summaryrefslogtreecommitdiff
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      ROB ROY, COMPLETE by Sir Walter Scott
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    <h2>
      ROB ROY
    </h2>
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Project Gutenberg's Rob Roy, Complete, Illustrated, by Sir Walter Scott

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net


Title: Rob Roy, Complete, Illustrated

Author: Sir Walter Scott

Release Date: October 25, 2006 [EBook #7025]
Last Updated: October 17, 2012

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROB ROY, COMPLETE, ILLUSTRATED ***




Produced by David Widger





</pre>
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      LINK TO THE ORIGINAL HTML FILE: This Ebook Has Been Reformatted For Better
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      Format, Which The Editor Believes Has A More Attractive Appearance For
      Laptops And Other Computers, May Be Viewed By Clicking On This Box.</a></i>
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      ROB ROY
    </h2>
    <h2>
      BY SIR WALTER SCOTT
    </h2>
    <p>
      <a name="image-0001" id="image-0001">
      <!-- IMG --></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img src="images/bookcover.jpg" alt="Bookcover " width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
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      <img src="images/spines.jpg" alt="Spines " width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <!-- IMAGE END -->
    <p>
      <a name="link_4_0001" id="link_4_0001">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      ROB ROY
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      BY SIR WALTER SCOTT
    </h2>
    <p>
      <a name="image-0003" id="image-0003">
      <!-- IMG --></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img src="images/frontispiece1.jpg" alt="Frontispiece " width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <!-- IMAGE END -->
    <p>
      <a name="image-0004" id="image-0004">
      <!-- IMG --></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img src="images/titlepage1.jpg" alt="Titlepage " width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <!-- IMAGE END -->
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CONTENTS
    </h2>
    <h2>
      VOLUME I.
    </h2>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link_4_0003"> ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIRST EDITION </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link_INTR"> INTRODUCTION&mdash;-(1829) </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link_APPE"> APPENDIX TO INTRODUCTION. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link_4_0006"> No. II.&mdash;LETTERS </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link_4_0007"> COPY OF GRAHAME OF KILLEARN'S LETTER </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link_4_0008"> THE DUKE OF MONTROSE TO &mdash;&mdash; </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link_4_0009"> No. III.&mdash;CHALLENGE BY ROB ROY. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link_4_0010"> No. IV.&mdash;LETTER </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link_4_0011"> No. IVa.&mdash;LETTER. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link_4_0012"> No. V.&mdash;HIGHLAND WOOING. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link_4_0013"> No. VI&mdash;GHLUNE DHU. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link_4_0014"> EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION TO ROB ROY </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link_4_0015"> ROB ROY </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#linkCH0001"> CHAPTER FIRST. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#linkCH0002"> CHAPTER SECOND. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#linkCH0003"> CHAPTER THIRD. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#linkCH0004"> CHAPTER FOURTH. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#linkCH0005"> CHAPTER FIFTH. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#linkCH0006"> CHAPTER SIXTH. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#linkCH0007"> CHAPTER SEVENTH. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#linkCH0008"> CHAPTER EIGHTH. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#linkCH0009"> CHAPTER NINTH. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#linkCH0010"> CHAPTER TENTH. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#linkCH0011"> CHAPTER ELEVENTH. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#linkCH0012"> CHAPTER TWELFTH. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#linkCH0013"> CHAPTER THIRTEENTH. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#linkCH0014"> CHAPTER FOURTEENTH. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#linkCH0015"> CHAPTER FIFTEENTH. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#linkCH0016"> CHAPTER SIXTEENTH. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#linkCH0017"> CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH. </a>
    </p>
    <h2>
      VOLUME II.
    </h2>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#AlinkCH0001"> CHAPTER FIRST </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#AlinkCH0002"> CHAPTER SECOND. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#AlinkCH0003"> CHAPTER THIRD. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#AlinkCH0004"> CHAPTER FOURTH. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#AlinkCH0005"> CHAPTER FIFTH. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#AlinkCH0006"> CHAPTER SIXTH. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#AlinkCH0007"> CHAPTER SEVENTH. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#AlinkCH0008"> CHAPTER EIGHTH. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#AlinkCH0009"> CHAPTER NINTH. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#AlinkCH0010"> CHAPTER TENTH. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#AlinkCH0011"> CHAPTER ELEVENTH. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#AlinkCH0012"> CHAPTER TWELFTH. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#AlinkCH0013"> CHAPTER THIRTEEN. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#AlinkCH0014"> CHAPTER FOURTEEN. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#AlinkCH0015"> CHAPTER FIFTEEN. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#AlinkCH0016"> CHAPTER SIXTEEN. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#AlinkCH0017"> CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#AlinkCH0018"> CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#AlinkCH0019"> CHAPTER NINETEENTH. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#AlinkCH0020"> CHAPTER TWENTIETH. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#AlinkCH0021"> CHAPTER TWENTY-FIRST. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#AlinkCH0022"> CHAPTER TWENTY-SECOND. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link_4_0025"> POSTSCRIPT. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link_4_0026"> STATE PAPER OFFICE, </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link_NOTE"> NOTES TO ROB ROY. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link_4_0028"> Note A.&mdash;The Grey Stone of MacGregor. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link_4_0029"> Note B.&mdash;Dugald Ciar Mhor. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link_4_0030"> Note C.&mdash;The Loch Lomond Expedition. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link_4_0031"> Note D.&mdash;Author's Expedition against the
      MacLarens. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link_4_0032"> Note E.&mdash;Allan Breck Stewart. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link_4_0033"> Note F.&mdash;The Abbess of Wilton. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link_4_0034"> Note G.&mdash;Mons Meg. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link_4_0035"> Note H.&mdash;-Fairy Superstition. </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#link_4_0036"> Note I.&mdash;Clachan of Aberfoil. </a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      List of Illustrations
    </h2>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#image-0001"> Bookcover </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#image-0002"> Spines </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#image-0003"> Frontispiece </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#image-0004"> Titlepage </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#image-0005"> Cattle Lifting </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#image-0006"> Frank at Judge Inglewood's </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#image-0007"> Die Vernon at Judge Inglewood's </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#image-0008"> Frank and Andrew Fairservice </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#image-0009"> Die Vernon and Frank in Library </a>
    </p>
    <h2>
      VOLUME II.
    </h2>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#image-0001"> Bookcover </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#image-0002"> Spines </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#Aimage-0003"> Helen Macgregor&mdash;Frontispiece </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#Aimage-0004"> Rob Roy in Prison </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#Aimage-0005"> Rob Roy Parting the Duelists </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#Aimage-0006"> Fray at Jeannie Macalpine's </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#Aimage-0007"> Escape of Rob Roy at the Ford </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#Aimage-0008"> Parting of Die and Frank on the Moor </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#Aimage-0009"> Loch Lomond </a>
    </p>
    <p class="toc">
      <a href="#Aimage-0010"> The Death of Rashleigh </a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      VOLUME ONE
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
               For why? Because the good old rule
                     Sufficeth them; the simple plan,
               That they should take who have the power,
                     And they should keep who can.

                             <i>Rob Roy's Grave</i>&mdash;Wordsworth
</pre>
    <p>
      <a name="link_4_0003" id="link_4_0003">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIRST EDITION
    </h2>
    <p>
      When the Editor of the following volumes published, about two years since,
      the work called the "Antiquary," he announced that he was, for the last
      time, intruding upon the public in his present capacity. He might shelter
      himself under the plea that every anonymous writer is, like the celebrated
      Junius, only a phantom, and that therefore, although an apparition, of a
      more benign, as well as much meaner description, he cannot be bound to
      plead to a charge of inconsistency. A better apology may be found in the
      imitating the confession of honest Benedict, that, when he said he would
      die a bachelor, he did not think he should live to be married. The best of
      all would be, if, as has eminently happened in the case of some
      distinguished contemporaries, the merit of the work should, in the
      reader's estimation, form an excuse for the Author's breach of promise.
      Without presuming to hope that this may prove the case, it is only further
      necessary to mention, that his resolution, like that of Benedict, fell a
      sacrifice, to temptation at least, if not to stratagem.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is now about six months since the Author, through the medium of his
      respectable Publishers, received a parcel of Papers, containing the
      Outlines of this narrative, with a permission, or rather with a request,
      couched in highly flattering terms, that they might be given to the
      Public, with such alterations as should be found suitable.*
    </p>
    <p>
      * As it maybe necessary, in the present Edition(1829), to speak upon the
      square, the Author thinks it proper to own, that the communication alluded
      to is entirely imaginary.
    </p>
    <p>
      These were of course so numerous, that, besides the suppression of names,
      and of incidents approaching too much to reality, the work may in a great
      measure be, said to be new written. Several anachronisms have probably
      crept in during the course of these changes; and the mottoes for the
      Chapters have been selected without any reference to the supposed date of
      the incidents. For these, of course, the Editor is responsible. Some
      others occurred in the original materials, but they are of little
      consequence. In point of minute accuracy, it may be stated, that the
      bridge over the Forth, or rather the Avondhu (or Black River), near the
      hamlet of Aberfoil, had not an existence thirty years ago. It does not,
      however, become the Editor to be the first to point out these errors; and
      he takes this public opportunity to thank the unknown and nameless
      correspondent, to whom the reader will owe the principal share of any
      amusement which he may derive from the following pages.
    </p>
    <p>
      1st December 1817.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link_INTR" id="link_INTR">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      INTRODUCTION&mdash;-(1829)
    </h2>
    <p>
      When the author projected this further encroachment on the patience of an
      indulgent public, he was at some loss for a title; a good name being very
      nearly of as much consequence in literature as in life. The title of <i>Rob
      Roy</i> was suggested by the late Mr. Constable, whose sagacity and
      experience foresaw the germ of popularity which it included.
    </p>
    <p>
      No introduction can be more appropriate to the work than some account of
      the singular character whose name is given to the title-page, and who,
      through good report and bad report, has maintained a wonderful degree of
      importance in popular recollection. This cannot be ascribed to the
      distinction of his birth, which, though that of a gentleman, had in it
      nothing of high destination, and gave him little right to command in his
      clan. Neither, though he lived a busy, restless, and enterprising life,
      were his feats equal to those of other freebooters, who have been less
      distinguished. He owed his fame in a great measure to his residing on the
      very verge of the Highlands, and playing such pranks in the beginning of
      the 18th century, as are usually ascribed to Robin Hood in the middle
      ages,&mdash;and that within forty miles of Glasgow, a great commercial
      city, the seat of a learned university. Thus a character like his,
      blending the wild virtues, the subtle policy, and unrestrained license of
      an American Indian, was flourishing in Scotland during the Augustan age of
      Queen Anne and George I. Addison, it is probable, or Pope, would have been
      considerably surprised if they had known that there existed in the same
      island with them a personage of Rob Roy's peculiar habits and profession.
      It is this strong contrast betwixt the civilised and cultivated mode of
      life on the one side of the Highland line, and the wild and lawless
      adventures which were habitually undertaken and achieved by one who dwelt
      on the opposite side of that ideal boundary, which creates the interest
      attached to his name. Hence it is that even yet,
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                  Far and near, through vale and hill,
                      Are faces that attest the same,
                  And kindle like a fire new stirr'd,
                      At sound of Rob Roy's name.
</pre>
    <p>
      There were several advantages which Rob Roy enjoyed for sustaining to
      advantage the character which he assumed.
    </p>
    <p>
      The most prominent of these was his descent from, and connection with, the
      clan MacGregor, so famous for their misfortunes, and the indomitable
      spirit with which they maintained themselves as a clan, linked and banded
      together in spite of the most severe laws, executed with unheard-of rigour
      against those who bore this forbidden surname. Their history was that of
      several others of the original Highland clans, who were suppressed by more
      powerful neighbours, and either extirpated, or forced to secure themselves
      by renouncing their own family appellation, and assuming that of the
      conquerors. The peculiarity in the story of the MacGregors, is their
      retaining, with such tenacity, their separate existence and union as a
      clan under circumstances of the utmost urgency. The history of the tribe
      is briefly as follows&mdash;But we must premise that the tale depends in
      some degree on tradition; therefore, excepting when written documents are,
      quoted, it must be considered as in some degree dubious.
    </p>
    <p>
      The sept of MacGregor claimed a descent from Gregor, or Gregorius, third
      son, it is said, of Alpin King of Scots, who flourished about 787. Hence
      their original patronymic is MacAlpine, and they are usually termed the
      Clan Alpine. An individual tribe of them retains the same name. They are
      accounted one of the most ancient clans in the Highlands, and it is
      certain they were a people of original Celtic descent, and occupied at one
      period very extensive possessions in Perthshire and Argyleshire, which
      they imprudently continued to hold by the <i>coir a glaive,</i> that is,
      the right of the sword. Their neighbours, the Earls of Argyle and
      Breadalbane, in the meanwhile, managed to leave the lands occupied by the
      MacGregors engrossed in those charters which they easily obtained from the
      Crown; and thus constituted a legal right in their own favour, without
      much regard to its justice. As opportunity occurred of annoying or
      extirpating their neighbours, they gradually extended their own domains,
      by usurping, under the pretext of such royal grants, those of their more
      uncivilised neighbours. A Sir Duncan Campbell of Lochow, known in the
      Highlands by the name of <i>Donacha Dhu nan Churraichd,</i> that is, Black
      Duncan with the Cowl, it being his pleasure to wear such a head-gear, is
      said to have been peculiarly successful in those acts of spoliation upon
      the clan MacGregor.
    </p>
    <p>
      The devoted sept, ever finding themselves iniquitously driven from their
      possessions, defended themselves by force, and occasionally gained
      advantages, which they used cruelly enough. This conduct, though natural,
      considering the country and time, was studiously represented at the
      capital as arising from an untameable and innate ferocity, which nothing,
      it was said, could remedy, save cutting off the tribe of MacGregor root
      and branch.
    </p>
    <p>
      In an act of Privy Council at Stirling, 22d September 1563, in the reign
      of Queen Mary, commission is granted to the most powerful nobles, and
      chiefs of the clans, to pursue the clan Gregor with fire and sword. A
      similar warrant in 1563, not only grants the like powers to Sir John
      Campbell of Glenorchy, the descendant of Duncan with the Cowl, but
      discharges the lieges to receive or assist any of the clan Gregor, or
      afford them, under any colour whatever, meat, drink, or clothes.
    </p>
    <p>
      An atrocity which the clan Gregor committed in 1589, by the murder of John
      Drummond of Drummond-ernoch, a forester of the royal forest of Glenartney,
      is elsewhere given, with all its horrid circumstances. The clan swore upon
      the severed head of the murdered man, that they would make common cause in
      avowing the deed. This led to an act of the Privy Council, directing
      another crusade against the "wicked clan Gregor, so long continuing in
      blood, slaughter, theft, and robbery," in which letters of fire and sword
      are denounced against them for the space of three years. The reader will
      find this particular fact illustrated in the Introduction to the Legend of
      Montrose in the present edition of these Novels.
    </p>
    <p>
      Other occasions frequently occurred, in which the MacGregors testified
      contempt for the laws, from which they had often experienced severity, but
      never protection. Though they were gradually deprived of their
      possessions, and of all ordinary means of procuring subsistence, they
      could not, nevertheless, be supposed likely to starve for famine, while
      they had the means of taking from strangers what they considered as
      rightfully their own. Hence they became versed in predatory forays, and
      accustomed to bloodshed. Their passions were eager, and, with a little
      management on the part of some of their most powerful neighbours, they
      could easily be <i>hounded out,</i> to use an expressive Scottish phrase,
      to commit violence, of which the wily instigators took the advantage, and
      left the ignorant MacGregors an undivided portion of blame and punishment.
      This policy of pushing on the fierce clans of the Highlands and Borders to
      break the peace of the country, is accounted by the historian one of the
      most dangerous practices of his own period, in which the MacGregors were
      considered as ready agents.
    </p>
    <p>
      Notwithstanding these severe denunciations,&mdash;-which were acted upon
      in the same spirit in which they were conceived, some of the clan still
      possessed property, and the chief of the name in 1592 is designed Allaster
      MacGregor of Glenstrae. He is said to have been a brave and active man;
      but, from the tenor of his confession at his death, appears to have been
      engaged in many and desperate feuds, one of which finally proved fatal to
      himself and many of his followers. This was the celebrated conflict at
      Glenfruin, near the southwestern extremity of Loch Lomond, in the vicinity
      of which the MacGregors continued to exercise much authority by the <i>coir
      a glaive,</i> or right of the strongest, which we have already mentioned.
    </p>
    <p>
      There had been a long and bloody feud betwixt the MacGregors and the Laird
      of Luss, head of the family of Colquhoun, a powerful race on the lower
      part of Loch Lomond. The MacGregors' tradition affirms that the quarrel
      began on a very trifling subject. Two of the MacGregors being benighted,
      asked shelter in a house belonging to a dependant of the Colquhouns, and
      were refused. They then retreated to an out-house, took a wedder from the
      fold, killed it, and supped off the carcass, for which (it is said) they
      offered payment to the proprietor. The Laird of Luss seized on the
      offenders, and, by the summary process which feudal barons had at their
      command, had them both condemned and executed. The MacGregors verify this
      account of the feud by appealing to a proverb current amongst them,
      execrating the hour <i>(Mult dhu an Carbail ghil)</i> that the black
      wedder with the white tail was ever lambed. To avenge this quarrel, the
      Laird of MacGregor assembled his clan, to the number of three or four
      hundred men, and marched towards Luss from the banks of Loch Long, by a
      pass called <i>Raid na Gael,</i> or the Highlandman's Pass.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir Humphrey Colquhoun received early notice of this incursion, and
      collected a strong force, more than twice the number of that of the
      invaders. He had with him the gentlemen of the name of Buchanan, with the
      Grahams, and other gentry of the Lennox, and a party of the citizens of
      Dumbarton, under command of Tobias Smollett, a magistrate, or bailie, of
      that town, and ancestor of the celebrated author.
    </p>
    <p>
      The parties met in the valley of Glenfruin, which signifies the Glen of
      Sorrow&mdash;-a name that seemed to anticipate the event of the day,
      which, fatal to the conquered party, was at least equally so to the
      victors, the "babe unborn" of Clan Alpine having reason to repent it. The
      MacGregors, somewhat discouraged by the appearance of a force much
      superior to their own, were cheered on to the attack by a Seer, or
      second-sighted person, who professed that he saw the shrouds of the dead
      wrapt around their principal opponents. The clan charged with great fury
      on the front of the enemy, while John MacGregor, with a strong party, made
      an unexpected attack on the flank. A great part of the Colquhouns' force
      consisted in cavalry, which could not act in the boggy ground. They were
      said to have disputed the field manfully, but were at length completely
      routed, and a merciless slaughter was exercised on the fugitives, of whom
      betwixt two and three hundred fell on the field and in the pursuit. If the
      MacGregors lost, as is averred, only two men slain in the action, they had
      slight provocation for an indiscriminate massacre. It is said that their
      fury extended itself to a party of students for clerical orders, who had
      imprudently come to see the battle. Some doubt is thrown on this fact,
      from the indictment against the chief of the clan Gregor being silent on
      the subject, as is the historian Johnston, and a Professor Ross, who wrote
      an account of the battle twenty-nine years after it was fought. It is,
      however, constantly averred by the tradition of the country, and a stone
      where the deed was done is called <i>Leck-a-Mhinisteir,</i> the Minister
      or Clerk's Flagstone. The MacGregors, by a tradition which is now found to
      be inaccurate, impute this cruel action to the ferocity of a single man of
      their tribe, renowned for size and strength, called Dugald, <i>Ciar Mhor,</i>
      or the great Mouse-coloured Man. He was MacGregor's foster-brother, and
      the chief committed the youths to his charge, with directions to keep them
      safely till the affray was over. Whether fearful of their escape, or
      incensed by some sarcasms which they threw on his tribe, or whether out of
      mere thirst of blood, this savage, while the other MacGregors were engaged
      in the pursuit, poniarded his helpless and defenceless prisoners. When the
      chieftain, on his return, demanded where the youths were, the <i>Ciar</i>
      (pronounced Kiar) <i>Mhor</i> drew out his bloody dirk, saying in Gaelic,
      "Ask that, and God save me!" The latter words allude to the exclamation
      which his victims used when he was murdering them. It would seem,
      therefore, that this horrible part of the story is founded on fact, though
      the number of the youths so slain is probably exaggerated in the Lowland
      accounts. The common people say that the blood of the Ciar Mhor's victims
      can never be washed off the stone. When MacGregor learnt their fate, he
      expressed the utmost horror at the deed, and upbraided his foster-brother
      with having done that which would occasion the destruction of him and his
      clan. This supposed homicide was the ancestor of Rob Roy, and the tribe
      from which he was descended. He lies buried at the church of Fortingal,
      where his sepulchre, covered with a large stone,* is still shown, and
      where his great strength and courage are the theme of many traditions.*
    </p>
    <p>
      * Note A. The Grey Stone of MacGregor.
    </p>
    <p>
      ** Note B. Dugald Ciar Mhor.
    </p>
    <p>
      MacGregor's brother was one of the very few of the tribe who was slain. He
      was buried near the field of battle, and the place is marked by a rude
      stone, called the Grey Stone of MacGregor.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir Humphrey Colquhoun, being well mounted, escaped for the time to the
      castle of Banochar, or Benechra. It proved no sure defence, however, for
      he was shortly after murdered in a vault of the castle,&mdash;-the family
      annals say by the MacGregors, though other accounts charge the deed upon
      the MacFarlanes.
    </p>
    <p>
      This battle of Glenfruin, and the severity which the victors exercised in
      the pursuit, was reported to King James VI. in a manner the most
      unfavourable to the clan Gregor, whose general character, being that of
      lawless though brave men, could not much avail them in such a case. That
      James might fully understand the extent of the slaughter, the widows of
      the slain, to the number of eleven score, in deep mourning, riding upon
      white palfreys, and each bearing her husband's bloody shirt on a spear,
      appeared at Stirling, in presence of a monarch peculiarly accessible to
      such sights of fear and sorrow, to demand vengeance for the death of their
      husbands, upon those by whom they had been made desolate.
    </p>
    <p>
      The remedy resorted to was at least as severe as the cruelties which it
      was designed to punish. By an Act of the Privy Council, dated 3d April
      1603, the name of MacGregor was expressly abolished, and those who had
      hitherto borne it were commanded to change it for other surnames, the pain
      of death being denounced against those who should call themselves Gregor
      or MacGregor, the names of their fathers. Under the same penalty, all who
      had been at the conflict of Glenfruin, or accessory to other marauding
      parties charged in the act, were prohibited from carrying weapons, except
      a pointless knife to eat their victuals. By a subsequent act of Council,
      24th June 1613, death was denounced against any persons of the tribe
      formerly called MacGregor, who should presume to assemble in greater
      numbers than four. Again, by an Act of Parliament, 1617, chap. 26, these
      laws were continued, and extended to the rising generation, in respect
      that great numbers of the children of those against whom the acts of Privy
      Council had been directed, were stated to be then approaching to maturity,
      who, if permitted to resume the name of their parents, would render the
      clan as strong as it was before.
    </p>
    <p>
      The execution of those severe acts was chiefly intrusted in the west to
      the Earl of Argyle and the powerful clan of Campbell, and to the Earl of
      Athole and his followers in the more eastern Highlands of Perthshire. The
      MacGregors failed not to resist with the most determined courage; and many
      a valley in the West and North Highlands retains memory of the severe
      conflicts, in which the proscribed clan sometimes obtained transient
      advantages, and always sold their lives dearly. At length the pride of
      Allaster MacGregor, the chief of the clan, was so much lowered by the
      sufferings of his people, that he resolved to surrender himself to the
      Earl of Argyle, with his principal followers, on condition that they
      should be sent out of Scotland. If the unfortunate chief's own account be
      true, he had more reasons than one for expecting some favour from the
      Earl, who had in secret advised and encouraged him to many of the
      desperate actions for which he was now called to so severe a reckoning.
      But Argyle, as old Birrell expresses himself, kept a Highlandman's promise
      with them, fulfilling it to the ear, and breaking it to the sense.
      MacGregor was sent under a strong guard to the frontier of England, and
      being thus, in the literal sense, sent out of Scotland, Argyle was judged
      to have kept faith with him, though the same party which took him there
      brought him back to Edinburgh in custody.
    </p>
    <p>
      MacGregor of Glenstrae was tried before the Court of Justiciary, 20th
      January 1604, and found guilty. He appears to have been instantly conveyed
      from the bar to the gallows; for Birrell, of the same date, reports that
      he was hanged at the Cross, and, for distinction sake, was suspended
      higher by his own height than two of his kindred and friends.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the 18th of February following, more men of the MacGregors were
      executed, after a long imprisonment, and several others in the beginning
      of March.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Earl of Argyle's service, in conducting to the surrender of the
      insolent and wicked race and name of MacGregor, notorious common
      malefactors, and in the in-bringing of MacGregor, with a great many of the
      leading men of the clan, worthily executed to death for their offences, is
      thankfully acknowledged by an Act of Parliament, 1607, chap. 16, and
      rewarded with a grant of twenty chalders of victual out of the lands of
      Kintire.
    </p>
    <p>
      The MacGregors, notwithstanding the letters of fire and sword, and orders
      for military execution repeatedly directed against them by the Scottish
      legislature, who apparently lost all the calmness of conscious dignity and
      security, and could not even name the outlawed clan without vituperation,
      showed no inclination to be blotted out of the roll of clanship. They
      submitted to the law, indeed, so far as to take the names of the
      neighbouring families amongst whom they happened to live, nominally
      becoming, as the case might render it most convenient, Drummonds,
      Campbells, Grahams, Buchanans, Stewarts, and the like; but to all intents
      and purposes of combination and mutual attachment, they remained the clan
      Gregor, united together for right or wrong, and menacing with the general
      vengeance of their race, all who committed aggressions against any
      individual of their number.
    </p>
    <p>
      They continued to take and give offence with as little hesitation as
      before the legislative dispersion which had been attempted, as appears
      from the preamble to statute 1633, chapter 30, setting forth, that the
      clan Gregor, which had been suppressed and reduced to quietness by the
      great care of the late King James of eternal memory, had nevertheless
      broken out again, in the counties of Perth, Stirling, Clackmannan,
      Monteith, Lennox, Angus, and Mearns; for which reason the statute
      re-establishes the disabilities attached to the clan, and, grants a new
      commission for enforcing the laws against that wicked and rebellious race.
    </p>
    <p>
      Notwithstanding the extreme severities of King James I. and Charles I.
      against this unfortunate people, who were rendered furious by
      proscription, and then punished for yielding to the passions which had
      been wilfully irritated, the MacGregors to a man attached themselves
      during the civil war to the cause of the latter monarch. Their bards have
      ascribed this to the native respect of the MacGregors for the crown of
      Scotland, which their ancestors once wore, and have appealed to their
      armorial bearings, which display a pine-tree crossed saltire wise with a
      naked sword, the point of which supports a royal crown. But, without
      denying that such motives may have had their weight, we are disposed to
      think, that a war which opened the low country to the raids of the clan
      Gregor would have more charms for them than any inducement to espouse the
      cause of the Covenanters, which would have brought them into contact with
      Highlanders as fierce as themselves, and having as little to lose. Patrick
      MacGregor, their leader, was the son of a distinguished chief, named
      Duncan Abbarach, to whom Montrose wrote letters as to his trusty and
      special friend, expressing his reliance on his devoted loyalty, with an
      assurance, that when once his Majesty's affairs were placed upon a
      permanent footing, the grievances of the clan MacGregor should be
      redressed.
    </p>
    <p>
      At a subsequent period of these melancholy times, we find the clan Gregor
      claiming the immunities of other tribes, when summoned by the Scottish
      Parliament to resist the invasion of the Commonwealth's army, in 1651. On
      the last day of March in that year, a supplication to the King and
      Parliament, from Calum MacCondachie Vich Euen, and Euen MacCondachie Euen,
      in their own name, and that of the whole name of MacGregor, set forth,
      that while, in obedience to the orders of Parliament, enjoining all clans
      to come out in the present service under their chieftains, for the defence
      of religion, king, and kingdoms, the petitioners were drawing their men to
      guard the passes at the head of the river Forth, they were interfered with
      by the Earl of Athole and the Laird of Buchanan, who had required the
      attendance of many of the clan Gregor upon their arrays. This interference
      was, doubtless, owing to the change of name, which seems to have given
      rise to the claim of the Earl of Athole and the Laird of Buchanan to
      muster the MacGregors under their banners, as Murrays or Buchanans. It
      does not appear that the petition of the MacGregors, to be permitted to
      come out in a body, as other clans, received any answer. But upon the
      Restoration, King Charles, in the first Scottish Parliament of his reign
      (statute 1661, chap. 195), annulled the various acts against the clan
      Gregor, and restored them to the full use of their family name, and the
      other privileges of liege subjects, setting forth, as a reason for this
      lenity, that those who were formerly designed MacGregors had, during the
      late troubles, conducted themselves with such loyalty and affection to his
      Majesty, as might justly wipe off all memory of former miscarriages, and
      take away all marks of reproach for the same.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is singular enough, that it seems to have aggravated the feelings of
      the non-conforming Presbyterians, when the penalties which were most
      unjustly imposed upon themselves were relaxed towards the poor MacGregors;&mdash;so
      little are the best men, any more than the worst, able to judge with
      impartiality of the same measures, as applied to themselves, or to others.
      Upon the Restoration, an influence inimical to this unfortunate clan, said
      to be the same with that which afterwards dictated the massacre of
      Glencoe, occasioned the re-enaction of the penal statutes against the
      MacGregors. There are no reasons given why these highly penal acts should
      have been renewed; nor is it alleged that the clan had been guilty of late
      irregularities. Indeed, there is some reason to think that the clause was
      formed of set purpose, in a shape which should elude observation; for,
      though containing conclusions fatal to the rights of so many Scottish
      subjects, it is neither mentioned in the title nor the rubric of the Act
      of Parliament in which it occurs, and is thrown briefly in at the close of
      the statute 1693, chap. 61, entitled, an Act for the Justiciary in the
      Highlands.
    </p>
    <p>
      It does not, however, appear that after the Revolution the acts against
      the clan were severely enforced; and in the latter half of the eighteenth
      century, they were not enforced at all. Commissioners of supply were named
      in Parliament by the proscribed title of MacGregor, and decrees of courts
      of justice were pronounced, and legal deeds entered into, under the same
      appellative. The MacGregors, however, while the laws continued in the
      statute-book, still suffered under the deprivation of the name which was
      their birthright, and some attempts were made for the purpose of adopting
      another, MacAlpine or Grant being proposed as the title of the whole clan
      in future. No agreement, however, could be entered into; and the evil was
      submitted to as a matter of necessity, until full redress was obtained
      from the British Parliament, by an act abolishing for ever the penal
      statutes which had been so long imposed upon this ancient race. This
      statute, well merited by the services of many a gentleman of the clan in
      behalf of their King and country, was passed, and the clan proceeded to
      act upon it with the same spirit of ancient times, which had made them
      suffer severely under a deprivation that would have been deemed of little
      consequence by a great part of their fellow-subjects.
    </p>
    <p>
      They entered into a deed recognising John Murray of Lanrick, Esq.
      (afterwards Sir John MacGregor, Baronet), representative of the family of
      Glencarnock, as lawfully descended from the ancient stock and blood of the
      Lairds and Lords of MacGregor, and therefore acknowledged him as their
      chief on all lawful occasions and causes whatsoever. The deed was
      subscribed by eight hundred and twenty-six persons of the name of
      MacGregor, capable of bearing arms. A great many of the clan during the
      last war formed themselves into what was called the Clan Alpine Regiment,
      raised in 1799, under the command of their Chief and his brother Colonel
      MacGregor.
    </p>
    <p>
      Having briefly noticed the history of this clan, which presents a rare and
      interesting example of the indelible character of the patriarchal system,
      the author must now offer some notices of the individual who gives name to
      these volumes.
    </p>
    <p>
      In giving an account of a Highlander, his pedigree is first to be
      considered. That of Rob Roy was deduced from Ciar Mhor, the great
      mouse-coloured man, who is accused by tradition of having slain the young
      students at the battle of Glenfruin.
    </p>
    <p>
      Without puzzling ourselves and our readers with the intricacies of
      Highland genealogy, it is enough to say, that after the death of Allaster
      MacGregor of Glenstrae, the clan, discouraged by the unremitting
      persecution of their enemies, seem not to have had the means of placing
      themselves under the command of a single chief. According to their places
      of residence and immediate descent, the several families were led and
      directed by <i>Chieftains,</i> which, in the Highland acceptation,
      signifies the head of a particular branch of a tribe, in opposition to <i>Chief,</i>
      who is the leader and commander of the whole name.
    </p>
    <p>
      The family and descendants of Dugald Ciar Mhor lived chiefly in the
      mountains between Loch Lomond and Loch Katrine, and occupied a good deal
      of property there&mdash;whether by sufferance, by the right of the sword,
      which it was never safe to dispute with them, or by legal titles of
      various kinds, it would be useless to inquire and unnecessary to detail.
      Enough;&mdash;there they certainly were&mdash;a people whom their most
      powerful neighbours were desirous to conciliate, their friendship in peace
      being very necessary to the quiet of the vicinage, and their assistance in
      war equally prompt and effectual.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rob Roy MacGregor Campbell, which last name he bore in consequence of the
      Acts of Parliament abolishing his own, was the younger son of Donald
      MacGregor of Glengyle, said to have been a Lieutenant-Colonel (probably in
      the service of James II.), by his wife, a daughter of Campbell of
      Glenfalloch. Rob's own designation was of Inversnaid; but he appears to
      have acquired a right of some kind or other to the property or possession
      of Craig Royston, a domain of rock and forest, lying on the east side of
      Loch Lomond, where that beautiful lake stretches into the dusky mountains
      of Glenfalloch.
    </p>
    <p>
      The time of his birth is uncertain. But he is said to have been active in
      the scenes of war and plunder which succeeded the Revolution; and
      tradition affirms him to have been the leader in a predatory incursion
      into the parish of Kippen, in the Lennox, which took place in the year
      1691. It was of almost a bloodless character, only one person losing his
      life; but from the extent of the depredation, it was long distinguished by
      the name of the Her'-ship, or devastation, of Kippen.* The time of his
      death is also uncertain, but as he is said to have survived the year 1733,
      and died an aged man, it is probable he may have been twenty-five about
      the time of the Her'-ship of Kippen, which would assign his birth to the
      middle of the 17th century.
    </p>
    <p>
      * See <i>Statistcal Account of Scotland,</i> 1st edition, vol. xviii. p.
      332. Parish of * Kippen.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the more quiet times which succeeded the Revolution, Rob Roy, or Red
      Robert, seems to have exerted his active talents, which were of no mean
      order, as a drover, or trader in cattle, to a great extent. It may well be
      supposed that in those days no Lowland, much less English drovers,
      ventured to enter the Highlands. The cattle, which were the staple
      commodity of the mountains, were escorted down to fairs, on the borders of
      the Lowlands, by a party of Highlanders, with their arms rattling around
      them; and who dealt, however, in all honour and good faith with their
      Southern customers. A fray, indeed, would sometimes arise, when the
      Lowlandmen, chiefly Borderers, who had to supply the English market, used
      to dip their bonnets in the next brook, and wrapping them round their
      hands, oppose their cudgels to the naked broadswords, which had not always
      the superiority. I have heard from aged persons who had been engaged in
      such affrays, that the Highlanders used remarkably fair play, never using
      the point of the sword, far less their pistols or daggers; so that
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
               With many a stiff thwack and many a bang,
                   Hard crabtree and cold iron rang.
</pre>
    <p>
      A slash or two, or a broken head, was easily accommodated, and as the
      trade was of benefit to both parties, trifling skirmishes were not allowed
      to interrupt its harmony. Indeed it was of vital interest to the
      Highlanders, whose income, so far as derived from their estates, depended
      entirely on the sale of black cattle; and a sagacious and experienced
      dealer benefited not only himself, but his friends and neighbours, by his
      speculations. Those of Rob Roy were for several years so successful as to
      inspire general confidence, and raise him in the estimation of the country
      in which he resided.
    </p>
    <p>
      His importance was increased by the death of his father, in consequence of
      which he succeeded to the management of his nephew Gregor MacGregor of
      Glengyle's property, and, as his tutor, to such influence with the clan
      and following as was due to the representative of Dugald Ciar. Such
      influence was the more uncontrolled, that this family of the MacGregors
      seemed to have refused adherence to MacGregor of Glencarnock, the ancestor
      of the present Sir Ewan MacGregor, and asserted a kind of independence.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was at this time that Rob Roy acquired an interest by purchase, wadset,
      or otherwise, to the property of Craig Royston already mentioned. He was
      in particular favour, during this prosperous period of his life, with his
      nearest and most powerful neighbour, James, first Duke of Montrose, from
      whom he received many marks of regard. His Grace consented to give his
      nephew and himself a right of property on the estates of Glengyle and
      Inversnaid, which they had till then only held as kindly tenants. The Duke
      also, with a view to the interest of the country and his own estate,
      supported our adventurer by loans of money to a considerable amount, to
      enable him to carry on his speculations in the cattle trade.
    </p>
    <p>
      Unfortunately that species of commerce was and is liable to sudden
      fluctuations; and Rob Roy was, by a sudden depression of markets, and, as
      a friendly tradition adds, by the bad faith of a partner named MacDonald,
      whom he had imprudently received into his confidence, and intrusted with a
      considerable sum of money, rendered totally insolvent. He absconded, of
      course&mdash;not empty-handed, if it be true, as stated in an
      advertisement for his apprehension, that he had in his possession sums to
      the amount of L1000 sterling, obtained from several noblemen and gentlemen
      under pretence of purchasing cows for them in the Highlands. This
      advertisement appeared in June 1712, and was several times repeated. It
      fixes the period when Rob Roy exchanged his commercial adventures for
      speculations of a very different complexion.*
    </p>
    <p>
      * See Appendix, No. I.
    </p>
    <p>
      He appears at this period first to have removed from his ordinary dwelling
      at Inversnaid, ten or twelve Scots miles (which is double the number of
      English) farther into the Highlands, and commenced the lawless sort of
      life which he afterwards followed. The Duke of Montrose, who conceived
      himself deceived and cheated by MacGregor's conduct, employed legal means
      to recover the money lent to him. Rob Roy's landed property was attached
      by the regular form of legal procedure, and his stock and furniture made
      the subject of arrest and sale.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is said that this diligence of the law, as it is called in Scotland,
      which the English more bluntly term distress, was used in this case with
      uncommon severity, and that the legal satellites, not usually the gentlest
      persons in the world, had insulted MacGregor's wife, in a manner which
      would have aroused a milder man than he to thoughts of unbounded
      vengeance. She was a woman of fierce and haughty temper, and is not
      unlikely to have disturbed the officers in the execution of their duty,
      and thus to have incurred ill treatment, though, for the sake of humanity,
      it is to be hoped that the story sometimes told is a popular exaggeration.
      It is certain that she felt extreme anguish at being expelled from the
      banks of Loch Lomond, and gave vent to her feelings in a fine piece of
      pipe-music, still well known to amateurs by the name of "Rob Roy's
      Lament."
    </p>
    <p>
      The fugitive is thought to have found his first place of refuge in Glen
      Dochart, under the Earl of Breadalbane's protection; for, though that
      family had been active agents in the destruction of the MacGregors in
      former times, they had of late years sheltered a great many of the name in
      their old possessions. The Duke of Argyle was also one of Rob Roy's
      protectors, so far as to afford him, according to the Highland phrase,
      wood and water&mdash;the shelter, namely, that is afforded by the forests
      and lakes of an inaccessible country.
    </p>
    <p>
      The great men of the Highlands in that time, besides being anxiously
      ambitious to keep up what was called their Following, or military
      retainers, were also desirous to have at their disposal men of resolute
      character, to whom the world and the world's law were no friends, and who
      might at times ravage the lands or destroy the tenants of a feudal enemy,
      without bringing responsibility on their patrons. The strife between the
      names of Campbell and Graham, during the civil wars of the seventeenth
      century, had been stamped with mutual loss and inveterate enmity. The
      death of the great Marquis of Montrose on the one side, the defeat at
      Inverlochy, and cruel plundering of Lorn, on the other, were reciprocal
      injuries not likely to be forgotten. Rob Roy was, therefore, sure of
      refuge in the country of the Campbells, both as having assumed their name,
      as connected by his mother with the family of Glenfalloch, and as an enemy
      to the rival house of Montrose. The extent of Argyle's possessions, and
      the power of retreating thither in any emergency, gave great encouragement
      to the bold schemes of revenge which he had adopted.
    </p>
    <p>
      This was nothing short of the maintenance of a predatory war against the
      Duke of Montrose, whom he considered as the author of his exclusion from
      civil society, and of the outlawry to which he had been sentenced by
      letters of horning and caption (legal writs so called), as well as the
      seizure of his goods, and adjudication of his landed property. Against his
      Grace, therefore, his tenants, friends, allies, and relatives, he disposed
      himself to employ every means of annoyance in his power; and though this
      was a circle sufficiently extensive for active depredation, Rob, who
      professed himself a Jacobite, took the liberty of extending his sphere of
      operations against all whom he chose to consider as friendly to the
      revolutionary government, or to that most obnoxious of measures&mdash;the
      Union of the Kingdoms. Under one or other of these pretexts, all his
      neighbours of the Lowlands who had anything to lose, or were unwilling to
      compound for security by paying him an annual sum for protection or
      forbearance, were exposed to his ravages.
    </p>
    <p>
      The country in which this private warfare, or system of depredation, was
      to be carried on, was, until opened up by roads, in the highest degree
      favourable for his purpose. It was broken up into narrow valleys, the
      habitable part of which bore no proportion to the huge wildernesses of
      forest, rocks, and precipices by which they were encircled, and which was,
      moreover, full of inextricable passes, morasses, and natural strengths,
      unknown to any but the inhabitants themselves, where a few men acquainted
      with the ground were capable, with ordinary address, of baffling the
      pursuit of numbers.
    </p>
    <p>
      The opinions and habits of the nearest neighbours to the Highland line
      were also highly favourable to Rob Roy's purpose. A large proportion of
      them were of his own clan of MacGregor, who claimed the property of
      Balquhidder, and other Highland districts, as having been part of the
      ancient possessions of their tribe; though the harsh laws, under the
      severity of which they had suffered so deeply, had assigned the ownership
      to other families. The civil wars of the seventeenth century had
      accustomed these men to the use of arms, and they were peculiarly brave
      and fierce from remembrance of their sufferings. The vicinity of a
      comparatively rich Lowland district gave also great temptations to
      incursion. Many belonging to other clans, habituated to contempt of
      industry, and to the use of arms, drew towards an unprotected frontier
      which promised facility of plunder; and the state of the country, now so
      peaceable and quiet, verified at that time the opinion which Dr. Johnson
      heard with doubt and suspicion, that the most disorderly and lawless
      districts of the Highlands were those which lay nearest to the Lowland
      line. There was, therefore, no difficulty in Rob Roy, descended of a tribe
      which was widely dispersed in the country we have described, collecting
      any number of followers whom he might be able to keep in action, and to
      maintain by his proposed operations.
    </p>
    <p>
      He himself appears to have been singularly adapted for the profession
      which he proposed to exercise. His stature was not of the tallest, but his
      person was uncommonly strong and compact. The greatest peculiarities of
      his frame were the breadth of his shoulders, and the great and almost
      disproportionate length of his arms; so remarkable, indeed, that it was
      said he could, without stooping, tie the garters of his Highland hose,
      which are placed two inches below the knee. His countenance was open,
      manly, stern at periods of danger, but frank and cheerful in his hours of
      festivity. His hair was dark red, thick, and frizzled, and curled short
      around the face. His fashion of dress showed, of course, the knees and
      upper part of the leg, which was described to me, as resembling that of a
      Highland bull, hirsute, with red hair, and evincing muscular strength
      similar to that animal. To these personal qualifications must be added a
      masterly use of the Highland sword, in which his length of arm gave him
      great advantage&mdash;and a perfect and intimate knowledge of all the
      recesses of the wild country in which he harboured, and the character of
      the various individuals, whether friendly or hostile, with whom he might
      come in contact.
    </p>
    <p>
      His mental qualities seem to have been no less adapted to the
      circumstances in which he was placed. Though the descendant of the
      blood-thirsty Ciar Mhor, he inherited none of his ancestor's ferocity. On
      the contrary, Rob Roy avoided every appearance of cruelty, and it is not
      averred that he was ever the means of unnecessary bloodshed, or the actor
      in any deed which could lead the way to it. His schemes of plunder were
      contrived and executed with equal boldness and sagacity, and were almost
      universally successful, from the skill with which they were laid, and the
      secrecy and rapidity with which they were executed. Like Robin Hood of
      England, he was a kind and gentle robber,&mdash;and, while he took from
      the rich, was liberal in relieving the poor. This might in part be policy;
      but the universal tradition of the country speaks it to have arisen from a
      better motive. All whom I have conversed with, and I have in my youth seen
      some who knew Rob Roy personally, give him the character of a benevolent
      and humane man "in his way."
    </p>
    <p>
      His ideas of morality were those of an Arab chief, being such as naturally
      arose out of his wild education. Supposing Rob Roy to have argued on the
      tendency of the life which he pursued, whether from choice or from
      necessity, he would doubtless have assumed to himself the character of a
      brave man, who, deprived of his natural rights by the partiality of laws,
      endeavoured to assert them by the strong hand of natural power; and he is
      most felicitously described as reasoning thus, in the high-toned poetry of
      my gifted friend Wordsworth:
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                 Say, then, that he was wise as brave,
                 As wise in thought as bold in deed;
                     For in the principles of things
                      <i>He</i> sought his moral creed.

                 Said generous Rob, "What need of Books?
                 Burn all the statutes and their shelves!
                     They stir us up against our kind,
                     And worse, against ourselves.

                    "We have a passion, make a law,
                    Too false to guide us or control;
                    And for the law itself we fight
                    In bitterness of soul.

                "And puzzled, blinded, then we lose
                 Distinctions that are plain and few;
                       These find I graven on my heart,
                       That tells me what to do.

                "The creatures see of flood and field,
                     And those that travel on the wind
                 With them no strife can last; they live
                    In peace, and peace of mind.

                "For why? Because the good old rule
                    Sufficeth them; the simple plan,
                That they should take who have the power,
                    And they should keep who can.

                "A lesson which is quickly learn'd,
                    A signal through which all can see;
                Thus, nothing here provokes the strong
                           To wanton cruelty.

                "And freakishness of mind is check'd,
                    He tamed who foolishly aspires,
                While to the measure of his might
                       Each fashions his desires.

                "All kinds and creatures stand and fall
                    By strength of prowess or of wit;
               'Tis God's appointment who must sway,
                         And who is to submit.

              "Since then," said Robin, "right is plain,
                    And longest life is but a day,
               To have my ends, maintain my rights,
                      I'll take the shortest way."

               And thus among these rocks he lived,
               Through summer's heat and winter's snow

                        The eagle, he was lord above,
                        And Rob was lord below.
</pre>
    <p>
      We are not, however, to suppose the character of this distinguished outlaw
      to be that of an actual hero, acting uniformly and consistently on such
      moral principles as the illustrious bard who, standing by his grave, has
      vindicated his fame. On the contrary, as is common with barbarous chiefs,
      Rob Roy appears to have mixed his professions of principle with a large
      alloy of craft and dissimulation, of which his conduct during the civil
      war is sufficient proof. It is also said, and truly, that although his
      courtesy was one of his strongest characteristics, yet sometimes he
      assumed an arrogance of manner which was not easily endured by the
      high-spirited men to whom it was addressed, and drew the daring outlaw
      into frequent disputes, from which he did not always come off with credit.
      From this it has been inferred, that Rob Roy was more of a bully than a
      hero, or at least that he had, according to the common phrase, his
      fighting days. Some aged men who knew him well, have described him also as
      better at a <i>taich-tulzie,</i> or scuffle within doors, than in mortal
      combat. The tenor of his life may be quoted to repel this charge; while,
      at the same time, it must be allowed, that the situation in which he was
      placed rendered him prudently averse to maintaining quarrels, where
      nothing was to be had save blows, and where success would have raised up
      against him new and powerful enemies, in a country where revenge was still
      considered as a duty rather than a crime. The power of commanding his
      passions on such occasions, far from being inconsistent with the part
      which MacGregor had to perform, was essentially necessary, at the period
      when he lived, to prevent his career from being cut short.
    </p>
    <p>
      I may here mention one or two occasions on which Rob Roy appears to have
      given way in the manner alluded to. My late venerable friend, John Ramsay
      of Ochtertyre, alike eminent as a classical scholar and as an authentic
      register of the ancient history and manners of Scotland, informed me, that
      on occasion of a public meeting at a bonfire in the town of Doune, Rob Roy
      gave some offence to James Edmondstone of Newton, the same gentleman who
      was unfortunately concerned in the slaughter of Lord Rollo (see
      Maclaurin's Criminal Trials, No. IX.), when Edmondstone compelled
      MacGregor to quit the town on pain of being thrown by him into the
      bonfire. "I broke one off your ribs on a former occasion," said he, "and
      now, Rob, if you provoke me farther, I will break your neck." But it must
      be remembered that Edmondstone was a man of consequence in the Jacobite
      party, as he carried the royal standard of James VII. at the battle of
      Sheriffmuir, and also, that he was near the door of his own mansion-house,
      and probably surrounded by his friends and adherents. Rob Roy, however,
      suffered in reputation for retiring under such a threat.
    </p>
    <p>
      Another well-vouched case is that of Cunningham of Boquhan.
    </p>
    <p>
      Henry Cunningham, Esq. of Boquhan, was a gentleman of Stirlingshire, who,
      like many <i>exquisites</i> of our own time, united a natural high spirit
      and daring character with an affectation of delicacy of address and
      manners amounting to foppery.*
    </p>
    <p>
      * His courage and affectation of foppery were united, which is less
      frequently the case, with a spirit of innate modesty. He is thus described
      in Lord Binning's satirical verses, entitled "Argyle's Levee:"
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                   "Six times had Harry bowed unseen,
                        Before he dared advance;
                   The Duke then, turning round well pleased,
                        Said, 'Sure you've been in France!
                   A more polite and jaunty man
                        I never saw before:'
                   Then Harry bowed, and blushed, and bowed,
                        And strutted to the door."
</pre>
    <p>
      See a Collection of original Poems, by Scotch Gentlemen, vol. ii. p. 125.
    </p>
    <p>
      He chanced to be in company with Rob Roy, who, either in contempt of
      Boquhan's supposed effeminacy, or because he thought him a safe person to
      fix a quarrel on (a point which Rob's enemies alleged he was wont to
      consider), insulted him so grossly that a challenge passed between them.
      The goodwife of the clachan had hidden Cunningham's sword, and while he
      rummaged the house in quest of his own or some other, Rob Roy went to the
      Shieling Hill, the appointed place of combat, and paraded there with great
      majesty, waiting for his antagonist. In the meantime, Cunningham had
      rummaged out an old sword, and, entering the ground of contest in all
      haste, rushed on the outlaw with such unexpected fury that he fairly drove
      him off the field, nor did he show himself in the village again for some
      time. Mr. MacGregor Stirling has a softened account of this anecdote in
      his new edition of Nimmo's Stirlingshire; still he records Rob Roy's
      discomfiture.
    </p>
    <p>
      Occasionally Rob Roy suffered disasters, and incurred great personal
      danger. On one remarkable occasion he was saved by the coolness of his
      lieutenant, Macanaleister or Fletcher, the <i>Little John</i> of his band&mdash;a
      fine active fellow, of course, and celebrated as a marksman. It happened
      that MacGregor and his party had been surprised and dispersed by a
      superior force of horse and foot, and the word was given to "split and
      squander." Each shifted for himself, but a bold dragoon attached himself
      to pursuit of Rob, and overtaking him, struck at him with his broadsword.
      A plate of iron in his bonnet saved the MacGregor from being cut down to
      the teeth; but the blow was heavy enough to bear him to the ground, crying
      as he fell, "Oh, Macanaleister, is there naething in her?" (<i>i.e.</i> in
      the gun). The trooper, at the same time, exclaiming, "D&mdash;n ye, your
      mother never wrought your night-cap!" had his arm raised for a second
      blow, when Macanaleister fired, and the ball pierced the dragoon's heart.
    </p>
    <p>
      Such as he was, Rob Roy's progress in his occupation is thus described by
      a gentleman of sense and talent, who resided within the circle of his
      predatory wars, had probably felt their effects, and speaks of them, as
      might be expected, with little of the forbearance with which, from their
      peculiar and romantic character, they are now regarded.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This man (Rob Roy MacGregor) was a person of sagacity, and neither wanted
      stratagem nor address; and having abandoned himself to all licentiousness,
      set himself at the head of all the loose, vagrant, and desperate people of
      that clan, in the west end of Perth and Stirling shires, and infested
      those whole countries with thefts, robberies, and depredations. Very few
      who lived within his reach (that is, within the distance of a nocturnal
      expedition) could promise to themselves security, either for their persons
      or effects, without subjecting themselves to pay him a heavy and shameful
      tax of <i>black-mail.</i> He at last proceeded to such a degree of
      audaciousness that he committed robberies, raised contributions, and
      resented quarrels, at the head of a very considerable body of armed men,
      in open day, and in the face of the government."*
    </p>
    <p>
      * Mr. Grahame of Gartmore's Causes of the Disturbances in the Highlands.
      See Jamieson's edition of Burt's Letters from the North of Scotland,
      Appendix, vol. ii. p. 348.
    </p>
    <p>
      The extent and success of these depredations cannot be surprising, when we
      consider that the scene of them was laid in a country where the general
      law was neither enforced nor respected.
    </p>
    <p>
      Having recorded that the general habit of cattle-stealing had blinded even
      those of the better classes to the infamy of the practice, and that as
      men's property consisted entirely in herds, it was rendered in the highest
      degree precarious, Mr. Grahame adds&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "On these accounts there is no culture of ground, no improvement of
      pastures, and from the same reasons, no manufactures, no trade; in short,
      no industry. The people are extremely prolific, and therefore so numerous,
      that there is not business in that country, according to its present order
      and economy, for the one-half of them. Every place is full of idle people,
      accustomed to arms, and lazy in everything but rapines and depredations.
      As <i>buddel</i> or <i>aquavitae</i> houses are to be found everywhere
      through the country, so in these they saunter away their time, and
      frequently consume there the returns of their illegal purchases. Here the
      laws have never been executed, nor the authority of the magistrate ever
      established. Here the officer of the law neither dare nor can execute his
      duty, and several places are about thirty miles from lawful persons. In
      short, here is no order, no authority, no government."
    </p>
    <p>
      The period of the rebellion, 1715, approached soon after Rob Roy had
      attained celebrity. His Jacobite partialities were now placed in
      opposition to his sense of the obligations which he owed to the indirect
      protection of the Duke of Argyle. But the desire of "drowning his sounding
      steps amid the din of general war" induced him to join the forces of the
      Earl of Mar, although his patron the Duke of Argyle was at the head of the
      army opposed to the Highland insurgents.
    </p>
    <p>
      The MacGregors, a large sept of them at least, that of Ciar Mhor, on this
      occasion were not commanded by Rob Roy, but by his nephew already
      mentioned, Gregor MacGregor, otherwise called James Grahame of Glengyle,
      and still better remembered by the Gaelic epithet of <i>Ghlune Dhu, i.e.</i>
      Black Knee, from a black spot on one of his knees, which his Highland garb
      rendered visible. There can be no question, however, that being then very
      young, Glengyle must have acted on most occasions by the advice and
      direction of so experienced a leader as his uncle.
    </p>
    <p>
      The MacGregors assembled in numbers at that period, and began even to
      threaten the Lowlands towards the lower extremity of Loch Lomond. They
      suddenly seized all the boats which were upon the lake, and, probably with
      a view to some enterprise of their own, drew them overland to Inversnaid,
      in order to intercept the progress of a large body of west-country whigs
      who were in arms for the government, and moving in that direction.
    </p>
    <p>
      The whigs made an excursion for the recovery of the boats. Their forces
      consisted of volunteers from Paisley, Kilpatrick, and elsewhere, who, with
      the assistance of a body of seamen, were towed up the river Leven in
      long-boats belonging to the ships of war then lying in the Clyde. At Luss
      they were joined by the forces of Sir Humphrey Colquhoun, and James Grant,
      his son-in-law, with their followers, attired in the Highland dress of the
      period, which is picturesquely described.* The whole party crossed to
      Craig-Royston, but the MacGregors did not offer combat.
    </p>
    <p>
      * "At night they arrived at Luss, where they were joined by Sir Humphrey
      Colquhoun of Luss, and James Grant of Plascander, his son-in-law, followed
      by forty or fifty stately fellows in their short hose and belted plaids,
      armed each of them with a well-fixed gun on his shoulder, a strong
      handsome target, with a sharp-pointed steel of above half an ell in length
      screwed into the navel of it, on his left arm, a sturdy claymore by his
      side, and a pistol or two, with a dirk and knife, in his belt."&mdash;<i>Rae's
      History of the Rebellion,</i> 4to, p. 287.
    </p>
    <p>
      If we are to believe the account of the expedition given by the historian
      Rae, they leapt on shore at Craig-Royston with the utmost intrepidity, no
      enemy appearing to oppose them, and by the noise of their drums, which
      they beat incessantly, and the discharge of their artillery and small
      arms, terrified the MacGregors, whom they appear never to have seen, out
      of their fastnesses, and caused them to fly in a panic to the general camp
      of the Highlanders at Strath-Fillan.* The low-country men succeeded in
      getting possession of the boats at a great expenditure of noise and
      courage, and little risk of danger.
    </p>
    <p>
      * Note C. The Loch Lomond Expedition.
    </p>
    <p>
      After this temporary removal from his old haunts, Rob Roy was sent by the
      Earl of Mar to Aberdeen, to raise, it is believed, a part of the clan
      Gregor, which is settled in that country. These men were of his own family
      (the race of the Ciar Mhor). They were the descendants of about three
      hundred MacGregors whom the Earl of Murray, about the year 1624,
      transported from his estates in Menteith to oppose against his enemies the
      MacIntoshes, a race as hardy and restless as they were themselves.
    </p>
    <p>
      But while in the city of Aberdeen, Rob Roy met a relation of a very
      different class and character from those whom he was sent to summon to
      arms. This was Dr. James Gregory (by descent a MacGregor), the patriarch
      of a dynasty of professors distinguished for literary and scientific
      talent, and the grandfather of the late eminent physician and accomplished
      scholar, Professor Gregory of Edinburgh. This gentleman was at the time
      Professor of Medicine in King's College, Aberdeen, and son of Dr. James
      Gregory, distinguished in science as the inventor of the reflecting
      telescope. With such a family it may seem our friend Rob could have had
      little communion. But civil war is a species of misery which introduces
      men to strange bed-fellows. Dr. Gregory thought it a point of prudence to
      claim kindred, at so critical a period, with a man so formidable and
      influential. He invited Rob Roy to his house, and treated him with so much
      kindness, that he produced in his generous bosom a degree of gratitude
      which seemed likely to occasion very inconvenient effects.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Professor had a son about eight or nine years old,&mdash;a lively,
      stout boy of his age,&mdash;with whose appearance our Highland Robin Hood
      was much taken. On the day before his departure from the house of his
      learned relative, Rob Roy, who had pondered deeply how he might requite
      his cousin's kindness, took Dr. Gregory aside, and addressed him to this
      purport:&mdash;"My dear kinsman, I have been thinking what I could do to
      show my sense of your hospitality. Now, here you have a fine spirited boy
      of a son, whom you are ruining by cramming him with your useless
      book-learning, and I am determined, by way of manifesting my great
      good-will to you and yours, to take him with me and make a man of him."
      The learned Professor was utterly overwhelmed when his warlike kinsman
      announced his kind purpose in language which implied no doubt of its being
      a proposal which, would be, and ought to be, accepted with the utmost
      gratitude. The task of apology or explanation was of a most delicate
      description; and there might have been considerable danger in suffering
      Rob Roy to perceive that the promotion with which he threatened the son
      was, in the father's eyes, the ready road to the gallows. Indeed, every
      excuse which he could at first think of&mdash;such as regret for putting
      his friend to trouble with a youth who had been educated in the Lowlands,
      and so on&mdash;only strengthened the chieftain's inclination to patronise
      his young kinsman, as he supposed they arose entirely from the modesty of
      the father. He would for a long time take no apology, and even spoke of
      carrying off the youth by a certain degree of kindly violence, whether his
      father consented, or not. At length the perplexed Professor pleaded that
      his son was very young, and in an infirm state of health, and not yet able
      to endure the hardships of a mountain life; but that in another year or
      two he hoped his health would be firmly established, and he would be in a
      fitting condition to attend on his brave kinsman, and follow out the
      splendid destinies to which he opened the way. This agreement being made,
      the cousins parted,&mdash;Rob Roy pledging his honour to carry his young
      relation to the hills with him on his next return to Aberdeenshire, and
      Dr. Gregory, doubtless, praying in his secret soul that he might never see
      Rob's Highland face again.
    </p>
    <p>
      James Gregory, who thus escaped being his kinsman's recruit, and in all
      probability his henchman, was afterwards Professor of Medicine in the
      College, and, like most of his family, distinguished by his scientific
      acquirements. He was rather of an irritable and pertinacious disposition;
      and his friends were wont to remark, when he showed any symptom of these
      foibles, "Ah! this comes of not having been educated by Rob Roy."
    </p>
    <p>
      The connection between Rob Roy and his classical kinsman did not end with
      the period of Rob's transient power. At a period considerably subsequent
      to the year 1715, he was walking in the Castle Street of Aberdeen, arm in
      arm with his host, Dr. James Gregory, when the drums in the barracks
      suddenly beat to arms, and soldiers were seen issuing from the barracks.
      "If these lads are turning out," said Rob, taking leave of his cousin with
      great composure, "it is time for me to look after my safety." So saying,
      he dived down a close, and, as John Bunyan says, "went upon his way and
      was seen no more."*
    </p>
    <p>
      * The first of these anecdotes, which brings the highest pitch of
      civilisation so closely in contact with the half-savage state of society,
      I have heard told by the late distinguished Dr. Gregory; and the members
      of his family have had the kindness to collate the story with their
      recollections and family documents, and furnish the authentic particulars.
      The second rests on the recollection of an old man, who was present when
      Rob took French leave of his literary cousin on hearing the drums beat,
      and communicated the circumstance to Mr. Alexander Forbes, a connection of
      Dr. Gregory by marriage, who is still alive.
    </p>
    <p>
      We have already stated that Rob Roy's conduct during the insurrection of
      1715 was very equivocal. His person and followers were in the Highland
      army, but his heart seems to have been with the Duke of Argyle's. Yet the
      insurgents were constrained to trust to him as their only guide, when they
      marched from Perth towards Dunblane, with the view of crossing the Forth
      at what are called the Fords of Frew, and when they themselves said he
      could not be relied upon.
    </p>
    <p>
      This movement to the westward, on the part of the insurgents, brought on
      the battle of Sheriffmuir&mdash;indecisive, indeed, in its immediate
      results, but of which the Duke of Argyle reaped the whole advantage. In
      this action, it will be recollected that the right wing of the Highlanders
      broke and cut to pieces Argyle's left wing, while the clans on the left of
      Mar's army, though consisting of Stewarts, Mackenzies, and Camerons, were
      completely routed. During this medley of flight and pursuit, Rob Roy
      retained his station on a hill in the centre of the Highland position; and
      though it is said his attack might have decided the day, he could not be
      prevailed upon to charge. This was the more unfortunate for the
      insurgents, as the leading of a party of the Macphersons had been
      committed to MacGregor. This, it is said, was owing to the age and
      infirmity of the chief of that name, who, unable to lead his clan in
      person, objected to his heir-apparent, Macpherson of Nord, discharging his
      duty on that occasion; so that the tribe, or a part of them, were brigaded
      with their allies the MacGregors. While the favourable moment for action
      was gliding away unemployed, Mar's positive orders reached Rob Roy that he
      should presently attack. To which he coolly replied, "No, no! if they
      cannot do it without me, they cannot do it with me." One of the
      Macphersons, named Alexander, one of Rob's original profession, <i>videlicet,</i>
      a drover, but a man of great strength and spirit, was so incensed at the
      inactivity of this temporary leader, that he threw off his plaid, drew his
      sword, and called out to his clansmen, "Let us endure this no longer! if
      he will not lead you I will." Rob Roy replied, with great coolness, "Were
      the question about driving Highland stots or kyloes, Sandie, I would yield
      to your superior skill; but as it respects the leading of men, I must be
      allowed to be the better judge."&mdash;"Did the matter respect driving
      Glen-Eigas stots," answered the Macpherson, "the question with Rob would
      not be, which was to be last, but which was to be foremost." Incensed at
      this sarcasm, MacGregor drew his sword, and they would have fought upon
      the spot if their friends on both sides had not interfered. But the moment
      of attack was completely lost. Rob did not, however, neglect his own
      private interest on the occasion. In the confusion of an undecided field
      of battle, he enriched his followers by plundering the baggage and the
      dead on both sides.
    </p>
    <p>
      The fine old satirical ballad on the battle of Sheriffmuir does not forget
      to stigmatise our hero's conduct on this memorable occasion&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                        Rob Roy he stood watch
                        On a hill for to catch
                 The booty for aught that I saw, man;
                         For he ne'er advanced
                 From the place where he stanced,
                 Till nae mair was to do there at a', man.
</pre>
    <p>
      Notwithstanding the sort of neutrality which Rob Roy had continued to
      observe during the progress of the Rebellion, he did not escape some of
      its penalties. He was included in the act of attainder, and the house in
      Breadalbane, which was his place of retreat, was burned by General Lord
      Cadogan, when, after the conclusion of the insurrection, he marched
      through the Highlands to disarm and punish the offending clans. But upon
      going to Inverary with about forty or fifty of his followers, Rob obtained
      favour, by an apparent surrender of their arms to Colonel Patrick Campbell
      of Finnah, who furnished them and their leader with protections under his
      hand. Being thus in a great measure secured from the resentment of
      government, Rob Roy established his residence at Craig-Royston, near Loch
      Lomond, in the midst of his own kinsmen, and lost no time in resuming his
      private quarrel with the Duke of Montrose. For this purpose he soon got on
      foot as many men, and well armed too, as he had yet commanded. He never
      stirred without a body-guard of ten or twelve picked followers, and
      without much effort could increase them to fifty or sixty.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Duke was not wanting in efforts to destroy this troublesome adversary.
      His Grace applied to General Carpenter, commanding the forces in Scotland,
      and by his orders three parties of soldiers were directed from the three
      different points of Glasgow, Stirling, and Finlarig near Killin. Mr.
      Graham of Killearn, the Duke of Montrose's relation and factor,
      Sheriff-depute also of Dumbartonshire, accompanied the troops, that they
      might act under the civil authority, and have the assistance of a trusty
      guide well acquainted with the hills. It was the object of these several
      columns to arrive about the same time in the neighbourhood of Rob Roy's
      residence, and surprise him and his followers. But heavy rains, the
      difficulties of the country, and the good intelligence which the Outlaw
      was always supplied with, disappointed their well-concerted combination.
      The troops, finding the birds were flown, avenged themselves by destroying
      the nest. They burned Rob Roy's house,&mdash;though not with impunity; for
      the MacGregors, concealed among the thickets and cliffs, fired on them,
      and killed a grenadier.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rob Roy avenged himself for the loss which he sustained on this occasion
      by an act of singular audacity. About the middle of November 1716, John
      Graham of Killearn, already mentioned as factor of the Montrose family,
      went to a place called Chapel Errock, where the tenants of the Duke were
      summoned to appear with their termly rents. They appeared accordingly, and
      the factor had received ready money to the amount of about L300, when Rob
      Roy entered the room at the head of an armed party. The Steward
      endeavoured to protect the Duke's property by throwing the books of
      accounts and money into a garret, trusting they might escape notice. But
      the experienced freebooter was not to be baffled where such a prize was at
      stake. He recovered the books and cash, placed himself calmly in the
      receipt of custom, examined the accounts, pocketed the money, and gave
      receipts on the Duke's part, saying he would hold reckoning with the Duke
      of Montrose out of the damages which he had sustained by his Grace's
      means, in which he included the losses he had suffered, as well by the
      burning of his house by General Cadogan, as by the later expedition
      against Craig-Royston. He then requested Mr. Graham to attend him; nor
      does it appear that he treated him with any personal violence, or even
      rudeness, although he informed him he regarded him as a hostage, and
      menaced rough usage in case he should be pursued, or in danger of being
      overtaken. Few more audacious feats have been performed. After some rapid
      changes of place (the fatigue attending which was the only annoyance that
      Mr. Graham seems to have complained of), he carried his prisoner to an
      island on Loch Katrine, and caused him to write to the Duke, to state that
      his ransom was fixed at L3400 merks, being the balance which MacGregor
      pretended remained due to him, after deducting all that he owed to the
      Duke of Montrose.
    </p>
    <p>
      However, after detaining Mr. Graham five or six days in custody on the
      island, which is still called Rob Roy's Prison, and could be no
      comfortable dwelling for November nights, the Outlaw seems to have
      despaired of attaining further advantage from his bold attempt, and
      suffered his prisoner to depart uninjured, with the account-books, and
      bills granted by the tenants, taking especial care to retain the cash.*
    </p>
    <p>
      * The reader will find two original letters of the Duke of Montrose, with
      that which Mr. Graham of Killearn despatched from his prison-house by the
      Outlaw's command, in the Appendix, No. II.
    </p>
    <p>
      About 1717, our Chieftain had the dangerous adventure of falling into the
      hands of the Duke of Athole, almost as much his enemy as the Duke of
      Montrose himself; but his cunning and dexterity again freed him from
      certain death. See a contemporary account of this curious affair in the
      Appendix, No. V.
    </p>
    <p>
      Other pranks are told of Rob, which argue the same boldness and sagacity
      as the seizure of Killearn. The Duke of Montrose, weary of his insolence,
      procured a quantity of arms, and distributed them among his tenantry, in
      order that they might defend themselves against future violences. But they
      fell into different hands from those they were intended for. The
      MacGregors made separate attacks on the houses of the tenants, and
      disarmed them all one after another, not, as was supposed, without the
      consent of many of the persons so disarmed.
    </p>
    <p>
      As a great part of the Duke's rents were payable in kind, there were
      girnels (granaries) established for storing up the corn at Moulin, and
      elsewhere on the Buchanan estate. To these storehouses Rob Roy used to
      repair with a sufficient force, and of course when he was least expected,
      and insist upon the delivery of quantities of grain&mdash;sometimes for
      his own use, and sometimes for the assistance of the country people;
      always giving regular receipts in his own name, and pretending to reckon
      with the Duke for what sums he received.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the meanwhile a garrison was established by Government, the ruins of
      which may be still seen about half-way betwixt Loch Lomond and Loch
      Katrine, upon Rob Roy's original property of Inversnaid. Even this
      military establishment could not bridle the restless MacGregor. He
      contrived to surprise the little fort, disarm the soldiers, and destroy
      the fortification. It was afterwards re-established, and again taken by
      the MacGregors under Rob Roy's nephew Ghlune Dhu, previous to the
      insurrection of 1745-6. Finally, the fort of Inversnaid was a third time
      repaired after the extinction of civil discord; and when we find the
      celebrated General Wolfe commanding in it, the imagination is strongly
      affected by the variety of time and events which the circumstance brings
      simultaneously to recollection. It is now totally dismantled.*
    </p>
    <p>
      * About 1792, when the author chanced to pass that way while on a tour
      through the Highlands, a garrison, consisting of a single veteran, was
      still maintained at Inversnaid. The venerable warder was reaping his
      barley croft in all peace and tranquillity and when we asked admittance to
      repose ourselves, he told us we would find the key of the Fort under the
      door.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was not, strictly speaking, as a professed depredator that Rob Roy now
      conducted his operations, but as a sort of contractor for the police; in
      Scottish phrase, a lifter of black-mail. The nature of this contract has
      been described in the Novel of Waverley, and in the notes on that work.
      Mr. Grahame of Gartmore's description of the character may be here
      transcribed:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "The confusion and disorders of the country were so great, and the
      Government go absolutely neglected it, that the sober people were obliged
      to purchase some security to their effects by shameful and ignominious
      contracts of <i>black-mail.</i> A person who had the greatest
      correspondence with the thieves was agreed with to preserve the lands
      contracted for from thefts, for certain sums to be paid yearly. Upon this
      fund he employed one half of the thieves to recover stolen cattle, and the
      other half of them to steal, in order to make this agreement and
      black-mail contract necessary. The estates of those gentlemen who refused
      to contract, or give countenance to that pernicious practice, are
      plundered by the thieving part of the watch, in order to force them to
      purchase their protection. Their leader calls himself the <i>Captain</i>
      of the <i>Watch,</i> and his banditti go by that name. And as this gives
      them a kind of authority to traverse the country, so it makes them capable
      of doing any mischief. These corps through the Highlands make altogether a
      very considerable body of men, inured from their infancy to the greatest
      fatigues, and very capable, to act in a military way when occasion offers.
    </p>
    <p>
      "People who are ignorant and enthusiastic, who are in absolute dependence
      upon their chief or landlord, who are directed in their consciences by
      Roman Catholic priests, or nonjuring clergymen, and who are not masters of
      any property, may easily be formed into any mould. They fear no dangers,
      as they have nothing to lose, and so can with ease be induced to attempt
      anything. Nothing can make their condition worse: confusions and troubles
      do commonly indulge them in such licentiousness, that by these they better
      it."*
    </p>
    <p>
      * Letters from the North of Scotland, vol. ii. pp. 344, 345.
    </p>
    <p>
      As the practice of contracting for black-mail was an obvious encouragement
      to rapine, and a great obstacle to the course of justice, it was, by the
      statute 1567, chap. 21, declared a capital crime both on the part of him
      who levied and him who paid this sort of tax. But the necessity of the
      case prevented the execution of this severe law, I believe, in any one
      instance; and men went on submitting to a certain unlawful imposition
      rather than run the risk of utter ruin&mdash;just as it is now found
      difficult or impossible to prevent those who have lost a very large sum of
      money by robbery, from compounding with the felons for restoration of a
      part of their booty.
    </p>
    <p>
      At what rate Rob Roy levied black-mail I never heard stated; but there is
      a formal contract by which his nephew, in 1741, agreed with various
      landholders of estates in the counties of Perth, Stirling, and Dumbarton,
      to recover cattle stolen from them, or to pay the value within six months
      of the loss being intimated, if such intimation were made to him with
      sufficient despatch, in consideration of a payment of L5 on each L100 of
      valued rent, which was not a very heavy insurance. Petty thefts were not
      included in the contract; but the theft of one horse, or one head of black
      cattle, or of sheep exceeding the number of six, fell under the agreement.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rob Roy's profits upon such contracts brought him in a considerable
      revenue in money or cattle, of which he made a popular use; for he was
      publicly liberal as well as privately beneficent. The minister of the
      parish of Balquhidder, whose name was Robertson, was at one time
      threatening to pursue the parish for an augmentation of his stipend. Rob
      Roy took an opportunity to assure him that he would do well to abstain
      from this new exaction&mdash;a hint which the minister did not fail to
      understand. But to make him some indemnification, MacGregor presented him
      every year with a cow and a fat sheep; and no scruples as to the mode in
      which the donor came by them are said to have affected the reverend
      gentleman's conscience.
    </p>
    <p>
      The following amount of the proceedings of Rob Roy, on an application to
      him from one of his contractors, had in it something very interesting to
      me, as told by an old countryman in the Lennox who was present on the
      expedition. But as there is no point or marked incident in the story, and
      as it must necessarily be without the half-frightened, half-bewildered
      look with which the narrator accompanied his recollections, it may
      possibly lose, its effect when transferred to paper.
    </p>
    <p>
      My informant stated himself to have been a lad of fifteen, living with his
      father on the estate of a gentleman in the Lennox, whose name I have
      forgotten, in the capacity of herd. On a fine morning in the end of
      October, the period when such calamities were almost always to be
      apprehended, they found the Highland thieves had been down upon them, and
      swept away ten or twelve head of cattle. Rob Roy was sent for, and came
      with a party of seven or eight armed men. He heard with great gravity all
      that could be told him of the circumstances of the <i>creagh,</i> and
      expressed his confidence that the <i>herd-widdiefows</i>* could not have
      carried their booty far, and that he should be able to recover them.
    </p>
    <p>
      * Mad herdsmen&mdash;a name given to cattle-stealers [properly one who
      deserves to fill a <i>widdie,</i> or halter].
    </p>
    <p>
      He desired that two Lowlanders should be sent on the party, as it was not
      to be expected that any of his gentlemen would take the trouble of driving
      the cattle when he should recover possession of them. My informant and his
      father were despatched on the expedition. They had no good will to the
      journey; nevertheless, provided with a little food, and with a dog to help
      them to manage the cattle, they set off with MacGregor. They travelled a
      long day's journey in the direction of the mountain Benvoirlich, and slept
      for the night in a ruinous hut or bothy. The next morning they resumed
      their journey among the hills, Rob Roy directing their course by signs and
      marks on the heath which my informant did not understand.
    </p>
    <p>
      About noon Rob commanded the armed party to halt, and to lie couched in
      the heather where it was thickest. "Do you and your son," he said to the
      oldest Lowlander, "go boldly over the hill;&mdash;you will see beneath
      you, in a glen on the other side, your master's cattle, feeding, it may
      be, with others; gather your own together, taking care to disturb no one
      else, and drive them to this place. If any one speak to or threaten you,
      tell them that I am here, at the head of twenty men."&mdash;"But what if
      they abuse us, or kill us?" said the Lowland, peasant, by no means
      delighted at finding the embassy imposed on him and his son. "If they do
      you any wrong," said Rob, "I will never forgive them as long as I live."
      The Lowlander was by no means content with this security, but did not
      think it safe to dispute Rob's injunctions.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="image-0005" id="image-0005">
      <!-- IMG --></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img src="images/pa000.jpg" alt="Cattle Lifting " width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <!-- IMAGE END -->
    <p>
      He and his son climbed the hill therefore, found a deep valley, where
      there grazed, as Rob had predicted, a large herd of cattle. They
      cautiously selected those which their master had lost, and took measures
      to drive them over the hill. As soon as they began to remove them, they
      were surprised by hearing cries and screams; and looking around in fear
      and trembling they saw a woman seeming to have started out of the earth,
      who <i>flyted</i> at them, that is, scolded them, in Gaelic. When they
      contrived, however, in the best Gaelic they could muster, to deliver the
      message Rob Roy told them, she became silent, and disappeared without
      offering them any further annoyance. The chief heard their story on their
      return, and spoke with great complacency of the art which he possessed of
      putting such things to rights without any unpleasant bustle. The party
      were now on their road home, and the danger, though not the fatigue, of
      the expedition was at an end.
    </p>
    <p>
      They drove on the cattle with little repose until it was nearly dark, when
      Rob proposed to halt for the night upon a wide moor, across which a cold
      north-east wind, with frost on its wing, was whistling to the tune of the
      Pipers of Strath-Dearn.*
    </p>
    <p>
      * The winds which sweep a wild glen in Badenoch are so called.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Highlanders, sheltered by their plaids, lay down on the heath
      comfortably enough, but the Lowlanders had no protection whatever. Rob Roy
      observing this, directed one of his followers to afford the old man a
      portion of his plaid; "for the callant (boy), he may," said the
      freebooter, "keep himself warm by walking about and watching the cattle."
      My informant heard this sentence with no small distress; and as the frost
      wind grew more and more cutting, it seemed to freeze the very blood in his
      young veins. He had been exposed to weather all his life, he said, but
      never could forget the cold of that night; insomuch that, in the
      bitterness of his heart, he cursed the bright moon for giving no heat with
      so much light. At length the sense of cold and weariness became so
      intolerable that he resolved to desert his watch to seek some repose and
      shelter. With that purpose he couched himself down behind one of the most
      bulky of the Highlanders, who acted as lieutenant to the party. Not
      satisfied with having secured the shelter of the man's large person, he
      coveted a share of his plaid, and by imperceptible degrees drew a corner
      of it round him. He was now comparatively in paradise, and slept sound
      till daybreak, when he awoke, and was terribly afraid on observing that
      his nocturnal operations had altogether uncovered the dhuiniewassell's
      neck and shoulders, which, lacking the plaid which should have protected
      them, were covered with <i>cranreuch</i> (<i>i.e.</i> hoar frost). The lad
      rose in great dread of a beating, at least, when it should be found how
      luxuriously he had been accommodated at the expense of a principal person
      of the party. Good Mr. Lieutenant, however, got up and shook himself,
      rubbing off the hoar frost with his plaid, and muttering something of a <i>cauld
      neight.</i> They then drove on the cattle, which were restored to their
      owner without farther adventure&mdash;The above can hardly be termed a
      tale, but yet it contains materials both for the poet and artist.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was perhaps about the same time that, by a rapid march into the
      Balquhidder hills at the head of a body of his own tenantry, the Duke of
      Montrose actually surprised Rob Roy, and made him prisoner. He was mounted
      behind one of the Duke's followers, named James Stewart, and made fast to
      him by a horse-girth. The person who had him thus in charge was
      grandfather of the intelligent man of the same name, now deceased, who
      lately kept the inn in the vicinity of Loch Katrine, and acted as a guide
      to visitors through that beautiful scenery. From him I learned the story
      many years before he was either a publican, or a guide, except to moorfowl
      shooters.&mdash;It was evening (to resume the story), and the Duke was
      pressing on to lodge his prisoner, so long sought after in vain, in some
      place of security, when, in crossing the Teith or Forth, I forget which,
      MacGregor took an opportunity to conjure Stewart, by all the ties of old
      acquaintance and good neighbourhood, to give him some chance of an escape
      from an assured doom. Stewart was moved with compassion, perhaps with
      fear. He slipt the girth-buckle, and Rob, dropping down from behind the
      horse's croupe, dived, swam, and escaped, pretty much as described in the
      Novel. When James Stewart came on shore, the Duke hastily demanded where
      his prisoner was; and as no distinct answer was returned, instantly
      suspected Stewart's connivance at the escape of the Outlaw; and, drawing a
      steel pistol from his belt, struck him down with a blow on the head, from
      the effects of which, his descendant said, he never completely recovered.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the success of his repeated escapes from the pursuit of his powerful
      enemy, Rob Roy at length became wanton and facetious. He wrote a mock
      challenge to the Duke, which he circulated among his friends to amuse them
      over a bottle. The reader will find this document in the Appendix.* It is
      written in a good hand, and not particularly deficient in grammar or
      spelling.
    </p>
    <p>
      * Appendix, No. III.
    </p>
    <p>
      Our Southern readers must be given to understand that it was a piece of
      humour,&mdash;a <i>quiz,</i> in short,&mdash;on the part of the Outlaw,
      who was too sagacious to propose such a rencontre in reality. This letter
      was written in the year 1719.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the following year Rob Roy composed another epistle, very little to his
      own reputation, as he therein confesses having played booty during the
      civil war of 1715. It is addressed to General Wade, at that time engaged
      in disarming the Highland clans, and making military roads through the
      country. The letter is a singular composition. It sets out the writer's
      real and unfeigned desire to have offered his service to King George, but
      for his liability to be thrown into jail for a civil debt, at the instance
      of the Duke of Montrose. Being thus debarred from taking the right side,
      he acknowledged he embraced the wrong one, upon Falstaff's principle, that
      since the King wanted men and the rebels soldiers, it were worse shame to
      be idle in such a stirring world, than to embrace the worst side, were it
      as black as rebellion could make it. The impossibility of his being
      neutral in such a debate, Rob seems to lay down as an undeniable
      proposition. At the same time, while he acknowledges having been forced
      into an unnatural rebellion against King George, he pleads that he not
      only avoided acting offensively against his Majesty's forces on all
      occasions, but, on the contrary, sent to them what intelligence he could
      collect from time to time; for the truth of which he refers to his Grace
      the Duke of Argyle. What influence this plea had on General Wade, we have
      no means of knowing.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rob Roy appears to have continued to live very much as usual. His fame, in
      the meanwhile, passed beyond the narrow limits of the country in which he
      resided. A pretended history of him appeared in London during his
      lifetime, under the title of the Highland Rogue. It is a catch-penny
      publication, bearing in front the effigy of a species of ogre, with a
      beard of a foot in length; and his actions are as much exaggerated as his
      personal appearance. Some few of the best known adventures of the hero are
      told, though with little accuracy; but the greater part of the pamphlet is
      entirely fictitious. It is great pity so excellent a theme for a narrative
      of the kind had not fallen into the hands of De Foe, who was engaged at
      the time on subjects somewhat similar, though inferior in dignity and
      interest.
    </p>
    <p>
      As Rob Roy advanced in years, he became more peaceable in his habits, and
      his nephew Ghlune Dhu, with most of his tribe, renounced those peculiar
      quarrels with the Duke of Montrose, by which his uncle had been
      distinguished. The policy of that great family had latterly been rather to
      attach this wild tribe by kindness than to follow the mode of violence
      which had been hitherto ineffectually resorted to. Leases at a low rent
      were granted to many of the MacGregors, who had heretofore held
      possessions in the Duke's Highland property merely by occupancy; and
      Glengyle (or Black-knee), who continued to act as collector of black-mail,
      managed his police, as a commander of the Highland watch arrayed at the
      charge of Government. He is said to have strictly abstained from the open
      and lawless depredations which his kinsman had practised.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was probably after this state of temporary quiet had been obtained,
      that Rob Roy began to think of the concerns of his future state. He had
      been bred, and long professed himself, a Protestant; but in his later
      years he embraced the Roman Catholic faith,&mdash;perhaps on Mrs. Cole's
      principle, that it was a comfortable religion for one of his calling. He
      is said to have alleged as the cause of his conversion, a desire to
      gratify the noble family of Perth, who were then strict Catholics. Having,
      as he observed, assumed the name of the Duke of Argyle, his first
      protector, he could pay no compliment worth the Earl of Perth's acceptance
      save complying with his mode of religion. Rob did not pretend, when
      pressed closely on the subject, to justify all the tenets of Catholicism,
      and acknowledged that extreme unction always appeared to him a great waste
      of <i>ulzie,</i> or oil.*
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
* Such an admission is ascribed to the robber Donald Bean Lean in
Waverley, chap. lxii,

