summaryrefslogtreecommitdiff
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      The Fortunes of Nigel, by Sir Walter Scott
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The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Fortunes of Nigel, by Sir Walter Scott

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Title: The Fortunes of Nigel

Author: Sir Walter Scott


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</pre>

    <div style="height: 8em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h1>
      THE FORTUNES OF NIGEL
    </h1>
    <h2>
      By Sir Walter Scott
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <h4>
      A Tale Which Holdeth Children From Play &amp; <br /> Old Men From The
      Chimney Corner &mdash;Sir Philip Sidney
    </h4>
<div class="fig" style="width:65%;">
      <img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="cover " width="100%" /><br />
    </div>

    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      <b>CONTENTS</b>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> INTRODUCTORY EPISTLE </a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> <b>THE FORTUNES OF NIGEL</b> </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXXIII </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XXXIV </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XXXV </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER XXXVI </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER XXXVII </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link2H_NOTE"> NOTES </a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      INTRODUCTION
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  But why should lordlings all our praise engross?
  Rise, honest man, and sing the Man of Ross.

                                        Pope
</pre>
    <p>
      Having, in the tale of the Heart of Mid-Lothian, succeeded in some degree
      in awakening an interest in behalf of one devoid of those accomplishments
      which belong to a heroine almost by right, I was next tempted to choose a
      hero upon the same unpromising plan; and as worth of character, goodness
      of heart, and rectitude of principle, were necessary to one who laid no
      claim to high birth, romantic sensibility, or any of the usual
      accomplishments of those who strut through the pages of this sort of
      composition, I made free with the name of a person who has left the most
      magnificent proofs of his benevolence and charity that the capital of
      Scotland has to display.
    </p>
    <p>
      To the Scottish reader little more need be said than that the man alluded
      to is George Heriot. But for those south of the Tweed, it may be necessary
      to add, that the person so named was a wealthy citizen of Edinburgh, and
      the King's goldsmith, who followed James to the English capital, and was
      so successful in his profession, as to die, in 1624, extremely wealthy for
      that period. He had no children; and after making a full provision for
      such relations as might have claims upon him, he left the residue of his
      fortune to establish an hospital, in which the sons of Edinburgh freemen
      are gratuitously brought up and educated for the station to which their
      talents may recommend them, and are finally enabled to enter life under
      respectable auspices. The hospital in which this charity is maintained is
      a noble quadrangle of the Gothic order, and as ornamental to the city as a
      building, as the manner in which the youths are provided for and educated,
      renders it useful to the community as an institution. To the honour of
      those who have the management, (the Magistrates and Clergy of Edinburgh),
      the funds of the Hospital have increased so much under their care, that it
      now supports and educates one hundred and thirty youths annually, many of
      whom have done honour to their country in different situations.
    </p>
    <p>
      The founder of such a charity as this may be reasonably supposed to have
      walked through life with a steady pace, and an observant eye, neglecting
      no opportunity of assisting those who were not possessed of the experience
      necessary for their own guidance. In supposing his efforts directed to the
      benefit of a young nobleman, misguided by the aristocratic haughtiness of
      his own time, and the prevailing tone of selfish luxury which seems more
      peculiar to ours, as well as the seductions of pleasure which are
      predominant in all, some amusement, or even some advantage, might, I
      thought, be derived from the manner in which I might bring the exertions
      of this civic Mentor to bear in his pupil's behalf. I am, I own, no great
      believer in the moral utility to be derived from fictitious compositions;
      yet, if in any case a word spoken in season may be of advantage to a young
      person, it must surely be when it calls upon him to attend to the voice of
      principle and self-denial, instead of that of precipitate passion. I could
      not, indeed, hope or expect to represent my prudent and benevolent citizen
      in a point of view so interesting as that of the peasant girl, who nobly
      sacrificed her family affections to the integrity of her moral character.
      Still however, something I hoped might be done not altogether unworthy the
      fame which George Heriot has secured by the lasting benefits he has
      bestowed on his country.
    </p>
    <p>
      It appeared likely, that out of this simple plot I might weave something
      attractive; because the reign of James I., in which George Heriot
      flourished, gave unbounded scope to invention in the fable, while at the
      same time it afforded greater variety and discrimination of character than
      could, with historical consistency, have been introduced, if the scene had
      been laid a century earlier. Lady Mary Wortley Montague has said, with
      equal truth and taste, that the most romantic region of every country is
      that where the mountains unite themselves with the plains or lowlands. For
      similiar reasons, it may be in like manner said, that the most picturesque
      period of history is that when the ancient rough and wild manners of a
      barbarous age are just becoming innovated upon, and contrasted, by the
      illumination of increased or revived learning, and the instructions of
      renewed or reformed religion. The strong contrast produced by the
      opposition of ancient manners to those which are gradually subduing them,
      affords the lights and shadows necessary to give effect to a fictitious
      narrative; and while such a period entitles the author to introduce
      incidents of a marvellous and improbable character, as arising out of the
      turbulent independence and ferocity, belonging to old habits of violence,
      still influencing the manners of a people who had been so lately in a
      barbarous state; yet, on the other hand, the characters and sentiments of
      many of the actors may, with the utmost probability, be described with
      great variety of shading and delineation, which belongs to the newer and
      more improved period, of which the world has but lately received the
      light.
    </p>
    <p>
      The reign of James I. of England possessed this advantage in a peculiar
      degree. Some beams of chivalry, although its planet had been for some time
      set, continued to animate and gild the horizon, and although probably no
      one acted precisely on its Quixotic dictates, men and women still talked
      the chivalrous language of Sir Philip Sydney's Arcadia; and the ceremonial
      of the tilt-yard was yet exhibited, though it now only flourished as a
      Place de Carrousel. Here and there a high-spirited Knight of the Bath,
      witness the too scrupulous Lord Herbert of Cherbury, was found devoted
      enough to the vows he had taken, to imagine himself obliged to compel, by
      the sword's-point, a fellow-knight or squire to restore the top-knot of
      ribbon which he had stolen from a fair damsel;[Footnote: See Lord Herbert
      of Cherbury's Memoirs.] but yet, while men were taking each other's lives
      on such punctilios of honour, the hour was already arrived when Bacon was
      about to teach the world that they were no longer to reason from authority
      to fact, but to establish truth by advancing from fact to fact, till they
      fixed an indisputable authority, not from hypothesis, but from experiment.
    </p>
    <p>
      The state of society in the reign of James I. was also strangely
      disturbed, and the license of a part of the community was perpetually
      giving rise to acts of blood and violence. The bravo of the Queen's day,
      of whom Shakspeare has given us so many varieties, as Bardolph, Nym,
      Pistol, Peto, and the other companions of Falstaff, men who had their
      humours, or their particular turn of extravaganza, had, since the
      commencement of the Low Country wars, given way to a race of sworders, who
      used the rapier and dagger, instead of the far less dangerous sword and
      buckler; so that a historian says on this subject, "that private quarrels
      were nourished, but especially between the Scots and English; and duels in
      every street maintained; divers sects and peculiar titles passed
      unpunished and unregarded, as the sect of the Roaring Boys, Bonaventors,
      Bravadors, Quarterors, and such like, being persons prodigal, and of great
      expense, who, having run themselves into debt, were constrained to run
      next into factions, to defend themselves from danger of the law. These
      received countenance from divers of the nobility; and the citizens,
      through lasciviousness consuming their estates, it was like that the
      number [of these desperadoes] would rather increase than diminish; and
      under these pretences they entered into many desperate enterprizes, and
      scarce any durst walk in the street after nine at night."[Footnote:
      history of the First Fourteen Years of King James's Reign. See Somers's
      Tracts, edited by Scott, vol. ii. p.266.]
    </p>
    <p>
      The same authority assures us farther, that "ancient gentlemen, who had
      left their inheritance whole and well furnished with goods and chattels
      (having thereupon kept good houses) unto their sons, lived to see part
      consumed in riot and excess, and the rest in possibility to be utterly
      lost; the holy state of matrimony made but a May-game, by which divers
      families had been subverted; brothel houses much frequented, and even
      great persons, prostituting their bodies to the intent to satisfy their
      lusts, consumed their substance in lascivious appetites. And of all sorts,
      such knights and gentlemen, as either through pride or prodigality&mdash;had
      consumed their substance, repairing to the city, and to the intent to
      consume their virtue also, lived dissolute lives; many of their ladies and
      daughters, to the intent to maintain themselves according to their
      dignity, prostituting their bodies in shameful manner. Ale-houses,
      dicing-houses, taverns, and places of iniquity, beyond manner abounding in
      most places."
    </p>
    <p>
      Nor is it only in the pages of a puritanical, perhaps a satirical writer,
      that we find so shocking and disgusting a picture of the coarseness of the
      beginning of the seventeenth century. On the contrary, in all the comedies
      of the age, the principal character for gaiety and wit is a young heir,
      who has totally altered the establishment of the father to whom he has
      succeeded, and, to use the old simile, who resembles a fountain, which
      plays off in idleness and extravagance the wealth which its careful
      parents painfully had assembled in hidden reservoirs.
    </p>
    <p>
      And yet, while that spirit of general extravagance seemed at work over a
      whole kingdom, another and very different sort of men were gradually
      forming the staid and resolved characters, which afterwards displayed
      themselves during the civil wars, and powerfully regulated and affected
      the character of the whole English nation, until, rushing from one extreme
      to another, they sunk in a gloomy fanaticism the splendid traces of the
      reviving fine arts.
    </p>
    <p>
      From the quotations which I have produced, the selfish and disgusting
      conduct of Lord Dalgarno will not perhaps appear overstrained; nor will
      the scenes in Whitefriars and places of similar resort seem too highly
      coloured. This indeed is far from being the case. It was in James I.'s
      reign that vice first appeared affecting the better classes in its gross
      and undisguised depravity. The entertainments and amusements of
      Elizabeth's time had an air of that decent restraint which became the
      court of a maiden sovereign; and, in that earlier period, to use the words
      of Burke, vice lost half its evil by being deprived of all its grossness.
      In James's reign, on the contrary, the coarsest pleasures were publicly
      and unlimitedly indulged, since, according to Sir John Harrington, the men
      wallowed in beastly delights; and even ladies abandoned their delicacy and
      rolled about in intoxication. After a ludicrous account of a mask, in
      which the actors had got drunk, and behaved themselves accordingly, he
      adds, "I have much marvelled at these strange pageantries, and they do
      bring to my recollection what passed of this sort in our Queen's days, in
      which I was sometimes an assistant and partaker: but never did I see such
      lack of good order and sobriety as I have now done. The gunpowder fright
      is got out of all our heads, and we are going on hereabout as if the devil
      was contriving every man should blow up himself by wild riot, excess, and
      devastation of time and temperance. The great ladies do go well masqued;
      and indeed, it be the only show of their modesty to conceal their
      countenance, but alack, they meet with such countenance to uphold their
      strange doings, that I marvel not at aught that happens."[Footnote:
      Harrington's Nugae Antique, vol. ii. p. 352. For the gross debauchery of
      the period, too much encouraged by the example of the monarch, who was, in
      other respects, neither without talent nor a good-natured disposition, see
      Winwood's Memorials, Howell's Letters, and other Memorials of the time;
      but particularly, consult the Private Letters and Correspondence of
      Steenie, <i>alias</i> Buckingham, with his reverend Dad and Gossip, King
      James, which abound with the grossest as well as the most childish
      language. The learned Mr. D'Israeli, in an attempt to vindicate the
      character of James, has only succeeded in obtaining for himself the
      character of a skilful and ingenious advocate, without much advantage to
      his royal client]
    </p>
    <p>
      Such being the state of the court, coarse sensuality brought along with it
      its ordinary companion, a brutal degree of undisguised selfishness,
      destructive alike of philanthropy and good breeding; both of which, in
      their several spheres, depend upon the regard paid by each individual to
      the interest as well as the feelings of others. It is in such a time that
      the heartless and shameless man of wealth and power may, like the supposed
      Lord Dalgarno, brazen out the shame of his villainies, and affect to
      triumph in their consequences, so long as they were personally
      advantageous to his own pleasures or profit.
    </p>
    <p>
      Alsatia is elsewhere explained as a cant name for Whitefriars, which,
      possessing certain privileges of sanctuary, became for that reason a nest
      of those mischievous characters who were generally obnoxious to the law.
      These privileges were derived from its having been an establishment of the
      Carmelites, or White Friars, founded says Stow, in his Survey of London,
      by Sir Patrick Grey, in 1241. Edward I. gave them a plot of ground in
      Fleet Street, to build their church upon. The edifice then erected was
      rebuilt by Courtney, Earl of Devonshire, in the reign of Edward. In the
      time of the Reformation the place retained its immunities as a sanctuary,
      and James I. confirmed and added to them by a charter in 1608. Shadwell
      was the first author who made some literary use of Whitefriars, in his
      play of the Squire of Alsatia, which turns upon the plot of the Adelphi of
      Terence.
    </p>
    <p>
      In this old play, two men of fortune, brothers, educate two young men,
      (sons to the one and nephews to the other,) each under his own separate
      system of rigour and indulgence. The elder of the subjects of this
      experiment, who has been very rigidly brought up, falls at once into all
      the vices of the town, is debauched by the cheats and bullies of
      Whitefriars, and, in a word, becomes the Squire of Alsatia. The poet
      gives, as the natural and congenial inhabitants of the place, such
      characters as the reader will find in the note. [Footnote: "Cheatly, a
      rascal, who by reason of debts dares not stir out of Whitefriars, but
      there inveigles young heirs of entail, and helps them to goods and money
      upon great disadvantages, is bound for them, and shares with them till he
      undoes them. A lewd, impudent, debauched fellow, very expert in the cant
      about town.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Shamwell, cousin to the Belfords, who, being ruined by Cheatly, is made a
      decoy-duck for others, not daring to stir out of Alsatia, where he lives.
      Is bound with Cheatly for heirs, and lives upon them a dissolute debauched
      life.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Captain Hackum, a blockheaded bully of Alsatia, a cowardly, impudent,
      blustering fellow, formerly a sergeant in Flanders, who has run from his
      colours, and retreated into Whitefriars for a very small debt, where by
      the Alsatians he is dubb'd a captain, marries one that lets lodgings,
      sells cherry-brandy, and is a bawd.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Scrapeall a hypocritical, repeating, praying, psalm-singing, precise
      fellow, pretending to great piety; a godly knave, who joins with Cheatly,
      and supplies young heirs with goods, and money."&mdash;Dramatis Personae
      to the Squire of Alsatia, SHADWELL'S Works, vol. iv.] The play, as we
      learn from the dedication to the Earl of Dorset and Middlesex, was
      successful above the author's expectations, "no comedy these many years
      having filled the theatre so long together. And I had the great honour,"
      continues Shadwell, "to find so many friends, that the house was never so
      full since it was built as upon the third day of this play, and vast
      numbers went away that could not be admitted." [Footnote: Dedication to
      the Squire of Alsatia, Shadwell's Works, vol. iv.] From the Squire of
      Alsatia the author derived some few hints, and learned the footing on
      which the bullies and thieves of the Sanctuary stood with their
      neighbours, the fiery young students of the Temple, of which some
      intimation is given in the dramatic piece.
    </p>
    <p>
      Such are the materials to which the author stands indebted for the
      composition of the Fortunes of Nigel, a novel, which may be perhaps one of
      those that are more amusing on a second perusal, than when read a first
      time for the sake of the story, the incidents of which are few and meagre.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Introductory Epistle is written, in Lucio's phrase, "according to the
      trick," and would never have appeared had the writer meditated making his
      avowal of the work. As it is the privilege of a masque or incognito to
      speak in a feigned voice and assumed character, the author attempted,
      while in disguise, some liberties of the same sort; and while he continues
      to plead upon the various excuses which the introduction contains, the
      present acknowledgment must serve as an apology for a species of "hoity
      toity, whisky frisky" pertness of manner, which, in his avowed character,
      the author should have considered as a departure from the rules of
      civility and good taste.
    </p>
    <p>
      ABBOTSFORD.
    </p>
    <p>
      1st July, 1831.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      INTRODUCTORY EPISTLE
    </h2>
    <h3>
      CAPTAIN CLUTTERBUCK TO THE REVEREND DR. DRYASDUST
    </h3>
    <p>
      DEAR SIR,
    </p>
    <p>
      I readily accept of, and reply to the civilities with which you have been
      pleased to honour me in your obliging letter, and entirely agree with your
      quotation, of <i>"Quam bonum et quam jucundum!"</i> We may indeed esteem
      ourselves as come of the same family, or, according to our country
      proverb, as being all one man's bairns; and there needed no apology on
      your part, reverend and dear sir, for demanding of me any information
      which I may be able to supply respecting the subject of your curiosity.
      The interview which you allude to took place in the course of last winter,
      and is so deeply imprinted on my recollection, that it requires no effort
      to collect all its most minute details.
    </p>
    <p>
      You are aware that the share which I had in introducing the Romance,
      called THE MONASTERY, to public notice, has given me a sort of character
      in the literature of our Scottish metropolis. I no longer stand in the
      outer shop of our bibliopolists, bargaining for the objects of my
      curiosity with an unrespective shop-lad, hustled among boys who come to
      buy Corderies and copy-books, and servant girls cheapening a pennyworth of
      paper, but am cordially welcomed by the bibliopolist himself, with, "Pray,
      walk into the back-shop, Captain. Boy, get a chair for Captain
      Clutterbuck. There is the newspaper, Captain&mdash;to-day's paper;" or,
      "Here is the last new work&mdash;there is a folder, make free with the
      leaves;" or, "Put it in your pocket and carry it home;" or, "We will make
      a bookseller of you, sir, and you shall have it at trade price." Or,
      perhaps if it is the worthy trader's own publication, his liberality may
      even extend itself to&mdash;"Never mind booking such a trifle to <i>you</i>,
      sir&mdash;it is an over-copy. Pray, mention the work to your reading
      friends." I say nothing of the snug well-selected literary party arranged
      round a turbot, leg of five-year-old mutton, or some such gear, or of the
      circulation of a quiet bottle of Robert Cockburn's choicest black&mdash;nay,
      perhaps, of his new ones. All these are comforts reserved to such as are
      freemen of the corporation of letters, and I have the advantage of
      enjoying them in perfection. But all things change under the sun; and it
      is with no ordinary feelings of regret, that, in my annual visits to the
      metropolis, I now miss the social and warm-hearted welcome of the
      quick-witted and kindly friend who first introduced me to the public; who
      had more original wit than would have set up a dozen of professed sayers
      of good things, and more racy humour than would have made the fortune of
      as many more. To this great deprivation has been added, I trust for a time
      only, the loss of another bibliopolical friend, whose vigorous intellect,
      and liberal ideas, have not only rendered his native country the mart of
      her own literature, but established there a Court of Letters, which must
      command respect, even from those most inclined to dissent from many of its
      canons. The effect of these changes, operated in a great measure by the
      strong sense and sagacious calculations of an individual, who knew how to
      avail himself, to an unhoped-for extent, of the various kinds of talent
      which his country produced, will probably appear more clearly to the
      generation which shall follow the present.
    </p>
    <p>
      I entered the shop at the Cross, to enquire after the health of my worthy
      friend, and learned with satisfaction, that his residence in the south had
      abated the rigour of the symptoms of his disorder. Availing myself, then,
      of the privileges to which I have alluded, I strolled onward in that
      labyrinth of small dark rooms, or <i>crypts</i>, to speak our own
      antiquarian language, which form the extensive back-settlements of that
      celebrated publishing-house. Yet, as I proceeded from one obscure recess
      to another, filled, some of them with old volumes, some with such as, from
      the equality of their rank on the shelves, I suspected to be the less
      saleable modern books of the concern, I could not help feeling a holy
      horror creep upon me, when I thought of the risk of intruding on some
      ecstatic bard giving vent to his poetical fury; or it might be, on the yet
      more formidable privacy of a band of critics, in the act of worrying the
      game which they had just run down. In such a supposed case, I felt by
      anticipation the horrors of the Highland seers, whom their gift of
      deuteroscopy compels to witness things unmeet for mortal eye; and who, to
      use the expression of Collins,
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     &mdash;&mdash;"heartless, oft, like moody madness, stare,
     To see the phantom train their secret work prepare."
</pre>
    <p>
      Still, however, the irresistible impulse of an undefined curiosity drove
      me on through this succession of darksome chambers, till, like the
      jeweller of Delhi in the house of the magician Bennaskar, I at length
      reached a vaulted room, dedicated to secrecy and silence, and beheld,
      seated by a lamp, and employed in reading a. blotted <i>revise</i>,
      [Footnote: The uninitiated must be informed, that a second proof-sheet is
      so called.] the person, or perhaps I should rather say the Eidolon, or
      representative Vision of the AUTHOR OF WAVERLEY! You will not be surprised
      at the filial instinct which enabled me at once to acknowledge the
      features borne by this venerable apparition, and that I at once bended the
      knee, with the classical salutation of, <i>Salve, magne parens!</i> The
      vision, however, cut me short, by pointing to a seat, intimating at the
      same time, that my presence was not expected, and that he had something to
      say to me.
    </p>
    <p>
      I sat down with humble obedience, and endeavoured to note the features of
      him with whom I now found myself so unexpectedly in society. But on this
      point I can give your reverence no satisfaction; for, besides the
      obscurity of the apartment, and the fluttered state of my own nerves, I
      seemed to myself overwhelmed by a sense of filial awe, which prevented my
      noting and recording what it is probable the personage before me might
      most desire to have concealed. Indeed, his figure was so closely veiled
      and wimpled, either with a mantle, morning-gown, or some such loose garb,
      that the verses of Spenser might well have been applied&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
    "Yet, certes, by her face and physnomy,
     Whether she man or woman only were,
     That could not any creature well descry."
</pre>
    <p>
      I must, however, go on as I have begun, to apply the masculine gender;
      for, notwithstanding very ingenious reasons, and indeed something like
      positive evidence, have been offered to prove the Author of Waverley to be
      two ladies of talent, I must abide by the general opinion, that he is of
      the rougher sex. There are in his writings too many things
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
    "Quae maribus sola tribuuntur,"
</pre>
    <p>
      to permit me to entertain any doubt on that subject. I will proceed, in
      the manner of dialogue, to repeat as nearly as I can what passed betwixt
      us, only observing, that in the course of the conversation, my timidity
      imperceptibly gave way under the familiarity of his address; and that, in
      the concluding part of our dialogue, I perhaps argued with fully as much
      confidence as was beseeming.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author of Waverley.</i> I was willing to see you, Captain Clutterbuck,
      being the person of my family whom I have most regard for, since the death
      of Jedediah Cleishbotham; and I am afraid I may have done you some wrong,
      in assigning to you The Monastery as a portion of my effects. I have some
      thoughts of making it up to you, by naming you godfather to this yet
      unborn babe&mdash;(he indicated the proof-sheet with his finger)&mdash;But
      first, touching The Monastery&mdash;How says the world&mdash;you are
      abroad and can learn?
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain Clutterbuck.</i> Hem! hem!&mdash;The enquiry is delicate&mdash;I
      have not heard any complaints from the Publishers.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> That is the principal matter; but yet an indifferent work
      is sometimes towed on by those which have left harbour before it, with the
      breeze in their poop.&mdash;What say the Critics?
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> There is a general&mdash;feeling&mdash;that the White Lady
      is no favourite.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> I think she is a failure myself; but rather in execution
      than conception. Could I have evoked an <i>esprit follet</i>, at the same
      time fantastic and interesting, capricious and kind; a sort of wildfire of
      the elements, bound by no fixed laws, or motives of action; faithful and
      fond, yet teazing and uncertain&mdash;&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> If you will pardon the interruption, sir, I think you are
      describing a pretty woman.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> On my word, I believe I am. I must invest my elementary
      spirits with a little human flesh and blood&mdash;they are too fine-drawn
      for the present taste of the public.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> They object, too, that the object of your Nixie ought to
      have been more uniformly noble&mdash;Her ducking the priest was no
      Naiad-like amusement.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> Ah! they ought to allow for the capriccios of what is,
      after all, but a better sort of goblin. The bath into which Ariel, the
      most delicate creation of Shakspeare's imagination, seduces our jolly
      friend Trinculo, was not of amber or rose-water. But no one shall find me
      rowing against the stream. I care not who knows it&mdash;I write for
      general amusement; and, though I never will aim at popularity by what I
      think unworthy means, I will not, on the other hand, be pertinacious in
      the defence of my own errors against the voice of the public.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> You abandon, then, in the present work&mdash;(looking, in
      my turn, towards the proof-sheet)&mdash;the mystic, and the magical, and
      the whole system of signs, wonders, and omens? There are no dreams, or
      presages, or obscure allusions to future events?
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> Not a Cock-lane scratch, my son&mdash;not one bounce on the
      drum of Tedworth&mdash;not so much as the poor tick of a solitary
      death-watch in the wainscot. All is clear and above board&mdash;a Scots
      metaphysician might believe every word of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> And the story is, I hope, natural and probable; commencing
      strikingly, proceeding naturally, ending happily&mdash;like the course of
      a famed river, which gushes from the mouth of some obscure and romantic
      grotto&mdash;then gliding on, never pausing, never precipitating its
      course, visiting, as it were, by natural instinct, whatever worthy
      subjects of interest are presented by the country through which it passes&mdash;widening
      and deepening in interest as it flows on; and at length arriving at the
      final catastrophe as at some mighty haven, where ships of all kinds strike
      sail and yard?
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> Hey! hey! what the deuce is all this? Why,'tis Ercles'
      vein, and it would require some one much more like Hercules than I, to
      produce a story which should gush, and glide, and never pause, and visit,
      and widen, and deepen, and all the rest on't. I should be chin-deep in the
      grave, man, before I had done with my task; and, in the meanwhile, all the
      quirks and quiddities which I might have devised for my reader's
      amusement, would lie rotting in my gizzard, like Sancho's suppressed
      witticisms, when he was under his master's displeasure.&mdash;There never
      was a novel written on this plan while the world stood.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> Pardon me&mdash;Tom Jones.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> True, and perhaps Amelia also. Fielding had high notions of
      the dignity of an art which he may be considered as having founded. He
      challenges a comparison between the Novel and the Epic. Smollett, Le Sage,
      and others, emancipating themselves from the strictness of the rules he
      has laid down, have written rather a history of the miscellaneous
      adventures which befall an individual in the course of life, than the plot
      of a regular and connected epopeia, where every step brings us a point
      nearer to the final catastrophe. These great masters have been satisfied
      if they amused the reader upon the road; though the conclusion only
      arrived because the tale must have an end&mdash;just as the traveller
      alights at the inn, because it is evening.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> A very commodious mode of travelling, for the author at
      least. In short, sir, you are of opinion with Bayes&mdash;"What the devil
      does the plot signify, except to bring in fine things?"
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> Grant that I were so, and that I should write with sense
      and spirit a few scenes unlaboured and loosely put together, but which had
      sufficient interest in them to amuse in one corner the pain of body; in
      another, to relieve anxiety of mind; in a third place, to unwrinkle a brow
      bent with the furrows of daily toil; in another, to fill the place of bad
      thoughts, or to suggest better; in yet another, to induce an idler to
      study the history of his country; in all, save where the perusal
      interrupted the discharge of serious duties, to furnish harmless
      amusement,&mdash;might not the author of such a work, however
      inartificially executed, plead for his errors and negligences the excuse
      of the slave, who, about to be punished for having spread the false report
      of a victory, saved himself by exclaiming&mdash;"Am I to blame, O
      Athenians, who have given you one happy day?"
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> Will your goodness permit me to mention an anecdote of my
      excellent grandmother?
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> I see little she can have to do with the subject, Captain
      Clutterbuck.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> It may come into our dialogue on Bayes's plan.&mdash;The
      sagacious old lady&mdash;rest her soul!&mdash;was a good friend to the
      church, and could never hear a minister maligned by evil tongues, without
      taking his part warmly. There was one fixed point, however, at which she
      always abandoned the cause of her reverend <i>protege</i>&mdash;it was so
      soon as she learned he had preached a regular sermon against slanderers
      and backbiters.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> And what is that to the purpose?
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> Only that I have heard engineers say, that one may betray
      the weak point to the enemy, by too much ostentation of fortifying it.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> And, once more I pray, what is that to the purpose?
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> Nay, then, without farther metaphor, I am afraid this new
      production, in which your generosity seems willing to give me some
      concern, will stand much in need of apology, since you think proper to
      begin your defence before the case is on trial.-The story is hastily
      huddled up, I will venture a pint of claret.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> A pint of port, I suppose you mean?
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> I say of claret&mdash;good claret of the Monastery. Ah,
      sir, would you but take the advice of your friends, and try to deserve at
      least one-half of the public favour you have met with, we might all drink
      Tokay!
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> I care not what I drink, so the liquor be wholesome.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> Care for your reputation, then,&mdash;for your fame.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> My fame?&mdash;I will answer you as a very ingenious, able,
      and experienced friend, being counsel for the notorious Jem MacCoul,
      replied to the opposite side of the bar, when they laid weight on his
      client's refusing to answer certain queries, which they said any man who
      had a regard for his reputation would not hesitate to reply to. "My
      client," said he-by the way, Jem was standing behind him at the time, and
      a rich scene it was-"is so unfortunate as to have no regard for his
      reputation; and I should deal very uncandidly with the Court, should I say
      he had any that was worth his attention."-I am, though from very different
      reasons, in Jem's happy state of indifference. Let fame follow those who
      have a substantial shape. A shadow-and an impersonal author is nothing
      better-can cast no shade.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> You are not now, perhaps, so impersonal as here-tofore.
      These Letters to the Member for the University of Oxford&mdash;<i>Author.</i>
      Show the wit, genius, and delicacy of the author, which I heartily wish to
      see engaged on a subject of more importance; and show, besides, that the
      preservation of my character of <i>incongnito</i> has engaged early talent
      in the discussion of a curious question of evidence. But a cause, however
      ingeniously pleaded, is not therefore gained. You may remember, the
      neatly-wrought chain of circumstantial evidence, so artificially brought
      forward to prove Sir Philip Francis's title to the Letters of Junius,
      seemed at first irrefragable; yet the influence of the reasoning has
      passed away, and Junius, in the general opinion, is as much unknown as
      ever. But on this subject I will not be soothed or provoked into saying
      one word more. To say who I am not, would be one step towards saying who I
      am; and as I desire not, any more than a certain justice of peace
      mentioned by Shenstone, the noise or report such things make in the world,
      I shall continue to be silent on a subject, which, in my opinion, is very
      undeserving the noise that has been made about it, and still more unworthy
      of the serious employment of such ingenuity as has been displayed by the
      young letter-writer.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> But allowing, my dear sir, that you care not for your
      personal reputation, or for that of any literary person upon whose
      shoulders your faults may be visited, allow me to say, that common
      gratitude to the public, which has received you so kindly, and to the
      critics, who have treated you so leniently, ought to induce you to bestow
      more pains on your story.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> I do entreat you, my son, as Dr. Johnson would have said,
      "free your mind from cant." For the critics, they have their business, and
      I mine; as the nursery proverb goes&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "The children in Holland take pleasure in making What the children in
      England take pleasure in breaking."
    </p>
    <p>
      I am their humble jackal, too busy in providing food for them, to have
      time for considering whether they swallow or reject it.&mdash;To the
      public, I stand pretty nearly in the relation of the postman who leaves a
      packet at the door of an individual. If it contains pleasing intelligence,
      a billet from a mistress, a letter from an absent son, a remittance from a
      correspondent supposed to be bankrupt,&mdash;the letter is acceptably
      welcome, and read and re-read, folded up, filed, and safely deposited in
      the bureau. If the contents are disagreeable, if it comes from a dun or
      from a bore, the correspondent is cursed, the letter is thrown into the
      fire, and the expense of postage is heartily regretted; while all the time
      the bearer of the dispatches is, in either case, as little thought on as
      the snow of last Christmas. The utmost extent of kindness between the
      author and the public which can really exist, is, that the world are
      disposed to be somewhat indulgent to the succeeding works of an original
      favourite, were it but on account of the habit which the public mind has
      acquired; while the author very naturally thinks well of <i>their</i>
      taste, who have so liberally applauded <i>his</i> productions. But I deny
      there is any call for gratitude, properly so called, either on one side or
      the other.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> Respect to yourself, then, ought to teach caution.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> Ay, if caution could augment the chance of my success. But,
      to confess to you the truth, the works and passages in which I have
      succeeded, have uniformly been written with the greatest rapidity; and
      when I have seen some of these placed in opposition with others, and
      commended as more highly finished, I could appeal to pen and standish,
      that the parts in which I have come feebly off, were by much the more
      laboured. Besides, I doubt the beneficial effect of too much delay, both
      on account of the author and the public. A man should strike while the
      iron is hot, and hoist sail while the wind is fair. If a successful author
      keep not the stage, another instantly takes his ground. If a writer lie by
      for ten years ere he produces a second work, he is superseded by others;
      or, if the age is so poor of genius that this does not happen, his own
      reputation becomes his greatest obstacle. The public will expect the new
      work to be ten times better than its predecessor; the author will expect
      it should be ten times more popular, and 'tis a hundred to ten that both
      are disappointed.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain</i>. This may justify a certain degree of rapidity in
      publication, but not that which is proverbially said to be no speed. You
      should take time at least to arrange your story.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author</i>. That is a sore point with me, my son. Believe me, I have
      not been fool enough to neglect ordinary precautions. I have repeatedly
      laid down my future work to scale, divided it into volumes and chapters,
      and endeavoured to construct a story which I meant should evolve itself
      gradually and strikingly, maintain suspense, and stimulate curiosity; and
      which, finally, should terminate in a striking catastrophe. But I think
      there is a demon who seats himself on the feather of my pen when I begin
      to write, and leads it astray from the purpose. Characters expand under my
      hand; incidents are multiplied; the story lingers, while the materials
      increase; my regular mansion turns out a Gothic anomaly, and the work is
      closed long before I have attained the point I proposed.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain</i>. Resolution and determined forbearance might remedy that
      evil.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author</i>. Alas! my dear sir, you do not know the force of paternal
      affection. When I light on such a character as Bailie Jarvie, or Dalgetty,
      my imagination brightens, and my conception becomes clearer at every step
      which I take in his company, although it leads me many a weary mile away
      from the regular road, and forces me leap hedge and ditch to get back into
      the route again. If I resist the temptation, as you advise me, my thoughts
      become prosy, flat, and dull; I write painfully to myself, and under a
      consciousness of flagging which makes me flag still more; the sunshine
      with which fancy had invested the incidents, departs from them, and leaves
      every thing dull and gloomy. I am no more the same author I was in my
      better mood, than the dog in a wheel, condemned to go round and round for
      hours, is like the same dog merrily chasing his own tail, and gambolling
      in all the frolic of unrestrained freedom. In short, sir, on such
      occasions, I think I am bewitched.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain</i>. Nay, sir, if you plead sorcery, there is no more to be
      said&mdash;he must needs go whom the devil drives. And this, I suppose,
      sir, is the reason why you do not make the theatrical attempt to which you
      have been so often urged?
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author</i>. It may pass for one good reason for not writing a play,
      that I cannot form a plot. But the truth is, that the idea adopted by too
      favourable judges, of my having some aptitude for that department of
      poetry, has been much founded on those scraps of old plays, which, being
      taken from a source inaccessible to collectors, they have hastily
      considered the offspring of my mother-wit. Now, the manner in which I
      became possessed of these fragments is so extraordinary, that I cannot
      help telling it to you.
    </p>
    <p>
      You must know, that, some twenty years since, I went down to visit an old
      friend in Worcestershire, who had served with me in the&mdash;&mdash;Dragoons.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> Then you <i>have</i> served, sir?
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> I have&mdash;or I have not, which signifies the same thing&mdash;Captain
      is a good travelling name.&mdash;I found my friend's house unexpectedly
      crowded with guests, and, as usual, was condemned&mdash;the mansion being
      an old one&mdash;to the <i>haunted apartment.</i> I have, as a great
      modern said, seen too many ghosts to believe in them, so betook myself
      seriously to my repose, lulled by the wind rustling among the lime-trees,
      the branches of which chequered the moonlight which fell on the floor
      through the diamonded casement, when, behold, a darker shadow interposed
      itself, and I beheld visibly on the floor of the apartment&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> The White Lady of Avenel, I suppose?&mdash;You have told
      the very story before.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> No&mdash;I beheld a female form, with mob-cap, bib, and
      apron, sleeves tucked up to the elbow, a dredging-box in the one hand, and
      in the other a sauce-ladle. I concluded, of course, that it was my
      friend's cook-maid walking in her sleep; and as I knew he had a value for
      Sally, who could toss a pancake with any girl in the country, I got up to
      conduct her safely to the door. But as I approached her, she said,&mdash;"Hold,
      sir! I am not what you take me for;"&mdash;words which seemed so opposite
      to the circumstances, that I should not have much minded them, had it not
      been for the peculiarly hollow sound in which they were uttered.&mdash;"Know,
      then," she said, in the same unearthly accents, "that I am the spirit of
      Betty Barnes."&mdash;"Who hanged herself for love of the stage-coachman,"
      thought I; "this is a proper spot of work!"&mdash;"Of that unhappy
      Elizabeth or Betty Barnes, long cook-maid to Mr. Warburton, the painful
      collector, but ah! the too careless custodier, of the largest collection
      of ancient plays ever known&mdash;of most of which the titles only are
      left to gladden the Prolegomena of the Variorum Shakspeare. Yes, stranger,
      it was these ill-fated hands That consigned to grease and conflagration
      the scores of small quartos, which, did they now exist, would drive the
      whole Roxburghe Club out of their senses&mdash;it was these unhappy
      pickers and stealers that singed fat fowls and wiped dirty trenchers with
      the lost works of Beaumont and Fletcher, Massinger, Jonson, Webster&mdash;what
      shall I say?&mdash;even of Shakspeare himself!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Like every dramatic antiquary, my ardent curiosity after some play named
      in the Book of the Master of Revels, had often been checked by finding the
      object of my research numbered amongst the holocaust of victims which this
      unhappy woman had sacrificed to the God of Good Cheer. It is no wonder
      then, that, like the Hermit of Parnell,
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
      "I broke the bands of fear, and madly cried,
       'You careless jade!'&mdash;But scarce the words began,
       When Betty brandish'd high her saucing-pan."
</pre>
    <p>
      "Beware," she said, "you do not, by your ill-timed anger, cut off the
      opportunity I yet have to indemnify the world for the errors of my
      ignorance. In yonder coal-hole, not used for many a year, repose the few
      greasy and blackened fragments of the elder Drama which were not totally
      destroyed. Do thou then"&mdash;Why, what do you stare at, Captain? By my
      soul, it is true; as my friend Major Longbow says, "What should I tell you
      a lie for?"
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> Lie, sir! Nay, Heaven forbid I should apply the word to a
      person so veracious. You are only inclined to chase your tail a little
      this morning, that's all. Had you not better reserve this legend to form
      an introduction to "Three Recovered Dramas," or so?
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> You are quite right&mdash;habit's a strange thing, my son.
      I had forgot whom I was speaking to. Yes, Plays for the closet, not for
      the stage&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> Right, and so you are sure to be acted; for the managers,
      while thousands of volunteers are desirous of serving them, are
      wonderfully partial to pressed men.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> I am a living witness, having been, like a second Laberius,
      made a dramatist whether I would or not. I believe my muse would be <i>Terry</i>-fied
      into treading the stage, even if I should write a sermon.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> Truly, if you did, I am afraid folks might make a farce of
      it; and, therefore, should you change your style, I still advise a volume
      of dramas like Lord Byron's.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> No, his lordship is a cut above me&mdash;I won't run my
      horse against his, if I can help myself. But there is my friend Allan has
      written just such a play as I might write myself, in a very sunny day, and
      with one of Bramah's extra-patent pens. I cannot make neat work without
      such appurtenances.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> Do you mean Allan Ramsay?
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> No, nor Barbara Allan either. I mean Allan Cunningham, who
      has just published his tragedy of Sir Marmaduke Maxwell, full of
      merry-making and murdering, kissing and cutting of throats, and passages
      which lead to nothing, and which are very pretty passages for all that.
      Not a glimpse of probability is there about the plot, but so much
      animation in particular passages, and such a vein of poetry through the
      whole, as I dearly wish I could infuse into my Culinary Remains, should I
      ever be tempted to publish them. With a popular impress, people would read
      and admire the beauties of Allan&mdash;as it is, they may perhaps only
      note his defects&mdash;or, what is worse, not note him at all.&mdash;But
      never mind them, honest Allan; you are a credit to Caledonia for all that.&mdash;There
      are some lyrical effusions of his, too, which you would do well to read,
      Captain. "It's hame, and it's hame," is equal to Burns.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> I will take the hint. The club at Kennaquhair are turned
      fastidious since Catalan! visited the Abbey. My "Poortith Cauld" has been
      received both poorly and coldly, and "the Banks of Bonnie Doon" have been
      positively coughed down&mdash;<i>Tempora mutantur.</i>
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> They cannot stand still, they will change with all of us.
      What then?
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                 "A man's a man for a' that."
</pre>
    <p>
      But the hour of parting approaches.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> You are determined to proceed then in your own system? Are
      you aware that an unworthy motive may be assigned for this rapid
      succession of publication? You will be supposed to work merely for the
      lucre of gain.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> Supposing that I did permit the great advantages which must
      be derived from success in literature, to join with other motives in
      inducing me to come more frequently before the public,&mdash;that
      emolument is the voluntary tax which the public pays for a certain species
      of literary amusement&mdash;it is extorted from no one, and paid, I
      presume, by those only who can afford it, and who receive gratification in
      proportion to the expense. If the capital sum which these volumes have put
      into circulation be a very large one, has it contributed to my indulgences
      only? or can I not say to hundreds, from honest Duncan the
      paper-manufacturer, to the most snivelling of the printer's devils, "Didst
      thou not share? Hadst thou not fifteen pence?" I profess I think our
      Modern Athens much obliged to me for having established such an extensive
      manufacture; and when universal suffrage comes in fashion, I intend to
      stand for a seat in the House on the interest of all the unwashed
      artificers connected with literature.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> This would be called the language of a
      calico-manufacturer.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> Cant again, my dear son&mdash;there is lime in this sack,
      too&mdash;nothing but sophistication in this world! I do say it, in spite
      of Adam Smith and his followers, that a successful author is a productive
      labourer, and that his works constitute as effectual a part of the public
      wealth, as that which is created by any other manufacture. If a new
      commodity, having an actually intrinsic and commercial value, be the
      result of the operation, why are the author's bales of books to be
      esteemed a less profitable part of the public stock than the goods of any
      other manufacturer? I speak with reference to the diffusion of the wealth
      arising to the public, and the degree of industry which even such a
      trifling work as the present must stimulate and reward, before the volumes
      leave the publisher's shop. Without me it could not exist, and to this
      extent I am a benefactor to the country. As for my own emolument, it is
      won by my toil, and I account myself answerable to Heaven only for the
      mode in which I expend it. The candid may hope it is not all dedicated to
      selfish purposes; and, without much pretensions to merit in him who
      disburses it, a part may "wander, heaven-directed, to the poor."
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> Yet it is generally held base to write from the mere
      motives of gain.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> It would be base to do so exclusively, or even to make it a
      principal motive for literary exertion. Nay, I will venture to say, that
      no work of imagination, proceeding from the mere consideration of a
      certain sum of copy-money, ever did, or ever will, succeed. So the lawyer
      who pleads, the soldier who fights, the physician who prescribes, the
      clergyman&mdash;if such there be&mdash;who preaches, without any zeal for
      his profession, or without any sense of its dignity, and merely on account
      of the fee, pay, or stipend, degrade themselves to the rank of sordid
      mechanics. Accordingly, in the case of two of the learned faculties at
      least, their services are considered as unappreciable, and are
      acknowledged, not by any exact estimate of the services rendered, but by a
      <i>honorarium,</i> or voluntary acknowledgment. But let a client or
      patient make the experiment of omitting this little ceremony of the
      honorarium, which is <i>cense</i> to be a thing entirely out of
      consideration between them, and mark how the learned gentleman will look
      upon his case. Cant set apart, it is the same thing with literary
      emolument. No man of sense, in any rank of life, is, or ought to be, above
      accepting a just recompense for his time, and a reasonable share of the
      capital which owes its very existence to his exertions. When Czar Peter
      wrought in the trenches, he took the pay of a common soldier; and nobles,
      statesmen, and divines, the most distinguished of their time, have not
      scorned to square accounts with their bookseller.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain. (Sings.</i>)
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
    "O if it were a mean thing,
       The gentles would not use it;
     And if it were ungodly,
       The clergy would refuse it."
</pre>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> You say well. But no man of honour, genius, or spirit,
      would make the mere love of gain, the chief, far less the only, purpose of
      his labours. For myself, I am not displeased to find the game a winning
      one; yet while I pleased the public, I should probably continue it merely
      for the pleasure of playing; for I have felt as strongly as most folks
      that love of composition, which is perhaps the strongest of all instincts,
      driving the author to the pen, the painter to the pallet, often without
      either the chance of fame or the prospect of reward. Perhaps I have said
      too much of this. I might, perhaps, with as much truth as most people,
      exculpate myself from the charge of being either of a greedy or mercenary
      disposition; but I am not, therefore, hypocrite enough to disclaim the
      ordinary motives, on account of which the whole world around me is toiling
      unremittingly, to the sacrifice of ease, comfort, health, and life. I do
      not affect the disinterestedness of that ingenious association of
      gentlemen mentioned by Goldsmith, who sold their magazine for sixpence
      a-piece, merely for their own amusement.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> I have but one thing more to hint.&mdash;The world say you
      will run yourself out.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> The world say true: and what then? When they dance no
      longer, I will no longer pipe; and I shall not want flappers enough to
      remind me of the apoplexy.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> And what will become of us then, your poor family? We
      shall fall into contempt and oblivion.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> Like many a poor fellow, already overwhelmed with the
      number of his family, I cannot help going on to increase it&mdash;"'Tis my
      vocation, Hal."&mdash;Such of you as deserve oblivion&mdash;perhaps the
      whole of you&mdash;may be consigned to it. At any rate, you have been read
      in your day, which is more than can be said of some of your
      contemporaries, of less fortune and more merit. They cannot say but that
      you <i>had</i> the crown. It is always something to have engaged the
      public attention for seven years. Had I only written Waverley, I should
      have long since been, according to the established phrase, "the ingenious
      author of a novel much admired at the time." I believe, on my soul, that
      the reputation of Waverley is sustained very much by the praises of those,
      who may be inclined to prefer that tale to its successors.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> You are willing, then, to barter future reputation for
      present popularity?
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author. Meliora spero.</i> Horace himself expected not to survive in
      all his works&mdash;I may hope to live in some of mine;&mdash;<i>non omnis
      moriar.</i> It is some consolation to reflect, that the best authors in
      all countries have been the most voluminous; and it has often happened,
      that those who have been best received in their own time, have also
      continued to be acceptable to posterity. I do not think so ill of the
      present generation, as to suppose that its present favour necessarily
      infers future condemnation.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> Were all to act on such principles, the public would be
      inundated.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author</i> Once more, my dear son, beware of cant. You speak as if the
      public were obliged to read books merely because they are printed&mdash;your
      friends the booksellers would thank you to make the proposition good. The
      most serious grievance attending such inundations as you talk of, is, that
      they make rags dear. The multiplicity of publications does the present age
      no harm, and may greatly advantage that which is to succeed us.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> I do not see how that is to happen.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> The complaints in the time of Elizabeth and James, of the
      alarming fertility of the press, were as loud as they are at present&mdash;yet
      look at the shore over which the inundation of that age flowed, and it
      resembles now the Rich Strand of the Faery Queen&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     &mdash;&mdash;"Besrrew'd all with rich array,
     Of pearl and precious stones of great assay;
     And all the gravel mix'd with golden ore."
</pre>
    <p>
      Believe me, that even in the most neglected works of the present age, the
      next may discover treasures.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> Some books will defy all alchemy.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> They will be but few in number; since, as for the writers,
      who are possessed of no merit at all, unless indeed they publish their
      works at their own expense, like Sir Richard Blackmore, their power of
      annoying the public will be soon limited by the difficulty of finding
      undertaking booksellers.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> You are incorrigible. Are there no bounds to your
      audacity?
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> There are the sacred and eternal boundaries of honour and
      virtue. My course is like the enchanted chamber of Britomart&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
    "Where as she look'd about, she did behold
     How over that same door was likewise writ,
     <i>Be Bold&mdash;Be Bold,</i> and everywhere <i>Be Bold.</i>
     Whereat she mused, and could not construe it;
     At last she spied at that room's upper end
     Another iron door, on which was writ&mdash;
     BE NOT TOO BOLD."
</pre>
    <p>
      <i>Captain.</i> Well, you must take the risk of proceeding on your own
      principles.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Author.</i> Do you act on yours, and take care you do not stay idling
      here till the dinner hour is over.&mdash;I will add this work to your
      patrimony, <i>valeat quantum.</i>
    </p>
    <p>
      Here our dialogue terminated; for a little sooty-faced Apollyon from the
      Canongate came to demand the proof-sheet on the part of Mr. M'Corkindale;
      and I heard Mr. C. rebuking Mr. F. in another compartment of the same
      labyrinth I have described, for suffering any one to penetrate so far into
      the <i>penetralia</i> of their temple.
    </p>
    <p>
      I leave it to you to form your own opinion concerning the import of this
      dialogue, and I cannot but believe I shall meet the wishes of our common
      parent in prefixing this letter to the work which it concerns.
    </p>
    <p>
      I am, reverend and dear Sir,
    </p>
    <p>
      Very sincerely and affectionately
    </p>
    <p>
      Yours,
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      THE FORTUNES OF NIGEL
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  <i>Knifegrinder.</i> Story? Lord bless you! I have none to tell, sir.
                               <i>Poetry of the Antijacobin.</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER I
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  Now Scot and English are agreed,
  And Saunders hastes to cross the Tweed,
  Where, such the splendours that attend him,
  His very mother scarce had kend him.
  His metamorphosis behold,
  From Glasgow frieze to cloth of gold;
  His back-sword, with the iron hilt,
  To rapier, fairly hatch'd and gilt;
  Was ever seen a gallant braver!
  His very bonnet's grown a beaver.
                  <i>The Reformation.</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      The long-continued hostilities which had for centuries separated the south
      and the north divisions of the Island of Britain, had been happily
      terminated by the succession of the pacific James I. to the English Crown.
      But although the united crown of England and Scotland was worn by the same
      individual, it required a long lapse of time, and the succession of more
      than one generation, ere the inveterate national prejudices which had so
      long existed betwixt the sister kingdoms were removed, and the subjects of
      either side of the Tweed brought to regard those upon the opposite bank as
      friends and as brethren.
    </p>
    <p>
      These prejudices were, of course, most inveterate during the reign of King
      James. The English subjects accused him of partiality to those of his
      ancient kingdom; while the Scots, with equal injustice, charged him with
      having forgotten the land of his nativity, and with neglecting those early
      friends to whose allegiance he had been so much indebted.
    </p>
    <p>
      The temper of the king, peaceable even to timidity, inclined him
      perpetually to interfere as mediator between the contending factions,
      whose brawls disturbed the Court. But, notwithstanding all his
      precautions, historians have recorded many instances, where the mutual
      hatred of two nations, who, after being enemies for a thousand years, had
      been so very recently united, broke forth with a fury which menaced a
      general convulsion; and, spreading from the highest to the lowest classes,
      as it occasioned debates in council and parliament, factions in the court,
      and duels among the gentry, was no less productive of riots and brawls
      amongst the lower orders.
    </p>
    <p>
      While these heart-burnings were at the highest, there flourished in the
      city of London an ingenious but whimsical and self opinioned mechanic,
      much devoted to abstract studies, David Ramsay by name, who, whether
      recommended by his great skill in his profession, as the courtiers
      alleged, or, as was murmured among the neighbours, by his birthplace, in
      the good town of Dalkeith, near Edinburgh, held in James's household the
      post of maker of watches and horologes to his Majesty. He scorned not,
      however, to keep open shop within Temple Bar, a few yards to the eastward
      of Saint Dunstan's Church.
    </p>
    <p>
      The shop of a London tradesman at that time, as it may be supposed, was
      something very different from those we now see in the same locality. The
      goods were exposed to sale in cases, only defended from the weather by a
      covering of canvass, and the whole resembled the stalls and booths now
      erected for the temporary accommodation of dealers at a country fair,
      rather than the established emporium of a respectable citizen. But most of
      the shopkeepers of note, and David Ramsay amongst others, had their booth
      connected with a small apartment which opened backward from it, and bore
      the same resemblance to the front shop that Robinson Crusoe's cavern did
      to the tent which he erected before it.
    </p>
    <p>
      To this Master Ramsay was often accustomed to retreat to the labour of his
      abstruse calculations; for he aimed at improvements and discoveries in his
      own art, and sometimes pushed his researches, like Napier, and other
      mathematicians of the period, into abstract science. When thus engaged, he
      left the outer posts of his commercial establishment to be maintained by
      two stout-bodied and strong-voiced apprentices, who kept up the cry of,
      "What d'ye lack? what d'ye lack?" accompanied with the appropriate
      recommendations of the articles in which they dealt.
    </p>
    <p>
      This direct and personal application for custom to those who chanced to
      pass by, is now, we believe, limited to Monmouth Street, (if it still
      exists even in that repository of ancient garments,) under the
      guardianship of the scattered remnant of Israel. But at the time we are
      speaking of, it was practised alike by Jew and Gentile, and served,
      instead of all our present newspaper puffs and advertisements, to solicit
      the attention of the public in general, and of friends in particular, to
      the unrivalled excellence of the goods, which they offered to sale upon
      such easy terms, that it might fairly appear that the venders had rather a
      view to the general service of the public, than to their own particular
      advantage.
    </p>
    <p>
      The verbal proclaimers of the excellence of their commodities, had this
      advantage over those who, in the present day, use the public papers for
      the same purpose, that they could in many cases adapt their address to the
      peculiar appearance and apparent taste of the passengers. [This, as we
      have said, was also the case in Monmouth Street in our remembrance. We
      have ourselves been reminded of the deficiencies of our femoral
      habiliments, and exhorted upon that score to fit ourselves more
      beseemingly; but this is a digression.] This direct and personal mode of
      invitation to customers became, however, a dangerous temptation to the
      young wags who were employed in the task of solicitation during the
      absence of the principal person interested in the traffic; and, confiding
      in their numbers and civic union, the 'prentices of London were often
      seduced into taking liberties with the passengers, and exercising their
      wit at the expense of those whom they had no hopes of converting into
      customers by their eloquence. If this were resented by any act of
      violence, the inmates of each shop were ready to pour forth in succour;
      and in the words of an old song which Dr. Johnson was used to hum,&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
    "Up then rose the 'prentices all,
     Living in London, both proper and tall."
</pre>
    <p>
      Desperate riots often arose on such occasions, especially when the
      Templars, or other youths connected with the aristocracy, were insulted,
      or conceived themselves to be so. Upon such occasions, bare steel was
      frequently opposed to the clubs of the citizens, and death sometimes
      ensued on both sides. The tardy and inefficient police of the time had no
      other resource than by the Alderman of the ward calling out the
      householders, and putting a stop to the strife by overpowering numbers, as
      the Capulets and Montagues are separated upon the stage.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the period when such was the universal custom of the most respectable,
      as well as the most inconsiderable, shopkeepers in London, David Ramsay,
      on the evening to which we solicit the attention of the reader, retiring
      to more abstruse and private labours, left the administration of his outer
      shop, or booth, to the aforesaid sharp-witted, active, able-bodied, and
      well-voiced apprentices, namely, Jenkin Vincent and Frank Tunstall.
    </p>
    <p>
      Vincent had been educated at the excellent foundation of Christ's Church
      Hospital, and was bred, therefore, as well as born, a Londoner, with all
      the acuteness, address, and audacity which belong peculiarly to the youth
      of a metropolis. He was now about twenty years old, short in stature, but
      remarkably strong made, eminent for his feats upon holidays at foot-ball,
      and other gymnastic exercises; scarce rivalled in the broad-sword play,
      though hitherto only exercised in the form of single-stick. He knew every
      lane, blind alley, and sequestered court of the ward, better than his
      catechism; was alike active in his master's affairs, and in his own
      adventures of fun and mischief; and so managed matters, that the credit he
      acquired by the former bore him out, or at least served for his apology,
      when the latter propensity led him into scrapes, of which, however, it is
      but fair to state, that they had hitherto inferred nothing mean or
      discreditable. Some aberrations there were, which David Ramsay, his
      master, endeavoured to reduce to regular order when he discovered them,
      and others which he winked at&mdash;supposing them to answer the purpose
      of the escapement of a watch, which disposes of a certain quantity of the
      extra power of that mechanical impulse which puts the whole in motion.
    </p>
    <p>
      The physiognomy of Jin Vin&mdash;by which abbreviation he was familiarly
      known through the ward&mdash;corresponded with the sketch we have given of
      his character. His head, upon which his 'prentice's flat cap was generally
      flung in a careless and oblique fashion, was closely covered with thick
      hair of raven black, which curled naturally and closely, and would have
      grown to great length, but for the modest custom enjoined by his state in
      life and strictly enforced by his master, which compelled him to keep it
      short-cropped,&mdash;not unreluctantly, as he looked with envy on the
      flowing ringlets, in which the courtiers, and aristocratic students of the
      neighbouring Temple, began to indulge themselves, as marks of superiority
      and of gentility.
    </p>
    <p>
      Vincent's eyes were deep set in his head, of a strong vivid black, full of
      fire, roguery, and intelligence, and conveying a humorous expression, even
      while he was uttering the usual small-talk of his trade, as if he
      ridiculed those who were disposed to give any weight to his commonplaces.
      He had address enough, however, to add little touches of his own, which
      gave a turn of drollery even to this ordinary routine of the booth; and
      the alacrity of his manner&mdash;his ready and obvious wish to oblige&mdash;his
      intelligence and civility, when he thought civility necessary, made him a
      universal favourite with his master's customers.
    </p>
    <p>
      His features were far from regular, for his nose was flattish, his mouth
      tending to the larger size, and his complexion inclining to be more dark
      than was then thought consistent with masculine beauty. But, in despite of
      his having always breathed the air of a crowded city, his complexion had
      the ruddy and manly expression of redundant health; his turned-up nose
      gave an air of spirit and raillery to what he said, and seconded the laugh
      of his eyes; and his wide mouth was garnished with a pair of well-formed
      and well-coloured lips, which, when he laughed, disclosed a range of teeth
      strong and well set, and as white as the very pearl. Such was the elder
      apprentice of David Ramsay, Memory's Monitor, watchmaker, and constructor
      of horologes, to his Most Sacred Majesty James I.
    </p>
    <p>
      Jenkin's companion was the younger apprentice, though, perhaps, he might
      be the elder of the two in years. At any rate, he was of a much more staid
      and composed temper. Francis Tunstall was of that ancient and proud
      descent who claimed the style of the "unstained;" because, amid the
      various chances of the long and bloody wars of the Roses, they had, with
      undeviating faith, followed the House of Lancaster, to which they had
      originally attached themselves. The meanest sprig of such a tree attached
      importance to the root from which it derived itself; and Tunstall was
      supposed to nourish in secret a proportion of that family pride, which had
      exhorted tears from his widowed and almost indigent mother, when she saw
      herself obliged to consign him to a line of life inferior, as her
      prejudices suggested, to the course held by his progenitors. Yet, with all
      this aristocratic prejudice, his master found the well-born youth more
      docile, regular, and strictly attentive to his duty, than his far more
      active and alert comrade. Tunstall also gratified his master by the
      particular attention which he seemed disposed to bestow on the abstract
      principles of science connected with the trade which he was bound to
      study, the limits of which were daily enlarged with the increase of
      mathematical science.
    </p>
    <p>
      Vincent beat his companion beyond the distance-post, in every thing like
      the practical adaptation of thorough practice, in the dexterity of hand
      necessary to execute the mechanical branches of the art, and
      doubled-distanced him in all respecting the commercial affairs of the
      shop. Still David Ramsay was wont to say, that if Vincent knew how to do a
      thing the better of the two, Tunstall was much better acquainted with the
      principles on which it ought to be done; and he sometimes objected to the
      latter, that he knew critical excellence too well ever to be satisfied
      with practical mediocrity.
    </p>
    <p>
      The disposition of Tunstall was shy, as well as studious; and, though
      perfectly civil and obliging, he never seemed to feel himself in his place
      while he went through the duties of the shop. He was tall and handsome,
      with fair hair, and well-formed limbs, good features, well-opened
      light-blue eyes, a straight Grecian nose, and a countenance which
      expressed both good-humour and intelligence, but qualified by a gravity
      unsuitable to his years, and which almost amounted to dejection. He lived
      on the best of terms with his companion, and readily stood by him whenever
      he was engaged in any of the frequent skirmishes, which, as we have
      already observed, often disturbed the city of London about this period.
      But though Tunstall was allowed to understand quarter-staff (the weapon of
      the North country) in a superior degree, and though he was naturally both
      strong and active, his interference in such affrays seemed always matter
      of necessity; and, as he never voluntarily joined either their brawls or
      their sports, he held a far lower place in the opinion of the youth of the
      ward than his hearty and active friend Jin Vin. Nay, had it not been for
      the interest made for his comrade, by the intercession of Vincent,
      Tunstall would have stood some chance of being altogether excluded from
      the society of his contemporaries of the same condition, who called him,
      in scorn, the Cavaliero Cuddy, and the Gentle Tunstall.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the other hand, the lad himself, deprived of the fresh air in which he
      had been brought up, and foregoing the exercise to which he had formerly
      been accustomed, while the inhabitant of his native mansion, lost
      gradually the freshness of his complexion, and, without showing any formal
      symptoms of disease, grew more thin and pale as he grew older, and at
      length exhibited the appearance of indifferent health, without any thing
      of the habits and complaints of an invalid, excepting a disposition to
      avoid society, and to spend his leisure time in private study, rather than
      mingle in the sports of his companions, or even resort to the theatres,
      then the general rendezvous of his class; where, according to high
      authority, they fought for half-bitten apples, cracked nuts, and filled
      the upper gallery with their clamours.
    </p>
    <p>
      Such were the two youths who called David Ramsay master; and with both of
      whom he used to fret from morning till night, as their peculiarities
      interfered with his own, or with the quiet and beneficial course of his
      traffic.
    </p>
    <p>
      Upon the whole, however, the youths were attached to their master, and he,
      a good-natured, though an absent and whimsical man, was scarce less so to
      them; and when a little warmed with wine at an occasional junketing, he
      used to boast, in his northern dialect, of his "twa bonnie lads, and the
      looks that the court ladies threw at them, when visiting his shop in their
      caroches, when on a frolic into the city." But David Ramsay never failed,
      at the same time, to draw up his own tall, thin, lathy skeleton, extend
      his lean jaws into an alarming grin, and indicate, by a nod of his
      yard-long visage, and a twinkle of his little grey eye, that there might
      be more faces in Fleet Street worth looking at than those of Frank and
      Jenkin. His old neighbour, Widow Simmons, the sempstress, who had served,
      in her day, the very tip-top revellers of the Temple, with ruffs, cuffs,
      and bands, distinguished more deeply the sort of attention paid by the
      females of quality, who so regularly visited David Ramsay's shop, to its
      inmates. "The boy Frank," she admitted, "used to attract the attention of
      the young ladies, as having something gentle and downcast in his looks;
      but then he could not better himself, for the poor youth had not a word to
      throw at a dog. Now Jin Vin was so full of his jibes and jeers, and so
      willing, and so ready, and so serviceable, and so mannerly all the while,
      with a step that sprung like a buck's in Epping Forest, and his eye that
      twinkled as black as a gipsy's, that no woman who knew the world would
      make a comparison betwixt the lads. As for poor neighbour Ramsay himself,
      the man," she said, "was a civil neighbour, and a learned man, doubtless,
      and might be a rich man if he had common sense to back his learning; and
      doubtless, for a Scot, neighbour Ramsay was nothing of a bad man, but he
      was so constantly grimed with smoke, gilded with brass filings, and
      smeared with lamp-black and oil, that Dame Simmons judged it would require
      his whole shopful of watches to induce any feasible woman to touch the
      said neighbour Ramsay with any thing save a pair of tongs."
    </p>
    <p>
      A still higher authority, Dame Ursula, wife to Benjamin Suddlechop, the
      barber, was of exactly the same opinion.
    </p>
    <p>
      Such were, in natural qualities and public estimation, the two youths,
      who, in a fine April day, having first rendered their dutiful service and
      attendance on the table of their master and his daughter, at their dinner
      at one o'clock,&mdash;Such, O ye lads of London, was the severe discipline
      undergone by your predecessors!&mdash;and having regaled themselves upon
      the fragments, in company with two female domestics, one a cook, and maid
      of all work, the other called Mistress Margaret's maid, now relieved their
      master in the duty of the outward shop; and agreeably to the established
      custom, were soliciting, by their entreaties and recommendations of their
      master's manufacture, the attention and encouragement of the passengers.
    </p>
    <p>
      In this species of service it may be easily supposed that Jenkin Vincent
      left his more reserved and bashful comrade far in the background. The
      latter could only articulate with difficulty, and as an act of duty which
      he was rather ashamed of discharging, the established words of form&mdash;"What
      d'ye lack?&mdash;What d'ye lack?&mdash;Clocks&mdash;watches&mdash;barnacles?
      &mdash;What d'ye lack?&mdash;Watches&mdash;clocks&mdash;barnacles?&mdash;What
      d'ye lack, sir? What d'ye lack, madam?&mdash;Barnacles&mdash;watches&mdash;clocks?"
    </p>
    <p>
      But this dull and dry iteration, however varied by diversity of verbal
      arrangement, sounded flat when mingled with the rich and recommendatory
      oratory of the bold-faced, deep-mouthed, and ready-witted Jenkin Vincent.&mdash;"What
      d'ye lack, noble sir?&mdash;What d'ye lack, beauteous madam?" he said, in
      a tone at once bold and soothing, which often was so applied as both to
      gratify the persons addressed, and to excite a smile from other hearers.&mdash;"God
      bless your reverence," to a beneficed clergyman; "the Greek and Hebrew
      have harmed your reverence's eyes&mdash;Buy a pair of David Ramsay's
      barnacles. The King&mdash;God bless his Sacred Majesty!&mdash;never reads
      Hebrew or Greek without them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are you well avised of that?" said a fat parson from the Vale of Evesham.
      "Nay, if the Head of the Church wears them,&mdash;God bless his Sacred
      Majesty!&mdash;I will try what they can do for me; for I have not been
      able to distinguish one Hebrew letter from another, since&mdash;I cannot
      remember the time&mdash;when I had a bad fever. Choose me a pair of his
      most Sacred Majesty's own wearing, my good youth."
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is a pair, and please your reverence," said Jenkin, producing a pair
      of spectacles which he touched with an air of great deference and respect,
      "which his most blessed Majesty placed this day three weeks on his own
      blessed nose; and would have kept them for his own sacred use, but that
      the setting being, as your reverence sees, of the purest jet, was, as his
      Sacred Majesty was pleased to say, fitter for a bishop than for a secular
      prince."
    </p>
    <p>
      "His Sacred Majesty the King," said the worthy divine, "was ever a very
      Daniel in his judgment. Give me the barnacles, my good youth, and who can
      say what nose they may bestride in two years hence?&mdash;our reverend
      brother of Gloucester waxes in years." He then pulled out his purse, paid
      for the spectacles, and left the shop with even a more important step than
      that which had paused to enter it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "For shame," said Tunstall to his companion; "these glasses will never
      suit one of his years."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are a fool, Frank," said Vincent, in reply; "had the good doctor
      wished glasses to read with, he would have tried them before buying. He
      does not want to look through them himself, and these will serve the
      purpose of being looked at by other folks, as well as the best magnifiers
      in the shop.&mdash;What d'ye lack?" he cried, resuming his solicitations.
      "Mirrors for your toilette, my pretty madam; your head-gear is something
      awry&mdash;pity, since it is so well fancied." The woman stopped and
      bought a mirror.&mdash;"What d'ye lack?&mdash;a watch, Master Sergeant&mdash;a
      watch that will go as long as a lawsuit, as steady and true as your own
      eloquence?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hold your peace, sir," answered the Knight of the Coif, who was disturbed
      by Vin's address whilst in deep consultation with an eminent attorney;
      "hold your peace! You are the loudest-tongued varlet betwixt the Devil's
      Tavern and Guildhall."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A watch," reiterated the undaunted Jenkin, "that shall not lose thirteen
      minutes in a thirteen years' lawsuit.&mdash;He's out of hearing&mdash;A
      watch with four wheels and a bar-movement&mdash;a watch that shall tell
      you, Master Poet, how long the patience of the audience will endure your
      next piece at the Black Bull." The bard laughed, and fumbled in the pocket
      of his slops till he chased into a corner, and fairly caught, a small
      piece of coin.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here is a tester to cherish thy wit, good boy," he said.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Gramercy," said Vin; "at the next play of yours I will bring down a set
      of roaring boys, that shall make all the critics in the pit, and the
      gallants on the stage, civil, or else the curtain shall smoke for it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now, that I call mean," said Tunstall, "to take the poor rhymer's money,
      who has so little left behind."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are an owl, once again," said Vincent; "if he has nothing left to buy
      cheese and radishes, he will only dine a day the sooner with some patron
      or some player, for that is his fate five days out of the seven. It is
      unnatural that a poet should pay for his own pot of beer; I will drink his
      tester for him, to save him from such shame; and when his third night
      comes round, he shall have penniworths for his coin, I promise you.&mdash;But
      here comes another-guess customer. Look at that strange fellow&mdash;see
      how he gapes at every shop, as if he would swallow the wares.&mdash;O!
      Saint Dunstan has caught his eye; pray God he swallow not the images. See
      how he stands astonished, as old Adam and Eve ply their ding-dong! Come,
      Frank, thou art a scholar; construe me that same fellow, with his blue cap
      with a cock's feather in it, to show he's of gentle blood, God wot&mdash;his
      grey eyes, his yellow hair, his sword with a ton of iron in the handle&mdash;his
      grey thread-bare cloak&mdash;his step like a Frenchman&mdash;his look like
      a Spaniard&mdash;a book at his girdle, and a broad dudgeon-dagger on the
      other side, to show him half-pedant, half-bully. How call you that
      pageant, Frank?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "A raw Scotsman," said Tunstall; "just come up, I suppose, to help the
      rest of his countrymen to gnaw old England's bones; a palmerworm, I
      reckon, to devour what the locust has spared."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Even so, Frank," answered Vincent; "just as the poet sings sweetly,&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
    'In Scotland he was born and bred,
     And, though a beggar, must be fed.'"
</pre>
    <p>
      "Hush!" said Tunstall, "remember our master."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pshaw!" answered his mercurial companion; "he knows on which side his
      bread is buttered, and I warrant you has not lived so long among
      Englishmen, and by Englishmen, to quarrel with us for bearing an English
      mind. But see, our Scot has done gazing at St. Dunstan's, and comes our
      way. By this light, a proper lad and a sturdy, in spite of freckles and
      sun-burning.&mdash;He comes nearer still, I will have at him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And, if you do," said his comrade, "you may get a broken head&mdash;he
      looks not as if he would carry coals."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A fig for your threat," said Vincent, and instantly addressed the
      stranger. "Buy a watch, most noble northern Thane&mdash;buy a watch, to
      count the hours of plenty since the blessed moment you left Berwick behind
      you.&mdash;Buy barnacles, to see the English gold lies ready for your
      gripe.&mdash;Buy what you will, you shall have credit for three days; for,
      were your pockets as bare as Father Fergus's, you are a Scot in London,
      and you will be stocked in that time." The stranger looked sternly at the
      waggish apprentice, and seemed to grasp his cudgel in rather a menacing
      fashion. "Buy physic," said the undaunted Vincent, "if you will buy
      neither time nor light&mdash;physic for a proud stomach, sir;&mdash;there
      is a 'pothecary's shop on the other side of the way."
    </p>
    <p>
      Here the probationary disciple of Galen, who stood at his master's door in
      his flat cap and canvass sleeves, with a large wooden pestle in his hand,
      took up the ball which was flung to him by Jenkin, with, "What d'ye lack,
      sir?&mdash;Buy a choice Caledonian salve, <i>Flos sulphvr. cum butyro
      quant. suff.</i>"
    </p>
    <p>
      "To be taken after a gentle rubbing-down with an English oaken towel,"
      said Vincent.
    </p>
    <p>
      The bonny Scot had given full scope to the play of this small artillery of
      city wit, by halting his stately pace, and viewing grimly, first the one
      assailant, and then the other, as if menacing either repartee or more
      violent revenge. But phlegm or prudence got the better of his indignation,
      and tossing his head as one who valued not the raillery to which he had
      been exposed, he walked down Fleet Street, pursued by the horse-laugh of
      his tormentors.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Scot will not fight till he see his own blood," said Tunstall, whom
      his north of England extraction had made familiar with all manner of
      proverbs against those who lay yet farther north than himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Faith, I know not," said Jenkin; "he looks dangerous, that fellow&mdash;he
      will hit some one over the noddle before he goes far.&mdash;Hark!&mdash;hark!&mdash;they
      are rising."
    </p>
    <p>
      Accordingly, the well-known cry of, "'Prentices&mdash;'prentices&mdash;Clubs&mdash;clubs!"
      now rang along Fleet Street; and Jenkin, snatching up his weapon, which
      lay beneath the counter ready at the slightest notice, and calling to
      Tunstall to take his bat and follow, leaped over the hatch-door which
      protected the outer-shop, and ran as fast as he could towards the affray,
      echoing the cry as he ran, and elbowing, or shoving aside, whoever stood
      in his way. His comrade, first calling to his master to give an eye to the
      shop, followed Jenkin's example, and ran after him as fast as he could,
      but with more attention to the safety and convenience of others; while old
      David Ramsay, with hands and eyes uplifted, a green apron before him, and
      a glass which he had been polishing thrust into his bosom, came forth to
      look after the safety of his goods and chattels, knowing, by old
      experience, that, when the cry of "Clubs" once arose, he would have little
      aid on the part of his apprentices.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER II
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  This, sir, is one among the Seignory,
  Has wealth at will, and will to use his wealth,
  And wit to increase it. Marry, his worst folly
  Lies in a thriftless sort of charity,
  That goes a-gadding sometimes after objects,
  Which wise men will not see when thrust upon them.
                             <i>The Old Couple.</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      The ancient gentleman bustled about his shop, in pettish displeasure at
      being summoned hither so hastily, to the interruption of his more abstract
      studies; and, unwilling to renounce the train of calculation which he had
      put in progress, he mingled whimsically with the fragments of the
      arithmetical operation, his oratory to the passengers, and angry
      reflections on his idle apprentices. "What d'ye lack, sir? Madam, what
      d'ye lack&mdash;clocks for hall or table&mdash;night-watches&mdash;day
      watches?&mdash;<i>Locking wheel being 48&mdash;the power of retort 8&mdash;the
      striking pins are 48</i>&mdash;What d'ye lack, honoured sir?&mdash;<i>The
      quotient&mdash;the multiplicand</i>&mdash;That the knaves should have gone
      out this blessed minute!&mdash;<i>the acceleration being at the rate of 5
      minutes, 55 seconds, 53 thirds, 59 fourths</i>&mdash;I will switch them
      both when they come back&mdash;I will, by the bones of the immortal
      Napier!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Here the vexed philosopher was interrupted by the entrance of a grave
      citizen of a most respectable appearance, who, saluting him familiarly by
      the name of "Davie, my old acquaintance," demanded what had put him so
      much out of sorts, and gave him at the same time a cordial grasp of his
      hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      The stranger's dress was, though grave, rather richer than usual. His
      paned hose were of black velvet, lined with purple silk, which garniture
      appeared at the slashes. His doublet was of purple cloth, and his short
      cloak of black velvet, to correspond with his hose; and both were adorned
      with a great number of small silver buttons richly wrought in filigree. A
      triple chain of gold hung round his neck; and, in place of a sword or
      dagger, he wore at his belt an ordinary knife for the purpose of the
      table, with a small silver case, which appeared to contain writing
      materials. He might have seemed some secretary or clerk engaged in the
      service of the public, only that his low, flat, and unadorned cap, and his
      well-blacked, shining shoes, indicated that he belonged to the city. He
      was a well-made man, about the middle size, and seemed in firm health,
      though advanced in years. His looks expressed sagacity and good-humour:
      and the air of respectability which his dress announced, was well
      supported by his clear eye, ruddy cheek, and grey hair. He used the
      Scottish idiom in his first address, but in such a manner that it could
      hardly be distinguished whether he was passing upon his friend a sort of
      jocose mockery, or whether it was his own native dialect, for his ordinary
      discourse had little provincialism.
    </p>
    <p>
      In answer to the queries of his respectable friend, Ramsay groaned
      heavily, answering by echoing back the question, "What ails me, Master
      George? Why, every thing ails me! I profess to you that a man may as well
      live in Fairyland as in the Ward of Farringdon-Without. My apprentices are
      turned into mere goblins&mdash;they appear and disappear like spunkies,
      and have no more regularity in them than a watch without a scapement. If
      there is a ball to be tossed up, or a bullock to be driven mad, or a quean
      to be ducked for scolding, or a head to be broken, Jenkin is sure to be at
      the one end or the other of it, and then away skips Francis Tunstall for
      company. I think the prize-fighters, bear-leaders, and mountebanks, are in
      a league against me, my dear friend, and that they pass my house ten times
      for any other in the city. Here's an Italian fellow come over, too, that
      they call Punchinello; and, altogether&mdash;&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well," interrupted Master George, "but what is all this to the present
      case?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why," replied Ramsay, "here has been a cry of thieves or murder, (I hope
      that will prove the least of it amongst these English pock-pudding swine!)
      and I have been interrupted in the deepest calculation ever mortal man
      plunged into, Master George."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What, man!" replied Master George, "you must take patience&mdash;You are
      a man that deals in time, and can make it go fast and slow at pleasure;
      you, of all the world, have least reason to complain, if a little of it be
      lost now and then.&mdash;But here come your boys, and bringing in a slain
      man betwixt them, I think&mdash;here has been serious mischief, I am
      afraid."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The more mischief the better sport," said the crabbed old watchmaker. "I
      am blithe, though, that it's neither of the twa loons themselves.&mdash;What
      are ye bringing a corpse here for, ye fause villains?" he added,
      addressing the two apprentices, who, at the head of a considerable mob of
      their own class, some of whom bore evident marks of a recent fray, were
      carrying the body betwixt them.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He is not dead yet, sir," answered Tunstall.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Carry him into the apothecary's, then," replied his master. "D'ye think I
      can set a man's life in motion again, as if he were a clock or a
      timepiece?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "For godsake, old friend," said his acquaintance, "let us have him here at
      the nearest&mdash;he seems only in a swoon."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A swoon?" said Ramsay, "and what business had he to swoon in the streets?
      Only, if it will oblige my friend Master George, I would take in all the
      dead men in St. Dunstan's parish. Call Sam Porter to look after the shop."
      So saying, the stunned man, being the identical Scotsman who had passed a
      short time before amidst the jeers of the apprentices, was carried into
      the back shop of the artist, and there placed in an armed chair till the
      apothecary from over the way came to his assistance. This gentleman, as
      sometimes happens to those of the learned professions, had rather more
      lore than knowledge, and began to talk of the sinciput and occiput, and
      cerebrum and cerebellum, until he exhausted David Ramsay's brief stock of
      patience.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Bell-um! bell-ell-um!" he repeated, with great indignation; "What signify
      all the bells in London, if you do not put a plaster on the child's
      crown?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Master George, with better-directed zeal, asked the apothecary whether
      bleeding might not be useful; when, after humming and hawing for a moment,
      and being unable, upon the spur of the occasion, to suggest any thing
      else, the man of pharmacy observed, that it would, at all events, relieve
      the brain or cerebrum, in case there was a tendency to the depositation of
      any extravasated blood, to operate as a pressure upon that delicate organ.
    </p>
    <p>
      Fortunately he was adequate to performing this operation; and, being
      powerfully aided by Jenkin Vincent (who was learned in all cases of broken
      heads) with plenty of cold water, and a little vinegar, applied according
      to the scientific method practised by the bottle-holders in a modern ring,
      the man began to raise himself on his chair, draw his cloak tightly around
      him, and look about like one who struggles to recover sense and
      recollection.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He had better lie down on the bed in the little back closet," said Mr.
      Ramsay's visitor, who seemed perfectly familiar with the accommodations
      which the house afforded.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He is welcome to my share of the truckle," said Jenkin,&mdash;for in the
      said back closet were the two apprentices accommodated in one truckle-bed,&mdash;"I
      can sleep under the counter."
    </p>
    <p>
      "So can I," said Tunstall, "and the poor fellow can have the bed all
      night."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sleep," said the apothecary, "is, in the opinion of Galen, a restorative
      and febrifuge, and is most naturally taken in a truckle-bed."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Where a better cannot be come by,"&mdash;said Master George; "but these
      are two honest lads, to give up their beds so willingly. Come, off with
      his cloak, and let us bear him to his couch&mdash;I will send for Dr.
      Irving, the king's chirurgeon&mdash;he does not live far off, and that
      shall be my share of the Samaritan's duty, neighbour Ramsay."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, sir," said the apothecary, "it is at your pleasure to send for
      other advice, and I shall not object to consult with Dr. Irving or any
      other medical person of skill, neither to continue to furnish such drugs
      as may be needful from my pharmacopeia. However, whatever Dr. Irving, who,
      I think, hath had his degrees in Edinburgh, or Dr. Any-one-beside, be he
      Scottish or English, may say to the contrary, sleep, taken timeously, is a
      febrifuge, or sedative, and also a restorative."
    </p>
    <p>
      He muttered a few more learned words, and concluded by informing Ramsay's
      friend in English far more intelligible than his Latin, that he would look
      to him as his paymaster, for medicines, care, and attendance, furnished,
      or to be furnished, to this party unknown.
    </p>
    <p>
      Master George only replied by desiring him to send his bill for what he
      had already to charge, and to give himself no farther trouble unless he
      heard from him. The pharmacopolist, who, from discoveries made by the
      cloak falling a little aside, had no great opinion of the faculty of this
      chance patient to make reimbursement, had no sooner seen his case espoused
      by a substantial citizen, than he showed some reluctance to quit
      possession of it, and it needed a short and stern hint from Master George,
      which, with all his good-humour, he was capable of expressing when
      occasion required, to send to his own dwelling this Esculapius of Temple
      Bar.
    </p>
    <p>
      When they were rid of Mr. Raredrench, the charitable efforts of Jenkin and
      Francis, to divest the patient of his long grey cloak, were firmly
      resisted on his own part.&mdash;"My life suner&mdash;my life suner," he
      muttered in indistinct murmurs. In these efforts to retain his upper
      garment, which was too tender to resist much handling, it gave way at
      length with a loud rent, which almost threw the patient into a second
      syncope, and he sat before them in his under garments, the looped and
      repaired wretchedness of which moved at once pity and laughter, and had
      certainly been the cause of his unwillingness to resign the mantle, which,
      like the virtue of charity, served to cover so many imperfections.
    </p>
    <p>
      The man himself cast his eyes on his poverty-struck garb, and seemed so
      much ashamed of the disclosure, that, muttering between his teeth, that he
      would be too late for his appointment, he made an effort to rise and leave
      the shop, which was easily prevented by Jenkin Vincent and his comrade,
      who, at the nod of Master George, laid hold of and detained him in his
      chair.
    </p>
    <p>
      The patient next looked round him for a moment, and then said faintly, in
      his broad northern language&mdash;"What sort of usage ca' ye this,
      gentlemen, to a stranger a sojourner in your town? Ye hae broken my head&mdash;ye
      hae riven my cloak, and now ye are for restraining my personal liberty!
      They were wiser than me," he said, after a moment's pause, "that
      counselled me to wear my warst claithing in the streets of London; and, if
      I could have got ony things warse than these mean garments,"&mdash;("which
      would have been very difficult," said Jin Vin, in a whisper to his
      companion,)&mdash;"they would have been e'en ower gude for the grips o'
      men sae little acquented with the laws of honest civility."
    </p>
    <p>
      "To say the truth," said Jenkin, unable to forbear any longer, although
      the discipline of the times prescribed to those in his situation a degree
      of respectful distance and humility in the presence of parents, masters,
      or seniors, of which the present age has no idea&mdash;"to say the truth,
      the good gentleman's clothes look as if they would not brook much
      handling."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hold your peace, young man," said Master George, with a tone of
      authority; "never mock the stranger or the poor&mdash;the black ox has not
      trod on your foot yet&mdash;you know not what lands you may travel in, or
      what clothes you may wear, before you die."
    </p>
    <p>
      Vincent held down his head and stood rebuked, but the stranger did not
      accept the apology which was made for him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I <i>am</i> a stranger, sir," said he, "that is certain; though methinks,
      that, being such, I have been somewhat familiarly treated in this town of
      yours; but, as for my being poor, I think I need not be charged with
      poverty, till I seek siller of somebody."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The dear country all over," said Master George, in a whisper, to David
      Ramsay, "pride and poverty."
    </p>
    <p>
      But David had taken out his tablets and silver pen, and, deeply immersed
      in calculations, in which he rambled over all the terms of arithmetic,
      from the simple unit to millions, billions, and trillions, neither heard
      nor answered the observation of his friend, who, seeing his abstraction,
      turned again to the Scot.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I fancy now, Jockey, if a stranger were to offer you a noble, you would
      chuck it back at his head?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not if I could do him honest service for it, sir," said the Scot; "I am
      willing to do what I may to be useful, though I come of an honourable
      house, and may be said to be in a sort indifferently weel provided for."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay!" said the interrogator, "and what house may claim the honour of your
      descent?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "An ancient coat belongs to it, as the play says," whispered Vincent to
      his companion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come, Jockey, out with it," continued Master George, observing that the
      Scot, as usual with his countrymen, when asked a blunt, straightforward
      question, took a little time before answering it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am no more Jockey, sir, than you are John," said the stranger, as if
      offended at being addressed by a name, which at that time was used, as
      Sawney now is, for a general appellative of the Scottish nation. "My name,
      if you must know it, is Richie Moniplies; and I come of the old and
      honourable house of Castle Collop, weel kend at the West-Port of
      Edinburgh."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What is that you call the West-Port?" proceeded the interrogator.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, an it like your honour," said Richie, who now, having recovered his
      senses sufficiently to observe the respectable exterior of Master George,
      threw more civility into his manner than at first, "the West-Port is a
      gate of our city, as yonder brick arches at Whitehall form the entrance of
      the king's palace here, only that the West-Port is of stonern work, and
      mair decorated with architecture and the policy of bigging."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nouns, man, the Whitehall gateways were planned by the great Holbein,"
      answered Master George; "I suspect your accident has jumbled your brains,
      my good friend. I suppose you will tell me next, you have at Edinburgh as
      fine a navigable river as the Thames, with all its shipping?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Thames!" exclaimed Richie, in a tone of ineffable contempt&mdash;"God
      bless your honour's judgment, we have at Edinburgh the Water-of-Leith and
      the Nor-loch!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "And the Pow-Burn, and the Quarry-holes, and the Gusedub, ye fause loon!"
      answered Master George, speaking Scotch with a strong and natural
      emphasis; "it is such land-loupers as you, that, with your falset and fair
      fashions, bring reproach on our whole country."
    </p>
    <p>
      "God forgie me, sir," said Richie, much surprised at finding the supposed
      southron converted into a native Scot, "I took your honour for an
      Englisher! But I hope there was naething wrang in standing up for ane's
      ain country's credit in a strange land, where all men cry her down?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you call it for your country's credit, to show that she has a lying,
      puffing rascal, for one of her children?" said Master George. "But come,
      man, never look grave on it,&mdash;as you have found a countryman, so you
      have found a friend, if you deserve one&mdash;and especially if you answer
      me truly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I see nae gude it wad do me to speak ought else but truth," said the
      worthy North Briton.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, then&mdash;to begin," said Master George, "I suspect you are a son
      of old Mungo Moniplies, the flesher, at the West-Port."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your honour is a witch, I think," said Richie, grinning.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And how dared you, sir, to uphold him for a noble?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I dinna ken, sir," said Richie, scratching his head; "I hear muckle of an
      Earl of Warwick in these southern parts,&mdash;Guy, I think his name was,&mdash;and
      he has great reputation here for slaying dun cows, and boars, and such
      like; and I am sure my father has killed more cows and boars, not to
      mention bulls, calves, sheep, ewes, lambs, and pigs, than the haill
      Baronage of England."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Go to! you are a shrewd knave," said Master George; "charm your tongue,
      and take care of saucy answers. Your father was an honest burgher, and the
      deacon of his craft: I am sorry to see his son in so poor a coat."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indifferent, sir," said Richie Moniplies, looking down on his garments&mdash;"very
      indifferent; but it is the wonted livery of poor burghers' sons in our
      country&mdash;one of Luckie Want's bestowing upon us&mdash;rest us
      patient! The king's leaving Scotland has taken all custom frae Edinburgh;
      and there is hay made at the Cross, and a dainty crop of fouats in the
      Grass-market. There is as much grass grows where my father's stall stood,
      as might have been a good bite for the beasts he was used to kill."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is even too true," said Master George; "and while we make fortunes
      here, our old neighbours and their families are starving at home. This
      should be thought upon oftener.&mdash;And how came you by that broken
      head, Richie?&mdash;tell me honestly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Troth, sir, I'se no lee about the matter," answered Moniplies. "I was
      coming along the street here, and ilk ane was at me with their jests and
      roguery. So I thought to mysell, ye are ower mony for me to mell with; but
      let me catch ye in Barford's Park, or at the fit of the Vennel, I could
      gar some of ye sing another sang. Sae ae auld hirpling deevil of a potter
      behoved just to step in my way and offer me a pig, as he said, just to put
      my Scotch ointment in, and I gave him a push, as but natural, and the
      tottering deevil coupit ower amang his ain pigs, and damaged a score of
      them. And then the reird raise, and hadna these twa gentlemen helped me
      out of it, murdered I suld hae been, without remeid. And as it was, just
      when they got haud of my arm to have me out of the fray, I got the lick
      that donnerit me from a left-handed lighterman."
    </p>
    <p>
      Master George looked to the apprentices as if to demand the truth of this
      story.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is just as he says, sir," replied Jenkin; "only I heard nothing about
      pigs.&mdash;The people said he had broke some crockery, and that&mdash;I
      beg pardon, sir&mdash;nobody could thrive within the kenning of a Scot."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, no matter what they said, you were an honest fellow to help the
      weaker side.&mdash;And you, sirrah," continued Master George, addressing
      his countryman, "will call at my house to-morrow morning, agreeable to
      this direction."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will wait upon your honour," said the Scot, bowing very low; "that is,
      if my honourable master will permit me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thy master?" said George,&mdash;"Hast thou any other master save Want,
      whose livery you say you wear?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Troth, in one sense, if it please your honour, I serve twa masters," said
      Richie; "for both my master and me are slaves to that same beldam, whom we
      thought to show our heels to by coming off from Scotland. So that you see,
      sir, I hold in a sort of black ward tenure, as we call it in our country,
      being the servant of a servant."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what is your master's name?" said Master George; and observing that
      Richie hesitated, he added, "Nay, do not tell me, if it is a secret."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A secret that there is little use in keeping," said Richie; "only ye ken
      that our northern stomachs are ower proud to call in witnesses to our
      distress. No that my master is in mair than present pinch, sir," he added,
      looking towards the two English apprentices, "having a large sum in the
      Royal Treasury&mdash;that is," he continued, in a whisper to Master
      George,&mdash;"the king is owing him a lot of siller; but it's ill getting
      at it, it's like.&mdash;My master is the young Lord Glenvarloch."
    </p>
    <p>
      Master George testified surprise at the name.&mdash;"<i>You</i> one of the
      young Lord Glenvarloch's followers, and in such a condition?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Troth, and I am all the followers he has, for the present that is; and
      blithe wad I be if he were muckle better aff than I am, though I were to
      bide as I am."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have seen his father with four gentlemen and ten lackeys at his heels,"
      said Master George, "rustling in their laces and velvets. Well, this is a
      changeful world, but there is a better beyond it.&mdash;The good old house
      of Glenvarloch, that stood by king and country five hundred years!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your honour may say a thousand," said the follower.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will say what I know to be true, friend," said the citizen, "and not a
      word more.&mdash;You seem well recovered now&mdash;can you walk?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Bravely, sir," said Richie; "it was but a bit dover. I was bred at the
      West-Port, and my cantle will stand a clour wad bring a stot down."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Where does your master lodge?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "We pit up, an it like your honour," replied the Scot, "in a sma' house at
      the fit of ane of the wynds that gang down to the water-side, with a
      decent man, John Christie, a ship-chandler, as they ca't. His father came
      from Dundee. I wotna the name of the wynd, but it's right anent the mickle
      kirk yonder; and your honour will mind, that we pass only by our
      family-name of simple Mr. Nigel Olifaunt, as keeping ourselves retired for
      the present, though in Scotland we be called the Lord Nigel."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is wisely done of your master," said the citizen. "I will find out
      your lodgings, though your direction be none of the clearest." So saying,
      and slipping a piece of money at the same time into Richie Moniplies's
      hand, he bade him hasten home, and get into no more affrays.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will take care of that now, sir," said Richie, with a look of
      importance, "having a charge about me. And so, wussing ye a' weel, with
      special thanks to these twa young gentlemen&mdash;&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am no gentleman," said Jenkin, flinging his cap on his head; "I am a
      tight London 'prentice, and hope to be a freeman one day. Frank may write
      himself gentleman, if he will."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I <i>was</i> a gentleman once," said Tunstall, "and I hope I have done
      nothing to lose the name of one."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Weel, weel, as ye list," said Richie Moniplies; "but I am mickle beholden
      to ye baith&mdash;and I am not a hair the less like to bear it in mind
      that I say but little about it just now.&mdash;Gude-night to you, my kind
      countryman." So saying, he thrust out of the sleeve of his ragged doublet
      a long bony hand and arm, on which the muscles rose like whip-cord. Master
      George shook it heartily, while Jenkin and Frank exchanged sly looks with
      each other.
    </p>
    <p>
      Richie Moniplies would next have addressed his thanks to the master of the
      shop, but seeing him, as he afterwards said, "scribbling on his bit
      bookie, as if he were demented," he contented his politeness with "giving
      him a hat," touching, that is, his bonnet, in token of salutation, and so
      left the shop.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now, there goes Scotch Jockey, with all his bad and good about him," said
      Master George to Master David, who suspended, though unwillingly, the
      calculations with which he was engaged, and keeping his pen within an inch
      of the tablets, gazed on his friend with great lack-lustre eyes, which
      expressed any thing rather than intelligence or interest in the discourse
      addressed to him.&mdash;"That fellow," proceeded Master George, without
      heeding his friend's state of abstraction, "shows, with great liveliness
      of colouring, how our Scotch pride and poverty make liars and braggarts of
      us; and yet the knave, whose every third word to an Englishman is a
      boastful lie, will, I warrant you, be a true and tender friend and
      follower to his master, and has perhaps parted with his mantle to him in
      the cold blast, although he himself walked <i>in cuerpo,</i> as the Don
      says.&mdash;Strange! that courage and fidelity&mdash;for I will warrant
      that the knave is stout&mdash;should have no better companion than this
      swaggering braggadocio humour.&mdash;But you mark me not, friend Davie."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do&mdash;I do, most heedfully," said Davie.&mdash;"For, as the sun
      goeth round the dial-plate in twenty-four hours, add, for the moon, fifty
      minutes and a half&mdash;&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are in the seventh heavens, man," said his companion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I crave your pardon," replied Davie.&mdash;"Let the wheel A go round in
      twenty-four hours&mdash;I have it&mdash;and the wheel B in twenty-four
      hours, fifty minutes and a half&mdash;fifty-seven being to fifty-four, as
      fifty-nine to twenty-four hours, fifty minutes and a half, or very nearly,&mdash;I
      crave your forgiveness, Master George, and heartily wish you good-even."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good-even?" said Master George; "why, you have not wished me good-day
      yet. Come, old friend, lay by these tablets, or you will crack the inner
      machinery of <i>your</i> skull, as our friend yonder has got the
      outer-case of his damaged.&mdash;Good-night, quotha! I mean not to part
      with you so easily. I came to get my four hours' nunchion from you, man,
      besides a tune on the lute from my god-daughter, Mrs. Marget."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good faith! I was abstracted, Master George&mdash;but you know me.
      Whenever I get amongst the wheels," said Mr. Ramsay, "why, 'tis&mdash;&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lucky that you deal in small ones," said his friend; as, awakened from
      his reveries and calculations, Ramsay led the way up a little back-stair
      to the first storey, occupied by his daughter and his little household.
    </p>
    <p>
      The apprentices resumed their places in the front-shop, and relieved Sam
      Porter; when Jenkin said to Tunstall&mdash;"Didst see, Frank, how the old
      goldsmith cottoned in with his beggarly countryman? When would one of his
      wealth have shaken hands so courteously with a poor Englishman?&mdash;Well,
      I'll say that for the best of the Scots, that they will go over head and
      ears to serve a countryman, when they will not wet a nail of their finger
      to save a Southron, as they call us, from drowning. And yet Master George
      is but half-bred Scot neither in that respect; for I have known him do
      many a kind thing to the English too."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But hark ye, Jenkin," said Tunstall, "I think you are but half-bred
      English yourself. How came you to strike on the Scotsman's side after
      all?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, you did so, too," answered Vincent.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, because I saw you begin; and, besides, it is no Cumberland fashion to
      fall fifty upon one," replied Tunstall.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And no Christ Church fashion neither," said Jenkin. "Fair play and Old
      England for ever!&mdash;Besides, to tell you a secret, his voice had a
      twang in it&mdash;in the dialect I mean&mdash;reminded me of a little
      tongue, which I think sweeter&mdash;sweeter than the last toll of St.
      Dunstan's will sound, on the day that I am shot of my indentures&mdash;Ha!&mdash;you
      guess who I mean, Frank?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not I, indeed," answered Tunstall.&mdash;"Scotch Janet, I suppose, the
      laundress."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Off with Janet in her own bucking-basket!&mdash;No, no, no!&mdash;You
      blind buzzard,&mdash;do you not know I mean pretty Mrs. Marget?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Umph!" answered Tunstall, dryly.
    </p>
    <p>
      A flash of anger, not unmingled with suspicion, shot from Jenkin's keen
      black eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Umph!&mdash;and what signifies umph? I am not the first 'prentice has
      married his master's daughter, I suppose?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "They kept their own secret, I fancy," said Tunstall, "at least till they
      were out of their time."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I tell you what it is, Frank," answered Jenkin, sharply, "that may be the
      fashion of you gentlefolks, that are taught from your biggin to carry two
      faces under the same hood, but it shall never be mine."
    </p>
    <p>
      "There are the stairs, then," said Tunstall, coolly; "go up and ask Mrs.
      Marget of our master just now, and see what sort of a face he will wear
      under <i>his</i> hood."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, I wonnot," answered Jenkin; "I am not such a fool as that neither.
      But I will take my own time; and all the Counts in Cumberland shall not
      cut my comb, and this is that which you may depend upon."
    </p>
    <p>
      Francis made no reply; and they resumed their usual attention to the
      business of the shop, and their usual solicitations to the passengers.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER III
    </h2>
    <p>
      <i>Bobadil.</i> I pray you, possess no gallant of your acquaintance with a
      knowledge of my lodging. <i>Master Matthew.</i> Who, I, sir?&mdash;Lord,
      sir! <i>Ben Jonson.</i>
    </p>
    <p>
      The next morning found Nigel Olifaunt, the young Lord of Glenvarloch,
      seated, sad and solitary, in his little apartment, in the mansion of John
      Christie, the ship-chandler; which that honest tradesman, in gratitude
      perhaps to the profession from which he derived his chief support,
      appeared to have constructed as nearly as possible upon the plan of a
      ship's cabin.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was situated near to Paul's Wharf, at the end of one of those intricate
      and narrow lanes, which, until that part of the city was swept away by the
      Great Fire in 1666, constituted an extraordinary labyrinth of small, dark,
      damp, and unwholesome streets and alleys, in one corner or other of which
      the plague was then as surely found lurking, as in the obscure corners of
      Constantinople in our own time. But John Christie's house looked out upon
      the river, and had the advantage, therefore, of free air, impregnated,
      however, with the odoriferous fumes of the articles in which the
      ship-chandler dealt, with the odour of pitch, and the natural scent of the
      ooze and sludge left by the reflux of the tide.
    </p>
    <p>
      Upon the whole, except that his dwelling did not float with the
      flood-tide, and become stranded with the ebb, the young lord was nearly as
      comfortably accommodated as he was while on board the little trading brig
      from the long town of Kirkaldy, in Fife, by which he had come a passenger
      to London. He received, however, every attention which could be paid him
      by his honest landlord, John Christie; for Richie Moniplies had not
      thought it necessary to preserve his master's <i>incognito</i> so
      completely, but that the honest ship-chandler could form a guess that his
      guest's quality was superior to his appearance.
    </p>
    <p>
      As for Dame Nelly, his wife, a round, buxom, laughter-loving dame, with
      black eyes, a tight well-laced bodice, a green apron, and a red petticoat
      edged with a slight silver lace, and judiciously shortened so as to show
      that a short heel, and a tight clean ankle, rested upon her well-burnished
      shoe,&mdash;she, of course, felt interest in a young man, who, besides
      being very handsome, good-humoured, and easily satisfied with the
      accommodations her house afforded, was evidently of a rank, as well as
      manners, highly superior to the skippers (or Captains, as they called
      themselves) of merchant vessels, who were the usual tenants of the
      apartments which she let to hire; and at whose departure she was sure to
      find her well-scrubbed floor soiled with the relics of tobacco, (which,
      spite of King James's Counterblast, was then forcing itself into use,) and
      her best curtains impregnated with the odour of Geneva and strong waters,
      to Dame Nelly's great indignation; for, as she truly said, the smell of
      the shop and warehouse was bad enough without these additions.
    </p>
    <p>
      But all Mr. Olifaunt's habits were regular and cleanly, and his address,
      though frank and simple, showed so much of the courtier and gentleman, as
      formed a strong contrast with the loud halloo, coarse jests, and
      boisterous impatience of her maritime inmates. Dame Nelly saw that her
      guest was melancholy also, notwithstanding his efforts to seem contented
      and cheerful; and, in short, she took that sort of interest in him,
      without being herself aware of the extent, which an unscrupulous gallant
      might have been tempted to improve to the prejudice of honest John, who
      was at least a score of years older than his helpmate. Olifaunt, however,
      had not only other matters to think of, but would have regarded such an
      intrigue, had the idea ever occurred to him, as an abominable and
      ungrateful encroachment upon the laws of hospitality, his religion having
      been by his late father formed upon the strict principles of the national
      faith, and his morality upon those of the nicest honour. He had not
      escaped the predominant weakness of his country, an overweening sense of
      the pride of birth, and a disposition to value the worth and consequence
      of others according to the number and the fame of their deceased
      ancestors; but this pride of family was well subdued, and in general
      almost entirely concealed, by his good sense and general courtesy.
    </p>
    <p>
      Such as we have described him, Nigel Olifaunt, or rather the young Lord
      Glenvarloch, was, when our narrative takes him up, under great perplexity
      respecting the fate of his trusty and only follower, Richard Moniplies,
      who had been dispatched by his young master, early the preceding morning,
      as far as the court at Westminster, but had not yet returned. His evening
      adventures the reader is already acquainted with, and so far knows more of
      Richie than did his master, who had not heard of him for twenty-four
      hours.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dame Nelly Christie, in the meantime, regarded her guest with some
      anxiety, and a great desire to comfort him, if possible. She placed on the
      breakfast-table a noble piece of cold powdered beef, with its usual guards
      of turnip and carrot, recommended her mustard as coming direct from her
      cousin at Tewkesbury, and spiced the toast with her own hands&mdash;and
      with her own hands, also, drew a jug of stout and nappy ale, all of which
      were elements of the substantial breakfast of the period.
    </p>
    <p>
      When she saw that her guest's anxiety prevented him from doing justice to
      the good cheer which she set before him, she commenced her career of
      verbal consolation with the usual volubility of those women in her
      station, who, conscious of good looks, good intentions, and good lungs,
      entertain no fear either of wearying themselves or of fatiguing their
      auditors.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now, what the good year! are we to send you down to Scotland as thin as
      you came up?&mdash;I am sure it would be contrary to the course of nature.
      There was my goodman's father, old Sandie Christie, I have heard he was an
      atomy when he came up from the North, and I am sure he died, Saint Barnaby
      was ten years, at twenty stone weight. I was a bare-headed girl at the
      time, and lived in the neighbourhood, though I had little thought of
      marrying John then, who had a score of years the better of me&mdash;but he
      is a thriving man and a kind husband&mdash;and his father, as I was
      saying, died as fat as a church-warden. Well, sir, but I hope I have not
      offended you for my little joke&mdash;and I hope the ale is to your
      honour's liking,&mdash;and the beef&mdash;and the mustard?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "All excellent&mdash;all too good," answered Olifaunt; "you have every
      thing so clean and tidy, dame, that I shall not know how to live when I go
      back to my own country&mdash;if ever I go back there."
    </p>
    <p>
      This was added as it seemed involuntarily, and with a deep sigh.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I warrant your honour go back again if you like it," said the dame:
      "unless you think rather of taking a pretty well-dowered English lady, as
      some of your countryfolk have done. I assure you, some of the best of the
      city have married Scotsmen. There was Lady Trebleplumb, Sir Thomas
      Trebleplumb the great Turkey merchant's widow, married Sir Awley Macauley,
      whom your honour knows, doubtless; and pretty Mistress Doublefee, old
      Sergeant Doublefee's daughter, jumped out of window, and was married at
      May-fair to a Scotsman with a hard name; and old Pitchpost the timber
      merchant's daughters did little better, for they married two Irishmen; and
      when folks jeer me about having a Scotsman for lodger, meaning your
      honour, I tell them they are afraid of their daughters and their
      mistresses; and sure I have a right to stand up for the Scots, since John
      Christie is half a Scotsman, and a thriving man, and a good husband,
      though there is a score of years between us; and so I would have your
      honour cast care away, and mend your breakfast with a morsel and a
      draught."
    </p>
    <p>
      "At a word, my kind hostess, I cannot," said Olifaunt; "I am anxious about
      this knave of mine, who has been so long absent in this dangerous town of
      yours."
    </p>
    <p>
      It may be noticed in passing that Dame Nelly's ordinary mode of
      consolation was to disprove the existence of any cause for distress; and
      she is said to have carried this so far as to comfort a neighbour, who had
      lost her husband, with the assurance that the dear defunct would be better
      to-morrow, which perhaps might not have proved an appropriate, even if it
      had been a possible, mode of relief.
    </p>
    <p>
      On this occasion she denied stoutly that Richie had been absent altogether
      twenty hours; and as for people being killed in the streets of London, to
      be sure two men had been found in Tower-ditch last week, but that was far
      to the east, and the other poor man that had his throat cut in the fields,
      had met his mishap near by Islington; and he that was stabbed by the young
      Templar in a drunken frolic, by Saint Clement's in the Strand, was an
      Irishman. All which evidence she produced to show that none of these
      casualties had occurred in a case exactly parallel with that of Richie, a
      Scotsman, and on his return from Westminster.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My better comfort is, my good dame," answered Olifaunt, "that the lad is
      no brawler or quarreller, unless strongly urged, and that he has nothing
      valuable about him to any one but me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your honour speaks very well," retorted the inexhaustible hostess, who
      protracted her task of taking away, and putting to rights, in order that
      she might prolong her gossip. "I'll uphold Master Moniplies to be neither
      reveller nor brawler, for if he liked such things, he might be visiting
      and junketing with the young folks about here in the neighbourhood, and he
      never dreams of it; and when I asked the young man to go as far as my
      gossip's, Dame Drinkwater, to taste a glass of aniseed, and a bit of the
      groaning cheese,&mdash;for Dame Drinkwater has had twins, as I told your
      honour, sir,&mdash;and I meant it quite civilly to the young man, but he
      chose to sit and keep house with John Christie; and I dare say there is a
      score of years between them, for your honour's servant looks scarce much
      older than I am. I wonder what they could have to say to each other. I
      asked John Christie, but he bid me go to sleep."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If he comes not soon," said his master, "I will thank you to tell me what
      magistrate I can address myself to; for besides my anxiety for the poor
      fellow's safety, he has papers of importance about him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "O! your honour may be assured he will be back in a quarter of an hour,"
      said Dame Nelly; "he is not the lad to stay out twenty-four hours at a
      stretch. And for the papers, I am sure your honour will pardon him for
      just giving me a peep at the corner, as I was giving him a small cup, not
      so large as my thimble, of distilled waters, to fortify his stomach
      against the damps, and it was directed to the King's Most Excellent
      Majesty; and so doubtless his Majesty has kept Richie out of civility to
      consider of your honour's letter, and send back a fitting reply."
    </p>
    <p>
      Dame Nelly here hit by chance on a more available topic of consolation
      than those she had hitherto touched upon; for the youthful lord had
      himself some vague hopes that his messenger might have been delayed at
      Court until a fitting and favourable answer should be dispatched back to
      him. Inexperienced, however, in public affairs as he certainly was, it
      required only a moment's consideration to convince him of the
      improbability of an expectation so contrary to all he had heard of
      etiquette, as well as the dilatory proceedings in a court suit, and he
      answered the good-natured hostess with a sigh, that he doubted whether the
      king would even look on the paper addressed to him, far less take it into
      his immediate consideration.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now, out upon you for a faint-hearted gentleman!" said the good dame;
      "and why should he not do as much for us as our gracious Queen Elizabeth?
      Many people say this and that about a queen and a king, but I think a king
      comes more natural to us English folks; and this good gentleman goes as
      often down by water to Greenwich, and employs as many of the barge-men and
      water-men of all kinds; and maintains, in his royal grace, John Taylor,
      the water-poet, who keeps both a sculler and a pair of oars. And he has
      made a comely Court at Whitehall, just by the river; and since the king is
      so good a friend to the Thames, I cannot see, if it please your honour,
      why all his subjects, and your honour in specialty, should not have
      satisfaction by his hands."
    </p>
    <p>
      "True, dame&mdash;true,&mdash;let us hope for the best; but I must take my
      cloak and rapier, and pray your husband in courtesy to teach me the way to
      a magistrate."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sure, sir," said the prompt dame, "I can do that as well as he, who has
      been a slow man of his tongue all his life, though I will give him his due
      for being a loving husband, and a man as well to pass in the world as any
      betwixt us and the top of the lane. And so there is the sitting alderman,
      that is always at the Guildhall, which is close by Paul's, and so I
      warrant you he puts all to rights in the city that wisdom can mend; and
      for the rest there is no help but patience. But I wish I were as sure of
      forty pounds as I am that the young man will come back safe and sound."
    </p>
    <p>
      Olifaunt, in great and anxious doubt of what the good dame so strongly
      averred, flung his cloak on one shoulder, and was about to belt on his
      rapier, when first the voice of Richie Moniplies on the stair, and then
      that faithful emissary's appearance in the chamber, put the matter beyond
      question. Dame Nelly, after congratulating Moniplies on his return, and
      paying several compliments to her own sagacity for having foretold it, was
      at length pleased to leave the apartment. The truth was, that, besides
      some instinctive feelings of good breeding which combated her curiosity,
      she saw there was no chance of Richie's proceeding in his narrative while
      she was in the room, and she therefore retreated, trusting that her own
      address would get the secret out of one or other of the young men, when
      she should have either by himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now, in Heaven's name, what is the matter?" said Nigel Olifaunt.&mdash;"Where
      have you been, or what have you been about? You look as pale as death.
      There is blood on your hand, and your clothes are torn. What
      barns-breaking have you been at? You have been drunk, Richard, and
      fighting."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Fighting I have been," said Richard, "in a small way; but for being
      drunk, that's a job ill to manage in this town, without money to come by
      liquor; and as for barns-breaking, the deil a thing's broken but my head.
      It's not made of iron, I wot, nor my claithes of chenzie-mail; so a club
      smashed the tane, and a claught damaged the tither. Some misleard rascals
      abused my country, but I think I cleared the causey of them. However, the
      haill hive was ower mony for me at last, and I got this eclipse on the
      crown, and then I was carried, beyond my kenning, to a sma' booth at the
      Temple Port, whare they sell the whirligigs and mony-go-rounds that
      measure out time as a man wad measure a tartan web; and then they bled me,
      wold I nold I, and were reasonably civil, especially an auld country-man
      of ours, of whom more hereafter."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And at what o'clock might this be?" said Nigel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The twa iron carles yonder, at the kirk beside the Port, were just
      banging out sax o' the clock."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And why came you not home as soon as you recovered?" said Nigel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "In troth, my lord, every <i>why</i> has its <i>wherefore</i>, and this
      has a gude ane," answered his follower. "To come hame, I behoved to ken
      whare hame was; now, I had clean tint the name of the wynd, and the mair I
      asked, the mair the folk leugh, and the farther they sent me wrang; sae I
      gave it up till God should send daylight to help me; and as I saw mysell
      near a kirk at the lang run, I e'en crap in to take up my night's quarters
      in the kirkyard."
    </p>
    <p>
      "In the churchyard?" said Nigel&mdash;"But I need not ask what drove you
      to such a pinch."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It wasna sae much the want o' siller, my Lord Nigel," said Richie, with
      an air of mysterious importance, "for I was no sae absolute without means,
      of whilk mair anon; but I thought I wad never ware a saxpence sterling on
      ane of their saucy chamberlains at a hostelry, sae lang as I could sleep
      fresh and fine in a fair, dry, spring night. Mony a time, when I hae come
      hame ower late, and faund the West-Port steekit, and the waiter ill-willy,
      I have garr'd the sexton of Saint Cuthbert's calf-ward serve me for my
      quarters. But then there are dainty green graffs in Saint Cuthbert's
      kirkyard, whare ane may sleep as if they were in a down-bed, till they
      hear the lavrock singing up in the air as high as the Castle; whereas, and
      behold, these London kirkyards are causeyed with through-stanes, panged
      hard and fast thegither; and my cloak being something threadbare, made but
      a thin mattress, so I was fain to give up my bed before every limb about
      me was crippled. Dead folks may sleep yonder sound enow, but deil haet
      else."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what became of you next?" said his master.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I just took to a canny bulkhead, as they ca' them here; that is, the
      boards on the tap of their bits of outshots of stalls and booths, and
      there I sleepit as sound as if I was in a castle. Not but I was disturbed
      with some of the night-walking queans and swaggering billies, but when
      they found there was nothing to be got by me but a slash of my Andrew
      Ferrara, they bid me good-night for a beggarly Scot; and I was e'en weel
      pleased to be sae cheap rid of them. And in the morning, I cam daikering
      here, but sad wark I had to find the way, for I had been east as far as
      the place they ca' Mile-End, though it is mair like sax-mile-end."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, Richie," answered Nigel, "I am glad all this has ended so well&mdash;go
      get something to eat. I am sure you need it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "In troth do I, sir," replied Moniplies; "but, with your lordship's leave&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Forget the lordship for the present, Richie, as I have often told you
      before."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Faith," replied Richie, "I could weel forget that your honour was a lord,
      but then I behoved to forget that I am a lord's man, and that's not so
      easy. But, however," he added, assisting his description with the thumb
      and the two forefingers of his right hand, thrust out after the fashion of
      a bird's claw, while the little finger and ring-finger were closed upon
      the palm, "to the Court I went, and my friend that promised me a sight of
      his Majesty's most gracious presence, was as gude as his word, and carried
      me into the back offices, where I got the best breakfast I have had since
      we came here, and it did me gude for the rest of the day; for as to what I
      have eaten in this accursed town, it is aye sauced with the disquieting
      thought that it maun be paid for. After a', there was but beef banes and
      fat brose; but king's cauff, your honour kens, is better than ither folk's
      corn; at ony rate, it was a' in free awmous.&mdash;But I see," he added,
      stopping short, "that your honour waxes impatient."
    </p>
    <p>
      "By no means, Richie," said the young nobleman, with an air of
      resignation, for he well knew his domestic would not mend his pace for
      goading; "you have suffered enough in the embassy to have a right to tell
      the story in your own way. Only let me pray for the name of the friend who
      was to introduce you into the king's presence. You were very mysterious on
      the subject, when you undertook, through his means, to have the
      Supplication put into his Majesty's own hands, since those sent
      heretofore, I have every reason to think, went no farther than his
      secretary's."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Weel, my lord," said Richie, "I did not tell you his name and quality at
      first, because I thought you would be affronted at the like of him having
      to do in your lordship's affairs. But mony a man climbs up in Court by
      waur help. It was just Laurie Linklater, one of the yeomen of the kitchen,
      that was my father's apprentice lang syne."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A yeoman in the kitchen&mdash;a scullion!" exclaimed Lord Nigel, pacing
      the room in displeasure.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But consider, sir," said Richie, composedly, "that a' your great friends
      hung back, and shunned to own you, or to advocate your petition; and then,
      though I am sure I wish Laurie a higher office, for your lordship's sake
      and for mine, and specially for his ain sake, being a friendly lad, yet
      your lordship must consider, that a scullion, if a yeoman of the king's
      most royal kitchen may be called a scullion, may weel rank with a
      master-cook elsewhere; being that king's cauff, as I said before, is
      better than&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are right, and I was wrong," said the young nobleman. "I have no
      choice of means of making my case known, so that they be honest."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Laurie is as honest a lad as ever lifted a ladle," said Richie; "not but
      what I dare to say he can lick his fingers like other folk, and reason
      good. But, in fine, for I see your honour is waxing impatient, he brought
      me to the palace, where a' was astir for the king going out to hunt or
      hawk on Blackheath, I think they ca'd it. And there was a horse stood with
      all the quarries about it, a bonny grey as ever was foaled; and the saddle
      and the stirrups, and the curb and bit, o' burning gowd, or silver gilded
      at least; and down, sir, came the king, with all his nobles, dressed out
      in his hunting-suit of green, doubly laced, and laid down with gowd. I
      minded the very face o' him, though it was lang since I saw him. But my
      certie, lad, thought I, times are changed since ye came fleeing down the
      back stairs of auld Holyrood House, in grit fear, having your breeks in
      your hand without time to put them on, and Frank Stewart, the wild Earl of
      Bothwell, hard at your haunches; and if auld Lord Glenvarloch hadna cast
      his mantle about his arm, and taken bluidy wounds mair than ane in your
      behalf, you wald not have craw'd sae crouse this day; and so saying, I
      could not but think your lordship's Sifflication could not be less than
      most acceptable; and so I banged in among the crowd of lords. Laurie
      thought me mad, and held me by the cloak-lap till the cloth rave in his
      hand; and so I banged in right before the king just as he mounted, and
      crammed the Sifflication into his hand, and he opened it like in amaze;
      and just as he saw the first line, I was minded to make a reverence, and I
      had the ill luck to hit his jaud o' a beast on the nose with my hat, and
      scaur the creature, and she swarved aside, and the king, that sits na
      mickle better than a draff-pock on the saddle, was like to have gotten a
      clean coup, and that might have cost my craig a raxing-and he flung down
      the paper amang the beast's feet, and cried, 'Away wi' the fause loon that
      brought it!' And they grippit me, and cried treason; and I thought of the
      Ruthvens that were dirked in their ain house, for, it may be, as small a
      forfeit. However, they spak only of scourging me, and had me away to the
      porter's lodge to try the tawse on my back, and I was crying mercy as loud
      as I could; and the king, when he had righted himself on the saddle, and
      gathered his breath, cried to do me nae harm; for, said he, he is ane of
      our ain Norland stots, I ken by the rowt of him,&mdash;and they a' laughed
      and rowted loud eneugh. And then he said, 'Gie him a copy of the
      Proclamation, and let him go down to the North by the next light collier,
      before waur come o't.' So they let me go, and rode out, a sniggering,
      laughing, and rounding in ilk ither's lugs. A sair life I had wi' Laurie
      Linklater; for he said it wad be the ruin of him. And then, when I told
      him it was in your matter, he said if he had known before he would have
      risked a scauding for you, because he minded the brave old lord, your
      father. And then he showed how I suld have done,&mdash;and that I suld
      have held up my hand to my brow, as if the grandeur of the king and his
      horse-graith thegither had casten the glaiks in my een, and mair jackanape
      tricks I suld hae played, instead of offering the Sifflication, he said,
      as if I had been bringing guts to a bear." [Footnote: I am certain this
      prudential advice is not original on Mr. Linklater's part, but I am not at
      present able to produce my authority. I think it amounted to this, that
      James flung down a petition presented by some supplicant who paid no
      compliments to his horse, and expressed no admiration at the splendour of
      his furniture, saying, "Shall a king cumber himself about the petition of
      a beggar, while the beggar disregards the king's splendour?" It is, I
      think, Sir John Harrington who recommends, as a sure mode to the king's
      favour, to praise the paces of the royal palfrey.]
    </p>
    <p>
      'For,' said he, 'Richie, the king is a weel-natured and just man of his
      ain kindly nature, but he has a wheen maggots that maun be cannily guided;
      and then, Richie,' says he, in a very laigh tone, 'I would tell it to nane
      but a wise man like yoursell, but the king has them about him wad corrupt
      an angel from heaven; but I could have gi'en you avisement how to have
      guided him, but now it's like after meat mustard.'&mdash;'Aweel, aweel,
      Laurie,' said I, 'it may be as you say', but since I am clear of the tawse
      and the porter's lodge, sifflicate wha like, deil hae Richie Moniplies if
      he come sifflicating here again.'&mdash;And so away I came, and I wasna
      far by the Temple Port, or Bar, or whatever they ca' it, when I met with
      the misadventure that I tauld you of before."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, my honest Richie," said Lord Nigel, "your attempt was well meant,
      and not so ill conducted, I think, as to have deserved so bad an issue;
      but go to your beef and mustard, and we'll talk of the rest afterwards."
    </p>
    <p>
      "There is nae mair to be spoken, sir," said his follower, "except that I
      met ane very honest, fair-spoken, weel-put-on gentleman, or rather
      burgher, as I think, that was in the whigmaleery man's back-shop; and when
      he learned wha I was, behold he was a kindly Scot himsell, and, what is
      more, a town's-bairn o' the gude town, and he behoved to compel me to take
      this Portugal piece, to drink, forsooth&mdash;my certie, thought I, we ken
      better, for we will eat it&mdash;and he spoke of paying your lordship a
      visit."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You did not tell him where I lived, you knave?" said the Lord Nigel,
      angrily. "'Sdeath! I shall have every clownish burgher from Edinburgh come
      to gaze on my distress, and pay a shilling for having seen the motion of
      the Poor Noble!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tell him where you lived?" said Richie, evading the question; "How could
      I tell him what I kendna mysell? If I had minded the name of the wynd, I
      need not have slept in the kirkyard yestreen."
    </p>
    <p>
      "See, then, that you give no one notice of our lodging," said the young
      nobleman; "those with whom I have business I can meet at Paul's, or in the
      Court of Requests."
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is steeking the stable-door when the steed is stolen," thought
      Richie to himself; "but I must put him on another pin."
    </p>
    <p>
      So thinking, he asked the young lord what was in the Proclamation which he
      still held folded in his hand; "for, having little time to spell at it,"
      said he, "your lordship well knows I ken nought about it but the grand
      blazon at the tap&mdash;the lion has gotten a claught of our auld Scottish
      shield now, but it was as weel upheld when it had a unicorn on ilk side of
      it."
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Nigel read the Proclamation, and he coloured deep with shame and
      indignation as he read; for the purport was, to his injured feelings, like
      the pouring of ardent spirits upon a recent wound.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What deil's in the paper, my lord?" said Richie, unable to suppress his
      curiosity as he observed his master change colour; "I wadna ask such a
      thing, only the Proclamation is not a private thing, but is meant for a'
      men's hearing."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is indeed meant for all men's hearing," replied Lord Nigel, "and it
      proclaims the shame of our country, and the ingratitude of our Prince."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now the Lord preserve us! and to publish it in London, too!" ejaculated
      Moniplies.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hark ye, Richard," said Nigel Olifaunt, "in this paper the Lords of the
      Council set forth, that, 'in consideration of the resort of idle persons
      of low condition forth from his Majesty's kingdom of Scotland to his
      English Court&mdash;filling the same with their suits and supplications,
      and dishonouring the royal presence with their base, poor, and beggarly
      persons, to the disgrace of their country in the estimation of the
      English; these are to prohibit the skippers, masters of vessels and
      others, in every part of Scotland, from bringing such miserable creatures
      up to Court under pain of fine and impisonment."'
    </p>
    <p>
      "I marle the skipper took us on board," said Richie.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then you need not marvel how you are to get back again," said Lord Nigel,
      "for here is a clause which says, that such idle suitors are to be
      transported back to Scotland at his Majesty's expense, and punished for
      their audacity with stripes, stocking, or incarceration, according to
      their demerits&mdash;that is to say, I suppose, according to the degree of
      their poverty, for I see no other demerit specified."
    </p>
    <p>
      "This will scarcely," said Richie, "square with our old proverb&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     A King's face
     Should give grace&mdash;
</pre>
    <p>
      But what says the paper farther, my lord?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "O, only a small clause which especially concerns us, making some still
      heavier denunciations against those suitors who shall be so bold as to
      approach the Court, under pretext of seeking payment of old debts due to
      them by the king, which, the paper states, is, of all species of
      importunity, that which is most odious to his Majesty."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The king has neighbours in that matter," said Richie; "but it is not
      every one that can shift off that sort of cattle so easily as he does."
    </p>
    <p>
      Their conversation was here interrupted by a knocking at the door.
      Olifaunt looked out at the window, and saw an elderly respectable person
      whom he knew not. Richie also peeped, and recognised, but, recognising,
      chose not to acknowledge, his friend of the preceding evening. Afraid that
      his share in the visit might be detected, he made his escape out of the
      apartment under pretext of going to his breakfast; and left their landlady
      the task of ushering Master George into Lord Nigel's apartment, which she
      performed with much courtesy.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IV
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  Ay, sir, the clouted shoe hath oft times craft in't,
  As says the rustic proverb; and your citizen,
  In's grogram suit, gold chain, and well-black'd shoes,
  Bears under his flat cap ofttimes a brain
  Wiser than burns beneath the cap and feather,
  Or seethes within the statesman's velvet nightcap.
                               <i>Read me my Riddle.</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      The young Scottish nobleman received the citizen with distant politeness,
      expressing that sort of reserve by which those of the higher ranks are
      sometimes willing to make a plebeian sensible that he is an intruder. But
      Master George seemed neither displeased nor disconcerted. He assumed the
      chair, which, in deference to his respectable appearance, Lord Nigel
      offered to him, and said, after a moment's pause, during which he had
      looked attentively at the young man, with respect not unmingled with
      emotion&mdash;"You will forgive me for this rudeness, my lord; but I was
      endeavouring to trace in your youthful countenance the features of my good
      old lord, your excellent father."
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a moment's pause ere young Glenvarloch replied, still with a
      reserved manner,&mdash;"I have been reckoned like my father, sir; and am
      happy to see any one that respects his memory. But the business which
      calls me to this city is of a hasty as well as a private nature, and&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I understand the hint, my lord," said Master George, "and would not be
      guilty of long detaining you from business, or more agreeable
      conversation. My errand is almost done when I have said that my name is
      George Heriot, warmly befriended, and introduced into the employment of
      the Royal Family of Scotland, more than twenty years since, by your
      excellent father; and that, learning from a follower of yours that your
      lordship was in this city in prosecution of some business of importance,
      it is my duty,&mdash;it is my pleasure,&mdash;to wait on the son of my
      respected patron; and, as I am somewhat known both at the Court, and in
      the city, to offer him such aid in the furthering of his affairs as my
      credit and experience may be able to afford."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have no doubt of either, Master Heriot," said Lord Nigel, "and I thank
      you heartily for the good-will with which you have placed them at a
      stranger's disposal; but my business at Court is done and ended, and I
      intend to leave London and, indeed, the island, for foreign travel and
      military service. I may add, that the suddenness of my departure occasions
      my having little time at my disposal."
    </p>
    <p>
      Master Heriot did not take the hint, but sat fast, with an embarrassed
      countenance however, like one who had something to say that he knew not
      exactly how to make effectual. At length he said, with a dubious smile,
      "You are fortunate, my lord, in having so soon dispatched your business at
      Court. Your talking landlady informs me you have been but a fortnight in
      this city. It is usually months and years ere the Court and a suitor shake
      hands and part."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My business," said Lord Nigel, with a brevity which was intended to stop
      further discussion, "was summarily dispatched."
    </p>
    <p>
      Still Master Heriot remained seated, and there was a cordial good-humour
      added to the reverence of his appearance, which rendered it impossible for
      Lord Nigel to be more explicit in requesting his absence.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your lordship has not yet had time," said the citizen, still attempting
      to sustain the conversation, "to visit the places of amusement,&mdash;the
      playhouses, and other places to which youth resort. But I see in your
      lordship's hand one of the new-invented plots of the piece, [Footnote:
      Meaning, probably, playbills.] which they hand about of late&mdash;May I
      ask what play?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh! a well-known piece," said Lord Nigel, impatiently throwing down the
      Proclamation, which he had hitherto been twisting to and fro in his hand,&mdash;"an
      excellent and well-approved piece&mdash;<i>A New Way to Pay Old Debts.</i>"
    </p>
    <p>
      Master Heriot stooped down, saying, "Ah! my old acquaintance, Philip
      Massinger;" but, having opened the paper and seen the purport, he looked
      at Lord Nigel with surprise, saying, "I trust your lordship does not think
      this prohibition can extend either to <i>your</i> person or your claims?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I should scarce have thought so myself," said the young nobleman; "but so
      it proves. His Majesty, to close this discourse at once, has been pleased
      to send me this Proclamation, in answer to a respectful Supplication for
      the repayment of large loans advanced by my father for the service of the
      State, in the king's utmost emergencies."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is impossible!" said the citizen&mdash;"it is absolutely impossible!&mdash;If
      the king could forget what was due to your father's memory, still he would
      not have wished&mdash;would not, I may say, have dared&mdash;to be so
      flagrantly unjust to the memory of such a man as your father, who, dead in
      the body, will long live in the memory of the Scottish people."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I should have been of your opinion," answered Lord Nigel, in the same
      tone as before; "but there is no fighting with facts."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What was the tenor of this Supplication?" said Heriot; "or by whom was it
      presented? Something strange there must have been in the contents, or else&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You may see my original draught," said the young lord, taking it out of a
      small travelling strong-box; "the technical part is by my lawyer in
      Scotland, a skilful and sensible man; the rest is my own, drawn, I hope,
      with due deference and modesty."
    </p>
    <p>
      Master Heriot hastly cast his eye over the draught. "Nothing," he said,
      "can be more well-tempered and respectful. Is it possible the king can
      have treated this petition with contempt?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He threw it down on the pavement," said the Lord of Glenvarloch, "and
      sent me for answer that Proclamation, in which he classes me with the
      paupers and mendicants from Scotland, who disgrace his Court in the eyes
      of the proud English&mdash;that is all. Had not my father stood by him
      with heart, sword, and fortune, he might never have seen the Court of
      England himself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But by whom was this Supplication presented, my lord?" said Heriot; "for
      the distaste taken at the messenger will sometimes extend itself to the
      message."
    </p>
    <p>
      "By my servant," said the Lord Nigel; "by the man you saw, and, I think,
      were kind to."
    </p>
    <p>
      "By your servant, my lord?" said the citizen; "he seems a shrewd fellow,
      and doubtless a faithful; but surely&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You would say," said Lord Nigel, "he is no fit messenger to a king's
      presence?&mdash;Surely he is not; but what could I do? Every attempt I had
      made to lay my case before the king had miscarried, and my petitions got
      no farther than the budgets of clerks and secretaries; this fellow
      pretended he had a friend in the household that would bring him to the
      king's presence,&mdash;and so&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I understand," said Heriot; "but, my lord, why should you not, in right
      of your rank and birth, have appeared at Court, and required an audience,
      which could not have been denied to you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The young lord blushed a little, and looked at his dress, which was very
      plain; and, though in perfect good order, had the appearance of having
      seen service.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I know not why I should be ashamed of speaking the truth," he said, after
      a momentary hesitation,&mdash;"I had no dress suitable for appearing at
      Court. I am determined to incur no expenses which I cannot discharge; and
      I think you, sir, would not advise me to stand at the palace-door, in
      person, and deliver my petition, along with those who are in very deed
      pleading their necessity, and begging an alms."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That had been, indeed, unseemly," said the citizen; "but yet, my lord, my
      mind runs strangely that there must be some mistake.&mdash;Can I speak
      with your domestic?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I see little good it can do," answered the young lord, "but the interest
      you take in my misfortunes seems sincere, and therefore&mdash;&mdash;" He
      stamped on the floor, and in a few seconds afterwards Moniplies appeared,
      wiping from his beard and mustaches the crumbs of bread, and the froth of
      the ale-pot, which plainly showed how he had been employed.&mdash;"Will
      your lordship grant permission," said Heriot, "that I ask your groom a few
      questions?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "His lordship's page, Master George," answered Moniplies, with a nod of
      acknowledgment, "if you are minded to speak according to the letter."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hold your saucy tongue," said his master, "and reply distinctly to the
      questions you are to be asked."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And <i>truly,</i> if it like your pageship," said the citizen, "for you
      may remember I have a gift to discover falset."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Weel, weel, weel," replied the domestic, somewhat embarrassed, in spite
      of his effrontery&mdash;"though I think that the sort of truth that serves
      my master, may weel serve ony ane else."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pages lie to their masters by right of custom," said the citizen; "and
      you write yourself in that band, though I think you be among the oldest of
      such springalds; but to me you must speak truth, if you would not have it
      end in the whipping-post."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And that's e'en a bad resting-place," said the well-grown page; "so come
      away with your questions, Master George."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, then," demanded the citizen, "I am given to understand that you
      yesterday presented to his Majesty's hand a Supplication, or petition,
      from this honourable lord, your master."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Troth, there's nae gainsaying that, sir," replied Moniplies; "there were
      enow to see it besides me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And you pretend that his Majesty flung it from him with contempt?" said
      the citizen. "Take heed, for I have means of knowing the truth; and you
      were better up to the neck in the Nor-Loch, which you like so well, than
      tell a leasing where his Majesty's name is concerned."
    </p>
    <p>
      "There is nae occasion for leasing-making about the matter," answered
      Moniplies, firmly; "his Majesty e'en flung it frae him as if it had
      dirtied his fingers."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You hear, sir," said Olifaunt, addressing Heriot.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hush!" said the sagacious citizen; "this fellow is not ill named&mdash;he
      has more plies than one in his cloak. Stay, fellow," for Moniplies,
      muttering somewhat about finishing his breakfast, was beginning to shamble
      towards the door, "answer me this farther question&mdash;When you gave
      your master's petition to his Majesty, gave you nothing with it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ou, what should I give wi' it, ye ken, Master George?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is what I desire and insist to know," replied his interrogator.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Weel, then&mdash;I am not free to say, that maybe I might not just slip
      into the king's hand a wee bit Sifflication of mine ain, along with my
      lord's&mdash;just to save his Majesty trouble&mdash;and that he might
      consider them baith at ance."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A supplication of your own, you varlet!" said his master.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ou dear, ay, my lord," said Richie&mdash;"puir bodies hae their bits of
      sifflications as weel as their betters."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And pray, what might your worshipful petition import?" said Master
      Heriot.&mdash;"Nay, for Heaven's sake, my lord, keep your patience, or we
      shall never learn the truth of this strange matter.&mdash;Speak out,
      sirrah, and I will stand your friend with my lord."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's a lang story to tell&mdash;but the upshot is, that it's a scrape of
      an auld accompt due to my father's yestate by her Majesty the king's maist
      gracious mother, when she lived in the Castle, and had sundry providings
      and furnishings forth of our booth, whilk nae doubt was an honour to my
      father to supply, and whilk, doubtless, it will be a credit to his Majesty
      to satisfy, as it will be grit convenience to me to receive the saam."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What string of impertinence is this?" said his master.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Every word as true as e'er John Knox spoke," said Richie; "here's the bit
      double of the Sifflication."
    </p>
    <p>
      Master George took a crumpled paper from the fellow's hand, and said,
      muttering betwixt his teeth&mdash;"'Humbly showeth&mdash;um&mdash;um&mdash;his
      Majesty's maist gracious mother&mdash;um&mdash;um&mdash;justly addebted
      and owing the sum of fifteen merks&mdash;the compt whereof followeth&mdash;Twelve
      nowte's feet for jellies&mdash;ane lamb, being Christmas&mdash;ane roasted
      capin in grease for the privy chalmer, when my Lord of Bothwell suppit
      with her Grace.'&mdash;I think, my lord, you can hardly be surprised that
      the king gave this petition a brisk reception; and I conclude, Master
      Page, that you took care to present your own Supplication before your
      master's?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Troth did I not," answered Moniplies. "I thought to have given my lord's
      first, as was reason gude; and besides that, it wad have redd the gate for
      my ain little bill. But what wi' the dirdum an' confusion, an' the loupin
      here and there of the skeigh brute of a horse, I believe I crammed them
      baith into his hand cheek-by-jowl, and maybe my ain was bunemost; and say
      there was aught wrang, I am sure I had a' the fright and a' the risk&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "And shall have all the beating, you rascal knave," said Nigel; "am I to
      be insulted and dishonoured by your pragmatical insolence, in blending
      your base concerns with mine?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, nay, nay, my lord," said the good-humoured citizen, interposing, "I
      have been the means of bringing the fellow's blunder to light&mdash;allow
      me interest enough with your lordship to be bail for his bones. You have
      cause to be angry, but still I think the knave mistook more out of conceit
      than of purpose; and I judge you will have the better service of him
      another time, if you overlook this fault&mdash;Get you gone, sirrah&mdash;I'll
      make your peace."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Na, na," said Moniplies, keeping his ground firmly, "if he likes to
      strike a lad that has followed him for pure love, for I think there has
      been little servant's fee between us, a' the way frae Scotland, just let
      my lord be doing, and see the credit he will get by it&mdash;and I would
      rather (mony thanks to you though, Master George) stand by a lick of his
      baton, than it suld e'er be said a stranger came between us."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Go, then," said his master, "and get out of my sight."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aweel I wot that is sune done," said Moniplies, retiring slowly; "I did
      not come without I had been ca'd for&mdash;and I wad have been away half
      an hour since with my gude will, only Maister George keepit me to answer
      his interrogation, forsooth, and that has made a' this stir."
    </p>
    <p>
      And so he made his grumbling exit, with the tone much rather of one who
      has sustained an injury, than who has done wrong.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There never was a man so plagued as I am with a malapert knave!&mdash;The
      fellow is shrewd, and I have found him faithful&mdash;I believe he loves
      me, too, and he has given proofs of it&mdash;but then he is so uplifted in
      his own conceit, so self-willed, and so self-opinioned, that he seems to
      become the master and I the man; and whatever blunder he commits, he is
      sure to make as loud complaints, as if the whole error lay with me, and in
      no degree with himself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Cherish him, and maintain him, nevertheless," said the citizen; "for
      believe my grey hairs, that affection and fidelity are now rarer qualities
      in a servitor, than when the world was younger. Yet, trust him, my good
      lord, with no commission above his birth or breeding, for you see yourself
      how it may chance to fall."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is but too evident, Master Heriot," said the young nobleman; "and I am
      sorry I have done injustice to my sovereign, and your master. But I am,
      like a true Scotsman, wise behind hand&mdash;the mistake has happened&mdash;my
      Supplication has been refused, and my only resource is to employ the rest
      of my means to carry Moniplies and myself to some counter-scarp, and die
      in the battle-front like my ancestors."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It were better to live and serve your country like your noble father, my
      lord," replied Master George. "Nay, nay, never look down or shake your
      head&mdash;the king has not refused your Supplication, for he has not seen
      it&mdash;you ask but justice, and that his place obliges him to give to
      his subjects&mdash;ay, my lord, and I will say that his natural temper
      doth in this hold bias with his duty."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I were well pleased to think so, and yet&mdash;&mdash;" said Nigel
      Olifaunt,&mdash;"I speak not of my own wrongs, but my country hath many
      that are unredressed."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My lord," said Master Heriot, "I speak of my royal master, not only with
      the respect due from a subject&mdash;the gratitude to be paid by a
      favoured servant, but also with the frankness of a free and loyal
      Scotsman. The king is himself well disposed to hold the scales of justice
      even; but there are those around him who can throw without detection their
      own selfish wishes and base interests into the scale. You are already a
      sufferer by this, and without your knowing it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am surprised, Master Heriot," said the young lord, "to hear you, upon
      so short an acquaintance, talk as if you were familiarly acquainted with
      my affairs."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My lord," replied the goldsmith, "the nature of my employment affords me
      direct access to the interior of the palace; I am well known to be no
      meddler in intrigues or party affairs, so that no favourite has as yet
      endeavoured to shut against me the door of the royal closet; on the
      contrary, I have stood well with each while he was in power, and I have
      not shared the fall of any. But I cannot be thus connected with the Court,
      without hearing, even against my will, what wheels are in motion, and how
      they are checked or forwarded. Of course, when I choose to seek such
      intelligence, I know the sources in which it is to be traced. I have told
      you why I was interested in your lordship's fortunes. It was last night
      only that I knew you were in this city, yet I have been able, in coming
      hither this morning, to gain for you some information respecting the
      impediments to your suit."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sir, I am obliged by your zeal, however little it may be merited,"
      answered Nigel, still with some reserve; "yet I hardly know how I have
      deserved this interest."
    </p>
    <p>
      "First let me satisfy you that it is real," said the citizen; "I blame you
      not for being unwilling to credit the fair professions of a stranger in my
      inferior class of society, when you have met so little friendship from
      relations, and those of your own rank, bound to have assisted you by so
      many ties. But mark the cause. There is a mortgage over your father's
      extensive estate, to the amount of 40,000 merks, due ostensibly to
      Peregrine Peterson, the Conservator of Scottish Privileges at Campvere."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I know nothing of a mortgage," said the young lord; "but there is a
      wadset for such a sum, which, if unredeemed, will occasion the forfeiture
      of my whole paternal estate, for a sum not above a fourth of its value&mdash;and
      it is for that very reason that I press the king's government for a
      settlement of the debts due to my father, that I may be able to redeem my
      land from this rapacious creditor."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A wadset in Scotland," said Heriot, "is the same with a mortgage on this
      side of the Tweed; but you are not acquainted with your real creditor. The
      Conservator Peterson only lends his name to shroud no less a man than the
      Lord Chancellor of Scotland, who hopes, under cover of this debt, to gain
      possession of the estate himself, or perhaps to gratify a yet more
      powerful third party. He will probably suffer his creature Peterson to
      take possession, and when the odium of the transaction shall be forgotten,
      the property and lordship of Glenvarloch will be conveyed to the great man
      by his obsequious instrument, under cover of a sale, or some similar
      device."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Can this be possible?" said Lord Nigel; "the Chancellor wept when I took
      leave of him&mdash;called me his cousin&mdash;even his son&mdash;furnished
      me with letters, and, though I asked him for no pecuniary assistance,
      excused himself unnecessarily for not pressing it on me, alleging the
      expenses of his rank and his large family. No, I cannot believe a nobleman
      would carry deceit so far."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am not, it is true, of noble blood," said the citizen; "but once more I
      bid you look on my grey hairs, and think what can be my interest in
      dishonouring them with falsehood in affairs in which I have no interest,
      save as they regard the son of my benefactor. Reflect also, have you had
      any advantage from the Lord Chancellor's letters?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "None," said Nigel Olifaunt, "except cold deeds and fair words. I have
      thought for some time, their only object was to get rid of me&mdash;one
      yesterday pressed money on me when I talked of going abroad, in order that
      I might not want the means of exiling myself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Right," said Heriot; "rather than you fled not, they would themselves
      furnish wings for you to fly withal."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will to him this instant," said the incensed youth, "and tell him my
      mind of his baseness."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Under your favour," said Heriot, detaining him, "you shall not do so. By
      a quarrel you would become the ruin of me your informer; and though I
      would venture half my shop to do your lordship a service, I think you
      would hardly wish me to come by damage, when it can be of no service to
      you."
    </p>
    <p>
      The word <i>shop</i> sounded harshly in the ear of the young nobleman, who
      replied hastily&mdash;"Damage, sir?&mdash;so far am I from wishing you to
      incur damage, that I would to Heaven you would cease your fruitless offers
      of serving one whom there is no chance of ultimately assisting!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Leave me alone for that," said the citizen: "you have now erred as far on
      the bow-hand. Permit me to take this Supplication&mdash;I will have it
      suitably engrossed, and take my own time (and it shall be an early one)
      for placing it, with more prudence, I trust, than that used by your
      follower, in the king's hand&mdash;I will almost answer for his taking up
      the matter as you would have him&mdash;but should he fail to do so, even
      then I will not give up the good cause."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sir," said the young nobleman, "your speech is so friendly, and my own
      state so helpless, that I know not how to refuse your kind proffer, even
      while I blush to accept it at the hands of a stranger."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We are, I trust, no longer such," said the goldsmith; "and for my
      guerdon, when my mediation proves successful, and your fortunes are
      re-established, you shall order your first cupboard of plate from George
      Heriot."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You would have a bad paymaster, Master Heriot," said Lord Nigel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do not fear that," replied the goldsmith; "and I am glad to see you
      smile, my lord&mdash;methinks it makes you look still more like the good
      old lord your father; and it emboldens me, besides, to bring out a small
      request&mdash;that you would take a homely dinner with me to-morrow. I
      lodge hard by in Lombard Street. For the cheer, my lord, a mess of white
      broth, a fat capon well larded, a dish of beef collops for auld Scotland's
      sake, and it may be a cup of right old wine, that was barrelled before
      Scotland and England were one nation&mdash;Then for company, one or two of
      our own loving countrymen&mdash;and maybe my housewife may find out a
      bonny Scots lass or so."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I would accept your courtesy, Master Heriot," said Nigel, "but I hear the
      city ladies of London like to see a man gallant&mdash;I would not like to
      let down a Scottish nobleman in their ideas, as doubtless you have said
      the best of our poor country, and I rather lack the means of bravery for
      the present."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My lord, your frankness leads me a step farther," said Master George. "I&mdash;I
      owed your father some monies; and&mdash;nay, if your lordship looks at me
      so fixedly, I shall never tell my story&mdash;and, to speak plainly, for I
      never could carry a lie well through in my life&mdash;it is most fitting,
      that, to solicit this matter properly, your lordship should go to Court in
      a manner beseeming your quality. I am a goldsmith, and live by lending
      money as well as by selling plate. I am ambitious to put an hundred pounds
      to be at interest in your hands, till your affairs are settled."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And if they are never favourably settled?" said Nigel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then, my lord," returned the citizen, "the miscarriage of such a sum will
      be of little consequence to me, compared with other subjects of regret."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Master Heriot," said the Lord Nigel, "your favour is generously offered,
      and shall be frankly accepted. I must presume that you see your way
      through this business, though I hardly do; for I think you would be
      grieved to add any fresh burden to me, by persuading me to incur debts
      which I am not likely to discharge. I will therefore take your money,
      under the hope and trust that you will enable me to repay you punctually."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will convince you, my lord," said the goldsmith, "that I mean to deal
      with you as a creditor from whom I expect payment; and therefore, you
      shall, with your own good pleasure, sign an acknowledgment for these
      monies, and an obligation to content and repay me."
    </p>
    <p>
      He then took from his girdle his writing materials, and, writing a few
      lines to the purport he expressed, pulled out a small bag of gold from a
      side-pouch under his cloak, and, observing that it should contain an
      hundred pounds, proceeded to tell out the contents very methodically upon
      the table. Nigel Olifaunt could not help intimating that this was an
      unnecessary ceremonial, and that he would take the bag of gold on the word
      of his obliging creditor; but this was repugnant to the old man's forms of
      transacting business.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Bear with me," he said, "my good lord,&mdash;we citizens are a wary and
      thrifty generation; and I should lose my good name for ever within the
      toll of Paul's, were I to grant quittance, or take acknowledgment, without
      bringing the money to actual tale. I think it be right now&mdash;and, body
      of me," he said, looking out at the window, "yonder come my boys with my
      mule; for I must Westward Hoe. Put your monies aside, my lord; it is not
      well to be seen with such goldfinches chirping about one in the lodgings
      of London. I think the lock of your casket be indifferent good; if not, I
      can serve you at an easy rate with one that has held thousands;&mdash;it
      was the good old Sir Faithful Frugal's;&mdash;his spendthrift son sold the
      shell when he had eaten the kernel&mdash;and there is the end of a
      city-fortune."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I hope yours will make a better termination, Master Heriot," said the
      Lord Nigel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I hope it will, my lord," said the old man, with a smile; "but," to use
      honest John Bunyan's phrase&mdash;'therewithal the water stood in his
      eyes,' "it has pleased God to try me with the loss of two children; and
      for one adopted shild who ives&mdash;Ah! woe is me! and well-a-day!&mdash;But
      I am patient and thankful; and for the wealth God has sent me, it shall
      not want inheritors while there are orphan lads in Auld Reekie.&mdash;I
      wish you good-morrow, my lord."
    </p>
    <p>
      "One orphan has cause to thank you already," said Nigel, as he attended
      him to the door of his chamber, where, resisting further escort, the old
      citizen made his escape.
    </p>
    <p>
      As, in going downstairs, he passed the shop where Dame Christie stood
      becking, he made civil inquiries after her husband. The dame of course
      regretted his absence; but he was down, she said, at Deptford, to settle
      with a Dutch ship-master.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Our way of business, sir," she said, "takes him much from home, and my
      husband must be the slave of every tarry jacket that wants but a pound of
      oakum."
    </p>
    <p>
      "All business must be minded, dame," said the goldsmith. "Make my
      remembrances&mdash;George Heriot, of Lombard Street's remembrances&mdash;to
      your goodman. I have dealt with him&mdash;he is just and punctual&mdash;true
      to time and engagements;&mdash;be kind to your noble guest, and see he
      wants nothing. Though it be his pleasure at present to lie private and
      retired, there be those that care for him, and I have a charge to see him
      supplied; so that you may let me know by your husband, my good dame, how
      my lord is, and whether he wants aught."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And so he <i>is</i> a real lord after all?" said the good dame. "I am
      sure I always thought he looked like one. But why does he not go to
      Parliament, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He will, dame," answered Heriot, "to the Parliament of Scotland, which is
      his own country."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh! he is but a Scots lord, then," said the good dame; "and that's the
      thing makes him ashamed to take the title, as they say."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let him not hear <i>you</i> say so, dame," replied the citizen.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who, I, sir?" answered she; "no such matter in my thought, sir. Scot or
      English, he is at any rate a likely man, and a civil man; and rather than
      he should want any thing, I would wait upon him myself, and come as far as
      Lombard Street to wait upon your worship too."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let your husband come to me, good dame," said the goldsmith, who, with
      all his experience and worth, was somewhat of a formalist and
      disciplinarian. "The proverb says, 'House goes mad when women gad;' and
      let his lordship's own man wait upon his master in his chamber&mdash;it is
      more seemly. God give ye good-morrow."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good-morrow to your worship," said the dame, somewhat coldly; and, so
      soon as the adviser was out of hearing, was ungracious enough to mutter,
      in contempt of his council, "Marry quep of your advice, for an old Scotch
      tinsmith, as you are! My husband is as wise, and very near as old, as
      yourself; and if I please him, it is well enough; and though he is not
      just so rich just now as some folks, yet I hope to see him ride upon his
      moyle, with a foot-cloth, and have his two blue-coats after him, as well
      as they do."
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER V
    </h2>
    <p>
      Wherefore come ye not to court? Certain 'tis the rarest sport; There are
      silks and jewels glistening, Prattling fools and wise men listening,
      Bullies among brave men justling, Beggars amongst nobles bustling;
      Low-breath'd talkers, minion lispers, Cutting honest throats by whispers;
      Wherefore come ye not to court? Skelton swears 'tis glorious sport. <i>Skelton
      Skeltonizeth.</i>
    </p>
    <p>
      It was not entirely out of parade that the benevolent citizen was mounted
      and attended in that manner, which, as the reader has been informed,
      excited a gentle degree of spleen on the part of Dame Christie, which, to
      do her justice, vanished in the little soliloquy which we have recorded.
      The good man, besides the natural desire to maintain the exterior of a man
      of worship, was at present bound to Whitehall in order to exhibit a piece
      of valuable workmanship to King James, which he deemed his Majesty might
      be pleased to view, or even to purchase. He himself was therefore mounted
      upon his caparisoned mule, that he might the better make his way through
      the narrow, dirty, and crowded streets; and while one of his attendants
      carried under his arm the piece of plate, wrapped up in red baize, the
      other two gave an eye to its safety; for such was then the state of the
      police of the metropolis, that men were often assaulted in the public
      street for the sake of revenge or of plunder; and those who apprehended
      being beset, usually endeavoured, if their estate admitted such expense,
      to secure themselves by the attendance of armed followers. And this
      custom, which was at first limited to the nobility and gentry, extended by
      degrees to those citizens of consideration, who, being understood to
      travel with a charge, as it was called, might otherwise have been selected
      as safe subjects of plunder by the street-robber.
    </p>
    <p>
      As Master George Heriot paced forth westward with this gallant attendance,
      he paused at the shop door of his countryman and friend, the ancient
      horologer, and having caused Tunstall, who was in attendance, to adjust
      his watch by the real time, he desired to speak with his master; in
      consequence of which summons, the old Time-meter came forth from his den,
      his face like a bronze bust, darkened with dust, and glistening here and
      there with copper filings, and his senses so bemused in the intensity of
      calculation, that he gazed on his friend the goldsmith for a minute before
      he seemed perfectly to comprehend who he was, and heard him express his
      invitation to David Ramsay, and pretty Mistress Margaret, his daughter, to
      dine with him next day at noon, to meet with a noble young countrymen,
      without returning any answer.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'll make thee speak, with a murrain to thee," muttered Heriot to
      himself; and suddenly changing his tone, he said aloud,&mdash;"I pray you,
      neighbour David, when are you and I to have a settlement for the bullion
      wherewith I supplied you to mount yonder hall-clock at Theobald's, and
      that other whirligig that you made for the Duke of Buckingham? I have had
      the Spanish house to satisfy for the ingots, and I must needs put you in
      mind that you have been eight months behind-hand."
    </p>
    <p>
      There is something so sharp and <i>aigre</i> in the demand of a peremptory
      dun, that no human tympanum, however inaccessible to other tones, can
      resist the application. David Ramsay started at once from his reverie, and
      answered in a pettish tone, "Wow, George, man, what needs aw this din
      about sax score o' pounds? Aw the world kens I can answer aw claims on me,
      and you proffered yourself fair time, till his maist gracious Majesty and
      the noble Duke suld make settled accompts wi' me; and ye may ken, by your
      ain experience, that I canna gang rowting like an unmannered Highland stot
      to their doors, as ye come to mine."
    </p>
    <p>
      Heriot laughed, and replied, "Well, David, I see a demand of money is like
      a bucket of water about your ears, and makes you a man of the world at
      once. And now, friend, will you tell me, like a Christian man, if you will
      dine with me to-morrow at noon, and bring pretty Mistress Margaret, my
      god-daughter, with you, to meet with our noble young countryman, the Lord
      of Glenvarloch?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The young Lord of Glenvarloch!" said the old mechanist; "wi' aw my heart,
      and blithe I will be to see him again. We have not met these forty years&mdash;he
      was twa years before me at the humanity classes&mdash;he is a sweet
      youth."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That was his father&mdash;his father&mdash;his father!&mdash;you old
      dotard Dot-and-carry-one that you are," answered the goldsmith. "A sweet
      youth he would have been by this time, had he lived, worthy nobleman! This
      is his son, the Lord Nigel."
    </p>
    <p>
      "His son!" said Ramsay; "maybe he will want something of a chronometer, or
      watch&mdash;few gallants care to be without them now-a-days."
    </p>
    <p>
      "He may buy half your stock-in-trade, if ever he comes to his own, for
      what I know," said his friend; "but, David, remember your bond, and use me
      not as you did when my housewife had the sheep's-head and the cock-a-leeky
      boiling for you as late as two of the clock afternoon."
    </p>
    <p>
      "She had the more credit by her cookery," answered David, now fully awake;
      "a sheep's-head over-boiled, were poison, according to our saying."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well," answered Master George, "but as there will be no sheep's-head
      to-morrow, it may chance you to spoil a dinner which a proverb cannot
      mend. It may be you may forgather with your friend, Sir Mungo
      Malagrowther, for I purpose to ask his worship; so, be sure and bide
      tryste, Davie."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That will I&mdash;I will be true as a chronometer," said Ramsay.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will not trust you, though," replied Heriot.&mdash;"Hear you, Jenkin
      boy, tell Scots Janet to tell pretty Mistress Margaret, my god-child, she
      must put her father in remembrance to put on his best doublet to-morrow,
      and to bring him to Lombard Street at noon. Tell her they are to meet a
      brave young Scots lord."
    </p>
    <p>
      Jenkin coughed that sort of dry short cough uttered by those who are
      either charged with errands which they do not like, or hear opinions to
      which they must not enter a dissent.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Umph!" repeated Master George&mdash;who, as we have already noticed, was
      something of a martinet in domestic discipline&mdash;"what does <i>umph</i>
      mean? Will you do mine errand or not, sirrah?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sure, Master George Heriot," said the apprentice, touching his cap, "I
      only meant, that Mistress Margaret was not likely to forget such an
      invitation."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, no," said Master George; "she is a dutiful girl to her god-father,
      though I sometimes call her a jill-flirt.&mdash;And, hark ye, Jenkin, you
      and your comrade had best come with your clubs, to see your master and her
      safely home; but first shut shop, and loose the bull-dog, and let the
      porter stay in the fore-shop till your return. I will send two of my
      knaves with you; for I hear these wild youngsters of the Temple are broken
      out worse and lighter than ever."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We can keep their steel in order with good handbats," said Jenkin; "and
      never trouble your servants for the matter."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Or, if need be," said Tunstall, "we have swords as well as the Templars."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Fie upon it&mdash;fie upon it, young man," said the citizen;&mdash;"An
      apprentice with a sword!&mdash;Marry, heaven forefend! I would as soon see
      him in a hat and feather."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, sir," said Jenkin&mdash;"we will find arms fitting to our station,
      and will defend our master and his daughter, if we should tear up the very
      stones of the pavement."
    </p>
    <p>
      "There spoke a London 'prentice bold," said the citizen; "and, for your
      comfort, my lads, you shall crush a cup of wine to the health of the
      Fathers of the City. I have my eye on both of you&mdash;you are thriving
      lads, each in his own way.&mdash;God be wi' you, Davie. Forget not
      to-morrow at noon." And, so saying, he again turned his mule's head
      westward, and crossed Temple Bar, at that slow and decent amble, which at
      once became his rank and civic importance, and put his pedestrian
      followers to no inconvenience to keep up with him.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the Temple gate he again paused, dismounted, and sought his way into
      one of the small booths occupied by scriveners in the neighbourhood. A
      young man, with lank smooth hair combed straight to his ears, and then
      cropped short, rose, with a cringing reverence, pulled off a slouched hat,
      which he would upon no signal replace on his head, and answered with much
      demonstration of reverence, to the goldsmith's question of, "How goes
      business, Andrew?"&mdash;"Aw the better for your worship's kind
      countenance and maintenance."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Get a large sheet of paper, man, and make a new pen, with a sharp neb,
      and fine hair-stroke. Do not slit the quill up too high, it's a wastrife
      course in your trade, Andrew&mdash;they that do not mind corn-pickles,
      never come to forpits. I have known a learned man write a thousand pages
      with one quill." [Footnote: A biblical commentary by Gill, which (if the
      author's memory serves him) occupies between five and six hundred printed
      quarto pages, and must therefore have filled more pages of manuscript than
      the number mentioned in the text, has this quatrain at the end of the
      volume&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
    "With one good pen I wrote this book,
       Made of a grey goose quill;
     A pen it was when it I took,
       And a pen I leave it still."]
</pre>
    <p>
      "Ah! sir," said the lad, who listened to the goldsmith, though instructing
      him in his own trade, with an air of veneration and acquiescence, "how
      sune ony puir creature like mysell may rise in the world, wi' the
      instruction of such a man as your worship!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My instructions are few, Andrew, soon told, and not hard to practise. Be
      honest&mdash;be industrious&mdash;be frugal&mdash;and you will soon win
      wealth and worship.&mdash;Here, copy me this Supplication in your best and
      most formal hand. I will wait by you till it is done."
    </p>
    <p>
      The youth lifted not his eye from the paper, and laid not the pen from his
      hand, until the task was finished to his employer's satisfaction. The
      citizen then gave the young scrivener an angel; and bidding him, on his
      life, be secret in all business intrusted to him, again mounted his mule,
      and rode on westward along the Strand.
    </p>
    <p>
      It may be worth while to remind our readers, that the Temple Bar which
      Heriot passed, was not the arched screen, or gateway, of the present day;
      but an open railing, or palisade, which, at night, and in times of alarm,
      was closed with a barricade of posts and chains. The Strand also, along
      which he rode, was not, as now, a continued street, although it was
      beginning already to assume that character. It still might be considered
      as an open road, along the south side of which stood various houses and
      hotels belonging to the nobility, having gardens behind them down to the
      water-side, with stairs to the river, for the convenience of taking boat;
      which mansions have bequeathed the names of their lordly owners to many of
      the streets leading from the Strand to the Thames. The north side of the
      Strand was also a long line of houses, behind which, as in Saint Martin's
      Lane, and other points, buildings, were rapidly arising; but Covent Garden
      was still a garden, in the literal sense of the word, or at least but
      beginning to be studded with irregular buildings. All that was passing
      around, however, marked the rapid increase of a capital which had long
      enjoyed peace, wealth, and a regular government. Houses were rising in
      every direction; and the shrewd eye of our citizen already saw the period
      not distant, which should convert the nearly open highway on which he
      travelled, into a connected and regular street, uniting the Court and the
      town with the city of London.
    </p>
    <p>
      He next passed Charing Cross, which was no longer the pleasant solitary
      village at which the judges were wont to breakfast on their way to
      Westminster Hall, but began to resemble the artery through which, to use
      Johnson's expression "pours the full tide of London population." The
      buildings were rapidly increasing, yet certainly gave not even a faint
      idea of its present appearance.
    </p>
    <p>
      At last Whitehall received our traveller, who passed under one of the
      beautiful gates designed by Holbein, and composed of tesselated
      brick-work, being the same to which Moniplies had profanely likened the
      West-Port of Edinburgh, and entered the ample precincts of the palace of
      Whitehall, now full of all the confusion attending improvement. It was
      just at the time when James,&mdash;little suspecting that he was employed
      in constructing a palace, from the window of which his only son was to
      pass in order that he might die upon a scaffold before it,&mdash;was
      busied in removing the ancient and ruinous buildings of De Burgh, Henry
      VIII., and Queen Elizabeth, to make way for the superb architecture on
      which Inigo Jones exerted all his genius. The king, ignorant of futurity,
      was now engaged in pressing on his work; and, for that purpose, still
      maintained his royal apartments at Whitehall, amidst the rubbish of old
      buildings, and the various confusion attending the erection of the new
      pile, which formed at present a labyrinth not easily traversed.
    </p>
    <p>
      The goldsmith to the Royal Household, and who, if fame spoke true,
      oftentimes acted as their banker,&mdash;for these professions were not as
      yet separated from each other,&mdash;was a person of too much importance
      to receive the slightest interruption from sentinel or porter; and,
      leaving his mule and two of his followers in the outer-court, he gently
      knocked at a postern-gate of the building, and was presently admitted,
      while the most trusty of his attendants followed him closely, with the
      piece of plate under his arm. This man also he left behind him in an
      ante-room,&mdash;where three or four pages in the royal livery, but
      untrussed, unbuttoned, and dressed more carelessly than the place, and
      nearness to a king's person, seemed to admit, were playing at dice and
      draughts, or stretched upon benches, and slumbering with half-shut eyes. A
      corresponding gallery, which opened from the ante-room, was occupied by
      two gentlemen-ushers of the chamber, who gave each a smile of recognition
      as the wealthy goldsmith entered.
    </p>
    <p>
      No word was spoken on either side; but one of the ushers looked first to
      Heriot, and then to a little door half-covered by the tapestry, which
      seemed to say, as plain as a look could, "Lies your business that way?"
      The citizen nodded; and the court-attendant, moving on tiptoe, and with as
      much caution as if the floor had been paved with eggs, advanced to the
      door, opened it gently, and spoke a few words in a low tone. The broad
      Scottish accent of King James was heard in reply,&mdash;"Admit him
      instanter, Maxwell. Have you hairboured sae lang at the Court, and not
      learned, that gold and silver are ever welcome?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The usher signed to Heriot to advance, and the honest citizen was
      presently introduced into the cabinet of the Sovereign.
    </p>
    <p>
      The scene of confusion amid which he found the king seated, was no bad
      picture of the state and quality of James's own mind. There was much that
      was rich and costly in cabinet pictures and valuable ornaments; but they
      were arranged in a slovenly manner, covered with dust, and lost half their
      value, or at least their effect, from the manner in which they were
      presented to the eye. The table was loaded with huge folios, amongst which
      lay light books of jest and ribaldry; and, amongst notes of unmercifully
      long orations, and essays on king-craft, were mingled miserable roundels
      and ballads by the Royal 'Prentice, as he styled himself, in the art of
      poetry, and schemes for the general pacification of Europe, with a list of
      the names of the king's hounds, and remedies against canine madness.
    </p>
    <p>
      The king's dress was of green velvet, quilted so full as to be
      dagger-proof&mdash;which gave him the appearance of clumsy and ungainly
      protuberance; while its being buttoned awry, communicated to his figure an
      air of distortion. Over his green doublet he wore a sad-coloured
      nightgown, out of the pocket of which peeped his hunting-horn. His
      high-crowned grey hat lay on the floor, covered with dust, but encircled
      by a carcanet of large balas rubies; and he wore a blue velvet nightcap,
      in the front of which was placed the plume of a heron, which had been
      struck down by a favourite hawk in some critical moment of the flight, in
      remembrance of which the king wore this highly honoured feather.
    </p>
    <p>
      But such inconsistencies in dress and appointments were mere outward types
      of those which existed in the royal character, rendering it a subject of
      doubt amongst his contemporaries, and bequeathing it as a problem to
      future historians. He was deeply learned, without possessing useful
      knowledge; sagacious in many individual cases, without having real wisdom;
      fond of his power, and desirous to maintain and augment it, yet willing to
      resign the direction of that, and of himself, to the most unworthy
      favourites; a big and bold asserter of his rights in words, yet one who
      tamely saw them trampled on in deeds; a lover of negotiations, in which he
      was always outwitted; and one who feared war, where conquest might have
      been easy. He was fond of his dignity, while he was perpetually degrading
      it by undue familiarity; capable of much public labour, yet often
      neglecting it for the meanest amusement; a wit, though a pedant; and a
      scholar, though fond of the conversation of the ignorant and uneducated.
      Even his timidity of temper was not uniform; and there were moments of his
      life, and those critical, in which he showed the spirit of his ancestors.
      He was laborious in trifles, and a trifler where serious labour was
      required; devout in his sentiments, and yet too often profane in his
      language; just and beneficent by nature, he yet gave way to the iniquities
      and oppression of others. He was penurious respecting money which he had
      to give from his own hand, yet inconsiderately and unboundedly profuse of
      that which he did not see. In a word, those good qualities which displayed
      themselves in particular cases and occasions, were not of a nature
      sufficiently firm and comprehensive to regulate his general conduct; and,
      showing themselves as they occasionally did, only entitled James to the
      character bestowed on him by Sully&mdash;that he was the wisest fool in
      Christendom.
    </p>
    <p>
      That the fortunes of this monarch might be as little of apiece as his
      character, he, certainly the least able of the Stewarts, succeeded
      peaceably to that kingdom, against the power of which his predecessors
      had, with so much difficulty, defended his native throne; and, lastly,
      although his reign appeared calculated to ensure to Great Britain that
      lasting tranquillity and internal peace which so much suited the king's
      disposition, yet, during that very reign, were sown those seeds of
      dissension, which, like the teeth of the fabulous dragon, had their
      harvest in a bloody and universal civil war.
    </p>
    <p>
      Such was the monarch, who, saluting Heriot by the name of Jingling
      Geordie, (for it was his well-known custom to give nicknames to all those
      with whom he was on terms of familiarity,) inquired what new clatter-traps
      he had brought with him, to cheat his lawful and native Prince out of his
      siller.
    </p>
    <p>
      "God forbid, my liege," said the citizen, "that I should have any such
      disloyal purpose. I did but bring a piece of plate to show to your most
      gracious Majesty, which, both for the subject and for the workmanship, I
      were loath to put into the hands of any subject until I knew your
      Majesty's pleasure anent it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Body o' me, man, let's see it, Heriot; though, by my saul, Steenie's
      service o' plate was sae dear a bargain, I had 'maist pawned my word as a
      Royal King, to keep my ain gold and silver in future, and let you,
      Geordie, keep yours."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Respecting the Duke of Buckingham's plate," said the goldsmith, "your
      Majesty was pleased to direct that no expense should be spared, and&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "What signifies what I desired, man? when a wise man is with fules and
      bairns, he maun e'en play at the chucks. But you should have had mair
      sense and consideration than to gie Babie Charles and Steenie their ain
      gate; they wad hae floored the very rooms wi' silver, and I wonder they
      didna."
    </p>
    <p>
      George Heriot bowed, and said no more. He knew his master too well to
      vindicate himself otherwise than by a distant allusion to his order; and
      James, with whom economy was only a transient and momentary twinge of
      conscience, became immediately afterwards desirous to see the piece of
      plate which the goldsmith proposed to exhibit, and dispatched Maxwell to
      bring it to his presence. In the meantime he demanded of the citizen
      whence he had procured it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "From Italy, may it please your Majesty," replied Heriot.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It has naething in it tending to papistrie?" said the king, looking
      graver than his wont.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Surely not, please your Majesty," said Heriot; "I were not wise to bring
      any thing to your presence that had the mark of the beast."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You would be the mair beast yourself to do so," said the king; "it is
      weel kend that I wrestled wi' Dagon in my youth, and smote him on the
      groundsill of his own temple; a gude evidence that I should be in time
      called, however unworthy, the Defender of the Faith.&mdash;But here comes
      Maxwell, bending under his burden, like the Golden Ass of Apuleius."
    </p>
    <p>
      Heriot hastened to relieve the usher, and to place the embossed salver,
      for such it was, and of extraordinary dimensions, in a light favourable
      for his Majesty's viewing the sculpture.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Saul of my body, man," said the king, "it is a curious piece, and, as I
      think, fit for a king's chalmer; and the subject, as you say, Master
      George, vera adequate and beseeming&mdash;being, as I see, the judgment of
      Solomon&mdash;a prince in whose paths it weel becomes a' leeving monarchs
      to walk with emulation."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But whose footsteps," said Maxwell, "only one of them&mdash;if a subject
      may say so much&mdash;hath ever overtaken."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Haud your tongue for a fause fleeching loon!" said the king, but with a
      smile on his face that showed the flattery had done its part. "Look at the
      bonny piece of workmanship, and haud your clavering tongue.&mdash;And
      whase handiwork may it be, Geordie?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was wrought, sir," replied the goldsmith, "by the famous Florentine,
      Benvenuto Cellini, and designed for Francis the First of France; but I
      hope it will find a fitter master."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Francis of France!" said the king; "send Solomon, King of the Jews, to
      Francis of France!&mdash;Body of me, man, it would have kythed Cellini
      mad, had he never done ony thing else out of the gate. Francis!&mdash;why,
      he was a fighting fule, man,&mdash;a mere fighting fule,&mdash;got himsell
      ta'en at Pavia, like our ain David at Durham lang syne;&mdash;if they
      could hae sent him Solomon's wit, and love of peace, and godliness, they
      wad hae dune him a better turn. But Solomon should sit in other gate
      company than Francis of France."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I trust that such will be his good fortune," said Heriot.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is a curious and very artificial sculpture," said the king, in
      continuation; "but yet, methinks, the carnifex, or executioner there, is
      brandishing his gully ower near the king's face, seeing he is within reach
      of his weapon. I think less wisdom than Solomon's wad have taught him that
      there was danger in edge-tools, and that he wad have bidden the smaik
      either sheath his shabble, or stand farther back."
    </p>
    <p>
      George Heriot endeavoured to alleviate this objection, by assuring the
      king that the vicinity betwixt Solomon and the executioner was nearer in
      appearance than in reality, and that the perspective should be allowed
      for.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Gang to the deil wi' your prospective, man," said the king; "there canna
      be a waur prospective for a lawful king, wha wishes to reign in luve, and
      die in peace and honour, than to have naked swords flashing in his een. I
      am accounted as brave as maist folks; and yet I profess to ye I could
      never look on a bare blade without blinking and winking. But a'thegither
      it is a brave piece;&mdash;and what is the price of it, man?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The goldsmith replied by observing, that it was not his own property, but
      that of a distressed countryman.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Whilk you mean to mak your excuse for asking the double of its worth, I
      warrant?" answered the king. "I ken the tricks of you burrows-town
      merchants, man."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have no hopes of baffling your Majesty's sagacity," said Heriot; "the
      piece is really what I say, and the price a hundred and fifty pounds
      sterling, if it pleases your Majesty to make present payment."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A hundred and fifty punds, man! and as mony witches and warlocks to raise
      them!" said the irritated Monarch. "My saul, Jingling Geordie, ye are
      minded that your purse shall jingle to a bonny tune!&mdash;How am I to
      tell you down a hundred and fifty punds for what will not weigh as many
      merks? and ye ken that my very household servitors, and the officers of my
      mouth, are sax months in arrear!"
    </p>
    <p>
      The goldsmith stood his ground against all this objurgation, being what he
      was well accustomed to, and only answered, that, if his Majesty liked the
      piece, and desired to possess it, the price could be easily settled. It
      was true that the party required the money, but he, George Heriot, would
      advance it on his Majesty's account, if such were his pleasure, and wait
      his royal conveniency for payment, for that and other matters; the money,
      meanwhile, lying at the ordinary usage.
    </p>
    <p>
      "By my honour," said James, "and that is speaking like an honest and
      reasonable tradesman. We maun get another subsidy frae the Commons, and
      that will make ae compting of it. Awa wi' it, Maxwell&mdash;awa wi' it,
      and let it be set where Steenie and Babie Charles shall see it as they
      return from Richmond.&mdash;And now that we are secret, my good auld
      friend Geordie, I do truly opine, that speaking of Solomon and ourselves,
      the haill wisdom in the country left Scotland, when we took our travels to
      the Southland here."
    </p>
    <p>
      George Heriot was courtier enough to say, that "the wise naturally follow
      the wisest, as stags follow their leader."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Troth, I think there is something in what thou sayest," said James; "for
      we ourselves, and those of our Court and household, as thou thyself, for
      example, are allowed by the English, for as self-opinioned as they are, to
      pass for reasonable good wits; but the brains of those we have left behind
      are all astir, and run clean hirdie-girdie, like sae mony warlocks and
      witches on the Devil's Sabbath e'en."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am sorry to hear this, my liege," said Heriot. "May it please your
      Grace to say what our countrymen have done to deserve such a character?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "They are become frantic, man&mdash;clean brain-crazed," answered the
      king. "I cannot keep them out of the Court by all the proclamations that
      the heralds roar themselves hoarse with. Yesterday, nae farther gane, just
      as we were mounted, and about to ride forth, in rushed a thorough
      Edinburgh gutterblood&mdash;a ragged rascal, every dud upon whose back was
      bidding good-day to the other, with a coat and hat that would have served
      a pease-bogle, and without havings or reverence, thrusts into our hands,
      like a sturdy beggar, some Supplication about debts owing by our gracious
      mother, and siclike trash; whereat the horse spangs on end, and, but for
      our admirable sitting, wherein we have been thought to excel maist
      sovereign princes, as well as subjects, in Europe, I promise you we would
      have been laid endlang on the causeway."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your Majesty," said Heriot, "is their common father, and therefore they
      are the bolder to press into your gracious presence."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I ken I am <i>pater patriae</i> well enough," said James; "but one would
      think they had a mind to squeeze my puddings out, that they may divide the
      inheritance, Ud's death, Geordie, there is not a loon among them can
      deliver a Supplication, as it suld be done in the face of majesty."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I would I knew the most fitting and beseeming mode to do so," said
      Heriot, "were it but to instruct our poor countrymen in better fashions."
    </p>
    <p>
      "By my halidome," said the king, "ye are a ceevileezed fellow, Geordie,
      and I carena if I fling awa as much time as may teach ye. And, first, see
      you, sir&mdash;ye shall approach the presence of majesty thus,&mdash;shadowing
      your eyes with your hand, to testify that you are in the presence of the
      Vice-gerent of Heaven.&mdash;Vera weel, George, that is done in a comely
      manner.&mdash;Then, sir, ye sail kneel, and make as if ye would kiss the
      hem of our garment, the latch of our shoe, or such like.&mdash;Very weel
      enacted&mdash;whilk we, as being willing to be debonair and pleasing
      towards our lieges, prevent thus,&mdash;and motion to you to rise;&mdash;whilk,
      having a boon to ask, as yet you obey not, but, gliding your hand into
      your pouch, bring forth your Supplication, and place it reverentially in
      our open palm." The goldsmith, who had complied with great accuracy with
      all the prescribed points of the ceremonial, here completed it, to James's
      no small astonishment, by placing in his hand the petition of the Lord of
      Glenvarloch. "What means this, ye fause loon?" said he, reddening and
      sputtering; "hae I been teaching you the manual exercise, that ye suld
      present your piece at our ain royal body?&mdash;Now, by this light, I had
      as lief that ye had bended a real pistolet against me, and yet this hae ye
      done in my very cabinet, where nought suld enter but at my ain pleasure."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I trust your Majesty," said Heriot, as he continued to kneel, "will
      forgive my exercising the lesson you condescended to give me in the behalf
      of a friend?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of a friend!" said the king; "so much the waur&mdash;so much the waur, I
      tell you. If it had been something to do <i>yoursell</i> good there would
      have been some sense in it, and some chance that you wad not have come
      back on me in a hurry; but a man may have a hundred friends, and petitions
      for every ane of them, ilk ane after other."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your Majesty, I trust," said Heriot, "will judge me by former experience,
      and will not suspect me of such presumption."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I kenna," said the placable monarch; "the world goes daft, I think&mdash;<i>sed
      semel insanivimus omnes</i>&mdash;thou art my old and faithful servant,
      that is the truth; and, were't any thing for thy own behoof, man, thou
      shouldst not ask twice. But, troth, Steenie loves me so dearly, that he
      cares not that any one should ask favours of me but himself.&mdash;Maxwell,"
      (for the usher had re-entered after having carried off the plate,) "get
      into the ante-chamber wi' your lang lugs.&mdash;In conscience, Geordie, I
      think as that thou hast been mine ain auld fiduciary, and wert my
      goldsmith when I might say with the Ethnic poet&mdash;<i>Non mea renidet
      in domo lacunar</i>&mdash;for, faith, they had pillaged my mither's auld
      house sae, that beechen bickers, and treen trenchers, and latten platters,
      were whiles the best at our board, and glad we were of something to put on
      them, without quarrelling with the metal of the dishes. D'ye mind, for
      thou wert in maist of our complots, how we were fain to send sax of the
      Blue-banders to harry the Lady of Loganhouse's dowcot and poultry-yard,
      and what an awfu' plaint the poor dame made against Jock of Milch, and the
      thieves of Annandale, wha were as sackless of the deed as I am of the sin
      of murder?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was the better for Jock," said Heriot; "for, if I remember weel, it
      saved him from a strapping up at Dumfries, which he had weel deserved for
      other misdeeds."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, man, mind ye that?" said the king; "but he had other virtues, for he
      was a tight huntsman, moreover, that Jock of Milch, and could hollow to a
      hound till all the woods rang again. But he came to an Annandale end at
      the last, for Lord Torthorwald run his lance out through him.&mdash;Cocksnails,
      man, when I think of those wild passages, in my conscience, I am not sure
      but we lived merrier in auld Holyrood in those shifting days, than now
      when we are dwelling at heck and manger. <i>Cantabit vacuus</i>&mdash;we
      had but little to care for."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And if your Majesty please to remember," said the goldsmith, "the awful
      task we had to gather silver-vessail and gold-work enough to make some
      show before the Spanish Ambassador."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Vera true," said the king, now in a full tide of gossip, "and I mind not
      the name of the right leal lord that helped us with every unce he had in
      his house, that his native Prince might have some credit in the eyes of
      them that had the Indies at their beck."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I think, if your Majesty," said the citizen, "will cast your eye on the
      paper in your hand, you will recollect his name."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay!" said the king, "say ye sae, man?&mdash;Lord Glenvarloch, that was
      his name indeed&mdash;<i>Justus et tenax propositi</i>&mdash;A just man,
      but as obstinate as a baited bull. He stood whiles against us, that Lord
      Randal Olifaunt of Glenvarloch, but he was a loving and a leal subject in
      the main. But this supplicator maun be his son&mdash;Randal has been long
      gone where king and lord must go, Geordie, as weel as the like of you&mdash;and
      what does his son want with us?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The settlement," answered the citizen, "of a large debt due by your
      Majesty's treasury, for money advanced to your Majesty in great State
      emergency, about the time of the Raid of Ruthven."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I mind the thing weel," said King James&mdash;"Od's death, man, I was
      just out of the clutches of the Master of Glamis and his complices, and
      there was never siller mair welcome to a born prince,&mdash;the mair the
      shame and pity that crowned king should need sic a petty sum. But what
      need he dun us for it, man, like a baxter at the breaking? We aught him
      the siller, and will pay him wi' our convenience, or make it otherwise up
      to him, whilk is enow between prince and subject&mdash;We are not <i>in
      meditatione fugae,</i> man, to be arrested thus peremptorily."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Alas! an it please your Majesty," said the goldsmith, shaking his head,
      "it is the poor young nobleman's extreme necessity, and not his will, that
      makes him importunate; for he must have money, and that briefly, to
      discharge a debt due to Peregrine Peterson, Conservator of the Privileges
      at Campvere, or his haill hereditary barony and estate of Glenvarloch will
      be evicted in virtue of an unredeemed wadset."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How say ye, man&mdash;how say ye?" exclaimed the king, impatiently; "the
      carle of a Conservator, the son of a Low-Dutch skipper, evict the auld
      estate and lordship of the house of Olifaunt?&mdash;God's bread, man, that
      maun not be&mdash;we maun suspend the diligence by writ of favour, or
      otherwise."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I doubt that may hardly be," answered the citizen, "if it please your
      Majesty; your learned counsel in the law of Scotland advise, that there is
      no remeid but in paying the money."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ud's fish," said the king, "let him keep haud by the strong hand against
      the carle, until we can take some order about his affairs."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Alas!" insisted the goldsmith, "if it like your Majesty, your own pacific
      government, and your doing of equal justice to all men, has made main
      force a kittle line to walk by, unless just within the bounds of the
      Highlands."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well&mdash;weel&mdash;weel, man," said the perplexed monarch, whose ideas
      of justice, expedience, and convenience, became on such occasions
      strangely embroiled; "just it is we should pay our debts, that the young
      man may pay his; and he must be paid, and <i>in verbo regis</i> he shall
      be paid&mdash;but how to come by the siller, man, is a difficult chapter&mdash;ye
      maun try the city, Geordie."
    </p>
    <p>
      "To say the truth," answered Heriot, "please your gracious Majesty, what
      betwixt loans and benevolences, and subsidies, the city is at this present&mdash;&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Donna tell me of what the city is," said King James; "our Exchequer is as
      dry as Dean Giles's discourses on the penitentiary psalms&mdash;<i>Ex
      nihilo nihil fit</i>&mdash;It's ill taking the breeks aff a wild
      Highlandman&mdash;they that come to me for siller, should tell me how to
      come by it&mdash;the city ye maun try, Heriot; and donna think to be
      called Jingling Geordie for nothing&mdash;and <i>in verbo regis</i> I will
      pay the lad if you get me the loan&mdash;I wonnot haggle on the terms;
      and, between you and me, Geordie, we will redeem the brave auld estate of
      Glenvarloch.&mdash;But wherefore comes not the young lord to Court, Heriot&mdash;is
      he comely&mdash;is he presentable in the presence?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No one can be more so," said George Heriot; "but&mdash;&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, I understand ye," said his Majesty&mdash;"I understand ye&mdash;<i>Res
      angusta domi</i>&mdash;puir lad-puir lad!&mdash;and his father a right
      true leal Scots heart, though stiff in some opinions. Hark ye, Heriot, let
      the lad have twa hundred pounds to fit him out. And, here&mdash;here"&mdash;(taking
      the carcanet of rubies from his old hat)&mdash;"ye have had these in
      pledge before for a larger sum, ye auld Levite that ye are. Keep them in
      gage, till I gie ye back the siller out of the next subsidy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If it please your Majesty to give me such directions in writing," said
      the cautious citizen.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The deil is in your nicety, George," said the king; "ye are as preceese
      as a Puritan in form, and a mere Nullifidian in the marrow of the matter.
      May not a king's word serve ye for advancing your pitiful twa hundred
      pounds?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "But not for detaining the crown jewels," said George Heriot.
    </p>
    <p>
      And the king, who from long experience was inured to dealing with
      suspicious creditors, wrote an order upon George Heriot, his well-beloved
      goldsmith and jeweller, for the sum of two hundred pounds, to be paid
      presently to Nigel Olifaunt, Lord of Glenvarloch, to be imputed as so much
      debts due to him by the crown; and authorizing the retention of a carcanet
      of balas rubies, with a great diamond, as described in a Catalogue of his
      Majesty's Jewels, to remain in possession of the said George Heriot,
      advancer of the said sum, and so forth, until he was lawfully contented
      and paid thereof. By another rescript, his Majesty gave the said George
      Heriot directions to deal with some of the monied men, upon equitable
      terms, for a sum of money for his Majesty's present use, not to be under
      50,000 merks, but as much more as could conveniently be procured.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And has he ony lair, this Lord Nigel of ours?" said the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      George Heriot could not exactly answer this question; but believed "the
      young lord had studied abroad."
    </p>
    <p>
      "He shall have our own advice," said the king, "how to carry on his
      studies to maist advantage; and it may be we will have him come to Court,
      and study with Steenie and Babie Charles. And, now we think on't, away&mdash;away,
      George&mdash;for the bairns will be coming hame presently, and we would
      not as yet they kend of this matter we have been treating anent. <i>Propera
      fedem,</i> O Geordie. Clap your mule between your boughs, and god-den with
      you."
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus ended the conference betwixt the gentle King Jamie and his benevolent
      jeweller and goldsmith.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VI
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  O I do know him&mdash;tis the mouldy lemon
  Which our court wits will wet their lips withal,
  When they would sauce their honied conversation
  With somewhat sharper flavour&mdash;Marry sir,
  That virtue's wellnigh left him&mdash;all the juice
  That was so sharp and poignant, is squeezed out,
  While the poor rind, although as sour as ever,
  Must season soon the draff we give our grunters,
  For two legg'd things are weary on't.
                     <i>The Chamberlain&mdash;A Comedy</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      The good company invited by the hospitable citizen assembled at his house
      in Lombard Street at the "hollow and hungry hour" of noon, to partake of
      that meal which divides the day, being about the time when modern persons
      of fashion, turning themselves upon their pillow, begin to think, not
      without a great many doubts and much hesitation, that they will by and by
      commence it. Thither came the young Nigel, arrayed plainly, but in a
      dress, nevertheless, more suitable to his age and quality than he had
      formerly worn, accompanied by his servant Moniplies, whose outside also
      was considerably improved. His solemn and stern features glared forth from
      under a blue velvet bonnet, fantastically placed sideways on his head&mdash;he
      had a sound and tough coat of English blue broad-cloth, which, unlike his
      former vestment, would have stood the tug of all the apprentices in Fleet
      Street. The buckler and broadsword he wore as the arms of his condition,
      and a neat silver badge, bearing his lord's arms, announced that he was an
      appendage of aristocracy. He sat down in the good citizen's buttery, not a
      little pleased to find his attendance upon the table in the hall was
      likely to be rewarded with his share of a meal such as he had seldom
      partaken of.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. David Ramsay, that profound and ingenious mechanic, was safely
      conducted to Lombard Street, according to promise, well washed, brushed,
      and cleaned, from the soot of the furnace and the forge. His daughter, who
      came with him, was about twenty years old, very pretty, very demure, yet
      with lively black eyes, that ever and anon contradicted the expression of
      sobriety, to which silence, reserve, a plain velvet hood, and a cambric
      ruff, had condemned Mistress Marget, as the daughter of a quiet citizen.
    </p>
    <p>
      There were also two citizens and merchants of London, men ample in cloak,
      and many-linked golden chain, well to pass in the world, and experienced
      in their craft of merchandise, but who require no particular description.
      There was an elderly clergyman also, in his gown and cassock, a decent
      venerable man, partaking in his manners of the plainness of the citizens
      amongst whom he had his cure.
    </p>
    <p>
      These may be dismissed with brief notice; but not so Sir Mungo
      Malagrowther, of Girnigo Castle, who claims a little more attention, as an
      original character of the time in which he flourished.
    </p>
    <p>
      That good knight knocked at Master Heriot's door just as the clock began
      to strike twelve, and was seated in his chair ere the last stroke had
      chimed. This gave the knight an excellent opportunity of making sarcastic
      observations on all who came later than himself, not to mention a few rubs
      at the expense of those who had been so superfluous as to appear earlier.
    </p>
    <p>
      Having little or no property save his bare designation, Sir Mungo had been
      early attached to Court in the capacity of whipping-boy, as the office was
      then called, to King James the Sixth, and, with his Majesty, trained to
      all polite learning by his celebrated preceptor, George Buchanan. The
      office of whipping-boy doomed its unfortunate occupant to undergo all the
      corporeal punishment which the Lord's Anointed, whose proper person was of
      course sacred, might chance to incur, in the course of travelling through
      his grammar and prosody. Under the stern rule, indeed, of George Buchanan,
      who did not approve of the vicarious mode of punishment, James bore the
      penance of his own faults, and Mungo Malagrowther enjoyed a sinecure; but
      James's other pedagogue, Master Patrick Young, went more ceremoniously to
      work, and appalled the very soul of the youthful king by the floggings
      which he bestowed on the whipping-boy, when the royal task was not
      suitably performed. And be it told to Sir Mungo's praise, that there were
      points about him in the highest respect suited to his official situation.
      He had even in youth a naturally irregular and grotesque set of features,
      which, when distorted by fear, pain, and anger, looked like one of the
      whimsical faces which present themselves in a Gothic cornice. His voice
      also was high-pitched and querulous, so that, when smarting under Master
      Peter Young's unsparing inflictions, the expression of his grotesque
      physiognomy, and the superhuman yells which he uttered, were well suited
      to produce all the effects on the Monarch who deserved the lash, that
      could possibly be produced by seeing another and an innocent individual
      suffering for his delict.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir Mungo Malagrowther, for such he became, thus got an early footing at
      Court, which another would have improved and maintained. But, when he grew
      too big to be whipped, he had no other means of rendering himself
      acceptable. A bitter, caustic, and backbiting humour, a malicious wit, and
      an envy of others more prosperous than the possessor of such amiable
      qualities, have not, indeed, always been found obstacles to a courtier's
      rise; but then they must be amalgamated with a degree of selfish cunning
      and prudence, of which Sir Mungo had no share. His satire ran riot, his
      envy could not conceal itself, and it was not long after his majority till
      he had as many quarrels upon his hands as would have required a cat's nine
      lives to answer. In one of these rencontres he received, perhaps we should
      say fortunately, a wound, which served him as an excuse for answering no
      invitations of the kind in future. Sir Rullion Rattray, of Ranagullion,
      cut off, in mortal combat, three of the fingers of his right hand, so that
      Sir Mungo never could hold sword again. At a later period, having written
      some satirical verses upon the Lady Cockpen, he received so severe a
      chastisement from some persons employed for the purpose, that he was found
      half dead on the spot where they had thus dealt with him, and one of his
      thighs having been broken, and ill set, gave him a hitch in his gait, with
      which he hobbled to his grave. The lameness of his leg and hand, besides
      that they added considerably to the grotesque appearance of this original,
      procured him in future a personal immunity from the more dangerous
      consequences of his own humour; and he gradually grew old in the service
      of the Court, in safety of life and limb, though without either making
      friends or attaining preferment. Sometimes, indeed, the king was amused
      with his caustic sallies, but he had never art enough to improve the
      favourable opportunity; and his enemies (who were, for that matter, the
      whole Court) always found means to throw him out of favour again. The
      celebrated Archie Armstrong offered Sir Mungo, in his generosity, a skirt
      of his own fool's coat, proposing thereby to communicate to him the
      privileges and immunities of a professed jester&mdash;"For," said the man
      of motley, "Sir Mungo, as he goes on just now, gets no more for a good
      jest than just the king's pardon for having made it."
    </p>
    <p>
      Even in London, the golden shower which fell around him did not moisten
      the blighted fortunes of Sir Mungo Malagrowther. He grew old, deaf, and
      peevish&mdash;lost even the spirit which had formerly animated his
      strictures&mdash;and was barely endured by James, who, though himself
      nearly as far stricken in years, retained, to an unusual and even an
      absurd degree, the desire to be surrounded by young people.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir Mungo, thus fallen into the yellow leaf of years and fortune, showed
      his emaciated form and faded embroidery at Court as seldom as his duty
      permitted; and spent his time in indulging his food for satire in the
      public walks, and in the aisles of Saint Paul's, which were then the
      general resort of newsmongers and characters of all descriptions,
      associating himself chiefly with such of his countrymen as he accounted of
      inferior birth and rank to himself. In this manner, hating and contemning
      commerce, and those who pursued it, he nevertheless lived a good deal
      among the Scottish artists and merchants, who had followed the Court to
      London. To these he could show his cynicism without much offence; for some
      submitted to his jeers and ill-humour in deference to his birth and
      knighthood, which in those days conferred high privileges&mdash;and
      others, of more sense, pitied and endured the old man, unhappy alike in
      his fortunes and his temper.
    </p>
    <p>
      Amongst the latter was George Heriot, who, though his habits and education
      induced him to carry aristocratical feelings to a degree which would now
      be thought extravagant, had too much spirit and good sense to permit
      himself to be intruded upon to an unauthorized excess, or used with the
      slightest improper freedom, by such a person as Sir Mungo, to whom he was,
      nevertheless, not only respectfully civil, but essentially kind, and even
      generous.
    </p>
    <p>
      Accordingly, this appeared from the manner in which Sir Mungo Malagrowther
      conducted himself upon entering the apartment. He paid his respects to
      Master Heriot, and a decent, elderly, somewhat severe-looking female, in a
      coif, who, by the name of Aunt Judith, did the honours of his house and
      table, with little or no portion of the supercilious acidity, which his
      singular physiognomy assumed when he made his bow successively to David
      Ramsay and the two sober citizens. He thrust himself into the conversation
      of the latter, to observe he had heard in Paul's, that the bankrupt
      concern of Pindivide, a great merchant,&mdash;who, as he expressed it, had
      given the crows a pudding, and on whom he knew, from the same authority,
      each of the honest citizens has some unsettled claim,&mdash;was like to
      prove a total loss&mdash;"stock and block, ship and cargo, keel and
      rigging, all lost, now and for ever."
    </p>
    <p>
      The two citizens grinned at each other; but, too prudent to make their
      private affairs the subject of public discussion, drew their heads
      together, and evaded farther conversation by speaking in a whisper.
    </p>
    <p>
      The old Scots knight next attacked the watchmaker with the same
      disrespectful familiarity.&mdash;"Davie," he said,&mdash;"Davie, ye
      donnard auld idiot, have ye no gane mad yet, with applying your
      mathematical science, as ye call it, to the book of Apocalypse? I expected
      to have heard ye make out the sign of the beast, as clear as a tout on a
      bawbee whistle."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, Sir Mungo," said the mechanist, after making an effort to recall to
      his recollection what had been said to him, and by whom, "it may be, that
      ye are nearer the mark than ye are yoursell aware of; for, taking the ten
      horns o' the beast, ye may easily estimate by your digitals&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My digits! you d&mdash;d auld, rusty, good-for-nothing time-piece!"
      exclaimed Sir Mungo, while, betwixt jest and earnest, he laid on his hilt
      his hand, or rather his claw, (for Sir Rullion's broadsword has abridged
      it into that form,)&mdash;"D'ye mean to upbraid me with my mutilation?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Master Heriot interfered. "I cannot persuade our friend David," he said,
      "that scriptural prophecies are intended to remain in obscurity, until
      their unexpected accomplishment shall make, as in former days, that
      fulfilled which was written. But you must not exert your knightly valour
      on him for all that."
    </p>
    <p>
      "By my saul, and it would be throwing it away," said Sir Mungo, laughing.
      "I would as soon set out, with hound and horn, to hunt a sturdied sheep;
      for he is in a doze again, and up to the chin in numerals, quotients, and
      dividends.&mdash;Mistress Margaret, my pretty honey," for the beauty of
      the young citizen made even Sir Mungo Malagrowther's grim features relax
      themselves a little, "is your father always as entertaining as he seems
      just now?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Mistress Margaret simpered, bridled, looked to either side, then straight
      before her; and, having assumed all the airs of bashful embarrassment and
      timidity which were necessary, as she thought, to cover a certain shrewd
      readiness which really belonged to her character, at length replied: "That
      indeed her father was very thoughtful, but she had heard that he took the
      habit of mind from her grandfather."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your grandfather!" said Sir Mungo,&mdash;after doubting if he had heard
      her aright,&mdash;"Said she her grandfather! The lassie is distraught!&mdash;I
      ken nae wench on this side of Temple Bar that is derived from so distant a
      relation."
    </p>
    <p>
      "She has got a godfather, however, Sir Mungo," said George Heriot, again
      interfering; "and I hope you will allow him interest enough with you, to
      request you will not put his pretty godchild to so deep a blush."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The better&mdash;the better," said Sir Mungo. "It is a credit to her,
      that, bred and born within the sound of Bow-bell, she can blush for any
      thing; and, by my saul, Master George," he continued, chucking the
      irritated and reluctant damsel under the chin, "she is bonny enough to
      make amends for her lack of ancestry&mdash;at least, in such a region as
      Cheapside, where, d'ye mind me, the kettle cannot call the porridge-pot&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      The damsel blushed, but not so angrily as before. Master George Heriot
      hastened to interrupt the conclusion of Sir Mungo's homely proverb, by
      introducing him personally to Lord Nigel.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir Mungo could not at first understand what his host said,&mdash;"Bread
      of Heaven, wha say ye, man?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Upon the name of Nigel Olifaunt, Lord Glenvarloch, being again hollowed
      into his ear, he drew up, and, regarding his entertainer with some
      austerity, rebuked him for not making persons of quality acquainted with
      each other, that they might exchange courtesies before they mingled with
      other folks. He then made as handsome and courtly a congee to his new
      acquaintance as a man maimed in foot and hand could do; and, observing he
      had known my lord, his father, bid him welcome to London, and hoped he
      should see him at Court.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel in an instant comprehended, as well from Sir Mungo's manner, as from
      a strict compression of their entertainer's lips, which intimated the
      suppression of a desire to laugh, that he was dealing with an original of
      no ordinary description, and accordingly, returned his courtesy with
      suitable punctiliousness. Sir Mungo, in the meanwhile, gazed on him with
      much earnestness; and, as the contemplation of natural advantages was as
      odious to him as that of wealth, or other adventitious benefits, he had no
      sooner completely perused the handsome form and good features of the young
      lord, than like one of the comforters of the man of Uz, he drew close up
      to him, to enlarge on the former grandeur of the Lords of Glenvarloch, and
      the regret with which he had heard, that their representative was not
      likely to possess the domains of his ancestry. Anon, he enlarged upon the
      beauties of the principal mansion of Glenvarloch&mdash;the commanding site
      of the old castle&mdash;the noble expanse of the lake, stocked with
      wildfowl for hawking&mdash;the commanding screen of forest, terminating in
      a mountain-ridge abounding with deer&mdash;and all the other advantages of
      that fine and ancient barony, till Nigel, in spite of every effort to the
      contrary, was unwillingly obliged to sigh.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir Mungo, skilful in discerning when the withers of those he conversed
      with were wrung, observed that his new acquaintance winced, and would
