Dalgetty of Drumthwacket, who has studied humanity at the
Mareschal-College of Aberdeen, and served half the princes of Europe!”
“Captain Dalgetty,” said Lord Menteith, whose lot it was to stand
peacemaker throughout the evening, “please to understand that Anderson
waits upon no one but myself; but I will help Sibbald to undo your
corslet with much pleasure.”
“Too much trouble for you, my lord,” said Dalgetty; “and yet it would do
you no harm to practise how a handsome harness is put on and put off.
I can step in and out of mine like a glove; only to-night, although not
EBRIUS, I am, in the classic phrase, VINO CIBOQUE GRAVATUS.”
By this time he was unshelled, and stood before the fire musing with a
face of drunken wisdom on the events of the evening. What seemed chiefly
to interest him, was the character of Allan M’Aulay. “To come over
the Englishmen so cleverly with his Highland torch-bearers--eight
bare-breeched Rories for six silver candlesticks!--it was a
master-piece--a TOUR DE PASSE--it was perfect legerdemain--and to be a
madman after all!--I doubt greatly, my lord” (shaking his head), “that
I must allow him, notwithstanding his relationship to your lordship, the
privileges of a rational person, and either batoon him sufficiently to
expiate the violence offered to my person, or else bring it to a matter
of mortal arbitrement, as becometh an insulted cavalier.”
“If you care to hear a long story,” said Lord Menteith, “at this time of
night, I can tell you how the circumstances of Allan’s birth account so
well for his singular character, as to put such satisfaction entirely
out of the question.”
“A long story, my lord,” said Captain Dalgetty, “is, next to a good
evening draught and a warm nightcap, the best shoeinghorn for drawing on
a sound sleep. And since your lordship is pleased to take the trouble to
tell it, I shall rest your patient and obliged auditor.”
“Anderson,” said Lord Menteith, “and you, Sibbald, are dying to hear,
I suppose, of this strange man too! and I believe I must indulge your
curiosity, that you may know how to behave to him in time of need. You
had better step to the fire then.”
Having thus assembled an audience about him, Lord Menteith sat down upon
the edge of the four-post bed, while Captain Dalgetty, wiping the relics
of the posset from his beard and mustachoes, and repeating the first
verse of the Lutheran psalm, ALLE GUTER GEISTER LOBEN DEN HERRN, etc.
rolled himself into one of the places of repose, and thrusting his shock
pate from between the blankets, listened to Lord Menteith’s relation in
a most luxurious state, between sleeping and waking.
“The father,” said Lord Menteith, “of the two brothers, Angus and Allan
M’Aulay, was a gentleman of consideration and family, being the chief
of a Highland clan, of good account, though not numerous; his lady, the
mother of these young men, was a gentlewoman of good family, if I may be
permitted to say so of one nearly connected with my own. Her brother, an
honourable and spirited young man, obtained from James the Sixth a grant
of forestry, and other privileges, over a royal chase adjacent to
this castle; and, in exercising and defending these rights, he was so
unfortunate as to involve himself in a quarrel with some of our Highland
freebooters or caterans, of whom I think, Captain Dalgetty, you must
have heard.”
“And that I have,” said the Captain, exerting himself to answer the
appeal. “Before I left the Mareschal-College of Aberdeen, Dugald Garr
was playing the devil in the Garioch, and the Farquharsons on Dee-side,
and the Clan Chattan on the Gordons’ lands, and the Grants and Camerons
in Moray-land. And since that, I have seen the Cravats and Pandours in
Pannonia and Transylvania, and the Cossacks from the Polish frontier,
and robbers, banditti, and barbarians of all countries besides, so that
I have a distinct idea of your broken Highlandmen.”
“The clan,” said Lord Menteith, “with whom the maternal uncle of the
M’Aulays had been placed in feud, was a small sept of banditti, called,
from their houseless state, and their incessantly wandering among the
mountains and glens, the Children of the Mist. They are a fierce and
hardy people, with all the irritability, and wild and vengeful passions,
proper to men who have never known the restraint of civilized society.
A party of them lay in wait for the unfortunate Warden of the Forest,
surprised him while hunting alone and unattended, and slew him with
every circumstance of inventive cruelty. They cut off his head,
and resolved, in a bravado, to exhibit it at the castle of his
brother-in-law. The laird was absent, and the lady reluctantly received
as guests, men against whom, perhaps, she was afraid to shut her gates.
