CHAPTER II.

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THE

THREE PERILS OF MAN:

_A BORDER ROMANCE_.

THE

THREE PERILS OF MAN;

OR,

War, Women, and Witchcraft.

_A BORDER ROMANCE._

BY JAMES HOGG,

AUTHOR OF "WINTER-EVENING TALES," "BROWNIE OF

BODSBECK," "QUEEN'S WAKE," _&c._ _&c._

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. III.

Beshrew me if I dare open it.

FLETCHER.

LONDON:

LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN,

PATERNOSTER-ROW.

1822.

John Moir, Printer, Edinburgh, 1822.

THE

THREE PERILS OF MAN.

CHAP. I.

And he said unto Satan; whence comest thou?

And he answered, and said, thou knowest it is true,

That I come from wandering on the earth,

And from going to and fro on it,

Like a masterless dog, with my bow-wow-wow.

_Zach. Boyd's Bible._

At the very time they were disputing about the right of Tam to proceed

with his tale, their ears were astounded by a loud hollo! at the gate.

Every man's heart leaped for joy, and every one was instantly on his

feet; but Charlie was first on the platform, and answered the hollo!

with full stentorian voice. The same voice called again,

"A Bellandine."

"Where bye?" answered Charlie.

"By the moon," said the voice.

"And the seven stars!" rejoined Yardbire, clapping his hands, and

shouting for joy, "The Warden for ever! My chief for ever! He is the

man that cares for his own! Ah! he is the noble master."

Charlie well knew the voice that hailed him. It was that of his friend

and companion in arms, Dan Chisholm, whom the Warden had indeed

despatched all the way from Northumberland to Aikwood, to see what was

become of his embassy, with six-and-twenty chosen troopers. Charlie

Scott's arm was a bulwark of strength, and his breast a tower of

fidelity, the value of which Sir Ringan knew how to estimate, while

his acts of kindness and regard made a deep impression on Charlie's

honest unsophisticated heart; and before he would say a word about the

situation of either himself or his associates, he caused Dan to inform

him of the Warden's fortune and success in their absence. Being

satisfied concerning these, he called out,

"What ither uncos, Dan? What mair news are come out?"

"O, God shield you!" cried Dan, "Do nae ye ken that the world's

amaist turned up-side-down sin ye left us? The trees hae turned their

wrang ends upmost--the waters hae drowned the towns, and the hills hae

been rent asunder and riddled up like heaps o' chaff. 'Tis thought

that there has been a siege o' hell, and that the citadel has been

won, for the deils are a' broken loose and rinning jabbering through

the land. They hae been seen, and they hae been heard; and nae man

kens what's to be the issue, or what's to fa' out neist."

"Blaw lown, Dan; ye dinna ken wha may hear ye," said Charlie. "We hae

had hand in these matter oursels: But for the sake of a' that's dear

to you and to us bring gavelocks and ern mells, pinching-bars, and

howies, and break open every gate, bar, and door in this castle; for

here are we a' imprisoned on the top of it, and famishing to dead wi'

hunger and starvation."

"That I will do wi' a' expedition," answered Dan. "It is a shame for

the master of the castle to imprison his kinsmen's friends, who came

to him in peace and good fellowship. What strength of opposition

holds he?"

"Nane, good Chisholm, but these gates. The great Master is himself a

prisoner, and suffering with us."

"That dings a'!" said Dan; "I canna understand it! But its a' ane for

that; ye maunna stay there. I shall gar his gates flee a' into as mony

flinders as there are hairs on his grey beard."

"If you demolish one bar of these gates, young man," cried the Master

fiercely, "you do it at your peril."

"So I do, and so I will," answered Dan: "Either bring down my friends

and companions to me this instant, or--I have orders,--and here goes."

"Man of mystery and of misery, what dost thou mean?" said the friar.

"Lo I have saved thy life; and if thou refusest to let us escape from

the face of death, I will even throw thee from the top of thy tower,

and thy blood shall be sprinkled on the wall."

The Master gave him a fierce look, but made no reply. As he strode the

battlement, however, he muttered to himself with great violence,

"Does the Christian dog dare to beard me thus? To what am I fallen? I

am fallen low, but not to this. And not to know what I am! nor what

power remains with me? Would that I were in the midst of my arcana and

of the spirits once more! Young warrior, use your liberty. Break up

and demolish. Set us all free, and see who is the profiter."

Dan scarcely needed such permission. He and twenty others had each a

stone of at least half his own weight heaved on his shoulder, which,

at a given signal, they all dashed on the gate at once. The bars bent,

but nothing gave way; and it was not before the twentieth broadside,

in the same irresistible style, that the cross bars became like a bow

and the lock slipped. As for the large bolt, one of the men had

climbed over the counterguard on the shoulders of the rest and drawn

it. When they came to the gate of the castle, entrance seemed

hopeless. It was stedfast and immoveable, the door being double. Dan

bellowed for the porter, and asked those on the top what was become of

him; but none made answer to his rash question. After waiting a while

for it, with his face placed horizontally, he muttered to himself,

"Aha! mum there! He has gane nae gude gate, I'll warrant him. It's a

queer place this, an' as queer folk about it."

"What's queer about it, lad," said a strange voice through the key

hole, whence it would not speak again.

They had nothing for it but to begin with such awkward mattocks as

they had, namely, a score of huge stones; but, to their excessive joy,

the doors gave both way at the first assault. This was owing to a most

fortunate blunder of the friar, who, during the time he was in

possession of the keys, had gone forth to provide for his mule, which

he did in an ample manner, but, on returning, had either been unable

or unwilling to turn the tremendous locks again into their sockets;

and open flew the gates with a jarring sound. Of course, it was not

long till our yeomen were thundering at the iron door on the small

stair. It was a double door of strong iron bars, and the lock was

inclosed between them, so that all attempts to open it appeared

fruitless, one man only being able to get to it at once, (that is, one

on each side,) and these had no footing. After tugging at it in vain

for a space, Dan swore that, to open it, it would be necessary either

to begin at the top of the tower and demolish downward, or at the

bottom and demolish upward. This appeared a job so tedious to starving

people, that it was agreed to feed them with meat and drink through

the bars. Every man readily proffered the contents of his wallet; but

the getting of these through the bars required ingenuity. They poured

the meal through in tubes made of leather, and water and strong drink

in the same way; but the flesh could only be got through in long small

pieces; and Tam Craik having taken his station at the back of the

door, in order to hand up the provisions to his companions, none of

the butcher-meat (as it is now called) found its way farther. By the

time they had got a supply of meal, water, and distilled liquor, some

of Dan's party, by the direction of the Master, went to bring mattocks

for raising the stair, and forcing a passage through below the door;

others had gone to the brook for more water; so that none remained in

the narrow stair save Dan Chisholm and another person.

By this time there was one who had been silently watching the progress

of affairs at Aikwood castle, where he had long been accustomed to

reckon on every thing as his own; but now there were some things

passed under his potent eye, the true motives for which he could not

comprehend, and these actions were still growing more and more

equivocal; so he resolved on trusting his sworn vassals no more to

their own guardianship, but to take an active management in guiding

the events that so deeply concerned his honour and power. Who this

august personage was the reader will scarcely guess. He may perhaps

discover it in the detail.

It was wearing toward evening, the sun being either set or hid behind

dark clouds; for, short as these tales may appear as here related by

Isaac the curate, they had taken a day in telling by the wights

themselves. The individuals who had been shut up were all light of

heart and rejoicing. Delany had fainted in ecstacy, or partly,

perhaps, by exhaustion, but was soon recovered by a cup of cold water.

They had got plenty of stores laid in for a night and more; so that

they were freed from the dread of perishing by starvation, or saving

their lives by a resource of all others the most repulsive to

humanity. Such was the state of affairs, when the most appalling noise

was heard somewhere about the castle,--a noise which neither could be

described nor the cause of it discovered. The people below ran out to

the court or to the tops of the outer walls, and those above to the

battlements--but they saw nothing save the troopers' horses scowering

off in all directions, every one of them snorting aloud, and cocking

their heads and their tails. Tam Craik and Dan Chisholm were still

standing with their noses close to the iron door, and conversing

through it. Another trooper stood close at Dan's back; and, when the

rushing sound arose, the one said to the other,

"What the devil is that?"

"Take care wha ye speak about here, friend, or wi' reverence be it

spoken," said Tam. Then turning round, he called out, "Yardbire, what

hurly-burly is that?"

"I cannot tell," answered Charlie; "only I think the devil be entered

into the horses."

Tam, who did not hear distinctly from the top, answered Dan thus: "He

says its only the devil entered into the horses." Dan was just about

to reply, when the trooper tapped him on the shoulder, and said in a

whisper, "Hush, squire! Good Lord! look what is behind us." He looked

about, and saw a terrific being standing on the landing-place,

beckoning him to come down. From an irresistible impulse, he lost no

time in obeying; and, pushing the trooper down before him, he

descended the steps. When he came to the bottom he got a full view of

the figure, that stood upright between two pilasters, with its face

straight to the aperture that lighted the place. One may judge of our

yeomen's feelings when they gazed on a being which they always

described as follows:

It appeared about double the human size, both in might and proportion,

its whole body being of the colour of bronze, as well as the crown

upon its head. The skin appeared shrivelled, as if seared with fire,

but over that there was a polish that glittered and shone. Its eyes

had no pupil nor circle of white; they appeared like burning lamps

deep in their sockets; and when it gazed, they rolled round with a

circular motion. There was a hairy mantle hung down and covered its

feet that they could not be seen; but Dan saw its right hand, as it

pointed to them to retire, every finger of which terminated in a long

crooked talon that seemed of the colour of molten gold. It once opened

its mouth, not as if to speak but to breathe, and as it stooped

forward at the time, both of them saw it within. It had neither teeth,

tongue, nor throat, its whole inside being hollow, and of the colour

of burning glass.

It pointed with its right hand across its bosom for them to be gone,

and, as they passed by with hurried strides, it drew a stroke with its

paw which threatened to send them heels over head down the stair; but

it withheld the blow in a moment, as if moved to some higher revenge;

and all the way down the great winding stair, it followed and showered

on them such a torrent of burning sulphur that they were almost

overwhelmed, all the while vomiting it from its burning bosom, with a

noise that resembled the hissing of a thousand great serpents. Besides

this, on every landing-place there were a pair of monsters placed as

guards, immense snakes, bears, tigers, and lions, all with eyes like

burning candles. For all these, our two yeomen still kept their feet,

which was a wonder, and escaped fairly into the court of the castle.