 In the last years of Rob Roy's life, his clan was involved in a dispute
with one more powerful than themselves. Stewart of Appin, a chief of the
tribe so named, was proprietor of a hill-farm in the Braes of
Balquhidder, called Invernenty. The MacGregors of Rob Roy's tribe claimed
a right to it by ancient occupancy, and declared they would oppose to the
uttermost the settlement of any person upon the farm not being of their
own name. The Stewarts came down with two hundred men, well armed, to do
themselves justice by main force. The MacGregors took the field, but were
unable to muster an equal strength. Rob Roy, fending himself the weaker
party, asked a parley, in which he represented that both clans were
friends to the <i>King,</i> and, that he was unwilling they should be weakened
by mutual conflict, and thus made a merit of surrendering to Appin the
disputed territory of Invernenty. Appin, accordingly, settled as tenants
there, at an easy quit-rent, the MacLarens, a family dependent on the
Stewarts, and from whose character for strength and bravery, it was
expected that they would make their right good if annoyed by the
MacGregors. When all this had been amicably adjusted, in presence of the
two clans drawn up in arms near the Kirk of Balquhidder, Rob Roy,
apparently fearing his tribe might be thought to have conceded too much
upon the occasion, stepped forward and said, that where so many gallant
men were met in arms, it would be shameful to part without it trial of
skill, and therefore he took the freedom to invite any gentleman of the
Stewarts present to exchange a few blows with him for the honour of their
respective clans. The brother-in-law of Appin, and second chieftain of
the clan, Alaster Stewart of Invernahyle, accepted the challenge, and
they encountered with broadsword and target before their respective
kinsmen.*
</pre>
    <p>
      * Some accounts state that Appin himself was Rob Roy's antagonist on this
      occasion. My recollection, from the account of Invernahyle himself, was as
      stated in the text. But the period when I received the information is now
      so distant, that it is possible I may be mistaken. Invernahyle was rather
      of low stature, but very well made, athletic, and an excellent swordsman.
    </p>
    <p>
      The combat lasted till Rob received a slight wound in the arm, which was
      the usual termination of such a combat when fought for honour only, and
      not with a mortal purpose. Rob Roy dropped his point, and congratulated
      his adversary on having been the first man who ever drew blood from him.
      The victor generously acknowledged, that without the advantage of youth,
      and the agility accompanying it, he probably could not have come off with
      advantage.
    </p>
    <p>
      This was probably one of Rob Roy's last exploits in arms. The time of his
      death is not known with certainty, but he is generally said to have
      survived 1738, and to have died an aged man. When he found himself
      approaching his final change, he expressed some contrition for particular
      parts of his life. His wife laughed at these scruples of conscience, and
      exhorted him to die like a man, as he had lived. In reply, he rebuked her
      for her violent passions, and the counsels she had given him. "You have
      put strife," he said, "betwixt me and the best men of the country, and now
      you would place enmity between me and my God."
    </p>
    <p>
      There is a tradition, no way inconsistent with the former, if the
      character of Rob Roy be justly considered, that while on his deathbed, he
      learned that a person with whom he was at enmity proposed to visit him.
      "Raise me from my bed," said the invalid; "throw my plaid around me, and
      bring me my claymore, dirk, and pistols&mdash;it shall never be said that
      a foeman saw Rob Roy MacGregor defenceless and unarmed." His foeman,
      conjectured to be one of the MacLarens before and after mentioned, entered
      and paid his compliments, inquiring after the health of his formidable
      neighbour. Rob Roy maintained a cold haughty civility during their short
      conference, and so soon as he had left the house. "Now," he said, "all is
      over&mdash;let the piper play, <i>Ha til mi tulidh</i>" (we return no
      more); and he is said to have expired before the dirge was finished.
    </p>
    <p>
      This singular man died in bed in his own house, in the parish of
      Balquhidder. He was buried in the churchyard of the same parish, where his
      tombstone is only distinguished by a rude attempt at the figure of a
      broadsword.
    </p>
    <p>
      The character of Rob Roy is, of course, a mixed one. His sagacity,
      boldness, and prudence, qualities so highly necessary to success in war,
      became in some degree vices, from the manner in which they were employed.
      The circumstances of his education, however, must be admitted as some
      extenuation of his habitual transgressions against the law; and for his
      political tergiversations, he might in that distracted period plead the
      example of men far more powerful, and less excusable in becoming the sport
      of circumstances, than the poor and desperate outlaw. On the other hand,
      he was in the constant exercise of virtues, the more meritorious as they
      seem inconsistent with his general character. Pursuing the occupation of a
      predatory chieftain,&mdash;in modern phrase a captain of banditti,&mdash;Rob
      Roy was moderate in his revenge, and humane in his successes. No charge of
      cruelty or bloodshed, unless in battle, is brought against his memory. In
      like manner, the formidable outlaw was the friend of the poor, and, to the
      utmost of his ability, the support of the widow and the orphan&mdash;kept
      his word when pledged&mdash;and died lamented in his own wild country,
      where there were hearts grateful for his beneficence, though their minds
      were not sufficiently instructed to appreciate his errors.
    </p>
    <p>
      The author perhaps ought to stop here; but the fate of a part of Rob Roy's
      family was so extraordinary, as to call for a continuation of this
      somewhat prolix account, as affording an interesting chapter, not on
      Highland manners alone, but on every stage of society in which the people
      of a primitive and half-civilised tribe are brought into close contact
      with a nation, in which civilisation and polity have attained a complete
      superiority.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rob had five sons,&mdash;Coll, Ronald, James, Duncan, and Robert. Nothing
      occurs worth notice concerning three of them; but James, who was a very
      handsome man, seems to have had a good deal of his father's spirit, and
      the mantle of Dougal Ciar Mhor had apparently descended on the shoulders
      of Robin Oig, that is, young Robin. Shortly after Rob Roy's death, the
      ill-will which the MacGregors entertained against the MacLarens again
      broke out, at the instigation, it was said, of Rob's widow, who seems thus
      far to have deserved the character given to her by her husband, as an Ate'
      stirring up to blood and strife. Robin Oig, under her instigation, swore
      that as soon as he could get back a certain gun which had belonged to his
      father, and had been lately at Doune to be repaired, he would shoot
      MacLaren, for having presumed to settle on his mother's land.*
    </p>
    <p>
      * This fatal piece was taken from Robin Oig, when he was seized many years
      afterwards. It remained in possession of the magistrates before whom he
      was brought for examination, and now makes part of a small collection of
      arms belonging to the Author. It is a Spanish-barrelled gun, marked with
      the letters R. M. C., for Robert MacGregor Campbell.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was as good as his word, and shot MacLaren when between the stilts of
      his plough, wounding him mortally.
    </p>
    <p>
      The aid of a Highland leech was procured, who probed the wound with a
      probe made out of a castock; <i>i.e.</i>, the stalk of a colewort or
      cabbage. This learned gentleman declared he would not venture to
      prescribe, not knowing with what shot the patient had been wounded.
      MacLaren died, and about the same time his cattle were houghed, and his
      live stock destroyed in a barbarous manner.
    </p>
    <p>
      Robin Oig, after this feat&mdash;which one of his biographers represents
      as the unhappy discharge of a gun&mdash;retired to his mother's house, to
      boast that he had drawn the first blood in the quarrel aforesaid. On the
      approach of troops, and a body of the Stewarts, who were bound to take up
      the cause of their tenant, Robin Oig absconded, and escaped all search.
    </p>
    <p>
      The doctor already mentioned, by name Callam MacInleister, with James and
      Ronald, brothers to the actual perpetrator of the murder, were brought to
      trial. But as they contrived to represent the action as a rash deed
      committed by "the daft callant Rob," to which they were not accessory, the
      jury found their accession to the crime was Not Proven. The alleged acts
      of spoil and violence on the MacLarens' cattle, were also found to be
      unsupported by evidence. As it was proved, however, that the two brothers,
      Ronald and James, were held and reputed thieves, they were appointed to
      find caution to the extent of L200, for their good behaviour for seven
      years.*
    </p>
    <p>
      * Note D. Author's expedition against the MacLarens.
    </p>
    <p>
      The spirit of clanship was at that time, so strong&mdash;to which must be
      added the wish to secure the adherence of stout, able-bodied, and, as the
      Scotch phrase then went, <i>pretty</i> men&mdash;that the representative
      of the noble family of Perth condescended to act openly as patron of the
      MacGregors, and appeared as such upon their trial. So at least the author
      was informed by the late Robert MacIntosh, Esq., advocate. The
      circumstance may, however, have occurred later than 1736&mdash;the year in
      which this first trial took place.
    </p>
    <p>
      Robin Oig served for a time in the 42d regiment, and was present at the
      battle of Fontenoy, where he was made prisoner and wounded. He was
      exchanged, returned to Scotland, and obtained his discharge. He afterwards
      appeared openly in the MacGregor's country; and, notwithstanding his
      outlawry, married a daughter of Graham of Drunkie, a gentleman of some
      property. His wife died a few years afterwards.
    </p>
    <p>
      The insurrection of 1745 soon afterwards called the MacGregors to arms.
      Robert MacGregor of Glencarnoch, generally regarded as the chief of the
      whole name, and grandfather of Sir John, whom the clan received in that
      character, raised a MacGregor regiment, with which he joined the standard
      of the Chevalier. The race of Ciar Mhor, however, affecting independence,
      and commanded by Glengyle and his cousin James Roy MacGregor, did not join
      this kindred corps, but united themselves to the levies of the titular
      Duke of Perth, until William MacGregor Drummond of Bolhaldie, whom they
      regarded as head of their branch, of Clan Alpine, should come over from
      France. To cement the union after the Highland fashion, James laid down
      the name of Campbell, and assumed that of Drummond, in compliment to Lord
      Perth. He was also called James Roy, after his father, and James Mhor, or
      Big James, from his height. His corps, the relics of his father Rob's
      band, behaved with great activity; with only twelve men he succeeded in
      surprising and burning, for the second time, the fort at Inversnaid,
      constructed for the express purpose of bridling the country of the
      MacGregors.
    </p>
    <p>
      What rank or command James MacGregor had, is uncertain. He calls himself
      Major; and Chevalier Johnstone calls him Captain. He must have held rank
      under Ghlune Dhu, his kinsman, but his active and audacious character
      placed him above the rest of his brethren. Many of his followers were
      unarmed; he supplied the want of guns and swords with scythe-blades set
      straight upon their handles.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the battle of Prestonpans, James Roy distinguished himself. "His
      company," says Chevalier Johnstone, "did great execution with their
      scythes." They cut the legs of the horses in two&mdash;the riders through
      the middle of their bodies. MacGregor was brave and intrepid, but at the
      same time, somewhat whimsical and singular. When advancing to the charge
      with his company, he received five wounds, two of them from balls that
      pierced his body through and through. Stretched on the ground, with his
      head resting on his hand, he called out loudly to the Highlanders of his
      company, "My lads, I am not dead. By G&mdash;, I shall see if any of you
      does not do his duty." The victory, as is well known, was instantly
      obtained.
    </p>
    <p>
      In some curious letters of James Roy,* it appears that his thigh-bone was
      broken on this occasion, and that he, nevertheless, rejoined the army with
      six companies, and was present at the battle of Culloden.
    </p>
    <p>
      * Published in Blackwood's Magazine, vol. ii. p. 228.
    </p>
    <p>
      After that defeat, the clan MacGregor kept together in a body, and did not
      disperse till they had returned into their own country. They brought James
      Roy with them in a litter; and, without being particularly molested, he
      was permitted to reside in the MacGregor's country along with his
      brothers.
    </p>
    <p>
      James MacGregor Drummond was attainted for high treason with persons of
      more importance. But it appears he had entered into some communication
      with Government, as, in the letters quoted, he mentions having obtained a
      pass from the Lord Justice-Clerk in 1747, which was a sufficient
      protection to him from the military. The circumstance is obscurely stated
      in one of the letters already quoted, but may perhaps, joined to
      subsequent incidents, authorise the suspicion that James, like his father,
      could look at both sides of the cards. As the confusion of the country
      subsided, the MacGregors, like foxes which had baffled the hounds, drew
      back to their old haunts, and lived unmolested. But an atrocious outrage,
      in which the sons of Rob Roy were concerned, brought at length on the
      family the full vengeance of the law.
    </p>
    <p>
      James Roy was a married man, and had fourteen children. But his brother,
      Robin Oig, was now a widower; and it was resolved, if possible, that he
      should make his fortune by carrying off and marrying, by force if
      necessary, some woman of fortune from the Lowlands.
    </p>
    <p>
      The imagination of the half-civilised Highlanders was less shocked at the
      idea of this particular species of violence, than might be expected from
      their general kindness to the weaker sex when they make part of their own
      families. But all their views were tinged with the idea that they lived in
      a state of war; and in such a state, from the time of the siege of Troy to
      "the moment when Previsa fell,"* the female captives are, to uncivilised
      victors, the most valuable part of the booty&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      * Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto II.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
          "The wealthy are slaughtered, the lovely are spared."
</pre>
    <p>
      We need not refer to the rape of the Sabines, or to a similar instance in
      the Book of Judges, for evidence that such deeds of violence have been
      committed upon a large scale. Indeed, this sort of enterprise was so
      common along the Highland line as to give rise to a variety of songs and
      ballads.*
    </p>
    <p>
      * See Appendix, No. VI.
    </p>
    <p>
      The annals of Ireland, as well as those of Scotland, prove the crime to
      have been common in the more lawless parts of both countries; and any
      woman who happened to please a man of spirit who came of a good house, and
      possessed a few chosen friends, and a retreat in the mountains, was not
      permitted the alternative of saying him nay. What is more, it would seem
      that the women themselves, most interested in the immunities of their sex,
      were, among the lower classes, accustomed to regard such marriages as that
      which is presently to be detailed as "pretty Fanny's way," or rather, the
      way of Donald with pretty Fanny. It is not a great many years since a
      respectable woman, above the lower rank of life, expressed herself very
      warmly to the author on his taking the freedom to censure the behaviour of
      the MacGregors on the occasion in question. She said "that there was no
      use in giving a bride too much choice upon such occasions; that the
      marriages were the happiest long syne which had been done offhand."
      Finally, she averred that her "own mother had never seen her father till
      the night he brought her up from the Lennox, with ten head of black
      cattle, and there had not been a happier couple in the country."
    </p>
    <p>
      James Drummond and his brethren having similar opinions with the author's
      old acquaintance, and debating how they might raise the fallen fortunes of
      their clan, formed a resolution to settle their brother's fortune by
      striking up an advantageous marriage betwixt Robin Oig and one Jean Key,
      or Wright, a young woman scarce twenty years old, and who had been left
      about two months a widow by the death of her husband. Her property was
      estimated at only from 16,000 to 18,000 merks, but it seems to have been
      sufficient temptation to these men to join in the commission of a great
      crime.
    </p>
    <p>
      This poor young victim lived with her mother in her own house at
      Edinbilly, in the parish of Balfron and shire of Stirling. At this place,
      in the night of 3d December 1750, the sons of Rob Roy, and particularly
      James Mhor and Robin Oig, rushed into the house where the object of their
      attack was resident, presented guns, swords, and pistols to the males of
      the family, and terrified the women by threatening to break open the doors
      if Jean Key was not surrendered, as, said James Roy, "his brother was a
      young fellow determined to make his fortune." Having, at length, dragged
      the object of their lawless purpose from her place of concealment, they
      tore her from her mother's arms, mounted her on a horse before one of the
      gang, and carried her off in spite, of her screams and cries, which were
      long heard after the terrified spectators of the outrage could no longer
      see the party retreat through the darkness. In her attempts to escape, the
      poor young woman threw herself from the horse on which they had placed
      her, and in so doing wrenched her side. They then laid her double over the
      pummel of the saddle, and transported her through the mosses and moors
      till the pain of the injury she had suffered in her side, augmented by the
      uneasiness of her posture, made her consent to sit upright. In the
      execution of this crime they stopped at more houses than one, but none of
      the inhabitants dared interrupt their proceedings. Amongst others who saw
      them was that classical and accomplished scholar the late Professor
      William Richardson of Glasgow, who used to describe as a terrible dream
      their violent and noisy entrance into the house where he was then
      residing. The Highlanders filled the little kitchen, brandishing their
      arms, demanding what they pleased, and receiving whatever they demanded.
      James Mhor, he said, was a tall, stern, and soldier-like man. Robin Oig
      looked more gentle; dark, but yet ruddy in complexion&mdash;a good-looking
      young savage. Their victim was so dishevelled in her dress, and forlorn in
      her appearance and demeanour, that he could hardly tell whether she was
      alive or dead.
    </p>
    <p>
      The gang carried the unfortunate woman to Rowardennan, where they had a
      priest unscrupulous enough to read the marriage service, while James Mhor
      forcibly held the bride up before him; and the priest declared the couple
      man and wife, even while she protested against the infamy of his conduct.
      Under the same threats of violence, which had been all along used to
      enforce their scheme, the poor victim was compelled to reside with the
      pretended husband who was thus forced upon her. They even dared to carry
      her to the public church of Balquhidder, where the officiating clergyman
      (the same who had been Rob Roy's pensioner) only asked them if they were
      married persons. Robert MacGregor answered in the affirmative; the
      terrified female was silent.
    </p>
    <p>
      The country was now too effectually subjected to the law for this vile
      outrage to be followed by the advantages proposed by the actors, Military
      parties were sent out in every direction to seize the MacGregors, who were
      for two or three weeks compelled to shift from one place to another in the
      mountains, bearing the unfortunate Jean Key along with them. In the
      meanwhile, the Supreme Civil Court issued a warrant, sequestrating the
      property of Jean Key, or Wright, which removed out of the reach of the
      actors in the violence the prize which they expected. They had, however,
      adopted a belief of the poor woman's spirit being so far broken that she
      would prefer submitting to her condition, and adhering to Robin Oig as her
      husband, rather than incur the disgrace, of appearing in such a cause in
      an open court. It was, indeed, a delicate experiment; but their kinsman
      Glengyle, chief of their immediate family, was of a temper averse to
      lawless proceedings;* and the captive's friends having had recourse to his
      advice, they feared that he would withdraw his protection if they refused
      to place the prisoner at liberty.
    </p>
    <p>
      * Such, at least, was his general character; for when James Mhor, while
      perpetrating the violence at Edinbilly, called out, in order to overawe
      opposition, that Glengyle was lying in the moor with a hundred men to
      patronise his enterprise, Jean Key told him he lied, since she was
      confident Glengyle would never countenance so scoundrelly a business.
    </p>
    <p>
      The brethren resolved, therefore, to liberate the unhappy woman, but
      previously had recourse to every measure which should oblige her, either
      from fear or otherwise, to own her marriage with Robin Oig. The cailliachs
      (old Highland hags) administered drugs, which were designed to have the
      effect of philtres, but were probably deleterious. James Mhor at one time
      threatened, that if she did not acquiesce in the match she would find that
      there were enough of men in the Highlands to bring the heads of two of her
      uncles who were pursuing the civil lawsuit. At another time he fell down
      on his knees, and confessed he had been accessory to wronging her, but
      begged she would not ruin his innocent wife and large family. She was made
      to swear she would not prosecute the brethren for the offence they had
      committed; and she was obliged by threats to subscribe papers which were
      tendered to her, intimating that she was carried off in consequence of her
      own previous request.
    </p>
    <p>
      James Mhor Drummond accordingly brought his pretended sister-in-law to
      Edinburgh, where, for some little time, she was carried about from one
      house to another, watched by those with whom she was lodged, and never
      permitted to go out alone, or even to approach the window. The Court of
      Session, considering the peculiarity of the case, and regarding Jean Key
      as being still under some forcible restraint, took her person under their
      own special charge, and appointed her to reside in the family of Mr.
      Wightman of Mauldsley, a gentleman of respectability, who was married to
      one of her near relatives. Two sentinels kept guard on the house day and
      night&mdash;a precaution not deemed superfluous when the MacGregors were
      in question. She was allowed to go out whenever she chose, and to see
      whomsoever she had a mind, as well as the men of law employed in the civil
      suit on either side. When she first came to Mr. Wightman's house she
      seemed broken down with affright and suffering, so changed in features
      that her mother hardly knew her, and so shaken in mind that she scarce
      could recognise her parent. It was long before she could be assured that
      she was in perfect safely. But when she at length received confidence in
      her situation, she made a judicial declaration, or affidavit, telling the
      full history of her wrongs, imputing to fear her former silence on the
      subject, and expressing her resolution not to prosecute those who had
      injured her, in respect of the oath she had been compelled to take. From
      the possible breach of such an oath, though a compulsory one, she was
      relieved by the forms of Scottish jurisprudence, in that respect more
      equitable than those of England, prosecutions for crimes being always
      conducted at the expense and charge of the King, without inconvenience or
      cost to the private party who has sustained the wrong. But the unhappy
      sufferer did not live to be either accuser or witness against those who
      had so deeply injured her.
    </p>
    <p>
      James Mhor Drummond had left Edinburgh so soon as his half-dead prey had
      been taken from his clutches. Mrs. Key, or Wright, was released from her
      species of confinement there, and removed to Glasgow, under the escort of
      Mr. Wightman. As they passed the Hill of Shotts, her escort chanced to
      say, "this is a very wild spot; what if the MacGregors should come upon
      us?"&mdash;"God forbid!" was her immediate answer, "the very sight of them
      would kill me." She continued to reside at Glasgow, without venturing to
      return to her own house at Edinbilly. Her pretended husband made some
      attempts to obtain an interview with her, which she steadily rejected. She
      died on the 4th October 1751. The information for the Crown hints that her
      decease might be the consequence of the usage she received. But there is a
      general report that she died of the small-pox. In the meantime, James
      Mhor, or Drummond, fell into the hands of justice. He was considered as
      the instigator of the whole affair. Nay, the deceased had informed her
      friends that on the night of her being carried off, Robin Oig, moved by
      her cries and tears, had partly consented to let her return, when James
      came up with a pistol in his hand, and, asking whether he was such a
      coward as to relinquish an enterprise in which he had risked everything to
      procure him a fortune, in a manner compelled his brother to persevere.
      James's trial took place on 13th July 1752, and was conducted with the
      utmost fairness and impartiality. Several witnesses, all of the MacGregor
      family, swore that the marriage was performed with every appearance of
      acquiescence on the woman's part; and three or four witnesses, one of them
      sheriff-substitute of the county, swore she might have made her escape if
      she wished, and the magistrate stated that he offered her assistance if
      she felt desirous to do so. But when asked why he, in his official
      capacity, did not arrest the MacGregors, he could only answer, that he had
      not force sufficient to make the attempt.
    </p>
    <p>
      The judicial declarations of Jean Key, or Wright, stated the violent
      manner in which she had been carried off, and they were confirmed by many
      of her friends, from her private communications with them, which the event
      of her death rendered good evidence. Indeed, the fact of her abduction (to
      use a Scottish law term) was completely proved by impartial witnesses. The
      unhappy woman admitted that she had pretended acquiescence in her fate on
      several occasions, because she dared not trust such as offered to assist
      her to escape, not even the sheriff-substitute.
    </p>
    <p>
      The jury brought in a special verdict, finding that Jean Key, or Wright,
      had been forcibly carried off from her house, as charged in the
      indictment, and that the accused had failed to show that she was herself
      privy and consenting to this act of outrage. But they found the forcible
      marriage, and subsequent violence, was not proved; and also found, in
      alleviation of the panel's guilt in the premises, that Jean Key did
      afterwards acquiesce in her condition. Eleven of the jury, using the names
      of other four who were absent, subscribed a letter to the Court, stating
      it was their purpose and desire, by such special verdict, to take the
      panel's case out of the class of capital crimes.
    </p>
    <p>
      Learned informations (written arguments) on the import of the verdict,
      which must be allowed a very mild one in the circumstances, were laid
      before the High Court of Justiciary. This point is very learnedly debated
      in these pleadings by Mr. Grant, Solicitor for the Crown, and the
      celebrated Mr. Lockhart, on the part of the prisoner; but James Mhor did
      not wait the event of the Court's decision.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had been committed to the Castle of Edinburgh on some reports that an
      escape would be attempted. Yet he contrived to achieve his liberty even
      from that fortress. His daughter had the address to enter the prison,
      disguised as a cobbler, bringing home work, as she pretended. In this
      cobbler's dress her father quickly arrayed himself. The wife and daughter
      of the prisoner were heard by the sentinels scolding the supposed cobbler
      for having done his work ill, and the man came out with his hat slouched
      over his eyes, and grumbling, as if at the manner in which they had
      treated him. In this way the prisoner passed all the guards without
      suspicion, and made his escape to France. He was afterwards outlawed by
      the Court of Justiciary, which proceeded to the trial of Duncan MacGregor,
      or Drummond, his brother, 15th January 1753. The accused had
      unquestionably been with the party which carried off Jean Key; but no
      evidence being brought which applied to him individually and directly, the
      jury found him not guilty&mdash;and nothing more is known of his fate.
    </p>
    <p>
      That of James MacGregor, who, from talent and activity, if not by
      seniority, may be considered as head of the family, has been long
      misrepresented; as it has been generally averred in Law Reports, as well
      as elsewhere, that his outlawry was reversed, and that he returned and
      died in Scotland. But the curious letters published in Blackwood's
      Magazine for December 1817, show this to be an error. The first of these
      documents is a petition to Charles Edward. It is dated 20th September
      1753, and pleads his service to the cause of the Stuarts, ascribing his
      exile to the persecution of the Hanoverian Government, without any
      allusion to the affair of Jean Key, or the Court of Justiciary. It is
      stated to be forwarded by MacGregor Drummond of Bohaldie, whom, as before
      mentioned, James Mhor acknowledged as his chief.
    </p>
    <p>
      The effect which this petition produced does not appear. Some temporary
      relief was perhaps obtained. But, soon after, this daring adventurer was
      engaged in a very dark intrigue against an exile of his own country, and
      placed pretty nearly in his own circumstances. A remarkable Highland story
      must be here briefly alluded to. Mr. Campbell of Glenure, who had been
      named factor for Government on the forfeited estates of Stewart of
      Ardshiel, was shot dead by an assassin as he passed through the wood of
      Lettermore, after crossing the ferry of Ballachulish. A gentleman, named
      James Stewart, a natural brother of Ardshiel, the forfeited person, was
      tried as being accessory to the murder, and condemned and executed upon
      very doubtful evidence; the heaviest part of which only amounted to the
      accused person having assisted a nephew of his own, called Allan Breck
      Stewart, with money to escape after the deed was done. Not satisfied with
      this vengeance, which was obtained in a manner little to the honour of the
      dispensation of justice at the time, the friends of the deceased Glenure
      were equally desirous to obtain possession of the person of Allan Breck
      Stewart, supposed to be the actual homicide. James Mhor Drummond was
      secretly applied to to trepan Stewart to the sea-coast, and bring him over
      to Britain, to almost certain death. Drummond MacGregor had kindred
      connections with the slain Glenure; and, besides, the MacGregors and
      Campbells had been friends of late, while the former clan and the Stewarts
      had, as we have seen, been recently at feud; lastly, Robert Oig was now in
      custody at Edinburgh, and James was desirous to do some service by which
      his brother might be saved. The joint force of these motives may, in
      James's estimation of right and wrong, have been some vindication for
      engaging in such an enterprise, although, as must be necessarily supposed,
      it could only be executed by treachery of a gross description. MacGregor
      stipulated for a license to return to England, promising to bring Allan
      Breck thither along with him. But the intended victim was put upon his
      guard by two countrymen, who suspected James's intentions towards him. He
      escaped from his kidnapper, after, as MacGregor alleged, robbing his
      portmanteau of some clothes and four snuff-boxes. Such a charge, it may be
      observed, could scarce have been made unless the parties had been living
      on a footing of intimacy, and had access to each other's baggage.
    </p>
    <p>
      Although James Drummond had thus missed his blow in the matter of Allan
      Breck Stewart, he used his license to make a journey to London, and had an
      interview, as he avers, with Lord Holdernesse. His Lordship, and the
      Under-Secretary, put many puzzling questions to him; and, as he says,
      offered him a situation, which would bring him bread, in the Government's
      service. This office was advantageous as to emolument; but in the opinion
      of James Drummond, his acceptance of it would have been a disgrace to his
      birth, and have rendered him a scourge to his country. If such a tempting
      offer and sturdy rejection had any foundation in fact, it probably relates
      to some plan of espionage on the Jacobites, which the Government might
      hope to carry on by means of a man who, in the matter of Allan Breck
      Stewart, had shown no great nicety of feeling. Drummond MacGregor was so
      far accommodating as to intimate his willingness to act in any station in
      which other gentlemen of honour served, but not otherwise;&mdash;an answer
      which, compared with some passages of his past life, may remind the reader
      of Ancient Pistol standing upon his reputation.
    </p>
    <p>
      Having thus proved intractable, as he tells the story, to the proposals of
      Lord Holdernesse, James Drummond was ordered instantly to quit England.
    </p>
    <p>
      On his return to France, his condition seems to have been utterly
      disastrous. He was seized with fever and gravel&mdash;ill, consequently,
      in body, and weakened and dispirited in mind. Allan Breck Stewart
      threatened to put him to death in revenge of the designs he had harboured
      against him.*
    </p>
    <p>
      * Note E. Allan Breck Stewart.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Stewart clan were in the highest degree unfriendly to him: and his
      late expedition to London had been attended with many suspicious
      circumstances, amongst which it was not the slightest that he had kept his
      purpose secret from his chief Bohaldie. His intercourse with Lord
      Holdernesse was suspicious. The Jacobites were probably, like Don Bernard
      de Castel Blaze, in Gil Blas, little disposed to like those who kept
      company with Alguazils. Mac-Donnell of Lochgarry, a man of unquestioned
      honour, lodged an information against James Drummond before the High
      Bailie of Dunkirk, accusing him of being a spy, so that he found himself
      obliged to leave that town and come to Paris, with only the sum of
      thirteen livres for his immediate subsistence, and with absolute beggary
      staring him in the face.
    </p>
    <p>
      We do not offer the convicted common thief, the accomplice in MacLaren's
      assassination, or the manager of the outrage against Jean Key, as an
      object of sympathy; but it is melancholy to look on the dying struggles
      even of a wolf or a tiger, creatures of a species directly hostile to our
      own; and, in like manner, the utter distress of this man, whose faults may
      have sprung from a wild system of education, working on a haughty temper,
      will not be perused without some pity. In his last letter to Bohaldie,
      dated Paris, 25th September 1754, he describes his state of destitution as
      absolute, and expresses himself willing to exercise his talents in
      breaking or breeding horses, or as a hunter or fowler, if he could only
      procure employment in such an inferior capacity till something better
      should occur. An Englishman may smile, but a Scotchman will sigh at the
      postscript, in which the poor starving exile asks the loan of his patron's
      bagpipes that he might play over some of the melancholy tunes of his own
      land. But the effect of music arises, in a great degree, from association;
      and sounds which might jar the nerves of a Londoner or Parisian, bring
      back to the Highlander his lofty mountain, wild lake, and the deeds of his
      fathers of the glen. To prove MacGregor's claim to our reader's
      compassion, we here insert the last part of the letter alluded to.
    </p>
    <p>
      "By all appearance I am born to suffer crosses, and it seems they're not
      at an end; for such is my wretched case at present, that I do not know
      earthly where to go or what to do, as I have no subsistence to keep body
      and soul together. All that I have carried here is about 13 livres, and
      have taken a room at my old quarters in Hotel St. Pierre, Rue de Cordier.
      I send you the bearer, begging of you to let me know if you are to be in
      town soon, that I may have the pleasure of seeing you, for I have none to
      make application to but you alone; and all I want is, if it was possible
      you could contrive where I could be employed without going to entire
      beggary. This probably is a difficult point, yet unless it's attended with
      some difficulty, you might think nothing of it, as your long head can
      bring about matters of much more difficulty and consequence than this. If
      you'd disclose this matter to your friend Mr. Butler, it's possible he
      might have some employ wherein I could be of use, as I pretend to know as
      much of breeding and riding of horse as any in France, besides that I am a
      good hunter either on horseback or by footing. You may judge my reduction,
      as I propose the meanest things to lend a turn till better cast up. I am
      sorry that I am obliged to give you so much trouble, but I hope you are
      very well assured that I am grateful for what you have done for me, and I
      leave you to judge of my present wretched case. I am, and shall for ever
      continue, dear Chief, your own to command, Jas. MacGregor.
    </p>
    <p>
      "P. S.&mdash;If you'd send your pipes by the bearer, and all the other
      little trinkims belonging to it, I would put them in order, and play some
      melancholy tunes, which I may now with safety, and in real truth. Forgive
      my not going directly to you, for if I could have borne the seeing of
      yourself, I could not choose to be seen by my friends in my wretchedness,
      nor by any of my acquaintance."
    </p>
    <p>
      While MacGregor wrote in this disconsolate manner, Death, the sad but sure
      remedy for mortal evils, and decider of all doubts and uncertainties, was
      hovering near him. A memorandum on the back of the letter says the writer
      died about a week after, in October 1754.
    </p>
    <p>
      It now remains to mention the fate of Robin Oig&mdash;for the other sons
      of Rob Roy seem to have been no way distinguished. Robin was apprehended
      by a party of military from the fort of Inversnaid, at the foot of
      Gartmore, and was conveyed to Edinburgh 26th May 1753. After a delay,
      which may have been protracted by the negotiations of James for delivering
      up Allan Breck Stewart upon promise of his brother's life, Robin Oig, on
      the 24th of December 1753, was brought to the bar of the High Court of
      Justiciary, and indicted by the name of Robert MacGregor, alias Campbell,
      alias Drummond, alias Robert Oig; and the evidence led against him
      resembled exactly that which was brought by the Crown on the former trial.
      Robert's case was in some degree more favourable than his brother's;&mdash;for,
      though the principal in the forcible marriage, he had yet to plead that he
      had shown symptoms of relenting while they were carrying Jean Key off,
      which were silenced by the remonstrances and threats of his harder natured
      brother James. A considerable space of time had also elapsed since the
      poor woman died, which is always a strong circumstance in favour of the
      accused; for there is a sort of perspective in guilt, and crimes of an old
      date seem less odious than those of recent occurrence. But notwithstanding
      these considerations, the jury, in Robert's case, did not express any
      solicitude to save his life as they had done that of James. They found him
      guilty of being art and part in the forcible abduction of Jean Key from
      her own dwelling.*
    </p>
    <p>
      * The Trials of the Sons of Rob Roy, with anecdotes of Himself and his
      Family, were published at Edinburgh, 1818, in 12mo.
    </p>
    <p>
      Robin Oig was condemned to death, and executed on the 14th February 1754.
      At the place of execution he behaved with great decency; and professing
      himself a Catholic, imputed all his misfortunes to his swerving from the
      true church two or three years before. He confessed the violent methods he
      had used to gain Mrs. Key, or Wright, and hoped his fate would stop
      further proceedings against his brother James.*
    </p>
    <p>
      * James died near three months before, but his family might easily remain
      a long time without the news of that event.
    </p>
    <p>
      The newspapers observed that his body, after hanging the usual time, was
      delivered to his friends to be carried to the Highlands. To this the
      recollection of a venerable friend, recently taken from us in the fulness
      of years, then a schoolboy at Linlithgow, enables the author to add, that
      a much larger body of MacGregors than had cared to advance to Edinburgh
      received the corpse at that place with the coronach and other wild emblems
      of Highland mourning, and so escorted it to Balquhidder. Thus we may
      conclude this long account of Rob Roy and his family with the classic
      phrase,
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                          Ite. Conclamatum est.
</pre>
    <p>
      I have only to add, that I have selected the above from many anecdotes of
      Rob Roy which were, and may still be, current among the mountains where he
      flourished; but I am far from warranting their exact authenticity.
      Clannish partialities were very apt to guide the tongue and pen, as well
      as the pistol and claymore, and the features of an anecdote are
      wonderfully softened or exaggerated as the story is told by a MacGregor or
      a Campbell.
    </p>
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    <h2>
      APPENDIX TO INTRODUCTION.
    </h2>
    <p>
      No. I.&mdash;ADVERTISEMENT FOR THE APPREHENSION OF ROB ROY.
    </p>
    <p>
      (From the Edinburgh Evening Courant, June 18 to June 21, A.D. 1732. No.
      1058.)
    </p>
    <p>
      "That Robert Campbell, commonly known by the name of Rob Roy MacGregor,
      being lately intrusted by several noblemen and gentlemen with considerable
      sums for buying cows for them in the Highlands, has treacherously gone off
      with the money, to the value of L1000 sterling, which he carries along
      with him. All Magistrates and Officers of his Majesty's forces are
      intreated to seize upon the said Rob Roy, and the money which he carries
      with him, until the persons concerned in the money be heard against him;
      and that notice be given, when he is apprehended, to the keepers of the
      Exchange Coffee-house at Edinburgh, and the keeper of the Coffee-house at
      Glasgow, where the parties concerned will be advertised, and the seizers
      shall be very reasonably rewarded for their pains."
    </p>
    <p>
      It is unfortunate that this Hue and Cry, which is afterwards repeated in
      the same paper, contains no description of Rob Roy's person, which, of
      course, we must suppose to have been pretty generally known. As it is
      directed against Rob Roy personally, it would seem to exclude the idea of
      the cattle being carried off by his partner, MacDonald, who would
      certainly have been mentioned in the advertisement, if the creditors
      concerned had supposed him to be in possession of the money.
    </p>
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    <h2>
      No. II.&mdash;LETTERS
    </h2>
    <p>
      FROM AND TO THE DUKE OF MONTROSE RESPECTING ROB ROY'S ARREST OF MR.
      GRAHAME OF KILLEARN.
    </p>
    <h3>
      <i>The Duke of Montrose to&mdash;</i>*
    </h3>
    <p>
      * It does not appear to whom this letter was addressed. Certainly, from
      its style and tenor, It was designed for some person high in rank and
      office&mdash;perhaps the King's Advocate for the time.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Glasgow, the 21st November, 1716.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My Lord,&mdash;I was surprised last night with the account of a very
      remarkable instance of the insolence of that very notorious rogue Rob Roy,
      whom your lordship has often heard named. The honour of his Majesty's
      Government being concerned in it, I thought it my duty to acquaint your
      lordship of the particulars by an express.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Grahame of Killearn (whom I have had occasion to mention frequently
      to you, for the good service he did last winter during the rebellion)
      having the charge of my Highland estate, went to Monteath, which is a part
      of it, on Monday last, to bring in my rents, it being usual for him to be
      there for two or three nights together at this time of the year, in a
      country house, for the conveniency of meeting the tenants, upon that
      account. The same night, about 9 of the clock, Rob Roy, with a party of
      those ruffians whom he has still kept about him since the late rebellion,
      surrounded the house where Mr. Grahame was with some of my tenants doing
      his business, ordered his men to present their guns in att the windows of
      the room where he was sitting, while he himself at the same time with
      others entered at the door, with cocked pistols, and made Mr. Grahame
      prisoner, carrying him away to the hills with the money he had got, his
      books and papers, and my tenants' bonds for their fines, amounting to
      above a thousand pounds sterling, whereof the one-half had been paid last
      year, and the other was to have been paid now; and att the same time had
      the insolence to cause him to write a letter to me (the copy of which is
      enclosed) offering me terms of a treaty.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That your Lordship may have the better view of this matter, it will be
      necessary that I should inform you, that this fellow has now, of a long
      time, put himself at the head of the Clan M'Gregor, a race of people who
      in all ages have distinguished themselves beyond others, by robberies,
      depredations, and murders, and have been the constant harbourers and
      entertainers of vagabonds and loose people. From the time of the
      Revolution he has taken every opportunity to appear against the
      Government, acting rather as a robber than doing any real service to those
      whom he pretended to appear for, and has really done more mischief to the
      countrie than all the other Highlanders have done.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Some three or four years before the last rebellion broke out, being
      overburdened with debts, he quitted his ordinary residence, and removed
      some twelve or sixteen miles farther into the Highlands, putting himself
      under the protection of the Earl of Bredalbin. When my Lord Cadogan was in
      the Highlands, he ordered his house att this place to be burnt, which your
      Lordship sees he now places to my account.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This obliges him to return to the same countrie he went from, being a
      most rugged inaccessible place, where he took up his residence anew
      amongst his own friends and relations; but well judging that it was
      possible to surprise him, he, with about forty-five of his followers, went
      to Inverary, and made a sham surrender of their arms to Coll. Campbell of
      Finab, Commander of one of the Independent Companies, and returned home
      with his men, each of them having the Coll.'s protection. This happened in
      the beginning of summer last; yet not long after he appeared with his men
      twice in arms, in opposition to the King's troops: and one of those times
      attackt them, rescued a prisoner from them, and all this while sent abroad
      his party through the countrie, plundering the countrie people, and
      amongst the rest some of my tenants.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Being informed of these disorders after I came to Scotland, I applied to
      Lieut.-Genll. Carpenter, who ordered three parties from Glasgow, Stirling,
      and Finlarig, to march in the night by different routes, in order to
      surprise him and his men in their houses, which would have its effect
      certainly, if the great rains that happened to fall that verie night had
      not retarded the march of the troops, so as some of the parties came too
      late to the stations that they were ordered for. All that could be done
      upon the occasion was to burn a countrie house, where Rob Roy then
      resided, after some of his clan had, from the rocks, fired upon the king's
      troops, by which a grenadier was killed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Grahame of Killearn, being my deputy-sheriff in that countrie, went
      along with the party that marched from Stirling; and doubtless will now
      meet with the worse treatment from that barbarous people on that account.
      Besides, that he is my relation, and that they know how active he has been
      in the service of the Government&mdash;all which, your Lordship may
      believe, puts me under very great concern for the gentleman, while, at the
      same time, I can foresee no manner of way how to relieve him, other than
      to leave him to chance and his own management.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I had my thoughts before of proposing to Government the building of some
      barracks as the only expedient for suppressing these rebels, and securing
      the peace of the countrie; and in that view I spoke to Genll. Carpenter,
      who has now a scheme of it in his hands; and I am persuaded that will be
      the true method for restraining them effectually; but, in the meantime, it
      will be necessary to lodge some of the troops in those places, upon which
      I intend to write to the Generall.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am sensible I have troubled your Lordship with a very long letter,
      which I should be ashamed of, were I myself singly concerned; but where
      the honour of the King's Government is touched, I need make no apologie,
      and I shall only beg leave to add, that I am, with great respect, and
      truth,
    </p>
    <p>
      "My Lord, "yr. Lord's most humble and obedient servant, "MONTROSE"
    </p>
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    <h2>
      COPY OF GRAHAME OF KILLEARN'S LETTER, ENCLOSED IN THE PRECEDING.
    </h2>
    <h3>
      "Chappellarroch, Nov. 19th, 1716.
    </h3>
    <p>
      "May it please your Grace,&mdash;I am obliged to give your Grace the
      trouble of this, by Robert Roy's commands, being so unfortunate at present
      as to be his prisoner. I refer the way and manner I was apprehended, to
      the bearer, and shall only, in short, acquaint your Grace with the
      demands, which are, that your Grace shall discharge him of all soumes he
      owes your Grace, and give him the soume of 3400 merks for his loss and
      damages sustained by him, both at Craigrostown and at his house,
      Auchinchisallen; and that your Grace shall give your word not to trouble
      or prosecute him afterwards; till which time he carries me, all the money
      I received this day, my books and bonds for entress, not yet paid, along
      with him, with assurance of hard usage, if any party are sent after him.
      The soume I received this day, conform to the nearest computation I can
      make before several of the gentlemen, is 3227L. 2sh. 8d. Scots, of which I
      gave them notes. I shall wait your Grace's return, and ever am,
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your Grace's most obedient, faithful, "humble servant, <i>Sic
      subscribitur,</i> "John Grahame."
    </p>
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    <h2>
      THE DUKE OF MONTROSE TO &mdash;&mdash;
    </h2>
    <h3>
      28<i>th Nov.</i> 1716&mdash;<i>Killearn's Release.</i>
    </h3>
    <p>
      "Glasgow, 28th Nov. 1716.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sir,&mdash;Having acquainted you by my last, of the 21st instant, of what
      had happened to my friend, Mr. Grahame of Killearn, I'm very glad now to
      tell you, that last night I was very agreeably surprised with Mr.
      Grahame's coming here himself, and giving me the first account I had had
      of him from the time of his being carried away. It seems Rob Roy, when he
      came to consider a little better of it, found that, he could not mend his
      matters by retaining Killearn his prisoner, which could only expose him
      still the more to the justice of the Government; and therefore thought fit
      to dismiss him on Sunday evening last, having kept him from the Monday
      night before, under a very uneasy kind of restraint, being obliged to
      change continually from place to place. He gave him back the books,
      papers, and bonds, but kept the money.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am, with great truth, Sir, "your most humble servant, "MONTROSE."
    </p>
    <p>
      [Some papers connected with Rob Roy Macgregor, signed "Ro. Campbell," in
      1711, were lately presented to the Society of Antiquaries. One of these is
      a kind of contract between the Duke of Montrose and Rob Roy, by which the
      latter undertakes to deliver within a given time "Sixtie good and
      sufficient Kintaill highland Cowes, betwixt the age of five and nine
      years, at fourtene pounds Scotts per peice, with ane bull to the bargane,
      and that at the head dykes of Buchanan upon the twenty-eight day of May
      next."&mdash;Dated December 1711.&mdash;See <i>Proceedings,</i> vol. vii.
      p. 253.]
    </p>
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    <h2>
      No. III.&mdash;CHALLENGE BY ROB ROY.
    </h2>
    <h3>
      "Rob Roy <i>to ain hie and mighty Prince,</i> James Duke of Montrose.
    </h3>
    <p>
      "In charity to your Grace's couradge and conduct, please know, the only
      way to retrive both is to treat Rob Roy like himself, in appointing tyme,
      place, and choice of arms, that at once you may extirpate your inveterate
      enemy, or put a period to your punny (puny?) life in falling gloriously by
      his hands. That impertinent criticks or flatterers may not brand me for
      challenging a man that's repute of a poor dastardly soul, let such know
      that I admit of the two great supporters of his character and the captain
      of his bands to joyne with him in the combat. Then sure your Grace wont
      have the impudence to clamour att court for multitudes to hunt me like a
      fox, under pretence that I am not to be found above ground. This saves
      your Grace and the troops any further trouble of searching; that is, if
      your ambition of glory press you to embrace this unequald venture offerd
      of Rob's head. But if your Grace's piety, prudence, and cowardice, forbids
      hazarding this gentlemanly expedient, then let your desire of peace
      restore what you have robed from me by the tyranny of your present
      cituation, otherwise your overthrow as a man is determined; and advertise
      your friends never more to look for the frequent civility payed them, of
      sending them home without their arms only. Even their former cravings wont
      purchase that favour; so your Grace by this has peace in your offer, if
      the sound of wax be frightful, and chuse you whilk, your good friend or
      mortal enemy."
    </p>
    <p>
      This singular rhodomontade is enclosed in a letter to a friend of Rob Roy,
      probably a retainer of the Duke of Argyle in Isle, which is in these
      words:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sir,&mdash;Receive the enclosd paper, qn you are takeing yor Botle it
      will divert yorself and comrad's. I gote noe news since I seed you, only
      qt wee had before about the Spainyard's is like to continue. If I'll get
      any further account about them I'll be sure to let you know of it, and
      till then I will not write any more till I'll have more sure account, and
      I am
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sir, your most affectionate Cn [cousin], "and most humble servant, "Ro:
      Roy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Apryle</i> 16<i>th,</i> 1719.
    </p>
    <p>
      "To Mr. Patrick Anderson, at Hay&mdash;These.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The seal, <i>a stag</i>&mdash;no bad emblem of a wild cateran.
    </p>
    <p>
      It appears from the envelope that Rob Roy still continued to act as
      Intelligencer to the Duke of Argyle, and his agents. The war he alludes to
      is probably some vague report of invasion from Spain. Such rumours were
      likely enough to be afloat, in consequence of the disembarkation of the
      troops who were taken at Glensheal in the preceding year, 1718.
    </p>
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    <h2>
      No. IV.&mdash;LETTER
    </h2>
    <p>
      FROM ROBERT CAMPBELL, <i>alias</i> M'GREGOR, COMMONLY CALLED ROB ROY, TO
      FIELD-MARSHAL WADE,
    </p>
    <p>
      Then receiving the submission of disaffected Chieftains and Clans.*
    </p>
    <p>
      * This curious epistle is copied from an authentic narrative of Marshal
      Wade's proceedings in the Highlands, communicated by the late eminent
      antiquary, George Chalmers, Esq., to Mr. Robert Jamieson, of the Register
      House, Edinburgh, and published in the Appendix to an Edition of Burt's
      Letters from the North of Scotland, 2 vols. 8vo, Edinburgh, 1818.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir,&mdash;The great humanity with which you have constantly acted in the
      discharge of the trust reposed in you, and your ever having made use of
      the great powers with which you were vested as the means of doing good and
      charitable offices to such as ye found proper objects of compassion, will,
      I hope, excuse my importunity in endeavouring to approve myself not
      absolutely unworthy of that mercy and favour which your Excellency has so
      generously procured from his Majesty for others in my unfortunate
      circumstances. I am very sensible nothing can be alledged sufficient to
      excuse so great a crime as I have been guilty of it, that of Rebellion.
      But I humbly beg leave to lay before your Excellency some particulars in
      the circumstance of my guilt, which, I hope, will extenuate it in some
      measure. It was my misfortune, at the time the Rebellion broke out, to be
      liable to legal diligence and caption, at the Duke of Montrose's instance,
      for debt alledged due to him. To avoid being flung into prison, as I must
      certainly have been, had I followed my real inclinations in joining the
      King's troops at Stirling, I was forced to take party with the adherents
      of the Pretender; for the country being all in arms, it was neither safe
      nor indeed possible for me to stand neuter. I should not, however, plead
      my being forced into that unnatural rebellion against his Majesty, King
      George, if I could not at the same time assure your Excellency, that I not
      only avoided acting offensively against his Majesty's forces upon all
      occasions, but on the contrary, sent his Grace the Duke of Argyle all the
      intelligence I could from time to time, of the strength and situation of
      the rebels; which I hope his Grace will do me the justice to acknowledge.
      As to the debt to the Duke of Montrose, I have discharged it to the utmost
      farthing. I beg your Excellency would be persuaded that, had it been in my
      power, as it was in my inclination, I should always have acted for the
      service of his Majesty King George, and that one reason of my begging the
      favour of your intercession with his Majesty for the pardon of my life, is
      the earnest desire I have to employ it in his service, whose goodness,
      justice, and humanity, are so conspicuous to all mankind.&mdash;I am, with
      all duty and respect, your Excellency's most, &amp;c.,
    </p>
    <p>
      "Robert Campbell."
    </p>
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    <h2>
      No. IVa.&mdash;LETTER.
    </h2>
    <h3>
      ESCAPE OF ROB ROY FROM THE DUKE OF ATHOLE.
    </h3>
    <p>
      The following copy of a letter which passed from one clergyman of the
      Church of Scotland to another, was communicated to me by John Gregorson,
      Esq. of Ardtornish. The escape of Rob Roy is mentioned, like other
      interesting news of the time with which it is intermingled. The
      disagreement between the Dukes of Athole and Argyle seems to have animated
      the former against Rob Roy, as one of Argyle's partisans.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Rev. and dear Brother,
    </p>
    <p>
      Yrs of the 28th Jun I had by the bearer. Im pleased yo have got back again
      yr Delinquent which may probably safe you of the trouble of her child. I'm
      sory I've yet very little of certain news to give you from Court tho' I've
      seen all the last weekes prints, only I find in them a pasage which is all
      the account I can give you of the Indemnity yt when the estates of
      forfaulted Rebells Comes to be sold all Just debts Documented are to be
      preferred to Officers of the Court of enquiry. The Bill in favours of that
      Court against the Lords of Session in Scotland in past the house of
      Commons and Come before the Lords which is thought to be considerably more
      ample yn formerly wt respect to the Disposeing of estates Canvassing and
      paying of Debts. It's said yt the examinations of Cadugans accounts is
      droped but it wants Confirmations here as yet. Oxford's tryals should be
      entered upon Saturday last. We hear that the Duchess of Argyle is wt
      child. I doe not hear yt the Divisions at Court are any thing abated or of
      any appearance of the Dukes having any thing of his Maj: favour. I
      heartily wish the present humours at Court may not prove an encouragmt to
      watchfull and restles enemies.
    </p>
    <p>
      My accounts of Rob Roy his escape are yt after severall Embassies between
      his Grace (who I hear did Correspond wt some at Court about it) and Rob he
      at length upon promise of protectione Came to waite upon the Duke &amp;
      being presently secured his Grace sent post to Edr to acquent the Court of
      his being aprehended &amp; call his friends at Edr and to desire a party
      from Gen Carpinter to receive and bring him to Edr which party came the
      length of Kenross in Fife, he was to be delivered to them by a party his
      Grace had demanded from the Governour at Perth, who when upon their march
      towards Dunkell to receive him, were mete wt and returned by his Grace
      having resolved to deliver him by a party of his own men and left Rob at
      Logierate under a strong guard till yt party should be ready to receive
      him. This space of time Rob had Imployed in taking the other dram heartily
      wt the Guard &amp; qn all were pretty hearty, Rob is delivering a letter
      for his wife to a servant to whom he most needs deliver some private
      instructions at the Door (for his wife) where he's attended wt on the
      Guard. When serious in this privat Conversations he is making some few
      steps carelessly from the Door about the house till he comes close by this
      horse which he soon mounted and made off. This is no small mortifican to
      the guard because of the delay it give to there hopes of a Considerable
      additionall charge agt John Roy.* my wife was upon Thursday last delivered
      of a Son after sore travell of which she still continues very weak.
    </p>
    <p>
      * <i>i.e.</i> John the Red&mdash;John Duke of Argyle, so called from his
      complexion, more commonly styled "Red John the Warriour."
    </p>
    <p>
      I give yl Lady hearty thanks for the Highland plaid. It's good cloath but
      it does not answer the sett I sent some time agae wt McArthur &amp; tho it
      had I told in my last yt my wife was obliged to provid herself to finish
      her bed before she was lighted but I know yt letr came not timely to yr
      hand&mdash;I'm sory I had not mony to send by the bearer having no thought
      of it &amp; being exposed to some little expenses last week but I expect
      some sure occasion when order by a letter to receive it excuse this
      freedom from &amp;c.
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Manse of Comrie, July</i> 2<i>d,</i> 1717. "I salute yr lady I wish my
      ............ her Daughter much Joy."
    </p>
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    <h2>
      No. V.&mdash;HIGHLAND WOOING.
    </h2>
    <p>
      There are many productions of the Scottish Ballad Poets upon the lion-like
      mode of wooing practised by the ancient Highlanders when they had a fancy
      for the person (or property) of a Lowland damsel. One example is found in
      Mr. Robert Jamieson's Popular Scottish Songs:&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                        Bonny Babby Livingstone
                        Gaed out to see the kye,
                        And she has met with Glenlyon,
                        Who has stolen her away.

                        He took free her her sattin coat,
                        But an her silken gown,
                        Syne roud her in his tartan plaid,
                        And happd her round and roun'.
</pre>
    <p>
      In another ballad we are told how&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                       Four-and-twenty Hieland men,
                       Came doun by Fiddoch Bide,
                       And they have sworn a deadly aith,
                       Jean Muir suld be a bride:

                       And they have sworn a deadly aith,
                       Ilke man upon his durke,
                       That she should wed with Duncan Ger,
                       Or they'd make bloody works.
</pre>
    <p>
      This last we have from tradition, but there are many others in the
      collections of Scottish Ballads to the same purpose.
    </p>
    <p>
      The achievement of Robert Oig, or young Rob Roy, as the Lowlanders called
      him, was celebrated in a ballad, of which there are twenty different and
      various editions. The tune is lively and wild, and we select the following
      words from memory:&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                  Rob Roy is frae the Hielands come,
                      Down to the Lowland border;
                   And he has stolen that lady away,
                      To haud his house in order.

                   He set her on a milk-white steed,
                       Of none he stood in awe;
                   Untill they reached the Hieland hills,
                             Aboon the Balmaha'!*
</pre>
    <p>
      * A pass on the eastern margin of Loch Lomond, and an entrance to the
      Highlands.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                      Saying, Be content, be content,
                       Be content with me, lady;
                      Where will ye find in Lennox land,
                      Sae braw a man as me, lady?

                      Rob Roy he was my father called,
                      MacGregor was his name, lady;
                      A' the country, far and near,
                      Have heard MacGregor's fame, lady.

                      He was a hedge about his friends,
                      A heckle to his foes, lady;
                      If any man did him gainsay,
                      He felt his deadly blows, lady.

                      I am as bold, I am as bold,
                      I am as bold and more, lady;
                      Any man that doubts my word,
                      May try my gude claymore, lady.