      willingly have pressed the discussion; but the cook's impatient knock upon
      the dresser with the haft of his dudgeon-knife, now gave a signal loud
      enough to be heard from the top of the house to the bottom, summoning, at
      the same time, the serving-men to place the dinner upon the table, and the
      guests to partake of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir Mungo, who was an admirer of good cheer,&mdash;a taste which, by the
      way, might have some weight in reconciling his dignity to these city
      visits,&mdash;was tolled off by the sound, and left Nigel and the other
      guests in peace, until his anxiety to arrange himself in his due place of
      pre-eminence at the genial board was duly gratified. Here, seated on the
      left hand of Aunt Judith, he beheld Nigel occupy the station of yet higher
      honour on the right, dividing that matron from pretty Mistress Margaret;
      but he saw this with the more patience, that there stood betwixt him and
      the young lord a superb larded capon.
    </p>
    <p>
      The dinner proceeded according to the form of the times. All was excellent
      of the kind; and, besides the Scottish cheer promised, the board displayed
      beef and pudding, the statutory dainties of Old England. A small cupboard
      of plate, very choicely and beautifully wrought, did not escape the
      compliments of some of the company, and an oblique sneer from Sir Mungo,
      as intimating the owner's excellence in his own mechanical craft.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am not ashamed of the workmanship, Sir Mungo," said the honest citizen.
      "They say, a good cook knows how to lick his own fingers; and, methinks,
      it were unseemly that I, who have furnished half the cupboards in broad
      Britain, should have my own covered with paltry pewter."
    </p>
    <p>
      The blessing of the clergyman now left the guests at liberty to attack
      what was placed before them; and the meal went forward with great decorum,
      until Aunt Judith, in farther recommendation of the capon, assured her
      company that it was of a celebrated breed of poultry, which she had
      herself brought from Scotland.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then, like some of his countrymen, madam," said the pitiless Sir Mungo,
      not without a glance towards his landlord, "he has been well larded in
      England."
    </p>
    <p>
      "There are some others of his countrymen," answered Master Heriot, "to
      whom all the lard in England has not been able to render that good
      office."
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir Mungo sneered and reddened, the rest of the company laughed; and the
      satirist, who had his reasons for not coming to extremity with Master
      George, was silent for the rest of the dinner.
    </p>
    <p>
      The dishes were exchanged for confections, and wine of the highest quality
      and flavour; and Nigel saw the entertainments of the wealthiest
      burgomasters, which he had witnessed abroad, fairly outshone by the
      hospitality of a London citizen. Yet there was nothing ostentatious, or
      which seemed inconsistent with the degree of an opulent burgher.
    </p>
    <p>
      While the collation proceeded, Nigel, according to the good-breeding of
      the time, addressed his discourse principally to Mrs. Judith, whom he
      found to be a woman of a strong Scottish understanding, more inclined
      towards the Puritans than was her brother George, (for in that relation
      she stood to him, though he always called her aunt,) attached to him in
      the strongest degree, and sedulously attentive to all his comforts. As the
      conversation of this good dame was neither lively nor fascinating, the
      young lord naturally addressed himself next to the old horologer's very
      pretty daughter, who sat upon his left hand. From her, however, there was
      no extracting any reply beyond the measure of a monosyllable; and when the
      young gallant had said the best and most complaisant things which his
      courtesy supplied, the smile that mantled upon her pretty mouth was so
      slight and evanescent, as scarce to be discernible.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel was beginning to tire of his company, for the old citizens were
      speaking with his host of commercial matters in language to him totally
      unintelligible, when Sir Mungo Malagrowther suddenly summoned their
      attention.
    </p>
    <p>
      That amiable personage had for some time withdrawn from the company into
      the recess of a projecting window, so formed and placed as to command a
      view of the door of the house, and of the street. This situation was
      probably preferred by Sir Mungo on account of the number of objects which
      the streets of a metropolis usually offer, of a kind congenial to the
      thoughts of a splenetic man. What he had hitherto seen passing there, was
      probably of little consequence; but now a trampling of horse was heard
      without, and the knight suddenly exclaimed,&mdash;"By my faith, Master
      George, you had better go look to shop; for here comes Knighton, the Duke
      of Buckingham's groom, and two fellows after him, as if he were my Lord
      Duke himself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My cash-keeper is below," said Heriot, without disturbing himself, "and
      he will let me know if his Grace's commands require my immediate
      attention."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Umph!&mdash;cash-keeper?" muttered Sir Mungo to himself; "he would have
      had an easy office when I first kend ye.&mdash;But," said he, speaking
      aloud, "will you not come to the window, at least? for Knighton has
      trundled a piece of silver-plate into your house&mdash;ha! ha! ha!&mdash;trundled
      it upon its edge, as a callan' would drive a hoop. I cannot help laughing&mdash;ha!
      ha! ha!&mdash;at the fellow's impudence."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I believe you could not help laughing," said George Heriot, rising up and
      leaving the room, "if your best friend lay dying."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Bitter that, my lord&mdash;ha?" said Sir Mungo, addressing Nigel. "Our
      friend is not a goldsmith for nothing&mdash;he hath no leaden wit. But I
      will go down, and see what comes on't."
    </p>
    <p>
      Heriot, as he descended the stairs, met his cash-keeper coming up, with
      some concern in his face.&mdash;"Why, how now, Roberts," said the
      goldsmith, "what means all this, man?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is Knighton, Master Heriot, from the Court&mdash;Knighton, the Duke's
      man. He brought back the salver you carried to Whitehall, flung it into
      the entrance as if it had been an old pewter platter, and bade me tell you
      the king would have none of your trumpery."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, indeed," said George Heriot&mdash;"None of my trumpery!&mdash;Come
      hither into the compting-room, Roberts.&mdash;Sir Mungo," he added, bowing
      to the knight, who had joined, and was preparing to follow them, "I pray
      your forgiveness for an instant."
    </p>
    <p>
      In virtue of this prohibition, Sir Mungo, who, as well as the rest of the
      company, had overheard what passed betwixt George Heriot and his
      cash-keeper, saw himself condemned to wait in the outer business-room,
      where he would have endeavoured to slake his eager curiosity by
      questioning Knighton; but that emissary of greatness, after having added
      to the uncivil message of his master some rudeness of his own, had again
      scampered westward, with his satellites at his heels.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the meanwhile, the name of the Duke of Buckingham, the omnipotent
      favourite both of the king and the Prince of Wales, had struck some
      anxiety into the party which remained in the great parlour. He was more
      feared than beloved, and, if not absolutely of a tyrannical disposition,
      was accounted haughty, violent, and vindictive. It pressed on Nigel's
      heart, that he himself, though he could not conceive how, nor why, might
      be the original cause of the resentment of the Duke against his
      benefactor. The others made their comments in whispers, until the sounds
      reached Ramsay, who had not heard a word of what had previously passed,
      but, plunged in those studies with which he connected every other incident
      and event, took up only the catchword, and replied,&mdash;"The Duke&mdash;the
      Duke of Buckingham&mdash;George Villiers&mdash;ay&mdash;I have spoke with
      Lambe about him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Our Lord and our Lady! Now, how can you say so, father?" said his
      daughter, who had shrewdness enough to see that her father was touching
      upon dangerous ground.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, ay, child," answered Ramsay; "the stars do but incline, they cannot
      compel. But well you wot, it is commonly said of his Grace, by those who
      have the skill to cast nativities, that there was a notable conjunction of
      Mars and Saturn&mdash;the apparent or true time of which, reducing the
      calculations of Eichstadius made for the latitude of Oranienburgh, to that
      of London, gives seven hours, fifty-five minutes, and forty-one seconds&mdash;&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hold your peace, old soothsayer," said Heriot, who at that instant
      entered the room with a calm and steady countenance; "your calculations
      are true and undeniable when they regard brass and wire, and mechanical
      force; but future events are at the pleasure of Him who bears the hearts
      of kings in his hands."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, but, George," answered the watchmaker, "there was a concurrence of
      signs at this gentleman's birth, which showed his course would be a
      strange one. Long has it been said of him, he was born at the very meeting
      of night and day, and under crossing and contending influences that may
      affect both us and him.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
    'Full moon and high sea,
     Great man shalt thou be;
     Red dawning, stormy sky,
     Bloody death shalt thou die.'"
</pre>
    <p>
      "It is not good to speak of such things," said Heriot, "especially of the
      great; stone walls have ears, and a bird of the air shall carry the
      matter."
    </p>
    <p>
      Several of the guests seemed to be of their host's opinion. The two
      merchants took brief leave, as if under consciousness that something was
      wrong. Mistress Margaret, her body-guard of 'prentices being in readiness,
      plucked her father by the sleeve, and, rescuing him from a brown study,
      (whether referring to the wheels of Time, or to that of Fortune, is
      uncertain,) wished good-night to her friend Mrs. Judith, and received her
      godfather's blessing, who, at the same time, put upon her slender finger a
      ring of much taste and some value; for he seldom suffered her to leave him
      without some token of his affection. Thus honourably dismissed, and
      accompanied by her escort, she set forth on her return to Fleet Street.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir Mungo had bid adieu to Master Heriot as he came out from the back
      compting-room, but such was the interest which he took in the affairs of
      his friend, that, when Master George went upstairs, he could not help
      walking into that sanctum sanctorum, to see how Master Roberts was
      employed. The knight found the cash-keeper busy in making extracts from
      those huge brass-clasped leathern-bound manuscript folios, which are the
      pride and trust of dealers, and the dread of customers whose year of grace
      is out. The good knight leant his elbows on the desk, and said to the
      functionary in a condoling tone of voice,&mdash;"What! you have lost a
      good customer, I fear, Master Roberts, and are busied in making out his
      bill of charges?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Now, it chanced that Roberts, like Sir Mungo himself, was a little deaf,
      and, like Sir Mungo, knew also how to make the most of it; so that he
      answered at cross purposes,&mdash;"I humbly crave your pardon, Sir Mungo,
      for not having sent in your bill of charge sooner, but my master bade me
      not disturb you. I will bring the items together in a moment." So saying,
      he began to turn over the leaves of his book of fate, murmuring,
      "Repairing ane silver seal-new clasp to his chain of office&mdash;ane
      over-gilt brooch to his hat, being a Saint Andrew's cross, with thistles&mdash;a
      copper gilt pair of spurs,&mdash;this to Daniel Driver, we not dealing in
      the article."
    </p>
    <p>
      He would have proceeded; but Sir Mungo, not prepared to endure the recital
      of the catalogue of his own petty debts, and still less willing to satisfy
      them on the spot, wished the bookkeeper, cavalierly, good-night, and left
      the house without farther ceremony. The clerk looked after him with a
      civil city sneer, and immediately resumed the more serious labours which
      Sir Mungo's intrusion had interrupted.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VII
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  Things needful we have thought on; but the thing
  Of all most needful&mdash;that which Scripture terms,
  As if alone it merited regard,
  The ONE thing needful&mdash;that's yet unconsider'd.
                       <i>The Chamberlain.</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      When the rest of the company had taken their departure from Master
      Heriot's house, the young Lord of Glenvarloch also offered to take leave;
      but his host detained him for a few minutes, until all were gone excepting
      the clergyman.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My lord," then said the worthy citizen, "we have had our permitted hour
      of honest and hospitable pastime, and now I would fain delay you for
      another and graver purpose, as it is our custom, when we have the benefit
      of good Mr. Windsor's company, that he reads the prayers of the church for
      the evening before we separate. Your excellent father, my lord, would not
      have departed before family worship&mdash;I hope the same from your
      lordship."
    </p>
    <p>
      "With pleasure, sir," answered Nigel; "and you add in the invitation an
      additional obligation to those with which you have loaded me. When young
      men forget what is their duty, they owe deep thanks to the friend who will
      remind them of it."
    </p>
    <p>
      While they talked together in this manner, the serving-men had removed the
      folding-tables, brought forward a portable reading-desk, and placed chairs
      and hassocks for their master, their mistress, and the noble stranger.
      Another low chair, or rather a sort of stool, was placed close beside that
      of Master Heriot; and though the circumstance was trivial, Nigel was
      induced to notice it, because, when about to occupy that seat, he was
      prevented by a sign from the old gentleman, and motioned to another of
      somewhat more elevation. The clergyman took his station behind the
      reading-desk. The domestics, a numerous family both of clerks and
      servants, including Moniplies, attended, with great gravity, and were
      accommodated with benches.
    </p>
    <p>
      The household were all seated, and, externally at least, composed to
      devout attention, when a low knock was heard at the door of the apartment;
      Mrs. Judith looked anxiously at her brother, as if desiring to know his
      pleasure. He nodded his head gravely, and looked to the door. Mrs. Judith
      immediately crossed the chamber, opened the door, and led into the
      apartment a beautiful creature, whose sudden and singular appearance might
      have made her almost pass for an apparition. She was deadly pale-there was
      not the least shade of vital red to enliven features, which were
      exquisitely formed, and might, but for that circumstance, have been termed
      transcendently beautiful. Her long black hair fell down over her shoulders
      and down her back, combed smoothly and regularly, but without the least
      appearance of decoration or ornament, which looked very singular at a
      period when head-gear, as it was called, of one sort or other, was
      generally used by all ranks. Her dress was of white, of the simplest
      fashion, and hiding all her person excepting the throat, face, and hands.
      Her form was rather beneath than above the middle size, but so justly
      proportioned and elegantly made, that the spectator's attention was
      entirely withdrawn from her size. In contradiction of the extreme
      plainness of all the rest of her attire, she wore a necklace which a
      duchess might have envied, so large and lustrous were the brilliants of
      which it was composed; and around her waist a zone of rubies of scarce
      inferior value.
    </p>
    <p>
      When this singular figure entered the apartment, she cast her eyes on
      Nigel, and paused, as if uncertain whether to advance or retreat. The
      glance which she took of him seemed to be one rather of uncertainty and
      hesitation, than of bashfulness or timidity. Aunt Judith took her by the
      hand, and led her slowly forward&mdash;her dark eyes, however, continued
      to be fixed on Nigel, with an expression of melancholy by which he felt
      strangely affected. Even when she was seated on the vacant stool, which
      was placed there probably for her accommodation, she again looked on him
      more than once with the same pensive, lingering, and anxious expression,
      but without either shyness or embarrassment, not even so much as to call
      the slightest degree of complexion into her cheek.
    </p>
    <p>
      So soon as this singular female had taken up the prayer-book, which was
      laid upon her cushion, she seemed immersed in devotional duty; and
      although Nigel's attention to the service was so much disturbed by this
      extraordinary apparition, that he looked towards her repeatedly in the
      course of the service, he could never observe that her eyes or her
      thoughts strayed so much as a single moment from the task in which she was
      engaged. Nigel himself was less attentive, for the appearance of this lady
      seemed so extraordinary, that, strictly as he had been bred up by his
      father to pay the most reverential attention during performance of divine
      service, his thoughts in spite of himself were disturbed by her presence,
      and he earnestly wished the prayers were ended, that his curiosity might
      obtain some gratification. When the service was concluded, and each had
      remained, according to the decent and edifying practice of the church,
      concentrated in mental devotion for a short space, the mysterious visitant
      arose ere any other person stirred; and Nigel remarked that none of the
      domestics left their places, oreven moved, until she had first kneeled on
      one knee to Heriot, who seemed to bless her with his hand laid on her
      head, and a melancholy solemnity of look and action. She then bended her
      body, but without kneeling, to Mrs. Judith, and having performed these two
      acts of reverence, she left the room; yet just in the act of her
      departure, she once more turned her penetrating eyes on Nigel with a fixed
      look, which compelled him to turn his own aside. When he looked towards
      her again, he saw only the skirt of her white mantle as she left the
      apartment.
    </p>
    <p>
      The domestics then rose and dispersed themselves&mdash;wine, and fruit,
      and spices, were offered to Lord Nigel and to the clergyman, and the
      latter took his leave. The young lord would fain have accompanied him, in
      hope to get some explanation of the apparition which he had beheld, but he
      was stopped by his host, who requested to speak with him in his
      compting-room.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I hope, my lord," said the citizen, "that your preparations for attending
      Court are in such forwardness that you can go thither the day after
      to-morrow. It is, perhaps, the last day, for some time, that his Majesty
      will hold open Court for all who have pretensions by birth, rank, or
      office to attend upon him. On the subsequent day he goes to Theobald's,
      where he is so much occupied with hunting and other pleasures, that he
      cares not to be intruded on."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I shall be in all outward readiness to pay my duty," said the young
      nobleman, "yet I have little heart to do it. The friends from whom I ought
      to have found encouragement and protection, have proved cold and false&mdash;I
      certainly will not trouble <i>them</i> for their countenance on this
      occasion&mdash;and yet I must confess my childish unwillingness to enter
      quite alone upon so new a scene."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is bold of a mechanic like me to make such an offer to a nobleman,"
      said Heriot; "but I must attend at Court to-morrow. I can accompany you as
      far as the presence-chamber, from my privilege as being of the household.
      I can facilitate your entrance, should you find difficulty, and I can
      point out the proper manner and time of approaching the king. But I do not
      know," he added, smiling, "whether these little advantages will not be
      overbalanced by the incongruity of a nobleman receiving them from the
      hands of an old smith."
    </p>
    <p>
      "From the hands rather of the only friend I have found in London," said
      Nigel, offering his hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, if you think of the matter in that way," replied the honest citizen,
      "there is no more to be said&mdash;I will come for you to-morrow, with a
      barge proper to the occasion.&mdash;But remember, my good young lord, that
      I do not, like some men of my degree, wish to take opportunity to step
      beyond it, and associate with my superiors in rank, and therefore do not
      fear to mortify my presumption, by suffering me to keep my distance in the
      presence, and where it is fitting for both of us to separate; and for what
      remains, most truly happy shall I be in proving of service to the son of
      my ancient patron."
    </p>
    <p>
      The style of conversation led so far from the point which had interested
      the young nobleman's curiosity, that there was no returning to it that
      night. He therefore exchanged thanks and greetings with George Heriot, and
      took his leave, promising to be equipped and in readiness to embark with
      him on the second successive morning at ten o'clock.
    </p>
    <p>
      The generation of linkboys, celebrated by Count Anthony Hamilton, as
      peculiar to London, had already, in the reign of James I., begun their
      functions, and the service of one of them with his smoky torch, had been
      secured to light the young Scottish lord and his follower to their
      lodgings, which, though better acquainted than formerly with the city,
      they might in the dark have run some danger of missing. This gave the
      ingenious Mr. Moniplies an opportunity of gathering close up to his
      master, after he had gone through the form of slipping his left arm into
      the handles of his buckler, and loosening his broadsword in the sheath,
      that he might be ready for whatever should befall.
    </p>
    <p>
      "If it were not for the wine and the good cheer which we have had in
      yonder old man's house, my lord," said this sapient follower, "and that I
      ken him by report to be a just living man in many respects, and a real
      Edinburgh gutterblood, I should have been well pleased to have seen how
      his feet were shaped, and whether he had not a cloven cloot under the braw
      roses and cordovan shoon of his."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, you rascal," answered Nigel, "you have been too kindly treated, and
      now that you have filled your ravenous stomach, you are railing on the
      good gentleman that relieved you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Under favour, no, my lord," said Moniplies,&mdash;"I would only like to
      see something mair about him. I have eaten his meat, it is true&mdash;more
      shame that the like of him should have meat to give, when your lordship
      and me could scarce have gotten, on our own account, brose and a bear
      bannock&mdash;I have drunk his wine, too."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I see you have," replied his master, "a great deal more than you should
      have done."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Under your patience, my lord," said Moniplies, "you are pleased to say
      that, because I crushed a quart with that jolly boy Jenkin, as they call
      the 'prentice boy, and that was out of mere acknowledgment for his former
      kindness&mdash;I own that I, moreover, sung the good old song of Elsie
      Marley, so as they never heard it chanted in their lives&mdash;&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      And withal (as John Bunyan says) as they went on their way, he sung&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
    "O, do ye ken Elsie Marley, honey&mdash;
     The wife that sells the barley, honey?
     For Elsie Marley's grown sae fine,
     She winna get up to feed the swine.&mdash;
         O, do ye ken&mdash;&mdash;"
</pre>
    <p>
      Here in mid career was the songster interrupted by the stern gripe of his
      master, who threatened to baton him to death if he brought the city-watch
      upon them by his ill-timed melody.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I crave pardon, my lord&mdash;I humbly crave pardon&mdash;only when I
      think of that Jen Win, as they call him, I can hardly help humming&mdash;'O,
      do ye ken'&mdash;But I crave your honour's pardon, and will be totally
      dumb, if you command me so."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, sirrah!" said Nigel, "talk on, for I well know you would say and
      suffer more under pretence of holding your peace, than when you get an
      unbridled license. How is it, then? What have you to say against Master
      Heriot?"
    </p>
    <p>
      It seems more than probable, that in permitting this license, the young
      lord hoped his attendant would stumble upon the subject of the young lady
      who had appeared at prayers in a manner so mysterious. But whether this
      was the case, or whether he merely desired that Moniplies should utter, in
      a subdued and under tone of voice, those spirits which might otherwise
      have vented themselves in obstreperous song, it is certain he permitted
      his attendant to proceed with his story in his own way.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And therefore," said the orator, availing himself of his immunity, "I
      would like to ken what sort of carle this Maister Heriot is. He hath
      supplied your lordship with wealth of gold, as I can understand; and if he
      has, I make it for certain he hath had his ain end in it, according to the
      fashion of the world. Now, had your lordship your own good lands at your
      guiding, doubtless this person, with most of his craft&mdash;goldsmiths
      they call themselves&mdash;I say usurers&mdash;wad be glad to exchange so
      many pounds of African dust, by whilk I understand gold, against so many
      fair acres, and hundreds of acres, of broad Scottish land."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But you know I have no land," said the young lord, "at least none that
      can be affected by any debt which I can at present become obliged for&mdash;I
      think you need not have reminded me of that."
    </p>
    <p>
      "True, my lord, most true; and, as your lordship says, open to the meanest
      capacity, without any unnecessary expositions. Now, therefore, my lord,
      unless Maister George Heriot has something mair to allege as a motive for
      his liberality, vera different from the possession of your estate&mdash;and
      moreover, as he could gain little by the capture of your body, wherefore
      should it not be your soul that he is in pursuit of?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My soul, you rascal!" said the young lord; "what good should my soul do
      him?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "What do I ken about that?" said Moniplies; "they go about roaring and
      seeking whom they may devour&mdash;doubtless, they like the food that they
      rage so much about&mdash;and, my lord, they say," added Moniplies, drawing
      up still closer to his master's side, "they say that Master Heriot has one
      spirit in his house already."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How, or what do you mean?" said Nigel; "I will break your head, you
      drunken knave, if you palter with me any longer."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Drunken?" answered his trusty adherent, "and is this the story?&mdash;why,
      how could I but drink your lordship's health on my bare knees, when Master
      Jenkin began it to me?&mdash;hang them that would not&mdash;I would have
      cut the impudent knave's hams with my broadsword, that should make scruple
      of it, and so have made him kneel when he should have found it difficult
      to rise again. But touching the spirit," he proceeded, finding that his
      master made no answer to his valorous tirade, "your lordship has seen her
      with your own eyes."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I saw no spirit," said Glenvarloch, but yet breathing thick as one who
      expects some singular disclosure, "what mean you by a spirit?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You saw a young lady come in to prayers, that spoke not a word to any
      one, only made becks and bows to the old gentleman and lady of the house&mdash;ken
      ye wha she is?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, indeed," answered Nigel; "some relation of the family, I suppose."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Deil a bit&mdash;deil a bit," answered Moniplies, hastily, "not a
      blood-drop's kin to them, if she had a drop of blood in her body&mdash;I
      tell you but what all human beings allege to be truth, that swell within
      hue and cry of Lombard Street&mdash;that lady, or quean, or whatever you
      choose to call her, has been dead in the body these many a year, though
      she haunts them, as we have seen, even at their very devotions."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You will allow her to be a good spirit at least," said Nigel Olifaunt,
      "since she chooses such a time to visit her friends?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "For that I kenna, my lord," answered the superstitious follower; "I ken
      no spirit that would have faced the right down hammer-blow of Mess John
      Knox, whom my father stood by in his very warst days, bating a chance time
      when the Court, which my father supplied with butcher-meat, was against
      him. But yon divine has another airt from powerful Master Rollock, and
      Mess David Black, of North Leith, and sic like.&mdash;Alack-a-day! wha can
      ken, if it please your lordship, whether sic prayers as the Southron read
      out of their auld blethering black mess-book there, may not be as powerful
      to invite fiends, as a right red-het prayer warm fraw the heart, may be
      powerful to drive them away, even as the Evil Spirit was driven by he
      smell of the fish's liver from the bridal-chamber of Sara, the daughter of
      Raguel? As to whilk story, nevertheless, I make scruple to say whether it
      be truth or not, better men than I am having doubted on that matter."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, well, well," said his master, impatiently, "we are now near home,
      and I have permitted you to speak of this matter for once, that we may
      have an end to your prying folly, and your idiotical superstitions, for
      ever. For whom do you, or your absurd authors or informers, take this
      lady?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I can sae naething preceesely as to that," answered Moniplies; "certain
      it is her body died and was laid in the grave many a day since,
      notwithstanding she still wanders on earth, and chiefly amongst Maister
      Heriot's family, though she hath been seen in other places by them that
      well knew her. But who she is, I will not warrant to say, or how she
      becomes attached, like a Highland Brownie, to some peculiar family. They
      say she has a row of apartments of her own, ante-room, parlour, and
      bedroom; but deil a bed she sleeps in but her own coffin, and the walls,
      doors, and windows are so chinked up, as to prevent the least blink of
      daylight from entering; and then she dwells by torchlight&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "To what purpose, if she be a spirit?" said Nigel Olifaunt.
    </p>
    <p>
      "How can I tell your lordship?" answered his attendant. "I thank God I
      know nothing of her likings, or mislikings&mdash;only her coffin is there;
      and I leave your lordship to guess what a live person has to do with a
      coffin. As little as a ghost with a lantern, I trow."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What reason," repeated Nigel, "can a creature, so young and so beautiful,
      have already habitually to contemplate her bed of last-long rest?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "In troth, I kenna, my lord," answered Moniplies; "but there is the
      coffin, as they told me who have seen it: it is made of heben-wood, with
      silver nails, and lined all through with three-piled damask, might serve a
      princess to rest in."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Singular," said Nigel, whose brain, like that of most active young
      spirits, was easily caught by the singular and the romantic; "does she not
      eat with the family?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who!&mdash;she!"&mdash;exclaimed Moniplies, as if surprised at the
      question; "they would need a lang spoon would sup with her, I trow. Always
      there is something put for her into the Tower, as they call it, whilk is a
      whigmaleery of a whirling-box, that turns round half on the tae side o'
      the wa', half on the tother."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have seen the contrivance in foreign nunneries," said the Lord of
      Glenvarloch. "And is it thus she receives her food?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "They tell me something is put in ilka day, for fashion's sake," replied
      the attendant; "but it's no to be supposed she would consume it, ony mair
      than the images of Bel and the Dragon consumed the dainty vivers that were
      placed before them. There are stout yeomen and chamber-queans in the
      house, enow to play the part of Lick-it-up-a', as well as the threescore
      and ten priests of Bel, besides their wives and children."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And she is never seen in the family but when the hour of prayer arrives?"
      said the master.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never, that I hear of," replied the servant.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is singular," said Nigel Olifaunt, musing. "Were it not for the
      ornaments which she wears, and still more for her attendance upon the
      service of the Protestant Church, I should know what to think, and should
      believe her either a Catholic votaress, who, for some cogent reason, was
      allowed to make her cell here in London, or some unhappy Popish devotee,
      who was in the course of undergoing a dreadful penance. As it is, I know
      not what to deem of it."
    </p>
    <p>
      His reverie was interrupted by the linkboy knocking at the door of honest
      John Christie, whose wife came forth with "quips, and becks, and wreathed
      smiles," to welcome her honoured guest on his return to his apartment.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VIII
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  Ay! mark the matron well&mdash;and laugh not, Harry,
  At her old steeple-hat and velvet guard&mdash;
  I've call'd her like the ear of Dionysius;
  I mean that ear-form'd vault, built o'er his dungeon,
  To catch the groans and discontented murmurs
  Of his poor bondsmen&mdash;Even so doth Martha
  Drink up, for her own purpose, all that passes,
  Or is supposed to pass, in this wide city&mdash;
  She can retail it too, if that her profit
  Shall call on her to do so; and retail it
  For your advantage, so that you can make
  Your profit jump with hers.
                            The Conspiracy.
</pre>
    <p>
      We must now introduce to the reader's acquaintance another character, busy
      and important far beyond her ostensible situation in society&mdash;in a
      word, Dame Ursula Suddlechop, wife of Benjamin Suddlechop, the most
      renowned barber in all Fleet Street. This dame had her own particular
      merits, the principal part of which was (if her own report could be
      trusted) an infinite desire to be of service to her fellow-creatures.
      Leaving to her thin half-starved partner the boast of having the most
      dexterous snap with his fingers of any shaver in London, and the care of a
      shop where starved apprentices flayed the faces of those who were boobies
      enough to trust them, the dame drove a separate and more lucrative trade,
      which yet had so many odd turns and windings, that it seemed in many
      respects to contradict itself.
    </p>
    <p>
      Its highest and most important duties were of a very secret and
      confidential nature, and Dame Ursula Suddlechop was never known to betray
      any transaction intrusted to her, unless she had either been indifferently
      paid for her service, or that some one found it convenient to give her a
      double douceur to make her disgorge the secret; and these contingencies
      happened in so few cases, that her character for trustiness remained as
      unimpeached as that for honesty and benevolence.
    </p>
    <p>
      In fact, she was a most admirable matron, and could be useful to the
      impassioned and the frail in the rise, progress, and consequences of their
      passion. She could contrive an interview for lovers who could show proper
      reasons for meeting privately; she could relieve the frail fair one of the
      burden of a guilty passion, and perhaps establish the hopeful offspring of
      unlicensed love as the heir of some family whose love was lawful, but
      where an heir had not followed the union. More than this she could do, and
      had been concerned in deeper and dearer secrets. She had been a pupil of
      Mrs. Turner, and learned from her the secret of making the yellow starch,
      and, it may be, two or three other secrets of more consequence, though
      perhaps none that went to the criminal extent of those whereof her
      mistress was accused. But all that was deep and dark in her real character
      was covered by the show of outward mirth and good-humour, the hearty laugh
      and buxom jest with which the dame knew well how to conciliate the elder
      part of her neighbours, and the many petty arts by which she could
      recommend herself to the younger, those especially of her own sex.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dame Ursula was, in appearance, scarce past forty, and her full, but not
      overgrown form, and still comely features, although her person was plumped
      out, and her face somewhat coloured by good cheer, had a joyous expression
      of gaiety and good-humour, which set off the remains of beauty in the
      wane. Marriages, births, and christenings were seldom thought to be
      performed with sufficient ceremony, for a considerable distance round her
      abode, unless Dame Ursley, as they called her, was present. She could
      contrive all sorts of pastimes, games, and jests, which might amuse the
      large companies which the hospitality of our ancestors assembled together
      on such occasions, so that her presence was literally considered as
      indispensable in the families of all citizens of ordinary rank, at such
      joyous periods. So much also was she supposed to know of life and its
      labyrinths, that she was the willing confidant of half the loving couples
      in the vicinity, most of whom used to communicate their secrets to, and
      receive their counsel from, Dame Ursley. The rich rewarded her services
      with rings, owches, or gold pieces, which she liked still better; and she
      very generously gave her assistance to the poor, on the same mixed
      principles as young practitioners in medicine assist them, partly from
      compassion, and partly to keep her hand in use.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dame Ursley's reputation in the city was the greater that her practice had
      extended beyond Temple Bar, and that she had acquaintances, nay, patrons
      and patronesses, among the quality, whose rank, as their members were much
      fewer, and the prospect of approaching the courtly sphere much more
      difficult, bore a degree of consequence unknown to the present day, when
      the toe of the citizen presses so close on the courtier's heel. Dame
      Ursley maintained her intercourse with this superior rank of customers,
      partly by driving a small trade in perfumes, essences, pomades, head-gears
      from France, dishes or ornaments from China, then already beginning to be
      fashionable; not to mention drugs of various descriptions, chiefly for the
      use of the ladies, and partly by other services, more or less connected
      with the esoteric branches of her profession heretofore alluded to.
    </p>
    <p>
      Possessing such and so many various modes of thriving, Dame Ursley was
      nevertheless so poor, that she might probably have mended her own
      circumstances, as well as her husband's, if she had renounced them all,
      and set herself quietly down to the care of her own household, and to
      assist Benjamin in the concerns of his trade. But Ursula was luxurious and
      genial in her habits, and could no more have endured the stinted economy
      of Benjamin's board, than she could have reconciled herself to the bald
      chat of his conversation.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was on the evening of the day on which Lord Nigel Olifaunt dined with
      the wealthy goldsmith, that we must introduce Ursula Suddlechop upon the
      stage. She had that morning made a long tour to Westminster, was fatigued,
      and had assumed a certain large elbow-chair, rendered smooth by frequent
      use, placed on one side of her chimney, in which there was lit a small but
      bright fire. Here she observed, betwixt sleeping and waking, the simmering
      of a pot of well-spiced ale, on the brown surface of which bobbed a small
      crab-apple, sufficiently roasted, while a little mulatto girl watched,
      still more attentively, the process of dressing a veal sweetbread, in a
      silver stewpan which occupied the other side of the chimney. With these
      viands, doubtless, Dame Ursula proposed concluding the well spent day, of
      which she reckoned the labour over, and the rest at her own command. She
      was deceived, however; for just as the ale, or, to speak technically, the
      lamb's-wool, was fitted for drinking, and the little dingy maiden
      intimated that the sweetbread was ready to be eaten, the thin cracked
      voice of Benjamin was heard from the bottom of the stairs.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, Dame Ursley&mdash;why, wife, I say&mdash;why, dame&mdash;why, love,
      you are wanted more than a strop for a blunt razor&mdash;why, dame&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I would some one would draw a razor across thy windpipe, thou bawling
      ass!" said the dame to herself, in the first moment of irritation against
      her clamorous helpmate; and then called aloud,&mdash;"Why, what is the
      matter, Master Suddlechop? I am just going to slip into bed; I have been
      daggled to and fro the whole day."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, sweetheart, it is not me," said the patient Benjamin, "but the Scots
      laundry-maid from neighbour Ramsay's, who must speak with you
      incontinent."
    </p>
    <p>
      At the word sweetheart, Dame Ursley cast a wistful look at the mess which
      was stewed to a second in the stewpan, and then replied, with a sigh,&mdash;"Bid
      Scots Jenny come up, Master Suddlechop. I shall be very happy to hear what
      she has to say;" then added in a lower tone, "and I hope she will go to
      the devil in the flame of a tar-barrel, like many a Scots witch before
      her!"
    </p>
    <p>
      The Scots laundress entered accordingly, and having heard nothing of the
      last kind wish of Dame Suddlechop, made her reverence with considerable
      respect, and said, her young mistress had returned home unwell, and wished
      to see her neighbour, Dame Ursley, directly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And why will it not do to-morrow, Jenny, my good woman?" said Dame
      Ursley; "for I have been as far as Whitehall to-day already, and I am
      well-nigh worn off my feet, my good woman."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aweel!" answered Jenny, with great composure, "and if that sae be sae, I
      maun take the langer tramp mysell, and maun gae down the waterside for
      auld Mother Redcap, at the Hungerford Stairs, that deals in comforting
      young creatures, e'en as you do yoursell, hinny; for ane o' ye the bairn
      maun see before she sleeps, and that's a' that I ken on't."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, the old emissary, without farther entreaty, turned on her heel,
      and was about to retreat, when Dame Ursley exclaimed,&mdash;"No, no&mdash;if
      the sweet child, your mistress, has any necessary occasion for good advice
      and kind tendance, you need not go to Mother Redcap, Janet. She may do
      very well for skippers' wives, chandlers' daughters, and such like; but
      nobody shall wait on pretty Mistress Margaret, the daughter of his most
      Sacred Majesty's horologer, excepting and saving myself. And so I will but
      take my chopins and my cloak, and put on my muffler, and cross the street
      to neighbour Ramsay's in an instant. But tell me yourself, good Jenny, are
      you not something tired of your young lady's frolics and change of mind
      twenty times a-day?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "In troth, not I," said the patient drudge, "unless it may be when she is
      a wee fashious about washing her laces; but I have been her keeper since
      she was a bairn, neighbour Suddlechop, and that makes a difference."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay," said Dame Ursley, still busied putting on additional defences
      against the night air; "and you know for certain that she has two hundred
      pounds a-year in good land, at her own free disposal?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Left by her grandmother, heaven rest her soul!" said the Scotswoman; "and
      to a daintier lassie she could not have bequeathed it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very true, very true, mistress; for, with all her little whims, I have
      always said Mistress Margaret Ramsay was the prettiest girl in the ward;
      and, Jenny, I warrant the poor child has had no supper?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Jenny could not say but it was the case, for, her master being out, the
      twa 'prentice lads had gone out after shutting shop, to fetch them home,
      and she and the other maid had gone out to Sandy MacGivan's, to see a
      friend frae Scotland.
    </p>
    <p>
      "As was very natural, Mrs. Janet," said Dame Ursley, who found her
      interest in assenting to all sorts of propositions from all sorts of
      persons.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And so the fire went out, too,"&mdash;said Jenny.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Which was the most natural of the whole," said Dame Suddlechop; "and so,
      to cut the matter short, Jenny, I'll carry over the little bit of supper
      that I was going to eat. For dinner I have tasted none, and it may be my
      young pretty Mistress Marget will eat a morsel with me; for it is mere
      emptiness, Mistress Jenny, that often puts these fancies of illness into
      young folk's heads." So saying, she put the silver posset-cup with the ale
      into Jenny's hands and assuming her mantle with the alacrity of one
      determined to sacrifice inclination to duty, she hid the stewpan under its
      folds, and commanded Wilsa, the little mulatto girl, to light them across
      the street.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Whither away, so late?" said the barber, whom they passed seated with his
      starveling boys round a mess of stockfish and parsnips, in the shop below.
    </p>
    <p>
      "If I were to tell you, Gaffer," said the dame, with most contemptuous
      coolness, "I do not think you could do my errand, so I will e'en keep it
      to myself." Benjamin was too much accustomed to his wife's independent
      mode of conduct, to pursue his inquiry farther; nor did the dame tarry for
      farther question, but marched out at the door, telling the eldest of the
      boys "to sit up till her return, and look to the house the whilst."
    </p>
    <p>
      The night was dark and rainy, and although the distance betwixt the two
      shops was short, it allowed Dame Ursley leisure enough, while she strode
      along with high-tucked petticoats, to embitter it by the following
      grumbling reflections&mdash;"I wonder what I have done, that I must needs
      trudge at every old beldam's bidding, and every young minx's maggot! I
      have been marched from Temple Bar to Whitechapel, on the matter of a
      pinmaker's wife having pricked her fingers&mdash;marry, her husband that
      made the weapon might have salved the wound.&mdash;And here is this
      fantastic ape, pretty Mistress Marget, forsooth&mdash;such a beauty as I
      could make of a Dutch doll, and as fantastic, and humorous, and conceited,
      as if she were a duchess. I have seen her in the same day as changeful as
      a marmozet and as stubborn as a mule. I should like to know whether her
      little conceited noddle, or her father's old crazy calculating
      jolter-pate, breeds most whimsies. But then there's that two hundred
      pounds a-year in dirty land, and the father is held a close chuff, though
      a fanciful&mdash;he is our landlord besides, and she has begged a late day
      from him for our rent; so, God help me, I must be comfortable&mdash;besides,
      the little capricious devil is my only key to get at Master George
      Heriot's secret, and it concerns my character to find that out; and so,
      ANDIAMOS, as the lingua franca hath it."
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus pondering, she moved forward with hasty strides until she arrived at
      the watchmaker's habitation. The attendant admitted them by means of a
      pass-key. Onward glided Dame Ursula, now in glimmer and now in gloom, not
      like the lovely Lady Cristabelle through Gothic sculpture and ancient
      armour, but creeping and stumbling amongst relics of old machines, and
      models of new inventions in various branches of mechanics with which
      wrecks of useless ingenuity, either in a broken or half-finished shape,
      the apartment of the fanciful though ingenious mechanist was continually
      lumbered.
    </p>
    <p>
      At length they attained, by a very narrow staircase, pretty Mistress
      Margaret's apartment, where she, the cynosure of the eyes of every bold
      young bachelor in Fleet Street, sat in a posture which hovered between the
      discontented and the disconsolate. For her pretty back and shoulders were
      rounded into a curve, her round and dimpled chin reposed in the hollow of
      her little palm, while the fingers were folded over her mouth; her elbow
      rested on a table, and her eyes seemed fixed upon the dying charcoal,
      which was expiring in a small grate. She scarce turned her head when Dame
      Ursula entered, and when the presence of that estimable matron was more
      precisely announced in words by the old Scotswoman, Mistress Margaret,
      without changing her posture, muttered some sort of answer that was wholly
      unintelligible.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Go your ways down to the kitchen with Wilsa, good Mistress Jenny," said
      Dame Ursula, who was used to all sorts of freaks, on the part of her
      patients or clients, whichever they might be termed; "put the stewpan and
      the porringer by the fireside, and go down below&mdash;I must speak to my
      pretty love, Mistress Margaret, by myself&mdash;and there is not a
      bachelor betwixt this and Bow but will envy me the privilege."
    </p>
    <p>
      The attendants retired as directed, and Dame Ursula, having availed
      herself of the embers of charcoal, to place her stewpan to the best
      advantage, drew herself as close as she could to her patient, and began in
      a low, soothing, and confidential tone of voice, to inquire what ailed her
      pretty flower of neighbours.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nothing, dame," said Margaret somewhat pettishly, and changing her
      posture so as rather to turn her back upon the kind inquirer.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nothing, lady-bird!" answered Dame Suddlechop; "and do you use to send
      for your friends out of bed at this hour for nothing?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was not I who sent for you, dame," replied the malecontent maiden.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And who was it, then?" said Ursula; "for if I had not been sent for, I
      had not been here at this time of night, I promise you!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was the old Scotch fool Jenny, who did it out of her own head, I
      suppose," said Margaret; "for she has been stunning me these two hours
      about you and Mother Redcap."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Me and Mother Redcap!" said Dame Ursula, "an old fool indeed, that
      couples folk up so.&mdash;But come, come, my sweet little neighbour, Jenny
      is no such fool after all; she knows young folks want more and better
      advice than her own, and she knows, too, where to find it for them; so you
      must take heart of grace, my pretty maiden, and tell me what you are
      moping about, and then let Dame Ursula alone for finding out a cure."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, an ye be so wise, Mother Ursula," replied the girl, "you may guess
      what I ail without my telling you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, ay, child," answered the complaisant matron, "no one can play better
      than I at the good old game of What is my thought like? Now I'll warrant
      that little head of yours is running on a new head-tire, a foot higher
      than those our city dames wear&mdash;or you are all for a trip to
      Islington or Ware, and your father is cross and will not consent&mdash;or&mdash;&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Or you are an old fool, Dame Suddlechop," said Margaret, peevishly, "and
      must needs trouble yourself about matters you know nothing of."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Fool as much as you will, mistress," said Dame Ursula, offended in her
      turn, "but not so very many years older than yourself, mistress."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh! we are angry, are we?" said the beauty; "and pray, Madam Ursula, how
      come you, that are not so many years older than me, to talk about such
      nonsense to me, who am so many years younger, and who yet have too much
      sense to care about head-gears and Islington?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, well, young mistress," said the sage counsellor, rising, "I
      perceive I can be of no use here; and methinks, since you know your own
      matters so much better than other people do, you might dispense with
      disturbing folks at midnight to ask their advice."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, now you are angry, mother," said Margaret, detaining her; "this
      comes of your coming out at eventide without eating your supper&mdash;I
      never heard you utter a cross word after you had finished your little
      morsel.&mdash;Here, Janet, a trencher and salt for Dame Ursula;&mdash;and
      what have you in that porringer, dame?&mdash;Filthy clammy ale, as I would
      live&mdash;Let Janet fling it out of the window, or keep it for my
      father's morning draught; and she shall bring you the pottle of sack that
      was set ready for him&mdash;good man, he will never find out the
      difference, for ale will wash down his dusty calculations quite as well as
      wine."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Truly, sweetheart, I am of your opinion," said Dame Ursula, whose
      temporary displeasure vanished at once before these preparations for good
      cheer; and so, settling herself on the great easy-chair, with a
      three-legged table before her, she began to dispatch, with good appetite,
      the little delicate dish which she had prepared for herself. She did not,
      however, fail in the duties of civility, and earnestly, but in vain,
      pressed Mistress Margaret to partake her dainties. The damsel declined the
      invitation.
    </p>
    <p>
      "At least pledge me in a glass of sack," said Dame Ursula; "I have heard
      my grandame say, that before the gospellers came in, the old Catholic
      father confessors and their penitents always had a cup of sack together
      before confession; and you are my penitent."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I shall drink no sack, I am sure," said Margaret; "and I told you before,
      that if you cannot find out what ails me, I shall never have the heart to
      tell it."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, she turned away from Dame Ursula once more, and resumed her
      musing posture, with her hand on her elbow, and her back, at least one
      shoulder, turned towards her confidant.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, then," said Dame Ursula, "I must exert my skill in good earnest.&mdash;You
      must give me this pretty hand, and I will tell you by palmistry, as well
      as any gipsy of them all, what foot it is you halt upon."
    </p>
    <p>
      "As if I halted on any foot at all," said Margaret, something scornfully,
      but yielding her left hand to Ursula, and continuing at the same time her
      averted position.
    </p>
<div class="fig" style="width:65%;">
      <img src="images/0618m.jpg" alt="0618m " width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <h5>
      <a href="images/0618.jpg"><i>Original</i></a>
    </h5>
    <p>
      "I see brave lines here," said Ursula, "and not ill to read neither&mdash;pleasure
      and wealth, and merry nights and late mornings to my Beauty, and such an
      equipage as shall shake Whitehall. O, have I touched you there?&mdash;and
      smile you now, my pretty one?&mdash;for why should not he be Lord Mayor,
      and go to Court in his gilded caroch, as others have done before him?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lord Mayor? pshaw!" replied Margaret.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And why pshaw at my Lord Mayor, sweetheart? or perhaps you pshaw at my
      prophecy; but there is a cross in every one's line of life as well as in
      yours, darling. And what though I see a 'prentice's flat cap in this
      pretty palm, yet there is a sparking black eye under it, hath not its
      match in the Ward of Farringdon-Without."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Whom do you mean, dame?" said Margaret coldly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Whom should I mean," said Dame Ursula, "but the prince of 'prentices, and
      king of good company, Jenkin Vincent?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Out, woman&mdash;Jenkin Vincent?&mdash;a clown&mdash;a Cockney!"
      exclaimed the indignant damsel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, sets the wind in that quarter, Beauty!" quoth the dame; "why, it has
      changed something since we spoke together last, for then I would have
      sworn it blew fairer for poor Jin Vin; and the poor lad dotes on you too,
      and would rather see your eyes than the first glimpse of the sun on the
      great holiday on May-day."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I would my eyes had the power of the sun to blind his, then," said
      Margaret, "to teach the drudge his place."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay," said Dame Ursula, "there be some who say that Frank Tunstall is as
      proper a lad as Jin Vin, and of surety he is third cousin to a knighthood,
      and come of a good house; and so mayhap you may be for northward ho!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Maybe I may"&mdash;answered Margaret, "but not with my father's 'prentice&mdash;I
      thank you, Dame Ursula."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, then, the devil may guess your thoughts for me," said Dame Ursula;
      "this comes of trying to shoe a filly that is eternally wincing and
      shifting ground!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hear me, then," said Margaret, "and mind what I say.&mdash;This day I
      dined abroad&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I can tell you where," answered her counsellor,&mdash;"with your
      godfather the rich goldsmith&mdash;ay, you see I know something&mdash;nay,
      I could tell you, as I would, with whom, too."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed!" said Margaret, turning suddenly round with an accent of strong
      surprise, and colouring up to the eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "With old Sir Mungo Malagrowther," said the oracular dame,&mdash;"he was
      trimmed in my Benjamin's shop in his way to the city."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pshaw! the frightful old mouldy skeleton!" said the damsel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed you say true, my dear," replied the confidant,&mdash;"it is a
      shame to him to be out of Saint Pancras's charnel-house, for I know no
      other place he is fit for, the foul-mouthed old railer. He said to my
      husband&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Somewhat which signifies nothing to our purpose, I dare say," interrupted
      Margaret. "I must speak, then.&mdash;There dined with us a nobleman&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "A nobleman! the maiden's mad!" said Dame Ursula.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There dined with us, I say," continued Margaret, without regarding the
      interruption, "a nobleman&mdash;a Scottish nobleman."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now Our Lady keep her!" said the confidant, "she is quite frantic!&mdash;heard
      ever any one of a watchmaker's daughter falling in love with a nobleman&mdash;and
      a Scots nobleman, to make the matter complete, who are all as proud as
      Lucifer, and as poor as Job?&mdash;A Scots nobleman, quotha? I had lief
      you told me of a Jew pedlar. I would have you think how all this is to
      end, pretty one, before you jump in the dark."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is nothing to you, Ursula&mdash;it is your assistance," said
      Mistress Margaret, "and not your advice, that I am desirous to have, and
      you know I can make it worth your while."
    </p>
    <p>
      "O, it is not for the sake of lucre, Mistress Margaret," answered the
      obliging dame; "but truly I would have you listen to some advice&mdash;bethink
      you of your own condition."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My father's calling is mechanical," said Margaret, "but our blood is not
      so. I have heard my father say that we are descended, at a distance
      indeed, from the great Earls of Dalwolsey." [Footnote: The head of the
      ancient and distinguished house of Ramsay, and to whom, as their chief,
      the individuals of that name look as their origin and source of gentry.
      Allan Ramsay, the pastoral poet, in the same manner, makes
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
    "Dalhousie of an auld descent,
     My chief, my stoup, my ornament."]
</pre>
    <p>
      "Ay, ay," said Dame Ursula; "even so&mdash;I never knew a Scot of you but
      was descended, as ye call it, from some great house or other; and a
      piteous descent it often is&mdash;and as for the distance you speak of, it
      is so great as to put you out of sight of each other. Yet do not toss your
      pretty head so scornfully, but tell me the name of this lordly northern
      gallant, and we will try what can be done in the matter."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is Lord Glenvarloch, whom they call Lord Nigel Olifaunt," said
      Margaret in a low voice, and turning away to hide her blushes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Marry, Heaven forefend!" exclaimed Dame Suddlechop; "this is the very
      devil, and something worse!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "How mean you?" said the damsel, surprised at the vivacity of her
      exclamation.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, know ye not," said the dame, "what powerful enemies he has at Court?
      know ye not&mdash;But blisters on my tongue, it runs too fast for my wit&mdash;enough
      to say, that you had better make your bridal-bed under a falling house,
      than think of young Glenvarloch."
    </p>
    <p>
      "He IS unfortunate then?" said Margaret; "I knew it&mdash;I divined it&mdash;there
      was sorrow in his voice when he said even what was gay&mdash;there was a
      touch of misfortune in his melancholy smile&mdash;he had not thus clung to
      my thoughts had I seen him in all the mid-day glare of prosperity."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Romances have cracked her brain!" said Dame Ursula; "she is a castaway
      girl&mdash;utterly distraught&mdash;loves a Scots lord&mdash;and likes him
      the better for being unfortunate! Well, mistress, I am sorry this is a
      matter I cannot aid you in&mdash;it goes against my conscience, and it is
      an affair above my condition, and beyond my management;&mdash;but I will
      keep your counsel."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You will not be so base as to desert me, after having drawn my secret
      from me?" said Margaret, indignantly; "if you do, I know how to have my
      revenge; and if you do not, I will reward you well. Remember the house
      your husband dwells in is my father's property."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I remember it but too well, Mistress Margaret," said Ursula, after a
      moment's reflection, "and I would serve you in any thing in my condition;
      but to meddle with such high matters&mdash;I shall never forget poor
      Mistress Turner, my honoured patroness, peace be with her!&mdash;she had
      the ill-luck to meddle in the matter of Somerset and Overbury, and so the
      great earl and his lady slipt their necks out of the collar, and left her
      and some half-dozen others to suffer in their stead. I shall never forget
      the sight of her standing on the scaffold with the ruff round her pretty
      neck, all done up with the yellow starch which I had so often helped her
      to make, and that was so soon to give place to a rough hempen cord. Such a
      sight, sweetheart, will make one loath to meddle with matters that are too
      hot or heavy for their handling."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Out, you fool!" answered Mistress Margaret; "am I one to speak to you
      about such criminal practices as that wretch died for? All I desire of you
      is, to get me precise knowledge of what affair brings this young nobleman
      to Court."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And when you have his secret," said Ursula, "what will it avail you,
      sweetheart?&mdash;and yet I would do your errand, if you could do as much
      for me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what is it you would have of me?" said Mistress Margaret.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What you have been angry with me for asking before," answered Dame
      Ursula. "I want to have some light about the story of your godfather's
      ghost, that is only seen at prayers."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not for the world," said Mistress Margaret, "will I be a spy on my kind
      godfather's secrets&mdash;No, Ursula&mdash;that I will never pry into,
      which he desires to keep hidden. But thou knowest that I have a fortune,
      of my own, which must at no distant day come under my own management&mdash;think
      of some other recompense."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, that I well know," said the counsellor&mdash;"it is that two hundred
      per year, with your father's indulgence, that makes you so wilful,
      sweetheart."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It may be so,"&mdash;said Margaret Ramsay; "meanwhile, do you serve me
      truly, and here is a ring of value in pledge, that when my fortune is in
      my own hand, I will redeem the token with fifty broad pieces of gold."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Fifty broad pieces of gold!" repeated the dame; "and this ring, which is
      a right fair one, in token you fail not of your word!&mdash;Well,
      sweetheart, if I must put my throat in peril, I am sure I cannot risk it
      for a friend more generous than you; and I would not think of more than
      the pleasure of serving you, only Benjamin gets more idle every day, and
      our family&mdash;&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Say no more of it," said Margaret; "we understand each other. And now,
      tell me what you know of this young man's affairs, which made you so
      unwilling to meddle with them?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of that I can say no great matter as yet," answered Dame Ursula; "only I
      know, the most powerful among his own countrymen are against him, and also
      the most powerful at the Court here. But I will learn more of it; for it
      will be a dim print that I will not read for your sake, pretty Mistress
      Margaret. Know you where this gallant dwells?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I heard by accident," said Margaret, as if ashamed of the minute
      particularity of her memory upon such an occasion,&mdash;"he lodges, I
      think&mdash;at one Christie's&mdash;if I mistake not&mdash;at Paul's Wharf&mdash;a
      ship-chandler's."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A proper lodging for a young baron!&mdash;Well, but cheer you up,
      Mistress Margaret&mdash;If he has come up a caterpillar, like some of his
      countrymen, he may cast his slough like them, and come out a butterfly.&mdash;So
      I drink good-night, and sweet dreams to you, in another parting cup of
      sack; and you shall hear tidings of me within four-and-twenty hours. And,
      once more, I commend you to your pillow, my pearl of pearls, and
      Marguerite of Marguerites!"
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, she kissed the reluctant cheek of her young friend, or
      patroness, and took her departure with the light and stealthy pace of one
      accustomed to accommodate her footsteps to the purposes of dispatch and
      secrecy.
    </p>
    <p>
      Margaret Ramsay looked after her for some time, in anxious silence. "I did
      ill," she at length murmured, "to let her wring this out of me; but she is
      artful, bold and serviceable&mdash;and I think faithful&mdash;or, if not,
      she will be true at least to her interest, and that I can command. I would
      I had not spoken, however&mdash;I have begun a hopeless work. For what has
      he said to me, to warrant my meddling in his fortunes?&mdash;Nothing but
      words of the most ordinary import&mdash;mere table-talk, and terms of
      course. Yet who knows"&mdash;she said, and then broke off, looking at the
      glass the while, which, as it reflected back a face of great beauty,
      probably suggested to her mind a more favourable conclusion of the
      sentence than she cared to trust her tongue withal.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IX
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  So pitiful a thing is suitor's state!
  Most miserable man, whom wicked fate
  Hath brought to Court to sue, for <i>had I wist</i>,
  That few have found, and many a one hath miss'd!
  Full little knowest thou, that hast not tried,
  What hell it is, in sueing long to bide:
  To lose good days that might be better spent;
  To waste long nights in pensive discontent;
  To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow;
  To feed on hope, to pine with fear and sorrow;
  To have thy Prince's grace, yet want her Peers';
  To have thy asking, yet wait many years;
  To fret thy soul with crosses and with cares&mdash;
  To eat thy heart through comfortless despairs.
  To fawn, to crouch, to wait, to ride, to run,
  To spend, to give, to want, to be undone.
                          <i>Mother Hubbard's Tale.</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      On the morning of the day on which George Heriot had prepared to escort
      the young Lord of Glenvarloch to the Court at Whitehall, it may be
      reasonably supposed, that the young man, whose fortunes were likely to
      depend on this cast, felt himself more than usually anxious. He rose
      early, made his toilette with uncommon care, and, being enabled, by the
      generosity of his more plebeian countryman, to set out a very handsome
      person to the best advantage, he obtained a momentary approbation from
      himself as he glanced at the mirror, and a loud and distinct plaudit from
      his landlady, who declared at once, that, in her judgment, he would take
      the wind out of the sail of every gallant in the presence&mdash;so much
      had she been able to enrich her discourse with the metaphors of those with
      whom her husband dealt.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the appointed hour, the barge of Master George Heriot arrived,
      handsomely manned and appointed, having a tilt, with his own cipher, and
      the arms of his company, painted thereupon.
    </p>
    <p>
      The young Lord of Glenvarloch received the friend, who had evinced such
      disinterested attachment, with the kind courtesy which well became him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Master Heriot then made him acquainted with the bounty of his sovereign;
      which he paid over to his young friend, declining what he had himself
      formerly advanced to him. Nigel felt all the gratitude which the citizen's
      disinterested friendship had deserved, and was not wanting in expressing
      it suitably.
    </p>
    <p>
      Yet, as the young and high-born nobleman embarked to go to the presence of
      his prince, under the patronage of one whose best, or most distinguished
      qualification, was his being an eminent member of the Goldsmiths'
      Incorporation, he felt a little surprised, if not abashed, at his own
      situation; and Richie Moniplies, as he stepped over the gangway to take
      his place forward in the boat, could not help muttering,&mdash;"It was a
      changed day betwixt Master Heriot and his honest father in the Kraemes;&mdash;but,
      doubtless, there was a difference between clinking on gold and silver, and
      clattering upon pewter."
    </p>
    <p>
      On they glided, by the assistance of the oars of four stout watermen,
      along the Thames, which then served for the principal high-road betwixt
      London and Westminster; for few ventured on horseback through the narrow
      and crowded streets of the city, and coaches were then a luxury reserved
      only for the higher nobility, and to which no citizen, whatever was his
      wealth, presumed to aspire. The beauty of the banks, especially on the
      northern side, where the gardens of the nobility descended from their
      hotels, in many places, down to the water's edge, was pointed out to Nigel
      by his kind conductor, and was pointed out in vain. The mind of the young
      Lord of Glenvarloch was filled with anticipations, not the most pleasant,
      concerning the manner in which he was likely to be received by that
      monarch, in whose behalf his family had been nearly reduced to ruin; and
      he was, with the usual mental anxiety of those in such a situation,
      framing imaginary questions from the king, and over-toiling his spirit in
      devising answers to them.
    </p>
    <p>
      His conductor saw the labour of Nigel's mind, and avoided increasing it by
      farther conversation; so that, when he had explained to him briefly the
      ceremonies observed at Court on such occasions of presentation, the rest
      of their voyage was performed in silence.
    </p>
    <p>
      They landed at Whitehall Stairs, and entered the Palace after announcing
      their names,&mdash;the guards paying to Lord Glenvarloch the respect and
      honours due to his rank.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
The young man's heart beat high and thick within him as he came into the
royal apartments. His education abroad, conducted, as it had been, on
a narrow and limited scale, had given him but imperfect ideas of the
grandeur of a Court; and the philosophical reflections which taught him
to set ceremonial and exterior splendour at defiance, proved, like other
maxims of mere philosophy, ineffectual, at the moment they were weighed
against the impression naturally made on the mind of an inexperienced
youth, by the unusual magnificence of the scene. The splendid apartments
through which they passed, the rich apparel of the grooms, guards, and
 apartments, had something in it, trifling and commonplace as it might
appear to practised courtiers, embarrassing, and even alarming, to one,
who went through these forms for the first time, and who was doubtful
what sort of reception was to accompany his first appearance before his
sovereign.
</pre>
    <p>
      Heriot, in anxious attention to save his young friend from any momentary
      awkwardness, had taken care to give the necessary password to the warders,
      grooms of the chambers, ushers, or by whatever name they were designated;
      so they passed on without interruption.
    </p>
    <p>
      In this manner they passed several ante-rooms, filled chiefly with guards,
      attendants of the Court, and their acquaintances, male and female, who,
      dressed in their best apparel, and with eyes rounded by eager curiosity to
      make the most of their opportunity, stood, with beseeming modesty, ranked
      against the wall, in a manner which indicated that they were spectators,
      not performers, in the courtly exhibition.
    </p>
    <p>
      Through these exterior apartments Lord Glenvarloch and his city friend
      advanced into a large and splendid withdrawing-room, communicating with
      the presence-chamber, into which ante-room were admitted those only who,
      from birth, their posts in the state or household, or by the particular
      grant of the kings, had right to attend the Court, as men entitled to pay
      their respects to their sovereign.
    </p>
    <p>
      Amid this favoured and selected company, Nigel observed Sir Mungo
      Malagrowther, who, avoided and discountenanced by those who knew how low
      he stood in Court interest and favour, was but too happy in the
      opportunity of hooking himself upon a person of Lord Glenvarloch's rank,
      who was, as yet, so inexperienced as to feel it difficult to shake off an
      intruder.
    </p>
    <p>
      The knight forthwith framed his grim features to a ghastly smile, and,
      after a preliminary and patronising nod to George Heriot, accompanied with
      an aristocratic wave of the hand, which intimated at once superiority and
      protection, he laid aside altogether the honest citizen, to whom he owed
      many a dinner, to attach himself exclusively to the young lord, although
      he suspected he might be occasionally in the predicament of needing one as
      much as himself. And even the notice of this original, singular and
      unamiable as he was, was not entirely indifferent to Lord Glenvarloch,
      since the absolute and somewhat constrained silence of his good friend
      Heriot, which left him at liberty to retire painfully to his own agitating
      reflections, was now relieved; while, on the other hand, he could not help
      feeling interest in the sharp and sarcastic information poured upon him by
      an observant, though discontented courtier, to whom a patient auditor, and
      he a man of title and rank, was as much a prize, as his acute and
      communicative disposition rendered him an entertaining companion to Nigel
      Olifaunt. Heriot, in the meantime, neglected by Sir Mungo, and avoiding
      every attempt by which the grateful politeness of Lord Glenvarloch strove
      to bring him into the conversation, stood by, with a kind of half smile on
      his countenance; but whether excited by Sir Mungo's wit, or arising at his
      expense, did not exactly appear.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the meantime, the trio occupied a nook of the ante-room, next to the
      door of the presence-chamber, which was not yet thrown open, when Maxwell,
      with his rod of office, came bustling into the apartment, where most men,
      excepting those of high rank, made way for him. He stopped beside the
      party in which we are interested, looked for a moment at the young Scots
      nobleman, then made a slight obeisance to Heriot, and lastly, addressing
      Sir Mungo Malagrowther, began a hurried complaint to him of the
      misbehaviour of the gentlemen-pensioners and warders, who suffered all
      sort of citizens, suitors, and scriveners, to sneak into the outer
      apartments, without either respect or decency.&mdash;"The English," he
      said, "were scandalised, for such a thing durst not be attempted in the
      queen's days. In her time, there was then the court-yard for the mobility,
      and the apartments for the nobility; and it reflects on your place, Sir
      Mungo," he added, "belonging to the household as you do, that such things
      should not be better ordered."
    </p>
    <p>
      Here Sir Mungo, afflicted, as was frequently the case on such occasions,
      with one of his usual fits of deafness, answered, "It was no wonder the
      mobility used freedoms, when those whom they saw in office were so little
      better in blood and havings than themselves."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are right, sir&mdash;quite right," said Maxwell, putting his hand on
      the tarnished embroidery on the old knight's sleeve,&mdash;"when such
      fellows see men in office dressed in cast-off suits, like paltry
      stage-players, it is no wonder the Court is thronged with intruders."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Were you lauding the taste of my embroidery, Maister Maxwell?" answered
      the knight, who apparently interpreted the deputy-chamberlain's meaning
      rather from his action than his words;&mdash;"it is of an ancient and
      liberal pattern, having been made by your mother's father, auld James
      Stitchell, a master-fashioner of honest repute, in Merlin's Wynd, whom I
      made a point to employ, as I am now happy to remember, seeing your father
      thought fit to intermarry with sic a person's daughter."
    </p>
    <p>
      Maxwell looked stern; but, conscious there was nothing to be got of Sir
      Mungo in the way of amends, and that prosecuting the quarrel with such an
      adversary would only render him ridiculous, and make public a mis-alliance
      of which he had no reason to be proud, he covered his resentment with a
      sneer; and, expressing his regret that Sir Mungo was become too deaf to
      understand or attend to what was said to him, walked on, and planted
      himself beside the folding-doors of the presence-chamber, at which he was
      to perform the duty of deputy-chamberlain, or usher, so soon as they
      should be opened.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The door of the presence is about to open," said the goldsmith, in a
      whisper, to his young friend; "my condition permits me to go no farther
      with you. Fail not to present yourself boldly, according to your birth,
      and offer your Supplication; which the king will not refuse to accept,
      and, as I hope, to consider favourably."
    </p>
    <p>
      As he spoke, the door of the presence-chamber opened accordingly, and, as
      is usual on such occasions, the courtiers began to advance towards it, and
      to enter in a slow, but continuous and uninterrupted stream.
    </p>
    <p>
      As Nigel presented himself in his turn at the entrance, and mentioned his
      name and title, Maxwell seemed to hesitate. "You are not known to any
      one," he said. "It is my duty to suffer no one to pass to the presence, my
      lord, whose face is unknown to me, unless upon the word of a responsible
      person."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I came with Master George Heriot," said Nigel, in some embarrassment at
      this unexpected interruption.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Master Heriot's name will pass current for much gold and silver, my
      lord," replied Maxwell, with a civil sneer, "but not for birth and rank. I
      am compelled by my office to be peremptory.&mdash;The entrance is impeded&mdash;I
      am much concerned to say it&mdash;your lordship must stand back."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What is the matter?" said an old Scottish nobleman, who had been speaking
      with George Heriot, after he had separated from Nigel, and who now came
      forward, observing the altercation betwixt the latter and Maxwell.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is only Master Deputy-Chamberlain Maxwell," said Sir Mungo
      Malagrowther, "expressing his joy to see Lord Glenvarloch at Court, whose
      father gave him his office&mdash;at least I think he is speaking to that
      purport&mdash;for your lordship kens my imperfection." A subdued laugh,
      such as the situation permitted, passed round amongst those who heard this
      specimen of Sir Mungo's sarcastic temper. But the old nobleman stepped
      still more forward, saying,&mdash;"What!&mdash;the son of my gallant old
      opponent, Ochtred Olifaunt&mdash;I will introduce him to the presence
      myself."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he took Nigel by the arm, without farther ceremony, and was
      about to lead him forward, when Maxwell, still keeping his rod across the
      door, said, but with hesitation and embarrassment&mdash;"My lord, this
      gentleman is not known, and I have orders to be scrupulous."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tutti&mdash;taiti, man," said the old lord, "I will be answerable he is
      his father's son, from the cut of his eyebrow&mdash;and thou, Maxwell,
      knewest his father well enough to have spared thy scruples. Let us pass,
      man." So saying, he put aside the deputy-chamberlain's rod, and entered
      the presence-room, still holding the young nobleman by the arm.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, I must know you, man," he said; "I must know you. I knew your father
      well, man, and I have broke a lance and crossed a blade with him; and it
      is to my credit that I am living to brag of it. He was king's-man and I
      was queen's-man during the Douglas wars&mdash;young fellows both, that
      feared neither fire nor steel; and we had some old feudal quarrels
      besides, that had come down from father to son, with our seal-rings,
      two-harided broad-swords, and plate-coats, and the crests on our
      burgonets."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Too loud, my Lord of Huntinglen," whispered a gentleman of the chamber,&mdash;"The
      King!&mdash;the King!"
    </p>
    <p>
      The old earl (for such he proved) took the hint, and was silent; and
      James, advancing from a side-door, received in succession the compliments
      of strangers, while a little group of favourite courtiers, or officers of
      the household, stood around him, to whom he addressed himself from time to
      time. Some more pains had been bestowed on his toilette than upon the
      occasion when we first presented the monarch to our readers; but there was
      a natural awkwardness about his figure which prevented his clothes from
      sitting handsomely, and the prudence or timidity of his disposition had
      made him adopt the custom already noticed, of wearing a dress so thickly
      quilted as might withstand the stroke of a dagger, which added an ungainly
      stiffness to his whole appearance, contrasting oddly with the frivolous,
      ungraceful, and fidgeting motions with which he accompanied his
      conversation. And yet, though the king's deportment was very undignified,
      he had a manner so kind, familiar, and good-humoured, was so little apt to
      veil over or conceal his own foibles, and had so much indulgence and
      sympathy for those of others, that his address, joined to his learning,
      and a certain proportion of shrewd mother-wit, failed not to make a
      favourable impression on those who approached his person.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the Earl of Huntinglen had presented Nigel to his sovereign, a
      ceremony which the good peer took upon himself, the king received the
      young lord very graciously, and observed to his introducer, that he "was
      fain to see them twa stand side by side; for I trow, my Lord Huntinglen,"
      continued he, "your ancestors, ay, and e'en your lordship's self and this
      lad's father, have stood front to front at the sword's point, and that is
      a worse posture."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Until your Majesty," said Lord Huntinglen, "made Lord Ochtred and me
      cross palms, upon the memorable day when your Majesty feasted all the
      nobles that were at feud together, and made them join hands in your
      presence&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I mind it weel," said the king; "I mind it weel&mdash;it was a blessed
      day, being the nineteen of September, of all days in the year&mdash;and it
      was a blithe sport to see how some of the carles girned as they clapped
      loofs together. By my saul, I thought some of them, mair special the
      Hieland chiels, wad have broken out in our own presence; but we caused
      them to march hand in hand to the Cross, ourselves leading the way, and
      there drink a blithe cup of kindness with ilk other, to the stanching of
      feud, and perpetuation of amity. Auld John Anderson was Provost that year&mdash;the
      carle grat for joy, and the bailies and councillors danced bare-headed in
      our presence like five-year-auld colts, for very triumph."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was indeed a happy day," said Lord Huntinglen, "and will not be
      forgotten in the history of your Majesty's reign."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I would not that it were, my lord," replied the monarch&mdash;"I would
      not that it were pretermitted in our annals. Ay, ay&mdash;BEATI PACIFICI.
      My English lieges here may weel make much of me, for I would have them to
      know, they have gotten the only peaceable man that ever came of my family.
      If James with the Fiery Face had come amongst you," he said, looking round
      him, "or my great grandsire, of Flodden memory!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "We should have sent him back to the north again," whispered one English
      nobleman.
    </p>
    <p>
      "At least," said another, in the same inaudible tone, "we should have had
      a MAN to our sovereign, though he were but a Scotsman."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And now, my young springald," said the king to Lord Glenvarloch, "where
      have you been spending your calf-time?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "At Leyden, of late, may it please your Majesty," answered Lord Nigel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aha! a scholar," said the king; "and, by my saul, a modest and ingenuous
      youth, that hath not forgotten how to blush, like most of our travelled
      Monsieurs. We will treat him conformably."
    </p>
    <p>
      Then drawing himself up, coughing slightly, and looking around him with
      the conscious importance of superior learning, while all the courtiers who
      understood, or understood not, Latin, pressed eagerly forward to listen,
      the sapient monarch prosecuted his inquiries as follows:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hem! hem! <i>salve bis, quaterque salve, glenvarlochides noster!
      Nuperumne ab lugduno batavorum britanniam rediisti?</i>"
    </p>
    <p>
      The young nobleman replied, bowing low&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Imo, rex augustissime&mdash;biennium fere apud lugdunenses Moratus
      sum.</i>"
    </p>
    <p>
      James proceeded&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Biennium dicis? Bene, bene, optume factum est&mdash;non uno Die, quod
      dicunt,&mdash;intelligisti, domine glenvarlochiensis?</i> Aha!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel replied by a reverent bow, and the king, turning to those behind
      him, said&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Adolescens quidem ingenui vultus ingenuique pudoris.</i>" Then resumed
      his learned queries. "<i>Et quid hodie lugdunenses loquuntur&mdash;vossius
      vester nihilne novi scripsit?&mdash;nihil certe, quod doleo, typis
      recenter editit</i>."
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Valet quidem vossius, rex benevole.</i>" replied Nigel, "<i>ast senex
      veneratissimus annum agit, ni fallor, septuagesimum.</i>"
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Virum, mehercle, vix tam grandaevum crediderim</i>," replied the
      monarch. "<i>et vorstius iste?&mdash;arminii improbi successor aeque ac
      sectator&mdash;herosne adhuc, ut cum homero loquar</i>, [ZOOS ESTI KAI EPI
      THONI DERKOV]?" text in Greek
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel, by good fortune, remembered that Vorstius, the divine last
      mentioned in his Majesty's queries about the state of Dutch literature,
      had been engaged in a personal controversy with James, in which the king
      had taken so deep an interest, as at length to hint in his public
      correspondence with the United States, that they would do well to apply
      the secular arm to stop the progress of heresy by violent measures against
      the Professor's person&mdash;a demand which their Mighty Mightinesses'
      principles of universal toleration induced them to elude, though with some
      difficulty. Knowing all this, Lord Glenvarloch, though a courtier of only
      five minutes' standing, had address enough to reply&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Vivum quidem, haud diu est, hominem videbam&mdash;vigere autem quis
      dicat qui sub fulminibus eloquentiae tuae, rex magne, jamdudum pronus
      jacet, et prostratus?</i>"
    </p>
    <p>
      [Footnote: Lest any lady or gentleman should suspect there is aught of
      mystery concealed under the sentences printed in Italics, they will be
      pleased to understand that they contain only a few commonplace Latin
      phrases, relating to the state of letters in Holland, which neither
      deserve, nor would endure, a literal translation.]
    </p>
    <p>
      This last tribute to his polemical powers completed James's happiness,
      which the triumph of exhibiting his erudition had already raised to a
      considerable height.
    </p>
    <p>
      He rubbed his hands, snapped his fingers, fidgeted, chuckled, exclaimed&mdash;"<i>Euge!
      Belle! Optime!</i>" and turning to the Bishops of Exeter and Oxford, who
      stood behind him, he said.&mdash;"Ye see, my lords, no bad specimen of our
      Scottish Latinity, with which language we would all our subjects of
      England were as well embued as this, and other youths of honourable birth,
      in our auld kingdom; also, we keep the genuine and Roman pronunciation,
      like other learned nations on the continent, sae that we hold communing
      with any scholar in the universe, who can but speak the Latin tongue;
      whereas ye, our learned subjects of England, have introduced into your
      universities, otherwise most learned, a fashion of pronouncing like unto
      the 'nippit foot and clippit foot' of the bride in the fairy tale, whilk
      manner of speech, (take it not amiss that I be round with you) can be
      understood by no nation on earth saving yourselves; whereby Latin, <i>quoad
      anglos</i>, ceaseth to be <i>communis lingua</i>, the general dragoman, or
      interpreter, between all the wise men of the earth."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Bishop of Exeter bowed, as in acquiescence to the royal censure; but
      he of Oxford stood upright, as mindful over what subjects his see
      extended, and as being equally willing to become food for fagots in
      defence of the Latinity of the university, as for any article of his
      religious creed.
    </p>
    <p>
      The king, without awaiting an answer from either prelate, proceeded to
      question Lord Nigel, but in the vernacular tongue,&mdash;"Weel, my likely
      Alumnus of the Muses, and what make you so far from the north?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "To pay my homage to your Majesty," said the young nobleman, kneeling on
      one knee, "and to lay before you," he added, "this my humble and dutiful
      Supplication."
    </p>
    <p>
      The presenting of a pistol would certainly have startled King James more,
      but could (setting apart the fright) hardly have been more unpleasing to
      his indolent disposition.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And is it even so, man?" said he; "and can no single man, were it but for
      the rarity of the case, ever come up frae Scotland, excepting EX PROPOSITO&mdash;on
      set purpose, to see what he can make out of his loving sovereign? It is
      but three days syne that we had weel nigh lost our life, and put three
      kingdoms into dule-weeds, from the over haste of a clumsy-handed peasant,
      to thrust a packet into our hand, and now we are beset by the like
      impediment in our very Court. To our Secretary with that gear, my lord&mdash;to
      our Secretary with that gear."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have already offered my humble Supplication to your Majesty's Secretary
      of State," said Lord Glenvarloch&mdash;"but it seems&mdash;&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "That he would not receive it, I warrant?" said the king, interrupting
      him; "bu my saul, our Secretary kens that point of king-craft, called
      refusing, better than we do, and will look at nothing but what he likes
      himsell&mdash;I think I wad make a better Secretary to him than he to me.&mdash;Weel,
      my lord, you are welcome to London; and, as ye seem an acute and learned
      youth, I advise ye to turn your neb northward as soon as ye like, and
      settle yoursell for a while at Saint Andrews, and we will be right glad to
      hear that you prosper in your studies.&mdash;<i>Incumbite Remis Fortiter.</i>"
    </p>
    <p>
      While the king spoke thus, he held the petition of the young lord
      carelessly, like one who only delayed till the supplicant's back was
      turned, to throw it away, or at least lay it aside to be no more looked
      at. The petitioner, who read this in his cold and indifferent looks, and
      in the manner in which he twisted and crumpled together the paper, arose
      with a bitter sense of anger and disappointment, made a profound
      obeisance, and was about to retire hastily. But Lord Huntinglen, who stood
      by him, checked his intention by an almost imperceptible touch upon the
      skirt of his cloak, and Nigel, taking the hint, retreated only a few steps
      from the royal presence, and then made a pause. In the meantime, Lord
      Huntinglen kneeled before James, in his turn, and said&mdash;"May it
      please your Majesty to remember, that upon one certain occasion you did
      promise to grant me a boon every year of your sacred life?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I mind it weel, man," answered James, "I mind it weel, and good reason
      why&mdash;it was when you unclasped the fause traitor Ruthven's fangs from
      about our royal throat, and drove your dirk into him like a true subject.
      We did then, as you remind us, (whilk was unnecessary,) being partly
      beside ourselves with joy at our liberation, promise we would grant you a
      free boon every year; whilk promise, on our coming to menseful possession
      of our royal faculties, we did confirm, <i>restrictive</i> always and <i>conditionaliter</i>,
      that your lordship's demand should be such as we, in our royal discretion,
      should think reasonable."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Even so, gracious sovereign," said the old earl, "and may I yet farther
      crave to know if I have ever exceeded the bounds of your royal
      benevolence?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "By my word, man, no!'" said the king; "I cannot remember you have asked
      much for yourself, if it be not a dog or a hawk, or a buck out of our park
      at Theobald's, or such like. But to what serves this preface?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "To the boon to which I am now to ask of your Grace," said Lord
      Huntinglen; "which is, that your Majesty would be pleased, on the instant,
      to look at the placet of Lord Glenvarloch, and do upon it what your own
      just and royal nature shall think meet and just, without reference to your
      Secretary or any other of your Council."
    </p>
    <p>
      "By my saul, my lord, this is strange," said the king; "ye are pleading
      for the son of your enemy!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of one who WAS my enemy till your Majesty made him my friend," answered
      Lord Huntinglen.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Weel spoken, my lord!" said the king; "and with, a true Christian spirit.
      And, respecting the Supplication of this young man, I partly guess where
      the matter lies; and in plain troth I had promised to George Heriot to be
      good to the lad&mdash;But then, here the shoe pinches. Steenie and Babie
      Charles cannot abide him&mdash;neither can your own son, my lord; and so,
      methinks, he had better go down to Scotland before he comes toill luck by
      them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My son, an it please your Majesty, so far as he is concerned, shall not
      direct my doings," said the earl, "nor any wild-headed young man of them
      all."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, neither shall they mine," replied the monarch; "by my father's saul,
      none of them all shall play Rex with me&mdash;I will do what I will, and
      what I ought, like a free king."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your Majesty will then grant me my boon?" said the Lord Huntinglen.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, marry will I&mdash;marry will I," said the king; "but follow me this
      way, man, where we may be more private."
    </p>
    <p>
      He led Lord Huntinglen with rather a hurried step through the courtiers,
      all of whom gazed earnestly on this unwonted scene, as is the fashion of
      all Courts on similar occasions. The king passed into a little cabinet,
      and bade, in the first moment, Lord Huntinglen lock or bar the door; but
      countermanded his direction in the next, saying,&mdash;"No, no, no&mdash;bread
      o' life, man, I am a free king&mdash;will do what I will and what I should&mdash;I
      am <i>justus et tenax propositi</i>, man&mdash;nevertheless, keep by the
      door, Lord Huntinglen, in case Steenie should come in with his mad
      humour."
    </p>
    <p>
      "O my poor master!" groaned the Earl of Huntinglen. "When you were in your
      own cold country, you had warmer blood in your veins."
    </p>
    <p>
      The king hastily looked over the petition or memorial, every now and then
      glancing his eye towards the door, and then sinking it hastily on the
      paper, ashamed that Lord Huntinglen, whom he respected, should suspect him
      of timidity.
    </p>
    <p>
      "To grant the truth," he said, after he had finished his hasty perusal,
      "this is a hard case; and harder than it was represented to me, though I
      had some inkling of it before. And so the lad only wants payment of the
      siller due from us, in order to reclaim his paternal estate? But then,
      Huntinglen, the lad will have other debts&mdash;and why burden himsell
      with sae mony acres of barren woodland? let the land gang, man, let the
      land gang; Steenie has the promise of it from our Scottish Chancellor&mdash;it
      is the best hunting-ground in Scotland&mdash;and Babie Charles and Steenie
      want to kill a buck there this next year&mdash;they maun hae the land&mdash;they
      maun hae the land; and our debt shall be paid to the young man plack and
      bawbee, and he may have the spending of it at our Court; or if he has such
      an eard hunger, wouns! man, we'll stuff his stomach with English land,
      which is worth twice as much, ay, ten times as much, as these accursed
      hills and heughs, and mosses and muirs, that he is sae keen after."
    </p>
    <p>
      All this while the poor king ambled up and down the apartment in a piteous
      state of uncertainty, which was made more ridiculous by his shambling
      circular mode of managing his legs, and his ungainly fashion on such
      occasions of fiddling with the bunches of ribbons which fastened the lower
      part of his dress.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Huntinglen listened with great composure, and answered, "An it please
      your Majesty, there was an answer yielded by Naboth when Ahab coveted his
      vineyard&mdash;' The Lord forbid that I should give the inheritance of my
      fathers unto thee.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ey, my lord&mdash;ey, my lord!" ejaculated James, while all the colour
      mounted both to his cheek and nose; "I hope ye mean not to teach me
      divinity? Ye need not fear, my lord, that I will shun to do justice to
      every man; and, since your lordship will give me no help to take up this
      in a more peaceful manner&mdash;whilk, methinks, would be better for the
      young man, as I said before,&mdash;why&mdash;since it maun be so&mdash;'sdeath,
      I am a free king, man, and he shall have his money and redeem his land,
      and make a kirk and a miln of it, an he will." So saying, he hastily wrote
      an order on the Scottish Exchequer for the sum in question, and then
      added, "How they are to pay it, I see not; but I warrant he will find
      money on the order among the goldsmiths, who can find it for every one but
      me.&mdash;And now you see, my Lord of Huntinglen, that I am neither an
      untrue man, to deny you the boon whilk I became bound for, nor an Ahab, to
      covet Naboth's vineyard; nor a mere nose-of-wax, to be twisted this way
      and that, by favourites and counsellors at their pleasure. I think you
      will grant now that I am none of those?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are my own native and noble prince," said Huntinglen, as he knelt to
      kiss the royal hand&mdash;"just and generous, whenever you listen to the
      workings of your own heart."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, ay," said the king, laughing good-naturedly, as he raised his
      faithful servant from the ground, "that is what ye all say when I do any
      thing to please ye. There&mdash;there, take the sign-manual, and away with
      you and this young fellow. I wonder Steenie and Babie Charles have not
      broken in on us before now."
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Huntinglen hastened from the cabinet, foreseeing a scene at which he
      was unwilling to be present, but which sometimes occurred when James
      roused himself so far as to exert his own free will, of which he boasted
      so much, in spite of that of his imperious favourite Steenie, as he called
      the Duke of Buckingham, from a supposed resemblance betwixt his very
      handsome countenance, and that with which the Italian artists represented
      the protomartyr Stephen. In fact, the haughty favourite, who had the
      unusual good fortune to stand as high in the opinion of the heir-apparent
      as of the existing monarch, had considerably diminished in his respect
      towards the latter; and it was apparent, to the more shrewd courtiers,
      that James endured his domination rather from habit, timidity, and a dread
      of encountering his stormy passions, than from any heartfelt continuation
      of regard towards him, whose greatness had been the work of his own hands.
      To save himself the pain of seeing what was likely to take place on the
      duke's return, and to preserve the king from the additional humiliation
      which the presence of such a witness must have occasioned, the earl left
      the cabinet as speedily as possible, having first carefully pocketed the
      important sign-manual.
    </p>
    <p>
      No sooner had he entered the presence-room, than he hastily sought Lord
      Glenvarloch, who had withdrawn into the embrasure of one of the windows,
      from the general gaze of men who seemed disposed only to afford him the
      notice which arises from surprise and curiosity, and, taking him by the
      arm, without speaking, led him out of the presence-chamber into the first
      ante-room. Here they found the worthy goldsmith, who approached them with
      looks of curiosity, which were checked by the old lord, who said hastily,
      "All is well.&mdash;Is your barge in waiting?" Heriot answered in the
      affirmative. "Then," said Lord Huntinglen, "you shall give me a cast in
      it, as the watermen say; and I, in requital, will give you both your
      dinner; for we must have some conversation together."
    </p>
    <p>
      They both followed the earl without speaking, and were in the second
      ante-room when the important annunciation of the ushers, and the hasty
      murmur with which all made ample way as the company repeated to each
      other,&mdash;"The Duke&mdash;the Duke!" made them aware of the approach of
      the omnipotent favourite.
    </p>
    <p>
      He entered, that unhappy minion of Court favour, sumptuously dressed in
      the picturesque attire which will live for ever on the canvas of Vandyke,
      and which marks so well the proud age, when aristocracy, though undermined
      and nodding to its fall, still, by external show and profuse expense,
      endeavoured to assert its paramount superiority over the inferior orders.
      The handsome and commanding countenance, stately form, and graceful action
      and manners of the Duke of Buckingham, made him become that picturesque
      dress beyond any man of his time. At present, however, his countenance
      seemed discomposed, his dress a little more disordered than became the
      place, his step hasty, and his voice imperative.
    </p>
    <p>
      All marked the angry spot upon his brow, and bore back so suddenly to make
      way for him, that the Earl of Huntinglen, who affected no extraordinary
      haste on the occasion, with his companions, who could not, if they would,
      have decently left him, remained as it were by themselves in the middle of
      the room, and in the very path of the angry favourite. He touched his cap
      sternly as he looked on Huntinglen, but unbonneted to Heriot, and sunk his
      beaver, with its shadowy plume, as low as the floor, with a profound air
      of mock respect. In returning his greeting, which he did simply and
      unaffectedly, the citizen only said,&mdash;"Too much courtesy, my lord
      duke, is often the reverse of kindness."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I grieve you should think so, Master Heriot," answered the duke; "I only
      meant, by my homage, to claim your protection, sir&mdash;your patronage.
      You are become, I understand, a solicitor of suits&mdash;a promoter&mdash;an
      undertaker&mdash;a fautor of court suitors of merit and quality, who
      chance to be pennyless. I trust your bags will bear you out in your new
      boast."
    </p>
    <p>
      "They will bear me the farther, my lord duke," answered the goldsmith,
      "that my boast is but small."
    </p>
    <p>
      "O, you do yourself less than justice, my good Master Heriot," continued
      the duke, in the same tone of irony; "you have a marvellous court-faction,
      to be the son of an Edinburgh tinker. Have the goodness to prefer me to
      the knowledge of the high-born nobleman who is honoured and advantaged by
      your patronage."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That shall be my task," said Lord Huntinglen, with emphasis. "My lord
      duke, I desire you to know Nigel Olifaunt, Lord Glenvarloch,
      representative of one of the most ancient and powerful baronial houses in
      Scotland.&mdash;Lord Glenvarloch, I present you to his Grace the Duke of
      Buckingham, representative of Sir George Villiers, Knight of Brookesby, in
      the county of Leicester."
    </p>
    <p>
      The duke coloured still more high as he bowed to Lord Glenvarloch
      scornfully, a courtesy which the other returned haughtily, and with
      restrained indignation. "We know each other, then," said the duke, after a
      moment's pause; and as if he had seen something in the young nobleman
      which merited more serious notice than the bitter raillery with which he
      had commenced&mdash;"we know each other&mdash;and you know me, my lord,
      for your enemy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I thank you for your plainness, my lord duke," replied Nigel; "an open
      enemy is better than a hollow friend."
    </p>
    <p>
      "For you, my Lord Huntinglen," said the duke, "methinks you have but now
      overstepped the limits of the indulgence permitted to you, as the father
      of the prince's friend, and my own."
    </p>
    <p>
      "By my word, my lord duke," replied the earl, "it is easy for any one to
      outstep boundaries, of the existence of which he was not aware. It is
      neither to secure my protection nor approbation, that my son keeps such
      exalted company."
    </p>
    <p>
      "O, my lord, we know you, and indulge you," said the duke; "you are one of
      those who presume for a life-long upon the merit of one good action."
    </p>
    <p>
      "In faith, my lord, and if it be so," said the old earl, "I have at least
      the advantage of such as presume more than I do, without having done any
      action of merit whatever. But I mean not to quarrel with you, my lord&mdash;we
      can neither be friends nor enemies&mdash;you have your path, and I have
      mine."
    </p>
    <p>
      Buckingham only replied by throwing on his bonnet, and shaking its lofty
      plume with a careless and scornful toss of the head. They parted thus; the
      duke walking onwards through the apartments, and the others leaving the
      Palace and repairing to Whitehall Stairs, where they embarked on board the
      barge of the citizen.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER X
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  Bid not thy fortune troll upon the wheels
  Of yonder dancing cubes of mottled bone;
  And drown it not, like Egypt's royal harlot,
  Dissolving her rich pearl in the brimm'd wine-cup.
  These are the arts, Lothario, which shrink acres
  Into brief yards&mdash;bring sterling pounds to farthings,
  Credit to infamy; and the poor gull,
  Who might have lived an honour'd, easy life,
  To ruin, and an unregarded grave.
              <i>The Changes.</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      When they were fairly embarked on the Thames, the earl took from his
      pocket the Supplication, and, pointing out to George Heriot the royal
      warrant indorsed thereon, asked him, if it were in due and regular form?
      The worthy citizen hastily read it over, thrust forth his hand as if to
      congratulate the Lord Glenvarloch, then checked himself, pulled out his
      barnacles, (a present from old David Ramsay,) and again perused the
      warrant with the most business-like and critical attention. "It is
      strictly correct and formal," he said, looking to the Earl of Huntinglen;
      "and I sincerely rejoice at it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I doubt nothing of its formality," said the earl; "the king understands
      business well, and, if he does not practise it often, it is only because
      indolence obscures parts which are naturally well qualified for the
      discharge of affairs. But what is next to be done for our young friend,
      Master Heriot? You know how I am circumstanced. Scottish lords living at
      the English Court have seldom command of money; yet, unless a sum can be
      presently raised on this warrant, matters standing as you hastily hinted
      to me, the mortgage, wadset, or whatever it is called, will be
      foreclosed."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is true," said Heriot, in some embarrassment; "there is a large sum
      wanted in redemption&mdash;yet, if it is not raised, there will be an
      expiry of the legal, as our lawyers call it, and the estate will be
      evicted."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My noble&mdash;my worthy friends, who have taken up my cause so
      undeservedly, so unexpectedly," said Nigel, "do not let me be a burden on
      your kindness. You have already done too much where nothing was merited."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Peace, man, peace," said Lord Huntinglen, "and let old Heriot and I
      puzzle this scent out. He is about to open&mdash;hark to him!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My lord," said the citizen, "the Duke of Buckingham sneers at our city
      money-bags; yet they can sometimes open, to prop a falling and a noble
      house."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We know they can," said Lord Huntinglen&mdash;"mind not Buckingham, he is
      a Peg-a-Ramsay&mdash;and now for the remedy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I partly hinted to Lord Glenvarloch already," said Heriot, "that the
      redemption money might be advanced upon such a warrant as the present, and
      I will engage my credit that it can. But then, in order to secure the
      lender, he must come in the shoes of the creditor to whom he advances
      payment."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come in his shoes!" replied the earl; "why, what have boots or shoes to
      do with this matter, my good friend?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is a law phrase, my lord. My experience has made me pick up a few of
      them," said Heriot.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, and of better things along with them, Master George," replied Lord
      Huntinglen; "but what means it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Simply this," resumed the citizen; "that the lender of this money will
      transact with the holder of the mortgage, or wadset, over the estate of
      Glenvarloch, and obtain from him such a conveyance to his right as shall
      leave the lands pledged for the debt, in case the warrant upon the
      Scottish Exchequer should prove unproductive. I fear, in this uncertainty
      of public credit, that without some such counter security, it will be very
      difficult to find so large a sum."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ho la!" said the Earl of Huntinglen, "halt there! a thought strikes me.&mdash;What
      if the new creditor should admire the estate as a hunting-field, as much
      as my Lord Grace of Buckingham seems to do, and should wish to kill a buck
      there in the summer season? It seems to me, that on your plan, Master
      George, our new friend will be as well entitled to block Lord Glenvarloch
      out of his inheritance as the present holder of the mortgage."
    </p>
    <p>
      The citizen laughed. "I will engage," he said, "that the keenest sportsman
      to whom I may apply on this occasion, shall not have a thought beyond the
      Lord Mayor's Easter-Hunt, in Epping Forest. But your lordship's caution is
      reasonable. The creditor must be bound to allow Lord Glenvarloch
      sufficient time to redeem his estate by means of the royal warrant, and
      must wave in his favour the right of instant foreclosure, which may be, I
      should think, the more easily managed, as the right of redemption must be
      exercised in his own name."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But where shall we find a person in London fit to draw the necessary
      writings?" said the earl. "If my old friend Sir John Skene of Halyards had
      lived, we should have had his advice; but time presses, and&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I know," said Heriot, "an orphan lad, a scrivener, that dwells by Temple
      Bar; he can draw deeds both after the English and Scottish fashion, and I
      have trusted him often in matters of weight and of importance. I will send
      one of my serving-men for him, and the mutual deeds may be executed in
      your lordship's presence; for, as things stand, there should be no delay."
      His lordship readily assented; and, as they now landed upon the private
      stairs leading down to the river from the gardens of the handsome hotel
      which he inhabited, the messenger was dispatched without loss of time.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel, who had sat almost stupefied while these zealous friends
      volunteered for him in arranging the measures by which his fortune was to
      be disembarrassed, now made another eager attempt to force upon them his
      broken expressions of thanks and gratitude. But he was again silenced by
      Lord Huntinglen, who declared he would not hear a word on that topic, and
      proposed instead, that they should take a turn in the pleached alley, or
      sit upon the stone bench which overlooked the Thames, until his son's
      arrival should give the signal for dinner.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I desire to introduce Dalgarno and Lord Glenvarloch to each other," he
      said, "as two who will be near neighbours, and I trust will be more kind
      ones than their fathers were formerly. There is but three Scots miles
      betwixt the castles, and the turrets of the one are visible from the
      battlements of the other."
    </p>
    <p>
      The old earl was silent for a moment, and appeared to muse upon the
      recollections which the vicinity of the castles had summoned up.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Does Lord Dalgarno follow the Court to Newmarket next week?" said Heriot,
      by way of removing the conversation.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He proposes so, I think," answered Lord Huntinglen, relapsed into his
      reverie for a minute or two, and then addressed Nigel somewhat abruptly&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "My young friend, when you attain possession of your inheritance, as I
      hope you soon will, I trust you will not add one to the idle followers of
      the Court, but reside on your patrimonial estate, cherish your ancient
      tenants, relieve and assist your poor kinsmen, protect the poor against
      subaltern oppression, and do what our fathers used to do, with fewer
      lights and with less means than we have."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And yet the advice to keep the country," said Heriot, "comes from an
      ancient and constant ornament of the Court."
    </p>
    <p>
      "From an old courtier, indeed," said the earl, "and the first of my family
      that could so write himself&mdash;my grey beard falls on a cambric ruff
      and a silken doublet&mdash;my father's descended upon a buff coat and a
      breast-plate. I would not that those days of battle returned; but I should
      love well to make the oaks of my old forest of Dalgarno ring once more
      with halloo, and horn, and hound, and to have the old stone-arched hall
      return the hearty shout of my vassals and tenants, as the bicker and the
      quaigh walked their rounds amongst them. I should like to see the broad
      Tay once more before I die&mdash;not even the Thames can match it, in my
      mind."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Surely, my lord," said the citizen, "all this might be easily done&mdash;it
      costs but a moment's resolution, and the journey of some brief days, and
      you will be where you desire to be&mdash;what is there to prevent you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Habits, Master George, habits," replied the earl, "which to young men are
      like threads of silk, so lightly are they worn, so soon broken; but which
      hang on our old limbs as if time had stiffened them into gyves of iron. To
      go to Scotland for a brief space were but labour in vain; and when I think
      of abiding there, I cannot bring myself to leave my old master, to whom I
      fancy myself sometimes useful, and whose weal and woe I have shared for so
      many years. But Dalgarno shall be a Scottish noble."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Has he visited the North?" said Heriot.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He was there last year and made such a report of the country, that the
      prince has expressed a longing to see it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lord Dalgarno is in high grace with his Highness and the Duke of
      Buckingham?" observed the goldsmith.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He is so," answered the earl,&mdash;"I pray it may be for the advantage
      of them all. The prince is just and equitable in his sentiments, though
      cold and stately in his manners, and very obstinate in his most trifling
      purposes; and the duke, noble and gallant, and generous and open, is
      fiery, ambitious, and impetuous. Dalgarno has none of these faults, and
      such as he may have of his own, may perchance be corrected by the society
      in which he moves.&mdash;See, here he comes."
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Dalgarno accordingly advanced from the farther end of the alley to
      the bench on which his father and his guests were seated, so that Nigel
      had full leisure to peruse his countenance and figure. He was dressed
      point-device, and almost to extremity, in the splendid fashion of the
      time, which suited well with his age, probably about five-and-twenty, with
      a noble form and fine countenance, in which last could easily be traced
      the manly features of his father, but softened by a more habitual air of
      assiduous courtesy than the stubborn old earl had ever condescended to
      assume towards the world in general. In other respects, his address was
      gallant, free, and unencumbered either by pride or ceremony&mdash;far
      remote certainly from the charge either of haughty coldness or forward
      impetuosity; and so far his father had justly freed him from the marked
      faults which he ascribed to the manners of the prince and his favourite
      Buckingham.
    </p>
    <p>
      While the old earl presented his young acquaintance Lord Glenvarloch to
      his son, as one whom he would have him love and honour, Nigel marked the
      countenance of Lord Dalgarno closely, to see if he could detect aught of
      that secret dislike which the king had, in one of his broken
      expostulations, seemed to intimate, as arising from a clashing of
      interests betwixt his new friend and the great Buckingham. But nothing of
      this was visible; on the contrary, Lord Dalgarno received his new
      acquaintance with the open frankness and courtesy which makes conquest at
      once, when addressed to the feelings of an ingenuous young man.
    </p>
    <p>
      It need hardly be told that his open and friendly address met equally
      ready and cheerful acceptation from Nigel Olifaunt. For many months, and
      while a youth not much above two-and-twenty, he had been restrained by
      circumstances from the conversation of his equals. When, on his father's
      sudden death, he left the Low Countries for Scotland, he had found himself
      involved, to all appearance inextricably, with the details of the law, all
      of which threatened to end in the alienation of the patrimony which should
      support his hereditary rank. His term of sincere mourning, joined to
      injured pride, and the swelling of the heart under unexpected and
      undeserved misfortune, together with the uncertainty attending the issue
      of his affairs, had induced the young Lord of Glenvarloch to live, while
      in Scotland, in a very private and reserved manner. How he had passed his
      time in London, the reader is acquainted with. But this melancholy and
      secluded course of life was neither agreeable to his age nor to his
      temper, which was genial and sociable. He hailed, therefore, with sincere
      pleasure, the approaches which a young man of his own age and rank made
      towards him; and when he had exchanged with Lord Dalgarno some of those
      words and signals by which, as surely as by those of freemasonry, young
      people recognise a mutual wish to be agreeable to each other, it seemed as
      if the two noblemen had been acquainted for some time.
    </p>
    <p>
      Just as this tacit intercourse had been established, one of Lord
      Huntinglen's attendants came down the alley, marshalling onwards a man
      dressed in black buckram, who followed him with tolerable speed,
      considering that, according to his sense of reverence and propriety, he
      kept his body bent and parallel to the horizon from the moment that he
      came in sight of the company to which he was about to be presented.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who is this, you cuckoldy knave," said the old lord, who had retained the
      keen appetite and impatience of a Scottish baron even during a long
      alienation from his native country; "and why does John Cook, with a
      murrain to him, keep back dinner?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I believe we are ourselves responsible for this person's intrusion," said
      George Heriot; "this is the scrivener whom we desired to see.&mdash;Look
      up, man, and see us in the face as an honest man should, instead of
      beating thy noddle charged against us thus, like a battering-ram."
    </p>
    <p>
      The scrivener did look up accordingly, with the action of an automaton
      which suddenly obeys the impulse of a pressed spring. But, strange to
      tell, not even the haste he had made to attend his patron's mandate, a
      business, as Master Heriot's message expressed, of weight and importance&mdash;nay
      not even the state of depression in which, out of sheer humility,
      doubtless, he had his head stooped to the earth, from the moment he had
      trod the demesnes of the Earl of Huntinglen, had called any colour into
      his countenance. The drops stood on his brow from haste and toil, but his
      cheek was still pale and tallow-coloured as before; nay, what seemed
      stranger, his very hair, when he raised his head, hung down on either
      cheek as straight and sleek and undisturbed as it was when we first
      introduced him to our readers, seated at his quiet and humble desk.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Dalgarno could not forbear a stifled laugh at the ridiculous and
      puritanical figure which presented itself like a starved anatomy to the
      company, and whispered at the same time into Lord Glenvarloch's ear&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     "The devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced loon,
      Where got'st thou that goose-look?"
</pre>
    <p>
      Nigel was too little acquainted with the English stage to understand a
      quotation which had already grown matter of common allusion in London.
      Lord Dalgarno saw that he was not understood, and continued, "That fellow,
      by his visage, should either be a saint, or a most hypocritical rogue&mdash;and
      such is my excellent opinion of human nature, that I always suspect the
      worst. But they seem deep in business. Will you take a turn with me in the
      garden, my lord, or will you remain a member of the serious conclave?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "With you, my lord, most willingly," said Nigel; and they were turning
      away accordingly, when George Heriot, with the formality belonging to his
      station, observed, that, "as their business concerned Lord Glenvarloch, he
      had better remain, to make himself master of it, and witness to it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My presence is utterly needless, my good lord;-and, my best friend,
      Master Heriot," said the young nobleman, "I shall understand nothing the
      better for cumbering you with my ignorance in these matters; and can only
      say at the end, as I now say at the beginning, that I dare not take the
      helm out of the hand of the kind pilots who have already guided my course
      within sight of a fair and unhoped-for haven. Whatever you recommend to me
      as fitting, I shall sign and seal; and the import of the deeds I shall
      better learn by a brief explanation from Master Heriot, if he will bestow
      so much trouble in my behalf, than by a thousand learned words and law
      terms from this person of skill."
    </p>
    <p>
      "He is right," said Lord Huntinglen; "our young friend is right, in
      confiding these matters to you and me, Master George Heriot&mdash;he has
      not misplaced his confidence."
    </p>
    <p>
      Master George Heriot cast a long look after the two young noblemen, who
      had now walked down the alley arm-in-arm, and at length said, "He hath
      not, indeed, misplaced his confidence, as your lordship well and truly
      says&mdash;but, nevertheless, he is not in the right path; for it behoves
      every man to become acquainted with his own affairs, so soon as he hath
      any that are worth attending to."
    </p>
    <p>
      When he had made this observation, they applied themselves, with the
      scrivener, to look into various papers, and to direct in what manner
      writings should be drawn, which might at once afford sufficient security
      to those who were to advance the money, and at the same time preserve the
      right of the young nobleman to redeem the family estate, provided he
      should obtain the means of doing so, by the expected reimbursement from
      the Scottish Exchequer, or otherwise. It is needless to enter into those
      details. But it is not unimportant to mention, as an illustration of
      character, that Heriot went into the most minute legal details with a
      precision which showed that experience had made him master even of the
      intricacies of Scottish conveyancing; and that the Earl of Huntinglen,
      though far less acquainted with technical detail, suffered no step of the
      business to pass over, until he had attained a general but distinct idea
      of its import and its propriety.
    </p>
    <p>
      They seemed to be admirably seconded in their benevolent intentions
      towards the young Lord Glenvarloch, by the skill and eager zeal of the
      scrivener, whom Heriot had introduced to this piece of business, the most
      important which Andrew had ever transacted in his life, and the
      particulars of which were moreover agitated in his presence between an
      actual earl, and one whose wealth and character might entitle him to be an
      alderman of his ward, if not to be lord mayor, in his turn.
    </p>
    <p>
      While they were thus in eager conversation on business, the good earl even
      forgetting the calls of his appetite, and the delay of dinner, in his
      anxiety to see that the scrivener received proper instructions, and that
      all was rightly weighed and considered, before dismissing him to engross
      the necessary deeds, the two young men walked together on the terrace
      which overhung the river, and talked on the topics which Lord Dalgarno,
      the elder, and the more experienced, thought most likely to interest his
      new friend.
    </p>
    <p>
      These naturally regarded the pleasures attending a Court life; and Lord
      Dalgarno expressed much surprise at understanding that Nigel proposed an
      instant return to Scotland.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are jesting with me," he said. "All the Court rings&mdash;it is
      needless to mince it&mdash;with the extraordinary success of your suit&mdash;against
      the highest interest, it is said, now influencing the horizon at
      Whitehall. Men think of you&mdash;talk of you&mdash;fix their eyes on you&mdash;ask
      each other, who is this young Scottish lord, who has stepped so far in a
      single day? They augur, in whispers to each other, how high and how far
      you may push your fortune&mdash;and all that you design to make of it, is,
      to return to Scotland, eat raw oatmeal cakes, baked upon a peat-fire, have
      your hand shaken by every loon of a blue-bonnet who chooses to dub you
      cousin, though your relationship comes by Noah; drink Scots twopenny ale,
      eat half-starved red-deer venison, when you can kill it, ride upon a
      galloway, and be called my right honourable and maist worthy lord!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "There is no great gaiety in the prospect before me, I confess," said Lord
      Glenvarloch, "even if your father and good Master Heriot should succeed in
      putting my affairs on some footing of plausible hope. And yet I trust to
      do something for my vassals as my ancestors before me, and to teach my
      children, as I have myself been taught, to make some personal sacrifices,
      if they be necessary, in order to maintain with dignity the situation in
      which they are placed by Providence."
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Dalgarno, after having once or twice stifled his laughter during this
      speech, at length broke out into a fit of mirth, so hearty and so
      resistless, that, angry as he was, the call of sympathy swept Nigel along
      with him, and despite of himself, he could not forbear to join in a burst
      of laughter, which he thought not only causeless, but almost impertinent.
    </p>
    <p>
      He soon recollected himself, however, and said, in a tone qualified to
      allay Lord Dalgarno's extreme mirth: "This is all well, my lord; but how
      am I to understand your merriment?" Lord Dalgarno only answered him with
      redoubled peals of laughter, and at length held by Lord Glenvarloch's
      cloak, as if to prevent his falling down on the ground, in the extremity
      of his convulsion.
    </p>
    <p>
      At length, while Nigel stood half abashed, half angry, at becoming thus
      the subject of his new acquaintance's ridicule, and was only restrained
      from expressing his resentment against the son, by a sense of the
      obligations he owed the father, Lord Dalgarno recovered himself, and spoke
      in a half-broken voice, his eyes still running with tears: "I crave your
      pardon, my dear Lord Glenvarloch&mdash;ten thousand times do I crave your
      pardon. But that last picture of rural dignity, accompanied by your grave
      and angry surprise at my laughing at what would have made any court-bred
      hound laugh, that had but so much as bayed the moon once from the
      court-yard at Whitehall, totally overcame me. Why, my liefest and dearest
      lord, you, a young and handsome fellow, with high birth, a title, and the
      name of an estate, so well received by the king at your first starting, as
      makes your further progress scarce matter of doubt, if you know how to
      improve it&mdash;for the king has already said you are a 'braw lad, and
      well studied in the more humane letters'&mdash;you, too, whom all the
      women, and the very marked beauties of the Court, desire to see, because
      you came from Leyden, were born in Scotland, and have gained a
      hard-contested suit in England&mdash;you, I say, with a person like a
      prince, an eye of fire, and a wit as quick, to think of throwing your
      cards on the table when the game is in your very hand, running back to the
      frozen north, and marrying&mdash;let me see&mdash;a tall, stalking,
      blue-eyed, fair-skinned bony wench, with eighteen quarters in her
      scutcheon, a sort of Lot's wife, newly descended from her pedestal, and
      with her to shut yourself up in your tapestried chamber! Uh, gad!&mdash;Swouns,
      I shall never survive the idea!"
    </p>
    <p>
      It is seldom that youth, however high-minded, is able, from mere strength
      of character and principle, to support itself against the force of
      ridicule. Half angry, half mortified, and, to say truth, half ashamed of
      his more manly and better purpose, Nigel was unable, and flattered himself
      it was unnecessary, to play the part of a rigid moral patriot, in presence
      of a young man whose current fluency of language, as well as his
      experience in the highest circles of society, gave him, in spite of
      Nigel's better and firmer thoughts, a temporary ascendency over him. He
      sought, therefore, to compromise the matter, and avoid farther debate, by
      frankly owning, that, if to return to his own country were not his choice,
      it was at least a matter of necessity. "His affairs," he said, "were
      unsettled, his income precarious."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And where is he whose affairs are settled, or whose income is less than
      precarious, that is to be found in attendance on the Court?" said Lord
      Dalgarno; "all are either losing or winning. Those who have wealth, come
      hither to get rid of it, while the happy gallants, who, like you and I,
      dear Glenvarloch, have little or none, have every chance to be sharers in
      their spoils."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have no ambition of that sort," said Nigel, "and if I had, I must tell
      you plainly, Lord Dalgarno, I have not the means to do so. I can scarce as
      yet call the suit I wear my own; I owe it, and I do riot blush to say so,
      to the friendship of yonder good man."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will not laugh again, if I can help it," said Lord Dalgarno. "But,
      Lord! that you should have gone to a wealthy goldsmith for your habit&mdash;why,
      I could have brought you to an honest, confiding tailor, who should have
      furnished you with half-a-dozen, merely for love of the little word,
      'lordship,' which you place before your name;&mdash;and then your
      goldsmith, if he be really a friendly goldsmith, should have equipped you
      with such a purse of fair rose-nobles as would have bought you thrice as
      many suits, or done better things for you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do not understand these fashions, my lord," said Nigel, his displeasure
      mastering his shame; "were I to attend the Court of my sovereign, it
      should be when I could maintain, without shifting or borrowing, the dress
      and retinue which my rank requires."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Which my rank requires!" said Lord Dalgarno, repeating his last words;
      "that, now, is as good as if my father had spoke it. I fancy you would
      love to move to Court with him, followed by a round score of old
      blue-bottles, with white heads and red noses, with bucklers and
      broadswords, which their hands, trembling betwixt age and strong waters,
      can make no use of&mdash;as many huge silver badges on their arms, to show
      whose fools they are, as would furnish forth a court cupboard of plate&mdash;rogues
      fit for nothing but to fill our ante-chambers with the flavour of onions
      and genievre&mdash;pah!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The poor knaves!" said Lord Glenvarloch; "they have served your father,
      it may be, in the wars. What would become of them were he to turn them
      off?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, let them go to the hospital," said Dalgarno, "or to the bridge-end,
      to sell switches. The king is a better man than my father, and you see
      those who have served in HIS wars do so every day; or, when their blue
      coats were well worn out, they would make rare scarecrows. Here is a
      fellow, now, comes down the walk; the stoutest raven dared not come within
      a yard of that copper nose. I tell you, there is more service, as you will
      soon see, in my valet of the chamber, and such a lither lad as my page
      Lutin, than there is in a score of these old memorials of the Douglas
      wars, [Footnote: The cruel civil wars waged by the Scottish barons during
      the minority of James VI., had the name from the figure made in them by
      the celebrated James Douglas, Earl of Morton. Both sides executed their
      prisoners without mercy or favour.] where they cut each other's throats
      for the chance of finding twelve pennies Scots on the person of the slain.
      Marry, my lord, to make amends, they will eat mouldy victuals, and drink
      stale ale, as if their bellies were puncheons.&mdash;But the dinner-bell
      is going to sound&mdash;hark, it is clearing its rusty throat, with a
      preliminary jowl. That is another clamorous relic of antiquity, that, were
      I master, should soon be at the bottom of the Thames. How the foul fiend
      can it interest the peasants and mechanics in the Strand, to know that the
      Earl of Huntinglen is sitting down to dinner? But my father looks our way&mdash;we
      must not be late for the grace, or we shall be in DIS-grace, if you will
      forgive a quibble which would have made his Majesty laugh. You will find
      us all of a piece, and, having been accustomed to eat in saucers abroad, I
      am ashamed you should witness our larded capons, our mountains of beef,
      and oceans of brewis, as large as Highland hills and lochs; but you shall
      see better cheer to-morrow. Where lodge you? I will call for you. I must
      be your guide through the peopled desert, to certain enchanted lands,
      which you will scarce discover without chart and pilot. Where lodge you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will meet you in Paul's," said Nigel, a good deal embarrassed, "at any
      hour you please to name."
    </p>
    <p>
      "O, you would be private," said the young lord; "nay, fear not me&mdash;I
      will be no intruder. But we have attained this huge larder of flesh, fowl,
      and fish. I marvel the oaken boards groan not under it."
    </p>
    <p>
      They had indeed arrived in the dining-parlour of the mansion, where the
      table was superabundantly loaded, and where the number of attendants, to a
      certain extent, vindicated the sarcasms of the young nobleman. The
      chaplain, and Sir Mungo Malagrowther, were of the party. The latter
      complimented Lord Glenvarloch upon the impression he had made at Court.
      "One would have thought ye had brought the apple of discord in your pouch,
      my lord, or that you were the very firebrand of whilk Althea was
      delivered, and that she had lain-in in a barrel of gunpowder, for the
      king, and the prince, and the duke, have been by the lugs about ye, and so
      have many more, that kendna before this blessed day that there was such a
      man living on the face of the earth."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mind your victuals, Sir Mungo," said the earl; "they get cold while you
      talk."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Troth, and that needsna, my lord," said the knight; "your lordship's
      dinners seldom scald one's mouth&mdash;the serving-men are turning auld,
      like oursells, my lord, and it is far between the kitchen and the ha'."
    </p>
    <p>
      With this little explosion of his spleen, Sir Mungo remained satisfied,
      until the dishes were removed, when, fixing his eyes on the brave new
      doublet of Lord Dalgarno, he complimented him on his economy, pretending
      to recognise it as the same which his father had worn in Edinburgh in the
      Spanish ambassador's time. Lord Dalgarno, too much a man of the world to
      be moved by any thing from such a quarter, proceeded to crack some nuts
      with great deliberation, as he replied, that the doublet was in some sort
      his father's, as it was likely to cost him fifty pounds some day soon. Sir
      Mungo forthwith proceeded in his own way to convey this agreeable
      intelligence to the earl, observing, that his son was a better maker of
      bargains than his lordship, for he had bought a doublet as rich as that
      his lordship wore when the Spanish ambassador was at Holyrood, and it had
      cost him but fifty pounds Scots;&mdash;"that was no fool's bargain, my
      lord."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pounds sterling, if you please, Sir Mungo," answered the earl, calmly;
      "and a fool's bargain it is, in all the tenses. Dalgarno WAS a fool when
      he bought&mdash;I <i>will</i> be a fool when I pay&mdash;and you, Sir
      Mungo, craving your pardon, <i>are</i> a fool <i>in praesenti</i>, for
      speaking of what concerns you not."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, the earl addressed himself to the serious business of the table
      and sent the wine around with a profusion which increased the hilarity,
      but rather threatened the temperance, of the company, until their
      joviality was interrupted by the annunciation that the scrivener had
      engrossed such deeds as required to be presently executed.
    </p>
    <p>
      George Heriot rose from the table, observing, that wine-cups and legal
      documents were unseemly neighbours. The earl asked the scrivener if they
      had laid a trencher and set a cup for him in the buttery and received the
      respectful answer, that heaven forbid he should be such an ungracious
      beast as to eat or drink until his lordship's pleasure was performed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou shalt eat before thou goest," said Lord Huntinglen; "and I will have
      thee try, moreover, whether a cup of sack cannot bring some colour into
      these cheeks of thine. It were a shame to my household, thou shouldst
      glide out into the Strand after such a spectre-fashion as thou now wearest&mdash;Look
      to it, Dalgarno, for the honour of our roof is concerned."
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Dalgarno gave directions that the man should be attended to. Lord
      Glenvarloch and the citizen, in the meanwhile, signed and interchanged,
      and thus closed a transaction, of which the principal party concerned
      understood little, save that it was under the management of a zealous and
      faithful friend, who undertook that the money should be forthcoming, and
      the estate released from forfeiture, by payment of the stipulated sum for
      which it stood pledged, and that at the term of Lambmas, and at the hour
      of noon, and beside the tomb of the Regent Earl of Murray, in the High
      Kirk of Saint Giles, at Edinburgh, being the day and place assigned for
      such redemption. [Footnote: As each covenant in those days of accuracy had
      a special place nominated for execution, the tomb of the Regent Earl of
      Murray in Saint Giles's Church was frequently assigned for the purpose.]
    </p>
    <p>
      When this business was transacted, the old earl would fain have renewed
      his carouse; but the citizen, alleging the importance of the deeds he had
      about him, and the business he had to transact betimes the next morning,
      not only refused to return to table, but carried with him to his barge
      Lord Glenvarloch, who might, perhaps, have been otherwise found more
      tractable.
    </p>
    <p>
      When they were seated in the boat, and fairly once more afloat on the
      river, George Heriot looked back seriously on the mansion they had left&mdash;"There
      live," he said, "the old fashion and the new. The father is like a noble
      old broadsword, but harmed with rust, from neglect and inactivity; the son
      is your modern rapier, well-mounted, fairly gilt, and fashioned to the
      taste of the time&mdash;and it is time must evince if the metal be as good
      as the show. God grant it prove so, says an old friend to the family."
    </p>
    <p>
      Nothing of consequence passed betwixt them, until Lord Glenvarloch,
      landing at Paul's Wharf, took leave of his friend the citizen, and retired
      to his own apartment, where his attendant, Richie, not a little elevated
      with the events of the day, and with the hospitality of Lord Huntinglen's
      house-keeping, gave a most splendid account of them to the buxom Dame
      Nelly, who rejoiced to hear that the sun at length was shining upon what
      Richie called "the right side of the hedge."
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XI
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  You are not for the manner nor the times,
  They have their vices now most like to virtues;
  You cannot know them apait by any difference,
  They wear the same clothes, eat the same meat&mdash;
  Sleep i' the self-same beds, ride in those coaches,
  Or very like four horses in a coach,
  As the best men and women.
                            <i>Ben Jonson</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      On the following morning, while Nigel, his breakfast finished, was
      thinking how he should employ the day, there was a little bustle upon the
      stairs which attracted his attention, and presently entered Dame Nelly,
      blushing like scarlet, and scarce able to bring out&mdash;"A young
      nobleman, sir&mdash;no one less," she added, drawing her hand slightly
      over her lips, "would be so saucy&mdash;a young nobleman, sir, to wait on
      you!"
    </p>
    <p>
      And she was followed into the little cabin by Lord Dalgarno, gay, easy,
      disembarrassed, and apparently as much pleased to rejoin his new
      acquaintance as if he had found him in the apartments of a palace. Nigel,
      on the contrary, (for youth is slave to such circumstances,) was
      discountenanced and mortified at being surprised by so splendid a gallant
      in a chamber which, at the moment the elegant and high-dressed cavalier
      appeared in it, seemed to its inhabitant, yet lower, narrower, darker, and
      meaner than it had ever shown before. He would have made some apology for
      the situation, but Lord Dalgarno cut him short&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not a word of it," he said, "not a single word&mdash;I know why you ride
      at anchor here&mdash;but I can keep counsel&mdash;so pretty a hostess
      would recommend worse quarters."
    </p>
    <p>
      "On my word&mdash;on my honour," said Lord Glenvarloch&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, nay, make no words of the matter," said Lord Dalgarno; "I am no
      tell-tale, nor shall I cross your walk; there is game enough in the
      forest, thank Heaven, and I can strike a doe for myself."
    </p>
    <p>
      All this he said in so significant a manner, and the explanation which he
      had adopted seemed to put Lord Glenvarloch's gallantry on so respectable a
      footing, that Nigel ceased to try to undeceive him; and less ashamed,
      perhaps, (for such is human weakness,) of supposed vice than of real
      poverty, changed the discourse to something else, and left poor Dame
      Nelly's reputation and his own at the mercy of the young courtier's
      misconstruction.
    </p>
    <p>
      He offered refreshments with some hesitation. Lord Dalgarno had long since
      breakfasted, but had just come from playing a set of tennis, he said, and
      would willingly taste a cup of the pretty hostess's single beer. This was
      easily procured, was drunk, was commended, and, as the hostess failed not
      to bring the cup herself, Lord Dalgarno profited by the opportunity to
      take a second and more attentive view of her, and then gravely drank to
      her husband's health, with an almost imperceptible nod to Lord
      Glenvarloch. Dame Nelly was much honoured, smoothed her apron down with
      her hands, and said
    </p>
    <p>
      "Her John was greatly and truly honoured by their lordships&mdash;he was a
      kind painstaking man for his family, as was in the alley, or indeed, as
      far north as Paul's Chain."
    </p>
    <p>
      She would have proceeded probably to state the difference betwixt their
      ages, as the only alloy to their nuptial happiness; but her lodger, who
      had no mind to be farther exposed to his gay friend's raillery, gave her,
      contrary to his wont, a signal to leave the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Dalgarno looked after her, and then looked at Glenvarloch, shook his
      head, and repeated the well-known lines&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "'My lord, beware of jealousy&mdash;It is the green-eyed monster which
      doth make the meat it feeds on.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "But come," he said, changing his tone, "I know not why I should worry you
      thus&mdash;I who have so many follies of my own, when I should rather make
      excuse for being here at all, and tell you wherefore I came."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he reached a seat, and, placing another for Lord Glenvarloch,
      in spite of his anxious haste to anticipate this act of courtesy, he
      proceeded in the same tone of easy familiarity:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "We are neighbours, my lord, and are just made known to each other. Now, I
      know enough of the dear North, to be well aware that Scottish neighbours
      must be either dear friends or deadly enemies&mdash;must either walk
      hand-in-hand, or stand sword-point to sword-point; so I choose the
      hand-in-hand, unless you should reject my proffer."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How were it possible, my lord," said Lord Glenvarloch, "to refuse what is
      offered so frankly, even if your father had not been a second father to
      me?"&mdash;And, as he took Lord Dalgarno's hand, he added&mdash;"I have, I
      think, lost no time, since, during one day's attendance at Court, I have
      made a kind friend and a powerful enemy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The friend thanks you," replied Lord Dalgarno, "for your just opinion;
      but, my dear Glenvarloch&mdash;or rather, for titles are too formal
      between us of the better file&mdash;what is your Christian name?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nigel," replied Lord Glenvarloch.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then we will be Nigel and Malcolm to each other," said his visitor, "and
      my lord to the plebeian world around us. But I was about to ask you whom
      you suppose your enemy?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No less than the all-powerful favourite, the great Duke of Buckingham."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You dream! What could possess you with such an opinion?" said Dalgarno.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He told me so himself," replied Glenvarloch; "and, in so doing, dealt
      frankly and honourably with me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "O, you know him not yet," said his companion; "the duke is moulded of an
      hundred noble and fiery qualities, that prompt him, like a generous horse,
      to spring aside in impatience at the least obstacle to his forward course.
      But he means not what he says in such passing heats&mdash;I can do more
      with him, I thank Heaven, than most who are around him; you shall go visit
      him with me, and you will see how you shall be received."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I told you, my lord," said Glenvarloch firmly, and with some haughtiness,
      "the Duke of Buckingham, without the least offence, declared himself my
      enemy in the face of the Court; and he shall retract that aggression as
      publicly as it was given, ere I will make the slightest advance towards
      him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You would act becomingly in every other case," said Lord Dalgarno, "but
      here you are wrong. In the Court horizon Buckingham is Lord of the
      Ascendant, and as he is adverse or favouring, so sinks or rises the
      fortune of a suitor. The king would bid you remember your Phaedrus,
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     'Arripiens geminas, ripis cedentibus, ollas&mdash;'
</pre>
    <p>
      and so forth. You are the vase of earth; beware of knocking yourself
      against the vase of iron."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The vase of earth," said Glenvarloch, "will avoid the encounter, by
      getting ashore out of the current&mdash;I mean to go no more to Court."
    </p>
    <p>
      "O, to Court you necessarily must go; you will find your Scottish suit
      move ill without it, for there is both patronage and favour necessary to
      enforce the sign-manual you have obtained. Of that we will speak more
      hereafter; but tell me in the meanwhile, my dear Nigel, whether you did
      not wonder to see me here so early?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am surprised that you could find me out in this obscure corner," said
      Lord Glenvarloch.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My page Lutin is a very devil for that sort of discovery," replied Lord
      Dalgarno; "I have but to say, 'Goblin, I would know where he or she
      dwells,' and he guides me thither as if by art magic."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I hope he waits not now in the street, my lord," said Nigel; "I will send
      my servant to seek him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do not concern yourself&mdash;he is by this time," said Lord Dalgarno,
      "playing at hustle-cap and chuck-farthing with the most blackguard imps
      upon the wharf, unless he hath foregone his old customs."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are you not afraid," said Lord Glenvarloch, "that in such company his
      morals may become depraved?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let his company look to their own," answered Lord Dalgarno, cooly; "for
      it will be a company of real fiends in which Lutin cannot teach more
      mischief than he can learn: he is, I thank the gods, most thoroughly
      versed in evil for his years. I am spared the trouble of looking after his
      moralities, for nothing can make them either better or worse."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I wonder you can answer this to his parents, my lord," said Nigel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I wonder where I should find his parents," replied his companion, "to
      render an account to them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "He may be an orphan," said Lord Nigel; "but surely, being a page in your
      lordship's family, his parents must be of rank."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of as high rank as the gallows could exalt them to," replied Lord
      Dalgarno, with the same indifference; "they were both hanged, I believe&mdash;at
      least the gipsies, from whom I bought him five years ago, intimated as
      much to me.&mdash;You are surprised at this, now. But is it not better
      that, instead of a lazy, conceited, whey-faced slip of gentility, to whom,
      in your old-world idea of the matter, I was bound to stand Sir Pedagogue,
      and see that he washed his hands and face, said his prayers, learned his
      acddens, spoke no naughty words, brushed his hat, and wore his best
      doublet only on Sunday,&mdash;that, instead of such a Jacky Goodchild, I
      should have something like this?"
    </p>
    <p>
      He whistled shrill and clear, and the page he spoke of darted into the
      room, almost with the effect of an actual apparition. From his height he
      seemed but fifteen, but, from his face, might be two or even three years
      older, very neatly made, and richly dressed; with a thin bronzed visage,
      which marked his gipsy descent, and a pair of sparkling black eyes, which
      seemed almost to pierce through those whom he looked at.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There he is," said Lord Dalgarno, "fit for every element&mdash;prompt to
      execute every command, good, bad, or indifferent&mdash;unmatched in his
      tribe, as rogue, thief, and liar."
    </p>
    <p>
      "All which qualities," said the undaunted page, "have each in turn stood
      your lordship in stead."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Out, you imp of Satan!" said his master; "vanish-begone-or my conjuring
      rod goes about your ears." The boy turned, and disappeared as suddenly as
      he had entered. "You see," said Lord Dalgarno, "that, in choosing my
      household, the best regard I can pay to gentle blood is to exclude it from
      my service&mdash;that very gallows&mdash;bird were enough to corrupt a
      whole antechamber of pages, though they were descended from kings and
      kaisers."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I can scarce think that a nobleman should need the offices of such an
      attendant as your goblin," said Nigel; "you are but jesting with my
      inexperience."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Time will show whether I jest or not, my dear Nigel," replied Dalgarno;
      "in the meantime, I have to propose to you to take the advantage of the
      flood-tide, to run up the river for pastime; and at noon I trust you will
      dine with me."
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel acquiesced in a plan which promised so much amusement; and his new
      friend and he, attended by Lutin and Moniplies, who greatly resembled,
      when thus associated, the conjunction of a bear and a monkey, took
      possession of Lord Dalgarno's wherry, which, with its badged watermen,
      bearing his lordship's crest on their arms, lay in readiness to receive
      them. The air was delightful upon the river; and the lively conversation
      of Lord Dalgarno added zest to the pleasures of the little voyage. He
      could not only give an account of the various public buildings and
      noblemen's houses which they passed in ascending the Thames, but knew how
      to season his information with abundance of anecdote, political innuendo,
      and personal scandal; if he had not very much wit, he was at least
      completely master of the fashionable tone, which in that time, as in ours,
      more than amply supplies any deficiency of the kind.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a style of conversation entirely new to his companion, as was the
      world which Lord Dalgarno opened to his observation; and it is no wonder
      that Nigel, notwithstanding his natural good sense and high spirit,
      admitted, more readily than seemed consistent with either, the tone of
      authoritative instruction which his new friend assumed towards him. There
      would, indeed, have been some difficulty in making a stand. To attempt a
      high and stubborn tone of morality, in answer to the light strain of Lord
      Dalgarno's conversation, which kept on the frontiers between jest and
      earnest, would have seemed pedantic and ridiculous; and every attempt
      which Nigel made to combat his companion's propositions, by reasoning as
      jocose as his own, only showed his inferiority in that gay species of
      controversy. And it must be owned, besides, though internally disapproving
      much of what he heard, Lord Glenvarloch, young as he was in society,
      became less alarmed by the language and manners of his new associate, than
      in prudence he ought to have been.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Dalgarno was unwilling to startle his proselyte, by insisting upon
      any topic which appeared particularly to jar with his habits or
      principles; and he blended his mirth and his earnest so dexterously, that
      it was impossible for Nigel to discover how far he was serious in his
      propositions, or how far they flowed from a wild and extravagant spirit of
      raillery. And, ever and anon, those flashes of spirit and honour crossed
      his conversation, which seemed to intimate, that, when stirred to action
      by some adequate motive, Lord Dalgarno would prove something very
      different from the court-haunting and ease-loving voluptuary, which he was
      pleased to represent as his chosen character.
    </p>
    <p>
      As they returned down the river, Lord Glenvarloch remarked, that the boat
      passed the mansion of Lord Huntinglen, and noticed the circumstance to
      Lord Dalgarno, observing, that he thought they were to have dined there.
      "Surely no," said the young nobleman, "I have more mercy on you than to
      gorge you a second time with raw beef and canary wine. I propose something
      better for you, I promise you, than such a second Scythian festivity. And
      as for my father, he proposes to dine to-day with my grave, ancient Earl
      of Northampton, whilome that celebrated putter-down of pretended
      prophecies, Lord Henry Howard."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And do you not go with him?" said his companion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "To what purpose?" said Lord Dalgarno. "To hear his wise lordship speak
      musty politics in false Latin, which the old fox always uses, that he may
      give the learned Majesty of England an opportunity of correcting his slips
      in grammar? That were a rare employment!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay," said Lord Nigel, "but out of respect, to wait on my lord your
      father."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My lord my father," replied Lord Dalgarno, "has blue-bottles enough to
      wait on him, and can well dispense with such a butterfly as myself. He can
      lift the cup of sack to his head without my assistance; and, should the
      said paternal head turn something giddy, there be men enough to guide his
      right honourable lordship to his lordship's right honourable couch.&mdash;Now,
      do not stare at me, Nigel, as if my words were to sink the boat with us. I
      love my father&mdash;I love him dearly&mdash;and I respect him, too,
      though I respect not many things; a trustier old Trojan never belted a
      broadsword by a loop of leather. But what then? He belongs to the old
      world, I to the new. He has his follies, I have mine; and the less either
      of us sees of the other's peccadilloes, the greater will be the honour and
      respect&mdash;that, I think, is the proper phrase&mdash;I say the <i>respect</i>
      in which we shall hold each other. Being apart, each of us is himself,
      such as nature and circumstances have made him; but, couple us up too
      closely together, you will be sure to have in your leash either an old
      hypocrite or a young one, or perhaps both the one and t'other."
    </p>
    <p>
      As he spoke thus, the boat put into the landing-place at Blackfriars. Lord
      Dalgarno sprung ashore, and, flinging his cloak and rapier to his page,
      recommended to his companion to do the like. "We are coming among a press
      of gallants," he said; "and, if we walked thus muffled, we shall look like
      your tawny-visaged Don, who wraps him close in his cloak, to conceal the
      defects of his doublet."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have known many an honest man do that, if it please your lordship,"
      said Richie Moniplies, who had been watching for an opportunity to intrude
      himself on the conversation, and probably remembered what had been his own
      condition, in respect to cloak and doublet, at a very recent period.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Dalgarno stared at him, as if surprised at his assurance; but
      immediately answered, "You may have known many things, friend; but, in the
      meanwhile, you do not know what principally concerns your master, namely,
      how to carry his cloak, so as to show to advantage the gold-laced seams,
      and the lining of sables. See how Lutin holds the sword, with his cloak
      cast partly over it, yet so as to set off the embossed hilt, and the
      silver work of the mounting.&mdash;Give your familiar your sword, Nigel,"
      he continued, addressing Lord Glenvarloch, "that he may practise a lesson
      in an art so necessary."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is it altogether prudent," said Nigel, unclasping his weapon, and giving
      it to Richie, "to walk entirely unarmed?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "And wherefore not?" said his companion. "You are thinking now of Auld
      Reekie, as my father fondly calls your good Scottish capital, where there
      is such bandying of private feuds and public factions, that a man of any
      note shall not cross your High Street twice, without endangering his life
      thrice. Here, sir, no brawling in the street is permitted. Your
      bull-headed citizen takes up the case so soon as the sword is drawn, and
      clubs is the word."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And a hard word it is," said Richie, "as my brain-pan kens at this
      blessed moment."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Were I your master, sirrah," said Lord Dalgarno, "I would make your
      brain-pan, as you call it, boil over, were you to speak a word in my
      presence before you were spoken to."
    </p>
    <p>
      Richie murmured some indistinct answer, but took the hint, and ranked
      himself behind his master along with Lutin, who failed not to expose his
      new companion to the ridicule of the passers-by, by mimicking, as often as
      he could do so unobserved by Richie, his stiff and upright stalking gait
      and discontented physiognomy.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And tell me now, my dear Malcolm," said Nigel, "where we are bending our
      course, and whether we shall dine at an apartment of yours?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "An apartment of mine&mdash;yes, surely," answered Lord Dalgarno, "you
      shall dine at an apartment of mine, and an apartment of yours, and of
      twenty gallants besides; and where the board shall present better cheer,
      better wine, and better attendance, than if our whole united exhibitions
      went to maintain it. We are going to the most noted ordinary of London."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is, in common language, an inn, or a tavern," said Nigel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "An inn, or a tavern, my most green and simple friend!" exclaimed Lord
      Dalgarno. "No, no&mdash;these are places where greasy citizens take pipe
      and pot, where the knavish pettifoggers of the law spunge on their most
      unhappy victims&mdash;where Templars crack jests as empty as their nuts,
      and where small gentry imbibe such thin potations, that they get dropsies
      instead of getting drunk. An ordinary is a late-invented institution,
      sacred to Bacchus and Comus, where the choicest noble gallants of the time
      meet with the first and most ethereal wits of the age,&mdash;where the
      wine is the very soul of the choicest grape, refined as the genius of the
      poet, and ancient and generous as the blood of the nobles. And then the
      fare is something beyond your ordinary gross terrestrial food! Sea and
      land are ransacked to supply it; and the invention of six ingenious cooks
      kept eternally upon the rack to make their art hold pace with, and if
      possible enhance, the exquisite quality of the materials."
    </p>
    <p>
      "By all which rhapsody," said Lord Glenvarloch, "I can only understand, as
      I did before, that we are going to a choice tavern, where we shall be
      handsomely entertained, on paying probably as handsome a reckoning."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Reckoning!" exclaimed Lord Dalgarno in the same tone as before, "perish
      the peasantly phrase! What profanation! Monsieur le Chevalier de Beaujeu,
      pink of Paris and flower of Gascony&mdash;he who can tell the age of his
      wine by the bare smell, who distils his sauces in an alembic by the aid of
      Lully's philosophy&mdash;who carves with such exquisite precision, that he
      gives to noble, knight and squire, the portion of the pheasant which
      exactly accords with his rank&mdash;nay, he who shall divide a becafico
      into twelve parts with such scrupulous exactness, that of twelve guests
      not one shall have the advantage of the other in a hair's breadth, or the
      twentieth part of a drachm, yet you talk of him and of a reckoning in the
      same breath! Why, man, he is the well-known and general referee in all
      matters affecting the mysteries of Passage, Hazard, In and In, Penneeck,
      and Verquire, and what not&mdash;why, Beaujeu is King of the Card-pack,
      and Duke of the Dice-box&mdash;HE call a reckoning like a green-aproned,
      red-nosed son of the vulgar spigot! O, my dearest Nigel, what a word you
      have spoken, and of what a person! That you know him not, is your only
      apology for such blasphemy; and yet I scarce hold it adequate, for to have
      been a day in London and not to know Beaujeu, is a crime of its own kind.
      But you <i>shall</i> know him this blessed moment, and shall learn to hold
      yourself in horror for the enormities you have uttered."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, but mark you," said Nigel, "this worthy chevalier keeps not all
      this good cheer at his own cost, does he?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, no," answered Lord Dalgarno; "there is a sort of ceremony which my
      chevalier's friends and intimates understand, but with which you have no
      business at present. There is, as majesty might say, a <i>symbolum</i> to
      be disbursed&mdash;in other words, a mutual exchange of courtesies take
      place betwixt Beaujeu and his guests. He makes them a free present of the
      dinner and wine, as often as they choose to consult their own felicity by
      frequenting his house at the hour of noon, and they, in gratitude, make
      the chevalier a present of a Jacobus. Then you must know, that, besides
      Comus and Bacchus, that princess of sublunary affairs, the Diva Fortuna,
      is frequently worshipped at Beaujeu's, and he, as officiating high-priest,
      hath, as in reason he should, a considerable advantage from a share of the
      sacrifice."
    </p>
    <p>
      "In other words," said Lord Glenvarloch, "this man keeps a gaming-house."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A house in which you may certainly game," said Lord Dalgarno, "as you may
      in your own chamber if you have a mind; nay, I remember old Tom Tally
      played a hand at put for a wager with Quinze le Va, the Frenchman, during
      morning prayers in St. Paul's; the morning was misty, and the parson
      drowsy, and the whole audience consisted of themselves and a blind woman,
      and so they escaped detection."
    </p>
    <p>
      "For all this, Malcolm," said the young lord, gravely, "I cannot dine with
      you to-day, at this same ordinary."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And wherefore, in the name of heaven, should you draw back from your
      word?" said Lord Dalgarno.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do not retract my word, Malcolm; but I am bound, by an early promise to
      my father, never to enter the doors of a gaming-house."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I tell you this is none," said Lord Dalgarno; "it is but, in plain terms,
      an eating-house, arranged on civiller terms, and frequented by better
      company, than others in this town; and if some of them do amuse themselves
      with cards and hazard, they are men of honour, and who play as such, and
      for no more than they can well afford to lose. It was not, and could not
      be, such houses that your father desired you to avoid. Besides, he might
      as well have made you swear you would never take accommodation of an inn,
      tavern, eating-house, or place of public reception of any kind; for there
      is no such place of public resort but where your eyes may be contaminated
      by the sight of a pack of pieces of painted pasteboard, and your ears
      profaned by the rattle of those little spotted cubes of ivory. The
      difference is, that where we go, we may happen to see persons of quality
      amusing themselves with a game; and in the ordinary houses you will meet
      bullies and sharpers, who will strive either to cheat or to swagger you
      out of your money."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am sure you would not willingly lead me to do what is wrong," said
      Nigel; "but my father had a horror for games of chance, religious I
      believe, as well as prudential. He judged from I know not what
      circumstance, a fallacious one I should hope, that I should have a
      propensity to such courses, and I have told you the promise which he
      exacted from me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now, by my honour," said Dalgarno, "what you have said affords the
      strongest reason for my insisting that you go with me. A man who would
      shun any danger, should first become acquainted with its real bearing and
      extent, and that in the company of a confidential guide and guard. Do you
      think I myself game? Good faith, my father's oaks grow too far from
      London, and stand too fast rooted in the rocks of Perthshire, for me to
      troll them down with a die, though I have seen whole forests go down like
      nine-pins. No, no&mdash;these are sports for the wealthy Southron, not for
      the poor Scottish noble. The place is an eating-house, and as such you and
      I will use it. If others use it to game in, it is their fault, but neither
      that of the house nor ours."
    </p>
    <p>
      Unsatisfied with this reasoning, Nigel still insisted upon the promise he
      had given to his father, until his companion appeared rather displeased,
      and disposed to impute to him injurious and unhandsome suspicions. Lord
      Glenvarloch could not stand this change of tone. He recollected that much
      was due from him to Lord Dalgarno, on account of his father's ready and
      efficient friendship, and something also on account of the frank manner in
      which the young man himself had offered him his intimacy. He had no reason
      to doubt his assurances, that the house where they were about to dine did
      not fall under the description of places which his father's prohibition
      referred; and finally, he was strong in his own resolution to resist every
      temptation to join in games of chance. He therefore pacified Lord
      Dalgarno, by intimating his willingness to go along with him; and, the
      good-humour of the young courtier instantaneously returning, he again ran
      on in a grotesque and rodomontade account of the host, Monsieur de
      Beaujeu, which he did not conclude until they had reached the temple of
      hospitality over which that eminent professor presided.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XII
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
    &mdash;&mdash;This is the very barn-yard,
    Where muster daily the prime cocks o' the game,
    Ruffle their pinions, crow till they are hoarse,
    And spar about a barleycorn. Here too chickens,
    The callow, unfledged brood of forward folly,
    Learn first to rear the crest, and aim the spur,
    And tune their note like full-plumed Chanticleer.
                                        <i>The Bear-Garden.</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      The Ordinary, now an ignoble sound, was in the days of James, a new
      institution, as fashionable among the youth of that age as the first-rate
      modern club-houses are amongst those of the present day. It differed
      chiefly, in being open to all whom good clothes and good assurance
      combined to introduce there. The company usually dined together at an hour
      fixed, and the manager of the establishment presided as master of the
      ceremonies.
    </p>
    <p>
      Monsieur le Chevalier, (as he qualified himself,) Saint Priest de Beaujeu,
      was a sharp, thin Gascon, about sixty years old, banished from his own
      country, as he said, on account of an affair of honour, in which he had
      the misfortune to kill his antagonist, though the best swordsman in the
      south of France. His pretensions to quality were supported by a feathered
      hat, a long rapier, and a suit of embroidered taffeta, not much the worse
      for wear, in the extreme fashion of the Parisian court, and fluttering
      like a Maypole with many knots of ribbon, of which it was computed he bore
      at least five hundred yards about his person. But, notwithstanding this
      profusion of decoration, there were many who thought Monsieur le Chevalier
      so admirably calculated for his present situation, that nature could never
      have meant to place him an inch above it. It was, however, part of the
      amusement of the place, for Lord Dalgarno and other young men of quality
      to treat Monsieur de Beaujeu with a great deal of mock ceremony, which
      being observed by the herd of more ordinary and simple gulls, they paid
      him, in clumsy imitation, much real deference. The Gascon's natural
      forwardness being much enhanced by these circumstances, he was often
      guilty of presuming beyond the limits of his situation, and of course had
      sometimes the mortification to be disagreeably driven back into them.
    </p>
    <p>
      When Nigel entered the mansion of this eminent person, which had been but
      of late the residence of a great Baron of Queen Elizabeth's court, who had
      retired to his manors in the country on the death of that princess, he was
      surprised at the extent of the accommodation which it afforded, and the
      number of guests who were already assembled. Feathers waved, spurs
      jingled, lace and embroidery glanced everywhere; and at first sight, at
      least, it certainly made good Lord Dalgarno's encomium, who represented
      the company as composed almost entirely of youth of the first quality. A
      more close review was not quite so favourable. Several individuals might
      be discovered who were not exactly at their ease in the splendid dresses
      which they wore, and who, therefore, might be supposed not habitually
      familiar with such finery. Again, there were others, whose dress, though
      on a general view it did not seem inferior to that of the rest of the
      company, displayed, on being observed more closely, some of these petty
      expedients, by which vanity endeavours to disguise poverty.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel had very little time to make such observations, for the entrance of
      Lord Dalgarno created an immediate bustle and sensation among the company,
      as his name passed from one mouth to another. Some stood forward to gaze,
      others stood back to make way&mdash;those of his own rank hastened to
      welcome him&mdash;those of inferior degree endeavoured to catch some point
      of his gesture, or of his dress, to be worn and practised upon a future
      occasion, as the newest and most authentic fashion.
    </p>
    <p>
      The <i>genius loci</i>, the Chevalier himself, was not the last to welcome
      this prime stay and ornament of his establishment. He came shuffling
      forward with a hundred apish <i>conges</i> and <i>chers milors</i>, to
      express his happiness at seeing Lord Dalgarno again.&mdash;"I hope you do
      bring back the sun with you, <i>Milor</i>&mdash;You did carry away the sun
      and moon from your pauvre Chevalier when you leave him for so long.
      Pardieu, I believe you take them away in your pockets."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That must have been because you left me nothing else in them, Chevalier,"
      answered Lord Dalgarno; "but Monsieur le Chevalier, I pray you to know my
      countryman and friend, Lord Glenvarloch!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, ha! tres honore&mdash;Je m'en souviens,&mdash;oui. J'ai connu
      autrefois un Milor Kenfarloque en Ecosse. Yes, I have memory of him&mdash;le
      pere de milor apparemment-we were vera intimate when I was at Oly Root
      with Monsieur de la Motte&mdash;I did often play at tennis vit Milor
      Kenfarloque at L'Abbaie d'Oly Root&mdash;il etoit meme plus fort que moi&mdash;Ah
      le beaucoup de revers qu'il avoit!&mdash;I have memory, too that he was
      among the pretty girls&mdash;ah, un vrai diable dechaine&mdash;Aha! I have
      memory&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Better have no more memory of the late Lord Glenvarloch," said Lord
      Dalgarno, interrupting the Chevalier without ceremony; who perceived that
      the encomium which he was about to pass on the deceased was likely to be
      as disagreeable to the son as it was totally undeserved by the father,
      who, far from being either a gamester or libertine, as the Chevalier's
      reminiscences falsely represented him, was, on the contrary, strict and
      severe in his course of life, almost to the extent of rigour.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have the reason, milor," answered the Chevalier, "you have the right&mdash;Qu'est
      ce que nous avons a faire avec le temps passe?&mdash;the time passed did
      belong to our fathers&mdash;our ancetres&mdash;very well&mdash;the time
      present is to us&mdash;they have their pretty tombs with their memories
      and armorials, all in brass and marbre&mdash;we have the petits plats
      exquis, and the soupe-a-Chevalier, which I will cause to mount up
      immediately."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he made a pirouette on his heel, and put his attendants in
      motion to place dinner on the table. Dalgarno laughed, and, observing his
      young friend looked grave, said to him, in a tone of reproach&mdash;"Why,
      what!&mdash;you are not gull enough to be angry with such an ass as that?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I keep my anger, I trust, for better purposes," said Lord Glenvarloch;
      "but I confess I was moved to hear such a fellow mention my father's name&mdash;and
      you, too, who told me this was no gaming-house, talked to him of having
      left it with emptied pockets."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pshaw, man!" said Lord Dalgarno, "I spoke but according to the trick of
      the time; besides, a man must set a piece or two sometimes, or he would be
      held a cullionly niggard. But here comes dinner, and we will see whether
      you like the Chevalier's good cheer better than his conversation."
    </p>
    <p>
      Dinner was announced accordingly, and the two friends, being seated in the
      most honourable station at the board, were ceremoniously attended to by
      the Chevalier, who did the honours of his table to them and to the other
      guests, and seasoned the whole with his agreeable conversation. The dinner
      was really excellent, in that piquant style of cookery which the French
      had already introduced, and which the home-bred young men of England, when
      they aspired to the rank of connoisseurs and persons of taste, were under
      the necessity of admiring. The wine was also of the first quality, and
      circulated in great variety, and no less abundance. The conversation among
      so many young men was, of course, light, lively, and amusing; and Nigel,
      whose mind had been long depressed by anxiety and misfortune, naturally
      found himself at ease, and his spirits raised and animated.
    </p>
    <p>
      Some of the company had real wit, and could use it both politely and to
      advantage; others were coxcombs, and were laughed at without discovering
      it; and, again, others were originals, who seemed to have no objection
      that the company should be amused with their folly instead of their wit.
      And almost all the rest who played any prominent part in the conversation
      had either the real tone of good society which belonged to the period, or
      the jargon which often passes current for it.
    </p>
    <p>
      In short, the company and conversation was so agreeable, that Nigel's
      rigour was softened by it, even towards the master of ceremonies, and he
      listened with patience to various details which the Chevalier de Beaujeu,
      seeing, as he said, that Milor's taste lay for the "curieux and Futile,"
      chose to address to him in particular, on the subject of cookery. To
      gratify, at the same time, the taste for antiquity, which he somehow
      supposed that his new guest possessed, he launched out in commendation of
      the great artists of former days, particularly one whom he had known in
      his youth, "Maitre de Cuisine to the Marechal Strozzi&mdash;tres bon
      gentilhomme pourtant;" who had maintained his master's table with twelve
      covers every day during the long and severe blockade of le petit Leyth,
      although he had nothing better to place on it than the quarter of a
      carrion-horse now and then, and the grass and weeds that grew on the
      ramparts. "Despardieux c'dtoit un homme superbe!" With one tistle-head,
      and a nettle or two, he could make a soupe for twenty guests&mdash;an
      haunch of a little puppy-dog made a roti des plus excellens; but his coupe
      de maitre was when the rendition&mdash;what you call the surrender, took
      place and appened; and then, dieu me damme, he made out of the hind
      quarter of one salted horse, forty-five couverts; that the English and
      Scottish officers and nobility, who had the honour to dine with
      Monseigneur upon the rendition, could not tell what the devil any of them
      were made upon at all.
    </p>
    <p>
      The good wine had by this time gone so merrily round, and had such genial
      effect on the guests, that those of the lower end of the table, who had
      hitherto been listeners, began, not greatly to their own credit, or that
      of the ordinary, to make innovations.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You speak of the siege of Leith," said a tall, raw-boned man, with thick
      mustaches turned up with a military twist, a broad buff belt, a long
      rapier, and other outward symbols of the honoured profession, which lives
      by killing other people&mdash;"you talk of the siege of Leith, and I have
      seen the place&mdash;a pretty kind of a hamlet it is, with a plain wall,
      or rampart, and a pigeon-house or so of a tower at every angle. Uds
      daggers and scabbards, if a leaguer of our days had been twenty-four
      hours, not to say so many months, before it, without carrying the place
      and all its cocklofts, one after another, by pure storm, they would have
      deserved no better grace than the Provost-Marshal gives when his noose is
      reeved."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Saar," said the Chevalier, "Monsieur le Capitaine, I vas not at the siege
      of the petit Leyth, and I know not what you say about the cockloft; but I
      will say for Monseigneur de Strozzi, that he understood the grande guerre,
      and was grand capitaine&mdash;plus grand&mdash;that is more great, it may
      be, than some of the capitaines of Angleterre, who do speak very loud&mdash;tenez,
      Monsieur, car c'est a vous!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "O Monsieur." answered the swordsman, "we know the Frenchman will fight
      well behind his barrier of stone, or when he is armed with back, breast,
      and pot."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pot!" exclaimed the Chevalier, "what do you mean by pot&mdash;do you mean
      to insult me among my noble guests? Saar, I have done my duty as a pauvre
      gentilhomme under the Grand Henri Quatre, both at Courtrai and Yvry, and,
      ventre saint gris! we had neither pot nor marmite, but did always charge
      in our shirt."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Which refutes another base scandal," said Lord Dalgarno, laughing,
      "alleging that linen was scarce among the French gentlemen-at-arms."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Gentlemen out at arms and elbows both, you mean, my lord," said the
      captain, from the bottom of the table. "Craving your lordship's pardon, I
      do know something of these same gens-d'armes."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We will spare your knowledge at present, captain, and save your modesty
      at the same time the trouble of telling us how that knowledge was
      acquired," answered Lord Dalgarno, rather contemptuously.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I need not speak of it, my lord," said the man of war; "the world knows
      it&mdash;all perhaps, but the men of mohair&mdash;the poor sneaking
      citizens of London, who would see a man of valour eat his very hilts for
      hunger, ere they would draw a farthing from their long purses to relieve
      them. O, if a band of the honest fellows I have seen were once to come
      near that cuckoo's nest of theirs!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "A cuckoo's nest!-and that said of the city of London!" said a gallant who
      sat on the opposite side of the table, and who, wearing a splendid and
      fashionable dress, seemed yet scarce at home in it&mdash;"I will not brook
      to hear that repeated."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What!" said the soldier, bending a most terrific frown from a pair of
      broad black eyebrows, handling the hilt of his weapon with one hand, and
      twirling with the other his huge mustaches; "will you quarrel for your
      city?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, marry will I," replied the other. "I am a citizen, I care not who
      knows it; and he who shall speak a word in dispraise of the city, is an
      ass and a peremptory gull, and I will break his pate, to teach him sense
      and manners."
    </p>
    <p>
      The company, who probably had their reasons for not valuing the captain's
      courage at the high rate which he himself put upon it, were much
      entertained at the manner in which the quarrel was taken up by the
      indignant citizen; and they exclaimed on all sides, "Well run, Bow-bell!"&mdash;"Well
      crowed, the cock of Saint Paul's!"&mdash;"Sound a charge there, or the
      soldier will mistake his signals, and retreat when he should advance."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You mistake me, gentlemen," said the captain, looking round with an air
      of dignity. "I will but inquire whether this cavaliero citizen is of rank
      and degree fitted to measure swords with a man of action; (for, conceive
      me, gentlemen, it is not with every one that I can match myself without
      loss of reputation;) and in that case he shall soon hear from me
      honourably, by way of cartel."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You shall feel me most dishonourably in the way of cudgel," said the
      citizen, starting up, and taking his sword, which he had laid in a corner.
      "Follow me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is my right to name the place of combat, by all the rules of the
      sword," said the captain; "and I do nominate the Maze, in Tothill-Fields,
      for place&mdash;two gentlemen, who shall be indifferent judges, for
      witnesses;&mdash;and for time&mdash;let me say this day fortnight, at
      daybreak."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And I," said the citizen, "do nominate the bowling-alley behind the house
      for place, the present good company for witnesses, and for time the
      present moment."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he cast on his beaver, struck the soldier across the shoulders
      with his sheathed sword, and ran down stairs. The captain showed no
      instant alacrity to follow him; yet, at last, roused by the laugh and
      sneer around him, he assured the company, that what he did he would do
      deliberately, and, assuming his hat, which he put on with the air of
      Ancient Pistol, he descended the stairs to the place of combat, where his
      more prompt adversary was already stationed, with his sword unsheathed. Of
      the company, all of whom seemed highly delighted with the approaching
      fray, some ran to the windows which overlooked the bowling-alley, and
      others followed the combatants down stairs. Nigel could not help asking
      Dalgarno whether he would not interfere to prevent mischief.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It would be a crime against the public interest," answered his friend;
      "there can no mischief happen between two such originals, which will not
      be a positive benefit to society, and particularly to the Chevalier's
      establishment, as he calls it. I have been as sick of that captain's buff
      belt, and red doublet, for this month past, as e'er I was of aught; and
      now I hope this bold linendraper will cudgel the ass out of that filthy
      lion's hide. See, Nigel, see the gallant citizen has ta'en his ground
      about a bowl's-cast forward, in the midst of the alley&mdash;the very
      model of a hog in armour. Behold how he prances with his manly foot, and
      brandishes his blade, much as if he were about to measure forth cambric
      with it. See, they bring on the reluctant soldado, and plant him opposite
      to his fiery antagonist, twelve paces still dividing them&mdash;Lo, the
      captain draws his tool, but, like a good general, looks over his shoulder
      to secure his retreat, in case the worse come on't. Behold the valiant
      shop-keeper stoops his head, confident, doubtless, in the civic helmet
      with which his spouse has fortified his skull&mdash;Why, this is the
      rarest of sport. By Heaven, he will run a tilt at him, like a ram."
    </p>
    <p>
      It was even as Lord Dalgarno had anticipated; for the citizen, who seemed
      quite serious in his zeal for combat, perceiving that the man of war did
      not advance towards him, rushed onwards with as much good fortune as
      courage, beat down the captain's guard, and, pressing on, thrust, as it
      seemed, his sword clear through the body of his antagonist, who, with a
      deep groan, measured his length on the ground. A score of voices cried to
      the conqueror, as he stood fixed in astonishment at his own feat, "Away,
      away with you!&mdash;fly, fly&mdash;fly by the back door!&mdash;get into
      the Whitefriars, or cross the water to the Bankside, while we keep off the
      mob and the constables." And the conqueror, leaving his vanquished foeman
      on the ground, fled accordingly, with all speed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "By Heaven," said Lord Dalgarno, "I could never have believed that the
      fellow would have stood to receive a thrust&mdash;he has certainly been
      arrested by positive terror, and lost the use of his limbs. See, they are
      raising him."
    </p>
    <p>
      Stiff and stark seemed the corpse of the swordsman, as one or two of the
      guests raised him from the ground; but, when they began to open his
      waistcoat to search for the wound which nowhere existed, the man of war
      collected, his scattered spirits; and, conscious that the ordinary was no
      longer a stage on which to display his valour, took to his heels as fast
      as he could run, pursued by the laughter and shouts of the company.
    </p>
    <p>
      "By my honour," said Lord Dalgarno, "he takes the same course with his
      conqueror. I trust in heaven he will overtake him, and then the valiant
      citizen will suppose himself haunted by the ghost of him he has slain."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Despardieux, milor," said the Chevalier, "if he had stayed one moment, he
      should have had a <i>torchon</i>&mdash;what you call a dishclout, pinned
      to him for a piece of shroud, to show he be de ghost of one grand
      fanfaron."
    </p>
    <p>
      "In the meanwhile," said Lord Dalgarno, "you will oblige us, Monsieur le
      Chevalier, as well as maintain your own honoured reputation, by letting
      your drawers receive the man-at-arms with a cudgel, in case he should
      venture to come way again."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ventre saint gris, milor," said the Chevalier, "leave that to me.&mdash;Begar,
      the maid shall throw the wash-sud upon the grand poltron!"
    </p>
    <p>
      When they had laughed sufficiently at this ludicrous occurrence, the party
      began to divide themselves into little knots&mdash;some took possession of
      the alley, late the scene of combat, and put the field to its proper use
      of a bowling-ground, and it soon resounded with all the terms of the game,
      as "run, run-rub, rub&mdash;hold bias, you infernal trundling timber!"
      thus making good the saying, that three things are thrown away in a
      bowling-green, namely, time, money, and oaths. In the house, many of the
      gentlemen betook themselves to cards or dice, and parties were formed at
      Ombre, at Basset, at Gleek, at Primero, and other games then in fashion;
      while the dice were used at various games, both with and without the
      tables, as Hazard, In-and-in, Passage, and so forth. The play, however,
      did not appear to be extravagantly deep; it was certainly conducted with
      great decorum and fairness; nor did there appear any thing to lead the
      young Scotsman in the least to doubt his companion's assurance, that the
      place was frequented by men of rank and quality, and that the recreations
      they adopted were conducted upon honourable principles.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Dalgarno neither had proposed play to his friend, nor joined in the
      amusement himself, but sauntered from one table to another, remarking the
      luck of the different players, as well as their capacity to avail
      themselves of it, and exchanging conversation with the highest and most
      respectable of the guests. At length, as if tired of what in modern phrase
      would have been termed lounging, he suddenly remembered that Burbage was
      to act Shakespeare's King Richard, at the Fortune, that afternoon, and
      that he could not give a stranger in London, like Lord Glenvarloch, a
      higher entertainment than to carry him to that exhibition; "unless,
      indeed," he added, in a whisper, "there is paternal interdiction of the
      theatre as well as of the ordinary."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I never heard my father speak of stage-plays," said Lord Glenvarloch,
      "for they are shows of a modern date, and unknown in Scotland. Yet, if
      what I have heard to their prejudice be true, I doubt much whether he
      would have approved of them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Approved of them!" exclaimed Lord Dalgarno&mdash;"why, George Buchanan
      wrote tragedies, and his pupil, learned and wise as himself, goes to see
      them, so it is next door to treason to abstain; and the cleverest men in
      England write for the stage, and the prettiest women in London resort to
      the playhouses, and I have a brace of nags at the door which will carry us
      along the streets like wild-fire, and the ride will digest our venison and
      ortolans, and dissipate the fumes of the wine, and so let's to horse&mdash;Godd'en
      to you, gentlemen&mdash;Godd'en, Chevalier de la Fortune."
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Dalgarno's grooms were in attendance with two horses, and the young
      men mounted, the proprietor upon a favourite barb, and Nigel upon a
      high-dressed jennet, scarce less beautiful. As they rode towards the
      theatre, Lord Dalgarno endeavoured to discover his friend's opinion of the
      company to which he had introduced him, and to combat the exceptions which
      he might suppose him to have taken. "And wherefore lookest thou sad," he
      said, "my pensive neophyte? Sage son of the Alma Mater of Low-Dutch
      learning, what aileth thee? Is the leaf of the living world which we have
      turned over in company, less fairly written than thou hadst been taught to
      expect? Be comforted, and pass over one little blot or two; thou wilt be
      doomed to read through many a page, as black as Infamy, with her sooty
      pinion, can make them. Remember, most immaculate Nigel, that we are in
      London, not Leyden&mdash;that we are studying life, not lore. Stand buff
      against the reproach of thine over-tender conscience, man, and when thou
      summest up, like a good arithmetician, the actions of the day, before you
      balance the account on your pillow, tell the accusing spirit, to his
      brimstone beard, that if thine ears have heard the clatter of the devil's
      bones, thy hand hath not trowled them&mdash;that if thine eye hath seen
      the brawling of two angry boys, thy blade hath not been bared in their
      fray."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now, all this may be wise and witty," replied Nigel; "yet I own I cannot
      think but that your lordship, and other men of good quality with whom we
      dined, might have chosen a place of meeting free from the intrusion of
      bullies, and a better master of your ceremonial than yonder foreign
      adventurer."
    </p>
    <p>
      "All shall be amended, Sancte Nigelle, when thou shalt come forth a new
      Peter the Hermit, to preach a crusade against dicing, drabbing, and
      company-keeping. We will meet for dinner in Saint Sepulchre's Church; we
      will dine in the chancel, drink our flask in the vestry, the parson shall
      draw every cork, and the clerk say amen to every health. Come man, cheer
      up, and get rid of this sour and unsocial humour. Credit me, that the
      Puritans who object to us the follies and the frailties incident to human
      nature, have themselves the vices of absolute devils, privy malice and
      backbiting hypocrisy, and spiritual pride in all its presumption. There is
      much, too, in life which we must see, were it only to learn to shun it.
      Will Shakespeare, who lives after death, and who is presently to afford
      thee such pleasure as none but himself can confer, has described the
      gallant Falconbridge as calling that man
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  &mdash;&mdash;' a bastard to the time,
  That doth not smack of observation;
  Which, though I will not practise to deceive,
  Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn."
</pre>
    <p>
      But here we are at the door of the Fortune, where we shall have matchless
      Will speaking for himself.&mdash;Goblin, and you other lout, leave the
      horses to the grooms, and make way for us through the press."
    </p>
    <p>
      They dismounted, and the assiduous efforts of Lutin, elbowing, bullying,
      and proclaiming his master's name and title, made way through a crowd of
      murmuring citizens, and clamorous apprentices, to the door, where Lord
      Dalgarno speedily procured a brace of stools upon the stage for his
      companion and himself, where, seated among other gallants of the same
      class, they had an opportunity of displaying their fair dresses and
      fashionable manners, while they criticised the piece during its progress;
      thus forming, at the same time, a conspicuous part of the spectacle, and
      an important proportion of the audience.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel Olifaunt was too eagerly and deeply absorbed in the interest of the
      scene, to be capable of playing his part as became the place where he was
      seated. He felt all the magic of that sorcerer, who had displayed, within
      the paltry circle of a wooden booth, the long wars of York and Lancaster,
      compelling the heroes of either line to stalk across the scene in language
      and fashion as they lived, as if the grave had given up the dead for the
      amusement and instruction of the living. Burbage, esteemed the best
      Richard until Garrick arose, played the tyrant and usurper with such truth
      and liveliness, that when the Battle of Bosworth seemed concluded by his
      death, the ideas of reality and deception were strongly contending in Lord
      Glenvarloch's imagination, and it required him to rouse himself from his
      reverie, so strange did the proposal at first sound when his companion
      declared King Richard should sup with them at the Mermaid.
    </p>
    <p>
      They were joined, at the same time, by a small party of the gentlemen with
      whom they had dined, which they recruited by inviting two or three of the
      most accomplished wits and poets, who seldom failed to attend the Fortune
      Theatre, and were even but too ready to conclude a day of amusement with a
      night of pleasure. Thither the whole party adjourned, and betwixt fertile
      cups of sack, excited spirits, and the emulous wit of their lively
      companions, seemed to realise the joyous boast of one of Ben Jonson's
      contemporaries, when reminding the bard of
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
            "Those lyric feasts,
     Where men such clusters had,
     As made them nobly wild, not mad;
     While yet each verse of thine
     Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine."
</pre>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIII
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
    Let the proud salmon gorge the feather'd hook,
    Then strike, and then you have him&mdash;He will wince;
    Spin out your line that it shall whistle from you
    Some twenty yards or so, yet you shall have him&mdash;
    Marry! you must have patience&mdash;the stout rock
    Which is his trust, hath edges something sharp;
    And the deep pool hath ooze and sludge enough
    To mar your fishing&mdash;'less you are more careful.
                <i>Albion, or the Double Kings.</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      It is seldom that a day of pleasure, upon review, seems altogether so
      exquisite as the partaker of the festivity may have felt it while passing
      over him. Nigel Olifaunt, at least, did not feel it so, and it required a
      visit from his new acquaintance, Lord Dalgarno, to reconcile him entirely
      to himself. But this visit took place early after breakfast, and his
      friend's discourse was prefaced with a question, How he liked the company
      of the preceding evening?
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, excellently well," said Lord Glenvarloch; "only I should have liked
      the wit better had it appeared to flow more freely. Every man's invention
      seemed on the stretch, and each extravagant simile seemed to set one half
      of your men of wit into a brown study to produce something which should
      out-herod it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And wherefore not?" said Lord Dalgarno, "or what are these fellows fit
      for, but to play the intellectual gladiators before us? He of them who
      declares himself recreant, should, d&mdash;n him, be restricted to muddy
      ale, and the patronage of the Waterman's Company. I promise you, that many
      a pretty fellow has been mortally wounded with a quibble or a carwitchet
      at the Mermaid, and sent from thence, in a pitiable estate, to Wit's
      hospital in the Vintry, where they languish to this day amongst fools and
      aldermen."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It may be so," said Lord Nigel; "yet I could swear by my honour, that
      last night I seemed to be in company with more than one man whose genius
      and learning ought either to have placed him higher in our company, or to
      have withdrawn him altogether from a scene, where, sooth to speak, his
      part seemed unworthily subordinate."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now, out upon your tender conscience," said Lord Dalgarno; "and the fico
      for such outcasts of Parnassus! Why, these are the very leavings of that
      noble banquet of pickled herrings and Rhenish, which lost London so many
      of her principal witmongers and bards of misrule. What would you have said
      had you seen Nash or Green, when you interest yourself about the poor
      mimes you supped with last night? Suffice it, they had their drench and
      their doze, and they drank and slept as much as may save them from any
      necessity of eating till evening, when, if they are industrious, they will
      find patrons or players to feed them. [Footnote: The condition of men of
      wit and talents was never more melancholy than about this period. Their
      lives were so irregular, and their means of living so precarious, that
      they were alternately rioting in debauchery, or encountering and
      struggling with the meanest necessities. Two or three lost their lives by
      a surfeit brought on by that fatal banquet of Rhenish wine and pickled
      herrings, which is familiar to those who study the lighter literature of
      that age. The whole history is a most melancholy picture of genius,
      degraded at once by its own debaucheries, and the patronage of heartless
      rakes and profligates.] For the rest of their wants, they can be at no
      loss for cold water while the New River head holds good; and your doublets
      of Parnassus are eternal in duration."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Virgil and Horace had more efficient patronage," said Nigel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay," replied his countryman, "but these fellows are neither Virgil nor
      Horace; besides, we have other spirits of another sort, to whom I will
      introduce you on some early occasion. Our Swan of Avon hath sung his last;
      but we have stout old Ben, with as much learning and genius as ever
      prompted the treader of sock and buskin. It is not, however, of him I mean
      now to speak; but I come to pray you, of dear love, to row up with me as
      far as Richmond, where two or three of the gallants whom you saw
      yesterday, mean to give music and syllabubs to a set of beauties, with
      some curious bright eyes among them&mdash;such, I promise you, as might
      win an astrologer from his worship of the galaxy. My sister leads the
      bevy, to whom I desire to present you. She hath her admirers at Court; and
      is regarded, though I might dispense with sounding her praise, as one of
      the beauties of the time."
    </p>
    <p>
      There was no refusing an engagement, where the presence of the party
      invited, late so low in his own regard, was demanded by a lady of quality,
      one of the choice beauties of the time. Lord Glenvarloch accepted, as was
      inevitable, and spent a lively day among the gay and the fair. He was the
      gallant in attendance, for the day, upon his friend's sister, the
      beautiful Countess of Blackchester, who aimed at once at superiority in
      the realms of fashion, of power, and of wit.
    </p>
    <p>
      She was, indeed, considerably older than her brother, and had probably
      completed her six lustres; but the deficiency in extreme youth was more
      than atoned for, in the most precise and curious accuracy in attire, an
      early acquaintance with every foreign mode, and a peculiar gift in
      adapting the knowledge which she acquired, to her own particular features
      and complexion. At Court, she knew as well as any lady in the circle, the
      precise tone, moral, political, learned, or jocose, in which it was proper
      to answer the monarch, according to his prevailing humour; and was
      supposed to have been very active, by her personal interest, in procuring
      her husband a high situation, which the gouty old viscount could never
      have deserved by any merit of his own commonplace conduct and
      understanding.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was far more easy for this lady than for her brother, to reconcile so
      young a courtier as Lord Glenvarloch to the customs and habits of a sphere
      so new to him. In all civilised society, the females of distinguished rank
      and beauty give the tone to manners, and, through these, even to morals.
      Lady Blackchester had, besides, interest either in the Court, or over the
      Court, (for its source could not be well traced,) which created friends,
      and overawed those who might have been disposed to play the part of
      enemies.
    </p>
    <p>
      At one time, she was understood to be closely leagued with the Buckingham
      family, with whom her brother still maintained a great intimacy; and,
      although some coldness had taken place betwixt the Countess and the
      Duchess of Buckingham, so that they were little seen together, and the
      former seemed considerably to have withdrawn herself into privacy, it was
      whispered that Lady Blackchester's interest with the great favourite was
      not diminished in consequence of her breach with his lady.
    </p>
    <p>
      Our accounts of the private Court intrigues of that period, and of the
      persons to whom they were intrusted, are not full enough to enable us to
      pronounce upon the various reports which arose out of the circumstances we
      have detailed. It is enough to say, that Lady Blackchester possessed great
      influence on the circle around her, both from her beauty, her abilities,
      and her reputed talents for Court intrigue; and that Nigel Olifaunt was
      not long of experiencing its power, as he became a slave in some degree to
      that species of habit, which carries so many men into a certain society at
      a certain hour, without expecting or receiving any particular degree of
      gratification, or even amusement.
    </p>
    <p>
      His life for several weeks may be thus described. The ordinary was no bad
      introduction to the business of the day; and the young lord quickly found,
      that if the society there was not always irreproachable, still it formed
      the most convenient and agreeable place of meeting with the fashionable
      parties, with whom he visited Hyde Park, the theatres, and other places of
      public resort, or joined the gay and glittering circle which Lady
      Blackchester had assembled around her. Neither did he entertain the same
      scrupulous horror which led him originally even to hesitate entering into
      a place where gaming was permitted; but, on the contrary, began to admit
      the idea, that as there could be no harm done in beholding such recreation
      when only indulged in to a moderate degree, so, from a parity of
      reasoning, there could be no objection to joining in it, always under the
      same restrictions. But the young lord was a Scotsman, habituated to early
      reflection, and totally unaccustomed to any habit which inferred a
      careless risk or profuse waste of money. Profusion was not his natural
      vice, or one likely to be acquired in the course of his education; and, in
      all probability, while his father anticipated with noble horror the idea
      of his son approaching the gaming-table, he was more startled at the idea
      of his becoming a gaining than a losing adventurer. The second, according
      to his principles, had a termination, a sad one indeed, in the loss of
      temporal fortune&mdash;the first quality went on increasing the evil which
      he dreaded, and perilled at once both body and soul.
    </p>
    <p>
      However the old lord might ground his apprehension, it was so far verified
      by his son's conduct, that, from an observer of the various games of
      chance which he witnessed, he came, by degrees, by moderate hazards, and
      small bets or wagers, to take a certain interest in them. Nor could it be
      denied, that his rank and expectations entitled him to hazard a few pieces
      (for his game went no deeper) against persons, who, from the readiness
      with which they staked their money, might be supposed well able to afford
      to lose it.
    </p>
    <p>
      It chanced, or, perhaps, according to the common belief, his evil genius
      had so decreed, that Nigel's adventures were remarkably successful. He was
      temperate, cautious, cool-headed, had a strong memory, and a ready power
      of calculation; was besides, of a daring and intrepid character, one upon
      whom no one that had looked even slightly, or spoken to though but
      hastily, would readily have ventured to practise any thing approaching to
      trick, or which required to be supported by intimidation. While Lord
      Glenvarloch chose to play, men played with him regularly, or, according to
      the phrase, upon the square; and, as he found his luck change, or wished
      to hazard his good fortune no farther, the more professed votaries of
      fortune, who frequented the house of Monsieur le Chevalier de Saint Priest
      Beaujeu, did not venture openly to express their displeasure at his rising
      a winner. But when this happened repeatedly, the gamesters murmured
      amongst themselves equally at the caution and the success of the young
      Scotsman; and he became far from being a popular character among their
      society.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was no slight inducement to the continuance of this most evil habit,
      when it was once in some degree acquired, that it seemed to place Lord
      Glenvarloch, haughty as he naturally was, beyond the necessity of
      subjecting himself to farther pecuniary obligations, which his prolonged
      residence in London must otherwise have rendered necessary. He had to
      solicit from the ministers certain forms of office, which were to render
      his sign-manual effectually useful; and these, though they could not be
      denied, were delayed in such a manner, as to lead Nigel to believe there
      was some secret opposition, which occasioned the demur in his business.
      His own impulse was, to have appeared at Court a second time, with the
      king's sign-manual in his pocket, and to have appealed to his Majesty
      himself, whether the delay of the public officers ought to render his
      royal generosity unavailing. But the Lord Huntinglen, that good old peer,
      who had so frankly interfered in his behalf on a former occasion, and whom
      he occasionally visited, greatly dissuaded him from a similar adventure,
      and exhorted him quietly to await the deliverance of the ministers, which
      should set him free from dancing attendance in London.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Dalgarno joined his father in deterring his young friend from a
      second attendance at Court, at least till he was reconciled with the Duke
      of Buckingham&mdash;"a matter in which," he said, addressing his father,
      "I have offered my poor assistance, without being able to prevail on Lord
      Nigel to make any&mdash;not even the least&mdash;submission to the Duke of
      Buckingham."
    </p>
    <p>
      "By my faith, and I hold the laddie to be in the right on't, Malcom!"
      answered the stout old Scots lord.&mdash;"What right hath Buckingham, or,
      to speak plainly, the son of Sir George Villiers, to expect homage and
      fealty from one more noble than himself by eight quarters? I heard him
      myself, on no reason that I could perceive, term Lord Nigel his enemy; and
      it will never be by my counsel that the lad speaks soft word to him, till
      he recalls the hard one."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is precisely my advice to Lord Glenvarloch," answered Lord Dalgarno;
      "but then you will admit, my dear father, that it would be the risk of
      extremity for our friend to return into the presence, the duke being his
      enemy&mdash;better to leave it with me to take off the heat of the
      distemperature, with which some pickthanks have persuaded the duke to
      regard our friend."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If thou canst persuade Buckingham of his error, Malcolm," said his
      father, "for once I will say there hath been kindness and honesty in Court
      service. I have oft told your sister and yourself, that in the general I
      esteem it as lightly as may be."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You need not doubt my doing my best in Nigel's case," answered Lord
      Dalgarno; "but you must think, my dear father, I must needs use slower and
      gentler means than those by which you became a favourite twenty years
      ago."
    </p>
    <p>
      "By my faith, I am afraid thou wilt," answered his father.&mdash;"I tell
      thee, Malcolm, I would sooner wish myself in the grave, than doubt thine
      honesty or honour; yet somehow it hath chanced, that honest, ready
      service, hath not the same acceptance at Court which it has in my younger
      time&mdash;and yet you rise there."
    </p>
    <p>
      "O, the time permits not your old-world service," said Lord Dalgarno; "we
      have now no daily insurrections, no nightly attempts at assassination, as
      were the fashion in the Scottish Court. Your prompt and uncourteous
      sword-in-hand attendance on the sovereign is no longer necessary, and
      would be as unbeseeming as your old-fashioned serving-men, with their
      badges, broadswords, and bucklers, would be at a court-mask. Besides,
      father, loyal haste hath its inconveniences. I have heard, and from royal
      lips too, that when you stuck your dagger into the traitor Ruthven, it was
      with such little consideration, that the point ran a quarter of an inch
      into the royal buttock. The king never talks of it but he rubs the injured
      part, and quotes his <i>'infandum&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;-renovare dolorem.'</i>
      But this comes of old fashions, and of wearing a long Liddesdale whinger
      instead of a poniard of Parma. Yet this, my dear father, you call prompt
      and valiant service. The king, I am told, could not sit upright for a
      fortnight, though all the cushions in Falkland were placed in his chair of
      state, and the Provost of Dunfermline's borrowed to the boot of all."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is a lie," said the old earl, "a false lie, forge it who list!&mdash;It
      is true I wore a dagger of service by my side, and not a bodkin like
      yours, to pick one's teeth withal&mdash;and for prompt service&mdash;Odds
      nouns! it should be prompt to be useful when kings are crying treason and
      murder with the screech of a half-throttled hen. But you young courtiers
      know nought of these matters, and are little better than the green geese
      they bring over from the Indies, whose only merit to their masters is to
      repeat their own words after them&mdash;a pack of mouthers, and
      flatterers, and ear-wigs.&mdash;Well, I am old and unable to mend, else I
      would break all off, and hear the Tay once more flinging himself over the
      Campsie Linn."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But there is your dinner-bell, father," said Lord Dalgarno, "which, if
      the venison I sent you prove seasonable, is at least as sweet a sound."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Follow me, then, youngsters, if you list," said the old earl; and strode
      on from the alcove in which this conversation was held, towards the house,
      followed by the two young men.
    </p>
    <p>
      In their private discourse, Lord Dalgarno had little trouble in dissuading
      Nigel from going immediately to Court; while, on the other hand, the
      offers he made him of a previous introduction to the Duke of Buckingham,
      were received by Lord Glenvarloch with a positive and contemptuous
      refusal. His friend shrugged his shoulders, as one who claims the merit of
      having given to an obstinate friend the best counsel, and desires to be
      held free of the consequences of his pertinacity.
    </p>
    <p>
      As for the father, his table indeed, and his best liquor, of which he was
      more profuse than necessary, were at the command of his young friend, as
      well as his best advice and assistance in the prosecution of his affairs.
      But Lord Huntinglen's interest was more apparent than real; and the credit
      he had acquired by his gallant defence of the king's person, was so
      carelessly managed by himself, and so easily eluded by the favourites and
      ministers of the sovereign, that, except upon one or two occasions, when
      the king was in some measure taken by surprise, as in the case of Lord
      Glenvarloch, the royal bounty was never efficiently extended either to
      himself or to his friends.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There never was a man," said Lord Dalgarno, whose shrewder knowledge of
      the English Court saw where his father's deficiency lay, "that had it so
      perfectly in his power to have made his way to the pinnacle of fortune as
      my poor father. He had acquired a right to build up a staircase, step by
      step, slowly and surely, letting every boon, which he begged year after
      year, become in its turn the resting-place for the next annual grant. But
      your fortunes shall not shipwreck upon the same coast, Nigel," he would
      conclude. "If I have fewer means of influence than my father has, or
      rather had, till he threw them away for butts of sack, hawks, hounds, and
      such carrion, I can, far better than he, improve that which I possess; and
      that, my dear Nigel, is all engaged in your behalf. Do not be surprised or
      offended that you now see me less than formerly. The stag-hunting is
      commenced, and the prince looks that I should attend him more frequently.
      I must also maintain my attendance on the duke, that I may have an
      opportunity of pleading your cause when occasion shall permit."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have no cause to plead before the duke," said Nigel, gravely; "I have
      said so repeatedly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, I meant the phrase no otherwise, thou churlish and suspicious
      disputant," answered Dalgarno, "than as I am now pleading the duke's cause
      with thee. Surely I only mean to claim a share in our royal master's
      favourite benediction, <i>Beati Pacifici</i>."
    </p>
    <p>
      Upon several occasions, Lord Glenvarloch's conversations, both with the
      old earl and his son, took a similar turn and had a like conclusion. He
      sometimes felt as if, betwixt the one and the other, not to mention the
      more unseen and unboasted, but scarce less certain influence of Lady
      Blackchester, his affair, simple as it had become, might have been somehow
      accelerated. But it was equally impossible to doubt the rough honesty of
      the father, and the eager and officious friendship of Lord Dalgarno; nor
      was it easy to suppose that the countenance of the lady, by whom he was
      received with such distinction, would be wanting, could it be effectual in
      his service.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel was further sensible of the truth of what Lord Dalgarno often
      pointed out, that the favourite being supposed to be his enemy, every
      petty officer, through whose hands his affair must necessarily pass, would
      desire to make a merit of throwing obstacles in his way, which he could
      only surmount by steadiness and patience, unless he preferred closing the
      breach, or, as Lord Dalgarno called it, making his peace with the Duke of
      Buckingham.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel might, and doubtless would, have had recourse to the advice of his
      friend George Heriot upon this occasion, having found it so advantageous
      formerly; but the only time he saw him after their visit to Court, he
      found the worthy citizen engaged in hasty preparations for a journey to
      Paris, upon business of great importance in the way of his profession, and
      by an especial commission from the Court and the Duke of Buckingham, which
      was likely to be attended with considerable profit. The good man smiled as
      he named the Duke of Buckingham. He had been, he said, pretty sure that
      his disgrace in that quarter would not be of long duration. Lord
      Glenvarloch expressed himself rejoiced at that reconciliation, observing,
      that it had been a most painful reflection to him, that Master Heriot
      should, in his behalf, have incurred the dislike, and perhaps exposed
      himself to the ill offices, of so powerful a favourite.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My lord," said Heriot, "for your father's son I would do much; and yet
      truly, if I know myself, I would do as much and risk as much, for the sake
      of justice, in the case of a much more insignificant person, as I have
      ventured for yours. But as we shall not meet for some time, I must commit
      to your own wisdom the farther prosecution of this matter."
    </p>
    <p>
      And thus they took a kind and affectionate leave of each other.
    </p>
    <p>
      There were other changes in Lord Glenvarloch's situation, which require to
      be noticed. His present occupations, and the habits of amusement which he
      had acquired, rendered his living so far in the city a considerable
      inconvenience. He may also have become a little ashamed of his cabin on
      Paul's Wharf, and desirous of being lodged somewhat more according to his
      quality. For this purpose, he had hired a small apartment near the Temple.
      He was, nevertheless, almost sorry for what he had done, when he observed
      that his removal appeared to give some pain to John Christie, and a great
      deal to his cordial and officious landlady. The former, who was grave and
      saturnine in every thing he did, only hoped that all had been to Lord
      Glenvarloch's mind, and that he had not left them on account of any
      unbeseeming negligence on their part. But the tear twinkled in Dame
      Nelly's eye, while she recounted the various improvements she had made in
      the apartment, of express purpose to render it more convenient to his
      lordship.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There was a great sea-chest," she said, "had been taken upstairs to the
      shopman's garret, though it left the poor lad scarce eighteen inches of
      opening to creep betwixt it and his bed; and Heaven knew&mdash;she did not&mdash;whether
      it could ever be brought down that narrow stair again. Then the turning
      the closet into an alcove had cost a matter of twenty round shillings; and
      to be sure, to any other lodger but his lordship, the closet was more
      convenient. There was all the linen, too, which she had bought on purpose&mdash;But
      Heaven's will be done&mdash;she was resigned."
    </p>
    <p>
      Everybody likes marks of personal attachment; and Nigel, whose heart
      really smote him, as if in his rising fortunes he were disdaining the
      lowly accommodations and the civilities of the humble friends which had
      been but lately actual favours, failed not by every assurance in his
      power, and by as liberal payment as they could be prevailed upon to
      accept, to alleviate the soreness of their feelings at his departure; and
      a parting kiss from the fair lips of his hostess sealed his forgiveness.
    </p>
    <p>
      Richie Moniplies lingered behind his master, to ask whether, in case of
      need, John Christie could help a canny Scotsman to a passage back to his
      own country; and receiving assurance of John's interest to that effect, he
      said at parting, he would remind him of his promise soon.&mdash;"For,"
      said he, "if my lord is not weary of this London life, I ken one that is,
      videlicet, mysell; and I am weel determined to see Arthur's Seat again ere
      I am many weeks older."
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIV
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  Bingo, why, Bingo! hey, boy&mdash;here, sir, here!&mdash;
  He's gone and off, but he'll be home before us;&mdash;
  'Tis the most wayward cur e'er mumbled bone,
  Or dogg'd a master's footstep.&mdash;Bingo loves me
  Better than ever beggar loved his alms;
  Yet, when he takes such humour, you may coax
  Sweet Mistress Fantasy, your worship's mistress,
  Out of her sullen moods, as soon as Bingo.
                       <i>The Dominie And His Dog</i>.
</pre>
    <p>
      Richie Moniplies was as good as his word. Two or three mornings after the
      young lord had possessed himself of his new lodgings, he appeared before
      Nigel, as he was preparing to dress, having left his pillow at an hour
      much later than had formerly been his custom.
    </p>
    <p>
      As Nigel looked upon his attendant, he observed there was a gathering
      gloom upon his solemn features, which expressed either additional
      importance, or superadded discontent, or a portion of both.
    </p>
    <p>
      "How now," he said, "what is the matter this morning, Richie, that you
      have made your face so like the grotesque mask on one of the spouts
      yonder?" pointing to the Temple Church, of which Gothic building they had
      a view from the window.
    </p>
    <p>
      Richie swivelled his head a little to the right with as little alacrity as
      if he had the crick in his neck, and instantly resuming his posture,
      replied,&mdash;"Mask here, mask there&mdash;it were nae such matters that
      I have to speak anent."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what matters have you to speak anent, then?" said his master, whom
      circumstances had inured to tolerate a good deal of freedom from his
      attendant.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My lord,"&mdash;said Richie, and then stopped to cough and hem, as if
      what he had to say stuck somewhat in his throat.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I guess the mystery," said Nigel, "you want a little money, Richie; will
      five pieces serve the present turn?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My lord," said Richie, "I may, it is like, want a trifle of money; and I
      am glad at the same time, and sorry, that it is mair plenty with your
      lordship than formerly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Glad and sorry, man!" said Lord Nigel, "why, you are reading riddles to
      me, Richie."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My riddle will be briefly read," said Richie; "I come to crave of your
      lordship your commands for Scotland."
    </p>
    <p>
      "For Scotland!&mdash;why, art thou mad, man?" said Nigel; "canst thou not
      tarry to go down with me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I could be of little service," said Richie, "since you purpose to hire
      another page and groom."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, thou jealous ass," said the young lord, "will not thy load of duty
      lie the lighter?&mdash;Go, take thy breakfast, and drink thy ale double
      strong, to put such absurdities out of thy head&mdash;I could be angry
      with thee for thy folly, man&mdash;but I remember how thou hast stuck to
      me in adversity."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Adversity, my lord, should never have parted us," said Richie; "methinks,
      had the warst come to warst, I could have starved as gallantly as your
      lordship, or more so, being in some sort used to it; for, though I was
      bred at a flasher's stall, I have not through my life had a constant
      intimacy with collops."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now, what is the meaning of all this trash?" said Nigel; "or has it no
      other end than to provoke my patience? You know well enough, that, had I
      twenty serving-men, I would hold the faithful follower that stood by me in
      my distress the most valued of them all. But it is totally out of reason
      to plague me with your solemn capriccios."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My lord," said Richie, "in declaring your trust in me, you have done what
      is honourable to yourself, if I may with humility say so much, and in no
      way undeserved on my side. Nevertheless, we must part."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Body of me, man, why?" said Lord Nigel; "what reason can there be for it,
      if we are mutually satisfied?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My lord," said Richie Moniplies, "your lordship's occupations are such as
      I cannot own or countenance by my presence."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How now, sirrah!" said his master, angrily.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Under favour, my lord," replied his domestic, "it is unequal dealing to
      be equally offended by my speech and by my silence. If you can hear with
      patience the grounds of my departure, it may be, for aught I know, the
      better for you here and hereafter&mdash;if not, let me have my license of
      departure in silence, and so no more about it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Go to, sir!" said Nigel; "speak out your mind&mdash;only remember to whom
      you speak it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Weel, weel, my lord&mdash;I speak it with humility;" (never did Richie
      look with more starched dignity than when he uttered the word;) "but do
      you think this dicing and card-shuffling, and haunting of taverns and
      playhouses, suits your lordship&mdash;for I am sure it does not suit me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, you are not turned precisian or puritan, fool?" said Lord
      Glenvarloch, laughing, though, betwixt resentment and shame, it cost him
      some trouble to do so.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My lord," replied the follower, "I ken the purport of your query. I am,
      it may be, a little of a precisian, and I wish to Heaven I was mair worthy
      of the name; but let that be a pass-over.&mdash;I have stretched the
      duties of a serving-man as far as my northern conscience will permit. I
      can give my gude word to my master, or to my native country, when I am in
      a foreign land, even though I should leave downright truth a wee bit
      behind me. Ay, and I will take or give a slash with ony man that speaks to
      the derogation of either. But this chambering, dicing, and play-haunting,
      is not my element&mdash;I cannot draw breath in it&mdash;and when I hear
      of your lordship winning the siller that some poor creature may full
      sairly miss&mdash;by my saul, if it wad serve your necessity, rather than
      you gained it from him, I wad take a jump over the hedge with your
      lordship, and cry 'Stand!' to the first grazier we met that was coming
      from Smithfield with the price of his Essex calves in his leathern pouch!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are a simpleton," said Nigel, who felt, however, much
      conscience-struck; "I never play but for small sums."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, my lord," replied the unyielding domestic, "and&mdash;still with
      reverence&mdash;it is even sae much the waur. If you played with your
      equals, there might be like sin, but there wad be mair warldly honour in
      it. Your lordship kens, or may ken, by experience of your ain, whilk is
      not as yet mony weeks auld, that small sums can ill be missed by those
      that have nane larger; and I maun e'en be plain with you, that men notice
      it of your lordship, that ye play wi' nane but the misguided creatures
      that can but afford to lose bare stakes."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No man dare say so!" replied Nigel, very angrily. "I play with whom I
      please, but I will only play for what stake I please."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is just what they say, my lord," said the unmerciful Richie, whose
      natural love of lecturing, as well as his bluntness of feeling, prevented
      him from having any idea of the pain which he was inflicting on his
      master; "these are even their own very words. It was but yesterday your
      lordship was pleased, at that same ordinary, to win from yonder young
      hafflins gentleman, with the crimson velvet doublet, and the cock's
      feather in his beaver&mdash;him, I mean, who fought with the ranting
      captain&mdash;a matter of five pounds, or thereby. I saw him come through
      the hall; and, if he was not cleaned out of cross and pile, I never saw a
      ruined man in my life."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Impossible!" said Lord Glenvarloch&mdash;"Why, who is he? he looked like
      a man of substance."
    </p>
    <p>
      "All is not gold that glistens, my lord," replied Richie; "'broidery and
      bullion buttons make bare pouches. And if you ask who he is&mdash;maybe I
      have a guess, and care not to tell."
    </p>
    <p>
      "At least, if I have done any such fellow an injury," said the Lord Nigel,
      "let me know how I can repair it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never fash your beard about that, my lord,&mdash;with reverence always,"
      said Richie,&mdash;"he shall be suitably cared after. Think on him but as
      ane wha was running post to the devil, and got a shouldering from your
      lordship to help him on his journey. But I will stop him, if reason can;
      and so your lordship needs asks nae mair about it, for there is no use in
      your knowing it, but much the contrair."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hark you, sirrah," said his master, "I have borne with you thus far, for
      certain reasons; but abuse my good-nature no farther&mdash;and since you
      must needs go, why, go a God's name, and here is to pay your journey." So
      saying, he put gold into his hand, which Richie told over piece by piece,
      with the utmost accuracy.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is it all right&mdash;or are they wanting in weight&mdash;or what the
      devil keeps you, when your hurry was so great five minutes since?" said
      the young lord, now thoroughly nettled at the presumptuous precision with
      which Richie dealt forth his canons of morality.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The tale of coin is complete," said Richie, with the most imperturbable
      gravity; "and, for the weight, though they are sae scrupulous in this
      town, as make mouths at a piece that is a wee bit light, or that has been
      cracked within the ring, my sooth, they will jump at them in Edinburgh
      like a cock at a grosart. Gold pieces are not so plenty there, the mair
      the pity!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The more is your folly, then," said Nigel, whose anger was only
      momentary, "that leave the land where there is enough of them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My lord," said Richie, "to be round with you, the grace of God is better
      than gold pieces. When Goblin, as you call yonder Monsieur Lutin,&mdash;and
      you might as well call him Gibbet, since that is what he is like to end
      in,&mdash;shall recommend a page to you, ye will hear little such doctrine
      as ye have heard from me.&mdash;And if they were my last words," he said,
      raising his voice, "I would say you are misled, and are forsaking the
      paths which your honourable father trode in; and, what is more, you are
      going&mdash;still under correction&mdash;to the devil with a dishclout,
      for ye are laughed at by them that lead you into these disordered
      bypaths."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Laughed at!" said Nigel, who, like others of his age, was more sensible
      to ridicule than to reason&mdash;"Who dares laugh at me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My lord, as sure as I live by bread&mdash;nay, more, as I am a true man&mdash;and,
      I think, your lordship never found Richie's tongue bearing aught but the
      truth&mdash;unless that your lordship's credit, my country's profit, or,
      it may be, some sma' occasion of my ain, made it unnecessary to promulgate
      the haill veritie,&mdash;I say then, as I am a true man, when I saw that
      puir creature come through the ha', at that ordinary, whilk is accurst
      (Heaven forgive me for swearing!) of God and man, with his teeth set, and
      his hands clenched, and his bonnet drawn over his brows like a desperate
      man, Goblin said to me, 'There goes a dunghill chicken, that your master
      has plucked clean enough; it will be long ere his lordship ruffle a
      feather with a cock of the game.' And so, my lord, to speak it out, the
      lackeys, and the gallants, and more especially your sworn brother, Lord
      Dalgarno, call you the sparrow-hawk.&mdash;I had some thought to have
      cracked Lutin's pate for the speech, but, after a', the controversy was
      not worth it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do they use such terms of me?" said Lord Nigel. "Death and the devil!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "And the devil's dam, my lord," answered Richie; "they are all three busy
      in London.&mdash;And, besides, Lutin and his master laughed at you, my
      lord, for letting it be thought that&mdash;I shame to speak it&mdash;that
      ye were over well with the wife of the decent honest man whose house you
      but now left, as not sufficient for your new bravery, whereas they said,
      the licentious scoffers, that you pretended to such favour when you had
      not courage enough for so fair a quarrel, and that the sparrow-hawk was
      too craven-crested to fly at the wife of a cheesemonger."&mdash;He stopped
      a moment, and looked fixedly in his master's face, which was inflamed with
      shame and anger, and then proceeded. "My lord, I did you justice in my
      thought, and myself too; for, thought I, he would have been as deep in
      that sort of profligacy as in others, if it hadna been Richie's four
      quarters."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What new nonsense have you got to plague me with?" said Lord Nigel. "But
      go on, since it is the last time I am to be tormented with your
      impertinence,&mdash;go on, and make the most of your time."
    </p>
    <p>
      "In troth," said Richie, "and so will I even do. And as Heaven has
      bestowed on me a tongue to speak and to advise&mdash;&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Which talent you can by no means be accused of suffering to remain idle,"
      said Lord Glenvarloch, interrupting him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "True, my lord," said Richie, again waving his hand, as if to bespeak his
      master's silence and attention; "so, I trust, you will think some time
      hereafter. And, as I am about to leave your service, it is proper that ye
      suld know the truth, that ye may consider the snares to which your youth
      and innocence may be exposed, when aulder and doucer heads are withdrawn
      from beside you.&mdash;There has been a lusty, good-looking kimmer, of
      some forty, or bygane, making mony speerings about you, my lord."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, sir, what did she want with me?" said Lord Nigel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "At first, my lord," replied his sapient follower, "as she seemed to be a
      well-fashioned woman, and to take pleasure in sensible company, I was no
      way reluctant to admit her to my conversation."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I dare say not," said Lord Nigel; "nor unwilling to tell her about my
      private affairs."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not I, truly, my lord," said the attendant;&mdash;"for, though she asked
      me mony questions about your fame, your fortune, your business here, and
      such like, I did not think it proper to tell her altogether the truth
      thereanent."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I see no call on you whatever," said Lord Nigel, "to tell the woman
      either truth or lies upon what she had nothing to do with."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I thought so, too, my lord," replied Richie, "and so I told her neither."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what <i>did</i> you tell her, then, you eternal babbler?" said his
      master, impatient of his prate, yet curious to know what it was all to end
      in.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I told her," said Richie, "about your warldly fortune, and sae forth,
      something whilk is not truth just at this time; but which hath been truth
      formerly, suld be truth now, and will be truth again,&mdash;and that was,
      that you were in possession of your fair lands, whilk ye are but in right
      of as yet. Pleasant communing we had on that and other topics, until she
      showed the cloven foot, beginning to confer with me about some wench that
      she said had a good-will to your lordship, and fain she would have spoken
      with you in particular anent it; but when I heard of such inklings, I
      began to suspect she was little better than&mdash;whew! "&mdash;Here he
      concluded his narrative with a low, but very expressive whistle.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what did your wisdom do in these circumstances?" said Lord Nigel,
      who, notwithstanding his former resentment, could now scarcely forbear