Refreshments were placed before the Children of the Mist, who took an
opportunity to take the head of their victim from the plaid in which
it was wrapt, placed it on the table, put a piece of bread between the
lifeless jaws, bidding them do their office now, since many a good meal
they had eaten at that table. The lady, who had been absent for some
household purpose, entered at this moment, and, upon beholding her
brother’s head, fled like an arrow out of the house into the woods,
uttering shriek upon shriek. The ruffians, satisfied with this savage
triumph, withdrew. The terrified menials, after overcoming the alarm
to which they had been subjected, sought their unfortunate mistress in
every direction, but she was nowhere to be found. The miserable husband
returned next day, and, with the assistance of his people, undertook a
more anxious and distant search, but to equally little purpose. It
was believed universally, that, in the ecstasy of her terror, she must
either have thrown herself over one of the numerous precipices which
overhang the river, or into a deep lake about a mile from the castle.
Her loss was the more lamented, as she was six months advanced in
her pregnancy; Angus M’Aulay, her eldest son, having been born about
eighteen months before.--But I tire you, Captain Dalgetty, and you seem
inclined to sleep.”
“By no means,” answered the soldier; “I am no whit somnolent; I always
hear best with my eyes shut. It is a fashion I learned when I stood
sentinel.”
“And I daresay,” said Lord Menteith, aside to Anderson, “the weight of
the halberd of the sergeant of the rounds often made him open them.”
Being apparently, however, in the humour of story-telling, the young
nobleman went on, addressing himself chiefly to his servants, without
minding the slumbering veteran.
“Every baron in the country,” said he, “now swore revenge for this
dreadful crime. They took arms with the relations and brother-in-law of
the murdered person, and the Children of the Mist were hunted down,
I believe, with as little mercy as they had themselves manifested.
Seventeen heads, the bloody trophies of their vengeance, were
distributed among the allies, and fed the crows upon the gates of their
castles. The survivors sought out more distant wildernesses, to which
they retreated.”
“To your right hand, counter-march and retreat to your former ground,”
said Captain Dalgetty; the military phrase having produced the
correspondent word of command; and then starting up, professed he had
been profoundly atttentive to every word that had been spoken.
“It is the custom in summer,” said Lord Menteith, without attending
to his apology, “to send the cows to the upland pastures to have the
benefit of the grass; and the maids of the village, and of the family,
go there to milk them in the morning and evening. While thus employed,
the females of this family, to their great terror, perceived that their
motions were watched at a distance by a pale, thin, meagre figure,
bearing a strong resemblance to their deceased mistress, and passing,
of course, for her apparition. When some of the boldest resolved to
approach this faded form, it fled from them into the woods with a wild
shriek. The husband, informed of this circumstance, came up to the glen
with some attendants, and took his measures so well as to intercept
the retreat of the unhappy fugitive, and to secure the person of his
unfortunate lady, though her intellect proved to be totally deranged.
How she supported herself during her wandering in the woods could not be
known--some supposed she lived upon roots and wild-berries, with which
the woods at that season abounded; but the greater part of the vulgar
were satisfied that she must have subsisted upon the milk of the wild
does, or been nourished by the fairies, or supported in some manner
equally marvellous. Her re-appearance was more easily accounted for. She
had seen from the thicket the milking of the cows, to superintend which
had been her favourite domestic employment, and the habit had prevailed
even in her deranged state of mind.
“In due season the unfortunate lady was delivered of a boy, who not only
showed no appearance of having suffered from his mother’s calamities,
but appeared to be an infant of uncommon health and strength. The
unhappy mother, after her confinement, recovered her reason--at least
in a great measure, but never her health and spirits. Allan was her only
joy. Her attention to him was unremitting; and unquestionably she must
have impressed upon his early mind many of those superstitious ideas to
which his moody and enthusiastic temper gave so ready a reception. She
died when he was about ten years old. Her last words were spoken to him
in private; but there is little doubt that they conveyed an injunction
of vengeance upon the Children of the Mist, with which he has since
amply complied.
“From this moment, the habits of Allan M’Aulay were totally changed.