                       Then be content, be content.
                       Be content with me, lady;
                       For now you are my wedded wife,
                       Until the day you die, lady.
</pre>
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    <h2>
      No. VI&mdash;GHLUNE DHU.
    </h2>
    <p>
      The following notices concerning this Chief fell under the Author's eye
      while the sheets were in the act of going through the press. They occur in
      manuscript memoirs, written by a person intimately acquainted with the
      incidents of 1745.
    </p>
    <p>
      This Chief had the important task intrusted to him of defending the Castle
      of Doune, in which the Chevalier placed a garrison to protect his
      communication with the Highlands, and to repel any sallies which might be
      made from Stirling Castle&mdash;Ghlune Dhu distinguished himself by his
      good conduct in this charge.
    </p>
    <p>
      Ghlune Dhu is thus described:&mdash;"Glengyle is, in person, a tall
      handsome man, and has more of the mien of the ancient heroes than our
      modern fine gentlemen are possessed of. He is honest and disinterested to
      a proverb&mdash;extremely modest&mdash;brave and intrepid&mdash;and born
      one of the best partisans in Europe. In short, the whole people of that
      country declared that never did men live under so mild a government as
      Glengyle's, not a man having so much as lost a chicken while he continued
      there."
    </p>
    <p>
      It would appear from this curious passage, that Glengyle&mdash;not Stewart
      of Balloch, as averred in a note on Waverley&mdash;commanded the garrison
      of Doune. Balloch might, no doubt, succeed MacGregor in the situation.
    </p>
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    <h2>
      EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION TO ROB ROY
    </h2>
    <p>
      In the magnum opus, the author's final edition of the Waverley Novels,
      "Rob Roy" appears out of its chronological order, and comes next after
      "The Antiquary." In this, as in other matters, the present edition follows
      that of 1829. "The Antiquary," as we said, contained in its preface the
      author's farewell to his art. This valediction was meant as prelude to a
      fresh appearance in a new disguise. Constable, who had brought out the
      earlier works, did not publish the "Tales of my Landlord" ("The Black
      Dwarf" and "Old Mortality "), which Scott had nearly finished by November
      12, 1816. The four volumes appeared from the houses of Mr. Murray and Mr.
      Blackwood, on December 1, 1816. Within less than a month came out "Harold
      the Dauntless," by the author of "The Bridal of Triermain." Scott's work
      on the historical part of the "Annual Register" had also been unusually
      arduous. At Abbotsford, or at Ashiestiel, his mode of life was
      particularly healthy; in Edinburgh, between the claims of the courts, of
      literature, and of society, he was scarcely ever in the open air. Thus
      hard sedentary work caused, between the publication of "Old Mortality" and
      that of "Rob Roy," the first of those alarming illnesses which
      overshadowed the last fifteen years of his life. The earliest attack of
      cramp in the stomach occurred on March 5, 1817, when he "retired from the
      room with a scream of agony which electrified his guests."
    </p>
    <p>
      Living on "parritch," as he tells Miss Baillie (for his national spirit
      rejected arrowroot), Scott had yet energy enough to plan a dramatic piece
      for Terry, "The Doom of Devorgoil." But in April he announced to John
      Ballantyne "a good subject" for a novel, and on May 6, John, after a visit
      to Abbotsford with Constable, proclaimed to James Ballantyne the advent of
      "Rob Roy."
    </p>
    <p>
      The anecdote about the title is well known. Constable suggested it, and
      Scott was at first wisely reluctant to "write up to a title." Names like
      Rob Roy, Queen Mary, Queen Elizabeth, Cleopatra, and so forth, tell the
      reader too much, and, Scott imagined, often excite hopes which cannot be
      fulfilled. However, in the geniality of an after-dinner hour in the
      gardens of Abbotsford, Scott allowed Constable to be sponsor. Many things
      had lately brought Rob into his mind. In 1812 Scott had acquired Rob Roy's
      gun&mdash;"a long Spanish-barrelled piece, with his initials R. M. C.," C
      standing for Campbell, a name assumed in compliment to the Argyll family.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rob's spleuchan had also been presented by Mr. Train to Sir Walter, in
      1816, and may have directed his thoughts to this popular freebooter.
      Though Rob flourished in the '15, he was really a character very near
      Scott, whose friend Invernahyle had fought Rob with broadsword and target&mdash;a
      courteous combat like that between Ajax and Hector.
    </p>
    <p>
      At Tullibody Scott had met, in 1793, a gentleman who once visited Rob, and
      arranged to pay him blackmail.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. William Adam had mentioned to Scott in 1816 the use of the word
      "curlie-wurlies" for highly decorated architecture, and recognised the
      phrase, next year, in the mouth of Andrew Fairservice.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the meeting at Abbotsford (May 2, 1817) Scott was very communicative,
      sketched Bailie Nicol Jarvie, and improvised a dialogue between Rob and
      the magistrate. A week later he quoted to Southey, Swift's lines&mdash;
      Too bad for a blessing, too good for a curse,&mdash;which probably
      suggested Andrew Fairservice's final estimate of Scott's hero,&mdash;"over
      bad for blessing, and ower gude for banning."
    </p>
    <p>
      These are the trifles which show the bent of Scott's mind at this period.
      The summer of 1817 he spent in working at the "Annual Register" and at the
      "Border Antiquities." When the courts rose, he visited Rob's cave at the
      head of Loch Lomond; and this visit seems to have been gossiped about, as
      literary people, hearing of the new novel, expected the cave to be a very
      prominent feature. He also went to Glasgow, and refreshed his memory of
      the cathedral; nor did he neglect old books, such as "A Tour through Great
      Britain, by a Gentleman" (4th Edition, 1748). This yielded him the
      Bailie's account of Glasgow commerce "in Musselburgh stuffs and Edinburgh
      shalloons," and the phrase "sortable cargoes."
    </p>
    <p>
      Hence, too, Scott took the description of the rise of Glasgow. Thus Scott
      was taking pains with his preparations. The book was not written in
      post-haste. Announced to Constable early in May, the last sheet was not
      corrected till about December 21, when Scott wrote to Ballantyne:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      DEAR JAMES,&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                        With great joy I send you Roy.
                          'T was a tough job,
                        But we're done with Rob.
</pre>
    <p>
      "Rob Roy" was published on the last day of 1817. The toughness of the job
      was caused by constant pain, and by struggles with "the lassitude of
      opium." So seldom sentimental, so rarely given to expressing his
      melancholy moods in verse, Scott, while composing "Rob Roy," wrote the
      beautiful poem "The sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill," in which, for this once,
      "pity of self through all makes broken moan."
    </p>
    <p>
      Some stress may be laid on the state of Sir Walter's health at this
      moment, because a living critic has tried to show that, in his case,
      "every pang of the stomach paralyses the brain;" that he "never had a fit
      of the cramp without spoiling a chapter."&mdash;[Mr. Ruskin's "Fiction
      Fair and Foul," "Nineteenth Century," 1880, p. 955.]&mdash;"Rob Roy" is a
      sufficient answer to these theories. The mind of Scott was no slave to his
      body.
    </p>
    <p>
      The success of the story is pleasantly proved by a sentence in a review of
      the day: "It is an event unprecedented in the annals either of literature
      or of the custom-house that the entire cargo of a packet, or smack, bound
      from Leith to London, should be the impression of a novel, for which the
      public curiosity was so much upon the alert as to require this immense
      importation to satisfy."
    </p>
    <p>
      Ten thousand copies of a three-volume novel are certainly a ponderous
      cargo, and Constable printed no fewer in his first edition. Scott was
      assured of his own triumph in February 1819, when a dramatised version of
      his novel was acted in Edinburgh by the company of Mr. William Murray, a
      descendant of the traitor Murray of Broughton. Mr. Charles Mackay made a
      capital Bailie, and the piece remains a favourite with Scotch audiences.
      It is plain, from the reviews, that in one respect "Rob Roy" rather
      disappointed the world. They had expected Rob to be a much more imposing
      and majestic cateran, and complained that his foot was set too late on his
      native heather. They found too much of the drover and intriguer, too
      little of the traditional driver of the spoil. This was what Scott foresaw
      when he objected to "writing up to a title." In fact, he did not write up
      to, it, and, as the "Scots Magazine" said, "shaped his story in such a
      manner as to throw busybodies out in their chase, with a slight degree of
      malicious finesse." "All the expeditions to the wonderful cave have been
      thrown away, for the said cave is not once, we think, mentioned from
      beginning to end."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Rob Roy" equals "Waverley" in its pictures of Highland and Lowland
      society and character. Scott had clearly set himself to state his opinions
      about the Highlands as they were under the patriarchal system of
      government. The Highlanders were then a people, not lawless, indeed, but
      all their law was the will of their chief. Bailie Nicol Jarvie makes a
      statement of their economic and military condition as accurate as it is
      humorous. The modern "Highland Question" may be studied as well in the
      Bailie's words as in volumes of history and wildernesses of blue-books. A
      people patriarchal and military as the Arabs of the desert were suddenly
      dragged into modern commercial and industrial society. All old bonds were
      snapped in a moment; emigration (at first opposed by some of the chiefs)
      and the French wars depleted the country of its "lang-leggit callants,
      gaun wanting the breeks." Cattle took the place of men, sheep of cattle,
      deer of sheep, and, in the long peace, a population grew up again&mdash;a
      population destitute of employment even more than of old, because war and
      robbery had ceased to be outlets for its energy. Some chiefs, as Dr.
      Johnson said, treated their lands as an attorney treats his row of cheap
      houses in a town. Hence the Highland Question,&mdash;a question in which
      Scott's sympathies were with the Highlanders. "Rob Roy," naturally, is no
      mere "novel with a purpose," no economic tract in disguise. Among Scott's
      novels it stands alone as regards its pictures of passionate love. The
      love of Diana Vernon is no less passionate for its admirable restraint.
      Here Scott displays, without affectation, a truly Greek reserve in his
      art. The deep and strong affection of Diana Vernon would not have been
      otherwise handled by him who drew the not more immortal picture of
      Antigone. Unlike modern novelists, Sir Walter deals neither in analysis
      nor in rapturous effusions. We can, unfortunately, imagine but too easily
      how some writers would peep and pry into the concealed emotions of that
      maiden heart; how others would revel in tears, kisses, and caresses. In
      place of all these Scott writes:&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     She extended her hand, but I clasped her to my bosom. She sighed as
     she extricated herself from the embrace which she permitted, escaped
     to the door which led to her own apartment, and I saw her no more.
</pre>
    <p>
      Months pass, in a mist of danger and intrigue, before the lovers meet
      again in the dusk and the solitude.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     "Mr. Francis Osbaldistone," cries the girl's voice through the
     moonlight, "should not whistle his favourite airs when he wishes to
     remain undiscovered."

     And Diana Vernon&mdash;for she, wrapped in a horseman's cloak, was the
     last speaker&mdash;whistled in playful mimicry the second part of the
     tune, which was on my lips when they came up.
</pre>
    <p>
      Surely there was never, in story or in song, a lady so loving and so light
      of heart, save Rosalind alone. Her face touches Frank's, as she says
      goodbye for ever "It was a moment never to be forgotten, inexpressibly
      bitter, yet mixed with a sensation of pleasure so deeply soothing and
      affecting as at once to unlock all the floodgates of the heart."
    </p>
    <p>
      She rides into the night, her lover knows the <i>hysterica passio</i> of
      poor Lear, but "I had scarce given vent to my feelings in this paroxysm
      ere I was ashamed of my weakness."
    </p>
    <p>
      These were men and women who knew how to love, and how to live. All men
      who read "Rob Roy" are innocent rivals of Frank Osbaldistone. Di Vernon
      holds her place in our hearts with Rosalind, and these airy affections,
      like the actual emotions which they mimic, are not matters for words. This
      lady, so gay, so brave, so witty and fearless, so tender and true, who
      "endured trials which might have dignified the history of a martyr, . . .
      who spent the day in darkness and the night in vigil, and never breathed a
      murmur of weakness or complaint," is as immortal in men's memories as the
      actual heroine of the White Rose, Flora Macdonald. Her place is with Helen
      and Antigone, with Rosalind and Imogen, the deathless daughters of dreams.
      She brightens the world as she passes, and our own hearts tell us all the
      story when Osbaldistone says, "You know how I lamented her."
    </p>
    <p>
      In the central interest, which, for once, is the interest of love, "Rob
      Roy" attains the nobility, the reserve, the grave dignity of the highest
      art. It is not easy to believe that Frank Osbaldistone is worthy of his
      lady; but here no man is a fair judge. In the four novels&mdash;"Waverley,"
      "Guy Mannering," "The Antiquary," and "Rob Roy"&mdash;which we have
      studied, the hero has always been a young poet. Waverley versified; so did
      Mannering; Lovel "had attempted a few lyrical pieces;" and, in
      Osbaldistone's rhymes, Scott parodied his own
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                           blast of that dread horn
                       On Fontarabian echoes borne.
</pre>
    <p>
      All the heroes, then, have been poets, and Osbaldistone's youth may have
      been suggested by Scott's memories of his own, and of the father who
      "feared that he would never be better than a gangrel scrapegut." Like
      Henry Morton, in "Old Mortality," Frank Osbaldistone is on the political
      side taken by Scott's judgment, not by his emotions. To make Di Vernon
      convert him to Jacobitism would have been to repeat the story of Waverley.
      Still, he would have been more sympathetic if he had been converted. He
      certainly does not lack spirit, as a sportsman, or "on an occasion," as
      Sir William Hope says in "The Scots' Fencing Master," when he encounters
      Rashleigh in the college gardens. Frank, in short, is all that a hero
      should be, and is glorified by his affection.
    </p>
    <p>
      Of the other characters, perhaps Rob Roy is too sympathetically drawn. The
      materials for a judgment are afforded by Scott's own admirable historical
      introduction. The Rob Roy who so calmly "played booty," and kept a foot in
      either camp, certainly falls below the heroic. His language has been
      criticised in late years, and it has been insisted that the Highlanders
      never talked Lowland Scotch. But Scott has anticipated these cavils in the
      eighteenth chapter of the second volume. Certainly no Lowlander knew the
      Highlanders better than he did, and his ear for dialect was as keen as his
      musical ear was confessedly obtuse. Scott had the best means of knowing
      whether Helen MacGregor would be likely to soar into heroics as she is apt
      to do. In fact, here "we may trust the artist."
    </p>
    <p>
      The novel is as rich as any in subordinate characters full of life and
      humour. Morris is one of the few utter cowards in Scott. He has none of
      the passionate impulses towards courage of the hapless hero in "The Fair
      Maid of Perth." The various Osbaldistones are nicely discriminated by
      Diana Vernon, in one of those "Beatrix moods" which Scott did not always
      admire, when they were displayed by "Lady Anne" and other girls of flesh
      and blood. Rashleigh is of a nature unusual in Scott. He is, perhaps, Sir
      Walter's nearest approach, for malignant egotism, to an Iago. Of Bailie
      Nicol Jarvie commendation were impertinent. All Scotland arose, called him
      hers, laughed at and applauded her civic child. Concerning Andrew
      Fairservice, the first edition tells us what the final edition leaves us
      to guess&mdash;that Tresham "may recollect him as gardener at Osbaldistone
      Hall." Andrew was not a friend who could be shaken off. Diana may have
      ruled the hall, but Andrew must have remained absolute in the gardens,
      with "something to maw that he would like to see mawn, or something to saw
      that he would like to see sawn, or something to ripe that he would like to
      see ripen, and sae he e'en daikered on wi' the family frae year's end to
      year's end," and life's end. His master "needed some carefu' body to look
      after him."
    </p>
    <p>
      Only Shakspeare and Scott could have given us medicines to make us like
      this cowardly, conceited "jimp honest" fellow, Andrew Fairservice, who
      just escapes being a hypocrite by dint of some sincere old Covenanting
      leaven in his veins. We make bold to say that the creator of Parolles and
      Lucie, and many another lax and lovable knave, would, had he been a Scot,
      have drawn Andrew Fairservice thus, and not otherwise.
    </p>
    <p>
      The critics of the hour censured, as they were certain to censure, the
      construction, and especially the conclusion, of "Rob Roy." No doubt the
      critics were right. In both Scott and Shakspeare there is often seen a
      perfect disregard of the denouement. Any moderately intelligent person can
      remark on the huddled-up ends and hasty marriages in many of Shakspeare's
      comedies; Moliere has been charged with the same offence; and, if blame
      there be, Scott is almost always to blame. Thackeray is little better.
      There must be some reason that explains why men of genius go wrong where
      every newspaper critic, every milliner's girl acquainted with circulating
      libraries, can detect the offence.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the closing remarks of "Old Mortality" Scott expresses himself
      humorously on this matter of the denouement. His schoolmaster author takes
      his proofsheets to Miss Martha Buskbody, who was the literary set in
      Gandercleugh, having read through the whole stock of three circulating
      libraries. Miss Buskbody criticises the Dominic as Lady Louisa Stuart
      habitually criticised Sir Walter. "Your plan of omitting a formal
      conclusion will never do!" The Dominie replies, "Really, madam, you must
      be aware that every volume of a narrative turns less and less interesting
      as the author draws to a conclusion,&mdash;just like your tea, which,
      though excellent hyson, is necessarily weaker and more insipid in the last
      cup." He compares the orthodox happy ending to "the luscious lump of
      half-dissolved sugar" usually found at the bottom of the cup. This topic
      might be discussed, and indeed has been discussed, endlessly. In our
      actual lives it is probable that most of us have found ourselves living
      for a year, or a month, or a week, in a chapter or half a volume of a
      novel, and these have been our least happy experiences. But we have also
      found that the romance vanishes away like a ghost, dwindles out, closes
      with ragged ends, has no denouement. Then the question presents itself, As
      art is imitation, should not novels, as a rule, close thus? The experiment
      has frequently been tried, especially by the modern geniuses who do not
      conceal their belief that their art is altogether finer than Scott's, or,
      perhaps, than Shakspeare's.
    </p>
    <p>
      In his practice, and in his Dominie's critical remarks, Sir Walter appears
      inclined to agree with them. He was just as well aware as his reviewers,
      or as Lady Louisa Stuart, that the conclusion of "Rob Roy" is "huddled
      up," that the sudden demise of all the young Baldistones is a high-handed
      measure. He knew that, in real life, Frank and Di Vernon would never have
      met again after that farewell on the moonlit road. But he yielded to Miss
      Buskbody's demand for "a glimpse of sunshine in the last chapter;" he
      understood the human liking for the final lump of sugar. After all,
      fiction is not, any more than any other art, a mere imitation of life: it
      is an arrangement, a selection. Scott was too kind, too humane, to
      disappoint us, the crowd of human beings who find much of our happiness in
      dreams. He could not keep up his own interest in his characters after he
      had developed them; he could take pleasure in giving them life,&mdash;he
      had little pleasure in ushering them into an earthly paradise; so that
      part of his business he did carelessly, as his only rivals in literature
      have also done it.
    </p>
    <p>
      The critics censured, not unjustly, the "machinery" of the story,&mdash;these
      mysterious "assets" of Osbaldistone and Tresham, whose absence was to
      precipitate the Rising of 1715. The "Edinburgh Review" lost its heart
      (Jeffrey's heart was always being lost) to Di Vernon. But it pronounces
      that "a king with legs of marble, or a youth with an ivory shoulder,"
      heroes of the "Arabian Nights" and of Pindar, was probable, compared with
      the wit and accomplishments of Diana. This is hypercriticism. Diana's
      education, under Rashleigh, had been elaborate; her acquaintance with
      Shakspeare, her main strength, is unusual in women, but not beyond the
      limits of belief. Here she is in agreeable contrast to Rose Bradwardine,
      who had never heard of "Romeo and Juliet." In any case, Diana compels
      belief as well as wins affection, while we are fortunate enough to be in
      her delightful company.
    </p>
    <p>
      As long as we believe in her, it is not of moment to consider whether her
      charms are incompatible with probability.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Rob Roy" was finished in spite of "a very bad touch of the cramp for
      about three weeks in November, which, with its natural attendants of
      dulness and, weakness, made me unable to get our matters forward till last
      week," says Scott to Constable. "But," adds the unconquerable author, "I
      am resting myself here a few days before commencing my new labours, which
      will be untrodden ground, and, I think, pretty likely to succeed." The
      "new labours" were "The Heart of Mid-Lothian."
    </p>
    <p>
      ANDREW LANG. <a name="link_4_0015" id="link_4_0015">
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    <h2>
      ROB ROY
    </h2>
    <p>
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    <h2>
      CHAPTER FIRST.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                How have I sinn'd, that this affliction
            Should light so heavy on me? I have no more sons,
                And this no more mine own.&mdash;My grand curse
            Hang o'er his head that thus transformed thee!&mdash;
                Travel? I'll send my horse to travel next.
                                               Monsieur Thomas.
</pre>
    <p>
      You have requested me, my dear friend, to bestow some of that leisure,
      with which Providence has blessed the decline of my life, in registering
      the hazards and difficulties which attended its commencement. The
      recollection of those adventures, as you are pleased to term them, has
      indeed left upon my mind a chequered and varied feeling of pleasure and of
      pain, mingled, I trust, with no slight gratitude and veneration to the
      Disposer of human events, who guided my early course through much risk and
      labour, that the ease with which he has blessed my prolonged life might
      seem softer from remembrance and contrast. Neither is it possible for me
      to doubt, what you have often affirmed, that the incidents which befell me
      among a people singularly primitive in their government and manners, have
      something interesting and attractive for those who love to hear an old
      man's stories of a past age.
    </p>
    <p>
      Still, however, you must remember, that the tale told by one friend, and
      listened to by another, loses half its charms when committed to paper; and
      that the narratives to which you have attended with interest, as heard
      from the voice of him to whom they occurred, will appear less deserving of
      attention when perused in the seclusion of your study. But your greener
      age and robust constitution promise longer life than will, in all human
      probability, be the lot of your friend. Throw, then, these sheets into
      some secret drawer of your escritoire till we are separated from each
      other's society by an event which may happen at any moment, and which must
      happen within the course of a few&mdash;a very few years. When we are
      parted in this world, to meet, I hope, in a better, you will, I am well
      aware, cherish more than it deserves the memory of your departed friend,
      and will find in those details which I am now to commit to paper, matter
      for melancholy, but not unpleasing reflection. Others bequeath to the
      confidants of their bosom portraits of their external features&mdash;I put
      into your hands a faithful transcript of my thoughts and feelings, of my
      virtues and of my failings, with the assured hope, that the follies and
      headstrong impetuosity of my youth will meet the same kind construction
      and forgiveness which have so often attended the faults of my matured age.
    </p>
    <p>
      One advantage, among the many, of addressing my Memoirs (if I may give
      these sheets a name so imposing) to a dear and intimate friend, is, that I
      may spare some of the details, in this case unnecessary, with which I must
      needs have detained a stranger from what I have to say of greater
      interest. Why should I bestow all my tediousness upon you, because I have
      you in my power, and have ink, paper, and time before me? At the same
      time, I dare not promise that I may not abuse the opportunity so
      temptingly offered me, to treat of myself and my own concerns, even though
      I speak of circumstances as well known to you as to myself. The seductive
      love of narrative, when we ourselves are the heroes of the events which we
      tell, often disregards the attention due to the time and patience of the
      audience, and the best and wisest have yielded to its fascination. I need
      only remind you of the singular instance evinced by the form of that rare
      and original edition of Sully's Memoirs, which you (with the fond vanity
      of a book-collector) insist upon preferring to that which is reduced to
      the useful and ordinary form of Memoirs, but which I think curious, solely
      as illustrating how far so great a man as the author was accessible to the
      foible of self-importance. If I recollect rightly, that venerable peer and
      great statesman had appointed no fewer than four gentlemen of his
      household to draw up the events of his life, under the title of Memorials
      of the Sage and Royal Affairs of State, Domestic, Political, and Military,
      transacted by Henry IV., and so forth. These grave recorders, having made
      their compilation, reduced the Memoirs containing all the remarkable
      events of their master's life into a narrative, addressed to himself in <i>propria
      persona.</i> And thus, instead of telling his own story, in the third
      person, like Julius Caesar, or in the first person, like most who, in the
      hall, or the study, undertake to be the heroes of their own tale, Sully
      enjoyed the refined, though whimsical pleasure, of having the events of
      his life told over to him by his secretaries, being himself the auditor,
      as he was also the hero, and probably the author, of the whole book. It
      must have been a great sight to have seen the ex-minister, as bolt upright
      as a starched ruff and laced cassock could make him, seated in state
      beneath his canopy, and listening to the recitation of his compilers,
      while, standing bare in his presence, they informed him gravely, "Thus
      said the duke&mdash;so did the duke infer&mdash;such were your grace's
      sentiments upon this important point&mdash;such were your secret counsels
      to the king on that other emergency,"&mdash;circumstances, all of which
      must have been much better known to their hearer than to themselves, and
      most of which could only be derived from his own special communication.
    </p>
    <p>
      My situation is not quite so ludicrous as that of the great Sully, and yet
      there would be something whimsical in Frank Osbaldistone giving Will
      Tresham a formal account of his birth, education, and connections in the
      world. I will, therefore, wrestle with the tempting spirit of P. P., Clerk
      of our Parish, as I best may, and endeavour to tell you nothing that is
      familiar to you already. Some things, however, I must recall to your
      memory, because, though formerly well known to you, they may have been
      forgotten through lapse of time, and they afford the ground-work of my
      destiny.
    </p>
    <p>
      You must remember my father well; for, as your own was a member of the
      mercantile house, you knew him from infancy. Yet you hardly saw him in his
      best days, before age and infirmity had quenched his ardent spirit of
      enterprise and speculation. He would have been a poorer man, indeed, but
      perhaps as happy, had he devoted to the extension of science those active
      energies, and acute powers of observation, for which commercial pursuits
      found occupation. Yet, in the fluctuations of mercantile speculation,
      there is something captivating to the adventurer, even independent of the
      hope of gain. He who embarks on that fickle sea, requires to possess the
      skill of the pilot and the fortitude of the navigator, and after all may
      be wrecked and lost, unless the gales of fortune breathe in his favour.
      This mixture of necessary attention and inevitable hazard,&mdash;the
      frequent and awful uncertainty whether prudence shall overcome fortune, or
      fortune baffle the schemes of prudence, affords full occupation for the
      powers, as well as for the feelings of the mind, and trade has all the
      fascination of gambling without its moral guilt.
    </p>
    <p>
      Early in the 18th century, when I (Heaven help me) was a youth of some
      twenty years old, I was summoned suddenly from Bourdeaux to attend my
      father on business of importance. I shall never forget our first
      interview. You recollect the brief, abrupt, and somewhat stern mode in
      which he was wont to communicate his pleasure to those around him.
      Methinks I see him even now in my mind's eye;&mdash;the firm and upright
      figure,&mdash;the step, quick and determined,&mdash;the eye, which shot so
      keen and so penetrating a glance,&mdash;the features, on which care had
      already planted wrinkles,&mdash;and hear his language, in which he never
      wasted word in vain, expressed in a voice which had sometimes an
      occasional harshness, far from the intention of the speaker.
    </p>
    <p>
      When I dismounted from my post-horse, I hastened to my father's apartment.
      He was traversing it with an air of composed and steady deliberation,
      which even my arrival, although an only son unseen for four years, was
      unable to discompose. I threw myself into his arms. He was a kind, though
      not a fond father, and the tear twinkled in his dark eye, but it was only
      for a moment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Dubourg writes to me that he is satisfied with you, Frank."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am happy, sir"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "But I have less reason to be so" he added, sitting down at his bureau.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am sorry, sir"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sorry and happy, Frank, are words that, on most occasions, signify little
      or nothing&mdash;Here is your last letter."
    </p>
    <p>
      He took it out from a number of others tied up in a parcel of red tape,
      and curiously labelled and filed. There lay my poor epistle, written on
      the subject the nearest to my heart at the time, and couched in words
      which I had thought would work compassion if not conviction,&mdash;there,
      I say, it lay, squeezed up among the letters on miscellaneous business in
      which my father's daily affairs had engaged him. I cannot help smiling
      internally when I recollect the mixture of hurt vanity, and wounded
      feeling, with which I regarded my remonstrance, to the penning of which
      there had gone, I promise you, some trouble, as I beheld it extracted from
      amongst letters of advice, of credit, and all the commonplace lumber, as I
      then thought them, of a merchant's correspondence. Surely, thought I, a
      letter of such importance (I dared not say, even to myself, so well
      written) deserved a separate place, as well as more anxious consideration,
      than those on the ordinary business of the counting-house.
    </p>
    <p>
      But my father did not observe my dissatisfaction, and would not have
      minded it if he had. He proceeded, with the letter in his hand. "This,
      Frank, is yours of the 21st ultimo, in which you advise me (reading from
      my letter), that in the most important business of forming a plan, and
      adopting a profession for life, you trust my paternal goodness will hold
      you entitled to at least a negative voice; that you have insuperable&mdash;ay,
      insuperable is the word&mdash;I wish, by the way, you would write a more
      distinct current hand&mdash;draw a score through the tops of your t's, and
      open the loops of your l's&mdash;insuperable objections to the
      arrangements which I have proposed to you. There is much more to the same
      effect, occupying four good pages of paper, which a little attention to
      perspicuity and distinctness of expression might have comprised within as
      many lines. For, after all, Frank, it amounts but to this, that you will
      not do as I would have you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That I cannot, sir, in the present instance, not that I will not."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Words avail very little with me, young man," said my father, whose
      inflexibility always possessed the air of the most perfect calmness of
      self-possession. "<i>Can not</i> may be a more civil phrase than <i>will
      not,</i> but the expressions are synonymous where there is no moral
      impossibility. But I am not a friend to doing business hastily; we will
      talk this matter over after dinner.&mdash;Owen!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Owen appeared, not with the silver locks which you were used to venerate,
      for he was then little more than fifty; but he had the same, or an exactly
      similar uniform suit of light-brown clothes,&mdash;the same pearl-grey
      silk stockings,&mdash;the same stock, with its silver buckle,&mdash;the
      same plaited cambric ruffles, drawn down over his knuckles in the parlour,
      but in the counting-house carefully folded back under the sleeves, that
      they might remain unstained by the ink which he daily consumed;&mdash;in a
      word, the same grave, formal, yet benevolent cast of features, which
      continued to his death to distinguish the head clerk of the great house of
      Osbaldistone and Tresham.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Owen," said my father, as the kind old man shook me affectionately by the
      hand, "you must dine with us to-day, and hear the news Frank has brought
      us from our friends in Bourdeaux."
    </p>
    <p>
      Owen made one of his stiff bows of respectful gratitude; for, in those
      days, when the distance between superiors and inferiors was enforced in a
      manner to which the present times are strangers, such an invitation was a
      favour of some little consequence.
    </p>
    <p>
      I shall long remember that dinner-party. Deeply affected by feelings of
      anxiety, not unmingled with displeasure, I was unable to take that active
      share in the conversation which my father seemed to expect from me; and I
      too frequently gave unsatisfactory answers to the questions with which he
      assailed me. Owen, hovering betwixt his respect for his patron, and his
      love for the youth he had dandled on his knee in childhood, like the
      timorous, yet anxious ally of an invaded nation, endeavoured at every
      blunder I made to explain my no-meaning, and to cover my retreat;
      manoeuvres which added to my father's pettish displeasure, and brought a
      share of it upon my kind advocate, instead of protecting me. I had not,
      while residing in the house of Dubourg, absolutely conducted myself like
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
             A clerk condemn'd his father's soul to cross,
             Who penn'd a stanza when he should engross;&mdash;
</pre>
    <p>
      but, to say truth, I had frequented the counting-house no more than I had
      thought absolutely necessary to secure the good report of the Frenchman,
      long a correspondent of our firm, to whom my father had trusted for
      initiating me into the mysteries of commerce. In fact, my principal
      attention had been dedicated to literature and manly exercises. My father
      did not altogether discourage such acquirements, whether mental or
      personal. He had too much good sense not to perceive, that they sate
      gracefully upon every man, and he was sensible that they relieved and
      dignified the character to which he wished me to aspire. But his chief
      ambition was, that I should succeed not merely to his fortune, but to the
      views and plans by which he imagined he could extend and perpetuate the
      wealthy inheritance which he designed for me.
    </p>
    <p>
      Love of his profession was the motive which he chose should be most
      ostensible, when he urged me to tread the same path; but he had others
      with which I only became acquainted at a later period. Impetuous in his
      schemes, as well as skilful and daring, each new adventure, when
      successful, became at once the incentive, and furnished the means, for
      farther speculation. It seemed to be necessary to him, as to an ambitious
      conqueror, to push on from achievement to achievement, without stopping to
      secure, far less to enjoy, the acquisitions which he made. Accustomed to
      see his whole fortune trembling in the scales of chance, and dexterous at
      adopting expedients for casting the balance in his favour, his health and
      spirits and activity seemed ever to increase with the animating hazards on
      which he staked his wealth; and he resembled a sailor, accustomed to brave
      the billows and the foe, whose confidence rises on the eve of tempest or
      of battle. He was not, however, insensible to the changes which increasing
      age or supervening malady might make in his own constitution; and was
      anxious in good time to secure in me an assistant, who might take the helm
      when his hand grew weary, and keep the vessel's way according to his
      counsel and instruction. Paternal affection, as well as the furtherance of
      his own plans, determined him to the same conclusion. Your father, though
      his fortune was vested in the house, was only a sleeping partner, as the
      commercial phrase goes; and Owen, whose probity and skill in the details
      of arithmetic rendered his services invaluable as a head clerk, was not
      possessed either of information or talents sufficient to conduct the
      mysteries of the principal management. If my father were suddenly summoned
      from life, what would become of the world of schemes which he had formed,
      unless his son were moulded into a commercial Hercules, fit to sustain the
      weight when relinquished by the falling Atlas? and what would become of
      that son himself, if, a stranger to business of this description, he found
      himself at once involved in the labyrinth of mercantile concerns, without
      the clew of knowledge necessary for his extraction? For all these reasons,
      avowed and secret, my father was determined I should embrace his
      profession; and when he was determined, the resolution of no man was more
      immovable. I, however, was also a party to be consulted, and, with
      something of his own pertinacity, I had formed a determination precisely
      contrary. It may, I hope, be some palliative for the resistance which, on
      this occasion, I offered to my father's wishes, that I did not fully
      understand upon what they were founded, or how deeply his happiness was
      involved in them. Imagining myself certain of a large succession in
      future, and ample maintenance in the meanwhile, it never occurred to me
      that it might be necessary, in order to secure these blessings, to submit
      to labour and limitations unpleasant to my taste and temper. I only saw in
      my father's proposal for my engaging in business, a desire that I should
      add to those heaps of wealth which he had himself acquired; and imagining
      myself the best judge of the path to my own happiness, I did not conceive
      that I should increase that happiness by augmenting a fortune which I
      believed was already sufficient, and more than sufficient, for every use,
      comfort, and elegant enjoyment.
    </p>
    <p>
      Accordingly, I am compelled to repeat, that my time at Bourdeaux had not
      been spent as my father had proposed to himself. What he considered as the
      chief end of my residence in that city, I had postponed for every other,
      and would (had I dared) have neglected altogether. Dubourg, a favoured and
      benefited correspondent of our mercantile house, was too much of a shrewd
      politician to make such reports to the head of the firm concerning his
      only child, as would excite the displeasure of both; and he might also, as
      you will presently hear, have views of selfish advantage in suffering me
      to neglect the purposes for which I was placed under his charge. My
      conduct was regulated by the bounds of decency and good order, and thus
      far he had no evil report to make, supposing him so disposed; but,
      perhaps, the crafty Frenchman would have been equally complaisant, had I
      been in the habit of indulging worse feelings than those of indolence and
      aversion to mercantile business. As it was, while I gave a decent portion
      of my time to the commercial studies he recommended, he was by no means
      envious of the hours which I dedicated to other and more classical
      attainments, nor did he ever find fault with me for dwelling upon
      Corneille and Boileau, in preference to Postlethwayte (supposing his folio
      to have then existed, and Monsieur Dubourg able to have pronounced his
      name), or Savary, or any other writer on commercial economy. He had picked
      up somewhere a convenient expression, with which he rounded off every
      letter to his correspondent,&mdash;"I was all," he said, "that a father
      could wish."
    </p>
    <p>
      My father never quarrelled with a phrase, however frequently repeated,
      provided it seemed to him distinct and expressive; and Addison himself
      could not have found expressions so satisfactory to him as, "Yours
      received, and duly honoured the bills enclosed, as per margin."
    </p>
    <p>
      Knowing, therefore, very well what he desired me to, be, Mr. Osbaldistone
      made no doubt, from the frequent repetition of Dubourg's favourite phrase,
      that I was the very thing he wished to see me; when, in an evil hour, he
      received my letter, containing my eloquent and detailed apology for
      declining a place in the firm, and a desk and stool in the corner of the
      dark counting-house in Crane Alley, surmounting in height those of Owen,
      and the other clerks, and only inferior to the tripod of my father
      himself. All was wrong from that moment. Dubourg's reports became as
      suspicious as if his bills had been noted for dishonour. I was summoned
      home in all haste, and received in the manner I have already communicated
      to you.
    </p>
    <p>
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    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER SECOND.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     I begin shrewdly to suspect the young man of a terrible
     taint&mdash;Poetry; with which idle disease if he be infected,
     there's no hope of him in astate course. <i>Actum est</i> of him
     for a commonwealth's man, if he goto't in rhyme once.
                                        Ben Jonson's <i>Bartholomew Fair.</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      My father had, generally speaking, his temper under complete self-command,
      and his anger rarely indicated itself by words, except in a sort of dry
      testy manner, to those who had displeased him. He never used threats, or
      expressions of loud resentment. All was arranged with him on system, and
      it was his practice to do "the needful" on every occasion, without wasting
      words about it. It was, therefore, with a bitter smile that he listened to
      my imperfect answers concerning the state of commerce in France, and
      unmercifully permitted me to involve myself deeper and deeper in the
      mysteries of agio, tariffs, tare and tret; nor can I charge my memory with
      his having looked positively angry, until he found me unable to explain
      the exact effect which the depreciation of the louis d'or had produced on
      the negotiation of bills of exchange. "The most remarkable national
      occurrence in my time," said my father (who nevertheless had seen the
      Revolution)&mdash;"and he knows no more of it than a post on the quay!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Francis," suggested Owen, in his timid and conciliatory manner,
      "cannot have forgotten, that by an <i>arret</i> of the King of France,
      dated 1st May 1700, it was provided that the <i>porteur,</i> within ten
      days after due, must make demand"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Francis," said my father, interrupting him, "will, I dare say,
      recollect for the moment anything you are so kind as hint to him. But,
      body o' me! how Dubourg could permit him! Hark ye, Owen, what sort of a
      youth is Clement Dubourg, his nephew there, in the office, the
      black-haired lad?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "One of the cleverest clerks, sir, in the house; a prodigious young man
      for his time," answered Owen; for the gaiety and civility of the young
      Frenchman had won his heart.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, ay, I suppose <i>he</i> knows something of the nature of exchange.
      Dubourg was determined I should have one youngster at least about my hand
      who understood business. But I see his drift, and he shall find that I do
      so when he looks at the balance-sheet. Owen, let Clement's salary be paid
      up to next quarter-day, and let him ship himself back to Bourdeaux in his
      father's ship, which is clearing out yonder."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Dismiss Clement Dubourg, sir?" said Owen, with a faltering voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir, dismiss him instantly; it is enough to have a stupid Englishman
      in the counting-house to make blunders, without keeping a sharp Frenchman
      there to profit by them."
    </p>
    <p>
      I had lived long enough in the territories of the <i>Grand Monarque</i> to
      contract a hearty aversion to arbitrary exertion of authority, even if it
      had not been instilled into me with my earliest breeding; and I could not
      refrain from interposing, to prevent an innocent and meritorious young man
      from paying the penalty of having acquired that proficiency which my
      father had desired for me.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I beg pardon, sir," when Mr. Osbaldistone had done speaking; "but I think
      it but just, that if I have been negligent of my studies, I should pay the
      forfeit myself. I have no reason to charge Monsieur Dubourg with having
      neglected to give me opportunities of improvement, however little I may
      have profited by them; and with respect to Monsieur Clement Dubourg"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "With respect to him, and to you, I shall take the measures which I see
      needful," replied my father; "but it is fair in you, Frank, to take your
      own blame on your own shoulders&mdash;very fair, that cannot be denied.&mdash;I
      cannot acquit old Dubourg," he said, looking to Owen, "for having merely
      afforded Frank the means of useful knowledge, without either seeing that
      he took advantage of them or reporting to me if he did not. You see, Owen,
      he has natural notions of equity becoming a British merchant."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Francis," said the head-clerk, with his usual formal inclination of
      the head, and a slight elevation of his right hand, which he had acquired
      by a habit of sticking his pen behind his ear before he spoke&mdash;"Mr.
      Francis seems to understand the fundamental principle of all moral
      accounting, the great ethic rule of three. Let A do to B, as he would have
      B do to him; the product will give the rule of conduct required."
    </p>
    <p>
      My father smiled at this reduction of the golden rule to arithmetical
      form, but instantly proceeded.
    </p>
    <p>
      "All this signifies nothing, Frank; you have been throwing away your time
      like a boy, and in future you must learn to live like a man. I shall put
      you under Owen's care for a few months, to recover the lost ground."
    </p>
    <p>
      I was about to reply, but Owen looked at me with such a supplicatory and
      warning gesture, that I was involuntarily silent.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We will then," continued my father, "resume the subject of mine of the
      1st ultimo, to which you sent me an answer which was unadvised and
      unsatisfactory. So now, fill your glass, and push the bottle to Owen."
    </p>
    <p>
      Want of courage&mdash;of audacity if you will&mdash;was never my failing.
      I answered firmly, "I was sorry that my letter was unsatisfactory,
      unadvised it was not; for I had given the proposal his goodness had made
      me, my instant and anxious attention, and it was with no small pain that I
      found myself obliged to decline it."
    </p>
    <p>
      My father bent his keen eye for a moment on me, and instantly withdrew it.
      As he made no answer, I thought myself obliged to proceed, though with
      some hesitation, and he only interrupted me by monosyllables.&mdash;"It is
      impossible, sir, for me to have higher respect for any character than I
      have for the commercial, even were it not yours."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It connects nation with nation, relieves the wants, and contributes to
      the wealth of all; and is to the general commonwealth of the civilised
      world what the daily intercourse of ordinary life is to private society,
      or rather, what air and food are to our bodies."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, sir?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "And yet, sir, I find myself compelled to persist in declining to adopt a
      character which I am so ill qualified to support."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will take care that you acquire the qualifications necessary. You are
      no longer the guest and pupil of Dubourg."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, my dear sir, it is no defect of teaching which I plead, but my own
      inability to profit by instruction."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nonsense.&mdash;Have you kept your journal in the terms I desired?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Be pleased to bring it here."
    </p>
    <p>
      The volume thus required was a sort of commonplace book, kept by my
      father's recommendation, in which I had been directed to enter notes of
      the miscellaneous information which I had acquired in the course of my
      studies. Foreseeing that he would demand inspection of this record, I had
      been attentive to transcribe such particulars of information as he would
      most likely be pleased with, but too often the pen had discharged the task
      without much correspondence with the head. And it had also happened, that,
      the book being the receptacle nearest to my hand, I had occasionally
      jotted down memoranda which had little regard to traffic. I now put it
      into my father's hand, devoutly hoping he might light on nothing that
      would increase his displeasure against me. Owen's face, which had looked
      something blank when the question was put, cleared up at my ready answer,
      and wore a smile of hope, when I brought from my apartment, and placed
      before my father, a commercial-looking volume, rather broader than it was
      long, having brazen clasps and a binding of rough calf. This looked
      business-like, and was encouraging to my benevolent well-wisher. But he
      actually smiled with pleasure as he heard my father run over some part of
      the contents, muttering his critical remarks as he went on.
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>&mdash;Brandies&mdash;Barils and barricants, also tonneaux.&mdash;At
      Nantz 29&mdash;Velles to the barique at Cognac and Rochelle 27&mdash;At
      Bourdeaux 32</i>&mdash;Very right, Frank&mdash;<i>Duties on tonnage and
      custom-house, see Saxby's Tables</i>&mdash;That's not well; you should
      have transcribed the passage; it fixes the thing in the memory&mdash;<i>Reports
      outward and inward&mdash;Corn debentures&mdash;Over-sea Cockets&mdash;Linens&mdash;Isingham&mdash;Gentish&mdash;Stock-fish&mdash;Titling&mdash;Cropling&mdash;
      Lub-fish.</i> You should have noted that they are all, nevertheless to be
      entered as titlings.&mdash;How many inches long is a titling?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Owen, seeing me at fault, hazarded a whisper, of which I fortunately
      caught the import.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Eighteen inches, sir."&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "And a lub-fish is twenty-four&mdash;very right. It is important to
      remember this, on account of the Portuguese trade&mdash;But what have we
      here?&mdash; <i>Bourdeaux founded in the year&mdash;Castle of the
      Trompette&mdash;Palace of Gallienus</i>&mdash;Well, well, that's very
      right too.&mdash;This is a kind of waste-book, Owen, in which all the
      transactions of the day,&mdash;emptions, orders, payments, receipts,
      acceptances, draughts, commissions, and advices,&mdash;are entered
      miscellaneously."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That they may be regularly transferred to the day-book and ledger,"
      answered Owen: "I am glad Mr. Francis is so methodical."
    </p>
    <p>
      I perceived myself getting so fast into favour, that I began to fear the
      consequence would be my father's more obstinate perseverance in his
      resolution that I must become a merchant; and as I was determined on the
      contrary, I began to wish I had not, to use my friend Mr. Owen's phrase,
      been so methodical. But I had no reason for apprehension on that score;
      for a blotted piece of paper dropped out of the book, and, being taken up
      by my father, he interrupted a hint from Owen, on the propriety of
      securing loose memoranda with a little paste, by exclaiming, "To the
      memory of Edward the Black Prince&mdash;What's all this?&mdash;verses!&mdash;By
      Heaven, Frank, you are a greater blockhead than I supposed you!"
    </p>
    <p>
      My father, you must recollect, as a man of business, looked upon the
      labour of poets with contempt; and as a religious man, and of the
      dissenting persuasion, he considered all such pursuits as equally trivial
      and profane. Before you condemn him, you must recall to remembrance how
      too many of the poets in the end of the seventeenth century had led their
      lives and employed their talents. The sect also to which my father
      belonged, felt, or perhaps affected, a puritanical aversion to the lighter
      exertions of literature. So that many causes contributed to augment the
      unpleasant surprise occasioned by the ill-timed discovery of this
      unfortunate copy of verses. As for poor Owen, could the bob-wig which he
      then wore have uncurled itself, and stood on end with horror, I am
      convinced the morning's labour of the friseur would have been undone,
      merely by the excess of his astonishment at this enormity. An inroad on
      the strong-box, or an erasure in the ledger, or a mis-summation in a
      fitted account, could hardly have surprised him more disagreeably. My
      father read the lines sometimes with an affectation of not being able to
      understand the sense&mdash;sometimes in a mouthing tone of mock heroic&mdash;always
      with an emphasis of the most bitter irony, most irritating to the nerves
      of an author.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                    "O for the voice of that wild horn,
                     On Fontarabian echoes borne,
                           The dying hero's call,
                     That told imperial Charlemagne,
                     How Paynim sons of swarthy Spain
                     Had wrought his champion's fall.
</pre>
    <p>
      "<i>Fontarabian echoes!</i>" continued my father, interrupting himself;
      "the Fontarabian Fair would have been more to the purpose&mdash;<i>Paynim!</i>&mdash;What's
      Paynim?&mdash;Could you not say Pagan as well, and write English at least,
      if you must needs write nonsense?&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                    "Sad over earth and ocean sounding.
                And England's distant cliffs astounding.
                     Such are the notes should say
                How Britain's hope, and France's fear,
                     Victor of Cressy and Poitier,
                          In Bordeaux dying lay."
</pre>
    <p>
      "Poitiers, by the way, is always spelt with an <i>s,</i> and I know no
      reason why orthography should give place to rhyme.&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                 "'Raise my faint head, my squires,' he said,
                  'And let the casement be display'd,
                       That I may see once more
                   The splendour of the setting sun
                   Gleam on thy mirrored wave, Garonne,
                       And Blaye's empurpled shore.
</pre>
    <p>
      "<i>Garonne</i> and <i>sun</i> is a bad rhyme. Why, Frank, you do not even
      understand the beggarly trade you have chosen.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                 "'Like me, he sinks to Glory's sleep,
                  His fall the dews of evening steep,
                         As if in sorrow shed,
                  So soft shall fall the trickling tear,
                  When England's maids and matrons hear
                        Of their Black Edward dead.