      laughing.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I put on a look, my lord," replied Richie, bending his solemn brows,
      "that suld give her a heartscald of walking on such errands. I laid her
      enormities clearly before her, and I threatened her, in sae mony words,
      that I would have her to the ducking-stool; and she, on the contrair part,
      miscawed me for a forward northern tyke&mdash;and so we parted never to
      meet again, as I hope and trust. And so I stood between your lordship and
      that temptation, which might have been worse than the ordinary, or the
      playhouse either; since you wot well what Solomon, King of the Jews,
      sayeth of the strange woman&mdash;for, said I to mysell, we have taken to
      dicing already, and if we take to drabbing next, the Lord kens what we may
      land in!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your impertinence deserves correction, but it is the last which, for a
      time at least, I shall have to forgive&mdash;and I forgive it," said Lord
      Glenvarloch; "and, since we are to part, Richie, I will say no more
      respecting your precautions on my account, than that I think you might
      have left me to act according to my own judgment."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mickle better not," answered Richie&mdash;"mickle better not; we are a'
      frail creatures, and can judge better for ilk ither than in our ain cases.
      And for me, even myself, saving that case of the Sifflication, which might
      have happened to ony one, I have always observed myself to be much more
      prudential in what I have done in your lordship's behalf, than even in
      what I have been able to transact for my own interest&mdash;whilk last, I
      have, indeed, always postponed, as in duty I ought."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do believe thou hast," said Lord Nigel, "having ever found thee true
      and faithful. And since London pleases you so little, I will bid you a
      short farewell; and you may go down to Edinburgh until I come thither
      myself, when I trust you will re-enter into my service."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now, Heaven bless you, my lord," said Richie Moniplies, with uplifted
      eyes; "for that word sounds more like grace than ony has come out of your
      mouth this fortnight.&mdash;I give you godd'en, my lord."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he thrust forth his immense bony hand, seized on that of Lord
      Glenvarloch, raised it to his lips, then turned short on his heel, and
      left the room hastily, as if afraid of showing more emotion than was
      consistent with his ideas of decorum. Lord Nigel, rather surprised at his
      sudden exit, called after him to know whether he was sufficiently provided
      with money; but Richie, shaking his head, without making any other answer,
      ran hastily down stairs, shut the street-door heavily behind him, and was
      presently seen striding along the Strand.
    </p>
    <p>
      His master almost involuntarily watched and distinguished the tall
      raw-boned figure of his late follower, from the window, for some time,
      until he was lost among the crowd of passengers. Nigel's reflections were
      not altogether those of self-approval. It was no good sign of his course
      of life, (he could not help acknowledging this much to himself,) that so
      faithful an adherent no longer seemed to feel the same pride in his
      service, or attachment to his person, which he had formerly manifested.
      Neither could he avoid experiencing some twinges of conscience, while he
      felt in some degree the charges which Richie had preferred against him,
      and experienced a sense of shame and mortification, arising from the
      colour given by others to that, which he himself would have called his
      caution and moderation in play. He had only the apology, that it had never
      occurred to himself in this light.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then his pride and self-love suggested, that, on the other hand, Richie,
      with all his good intentions, was little better than a conceited,
      pragmatical domestic, who seemed disposed rather to play the tutor than
      the lackey, and who, out of sheer love, as he alleged, to his master's
      person, assumed the privilege of interfering with, and controlling, his
      actions, besides rendering him ridiculous in the gay world, from the
      antiquated formality, and intrusive presumption, of his manners.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel's eyes were scarce turned from the window, when his new landlord
      entering, presented to him a slip of paper, carefully bound round with a
      string of flox-silk and sealed&mdash;-it had been given in, he said, by a
      woman, who did not stop an instant. The contents harped upon the same
      string which Richie Moniplies had already jarred. The epistle was in the
      following words:
    </p>
    <p>
      For the Right Honourable hands of Lord Glenvarloch, "These, from a friend
      unknown:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "MY LORD,
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are trusting to an unhonest friend, and diminishing an honest
      reputation. An unknown but real friend of your lordship will speak in one
      word what you would not learn from flatterers in so many days, as should
      suffice for your utter ruin. He whom you think most true&mdash;I say your
      friend Lord Dalgarno&mdash;is utterly false to you, and doth but seek,
      under pretence of friendship, to mar your fortune, and diminish the good
      name by which you might mend it. The kind countenance which he shows to
      you, is more dangerous than the Prince's frown; even as to gain at
      Beaujeu's ordinary is more discreditable than to lose. Beware of both.&mdash;And
      this is all from your true but nameless friend, IGNOTO."
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Glenvarloch paused for an instant, and crushed the paper together&mdash;then
      again unfolded and read it with attention&mdash;bent his brows&mdash;mused
      for a moment, and then tearing it to fragments, exclaimed&mdash;"Begone
      for a vile calumny! But I will watch&mdash;I will observe&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      Thought after thought rushed on him; but, upon the whole, Lord Glenvarloch
      was so little satisfied with the result of his own reflections, that he
      resolved to dissipate them by a walk in the Park, and, taking his cloak
      and beaver, went thither accordingly.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XV
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  Twas when fleet Snowball's head was woxen grey,
  A luckless lev'ret met him on his way.&mdash;
  Who knows not Snowball&mdash;he, whose race renown'd
  Is still victorious on each coursing ground?
  Swaffhanm Newmarket, and the Roman Camp,
  Have seen them victors o'er each meaner stamp&mdash;
  In vain the youngling sought, with doubling wile,
  The hedge, the hill, the thicket, or the stile.
  Experience sage the lack of speed supplied,
  And in the gap he sought, the victim died.
  So was I once, in thy fair street, Saint James,
  Through walking cavaliers, and car-borne dames,
  Descried, pursued, turn'd o'er again, and o'er,
  Coursed, coted, mouth'd by an unfeeling bore.
                                        &amp;c. &amp;c. &amp;c,
</pre>
    <p>
      The Park of Saint James's, though enlarged, planted with verdant alleys,
      and otherwise decorated by Charles II., existed in the days of his
      grandfather, as a public and pleasant promenade; and, for the sake of
      exercise or pastime, was much frequented by the better classes.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Glenvarloch repaired thither to dispel the unpleasant reflections
      which had been suggested by his parting with his trusty squire, Richie
      Moniplies, in a manner which was agreeable neither to his pride nor his
      feelings; and by the corroboration which the hints of his late attendant
      had received from the anonymous letter mentioned in the end of the last
      chapter.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a considerable number of company in the Park when he entered it,
      but, his present state of mind inducing him to avoid society, he kept
      aloof from the more frequented walks towards Westminster and Whitehall,
      and drew to the north, or, as we should now say, the Piccadilly verge of
      the enclosure, believing he might there enjoy, or rather combat, his own
      thoughts unmolested.
    </p>
    <p>
      In this, however, Lord Glenvarloch was mistaken; for, as he strolled
      slowly along with his arms folded in his cloak, and his hat drawn over his
      eyes, he was suddenly pounced upon by Sir Mungo Malagrowther, who, either
      shunning or shunned, had retreated, or had been obliged to retreat, to the
      same less frequented corner of the Park.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel started when he heard the high, sharp, and querulous tones of the
      knight's cracked voice, and was no less alarmed when he beheld his tall
      thin figure hobbling towards him, wrapped in a thread-bare cloak, on whose
      surface ten thousand varied stains eclipsed the original scarlet, and
      having his head surmounted with a well-worn beaver, bearing a black velvet
      band for a chain, and a capon's feather for an ostrich plume.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Glenvarloch would fain have made his escape, but, as our motto
      intimates, a leveret had as little chance to free herself of an
      experienced greyhound. Sir Mungo, to continue the simile, had long ago
      learned to run cunning, and make sure of mouthing his game. So Nigel found
      himself compelled to stand and answer the hackneyed question&mdash;"What
      news to-day?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nothing extraordinary, I believe," answered the young nobleman,
      attempting to pass on.
    </p>
    <p>
      "O, ye are ganging to the French ordinary belive," replied the knight;
      "but it is early day yet&mdash;we will take a turn in the Park in the
      meanwhile&mdash;it will sharpen your appetite."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he quietly slipped his arm under Lord Glenvarloch's, in spite
      of all the decent reluctance which his victim could exhibit, by keeping
      his elbow close to his side; and having fairly grappled the prize, he
      proceeded to take it in tow.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel was sullen and silent, in hopes to shake off his unpleasant
      companion; but Sir Mungo was determined, that if he did not speak, he
      should at least hear.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ye are bound for the ordinary, my lord?" said the cynic;&mdash;"weel, ye
      canna do better&mdash;there is choice company there, and peculiarly
      selected, as I am tauld, being, dootless, sic as it is desirable that
      young noblemen should herd withal&mdash;and your noble father wad have
      been blithe to see you keeping such worshipful society."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I believe," said Lord Glenvarloch, thinking himself obliged to say
      something, "that the society is as good as generally can be found in such
      places, where the door can scarcely be shut against those who come to
      spend their money."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Right, my lord&mdash;vera right," said his tormentor, bursting out into a
      chuckling, but most discordant laugh. "These citizen chuffs and clowns
      will press in amongst us, when there is but an inch of a door open. And
      what remedy?&mdash;Just e'en this, that as their cash gies them
      confidence, we should strip them of it. Flay them, my lord&mdash;singe
      them as the kitchen wench does the rats, and then they winna long to come
      back again.&mdash;Ay, ay&mdash;pluck them, plume them&mdash;and then the
      larded capons will not be for flying so high a wing, my lord, among the
      goss-hawks and sparrow-hawks, and the like."
    </p>
    <p>
      And, therewithal, Sir Mungo fixed on Nigel his quick, sharp, grey eye,
      watching the effect of his sarcasm as keenly as the surgeon, in a delicate
      operation, remarks the progress of his anatomical scalpel.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel, however willing to conceal his sensations, could not avoid
      gratifying his tormentor by wincing under the operation. He coloured with
      vexation and anger; but a quarrel with Sir Mungo Malagrowther would, he
      felt, be unutterably ridiculous; and he only muttered to himself the
      words, "Impertinent coxcomb!" which, on this occasion, Sir Mungo's
      imperfection of organ did not prevent him from hearing and replying to.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, ay&mdash;vera true," exclaimed the caustic old courtier&mdash;"Impertinent
      coxcombs they are, that thus intrude themselves on the society of their
      betters; but your lordship kens how to gar them as gude&mdash;ye have the
      trick on't.&mdash;They had a braw sport in the presence last Friday, how
      ye suld have routed a young shopkeeper, horse and foot, ta'en his <i>spolia
      ofima</i>, and a' the specie he had about him, down to the very silver
      buttons of his cloak, and sent him to graze with Nebuchadnezzar, King of
      Babylon. Muckle honour redounded to your lordship thereby.&mdash;We were
      tauld the loon threw himsell into the Thames in a fit of desperation.
      There's enow of them behind&mdash;there was mair tint on Flodden-edge."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have been told a budget of lies, so far as I am concerned, Sir
      Mungo," said Nigel, speaking loud and sternly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Vera likely&mdash;vera likely," said the unabashed and undismayed Sir
      Mungo; "naething but lies are current in the circle.&mdash;So the chield
      is not drowned, then?&mdash;the mair's the pity.&mdash;But I never
      believed that part of the story&mdash;a London dealer has mair wit in his
      anger. I dare swear the lad has a bonny broom-shank in his hand by this
      time, and is scrubbing the kennels in quest after rusty nails, to help him
      to begin his pack again.&mdash;He has three bairns, they say; they will
      help him bravely to grope in the gutters. Your good lordship may have the
      ruining of him again, my lord, if they have any luck in strand-scouring."
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is more than intolerable," said Nigel, uncertain whether to make an
      angry vindication of his character, or to fling the old tormentor from his
      arm. But an instant's recollection convinced him, that, to do either,
      would only give an air of truth and consistency to the scandals which he
      began to see were affecting his character, both in the higher and lower
      circles. Hastily, therefore, he formed the wiser resolution, to endure Sir
      Mungo's studied impertinence, under the hope of ascertaining, if possible,
      from what source those reports arose which were so prejudicial to his
      reputation.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir Mungo, in the meanwhile, caught up, as usual, Nigel's last words, or
      rather the sound of them, and amplified and interpreted them in his own
      way. "Tolerable luck!" he repeated; "yes, truly, my lord, I am told that
      you have tolerable luck, and that ye ken weel how to use that jilting
      quean, Dame Fortune, like a canny douce lad, willing to warm yourself in
      her smiles, without exposing yourself to her frowns. And that is what I
      ca' having luck in a bag."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sir Mungo Malagrowther," said Lord Glenvarloch, turning towards him
      seriously, "have the goodness to hear me for a moment."
    </p>
    <p>
      "As weel as I can, my lord&mdash;as weel as I can," said Sir Mungo,
      shaking his head, and pointing the finger of his left hand to his ear.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will try to speak very distinctly," said Nigel, arming himself with
      patience. "You take me for a noted gamester; I give you my word that you
      have not been rightly informed&mdash;I am none such. You owe me some
      explanation, at least, respecting the source from which you have derived
      such false information."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I never heard ye were a <i>great</i> gamester, and never thought or said
      ye were such, my lord," said Sir Mungo, who found it impossible to avoid
      hearing what Nigel said with peculiarly deliberate and distinct
      pronunciation. "I repeat it&mdash;I never heard, said, or thought that you
      were a ruffling gamester,&mdash;such as they call those of the first head.&mdash;Look
      you, my lord, I call <i>him</i> a gamester, that plays with equal stakes
      and equal skill, and stands by the fortune of the game, good or bad; and I
      call <i>him</i> a ruffling gamester, or ane of the first head, who
      ventures frankly and deeply upon such a wager. But he, my lord, who has
      the patience and prudence never to venture beyond small game, such as, at
      most, might crack the Christmas-box of a grocer's 'prentice, who vies with
      those that have little to hazard, and who therefore, having the larger
      stock, can always rook them by waiting for his good fortune, and by rising
      from the game when luck leaves him&mdash;such a one as he, my lord, I do
      not call a <i>great</i> gamester, to whatever other name he may be
      entitled."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And such a mean-spirited, sordid wretch, you would infer that I am,"
      replied Lord Glenvarloch; "one who fears the skilful, and preys upon the
      ignorant&mdash;who avoids playing with his equals, that he may make sure
      of pillaging his inferiors?&mdash;Is this what I am to understand has been
      reported of me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, my lord, you will gain nought by speaking big with me," said Sir
      Mungo, who, besides that his sarcastic humour was really supported by a
      good fund of animal courage, had also full reliance on the immunities
      which he had derived from the broadsword of Sir Rullion Rattray, and the
      baton of the satellites employed by the Lady Cockpen. "And for the truth
      of the matter," he continued, "your lordship best knows whether you ever
      lost more than five pieces at a time since you frequented Beaujeu's&mdash;whether
      you have not most commonly risen a winner&mdash;and whether the brave
      young gallants who frequent the ordinary&mdash;I mean those of noble rank,
      and means conforming&mdash;are in use to play upon those terms?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My father was right," said Lord Glenvarloch, in the bitterness of his
      spirit; "and his curse justly followed me when I first entered that place.
      There is contamination in the air, and he whose fortune avoids ruin, shall
      be blighted in his honour and reputation."
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir Mungo, who watched his victim with the delighted yet wary eye of an
      experienced angler, became now aware, that if he strained the line on him
      too tightly, there was every risk of his breaking hold. In order to give
      him room, therefore, to play, he protested that Lord Glenvarloch "should
      not take his free speech <i>in malam partem</i>. If you were a trifle ower
      sicker in your amusement, my lord, it canna be denied that it is the
      safest course to prevent farther endangerment of your somewhat dilapidated
      fortunes; and if ye play with your inferiors, ye are relieved of the pain
      of pouching the siller of your friends and equals; forby, that the
      plebeian knaves have had the advantage, <i>tecum certasse</i>, as Ajax
      Telamon sayeth, <i>apud Metamorphoseos</i>; and for the like of them to
      have played with ane Scottish nobleman is an honest and honourable
      consideration to compensate the loss of their stake, whilk, I dare say,
      moreover, maist of the churls can weel afford."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Be that as it may, Sir Mungo," said Nigel, "I would fain know&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, ay," interrupted Sir Mungo; "and, as you say, who cares whether the
      fat bulls of Bashan can spare it or no? gentlemen are not to limit their
      sport for the like of them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I wish to know, Sir Mungo," said Lord Glenvarloch, "in what company you
      have learned these offensive particulars respecting me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Dootless&mdash;dootless, my lord," said Sir Mungo; "I have ever heard,
      and have ever reported, that your lordship kept the best of company in a
      private way.&mdash;There is the fine Countess of Blackchester, but I think
      she stirs not much abroad since her affair with his Grace of Buckingham;
      and there is the gude auld-fashioned Scottish nobleman, Lord Huntinglen,
      an undeniable man of quality&mdash;it is pity but he could keep caup and
      can frae his head, whilk now and then doth'minish his reputation. And
      there is the gay young Lord Dalgarno, that carries the craft of gray hairs
      under his curled love-locks&mdash;a fair race they are, father, daughter,
      and son, all of the same honourable family. I think we needna speak of
      George Heriot, honest man, when we have nobility in question. So that is
      the company I have heard of your keeping, my lord, out-taken those of the
      ordinary."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My company has not, indeed, been much more extended than amongst those
      you mention," said Lord Glenvarloch; "but in short&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "To Court?" said Sir Mungo, "that was just what I was going to say&mdash;Lord
      Dalgarno says he cannot prevail on ye to come to Court, and that does ye
      prejudice, my lord&mdash;the king hears of you by others, when he should
      see you in person&mdash;I speak in serious friendship, my lord. His
      Majesty, when you were named in the circle short while since, was heard to
      say, <i>'Jacta est alea!</i>&mdash;Glenvarlochides is turned dicer and
      drinker.'&mdash;My Lord Dalgarno took your part, and he was e'en borne
      down by the popular voice of the courtiers, who spoke of you as one who
      had betaken yourself to living a town life, and risking your baron's
      coronet amongst the flatcaps of the city."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And this was publicly spoken of me," said Nigel, "and in the king's
      presence?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Spoken openly?" repeated Sir Mungo Malagrowther; "ay, by my troth was it&mdash;that
      is to say, it was whispered privately&mdash;whilk is as open promulgation
      as the thing permitted; for ye may think the Court is not like a place
      where men are as sib as Simmie and his brother, and roar out their minds
      as if they were at an ordinary."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A curse on the Court and the ordinary both!" cried Nigel, impatiently.
    </p>
    <p>
      "With all my heart," said the knight; "I have got little by a knight's
      service in the Court; and the last time I was at the ordinary, I lost four
      angels."
    </p>
    <p>
      "May I pray of you, Sir Mungo, to let me know," said Nigel, "the names of
      those who thus make free with the character of one who can be but little
      known to them, and who never injured any of them?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have I not told you already," answered Sir Mungo, "that the king said
      something to that effect&mdash;so did the Prince too;&mdash;and such being
      the case, ye may take it on your corporal oath, that every man in the
      circle who was not silent, sung the same song as they did."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You said but now," replied Glenvarloch, "that Lord Dalgarno interfered in
      my behalf."
    </p>
    <p>
      "In good troth did he," answered Sir Mungo, with a sneer; "but the young
      nobleman was soon borne down&mdash;by token, he had something of a
      catarrh, and spoke as hoarse as a roopit raven. Poor gentleman, if he had
      had his full extent of voice, he would have been as well listened to,
      dootless, as in a cause of his ain, whilk no man kens better how to plead
      to purpose.&mdash;And let me ask you, by the way," continued Sir Mungo,
      "whether Lord Dalgarno has ever introduced your lordship to the Prince, or
      the Duke of Buckingham, either of whom might soon carry through your
      suit?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have no claim on the favour of either the Prince or the Duke of
      Buckingham," said Lord Glenvarloch.&mdash;"As you seem to have made my
      affairs your study, Sir Mungo, although perhaps something unnecessarily,
      you may have heard that I have petitioned my Sovereign for payment of a
      debt due to my family. I cannot doubt the king's desire to do justice, nor
      can I in decency employ the solicitation of his Highness the Prince, or
      his Grace the Duke of Buckingham, to obtain from his Majesty what either
      should be granted me as a right, or refused altogether."
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir Mungo twisted his whimsical features into one of his most grotesque
      sneers, as he replied&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is a vera clear and parspicuous position of the case, my lord; and in
      relying thereupon, you show an absolute and unimprovable acquaintance with
      the King, Court, and mankind in general.-But whom have we got here?&mdash;Stand
      up, my lord, and make way&mdash;by my word of honour, they are the very
      men we spoke of&mdash;talk of the devil, and&mdash;humph!"
    </p>
    <p>
      It must be here premised, that, during the conversation, Lord Glenvarloch,
      perhaps in the hope of shaking himself free of Sir Mungo, had directed
      their walk towards the more frequented part of the Park; while the good
      knight had stuck to him, being totally indifferent which way they went,
      provided he could keep his talons clutched upon his companion. They were
      still, however, at some distance from the livelier part of the scene, when
      Sir Mungo's experienced eye noticed the appearances which occasioned the
      latter part of his speech to Lord Glenvarloch. A low respectful murmur
      arose among the numerous groups of persons which occupied the lower part
      of the Park. They first clustered together, with their faces turned
      towards Whitehall, then fell back on either hand to give place to a
      splendid party of gallants, who, advancing from the Palace, came onward
      through the Park; all the other company drawing off the pathway, and
      standing uncovered as they passed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Most of these courtly gallants were dressed in the garb which the pencil
      of Vandyke has made familiar even at the distance of nearly two centuries;
      and which was just at this period beginning to supersede the more
      fluttering and frivolous dress which had been adopted from the French
      Court of Henri Quatre.
    </p>
<div class="fig" style="width:65%;">
      <img src="images/0702m.jpg" alt="0702m " width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <h5>
      <a href="images/0702.jpg"><i>Original</i></a>
    </h5>
    <p>
      The whole train were uncovered excepting the Prince of Wales, afterwards
      the most unfortunate of British monarchs, who came onward, having his long
      curled auburn tresses, and his countenance, which, even in early youth,
      bore a shade of anticipated melancholy, shaded by the Spanish hat and the
      single ostrich feather which drooped from it. On his right hand was
      Buckingham, whose commanding, and at the same time graceful, deportment,
      threw almost into shade the personal demeanour and majesty of the Prince
      on whom he attended. The eye, movements, and gestures of the great
      courtier were so composed, so regularly observant of all etiquette
      belonging to his situation, as to form a marked and strong contrast with
      the forward gaiety and frivolity by which he recommended himself to the
      favour of his "dear dad and gossip," King James. A singular fate attended
      this accomplished courtier, in being at once the reigning favourite of a
      father and son so very opposite in manners, that, to ingratiate himself
      with the youthful Prince, he was obliged to compress within the strictest
      limits of respectful observance the frolicsome and free humour which
      captivated his aged father.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is true, Buckingham well knew the different dispositions both of James
      and Charles, and had no difficulty in so conducting himself as to maintain
      the highest post in the favour of both. It has indeed been supposed, as we
      before hinted, that the duke, when he had completely possessed himself of
      the affections of Charles, retained his hold in those of the father only
      by the tyranny of custom; and that James, could he have brought himself to
      form a vigorous resolution, was, in the latter years of his life
      especially, not unlikely to have discarded Buckingham from his counsels
      and favour. But if ever the king indeed meditated such a change, he was
      too timid, and too much accustomed to the influence which the duke had
      long exercised over him, to summon up resolution enough for effecting such
      a purpose; and at all events it is certain, that Buckingham, though
      surviving the master by whom he was raised, had the rare chance to
      experience no wane of the most splendid court-favour during two reigns,
      until it was at once eclipsed in his blood by the dagger of his assassin
      Felton.
    </p>
    <p>
      To return from this digression: The Prince, with his train, advanced, and
      were near the place where Lord Glenvarloch and Sir Mungo had stood aside,
      according to form, in order to give the Prince passage, and to pay the
      usual marks of respect. Nigel could now remark that Lord Dalgarno walked
      close behind the Duke of Buckingham, and, as he thought, whispered
      something in his ear as they came onward. At any rate, both the Prince's
      and Duke of Buckingham's attention seemed to be directed by such
      circumstance towards Nigel, for they turned their heads in that direction
      and looked at him attentively&mdash;the Prince with a countenance, the
      grave, melancholy expression of which was blended with severity; while
      Buckingham's looks evinced some degree of scornful triumph. Lord Dalgarno
      did not seem to observe his friend, perhaps because the sunbeams fell from
      the side of the walk on which Nigel stood, obliging Malcolm to hold up his
      hat to screen his eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      As the Prince passed, Lord Glenvarloch and Sir Mungo bowed, as respect
      required; and the Prince, returning their obeisance with that grave
      ceremony which paid to every rank its due, but not a tittle beyond it,
      signed to Sir Mungo to come forward. Commencing an apology for his
      lameness as he started, which he had just completed as his hobbling gait
      brought him up to the Prince, Sir Mungo lent an attentive, and, as it
      seemed, an intelligent ear, to questions, asked in a tone so low, that the
      knight would certainly have been deaf to them had they been put to him by
      any one under the rank of Prince of Wales. After about a minute's
      conversation, the Prince bestowed on Nigel the embarrassing notice of
      another fixed look, touched his hat slightly to Sir Mungo, and walked on.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is even as I suspected, my lord," said Sir Mungo, with an air which he
      designed to be melancholy and sympathetic, but which, in fact, resembled
      the grin of an ape when he has mouthed a scalding chestnut&mdash;"Ye have
      back-friends, my lord, that is, unfriends&mdash;or, to be plain, enemies&mdash;about
      the person of the Prince."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am sorry to hear it," said Nigel; "but I would I knew what they accuse
      me of."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ye shall hear, my lord," said Sir Mungo, "the Prince's vera words&mdash;'Sir
      Mungo,' said he, 'I rejoice to see you, and am glad your rheumatic
      troubles permit you to come hither for exercise.'&mdash;I bowed, as in
      duty bound&mdash;ye might remark, my lord, that I did so, whilk formed the
      first branch of our conversation.&mdash;His Highness then demanded of me,
      'if he with whom I stood, was the young Lord Glenvarloch.' I answered,
      'that you were such, for his Highness's service;' whilk was the second
      branch.&mdash;Thirdly, his Highness, resuming the argument, said, that
      'truly he had been told so,' (meaning that he had been told you were that
      personage,) 'but that he could not believe, that the heir of that noble
      and decayed house could be leading an idle, scandalous, and precarious
      life, in the eating-houses and taverns of London, while the king's drums
      were beating, and colours flying in Germany in the cause of the Palatine,
      his son-in-law.'&mdash;I could, your lordship is aware, do nothing but
      make an obeisance; and a gracious 'Give ye good-day, Sir Mungo
      Malagrowther,' licensed me to fall back to your lordship. And now, my
      lord, if your business or pleasure calls you to the ordinary, or anywhere
      in the direction of the city&mdash;why, have with you; for, dootless, ye
      will think ye have tarried lang enough in the Park, as they will likely
      turn at the head of the walk, and return this way&mdash;and you have a
      broad hint, I think, not to cross the Prince's presence in a hurry."
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>You</i> may stay or go as you please, Sir Mungo," said Nigel, with an
      expression of calm, but deep resentment; "but, for my own part, my
      resolution is taken. I will quit this public walk for pleasure of no man&mdash;still
      less will I quit it like one unworthy to be seen in places of public
      resort. I trust that the Prince and his retinue will return this way as
      you expect; for I will abide, Sir Mungo, and beard them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Beard them!" exclaimed Sir Mungo, in the extremity of surprise,&mdash;"Beard
      the Prince of Wales&mdash;the heir-apparent of the kingdoms!&mdash;By my
      saul, you shall beard him yourself then."
    </p>
    <p>
      Accordingly, he was about to leave Nigel very hastily, when some unwonted
      touch of good-natured interest in his youth and experience, seemed
      suddenly to soften his habitual cynicism.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The devil is in me for an auld fule!" said Sir Mungo; "but I must needs
      concern mysell&mdash;I that owe so little either to fortune or my
      fellow-creatures, must, I say, needs concern mysell&mdash;with this
      springald, whom I will warrant to be as obstinate as a pig possessed with
      a devil, for it's the cast of his family; and yet I maun e'en fling away
      some sound advice on him.&mdash;My dainty young Lord Glenvarloch,
      understand me distinctly, for this is no bairn's-play. When the Prince
      said sae much to me as I have repeated to you, it was equivalent to a
      command not to appear in his presence; wherefore take an auld man's advice
      that wishes you weel, and maybe a wee thing better than he has reason to
      wish ony body. Jouk, and let the jaw gae by, like a canny bairn&mdash;gang
      hame to your lodgings, keep your foot frae taverns, and your fingers frae
      the dice-box; compound your affairs quietly wi' some ane that has better
      favour than yours about Court, and you will get a round spell of money to
      carry you to Germany, or elsewhere, to push your fortune. It was a
      fortunate soldier that made your family four or five hundred years syne,
      and, if you are brave and fortunate, you may find the way to repair it.
      But, take my word for it, that in this Court you will never thrive."
    </p>
    <p>
      When Sir Mungo had completed his exhortation, in which there was more of
      sincere sympathy with another's situation, than he had been heretofore
      known to express in behalf of any one, Lord Glenvarloch replied, "I am
      obliged to you, Sir Mungo&mdash;you have spoken, I think, with sincerity,
      and I thank you. But in return for your good advice, I heartily entreat
      you to leave me; I observe the Prince and his train are returning down the
      walk, and you may prejudice yourself, but cannot help me, by remaining
      with me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And that is true,"&mdash;said Sir Mungo; "yet, were I ten years younger,
      I would be tempted to stand by you, and gie them the meeting. But at
      threescore and upward, men's courage turns cauldrife; and they that canna
      win a living, must not endanger the small sustenance of their age. I wish
      you weel through, my lord, but it is an unequal fight." So saying, he
      turned and limped away; often looking back, however, as if his natural
      spirit, even in its present subdued state, aided by his love of
      contradiction and of debate, rendered him unwilling to adopt the course
      necessary for his own security.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus abandoned by his companion, whose departure he graced with better
      thoughts of him than those which he bestowed on his appearance, Nigel
      remained with his arms folded, and reclining against a solitary tree which
      overhung the path, making up his mind to encounter a moment which he
      expected to be critical of his fate. But he was mistaken in supposing that
      the Prince of Wales would either address him, or admit him to
      expostulation, in such a public place as the Park. He did not remain
      unnoticed, however, for, when he made a respectful but haughty obeisance,
      intimating in look and manner that he was possessed of, and undaunted by,
      the unfavourable opinion which the Prince had so lately expressed, Charles
      returned his reverence with such a frown, as is only given by those whose
      frown is authority and decision. The train passed on, the Duke of
      Buckingham not even appearing to see Lord Glenvarloch; while Lord
      Dalgarno, though no longer incommoded by the sunbeams, kept his eyes,
      which had perhaps been dazzled by their former splendour, bent upon the
      ground.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Glenvarloch had difficulty to restrain an indignation, to which, in
      the circumstances, it would have been madness to have given vent. He
      started from his reclining posture, and followed the Prince's train so as
      to keep them distinctly in sight; which was very easy, as they walked
      slowly. Nigel observed them keep their road towards the Palace, where the
      Prince turned at the gate and bowed to the noblemen in attendance, in
      token of dismissing them, and entered the Palace, accompanied only by the
      Duke of Buckingham, and one or two of his equerries. The rest of the
      train, having returned in all dutiful humility the farewell of the Prince,
      began to disperse themselves through the Park.
    </p>
    <p>
      All this was carefully noticed by Lord Glenvarloch, who, as he adjusted
      his cloak, and drew his sword-belt round so as to bring the hilt closer to
      his hand, muttered&mdash;"Dalgarno shall explain all this to me, for it is
      evident that he is in the secret!"
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XVI
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  Give way&mdash;give way&mdash;I must and will have justice.
  And tell me not of privilege and place;
  Where I am injured, there I'll sue redress.
  Look to it, every one who bars my access;
  I have a heart to feel the injury,
  A hand to night myself, and, by my honour,
  That hand shall grasp what grey-beard Law denies me.
                                <i>The Chamberlain.</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      It was not long ere Nigel discovered Lord Dalgarno advancing towards him
      in the company of another young man of quality of the Prince's train; and
      as they directed their course towards the south-eastern corner of the
      Park, he concluded they were about to go to Lord Huntinglen's. They
      stopped, however, and turned up another path leading to the north; and
      Lord Glenvarloch conceived that this change of direction was owing to
      their having seen him, and their desire to avoid him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel followed them without hesitation by a path which, winding around a
      thicket of shrubs and trees, once more conducted him to the less
      frequented part of the Park. He observed which side of the thicket was
      taken by Lord Dalgarno and his companion, and he himself, walking hastily
      round the other verge, was thus enabled to meet them face to face.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good-morrow, my Lord Dalgarno," said Lord Glenvarloch, sternly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ha! my friend Nigel," answered Lord Dalgarno, in his usual careless and
      indifferent tone, "my friend Nigel, with business on his brow?&mdash;but
      you must wait till we meet at Beaujeu's at noon&mdash;Sir Ewes Haldimund
      and I are at present engaged in the Prince's service."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If you were engaged in the king's, my lord," said Lord Glenvarloch, "you
      must stand and answer me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hey-day!" said Lord Dalgarno, with an air of great astonishment, "what
      passion is this? Why, Nigel, this is King Cambyses' vein!&mdash;You have
      frequented the theatres too much lately&mdash;Away with this folly, man;
      go, dine upon soup and salad, drink succory-water to cool your blood, go
      to bed at sun-down, and defy those foul fiends, Wrath and
      Misconstruction."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have had misconstruction enough among you," said Glenvarloch, in the
      same tone of determined displeasure, "and from you, my Lord Dalgarno, in
      particular, and all under the mask of friendship."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here is a proper business!"&mdash;said Dalgarno, turning as if to appeal
      to Sir Ewes Haldimund; "do you see this angry ruffler, Sir Ewes? A month
      since, he dared not have looked one of yonder sheep in the face, and now
      he is a prince of roisterers, a plucker of pigeons, a controller of
      players and poets&mdash;and in gratitude for my having shown him the way
      to the eminent character which he holds upon town, he comes hither to
      quarrel with his best friend, if not his only one of decent station."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I renounce such hollow friendship, my lord," said Lord Glenvarloch; "I
      disclaim the character which, even to my very face, you labour to fix upon
      me, and ere we part I will call you to a reckoning for it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My lords both," interrupted Sir Ewes Haldimund, "let me remind you that
      the Royal Park is no place to quarrel in."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will make my quarrel good," said Nigel, who did not know, or in his
      passion might not have recollected, the privileges of the place, "wherever
      I find my enemy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You shall find quarelling enough," replied Lord Dalgarno, calmly, "so
      soon as you assign a sufficient cause for it. Sir Ewes Haldimund, who
      knows the Court, will warrant you that I am not backward on such
      occasions.&mdash;But of what is it that you now complain, after having
      experienced nothing save kindness from me and my family?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of your family I complain not," replied Lord Glenvarloch; "they have done
      for me all they could, more, far more, than I could have expected; but
      you, my lord, have suffered me, while you called me your friend, to be
      traduced, where a word of your mouth would have placed my character in its
      true colours&mdash;and hence the injurious message which I just now
      received from the Prince of Wales. To permit the misrepresentation of a
      friend, my lord, is to share in the slander."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have been misinformed, my Lord Glenvarloch," said Sir Ewes Haldimund;
      "I have myself often heard Lord Dalgarno defend your character, and regret
      that your exclusive attachment to the pleasures of a London life prevented
      your paying your duty regularly to the King and Prince."
    </p>
    <p>
      "While he himself," said Lord Glenvarloch, "dissuaded me from presenting
      myself at Court."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will cut this matter short," said Lord Dalgarno, with haughty coldness.
      "You seem to have conceived, my lord, that you and I were Pylades and
      Orestes&mdash;a second edition of Damon and Pythias&mdash;Theseus and
      Pirithoiis at the least. You are mistaken, and have given the name of
      friendship to what, on my part, was mere good-nature and compassion for a
      raw and ignorant countryman, joined to the cumbersome charge which my
      father gave me respecting you. Your character, my lord, is of no one's
      drawing, but of your own making. I introduced you where, as in all such
      places, there was good and indifferent company to be met with&mdash;your
      habits, or taste, made you prefer the worse. Your holy horror at the sight
      of dice and cards degenerated into the cautious resolution to play only at
      those times, and with such persons, as might ensure your rising a winner&mdash;no
      man can long do so, and continue to be held a gentleman. Such is the
      reputation you have made for yourself, and you have no right to be angry
      that I do not contradict in society what yourself know to be true. Let us
      pass on, my lord; and if you want further explanation, seek some other
      time and fitter place."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No time can be better than the present," said Lord Glenvarloch, whose
      resentment was now excited to the uttermost by the cold-blooded and
      insulting manner, in which Dalgarno vindicated himself,&mdash;"no place
      fitter than the place where we now stand. Those of my house have ever
      avenged insult, at the moment, and on the spot, where it was offered, were
      it at the foot of the throne.&mdash;Lord Dalgarno, you are a villain! draw
      and defend yourself." At the same moment he unsheathed his rapier.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are you mad?" said Lord Dalgarno, stepping back; "we are in the precincts
      of the Court."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The better," answered Lord Glenvarloch; "I will cleanse them from a
      calumniator and a coward." He then pressed on Lord Dalgarno, and struck
      him with the flat of the sword.
    </p>
    <p>
      The fray had now attracted attention, and the cry went round, "Keep the
      peace&mdash;keep the peace&mdash;swords drawn in the Park!&mdash;What, ho!
      guards!&mdash;keepers&mdash;yeomen&mdash;rangers!" and a number of people
      came rushing to the spot from all sides.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Dalgarno, who had half drawn his sword on receiving the blow,
      returned it to his scabbard when he observed the crowd thicken, and,
      taking Sir Ewes Haldimund by the arm, walked hastily away, only saying to
      Lord Glenvarloch as they left him, "You shall dearly abye this insult&mdash;we
      will meet again."
    </p>
    <p>
      A decent-looking elderly man, who observed that Lord Glenvarloch remained
      on the spot, taking compassion on his youthful appearance, said to him,
      "Are you aware that this is a Star-Chamber business, young gentleman, and
      that it may cost you your right hand?&mdash;Shift for yourself before the
      keepers or constables come up&mdash;Get into Whitefriars or somewhere, for
      sanctuary and concealment, till you can make friends or quit the city."
    </p>
    <p>
      The advice was not to be neglected. Lord Glenvarloch made hastily towards
      the issue from the Park by Saint James's Palace, then Saint James's
      Hospital. The hubbub increased behind him; and several peace-officers of
      the Royal Household came up to apprehend the delinquent. Fortunately for
      Nigel, a popular edition of the cause of the affray had gone abroad. It
      was said that one of the Duke of Buckingham's companions had insulted a
      stranger gentleman from the country, and that the stranger had cudgelled
      him soundly. A favourite, or the companion of a favourite, is always
      odious to John Bull, who has, besides, a partiality to those disputants
      who proceed, as lawyers term it, <i>par wye du fait</i>, and both
      prejudices were in Nigel's favour. The officers, therefore, who came to
      apprehend him, could learn from the spectators no particulars of his
      appearance, or information concerning the road he had taken; so that, for
      the moment, he escaped being arrested.
    </p>
    <p>
      What Lord Glenvarloch heard among the crowd as he passed along, was
      sufficient to satisfy him, that in his impatient passion he had placed
      himself in a predicament of considerable danger. He was no stranger to the
      severe and arbitrary proceedings of the Court of Star-Chamber, especially
      in cases of breach of privilege, which made it the terror of all men; and
      it was no farther back than the Queen's time that the punishment of
      mutilation had been actually awarded and executed, for some offence of the
      same kind which he had just committed. He had also the comfortable
      reflection, that, by his violent quarrel with Lord Dalgarno, he must now
      forfeit the friendship and good offices of that nobleman's father and
      sister, almost the only persons of consideration in whom he could claim
      any interest; while all the evil reports which had been put in circulation
      concerning his character, were certain to weigh heavily against him, in a
      case where much must necessarily depend on the reputation of the accused.
      To a youthful imagination, the idea of such a punishment as mutilation
      seems more ghastly than death itself; and every word which he overheard
      among the groups which he met, mingled with, or overtook and passed,
      announced this as the penalty of his offence. He dreaded to increase his
      pace for fear of attracting suspicion, and more than once saw the ranger's
      officers so near him, that his wrist tingled as if already under the blade
      of the dismembering knife. At length he got out of the Park, and had a
      little more leisure to consider what he was next to do.
    </p>
    <p>
      Whitefriars, adjacent to the Temple, then well known by the cant name of
      Alsatia, had at this time, and for nearly a century afterwards, the
      privilege of a sanctuary, unless against the writ of the Lord Chief
      Justice, or of the Lords of the Privy-Council. Indeed, as the place
      abounded with desperadoes of every description,&mdash;bankrupt citizens,
      ruined gamesters, irreclaimable prodigals, desperate duellists, bravoes,
      homicides, and debauched profligates of every description, all leagued
      together to maintain the immunities of their asylum,&mdash;it was both
      difficult and unsafe for the officers of the law to execute warrants
      emanating even from the highest authority, amongst men whose safety was
      inconsistent with warrants or authority of any kind. This Lord Glenvarloch
      well knew; and odious as the place of refuge was, it seemed the only one
      where, for a space at least, he might be concealed and secure from the
      immediate grasp of the law, until he should have leisure to provide better
      for his safety, or to get this unpleasant matter in some shape
      accommodated.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile, as Nigel walked hastily forward towards the place of sanctuary,
      he bitterly blamed himself for suffering Lord Dalgarno to lead him into
      the haunts of dissipation; and no less accused his intemperate heat of
      passion, which now had driven him for refuge into the purlieus of profane
      and avowed vice and debauchery.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Dalgarno spoke but too truly in that," were his bitter reflections; "I
      have made myself an evil reputation by acting on his insidious counsels,
      and neglecting the wholesome admonitions which ought to have claimed
      implicit obedience from me, and which recommended abstinence even from the
      slightest approach of evil. But if I escape from the perilous labyrinth in
      which folly and inexperience, as well as violent passions, have involved
      me, I will find some noble way of redeeming the lustre of a name which was
      never sullied until I bore it."
    </p>
    <p>
      As Lord Glenvarloch formed these prudent resolutions, he entered the
      Temple Walks, whence a gate at that time opened into Whitefriars, by
      which, as by the more private passage, he proposed to betake himself to
      the sanctuary. As he approached the entrance to that den of infamy, from
      which his mind recoiled even while in the act of taking shelter there, his
      pace slackened, while the steep and broken stairs reminded him of the <i>facilis</i>
      descensus Averni, and rendered him doubtful whether it were not better to
      brave the worst which could befall him in the public haunts of honourable
      men, than to evade punishment by secluding himself in those of avowed vice
      and profligacy.
    </p>
    <p>
      As Nigel hesitated, a young gentleman of the Temple advanced towards him,
      whom he had often seen, and sometimes conversed with, at the ordinary,
      where he was a frequent and welcome guest, being a wild young gallant,
      indifferently well provided with money, who spent at the theatres and
      other gay places of public resort, the time which his father supposed he
      was employing in the study of the law. But Reginald Lowestoffe, such was
      the young Templar's name, was of opinion that little law was necessary to
      enable him to spend the revenues of the paternal acres which were to
      devolve upon him at his father's demose, and therefore gave himself no
      trouble to acquire more of that science than might be imbibed along with
      the learned air of the region in which he had his chambers. In other
      respects, he was one of the wits of the place, read Ovid and Martial,
      aimed at quick repartee and pun, (often very far fetched,) danced, fenced,
      played at tennis, and performed sundry tunes on the fiddle and French
      horn, to the great annoyance of old Counsellor Barratter, who lived in the
      chambers immediately below him. Such was Reginald Lowes-toffe, shrewd,
      alert, and well-acquainted with the town through all its recesses, but in
      a sort of disrespectable way. This gallant, now approaching the Lord
      Glenvarloch, saluted him by name and title, and asked if his lordship
      designed for the Chevalier's this day, observing it was near noon, and the
      woodcock would be on the board before they could reach the ordinary.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do not go there to-day," answered Lord Glenvarloch. "Which way, then,
      my lord?" said the young Templar, who was perhaps not undesirous to parade
      a part at least of the street in company with a lord, though but a
      Scottish one.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I&mdash;I&mdash;" said Nigel, desiring to avail himself of this young
      man's local knowledge, yet unwilling and ashamed to acknowledge his
      intention to take refuge in so disreputable a quarter, or to describe the
      situation in which he stood&mdash;"I have some curiosity to see
      Whitefriars."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What! your lordship is for a frolic into Alsatia?" said Lowestoffe-"-Have
      with you, my lord&mdash;you cannot have a better guide to the infernal
      regions than myself. I promise you there are bona-robas to be found there&mdash;good
      wine too, ay, and good fellows to drink it with, though somewhat suffering
      under the frowns of Fortune. But your lordship will pardon me&mdash;you
      are the last of our acquaintance to whom I would have proposed such a
      voyage of discovery."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am obliged to you, Master Lowestoffe, for the good opinion you have
      expressed in the observation," said Lord Glenvarloch; "but my present
      circumstances may render even a residence of a day or two in the sanctuary
      a matter of necessity."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed!" said Lowestoffe, in a tone of great surprise; "I thought your
      lordship had always taken care not to risk any considerable stake&mdash;I
      beg pardon, but if the bones have proved perfidious, I know just so much
      law as that a peer's person is sacred from arrest; and for mere
      impecuniosity, my lord, better shift can be made elsewhere than in
      Whitefriars, where all are devouring each other for very poverty."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My misfortune has no connexion with want of money," said Nigel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, then, I suppose," said Lowestoffe, "you have been tilting, my lord,
      and have pinked your man; in which case, and with a purse reasonably
      furnished, you may lie perdu in Whitefriars for a twelvemonth&mdash;Marry,
      but you must be entered and received as a member of their worshipful
      society, my lord, and a frank burgher of Alsatia&mdash;so far you must
      condescend; there will be neither peace nor safety for you else."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My fault is not in a degree so deadly, Master Lowestoffe," answered Lord
      Glenvarloch, "as you seem to conjecture&mdash;I have stricken a gentleman
      in the Park, that is all."
    </p>
    <p>
      "By my hand, my lord, and you had better have struck your sword through
      him at Barns Elms," said the Templar. "Strike within the verge of the
      Court! You will find that a weighty dependence upon your hands, especially
      if your party be of rank and have favour."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will be plain with you, Master Lowestoffe," said Nigel, "since I have
      gone thus far. The person I struck was Lord Dalgarno, whom you have seen
      at Beaujeu's."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A follower and favourite of the Duke of Buckingham!&mdash;It is a most
      unhappy chance, my lord; but my heart was formed in England, and cannot
      bear to see a young nobleman borne down, as you are like to be. We
      converse here greatly too open for your circumstances. The Templars would
      suffer no bailiff to execute a writ, and no gentleman to be arrested for a
      duel, within their precincts; but in such a matter between Lord Dalgarno
      and your lordship, there might be a party on either side. You must away
      with me instantly to my poor chambers here, hard by, and undergo some
      little change of dress, ere you take sanctuary; for else you will have the
      whole rascal rout of the Friars about you, like crows upon a falcon that
      strays into their rookery. We must have you arrayed something more like
      the natives of Alsatia, or there will be no life there for you."
    </p>
    <p>
      While Lowestoffe spoke, he pulled Lord Glenvarloch along with him into his
      chambers, where he had a handsome library, filled with all the poems and
      play-books which were then in fashion. The Templar then dispatched a boy,
      who waited upon him, to procure a dish or two from the next cook's shop;
      "and this," he said, "must be your lordship's dinner, with a glass of old
      sack, of which my grandmother (the heavens requite her!) sent me a dozen
      bottles, with charge to use the liquor only with clarified whey, when I
      felt my breast ache with over study. Marry, we will drink the good lady's
      health in it, if it is your lordship's pleasure, and you shall see how we
      poor students eke out our mutton-commons in the hall."
    </p>
    <p>
      The outward door of the chambers was barred so soon as the boy had
      re-entered with the food; the boy was ordered to keep close watch, and
      admit no one; and Lowestoffe, by example and precept, pressed his noble
      guest to partake of his hospitality. His frank and forward manners, though
      much differing from the courtly ease of Lord Dalgarno, were calculated to
      make a favourable impression; and Lord Glenvarloch, though his experience
      of Dalgarno's perfidy had taught him to be cautious of reposing faith in
      friendly professions, could not avoid testifying his gratitude to the
      young Templar, who seemed so anxious for his safety and accommodation.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You may spare your gratitude any great sense of obligation, my lord,"
      said the Templar. "No doubt I am willing to be of use to any gentleman
      that has cause to sing <i>Fortune my foe</i>, and particularly proud to
      serve your lordship's turn; but I have also an old grudge, to speak
      Heaven's truth, at your opposite, Lord Dalgarno."
    </p>
    <p>
      "May I ask on what account, Master Lowestoffe?" said Lord Glenvarloch.
    </p>
    <p>
      "O, my lord," replied the Templar, "it was for a hap that chanced after
      you left the ordinary, one evening about three weeks since&mdash;at least
      I think you were not by, as your lordship always left us before deep play
      began&mdash;I mean no offence, but such was your lordship's custom&mdash;when
      there were words between Lord Dalgarno and me concerning a certain game at
      gleek, and a certain mournival of aces held by his lordship, which went
      for eight&mdash;tib, which went for fifteen&mdash;twenty-three in all. Now
      I held king and queen, being three&mdash;a natural towser, making fifteen&mdash;and
      tiddy, nineteen. We vied the ruff, and revied, as your lordship may
      suppose, till the stake was equal to half my yearly exhibition, fifty as
      fair yellow canary birds as e'er chirped in the bottom of a green silk
      purse. Well, my lord, I gained the cards, and lo you! it pleases his
      lordship to say that we played without tiddy; and as the rest stood by and
      backed him, and especially the sharking Frenchman, why, I was obliged to
      lose more than I shall gain all the season.&mdash;So judge if I have not a
      crow to pluck with his lordship. Was it ever heard there was a game at
      gleek at the ordinary before, without counting tiddy?&mdash;marry quep
      upon his lordship!&mdash;Every man who comes there with his purse in his
      hand, is as free to make new laws as he, I hope, since touch pot touch
      penny makes every man equal."
    </p>
    <p>
      As Master Lowestoffe ran over this jargon of the gaming-table, Lord
      Glenvarloch was both ashamed and mortified, and felt a severe pang of
      aristocratic pride, when he concluded in the sweeping clause that the
      dice, like the grave, levelled those distinguishing points of society, to
      which Nigel's early prejudices clung perhaps but too fondly. It was
      impossible, however, to object any thing to the learned reasoning of the
      young Templar, and therefore Nigel was contented to turn the conversation,
      by making some inquiries respecting the present state of White-friars.
      There also his host was at home.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You know, my lord," said Master Lowestoffe, "that we Templars are a power
      and a dominion within ourselves, and I am proud to say that I hold some
      rank in our republic&mdash;was treasurer to the Lord of Misrule last year,
      and am at this present moment in nomination for that dignity myself. In
      such circumstances, we are under the necessity of maintaining an amicable
      intercourse with our neighbours of Alsatia, even as the Christian States
      find themselves often, in mere policy, obliged to make alliance with the
      Grand Turk, or the Barbary States."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I should have imagined you gentlemen of the Temple more independent of
      your neighbours," said Lord Glenvarloch.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You do us something too much honour, my lord," said the Templar; "the
      Alsatians and we have some common enemies, and we have, under the rose,
      some common friends. We are in the use of blocking all bailiffs out of our
      bounds, and we are powerfully aided by our neighbours, who tolerate not a
      rag belonging to them within theirs. Moreover the Alsatians have&mdash;I
      beg you to understand me&mdash;the power of protecting or distressing our
      friends, male or female, who may be obliged to seek sanctuary within their
      bounds. In short, the two communities serve each other, though the league
      is between states of unequal quality, and I may myself say, that I have
      treated of sundry weighty affairs, and have been a negotiator well
      approved on both sides.&mdash;But hark&mdash;hark&mdash;what is that?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The sound by which Master Lowestoffe was interrupted, was that of a
      distant horn, winded loud and keenly, and followed by a faint and remote
      huzza.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There is something doing," said Lowestoffe, "in the Whitefriars at this
      moment. That is the signal when their privileges are invaded by tipstaff
      or bailiff; and at the blast of the horn they all swarm out to the rescue,
      as bees when their hive is disturbed.&mdash;Jump, Jim," he said, calling
      out to the attendant, "and see what they are doing in Alsatia.&mdash;That
      bastard of a boy," he continued, as the lad, accustomed to the precipitate
      haste of his master, tumbled rather than ran out of the apartment, and so
      down stairs, "is worth gold in this quarter&mdash;he serves six masters&mdash;four
      of them in distinct Numbers, and you would think him present like a fairy
      at the mere wish of him that for the time most needs his attendance. No
      scout in Oxford, no gip in Cambridge, ever matched him in speed and
      intelligence. He knows the step of a dun from that of a client, when it
      reaches the very bottom of the staircase; can tell the trip of a pretty
      wench from the step of a bencher, when at the upper end of the court; and
      is, take him all in all&mdash;But I see your lordship is anxious&mdash;May
      I press another cup of my kind grandmother's cordial, or will you allow me
      to show you my wardrobe, and act as your valet or groom of the chamber?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Glenvarloch hesitated not to acknowledge that he was painfully
      sensible of his present situation, and anxious to do what must needs be
      done for his extrication.
    </p>
    <p>
      The good-natured and thoughtless young Templar readily acquiesced, and led
      the way into his little bedroom, where, from bandboxes, portmanteaus,
      mail-trunks, not forgetting an old walnut-tree wardrobe, he began to
      select the articles which he thought best suited effectually to disguise
      his guest in venturing into the lawless and turbulent society of Alsatia.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XVII
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
 Come hither, young one,&mdash;Mark me! Thou art now
 'Mongst men o' the sword, that live by reputation
 More than by constant income&mdash;Single-suited
 They are, I grant you; yet each single suit
 Maintains, on the rough guess, a thousand followers&mdash;
 And they be men, who, hazarding their all,
 Needful apparel, necessary income,
 And human body, and immortal soul,
 Do in the very deed but hazard nothing&mdash; So strictly is that ALL bound in reversion;
 Clothes to the broker, income to the usurer,
 And body to disease, and soul to the foul fiend;
 Who laughs to see Soldadoes and Fooladoes,
 Play better than himself his game on earth.
                                        <i>The Mohocks.</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      "Your lordship," said Reginald Lowestoffe, "must be content to exchange
      your decent and court-beseeming rapier, which I will retain in safe
      keeping, for this broadsword, with an hundredweight of rusty iron about
      the hilt, and to wear these huge-paned slops, instead of your civil and
      moderate hose. We allow no cloak, for your ruffian always walks in <i>cuerpo</i>;
      and the tarnished doublet of bald velvet, with its discoloured embroidery,
      and&mdash;I grieve to speak it&mdash;a few stains from the blood of the
      grape, will best suit the garb of a roaring boy. I will leave you to
      change your suit for an instant, till I can help to truss you."
    </p>
    <p>
      Lowestoffe retired, while slowly, and with hesitation, Nigel obeyed his
      instructions. He felt displeasure and disgust at the scoundrelly disguise
      which he was under the necessity of assuming; but when he considered the
      bloody consequences which law attached to his rash act of violence, the
      easy and indifferent temper of James, the prejudices of his son, the
      overbearing influence of the Duke of Buckingham, which was sure to be
      thrown into the scale against him; and, above all, when he reflected that
      he must now look upon the active, assiduous, and insinuating Lord
      Dalgarno, as a bitter enemy, reason told him he was in a situation of
      peril which authorised all honest means, even the most unseemly in outward
      appearance, to extricate himself from so dangerous a predicament.
    </p>
    <p>
      While he was changing his dress, and musing on these particulars, his
      friendly host re-entered the sleeping apartment&mdash;"Zounds!" he said,
      "my lord, it was well you went not straight into that same Alsatia of ours
      at the time you proposed, for the hawks have stooped upon it. Here is Jem
      come back with tidings, that he saw a pursuivant there with a
      privy-council warrant, and half a score of yeomen assistants, armed to the
      teeth, and the horn which we heard was sounded to call out the posse of
      the Friars. Indeed, when old Duke Hildebrod saw that the quest was after
      some one of whom he knew nothing, he permitted, out of courtesy, the
      man-catcher to search through his dominions, quite certain that they would
      take little by their motions; for Duke Hildebrod is a most judicious
      potentate.&mdash;Go back, you bastard, and bring us word when all is
      quiet."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And who may Duke Hildebrod be?" said Lord Glenvarloch.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nouns! my lord," said the Templar, "have you lived so long on the town,
      and never heard of the valiant, and as wise and politic as valiant, Duke
      Hildebrod, grand protector of the liberties of Alsatia? I thought the man
      had never whirled a die but was familiar with his fame."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yet I have never heard of him, Master Lowestoffe," said Lord Glenvarloch;
      "or, what is the same thing, I have paid no attention to aught that may
      have passed in conversation respecting him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, then," said Lowestoffe&mdash;"but, first, let me have the honour of
      trussing you. Now, observe, I have left several of the points untied, of
      set purpose; and if it please you to let a small portion of your shirt be
      seen betwixt your doublet and the band of your upper stock, it will have
      so much the more rakish effect, and will attract you respect in Alsatia,
      where linen is something scarce. Now, I tie some of the points carefully
      asquint, for your ruffianly gallant never appears too accurately trussed&mdash;so."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Arrange it as you will, sir," said Nigel; "but let me hear at least
      something of the conditions of the unhappy district into which, with other
      wretches, I am compelled to retreat."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, my lord," replied the Templar, "our neighbouring state of Alsatia,
      which the law calls the Sanctuary of White-friars, has had its mutations
      and revolutions like greater kingdoms; and, being in some sort a lawless,
      arbitrary government, it follows, of course, that these have been more
      frequent than our own better regulated commonwealth of the Templars, that
      of Gray's Inn, and other similar associations, have had the fortune to
      witness. Our traditions and records speak of twenty revolutions within the
      last twelve years, in which the aforesaid state has repeatedly changed
      from absolute despotism to republicanism, not forgetting the intermediate
      stages of oligarchy, limited monarchy, and even gynocracy; for I myself
      remember Alsatia governed for nearly nine months by an old fish-woman. 'I
      hen it fell under the dominion of a broken attorney, who was dethroned by
      a reformado captain, who, proving tyrannical, was deposed by a
      hedgeparson, who was succeeded, upon resignation of his power, by Duke
      Jacob Hildebrod, of that name the first, whom Heaven long preserve."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And is this potentate's government," said Lord Glenvarloch, forcing
      himself to take some interest in the conversation, "of a despotic
      character?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pardon me, my lord," said the Templar; "this said sovereign is too wise
      to incur, like many of his predecessors, the odium of wielding so
      important an authority by his own sole will. He has established a council
      of state, who regularly meet for their morning's draught at seven o'clock;
      convene a second time at eleven for their <i>ante-meridiem</i>, or whet;
      and, assembling in solemn conclave at the hour of two afternoon, for the
      purpose of consulting for the good of the commonwealth, are so prodigal of
      their labour in the service of the state, that they seldom separate before
      midnight. Into this worthy senate, composed partly of Duke Hildebrod's
      predecessors in his high office, whom he has associated with him to
      prevent the envy attending sovereign and sole authority, I must presently
      introduce your lordship, that they may admit you to the immunities of the
      Friars, and assign you a place of residence."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Does their authority extend to such regulation?" said Lord Glenvarloch.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The council account it a main point of their privileges, my lord,"
      answered Lowestoffe; "and, in fact, it is one of the most powerful means
      by which they support their authority. For when Duke Ilildebrod and his
      senate find a topping householder in the Friars becomes discontented and
      factious, it is but assigning him, for a lodger, some fat bankrupt, or new
      lesidenter, whose circumstances require refuge, and whose purse can pay
      for it, and the malecontent becomes as tractable as a lamb. As for the
      poorer refugees, they let them shift as they can; but the registration of
      their names in the Duke's entry-book, and the payment of garnish
      conforming to their circumstances, is never dispensed with; and the Friars
      would be a very unsafe residence for the stranger who should dispute these
      points of jurisdiction."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, Master Lowestoffe," said Lord Glenvarloch, "I must be controlled by
      the circumstances which dictate to me this state of concealment&mdash;of
      course, I am desirous not to betray my name and rank."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It will be highly advisable, my lord," said Lowestoffe; "and is a case
      thus provided for in the statutes of the republic, or monarchy, or
      whatsoever you call it.&mdash;He who desires that no questions shall be
      asked him concerning his name, cause of refuge, and the like, may escape
      the usual interrogations upon payment of double the garnish otherwise
      belonging to his condition. Complying with this essential stipulation,
      your lordship may register yourself as King of Bantam if you will, for not
      a question will be asked of you.&mdash;But here comes our scout, with news
      of peace and tranquillity. Now, I will go with your lordship myself, and
      present you to the council of Alsatia, with all the influence which I have
      over them as an office-bearer in the Temple, which is not slight; for they
      have come halting off upon all occasions when we have taken part against
      them, and that they well know. The time is propitious, for as the council
      is now met in Alsatia, so the Temple walks are quiet. Now, my lord, throw
      your cloak about you, to hide your present exterior. You shall give it to
      the boy at the foot of the stairs that go down to the Sanctuary; and as
      the ballad says that Queen Eleanor sunk at Charing Cross and rose at
      Queenhithe, so you shall sink a nobleman in the Temple Gardens, and rise
      an Alsatian at Whitefriars."
    </p>
    <p>
      They went out accordingly, attended by the little scout, traversed the
      gardens, descended the stairs, and at the bottom the young Templar
      exclaimed,&mdash;"And now let us sing, with Ovid,
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     'In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas&mdash;'
</pre>
    <p>
      Off, off, ye lendings!" he continued, in the same vein. "Via, the curtain
      that shadowed Borgia!&mdash;But how now, my lord?" he continued, when he
      observed Lord Glenvarloch was really distressed at the degrading change in
      his situation, "I trust you are not offended at my rattling folly? I would
      but reconcile you to your present circumstances, and give you the tone of
      this strange place. Come, cheer up; I trust it will only be your residence
      for a very few days."
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel was only able to press his hand, and reply in a whisper, "I am
      sensible of your kindness. I know I must drink the cup which my own folly
      has filled for me. Pardon me, that, at the first taste, I feel its
      bitterness."
    </p>
    <p>
      Reginald Lowestoffe was bustlingly officious and good-natured; but, used
      to live a scrambling, rakish course of life himself, he had not the least
      idea of the extent of Lord Glenvarloch's mental sufferings, and thought of
      his temporary concealment as if it were merely the trick of a wanton boy,
      who plays at hide-and-seek with his tutor. With the appearance of the
      place, too, he was familiar&mdash;but on his companion it produced a deep
      sensation.
    </p>
    <p>
      The ancient Sanctuary at Whitefriars lay considerably lower than the
      elevated terraces and gardens of the Temple, and was therefore generally
      involved in the damps and fogs arising from the Thames. The brick
      buildings by which it was occupied, crowded closely on each other, for, in
      a place so rarely privileged, every foot of ground was valuable; but,
      erected in many cases by persons whose funds were inadequate to their
      speculations, the houses were generally insufficient, and exhibited the
      lamentable signs of having become ruinous while they were yet new. The
      wailing of children, the scolding of their mothers, the miserable
      exhibition of ragged linens hung from the windows to dry, spoke the wants
      and distresses of the wretched inhabitants; while the sounds of complaint
      were mocked and overwhelmed in the riotous shouts, oaths, profane songs,
      and boisterous laughter, that issued from the alehouses and taverns,
      which, as the signs indicated, were equal in number to all the other
      houses; and, that the full character of the place might be evident,
      several faded, tinselled and painted females, looked boldly at the
      strangers from their open lattices, or more modestly seemed busied with
      the cracked flower-pots, filled with mignonette and rosemary, which were
      disposed in front of the windows, to the great risk of the passengers.
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Semi-reducta Venus</i>," said the Templar, pointing to one of these
      nymphs, who seemed afraid of observation, and partly concealed herself
      behind the casement, as she chirped to a miserable blackbird, the tenant
      of a wicker prison, which hung outside on the black brick wall.&mdash;"I
      know the face of yonder waistcoateer," continued the guide; "and I could
      wager a rose-noble, from the posture she stands in, that she has clean
      head-gear and a soiled night-rail.&mdash;But here come two of the male
      inhabitants, smoking like moving volcanoes! These are roaring blades, whom
      Nicotia and Trinidado serve, I dare swear, in lieu of beef and pudding;
      for be it known to you, my lord, that the king's counter-blast against the
      Indian weed will no more pass current in Alsatia than will his writ of <i>capias</i>."
    </p>
    <p>
      As he spoke, the two smokers approached; shaggy, uncombed ruffians, whose
      enormous mustaches were turned back over their ears, and mingled with the
      wild elf-locks of their hair, much of which was seen under the old beavers
      which they wore aside upon their heads, while some straggling portion
      escaped through the rents of the hats aforesaid. Their tarnished plush
      jerkins, large slops, or trunk-breeches, their broad greasy
      shoulder-belts, and discoloured scarfs, and, above all, the ostentatious
      manner in which the one wore a broad-sword and the other an extravagantly
      long rapier and poniard, marked the true Alsatian bully, then, and for a
      hundred years afterwards, a well-known character.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tour out," said the one ruffian to the other; "tour the bien mort twiring
      at the gentry cove!" [Footnote: Look sharp. See how the girl is coquetting
      with the strange gallants!]
    </p>
    <p>
      "I smell a spy," replied the other, looking at Nigel. "Chalk him across
      the peepers with your cheery." [Footnote: Slash him over the eyes with
      your dagger.]
    </p>
    <p>
      "Bing avast, bing avast!" replied his companion; "yon other is rattling
      Reginald Lowestoffe of the Temple&mdash;I know him; he is a good boy, and
      free of the province."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, and enveloping themselves in another thick cloud of smoke, they
      went on without farther greeting.
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Grasso in aere</i>!" said the Templar. "You hear what a character the
      impudent knave gives me; but, so it serves your lordship's turn, I care
      not.&mdash;And, now, let me ask your lordship what name you will assume,
      for we are near the ducal palace of Duke Hildebrod."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will be called Grahame," said Nigel; "it was my mother's name."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Grime," repeated the Templar, "will suit Alsatia well enough&mdash;both a
      grim and grimy place of refuge."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I said Grahame, sir, not Grime," said Nigel, something shortly, and
      laying an emphasis on the vowel&mdash;for few Scotsmen understand raillery
      upon the subject of their names.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I beg pardon, my lord," answered the undisconcerted punster; "but <i>Graam</i>
      will suit the circumstance, too&mdash;it signifies tribulation in the High
      Dutch, and your lordship must be considered as a man under trouble."
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel laughed at the pertinacity of the Templar; who, proceeding to point
      out a sign representing, or believed to represent, a dog attacking a bull,
      and running at his head, in the true scientific style of onset,&mdash;"There,"
      said he, "doth faithful Duke Hildebrod deal forth laws, as well as ale and
      strong waters, to his faithful Alsatians. Being a determined champion of
      Paris Garden, he has chosen a sign corresponding to his habits; and he
      deals in giving drink to the thirsty, that he himself may drink without
      paying, and receive pay for what is drunken by others.&mdash;Let us enter
      the ever-open gate of this second Axylus."
    </p>
    <p>
      As they spoke, they entered the dilapidated tavern, which was,
      nevertheless, more ample in dimensions, and less ruinous, than many houses
      in the same evil neighbourhood. Two or three haggard, ragged drawers, ran
      to and fro, whose looks, like those of owls, seemed only adapted for
      midnight, when other creatures sleep, and who by day seemed bleared,
      stupid, and only half awake. Guided by one of these blinking Ganymedes,
      they entered a room, where the feeble rays of the sun were almost wholly
      eclipsed by volumes of tobacco-smoke, rolled from the tubes of the
      company, while out of the cloudy sanctuary arose the old chant of&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
      "Old Sir Simon the King,
       And old Sir Simon the King,
       With his malmsey nose,
       And his ale-dropped hose,
       And sing hey ding-a-ding-ding."
</pre>
    <p>
      Duke Hildebrod, who himself condescended to chant this ditty to his loving
      subjects, was a monstrously fat old man, with only one eye; and a nose
      which bore evidence to the frequency, strength, and depth of his
      potations. He wore a murrey-coloured plush jerkin, stained with the
      overflowings of the tankard, and much the worse for wear, and unbuttoned
      at bottom for the ease of his enormous paunch. Behind him lay a favourite
      bull-dog, whose round head and single black glancing eye, as well as the
      creature's great corpulence, gave it a burlesque resemblance to its
      master.
    </p>
    <p>
      The well-beloved counsellors who surrounded the ducal throne, incensed it
      with tobacco, pledged its occupier in thick clammy ale, and echoed back
      his choral songs, were Satraps worthy of such a Soldan. The buff jerkin,
      broad belt, and long sword of one, showed him to be a Low Country soldier,
      whose look of scowling importance, and drunken impudence, were designed to
      sustain his title to call himself a Roving Blade. It seemed to Nigel that
      he had seen this fellow somewhere or other. A hedge-parson, or
      buckle-beggar, as that order of priesthood has been irreverently termed,
      sat on the Duke's left, and was easily distinguished by his torn band,
      flapped hat, and the remnants of a rusty cassock. Beside the parson sat a
      most wretched and meagre-looking old man, with a threadbare hood of coarse
      kersey upon his head, and buttoned about his neck, while his pinched
      features, like those of old Daniel, were illuminated by
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                            &mdash;"an eye,
  Through the last look of dotage still cunning and sly."
</pre>
    <p>
      On his left was placed a broken attorney, who, for some malpractices, had
      been struck from the roll of practitioners, and who had nothing left of
      his profession, except its roguery. One or two persons of less figure,
      amongst whom there was one face, which, like that of the soldier, seemed
      not unknown to Nigel, though he could not recollect where he had seen it,
      completed the council-board of Jacob Duke Hildebrod.
    </p>
    <p>
      The strangers had full time to observe all this; for his grace the Duke,
      whether irresistibly carried on by the full tide of harmony, or whether to
      impress the strangers with a proper idea of his consequence, chose to sing
      his ditty to an end before addressing them, though, during the whole time,
      he closely scrutinized them with his single optic.
    </p>
    <p>
      When Duke Hildebrod had ended his song, he informed his Peers that a
      worthy officer of the Temple attended them, and commanded the captain and
      parson to abandon their easy chairs in behalf of the two strangers, whom
      he placed on his right and left hand. The worthy representative of the
      army and the church of Alsatia went to place themselves on a crazy form at
      the bottom of the table, which, ill calculated to sustain men of such
      weight, gave way under them, and the man of the sword and man of the gown
      were rolled over each other on the floor, amidst the exulting shouts of
      the company. They arose in wrath, contending which should vent his
      displeasure in the loudest and deepest oaths, a strife in which the
      parson's superior acquaintance with theology enabled him greatly to excel
      the captain, and were at length with difficulty tranquillised by the
      arrival of the alarmed waiters with more stable chairs, and by a long
      draught of the cooling tankard. When this commotion was appeased, and the
      strangers courteously accommodated with flagons, after the fashion of the
      others present, the Duke drank prosperity to the Temple in the most
      gracious manner, together with a cup of welcome to Master Reginald
      Lowestoffe; and, this courtesy having been thankfully accepted, the party
      honoured prayed permission to call for a gallon of Rhenish, over which he
      proposed to open his business.
    </p>
    <p>
      The mention of a liquor so superior to their usual potations had an
      instant and most favourable effect upon the little senate; and its
      immediate appearance might be said to secure a favourable reception of
      Master Lowestoffe's proposition, which, after a round or two had
      circulated, he explained to be the admission of his friend Master Nigel
      Grahame to the benefit of the sanctuary and other immunities of Alsatia,
      in the character of a grand compounder; for so were those termed who paid
      a double fee at their matriculation, in order to avoid laying before the
      senate the peculiar circumstances which compelled them to take refuge
      there.
    </p>
    <p>
      The worthy Duke heard the proposition with glee, which glittered in his
      single eye; and no wonder, as it was a rare occurrence, and of peculiar
      advantage to his private revenue. Accordingly, he commanded his ducal
      register to be brought him, a huge book, secured with brass clasps like a
      merchant's ledger, and whose leaves, stained with wine, and slabbered with
      tobacco juice, bore the names probably of as many rogues as are to be
      found in the Calendar of Newgate.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel was then directed to lay down two nobles as his ransom, and to claim
      privilege by reciting the following doggerel verses, which were dictated
      to him by the Duke:&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
        "Your suppliant, by name
         Nigel Grahame,
         In fear of mishap
         From a shoulder-tap;
         And dreading a claw
         From the talons of law,
          That are sharper than briers:
         His freedom to sue,
         And rescue by you&mdash;
         Thorugh weapon and wit,
         From warrant and writ,
         From bailiff's hand,
         From tipstaff's wand,
          Is come hither to Whitefriars."
</pre>
    <p>
      As Duke Hildebrod with a tremulous hand began to make the entry, and had
      already, with superfluous generosity, spelled Nigel with two g's instead
      of one, he was interrupted by the parson. [Footnote: This curious register
      is still in existence, being in possession of that eminent antiquary, Dr.
      Dryasdust, who liberally offered the author permission to have the
      autograph of Duke Hildebrod engraved as an illustration of this passage.
      Unhappily, being rigorous as Ritson himself in adhering to the very letter
      of his copy, the worthy Doctor clogged his munificence with the condition
      that we should adopt the Duke's orthography, and entitle the work "The
      Fortunes of Niggle," with which stipulation we did not think it necessary
      to comply.] This reverend gentleman had been whispering for a minute or
      two, not with the captain, but with that other individual, who dwelt
      imperfectly, as we have already mentioned, in Nigel's memory, and being,
      perhaps, still something malecontent on account of the late accident, he
      now requested to be heard before the registration took place.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The person," he said, "who hath now had the assurance to propose himself
      as a candidate for the privileges and immunities of this honourable
      society, is, in plain terms, a beggarly Scot, and we have enough of these
      locusts in London already&mdash;if we admit such palmer-worms and
      caterpillars to the Sanctuary, we shall soon have the whole nation."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We are not entitled to inquire," said Duke Hildebrod, "whether he be
      Scot, or French, or English; seeing he has honourably laid down his
      garnish, he is entitled to our protection."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Word of denial, most Sovereign Duke," replied the parson, "I ask him no
      questions&mdash;his speech betrayeth him&mdash;he is a Galilean&mdash;and
      his garnish is forfeited for his assurance in coming within this our
      realm; and I call on you, Sir Duke, to put the laws in force against him!"
    </p>
    <p>
      The Templar here rose, and was about to interrupt the deliberations of the
      court, when the Duke gravely assured him that he should be heard in behalf
      of his friend, so soon as the council had finished their deliberations.
    </p>
    <p>
      The attorney next rose, and, intimating that he was to speak to the point
      of law, said&mdash;"It was easy to be seen that this gentleman did not
      come here in any civil case, and that he believed it to be the story they
      had already heard of concerning a blow given within the verge of the Park&mdash;that
      the Sanctuary would not bear out the offender in such case&mdash;and that
      the queer old Chief would send down a broom which would sweep the streets
      of Alsatia from the Strand to the Stairs; and it was even policy to think
      what evil might come to their republic, by sheltering an alien in such
      circumstances."
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain, who had sat impatiently while these opinions were expressed,
      now sprung on his feet with the vehemence of a cork bouncing from a bottle
      of brisk beer, and, turning up his mustaches with a martial air, cast a
      glance of contempt on the lawyer and churchman, while he thus expressed
      his opinion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Most noble Duke Hildebrod! When I hear such base, skeldering, coistril
      propositions come from the counsellors of your grace, and when I remember
      the Huffs, the Muns, and the Tityretu's by whom your grace's ancestors and
      predecessors were advised on such occasions, I begin to think the spirit
      of action is as dead in Alsatia as in my old grannam; and yet who thinks
      so thinks a lie, since I will find as many roaring boys in the Friars as
      shall keep the liberties against all the scavengers of Westminster. And,
      if we should be overborne for a turn, death and darkness! have we not time
      to send the gentleman off by water, either to Paris Garden or to the
      bankside? and, if he is a gallant of true breed, will he not make us full
      amends for all the trouble we have? Let other societies exist by the law,
      I say that we brisk boys of the Fleet live in spite of it; and thrive best
      when we are in right opposition to sign and seal, writ and warrant,
      sergeant and tipstaff, catchpoll, and bum-bailey."
    </p>
    <p>
      This speech was followed by a murmur of approbation, and Lowestoffe,
      striking in before the favourable sound had subsided, reminded the Duke
      and his council how much the security of their state depended upon the
      amity of the Templars, who, by closing their gates, could at pleasure shut
      against the Alsatians the communication betwixt the Friars and the Temple,
      and that as they conducted themselves on this occasion, so would they
      secure or lose the benefit of his interest with his own body, which they
      knew not to be inconsiderable. "And, in respect of my friend being a
      Scotsman and alien, as has been observed by the reverend divine and
      learned lawyer, you are to consider," said Lowestoffe, "for what he is
      pursued hither&mdash;why, for giving the bastinado, not to an Englishman,
      but to one of his own countrymen. And for my own simple part," he
      continued, touching Lord Glenvarloch at the same time, to make him
      understand he spoke but in jest, "if all the Scots in London were to fight
      a Welsh main, and kill each other to a man, the survivor would, in my
      humble opinion, be entitled to our gratitude, as having done a most
      acceptable service to poor Old England."
    </p>
    <p>
      A shout of laughter and applause followed this ingenious apology for the
      client's state of alienage; and the Templar followed up his plea with the
      following pithy proposition:&mdash;"I know well," said he, "it is the
      custom of the fathers of this old and honourable republic, ripely and well
      to consider all their proceedings over a proper allowance of liquor; and
      far be it from me to propose the breach of so laudable a custom, or to
      pretend that such an affair as the present can be well and
      constitutionally considered during the discussion of a pitiful gallon of
      Rhenish. But, as it is the same thing to this honourable conclave whether
      they drink first and determine afterwards, or whether they determine first
      and drink afterwards, I propose your grace, with the advice of your wise
      and potent senators, shall pass your edict, granting to mine honourable
      friend the immunities of the place, and assigning him a lodging, according
      to your wise forms, to which he will presently retire, being somewhat
      spent with this day's action; whereupon I will presently order you a
      rundlet of Rhenish, with a corresponding quantity of neats' tongues and
      pickled herrings, to make you all as glorious as George-a-Green."
    </p>
    <p>
      This overture was received with a general shout of applause, which
      altogether drowned the voice of the dissidents, if any there were amongst
      the Alsatian senate who could have resisted a proposal so popular. The
      words of, kind heart! noble gentleman! generous gallant! flew from mouth
      to mouth; the inscription of the petitioner's name in the great book was
      hastily completed, and the oath administered to him by the worthy Doge.
      Like the Laws of the Twelve Tables, of the ancient Cambro-Britons, and
      other primitive nations, it was couched in poetry, and ran as follows:&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
 "By spigot and barrel,
  By bilboe and buff;
  Thou art sworn to the quarrel
  Of the blades of the huff.
  For Whitefriars and its claims
  To be champion or martyr,
  And to fight for its dames
  Like a Knight of the Garter."
</pre>
    <p>
      Nigel felt, and indeed exhibited, some disgust at this mummery; but, the
      Templar reminding him that he was too far advanced to draw back, he
      repeated the words, or rather assented as they were repeated by Duke
      Hildebrod, who concluded the ceremony by allowing him the privilege of
      sanctuary, in the following form of prescriptive doggerel:&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
 "From the touch of the tip,
  From the blight of the warrant,
  From the watchmen who skip
  On the Harman Beck's errand;
  From the bailiffs cramp speech,
  That makes man a thrall,
  I charm thee from each,
  And I charm thee from all.
  Thy freedom's complete
  As a Blade of the Huff,
  To be cheated and cheat,
  To be cuff'd and to cuff;
  To stride, swear, and swagger,
  To drink till you stagger,
  To stare and to stab,
  And to brandish your dagger
  In the cause of your drab;
  To walk wool-ward in winter,
  Drink brandy, and smoke,
  And go <i>fresco</i> in summer
  For want of a cloak;
  To eke out your living
  By the wag of your elbow,
  By fulham and gourd,
  And by baring of bilboe;
  To live by your shifts,
  And to swear by your honour,
  Are the freedom and gifts
  Of which I am the donor."[Footnote: Of the cant words used in this
inauguratory oration, some are obvious in their meaning, others, as
Harman Beck (constable), and the like, derive their source from that
ancient piece of lexicography, the Slang Dictionary]
</pre>
    <p>
      This homily being performed, a dispute arose concerning the special
      residence to be assigned the new brother of the Sanctuary; for, as the
      Alsatians held it a maxim in their commonwealth, that ass's milk fattens,
      there was usually a competition among the inhabitants which should have
      the managing, as it was termed, of a new member of the society.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Hector who had spoken so warmly and critically in Nigel's behalf,
      stood out now chivalrously in behalf of a certain Blowselinda, or
      Bonstrops, who had, it seems, a room to hire, once the occasional
      residence of Slicing Dick of Paddington, who lately suffered at Tyburn,
      and whose untimely exit had been hitherto mourned by the damsel in
      solitary widowhood, after the fashion of the turtle-dove.
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain's interest was, however, overruled, in behalf of the old
      gentleman in the kersey hood, who was believed, even at his extreme age,
      to understand the plucking of a pigeon, as well, or better, than any man
      in Alsatia.
    </p>
    <p>
      This venerable personage was an usurer of notoriety, called Trapbois, and
      had very lately done the state considerable service in advancing a subsidy
      necessary to secure a fresh importation of liquors to the Duke's cellars,
      the wine-merchant at the Vintry being scrupulous to deal with so great a
      man for any thing but ready money.
    </p>
    <p>
      When, therefore, the old gentleman arose, and with much coughing, reminded
      the Duke that he had a poor apartment to let, the claims of all others
      were set aside, and Nigel was assigned to Trapbois as his guest.
    </p>
    <p>
      No sooner was this arrangement made, than Lord Glenvarloch expressed to
      Lowestoffe his impatience to leave this discreditable assembly, and took
      his leave with a careless haste, which, but for the rundlet of Rhenish
      wine that entered just as he left the apartment, might have been taken in
      bad part. The young Templar accompanied his friend to the house of the old
      usurer, with the road to which he and some other youngsters about the
      Temple were even but too well acquainted. On the way, he assured Lord
      Glenvarloch that he was going to the only clean house in Whitefriars; a
      property which it owed solely to the exertions of the old man's only
      daughter, an elderly damsel, ugly enough to frighten sin, yet likely to be
      wealthy enough to tempt a puritan, so soon as the devil had got her old
      dad for his due. As Lowestoffe spoke thus, they knocked at the door of the
      house, and the sour stern countenance of the female by whom it was opened,
      fully confirmed all that the Templar had said of the hostess. She heard
      with an ungracious and discontented air the young Templar's information,
      that the gentleman, his companion, was to be her father's lodger, muttered
      something about the trouble it was likely to occasion, but ended by
      showing the stranger's apartment, which was better than could have been
      augured from the general appearance of the place, and much larger in
      extent than that which he occupied at Paul's Wharf, though inferior to it
      in neatness.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lowestoffe, having thus seen his friend fairly installed in his new
      apartment, and having obtained for him a note of the rate at which he
      could be accommodated with victuals from a neighbouring cook's shop, now
      took his leave, offering, at the same time, to send the whole, or any part
      of Lord Glenvarloch's baggage, from his former place of residence to his
      new lodging. Nigel mentioned so few articles, that the Templar could not
      help observing, that his lordship, it would seem, did not intend to enjoy
      his new privileges long.
    </p>
    <p>
      "They are too little suited to my habits and taste, that I should do so,"
      replied Lord Glenvarloch.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You may change your opinion to-morrow," said Lowestoffe; "and so I wish
      you a good even. To-morrow I will visit you betimes."
    </p>
    <p>
      The morning came, but instead of the Templar, it brought only a letter
      from him. The epistle stated, that Lowestoffe's visit to Alsatia had drawn
      down the animadversions of some crabbed old pantaloons among the benchers,
      and that he judged it wise not to come hither at present, for fear of
      attracting too much attention to Lord Glenvarloch's place of residence. He
      stated, that he had taken measures for the safety of his baggage, and
      would send him, by a safe hand, his money-casket, and what articles he
      wanted. Then followed some sage advices, dictated by Lowestoffe's
      acquaintance with Alsatia and its manners. He advised him to keep the
      usurer in the most absolute uncertainty concerning the state of his
      funds-never to throw a main with the captain, who was in the habit of
      playing dry-fisted, and paying his losses with three vowels; and, finally,
      to beware of Duke Hildebrod, who was as sharp, he said, as a needle,
      though he had no more eyes than are possessed by that necessary implement
      of female industry.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XVIII
    </h2>
    <p>
      <i>Mother.</i> What I dazzled by a flash from Cupid's mirror, With which
      the boy, as mortal urchins wont, Flings back the sunbeam in the eye of
      passengers&mdash;Then laughs to see them stumble!
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Daughter.</i> Mother! no&mdash;It was a lightning-flash which dazzled
      me, And never shall these eyes see true again. <i>Beef and Pudding.-An Old
      English Comedy.</i>
    </p>
    <p>
      It is necessary that we should leave our hero Nigel for a time, although
      in a situation neither safe, comfortable, nor creditable, in order to
      detail some particulars which have immediate connexion with his fortunes.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was but the third day after he had been forced to take refuge in the
      house of old Trapbois, the noted usurer of Whitefriars, commonly called
      Golden Trapbois, when the pretty daughter of old Ramsay, the watchmaker,
      after having piously seen her father finish his breakfast, (from the fear
      that he might, in an abstruse fit of thought, swallow the salt-cellar
      instead of a crust of the brown loaf,) set forth from the house as soon as
      he was again plunged into the depth of calculation, and, accompanied only
      by that faithful old drudge, Janet, the Scots laundress, to whom her whims
      were laws, made her way to Lombard Street, and disturbed, at the unusual
      hour of eight in the morning, Aunt Judith, the sister of her worthy
      godfather.
    </p>
    <p>
      The venerable maiden received her young visitor with no great complacency;
      for, naturally enough, she had neither the same admiration of her very
      pretty countenance, nor allowance for her foolish and girlish impatience
      of temper, which Master George Heriot entertained. Still Mistress Margaret
      was a favourite of her brother's, whose will was to Aunt Judith a supreme
      law; and she contented herself with asking her untimely visitor, "what she
      made so early with her pale, chitty face, in the streets of London?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I would speak with the Lady Hermione," answered the almost breathless
      girl, while the blood ran so fast to her face as totally to remove the
      objection of paleness which Aunt Judith had made to her complexion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "With the Lady Hermione?" said Aunt Judith&mdash;"with the Lady Hermione?
      and at this time in the morning, when she will scarce see any of the
      family, even at seasonable hours? You are crazy, you silly wench, or you
      abuse the indulgence which my brother and the lady have shown to you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed, indeed I have not," repeated Margaret, struggling to retain the
      unbidden tear which seemed ready to burst out on the slightest occasion.
      "Do but say to the lady that your brother's god-daughter desires earnestly
      to speak to her, and I know she will not refuse to see me."
    </p>
    <p>
      Aunt Judith bent an earnest, suspicious, and inquisitive glance on her
      young visitor, "You might make me your secretary, my lassie," she said,
      "as well as the Lady Hermione. I am older, and better skilled to advise. I
      live more in the world than one who shuts herself up within four rooms,
      and I have the better means to assist you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "O! no&mdash;no&mdash;no," said Margaret, eagerly, and with more earnest
      sincerity than complaisance; "there are some things to which you cannot
      advise me, Aunt Judith. It is a case&mdash;pardon me, my dear aunt&mdash;a
      case beyond your counsel."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am glad on't, maiden," said Aunt Judith, somewhat angrily; "for I think
      the follies of the young people of this generation would drive mad an old
      brain like mine. Here you come on the viretot, through the whole streets
      of London, to talk some nonsense to a lady, who scarce sees God's sun, but
      when he shines on a brick wall. But I will tell her you are here."
    </p>
    <p>
      She went away, and shortly returned with a dry&mdash;"Miss Marget, the
      lady will be glad to see you; and that's more, my young madam, than you
      had a right to count upon."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mistress Margaret hung her head in silence, too much perplexed by the
      train of her own embarrassed thoughts, for attempting either to conciliate
      Aunt Judith's kindness, or, which on other occasions would have been as
      congenial to her own humour, to retaliate on her cross-tempered remarks
      and manner. She followed Aunt Judith, therefore, in silence and dejection,
      to the strong oaken door which divided the Lady Hermione's apartments from
      the rest of George Heriot's spacious house.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the door of this sanctuary it is necessary to pause, in order to
      correct the reports with which Richie Moniplies had filled his master's
      ear, respecting the singular appearance of that lady's attendance at
      prayers, whom we now own to be by name the Lady Hermione. Some part of
      these exaggerations had been communicated to the worthy Scotsman by Jenkin
      Vincent, who was well experienced in the species of wit which has been
      long a favourite in the city, under the names of cross-biting, giving the
      dor, bamboozling, cramming, hoaxing, humbugging, and quizzing; for which
      sport Richie Moniplies, with his solemn gravity, totally unapprehensive of
      a joke, and his natural propensity to the marvellous, formed an admirable
      subject. Farther ornaments the tale had received from Richie himself,
      whose tongue, especially when oiled with good liquor, had a considerable
      tendency to amplification, and who failed not, while he retailed to his
      master all the wonderful circumstances narrated by Vincent, to add to them
      many conjectures of his own, which his imagination had over-hastily
      converted into facts.
    </p>
    <p>
      Yet the life which the Lady Hermione had led for two years, during which
      she had been the inmate of George Heriot's house, was so singular, as
      almost to sanction many of the wild reports which went abroad. The house
      which the worthy goldsmith inhabited, had in former times belonged to a
      powerful and wealthy baronial family, which, during the reign of Henry
      VIII., terminated in a dowager lady, very wealthy, very devout, and most
      unalienably attached to the Catholic faith. The chosen friend of the
      Honourable Lady Foljambe was the Abbess of Saint Roque's Nunnery, like
      herself a conscientious, rigid, and devoted Papist. When the house of
      Saint Roque was despotically dissolved by the fiat of the impetuous
      monarch, the Lady Foljambe received her friend into her spacious mansion,
      together with two vestal sisters, who, like their Abbess, were determined
      to follow the tenor of their vows, instead of embracing the profane
      liberty which the Monarch's will had thrown in their choice. For their
      residence, the Lady Foljambe contrived, with all secrecy&mdash;for Henry
      might not have relished her interference&mdash;to set apart a suite of
      four rooms, with a little closet fitted up as an oratory, or chapel; the
      whole apartments fenced by a stout oaken door to exclude strangers, and
      accommodated with a turning wheel to receive necessaries, according to the
      practice of all nunneries. In this retreat, the Abbess of Saint Roque and
      her attendants passed many years, communicating only with the Lady
      Foljambe, who, in virtue of their prayers, and of the support she afforded
      them, accounted herself little less than a saint on earth. The Abbess,
      fortunately for herself, died before her munificent patroness, who lived
      deep in Queen Elizabeth's time, ere she was summoned by fate.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Lady Foljambe was succeeded in this mansion by a sour fanatic knight,
      a distant and collateral relation, who claimed the same merit for
      expelling the priestess of Baal, which his predecessor had founded on
      maintaining the votaresses of Heaven. Of the two unhappy nuns, driven from
      their ancient refuge, one went beyond sea; the other, unable from old age
      to undertake such a journey, died under the roof of a faithful Catholic
      widow of low degree. Sir Paul Crambagge, having got rid of the nuns,
      spoiled the chapel of its ornaments, and had thoughts of altogether
      destroying the apartments, until checked by the reflection that the
      operation would be an unnecessary expense, since he only inhabited three
      rooms of the large mansion, and had not therefore the slightest occasion
      for any addition to its accommodations. His son proved a waster and a
      prodigal, and from him the house was bought by our friend George Heriot,
      who, finding, like Sir Paul, the house more than sufficiently ample for
      his accommodation, left the Foljambe apartments, or Saint Roque's rooms,
      as they were called, in the state in which he found them.
    </p>
    <p>
      About two years and a half before our history opened, when Heriot was
      absent upon an expedition to the Continent, he sent special orders to his
      sister and his cash-keeper, directing that the Foljambe apartments should
      be fitted up handsomely, though plainly, for the reception of a lady, who
      would make them her residence for some time; and who would live more or
      less with his own family according to her pleasure. He also directed, that
      the necessary repairs should be made with secrecy, and that as little
      should be said as possible upon the subject of his letter.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the time of his return came nigh, Aunt Judith and the household were
      on the tenter-hooks of impatience. Master George came, as he had
      intimated, accompanied by a lady, so eminently beautiful, that, had it not
      been for her extreme and uniform paleness, she might have been reckoned
      one of the loveliest creatures on earth. She had with her an attendant, or
      humble companion, whose business seemed only to wait upon her. This
      person, a reserved woman, and by her dialect a foreigner, aged about
      fifty, was called by the lady Monna Paula, and by Master Heriot, and
      others, Mademoiselle Pauline. She slept in the same room with her
      patroness at night, ate in her apartment, and was scarcely ever separated
      from her during the day.
    </p>
    <p>
      These females took possession of the nunnery of the devout Abbess, and,
      without observing the same rigorous seclusion, according to the letter,
      seemed wellnigh to restore the apartments to the use to which they had
      been originally designed. The new inmates lived and took their meals apart
      from the rest of the family. With the domestics Lady Hermione, for so she
      was termed, held no communication, and Mademoiselle Pauline only such as
      was indispensable, which she dispatched as briefly as possible. Frequent
      and liberal largesses reconciled the servants to this conduct; and they
      were in the habit of observing to each other, that to do a service for
      Mademoiselle Pauline, was like finding a fairy treasure.
    </p>
    <p>
      To Aunt Judith the Lady Hermione was kind and civil, but their intercourse
      was rare; on which account the elder lady felt some pangs both of
      curiosity and injured dignity. But she knew her brother so well, and loved
      him so dearly, that his will, once expressed, might be truly said to
      become her own. The worthy citizen was not without a spice of the
      dogmatism which grows on the best disposition, when a word is a law to all
      around. Master George did not endure to be questioned by his family, and,
      when he had generally expressed his will, that the Lady Hermione should
      live in the way most agreeable to her, and that no inquiries should be
      made concerning their history, or her motives for observing such strict
      seclusion, his sister well knew that he would have been seriously
      displeased with any attempt to pry into the secret.
    </p>
    <p>
      But, though Heriot's servants were bribed, and his sister awed into silent
      acquiescence in these arrangements, they were not of a nature to escape
      the critical observation of the neighbourhood. Some opined that the
      wealthy goldsmith was about to turn papist, and re-establish Lady
      Foljambe's nunnery&mdash;others that he was going mad&mdash;others that he
      was either going to marry, or to do worse. Master George's constant
      appearance at church, and the knowledge that the supposed votaress always
      attended when the prayers of the English ritual were read in the family,
      liberated him from the first of these suspicions; those who had to
      transact business with him upon 'Change, could not doubt the soundness of
      Master Heriot's mind; and, to confute the other rumours, it was credibly
      reported by such as made the matter their particular interest, that Master
      George Heriot never visited his guest but in presence of Mademoiselle
      Pauline, who sat with her work in a remote part of the same room in which
      they conversed. It was also ascertained that these visits scarcely ever
      exceeded an hour in length, and were usually only repeated once a week, an
      intercourse too brief and too long interrupted, to render it probable that
      love was the bond of their union.
    </p>
    <p>
      The inquirers were, therefore, at fault, and compelled to relinquish the
      pursuit of Master Heriot's secret, while a thousand ridiculous tales were
      circulated amongst the ignorant and superstitious, with some specimens of
      which our friend Richie Moniplies had been <i>crammed</i>, as we have
      seen, by the malicious apprentice of worthy David Ramsay.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was one person in the world who, it was thought, could (if she
      would) have said more of the Lady Hermione than any one in London, except
      George Heriot himself; and that was the said David Ramsay's only child,
      Margaret.
    </p>
    <p>
      This girl was not much past the age of fifteen when the Lady Hermione
      first came to England, and was a very frequent visitor at her godfather's,
      who was much amused by her childish sallies, and by the wild and natural
      beauty with which she sung the airs of her native country. Spoilt she was
      on all hands; by the indulgence of her godfather, the absent habits and
      indifference of her father, and the deference of all around to her
      caprices, as a beauty and as an heiress. But though, from these
      circumstances, the city-beauty had become as wilful, as capricious, and as
      affected, as unlimited indulgence seldom fails to render those to whom it
      is extended; and although she exhibited upon many occasions that
      affectation of extreme shyness, silence, and reserve, which misses in
      their teens are apt to take for an amiable modesty; and, upon others, a
      considerable portion of that flippancy, which youth sometimes confounds
      with wit, Mistress Margaret had much real shrewdness and judgment, which
      wanted only opportunities of observation to refine it&mdash;a lively,
      good-humoured, playful disposition, and an excellent heart. Her acquired
      follies were much increased by reading plays and romances, to which she
      devoted a great deal of her time, and from which she adopted ideas as
      different as possible from those which she might have obtained from the
      invaluable and affectionate instructions of an excellent mother; and the
      freaks of which she was sometimes guilty, rendered her not unjustly liable
      to the charge of affectation and coquetry. But the little lass had sense
      and shrewdness enough to keep her failings out of sight of her godfather,
      to whom she was sincerely attached; and so high she stood in his favour,
      that, at his recommendation, she obtained permission to visit the recluse
      Lady Hermione.
    </p>
    <p>
      The singular mode of life which that lady observed; her great beauty,
      rendered even more interesting by her extreme paleness; the conscious
      pride of being admitted farther than the rest of the world into the
      society of a person who was wrapped in so much mystery, made a deep
      impression on the mind of Margaret Ramsay; and though their conversations
      were at no time either long or confidential, yet, proud of the trust
      reposed in her, Margaret was as secret respecting their tenor as if every
      word repeated had been to cost her life. No inquiry, however artfully
      backed by flattery and insinuation, whether on the part of Dame Ursula, or
      any other person equally inquisitive, could wring from the little maiden
      one word of what she heard or saw, after she entered these mysterious and
      secluded apartments. The slightest question concerning Master Heriot's
      ghost, was sufficient, at her gayest moment, to check the current of her
      communicative prattle, and render her silent.
    </p>
    <p>
      We mention this, chiefly to illustrate the early strength of Margaret's
      character&mdash;a strength concealed under a hundred freakish whims and
      humours, as an ancient and massive buttress is disguised by its fantastic
      covering of ivy and wildflowers. In truth, if the damsel had told all she
      heard or saw within the Foljambe apartments, she would have said but
      little to gratify the curiosity of inquirers.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the earlier period of their acquaintance, the Lady Hermione was wont to
      reward the attentions of her little friend with small but elegant
      presents, and entertain her by a display of foreign rarities and
      curiosities, many of them of considerable value. Sometimes the time was
      passed in a way much less agreeable to Margaret, by her receiving lessons
      from Pauline in the use of the needle. But, although her preceptress
      practised these arts with a dexterity then only known in foreign convents,
      the pupil proved so incorrigibly idle and awkward, that the task of
      needlework was at length given up, and lessons of music substituted in
      their stead. Here also Pauline was excellently qualified as an
      instructress, and Margaret, more successful in a science for which Nature
      had gifted her, made proficiency both in vocal and instrumental music.
      These lessons passed in presence of the Lady Hermione, to whom they seemed
      to give pleasure. She sometimes added her own voice to the performance, in
      a pure, clear stream of liquid melody; but this was only when the music
      was of a devotional cast. As Margaret became older, her communications
      with the recluse assumed a different character. She was allowed, if not
      encouraged, to tell whatever she had remarked out of doors, and the Lady
      Hermione, while she remarked the quick, sharp, and retentive powers of
      observation possessed by her young friend, often found sufficient reason
      to caution her against rashness in forming opinions, and giddy petulance
      in expressing them.
    </p>
    <p>
      The habitual awe with which she regarded this singular personage, induced
      Mistress Margaret, though by no means delighting in contradiction or
      reproof, to listen with patience to her admonitions, and to make full
      allowance for the good intentions of the patroness by whom they were
      bestowed; although in her heart she could hardly conceive how Madame
      Hermione, who never stirred from the Foljambe apartments, should think of
      teaching knowledge of the world to one who walked twice a-week between
      Temple Bar and Lombard Street, besides parading in the Park every Sunday
      that proved to be fair weather. Indeed, pretty Mistress Margaret was so
      little inclined to endure such remonstrances, that her intercourse with
      the inhabitants of the Foljambe apartments would have probably slackened
      as her circle of acquaintance increased in the external world, had she
      not, on the one hand, entertained an habitual reverence for her monitress,
      of which she could not divest herself, and been flattered, on the other,
      by being to a certain degree the depository of a confidence for which
      others thirsted in vain. Besides, although the conversation of Hermione
      was uniformly serious, it was not in general either formal or severe; nor
      was the lady offended by flights of levity which Mistress Margaret
      sometimes ventured on in her presence, even when they were such as made
      Monna Paula cast her eyes upwards, and sigh with that compassion which a
      devotee extends towards the votaries of a trivial and profane world. Thus,
      upon the whole, the little maiden was disposed to submit, though not
      without some wincing, to the grave admonitions of the Lady Hermione; and
      the rather that the mystery annexed to the person of her monitress was in
      her mind early associated with a vague idea of wealth and importance,
      which had been rather confirmed than lessened by many accidental
      circumstances which she had noticed since she was more capable of
      observation.
    </p>
    <p>
      It frequently happens, that the counsel which we reckon intrusive when
      offered to us unasked, becomes precious in our eyes when the pressure of
      difficulties renders us more diffident of our own judgment than we are apt
      to find ourselves in the hours of ease and indifference; and this is more
      especially the case if we suppose that our adviser may also possess power
      and inclination to back his counsel with effectual assistance. Mistress
      Margaret was now in that situation. She was, or believed herself to be, in
      a condition where both advice and assistance might be necessary; and it
      was therefore, after an anxious and sleepless night, that she resolved to
      have recourse to the Lady Hermione, who she knew would readily afford her
      the one, and, as she hoped, might also possess means of giving her the
      other. The conversation between them will best explain the purport of the
      visit.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIX
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  By this good light, a wench of matchless mettle!
  This were a leaguer-lass to love a soldier,
  To bind his wounds, and kiss his bloody brow,
  And sing a roundel as she help'd to arm him,
  Though the rough foeman's drums were beat so nigh,
  They seem'd to bear the burden.
                               <i>Old Play.</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      When Mistress Margaret entered the Foljambe apartment, she found the
      inmates employed in their usual manner; the lady in reading, and her
      attendant in embroidering a large piece of tapestry, which had occupied
      her ever since Margaret had been first admitted within these secluded
      chambers.
    </p>
    <p>
      Hermione nodded kindly to her visitor, but did not speak; and Margaret,
      accustomed to this reception, and in the present case not sorry for it, as
      it gave her an interval to collect her thoughts, stooped over Monna
      Paula's frame and observed, in a half whisper, "You were just so far as
      that rose, Monna, when I first saw you&mdash;see, there is the mark where
      I had the bad luck to spoil the flower in trying to catch the stitch&mdash;I
      was little above fifteen then. These flowers make me an old woman, Monna
      Paula."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I wish they could make you a wise one, my child," answered Monna Paula,
      in whose esteem pretty Mistress Margaret did not stand quite so high as in
      that of her patroness; partly owing to her natural austerity, which was
      something intolerant of youth and gaiety, and partly to the jealousy with
      which a favourite domestic regards any one whom she considers as a sort of
      rival in the affections of her mistress.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What is it you say to Monna, little one?" asked the lady.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nothing, madam," replied Mistress Margaret, "but that I have seen the
      real flowers blossom three times over since I first saw Monna Paula
      working in her canvass garden, and her violets have not budded yet."
    </p>
    <p>
      "True, lady-bird," replied Hermione; "but the buds that are longest in
      blossoming will last the longest in flower. You have seen them in the
      garden bloom thrice, but you have seen them fade thrice also; now, Monna
      Paula's will remain in blow for ever&mdash;they will fear neither frost
      nor tempest."
    </p>
    <p>
      "True, madam," answered Mistress Margaret; "but neither have they life or
      odour."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That, little one," replied the recluse, "is to compare a life agitated by
      hope and fear, and chequered with success and disappointment, and fevered
      by the effects of love and hatred, a life of passion and of feeling,
      saddened and shortened by its exhausting alternations, to a calm and
      tranquil existence, animated but by a sense of duties, and only employed,
      during its smooth and quiet course, in the unwearied discharge of them. Is
      that the moral of your answer?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do not know, madam," answered Mistress Margaret; "but, of all birds in
      the air, I would rather be the lark, that sings while he is drifting down
      the summer breeze, than the weathercock that sticks fast yonder upon his
      iron perch, and just moves so much as to discharge his duty, and tell us
      which way the wind blows."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Metaphors are no arguments, my pretty maiden," said the Lady Hermione,
      smiling.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am sorry for that, madam," answered Margaret; "for they are such a
      pretty indirect way of telling one's mind when it differs from one's
      betters&mdash;besides, on this subject there is no end of them, and they
      are so civil and becoming withal."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed?" replied the lady; "let me hear some of them, I pray you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It would be, for example, very bold in me," said Margaret, "to say to
      your ladyship, that, rather than live a quiet life, I would like a little
      variety of hope and fear, and liking and disliking&mdash;and&mdash;and&mdash;and
      the other sort of feelings which your ladyship is pleased to speak of; but
      I may say freely, and without blame, that I like a butterfly better than a
      bettle, or a trembling aspen better than a grim Scots fir, that never wags
      a leaf&mdash;or that of all the wood, brass, and wire that ever my
      father's fingers put together, I do hate and detest a certain huge old
      clock of the German fashion, that rings hours and half hours, and quarters
      and half quarters, as if it were of such consequence that the world should
      know it was wound up and going. Now, dearest lady, I wish you would only
      compare that clumsy, clanging, Dutch-looking piece of lumber, with the
      beautiful timepiece that Master Heriot caused my father to make for your
      ladyship, which uses to play a hundred merry tunes, and turns out, when it
      strikes the hour, a whole band of morrice dancers, to trip the hays to the
      measure."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And which of these timepieces goes the truest, Margaret?" said the lady.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I must confess the old Dutchman has the advantage in that"&mdash;said
      Margaret. "I fancy you are right, madam, and that comparisons are no
      arguments; at least mine has not brought me through."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Upon my word, maiden Margaret," said the lady, smiling, "you have been of
      late thinking very much of these matters."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Perhaps too much, madam," said Margaret, so low as only to be heard by
      the lady, behind the back of whose chair she had now placed herself. The
      words were spoken very gravely, and accompanied by a half sigh, which did
      not escape the attention of her to whom they were addressed. The Lady
      Hermione turned immediately round, and looked earnestly at Margaret, then
      paused for a moment, and, finally, commanded Monna Paula to carry her
      frame and embroidery into the antechamber. When they were left alone, she
      desired her young friend to come from behind the chair on the back of
      which she still rested, and sit down beside her upon a stool.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will remain thus, madam, under your favour," answered Margaret, without
      changing her posture; "I would rather you heard me without seeing me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "In God's name, maiden," returned her patroness, "what is it you can have
      to say, that may not be uttered face to face, to so true a friend as I
      am?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Without making any direct answer, Margaret only replied, "You were right,
      dearest lady, when you said, I had suffered my feelings too much to
      engross me of late. I have done very wrong, and you will be angry with me&mdash;so
      will my godfather, but I cannot help it&mdash;he must be rescued."
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>He?</i>" repeated the lady, with emphasis; "that brief little word
      does, indeed, so far explain your mystery;&mdash;but come from behind the
      chair, you silly popinjay! I will wager you have suffered yonder gay young
      apprentice to sit too near your heart. I have not heard you mention young
      Vincent for many a day&mdash;perhaps he has not been out of mouth and out
      of mind both. Have you been so foolish as to let him speak to you
      seriously?&mdash;I am told he is a bold youth."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not bold enough to say any thing that could displease me, madam," said
      Margaret.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Perhaps, then, you were <i>not</i> displeased," said the lady; "or
      perhaps he has not <i>spoken</i>, which would be wiser and better. Be
      open-hearted, my love&mdash;your godfather will soon return, and we will
      take him into our consultations. If the young man is industrious, and come
      of honest parentage, his poverty may be no such insurmountable obstacle.
      But you are both of you very young, Margaret&mdash;I know your godfather
      will expect, that the youth shall first serve out his apprenticeship."
    </p>
    <p>
      Margaret had hitherto suffered the lady to proceed, under the mistaken
      impression which she had adopted, simply because she could not tell how to
      interrupt her; but pure despite at hearing her last words gave her
      boldness at length to say "I crave your pardon, madam; but neither the
      youth you mention, nor any apprentice or master within the city of London&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Margaret," said the lady, in reply, "the contemptuous tone with which you
      mention those of your own class, (many hundreds if not thousands of whom
      are in all respects better than yourself, and would greatly honour you by
      thinking of you,) is methinks, no warrant for the wisdom of your choice&mdash;for
      a choice, it seems, there is. Who is it, maiden, to whom you have thus
      rashly attached yourself?&mdash;rashly, I fear it must be."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is the young Scottish Lord Glenvarloch, madam," answered Margaret, in
      a low and modest tone, but sufficiently firm, considering the subject.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The young Lord of Glenvarloch!" repeated the lady, in great surprise&mdash;"Maiden,
      you are distracted in your wits."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I knew you would say so, madam," answered Margaret. "It is what another
      person has already told me&mdash;it is, perhaps, what all the world would
      tell me&mdash;it is what I am sometimes disposed to tell myself. But look
      at me, madam, for I will now come before you, and tell me if there is
      madness or distraction in my look and word, when I repeat to you again,
      that I have fixed my affections on this young nobleman."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If there is not madness in your look or word, maiden, there is infinite
      folly in what you say," answered the Lady Hermione, sharply. "When did you
      ever hear that misplaced love brought any thing but wretchedness? Seek a
      match among your equals, Margaret, and escape the countless kinds of risk
      and misery that must attend an affection beyond your degree.&mdash;Why do
      you smile, maiden? Is there aught to cause scorn in what I say?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Surely no, madam," answered Margaret. "I only smiled to think how it
      should happen, that, while rank made such a wide difference between
      creatures formed from the same clay, the wit of the vulgar should,
      nevertheless, jump so exactly the same length with that of the
      accomplished and the exalted. It is but the variation of the phrase which
      divides them. Dame Ursley told me the very same thing which your ladyship
      has but now uttered; only you, madam, talk of countless misery, and Dame
      Ursley spoke of the gallows, and Mistress Turner, who was hanged upon it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed?" answered the Lady Hermione; "and who may Dame Ursley be, that
      your wise choice has associated with me in the difficult task of advising
      a fool?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The barber's wife at next door, madam," answered Margaret, with feigned
      simplicity, but far from being sorry at heart, that she had found an
      indirect mode of mortifying her monitress. "She is the wisest woman that I
      know, next to your ladyship."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A proper confidant," said the lady, "and chosen with the same delicate
      sense of what is due to yourself and others!&mdash;But what ails you,
      maiden&mdash;where are you going?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Only to ask Dame Ursley's advice," said Margaret, as if about to depart;
      "for I see your ladyship is too angry to give me any, and the emergency is
      pressing."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What emergency, thou simple one?" said the lady, in a kinder tone.&mdash;"Sit
      down, maiden, and tell me your tale. It is true you are a fool, and a
      pettish fool to boot; but then you are a child&mdash;an amiable child,
      with all your self-willed folly, and we must help you, if we can.&mdash;Sit
      down, I say, as you are desired, and you will find me a safer and wiser
      counseller than the barber-woman. And tell me how you come to suppose,
      that you have fixed your heart unalterably upon a man whom you have seen,
      as I think, but once."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have seen him oftener," said the damsel, looking down; "but I have only
      spoken to him once. I should have been able to get that once out of my
      head, though the impression was so deep, that I could even now repeat
      every trifling word he said; but other things have since riveted it in my
      bosom for ever."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Maiden," replied the lady, "<i>for ever</i> is the word which comes most
      lightly on the lips in such circumstances, but which, not the less, is
      almost the last that we should use. The fashion of this world, its
      passions, its joys, and its sorrows, pass away like the winged breeze&mdash;there
      is nought for ever but that which belongs to the world beyond the grave."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have corrected me justly, madam," said Margaret calmly; "I ought only
      to have spoken of my present state of mind, as what will last me for my
      lifetime, which unquestionably may be but short."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what is there in this Scottish lord that can rivet what concerns him
      so closely in your fancy?" said the lady. "I admit him a personable man,
      for I have seen him; and I will suppose him courteous and agreeable. But
      what are his accomplishments besides, for these surely are not uncommon
      attributes."
    </p>
    <p>
      "He is unfortunate, madam&mdash;most unfortunate&mdash;and surrounded by
      snares of different kinds, ingeniously contrived to ruin his character,
      destroy his estate, and, perhaps, to reach even his life. These schemes
      have been devised by avarice originally, but they are now followed close
      by vindictive ambition, animated, I think, by the absolute and
      concentrated spirit of malice; for the Lord Dalgarno&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here, Monna Paula&mdash;Monna Paula!" exclaimed the Lady Hermione,
      interrupting her young friend's narrative. "She hears me not," she
      answered, rising and going out, "I must seek her&mdash;I will return
      instantly." She returned accordingly very soon after. "You mentioned a
      name which I thought was familiar to me," she said; "but Monna Paula has
      put me right. I know nothing of your lord&mdash;how was it you named him?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lord Dalgarno," said Margaret;&mdash;"the wickedest man who lives. Under
      pretence of friendship, he introduced the Lord Glenvarloch to a
      gambling-house with the purpose of engaging him in deep play; but he with
      whom the perfidious traitor had to deal, was too virtuous, moderate, and
      cautious, to be caught in a snare so open. What did they next, but turn
      his own moderation against him, and persuade others that&mdash;because he
      would not become the prey of wolves, he herded with them for a share of
      their booty! And, while this base Lord Dalgarno was thus undermining his
      unsuspecting countryman, he took every measure to keep him surrounded by
      creatures of his own, to prevent him from attending Court, and mixing with
      those of his proper rank. Since the Gunpowder Treason, there never was a
      conspiracy more deeply laid, more basely and more deliberately pursued."
    </p>
    <p>
      The lady smiled sadly at Margaret's vehemence, but sighed the next moment,
      while she told her young friend how little she knew the world she was
      about to live in, since she testified so much surprise at finding it full
      of villainy.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But by what means," she added, "could you, maiden, become possessed of
      the secret views of a man so cautious as Lord Dalgarno&mdash;as villains
      in general are?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Permit me to be silent on that subject," said the maiden; "I could not
      tell you without betraying others&mdash;let it suffice that my tidings are
      as certain as the means by which I acquired them are secret and sure. But
      I must not tell them even to you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are too bold, Margaret," said the lady, "to traffic in such matters
      at your early age. It is not only dangerous, but even unbecoming and
      unmaidenly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I knew you would say that also," said Margaret, with more meekness and
      patience than she usually showed on receiving reproof; "but, God knows, my
      heart acquits me of every other feeling save that of the wish to assist
      this most innocent and betrayed man.&mdash;I contrived to send him warning
      of his friend's falsehood;&mdash;alas! my care has only hastened his utter
      ruin, unless speedy aid be found. He charged his false friend with
      treachery, and drew on him in the Park, and is now liable to the fatal
      penalty due for breach of privilege of the king's palace."
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is indeed an extraordinary tale," said Hermione; "is Lord
      Glenvarloch then in prison?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, madam, thank God, but in the Sanctuary at Whitefriars&mdash;it is
      matter of doubt whether it will protect him in such a case&mdash;they
      speak of a warrant from the Lord Chief Justice&mdash;A gentleman of the
      temple has been arrested, and is in trouble for having assisted him in his
      flight.&mdash;Even his taking temporary refuge in that base place, though
      from extreme necessity, will be used to the further defaming him. All this
      I know, and yet I cannot rescue him&mdash;cannot rescue him save by your
      means."
    </p>
    <p>
      "By my means, maiden?" said the lady&mdash;"you are beside yourself!&mdash;What
      means can I possess in this secluded situation, of assisting this
      unfortunate nobleman?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have means," said Margaret, eagerly; "you have those means, unless I
      mistake greatly, which can do anything&mdash;can do everything, in this
      city, in this world&mdash;you have wealth, and the command of a small
      portion of it will enable me to extricate him from his present danger. He
      will be enabled and directed how to make his escape&mdash;and I&mdash;"
      she paused.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Will accompany him, doubtless, and reap the fruits of your sage exertions
      in his behalf?" said the Lady Hermione, ironically.
    </p>
    <p>
      "May heaven forgive you the unjust thought, lady," answered Margaret. "I
      will never see him more&mdash;but I shall have saved him, and the thought
      will make me happy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A cold conclusion to so bold and warm a flame," said the lady, with a
      smile which seemed to intimate incredulity.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is, however, the only one which I expect, madam&mdash;I could almost
      say the only one which I wish&mdash;I am sure I will use no efforts to
      bring about any other; if I am bold in his cause, I am timorous enough in
      my own. During our only interview I was unable to speak a word to him. He
      knows not the sound of my voice&mdash;and all that I have risked, and must
      yet risk, I am doing for one, who, were he asked the question, would say
      he has long since forgotten that he ever saw, spoke to, or sat beside, a
      creature of so little signification as I am."
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is a strange and unreasonable indulgence of a passion equally
      fanciful and dangerous," said Lady Hermione. "You will <i>not</i> assist
      me, then?" said Margaret; "have good-day, then, madam&mdash;my secret, I
      trust, is safe in such honourable keeping."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tarry yet a little," said the lady, "and tell me what resource you have
      to assist this youth, if you were supplied with money to put it in
      motion."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is superfluous to ask me the question, madam," answered Margaret,
      "unless you purpose to assist me; and, if you do so purpose, it is still
      superfluous. You could not understand the means I must use, and time is
      too brief to explain."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But have you in reality such means?" said the lady.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have, with the command of a moderate sum," answered Margaret Ramsay,
      "the power of baffling all his enemies&mdash;of eluding the passion of the
      irritated king&mdash;the colder but more determined displeasure of the
      prince&mdash;the vindictive spirit of Buckingham, so hastily directed
      against whomsoever crosses the path of his ambition&mdash;the cold
      concentrated malice of Lord Dalgarno&mdash;all, I can baffle them all!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "But is this to be done without your own personal risk, Margaret?" replied
      the lady; "for, be your purpose what it will, you are not to peril your
      own reputation or person, in the romantic attempt of serving another; and
      I, maiden, am answerable to your godfather,&mdash;to your benefactor, and
      my own,&mdash;not to aid you in any dangerous or unworthy enterprise."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Depend upon my word,&mdash;my oath,&mdash;dearest lady," replied the
      supplicant, "that I will act by the agency of others, and do not myself
      design to mingle in any enterprise in which my appearance might be either
      perilous or unwomanly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I know not what to do," said the Lady Hermione; "it is perhaps incautious
      and inconsiderate in me to aid so wild a project; yet the end seems
      honourable, if the means be sure&mdash;what is the penalty if he fall into
      their power?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Alas, alas! the loss of his right hand!" replied Margaret, her voice
      almost stifled with sobs.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are the laws of England so cruel? Then there is mercy in heaven alone,"
      said the lady, "since, even in this free land, men are wolves to each
      other.&mdash;Compose yourself, Margaret, and tell me what money is
      necessary to secure Lord Glenvarloch's escape."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Two hundred pieces," replied Margaret; "I would speak to you of restoring
      them&mdash;and I must one day have the power&mdash;only that I know&mdash;that
      is, I think&mdash;your ladyship is indifferent on that score."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not a word more of it," said the lady; "call Monna Paula hither."
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XX
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  Credit me, friend, it hath been ever thus,
  Since the ark rested on Mount Ararat.
  False man hath sworn, and woman hath believed&mdash;
  Repented and reproach'd, and then believed once more.
                                  <i>The New World.</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      By the time that Margaret returned with Monna Paula, the Lady Hermione was
      rising from the table at which she had been engaged in writing something
      on a small slip of paper, which she gave to her attendant.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Monna Paula," she said, "carry this paper to Roberts the cash-keeper; let
      them give you the money mentioned in the note, and bring it hither
      presently."
    </p>
    <p>
      Monna Paula left the room, and her mistress proceeded.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do not know," she said, "Margaret, if I have done, and am doing, well
      in this affair. My life has been one of strange seclusion, and I am
      totally unacquainted with the practical ways of this world&mdash;an
      ignorance which I know cannot be remedied by mere reading.&mdash;I fear I
      am doing wrong to you, and perhaps to the laws of the country which
      affords me refuge, by thus indulging you; and yet there is something in my
      heart which cannot resist your entreaties."
    </p>
    <p>
      "O, listen to it&mdash;listen to it, dear, generous lady!" said Margaret,
      throwing herself on her knees and grasping those of her benefactress and
      looking in that attitude like a beautiful mortal in the act of
      supplicating her tutelary angel; "the laws of men are but the injunctions
      of mortality, but what the heart prompts is the echo of the voice from
      heaven within us."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Rise, rise, maiden," said Hermione; "you affect me more than I thought I
      could have been moved by aught that should approach me. Rise and tell me
      whence it comes, that, in so short a time, your thoughts, your looks, your
      speech, and even your slightest actions, are changed from those of a
      capricious and fanciful girl, to all this energy and impassioned eloquence
      of word and action?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am sure I know not, dearest lady," said Margaret, looking down; "but I
      suppose that, when I was a trifler, I was only thinking of trifles. What I
      now reflect is deep and serious, and I am thankful if my speech and manner
      bear reasonable proportion to my thoughts."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It must be so," said the lady; "yet the change seems a rapid and strange
      one. It seems to be as if a childish girl had at once shot up into
      deep-thinking and impassioned woman, ready to make exertions alike, and
      sacrifices, with all that vain devotion to a favourite object of
      affection, which is often so basely rewarded."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Lady Hermione sighed bitterly, and Monna Paula entered ere the
      conversation proceeded farther. She spoke to her mistress in the foreign
      language in which they frequently conversed, but which was unknown to
      Margaret.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We must have patience for a time," said the lady to her visitor; "the
      cash-keeper is abroad on some business, but he is expected home in the
      course of half an hour."
    </p>
    <p>
      Margaret wrung her hands in vexation and impatience.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Minutes are precious," continued the lady; "that I am well aware of; and
      we will at least suffer none of them to escape us. Monna Paula shall
      remain below and transact our business, the very instant that Roberts
      returns home."
    </p>
    <p>
      She spoke to her attendant accordingly, who again left the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are very kind, madam&mdash;very good," said the poor little Margaret,
      while the anxious trembling of her lip and of her hand showed all that
      sickening agitation of the heart which arises from hope deferred.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Be patient, Margaret, and collect yourself," said the lady; "you may, you
      must, have much to do to carry through this your bold purpose&mdash;reserve
      your spirits, which you may need so much&mdash;be patient&mdash;it is the
      only remedy against the evils of life."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, madam," said Margaret, wiping her eyes, and endeavouring in vain to
      suppress the natural impatience of her temper,&mdash;"I have heard so&mdash;very
      often indeed; and I dare say I have myself, heaven forgive me, said so to
      people in perplexity and affliction; but it was before I had suffered
      perplexity and vexation myself, and I am sure I will never preach patience
      to any human being again, now that I know how much the medicine goes
      against the stomach."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You will think better of it, maiden," said the Lady Hermione; "I also,
      when I first felt distress, thought they did me wrong who spoke to me of
      patience; but my sorrows have been repeated and continued till I have been
      taught to cling to it as the best, and&mdash;religious duties excepted, of
      which, indeed, patience forms a part&mdash;the only alleviation which life
      can afford them."
    </p>
    <p>
      Margaret, who neither wanted sense nor feeling, wiped her tears hastily,
      and asked her patroness's forgiveness for her petulance.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I might have thought"&mdash;she said, "I ought to have reflected, that
      even from the manner of your life, madam, it is plain you must have
      suffered sorrow; and yet, God knows, the patience which I have ever seen
      you display, well entitles you to recommend your own example to others."
    </p>
    <p>
      The lady was silent for a moment, and then replied&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Margaret, I am about to repose a high confidence in you. You are no
      longer a child, but a thinking and a feeling woman. You have told me as
      much of your secret as you dared&mdash;I will let you know as much of mine
      as I may venture to tell. You will ask me, perhaps, why, at a moment when
      your own mind is agitated, I should force upon you the consideration of my
      sorrows? and I answer, that I cannot withstand the impulse which now
      induces me to do so. Perhaps from having witnessed, for the first time
      these three years, the natural effects of human passion, my own sorrows
      have been awakened, and are for the moment too big for my own bosom&mdash;perhaps
      I may hope that you, who seem driving full sail on the very rock on which
      I was wrecked for ever, will take warning by the tale I have to tell.
      Enough, if you are willing to listen, I am willing to tell you who the
      melancholy inhabitant of the Foljambe apartments really is, and why she
      resides here. It will serve, at least, to while away the time until Monna
      Paula shall bring us the reply from Roberts."
    </p>
    <p>
      At any other moment of her life, Margaret Ramsay would have heard with
      undivided interest a communication so flattering in itself, and referring
      to a subject upon which the general curiosity had been so strongly
      excited. And even at this agitating moment, although she ceased not to
      listen with an anxious ear and throbbing heart for the sound of Monna
      Paula's returning footsteps, she nevertheless, as gratitude and policy, as
      well as a portion of curiosity dictated, composed herself, in appearance
      at least, to the strictest attention to the Lady Hermione, and thanked her
      with humility for the high confidence she was pleased to repose in her.
      The Lady Hermione, with the same calmness which always attended her speech
      and actions, thus recounted her story to her young friend:
    </p>
    <p>
      "My father," she said, "was a merchant, but he was of a city whose
      merchants are princes. I am the daughter of a noble house in Genoa, whose
      name stood as high in honour and in antiquity, as any inscribed in the
      Golden Register of that famous aristocracy.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My mother was a noble Scottish woman. She was descended&mdash;do not
      start&mdash;and not remotely descended, of the house of Glenvarloch&mdash;no
      wonder that I was easily led to take concern in the misfortunes of this
      young lord. He is my near relation, and my mother, who was more than
      sufficiently proud of her descent, early taught me to take an interest in
      the name. My maternal grandfather, a cadet of that house of Glenvarloch,
      had followed the fortunes of an unhappy fugitive, Francis Earl of
      Bothwell, who, after showing his miseries in many a foreign court, at
      length settled in Spain upon a miserable pension, which he earned by
      conforming to the Catholic faith. Ralph Olifaunt, my grandfather,
      separated from him in disgust, and settled at Barcelona, where, by the
      friendship of the governor, his heresy, as it was termed, was connived at.
      My father, in the course of his commerce, resided more at Barcelona than
      in his native country, though at times he visited Genoa.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was at Barcelona that he became acquainted with my mother, loved her,
      and married her; they differed in faith, but they agreed in affection. I
      was their only child. In public I conformed to the docterins and
      ceremonial of the Church of Rome; but my mother, by whom these were
      regarded with horror, privately trained me up in those of the reformed
      religion; and my father, either indifferent in the matter, or unwilling to
      distress the woman whom he loved, overlooked or connived at my secretly
      joining in her devotions.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But when, unhappily, my father was attacked, while yet in the prime of
      life, by a slow wasting disease, which he felt to be incurable, he foresaw
      the hazard to which his widow and orphan might be exposed, after he was no
      more, in a country so bigoted to Catholicism as Spain. He made it his
      business, during the two last years of his life, to realize and remit to
      England a large part of his fortune, which, by the faith and honour of his
      correspondent, the excellent man under whose roof I now reside, was
      employed to great advantage. Had my father lived to complete his purpose,
      by withdrawing his whole fortune from commerce, he himself would have
      accompanied us to England, and would have beheld us settled in peace and
      honour before his death. But heaven had ordained it otherwise. He died,
      leaving several sums engaged in the hands of his Spanish debtors; and, in
      particular, he had made a large and extensive consignment to a certain
      wealthy society of merchants at Madrid, who showed no willingness after
      his death to account for the proceeds. Would to God we had left these
      covetous and wicked men in possession of their booty, for such they seemed
      to hold the property of their deceased correspondent and friend! We had
      enough for comfort, and even splendour, already secured in England; but
      friends exclaimed upon the folly of permitting these unprincipled men to
      plunder us of our rightful property. The sum itself was large, and the
      claim having been made, my mother thought that my father's memory was
      interested in its being enforced, especially as the defences set up for
      the mercantile society went, in some degree, to impeach the fairness of
      his transactions.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We went therefore to Madrid. I was then, my Margaret, about your age,
      young and thoughtless, as you have hitherto been&mdash;We went, I say, to
      Madrid, to solicit the protection of the Court and of the king, without
      which we were told it would be in vain to expect justice against an
      opulent and powerful association.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Our residence at the Spanish metropolis drew on from weeks to months. For
      my part, my natural sorrow for a kind, though not a fond father, having
      abated, I cared not if the lawsuit had detained us at Madrid for ever. My
      mother permitted herself and me rather more liberty than we had been
      accustomed to. She found relations among the Scottish and Irish officers,
      many of whom held a high rank in the Spanish armies; their wives and
      daughters became our friends and companions, and I had perpetual occasion
      to exercise my mother's native language, which I had learned from my
      infancy. By degrees, as my mother's spirits were low, and her health
      indifferent, she was induced, by her partial fondness for me, to suffer me
      to mingle occasionally in society which she herself did not frequent,
      under the guardianship of such ladies as she imagined she could trust, and
      particularly under the care of the lady of a general officer, whose
      weakness or falsehood was the original cause of my misfortunes. I was as
      gay, Margaret, and thoughtless&mdash;I again repeat it&mdash;as you were
      but lately, and my attention, like yours, became suddenly riveted to one
      object, and to one set of feelings.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The person by whom they were excited was young, noble, handsome,
      accomplished, a soldier, and a Briton. So far our cases are nearly
      parallel; but, may heaven forbid that the parallel should become complete!
      This man, so noble, so fairly formed, so gifted, and so brave&mdash;this
      villain, for that, Margaret, was his fittest name, spoke of love to me,
      and I listened&mdash;-Could I suspect his sincerity? If he was wealthy,
      noble, and long-descended, I also was a noble and an opulent heiress. It
      is true, that he neither knew the extent of my father's wealth, nor did I
      communicate to him (I do not even remember if I myself knew it at the
      time) the important circumstance, that the greater part of that wealth was
      beyond the grasp of arbitrary power, and not subject to the precarious
      award of arbitrary judges. My lover might think, perhaps, as my mother was
      desirous the world at large should believe, that almost our whole fortune
      depended on the precarious suit which we had come to Madrid to prosecute&mdash;a
      belief which she had countenanced out of policy, being well aware that a
      knowledge of my father's having remitted such a large part of his fortune
      to England, would in no shape aid the recovery of further sums in the
      Spanish courts. Yet, with no more extensive views of my fortune than were
      possessed by the public, I believe that he, of whom I am speaking, was at
      first sincere in his pretensions. He had himself interest sufficient to
      have obtained a decision in our favour in the courts, and my fortune,
      reckoning only what was in Spain, would then have been no inconsiderable
      sum. To be brief, whatever might be his motives or temptation for so far
      committing himself, he applied to my mother for my hand, with my consent
      and approval. My mother's judgment had become weaker, but her passions had
      become more irritable, during her increasing illness.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have heard of the bitterness of the ancient Scottish feuds, of which
      it may be said, in the language of Scripture, that the fathers eat sour
      grapes, and the teeth of the children are set on edge. Unhappily&mdash;I
      should say <i>happily</i>, considering what this man has now shown himself
      to be&mdash;some such strain of bitterness had divided his house from my
      mother's, and she had succeeded to the inheritance of hatred. When he
      asked her for my hand, she was no longer able to command her passions&mdash;she
      raked up every injury which the rival families had inflicted upon each
      other during a bloody feud of two centuries&mdash;heaped him with epithets
      of scorn, and rejected his proposal of alliance, as if it had come from
      the basest of mankind.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My lover retired in passion; and I remained to weep and murmur against
      fortune, and&mdash;I will confess my fault&mdash;against my affectionate
      parent. I had been educated with different feelings, and the traditions of
      the feuds and quarrels of my mother's family in Scotland, which we're to
      her monuments and chronicles, seemed to me as insignificant and unmeaning
      as the actions and fantasies of Don Quixote; and I blamed my mother
      bitterly for sacrificing my happiness to an empty dream of family dignity.
    </p>
    <p>
      "While I was in this humour, my lover sought a renewal of our intercourse.
      We met repeatedly in the house of the lady whom I have mentioned, and who,
      in levity, or in the spirit of intrigue, countenanced our secret
      correspondence. At length we were secretly married&mdash;so far did my
      blinded passion hurry me. My lover had secured the assistance of a
      clergyman of the English church. Monna Paula, who had been my attendant
      from infancy, was one witness of our union. Let me do the faithful
      creature justice&mdash;She conjured me to suspend my purpose till my
      mother's death should permit us to celebrate our marriage openly; but the
      entreaties of my lover, and my own wayward passion, prevailed over her
      remonstrances. The lady I have spoken of was another witness, but whether
      she was in full possession of my bridegroom's secret, I had never the
      means to learn. But the shelter of her name and roof afforded us the means
      of frequently meeting, and the love of my husband seemed as sincere and as
      unbounded as my own.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He was eager, he said, to gratify his pride, by introducing me to one or
      two of his noble English friends. This could not be done at Lady D&mdash;-'s;
      but by his command, which I was now entitled to consider as my law, I
      contrived twice to visit him at his own hotel, accompanied only by Monna
      Paula. There was a very small party, of two ladies and two gentlemen.
      There was music, mirth, and dancing. I had heard of the frankness of the
      English nation, but I could not help thinking it bordered on license
      during these entertainments, and in the course of the collation which
      followed; but I imputed my scruples to my inexperience, and would not
      doubt the propriety of what was approved by my husband.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was soon summoned to other scenes: My poor mother's disease drew to a
      conclusion&mdash;Happy I am that it took place before she discovered what
      would have cut her to the soul.
    </p>
    <p>
      "In Spain you may have heard how the Catholic priests, and particularly
      the monks, besiege the beds of the dying, to obtain bequests for the good
      of the church. I have said that my mother's temper was irritated by
      disease, and her judgment impaired in proportion. She gathered spirits and
      force from the resentment which the priests around her bed excited by
      their importunity, and the boldness of the stern sect of reformers, to
      which she had secretly adhered, seemed to animate her dying tongue. She
      avowed the religion she had so long concealed; renounced all hope and aid
      which did not come by and through its dictates; rejected with contempt the
      ceremonial of the Romish church; loaded the astonished priests with
      reproaches for their greediness and hypocrisy, and commanded them to leave
      her house. They went in bitterness and rage, but it was to return with the
      inquisitorial power, its warrants, and its officers; and they found only
      the cold corpse left of her, on whom they had hoped to work their
      vengeance. As I was soon discovered to have shared my mother's heresy, I
      was dragged from her dead body, imprisoned in a solitary cloister, and
      treated with severity, which the Abbess assured me was due to the
      looseness of my life, as well as my spiritual errors. I avowed my
      marriage, to justify the situation in which I found myself&mdash;I
      implored the assistance of the Superior to communicate my situation to my
      husband. She smiled coldly at the proposal, and told me the church had
      provided a better spouse for me; advised me to secure myself of divine
      grace hereafter, and deserve milder treatment here, by presently taking
      the veil. In order to convince me that I had no other resource, she showed
      me a royal decree, by which all my estate was hypothecated to the convent
      of Saint Magdalen, and became their complete property upon my death, or my
      taking the vows. As I was, both from religious principle, and affectionate
      attachment to my husband, absolutely immovable in my rejection of the
      veil, I believe&mdash;may heaven forgive me if I wrong her&mdash;that the
      Abbess was desirous to make sure of my spoils, by hastening the former
      event.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was a small and a poor convent, and situated among the mountains of
      Guadarrama. Some of the sisters were the daughters of neighbouring
      Hidalgoes, as poor as they were proud and ignorant; others were women
      immured there on account of their vicious conduct. The Superior herself
      was of a high family, to which she owed her situation; but she was said to
      have disgraced her connexions by her conduct during youth, and now, in
      advanced age, covetousness and the love of power, a spirit too of severity
      and cruelty, had succeeded to the thirst after licentious pleasure. I
      suffered much under this woman&mdash;and still her dark, glassy eye, her
      tall, shrouded form, and her rigid features, haunt my slumbers.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was not destined to be a mother. I was very ill, and my recovery was
      long doubtful. The most violent remedies were applied, if remedies they
      indeed were. My health was restored at length, against my own expectation
      and that of all around me. But, when I first again beheld the reflection
      of my own face, I thought it was the visage of a ghost. I was wont to be
      flattered by all, but particularly by my husband, for the fineness of my
      complexion&mdash;it was now totally gone, and, what is more extraordinary,
      it has never returned. I have observed that the few who now see me, look
      upon me as a bloodless phantom&mdash;Such has been the abiding effect of
      the treatment to which I was subjected. May God forgive those who were the
      agents of it!&mdash;I thank Heaven I can say so with as sincere a wish, as
      that with which I pray for forgiveness of my own sins. They now relented
      somewhat towards me&mdash;moved perhaps to compassion by my singular
      appearance, which bore witness to my sufferings; or afraid that the matter
      might attract attention during a visitation of the bishop, which was
      approaching. One day, as I was walking in the convent-garden, to which I
      had been lately admitted, a miserable old Moorish slave, who was kept to
      cultivate the little spot, muttered as I passed him, but still keeping his
      wrinkled face and decrepit form in the same angle with the earth&mdash;'There
      is Heart's Ease near the postern.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "I knew something of the symbolical language of flowers, once carried to
      such perfection among the Moriscoes of Spain; but if I had been ignorant
      of it, the captive would soon have caught at any hint which seemed to
      promise liberty. With all the haste consistent with the utmost
      circumspection&mdash;for I might be observed by the Abbess or some of the
      sisters from the window&mdash;I hastened to the postern. It was closely
      barred as usual, but when I coughed slightly, I was answered from the
      other side&mdash;and, O heaven! it was my husband's voice which said,
      'Lose not a minute here at present, but be on this spot when the vesper
      bell has tolled.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "I retired in an ecstasy of joy. I was not entitled or permitted to assist
      at vespers, but was accustomed to be confined to my cell while the nuns
      were in the choir. Since my recovery, they had discontinued locking the
      door; though the utmost severity was denounced against me if I left these
      precincts. But, let the penalty be what it would, I hastened to dare it.&mdash;No
      sooner had the last toll of the vesper bell ceased to sound, than I stole
      from my chamber, reached the garden unobserved, hurried to the postern,
      beheld it open with rapture, and in the next moment was in my husband's
      arms. He had with him another cavalier of noble mien&mdash;both were
      masked and armed. Their horses, with one saddled for my use, stood in a
      thicket hard by, with two other masked horsemen, who seemed to be
      servants. In less than two minutes we were mounted, and rode off as fast
      as we could through rough and devious roads, in which one of the domestics
      appeared to act as guide.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The hurried pace at which we rode, and the anxiety of the moment, kept me
      silent, and prevented my expressing my surprise or my joy save in a few
      broken words. It also served as an apology for my husband's silence. At
      length we stopped at a solitary hut&mdash;the cavaliers dismounted, and I
      was assisted from my saddle, not by M&mdash;&mdash;M&mdash;&mdash;my
      husband, I would say, who seemed busied about his horse, but by the
      stranger.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Go into the hut,' said my husband, 'change your dress with the speed of
      lightning&mdash;you will find one to <i>assist</i> you&mdash;we must
      forward instantly when you have shifted your apparel.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "I entered the hut, and was received in the arms of the faithful Monna
      Paula, who had waited my arrival for many hours, half distracted with fear
      and anxiety. With her assistance I speedily tore off the detested garments
      of the convent, and exchanged them for a travelling suit, made after the
      English fashion. I observed that Monna Paula was in a similar dress. I had
      but just huddled on my change of attire, when we were hastily summoned to
      mount. A horse, I found, was provided for Monna Paula, and we resumed our
      route. On the way, my convent-garb, which had been wrapped hastily
      together around a stone, was thrown into a lake, along the verge of which
      we were then passing. The two cavaliers rode together in front, my
      attendant and I followed, and the servants brought up the rear. Monna
      Paula, as we rode on, repeatedly entreated me to be silent upon the road,
      as our lives depended on it. I was easily reconciled to be passive, for,
      the first fever of spirits which attended the sense of liberation and of
      gratified affection having passed away, I felt as it were dizzy with the
      rapid motion; and my utmost exertion was necessary to keep my place on the
      saddle, until we suddenly (it was now very dark) saw a strong light before
      us.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My husband reined up his horse, and gave a signal by a low whistle twice
      repeated, which was answered from a distance. The whole party then halted
      under the boughs of a large cork-tree, and my husband, drawing himself
      close to my side, said, in a voice which I then thought was only
      embarrassed by fear for my safety,&mdash;'We must now part. Those to whom
      I commit you are contrabandists, who only know you as English-women, but
      who, for a high bribe, have undertaken to escort you through the passes of
      the Pyrenees as far as Saint Jean de Luz.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'And do you not go with us?' I exclaimed with emphasis, though in a
      whisper.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'It is impossible,' he said, 'and would ruin all&mdash;See that you speak
      in English in these people's hearing, and give not the least sign of
      understanding what they say in Spanish&mdash;your life depends on it; for,
      though they live in opposition to, and evasion of, the laws of Spain, they
      would tremble at the idea of violating those of the church&mdash;I see
      them coming&mdash;farewell&mdash;farewell.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "The last words were hastily uttered-I endeavoured to detain him yet a
      moment by my feeble grasp on his cloak.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You will meet me, then, I trust, at Saint Jean de Luz?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Yes, yes,' he answered hastily, 'at Saint Jean de Luz you will meet your
      protector.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "He then extricated his cloak from my grasp, and was lost in the darkness.
      His companion approached&mdash;kissed my hand, which in the agony of the
      moment I was scarce sensible of, and followed my husband, attended by one
      of the domestics."
    </p>
    <p>
      The tears of Hermione here flowed so fast as to threaten the interruption
      of her narrative. When she resumed it, it was with a kind of apology to
      Margaret.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Every circumstance," she said, "occurring in those moments, when I still
      enjoyed a delusive idea of happiness, is deeply imprinted in my
      remembrance, which, respecting all that has since happened, is waste and
      unvaried as an Arabian desert. But I have no right to inflict on you,
      Margaret, agitated as you are with your own anxieties, the unavailing
      details of my useless recollections."
    </p>
    <p>
      Margaret's eyes were full of tears&mdash;it was impossible it could be
      otherwise, considering that the tale was told by her suffering
      benefactress, and resembled, in some respects, her own situation; and yet
      she must not be severely blamed, if, while eagerly pressing her patroness
      to continue her narrative, her eye involuntarily sought the door, as if to
      chide the delay of Monna Paula.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Lady Hermione saw and forgave these conflicting emotions; and she,
      too, must be pardoned, if, in her turn, the minute detail of her narrative
      showed, that, in the discharge of feelings so long locked in her own
      bosom, she rather forgot those which were personal to her auditor, and by
      which it must be supposed Margaret's mind was principally occupied, if not
      entirely engrossed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I told you, I think, that one domestic followed the gentlemen," thus the
      lady continued her story, "the other remained with us for the purpose, as
      it seemed, of introducing us to two persons whom M&mdash;, I say, whom my
      husband's signal had brought to the spot. A word or two of explanation
      passed between them and the servant, in a sort of <i>patois</i>, which I
      did not understand; and one of the strangers taking hold of my bridle, the
      other of Monna Paula's, they led us towards the light, which I have
      already said was the signal of our halting. I touched Monna Paula, and was
      sensible that she trembled very much, which surprised me, because I knew
      her character to be so strong and bold as to border upon the masculine.
    </p>
    <p>
      "When we reached the fire, the gipsy figures of those who surrounded it,
      with their swarthy features, large Sombrero hats, girdles stuck full of
      pistols and poniards, and all the other apparatus of a roving and perilous
      life, would have terrified me at another moment. But then I only felt the
      agony of having parted from my husband almost in the very moment of my
      rescue. The females of the gang&mdash;for there were four or five women
      amongst these contraband traders&mdash;received us with a sort of rude
      courtesy. They were, in dress and manners, not extremely different from
      the men with whom they associated&mdash;were almost as hardy and
      adventurous, carried arms like them, and were, as we learned from passing
      circumstances, scarce less experienced in the use of them.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was impossible not to fear these wild people; yet they gave us no
      reason to complain of them, but used us on all occasions with a kind of
      clumsy courtesy, accommodating themselves to our wants and our weakness
      during the journey, even while we heard them grumbling to each other
      against our effeminacy,&mdash;like some rude carrier, who, in charge of a
      package of valuable and fragile ware, takes every precaution for its
      preservation, while he curses the unwonted trouble which it occasions him.
      Once or twice, when they were disappointed in their contraband traffic,
      lost some goods in a rencontre with the Spanish officers of the revenue,
      and were finally pursued by a military force, their murmurs assumed a more
      alarming tone, in the terrified ears of my attendant and myself, when,
      without daring to seem to understand them, we heard them curse the insular
      heretics, on whose account God, Saint James, and Our Lady of the Pillar,
      had blighted their hopes of profit. These are dreadful recollections,
      Margaret."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, then, dearest lady," answered Margaret, "will you thus dwell on
      them?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is only," said the Lady Hermione, "because I linger like a criminal on
      the scaffold, and would fain protract the time that must inevitably bring
      on the final catastrophe. Yes, dearest Margaret, I rest and dwell on the
      events of that journey, marked as it was by fatigue and danger, though the
      road lay through the wildest and most desolate deserts and mountains, and
      though our companions, both men and women, were fierce and lawless
      themselves, and exposed to the most merciless retaliation from those with
      whom they were constantly engaged&mdash;yet would I rather dwell on these
      hazardous events than tell that which awaited me at Saint Jean de Luz."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But you arrived there in safety?" said Margaret.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, maiden," replied the Lady Hermione; "and were guided by the chief of
      our outlawed band to the house which had been assigned for reception, with
      the same punctilious accuracy with which he would have delivered a bale of
      uncustomed goods to a correspondent. I was told a gentleman had expected
      me for two days&mdash;I rushed into the apartment, and, when I expected to
      embrace my husband&mdash;I found myself in the arms of his friend!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The villain!" exclaimed Margaret, whose anxiety had, in spite of herself,
      been a moment suspended by the narrative of the lady.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," replied Hermione, calmly, though her voice somewhat faltered, "it
      is the name that best&mdash;that well befits him. He, Margaret, for whom I
      had sacrificed all&mdash;whose love and whose memory were dearer to me
      than my freedom, when I was in the convent&mdash;than my life, when I was
      on my perilous journey&mdash;had taken his measures to shake me off, and
      transfer me, as a privileged wanton, to the protection of his libertine
      friend. At first the stranger laughed at my tears and my agony, as the
      hysterical passion of a deluded and overreached wanton, or the wily
      affection of a courtezan. My claim of marriage he laughed at, assuring me
      he knew it was a mere farce required by me, and submitted to by his
      friend, to save some reserve of delicacy; and expressed his surprise that
      I should consider in any other light a ceremony which could be valid
      neither in Spain nor England, and insultingly offered to remove my
      scruples, by renewing such a union with me himself. My exclamations
      brought Monna Paula to my aid&mdash;she was not, indeed, far distant, for
      she had expected some such scene."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good heaven!" said Margaret, "was she a confidant of your base husband?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No," answered Hermione, "do her not that injustice. It was her
      persevering inquiries that discovered the place of my confinement&mdash;it
      was she who gave the information to my husband, and who remarked even then
      that the news was so much more interesting to his friend than to him, that
      she suspected, from an early period, it was the purpose of the villain to
      shake me off. On the journey, her suspicions were confirmed. She had heard
      him remark to his companion, with a cold sarcastic sneer, the total change
      which my prison and my illness had made on my complexion; and she had
      heard the other reply, that the defect might be cured by a touch of
      Spanish red. This, and other circumstances, having prepared her for such
      treachery, Monna Paula now entered, completely possessed of herself, and
      prepared to support me. Her calm representations went farther with the
      stranger than the expressions of my despair. If he did not entirely
      believe our tale, he at least acted the part of a man of honour, who would
      not intrude himself on defenceless females, whatever was their character;
      desisted from persecuting us with his presence; and not only directed
      Monna Paula how we should journey to Paris, but furnished her with money
      for the purpose of our journey. From the capital I wrote to Master Heriot,
      my father's most trusted correspondent; he came instantly to Paris on
      receiving the letter; and&mdash;But here comes Monna Paula, with more than
      the sum you desired. Take it, my dearest maiden&mdash;serve this youth if
      you will. But, O Margaret, look for no gratitude in return!"
    </p>
    <p>
      The Lady Hermione took the bag of gold from her attendant, and gave it to
      her young friend, who threw herself into her arms, kissed her on both the
      pale cheeks, over which the sorrows so newly awakened by her narrative had
      drawn many tears, then sprung up, wiped her own overflowing eyes, and left
      the Foljambe apartments with a hasty and resolved step.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXI
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  Rove not from pole to pole-the man lives here
  Whose razor's only equall'd by his beer;
  And where, in either sense, the cockney-put
  May, if he pleases, get confounded cut.
       <i>On the sign of an Alehouse kept by a Barber.</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      We are under the necessity of transporting our readers to the habitation
      of Benjamin Suddlechop, the husband of the active and efficient Dame
      Ursula, and who also, in his own person, discharged more offices than one.
      For, besides trimming locks and beards, and turning whiskers upward into
      the martial and swaggering curl, or downward into the drooping form which
      became mustaches of civil policy; besides also occasionally letting blood,
      either by cupping or by the lancet, extracting a stump, and performing
      other actions of petty pharmacy, very nearly as well as his neighbour
      Raredrench, the apothecary: he could, on occasion, draw a cup of beer as
      well as a tooth, tap a hogshead as well as a vein, and wash, with a
      draught of good ale, the mustaches which his art had just trimmed. But he
      carried on these trades apart from each other.
    </p>
    <p>
      His barber's shop projected its long and mysterious pole into Fleet
      Street, painted party-coloured-wise, to represent the ribbons with which,
      in elder times, that ensign was garnished. In the window were seen rows of
      teeth displayed upon strings like rosaries&mdash;cups with a red rag at
      the bottom, to resemble blood, an intimation that patients might be bled,
      cupped, or blistered, with the assistance of "sufficient advice;" while
      the more profitable, but less honourable operations upon the hair of the
      head and beard, were briefly and gravely announced. Within was the
      well-worn leather chair for customers, the guitar, then called a ghittern
      or cittern, with which a customer might amuse himself till his predecessor
      was dismissed from under Benjamin's hands, and which, therefore, often
      flayed the ears of the patient metaphorically, while his chin sustained
      from the razor literal scarification. All, therefore, in this department,
      spoke the chirurgeon-barber, or the barber-chirurgeon.
    </p>
    <p>
      But there was a little back-room, used as a private tap-room, which had a
      separate entrance by a dark and crooked alley, which communicated with
      Fleet Street, after a circuitous passage through several by-lanes and
      courts. This retired temple of Bacchus had also a connexion with
      Benjamin's more public shop by a long and narrow entrance, conducting to
      the secret premises in which a few old topers used to take their morning
      draught, and a few gill-sippers their modicum of strong waters, in a
      bashful way, after having entered the barber's shop under pretence of
      being shaved. Besides, this obscure tap-room gave a separate admission to
      the apartments of Dame Ursley, which she was believed to make use of in
      the course of her multifarious practice, both to let herself secretly out,
      and to admit clients and employers who cared not to be seen to visit her
      in public. Accordingly, after the hour of noon, by which time the modest
      and timid whetters, who were Benjamin's best customers, had each had his
      draught, or his thimbleful, the business of the tap was in a manner ended,
      and the charge of attending the back-door passed from one of the barber's
      apprentices to the little mulatto girl, the dingy Iris of Dame Suddlechop.
      Then came mystery thick upon mystery; muffled gallants, and masked
      females, in disguises of different fashions, were seen to glide through
      the intricate mazes of the alley; and even the low tap on the door, which
      frequently demanded the attention of the little Creole, had in it
      something that expressed secrecy and fear of discovery.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was the evening of the same day when Margaret had held the long
      conference with the Lady Hermione, that Dame Suddlechop had directed her
      little portress to "keep the door fast as a miser's purse-strings; and, as
      she valued her saffron skin, to let in none but&mdash;-" the name she
      added in a whisper, and accompanied it with a nod. The little domestic
      blinked intelligence, went to her post, and in brief time thereafter
      admitted and ushered into the presence of the dame, that very city-gallant
      whose clothes sat awkwardly upon him, and who had behaved so doughtily in
      the fray which befell at Nigel's first visit to Beaujeu's ordinary. The
      mulatto introduced him&mdash;"Missis, fine young gentleman, all over gold
      and velvet "&mdash;then muttered to herself as she shut the door, "fine
      young gentleman, he!&mdash;apprentice to him who makes the tick-tick."
    </p>
    <p>
      It was indeed&mdash;we are sorry to say it, and trust our readers will
      sympathize with the interest we take in the matter&mdash;it was indeed
      honest Jin Vin, who had been so far left to his own devices, and abandoned
      by his better angel, as occasionally to travesty himself in this fashion,
      and to visit, in the dress of a gallant of the day, those places of
      pleasure and dissipation, in which it would have been everlasting
      discredit to him to have been seen in his real character and condition;
      that is, had it been possible for him in his proper shape to have gained
      admission. There was now a deep gloom on his brow, his rich habit was
      hastily put on, and buttoned awry; his belt buckled in a most disorderly
      fashion, so that his sword stuck outwards from his side, instead of
      hanging by it with graceful negligence; while his poniard, though fairly
      hatched and gilded, stuck in his girdle like a butcher's steel in the fold
      of his blue apron. Persons of fashion had, by the way, the advantage
      formerly of being better distinguished from the vulgar than at present;
      for, what the ancient farthingale and more modern hoop were to court
      ladies, the sword was to the gentleman; an article of dress, which only
      rendered those ridiculous who assumed it for the nonce, without being in
      the habit of wearing it. Vincent's rapier got between his legs, and, as he
      stumbled over it, he exclaimed&mdash;"Zounds! 'tis the second time it has
      served me thus&mdash;I believe the damned trinket knows I am no true
      gentleman, and does it of set purpose."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come, come, mine honest Jin Vin&mdash;come, my good boy," said the dame,
      in a soothing tone, "never mind these trankums&mdash;a frank and hearty
      London 'prentice is worth all the gallants of the inns of court."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was a frank and hearty London 'prentice before I knew you, Dame
      Suddlechop," said Vincent; "what your advice has made me, you may find a
      name for; since, fore George! I am ashamed to think about it myself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A-well-a-day," quoth the dame, "and is it even so with thee?&mdash;nay,
      then, I know but one cure;" and with that, going to a little corner
      cupboard of carved wainscoat, she opened it by the assistance of a key,
      which, with half-a-dozen besides, hung in a silver chain at her girdle,
      and produced a long flask of thin glass cased with wicker, bringing forth
      at the same time two Flemish rummer glasses, with long stalks and
      capacious wombs. She filled the one brimful for her guest, and the other
      more modestly to about two-thirds of its capacity, for her own use,
      repeating, as the rich cordial trickled forth in a smooth oily stream&mdash;"Right
      Rosa Solis, as ever washed mulligrubs out of a moody brain!"
    </p>
    <p>
      But, though Jin Vin tossed off his glass without scruple, while the lady
      sippped hers more moderately, it did not appear to produce the expected
      amendment upon his humour. On the contrary, as he threw himself into the
      great leathern chair, in which Dame Ursley was wont to solace herself of
      an evening, he declared himself "the most miserable dog within the sound
      of Bow-bell."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And why should you be so idle as to think yourself so, silly boy?" said
      Dame Suddlechop; "but 'tis always thus&mdash;fools and children never know
      when they are well. Why, there is not one that walks in St. Paul's,
      whether in flat cap, or hat and feather, that has so many kind glances
      from the wenches as you, when ye swagger along Fleet Street with your bat
      under your arm, and your cap set aside upon your head. Thou knowest well,
      that, from Mrs. Deputy's self down to the waist-coateers in the alley, all
      of them are twiring and peeping betwixt their fingers when you pass; and
      yet you call yourself a miserable dog! and I must tell you all this over
      and over again, as if I were whistling the chimes of London to a pettish
      child, in order to bring the pretty baby into good-humour!"
    </p>
    <p>
      The flattery of Dame Ursula seemed to have the fate of her cordial&mdash;it
      was swallowed, indeed, by the party to whom she presented it, and that
      with some degree of relish, but it did not operate as a sedative on the
      disturbed state of the youth's mind. He laughed for an instant, half in
      scorn, and half in gratified vanity, but cast a sullen look on Dame Ursley
      as he replied to her last words,
    </p>
    <p>
      "You do treat me like a child indeed, when you sing over and over to me a
      cuckoo song that I care not a copper-filing for."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aha!" said Dame Ursley; "that is to say, you care not if you please all,
      unless you please one&mdash;You are a true lover, I warrant, and care not
      for all the city, from here to Whitechapel, so you could write yourself
      first in your pretty Peg-a-Ramsay's good-will. Well, well, take patience,
      man, and be guided by me, for I will be the hoop will bind you together at
      last."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is time you were so," said Jenkin, "for hitherto you have rather been
      the wedge to separate us."
    </p>
    <p>
      Dame Suddlechop had by this time finished her cordial&mdash;it was not the
      first she had taken that day; and, though a woman of strong brain, and
      cautious at least, if not abstemious, in her potations, it may
      nevertheless be supposed that her patience was not improved by the regimen
      which she observed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, thou ungracious and ingrate knave," said Dame Ursley, "have not I
      done every thing to put thee in thy mistress's good graces? She loves
      gentry, the proud Scottish minx, as a Welshman loves cheese, and has her
      father's descent from that Duke of Daldevil, or whatsoever she calls him,
      as close in her heart as gold in a miser's chest, though she as seldom
      shows it&mdash;and none she will think of, or have, but a gentleman&mdash;and
      a gentleman I have made of thee, Jin Vin, the devil cannot deny that."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have made a fool of me," said poor Jenkin, looking at the sleeve of
      his jacket.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never the worse gentleman for that," said Dame Ursley, laughing.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what is worse," said he, turning his back to her suddenly, and
      writhing in his chair, "you have made a rogue of me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never the worse gentleman for that neither," said Dame Ursley, in the
      same tone; "let a man bear his folly gaily and his knavery stoutly, and
      let me see if gravity or honesty will look him in the face now-a-days.
      Tut, man, it was only in the time of King Arthur or King Lud, that a
      gentleman was held to blemish his scutcheon by a leap over the line of
      reason or honesty&mdash;It is the bold look, the ready hand, the fine
      clothes, the brisk oath, and the wild brain, that makes the gallant
      now-a-days."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I know what you have made me," said Jin Vin; "since I have given up
      skittles and trap-ball for tennis and bowls, good English ale for thin
      Bordeaux and sour Rhenish, roast-beef and pudding for woodcocks and
      kickshaws&mdash;my bat for a sword, my cap for a beaver, my forsooth for a
      modish oath, my Christmas-box for a dice-box, my religion for the devil's
      matins, and mine honest name for&mdash;Woman, I could brain thee, when I
      think whose advice has guided me in all this!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Whose advice, then? whose advice, then? Speak out, thou poor, petty
      cloak-brusher, and say who advised thee!" retorted Dame Ursley, flushed
      and indignant&mdash;"Marry come up, my paltry companion&mdash;say by whose
      advice you have made a gamester of yourself, and a thief besides, as your
      words would bear&mdash;The Lord deliver us from evil!" And here Dame
      Ursley devoutly crossed herself.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hark ye, Dame Ursley Suddlechop," said Jenkin, starting up, his dark eyes
      flashing with anger; "remember I am none of your husband&mdash;and, if I
      were, you would do well not to forget whose threshold was swept when they
      last rode the Skimmington [Footnote: A species of triumphal procession in
      honour of female supremacy, when it rose to such a height as to attract
      the attention of the neighbourhood. It is described at full length in
      Hudibras. (Part II. Canto II.) As the procession passed on, those who
      attended it in an official capacity were wont to sweep the threshold of
      the houses in which Fame affirmed the mistresses to exercise paramount
      authority, which was given and received as a hint that their inmates
      might, in their turn, be made the subject of a similar ovation. The
      Skimmington, which in some degree resembled the proceedings of Mumbo Jumbo
      in an African village, has been long discontinued in England, apparently
      because female rule has become either milder or less frequent than among
      our ancestors.] upon such another scolding jade as yourself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I hope to see you ride up Holborn next," said Dame Ursley, provoked out
      of all her holiday and sugar-plum expressions, "with a nosegay at your
      breast, and a parson at your elbow!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "That may well be," answered Jin Vin, bitterly, "if I walk by your
      counsels as I have begun by them; but, before that day comes, you shall
      know that Jin Vin has the brisk boys of Fleet Street still at his wink.&mdash;Yes,
      you jade, you shall be carted for bawd and conjurer, double-dyed in grain,
      and bing off to Bridewell, with every brass basin betwixt the Bar and
      Paul's beating before you, as if the devil were banging them with his
      beef-hook."
    </p>
    <p>
      Dame Ursley coloured like scarlet, seized upon the half-emptied flask of
      cordial, and seemed, by her first gesture, about to hurl it at the head of
      her adversary; but suddenly, and as if by a strong internal effort, she
      checked her outrageous resentment, and, putting the bottle to its more
      legitimate use, filled, with wonderful composure, the two glasses, and,
      taking up one of them, said, with a smile, which better became her comely
      and jovial countenance than the fury by which it was animated the moment
      before&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here is to thee, Jin Vin, my lad, in all loving kindness, whatever spite
      thou bearest to me, that have always been a mother to thee."
    </p>
    <p>
      Jenkin's English good-nature could not resist this forcible appeal; he
      took up the other glass, and lovingly pledged the dame in her cup of
      reconciliation, and proceeded to make a kind of grumbling apology for his
      own violence&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "For you know," he said, "it was you persuaded me to get these fine
      things, and go to that godless ordinary, and ruffle it with the best, and
      bring you home all the news; and you said, I, that was the cock of the
      ward, would soon be the cock of the ordinary, and would win ten times as
      much at gleek and primero, as I used to do at put and beggar-my-neighbour&mdash;and
      turn up doublets with the dice, as busily as I was wont to trowl down the
      ninepins in the skittle-ground&mdash;and then you said I should bring you
      such news out of the ordinary as should make us all, when used as you knew
      how to use it&mdash;and now you see what is to come of it all!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Tis all true thou sayest, lad," said the dame; "but thou must have
      patience. Rome was not built in a day&mdash;you cannot become used to your
      court-suit in a month's time, any more than when you changed your long
      coat for a doublet and hose; and in gaming you must expect to lose as well
      as gain&mdash;'tis the sitting gamester sweeps the board."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The board has swept me, I know," replied Jin Vin, "and that pretty clean
      out.&mdash;I would that were the worst; but I owe for all this finery, and
      settling-day is coming on, and my master will find my accompt worse than
      it should be by a score of pieces. My old father will be called in to make
      them good; and I&mdash;may save the hangman a labour and do the job
      myself, or go the Virginia voyage."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do not speak so loud, my dear boy," said Dame Ursley; "but tell me why
      you borrow not from a friend to make up your arrear. You could lend him as
      much when his settling-day came round."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, no&mdash;I have had enough of that work," said Vincent. "Tunstall
      would lend me the money, poor fellow, an he had it; but his gentle,
      beggarly kindred, plunder him of all, and keep him as bare as a birch at
      Christmas. No&mdash;my fortune may be spelt in four letters, and these
      read, RUIN."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now hush, you simple craven," said the dame; "did you never hear, that
      when the need is highest the help is nighest? We may find aid for you yet,
      and sooner than you are aware of. I am sure I would never have advised you
      to such a course, but only you had set heart and eye on pretty Mistress
      Marget, and less would not serve you&mdash;and what could I do but advise
      you to cast your city-slough, and try your luck where folks find fortune?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, ay&mdash;I remember your counsel well," said Jenkin; "I was to be
      introduced to her by you when I was perfect in my gallantries, and as rich
      as the king; and then she was to be surprised to find I was poor Jin Vin,
      that used to watch, from matin to curfew, for one glance of her eye; and
      now, instead of that, she has set her soul on this Scottish sparrow-hawk
      of a lord that won my last tester, and be cursed to him; and so I am
      bankrupt in love, fortune, and character, before I am out of my time, and
      all along of you, Mother Midnight."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do not call me out of my own name, my dear boy, Jin Vin," answered
      Ursula, in a tone betwixt rage and coaxing,&mdash;"do not; because I am no
      saint, but a poor sinful woman, with no more patience than she needs, to
      carry her through a thousand crosses. And if I have done you wrong by evil
      counsel, I must mend it and put you right by good advice. And for the
      score of pieces that must be made up at settling-day, why, here is, in a
      good green purse, as much as will make that matter good; and we will get
      old Crosspatch, the tailor, to take a long day for your clothes; and&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mother, are you serious?" said Jin Vin, unable to trust either his eyes
      or his ears.
    </p>
    <p>
      "In troth am I," said the dame; "and will you call me Mother Midnight now,
      Jin Vin?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mother Midnight!" exclaimed Jenkin, hugging the dame in his transport,
      and bestowing on her still comely cheek a hearty and not unacceptable
      smack, that sounded like the report of a pistol,&mdash;"Mother Midday,
      rather, that has risen to light me out of my troubles&mdash;a mother more
      dear than she who bore me; for she, poor soul, only brought me into a
      world of sin and sorrow, and your timely aid has helped me out of the one
      and the other." And the good-natured fellow threw himself back in his
      chair, and fairly drew his hand across his eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You would not have me be made to ride the Skimmington then," said the
      dame; "or parade me in a cart, with all the brass basins of the ward
      beating the march to Bridewell before me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I would sooner be carted to Tyburn myself," replied the penitent.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, then, sit up like a man, and wipe thine eyes; and, if thou art
      pleased with what I have done, I will show thee how thou mayst requite me
      in the highest degree."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How?" said Jenkin Vincent, sitting straight up in his chair.&mdash;"You
      would have me, then, do you some service for this friendship of yours?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, marry would I," said Dame Ursley; "for you are to know, that though I
      am right glad to stead you with it, this gold is not mine, but was placed
      in my hands in order to find a trusty agent, for a certain purpose; and so&mdash;But
      what's the matter with you?&mdash;are you fool enough to be angry because
      you cannot get a purse of gold for nothing? I would I knew where such were
      to come by. I never could find them lying in my road, I promise you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, no, dame," said poor Jenkin, "it is not for that; for, look you, I
      would rather work these ten bones to the knuckles, and live by my labour;
      but&mdash;" (and here he paused.)
    </p>
    <p>
      "But what, man?" said Dame Ursley. "You are willing to work for what you
      want; and yet, when I offer you gold for the winning, you look on me as
      the devil looks over Lincoln."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is ill talking of the devil, mother," said Jenkin. "I had him even now
      in my head&mdash;for, look you, I am at that pass, when they say he will
      appear to wretched ruined creatures, and proffer them gold for the
      fee-simple of their salvation. But I have been trying these two days to
      bring my mind strongly up to the thought, that I will rather sit down in
      shame, and sin, and sorrow, as I am like to do, than hold on in ill
      courses to get rid of my present straits; and so take care, Dame Ursula,
      how you tempt me to break such a good resolution."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I tempt you to nothing, young man," answered Ursula; "and, as I perceive
      you are too wilful to be wise, I will e'en put my purse in my pocket, and
      look out for some one that will work my turn with better will, and more
      thankfulness. And you may go your own course,&mdash;break your indenture,
      ruin your father, lose your character, and bid pretty Mistress Margaret
      farewell, for ever and a day."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Stay, stay," said Jenkin "the woman is in as great a hurry as a brown
      baker when his oven is overheated. First, let me hear that which you have
      to propose to me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, after all, it is but to get a gentleman of rank and fortune, who is
      in trouble, carried in secret down the river, as far as the Isle of Dogs,
      or somewhere thereabout, where he may lie concealed until he can escape
      aboard. I know thou knowest every place by the river's side as well as the
      devil knows an usurer, or the beggar knows his dish."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A plague of your similes, dame," replied the apprentice; "for the devil
      gave me that knowledge, and beggary may be the end on't.&mdash;But what
      has this gentleman done, that he should need to be under hiding? No
      Papist, I hope&mdash;no Catesby and Piercy business&mdash;no Gunpowder
      Plot?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Fy, fy!&mdash;what do you take me for?" said Dame Ursula. "I am as good a
      churchwoman as the parson's wife, save that necessary business will not
      allow me to go there oftener than on Christmas-day, heaven help me!&mdash;No,
      no&mdash;this is no Popish matter. The gentleman hath but struck another
      in the Park&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ha! what?" said Vincent, interrupting her with a start.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, ay, I see you guess whom I mean. It is even he we have spoken of so
      often&mdash;just Lord Glenvarloch, and no one else."
    </p>
    <p>
      Vincent sprung from his seat, and traversed the room with rapid and
      disorderly steps.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There, there it is now&mdash;you are always ice or gunpowder. You sit in
      the great leathern armchair, as quiet as a rocket hangs upon the frame in
      a rejoicing-night till the match be fired, and then, whizz! you are in the
      third heaven, beyond the reach of the human voice, eye, or brain.&mdash;When
      you have wearied yourself with padding to and fro across the room, will
      you tell me your determination, for time presses? Will you aid me in this
      matter, or not?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No&mdash;no&mdash;no&mdash;a thousand times no," replied Jenkin. "Have
      you not confessed to me, that Margaret loves him?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay," answered the dame, "that she thinks she does; but that will not last
      long."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And have I not told you but this instant," replied Jenkin, "that it was
      this same Glenvarloch that rooked me, at the ordinary, of every penny I
      had, and made a knave of me to boot, by gaining more than was my own?&mdash;O
      that cursed gold, which Shortyard, the mercer, paid me that morning on
      accompt, for mending the clock of Saint Stephen's! If I had not, by ill
      chance, had that about me, I could but have beggared my purse, without
      blemishing my honesty; and, after I had been rooked of all the rest
      amongst them, I must needs risk the last five pieces with that shark among
      the minnows!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Granted," said Dame Ursula. "All this I know; and I own, that as Lord
      Glenvarloch was the last you played with, you have a right to charge your
      ruin on his head. Moreover, I admit, as already said, that Margaret has
      made him your rival. Yet surely, now he is in danger to lose his hand, it
      is not a time to remember all this?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "By my faith, but it is, though," said the young citizen. "Lose his hand,
      indeed? They may take his head, for what I care. Head and hand have made
      me a miserable wretch!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now, were it not better, my prince of flat-caps," said Dame Ursula, "that
      matters were squared between you; and that, through means of the same
      Scottish lord, who has, as you say, deprived you of your money and your
      mistress, you should in a short time recover both?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "And how can your wisdom come to that conclusion, dame?" said the
      apprentice. "My money, indeed, I can conceive&mdash;that is, if I comply
      with your proposal; but&mdash;my pretty Marget!&mdash;how serving this
      lord, whom she has set her nonsensical head upon, can do me good with her,
      is far beyond my conception."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is because, in simple phrase," said Dame Ursula, "thou knowest no
      more of a woman's heart than doth a Norfolk gosling. Look you, man. Were I
      to report to Mistress Margaret that the young lord has miscarried through
      thy lack of courtesy in refusing to help him, why, then, thou wert odious
      to her for ever. She will loathe thee as she will loathe the very cook who
      is to strike off Glenvarloch's hand with his cleaver&mdash;and then she
      will be yet more fixed in her affections towards this lord. London will
      hear of nothing but him&mdash;speak of nothing but him&mdash;think of
      nothing but him, for three weeks at least, and all that outcry will serve
      to keep him uppermost in her mind; for nothing pleases a girl so much as
      to bear relation to any one who is the talk of the whole world around her.
      Then, if he suffer this sentence of the law, it is a chance if she ever
      forgets him. I saw that handsome, proper young gentleman Babington, suffer
      in the Queen's time myself, and though I was then but a girl, he was in my
      head for a year after he was hanged. But, above all, pardoned or punished,
      Glenvarloch will probably remain in London, and his presence will keep up
      the silly girl's nonsensical fancy about him. Whereas, if he escapes&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, show me how that is to avail me?" said Jenkin. "If he escapes," said
      the dame, resuming her argument, "he must resign the Court for years, if
      not for life; and you know the old saying, 'out of sight, and out of
      mind.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "True&mdash;most true," said Jenkin; "spoken like an oracle, most wise
      Ursula."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, ay, I knew you would hear reason at last," said the wily dame; "and
      then, when this same lord is off and away for once and for ever, who, I
      pray you, is to be pretty pet's confidential person, and who is to fill up
      the void in her affections?&mdash;why, who but thou, thou pearl of
      'prentices! And then you will have overcome your own inclinations to
      comply with hers, and every woman is sensible of that&mdash;and you will
      have run some risk, too, in carrying her desires into effect&mdash;and
      what is it that woman likes better than bravery, and devotion to her will?
      Then you have her secret, and she must treat you with favour and
      observance, and repose confidence in you, and hold private intercourse
      with you, till she weeps with one eye for the absent lover whom she is
      never to see again, and blinks with the other blithely upon him who is in
      presence; and then if you know not how to improve the relation in which
      you stand with her, you are not the brisk lively lad that all the world
      takes you for&mdash;Said I well?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have spoken like an empress, most mighty Ursula," said Jenkin
      Vincent; "and your will shall be obeyed."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You know Alsatia well?" continued his tutoress.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well enough, well enough," replied he with a nod; "I have heard the dice
      rattle there in my day, before I must set up for gentleman, and go among
      the gallants at the Shavaleer Bojo's, as they call him,&mdash;the worse
      rookery of the two, though the feathers are the gayest."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And they will have a respect for thee yonder, I warrant?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, ay," replied Vin, "when I am got into my fustian doublet again, with
      my bit of a trunnion under my arm, I can walk Alsatia at midnight as I
      could do that there Fleet Street in midday&mdash;they will not one of them
      swagger with the prince of 'prentices, and the king of clubs&mdash;they
      know I could bring every tall boy in the ward down upon them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And you know all the watermen, and so forth?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Can converse with every sculler in his own language, from Richmond to
      Gravesend, and know all the water-cocks, from John Taylor the Poet to
      little Grigg the Grinner, who never pulls but he shows all his teeth from
      ear to ear, as if he were grimacing through a horse-collar."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And you can take any dress or character upon you well, such as a
      waterman's, a butcher's, a foot-soldier's," continued Ursula, "or the
      like?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not such a mummer as I am within the walls, and thou knowest that well
      enough, dame," replied the apprentice. "I can touch the players
      themselves, at the Ball and at the Fortune, for presenting any thing
      except a gentleman. Take but this d&mdash;d skin of frippery off me, which
      I think the devil stuck me into, and you shall put me into nothing else
      that I will not become as if I were born to it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, we will talk of your transmutation by and by," said the dame, "and
      find you clothes withal, and money besides; for it will take a good deal
      to carry the thing handsomely through."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But where is that money to come from, dame?" said Jenkin; "there is a
      question I would fain have answered before I touch it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, what a fool art thou to ask such a question! Suppose I am content to
      advance it to please young madam, what is the harm then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will suppose no such thing," said Jenkin, hastily; "I know that you,
      dame, have no gold to spare, and maybe would not spare it if you had&mdash;so
      that cock will not crow. It must be from Margaret herself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, thou suspicious animal, and what if it were?" said Ursula.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Only this," replied Jenkin, "that I will presently to her, and learn if
      she has come fairly by so much ready money; for sooner than connive at her
      getting it by any indirection, I would hang myself at once. It is enough
      what I have done myself, no need to engage poor Margaret in such villainy&mdash;I'll
      to her, and tell her of the danger&mdash;I will, by heaven!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are mad to think of it," said Dame Suddlechop, considerably alarmed&mdash;"hear
      me but a moment. I know not precisely from whom she got the money; but
      sure I am that she obtained it at her godfather's."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, Master George Heriot is not returned from France," said Jenkin.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No," replied Ursula, "but Dame Judith is at home&mdash;and the strange
      lady, whom they call Master Heriot's ghost&mdash;she never goes abroad."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is very true, Dame Suddlechop," said Jenkin; "and I believe you have
      guessed right&mdash;they say that lady has coin at will; and if Marget can
      get a handful of fairy-gold, why, she is free to throw it away at will."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, Jin Vin," said the dame, reducing her voice almost to a whisper, "we
      should not want gold at will neither, could we but read the riddle of that
      lady!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "They may read it that list," said Jenkin, "I'll never pry into what
      concerns me not&mdash;Master George Heriot is a worthy and brave citizen,
      and an honour to London, and has a right to manage his own household as he
      likes best.&mdash;There was once a talk of rabbling him the fifth of
      November before the last, because they said he kept a nunnery in his
      house, like old Lady Foljambe; but Master George is well loved among the
      'prentices, and we got so many brisk boys of us together as should have
      rabbled the rabble, had they had but the heart to rise."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, let that pass," said Ursula; "and now, tell me how you will manage
      to be absent from shop a day or two, for you must think that this matter
      will not be ended sooner."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, as to that, I can say nothing," said Jenkin, "I have always served
      duly and truly; I have no heart to play truant, and cheat my master of his
      time as well as his money."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, but the point is to get back his money for him," said Ursula, "which
      he is not likely to see on other conditions. Could you not ask leave to go
      down to your uncle in Essex for two or three days? He may be ill, you
      know."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, if I must, I must," said Jenkin, with a heavy sigh; "but I will not
      be lightly caught treading these dark and crooked paths again."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hush thee, then," said the dame, "and get leave for this very evening;
      and come back hither, and I will introduce you to another implement, who
      must be employed in the matter.&mdash;Stay, stay!&mdash;the lad is mazed&mdash;you
      would not go into your master's shop in that guise, surely? Your trunk is
      in the matted chamber, with your 'prentice things&mdash;go and put them on
      as fast as you can."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I think I am bewitched," said Jenkin, giving a glance towards his dress,
      "or that these fool's trappings have made as great an ass of me as of many
      I have seen wear them; but let line once be rid of the harness, and if you
      catch me putting it on again, I will give you leave to sell me to a gipsy,
      to carry pots, pans, and beggar's bantlings, all the rest of my life." So
      saying, he retired to change his apparel.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXII
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  Chance will not do the work&mdash;Chance sends the breeze;
  But if the pilot slumber at the helm,
  The very wind that wafts us towards the port
  May dash us on the shelves.&mdash;The steersman's part is vigilance,
  Blow it or rough or smooth.
                               <i>Old Play</i>.
</pre>
    <p>
      We left Nigel, whose fortunes we are bound to trace by the engagement
      contracted in our title-page, sad and solitary in the mansion of Trapbois
      the usurer, having just received a letter instead of a visit from his
      friend the Templar, stating reasons why he could not at that time come to
      see him in Alsatia. So that it appeared that his intercourse with the
      better and more respectable class of society, was, for the present,
      entirely cut off. This was a melancholy, and, to a proud mind like that of
      Nigel, a degrading reflection.
    </p>
    <p>
      He went to the window of his apartment, and found the street enveloped in
      one of those thick, dingy, yellow-coloured fogs, which often invest the
      lower part of London and Westminster. Amid the darkness, dense and
      palpable, were seen to wander like phantoms a reveller or two, whom the
      morning had surprised where the evening left them; and who now, with
      tottering steps, and by an instinct which intoxication could not wholly
      overcome, were groping the way to their own homes, to convert day into
      night, for the purpose of sleeping off the debauch which had turned night
      into day. Although it was broad day in the other parts of the city, it was
      scarce dawn yet in Alsatia; and none of the sounds of industry or
      occupation were there heard, which had long before aroused the slumberers
      in any other quarter. The prospect was too tiresome and disagreeable to
      detain Lord Glenvarloch at his station, so, turning from the window, he
      examined with more interest the furniture and appearance of the apartment
      which he tenanted.
    </p>
    <p>
      Much of it had been in its time rich and curious&mdash;there was a huge
      four-post bed, with as much carved oak about it as would have made the
      head of a man-of-war, and tapestry hangings ample enough to have been her
      sails. There was a huge mirror with a massy frame of gilt brass-work,
      which was of Venetian manufacture, and must have been worth a considerable
      sum before it received the tremendous crack, which, traversing it from one
      corner to the other, bore the same proportion to the surface that the Nile
      bears to the map of Egypt. The chairs were of different forms and shapes,
      some had been carved, some gilded, some covered with damasked leather,
      some with embroidered work, but all were damaged and worm-eaten. There was
      a picture of Susanna and the Elders over the chimney-piece, which might
      have been accounted a choice piece, had not the rats made free with the
      chaste fair one's nose, and with the beard of one of her reverend
      admirers.
    </p>
    <p>
      In a word, all that Lord Glenvarloch saw, seemed to have been articles
      carried off by appraisement or distress, or bought as pennyworths at some
      obscure broker's, and huddled together in the apartment, as in a
      sale-room, without regard to taste or congruity.
    </p>
    <p>
      The place appeared to Nigel to resemble the houses near the sea-coast,
      which are too often furnished with the spoils of wrecked vessels, as this
      was probably fitted up with the relics of ruined profligates.&mdash;"My
      own skiff is among the breakers," thought Lord Glenvarloch, "though my
      wreck will add little to the profits of the spoiler."
    </p>
    <p>
      He was chiefly interested in the state of the grate, a huge assemblage of
      rusted iron bars which stood in the chimney, unequally supported by three
      brazen feet, moulded into the form of lion's claws, while the fourth,
      which had been bent by an accident, seemed proudly uplifted as if to paw
      the ground; or as if the whole article had nourished the ambitious purpose
      of pacing forth into the middle of the apartment, and had one foot ready
      raised for the journey. A smile passed over Nigel's face as this fantastic
      idea presented itself to his fancy.&mdash;"I must stop its march,
      however," he thought; "for this morning is chill and raw enough to demand
      some fire."
    </p>
    <p>
      He called accordingly from the top of a large staircase, with a heavy
      oaken balustrade, which gave access to his own and other apartments, for
      the house was old and of considerable size; but, receiving no answer to
      his repeated summons, he was compelled to go in search of some one who
      might accommodate him with what he wanted.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel had, according to the fashion of the old world in Scotland, received
      an education which might, in most particulars, be termed simple, hardy,
      and unostentatious; but he had, nevertheless, been accustomed to much
      personal deference, and to the constant attendance and ministry of one or
      more domestics. This was the universal custom in Scotland, where wages
      were next to nothing, and where, indeed, a man of title or influence might
      have as many attendants as he pleased, for the mere expense of food,
      clothes, and countenance. Nigel was therefore mortified and displeased
      when he found himself without notice or attendance; and the more
      dissatisfied, because he was at the same time angry with himself for
      suffering such a trifle to trouble him at all, amongst matters of more
      deep concernment. "There must surely be some servants in so large a house
      as this," said he, as he wandered over the place, through which he was
      conducted by a passage which branched off from the gallery. As he went on,
      he tried the entrance to several apartments, some of which he found were
      locked and others unfurnished, all apparently unoccupied; so that at
      length he returned to the staircase, and resolved to make his way down to
      the lower part of the house, where he supposed he must at least find the
      old gentleman, and his ill-favoured daughter. With this purpose he first
      made his entrance into a little low, dark parlour, containing a well-worn
      leathern easy-chair, before which stood a pair of slippers, while on the
      left side rested a crutch-handled staff; an oaken table stood before it,
      and supported a huge desk clamped with iron, and a massive pewter
      inkstand. Around the apartment were shelves, cabinets, and other places
      convenient for depositing papers. A sword, musketoon, and a pair of
      pistols, hung over the chimney, in ostentatious display, as if to intimate
      that the proprietor would be prompt in the defence of his premises.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This must be the usurer's den," thought Nigel; and he was about to call
      aloud, when the old man, awakened even by the slightest noise, for avarice
      seldom sleeps sound, soon was heard from the inner room, speaking in a
      voice of irritability, rendered more tremulous by his morning cough.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ugh, ugh, ugh&mdash;who is there? I say&mdash;ugh, ugh&mdash;who is
      there? Why, Martha!&mdash;ugh! ugh&mdash;Martha Trapbois&mdash;here be
      thieves in the house, and they will not speak to me&mdash;why, Martha!&mdash;thieves,
      thieves&mdash;ugh, ugh, ugh!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel endeavoured to explain, but the idea of thieves had taken possession
      of the old man's pineal gland, and he kept coughing and screaming, and
      screaming and coughing, until the gracious Martha entered the apartment;
      and, having first outscreamed her father, in order to convince him that
      there was no danger, and to assure him that the intruder was their new
      lodger, and having as often heard her sire ejaculate&mdash;"Hold him fast&mdash;ugh,
      ugh&mdash;hold him fast till I come," she at length succeeded in silencing
      his fears and his clamour, and then coldly and dryly asked Lord
      Glenvarloch what he wanted in her father's apartment.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her lodger had, in the meantime, leisure to contemplate her appearance,
      which did not by any means improve the idea he had formed of it by
      candlelight on the preceding evening. She was dressed in what was called a
      Queen Mary's ruff and farthingale; not the falling ruff with which the
      unfortunate Mary of Scotland is usually painted, but that which, with more
      than Spanish stiffness, surrounded the throat, and set off the morose
      head, of her fierce namesake, of Smithfield memory. This antiquated dress
      assorted well with the faded complexion, grey eyes, thin lips, and austere
      visage of the antiquated maiden, which was, moreover, enhanced by a black
      hood, worn as her head-gear, carefully disposed so as to prevent any of
      her hair from escaping to view, probably because the simplicity of the
      period knew no art of disguising the colour with which time had begun to
      grizzle her tresses. Her figure was tall, thin, and flat, with skinny arms
      and hands, and feet of the larger size, cased in huge high-heeled shoes,
      which added height to a stature already ungainly. Apparently some art had
      been used by the tailor, to conceal a slight defect of shape, occasioned
      by the accidental elevation of one shoulder above the other; but the
      praiseworthy efforts of the ingenious mechanic, had only succeeded in
      calling the attention of the observer to his benevolent purpose, without
      demonstrating that he had been able to achieve it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Such was Mrs. Martha Trapbois, whose dry "What were you seeking here,
      sir?" fell again, and with reiterated sharpness, on the ear of Nigel, as
      he gazed upon her presence, and compared it internally to one of the faded
      and grim figures in the old tapestry which adorned his bedstead. It was,
      however, necessary to reply, and he answered, that he came in search of
      the servants, as he desired to have a fire kindled in his apartment on
      account of the rawness of the morning.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The woman who does our char-work," answered Mistress Martha, "comes at
      eight o'clock-if you want fire sooner, there are fagots and a bucket of
      sea-coal in the stone-closet at the head of the stair&mdash;and there is a
      flint and steel on the upper shelf&mdash;you can light fire for yourself
      if you will."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No&mdash;no&mdash;no, Martha," ejaculated her father, who, having donned
      his rustic tunic, with his hose all ungirt, and his feet slip-shod,
      hastily came out of the inner apartment, with his mind probably full of
      robbers, for he had a naked rapier in his hand, which still looked
      formidable, though rust had somewhat marred its shine.&mdash;What he had
      heard at entrance about lighting a fire, had changed, however, the current
      of his ideas. "No&mdash;no&mdash;no," he cried, and each negative was more
      emphatic than its predecessor-"The gentleman shall not have the trouble to
      put on a fire&mdash;ugh&mdash;ugh. I'll put it on myself, for a
      con-si-de-ra-ti-on."
    </p>
    <p>
      This last word was a favourite expression with the old gentleman, which he
      pronounced in a peculiar manner, gasping it out syllable by syllable, and
      laying a strong emphasis upon the last. It was, indeed, a sort of
      protecting clause, by which he guarded himself against all inconveniences
      attendant on the rash habit of offering service or civility of any kind,
      the which, when hastily snapped at by those to whom they are uttered, give
      the profferer sometimes room to repent his promptitude.
    </p>
    <p>
      "For shame, father," said Martha, "that must not be. Master Grahame will
      kindle his own fire, or wait till the char-woman comes to do it for him,
      just as likes him best."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, child&mdash;no, child. Child Martha, no," reiterated the old miser&mdash;"no
      char-woman shall ever touch a grate in my house; they put&mdash;ugh, ugh&mdash;the
      faggot uppermost, and so the coal kindles not, and the flame goes up the
      chimney, and wood and heat are both thrown away. Now, I will lay it
      properly for the gentleman, for a consideration, so that it shall last&mdash;ugh,
      ugh&mdash;last the whole day." Here his vehemence increased his cough so
      violently, that Nigel could only, from a scattered word here and there,
      comprehend that it was a recommendation to his daughter to remove the
      poker and tongs from the stranger's fireside, with an assurance, that,
      when necessary, his landlord would be in attendance to adjust it himself,
      "for a consideration."
    </p>
    <p>
      Martha paid as little attention to the old man's injunctions as a
      predominant dame gives to those of a henpecked husband. She only repeated,
      in a deeper and more emphatic tone of censure,&mdash;"For shame, father&mdash;for
      shame!" then, turning to her guest, said, with her usual ungraciousness of
      manner&mdash;"Master Grahame&mdash;it is best to be plain with you at
      first. My father is an old, a very old man, and his wits, as you may see,
      are somewhat weakened&mdash;though I would not advise you to make a
      bargain with him, else you may find them too sharp for your own. For
      myself, I am a lone woman, and, to say truth, care little to see or
      converse with any one. If you can be satisfied with house-room, shelter,
      and safety, it will be your own fault if you have them not, and they are
      not always to be found in this unhappy quarter. But, if you seek
      deferential observance and attendance, I tell you at once you will not
      find them here."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am not wont either to thrust myself upon acquaintance, madam, or to
      give trouble," said the guest; "nevertheless, I shall need the assistance
      of a domestic to assist me to dress&mdash;Perhaps you can recommend me to
      such?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, to twenty," answered Mistress Martha, "who will pick your purse
      while they tie your points, and cut your throat while they smooth your
      pillow."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will be his servant, myself," said the old man, whose intellect, for a
      moment distanced, had again, in some measure, got up with the
      conversation. "I will brush his cloak&mdash;ugh, ugh&mdash;and tie his
      points&mdash;ugh, ugh&mdash;and clean his shoes&mdash;ugh&mdash;and run on
      his errands with speed and safety&mdash;ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh&mdash;for a
      consideration."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good-morrow to you, sir," said Martha, to Nigel, in a tone of direct and
      positive dismissal. "It cannot be agreeable to a daughter that a stranger
      should hear her father speak thus. If you be really a gentleman, you will
      retire to your own apartment."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will not delay a moment," said Nigel, respectfully, for he was sensible
      that circumstances palliated the woman's rudeness. "I would but ask you,
      if seriously there can be danger in procuring the assistance of a
      serving-man in this place?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Young gentleman," said Martha, "you must know little of Whitefriars to
      ask the question. We live alone in this house, and seldom has a stranger
      entered it; nor should you, to be plain, had my will been consulted. Look
      at the door&mdash;see if that of a castle can be better secured; the
      windows of the first floor are grated on the outside, and within, look to
      these shutters."
    </p>
    <p>
      She pulled one of them aside, and showed a ponderous apparatus of bolts
      and chains for securing the window-shutters, while her father, pressing to
      her side, seized her gown with a trembling hand, and said, in a low
      whisper, "Show not the trick of locking and undoing them. Show him not the
      trick on't, Martha&mdash;ugh, ugh&mdash;on <i>no</i> consideration."
      Martha went on, without paying him any attention.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And yet, young gentleman, we have been more than once like to find all
      these defences too weak to protect our lives; such an evil effect on the
      wicked generation around us hath been made by the unhappy report of my
      poor father's wealth."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Say nothing of that, housewife," said the miser, his irritability
      increased by the very supposition of his being wealthy&mdash;"Say nothing
      of that, or I will beat thee, housewife&mdash;beat thee with my staff, for
      fetching and carrying lies that will procure our throats to be cut at last&mdash;ugh,
      ugh.&mdash;I am but a poor man," he continued, turning to Nigel&mdash;"a
      very poor man, that am willing to do any honest turn upon earth, for a
      modest consideration."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I therefore warn you of the life you must lead, young gentleman," said
      Martha; "the poor woman who does the char-work will assist you so far as
      in her power, but the wise man is his own best servant and assistant."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is a lesson you have taught me, madam, and I thank you for it&mdash;I
      will assuredly study it at leisure."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You will do well," said Martha; "and as you seem thankful for advice, I,
      though I am no professed counsellor of others, will give you more. Make no
      intimacy with any one in Whitefriars&mdash;borrow no money, on any score,
      especially from my father, for, dotard as he seems, he will make an ass of
      you. Last, and best of all, stay here not an instant longer than you can
      help it. Farewell, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A gnarled tree may bear good fruit, and a harsh nature may give good
      counsel," thought the Lord of Glenvarloch, as he retreated to his own
      apartment, where the same reflection occurred to him again and again,
      while, unable as yet to reconcile himself to the thoughts of becoming his
      own fire-maker, he walked up and down his bedroom, to warm himself by
      exercise.
    </p>
    <p>
      At length his meditations arranged themselves in the following soliloquy&mdash;by
      which expression I beg leave to observe once for all, that I do not mean
      that Nigel literally said aloud with his bodily organs, the words which
      follow in inverted commas, (while pacing the room by himself,) but that I
      myself choose to present to my dearest reader the picture of my hero's
      mind, his reflections and resolutions, in the form of a speech, rather
      than in that of a narrative. In other words, I have put his thoughts into
      language; and this I conceive to be the purpose of the soliloquy upon the
      stage as well as in the closet, being at once the most natural, and
      perhaps the only way of communicating to the spectator what is supposed to
      be passing in the bosom of the scenic personage. There are no such
      soliloquies in nature, it is true, but unless they were received as a
      conventional medium of communication betwixt the poet and the audience, we
      should reduce dramatic authors to the recipe of Master Puff, who makes
      Lord Burleigh intimate a long train of political reasoning to the
      audience, by one comprehensive shake of his noddle. In narrative, no
      doubt, the writer has the alternative of telling that his personages
      thought so and so, inferred thus and thus, and arrived at such and such a
      conclusion; but the soliloquy is a more concise and spirited mode of
      communicating the same information; and therefore thus communed, or thus
      might have communed, the Lord of Glenvarloch with his own mind.
    </p>
    <p>
      "She is right, and has taught me a lesson I will profit by. I have been,
      through my whole life, one who leant upon others for that assistance,
      which it is more truly noble to derive from my own exertions. I am ashamed
      of feeling the paltry inconvenience which long habit had led me to annex
      to the want of a servant's assistance&mdash;I am ashamed of that; but far,
      far more am I ashamed to have suffered the same habit of throwing my own
      burden on others, to render me, since I came to this city, a mere victim
      of those events, which I have never even attempted to influence&mdash;a
      thing never acting, but perpetually acted upon&mdash;protected by one
      friend, deceived by another; but in the advantage which I received from
      the one, and the evil I have sustained from the other, as passive and
      helpless as a boat that drifts without oar or rudder at the mercy of the
      winds and waves. I became a courtier, because Heriot so advised it&mdash;a
      gamester, because Dalgarno so contrived it&mdash;an Alsatian, because
      Lowestoffe so willed it. Whatever of good or bad has befallen me, has
      arisen out of the agency of others, not from my own. My father's son must
      no longer hold this facile and puerile course. Live or die, sink or swim,
      Nigel Olifaunt, from this moment, shall owe his safety, success, and
      honour, to his own exertions, or shall fall with the credit of having at
      least exerted his own free agency. I will write it down in my tablets, in
      her very words,&mdash;'The wise man is his own best assistant.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      He had just put his tablets in his pocket when the old charwoman, who, to
      add to her efficiency, was sadly crippled by rheumatism, hobbled into the
      room, to try if she could gain a small gratification by waiting on the
      stranger. She readily undertook to get Lord Glenvarloch's breakfast, and
      as there was an eating-house at the next door, she succeeded in a shorter
      time than Nigel had augured.
    </p>
    <p>
      As his solitary meal was finished, one of the Temple porters, or inferior
      officers, was announced, as seeking Master Grahame, on the part of his
      friend, Master Lowestoffe; and, being admitted by the old woman to his
      apartment, he delivered to Nigel a small mail-trunk, with the clothes he
      had desired should be sent to him, and then, with more mystery, put into
      his hand a casket, or strong-boy, which he carefully concealed beneath his
      cloak. "I am glad to be rid on't," said the fellow, as he placed it on the
      table.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, it is surely not so very heavy," answered Nigel, "and you are a
      stout young man."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, sir," replied the fellow; "but Samson himself would not have carried
      such a matter safely through Alsatia, had the lads of the Huff known what
      it was. Please to look into it, sir, and see all is right&mdash;I am an
      honest fellow, and it comes safe out of my hands. How long it may remain
      so afterwards, will depend on your own care. I would not my good name were
      to suffer by any after-clap."
    </p>
    <p>
      To satisfy the scruples of the messenger, Lord Glenvarloch opened the
      casket in his presence, and saw that his small stock of money, with two or
      three valuable papers which it contained, and particularly the original
      sign-manual which the king had granted in his favour, were in the same
      order in which he had left them. At the man's further instance, he availed
      himself of the writing materials which were in the casket, in order to
      send a line to Master Lowestoffe, declaring that his property had reached
      him in safety. He added some grateful acknowledgments for Lowestoffe's
      services, and, just as he was sealing and delivering his billet to the
      messenger, his aged landlord entered the apartment. His threadbare suit of
      black clothes was now somewhat better arranged than they had been in the
      dishabille of his first appearance, and his nerves and intellects seemed
      to be less fluttered; for, without much coughing or hesitation, he invited
      Nigel to partake of a morning draught of wholesome single ale, which he
      brought in a large leathern tankard, or black-jack, carried in the one
      hand, while the other stirred it round with a sprig of rosemary, to give
      it, as the old man said, a flavour.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel declined the courteous proffer, and intimated by his manner, while
      he did so, that he desired no intrusion on the privacy of his own
      apartment; which, indeed, he was the more entitled to maintain,
      considering the cold reception he had that morning met with when straying
      from its precincts into those of his landlord. But the open casket
      contained matter, or rather metal, so attractive to old Trapbois, that he
      remained fixed, like a setting-dog at a dead point, his nose advanced, and
      one hand expanded like the lifted forepaw, by which that sagacious
      quadruped sometimes indicates that it is a hare which he has in the wind.
      Nigel was about to break the charm which had thus arrested old Trapbois,
      by shutting the lid of the casket, when his attention was withdrawn from
      him by the question of the messenger, who, holding out the letter, asked
      whether he was to leave it at Mr. Lowestoffe's chambers in the Temple, or
      carry it to the Marshalsea?
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Marshalsea?" repeated Lord Glenvarloch; "what of the Marshalsea?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, sir," said the man, "the poor gentleman is laid up there in
      lavender, because, they say, his own kind heart led him to scald his
      fingers with another man's broth."
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel hastily snatched back the letter, broke the seal, joined to the
      contents his earnest entreaty that he might be instantly acquainted with
      the cause of his confinement, and added, that, if it arose out of his own
      unhappy affair, it would be of a brief duration, since he had, even before
      hearing of a reason which so peremptorily demanded that he should
      surrender himself, adopted the resolution to do so, as the manliest and
      most proper course which his ill fortune and imprudence had left in his
      own power. He therefore conjured Mr. Lowestoffe to have no delicacy upon
      this score, but, since his surrender was what he had determined upon as a
      sacrifice due to his own character, that he would have the frankness to
      mention in what manner it could be best arranged, so as to extricate him,
      Lowestoffe, from the restraint to which the writer could not but fear his
      friend had been subjected, on account of the generous interest which he
      had taken in his concerns. The letter concluded, that the writer would
      suffer twenty-four hours to elapse in expectation of hearing from him,
      and, at the end of that period, was determined to put his purpose in
      execution. He delivered the billet to the messenger, and, enforcing his
      request with a piece of money, urged him, without a moment's delay, to
      convey it to the hands of Master Lowestoffe.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I&mdash;I&mdash;I&mdash;will carry it to him myself," said the old
      usurer, "for half the consideration."
    </p>
    <p>