When they arrived there, every one of their companions had taken

leg-bail, and were running as if for death or life; and after what our

two champions had seen, there was no occasion to bid them run after

the others. Those above heard only the rushing noise, which still

increased as long as there was one of those below within the gate, but

they saw nothing further,--and wondered not a little when they saw

first the horses run away, and then the men after them. When Charlie

saw that they _were_ gone, and his brother-in-arms Dan leaving the

outer-gate the last, he called after him to go _by the mill, and see

that Corbie got plenty of water_.

What our prisoners had witnessed was, like every thing else about that

castle, quite incomprehensible. Even the great Master himself was

manifestly at a loss; when he first heard the sound, and saw the

beginning of the confusion, his eyes beamed with exultation. He

gave three stamps with his foot, and called aloud, as to some

invisible being, in an unknown tongue; but on receiving no answer his

countenance fell, and he looked on in gloomy mood.

The flyers vanished after their horses on the hill to the eastward of

the castle. Once a few of them rallied and faced about; but on the

next one coming up they betook them again to their heels; and thus was

our hapless embassy left in the same state as before, save that they

were rather in higher spirits, their situation being now known, and

instant death averted. After they had refreshed themselves, most of

them fell into a slumber; but at length, as the evening advanced, the

poet claimed his privilege of telling a story. Some of them proposed

that the conversation should be general instead, seeing the great

stake for which they contended was now, in all likelihood, superseded.

The poet, however, was of a different opinion, on the ground that the

highest stake, in his estimation, still remained. "What though my life

may not be forfeited," said he, "to feed the hungry and carnivorous

maw of this outrageous baconist; although my warm and oozing blood may

not be sucked up like the stagnant marsh by bittern vile, or by the

tawney snipe; yea, though my joints should not be skatched and

collared by the steel, or sinews gnawed up by officious grinder:

What's that to me? a gem of higher worth, of richer acceptation, still

remains. Beauty unsullied! pure simplicity! with high endowments, in

affliction nursed, and cramped by bondage! Oh my very heart yearns to

call such a pearl of lustre mine! A kindred soul! A bosom friend! A

oh--oh--oach."

Charlie hasted to clap his hand on the poet's mouth, as he burst out

a-crying, "Hout, hout, Colly!" said he, "I am quite o' your opinion;

but truly this is carrying the joke ower far. I wish ye maunna hae

been hauddin rather freely to your head o' thae strong liquors; for

the singing crew are a' drowthy deils, ilk ane o' them. Whisht,

whisht, and ye sal tell your tale, or sing your sang, which you like;

and then you are free to take a collop, or gie a collop, wi' the best

o' them."

"I flatter myself that's rather a good thing? Eh?" said the poet.

"What thing?" said the other.

"The song that we overheard just now. Do you know who made that song?

Eh?"

"Not I."

"But you have heard our maidens chaunt it,--have you not? God bless

them! Sweet, dear, sweet, sweet creatures! Why, Sir, that song happens

to be mine; and I think I may say, without vanity, it is as good a

thing of the kind as you ever heard? Eh?"

"Faith, I believe it is," said Charlie--not knowing well what to say,

for he had heard no song whatever; and then turning to the rest, while

the poet was enlarging on the excellency of his song, he said, in an

under voice, "Gude faith, the poet's either gaen clean daft, or else

he's drunk. What shall I say to him?"

The poet tapped him on the shoulder, seeing he was not paying

attention.

"It is not for this, I say, that I judge the piece worthy of

attention; nor yet what it shows of ability, hability, docility,

or any of the terms that end in _ility_; nor for its allegory,

category, or any of the terms that end in _ory_. Neither is it for its

versification, imagination, nor any of the thousand abominable terms

that end in _ation_. No, sir, the properties of all my songs, I am

thankful to Saint Martin, end in _icity_ and _uity_. You know the

song, Yardbire?"

"O yes. Quite weel."

What do you think of the eleventh verse? Let me see. No, it is the

thirteenth verse." "Good Friday! are there so many?" "Hem--m--m.

The tenth is, the Ox-eye, I am sure of that. The eleventh is the

Mill-stone. The twelfth, the Cloudberry and the Shepherd Boy. The

thirteenth, is the Gander and Water-Wagtail. It is the fourteenth.

What do you think of the fourteenth? Ay, it is the Gowans and the

Laverock that you will like best. You remember that, I am sure?"

"O yes; to be sure I do,"--(Aside,) "Good Lord, the poet's horn mad!

Heard ever any body the like o' this?"

"How is this it runs? Ay,

When the bluart bears a pearl,

And the daisy turns a pea,

And the bonny lucken gowan

Has fauldit up his ee,

Then the laverock frae the blue lift,

Doops down and thinks nae shame

To woo his bonny lassie,

When the kye come hame.

"The song is good, and the music of the song also is delectable," said

the friar; "but the voice of the singer is like a sweet psaltery that

hath lost a string, and hath its belly rent by the staff of the

beater. Lo, I would even delight to hear the song from beginning to

end." "Sing it, poet, and let it stand for the tale," cried two of

them at once. "That I will not," answered he; "I will tell my tale in

my own style, and my own manner, as the rest have done: nevertheless,

if my throat were not so dry, I would sing the song." "It is

plain what he wants," said Charlie. "'Tis the gate wi' a' the

minstrels,--_wet the whistle, or want the spring_."

Charlie handed him another cup of strong drink, desiring him to take

it off and sing. He did the first freely, and attempted the second

with equal alacrity; but his voice and memory both failed him by the

way, to the great amusement of the whole party,--even the captive boy

screamed with laughter, and the great Master was twice constrained to

smile. But we must describe this scene as Isaac himself gives it.

The poet was sitting on a bench, with Charlie on the one hand, and

Delany on the other; and, fixing his eyes on the ceiling, and clasping

his hands, which he heaved up at every turn of the tune, he went on

thus:

THE SWEETEST THING THE BEST THING.

_A SONG._

VERSE FIRST.

Come tell me a' you shepherds

That love the tarry woo',

And tell me a' you jolly boys

That whistle at the plow,

What is the greatest bliss

That the tongue of man can name,

'Tis "To woo a bonny lassie

When the kye come hame."

When the kye come hame,

When the kye come hame,

'Tween the gloaming and the mirk,

When the kye come hame.

That's the burden, or the quoir, as father Cormack calls it;--the

o'erword, like.

VERSE SECOND.

'Tis not beneath the burgonet,

Nor yet beneath the crown,

'Tis not on couch of velvet,

Nor yet in bed of down;

'Tis beneath the spreading birch

In the dell without the name,

Wi' a bonny bonny lassie,

When the kye come hame.

When the kye come hame, &c.

VERSE THIRD.

There the blackbird bigs his nest

For the mate he lo'es to see,

And on the topmost bough,

Oh a happy bird is he!

There he pours his melting ditty,

And love 'tis a' the theme;

And he'll woo his bonny lassie

When the kye come hame.

When the kye come hame, &c.

VERSE FOURTH.

When the little wee bit heart

Rises high in the breast,

And the little wee bit starn

Rises red in the east,

O there's a joy sae dear,

That the heart can hardly frame,

Wi' a bonny bonny lassie,

When the kye come hame.

When the kye come hame, &c.

VERSE FIFTH.

Then the eye shines sae bright,

The hale soul to beguile,

There's love in every whisper,

And joy in every smile.

O wha wad chuse a crown

Wi' its perils and its fame,

And miss a bonny lassie

When the kye come hame.

When the kye come hame, &c.

Here the poet warred a long time with recollection, always repeating,

"I made the thing, and it is impossible I can forget it--I can't

comprehend----" At length he sung the following verse, which he said

was the fifteenth.

VERSE THE FIFTEENTH.

See yonder pawky shepherd,

That lingers on the hill,

His ewes are in the fauld

And his lambs are lying still;

Yet he downa gang to bed,

For his heart is in a flame,

To meet his bonnie lassie,

When the kye come hame.

When the kye come hame, &c.

VERSE SIXTEENTH AND LAST.

Away wi' fame and fortune,

What comfort can they gie?

And a' the arts that prey

On man's life and libertye;

Gie me the highest joy

That the heart of man can frame,

My bonny, bonny lassie,

When the kye come hame.

When the kye come hame,

When the kye come hame;

'Tween the gloaming and the mirk,

When the kye come hame.

"I made the thing," added the poet; "but God knows how I have forgot

it. Since I came to the top of this cursed tower, the wind has blown

it out of my head." With these words he fell into a profound sleep,

which they suffered him to enjoy, before he began his competition. In

the meantime, Isaac relates an extraordinary story of a certain

consultation that took place in the castle in that very interim, but

does not say on what authority he had it, none of the parties yet

named having apparently heard it.

The castle of Aikwood, says he, being left as before, an ample

and perilous void, some old and frequent inmates took undisputed

possession. The leader and convoker of this gang was no other than

the Master Fiend who ordered our yeomen out of the castle, and chased

them forth, with so little ceremony. In the great Master's study was

his gigantic and commanding frame placed at the end of the board,

while the three pages, Prig, Prim, and Pricker, were waiting his beck.

"Come nigh me, my friends," said he; "and read me what is to be done

with this king of mighty conjurors now?"

"What thou willest, our Lord and Master," was the reply: "Give the

command with the power, and thy pleasure shall be done."

"How canst thou answer for thy negligence in suffering this cowled and

canting vagabond to gain admittance here with his saws and parables,

his crosiers and his writings?"

"We meant to devour him, but our power extended not to it. Thou hast

seen the bones of one whom we suspected."

"You are indolent and wayward slaves. Either separate our greatest

vassal on earth from this captious professor, or you shall be

punished with many stripes. Our sway is dishonoured if such a man as

he is suffered to take shelter under a crosier, and there hold our

power at bay,--our control at defiance."--"Return to him that power

which since his dejection has been withdrawn, and you are sure of him

still. Riches and honours he despises: feasting and wine-bibing he

abhors: but for power to do what no other man can perform, he would

sell twenty souls, were they in his power of disposal."

"He is a great man, and well suited for our free independent

government. By his principle of insubordination to established

authorities, I yet hope to bring all mankind to my own mind and my own

country. Read me my riddle, you three slaves. What is the most hateful

thing in nature?"

"A saint."

"More ready than right, and more right than ingenious. Show cause."

"Because he is the greatest coward, and all that he does springs from

the detestable passion of terror."

"Right. Which being is the most noble?"

"The opposer of all established authorities ordained by the tyrant of

the universe."

"Right! Right! These are the men for me, and of these this Master was

a great ensample. Therefore, Separate! Separate! Separate! My

elemental power is solemnly engaged; but on the morning of the third

day, it shall be given to you to work again at your Master's will.