                      "'And though my sun of glory set,
                 Nor France, nor England, shall forget
                        The terror of my name;
                 And oft shall Britain's heroes rise,
                 New planets in these southern skies,
                       Through clouds of blood and flame.'
</pre>
    <p>
      "A cloud of flame is something new&mdash;Good-morrow, my masters all, and
      a merry Christmas to you!&mdash;Why, the bellman writes better lines." He
      then tossed the paper from him with an air of superlative contempt, and
      concluded&mdash;"Upon my credit, Frank, you are a greater blockhead than I
      took you for."
    </p>
    <p>
      What could I say, my dear Tresham? There I stood, swelling with indignant
      mortification, while my father regarded me with a calm but stern look of
      scorn and pity; and poor Owen, with uplifted hands and eyes, looked as
      striking a picture of horror as if he had just read his patron's name in
      the Gazette. At length I took courage to speak, endeavouring that my tone
      of voice should betray my feelings as little as possible.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am quite aware, sir, how ill qualified I am to play the conspicuous
      part in society you have destined for me; and, luckily, I am not ambitious
      of the wealth I might acquire. Mr. Owen would be a much more effective
      assistant." I said this in some malice, for I considered Owen as having
      deserted my cause a little too soon.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Owen!" said my father&mdash;"The boy is mad&mdash;actually insane. And,
      pray, sir, if I may presume to inquire, having coolly turned me over to
      Mr. Owen (although I may expect more attention from any one than from my
      son), what may your own sage projects be?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I should wish, sir," I replied, summoning up my courage, "to travel for
      two or three years, should that consist with your pleasure; otherwise,
      although late, I would willingly spend the same time at Oxford or
      Cambridge."
    </p>
    <p>
      "In the name of common sense! was the like ever heard?&mdash;to put
      yourself to school among pedants and Jacobites, when you might be pushing
      your fortune in the world! Why not go to Westminster or Eton at once, man,
      and take to Lilly's Grammar and Accidence, and to the birch, too, if you
      like it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then, sir, if you think my plan of improvement too late, I would
      willingly return to the Continent."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have already spent too much time there to little purpose, Mr.
      Francis."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then I would choose the army, sir, in preference to any other active line
      of life."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Choose the d&mdash;l!" answered my father, hastily, and then checking
      himself&mdash;"I profess you make me as great a fool as you are yourself.
      Is he not enough to drive one mad, Owen?"&mdash;Poor Owen shook his head,
      and looked down. "Hark ye, Frank," continued my father, "I will cut all
      this matter very short. I was at your age when my father turned me out of
      doors, and settled my legal inheritance on my younger brother. I left
      Osbaldistone Hall on the back of a broken-down hunter, with ten guineas in
      my purse. I have never crossed the threshold again, and I never will. I
      know not, and I care not, if my fox-hunting brother is alive, or has
      broken his neck; but he has children, Frank, and one of them shall be my
      son if you cross me farther in this matter."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You will do your pleasure," I answered&mdash;rather, I fear, with more
      sullen indifference than respect, "with what is your own."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, Frank, what I have <i>is</i> my own, if labour in getting, and care
      in augmenting, can make a right of property; and no drone shall feed on my
      honeycomb. Think on it well: what I have said is not without reflection,
      and what I resolve upon I will execute."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Honoured sir!&mdash;dear sir!" exclaimed Owen, tears rushing into his
      eyes, "you are not wont to be in such a hurry in transacting business of
      importance. Let Mr. Francis run up the balance before you shut the
      account; he loves you, I am sure; and when he puts down his filial
      obedience to the <i>per contra,</i> I am sure his objections will
      disappear."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you think I will ask him twice," said my father, sternly, "to be my
      friend, my assistant, and my confidant?&mdash;to be a partner of my cares
      and of my fortune?&mdash;Owen, I thought you had known me better."
    </p>
    <p>
      He looked at me as if he meant to add something more, but turned instantly
      away, and left the room abruptly. I was, I own, affected by this view of
      the case, which had not occurred to me; and my father would probably have
      had little reason to complain of me, had he commenced the discussion with
      this argument.
    </p>
    <p>
      But it was too late. I had much of his own obduracy of resolution, and
      Heaven had decreed that my sin should be my punishment, though not to the
      extent which my transgression merited. Owen, when we were left alone,
      continued to look at me with eyes which tears from time to time moistened,
      as if to discover, before attempting the task of intercessor, upon what
      point my obstinacy was most assailable. At length he began, with broken
      and disconcerted accents,&mdash;"O L&mdash;d, Mr. Francis!&mdash;Good
      Heavens, sir!&mdash;My stars, Mr. Osbaldistone!&mdash;that I should ever
      have seen this day&mdash;and you so young a gentleman, sir!&mdash;For the
      love of Heaven! look at both sides of the account&mdash;think what you are
      going to lose&mdash;a noble fortune, sir&mdash;one of the finest houses in
      the City, even under the old firm of Tresham and Trent, and now
      Osbaldistone and Tresham&mdash;You might roll in gold, Mr. Francis&mdash;And,
      my dear young Mr. Frank, if there was any particular thing in the business
      of the house which you disliked, I would" (sinking his voice to a whisper)
      "put it in order for you termly, or weekly, or daily, if you will&mdash;Do,
      my dear Mr. Francis, think of the honour due to your father, that your
      days may be long in the land."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am much obliged to you, Mr. Owen," said I&mdash;"very much obliged
      indeed; but my father is best judge how to bestow his money. He talks of
      one of my cousins: let him dispose of his wealth as he pleases&mdash;I
      will never sell my liberty for gold."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Gold, sir?&mdash;I wish you saw the balance-sheet of profits at last term&mdash;It
      was in five figures&mdash;five figures to each partner's sum total, Mr.
      Frank&mdash;And all this is to go to a Papist, and a north-country booby,
      and a disaffected person besides&mdash;It will break my heart, Mr.
      Francis, that have been toiling more like a dog than a man, and all for
      love of the firm. Think how it will sound, Osbaldistone, Tresham, and
      Osbaldistone&mdash;or perhaps, who knows" (again lowering his voice),
      "Osbaldistone, Osbaldistone, and Tresham, for our Mr. Osbaldistone can buy
      them all out."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, Mr. Owen, my cousin's name being also Osbaldistone, the name of the
      company will sound every bit as well in your ears."
    </p>
    <p>
      "O fie upon you, Mr. Francis, when you know how well I love you&mdash;Your
      cousin, indeed!&mdash;a Papist, no doubt, like his father, and a
      disaffected person to the Protestant succession&mdash;that's another item,
      doubtless."
    </p>
    <p>
      "There are many very good men Catholics, Mr. Owen," rejoined I.
    </p>
    <p>
      As Owen was about to answer with unusual animation, my father re-entered
      the apartment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You were right," he said, "Owen, and I was wrong; we will take more time
      to think over this matter.&mdash;Young man, you will prepare to give me an
      answer on this important subject this day month."
    </p>
    <p>
      I bowed in silence, sufficiently glad of a reprieve, and trusting it might
      indicate some relaxation in my father's determination.
    </p>
    <p>
      The time of probation passed slowly, unmarked by any accident whatever. I
      went and came, and disposed of my time as I pleased, without question or
      criticism on the part of my father. Indeed, I rarely saw him, save at
      meal-times, when he studiously avoided a discussion which you may well
      suppose I was in no hurry to press onward. Our conversation was of the
      news of the day, or on such general topics as strangers discourse upon to
      each other; nor could any one have guessed, from its tenor, that there
      remained undecided betwixt us a dispute of such importance. It haunted me,
      however, more than once, like the nightmare. Was it possible he would keep
      his word, and disinherit his only son in favour of a nephew whose very
      existence he was not perhaps quite certain of? My grandfather's conduct,
      in similar circumstances, boded me no good, had I considered the matter
      rightly. But I had formed an erroneous idea of my father's character, from
      the importance which I recollected I maintained with him and his whole
      family before I went to France. I was not aware that there are men who
      indulge their children at an early age, because to do so interests and
      amuses them, and who can yet be sufficiently severe when the same children
      cross their expectations at a more advanced period. On the contrary, I
      persuaded myself, that all I had to apprehend was some temporary
      alienation of affection&mdash;perhaps a rustication of a few weeks, which
      I thought would rather please me than otherwise, since it would give me an
      opportunity of setting about my unfinished version of Orlando Furioso, a
      poem which I longed to render into English verse. I suffered this belief
      to get such absolute possession of my mind, that I had resumed my blotted
      papers, and was busy in meditation on the oft-recurring rhymes of the
      Spenserian stanza, when I heard a low and cautious tap at the door of my
      apartment. "Come in," I said, and Mr. Owen entered. So regular were the
      motions and habits of this worthy man, that in all probability this was
      the first time he had ever been in the second story of his patron's house,
      however conversant with the first; and I am still at a loss to know in
      what manner he discovered my apartment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Francis," he said, interrupting my expression of surprise and
      pleasure at seeing, him, "I do not know if I am doing well in what I am
      about to say&mdash;it is not right to speak of what passes in the
      compting-house out of doors&mdash;one should not tell, as they say, to the
      post in the warehouse, how many lines there are in the ledger. But young
      Twineall has been absent from the house for a fortnight and more, until
      two days since."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very well, my dear sir, and how does that concern us?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Stay, Mr. Francis;&mdash;your father gave him a private commission; and I
      am sure he did not go down to Falmouth about the pilchard affair; and the
      Exeter business with Blackwell and Company has been settled; and the
      mining people in Cornwall, Trevanion and Treguilliam, have paid all they
      are likely to pay; and any other matter of business must have been put
      through my books:&mdash;in short, it's my faithful belief that Twineall
      has been down in the north."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you really suppose?" so said I, somewhat startled.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He has spoken about nothing, sir, since he returned, but his new boots,
      and his Ripon spurs, and a cockfight at York&mdash;it's as true as the
      multiplication-table. Do, Heaven bless you, my dear child, make up your
      mind to please your father, and to be a man and a merchant at once."
    </p>
    <p>
      I felt at that instant a strong inclination to submit, and to make Owen
      happy by requesting him to tell my father that I resigned myself to his
      disposal. But pride&mdash;pride, the source of so much that is good and so
      much that is evil in our course of life, prevented me. My acquiescence
      stuck in my throat; and while I was coughing to get it up, my father's
      voice summoned Owen. He hastily left the room, and the opportunity was
      lost.
    </p>
    <p>
      My father was methodical in everything. At the very same time of the day,
      in the same apartment, and with the same tone and manner which he had
      employed an exact month before, he recapitulated the proposal he had made
      for taking me into partnership, and assigning me a department in the
      counting-house, and requested to have my final decision. I thought at the
      time there was something unkind in this; and I still think that my
      father's conduct was injudicious. A more conciliatory treatment would, in
      all probability, have gained his purpose. As it was, I stood fast, and, as
      respectfully as I could, declined the proposal he made to me. Perhaps&mdash;for
      who can judge of their own heart?&mdash;I felt it unmanly to yield on the
      first summons, and expected farther solicitation, as at least a pretext
      for changing my mind. If so, I was disappointed; for my father turned
      coolly to Owen, and only said, "You see it is as I told you.&mdash;Well,
      Frank" (addressing me), "you are nearly of age, and as well qualified to
      judge of what will constitute your own happiness as you ever are like to
      be; therefore, I say no more. But as I am not bound to give in to your
      plans, any more than you are compelled to submit to mine, may I ask to
      know if you have formed any which depend on my assistance?"
    </p>
    <p>
      I answered, not a little abashed, "That being bred to no profession, and
      having no funds of my own, it was obviously impossible for me to subsist
      without some allowance from my father; that my wishes were very moderate;
      and that I hoped my aversion for the profession to which he had designed
      me, would not occasion his altogether withdrawing his paternal support and
      protection."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is to say, you wish to lean on my arm, and yet to walk your own way?
      That can hardly be, Frank;&mdash;however, I suppose you mean to obey my
      directions, so far as they do not cross your own humour?"
    </p>
    <p>
      I was about to speak&mdash;"Silence, if you please," he continued.
      "Supposing this to be the case, you will instantly set out for the north
      of England, to pay your uncle a visit, and see the state of his family. I
      have chosen from among his sons (he has six, I believe) one who, I
      understand, is most worthy to fill the place I intended for you in the
      counting-house. But some farther arrangements may be necessary, and for
      these your presence may be requisite. You shall have farther instructions
      at Osbaldistone Hall, where you will please to remain until you hear from
      me. Everything will be ready for your departure to-morrow morning."
    </p>
    <p>
      With these words my father left the apartment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What does all this mean, Mr. Owen?" said I to my sympathetic friend,
      whose countenance wore a cast of the deepest dejection.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have ruined yourself, Mr. Frank, that's all. When your father talks
      in that quiet determined manner, there will be no more change in him than
      in a fitted account."
    </p>
    <p>
      And so it proved; for the next morning, at five o'clock, I found myself on
      the road to York, mounted on a reasonably good horse, and with fifty
      guineas in my pocket; travelling, as it would seem, for the purpose of
      assisting in the adoption of a successor to myself in my father's house
      and favour, and, for aught I knew, eventually in his fortune also.
    </p>
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    <h2>
      CHAPTER THIRD.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                  The slack sail shifts from side to side,
                  The boat, untrimm'd, admits the tide,
                  Borne down, adrift, at random tost,
                  The oar breaks short, the rudder's lost.
                                        Gay's <i>Fables.</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      I have tagged with rhyme and blank verse the subdivisions of this
      important narrative, in order to seduce your continued attention by powers
      of composition of stronger attraction than my own. The preceding lines
      refer to an unfortunate navigator, who daringly unloosed from its moorings
      a boat, which he was unable to manage, and thrust it off into the full
      tide of a navigable river. No schoolboy, who, betwixt frolic and defiance,
      has executed a similar rash attempt, could feel himself, when adrift in a
      strong current, in a situation more awkward than mine, when I found myself
      driving, without a compass, on the ocean of human life. There had been
      such unexpected ease in the manner in which my father slipt a knot,
      usually esteemed the strongest which binds society together, and suffered
      me to depart as a sort of outcast from his family, that it strangely
      lessened the confidence in my own personal accomplishments, which had
      hitherto sustained me. Prince Prettyman, now a prince, and now a fisher's
      son, had not a more awkward sense of his degradation. We are so apt, in
      our engrossing egotism, to consider all those accessories which are drawn
      around us by prosperity, as pertaining and belonging to our own persons,
      that the discovery of our unimportance, when left to our own proper
      resources, becomes inexpressibly mortifying. As the hum of London died
      away on my ear, the distant peal of her steeples more than once sounded to
      my ears the admonitory "Turn again," erst heard by her future Lord Mayor;
      and when I looked back from Highgate on her dusky magnificence, I felt as
      if I were leaving behind me comfort, opulence, the charms of society, and
      all the pleasures of cultivated life.
    </p>
    <p>
      But the die was cast. It was, indeed, by no means probable that a late and
      ungracious compliance with my father's wishes would have reinstated me in
      the situation which I had lost. On the contrary, firm and strong of
      purpose as he himself was, he might rather have been disgusted than
      conciliated by my tardy and compulsory acquiescence in his desire that I
      should engage in commerce. My constitutional obstinacy came also to my
      aid, and pride whispered how poor a figure I should make, when an airing
      of four miles from London had blown away resolutions formed during a
      month's serious deliberation. Hope, too, that never forsakes the young and
      hardy, lent her lustre to my future prospects. My father could not be
      serious in the sentence of foris-familiation, which he had so
      unhesitatingly pronounced. It must be but a trial of my disposition,
      which, endured with patience and steadiness on my part, would raise me in
      his estimation, and lead to an amicable accommodation of the point in
      dispute between us. I even settled in my own mind how far I would concede
      to him, and on what articles of our supposed treaty I would make a firm
      stand; and the result was, according to my computation, that I was to be
      reinstated in my full rights of filiation, paying the easy penalty of some
      ostensible compliances to atone for my past rebellion.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the meanwhile, I was lord of my person, and experienced that feeling of
      independence which the youthful bosom receives with a thrilling mixture of
      pleasure and apprehension. My purse, though by no means amply replenished,
      was in a situation to supply all the wants and wishes of a traveller. I
      had been accustomed, while at Bourdeaux, to act as my own valet; my horse
      was fresh, young, and active, and the buoyancy of my spirits soon
      surmounted the melancholy reflections with which my journey commenced.
    </p>
    <p>
      I should have been glad to have journeyed upon a line of road better
      calculated to afford reasonable objects of curiosity, or a more
      interesting country, to the traveller. But the north road was then, and
      perhaps still is, singularly deficient in these respects; nor do I believe
      you can travel so far through Britain in any other direction without
      meeting more of what is worthy to engage the attention. My mental
      ruminations, notwithstanding my assumed confidence, were not always of an
      unchequered nature. The Muse too,&mdash;the very coquette who had led me
      into this wilderness,&mdash;like others of her sex, deserted me in my
      utmost need, and I should have been reduced to rather an uncomfortable
      state of dulness, had it not been for the occasional conversation of
      strangers who chanced to pass the same way. But the characters whom I met
      with were of a uniform and uninteresting description. Country parsons,
      jogging homewards after a visitation; farmers, or graziers, returning from
      a distant market; clerks of traders, travelling to collect what was due to
      their masters, in provincial towns; with now and then an officer going
      down into the country upon the recruiting service, were, at this period,
      the persons by whom the turnpikes and tapsters were kept in exercise. Our
      speech, therefore, was of tithes and creeds, of beeves and grain, of
      commodities wet and dry, and the solvency of the retail dealers,
      occasionally varied by the description of a siege, or battle, in Flanders,
      which, perhaps, the narrator only gave me at second hand. Robbers, a
      fertile and alarming theme, filled up every vacancy; and the names of the
      Golden Farmer, the Flying Highwayman, Jack Needham, and other Beggars'
      Opera heroes, were familiar in our mouths as household words. At such
      tales, like children closing their circle round the fire when the ghost
      story draws to its climax, the riders drew near to each other, looked
      before and behind them, examined the priming of their pistols, and vowed
      to stand by each other in case of danger; an engagement which, like other
      offensive and defensive alliances, sometimes glided out of remembrance
      when there was an appearance of actual peril.
    </p>
    <p>
      Of all the fellows whom I ever saw haunted by terrors of this nature, one
      poor man, with whom I travelled a day and a half, afforded me most
      amusement. He had upon his pillion a very small, but apparently a very
      weighty portmanteau, about the safety of which he seemed particularly
      solicitous; never trusting it out of his own immediate care, and uniformly
      repressing the officious zeal of the waiters and ostlers, who offered
      their services to carry it into the house. With the same precaution he
      laboured to conceal, not only the purpose of his journey, and his ultimate
      place of destination, but even the direction of each day's route. Nothing
      embarrassed him more than to be asked by any one, whether he was
      travelling upwards or downwards, or at what stage he intended to bait. His
      place of rest for the night he scrutinised with the most anxious care,
      alike avoiding solitude, and what he considered as bad neighbourhood; and
      at Grantham, I believe, he sate up all night to avoid sleeping in the next
      room to a thick-set squinting fellow, in a black wig, and a tarnished
      gold-laced waistcoat. With all these cares on his mind, my fellow
      traveller, to judge by his thews and sinews, was a man who might have set
      danger at defiance with as much impunity as most men. He was strong and
      well built; and, judging from his gold-laced hat and cockade, seemed to
      have served in the army, or, at least, to belong to the military
      profession in one capacity or other. His conversation also, though always
      sufficiently vulgar, was that of a man of sense, when the terrible
      bugbears which haunted his imagination for a moment ceased to occupy his
      attention. But every accidental association recalled them. An open heath,
      a close plantation, were alike subjects of apprehension; and the whistle
      of a shepherd lad was instantly converted into the signal of a depredator.
      Even the sight of a gibbet, if it assured him that one robber was safely
      disposed of by justice, never failed to remind him how many remained still
      unhanged.
    </p>
    <p>
      I should have wearied of this fellow's company, had I not been still more
      tired of my own thoughts. Some of the marvellous stories, however, which
      he related, had in themselves a cast of interest, and another whimsical
      point of his peculiarities afforded me the occasional opportunity of
      amusing myself at his expense. Among his tales, several of the unfortunate
      travellers who fell among thieves, incurred that calamity from associating
      themselves on the road with a well-dressed and entertaining stranger, in
      whose company they trusted to find protection as well as amusement; who
      cheered their journey with tale and song, protected them against the evils
      of over-charges and false reckonings, until at length, under pretext of
      showing a near path over a desolate common, he seduced his unsuspicious
      victims from the public road into some dismal glen, where, suddenly
      blowing his whistle, he assembled his comrades from their lurking-place,
      and displayed himself in his true colours&mdash;the captain, namely, of
      the band of robbers to whom his unwary fellow-travellers had forfeited
      their purses, and perhaps their lives. Towards the conclusion of such a
      tale, and when my companion had wrought himself into a fever of
      apprehension by the progress of his own narrative, I observed that he
      usually eyed me with a glance of doubt and suspicion, as if the
      possibility occurred to him, that he might, at that very moment, be in
      company with a character as dangerous as that which his tale described.
      And ever and anon, when such suggestions pressed themselves on the mind of
      this ingenious self-tormentor, he drew off from me to the opposite side of
      the high-road, looked before, behind, and around him, examined his arms,
      and seemed to prepare himself for flight or defence, as circumstances
      might require.
    </p>
    <p>
      The suspicion implied on such occasions seemed to me only momentary, and
      too ludicrous to be offensive. There was, in fact, no particular
      reflection on my dress or address, although I was thus mistaken for a
      robber. A man in those days might have all the external appearance of a
      gentleman, and yet turn out to be a highwayman. For the division of labour
      in every department not having then taken place so fully as since that
      period, the profession of the polite and accomplished adventurer, who
      nicked you out of your money at White's, or bowled you out of it at
      Marylebone, was often united with that of the professed ruffian, who on
      Bagshot Heath, or Finchley Common, commanded his brother beau to stand and
      deliver. There was also a touch of coarseness and hardness about the
      manners of the times, which has since, in a great degree, been softened
      and shaded away. It seems to me, on recollection, as if desperate men had
      less reluctance then than now to embrace the most desperate means of
      retrieving their fortune. The times were indeed past, when Anthony-a-Wood
      mourned over the execution of two men, goodly in person, and of undisputed
      courage and honour, who were hanged without mercy at Oxford, merely
      because their distress had driven them to raise contributions on the
      highway. We were still farther removed from the days of "the mad Prince
      and Poins." And yet, from the number of unenclosed and extensive heaths in
      the vicinity of the metropolis, and from the less populous state of remote
      districts, both were frequented by that species of mounted highwaymen,
      that may possibly become one day unknown, who carried on their trade with
      something like courtesy; and, like Gibbet in the Beaux Stratagem, piqued
      themselves on being the best behaved men on the road, and on conducting
      themselves with all appropriate civility in the exercise of their
      vocation. A young man, therefore, in my circumstances was not entitled to
      be highly indignant at the mistake which confounded him with this
      worshipful class of depredators.
    </p>
    <p>
      Neither was I offended. On the contrary, I found amusement in alternately
      exciting, and lulling to sleep, the suspicions of my timorous companion,
      and in purposely so acting as still farther to puzzle a brain which nature
      and apprehension had combined to render none of the clearest. When my free
      conversation had lulled him into complete security, it required only a
      passing inquiry concerning the direction of his journey, or the nature of
      the business which occasioned it, to put his suspicions once more in arms.
      For example, a conversation on the comparative strength and activity of
      our horses, took such a turn as follows:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "O sir," said my companion, "for the gallop I grant you; but allow me to
      say, your horse (although he is a very handsome gelding&mdash;that must be
      owned,) has too little bone to be a good roadster. The trot, sir"
      (striking his Bucephalus with his spurs),&mdash;"the trot is the true pace
      for a hackney; and, were we near a town, I should like to try that
      daisy-cutter of yours upon a piece of level road (barring canter) for a
      quart of claret at the next inn."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Content, sir," replied I; "and here is a stretch of ground very
      favourable."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hem, ahem," answered my friend with hesitation; "I make it a rule of
      travelling never to blow my horse between stages; one never knows what
      occasion he may have to put him to his mettle: and besides, sir, when I
      said I would match you, I meant with even weight; you ride four stone
      lighter than I."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very well; but I am content to carry weight. Pray, what may that
      portmanteau of yours weigh?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My p-p-portmanteau?" replied he, hesitating&mdash;"O very little&mdash;a
      feather&mdash;just a few shirts and stockings."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I should think it heavier, from its appearance. I'll hold you the quart
      of claret it makes the odds betwixt our weight."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You're mistaken, sir, I assure you&mdash;quite mistaken," replied my
      friend, edging off to the side of the road, as was his wont on these
      alarming occasions.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, I am willing to venture the wine; or, I will bet you ten pieces to
      five, that I carry your portmanteau on my croupe, and out-trot you into
      the bargain."
    </p>
    <p>
      This proposal raised my friend's alarm to the uttermost. His nose changed
      from the natural copper hue which it had acquired from many a comfortable
      cup of claret or sack, into a palish brassy tint, and his teeth chattered
      with apprehension at the unveiled audacity of my proposal, which seemed to
      place the barefaced plunderer before him in full atrocity. As he faltered
      for an answer, I relieved him in some degree by a question concerning a
      steeple, which now became visible, and an observation that we were now so
      near the village as to run no risk from interruption on the road. At this
      his countenance cleared up: but I easily perceived that it was long ere he
      forgot a proposal which seemed to him so fraught with suspicion as that
      which I had now hazarded. I trouble you with this detail of the man's
      disposition, and the manner in which I practised upon it, because, however
      trivial in themselves, these particulars were attended by an important
      influence on future incidents which will occur in this narrative. At the
      time, this person's conduct only inspired me with contempt, and confirmed
      me in an opinion which I already entertained, that of all the propensities
      which teach mankind to torment themselves, that of causeless fear is the
      most irritating, busy, painful, and pitiable.
    </p>
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    <h2>
      CHAPTER FOURTH.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
             The Scots are poor, cries surly English pride.
             True is the charge; nor by themselves denied.
             Are they not, then, in strictest reason clear,
             Who wisely come to mend their fortunes here?
                                             Churchill.
</pre>
    <p>
      There was, in the days of which I write, an old-fashioned custom on the
      English road, which I suspect is now obsolete, or practised only by the
      vulgar. Journeys of length being made on horseback, and, of course, by
      brief stages, it was usual always to make a halt on the Sunday in some
      town where the traveller might attend divine service, and his horse have
      the benefit of the day of rest, the institution of which is as humane to
      our brute labourers as profitable to ourselves. A counterpart to this
      decent practice, and a remnant of old English hospitality, was, that the
      landlord of a principal inn laid aside his character of a publican on the
      seventh day, and invited the guests who chanced to be within his walls to
      take a part of his family beef and pudding. This invitation was usually
      complied with by all whose distinguished rank did not induce them to think
      compliance a derogation; and the proposal of a bottle of wine after
      dinner, to drink the landlord's health, was the only recompense ever
      offered or accepted.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was born a citizen of the world, and my inclination led me into all
      scenes where my knowledge of mankind could be enlarged; I had, besides, no
      pretensions to sequester myself on the score of superior dignity, and
      therefore seldom failed to accept of the Sunday's hospitality of mine
      host, whether of the Garter, Lion, or Bear. The honest publican, dilated
      into additional consequence by a sense of his own importance, while
      presiding among the guests on whom it was his ordinary duty to attend, was
      in himself an entertaining, spectacle; and around his genial orbit, other
      planets of inferior consequence performed their revolutions. The wits and
      humorists, the distinguished worthies of the town or village, the
      apothecary, the attorney, even the curate himself, did not disdain to
      partake of this hebdomadal festivity. The guests, assembled from different
      quarters, and following different professions, formed, in language,
      manners, and sentiments, a curious contrast to each other, not indifferent
      to those who desired to possess a knowledge of mankind in its varieties.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was on such a day, and such an occasion, that my timorous acquaintance
      and I were about to grace the board of the ruddy-faced host of the Black
      Bear, in the town of Darlington, and bishopric of Durham, when our
      landlord informed us, with a sort of apologetic tone, that there was a
      Scotch gentleman to dine with us.
    </p>
    <p>
      "A gentleman!&mdash;what sort of a gentleman?" said my companion somewhat
      hastily&mdash;his mind, I suppose, running on gentlemen of the pad, as
      they were then termed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, a Scotch sort of a gentleman, as I said before," returned mine host;
      "they are all gentle, ye mun know, though they ha' narra shirt to back;
      but this is a decentish hallion&mdash;a canny North Briton as e'er cross'd
      Berwick Bridge&mdash;I trow he's a dealer in cattle."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let us have his company, by all means," answered my companion; and then,
      turning to me, he gave vent to the tenor of his own reflections. "I
      respect the Scotch, sir; I love and honour the nation for their sense of
      morality. Men talk of their filth and their poverty: but commend me to
      sterling honesty, though clad in rags, as the poet saith. I have been
      credibly assured, sir, by men on whom I can depend, that there was never
      known such a thing in Scotland as a highway robbery."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That's because they have nothing to lose," said mine host, with the
      chuckle of a self-applauding wit.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, no, landlord," answered a strong deep voice behind him, "it's e'en
      because your English gaugers and supervisors,* that you have sent down
      benorth the Tweed, have taen up the trade of thievery over the heads of
      the native professors."
    </p>
    <p>
      * The introduction of gaugers, supervisors, and examiners, was one of the
      great complaints of the Scottish nation, though a natural consequence of
      the Union.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well said, Mr. Campbell," answered the landlord; "I did not think
      thoud'st been sae near us, mon. But thou kens I'm an outspoken Yorkshire
      tyke. And how go markets in the south?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Even in the ordinar," replied Mr. Campbell; "wise folks buy and sell, and
      fools are bought and sold."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But wise men and fools both eat their dinner," answered our jolly
      entertainer; "and here a comes&mdash;as prime a buttock of beef as e'er
      hungry men stuck fork in."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he eagerly whetted his knife, assumed his seat of empire at the
      head of the board, and loaded the plates of his sundry guests with his
      good cheer.
    </p>
    <p>
      This was the first time I had heard the Scottish accent, or, indeed, that
      I had familiarly met with an individual of the ancient nation by whom it
      was spoken. Yet, from an early period, they had occupied and interested my
      imagination. My father, as is well known to you, was of an ancient family
      in Northumberland, from whose seat I was, while eating the aforesaid
      dinner, not very many miles distant. The quarrel betwixt him and his
      relatives was such, that he scarcely ever mentioned the race from which he
      sprung, and held as the most contemptible species of vanity, the weakness
      which is commonly termed family pride. His ambition was only to be
      distinguished as William Osbaldistone, the first, at least one of the
      first, merchants on Change; and to have proved him the lineal
      representative of William the Conqueror would have far less flattered his
      vanity than the hum and bustle which his approach was wont to produce
      among the bulls, bears, and brokers of Stock-alley. He wished, no doubt,
      that I should remain in such ignorance of my relatives and descent as
      might insure a correspondence between my feelings and his own on this
      subject. But his designs, as will happen occasionally to the wisest, were,
      in some degree at least, counteracted by a being whom his pride would
      never have supposed of importance adequate to influence them in any way.
      His nurse, an old Northumbrian woman, attached to him from his infancy,
      was the only person connected with his native province for whom he
      retained any regard; and when fortune dawned upon him, one of the first
      uses which he made of her favours, was to give Mabel Rickets a place of
      residence within his household. After the death of my mother, the care of
      nursing me during my childish illnesses, and of rendering all those tender
      attentions which infancy exacts from female affection, devolved on old
      Mabel. Interdicted by her master from speaking to him on the subject of
      the heaths, glades, and dales of her beloved Northumberland, she poured
      herself forth to my infant ear in descriptions of the scenes of her youth,
      and long narratives of the events which tradition declared to have passed
      amongst them. To these I inclined my ear much more seriously than to
      graver, but less animated instructors. Even yet, methinks I see old Mabel,
      her head slightly agitated by the palsy of age, and shaded by a close cap,
      as white as the driven snow,&mdash;her face wrinkled, but still retaining
      the healthy tinge which it had acquired in rural labour&mdash;I think I
      see her look around on the brick walls and narrow street which presented
      themselves before our windows, as she concluded with a sigh the favourite
      old ditty, which I then preferred, and&mdash;why should I not tell the
      truth?&mdash;which I still prefer to all the opera airs ever minted by the
      capricious brain of an Italian Mus. D.&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
             Oh, the oak, the ash, and the bonny ivy tree,
             They flourish best at home in the North Countrie!
</pre>
    <p>
      Now, in the legends of Mabel, the Scottish nation was ever freshly
      remembered, with all the embittered declamation of which the narrator was
      capable. The inhabitants of the opposite frontier served in her narratives
      to fill up the parts which ogres and giants with seven-leagued boots
      occupy in the ordinary nursery tales. And how could it be otherwise? Was
      it not the Black Douglas who slew with his own hand the heir of the
      Osbaldistone family the day after he took possession of his estate,
      surprising him and his vassals while solemnizing a feast suited to the
      occasion? Was it not Wat the Devil, who drove all the year-old hogs off
      the braes of Lanthorn-side, in the very recent days of my grandfather's
      father? And had we not many a trophy, but, according to old Mabel's
      version of history, far more honourably gained, to mark our revenge of
      these wrongs? Did not Sir Henry Osbaldistone, fifth baron of the name,
      carry off the fair maid of Fairnington, as Achilles did his Chryseis and
      Briseis of old, and detain her in his fortress against all the power of
      her friends, supported by the most mighty Scottish chiefs of warlike fame?
      And had not our swords shone foremost at most of those fields in which
      England was victorious over her rival? All our family renown was acquired&mdash;all
      our family misfortunes were occasioned&mdash;by the northern wars.
    </p>
    <p>
      Warmed by such tales, I looked upon the Scottish people during my
      childhood, as a race hostile by nature to the more southern inhabitants of
      this realm; and this view of the matter was not much corrected by the
      language which my father sometimes held with respect to them. He had
      engaged in some large speculations concerning oak-woods, the property of
      Highland proprietors, and alleged, that he found them much more ready to
      make bargains, and extort earnest of the purchase-money, than punctual in
      complying on their side with the terms of the engagements. The Scottish
      mercantile men, whom he was under the necessity of employing as a sort of
      middle-men on these occasions, were also suspected by my father of having
      secured, by one means or other, more than their own share of the profit
      which ought to have accrued. In short, if Mabel complained of the Scottish
      arms in ancient times, Mr. Osbaldistone inveighed no less against the arts
      of these modern Sinons; and between them, though without any fixed purpose
      of doing so, they impressed my youthful mind with a sincere aversion to
      the northern inhabitants of Britain, as a people bloodthirsty in time of
      war, treacherous during truce, interested, selfish, avaricious, and tricky
      in the business of peaceful life, and having few good qualities, unless
      there should be accounted such, a ferocity which resembled courage in
      martial affairs, and a sort of wily craft which supplied the place of
      wisdom in the ordinary commerce of mankind. In justification, or apology,
      for those who entertained such prejudices, I must remark, that the Scotch
      of that period were guilty of similar injustice to the English, whom they
      branded universally as a race of purse-proud arrogant epicures. Such seeds
      of national dislike remained between the two countries, the natural
      consequences of their existence as separate and rival states. We have seen
      recently the breath of a demagogue blow these sparks into a temporary
      flame, which I sincerely hope is now extinguished in its own ashes. *
    </p>
    <p>
      * This seems to have been written about the time of Wilkes and Liberty.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was, then, with an impression of dislike, that I contemplated the first
      Scotchman I chanced to meet in society. There was much about him that
      coincided with my previous conceptions. He had the hard features and
      athletic form said to be peculiar to his country, together with the
      national intonation and slow pedantic mode of expression, arising from a
      desire to avoid peculiarities of idiom or dialect. I could also observe
      the caution and shrewdness of his country in many of the observations
      which he made, and the answers which he returned. But I was not prepared
      for the air of easy self-possession and superiority with which he seemed
      to predominate over the company into which he was thrown, as it were by
      accident. His dress was as coarse as it could be, being still decent; and,
      at a time when great expense was lavished upon the wardrobe, even of the
      lowest who pretended to the character of gentleman, this indicated
      mediocrity of circumstances, if not poverty. His conversation intimated
      that he was engaged in the cattle trade, no very dignified professional
      pursuit. And yet, under these disadvantages, he seemed, as a matter of
      course, to treat the rest of the company with the cool and condescending
      politeness which implies a real, or imagined, superiority over those
      towards whom it is used. When he gave his opinion on any point, it was
      with that easy tone of confidence used by those superior to their society
      in rank or information, as if what he said could not be doubted, and was
      not to be questioned. Mine host and his Sunday guests, after an effort or
      two to support their consequence by noise and bold averment, sunk
      gradually under the authority of Mr. Campbell, who thus fairly possessed
      himself of the lead in the conversation. I was tempted, from curiosity, to
      dispute the ground with him myself, confiding in my knowledge of the
      world, extended as it was by my residence abroad, and in the stores with
      which a tolerable education had possessed my mind. In the latter respect
      he offered no competition, and it was easy to see that his natural powers
      had never been cultivated by education. But I found him much better
      acquainted than I was myself with the present state of France, the
      character of the Duke of Orleans, who had just succeeded to the regency of
      that kingdom, and that of the statesmen by whom he was surrounded; and his
      shrewd, caustic, and somewhat satirical remarks, were those of a man who
      had been a close observer of the affairs of that country.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the subject of politics, Campbell observed a silence and moderation
      which might arise from caution. The divisions of Whig and Tory then shook
      England to her very centre, and a powerful party, engaged in the Jacobite
      interest, menaced the dynasty of Hanover, which had been just established
      on the throne. Every alehouse resounded with the brawls of contending
      politicians, and as mine host's politics were of that liberal description
      which quarrelled with no good customer, his hebdomadal visitants were
      often divided in their opinion as irreconcilably as if he had feasted the
      Common Council. The curate and the apothecary, with a little man, who made
      no boast of his vocation, but who, from the flourish and snap of his
      fingers, I believe to have been the barber, strongly espoused the cause of
      high church and the Stuart line. The excise-man, as in duty bound, and the
      attorney, who looked to some petty office under the Crown, together with
      my fellow-traveller, who seemed to enter keenly into the contest,
      staunchly supported the cause of King George and the Protestant
      succession. Dire was the screaming&mdash;deep the oaths! Each party
      appealed to Mr. Campbell, anxious, it seemed, to elicit his approbation.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are a Scotchman, sir; a gentleman of your country must stand up for
      hereditary right," cried one party.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are a Presbyterian," assumed the other class of disputants; "you
      cannot be a friend to arbitrary power."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Gentlemen," said our Scotch oracle, after having gained, with some
      difficulty, a moment's pause, "I havena much dubitation that King George
      weel deserves the predilection of his friends; and if he can haud the grip
      he has gotten, why, doubtless, he may made the gauger, here, a
      commissioner of the revenue, and confer on our friend, Mr. Quitam, the
      preferment of solicitor-general; and he may also grant some good deed or
      reward to this honest gentleman who is sitting upon his portmanteau, which
      he prefers to a chair: And, questionless, King James is also a grateful
      person, and when he gets his hand in play, he may, if he be so minded,
      make this reverend gentleman archprelate of Canterbury, and Dr. Mixit
      chief physician to his household, and commit his royal beard to the care
      of my friend Latherum. But as I doubt mickle whether any of the competing
      sovereigns would give Rob Campbell a tass of aquavitae, if he lacked it, I
      give my vote and interest to Jonathan Brown, our landlord, to be the King
      and Prince of Skinkers, conditionally that he fetches us another bottle as
      good as the last."
    </p>
    <p>
      This sally was received with general applause, in which the landlord
      cordially joined; and when he had given orders for fulfilling the
      condition on which his preferment was to depend, he failed not to acquaint
      them, "that, for as peaceable a gentleman as Mr. Campbell was, he was,
      moreover, as bold as a lion&mdash;seven highwaymen had he defeated with
      his single arm, that beset him as he came from Whitson-Tryste."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou art deceived, friend Jonathan," said Campbell, interrupting him;
      "they were but barely two, and two cowardly loons as man could wish to
      meet withal."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And did you, sir, really," said my fellow-traveller, edging his chair (I
      should have said his portmanteau) nearer to Mr. Campbell, "really and
      actually beat two highwaymen yourself alone?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "In troth did I, sir," replied Campbell; "and I think it nae great thing
      to make a sang about."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Upon my word, sir," replied my acquaintance, "I should be happy to have
      the pleasure of your company on my journey&mdash;I go northward, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      This piece of gratuitous information concerning the route he proposed to
      himself, the first I had heard my companion bestow upon any one, failed to
      excite the corresponding confidence of the Scotchman.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We can scarce travel together," he replied, drily. "You, sir, doubtless,
      are well mounted, and I for the present travel on foot, or on a Highland
      shelty, that does not help me much faster forward."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he called for a reckoning for the wine, and throwing down the
      price of the additional bottle which he had himself introduced, rose as if
      to take leave of us. My companion made up to him, and taking him by the
      button, drew him aside into one of the windows. I could not help
      overhearing him pressing something&mdash;I supposed his company upon the
      journey, which Mr. Campbell seemed to decline.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will pay your charges, sir," said the traveller, in a tone as if he
      thought the argument should bear down all opposition.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is quite impossible," said Campbell, somewhat contemptuously; "I have
      business at Rothbury."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But I am in no great hurry; I can ride out of the way, and never miss a
      day or so for good company."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Upon my faith, sir," said Campbell, "I cannot render you the service you
      seem to desiderate. I am," he added, drawing himself up haughtily,
      "travelling on my own private affairs, and if ye will act by my
      advisement, sir, ye will neither unite yourself with an absolute stranger
      on the road, nor communicate your line of journey to those who are asking
      ye no questions about it." He then extricated his button, not very
      ceremoniously, from the hold which detained him, and coming up to me as
      the company were dispersing, observed, "Your friend, sir, is too
      communicative, considering the nature of his trust."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That gentleman," I replied, looking towards the traveller, "is no friend
      of mine, but an acquaintance whom I picked up on the road. I know neither
      his name nor business, and you seem to be deeper in his confidence than I
      am."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I only meant," he replied hastily, "that he seems a thought rash in
      conferring the honour of his company on those who desire it not."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The gentleman," replied I, "knows his own affairs best, and I should be
      sorry to constitute myself a judge of them in any respect."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Campbell made no farther observation, but merely wished me a good
      journey, and the party dispersed for the evening.
    </p>
    <p>
      Next day I parted company with my timid companion, as I left the great
      northern road to turn more westerly in the direction of Osbaldistone
      Manor, my uncle's seat. I cannot tell whether he felt relieved or
      embarrassed by my departure, considering the dubious light in which he
      seemed to regard me. For my own part, his tremors ceased to amuse me, and,
      to say the truth, I was heartily glad to get rid of him.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="linkCH0005" id="linkCH0005">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER FIFTH.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                How melts my beating heart as I behold
           Each lovely nymph, our island's boast and pride,
                Push on the generous steed, that sweeps along
           O'er rough, o'er smooth, nor heeds the steepy hill,
                Nor falters in the extended vale below!
                                               The Chase.
</pre>
    <p>
      I approached my native north, for such I esteemed it, with that enthusiasm
      which romantic and wild scenery inspires in the lovers of nature. No
      longer interrupted by the babble of my companion, I could now remark the
      difference which the country exhibited from that through which I had
      hitherto travelled. The streams now more properly deserved the name, for,
      instead of slumbering stagnant among reeds and willows, they brawled along
      beneath the shade of natural copsewood; were now hurried down declivities,
      and now purled more leisurely, but still in active motion, through little
      lonely valleys, which, opening on the road from time to time, seemed to
      invite the traveller to explore their recesses. The Cheviots rose before
      me in frowning majesty; not, indeed, with the sublime variety of rock and
      cliff which characterizes mountains of the primary class but huge,
      round-headed, and clothed with a dark robe of russet, gaining, by their
      extent and desolate appearance, an influence upon the imagination, as a
      desert district possessing a character of its own.
    </p>
    <p>
      The abode of my fathers, which I was now approaching, was situated in a
      glen, or narrow valley, which ran up among those hills. Extensive estates,
      which once belonged to the family of Osbaldistone, had been long
      dissipated by the misfortunes or misconduct of my ancestors; but enough
      was still attached to the old mansion, to give my uncle the title of a man
      of large property. This he employed (as I was given to understand by some
      inquiries which I made on the road) in maintaining the prodigal
      hospitality of a northern squire of the period, which he deemed essential
      to his family dignity.
    </p>
    <p>
      From the summit of an eminence I had already had a distant view of
      Osbaldistone Hall, a large and antiquated edifice, peeping out from a
      Druidical grove of huge oaks; and I was directing my course towards it, as
      straightly and as speedily as the windings of a very indifferent road
      would permit, when my horse, tired as he was, pricked up his ears at the
      enlivening notes of a pack of hounds in full cry, cheered by the
      occasional bursts of a French horn, which in those days was a constant
      accompaniment to the chase. I made no doubt that the pack was my uncle's,
      and drew up my horse with the purpose of suffering the hunters to pass
      without notice, aware that a hunting-field was not the proper scene to
      introduce myself to a keen sportsman, and determined when they had passed
      on, to proceed to the mansion-house at my own pace, and there to await the
      return of the proprietor from his sport. I paused, therefore, on a rising
      ground, and, not unmoved by the sense of interest which that species of
      silvan sport is so much calculated to inspire (although my mind was not at
      the moment very accessible to impressions of this nature), I expected with
      some eagerness the appearance of the huntsmen.
    </p>
    <p>
      The fox, hard run, and nearly spent, first made his appearance from the
      copse which clothed the right-hand side of the valley. His drooping brush,
      his soiled appearance, and jaded trot, proclaimed his fate impending; and
      the carrion crow, which hovered over him, already considered poor Reynard
      as soon to be his prey. He crossed the stream which divides the little
      valley, and was dragging himself up a ravine on the other side of its wild
      banks, when the headmost hounds, followed by the rest of the pack in full
      cry, burst from the coppice, followed by the huntsman and three or four
      riders. The dogs pursued the trace of Reynard with unerring instinct; and
      the hunters followed with reckless haste, regardless of the broken and
      difficult nature of the ground. They were tall, stout young men, well
      mounted, and dressed in green and red, the uniform of a sporting
      association, formed under the auspices of old Sir Hildebrand Osbaldistone.&mdash;"My
      cousins!" thought I, as they swept past me. The next reflection was, what
      is my reception likely to be among these worthy successors of Nimrod? and
      how improbable is it that I, knowing little or nothing of rural sports,
      shall find myself at ease, or happy, in my uncle's family. A vision that
      passed me interrupted these reflections.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a young lady, the loveliness of whose very striking features was
      enhanced by the animation of the chase and the glow of the exercise,
      mounted on a beautiful horse, jet black, unless where he was flecked by
      spots of the snow-white foam which embossed his bridle. She wore, what was
      then somewhat unusual, a coat, vest, and hat, resembling those of a man,
      which fashion has since called a riding habit. The mode had been
      introduced while I was in France, and was perfectly new to me. Her long
      black hair streamed on the breeze, having in the hurry of the chase
      escaped from the ribbon which bound it. Some very broken ground, through
      which she guided her horse with the most admirable address and presence of
      mind, retarded her course, and brought her closer to me than any of the
      other riders had passed. I had, therefore, a full view of her uncommonly
      fine face and person, to which an inexpressible charm was added by the
      wild gaiety of the scene, and the romance of her singular dress and
      unexpected appearance. As she passed me, her horse made, in his
      impetuosity, an irregular movement, just while, coming once more upon open
      ground, she was again putting him to his speed. It served as an apology
      for me to ride close up to her, as if to her assistance. There was,
      however, no cause for alarm; it was not a stumble, nor a false step; and,
      if it had, the fair Amazon had too much self-possession to have been
      deranged by it. She thanked my good intentions, however, by a smile, and I
      felt encouraged to put my horse to the same pace, and to keep in her
      immediate neighbourhood. The clamour of "Whoop! dead! dead!"&mdash;and the
      corresponding flourish of the French horn, soon announced to us that there
      was no more occasion for haste, since the chase was at a close. One of the
      young men whom we had seen approached us, waving the brush of the fox in
      triumph, as if to upbraid my fair companion,
    </p>
    <p>
      "I see," she replied,&mdash;"I see; but make no noise about it: if
      Phoebe," she said, patting the neck of the beautiful animal on which she
      rode, "had not got among the cliffs, you would have had little cause for
      boasting."
    </p>
    <p>
      They met as she spoke, and I observed them both look at me, and converse a
      moment in an under-tone, the young lady apparently pressing the sportsman
      to do something which he declined shyly, and with a sort of sheepish
      sullenness. She instantly turned her horse's head towards me, saying,&mdash;"Well,
      well, Thornie, if you won't, I must, that's all.&mdash;Sir," she
      continued, addressing me, "I have been endeavouring to persuade this
      cultivated young gentleman to make inquiry of you whether, in the course
      of your travels in these parts, you have heard anything of a friend of
      ours, one Mr. Francis Osbaldistone, who has been for some days expected at
      Osbaldistone Hall?"
    </p>
    <p>
      I was too happy to acknowledge myself to be the party inquired after, and
      to express my thanks for the obliging inquiries of the young lady.
    </p>
    <p>
      "In that case, sir," she rejoined, "as my kinsman's politeness seems to be
      still slumbering, you will permit me (though I suppose it is highly
      improper) to stand mistress of ceremonies, and to present to you young
      Squire Thorncliff Osbaldistone, your cousin, and Die Vernon, who has also
      the honour to be your accomplished cousin's poor kinswoman."
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a mixture of boldness, satire, and simplicity in the manner in
      which Miss Vernon pronounced these words. My knowledge of life was
      sufficient to enable me to take up a corresponding tone as I expressed my
      gratitude to her for her condescension, and my extreme pleasure at having
      met with them. To say the truth, the compliment was so expressed, that the
      lady might easily appropriate the greater share of it, for Thorncliff
      seemed an arrant country bumpkin, awkward, shy, and somewhat sulky withal.
      He shook hands with me, however, and then intimated his intention of
      leaving me that he might help the huntsman and his brothers to couple up
      the hounds,&mdash;a purpose which he rather communicated by way of
      information to Miss Vernon than as apology to me.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There he goes," said the young lady, following him with eyes in which
      disdain was admirably painted&mdash;"the prince of grooms and
      cock-fighters, and blackguard horse-coursers. But there is not one of them
      to mend another.&mdash;Have you read Markham?" said Miss Vernon.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Read whom, ma'am?&mdash;I do not even remember the author's name."
    </p>
    <p>
      "O lud! on what a strand are you wrecked!" replied the young lady. "A poor
      forlorn and ignorant stranger, unacquainted with the very Alcoran of the
      savage tribe whom you are come to reside among&mdash;Never to have heard
      of Markham, the most celebrated author on farriery! then I fear you are
      equally a stranger to the more modern names of Gibson and Bartlett?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am, indeed, Miss Vernon."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And do you not blush to own it?" said Miss Vernon. "Why, we must forswear
      your alliance. Then, I suppose, you can neither give a ball, nor a mash,
      nor a horn!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I confess I trust all these matters to an ostler, or to my groom."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Incredible carelessness!&mdash;And you cannot shoe a horse, or cut his
      mane and tail; or worm a dog, or crop his ears, or cut his dew-claws; or
      reclaim a hawk, or give him his casting-stones, or direct his diet when he
      is sealed; or"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "To sum up my insignificance in one word," replied I, "I am profoundly
      ignorant in all these rural accomplishments."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then, in the name of Heaven, Mr. Francis Osbaldistone, what <i>can</i>
      you do?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very little to the purpose, Miss Vernon; something, however, I can
      pretend to&mdash;When my groom has dressed my horse I can ride him, and
      when my hawk is in the field, I can fly him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Can you do this?" said the young lady, putting her horse to a canter.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a sort of rude overgrown fence crossed the path before us, with
      a gate composed of pieces of wood rough from the forest; I was about to
      move forward to open it, when Miss Vernon cleared the obstruction at a
      flying leap. I was bound in point of honour to follow, and was in a moment
      again at her side. "There are hopes of you yet," she said. "I was afraid
      you had been a very degenerate Osbaldistone. But what on earth brings you
      to Cub-Castle?&mdash;for so the neighbours have christened this
      hunting-hall of ours. You might have stayed away, I suppose, if you
      would?"
    </p>
    <p>
      I felt I was by this time on a very intimate footing with my beautiful
      apparition, and therefore replied, in a confidential under-tone&mdash;"Indeed,
      my dear Miss Vernon, I might have considered it as a sacrifice to be a
      temporary resident in Osbaldistone Hall, the inmates being such as you
      describe them; but I am convinced there is one exception that will make
      amends for all deficiencies."
    </p>
    <p>
      "O, you mean Rashleigh?" said Miss Vernon.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed I do not; I was thinking&mdash;forgive me&mdash;of some person
      much nearer me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I suppose it would be proper not to understand your civility?&mdash;But
      that is not my way&mdash;I don't make a courtesy for it because I am
      sitting on horseback. But, seriously, I deserve your exception, for I am
      the only conversable being about the Hall, except the old priest and
      Rashleigh."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And who is Rashleigh, for Heaven's sake?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Rashleigh is one who would fain have every one like him for his own sake.
      He is Sir Hildebrand's youngest son&mdash;about your own age, but not so&mdash;not
      well looking, in short. But nature has given him a mouthful of common
      sense, and the priest has added a bushelful of learning; he is what we
      call a very clever man in this country, where clever men are scarce. Bred
      to the church, but in no hurry to take orders."
    </p>
    <p>
      "To the Catholic Church?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Catholic Church? what Church else?" said the young lady. "But I
      forgot&mdash;they told me you are a heretic. Is that true, Mr.
      Osbaldistone?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I must not deny the charge."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And yet you have been abroad, and in Catholic countries?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "For nearly four years."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have seen convents?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Often; but I have not seen much in them which recommended the Catholic
      religion."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are not the inhabitants happy?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Some are unquestionably so, whom either a profound sense of devotion, or
      an experience of the persecutions and misfortunes of the world, or a
      natural apathy of temper, has led into retirement. Those who have adopted
      a life of seclusion from sudden and overstrained enthusiasm, or in hasty
      resentment of some disappointment or mortification, are very miserable.
      The quickness of sensation soon returns, and like the wilder animals in a
      menagerie, they are restless under confinement, while others muse or
      fatten in cells of no larger dimensions than theirs."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what," continued Miss Vernon, "becomes of those victims who are
      condemned to a convent by the will of others? what do they resemble?
      especially, what do they resemble, if they are born to enjoy life, and
      feel its blessings?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "They are like imprisoned singing-birds," replied I, "condemned to wear
      out their lives in confinement, which they try to beguile by the exercise
      of accomplishments which would have adorned society had they been left at
      large."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I shall be," returned Miss Vernon&mdash;"that is," said she, correcting
      herself&mdash;"I should be rather like the wild hawk, who, barred the free
      exercise of his soar through heaven, will dash himself to pieces against
      the bars of his cage. But to return to Rashleigh," said she, in a more
      lively tone, "you will think him the pleasantest man you ever saw in your
      life, Mr. Osbaldistone,&mdash;that is, for a week at least. If he could
      find out a blind mistress, never man would be so secure of conquest; but
      the eye breaks the spell that enchants the ear.&mdash;But here we are in
      the court of the old hall, which looks as wild and old-fashioned as any of
      its inmates. There is no great toilette kept at Osbaldistone Hall, you
      must know; but I must take off these things, they are so unpleasantly
      warm,&mdash;and the hat hurts my forehead, too," continued the lively
      girl, taking it off, and shaking down a profusion of sable ringlets,
      which, half laughing, half blushing, she separated with her white slender
      fingers, in order to clear them away from her beautiful face and piercing
      hazel eyes. If there was any coquetry in the action, it was well disguised
      by the careless indifference of her manner. I could not help saying,
      "that, judging of the family from what I saw, I should suppose the
      toilette a very unnecessary care."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That's very politely said&mdash;though, perhaps, I ought not to
      understand in what sense it was meant," replied Miss Vernon; "but you will
      see a better apology for a little negligence when you meet the Orsons you
      are to live amongst, whose forms no toilette could improve. But, as I said
      before, the old dinner-bell will clang, or rather clank, in a few minutes&mdash;it
      cracked of its own accord on the day of the landing of King Willie, and my
      uncle, respecting its prophetic talent, would never permit it to be
      mended. So do you hold my palfrey, like a duteous knight, until I send
      some more humble squire to relieve you of the charge."
    </p>
    <p>
      She threw me the rein as if we had been acquainted from our childhood,
      jumped from her saddle, tripped across the courtyard, and entered at a
      side-door, leaving me in admiration of her beauty, and astonished with the
      over-frankness of her manners, which seemed the more extraordinary at a
      time when the dictates of politeness, flowing from the court of the Grand
      Monarque Louis XIV., prescribed to the fair sex an unusual severity of
      decorum. I was left awkwardly enough stationed in the centre of the court
      of the old hall, mounted on one horse, and holding another in my hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      The building afforded little to interest a stranger, had I been disposed
      to consider it attentively; the sides of the quadrangle were of various
      architecture, and with their stone-shafted latticed windows, projecting
      turrets, and massive architraves, resembled the inside of a convent, or of
      one of the older and less splendid colleges of Oxford. I called for a
      domestic, but was for some time totally unattended to; which was the more
      provoking, as I could perceive I was the object of curiosity to several
      servants, both male and female, from different parts of the building, who
      popped out their heads and withdrew them, like rabbits in a warren, before
      I could make a direct appeal to the attention of any individual. The
      return of the huntsmen and hounds relieved me from my embarrassment, and
      with some difficulty I got one down to relieve me of the charge of the
      horses, and another stupid boor to guide me to the presence of Sir
      Hildebrand. This service he performed with much such grace and good-will,
      as a peasant who is compelled to act as guide to a hostile patrol; and in
      the same manner I was obliged to guard against his deserting me in the
      labyrinth of low vaulted passages which conducted to "Stun Hall," as he
      called it, where I was to be introduced to the gracious presence of my
      uncle.
    </p>
    <p>
      We did, however, at length reach a long vaulted room, floored with stone,
      where a range of oaken tables, of a weight and size too massive ever to be
      moved aside, were already covered for dinner. This venerable apartment,
      which had witnessed the feasts of several generations of the Osbaldistone
      family, bore also evidence of their success in field sports. Huge antlers
      of deer, which might have been trophies of the hunting of Chevy Chace,
      were ranged around the walls, interspersed with the stuffed skins of
      badgers, otters, martins, and other animals of the chase. Amidst some
      remnants of old armour, which had, perhaps, served against the Scotch,
      hung the more valued weapons of silvan war, cross-bows, guns of various
      device and construction, nets, fishing-rods, otter-spears, hunting-poles,
      with many other singular devices, and engines for taking or killing game.
      A few old pictures, dimmed with smoke, and stained with March beer, hung
      on the walls, representing knights and ladies, honoured, doubtless, and
      renowned in their day; those frowning fearfully from huge bushes of wig
      and of beard; and these looking delightfully with all their might at the
      roses which they brandished in their hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had just time to give a glance at these matters, when about twelve
      blue-coated servants burst into the hall with much tumult and talk, each
      rather employed in directing his comrades than in discharging his own
      duty. Some brought blocks and billets to the fire, which roared, blazed,
      and ascended, half in smoke, half in flame, up a huge tunnel, with an
      opening wide enough to accommodate a stone seat within its ample vault,
      and which was fronted, by way of chimney-piece, with a huge piece of heavy
      architecture, where the monsters of heraldry, embodied by the art of some
      Northumbrian chisel, grinned and ramped in red free-stone, now japanned by
      the smoke of centuries. Others of these old-fashioned serving-men bore
      huge smoking dishes, loaded with substantial fare; others brought in cups,
      flagons, bottles, yea barrels of liquor. All tramped, kicked, plunged,
      shouldered, and jostled, doing as little service with as much tumult as
      could well be imagined. At length, while the dinner was, after various
      efforts, in the act of being arranged upon the board, "the clamour much of
      men and dogs," the cracking of whips, calculated for the intimidation of
      the latter, voices loud and high, steps which, impressed by the
      heavy-heeled boots of the period, clattered like those in the statue of
      the <i>Festin de Pierre,</i>* announced the arrival of those for whose
      benefit the preparations were made.
    </p>
    <p>
      * Now called Don Juan.
    </p>
    <p>
      The hubbub among the servants rather increased than diminished as this
      crisis approached. Some called to make haste,&mdash;others to take time,&mdash;some
      exhorted to stand out of the way, and make room for Sir Hildebrand and the
      young squires,&mdash;some to close round the table and be <i>in</i> the
      way,&mdash;some bawled to open, some to shut, a pair of folding-doors
      which divided the hall from a sort of gallery, as I afterwards learned, or
      withdrawing-room, fitted up with black wainscot. Opened the doors were at
      length, and in rushed curs and men,&mdash;eight dogs, the domestic
      chaplain, the village doctor, my six cousins, and my uncle.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="linkCH0006" id="linkCH0006">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER SIXTH.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                The rude hall rocks&mdash;they come, they come,&mdash;
                   The din of voices shakes the dome;&mdash;
                In stalk the various forms, and, drest
                   In varying morion, varying vest,
       All march with haughty step&mdash;all proudly shake the crest.
                                               Penrose.
</pre>
    <p>
      If Sir Hildebrand Osbaldistone was in no hurry to greet his nephew, of
      whose arrival he must have been informed for some time, he had important
      avocations to allege in excuse. "Had seen thee sooner, lad," he exclaimed,
      after a rough shake of the hand, and a hearty welcome to Osbaldistone
      Hall, "but had to see the hounds kennelled first. Thou art welcome to the
      Hall, lad&mdash;here is thy cousin Percie, thy cousin Thornie, and thy
      cousin John&mdash;your cousin Dick, your cousin Wilfred, and&mdash;stay,
      where's Rashleigh?&mdash;ay, here's Rashleigh&mdash;take thy long body
      aside Thornie, and let's see thy brother a bit&mdash;your cousin
      Rashleigh. So, thy father has thought on the old Hall, and old Sir
      Hildebrand at last&mdash;better late than never&mdash;Thou art welcome,
      lad, and there's enough. Where's my little Die?&mdash;ay, here she comes&mdash;this
      is my niece Die, my wife's brother's daughter&mdash;the prettiest girl in
      our dales, be the other who she may&mdash;and so now let's to the
      sirloin."&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      To gain some idea of the person who held this language, you must suppose,
      my dear Tresham, a man aged about sixty, in a hunting suit which had once
      been richly laced, but whose splendour had been tarnished by many a
      November and December storm. Sir Hildebrand, notwithstanding the
      abruptness of his present manner, had, at one period of his life, known
      courts and camps; had held a commission in the army which encamped on
      Hounslow Heath previous to the Revolution&mdash;and, recommended perhaps
      by his religion, had been knighted about the same period by the
      unfortunate and ill-advised James II. But the Knight's dreams of further
      preferment, if he ever entertained any, had died away at the crisis which
      drove his patron from the throne, and since that period he had spent a
      sequestered life upon his native domains. Notwithstanding his rusticity,
      however, Sir Hildebrand retained much of the exterior of a gentleman, and
      appeared among his sons as the remains of a Corinthian pillar, defaced and
      overgrown with moss and lichen, might have looked, if contrasted with the
      rough unhewn masses of upright stones in Stonhenge, or any other Druidical
      temple. The sons were, indeed, heavy unadorned blocks as the eye would
      desire to look upon. Tall, stout, and comely, all and each of the five
      eldest seemed to want alike the Promethean fire of intellect, and the
      exterior grace and manner, which, in the polished world, sometimes supply
      mental deficiency. Their most valuable moral quality seemed to be the
      good-humour and content which was expressed in their heavy features, and
      their only pretence to accomplishment was their dexterity in field sports,
      for which alone they lived. The strong Gyas, and the strong Cloanthus, are
      not less distinguished by the poet, than the strong Percival, the strong
      Thorncliff, the strong John, Richard, and Wilfred Osbaldistones, were by
      outward appearance.
    </p>
    <p>
      But, as if to indemnify herself for a uniformity so uncommon in her
      productions, Dame Nature had rendered Rashleigh Osbaldistone a striking
      contrast in person and manner, and, as I afterwards learned, in temper and
      talents, not only to his brothers, but to most men whom I had hitherto met
      with. When Percie, Thornie, and Co. had respectively nodded, grinned, and
      presented their shoulder rather than their hand, as their father named
      them to their new kinsman, Rashleigh stepped forward, and welcomed me to
      Osbaldistone Hall, with the air and manner of a man of the world. His
      appearance was not in itself prepossessing. He was of low stature, whereas
      all his brethren seemed to be descendants of Anak; and while they were
      handsomely formed, Rashleigh, though strong in person, was bull-necked and
      cross-made, and from some early injury in his youth had an imperfection in
      his gait, so much resembling an absolute halt, that many alleged that it
      formed the obstacle to his taking orders; the Church of Rome, as is well
      known, admitting none to the clerical profession who labours under any
      personal deformity. Others, however, ascribed this unsightly defect to a
      mere awkward habit, and contended that it did not amount to a personal
      disqualification from holy orders.
    </p>
    <p>
      The features of Rashleigh were such, as, having looked upon, we in vain
      wish to banish from our memory, to which they recur as objects of painful
      curiosity, although we dwell upon them with a feeling of dislike, and even
      of disgust. It was not the actual plainness of his face, taken separately
      from the meaning, which made this strong impression. His features were,
      indeed, irregular, but they were by no means vulgar; and his keen dark
      eyes, and shaggy eyebrows, redeemed his face from the charge of
      commonplace ugliness. But there was in these eyes an expression of art and
      design, and, on provocation, a ferocity tempered by caution, which nature
      had made obvious to the most ordinary physiognomist, perhaps with the same
      intention that she has given the rattle to the poisonous snake. As if to
      compensate him for these disadvantages of exterior, Rashleigh Osbaldistone
      was possessed of a voice the most soft, mellow, and rich in its tones that
      I ever heard, and was at no loss for language of every sort suited to so
      fine an organ. His first sentence of welcome was hardly ended, ere I
      internally agreed with Miss Vernon, that my new kinsman would make an
      instant conquest of a mistress whose ears alone were to judge his cause.
      He was about to place himself beside me at dinner, but Miss Vernon, who,
      as the only female in the family, arranged all such matters according to
      her own pleasure, contrived that I should sit betwixt Thorncliff and
      herself; and it can scarce be doubted that I favoured this more
      advantageous arrangement.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I want to speak with you," she said, "and I have placed honest Thornie
      betwixt Rashleigh and you on purpose. He will be like&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                    Feather-bed 'twixt castle wall
                    And heavy brunt of cannon ball,
</pre>
    <p>
      while I, your earliest acquaintance in this intellectual family, ask of
      you how you like us all?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "A very comprehensive question, Miss Vernon, considering how short while I
      have been at Osbaldistone Hall."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, the philosophy of our family lies on the surface&mdash;there are
      minute shades distinguishing the individuals, which require the eye of an
      intelligent observer; but the species, as naturalists I believe call it,
      may be distinguished and characterized at once."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My five elder cousins, then, are I presume of pretty nearly the same
      character."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, they form a happy compound of sot, gamekeeper, bully, horse-jockey,
      and fool; but as they say there cannot be found two leaves on the same
      tree exactly alike, so these happy ingredients, being mingled in somewhat
      various proportions in each individual, make an agreeable variety for
      those who like to study character."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Give me a sketch, if you please, Miss Vernon."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You shall have them all in a family-piece, at full length&mdash;the
      favour is too easily granted to be refused. Percie, the son and heir, has
      more of the sot than of the gamekeeper, bully, horse-jockey, or fool&mdash;My
      precious Thornie is more of the bully than the sot, gamekeeper, jockey, or
      fool&mdash;John, who sleeps whole weeks amongst the hills, has most of the
      gamekeeper&mdash;The jockey is powerful with Dickon, who rides two hundred
      miles by day and night to be bought and sold at a horse-race&mdash;And the
      fool predominates so much over Wilfred's other qualities, that he may be
      termed a fool positive."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A goodly collection, Miss Vernon, and the individual varieties belong to
      a most interesting species. But is there no room on the canvas for Sir
      Hildebrand?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I love my uncle," was her reply: "I owe him some kindness (such it was
      meant for at least), and I will leave you to draw his picture yourself,
      when you know him better."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come," thought I to myself, "I am glad there is some forbearance. After
      all, who would have looked for such bitter satire from a creature so
      young, and so exquisitely beautiful?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are thinking of me," she said, bending her dark eyes on me, as if she
      meant to pierce through my very soul.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I certainly was," I replied, with some embarrassment at the determined
      suddenness of the question, and then, endeavouring to give a complimentary
      turn to my frank avowal&mdash;"How is it possible I should think of
      anything else, seated as I have the happiness to be?"
    </p>
    <p>
      She smiled with such an expression of concentrated haughtiness as she
      alone could have thrown into her countenance. "I must inform you at once,
      Mr. Osbaldistone, that compliments are entirely lost upon me; do not,
      therefore, throw away your pretty sayings&mdash;they serve fine gentlemen
      who travel in the country, instead of the toys, beads, and bracelets,
      which navigators carry to propitiate the savage inhabitants of
      newly-discovered lands. Do not exhaust your stock in trade;&mdash;you will
      find natives in Northumberland to whom your fine things will recommend you&mdash;on
      me they would be utterly thrown away, for I happen to know their real
      value."
    </p>
    <p>
      I was silenced and confounded.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You remind me at this moment," said the young lady, resuming her lively
      and indifferent manner, "of the fairy tale, where the man finds all the
      money which he had carried to market suddenly changed into pieces of
      slate. I have cried down and ruined your whole stock of complimentary
      discourse by one unlucky observation. But come, never mind it&mdash;You
      are belied, Mr. Osbaldistone, unless you have much better conversation
      than these <i>fadeurs,</i> which every gentleman with a toupet thinks
      himself obliged to recite to an unfortunate girl, merely because she is
      dressed in silk and gauze, while he wears superfine cloth with embroidery.
      Your natural paces, as any of my five cousins might say, are far
      preferable to your complimentary amble. Endeavour to forget my unlucky
      sex; call me Tom Vernon, if you have a mind, but speak to me as you would
      to a friend and companion; you have no idea how much I shall like you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That would be a bribe indeed," returned I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Again!" replied Miss Vernon, holding up her finger; "I told you I would
      not bear the shadow of a compliment. And now, when you have pledged my
      uncle, who threatens you with what he calls a brimmer, I will tell you
      what you think of me."
    </p>
    <p>
      The bumper being pledged by me, as a dutiful nephew, and some other
      general intercourse of the table having taken place, the continued and
      business-like clang of knives and forks, and the devotion of cousin
      Thorncliff on my right hand, and cousin Dickon, who sate on Miss Vernon's
      left, to the huge quantities of meat with which they heaped their plates,
      made them serve as two occasional partitions, separating us from the rest
      of the company, and leaving us to our <i>tete-a-tete.</i> "And now," said
      I, "give me leave to ask you frankly, Miss Vernon, what you suppose I am
      thinking of you!&mdash;I could tell you what I really <i>do</i> think, but
      you have interdicted praise."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do not want your assistance. I am conjuror enough to tell your thoughts
      without it. You need not open the casement of your bosom; I see through
      it. You think me a strange bold girl, half coquette, half romp; desirous
      of attracting attention by the freedom of her manners and loudness of her
      conversation, because she is ignorant of what the Spectator calls the
      softer graces of the sex; and perhaps you think I have some particular
      plan of storming you into admiration. I should be sorry to shock your
      self-opinion, but you were never more mistaken. All the confidence I have
      reposed in you, I would have given as readily to your father, if I thought
      he could have understood me. I am in this happy family as much secluded
      from intelligent listeners as Sancho in the Sierra Morena, and when
      opportunity offers, I must speak or die. I assure you I would not have
      told you a word of all this curious intelligence, had I cared a pin who
      knew it or knew it not."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is very cruel in you, Miss Vernon, to take away all particular marks
      of favour from your communications, but I must receive them on your own
      terms.&mdash;You have not included Mr. Rashleigh Osbaldistone in your
      domestic sketches."
    </p>
    <p>
      She shrunk, I thought, at this remark, and hastily answered, in a much
      lower tone, "Not a word of Rashleigh! His ears are so acute when his
      selfishness is interested, that the sounds would reach him even through
      the mass of Thorncliff's person, stuffed as it is with beef,
      venison-pasty, and pudding."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," I replied; "but peeping past the living screen which divides us,
      before I put the question, I perceived that Mr. Rashleigh's chair was
      empty&mdash;he has left the table."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I would not have you be too sure of that," Miss Vernon replied. "Take my
      advice, and when you speak of Rashleigh, get up to the top of
      Otterscope-hill, where you can see for twenty miles round you in every
      direction&mdash;stand on the very peak, and speak in whispers; and, after
      all, don't be too sure that the bird of the air will not carry the matter,
      Rashleigh has been my tutor for four years; we are mutually tired of each
      other, and we shall heartily rejoice at our approaching separation."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Rashleigh leaves Osbaldistone Hall, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, in a few days;&mdash;did you not know that?&mdash;your father must
      keep his resolutions much more secret than Sir Hildebrand. Why, when my
      uncle was informed that you were to be his guest for some time, and that
      your father desired to have one of his hopeful sons to fill up the
      lucrative situation in his counting-house which was vacant by your
      obstinacy, Mr. Francis, the good knight held a <i>cour ple'nie're</i> of
      all his family, including the butler, housekeeper, and gamekeeper. This
      reverend assembly of the peers and household officers of Osbaldistone Hall
      was not convoked, as you may suppose, to elect your substitute, because,
      as Rashleigh alone possessed more arithmetic than was necessary to
      calculate the odds on a fighting cock, none but he could be supposed
      qualified for the situation. But some solemn sanction was necessary for
      transforming Rashleigh's destination from starving as a Catholic priest to
      thriving as a wealthy banker; and it was not without some reluctance that
      the acquiescence of the assembly was obtained to such an act of
      degradation."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I can conceive the scruples&mdash;but how were they got over?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "By the general wish, I believe, to get Rashleigh out of the house,"
      replied Miss Vernon. "Although youngest of the family, he has somehow or
      other got the entire management of all the others; and every one is
      sensible of the subjection, though they cannot shake it off. If any one
      opposes him, he is sure to rue having done so before the year goes about;
      and if you do him a very important service, you may rue it still more."
    </p>
    <p>
      "At that rate," answered I, smiling, "I should look about me; for I have
      been the cause, however unintentionally, of his change of situation."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes; and whether he regards it as an advantage or disadvantage, he will
      owe you a grudge for it&mdash;But here comes cheese, radishes, and a
      bumper to church and king, the hint for chaplains and ladies to disappear;
      and I, the sole representative of womanhood at Osbaldistone Hall, retreat,
      as in duty bound."
    </p>
    <p>
      She vanished as she spoke, leaving me in astonishment at the mingled
      character of shrewdness, audacity, and frankness, which her conversation
      displayed. I despair conveying to you the least idea of her manner,
      although I have, as nearly as I can remember, imitated her language. In
      fact, there was a mixture of untaught simplicity, as well as native
      shrewdness and haughty boldness, in her manner, and all were modified and
      recommended by the play of the most beautiful features I had ever beheld.
      It is not to be thought that, however strange and uncommon I might think
      her liberal and unreserved communications, a young man of two-and-twenty
      was likely to be severely critical on a beautiful girl of eighteen, for
      not observing a proper distance towards him. On the contrary, I was
      equally diverted and flattered by Miss Vernon's confidence, and that
      notwithstanding her declaration of its being conferred on me solely
      because I was the first auditor who occurred, of intelligence enough to
      comprehend it. With the presumption of my age, certainly not diminished by
      my residence in France, I imagined that well-formed features, and a
      handsome person, both which I conceived myself to possess, were not
      unsuitable qualifications for the confidant of a young beauty. My vanity
      thus enlisted in Miss Vernon's behalf, I was far from judging her with
      severity, merely for a frankness which I supposed was in some degree
      justified by my own personal merit; and the feelings of partiality, which
      her beauty, and the singularity of her situation, were of themselves
      calculated to excite, were enhanced by my opinion of her penetration and
      judgment in her choice of a friend.
    </p>
    <p>
      After Miss Vernon quitted the apartment, the bottle circulated, or rather
      flew, around the table in unceasing revolution. My foreign education had
      given me a distaste to intemperance, then and yet too common a vice among
      my countrymen. The conversation which seasoned such orgies was as little
      to my taste, and if anything could render it more disgusting, it was the
      relationship of the company. I therefore seized a lucky opportunity, and
      made my escape through a side door, leading I knew not whither, rather
      than endure any longer the sight of father and sons practising the same
      degrading intemperance, and holding the same coarse and disgusting
      conversation. I was pursued, of course, as I had expected, to be reclaimed
      by force, as a deserter from the shrine of Bacchus. When I heard the whoop
      and hollo, and the tramp of the heavy boots of my pursuers on the winding
      stair which I was descending, I plainly foresaw I should be overtaken
      unless I could get into the open air. I therefore threw open a casement in
      the staircase, which looked into an old-fashioned garden, and as the
      height did not exceed six feet, I jumped out without hesitation, and soon
      heard far behind the "hey whoop! stole away! stole away!" of my baffled
      pursuers. I ran down one alley, walked fast up another; and then,
      conceiving myself out of all danger of pursuit, I slackened my pace into a
      quiet stroll, enjoying the cool air which the heat of the wine I had been
      obliged to swallow, as well as that of my rapid retreat, rendered doubly
      grateful.
    </p>
    <p>
      As I sauntered on, I found the gardener hard at his evening employment,
      and saluted him, as I paused to look at his work.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good even, my friend."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Gude e'en&mdash;gude e'en t'ye," answered the man, without looking up,
      and in a tone which at once indicated his northern extraction.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Fine weather for your work, my friend."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's no that muckle to be compleened o'," answered the man, with that
      limited degree of praise which gardeners and farmers usually bestow on the
      very best weather. Then raising his head, as if to see who spoke to him,
      he touched his Scotch bonnet with an air of respect, as he observed, "Eh,
      gude safe us!&mdash;it's a sight for sair een, to see a gold-laced
      jeistiecor in the Ha'garden sae late at e'en."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A gold-laced what, my good friend?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ou, a jeistiecor*&mdash;that's a jacket like your ain, there. They
    </p>
    <p>
      * Perhaps from the French <i>Juste-au-corps.</i>
    </p>
    <p>
      hae other things to do wi' them up yonder&mdash;unbuttoning them to make
      room for the beef and the bag-puddings, and the claret-wine, nae doubt&mdash;that's
      the ordinary for evening lecture on this side the border."
    </p>
    <p>
      "There's no such plenty of good cheer in your country, my good friend," I
      replied, "as to tempt you to sit so late at it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hout, sir, ye ken little about Scotland; it's no for want of gude vivers&mdash;the
      best of fish, flesh, and fowl hae we, by sybos, ingans, turneeps, and
      other garden fruit. But we hae mense and discretion, and are moderate of
      our mouths;&mdash;but here, frae the kitchen to the ha', it's fill and
      fetch mair, frae the tae end of the four-and-twenty till the tother. Even
      their fast days&mdash;they ca' it fasting when they hae the best o'
      sea-fish frae Hartlepool and Sunderland by land carriage, forbye trouts,
      grilses, salmon, and a' the lave o't, and so they make their very fasting
      a kind of luxury and abomination; and then the awfu' masses and matins of
      the puir deceived souls&mdash;But I shouldna speak about them, for your
      honour will be a Roman, I'se warrant, like the lave."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not I, my friend; I was bred an English presbyterian, or dissenter."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The right hand of fellowship to your honour, then," quoth the gardener,
      with as much alacrity as his hard features were capable of expressing,
      and, as if to show that his good-will did not rest on words, he plucked
      forth a huge horn snuff-box, or mull, as he called it, and proffered a
      pinch with a most fraternal grin.
    </p>
    <p>
      Having accepted his courtesy, I asked him if he had been long a domestic
      at Osbaldistone Hall.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have been fighting with wild beasts at Ephesus," said he, looking
      towards the building, "for the best part of these four-and-twenty years,
      as sure as my name's Andrew Fairservice."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, my excellent friend, Andrew Fairservice, if your religion and your
      temperance are so much offended by Roman rituals and southern hospitality,
      it seems to me that you must have been putting yourself to an unnecessary
      penance all this while, and that you might have found a service where they
      eat less, and are more orthodox in their worship. I dare say it cannot be
      want of skill which prevented your being placed more to your
      satisfaction."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It disna become me to speak to the point of my qualifications," said
      Andrew, looking round him with great complacency; "but nae doubt I should
      understand my trade of horticulture, seeing I was bred in the parish of
      Dreepdaily, where they raise lang-kale under glass, and force the early
      nettles for their spring kale. And, to speak truth, I hae been flitting
      every term these four-and-twenty years; but when the time comes, there's
      aye something to saw that I would like to see sawn,&mdash;or something to
      maw that I would like to see mawn,&mdash;or something to ripe that I would
      like to see ripen,&mdash;and sae I e'en daiker on wi' the family frae
      year's end to year's end. And I wad say for certain, that I am gaun to
      quit at Cannlemas, only I was just as positive on it twenty years syne,
      and I find mysell still turning up the mouls here, for a' that. Forbye
      that, to tell your honour the evendown truth, there's nae better place
      ever offered to Andrew. But if your honour wad wush me to ony place where
      I wad hear pure doctrine, and hae a free cow's grass, and a cot, and a
      yard, and mair than ten punds of annual fee, and where there's nae leddy
      about the town to count the apples, I'se hold mysell muckle indebted
      t'ye."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Bravo, Andrew! I perceive you'll lose no preferment for want of asking
      patronage."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I canna see what for I should," replied Andrew; "it's no a generation to
      wait till ane's worth's discovered, I trow."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But you are no friend, I observe, to the ladies."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Na, by my troth, I keep up the first gardener's quarrel to them. They're
      fasheous bargains&mdash;aye crying for apricocks, pears, plums, and
      apples, summer and winter, without distinction o' seasons; but we hae nae
      slices o' the spare rib here, be praised for't! except auld Martha, and
      she's weel eneugh pleased wi' the freedom o' the berry-bushes to her
      sister's weans, when they come to drink tea in a holiday in the
      housekeeper's room, and wi' a wheen codlings now and then for her ain
      private supper."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You forget your young mistress."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What mistress do I forget?&mdash;whae's that?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your young mistress, Miss Vernon."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What! the lassie Vernon?&mdash;She's nae mistress o' mine, man. I wish
      she was her ain mistress; and I wish she mayna be some other body's
      mistress or it's lang&mdash;She's a wild slip that."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed!" said I, more interested than I cared to own to myself, or to
      show to the fellow&mdash;"why, Andrew, you know all the secrets of this
      family."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If I ken them, I can keep them," said Andrew; "they winna work in my wame
      like harm in a barrel, I'se warrant ye. Miss Die is&mdash;but it's neither
      beef nor brose o' mine."
    </p>
    <p>
      And he began to dig with a great semblance of assiduity.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What is Miss Vernon, Andrew? I am a friend of the family, and should like
      to know."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Other than a gude ane, I'm fearing," said Andrew, closing one eye hard,
      and shaking his head with a grave and mysterious look&mdash;"something
      glee'd&mdash;your honour understands me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I cannot say I do," said I, "Andrew; but I should like to hear you
      explain yourself;" and therewithal I slipped a crown-piece into Andrew's
      horn-hard hand. The touch of the silver made him grin a ghastly smile, as
      he nodded slowly, and thrust it into his breeches pocket; and then, like a
      man who well understood that there was value to be returned, stood up, and
      rested his arms on his spade, with his features composed into the most
      important gravity, as for some serious communication.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ye maun ken, then, young gentleman, since it imports you to know, that
      Miss Vernon is"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      Here breaking off, he sucked in both his cheeks, till his lantern jaws and
      long chin assumed the appearance of a pair of nut-crackers; winked hard
      once more, frowned, shook his head, and seemed to think his physiognomy
      had completed the information which his tongue had not fully told.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good God!" said I&mdash;"so young, so beautiful, so early lost!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Troth ye may say sae&mdash;she's in a manner lost, body and saul; forby
      being a Papist, I'se uphaud her for"&mdash;and his northern caution
      prevailed, and he was again silent.
    </p>
    <p>
      "For what, sir?" said I sternly. "I insist on knowing the plain meaning of
      all this."
    </p>
    <p>
      "On, just for the bitterest Jacobite in the haill shire."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pshaw! a Jacobite?&mdash;is that all?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Andrew looked at me with some astonishment, at hearing his information
      treated so lightly; and then muttering, "Aweel, it's the warst thing I ken
      aboot the lassie, howsoe'er," he resumed his spade, like the king of the
      Vandals, in Marmontel's late novel.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="linkCH0007" id="linkCH0007">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER SEVENTH.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
    <i>Bardolph.</i>&mdash;The sheriff, with a monstrous watch, is at the door.
                          Henry IV. <i>First Part.</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      I found out with some difficulty the apartment which was destined for my
      accommodation; and having secured myself the necessary good-will and
      attention from my uncle's domestics, by using the means they were most
      capable of comprehending, I secluded myself there for the remainder of the
      evening, conjecturing, from the fair way in which I had left my new
      relatives, as well as from the distant noise which continued to echo from
      the stone-hall (as their banqueting-room was called), that they were not
      likely to be fitting company for a sober man.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What could my father mean by sending me to be an inmate in this strange
      family?" was my first and most natural reflection. My uncle, it was plain,
      received me as one who was to make some stay with him, and his rude
      hospitality rendered him as indifferent as King Hal to the number of those
      who fed at his cost. But it was plain my presence or absence would be of
      as little importance in his eyes as that of one of his blue-coated
      serving-men. My cousins were mere cubs, in whose company I might, if I
      liked it, unlearn whatever decent manners, or elegant accomplishments, I
      had acquired, but where I could attain no information beyond what regarded
      worming dogs, rowelling horses, and following foxes. I could only imagine
      one reason, which was probably the true one. My father considered the life
      which was led at Osbaldistone Hall as the natural and inevitable pursuits
      of all country gentlemen, and he was desirous, by giving me an opportunity
      of seeing that with which he knew I should be disgusted, to reconcile me,
      if possible, to take an active share in his own business. In the meantime,
      he would take Rashleigh Osbaldistone into the counting-house. But he had
      an hundred modes of providing for him, and that advantageously, whenever
      he chose to get rid of him. So that, although I did feel a certain qualm
      of conscience at having been the means of introducing Rashleigh, being
      such as he was described by Miss Vernon, into my father's business&mdash;perhaps
      into his confidence&mdash;I subdued it by the reflection that my father
      was complete master of his own affairs&mdash;a man not to be imposed upon,
      or influenced by any one&mdash;and that all I knew to the young
      gentleman's prejudice was through the medium of a singular and giddy girl,
      whose communications were made with an injudicious frankness, which might
      warrant me in supposing her conclusions had been hastily or inaccurately
      formed. Then my mind naturally turned to Miss Vernon herself; her extreme
      beauty; her very peculiar situation, relying solely upon her reflections,
      and her own spirit, for guidance and protection; and her whole character
      offering that variety and spirit which piques our curiosity, and engages
      our attention in spite of ourselves. I had sense enough to consider the
      neighbourhood of this singular young lady, and the chance of our being
      thrown into very close and frequent intercourse, as adding to the dangers,
      while it relieved the dulness, of Osbaldistone Hall; but I could not, with
      the fullest exertion of my prudence, prevail upon myself to regret
      excessively this new and particular hazard to which I was to be exposed.
      This scruple I also settled as young men settle most difficulties of the
      kind&mdash;I would be very cautious, always on my guard, consider Miss
      Vernon rather as a companion than an intimate; and all would do well
      enough. With these reflections I fell asleep, Miss Vernon, of course,
      forming the last subject of my contemplation.
    </p>
    <p>
      Whether I dreamed of her or not, I cannot satisfy you, for I was tired and
      slept soundly. But she was the first person I thought of in the morning,
      when waked at dawn by the cheerful notes of the hunting horn. To start up,
      and direct my horse to be saddled, was my first movement; and in a few
      minutes I was in the court-yard, where men, dogs, and horses, were in full
      preparation. My uncle, who, perhaps, was not entitled to expect a very
      alert sportsman in his nephew, bred as he had been in foreign parts,
      seemed rather surprised to see me, and I thought his morning salutation
      wanted something of the hearty and hospitable tone which distinguished his
      first welcome. "Art there, lad?&mdash;ay, youth's aye rathe&mdash;but look
      to thysell&mdash;mind the old song, lad&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
             He that gallops his horse on Blackstone edge
                      May chance to catch a fall."
</pre>
    <p>
      I believe there are few young men, and those very sturdy moralists, who
      would not rather be taxed with some moral peccadillo than with want of
      knowledge in horsemanship. As I was by no means deficient either in skill
      or courage, I resented my uncle's insinuation accordingly, and assured him
      he would find me up with the hounds.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I doubtna, lad," was his reply; "thou'rt a rank rider, I'se warrant thee&mdash;but
      take heed. Thy father sent thee here to me to be bitted, and I doubt I
      must ride thee on the curb, or we'll hae some one to ride thee on the
      halter, if I takena the better heed."
    </p>
    <p>
      As this speech was totally unintelligible to me&mdash;as, besides, it did
      not seem to be delivered for my use, or benefit, but was spoken as it were
      aside, and as if expressing aloud something which was passing through the
      mind of my much-honoured uncle, I concluded it must either refer to my
      desertion of the bottle on the preceding evening, or that my uncle's
      morning hours being a little discomposed by the revels of the night
      before, his temper had suffered in proportion. I only made the passing
      reflection, that if he played the ungracious landlord, I would remain the
      shorter while his guest, and then hastened to salute Miss Vernon, who
      advanced cordially to meet me. Some show of greeting also passed between
      my cousins and me; but as I saw them maliciously bent upon criticising my
      dress and accoutrements, from the cap to the stirrup-irons, and sneering
      at whatever had a new or foreign appearance, I exempted myself from the
      task of paying them much attention; and assuming, in requital of their
      grins and whispers, an air of the utmost indifference and contempt, I
      attached myself to Miss Vernon, as the only person in the party whom I
      could regard as a suitable companion. By her side, therefore, we sallied
      forth to the destined cover, which was a dingle or copse on the side of an
      extensive common. As we rode thither, I observed to Diana, "that I did not
      see my cousin Rashleigh in the field;" to which she replied,&mdash;"O no&mdash;he's
      a mighty hunter, but it's after the fashion of Nimrod, and his game is
      man."
    </p>
    <p>
      The dogs now brushed into the cover, with the appropriate encouragement
      from the hunters&mdash;all was business, bustle, and activity. My cousins
      were soon too much interested in the business of the morning to take any
      further notice of me, unless that I overheard Dickon the horse-jockey
      whisper to Wilfred the fool&mdash;"Look thou, an our French cousin be nat
      off a' first burst."
    </p>
    <p>
      To which Wilfred answered, "Like enow, for he has a queer outlandish
      binding on's castor."
    </p>
    <p>
      Thorncliff, however, who in his rude way seemed not absolutely insensible
      to the beauty of his kinswoman, appeared determined to keep us company
      more closely than his brothers,&mdash;perhaps to watch what passed betwixt
      Miss Vernon and me&mdash;perhaps to enjoy my expected mishaps in the
      chase. In the last particular he was disappointed. After beating in vain
      for the greater part of the morning, a fox was at length found, who led us
      a chase of two hours, in the course of which, notwithstanding the
      ill-omened French binding upon my hat, I sustained my character as a
      horseman to the admiration of my uncle and Miss Vernon, and the secret
      disappointment of those who expected me to disgrace it. Reynard, however,
      proved too wily for his pursuers, and the hounds were at fault. I could at
      this time observe in Miss Vernon's manner an impatience of the close
      attendance which we received from Thorncliff Osbaldistone; and, as that
      active-spirited young lady never hesitated at taking the readiest means to
      gratify any wish of the moment, she said to him, in a tone of reproach&mdash;"I
      wonder, Thornie, what keeps you dangling at my horse's crupper all this
      morning, when you know the earths above Woolverton-mill are not stopt."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I know no such an thing then, Miss Die, for the miller swore himself as
      black as night, that he stopt them at twelve o'clock midnight that was."
    </p>
    <p>
      "O fie upon you, Thornie! would you trust to a miller's word?&mdash;and
      these earths, too, where we lost the fox three times this season! and you
      on your grey mare, that can gallop there and back in ten minutes!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, Miss Die, I'se go to Woolverton then, and if the earths are not
      stopt, I'se raddle Dick the miller's bones for him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do, my dear Thornie; horsewhip the rascal to purpose&mdash;via&mdash;fly
      away, and about it;"&mdash;Thorncliff went off at the gallop&mdash;"or get
      horsewhipt yourself, which will serve my purpose just as well.&mdash;I
      must teach them all discipline and obedience to the word of command. I am
      raising a regiment, you must know. Thornie shall be my sergeant-major,
      Dickon my riding-master, and Wilfred, with his deep dub-a-dub tones, that
      speak but three syllables at a time, my kettle-drummer."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And Rashleigh?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Rashleigh shall be my scout-master." "And will you find no employment for
      me, most lovely colonel?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You shall have the choice of being pay-master, or plunder-master, to the
      corps. But see how the dogs puzzle about there. Come, Mr. Frank, the
      scent's cold; they won't recover it there this while; follow me, I have a
      view to show you."
    </p>
    <p>
      And in fact, she cantered up to the top of a gentle hill, commanding an
      extensive prospect. Casting her eyes around, to see that no one was near
      us, she drew up her horse beneath a few birch-trees, which screened us
      from the rest of the hunting-field&mdash;"Do you see yon peaked, brown,
      heathy hill, having something like a whitish speck upon the side?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Terminating that long ridge of broken moorish uplands?&mdash;I see it
      distinctly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That whitish speck is a rock called Hawkesmore-crag, and Hawkesmore-crag
      is in Scotland."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed! I did not think we had been so near Scotland."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is so, I assure you, and your horse will carry you there in two
      hours."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I shall hardly give him the trouble; why, the distance must be eighteen
      miles as the crow flies."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You may have my mare, if you think her less blown&mdash;I say, that in
      two hours you may be in Scotland."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And I say, that I have so little desire to be there, that if my horse's
      head were over the Border, I would not give his tail the trouble of
      following. What should I do in Scotland?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Provide for your safety, if I must speak plainly. Do you understand me
      now, Mr. Frank?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not a whit; you are more and more oracular."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then, on my word, you either mistrust me most unjustly, and are a better
      dissembler than Rashleigh Osbaldistone himself, or you know nothing of
      what is imputed to you; and then no wonder you stare at me in that grave
      manner, which I can scarce see without laughing."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Upon my word of honour, Miss Vernon," said I, with an impatient feeling
      of her childish disposition to mirth, "I have not the most distant
      conception of what you mean. I am happy to afford you any subject of
      amusement, but I am quite ignorant in what it consists."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, there's no sound jest after all," said the young lady, composing
      herself; "only one looks so very ridiculous when he is fairly perplexed.
      But the matter is serious enough. Do you know one Moray, or Morris, or
      some such name?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not that I can at present recollect."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Think a moment. Did you not lately travel with somebody of such a name?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The only man with whom I travelled for any length of time was a fellow
      whose soul seemed to lie in his portmanteau."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then it was like the soul of the licentiate Pedro Garcias, which lay
      among the ducats in his leathern purse. That man has been robbed, and he
      has lodged an information against you, as connected with the violence done
      to him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You jest, Miss Vernon!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do not, I assure you&mdash;the thing is an absolute fact."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And do you," said I, with strong indignation, which I did not attempt to
      suppress, "do you suppose me capable of meriting such a charge?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You would call me out for it, I suppose, had I the advantage of being a
      man&mdash;You may do so as it is, if you like it&mdash;I can shoot flying,
      as well as leap a five-barred gate."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And are colonel of a regiment of horse besides," replied I, reflecting
      how idle it was to be angry with her&mdash;"But do explain the present
      jest to me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "There's no jest whatever," said Diana; "you are accused of robbing this
      man, and my uncle believes it as well as I did."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Upon my honour, I am greatly obliged to my friends for their good
      opinion!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now do not, if you can help it, snort, and stare, and snuff the wind, and
      look so exceedingly like a startled horse&mdash;There's no such offence as
      you suppose&mdash;you are not charged with any petty larceny or vulgar
      felony&mdash;by no means. This fellow was carrying money from Government,
      both specie and bills, to pay the troops in the north; and it is said he
      has been also robbed of some despatches of great consequence."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And so it is high treason, then, and not simple robbery, of which I am
      accused!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Certainly&mdash;which, you know, has been in all ages accounted the crime
      of a gentleman. You will find plenty in this country, and one not far from
      your elbow, who think it a merit to distress the Hanoverian government by
      every means possible."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Neither my politics nor my morals, Miss Vernon, are of a description so
      accommodating."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I really begin to believe that you are a Presbyterian and Hanoverian in
      good earnest. But what do you propose to do?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Instantly to refute this atrocious calumny.&mdash;Before whom," I asked,
      "was this extraordinary accusation laid."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Before old Squire Inglewood, who had sufficient unwillingness to receive
      it. He sent tidings to my uncle, I suppose, that he might smuggle you away
      into Scotland, out of reach of the warrant. But my uncle is sensible that
      his religion and old predilections render him obnoxious to Government, and
      that, were he caught playing booty, he would be disarmed, and probably
      dismounted (which would be the worse evil of the two), as a Jacobite,
      papist, and suspected person."*
    </p>
    <p>
      * On occasions of public alarm, in the beginning of the eighteenth
      century, the horses of the Catholics were often seized upon, as they were
      always supposed to be on the eve of rising in rebellion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I can conceive that, sooner than lose his hunters, he would give up his
      nephew."
    </p>
    <p>
      "His nephew, nieces, sons&mdash;daughters, if he had them, and whole
      generation," said Diana;&mdash;"therefore trust not to him, even for a
      single moment, but make the best of your way before they can serve the
      warrant."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That I shall certainly do; but it shall be to the house of this Squire
      Inglewood&mdash;Which way does it lie?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "About five miles off, in the low ground, behind yonder plantations&mdash;you
      may see the tower of the clock-house."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will be there in a few minutes," said I, putting my horse in motion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And I will go with you, and show you the way," said Diana, putting her
      palfrey also to the trot.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do not think of it, Miss Vernon," I replied. "It is not&mdash;permit me
      the freedom of a friend&mdash;it is not proper, scarcely even delicate, in
      you to go with me on such an errand as I am now upon."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I understand your meaning," said Miss Vernon, a slight blush crossing her
      haughty brow;&mdash;"it is plainly spoken;" and after a moment's pause she
      added, "and I believe kindly meant."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is indeed, Miss Vernon. Can you think me insensible of the interest
      you show me, or ungrateful for it?" said I, with even more earnestness
      than I could have wished to express. "Yours is meant for true kindness,
      shown best at the hour of need. But I must not, for your own sake&mdash;for
      the chance of misconstruction&mdash;suffer you to pursue the dictates of
      your generosity; this is so public an occasion&mdash;it is almost like
      venturing into an open court of justice."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And if it were not almost, but altogether entering into an open court of
      justice, do you think I would not go there if I thought it right, and
      wished to protect a friend? You have no one to stand by you&mdash;you are
      a stranger; and here, in the outskirts of the kingdom, country justices do
      odd things. My uncle has no desire to embroil himself in your affair;
      Rashleigh is absent, and were he here, there is no knowing which side he
      might take; the rest are all more stupid and brutal one than another. I
      will go with you, and I do not fear being able to serve you. I am no fine
      lady, to be terrified to death with law-books, hard words, or big wigs."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But my dear Miss Vernon"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "But my dear Mr. Francis, be patient and quiet, and let me take my own
      way; for when I take the bit between my teeth, there is no bridle will
      stop me."
    </p>
    <p>
      Flattered with the interest so lovely a creature seemed to take in my
      fate, yet vexed at the ridiculous appearance I should make, by carrying a
      girl of eighteen along with me as an advocate, and seriously concerned for
      the misconstruction to which her motives might be exposed, I endeavoured
      to combat her resolution to accompany me to Squire Inglewood's. The
      self-willed girl told me roundly, that my dissuasions were absolutely in
      vain; that she was a true Vernon, whom no consideration, not even that of
      being able to do but little to assist him, should induce to abandon a
      friend in distress; and that all I could say on the subject might be very
      well for pretty, well-educated, well-behaved misses from a town
      boarding-school, but did not apply to her, who was accustomed to mind
      nobody's opinion but her own.
    </p>
    <p>
      While she spoke thus, we were advancing hastily towards Inglewood Place,
      while, as if to divert me from the task of further remonstrance, she drew
      a ludicrous picture of the magistrate and his clerk.&mdash;Inglewood was&mdash;according
      to her description&mdash;a white-washed Jacobite; that is, one who, having
      been long a non-juror, like most of the other gentlemen of the country,
      had lately qualified himself to act as a justice, by taking the oaths to
      Government. "He had done so," she said, "in compliance with the urgent
      request of most of his brother squires, who saw, with regret, that the
      palladium of silvan sport, the game-laws, were likely to fall into disuse
      for want of a magistrate who would enforce them; the nearest acting
      justice being the Mayor of Newcastle, and he, as being rather inclined to
      the consumption of the game when properly dressed, than to its
      preservation when alive, was more partial, of course, to the cause of the
      poacher than of the sportsman. Resolving, therefore, that it was expedient
      some one of their number should sacrifice the scruples of Jacobitical
      loyalty to the good of the community, the Northumbrian country gentlemen
      imposed the duty on Inglewood, who, being very inert in most of his
      feelings and sentiments, might, they thought, comply with any political
      creed without much repugnance. Having thus procured the body of justice,
      they proceeded," continued Miss Vernon, "to attach to it a clerk, by way
      of soul, to direct and animate its movements. Accordingly they got a sharp
      Newcastle attorney, called Jobson, who, to vary my metaphor, finds it a
      good thing enough to retail justice at the sign of Squire Inglewood, and,
      as his own emoluments depend on the quantity of business which he
      transacts, he hooks in his principal for a great deal more employment in
      the justice line than the honest squire had ever bargained for; so that no
      apple-wife within the circuit of ten miles can settle her account with a
      costermonger without an audience of the reluctant Justice and his alert
      clerk, Mr. Joseph Jobson. But the most ridiculous scenes occur when
      affairs come before him, like our business of to-day, having any colouring
      of politics. Mr. Joseph Jobson (for which, no doubt, he has his own very
      sufficient reasons) is a prodigious zealot for the Protestant religion,
      and a great friend to the present establishment in church and state. Now,
      his principal, retaining a sort of instinctive attachment to the opinions
      which he professed openly until he relaxed his political creed with the
      patriotic view of enforcing the law against unauthorized destroyers of
      black-game, grouse, partridges, and hares, is peculiarly embarrassed when
      the zeal of his assistant involves him in judicial proceedings connected
      with his earlier faith; and, instead of seconding his zeal, he seldom
      fails to oppose to it a double dose of indolence and lack of exertion. And
      this inactivity does not by any means arise from actual stupidity. On the
      contrary, for one whose principal delight is in eating and drinking, he is
      an alert, joyous, and lively old soul, which makes his assumed dulness the
      more diverting. So you may see Jobson on such occasions, like a bit of a
      broken down blood-tit condemned to drag an overloaded cart, puffing,
      strutting, and spluttering, to get the Justice put in motion, while,
      though the wheels groan, creak, and revolve slowly, the great and
      preponderating weight of the vehicle fairly frustrates the efforts of the
      willing quadruped, and prevents its being brought into a state of actual
      progression. Nay more, the unfortunate pony, I understand, has been heard
      to complain that this same car of justice, which he finds it so hard to
      put in motion on some occasions, can on others run fast enough down hill
      of its own accord, dragging his reluctant self backwards along with it,
      when anything can be done of service to Squire Inglewood's quondam
      friends. And then Mr. Jobson talks big about reporting his principal to
      the Secretary of State for the Home Department, if it were not for his
      particular regard and friendship for Mr. Inglewood and his family."
    </p>
    <p>
      As Miss Vernon concluded this whimsical description, we found ourselves in
      front of Inglewood Place, a handsome, though old-fashioned building. which
      showed the consequence of the family.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="linkCH0008" id="linkCH0008">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER EIGHTH.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
               "Sir," quoth the Lawyer, "not to flatter ye,
                   You have as good and fair a battery
                As heart could wish, and need not shame
                   The proudest man alive to claim."
                                              Butler.
</pre>
    <p>
      Our horses were taken by a servant in Sir Hildebrand's livery, whom we
      found in the court-yard, and we entered the house. In the entrance-hall I
      was somewhat surprised, and my fair companion still more so, when we met
      Rashleigh Osbaldistone, who could not help showing equal wonder at our
      rencontre.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Rashleigh," said Miss Vernon, without giving him time to ask any
      question, "you have heard of Mr. Francis Osbaldistone's affair, and you
      have been talking to the Justice about it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Certainly," said Rashleigh, composedly&mdash;"it has been my business
      here.&mdash; I have been endeavouring," he said, with a bow to me, "to
      render my cousin what service I can. But I am sorry to meet him here."
    </p>
    <p>
      "As a friend and relation, Mr. Osbaldistone, you ought to have been sorry
      to have met me anywhere else, at a time when the charge of my reputation
      required me to be on this spot as soon as possible."
    </p>
    <p>
      "True; but judging from what my father said, I should have supposed a
      short retreat into Scotland&mdash;just till matters should be smoothed
      over in a quiet way"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      I answered with warmth, "That I had no prudential measures to observe, and
      desired to have nothing smoothed over;&mdash;on the contrary, I was come
      to inquire into a rascally calumny, which I was determined to probe to the
      bottom."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Francis Osbaldistone is an innocent man, Rashleigh," said Miss
      Vernon, "and he demands an investigation of the charge against him, and I
      intend to support him in it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You do, my pretty cousin?&mdash;I should think, now, Mr. Francis
      Osbaldistone was likely to be as effectually, and rather more delicately,
      supported by my presence than by yours."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, certainly; but two heads are better than one, you know."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Especially such a head as yours, my pretty Die," advancing and taking her
      hand with a familiar fondness, which made me think him fifty times uglier
      than nature had made him. She led him, however, a few steps aside; they
      conversed in an under voice, and she appeared to insist upon some request
      which he was unwilling or unable to comply with. I never saw so strong a
      contrast betwixt the expression of two faces. Miss Vernon's, from being
      earnest, became angry; her eyes and cheeks became more animated, her
      colour mounted, she clenched her little hand, and stamping on the ground
      with her tiny foot, seemed to listen with a mixture of contempt and
      indignation to the apologies, which, from his look of civil deference, his
      composed and respectful smile, his body rather drawing back than advanced,
      and other signs of look and person, I concluded him to be pouring out at
      her feet. At length she flung away from him, with "I <i>will</i> have it
      so."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is not in my power&mdash;there is no possibility of it.&mdash;Would
      you think it, Mr. Osbaldistone?" said he, addressing me&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are not mad?" said she, interrupting him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Would you think it?" said he, without attending to her hint&mdash;"Miss
      Vernon insists, not only that I know your innocence (of which, indeed, it
      is impossible for any one to be more convinced), but that I must also be
      acquainted with the real perpetrators of the outrage on this fellow&mdash;if
      indeed such an outrage has been committed. Is this reasonable, Mr.
      Osbaldistone?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will not allow any appeal to Mr. Osbaldistone, Rashleigh," said the
      young lady; "he does not know, as I do, the incredible extent and accuracy
      of your information on all points."
    </p>
    <p>
      "As I am a gentleman, you do me more honour than I deserve."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Justice, Rashleigh&mdash;only justice:&mdash;and it is only justice which
      I expect at your hands."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are a tyrant, Diana," he answered, with a sort of sigh&mdash;"a
      capricious tyrant, and rule your friends with a rod of iron. Still,
      however, it shall be as you desire. But you ought not to be here&mdash;you
      know you ought not;&mdash;you must return with me."
    </p>
    <p>
      Then turning from Diana, who seemed to stand undecided, he came up to me
      in the most friendly manner, and said, "Do not doubt my interest in what
      regards you, Mr. Osbaldistone. If I leave you just at this moment, it is
      only to act for your advantage. But you must use your influence with your
      cousin to return; her presence cannot serve you, and must prejudice
      herself."
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
"I assure you, sir," I replied, "you cannot be more convinced of this
than I; I have urged Miss Vernon's return as anxiously as she would
permit me to do."