      The man who heard this attempt to take his duty and perquisites over his
      head, lost no time in pocketing the money, and departed on his errand as
      fast as he could.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Master Trapbois," said Nigel, addressing the old man somewhat
      impatiently, "had you any particular commands for me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I&mdash;I&mdash;came to see if you rested well," answered the old man;
      "and&mdash;if I could do anything to serve you, on any consideration."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sir, I thank you," said Lord Glenvarloch&mdash;"I thank you;" and, ere he
      could say more, a heavy footstep was heard on the stair.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My God!" exclaimed the old man, starting up&mdash;"Why, Dorothy&mdash;char-woman&mdash;why,
      daughter,&mdash;draw bolt, I say, housewives&mdash;the door hath been left
      a-latch!"
    </p>
    <p>
      The door of the chamber opened wide, and in strutted the portly bulk of
      the military hero whom Nigel had on the preceding evening in vain
      endeavoured to recognise.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXIII
    </h2>
    <p>
      SWASH-BUCKLER. Bilboe's the word&mdash;PIERROT. It hath been spoke too
      often, The spell hath lost its charm&mdash;I tell thee, friend, The
      meanest cur that trots the street, will turn, And snarl against your
      proffer'd bastinado. SWASH-BUCKLER. 'Tis art shall do it, then&mdash;I
      will dose the mongrels&mdash;Or, in plain terms, I'll use the private
      knife 'Stead of the brandish'd falchion. <i>Old Play</i>.
    </p>
    <p>
      The noble Captain Colepepper or Peppercull, for he was known by both these
      names, and some others besides; had a martial and a swashing exterior,
      which, on the present occasion, was rendered yet more peculiar, by a patch
      covering his left eye and a part of the cheek. The sleeves of his thickset
      velvet jerkin were polished and shone with grease,&mdash;his buff gloves
      had huge tops, which reached almost to the elbow; his sword-belt of the
      same materials extended its breadth from his haunchbone to his small ribs,
      and supported on the one side his large black-hilted back-sword, on the
      other a dagger of like proportions He paid his compliments to Nigel with
      that air of predetermined effrontery, which announces that it will not be
      repelled by any coldness of reception, asked Trapbois how he did, by the
      familiar title of old Peter Pillory, and then, seizing upon the
      black-jack, emptied it off at a draught, to the health of the last and
      youngest freeman of Alsatia, the noble and loving master Nigel Grahame.
    </p>
    <p>
      When he had set down the empty pitcher and drawn his breath, he began to
      criticise the liquor which it had lately contained.&mdash;"Sufficient
      single beer, old Pillory&mdash;and, as I take it, brewed at the rate of a
      nutshell of malt to a butt of Thames&mdash;as dead as a corpse, too, and
      yet it went hissing down my throat&mdash;bubbling, by Jove, like water
      upon hot iron.&mdash;You left us early, noble Master Grahame, but, good
      faith, we had a carouse to your honour&mdash;we heard <i>butt</i> ring
      hollow ere we parted; we were as loving as inkle-weavers&mdash;we fought,
      too, to finish off the gawdy. I bear some marks of the parson about me,
      you see&mdash;a note of the sermon or so, which should have been addressed
      to my ear, but missed its mark, and reached my left eye. The man of God
      bears my sign-manual too, but the Duke made us friends again, and it cost
      me more sack than I could carry, and all the Rhenish to boot, to pledge
      the seer in the way of love and reconciliation&mdash;But, Caracco! 'tis a
      vile old canting slave for all that, whom I will one day beat out of his
      devil's livery into all the colours of the rainbow.&mdash;Basta!&mdash;Said
      I well, old Trapbois? Where is thy daughter, man?&mdash;what says she to
      my suit?&mdash;'tis an honest one&mdash;wilt have a soldier for thy
      son-in-law, old Pillory, to mingle the soul of martial honour with thy
      thieving, miching, petty-larceny blood, as men put bold brandy into muddy
      ale?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My daughter receives not company so early, noble captain," said the
      usurer, and concluded his speech with a dry, emphatical "ugh, ugh."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What, upon no con-si-de-ra-ti-on?" said the captain; "and wherefore not,
      old Truepenny? she has not much time to lose in driving her bargain,
      methinks."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Captain," said Trapbois, "I was upon some little business with our noble
      friend here, Master Nigel Green&mdash;ugh, ugh, ugh&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "And you would have me gone, I warrant you?" answered the bully; "but
      patience, old Pillory, thine hour is not yet come, man&mdash;You see," he
      said, pointing to the casket, "that noble Master Grahame, whom you call
      Green, has got the <i>decuses</i> and the <i>smelt</i>."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Which you would willingly rid him of, ha! ha!&mdash;ugh, ugh," answered
      the usurer, "if you knew how&mdash;but, lack-a-day! thou art one of those
      that come out for wool, and art sure to go home shorn. Why now, but that I
      am sworn against laying of wagers, I would risk some consideration that
      this honest guest of mine sends thee home penniless, if thou darest
      venture with him&mdash;ugh, ugh&mdash;at any game which gentlemen play
      at."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Marry, thou hast me on the hip there, thou old miserly cony-catcher!"
      answered the captain, taking a bale of dice from the sleeve of his coat;
      "I must always keep company with these damnable doctors, and they have
      made me every baby's cully, and purged my purse into an atrophy; but never
      mind, it passes the time as well as aught else&mdash;How say you, Master
      Grahame?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The fellow paused; but even the extremity of his impudence could scarcely
      hardly withstand the cold look of utter contempt with which Nigel received
      his proposal, returning it with a simple, "I only play where I know my
      company, and never in the morning."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Cards may be more agreeable," said Captain Colepepper; "and, for knowing
      your company, here is honest old Pillory will tell you Jack Colepepper
      plays as truly on the square as e'er a man that trowled a die&mdash;Men
      talk of high and low dice, Fulhams and bristles, topping, knapping,
      slurring, stabbing, and a hundred ways of rooking besides; but broil me
      like a rasher of bacon, if I could ever learn the trick on 'em!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have got the vocabulary perfect, sir, at the least," said Nigel, in
      the same cold tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, by mine honour have I," returned the Hector; "they are phrases that
      a gentleman learns about town.&mdash;But perhaps you would like a set at
      tennis, or a game at balloon&mdash;we have an indifferent good court hard
      by here, and a set of as gentleman-like blades as ever banged leather
      against brick and mortar."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I beg to be excused at present," said Lord Glenvarloch; "and to be plain,
      among the valuable privileges your society has conferred on me, I hope I
      may reckon that of being private in my own apartment when I have a mind."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your humble servant, sir," said the captain; "and I thank you for your
      civility&mdash;Jack Colepepper can have enough of company, and thrusts
      himself on no one.&mdash;But perhaps you will like to make a match at
      skittles?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am by no means that way disposed," replied the young nobleman,
    </p>
    <p>
      "Or to leap a flea&mdash;run a snail&mdash;match a wherry, eh?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No&mdash;I will do none of these," answered Nigel.
    </p>
    <p>
      Here the old man, who had been watching with his little peery eyes, pulled
      the bulky Hector by the skirt, and whispered, "Do not vapour him the huff,
      it will not pass&mdash;let the trout play, he will rise to the hook
      presently."
    </p>
    <p>
      But the bully, confiding in his own strength, and probably mistaking for
      timidity the patient scorn with which Nigel received his proposals,
      incited also by the open casket, began to assume a louder and more
      threatening tone. He drew himself up, bent his brows, assumed a look of
      professional ferocity, and continued, "In Alsatia, look ye, a man must be
      neighbourly and companionable. Zouns! sir, we would slit any nose that was
      turned up at us honest fellows.&mdash;Ay, sir, we would slit it up to the
      gristle, though it had smelt nothing all its life but musk, ambergris, and
      court-scented water.&mdash;Rabbit me, I am a soldier, and care no more for
      a lord than a lamplighter!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are you seeking a quarrel, sir?" said Nigel, calmly, having in truth no
      desire to engage himself in a discreditable broil in such a place, and
      with such a character.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Quarrel, sir?" said the captain; "I am not seeking a quarrel, though I
      care not how soon I find one. Only I wish you to understand you must be
      neighbourly, that's all. What if we should go over the water to the
      garden, and see a bull hanked this fine morning&mdash;'sdeath, will you do
      nothing?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Something I am strangely tempted to do at this moment," said Nigel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Videlicet," said Colepepper, with a swaggering air, "let us hear the
      temptation."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am tempted to throw you headlong from the window, unless you presently
      make the best of your way down stairs."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Throw me from the window?&mdash;hell and furies!" exclaimed the captain;
      "I have confronted twenty crooked sabres at Buda with my single rapier,
      and shall a chitty-faced, beggarly Scots lordling, speak of me and a
      window in the same breath?&mdash;Stand off, old Pillory, let me make
      Scotch collops of him&mdash;he dies the death!"
    </p>
<div class="fig" style="width:65%;">
      <img src="images/0794m.jpg" alt="0794m " width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <h5>
      <a href="images/0794.jpg"><i>Original</i></a>
    </h5>
    <p>
      "For the love of Heaven, gentlemen," exclaimed the old miser, throwing
      himself between them, "do not break the peace on any consideration! Noble
      guest, forbear the captain&mdash;he is a very Hector of Troy&mdash;Trusty
      Hector, forbear my guest, he is like to prove a very Achilles-ugh-ugh&mdash;&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      Here he was interrupted by his asthma, but, nevertheless, continued to
      interpose his person between Colepepper (who had unsheathed his whinyard,
      and was making vain passes at his antagonist) and Nigel, who had stepped
      back to take his sword, and now held it undrawn in his left hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Make an end of this foolery, you scoundrel!" said Nigel&mdash;"Do you
      come hither to vent your noisy oaths and your bottled-up valour on me? You
      seem to know me, and I am half ashamed to say I have at length been able
      to recollect you&mdash;remember the garden behind the ordinary,&mdash;you
      dastardly ruffian, and the speed with which fifty men saw you run from a
      drawn sword.&mdash;Get you gone, sir, and do not put me to the vile labour
      of cudgelling such a cowardly rascal down stairs."
    </p>
    <p>
      The bully's countenance grew dark as night at this unexpected recognition;
      for he had undoubtedly thought himself secure in his change of dress, and
      his black patch, from being discovered by a person who had seen him but
      once. He set his teeth, clenched his hands, and it seemed as if he was
      seeking for a moment's courage to fly upon his antagonist. But his heart
      failed, he sheathed his sword, turned his back in gloomy silence, and
      spoke not until he reached the door, when, turning round, he said, with a
      deep oath, "If I be not avenged of you for this insolence ere many days go
      by, I would the gallows had my body and the devil my spirit!"
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, and with a look where determined spite and malice made his
      features savagely fierce, though they could not overcome his fear, he
      turned and left the house. Nigel followed him as far as the gallery at the
      head of the staircase, with the purpose of seeing him depart, and ere he
      returned was met by Mistress Martha Trapbois, whom the noise of the
      quarrel had summoned from her own apartment. He could not resist saying to
      her in his natural displeasure&mdash;"I would, madam, you could teach your
      father and his friends the lesson which you had the goodness to bestow on
      me this morning, and prevail on them to leave me the unmolested privacy of
      my own apartment."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If you came hither for quiet or retirement, young man," answered she,
      "you have been advised to an evil retreat. You might seek mercy in the
      Star-Chamber, or holiness in hell, with better success than quiet in
      Alsatia. But my father shall trouble you no longer."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, she entered the apartment, and, fixing her eyes on the casket,
      she said with emphasis&mdash;"If you display such a loadstone, it will
      draw many a steel knife to your throat."
    </p>
    <p>
      While Nigel hastily shut the casket, she addressed her father, upbraiding
      him, with small reverence, for keeping company with the cowardly,
      hectoring, murdering villain, John Colepepper.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, ay, child," said the old man, with the cunning leer which intimated
      perfect satisfaction with his own superior address&mdash;"I know&mdash;I
      know&mdash;ugh&mdash;but I'll crossbite him&mdash;I know them all, and I
      can manage them&mdash;ay, ay&mdash;I have the trick on't&mdash;ugh-ugh."
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>You</i> manage, father!" said the austere damsel; "you will manage to
      have your throat cut, and that ere long. You cannot hide from them your
      gains and your gold as formerly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My gains, wench? my gold?" said the usurer; "alack-a-day, few of these
      and hard got&mdash;few and hard got."
    </p>
    <p>
      "This will not serve you, father, any longer," said she, "and had not
      served you thus long, but that Bully Colepepper had contrived a cheaper
      way of plundering your house, even by means of my miserable self.&mdash;But
      why do I speak to him of all this," she said, checking herself, and
      shrugging her shoulders with an expression of pity which did not fall much
      short of scorn. "He hears me not&mdash;he thinks not of me.&mdash;Is it
      not strange that the love of gathering gold should survive the care to
      preserve both property and life?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your father," said Lord Glenvarloch, who could not help respecting the
      strong sense and feeling shown by this poor woman, even amidst all her
      rudeness and severity, "your father seems to have his faculties
      sufficiently alert when he is in the exercise of his ordinary pursuits and
      functions. I wonder he is not sensible of the weight of your arguments."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nature made him a man senseless of danger, and that insensibility is the
      best thing I have derived from him," said she; "age has left him
      shrewdness enough to tread his old beaten paths, but not to seek new
      courses. The old blind horse will long continue to go its rounds in the
      mill, when it would stumble in the open meadow."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Daughter!&mdash;why, wench&mdash;why, housewife!" said the old man,
      awakening out of some dream, in which he had been sneering and chuckling
      in imagination, probably over a successful piece of roguery,&mdash;"go to
      chamber, wench&mdash;go to chamber&mdash;draw bolts and chain&mdash;look
      sharp to door&mdash;let none in or out but worshipful Master Grahame&mdash;I
      must take my cloak, and go to Duke Hildebrod&mdash;ay, ay, time has been,
      my own warrant was enough; but the lower we lie, the more are we under the
      wind."
    </p>
    <p>
      And, with his wonted chorus of muttering and coughing, the old man left
      the apartment. His daughter stood for a moment looking after him, with her
      usual expression of discontent and sorrow.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You ought to persuade your father," said Nigel, "to leave this evil
      neighbourhood, if you are in reality apprehensive for his safety."
    </p>
    <p>
      "He would be safe in no other quarter," said the daughter; "I would rather
      the old man were dead than publicly dishonoured. In other quarters he
      would be pelted and pursued, like an owl which ventures into sunshine.
      Here he was safe, while his comrades could avail themselves of his
      talents; he is now squeezed and fleeced by them on every pretence. They
      consider him as a vessel on the strand, from which each may snatch a prey;
      and the very jealousy which they entertain respecting him as a common
      property, may perhaps induce them to guard him from more private and
      daring assaults."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Still, methinks, you ought to leave this place," answered Nigel, "since
      you might find a safe retreat in some distant country."
    </p>
    <p>
      "In Scotland, doubtless," said she, looking at him with a sharp and
      suspicious eye, "and enrich strangers with our rescued wealth&mdash;Ha!
      young man?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madam, if you knew me," said Lord Glenvarloch, "you would spare the
      suspicion implied in your words."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who shall assure me of that?" said Martha, sharply. "They say you are a
      brawler and a gamester, and I know how far these are to be trusted by the
      unhappy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "They do me wrong, by Heaven!" said Lord Glenvarloch.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It may be so," said Martha; "I am little interested in the degree of your
      vice or your folly; but it is plain, that the one or the other has
      conducted you hither, and that your best hope of peace, safety, and
      happiness, is to be gone, with the least possible delay, from a place
      which is always a sty for swine, and often a shambles." So saying, she
      left the apartment.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was something in the ungracious manner of this female, amounting
      almost to contempt of him she spoke to&mdash;an indignity to which
      Glenvarloch, notwithstanding his poverty, had not as yet been personally
      exposed, and which, therefore, gave him a transitory feeling of painful
      surprise. Neither did the dark hints which Martha threw out concerning the
      danger of his place of refuge, sound by any means agreeably to his ears.
      The bravest man, placed in a situation in which he is surrounded by
      suspicious persons, and removed from all counsel and assistance, except
      those afforded by a valiant heart and a strong arm, experiences a sinking
      of the spirit, a consciousness of abandonment, which for a moment chills
      his blood, and depresses his natural gallantry of disposition.
    </p>
    <p>
      But, if sad reflections arose in Nigel's mind, he had not time to indulge
      them; and, if he saw little prospect of finding friends in Alsatia, he
      found that he was not likely to be solitary for lack of visitors.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had scarcely paced his apartment for ten minutes, endeavouring to
      arrange his ideas on the course which he was to pursue on quitting
      Alsatia, when he was interrupted by the Sovereign of the quarter, the
      great Duke Hildebrod himself, before whose approach the bolts and chains
      of the miser's dwelling fell, or withdrew, as of their own accord; and
      both the folding leaves of the door were opened, that he might roll
      himself into the house like a huge butt of liquor, a vessel to which he
      bore a considerable outward resemblance, both in size, shape, complexion,
      and contents.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good-morrow to your lordship," said the greasy puncheon, cocking his
      single eye, and rolling it upon Nigel with a singular expression of
      familiar impudence; whilst his grim bull-dog, which was close at his
      heels, made a kind of gurgling in his throat, as if saluting, in similar
      fashion, a starved cat, the only living thing in Trapbois' house which we
      have not yet enumerated, and which had flown up to the top of the tester,
      where she stood clutching and grinning at the mastiff, whose greeting she
      accepted with as much good-will as Nigel bestowed on that of the dog's
      master.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Peace, Belzie!&mdash;D&mdash;n thee, peace!" said Duke Hildebrod. "Beasts
      and fools will be meddling, my lord."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I thought, sir," answered Nigel, with as much haughtiness as was
      consistent with the cool distance which he desired to preserve, "I thought
      I had told you, my name at present was Nigel Grahame."
    </p>
    <p>
      His eminence of Whitefriars on this burst out into a loud, chuckling,
      impudent laugh, repeating the word, till his voice was almost
      inarticulate,&mdash;"Niggle Green&mdash;Niggle Green&mdash;Niggle Green!&mdash;why,
      my lord, you would be queered in the drinking of a penny pot of Malmsey,
      if you cry before you are touched. Why, you have told me the secret even
      now, had I not had a shrewd guess of it before. Why, Master Nigel, since
      that is the word, I only called you my lord, because we made you a peer of
      Alsatia last night, when the sack was predominant.&mdash;How you look now!&mdash;Ha!
      ha! ha!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel, indeed, conscious that he had unnecessarily betrayed himself,
      replied hastily,&mdash;"he was much obliged to him for the honours
      conferred, but did not propose to remain in the Sanctuary long enough to
      enjoy them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, that may be as you will, an you will walk by wise counsel," answered
      the ducal porpoise; and, although Nigel remained standing, in hopes to
      accelerate his guest's departure, he threw himself into one of the old
      tapestry-backed easy-chairs, which cracked under his weight, and began to
      call for old Trapbois.
    </p>
    <p>
      The crone of all work appearing instead of her master, the Duke cursed her
      for a careless jade, to let a strange gentleman, and a brave guest, go
      without his morning's draught.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I never take one, sir," said Glenvarloch.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Time to begin&mdash;time to begin," answered the Duke.&mdash;"Here, you
      old refuse of Sathan, go to our palace, and fetch Lord Green's morning
      draught. Let us see&mdash;what shall it be, my lord?&mdash;a humming
      double pot of ale, with a roasted crab dancing in it like a wherry above
      bridge?&mdash;or, hum&mdash;ay, young men are sweet-toothed&mdash;a quart
      of burnt sack, with sugar and spice?&mdash;good against the fogs. Or, what
      say you to sipping a gill of right distilled waters? Come, we will have
      them all, and you shall take your choice.&mdash;Here, you Jezebel, let Tim
      send the ale, and the sack, and the nipperkin of double-distilled, with a
      bit of diet-loaf, or some such trinket, and score it to the new comer."
    </p>
    <p>
      Glenvarloch, bethinking himself that it might be as well to endure this
      fellow's insolence for a brief season, as to get into farther
      discreditable quarrels, suffered him to take his own way, without
      interruption, only observing, "You make yourself at home, sir, in my
      apartment; but, for the time, you may use your pleasure. Meanwhile, I
      would fain know what has procured me the honour of this unexpected visit?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You shall know that when old Deb has brought the liquor&mdash;I never
      speak of business dry-lipped. Why, how she drumbles&mdash;I warrant she
      stops to take a sip on the road, and then you will think you have had
      unchristian measure.&mdash;In the meanwhile, look at that dog there&mdash;look
      Belzebub in the face, and tell me if you ever saw a sweeter beast&mdash;never
      flew but at head in his life."
    </p>
    <p>
      And, after this congenial panegyric, he was proceeding with a tale of a
      dog and a bull, which threatened to be somewhat of the longest, when he
      was interrupted by the return of the old crone, and two of his own
      tapsters, bearing the various kinds of drinkables which he had demanded,
      and which probably was the only species of interruption he would have
      endured with equanimity.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the cups and cans were duly arranged upon the table, and when
      Deborah, whom the ducal generosity honoured with a penny farthing in the
      way of gratuity, had withdrawn with her satellites, the worthy potentate,
      having first slightly invited Lord Glenvarloch to partake of the liquor
      which he was to pay for, and after having observed, that, excepting three
      poached eggs, a pint of bastard, and a cup of clary, he was fasting from
      every thing but sin, set himself seriously to reinforce the radical
      moisture. Glenvarloch had seen Scottish lairds and Dutch burgomasters at
      their potations; but their exploits (though each might be termed a thirsty
      generation) were nothing to those of Duke Hildebrod, who seemed an
      absolute sandbed, capable of absorbing any given quantity of liquid,
      without being either vivified or overflowed. He drank off the ale to
      quench a thirst which, as he said, kept him in a fever from morning to
      night, and night to morning; tippled off the sack to correct the crudity
      of the ale; sent the spirits after the sack to keep all quiet, and then
      declared that, probably, he should not taste liquor till <i>post meridiem</i>,
      unless it was in compliment to some especial friend. Finally, he intimated
      that he was ready to proceed on the business which brought him from home
      so early, a proposition which Nigel readily received, though he could not
      help suspecting that the most important purpose of Duke Hildebrod's visit
      was already transacted.
    </p>
    <p>
      In this, however, Lord Glenvarloch proved to be mistaken. Hildebrod,
      before opening what he had to say, made an accurate survey of the
      apartment, laying, from time to time, his finger on his nose, and winking
      on Nigel with his single eye, while he opened and shut the doors, lifted
      the tapestry, which concealed, in one or two places, the dilapidation of
      time upon the wainscoted walls, peeped into closets, and, finally, looked
      under the bed, to assure himself that the coast was clear of listeners and
      interlopers. He then resumed his seat, and beckoned confidentially to
      Nigel to draw his chair close to him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am well as I am, Master Hildebrod," replied the young lord, little
      disposed to encourage the familiarity which the man endeavoured to fix on
      him; but the undismayed Duke proceeded as follows:
    </p>
    <p>
      "You shall pardon me, my lord&mdash;and I now give you the title right
      seriously&mdash;if I remind you that our waters may be watched; for though
      old Trapbois be as deaf as Saint Paul's, yet his daughter has sharp ears,
      and sharp eyes enough, and it is of them that it is my business to speak."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Say away, then, sir," said Nigel, edging his chair somewhat closer to the
      Quicksand, "although I cannot conceive what business I have either with
      mine host or his daughter."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We will see that in the twinkling of a quart-pot," answered the gracious
      Duke; "and first, my lord, you must not think to dance in a net before old
      Jack Hildebrod, that has thrice your years o'er his head, and was born,
      like King Richard, with all his eye-teeth ready cut."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, sir, go on," said Nigel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, then, my lord, I presume to say, that, if you are, as I believe you
      are, that Lord Glenvarloch whom all the world talk of&mdash;the Scotch
      gallant that has spent all, to a thin cloak and a light purse&mdash;be not
      moved, my lord, it is so noised of you&mdash;men call you the
      sparrow-hawk, who will fly at all&mdash;ay, were it in the very Park&mdash;Be
      not moved, my lord."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am ashamed, sirrah," replied Glenvarloch, "that you should have power
      to move me by your insolence&mdash;but beware&mdash;and, if you indeed
      guess who I am, consider how long I may be able to endure your tone of
      insolent familiarity."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I crave pardon, my lord," said Hildebrod, with a sullen, yet apologetic
      look; "I meant no harm in speaking my poor mind. I know not what honour
      there may be in being familiar with your lordship, but I judge there is
      little safety, for Lowestoffe is laid up in lavender only for having shown
      you the way into Alsatia; and so, what is to come of those who maintain
      you when you are here, or whether they will get most honour or most
      trouble by doing so, I leave with your lordship's better judgment."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will bring no one into trouble on my account," said Lord Glenvarloch.
      "I will leave Whitefriars to-morrow. Nay, by Heaven, I will leave it this
      day."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You will have more wit in your anger, I trust," said Duke Hildebrod;
      "listen first to what I have to say to you, and, if honest Jack Hildebrod
      puts you not in the way of nicking them all, may he never cast doublets,
      or dull a greenhorn again! And so, my lord, in plain words, you must wap
      and win."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your words must be still plainer before I can understand them," said
      Nigel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What the devil&mdash;a gamester, one who deals with the devil's bones and
      the doctors, and not understand Pedlar's French! Nay, then, I must speak
      plain English, and that's the simpleton's tongue."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Speak, then, sir," said Nigel; "and I pray you be brief, for I have
      little more time to bestow on you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, then, my lord, to be brief, as you and the lawyers call it&mdash;I
      understand you have an estate in the north, which changes masters for want
      of the redeeming ready.&mdash;Ay, you start, but you cannot dance in a net
      before me, as I said before; and so the king runs the frowning humour on
      you, and the Court vapours you the go-by; and the Prince scowls at you
      from under his cap; and the favourite serves you out the puckered brow and
      the cold shoulder; and the favourite's favourite&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "To go no further, sir," interrupted Nigel, "suppose all this true&mdash;and
      what follows?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "What follows?" returned Duke Hildebrod. "Marry, this follows, that you
      will owe good deed, as well as good will, to him who shall put you in the
      way to walk with your beaver cocked in the presence, as an ye were Earl of
      Kildare; bully the courtiers; meet the Prince's blighting look with a bold
      brow; confront the favourite; baffle his deputy, and&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is all well," said Nigel! "but how is it to be accomplished?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "By making thee a Prince of Peru, my lord of the northern latitudes;
      propping thine old castle with ingots,&mdash;fertilizing thy failing
      fortunes with gold dust&mdash;it shall but cost thee to put thy baron's
      coronet for a day or so on the brows of an old Caduca here, the man's
      daughter of the house, and thou art master of a mass of treasure that
      shall do all I have said for thee, and&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "What, you would have me marry this old gentlewoman here, the daughter of
      mine host?" said Nigel, surprised and angry, yet unable to suppress some
      desire to laugh.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, my lord, I would have you marry fifty thousand good sterling pounds;
      for that, and better, hath old Trapbois hoarded; and thou shall do a deed
      of mercy in it to the old man, who will lose his golden smelts in some
      worse way&mdash;for now that he is well-nigh past his day of work, his day
      of payment is like to follow."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Truly, this is a most courteous offer," said Lord Glenvarloch; "but may I
      pray of your candour, most noble duke, to tell me why you dispose of a
      ward of so much wealth on a stranger like me, who may leave you
      to-morrow?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "In sooth, my lord," said the Duke, "that question smacks more of the wit
      of Beaujeu's ordinary, than any word I have yet heard your lordship speak,
      and reason it is you should be answered. Touching my peers, it is but
      necessary to say, that Mistress Martha Trapbois will none of them, whether
      clerical or laic. The captain hath asked her, so hath the parson, but she
      will none of them&mdash;she looks higher than either, and is, to say
      truth, a woman of sense, and so forth, too profound, and of spirit
      something too high, to put up with greasy buff or rusty prunella. For
      ourselves, we need but hint that we have a consort in the land of the
      living, and, what is more to purpose, Mrs. Martha knows it. So, as she
      will not lace her kersey hood save with a quality binding, you, my lord,
      must be the man, and must carry off fifty thousand decuses, the spoils of
      five thousand bullies, cutters, and spendthrifts,&mdash;always deducting
      from the main sum some five thousand pounds for our princely advice and
      countenance, without which, as matters stand in Alsatia, you would find it
      hard to win the plate."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But has your wisdom considered, sir," replied Glenvarloch, "how this
      wedlock can serve me in my present emergence?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "As for that, my lord," said Duke Hildebrod, "if, with forty or fifty
      thousand pounds in your pouch, you cannot save yourself, you will deserve
      to lose your head for your folly, and your hand for being close-fisted."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, since your goodness has taken my matters into such serious
      consideration," continued Nigel, who conceived there was no prudence in
      breaking with a man, who, in his way, meant him favour rather than
      offence, "perhaps you may be able to tell me how my kindred will be likely
      to receive such a bride as you recommend to me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Touching that matter, my lord, I have always heard your countrymen knew
      as well as other folks, on which side their bread was buttered. And,
      truly, speaking from report, I know no place where fifty thousand pounds&mdash;fifty
      thousand pounds, I say&mdash;will make a woman more welcome than it is
      likely to do in your ancient kingdom. And, truly, saving the slight twist
      in her shoulder, Mrs. Martha Trapbois is a person of very awful and
      majestic appearance, and may, for aught I know, be come of better blood
      than any one wots of; for old Trapbois looks not over like to be her
      father, and her mother was a generous, liberal sort of a woman."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am afraid," answered Nigel, "that chance is rather too vague to assure
      her a gracious reception into an honourable house."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, then, my lord," replied Hildebrod, "I think it like she will be even
      with them; for I will venture to say, she has as much ill-nature as will
      make her a match for your whole clan."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That may inconvenience me a little," replied Nigel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not a whit&mdash;not a whit," said the Duke, fertile in expedients; "if
      she should become rather intolerable, which is not unlikely, your
      honourable house, which I presume to be a castle, hath, doubtless, both
      turrets and dungeons, and ye may bestow your bonny bride in either the one
      or the other, and then you know you will be out of hearing of her tongue,
      and she will be either above or below the contempt of your friends."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is sagely counselled, most equitable sir," replied Nigel, "and such
      restraint would be a fit meed for her folly that gave me any power over
      her."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You entertain the project then, my lord?" said Duke Hildebrod.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I must turn it in my mind for twenty-four hours," said Nigel; "and I will
      pray you so to order matters that I be not further interrupted by any
      visitors."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We will utter an edict to secure your privacy," said the Duke; "and you
      do not think," he added, lowering his voice to a confidential whisper,
      "that ten thousand is too much to pay to the Sovereign, in name of
      wardship?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ten thousand!" said Lord Glenvarloch; "why, you said five thousand but
      now."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aha! art avised of that?" said the Duke, touching the side of his nose
      with his finger; "nay, if you have marked me so closely, you are thinking
      on the case more nearly than I believed, till you trapped me. Well, well,
      we will not quarrel about the consideration, as old Trapbois would call it&mdash;do
      you win and wear the dame; it will be no hard matter with your face and
      figure, and I will take care that no one interrupts you. I will have an
      edict from the Senate as soon as they meet for their meridiem."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, Duke Hildebrod took his leave.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXIV
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  This is the time&mdash;Heaven's maiden sentinel
  Hath quitted her high watch&mdash;the lesser spangles
  Are paling one by one; give me the ladder
  And the short lever&mdash;bid Anthony
  Keep with his carabine the wicket-gate;
  And do thou bare thy knife and follow me,
  For we will in and do it&mdash;darkness like this
  Is dawning of our fortunes.
                           <i>Old Play.</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      When Duke Hildebrod had withdrawn, Nigel's first impulse was an
      irresistible feeling to laugh at the sage adviser, who would have thus
      connected him with age, ugliness, and ill-temper; but his next thought was
      pity for the unfortunate father and daughter, who, being the only persons
      possessed of wealth in this unhappy district, seemed like a wreck on the
      sea-shore of a barbarous country, only secured from plunder for the moment
      by the jealousy of the tribes among whom it had been cast. Neither could
      he help being conscious that his own residence here was upon conditions
      equally precarious, and that he was considered by the Alsatians in the
      same light of a godsend on the Cornish coast, or a sickly but wealthy
      caravan travelling through the wilds of Africa, and emphatically termed by
      the nations of despoilers through whose regions it passes <i>Dummalafong</i>,
      which signifies a thing given to be devoured&mdash;a common prey to all
      men.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel had already formed his own plan to extricate himself, at whatever
      risk, from his perilous and degrading situation; and, in order that he
      might carry it into instant execution, he only awaited the return of
      Lowestoffe's messenger. He expected him, however, in vain, and could only
      amuse himself by looking through such parts of his baggage as had been
      sent to him from his former lodgings, in order to select a small packet of
      the most necessary articles to take with him, in the event of his quitting
      his lodgings secretly and suddenly, as speed and privacy would, he
      foresaw, be particularly necessary, if he meant to obtain an interview
      with the king, which was the course his spirit and his interest alike
      determined him to pursue.
    </p>
    <p>
      While he was thus engaged, he found, greatly to his satisfaction, that
      Master Lowestoffe had transmitted not only his rapier and poniard, but a
      pair of pistols, which he had used in travelling; of a smaller and more
      convenient size than the large petronels, or horse pistols, which were
      then in common use, as being made for wearing at the girdle or in the
      pockets. Next to having stout and friendly comrades, a man is chiefly
      emboldened by finding himself well armed in case of need, and Nigel, who
      had thought with some anxiety on the hazard of trusting his life, if
      attacked, to the protection of the clumsy weapon with which Lowestoffe had
      equipped him, in order to complete his disguise, felt an emotion of
      confidence approaching to triumph, as, drawing his own good and well-tried
      rapier, he wiped it with his handkerchief, examined its point, bent it
      once or twice against the ground to prove its well-known metal, and
      finally replaced it in the scabbard, the more hastily, that he heard a tap
      at the door of his chamber, and had no mind to be found vapouring in the
      apartment with his sword drawn.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was his old host who entered, to tell him with many cringes that the
      price of his apartment was to be a crown per diem; and that, according to
      the custom of Whitefriars, the rent was always payable per advance,
      although he never scrupled to let the money lie till a week or fortnight,
      or even a month, in the hands of any honourable guest like Master Grahame,
      always upon some reasonable consideration for the use. Nigel got rid of
      the old dotard's intrusion, by throwing down two pieces of gold, and
      requesting the accommodation of his present apartment for eight days,
      adding, however, he did not think he should tarry so long.
    </p>
    <p>
      The miser, with a sparkling eye and a trembling hand, clutched fast the
      proffered coin, and, having balanced the pieces with exquisite pleasure on
      the extremity of his withered finger, began almost instantly to show that
      not even the possession of gold can gratify for more than an instant the
      very heart that is most eager in the pursuit of it. First, the pieces
      might be light&mdash;with hasty hand he drew a small pair of scales from
      his bosom, and weighed them, first together, then separately, and smiled
      with glee as he saw them attain the due depression in the balance&mdash;a
      circumstance which might add to his profits, if it were true, as was
      currently reported, that little of the gold coinage was current in Alsatia
      in a perfect state, and that none ever left the Sanctuary in that
      condition.
    </p>
    <p>
      Another fear then occurred to trouble the old miser's pleasure. He had
      been just able to comprehend that Nigel intended to leave the Friars
      sooner than the arrival of the term for which he had deposited the rent.
      This might imply an expectation of refunding, which, as a Scotch wag said,
      of all species of funding, jumped least with the old gentleman's humour.
      He was beginning to enter a hypothetical caveat on this subject, and to
      quote several reasons why no part of the money once consigned as
      room-rent, could be repaid back on any pretence, without great hardship to
      the landlord, when Nigel, growing impatient, told him that the money was
      his absolutely, and without any intention on his part of resuming any of
      it&mdash;all he asked in return was the liberty of enjoying in private the
      apartment he had paid for. Old Trapbois, who had still at his tongue's end
      much of the smooth language, by which, in his time, he had hastened the
      ruin of many a young spendthrift, began to launch out upon the noble and
      generous disposition of his new guest, until Nigel, growing impatient,
      took the old gentleman by the hand, and gently, yet irresistibly, leading
      him to the door of the chamber, put him out, but with such decent and
      moderate exertion of his superior strength, as to render the action in no
      shape indecorous, and, fastening the door, began to do that for his
      pistols which he had done for his favourite sword, examining with care the
      flints and locks, and reviewing the state of his small provision of
      ammunition.
    </p>
    <p>
      In this operation he was a second time interrupted by a knocking at the
      door&mdash;he called upon the person to enter, having no doubt that it was
      Lowestoffe's messenger at length arrived. It was, however, the ungracious
      daughter of old Trapbois, who, muttering something about her father's
      mistake, laid down upon the table one of the pieces of gold which Nigel
      had just given to him, saying, that what she retained was the full rent
      for the term he had specified. Nigel replied, he had paid the money, and
      had no desire to receive it again.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do as you will with it, then," replied his hostess, "for there it lies,
      and shall lie for me. If you are fool enough to pay more than is reason,
      my father shall not be knave enough to take it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But your father, mistress," said Nigel, "your father told me&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, my father, my father," said she, interrupting him,&mdash;"my father
      managed these affairs while he was able&mdash;I manage them now, and that
      may in the long run be as well for both of us."
    </p>
    <p>
      She then looked on the table, and observed the weapons.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have arms, I see," she said; "do you know how to use them?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I should do so mistress," replied Nigel, "for it has been my occupation."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are a soldier, then?" she demanded.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No farther as yet, than as every gentleman of my country is a soldier."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, that is your point of honour&mdash;to cut the throats of the poor&mdash;a
      proper gentlemanlike occupation for those who should protect them!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do not deal in cutting throats, mistress," replied Nigel; "but I carry
      arms to defend myself, and my country if it needs me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay," replied Martha, "it is fairly worded; but men say you are as prompt
      as others in petty brawls, where neither your safety nor your country is
      in hazard; and that had it not been so, you would not have been in the
      Sanctuary to-day."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mistress," returned Nigel, "I should labour in vain to make you
      understand that a man's honour, which is, or should be, dearer to him than
      his life, may often call on and compel us to hazard our own lives, or
      those of others, on what would otherwise seem trifling contingencies."
    </p>
    <p>
      "God's law says nought of that," said the female; "I have only read there,
      that thou shall not kill. But I have neither time nor inclination to
      preach to you&mdash;you will find enough of fighting here if you like it,
      and well if it come not to seek you when you are least prepared. Farewell
      for the present&mdash;the char-woman will execute your commands for your
      meals."
    </p>
    <p>
      She left the room, just as Nigel, provoked at her assuming a superior tone
      of judgment and of censure, was about to be so superfluous as to enter
      into a dispute with an old pawnbroker's daughter on the subject of the
      point of honour. He smiled at himself for the folly into which the spirit
      of self-vindication had so nearly hurried him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Glenvarloch then applied to old Deborah the char-woman, by whose
      intermediation he was provided with a tolerably decent dinner; and the
      only embarrassment which he experienced, was from the almost forcible
      entry of the old dotard his landlord, who insisted upon giving his
      assistance at laying the cloth. Nigel had some difficulty to prevent him
      from displacing his arms and some papers which were lying on a small table
      at which he had been sitting; and nothing short of a stern and positive
      injunction to the contrary could compel him to use another board (though
      there were two in the room) for the purpose of laying the cloth.
    </p>
    <p>
      Having at length obliged him to relinquish his purpose, he could not help
      observing that the eyes of the old dotard seemed still anxiously fixed
      upon the small table on which lay his sword and pistols; and that, amidst
      all the little duties which he seemed officiously anxious to render to his
      guest, he took every opportunity of looking towards and approaching these
      objects of his attention. At length, when Trapbois thought he had
      completely avoided the notice of his guest, Nigel, through the observation
      of one of the cracked mirrors, oh which channel of communication the old
      man had not calculated, beheld him actually extend his hand towards the
      table in question. He thought it unnecessary to use further ceremony, but
      telling his landlord, in a stern voice, that he permitted no one to touch
      his arms, he commanded him to leave the apartment. The old usurer
      commenced a maundering sort of apology, in which all that Nigel distinctly
      apprehended, was a frequent repetition of the word <i>consideration</i>,
      and which did not seem to him to require any other answer than a
      reiteration of his command to him to leave the apartment, upon pain of
      worse consequences.
    </p>
    <p>
      The ancient Hebe who acted as Lord Glenvarloch's cup-bearer, took his part
      against the intrusion of the still more antiquated Ganymede, and insisted
      on old Trapbois leaving the room instantly, menacing him at the same time
      with her mistress's displeasure if he remained there any longer. The old
      man seemed more under petticoat government than any other, for the threat
      of the char-woman produced greater effect upon him than the more
      formidable displeasure of Nigel. He withdrew grumbling and muttering, and
      Lord Glenvarloch heard him bar a large door at the nearer end of the
      gallery, which served as a division betwixt the other parts of the
      extensive mansion, and the apartment occupied by his guest, which, as the
      reader is aware, had its access from the landing-place at the head of the
      grand staircase.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel accepted the careful sound of the bolts and bars as they were
      severally drawn by the trembling hand of old Trapbois, as an omen that the
      senior did not mean again to revisit him in the course of the evening, and
      heartily rejoiced that he was at length to be left to uninterrupted
      solitude.
    </p>
    <p>
      The old woman asked if there was aught else to be done for his
      accommodation; and, indeed, it had hitherto seemed as if the pleasure of
      serving him, or more properly the reward which she expected, had renewed
      her youth and activity. Nigel desired to have candles, to have a fire
      lighted in his apartment, and a few fagots placed beside it, that he might
      feed it from time to time, as he began to feel the chilly effects of the
      damp and low situation of the house, close as it was to the Thames. But
      while the old woman was absent upon his errand, he began to think in what
      way he should pass the long solitary evening with which he was threatened.
    </p>
    <p>
      His own reflections promised to Nigel little amusement, and less applause.
      He had considered his own perilous situation in every light in which it
      could be viewed, and foresaw as little utility as comfort in resuming the
      survey. To divert the current of his ideas, books were, of course, the
      readiest resource; and although, like most of us, Nigel had, in his time,
      sauntered through large libraries, and even spent a long time there
      without greatly disturbing their learned contents, he was now in a
      situation where the possession of a volume, even of very inferior merit,
      becomes a real treasure. The old housewife returned shortly afterwards
      with fagots, and some pieces of half-burnt wax-candles, the perquisites,
      probably, real or usurped, of some experienced groom of the chambers, two
      of which she placed in large brass candlesticks, of different shapes and
      patterns, and laid the others on the table, that Nigel might renew them
      from time to time as they burnt to the socket. She heard with interest
      Lord Glenvarloch's request to have a book&mdash;any sort of book&mdash;to
      pass away the night withal, and returned for answer, that she knew of no
      other books in the house than her young mistress's (as she always
      denominated Mistress Martha Trapbois) Bible, which the owner would not
      lend; and her master's Whetstone of Witte, being the second part of
      Arithmetic, by Robert Record, with the Cossike Practice and Rule of
      Equation; which promising volume Nigel declined to borrow. She offered,
      however, to bring him some books from Duke Hildebrod&mdash;"who sometimes,
      good gentleman, gave a glance at a book when the State affairs of Alsatia
      left him as much leisure."
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigfil embraced the proposal, and his unwearied Iris scuttled away on this
      second embassy. She returned in a short time with a tattered quarto volume
      under her arm, and a bottle of sack in her hand; for the Duke, judging
      that mere reading was dry work, had sent the wine by way of sauce to help
      it down, not forgetting to add the price to the morning's score, which he
      had already run up against the stranger in the Sanctuary.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel seized on the book, and did not refuse the wine, thinking that a
      glass or two, as it really proved to be of good quality, would be no bad
      interlude to his studies. He dismissed, with thanks and assurance of
      reward, the poor old drudge who had been so zealous in his service;
      trimmed his fire and candles, and placed the easiest of the old arm-chairs
      in a convenient posture betwixt the fire and the table at which he had
      dined, and which now supported the measure of sack and the lights; and
      thus accompanying his studies with such luxurious appliances as were in
      his power, he began to examine the only volume with which the ducal
      library of Alsatia had been able to supply him.
    </p>
    <p>
      The contents, though of a kind generally interesting, were not well
      calculated to dispel the gloom by which he was surrounded. The book was
      entitled "God's Revenge against Murther;" not, as the bibliomaniacal
      reader may easily conjecture, the work which Reynolds published under that
      imposing name, but one of a much earlier date, printed and sold by old
      Wolfe; and which, could a copy now be found, would sell for much more than
      its weight in gold.[Footnote: Only three copies are known to exist; one in
      the library at Kennaquhair, and two&mdash;one foxed and cropped, the other
      tall and in good condition&mdash;both in the possession of an eminent
      member of the Roxburghe Club.&mdash;<i>Note by</i> CAPTAIN CLUTTERBUCK.]
      Nigel had soon enough of the doleful tales which the book contains, and
      attempted one or two other modes of killing the evening. He looked out at
      window, but the night was rainy, with gusts of wind; he tried to coax the
      fire, but the fagots were green, and smoked without burning; and as he was
      naturally temperate, he felt his blood somewhat heated by the canary sack
      which he had already drank, and had no farther inclination to that
      pastime. He next attempted to compose a memorial addressed to the king, in
      which he set forth his case and his grievances; but, speedily stung with
      the idea that his supplication would be treated with scorn, he flung the
      scroll into the fire, and, in a sort of desperation, resumed the book
      which he had laid aside.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel became more interested in the volume at the second than at the first
      attempt which he made to peruse it. The narratives, strange and shocking
      as they were to human feeling, possessed yet the interest of sorcery or of
      fascination, which rivets the attention by its awakening horrors. Much was
      told of the strange and horrible acts of blood by which men, setting
      nature and humanity alike at defiance, had, for the thirst of revenge, the
      lust of gold, or the cravings of irregular ambition, broken into the
      tabernacle of life. Yet more surprising and mysterious tales were
      recounted of the mode in which such deeds of blood had come to be
      discovered and revenged. Animals, irrational animals, had told the secret,
      and birds of the air had carried the matter. The elements had seemed to
      betray the deed which had polluted them&mdash;earth had ceased to support
      the murderer's steps, fire to warm his frozen limbs, water to refresh his
      parched lips, air to relieve his gasping lungs. All, in short, bore
      evidence to the homicide's guilt. In other circumstances, the criminal's
      own awakened conscience pursued and brought him to justice; and in some
      narratives the grave was said to have yawned, that the ghost of the
      sufferer might call for revenge.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was now wearing late in the night, and the book was still in Nigel's
      hands, when the tapestry which hung behind him flapped against the wall,
      and the wind produced by its motion waved the flame of the candles by
      which he was reading. Nigel started and turned round, in that excited and
      irritated state of mind which arose from the nature of his studies,
      especially at a period when a certain degree of superstition was
      inculcated as a point of religious faith. It was not without emotion that
      he saw the bloodless countenance, meagre form, and ghastly aspect of old
      Trapbois, once more in the very act of extending his withered hand towards
      the table which supported his arms. Convinced by this untimely apparition
      that something evil was meditated towards him, Nigel sprung up, seized his
      sword, drew it, and placing it at the old man's breast, demanded of him
      what he did in his apartment at so untimely an hour. Trapbois showed
      neither fear nor surprise, and only answered by some imperfect
      expressions, intimating he would part with his life rather than with his
      property; and Lord Glenvarloch, strangely embarrassed, knew not what to
      think of the intruder's motives, and still less how to get rid of him. As
      he again tried the means of intimidation, he was surprised by a second
      apparition from behind the tapestry, in the person of the daughter of
      Trapbois, bearing a lamp in her hand. She also seemed to possess her
      father's insensibility to danger, for, coming close to Nigel, she pushed
      aside impetuously his naked sword, and even attempted to take it out of
      his hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      "For shame," she said, "your sword on a man of eighty years and
      more!-=this the honour of a Scottish gentleman!&mdash;give it to me to
      make a spindle of!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Stand back," said Nigel; "I mean your father no injury&mdash;but I <i>will</i>
      know what has caused him to prowl this whole day, and even at this late
      hour of night, around my arms."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your arms!" repeated she; "alas! young man, the whole arms in the Tower
      of London are of little value to him, in comparison of this miserable
      piece of gold which I left this morning on the table of a young
      spendthrift, too careless to put what belonged to him into his own purse."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, she showed the piece of gold, which, still remaining on the
      table, where she left it, had been the bait that attracted old Trapbois so
      frequently to the spot; and which, even in the silence of the night, had
      so dwelt on his imagination, that he had made use of a private passage
      long disused, to enter his guest's apartment, in order to possess himself
      of the treasure during his slumbers. He now exclaimed, at the highest
      tones of his cracked and feeble voice&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is mine&mdash;it is mine!&mdash;he gave it to me for a consideration&mdash;I
      will die ere I part with my property!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is indeed his own, mistress," said Nigel, "and I do entreat you to
      restore it to the person on whom I have bestowed it, and let me have my
      apartment in quiet."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will account with you for it, then,"&mdash;said the maiden, reluctantly
      giving to her father the morsel of Mammon, on which he darted as if his
      bony fingers had been the talons of a hawk seizing its prey; and then
      making a contented muttering and mumbling, like an old dog after he has
      been fed, and just when he is wheeling himself thrice round for the
      purpose of lying down, he followed his daughter behind the tapestry,
      through a little sliding-door, which was perceived when the hangings were
      drawn apart.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This shall be properly fastened to-morrow," said the daughter to Nigel,
      speaking in such a tone that her father, deaf, and engrossed by his
      acquisition, could not hear her; "to-night I will continue to watch him
      closely.&mdash;I wish you good repose."
    </p>
    <p>
      These few words, pronounced in a tone of more civility than she had yet
      made use of towards her lodger, contained a wish which was not to be
      accomplished, although her guest, presently after her departure, retired
      to bed.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a slight fever in Nigel's blood, occasioned by the various
      events of the evening, which put him, as the phrase is, beside his rest.
      Perplexing and painful thoughts rolled on his mind like a troubled stream,
      and the more he laboured to lull himself to slumber, the farther he seemed
      from attaining his object. He tried all the resources common in such
      cases; kept counting from one to a thousand, until his head was giddy&mdash;he
      watched the embers of the wood fire till his eyes were dazzled&mdash;he
      listened to the dull moaning of the wind, the swinging and creaking of
      signs which projected from the houses, and the baying of here and there a
      homeless dog, till his very ear was weary.
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly, however, amid this monotony, came a sound which startled him at
      once. It was a female shriek. He sat up in his bed to listen, then
      remembered he was in Alsatia, where brawls of every sort were current
      among the unruly inhabitants. But another scream, and another, and
      another, succeeded so close, that he was certain, though the noise was
      remote and sounded stifled, it must be in the same house with himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel jumped up hastily, put on a part of his clothes, seized his sword
      and pistols, and ran to the door of his chamber. Here he plainly heard the
      screams redoubled, and, as he thought, the sounds came from the usurer's
      apartment. All access to the gallery was effectually excluded by the
      intermediate door, which the brave young lord shook with eager, but vain
      impatience. But the secret passage occurred suddenly to his recollection.
      He hastened back to his room, and succeeded with some difficulty in
      lighting a candle, powerfully agitated by hearing the cries repeated, yet
      still more afraid lest they should sink into silence.
    </p>
    <p>
      He rushed along the narrow and winding entrance, guided by the noise,
      which now burst more wildly on his ear; and, while he descended a narrow
      staircase which terminated the passage, he heard the stifled voices of
      men, encouraging, as it seemed, each other. "D&mdash;n her, strike her
      down&mdash;silence her&mdash;beat her brains out!"&mdash;while the voice
      of his hostess, though now almost exhausted, was repeating the cry of
      "murder," and "help." At the bottom of the staircase was a small door,
      which gave way before Nigel as he precipitated himself upon the scene of
      action,&mdash;a cocked pistol in one hand, a candle in the other, and his
      naked sword under his arm.
    </p>
    <p>
      Two ruffians had, with great difficulty, overpowered, or, rather, were on
      the point of overpowering, the daughter of Trapbois, whose resistance
      appeared to have been most desperate, for the floor was covered with
      fragments of her clothes, and handfuls of her hair. It appeared that her
      life was about to be the price of her defence, for one villain had drawn a
      long clasp-knife, when they were surprised by the entrance of Nigel, who,
      as they turned towards him, shot the fellow with the knife dead on the
      spot, and when the other advanced to him, hurled the candlestick at his
      head, and then attacked him with his sword. It was dark, save some pale
      moonlight from the window; and the ruffian, after firing a pistol without
      effect, and fighting a traverse or two with his sword, lost heart, made
      for the window, leaped over it, and escaped. Nigel fired his remaining
      pistol after him at a venture, and then called for light.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There is light in the kitchen," answered Martha Trapbois, with more
      presence of mind than could have been expected. "Stay, you know not the
      way; I will fetch it myself.&mdash;Oh! my father&mdash;my poor father!&mdash;I
      knew it would come to this&mdash;and all along of the accursed gold!&mdash;They
      have <i>murdered</i> him!"
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXV
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  Death finds us 'mid our playthings&mdash;snatches us,
  As a cross nurse might do a wayward child,
  From all our toys and baubles. His rough call
  Unlooses all our favourite ties on earth;
  And well if they are such as may be answer'd
  In yonder world, where all is judged of truly.
                                   <i>Old Play</i>.
</pre>
    <p>
      It was a ghastly scene which opened, upon Martha Trapbois's return with a
      light. Her own haggard and austere features were exaggerated by all the
      desperation of grief, fear, and passion&mdash;but the latter was
      predominant. On the floor lay the body of the robber, who had expired
      without a groan, while his blood, flowing plentifully, had crimsoned all
      around. Another body lay also there, on which the unfortunate woman
      precipitated herself in agony, for it was that of her unhappy father. In
      the next moment she started up, and exclaiming&mdash;"There may be life
      yet!" strove to raise the body. Nigel went to her assistance, but not
      without a glance at the open window; which Martha, as acute as if
      undisturbed either by passion or terror, failed not to interpret justly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Fear not," she cried, "fear not; they are base cowards, to whom courage
      is as much unknown as mercy. If I had had weapons, I could have defended
      myself against them without assistance or protection.&mdash;Oh! my poor
      father! protection comes too late for this cold and stiff corpse.&mdash;He
      is dead&mdash;dead!"
    </p>
    <p>
      While she spoke, they were attempting to raise the dead body of the old
      miser; but it was evident, even from the feeling of the inactive weight
      and rigid joints, that life had forsaken her station. Nigel looked for a
      wound, but saw none. The daughter of the deceased, with more presence of
      mind than a daughter could at the time have been supposed capable of
      exerting, discovered the instrument of his murder&mdash;a sort of scarf,
      which had been drawn so tight round his throat, as to stifle his cries for
      assistance, in the first instance, and afterwards to extinguish life.
    </p>
    <p>
      She undid the fatal noose; and, laying the old man's body in the arms of
      Lord Glenvarloch, she ran for water, for spirits, for essences, in the
      vain hope that life might be only suspended. That hope proved indeed vain.
      She chafed his temples, raised his head, loosened his nightgown, (for it
      seemed as if he had arisen from bed upon hearing the entrance of the
      villains,) and, finally, opened, with difficulty, his fixed and
      closely-clenched hands, from one of which dropped a key, from the other
      the very piece of gold about which the unhappy man had been a little
      before so anxious, and which probably, in the impaired state of his mental
      faculties, he was disposed to defend with as desperate energy as if its
      amount had been necessary to his actual existence.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is in vain&mdash;it is in vain," said the daughter, desisting from her
      fruitless attempts to recall the spirit which had been effectually
      dislodged, for the neck had been twisted by the violence of the murderers;
      "It is in vain&mdash;he is murdered&mdash;I always knew it would be thus;
      and now I witness it!"
    </p>
    <p>
      She then snatched up the key and the piece of money, but it was only to
      dash them again on the floor, as she exclaimed, "Accursed be ye both, for
      you are the causes of this deed!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel would have spoken&mdash;would have reminded her, that measures
      should be instantly taken for the pursuit of the murderer who had escaped,
      as well as for her own security against his return; but she interrupted
      him sharply.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Be silent," she said, "be silent. Think you, the thoughts of my own heart
      are not enough to distract me, and with such a sight as this before me? I
      say, be silent," she said again, and in a yet sterner tone&mdash;"Can a
      daughter listen, and her father's murdered corpse lying on her knees?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Glenvarloch, however overpowered by the energy of her grief, felt not
      the less the embarrassment of his own situation. He had discharged both
      his pistols&mdash;the robber might return&mdash;he had probably other
      assistants besides the man who had fallen, and it seemed to him, indeed,
      as if he had heard a muttering beneath the windows. He explained hastily
      to his companion the necessity of procuring ammunition.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are right," she said, somewhat contemptuously, "and have ventured
      already more than ever I expected of man. Go, and shift for yourself,
      since that is your purpose&mdash;leave me to my fate."
    </p>
    <p>
      Without stopping for needless expostulation, Nigel hastened to his own
      room through the secret passage, furnished himself with the ammunition he
      sought for, and returned with the same celerity; wondering himself at the
      accuracy with which he achieved, in the dark, all the meanderings of the
      passage which he had traversed only once, and that in a moment of such
      violent agitation.
    </p>
    <p>
      He found, on his return, the unfortunate woman standing like a statue by
      the body of her father, which she had laid straight on the floor, having
      covered the face with the skirt of his gown. She testified neither
      surprise nor pleasure at Nigel's return, but said to him calmly&mdash;"My
      moan is made&mdash;my sorrow&mdash;all the sorrow at least that man shall
      ever have noting of, is gone past; but I will have justice, and the base
      villain who murdered this poor defenceless old man, when he had not, by
      the course of nature, a twelvemonth's life in him, shall not cumber the
      earth long after him. Stranger, whom heaven has sent to forward the
      revenge reserved for this action, go to Hildebrod's&mdash;there they are
      awake all night in their revels&mdash;bid him come hither&mdash;he is
      bound by his duty, and dare not, and shall not, refuse his assistance,
      which he knows well I can reward. Why do ye tarry?&mdash;go instantly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I would," said Nigel, "but I am fearful of leaving you alone; the
      villains may return, and&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "True, most true," answered Martha, "he may return; and, though I care
      little for his murdering me, he may possess himself of what has most
      tempted him. Keep this key and this piece of gold; they are both of
      importance&mdash;defend your life if assailed, and if you kill the villain
      I will make you rich. I go myself to call for aid."
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel would have remonstrated with her, but she had departed, and in a
      moment he heard the house-door clank behind her. For an instant he thought
      of following her; but upon recollection that the distance was but short
      betwixt the tavern of Hildebrod and the house of Trapbois, he concluded
      that she knew it better than he&mdash;incurred little danger in passing
      it, and that he would do well in the meanwhile to remain on the watch as
      she recommended.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was no pleasant situation for one unused to such scenes to remain in
      the apartment with two dead bodies, recently those of living and breathing
      men, who had both, within the space of less than half an hour, suffered
      violent death; one of them by the hand of the assassin, the other, whose
      blood still continued to flow from the wound in his throat, and to flood
      all around him, by the spectator's own deed of violence, though of
      justice. He turned his face from those wretched relics of mortality with a
      feeling of disgust, mingled with superstition; and he found, when he had
      done so, that the consciousness of the presence of these ghastly objects,
      though unseen by him, rendered him more uncomfortable than even when he
      had his eyes fixed upon, and reflected by, the cold, staring, lifeless
      eyeballs of the deceased. Fancy also played her usual sport with him. He
      now thought he heard the well-worn damask nightgown of the deceased usurer
      rustle; anon, that he heard the slaughtered bravo draw up his leg, the
      boot scratching the floor as if he was about to rise; and again he deemed
      he heard the footsteps and the whisper of the returned ruffian under the
      window from which he had lately escaped. To face the last and most real
      danger, and to parry the terrors which the other class of feelings were
      like to impress upon him, Nigel went to the window, and was much cheered
      to observe the light of several torches illuminating the street, and
      followed, as the murmur of voices denoted, by a number of persons, armed,
      it would seem, with firelocks and halberds, and attendant on Hildebrod,
      who (not in his fantastic office of duke, but in that which he really
      possessed of bailiff of the liberty and sanctuary of Whitefriars) was on
      his way to inquire into the crime and its circumstances.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a strange and melancholy contrast to see these debauchees,
      disturbed in the very depth of their midnight revel, on their arrival at
      such a scene as this. They stared on each other, and on the bloody work
      before them, with lack-lustre eyes; staggered with uncertain steps over
      boards slippery with blood; their noisy brawling voices sunk into
      stammering whispers; and, with spirits quelled by what they saw, while
      their brains were still stupefied by the liquor which they had drunk, they
      seemed like men walking in their sleep.
    </p>
    <p>
      Old Hildebrod was an exception to the general condition. That seasoned
      cask, however full, was at all times capable of motion, when there
      occurred a motive sufficiently strong to set him a-rolling. He seemed much
      shocked at what he beheld, and his proceedings, in consequence, had more
      in them of regularity and propriety, than he might have been supposed
      capable of exhibiting upon any occasion whatever. The daughter was first
      examined, and stated, with wonderful accuracy and distinctness, the manner
      in which she had been alarmed with a noise of struggling and violence in
      her father's apartment, and that the more readily, because she was
      watching him on account of some alarm concerning his health. On her
      entrance, she had seen her father sinking under the strength of two men,
      upon whom she rushed with all the fury she was capable of. As their faces
      were blackened, and their figures disguised, she could not pretend, in the
      hurry of a moment so dreadfully agitating, to distinguish either of them
      as persons whom she had seen before. She remembered little more except the
      firing of shots, until she found herself alone with her guest, and saw
      that the ruffians had escaped. Lord Glenvarloch told his story as we have
      given it to the reader. The direct evidence thus received, Hildebrod
      examined the premises. He found that the villains had made their entrance
      by the window out of which the survivor had made his escape; yet it seemed
      singular that they should have done so, as it was secured with strong iron
      bars, which old Trapbois was in the habit of shutting with his own hand at
      nightfall. He minuted down with great accuracy, the state of every thing
      in the apartment, and examined carefully the features of the slain robber.
      He was dressed like a seaman of the lowest order, but his face was known
      to none present. Hildebrod next sent for an Alsatian surgeon, whose vices,
      undoing what his skill might have done for him, had consigned him to the
      wretched practice of this place. He made him examine the dead bodies, and
      make a proper declaration of the manner in which the sufferers seemed to
      have come by their end. The circumstances of the sash did not escape the
      learned judge, and having listened to all that could be heard or
      conjectured on the subject, and collected all particulars of evidence
      which appeared to bear on the bloody transaction, he commanded the door of
      the apartment to be locked until next morning; and carrying, the
      unfortunate daughter of the murdered man into the kitchen, where there was
      no one in presence but Lord Glenvarloch, he asked her gravely, whether she
      suspected no one in particular of having committed the deed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do <i>you</i> suspect no one?" answered Martha, looking fixedly on him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Perhaps, I may, mistress; but it is my part to ask questions, yours to
      answer them. That's the rule of the game."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then I suspect him who wore yonder sash. Do not you know whom I mean?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, if you call on me for honours, I must needs say I have seen Captain
      Peppercull have one of such a fashion, and he was not a man to change his
      suits often."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Send out, then," said Martha, "and have him apprehended."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If it is he, he will be far by this time; but I will communicate with the
      higher powers," answered the judge.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You would have him escape," resumed she, fixing her eyes on him sternly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "By cock and pie," replied Hildebrod, "did it depend on me, the murdering
      cut-throat should hang as high as ever Haman did&mdash;but let me take my
      time. He has friends among us, <i>that</i> you wot well; and all that
      should assist me are as drunk as fiddlers."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will have revenge&mdash;I <i>will</i> have it," repeated she; "and take
      heed you trifle not with me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Trifle! I would sooner trifle with a she-bear the minute after they had
      baited her. I tell you, mistress, be but patient, and we will have him. I
      know all his haunts, and he cannot forbear them long; and I will have
      trap-doors open for him. You cannot want justice, mistress, for you have
      the means to get it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "They who help me in my revenge," said Martha, "shall share those means."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Enough said," replied Hildebrod; "and now I would have you go to my
      house, and get something hot&mdash;you will be but dreary here by
      yourself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will send for the old char-woman," replied Martha, "and we have the
      stranger gentleman, besides."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Umph, umph&mdash;the stranger gentleman!" said Hildebrod to Nigel, whom
      he drew a little apart. "I fancy the captain has made the stranger
      gentleman's fortune when he was making a bold dash for his own. I can tell
      your honour&mdash;I must not say lordship&mdash;that I think my having
      chanced to give the greasy buff-and-iron scoundrel some hint of what I
      recommended to you to-day, has put him on this rough game. The better for
      you&mdash;you will get the cash without the father-in-law.&mdash;You will
      keep conditions, I trust?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I wish you had said nothing to any one of a scheme so absurd," said
      Nigel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Absurd!&mdash;Why, think you she will not have thee? Take her with the
      tear in her eye, man&mdash;take her with the tear in her eye. Let me hear
      from you to-morrow. Good-night, good-night&mdash;a nod is as good as a
      wink. I must to my business of sealing and locking up. By the way, this
      horrid work has put all out of my head.&mdash;Here is a fellow from Mr.
      Lowestoffe has been asking to see you. As he said his business was
      express, the Senate only made him drink a couple of flagons, and he was
      just coming to beat up your quarters when this breeze blew up.&mdash;Ahey,
      friend! there is Master Nigel Grahame."
    </p>
    <p>
      A young man, dressed in a green plush jerkin, with a badge on the sleeve,
      and having the appearance of a waterman, approached and took Nigel aside,
      while Duke Hildebrod went from place to place to exercise his authority,
      and to see the windows fastened, and the doors of the apartment locked up.
      The news communicated by Lowestoffe's messenger were not the most
      pleasant. They were intimated in a courteous whisper to Nigel, to the
      following effect:&mdash;That Master Lowestoffe prayed him to consult his
      safety by instantly leaving Whitefriars, for that a warrant from the Lord
      Chief-Justice had been issued out for apprehending him, and would be put
      in force to-morrow, by the assistance of a party of musketeers, a force
      which the Alsatians neither would nor dared to resist.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And so, squire," said the aquatic emissary, "my wherry is to wait you at
      the Temple Stairs yonder, at five this morning, and, if you would give the
      blood-hounds the slip, why, you may."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why did not Master Lowestoffe write to me?" said Nigel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Alas! the good gentleman lies up in lavender for it himself, and has as
      little to do with pen and ink as if he were a parson."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did he send any token to me?" said Nigel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Token!&mdash;ay, marry did he&mdash;token enough, an I have not forgot
      it," said the fellow; then, giving a hoist to the waistband of his
      breeches, he said,&mdash;"Ay, I have it&mdash;you were to believe me,
      because your name was written with an O, for Grahame. Ay, that was it, I
      think.&mdash;Well, shall we meet in two hours, when tide turns, and go
      down the river like a twelve-oared barge?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Where is the king just now, knowest thou?" answered Lord Glenvarloch.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The king! why, he went down to Greenwich yesterday by water, like a noble
      sovereign as he is, who will always float where he can. He was to have
      hunted this week, but that purpose is broken, they say; and the Prince,
      and the Duke, and all of them at Greenwich, are as merry as minnows."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well," replied Nigel, "I will be ready to go at five; do thou come hither
      to carry my baggage."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, ay, master," replied the fellow, and left the house mixing himself
      with the disorderly attendants of Duke Hildebrod, who were now retiring.
      That potentate entreated Nigel to make fast the doors behind him, and,
      pointing to the female who sat by the expiring fire with her limbs
      outstretched, like one whom the hand of Death had already arrested, he
      whispered, "Mind your hits, and mind your bargain, or I will cut your
      bow-string for you before you can draw it."
    </p>
    <p>
      Feeling deeply the ineffable brutality which could recommend the
      prosecuting such views over a wretch in such a condition, Lord Glenvarloch
      yet commanded his temper so far as to receive the advice in silence, and
      attend to the former part of it, by barring the door carefully behind Duke
      Hildebrod and his suite, with the tacit hope that he should never again
      see or hear of them. He then returned to the kitchen, in which the unhappy
      woman remained, her hands still clenched, her eyes fixed, and her limbs
      extended, like those of a person in a trance. Much moved by her situation,
      and with the prospect which lay before her, he endeavoured to awaken her
      to existence by every means in his power, and at length apparently
      succeeded in dispelling her stupor, and attracting her attention. He then
      explained to her that he was in the act of leaving Whitefriars in a few
      hours&mdash;that his future destination was uncertain, but that he desired
      anxiously to know whether he could contribute to her protection by
      apprizing any friend of her situation, or otherwise. With some difficulty
      she seemed to comprehend his meaning, and thanked him with her usual short
      ungracious manner. "He might mean well," she said, "but he ought to know
      that the miserable had no friends."
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel said, "He would not willingly be importunate, but, as he was about
      to leave the Friars&mdash;" She interrupted him&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are about to leave the Friars? I will go with you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You go with me!" exclaimed Lord Glenvarloch.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," she said, "I will persuade my father to leave this murdering den."
      But, as she spoke, the more perfect recollection of what had passed
      crowded on her mind. She hid her face in her hands, and burst out into a
      dreadful fit of sobs, moans, and lamentations, which terminated in
      hysterics, violent in proportion to the uncommon strength of her body and
      mind.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Glenvarloch, shocked, confused, and inexperienced, was about to leave
      the house in quest of medical, or at least female assistance; but the
      patient, when the paroxysm had somewhat spent its force, held him fast by
      the sleeve with one hand, covering her face with the other, while a
      copious flood of tears came to relieve the emotions of grief by which she
      had been so violently agitated.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do not leave me," she said&mdash;"do not leave me, and call no one. I
      have never been in this way before, and would not now," she said, sitting
      upright, and wiping her eyes with her apron,&mdash;"would not now&mdash;but
      that&mdash;but that he loved <i>me</i>. if he loved nothing else that was
      human&mdash;To die so, and by such hands!"
    </p>
    <p>
      And again the unhappy woman gave way to a paroxysm of sorrow, mingling her
      tears with sobbing, wailing, and all the abandonment of female grief, when
      at its utmost height. At length, she gradually recovered the austerity of
      her natural composure, and maintained it as if by a forcible exertion of
      resolution, repelling, as she spoke, the repeated returns of the
      hysterical affection, by such an effort as that by which epileptic
      patients are known to suspend the recurrence of their fits. Yet her mind,
      however resolved, could not so absolutely overcome the affection of her
      nerves, but that she was agitated by strong fits of trembling, which, for
      a minute or two at a time, shook her whole frame in a manner frightful to
      witness. Nigel forgot his own situation, and, indeed, every thing else, in
      the interest inspired by the unhappy woman before him&mdash;an interest
      which affected a proud spirit the more deeply, that she herself, with
      correspondent highness of mind, seemed determined to owe as little as
      possible either to the humanity or the pity of others.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am not wont to be in this way," she said,&mdash;"but&mdash;but&mdash;Nature
      will have power over the frail beings it has made. Over you, sir, I have
      some right; for, without you, I had not survived this awful night. I wish
      your aid had been either earlier or later&mdash;but you have saved my
      life, and you are bound to assist in making it endurable to me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If you will show me how it is possible," answered Nigel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are going hence, you say, instantly&mdash;carry me with you," said
      the unhappy woman. "By my own efforts, I shall never escape from this
      wilderness of guilt and misery."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Alas! what can I do for you?" replied Nigel. "My own way, and I must not
      deviate from it, leads me, in all probability, to a dungeon. I might,
      indeed, transport you from hence with me, if you could afterwards bestow
      yourself with any friend."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Friend!" she exclaimed&mdash;"I have no friend&mdash;they have long since
      discarded us. A spectre arising from the dead were more welcome than I
      should be at the doors of those who have disclaimed us; and, if they were
      willing to restore their friendship to me now, I would despise it, because
      they withdrew it from him&mdash;from him"&mdash;(here she underwent strong
      but suppressed agitation, and then added firmly)&mdash;"from <i>him</i>
      who lies yonder.&mdash;I have no friend." Here she paused; and then
      suddenly, as if recollecting herself, added, "I have no friend, but I have
      that will purchase many&mdash;I have that which will purchase both friends
      and avengers.&mdash;It is well thought of; I must not leave it for a prey
      to cheats and ruffians.&mdash;Stranger, you must return to yonder room.
      Pass through it boldly to his&mdash;that is, to the sleeping apartment;
      push the bedstead aside; beneath each of the posts is a brass plate, as if
      to support the weight, but it is that upon the left, nearest to the wall,
      which must serve your turn&mdash;press the corner of the plate, and it
      will spring up and show a keyhole, which this key will open. You will then
      lift a concealed trap-door, and in a cavity of the floor you will discover
      a small chest. Bring it hither; it shall accompany our journey, and it
      will be hard if the contents cannot purchase me a place of refuge."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But the door communicating with the kitchen has been locked by these
      people," said Nigel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "True, I had forgot; they had their reasons for that, doubtless," answered
      she. "But the secret passage from your apartment is open, and you may go
      that way."
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Glenvarloch took the key, and, as he lighted a lamp to show him the
      way, she read in his countenance some unwillingness to the task imposed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You fear?" said she&mdash;"there is no cause; the murderer and his victim
      are both at rest. Take courage, I will go with you myself&mdash;you cannot
      know the trick of the spring, and the chest will be too heavy for you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No fear, no fear," answered Lord Glenvarloch, ashamed of the construction
      she put upon a momentary hesitation, arising from a dislike to look upon
      what is horrible, often connected with those high-wrought minds which are
      the last to fear what is merely dangerous&mdash;"I will do your errand as
      you desire; but for you, you must not&mdash;cannot go yonder."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I can&mdash;I will," she said. "I am composed. You shall see that I am
      so." She took from the table a piece of unfinished sewing-work, and, with
      steadiness and composure, passed a silken thread into the eye of a fine
      needle.&mdash;"Could I have done that," she said, with a smile yet more
      ghastly than her previous look of fixed despair, "had not my heart and
      hand been both steady?"
    </p>
    <p>
      She then led the way rapidly up stairs to Nigel's chamber, and proceeded
      through the secret passage with the same haste, as if she had feared her
      resolution might have failed her ere her purpose was executed. At the
      bottom of the stairs she paused a moment, before entering the fatal
      apartment, then hurried through with a rapid step to the sleeping chamber
      beyond, followed closely by Lord Glenvarloch, whose reluctance to approach
      the scene of butchery was altogether lost in the anxiety which he felt on
      account of the survivor of the tragedy.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her first action was to pull aside the curtains of her father's bed. The
      bed-clothes were thrown aside in confusion, doubtless in the action of his
      starting from sleep to oppose the entrance of the villains into the next
      apartment. The hard mattress scarcely showed the slight pressure where the
      emaciated body of the old miser had been deposited. His daughter sank
      beside the bed, clasped her hands, and prayed to heaven, in a short and
      affectionate manner, for support in her affliction, and for vengeance on
      the villains who had made her fatherless. A low-muttered and still more
      brief petition recommended to Heaven the soul of the sufferer, and invoked
      pardon for his sins, in virtue of the great Christian atonement.
    </p>
    <p>
      This duty of piety performed, she signed to Nigel to aid her; and, having
      pushed aside the heavy bedstead, they saw the brass plate which Martha had
      described. She pressed the spring, and, at once, the plate starting up,
      showed the keyhole, and a large iron ring used in lifting the trap-door,
      which, when raised, displayed the strong box, or small chest, she had
      mentioned, and which proved indeed so very weighty, that it might perhaps
      have been scarcely possible for Nigel, though a very strong man, to have
      raised it without assistance.
    </p>
    <p>
      Having replaced everything as they had found it, Nigel, with such help as
      his companion was able to afford, assumed his load, and made a shift to
      carry it into the next apartment, where lay the miserable owner,
      insensible to sounds and circumstances, which, if any thing could have
      broken his long last slumber, would certainly have done so. His
      unfortunate daughter went up to his body, and had even the courage to
      remove the sheet which had been decently disposed over it. She put her
      hand on the heart, but there was no throb&mdash;held a feather to the
      lips, but there was no motion&mdash;then kissed with deep reverence the
      starting veins of the pale forehead, and then the emaciated hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I would you could hear me," she said,&mdash;"Father! I would you could
      hear me swear, that, if I now save what you most valued on earth, it is
      only to assist me in obtaining vengeance for your death."
    </p>
    <p>
      She replaced the covering, and, without a tear, a sigh, or an additional
      word of any kind, renewed her efforts, until they conveyed the strong-box
      betwixt them into Lord Glenvarloch's sleeping apartment. "It must pass,"
      she said, "as part of your baggage. I will be in readiness so soon as the
      waterman calls."
    </p>
    <p>
      She retired; and Lord Glenvarloch, who saw the hour of their departure
      approach, tore down a part of the old hanging to make a covering, which he
      corded upon the trunk, lest the peculiarity of its shape, and the care
      with which it was banded and counterbanded with bars of steel, might
      afford suspicions respecting the treasure which it contained. Having taken
      this measure of precaution, he changed the rascally disguise, which he had
      assumed on entering Whitefriars, into a suit becoming his quality, and
      then, unable to sleep, though exhausted with the events of the night, he
      threw himself on his bed to await the summons of the waterman.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXVI
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  Give us good voyage, gentle stream&mdash;we stun not
  Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry;
  Wake not the slumbering echoes of thy banks
  With voice of flute and horn&mdash;we do but seek
  On the broad pathway of thy swelling bosom
  To glide in silent safety.
                             <i>The Double Bridal.</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      Grey, or rather yellow light, was beginning to twinkle through the fogs of
      Whitefriars, when a low tap at the door of the unhappy miser announced to
      Lord Glenvarloch the summons of the boatman. He found at the door the man
      whom he had seen the night before, with a companion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come, come, master, let us get afloat," said one of them, in a rough
      impressive whisper, "time and tide wait for no man."
    </p>
    <p>
      "They shall not wait for me," said Lord Glenvarloch; "but I have some
      things to carry with me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, ay&mdash;no man will take a pair of oars now, Jack, unless he means
      to load the wherry like a six-horse waggon. When they don't want to shift
      the whole kitt, they take a sculler, and be d&mdash;d to them. Come, come,
      where be your rattle-traps?"
    </p>
    <p>
      One of the men was soon sufficiently loaded, in his own estimation at
      least, with Lord Glenvarloch's mail and its accompaniments, with which
      burden he began to trudge towards the Temple Stairs. His comrade, who
      seemed the principal, began to handle the trunk which contained the
      miser's treasure, but pitched it down again in an instant, declaring, with
      a great oath, that it was as reasonable to expect a man to carry Paul's on
      his back. The daughter of Trapbois, who had by this time joined them,
      muffled up in a long dark hood and mantle, exclaimed to Lord Glenvarloch&mdash;"Let
      them leave it if they will, let them leave it all; let us but escape from
      this horrible place."
    </p>
    <p>
      We have mentioned elsewhere, that Nigel was a very athletic young man,
      and, impelled by a strong feeling of compassion and indignation, he showed
      his bodily strength singularly on this occasion, by seizing on the
      ponderous strong-box, and, by means of the rope he had cast around it,
      throwing it on his shoulders, and marching resolutely forward under a
      weight, which would have sunk to the earth three young gallants, at the
      least, of our degenerate day. The waterman followed him in amazement,
      calling out, "Why, master, master, you might as well gie me t'other end
      on't!" and anon offered his assistance to support it in some degree
      behind, which after the first minute or two Nigel was fain to accept. His
      strength was almost exhausted when he reached the wherry, which was lying
      at the Temple Stairs according to appointment; and, when he pitched the
      trunk into it, the weight sank the bow of the boat so low in the water as
      well-nigh to overset it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We shall have as hard a fare of it," said the waterman to his companion,
      "as if we were ferrying over an honest bankrupt with all his secreted
      goods&mdash;Ho, ho! good woman, what, are you stepping in for?&mdash;our
      gunwale lies deep enough in the water without live lumber to boot."
    </p>
    <p>
      "This person comes with me," said Lord Glenvarloch; "she is for the
      present under my protection."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come, come, master," rejoined the fellow, "that is out of my commission.
      You must not double my freight on me&mdash;she may go by land&mdash;and,
      as for protection, her face will protect her from Berwick to the Land's
      End."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You will not except at my doubling the loading, if I double the fare?"
      said Nigel, determined on no account to relinquish the protection of this
      unhappy woman, for which he had already devised some sort of plan, likely
      now to be baffled by the characteristic rudeness of the Thames watermen.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, by G&mdash;&mdash;, but I will except, though," said the fellow with
      the green plush jacket: "I will overload my wherry neither for love nor
      money&mdash;I love my boat as well as my wife, and a thought better."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, nay, comrade," said his mate, "that is speaking no true water
      language. For double fare we are bound to row a witch in her eggshell if
      she bid us; and so pull away, Jack, and let us have no more prating."
    </p>
    <p>
      They got into the stream-way accordingly, and, although heavily laden,
      began to move down the river with reasonable speed.
    </p>
    <p>
      The lighter vessels which passed, overtook, or crossed them, in their
      course, failed not to assail them with their boisterous raillery, which
      was then called water-wit; for which the extreme plainness of Mistress
      Martha's features, contrasted with the youth, handsome figure, and good
      looks of Nigel, furnished the principal topics; while the circumstance of
      the boat being somewhat overloaded, did not escape their notice. They were
      hailed successively, as a grocer's wife upon a party of pleasure with her
      eldest apprentice&mdash;as an old woman carrying her grandson to school&mdash;and
      as a young strapping Irishman, conveying an ancient maiden to Dr.
      Rigmarole's, at Redriffe, who buckles beggars for a tester and a dram of
      Geneva. All this abuse was retorted in a similar strain of humour by
      Greenjacket and his companion, who maintained the war of wit with the same
      alacrity with which they were assailed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile, Lord Glenvarloch asked his desolate companion if she had
      thought on any place where she could remain in safety with her property.
      She confessed, in more detail than formerly, that her father's character
      had left her no friends; and that, from the time he had betaken himself to
      Whitefriars, to escape certain legal consequences of his eager pursuit of
      gain, she had lived a life of total seclusion; not associating with the
      society which the place afforded, and, by her residence there, as well as
      her father's parsimony, effectually cut off from all other company. What
      she now wished, was, in the first place, to obtain the shelter of a decent
      lodging, and the countenance of honest people, however low in life, until
      she should obtain legal advice as to the mode of obtaining justice on her
      father's murderer. She had no hesitation to charge the guilt upon
      Colepepper, (commonly called Peppercull,) whom she knew to be as capable
      of any act of treacherous cruelty, as he was cowardly, where actual
      manhood was required. He had been strongly suspected of two robberies
      before, one of which was coupled with an atrocious murder. He had, she
      intimated, made pretensions to her hand as the easiest and safest way of
      obtaining possession of her father's wealth; and, on her refusing his
      addresses, if they could be termed so, in the most positive terms, he had
      thrown out such obscure hints of vengeance, as, joined with some imperfect
      assaults upon the house, had kept her in frequent alarm, both on her
      father's account and her own.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel, but that his feeling of respectful delicacy to the unfortunate
      woman forebade him to do so, could here have communicated a circumstance
      corroborative of her suspicions, which had already occurred to his own
      mind. He recollected the hint that old Hildebrod threw forth on the
      preceding night, that some communication betwixt himself and Colepepper
      had hastened the catastrophe. As this communication related to the plan
      which Hildebrod had been pleased to form, of promoting a marriage betwixt
      Nigel himself and the rich heiress of Trapbois, the fear of losing an
      opportunity not to be regained, together with the mean malignity of a
      low-bred ruffian, disappointed in a favourite scheme, was most likely to
      instigate the bravo to the deed of violence which had been committed. The
      reflection that his own name was in some degree implicated with the causes
      of this horrid tragedy, doubled Lord Glenvarloch's anxiety in behalf of
      the victim whom he had rescued, while at the same time he formed the tacit
      resolution, that, so soon as his own affairs were put upon some footing,
      he would contribute all in his power towards the investigation of this
      bloody affair.
    </p>
    <p>
      After ascertaining from his companion that she could form no better plan
      of her own, he recommended to her to take up her lodging for the time, at
      the house of his old landlord, Christie the ship-chandler, at Paul's
      Wharf, describing the decency and honesty of that worthy couple, and
      expressing his hopes that they would receive her into their own house, or
      recommend her at least to that of some person for whom they would be
      responsible, until she should have time to enter upon other arrangements
      for herself.
    </p>
    <p>
      The poor woman received advice so grateful to her in her desolate
      condition, with an expression of thanks, brief indeed, but deeper than any
      thing had yet extracted from the austerity of her natural disposition.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Glenvarloch then proceeded to inform Martha, that certain reasons,
      connected with his personal safety, called him immediately to Greenwich,
      and, therefore, it would not be in his power to accompany her to
      Christie's house, which he would otherwise have done with pleasure: but,
      tearing a leaf from his tablet, he wrote on it a few lines, addressed to
      his landlord, as a man of honesty and humanity, in which he described the
      bearer as a person who stood in singular necessity of temporary protection
      and good advice, for which her circumstances enabled her to make ample
      acknowledgment. He therefore requested John Christie, as his old and good
      friend, to afford her the shelter of his roof for a short time; or, if
      that might not be consistent with his convenience, at least to direct her
      to a proper lodging-and, finally, he imposed on him the additional, and
      somewhat more difficult commission, to recommend her to the counsel and
      services of an honest, at least a reputable and skilful attorney, for the
      transacting some law business of importance. The note he subscribed with
      his real name, and, delivering it to his <i>protegee</i>, who received it
      with another deeply uttered "I thank you," which spoke the sterling
      feelings of her gratitude better than a thousand combined phrases, he
      commanded the watermen to pull in for Paul's Wharf, which they were now
      approaching.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We have not time," said Green-jacket; "we cannot be stopping every
      instant."
    </p>
    <p>
      But, upon Nigel insisting upon his commands being obeyed, and adding, that
      it was for the purpose of putting the lady ashore, the waterman declared
      that he would rather have her room than her company, and put the wherry
      alongside the wharf accordingly. Here two of the porters, who ply in such
      places, were easily induced to undertake the charge of the ponderous
      strong-box, and at the same time to guide the owner to the well-known
      mansion of John Christie, with whom all who lived in that neighbourhood
      were perfectly acquainted.
    </p>
    <p>
      The boat, much lightened of its load, went down the Thames at a rate
      increased in proportion. But we must forbear to pursue her in her voyage
      for a few minutes, since we have previously to mention the issue of Lord
      Glenvarloch's recommendation.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mistress Martha Trapbois reached the shop in perfect safety, and was about
      to enter it, when a sickening sense of the uncertainty of her situation,
      and of the singularly painful task of telling her story, came over her so
      strongly, that she paused a moment at the very threshold of her proposed
      place of refuge, to think in what manner she could best second the
      recommendation of the friend whom Providence had raised up to her. Had she
      possessed that knowledge of the world, from which her habits of life had
      completely excluded her, she might have known that the large sum of money
      which she brought along with her, might, judiciously managed, have been a
      passport to her into the mansions of nobles, and the palaces of princes.
      But, however conscious of its general power, which assumes so many forms
      and complexions, she was so inexperienced as to be most unnecessarily
      afraid that the means by which the wealth had been acquired, might exclude
      its inheretrix from shelter even in the house of a humble tradesman.
    </p>
    <p>
      While she thus delayed, a more reasonable cause for hesitation arose, in a
      considerable noise and altercation within the house, which grew louder and
      louder as the disputants issued forth upon the street or lane before the
      door.
    </p>
    <p>
      The first who entered upon the scene was a tall raw-boned hard-favoured
      man, who stalked out of the shop hastily, with a gait like that of a
      Spaniard in a passion, who, disdaining to add speed to his locomotion by
      running, only condescends, in the utmost extremity of his angry haste, to
      add length to his stride. He faced about, so soon as he was out of the
      house, upon his pursuer, a decent-looking, elderly, plain tradesman&mdash;no
      other than John Christie himself, the owner of the shop and tenement, by
      whom he seemed to be followed, and who was in a state of agitation more
      than is usually expressed by such a person.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'll hear no more on't," said the personage who first appeared on the
      scene.&mdash;"Sir, I will hear no more on it. Besides being a most false
      and impudent figment, as I can testify&mdash;it is <i>Scandaalum Magnaatum</i>,
      sir&mdash;<i>Scandaalum Magnaatum</i>" he reiterated with a broad
      accentuation of the first vowel, well known in the colleges of Edinburgh
      and Glasgow, which we can only express in print by doubling the said first
      of letters and of vowels, and which would have cheered the cockles of the
      reigning monarch had he been within hearing,&mdash;as he was a severer
      stickler for what he deemed the genuine pronunciation of the Roman tongue,
      than for any of the royal prerogatives, for which he was at times disposed
      to insist so strenuously in his speeches to Parliament.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I care not an ounce of rotten cheese," said John Christie in reply, "what
      you call it&mdash;but it is TRUE; and I am a free Englishman, and have
      right to speak the truth in my own concerns; and your master is little
      better than a villain, and you no more than a swaggering coxcomb, whose
      head I will presently break, as I have known it well broken before on
      lighter occasion."
    </p>
    <p>
      And, so saying, he flourished the paring-shovel which usually made clean
      the steps of his little shop, and which he had caught up as the readiest
      weapon of working his foeman damage, and advanced therewith upon him. The
      cautious Scot (for such our readers must have already pronounced him, from
      his language and pedantry) drew back as the enraged ship-chandler
      approached, but in a surly manner, and bearing his hand on his sword-hilt
      rather in the act of one who was losing habitual forbearance and caution
      of deportment, than as alarmed by the attack of an antagonist inferior to
      himself in youth, strength, and weapons.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Bide back," he said, "Maister Christie&mdash;I say bide back, and consult
      your safety, man. I have evited striking you in your ain house under
      muckle provocation, because I am ignorant how the laws here may pronounce
      respecting burglary and hamesucken, and such matters; and, besides, I
      would not willingly hurt ye, man, e'en on the causeway, that is free to us
      baith, because I mind your kindness of lang syne, and partly consider ye
      as a poor deceived creature. But deil d&mdash;n me, sir, and I am not wont
      to swear, but if you touch my Scotch shouther with that shule of yours, I
      will make six inches of my Andrew Ferrara deevilish intimate with your
      guts, neighbour."
    </p>
    <p>
      And therewithal, though still retreating from the brandished shovel, he
      made one-third of the basket-hilled broadsword which he wore, visible from
      the sheath. The wrath of John Christie was abated, either by his natural
      temperance of disposition, or perhaps in part by the glimmer of cold
      steel, which flashed on him from his adversary's last action.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I would do well to cry clubs on thee, and have thee ducked at the wharf,"
      he said, grounding his shovel, however, at the same time, "for a paltry
      swaggerer, that would draw thy bit of iron there on an honest citizen
      before his own door; but get thee gone, and reckon on a salt eel for thy
      supper, if thou shouldst ever come near my house again. I wish it had been
      at the bottom of the Thames when it first gave the use of its roof to
      smooth-faced, oily-tongued, double-minded Scots thieves!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's an ill bird that fouls its own nest," replied his adversary, not
      perhaps the less bold that he saw matters were taking the turn of a
      pacific debate; "and a pity it is that a kindly Scot should ever have
      married in foreign parts, and given life to a purse-proud, pudding-headed,
      fat-gutted, lean-brained Southron, e'en such as you, Maister Christie. But
      fare ye weel&mdash;fare ye weel, for ever and a day; and, if you quarrel
      wi' a Scot again, man, say as mickle ill o' himsell as ye like, but say
      nane of his patron or of his countrymen, or it will scarce be your flat
      cap that will keep your lang lugs from the sharp abridgement of a Highland
      whinger, man."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And, if you continue your insolence to me before my own door, were it but
      two minutes longer," retorted John Christie, "I will call the constable,
      and make your Scottish ankles acquainted with an English pair of stocks!"
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he turned to retire into his shop with some show of victory;
      for his enemy, whatever might be his innate valour, manifested no desire
      to drive matters to extremity&mdash;conscious, perhaps, that whatever
      advantage he might gain in single combat with Jonn Christie, would be more
      than overbalanced by incurring an affair with the constituted authorities
      of Old England, not at that time apt to be particularly favourable to
      their new fellow-subjects, in the various successive broils which were
      then constantly taking place between the individuals of two proud nations,
      who still retained a stronger sense of their national animosity during
      centuries, than of their late union for a few years under the government
      of the same prince.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Martha Trapbois had dwelt too long in Alsatia, to be either surprised
      or terrified at the altercation she had witnessed. Indeed, she only
      wondered that the debate did not end in some of those acts of violence by
      which they were usually terminated in the Sanctuary. As the disputants
      separated from each other, she, who had no idea that the cause of the
      quarrel was more deeply rooted than in the daily scenes of the same nature
      which she had heard of or witnessed, did not hesitate to stop Master
      Christie in his return to his shop, and present to him the letter which
      Lord Glenvarloch had given to her. Had she been better acquainted with
      life and its business, she would certainly have waited for a more
      temperate moment; and she had reason to repent of her precipitation, when,
      without saying a single word, or taking the trouble to gather more of the
      information contained in the letter than was expressed in the
      subscription, the incensed ship chandler threw it down on the ground,
      trampled it in high disdain, and, without addressing a single word to the
      bearer, except, indeed, something much more like a hearty curse than was
      perfectly consistent with his own grave appearance, he retired into his
      shop, and shut the hatch-door.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was with the most inexpressible anguish that the desolate, friendless
      and unhappy female, thus beheld her sole hope of succour, countenance, and
      protection, vanish at once, without being able to conceive a reason; for,
      to do her justice, the idea that her friend, whom she knew by the name of
      Nigel Grahame, had imposed on her, a solution which might readily have
      occurred to many in her situation, never once entered her mind. Although
      it was not her temper easily to bend her mind to entreaty, she could not
      help exclaiming after the ireful and retreating ship-chandler,&mdash;"Good
      Master, hear me but a moment! for mercy's sake, for honesty's sake!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mercy and honesty from him, mistress!" said the Scot, who, though he
      essayed not to interrupt the retreat of his antagonist, still kept stout
      possession of the field of action,&mdash;"ye might as weel expect brandy
      from bean-stalks, or milk from a craig of blue whunstane. The man is mad,
      bom mad, to boot."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I must have mistaken the person to whom the letter was addressed, then;"
      and, as she spoke, Mistress Martha Trapbois was in the act of stooping to
      lift the paper which had been so uncourteously received. Her companion,
      with natural civility, anticipated her purpose; but, what was not quite so
      much in etiquette, he took a sly glance at it as he was about to hand it
      to her, and his eye having caught the subscription, he said, with
      surprise, "Glenvarloch&mdash;Nigel Olifaunt of Glenvarloch! Do you know
      the Lord Glenvarloch, mistress?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I know not of whom you speak," said Mrs. Martha, peevishly. "I had that
      paper from one Master Nigel Gram."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nigel Grahame!&mdash;umph.-O, ay, very true&mdash;I had forgot," said the
      Scotsman. "A tall, well-set young man, about my height; bright blue eyes
      like a hawk's; a pleasant speech, something leaning to the kindly
      north-country accentuation, but not much, in respect of his having been
      resident abroad?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "All this is true&mdash;and what of it all?" said the daughter of the
      miser.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hair of my complexion?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yours is red," replied she.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I pray you peace," said the Scotsman. "I was going to say&mdash;of my
      complexion, but with a deeper shade of the chestnut. Weel, mistress, if I
      have guessed the man aright, he is one with whom I am, and have been,
      intimate and familiar,&mdash;nay,&mdash;I may truly say I have done him
      much service in my time, and may live to do him more. I had indeed a
      sincere good-will for him, and I doubt he has been much at a loss since we
      parted; but the fault is not mine. Wherefore, as this letter will not
      avail you with him to whom it is directed, you may believe that heaven
      hath sent it to me, who have a special regard for the writer&mdash;I have,
      besides, as much mercy and honesty within me as man can weel make his
      bread with, and am willing to aid any distressed creature, that is my
      friend's friend, with my counsel, and otherwise, so that I am not put to
      much charges, being in a strange country, like a poor lamb that has
      wandered from its ain native hirsel, and leaves a tait of its woo' in
      every d&mdash;d Southron bramble that comes across it." While he spoke
      thus, he read the contents of the letter, without waiting for permission,
      and then continued,&mdash;"And so this is all that you are wanting, my
      dove? nothing more than safe and honourable lodging, and sustenance, upon
      your own charges?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nothing more," said she. "If you are a man and a Christian, you will help
      me to what I need so much."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A man I am," replied the formal Caledonian, "e'en sic as ye see me; and a
      Christian I may call myself, though unworthy, and though I have heard
      little pure doctrine since I came hither&mdash;a' polluted with men's
      devices&mdash;ahem! Weel, and if ye be an honest woman," (here he peeped
      under her muffler,) "as an honest woman ye seem likely to be&mdash;though,
      let me tell you, they are a kind of cattle not so rife in the streets of
      this city as I would desire them&mdash;I was almost strangled with my own
      band by twa rampallians, wha wanted yestreen, nae farther gane, to harle
      me into a change-house&mdash;however, if ye be a decent honest woman,"
      (here he took another peep at features certainly bearing no beauty which
      could infer suspicion,) "as decent and honest ye seem to be, why, I will
      advise you to a decent house, where you will get douce, quiet
      entertainment, on reasonable terms, and the occasional benefit of my own
      counsel and direction&mdash;that is, from time to time, as my other
      avocations may permit."
    </p>
    <p>
      "May I venture to accept of such an offer from a stranger?" said Martha,
      with natural hesitation.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Troth, I see nothing to hinder you, mistress," replied the bonny Scot;
      "ye can but see the place, and do after as ye think best. Besides, we are
      nae such strangers, neither; for I know your friend, and you, it's like,
      know mine, whilk knowledge, on either hand, is a medium of communication
      between us, even as the middle of the string connecteth its twa ends or
      extremities. But I will enlarge on this farther as we pass along, gin ye
      list to bid your twa lazy loons of porters there lift up your little kist
      between them, whilk ae true Scotsman might carry under his arm. Let me
      tell you, mistress, ye will soon make a toom pock-end of it in Lon'on, if
      you hire twa knaves to do the work of ane."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he led the way, followed by Mistress Martha Trapbois, whose
      singular destiny, though it had heaped her with wealth, had left her, for
      the moment, no wiser counsellor, or more distinguished protector, than
      honest Richie Moniplies, a discarded serving-man.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXVII
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  This way lie safety and a sure retreat;
  Yonder lie danger, shame, and punishment
  Most welcome danger then&mdash;Nay, let me say,
  Though spoke with swelling heart&mdash;welcome e'en shame
  And welcome punishment&mdash;for, call me guilty,
  I do but pay the tax that's due to justice;
  And call me guiltless, then that punishment
  Is shame to those alone who do inflict it,
                              <i>The Tribunal</i>.
</pre>
    <p>
      We left Lord Glenvarloch, to whose fortunes our story chiefly attaches
      itself, gliding swiftly down the Thames. He was not, as the reader may
      have observed, very affable in his disposition, or apt to enter into
      conversation with those into whose company he was casually thrown. This
      was, indeed, an error in his conduct, arising less from pride, though of
      that feeling we do not pretend to exculpate him, than from a sort of
      bashful reluctance to mix in the conversation of those with whom he was
      not familiar. It is a fault only to be cured by experience and knowledge
      of the world, which soon teaches every sensible and acute person the
      important lesson, that amusement, and, what is of more consequence, that
      information and increase of knowledge, are to be derived from the
      conversation of every individual whatever, with whom he is thrown into a
      natural train of communication. For ourselves, we can assure the reader&mdash;and
      perhaps if we have ever been able to afford him amusement, it is owing in
      a great degree to this cause&mdash;that we never found ourselves in
      company with the stupidest of all possible companions in a post-chaise, or
      with the most arrant cumber-corner that ever occupied a place in the
      mail-coach, without finding, that, in the course of our conversation with
      him, we had some ideas suggested to us, either grave orgay, or some
      information communicated in the course of our journey, which we should
      have regretted not to have learned, and which we should be sorry to have
      immediately forgotten. But Nigel was somewhat immured within the Bastile
      of his rank, as some philosopher (Tom Paine, we think) has happily enough
      expressed that sort of shyness which men of dignified situations are apt
      to be beset with, rather from not exactly knowing how far, or with whom,
      they ought to be familiar, than from any real touch of aristocratic pride.
      Besides, the immediate pressure of our adventurer's own affairs was such
      as exclusively to engross his attention.
    </p>
    <p>
      He sat, therefore, wrapt in his cloak, in the stern of the boat, with his
      mind entirely bent upon the probable issue of the interview with his
      Sovereign, which it was his purpose to seek; for which abstraction of mind
      he may be fully justified, although perhaps, by questioning the watermen
      who were transporting him down the river, he might have discovered matters
      of high concernment to him.
    </p>
    <p>
      At any rate, Nigel remained silent till the wherry approached the town of
      Greenwich, when he commanded the men to put in for the nearest
      landing-place, as it was his purpose to go ashore there, and dismiss them
      from further attendance.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is not possible," said the fellow with the green jacket, who, as we
      have already said, seemed to take on himself the charge of pilotage. "We
      must go," he continued, "to Gravesend, where a Scottish vessel, which
      dropped down the river last tide for the very purpose, lies with her
      anchor a-peak, waiting to carry you to your own dear northern country.
      Your hammock is slung, and all is ready for you, and you talk of going
      ashore at Greenwich, as seriously as if such a thing were possible!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I see no impossibility," said Nigel, "in your landing me where I desire
      to be landed; but very little possibility of your carrying me anywhere I
      am not desirous of going."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, whether do you manage the wherry, or we, master?" asked
      Green-jacket, in a tone betwixt jest and earnest; "I take it she will go
      the way we row her."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay," retorted Nigel, "but I take it you will row her on the course I
      direct you, otherwise your chance of payment is but a poor one."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Suppose we are content to risk that," said the undaunted waterman, "I
      wish to know how you, who talk so big&mdash;I mean no offence, master, but
      you do talk big&mdash;would help yourself in such a case?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Simply thus," answered Lord Glenvarloch&mdash;"You saw me, an hour since,
      bring down to the boat a trunk that neither of you could lift. If we are
      to contest the destination of our voyage, the same strength which tossed
      that chest into the wherry, will suffice to fling you out of it;
      wherefore, before we begin the scuffle, I pray you to remember, that,
      whither I would go, there I will oblige you to carry me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Gramercy for your kindness," said Green-jacket; "and now mark me in
      return. My comrade and I are two men&mdash;and you, were you as stout as
      George-a-Green, can pass but for one; and two, you will allow, are more
      than a match for one. You mistake in your reckoning, my friend."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is you who mistake," answered Nigel, who began to grow warm; "it is I
      who am three to two, sirrah&mdash;I carry two men's lives at my girdle."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he opened his cloak and showed the two pistols which he had
      disposed at his girdle. Green-jacket was unmoved at the display.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have got," said he, "a pair of barkers that will match yours," and he
      showed that he also was armed with pistols; "so you may begin as soon as
      you list."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then," said Lord Glenvarloch, drawing forth and cocking a pistol, "the
      sooner the better. Take notice, I hold you as a ruffian, who have declared
      you will put force on my person; and that I will shoot you through the
      head if you do not instantly put me ashore at Greenwich."
    </p>
    <p>
      The other waterman, alarmed at Nigel's gesture, lay upon his oar; but
      Green-jacket replied coolly&mdash;"Look you, master, I should not care a
      tester to venture a life with you on this matter; but the truth is, I am
      employed to do you good, and not to do you harm."
    </p>
    <p>
      "By whom are you employed?" said the Lord Glenvarloch; "or who dare
      concern themselves in me, or my affairs, without my authority?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "As to that," answered the waterman, in the same tone of indifference, "I
      shall not show my commission. For myself, I care not, as I said, whether
      you land at Greenwich to get yourself hanged, or go down to get aboard the
      Royal Thistle, to make your escape to your own country; you will be
      equally out of my reach either way. But it is fair to put the choice
      before you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My choice is made," said Nigel. "I have told you thrice already it is my
      pleasure to be landed at Greenwich."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Write it on a piece of paper," said the waterman, "that such is your
      positive will; I must have something to show to my employers, that the
      transgression of their orders lies with yourself, not with me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I choose to hold this trinket in my hand for the present," said Nigel,
      showing his pistol, "and will write you the acquittance when I go ashore."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I would not go ashore with you for a hundred pieces," said the waterman.
      "Ill luck has ever attended you, except in small gaming; do me fair
      justice, and give me the testimony I desire. If you are afraid of foul
      play while you write it, you may hold my pistols, if you will." He offered
      the weapons to Nigel accordingly, who, while they were under his control,
      and all possibility of his being taken at disadvantage was excluded, no
      longer hesitated to give the waterman an acknowledgment, in the following
      terms:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Jack in the Green, with his mate, belonging to the wherry called the
      Jolly Raven, have done their duty faithfully by me, landing me at
      Greenwich by my express command; and being themselves willing and desirous
      to carry me on board the Royal Thistle, presently lying at Gravesend."
      Having finished this acknowledgment, which he signed with the letters, N.
      O. G. as indicating his name and title, he again requested to know of the
      waterman, to whom he delivered it, the name of his employers.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sir," replied Jack in the Green, "I have respected your secret, do not
      you seek to pry into mine. It would do you no good to know for whom I am
      taking this present trouble; and, to be brief, you shall not know it&mdash;and,
      if you will fight in the quarrel, as you said even now, the sooner we
      begin the better. Only this you may be cock-sure of, that we designed you
      no harm, and that, if you fall into any, it will be of your own wilful
      seeking." As he spoke, they approached the landing-place, where Nigel
      instantly jumped ashore. The waterman placed his small mail-trunk on the
      stairs, observing that there were plenty of spare hands about, to carry it
      where he would.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We part friends, I hope, my lads," said the young nobleman, offering at
      the same time a piece of money more than double the usual fare, to the
      boatmen.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We part as we met," answered Green-jacket; "and, for your money, I am
      paid sufficiently with this bit of paper. Only, if you owe me any love for
      the cast I have given you, I pray you not to dive so deep into the pockets
      of the next apprentice that you find fool enough to play the cavalier.&mdash;And
      you, you greedy swine," said he to his companion, who still had a longing
      eye fixed on the money which Nigel continued to offer, "push off, or, if I
      take a stretcher in hand, I'll break the knave's pate of thee." The fellow
      pushed off, as he was commanded, but still could not help muttering, "This
      was entirely out of waterman's rules."
    </p>
    <p>
      Glenvarloch, though without the devotion of the "injured Thales" of the
      moralist, to the memory of that great princess, had now attained
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     "The hallow'd soil which gave Eliza birth,"
</pre>
    <p>
      whose halls were now less respectably occupied by her successor. It was
      not, as has been well shown by a late author, that James was void either
      of parts or of good intentions; and his predecessor was at least as
      arbitrary in effect as he was in theory. But, while Elizabeth possessed a
      sternness of masculine sense and determination which rendered even her
      weaknesses, some of which were in themselves sufficiently ridiculous, in a
      certain degree respectable, James, on the other hand, was so utterly
      devoid of "firm resolve," so well called by the Scottish bard,
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     "The stalk of carle-hemp in man,"
</pre>
    <p>
      that even his virtues and his good meaning became laughable, from the
      whimsical uncertainty of his conduct; so that the wisest things he ever
      said, and the best actions he ever did, were often touched with a strain
      of the ludicrous and fidgety character of the man. Accordingly, though at
      different periods of his reign he contrived to acquire with his people a
      certain degree of temporary popularity, it never long outlived the
      occasion which produced it; so true it is, that the mass of mankind will
      respect a monarch stained with actual guilt, more than one whose foibles
      render him only ridiculous.
    </p>
    <p>
      To return from this digression, Lord Glenvarloch soon received, as
      Green-jacket had assured him, the offer of an idle bargeman to transport
      his baggage where he listed; but that where was a question of momentary
      doubt. At length, recollecting the necessity that his hair and beard
      should be properly arranged before he attempted to enter the royal
      presence, and desirous, at the same time, of obtaining some information of
      the motions of the Sovereign and of the Court, he desired to be guided to
      the next barber's shop, which we have already mentioned as the place where
      news of every kind circled and centred. He was speedily shown the way to
      such an emporium of intelligence, and soon found he was likely to hear all
      he desired to know, and much more, while his head was subjected to the art
      of a nimble tonsor, the glibness of whose tongue kept pace with the
      nimbleness of his fingers while he ran on, without stint or stop, in the
      following excursive manner:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Court here, master?&mdash;yes, master&mdash;much to the advantage of
      trade&mdash;good custom stirring. His Majesty loves Greenwich&mdash;hunts
      every morning in the Park&mdash;all decent persons admitted that have the
      entries of the Palace&mdash;no rabble&mdash;frightened the king's horse
      with their hallooing, the uncombed slaves.&mdash;Yes, sir, the beard more
      peaked? Yes, master, so it is worn. I know the last cut&mdash;dress
      several of the courtiers&mdash;one valet-of-the-chamber, two pages of the
      body, the clerk of the kitchen, three running footmen, two dog-boys, and
      an honourable Scottish knight, Sir Munko Malgrowler."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Malagrowther, I suppose?" said Nigel, thrusting in his conjectural
      emendation, with infinite difficulty, betwixt two clauses of the barber's
      text.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir&mdash;Malcrowder, sir, as you say, sir&mdash;hard names the
      Scots have, sir, for an English mouth. Sir Munko is a handsome person, sir&mdash;perhaps
      you know him&mdash;bating the loss of his fingers, and the lameness of his
      leg, and the length of his chin. Sir, it takes me one minute, twelve
      seconds, more time to trim that chin of his, than any chin that I know in
      the town of Greenwich, sir. But he is a very comely gentleman, for all
      that; and a pleasant&mdash;a very pleasant gentleman, sir&mdash;and a
      good-humoured, saving that he is so deaf he can never hear good of any
      one, and so wise, that he can never believe it; but he is a very
      good-natured gentleman for all that, except when one speaks too low, or
      when a hair turns awry.&mdash;Did I graze you, sir? We shall put it to
      rights in a moment, with one drop of styptic&mdash;my styptic, or rather
      my wife's, sir&mdash;She makes the water herself. One drop of the styptic,
      sir, and a bit of black taffeta patch, just big enough to be the saddle to
      a flea, sir&mdash;Yes, sir, rather improves than otherwise. The Prince had
      a patch the other day, and so had the Duke: and, if you will believe me,
      there are seventeen yards three quarters of black taffeta already cut into
      patches for the courtiers."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But Sir Mungo Malagrowther?" again interjected Nigel, with difficulty.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, ay, sir&mdash;Sir Munko, as you say; a pleasant, good-humoured
      gentleman as ever&mdash;To be spoken with, did you say? O ay, easily to be
      spoken withal, that is, as easily as his infirmity will permit. He will
      presently, unless some one hath asked him forth to breakfast, be taking
      his bone of broiled beef at my neighbour Ned Kilderkin's yonder, removed
      from over the way. Ned keeps an eating-house, sir, famous for
      pork-griskins; but Sir Munko cannot abide pork, no more than the King's
      most Sacred Majesty,[Footnote: The Scots, till within the last generation,
      disliked swine's flesh as an article of food as much as the Highlanders do
      at present. It was remarked as extraordinary rapacity, when the Border
      depredators condescended to make prey of the accursed race, whom the fiend
      made his habitation. Ben Jonson, in drawing James's character, says, he
      loved "no part of a swine."] nor my Lord Duke of Lennox, nor Lord
      Dalgarno,&mdash;nay, I am sure, sir, if I touched you this time, it was
      your fault, not mine.&mdash;But a single drop of the styptic, another
      little patch that would make a doublet for a flea, just under the left
      moustache; it will become you when you smile, sir, as well as a dimple;
      and if you would salute your fair mistress&mdash;but I beg pardon, you are
      a grave gentleman, very grave to be so young.&mdash;Hope I have given no
      offence; it is my duty to entertain customers&mdash;my duty, sir, and my
      pleasure&mdash;Sir Munko Malcrowther?&mdash;yes, sir, I dare say he is at
      this moment in Ned's eating-house, for few folks ask him out, now Lord
      Huntinglen is gone to London. You will get touched again&mdash;yes, sir&mdash;there
      you shall find him with his can of single ale, stirred with a sprig of
      rosemary, for he never drinks strong potations, sir, unless to oblige Lord
      Huntinglen&mdash;take heed, sir&mdash;or any other person who asks him
      forth to breakfast&mdash;but single beer he always drinks at Ned's, with
      his broiled bone of beef or mutton&mdash;or, it may be, lamb at the season&mdash;but
      not pork, though Ned is famous for his griskins. But the Scots never eat
      pork&mdash;strange that! some folk think they are a sort of Jews. There is
      a resemblance, sir,&mdash;Do you not think so? Then they call our most
      gracious Sovereign the Second Solomon, and Solomon, you know, was King of
      the Jews; so the thing bears a face, you see. I believe, sir, you will
      find yourself trimmed now to your content. I will be judged by the fair
      mistress of your affections. Crave pardon&mdash;no offence, I trust. Pray,
      consult the glass&mdash;one touch of the crisping tongs, to reduce this
      straggler.&mdash;Thank your munificence, sir&mdash;hope your custom while
      you stay in Greenwich. Would you have a tune on that ghittern, to put your
      temper in concord for the day?&mdash;Twang, twang&mdash;twang, twang,
      dillo. Something out of tune, sir&mdash;too many hands to touch it&mdash;we
      cannot keep these things like artists. Let me help you with your cloak,
      sir&mdash;yes, sir&mdash;You would not play yourself, sir, would you?&mdash;Way
      to Sir Munko's eating-house?&mdash;Yes, sir; but it is Ned's eating-house,
      not Sir Munko's.&mdash;The knight, to be sure, eats there, and makes it
      his eating-house in some sense, sir&mdash;ha, ha! Yonder it is, removed
      from over the way, new white-washed posts, and red lattice&mdash;fat man
      in his doublet at the door&mdash;Ned himself, sir&mdash;worth a thousand
      pounds, they say&mdash;better singeing pigs' faces than trimming courtiers&mdash;but
      ours is the less mechanical vocation.&mdash;Farewell, sir; hope your
      custom." So saying, he at length permitted Nigel to depart, whose ears, so
      long tormented with continued babble, tingled when it had ceased, as if a
      bell had been rung close to them for the same space of time.
    </p>
    <p>
      Upon his arrival at the eating-house, where he proposed to meet with Sir
      Mungo Malagrowther, from whom, in despair of better advice, he trusted to
      receive some information as to the best mode of introducing himself into
      the royal presence, Lord Glenvarloch found, in the host with whom he
      communed, the consequential taciturnity of an Englishman well to pass in
      the world. Ned Kilderkin spoke as a banker writes, only touching the
      needful. Being asked if Sir Mungo Malagrowther was there? he replied, No.
      Being interrogated whether he was expected? he said, Yes. And being again
      required to say when he was expected, he answered, Presently. As Lord
      Glenvarloch next inquired, whether he himself could have any breakfast?
      the landlord wasted not even a syllable in reply, but, ushering him into a
      neat room where there were several tables, he placed one of them before an
      armchair, and beckoning Lord Glenvarloch to take possession, he set before
      him, in a very few minutes, a substantial repast of roast-beef, together
      with a foaming tankard, to which refreshment the keen air of the river
      disposed him, notwithstanding his mental embarrassments, to do much
      honour.
    </p>
    <p>
      While Nigel was thus engaged in discussing his commons, but raising his
      head at the same time whenever he heard the door of the apartment open,
      eagerly desiring the arrival of Sir Mungo Malagrowther, (an event which
      had seldom been expected by any one with so much anxious interest,) a
      personage, as it seemed, of at least equal importance with the knight,
      entered into the apartment, and began to hold earnest colloquy with the
      publican, who thought proper to carry on the conference on his side
      unbonneted. This important gentleman's occupation might be guessed from
      his dress. A milk-white jerkin, and hose of white kersey; a white apron
      twisted around his body in the manner of a sash, in which, instead of a
      war-like dagger, was stuck a long-bladed knife, hilted with buck's-horn; a
      white nightcap on his head, under which his hair was neatly tucked,
      sufficiently pourtrayed him as one of those priests of Comus whom the
      vulgar call cooks; and the air with which he rated the publican for having
      neglected to send some provisions to the Palace, showed that he ministered
      to royalty itself.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This will never answer," he said, "Master Kilderkin&mdash;the king twice
      asked for sweetbreads, and fricasseed coxcombs, which are a favourite dish
      of his most Sacred Majesty, and they were not to be had, because Master
      Kilderkin had not supplied them to the clerk of the kitchen, as by bargain
      bound." Here Kilderkin made some apology, brief, according to his own
      nature, and muttered in a lowly tone after the fashion of all who find
      themselves in a scrape. His superior replied, in a lofty strain of voice,
      "Do not tell me of the carrier and his wain, and of the hen-coops coming
      from Norfolk with the poultry; a loyal man would have sent an express&mdash;he
      would have gone upon his stumps, like Widdrington. What if the king had
      lost his appetite, Master Kilderkin? What if his most Sacred Majesty had
      lost his dinner? O, Master Kilderkin, if you had but the just sense of the
      dignity of our profession, which is told of by the witty African slave,
      for so the king's most excellent Majesty designates him, Publius
      Terentius, <i>Tanguam in specula&mdash;in patinas inspicerejubeo</i>."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are learned, Master Linklater," replied the English publican,
      compelling, as it were with difficulty, his mouth to utter three or four
      words consecutively.
    </p>
    <p>
      "A poor smatterer," said Mr. Linklater; "but it would be a shame to us,
      who are his most excellent Majesty's countrymen, not in some sort to have
      cherished those arts wherewith he is so deeply embued&mdash;<i>Regis ad
      exemplar</i>, Master Kilderkin, <i>totus componitur orbis</i>&mdash;which
      is as much as to say, as the king quotes the cook learns. In brief, Master
      Kilderkin, having had the luck to be bred where humanities may be had at
      the matter of an English five groats by the quarter, I, like others, have
      acquired&mdash;ahem-hem!&mdash;" Here, the speaker's eye having fallen
      upon Lord Glenvarloch, he suddenly stopped in his learned harangue, with
      such symptoms of embarrassment as induced Ned Kilderkin to stretch his
      taciturnity so far as not only to ask him what he ailed, but whether he
      would take any thing.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ail nothing," replied the learned rival of the philosophical Syrus;
      "Nothing&mdash;and yet I do feel a little giddy. I could taste a glass of
      your dame's <i>aqua mirabilis</i>."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will fetch it," said Ned, giving a nod; and his back was no sooner
      turned, than the cook walked near the table where Lord Glenvarloch was
      seated, and regarding him with a look of significance, where more was
      meant than met the ear, said,&mdash;"You are a stranger in Greenwich, sir.
      I advise you to take the opportunity to step into the Park&mdash;the
      western wicket was ajar when I came hither; I think it will be locked
      presently, so you had better make the best of your way&mdash;that is, if
      you have any curiosity. The venison are coming into season just now, sir,
      and there is a pleasure in looking at a hart of grease. I always think
      when they are bounding so blithely past, what a pleasure it would be, to
      broach their plump haunches on a spit, and to embattle their breasts in a
      noble fortification of puff-paste, with plenty of black pepper."
    </p>
    <p>
      He said no more, as Kilderkin re-entered with the cordial, but edged off
      from Nigel without waiting any reply, only repeating the same look of
      intelligence with which he had accosted him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nothing makes men's wits so alert as personal danger. Nigel took the first
      opportunity which his host's attention to the yeoman of the royal kitchen
      permitted, to discharge his reckoning, and readily obtained a direction to
      the wicket in question. He found it upon the latch, as he had been taught
      to expect; and perceived that it admitted him to a narrow footpath, which
      traversed a close and tangled thicket, designed for the cover of the does
      and the young fawns. Here he conjectured it would be proper to wait; nor
      had he been stationary above five minutes, when the cook, scalded as much
      with heat of motion as ever he had been by his huge fire-place, arrived
      almost breathless, and with his pass-key hastily locked the wicket behind
      him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Ere Lord Glenvarloch had time to speculate upon this action, the man
      approached with anxiety, and said&mdash;"Good lord, my Lord Glenvarloch!&mdash;why
      will you endanger yourself thus?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You know me then, my friend?" said Nigel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not much of that, my lord&mdash;but I know your honour's noble house
      well.&mdash;My name is Laurie Linklater, my lord."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Linklater!" repeated Nigel. "I should recollect&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      "Under your lordship's favour," he continued, "I was 'prentice, my lord,
      to old Mungo Moniplies, the flesher at the wanton West-Port of Edinburgh,
      which I wish I saw again before I died. And, your honour's noble father
      having taken Richie Moniplies into his house to wait on your lordship,
      there was a sort of connexion, your lordship sees."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah!" said Lord Glenvarloch, "I had almost forgot your name, but not your
      kind purpose. You tried to put Richie in the way of presenting a
      supplication to his Majesty?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Most true, my lord," replied the king's cook. "I had like to have come by
      mischief in the job; for Richie, who was always wilful, 'wadna be guided
      by me,' as the sang says. But nobody amongst these brave English cooks can
      kittle up his Majesty's most sacred palate with our own gusty Scottish
      dishes. So I e'en betook myself to my craft, and concocted a mess of
      friar's chicken for the soup, and a savoury hachis, that made the whole
      cabal coup the crans; and, instead of disgrace, I came by preferment. I am
      one of the clerks of the kitchen now, make me thankful&mdash;with a finger
      in the purveyor's office, and may get my whole hand in by and by."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am truly glad," said Nigel, "to hear that you have not suffered on my
      account,&mdash;still more so at your good fortune."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You bear a kind heart, my lord," said Linklater, "and do not forget poor
      people; and, troth, I see not why they should be forgotten, since the
      king's errand may sometimes fall in the cadger's gate. I have followed
      your lordship in the street, just to look at such a stately shoot of the
      old oak-tree; and my heart jumped into my throat, when I saw you sitting
      openly in the eating-house yonder, and knew there was such danger to your
      person."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What! there are warrants against me, then?" said Nigel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is even true, my lord; and there are those who are willing to blacken
      you as much as they can.&mdash;God forgive them, that would sacrifice an
      honourable house for their own base ends!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Amen," said Nigel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "For, say your lordship may have been a little wild, like other young
      gentlemen&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "We have little time to talk of it, my friend," said Nigel. "The point in
      question is, how am I to get speech of the king?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The king, my lord!" said Linklater in astonishment; "why, will not that
      be rushing wilfully into danger?&mdash;scalding yourself, as I may say,
      with your own ladle?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My good friend," answered Nigel, "my experience of the Court, and my
      knowledge of the circumstances in which I stand, tell me, that the
      manliest and most direct road is, in my case, the surest and the safest.
      The king has both a head to apprehend what is just, and a heart to do what
      is kind."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is e'en true, my lord, and so we, his old servants, know," added
      Linklater; "but, woe's me, if you knew how many folks make it their daily
      and nightly purpose to set his head against his heart, and his heart
      against his head&mdash;to make him do hard things because they are called
      just, and unjust things because they are represented as kind. Woe's me! it
      is with his Sacred Majesty, and the favourites who work upon him, even
      according to the homely proverb that men taunt my calling with,&mdash;'God
      sends good meat, but the devil sends cooks.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It signifies not talking of it, my good friend," said Nigel, "I must take
      my risk, my honour peremptorily demands it. They may maim me, or beggar
      me, but they shall not say I fled from my accusers. My peers shall hear my
      vindication."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your peers?" exclaimed the cook&mdash;"Alack-a-day, my lord, we are not
      in Scotland, where the nobles can bang it out bravely, were it even with
      the king himself, now and then. This mess must be cooked in the
      Star-Chamber, and that is an oven seven times heated, my lord;&mdash;and
      yet, if you are determined to see the king, I will not say but you may
      find some favour, for he likes well any thing that is appealed directly to
      his own wisdom, and sometimes, in the like cases, I have known him stick
      by his own opinion, which is always a fair one. Only mind, if you will
      forgive me, my lord&mdash;mind to spice high with Latin; a curn or two of
      Greek would not be amiss; and, if you can bring in any thing about the
      judgment of Solomon, in the original Hebrew, and season with a merry jest
      or so, the dish will be the more palatable.&mdash;Truly, I think, that,
      besides my skill in art, I owe much to the stripes of the Rector of the
      High School, who imprinted on my mind that cooking scene in the
      Heautontimorumenos."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Leaving that aside, my friend," said Lord Glenvarloch, "can you inform me
      which way I shall most readily get to the sight and speech of the king?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "To the sight of him readily enough," said Linklater; "he is galloping
      about these alleys, to see them strike the hart, to get him an appetite
      for a nooning&mdash;and that reminds me I should be in the kitchen. To the
      speech of the king you will not come so easily, unless you could either
      meet him alone, which rarely chances, or wait for him among the crowd that
      go to see him alight. And now, farewell, my lord, and God speed!&mdash;if
      I could do more for you, I would offer it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have done enough, perhaps, to endanger yourself," said Lord
      Glenvarloch. "I pray you to be gone, and leave me to my fate."
    </p>
    <p>
      The honest cook lingered, but a nearer burst of the horns apprized him
      that there was no time to lose; and, acquainting Nigel that he would leave
      the postern-door on the latch to secure his retreat in that direction, he
      bade God bless him, and farewell.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the kindness of this humble countryman, flowing partly from national
      partiality, partly from a sense of long-remembered benefits, which had
      been scarce thought on by those who had bestowed them, Lord Glenvarloch
      thought he saw the last touch of sympathy which he was to receive in this
      cold and courtly region, and felt that he must now be sufficient to
      himself, or be utterly lost.
    </p>
    <p>
      He traversed more than one alley, guided by the sounds of the chase, and
      met several of the inferior attendants upon the king's sport, who regarded
      him only as one of the spectators who were sometimes permitted to enter
      the Park by the concurrence of the officers about the Court. Still there
      was no appearance of James, or any of his principal courtiers, and Nigel
      began to think whether, at the risk of incurring disgrace similar to that
      which had attended the rash exploit of Richie Moniplies, he should not
      repair to the Palace-gate, in order to address the king on his return,
      when Fortune presented him the opportunity of doing so, in her own way.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was in one of those long walks by which the Park was traversed, when he
      heard, first a distant rustling, then the rapid approach of hoofs shaking
      the firm earth on which he stood; then a distant halloo, warned by which
      he stood up by the side of the avenue, leaving free room for the passage
      of the chase. The stag, reeling, covered with foam, and blackened with
      sweat, his nostrils extended as he gasped for breath, made a shift to come
      up as far as where Nigel stood, and, without turning to bay, was there
      pulled down by two tall greyhounds of the breed still used by the hardy
      deer-stalkers of the Scottish Highlands, but which has been long unknown
      in England. One dog struck at the buck's throat, another dashed his sharp
      nose and fangs, I might almost say, into the animal's bowels. It would
      have been natural for Lord Glenvarloch, himself persecuted as if by
      hunters, to have thought upon the occasion like the melancholy Jacques;
      but habit is a strange matter, and I fear that his feelings on the
      occasion were rather those of the practised huntsman than of the moralist.
      He had no time, however, to indulge them, for mark what befell.
    </p>
    <p>
      A single horseman followed the chase, upon a steed so thoroughly subjected
      to the rein, that it obeyed the touch of the bridle as if it had been a
      mechanical impulse operating on the nicest piece of machinery; so that,
      seated deep in his demipique saddle, and so trussed up there as to make
      falling almost impossible, the rider, without either fear or hesitation,
      might increase or diminish the speed at which he rode, which, even on the
      most animating occasions of the chase, seldom exceeded three-fourths of a
      gallop, the horse keeping his haunches under him, and never stretching
      forward beyond the managed pace of the academy. The security with which he
      chose to prosecute even this favourite, and, in the ordinary case,
      somewhat dangerous amusement, as well as the rest of his equipage, marked
      King James. No attendant was within sight; indeed, it was often a nice
      strain of flattery to permit the Sovereign to suppose he had outridden and
      distanced all the rest of the chase.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Weel dune, Bash&mdash;weel dune, Battie!" he exclaimed as he came up. "By
      the honour of a king, ye are a credit to the Braes of Balwhither!&mdash;Haud
      my horse, man," he called out to Nigel, without stopping to see to whom he
      had addressed himself&mdash;"Haud my naig, and help me doun out o' the
      saddle&mdash;deil ding your saul, sirrah, canna ye mak haste before these
      lazy smaiks come up?&mdash;haud the rein easy&mdash;dinna let him swerve&mdash;now,
      haud the stirrup&mdash;that will do, man, and now we are on terra firma."
      So saying, without casting an eye on his assistant, gentle King Jamie,
      unsheathing the short, sharp hanger, (<i>couteau de chasse</i>,) which was
      the only thing approaching to a sword that he could willingly endure the
      sight of, drew the blade with great satisfaction across the throat of the
      buck, and put an end at once to its struggles and its agonies.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Glenvarloch, who knew well the silvan duty which the occasion
      demanded, hung the bridle of the king's palfrey on the branch of a tree,
      and, kneeling duteously down, turned the slaughtered deer upon its back,
      and kept the <i>quarree</i> in that position, while the king, too intent
      upon his sport to observe any thing else, drew his <i>couteau</i> down the
      breast of the animal, <i>secundum artem</i>; and, having made a cross cut,
      so as to ascertain the depth of the fat upon the chest, exclaimed, in a
      sort of rapture, "Three inches of white fat on the brisket!&mdash;prime&mdash;prime&mdash;as
      I am a crowned sinner&mdash;and deil ane o' the lazy loons in but mysell!
      Seven&mdash;aught&mdash;aught tines on the antlers. By G&mdash;d, a hart
      of aught tines, and the first of the season! Bash and Battie, blessings on
      the heart's-root of ye! Buss me, my bairns, buss me." The dogs accordingly
      fawned upon him, licked him with bloody jaws, and soon put him in such a
      state that it might have seemed treason had been doing its full work upon
      his anointed body. "Bide doun, with a mischief to ye&mdash;bide doun, with
      a wanion," cried the king, almost overturned by the obstreperous caresses
      of the large stag-hounds. "But ye are just like ither folks, gie ye an
      inch and ye take an ell.&mdash;And wha may ye be, friend?" he said, now
      finding leisure to take a nearer view of Nigel, and observing what in his
      first emotion of silvan delight had escaped him,&mdash;"Ye are nane of our
      train, man. In the name of God, what the devil are ye?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "An unfortunate man, sire," replied Nigel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I dare say that," answered the king, snappishly, "or I wad have seen
      naething of you. My lieges keep a' their happiness to themselves; but let
      bowls row wrang wi' them, and I am sure to hear of it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And to whom else can we carry our complaints but to your Majesty, who is
      Heaven's vicegerent over us!" answered Nigel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Right, man, right&mdash;very weel spoken," said the king; "but you should
      leave Heaven's vicegerent some quiet on earth, too."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If your Majesty will look on me," (for hitherto the king had been so
      busy, first with the dogs, and then with the mystic operation of <i>breaking</i>,
      in vulgar phrase, cutting up the deer, that he had scarce given his
      assistant above a transient glance,) "you will see whom necessity makes
      bold to avail himself of an opportunity which may never again occur."
    </p>
    <p>
      King James looked; his blood left his cheek, though it continued stained
      with that of the animal which lay at his feet, he dropped the knife from
      his hand, cast behind him a faltering eye, as if he either meditated
      flight or looked out for assistance, and then exclaimed,&mdash;"Glenvarlochides!
      as sure as I was christened James Stewart. Here is a bonny spot of work,
      and me alone, and on foot too!" he added, bustling to get upon his horse.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Forgive me that I interrupt you, my liege," said Nigel, placing himself
      between the king and his steed; "hear me but a moment!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'll hear ye best on horseback," said the king. "I canna hear a word on
      foot, man, not a word; and it is not seemly to stand cheek-for-chowl
      confronting us that gate. Bide out of our gate, sir, we charge you on your
      allegiance.&mdash;The deil's in them a', what can they be doing?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "By the crown that you wear, my liege," said Nigel, "and for which my
      ancestors have worthily fought, I conjure you to be composed, and to hear
      me but a moment!"
    </p>
    <p>
      That which he asked was entirely out of the monarch's power to grant. The
      timidity which he showed was not the plain downright cowardice, which,
      like a natural impulse, compels a man to flight, and which can excite
      little but pity or contempt, but a much more ludicrous, as well as more
      mingled sensation. The poor king was frightened at once and angry,
      desirous of securing his safety, and at the same time ashamed to
      compromise his dignity; so that without attending to what Lord Glenvarloch
      endeavoured to explain, he kept making at his horse, and repeating, "We
      are a free king, man,&mdash;we are a free king&mdash;we will not be
      controlled by a subject.&mdash;In the name of God, what keeps Steenie?
      And, praised be his name, they are coming&mdash;Hillo, ho&mdash;here, here&mdash;Steenie,
      Steenie!"
    </p>
    <p>
      The Duke of Buckingham galloped up, followed by several courtiers and
      attendants of the royal chase, and commenced with his usual familiarity,&mdash;"I
      see Fortune has graced our dear dad, as usual.&mdash;But what's this?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "What is it? It is treason for what I ken," said the king; "and a' your
      wyte, Steenie. Your dear dad and gossip might have been murdered, for what
      you care."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Murdered? Secure the villain!" exclaimed the Duke. "By Heaven, it is
      Olifaunt himself!" A dozen of the hunters dismounted at once, letting
      their horses run wild through the park. Some seized roughly on Lord
      Glenvarloch, who thought it folly to offer resistance, while others busied
      themselves with the king. "Are you wounded, my liege&mdash;are you
      wounded?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not that I ken of," said the king, in the paroxysm of his apprehension,
      (which, by the way, might be pardoned in one of so timorous a temper, and
      who, in his time, had been exposed to so many strange attempts)&mdash;"Not
      that I ken of&mdash;but search him&mdash;search him. I am sure I saw
      fire-arms under his cloak. I am sure I smelled powder&mdash;I am dooms
      sure of that."
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Glenvarloch's cloak being stripped off, and his pistols discovered, a
      shout of wonder and of execration on the supposed criminal purpose, arose
      from the crowd now thickening every moment. Not that celebrated pistol,
      which, though resting on a bosom as gallant and as loyal as Nigel's,
      spread such cause less alarm among knights and dames at a late high
      solemnity&mdash;not that very pistol caused more temporary consternation
      than was so groundlessly excited by the arms which were taken from Lord
      Glenvarloch's person; and not Mhic-Allastar-More himself could repel with
      greater scorn and indignation, the insinuations that they were worn for
      any sinister purposes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Away with the wretch&mdash;the parricide&mdash;the bloody-minded
      villain!" was echoed on all hands; and the king, who naturally enough set
      the same value on his own life, at which it was, or seemed to be, rated by
      others, cried out, louder than all the rest, "Ay, ay&mdash;away with him.
      I have had enough of him and so has the country. But do him no bodily harm&mdash;and,
      for God's sake, sirs, if ye are sure ye have thoroughly disarmed him, put
      up your swords, dirks, and skenes, for you will certainly do each other a
      mischief."
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a speedy sheathing of weapons at the king's command; for those
      who had hitherto been brandishing them in loyal bravado, began thereby to
      call to mind the extreme dislike which his Majesty nourished against naked
      steel, a foible which seemed to be as constitutional as his timidity, and
      was usually ascribed to the brutal murder of Rizzio having been
      perpetrated in his unfortunate mother's presence before he yet saw the
      light.
    </p>
    <p>
      At this moment, the Prince, who had been hunting in a different part of
      the then extensive Park, and had received some hasty and confused
      information of what was going forward, came rapidly up, with one or two
      noblemen in his train, and amongst others Lord Dalgarno. He sprung from
      his horse and asked eagerly if his father were wounded.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not that I am sensible of, Baby Charles&mdash;but a wee matter exhausted,
      with struggling single-handed with the assassin.&mdash;Steenie, fill up a
      cup of wine&mdash;the leathern bottle is hanging at our pommel.&mdash;Buss
      me, then, Baby Charles," continued the monarch, after he had taken this
      cup of comfort; "O man, the Commonwealth and you have had a fair escape
      from the heavy and bloody loss of a dear father; for we are <i>pater
      patriae</i>, as weel as <i>pater familias</i>.-<i>Quis desiderio sit pudor
      aut modus tarn cari capitis!</i>-Woe is me, black cloth would have been
      dear in England, and dry een scarce!"
    </p>
    <p>
      And, at the very idea of the general grief which must have attended his
      death, the good-natured monarch cried heartily himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is this possible?" said Charles, sternly; for his pride was hurt at his
      father's demeanour on the one hand, while on the other, he felt the
      resentment of a son and a subject, at the supposed attempt on the king's
      life. "Let some one speak who has seen what happened&mdash;My Lord of
      Buckingham!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I cannot say my lord," replied the Duke, "that I saw any actual violence
      offered to his Majesty, else I should have avenged him on the spot."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You would have done wrong, then, in your zeal, George," answered the
      Prince; "such offenders were better left to be dealt with by the laws. But
      was the villain not struggling with his Majesty?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I cannot term it so, my lord," said the Duke, who, with many faults,
      would have disdained an untruth; "he seemed to desire to detain his
      Majesty, who, on the contrary, appeared to wish to mount his horse; but
      they have found pistols on his person, contrary to the proclamation, and,
      as it proves to be by Nigel Olifaunt, of whose ungoverned disposition your
      Royal Highness has seen some samples, we seem to be justified in
      apprehending the worst."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nigel Olifaunt!" said the Prince; "can that unhappy man so soon have
      engaged in a new trespass? Let me see those pistols."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ye are not so unwise as to meddle with such snap-haunces, Baby Charles?"
      said James&mdash;"Do not give him them, Steenie&mdash;I command you on
      your allegiance! They may go off of their own accord, whilk often befalls.&mdash;You
      will do it, then?&mdash;Saw ever a man sic wilful bairns as we are
      cumbered with!&mdash;Havena we guardsmen and soldiers enow, but you must
      unload the weapons yoursell&mdash;you, the heir of our body and dignities,
      and sae mony men around that are paid for venturing life in our cause?"
    </p>
    <p>
      But without regarding his father's exclamations, Prince Charles, with the
      obstinacy which characterised him in trifles, as well as matters of
      consequence, persisted in unloading the pistols with his own hand, of the
      double bullets with which each was charged. The hands of all around were
      held up in astonishment at the horror of the crime supposed to have been
      intended, and the escape which was presumed so narrow.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel had not yet spoken a word&mdash;he now calmly desired to be heard.
    </p>
    <p>
      "To what purpose?" answered the Prince coldly. "You knew yourself accused
      of a heavy offence, and, instead of rendering yourself up to justice, in
      terms of the proclamation, you are here found intruding yourself on his
      Majesty's presence, and armed with unlawful weapons."
    </p>
    <p>
      "May it please you, sir," answered Nigel, "I wore these unhappy weapons
      for my own defence; and not very many hours since they were necessary to
      protect the lives of others."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Doubtless, my lord," answered the Prince, still calm and unmoved,&mdash;"your
      late mode of life, and the associates with whom you have lived, have made
      you familiar with scenes and weapons of violence. But it is not to me you
      are to plead your cause."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hear me&mdash;hear me, noble Prince!" said Nigel, eagerly. "Hear me! You&mdash;even
      you yourself&mdash;may one day ask to be heard, and in vain."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How, sir," said the Prince, haughtily&mdash;"how am I to construe that,
      my lord?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "If not on earth, sir," replied the prisoner, "yet to Heaven we must all
      pray for patient and favourable audience."
    </p>
    <p>
      "True, my lord," said the Prince, bending his head with haughty
      acquiescence; "nor would I now refuse such audience to you, could it avail
      you. But you shall suffer no wrong. We will ourselves look into your
      case."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, ay," answered the king, "he hath made <i>appellatio ad Casarem</i>&mdash;we
      will interrogate Glenvarlochides ourselves, time and place fitting; and,
      in the meanwhile, have him and his weapons away, for I am weary of the
      sight of them."
    </p>
    <p>
      In consequence of directions hastily given, Nigel was accordingly removed
      from the presence, where, however, his words had not altogether fallen to
      the ground. "This is a most strange matter, George," said the Prince to
      the favourite; "this gentleman hath a good countenance, a happy presence,
      and much calm firmness in his look and speech. I cannot think he would
      attempt a crime so desperate and useless."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I profess neither love nor favour to the young man," answered Buckingham,
      whose high-spirited ambition bore always an open character: "but I cannot
      but agree with your Highness, that our dear gossip hath been something
      hasty in apprehending personal danger from him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "By my saul, Steenie, ye are not blate, to say so!" said the king. "Do I
      not ken the smell of pouther, think ye? Who else nosed out the Fifth of
      November, save our royal selves? Cecil, and Suffolk, and all of them, were
      at fault, like sae mony mongrel tikes, when I puzzled it out: and trow ye
      that I cannot smell pouther? Why, 'sblood, man, Joannes Barclaius thought
      my ingine was in some measure inspiration, and terms his history of the
      plot, Series patefacti divinitus parricidii; and Spondanus, in like
      manner, saith of us, Divinitus evasit."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The land was happy in your Majesty's escape," said the Duke of
      Buckingham, "and not less in the quick wit which tracked that labyrinth of
      treason by so fine and almost invisible a clew."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Saul, man, Steenie, ye are right! There are few youths have sic true
      judgment as you, respecting the wisdom of their elders; and, as for this
      fause, traitorous smaik, I doubt he is a hawk of the same nest. Saw ye not
      something papistical about him? Let them look that he bears not a
      crucifix, or some sic Roman trinket, about him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It would ill become me to attempt the exculpation of this unhappy man,"
      said Lord Dalgarno, "considering the height of his present attempt, which
      has made all true men's blood curdle in their veins. Yet I cannot avoid
      intimating, with all due submission to his Majesty's infallible judgment,
      in justice to one who showed himself formerly only my enemy, though he now
      displays himself in much blacker colours, that this Olifaunt always
      appeared to me more as a Puritan than as a Papist."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, Dalgarno, art thou there, man?" said the king. "And ye behoved to
      keep back, too, and leave us to our own natural strength and the care of
      Providence, when we were in grips with the villain!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Providence, may it please your most Gracious Majesty, would not fail to
      aid, in such a strait, the care of three weeping kingdoms," said Lord
      Dalgarno.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Surely, man&mdash;surely," replied the king&mdash;"but a sight of your
      father, with his long whinyard, would have been a blithe matter a short
      while syne; and in future we will aid the ends of Providence in our
      favour, by keeping near us two stout beef-eaters of the guard.&mdash;And
      so this Olifaunt is a Puritan?&mdash;not the less like to be a Papist, for
      all that&mdash;for extremities meet, as the scholiast proveth. There are,
      as I have proved in my book, Puritans of papistical principles&mdash;it is
      just a new tout on an old horn."
    </p>
    <p>
      Here the king was reminded by the Prince, who dreaded perhaps that he was
      going to recite the whole Basilicon Doron, that it would be best to move
      towards the Palace, and consider what was to be done for satisfying the
      public mind, in whom the morning's adventure was likely to excite much
      speculation. As they entered the gate of the Palace, a female bowed and
      presented a paper, which the king received, and, with a sort of groan,
      thrust it into his side pocket. The Prince expressed some curiosity to
      know its contents. "The valet in waiting will tell you them," said the
      king, "when I strip off my cassock. D'ye think, Baby, that I can read all
      that is thrust into my hands? See to me, man"&mdash;(he pointed to the
      pockets of his great trunk breeches, which were stuffed with papers)&mdash;"We
      are like an ass&mdash;that we should so speak&mdash;stooping betwixt two
      burdens. Ay, ay, Asinus fortis accumbens inter terminos, as the Vulgate
      hath it&mdash;Ay, ay, Vidi terrain quod esset optima, et supposui humerum
      ad portandum, et factus sum tributis serviens&mdash;I saw this land of
      England, and became an overburdened king thereof."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are indeed well loaded, my dear dad and gossip," said the Duke of
      Buckingham, receiving the papers which King James emptied out of his
      pockets.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, ay," continued the monarch; "take them to you per aversionem, bairns&mdash;the
      one pouch stuffed with petitions, t'other with pasquinadoes; a fine time
      we have on't. On my conscience, I believe the tale of Cadmus was
      hieroglyphical, and that the dragon's teeth whilk he sowed were the
      letters he invented. Ye are laughing, Baby Charles?&mdash;Mind what I say.&mdash;When
      I came here first frae our ain country, where the men are as rude as the
      weather, by my conscience, England was a bieldy bit; one would have
      thought the king had little to do but to walk by quiet waters, per aquam
      refectionis. But, I kenna how or why, the place is sair changed&mdash;read
      that libel upon us and on our regimen. The dragon's teeth are sown, Baby
      Charles; I pray God they bearna their armed harvest in your day, if I suld
      not live to see it. God forbid I should, for there will be an awful day's
      kemping at the shearing of them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I shall know how to stifle the crop in the blade,&mdash;ha, George?" said
      the Prince, turning to the favourite with a look expressive of some
      contempt for his father's apprehensions, and full of confidence in the
      superior firmness and decision of his own counsels.
    </p>
    <p>
      While this discourse was passing, Nigel, in charge of a
      pursuivant-at-arms, was pushed and dragged through the small town, all the
      inhabitants of which, having been alarmed by the report of an attack on
      the king's life, now pressed forward to see the supposed traitor. Amid the
      confusion of the moment, he could descry the face of the victualler,
      arrested into a stare of stolid wonder, and that of the barber grinning
      betwixt horror and eager curiosity. He thought that he also had a glimpse
      of his waterman in the green jacket.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had no time for remarks, being placed in a boat with the pursuivant and
      two yeomen of the guard, and rowed up the river as fast as the arms of six
      stout watermen could pull against the tide. They passed the groves of
      masts which even then astonished the stranger with the extended commerce
      of London, and now approached those low and blackened walls of curtain and
      bastion, which exhibit here and there a piece of ordnance, and here and
      there a solitary sentinel under arms, but have otherwise so little of the
      military terrors of a citadel. A projecting low-browed arch, which had
      loured over many an innocent, and many a guilty head, in similar
      circumstances, now spread its dark frowns over that of Nigel. The boat was
      put close up to the broad steps against which the tide was lapping its
      lazy wave. The warder on duty looked from the wicket, and spoke to the
      pursuivant in whispers. In a few minutes the Lieutenant of the Tower
      appeared, received, and granted an acknowledgment for the body of Nigel,
      Lord Glenvarloch.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXVIII
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  Ye towers of Julius! London's lasting shame;
  With many a foul and midnight murder fed!
                           <i>Gray.</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      Such is the exclamation of Gray. Bandello, long before him, has said
      something like it; and the same sentiment must, in some shape or other,
      have frequently occurred to those, who, remembering the fate of other
      captives in that memorable state-prison, may have had but too much reason
      to anticipate their own. The dark and low arch, which seemed, like the
      entrance to Dante's Hell, to forbid hope of regress&mdash;the muttered
      sounds of the warders, and petty formalities observed in opening and
      shutting the grated wicket&mdash;the cold and constrained salutation of
      the Lieutenant of the fortress, who showed his prisoner that distant and
      measured respect which authority pays as a tax to decorum, all struck upon
      Nigel's heart, impressing on him the cruel consciousness of captivity.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am a prisoner," he said, the words escaping from him almost unawares;
      "I am a prisoner, and in the Tower!"
    </p>
    <p>
      The Lieutenant bowed&mdash;"And it is my duty," he said, "to show your
      lordship your chamber, where, I am compelled to say, my orders are to
      place you under some restraint. I will make it as easy as my duty
      permits."
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel only bowed in return to this compliment, and followed the Lieutenant
      to the ancient buildings on the western side of the parade, and adjoining
      to the chapel, used in those days as a state-prison, but in ours as the
      mess-room of the officers of the guard upon duty at the fortress. The
      double doors were unlocked, the prisoner ascended a few steps, followed by
      the Lieutenant, and a warder of the higher class. They entered a large,
      but irregular, low-roofed, and dark apartment, exhibiting a very scanty
      proportion of furniture. The warder had orders to light a fire, and attend
      to Lord Glenvarloch's commands in all things consistent with his duty; and
      the Lieutenant, having made his reverence with the customary compliment,
      that he trusted his lordship would not long remain under his guardianship,
      took his leave.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel would have asked some questions of the warder, who remained to put
      the apartment into order, but the man had caught the spirit of his office.
      He seemed not to hear some of the prisoner's questions, though of the most
      ordinary kind, did not reply to others, and when he did speak, it was in a
      short and sullen tone, which, though not positively disrespectful, was
      such as at least to encourage no farther communication.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel left him, therefore, to do his work in silence, and proceeded to
      amuse himself with the melancholy task of deciphering the names, mottoes,
      verses, and hieroglyphics, with which his predecessors in captivity had
      covered the walls of their prison-house. There he saw the names of many a
      forgotten sufferer mingled with others which will continue in remembrance
      until English history shall perish. There were the pious effusions of the
      devout Catholic, poured forth on the eve of his sealing his profession at
      Tyburn, mingled with those of the firm Protestant, about to feed the fires
      of Smithfield. There the slender hand of the unfortunate Jane Grey, whose
      fate was to draw tears from future generations, might be contrasted with
      the bolder touch which impressed deep on the walls the Bear and Ragged
      Staff, the proud emblem of the proud Dudleys. It was like the roll of the
      prophet, a record of lamentation and mourning, and yet not unmixed with
      brief interjections of resignation, and sentences expressive of the
      firmest resolution.[Footnote: These memorials of illustrious criminals, or
      of innocent persons who had the fate of such, are still preserved, though
      at one time, in the course of repairing the rooms, they were in some
      danger of being whitewashed. They are preserved at present with becoming
      respect, and have most of them been engraved.&mdash;<i>See</i> BAYLEY'S <i>History
      and Antiquities of the Tower of London.</i>]
    </p>
    <p>
      In the sad task of examining the miseries of his predecessors in
      captivity, Lord Glenvarloch was interrupted by the sudden opening of the
      door of his prison-room. It was the warder, who came to inform him, that,
      by order of the Lieutenant of the Tower, his lordship was to have the
      society and attendance of a fellow-prisoner in his place of confinement.
      Nigel replied hastily, that he wished no attendance, and would rather be
      left alone; but the warder gave him to understand, with a kind of
      grumbling civility, that the Lieutenant was the best judge how his
      prisoners should be accommodated, and that he would have no trouble with
      the boy, who was such a slip of a thing as was scarce worth turning a key
      upon.&mdash;"There, Giles," he said, "bring the child in."
    </p>
    <p>
      Another warder put the "lad before him" into the room, and, both
      withdrawing, bolt crashed and chain clanged, as they replaced these
      ponderous obstacles to freedom. The boy was clad in a grey suit of the
      finest cloth, laid down with silver lace, with a buff-coloured cloak of
      the same pattern. His cap, which was a Montero of black velvet, was pulled
      over his brows, and, with the profusion of his long ringlets, almost
      concealed his face. He stood on the very spot where the warder had quitted
      his collar, about two steps from the door of the apartment, his eyes fixed
      on the ground, and every joint trembling with confusion and terror. Nigel
      could well have dispensed with his society, but it was not in his nature
      to behold distress, whether of body or mind, without endeavouring to
      relieve it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Cheer up," he said, "my pretty lad. We are to be companions, it seems,
      for a little time&mdash;at least I trust your confinement will be short,
      since you are too young to have done aught to deserve long restraint.
      Come, come&mdash;do not be discouraged. Your hand is cold and trembles?
      the air is warm too&mdash;but it may be the damp of this darksome room.
      Place you by the fire.&mdash;What! weeping-ripe, my little man? I pray
      you, do not be a child. You have no beard yet, to be dishonoured by your
      tears, but yet you should not cry like a girl. Think you are only shut up
      for playing truant, and you can pass a day without weeping, surely."
    </p>
    <p>
      The boy suffered himself to be led and seated by the fire, but, after
      retaining for a long time the very posture which he assumed in sitting
      down, he suddenly changed it in order to wring his hands with an air of
      the bitterest distress, and then, spreading them before his face, wept so
      plentifully, that the tears found their way in floods through his slender
      fingers.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel was in some degree rendered insensible to his own situation, by his
      feelings for the intense agony by which so young and beautiful a creature
      seemed to be utterly overwhelmed; and, sitting down close beside the boy,
      he applied the most soothing terms which occurred, to endeavour to
      alleviate his distress; and, with an action which the difference of their
      age rendered natural, drew his hand kindly along the long hair of the
      disconsolate child. The lad appeared so shy as even to shrink from this
      slight approach to familiarity&mdash;yet, when Lord Glenvarloch,
      perceiving and allowing for his timidity, sat down on the farther side of
      the fire, he appeared to be more at his ease, and to hearken with some
      apparent interest to the arguments which from time to time Nigel used, to
      induce him to moderate, at least, the violence of his grief. As the boy
      listened, his tears, though they continued to flow freely, seemed to
      escape from their source more easily, his sobs were less convulsive, and
      became gradually changed into low sighs, which succeeded each other,
      indicating as much sorrow, perhaps, but less alarm, than his first
      transports had shown.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tell me who and what you are, my pretty boy," said Nigel.&mdash;"Consider
      me, child, as a companion, who wishes to be kind to you, would you but
      teach him how he can be so."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sir&mdash;my lord, I mean," answered the boy, very timidly, and in a
      voice which could scarce be heard even across the brief distance which
      divided them, "you are very good&mdash;and I&mdash;am very unhappy&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      A second fit of tears interrupted what else he had intended to say, and it
      required a renewal of Lord Glenvarloch's good-natured expostulations and
      encouragements, to bring him once more to such composure as rendered the
      lad capable of expressing himself intelligibly. At length, however, he was
      able to say&mdash;"I am sensible of your goodness, my lord&mdash;and
      grateful for it&mdash;but I am a poor unhappy creature, and, what is
      worse, have myself only to thank for my misfortunes."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We are seldom absolutely miserable, my young acquaintance," said Nigel,
      "without being ourselves more or less responsible for it&mdash;I may well
      say so, otherwise I had not been here to-day&mdash;but you are very young,
      and can have but little to answer for."
    </p>
    <p>
      "O sir! I wish I could say so&mdash;I have been self-willed and obstinate&mdash;and
      rash and ungovernable&mdash;and now&mdash;now, how dearly do I pay the
      price of it!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pshaw, my boy," replied Nigel; "this must be some childish frolic&mdash;some
      breaking out of bounds&mdash;some truant trick&mdash;And yet how should
      any of these have brought you to the Tower?&mdash;There is something
      mysterious about you, young man, which I must inquire into."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed, indeed, my lord, there is no harm about me," said the boy, more
      moved it would seem to confession by the last words, by which he seemed
      considerably alarmed, than by all the kind expostulations and arguments
      which Nigel had previously used. "I am innocent&mdash;that is, I have done
      wrong, but nothing to deserve being in this frightful place."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tell me the truth, then," said Nigel, in a tone in which command mingled
      with encouragement; "you have nothing to fear from me, and as little to
      hope, perhaps&mdash;yet, placed as I am, I would know with whom I speak."
    </p>
    <p>
      "With an unhappy&mdash;boy, sir&mdash;and idle and truantly disposed, as
      your lordship said," answered the lad, looking up, and showing a
      countenance in which paleness and blushes succeeded each other, as fear
      and shamefacedness alternately had influence. "I left my father's house
      without leave, to see the king hunt in the Park at Greenwich; there came a
      cry of treason, and all the gates were shut&mdash;I was frightened, and
      hid myself in a thicket, and I was found by some of the rangers and
      examined&mdash;and they said I gave no good account of myself&mdash;and so
      I was sent hither."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am an unhappy, a most unhappy being," said Lord Glenvarloch, rising and
      walking through the apartment; "nothing approaches me but shares my own
      bad fate! Death and imprisonment dog my steps, and involve all who are
      found near me. Yet this boy's story sounds strangely.&mdash;You say you
      were examined, my young friend&mdash;Let me pray you to say whether you
      told your name, and your means of gaining admission into the Park&mdash;if
      so, they surely would not have detained you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "O, my lord," said the boy, "I took care not to tell them the name of the
      friend that let me in; and as to my father&mdash;I would not he knew where
      I now am for all the wealth in London!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "But do you not expect," said Nigel, "that they will dismiss you till you
      let them know who and what you are?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "What good will it do them to keep so useless a creature as myself?" said
      the boy; "they must let me go, were it but out of shame."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do not trust to that&mdash;tell me your name and station&mdash;I will
      communicate them to the Lieutenant&mdash;he is a man of quality and
      honour, and will not only be willing to procure your liberation, but also,
      I have no doubt, will intercede with your father. I am partly answerable
      for such poor aid as I can afford, to get you out of this embarrassment,
      since I occasioned the alarm owing to which you were arrested; so tell me
      your name, and your father's name."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My name to you? O never, never!" answered the boy, in a tone of deep
      emotion, the cause of which Nigel could not comprehend.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are you so much afraid of me, young man," he replied, "because I am here
      accused and a prisoner? Consider, a man may be both, and deserve neither
      suspicion nor restraint. Why should you distrust me? You seem friendless,
      and I am myself so much in the same circumstances, that I cannot but pity
      your situation when I reflect on my own. Be wise; I have spoken kindly to
      you&mdash;I mean as kindly as I speak."
    </p>
    <p>
      "O, I doubt it not, I doubt it not, my lord," said the boy, "and I could
      tell you all&mdash;that is, almost all."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tell me nothing, my young friend, excepting what may assist me in being
      useful to you," said Nigel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are generous, my lord," said the boy; "and I am sure&mdash;O sure, I
      might safely trust to your honour&mdash;But yet&mdash;but yet&mdash;I am
      so sore beset&mdash;I have been so rash, so unguarded&mdash;I can never
      tell you of my folly. Besides, I have already told too much to one whose
      heart I thought I had moved&mdash;yet I find myself here."
    </p>
    <p>
      "To whom did you make this disclosure?" said Nigel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I dare not tell," replied the youth.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There is something singular about you, my young friend," said Lord
      Glenvarloch, withdrawing with a gentle degree of compulsion the hand with
      which the boy had again covered his eyes; "do not pain yourself with
      thinking on your situation just at present&mdash;your pulse is high, and
      your hand feverish&mdash;lay yourself on yonder pallet, and try to compose
      yourself to sleep. It is the readiest and best remedy for the fancies with
      which you are worrying yourself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I thank you for your considerate kindness, my lord," said the boy; "with
      your leave I will remain for a little space quiet in this chair&mdash;I am
      better thus than on the couch. I can think undisturbedly on what I have
      done, and have still to do; and if God sends slumber to a creature so
      exhausted, it shall be most welcome."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, the boy drew his hand from Lord Nigel's, and, drawing around
      him and partly over his face the folds of his ample cloak, he resigned
      himself to sleep or meditation, while his companion, notwithstanding the
      exhausting scenes of this and the preceding day, continued his pensive
      walk up and down the apartment.
    </p>
    <p>
      Every reader has experienced, that times occur, when far from being lord
      of external circumstances, man is unable to rule even the wayward realm of
      his own thoughts. It was Nigel's natural wish to consider his own
      situation coolly, and fix on the course which it became him as a man of
      sense and courage to adopt; and yet, in spite of himself, and
      notwithstanding the deep interest of the critical state in which he was
      placed, it did so happen that his fellow-prisoner's situation occupied
      more of his thoughts than did his own. There was no accounting for this
      wandering of the imagination, but also there was no striving with it. The
      pleading tones of one of the sweetest voices he had ever heard, still rung
      in his ear, though it seemed that sleep had now fettered the tongue of the
      speaker. He drew near on tiptoe to satisfy himself whether it were so. The
      folds of the cloak hid the lower part of his face entirely; but the
      bonnet, which had fallen a little aside, permitted him to see the forehead
      streaked with blue veins, the closed eyes, and the long silken eyelashes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Poor child," said Nigel to himself, as he looked on him, nestled up as it
      were in the folds of his mantle, "the dew is yet on thy eyelashes, and
      thou hast fairly wept thyself asleep. Sorrow is a rough nurse to one so
      young and delicate as thou art. Peace be to thy slumbers, I will not
      disturb them. My own misfortunes require my attention, and it is to their
      contemplation that I must resign myself."
    </p>
    <p>
      He attempted to do so, but was crossed at every turn by conjectures which
      intruded themselves as before, and which all regarded the sleeper rather
      than himself. He was angry and vexed, and expostulated with himself
      concerning the overweening interest which he took in the concerns of one
      of whom he knew nothing, saving that the boy was forced into his company,
      perhaps as a spy, by those to whose custody he was committed&mdash;but the
      spell could not be broken, and the thoughts which he struggled to dismiss,
      continued to haunt him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus passed half an hour, or more; at the conclusion of which, the harsh
      sound of the revolving bolts was again heard, and the voice of the warder
      announced that a man desired to speak with Lord Glenvarloch. "A man to
      speak with me, under my present circumstances!&mdash;Who can it be?" And
      John Christie, his landlord of Paul's Wharf, resolved his doubts, by
      entering the apartment. "Welcome&mdash;most welcome, mine honest
      landlord!" said Lord Glenvarloch. "How could I have dreamt of seeing you
      in my present close lodgings?" And at the same time, with the frankness of
      old kindness, he walked up to Christie and offered his hand; but John
      started back as from the look of a basilisk.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Keep your courtesies to yourself, my lord," said he, gruffly; "I have had
      as many of them already as may serve me for my life."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, Master Christie," said Nigel, "what means this? I trust I have not
      offended you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ask me no questions, my lord," said Christie, bluntly. "I am a man of
      peace&mdash;I came not hither to wrangle with you at this place and
      season. Just suppose that I am well informed of all the obligements from
      your honour's nobleness, and then acquaint me, in as few words as may be,
      where is the unhappy woman&mdash;What have you done with her?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "What have I done with her!" said Lord Glenvarloch&mdash;"Done with whom?
      I know not what you are speaking of."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, yes, my lord," said Christie; "play surprise as well as you will, you
      must have some guess that I am speaking of the poor fool that was my wife,
      till she became your lordship's light-o'-love."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your wife! Has your wife left you? and, if she has, do you come to ask
      her of me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, my lord, singular as it may seem," returned Christie, in a tone of
      bitter irony, and with a sort of grin widely discording from the
      discomposure of his features, the gleam of his eye, and the froth which
      stood on his lip, "I do come to make that demand of your lordship.
      Doubtless, you are surprised I should take the trouble; but, I cannot
      tell, great men and little men think differently. She has lain in my
      bosom, and drunk of my cup; and, such as she is, I cannot forget that&mdash;though
      I will never see her again&mdash;she must not starve, my lord, or do
      worse, to gain bread, though I reckon your lordship may think I am robbing
      the public in trying to change her courses."
    </p>
    <p>
      "By my faith as a Christian, by my honour as a gentleman," said Lord
      Glenvarloch, "if aught amiss has chanced with your wife, I know nothing of
      it. I trust in Heaven you are as much mistaken in imputing guilt to her,
      as in supposing me her partner in it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Fie! fie! my lord," said Christie, "why will you make it so tough? She is
      but the wife of a clod-pated old chandler, who was idiot enough to marry a
      wench twenty years younger than himself. Your lordship cannot have more
      glory by it than you have had already; and, as for advantage and solace, I
      take it Dame Nelly is now unnecessary to your gratification. I should be
      sorry to interrupt the course of your pleasure; an old wittol should have
      more consideration of his condition. But, your precious lordship being
      mewed up here among other choice jewels of the kingdom, Dame Nelly cannot,
      I take it, be admitted to share the hours of dalliance which"&mdash;Here
      the incensed husband stammered, broke off his tone of irony, and
      proceeded, striking his staff against the ground&mdash;"O that these false
      limbs of yours, which I wish had been hamstrung when they first crossed my
      honest threshold, were free from the fetters they have well deserved! I
      would give you the odds of your youth, and your weapon, and would bequeath
      my soul to the foul fiend if I, with this piece of oak, did not make you
      such an example to all ungrateful, pick-thank courtiers, that it should be
      a proverb to the end of time, how John Christie swaddled his wife's fine
      leman!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I understand not your insolence," said Nigel, "but I forgive it, because
      you labour under some strange delusion. In so far as I can comprehend your
      vehement charge, it is entirely undeserved on my part. You seem to impute
      to me the seduction of your wife&mdash;I trust she is innocent. For me, at
      least, she is as innocent as an angel in bliss. I never thought of her&mdash;never
      touched her hand or cheek, save in honourable courtesy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "O, ay&mdash;courtesy!&mdash;that is the very word. She always praised
      your lordship's honourable courtesy. Ye have cozened me between ye, with
      your courtesy. My lord&mdash;my lord, you came to us no very wealthy man&mdash;you
      know it. It was for no lucre of gain I took you and your swash-buckler,
      your Don Diego yonder, under my poor roof. I never cared if the little
      room were let or no; I could live without it. If you could not have paid
      for it, you should never have been asked. All the wharf knows John
      Christie has the means and spirit to do a kindness. When you first
      darkened my honest doorway, I was as happy as a man need to be, who is no
      youngster, and has the rheumatism. Nelly was the kindest and best-humoured
      wench&mdash;we might have a word now and then about a gown or a ribbon,
      but a kinder soul on the whole, and a more careful, considering her years,
      till you come&mdash;and what is she now!&mdash;But I will not be a fool to
      cry, if I can help it. <i>What</i> she is, is not the question, but where
      she is; and that I must learn, sir, of you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How can you, when I tell you," replied Nigel, "that I am as ignorant as
      yourself, or rather much more so? Till this moment, I never heard of any
      disagreement betwixt your dame and you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is a lie," said John Christie, bluntly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "How, you base villain!" said Lord Glenvarloch&mdash;"do you presume on my
      situation? If it were not that I hold you mad, and perhaps made so by some
      wrong sustained, you should find my being weaponless were no protection, I
      would beat your brains out against the wall."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, ay," answered Christie, "bully as ye list. Ye have been at the
      ordinaries, and in Alsatia, and learned the ruffian's rant, I doubt not.
      But I repeat, you have spoken an untruth, when you said you knew not of my
      wife's falsehood; for, when you were twitted with it among your gay mates,
      it was a common jest among you, and your lordship took all the credit they
      would give you for your gallantry and gratitude."
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a mixture of truth in this part of the charge which disconcerted
      Lord Glenvarloch exceedingly; for he could not, as a man of honour, deny
      that Lord Dalgarno, and others, had occasionally jested with him on the
      subject of Dame Nelly, and that, though he had not played exactly <i>le
      fanfaron des vices qu'il n'avoit pas</i>, he had not at least been
      sufficiently anxious to clear himself of the suspicion of such a crime to
      men who considered it as a merit. It was therefore with some hesitation,
      and in a sort of qualifying tone, that he admitted that some idle jests
      had passed upon such a supposition, although without the least foundation
      in truth. John Christie would not listen to his vindication any longer.
      "By your own account," he said, "you permitted lies to be told of you
      injest. How do I know you are speaking truth, now you are serious? You
      thought it, I suppose, a fine thing to wear the reputation of having
      dishonoured an honest family,&mdash;who will not think that you had real
      grounds for your base bravado to rest upon? I will not believe otherwise
      for one, and therefore, my lord, mark what I have to say. You are now
      yourself in trouble&mdash;As you hope to come through it safely, and
      without loss of life and property, tell me where this unhappy woman is.
      Tell me, if you hope for heaven&mdash;tell me, if you fear hell&mdash;tell
      me, as you would not have the curse of an utterly ruined woman, and a
      broken-hearted man, attend you through life, and bear witness against you
      at the Great Day, which shall come after death. You are moved, my lord, I
      see it. I cannot forget the wrong you have done me. I cannot even promise
      to forgive it&mdash;but&mdash;tell me, and you shall never see me again,
      or hear more of my reproaches."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Unfortunate man," said Lord Glenvarloch, "you have said more, far more
      than enough, to move me deeply. Were I at liberty, I would lend you my
      best aid to search out him who has wronged you, the rather that I do
      suspect my having been your lodger has been in some degree the remote
      cause of bringing the spoiler into the sheepfold."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am glad your lordship grants me so much," said John Christie, resuming
      the tone of embittered irony with which he had opened the singular
      conversation; "I will spare you farther reproach and remonstrance&mdash;your
      mind is made up, and so is mine.&mdash;So, ho, warder!" The warder
      entered, and John went on,&mdash;"I want to get out, brother. Look well to
      your charge&mdash;it were better that half the wild beasts in their dens
      yonder were turned loose upon Tower Hill, than that this same
      smooth-faced, civil-spoken gentleman, were again returned to honest men's
      company!"
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he hastily left the apartment; and Nigel had full leisure to
      lament the waywardness of his fate, which seemed never to tire of
      persecuting him for crimes of which he was innocent, and investing him
      with the appearances of guilt which his mind abhorred. He could not,
      however, help acknowledging to himself, that all the pain which he might
      sustain from the present accusation of John Christie, was so far deserved,
      from his having suffered himself, out of vanity, or rather an
      unwillingness to encounter ridicule, to be supposed capable of a base
      inhospitable crime, merely because fools called it an affair of gallantry;
      and it was no balsam to the wound, when he recollected what Richie had
      told him of his having been ridiculed behind his back by the gallants of
      the ordinary, for affecting the reputation of an intrigue which he had not
      in reality spirit enough to have carried on. His simulation had, in a
      word, placed him in the unlucky predicament of being rallied as a braggart
      amongst the dissipated youths, with whom the reality of the amour would
      have given him credit; whilst, on the other hand, he was branded as an
      inhospitable seducer by the injured husband, who was obstinately persuaded
      of his guilt.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXIX
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  How fares the man on whom good men would look
  With eyes where scorn and censure combated,
  But that kind Christian love hath taught the lesson&mdash;
  That they who merit most contempt and hate,
  Do most deserve our pity.&mdash;
                              <i>Old Play</i>.
</pre>
    <p>
      It might have seemed natural that the visit of John Christie should have
      entirely diverted Nigel's attention from his slumbering companion, and,
      for a time, such was the immediate effect of the chain of new ideas which
      the incident introduced; yet, soon after the injured man had departed,
      Lord Glenvarloch began to think it extraordinary that the boy should have
      slept so soundly, while they talked loudly in his vicinity. Yet he
      certainly did not appear to have stirred. Was he well&mdash;was he only
      feigning sleep? He went close to him to make his observations, and
      perceived that he had wept, and was still weeping, though his eyes were
      closed. He touched him gently on the shoulder&mdash;the boy shrunk from
      his touch, but did not awake. He pulled him harder, and asked him if he
      was sleeping.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do they waken folk in your country to know whether they are asleep or
      no?" said the boy, in a peevish tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, my young sir," answered Nigel; "but when they weep in the manner you
      do in your sleep, they awaken them to see what ails them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It signifies little to any one what ails me," said the boy.
    </p>
    <p>
      "True," replied Lord Glenvarloch; "but you knew before you went to sleep
      how little I could assist you in your difficulties, and you seemed
      disposed, notwithstanding, to put some confidence in me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If I did, I have changed my mind," said the lad.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what may have occasioned this change of mind, I trow?" said Lord
      Glenvarloch. "Some men speak through their sleep&mdash;perhaps you have
      the gift of hearing in it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, but the Patriarch Joseph never dreamt truer dreams than I do."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed!" said Lord Glenvarloch. "And, pray, what dream have you had that
      has deprived me of your good opinion; for that, I think, seems the moral
      of the matter?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You shall judge yourself," answered the boy. "I dreamed I was in a wild
      forest, where there was a cry of hounds, and winding of horns, exactly as
      I heard in Greenwich Park."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That was because you were in the Park this morning, you simple child,"
      said Nigel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Stay, my lord," said the youth. "I went on in my dream, till, at the top
      of a broad green alley, I saw a noble stag which had fallen into the
      toils; and methought I knew that he was the very stag which the whole
      party were hunting, and that if the chase came up, the dogs would tear him
      to pieces, or the hunters would cut his throat; and I had pity on the
      gallant stag, and though I was of a different kind from him, and though I
      was somewhat afraid of him, I thought I would venture something to free so
      stately a creature; and I pulled out my knife, and just as I was beginning
      to cut the meshes of the net, the animal started up in my face in the
      likeness of a tiger, much larger and fiercer than any you may have seen in
      the ward of the wild beasts yonder, and was just about to tear me limb
      from limb, when you awaked me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Methinks," said Nigel, "I deserve more thanks than I have got, for
      rescuing you from such a danger by waking you. But, my pretty master,
      methinks all this tale of a tiger and a stag has little to do with your
      change of temper towards me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I know not whether it has or no," said the lad; "but I will not tell you
      who I am."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You will keep your secret to yourself then, peevish boy," said Nigel,
      turning from him, and resuming his walk through the room; then stopping
      suddenly, he said&mdash;"And yet you shall not escape from me without
      knowing that I penetrate your mystery."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My mystery!" said the youth, at once alarmed and irritated&mdash;"what
      mean you, my lord?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Only that I can read your dream without the assistance of a Chaldean
      interpreter, and my exposition is&mdash;that my fair companion does not
      wear the dress of her sex."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And if I do not, my lord," said his companion, hastily starting up, and
      folding her cloak tight around her, "my dress, such as it is, covers one
      who will not disgrace it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Many would call that speech a fair challenge," said Lord Glenvarloch,
      looking on her fixedly; "women do not masquerade in men's clothes, to make
      use of men's weapons."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have no such purpose," said the seeming boy; "I have other means of
      protection, and powerful&mdash;but I would first know what is <i>your</i>
      purpose."
    </p>
    <p>
      "An honourable and a most respectful one," said Lord Glenvarloch;
      "whatever you are&mdash;whatever motive may have brought you into this
      ambiguous situation, I am sensible&mdash;every look, word, and action of
      yours, makes me sensible, that you are no proper subject of importunity,
      far less of ill usage. What circumstances can have forced you into so
      doubtful a situation, I know not; but I feel assured there is, and can be,
      nothing in them of premeditated wrong, which should expose you to
      cold-blooded insult. From me you have nothing to dread."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I expected nothing less from your nobleness, my lord," answered the
      female; "my adventure, though I feel it was both desperate and foolish, is
      not so very foolish, nor my safety here so utterly unprotected, as at
      first sight&mdash;and in this strange dress, it may appear to be. I have
      suffered enough, and more than enough, by the degradation of having been
      seen in this unfeminine attire, and the comments you must necessarily have
      made on my conduct&mdash;but I thank God that I am so far protected, that
      I could not have been subjected to insult unavenged." When this
      extraordinary explanation had proceeded thus far, the warder appeared, to
      place before Lord Glenvarloch a meal, which, for his present situation,
      might be called comfortable, and which, if not equal to the cookery of the
      celebrated Chevalier Beaujeu, was much superior in neatness and
      cleanliness to that of Alsatia. A warder attended to do the honours of the
      table, and made a sign to the disguised female to rise and assist him in
      his functions. But Nigel, declaring that he knew the youth's parents,
      interfered, and caused his companion to eat along with him. She consented
      with a sort of embarrassment, which rendered her pretty features yet more
      interesting. Yet she maintained with a natural grace that sort of
      good-breeding which belongs to the table; and it seemed to Nigel, whether
      already prejudiced in her favour by the extraordinary circumstances of
      their meeting, or whether really judging from what was actually the fact,
      that he had seldom seen a young person comport herself with more decorous
      propriety, mixed with ingenuous simplicity; while the consciousness of the
      peculiarity of her situation threw a singular colouring over her whole
      demeanour, which could be neither said to be formal, nor easy, nor
      embarrassed, but was compounded of, and shaded with, an interchange of all
      these three characteristics. Wine was placed on the table, of which she
      could not be prevailed on to taste a glass. Their conversation was, of
      course, limited by the presence of the warder to the business of the
      table: but Nigel had, long ere the cloth was removed, formed the
      resolution, if possible, of making himself master of this young person's
      history, the more especially as he now began to think that the tones of
      her voice and her features were not so strange to him as he had originally
      supposed. This, however, was a conviction which he adopted slowly, and
      only as it dawned upon him from particular circumstances during the course
      of the repast.
    </p>
    <p>
      At length the prison-meal was finished, and Lord Glenvarloch began to
      think how he might most easily enter upon the topic he meditated, when the
      warder announced a visitor.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Soh!" said Nigel, something displeased, "I find even a prison does not
      save one from importunate visitations."
    </p>
    <p>
      He prepared to receive his guest, however, while his alarmed companion
      flew to the large cradle-shaped chair, which had first served her as a
      place of refuge, drew her cloak around her, and disposed herself as much
      as she could to avoid observation. She had scarce made her arrangements
      for that purpose when the door opened, and the worthy citizen, George
      Heriot, entered the prison-chamber.
    </p>
    <p>
      He cast around the apartment his usual sharp, quick glance of observation,
      and, advancing to Nigel, said&mdash;"My lord, I wish I could say I was
      happy to see you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The sight of those who are unhappy themselves, Master Heriot, seldom
      produces happiness to their friends&mdash;I, however, am glad to see you."
    </p>
    <p>
      He extended his hand, but Heriot bowed with much formal complaisance,
      instead of accepting the courtesy, which in those times, when the
      distinction of ranks was much guarded by etiquette and ceremony, was
      considered as a distinguished favour.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are displeased with me, Master Heriot," said Lord Glenvarloch,
      reddening, for he was not deceived by the worthy citizen's affectation of
      extreme reverence and respect.
    </p>
    <p>
      "By no means, my lord," replied Heriot; "but I have been in France, and
      have thought it is well to import, along with other more substantial
      articles, a small sample of that good-breeding which the French are so
      renowned for."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is not kind of you," said Nigel, "to bestow the first use of it on an
      old and obliged friend."
    </p>
    <p>
      Heriot only answered to this observation with a short dry cough, and then
      proceeded.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hem! hem! I say, ahem! My lord, as my French politeness may not carry me
      far, I would willingly know whether I am to speak as a friend, since your
      lordship is pleased to term me such; or whether I am, as befits my
      condition, to confine myself to the needful business which must be treated
      of between us."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Speak as a friend by all means, Master Heriot," said Nigel; "I perceive
      you have adopted some of the numerous prejudices against me, if not all of
      them. Speak out, and frankly&mdash;what I cannot deny I will at least
      confess."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And I trust, my lord, redress," said Heriot.
    </p>
    <p>
      "So far as in my power, certainly," answered Nigel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah I my lord," continued Heriot, "that is a melancholy though a necessary
      restriction; for how lightly may any one do an hundred times more than the
      degree of evil which it may be within his power to repair to the sufferers
      and to society! But we are not alone here," he said, stopping, and darting
      his shrewd eye towards the muffled figure of the disguised maiden, whose
      utmost efforts had not enabled her so to adjust her position as altogether
      to escape observation. More anxious to prevent her being discovered than
      to keep his own affairs private, Nigel hastily answered&mdash;"'Tis a page
      of mine; you may speak freely before him. He is of France, and knows no
      English."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am then to speak freely," said Heriot, after a second glance at the
      chair; "perhaps my words may be more free than welcome."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Go on, sir," said Nigel, "I have told you I can bear reproof."
    </p>
    <p>
      "In one word, then, my lord&mdash;why do I find you in this place, and
      whelmed with charges which must blacken a name rendered famous by ages of
      virtue?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Simply, then, you find me here," said Nigel, "because, to begin from my
      original error, I would be wiser than my father."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was a difficult task, my lord," replied Heriot; "your father was
      voiced generally as the wisest and one of the bravest men of Scotland."
    </p>
    <p>
      "He commanded me," continued Nigel, "to avoid all gambling; and I took
      upon me to modify this injunction into regulating my play according to my
      skill, means, and the course of my luck."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, self opinion, acting on a desire of acquisition, my lord&mdash;you
      hoped to touch pitch and not to be defiled," answered Heriot. "Well, my
      lord, you need not say, for I have heard with much regret, how far this
      conduct diminished your reputation. Your next error I may without scruple
      remind you of&mdash;My lord, my lord, in whatever degree Lord Dalgarno may
      have failed towards you, the son of his father should have been sacred
      from your violence."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You speak in cold blood, Master Heriot, and I was smarting under a
      thousand wrongs inflicted on me under the mask of friendship."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is, he gave your lordship bad advice, and you," said Heriot&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Was fool enough to follow his counsel," answered Nigel&mdash;"But we will
      pass this, Master Heriot, if you please. Old men and young men, men of the
      sword and men of peaceful occupation, always have thought, always will
      think, differently on such subjects."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I grant," answered Heriot, "the distinction between the old goldsmith and
      the young nobleman&mdash;still you should have had patience for Lord
      Huntinglen's sake, and prudence for your own. Supposing your quarrel just&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I pray you to pass on to some other charge," said Lord Glenvarloch.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am not your accuser, my lord; but I trust in heaven, that your own
      heart has already accused you bitterly on the inhospitable wrong which
      your late landlord has sustained at your hand."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Had I been guilty of what you allude to," said Lord Glenvarloch,&mdash;"had
      a moment of temptation hurried me away, I had long ere now most bitterly
      repented it. But whoever may have wronged the unhappy woman, it was not I&mdash;I
      never heard of her folly until within this hour."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come, my lord," said Heriot, with some severity, "this sounds too much
      like affectation. I know there is among our modern youth a new creed
      respecting adultery as well as homicide&mdash;I would rather hear you
      speak of a revision of the Decalogue, with mitigated penalties in favour
      of the privileged orders&mdash;I would rather hear you do this than deny a
      fact in which you have been known to glory."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Glory!&mdash;I never did, never would have taken honour to myself from
      such a cause," said Lord Glenvarloch. "I could not prevent other idle
      tongues, and idle brains, from making false inferences."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You would have known well enough how to stop their mouths, my lord,"
      replied Heriot, "had they spoke of you what was unpleasing to your ears,
      and what the truth did not warrant.&mdash;Come, my lord, remember your
      promise to confess; and, indeed, to confess is, in this case, in some
      slight sort to redress. I will grant you are young&mdash;the woman
      handsome&mdash;and, as I myself have observed, light-headed enough. Let me
      know where she is. Her foolish husband has still some compassion for her&mdash;will
      save her from infamy&mdash;perhaps, in time, receive her back; for we are
      a good-natured generation we traders. Do not, my lord, emulate those who
      work mischief merely for the pleasure of doing so&mdash;it is the very
      devil's worst quality."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your grave remonstrances will drive me mad," said Nigel. "There is a show
      of sense and reason in what you say; and yet, it is positively insisting
      on my telling the retreat of a fugitive of whom I know nothing earthly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is well, my lord," answered Heriot, coldly. "You have a right, such as
      it is, to keep your own secrets; but, since my discourse on these points
      seems so totally unavailing, we had better proceed to business. Yet your
      father's image rises before me, and seems to plead that I should go on."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Be it as you will, sir," said Glenvarloch; "he who doubts my word shall
      have no additional security for it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, my lord.&mdash;In the Sanctuary at Whitefriars&mdash;a place of
      refuge so unsuitable to a young man of quality and character&mdash;I am
      told a murder was committed."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And you believe that I did the deed, I suppose?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "God forbid, my lord!" said Heriot. "The coroner's inquest hath sat, and
      it appeared that your lordship, under your assumed name of Grahame,
      behaved with the utmost bravery."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No compliment, I pray you," said Nigel; "I am only too happy to find,
      that I did not murder, or am not believed to have murdered, the old man."
    </p>
    <p>
      "True, my lord," said Heriot; "but even in this affair there lacks
      explanation. Your lordship embarked this morning in a wherry with a
      female, and, it is said, an immense sum of money, in specie and other
      valuables&mdash;but the woman has not since been heard of."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I parted with her at Paul's Wharf," said Nigel, "where she went ashore
      with her charge. I gave her a letter to that very man, John Christie."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, that is the waterman's story; but John Christie denies that he
      remembers anything of the matter."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am sorry to hear this," said the young nobleman; "I hope in Heaven she
      has not been trepanned, for the treasure she had with her."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I hope not, my lord," replied Heriot; "but men's minds are much disturbed
      about it. Our national character suffers on all hands. Men remember the
      fatal case of Lord Sanquhar, hanged for the murder of a fencing-master;
      and exclaim, they will not have their wives whored, and their property
      stolen, by the nobility of Scotland."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And all this is laid to my door!" said Nigel; "my exculpation is easy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I trust so, my lord," said Heriot;&mdash;"nay, in this particular, I do
      not doubt it.&mdash;But why did you leave Whitefriars under such
      circumstances?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Master Reginald Lowestoffe sent a boat for me, with intimation to provide
      for my safety."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am sorry to say," replied Heriot, "that he denies all knowledge of your
      lordship's motions, after having dispatched a messenger to you with some
      baggage."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The watermen told me they were employed by him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Watermen!" said Heriot; "one of these proves to be an idle apprentice, an
      old acquaintance of mine&mdash;the other has escaped; but the fellow who
      is in custody persists in saying he was employed by your lordship, and you
      only."
    </p>
    <p>
      "He lies!" said Lord Glenvarloch, hastily;&mdash;"He told me Master
      Lowestoffe had sent him.&mdash;I hope that kind-hearted gentleman is at
      liberty?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He is," answered Heriot; "and has escaped with a rebuke from the
      benchers, for interfering in such a matter as your lordship's. The Court
      desire to keep well with the young Templars in these times of commotion,
      or he had not come off so well."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is the only word of comfort I have heard from you," replied Nigel.
      "But this poor woman,&mdash;she and her trunk were committed to the charge
      of two porters."
    </p>
    <p>
      "So said the pretended waterman; but none of the fellows who ply at the
      wharf will acknowledge the employment.&mdash;I see the idea makes you
      uneasy, my lord; but every effort is made to discover the poor woman's
      place of retreat&mdash;if, indeed, she yet lives.&mdash;And now, my lord,
      my errand is spoken, so far as it relates exclusively to your lordship;
      what remains, is matter of business of a more formal kind."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let us proceed to it without delay," said Lord Glenvarloch. "I would hear
      of the affairs of any one rather than of my own."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You cannot have forgotten, my lord," said Heriot, "the transaction which
      took place some weeks since at Lord Huntinglen's&mdash;by which a large
      sum of money was advanced for the redemption of your lordship's estate?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I remember it perfectly," said Nigel; "and your present austerity cannot
      make me forget your kindness on the occasion."
    </p>
    <p>
      Heriot bowed gravely, and went on.&mdash;"That money was advanced under
      the expectation and hope that it might be replaced by the contents of a
      grant to your lordship, under the royal sign-manual, in payment of certain
      monies due by the crown to your father.&mdash;I trust your lordship
      understood the transaction at the time&mdash;I trust you now understand my
      resumption of its import, and hold it to be correct?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Undeniably correct," answered Lord Glenvarloch. "If the sums contained in
      the warrant cannot be recovered, my lands become the property of those who
      paid off the original holders of the mortgage, and now stand in their
      right."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Even so, my lord," said Heriot. "And your lordship's unhappy
      circumstances having, it would seem, alarmed these creditors, they are
      now, I am sorry to say, pressing for one or other of these alternatives&mdash;possession
      of the land, or payment of their debt."
    </p>
    <p>
      "They have a right to one or other," answered Lord Glenvarloch; "and as I
      cannot do the last in my present condition, I suppose they must enter on
      possession."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Stay, my lord," replied Heriot; "if you have ceased to call me a friend
      to your person, at least you shall see I am willing to be such to your
      father's house, were it but for the sake of your father's memory. If you
      will trust me with the warrant under the sign-manual, I believe
      circumstances do now so stand at Court, that I may be able to recover the
      money for you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I would do so gladly," said Lord Glenvarloch, "but the casket which
      contains it is not in my possession. It was seized when I was arrested at
      Greenwich."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It will be no longer withheld from you," said Heriot; "for, I understand,
      my Master's natural good sense, and some information which he has
      procured, I know not how, has induced him to contradict the whole charge
      of the attempt on his person. It is entirely hushed up; and you will only
      be proceeded against for your violence on Lord Dalgarno, committed within
      the verge of the Palace&mdash;and that you will find heavy enough to
      answer."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will not shrink under the weight," said Lord Glenvarloch. "But that is
      not the present point.&mdash;If I had that casket&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your baggage stood in the little ante-room, as I passed," said the
      citizen; "the casket caught my eye. I think you had it of me. It was my
      old friend Sir Faithful Frugal's. Ay; he, too, had a son&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      Here he stopped short.
    </p>
    <p>
      "A son who, like Lord Glenvarloch's, did no credit to his father.&mdash;Was
      it not so you would have ended the sentence, Master Heriot?" asked the
      young nobleman.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My lord, it was a word spoken rashly," answered Heriot. "God may mend all
      in his own good time. This, however, I will say, that I have sometimes
      envied my friends their fair and flourishing families; and yet have I seen
      such changes when death has removed the head, so many rich men's sons
      penniless, the heirs of so many knights and nobles acreless, that I think
      mine own estate and memory, as I shall order it, has a fair chance of
      outliving those of greater men, though God has given me no heir of my
      name. But this is from the purpose.&mdash;Ho! warder, bring in Lord
      Glenvarloch's baggage." The officer obeyed. Seals had been placed upon the
      trunk and casket, but were now removed, the warder said, in consequence of
      the subsequent orders from Court, and the whole was placed at the
      prisoner's free disposal.
    </p>
    <p>
      Desirous to bring this painful visit to a conclusion, Lord Glenvarloch
      opened the casket, and looked through the papers which it contained, first
      hastily, and then more slowly and accurately; but it was all in vain. The
      Sovereign's signed warrant had disappeared.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I thought and expected nothing better," said George Heriot, bitterly.
      "The beginning of evil is the letting out of water. Here is a fair
      heritage lost, I dare say, on a foul cast at dice, or a conjuring trick at
      cards!&mdash;My lord, your surprise is well played. I give you full joy of
      your accomplishments. I have seen many as young brawlers and spendthrifts,
      but never as young and accomplished a dissembler.&mdash;Nay, man, never
      bend your angry brows on me. I speak in bitterness of heart, from what I
      remember of your worthy father; and if his son hears of his degeneracy
      from no one else, he shall hear it from the old goldsmith."
    </p>
    <p>
      This new suspicion drove Nigel to the very extremity of his patience; yet
      the motives and zeal of the good old man, as well as the circumstances of
      suspicion which created his displeasure, were so excellent an excuse for
      it, that they formed an absolute curb on the resentment of Lord
      Glenvarloch, and constrained him, after two or three hasty exclamations,
      to observe a proud and sullen silence. At length, Master Heriot resumed
      his lecture.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hark you, my lord," he said, "it is scarce possible that this most
      important paper can be absolutely assigned away. Let me know in what
      obscure corner, and for what petty sum, it lies pledged&mdash;something
      may yet be done."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your efforts in my favour are the more generous," said Lord Glenvarloch,
      "as you offer them to one whom you believe you have cause to think hardly
      of&mdash;but they are altogether unavailing. Fortune has taken the field
      against me at every point. Even let her win the battle."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Zouns!" exclaimed Heriot, impatiently,&mdash;"you would make a saint
      swear! Why, I tell you, if this paper, the loss of which seems to sit so
      light on you, be not found, farewell to the fair lordship of Glenvarloch&mdash;firth
      and forest&mdash;lea and furrow&mdash;lake and stream&mdash;all that has
      been in the house of Olifaunt since the days of William the Lion!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Farewell to them, then," said Nigel,&mdash;"and that moan is soon made."
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Sdeath! my lord, you will make more moan for it ere you die," said
      Heriot, in the same tone of angry impatience.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not I, my old friend," said Nigel. "If I mourn, Master Heriot, it will be
      for having lost the good opinion of a worthy man, and lost it, as I must
      say, most undeservedly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, ay, young man," said Heriot, shaking his head, "make me believe that
      if you can.&mdash;To sum the matter up," he said, rising from his seat,
      and walking towards that occupied by the disguised female, "for our
      matters are now drawn into small compass, you shall as soon make me
      believe that this masquerading mummer, on whom I now lay the hand of
      paternal authority, is a French page, who understands no English."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he took hold of the supposed page's cloak, and, not without
      some gentle degree of violence, led into the middle of the apartment the
      disguised fair one, who in vain attempted to cover her face, first with
      her mantle, and afterwards with her hands; both which impediments Master
      Heriot removed something unceremoniously, and gave to view the detected
      daughter of the old chronologist, his own fair god-daughter, Margaret
      Ramsay.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here is goodly gear!" he said; and, as he spoke, he could not prevent
      himself from giving her a slight shake, for we have elsewhere noticed that
      he was a severe disciplinarian.&mdash;"How comes it, minion, that I find
      you in so shameless a dress, and so unworthy a situation? Nay, your
      modesty is now mistimed&mdash;it should have come sooner. Speak, or I will&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Master Heriot," said Lord Glenvarloch, "whatever right you may have over
      this maiden elsewhere, while in my apartment she is under my protection."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your protection, my lord!&mdash;a proper protector!&mdash;and how long,
      mistress, have you been under my lord's protection? Speak out forsooth!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "For the matter of two hours, godfather," answered the maiden, with a
      countenance bent to the ground, and covered with blushes, "but it was
      against my will."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Two hours!" repeated Heriot,&mdash;"space enough for mischief.&mdash;My
      lord, this is, I suppose, another victim offered to your character of
      gallantry&mdash;another adventure to be boasted of at Beaujeu's ordinary?
      Methinks the roof under which you first met this silly maiden should have
      secured <i>her</i>, at least, from such a fate."
    </p>
    <p>
      "On my honour, Master Heriot," said Lord Glenvarloch, "you remind me now,
      for the first time, that I saw this young lady in your family. Her
      features are not easily forgotten, and yet I was trying in vain to
      recollect where I had last looked on them. For your suspicions, they are
      as false as they are injurious both to her and me. I had but discovered
      her disguise as you entered. I am satisfied, from her whole behaviour,
      that her presence here in this dress was involuntary; and God forbid that
      I have been capable of taking advantage of it to her prejudice."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is well mouthed, my lord," said Master Heriot; "but a cunning clerk
      can read the Apocrypha as loud as the Scripture. Frankly, my lord, you are
      come to that pass, where your words will not be received without a
      warrant."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I should not speak, perhaps," said Margaret, the natural vivacity of
      whose temper could never be long suppressed by any situation, however
      disadvantageous, "but I cannot be silent. Godfather, you do me wrong&mdash;and
      no less wrong to this young nobleman. You say his words want a warrant. I
      know where to find a warrant for some of them, and the rest I deeply and
      devoutly believe without one."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And I thank you, maiden," replied Nigel, "for the good opinion you have
      expressed. I am at that point, it seems, though how I have been driven to
      it I know not, where every fair construction of my actions and motives is
      refused me. I am the more obliged to her who grants me that right which
      the world denies me. For you, lady, were I at liberty, I have a sword and
      arm should know how to guard your reputation."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Upon my word, a perfect Amadis and Oriana!" said George Heriot. "I should
      soon get my throat cut betwixt the knight and the princess, I suppose, but
      that the beef-eaters are happily within halloo.&mdash;Come, come, Lady
      Light-o'-Love&mdash;if you mean to make your way with me, it must be by
      plain facts, not by speeches from romaunts and play-books. How, in
      Heaven's name, came you here?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sir," answered Margaret, "since I must speak, I went to Greenwich this
      morning with Monna Paula, to present a petition to the king on the part of
      the Lady Hermione."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mercy-a-gad!" exclaimed Heriot, "is she in the dance, too? Could she not
      have waited my return to stir in her affairs? But I suppose the
      intelligence I sent her had rendered her restless. Ah! woman, woman&mdash;he
      that goes partner with you, had need of a double share of patience, for
      you will bring none into the common stock.&mdash;Well, but what on earth
      had this embassy of Monna Paula's to do with your absurd disguise? Speak
      out."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Monna Paula was frightened," answered Margaret, "and did not know how to
      set about the errand, for you know she scarce ever goes out of doors&mdash;and
      so&mdash;and so&mdash;I agreed to go with her to give her courage; and,
      for the dress, I am sure you remember I wore it at a Christmas mumming,
      and you thought it not unbeseeming."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, for a Christmas parlour," said Heriot, "but not to go a-masking
      through the country in. I do remember it, minion, and I knew it even now;
      that and your little shoe there, linked with a hint I had in the morning
      from a friend, or one who called himself such, led to your detection."&mdash;Here
      Lord Glenvarloch could not help giving a glance at the pretty foot, which
      even the staid citizen thought worth recollection&mdash;it was but a
      glance, for he saw how much the least degree of observation added to
      Margaret's distress and confusion. "And tell me, maiden," continued Master
      Heriot, for what we have observed was by-play,&mdash;"did the Lady
      Hermione know of this fair work?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I dared not have told her for the world," said Margaret&mdash;"she
      thought one of our apprentices went with Monna Paula."
    </p>
    <p>
      It may be here noticed, that the words, "our apprentices," seemed to have
      in them something of a charm to break the fascination with which Lord
      Glenvarloch had hitherto listened to the broken, yet interesting details
      of Margaret's history.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And wherefore went he not?&mdash;he had been a fitter companion for Monna
      Paula than you, I wot," said the citizen.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He was otherwise employed," said Margaret, in a voice scarce audible.
    </p>
    <p>
      Master George darted a hasty glance at Nigel, and when he saw his features
      betoken no consciousness, he muttered to himself,&mdash;"It must be better
      than I feared.&mdash;And so this cursed Spaniard, with her head full, as
      they all have, of disguises, trap-doors, rope-ladders, and masks, was jade
      and fool enough to take you with her on this wild goose errand?&mdash;And
      how sped you, I pray?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Just as we reached the gate of the Park," replied Margaret, "the cry of
      treason was raised. I know not what became of Monna, but I ran till I fell
      into the arms of a very decent serving-man, called Linklater; and I was
      fain to tell him I was your god-daughter, and so he kept the rest of them
      from me, and got me to speech of his Majesty, as I entreated him to do."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is the only sign you showed in the whole matter that common sense had
      not utterly deserted your little skull," said Heriot.
    </p>
    <p>
      "His Majesty," continued the damsel, "was so gracious as to receive me
      alone, though the courtiers cried out against the danger to his person,
      and would have searched me for arms, God help me, but the king forbade it.
      I fancy he had a hint from Linklater how the truth stood with me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, maiden, I ask not what passed," said Heriot; "it becomes not me to
      pry into my Master's secrets. Had you been closeted with his grandfather
      the Red Tod of Saint Andrews, as Davie Lindsay used to call him, by my
      faith, I should have had my own thoughts of the matter; but our Master,
      God bless him, is douce and temperate, and Solomon in every thing, save in
      the chapter of wives and concubines."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I know not what you mean, sir," answered Margaret. "His Majesty was most
      kind and compassionate, but said I must be sent hither, and that the
      Lieutenant's lady, the Lady Mansel, would have a charge of me, and see
      that I sustained no wrong; and the king promised to send me in a tilted
      barge, and under conduct of a person well known to you; and thus I come to