He had hitherto been his mother’s constant companion, listening to
her dreams, and repeating his own, and feeding his imagination,
which, probably from the circumstances preceding his birth, was
constitutionally deranged, with all the wild and terrible superstitions
so common to the mountaineers, to which his unfortunate mother had
become much addicted since her brother’s death. By living in this
manner, the boy had gotten a timid, wild, startled look, loved to seek
out solitary places in the woods, and was never so much terrified, as
by the approach of children of the same age. I remember, although some
years younger, being brought up here by my father upon a visit, nor can
I forget the astonishment with which I saw this infant-hermit shun every
attempt I made to engage him in the sports natural to our age. I can
remember his father bewailing his disposition to mine, and alleging, at
the same time, that it was impossible for him to take from his wife
the company of the boy, as he seemed to be the only consolation that
remained to her in this world, and as the amusement which Allan’s
society afforded her seemed to prevent the recurrence, at least in its
full force, of that fearful malady by which she had been visited. But,
after the death of his mother, the habits and manners of the boy seemed
at once to change. It is true he remained as thoughtful and serious as
before; and long fits of silence and abstraction showed plainly that
his disposition, in this respect, was in no degree altered. But at other
times, he sought out the rendezvous of the youth of the clan, which
he had hitherto seemed anxious to avoid. He took share in all their
exercises; and, from his very extraordinary personal strength, soon
excelled his brother and other youths, whose age considerably exceeded
his own. They who had hitherto held him in contempt, now feared, if they
did not love him; and, instead of Allan’s being esteemed a dreaming,
womanish, and feeble-minded boy, those who encountered him in sports or
military exercise, now complained that, when heated by the strife, he
was too apt to turn game into earnest, and to forget that he was only
engaged in a friendly trial of strength.--But I speak to regardless
ears,” said Lord Menteith, interrupting himself, for the Captain’s nose
now gave the most indisputable signs that he was fast locked in the arms
of oblivion.
“If you mean the ears of that snorting swine, my lord,” said Anderson,
“they are, indeed, shut to anything that you can say; nevertheless, this
place being unfit for more private conference, I hope you will have the
goodness to proceed, for Sibbald’s benefit and for mine. The history of
this poor young fellow has a deep and wild interest in it.”
“You must know, then,” proceeded Lord Menteith, “that Allan continued to
increase in strength and activity, till his fifteenth year, about which
time he assumed a total independence of character, and impatience of
control, which much alarmed his surviving parent. He was absent in the
woods for whole days and nights, under pretence of hunting, though he
did not always bring home game. His father was the more alarmed, because
several of the Children of the Mist, encouraged by the increasing
troubles of the state, had ventured back to their old haunts, nor did
he think it altogether safe to renew any attack upon them. The risk
of Allan, in his wanderings, sustaining injury from these vindictive
freebooters, was a perpetual source of apprehension.
“I was myself upon a visit to the castle when this matter was brought
to a crisis. Allan had been absent since day-break in the woods, where
I had sought for him in vain; it was a dark stormy night, and he did not
return. His father expressed the utmost anxiety, and spoke of detaching
a party at the dawn of morning in quest of him; when, as we were sitting
at the supper-table, the door suddenly opened, and Allan entered the
room with a proud, firm, and confident air. His intractability of
temper, as well as the unsettled state of his mind, had such an
influence over his father, that he suppressed all other tokens of
displeasure, excepting the observation that I had killed a fat buck, and
had returned before sunset, while he supposed Allan, who had been on
the hill till midnight, had returned with empty hands. ‘Are you sure of
that?’ said Allan, fiercely; ‘here is something will tell you another
tale.’
“We now observed his hands were bloody, and that there were spots of
blood on his face, and waited the issue with impatience; when suddenly,
undoing the corner of his plaid, he rolled down on the table a human
head, bloody and new severed, saying at the same time, ‘Lie thou where
the head of a better man lay before ye.’ From the haggard features,
and matted red hair and beard, partly grizzled with age, his father and
others present recognised the head of Hector of the Mist, a well-known
leader among the outlaws, redoubted for strength and ferocity, who had
been active in the murder of the unfortunate Forester, uncle to Allan,
and had escaped by a desperate defence and extraordinary agility,
when so many of his companions were destroyed. We were all, it may
be believed, struck with surprise, but Allan refused to gratify our
curiosity; and we only conjectured that he must have overcome the outlaw
after a desperate struggle, because we discovered that he had sustained
several wounds from the contest. All measures were now taken to ensure
him against the vengeance of the freebooters; but neither his wounds,
nor the positive command of his father, nor even the locking of the
gates of the castle and the doors of his apartment, were precautions
adequate to prevent Allan from seeking out the very persons to whom he
was peculiarly obnoxious. He made his escape by night from the window of
the apartment, and laughing at his father’s vain care, produced on one
occasion the head of one, and upon another those of two, of the Children
of the Mist. At length these men, fierce as they were, became appalled
by the inveterate animosity and audacity with which Allan sought out
their recesses. As he never hesitated to encounter any odds, they
concluded that he must bear a charmed life, or fight under the
guardianship of some supernatural influence. Neither gun, dirk, nor
dourlach [DOURLACH--quiver; literally, satchel--of arrows.], they
said, availed aught against him. They imputed this to the remarkable
circumstances under which he was born; and at length five or six of the
stoutest caterans of the Highlands would have fled at Allan’s halloo, or
the blast of his horn.