 "I have thought on it," said Miss Vernon after a pause, "and I will not
go till I see you safe out of the hands of the Philistines. Cousin
Rashleigh, I dare say, means well; but he and I know each other well.
Rashleigh, I will not go;&mdash;I know," she added, in a more soothing tone,
"my being here will give you more motive for speed and exertion."
</pre>
    <p>
      "Stay then, rash, obstinate girl," said Rashleigh; "you know but too well
      to whom you trust;" and hastening out of the hall, we heard his horse's
      feet a minute afterwards in rapid motion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thank Heaven he is gone!" said Diana. "And now let us seek out the
      Justice."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Had we not better call a servant?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, by no means; I know the way to his den&mdash;we must burst on him
      suddenly&mdash;follow me."
    </p>
    <p>
      I did follow her accordingly, as she tripped up a few gloomy steps,
      traversed a twilight passage, and entered a sort of ante-room, hung round
      with old maps, architectural elevations, and genealogical trees. A pair of
      folding-doors opened from this into Mr. Inglewood's sitting apartment,
      from which was heard the fag-end of an old ditty, chanted by a voice which
      had been in its day fit for a jolly bottle-song.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                       "O, in Skipton-in-Craven
                           Is never a haven,
                        But many a day foul weather;
                           And he that would say
                           A pretty girl nay,
                        I wish for his cravat a tether."
</pre>
    <p>
      "Heyday!" said Miss Vernon, "the genial Justice must have dined already&mdash;I
      did not think it had been so late."
    </p>
    <p>
      It was even so. Mr. Inglewood's appetite having been sharpened by his
      official investigations, he had antedated his meridian repast, having
      dined at twelve instead of one o'clock, then the general dining hour in
      England. The various occurrences of the morning occasioned our arriving
      some time after this hour, to the Justice the most important of the
      four-and-twenty, and he had not neglected the interval.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Stay you here," said Diana. "I know the house, and I will call a servant;
      your sudden appearance might startle the old gentleman even to choking;"
      and she escaped from me, leaving me uncertain whether I ought to advance
      or retreat. It was impossible for me not to hear some part of what passed
      within the dinner apartment, and particularly several apologies for
      declining to sing, expressed in a dejected croaking voice, the tones of
      which, I conceived, were not entirely new to me.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not sing, sir? by our Lady! but you must&mdash;What! you have cracked my
      silver-mounted cocoa-nut of sack, and tell me that you cannot sing!&mdash;Sir,
      sack will make a cat sing, and speak too; so up with a merry stave, or
      trundle yourself out of my doors!&mdash;Do you think you are to take up
      all my valuable time with your d-d declarations, and then tell me you
      cannot sing?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your worship is perfectly in rule," said another voice, which, from its
      pert conceited accent, might be that of the cleric, "and the party must be
      conformable; he hath <i>canet</i> written on his face in court hand."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Up with it then," said the Justice, "or by St. Christopher, you shall
      crack the cocoa-nut full of salt-and-water, according to the statute for
      such effect made and provided."
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus exhorted and threatened, my quondam fellow-traveller, for I could no
      longer doubt that he was the recusant in question, uplifted, with a voice
      similar to that of a criminal singing his last psalm on the scaffold, a
      most doleful stave to the following effect:&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                   "Good people all, I pray give ear,
                    A woeful story you shall hear,
                   'Tis of a robber as stout as ever
                    Bade a true man stand and deliver.
                       With his foodle doo fa loodle loo.

                   "This knave, most worthy of a cord,
                    Being armed with pistol and with sword,
                   'Twixt Kensington and Brentford then
                    Did boldly stop six honest men.
                       With his foodle doo, etc.