      be in the Tower."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But how, or why, in this apartment, nymph?" said George Heriot&mdash;"Expound
      that to me, for I think the riddle needs reading."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I cannot explain it, sir, further, than that the Lady Mansel sent me
      here, in spite of my earnest prayers, tears, and entreaties. I was not
      afraid of any thing, for I knew I should be protected. But I could have
      died then&mdash;could die now&mdash;for very shame and confusion!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, well, if your tears are genuine," said Heriot, "they may the sooner
      wash out the memory of your fault&mdash;Knows your father aught of this
      escape of yours?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I would not for the world he did," replied she; "he believes me with the
      Lady Hermione."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, honest Davy can regulate his horologes better than his family.&mdash;Come,
      damsel, now I will escort you back to the Lady Mansel, and pray her, of
      her kindness, that when she is again trusted with a goose, she will not
      give it to the fox to keep.&mdash;The warders will let us pass to my
      lady's lodgings, I trust."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Stay but one moment," said Lord Glenvarloch. "Whatever hard opinion you
      may have formed of me, I forgive you, for time will show that you do me
      wrong; and you yourself, I think, will be the first to regret the
      injustice you have done me. But involve not in your suspicions this young
      person, for whose purity of thought angels themselves should be vouchers.
      I have marked every look, every gesture; and whilst I can draw breath, I
      shall ever think of her with&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Think not at all of her, my lord," answered George Heriot, interrupting
      him; "it is, I have a notion, the best favour you can do her;&mdash;or
      think of her as the daughter of Davy Ramsay, the clockmaker, no proper
      subject for fine speeches, romantic adventures, or high-flown Arcadian
      compliments. I give you god-den, my lord. I think not altogether so
      harshly as my speech may have spoken. If I can help&mdash;that is, if I
      saw my way clearly through this labyrinth&mdash;but it avails not talking
      now. I give your lordship god-den.&mdash;Here, warder! Permit us to pass
      to the Lady Hansel's apartment." The warder said he must have orders from
      the Lieutenant; and as he retired to procure them, the parties remained
      standing near each other, but without speaking, and scarce looking at each
      other save by stealth, a situation which, in two of the party at least,
      was sufficiently embarrassing. The difference of rank, though in that age
      a consideration so serious, could not prevent Lord Glenvarloch from seeing
      that Margaret Ramsay was one of the prettiest young women he had ever
      beheld&mdash;from suspecting, he could scarce tell why, that he himself
      was not indifferent to her&mdash;from feeling assured that he had been the
      cause of much of her present distress&mdash;admiration, self-love, and
      generosity, acting in favour of the same object; and when the yeoman
      returned with permission to his guests to withdraw, Nigel's obeisance to
      the beautiful daughter of the mechanic was marked with an expression,
      which called up in her cheeks as much colour as any incident of the
      eventful day had hitherto excited. She returned the courtesy timidly and
      irresolutely&mdash;clung to her godfather's arm, and left the apartment,
      which, dark as it was, had never yet appeared so obscure to Nigel, as when
      the door closed behind her.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXX
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  Yet though thou shouldst be dragg'd in scorn
  To yonder ignominious tree,
  Thou shall not want one faithful friend
  To share the cruel fates' decree.
                   <i>Ballad of Jemmy Dawson.</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      Master George Heriot and his ward, as she might justly be termed, for his
      affection to Margaret imposed on him all the cares of a guardian, were
      ushered by the yeoman of the guard to the lodging of the Lieutenant, where
      they found him seated with his lady. They were received by both with that
      decorous civility which Master Heriot's character and supposed influence
      demanded, even at the hand of a punctilious old soldier and courtier like
      Sir Edward Mansel. Lady Mansel received Margaret with like courtesy, and
      informed Master George that she was now only her guest, and no longer her
      prisoner.
    </p>
    <p>
      "She is at liberty," she said, "to return to her friends under your charge&mdash;such
      is his Majesty's pleasure."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am glad of it, madam," answered Heriot, "but only I could have wished
      her freedom had taken place before her foolish interview with that
      singular young man; and I marvel your ladyship permitted it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My good Master Heriot," said Sir Edward, "we act according to the
      commands of one better and wiser than ourselves&mdash;our orders from his
      Majesty must be strictly and literally obeyed; and I need not say that the
      wisdom of his Majesty doth more than ensure&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I know his Majesty's wisdom well," said Heriot; "yet there is an old
      proverb about fire and flax&mdash;well, let it pass."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I see Sir Mungo Malagrowther stalking towards the door of the lodging,"
      said the Lady Mansel, "with the gait of a lame crane&mdash;it is his
      second visit this morning."
    </p>
    <p>
      "He brought the warrant for discharging Lord Glenvarloch of the charge of
      treason," said Sir Edward.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And from him," said Heriot, "I heard much of what had befallen; for I
      came from France only late last evening, and somewhat unexpectedly."
    </p>
    <p>
      As they spoke, Sir Mungo entered the apartment&mdash;saluted the
      Lieutenant of the Tower and his lady with ceremonious civility&mdash;honoured
      George Heriot with a patronising nod of acknowledgment, and accosted
      Margaret with&mdash;"Hey! my young charge, you have not doffed your
      masculine attire yet?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "She does not mean to lay it aside, Sir Mungo," said Heriot, speaking
      loud, "until she has had satisfaction from you, for betraying her disguise
      to me, like a false knight&mdash;and in very deed, Sir Mungo, I think when
      you told me she was rambling about in so strange a dress, you might have
      said also that she was under Lady Mansel's protection."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That was the king's secret, Master Heriot," said Sir Mungo, throwing
      himself into a chair with an air of atrabilarious importance; "the other
      was a well-meaning hint to yourself, as the girl's friend."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," replied Heriot, "it was done like yourself&mdash;enough told to
      make me unhappy about her&mdash;not a word which could relieve my
      uneasiness."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sir Mungo will not hear that remark," said the lady; "we must change the
      subject.&mdash;Is there any news from Court, Sir Mungo? you have been to
      Greenwich?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You might as well ask me, madam," answered the Knight, "whether there is
      any news from hell."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How, Sir Mungo, how!" said Sir Edward, "measure your words something
      better&mdash;You speak of the Court of King James."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sir Edward, if I spoke of the court of the twelve Kaisers, I would say it
      is as confused for the present as the infernal regions. Courtiers of forty
      years' standing, and such I may write myself, are as far to seek in the
      matter as a minnow in the Maelstrom. Some folk say the king has frowned on
      the Prince&mdash;some that the Prince has looked grave on the duke&mdash;some
      that Lord Glenvarloch will be hanged for high treason&mdash;and some that
      there is matter against Lord Dalgarno that may cost him as much as his
      head's worth."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what do you, that are a courtier of forty years' standing, think of
      it all?" said Sir Edward Mansel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, nay, do not ask him, Sir Edward," said the lady, with an expressive
      look to her husband.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sir Mungo is too witty," added Master Heriot, "to remember that he who
      says aught that may be repeated to his own prejudice, does but load a
      piece for any of the company to shoot him dead with, at their pleasure and
      convenience."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What!" said the bold Knight, "you think I am afraid of the trepan? Why
      now, what if I should say that Dalgarno has more wit than honesty,&mdash;the
      duke more sail than ballast,&mdash;the Prince more pride than prudence,&mdash;and
      that the king&mdash;" The Lady Mansel held up her finger in a warning
      manner&mdash;"that the king is my very good master, who has given me, for
      forty years and more, dog's wages, videlicit, bones and beating.&mdash;Why
      now, all this is said, and Archie Armstrong [Footnote: The celebrated
      Court jester.] says worse than this of the best of them every day."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The more fool he," said George Heriot; "yet he is not so utterly wrong,
      for folly is his best wisdom. But do not you, Sir Mungo, set your wit
      against a fool's, though he be a court fool."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A fool, said you?" replied Sir Mungo, not having fully heard what Master
      Heriot said, or not choosing to have it thought so,&mdash;"I have been a
      fool indeed, to hang on at a close-fisted Court here, when men of
      understanding and men of action have been making fortunes in every other
      place of Europe. But here a man comes indifferently off unless he gets a
      great key to turn," (looking at Sir Edward,) "or can beat tattoo with a
      hammer on a pewter plate.&mdash;Well, sirs, I must make as much haste back
      on mine errand as if I were a fee'd messenger.&mdash;Sir Edward and my
      lady, I leave my commendations with you&mdash;and my good-will with you,
      Master Heriot&mdash;and for this breaker of bounds, if you will act by my
      counsel, some maceration by fasting, and a gentle use of the rod, is the
      best cure for her giddy fits."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If you propose for Greenwich, Sir Mungo," said the Lieutenant, "I can
      spare you the labour&mdash;the king comes immediately to Whitehall."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And that must be the reason the council are summoned to meet in such
      hurry," said Sir Mungo. "Well&mdash;I will, with your permission, go to
      the poor lad Glenvarloch, and bestow some comfort on him."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Lieutenant seemed to look up, and pause for a moment as if in doubt.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The lad will want a pleasant companion, who can tell him the nature of
      the punishment which he is to suffer, and other matters of concernment. I
      will not leave him until I show him how absolutely he hath ruined himself
      from feather to spur, how deplorable is his present state, and how small
      his chance of mending it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, Sir Mungo," replied the Lieutenant, "if you really think all this
      likely to be very consolatory to the party concerned, I will send a warder
      to conduct you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And I," said George Heriot, "will humbly pray of Lady Mansel, that she
      will lend some of her handmaiden's apparel to this giddy-brained girl; for
      I shall forfeit my reputation if I walk up Tower Hill with her in that mad
      guise&mdash;and yet the silly lassie looks not so ill in it neither."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will send my coach with you instantly," said the obliging lady.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Faith, madam, and if you will honour us by such courtesy, I will gladly
      accept it at your hands," said the citizen, "for business presses hard on
      me, and the forenoon is already lost, to little purpose."
    </p>
    <p>
      The coach being ordered accordingly, transported the worthy citizen and
      his charge to his mansion in Lombard Street. There he found his presence
      was anxiously expected by the Lady Hermione, who had just received an
      order to be in readiness to attend upon the Royal Privy Council in the
      course of an hour; and upon whom, in her inexperience of business, and
      long retirement from society and the world, the intimation had made as
      deep an impression as if it had not been the necessary consequence of the
      petition which she had presented to the king by Monna Paula. George Heriot
      gently blamed her for taking any steps in an affair so important until his
      return from France, especially as he had requested her to remain quiet, in
      a letter which accompanied the evidence he had transmitted to her from
      Paris. She could only plead in answer the influence which her immediately
      stirring in the matter was likely to have on the affair of her kinsman
      Lord Glenvarloch, for she was ashamed to acknowledge how much she had been
      gained on by the eager importunity of her youthful companion. The motive
      of Margaret's eagerness was, of course, the safety of Nigel; but we must
      leave it to time to show in what particulars that came to be connected
      with the petition of the Lady Hermione. Meanwhile, we return to the visit
      with which Sir Mungo Malagrowther favoured the afflicted young nobleman in
      his place of captivity.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Knight, after the usual salutations, and having prefaced his discourse
      with a great deal of professed regret for Nigel's situation, sat down
      beside him, and composing his grotesque features into the most lugubrious
      despondence, began his raven song as follows:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "I bless God, my lord, that I was the person who had the pleasure to bring
      his Majesty's mild message to the Lieutenant, discharging the higher
      prosecution against ye, for any thing meditated against his Majesty's
      sacred person; for, admit you be prosecuted on the lesser offence, or
      breach of privilege of the Palace and its precincts, <i>usque ad
      mutilationem</i>, even to dismemberation, as it is most likely you will,
      yet the loss of a member is nothing to being hanged and drawn quick, after
      the fashion of a traitor."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I should feel the shame of having deserved such a punishment," answered
      Nigel, "more than the pain of undergoing it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Doubtless, my lord, the having, as you say, deserved it, must be an
      excruciation to your own mind," replied his tormentor; "a kind of mental
      and metaphysical hanging, drawing, and quartering, which may be in some
      measure equipollent with the external application of hemp, iron, fire, and
      the like, to the outer man."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I say, Sir Mungo," repeated Nigel, "and beg you to understand my words,
      that I am unconscious of any error, save that of having arms on my person
      when I chanced to approach that of my Sovereign."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ye are right, my lord, to acknowledge nothing," said Sir Mungo. "We have
      an old proverb,&mdash;Confess, and&mdash;so forth. And indeed, as to the
      weapons, his Majesty has a special ill-will at all arms whatsoever, and
      more especially pistols; but, as I said, there is an end of that matter.
      [Footnote: Wilson informs us that when Colonel Grey, a Scotsman who
      affected the buff dress even in the time of peace, appeared in that
      military garb at Court, the king, seeing him with a case of pistols at his
      girdle, which he never greatly liked, told him, merrily, "he was now so
      fortified, that, if he were but well victualled, he would be impregnable."&mdash;WILSON'S
      <i>Life and Reign of James VI.</i>, <i>apud</i> KENNET'S <i>History of
      England</i>, vol. ii. p. 389. In 1612, the tenth year of James's reign,
      there was a rumour abroad that a shipload of pocket-pistols had been
      exported from Spain, with a view to a general massacre of the Protestants.
      Proclamations were of consequence sent forth, prohibiting all persons from
      carrying pistols under a foot long in the barrel. <i>Ibid</i>. p. 690.] I
      wish you as well through the next, which is altogether unlikely."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Surely, Sir Mungo," answered Nigel, "you yourself might say something in
      my favour concerning the affair in the Park. None knows better than you
      that I was at that moment urged by wrongs of the most heinous nature,
      offered to me by Lord Dalgarno, many of which were reported to me by
      yourself, much to the inflammation of my passion."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Alack-a-day!-Alack-a-day!" replied Sir Mungo, "I remember but too well
      how much your choler was inflamed, in spite of the various remonstrances
      which I made to you respecting the sacred nature of the place. Alas! alas!
      you cannot say you leaped into the mire for want of warning."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I see, Sir Mungo, you are determined to remember nothing which can do me
      service," said Nigel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Blithely would I do ye service," said the Knight; "and the best whilk I
      can think of is, to tell you the process of the punishment to the whilk
      you will be indubitably subjected, I having had the good fortune to behold
      it performed in the Queen's time, on a chield that had written a
      pasquinado. I was then in my Lord Gray's train, who lay leaguer here, and
      being always covetous of pleasing and profitable sights, I could not
      dispense with being present on the occasion."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I should be surprised, indeed," said Lord Glenvarloch, "if you had so far
      put restraint upon your benevolence, as to stay away from such an
      exhibition."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hey! was your lordship praying me to be present at your own execution?"
      answered the Knight. "Troth, my lord, it will be a painful sight to a
      friend, but I will rather punish myself than baulk you. It is a pretty
      pageant, in the main&mdash;a very pretty pageant. The fallow came on with
      such a bold face, it was a pleasure to look on him. He was dressed all in
      white, to signify harmlessness and innocence. The thing was done on a
      scaffold at Westminster&mdash;most likely yours will be at the Charing.
      There were the Sheriffs and the Marshal's men, and what not&mdash;the
      executioner, with his cleaver and mallet, and his man, with a pan of hot
      charcoal, and the irons for cautery. He was a dexterous fallow that
      Derrick. This man Gregory is not fit to jipper a joint with him; it might
      be worth your lordship's while to have the loon sent to a
      barber-surgeon's, to learn some needful scantling of anatomy&mdash;it may
      be for the benefit of yourself and other unhappy sufferers, and also a
      kindness to Gregory."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will not take the trouble," said Nigel.&mdash;"If the laws will demand
      my hand, the executioner may get it off as he best can. If the king leaves
      it where it is, it may chance to do him better service."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Vera noble&mdash;vera grand, indeed, my lord," said Sir Mungo; "it is
      pleasant to see a brave man suffer. This fallow whom I spoke of&mdash;This
      Tubbs, or Stubbs, or whatever the plebeian was called, came forward as
      bold as an emperor, and said to the people, 'Good friends, I come to leave
      here the hand of a true Englishman,' and clapped it on the dressing-block
      with as much ease as if he had laid it on his sweetheart's shoulder;
      whereupon Derrick the hangman, adjusting, d'ye mind me, the edge of his
      cleaver on the very joint, hit it with the mallet with such force, that
      the hand flew off as far from the owner as a gauntlet which the challenger
      casts down in the tilt-yard. Well, sir, Stubbs, or Tubbs, lost no whit of
      countenance, until the fallow clapped the hissing-hot iron on his raw
      stump. My lord, it fizzed like a rasher of bacon, and the fallow set up an
      elritch screech, which made some think his courage was abated; but not a
      whit, for he plucked off his hat with his left hand, and waved it, crying,
      'God save the Queen, and confound all evil counsellors!' The people gave
      him three cheers, which he deserved for his stout heart; and, truly, I
      hope to see your lordship suffer with the same magnanimity."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I thank you, Sir Mungo," said Nigel, who had not been able to forbear
      some natural feelings of an unpleasant nature during this lively detail,&mdash;"I
      have no doubt the exhibition will be a very engaging one to you and the
      other spectators, whatever it may prove to the party principally
      concerned."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Vera engaging," answered Sir Mungo, "vera interesting&mdash;vera
      interesting indeed, though not altogether so much so as an execution for
      high treason. I saw Digby, the Winters, Fawkes, and the rest of the
      gunpowder gang, suffer for that treason, whilk was a vera grand spectacle,
      as well in regard to their sufferings, as to their constancy in enduring."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am the more obliged to your goodness, Sir Mungo," replied Nigel, "that
      has induced you, although you have lost the sight, to congratulate me on
      my escape from the hazard of making the same edifying appearance."
    </p>
    <p>
      "As you say, my lord," answered Sir Mungo, "the loss is chiefly in
      appearance. Nature has been very bountiful to us, and has given duplicates
      of some organs, that we may endure the loss of one of them, should some
      such circumstance chance in our pilgrimage. See my poor dexter, abridged
      to one thumb, one finger, and a stump,&mdash;by the blow of my adversary's
      weapon, however, and not by any carnificial knife. Weel, sir, this poor
      maimed hand doth me, in some sort, as much service as ever; and, admit
      yours to be taken off by the wrist, you have still your left hand for your
      service, and are better off than the little Dutch dwarf here about town,
      who threads a needle, limns, writes, and tosses a pike, merely by means of
      his feet, without ever a hand to help him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, Sir Mungo," said Lord Glenvarloch, "this is all no doubt very
      consolatory; but I hope the king will spare my hand to fight for him in
      battle, where, notwithstanding all your kind encouragement, I could spend
      my blood much more cheerfully than on a scaffold."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is even a sad truth," replied Sir Mungo, "that your lordship was but
      too like to have died on a scaffold&mdash;not a soul to speak for you but
      that deluded lassie Maggie Ramsay."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Whom mean you?" said Nigel, with more interest than he had hitherto shown
      in the Knight's communications.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, who should I mean, but that travestied lassie whom we dined with
      when we honoured Heriot the goldsmith? Ye ken best how you have made
      interest with her, but I saw her on her knees to the king for you. She was
      committed to my charge, to bring her up hither in honour and safety. Had I
      had my own will, I would have had her to Bridewell, to flog the wild blood
      out of her&mdash;a cutty quean, to think of wearing the breeches, and not
      so much as married yet!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hark ye, Sir Mungo Malagrowther," answered Nigel, "I would have you talk
      of that young person with fitting respect."
    </p>
    <p>
      "With all the respect that befits your lordship's paramour, and Davy
      Ramsay's daughter, I shall certainly speak of her, my lord," said Sir
      Mungo, assuming a dry tone of irony.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel was greatly disposed to have made a serious quarrel of it, but with
      Sir Mungo such an affair would have been ridiculous; he smothered his
      resentment, therefore, and conjured him to tell what he had heard and seen
      respecting this young person.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Simply, that I was in the ante-room when she had audience, and heard the
      king say, to my great perplexity, '<i>Pulchra sane puella;</i>' and
      Maxwell, who hath but indifferent Latin ears, thought that his Majesty
      called on him by his own name of Sawney, and thrust into the presence, and
      there I saw our Sovereign James, with his own hand, raising up the lassie,
      who, as I said heretofore, was travestied in man's attire. I should have
      had my own thoughts of it, but our gracious Master is auld, and was nae
      great gillravager amang the queans even in his youth; and he was
      comforting her in his own way and saying,&mdash;'Ye needna greet about it,
      my bonnie woman, Glenvarlochides shall have fair play; and, indeed, when
      the hurry was off our spirits, we could not believe that he had any design
      on our person. And touching his other offences, we will look wisely and
      closely into the matter.' So I got charge to take the young fence-louper
      to the Tower here, and deliver her to the charge of Lady Mansel; and his
      Majesty charged me to say not a word to her about your offences, for, said
      he, the poor thing is breaking her heart for him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And on this you have charitably founded the opinion to the prejudice of
      this young lady, which you have now thought proper to express?" said Lord
      Glenvarloch.
    </p>
    <p>
      "In honest truth, my lord," replied Sir Mungo, "what opinion would you
      have me form of a wench who gets into male habiliments, and goes on her
      knees to the king for a wild young nobleman? I wot not what the
      fashionable word may be, for the phrase changes, though the custom abides.
      But truly I must needs think this young leddy&mdash;if you call Watchie
      Ramsay's daughter a young leddy&mdash;demeans herself more like a leddy of
      pleasure than a leddy of honour."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You do her egregious wrong, Sir Mungo," said Nigel; "or rather you have
      been misled by appearances."
    </p>
    <p>
      "So will all the world be misled, my lord," replied the satirist, "unless
      you were doing that to disabuse them which your father's son will hardly
      judge it fit to do."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what may that be, I pray you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "E'en marry the lass&mdash;make her Leddy Glenvarloch.&mdash;Ay, ay, ye
      may start&mdash;but it's the course you are driving on. Rather marry than
      do worse, if the worst be not done already."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sir Mungo," said Nigel, "I pray you to forbear this subject, and rather
      return to that of the mutilation, upon which it pleased you to enlarge a
      short while since."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have not time at present," said Sir Mungo, hearing the clock strike
      four; "but so soon as you shall have received sentence, my lord, you may
      rely on my giving you the fullest detail of the whole solemnity; and I
      give you my word, as a knight and a gentleman, that I will myself attend
      you on the scaffold, whoever may cast sour looks on me for doing so. I
      bear a heart, to stand by a friend in the worst of times."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he wished Lord Glenvarloch farewell; who felt as heartily
      rejoiced at his departure, though it may be a bold word, as any person who
      had ever undergone his society.
    </p>
    <p>
      But, when left to his own reflections, Nigel could not help feeling
      solitude nearly as irksome as the company of Sir Mungo Malagrowther. The
      total wreck of his fortune,&mdash;which seemed now to be rendered
      unavoidable by the loss of the royal warrant, that had afforded him the
      means of redeeming his paternal estate,&mdash;was an unexpected and
      additional blow. When he had seen the warrant he could not precisely
      remember; but was inclined to think, it was in the casket when he took out
      money to pay the miser for his lodgings at Whitefriars. Since then, the
      casket had been almost constantly under his own eye, except during the
      short time he was separated from his baggage by the arrest in Greenwich
      Park. It might, indeed, have been taken out at that time, for he had no
      reason to think either his person or his property was in the hands of
      those who wished him well; but, on the other hand, the locks of the
      strong-box had sustained no violence that he could observe, and, being of
      a particular and complicated construction, he thought they could scarce be
      opened without an instrument made on purpose, adapted to their
      peculiarities, and for this there had been no time. But, speculate as he
      would on the matter, it was clear that this important document was gone,
      and probable that it had passed into no friendly hands. "Let it be so,"
      said Nigel to himself; "I am scarcely worse off respecting my prospects of
      fortune, than when I first reached this accursed city. But to be hampered
      with cruel accusations, and stained with foul suspicions-to be the object
      of pity of the most degrading kind to yonder honest citizen, and of the
      malignity of that envious and atrabilarious courtier, who can endure the
      good fortune and good qualities of another no more than the mole can brook
      sunshine&mdash;this is indeed a deplorable reflection; and the
      consequences must stick to my future life, and impede whatever my head, or
      my hand, if it is left me, might be able to execute in my favour."
    </p>
    <p>
      The feeling, that he is the object of general dislike and dereliction,
      seems to be one of the most unendurably painful to which a human being can
      be subjected. The most atrocious criminals, whose nerves have not shrunk
      from perpetrating the most horrid cruelty, endure more from the
      consciousness that no man will sympathise with their sufferings, than from
      apprehension of the personal agony of their impending punishment; and are
      known often to attempt to palliate their enormities, and sometimes
      altogether to deny what is established by the clearest proof, rather than
      to leave life under the general ban of humanity. It was no wonder that
      Nigel, labouring under the sense of general, though unjust suspicion,
      should, while pondering on so painful a theme, recollect that one, at
      least, had not only believed him innocent, but hazarded herself, with all
      her feeble power, to interpose in his behalf.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Poor girl!" he repeated; "poor, rash, but generous maiden! your fate is
      that of her in Scottish story, who thrust her arm into the staple of the
      door, to oppose it as a bar against the assassins who threatened the
      murder of her sovereign. The deed of devotion was useless; save to give an
      immortal name to her by whom it was done, and whose blood flows, it is
      said, in the veins of my house."
    </p>
    <p>
      I cannot explain to the reader, whether the recollection of this
      historical deed of devotion, and the lively effect which the comparison, a
      little overstrained perhaps, was likely to produce in favour of Margaret
      Ramsay, was not qualified by the concomitant ideas of ancestry and ancient
      descent with which that recollection was mingled. But the contending
      feelings suggested a new train of ideas.&mdash;"Ancestry," he thought,
      "and ancient descent, what are they to me?&mdash;My patrimony alienated&mdash;my
      title become a reproach&mdash;for what can be so absurd as titled beggary?&mdash;my
      character subjected to suspicion,&mdash;I will not remain in this country;
      and should I, at leaving it, procure the society of one so lovely, so
      brave, and so faithful, who should say that I derogated from the rank
      which I am virtually renouncing?"
    </p>
    <p>
      There was something romantic and pleasing, as he pursued this picture of
      an attached and faithful pair, becoming all the world to each other, and
      stemming the tide of fate arm in arm; and to be linked thus with a
      creature so beautiful, and who had taken such devoted and disinterested
      concern in his fortunes, formed itself into such a vision as romantic
      youth loves best to dwell upon.
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly his dream was painfully dispelled, by the recollection, that its
      very basis rested upon the most selfish ingratitude on his own part. Lord
      of his castle and his towers, his forests and fields, his fair patrimony
      and noble name, his mind would have rejected, as a sort of impossibility,
      the idea of elevating to his rank the daughter of a mechanic; but, when
      degraded from his nobility, and plunged into poverty and difficulties, he
      was ashamed to feel himself not unwilling, that this poor girl, in the
      blindness of her affection, should abandon all the better prospects of her
      own settled condition, to embrace the precarious and doubtful course which
      he himself was condemned to. The generosity of Nigel's mind recoiled from
      the selfishness of the plan of happiness which he projected; and he made a
      strong effort to expel from his thoughts for the rest of the evening this
      fascinating female, or, at least, not to permit them to dwell upon the
      perilous circumstance, that she was at present the only creature living
      who seemed to consider him as an object of kindness.
    </p>
    <p>
      He could not, however, succeed in banishing her from his slumbers, when,
      after having spent a weary day, he betook himself to a perturbed couch.
      The form of Margaret mingled with the wild mass of dreams which his late
      adventures had suggested; and even when, copying the lively narrative of
      Sir Mungo, fancy presented to him the blood bubbling and hissing on the
      heated iron, Margaret stood behind him like a spirit of light, to breathe
      healing on the wound. At length nature was exhausted by these fantastic
      creations, and Nigel slept, and slept soundly, until awakened in the
      morning by the sound of a well-known voice, which had often broken his
      slumbers about the same hour.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXI
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  Many, come up, sir, with your gentle blood!
  Here's a red stream beneath this coarse blue doublet,
  That warms the heart as kindly as if drawn
  From the far source of old Assyrian kings.
  Who first made mankind subject to their sway.
                           <i>Old Play</i>.
</pre>
    <p>
      The sounds to which we alluded in our last, were no other than the
      grumbling tones of Richie Moniplies's voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      This worthy, like some other persons who rank high in their own opinion,
      was very apt, when he could have no other auditor, to hold conversation
      with one who was sure to be a willing listener&mdash;I mean with himself.
      He was now brushing and arranging Lord Glenvarloch's clothes, with as much
      composure and quiet assiduity as if he had never been out of his service,
      and grumbling betwixt whiles to the following purpose:&mdash;"Hump&mdash;ay,
      time cloak and jerkin were through my hands&mdash;I question if horsehair
      has been passed over them since they and I last parted. The embroidery
      finely frayed too&mdash;and the gold buttons of the cloak&mdash;By my
      conscience, and as I am an honest man, there is a round dozen of them
      gane! This comes of Alsatian frolics&mdash;God keep us with his grace, and
      not give us over to our own devices!&mdash;I see no sword&mdash;but that
      will be in respect of present circumstances."
    </p>
    <p>
      Nigel for some time could not help believing that he was still in a dream,
      so improbable did it seem that his domestic, whom he supposed to be in
      Scotland, should have found him out, and obtained access to him, in his
      present circumstances. Looking through the curtains, however, he became
      well assured of the fact, when he beheld the stiff and bony length of
      Richie, with a visage charged with nearly double its ordinary degree of
      importance, employed sedulously in brushing his master's cloak, and
      refreshing himself with whistling or humming, from interval to interval,
      some snatch of an old melancholy Scottish ballad-tune. Although
      sufficiently convinced of the identity of the party, Lord Glenvarloch
      could not help expressing his surprise in the superfluous question&mdash;"In
      the name of Heaven, Richie, is this you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "And wha else suld it be, my lord?" answered Richie; "I dreamna that your
      lordship's levee in this place is like to be attended by ony that are not
      bounded thereto by duty."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am rather surprised," answered Nigel, "that it should be attended by
      any one at all&mdash;especially by you, Richie; for you know that we
      parted, and I thought you had reached Scotland long since."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I crave your lordship's pardon, but we have not parted yet, nor are soon
      likely so to do; for there gang twa folk's votes to the unmaking of a
      bargain, as to the making of ane. Though it was your lordship's pleasure
      so to conduct yourself that we were like to have parted, yet it was not,
      on reflection, my will to be gone. To be plain, if your lordship does not
      ken when you have a good servant, I ken when I have a kind master; and to
      say truth, you will be easier served now than ever, for there is not much
      chance of your getting out of bounds."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am indeed bound over to good behaviour," said Lord Glenvarloch, with a
      smile; "but I hope you will not take advantage of my situation to be too
      severe on my follies, Richie?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "God forbid, my lord&mdash;God forbid!" replied Richie, with an expression
      betwixt a conceited consciousness of superior wisdom and real feeling&mdash;"especially
      in consideration of your lordship's having a due sense of them. I did
      indeed remonstrate, as was my humble duty, but I scorn to cast that up to
      your lordship now&mdash;Na, na, I am myself an erring creature&mdash;very
      conscious of some small weaknesses&mdash;there is no perfection in man."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, Richie," said Lord Glenvarloch, "although I am much obliged to you
      for your proffered service, it can be of little use to me here, and may be
      of prejudice to yourself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your lordship shall pardon me again," said Richie, whom the relative
      situation of the parties had invested with ten times his ordinary
      dogmatism; "but as I will manage the matter, your lordship shall be
      greatly benefited by my service, and I myself no whit prejudiced."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I see not how that can be, my friend," said Lord Glenvarloch, "since even
      as to your pecuniary affairs&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Touching my pecuniars, my lord," replied Richie, "I am indifferently weel
      provided; and, as it chances, my living here will be no burden to your
      lordship, or distress to myself. Only I crave permission to annex certain
      conditions to my servitude with your lordship."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Annex what you will," said Lord Glenvarloch, "for you are pretty sure to
      take your own way, whether you make any conditions or not. Since you will
      not leave me, which were, I think, your wisest course, you must, and I
      suppose will, serve me only on such terms as you like yourself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "All that I ask, my lord," said Richie, gravely, and with a tone of great
      moderation, "is to have the uninterrupted command of my own motions, for
      certain important purposes which I have now in hand, always giving your
      lordship the solace of my company and attendance, at such times as may be
      at once convenient for me, and necessary for your service."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of which, I suppose, you constitute yourself sole judge," replied Nigel,
      smiling.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Unquestionably, my lord," answered Richie, gravely; "for your lordship
      can only know what yourself want; whereas I, who see both sides of the
      picture, ken both what is the best for your affairs, and what is the most
      needful for my own."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Richie, my good friend," said Nigel, "I fear this arrangement, which
      places the master much under the disposal of the servant, would scarce
      suit us if we were both at large; but a prisoner as I am, I may be as well
      at your disposal as I am at that of so many other persons; and so you may
      come and go as you list, for I suppose you will not take my advice, to
      return to your own country, and leave me to my fate."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The deil be in my feet if I do," said Moniplies,&mdash;"I am not the lad
      to leave your lordship in foul weather, when I followed you and fed upon
      you through the whole summer day, And besides, there may be brave days
      behind, for a' that has come and gane yet; for
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's hame, and it's hame, and it's hame we fain would be, Though the
      cloud is in the lift, and the wind is on the lea; For the sun through the
      mirk blinks blithe on mine ee, Says,&mdash;'I'll shine on ye yet in our
      ain country!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Having sung this stanza in the manner of a ballad-singer, whose voice has
      been cracked by matching his windpipe against the bugle of the north
      blast, Richie Moniplies aided Lord Glenvarloch to rise, attended his
      toilet with every possible mark of the most solemn and deferential
      respect, then waited upon him at breakfast, and finally withdrew, pleading
      that he had business of importance, which would detain him for some hours.
    </p>
    <p>
      Although Lord Glenvarloch necessarily expected to be occasionally annoyed
      by the self-conceit and dogmatism of Richie Moniplies's character, yet he
      could not but feel the greatest pleasure from the firm and devoted
      attachment which this faithful follower had displayed in the present
      instance, and indeed promised himself an alleviation of the ennui of his
      imprisonment, in having the advantage of his services. It was, therefore,
      with pleasure that he learned from the warder, that his servant's
      attendance would be allowed at all times when the general rules of the
      fortress permitted the entrance of strangers.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the meanwhile, the magnanimous Richie Moniplies had already reached
      Tower Wharf. Here, after looking with contempt on several scullers by whom
      he was plied, and whose services he rejected with a wave of his hand, he
      called with dignity, "First oars!" and stirred into activity several
      lounging Tritons of the higher order, who had not, on his first
      appearance, thought it worth while to accost him with proffers of service.
      He now took possession of a wherry, folded his arms within his ample
      cloak, and sitting down in the stern with an air of importance, commanded
      them to row to Whitehall Stairs. Having reached the Palace in safety, he
      demanded to see Master Linklater, the under-clerk of his Majesty's
      kitchen. The reply was, that he was not to be spoken withal, being then
      employed in cooking a mess of cock-a-leekie for the king's own mouth.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tell him," said Moniplies, "that it is a dear countryman of his, who
      seeks to converse with him on matter of high import."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A dear countryman?" said Linklater, when this pressing message was
      delivered to him. "Well, let him come in and be d&mdash;d, that I should
      say sae! This now is some red-headed, long-legged, gillie-white-foot frae
      the West Port, that, hearing of my promotion, is come up to be a
      turn-broche, or deputy scullion, through my interest. It is a great
      hinderance to any man who would rise in the world, to have such friends to
      hang by his skirts, in hope of being towed up along with him.&mdash;Ha!
      Richie Moniplies, man, is it thou? And what has brought ye here? If they
      should ken thee for the loon that scared the horse the other day!&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No more o' that, neighbour," said Richie,&mdash;"I am just here on the
      auld errand&mdash;I maun speak with the king."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The king? Ye are red wud," said Linklater; then shouted to his assistant
      in the kitchen, "Look to the broches, ye knaves&mdash;<i>pisces purga</i>&mdash;<i>Salsamenta
      fac macerentur pulchre</i>&mdash;I will make you understand Latin, ye
      knaves, as becomes the scullions of King James." Then in a cautious tone,
      to Richie's private ear, he continued, "Know ye not how ill your master
      came off the other day?&mdash;I can tell you that job made some folk shake
      for their office."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Weel, but, Laurie, ye maun befriend me this time, and get this wee bit
      sifflication slipped into his Majesty's ain most gracious hand. I promise
      you the contents will be most grateful to him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Richie," answered Linklater, "you have certainly sworn to say your
      prayers in the porter's lodge, with your back bare; and twa grooms, with
      dog-whips, to cry amen to you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Na, na, Laurie, lad," said Richie, "I ken better what belangs to
      sifflications than I did yon day; and ye will say that yoursell, if ye
      will but get that bit note to the king's hand."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will have neither hand nor foot in the matter," said the cautious Clerk
      of the Kitchen; "but there is his Majesty's mess of cock-a-leekie just
      going to be served to him in his closet&mdash;I cannot prevent you from
      putting the letter between the gilt bowl and the platter; his sacred
      Majesty will see it when he lifts the bowl, for he aye drinks out the
      broth."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Enough said," replied Richie, and deposited the paper accordingly, just
      before a page entered to carry away the mess to his Majesty.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aweel, aweel, neighbour," said Laurence, when the mess was taken away,
      "if ye have done ony thing to bring yoursell to the withy, or the
      scourging post, it is your ain wilful deed."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will blame no other for it," said Richie; and with that undismayed
      pertinacity of conceit, which made a fundamental part of his character, he
      abode the issue, which was not long of arriving.
    </p>
    <p>
      In a few minutes Maxwell himself arrived in the apartment, and demanded
      hastily who had placed a writing on the king's trencher, Linklater denied
      all knowledge of it; but Richie Moniplies, stepping boldly forth,
      pronounced the emphatical confession, "I am the man."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Follow me, then," said Maxwell, after regarding him with a look of great
      curiosity.
    </p>
    <p>
      They went up a private staircase,&mdash;even that private staircase, the
      privilege of which at Court is accounted a nearer road to power than the
      <i>grandes entrees</i> themselves. Arriving in what Richie described as an
      "ill redd-up" ante-room, the usher made a sign to him to stop, while he
      went into the king's closet. Their conference was short, and as Maxwell
      opened the door to retire, Richie heard the conclusion of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ye are sure he is not dangerous?&mdash;I was caught once.&mdash;Bide
      within call, but not nearer the door than within three geometrical cubits.
      If I speak loud, start to me like a falcon&mdash;If I speak loun, keep
      your lang lugs out of ear-shot&mdash;and now let him come in."
    </p>
    <p>
      Richie passed forward at Maxwell's mute signal, and in a moment found
      himself in the presence of the king. Most men of Richie's birth and
      breeding, and many others, would have been abashed at finding themselves
      alone with their Sovereign. But Richie Moniplies had an opinion of himself
      too high to be controlled by any such ideas; and having made his stiff
      reverence, he arose once more into his perpendicular height, and stood
      before James as stiff as a hedge-stake.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have ye gotten them, man? have ye gotten them?" said the king, in a
      fluttered state, betwixt hope and eagerness, and some touch of suspicious
      fear. "Gie me them&mdash;gie me them&mdash;before ye speak a word, I
      charge you, on your allegiance."
    </p>
    <p>
      Richie took a box from his bosom, and, stooping on one knee, presented it
      to his Majesty, who hastily opened it, and having ascertained that it
      contained a certain carcanet of rubies, with which the reader was formerly
      made acquainted, he could not resist falling into a sort of rapture,
      kissing the gems, as if they had been capable of feeling, and repeating
      again and again with childish delight, "<i>Onyx cum prole, silexque</i>&mdash;-<i>Onyx
      cum prole!</i> Ah, my bright and bonny sparklers, my heart loups light to
      see you again." He then turned to Richie, upon whose stoical countenance
      his Majesty's demeanour had excited something like a grim smile, which
      James interrupted his rejoicing to reprehend, saying, "Take heed, sir, you
      are not to laugh at us&mdash;we are your anointed Sovereign."
    </p>
    <p>
      "God forbid that I should laugh!" said Richie, composing his countenance
      into its natural rigidity. "I did but smile, to bring my visage into
      coincidence and conformity with your Majesty's physiognomy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ye speak as a dutiful subject, and an honest man," said the king; "but
      what deil's your name, man?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Even Richie Moniplies, the son of auld Mungo Moniplies, at the West Port
      of Edinburgh, who had the honour to supply your Majesty's mother's royal
      table, as weel as your Majesty's, with flesh and other vivers, when time
      was."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aha!" said the king, laughing,&mdash;for he possessed, as a useful
      attribute of his situation, a tenacious memory, which recollected every
      one with whom he was brought into casual contact,&mdash;"Ye are the
      self-same traitor who had weelnigh coupit us endlang on the causey of our
      ain courtyard? but we stuck by our mare. <i>Equam memento rebus in arduis
      servare</i>. Weel, be not dismayed, Richie; for, as many men have turned
      traitors, it is but fair that a traitor, now and then, suld prove to be,
      contra expectanda, a true man. How cam ye by our jewels, man?&mdash;cam ye
      on the part of George Heriot?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "In no sort," said Richie. "May it please your Majesty, I come as Harry
      Wynd fought, utterly for my own hand, and on no man's errand; as, indeed,
      I call no one master, save Him that made me, your most gracious Majesty
      who governs me, and the noble Nigel Olifaunt, Lord of Glenvarloch, who
      maintained me as lang as he could maintain himself, poor nobleman!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Glenvarlochides again!" exclaimed the king; "by my honour, he lies in
      ambush for us at every corner!&mdash;Maxwell knocks at the door. It is
      George Heriot come to tell us he cannot find these jewels.&mdash;Get thee
      behind the arras, Richie&mdash;stand close, man&mdash;sneeze not&mdash;cough
      not&mdash;breathe not!&mdash;Jingling Geordie is so damnably ready with
      his gold-ends of wisdom, and sae accursedly backward with his gold-ends of
      siller, that, by our royal saul, we are glad to get a hair in his neck."
    </p>
    <p>
      Richie got behind the arras, in obedience to the commands of the
      good-natured king, while the Monarch, who never allowed his dignity to
      stand in the way of a frolic, having adjusted, with his own hand, the
      tapestry, so as to complete the ambush, commanded Maxwell to tell him what
      was the matter without. Maxwell's reply was so low as to be lost by Richie
      Moniplies, the peculiarity of whose situation by no means abated his
      curiosity and desire to gratify it to the uttermost.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let Geordie Heriot come in," said the king; and, as Richie could observe
      through a slit in the tapestry, the honest citizen, if not actually
      agitated, was at least discomposed. The king, whose talent for wit, or
      humour, was precisely of a kind to be gratified by such a scene as ensued,
      received his homage with coldness, and began to talk to him with an air of
      serious dignity, very different from the usual indecorous levity of his
      behaviour. "Master Heriot," he said, "if we aright remember, we
      opignorated in your hands certain jewels of the Crown, for a certain sum
      of money&mdash;Did we, or did we not?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My most gracious Sovereign," said Heriot, "indisputably your Majesty was
      pleased to do so."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The property of which jewels and <i>cimelia</i> remained with us,"
      continued the king, in the same solemn tone, "subject only to your claim
      of advance thereupon; which advance being repaid, gives us right to
      repossession of the thing opignorated, or pledged, or laid in wad.
      Voetius, Vinnius, Groenwigeneus, Pagenstecherus,&mdash;all who have
      treated <i>de Contractu Opignerationis, consentiunt in eundem</i>,&mdash;gree
      on the same point. The Roman law, the English common law, and the
      municipal law of our ain ancient kingdom of Scotland, though they split in
      mair particulars than I could desire, unite as strictly in this as the
      three strands of a twisted rope."
    </p>
    <p>
      "May it please your Majesty," replied Heriot, "it requires not so many
      learned authorities to prove to any honest man, that his interest in a
      pledge is determined when the money lent is restored."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Weel, sir, I proffer restoration of the sum lent, and I demand to be
      repossessed of the jewels pledged with you. I gave ye a hint, brief while
      since, that this would be essential to my service, for, as approaching
      events are like to call us into public, it would seem strange if we did
      not appear with those ornaments, which are heirlooms of the Crown, and the
      absence whereof is like to place us in contempt and suspicion with our
      liege subjects."
    </p>
    <p>
      Master George Heriot seemed much moved by this address of his Sovereign,
      and replied with emotion, "I call Heaven to witness, that I am totally
      harmless in this matter, and that I would willingly lose the sum advanced,
      so that I could restore those jewels, the absence of which your Majesty so
      justly laments. Had the jewels remained with me, the account of them would
      be easily rendered; but your Majesty will do me the justice to remember,
      that, by your express order, I transferred them to another person, who
      advanced a large sum, just about the time of my departure for Paris. The
      money was pressingly wanted, and no other means to come by it occurred to
      me. I told your Majesty, when I brought the needful supply, that the man
      from whom the monies were obtained, was of no good repute; and your most
      princely answer was, smelling to the gold&mdash;<i>Non olet</i>, it smells
      not of the means that have gotten it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Weel, man," said the king, "but what needs a' this din? If ye gave my
      jewels in pledge to such a one, suld ye not, as a liege subject, have
      taken care that the redemption was in our power? And are we to suffer the
      loss of our <i>cimelia</i> by your neglect, besides being exposed to the
      scorn and censure of our lieges, and of the foreign ambassadors?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My lord and liege king," said Heriot, "God knows, if my bearing blame or
      shame in this matter would keep it from your Majesty, it were my duty to
      endure both, as a servant grateful for many benefits; but when your
      Majesty considers the violent death of the man himself, the disappearance
      of his daughter, and of his wealth, I trust you will remember that I
      warned your Majesty, in humble duty, of the possibility of such
      casualties, and prayed you not to urge me to deal with him on your
      behalf."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But you brought me nae better means," said the king&mdash;"Geordie, ye
      brought me nae better means. I was like a deserted man; what could I do
      but grip to the first siller that offered, as a drowning man grasps to the
      willow-wand that comes readiest?&mdash;And now, man, what for have ye not
      brought back the jewels? they are surely above ground, if ye wad make
      strict search."
    </p>
    <p>
      "All strict search has been made, may it please your Majesty," replied the
      citizen; "hue and cry has been sent out everywhere, and it has been found
      impossible to recover them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Difficult, ye mean, Geordie, not impossible," replied the king; "for that
      whilk is impossible, is either naturally so, <i>exempli gratia</i>, to
      make two into three; or morally so, as to make what is truth falsehood;
      but what is only difficult may come to pass, with assistance of wisdom and
      patience; as, for example, Jingling Geordie, look here!" And he displayed
      the recovered treasure to the eyes of the astonished jeweller, exclaiming,
      with great triumph, "What say ye to that, Jingler?&mdash;By my sceptre and
      crown, the man stares as if he took his native prince for a warlock! us
      that are the very <i>malleus maleficarum</i>, the contunding and
      contriturating hammer of all witches, sorcerers, magicians, and the like;
      he thinks we are taking a touch of the black art outsells!&mdash;But gang
      thy way, honest Geordie; thou art a good plain man, but nane of the seven
      sages of Greece; gang thy way, and mind the soothfast word which you
      spoke, small time syne, that there is one in this land that comes near to
      Solomon, King of Israel, in all his gifts, except in his love to strange
      women, forby the daughter of Pharaoh."
    </p>
    <p>
      If Heriot was surprised at seeing the jewels so unexpectedly produced at
      the moment the king was upbraiding him for the loss of them, this allusion
      to the reflection which had escaped him while conversing with Lord
      Glenvarloch, altogether completed his astonishment; and the king was so
      delighted with the superiority which it gave him at the moment, that he
      rubbed his hands, chuckled, and finally, his sense of dignity giving way
      to the full feeling of triumph, he threw himself into his easy-chair, and
      laughed with unconstrained violence till he lost his breath, and the tears
      ran plentifully down his cheeks as he strove to recover it. Meanwhile, the
      royal cachinnation was echoed out by a discordant and portentous laugh
      from behind the arras, like that of one who, little accustomed to give way
      to such emotions, feels himself at some particular impulse unable either
      to control or to modify his obstreperous mirth. Heriot turned his head
      with new surprise towards the place, from which sounds so unfitting the
      presence of a monarch seemed to burst with such emphatic clamour.
    </p>
    <p>
      The king, too, somewhat sensible of the indecorum, rose up, wiped his
      eyes, and calling,&mdash;"Todlowrie, come out o' your den," he produced
      from behind the arras the length of Richie Moniplies, still laughing with
      as unrestrained mirth as ever did gossip at a country christening.
      "Whisht, man, whisht, man," said the king; "ye needna nicher that gait,
      like a cusser at a caup o' corn, e'en though it was a pleasing jest, and
      our ain framing. And yet to see Jingling Geordie, that bauds himself so
      much the wiser than other folk&mdash;to see him, ha! ha! ha!&mdash;in the
      vein of Euclio apud Plautum, distressing himself to recover what was lying
      at his elbow&mdash;'Peril, interii, occidi&mdash;quo curram? quo non
      curram?&mdash;Tene, tene&mdash;quem? quis? nescio&mdash;nihil video."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! Geordie, your een are sharp enough to look after gowd and silver,
      gems, rubies, and the like of that, and yet ye kenna how to come by them
      when they are lost.&mdash;Ay, ay&mdash;look at them, man&mdash;look at
      them&mdash;they are a' right and tight, sound and round, not a doublet
      crept in amongst them."
    </p>
    <p>
      George Heriot, when his first surprise was over, was too old a courtier to
      interrupt the king's imaginary triumph, although he darted a look of some
      displeasure at honest Richie, who still continued on what is usually
      termed the broad grin. He quietly examined the stones, and finding them
      all perfect, he honestly and sincerely congratulated his Majesty on the
      recovery of a treasure which could not have been lost without some
      dishonour to the crown; and asked to whom he himself was to pay the sums
      for which they had been pledged, observing, that he had the money by him
      in readiness.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ye are in a deevil of a hurry, when there is paying in the case,
      Geordie," said the king.&mdash;"What's a' the haste, man? The jewels were
      restored by an honest, kindly countryman of ours. There he stands, and wha
      kens if he wants the money on the nail, or if he might not be as weel
      pleased wi' a bit rescript on our treasury some six months hence? Ye ken
      that our Exchequer is even at a low ebb just now, and ye cry pay, pay,
      pay, as if we had all the mines of Ophir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Please your Majesty," said Heriot, "if this man has the real right to
      these monies, it is doubtless at his will to grant forbearance, if he
      will. But when I remember the guise in which I first saw him, with a
      tattered cloak and a broken head, I can hardly conceive it.&mdash;Are not
      you Richie Moniplies, with the king's favour?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Even sae, Master Heriot&mdash;of the ancient and honourable house of
      Castle Collop, near to the West Port of Edinburgh," answered Richie.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, please your Majesty, he is a poor serving-man," said Heriot. "This
      money can never be honestly at his disposal."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What for no?" said the king. "Wad ye have naebody spraickle up the brae
      but yoursell, Geordie? Your ain cloak was thin enough when ye cam here,
      though ye have lined it gay and weel. And for serving-men, there has mony
      a red-shank cam over the Tweed wi' his master's wallet on his shoulders,
      that now rustles it wi' his six followers behind him. There stands the man
      himsell; speer at him, Geordie."
    </p>
    <p>
      "His may not be the best authority in the case," answered the cautious
      citizen.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tut, tut, man," said the king, "ye are over scrupulous. The knave
      deer-stealers have an apt phrase, <i>Non est inquirendum unde venit</i>
      VENISON. He that brings the gudes hath surely a right to dispose of the
      gear.&mdash;Hark ye, friend, speak the truth and shame the deil. Have ye
      plenary powers to dispose on the redemption-money as to delay of payments,
      or the like, ay or no?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Full power, an it like your gracious Majesty," answered Richie Moniplies;
      "and I am maist willing to subscrive to whatsoever may in ony wise
      accommodate your Majesty anent the redemption-money, trusting your
      Majesty's grace will be kind to me in one sma' favour."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ey, man," said the king, "come ye to me there? I thought ye wad e'en be
      like the rest of them.&mdash;One would think our subjects' lives and goods
      were all our ain, and holden of us at our free will; but when we stand in
      need of ony matter of siller from them, which chances more frequently than
      we would it did, deil a boddle is to be had, save on the auld terms of
      giff-gaff. It is just niffer for niffer.&mdash;Aweel, neighbour, what is
      it that ye want&mdash;some monopoly, I reckon? Or it may be a grant of
      kirk-lands and teinds, or a knighthood, or the like? Ye maun be
      reasonable, unless ye propose to advance more money for our present
      occasions."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My liege," answered Richie Moniplies, "the owner of these monies places
      them at your Majesty's command, free of all pledge or usage as long as it
      is your royal pleasure, providing your Majesty will condescend to show
      some favour to the noble Lord Glenvarloch, presently prisoner in your
      royal Tower of London."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How, man&mdash;how,&mdash;man&mdash;how, man!" exclaimed the king,
      reddening and stammering, but with emotions more noble than those by which
      he was sometimes agitated&mdash;"What is that you dare to say to us?&mdash;Sell
      our justice!&mdash;sell our mercy!&mdash;and we a crowned king, sworn to
      do justice to our subjects in the gate, and responsible for our
      stewardship to Him that is over all kings?"&mdash;Here he reverently
      looked up, touched his bonnet, and continued, with some sharpness,&mdash;"We
      dare not traffic in such commodities, sir; and, but that ye are a poor
      ignorant creature, that have done us this day some not unpleasant service,
      we wad have a red iron driven through your tongue, <i>in terrorem</i> of
      others.&mdash;Awa with him, Geordie,&mdash;pay him, plack and bawbee, out
      of our monies in your hands, and let them care that come ahint."
    </p>
    <p>
      Richie, who had counted with the utmost certainty upon the success of this
      master-stroke of policy, was like an architect whose whole scaffolding at
      once gives way under him. He caught, however, at what he thought might
      break his fall. "Not only the sum for which the jewels were pledged," he
      said, "but the double of it, if required, should be placed at his
      Majesty's command, and even without hope or condition of repayment, if
      only&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      But the king did not allow him to complete the sentence, crying out with
      greater vehemence than before, as if he dreaded the stability of his own
      good resolutions,&mdash;"Awa wi' him&mdash;swith awa wi' him! It is time
      he were gane, if he doubles his bode that gate. And, for your life, letna
      Steenie, or ony of them, hear a word from his mouth; for wha kens what
      trouble that might bring me into! <i>Ne inducas in tentationem</i>&mdash;<i>Vade
      retro, Sathanas!&mdash;Amen</i>."
    </p>
    <p>
      In obedience to the royal mandate, George Heriot hurried the abashed
      petitioner out of the presence and out of the Palace; and, when they were
      in the Palace-yard, the citizen, remembering with some resentment the airs
      of equality which Richie had assumed towards him in the commencement of
      the scene which had just taken place, could not forbear to retaliate, by
      congratulating him with an ironical smile on his favour at Court, and his
      improved grace in presenting a supplication.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never fash your beard about that, Master George Heriot," said Richie,
      totally undismayed; "but tell me when and where I am to sifflicate you for
      eight hundred pounds sterling, for which these jewels stood engaged?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The instant that you bring with you the real owner of the money," replied
      Heriot; "whom it is important that I should see on more accounts than
      one."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then will I back to his Majesty," said Richie Moniplies, stoutly, "and
      get either the money or the pledge back again. I am fully commissionate to
      act in that matter."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It may be so, Richie," said the citizen, "and perchance it may <i>not</i>
      be so neither, for your tales are not all gospel; and, therefore, be
      assured I will see that it <i>is</i> so, ere I pay you that large sum of
      money. I shall give you an acknowledgment for it, and I will keep it
      prestable at a moment's warning. But, my good Richard Moniplies, of Castle
      Collop, near the West Port of Edinburgh, in the meantime I am bound to
      return to his Majesty on matters of weight." So speaking, and mounting the
      stair to re-enter the Palace, he added, by way of summing up the whole,&mdash;"George
      Heriot is over old a cock to be caught with chaff."
    </p>
    <p>
      Richie stood petrified when he beheld him re-enter the Palace, and found
      himself, as he supposed, left in the lurch.&mdash;"Now, plague on ye," he
      muttered, "for a cunning auld skinflint! that, because ye are an honest
      man yoursell, forsooth, must needs deal with all the world as if they were
      knaves. But deil be in me if ye beat me yet!&mdash;Gude guide us! yonder
      comes Laurie Linklater next, and he will be on me about the sifflication.&mdash;I
      winna stand him, by Saint Andrew!"
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, and changing the haughty stride with which he had that morning
      entered the precincts of the Palace, into a skulking shamble, he retreated
      for his wherry, which was in attendance, with speed which, to use the
      approved phrase on such occasions, greatly resembled a flight.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXII
    </h2>
    <p>
      <i>Benedict</i>. This looks not like a nuptial. <i>Much Ado About Nothing.</i>
    </p>
    <p>
      Master George Heriot had no sooner returned to the king's apartment, than
      James inquired of Maxwell if the Earl of Huntinglen was in attendance,
      and, receiving an answer in the affirmative, desired that he should be
      admitted. The old Scottish Lord having made his reverence in the usual
      manner, the king extended his hand to be kissed, and then began to address
      him in a tone of great sympathy.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We told your lordship in our secret epistle of this morning, written with
      our ain hand, in testimony we have neither pretermitted nor forgotten your
      faithful service, that we had that to communicate to you that would
      require both patience and fortitude to endure, and therefore exhorted you
      to peruse some of the most pithy passages of Seneca, and of Boethius <i>de
      Consolatione</i>, that the back may be, as we say, fitted for the burden&mdash;This
      we commend to you from our ain experience.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     'Non ignara mail, miseris succurrere disco,'
</pre>
    <p>
      sayeth Dido, and I might say in my own person, <i>non ignarus</i>; but to
      change the gender would affect the prosody, whereof our southern subjects
      are tenacious. So, my Lord of Huntinglen, I trust you have acted by our
      advice, and studied patience before ye need it&mdash;<i>venienti occurrite
      morbo</i>&mdash;mix the medicament when the disease is coming on."
    </p>
    <p>
      "May it please your Majesty," answered Lord Huntinglen, "I am more of an
      old soldier than a scholar&mdash;and if my own rough nature will not bear
      me out in any calamity, I hope I shall have grace to try a text of
      Scripture to boot."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, man, are you there with your bears?" said the king; "The Bible, man,"
      (touching his cap,) "is indeed <i>principium et fons</i>&mdash;but it is
      pity your lordship cannot peruse it in the original. For although we did
      ourselves promote that work of translation,&mdash;since ye may read, at
      the beginning of every Bible, that when some palpable clouds of darkness
      were thought like to have overshadowed the land, after the setting of that
      bright occidental star, Queen Elizabeth; yet our appearance, like that of
      the sun in his strength, instantly dispelled these surmised mists,&mdash;I
      say, that although, as therein mentioned, we countenanced the preaching of
      the gospel, and especially the translation of the Scriptures out of the
      original sacred tongues; yet nevertheless, we ourselves confess to have
      found a comfort in consulting them in the original Hebrew, whilk we do not
      perceive even in the Latin version of the Septuagint, much less in the
      English traduction."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Please your Majesty," said Lord Huntinglen, "if your Majesty delays
      communicating the bad news with which your honoured letter threatens me,
      until I am capable to read Hebrew like your Majesty, I fear I shall die in
      ignorance of the misfortune which hath befallen, or is about to befall, my
      house."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You will learn it but too soon, my lord," replied the king. "I grieve to
      say it, but your son Dalgarno, whom I thought a very saint, as he was so
      much with Steenie and Baby Charles, hath turned out a very villain."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Villain!" repeated Lord Huntinglen; and though he instantly checked
      himself, and added, "but it is your Majesty speaks the word," the effect
      of his first tone made the king step back as if he had received a blow. He
      also recovered himself again, and said in the pettish way which usually
      indicated his displeasure&mdash;"Yes, my lord, it was we that said it&mdash;<i>non
      surdo canis</i>&mdash;we are not deaf&mdash;we pray you not to raise your
      voice in speech with us&mdash;there is the bonny memorial&mdash;read, and
      judge for yourself."
    </p>
    <p>
      The king then thrust into the old nobleman's hand a paper, containing the
      story of the Lady Hermione, with the evidence by which it was supported,
      detailed so briefly and clearly, that the infamy of Lord Dalgarno, the
      lover by whom she had been so shamefully deceived, seemed undeniable. But
      a father yields not up so easily the cause of his son.
    </p>
    <p>
      "May it please your Majesty," he said, "why was this tale not sooner told?
      This woman hath been here for years&mdash;wherefore was the claim on my
      son not made the instant she touched English ground?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tell him how that came about, Geordie," said the king, dressing Heriot.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I grieve to distress my Lord Huntinglen," said Heriot; "but I must speak
      the truth. For a long time the Lady Hermione could not brook the idea of
      making her situation public; and when her mind became changed in that
      particular, it was necessary to recover the evidence of the false
      marriage, and letters and papers connected with it, which, when she came
      to Paris, and just before I saw her, she had deposited with a
      correspondent of her father in that city. He became afterwards bankrupt,
      and in consequence of that misfortune the lady's papers passed into other
      hands, and it was only a few days since I traced and recovered them.
      Without these documents of evidence, it would have been imprudent for her
      to have preferred her complaint, favoured as Lord Dalgarno is by powerful
      friends."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ye are saucy to say sae," said the king; "I ken what ye mean weel eneugh&mdash;ye
      think Steenie wad hae putten the weight of his foot into the scales of
      justice, and garr'd them whomle the bucket&mdash;ye forget, Geordie, wha
      it is whose hand uphaulds them. And ye do poor Steenie the mair wrang, for
      he confessed it ance before us and our privy council, that Dalgarno would
      have put the quean aff on him, the puir simple bairn, making him trow that
      she was a light-o'-love; in whilk mind he remained assured even when he
      parted from her, albeit Steenie might hae weel thought ane of thae cattle
      wadna hae resisted the like of him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Lady Hermione," said George Heriot, "has always done the utmost
      justice to the conduct of the duke, who, although strongly possessed with
      prejudice against her character, yet scorned to avail himself of her
      distress, and on the contrary supplied her with the means of extricating
      herself from her difficulties."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was e'en like himsell&mdash;blessings on his bonny face!" said the
      king; "and I believed this lady's tale the mair readily, my Lord
      Huntinglen, that she spake nae ill of Steenie&mdash;and to make a lang
      tale short, my lord, it is the opinion of our council and ourself, as weel
      as of Baby Charles and Steenie, that your son maun amend his wrong by
      wedding this lady, or undergo such disgrace and discountenance as we can
      bestow."
    </p>
    <p>
      The person to whom he spoke was incapable of answering him. He stood
      before the king motionless, and glaring with eyes of which even the lids
      seemed immovable, as if suddenly converted into an ancient statue of the
      times of chivalry, so instantly had his hard features and strong limbs
      been arrested into rigidity by the blow he had received&mdash;And in a
      second afterwards, like the same statue when the lightning breaks upon it,
      he sunk at once to the ground with a heavy groan. The king was in the
      utmost alarm, called upon Heriot and Maxwell for help, and, presence of
      mind not being his <i>forte</i>, ran to and fro in his cabinet, exclaiming&mdash;"My
      ancient and beloved servant&mdash;who saved our anointed self! <i>vae
      atque dolor!</i> My Lord of Huntinglen, look up&mdash;look up, man, and
      your son may marry the Queen of Sheba if he will."
    </p>
    <p>
      By this time Maxwell and Heriot had raised the old nobleman, and placed
      him on a chair; while the king, observing that he began to recover
      himself, continued his consolations more methodically.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Haud up your head&mdash;haud up your head, and listen to your ain kind
      native Prince. If there is shame, man, it comesna empty-handed&mdash;there
      is siller to gild it&mdash;a gude tocher, and no that bad a pedigree;&mdash;if
      she has been a loon, it was your son made her sae, and he can make her an
      honest woman again."
    </p>
    <p>
      These suggestions, however reasonable in the common case, gave no comfort
      to Lord Huntinglen, if indeed he fully comprehended them; but the
      blubbering of his good-natured old master, which began to accompany and
      interrupt his royal speech, produced more rapid effect. The large tear
      gushed reluctantly from his eye, as he kissed the withered hands, which
      the king, weeping with less dignity and restraint, abandoned to him, first
      alternately and then both together, until the feelings of the man getting
      entirely the better of the Sovereign's sense of dignity, he grasped and
      shook Lord Huntinglen's hands with the sympathy of an equal and a familiar
      friend.
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Compone lachrymas</i>," said the Monarch; "be patient, man, be
      patient; the council, and Baby Charles, and Steenie, may a' gang to the
      deevil&mdash;he shall not marry her since it moves you so deeply."
    </p>
    <p>
      "He <i>shall</i> marry her, by God!" answered the earl, drawing himself
      up, dashing the tear from his eyes, and endeavouring to recover his
      composure. "I pray your Majesty's pardon, but he shall marry her, with her
      dishonour for her dowry, were she the veriest courtezan in all Spain&mdash;If
      he gave his word, he shall make his word good, were it to the meanest
      creature that haunts the streets&mdash;he shall do it, or my own dagger
      shall take the life that I gave him. If he could stoop to use so base a
      fraud, though to deceive infamy, let him wed infamy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, no!" the Monarch continued to insinuate, "things are not so bad as
      that&mdash;Steenie himself never thought of her being a streetwalker, even
      when he thought the worst of her."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If it can at all console my Lord of Huntinglen," said the citizen, "I can
      assure him of this lady's good birth, and most fair and unspotted fame."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am sorry for it," said Lord Huntinglen&mdash;then interrupting himself,
      he said&mdash;"Heaven forgive me for being ungrateful for such comfort!&mdash;but
      I am well-nigh sorry she should be as you represent her, so much better
      than the villain deserves. To be condemned to wed beauty and innocence and
      honest birth&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, and wealth, my lord&mdash;wealth," insinuated the king, "is a better
      sentence than his perfidy has deserved."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is long," said the embittered father, "since I saw he was selfish and
      hardhearted; but to be a perjured liar&mdash;I never dreaded that such a
      blot would have fallen on my race! I will never look on him again."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hoot ay, my lord, hoot ay," said the king; "ye maun tak him to task
      roundly. I grant you should speak more in the vein of Demea than Mitio, <i>vi
      nempe et via pervulgata patrum</i>; but as for not seeing him again, and
      he your only son, that is altogether out of reason. I tell ye, man, (but I
      would not for a boddle that Baby Charles heard me,) that he might gie the
      glaiks to half the lasses of Lonnun, ere I could find in my heart speak
      such harsh words as you have said of this deil of a Dalgarno of yours."
    </p>
    <p>
      "May it please your Majesty to permit me to retire," said Lord Huntinglen,
      "and dispose of the case according to your own royal sense of justice, for
      I desire no favour for him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aweel, my lord, so be it; and if your lordship can think," added the
      Monarch, "of any thing in our power which might comfort you&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your Majesty's gracious sympathy," said Lord Huntinglen, "has already
      comforted me as far as earth can; the rest must be from the King of
      kings."
    </p>
    <p>
      "To Him I commend you, my auld and faithful servant," said James with
      emotion, as the earl withdrew from his presence. The king remained fixed
      in thought for some time, and then said to Heriot, "Jingling Geordie, ye
      ken all the privy doings of our Court, and have dune so these thirty
      years, though, like a wise man, ye hear, and see, and say nothing. Now,
      there is a thing I fain wad ken, in the way of philosophical inquiry&mdash;Did
      you ever hear of the umquhile Lady Huntinglen, the departed Countess of
      this noble earl, ganging a wee bit gleed in her walk through the world; I
      mean in the way of slipping a foot, casting a leglin-girth, or the like,
      ye understand me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      [Footnote: A leglin-girth is the lowest hoop upon a <i>leglin</i>, or
      milk-pail. Allan Ramsay applies the phrase in the same metaphorical sense.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
"Or bairns can read, they first maun spell, I learn'd this frae my
mammy, And cast a leglin-girth mysell,
 Lang ere I married Tammy."
                              <i>Christ's Kirk On The Green</i>.]
</pre>
    <p>
      "On my word as an honest man," said George Heriot, somewhat surprised at
      the question, "I never heard her wronged by the slightest breath of
      suspicion. She was a worthy lady, very circumspect in her walk, and lived
      in great concord with her husband, save that the good Countess was
      something of a puritan, and kept more company with ministers than was
      altogether agreeable to Lord Huntinglen, who is, as your Majesty well
      knows, a man of the old rough world, that will drink and swear."
    </p>
    <p>
      "O Geordie!" exclaimed the king, "these are auld-warld frailties, of whilk
      we dare not pronounce even ourselves absolutely free. But the warld grows
      worse from day to day, Geordie. The juveniles of this age may weel say
      with the poet&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     'Aetas parentum, pejor avis, tulit Nos nequiores&mdash;'
</pre>
    <p>
      This Dalgarno does not drink so much, or swear so much, as his father; but
      he wenches, Geordie, and he breaks his word and oath baith. As to what you
      say of the leddy, and the ministers, we are a' fallible creatures,
      Geordie, priests and kings, as weel as others; and wha kens but what that
      may account for the difference between this Dalgarno and his father? The
      earl is the vera soul of honour, and cares nae mair for warld's gear than
      a noble hound for the quest of a foulmart; but as for his son, he was like
      to brazen us a' out&mdash;ourselves, Steenie, Baby Charles, and our
      council&mdash;till he heard of the tocher, and then, by my kingly crown,
      he lap like a cock at a grossart! These are discrepancies betwixt parent
      and son not to be accounted for naturally, according to Baptista Porta,
      Michael Scott <i>de secretis</i>, and others.&mdash;Ah, Jingling Geordie,
      if your clouting the caldron, and jingling on pots, pans, and veshels of
      all manner of metal, hadna jingled a' your grammar out of your head, I
      could have touched on that matter to you at mair length."
    </p>
    <p>
      Heriot was too plain-spoken to express much concern for the loss of his
      grammar learning on this occasion; but after modestly hinting that he had
      seen many men who could not fill their father's bonnet, though no one had
      been suspected of wearing their father's nightcap, he inquired "whether
      Lord Dalgarno had consented to do the Lady Hermione justice."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Troth, man, I have small doubt that he will," quoth the king; "I gave him
      the schedule of her worldly substance, which you delivered to us in the
      council, and we allowed him half-an-hour to chew the cud upon that. It is
      rare reading for bringing him to reason. I left Baby Charles and Steenie
      laying his duty before him; and if he can resist doing what <i>they</i>
      desire him&mdash;why, I wish he would teach <i>me</i> the gate of it. O
      Geordie, Jingling Geordie, it was grand to hear Baby Charles laying down
      the guilt of dissimulation, and Steenie lecturing on the turpitude of
      incontinence!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am afraid," said George Heriot, more hastily than prudently, "I might
      have thought of the old proverb of Satan reproving sin."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Deil hae our saul, neighbour," said the king, reddening, "but ye are not
      blate! I gie ye license to speak freely, and, by our saul, ye do not let
      the privilege become lost <i>non utendo</i>&mdash;it will suffer no
      negative prescription in your hands. Is it fit, think ye, that Baby
      Charles should let his thoughts be publicly seen?&mdash;No&mdash;no&mdash;princes'
      thoughts are <i>arcana imperii</i>&mdash;<i>Qui nescit dissimulare nescit
      regnare</i>. Every liege subject is bound to speak the whole truth to the
      king, but there is nae reciprocity of obligation&mdash;and for Steenie
      having been whiles a dike-louper at a time, is it for you, who are his
      goldsmith, and to whom, I doubt, he awes an uncomatable sum, to cast that
      up to him?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Heriot did not feel himself called on to play the part of Zeno and
      sacrifice himself for upholding the cause of moral truth; he did not
      desert it, however, by disavowing his words, but simply expressed sorrow
      for having offended his Majesty, with which the placable king was
      sufficiently satisfied.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And now, Geordie, man," quoth he, "we will to this culprit, and hear what
      he has to say for himself, for I will see the job cleared this blessed
      day. Ye maun come wi' me, for your evidence may be wanted."
    </p>
    <p>
      The king led the way, accordingly, into a larger apartment, where the
      Prince, the Duke of Buckingham, and one or two privy counsellors were
      seated at a table, before which stood Lord Dalgarno, in an attitude of as
      much elegant ease and indifference as could be expressed, considering the
      stiff dress and manners of the times.
    </p>
    <p>
      All rose and bowed reverently, while the king, to use a north country
      word, expressive of his mode of locomotion, <i>toddled</i> to his chair or
      throne, making a sign to Heriot to stand behind him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We hope," said his Majesty, "that Lord Dalgarno stands prepared to do
      justice to this unfortunate lady, and to his own character and honour?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "May I humbly inquire the penalty," said Lord Dalgarno, "in case I should
      unhappily find compliance with your Majesty's demands impossible?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Banishment frae our Court, my lord," said the king; "frae our Court and
      our countenance."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Unhappy exile that I may be!" said Lord Dalgarno, in a tone of subdued
      irony&mdash;"I will at least carry your Majesty's picture with me, for I
      shall never see such another king."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And banishment, my lord," said the Prince, sternly, "from these our
      dominions."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That must be by form of law, please your Royal Highness," said Dalgarno,
      with an affectation of deep respect; "and I have not heard that there is a
      statute, compelling us, under such penalty, to marry every woman we may
      play the fool with. Perhaps his Grace of Buckingham can tell me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are a villain, Dalgarno," said the haughty and vehement favourite.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Fie, my lord, fie!&mdash;to a prisoner, and in presence of your royal and
      paternal gossip!" said Lord Dalgarno. "But I will cut this deliberation
      short. I have looked over this schedule of the goods and effects of
      Erminia Pauletti, daughter of the late noble&mdash;yes, he is called the
      noble, or I read wrong, Giovanni Pauletti, of the Houee of Sansovino, in
      Genoa, and of the no less noble Lady Maud Olifaunt, of the House of
      Glenvarloch&mdash;Well, I declare that I was pre-contracted in Spain to
      this noble lady, and there has passed betwixt us some certain <i>proelibatio
      matrimonii</i>; and now, what more does this grave assembly require of
      me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "That you should repair the gross and infamous wrong you have done the
      lady, by marrying her within this hour," said the Prince.
    </p>
    <p>
      "O, may it please your Royal Highness," answered Dalgarno, "I have a
      trifling relationship with an old Earl, who calls himself my father, who
      may claim some vote in the matter. Alas! every son is not blessed with an
      obedient parent!" He hazarded a slight glance towards the throne, to give
      meaning to his last words.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We have spoken ourselves with Lord Huntinglen," said the king, "and are
      authorised to consent in his name."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I could never have expected this intervention of a <i>proxaneta</i>,
      which the vulgar translate blackfoot, of such eminent dignity," said
      Dalgarno, scarce concealing a sneer. "And my father hath consented? He was
      wont to say, ere we left Scotland, that the blood of Huntinglen and of
      Glenvarloch would not mingle, were they poured into the same basin.
      Perhaps he has a mind to try the experiment?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My lord," said James, "we will not be longer trifled with&mdash;Will you
      instantly, and <i>sine mora</i>, take this lady to your wife, in our
      chapel?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Statim atque instanter</i>," answered Lord Dalgarno; "for I perceive
      by doing so, I shall obtain power to render great services to the
      commonwealth&mdash;I shall have acquired wealth to supply the wants of
      your Majesty, and a fair wife to be at the command of his Grace of
      Buckingham."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Duke rose, passed to the end of the table where Lord Dalgarno was
      standing, and whispered in his ear, "You have placed a fair sister at my
      command ere now."
    </p>
    <p>
      This taunt cut deep through Lord Dalgarno's assumed composure. He started
      as if an adder had stung him, but instantly composed himself, and, fixing
      on the Duke's still smiling countenance an eye which spoke unutterable
      hatred, he pointed the forefinger of his left hand to the hilt of his
      sword, but in a manner which could scarce be observed by any one save
      Buckingham. The Duke gave him another smile of bitter scorn, and returned
      to his seat, in obedience to the commands of the king, who continued
      calling out, "Sit down, Steenie, sit down, I command ye&mdash;we will hae
      nae harnsbreaking here."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your Majesty needs not fear my patience," said Lord Dalgarno; "and that I
      may keep it the better, I will not utter another word in this presence,
      save those enjoined to me in that happy portion of the Prayer-Book, which
      begins with <i>Dearly Beloved</i>, and ends with <i>amazement</i>."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are a hardened villain, Dalgarno," said the king; "and were I the
      lass, by my father's saul, I would rather brook the stain of having been
      your concubine, than run the risk of becoming your wife. But she shall be
      under our special protection.&mdash;Come, my lords, we will ourselves see
      this blithesome bridal." He gave the signal by rising, and moved towards
      the door, followed by the train. Lord Dalgarno attended, speaking to none,
      and spoken to by no one, yet seeming as easy and unembarrassed in his gait
      and manner as if in reality a happy bridegroom.
    </p>
    <p>
      They reached the Chapel by a private entrance, which communicated from the
      royal apartment. The Bishop of Winchester, in his pontifical dress, stood
      beside the altar; on the other side, supported by Monna Paula, the
      colourless, faded, half-lifeless form of the Lady Hermione, or Erminia
      Pauletti. Lord Dalgarno bowed profoundly to her, and the Prince, observing
      the horror with which she regarded him, walked up, and said to her, with
      much dignity,&mdash;"Madam, ere you put yourself under the authority of
      this man, let me inform you, he hath in the fullest degree vindicated your
      honour, so far as concerns your former intercourse. It is for you to
      consider whether you will put your fortune and happiness into the hands of
      one, who has shown himself unworthy of all trust."
    </p>
    <p>
      The lady, with much difficulty, found words to make reply. "I owe to his
      Majesty's goodness," she said, "the care of providing me some reservation
      out of my own fortune, for my decent sustenance. The rest cannot be better
      disposed than in buying back the fair fame of which I am deprived, and the
      liberty of ending my life in peace and seclusion."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The contract has been drawn up," said the king, "under our own eye,
      specially discharging the <i>potestas maritalis</i>, and agreeing they
      shall live separate. So buckle them, my Lord Bishop, as fast as you can,
      that they may sunder again the sooner."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Bishop accordingly opened his book and commenced the marriage
      ceremony, under circumstances so novel and so inauspicious. The responses
      of the bride were only expressed by inclinations of the head and body;
      while those of the bridegroom were spoken boldly and distinctly, with a
      tone resembling levity, if not scorn. When it was concluded, Lord Dalgarno
      advanced as if to salute the bride, but seeing that she drew back in fear
      and abhorrence, he contented himself with making her a low bow. He then
      drew up his form to its height, and stretched himself as if examining the
      power of his limbs, but elegantly, and without any forcible change of
      attitude. "I could caper yet," he said "though I am in fetters&mdash;but
      they are of gold, and lightly worn.&mdash;Well, I see all eyes look cold
      on me, and it is time I should withdraw. The sun shines elsewhere than in
      England! But first I must ask how this fair Lady Dalgarno is to be
      bestowed. Methinks it is but decent I should know. Is she to be sent to
      the harem of my Lord Duke? Or is this worthy citizen, as before&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hold thy base ribald tongue!" said his father, Lord Huntinglen, who had
      kept in the background during the ceremony, and now stepping suddenly
      forward, caught the lady by the arm, and confronted her unworthy husband.&mdash;"The
      Lady Dalgarno," he continued, "shall remain as a widow in my house. A
      widow I esteem her, as much as if the grave had closed over her
      dishonoured husband."
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Dalgarno exhibited momentary symptoms of extreme confusion, and said,
      in a submissive tone, "If you, my lord, can wish me dead, I cannot, though
      your heir, return the compliment. Few of the first-born of Israel," he
      added, recovering himself from the single touch of emotion he had
      displayed, "can say so much with truth. But I will convince you ere I go,
      that I am a true descendant of a house famed for its memory of injuries."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I marvel your Majesty will listen to him longer," said Prince Charles.
      "Methinks we have heard enough of his daring insolence."
    </p>
    <p>
      But James, who took the interest of a true gossip in such a scene as was
      now passing, could not bear to cut the controversy short, but imposed
      silence on his son, with "Whisht, Baby Charles&mdash;there is a good
      bairn, whisht!&mdash;I want to hear what the frontless loon can say."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Only, sir," said Dalgarno, "that but for one single line in this
      schedule, all else that it contains could not have bribed me to take that
      woman's hand into mine."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That line maun have been the SUMMA TOTALIS," said the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not so, sire," replied Dalgarno. "The sum total might indeed have been an
      object for consideration even to a Scottish king, at no very distant
      period; but it would have had little charms for me, save that I see here
      an entry which gives me the power of vengeance over the family of
      Glenvarloch; and learn from it that yonder pale bride, when she put the
      wedding-torch into my hand, gave me the power of burning her mother's
      house to ashes!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "How is that?" said the king. "What is he speaking about, Jingling
      Geordie?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "This friendly citizen, my liege," said Lord Dalgarno, "hath expended a
      sum belonging to my lady, and now, I thank heaven, to me, in acquiring a
      certain mortgage, or wanset, over the estate of Glenvarloch, which, if it
      be not redeemed before to-morrow at noon, will put me in possession of the
      fair demesnes of those who once called themselves our house's rivals."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Can this be true?" said the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is even but too true, please your Majesty," answered the citizen. "The
      Lady Hermione having advanced the money for the original creditor, I was
      obliged, in honour and honesty, to take the rights to her; and doubtless,
      they pass to her husband."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But the warrant, man," said the king&mdash;"the warrant on our Exchequer&mdash;Couldna
      that supply the lad wi' the means of redemption?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Unhappily, my liege, he has lost it, or disposed of it&mdash;It is not to
      be found. He is the most unlucky youth!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is a proper spot of work!" said the king, beginning to amble about
      and play with the points of his doublet and hose, in expression of dismay.
      "We cannot aid him without paying our debts twice over, and we have, in
      the present state of our Exchequer, scarce the means of paying them once."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have told me news," said Lord Dalgarno, "but I will take no
      advantage."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do not," said his father, "be a bold villain, since thou must be one, and
      seek revenge with arms, and not with the usurer's weapons."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pardon me, my lord," said Lord Dalgarno. "Pen and ink are now my surest
      means of vengeance; and more land is won by the lawyer with the ram-skin,
      than by the Andrea Ferrara with his sheepshead handle. But, as I said
      before, I will take no advantages. I will await in town to-morrow, near
      Covent Garden; if any one will pay the redemption-money to my scrivener,
      with whom the deeds lie, the better for Lord Glenvarloch; if not, I will
      go forward on the next day, and travel with all dispatch to the north, to
      take possession."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Take a father's malison with you, unhappy wretch!" said Lord Huntinglen.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And a king's, who is <i>pater patriae</i>," said James.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I trust to bear both lightly," said Lord Dalgarno; and bowing around him,
      he withdrew; while all present, oppressed, and, as it were, overawed, by
      his determined effrontery, found they could draw breath more freely, when
      he at length relieved them of his society. Lord Huntinglen, applying
      himself to comfort his new daughter-in-law, withdrew with her also; and
      the king, with his privy-council, whom he had not dismissed, again
      returned to his council-chamber, though the hour was unusually late.
      Heriot's attendance was still commanded, but for what reason was not
      explained to him.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXIII
    </h2>
    <p>
      &mdash;-I'll play the eavesdropper. <i>Richard III., Act V., Scene 3</i>.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      James had no sooner resumed his seat at the council-board than he began to
      hitch in his chair, cough, use his handkerchief, and make other
      intimations that he meditated a long speech. The council composed
      themselves to the beseeming degree of attention. Charles, as strict in his
      notions of decorum, as his father was indifferent to it, fixed himself in
      an attitude of rigid and respectful attention, while the haughty
      favourite, conscious of his power over both father and son, stretched
      himself more easily on his seat, and, in assuming an appearance of
      listening, seemed to pay a debt to ceremonial rather than to duty.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I doubt not, my lords," said the Monarch, "that some of you may be
      thinking the hour of refection is past, and that it is time to ask with
      the slave in the comedy&mdash;<i>Quid de symbolo?</i>&mdash;Nevertheless,
      to do justice and exercise judgment is our meat and drink; and now we are
      to pray your wisdom to consider the case of this unhappy youth, Lord
      Glenvarloch, and see whether, consistently with our honour, any thing can
      be done in his favour."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am surprised at your Majesty's wisdom making the inquiry," said the
      Duke; "it is plain this Dalgarno hath proved one of the most insolent
      villains on earth, and it must therefore be clear, that if Lord
      Glenvarloch had run him through the body, there would but have been out of
      the world a knave who had lived in it too long. I think Lord Glenvarloch
      hath had much wrong; and I regret that, by the persuasions of this false
      fellow, I have myself had some hand in it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ye speak like a child, Steenie&mdash;I mean my Lord of Buckingham,"
      answered the king, "and as one that does not understand the logic of the
      schools; for an action may be inconsequential or even meritorious, <i>quoad
      hominem</i>, that is, as touching him upon <i>whom</i> it is acted; and
      yet most criminal, <i>quoad locum</i>, or considering the place <i>wherein</i>
      it is done; as a man may lawfully dance Chrighty Beardie or any other
      dance in a tavern, but not <i>inter parietes ecclesiae</i>. So that,
      though it may have been a good deed to have sticked Lord Dalgarno, being
      such as he has shown himself, anywhere else, yet it fell under the plain
      statute, when violence was offered within the verge of the Court. For, let
      me tell you, my lords, the statute against striking would be of no small
      use in our Court, if it could be eluded by justifying the person stricken
      to be a knave. It is much to be lamented that I ken nae Court in
      Christendom where knaves are not to be found; and if men are to break the
      peace under pretence of beating them, why, it will rain Jeddart staves
      [Footnote: The old-fashioned weapon called the Jeddart staff was a species
      of battle-axe. Of a very great tempest, it is said, in the south of
      Scotland, that it rains Jeddart staffs, as in England the common people
      talk of its raining cats and dogs.] in our very ante-chamber."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What your Majesty says," replied Prince Charles, "is marked with your
      usual wisdom&mdash;the precincts of palaces must be sacred as well as the
      persons of kings, which are respected even in the most barbarous nations,
      as being one step only beneath their divinities. But your Majesty's will
      can control the severity of this and every other law, and it is in your
      power, on consideration of his case, to grant the rash young man a free
      pardon."
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Rem acu tetigisti, Carole, mi puerule,</i>" answered the king; "and
      know, my lords, that we have, by a shrewd device and gift of our own,
      already sounded the very depth of this Lord Glenvarloch's disposition. I
      trow there be among you some that remember my handling in the curious case
      of my Lady Lake, and how I trimmed them about the story of hearkening
      behind the arras. Now this put me to cogitation, and I remembered me of
      having read that Dionysius, King of Syracuse, whom historians call
      Tyrannos, which signifieth not in the Greek tongue, as in ours, a
      truculent usurper, but a royal king who governs, it may be, something more
      strictly than we and other lawful monarchs, whom the ancients termed
      Basileis&mdash;Now this Dionysius of Syracuse caused cunning workmen to
      build for himself a <i>lugg</i>&mdash;D'ye ken what that is, my Lord
      Bishop?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "A cathedral, I presume to guess," answered the Bishop.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What the deil, man&mdash;I crave your lordship's pardon for swearing&mdash;but
      it was no cathedral&mdash;only a lurking-place called the king's <i>lugg</i>,
      or <i>ear</i>, where he could sit undescried, and hear the converse of his
      prisoners. Now, sirs, in imitation of this Dionysius, whom I took for my
      pattern, the rather that he was a great linguist and grammarian, and
      taught a school with good applause after his abdication, (either he or his
      successor of the same name, it matters not whilk)&mdash;I have caused them
      to make a <i>lugg</i> up at the state-prison of the Tower yonder, more
      like a pulpit than a cathedral, my Lord Bishop&mdash;and communicating
      with the arras behind the Lieutenant's chamber, where we may sit and
      privily hear the discourse of such prisoners as are pent up there for
      state-offences, and so creep into the very secrets of our enemies."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Prince cast a glance towards the Duke, expressive of great vexation
      and disgust. Buckingham shrugged his shoulders, but the motion was so
      slight as to be almost imperceptible.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Weel, my lords, ye ken the fray at the hunting this morning&mdash;I shall
      not get out of the trembling exies until I have a sound night's sleep&mdash;just
      after that, they bring ye in a pretty page that had been found in the
      Park. We were warned against examining him ourselves by the anxious care
      of those around us; nevertheless, holding our life ever at the service of
      these kingdoms, we commanded all to avoid the room, the rather that we
      suspected this boy to be a girl. What think ye, my lords?&mdash;few of you
      would have thought I had a hawk's eye for sic gear; but we thank God, that
      though we are old, we know so much of such toys as may beseem a man of
      decent gravity. Weel, my lords, we questioned this maiden in male attire
      ourselves, and I profess it was a very pretty interrogatory, and well
      followed. For, though she at first professed that she assumed this
      disguise in order to countenance the woman who should present us with the
      Lady Hermione's petition, for whom she professed entire affection; yet
      when we, suspecting <i>anguis in herba</i>, did put her to the very
      question, she was compelled to own a virtuous attachment for
      Glenvarlochides, in such a pretty passion of shame and fear, that we had
      much ado to keep our own eyes from keeping company with hers in weeping.
      Also, she laid before us the false practices of this Dalgarno towards
      Glenvarlochides, inveigling him into houses of ill resort, and giving him
      evil counsel under pretext of sincere friendship, whereby the
      inexperienced lad was led to do what was prejudicial to himself, and
      offensive to us. But, however prettily she told her tale, we determined
      not altogether to trust to her narration, but rather to try the experiment
      whilk we had devised for such occasions. And having ourselves speedily
      passed from Greenwich to the Tower, we constituted ourselves eavesdropper,
      as it is called, to observe what should pass between Glenvarlochides and
      his page, whom we caused to be admitted to his apartment, well judging
      that if they were of counsel together to deceive us, it could not be but
      something of it would spunk out&mdash;And what think ye we saw, my lords?&mdash;Naething
      for you to sniggle and laugh at, Steenie&mdash;for I question if you could
      have played the temperate and Christian-like part of this poor lad
      Glenvarloch. He might be a Father of the Church in comparison of you, man.&mdash;And
      then, to try his patience yet farther, we loosed on him a courtier and a
      citizen, that is Sir Mungo Malagrowther and our servant George Heriot
      here, wha dang the poor lad about, and didna greatly spare our royal
      selves.&mdash;You mind, Geordie, what you said about the wives and
      concubines? but I forgie ye, man&mdash;nae need of kneeling, I forgie ye&mdash;the
      readier, that it regards a certain particular, whilk, as it added not much
      to Solomon's credit, the lack of it cannot be said to impinge on ours.
      Aweel, my lords, for all temptation of sore distress and evil ensample,
      this poor lad never loosed his tongue on us to say one unbecoming word&mdash;which
      inclines us the rather, acting always by your wise advice, to treat this
      affair of the Park as a thing done in the heat of blood, and under strong
      provocation, and therefore to confer our free pardon on Lord Glenvarloch."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am happy your gracious Majesty," said the Duke of Buckingham, "has
      arrived at that conclusion, though I could never have guessed at the road
      by which you attained it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I trust," said Prince Charles, "that it is not a path which your Majesty
      will think it consistent with your high dignity to tread frequently."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never while I live again, Baby Charles, that I give you my royal word on.
      They say that hearkeners hear ill tales of themselves&mdash;by my saul, my
      very ears are tingling wi' that auld sorrow Sir Mungo's sarcasms. He
      called us close-fisted, Steenie&mdash;I am sure you can contradict that.
      But it is mere envy in the auld mutilated sinner, because he himself has
      neither a noble to hold in his loof, nor fingers to close on it if he
      had." Here the king lost recollection of Sir Mungo's irreverence in
      chuckling over his own wit, and only farther alluded to it by saying&mdash;"We
      must give the old maunderer <i>bos in linguam</i>&mdash;something to stop
      his mouth, or he will rail at us from Dan to Beersheba.&mdash;And now, my
      lords, let our warrant of mercy to Lord Glenvarloch be presently
      expedited, and he put to his freedom; and as his estate is likely to go so
      sleaveless a gate, we will consider what means of favour we can show him.&mdash;My
      lords, I wish you an appetite to an early supper&mdash;for our labours
      have approached that term.&mdash;Baby Charles and Steenie, you will remain
      till our couchee.&mdash;My Lord Bishop, you will be pleased to stay to
      bless our meat.&mdash;Geordie Heriot, a word with you apart."
    </p>
    <p>
      His Majesty then drew the citizen into a corner, while the counsellors,
      those excepted who had been commanded to remain, made their obeisance, and
      withdrew. "Geordie," said the king, "my good and trusty servant"&mdash;Here
      he busied his fingers much with the points and ribbons of his dress,&mdash;"Ye
      see that we have granted, from our own natural sense of right and justice,
      that which yon long-backed fallow, Moniplies I think they ca' him,
      proffered to purchase from us with a mighty bribe; whilk we refused, as
      being a crowned king, who wad neither sell our justice nor our mercy for
      pecuniar consideration. Now, what think ye should be the upshot of this?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My Lord Glenvarloch's freedom, and his restoration to your Majesty's
      favour," said Heriot.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I ken that," said the king, peevishly. "Ye are very dull to-day. I mean,
      what do you think this fallow Moniplies should think about the matter?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Surely that your Majesty is a most good and gracious sovereign," answered
      Heriot.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We had need to be gude and gracious baith," said the king, still more
      pettishly, "that have idiots about us that cannot understand what we mint
      at, unless we speak it out in braid Lowlands. See this chield Moniplies,
      sir, and tell him what we have done for Lord Glenvarloch, in whom he takes
      such part, out of our own gracious motion, though we refused to do it on
      ony proffer of private advantage. Now, you may put it till him, as if of
      your own mind, whether it will be a gracious or a dutiful part in him, to
      press us for present payment of the two or three hundred miserable pounds
      for whilk we were obliged to opignorate our jewels? Indeed, mony men may
      think ye wad do the part of a good citizen, if you took it on yourself to
      refuse him payment, seeing he hath had what he professed to esteem full
      satisfaction, and considering, moreover, that it is evident he hath no
      pressing need of the money, whereof we have much necessity."
    </p>
    <p>
      George Heriot sighed internally. "O my Master," thought he&mdash;"my dear
      Master, is it then fated you are never to indulge any kingly or noble
      sentiment, without its being sullied by some afterthought of interested
      selfishness!"
    </p>
    <p>
      The king troubled himself not about what he thought, but taking him by the
      collar, said,&mdash;"Ye ken my meaning now, Jingler&mdash;awa wi' ye. You
      are a wise man&mdash;manage it your ain gate&mdash;but forget not our
      present straits." The citizen made his obeisance, and withdrew.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And now, bairns," said the king, "what do you look upon each other for&mdash;and
      what have you got to ask of your dear dad and gossip?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Only," said the Prince, "that it would please your Majesty to command the
      lurking-place at the prison to be presently built up&mdash;the groans of a
      captive should not be brought in evidence against him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What! build up my lugg, Baby Charles? And yet, better deaf than hear ill
      tales of oneself. So let them build it up, hard and fast, without delay,
      the rather that my back is sair with sitting in it for a whole hour.&mdash;And
      now let us see what the cooks have been doing for us, bonny bairns."
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> </a>
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    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXIV
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  To this brave man the knight repairs
  For counsel in his law affairs;
  And found him mounted in his pew.
  With books and money placed for show,
  Like nest-eggs to make clients lay,
  And for his false opinion pay.
                        <i>Hudibras.</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      Our readers may recollect a certain smooth-tongued, lank-haired,
      buckram-suited, Scottish scrivener, who, in the earlier part of this
      history, appeared in the character of a protege of George Heriot. It is to
      his house we are about to remove, but times have changed with him. The
      petty booth hath become a chamber of importance&mdash;the buckram suit is
      changed into black velvet; and although the wearer retains his puritanical
      humility and politeness to clients of consequence, he can now look others
      broad in the face, and treat them with a full allowance of superior
      opulence, and the insolence arising from it. It was but a short period
      that had achieved these alterations, nor was the party himself as yet
      entirely accustomed to them, but the change was becoming less embarrassing
      to him with every day's practice. Among other acquisitions of wealth, you
      may see one of Davy Ramsay's best timepieces on the table, and his eye is
      frequently observing its revolutions, while a boy, whom he employs as a
      scribe, is occasionally sent out to compare its progress with the clock of
      Saint Dunstan.
    </p>
    <p>
      The scrivener himself seemed considerably agitated. He took from a
      strong-box a bundle of parchments, and read passages of them with great
      attention; then began to soliloquize&mdash;"There is no outlet which law
      can suggest&mdash;no back-door of evasion&mdash;none&mdash;if the lands of
      Glenvarloch are not redeemed before it rings noon, Lord Dalgarno has them
      a cheap pennyworth. Strange, that he should have been at last able to set
      his patron at defiance, and achieve for himself the fair estate, with the
      prospect of which he so long flattered the powerful Buckingham.&mdash;Might
      not Andrew Skurliewhitter nick him as neatly? He hath been my patron&mdash;true&mdash;not
      more than Buckingham was his; and he can be so no more, for he departs
      presently for Scotland. I am glad of it&mdash;I hate him, and I fear him.
      He knows too many of my secrets&mdash;I know too many of his. But, no&mdash;no&mdash;no&mdash;I
      need never attempt it, there are no means of over-reaching him.&mdash;Well,
      Willie, what o'clock?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ele'en hours just chappit, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Go to your desk without, child," said the scrivener. "What to do next&mdash;I
      shall lose the old Earl's fair business, and, what is worse, his son's
      foul practice. Old Heriot looks too close into business to permit me more
      than the paltry and ordinary dues. The Whitefriars business was
      profitable, but it has become unsafe ever since&mdash;pah!&mdash;what
      brought that in my head just now? I can hardly hold my pen&mdash;if men
      should see me in this way!&mdash;Willie," (calling aloud to the boy,) "a
      cup of distilled waters&mdash;Soh!&mdash;now I could face the devil."
    </p>
    <p>
      He spoke the last words aloud, and close by the door of the apartment,
      which was suddenly opened by Richie Moniplies, followed by two gentlemen,
      and attended by two porters bearing money-bags. "If ye can face the devil,
      Maister Skurliewhitter," said Richie, "ye will be the less likely to turn
      your back on a sack or twa o' siller, which I have ta'en the freedom to
      bring you. Sathanas and Mammon are near akin." The porters, at the same
      time, ranged their load on the floor.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I&mdash;I,"&mdash;stammered the surprised scrivener&mdash;"I cannot guess
      what you mean, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Only that I have brought you the redemption-money on the part of Lord
      Glenvarloch, in discharge of a certain mortgage over his family
      inheritance. And here, in good time, comes Master Reginald Lowestoffe, and
      another honourable gentleman of the Temple, to be witnesses to the
      transaction."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I&mdash;I incline to think," said the scrivener, "that the term is
      expired."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You will pardon us, Master Scrivener," said Lowestoffe. "You will not
      baffle us&mdash;it wants three-quarters of noon by every clock in the
      city."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I must have time, gentlemen," said Andrew, "to examine the gold by tale
      and weight."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do so at your leisure, Master Scrivener," replied Lowestoffe again. "We
      have already seen the contents of each sack told and weighed, and we have
      put our seals on them. There they stand in a row, twenty in number, each
      containing three hundred yellow-hammers&mdash;we are witnesses to the
      lawful tender."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Gentlemen," said the scrivener, "this security now belongs to a mighty
      lord. I pray you, abate your haste, and let me send for Lord Dalgarno,&mdash;or
      rather I will run for him myself."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he took up his hat; but Lowestoffe called out,&mdash;"Friend
      Moniplies, keep the door fast, an thou be'st a man! he seeks but to put
      off the time.&mdash;In plain terms, Andrew, you may send for the devil, if
      you will, who is the mightiest lord of my acquaintance, but from hence you
      stir not till you have answered our proposition, by rejecting or accepting
      the redemption-money fairly tendered&mdash;there it lies&mdash;take it, or
      leave it, as you will. I have skill enough to know that the law is
      mightier than any lord in Britain&mdash;I have learned so much at the
      Temple, if I have learned nothing else. And see that you trifle not with
      it, lest it make your long ears an inch shorter, Master Skurliewhitter."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, gentlemen, if you threaten me," said the scrivener, "I cannot resist
      compulsion."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No threats&mdash;no threats at all, my little Andrew," said Lowestoffe;
      "a little friendly advice only&mdash;forget not, honest Andrew, I have
      seen you in Alsatia."
    </p>
    <p>
      Without answering a single word, the scrivener sat down, and drew in
      proper form a full receipt for the money proffered.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I take it on your report, Master Lowestoffe," he said; "I hope you will
      remember I have insisted neither upon weight nor tale&mdash;I have been
      civil&mdash;if there is deficiency I shall come to loss."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Fillip his nose with a gold-piece, Richie," quoth the Templar. "Take up
      the papers, and now wend we merrily to dine thou wot'st where."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If I might choose," said Richie, "it should not be at yonder roguish
      ordinary; but as it is your pleasure, gentlemen, the treat shall be given
      wheresoever you will have it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "At the ordinary," said the one Templar.
    </p>
    <p>
      "At Beaujeu's," said the other; "it is the only house in London for neat
      wines, nimble drawers, choice dishes, and&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "And high charges," quoth Richie Moniplies. "But, as I said before,
      gentlemen, ye have a right to command me in this thing, having so frankly
      rendered me your service in this small matter of business, without other
      stipulation than that of a slight banquet."
    </p>
    <p>
      The latter part of this discourse passed in the street, where, immediately
      afterwards, they met Lord Dalgarno. He appeared in haste, touched his hat
      slightly to Master Lowestoffe, who returned his reverence with the same
      negligence, and walked slowly on with his companion, while Lord Dalgarno
      stopped Richie Moniplies with a commanding sign, which the instinct of
      education compelled Moniplies, though indignant, to obey.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Whom do you now follow, sirrah?" demanded the noble.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Whomsoever goeth before me, my lord," answered Moniplies.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No sauciness, you knave&mdash;I desire to know if you still serve Nigel
      Olifaunt?" said Dalgarno.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am friend to the noble Lord Glenvarloch," answered Moniplies, with
      dignity.
    </p>
    <p>
      "True," replied Lord Dalgarno, "that noble lord has sunk to seek friends
      among lackeys&mdash;Nevertheless,&mdash;hark thee hither,&mdash;nevertheless,
      if he be of the same mind as when we last met, thou mayst show him, that,
      on to-morrow, at four afternoon, I shall pass northward by Enfield Chase&mdash;I
      will be slenderly attended, as I design to send my train through Barnet.
      It is my purpose to ride an easy pace through the forest, and to linger a
      while by Camlet Moat&mdash;he knows the place; and, if he be aught but an
      Alsatian bully, will think it fitter for some purposes than the Park. He
      is, I understand, at liberty, or shortly to be so. If he fail me at the
      place nominated, he must seek me in Scotland, where he will find me
      possessed of his father's estate and lands."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Humph!" muttered Richie; "there go twa words to that bargain."
    </p>
    <p>
      He even meditated a joke on the means which he was conscious he possessed
      of baffling Lord Dalgarno's expectations; but there was something of keen
      and dangerous excitement in the eyes of the young nobleman, which prompted
      his discretion for once to rule his vit, and he only answered&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "God grant your lordship may well brook your new conquest&mdash;when you
      get it. I shall do your errand to my lord&mdash;whilk is to say," he added
      internally, "he shall never hear a word of it from Richie. I am not the
      lad to put him in such hazard."
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Dalgarno looked at him sharply for a moment, as if to penetrate the
      meaning of the dry ironical tone, which, in spite of Richie's awe, mingled
      with his answer, and then waved his hand, in signal he should pass on. He
      himself walked slowly till the trio were out of sight, then turned back
      with hasty steps to the door of the scrivener, which he had passed in his
      progress, knocked, and was admitted.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Dalgarno found the man of law with the money-bags still standing
      before him; and it escaped not his penetrating glance, that Skurliewhitter
      was disconcerted and alarmed at his approach.
    </p>
    <p>
      "How now, man," he said; "what! hast thou not a word of oily compliment to
      me on my happy marriage?&mdash;not a word of most philosophical
      consolation on my disgrace at Court?&mdash;Or has my mien, as a wittol and
      discarded favourite, the properties of the Gorgon's head, the <i>turbatae
      Palladis arma</i>, as Majesty might say?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My lord, I am glad&mdash;my lord, I am sorry,"&mdash;answered the
      trembling scrivener, who, aware of the vivacity of Lord Dalgarno's temper,
      dreaded the consequence of the communication he had to make to him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Glad and sorry!" answered Lord Dalgarno. "That is blowing hot and cold,
      with a witness. Hark ye, you picture of petty-larceny personified&mdash;if
      you are sorry I am a cuckold, remember I am only mine own, you knave&mdash;there
      is too little blood in her cheeks to have sent her astray elsewhere. Well,
      I will bear mine antler'd honours as I may&mdash;gold shall gild them; and
      for my disgrace, revenge shall sweeten it. Ay, revenge&mdash;and there
      strikes the happy hour!"
    </p>
    <p>
      The hour of noon was accordingly heard to peal from Saint Dunstan's. "Well
      banged, brave hammers!" said Lord Dalgarno, in triumph.&mdash;"The estate
      and lands of Glenvarloch are crushed beneath these clanging blows. If my
      steel to-morrow prove but as true as your iron maces to-day, the poor
      landless lord will little miss what your peal hath cut him out from.&mdash;The
      papers&mdash;the papers, thou varlet! I am to-morrow Northward, ho! At
      four, afternoon, I am bound to be at Camlet Moat, in the Enfield Chase.
      To-night most of my retinue set forward. The papers!&mdash;Come,
      dispatch."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My lord, the&mdash;the papers of the Glenvarloch mortgage&mdash;I&mdash;I
      have them not."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have them not!" echoed Lord Dalgarno,&mdash;"Hast thou sent them to my
      lodgings, thou varlet? Did I not say I was coming hither?&mdash;What mean
      you by pointing to that money? What villainy have you done for it? It is
      too large to be come honestly by."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your lordship knows best," answered the scrivener, in great perturbation.
      "The gold is your own. It is&mdash;it is&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not the redemption-money of the Glenvarloch estate!" said Dalgarno. "Dare
      not say it is, or I will, upon the spot, divorce your pettifogging soul
      from your carrion carcass!" So saying, he seized the scrivener by the
      collar, and shook him so vehemently, that he tore it from the cassock.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My lord, I must call for help," said the trembling caitiff, who felt at
      that moment all the bitterness of the mortal agony&mdash;"It was the law's
      act, not mine. What could I do?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Dost ask?&mdash;why, thou snivelling dribblet of damnation, were all thy
      oaths, tricks, and lies spent? or do you hold yourself too good to utter
      them in my service? Thou shouldst have lied, cozened, out-sworn truth
      itself, rather than stood betwixt me and my revenge! But mark me," he
      continued; "I know more of your pranks than would hang thee. A line from
      me to the Attorney-General, and thou art sped."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What would you have me to do, my lord?" said the scrivener. "All that art
      and law can accomplish, I will try."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, are you converted? do so, or pity of your life!" said the lord; "and
      remember I never fail my word.&mdash;Then keep that accursed gold," he
      continued. "Or, stay, I will not trust you&mdash;send me this gold home
      presently to my lodging. I will still forward to Scotland, and it shall go
      hard but that I hold out Glenvarloch Castle against the owner, by means of
      the ammunition he has himself furnished. Thou art ready to serve me?" The
      scrivener professed the most implicit obedience.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then remember, the hour was past ere payment was tendered&mdash;and see
      thou hast witnesses of trusty memory to prove that point."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tush, my lord, I will do more," said Andrew, reviving&mdash;"I will prove
      that Lord Glenvarloch's friends threatened, swaggered, and drew swords on
      me.&mdash;Did your lordship think I was ungrateful enough to have suffered
      them to prejudice your lordship, save that they had bare swords at my
      throat?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Enough said," replied Dalgarno; "you are perfect&mdash;mind that you
      continue so, as you would avoid my fury. I leave my page below&mdash;get
      porters, and let them follow me instantly with the gold."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, Lord Dalgarno left the scrivener's habitation.
    </p>
    <p>
      Skurliewhitter, having dispatched his boy to get porters of trust for
      transporting the money, remained alone and in dismay, meditating by what
      means he could shake himself free of the vindictive and ferocious
      nobleman, who possessed at once a dangerous knowledge of his character,
      and the power of exposing him, where exposure would be ruin. He had indeed
      acquiesced in the plan, rapidly sketched, for obtaining possession of the
      ransomed estate, but his experience foresaw that this would be impossible;
      while, on the other hand, he could not anticipate the various consequences
      of Lord Dalgarno's resentment, without fears, from which his sordid soul
      recoiled. To be in the power, and subject both to the humours and the
      extortions of a spendthrift young lord, just when his industry had shaped
      out the means of fortune,&mdash;it was the most cruel trick which fate
      could have played the incipient usurer.
    </p>
    <p>
      While the scrivener was in this fit of anxious anticipation, one knocked
      at the door of the apartment; and, being desired to enter, appeared in the
      coarse riding-cloak of uncut Wiltshire cloth, fastened by a broad leather
      belt and brass buckle, which was then generally worn by graziers and
      countrymen. Skurliewhitter, believing he saw in his visitor a country
      client who might prove profitable, had opened his mouth to request him to
      be seated, when the stranger, throwing back his frieze hood which he had
      drawn over his face, showed the scrivener features well imprinted in his
      recollection, but which he never saw without a disposition to swoon.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is it you?" he said, faintly, as the stranger replaced the hood which
      concealed his features.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who else should it be?" said his visitor.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou son of parchment, got betwixt the inkhorn And the stuff'd
      process-bag&mdash;that mayest call The pen thy father, and the ink thy
      mother,
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
 The wax thy brother, and the sand thy sister
 And the good pillory thy cousin allied&mdash;
 Rise, and do reverence unto me, thy better!"
</pre>
    <p>
      "Not yet down to the country," said the scrivener, "after every warning?
      Do not think your grazier's cloak will bear you out, captain&mdash;no, nor
      your scraps of stage-plays."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, what would you have me to do?" said the captain&mdash;"Would you
      have me starve? If I am to fly, you must eke my wings with a few feathers.
      You can spare them, I think."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You had means already&mdash;you have had ten pieces&mdash;What is become
      of them?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Gone," answered Captain Colepepper&mdash;"Gone, no matter where&mdash;I
      had a mind to bite, and I was bitten, that's all&mdash;I think my hand
      shook at the thought of t'other night's work, for I trowled the doctors
      like a very baby."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And you have lost all, then?&mdash;Well, take this and be gone," said the
      scrivener.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What, two poor smelts! Marry, plague of your bounty!&mdash;But remember,
      you are as deep in as I."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not so, by Heaven!" answered the scrivener; "I only thought of easing the
      old man of some papers and a trifle of his gold, and you took his life."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Were he living," answered Colepepper, "he would rather have lost it than
      his money.&mdash;But that is not the question, Master Skurliewhitter&mdash;you
      undid the private bolts of the window when you visited him about some
      affairs on the day ere he died&mdash;so satisfy yourself, that, if I am
      taken, I will not swing alone. Pity Jack Hempsfield is dead, it spoils the
      old catch,
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     'And three merry men, and three merry men,
      And three merry men are we,
      As ever did sing three parts in a string,
      All under the triple tree.'"
</pre>
    <p>
      "For God's sake, speak lower," said the scrivener; "is this a place or
      time to make your midnight catches heard?&mdash;But how much will serve
      your turn? I tell you I am but ill provided."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You tell me a lie, then," said the bully&mdash;"a most palpable and gross
      lie.&mdash;How much, d'ye say, will serve my turn? Why, one of these bags
      will do for the present."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I swear to you that these bags of money are not at my disposal."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not honestly, perhaps," said the captain, "but that makes little
      difference betwixt us."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I swear to you," continued the scrivener "they are in no way at my
      disposal&mdash;they have been delivered to me by tale&mdash;I am to pay
      them over to Lord Dalgarno, whose boy waits for them, and I could not
      skelder one piece out of them, without risk of hue and cry."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Can you not put off the delivery?" said the bravo, his huge hand still
      fumbling with one of the bags, as if his fingers longed to close on it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Impossible," said the scrivener, "he sets forward to Scotland to-morrow."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay!" said the bully, after a moment's thought&mdash;"Travels he the north
      road with such a charge?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He is well accompanied," added the scrivener; "but yet&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "But yet&mdash;but what?" said the bravo.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, I meant nothing," said the scrivener.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou didst&mdash;thou hadst the wind of some good thing," replied
      Colepepper; "I saw thee pause like a setting dog. Thou wilt say as little,
      and make as sure a sign, as a well-bred spaniel."
    </p>
    <p>
      "All I meant to say, captain, was, that his servants go by Barnet, and he
      himself, with his page, pass through Enfield Chase; and he spoke to me
      yesterday of riding a soft pace."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aha!&mdash;Comest thou to me there, my boy?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "And of resting"&mdash;continued the scrivener,&mdash;"resting a space at
      Camlet Moat."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, this is better than cock-fighting!" said the captain.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I see not how it can advantage you, captain," said the scrivener. "But,
      however, they cannot ride fast, for his page rides the sumpter-horse,
      which carries all that weight," pointing to the money on the table. "Lord
      Dalgarno looks sharp to the world's gear."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That horse will be obliged to those who may ease him of his burden," said
      the bravo; "and egad, he may be met with.&mdash;He hath still that page&mdash;that
      same Lutin&mdash;that goblin? Well, the boy hath set game for me ere now.
      I will be revenged, too, for I owe him a grudge for an old score at the
      ordinary. Let me see&mdash;Black Feltham, and Dick Shakebag&mdash;we shall
      want a fourth&mdash;I love to make sure, and the booty will stand parting,
      besides what I can bucket them out of. Well, scrivener, lend me two
      pieces.&mdash;Bravely done&mdash;nobly imparted! Give ye good-den." And
      wrapping his disguise closer around him, away he went.
    </p>
    <p>
      When he had left the room, the scrivener wrung his hands, and exclaimed,
      "More blood&mdash;more blood! I thought to have had done with it, but this
      time there was no fault with me&mdash;none&mdash;and then I shall have all
      the advantage. If this ruffian falls, there is truce with his tugs at my
      purse-strings; and if Lord Dalgarno dies&mdash;as is most likely, for
      though as much afraid of cold steel as a debtor of a dun, this fellow is a
      deadly shot from behind a bush,&mdash;then am I in a thousand ways safe&mdash;safe&mdash;safe."
    </p>
    <p>
      We willingly drop the curtain over him and his reflections.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXV
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  We are not worst at once&mdash;the course of evil
  Begins so slowly, and from such slight source,
  An infant's hand might stem its breach with clay;
  But let the stream get deeper, and philosophy&mdash;
  Ay, and religion too&mdash;shall strive in vain
  To turn the headlong torrent.
                            <i>Old Play.</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      The Templars had been regaled by our friend Richie Moniplies in a private
      chamber at Beaujeu's, where he might be considered as good company; for he
      had exchanged his serving-man's cloak and jerkin for a grave yet handsome
      suit of clothes, in the fashion of the times, but such as might have
      befitted an older man than himself. He had positively declined presenting
      himself at the ordinary, a point to which his companions were very
      desirous to have brought him, for it will be easily believed that such
      wags as Lowestoffe and his companion were not indisposed to a little
      merriment at the expense of the raw and pedantic Scotsman; besides the
      chance of easing him of a few pieces, of which he appeared to have
      acquired considerable command. But not even a succession of measures of
      sparkling sack, in which the little brilliant atoms circulated like motes
      in the sun's rays, had the least effect on Richie's sense of decorum. He
      retained the gravity of a judge, even while he drank like a fish, partly
      from his own natural inclination to good liquor, partly in the way of good
      fellowship towards his guests. When the wine began to make some innovation
      on their heads, Master Lowestoffe, tired, perhaps, of the humours of
      Richie, who began to become yet more stoically contradictory and
      dogmatical than even in the earlier part of the entertainment, proposed to
      his friend to break up their debauch and join the gamesters.
    </p>
    <p>
      The drawer was called accordingly, and Richie discharged the reckoning of
      the party, with a generous remuneration to the attendants, which was
      received with cap and knee, and many assurances of&mdash;"Kindly welcome,
      gentlemen."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I grieve we should part so soon, gentlemen," said Richie to his
      companions,&mdash;"and I would you had cracked another quart ere you went,
      or stayed to take some slight matter of supper, and a glass of Rhenish. I
      thank you, however, for having graced my poor collation thus far; and I
      commend you to fortune, in your own courses, for the ordinary neither was,
      is, nor shall be, an element of mine."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Fare thee well, then," said Lowestoffe, "most sapient and sententious
      Master Moniplies. May you soon have another mortgage to redeem, and may I
      be there to witness it; and may you play the good fellow, as heartily as
      you have done this day."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, gentlemen, it is merely of your grace to say so&mdash;but, if you
      would but hear me speak a few words of admonition respecting this wicked
      ordinary&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Reserve the lesson, most honourable Richie," said Lowestoffe, "until I
      have lost all my money," showing, at the same time, a purse indifferently
      well provided, "and then the lecture is likely to have some weight."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And keep my share of it, Richie," said the other Templar, showing an
      almost empty purse, in his turn, "till this be full again, and then I will
      promise to hear you with some patience."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, ay, gallants," said Richie, "the full and the empty gang a' ae gate,
      and that is a grey one&mdash;but the time will come."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, it is come already," said Lowestoffe; "they have set out the hazard
      table. Since you will peremptorily not go with us, why, farewell, Richie."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And farewell, gentlemen," said Richie, and left the house, into which
      they had returned.
    </p>
    <p>
      Moniplies was not many steps from the door, when a person, whom, lost in
      his reflections on gaming, ordinaries, and the manners of the age, he had
      not observed, and who had been as negligent on his part, ran full against
      him; and, when Richie desired to know whether he meant "ony incivility,"
      replied by a curse on Scotland, and all that belonged to it. A less round
      reflection on his country would, at any time, have provoked Richie, but
      more especially when he had a double quart of Canary and better in his
      pate. He was about to give a very rough answer, and to second his word by
      action, when a closer view of his antagonist changed his purpose.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are the vera lad in the warld," said Richie, "whom I most wished to
      meet."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And you," answered the stranger, "or any of your beggarly countrymen, are
      the last sight I should ever wish to see. You Scots are ever fair and
      false, and an honest man cannot thrive within eyeshot of you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "As to our poverty, friend," replied Richie, "that is as Heaven pleases;
      but touching our falset, I'll prove to you that a Scotsman bears as leal
      and true a heart to his friend as ever beat in English doublet."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I care not whether he does or not," said the gallant. "Let me go&mdash;why
      keep you hold of my cloak? Let me go, or I will thrust you into the
      kennel."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I believe I could forgie ye, for you did me a good turn once, in plucking
      me out of it," said the Scot.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Beshrew my fingers, then, if they did so," replied the stranger. "I would
      your whole country lay there, along with you; and Heaven's curse blight
      the hand that helped to raise them!&mdash;Why do you stop my way?" he
      added, fiercely.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Because it is a bad one, Master Jenkin," said Richie. "Nay, never start
      about it, man&mdash;you see you are known. Alack-a-day! that an honest
      man's son should live to start at hearing himself called by his own name!"
      Jenkin struck his brow violently with his clenched fist.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come, come," said Richie, "this passion availeth nothing. Tell me what
      gate go you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "To the devil!" answered Jin Vin.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is a black gate, if you speak according to the letter," answered
      Richie; "but if metaphorically, there are worse places in this great city
      than the Devil Tavern; and I care not if I go thither with you, and bestow
      a pottle of burnt sack on you&mdash;it will correct the crudities of my
      stomach, and form a gentle preparative for the leg of a cold pullet."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I pray you, in good fashion, to let me go," said Jenkin. "You may mean me
      kindly, and I wish you to have no wrong at my hand; but I am in the humour
      to be dangerous to myself, or any one."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will abide the risk," said the Scot, "if you will but come with me; and
      here is a place convenient, a howff nearer than the Devil, whilk is but an
      ill-omened drouthy name for a tavern. This other of the Saint Andrew is a
      quiet place, where I have ta'en my whetter now and then, when I lodged in
      the neighbourhood of the Temple with Lord Glenvarloch.&mdash;What the
      deil's the matter wi' the man, garr'd him gie sic a spang as that, and
      almaist brought himself and me on the causeway?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do not name that false Scot's name to me," said Jin Vin, "if you would
      not have me go mad!&mdash;I was happy before I saw him&mdash;he has been
      the cause of all the ill that has befallen me&mdash;he has made a knave
      and a madman of me!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "If you are a knave," said Richie, "you have met an officer&mdash;if you
      are daft, you have met a keeper; but a gentle officer and a kind keeper.
      Look you, my gude friend, there has been twenty things said about this
      same lord, in which there is no more truth than in the leasings of
      Mahound. The warst they can say of him is, that he is not always so
      amenable to good advice as I would pray him, you, and every young man to
      be. Come wi' me&mdash;just come ye wi' me; and, if a little spell of
      siller and a great deal of excellent counsel can relieve your occasions,
      all I can say is, you have had the luck to meet one capable of giving you
      both, and maist willing to bestow them."
    </p>
    <p>
      The pertinacity of the Scot prevailed over the sullenness of Vincent, who
      was indeed in a state of agitation and incapacity to think for himself,
      which led him to yield the more readily to the suggestions of another. He
      suffered himself to be dragged into the small tavern which Richie
      recommended, and where they soon found themselves seated in a snug niche,
      with a reeking pottle of burnt sack, and a paper of sugar betwixt them.
      Pipes and tobacco were also provided, but were only used by Richie, who
      had adopted the custom of late, as adding considerably to the gravity and
      importance of his manner, and affording, as it were, a bland and pleasant
      accompaniment to the words of wisdom which flowed from his tongue. After
      they had filled their glasses and drank them in silence, Richie repeated
      the question, whither his guest was going when they met so fortunately.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I told you," said Jenkin, "I was going to destruction&mdash;I mean to the
      gaming-house. I am resolved to hazard these two or three pieces, to get as
      much as will pay for a passage with Captain Sharker, whose ship lies at
      Gravesend, bound for America&mdash;and so Eastward, ho!&mdash;I met one
      devil in the way already, who would have tempted me from my purpose, but I
      spurned him from me&mdash;you may be another for what I know.&mdash;What
      degree of damnation do you propose for me," he added wildly, "and what is
      the price of it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I would have you to know," answered Richie, "that I deal in no such
      commodities, whether as buyer or seller. But if you will tell me honestly
      the cause of your distress, I will do what is in my power to help you out
      of it,&mdash;not being, however, prodigal of promises, until I know the
      case; as a learned physician only gives advice when he has observed the
      diagnostics."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No one has any thing to do with my affairs," said the poor lad; and
      folding his arms on the table, he laid his head upon them, with the sullen
      dejection of the overburdened lama, when it throws itself down to die in
      desperation.
    </p>
    <p>
      Richard Moniplies, like most folk who have a good opinion of themselves,
      was fond of the task of consolation, which at once displayed his
      superiority, (for the consoler is necessarily, for the time at least,
      superior to the afflicted person,) and indulged his love of talking. He
      inflicted on the poor penitenta harangue of pitiless length, stuffed full
      of the usual topics of the mutability of human affairs&mdash;the eminent
      advantages of patience under affliction&mdash;the folly of grieving for
      what hath no remedy&mdash;the necessity of taking more care for the
      future, and some gentle rebukes on account of the past, which acid he
      threw in to assist in subduing the patient's obstinacy, as Hannibal used
      vinegar in cutting his way through rocks. It was not in human nature to
      endure this flood of commonplace eloquence in silence; and Jin Vin,
      whether desirous of stopping the flow of words&mdash;crammed thus into his
      ear, "against the stomach of his sense," or whether confiding in Richie's
      protestations of friendship, which the wretched, says Fielding, are ever
      so ready to believe, or whether merely to give his sorrows vent in words,
      raised his head, and turning his red and swollen eyes to Richie&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Cocksbones, man, only hold thy tongue, and thou shall know all about it,&mdash;and
      then all I ask of thee is to shake hands and part.&mdash;This Margaret
      Ramsay,&mdash;you have seen her, man?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Once," said Richie, "once, at Master George Heriot's in Lombard Street&mdash;I
      was in the room when they dined."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, you helped to shift their trenchers, I remember," said Jin Vin.
      "Well, that same pretty girl&mdash;and I will uphold her the prettiest
      betwixt Paul's and the Bar&mdash;she is to be wedded to your Lord
      Glenvarloch, with a pestilence on him!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is impossible," said Richie; "it is raving nonsense, man&mdash;they
      make April gouks of you cockneys every month in the year&mdash;The Lord
      Glenvarloch marry the daughter of a Lonnon mechanic! I would as soon
      believe the great Prester John would marry the daughter of a Jew packman."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hark ye, brother," said Jin Vin, "I will allow no one to speak
      disregardfully of the city, for all I am in trouble."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I crave your pardon, man&mdash;I meant no offence," said Richie; "but as
      to the marriage, it is a thing simply impossible."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is a thing that will take place, though, for the Duke and the Prince,
      and all of them, have a finger in it; and especially the old fool of a
      king, that makes her out to be some great woman in her own country, as all
      the Scots pretend to be, you know."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Master Vincent, but that you are under affliction," said the consoler,
      offended on his part, "I would hear no national reflections."
    </p>
    <p>
      The afflicted youth apologised in his turns, but asserted, "it was true
      that the king said Peg-a-Ramsay was some far-off sort of noblewoman; and
      that he had taken a great interest in the match, and had run about like an
      old gander, cackling about Peggie ever since he had seen her in hose and
      doublet&mdash;and no wonder," added poor Vin, with a deep sigh.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This may be all true," said Richie, "though it sounds strange in my ears;
      but, man, you should not speak evil of dignities&mdash;-Curse not the
      king, Jenkin; not even in thy bed-chamber&mdash;stone walls have ears&mdash;no
      one has a right to know better than I."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do not curse the foolish old man," said Jenkin; "but I would have them
      carry things a peg lower.&mdash;If they were to see on a plain field
      thirty thousand such pikes as I have seen in the artillery gardens, it
      would not be their long-haired courtiers would help them, I trow."
      [Footnote: Clarendon remarks, that the importance of the military exercise
      of the citizens was severely felt by the cavaliers during the civil war,
      notwithstanding the ridicule that had been showered upon it by the
      dramatic poets of the day. Nothing less than habitual practice could, at
      the battle of Newbury and elsewhere, have enabled the Londoners to keep
      their ranks as pikemen, in spite of the repeated charge of the fiery
      Prince Rupert and his gallant cavaliers.]
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hout tout, man," said Richie, "mind where the Stewarts come frae, and
      never think they would want spears or claymores either; but leaving sic
      matters, whilk are perilous to speak on, I say once more, what is your
      concern in all this matter?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "What is it?" said Jenkin; "why, have I not fixed on Peg-a-Ramsay to be my
      true love, from the day I came to her old father's shop? and have I not
      carried her pattens and her chopines for three years, and borne her
      prayer-book to church, and brushed the cushion for her to kneel down upon,
      and did she ever say me nay?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I see no cause she had," said Richie, "if the like of such small services
      were all that ye proffered. Ah, man! there are few&mdash;very few, either
      of fools or of wise men, ken how to guide a woman."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, did I not serve her at the risk of my freedom, and very nigh at the
      risk of my neck? Did she not&mdash;no, it was not her neither, but that
      accursed beldam whom she caused to work upon me&mdash;persuade me like a
      fool to turn myself into a waterman to help my lord, and a plague to him,
      down to Scotland? and instead of going peaceably down to the ship at
      Gravesend, did not he rant and bully, and show his pistols, and make me
      land him at Greenwich, where he played some swaggering pranks, that helped
      both him and me into the Tower?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aha!" said Richie, throwing more than his usual wisdom into his looks,
      "so you were the green-jacketed waterman that rowed Lord Glenvarloch down
      the river?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The more fool I, that did not souse him in the Thames," said Jenkin; "and
      I was the lad who would not confess one word of who and what I was, though
      they threatened to make me hug the Duke of Exeter's daughter."[Footnote: A
      particular species of rack, used at the Tower of London, was so called.]
    </p>
    <p>
      "Wha is she, man?" said Richie; "she must be an ill-fashioned piece, if
      you're so much afraid of her, and she come of such high kin."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I mean the rack&mdash;the rack, man," said Jenkin. "Where were you bred
      that never heard of the Duke of Exeter's daughter? But all the dukes and
      duchesses in England could have got nothing out of me&mdash;so the truth
      came out some other way, and I was set free.&mdash;Home I ran, thinking
      myself one of the cleverest and happiest fellows in the ward. And she&mdash;she&mdash;she
      wanted to pay me with <i>money</i> for all my true service! and she spoke
      so sweetly and so coldly at the same time, I wished myself in the deepest
      dungeon of the Tower&mdash;I wish they had racked me to death before I
      heard this Scottishman was to chouse me out of my sweetheart!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "But are ye sure ye have lost her?" said Richie; "it sounds strange in my
      ears that my Lord Glenvarloch should marry the daughter of a dealer,&mdash;though
      there are uncouth marriages made in London, I'll allow that."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, I tell you this lord was no sooner clear of the Tower, than he and
      Master George Heriot comes to make proposals for her, with the king's
      assent, and what not; and fine fair-day prospects of Court favour for this
      lord, for he hath not an acre of land."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, and what said the auld watch-maker?" said Richie; "was he not, as
      might weel beseem him, ready to loop out of his skin-case for very joy?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He multiplied six figures progressively, and reported the product&mdash;then
      gave his consent."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what did you do?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I rushed into the streets," said the poor lad, "with a burning heart and
      a blood-shot eye&mdash;and where did I first find myself, but with that
      beldam, Mother Suddlechop&mdash;and what did she propose to me, but to
      take the road?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Take the road, man? in what sense?" said Richie.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Even as a clerk to Saint Nicholas&mdash;as a highwayman, like Poins and
      Peto, and the good fellows in the play&mdash;and who think you was to be
      my captain?&mdash;for she had the whole out ere I could speak to her&mdash;I
      fancy she took silence for consent, and thought me damned too unutterably
      to have one thought left that savoured of redemption&mdash;who was to be
      my captain, but the knave that you saw me cudgel at the ordinary when you
      waited on Lord Glenvarloch, a cowardly, sharking, thievish bully about
      town here, whom they call Colepepper."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Colepepper&mdash;umph&mdash;I know somewhat of that smaik," said Richie;
      "ken ye by ony chance where he may be heard of, Master Jenkin?&mdash;ye
      wad do me a sincere service to tell me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, he lives something obscurely," answered the apprentice, "on account
      of suspicion of some villainy&mdash;I believe that horrid murder in
      Whitefriars, or some such matter. But I might have heard all about him
      from Dame Suddlechop, for she spoke of my meeting him at Enfield Chase,
      with some other good fellows, to do a robbery on one that goes northward
      with a store of treasure."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And you did not agree to this fine project?" said Moniplies.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I cursed her for a hag, and came away about my business," answered
      Jenkin.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, and what said she to that, man? That would startle her," said Richie.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not a whit. She laughed, and said she was in jest," answered Jenkin; "but
      I know the she-devil's jest from her earnest too well to be taken in that
      way. But she knows I would never betray her.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "Betray her! No," replied Richie; "but are ye in any shape bound to this
      birkie Peppercull, or Colepepper, or whatever they call him, that ye suld
      let him do a robbery on the honest gentleman that is travelling to the
      north, and may be a kindly Scot, for what we know?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay&mdash;going home with a load of English money," said Jenkin. "But be
      he who he will, they may rob the whole world an they list, for I am robbed
      and ruined."
    </p>
    <p>
      Richie filled his friend's cup up to the brim, and insisted that he should
      drink what he called "clean caup out." "This love," he said, "is but a
      bairnly matter for a brisk young fellow like yourself, Master Jenkin. And
      if ye must needs have a whimsy, though I think it would be safer to
      venture on a staid womanly body, why, here be as bonny lasses in London as
      this Peg-a-Ramsay. You need not sigh sae deeply, for it is very true&mdash;there
      is as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it. Now wherefore should
      you, who are as brisk and trig a young fellow of your inches as the sun
      needs to shine on&mdash;wherefore need you sit moping this way, and not
      try some bold way to better your fortune?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I tell you, Master Moniplies," said Jenkin, "I am as poor as any Scot
      among you&mdash;I have broke my indenture, and I think of running my
      country."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A-well-a-day!" said Richie; "but that maunna be, man&mdash;I ken weel, by
      sad experience, that poortith takes away pith, and the man sits full still
      that has a rent in his breeks. [Footnote: This elegant speech was made by
      the Earl of Douglas, called Tineman after being wounded and made prisoner
      at the battle of Shrewsbury, where
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     "His well labouring sword
     Had three times slain the semblance of the king,"]
</pre>
    <p>
      But courage, man; you have served me heretofore, and I will serve you now.
      If you will but bring me to speech of this same captain, it will be the
      best day's work you ever did."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I guess where you are, Master Richard&mdash;you would save your
      countryman's long purse," said Jenkin. "I cannot see how that should
      advantage me, but I reck not if I should bear a hand. I hate that
      braggart, that bloody-minded, cowardly bully. If you can get me mounted I
      care not if I show you where the dame told me I should meet him&mdash;but
      you must stand to the risk, for though he is a coward himself, I know he
      will have more than one stout fellow with him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We'll have a warrant, man," said Richie, "and the hue and cry, to boot."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We will have no such thing," said Jenkin, "if I am to go with you. I am
      not the lad to betray any one to the harmanbeck. You must do it by manhood
      if I am to go with you. I am sworn to cutter's law, and will sell no man's
      blood."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aweel," said Richie, "a wilful man must have his way; ye must think that
      I was born and bred where cracked crowns were plentier than whole ones.
      Besides, I have two noble friends here, Master Lowestoffe of the Temple,
      and his cousin Master Ringwood, that will blithely be of so gallant a
      party."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lowestoffe and Ringwood!" said Jenkin; "they are both brave gallants&mdash;they
      will be sure company. Know you where they are to be found?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, marry do I," replied Richie. "They are fast at the cards and dice,
      till the sma' hours, I warrant them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "They are gentlemen of trust and honour," said Jenkin, "and, if they
      advise it, I will try the adventure. Go, try if you can bring them hither,
      since you have so much to say with, them. We must not be seen abroad
      together.&mdash;I know not how it is, Master Moniplies," continued he, as
      his countenance brightened up, and while, in his turn, he filled the cups,
      "but I feel my heart something lighter since I have thought of this
      matter."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thus it is to have counsellors, Master Jenkin," said Richie; "and truly I
      hope to hear you say that your heart is as light as a lavrock's, and that
      before you are many days aulder. Never smile and shake your head, but mind
      what I tell you&mdash;and bide here in the meanwhile, till I go to seek
      these gallants. I warrant you, cart-ropes would not hold them back from
      such a ploy as I shall propose to them."
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXVI
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  The thieves have bound the true men&mdash;
  Now, could thou and I rob the thieves, and go
   merrily to London.
                    <i>Henry IV., Part I.</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      The sun was high upon the glades of Enfield Chase, and the deer, with
      which it then abounded, were seen sporting in picturesque groups among the
      ancient oaks of the forest, when a cavalier and a lady, on foot, although
      in riding apparel, sauntered slowly up one of the long alleys which were
      cut through the park for the convenience of the hunters. Their only
      attendant was a page, who, riding a Spanish jennet, which seemed to bear a
      heavy cloak-bag, followed them at a respectful distance. The female,
      attired in all the fantastic finery of the period, with more than the
      usual quantity of bugles, flounces, and trimmings, and holding her fan of
      ostrich feathers in one hand, and her riding-mask of black velvet in the
      other, seemed anxious, by all the little coquetry practised on such
      occasions, to secure the notice of her companion, who sometimes heard her
      prattle without seeming to attend to it, and at other times interrupted
      his train of graver reflections, to reply to her.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, but, my lord&mdash;my lord, you walk so fast, you will leave me
      behind you.&mdash;Nay, I will have hold of your arm, but how to manage
      with my mask and my fan? Why would you not let me bring my
      waiting-gentlewoman to follow us, and hold my things? But see, I will put
      my fan in my girdle, soh!&mdash;and now that I have a hand to hold you
      with, you shall not run away from me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come on, then," answered the gallant, "and let us walk apace, since you
      would not be persuaded to stay with your gentlewoman, as you call her, and
      with the rest of the baggage.&mdash;You may perhaps see <i>that</i>,
      though, you will not like to see."
    </p>
    <p>
      She took hold of his arm accordingly; but as he continued to walk at the
      same pace, she shortly let go her hold, exclaiming that he had hurt her
      hand. The cavalier stopped, and looked at the pretty hand and arm which
      she showed him, with exclamations against his cruelty. "I dare say," she
      said, baring her wrist and a part of her arm, "it is all black and blue to
      the very elbow."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I dare say you are a silly little fool," said the cavalier, carelessly
      kissing the aggrieved arm; "it is only a pretty incarnate which sets off
      the blue veins."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, my lord, now it is you are silly," answered the dame; "but I am glad
      I can make you speak and laugh on any terms this morning. I am sure, if I
      did insist on following you into the forest, it was all for the sake of
      diverting you. I am better company than your page, I trow.&mdash;And now,
      tell me, these pretty things with horns, be they not deer?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Even such they be, Nelly," answered her neglectful attendant.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what can the great folk do with so many of them, forsooth?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "They send them to the city, Nell, where wise men make venison pasties of
      their flesh, and wear their horns for trophies," answered Lord Dalgarno,
      whom our reader has already recognised.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, now you laugh at me, my lord," answered his companion; "but I know
      all about venison, whatever you may think. I always tasted it once a year
      when we dined with Mr. Deputy," she continued, sadly, as a sense of her
      degradation stole across a mind bewildered with vanity and folly, "though
      he would not speak to me now, if we met together in the narrowest lane in
      the Ward!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I warrant he would not," said Lord Dalgarno, "because thou, Nell, wouldst
      dash him with a single look; for I trust thou hast more spirit than to
      throw away words on such a fellow as he?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who, I!" said Dame Nelly. "Nay, I scorn the proud princox too much for
      that. Do you know, he made all the folk in the Ward stand cap in hand to
      him, my poor old John Christie and all?" Here her recollection began to
      overflow at her eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "A plague on your whimpering," said Dalgarno, somewhat harshly,&mdash;"Nay,
      never look pale for the matter, Nell. I am not angry with you, you simple
      fool. But what would you have me think, when you are eternally looking
      back upon your dungeon yonder by the river, which smelt of pitch and old
      cheese worse than a Welshman does of onions, and all this when I am taking
      you down to a castle as fine as is in Fairy Land!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Shall we be there to-night, my lord?" said Nelly, drying her tears.
    </p>
    <p>
      "To-night, Nelly?&mdash;no, nor this night fortnight."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now, the Lord be with us, and keep us!&mdash;But shall we not go by sea,
      my lord?&mdash;I thought everybody came from Scotland by sea. I am sure
      Lord Glenvarloch and Richie Moniplies came up by sea."
    </p>
    <p>
      "There is a wide difference between coming up and going down, Nelly,"
      answered Lord Dalgarno.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And so there is, for certain," said his simple companion. "But yet I
      think I heard people speaking of going down to Scotland by sea, as well as
      coming up. Are you well avised of the way?&mdash;Do you think it possible
      we can go by land, my sweet lord?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is but trying, my sweet lady," said Lord Dalgarno. "Men say England
      and Scotland are in the same island, so one would hope there may be some
      road betwixt them by land."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I shall never be able to ride so far," said the lady.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We will have your saddle stuffed softer," said the lord. "I tell you that
      you shall mew your city slough, and change from the caterpillar of a
      paltry lane into the butterfly of a prince's garden. You shall have as
      many tires as there are hours in the day&mdash;as many handmaidens as
      there are days in the week&mdash;as many menials as there are weeks in the
      year&mdash;and you shall ride a hunting and hawking with a lord, instead
      of waiting upon an old ship-chandler, who could do nothing but hawk and
      spit."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, but will you make me your lady?" said Dame Nelly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, surely&mdash;what else?" replied the lord&mdash;"My lady-love."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, but I mean your lady-wife," said Nelly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Truly, Nell, in that I cannot promise to oblige you. A lady-wife,"
      continued Dalgarno, "is a very different thing from a lady-love."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I heard from Mrs. Suddlechop, whom you lodged me with since I left poor
      old John Christie, that Lord Glenvarloch is to marry David Ramsay the
      clockmaker's daughter?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "There is much betwixt the cup and the lip, Nelly. I wear something about
      me may break the bans of that hopeful alliance, before the day is much
      older," answered Lord Dalgarno.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, but my father was as good a man as old Davy Ramsay, and as well to
      pass in the world, my lord; and, therefore, why should you not marry me?
      You have done me harm enough, I trow&mdash;wherefore should you not do me
      this justice?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "For two good reasons, Nelly. Fate put a husband on you, and the king
      passed a wife upon me," answered Lord Dalgarno.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, my lord," said Nelly, "but they remain in England, and we go to
      Scotland."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thy argument is better than thou art aware of," said Lord Dalgarno. "I
      have heard Scottish lawyers say the matrimonial tie may be unclasped in
      our happy country by the gentle hand of the ordinary course of law,
      whereas in England it can only be burst by an act of Parliament. Well,
      Nelly, we will look into that matter; and whether we get married again or
      no, we will at least do our best to get unmarried."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Shall we indeed, my honey-sweet lord? and then I will think less about
      John Christie, for he will marry again, I warrant you, for he is well to
      pass; and I would be glad to think he had somebody to take care of him, as
      I used to do, poor loving old man! He was a kind man, though he was a
      score of years older than I; and I hope and pray he will never let a young
      lord cross his honest threshold again!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Here the dame was once more much inclined to give way to a passion of
      tears; but Lord Dalgarno conjured down the emotion, by saying with some
      asperity&mdash;"I am weary of these April passions, my pretty mistress,
      and I think you will do well to preserve your tears for some more pressing
      occasion. Who knows what turn of fortune may in a few minutes call for
      more of them than you can render?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Goodness, my lord! what mean you by such expressions? John Christie (the
      kind heart!) used to keep no secrets from me, and I hope your lordship
      will not hide your counsel from me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sit down beside me on this bank," said the nobleman; "I am bound to
      remain here for a short space, and if you can be but silent, I should like
      to spend a part of it in considering how far I can, on the present
      occasion, follow the respectable example which you recommend to me."
    </p>
    <p>
      The place at which he stopped was at that time little more than a mound,
      partly surrounded by a ditch, from which it derived the name of Camlet
      Moat. A few hewn stones there were, which had escaped the fate of many
      others that had been used in building different lodges in the forest for
      the royal keepers. These vestiges, just sufficient to show that "herein
      former times the hand of man had been," marked the ruins of the abode of a
      once illustrious but long-forgotten family, the Mandevilles, Earls of
      Essex, to whom Enfield Chase and the extensive domains adjacent had
      belonged in elder days. A wild woodland prospect led the eye at various
      points through broad and seemingly interminable alleys, which, meeting at
      this point as at a common centre, diverged from each other as they
      receded, and had, therefore, been selected by Lord Dalgarno as the
      rendezvous for the combat, which, through the medium of Richie Moniplies,
      he had offered to his injured friend, Lord Glenvarloch.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He will surely come?" he said to himself; "cowardice was not wont to be
      his fault&mdash;at least he was bold enough in the Park.&mdash;Perhaps
      yonder churl may not have carried my message? But no&mdash;he is a sturdy
      knave&mdash;one of those would prize their master's honour above their
      life.&mdash;Look to the palfrey, Lutin, and see thou let him not loose,
      and cast thy falcon glance down every avenue to mark if any one comes.&mdash;Buckingham
      has undergone my challenge, but the proud minion pleads the king's paltry
      commands for refusing to answer me. If I can baffle this Glenvarloch, or
      slay him&mdash;If I can spoil him of his honour or his life, I shall go
      down to Scotland with credit sufficient to gild over past mischances. I
      know my dear countrymen&mdash;they never quarrel with any one who brings
      them home either gold or martial glory, much more if he has both gold and
      laurels."
    </p>
    <p>
      As he thus reflected, and called to mind the disgrace which he had
      suffered, as well as the causes he imagined for hating Lord Glenvarloch,
      his countenance altered under the influence of his contending emotions, to
      the terror of Nelly, who, sitting unnoticed at his feet, and looking
      anxiously in his face, beheld the cheek kindle, the mouth become
      compressed, the eye dilated, and the whole countenance express the
      desperate and deadly resolution of one who awaits an instant and decisive
      encounter with a mortal enemy. The loneliness of the place, the scenery so
      different from that to which alone she had been accustomed, the dark and
      sombre air which crept so suddenly over the countenance of her seducer,
      his command imposing silence upon her, and the apparent strangeness of his
      conduct in idling away so much time without any obvious cause, when a
      journey of such length lay before them, brought strange thoughts into her
      weak brain. She had read of women, seduced from their matrimonial duties
      by sorcerers allied to the hellish powers, nay, by the Father of Evil
      himself, who, after conveying his victim into some desert remote from
      human kind, exchanged the pleasing shape in which he gained her
      affections, for all his natural horrors. She chased this wild idea away as
      it crowded itself upon her weak and bewildered imagination; yet she might
      have lived to see it realised allegorically, if not literally, but for the
      accident which presently followed.
    </p>
    <p>
      The page, whose eyes were remarkably acute, at length called out to his
      master, pointing with his finger at the same time down one of the alleys,
      that horsemen were advancing in that direction. Lord Dalgarno started up,
      and shading his eyes with his hand, gazed eagerly down the alley; when, at
      the same instant, he received a shot, which, grazing his hand, passed
      right through his brain, and laid him a lifeless corpse at the feet, or
      rather across the lap, of the unfortunate victim of his profligacy. The
      countenance, whose varied expression she had been watching for the last
      five minutes, was convulsed for an instant, and then stiffened into
      rigidity for ever. Three ruffians rushed from the brake from which the
      shot had been fired, ere the smoke was dispersed. One, with many
      imprecations seized on the page; another on the female, upon whose cries
      he strove by the most violent threats to impose silence; whilst the third
      began to undo the burden from the page's horse. But an instant rescue
      prevented their availing themselves of the advantage they had obtained.
    </p>
    <p>
      It may easily be supposed that Richie Moniplies, having secured the
      assistance of the two Templars, ready enough to join in any thing which
      promised a fray, with Jin Vin to act as their guide, had set off,
      gallantly mounted and well armed, under the belief that they would reach
      Camlet Moat before the robbers, and apprehend them in the fact. They had
      not calculated that, according to the custom of robbers in other
      countries, but contrary to that of the English highwayman of those days,
      they meant to ensure robbery by previous murder. An accident also happened
      to delay them a little while on the road. In riding through one of the
      glades of the forest, they found a man dismounted and sitting under a
      tree, groaning with such bitterness of spirit, that Lowestoffe could not
      forbear asking if he was hurt. In answer, he said he was an unhappy man in
      pursuit of his wife, who had been carried off by a villain; and as he
      raised his countenance, the eyes of Richie, to his great astonishment,
      encountered the visage of John Christie.
    </p>
    <p>
      "For the Almighty's sake, help me, Master Moniplies!" he said; "I have
      learned my wife is but a short mile before, with that black villain Lord
      Dalgarno."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have him forward by all means," said Lowestoffe; "a second Orpheus
      seeking his Eurydice!&mdash;Have him forward&mdash;we will save Lord
      Dalgarno's purse, and ease him of his mistress&mdash;Have him with us,
      were it but for the variety of the adventure. I owe his lordship a grudge
      for rooking me. We have ten minutes good."
    </p>
    <p>
      But it is dangerous to calculate closely in matters of life and death. In
      all probability the minute or two which was lost in mounting John Christie
      behind one of their party, might have saved Lord Dalgarno from his fate.
      Thus his criminal amour became the indirect cause of his losing his life;
      and thus "our pleasant vices are made the whips to scourge us."
    </p>
    <p>
      The riders arrived on the field at full gallop the moment after the shot
      was fired; and Richie, who had his own reasons for attaching himself to
      Colepepper, who was bustling to untie the portmanteau from the page's
      saddle, pushed against him with such violence as to overthrow him, his own
      horse at the same time stumbling and dismounting his rider, who was none
      of the first equestrians. The undaunted Richie immediately arose, however,
      and grappled with the ruffian with such good-will, that, though a strong
      fellow, and though a coward now rendered desperate, Moniplies got him
      under, wrenched a long knife from his hand, dealt him a desperate stab
      with his own weapon, and leaped on his feet; and, as the wounded man
      struggled to follow his example, he struck him upon the head with the
      butt-end of a musketoon, which last blow proved fatal.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Bravo, Richie!" cried Lowestoffe, who had himself engaged at sword-point
      with one of the ruffians, and soon put him to flight,&mdash;"Bravo! why,
      man, there lies Sin, struck down like an ox, and Iniquity's throat cut
      like a calf."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I know not why you should upbraid me with my upbringing, Master
      Lowestoffe," answered Richie, with great composure; "but I can tell you,
      the shambles is not a bad place for training one to this work."
    </p>
    <p>
      The other Templar now shouted loudly to them,&mdash;"If ye be men, come
      hither&mdash;here lies Lord Dalgarno, murdered!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Lowestoffe and Richie ran to the spot, and the page took the opportunity,
      finding himself now neglected on all hands, to ride off in a different
      direction; and neither he, nor the considerable sum with which his horse
      was burdened, were ever heard of from that moment.
    </p>
    <p>
      The third ruffian had not waited the attack of the Templar and Jin Vin,
      the latter of whom had put down old Christie from behind him that he might
      ride the lighter; and the whole five now stood gazing with horror on the
      bloody corpse of the young nobleman, and the wild sorrow of the female,
      who tore her hair and shrieked in the most disconsolate manner, until her
      agony was at once checked, or rather received a new direction, by the
      sudden and unexpected appearance of her husband, who, fixing on her a cold
      and severe look, said, in a tone suited to his manner&mdash;"Ay, woman!
      thou takest on sadly for the loss of thy paramour."&mdash;Then, looking on
      the bloody corpse of him from whom he had received so deep an injury, he
      repeated the solemn words of Scripture,&mdash;"'Vengeance is mine, saith
      the Lord, and I will repay it.'&mdash;I, whom thou hast injured, will be
      first to render thee the decent offices due to the dead."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he covered the dead body with his cloak, and then looking on it
      for a moment, seemed to reflect on what he had next to perform. As the eye
      of the injured man slowly passed from the body of the seducer to the
      partner and victim of his crime, who had sunk down to his feet, which she
      clasped without venturing to look up, his features, naturally coarse and
      saturnine, assumed a dignity of expression which overawed the young
      Templars, and repulsed the officious forwardness of Richie Moniplies, who
      was at first eager to have thrust in his advice and opinion. "Kneel not to
      me, woman," he said, "but kneel to the God thou hast offended, more than
      thou couldst offend such another worm as thyself. How often have I told
      thee, when thou wert at the gayest and the lightest, that pride goeth
      before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall? Vanity brought
      folly, and folly brought sin, and sin hath brought death, his original
      companion. Thou must needs leave duty, and decency, and domestic love, to
      revel it gaily with the wild and with the wicked; and there thou liest
      like a crushed worm, writhing beside the lifeless body of thy paramour.
      Thou hast done me much wrong&mdash;dishonoured me among friends&mdash;driven
      credit from my house, and peace from my fireside&mdash;But thou wert my
      first and only love, and I will not see thee an utter castaway, if it lies
      with me to prevent it.&mdash;Gentlemen, I render ye such thanks as a
      broken-hearted man can give.&mdash;Richard, commend me to your honourable
      master. I added gall to the bitterness of his affliction, but I was
      deluded.&mdash;Rise up, woman, and follow me."
    </p>
    <p>
      He raised her up by the arm, while, with streaming eyes, and bitter sobs,
      she endeavoured to express her penitence. She kept her hands spread over
      her face, yet suffered him to lead her away; and it was only as they
      turned around a brake which concealed the scene they had left, that she
      turned back, and casting one wild and hurried glance towards the corpse of
      Dalgarno, uttered a shriek, and clinging to her husband's arm, exclaimed
      wildly,&mdash;"Save me&mdash;save me! They have murdered him!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Lowestoffe was much moved by what he had witnessed; but he was ashamed, as
      a town-gallant, of his own unfashionable emotion, and did a force to his
      feelings when he exclaimed,&mdash;"Ay, let them go&mdash;the kind-hearted,
      believing, forgiving husband&mdash;the liberal, accommodating spouse. O
      what a generous creature is your true London husband!&mdash;Horns hath he,
      but, tame as a fatted ox, he goreth not. I should like to see her when she
      hath exchanged her mask and riding-beaver for her peaked hat and muffler.
      We will visit them at Paul's Wharf, coz&mdash;it will be a convenient
      acquaintance."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You had better think of catching the gipsy thief, Lutin," said Richie
      Moniplies; "for, by my faith, he is off with his master's baggage and the
      siller."
    </p>
    <p>
      A keeper, with his assistants, and several other persons, had now come to
      the spot, and made hue and cry after Lutin, but in vain. To their custody
      the Templars surrendered the dead bodies, and after going through some
      formal investigation, they returned, with Richard and Vincent, to London,
      where they received great applause for their gallantry.&mdash;Vincent's
      errors were easily expiated, in consideration of his having been the means
      of breaking up this band of villains; and there is some reason to think,
      that what would have diminished the credit of the action in other
      instances, rather added to it in the actual circumstances, namely, that
      they came too late to save Lord Dalgarno.
    </p>
    <p>
      George Heriot, who suspected how matters stood with Vincent, requested and
      obtained permission from his master to send the poor young fellow on an
      important piece of business to Paris. We are unable to trace his fate
      farther, but believe it was prosperous, and that he entered into an
      advantageous partnership with his fellow-apprentice, upon old Davy Ramsay
      retiring from business, in consequence of his daughter's marriage. That
      eminent antiquary, Dr. Dryasdust, is possessed of an antique watch, with a
      silver dial-plate, the mainspring being a piece of catgut instead of a
      chain, which bears the names of Vincent and Tunstall, Memory-Monitors.
    </p>
    <p>
      Master Lowestoffe failed not to vindicate his character as a man of
      gaiety, by inquiring after John Christie and Dame Nelly; but greatly to
      his surprise, (indeed to his loss, for he had wagered ten pieces that he
      would domesticate himself in the family,) he found the good-will, as it
      was called, of the shop, was sold, the stock auctioned, and the late
      proprietor and his wife gone, no one knew whither. The prevailing belief
      was, that they had emigrated to one of the new settlements in America.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lady Dalgarno received the news of her unworthy husband's death with a
      variety of emotions, among which, horror that he should have been cut off
      in the middle career of his profligacy, was the most prominent. The
      incident greatly deepened her melancholy, and injured her health, already
      shaken by previous circumstances. Repossessed of her own fortune by her
      husband's death, she was anxious to do justice to Lord Glenvarloch, by
      treating for the recovery of the mortgage.
    </p>
    <p>
      But the scrivener, having taken fright at the late events, had left the
      city and absconded, so that it was impossible to discover into whose hands
      the papers had now passed. Richard Moniplies was silent, for his own
      reasons; the Templars, who had witnessed the transaction, kept the secret
      at his request, and it was universally believed that the scrivener had
      carried off the writings along with him. We may here observe, that fears
      similar to those of Skurliewhitter freed London for ever from the presence
      of Dame Suddlechop, who ended her career in the <i>Rasp-haus</i>, (viz.
      Bridewell,) of Amsterdam.
    </p>
    <p>
      The stout old Lord Huntinglen, with a haughty carriage and unmoistened
      eye, accompanied the funeral procession of his only son to its last abode;
      and perhaps the single tear which fell at length upon the coffin, was
      given less to the fate of the individual, than to the extinction of the
      last male of his ancient race.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXVII
    </h2>
    <p>
      <i>Jacques</i>. There is, suie, another flood toward, and these couples
      are coming to the ark!&mdash;Here comes a pair of very strange beasts.&mdash;<i>As
      You Like It</i>.
    </p>
    <p>
      The fashion of such narratives as the present, changes like other earthly
      things. Time was that the tale-teller was obliged to wind up his story by
      a circumstantial description of the wedding, bedding, and throwing the
      stocking, as the grand catastrophe to which, through so many circumstances
      of doubt and difficulty, he had at length happily conducted his hero and
      heroine. Not a circumstance was then omitted, from the manly ardour of the
      bridegroom, and the modest blushes of the bride, to the parson's new
      surplice, and the silk tabinet mantua of the bridesmaid. But such
      descriptions are now discarded, for the same reason, I suppose, that
      public marriages are no longer fashionable, and that, instead of calling
      together their friends to a feast and a dance, the happy couple elope in a
      solitary post-chaise, as secretly as if they meant to go to Gretna-Green,
      or to do worse. I am not ungrateful for a change which saves an author the
      trouble of attempting in vain to give a new colour to the commonplace
      description of such matters; but, notwithstanding, I find myself forced
      upon it in the present instance, as circumstances sometimes compel a
      stranger to make use of an old road which has been for some time shut up.
      The experienced reader may have already remarked, that the last chapter
      was employed in sweeping out of the way all the unnecessary and less
      interesting characters, that I might clear the floor for a blithe bridal.
    </p>
    <p>
      In truth, it would be unpardonable to pass over slightly what so deeply
      interested our principal personage, King James. That learned and
      good-humoured monarch made no great figure in the politics of Europe; but
      then, to make amends, he was prodigiously busy, when he could find a fair
      opportunity of intermeddling with the private affairs of his loving
      subjects, and the approaching marriage of Lord Glenvarloch was matter of
      great interest to him. He had been much struck (that is, for him, who was
      not very accessible to such emotions) with the beauty and embarrassment of
      the pretty Peg-a-Ramsay, as he called her, when he first saw her, and he
      glorified himself greatly on the acuteness which he had displayed in
      detecting her disguise, and in carrying through the whole inquiry which
      took place in consequence of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      He laboured for several weeks, while the courtship was in progress, with
      his own royal eyes, so as wellnigh to wear out, he declared, a pair of her
      father's best barnacles, in searching through old books and documents, for
      the purpose of establishing the bride's pretensions to a noble, though
      remote descent, and thereby remove the only objection which envy might
      conceive against the match. In his own opinion, at least, he was eminently
      successful; for, when Sir Mungo Malagrowther one day, in the
      presence-chamber, took upon him to grieve bitterly for the bride's lack of
      pedigree, the monarch cut him short with, "Ye may save your grief for your
      ain next occasions, Sir Mungo; for, by our royal saul, we will uphauld her
      father, Davy Ramsay, to be a gentleman of nine descents, whase great
      gudesire came of the auld martial stock of the House of Dalwolsey, than
      whom better men never did, and better never will, draw sword for king and
      country. Heard ye never of Sir William Ramsay of Dalwolsey, man, of whom
      John Fordoun saith,&mdash;'He was <i>bellicosissimus, nobilissimus?</i>'&mdash;His
      castle stands to witness for itsell, not three miles from Dalkeith, man,
      and within a mile of Bannockrig. Davy Ramsay came of that auld and
      honoured stock, and I trust he hath not derogated from his ancestors by
      his present craft. They all wrought wi' steel, man; only the auld knights
      drilled holes wi' their swords in their enemies' corslets, and he saws
      nicks in his brass wheels. And I hope it is as honourable to give eyes to
      the blind as to slash them out of the head of those that see, and to show
      us how to value our time as it passes, as to fling it away in drinking,
      brawling, spear-splintering, and such-like unchristian doings. And you
      maun understand, that Davy Ramsay is no mechanic, but follows a liberal
      art, which approacheth almost to the act of creating a living being,
      seeing it may be said of a watch, as Claudius saith of the sphere of
      Archimedes, the Syracusan&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Inclusus variis famulatur spiritus astris, Et vivum certis motibus urget
      opus.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your Majesty had best give auld Davy a coat-of-arms, as well as a
      pedigree," said Sir Mungo.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's done, or ye bade, Sir Mungo," said the king; "and I trust we, who
      are the fountain of all earthly honour, are free to spirit a few drops of
      it on one so near our person, without offence to the Knight of Castle
      Girnigo. We have already spoken with the learned men of the Herald's
      College, and we propose to grant him an augmented coat-of-arms, being his
      paternal coat, charged with the crown-wheel of a watch in chief, for a
      difference; and we purpose to add Time and Eternity, for supporters, as
      soon as the Garter King-at-Arms shall be able to devise how Eternity is to
      be represented."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I would make him twice as muckle as Time," [Footnote: Chaucer says, there
      is nothing new but what it has been old. The reader has here the original
      of an anecdote which has since been fathered on a Scottish Chief of our
      own time.] said Archie Armstrong, the Court fool, who chanced to be
      present when the king stated this dilemma. "Peace, man&mdash;ye shall be
      whippet," said the king, in return for this hint; "and you, my liege
      subjects of England, may weel take a hint from what we have said, and not
      be in such a hurry to laugh at our Scottish pedigrees, though they be
      somewhat long derived, and difficult to be deduced. Ye see that a man of
      right gentle blood may, for a season, lay by his gentry, and yet ken whare
      to find it, when he has occasion for it. It would be as unseemly for a
      packman, or pedlar, as ye call a travelling merchant, whilk is a trade to
      which our native subjects of Scotland are specially addicted, to be
      blazing his genealogy in the faces of those to whom he sells a bawbee's
      worth of ribbon, as it would be to him to have a beaver on his head, and a
      rapier by his side, when the pack was on his shoulders. Na, na&mdash;he
      hings his sword on the cleek, lays his beaver on the shelf, puts his
      pedigree into his pocket, and gangs as doucely and cannily about his
      peddling craft as if his blood was nae better than ditch-water; but let
      our pedlar be transformed, as I have kend it happen mair than ance, into a
      bein thriving merchant, then ye shall have a transformation, my lords.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     'In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas&mdash;'
</pre>
    <p>
      Out he pulls his pedigree, on he buckles his sword, gives his beaver a
      brush, and cocks it in the face of all creation. We mention these things
      at the mair length, because we would have you all to know, that it is not
      without due consideration of the circumstances of all parties, that we
      design, in a small and private way, to honour with our own royal presence
      the marriage of Lord Glenvarloch with Margaret Ramsay, daughter and
      heiress of David Ramsay, our horologer, and a cadet only thrice removed
      from the ancient house of Dalwolsey. We are grieved we cannot have the
      presence of the noble Chief of that House at the ceremony; but where there
      is honour to be won abroad the Lord Dalwolsey is seldom to be found at
      home. <i>Sic fuit, est, et erit</i>.-Jingling Geordie, as ye stand to the
      cost of the marriage feast, we look for good cheer."
    </p>
    <p>
      Heriot bowed, as in duty bound. In fact, the king, who was a great
      politician about trifles, had manoeuvred greatly on this occasion, and had
      contrived to get the Prince and Buckingham dispatched on an expedition to
      Newmarket, in order that he might find an opportunity in their absence of
      indulging himself in his own gossiping, <i>coshering</i> habits, which
      were distasteful to Charles, whose temper inclined to formality, and with
      which even the favourite, of late, had not thought it worth while to seem
      to sympathise. When the levee was dismissed, Sir Mungo Malagrowther seized
      upon the worthy citizen in the court-yard of the Palace, and detained him,
      in spite of all his efforts, for the purpose of subjecting him to the
      following scrutiny:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is a sair job on you, Master George&mdash;the king must have had
      little consideration&mdash;this will cost you a bonny penny, this wedding
      dinner?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It will not break me, Sir Mungo," answered Heriot; "the king hath a right
      to see the table which his bounty hath supplied for years, well covered
      for a single day."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Vera true, vera true&mdash;we'll have a' to pay, I doubt, less or mair&mdash;a
      sort of penny-wedding it will prove, where all men contribute to the young
      folk's maintenance, that they may not have just four bare legs in a bed
      together. What do you propose to give, Master George?&mdash;we begin with
      the city when money is in question." [Footnote: The penny-wedding of the
      Scots, now disused even among the lowest ranks, was a peculiar species of
      merry-making, at which, if the wedded pair were popular, the guests who
      convened, contributed considerable sums under pretence of paying for the
      bridal festivity, but in reality to set the married folk afloat in the
      world.]
    </p>
    <p>
      "Only a trifle, Sir Mungo&mdash;I give my god-daughter the marriage ring;
      it is a curious jewel&mdash;I bought it in Italy; it belonged to Cosmo de
      Medici. The bride will not need my help&mdash;she has an estate which
      belonged to her maternal grandfather."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The auld soap-boiler," said Sir Mungo; "it will need some of his suds to
      scour the blot out of the Glenvarloch shield&mdash;I have heard that
      estate was no great things."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is as good as some posts at Court, Sir Mungo, which are coveted by
      persons of high quality," replied George Heriot.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Court favour, said ye? Court favour, Master Heriot?" replied Sir Mungo,
      choosing then to use his malady of misapprehension; "Moonshine in water,
      poor thing, if that is all she is to be tochered with&mdash;I am truly
      solicitous about them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will let you into a secret," said the citizen, "which will relieve your
      tender anxiety. The dowager Lady Dalgarno gives a competent fortune to the
      bride, and settles the rest of her estate upon her nephew the bridegroom."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, say ye sae?" said Sir Mungo, "just to show her regard to her husband
      that is in the tomb&mdash;lucky that her nephew did not send him there; it
      was a strange story that death of poor Lord Dalgarno&mdash;some folk think
      the poor gentleman had much wrong. Little good comes of marrying the
      daughter of the house you are at feud with; indeed, it was less poor
      Dalgarno's fault, than theirs that forced the match on him; but I am glad
      the young folk are to have something to live on, come how it like, whether
      by charity or inheritance. But if the Lady Dalgarno were to sell all she
      has, even to her very wylie-coat, she canna gie them back the fair Castle
      of Glenvarloch&mdash;that is lost and gane&mdash;lost and gane."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is but too true," said George Heriot; "we cannot discover what has
      become of the villain Andrew Skurliewhitter, or what Lord Dalgarno has
      done with the mortgage."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Assigned it away to some one, that his wife might not get it after he was
      gane; it would have disturbed him in his grave, to think Glenvarloch
      should get that land back again," said Sir Mungo; "depend on it, he will
      have ta'en sure measures to keep that noble lordship out of her grips or
      her nevoy's either."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed it is but too probable, Sir Mungo," said Master Heriot; "but as I
      am obliged to go and look after many things in consequence of this
      ceremony, I must leave you to comfort yourself with the reflection."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The bride-day, you say, is to be on the thirtieth of the instant month?"
      said Sir Mungo, holloing after the citizen; "I will be with you in the
      hour of cause."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The king invites the guests," said George Heriot, without turning back.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The base-born, ill-bred mechanic!" soliloquised Sir Mungo, "if it were
      not the odd score of pounds he lent me last week, I would teach him how to
      bear himself to a man of quality! But I will be at the bridal banquet in
      spite of him."
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir Mungo contrived to get invited, or commanded, to attend on the bridal
      accordingly, at which there were but few persons present; for James, on
      such occasions, preferred a snug privacy, which gave him liberty to lay
      aside the encumbrance, as he felt it to be, of his regal dignity. The
      company was very small, and indeed there were at least two persons absent
      whose presence might have been expected. The first of these was the Lady
      Dalgarno, the state of whose health, as well as the recent death of her
      husband, precluded her attendance on the ceremony. The other absentee was
      Richie Moniplies, whose conduct for some time past had been extremely
      mysterious. Regulating his attendance on Lord Glenvarloch entirely
      according to his own will and pleasure, he had, ever since the rencounter
      in Enfield Chase, appeared regularly at his bedside in the morning, to
      assist him to dress, and at his wardrobe in the evening. The rest of the
      day he disposed of at his own pleasure, without control from his lord, who
      had now a complete establishment of attendants. Yet he was somewhat
      curious to know how the fellow disposed of so much of his time; but on
      this subject Richie showed no desire to be communicative.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the morning of the bridal-day, Richie was particularly attentive in
      doing all a valet-de-chambre could, so as to set off to advantage the very
      handsome figure of his master; and when he had arranged his dress to the
      utmost exactness, and put to his long curled locks what he called "the
      finishing touch of the redding-kaim," he gravely kneeled down, kissed his
      hand, and bade him farewell, saying that he humbly craved leave to
      discharge himself of his lordship's service.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, what humour is this?" said Lord Glenvarloch; "if you mean to
      discharge yourself of my service, Richie, I suppose you intend to enter my
      wife's?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I wish her good ladyship that shall soon be, and your good lordship, the
      blessings of as good a servant as myself, in heaven's good time," said
      Richie; "but fate hath so ordained it, that I can henceforth only be your
      servant in the way of friendly courtesy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, Richie," said the young lord, "if you are tired of service, we will
      seek some better provision for you; but you will wait on me to the church,
      and partake of the bridal dinner?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Under favour, my lord," answered Richie; "I must remind you of our
      covenant, having presently some pressing business of mine own, whilk will
      detain me during the ceremony; but I will not fail to prie Master George's
      good cheer, in respect he has made very costly fare, whilk it would be
      unthankful not to partake of."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do as you list," answered Lord Glenvarloch; and having bestowed a passing
      thought on the whimsical and pragmatical disposition of his follower, he
      dismissed the subject for others better suited to the day.
    </p>
    <p>
      The reader must fancy the scattered flowers which strewed the path of the
      happy couple to church&mdash;the loud music which accompanied the
      procession&mdash;the marriage service performed by a bishop&mdash;the
      king, who met them at Saint Paul's, giving away the bride,&mdash;to the
      great relief of her father, who had thus time, during the ceremony, to
      calculate the just quotient to be laid on the pinion of report in a
      timepiece which he was then putting together.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the ceremony was finished, the company were transported in the royal
      carriages to George Heriot's, where a splendid collation was provided for
      the marriage-guests in the Foljambe apartments. The king no sooner found
      himself in this snug retreat, than, casting from him his sword and belt
      with such haste as if they burnt his fingers, and flinging his plumed hat
      on the table, as who should say, Lie there, authority! he swallowed a
      hearty cup of wine to the happiness of the married couple, and began to
      amble about the room, mumping, laughing, and cracking jests, neither the
      wittiest nor the most delicate, but accompanied and applauded by shouts of
      his own mirth, in order to encourage that of the company. Whilst his
      Majesty was in the midst of this gay humour, and a call to the banquet was
      anxiously expected, a servant whispered Master Heriot forth of the
      apartment. When he re-entered, he walked up to the king, and, in his turn
      whispered something, at which James started.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He is not wanting his siller?" said the king, shortly and sharply.
    </p>
    <p>
      "By no means, my liege," answered Heriot. "It is a subject he states
      himself as quite indifferent about, so long as it can pleasure your
      Majesty."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Body of us, man!" said the king, "it is the speech of a true man and a
      loving subject, and we will grace him accordingly&mdash;what though he be
      but a carle&mdash;a twopenny cat may look at a king. Swith, man! have him&mdash;<i>pundite
      fores</i>.&mdash;Moniplies?&mdash;They should have called the chield
      Monypennies, though I sall warrant you English think we have not such a
      name in Scotland."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is an ancient and honourable stock, the Monypennies," said Sir Mungo
      Malagrowther; "the only loss is, there are sae few of the name."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The family seems to increase among your countrymen, Sir Mungo," said
      Master Lowestoffe, whom Lord Glenvarloch had invited to be present, "since
      his Majesty's happy accession brought so many of you here."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Right, sir&mdash;right," said Sir Mungo, nodding and looking at George
      Heriot; "there have some of ourselves been the better of that great
      blessing to the English nation."
    </p>
    <p>
      As he spoke, the door flew open, and in entered, to the astonishment of
      Lord Glenvarloch, his late serving-man Richie Moniplies, now sumptuously,
      nay, gorgeously, attired in a superb brocaded suit, and leading in his
      hand the tall, thin, withered, somewhat distorted form of Martha Trapbois,
      arrayed in a complete dress of black velvet, which suited so strangely
      with the pallid and severe melancholy of her countenance, that the king
      himself exclaimed, in some perturbation, "What the deil has the fallow
      brought us here? Body of our regal selves! it is a corpse that has run off
      with the mort-cloth!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "May I sifflicate your Majesty to be gracious unto her?" said Richie;
      "being that she is, in respect of this morning's wark, my ain wedded wife,
      Mrs. Martha Moniplies by name."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Saul of our body, man! but she looks wondrous grim," answered King James.
      "Art thou sure she has not been in her time maid of honour to Queen Mary,
      our kinswoman, of redhot memory?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am sure, an it like your Majesty, that she has brought me fifty
      thousand pounds of good siller, and better; and that has enabled me to
      pleasure your Majesty, and other folk."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ye need have said naething about that, man," said the king; "we ken our
      obligations in that sma' matter, and we are glad this rudas spouse of
      thine hath bestowed her treasure on ane wha kens to put it to the profit
      of his king and country.&mdash;But how the deil did ye come by her, man?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "In the auld Scottish fashion, my liege. She is the captive of my bow and
      my spear," answered Moniplies. "There was a convention that she should wed
      me when I avenged her father's death&mdash;so I slew, and took
      possession."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is the daughter of Old Trapbois, who has been missed so long," said
      Lowestoffe.&mdash;"Where the devil could you mew her up so closely, friend
      Richie?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Master Richard, if it be your will," answered Richie; "or Master Richard
      Moniplies, if you like it better. For mewing of her up, I found her a
      shelter, in all honour and safety, under the roof of an honest countryman
      of my own&mdash;and for secrecy, it was a point of prudence, when wantons
      like you were abroad, Master Lowestoffe."
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a laugh at Richie's magnanimous reply, on the part of every one
      but his bride, who made to him a signal of impatience, and said, with her
      usual brevity and sternness,&mdash;"Peace&mdash;peace, I pray you, peace.
      Let us do that which we came for." So saying, she took out a bundle of
      parchments, and delivering them to Lord Glenvarloch, she said aloud,&mdash;"I
      take this royal presence, and all here, to witness, that I restore the
      ransomed lordship of Glenvarloch to the right owner, as free as ever it
      was held by any of his ancestors."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I witnessed the redemption of the mortgage," said Lowestoffe; "but I
      little dreamt by whom it had been redeemed."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No need ye should," said Richie; "there would have been small wisdom in
      crying roast-meat."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Peace," said his bride, "once more.&mdash;This paper," she continued,
      delivering another to Lord Glenvarloch, "is also your property&mdash;take
      it, but spare me the question how it came into my custody."
    </p>
    <p>
      The king had bustled forward beside Lord Glenvarloch, and fixing an eager
      eye on the writing, exclaimed&mdash;"Body of ourselves, it is our royal
      sign-manual for the money which was so long out of sight!&mdash;How came
      you by it, Mistress Bride?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is a secret," said Martha, dryly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "A secret which my tongue shall never utter," said Richie, resolutely,&mdash;"unless
      the king commands me on my allegiance."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do&mdash;I do command you," said James, trembling and stammering with
      the impatient curiosity of a gossip; while Sir Mungo, with more malicious
      anxiety to get at the bottom of the mystery, stooped his long thin form
      forward like a bent fishing-rod, raised his thin grey locks from his ear,
      and curved his hand behind it to collect every vibration of the expected
      intelligence. Martha in the meantime frowned most ominously on Richie, who
      went on undauntedly to inform the king, "that his deceased father-in-law,
      a good careful man in the main, had a' touch of worldly wisdom about him,
      that at times marred the uprightness of his walk; he liked to dabble among
      his neighbour's gear, and some of it would at times stick to his fingers
      in the handling."
    </p>
    <p>
      "For shame, man, for shame!" said Martha; "since the infamy of the deed
      must be told, be it at least briefly.&mdash;Yes, my lord," she added,
      addressing Glenvarloch, "the piece of gold was not the sole bait which
      brought the miserable old man to your chamber that dreadful night&mdash;his
      object, and he accomplished it, was to purloin this paper. The wretched
      scrivener was with him that morning, and, I doubt not, urged the doting
      old man to this villainy, to offer another bar to the ransom of your
      estate. If there was a yet more powerful agent at the bottom of this
      conspiracy, God forgive it to him at this moment, for he is now where the
      crime must be answered!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Amen!" said Lord Glenvarloch, and it was echoed by all present.
    </p>
    <p>
      "For my father," continued she, with her stern features twitched by an
      involuntary and convulsive movement, "his guilt and folly cost him his
      life; and my belief is constant, that the wretch, who counselled him that
      morning to purloin the paper, left open the window for the entrance of the
      murderers."
    </p>
    <p>
      Every body was silent for an instant; the king was first to speak,
      commanding search instantly to be made for the guilty scrivener. "<i>I,
      lictor,</i>" he concluded, "<i>colliga manus&mdash;caput obnubito-infelici
      suspendite arbori</i>."
    </p>
    <p>
      Lowestoffe answered with due respect, that the scrivener had absconded at
      the time of Lord Dalgarno's murder, and had not been heard of since.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let him be sought for," said the king. "And now let us change the
      discourse&mdash;these stories make one's very blood grew, and are
      altogether unfit for bridal festivity. Hymen, O Hymenee!" added he,
      snapping his fingers, "Lord Glenvarloch, what say you to Mistress
      Moniplies, this bonny bride, that has brought you back your father's
      estate on your bridal day?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let him say nothing, my liege," said Martha; "that will best suit his
      feelings and mine."
    </p>
    <p>
      "There is redemption-money, at the least, to be repaid," said Lord
      Glenvarloch; "in that I cannot remain debtor."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We will speak of it hereafter," said Martha; "<i>my</i> debtor <i>you</i>
      cannot be." And she shut her mouth as if determined to say nothing more on
      the subject.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir Mungo, however, resolved not to part with the topic, and availing
      himself of the freedom of the moment, said to Richie&mdash;"A queer story
      that of your father-in-law, honest man; methinks your bride thanked you
      little for ripping it up."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I make it a rule, Sir Mungo," replied Richie, "always to speak any evil I
      know about my family myself, having observed, that if I do not, it is sure
      to be told by ither folks."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, Richie," said Sir Mungo, "it seems to me that this bride of yours is
      like to be master and mair in the conjugal state."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If she abides by words, Sir Mungo," answered Richie, "I thank heaven I
      can be as deaf as any one; and if she comes to dunts, I have twa hands to
      paik her with."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Weel said, Richie, again," said the king; "you have gotten it on baith
      haffits, Sir Mungo.&mdash;Troth, Mistress Bride, for a fule, your gudeman
      has a pretty turn of wit."
    </p>
    <p>
      "There are fools, sire," replied she, "who have wit, and fools who have
      courage&mdash;aye, and fools who have learning, and are great fools
      notwithstanding.&mdash;I chose this man because he was my protector when I
      was desolate, and neither for his wit nor his wisdom. He is truly honest,
      and has a heart and hand that make amends for some folly. Since I was
      condemned to seek a protector through the world, which is to me a
      wilderness, I may thank God that I have come by no worse."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And that is sae sensibly said," replied the king, "that, by my saul, I'll
      try whether I canna make him better. Kneel down, Richie&mdash;somebody
      lend me a rapier&mdash;yours, Mr. Langstaff, (that's a brave name for a
      lawyer,)&mdash;ye need not flash it out that gate, Templar fashion, as if
      ye were about to pink a bailiff!"
    </p>
    <p>
      He took the drawn sword, and with averted eyes, for it was a sight he
      loved not to look on, endeavoured to lay it on Richie's shoulder, but
      nearly stuck it into his eye. Richie, starting back, attempted to rise,
      but was held down by Lowestoffe, while Sir Mungo, guiding the royal
      weapon, the honour-bestowing blow was given and received: "<i>Surge,
      carnifex</i>&mdash;Rise up, Sir Richard Moniplies, of Castle-Collop!&mdash;And,
      my lords and lieges, let us all to our dinner, for the cock-a-leekie is
      cooling."
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_NOTE" id="link2H_NOTE"> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      NOTES
    </h2>
    <p>
      Note I. p. l4.&mdash;DAVID RAMSAY
    </p>
    <p>
      David Ramsay, watchmaker and horologer to James I., was a real person,
      though the author has taken the liberty of pressing him into the service
      of fiction. Although his profession led him to cultivate the exact
      sciences, like many at this period he mingled them with pursuits which
      were mystical and fantastic. The truth was, that the boundaries between
      truth and falsehood in mathematics, astronomy, and similar pursuits, were
      not exactly known, and there existed a sort of <i>terra incognita</i>
      between them, in which the wisest men bewildered themselves. David Ramsay
      risked his money on the success of the vaticinations which his researches
      led him to form, since he sold clocks and watches under condition, that
      their value should not become payable till King James was crowned in the
      Pope's chair at Rome. Such wagers were common in that day, as may be seen
      by looking at Jonson's Every Man out of his Humour.
    </p>
    <p>
      David Ramsay was also an actor in another singular scene, in which the
      notorious astrologer Lilly was a performer, and had no small expectation
      on the occasion, since he brought with him a half-quartern sack to put the
      treasure in.
    </p>
    <p>
      "David Ramsay, his Majesty's clock-maker, had been informed that there was
      a great quantity of treasure buried in the cloister of Westminster Abbey.
      He acquaints Dean Withnam therewith, who was also then Bishop of Lincoln.
      The Dean gave him liberty to search after it, with this proviso, that if
      any was discovered, his church should have a share of it. Davy Ramsay
      finds out one John Scott, who pretended the use of the Mosaical rods, to
      assist him herein. [Footnote: The same now called, I believe, the Divining
      Rod, and applied to the discovery of water not obvious to the eye.] I was
      desired to join with him, unto which I consented. One winter's night, Davy
      Ramsay, with several gentlemen, myself, and Scott, entered the cloisters.
      We played the hazel rods round about the cloisters. Upon the west end of
      the cloisters the rods turned one over another, an argument that the
      treasure was there. The labourers digged at least six feet deep, and then
      we met with a coffin; but which, in regard it was not heavy, we did not
      open, which we afterwards much repented.
    </p>
    <p>
      "From the cloisters we went into the abbey church, where, upon a sudden,
      (there being no wind when we began,) so fierce and so high, so blustering
      and loud a wind did rise, that we verily believed the west end of the
      church would have fallen upon us. Our rods would not move at all; the
      candles and torches, also, but one were extinguished, or burned very
      dimly. John Scott, my partner, was amazed, looked pale, knew not what to
      think or do, until I gave directions and command to dismiss the demons;
      which, when done, all was quiet again, and each man returned unto his
      lodging late, about twelve o'clock at night. I could never since be
      induced to join with any such like actions.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The true miscarriage of the business was by reason of so many people
      being present at the operation; for there was about thirty, some laughing,
      others deriding us; so that, if we had not dismissed the demons, I believe
      most part of the abbey church would have been blown down. Secrecy and
      intelligent operators, with a strong confidence and knowledge of what they
      are doing, are best for the work."&mdash;LILLY'S <i>Life and Times</i>, p.
      46.
    </p>
    <p>
      David Ramsay had a son called William Ramsay, who appears to have
      possessed all his father's credulity. He became an astrologer, and in
      1651-2 published "<i>Vox Stellarum</i>, an Introduction to the Judgment of
      Eclipses and the Annual Revolutions of the World." The edition of 1652 is
      inscribed, to his father. It would appear, as indeed it might be argued
      from his mode of disposing of his goods, that the old horologer had
      omitted to make hay while the sun shone; for his son, in his dedication,
      has this exception to the paternal virtues, "It's true your carelessness
      in laying up while the sun shone for the tempests of a stormy day, hath
      given occasion to some inferior spirited people not to value you according
      to what you are by nature and in yourself, for such look not to a man
      longer than he is in prosperity, esteeming none but for their wealth, not
      wisdom, power, nor virtue." From these expressions, it is to be
      apprehended that while old David Ramsay, a follower of the Stewarts, sunk
      under the Parliamentary government, his son, William, had advanced from
      being a dupe to astrology to the dignity of being himself a cheat.
    </p>
    <p>
      Note II. p. 27.-GEORGE HERIOT
    </p>
    <p>
      This excellent person was but little known by his actions when alive, but
      we may well use, in this particular, the striking phrase of Scripture,
      "that being dead he yet speaketh." We have already mentioned, in the
      Introduction, the splendid charity of which he was the founder; the few
      notices of his personal history are slight and meagre.
    </p>
    <p>
      George Heriot was born at Trabroun, in the parish of Gladsmuir; he was the
      eldest son of a goldsmith in Edinburgh, descended from a family of some
      consequence in East Lothian. His father enjoyed the confidence of his
      fellow-citizens, and was their representative in Parliament. He was,
      besides, one of the deputies sent by the inhabitants of the city to
      propitiate the King, when he had left Edinburgh abruptly, after the riot
      of 17th December, 1596.
    </p>
    <p>
      George Heriot, the son, pursued his father's occupation of a goldsmith,
      then peculiarly lucrative, and much connected with that of a money-broker.
      He enjoyed the favour and protection of James, and of his consort, Anne of
      Denmark. He married, for his first wife, a maiden of his own rank, named
      Christian Marjoribanks, daughter of a respectable burgess. This was in
      1586. He was afterwards named jeweller to the Queen, whose account to him
      for a space of ten years amounted to nearly L40,000. George Heriot, having
      lost his wife, connected himself with the distinguished house of Rosebery,
      by marrying a daughter of James Primrose, Clerk to the Privy Council. Of
      this lady he was deprived by her dying in child-birth in 1612, before
      attaining her twenty-first year. After a life spent in honourable and
      successful industry, George Heriot died in London, to which city he had
      followed his royal master, on the 12th February, 1624, at the age of
      sixty-one years. His picture, (copied by Scougal from a lost original,) in
      which he is represented in the prime of life, is thus described: "His fair
      hair, which overshades the thoughtful brow and calm calculating eye, with
      the cast of humour on the lower part of the countenance, are all
      indicative of the genuine Scottish character, and well distinguish a
      person fitted to move steadily and wisely through the world, with a
      strength of resolution to ensure success, and a disposition to enjoy it."&mdash;<i>Historical
      and Descriptive Account of Heriot's Hospital, with a Memoir of the
      Founder, by Messrs James and John Johnstone.</i> Edinburgh, 1827.
    </p>
    <p>
      I may add, as every thing concerning George Heriot is interesting, that
      his second wife, Alison Primrose, was interred in Saint Gregory's Church,
      from the register of which parish the Rev. Mr. Barham, Rector, has, in the
      kindest manner, sent me the following extract:&mdash;"Mrs. Alison, the
      wife of Mr. George Heriot, gentleman, 20th April, 1612." Saint Gregory's,
      before the Great Fire of London which consumed the Cathedral, formed one
      of the towers of old Saint Paul's, and occupied the space of ground now
      filled by Queen Anne's statue. In the south aisle of the choir Mrs. Heriot
      reposed under a handsome monument, bearing the following inscription:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>"Sanctissimae et charissimae conjugi ALISONAE HERIOT, Jacobi Primrosii,
      Regia Majestatis in Sanctiori Concilio Regni Scotia Amanuensis, filiae,
      fernina omnibus turn animi turn corporis dotibus, ac pio cultu
      instructissimae, maestissimus ipsius maritus GEORGIUS HERIOT, ARMIGER,
      Regis, Reginae, Principum Henrici et Caroli Gemmarius, bene merenti, non
      sine lachrymis, hoc Monumentum pie posuit. </i>
    </p>
    <p>
      "Obiit Mensis Aprilis die 16, anno salutis 1612, aetatis 20, in ipso flore
      juventae, et mihi, parentibus, et amicis tristissimum sui desiderium
      reliquit.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
 Hic Alicia Primrosa
 Jacet crudo abruta fato,
 Intempestivas
 Ut rosa pressa manus.
 Nondum bisdenos
 Annorum impleverat orbes,
 Pulchra, pudica,
 Patris delicium atque viri:
 Quum gravida, heu! Nunquam
 Mater, decessit, et inde
 Cura dolorq: Patri,
 Cura dolorq: viro.
 Non sublata tamen
 Tantum translata recessit;
 Nunc Rosa prima Poli
 Quae fuit antea soli."
</pre>
    <p>
      The loss of a young, beautiful, and amiable partner, at a period so
      interesting, was the probable reason of her husband devoting his fortune
      to a charitable institution. The epitaph occurs in Strype's edition of <i>Stewe's
      Survey of London</i>, Book iii., page 228.
    </p>
    <p>
      Note III. p. 39.&mdash;PROCLAMATION AGAINST THE SCOTS COMING TO ENGLAND
    </p>
    <p>
      The English agreed in nothing more unanimously than in censuring James on
      account of the beggarly rabble which not only attended the King at his
      coming first out of Scotland, "but," says Osborne, "which, through his
      whole reign, like a fluent spring, were found still crossing the Tweed."
      Yet it is certain, from the number of proclamations published by the Privy
      Council in Scotland, and bearing marks of the King's own diction, that he
      was sensible of the whole inconveniences and unpopularity attending the
      importunate crowd of disrespectable suitors, and as desirous to get rid of
      them as his Southern subjects could be. But it was in vain that his
      Majesty argued with his Scottish subjects on the disrespect they were
      bringing on their native country and sovereign, by causing the English to
      suppose there were no well-nurtured or independent gentry in Scotland,
      they who presented themselves being, in the opinion and conceit of all
      beholders, "but idle rascals, and poor miserable bodies." It was even in
      vain that the vessels which brought up this unwelcome cargo of petitioners
      were threatened with fine and confiscation; the undaunted suitors
      continued to press forward, and, as one of the proclamations says, many of
      them under pretence of requiring payment of "auld debts due to them by the
      King," which, it is observed with great <i>naivete</i>, "is, of all kinds
      of importunity, most unpleasing to his Majesty." The expressions in the
      text are selected from these curious proclamations.
    </p>
    <p>
      NOTE IV. p. 59.&mdash;KING JAMES
    </p>
    <p>
      The dress of this monarch, together with his personal appearance, is thus
      described by a contemporary:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "He was of a middle stature, more corpulent through [i.e. by means of] his
      clothes than in his body, yet fat enough. His legs were very weak, having
      had, as was thought, some foul play in his youth, or rather before he was
      born, that he was not able to stand at seven years of age. That weakness
      made him ever leaning on other men's shoulders. His walk was even
      circular; his hands are in that walk ever fiddling about&mdash;&mdash;[a
      part of dress now laid aside]. He would make a great deal too bold with
      God in his passion, both with cursing and swearing, and a strain higher
      verging on blasphemy; but would, in his better temper, say, he hoped God
      would not impute them as sins, and lay them to his charge, seeing they
      proceeded from passion. He had need of great assistance, rather than hope,
      that would daily make thus bold with God."&mdash;DALZELL'S <i>Sketches of
      Scottish History </i>, p. 86.
    </p>
    <p>
      NOTE V. p. 78.&mdash;SIR MUNGO MALAGROWTHER
    </p>
    <p>
      It will perhaps be recognised by some of my countrymen, that the caustic
      Scottish knight, as described in the preceding chapter, borrowed some of
      his attributes from a most worthy and respectable baronet, who was to be
      met with in Edinburgh society about twenty-five or thirty years ago. It is
      not by any means to be inferred, that the living person resembled the
      imaginary one in the course of life ascribed to him, or in his personal
      attributes. But his fortune was little adequate to his rank and the
      antiquity of his family; and, to avenge himself of this disparity, the
      worthy baronet lost no opportunity of making the more avowed sons of
      fortune feel the edge of his satire. This he had the art of disguising
      under the personal infirmity of deafness, and usually introduced his most
      severe things by an affected mistake of what was said around him. For
      example, at a public meeting of a certain county, this worthy gentleman
      had chosen to display a laced coat, of such a pattern as had not been seen
      in society for the better part of a century. The young men who were
      present amused themselves with rallying him on his taste, when he suddenly
      singled out one of the party:&mdash;"Auld d'ye think my coat&mdash;auld-fashioned?&mdash;indeed
      it canna be new; but it was the wark of a braw tailor, and that was your
      grandfather, who was at the head of the trade in Edinburgh about the
      beginning of last century." Upon another occasion, when this type of Sir
      Mungo Malagrowther happened to hear a nobleman, the high chief of one of
      those Border clans who were accused of paying very little attention in
      ancient times to the distinctions of <i>Meum</i> and <i>Tuum,</i>
      addressing a gentleman of the same name, as if conjecturing there should
      be some relationship between them, he volunteered to ascertain the nature
      of the connexion by saying, that the "chief's ancestors had <i>stolen</i>
      the cows, and the other gentleman's ancestors had <i>killed</i> them,"&mdash;fame
      ascribing the origin of the latter family to a butcher. It may be well
      imagined, that among a people that have been always punctilious about
      genealogy, such a person, who had a general acquaintance with all the
      flaws and specks in the shields of the proud, the pretending, and the
      nouveaux riches, must have had the same scope for amusement as a monkey in
      a china shop.
    </p>
    <p>
      Note VI. p. 98.&mdash;MRS. ANNE TURNER
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Anne Turner was a dame somewhat of the occupation of Mrs. Suddlechop
      in the text; that is, half milliner half procuress, and secret agent in
      all manner of proceedings. She was a trafficker in the poisoning of Sir
      Thomas Overbury, for which so many subordinate agents lost their lives,
      while, to the great scandal of justice, the Earl of Somerset and his
      Countess were suffered to escape, upon a threat of Somerset to make public
      some secret which nearly affected his master, King James. Mrs. Turner
      introduced into England a French custom of using yellow starch in getting
      up bands and cuffs, and, by Lord Coke's orders, she appeared in that
      fashion at the place of execution. She was the widow of a physician, and
      had been eminently beautiful, as appears from the description of her in
      the poem called Overbury's Vision. There was produced in court a parcel of
      dolls or puppets belonging to this lady, some naked, some dressed, and
      which she used for exhibiting fashions upon. But, greatly to the horror of
      the spectators, who accounted these figures to be magical devices, there
      was, on their being shown, "heard a crack from the scaffold, which caused
      great fear, tumult, and confusion, among the spectators and throughout the
      hall, every one fearing hurt, as if the devil had been present, and grown
      angry to have his workmanship showed to such as were not his own
      scholars." Compare this curious passage in the History of King James for
      the First Fourteen Years, 1651, with the Aulicus Coquinarius of Dr.
      Heylin. Both works are published in the Secret History of King James.
    </p>
    <p>
      Note VII. p. 110.&mdash;LORD HUNTINGLEN
    </p>
    <p>
      The credit of having rescued James I. from the dagger of Alexander
      Ruthven, is here fictitiously ascribed to an imaginary Lord Huntinglen. In
      reality, as may be read in every history, his preserver was John Ramsay,
      afterwards created Earl of Holderness, who stabbed the younger Ruthven
      with his dagger while he was struggling with the King. Sir Anthony Weldon
      informs us, that, upon the annual return of the day, the King's
      deliverance was commemorated by an anniversary feast. The time was the
      fifth of August, "upon which," proceeds the satirical historian, "Sir John
      Ramsay, for his good service in that preservation, was the principal
      guest, and so did the King grant him any boon he would ask that day. But
      he had such limitation made to his asking, as made his suit as
      unprofitable, as the action for which he asked it for was unserviceable to
      the King."
    </p>
    <p>
      Note VIII. p. 115.&mdash;BUCKINGHAM
    </p>
    <p>
      Buckingham, who had a frankness in his high and irascible ambition, was
      always ready to bid defiance to those by whom he was thwarted or opposed.
      He aspired to be created Prince of Tipperary in Ireland, and Lord High
      Constable of England. Coventry, then Lord Keeper, opposed what seemed such
      an unreasonable extent of power as was annexed to the office of Constable.
      On this opposition, according to Sir Anthony Weldon, "the Duke
      peremptorily accosted Coventry, 'Who made you Lord Keeper, Coventry?' He
      replied, 'The King.' Buckingham replied, 'It's false; 'twas I did make
      you, and you shall know that I, who made you, can, and will, unmake you.'
      Coventry thus answered him, 'Did I conceive that I held my place by your
      favour, I would presently unmake myself, by rendering up the seals to his
      Majesty.' Then Buckingham, in a scorn and fury, flung from him, saying,
      'You shall not keep it long;' and surely, had not Felton prevented him, he
      had made good his word."&mdash;WELDON'S <i>Court of King James and
      Charles.</i>
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
 Note IX. p. 134.&mdash;PAGES IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY
</pre>
    <p>
      About this time the ancient customs arising from the long prevalence of
      chivalry, began to be grossly varied from the original purposes of the
      institution. None was more remarkable than the change which took place in
      the breeding and occupation of pages. This peculiar species of menial
      originally consisted of youths of noble birth, who, that they might be
      trained to the exercise of arms, were early removed from their paternal
      homes, where too much indulgence might have been expected, to be placed in
      the family of some prince or man of rank and military renown, where they
      served, as it were, an apprenticeship to the duties of chivalry and
      courtesy. Their education was severely moral, and pursued with great
      strictness in respect to useful exercises, and what were deemed elegant
      accomplishments. From being pages, they were advanced to the next
      gradation of squires; from squires, these candidates for the honours of
      knighthood were frequently made knights.
    </p>
    <p>
      But in the sixteenth century the page had become, in many instances, a
      mere domestic, who sometimes, by the splendour of his address and
      appearance, was expected to make up in show for the absence of a whole
      band of retainers with swords and bucklers. We have Sir John's authority
      when he cashiers part of his train.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
   "Falstaff will learn the humour of the age,
    French thrift, you rogues, myself and skirted page."
</pre>
    <p>
      Jonson, in a high tone of moral indignation, thus reprobated the change.
      The Host of the New Inn replies to Lord Lovel, who asks to have his son
      for a page, that he would, with his own hands hang him, sooner
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "Than damn him to this desperate course of life.
     <i>LOVEL.</i> Call you that desperate, which, by a line
   Of institution, from our ancestors
   Hath been derived down to us, and received
   In a succession, for the noblest way
   Of brushing up our youth, in letters, arms,
   Fair mien, discourses civil, exercise,
   And all the blazon of a gentleman?
   Where can he learn to vault, to ride, to fence,
   To move his body gracefully, to speak
   The language pure, or to turn his mind
   Or manners more to the harmony of nature,
   Than in these nurseries of nobility?
     <i>HOST.</i> Ay, that was when the nursery's self was noble,
   And only virtue made it, not the market,
   That titles were not vended at the drum
   And common outcry; goodness gave the greatness,
   And greatness worship; every house became
   An academy, and those parts
   We see departed in the practice now
   Quite from the institution.
     <i>LOVEL.</i> Why do you say so,
   Or think so enviously? do they not still
   Learn us the Centaur's skill, the art of Thrace,
   To ride? or Pollux' mystery, to fence?
   The Pyrrhick gestures, both to stand and spring
   In armour; to be active for the wars;
   To study figures, numbers and proportions,
   May yield them great in counsels and the art;
   To make their English sweet upon their tongue?
   As reverend Chaucer says.
     <i>HOST.</i> Sir, you mistake;
   To play Sir Pandarus, my copy hath it,
   And carry messages to Madam Cressid;
   Instead of backing the brave steed o'mornings.
   To kiss the chambermaid, and for a leap
   O' the vaulting horse, to ply the vaulting house;
   For exercise of arms a bale of dice,
   And two or three packs of cards to show the cheat
   And nimbleness of hand; mistake a cloak
   From my lord's back, and pawn it; ease his pockets
   Of a superfluous watch, or geld a jewel
   Of an odd stone or so; twinge three or four buttons
   From off my lady's gown: These are the arts,
   Or seven liberal deadly sciences,
   Of pagery, or rather paganism,
   As the tides run; to which, if he apply him,
   He may, perhaps, take a degree at Tyburn,
   A year the earlier come to read a lecture
   Upon Aquinas, at Saint Thomas-a-Watering's
   And so go forth a laureate in hemp-circle."
                            The New Inn, Act I.
</pre>
    <p>
      Note X. p. 135.&mdash;LORD HENRY HOWARD
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Henry Howard was the second son of the poetical Earl of Surrey, and
      possessed considerable parts and learning. He wrote, in the year 1583, a
      book called, <i>A Defensative against the Poison of supposed Prophecies.</i>
      He gained the favour of Queen Elizabeth, by having, he says, directed his
      battery against a sect of prophets and pretended soothsayers, whom he
      accounted <i>infesti regibus,</i> as he expresses it. In the last years of
      the Queen, he became James's most ardent partisan, and conducted with
      great pedantry, but much intrigue, the correspondence betwixt the Scottish
      King and the younger Cecil. Upon James's accession, he was created Earl of
      Northampton, and Lord Privy Seal. According to De Beaumont the French
      Ambassador, Lord Henry Howard, was one of the greatest flatterers and
      calumniators that ever lived.
    </p>
    <p>
      Note XI. p. 136.&mdash;SKIRMISHES IN THE PUBLIC STREETS
    </p>
    <p>
      Edinburgh appears to have been one of the most disorderly towns in Europe,
      during the sixteenth and beginning of the seventeenth century. The Diary
      of the honest citizen Birrel, repeatedly records such incidents as the
      following: "The 24 of November (1567), at two afternoon, the Laird of
      Airth and the Laird of Weems met on the High Gate of Edinburgh, and they
      and their followers fought a very bloody skirmish, where there were many
      hurt on both sides with shot of pistol." These skirmishes also took place
      in London itself. In Shadwell's play of <i>The Scowrers,</i> an old rake
      thus boasts of his early exploits:&mdash;"I knew the Hectors, and before
      them the Muns, and the Tityretu's; they were brave fellows indeed! In
      these days, a man could not go from the Rose Garden to the Piazza once,
      but he must venture his life twice, my dear Sir Willie." But it appears
      that the affrays, which, in the Scottish capital, arose out of hereditary
      quarrels and ancient feuds, were in London the growth of the
      licentiousness and arrogance of young debauchees.
    </p>
    <p>
      Note XII. p. 144.&mdash;FRENCH COOKERY
    </p>
    <p>
      The exertion of French ingenuity mentioned in the text is noticed by some
      authorities of the period; the siege of Leith was also distinguished by
      the protracted obstinacy of the besieged, in which was displayed all that
      the age possessed of defensive war, so that Brantome records that those
      who witnessed this siege, had, from that very circumstance, a degree of
      consequence yielded to their persons and opinions. He tells a story of
      Strozzi himself, from which it appears that his jests lay a good deal in
      the line of the cuisine. He caused a mule to be stolen from one Brusquet,
      on whom he wished to play a trick, and served up the flesh of that unclean
      animal so well disguised, that it passed with Brusquet for venison.
    </p>
    <p>
      Note XIII. p. 145.&mdash;CUCKOO'S NEST
    </p>
    <p>
      The quarrel in this chapter between the pretended captain and the citizen
      of London, is taken from a burlesque poem called The Counter Scuffle, that
      is, the Scuffle in the Prison at Wood street, so called. It is a piece of
      low humour, which had at the time very considerable vogue. The prisoners,
      it seems, had fallen into a dispute amongst themselves "which calling was
      of most repute," and a lawyer put in his claim to be most highly
      considered. The man of war repelled his pretence with much arrogance.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
   "'Wer't not for us, thou swad,' quoth he,
    'Where wouldst thou fay to get a fee?
    But to defend such things as thee
            'Tis pity;
    For such as you esteem us least,
    Who ever have been ready prest
    To guard you and your cuckoo's nest,
            The City'"
</pre>
    <p>
      The offence is no sooner given than it is caught up by a gallant citizen,
      a goldsmith, named Ellis.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "'Of London city I am free,
    And there I first my wife did see,
    And for that very cause,' said he,
            'I love it.