Till that time it will be as well to prevent all ingress and egress

here; and at that time I will come again. Speed you well, nimble

noddies; shape well and shard well, and the day is your own. While I

transform my shape, sing me the song that I love. Whenever I hear it,

my furtherance is the better. The imps complied, and the redoubted

fiend laughed till the walls of the castle shook, while those on the

top took it for the great bittern of the Hartwood, called there the

Bogbumper.

HYMN TO THE DEVIL.

SPEED thee, speed thee!

Liberty lead thee!

Many this night shall hearken and heed thee.

Far abroad,

Demigod!

What shall appal thee?

Javel, or Devil, or how shall we call thee?

Thine the night voices of joy and of weeping,

The whisper awake, and the vision when sleeping:

The bloated kings of the earth shall brood

On princedoms and provinces bought with blood,

Shall slubber, and snore, and to-morrow's breath

Shall order the muster and march of death:

The trumpets shall sound, and the gonfalons flee,

And thousands of souls step home to thee.

Speed thee, speed thee, &c.

The warrior shall dream of battle begun,

Of field-day and foray, and foeman undone;

Of provinces sacked, and warrior store,

Of hurry and havoc, and hampers of ore;

Of captive maidens for joys abundant,

And ransom vast when these grow redundant.

Hurray! for the foray. Fiends ride forth a souling,

For the dogs of havock are yelping and yowling.

Speed thee, speed thee, &c.

Make the bedesman's dream

With treasure to teem;

To-day and to-morrow

He has but one aim,

And 'tis still the same, and 'tis still the same.

But well thou knowest the sot's demerit,

His richness of flesh, and his poorness of spirit;

And well thy images thou canst frame,

On canvas of pride, with pencil of flame:

A broad demesne is a view of glory,

For praying a soul from purgatory:

And, O let the dame be fervent and fair,

Amorous, and righteous, and husband beware!

For there's a confession so often repeated,

The eyes are enlightened, the life-blood is heated.

Hish!--Hush!--soft foot and silence,

The sons of the abbot are lords of the Highlands.

Thou canst make lubbard and lighthead agree,

Wallow a while, and come home to thee.

Speed thee, speed thee, &c.

Where goest thou next, by hamlet or shore,

When kings, when warriors, and priests are o'er?

These for thee have the most to do,

And these are the men must be looked unto.

On courtier deign not to look down,

Who swells at a smile, and faints at a frown.

With noble maid stay not to parle,

But give her one glance of the golden arle.

Then, oh, there's a creature thou needs must see,

Upright, and saintly, and stern is she!

'Tis the old maid, with visage demure,

With cat on her lap, and dogs on the floor.

Master, she'll prove a match for thee,

With her psalter, and crosier, and Ave Mari.

Move her with things above and below,

Tickle her and teaze her from lip to toe;

Should all prove vain, and nothing can move;

If dead to ambition, and cold to love,

One passion still success will crown,

A glorious energy all thine own!

'Tis envy; a die that never can fail

With children, matron, or maiden stale.

Shew them in dreams from night to day

A happy mother, and offspring gay;

Show them the maiden in youthful prime,

Followed and wooed, improving her time;

And their hearts will sicken with envy and spleen,

A leperous jaundice of yellow and green:

And though frightened for hell to a boundless degree,

They'll singe their dry perriwigs yet with thee.

Speed thee, speed thee, &c.

Where goest thou next? Where wilt thou hie thee?

Still there is rubbish enough to try thee.

Whisper the matron of lordly fame,

There's a greater than she in splendor and name;

And her bosom shall swell with the grievous load,

And torrents of slander shall volley abroad,

Imbued with venom and bitter despair:

O sweet are the sounds to the Prince of the Air!

Reach the proud yeoman a bang with a spear,

And the tippling burgess a yerk on the ear;

Put fees in the eye of the poisoning leech,

And give the dull peasant a kick on the breech:

As for the flush maiden, the rosy elf,

You may pass her by, she will dream of herself.

But that all may be gain, and nothing loss,

Keep eye on the men with the cowl and the cross;

Then shall the world go swimming before thee,

In a full tide of liberty, licence, and glory!

Speed thee, speed thee, &c.

Hail, patriot spirit! thy labours be blest!

For of all great reformers thyself wert the first;

Thou wert the first, with discernment strong,

To perceive that all rights divine were wrong;

And long hast thou spent thy sovereign breath,

In heaven above and in earth beneath,

And roared it from thy burning throne,

The glory of independence alone;

Proclaiming to all, with fervor and irony,

That kingly dominion's all humbug and tyranny;

And whoso listeth may be free,

For freedom, full freedom's the word with thee!

That life has its pleasures--the rest is a sham,

And all that comes after a flim and a flam!

Speed thee! Speed thee!

Liberty lead thee!

Many this night shall hearken and heed thee.

Hie abroad,

Demigod!

Who shall defame thee?

King of the Elements! how shall we name thee?

As the imps concluded their song, our prisoners on the top of the

castle perceived a large rough watch-dog jogging out at the gate of

the castle, and following in the direction of the fugitives. When the

brute saw that he was perceived he turned round, set up his snout

toward the battlements, and uttered a loud bow-wow-wow, which, when

the great Master heard, he started to his feet, and, with wild staring

looks, and his hair standing on end, took shelter behind the friar."

"Behold thou, and see with thine eyes, that it is only a watch-dog

come from the camp of our captain," said the friar. "Lo, thy very

nature is changed since first I saw thee."

"Then, would to the gods that I had never seen thee, or that I had

seen thee sooner," said the Master; and strode away to discourage any

farther reply. The dog followed the fugitives, and bent his course

toward the mill.

That being the next inhabited house to the eastward, Dan Chisholm and

his yeomen landed all there; and in full assembly he related, to

their terror and astonishment, how he had seen the devil himself and

several of his monstrous agents, who had chased him from the castle,

spuing fire and brimstone on him like a cataract. The rest said, that

though they had not seen the devil, they had seen and heard enough to

put any rational being out of his senses, and as much as to teach them

never to go there again. Dan swore that they were not to be taught any

such thing; for, said he, "Our captain's friends, and our own brethren

in arms, are most unwarrantably, and I must also say unaccountably,

confined there,--and we will either free them or perish in the

attempt. I can find plenty of holy men that, with book and candle, can

withstand the devil, and shall make him flee from his stronghold like

fire from the flint. If I had the gospel friar on the one side of him,

and Father Brand, or Capuchin Cairnabie, on the other, I shall gar him

skip." While Dan was in the middle of this speech, in comes the great

rough watch-dog; who, after fawning on some of the warriors as on old

acquaintances, took his station in a dark corner of the miller's

thronged hall, and began a licking his feet, but at the same time

taking good heed to all that passed. It was finally agreed that Dan

and a companion should ride straight to Melrose, and represent their

case to the holy abbot there, who was devoted to the interests of

their captain, and who, it was not doubted, would devise means of

expelling the old demon from his guardship, and letting free their

friends, who were all baptised men and good Christians. As they formed

these sapient devices, many hard things were said of the devil; and

our warriors seemed rather inclined to make a laughing-stock of him,

till the miller's maid interrupted them with the following question:

"Wha o' you trooper chaps does this maskis dog belang to?"

"To nane o' us," was answered by several at the same time.

"I wish ye wad tent him, then," said she, "for, this wee while bygane,

his een hae been glentin like twa blue burnin candles: I wish he be

nae a mad ane."

"Sneck doors, and out swords," cried the miller: "We'll hae him

proven."

The doors were shut, and the yeomen surrounded the dog with their

drawn weapons. The poor beast lay as harmless-like as a lamb, with his

head upon his fore feet so as to hide them, turning up his eyes from

below his shaggy brows in a beseeching manner, and wagging his tail

till it played thump, thump, on the floor. But this did not hinder the

miller from reconnoitring, though it gave him rather a favourable

opinion of his shaggy guest. "Poor fellow," said the miller, "wha's

dog may ye be?" The dog forgot himself; he lifted up his head in a

kind acknowledging manner to the miller, who, looking narrowly at him,

cried out: "A marvel! a marvel! saw ever ony mortal man the like o'

this? Here's a tyke wi' cloven cloots like a gait, fairney cloots and

a' thegither. The Holy Virgin be wi' us! I believe we hae gotten

the----"

Here the miller was interrupted, without getting the sentence

concluded. The dog sprung to his feet, appearing twice as big as when

he entered. "Bow-wow-wow!" roared he in the miller's face with the

voice of an enraged lion; "Bow-wow-wow!" And as he bayed from side to

side on the warrior circle, they all retreated backward till the wall

stopped them. Well might they,--for they perceived, by his open mouth,

the same appearance that Dan had before witnessed, namely, a stomach

and chest of burning flame. "Bow-wow-wow!" reiterated he: "Youph,

youph, youph." All fled back aghast; but the attack was of short

duration. The miller had a huge fire of seeds, above a burning log of

wood, which he had heaped on for the comfort of his guests. When the

dog reached that, he broke into it, appearing to bury himself in the

coil of fiery dust. It flashed upwards in millions of burning atoms,

and in the midst of them up flew the dog out at the top of the lum,

with a tremendous "Bow-wow-wow!"

All was silence for a few seconds, while our yeomen stood in a circle,

with their weapons drawn, and their backs at the wall, gaping with

affright, and staring on one another. "By Saint Thomas, we are

haunted!" cried Dan, breaking silence; "That is the same chap I

forgathered wi' afore in the staircase of the castle, I ken him by his

lowin lungs, though he has changed his shape." He was interrupted by a

loud laugh on the top of the house, and a voice that said, in a

jeering tone, "Ha, ha, ha! Andrew Chisholm is that you? I have found

out a' your plans,--and ride you to Melrose, or ride you to Dryburgh,

I'll be there afore you to lend you a lift. Ay, and I'll keep Aikwood

castle in spite o' you and a' your master's men."

Dan could not contain his indignation on hearing this brag. He ran

forward to the brace, put his neck under it, and turning his nose up

the lum (or rustic chimney) answered, "Deil o' that ye're fit to do,

auld tyke. Ye're but a liar at best and the father o' liars. Gang and

toast heathen bacon in your ain het hame. What seek ye here amang leel

men?"

"Weel answered, and like yoursel, Dan!" said one of the yeomen, and

slapped him on the shoulder, which rousing his spirit still farther,

he added, "Confound you Robin's Geordie o' Feindhope-haugh, what for

didna ye strike when the foul thief set up his gousty gab at your nose

wi' his impudent bow-wow-wow; I see nae right ony o' God's creatures

hae to be hurlbarrowed out o' their standing wi' him."