                  "These honest men did at Brentford dine,
                   Having drank each man his pint of wine,
                   When this bold thief, with many curses,
                   Did say, You dogs, your lives or purses.
                       With his foodle doo," etc.
</pre>
    <p>
      I question if the honest men, whose misfortune is commemorated in this
      pathetic ditty, were more startled at the appearance of the bold thief
      than the songster was at mine; for, tired of waiting for some one to
      announce me, and finding my situation as a listener rather awkward, I
      presented myself to the company just as my friend Mr. Morris, for such, it
      seems, was his name, was uplifting the fifth stave of his doleful ballad.
      The high tone with which the tune started died away in a quaver of
      consternation on finding himself so near one whose character he supposed
      to be little less suspicious than that of the hero of his madrigal, and he
      remained silent, with a mouth gaping as if I had brought the Gorgon's head
      in my hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Justice, whose eyes had closed under the influence of the somniferous
      lullaby of the song, started up in his chair as it suddenly ceased, and
      stared with wonder at the unexpected addition which the company had
      received while his organs of sight were in abeyance. The clerk, as I
      conjectured him to be from his appearance, was also commoved; for, sitting
      opposite to Mr. Morris, that honest gentleman's terror communicated itself
      to him, though he wotted not why.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="image-0006" id="image-0006">
      <!-- IMG --></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img src="images/pa104.jpg" alt="Frank at Judge Inglewood's " width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <!-- IMAGE END -->
    <p>
      I broke the silence of surprise occasioned by my abrupt entrance.&mdash;"My
      name, Mr. Inglewood, is Francis Osbaldistone; I understand that some
      scoundrel has brought a complaint before you, charging me with being
      concerned in a loss which he says he has sustained."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sir," said the Justice, somewhat peevishly, "these are matters I never
      enter upon after dinner;&mdash;there is a time for everything, and a
      justice of peace must eat as well as other folks."
    </p>
    <p>
      The goodly person of Mr. Inglewood, by the way, seemed by no means to have
      suffered by any fasts, whether in the service of the law or of religion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I beg pardon for an ill-timed visit, sir; but as my reputation is
      concerned, and as the dinner appears to be concluded"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is not concluded, sir," replied the magistrate; "man requires
      digestion as well as food, and I protest I cannot have benefit from my
      victuals unless I am allowed two hours of quiet leisure, intermixed with
      harmless mirth, and a moderate circulation of the bottle."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If your honour will forgive me," said Mr. Jobson, who had produced and
      arranged his writing implements in the brief space that our conversation
      afforded; "as this is a case of felony, and the gentleman seems something
      impatient, the charge is <i>contra pacem domini regis</i>"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "D&mdash;n <i>dominie regis!</i>" said the impatient Justice&mdash;"I hope
      it's no treason to say so; but it's enough to made one mad to be worried
      in this way. Have I a moment of my life quiet for warrants, orders,
      directions, acts, bails, bonds, and recognisances?&mdash;I pronounce to
      you, Mr. Jobson, that I shall send you and the justiceship to the devil
      one of these days."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your honour will consider the dignity of the office one of the quorum and
      custos rotulorum, an office of which Sir Edward Coke wisely saith, The
      whole Christian world hath not the like of it, so it be duly executed."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well," said the Justice, partly reconciled by this eulogium on the
      dignity of his situation, and gulping down the rest of his dissatisfaction
      in a huge bumper of claret, "let us to this gear then, and get rid of it
      as fast as we can.&mdash;Here you, sir&mdash;you, Morris&mdash;you, knight
      of the sorrowful countenance&mdash;is this Mr. Francis Osbaldistone the
      gentleman whom you charge with being art and part of felony?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I, sir?" replied Morris, whose scattered wits had hardly yet reassembled
      themselves; "I charge nothing&mdash;I say nothing against the gentleman,"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then we dismiss your complaint, sir, that's all, and a good riddance&mdash;
      Push about the bottle&mdash;Mr. Osbaldistone, help yourself."
    </p>
    <p>
      Jobson, however, was determined that Morris should not back out of the
      scrape so easily. "What do you mean, Mr. Morris?&mdash;Here is your own
      declaration&mdash;the ink scarce dried&mdash;and you would retract it in
      this scandalous manner!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "How do I know," whispered the other in a tremulous tone, "how many rogues
      are in the house to back him? I have read of such things in Johnson's
      Lives of the Highwaymen. I protest the door opens"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      And it did open, and Diana Vernon entered&mdash;"You keep fine order here,
      Justice&mdash;not a servant to be seen or heard of."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah!" said the Justice, starting up with an alacrity which showed that he
      was not so engrossed by his devotions to Themis or Comus, as to forget
      what was due to beauty&mdash;"Ah, ha! Die Vernon, the heath-bell of
      Cheviot, and the blossom of the Border, come to see how the old bachelor
      keeps house? Art welcome, girl, as flowers in May."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A fine, open, hospitable house you do keep, Justice, that must be allowed&mdash;not
      a soul to answer a visitor."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, the knaves! they reckoned themselves secure of me for a couple of
      hours&mdash;But why did you not come earlier?&mdash;Your cousin Rashleigh
      dined here, and ran away like a poltroon after the first bottle was out&mdash;But
      you have not dined&mdash;we'll have something nice and ladylike&mdash;sweet
      and pretty like yourself, tossed up in a trice."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I may eat a crust in the ante-room before I set out," answered Miss
      Vernon&mdash;"I have had a long ride this morning; but I can't stay long,
      Justice&mdash;I came with my cousin, Frank Osbaldistone, there, and I must
      show him the way back again to the Hall, or he'll lose himself in the
      wolds."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Whew! sits the wind in that quarter?" inquired the Justice&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
           "She showed him the way, she showed him the way,
                     She showed him the way to woo.
</pre>
    <p>
      What! no luck for old fellows, then, my sweet bud of the wilderness?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "None whatever, Squire Inglewood; but if you will be a good kind Justice,
      and despatch young Frank's business, and let us canter home again, I'll
      bring my uncle to dine with you next week, and we'll expect merry doings."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And you shall find them, my pearl of the Tyne&mdash;Zookers, lass, I
      never envy these young fellows their rides and scampers, unless when you
      come across me. But I must not keep you just now, I suppose?&mdash;I am
      quite satisfied with Mr. Francis Osbaldistone's explanation&mdash;here has
      been some mistake, which can be cleared at greater leisure."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pardon me, sir," said I; "but I have not heard the nature of the
      accusation yet."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir," said the clerk, who, at the appearance of Miss Vernon, had
      given up the matter in despair, but who picked up courage to press farther
      investigation on finding himself supported from a quarter whence assuredly
      he expected no backing&mdash;"Yes, sir, and Dalton saith, That he who is
      apprehended as a felon shall not be discharged upon any man's discretion,
      but shall be held either to bail or commitment, paying to the clerk of the
      peace the usual fees for recognisance or commitment."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Justice, thus goaded on, gave me at length a few words of explanation.
    </p>
    <p>
      It seems the tricks which I had played to this man Morris had made a
      strong impression on his imagination; for I found they had been arrayed
      against me in his evidence, with all the exaggerations which a timorous
      and heated imagination could suggest. It appeared also, that on the day he
      parted from me, he had been stopped on a solitary spot and eased of his
      beloved travelling-companion, the portmanteau, by two men, well mounted
      and armed, having their faces covered with vizards.
    </p>
    <p>
      One of them, he conceived, had much of my shape and air, and in a
      whispering conversation which took place betwixt the freebooters, he heard
      the other apply to him the name of Osbaldistone. The declaration farther
      set forth, that upon inquiring into the principles of the family so named,
      he, the said declarant, was informed that they were of the worst
      description, the family, in all its members, having been Papists and
      Jacobites, as he was given to understand by the dissenting clergyman at
      whose house he stopped after his rencontre, since the days of William the
      Conqueror.
    </p>
    <p>
      Upon all and each of these weighty reasons, he charged me with being
      accessory to the felony committed upon his person; he, the said declarant,
      then travelling in the special employment of Government, and having charge
      of certain important papers, and also a large sum in specie, to be paid
      over, according to his instructions, to certain persons of official trust
      and importance in Scotland.
    </p>
    <p>
      Having heard this extraordinary accusation, I replied to it, that the
      circumstances on which it was founded were such as could warrant no
      justice, or magistrate, in any attempt on my personal liberty. I admitted
      that I had practised a little upon the terrors of Mr. Morris, while we
      travelled together, but in such trifling particulars as could have excited
      apprehension in no one who was one whit less timorous and jealous than
      himself. But I added, that I had never seen him since we parted, and if
      that which he feared had really come upon him, I was in nowise accessory
      to an action so unworthy of my character and station in life. That one of
      the robbers was called Osbaldistone, or that such a name was mentioned in
      the course of the conversation betwixt them, was a trifling circumstance,
      to which no weight was due. And concerning the disaffection alleged
      against me, I was willing to prove, to the satisfaction of the Justice,
      the clerk, and even the witness himself, that I was of the same persuasion
      as his friend the dissenting clergyman; had been educated as a good
      subject in the principles of the Revolution, and as such now demanded the
      personal protection of the laws which had been assured by that great
      event.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Justice fidgeted, took snuff, and seemed considerably embarrassed,
      while Mr. Attorney Jobson, with all the volubility of his profession, ran
      over the statute of the 34 Edward III., by which justices of the peace are
      allowed to arrest all those whom they find by indictment or suspicion, and
      to put them into prison. The rogue even turned my own admissions against
      me, alleging, "that since I had confessedly, upon my own showing, assumed
      the bearing or deportment of a robber or malefactor, I had voluntarily
      subjected myself to the suspicions of which I complained, and brought
      myself within the compass of the act, having wilfully clothed my conduct
      with all the colour and livery of guilt."
    </p>
    <p>
      I combated both his arguments and his jargon with much indignation and
      scorn, and observed, "That I should, if necessary, produce the bail of my
      relations, which I conceived could not be refused, without subjecting the
      magistrate in a misdemeanour."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pardon me, my good sir&mdash;pardon me," said the insatiable clerk; "this
      is a case in which neither bail nor mainprize can be received, the felon
      who is liable to be committed on heavy grounds of suspicion, not being
      replevisable under the statute of the 3d of King Edward, there being in
      that act an express exception of such as be charged of commandment, or
      force, and aid of felony done;" and he hinted that his worship would do
      well to remember that such were no way replevisable by common writ, nor
      without writ.
    </p>
    <p>
      At this period of the conversation a servant entered, and delivered a
      letter to Mr. Jobson. He had no sooner run it hastily over, than he
      exclaimed, with the air of one who wished to appear much vexed at the
      interruption, and felt the consequence attached to a man of multifarious
      avocations&mdash;"Good God!&mdash;why, at this rate, I shall have neither
      time to attend to the public concerns nor my own&mdash;no rest&mdash;no
      quiet&mdash;I wish to Heaven another gentleman in our line would settle
      here!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "God forbid!" said the Justice in a tone of <i>sotto-voce</i> deprecation;
      "some of us have enough of one of the tribe."
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is a matter of life and death, if your worship pleases."
    </p>
    <p>
      "In God's name! no more justice business, I hope," said the alarmed
      magistrate.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No&mdash;no," replied Mr. Jobson, very consequentially; "old Gaffer
      Rutledge of Grime's-hill is subpoenaed for the next world; he has sent an
      express for Dr. Kill-down to put in bail&mdash;another for me to arrange
      his worldly affairs."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Away with you, then," said Mr. Inglewood, hastily; "his may not be a
      replevisable case under the statute, you know, or Mr. Justice Death may
      not like the doctor for a <i>main pernor,</i> or bailsman."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And yet," said Jobson, lingering as he moved towards the door, "if my
      presence here be necessary&mdash;I could make out the warrant for
      committal in a moment, and the constable is below&mdash;And you have
      heard," he said, lowering his voice, "Mr. Rashleigh's opinion"&mdash;the
      rest was lost in a whisper.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Justice replied aloud, "I tell thee no, man, no&mdash;we'll do nought
      till thou return, man; 'tis but a four-mile ride&mdash;Come, push the
      bottle, Mr. Morris&mdash;Don't be cast down, Mr. Osbaldistone&mdash;And
      you, my rose of the wilderness&mdash;one cup of claret to refresh the
      bloom of your cheeks."
    </p>
    <p>
      Diana started, as if from a reverie, in which she appeared to have been
      plunged while we held this discussion. "No, Justice&mdash;I should be
      afraid of transferring the bloom to a part of my face where it would show
      to little advantage; but I will pledge you in a cooler beverage;" and
      filling a glass with water, she drank it hastily, while her hurried manner
      belied her assumed gaiety.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had not much leisure to make remarks upon her demeanour, however, being
      full of vexation at the interference of fresh obstacles to an instant
      examination of the disgraceful and impertinent charge which was brought
      against me. But there was no moving the Justice to take the matter up in
      absence of his clerk, an incident which gave him apparently as much
      pleasure as a holiday to a schoolboy. He persisted in his endeavours to
      inspire jollity into a company, the individuals of which, whether
      considered with reference to each other, or to their respective
      situations, were by no means inclined to mirth. "Come, Master Morris,
      you're not the first man that's been robbed, I trow&mdash;grieving ne'er
      brought back loss, man. And you, Mr. Frank Osbaldistone, are not the first
      bully-boy that has said stand to a true man. There was Jack Winterfield,
      in my young days, kept the best company in the land&mdash;at horse-races
      and cock-fights who but he&mdash;hand and glove was I with Jack. Push the
      bottle, Mr. Morris, it's dry talking&mdash;Many quart bumpers have I
      cracked, and thrown many a merry main with poor Jack&mdash;good family&mdash;ready
      wit&mdash;quick eye&mdash;as honest a fellow, barring the deed he died for&mdash;we'll
      drink to his memory, gentlemen&mdash;Poor Jack Winterfield&mdash;And since
      we talk of him, and of those sort of things, and since that d&mdash;d
      clerk of mine has taken his gibberish elsewhere, and since we're snug
      among ourselves, Mr. Osbaldistone, if you will have my best advice, I
      would take up this matter&mdash;the law's hard&mdash;very severe&mdash;hanged
      poor Jack Winterfield at York, despite family connections and great
      interest, all for easing a fat west-country grazier of the price of a few
      beasts&mdash;Now, here is honest Mr. Morris, has been frightened, and so
      forth&mdash;D&mdash;n it, man, let the poor fellow have back his
      portmanteau, and end the frolic at once."
    </p>
    <p>
      Morris's eyes brightened up at this suggestion, and he began to hesitate
      forth an assurance that he thirsted for no man's blood, when I cut the
      proposed accommodation short, by resenting the Justice's suggestion as an
      insult, that went directly to suppose me guilty of the very crime which I
      had come to his house with the express intention of disavowing. We were in
      this awkward predicament when a servant, opening the door, announced, "A
      strange gentleman to wait upon his honour;" and the party whom he thus
      described entered the room without farther ceremony.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="image-0007" id="image-0007">
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    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img src="images/pa112.jpg" alt="Die Vernon at Judge Inglewood's "
      width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
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      <a name="linkCH0009" id="linkCH0009">
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    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER NINTH.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
             One of the thieves come back again! I'll stand close,
             He dares not wrong me now, so near the house,
             And call in vain 'tis, till I see him offer it.
                                          The Widow.
</pre>
    <p>
      "A stranger!" echoed the Justice&mdash;"not upon business, I trust, for
      I'll be"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      His protestation was cut short by the answer of the man himself. "My
      business is of a nature somewhat onerous and particular," said my
      acquaintance, Mr. Campbell&mdash;for it was he, the very Scotchman whom I
      had seen at Northallerton&mdash;"and I must solicit your honour to give
      instant and heedful consideration to it.&mdash;I believe, Mr. Morris," he
      added, fixing his eye on that person with a look of peculiar firmness and
      almost ferocity&mdash;"I believe ye ken brawly what I am&mdash;I believe
      ye cannot have forgotten what passed at our last meeting on the road?"
      Morris's jaw dropped&mdash;his countenance became the colour of tallow&mdash;his
      teeth chattered, and he gave visible signs of the utmost consternation.
      "Take heart of grace, man," said Campbell, "and dinna sit clattering your
      jaws there like a pair of castanets! I think there can be nae difficulty
      in your telling Mr. Justice, that ye have seen me of yore, and ken me to
      be a cavalier of fortune, and a man of honour. Ye ken fu' weel ye will be
      some time resident in my vicinity, when I may have the power, as I will
      possess the inclination, to do you as good a turn."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sir&mdash;sir&mdash;I believe you to be a man of honour, and, as you say,
      a man of fortune. Yes, Mr. Inglewood," he added, clearing his voice, "I
      really believe this gentleman to be so."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what are this gentleman's commands with me?" said the Justice,
      somewhat peevishly. "One man introduces another, like the rhymes in the
      'house that Jack built,' and I get company without either peace or
      conversation!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Both shall be yours, sir," answered Campbell, "in a brief period of time.
      I come to release your mind from a piece of troublesome duty, not to make
      increment to it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Body o' me! then you are welcome as ever Scot was to England, and that's
      not saying much. But get on, man&mdash;let's hear what you have got to say
      at once."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I presume, this gentleman," continued the North Briton, "told you there
      was a person of the name of Campbell with him, when he had the mischance
      to lose his valise?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He has not mentioned such a name, from beginning to end of the matter,"
      said the Justice.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! I conceive&mdash;I conceive," replied Mr. Campbell;&mdash;"Mr. Morris
      was kindly afeared of committing a stranger into collision wi' the
      judicial forms of the country; but as I understand my evidence is
      necessary to the compurgation of one honest gentleman here, Mr. Francis
      Osbaldistone, wha has been most unjustly suspected, I will dispense with
      the precaution. Ye will therefore" (he added addressing Morris with the
      same determined look and accent) "please tell Mr. Justice Inglewood,
      whether we did not travel several miles together on the road, in
      consequence of your own anxious request and suggestion, reiterated ance
      and again, baith on the evening that we were at Northallerton, and there
      declined by me, but afterwards accepted, when I overtook ye on the road
      near Cloberry Allers, and was prevailed on by you to resign my ain
      intentions of proceeding to Rothbury; and, for my misfortune, to accompany
      you on your proposed route."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's a melancholy truth," answered Morris, holding down his head, as he
      gave this general assent to the long and leading question which Campbell
      put to him, and seemed to acquiesce in the statement it contained with
      rueful docility.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And I presume you can also asseverate to his worship, that no man is
      better qualified than I am to bear testimony in this case, seeing that I
      was by you, and near you, constantly during the whole occurrence."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No man better qualified, certainly," said Morris, with a deep and
      embarrassed sigh.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And why the devil did you not assist him, then," said the Justice,
      "since, by Mr. Morris's account, there were but two robbers; so you were
      two to two, and you are both stout likely men?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sir, if it please your worship," said Campbell, "I have been all my life
      a man of peace and quietness, noways given to broils or batteries. Mr.
      Morris, who belongs, as I understand, or hath belonged, to his Majesty's
      army, might have used his pleasure in resistance, he travelling, as I also
      understand, with a great charge of treasure; but, for me, who had but my
      own small peculiar to defend, and who am, moreover, a man of a pacific
      occupation, I was unwilling to commit myself to hazard in the matter."
    </p>
    <p>
      I looked at Campbell as he muttered these words, and never recollect to
      have seen a more singular contrast than that between the strong daring
      sternness expressed in his harsh features, and the air of composed
      meekness and simplicity which his language assumed. There was even a
      slight ironical smile lurking about the corners of his mouth, which
      seemed, involuntarily as it were, to intimate his disdain of the quiet and
      peaceful character which he thought proper to assume, and which led me to
      entertain strange suspicions that his concern in the violence done to
      Morris had been something very different from that of a fellow-sufferer,
      or even of a mere spectator.
    </p>
    <p>
      Perhaps some suspicious crossed the Justice's mind at the moment, for he
      exclaimed, as if by way of ejaculation, "Body o' me! but this is a strange
      story."
    </p>
    <p>
      The North Briton seemed to guess at what was passing in his mind; for he
      went on, with a change of manner and tone, dismissing from his countenance
      some part of the hypocritical affectation of humility which had made him
      obnoxious to suspicion, and saying, with a more frank and unconstrained
      air, "To say the truth, I am just ane o' those canny folks wha care not to
      fight but when they hae gotten something to fight for, which did not
      chance to be my predicament when I fell in wi' these loons. But that your
      worship may know that I am a person of good fame and character, please to
      cast your eye over that billet."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Inglewood took the paper from his hand, and read, half aloud, "These
      are to certify, that the bearer, Robert Campbell of&mdash;of some place
      which I cannot pronounce," interjected the Justice&mdash;"is a person of
      good lineage, and peaceable demeanour, travelling towards England on his
      own proper affairs, &amp;c. &amp;c. &amp;c. Given under our hand, at our
      Castle of Inver&mdash;Invera&mdash;rara&mdash;Argyle."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A slight testimonial, sir, which I thought fit to impetrate from that
      worthy nobleman" (here he raised his hand to his head, as if to touch his
      hat), "MacCallum More."
    </p>
    <p>
      "MacCallum who, sir?" said the Justice.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Whom the Southern call the Duke of Argyle."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I know the Duke of Argyle very well to be a nobleman of great worth and
      distinction, and a true lover of his country. I was one of those that
      stood by him in 1714, when he unhorsed the Duke of Marlborough out of his
      command. I wish we had more noblemen like him. He was an honest Tory in
      those days, and hand and glove with Ormond. And he has acceded to the
      present Government, as I have done myself, for the peace and quiet of his
      country; for I cannot presume that great man to have been actuated, as
      violent folks pretend, with the fear of losing his places and regiment.
      His testimonial, as you call it, Mr. Campbell, is perfectly satisfactory;
      and now, what have you got to say to this matter of the robbery?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Briefly this, if it please your worship,&mdash;that Mr. Morris might as
      weel charge it against the babe yet to be born, or against myself even, as
      against this young gentleman, Mr. Osbaldistone; for I am not only free to
      depone that the person whom he took for him was a shorter man, and a
      thicker man, but also, for I chanced to obtain a glisk of his visage, as
      his fause-face slipped aside, that he was a man of other features and
      complexion than those of this young gentleman, Mr. Osbaldistone. And I
      believe," he added, turning round with a natural, yet somewhat sterner
      air, to Mr. Morris, "that the gentleman will allow I had better
      opportunity to take cognisance wha were present on that occasion than he,
      being, I believe, much the cooler o' the twa."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I agree to it, sir&mdash;I agree to it perfectly," said Morris, shrinking
      back as Campbell moved his chair towards him to fortify his appeal&mdash;"And
      I incline, sir," he added, addressing Mr. Inglewood, "to retract my
      information as to Mr. Osbaldistone; and I request, sir, you will permit
      him, sir, to go about his business, and me to go about mine also; your
      worship may have business to settle with Mr. Campbell, and I am rather in
      haste to be gone."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then, there go the declarations," said the Justice, throwing them into
      the fire&mdash;"And now you are at perfect liberty, Mr Osbaldistone. And
      you, Mr. Morris, are set quite at your ease."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay," said Campbell, eyeing Morris as he assented with a rueful grin to
      the Justice's observations, "much like the ease of a tod under a pair of
      harrows&mdash;But fear nothing, Mr. Morris; you and I maun leave the house
      thegither. I will see you safe&mdash;I hope you will not doubt my honour,
      when I say sae&mdash;to the next highway, and then we part company; and if
      we do not meet as friends in Scotland, it will be your ain fault."
    </p>
    <p>
      With such a lingering look of terror as the condemned criminal throws,
      when he is informed that the cart awaits him, Morris arose; but when on
      his legs, appeared to hesitate. "I tell thee, man, fear nothing,"
      reiterated Campbell; "I will keep my word with you&mdash;Why, thou sheep's
      heart, how do ye ken but we may can pick up some speerings of your valise,
      if ye will be amenable to gude counsel?&mdash;Our horses are ready. Bid
      the Justice fareweel, man, and show your Southern breeding."
    </p>
    <p>
      Morris, thus exhorted and encouraged, took his leave, under the escort of
      Mr. Campbell; but, apparently, new scruples and terrors had struck him
      before they left the house, for I heard Campbell reiterating assurances of
      safety and protection as they left the ante-room&mdash;"By the soul of my
      body, man, thou'rt as safe as in thy father's kailyard&mdash;Zounds! that
      a chield wi' sic a black beard should hae nae mair heart than a
      hen-partridge!&mdash;Come on wi' ye, like a frank fallow, anes and for
      aye."
    </p>
    <p>
      The voices died away, and the subsequent trampling of their horses
      announced to us that they had left the mansion of Justice Inglewood.
    </p>
    <p>
      The joy which that worthy magistrate received at this easy conclusion of a
      matter which threatened him with some trouble in his judicial capacity,
      was somewhat damped by reflection on what his clerk's views of the
      transaction might be at his return. "Now, I shall have Jobson on my
      shoulders about these d&mdash;d papers&mdash;I doubt I should not have
      destroyed them, after all&mdash;But hang it! it is only paying his fees,
      and that will make all smooth&mdash;And now, Miss Die Vernon, though I
      have liberated all the others, I intend to sign a writ for committing you
      to the custody of Mother Blakes, my old housekeeper, for the evening, and
      we will send for my neighbour Mrs. Musgrave, and the Miss Dawkins, and
      your cousins, and have old Cobs the fiddler, and be as merry as the maids;
      and Frank Osbaldistone and I will have a carouse that will make us fit
      company for you in half-an-hour."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thanks, most worshipful," returned Miss Vernon; "but, as matters stand,
      we must return instantly to Osbaldistone Hall, where they do not know what
      has become of us, and relieve my uncle of his anxiety on my cousin's
      account, which is just the same as if one of his own sons were concerned."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I believe it truly," said the Justice; "for when his eldest son, Archie,
      came to a bad end, in that unlucky affair of Sir John Fenwick's, old
      Hildebrand used to hollo out his name as readily as any of the remaining
      six, and then complain that he could not recollect which of his sons had
      been hanged. So, pray hasten home, and relieve his paternal solicitude,
      since go you must. But hark thee hither, heath-blossom," he said, pulling
      her towards him by the hand, and in a good-humoured tone of admonition,
      "another time let the law take its course, without putting your pretty
      finger into her old musty pie, all full of fragments of law gibberish&mdash;French
      and dog-Latin&mdash;And, Die, my beauty, let young fellows show each other
      the way through the moors, in case you should lose your own road, while
      you are pointing out theirs, my pretty Will o' the Wisp."
    </p>
    <p>
      With this admonition, he saluted and dismissed Miss Vernon, and took an
      equally kind farewell of me.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou seems to be a good tight lad, Mr. Frank, and I remember thy father
      too&mdash;he was my playfellow at school. Hark thee, lad,&mdash;ride early
      at night, and don't swagger with chance passengers on the king's highway.
      What, man! all the king's liege subjects are not bound to understand
      joking, and it's ill cracking jests on matters of felony. And here's poor
      Die Vernon too&mdash;in a manner alone and deserted on the face of this
      wide earth, and left to ride, and run, and scamper, at her own silly
      pleasure. Thou must be careful of Die, or, egad, I will turn a young
      fellow again on purpose, and fight thee myself, although I must own it
      would be a great deal of trouble. And now, get ye both gone, and leave me
      to my pipe of tobacco, and my meditations; for what says the song&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                  The Indian leaf doth briefly burn;
                  So doth man's strength to weakness turn
                  The fire of youth extinguished quite,
                  Comes age, like embers, dry and white.
                  Think of this as you take tobacco."*
</pre>
    <p>
      * [The lines here quoted belong to or were altered from a set of verses at
      one time very popular in England, beginning, <i>Tobacco that is withered
      quite.</i> In Scotland, the celebrated Ralph Erskine, author of the <i>Gospel
      Sonnets,</i> published what he called "<i>Smoking Spiritualized,</i> in
      two parts. The first part being an Old Meditation upon Smoking Tobacco."
      It begins&mdash;*
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                  This Indian weed now withered quite,
                  Tho' green at noon, cut down at night,
                            Shows thy decay;
                            All flesh is hay.
                      Thus thank, and smoke tobacco.]
</pre>
    <p>
      I was much pleased with the gleams of sense and feeling which escaped from
      the Justice through the vapours of sloth and self-indulgence, assured him
      of my respect to his admonitions, and took a friendly farewell of the
      honest magistrate and his hospitable mansion.
    </p>
    <p>
      We found a repast prepared for us in the ante-room, which we partook of
      slightly, and rejoined the same servant of Sir Hildebrand who had taken
      our horses at our entrance, and who had been directed, as he informed Miss
      Vernon, by Mr. Rashleigh, to wait and attend upon us home. We rode a
      little way in silence, for, to say truth, my mind was too much bewildered
      with the events of the morning, to permit me to be the first to break it.
      At length Miss Vernon exclaimed, as if giving vent to her own reflections,
      "Well, Rashleigh is a man to be feared and wondered at, and all but loved;
      he does whatever he pleases, and makes all others his puppets&mdash;has a
      player ready to perform every part which he imagines, and an invention and
      readiness which supply expedients for every emergency."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You think, then," said I, answering rather to her meaning, than to the
      express words she made use of, "that this Mr. Campbell, whose appearance
      was so opportune, and who trussed up and carried off my accuser as a
      falcon trusses a partridge, was an agent of Mr. Rashleigh Osbaldistone's?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do guess as much," replied Diana; "and shrewdly suspect, moreover, that
      he would hardly have appeared so very much in the nick of time, if I had
      not happened to meet Rashleigh in the hall at the Justice's."
    </p>
    <p>
      "In that case, my thanks are chiefly due to you, my fair preserver."
    </p>
    <p>
      "To be sure they are," returned Diana; "and pray, suppose them paid, and
      accepted with a gracious smile, for I do not care to be troubled with
      hearing them in good earnest, and am much more likely to yawn than to
      behave becoming. In short, Mr. Frank, I wished to serve you, and I have
      fortunately been able to do so, and have only one favour to ask in return,
      and that is, that you will say no more about it.&mdash;But who comes here
      to meet us, 'bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste?' It is the
      subordinate man of law, I think&mdash;no less than Mr. Joseph Jobson."
    </p>
    <p>
      And Mr. Joseph Jobson it proved to be, in great haste, and, as it speedily
      appeared, in most extreme bad humour. He came up to us, and stopped his
      horse, as we were about to pass with a slight salutation.
    </p>
    <p>
      "So, sir&mdash;so, Miss Vernon&mdash;ay, I see well enough how it is&mdash;bail
      put in during my absence, I suppose&mdash;I should like to know who drew
      the recognisance, that's all. If his worship uses this form of procedure
      often, I advise him to get another clerk, that's all, for I shall
      certainly demit."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Or suppose he get this present clerk stitched to his sleeve, Mr. Jobson,"
      said Diana; "would not that do as well? And pray, how does Farmer
      Rutledge, Mr. Jobson? I hope you found him able to sign, seal, and
      deliver?"
    </p>
    <p>
      This question seemed greatly to increase the wrath of the man of law. He
      looked at Miss Vernon with such an air of spite and resentment, as laid me
      under a strong temptation to knock him off his horse with the butt-end of
      my whip, which I only suppressed in consideration of his insignificance.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Farmer Rutledge, ma'am?" said the clerk, as soon as his indignation
      permitted him to articulate, "Farmer Rutledge is in as handsome enjoyment
      of his health as you are&mdash;it's all a bam, ma'am&mdash;all a bamboozle
      and a bite, that affair of his illness; and if you did not know as much
      before, you know it now, ma'am."
    </p>
    <p>
      "La you there now!" replied Miss Vernon, with an affectation of extreme
      and simple wonder, "sure you don't say so, Mr. Jobson?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "But I <i>do</i> say so, ma'am," rejoined the incensed scribe; "and
      moreover I say, that the old miserly clod-breaker called me pettifogger&mdash;pettifogger,
      ma'am&mdash;and said I came to hunt for a job, ma'am&mdash;which I have no
      more right to have said to me than any other gentleman of my profession,
      ma'am&mdash;especially as I am clerk to the peace, having and holding said
      office under <i>Trigesimo Septimo Henrici Octavi</i> and <i>Primo
      Gulielmi,</i> the first of King William, ma'am, of glorious and immortal
      memory&mdash;our immortal deliverer from papists and pretenders, and
      wooden shoes and warming pans, Miss Vernon."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sad things, these wooden shoes and warming pans," retorted the young
      lady, who seemed to take pleasure in augmenting his wrath;&mdash;"and it
      is a comfort you don't seem to want a warming pan at present, Mr. Jobson.
      I am afraid Gaffer Rutledge has not confined his incivility to language&mdash;Are
      you sure he did not give you a beating?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Beating, ma'am!&mdash;no"&mdash;(very shortly)&mdash;"no man alive shall
      beat me, I promise you, ma'am."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is according as you happen to merit, sir," said I: "for your mode of
      speaking to this young lady is so unbecoming, that, if you do not change
      your tone, I shall think it worth while to chastise you myself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Chastise, sir? and&mdash;me, sir?&mdash;Do you know whom you speak to,
      sir?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir," I replied; "you say yourself you are clerk of peace to the
      county; and Gaffer Rutledge says you are a pettifogger; and in neither
      capacity are you entitled to be impertinent to a young lady of fashion."
    </p>
    <p>
      Miss Vernon laid her hand on my arm, and exclaimed, "Come, Mr.
      Osbaldistone, I will have no assaults and battery on Mr. Jobson; I am not
      in sufficient charity with him to permit a single touch of your whip&mdash;why,
      he would live on it for a term at least. Besides, you have already hurt
      his feelings sufficiently&mdash;you have called him impertinent."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't value his language, Miss," said the clerk, somewhat crestfallen:
      "besides, impertinent is not an actionable word; but pettifogger is
      slander in the highest degree, and that I will make Gaffer Rutledge know
      to his cost, and all who maliciously repeat the same, to the breach of the
      public peace, and the taking away of my private good name."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never mind that, Mr. Jobson," said Miss Vernon; "you know, where there is
      nothing, your own law allows that the king himself must lose his rights;
      and for the taking away of your good name, I pity the poor fellow who gets
      it, and wish you joy of losing it with all my heart."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very well, ma'am&mdash;good evening, ma'am&mdash;I have no more to say&mdash;only
      there are laws against papists, which it would be well for the land were
      they better executed. There's third and fourth Edward VI., of antiphoners,
      missals, grailes, professionals, manuals, legends, pies, portuasses, and
      those that have such trinkets in their possession, Miss Vernon&mdash;and
      there's summoning of papists to take the oaths&mdash;and there are popish
      recusant convicts under the first of his present Majesty&mdash;ay, and
      there are penalties for hearing mass&mdash;See twenty-third of Queen
      Elizabeth, and third James First, chapter twenty-fifth. And there are
      estates to be registered, and deeds and wills to be enrolled, and double
      taxes to be made, according to the acts in that case made and provided"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "See the new edition of the Statutes at Large, published under the careful
      revision of Joseph Jobson, Gent., Clerk of the Peace," said Miss Vernon.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Also, and above all," continued Jobson,&mdash;"for I speak to your
      warning&mdash;you, Diana Vernon, spinstress, not being a <i>femme
      couverte,</i> and being a convict popish recusant, are bound to repair to
      your own dwelling, and that by the nearest way, under penalty of being
      held felon to the king&mdash;and diligently to seek for passage at common
      ferries, and to tarry there but one ebb and flood; and unless you can have
      it in such places, to walk every day into the water up to the knees,
      assaying to pass over."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A sort of Protestant penance for my Catholic errors, I suppose," said
      Miss Vernon, laughing.&mdash;"Well, I thank you for the information, Mr.
      Jobson, and will hie me home as fast as I can, and be a better housekeeper
      in time coming. Good-night, my dear Mr. Jobson, thou mirror of clerical
      courtesy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good-night, ma'am, and remember the law is not to be trifled with."
    </p>
    <p>
      And we rode on our separate ways.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There he goes for a troublesome mischief-making tool," said Miss Vernon,
      as she gave a glance after him; "it is hard that persons of birth and rank
      and estate should be subjected to the official impertinence of such a
      paltry pickthank as that, merely for believing as the whole world believed
      not much above a hundred years ago&mdash;for certainly our Catholic Faith
      has the advantage of antiquity at least."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was much tempted to have broken the rascal's head," I replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You would have acted very like a hasty young man," said Miss Vernon; "and
      yet, had my own hand been an ounce heavier than it is, I think I should
      have laid its weight upon him. Well, it does not signify complaining, but
      there are three things for which I am much to be pitied, if any one
      thought it worth while to waste any compassion upon me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what are these three things, Miss Vernon, may I ask?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Will you promise me your deepest sympathy, if I tell you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Certainly;&mdash;can you doubt it?" I replied, closing my horse nearer to
      hers as I spoke, with an expression of interest which I did not attempt to
      disguise.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, it is very seducing to be pitied, after all; so here are my three
      grievances: In the first place, I am a girl, and not a young fellow, and
      would be shut up in a mad-house if I did half the things that I have a
      mind to;&mdash;and that, if I had your happy prerogative of acting as you
      list, would make all the world mad with imitating and applauding me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I can't quite afford you the sympathy you expect upon this score," I
      replied; "the misfortune is so general, that it belongs to one half of the
      species; and the other half"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are so much better cared for, that they are jealous of their
      prerogatives," interrupted Miss Vernon&mdash;"I forgot you were a party
      interested. Nay," she said, as I was going to speak, "that soft smile is
      intended to be the preface of a very pretty compliment respecting the
      peculiar advantages which Die Vernon's friends and kinsmen enjoy, by her
      being born one of their Helots; but spare me the utterance, my good
      friend, and let us try whether we shall agree better on the second count
      of my indictment against fortune, as that quill-driving puppy would call
      it. I belong to an oppressed sect and antiquated religion, and, instead of
      getting credit for my devotion, as is due to all good girls beside, my
      kind friend, Justice Inglewood, may send me to the house of correction,
      merely for worshipping God in the way of my ancestors, and say, as old
      Pembroke did to the Abbess of Wilton,* when he usurped her convent and
      establishment, 'Go spin, you jade,&mdash;Go spin.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      * Note F. The Abbess of Wilton.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is not a cureless evil," said I gravely. "Consult some of our
      learned divines, or consult your own excellent understanding, Miss Vernon;
      and surely the particulars in which our religious creed differs from that
      in which you have been educated"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hush!" said Diana, placing her fore-finger on her mouth,&mdash;"Hush! no
      more of that. Forsake the faith of my gallant fathers! I would as soon,
      were I a man, forsake their banner when the tide of battle pressed hardest
      against it, and turn, like a hireling recreant, to join the victorious
      enemy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I honour your spirit, Miss Vernon; and as to the inconveniences to which
      it exposes you, I can only say, that wounds sustained for the sake of
      conscience carry their own balsam with the blow."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay; but they are fretful and irritating, for all that. But I see, hard of
      heart as you are, my chance of beating hemp, or drawing out flax into
      marvellous coarse thread, affects you as little as my condemnation to coif
      and pinners, instead of beaver and cockade; so I will spare myself the
      fruitless pains of telling my third cause of vexation."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, my dear Miss Vernon, do not withdraw your confidence, and I will
      promise you, that the threefold sympathy due to your very unusual causes
      of distress shall be all duly and truly paid to account of the third,
      providing you assure me, that it is one which you neither share with all
      womankind, nor even with every Catholic in England, who, God bless you,
      are still a sect more numerous than we Protestants, in our zeal for church
      and state, would desire them to be."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is indeed," said Diana, with a manner greatly altered, and more
      serious than I had yet seen her assume, "a misfortune that well merits
      compassion. I am by nature, as you may easily observe, of a frank and
      unreserved disposition&mdash;a plain true-hearted girl, who would
      willingly act openly and honestly by the whole world, and yet fate has
      involved me in such a series of nets and toils, and entanglements, that I
      dare hardly speak a word for fear of consequences&mdash;not to myself, but
      to others."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is indeed a misfortune, Miss Vernon, which I do most sincerely
      compassionate, but which I should hardly have anticipated."
    </p>
    <p>
      "O, Mr. Osbaldistone, if you but knew&mdash;if any one knew, what
      difficulty I sometimes find in hiding an aching heart with a smooth brow,
      you would indeed pity me. I do wrong, perhaps, in speaking to you even
      thus far on my own situation; but you are a young man of sense and
      penetration&mdash;you cannot but long to ask me a hundred questions on the
      events of this day&mdash;on the share which Rashleigh has in your
      deliverance from this petty scrape&mdash;upon many other points which
      cannot but excite your attention; and I cannot bring myself to answer with
      the necessary falsehood and finesse&mdash;I should do it awkwardly, and
      lose your good opinion, if I have any share of it, as well as my own. It
      is best to say at once, Ask me no questions,&mdash;I have it not in my
      power to reply to them."
    </p>
    <p>
      Miss Vernon spoke these words with a tone of feeling which could not but
      make a corresponding impression upon me. I assured her she had neither to
      fear my urging her with impertinent questions, nor my misconstruing her
      declining to answer those which might in themselves be reasonable, or at
      least natural.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was too much obliged," I said, "by the interest she had taken in my
      affairs, to misuse the opportunity her goodness had afforded me of prying
      into hers&mdash;I only trusted and entreated, that if my services could at
      any time be useful, she would command them without doubt or hesitation."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thank you&mdash;thank you," she replied; "your voice does not ring the
      cuckoo chime of compliment, but speaks like that of one who knows to what
      he pledges himself. If&mdash;but it is impossible&mdash;but yet, if an
      opportunity should occur, I will ask you if you remember this promise; and
      I assure you, I shall not be angry if I find you have forgotten it, for it
      is enough that you are sincere in your intentions just now&mdash;much may
      occur to alter them ere I call upon you, should that moment ever come, to
      assist Die Vernon, as if you were Die Vernon's brother."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And if I were Die Vernon's brother," said I, "there could not be less
      chance that I should refuse my assistance&mdash;And now I am afraid I must
      not ask whether Rashleigh was willingly accessory to my deliverance?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not of me; but you may ask it of himself, and depend upon it, he will say
      <i>yes;</i> for rather than any good action should walk through the world
      like an unappropriated adjective in an ill-arranged sentence, he is always
      willing to stand noun substantive to it himself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And I must not ask whether this Campbell be himself the party who eased
      Mr. Morris of his portmanteau,&mdash;or whether the letter, which our
      friend the attorney received, was not a finesse to withdraw him from the
      scene of action, lest he should have marred the happy event of my
      deliverance? And I must not ask"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "You must ask nothing of me," said Miss Vernon; "so it is quite in vain to
      go on putting cases. You are to think just as well of me as if I had
      answered all these queries, and twenty others besides, as glibly as
      Rashleigh could have done; and observe, whenever I touch my chin just so,
      it is a sign that I cannot speak upon the topic which happens to occupy
      your attention. I must settle signals of correspondence with you, because
      you are to be my confidant and my counsellor, only you are to know nothing
      whatever of my affairs."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nothing can be more reasonable," I replied, laughing; "and the extent of
      your confidence will, you may rely upon it, only be equalled by the
      sagacity of my counsels."
    </p>
    <p>
      This sort of conversation brought us, in the highest good-humour with each
      other, to Osbaldistone Hall, where we found the family far advanced in the
      revels of the evening.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Get some dinner for Mr. Osbaldistone and me in the library," said Miss
      Vernon to a servant.&mdash;"I must have some compassion upon you," she
      added, turning to me, "and provide against your starving in this mansion
      of brutal abundance; otherwise I am not sure that I should show you my
      private haunts. This same library is my den&mdash;the only corner of the
      Hall-house where I am safe from the Ourang-Outangs, my cousins. They never
      venture there, I suppose for fear the folios should fall down and crack
      their skulls; for they will never affect their heads in any other way&mdash;So
      follow me."
    </p>
    <p>
      And I followed through hall and bower, vaulted passage and winding stair,
      until we reached the room where she had ordered our refreshments.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="linkCH0010" id="linkCH0010">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER TENTH.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                In the wide pile, by others heeded not,
                    Hers was one sacred solitary spot,
                Whose gloomy aisles and bending shelves contain
                For moral hunger food, and cures for moral pain.
                                            Anonymous.
</pre>
    <p>
      The library at Osbaldistone Hall was a gloomy room, whose antique oaken
      shelves bent beneath the weight of the ponderous folios so dear to the
      seventeenth century, from which, under favour be it spoken, we have
      distilled matter for our quartos and octavos, and which, once more
      subjected to the alembic, may, should our sons be yet more frivolous than
      ourselves, be still farther reduced into duodecimos and pamphlets. The
      collection was chiefly of the classics, as well foreign as ancient
      history, and, above all, divinity. It was in wretched order. The priests,
      who in succession had acted as chaplains at the Hall, were, for many
      years, the only persons who entered its precincts, until Rashleigh's
      thirst for reading had led him to disturb the venerable spiders, who had
      muffled the fronts of the presses with their tapestry. His destination for
      the church rendered his conduct less absurd in his father's eyes, than if
      any of his other descendants had betrayed so strange a propensity, and Sir
      Hildebrand acquiesced in the library receiving some repairs, so as to fit
      it for a sitting-room. Still an air of dilapidation, as obvious as it was
      uncomfortable, pervaded the large apartment, and announced the neglect
      from which the knowledge which its walls contained had not been able to
      exempt it. The tattered tapestry, the worm-eaten shelves, the huge and
      clumsy, yet tottering, tables, desks, and chairs, the rusty grate, seldom
      gladdened by either sea-coal or faggots, intimated the contempt of the
      lords of Osbaldistone Hall for learning, and for the volumes which record
      its treasures.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You think this place somewhat disconsolate, I suppose?" said Diana, as I
      glanced my eye round the forlorn apartment; "but to me it seems like a
      little paradise, for I call it my own, and fear no intrusion. Rashleigh
      was joint proprietor with me, while we were friends."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And are you no longer so?" was my natural question. Her fore-finger
      immediately touched her dimpled chin, with an arch look of prohibition.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We are still <i>allies,</i>" she continued, "bound, like other
      confederate powers, by circumstances of mutual interest; but I am afraid,
      as will happen in other cases, the treaty of alliance has survived the
      amicable dispositions in which it had its origin. At any rate, we live
      less together; and when he comes through that door there, I vanish through
      this door here; and so, having made the discovery that we two were one too
      many for this apartment, as large as it seems, Rashleigh, whose occasions
      frequently call him elsewhere, has generously made a cession of his rights
      in my favour; so that I now endeavour to prosecute alone the studies in
      which he used formerly to be my guide."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what are those studies, if I may presume to ask?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed you may, without the least fear of seeing my fore-finger raised to
      my chin. Science and history are my principal favourites; but I also study
      poetry and the classics."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And the classics? Do you read them in the original?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Unquestionably. Rashleigh, who is no contemptible scholar, taught me
      Greek and Latin, as well as most of the languages of modern Europe. I
      assure you there has been some pains taken in my education, although I can
      neither sew a tucker, nor work cross-stitch, nor make a pudding, nor&mdash;as
      the vicar's fat wife, with as much truth as elegance, good-will, and
      politeness, was pleased to say in my behalf&mdash;do any other useful
      thing in the varsal world."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And was this selection of studies Rashleigh's choice, or your own, Miss
      Vernon?" I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Um!" said she, as if hesitating to answer my question,&mdash;"It's not
      worth while lifting my finger about, after all. Why, partly his and partly
      mine. As I learned out of doors to ride a horse, and bridle and saddle him
      in cue of necessity, and to clear a five-barred gate, and fire a gun
      without winking, and all other of those masculine accomplishments that my
      brute cousins run mad after, I wanted, like my rational cousin, to read
      Greek and Latin within doors, and make my complete approach to the tree of
      knowledge, which you men-scholars would engross to yourselves, in revenge,
      I suppose, for our common mother's share in the great original
      transgression."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And Rashleigh indulged your propensity to learning?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, he wished to have me for his scholar, and he could but teach me that
      which he knew himself&mdash;he was not likely to instruct me in the
      mysteries of washing lace-ruffles, or hemming cambric handkerchiefs, I
      suppose."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I admit the temptation of getting such a scholar, and have no doubt that
      it made a weighty consideration on the tutor's part."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, if you begin to investigate Rashleigh's motives, my finger touches my
      chin once more. I can only be frank where my own are inquired into. But to
      resume&mdash;he has resigned the library in my favour, and never enters
      without leave had and obtained; and so I have taken the liberty to make it
      the place of deposit for some of my own goods and chattels, as you may see
      by looking round you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I beg pardon, Miss Vernon, but I really see nothing around these walls
      which I can distinguish as likely to claim you as mistress."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is, I suppose, because you neither see a shepherd or shepherdess
      wrought in worsted, and handsomely framed in black ebony, or a stuffed
      parrot,&mdash;or a breeding-cage, full of canary birds,&mdash;or a
      housewife-case, broidered with tarnished silver,&mdash;or a toilet-table
      with a nest of japanned boxes, with as many angles as Christmas
      minced-pies,&mdash;or a broken-backed spinet,&mdash;or a lute with three
      strings,&mdash;or rock-work,&mdash;or shell-work,&mdash;or needle-work, or
      work of any kind,&mdash;or a lap-dog with a litter of blind puppies&mdash;None
      of these treasures do I possess," she continued, after a pause, in order
      to recover the breath she had lost in enumerating them&mdash;"But there
      stands the sword of my ancestor Sir Richard Vernon, slain at Shrewsbury,
      and sorely slandered by a sad fellow called Will Shakspeare, whose
      Lancastrian partialities, and a certain knack at embodying them, has
      turned history upside down, or rather inside out;&mdash;and by that
      redoubted weapon hangs the mail of the still older Vernon, squire to the
      Black Prince, whose fate is the reverse of his descendant's, since he is
      more indebted to the bard who took the trouble to celebrate him, for
      good-will than for talents,&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                 Amiddes the route you may discern one
          Brave knight, with pipes on shield, ycleped Vernon
                 Like a borne fiend along the plain he thundered,
          Prest to be carving throtes, while others plundered.
</pre>
    <p>
      "Then there is a model of a new martingale, which I invented myself&mdash;a
      great improvement on the Duke of Newcastle's; and there are the hood and
      bells of my falcon Cheviot, who spitted himself on a heron's bill at
      Horsely-moss&mdash;poor Cheviot, there is not a bird on the perches below,
      but are kites and riflers compared to him; and there is my own light
      fowling-piece, with an improved firelock; with twenty other treasures,
      each more valuable than another&mdash;And there, that speaks for itself."
    </p>
    <p>
      She pointed to the carved oak frame of a full-length portrait by Vandyke,
      on which were inscribed, in Gothic letters, the words <i>Vernon semper
      viret.</i> I looked at her for explanation. "Do you not know," said she,
      with some surprise, "our motto&mdash;the Vernon motto, where,
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                    Like the solemn vice iniquity,
                    We moralise two meanings in one word
</pre>
    <p>
      And do you not know our cognisance, the pipes?" pointing to the armorial
      bearings sculptured on the oaken scutcheon, around which the legend was
      displayed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pipes!&mdash;they look more like penny-whistles&mdash;But, pray, do not
      be angry with my ignorance," I continued, observing the colour mount to
      her cheeks, "I can mean no affront to your armorial bearings, for I do not
      even know my own."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You an Osbaldistone, and confess so much!" she exclaimed. "Why, Percie,
      Thornie, John, Dickon&mdash;Wilfred himself, might be your instructor.
      Even ignorance itself is a plummet over you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "With shame I confess it, my dear Miss Vernon, the mysteries couched under
      the grim hieroglyphics of heraldry are to me as unintelligible as those of
      the pyramids of Egypt."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What! is it possible?&mdash;Why, even my uncle reads Gwillym sometimes of
      a winter night&mdash;Not know the figures of heraldry!&mdash;of what could
      your father be thinking?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of the figures of arithmetic," I answered; "the most insignificant unit
      of which he holds more highly than all the blazonry of chivalry. But,
      though I am ignorant to this inexpressible degree, I have knowledge and
      taste enough to admire that splendid picture, in which I think I can
      discover a family likeness to you. What ease and dignity in the attitude!&mdash;what
      richness of colouring&mdash;what breadth and depth of shade!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is it really a fine painting?" she asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have seen many works of the renowned artist," I replied, "but never
      beheld one more to my liking!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, I know as little of pictures as you do of heraldry," replied Miss
      Vernon; "yet I have the advantage of you, because I have always admired
      the painting without understanding its value."
    </p>
    <p>
      "While I have neglected pipes and tabors, and all the whimsical
      combinations of chivalry, still I am informed that they floated in the
      fields of ancient fame. But you will allow their exterior appearance is
      not so peculiarly interesting to the uninformed spectator as that of a
      fine painting.&mdash;Who is the person here represented?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My grandfather. He shared the misfortunes of Charles I., and, I am sorry
      to add, the excesses of his son. Our patrimonial estate was greatly
      impaired by his prodigality, and was altogether lost by his successor, my
      unfortunate father. But peace be with them who have got it!&mdash;it was
      lost in the cause of loyalty."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your father, I presume, suffered in the political dissensions of the
      period?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He did indeed;&mdash;he lost his all. And hence is his child a dependent
      orphan&mdash;eating the bread of others&mdash;subjected to their caprices,
      and compelled to study their inclinations; yet prouder of having had such
      a father, than if, playing a more prudent but less upright part, he had
      left me possessor of all the rich and fair baronies which his family once
      possessed."
    </p>
    <p>
      As she thus spoke, the entrance of the servants with dinner cut off all
      conversation but that of a general nature.
    </p>
    <p>
      When our hasty meal was concluded, and the wine placed on the table, the
      domestic informed us, "that Mr. Rashleigh had desired to be told when our
      dinner was removed."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tell him," said Miss Vernon, "we shall be happy to see him if he will
      step this way&mdash;place another wineglass and chair, and leave the room.&mdash;
      You must retire with him when he goes away," she continued, addressing
      herself to me; "even <i>my</i> liberality cannot spare a gentleman above
      eight hours out of the twenty-four; and I think we have been together for
      at least that length of time."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The old scythe-man has moved so rapidly," I answered, "that I could not
      count his strides."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hush!" said Miss Vernon, "here comes Rashleigh;" and she drew off her
      chair, to which I had approached mine rather closely, so as to place a
      greater distance between us. A modest tap at the door,&mdash;a gentle
      manner of opening when invited to enter,&mdash;a studied softness and
      humility of step and deportment, announced that the education of Rashleigh
      Osbaldistone at the College of St. Omers accorded well with the ideas I
      entertained of the manners of an accomplished Jesuit. I need not add,
      that, as a sound Protestant, these ideas were not the most favourable.
      "Why should you use the ceremony of knocking," said Miss Vernon, "when you
      knew that I was not alone?"
    </p>
    <p>
      This was spoken with a burst of impatience, as if she had felt that
      Rashleigh's air of caution and reserve covered some insinuation of
      impertinent suspicion. "You have taught me the form of knocking at this
      door so perfectly, my fair cousin," answered Rashleigh, without change of
      voice or manner, "that habit has become a second nature."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I prize sincerity more than courtesy, sir, and you know I do," was Miss
      Vernon's reply.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Courtesy is a gallant gay, a courtier by name and by profession," replied
      Rashleigh, "and therefore most fit for a lady's bower."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But Sincerity is the true knight," retorted Miss Vernon, "and therefore
      much more welcome, cousin. But to end a debate not over amusing to your
      stranger kinsman, sit down, Rashleigh, and give Mr. Francis Osbaldistone
      your countenance to his glass of wine. I have done the honours of the
      dinner, for the credit of Osbaldistone Hall."
    </p>
    <p>
      Rashleigh sate down, and filled his glass, glancing his eye from Diana to
      me, with an embarrassment which his utmost efforts could not entirely
      disguise. I thought he appeared to be uncertain concerning the extent of
      confidence she might have reposed in me, and hastened to lead the
      conversation into a channel which should sweep away his suspicion that
      Diana might have betrayed any secrets which rested between them. "Miss
      Vernon," I said, "Mr. Rashleigh, has recommended me to return my thanks to
      you for my speedy disengagement from the ridiculous accusation of Morris;
      and, unjustly fearing my gratitude might not be warm enough to remind me
      of this duty, she has put my curiosity on its side, by referring me to you
      for an account, or rather explanation, of the events of the day."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed?" answered Rashleigh; "I should have thought" (looking keenly at
      Miss Vernon) "that the lady herself might have stood interpreter;" and his
      eye, reverting from her face, sought mine, as if to search, from the
      expression of my features, whether Diana's communication had been as
      narrowly limited as my words had intimated. Miss Vernon retorted his
      inquisitorial glance with one of decided scorn; while I, uncertain whether
      to deprecate or resent his obvious suspicion, replied, "If it is your
      pleasure, Mr. Rashleigh, as it has been Miss Vernon's, to leave me in
      ignorance, I must necessarily submit; but, pray, do not withhold your
      information from me on the ground of imagining that I have already
      obtained any on the subject. For I tell you, as a man of honour, I am as
      ignorant as that picture of anything relating to the events I have
      witnessed to-day, excepting that I understand from Miss Vernon, that you
      have been kindly active in my favour."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Miss Vernon has overrated my humble efforts," said Rashleigh, "though I
      claim full credit for my zeal. The truth is, that as I galloped back to
      get some one of our family to join me in becoming your bail, which was the
      most obvious, or, indeed, I may say, the only way of serving you which
      occurred to my stupidity, I met the man Cawmil&mdash;Colville&mdash;Campbell,
      or whatsoever they call him. I had understood from Morris that he was
      present when the robbery took place, and had the good fortune to prevail
      on him (with some difficulty, I confess) to tender his evidence in your
      exculpation&mdash;which I presume was the means of your being released
      from an unpleasant situation."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed?&mdash;I am much your debtor for procuring such a seasonable
      evidence in my behalf. But I cannot see why (having been, as he said, a
      fellow-sufferer with Morris) it should have required much trouble to
      persuade him to step forth and bear evidence, whether to convict the
      actual robber, or free an innocent person."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You do not know the genius of that man's country, sir," answered
      Rashleigh;&mdash;"discretion, prudence, and foresight, are their leading
      qualities; these are only modified by a narrow-spirited, but yet ardent
      patriotism, which forms as it were the outmost of the concentric bulwarks
      with which a Scotchman fortifies himself against all the attacks of a
      generous philanthropical principle. Surmount this mound, you find an inner
      and still dearer barrier&mdash;the love of his province, his village, or,
      most probably, his clan; storm this second obstacle, you have a third&mdash;his
      attachment to his own family&mdash;his father, mother, sons, daughters,
      uncles, aunts, and cousins, to the ninth generation. It is within these
      limits that a Scotchman's social affection expands itself, never reaching
      those which are outermost, till all means of discharging itself in the
      interior circles have been exhausted. It is within these circles that his
      heart throbs, each pulsation being fainter and fainter, till, beyond the
      widest boundary, it is almost unfelt. And what is worst of all, could you
      surmount all these concentric outworks, you have an inner citadel, deeper,
      higher, and more efficient than them all&mdash;a Scotchman's love for
      himself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "All this is extremely eloquent and metaphorical, Rashleigh," said Miss
      Vernon, who listened with unrepressed impatience; "there are only two
      objections to it: first, it is <i>not</i> true; secondly, if true, it is
      nothing to the purpose."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It <i>is</i> true, my fairest Diana," returned Rashleigh; "and moreover,
      it is most instantly to the purpose. It is true, because you cannot deny
      that I know the country and people intimately, and the character is drawn
      from deep and accurate consideration&mdash;and it is to the purpose,
      because it answers Mr. Francis Osbaldistone's question, and shows why this
      same wary Scotchman, considering our kinsman to be neither his countryman,
      nor a Campbell, nor his cousin in any of the inextricable combinations by
      which they extend their pedigree; and, above all, seeing no prospect of
      personal advantage, but, on the contrary, much hazard of loss of time and
      delay of business"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "With other inconveniences, perhaps, of a nature yet more formidable,"
      interrupted Miss Vernon.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of which, doubtless, there might be many," said Rashleigh, continuing in
      the same tone&mdash;"In short, my theory shows why this man, hoping for no
      advantage, and afraid of some inconvenience, might require a degree of
      persuasion ere he could be prevailed on to give his testimony in favour of
      Mr. Osbaldistone."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It seems surprising to me," I observed, "that during the glance I cast
      over the declaration, or whatever it is termed, of Mr. Morris, he should
      never have mentioned that Campbell was in his company when he met the
      marauders."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I understood from Campbell, that he had taken his solemn promise not to
      mention that circumstance," replied Rashleigh: "his reason for exacting
      such an engagement you may guess from what I have hinted&mdash;he wished
      to get back to his own country, undelayed and unembarrassed by any of the
      judicial inquiries which he would have been under the necessity of
      attending, had the fact of his being present at the robbery taken air
      while he was on this side of the Border. But let him once be as distant as
      the Forth, Morris will, I warrant you, come forth with all he knows about
      him, and, it may be, a good deal more. Besides, Campbell is a very
      extensive dealer in cattle, and has often occasion to send great droves
      into Northumberland; and, when driving such a trade, he would be a great
      fool to embroil himself with our Northumbrian thieves, than whom no men
      who live are more vindictive."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I dare be sworn of that," said Miss Vernon, with a tone which implied
      something more than a simple acquiescence in the proposition.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Still," said I, resuming the subject, "allowing the force of the reasons
      which Campbell might have for desiring that Morris should be silent with
      regard to his promise when the robbery was committed, I cannot yet see how
      he could attain such an influence over the man, as to make him suppress
      his evidence in that particular, at the manifest risk of subjecting his
      story to discredit."
    </p>
    <p>
      Rashleigh agreed with me, that it was very extraordinary, and seemed to
      regret that he had not questioned the Scotchman more closely on that
      subject, which he allowed looked extremely mysterious. "But," he asked,
      immediately after this acquiescence, "are you very sure the circumstance
      of Morris's being accompanied by Campbell is really not alluded to in his
      examination?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I read the paper over hastily," said I; "but it is my strong impression
      that no such circumstance is mentioned;&mdash;at least, it must have been
      touched on very slightly, since it failed to catch my attention."
    </p>
    <p>
      "True, true," answered Rashleigh, forming his own inference while he
      adopted my words; "I incline to think with you, that the circumstance must
      in reality have been mentioned, but so slightly that it failed to attract
      your attention. And then, as to Campbell's interest with Morris, I incline
      to suppose that it must have been gained by playing upon his fears. This
      chicken-hearted fellow, Morris, is bound, I understand, for Scotland,
      destined for some little employment under Government; and, possessing the
      courage of the wrathful dove, or most magnanimous mouse, he may have been
      afraid to encounter the ill-will of such a kill-cow as Campbell, whose
      very appearance would be enough to fright him out of his little wits. You
      observed that Mr. Campbell has at times a keen and animated manner&mdash;something
      of a martial cast in his tone and bearing."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I own," I replied, "that his expression struck me as being occasionally
      fierce and sinister, and little adapted to his peaceable professions. Has
      he served in the army?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes&mdash;no&mdash;not, strictly speaking, <i>served;</i> but he has
      been, I believe, like most of his countrymen, trained to arms. Indeed,
      among the hills, they carry them from boyhood to the grave. So, if you
      know anything of your fellow-traveller, you will easily judge, that, going
      to such a country, he will take cue to avoid a quarrel, if he can help it,
      with any of the natives. But, come, I see you decline your wine&mdash;and
      I too am a degenerate Osbaldistone, so far as respects the circulation of
      the bottle. If you will go to my room, I will hold you a hand at piquet."
    </p>
    <p>
      We rose to take leave of Miss Vernon, who had from time to time
      suppressed, apparently with difficulty, a strong temptation to break in
      upon Rashleigh's details. As we were about to leave the room, the
      smothered fire broke forth.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Osbaldistone," she said, "your own observation will enable you to
      verify the justice, or injustice, of Rashleigh's suggestions concerning
      such individuals as Mr. Campbell and Mr. Morris. But, in slandering
      Scotland, he has borne false witness against a whole country; and I
      request you will allow no weight to his evidence."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Perhaps," I answered, "I may find it somewhat difficult to obey your
      injunction, Miss Vernon; for I must own I was bred up with no very
      favourable idea of our northern neighbours."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Distrust that part of your education, sir," she replied, "and let the
      daughter of a Scotchwoman pray you to respect the land which gave her
      parent birth, until your own observation has proved them to be unworthy of
      your good opinion. Preserve your hatred and contempt for dissimulation,
      baseness, and falsehood, wheresoever they are to be met with. You will
      find enough of all without leaving England.&mdash;Adieu, gentlemen, I wish
      you good evening."
    </p>
    <p>
      And she signed to the door, with the manner of a princess dismissing her
      train.
    </p>
    <p>
      We retired to Rashleigh's apartment, where a servant brought us coffee and
      cards. I had formed my resolution to press Rashleigh no farther on the
      events of the day. A mystery, and, as I thought, not of a favourable
      complexion, appeared to hang over his conduct; but to ascertain if my
      suspicions were just, it was necessary to throw him off his guard. We cut
      for the deal, and were soon earnestly engaged in our play. I thought I
      perceived in this trifling for amusement (for the stake which Rashleigh
      proposed was a mere trifle) something of a fierce and ambitious temper. He
      seemed perfectly to understand the beautiful game at which he played, but
      preferred, as it were on principle, the risking bold and precarious
      strokes to the ordinary rules of play; and neglecting the minor and
      better-balanced chances of the game, he hazarded everything for the chance
      of piqueing, repiqueing, or capoting his adversary. So soon as the
      intervention of a game or two at piquet, like the music between the acts
      of a drama, had completely interrupted our previous course of
      conversation, Rashleigh appeared to tire of the game, and the cards were
      superseded by discourse, in which he assumed the lead.
    </p>
    <p>
      More learned than soundly wise&mdash;better acquainted with men's minds
      than with the moral principles that ought to regulate them, he had still
      powers of conversation which I have rarely seen equalled, never excelled.
      Of this his manner implied some consciousness; at least, it appeared to me
      that he had studied hard to improve his natural advantages of a melodious
      voice, fluent and happy expression, apt language, and fervid imagination.
      He was never loud, never overbearing, never so much occupied with his own
      thoughts as to outrun either the patience or the comprehension of those he
      conversed with. His ideas succeeded each other with the gentle but
      unintermitting flow of a plentiful and bounteous spring; while I have
      heard those of others, who aimed at distinction in conversation, rush
      along like the turbid gush from the sluice of a mill-pond, as hurried, and
      as easily exhausted. It was late at night ere I could part from a
      companion so fascinating; and, when I gained my own apartment, it cost me
      no small effort to recall to my mind the character of Rashleigh, such as I
      had pictured him previous to this <i>tete-a-tete.</i>
    </p>
    <p>
      So effectual, my dear Tresham, does the sense of being pleased and amused
      blunt our faculties of perception and discrimination of character, that I
      can only compare it to the taste of certain fruits, at once luscious and
      poignant, which renders our palate totally unfit for relishing or
      distinguishing the viands which are subsequently subjected to its
      criticism.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="linkCH0011" id="linkCH0011">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER ELEVENTH.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                  What gars ye gaunt, my merrymen a'?
                      What gars ye look sae dreary?
                  What gars ye hing your head sae sair
                      In the castle of Balwearie?
                                      Old Scotch Ballad.
</pre>
    <p>
      The next morning chanced to be Sunday, a day peculiarly hard to be got rid
      of at Osbaldistone Hall; for after the formal religious service of the
      morning had been performed, at which all the family regularly attended, it
      was hard to say upon which individual, Rashleigh and Miss Vernon excepted,
      the fiend of ennui descended with the most abundant outpouring of his
      spirit. To speak of my yesterday's embarrassment amused Sir Hildebrand for
      several minutes, and he congratulated me on my deliverance from Morpeth or
      Hexham jail, as he would have done if I had fallen in attempting to clear
      a five-barred gate, and got up without hurting myself.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hast had a lucky turn, lad; but do na be over venturous again. What, man!
      the king's road is free to all men, be they Whigs, be they Tories."
    </p>
    <p>
      "On my word, sir, I am innocent of interrupting it; and it is the most
      provoking thing on earth, that every person will take it for granted that
      I am accessory to a crime which I despise and detest, and which would,
      moreover, deservedly forfeit my life to the laws of my country."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, well, lad; even so be it; I ask no questions&mdash;no man bound to
      tell on himsell&mdash;that's fair play, or the devil's in't."
    </p>
    <p>
      Rashleigh here came to my assistance; but I could not help thinking that
      his arguments were calculated rather as hints to his father to put on a
      show of acquiescence in my declaration of innocence, than fully to
      establish it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "In your own house, my dear sir&mdash;and your own nephew&mdash;you will
      not surely persist in hurting his feelings by seeming to discredit what he
      is so strongly interested in affirming. No doubt, you are fully deserving
      of all his confidence, and I am sure, were there anything you could do to
      assist him in this strange affair, he would have recourse to your
      goodness. But my cousin Frank has been dismissed as an innocent man, and
      no one is entitled to suppose him otherwise. For my part, I have not the
      least doubt of his innocence; and our family honour, I conceive, requires
      that we should maintain it with tongue and sword against the whole
      country."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Rashleigh," said his father, looking fixedly at him, "thou art a sly loon&mdash;thou
      hast ever been too cunning for me, and too cunning for most folks. Have a
      care thou provena too cunning for thysell&mdash;two faces under one hood
      is no true heraldry. And since we talk of heraldry, I'll go and read
      Gwillym."
    </p>
    <p>
      This resolution he intimated with a yawn, resistless as that of the
      Goddess in the Dunciad, which was responsively echoed by his giant sons,
      as they dispersed in quest of the pastimes to which their minds severally
      inclined them&mdash;Percie to discuss a pot of March beer with the steward
      in the buttery,&mdash;Thorncliff to cut a pair of cudgels, and fix them in
      their wicker hilts,&mdash;John to dress May-flies,&mdash;Dickon to play at
      pitch and toss by himself, his right hand against his left,&mdash;and
      Wilfred to bite his thumbs and hum himself into a slumber which should
      last till dinner-time, if possible. Miss Vernon had retired to the
      library.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rashleigh and I were left alone in the old hall, from which the servants,
      with their usual bustle and awkwardness, had at length contrived to hurry
      the remains of our substantial breakfast. I took the opportunity to
      upbraid him with the manner in which he had spoken of my affair to his
      father, which I frankly stated was highly offensive to me, as it seemed
      rather to exhort Sir Hildebrand to conceal his suspicions, than to root
      them out.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, what can I do, my dear friend?" replied Rashleigh "my father's
      disposition is so tenacious of suspicions of all kinds, when once they
      take root (which, to do him justice, does not easily happen), that I have
      always found it the best way to silence him upon such subjects, instead of
      arguing with him. Thus I get the better of the weeds which I cannot
      eradicate, by cutting them over as often as they appear, until at length
      they die away of themselves. There is neither wisdom nor profit in
      disputing with such a mind as Sir Hildebrand's, which hardens itself
      against conviction, and believes in its own inspirations as firmly as we
      good Catholics do in those of the Holy Father of Rome."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is very hard, though, that I should live in the house of a man, and he
      a near relation too, who will persist in believing me guilty of a highway
      robbery."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My father's foolish opinion, if one may give that epithet to any opinion
      of a father's, does not affect your real innocence; and as to the disgrace
      of the fact, depend on it, that, considered in all its bearings, political
      as well as moral, Sir Hildebrand regards it as a meritorious action&mdash;a
      weakening of the enemy&mdash;a spoiling of the Amalekites; and you will
      stand the higher in his regard for your supposed accession to it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I desire no man's regard, Mr. Rashleigh, on such terms as must sink me in
      my own; and I think these injurious suspicions will afford a very good
      reason for quitting Osbaldistone Hall, which I shall do whenever I can
      communicate on the subject with my father."
    </p>
    <p>
      The dark countenance of Rashleigh, though little accustomed to betray its
      master's feelings, exhibited a suppressed smile, which he instantly
      chastened by a sigh. "You are a happy man, Frank&mdash;you go and come, as
      the wind bloweth where it listeth. With your address, taste, and talents,
      you will soon find circles where they will be more valued, than amid the
      dull inmates of this mansion; while I&mdash;" he paused.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what is there in your lot that can make you or any one envy mine,&mdash;an
      outcast, as I may almost term myself, from my father's house and favour?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, but," answered Rashleigh, "consider the gratified sense of
      independence which you must have attained by a very temporary sacrifice,&mdash;for
      such I am sure yours will prove to be; consider the power of acting as a
      free agent, of cultivating your own talents in the way to which your taste
      determines you, and in which you are well qualified to distinguish
      yourself. Fame and freedom are cheaply purchased by a few weeks' residence
      in the North, even though your place of exile be Osbaldistone Hall. A
      second Ovid in Thrace, you have not his reasons for writing Tristia."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do not know," said I, blushing as became a young scribbler, "how you
      should be so well acquainted with my truant studies."
    </p>
    <p>
      "There was an emissary of your father's here some time since, a young
      coxcomb, one Twineall, who informed me concerning your secret sacrifices
      to the muses, and added, that some of your verses had been greatly admired
      by the best judges."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tresham, I believe you are guiltless of having ever essayed to build the
      lofty rhyme; but you must have known in your day many an apprentice and
      fellow-craft, if not some of the master-masons, in the temple of Apollo.
      Vanity is their universal foible, from him who decorated the shades of
      Twickenham, to the veriest scribbler whom he has lashed in his Dunciad. I
      had my own share of this common failing, and without considering how
      little likely this young fellow Twineall was, by taste and habits, either
      to be acquainted with one or two little pieces of poetry, which I had at
      times insinuated into Button's coffee-house, or to report the opinion of
      the critics who frequented that resort of wit and literature, I almost
      instantly gorged the bait; which Rashleigh perceiving, improved his
      opportunity by a diffident, yet apparently very anxious request to be
      permitted to see some of my manuscript productions.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You shall give me an evening in my own apartment," he continued; "for I
      must soon lose the charms of literary society for the drudgery of
      commerce, and the coarse every-day avocations of the world. I repeat it,
      that my compliance with my father's wishes for the advantage of my family,
      is indeed a sacrifice, especially considering the calm and peaceful
      profession to which my education destined me."
    </p>
    <p>
      I was vain, but not a fool, and this hypocrisy was too strong for me to
      swallow. "You would not persuade me," I replied, "that you really regret
      to exchange the situation of an obscure Catholic priest, with all its
      privations, for wealth and society, and the pleasures of the world?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Rashleigh saw that he had coloured his affectation of moderation too
      highly, and, after a second's pause, during which, I suppose, he
      calculated the degree of candour which it was necessary to use with me
      (that being a quality of which he was never needlessly profuse), he
      answered, with a smile&mdash;"At my age, to be condemned, as you say, to
      wealth and the world, does not, indeed, sound so alarming as perhaps it
      ought to do. But, with pardon be it spoken, you have mistaken my
      destination&mdash;a Catholic priest, if you will, but not an obscure one.
      No, sir,&mdash;Rashleigh Osbaldistone will be more obscure, should he rise
      to be the richest citizen in London, than he might have been as a member
      of a church, whose ministers, as some one says, 'set their sandall'd feet
      on princes.' My family interest at a certain exiled court is high, and the
      weight which that court ought to possess, and does possess, at Rome is yet
      higher&mdash;my talents not altogether inferior to the education I have
      received. In sober judgment, I might have looked forward to high eminence
      in the church&mdash;in the dream of fancy, to the very highest. Why might
      not"&mdash;(he added, laughing, for it was part of his manner to keep much
      of his discourse apparently betwixt jest and earnest)&mdash;"why might not
      Cardinal Osbaldistone have swayed the fortunes of empires, well-born and
      well-connected, as well as the low-born Mazarin, or Alberoni, the son of
      an Italian gardener?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, I can give you no reason to the contrary; but in your place I should
      not much regret losing the chance of such precarious and invidious
      elevation."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Neither would I," he replied, "were I sure that my present establishment
      was more certain; but that must depend upon circumstances which I can only
      learn by experience&mdash;the disposition of your father, for example."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Confess the truth without finesse, Rashleigh; you would willingly know
      something of him from me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Since, like Die Vernon, you make a point of following the banner of the
      good knight Sincerity, I reply&mdash;certainly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, then, you will find in my father a man who has followed the paths
      of thriving more for the exercise they afforded to his talents, than for
      the love of the gold with which they are strewed. His active mind would
      have been happy in any situation which gave it scope for exertion, though
      that exertion had been its sole reward. But his wealth has accumulated,
      because, moderate and frugal in his habits, no new sources of expense have
      occurred to dispose of his increasing income. He is a man who hates
      dissimulation in others; never practises it himself; and is peculiarly
      alert in discovering motives through the colouring of language. Himself
      silent by habit, he is readily disgusted by great talkers; the rather,
      that the circumstances by which he is most interested, afford no great
      scope for conversation. He is severely strict in the duties of religion;
      but you have no reason to fear his interference with yours, for he regards
      toleration as a sacred principle of political economy. But if you have any
      Jacobitical partialities, as is naturally to be supposed, you will do well
      to suppress them in his presence, as well as the least tendency to the
      highflying or Tory principles; for he holds both in utter detestation. For
      the rest, his word is his own bond, and must be the law of all who act
      under him. He will fail in his duty to no one, and will permit no one to
      fail towards him; to cultivate his favour, you must execute his commands,
      instead of echoing his sentiments. His greatest failings arise out of
      prejudices connected with his own profession, or rather his exclusive
      devotion to it, which makes him see little worthy of praise or attention,
      unless it be in some measure connected with commerce."
    </p>
    <p>
      "O rare-painted portrait!" exclaimed Rashleigh, when I was silent&mdash;"Vandyke
      was a dauber to you, Frank. I see thy sire before me in all his strength
      and weakness; loving and honouring the King as a sort of lord mayor of the
      empire, or chief of the board of trade&mdash;venerating the Commons, for
      the acts regulating the export trade&mdash;and respecting the Peers,
      because the Lord Chancellor sits on a woolsack."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mine was a likeness, Rashleigh; yours is a caricature. But in return for
      the <i>carte du pays</i> which I have unfolded to you, give me some lights
      on the geography of the unknown lands"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "On which you are wrecked," said Rashleigh. "It is not worth while; it is
      no Isle of Calypso, umbrageous with shade and intricate with silvan
      labyrinth&mdash;but a bare ragged Northumbrian moor, with as little to
      interest curiosity as to delight the eye; you may descry it in all its
      nakedness in half an hour's survey, as well as if I were to lay it down
      before you by line and compass."
    </p>
    <p>
      "O, but something there is, worthy a more attentive survey&mdash;What say
      you to Miss Vernon? Does not she form an interesting object in the
      landscape, were all round as rude as Iceland's coast?"
    </p>
    <p>
      I could plainly perceive that Rashleigh disliked the topic now presented
      to him; but my frank communication had given me the advantageous title to
      make inquiries in my turn. Rashleigh felt this, and found himself obliged
      to follow my lead, however difficult he might find it to play his cards
      successfully. "I have known less of Miss Vernon," he said, "for some time,
      than I was wont to do formerly. In early age I was her tutor; but as she
      advanced towards womanhood, my various avocations,&mdash;the gravity of
      the profession to which I was destined,&mdash;the peculiar nature of her
      engagements,&mdash;our mutual situation, in short, rendered a close and
      constant intimacy dangerous and improper. I believe Miss Vernon might
      consider my reserve as unkindness, but it was my duty; I felt as much as
      she seemed to do, when compelled to give way to prudence. But where was
      the safety in cultivating an intimacy with a beautiful and susceptible
      girl, whose heart, you are aware, must be given either to the cloister or
      to a betrothed husband?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The cloister or a betrothed husband?" I echoed&mdash;"Is that the
      alternative destined for Miss Vernon?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is indeed," said Rashleigh, with a sigh. "I need not, I suppose,
      caution you against the danger of cultivating too closely the friendship
      of Miss Vernon;&mdash;you are a man of the world, and know how far you can
      indulge yourself in her society with safety to yourself, and justice to
      her. But I warn you, that, considering her ardent temper, you must let
      your experience keep guard over her as well as yourself, for the specimen
      of yesterday may serve to show her extreme thoughtlessness and neglect of
      decorum."
    </p>
    <p>
      There was something, I was sensible, of truth, as well as good sense, in
      all this; it seemed to be given as a friendly warning, and I had no right
      to take it amiss; yet I felt I could with pleasure have run Rashleigh
      Osbaldistone through the body all the time he was speaking.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The deuce take his insolence!" was my internal meditation. "Would he wish
      me to infer that Miss Vernon had fallen in love with that hatchet-face of
      his, and become degraded so low as to require his shyness to cure her of
      an imprudent passion? I will have his meaning from him," was my
      resolution, "if I should drag it out with cart-ropes."
    </p>
    <p>
      For this purpose, I placed my temper under as accurate a guard as I could,
      and observed, "That, for a lady of her good sense and acquired
      accomplishments, it was to be regretted that Miss Vernon's manners were
      rather blunt and rustic."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Frank and unreserved, at least, to the extreme," replied Rashleigh: "yet,
      trust me, she has an excellent heart. To tell you the truth, should she
      continue her extreme aversion to the cloister, and to her destined
      husband, and should my own labours in the mine of Plutus promise to secure
      me a decent independence, I shall think of reviewing our acquaintance and
      sharing it with Miss Vernon."
    </p>
    <p>
      "With all his fine voice, and well-turned periods," thought I, "this same
      Rashleigh Osbaldistone is the ugliest and most conceited coxcomb I ever
      met with!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "But," continued Rashleigh, as if thinking aloud, "I should not like to
      supplant Thorncliff."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Supplant Thorncliff!&mdash;Is your brother Thorncliff," I inquired, with
      great surprise, "the destined husband of Diana Vernon?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, ay, her father's commands, and a certain family-contract, destined
      her to marry one of Sir Hildebrand's sons. A dispensation has been
      obtained from Rome to Diana Vernon to marry <i>Blank</i> Osbaldistone,
      Esq., son of Sir Hildebrand Osbaldistone, of Osbaldistone Hall, Bart., and
      so forth; and it only remains to pitch upon the happy man whose name shall
      fill the gap in the manuscript. Now, as Percie is seldom sober, my father
      pitched on Thorncliff, as the second prop of the family, and therefore
      most proper to carry on the line of the Osbaldistones."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The young lady," said I, forcing myself to assume an air of pleasantry,
      which, I believe, became me extremely ill, "would perhaps have been
      inclined to look a little lower on the family-tree, for the branch to
      which she was desirous of clinging."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I cannot say," he replied. "There is room for little choice in our
      family; Dick is a gambler, John a boor, and Wilfred an ass. I believe my
      father really made the best selection for poor Die, after all."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The present company," said I, "being always excepted."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, my destination to the church placed me out of the question; otherwise
      I will not affect to say, that, qualified by my education both to instruct
      and guide Miss Vernon, I might not have been a more creditable choice than
      any of my elders."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And so thought the young lady, doubtless?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are not to suppose so," answered Rashleigh, with an affectation of
      denial which was contrived to convey the strongest affirmation the case
      admitted of: "friendship&mdash;only friendship&mdash;formed the tie
      betwixt us, and the tender affection of an opening mind to its only
      instructor&mdash;Love came not near us&mdash;I told you I was wise in
      time."
    </p>
    <p>
      I felt little inclination to pursue this conversation any farther, and
      shaking myself clear of Rashleigh, withdrew to my own apartment, which I
      recollect I traversed with much vehemence of agitation, repeating aloud
      the expressions which had most offended me.&mdash;"Susceptible&mdash;ardent&mdash;tender
      affection&mdash;Love&mdash;Diana Vernon, the most beautiful creature I
      ever beheld, in love with him, the bandy-legged, bull-necked, limping
      scoundrel! Richard the Third in all but his hump-back!&mdash;And yet the
      opportunities he must have had during his cursed course of lectures; and
      the fellow's flowing and easy strain of sentiment; and her extreme
      seclusion from every one who spoke and acted with common sense; ay, and
      her obvious pique at him, mixed with admiration of his talents, which
      looked as like the result of neglected attachment as anything else&mdash;Well,
      and what is it to me, that I should storm and rage at it? Is Diana Vernon
      the first pretty girl that has loved and married an ugly fellow? And if
      she were free of every Osbaldistone of them, what concern is it of mine?&mdash;a
      Catholic&mdash;a Jacobite&mdash;a termagant into the boot&mdash;for me to
      look that way were utter madness."
    </p>
    <p>
      By throwing such reflections on the flame of my displeasure, I subdued it
      into a sort of smouldering heart-burning, and appeared at the dinner-table
      in as sulky a humour as could well be imagined.
    </p>
    <p>
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    <div style="height: 4em;">
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    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER TWELFTH.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
          Drunk?&mdash;and speak parrot?&mdash;and squabble?&mdash;swagger?&mdash;
          Swear?&mdash;and discourse fustian with one's own shadow?
                                           Othello.
</pre>
    <p>
      I have already told you, my dear Tresham, what probably was no news to
      you, that my principal fault was an unconquerable pitch of pride, which
      exposed me to frequent mortification. I had not even whispered to myself
      that I loved Diana Vernon; yet no sooner did I hear Rashleigh talk of her
      as a prize which he might stoop to carry off, or neglect, at his pleasure,
      than every step which the poor girl had taken, in the innocence and
      openness of her heart, to form a sort of friendship with me, seemed in my
      eyes the most insulting coquetry.&mdash;"Soh! she would secure me as a <i>pis
      aller,</i> I suppose, in case Mr. Rashleigh Osbaldistone should not take
      compassion upon her! But I will satisfy her that I am not a person to be
      trepanned in that manner&mdash;I will make her sensible that I see through
      her arts, and that I scorn them."
    </p>
    <p>
      I did not reflect for a moment, that all this indignation, which I had no
      right whatever to entertain, proved that I was anything but indifferent to
      Miss Vernon's charms; and I sate down to table in high ill-humour with her
      and all the daughters of Eve.
    </p>
    <p>
      Miss Vernon heard me, with surprise, return ungracious answers to one or
      two playful strokes of satire which she threw out with her usual freedom
      of speech; but, having no suspicion that offence was meant, she only
      replied to my rude repartees with jests somewhat similar, but polished by
      her good temper, though pointed by her wit. At length she perceived I was
      really out of humour, and answered one of my rude speeches thus:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "They say, Mr. Frank, that one may gather sense from fools&mdash;I heard
      cousin Wilfred refuse to play any longer at cudgels the other day with
      cousin Thornie, because cousin Thornie got angry, and struck harder than
      the rules of amicable combat, it seems, permitted. 'Were I to break your
      head in good earnest,' quoth honest Wilfred, 'I care not how angry you
      are, for I should do it so much the more easily but it's hard I should get
      raps over the costard, and only pay you back in make-believes'&mdash;Do
      you understand the moral of this, Frank?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have never felt myself under the necessity, madam, of studying how to
      extract the slender portion of sense with which this family season their
      conversation."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Necessity! and madam!&mdash;You surprise me, Mr. Osbaldistone."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am unfortunate in doing so."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Am I to suppose that this capricious tone is serious? or is it only
      assumed, to make your good-humour more valuable?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have a right to the attention of so many gentlemen in this family,
      Miss Vernon, that it cannot be worth your while to inquire into the cause
      of my stupidity and bad spirits."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What!" she said, "am I to understand, then, that you have deserted my
      faction, and gone over to the enemy?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Then, looking across the table, and observing that Rashleigh, who was
      seated opposite, was watching us with a singular expression of interest on
      his harsh features, she continued&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
             "Horrible thought!&mdash;Ay, now I see 'tis true,
              For the grim-visaged Rashleigh smiles on me,
                     And points at thee for his!&mdash;
</pre>
    <p>
      Well, thank Heaven, and the unprotected state which has taught me
      endurance, I do not take offence easily; and that I may not be forced to
      quarrel, whether I like it or no, I have the honour, earlier than usual,
      to wish you a happy digestion of your dinner and your bad humour."
    </p>
    <p>
      And she left the table accordingly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Upon Miss Vernon's departure, I found myself very little satisfied with my
      own conduct. I had hurled back offered kindness, of which circumstances
      had but lately pointed out the honest sincerity, and I had but just
      stopped short of insulting the beautiful, and, as she had said with some
      emphasis, the unprotected being by whom it was proffered. My conduct
      seemed brutal in my own eyes. To combat or drown these painful
      reflections, I applied myself more frequently than usual to the wine which
      circulated on the table.
    </p>
    <p>
      The agitated state of my feelings combined with my habits of temperance to
      give rapid effect to the beverage. Habitual topers, I believe, acquire the
      power of soaking themselves with a quantity of liquor that does little
      more than muddy those intellects which in their sober state are none of
      the clearest; but men who are strangers to the vice of drunkenness as a
      habit, are more powerfully acted upon by intoxicating liquors. My spirits,
      once aroused, became extravagant; I talked a great deal, argued upon what
      I knew nothing of, told stories of which I forgot the point, then laughed
      immoderately at my own forgetfulness; I accepted several bets without
      having the least judgment; I challenged the giant John to wrestle with me,
      although he had kept the ring at Hexham for a year, and I never tried so
      much as a single fall.
    </p>
    <p>
      My uncle had the goodness to interpose and prevent this consummation of
      drunken folly, which, I suppose, would have otherwise ended in my neck
      being broken.
    </p>
    <p>
      It has even been reported by maligners, that I sung a song while under
      this vinous influence; but, as I remember nothing of it, and never
      attempted to turn a tune in all my life before or since, I would willingly
      hope there is no actual foundation for the calumny. I was absurd enough
      without this exaggeration. Without positively losing my senses, I speedily
      lost all command of my temper, and my impetuous passions whirled me onward
      at their pleasure. I had sate down sulky and discontented, and disposed to
      be silent&mdash;the wine rendered me loquacious, disputatious, and
      quarrelsome. I contradicted whatever was asserted, and attacked, without
      any respect to my uncle's table, both his politics and his religion. The
      affected moderation of Rashleigh, which he well knew how to qualify with
      irritating ingredients, was even more provoking to me than the noisy and
      bullying language of his obstreperous brothers. My uncle, to do him
      justice, endeavoured to bring us to order; but his authority was lost
      amidst the tumult of wine and passion. At length, frantic at some real or
      supposed injurious insinuation, I actually struck Rashleigh with my fist.
      No Stoic philosopher, superior to his own passion and that of others,
      could have received an insult with a higher degree of scorn. What he
      himself did not think it apparently worth while to resent, Thorncliff
      resented for him. Swords were drawn, and we exchanged one or two passes,
      when the other brothers separated us by main force; and I shall never
      forget the diabolical sneer which writhed Rashleigh's wayward features, as
      I was forced from the apartment by the main strength of two of these
      youthful Titans. They secured me in my apartment by locking the door, and
      I heard them, to my inexpressible rage, laugh heartily as they descended
      the stairs. I essayed in my fury to break out; but the window-grates, and
      the strength of a door clenched with iron, resisted my efforts. At length
      I threw myself on my bed, and fell asleep amidst vows of dire revenge to
      be taken in the ensuing day.
    </p>
    <p>
      But with the morning cool repentance came. I felt, in the keenest manner,
      the violence and absurdity of my conduct, and was obliged to confess that
      wine and passion had lowered my intellects even below those of Wilfred
      Osbaldistone, whom I held in so much contempt. My uncomfortable
      reflections were by no means soothed by meditating the necessity of an
      apology for my improper behaviour, and recollecting that Miss Vernon must
      be a witness of my submission. The impropriety and unkindness of my
      conduct to her personally, added not a little to these galling
      considerations, and for this I could not even plead the miserable excuse
      of intoxication.
    </p>
    <p>
      Under all these aggravating feelings of shame and degradation, I descended
      to the breakfast hall, like a criminal to receive sentence. It chanced
      that a hard frost had rendered it impossible to take out the hounds, so
      that I had the additional mortification to meet the family, excepting only
      Rashleigh and Miss Vernon, in full divan, surrounding the cold venison
      pasty and chine of beef. They were in high glee as I entered, and I could
      easily imagine that the jests were furnished at my expense. In fact, what
      I was disposed to consider with serious pain, was regarded as an excellent
      good joke by my uncle, and the greater part of my cousins. Sir Hildebrand,
      while he rallied me on the exploits of the preceding evening, swore he
      thought a young fellow had better be thrice drunk in one day, than sneak
      sober to bed like a Presbyterian, and leave a batch of honest fellows, and
      a double quart of claret. And to back this consolatory speech, he poured
      out a large bumper of brandy, exhorting me to swallow "a hair of the dog
      that had bit me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never mind these lads laughing, nevoy," he continued; "they would have
      been all as great milksops as yourself, had I not nursed them, as one may
      say, on the toast and tankard."
    </p>
    <p>
      Ill-nature was not the fault of my cousins in general; they saw I was
      vexed and hurt at the recollections of the preceding evening, and
      endeavoured, with clumsy kindness, to remove the painful impression they
      had made on me. Thorncliff alone looked sullen and unreconciled. This
      young man had never liked me from the beginning; and in the marks of
      attention occasionally shown me by his brothers, awkward as they were, he
      alone had never joined. If it was true, of which, however, I began to have
      my doubts, that he was considered by the family, or regarded himself, as
      the destined husband of Miss Vernon, a sentiment of jealousy might have
      sprung up in his mind from the marked predilection which it was that young
      lady's pleasure to show for one whom Thorncliff might, perhaps, think
      likely to become a dangerous rival.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rashleigh at last entered, his visage as dark as mourning weed&mdash;brooding,
      I could not but doubt, over the unjustifiable and disgraceful insult I had
      offered to him. I had already settled in my own mind how I was to behave
      on the occasion, and had schooled myself to believe, that true honour
      consisted not in defending, but in apologising for, an injury so much
      disproportioned to any provocation I might have to allege.
    </p>
    <p>
      I therefore hastened to meet Rashleigh, and to express myself in the
      highest degree sorry for the violence with which I had acted on the
      preceding evening. "No circumstances," I said, "could have wrung from me a
      single word of apology, save my own consciousness of the impropriety of my
      behaviour. I hoped my cousin would accept of my regrets so sincerely
      offered, and consider how much of my misconduct was owing to the excessive
      hospitality of Osbaldistone Hall."
    </p>
    <p>
      "He shall be friends with thee, lad," cried the honest knight, in the full
      effusion of his heart; "or d&mdash;n me, if I call him son more!&mdash;Why,
      Rashie, dost stand there like a log? <i>Sorry for it</i> is all a
      gentleman can say, if he happens to do anything awry, especially over his
      claret. I served in Hounslow, and should know something, I think, of
      affairs of honour. Let me hear no more of this, and we'll go in a body and
      rummage out the badger in Birkenwood-bank."
    </p>
    <p>
      Rashleigh's face resembled, as I have already noticed, no other
      countenance that I ever saw. But this singularity lay not only in the
      features, but in the mode of changing their expression. Other
      countenances, in altering from grief to joy, or from anger to
      satisfaction, pass through some brief interval, ere the expression of the
      predominant passion supersedes entirely that of its predecessor. There is
      a sort of twilight, like that between the clearing up of the darkness and
      the rising of the sun, while the swollen muscles subside, the dark eye
      clears, the forehead relaxes and expands itself, and the whole countenance
      loses its sterner shades, and becomes serene and placid. Rashleigh's face
      exhibited none of these gradations, but changed almost instantaneously
      from the expression of one passion to that of the contrary. I can compare
      it to nothing but the sudden shifting of a scene in the theatre, where, at
      the whistle of the prompter, a cavern disappears, and a grove arises.
    </p>
    <p>
      My attention was strongly arrested by this peculiarity on the present