    And he that calls it cuckoo's nest,
    Except he say he speaks in jest,
    He is a villain and a beast,&mdash;
            'I'll prove it!

    For though I am a man of trade,
    And free of London city made,
    Yet can I use gun, bill, and blade,
            In battle.

    And citizens, if need require,
    Themselves can force the foe retire,
    Whatever this low country squire
             May prattle.'"
</pre>
    <p>
      The dispute terminates in the scuffle, which is the subject of the poem.
      The whole may be found in the second edition of Dryden's <i>Miscellany,</i>
      12mo, vol. iii. 1716.
    </p>
    <p>
      Note XIV. p. 150.&mdash;BURBAGE
    </p>
    <p>
      Burbage, whom Camden terms another Roscius, was probably the original
      representative of Richard III., and seems to have been early almost
      identified with his prototype. Bishop Corbet, in his Iter Boreale, tells
      us that mine host of Market Bosworth was full of ale and history.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "Hear him, See you yon wood? there Richard lay
   With his whole army; look the other way,
   And lo, where Richmond, in a field of gorse,
   Encamp'd himself in might and all his force.
   Upon this hill they met. Why, he could tell
   The inch where Richmond stood, where Richard fell;
   Besides, what of his knowledge he could say,
   He had authentic notice from the play,
   Which I might guess by's mustering up the ghosts
   And policies not incident to hosts;
   But chiefly by that one perspicuous thing,
   Where he mistook a player for a king,
   For when he would have said, that Richard died,
   And call'd, a horse! a horse! he Burbage cried."