As he finished the remark, there was something came to the door, and

gave two or three rude impatient scratches, exactly in the same manner

that a strong dog does that wants to be in. This instantly changed the

cheer of our sturdy group, that with one involuntary movement closed

round the hearth, as the point the most distant from the door.

"That's him again," said the miller's lass.

"The Lord forbid," said the miller: "I wonder what multure he wants

frae me. Though I live on the lands of a Master of Arts, I had nae

inkling that I was thirl to hell. Brave lads, can nane of you rhame a

mass, a credo, or a paternoster? He is but a coward at best; I hae

kend a monk, wi' his crosier and his cowl, chace him like a rabbit."

"I fear we'll prove but lame hands at that," said Dan, "and think we

had better sally out on him sword in hand, and see what he can either

say or do for himself. But, Chryste, I needna say that, considering

that I ken sae weel what his lining's made of."

"I hae a cross and chain in the house," said the miller, "that was

consecrated at the shrine of St Bothan; whoever will be our leader

shall bear that before him, and we'll bang the auld thief away frae

our bigging."

The scratching was renewed with redoubled fury. Our yeomen crowded

closer around the fire, till all at once their ears were saluted by a

furious "bow-wow-wow" down the lum, which, in spite of their utmost

resolution, scattered them like a covey of heath-fowl over which the

hawk is hovering, when every one endeavours to shift for itself, and

hide in its own heather bush.

Their faces were by this time flushed with shame as well as fear, that

they should be thus cuffed about by "the auld thief," as they styled

him. Resolved, therefore, to make one great and strenuous effort, the

miller brought out his consecrated cross, some tied sticks, and others

horn spoons across, till all were armed with the same irresistible

symbol, and then they marshalled up before the fire, uncovered their

heads, and with the ensigns reared before them, waited for a moment

the word of command to march out to the grand attack. The arch fiend,

not choosing to wait the issue, raised such a horse laugh on the top

of the lum that their ears were deafened with the noise; and clapping

his paws that sounded like the strokes of battering ram's horns, he

laughed till the upper and nether millstones chattered against each

other, and away he bounded through the clouds of the night, apparently

in an agony of laughter.

"Aha! there he goes!" said Dan: "There's nae guidance to be had o'

him, and as little mense in meddling wi' him."

"Ay, let him e'en gang," said the miller; "he's the warst mouse o' the

mill. Ane had better tine the blind bitch's litter than hae the mill

singed wi' brimstone. I lurd rather deal wi' the thankless maltster,

that neither gi'es coup, neivefu', nor lippie, than wi' him. I have no

part of the breviary but a glorious preamble; kneel till I repeat it."

The troopers kneeled round the miller, who, lifting up his hands,

said, with great fervour, "O semper timidum scelus! Obstupui,

steteruntque comae et vox faucibus haesit. O Deus; nusquam tuta fides!

Amen." "Amen!" repeated all the group, and arose greatly strengthened

and encouraged by the miller's _preamble_.

They spent that night around the miller's hearth, and had a cog of

good brose to their supper. The next morning Dan and two associates

rode off for Melrose, to lay their case before the friendly abbot, and

to beg assistance; which, notwithstanding the devil's brag, they were

not afraid of obtaining. But the important events that followed must

be related in course, while we return to those friends in their

elevated confinement, to whom that night the poet related the

following tale.

CHAPTER II.

_Lord Duf._ Did you not wake them, Cornaro?

_Cor._ Alas! my lord, I could not.

Their slumber was so deep, it seemed to me

A sleep eternal. Not a sleep of death,

But of extatic silence. Such a beam

Of joy and happiness I ne'er beheld

Shed from the human face.

_The Prioress, a Tragedy._

The Poet's Tale.

Fain would I tell my friends and fellow-sufferers of my translation

hence. Of all the joys and ecstacies of that celestial clime, ycleped

the land of faery; were it not that one is here whose sex forbids it,

and whose gentle nature from such a tale would shrink, as doth the

flower before the nipping gale. You all have heard of that celestial

form, the white lady? And of that wan and beatific presence there

lives in my remembrance some faint image of saintly beauty. But list

to me, my friends, and do not smile, far less break forth with loud

uncourteous neigh, like war horse in the charge,--vile waste of

breath! convulsive, unrestrained. But hear the truth: _It was not she

who bore me from this land_,--not she, _the white lady_, as all

divined. No, it was a form of flesh, and that flesh too of most rare

quality. Fair, witching, plump, rosy and amorous; and of unmarred

proportions. Sooth, she who lured me from my rustic home no other was

than wandering minstreless, queen to the mightiest harper ever born.

Sole empress of a tuneful wayward choir, thoughtless and giddy. But

their music stole my very soul away. What could I do but follow it, to

listen and to sing. In that bright train I sought the Scottish court,

the nobles' hall, and every motely scene of loud festivity throughout

the land. There have I heard and seen such scenes of love, of

dalliance, and of mirth, of deep intrigue and violent cruelty, as eye

of minstrel hath not witnessed. Yes, I have seen things not to be

expressed, at least not here. Therefore I'll change the rule this

night pursued, of saying what myself have seen and done. The fairy

land in which I sojourned was fair Caledon; and there I had my living

minstrel joys in high abundance. But I grieve to say, a fatal brawl

placed all of us within the line to which the sword of vengeance

extends its dreadful sway. Our group dispersed. The soul of melody was

then no more! The sounds of harmony divine were hushed; all scattered

on the winds of other lands, and other climes, to charm with wailing

numbers. Southward I came, amid the border clans to trust my life, men

lawless as myself. They once had saved me when a helpless orphan. Whom

could I better trust? And I have found their generosity alone out-done

by their own courage. For my adventures, let this sketch suffice. And

though not of the fairyland, I will relate a tale, as pure, as

wonderful and full of mystery, as if in other worlds I'd learned it. I

had it from a simple peasant's mouth, an old grey hind upon the Sidley

hills, who vouched its truth. With faltering tongue, and palpitating

heart, for love, for life, and all the soul holds dear, I say my tale.

O be my soul rapt to the estimate at which I hold the prize, and the

divine and holy narrative.

Once on a time, in that sweet northern land called Otholine, the

heathen Hongar landed, and o'er-ran city and dale. The rampart and the

flood in vain withstood his might. Even to the base of the unconquered

Grampians did he wend with fire and sword; and all who would not

kneel, and sacrifice to his strange northern gods, he tortured to the

death. Some few renounced the cross, for sordid life, and dread of

unheard torments. Men were roasted; matrons impaled; and pure

virginity was given up to the rude soldiery to be abused, or humbled

as they termed it. Then were they decked with flowers and ornaments,

led forth in pairs unto the horrid shrine, and sacrificed to Odin.

At that time there lived three beauteous sisters of the line of mighty

kings. They were so passing fair, that all who saw them wondered, and

all who wondered loved. Hongar and Hubba, these two heathen brothers,

and princes of the Danes, heard of their fame, their beauty, and their

excellencies of nature, and sent to seize them in their father's

tower, that in the heights of Stormonth stood secure. The castle was

surprised, the virgins seized, and carried to the camp. There to their

dreadful trial were they brought, and bid to curse the sacred name

they feared and worshipped; to renounce the holy cross, and worship

Odin, or give up their bodies to shame, to ignominy, and to death on

Odin's hideous altar. Marley and Morna both kneeled and intreated,

begged a little time to ponder on the dread alternative. But the young

sprightly Lena, fairest she of Albyn's virgins, browed the invader's

threat with dauntless eye: That eye whose liquid smile in love's sweet

converse had been formed to beam.

"Thou savage heathen!" cried she, "dost thou think to intimidate the

royal maids of Caledon to thy most barbarous faith? Tyrant, thou art

deceived. I dare thine ire. Thou may'st torment me; for I'm in thine

hands, and thy heart ne'er knew pity. Thou may'st tear this tender

fragile form with pincing irons. But my soul's purity thou never

shall subdue by threat, by engine, or by flame. Thee and thy god I

scorn--I curse you both. I lean upon the rock that will not yield; and

put my trust in one whose mighty arm can crush thee mid thy idol to an

atom. I know he'll save me. He will save us all, if we but trust him

without sinful dread. Here, underneath his bleeding cross, I kneel,

and cast myself and my poor sisters here, upon his mercy. Here I make

a vow to stand for him, and for his sacred truth, and for no other.

Now, thou ruthless savage, here I defy thee. Do thy worst to us, and

thou shalt see if Jesus or if Odin shall prevail, and who can best

preserve their worshippers.

The heathen brothers smiled; and Hongar said, "How wildly sweet the

little Christian looks! I make my choice to humble and prepare her for

the base slaves of Odin's warlike halls. Go warriors, lock them up in

donjon deep, until the hour of midnight, when the rites of Odin shall

begin. Then will we send and bring them to the test; and all shall

see whose God is most in might, and who must yield.

In prison dark the virgins were immured, with sevenfold gates and

sevenfold bars shut in. Soon as they were alone, the sisters twain,

Marley and Morna, in fond tears embraced their youngest sister, lauded

her high soul, and vowed with her to stand, with her to die, unsullied

in the faith they had been taught.

Then did they kneel on the cold dungeon floor, and one by one offered

their fervent prayers at mercy's footstool. But chiefly were their

vows made to the Holy Virgin; for they hoped that she would save their

pure virginity from sin's pollution. Never did prayers ascend up to

heaven with greater fervency. And as the hour of midnight on them

drew, they kneeled; and, side by side, with lifted hands, and eyes

turned toward heaven, sang aloud this holy simple hymn to their

Redeemer.

HYMN TO THE REDEEMER.

SON of the Virgin, hear us! hear us!

Son of the living God, be near us!

Thou who art man in form and feature,

Yet God of glory, and God of nature.

Thou who led'st the star of the East,

Yet helpless lay at a Virgin's breast;

Slept in the manger, and cried on the knee,

Yet rulest o'er Time and Eternity.

Pity thy creatures here kneeling in dust;

Pity the beings in Thee that trust!

Thou who fed'st the hungry with bread,

And raised'st from the grave the mouldering dead;

Who walked'st on the waves of the rolling main,

Who cried'st to thy Father, and cried'st in vain;

Yet wept for the woes and the sins of man,

And prayed'st for them when thy life-blood ran;

With thy last breath who cried'st FORGIVE!

When bleeding and dying, that man might live!

Over death and the grave hast the victory won,

And now art enthroned by the stars and the sun.

For thy name's glory, hear us, and come,

And show thy power over idols dumb.