      occasion. At Rashleigh's first entrance, "black he stood as night!" With
      the same inflexible countenance he heard my excuse and his father's
      exhortation; and it was not until Sir Hildebrand had done speaking, that
      the cloud cleared away at once, and he expressed, in the kindest and most
      civil terms, his perfect satisfaction with the very handsome apology I had
      offered.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed," he said, "I have so poor a brain myself, when I impose on it the
      least burden beyond my usual three glasses, that I have only, like honest
      Cassio, a very vague recollection of the confusion of last night&mdash;remember
      a mass of things, but nothing distinctly&mdash;a quarrel, but nothing
      wherefore&mdash;So, my dear Cousin," he continued, shaking me kindly by
      the hand, "conceive how much I am relieved by finding that I have to
      receive an apology, instead of having to make one&mdash;I will not have a
      word said upon the subject more; I should be very foolish to institute any
      scrutiny into an account, when the balance, which I expected to be against
      me, has been so unexpectedly and agreeably struck in my favour. You see,
      Mr. Osbaldistone, I am practising the language of Lombard Street, and
      qualifying myself for my new calling."
    </p>
    <p>
      As I was about to answer, and raised my eyes for the purpose, they
      encountered those of Miss Vernon, who, having entered the room unobserved
      during the conversation, had given it her close attention. Abashed and
      confounded, I fixed my eyes on the ground, and made my escape to the
      breakfast-table, where I herded among my busy cousins.
    </p>
    <p>
      My uncle, that the events of the preceding day might not pass out of our
      memory without a practical moral lesson, took occasion to give Rashleigh
      and me his serious advice to correct our milksop habits, as he termed
      them, and gradually to inure our brains to bear a gentlemanlike quantity
      of liquor, without brawls or breaking of heads. He recommended that we
      should begin piddling with a regular quart of claret per day, which, with
      the aid of March beer and brandy, made a handsome competence for a
      beginner in the art of toping. And for our encouragement, he assured us
      that he had known many a man who had lived to our years without having
      drunk a pint of wine at a sitting, who yet, by falling into honest
      company, and following hearty example, had afterwards been numbered among
      the best good fellows of the time, and could carry off their six bottles
      under their belt quietly and comfortably, without brawling or babbling,
      and be neither sick nor sorry the next morning.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sage as this advice was, and comfortable as was the prospect it held out
      to me, I profited but little by the exhortation&mdash;partly, perhaps,
      because, as often as I raised my eyes from the table, I observed Miss
      Vernon's looks fixed on me, in which I thought I could read grave
      compassion blended with regret and displeasure. I began to consider how I
      should seek a scene of explanation and apology with her also, when she
      gave me to understand she was determined to save me the trouble of
      soliciting an interview. "Cousin Francis," she said, addressing me by the
      same title she used to give to the other Osbaldistones, although I had,
      properly speaking, no title to be called her kinsman, "I have encountered
      this morning a difficult passage in the Divina Comme'dia of Dante; will
      you have the goodness to step to the library and give me your assistance?
      and when you have unearthed for me the meaning of the obscure Florentine,
      we will join the rest at Birkenwood-bank, and see their luck at unearthing
      the badger."
    </p>
    <p>
      I signified, of course, my readiness to wait upon her. Rashleigh made an
      offer to accompany us. "I am something better skilled," he said, "at
      tracking the sense of Dante through the metaphors and elisions of his wild
      and gloomy poem, than at hunting the poor inoffensive hermit yonder out of
      his cave."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pardon me, Rashleigh," said Miss Vernon, "but as you are to occupy Mr.
      Francis's place in the counting-house, you must surrender to him the
      charge of your pupil's education at Osbaldistone Hall. We shall call you
      in, however, if there is any occasion; so pray do not look so grave upon
      it. Besides, it is a shame to you not to understand field-sports&mdash;What
      will you do should our uncle in Crane-Alley ask you the signs by which you
      track a badger?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, true, Die,&mdash;true," said Sir Hildebrand, with a sigh, "I misdoubt
      Rashleigh will be found short at the leap when he is put to the trial. An
      he would ha' learned useful knowledge like his brothers, he was bred up
      where it grew, I wuss; but French antics, and book-learning, with the new
      turnips, and the rats, and the Hanoverians, ha' changed the world that I
      ha' known in Old England&mdash;But come along with us, Rashie, and carry
      my hunting-staff, man; thy cousin lacks none of thy company as now, and I
      wonna ha' Die crossed&mdash;It's ne'er be said there was but one woman in
      Osbaldistone Hall, and she died for lack of her will."
    </p>
    <p>
      Rashleigh followed his father, as he commanded, not, however, ere he had
      whispered to Diana, "I suppose I must in discretion bring the courtier,
      Ceremony, in my company, and knock when I approach the door of the
      library?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, no, Rashleigh," said Miss Vernon; "dismiss from your company the
      false archimage Dissimulation, and it will better ensure your free access
      to our classical consultations."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, she led the way to the library, and I followed&mdash;like a
      criminal, I was going to say, to execution; but, as I bethink me, I have
      used the simile once, if not twice before. Without any simile at all,
      then, I followed, with a sense of awkward and conscious embarrassment,
      which I would have given a great deal to shake off. I thought it a
      degrading and unworthy feeling to attend one on such an occasion, having
      breathed the air of the Continent long enough to have imbibed the notion
      that lightness, gallantry, and something approaching to well-bred
      self-assurance, should distinguish the gentleman whom a fair lady selects
      for her companion in a <i>tete-a-tete.</i>
    </p>
    <p>
      My English feelings, however, were too many for my French education, and I
      made, I believe, a very pitiful figure, when Miss Vernon, seating herself
      majestically in a huge elbow-chair in the library, like a judge about to
      hear a cause of importance, signed to me to take a chair opposite to her
      (which I did, much like the poor fellow who is going to be tried), and
      entered upon conversation in a tone of bitter irony.
    </p>
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    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER THIRTEENTH.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
              Dire was his thought, who first in poison steeped
              The weapon formed for slaughter&mdash;direr his,
                  And worthier of damnation, who instilled
                  The mortal venom in the social cup,
              To fill the veins with death instead of life.
                                                 Anonymous.
</pre>
    <p>
      "Upon my Word, Mr. Francis Osbaldistone," said Miss Vernon, with the air
      of one who thought herself fully entitled to assume the privilege of
      ironical reproach, which she was pleased to exert, "your character
      improves upon us, sir&mdash;I could not have thought that it was in you.
      Yesterday might be considered as your assay-piece, to prove yourself
      entitled to be free of the corporation of Osbaldistone Hall. But it was a
      masterpiece."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am quite sensible of my ill-breeding, Miss Vernon, and I can only say
      for myself that I had received some communications by which my spirits
      were unusually agitated. I am conscious I was impertinent and absurd."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You do yourself great injustice," said the merciless monitor&mdash;"you
      have contrived, by what I saw and have since heard, to exhibit in the
      course of one evening a happy display of all the various masterly
      qualifications which distinguish your several cousins;&mdash;the gentle
      and generous temper of the benevolent Rashleigh,&mdash;the temperance of
      Percie,&mdash;the cool courage of Thorncliff,&mdash;John's skill in
      dog-breaking,&mdash;Dickon's aptitude to betting,&mdash;all exhibited by
      the single individual, Mr. Francis, and that with a selection of time,
      place, and circumstance, worthy the taste and sagacity of the sapient
      Wilfred."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have a little mercy, Miss Vernon," said I; for I confess I thought the
      schooling as severe as the case merited, especially considering from what
      quarter it came, "and forgive me if I suggest, as an excuse for follies I
      am not usually guilty of, the custom of this house and country. I am far
      from approving of it; but we have Shakspeare's authority for saying, that
      good wine is a good familiar creature, and that any man living may be
      overtaken at some time."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, Mr. Francis, but he places the panegyric and the apology in the mouth
      of the greatest villain his pencil has drawn. I will not, however, abuse
      the advantage your quotation has given me, by overwhelming you with the
      refutation with which the victim Cassio replies to the tempter Iago. I
      only wish you to know, that there is one person at least sorry to see a
      youth of talents and expectations sink into the slough in which the
      inhabitants of this house are nightly wallowing."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have but wet my shoe, I assure you, Miss Vernon, and am too sensible of
      the filth of the puddle to step farther in."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If such be your resolution," she replied, "it is a wise one. But I was so
      much vexed at what I heard, that your concerns have pressed before my own,&mdash;You
      behaved to me yesterday, during dinner, as if something had been told you
      which lessened or lowered me in your opinion&mdash;I beg leave to ask you
      what it was?"
    </p>
    <p>
      I was stupified. The direct bluntness of the demand was much in the style
      one gentleman uses to another, when requesting explanation of any part of
      his conduct in a good-humoured yet determined manner, and was totally
      devoid of the circumlocutions, shadings, softenings, and periphrasis,
      which usually accompany explanations betwixt persons of different sexes in
      the higher orders of society.
    </p>
    <p>
      I remained completely embarrassed; for it pressed on my recollection, that
      Rashleigh's communications, supposing them to be correct, ought to have
      rendered Miss Vernon rather an object of my compassion than of my pettish
      resentment; and had they furnished the best apology possible for my own
      conduct, still I must have had the utmost difficulty in detailing what
      inferred such necessary and natural offence to Miss Vernon's feelings. She
      observed my hesitation, and proceeded, in a tone somewhat more peremptory,
      but still temperate and civil&mdash;"I hope Mr. Osbaldistone does not
      dispute my title to request this explanation. I have no relative who can
      protect me; it is, therefore, just that I be permitted to protect myself."
    </p>
    <p>
      I endeavoured with hesitation to throw the blame of my rude behaviour upon
      indisposition&mdash;upon disagreeable letters from London. She suffered me
      to exhaust my apologies, and fairly to run myself aground, listening all
      the while with a smile of absolute incredulity.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And now, Mr. Francis, having gone through your prologue of excuses, with
      the same bad grace with which all prologues are delivered, please to draw
      the curtain, and show me that which I desire to see. In a word, let me
      know what Rashleigh says of me; for he is the grand engineer and first
      mover of all the machinery of Osbaldistone Hall."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, supposing there was anything to tell, Miss Vernon, what does he
      deserve that betrays the secrets of one ally to another?&mdash;Rashleigh,
      you yourself told me, remained your ally, though no longer your friend."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have neither patience for evasion, nor inclination for jesting, on the
      present subject. Rashleigh cannot&mdash;ought not&mdash;dare not, hold any
      language respecting me, Diana Vernon, but what I may demand to hear
      repeated. That there are subjects of secrecy and confidence between us, is
      most certain; but to such, his communications to you could have no
      relation; and with such, I, as an individual, have no concern."
    </p>
    <p>
      I had by this time recovered my presence of mind, and hastily determined
      to avoid making any disclosure of what Rashleigh had told me in a sort of
      confidence. There was something unworthy in retailing private
      conversation; it could, I thought, do no good, and must necessarily give
      Miss Vernon great pain. I therefore replied, gravely, "that nothing but
      frivolous talk had passed between Mr. Rashleigh Osbaldistone and me on the
      state of the family at the Hall; and I protested, that nothing had been
      said which left a serious impression to her disadvantage. As a gentleman,"
      I said, "I could not be more explicit in reporting private conversation."
    </p>
    <p>
      She started up with the animation of a Camilla about to advance into
      battle. "This shall not serve your turn, sir,&mdash;I must have another
      answer from you." Her features kindled&mdash;her brow became flushed&mdash;her
      eye glanced wild-fire as she proceeded&mdash;"I demand such an
      explanation, as a woman basely slandered has a right to demand from every
      man who calls himself a gentleman&mdash;as a creature, motherless,
      friendless, alone in the world, left to her own guidance and protection,
      has a right to require from every being having a happier lot, in the name
      of that God who sent <i>them</i> into the world to enjoy, and <i>her</i>
      to suffer. You shall not deny me&mdash;or," she added, looking solemnly
      upwards, "you will rue your denial, if there is justice for wrong either
      on earth or in heaven."
    </p>
    <p>
      I was utterly astonished at her vehemence, but felt, thus conjured, that
      it became my duty to lay aside scrupulous delicacy, and gave her briefly,
      but distinctly, the heads of the information which Rashleigh had conveyed
      to me.
    </p>
    <p>
      She sate down and resumed her composure, as soon as I entered upon the
      subject, and when I stopped to seek for the most delicate turn of
      expression, she repeatedly interrupted me with "Go on&mdash;pray, go on;
      the first word which occurs to you is the plainest, and must be the best.
      Do not think of my feelings, but speak as you would to an unconcerned
      third party."
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus urged and encouraged, I stammered through all the account which
      Rashleigh had given of her early contract to marry an Osbaldistone, and of
      the uncertainty and difficulty of her choice; and there I would willingly
      have paused. But her penetration discovered that there was still something
      behind, and even guessed to what it related.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, it was ill-natured of Rashleigh to tell this tale on me. I am like
      the poor girl in the fairy tale, who was betrothed in her cradle to the
      Black Bear of Norway, but complained chiefly of being called Bruin's bride
      by her companions at school. But besides all this, Rashleigh said
      something of himself with relation to me&mdash;Did he not?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He certainly hinted, that were it not for the idea of supplanting his
      brother, he would now, in consequence of his change of profession, be
      desirous that the word Rashleigh should fill up the blank in the
      dispensation, instead of the word Thorncliff."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay? indeed?" she replied&mdash;"was he so very condescending?&mdash;Too
      much honour for his humble handmaid, Diana Vernon&mdash;And she, I
      suppose, was to be enraptured with joy could such a substitute be
      effected?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "To confess the truth, he intimated as much, and even farther insinuated"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "What?&mdash;Let me hear it all!" she exclaimed, hastily.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That he had broken off your mutual intimacy, lest it should have given
      rise to an affection by which his destination to the church would not
      permit him to profit."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am obliged to him for his consideration," replied Miss Vernon, every
      feature of her fine countenance taxed to express the most supreme degree
      of scorn and contempt. She paused a moment, and then said, with her usual
      composure, "There is but little I have heard from you which I did not
      expect to hear, and which I ought not to have expected; because, bating
      one circumstance, it is all very true. But as there are some poisons so
      active, that a few drops, it is said, will infect a whole fountain, so
      there is one falsehood in Rashleigh's communication, powerful enough to
      corrupt the whole well in which Truth herself is said to have dwelt. It is
      the leading and foul falsehood, that, knowing Rashleigh as I have reason
      too well to know him, any circumstance on earth could make me think of
      sharing my lot with him. No," she continued with a sort of inward
      shuddering that seemed to express involuntary horror, "any lot rather than
      that&mdash;the sot, the gambler, the bully, the jockey, the insensate
      fool, were a thousand times preferable to Rashleigh:&mdash;the convent&mdash;the
      jail&mdash;the grave, shall be welcome before them all."
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a sad and melancholy cadence in her voice, corresponding with
      the strange and interesting romance of her situation. So young, so
      beautiful, so untaught, so much abandoned to herself, and deprived of all
      the support which her sex derives from the countenance and protection of
      female friends, and even of that degree of defence which arises from the
      forms with which the sex are approached in civilised life,&mdash;it is
      scarce metaphorical to say, that my heart bled for her. Yet there was an
      expression of dignity in her contempt of ceremony&mdash;of upright feeling
      in her disdain of falsehood&mdash;of firm resolution in the manner in
      which she contemplated the dangers by which she was surrounded, which
      blended my pity with the warmest admiration. She seemed a princess
      deserted by her subjects, and deprived of her power, yet still scorning
      those formal regulations of society which are created for persons of an
      inferior rank; and, amid her difficulties, relying boldly and confidently
      on the justice of Heaven, and the unshaken constancy of her own mind.
    </p>
    <p>
      I offered to express the mingled feelings of sympathy and admiration with
      which her unfortunate situation and her high spirit combined to impress
      me, but she imposed silence on me at once.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I told you in jest," she said, "that I disliked compliments&mdash;I now
      tell you in earnest, that I do not ask sympathy, and that I despise
      consolation. What I have borne, I have borne&mdash;What I am to bear I
      will sustain as I may; no word of commiseration can make a burden feel one
      feather's weight lighter to the slave who must carry it. There is only one
      human being who could have assisted me, and that is he who has rather
      chosen to add to my embarrassment&mdash;Rashleigh Osbaldistone.&mdash;Yes!
      the time once was that I might have learned to love that man&mdash;But,
      great God! the purpose for which he insinuated himself into the confidence
      of one already so forlorn&mdash;the undeviating and continued assiduity
      with which he pursued that purpose from year to year, without one single
      momentary pause of remorse or compassion&mdash;the purpose for which he
      would have converted into poison the food he administered to my mind&mdash;Gracious
      Providence! what should I have been in this world, and the next, in body
      and soul, had I fallen under the arts of this accomplished villain!"
    </p>
    <p>
      I was so much struck with the scene of perfidious treachery which these
      words disclosed, that I rose from my chair hardly knowing what I did, laid
      my hand on the hilt of my sword, and was about to leave the apartment in
      search of him on whom I might discharge my just indignation. Almost
      breathless, and with eyes and looks in which scorn and indignation had
      given way to the most lively alarm, Miss Vernon threw herself between me
      and the door of the apartment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Stay!" she said&mdash;"stay!&mdash;however just your resentment, you do
      not know half the secrets of this fearful prison-house." She then glanced
      her eyes anxiously round the room, and sunk her voice almost to a whisper&mdash;"He
      bears a charmed life; you cannot assail him without endangering other
      lives, and wider destruction. Had it been otherwise, in some hour of
      justice he had hardly been safe, even from this weak hand. I told you,"
      she said, motioning me back to my seat, "that I needed no comforter. I now
      tell you I need no avenger."
    </p>
    <p>
      I resumed my seat mechanically, musing on what she said, and recollecting
      also, what had escaped me in my first glow of resentment, that I had no
      title whatever to constitute myself Miss Vernon's champion. She paused to
      let her own emotions and mine subside, and then addressed me with more
      composure.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have already said that there is a mystery connected with Rashleigh, of
      a dangerous and fatal nature. Villain as he is, and as he knows he stands
      convicted in my eyes, I cannot&mdash;dare not, openly break with or defy
      him. You also, Mr. Osbaldistone, must bear with him with patience, foil
      his artifices by opposing to them prudence, not violence; and, above all,
      you must avoid such scenes as that of last night, which cannot but give
      him perilous advantages over you. This caution I designed to give you, and
      it was the object with which I desired this interview; but I have extended
      my confidence farther than I proposed."
    </p>
    <p>
      I assured her it was not misplaced.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do not believe that it is," she replied. "You have that in your face
      and manners which authorises trust. Let us continue to be friends. You
      need not fear," she said, laughing, while she blushed a little, yet
      speaking with a free and unembarrassed voice, "that friendship with us
      should prove only a specious name, as the poet says, for another feeling.
      I belong, in habits of thinking and acting, rather to your sex, with which
      I have always been brought up, than to my own. Besides, the fatal veil was
      wrapt round me in my cradle; for you may easily believe I have never
      thought of the detestable condition under which I may remove it. The
      time," she added, "for expressing my final determination is not arrived,
      and I would fain have the freedom of wild heath and open air with the
      other commoners of nature, as long as I can be permitted to enjoy them.
      And now that the passage in Dante is made so clear, pray go and see what
      has become of the badger-baiters. My head aches so much that I cannot join
      the party."
    </p>
    <p>
      I left the library, but not to join the hunters. I felt that a solitary
      walk was necessary to compose my spirits before I again trusted myself in
      Rashleigh's company, whose depth of calculating villany had been so
      strikingly exposed to me. In Dubourg's family (as he was of the reformed
      persuasion) I had heard many a tale of Romish priests who gratified, at
      the expense of friendship, hospitality, and the most sacred ties of social
      life, those passions, the blameless indulgence of which is denied by the
      rules of their order. But the deliberate system of undertaking the
      education of a deserted orphan of noble birth, and so intimately allied to
      his own family, with the perfidious purpose of ultimately seducing her,
      detailed as it was by the intended victim with all the glow of virtuous
      resentment, seemed more atrocious to me than the worst of the tales I had
      heard at Bourdeaux, and I felt it would be extremely difficult for me to
      meet Rashleigh, and yet to suppress the abhorrence with which he impressed
      me. Yet this was absolutely necessary, not only on account of the
      mysterious charge which Diana had given me, but because I had, in reality,
      no ostensible ground for quarrelling with him.
    </p>
    <p>
      I therefore resolved, as far as possible, to meet Rashleigh's
      dissimulation with equal caution on my part during our residence in the
      same family; and when he should depart for London, I resolved to give Owen
      at least such a hint of his character as might keep him on his guard over
      my father's interests. Avarice or ambition, I thought, might have as
      great, or greater charms, for a mind constituted like Rashleigh's, than
      unlawful pleasure; the energy of his character, and his power of assuming
      all seeming good qualities, were likely to procure him a high degree of
      confidence, and it was not to be hoped that either good faith or gratitude
      would prevent him from abusing it. The task was somewhat difficult,
      especially in my circumstances, since the caution which I threw out might
      be imputed to jealousy of my rival, or rather my successor, in my father's
      favour. Yet I thought it absolutely necessary to frame such a letter,
      leaving it to Owen, who, in his own line, was wary, prudent, and
      circumspect, to make the necessary use of his knowledge of Rashleigh's
      true character. Such a letter, therefore, I indited, and despatched to the
      post-house by the first opportunity.
    </p>
    <p>
      At my meeting with Rashleigh, he, as well as I, appeared to have taken up
      distant ground, and to be disposed to avoid all pretext for collision. He
      was probably conscious that Miss Vernon's communications had been
      unfavourable to him, though he could not know that they extended to
      discovering his meditated villany towards her. Our intercourse, therefore,
      was reserved on both sides, and turned on subjects of little interest.
      Indeed, his stay at Osbaldistone Hall did not exceed a few days after this
      period, during which I only remarked two circumstances respecting him. The
      first was the rapid and almost intuitive manner in which his powerful and
      active mind seized upon and arranged the elementary principles necessary
      to his new profession, which he now studied hard, and occasionally made
      parade of his progress, as if to show me how light it was for him to lift
      the burden which I had flung down from very weariness and inability to
      carry it. The other remarkable circumstance was, that, notwithstanding the
      injuries with which Miss Vernon charged Rashleigh, they had several
      private interviews together of considerable length, although their bearing
      towards each other in public did not seem more cordial than usual.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the day of Rashleigh's departure arrived, his father bade him
      farewell with indifference; his brothers with the ill-concealed glee of
      school-boys who see their task-master depart for a season, and feel a joy
      which they dare not express; and I myself with cold politeness. When he
      approached Miss Vernon, and would have saluted her she drew back with a
      look of haughty disdain; but said, as she extended her hand to him,
      "Farewell, Rashleigh; God reward you for the good you have done, and
      forgive you for the evil you have meditated."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Amen, my fair cousin," he replied, with an air of sanctity, which
      belonged, I thought, to the seminary of Saint Omers; "happy is he whose
      good intentions have borne fruit in deeds, and whose evil thoughts have
      perished in the blossom."
    </p>
    <p>
      These were his parting words. "Accomplished hypocrite!" said Miss Vernon
      to me, as the door closed behind him&mdash;"how nearly can what we most
      despise and hate, approach in outward manner to that which we most
      venerate!"
    </p>
    <p>
      I had written to my father by Rashleigh, and also a few lines to Owen,
      besides the confidential letter which I have already mentioned, and which
      I thought it more proper and prudent to despatch by another conveyance. In
      these epistles, it would have been natural for me to have pointed out to
      my father and my friend, that I was at present in a situation where I
      could improve myself in no respect, unless in the mysteries of hunting and
      hawking; and where I was not unlikely to forget, in the company of rude
      grooms and horse-boys, any useful knowledge or elegant accomplishments
      which I had hitherto acquired. It would also have been natural that I
      should have expressed the disgust and tedium which I was likely to feel
      among beings whose whole souls were centred in field-sports or more
      degrading pastimes&mdash;that I should have complained of the habitual
      intemperance of the family in which I was a guest, and the difficulty and
      almost resentment with which my uncle, Sir Hildebrand, received any
      apology for deserting the bottle. This last, indeed, was a topic on which
      my father, himself a man of severe temperance, was likely to be easily
      alarmed, and to have touched upon this spring would to a certainty have
      opened the doors of my prison-house, and would either have been the means
      of abridging my exile, or at least would have procured me a change of
      residence during my rustication.
    </p>
    <p>
      I say, my dear Tresham, that, considering how very unpleasant a prolonged
      residence at Osbaldistone Hall must have been to a young man of my age,
      and with my habits, it might have seemed very natural that I should have
      pointed out all these disadvantages to my father, in order to obtain his
      consent for leaving my uncle's mansion. Nothing, however, is more certain,
      than that I did not say a single word to this purpose in my letters to my
      father and Owen. If Osbaldistone Hall had been Athens in all its pristine
      glory of learning, and inhabited by sages, heroes, and poets, I could not
      have expressed less inclination to leave it.
    </p>
    <p>
      If thou hast any of the salt of youth left in thee, Tresham, thou wilt be
      at no loss to account for my silence on a topic seemingly so obvious. Miss
      Vernon's extreme beauty, of which she herself seemed so little conscious&mdash;her
      romantic and mysterious situation&mdash;the evils to which she was exposed&mdash;the
      courage with which she seemed to face them&mdash;her manners, more frank
      than belonged to her sex, yet, as it seemed to me, exceeding in frankness
      only from the dauntless consciousness of her innocence,&mdash;above all,
      the obvious and flattering distinction which she made in my favour over
      all other persons, were at once calculated to interest my best feelings,
      to excite my curiosity, awaken my imagination, and gratify my vanity. I
      dared not, indeed, confess to myself the depth of the interest with which
      Miss Vernon inspired me, or the large share which she occupied in my
      thoughts. We read together, walked together, rode together, and sate
      together. The studies which she had broken off upon her quarrel with
      Rashleigh, she now resumed, under the auspices of a tutor whose views were
      more sincere, though his capacity was far more limited.
    </p>
    <p>
      In truth, I was by no means qualified to assist her in the prosecution of
      several profound studies which she had commenced with Rashleigh, and which
      appeared to me more fitted for a churchman than for a beautiful female.
      Neither can I conceive with what view he should have engaged Diana in the
      gloomy maze of casuistry which schoolmen called philosophy, or in the
      equally abstruse though more certain sciences of mathematics and
      astronomy; unless it were to break down and confound in her mind the
      difference and distinction between the sexes, and to habituate her to
      trains of subtle reasoning, by which he might at his own time invest that
      which is wrong with the colour of that which is right. It was in the same
      spirit, though in the latter case the evil purpose was more obvious, that
      the lessons of Rashleigh had encouraged Miss Vernon in setting at nought
      and despising the forms and ceremonial limits which are drawn round
      females in modern society. It is true, she was sequestrated from all
      female company, and could not learn the usual rules of decorum, either
      from example or precept; yet such was her innate modesty, and accurate
      sense of what was right and wrong, that she would not of herself have
      adopted the bold uncompromising manner which struck me with so much
      surprise on our first acquaintance, had she not been led to conceive that
      a contempt of ceremony indicated at once superiority of understanding and
      the confidence of conscious innocence. Her wily instructor had, no doubt,
      his own views in levelling those outworks which reserve and caution erect
      around virtue. But for these, and for his other crimes, he has long since
      answered at a higher tribunal.
    </p>
    <p>
      Besides the progress which Miss Vernon, whose powerful mind readily
      adopted every means of information offered to it, had made in more
      abstract science, I found her no contemptible linguist, and well
      acquainted both with ancient and modern literature. Were it not that
      strong talents will often go farthest when they seem to have least
      assistance, it would be almost incredible to tell the rapidity of Miss
      Vernon's progress in knowledge; and it was still more extraordinary, when
      her stock of mental acquisitions from books was compared with her total
      ignorance of actual life. It seemed as if she saw and knew everything,
      except what passed in the world around her;&mdash;and I believe it was
      this very ignorance and simplicity of thinking upon ordinary subjects, so
      strikingly contrasted with her fund of general knowledge and information,
      which rendered her conversation so irresistibly fascinating, and rivetted
      the attention to whatever she said or did; since it was absolutely
      impossible to anticipate whether her next word or action was to display
      the most acute perception, or the most profound simplicity. The degree of
      danger which necessarily attended a youth of my age and keen feelings from
      remaining in close and constant intimacy with an object so amiable, and so
      peculiarly interesting, all who remember their own sentiments at my age
      may easily estimate.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="linkCH0014" id="linkCH0014">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER FOURTEENTH.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                 Yon lamp its line of quivering light
                      Shoots from my lady's bower;
                 But why should Beauty's lamp be bright
                      At midnight's lonely hour?
                                          OLD BALLAD.
</pre>
    <p>
      The mode of life at Osbaldistone Hall was too uniform to admit of
      description. Diana Vernon and I enjoyed much of our time in our mutual
      studies; the rest of the family killed theirs in such sports and pastimes
      as suited the seasons, in which we also took a share. My uncle was a man
      of habits, and by habit became so much accustomed to my presence and mode
      of life, that, upon the whole, he was rather fond of me than otherwise. I
      might probably have risen yet higher in his good graces, had I employed
      the same arts for that purpose which were used by Rashleigh, who, availing
      himself of his father's disinclination to business, had gradually
      insinuated himself into the management of his property. But although I
      readily gave my uncle the advantage of my pen and my arithmetic so often
      as he desired to correspond with a neighbour, or settle with a tenant, and
      was, in so far, a more useful inmate in his family than any of his sons,
      yet I was not willing to oblige Sir Hildebrand by relieving him entirely
      from the management of his own affairs; so that, while the good knight
      admitted that nevoy Frank was a steady, handy lad, he seldom failed to
      remark in the same breath, that he did not think he should ha' missed
      Rashleigh so much as he was like to do.
    </p>
    <p>
      As it is particularly unpleasant to reside in a family where we are at
      variance with any part of it, I made some efforts to overcome the ill-will
      which my cousins entertained against me. I exchanged my laced hat for a
      jockey-cap, and made some progress in their opinion; I broke a young colt
      in a manner which carried me further into their good graces. A bet or two
      opportunely lost to Dickon, and an extra health pledged with Percie,
      placed me on an easy and familiar footing with all the young squires,
      except Thorncliff.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have already noticed the dislike entertained against me by this young
      fellow, who, as he had rather more sense, had also a much worse temper,
      than any of his brethren. Sullen, dogged, and quarrelsome, he regarded my
      residence at Osbaldistone Hall as an intrusion, and viewed with envious
      and jealous eyes my intimacy with Diana Vernon, whom the effect proposed
      to be given to a certain family-compact assigned to him as an intended
      spouse. That he loved her, could scarcely be said, at least without much
      misapplication of the word; but he regarded her as something appropriated
      to himself, and resented internally the interference which he knew not how
      to prevent or interrupt. I attempted a tone of conciliation towards
      Thorncliff on several occasions; but he rejected my advances with a manner
      about as gracious as that of a growling mastiff, when the animal shuns and
      resents a stranger's attempts to caress him. I therefore abandoned him to
      his ill-humour, and gave myself no further trouble about the matter.
    </p>
    <p>
      Such was the footing upon which I stood with the family at Osbaldistone
      Hall; but I ought to mention another of its inmates with whom I
      occasionally held some discourse. This was Andrew Fairservice, the
      gardener who (since he had discovered that I was a Protestant) rarely
      suffered me to pass him without proffering his Scotch mull for a social
      pinch. There were several advantages attending this courtesy. In the first
      place, it was made at no expense, for I never took snuff; and secondly, it
      afforded an excellent apology to Andrew (who was not particularly fond of
      hard labour) for laying aside his spade for several minutes. But, above
      all, these brief interviews gave Andrew an opportunity of venting the news
      he had collected, or the satirical remarks which his shrewd northern
      humour suggested.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am saying, sir," he said to me one evening, with a face obviously
      charged with intelligence, "I hae been down at the Trinlay-knowe."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, Andrew, and I suppose you heard some news at the alehouse?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Na, sir; I never gang to the yillhouse&mdash;that is unless ony neighbour
      was to gie me a pint, or the like o' that; but to gang there on ane's ain
      coat-tail, is a waste o' precious time and hard-won siller.&mdash;But I
      was doun at the Trinlay-knowe, as I was saying, about a wee bit business
      o' my ain wi' Mattie Simpson, that wants a forpit or twa o' peers that
      will never be missed in the Ha'-house&mdash;and when we were at the
      thrangest o' our bargain, wha suld come in but Pate Macready the
      travelling merchant?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pedlar, I suppose you mean?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "E'en as your honour likes to ca' him; but it's a creditable calling and a
      gainfu', and has been lang in use wi' our folk. Pate's a far-awa cousin o'
      mine, and we were blythe to meet wi' ane anither."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And you went and had a jug of ale together, I suppose, Andrew?&mdash;For
      Heaven's sake, cut short your story."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Bide a wee&mdash;bide a wee; you southrons are aye in sic a hurry, and
      this is something concerns yourself, an ye wad tak patience to hear't&mdash;Yill?&mdash;deil
      a drap o' yill did Pate offer me; but Mattie gae us baith a drap skimmed
      milk, and ane o' her thick ait jannocks, that was as wat and raw as a
      divot. O for the bonnie girdle cakes o' the north!&mdash;and sae we sat
      doun and took out our clavers."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I wish you would take them out just now. Pray, tell me the news, if you
      have got any worth telling, for I can't stop here all night."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Than, if ye maun hae't, the folk in Lunnun are a' clean wud about this
      bit job in the north here."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Clean wood! what's that?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ou, just real daft&mdash;neither to haud nor to bind&mdash;a' hirdy-girdy&mdash;clean
      through ither&mdash;the deil's ower Jock Wabster."
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="image-0008" id="image-0008">
      <!-- IMG --></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img src="images/pa194.jpg" alt="Frank and Andrew Fairservice "
      width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <!-- IMAGE END -->
    <p>
      "But what does all this mean? or what business have I with the devil or
      Jack Webster?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Umph!" said Andrew, looking extremely knowing, "it's just because&mdash;just
      that the dirdum's a' about yon man's pokmanty."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Whose portmanteau? or what do you mean?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ou, just the man Morris's, that he said he lost yonder: but if it's no
      your honour's affair, as little is it mine; and I mauna lose this gracious
      evening."
    </p>
    <p>
      And, as if suddenly seized with a violent fit of industry, Andrew began to
      labour most diligently.
    </p>
    <p>
      My attention, as the crafty knave had foreseen, was now arrested, and
      unwilling, at the same time, to acknowledge any particular interest in
      that affair, by asking direct questions, I stood waiting till the spirit
      of voluntary communication should again prompt him to resume his story.
      Andrew dug on manfully, and spoke at intervals, but nothing to the purpose
      of Mr. Macready's news; and I stood and listened, cursing him in my heart,
      and desirous at the same time to see how long his humour of contradiction
      would prevail over his desire of speaking upon the subject which was
      obviously uppermost in his mind.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Am trenching up the sparry-grass, and am gaun to saw some Misegun beans;
      they winna want them to their swine's flesh, I'se warrant&mdash;muckle
      gude may it do them. And siclike dung as the grieve has gien me!&mdash;it
      should be wheat-strae, or aiten at the warst o't, and it's pease dirt, as
      fizzenless as chuckie-stanes. But the huntsman guides a' as he likes about
      the stable-yard, and he's selled the best o' the litter, I'se warrant.
      But, howsoever, we mauna lose a turn o' this Saturday at e'en, for the
      wather's sair broken, and if there's a fair day in seven, Sunday's sure to
      come and lick it up&mdash;Howsomever, I'm no denying that it may settle,
      if it be Heaven's will, till Monday morning,&mdash;and what's the use o'
      my breaking my back at this rate?&mdash;I think, I'll e'en awa' hame, for
      yon's the curfew, as they ca' their jowing-in bell."
    </p>
    <p>
      Accordingly, applying both his hands to his spade, he pitched it upright
      in the trench which he had been digging and, looking at me with the air of
      superiority of one who knows himself possessed of important information,
      which he may communicate or refuse at his pleasure, pulled down the
      sleeves of his shirt, and walked slowly towards his coat, which lay
      carefully folded up upon a neighbouring garden-seat.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I must pay the penalty of having interrupted the tiresome rascal,"
      thought I to myself, "and even gratify Mr. Fairservice by taking his
      communication on his own terms." Then raising my voice, I addressed him,&mdash;"And
      after all, Andrew, what are these London news you had from your kinsman,
      the travelling merchant?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The pedlar, your honour means?" retorted Andrew&mdash;"but ca' him what
      ye wull, they're a great convenience in a country-side that's scant o'
      borough-towns like this Northumberland&mdash;That's no the case, now, in
      Scotland;&mdash;there's the kingdom of Fife, frae Culross to the East
      Nuik, it's just like a great combined city&mdash;sae mony royal boroughs
      yoked on end to end, like ropes of ingans, with their hie-streets and
      their booths, nae doubt, and their kraemes, and houses of stane and lime
      and fore-stairs&mdash;Kirkcaldy, the sell o't, is langer than ony town in
      England."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I daresay it is all very splendid and very fine&mdash;but you were
      talking of the London news a little while ago, Andrew."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay," replied Andrew; "but I dinna think your honour cared to hear about
      them&mdash;Howsoever" (he continued, grinning a ghastly smile), "Pate
      Macready does say, that they are sair mistrysted yonder in their
      Parliament House about this rubbery o' Mr. Morris, or whatever they ca'
      the chiel."
    </p>
    <p>
      "In the House of Parliament, Andrew!&mdash;how came they to mention it
      there?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ou, that's just what I said to Pate; if it like your honour, I'll tell
      you the very words; it's no worth making a lie for the matter&mdash;'Pate,'
      said I, 'what ado had the lords and lairds and gentles at Lunnun wi' the
      carle and his walise?&mdash;When we had a Scotch Parliament, Pate,' says I
      (and deil rax their thrapples that reft us o't!) 'they sate dousely down
      and made laws for a haill country and kinrick, and never fashed their
      beards about things that were competent to the judge ordinar o' the
      bounds; but I think,' said I, 'that if ae kailwife pou'd aff her
      neighbour's mutch they wad hae the twasome o' them into the Parliament
      House o' Lunnun. It's just,' said I, 'amaist as silly as our auld daft
      laird here and his gomerils o' sons, wi' his huntsmen and his hounds, and
      his hunting cattle and horns, riding haill days after a bit beast that
      winna weigh sax punds when they hae catched it.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You argued most admirably, Andrew," said I, willing to encourage him to
      get into the marrow of his intelligence; "and what said Pate?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ou," he said, "what better could be expected of a wheen pock-pudding
      English folk?&mdash;But as to the robbery, it's like that when they're a'
      at the thrang o' their Whig and Tory wark, and ca'ing ane anither, like
      unhanged blackguards&mdash;up gets ae lang-tongued chield, and he says,
      that a' the north of England were rank Jacobites (and, quietly, he wasna
      far wrang maybe), and that they had levied amaist open war, and a king's
      messenger had been stoppit and rubbit on the highway, and that the best
      bluid o' Northumberland had been at the doing o't&mdash;and mickle gowd
      ta'en aff him, and mony valuable papers; and that there was nae redress to
      be gotten by remeed of law for the first justice o' the peace that the
      rubbit man gaed to, he had fund the twa loons that did the deed birling
      and drinking wi' him, wha but they; and the justice took the word o' the
      tane for the compearance o' the tither; and that they e'en gae him
      leg-bail, and the honest man that had lost his siller was fain to leave
      the country for fear that waur had come of it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Can this be really true?" said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pate swears it's as true as that his ellwand is a yard lang&mdash;(and so
      it is, just bating an inch, that it may meet the English measure)&mdash;And
      when the chield had said his warst, there was a terrible cry for names,
      and out comes he wi' this man Morris's name, and your uncle's, and Squire
      Inglewood's, and other folk's beside" (looking sly at me)&mdash;"And then
      another dragon o' a chield got up on the other side, and said, wad they
      accuse the best gentleman in the land on the oath of a broken coward?&mdash;for
      it's like that Morris had been drummed out o' the army for rinning awa in
      Flanders; and he said, it was like the story had been made up between the
      minister and him or ever he had left Lunnun; and that, if there was to be
      a search-warrant granted, he thought the siller wad be fund some gate near
      to St. James's Palace. Aweel, they trailed up Morris to their bar, as they
      ca't, to see what he could say to the job; but the folk that were again
      him, gae him sic an awfu' throughgaun about his rinnin' awa, and about a'
      the ill he had ever dune or said for a' the forepart o' his life, that
      Patie says he looked mair like ane dead than living; and they cou'dna get
      a word o' sense out o' him, for downright fright at their growling and
      routing. He maun be a saft sap, wi' a head nae better than a fozy frosted
      turnip&mdash;it wad hae ta'en a hantle o' them to scaur Andrew Fairservice
      out o' his tale."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And how did it all end, Andrew? did your friend happen to learn?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ou, ay; for as his walk is in this country, Pate put aff his journey for
      the space of a week or thereby, because it wad be acceptable to his
      customers to bring down the news. It's just a' gaed aft like moonshine in
      water. The fallow that began it drew in his horns, and said, that though
      he believed the man had been rubbit, yet he acknowledged he might hae been
      mista'en about the particulars. And then the other chield got up, and
      said, he caredna whether Morris was rubbed or no, provided it wasna to
      become a stain on ony gentleman's honour and reputation, especially in the
      north of England; for, said he before them, I come frae the north mysell,
      and I carena a boddle wha kens it. And this is what they ca' explaining&mdash;the
      tane gies up a bit, and the tither gies up a bit, and a' friends again.
      Aweel, after the Commons' Parliament had tuggit, and rived, and rugged at
      Morris and his rubbery till they were tired o't, the Lords' Parliament
      they behoved to hae their spell o't. In puir auld Scotland's Parliament
      they a' sate thegither, cheek by choul, and than they didna need to hae
      the same blethers twice ower again. But till't their lordships went wi' as
      muckle teeth and gude-will, as if the matter had been a' speck and span
      new. Forbye, there was something said about ane Campbell, that suld hae
      been concerned in the rubbery, mair or less, and that he suld hae had a
      warrant frae the Duke of Argyle, as a testimonial o' his character. And
      this put MacCallum More's beard in a bleize, as gude reason there was; and
      he gat up wi' an unco bang, and garr'd them a' look about them, and wad
      ram it even doun their throats, there was never ane o' the Campbells but
      was as wight, wise, warlike, and worthy trust, as auld Sir John the
      Graeme. Now, if your honour's sure ye arena a drap's bluid a-kin to a
      Campbell, as I am nane mysell, sae far as I can count my kin, or hae had
      it counted to me, I'll gie ye my mind on that matter."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You may be assured I have no connection whatever with any gentleman of
      the name."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ou, than we may speak it quietly amang oursells. There's baith gude and
      bad o' the Campbells, like other names, But this MacCallum More has an
      unco sway and say baith, amang the grit folk at Lunnun even now; for he
      canna preceesely be said to belang to ony o' the twa sides o' them, sae
      deil any o' them likes to quarrel wi' him; sae they e'en voted Morris's
      tale a fause calumnious libel, as they ca't, and if he hadna gien them
      leg-bail, he was likely to hae ta'en the air on the pillory for
      leasing-making."
    </p>
    <p>
      So speaking, honest Andrew collected his dibbles, spades, and hoes, and
      threw them into a wheel-barrow,&mdash;leisurely, however, and allowing me
      full time to put any further questions which might occur to me before he
      trundled them off to the tool-house, there to repose during the ensuing
      day. I thought it best to speak out at once, lest this meddling fellow
      should suppose there were more weighty reasons for my silence than
      actually existed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I should like to see this countryman of yours, Andrew and to hear his
      news from himself directly. You have probably heard that I had some
      trouble from the impertinent folly of this man Morris" (Andrew grinned a
      most significant grin), "and I should wish to see your cousin the
      merchant, to ask him the particulars of what he heard in London, if it
      could be done without much trouble."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Naething mair easy," Andrew observed; "he had but to hint to his cousin
      that I wanted a pair or twa o' hose, and he wad be wi' me as fast as he
      could lay leg to the grund."
    </p>
    <p>
      "O yes, assure him I shall be a customer; and as the night is, as you say,
      settled and fair, I shall walk in the garden until he comes; the moon will
      soon rise over the fells. You may bring him to the little back-gate; and I
      shall have pleasure, in the meanwhile, in looking on the bushes and
      evergreens by the bright frosty moonlight."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Vara right, vara right&mdash;that's what I hae aften said; a kail-blade,
      or a colliflour, glances sae glegly by moonlight, it's like a leddy in her
      diamonds."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, off went Andrew Fairservice with great glee. He had to walk
      about two miles, a labour he undertook with the greatest pleasure, in
      order to secure to his kinsman the sale of some articles of his trade,
      though it is probable he would not have given him sixpence to treat him to
      a quart of ale. "The good will of an Englishman would have displayed
      itself in a manner exactly the reverse of Andrew's," thought I, as I paced
      along the smooth-cut velvet walks, which, embowered with high, hedges of
      yew and of holly, intersected the ancient garden of Osbaldistone Hall.
    </p>
    <p>
      As I turned to retrace my steps, it was natural that I should lift up my
      eyes to the windows of the old library; which, small in size, but several
      in number, stretched along the second story of that side of the house
      which now faced me. Light glanced from their casements. I was not
      surprised at this, for I knew Miss Vernon often sat there of an evening,
      though from motives of delicacy I put a strong restraint upon myself, and
      never sought to join her at a time when I knew, all the rest of the family
      being engaged for the evening, our interviews must necessarily have been
      strictly <i>tete-a'-tete.</i> In the mornings we usually read together in
      the same room; but then it often happened that one or other of our cousins
      entered to seek some parchment duodecimo that could be converted into a
      fishing-book, despite its gildings and illumination, or to tell us of some
      "sport toward," or from mere want of knowing where else to dispose of
      themselves. In short, in the mornings the library was a sort of public
      room, where man and woman might meet as on neutral ground. In the evening
      it was very different and bred in a country where much attention is paid,
      or was at least then paid, to <i>biense'ance,</i> I was desirous to think
      for Miss Vernon concerning those points of propriety where her experience
      did not afford her the means of thinking for herself. I made her therefore
      comprehend, as delicately as I could, that when we had evening lessons,
      the presence of a third party was proper.
    </p>
    <p>
      Miss Vernon first laughed, then blushed, and was disposed to be
      displeased; and then, suddenly checking herself, said, "I believe you are
      very right; and when I feel inclined to be a very busy scholar, I will
      bribe old Martha with a cup of tea to sit by me and be my screen."
    </p>
    <p>
      Martha, the old housekeeper, partook of the taste of the family at the
      Hall. A toast and tankard would have pleased her better than all the tea
      in China. However, as the use of this beverage was then confined to the
      higher ranks, Martha felt some vanity in being asked to partake of it; and
      by dint of a great deal of sugar, many words scarce less sweet, and
      abundance of toast and butter, she was sometimes prevailed upon to give us
      her countenance. On other occasions, the servants almost unanimously
      shunned the library after nightfall, because it was their foolish pleasure
      to believe that it lay on the haunted side of the house. The more timorous
      had seen sights and heard sounds there when all the rest of the house was
      quiet; and even the young squires were far from having any wish to enter
      these formidable precincts after nightfall without necessity.
    </p>
    <p>
      That the library had at one time been a favourite resource of Rashleigh&mdash;that
      a private door out of one side of it communicated with the sequestered and
      remote apartment which he chose for himself, rather increased than
      disarmed the terrors which the household had for the dreaded library of
      Osbaldistone Hall. His extensive information as to what passed in the
      world&mdash;his profound knowledge of science of every kind&mdash;a few
      physical experiments which he occasionally showed off, were, in a house of
      so much ignorance and bigotry, esteemed good reasons for supposing him
      endowed with powers over the spiritual world. He understood Greek, Latin,
      and Hebrew; and, therefore, according to the apprehension, and in the
      phrase of his brother Wilfred, needed not to care "for ghaist or
      bar-ghaist, devil or dobbie." Yea, the servants persisted that they had
      heard him hold conversations in the library, when every varsal soul in the
      family were gone to bed; and that he spent the night in watching for
      bogles, and the morning in sleeping in his bed, when he should have been
      heading the hounds like a true Osbaldistone.
    </p>
    <p>
      All these absurd rumours I had heard in broken hints and imperfect
      sentences, from which I was left to draw the inference; and, as easily may
      be supposed, I laughed them to scorn. But the extreme solitude to which
      this chamber of evil fame was committed every night after curfew time, was
      an additional reason why I should not intrude on Miss Vernon when she
      chose to sit there in the evening.
    </p>
    <p>
      To resume what I was saying,&mdash;I was not surprised to see a glimmering
      of light from the library windows: but I was a little struck when I
      distinctly perceived the shadows of two persons pass along and intercept
      the light from the first of the windows, throwing the casement for a
      moment into shade. "It must be old Martha," thought I, "whom Diana has
      engaged to be her companion for the evening; or I must have been mistaken,
      and taken Diana's shadow for a second person. No, by Heaven! it appears on
      the second window,&mdash;two figures distinctly traced; and now it is lost
      again&mdash;it is seen on the third&mdash;on the fourth&mdash;the darkened
      forms of two persons distinctly seen in each window as they pass along the
      room, betwixt the windows and the lights. Whom can Diana have got for a
      companion?"&mdash;The passage of the shadows between the lights and the
      casements was twice repeated, as if to satisfy me that my observation
      served me truly; after which the lights were extinguished, and the shades,
      of course, were seen no more.
    </p>
    <p>
      Trifling as this circumstance was, it occupied my mind for a considerable
      time. I did not allow myself to suppose that my friendship for Miss Vernon
      had any directly selfish view; yet it is incredible the displeasure I felt
      at the idea of her admitting any one to private interviews, at a time, and
      in a place, where, for her own sake, I had been at some trouble to show
      her that it was improper for me to meet with her.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Silly, romping, incorrigible girl!" said I to myself, "on whom all good
      advice and delicacy are thrown away! I have been cheated by the simplicity
      of her manner, which I suppose she can assume just as she could a straw
      bonnet, were it the fashion, for the mere sake of celebrity. I suppose,
      notwithstanding the excellence of her understanding, the society of half a
      dozen of clowns to play at whisk and swabbers would give her more pleasure
      than if Ariosto himself were to awake from the dead."
    </p>
    <p>
      This reflection came the more powerfully across my mind, because, having
      mustered up courage to show to Diana my version of the first books of
      Ariosto, I had requested her to invite Martha to a tea-party in the
      library that evening, to which arrangement Miss Vernon had refused her
      consent, alleging some apology which I thought frivolous at the time. I
      had not long speculated on this disagreeable subject, when the back
      garden-door opened, and the figures of Andrew and his country-man&mdash;bending
      under his pack&mdash;crossed the moonlight alley, and called my attention
      elsewhere.
    </p>
    <p>
      I found Mr. Macready, as I expected, a tough, sagacious, long-headed
      Scotchman, and a collector of news both from choice and profession. He was
      able to give me a distinct account of what had passed in the House of
      Commons and House of Lords on the affair of Morris, which, it appears, had
      been made by both parties a touchstone to ascertain the temper of the
      Parliament. It appeared also, that, as I had learned from Andrew, by
      second hand, the ministry had proved too weak to support a story involving
      the character of men of rank and importance, and resting upon the credit
      of a person of such indifferent fame as Morris, who was, moreover,
      confused and contradictory in his mode of telling the story. Macready was
      even able to supply me with a copy of a printed journal, or News-Letter,
      seldom extending beyond the capital, in which the substance of the debate
      was mentioned; and with a copy of the Duke of Argyle's speech, printed
      upon a broadside, of which he had purchased several from the hawkers,
      because, he said, it would be a saleable article on the north of the
      Tweed. The first was a meagre statement, full of blanks and asterisks, and
      which added little or nothing to the information I had from the Scotchman;
      and the Duke's speech, though spirited and eloquent, contained chiefly a
      panegyric on his country, his family, and his clan, with a few
      compliments, equally sincere, perhaps, though less glowing, which he took
      so favourable an opportunity of paying to himself. I could not learn
      whether my own reputation had been directly implicated, although I
      perceived that the honour of my uncle's family had been impeached, and
      that this person Campbell, stated by Morris to have been the most active
      robber of the two by whom he was assailed, was said by him to have
      appeared in the behalf of a Mr. Osbaldistone, and by the connivance of the
      Justice procured his liberation. In this particular, Morris's story jumped
      with my own suspicions, which had attached to Campbell from the moment I
      saw him appear at Justice Inglewood's. Vexed upon the whole, as well as
      perplexed, with this extraordinary story, I dismissed the two Scotchmen,
      after making some purchases from Macready, and a small compliment to
      Fairservice, and retired to my own apartment to consider what I ought to
      do in defence of my character thus publicly attacked.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="linkCH0015" id="linkCH0015">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER FIFTEENTH.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                       Whence, and what art you?
                                       Milton.
</pre>
    <p>
      After exhausting a sleepless night in meditating on the intelligence I had
      received, I was at first inclined to think that I ought, as speedily as
      possible, to return to London, and by my open appearance repel the calumny
      which had been spread against me. But I hesitated to take this course on
      recollection of my father's disposition, singularly absolute in his
      decisions as to all that concerned his family. He was most able,
      certainly, from experience, to direct what I ought to do, and from his
      acquaintance with the most distinguished Whigs then in power, had
      influence enough to obtain a hearing for my cause. So, upon the whole, I
      judged it most safe to state my whole story in the shape of a narrative,
      addressed to my father; and as the ordinary opportunities of intercourse
      between the Hall and the post-town recurred rarely, I determined to ride
      to the town, which was about ten miles' distance, and deposit my letter in
      the post-office with my own hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      Indeed I began to think it strange that though several weeks had elapsed
      since my departure from home, I had received no letter, either from my
      father or Owen, although Rashleigh had written to Sir Hildebrand of his
      safe arrival in London, and of the kind reception he had met with from his
      uncle. Admitting that I might have been to blame, I did not deserve, in my
      own opinion at least, to be so totally forgotten by my father; and I
      thought my present excursion might have the effect of bringing a letter
      from him to hand more early than it would otherwise have reached me. But
      before concluding my letter concerning the affair of Morris, I failed not
      to express my earnest hope and wish that my father would honour me with a
      few lines, were it but to express his advice and commands in an affair of
      some difficulty, and where my knowledge of life could not be supposed
      adequate to my own guidance. I found it impossible to prevail on myself to
      urge my actual return to London as a place of residence, and I disguised
      my unwillingness to do so under apparent submission to my father's will,
      which, as I imposed it on myself as a sufficient reason for not urging my
      final departure from Osbaldistone Hall, would, I doubted not, be received
      as such by my parent. But I begged permission to come to London, for a
      short time at least, to meet and refute the infamous calumnies which had
      been circulated concerning me in so public a manner. Having made up my
      packet, in which my earnest desire to vindicate my character was strangely
      blended with reluctance to quit my present place of residence, I rode over
      to the post-town, and deposited my letter in the office. By doing so, I
      obtained possession, somewhat earlier than I should otherwise have done,
      of the following letter from my friend Mr. Owen:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Dear Mr. Francis,
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yours received per favour of Mr. R. Osbaldistone, and note the contents.
      Shall do Mr. R. O. such civilities as are in my power, and have taken him
      to see the Bank and Custom-house. He seems a sober, steady young
      gentleman, and takes to business; so will be of service to the firm. Could
      have wished another person had turned his mind that way; but God's will be
      done. As cash may be scarce in those parts, have to trust you will excuse
      my enclosing a goldsmith's bill at six days' sight, on Messrs. Hooper and
      Girder of Newcastle, for L100, which I doubt not will be duly honoured.&mdash;I
      remain, as in duty bound, dear Mr. Frank, your very respectful and
      obedient servant,
    </p>
    <p>
      "Joseph Owen.
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Postscriptum.</i>&mdash;Hope you will advise the above coming safe to
      hand. Am sorry we have so few of yours. Your father says he is as usual,
      but looks poorly."
    </p>
    <p>
      From this epistle, written in old Owen's formal style, I was rather
      surprised to observe that he made no acknowledgment of that private letter
      which I had written to him, with a view to possess him of Rashleigh's real
      character, although, from the course of post, it seemed certain that he
      ought to have received it. Yet I had sent it by the usual conveyance from
      the Hall, and had no reason to suspect that it could miscarry upon the
      road. As it comprised matters of great importance both to my father and to
      myself, I sat down in the post-office and again wrote to Owen,
      recapitulating the heads of my former letter, and requesting to know, in
      course of post, if it had reached him in safety. I also acknowledged the
      receipt of the bill, and promised to make use of the contents if I should
      have any occasion for money. I thought, indeed, it was odd that my father
      should leave the care of supplying my necessities to his clerk; but I
      concluded it was a matter arranged between them. At any rate, Owen was a
      bachelor, rich in his way, and passionately attached to me, so that I had
      no hesitation in being obliged to him for a small sum, which I resolved to
      consider as a loan, to be returned with my earliest ability, in case it
      was not previously repaid by my father; and I expressed myself to this
      purpose to Mr. Owen. A shopkeeper in a little town, to whom the
      post-master directed me, readily gave me in gold the amount of my bill on
      Messrs. Hooper and Girder, so that I returned to Osbaldistone Hall a good
      deal richer than I had set forth. This recruit to my finances was not a
      matter of indifference to me, as I was necessarily involved in some
      expenses at Osbaldistone Hall; and I had seen, with some uneasy
      impatience, that the sum which my travelling expenses had left unexhausted
      at my arrival there was imperceptibly diminishing. This source of anxiety
      was for the present removed. On my arrival at the Hall I found that Sir
      Hildebrand and all his offspring had gone down to the little hamlet,
      called Trinlay-knowes, "to see," as Andrew Fairservice expressed it, "a
      wheen midden cocks pike ilk ither's barns out."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is indeed a brutal amusement, Andrew; I suppose you have none such in
      Scotland?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Na, na," answered Andrew boldly; then shaded away his negative with,
      "unless it be on Fastern's-e'en, or the like o' that&mdash;But indeed it's
      no muckle matter what the folk do to the midden pootry, for they had
      siccan a skarting and scraping in the yard, that there's nae getting a
      bean or pea keepit for them.&mdash;But I am wondering what it is that
      leaves that turret-door open;&mdash;now that Mr. Rashleigh's away, it
      canna be him, I trow."
    </p>
    <p>
      The turret-door to which he alluded opened to the garden at the bottom of
      a winding stair, leading down from Mr. Rashleigh's apartment. This, as I
      have already mentioned, was situated in a sequestered part of the house,
      communicating with the library by a private entrance, and by another
      intricate and dark vaulted passage with the rest of the house. A long
      narrow turf walk led, between two high holly hedges, from the turret-door
      to a little postern in the wall of the garden. By means of these
      communications Rashleigh, whose movements were very independent of those
      of the rest of his family, could leave the Hall or return to it at
      pleasure, without his absence or presence attracting any observation. But
      during his absence the stair and the turret-door were entirely disused,
      and this made Andrew's observation somewhat remarkable.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have you often observed that door open?" was my question.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No just that often neither; but I hae noticed it ance or twice. I'm
      thinking it maun hae been the priest, Father Vaughan, as they ca' him.
      Ye'll no catch ane o' the servants gauging up that stair, puir frightened
      heathens that they are, for fear of bogles and brownies, and lang-nebbit
      things frae the neist warld. But Father Vaughan thinks himself a
      privileged person&mdash;set him up and lay him down!&mdash;I'se be caution
      the warst stibbler that ever stickit a sermon out ower the Tweed yonder,
      wad lay a ghaist twice as fast as him, wi' his holy water and his
      idolatrous trinkets. I dinna believe he speaks gude Latin neither; at
      least he disna take me up when I tell him the learned names o' the
      plants."
    </p>
    <p>
      Of Father Vaughan, who divided his time and his ghostly care between
      Osbaldistone Hall and about half a dozen mansions of Catholic gentlemen in
      the neighbourhood, I have as yet said nothing, for I had seen but little.
      He was aged about sixty&mdash;of a good family, as I was given to
      understand, in the north&mdash;of a striking and imposing presence, grave
      in his exterior, and much respected among the Catholics of Northumberland
      as a worthy and upright man. Yet Father Vaughan did not altogether lack
      those peculiarities which distinguish his order. There hung about him an
      air of mystery, which, in Protestant eyes, savoured of priestcraft. The
      natives (such they might be well termed) of Osbaldistone Hall looked up to
      him with much more fear, or at least more awe, than affection. His
      condemnation of their revels was evident, from their being discontinued in
      some measure when the priest was a resident at the Hall. Even Sir
      Hildebrand himself put some restraint upon his conduct at such times,
      which, perhaps, rendered Father Vaughan's presence rather irksome than
      otherwise. He had the well-bred, insinuating, and almost flattering
      address peculiar to the clergy of his persuasion, especially in England,
      where the lay Catholic, hemmed in by penal laws, and by the restrictions
      of his sect and recommendation of his pastor, often exhibits a reserved,
      and almost a timid manner in the society of Protestants; while the priest,
      privileged by his order to mingle with persons of all creeds, is open,
      alert, and liberal in his intercourse with them, desirous of popularity,
      and usually skilful in the mode of obtaining it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Father Vaughan was a particular acquaintance of Rashleigh's, otherwise, in
      all probability, he would scarce have been able to maintain his footing at
      Osbaldistone Hall. This gave me no desire to cultivate his intimacy, nor
      did he seem to make any advances towards mine; so our occasional
      intercourse was confined to the exchange of mere civility. I considered it
      as extremely probable that Mr. Vaughan might occupy Rashleigh's apartment
      during his occasional residence at the Hall; and his profession rendered
      it likely that he should occasionally be a tenant of the library. Nothing
      was more probable than that it might have been his candle which had
      excited my attention on a preceding evening. This led me involuntarily to
      recollect that the intercourse between Miss Vernon and the priest was
      marked with something like the same mystery which characterised her
      communications with Rashleigh. I had never heard her mention Vaughan's
      name, or even allude to him, excepting on the occasion of our first
      meeting, when she mentioned the old priest and Rashleigh as the only
      conversable beings, besides herself, in Osbaldistone Hall. Yet although
      silent with respect to Father Vaughan, his arrival at the Hall never
      failed to impress Miss Vernon with an anxious and fluttering tremor, which
      lasted until they had exchanged one or two significant glances.
    </p>
    <p>
      Whatever the mystery might be which overclouded the destinies of this
      beautiful and interesting female, it was clear that Father Vaughan was
      implicated in it; unless, indeed, I could suppose that he was the agent
      employed to procure her settlement in the cloister, in the event of her
      rejecting a union with either of my cousins,&mdash;an office which would
      sufficiently account for her obvious emotion at his appearance. As to the
      rest, they did not seem to converse much together, or even to seek each
      other's society. Their league, if any subsisted between them, was of a
      tacit and understood nature, operating on their actions without any
      necessity of speech. I recollected, however, on reflection, that I had
      once or twice discovered signs pass betwixt them, which I had at the time
      supposed to bear reference to some hint concerning Miss Vernon's religious
      observances, knowing how artfully the Catholic clergy maintain, at all
      times and seasons, their influence over the minds of their followers. But
      now I was disposed to assign to these communications a deeper and more
      mysterious import. Did he hold private meetings with Miss Vernon in the
      library? was a question which occupied my thoughts; and if so, for what
      purpose? And why should she have admitted an intimate of the deceitful
      Rashleigh to such close confidence?
    </p>
    <p>
      These questions and difficulties pressed on my mind with an interest which
      was greatly increased by the impossibility of resolving them. I had
      already begun to suspect that my friendship for Diana Vernon was not
      altogether so disinterested as in wisdom it ought to have been. I had
      already felt myself becoming jealous of the contemptible lout Thorncliff,
      and taking more notice, than in prudence or dignity of feeling I ought to
      have done, of his silly attempts to provoke me. And now I was scrutinising
      the conduct of Miss Vernon with the most close and eager observation,
      which I in vain endeavoured to palm on myself as the offspring of idle
      curiosity. All these, like Benedick's brushing his hat of a morning, were
      signs that the sweet youth was in love; and while my judgment still denied
      that I had been guilty of forming an attachment so imprudent, she
      resembled those ignorant guides, who, when they have led the traveller and
      themselves into irretrievable error, persist in obstinately affirming it
      to be impossible that they can have missed the way.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="linkCH0016" id="linkCH0016">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER SIXTEENTH.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     It happened one day about noon, going to my boat, I was exceedingly
     surprised with the print of a man's naked foot on the shore, which
     was very plain to be seen on the sand.
                                            Robinson Crusoe.
</pre>
    <p>
      With the blended feelings of interest and jealousy which were engendered
      by Miss Vernon's singular situation, my observations of her looks and
      actions became acutely sharpened, and that to a degree which,
      notwithstanding my efforts to conceal it, could not escape her
      penetration. The sense that she was observed, or, more properly speaking,
      that she was watched by my looks, seemed to give Diana a mixture of
      embarrassment, pain, and pettishness. At times it seemed that she sought
      an opportunity of resenting a conduct which she could not but feel as
      offensive, considering the frankness with which she had mentioned the
      difficulties that surrounded her. At other times she seemed prepared to
      expostulate upon the subject. But either her courage failed, or some other
      sentiment impeded her seeking an <i>e'claircissement.</i> Her displeasure
      evaporated in repartee, and her expostulations died on her lips. We stood
      in a singular relation to each other,&mdash;spending, and by mutual
      choice, much of our time in close society with each other, yet disguising
      our mutual sentiments, and jealous of, or offended by, each other's
      actions. There was betwixt us intimacy without confidence;&mdash;on one
      side, love without hope or purpose, and curiosity without any rational or
      justifiable motive; and on the other, embarrassment and doubt,
      occasionally mingled with displeasure. Yet I believe that this agitation
      of the passions (such is the nature of the human bosom), as it continued
      by a thousand irritating and interesting, though petty circumstances, to
      render Miss Vernon and me the constant objects of each other's thoughts,
      tended, upon the whole, to increase the attachment with which we were
      naturally disposed to regard each other. But although my vanity early
      discovered that my presence at Osbaldistone Hall had given Diana some
      additional reason for disliking the cloister, I could by no means confide
      in an affection which seemed completely subordinate to the mysteries of
      her singular situation. Miss Vernon was of a character far too formed and
      determined, to permit her love for me to overpower either her sense of
      duty or of prudence, and she gave me a proof of this in a conversation
      which we had together about this period.
    </p>
    <p>
      We were sitting together in the library. Miss Vernon, in turning over a
      copy of the Orlando Furioso, which belonged to me, shook a piece of
      writing paper from between the leaves. I hastened to lift it, but she
      prevented me.&mdash;"It is verse," she said, on glancing at the paper; and
      then unfolding it, but as if to wait my answer before proceeding&mdash;"May
      I take the liberty?&mdash;Nay, nay, if you blush and stammer, I must do
      violence to your modesty, and suppose that permission is granted."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is not worthy your perusal&mdash;a scrap of a translation&mdash;My
      dear Miss Vernon, it would be too severe a trial, that you, who understand
      the original so well, should sit in judgment."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mine honest friend," replied Diana, "do not, if you will be guided by my
      advice, bait your hook with too much humility; for, ten to one, it will
      not catch a single compliment. You know I belong to the unpopular family
      of Tell-truths, and would not flatter Apollo for his lyre."
    </p>
    <p>
      She proceeded to read the first stanza, which was nearly to the following
      purpose:&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
            "Ladies, and knights, and arms, and love's fair flame,
                 Deeds of emprize and courtesy, I sing;
             What time the Moors from sultry Africk came,
                Led on by Agramant, their youthful king&mdash;
                He whom revenge and hasty ire did bring
             O'er the broad wave, in France to waste and war;
             Such ills from old Trojano's death did spring,
                Which to avenge he came from realms afar,
             And menaced Christian Charles, the Roman Emperor.
             Of dauntless Roland, too, my strain shall sound,
                In import never known in prose or rhyme,
             How He, the chief, of judgment deemed profound,
                For luckless love was crazed upon a time"&mdash;
</pre>
    <p>
      "There is a great deal of it," said she, glancing along the paper, and
      interrupting the sweetest sounds which mortal ears can drink in,&mdash;those
      of a youthful poet's verses, namely, read by the lips which are dearest to
      him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Much more than ought to engage your attention, Miss Vernon," I replied,
      something mortified; and I took the verses from her unreluctant hand&mdash;
      "And yet," I continued, "shut up as I am in this retired situation, I have
      felt sometimes I could not amuse myself better than by carrying on&mdash;merely
      for my own amusement, you will of course understand&mdash;the version of
      this fascinating author, which I began some months since when I was on the
      banks of the Garonne."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The question would only be," said Diana, gravely, "whether you could not
      spend your time to better purpose?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You mean in original composition?" said I, greatly flattered&mdash;"But,
      to say truth, my genius rather lies in finding words and rhymes than
      ideas; and therefore I am happy to use those which Ariosto has prepared to
      my hand. However, Miss Vernon, with the encouragement you give"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pardon me, Frank&mdash;it is encouragement not of my giving, but of your
      taking. I meant neither original composition nor translation, since I
      think you might employ your time to far better purpose than in either. You
      are mortified," she continued, "and I am sorry to be the cause."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not mortified,&mdash;certainly not mortified," said I, with the best
      grace I could muster, and it was but indifferently assumed; "I am too much
      obliged by the interest you take in me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, but," resumed the relentless Diana, "there is both mortification and
      a little grain of anger in that constrained tone of voice; do not be angry
      if I probe your feelings to the bottom&mdash;perhaps what I am about to
      say will affect them still more."
    </p>
    <p>
      I felt the childishness of my own conduct, and the superior manliness of
      Miss Vernon's, and assured her, that she need not fear my wincing under
      criticism which I knew to be kindly meant.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That was honestly meant and said," she replied; "I knew full well that
      the fiend of poetical irritability flew away with the little preluding
      cough which ushered in the declaration. And now I must be serious&mdash;Have
      you heard from your father lately?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not a word," I replied; "he has not honoured me with a single line during
      the several months of my residence here."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is strange!&mdash;you are a singular race, you bold Osbaldistones.
      Then you are not aware that he has gone to Holland, to arrange some
      pressing affairs which required his own immediate presence?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I never heard a word of it until this moment."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And farther, it must be news to you, and I presume scarcely the most
      agreeable, that he has left Rashleigh in the almost uncontrolled
      management of his affairs until his return."
    </p>
    <p>
      I started, and could not suppress my surprise and apprehension.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have reason for alarm," said Miss Vernon, very gravely; "and were I
      you, I would endeavour to meet and obviate the dangers which arise from so
      undesirable an arrangement."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And how is it possible for me to do so?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Everything is possible for him who possesses courage and activity," she
      said, with a look resembling one of those heroines of the age of chivalry,
      whose encouragement was wont to give champions double valour at the hour
      of need; "and to the timid and hesitating, everything is impossible,
      because it seems so."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what would you advise, Miss Vernon?" I replied, wishing, yet
      dreading, to hear her answer.
    </p>
    <p>
      She paused a moment, then answered firmly&mdash;"That you instantly leave
      Osbaldistone Hall, and return to London. You have perhaps already," she
      continued, in a softer tone, "been here too long; that fault was not
      yours. Every succeeding moment you waste here will be a crime. Yes, a
      crime: for I tell you plainly, that if Rashleigh long manages your
      father's affairs, you may consider his ruin as consummated."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How is this possible?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ask no questions," she said; "but believe me, Rashleigh's views extend
      far beyond the possession or increase of commercial wealth: he will only
      make the command of Mr. Osbaldistone's revenues and property the means of
      putting in motion his own ambitious and extensive schemes. While your
      father was in Britain this was impossible; during his absence, Rashleigh
      will possess many opportunities, and he will not neglect to use them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But how can I, in disgrace with my father, and divested of all control
      over his affairs, prevent this danger by my mere presence in London?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "That presence alone will do much. Your claim to interfere is a part of
      your birthright, and it is inalienable. You will have the countenance,
      doubtless, of your father's head-clerk, and confidential friends and
      partners. Above all, Rashleigh's schemes are of a nature that"&mdash;(she
      stopped abruptly, as if fearful of saying too much)&mdash;"are, in short,"
      she resumed, "of the nature of all selfish and unconscientious plans,
      which are speedily abandoned as soon as those who frame them perceive
      their arts are discovered and watched. Therefore, in the language of your
      favourite poet&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
           To horse! to horse! Urge doubts to those that fear."
</pre>
    <p>
      A feeling, irresistible in its impulse, induced me to reply&mdash;"Ah!
      Diana, can <i>you</i> give me advice to leave Osbaldistone Hall?&mdash;then
      indeed I have already been a resident here too long!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Miss Vernon coloured, but proceeded with great firmness&mdash;"Indeed, I
      do give you this advice&mdash;not only to quit Osbaldistone Hall, but
      never to return to it more. You have only one friend to regret here," she
      continued, forcing a smile, "and she has been long accustomed to sacrifice
      her friendships and her comforts to the welfare of others. In the world
      you will meet a hundred whose friendship will be as disinterested&mdash;more
      useful&mdash;less encumbered by untoward circumstances&mdash;less
      influenced by evil tongues and evil times."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never!" I exclaimed, "never!&mdash;the world can afford me nothing to
      repay what I must leave behind me." Here I took her hand, and pressed it
      to my lips.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is folly!" she exclaimed&mdash;"this is madness!" and she struggled
      to withdraw her hand from my grasp, but not so stubbornly as actually to
      succeed until I had held it for nearly a minute. "Hear me, sir!" she said,
      "and curb this unmanly burst of passion. I am, by a solemn contract, the
      bride of Heaven, unless I could prefer being wedded to villany in the
      person of Rashleigh Osbaldistone, or brutality in that of his brother. I
      am, therefore, the bride of Heaven,&mdash;betrothed to the convent from
      the cradle. To me, therefore, these raptures are misapplied&mdash;they
      only serve to prove a farther necessity for your departure, and that
      without delay." At these words she broke suddenly off, and said, but in a
      suppressed tone of voice, "Leave me instantly&mdash;we will meet here
      again, but it must be for the last time."
    </p>
    <p>
      My eyes followed the direction of hers as she spoke, and I thought I saw
      the tapestry shake, which covered the door of the secret passage from
      Rashleigh's room to the library. I conceived we were observed, and turned
      an inquiring glance on Miss Vernon.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is nothing," said she, faintly; "a rat behind the arras."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Dead for a ducat," would have been my reply, had I dared to give way to
      the feelings which rose indignant at the idea of being subjected to an
      eaves-dropper on such an occasion. Prudence, and the necessity of
      suppressing my passion, and obeying Diana's reiterated command of "Leave
      me! leave me!" came in time to prevent my rash action. I left the
      apartment in a wild whirl and giddiness of mind, which I in vain attempted
      to compose when I returned to my own.
    </p>
    <p>
      A chaos of thoughts intruded themselves on me at once, passing hastily
      through my brain, intercepting and overshadowing each other, and
      resembling those fogs which in mountainous countries are wont to descend
      in obscure volumes, and disfigure or obliterate the usual marks by which
      the traveller steers his course through the wilds. The dark and undefined
      idea of danger arising to my father from the machinations of such a man as
      Rashleigh Osbaldistone&mdash;the half declaration of love that I had
      offered to Miss Vernon's acceptance&mdash;the acknowledged difficulties of
      her situation, bound by a previous contract to sacrifice herself to a
      cloister or to an ill-assorted marriage,&mdash;all pressed themselves at
      once upon my recollection, while my judgment was unable deliberately to
      consider any of them in their just light and bearings. But chiefly and
      above all the rest, I was perplexed by the manner in which Miss Vernon had
      received my tender of affection, and by her manner, which, fluctuating
      betwixt sympathy and firmness, seemed to intimate that I possessed an
      interest in her bosom, but not of force sufficient to counterbalance the
      obstacles to her avowing a mutual affection. The glance of fear, rather
      than surprise, with which she had watched the motion of the tapestry over
      the concealed door, implied an apprehension of danger which I could not
      but suppose well grounded; for Diana Vernon was little subject to the
      nervous emotions of her sex, and totally unapt to fear without actual and
      rational cause. Of what nature could those mysteries be, with which she
      was surrounded as with an enchanter's spell, and which seemed continually
      to exert an active influence over her thoughts and actions, though their
      agents were never visible? On this subject of doubt my mind finally
      rested, as if glad to shake itself free from investigating the propriety
      or prudence of my own conduct, by transferring the inquiry to what
      concerned Miss Vernon. I will be resolved, I concluded, ere I leave
      Osbaldistone Hall, concerning the light in which I must in future regard
      this fascinating being, over whose life frankness and mystery seem to have
      divided their reign,&mdash;the former inspiring her words and sentiments&mdash;the
      latter spreading in misty influence over all her actions.
    </p>
    <p>
      Joined to the obvious interests which arose from curiosity and anxious
      passion, there mingled in my feelings a strong, though unavowed and
      undefined, infusion of jealousy. This sentiment, which springs up with
      love as naturally as the tares with the wheat, was excited by the degree
      of influence which Diana appeared to concede to those unseen beings by
      whom her actions were limited. The more I reflected upon her character,
      the more I was internally though unwillingly convinced, that she was
      formed to set at defiance all control, excepting that which arose from
      affection; and I felt a strong, bitter, and gnawing suspicion, that such
      was the foundation of that influence by which she was overawed.
    </p>
    <p>
      These tormenting doubts strengthened my desire to penetrate into the
      secret of Miss Vernon's conduct, and in the prosecution of this sage
      adventure, I formed a resolution, of which, if you are not weary of these
      details, you will find the result in the next chapter.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="linkCH0017" id="linkCH0017">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                     I hear a voice you cannot hear,
                     Which says, I must not stay;
                     I see a hand you cannot see,
                           Which beckons me awry.
                                            Tickell.
</pre>
    <p>
      I have already told you, Tresham, if you deign to bear it in remembrance,
      that my evening visits to the library had seldom been made except by
      appointment, and under the sanction of old Dame Martha's presence. This,
      however, was entirely a tacit conventional arrangement of my own
      instituting. Of late, as the embarrassments of our relative situation had
      increased, Miss Vernon and I had never met in the evening at all. She had
      therefore no reason to suppose that I was likely to seek a renewal of
      these interviews, and especially without some previous notice or
      appointment betwixt us, that Martha might, as usual, be placed upon duty;
      but, on the other hand, this cautionary provision was a matter of
      understanding, not of express enactment. The library was open to me, as to
      the other members of the family, at all hours of the day and night, and I
      could not be accused of intrusion, however suddenly and unexpectedly I
      might made my appearance in it. My belief was strong, that in this
      apartment Miss Vernon occasionally received Vaughan, or some other person,
      by whose opinion she was accustomed to regulate her conduct, and that at
      the times when she could do so with least chance of interruption. The
      lights which gleamed in the library at unusual hours&mdash;the passing
      shadows which I had myself remarked&mdash;the footsteps which might be
      traced in the morning-dew from the turret-door to the postern-gate in the
      garden&mdash;sounds and sights which some of the servants, and Andrew
      Fairservice in particular, had observed, and accounted for in their own
      way,&mdash;all tended to show that the place was visited by some one
      different from the ordinary inmates of the hall. Connected as this
      visitant probably must be with the fates of Diana Vernon, I did not
      hesitate to form a plan of discovering who or what he was,&mdash;how far
      his influence was likely to produce good or evil consequences to her on
      whom he acted;&mdash;above all, though I endeavoured to persuade myself
      that this was a mere subordinate consideration, I desired to know by what
      means this person had acquired or maintained his influence over Diana, and
      whether he ruled over her by fear or by affection. The proof that this
      jealous curiosity was uppermost in my mind, arose from my imagination
      always ascribing Miss Vernon's conduct to the influence of some one
      individual agent, although, for aught I knew about the matter, her
      advisers might be as numerous am Legion. I remarked this over and over to
      myself; but I found that my mind still settled back in my original
      conviction, that one single individual, of the masculine sex, and in all
      probability young and handsome, was at the bottom of Miss Vernon's
      conduct; and it was with a burning desire of discovering, or rather of
      detecting, such a rival, that I stationed myself in the garden to watch
      the moment when the lights should appear in the library windows.
    </p>
    <p>
      So eager, however, was my impatience, that I commenced my watch for a
      phenomenon, which could not appear until darkness, a full hour before the
      daylight disappeared, on a July evening. It was Sabbath, and all the walks
      were still and solitary. I walked up and down for some time, enjoying the
      refreshing coolness of a summer evening, and meditating on the probable
      consequences of my enterprise. The fresh and balmy air of the garden,
      impregnated with fragrance, produced its usual sedative effects on my
      over-heated and feverish blood. As these took place, the turmoil of my
      mind began proportionally to abate, and I was led to question the right I
      had to interfere with Miss Vernon's secrets, or with those of my uncle's
      family. What was it to me whom my uncle might choose to conceal in his
      house, where I was myself a guest only by tolerance? And what title had I
      to pry into the affairs of Miss Vernon, fraught, as she had avowed them to
      be, with mystery, into which she desired no scrutiny?
    </p>
    <p>
      Passion and self-will were ready with their answers to these questions. In
      detecting this secret, I was in all probability about to do service to Sir
      Hildebrand, who was probably ignorant of the intrigues carried on in his
      family&mdash;and a still more important service to Miss Vernon, whose
      frank simplicity of character exposed her to so many risks in maintaining
      a private correspondence, perhaps with a person of doubtful or dangerous
      character. If I seemed to intrude myself on her confidence, it was with
      the generous and disinterested (yes, I even ventured to call it the <i>disinterested</i>)
      intention of guiding, defending, and protecting her against craft&mdash;against
      malice,&mdash;above all, against the secret counsellor whom she had chosen
      for her confidant. Such were the arguments which my will boldly preferred
      to my conscience, as coin which ought to be current, and which conscience,
      like a grumbling shopkeeper, was contented to accept, rather than come to
      an open breach with a customer, though more than doubting that the tender
      was spurious.
    </p>
    <p>
      While I paced the green alleys, debating these things <i>pro</i> and <i>con,</i>
      I suddenly alighted upon Andrew Fairservice, perched up like a statue by a
      range of bee-hives, in an attitude of devout contemplation&mdash;one eye,
      however, watching the motions of the little irritable citizens, who were
      settling in their straw-thatched mansion for the evening, and the other
      fixed on a book of devotion, which much attrition had deprived of its
      corners, and worn into an oval shape; a circumstance which, with the close
      print and dingy colour of the volume in question, gave it an air of most
      respectable antiquity.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was e'en taking a spell o' worthy Mess John Quackleben's Flower of a
      Sweet Savour sawn on the Middenstead of this World," said Andrew, closing
      his book at my appearance, and putting his horn spectacles, by way of
      mark, at the place where he had been reading.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And the bees, I observe, were dividing your attention, Andrew, with the
      learned author?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "They are a contumacious generation," replied the gardener; "they hae sax
      days in the week to hive on, and yet it's a common observe that they will
      aye swarm on the Sabbath-day, and keep folk at hame frae hearing the word&mdash;But
      there's nae preaching at Graneagain chapel the e'en&mdash;that's aye ae
      mercy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You might have gone to the parish church as I did, Andrew, and heard an
      excellent discourse."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Clauts o' cauld parritch&mdash;clauts o' cauld parritch," replied Andrew,
      with a most supercilious sneer,&mdash;"gude aneueh for dogs, begging your
      honour's pardon&mdash;Ay! I might nae doubt hae heard the curate linking
      awa at it in his white sark yonder, and the musicians playing on whistles,
      mair like a penny-wedding than a sermon&mdash;and to the boot of that, I
      might hae gaen to even-song, and heard Daddie Docharty mumbling his mass&mdash;muckle
      the better I wad hae been o' that!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Docharty!" said I (this was the name of an old priest, an Irishman, I
      think, who sometimes officiated at Osbaldistone Hall)&mdash;"I thought
      Father Vaughan had been at the Hall. He was here yesterday."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay," replied Andrew; "but he left it yestreen, to gang to Greystock, or
      some o' thae west-country haulds. There's an unco stir among them a'
      e'enow. They are as busy as my bees are&mdash;God sain them! that I suld
      even the puir things to the like o' papists. Ye see this is the second
      swarm, and whiles they will swarm off in the afternoon. The first swarm
      set off sune in the morning.&mdash;But I am thinking they are settled in
      their skeps for the night; sae I wuss your honour good-night, and grace,
      and muckle o't."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, Andrew retreated, but often cast a parting glance upon the <i>skeps,</i>
      as he called the bee-hives.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had indirectly gained from him an important piece of information, that
      Father Vaughan, namely, was not supposed to be at the Hall. If, therefore,
      there appeared light in the windows of the library this evening, it either
      could not be his, or he was observing a very secret and suspicious line of
      conduct. I waited with impatience the time of sunset and of twilight. It
      had hardly arrived, ere a gleam from the windows of the library was seen,
      dimly distinguishable amidst the still enduring light of the evening. I
      marked its first glimpse, however, as speedily as the benighted sailor
      descries the first distant twinkle of the lighthouse which marks his
      course. The feelings of doubt and propriety, which had hitherto contended
      with my curiosity and jealousy, vanished when an opportunity of gratifying
      the former was presented to me. I re-entered the house, and avoiding the
      more frequented apartments with the consciousness of one who wishes to
      keep his purpose secret, I reached the door of the library&mdash;hesitated
      for a moment as my hand was upon the latch&mdash;heard a suppressed step
      within&mdash;opened the door&mdash;and found Miss Vernon alone.
    </p>
    <p>
      Diana appeared surprised,&mdash;whether at my sudden entrance, or from
      some other cause, I could not guess; but there was in her appearance a
      degree of flutter, which I had never before remarked, and which I knew
      could only be produced by unusual emotion. Yet she was calm in a moment;
      and such is the force of conscience, that I, who studied to surprise her,
      seemed myself the surprised, and was certainly the embarrassed person.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Has anything happened?" said Miss Vernon&mdash;"has any one arrived at
      the Hall?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No one that I know of," I answered, in some confusion; "I only sought the
      Orlando."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It lies there," said Miss Vernon, pointing to the table. In removing one
      or two books to get at that which I pretended to seek, I was, in truth,
      meditating to make a handsome retreat from an investigation to which I
      felt my assurance inadequate, when I perceived a man's glove lying upon
      the table. My eyes encountered those of Miss Vernon, who blushed deeply.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is one of my relics," she said with hesitation, replying not to my
      words but to my looks; "it is one of the gloves of my grandfather, the
      original of the superb Vandyke which you admire."
    </p>
    <p>
      As if she thought something more than her bare assertion was necessary to
      prove her statement true, she opened a drawer of the large oaken table,
      and taking out another glove, threw it towards me.&mdash;When a temper
      naturally ingenuous stoops to equivocate, or to dissemble, the anxious
      pain with which the unwonted task is laboured, often induces the hearer to
      doubt the authenticity of the tale. I cast a hasty glance on both gloves,
      and then replied gravely&mdash;"The gloves resemble each other, doubtless,
      in form and embroidery; but they cannot form a pair, since they both
      belong to the right hand."
    </p>
    <p>
      She bit her lip with anger, and again coloured deeply.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You do right to expose me," she replied, with bitterness: "some friends
      would have only judged from what I said, that I chose to give no
      particular explanation of a circumstance which calls for none&mdash;at
      least to a stranger. You have judged better, and have made me feel, not
      only the meanness of duplicity, but my own inadequacy to sustain the task
      of a dissembler. I now tell you distinctly, that that glove is not the
      fellow, as you have acutely discerned, to the one which I just now
      produced;&mdash;it belongs to a friend yet dearer to me than the original
      of Vandyke's picture&mdash;a friend by whose counsels I have been, and
      will be, guided&mdash;whom I honour&mdash;whom I"&mdash;she paused.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was irritated at her manner, and filled up the blank in my own way&mdash;
      "Whom she <i>loves</i>, Miss Vernon would say."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And if I do say so," she replied haughtily, "by whom shall my affection
      be called to account?"
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="image-0009" id="image-0009">
      <!-- IMG --></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img src="images/pa234.jpg" alt="Die Vernon and Frank in Library "
      width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <!-- IMAGE END -->
    <p>
      "Not by me, Miss Vernon, assuredly&mdash;I entreat you to hold me
      acquitted of such presumption.&mdash;<i>But,</i>" I continued, with some
      emphasis, for I was now piqued in return, "I hope Miss Vernon will pardon
      a friend, from whom she seems disposed to withdraw the title, for
      observing"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Observe nothing, sir," she interrupted with some vehemence, "except that
      I will neither be doubted nor questioned. There does not exist one by whom
      I will be either interrogated or judged; and if you sought this unusual
      time of presenting yourself in order to spy upon my privacy, the
      friendship or interest with which you pretend to regard me, is a poor
      excuse for your uncivil curiosity."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I relieve you of my presence," said I, with pride equal to her own; for
      my temper has ever been a stranger to stooping, even in cases where my
      feelings were most deeply interested&mdash;"I relieve you of my presence.
      I awake from a pleasant, but a most delusive dream; and&mdash;but we
      understand each other."
    </p>
    <p>
      I had reached the door of the apartment, when Miss Vernon, whose movements
      were sometimes so rapid as to seem almost instinctive, overtook me, and,
      catching hold of my arm, stopped me with that air of authority which she
      could so whimsically assume, and which, from the <i>naivete</i> and
      simplicity of her manner, had an effect so peculiarly interesting.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Stop, Mr. Frank," she said, "you are not to leave me in that way neither;
      I am not so amply provided with friends, that I can afford to throw away
      even the ungrateful and the selfish. Mark what I say, Mr. Francis
      Osbaldistone. You shall know nothing of this mysterious glove," and she
      held it up as she spoke&mdash;"nothing&mdash;no, not a single iota more
      than you know already; and yet I will not permit it to be a gauntlet of
      strife and defiance betwixt us. My time here," she said, sinking into a
      tone somewhat softer, "must necessarily be very short; yours must be still
      shorter: we are soon to part never to meet again; do not let us quarrel,
      or make any mysterious miseries the pretext for farther embittering the
      few hours we shall ever pass together on this side of eternity."
    </p>
    <p>
      I do not know, Tresham, by what witchery this fascinating creature
      obtained such complete management over a temper which I cannot at all
      times manage myself. I had determined on entering the library, to seek a
      complete explanation with Miss Vernon. I had found that she refused it
      with indignant defiance, and avowed to my face the preference of a rival;
      for what other construction could I put on her declared preference of her
      mysterious confidant? And yet, while I was on the point of leaving the
      apartment, and breaking with her for ever, it cost her but a change of
      look and tone, from that of real and haughty resentment to that of kind
      and playful despotism, again shaded off into melancholy and serious
      feeling, to lead me back to my seat, her willing subject, on her own hard
      terms.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What does this avail?" said I, as I sate down. "What can this avail, Miss
      Vernon? Why should I witness embarrassments which I cannot relieve, and
      mysteries which I offend you even by attempting to penetrate?
      Inexperienced as you are in the world, you must still be aware that a
      beautiful young woman can have but one male friend. Even in a male friend
      I will be jealous of a confidence shared with a third party unknown and
      concealed; but with <i>you,</i> Miss Vernon"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are, of course, jealous, in all the tenses and moods of that amiable
      passion? But, my good friend, you have all this time spoke nothing but the
      paltry gossip which simpletons repeat from play-books and romances, till
      they give mere cant a real and powerful influence over their minds. Boys
      and girls prate themselves into love; and when their love is like to fall
      asleep, they prate and tease themselves into jealousy. But you and I,
      Frank, are rational beings, and neither silly nor idle enough to talk
      ourselves into any other relation than that of plain honest disinterested
      friendship. Any other union is as far out of our reach as if I were man,
      or you woman&mdash;To speak truth," she added, after a moment's
      hesitation, "even though I am so complaisant to the decorum of my sex as
      to blush a little at my own plain dealing, we cannot marry if we would;
      and we ought not if we could."
    </p>
    <p>
      And certainly, Tresham, she did blush most angelically, as she made this
      cruel declaration. I was about to attack both her positions, entirely
      forgetting those very suspicions which had been confirmed in the course of
      the evening, but she proceeded with a cold firmness which approached to
      severity&mdash;"What I say is sober and indisputable truth, on which I
      will neither hear question nor explanation. We are therefore friends, Mr.
      Osbaldistone&mdash;are we not?" She held out her hand, and taking mine,
      added&mdash;"And nothing to each other now, or henceforward, except as
      friends."
    </p>
    <p>
      She let go my hand. I sunk it and my head at once, fairly <i>overcrowed,</i>
      as Spenser would have termed it, by the mingled kindness and firmness of
      her manner. She hastened to change the subject.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here is a letter," she said, "directed for you, Mr. Osbaldistone, very
      duly and distinctly; but which, notwithstanding the caution of the person
      who wrote and addressed it, might perhaps never have reached your hands,
      had it not fallen into the possession of a certain Pacolet, or enchanted
      dwarf of mine, whom, like all distressed damsels of romance, I retain in
      my secret service."
    </p>
    <p>
      I opened the letter and glanced over the contents. The unfolded sheet of
      paper dropped from my hands, with the involuntary exclamation of "Gracious
      Heaven! my folly and disobedience have ruined my father!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Miss Vernon rose with looks of real and affectionate alarm&mdash;"You grow
      pale&mdash;you are ill&mdash;shall I bring you a glass of water? Be a man,
      Mr. Osbaldistone, and a firm one. Is your father&mdash;is he no more?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He lives," said I, "thank God! but to what distress and difficulty"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "If that be all, despair not, May I read this letter?" she said, taking it
      up.
    </p>
    <p>
      I assented, hardly knowing what I said. She read it with great attention.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who is this Mr. Tresham, who signs the letter?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My father's partner"&mdash;(your own good father, Will)&mdash;"but he is
      little in the habit of acting personally in the business of the house."
    </p>
    <p>
      "He writes here," said Miss Vernon, "of various letters sent to you
      previously."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have received none of them," I replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And it appears," she continued, "that Rashleigh, who has taken the full
      management of affairs during your father's absence in Holland, has some
      time since left London for Scotland, with effects and remittances to take
      up large bills granted by your father to persons in that country, and that
      he has not since been heard of."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is but too true."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And here has been," she added, looking at the letter, "a head-clerk, or
      some such person,&mdash;Owenson&mdash;Owen&mdash;despatched to Glasgow, to
      find out Rashleigh, if possible, and you are entreated to repair to the
      same place, and assist him in his researches."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is even so, and I must depart instantly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Stay but one moment," said Miss Vernon. "It seems to me that the worst
      which can come of this matter, will be the loss of a certain sum of money;&mdash;and
      can that bring tears into your eyes? For shame, Mr. Osbaldistone!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You do me injustice, Miss Vernon," I answered. "I grieve not for the loss
      of the money, but for the effect which I know it will produce on the
      spirits and health of my father, to whom mercantile credit is as honour;
      and who, if declared insolvent, would sink into the grave, oppressed by a
      sense of grief, remorse, and despair, like that of a soldier convicted of
      cowardice or a man of honour who had lost his rank and character in
      society. All this I might have prevented by a trifling sacrifice of the
      foolish pride and indolence which recoiled from sharing the labours of his
      honourable and useful profession. Good Heaven! how shall I redeem the
      consequences of my error?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "By instantly repairing to Glasgow, as you are conjured to do by the
      friend who writes this letter."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But if Rashleigh," said I, "has really formed this base and
      unconscientious scheme of plundering his benefactor, what prospect is
      there that I can find means of frustrating a plan so deeply laid?'
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
"The prospect," she replied, "indeed, may be uncertain; but, on the other
hand, there is no possibility of your doing any service to your father by
remaining here. Remember, had you been on the post destined for you, this
disaster could not have happened: hasten to that which is now pointed
out, and it may possibly be retrieved.&mdash;Yet stay&mdash;do not leave this room
until I return."