            RICHARD CORBET'S <i>Poems, Edition 1815,</i> p. 193.
</pre>
    <p>
      Note XV. p. 323.&mdash;MHIC-ALLASTAR-MORE
    </p>
    <p>
      This is the Highland patronymic of the late gallant Chief of Glengarry.
      The allusion in the text is to an unnecessary alarm taken by some lady, at
      the ceremonial of the coronation of George IV., at the sight of the
      pistols which the Chief wore as a part of his Highland dress. The
      circumstance produced some confusion, which was talked of at the time. All
      who knew Glengarry (and the author knew him well) were aware that his
      principles were of devoted loyalty to the person of his sovereign.
    </p>
    <p>
      Note XVI. p. 323.&mdash;KING JAMES'S HUNTING BOTTLE
    </p>
    <p>
      Roger Coke, in his Detection of the Court and State of England, London,
      1697, p.70, observes of James I., "The king was excessively addicted to
      hunting, and drinking, not ordinary French and Spanish wines, but strong
      Greek wines, and thought he would compound his hunting with these wines;
      and to that purpose, he was attended by a special officer, who was, as
      much as he could be, always at hand to fill the King's cup in hunting when
      he called for it. I have heard my father say, that, hunting with the King,
      after the King had drank of the wine, he also drank of it; and though he
      was young, and of a healthful disposition, it so deranged his head that it
      spoiled his pleasure and disordered him for three days after. Whether it
      was from drinking these wines, or from some other cause, the King became
      so lazy and so unwieldy, that he was trussed on horseback, and as he was
      set, so would he ride, without stirring himself in the saddle; nay, when
      his hat was set upon his head he would not take the trouble to alter it,
      but it sate as it was put on."
    </p>
    <p>
      The trussing, for which the demipique saddle of the day afforded
      particular facility, is alluded to in the text; and the author, among
      other nickcnacks of antiquity, possesses a leathern flask, like those
      carried by sportsmen, which is labelled, "King James's Hunting Bottle,"
      with what authenticity is uncertain. Coke seems to have exaggerated the
      King's taste for the bottle. Welldon says James was not intemperate in his
      drinking; "However, in his old age, Buckingham's jovial suppers, when he
      had any turn to do with him, made him sometimes overtaken, which he would
      the next day remember, and repent with tears. It is true he drank very
      often, which was rather out of a custom than any delight; and his drinks
      were of that kind for strength, as Frontiniack, Canary, high country wine,
      tent wine, and Scottish ale, that had he not had a very strong brain, he
      might have been daily overtaken, though he seldom drank at any one time
      above four spoonfuls, many times not above one or two."&mdash;<i>Secret
      History of King James,</i> vol. ii., p. 3. Edin. 1811.
    </p>
    <p>
      Note XVII. p. 325.&mdash;SCENE IN GREENWICH PARK
    </p>
    <p>
      I cannot here omit mentioning, that a painting of the old school is in
      existence, having a remarkable resemblance to the scene described in the
      foregoing chapter, although it be nevertheless true that the similarity is
      in all respects casual, and that the author knew not of the existence of
      the painting till it was sold, amongst others, with the following
      description attached to it in a well-drawn-up catalogue:
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                             "FREDERIGO ZUCCHERO
    <i>"Scene as represented in the Fortunes of Nigel, by Frederigo
Zucchero, the King's painter.</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      "This extraordinary picture, which, independent of its pictorial merit,
      has been esteemed a great literary curiosity, represents most faithfully
      the meeting, in Greenwich Park, between King James and Nigel Oliphaunt, as
      described in the Fortunes of Nigel, showing that the author must have
      taken the anecdote from authenticated facts. In the centre of the picture
      sits King James on horseback, very erect and stiffly. Between the King and
      Prince Charles, who is on the left of the picture, the Duke of Buckingham
      is represented riding a black horse, and pointing eagerly towards the
      culprit, Nigel Olifaunt, who is standing on the right side of the picture.
      He grasps with his right hand a gun, or crossbow, and looks angrily
      towards the King, who seems somewhat confused and alarmed. Behind Nigel,
      his servant is restraining two dogs which are barking fiercely. Nigel and
      his servant are both clothed in red, the livery of the Oliphaunt family in
      which, to this day, the town-officers of Perth are clothed, there being an
      old charter, granting to the Oliphaunt family, the privilege of dressing
      the public officers of Perth in their livery. The Duke of Buckingham is in
      all respects equal in magnificence of dress to the King or the Prince. The
      only difference that is marked between him and royalty is, that his head
      is uncovered. The King and the Prince wear their hats. In Letitia Aikin's
      Memoirs of the Reign of King James, will be found a letter from Sir Thomas
      Howard to Lord L. Harrington, in which he recommends the latter to come to
      court, mentioning that his Majesty has spoken favourably of him. He then
      proceeds to give him some advice, by which he is likely to find favour in
      the King's eyes. He tells him to wear a bushy ruff, well starched; and
      after various other directions as to his dress, he concludes, 'but above
      all things fail not to praise the roan jennet whereon the King doth daily
      ride.' In this picture King James is represented on the identical roan
      jennet. In the background of the picture are seen two or three
      suspicious-looking figures, as if watching the success of some plot. These
      may have been put in by the painter, to flatter the King, by making it be
      supposed that he had actually escaped, or successfully combated, some
      serious plot. The King is attended by a numerous band of courtiers and
      attendants, all of whom seem moving forward to arrest the defaulter. The
      painting of this picture is extremely good, but the drawing is very
      Gothic, and there is no attempt at the keeping of perspective. The picture
      is very dark and obscure, which considerably adds to the interest of the
      scene."
    </p>
    <p>
      Note XVIII. p. 325.&mdash;KING JAMES'S TIMIDITY
    </p>
    <p>
      The fears of James for his personal safety were often excited without
      serious grounds. On one occasion, having been induced to visit a coal-pit
      on the coast of Fife, he was conducted a little way under the sea, and
      brought to daylight again on a small island, or what was such at full
      tide, down which a shaft had been sunk. James, who conceived his life or
      liberty aimed at, when he found himself on an islet surrounded by the sea,
      instead of admiring, as his cicerone hoped, the unexpected change of
      scene, cried TREASON with all his might, and could not be pacified till he
      was rowed ashore. At Lockmaben he took an equally causeless alarm from a
      still slighter circumstance. Some vendisses, a fish peculiar to the Loch,
      were presented to the royal table as a delicacy; but the King, who was not
      familiar with their appearance, concluded they were poisoned, and broke up
      the banquet "with most admired disorder."
    </p>
    <p>
      Note XIX. p. 328.&mdash;TRAITOR'S GATE
    </p>
    <p>
      Traitor's Gate, which opens from the Tower of London to the Thames, was,
      as its name implies, that by which persons accused of state offences were
      conveyed to their prison. When the tide is making, and the ancient gate is
      beheld from within the buildings, it used to be a most striking part of
      the old fortress; but it is now much injured in appearance, being half
      built up with masonry to support a steam-engine, or something of that
      sort.
    </p>
    <p>
      Note XX. p. 361.&mdash;PUNISHMENT OF STUBBS BY MUTILATION
    </p>
    <p>
      This execution, which so captivated the imagination of Sir Mungo
      Malagrowther, was really a striking one. The criminal, a furious and
      bigoted Puritan, had published a book in very violent terms against the
      match of Elizabeth with the Duke of Alencon, which he termed an union of a
      daughter of God with a son of antichrist. Queen Elizabeth was greatly
      incensed at the freedom assumed in this work, and caused the author
      Stubbs, with Page the publisher, and one Singleton the printer, to be
      tried on an act passed by Philip and Mary against the writers and
      dispersers of seditious publications. They were convicted, and although
      there was an opinion strongly entertained by the lawyers, that the act was
      only temporary, and expired with Queen Mary, Stubbs and Page received
      sentence to have their right hands struck off. They accordingly suffered
      the punishment, the wrist being divided by a cleaver driven through the
      joint by force of a mallet. The printer was pardoned. "I remember," says
      the historian Camden, "being then present, that Stubbs, when his right
      hand was cut off, plucked off his hat with the left, and said, with a loud
      voice, 'God save the Queen!' The multitude standing about was deeply
      silent, either out of horror of this new and unwonted kind of punishment,
      or out of commiseration towards the man, as being of an honest and
      unblamable repute, or else out of hatred to the marriage, which most men
      presaged would be the overthrow of religion."-CAMDBN'S <i>Annals for the
      Year</i> 1581.
    </p>
    <p>
      Note XXI. p. 375.&mdash;RlCHIE MONIPLIES BEHIND THE ARRAS
    </p>
    <p>
      The practical jest of Richie Moniplies going behind the arras to get an
      opportunity of teasing Heriot, was a pleasantry such as James might be
      supposed to approve of. It was customary for those who knew his humour to
      contrive jests of this kind for his amusement. The celebrated Archie
      Armstrong, and another jester called Drummond, mounted on other people's
      backs, used to charge each other like knights in the tilt-yard, to the
      monarch's great amusement. The following is an instance of the same kind,
      taken from Webster upon Witchcraft. The author is speaking of the faculty
      called ventriloquism.
    </p>
    <p>
      But to make this more plain and certain, we shall add a story of a notable
      impostor, or ventriloquist, from the testimony of Mr. Ady, which we have
      had confirmed from the mouth of some courtiers, that both saw and knew
      him, and is this:&mdash;It hath been (saith he) credibly reported, that
      there was a man in the court of King James his days, that could act this
      imposture so lively, that he could call the King by name, and cause the
      King to look round about him, wondering who it was that called him,
      whereas he that called him stood before him in his presence, with his face
      towards him. But after this imposture was known, the King, in his
      merriment, would sometimes take occasionally this impostor to make sport
      upon some of his courtiers, as, for instance:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "There was a knight belonging to the court, whom the King caused to come
      before him in his private room, (where no man was but the King, and this
      knight and the impostor,) and feigned some occasion of serious discourse
      with the knight; but when the King began to speak and the knight bending
      his attention to the King, suddenly there came a voice as out of another
      room, calling the knight by name, 'Sir John, Sir John; come away, Sir
      John;' at which the knight began to frown that any man should be
      unmannerly as to molest the King and him; and still listening to the
      King's discourse, the voice came again, 'Sir John, Sir John; come away and
      drink off your sack.' At that Sir John began to swell with anger, and
      looked into the next room to see who it was that dared to call him so
      importunately, and could not find out who it was, and having chid with
      whomsoever he found, he returned again to the King. The King had no sooner
      begun to speak as formerly, but the voice came again, 'Sir John, come
      away, your sack stayeth for you.' At that Sir John began to stamp with
      madness, and looked out and returned several times to the King, but could
      not be quiet in his discourse with the King, because of the voice that so
      often troubled him, till the king had sported enough."&mdash;WEBSTER <i>on
      Witchcraft</i>, p. 124.
    </p>
    <p>
      Note XXII. p. 393.&mdash;LADY LAKE.
    </p>
    <p>
      Whether out of a meddling propensity common to all who have a gossiping
      disposition, or from the love of justice, which ought to make part of a
      prince's character, James was very fond of enquiring personally into the
      causes <i>celebres</i> which occurred during his reign. In the imposture
      of the Boy of Bilson, who pretended to be possessed, and of one Richard
      Haydock, a poor scholar, who pretended to preach during his sleep, the
      King, to use the historian Wilson's expression, took delight in sounding
      with the line of his understanding, the depths of these brutish
      impositions, and in doing so, showed the acuteness with which he was
      endowed by Nature. Lady Lake's story consisted in a clamorous complaint
      against the Countess of Exeter, whom she accused of a purpose to put to
      death Lady Lake herself, and her daughter, Lady Ross, the wife of the
      Countess's own son-in-law, Lord Ross; and a forged letter was produced, in
      which Lady Exeter was made to acknowledge such a purpose. The account
      given of the occasion of obtaining this letter, was, that it had been
      written by the Countess at Wimbledon, in presence of Lady Lake and her
      daughter, Lady Ross, being designed to procure their forgiveness for her
      mischievous intention. The King remained still unsatisfied, the writing,
      in his opinion, bearing some marks of forgery. Lady Lake and her daughter
      then alleged, that, besides their own attestation, and that of a
      confidential domestic, named Diego, in whose presence Lady Exeter had
      written the confession, their story might also be supported by the oath of
      their waiting-maid, who had been placed behind the hangings at the time
      the letter was written, and heard the Countess of Exeter read over the
      confession after she had signed it. Determined to be at the bottom of this
      accusation, James, while hunting one day near Wimbledon, the scene of the
      alleged confession, suddenly left his sport, and, galloping hastily to
      Wimbledon, in order to examine personally the room, discovered, from the
      size of the apartment, that the alleged conversation could not have taken
      place in the manner sworn to; and that the tapestry of the chamber, which
      had remained in the same state for thirty years, was too short by two
      feet, and, therefore, could not have concealed any one behind it. This
      matter was accounted an exclusive discovery of the King by his own spirit
      of shrewd investigation. The parties were punished in the Star Chamber by
      fine and imprisonment.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
   <i>A,' all.                         BELDAM, ugly old woman.
   ABYE, suffer for.                 BELIVE, by-and-by, presently.
   ACCIDENS, grammar.                BENEVOLENCES, taxes illegally
   AIGRE, sour, ill-natured.           exacted by the Kings of
   AIN GATE, own way.                  England.
   A' LEEVING, all living.           BIDE, keep, remain.
   AMBLE, a peculiar gait of a       BIELDY BIT, sheltered spot.
     horse, in which both legs on    BIGGING, building.
     one side are moved forward      BILBOE, sword, rapier.
     at the same time.               BILLIES, brothers.
   ANCE, once.                       BIRKIE, lively young fellow.
   ANENT, concerning.                BLACK-JACK, leathern drinking-
   ANGEL, an ancient English gold      cup.
     coin, worth about 10s., and     BLADES, dashing fellows, rakes.
     bearing the figure of an angel. BLATE, modest, bashful.
   ARRAS, tapestry.                  BLETHERING, foolish, silly.
   AUGHT, owe.                       BLITHE, BLYTHE, glad.
   AULD, old.                        BLUE-COATS, lackeys.
   AULD REEKIE, Edinburgh, in        BODDLE, a copper coin, value
     allusion to its smoke.            the sixth part of an English
   AVISEMENT, counsel.                 penny.
   AW, all.                          BODE, bid, offer.
   AWMOUS, alms, a gift.             BOOKIE, book.
                                     BRAE, hill, hill-side. BANGED,
                                           sprang, bounded.
   BRAVE PIECE, fine thing.
   BARNACLES, spectacles.            BRAW, fine, handsome.
   BARNS-BREAKING, idle frolics.     BREAKING, kneading.
   BAWBEE, halfpenny.                BREEKS, breeches, trousers.
   BAXTER, baker.                    BROCHES, kitchen spits.
   BEAR-BANNOCKS, barley cakes.      BROSE, pottage of mean and
   BECKING, curtseying.                water.
   BECKS, nods.                      BROWNIE, domestic goblin.
   BEECHEN BICKERS, dishes of        BUCKET, cheat.
     beechwood.                      BUNEMOST, uppermost.