O leave the abodes of glory and bliss,

The realms of heavenly happiness;

Come swifter than the gale of even

On thy lightning's wing, the chariot of heaven;

By the gates of light and the glowing sphere,

O come on thy errand of mercy here!

But Lord of glory we know not thee,

We know not what we say;

We cannot from thy presence be,

Nor from thine eye away:

For though on the right hand of God,

Thou art here in this dark and drear abode:

Beyond the moon and the starry way

Thou holdest thy Almighty sway,

Where spirits in floods of light are swimming,

And angels round thy throne are hymning;

Yet present with all who call on thee

In this world of wo and adversity.

Then, O, thou Son of the Virgin, hear us!

God of love and of life be near us!

Our hour of trial is at hand,

And without thy aid how shall we stand?

Our stains wash out, our sins forgive;

And before thee may our spirits live.

For thee and thy truth be our bosoms steeled:

O be our help, our stay, our shield:

Show thy dread power for mercy's sake,

For thy name, and thy glory, and all is at stake;

Bow down thy heavens, and rend them asunder,

And come in the cloud, in the flame, or the thunder.

The trumpets now were sounding, while the host arose from wine and

wassail, to prepare the baleful sacrifice of Christian souls. The

virgins heard, and trembled as they kneeled; and beauteous Lena

raised her slender hands, and prayed, with many tears, that the

Almighty would stretch out his right hand and close their eyes in

everlasting sleep, to save them from self-slaughter, or the fate they

dreaded more.

While yet the words were but in utterance, and ere the vow was vowed,

they heard the gates unbarred one after one, and saw the lights glance

through the lurid gloom. Each youthful heart turned, as it were, to

stone; for well they weened the Danish soldiers came to bring them

forth to shame and death. They kept their humble posture, with hands

and eyes upraised, for they expected no pity or compassion save from

heaven.

The inmost door upon its hinges turned, like thunder out of tune; and,

lo! there entered,--no heathen soldier,--but a radiant form covered

with light as with a flowing robe. In his right hand he bore a golden

rod, and in his left a lamp that shone as bright as the noon-day sun.

A thousand thousand gems, from off his raiment, cast their dazzling

lustre. Diamonds and rubies formed alternate stars, while all between

was rayed and spangled o'er with ever-varying brightness. Round his

head he wore a wreath of emeralds; these were set with never-fading

green. They deemed he was the great high priest of Odin come to lead

them to the sacrifice. But yet his look, so mild and so benign, raised

half a hope within their breasts of pity and regard. They were about

to plead; but ere a sound breathed from their lips, the stranger

beckoned them to silence. Then, in mild and courteous strain, in their

own tongue, he thus accosted them:

"To ONE already have your vows been framed; and would you bow to

another? You have pleaded to heaven's high King; and would you plead

to man? Rise up, and follow me." The virgins rose; they had not power

to stay,--and followed him, alas! they knew not whither. They had no

voice to question or complain. Door after door they passed; gate after

gate; and still their guide touching them with his golden rod, they

closed in jangling fury. Onward still they moved, and met the heathen

bands, led by their chiefs, Hongar and Hubba. They were drunk with

wine; and loudly did they halloo when they saw their prey escaped, and

walking on the street all beauteous and serene: Closing around the

fugitives, and jabbering uncouth terms and words obscene, the chiefs

opened their arms to seize the helpless three. Just then their guide

turned round unmoved, and waving his bright rod, the heathens

staggered, uttered mumbling sounds, and, trying vainly to support

themselves, reeling they sunk enfeebled to the earth, where all as

still and motionless they lay as piles of lifeless corpses. How the

virgins wondered at what they saw! and fearless now they followed

their bright leader. Next they met the priests of Odin, in their wild

attire, marching in grand procession to the scene of mighty sacrifice.

Aloft they bore their hideous giant idol; by his sides his loathsome

consort and his monster son, Freya and Thor, while all their followers

sung this choral hymn in loud and warlike strains:

HYMN TO ODIN.

I.

HE comes! he comes!

Great Odin comes!

Who can rise or stand before him?

The god of the bloody field,

The sword, and the ruddy shield;

The god of the Danes, let all adore him.

II.

Wake the glad measure to

The goddess of pleasure too,

Who fills every hero with joy and with love!

And hail to dread Thor,

Great son of great sire,

The quaffer of gore,

And the dweller in fire:

The god of the sun, and the lightnings above.

III.

Prepare! prepare!

The feast prepare,

Since mighty Thor our guest shall be:

Three times three,

And three times three,

This day shall bleed for repast to thee!

IV.

Strike the light,

Make the flame burn bright,

Since Freya is here who gives delight!

Three times three,

And nine times nine,

This day shall bleed on altar of thine.

V.

Shout and sing,

Till the mountains ring!

The father of men, and of gods the king!

See him advance

With sword and lance;

Billows of life-blood, heroes, bring!

VI.

God of Alhallah's dome!

God of the warrior's home!

Who can withstand thee in earth or heaven?

Bring to his altar then,

Of Christian dames and men,

Nine times nine, and seven times seven.

VII.

Bend to your place of birth,

Children of sordid earth;

The god of battles your homage disdains.

Who dare oppose him?

Christian or Moslem?

Who is like Odin, the god of the Danes?

The maids and their angelic guide went on following the cross; and as

they went, they sung in sweet and humble aspirations the song of the

Lamb. They met the gorgeous files. Fair met with fair. The hideous

idols sat an hundred cubits high; whereas the cross a maiden's hand

upbore. But when they met, the proud and mighty peal, swelling from

Odin's worshippers, was hushed as with a sob. The hills rang with the

sound; and the o'erburdened air bore the last knell up to the skies.

It quavered through the spheres, and died in distance, to be heard no

more, while nought but the sweet notes the virgins sung rose on the

paths of night. The motely mass of heathens stood amazed, and as they

stood they listened and they quaked. The words were these at which

they paused, and which the virgins sung:

* * * * *

Silence the blasphemers thee that defy,

Strike down the mighty, Son of the Most High;

Rise in thy power, that the heathen may see,

What dust are their gods and their glory to thee;

Raise thy right hand, and in pieces them shiver,

That to the true God may the praise be for ever.

At every line the bearers and their gods trembled the more, and as the

last notes closed, the mighty Odin toppled from his throne, and

crashed amid his powerless worshippers. His wooden spouse and son fell

with the sire of Gods and men, and in a thousand pieces their gilded

frames were dashed. Confusion reigned. The host fled in dismay; but

Odin's priests sunk down in low prostration, groaning and howling for

the fall of Odin,--the shield and glory of the Danish host.

From out this wild confusion the bright guide conducted the three

virgins, to a cave close by the river's brink, and charged them hide

until the wrath of the enraged foe should be abated. Here, said he,

you are in perfect safety. No one living knows of this retreat. Here

sleep and take your rest. May angels watch around your flinty couch.

Farewell, I must begone on the employ assigned me by your father and

by mine. He left the lamp and went his way. Forthwith they kneeled in

prayer, thanking their Saviour for their great deliverance, then laid

them down to rest. They kissed the cross, and folded closely in each

other's arms, cheek leaning unto cheek, with holy hymns they sung

themselves asleep.

Great was the rage among the Danish chiefs, and wide the search for

these presumptuous and bold aggressors. The host was all discouraged

and amazed, and nought but terror reigned. Earldoms were offered for

the audacious maids, dead or alive. But nor alive nor dead could they

be found, either by friend or foe. O dreadful were the execrations

uttered by the Danes. They called them demons, witches, and the worst

of all incendiaries. Well they might. The terror of their arms was

broken. Great was the rejoicing mid the hills and glens of Albyn, but

the eastern vallies groaned beneath the fury of the savage Dane, and

Christian blood was shed on every cross.

The virgins waked at morn, and still the lamp sent forth its feeble

glimmer through the cave. The day-beam through the crevice of the rock

streamed in and mixed with it. The virgins strove to rise, to

speak--to sing a morning hymn. But all their limbs were cold, and

their tongues clove fast to their thirsty palates. Lena, first of all

the three, upraised her pallid form, and on the lamp turning her

drowsy eye, there did it settle, closed, and oped again, but still

with faded and uncertain light, as if the mind were lacking. Long she

sat, half raised in this uneasy torpid state,--this struggle 'twixt

oblivion and life. Oft she assayed her sisters to awake, by naming

them; but still as oft the names died in a whisper. By degrees her

mind dawned into recollection, as the moon breaks o'er the sullen

twilight. Then the wonders, that she had seen o'ernight, aroused her

soul to all its wonted energy. She kneeled, and thanked her Maker for

the great deliverance to them vouchsafed. And when her sisters woke,

they woke to join her in a heavenly song.

"What ails our sister? Here we are in safety. Why does our dear

beloved not rest in peace? The night is not far spent: the dawn of

morn is yet far distant. O dear Lena sleep. Sleep on, and take your

rest. The morning sun is yet beneath the deep. Our limbs are cold; our

eyes are heavy; yet we cannot rise, for we are weary, and not half

awake."

"Wake, my beloved sisters. It is time. The noon is at its height. See

how the sun peeps through the granite cliffs, and on the stream sheds

ray of trembling silver. Let us rise and talk of all the wonders we

have seen."

Long they conversed in tears of gratitude, still peeping from

their cavern, lest the Dane again should find and drag them to

the altar. Sore were they pressed by hunger. From the stream they drank

abundantly with thankful hearts. But food for many a day and many a

night they scarce had tasted, and they longed for it with more than

ordinary longing. Night approached; and there they sat, not knowing

what to do, a prey to gnawing hunger. At the last, young Lena said, "I

cannot ween that heaven hath wrought a miracle for our relief, and for

no higher purpose than that we should be left to die of hunger in this

dark and hideous den. Again I'll put my life into its hand, and go

into the city after twilight in search of bread; and if I die I die:

Heaven's will be done." Her sisters looked at her, and blessed her in

the holy Virgin's name. They could not bid her go where danger waited,

so great, so imminent; and yet they felt they could not press her

stay. With cautious eye, and with enfeebled step, trembling she sought

the city gate. But when, afar, she saw by torch-light porters striding

to and fro, with glittering lances of enormous length, and ponderous

battle axes, her heart failed, and she drew back. But then she thought

again of those she left behind, and all the throes of perishing

with hunger, and resolved to risk all hazards. The huge gate stood

open, and strangers went and came. "I'll join," thought she, "this

straggling crew, and enter among them; they speak my native tongue.