“In the meanwhile, however, the Children of the Mist carried on their
old trade, and did the M’Aulays, as well as their kinsmen and allies,
as much mischief as they could. This provoked another expedition against
the tribe, in which I had my share; we surprised them effectually, by
besetting at once the upper and under passes of the country, and made
such clean work as is usual on these occasions, burning and slaying
right before us. In this terrible species of war, even the females and
the helpless do not always escape. One little maiden alone, who smiled
upon Allan’s drawn dirk, escaped his vengeance upon my earnest entreaty.
She was brought to the castle, and here bred up under the name of Annot
Lyle, the most beautiful little fairy certainly that ever danced upon a
heath by moonlight. It was long ere Allan could endure the presence
of the child, until it occurred to his imagination, from her features
perhaps, that she did not belong to the hated blood of his enemies, but
had become their captive in some of their incursions; a circumstance
not in itself impossible, but in which he believes as firmly as in holy
writ. He is particularly delighted by her skill in music, which is so
exquisite, that she far exceeds the best performers in this country in
playing on the clairshach, or harp. It was discovered that this produced
upon the disturbed spirits of Allan, in his gloomiest moods, beneficial
effects, similar to those experienced by the Jewish monarch of old; and
so engaging is the temper of Annot Lyle, so fascinating the innocence
and gaiety of her disposition, that she is considered and treated in the
castle rather as the sister of the proprietor, than as a dependent upon
his charity. Indeed, it is impossible for any one to see her without
being deeply interested by the ingenuity, liveliness, and sweetness of
her disposition.”
“Take care, my lord,” said Anderson, smiling; “there is danger in such
violent commendations. Allan M’Aulay, as your lordship describes him,
would prove no very safe rival.”
“Pooh! pooh!” said Lord Menteith, laughing, yet blushing at the same
time; “Allan is not accessible to the passion of love; and for myself,”
said he, more gravely; “Annot’s unknown birth is a sufficient reason
against serious designs, and her unprotected state precludes every
other.”
“It is spoken like yourself, my lord,” said Anderson.--“But I trust you
will proceed with your interesting story.”
“It is wellnigh finished,” said Lord Menteith; “I have only to add, that
from the great strength and courage of Allan M’Aulay, from his
energetic and uncontrollable disposition, and from an opinion generally
entertained and encouraged by himself that he holds communion with
supernatural beings, and can predict future events, the clan pay a much
greater degree of deference to him than even to his brother, who is a
bold-hearted rattling Highlander, but with nothing which can possibly
rival the extraordinary character of his younger brother.”
“Such a character,” said Anderson, “cannot but have the deepest effect
on the minds of a Highland host. We must secure Allan, my lord, at all
events. What between his bravery and his second sight--”
“Hush!” said Lord Menteith, “that owl is awaking.”
“Do you talk of the second sight, or DEUTERO-SCOPIA?” said the soldier;
“I remember memorable Major Munro telling me how Murdoch Mackenzie,
born in Assint, a private gentleman in a company, and a pretty soldier,
foretold the death of Donald Tough, a Lochaber man, and certain other
persons, as well as the hurt of the major himself at a sudden onfall at
the siege of Trailsund.”
“I have often heard of this faculty,” observed Anderson, “but I have
always thought those pretending to it were either enthusiasts or
impostors.”
“I should be loath,” said Lord Menteith, “to apply either character
to my kinsman, Allan M’Aulay. He has shown on many occasions too much
acuteness and sense, of which you this night had an instance, for the
character of an enthusiast; and his high sense of honour, and manliness
of disposition, free him from the charge of imposture.”
“Your lordship, then,” said Anderson, “is a believer in his supernatural
attributes?”
“By no means,” said the young nobleman; “I think that he persuades
himself that the predictions which are, in reality, the result of
judgment and reflection, are supernatural impressions on his mind, just
as fanatics conceive the workings of their own imagination to be divine
inspiration--at least, if this will not serve you, Anderson, I have no
better explanation to give; and it is time we were all asleep after the
toilsome journey of the day.”