   BURROWS-TOWN, borough-town.
   BUSS, kiss.

   CALF-WARD, place where calves are kept in the field.
   CALLAN, CALLANT, lad.
   CANNILY, cautiously, skilfully.
   CANNY, quiet.
   CANTLE, crown of the head.
   CARCANET, necklace.
   CARLE, fellow.
   CARLE-HEMPIE, the strongest stalk of hemp.
   CARNIFEX, executioner.
   CAUFF, chaff.
   CAULDRIFE, chilly.
   CA'T, call it.
   CAUP, cup.
   CAUSEY, pavement.
   CERTIE, faith, in truth.
   CHALMER, chamber.
   CHANGE-HOUSE, roadside inn where horses are changed on a journey.
   CHALK, slash.
   CHAPPIT, struck.
   CHEEK-BY-JOWL, CHEEK-BY-CHOWL, side by side.
   CHEERY, dagger.
   CHENZIE-MAIL, chain-mail.
   CHIELD, fellow.
   CHOPINES, high shoes or clogs.
   CHUCKS, chuck-stones, as played by children.
   CHUFFS, clowns, simpletons.
   CLAITHING, clothing.

   CLAPPED LOOFS, crossed palms.
   CLATTER-TRAPS, rattle-traps.
   CLAUGHT, snatched.
   CLAVERING, idle talking.
   CLEEK, hook.
   CLEW, clue.
   CLOOT, hoof.
   CLOUR, blow.
   CLOUTING, mending.
   COCK-A-LEEKIE, COCK-A-LEEKY, leek soup in which a cock has been
   boiled.
   COIF, linen covering for the head.
   COMPLOTS, plots, intrigues.
   COMPT, list, account, particulars.
   COMPTING-ROOM, counting-house.
   COSHERING, being familiar and intimate.
   COUP, barter.
   COUP THE CRANS, go to wreck and ruin.
   COUPIT, tumbled.
   CRAIG, rock; also neck.
   CRAP, creep.
   CRAW'D SAE CROUSE, crowed so proudly.
   CULLY, one easily deceived, a dupe.
   CURN, grain.
   CUSSER, stallion.
   CUTTY-QUEAN, a loose woman.

   DAFT, silly, mad.
   DAIKERING, jogging or toiling along.
   DANG, driven, knocked.
   DEIL, devil.
   DEUTEROSCOPY, a meaning beyond the original sense.
   DIDNA, did not.
   DIKE-LOUPER, a debauchee.
   DIRDUM, uproar, tumult. DIRKED, stabbed with a dirk.
   DONNERIT, stupefied.
   DOOMS, very, absolutely.
   DOUCE, quiet, respectable, sober.
   DOVER, neither asleep nor awake.
   DOWCOT, dove-cote.
   DRAB, illicit sexual intercourse.
   DRAFF, drains given to cows; also the wash given to pigs.
   DRAFF-POKE, bag of grains.
   DREDGING-BOX, a box with holes for sprinkling flour in cookery.
   DROUTHY, thirsty.
   DUD, rag.
   DUKE OF EXETER'S DAUGHTER, a species of rack in the Tower of London.
   DULE-WEEDS, mourning.
   DUMMALAFONG, a common prey to all comers.
   DUNTS, blows.

   EARD, earth.
   EEN, eyes.
   ELRITCH, hideous.
   ENOW, just now.
   ENSAMPLE, example.
   EVITED, avoided.
   EXIES, hysterics.

   FALCHION, a short broadsword with a slightly curved point.
   FALSET, falsehood.
   FAUSE, false.
   FASH, trouble.
   FASHIOUS, troublesome, annoying.
   FENCE-LOUPER, rakish fellow.
   FEBRIFUGE, a medicine to subdue a fever.
   FIDUCIARY, trustee.
   FLATCAPS, citizens, civilians.
   FLEECHING, flattering.
   FOOD FOR FAGGOTS, martyrs for their religious opinions.
   FOOT-CLOTH, horse-cloth reaching almost to the ground.
   FOUARTS, house-leeks.
   FOULWART, pole-cat.
   FRAE, from.
   FRESCO, half-naked.
   FULE, fool.
   FULHAM, loaded dice.

   GAGE, pledge, trust.
   GANG A' AE GATE, go all one way.
   GAR, make, force.
   GARR'D, made, compelled.
   GATE, way, road; also kind of.
   GEAR, property.
   GIFF-GAFF, give and take, tit for tat.
   GIE THE GLAIKS, to befool, deceive.
   GILLIE-WHITE-FOOT, running footman.
   GILLRAVAGER, plunderer.
   GIRNED, grinned.
   GLAIKS, deception.
   GLEED, awry, all wrong.
   GOUD-COUK, fool.
   GRAFFS, graves.
   GRAMERCY, great thanks.
   GRANDAM, old woman, grandmother.
   GRAT, cried.
   GREEN GEESE, parrots.
   GREET, cry.
   GREW, shudder.
   GRIPS, handshakings, greetings.
   GROSART, GROSSART, goose-berry.
   GULL, one easily befooled,
   GULLEY, large knife.
   GUTTERBLOOD, one meanly bred.
   GYNOCRACY, petticoat government.

   HAET, thing.
   HAFFITS, sides of the head.
   HAFT, handle.
   HAIRBOURED, resided, sojourned.
   HAMESUCKEN, assaulting a man on his own premises.
   HANKED, coiled.
   HARLE, drag, trail.
   HARMAN BECK, constable.
   HEART-SCALD, disgust.
   HEAD-TIRE, head-dress.
   HECK AND MANGER, in comfortable quarters.
   HEUGHS, glens.
   HIRDIE-GIRDIE, topsy-turvy.
   HIRPLING, limping, walking lame.
   HIRSEL, flock.
   HORSE-GRAITH, harness.
   HOUGHS, hollows.
   HOWFF, rendezvous, place of resort.

   ILK ANE, each one.
   ILL, bad.
   ILL REDD-UP, very untidy.
   ILL-WILLY, ill-natured.
   INGINE, ingenuity.
   INGOTS, masses of unwrought metal.
   INGRATE, an ungrateful person.
   IRON CARLES, iron figures of men.

   JAW, wave.
   JEDDART-STAFF, a species of battle-axe peculiar to Jedburgh.
   JENNET, a small Spanish horse.
   JINGLE, dance.
   JOUP, dip, stoop down.

   KEMPING, strife.
   KENNING, knowledge.
   KIMMER, gossip, neighbour.
   KIRK, church.
   KITTLE, ticklish, difficult, precarious.
   KYTHED, seemed, appeared.

   LAIGH, low.
   LAIR, learning.
   LAMB'S-WOOL, a beverage made of the pulp of roasted apples.
   LANDLOUPER, adventurer, runagate.
   LANG SYNE, long ago.
   LATTEN, plated iron or brass.
   LAVROCK, lark.
   LEASING-MAKING, uttering treasonable language.
   LEASINGS, falsehoods, treason.
   LEGLIN-GIRTH, the lowest hoop on a leglin, or milk-pail.
   LICK, a beating.
   LIEFEST, most beloved.
   LIFT, steal.
   LIGHT O' LOVE, mistress, wanton woman.
   LINKBOYS, juvenile torch-bearers.
   LIST, like.
   LITHER, soft.
   LOOF, palm of the hand.
   LOON, LOUN, rascal.
   LOUPING, leaping.
   LUG, LUGG, ear.
   LUVE, love.

   MAIR THAN ANCE, more than once.
   MARLE, wonder, marvel.
   MAGGOT, whim, fancy.
   MELL, intermeddle.
   MENSEFUL, modest, mannerly.
   MERK, a Scottish coin, value 13s 4d.
   MESS-BOOK, mass-book, Catholic prayer-book.
   MICKLE, MUCKLE, much, great, large.
   MINT, attempt.
   MIRK, dark.
   MISLEARD, unmannerly.
   MORT-CLOTH, shroud.
   MOTION, puppet-show.
   MUCKLE v. MICKLE.
   MUFFLED, disguised.
   MUSKETOON, a species of musket.
   MY GERTIE, my goodness! gracious!

   NEB, nose, point.
   NEEDSNA, need not.
   NICHER, snigger.
   NICKS, notches.
   NIFFER, exchange.
   NOBLE, a gold coin, value 6s. 8d. sterling.
   NOWTE, black cattle.
   NUNCHION, luncheon, food taken between meals.

   OR, before.
   OTHER GATE, other kind of.
   OWER SICKER, too careful.

   PAIK, fight, chastise.
   PANGED, crammed.
   PAPISTRIE, Popery.
   PEASE-BOGLE, scarecrow among the pease growing.
   PENNY-WEDDING, a wedding where all who attend contribute a trifle
   towards the
   expenses of the merrymaking.
   PICKTHANK, a parasitical informer.
   PIG, earthen pot, vessel, or pitcher.
   PINK, stab, pierce holes into.
   PLACK, a copper coin, value the third part of an English
   penny.
   PLOY, trick.
   POCK-END, empty pocket or purse.
   POCK-PUDDING, bag pudding.
   POORTITH, poverty.
   PORK-GRISKINS, sucking-pigs; also broiled loin of pork.
   POUCH, pocket.
   PRIE, taste.
   PULLET, a young hen.

   QUEAN, wench, young woman.

   RAMPALLIONS, low women.
   RAVE, tore.
   RAXING, stretching.
   REDDING-KAME, hair-comb.
   REDD-UP, tidy, put in order.
   RED WUD, stark mad.
   REIRD, shouting.
   REMEID, resource, remedy.
   ROOPIT, croupy, hoarse.
   ROSE-NOBLE, a gold coin, value 6s. 8d., impressed with a rose.
   ROUT, ROWT, to roar or bellow.
   RUDAS, wild, forward, bold.

   SAAM, same.
   SACK, sherry or canary wine, warmed and spiced.
   SACKLESS, innocent.
   SCAT, tribute, tax.
   SCAUDING, scalding.
   SCAUR, scare, frighten.
   SCLATE-STANE, slate-stone.
   SCRIVENER, one who draws up contracts.
   SHABBLE, cutlass,
   SHOON, shoes.
   SHOUTHER, shoulder.
   SHULE, shovel.
   SIB, related.
   SIBYL, prophetess.
   SICKER, careful.
   SICLIKE, just so.
   SILLER, money, silver.
   SIRRAH, sir!
   SKEIGH, skittish.
   SKELDER, plunder, snatch.
   SLEEVELESS, thriftless.
   SMAIK, mean, paltry fellow.
   SNAP-HAUNCHES, firelocks.
   SPANG, spring.
   SPEER, ask.
   SPEERINGS, information, inquiries.
   SPRAIKLE, to get on with difficulty.
   SPUNK, slip.
   SPUNKIES, will-o'-the-wisps.
   STEEKING, closing.
   STEEKIT, shut.
   STONERN, stone.
   STOT, a bullock between two and three years old.
   STRAND-SCOURING, gutter-raking.
   STURDIED, afflicted with the sturdy, a sheep disease.
   STYPIC, astringent, something to arrest haemorrhage.
   SUCCORY-WATER, sugar water.
   SUNDOWN, sunset.
   SUNER, sooner.
   SUMPTER HORSE, pack-horse.
   SWITH, begone! be off!
   SYNE, ago.

   TAIT, lock.
   TANE, the one.
   TAWSE, leather strap used for chastisement.
   TEINDS, tithes.
   THROUGH-STANES, gravestones.
   TIKE v. TYKE.
   TINT, lost.
   TITHER, the other.
   TOCHER, dowry.
   TOOM, empty.
   TOUR, see.
   TOUT, blast on the horn.
   TOYS, goods.
   TREEN, wooden.
   TROTH, truth.
   TROW, believe, guess.
   TRYSTE, appointment.
   TURN-BROCHE, turn-spit.
   TYKE, TIKE, dog, cur.
   TWA, two.
   TWIRING, coquetting, making eyes at.

   UMQUHILE, late, deceased.

   VIVERS, victuals.

   WAD, pledge.
   WADNA, would not.
   WADSET, mortgage.
   WANION, misfortune.
   WARE, spend.
   WARLOCKS, wizards.
   WASTRIFE, waste, extravagance.
   WAUR, worse.
   WEEL KEND, well known.
   WHA, who.
   WHEEN, few, a number of.
   WHIGMALEERY, trinkets, nicknacks.
   WHILK, which.
   WHINGER, cutlass, long knife.
   WHINYARD, sword.
   WHOMBLE, upset.
   WIMPLED, wrapped up.
   WINNA, will not.
   WITHY, gallows rope.
   WOO', wool.
   WYLIE-COAT, under-petticoat.
   WYND, street, alley.
   WYTE, blame.

   YESTREEN, last night.
</i></pre>
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