Ah! they must be a band of traitorous base renegades, that have

renounced the cross and joined the Dane; else wherefore free to go and

come and trade? I'm all unsafe with such. The strangers eyed her with

most curious and piercing looks, and whispered as they went. They

seemed afraid, and shunned her by the way, as they who shun a being

infected by the pestilence, or spirit from the dead. No one addressed

a word to her, but hurried to the gate.

She came alone, for feeble was her step, and her breast palpitating as

with throb of burning fever, hopeless of admission.

The porters stared with wide extended gaze, and eyes protruding; but

no word they spoke, nor crossed their lances. Straight she entered

in. "What can this mean?" thought she; "There is a change since

yester-even that it passes thought to comprehend. These keepers are

not Danes; I heard them speak in Albyn's ancient tongue; and yet

methinks they wear the Danish garb. How's this? that I am free to come

and go, as in my childhood, when the land was free?"

She passed the sacred fane, and there beheld crowds entering in; but

fast she sped away, weening they went to Odin's cursed rites.

She went to those that sold, and asked for bread. The woman stared at

her with silent gaze. She asked again, and straight the huckster fled

in floundering haste. Poor Lena stood amazed. "How's this?" said she,

"where'er I show my face the people shun me. Here I shall remain, for

I am faint with hunger, till I taste some of these cakes, which I can

well repay."

She stood not long until she was accosted by holy bedesman, who, with

cautious step, and looks of terror, entered, fast repeating his _Ave

Maria_. "In the Virgin's name," cried he, "and under sanction of this

cross, I charge thee tell who or from whence thou art."

The virgin kneeled, and kissed the holy symbol, but waived direct

reply. "I lack some bread to give to those that famish, and I'll pay

for that which I receive," was her reply.

"Then 'tis the bread of life that thou dost lack; man's natural food I

fear thou can'st not use, for thou art not a being of this world, but

savour'st of the grave. Thy robes are mouldy, and fall from off thy

frame? Thy lips are parched and colourless. These eyes have not the

light of human life. Thou ominous visitant, declare from whence thou

art, and on what mission thou com'st to this devoted wasted land?"

Lena looked up. The holy father's face to her appeared familiar. But

how great the change since last she saw it. "Father Brand, dost thou

not know me?" was her home reply.

With blenching cheek and with unstable eye the father gazed, and,

faultering, stammered forth, "No. Jesu Maria, be thy servant's shield!

Yes. Now I know thee. Art thou not the spirit of the hapless Ellamere,

who was put down within our convent for a wilful breach of its most

sacred law? Avaunt! Begone! Nor come thou here t' accuse those that

grieved for thee, while they executed just vengeance on thy life.

Injurious ghost! Thy curses have fallen heavy on our heads, and

brought the wrath of heaven upon our land in tenfold measure. In the

Saviour's name, whose delegate I am, I charge thee hence unto thy

resting-place,--to that award that heaven's strict justice hath

ordained for thee; and come not, with that pale and withering look,

more curses and more judgments to pronounce."

"Reach me thine hand," said she, and held her's forth, meaning to work

conviction on his mind that she was flesh and blood. Her arm was wan

as death itself, emaciated and withered, and furred with lines, livid

and colourless, as by corrodent vapours of the grave. The monk

withdrew his hand within his frock, shook his grey locks, and, with

slow palsied step, moved backward till the threshold stone he gained;

then turned and fled amain. The household dame fled also from her

inner door, from which she peered and listened, and the wondering

virgin again was left alone. She waited there in wild and dumb

incertitude a space; then took some bread, some fruits, and baken

meat, laid some money down as an equivalent, and went away to seek her

dark retreat.

But as she passed the fane, with wary step she ventured to the porch,

and, marvelling, heard the whole assembly, joined in rapt devotion,

praising the name of Jesus. Close she stood, and, darkling as it was,

joined in the choir so much beloved. But all the wonders she so late

had seen yielded to this. In one short night, one strange eventful

night, such things were done as human intellect, with all its

cunning, could not calculate.

She passed the gate. The gaping sentinels stood, as they did before,

immoveable, each casting sidelong glances unto his mate, to note who

first should fly or call the word. She beckoned them as with intent to

speak; but in one moment porters, spears, and axes scattered and

vanished in the darksome shade.

Reaching the cave, she found the lamp gone out that their mysterious

deliverer had left them over night. First she regaled her sisters'

hearts with the miraculous tidings that all the people worshipped

Jesus' name without dismay or molestation, who, but the night before,

not for their lives durst have acknowledged him: That all seemed free

to go and come, and pray to whom they listed. The tale seemed a

romance,--a dream of wild delirium. The Danes could not be banished in

a night, and all the land cleared of the vile idolatry of Odin. They

disbelieved the whole, as well they might, but held their peace,

dreading their sister's mind mazed in derangement. Still, as she went

on, saying that all whom she had met or seen supposed her one arisen

from the dead, or ghost of some departed criminal, strangled for

breach of a monastic vow, then did they grasp each other's hands, and

weep for their dear sister's sad mishap. They deemed her mad as raving

whirlwind, or the music of mountain cataract. Yet she had brought them

food of various sorts, which in the dark she gave them; and they fed,

or strove to feed,--but small indeed the portion they devoured.

"How's this," cried Morna, "that my little cake grows ne'er the less?

Can it be so that we are truly spirits,--ghosts of the three maids

that overthrew the Danish god last night? I hunger and I thirst, 'tis

true. Tell me, Can spirits drink the element of water? Certes they

may. But then, how did we die, or when? for I cannot remember me of

passing death's hideous and dreary bourn, though something of a weary

painful dream hangs round my heart."

This vague disjointed speech, the wayward visions of distemperature,

struck the two others motionless, and set them on cogitations

wandering and wild as meteors o'er a dreary wilderness. The thought of

being in a new existence, with all its unknown trials, powers, and

limits, their struggling minds essayed in vain to grasp.

Reason returned, but as a step-mother returns to frenzied orphan's dying

bed. They felt each other's pulses. There was life,--corporeal life;

but still there was a change, which no one chose to mention,--yet a

change quite unaccountable for one night's sleep to have effected.

From their cavern's porch they viewed the stars of heaven. They were

the same as they were wont. They saw the golden wain, the polar

plough tilling his ample field with slow unwearied furrow, and the

sisters,--the seven lovely sisters of the sky, arching their gorgeous

path. Far to the east they spied a star beloved, which in their

childhood they oft had watched, and named the "tiger's eye," changing

its vivid colours as of yore. And then they wept to think of former

days of innocence and joy. And thus in tears, clasped in each other's

arms, they laid them down their mazed and oppressed spirits to

compose.

While thus they lay, romantic Morna said: "My sisters, it is evident

to all that some great change has happed to us last night. We are not

what we were. What can it be but change from one existence to another?

A mortal creature cannot touch or feel a disembodied spirit; but we

know not how spirits feel each other. Sure as life and death hold

opposition in this world, from the one into the other we have passed.

I feel it in my being. So do you, though unacknowledged. Let us rise

and walk as spirits do by night, and we shall see the change in us,

not over a whole land in one short night. Come, let us roam abroad.

I feel a restlessness,--a strong desire to flit from place to

place,--perchance to fly between the mountain and the cloud, and view

the abodes of those we love.

This wild romance waked in the virgins' hearts an energy between

despair and madness. All extremes erratic and unnatural, on the minds

of females, act like the infection of virulent disease. Up they arose,

and, stepping from their cavern, took their way along the river's

brink. Midnight was past. The tiger's eye had climbed the marble path

that branches through the heaven, and goggled forth, now red, now

blue, now purple and now green, down from his splendid ceiling far on

high. 'Twas like a changeful spirit. In the east the hues of morning

rose in towering streaks, as if the Almighty had caused light to grow

like cedars from the summits of the hills. It was a scene for spirits!

There were three abroad that morn before the twilight rose,--three

creatures spiritual, yet made of flesh! First they espied an aged

fisherman, who passed without regard. Then did they deem they were

invisible, and wilder still their fancies worked. The suburbs now they

gained of the resplendent ancient Otholine, the emporium of the east,

and hand in hand, with hurried, but enfeebled step, they trode its

lanes and alleys. Those who saw them said their motions were erratic,

like the gait of beings overcome with wine, or creatures learning to

walk for the first time on earth. The early matron, and the twilight

groom, fled with hysteric cries at their approach. The gates were left

a-jar, the streets a waste: porter and sentinel joined in the flight,

and nought but terror and confusion reigned.

The virgin sisters wist not what to do, or what to dread. Within the

convent's porch, they halted, turned, and gazed on one another, and

wondered what they were, that nature thus shuddered at their approach,

and held aloof. Three creatures spiritual yet made of flesh, belonging

not to heaven nor earth! but shunned by the inhabitants of both. Just

then, while standing in despondency, they heard the grey cock crow;

the eldritch clarion note chilled every heart, and twanged on every

nerve.

"That is our warning call," wild Morna said: "My sisters now we must

hence and begone: that is the roll-call of the murdering spirits. We

shall be missed at matins. To your homes! your damp and mouldering

homes, ye ghastly shades! The daylight will dissolve you! Does that

voice not say so?"

"Hush thee, gentle Morna! drive us not to distraction. Here we'll wait

until the convent matin; then we'll ask the holy prioress what things

we are. What say you, gentle sisters? can we live outcasts on earth in

such incertitude? Our father's towers are distant. We can glide,

like passing shades with slow and feeble motion, but nothing more

spirits;--can sail the air in skiff of mist or on the breeze's wing.

Such powers we have not; and to journey there we lack ability. Here

then we stay until we are resolved what strange events have happened

to us, to our native land, and church, of late so grievously

oppressed."

"Yes, here we'll stay. Come, rouse the porteress! For see the sun tips

the far hills with gold, and we shall melt before his tepid ray, all

gentle as it is at early morn! My frame is like a mildew. The hoar

frost of death hath fallen on it. Oh, for the guide--the angelic

youth that left us yester-eve. Ho! daughters of the Cross! If any here

hath 'scaped the murderous Dane, come forth and welcome the conquerors

of Odin. Ho! within! Wake ere the sun upbraids you. He is up, on

service to his Maker, yet you sleep. I say, wake."

"Who calls? What are you there?"

"We know not what we are. For that we come, to see if any here can us

resolve. But two short nights ago, we were three maids of royal

lineage. Thou stern porteress, come forth and look on us. Canst thou

not tell what we are made of? Why stand'st thou aloof?"

"Speak calmly, sister Morna. See she trembles and dares not answer.

Gentle dame, we pray admission to your lady prioress, for sake of him

who died upon the cross, whose name we worship." Straight she vanished

upon her fearful mission, glad to 'scape from such a colloquy. Soon

then arrived the aged prioress, who them approached with dauntless

countenance, and, unappalled, asked of their errand. "Venerable dame,

dost thou not know, or hast thou never heard of the three maids of

Stormont, who of late, led by a heavenly messenger, o'erthrew the god

of Denmark, and upheld the cross triumphant o'er the breasts of

prostrate heathens?"

"Ay, I have heard of them; and often joined in prayer and thanksgiving

for the deliverance wrought by these royal virgins. That was a

conquest that roused the spirit of the Christian to deeds of more than

mortal energy, and humbled the proud confidence the Dane placed in his

idols. Ay, that was a conquest shall cloud the brow of the idolater

while the world stands! But what was it you spoke of yester eve?

Either you are deranged, or shallow poor impostors: for that time hath

long gone past, and the three wondrous maids were in the sight, and

from the middle of that mighty host translated into heaven. Unless you

came from thence on sacred mission, and bringest evidence of identity

by further miracle, better you had keep silence and depart."

"We are those maids, the maids of Stormont, nieces to the king; and

we require of you lodging and fair protection, till we prove our

lineage. There is something passing strange hath happed to us. But

what the circumstance, or how accordant with the works of God, is far

beyond the fathom and the height of our capacity. We are the maids of

Stormont. To that truth we will make oath upon the holy cross."

The prioress crossed herself, commended her to heaven, and, with deep

awe and dire astonishment, admitted them. She gazed upon them: their

fair cheeks were pale, and their benignant eyes looked through a haze

that was not earthly; it was like the blue mists of the dawning. All

their robes were of the fashion of a former day; and they were damp

and mouldy, falling piecemeal from off their bodies with their

rottenness.

"I dread to question you, mysterious things. That you are earthly

forms, I see and feel. Whence are you? In what dreary unknown clime

have you been sojourning? Or are you risen from out your graves? If

you have truth in you, and power to tell it, pray resolve me this; for

I am lost in wonder."

"What we are we know not. For that purpose we came hither, that you

might tell us. All we know is this: Last night but one we were the

maids of Stormont, doomed to a dreadful fate. An heavenly one came to

our rescue; led us through the gates of iron and of brass. Still as we

went, we conquered. Ranks of proud idolaters fell prostrate in the

dust; and the great god, the mighty Odin, was o'erthrown, and dashed

into a thousand pieces. Straight our blessed guide conducted us into a

lonely cave close by the river's brink, and bade us sleep and take our

rest until the day should dawn and shadows fly away. We slept, and

yester-morn, when we awoke, the lamp our guide had left still feebly

burned. Impelled by hunger, from our cave we ventured. All people fly

from us; the Danes are gone; the name of Christ is mentioned. Nought

we see and nought we hear is comprehensible."

"A miracle! a mighty miracle! Within that secret cavern you have slept

for days and years, in quiet sweet repose, the lamp of heaven still

burning over you, until the day hath dawned,--such day of grace as

Scotland hath not seen. The heathen Dane, with all his hideous gods,

was vanquished, but days of darkness and contention rose, until this

time, when all the glorious rays of mercy and of grace have shed their

influence on this benighted persecuted land; and you are waked to

enjoy it. Let us go straight to the altar, and beneath the cross join

in elated thanksgiving."

The chancel door opened before the altar. When the three virgins

entered in, and saw the figure on the cross, they cried aloud with one

combined voice, "'Tis he, 'Tis he! What? Have these heathens dared to

lay their impious hands on him? 'Tis he! 'Tis he! Our heavenly guide

that saved us from the death. And have they slain him? Has the cursed

Dane----"

"Hold, hold, for mercy's sake; you do not know the things you utter.

What you look upon, hangs there to represent the death of him who

died that man might live."

"And is it so? Then be our lives sacred unto the service of him who

laid his life down for our race, and sent his angel to deliver us,

in his own likeness too; for this is he who came to us in great

extremity, when we called on the name of our Redeemer in agony of

soul."

"Remain with me till our great festival. This miracle must be made

known to all that trust in Jesus' name. Meanwhile I will cherish and

comfort the beloved of heaven."

The day arrived of the great festival, the anniversary of the

overthrow of mighty Odin,--that sublime event that broke the bands of

iron and of steel, and threw the gates of superstition open to Albyn's

Christian triumph. On that day the king's whole household, nobles of

the realm, high dames and commons, abbots, monks, and mendicants, a

motely and a countless multitude, assembled early at the monastery of

ancient Otholine, to render thanks for their deliverance. Masses were

said; and holy hymns of praise ascended to the skies. With one accord,

then all the grateful multitude agreed to canonize the three heroic

virgins, who, with the aid of angels, had wrought out the Christian's

triumph, the beloved of heaven, translated to the blest beatitude,

where souls of saints and blessed martyrs dwell, and whose joint

prayers might with the holy Virgin much avail.

A joyful clamour for the ordinance then spread around, so eager were

the crowd to kneel and pay their humble adorations to the three maids,

translated to the heavens with bodies like their own. Applauses rang;

and from behind the altar was given forth a song divine, in which a

thousand voices joined, till all were hushed at this ecstatic strain.

Hail to the happy three!

Vessels of sanctity!

Now honoured to stand

At the Virgin's right hand.

(Mater Dei!

Remember me!)

Remember us all, and send us for good,

Bone of our bone, and blood of our blood.--

Song of harp, and voice be dumb!--

The heaven is oped. They come, they come!

A bustle rose. The abbot on his knees sunk down and leaned upon the

altar-cloth, and only a few voices whispered round, "They come, they

come!" The congregation turned their eyes into the chancel, and beheld

three virgins, all in robes of purest white, stand over against the

altar. The loud choir was hushed, and every brow was forward bent in

low obeisance: All believing these three beauteous flowers from

paradise had come arrayed in robes of heaven, with angel forms that

bloomed like winter roses newly oped, in high approval of the

festival, and sacred honours to be paid to them.

The virgins beckoned, raised their flowing veils, and their right

hands to heaven. "Stay, they cried, stay the solemnity, ere you

profane the name and altar of the God of heaven. Here stand the three

unworthy maids of Stormont whom you would deify. Come nigh to us our

father and our king, and ye chaste ministers of him we serve: Come

nigh, and feel that we are mortal like yourselves, and stop the rite.

Pay adoration to that Holy One who pitied us in misery extreme, and

you in grievous bonds. There be your vows and worship paid, in which

we three shall join. He hath indeed done wondrous things for us, works

of amazement, which you all shall hear, and whoso heareth shall

rejoice in heart."

Then came they all unto their father's knee, kneeled and embraced him,

while the good old earl shed tears of joy, and rendered thanks to

heaven; their sovereign next, their former lovers, friends, and all

they knew in that mixed multitude, they did embrace, that no remaining

doubt might spring and spread of their identity. It was a joyful

meeting, such a one as hath not been in any land for happiness and

holy ecstacy. They lived beyond the years of women,--but their lives

were spent in acts of holiness, apart from grandeur's train. In curing

of the sick, clothing the naked, ministering to all in want and

wretchedness, and speaking peace unto poor wandering and benighted

souls. Their evening of life was like the close of summer day, pure,

placid, and serene,--the twilight long, but when at last it closed, it

was with such a heavenly glow, it gave pure prospect of a joyous day

to come. Thus ends my legend; and, with all submission, I bow to your

awards, and wait my doom.

CHAP. III.

_Garolde._ Prick on good Markham. That galled jade of yours

Moves with a hedgehog's pace. Is this a time

To amble like a belle at tournament,

When life and death hang on our enterprize?

_Mark._ We've had long stages, Garolde;

We must take up. What miscreants have we here?

_The Prioress._

"Lo, have not I taken great delight in the words of thy mouth?" said

the friar, "for it is a legend of purity and holiness which thou hast

told, and the words of truth are contained in it. Peradventure it may

be an ancient allegory of our nation, in which manner of instruction

the fathers of Christianity amongst us took great delight. But,

whether it be truth, or whether it be fiction, the tendency is good;

and behold, is it not so; do not I even thank thee for thy tale?"

"It is the most diffuse, extravagant, and silly legend that ever was

invented by votary of a silly and inconsistent creed," said the

Master.

"I side wi' you, Master Michael Scott," said Tam Craik; "I think the

tale is nought but a string of bombastical nonsense."

"Excepting ane about fat flesh, I think I never heard the match o't,"

said the laird of the Peatstacknowe; "It brings me a-mind o' our

host's dinner, that was a' show but nae substance."

"If I foresee aught aright," said the Master, "of many a worse dinner

shall I see thee partake, and enjoy the sight."

"Was not that a beautiful and sublime tale, father?" said Delany: "I

could sit and listen to such divine legends for ever." The poet's eyes

shone with tears when he heard the maid he loved say these words to

the friar apart, who answered and said unto her, "Lo, there are many

more sublime and more wonderful in thy little book; nevertheless

the tale is good for instruction to those that are faithless and

doubting."

"Alak! I fear I shall not live to learn and enjoy these. Do not you

think, father, that we shall all perish in this miserable place,"

added Delany,--"this horrible place of witchcraft and divination?"

Charlie Scott stepped forward when he overheard some of these words.

"Eh? what was the lassie saying?" said he. "Eh? I'll tell ye what it

is, hinney: I believe ye see things as they are. There's naething but

witchcraft gaun on here; and it is that, and that alone, that a' our

perils and mischances rise frae. Begging your pardon, father, I canna

help thinking what I think, and seeing what I see. But, gude faith! we

maun blaw lown till we win aff the tap o' this bigging, if that ever

be."

"My hand hath prevailed against his hand," said the friar, "and my

master over his master; and had it not been for this miserable

accident we should have had nothing to fear from his divinations,

sublime and mighty as they are. What hath become of the mighty men of

valour from the camp of our captain?"

"O there's nae mortal can tell," said Charlie: "It was not for

naething that Dan and his lads ran off and left us without ever

looking ower their shoulders. A' witchcraft! a' witchcraft! Ane may

stand against muckle, but nae man can stand against that. I wish we

were where sword and shield could aince mair stand us in stead. But

this I'm sure o'--Now that our situation is kend to our kinsman, it

winna be lang before some aid appear. O if it wad but come afore we

are driven to that last and warst of a' shifts to keep in life."

"We canna live another day," said Tam: "I therefore propose that the

maid and the boy try ilk ane their hand at a tale too, and stand their

chances with the rest of us. Their lives are of less value, and their

bodies very tender and delicate."

Every one protested against Tam's motion with abhorrence; and it was

agreed that they would now appeal to the Master who had told the

worst tale. Not that the unfortunate victim was to be immediately

sacrificed, nor even till the very last extremity; but with that

impatience natural to man, they longed to be put out of pain; every

one having hopes that his own merits protected himself from danger.

Every one also believed that judgment would be given against Tam,

except he himself; and that, at all events, such an award would put an

end to his disagreeable and endless exultations of voracious delight.

They then went before the renowned wizard, and desired him to give

judgment who of them had related the worst and most inefficient tale,

laying all prejudice with regard to creeds and testimonies aside.

He asked them if they referred the matter entirely to him, or if they

wished to have each one a vote of their own? Tam said it was an

understanding at first that each should have a vote, and, as he had

made up his mind on the subject, he wished to give his. Charlie said

it was a hard matter to vote away the life of a friend; and, for his

part, he would rather appeal to the great Master altogether. But if

any doubts should remain with any one of their host's impartiality, he

thought it fairer that they should cast lots, and hazard all alike.

The poet, who had heard the Master's disapprobation given pointedly of

his tale, sided with Yardbire, and voted that it should be decided by

lot. Gibbie, though quite convinced in his own mind that he had told

the best story, yet having heard the _morality_ of it doubted, and

dreading on that score to have some voices against him, called also

for a vote; for he said the referring the matter to the Master brought

him in mind of the story of the fox sitting in judgment, and deciding

against the lamb. The friar also said, "Verily, I should give my voice

for the judgment of the Master to stand decisive: But, lo! is it not

apparent that his thoughts are not like the thoughts of other men?

Neither is his mind governed by the motives of the rest of the

children of men. I do therefore lift up my voice for the judgment that

goeth by lot. I would, notwithstanding of all this, gladly hear what

the Master would say."

"I will be so far just that I shall give you your choice," said Master

Michael Scott: "Nevertheless I can tell you, if there be any justice

in the decision by lot, on whom the lot will fall." A pause of

breathless anxiety occurred, and every eye was fixed on the grim and

stern visage of the great necromancer, over whose features there

appeared to pass a gleam of wild delight. "It will fall," added he,

"on that man of fables and similitudes, who himself bears the

similitude of a man, just as the lion's hide stuffed does the

resemblance of a real one. How do you call that beautiful and amiable

being with the nose that would split a drop of rain without being

wet?"

"Most illustrious knight, and master of the arts of mystery," said the

friar,--"as this man is, so is his name; for he is called Jordan,

after the great river that is in the east, which overfloweth its banks

at certain seasons, and falls into the stagnant lake called the Dead

Sea, whose waters are diseased. So doth the matter of this our friend

overflow, pass away, and is lost. But what sayest thou of the default

of his story? Dost thou remember that it is not for the best story

that we cast lots, but the worst?"

"Ay, that's weel said, good friar," said Charlie; "for, trifling as

the laird's story was, I never heard ought sae queer, or that

interested ane mair. If there be ony justice in lots, the laird's

safe."

"Your's was the best tale, gallant yeoman," said the Master, "and you

may rest assured that you are safe. The dumb judge will not err, and

there is one overlooks the judgment by lot, of whom few are aware. I

say your's was the best tale.

"Thank ye kindly, Master Michael Scott," said Charlie; "I'm feared ilk

ane winna be o' your opinion."

The friar then took from the side-pockets of his frock a few scraps

of parchment, amounting to fifteen. Twelve of these he marked with

a red cross, and three with a black one, to prevent all infernal

interference; then rolling them closely up, he counted them all into

his cowl before his companions, and, shaking them together, he caused

every one to do the same. Then putting the cowl into the virgin's

hand, they desired her to hold it until they drew forth their scraps

one by one. She did so, while her bright eyes were drowned in tears,

and each of the candidates put in his hand, selecting his lot.

"Let them be opened, one by one, before all these witnesses," cried

the Master; "that no suspicions of foul play whatever may remain."

The friar drew forth his without one muscle of his unyielding features

being altered, and turning deliberately about, he opened it before

them all. It was red. The friar bowed his head, and made the sign of

the cross. Charlie thrust in his hand,--pulled out a ticket,--and tore

it open, all in one moment, and with the same impatience that he

fought in a battle. His was likewise red.

"Gude faith I'm aince ower the water," said Charlie.

Tam put in his hand with a decision that would have done honour to a

better man, the form of his mouth only being a little altered.

"Now, who will take me a bet of a three-year old cout," cried Gibbie,

"that the next shall turn out a black one?" and he grinned a ghastly

smile, in anticipation of the wished event. Tam kept his hand within

the cowl for a good while, as if groping which to select. At length he

drew one forth; and before he got it opened, Gibbie's long nose and

his own had met above it, so eager was each of them to see what it

contained. It was opened. Each of them raised up his face, and looked

at the face of his opponent; but with what different expressions

of countenance! The cross on the lot was red! Grief, dread, and

disappointment were all apparent in the features of poor Jordan, while

the exulting looks of his provoking neighbour were hardly to be

endured.

"What think you o' that now, laird?" cried he. "What does that bring

you in mind o'? Eh? I say, wha's jugular vein swells highest now; or

wha's shoulder-blade stands maist need o' clawing?"

This was rather more than Gibbie was disposed at that juncture to

bear; and when Tam, as he concluded, put forth his forefinger to

ascertain the thickness of fat on the laird's ribs, the latter struck

him with such force on the wrist, that he rendered his arm powerless

for a space. He put his hand to his sword, but could not grasp it;

while Gibbie, seeing the motion, had his out in a twinkling; and if

the staunch friar had not turned it aside, he would have had it

through the heart of the deil's Tam in a second, which might have

prevented the further drawing of lots for that present time, and

thereby put an end to a very critical and disagreeable business.

Gibbie was far from being a hot or passionate man; but whether his

rage was a manoere to put by the decision, or if he really was

offended at being handled like a wedder for slaughter, the curate

pretends not to guess. He however raged and fumed exceedingly, and

tried again and again to wound Tam, while the rest were remonstrating

with him; nor would he be pacified, until Tam's disabled arm by

degrees regaining somewhat of its pristine nerve, he retreated back

towards the battlement for sword-room, and dared the laird to the

combat. Gibbie struggled hard; but finding that they were about to

let him go, his wrath subsided a little; he put up his sword, and said

the whole business reminded him of a story of the laird of Tweelsdon

and his two brothers, which he assured them was a prime story, and

begged permission to tell it. This was protested against with one

voice until the business of the lots was decided, and then all were

willing to hear it. "Oh, the lots? that is quite true," said Gibbie:

"I declare that business had gone out of my head. Let us see what

casts up next." There was a relaxation in every muscle of Gibbie's

face as he put his hand into the cowl. But Gibbie's was a sort of a

cross face. It did not grow long and sallow as most other men's faces

do when they are agitated. The jaws did not fall down, they closed up;

so that his face grew a great deal shorter and broader. The eye-brows

and the cheek-bones met, and the nose and chin approached to a close

vicinity. He drew forth the momentous scrap, and, with fumbling and

paralytic hand, opened it before them. The cross was black. He dared

not lift his eyes to any face there save to Delany's, and when he saw

it covered with tears his looks again reverted that way. This lot it

is true was not decisive, yet it placed Gibbie on ticklish ground; it

having been agreed, that whoever should draw the two first black

crosses, subjected himself to immolation, if the necessity of the case

required it. The great Master and Tam were visibly well pleased with

the wicked chance that had fallen to the laird. The motives of the

former for this delight were quite a mystery to those who beheld it;

as for Tam, he seemed determined to keep no more terms with poor

Gibbie.

The poet also drew a red one; and then it was decreed, that the next

round Gibbie should have his choice of the time, if he judged it any

advantage either to be first or last. He seemed quite passive, and

said it was all one to him, he should draw at any time they chose, and

desired his friend Yardbire, as he termed him, to choose for him.

Charlie said he deemed the first chance the best, as he had then four

chances to be right, for one of being wrong; and it would be singular

indeed if his hand fixed on a black cross again for a time or two,

when more of them might be on an equal footing.

Gibbie accordingly turned round, and drew out one more of the ominous

scraps, opening it under the eyes of all the circle with rather a

hopeful look. "If the deil be nae in the cowl, I shall hae a red ane

this time," said he, as he unrolled it; but as soon as the head of the

cross appeared the ticket fell from his hand; and, as the friar

expressed it, there was no more strength remaining in him. "Verily, my

son, thy fate is decided," said the latter worthy; "and that in a

wonderful and arbitrary manner. As the Master said, so hath it come to

pass, although to judge of any thing having been done unfairly is

impossible."

"It is absolute nonsense to talk of aught being done fairly in this

place," said Charlie Scott: "There's naething but witchcraft gaun. I

tell ye a' things here are done by witchery an' the black arts; and

after what I heard the king of a' warlocks say, that the lot wad fa'

in this way, I winna believe that honest Gibbie has gotten fair play

for his life."

"If you would try it an hundred times over," said the Master, "you

would see it turn out in the same way. Did not I say to you that there

was a power presided over the decision by lot, which you neither know

nor comprehend. Man of metaphors and old wives' fables, where art thou

now?" "Keep a gude heart, Peatstacknowe," said Charlie; "perhaps

things may not come to the worst. I have great dependence on Dan

Chisholm and the warden's good men. I wonder they have not appeared

wi' proper mattocks, or ladders, by this time o' the morning."

"If they should," said the Master, "and if we were all set at liberty

this minute, he shall remain my bondsman, in place of these two and

him of whom your arts have bereaved me. Remember to what you agreed

formerly, of which I now remind you."

"I think that is but fair," said the poet.

"I do not know, gentlemen, what you call fair or foul," said Gibbie:

"I think there is little that is favourable going for somebody. Of the

two evils, I judge the last the worst. I appeal to my captain the

Warden." Gibbie's looks were so rueful and pitiable when he said this,

that no one had the heart to remonstrate farther with him on the

justice or injustice of his doom. The Master and Tam enjoyed his

plight exceedingly; the poet rejoiced in it, as it tended to free

Delany from a vile servitude; and the friar also was glad of the

release of the darling of his younger years, the grand-daughter of

Galli the scribe. Charlie and Delany were the only two that appeared

to suffer on account of the laird's dismal prospects, and their

feelings were nearly as acute as his own. Stories and all sorts of

amusements were now discontinued. A damp was thrown over these by the

dismal gloom on the laird's countenance, and the congenial feelings of

others on his account. The night had passed over without any more

visitants from the infernal regions; the day had arisen in the midst

of heaviness and gloom; and every eye was turned towards the mill, in

the expecsation of seeing the approach of Dan and his companions.