 She left me in confusion and amazement; amid which, however, I could
find a lucid interval to admire the firmness, composure, and presence of
mind which Miss Vernon seemed to possess on every crisis, however sudden.
</pre>
    <p>
      In a few minutes she returned with a sheet of paper in her hand, folded
      and sealed like a letter, but without address. "I trust you," she said,
      "with this proof of my friendship, because I have the most perfect
      confidence in your honour. If I understand the nature of your distress
      rightly, the funds in Rashleigh's possession must be recovered by a
      certain day&mdash;the 12th of September, I think is named&mdash;in order
      that they may be applied to pay the bills in question; and, consequently,
      that if adequate funds be provided before that period, your father's
      credit is safe from the apprehended calamity."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Certainly&mdash;I so understand Mr. Tresham"&mdash;I looked at your
      father's letter again, and added, "There cannot be a doubt of it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well," said Diana, "in that case my little Pacolet may be of use to you.
      You have heard of a spell contained in a letter. Take this packet; do not
      open it until other and ordinary means have failed. If you succeed by your
      own exertions, I trust to your honour for destroying it without opening or
      suffering it to be opened;&mdash;but if not, you may break the seal within
      ten days of the fated day, and you will find directions which may possibly
      be of service to you. Adieu, Frank; we never meet more&mdash;but sometimes
      think of your friend Die Vernon."
    </p>
    <p>
      She extended her hand, but I clasped her to my bosom. She sighed as she
      extricated herself from the embrace which she permitted&mdash;escaped to
      the door which led to her own apartment&mdash;and I saw her no more.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /> <br /><br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      VOLUME TWO
    </h2>
    <p>
      <a name="Aimage-0003" id="Aimage-0003">
      <!-- IMG --></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img src="images/frontispiece2.jpg" alt="Helen Macgregor--frontispiece "
      width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <!-- IMAGE END -->
    <p>
      <a name="AlinkCH0001" id="AlinkCH0001">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a> <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER FIRST
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                   And hurry, hurry, off they rode,
                       As fast as fast might be;
                   Hurra, hurra, the dead can ride,
                       Dost fear to ride with me?
                                            Burger.
</pre>
    <p>
      There is one advantage in an accumulation of evils, differing in cause and
      character, that the distraction which they afford by their contradictory
      operation prevents the patient from being overwhelmed under either. I was
      deeply grieved at my separation from Miss Vernon, yet not so much so as I
      should have been, had not my father's apprehended distresses forced
      themselves on my attention; and I was distressed by the news of Mr.
      Tresham, yet less so than if they had fully occupied my mind. I was
      neither a false lover nor an unfeeling son; but man can give but a certain
      portion of distressful emotions to the causes which demand them; and if
      two operate at once, our sympathy, like the funds of a compounding
      bankrupt, can only be divided between them. Such were my reflections when
      I gained my apartment&mdash;it seems, from the illustration, they already
      began to have a twang of commerce in them.
    </p>
    <p>
      I set myself seriously to consider your father's letter. It was not very
      distinct, and referred for several particulars to Owen, whom I was
      entreated to meet with as soon as possible at a Scotch town called
      Glasgow; being informed, moreover, that my old friend was to be heard of
      at Messrs. MacVittie, MacFin, and Company, merchants in the Gallowgate of
      the said town. It likewise alluded to several letters,&mdash;which, as it
      appeared to me, must have miscarried or have been intercepted, and
      complained of my obdurate silence, in terms which would have, been highly
      unjust, had my letters reached their purposed destination. I was amazed as
      I read. That the spirit of Rashleigh walked around me, and conjured up
      these doubts and difficulties by which I was surrounded, I could not doubt
      for one instant; yet it was frightful to conceive the extent of combined
      villany and power which he must have employed in the perpetration of his
      designs. Let me do myself justice in one respect. The evil of parting from
      Miss Vernon, however distressing it might in other respects and at another
      time have appeared to me, sunk into a subordinate consideration when I
      thought of the dangers impending over my father. I did not myself set a
      high estimation on wealth, and had the affectation of most young men of
      lively imagination, who suppose that they can better dispense with the
      possession of money, than resign their time and faculties to the labour
      necessary to acquire it. But in my father's case, I knew that bankruptcy
      would be considered as an utter and irretrievable disgrace, to which life
      would afford no comfort, and death the speediest and sole relief.
    </p>
    <p>
      My mind, therefore, was bent on averting this catastrophe, with an
      intensity which the interest could not have produced had it referred to my
      own fortunes; and the result of my deliberation was a firm resolution to
      depart from Osbaldistone Hall the next day and wend my way without loss of
      time to meet Owen at Glasgow. I did not hold it expedient to intimate my
      departure to my uncle, otherwise than by leaving a letter of thanks for
      his hospitality, assuring him that sudden and important business prevented
      my offering them in person. I knew the blunt old knight would readily
      excuse ceremony; and I had such a belief in the extent and decided
      character of Rashleigh's machinations, that I had some apprehension of his
      having provided means to intercept a journey which was undertaken with a
      view to disconcert them, if my departure were publicly announced at
      Osbaldistone Hall.
    </p>
    <p>
      I therefore determined to set off on my journey with daylight on the
      ensuing morning, and to gain the neighbouring kingdom of Scotland before
      any idea of my departure was entertained at the Hall. But one impediment
      of consequence was likely to prevent that speed which was the soul of my
      expedition. I did not know the shortest, nor indeed any road to Glasgow;
      and as, in the circumstances in which I stood, despatch was of the
      greatest consequence, I determined to consult Andrew Fairservice on the
      subject, as the nearest and most authentic authority within my reach. Late
      as it was, I set off with the intention of ascertaining this important
      point, and after a few minutes' walk reached the dwelling of the gardener.
    </p>
    <p>
      Andrew's dwelling was situated at no great distance from the exterior wall
      of the garden&mdash;a snug comfortable Northumbrian cottage, built of
      stones roughly dressed with the hammer, and having the windows and doors
      decorated with huge heavy architraves, or lintels, as they are called, of
      hewn stone, and its roof covered with broad grey flags, instead of slates,
      thatch, or tiles. A jargonelle pear-tree at one end of the cottage, a
      rivulet and flower-plot of a rood in extent in front, and a kitchen-garden
      behind; a paddock for a cow, and a small field, cultivated with several
      crops of grain, rather for the benefit of the cottager than for sale,
      announced the warm and cordial comforts which Old England, even at her
      most northern extremity, extends to her meanest inhabitants.
    </p>
    <p>
      As I approached the mansion of the sapient Andrew, I heard a noise, which,
      being of a nature peculiarly solemn, nasal, and prolonged, led me to think
      that Andrew, according to the decent and meritorious custom of his
      countrymen, had assembled some of his neighbours to join in family
      exercise, as he called evening devotion. Andrew had indeed neither wife,
      child, nor female inmate in his family. "The first of his trade," he said,
      "had had eneugh o'thae cattle." But, notwithstanding, he sometimes
      contrived to form an audience for himself out of the neighbouring Papists
      and Church-of-Englandmen&mdash;brands, as he expressed it, snatched out of
      the burning, on whom he used to exercise his spiritual gifts, in defiance
      alike of Father Vaughan, Father Docharty, Rashleigh, and all the world of
      Catholics around him, who deemed his interference on such occasions an act
      of heretical interloping. I conceived it likely, therefore, that the
      well-disposed neighbours might have assembled to hold some chapel of ease
      of this nature. The noise, however, when I listened to it more accurately,
      seemed to proceed entirely from the lungs of the said Andrew; and when I
      interrupted it by entering the house, I found Fairservice alone, combating
      as he best could, with long words and hard names, and reading aloud, for
      the purpose of his own edification, a volume of controversial divinity.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was just taking a spell," said he, laying aside the huge folio volume
      as I entered, "of the worthy Doctor Lightfoot."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lightfoot!" I replied, looking at the ponderous volume with some
      surprise; "surely your author was unhappily named."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lightfoot was his name, sir; a divine he was, and another kind of a
      divine than they hae now-adays. Always, I crave your pardon for keeping ye
      standing at the door, but having been mistrysted (gude preserve us!) with
      ae bogle the night already, I was dubious o' opening the yett till I had
      gaen through the e'ening worship; and I had just finished the fifth
      chapter of Nehemiah&mdash;if that winna gar them keep their distance, I
      wotna what will."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Trysted with a bogle!" said I; "what do you mean by that, Andrew?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I said mistrysted," replied Andrew; "that is as muckle as to say, fley'd
      wi' a ghaist&mdash;Gude preserve us, I say again!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Flay'd by a ghost, Andrew! how am I to understand that?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I did not say flay'd," replied Andrew, "but <i>fley'd,</i>&mdash;that is,
      I got a fleg, and was ready to jump out o' my skin, though naebody offered
      to whirl it aff my body as a man wad bark a tree."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I beg a truce to your terrors in the present case, Andrew, and I wish to
      know whether you can direct me the nearest way to a town in your country
      of Scotland, called Glasgow?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "A town ca'd Glasgow!" echoed Andrew Fairservice. "Glasgow's a ceety, man.&mdash;And
      is't the way to Glasgow ye were speering if I ken'd?&mdash;What suld ail
      me to ken it?&mdash;it's no that dooms far frae my ain parish of
      Dreepdaily, that lies a bittock farther to the west. But what may your
      honour be gaun to Glasgow for?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Particular business," replied I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That's as muckle as to say, Speer nae questions, and I'll tell ye nae
      lees.&mdash;To Glasgow?"&mdash;he made a short pause&mdash;"I am thinking
      ye wad be the better o' some ane to show you the road."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Certainly, if I could meet with any person going that way."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And your honour, doubtless, wad consider the time and trouble?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Unquestionably&mdash;my business is pressing, and if you can find any
      guide to accompany me, I'll pay him handsomely."
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is no a day to speak o' carnal matters," said Andrew, casting his
      eyes upwards; "but if it werena Sabbath at e'en, I wad speer what ye wad
      be content to gie to ane that wad bear ye pleasant company on the road,
      and tell ye the names of the gentlemen's and noblemen's seats and castles,
      and count their kin to ye?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I tell you, all I want to know is the road I must travel; I will pay the
      fellow to his satisfaction&mdash;I will give him anything in reason."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Onything," replied Andrew, "is naething; and this lad that I am speaking
      o' kens a' the short cuts and queer by-paths through the hills, and"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have no time to talk about it, Andrew; do you make the bargain for me
      your own way."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aha! that's speaking to the purpose," answered Andrew.&mdash;"I am
      thinking, since sae be that sae it is, I'll be the lad that will guide you
      mysell."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You, Andrew?&mdash;how will you get away from your employment?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I tell'd your honour a while syne, that it was lang that I hae been
      thinking o' flitting, maybe as lang as frae the first year I came to
      Osbaldistone Hall; and now I am o' the mind to gang in gude earnest&mdash;better
      soon as syne&mdash;better a finger aff as aye wagging."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You leave your service, then?&mdash;but will you not lose your wages?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nae doubt there will be a certain loss; but then I hae siller o' the
      laird's in my hands that I took for the apples in the auld orchyard&mdash;and
      a sair bargain the folk had that bought them&mdash;a wheen green trash&mdash;and
      yet Sir Hildebrand's as keen to hae the siller (that is, the steward is as
      pressing about it) as if they had been a' gowden pippins&mdash;and then
      there's the siller for the seeds&mdash;I'm thinking the wage will be in a
      manner decently made up.&mdash;But doubtless your honour will consider my
      risk of loss when we win to Glasgow&mdash;and ye'll be for setting out
      forthwith?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "By day-break in the morning," I answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That's something o' the suddenest&mdash;whare am I to find a naig?&mdash;Stay&mdash;I
      ken just the beast that will answer me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "At five in the morning, then, Andrew, you will meet me at the head of the
      avenue."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Deil a fear o' me (that I suld say sae) missing my tryste," replied
      Andrew, very briskly; "and if I might advise, we wad be aff twa hours
      earlier. I ken the way, dark or light, as weel as blind Ralph Ronaldson,
      that's travelled ower every moor in the country-side, and disna ken the
      colour of a heather-cowe when a's dune."
    </p>
    <p>
      I highly approved of Andrew's amendment on my original proposal, and we
      agreed to meet at the place appointed at three in the morning. At once,
      however, a reflection came across the mind of my intended travelling
      companion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The bogle! the bogle! what if it should come out upon us?&mdash;I downa
      forgather wi' thae things twice in the four-and-twenty hours."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pooh! pooh!" I exclaimed, breaking away from him, "fear nothing from the
      next world&mdash;the earth contains living fiends, who can act for
      themselves without assistance, were the whole host that fell with Lucifer
      to return to aid and abet them."
    </p>
    <p>
      With these words, the import of which was suggested by my own situation, I
      left Andrew's habitation, and returned to the Hall.
    </p>
    <p>
      I made the few preparations which were necessary for my proposed journey,
      examined and loaded my pistols, and then threw myself on my bed, to
      obtain, if possible, a brief sleep before the fatigue of a long and
      anxious journey. Nature, exhausted by the tumultuous agitations of the
      day, was kinder to me than I expected, and I stink into a deep and
      profound slumber, from which, however, I started as the old clock struck
      two from a turret adjoining to my bedchamber. I instantly arose, struck a
      light, wrote the letter I proposed to leave for my uncle, and leaving
      behind me such articles of dress as were cumbrous in carriage, I deposited
      the rest of my wardrobe in my valise, glided down stairs, and gained the
      stable without impediment. Without being quite such a groom as any of my
      cousins, I had learned at Osbaldistone Hall to dress and saddle my own
      horse, and in a few minutes I was mounted and ready for my sally.
    </p>
    <p>
      As I paced up the old avenue, on which the waning moon threw its light
      with a pale and whitish tinge, I looked back with a deep and boding sigh
      towards the walls which contained Diana Vernon, under the despondent
      impression that we had probably parted to meet no more. It was impossible,
      among the long and irregular lines of Gothic casements, which now looked
      ghastly white in the moonlight, to distinguish that of the apartment which
      she inhabited. "She is lost to me already," thought I, as my eye wandered
      over the dim and indistinguishable intricacies of architecture offered by
      the moonlight view of Osbaldistone Hall&mdash;"She is lost to me already,
      ere I have left the place which she inhabits! What hope is there of my
      maintaining any correspondence with her, when leagues shall lie between?"
    </p>
    <p>
      While I paused in a reverie of no very pleasing nature, the "iron tongue
      of time told three upon the drowsy ear of night," and reminded me of the
      necessity of keeping my appointment with a person of a less interesting
      description and appearance&mdash;Andrew Fairservice.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the gate of the avenue I found a horseman stationed in the shadow of
      the wall, but it was not until I had coughed twice, and then called
      "Andrew," that the horticulturist replied, "I'se warrant it's Andrew."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lead the way, then," said I, "and be silent if you can, till we are past
      the hamlet in the valley."
    </p>
    <p>
      Andrew led the way accordingly, and at a much brisker pace than I would
      have recommended.&mdash;and so well did he obey my injunctions of keeping
      silence, that he would return no answer to my repeated inquiries into the
      cause of such unnecessary haste. Extricating ourselves by short cuts,
      known to Andrew, from the numerous stony lanes and by-paths which
      intersected each other in the vicinity of the Hall, we reached the open
      heath and riding swiftly across it, took our course among the barren hills
      which divide England from Scotland on what are called the Middle Marches.
      The way, or rather the broken track which we occupied, was a happy
      interchange of bog and shingles; nevertheless, Andrew relented nothing of
      his speed, but trotted manfully forward at the rate of eight or ten miles
      an hour. I was both surprised and provoked at the fellow's obstinate
      persistence, for we made abrupt ascents and descents over ground of a very
      break-neck character, and traversed the edge of precipices, where a slip
      of the horse's feet would have consigned the rider to certain death. The
      moon, at best, afforded a dubious and imperfect light; but in some places
      we were so much under the shade of the mountain as to be in total
      darkness, and then I could only trace Andrew by the clatter of his horse's
      feet, and the fire which they struck from the flints. At first, this rapid
      motion, and the attention which, for the sake of personal safety, I was
      compelled to give to the conduct of my horse, was of service, by forcibly
      diverting my thoughts from the various painful reflections which must
      otherwise have pressed on my mind. But at length, after hallooing
      repeatedly to Andrew to ride slower, I became seriously incensed at his
      impudent perseverance in refusing either to obey or to reply to me. My
      anger was, however, quite impotent. I attempted once or twice to get up
      alongside of my self-willed guide, with the purpose of knocking him off
      his horse with the butt-end of my whip; but Andrew was better mounted than
      I, and either the spirit of the animal which he bestrode, or more probably
      some presentiment of my kind intentions towards him, induced him to
      quicken his pace whenever I attempted to make up to him. On the other
      hand, I was compelled to exert my spurs to keep him in sight, for without
      his guidance I was too well aware that I should never find my way through
      the howling wilderness which we now traversed at such an unwonted pace. I
      was so angry at length, that I threatened to have recourse to my pistols,
      and send a bullet after the Hotspur Andrew, which should stop his
      fiery-footed career, if he did not abate it of his own accord. Apparently
      this threat made some impression on the tympanum of his ear, however deaf
      to all my milder entreaties; for he relaxed his pace upon hearing it, and,
      suffering me to close up to him, observed, "There wasna muckle sense in
      riding at sic a daft-like gate."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what did you mean by doing so at all, you self-willed scoundrel?"
      replied I; for I was in a towering passion,&mdash;to which, by the way,
      nothing contributes more than the having recently undergone a spice of
      personal fear, which, like a few drops of water flung on a glowing fire,
      is sure to inflame the ardour which it is insufficient to quench.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What's your honour's wull?" replied Andrew, with impenetrable gravity.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My will, you rascal?&mdash;I have been roaring to you this hour to ride
      slower, and you have never so much as answered me&mdash;Are you drunk or
      mad to behave so?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "An it like your honour, I am something dull o' hearing; and I'll no deny
      but I might have maybe taen a stirrup-cup at parting frae the auld bigging
      whare I hae dwelt sae lang; and having naebody to pledge, nae doubt I was
      obliged to do mysell reason, or else leave the end o' the brandy stoup to
      thae papists&mdash;and that wad be a waste, as your honour kens."
    </p>
    <p>
      This might be all very true,&mdash;and my circumstances required that I
      should be on good terms with my guide; I therefore satisfied myself with
      requiring of him to take his directions from me in future concerning the
      rate of travelling.
    </p>
    <p>
      Andrew, emboldened by the mildness of my tone, elevated his own into the
      pedantic, conceited octave, which was familiar to him on most occasions.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your honour winna persuade me, and naebody shall persuade me, that it's
      either halesome or prudent to tak the night air on thae moors without a
      cordial o' clow-gilliflower water, or a tass of brandy or aquavitae, or
      sic-like creature-comfort. I hae taen the bent ower the Otterscrape-rigg a
      hundred times, day and night, and never could find the way unless I had
      taen my morning; mair by token that I had whiles twa bits o' ankers o'
      brandy on ilk side o' me."&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "In other words, Andrew," said I, "you were a smuggler&mdash;how does a
      man of your strict principles reconcile yourself to cheat the revenue?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's a mere spoiling o' the Egyptians," replied Andrew; "puir auld
      Scotland suffers eneugh by thae blackguard loons o' excisemen and gaugers,
      that hae come down on her like locusts since the sad and sorrowfu' Union;
      it's the part of a kind son to bring her a soup o' something that will
      keep up her auld heart,&mdash;and that will they nill they, the ill-fa'ard
      thieves!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Upon more particular inquiry, I found Andrew had frequently travelled
      these mountain-paths as a smuggler, both before and after his
      establishment at Osbaldistone Hall&mdash;a circumstance which was so far
      of importance to me, as it proved his capacity as a guide, notwithstanding
      the escapade of which he had been guilty at his outset, Even now, though
      travelling at a more moderate pace, the stirrup-cup, or whatever else had
      such an effect in stimulating Andrew's motions, seemed not totally to have
      lost its influence. He often cast a nervous and startled look behind him;
      and whenever the road seemed at all practicable, showed symptoms of a
      desire to accelerate his pace, as if he feared some pursuit from the rear.
      These appearances of alarm gradually diminished as we reached the top of a
      high bleak ridge, which ran nearly east and west for about a mile, with a
      very steep descent on either side. The pale beams of the morning were now
      enlightening the horizon, when Andrew cast a look behind him, and not
      seeing the appearance of a living being on the moors which he had
      travelled, his hard features gradually unbent, as he first whistled, then
      sung, with much glee and little melody, the end of one of his native songs&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                    "Jenny, lass! I think I hae her
                     Ower the muir amang the heather,
                     All their clan shall never get her."
</pre>
    <p>
      He patted at the same time the neck of the horse which had carried him so
      gallantly; and my attention being directed by that action to the animal, I
      instantly recognised a favourite mare of Thorncliff Osbaldistone. "How is
      this, sir?" said I sternly; "that is Mr. Thorncliff's mare!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'll no say but she may aiblins hae been his honour's Squire Thorncliff's
      in her day&mdash;but she's mine now."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have stolen her, you rascal."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Na, na, sir&mdash;nae man can wyte me wi' theft. The thing stands this
      gate, ye see. Squire Thorncliff borrowed ten punds o' me to gang to York
      Races&mdash;deil a boddle wad he pay me back again, and spake o' raddling
      my banes, as he ca'd it, when I asked him but for my ain back again;&mdash;now
      I think it will riddle him or he gets his horse ower the Border again&mdash;unless
      he pays me plack and bawbee, he sall never see a hair o' her tail. I ken a
      canny chield at Loughmaben, a bit writer lad, that will put me in the way
      to sort him. Steal the mear! na, na, far be the sin o' theft frae Andrew
      Fairservice&mdash;I have just arrested her <i>jurisdictionis fandandy
      causey.</i> Thae are bonny writer words&mdash;amaist like the language o'
      huz gardeners and other learned men&mdash;it's a pity they're sae dear;&mdash;thae
      three words were a' that Andrew got for a lang law-plea and four ankers o'
      as gude brandy as was e'er coupit ower craig&mdash;Hech, sirs! but law's a
      dear thing."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are likely to find it much dearer than you suppose, Andrew, if you
      proceed in this mode of paying yourself, without legal authority."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hout tout, we're in Scotland now (be praised for't!) and I can find baith
      friends and lawyers, and judges too, as weel as ony Osbaldistone o' them
      a'. My mither's mither's third cousin was cousin to the Provost o'
      Dumfries, and he winna see a drap o' her blude wranged. Hout awa! the laws
      are indifferently administered here to a' men alike; it's no like on yon
      side, when a chield may be whuppit awa' wi' ane o' Clerk Jobson's
      warrants, afore he kens where he is. But they will hae little enough law
      amang them by and by, and that is ae grand reason that I hae gi'en them
      gude-day."
    </p>
    <p>
      I was highly provoked at the achievement of Andrew, and considered it as a
      hard fate, which a second time threw me into collision with a person of
      such irregular practices. I determined, however, to buy the mare of him,
      when he should reach the end of our journey, and send her back to my
      cousin at Osbaldistone Hall; and with this purpose of reparation I
      resolved to make my uncle acquainted from the next post-town. It was
      needless, I thought, to quarrel with Andrew in the meantime, who had,
      after all, acted not very unnaturally for a person in his circumstances. I
      therefore smothered my resentment, and asked him what he meant by his last
      expressions, that there would be little law in Northumberland by and by?
    </p>
    <p>
      "Law!" said Andrew, "hout, ay&mdash;there will be club-law eneugh. The
      priests and the Irish officers, and thae papist cattle that hae been
      sodgering abroad, because they durstna bide at hame, are a' fleeing thick
      in Northumberland e'enow; and thae corbies dinna gather without they smell
      carrion. As sure as ye live, his honour Sir Hildebrand is gaun to stick
      his horn in the bog&mdash;there's naething but gun and pistol, sword and
      dagger, amang them&mdash;and they'll be laying on, I'se warrant; for
      they're fearless fules the young Osbaldistone squires, aye craving your
      honour's pardon."
    </p>
    <p>
      This speech recalled to my memory some suspicions that I myself had
      entertained, that the Jacobites were on the eve of some desperate
      enterprise. But, conscious it did not become me to be a spy on my uncle's
      words and actions, I had rather avoided than availed myself of any
      opportunity which occurred of remarking upon the signs of the times.&mdash;
      Andrew Fairservice felt no such restraint, and doubtless spoke very truly
      in stating his conviction that some desperate plots were in agitation, as
      a reason which determined his resolution to leave the Hall.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The servants," he stated, "with the tenantry and others, had been all
      regularly enrolled and mustered, and they wanted me to take arms also. But
      I'll ride in nae siccan troop&mdash;they little ken'd Andrew that asked
      him. I'll fight when I like mysell, but it sall neither be for the hure o'
      Babylon, nor any hure in England."
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="AlinkCH0002" id="AlinkCH0002">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER SECOND.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                 Where longs to fall yon rifted spire,
                     As weary of the insulting air,&mdash;
                 The poet's thoughts, the warrior's fire,
                     The lover's sighs, are sleeping there.
                                             Langhorne.
</pre>
    <p>
      At the first Scotch town which we reached, my guide sought out his friend
      and counsellor, to consult upon the proper and legal means of converting
      into his own lawful property the "bonny creature," which was at present
      his own only by one of those sleight-of-hand arrangements which still
      sometimes took place in that once lawless district. I was somewhat
      diverted with the dejection of his looks on his return. He had, it seems,
      been rather too communicative to his confidential friend, the attorney;
      and learned with great dismay, in return for his unsuspecting frankness,
      that Mr. Touthope had, during his absence, been appointed clerk to the
      peace of the county, and was bound to communicate to justice all such
      achievements as that of his friend Mr. Andrew Fairservice. There was a
      necessity, this alert member of the police stated, for arresting the
      horse, and placing him in Bailie Trumbull's stable, therein to remain at
      livery, at the rate of twelve shillings (Scotch) per diem, until the
      question of property was duly tried and debated. He even talked as if, in
      strict and rigorous execution of his duty, he ought to detain honest
      Andrew himself; but on my guide's most piteously entreating his
      forbearance, he not only desisted from this proposal, but made a present
      to Andrew of a broken-winded and spavined pony, in order to enable him to
      pursue his journey. It is true, he qualified this act of generosity by
      exacting from poor Andrew an absolute cession of his right and interest in
      the gallant palfrey of Thorncliff Osbaldistone&mdash;a transference which
      Mr. Touthope represented as of very little consequence, since his
      unfortunate friend, as he facetiously observed, was likely to get nothing
      of the mare excepting the halter.
    </p>
    <p>
      Andrew seemed woeful and disconcerted, as I screwed out of him these
      particulars; for his northern pride was cruelly pinched by being compelled
      to admit that attorneys were attorneys on both sides of the Tweed; and
      that Mr. Clerk Touthope was not a farthing more sterling coin than Mr.
      Clerk Jobson.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It wadna hae vexed him half sae muckle to hae been cheated out o' what
      might amaist be said to be won with the peril o' his craig, had it
      happened amang the Inglishers; but it was an unco thing to see hawks pike
      out hawks' e'en, or ae kindly Scot cheat anither. But nae doubt things
      were strangely changed in his country sin' the sad and sorrowfu' Union;"
      an event to which Andrew referred every symptom of depravity or degeneracy
      which he remarked among his countrymen, more especially the inflammation
      of reckonings, the diminished size of pint-stoups, and other grievances,
      which he pointed out to me during our journey.
    </p>
    <p>
      For my own part, I held myself, as things had turned out, acquitted of all
      charge of the mare, and wrote to my uncle the circumstances under which
      she was carried into Scotland, concluding with informing him that she was
      in the hands of justice, and her worthy representatives, Bailie Trumbull
      and Mr. Clerk Touthope, to whom I referred him for farther particulars.
      Whether the property returned to the Northumbrian fox-hunter, or continued
      to bear the person of the Scottish attorney, it is unnecessary for me at
      present to say.
    </p>
    <p>
      We now pursued our journey to the north-westward, at a rate much slower
      than that at which we had achieved our nocturnal retreat from England. One
      chain of barren and uninteresting hills succeeded another, until the more
      fertile vale of Clyde opened upon us; and, with such despatch as we might,
      we gained the town, or, as my guide pertinaciously termed it, the city, of
      Glasgow. Of late years, I understand, it has fully deserved the name,
      which, by a sort of political second sight, my guide assigned to it. An
      extensive and increasing trade with the West Indies and American colonies,
      has, if I am rightly informed, laid the foundation of wealth and
      prosperity, which, if carefully strengthened and built upon, may one day
      support an immense fabric of commercial prosperity; but in the earlier
      time of which I speak, the dawn of this splendour had not arisen. The
      Union had, indeed, opened to Scotland the trade of the English colonies;
      but, betwixt want of capital, and the national jealousy of the English,
      the merchants of Scotland were as yet excluded, in a great measure, from
      the exercise of the privileges which that memorable treaty conferred on
      them. Glasgow lay on the wrong side of the island for participating in the
      east country or continental trade, by which the trifling commerce as yet
      possessed by Scotland chiefly supported itself. Yet, though she then gave
      small promise of the commercial eminence to which, I am informed, she
      seems now likely one day to attain, Glasgow, as the principal central town
      of the western district of Scotland, was a place of considerable rank and
      importance. The broad and brimming Clyde, which flows so near its walls,
      gave the means of an inland navigation of some importance. Not only the
      fertile plains in its immediate neighbourhood, but the districts of Ayr
      and Dumfries regarded Glasgow as their capital, to which they transmitted
      their produce, and received in return such necessaries and luxuries as
      their consumption required.
    </p>
    <p>
      The dusky mountains of the western Highlands often sent forth wilder
      tribes to frequent the marts of St. Mungo's favourite city. Hordes of wild
      shaggy, dwarfish cattle and ponies, conducted by Highlanders, as wild, as
      shaggy, and sometimes as dwarfish, as the animals they had in charge,
      often traversed the streets of Glasgow. Strangers gazed with surprise on
      the antique and fantastic dress, and listened to the unknown and dissonant
      sounds of their language, while the mountaineers, armed, even while
      engaged in this peaceful occupation, with musket and pistol, sword,
      dagger, and target, stared with astonishment on the articles of luxury of
      which they knew not the use, and with an avidity which seemed somewhat
      alarming on the articles which they knew and valued. It is always with
      unwillingness that the Highlander quits his deserts, and at this early
      period it was like tearing a pine from its rock, to plant him elsewhere.
      Yet even then the mountain glens were over-peopled, although thinned
      occasionally by famine or by the sword, and many of their inhabitants
      strayed down to Glasgow&mdash;there formed settlements&mdash;there sought
      and found employment, although different, indeed, from that of their
      native hills. This supply of a hardy and useful population was of
      consequence to the prosperity of the place, furnished the means of
      carrying on the few manufactures which the town already boasted, and laid
      the foundation of its future prosperity.
    </p>
    <p>
      The exterior of the city corresponded with these promising circumstances.
      The principal street was broad and important, decorated with public
      buildings, of an architecture rather striking than correct in point of
      taste, and running between rows of tall houses, built of stone, the fronts
      of which were occasionally richly ornamented with mason-work&mdash;a
      circumstance which gave the street an imposing air of dignity and
      grandeur, of which most English towns are in some measure deprived, by the
      slight, insubstantial, and perishable quality and appearance of the bricks
      with which they are constructed.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the western metropolis of Scotland, my guide and I arrived on a
      Saturday evening, too late to entertain thoughts of business of any kind.
      We alighted at the door of a jolly hostler-wife, as Andrew called her,&mdash;the
      Ostelere of old father Chaucer,&mdash;by whom we were civilly received.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the following morning the bells pealed from every steeple, announcing
      the sanctity of the day. Notwithstanding, however, what I had heard of the
      severity with which the Sabbath is observed in Scotland, my first impulse,
      not unnaturally, was to seek out Owen; but on inquiry I found that my
      attempt would be in vain, "until kirk time was ower." Not only did my
      landlady and guide jointly assure me that "there wadna be a living soul
      either in the counting-house or dwelling-house of Messrs. MacVittie,
      MacFin, and Company," to which Owen's letter referred me, but, moreover,
      "far less would I find any of the partners there. They were serious men,
      and wad be where a' gude Christians ought to be at sic a time, and that
      was in the Barony Laigh Kirk."*
    </p>
    <p>
      * [The Laigh Kirk or Crypt of the Cathedral of Glasgow served for more *
      than two centuries as the church of the Barony Parish, and, for a time,
      was * converted into a burial-place. In the restorations of this grand
      building * the crypt was cleared out, and is now admired as one of the
      richest specimens * of Early English architecture existing in Scotland.]
    </p>
    <p>
      Andrew Fairservice, whose disgust at the law of his country had
      fortunately not extended itself to the other learned professions of his
      native land, now sung forth the praises of the preacher who was to perform
      the duty, to which my hostess replied with many loud amens. The result
      was, that I determined to go to this popular place of worship, as much
      with the purpose of learning, if possible, whether Owen had arrived in
      Glasgow, as with any great expectation of edification. My hopes were
      exalted by the assurance, that if Mr. Ephraim MacVittie (worthy man) were
      in the land of life, he would surely honour the Barony Kirk that day with
      his presence; and if he chanced to have a stranger within his gates,
      doubtless he would bring him to the duty along with him. This probability
      determined my motions, and under the escort of my faithful Andrew, I set
      forth for the Barony Kirk.
    </p>
    <p>
      On this occasion, however, I had little need of his guidance; for the
      crowd, which forced its way up a steep and rough-paved street, to hear the
      most popular preacher in the west of Scotland, would of itself have swept
      me along with it. On attaining the summit of the hill, we turned to the
      left, and a large pair of folding doors admitted us, amongst others, into
      the open and extensive burying-place which surrounds the Minster or
      Cathedral Church of Glasgow. The pile is of a gloomy and massive, rather
      than of an elegant, style of Gothic architecture; but its peculiar
      character is so strongly preserved, and so well suited with the
      accompaniments that surround it, that the impression of the first view was
      awful and solemn in the extreme. I was indeed so much struck, that I
      resisted for a few minutes all Andrew's efforts to drag me into the
      interior of the building, so deeply was I engaged in surveying its outward
      character.
    </p>
    <p>
      Situated in a populous and considerable town, this ancient and massive
      pile has the appearance of the most sequestered solitude. High walls
      divide it from the buildings of the city on one side; on the other it is
      bounded by a ravine, at the bottom of which, and invisible to the eye,
      murmurs a wandering rivulet, adding, by its gentle noise, to the imposing
      solemnity of the scene. On the opposite side of the ravine rises a steep
      bank, covered with fir-trees closely planted, whose dusky shade extends
      itself over the cemetery with an appropriate and gloomy effect. The
      churchyard itself had a peculiar character; for though in reality
      extensive, it is small in proportion to the number of respectable
      inhabitants who are interred within it, and whose graves are almost all
      covered with tombstones. There is therefore no room for the long rank
      grass, which, in most cases, partially clothes the surface of those
      retreats where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.
      The broad flat monumental stones are placed so close to each other, that
      the precincts appear to be flagged with them, and, though roofed only by
      the heavens, resemble the floor of one of our old English churches, where
      the pavement is covered with sepulchral inscriptions. The contents of
      these sad records of mortality, the vain sorrows which they preserve, the
      stern lesson which they teach of the nothingness of humanity, the extent
      of ground which they so closely cover, and their uniform and melancholy
      tenor, reminded me of the roll of the prophet, which was "written within
      and without, and there was written therein lamentations and mourning and
      woe."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Cathedral itself corresponds in impressive majesty with these
      accompaniments. We feel that its appearance is heavy, yet that the effect
      produced would be destroyed were it lighter or more ornamental. It is the
      only metropolitan church in Scotland, excepting, as I am informed, the
      Cathedral of Kirkwall, in the Orkneys, which remained uninjured at the
      Reformation; and Andrew Fairservice, who saw with great pride the effect
      which it produced upon my mind, thus accounted for its preservation&mdash;"Ah!
      it's a brave kirk&mdash;nane o' yere whig-maleeries and curliewurlies and
      opensteek hems about it&mdash;a' solid, weel-jointed mason-wark, that will
      stand as lang as the warld, keep hands and gunpowther aff it. It had
      amaist a douncome lang syne at the Reformation, when they pu'd doun the
      kirks of St. Andrews and Perth, and thereawa', to cleanse them o' Papery,
      and idolatry, and image worship, and surplices, and sic like rags o' the
      muckle hure that sitteth on seven hills, as if ane wasna braid eneugh for
      her auld hinder end. Sae the commons o' Renfrew, and o' the Barony, and
      the Gorbals and a' about, they behoved to come into Glasgow no fair
      morning, to try their hand on purging the High Kirk o' Popish
      nick-nackets. But the townsmen o' Glasgow, they were feared their auld
      edifice might slip the girths in gaun through siccan rough physic, sae
      they rang the common bell, and assembled the train-bands wi' took o' drum.
      By good luck, the worthy James Rabat was Dean o' Guild that year&mdash;(and
      a gude mason he was himself, made him the keener to keep up the auld
      bigging)&mdash;and the trades assembled, and offered downright battle to
      the commons, rather than their kirk should coup the crans as others had
      done elsewhere. It wasna for luve o' Paperie&mdash;na, na!&mdash;nane
      could ever say that o' the trades o' Glasgow&mdash;Sae they sune came to
      an agreement to take a' the idolatrous statues of sants (sorrow be on
      them) out o' their neuks&mdash;and sae the bits o' stane idols were broken
      in pieces by Scripture warrant, and flung into the Molendinar burn, and
      the auld kirk stood as crouse as a cat when the flaes are kaimed aff her,
      and a' body was alike pleased. And I hae heard wise folk say, that if the
      same had been done in ilka kirk in Scotland, the Reform wad just hae been
      as pure as it is e'en now, and we wad hae mair Christian-like kirks; for I
      hae been sae lang in England, that naething will drived out o' my head,
      that the dog-kennel at Osbaldistone Hall is better than mony a house o'
      God in Scotland."
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus saying, Andrew led the way into the place of worship.
    </p>
    <p>
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      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER THIRD.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                          &mdash;It strikes an awe
               And terror on my aching sight; the tombs
               And monumental caves of death look cold,
               And shoot a chillness to the trembling heart.
                                           Mourning Bride.
</pre>
    <p>
      Notwithstanding the impatience of my conductor, I could not forbear to
      pause and gaze for some minutes on the exterior of the building, rendered
      more impressively dignified by the solitude which ensued when its hitherto
      open gates were closed, after having, as it were, devoured the multitude
      which had lately crowded the churchyard, but now, enclosed within the
      building, were engaged, as the choral swell of voices from within
      announced to us, in the solemn exercises of devotion. The sound of so many
      voices united by the distance into one harmony, and freed from those harsh
      discordances which jar the ear when heard more near, combining with the
      murmuring brook, and the wind which sung among the old firs, affected me
      with a sense of sublimity. All nature, as invoked by the Psalmist whose
      verses they chanted, seemed united in offering that solemn praise in which
      trembling is mixed with joy as she addressed her Maker. I had heard the
      service of high mass in France, celebrated with all the <i>e'clat</i>
      which the choicest music, the richest dresses, the most imposing
      ceremonies, could confer on it; yet it fell short in effect of the
      simplicity of the Presbyterian worship. The devotion in which every one
      took a share seemed so superior to that which was recited by musicians as
      a lesson which they had learned by rote, that it gave the Scottish worship
      all the advantage of reality over acting.
    </p>
    <p>
      As I lingered to catch more of the solemn sound, Andrew, whose impatience
      became ungovernable, pulled me by the sleeve&mdash;"Come awa', sir&mdash;come
      awa'; we maunna be late o' gaun in to disturb the worship; if we bide here
      the searchers will be on us, and carry us to the guard-house for being
      idlers in kirk-time."
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus admonished, I followed my guide, but not, as I had supposed, into the
      body of the cathedral. "This gate&mdash;this gate, sir," he exclaimed,
      dragging me off as I made towards the main entrance of the building&mdash;"There's
      but cauldrife law-work gaun on yonder&mdash;carnal morality, as dow'd and
      as fusionless as rue leaves at Yule&mdash;Here's the real savour of
      doctrine."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, we entered a small low-arched door, secured by a wicket, which
      a grave-looking person seemed on the point of closing, and descended
      several steps as if into the funeral vaults beneath the church. It was
      even so; for in these subterranean precincts,&mdash;why chosen for such a
      purpose I knew not,&mdash;was established a very singular place of
      worship.
    </p>
    <p>
      Conceive, Tresham, an extensive range of low-browed, dark, and twilight
      vaults, such as are used for sepulchres in other countries, and had long
      been dedicated to the same purpose in this, a portion of which was seated
      with pews, and used as a church. The part of the vaults thus occupied,
      though capable of containing a congregation of many hundreds, bore a small
      proportion to the darker and more extensive caverns which yawned around
      what may be termed the inhabited space. In those waste regions of
      oblivion, dusky banners and tattered escutcheons indicated the graves of
      those who were once, doubtless, "princes in Israel." Inscriptions, which
      could only be read by the painful antiquary, in language as obsolete as
      the act of devotional charity which they employed, invited the passengers
      to pray for the souls of those whose bodies rested beneath. Surrounded by
      these receptacles of the last remains of mortality, I found a numerous
      congregation engaged in the act of prayer. The Scotch perform this duty in
      a standing instead of a kneeling posture&mdash;more, perhaps, to take as
      broad a distinction as possible from the ritual of Rome than for any
      better reason; since I have observed, that in their family worship, as
      doubtless in their private devotions, they adopt, in their immediate
      address to the Deity, that posture which other Christians use as the
      humblest and most reverential. Standing, therefore, the men being
      uncovered, a crowd of several hundreds of both sexes, and all ages,
      listened with great reverence and attention to the extempore, at least the
      unwritten, prayer of an aged clergyman,* who was very popular in the city.
    </p>
    <p>
      * I have in vain laboured to discover this gentleman's name, and the
      period of his incumbency. I do not, however, despair to see these points,
      with some others which may elude my sagacity, satisfactorily elucidated by
      one or other of the periodical publications which have devoted their pages
      to explanatory commentaries on my former volumes; and whose research and
      ingenuity claim my peculiar gratitude, for having discovered many persons
      and circumstances connected with my narratives, of which I myself never so
      much as dreamed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Educated in the same religious persuasion, I seriously bent my mind to
      join in the devotion of the day; and it was not till the congregation
      resumed their seats, that my attention was diverted to the consideration
      of the appearance of all around me.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the conclusion of the prayer, most of the men put on their hats or
      bonnets, and all who had the happiness to have seats sate down. Andrew and
      I were not of this number, having been too late of entering the church to
      secure such accommodation. We stood among a number of other persons in the
      same situation, forming a sort of ring around the seated part of the
      congregation. Behind and around us were the vaults I have already
      described; before us the devout audience, dimly shown by the light which
      streamed on their faces through one or two low Gothic windows, such as
      give air and light to charnel-houses. By this were seen the usual variety
      of countenances which are generally turned towards a Scotch pastor on such
      occasions, almost all composed to attention, unless where a father or
      mother here and there recalls the wandering eyes of a lively child, or
      disturbs the slumbers of a dull one. The high-boned and harsh countenance
      of the nation, with the expression of intelligence and shrewdness which it
      frequently exhibits, is seen to more advantage in the act of devotion, or
      in the ranks of war, than on lighter and more cheerful occasions of
      assemblage. The discourse of the preacher was well qualified to call forth
      the various feelings and faculties of his audience.
    </p>
    <p>
      Age and infirmities had impaired the powers of a voice originally strong
      and sonorous. He read his text with a pronunciation somewhat inarticulate;
      but when he closed the Bible, and commenced his sermon, his tones
      gradually strengthened, as he entered with vehemence into the arguments
      which he maintained. They related chiefly to the abstract points of the
      Christian faith,&mdash;subjects grave, deep, and fathomless by mere human
      reason, but for which, with equal ingenuity and propriety, he sought a key
      in liberal quotations from the inspired writings. My mind was unprepared
      to coincide in all his reasoning, nor was I sure that in some instances I
      rightly comprehended his positions. But nothing could be more impressive
      than the eager enthusiastic manner of the good old man, and nothing more
      ingenious than his mode of reasoning. The Scotch, it is well known, are
      more remarkable for the exercise of their intellectual powers, than for
      the keenness of their feelings; they are, therefore, more moved by logic
      than by rhetoric, and more attracted by acute and argumentative reasoning
      on doctrinal points, than influenced by the enthusiastic appeals to the
      heart and to the passions, by which popular preachers in other countries
      win the favour of their hearers.
    </p>
    <p>
      Among the attentive group which I now saw, might be distinguished various
      expressions similar to those of the audience in the famous cartoon of Paul
      preaching at Athens. Here sat a zealous and intelligent Calvinist, with
      brows bent just as much as to indicate profound attention; lips slightly
      compressed; eyes fixed on the minister with an expression of decent pride,
      as if sharing the triumph of his argument; the forefinger of the right
      hand touching successively those of the left, as the preacher, from
      argument to argument, ascended towards his conclusion. Another, with
      fiercer and sterner look, intimated at once his contempt of all who
      doubted the creed of his pastor, and his joy at the appropriate punishment
      denounced against them. A third, perhaps belonging to a different
      congregation, and present only by accident or curiosity, had the
      appearance of internally impeaching some link of the reasoning; and you
      might plainly read, in the slight motion of his head, his doubts as to the
      soundness of the preacher's argument. The greater part listened with a
      calm, satisfied countenance, expressive of a conscious merit in being
      present, and in listening to such an ingenious discourse, although perhaps
      unable entirely to comprehend it. The women in general belonged to this
      last division of the audience; the old, however, seeming more grimly
      intent upon the abstract doctrines laid before them; while the younger
      females permitted their eyes occasionally to make a modest circuit around
      the congregation; and some of them, Tresham (if my vanity did not greatly
      deceive me), contrived to distinguish your friend and servant, as a
      handsome young stranger and an Englishman. As to the rest of the
      congregation, the stupid gaped, yawned, or slept, till awakened by the
      application of their more zealous neighbours' heels to their shins; and
      the idle indicated their inattention by the wandering of their eyes, but
      dared give no more decided token of weariness. Amid the Lowland costume of
      coat and cloak, I could here and there discern a Highland plaid, the
      wearer of which, resting on his basket-hilt, sent his eyes among the
      audience with the unrestrained curiosity of savage wonder; and who, in all
      probability, was inattentive to the sermon for a very pardonable reason&mdash;because
      he did not understand the language in which it was delivered. The martial
      and wild look, however, of these stragglers, added a kind of character
      which the congregation could not have exhibited without them. They were
      more numerous, Andrew afterwards observed, owing to some cattle-fair in
      the neighbourhood.
    </p>
    <p>
      Such was the group of countenances, rising tier on tier, discovered to my
      critical inspection by such sunbeams as forced their way through the
      narrow Gothic lattices of the Laigh Kirk of Glasgow; and, having
      illuminated the attentive congregation, lost themselves in the vacuity of
      the vaults behind, giving to the nearer part of their labyrinth a sort of
      imperfect twilight, and leaving their recesses in an utter darkness, which
      gave them the appearance of being interminable.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have already said that I stood with others in the exterior circle, with
      my face to the preacher, and my back to those vaults which I have so often
      mentioned. My position rendered me particularly obnoxious to any
      interruption which arose from any slight noise occurring amongst these
      retiring arches, where the least sound was multiplied by a thousand
      echoes. The occasional sound of rain-drops, which, admitted through some
      cranny in the ruined roof, fell successively, and splashed upon the
      pavement beneath, caused me to turn my head more than once to the place
      from whence it seemed to proceed, and when my eyes took that direction, I
      found it difficult to withdraw them; such is the pleasure our imagination
      receives from the attempt to penetrate as far as possible into an
      intricate labyrinth, imperfectly lighted, and exhibiting objects which
      irritate our curiosity, only because they acquire a mysterious interest
      from being undefined and dubious. My eyes became habituated to the gloomy
      atmosphere to which I directed them, and insensibly my mind became more
      interested in their discoveries than in the metaphysical subtleties which
      the preacher was enforcing.
    </p>
    <p>
      My father had often checked me for this wandering mood of mind, arising
      perhaps from an excitability of imagination to which he was a stranger;
      and the finding myself at present solicited by these temptations to
      inattention, recalled the time when I used to walk, led by his hand, to
      Mr. Shower's chapel, and the earnest injunctions which he then laid on me
      to redeem the time, because the days were evil. At present, the picture
      which my thoughts suggested, far from fixing my attention, destroyed the
      portion I had yet left, by conjuring up to my recollection the peril in
      which his affairs now stood. I endeavoured, in the lowest whisper I could
      frame, to request Andrew to obtain information, whether any of the
      gentlemen of the firm of MacVittie &amp; Co. were at present in the
      congregation. But Andrew, wrapped in profound attention to the sermon,
      only replied to my suggestion by hard punches with his elbow, as signals
      to me to remain silent. I next strained my eyes, with equally bad success,
      to see if, among the sea of up-turned faces which bent their eyes on the
      pulpit as a common centre, I could discover the sober and business-like
      physiognomy of Owen. But not among the broad beavers of the Glasgow
      citizens, or the yet broader brimmed Lowland bonnets of the peasants of
      Lanarkshire, could I see anything resembling the decent periwig, starched
      ruffles, or the uniform suit of light-brown garments appertaining to the
      head-clerk of the establishment of Osbaldistone and Tresham. My anxiety
      now returned on me with such violence as to overpower not only the novelty
      of the scene around me, by which it had hitherto been diverted, but
      moreover my sense of decorum. I pulled Andrew hard by the sleeve, and
      intimated my wish to leave the church, and pursue my investigation as I
      could. Andrew, obdurate in the Laigh Kirk of Glasgow as on the mountains
      of Cheviot, for some time deigned me no answer; and it was only when he
      found I could not otherwise be kept quiet, that he condescended to inform
      me, that, being once in the church, we could not leave it till service was
      over, because the doors were locked so soon as the prayers began. Having
      thus spoken in a brief and peevish whisper, Andrew again assumed the air
      of intelligent and critical importance, and attention to the preacher's
      discourse.
    </p>
    <p>
      While I endeavoured to make a virtue of necessity, and recall my attention
      to the sermon, I was again disturbed by a singular interruption. A voice
      from behind whispered distinctly in my ear, "You are in danger in this
      city."&mdash;I turned round, as if mechanically.
    </p>
    <p>
      One or two starched and ordinary-looking mechanics stood beside and behind
      me,&mdash;stragglers, who, like ourselves, had been too late in obtaining
      entrance. But a glance at their faces satisfied me, though I could hardly
      say why, that none of these was the person who had spoken to me. Their
      countenances seemed all composed to attention to the sermon, and not one
      of them returned any glance of intelligence to the inquisitive and
      startled look with which I surveyed them. A massive round pillar, which
      was close behind us, might have concealed the speaker the instant he
      uttered his mysterious caution; but wherefore it was given in such a
      place, or to what species of danger it directed my attention, or by whom
      the warning was uttered, were points on which my imagination lost itself
      in conjecture. It would, however, I concluded, be repeated, and I resolved
      to keep my countenance turned towards the clergyman, that the whisperer
      might be tempted to renew his communication under the idea that the first
      had passed unobserved.
    </p>
    <p>
      My plan succeeded. I had not resumed the appearance of attention to the
      preacher for five minutes, when the same voice whispered, "Listen, but do
      not look back." I kept my face in the same direction. "You are in danger
      in this place," the voice proceeded; "so am I&mdash;meet me to-night on
      the Brigg, at twelve preceesely&mdash;keep at home till the gloaming, and
      avoid observation."
    </p>
    <p>
      Here the voice ceased, and I instantly turned my head. But the speaker
      had, with still greater promptitude, glided behind the pillar, and escaped
      my observation. I was determined to catch a sight of him, if possible, and
      extricating myself from the outer circle of hearers, I also stepped behind
      the column. All there was empty; and I could only see a figure wrapped in
      a mantle, whether a Lowland cloak, or Highland plaid, I could not
      distinguish, which traversed, like a phantom, the dreary vacuity of vaults
      which I have described.
    </p>
    <p>
      I made a mechanical attempt to pursue the mysterious form, which glided
      away and vanished in the vaulted cemetery, like the spectre of one of the
      numerous dead who rested within its precincts. I had little chance of
      arresting the course of one obviously determined not to be spoken with;
      but that little chance was lost by my stumbling and falling before I had
      made three steps from the column. The obscurity which occasioned my
      misfortune, covered my disgrace; which I accounted rather lucky, for the
      preacher, with that stern authority which the Scottish ministers assume
      for the purpose of keeping order in their congregations, interrupted his
      discourse, to desire the "proper officer" to take into custody the causer
      of this disturbance in the place of worship. As the noise, however, was
      not repeated, the beadle, or whatever else he was called, did not think it
      necessary to be rigorous in searching out the offender, so that I was
      enabled, without attracting farther observation, to place myself by
      Andrew's side in my original position. The service proceeded, and closed
      without the occurrence of anything else worthy of notice.
    </p>
    <p>
      As the congregation departed and dispersed, my friend Andrew exclaimed,
      "See, yonder is worthy Mr. MacVittie, and Mrs. MacVittie, and Miss Alison
      MacVittie, and Mr. Thamas MacFin, that they say is to marry Miss Alison,
      if a' bowls row right&mdash;she'll hae a hantle siller, if she's no that
      bonny."
    </p>
    <p>
      My eyes took the direction he pointed out. Mr. MacVittie was a tall, thin,
      elderly man, with hard features, thick grey eyebrows, light eyes, and, as
      I imagined, a sinister expression of countenance, from which my heart
      recoiled. I remembered the warning I had received in the church, and
      hesitated to address this person, though I could not allege to myself any
      rational ground of dislike or suspicion.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was yet in suspense, when Andrew, who mistook my hesitation for
      bashfulness, proceeded to exhort me to lay it aside. "Speak till him&mdash;speak
      till him, Mr. Francis&mdash;he's no provost yet, though they say he'll be
      my lord neist year. Speak till him, then&mdash;he'll gie ye a decent
      answer for as rich as he is, unless ye were wanting siller frae him&mdash;they
      say he's dour to draw his purse."
    </p>
    <p>
      It immediately occurred to me, that if this merchant were really of the
      churlish and avaricious disposition which Andrew intimated, there might be
      some caution necessary in making myself known, as I could not tell how
      accounts might stand between my father and him. This consideration came in
      aid of the mysterious hint which I had received, and the dislike which I
      had conceived at the man's countenance. Instead of addressing myself
      directly to him, as I had designed to have done, I contented myself with
      desiring Andrew to inquire at Mr. MacVittie's house the address of Mr.
      Owen, an English gentleman; and I charged him not to mention the person
      from whom he received the commission, but to bring me the result to the
      small inn where we lodged. This Andrew promised to do. He said something
      of the duty of my attending the evening service; but added with a
      causticity natural to him, that "in troth, if folk couldna keep their legs
      still, but wad needs be couping the creels ower through-stanes, as if they
      wad raise the very dead folk wi' the clatter, a kirk wi' a chimley in't
      was fittest for them."
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="AlinkCH0004" id="AlinkCH0004">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER FOURTH.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                 On the Rialto, every night at twelve,
                 I take my evening's walk of meditation:
                         There we two will meet.
                                        Venice Preserved.
</pre>
    <p>
      Full of sinister augury, for which, however, I could assign no
      satisfactory cause, I shut myself up in my apartment at the inn, and
      having dismissed Andrew, after resisting his importunity to accompany him
      to St. Enoch's Kirk,* where, he said, "a soul-searching divine was to haud
      forth," I set myself seriously to consider what were best to be done.
    </p>
    <p>
      * This I believe to be an anachronism, as Saint Enoch's Church was not
      built at the date of the story. [It was founded in 1780, and has since
      been rebuilt.]
    </p>
    <p>
      I never was what is properly called superstitious; but I suppose that all
      men, in situations of peculiar doubt and difficulty, when they have
      exercised their reason to little purpose, are apt, in a sort of despair,
      to abandon the reins to their imagination, and be guided altogether by
      chance, or by those whimsical impressions which take possession of the
      mind, and to which we give way as if to involuntary impulses. There was
      something so singularly repulsive in the hard features of the Scotch
      trader, that I could not resolve to put myself into his hands without
      transgressing every caution which could be derived from the rules of
      physiognomy; while, at the same time, the warning voice, the form which
      flitted away like a vanishing shadow through those vaults, which might be
      termed "the valley of the shadow of death," had something captivating for
      the imagination of a young man, who, you will farther please to remember,
      was also a young poet.
    </p>
    <p>
      If danger was around me, as the mysterious communication intimated, how
      could I learn its nature, or the means of averting it, but by meeting my
      unknown counsellor, to whom I could see no reason for imputing any other
      than kind intentions. Rashleigh and his machinations occurred more than
      once to my remembrance;&mdash;but so rapid had my journey been, that I
      could not suppose him apprised of my arrival in Glasgow, much less
      prepared to play off any stratagem against my person. In my temper also I
      was bold and confident, strong and active in person, and in some measure
      accustomed to the use of arms, in which the French youth of all kinds were
      then initiated. I did not fear any single opponent; assassination was
      neither the vice of the age nor of the country; the place selected for our
      meeting was too public to admit any suspicion of meditated violence. In a
      word, I resolved to meet my mysterious counsellor on the bridge, as he had
      requested, and to be afterwards guided by circumstances. Let me not
      conceal from you, Tresham, what at the time I endeavoured to conceal from
      myself&mdash;the subdued, yet secretly-cherished hope, that Diana Vernon
      might&mdash;by what chance I knew not&mdash;through what means I could not
      guess&mdash;have some connection with this strange and dubious intimation
      conveyed at a time and place, and in a manner so surprising. She alone&mdash;whispered
      this insidious thought&mdash;she alone knew of my journey; from her own
      account, she possessed friends and influence in Scotland; she had
      furnished me with a talisman, whose power I was to invoke when all other
      aid failed me; who then but Diana Vernon possessed either means,
      knowledge, or inclination, for averting the dangers, by which, as it
      seemed, my steps were surrounded? This flattering view of my very doubtful
      case pressed itself upon me again and again. It insinuated itself into my
      thoughts, though very bashfully, before the hour of dinner; it displayed
      its attractions more boldly during the course of my frugal meal, and
      became so courageously intrusive during the succeeding half-hour (aided
      perhaps by the flavour of a few glasses of most excellent claret), that,
      with a sort of desperate attempt to escape from a delusive seduction, to
      which I felt the danger of yielding, I pushed my glass from me, threw
      aside my dinner, seized my hat, and rushed into the open air with the
      feeling of one who would fly from his own thoughts. Yet perhaps I yielded
      to the very feelings from which I seemed to fly, since my steps insensibly
      led me to the bridge over the Clyde, the place assigned for the rendezvous
      by my mysterious monitor.
    </p>
    <p>
      Although I had not partaken of my repast until the hours of evening
      church-service were over,&mdash;in which, by the way, I complied with the
      religious scruples of my landlady, who hesitated to dress a hot dinner
      between sermons, and also with the admonition of my unknown friend, to
      keep my apartment till twilight,&mdash;several hours had still to pass
      away betwixt the time of my appointment and that at which I reached the
      assigned place of meeting. The interval, as you will readily credit, was
      wearisome enough; and I can hardly explain to you how it passed away.
      Various groups of persons, all of whom, young and old, seemed impressed
      with a reverential feeling of the sanctity of the day, passed along the
      large open meadow which lies on the northern bank of the Clyde, and serves
      at once as a bleaching-field and pleasure-walk for the inhabitants, or
      paced with slow steps the long bridge which communicates with the southern
      district of the county. All that I remember of them was the general, yet
      not unpleasing, intimation of a devotional character impressed on each
      little party&mdash;formally assumed perhaps by some, but sincerely
      characterising the greater number&mdash;which hushed the petulant gaiety
      of the young into a tone of more quiet, yet more interesting, interchange
      of sentiments, and suppressed the vehement argument and protracted
      disputes of those of more advanced age. Notwithstanding the numbers who
      passed me, no general sound of the human voice was heard; few turned again
      to take some minutes' voluntary exercise, to which the leisure of the
      evening, and the beauty of the surrounding scenery, seemed to invite them:
      all hurried to their homes and resting-places. To one accustomed to the
      mode of spending Sunday evenings abroad, even among the French Calvinists,
      there seemed something Judaical, yet, at the same time striking and
      affecting, in this mode of keeping the Sabbath holy. Insensibly I felt my
      mode of sauntering by the side of the river, and crossing successively the
      various persons who were passing homeward, and without tarrying or delay,
      must expose me to observation at least, if not to censure; and I slunk out
      of the frequented path, and found a trivial occupation for my mind in
      marshalling my revolving walk in such a manner as should least render me
      obnoxious to observation. The different alleys lined out through this
      extensive meadow, and which are planted with trees, like the Park of St.
      James's in London, gave me facilities for carrying into effect these
      childish manoeuvres.
    </p>
    <p>
      As I walked down one of these avenues, I heard, to my surprise, the sharp
      and conceited voice of Andrew Fairservice, raised by a sense of
      self-consequence to a pitch somewhat higher than others seemed to think
      consistent with the solemnity of the day. To slip behind the row of trees
      under which I walked was perhaps no very dignified proceeding; but it was
      the easiest mode of escaping his observation, and perhaps his impertinent
      assiduity, and still more intrusive curiosity. As he passed, I heard him
      communicate to a grave-looking man, in a black coat, a slouched hat, and
      Geneva cloak, the following sketch of a character, which my self-love,
      while revolting against it as a caricature, could not, nevertheless,
      refuse to recognise as a likeness.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, ay, Mr. Hammorgaw, it's e'en as I tell ye. He's no a'thegither sae
      void o' sense neither; he has a gloaming sight o' what's reasonable&mdash;that
      is anes and awa'&mdash;a glisk and nae mair; but he's crack-brained and
      cockle-headed about his nipperty-tipperty poetry nonsense&mdash;He'll
      glowr at an auld-warld barkit aik-snag as if it were a queezmaddam in full
      bearing; and a naked craig, wi' a bum jawing ower't, is unto him as a
      garden garnisht with flowering knots and choice pot-herbs. Then he wad
      rather claver wi' a daft quean they ca' Diana Vernon (weel I wet they
      might ca' her Diana of the Ephesians, for she's little better than a
      heathen&mdash;better? she's waur&mdash;a Roman, a mere Roman)&mdash;he'll
      claver wi' her, or any ither idle slut, rather than hear what might do him
      gude a' the days of his life, frae you or me, Mr. Hammorgaw, or ony ither
      sober and sponsible person. Reason, sir, is what he canna endure&mdash;he's
      a' for your vanities and volubilities; and he ance tell'd me (puir blinded
      creature!) that the Psalms of David were excellent poetry! as if the holy
      Psalmist thought o' rattling rhymes in a blether, like his ain silly
      clinkum-clankum things that he ca's verse. Gude help him!&mdash;twa lines
      o' Davie Lindsay would ding a' he ever clerkit."
    </p>
    <p>
      While listening to this perverted account of my temper and studies, you
      will not be surprised if I meditated for Mr. Fairservice the unpleasant
      surprise of a broken pate on the first decent opportunity. His friend only
      intimated his attention by "Ay, ay!" and "Is't e'en sae?" and suchlike
      expressions of interest, at the proper breaks in Mr. Fairservice's
      harangue, until at length, in answer to some observation of greater
      length, the import of which I only collected from my trusty guide's reply,
      honest Andrew answered, "Tell him a bit o'my mind, quoth ye? Wha wad be
      fule then but Andrew? He's a red-wad deevil, man&mdash;He's like Giles
      Heathertap's auld boar;&mdash;ye need but shake a clout at him to make him
      turn and gore. Bide wi' him, say ye?&mdash;Troth, I kenna what for I bide
      wi' him mysell. But the lad's no a bad lad after a'; and he needs some
      carefu' body to look after him. He hasna the right grip o' his hand&mdash;the
      gowd slips through't like water, man; and it's no that ill a thing to be
      near him when his purse is in his hand, and it's seldom out o't. And then
      he's come o' guid kith and kin&mdash;My heart warms to the poor
      thoughtless callant, Mr. Hammorgaw&mdash;and then the penny fee"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      In the latter part of this instructive communication, Mr. Fairservice
      lowered his voice to a tone better beseeming the conversation in a place
      of public resort on a Sabbath evening, and his companion and he were soon
      beyond my hearing. My feelings of hasty resentment soon subsided, under
      the conviction that, as Andrew himself might have said, "A harkener always
      hears a bad tale of himself," and that whoever should happen to overhear
      their character discussed in their own servants'-hall, must prepare to
      undergo the scalpel of some such anatomist as Mr. Fairservice. The
      incident was so far useful, as, including the feelings to which it gave
      rise, it sped away a part of the time which hung so heavily on my hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      Evening had now closed, and the growing darkness gave to the broad, still,
      and deep expanse of the brimful river, first a hue sombre and uniform&mdash;then
      a dismal and turbid appearance, partially lighted by a waning and pallid
      moon. The massive and ancient bridge which stretches across the Clyde was
      now but dimly visible, and resembled that which Mirza, in his unequalled
      vision, has described as traversing the valley of Bagdad. The low-browed
      arches, seen as imperfectly as the dusky current which they bestrode,
      seemed rather caverns which swallowed up the gloomy waters of the river,
      than apertures contrived for their passage. With the advancing night the
      stillness of the scene increased. There was yet a twinkling light
      occasionally seen to glide along by the stream, which conducted home one
      or two of the small parties, who, after the abstinence and religious
      duties of the day, had partaken of a social supper&mdash;the only meal at
      which the rigid Presbyterians made some advance to sociality on the
      Sabbath. Occasionally, also, the hoofs of a horse were heard, whose rider,
      after spending the Sunday in Glasgow, was directing his steps towards his
      residence in the country. These sounds and sights became gradually of more
      rare occurrence; at length they altogether ceased, and I was left to enjoy
      my solitary walk on the shores of the Clyde in solemn silence, broken only
      by the tolling of the successive hours from the steeples of the churches.
    </p>
    <p>
      But as the night advanced my impatience at the uncertainty of the
      situation in which I was placed increased every moment, and became nearly
      ungovernable. I began to question whether I had been imposed upon by the
      trick of a fool, the raving of a madman, or the studied machinations of a
      villain, and paced the little quay or pier adjoining the entrance to the
      bridge, in a state of incredible anxiety and vexation. At length the hour
      of twelve o'clock swung its summons over the city from the belfry of the
      metropolitan church of St. Mungo, and was answered and vouched by all the
      others like dutiful diocesans. The echoes had scarcely ceased to repeat
      the last sound, when a human form&mdash;the first I had seen for two hours&mdash;appeared
      passing along the bridge from the southern shore of the river. I advanced
      to meet him with a feeling as if my fate depended on the result of the
      interview, so much had my anxiety been wound up by protracted expectation.
      All that I could remark of the passenger as we advanced towards each
      other, was that his frame was rather beneath than above the middle size,
      but apparently strong, thick-set, and muscular; his dress a horseman's
      wrapping coat. I slackened my pace, and almost paused as I advanced in
      expectation that he would address me. But to my inexpressible
      disappointment he passed without speaking, and I had no pretence for being
      the first to address one who, notwithstanding his appearance at the very
      hour of appointment, might nevertheless be an absolute stranger. I stopped
      when he had passed me, and looked after him, uncertain whether I ought not
      to follow him. The stranger walked on till near the northern end of the
      bridge, then paused, looked back, and turning round, again advanced
      towards me. I resolved that this time he should not have the apology for
      silence proper to apparitions, who, it is vulgarly supposed, cannot speak
      until they are spoken to. "You walk late, sir," said I, as we met a second
      time.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I bide tryste," was the reply; "and so I think do you, Mr. Osbaldistone."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are then the person who requested to meet me here at this unusual
      hour?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am," he replied. "Follow me, and you shall know my reasons."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Before following you, I must know your name and purpose," I answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am a man," was the reply; "and my purpose is friendly to you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A man!" I repeated;&mdash;"that is a very brief description."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It will serve for one who has no other to give," said the stranger. "He
      that is without name, without friends, without coin, without country, is
      still at least a man; and he that has all these is no more."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yet this is still too general an account of yourself, to say the least of
      it, to establish your credit with a stranger."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is all I mean to give, howsoe'er; you may choose to follow me, or to
      remain without the information I desire to afford you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Can you not give me that information here?" I demanded.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You must receive it from your eyes, not from my tongue&mdash;you must
      follow me, or remain in ignorance of the information which I have to give
      you."
    </p>
    <p>
      There was something short, determined, and even stern, in the man's
      manner, not certainly well calculated to conciliate undoubting confidence.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What is it you fear?" he said impatiently. "To whom, think ye, is your
      life of such consequence, that they should seek to bereave ye of it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I fear nothing," I replied firmly, though somewhat hastily. "Walk on&mdash;I
      attend you."
    </p>
    <p>
      We proceeded, contrary to my expectation, to re-enter the town, and glided
      like mute spectres, side by side, up its empty and silent streets. The
      high and gloomy stone fronts, with the variegated ornaments and pediments
      of the windows, looked yet taller and more sable by the imperfect
      moonshine. Our walk was for some minutes in perfect silence. At length my
      conductor spoke.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are you afraid?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I retort your own words," I replied: "wherefore should I fear?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Because you are with a stranger&mdash;perhaps an enemy, in a place where
      you have no friends and many enemies."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I neither fear you nor them; I am young, active, and armed."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am not armed," replied my conductor: "but no matter, a willing hand
      never lacked weapon. You say you fear nothing; but if you knew who was by
      your side, perhaps you might underlie a tremor."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And why should I?" replied I. "I again repeat, I fear nought that you can
      do."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nought that I can do?&mdash;Be it so. But do you not fear the
      consequences of being found with one whose very name whispered in this
      lonely street would make the stones themselves rise up to apprehend him&mdash;on
      whose head half the men in Glasgow would build their fortune as on a found
      treasure, had they the luck to grip him by the collar&mdash;the sound of
      whose apprehension were as welcome at the Cross of Edinburgh as ever the
      news of a field stricken and won in Flanders?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "And who then are you, whose name should create so deep a feeling of
      terror?" I replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No enemy of yours, since I am conveying you to a place, where, were I
      myself recognised and identified, iron to the heels and hemp to the craig
      would be my brief dooming."
    </p>
    <p>
      I paused and stood still on the pavement, drawing back so as to have the
      most perfect view of my companion which the light afforded me, and which
      was sufficient to guard against any sudden motion of assault.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have said," I answered, "either too much or too little&mdash;too much
      to induce me to confide in you as a mere stranger, since you avow yourself
      a person amenable to the laws of the country in which we are&mdash;and too
      little, unless you could show that you are unjustly subjected to their
      rigour."
    </p>
    <p>
      As I ceased to speak, he made a step towards me. I drew back
      instinctively, and laid my hand on the hilt of my sword.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What!" said he&mdash;"on an unarmed man, and your friend?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am yet ignorant if you are either the one or the other," I replied;
      "and to say the truth, your language and manner might well entitle me to
      doubt both."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is manfully spoken," replied my conductor; "and I respect him whose
      hand can keep his head.&mdash;I will be frank and free with you&mdash;I am
      conveying you to prison."
    </p>
    <p>
      "To prison!" I exclaimed&mdash;"by what warrant or for what offence?&mdash;You
      shall have my life sooner than my liberty&mdash;I defy you, and I will not
      follow you a step farther."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do not," he said, "carry you there as a prisoner; I am," he added,
      drawing himself haughtily up, "neither a messenger nor sheriff's officer.
      I carry you to see a prisoner from whose lips you will learn the risk in
      which you presently stand. Your liberty is little risked by the visit;
      mine is in some peril; but that I readily encounter on your account, for I
      care not for risk, and I love a free young blood, that kens no protector
      but the cross o' the sword."
    </p>
    <p>
      While he spoke thus, we had reached the principal street, and were pausing
      before a large building of hewn stone, garnished, as I thought I could
      perceive, with gratings of iron before the windows.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Muckle," said the stranger, whose language became more broadly national
      as he assumed a tone of colloquial freedom&mdash;"Muckle wad the provost
      and bailies o' Glasgow gie to hae him sitting with iron garters to his
      hose within their tolbooth that now stands wi' his legs as free as the
      red-deer's on the outside on't. And little wad it avail them; for an if
      they had me there wi' a stane's weight o' iron at every ankle, I would
      show them a toom room and a lost lodger before to-morrow&mdash;But come
      on, what stint ye for?"
    </p>
    <p>
      As he spoke thus, he tapped at a low wicket, and was answered by a sharp
      voice, as of one awakened from a dream or reverie,&mdash;"Fa's tat?&mdash;Wha's
      that, I wad say?&mdash;and fat a deil want ye at this hour at e'en?&mdash;Clean
      again rules&mdash;clean again rules, as they ca' them."
    </p>
    <p>
      The protracted tone in which the last words were uttered, betokened that
      the speaker was again composing himself to slumber. But my guide spoke in
      a loud whisper&mdash;"Dougal, man! hae ye forgotten Ha nun Gregarach?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Deil a bit, deil a bit," was the ready and lively response, and I heard
      the internal guardian of the prison-gate bustle up with great alacrity. A
      few words were exchanged between my conductor and the turnkey in a
      language to which I was an absolute stranger. The bolts revolved, but with
      a caution which marked the apprehension that the noise might be overheard,
      and we stood within the vestibule of the prison of Glasgow,&mdash;a small,
      but strong guard-room, from which a narrow staircase led upwards, and one
      or two low entrances conducted to apartments on the same level with the
      outward gate, all secured with the jealous strength of wickets, bolts, and
      bars. The walls, otherwise naked, were not unsuitably garnished with iron
      fetters, and other uncouth implements, which might be designed for
      purposes still more inhuman, interspersed with partisans, guns, pistols of
      antique manufacture, and other weapons of defence and offence.
    </p>
    <p>
      At finding myself so unexpectedly, fortuitously, and, as it were, by
      stealth, introduced within one of the legal fortresses of Scotland, I
      could not help recollecting my adventure in Northumberland, and fretting
      at the strange incidents which again, without any demerits of my own,
      threatened to place me in a dangerous and disagreeable collision with the
      laws of a country which I visited only in the capacity of a stranger.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="AlinkCH0005" id="AlinkCH0005">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER FIFTH.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
            Look round thee, young Astolpho: Here's the place
            Which men (for being poor) are sent to starve in;
                Rude remedy, I trow, for sore disease.
            Within these walls, stifled by damp and stench,
            Doth Hope's fair torch expire; and at the snuff,
            Ere yet 'tis quite extinct, rude, wild, and way-ward,
                The desperate revelries of wild despair,
            Kindling their hell-born cressets, light to deeds
            That the poor captive would have died ere practised,
                Till bondage sunk his soul to his condition.
                                  The Prison, <i>Scene III. Act I.</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      At my first entrance I turned an eager glance towards my conductor; but
      the lamp in the vestibule was too low in flame to give my curiosity any
      satisfaction by affording a distinct perusal of his features. As the
      turnkey held the light in his hand, the beams fell more full on his own
      scarce less interesting figure. He was a wild shock-headed looking animal,
      whose profusion of red hair covered and obscured his features, which were
      otherwise only characterised by the extravagant joy that affected him at
      the sight of my guide. In my experience I have met nothing so absolutely
      resembling my idea of a very uncouth, wild, and ugly savage, adoring the
      idol of his tribe. He grinned, he shivered, he laughed, he was near
      crying, if he did not actually cry. He had a "Where shall I go?&mdash;What
      can I do for you?" expression of face; the complete, surrendered, and
      anxious subservience and devotion of which it is difficult to describe,
      otherwise than by the awkward combination which I have attempted. The
      fellow's voice seemed choking in his ecstasy, and only could express
      itself in such interjections as "Oigh! oigh!&mdash;Ay! ay!&mdash;it's lang
      since she's seen ye!" and other exclamations equally brief, expressed in
      the same unknown tongue in which he had communicated with my conductor
      while we were on the outside of the jail door. My guide received all this
      excess of joyful gratulation much like a prince too early accustomed to
      the homage of those around him to be much moved by it, yet willing to
      requite it by the usual forms of royal courtesy. He extended his hand
      graciously towards the turnkey, with a civil inquiry of "How's a' wi' you,
      Dougal?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oigh! oigh!" exclaimed Dougal, softening the sharp exclamations of his
      surprise as he looked around with an eye of watchful alarm&mdash;"Oigh! to
      see you here&mdash;to see you here!&mdash;Oigh!&mdash;what will come o' ye
      gin the bailies suld come to get witting&mdash;ta filthy, gutty hallions,
      tat they are?"
    </p>
    <p>
      My guide placed his finger on his lip, and said, "Fear nothing, Dougal;
      your hands shall never draw a bolt on me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tat sall they no," said Dougal; "she suld&mdash;she wad&mdash;that is,
      she wishes them hacked aff by the elbows first&mdash;But when are ye gaun
      yonder again? and ye'll no forget to let her ken&mdash;she's your puir
      cousin, God kens, only seven times removed."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will let you ken, Dougal, as soon as my plans are settled."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And, by her sooth, when you do, an it were twal o' the Sunday at e'en,
      she'll fling her keys at the provost's head or she gie them anither turn,
      and that or ever Monday morning begins&mdash;see if she winna."
    </p>
    <p>
      My mysterious stranger cut his acquaintance's ecstasies short by again
      addressing him, in what I afterwards understood to be the Irish, Earse, or
      Gaelic, explaining, probably, the services which he required at his hand.
      The answer, "Wi' a' her heart&mdash;wi' a' her soul," with a good deal of
      indistinct muttering in a similar tone, intimated the turnkey's
      acquiescence in what he proposed. The fellow trimmed his dying lamp, and
      made a sign to me to follow him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you not go with us?" said I, looking to my conductor.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is unnecessary," he replied; "my company may be inconvenient for you,
      and I had better remain to secure our retreat."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do not suppose you mean to betray me to danger," said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "To none but what I partake in doubly," answered the stranger, with a
      voice of assurance which it was impossible to mistrust.
    </p>
    <p>
      I followed the turnkey, who, leaving the inner wicket unlocked behind him,
      led me up a <i>turnpike</i> (so the Scotch call a winding stair), then
      along a narrow gallery&mdash;then opening one of several doors which led
      into the passage, he ushered me into a small apartment, and casting his
      eye on the pallet-bed which occupied one corner, said with an under voice,
      as he placed the lamp on a little deal table, "She's sleeping."
    </p>
    <p>
      "She!&mdash;who?&mdash;can it be Diana Vernon in this abode of misery?"
    </p>
    <p>
      I turned my eye to the bed, and it was with a mixture of disappointment
      oddly mingled with pleasure, that I saw my first suspicion had deceived
      me. I saw a head neither young nor beautiful, garnished with a grey beard
      of two days' growth, and accommodated with a red nightcap. The first
      glance put me at ease on the score of Diana Vernon; the second, as the
      slumberer awoke from a heavy sleep, yawned, and rubbed his eyes, presented
      me with features very different indeed&mdash;even those of my poor friend
      Owen. I drew back out of view an instant, that he might have time to
      recover himself; fortunately recollecting that I was but an intruder on
      these cells of sorrow, and that any alarm might be attended with unhappy
      consequences.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meantime, the unfortunate formalist, raising himself from the pallet-bed
      with the assistance of one hand, and scratching his cap with the other,
      exclaimed in a voice in which as much peevishness as he was capable of
      feeling, contended with drowsiness, "I'll tell you what, Mr. Dug-well, or
      whatever your name may be, the sum-total of the matter is, that if my
      natural rest is to be broken in this manner, I must complain to the lord
      mayor."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Shentlemans to speak wi' her," replied Dougal, resuming the true dogged
      sullen tone of a turnkey, in exchange for the shrill clang of Highland
      congratulation with which he had welcomed my mysterious guide; and,
      turning on his heel, he left the apartment.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was some time before I could prevail upon the unfortunate sleeper
      awakening to recognise me; and when he did so, the distress of the worthy
      creature was extreme, at supposing, which he naturally did, that I had
      been sent thither as a partner of his captivity.
    </p>
    <p>
      "O, Mr. Frank, what have you brought yourself and the house to?&mdash;I
      think nothing of myself, that am a mere cipher, so to speak; but you, that
      was your father's sum-total&mdash;his omnium,&mdash;you that might have
      been the first man in the first house in the first city, to be shut up in
      a nasty Scotch jail, where one cannot even get the dirt brushed off their
      clothes!"
    </p>
    <p>
      He rubbed, with an air of peevish irritation, the once stainless brown
      coat, which had now shared some of the impurities of the floor of his
      prison-house,&mdash;his habits of extreme punctilious neatness acting
      mechanically to increase his distress.&mdash;"O Heaven be gracious to us!"
      he continued. "What news this will be on 'Change! There has not the like
      come there since the battle of Almanza, where the total of the British
      loss was summed up to five thousand men killed and wounded, besides a
      floating balance of missing&mdash;but what will that be to the news that
      Osbaldistone and Tresham have stopped!"
    </p>
    <p>
      I broke in on his lamentations to acquaint him that I was no prisoner,
      though scarce able to account for my being in that place at such an hour.
      I could only silence his inquiries by persisting in those which his own
      situation suggested; and at length obtained from him such information as
      he was able to give me. It was none of the most distinct; for, however
      clear-headed in his own routine of commercial business, Owen, you are well
      aware, was not very acute in comprehending what lay beyond that sphere.
    </p>
    <p>
      The sum of his information was, that of two correspondents of my father's
      firm at Glasgow, where, owing to engagements in Scotland formerly alluded
      to, he transacted a great deal of business, both my father and Owen had
      found the house of MacVittie, MacFin, and Company, the most obliging and
      accommodating. They had deferred to the great English house on every
      possible occasion; and in their bargains and transactions acted, without
      repining, the part of the jackall, who only claims what the lion is
      pleased to leave him. However small the share of profit allotted to them,
      it was always, as they expressed it, "enough for the like of them;"
      however large the portion of trouble, "they were sensible they could not
      do too much to deserve the continued patronage and good opinion of their
      honoured friends in Crane Alley."
    </p>
    <p>
      The dictates of my father were to MacVittie and MacFin the laws of the
      Medes and Persians, not to be altered, innovated, or even discussed; and
      the punctilios exacted by Owen in their business transactions, for he was
      a great lover of form, more especially when he could dictate it <i>ex
      cathedra,</i> seemed scarce less sanctimonious in their eyes. This tone of
      deep and respectful observance went all currently down with Owen; but my
      father looked a little closer into men's bosoms, and whether suspicious of
      this excess of deference, or, as a lover of brevity and simplicity in
      business, tired with these gentlemen's long-winded professions of regard,
      he had uniformly resisted their desire to become his sole agents in
      Scotland. On the contrary, he transacted many affairs through a
      correspondent of a character perfectly different&mdash;a man whose good
      opinion of himself amounted to self-conceit, and who, disliking the
      English in general as much as my father did the Scotch, would hold no
      communication but on a footing of absolute equality; jealous, moreover;
      captious occasionally; as tenacious of his own opinions in point of form
      as Owen could be of his; and totally indifferent though the authority of
      all Lombard Street had stood against his own private opinion.
    </p>
    <p>
      As these peculiarities of temper rendered it difficult to transact
      business with Mr. Nicol Jarvie,&mdash;as they occasioned at times disputes
      and coldness between the English house and their correspondent, which were
      only got over by a sense of mutual interest,&mdash;as, moreover, Owen's
      personal vanity sometimes suffered a little in the discussions to which
      they gave rise, you cannot be surprised, Tresham, that our old friend
      threw at all times the weight of his influence in favour of the civil,
      discreet, accommodating concern of MacVittie and MacFin, and spoke of
      Jarvie as a petulant, conceited Scotch pedlar, with whom there was no
      dealing.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was also not surprising, that in these circumstances, which I only
      learned in detail some time afterwards, Owen, in the difficulties to which
      the house was reduced by the absence of my father, and the disappearance
      of Rashleigh, should, on his arrival in Scotland, which took place two
      days before mine, have recourse to the friendship of those correspondents,
      who had always professed themselves obliged, gratified, and devoted to the
      service of his principal. He was received at Messrs. MacVittie and
      MacFin's counting-house in the Gallowgate, with something like the
      devotion a Catholic would pay to his tutelar saint. But, alas! this
      sunshine was soon overclouded, when, encouraged by the fair hopes which it
      inspired, he opened the difficulties of the house to his friendly
      correspondents, and requested their counsel and assistance. MacVittie was
      almost stunned by the communication; and MacFin, ere it was completed, was
      already at the ledger of their firm, and deeply engaged in the very bowels
      of the multitudinous accounts between their house and that of Osbaldistone
      and Tresham, for the purpose of discovering on which side the balance lay.
      Alas! the scale depressed considerably against the English firm; and the
      faces of MacVittie and MacFin, hitherto only blank and doubtful, became
      now ominous, grim, and lowering. They met Mr. Owen's request of
      countenance and assistance with a counter-demand of instant security
      against imminent hazard of eventual loss; and at length, speaking more
      plainly, required that a deposit of assets, destined for other purposes,
      should be placed in their hands for that purpose. Owen repelled this
      demand with great indignation, as dishonourable to his constituents,
      unjust to the other creditors of Osbaldistone and Tresham, and very
      ungrateful on the part of those by whom it was made.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Scotch partners gained, in the course of this controversy, what is
      very convenient to persons who are in the wrong, an opportunity and
      pretext for putting themselves in a violent passion, and for taking, under
      the pretext of the provocation they had received, measures to which some
      sense of decency, if not of conscience, might otherwise have deterred them
      from resorting.
    </p>
    <p>
      Owen had a small share, as I believe is usual, in the house to which he
      acted as head-clerk, and was therefore personally liable for all its
      obligations. This was known to Messrs. MacVittie and MacFin; and, with a
      view of making him feel their power, or rather in order to force him, at
      this emergency, into those measures in their favour, to which he had
      expressed himself so repugnant, they had recourse to a summary process of
      arrest and imprisonment,&mdash;which it seems the law of Scotland (therein
      surely liable to much abuse) allows to a creditor, who finds his
      conscience at liberty to make oath that the debtor meditates departing
      from the realm. Under such a warrant had poor Owen been confined to
      durance on the day preceding that when I was so strangely guided to his
      prison-house.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus possessed of the alarming outline of facts, the question remained,
      what was to be done and it was not of easy determination. I plainly
      perceived the perils with which we were surrounded, but it was more
      difficult to suggest any remedy. The warning which I had already received
      seemed to intimate, that my own personal liberty might be endangered by an
      open appearance in Owen's behalf. Owen entertained the same apprehension,
      and, in the exaggeration of his terror, assured me that a Scotchman,
      rather than run the risk of losing a farthing by an Englishman, would find
      law for arresting his wife, children, man-servant, maidservant, and
      stranger within his household. The laws concerning debt, in most
      countries, are so unmercifully severe, that I could not altogether
      disbelieve his statement; and my arrest, in the present circumstances,
      would have been a <i>coup-de-grace</i> to my father's affairs. In this
      dilemma, I asked Owen if he had not thought of having recourse to my
      father's other correspondent in Glasgow, Mr. Nicol Jarvie?
    </p>
    <p>
      "He had sent him a letter," he replied, "that morning; but if the
      smooth-tongued and civil house in the Gallowgate* had used him thus, what
      was to be expected from the cross-grained crab-stock in the Salt-Market?
    </p>
    <p>
      * [A street in the old town of Glasgow.]
    </p>
    <p>
      You might as well ask a broker to give up his percentage, as expect a
      favour from him without the <i>per contra.</i> He had not even," Owen
      said, "answered his letter though it was put into his hand that morning as
      he went to church." And here the despairing man-of-figures threw himself
      down on his pallet, exclaiming,&mdash;"My poor dear master! My poor dear
      master! O Mr. Frank, Mr. Frank, this is all your obstinacy!&mdash;But God
      forgive me for saying so to you in your distress! It's God's disposing,
      and man must submit."
    </p>
    <p>
      My philosophy, Tresham, could not prevent my sharing in the honest
      creature's distress, and we mingled our tears,&mdash;the more bitter on my
      part, as the perverse opposition to my father's will, with which the
      kind-hearted Owen forbore to upbraid me, rose up to my conscience as the
      cause of all this affliction.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the midst of our mingled sorrow, we were disturbed and surprised by a
      loud knocking at the outward door of the prison. I ran to the top of the
      staircase to listen, but could only hear the voice of the turnkey,
      alternately in a high tone, answering to some person without, and in a
      whisper, addressed to the person who had guided me hither&mdash;"She's
      coming&mdash;she's coming," aloud; then in a low key, "O hon-a-ri! O
      hon-a-ri! what'll she do now?&mdash;Gang up ta stair, and hide yourself
      ahint ta Sassenach shentleman's ped.&mdash;She's coming as fast as she
      can.&mdash;Ahellanay! it's my lord provosts, and ta pailies, and ta guard&mdash;and
      ta captain's coming toon stairs too&mdash;Got press her! gang up or he
      meets her.&mdash;She's coming&mdash;she's coming&mdash;ta lock's sair
      roosted."
    </p>
    <p>
      While Dougal, unwillingly, and with as much delay as possible, undid the
      various fastenings to give admittance to those without, whose impatience
      became clamorous, my guide ascended the winding stair, and sprang into
      Owen's apartment, into which I followed him. He cast his eyes hastily
      round, as if looking for a place of concealment; then said to me, "Lend me
      your pistols&mdash;yet it's no matter, I can do without them&mdash;Whatever
      you see, take no heed, and do not mix your hand in another man's feud&mdash;This
      gear's mine, and I must manage it as I dow; but I have been as hard
      bested, and worse, than I am even now."
    </p>
    <p>
      As the stranger spoke these words, he stripped from his person the
      cumbrous upper coat in which he was wrapt, confronted the door of the
      apartment, on which he fixed a keen and determined glance, drawing his
      person a little back to concentrate his force, like a fine horse brought
      up to the leaping-bar. I had not a moment's doubt that he meant to
      extricate himself from his embarrassment, whatever might be the cause of
      it, by springing full upon those who should appear when the doors opened,
      and forcing his way through all opposition into the street;&mdash;and such
      was the appearance of strength and agility displayed in his frame, and of
      determination in his look and manner, that I did not doubt a moment but
      that he might get clear through his opponents, unless they employed fatal
      means to stop his purpose. It was a period of awful suspense betwixt the
      opening of the outward gate and that of the door of the apartment, when
      there appeared&mdash;no guard with bayonets fixed, or watch with clubs,
      bills, or partisans, but a good-looking young woman, with grogram
      petticoats, tucked up for trudging through the streets, and holding a
      lantern in her hand. This female ushered in a more important personage, in
      form, stout, short, and somewhat corpulent; and by dignity, as it soon
      appeared, a magistrate, bob-wigged, bustling, and breathless with peevish
      impatience. My conductor, at his appearance, drew back as if to escape
      observation; but he could not elude the penetrating twinkle with which
      this dignitary reconnoitered the whole apartment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "A bonny thing it is, and a beseeming, that I should be kept at the door
      half an hour, Captain Stanchells," said he, addressing the principal
      jailor, who now showed himself at the door as if in attendance on the
      great man, "knocking as hard to get into the tolbooth as onybody else wad
      to get out of it, could that avail them, poor fallen creatures!&mdash;And
      how's this?&mdash;how's this?&mdash;strangers in the jail after lock-up
      hours, and on the Sabbath evening!&mdash;I shall look after this,
      Stanchells, you may depend on't&mdash;Keep the door locked, and I'll speak
      to these gentlemen in a gliffing&mdash;But first I maun hae a crack wi' an
      auld acquaintance here.&mdash; Mr. Owen, Mr. Owen, how's a' wi' ye, man?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pretty well in body, I thank you, Mr. Jarvie," drawled out poor Owen,
      "but sore afflicted in spirit."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nae doubt, nae doubt&mdash;ay, ay&mdash;it's an awfu' whummle&mdash;and
      for ane that held his head sae high too&mdash;human nature, human nature&mdash;Ay
      ay, we're a' subject to a downcome. Mr. Osbaldistone is a gude honest
      gentleman; but I aye said he was ane o' them wad make a spune or spoil a
      horn, as my father the worthy deacon used to say. The deacon used to say
      to me, 'Nick&mdash;young Nick' (his name was Nicol as weel as mine; sae
      folk ca'd us in their daffin', young Nick and auld Nick)&mdash;'Nick,'
      said he, 'never put out your arm farther than ye can draw it easily back
      again.' I hae said sae to Mr. Osbaldistone, and he didna seem to take it
      a'thegither sae kind as I wished&mdash;but it was weel meant&mdash;weel
      meant."
    </p>
    <p>
      This discourse, delivered with prodigious volubility, and a great
      appearance of self-complacency, as he recollected his own advice and
      predictions, gave little promise of assistance at the hands of Mr. Jarvie.
      Yet it soon appeared rather to proceed from a total want of delicacy than
      any deficiency of real kindness; for when Owen expressed himself somewhat
      hurt that these things should be recalled to memory in his present
      situation, the Glaswegian took him by the hand, and bade him "Cheer up a
      gliff! D'ye think I wad hae comed out at twal o'clock at night, and amaist
      broken the Lord's day, just to tell a fa'en man o' his backslidings? Na,
      na, that's no Bailie Jarvie's gate, nor was't his worthy father's the
      deacon afore him. Why, man! it's my rule never to think on warldly
      business on the Sabbath, and though I did a' I could to keep your note
      that I gat this morning out o' my head, yet I thought mair on it a' day,
      than on the preaching&mdash;And it's my rule to gang to my bed wi' the
      yellow curtains preceesely at ten o'clock&mdash;unless I were eating a
      haddock wi' a neighbour, or a neighbour wi' me&mdash;ask the lass-quean
      there, if it isna a fundamental rule in my household; and here hae I
      sitten up reading gude books, and gaping as if I wad swallow St. Enox
      Kirk, till it chappit twal, whilk was a lawfu' hour to gie a look at my
      ledger, just to see how things stood between us; and then, as time and
      tide wait for no man, I made the lass get the lantern, and came slipping
      my ways here to see what can be dune anent your affairs. Bailie Jarvie can
      command entrance into the tolbooth at ony hour, day or night;&mdash;sae
      could my father the deacon in his time, honest man, praise to his memory."
    </p>
    <p>
      Although Owen groaned at the mention of the ledger, leading me grievously
      to fear that here also the balance stood in the wrong column; and although
      the worthy magistrate's speech expressed much self-complacency, and some
      ominous triumph in his own superior judgment, yet it was blended with a
      sort of frank and blunt good-nature, from which I could not help deriving
      some hopes. He requested to see some papers he mentioned, snatched them
      hastily from Owen's hand, and sitting on the bed, to "rest his shanks," as
      he was pleased to express the accommodation which that posture afforded
      him, his servant girl held up the lantern to him, while, pshawing,
      muttering, and sputtering, now at the imperfect light, now at the contents
      of the packet, he ran over the writings it contained.
    </p>
    <p>
      Seeing him fairly engaged in this course of study, the guide who had
      brought me hither seemed disposed to take an unceremonious leave. He made
      a sign to me to say nothing, and intimated, by his change of posture, an
      intention to glide towards the door in such a manner as to attract the
      least possible observation. But the alert magistrate (very different from
      my old acquaintance, Mr. Justice Inglewood) instantly detected and
      interrupted his purposes. "I say, look to the door, Stanchells&mdash;shut
      and lock it, and keep watch on the outside."
    </p>
    <p>
      The stranger's brow darkened, and he seemed for an instant again to
      meditate the effecting his retreat by violence; but ere he had determined,
      the door closed, and the ponderous bolt revolved. He muttered an
      exclamation in Gaelic, strode across the floor, and then, with an air of
      dogged resolution, as if fixed and prepared to see the scene to an end,
      sate himself down on the oak table, and whistled a strathspey.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Jarvie, who seemed very alert and expeditious in going through
      business, soon showed himself master of that which he had been
      considering, and addressed himself to Mr. Owen in the following strain:&mdash;
      "Weel, Mr. Owen, weel&mdash;your house are awin' certain sums to Messrs.
      MacVittie and MacFin (shame fa' their souple snouts! they made that and
      mair out o' a bargain about the aik-woods at Glen-Cailziechat, that they
      took out atween my teeth&mdash;wi' help o' your gude word, I maun needs
      say, Mr. Owen&mdash;but that makes nae odds now)&mdash;Weel, sir, your
      house awes them this siller; and for this, and relief of other engagements
      they stand in for you, they hae putten a double turn o' Stanchells' muckle
      key on ye.&mdash; Weel, sir, ye awe this siller&mdash;and maybe ye awe
      some mair to some other body too&mdash;maybe ye awe some to myself, Bailie
      Nicol Jarvie."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I cannot deny, sir, but the balance may of this date be brought out
      against us, Mr. Jarvie," said Owen; "but you'll please to consider"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "I hae nae time to consider e'enow, Mr. Owen&mdash;Sae near Sabbath at
      e'en, and out o' ane's warm bed at this time o' night, and a sort o' drow
      in the air besides&mdash;there's nae time for considering&mdash;But, sir,
      as I was saying, ye awe me money&mdash;it winna deny&mdash;ye awe me
      money, less or mair, I'll stand by it. But then, Mr. Owen, I canna see how
      you, an active man that understands business, can redd out the business
      ye're come down about, and clear us a' aff&mdash;as I have gritt hope ye
      will&mdash;if ye're keepit lying here in the tolbooth of Glasgow. Now,
      sir, if you can find caution <i>judicio sisti,</i>&mdash;that is, that ye
      winna flee the country, but appear and relieve your caution when ca'd for
      in our legal courts, ye may be set at liberty this very morning."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Jarvie," said Owen, "if any friend would become surety for me to that
      effect, my liberty might be usefully employed, doubtless, both for the
      house and all connected with it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aweel, sir," continued Jarvie, "and doubtless such a friend wad expect ye
      to appear when ca'd on, and relieve him o' his engagement."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And I should do so as certainly, bating sickness or death, as that two
      and two make four."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aweel, Mr. Owen," resumed the citizen of Glasgow, "I dinna misdoubt ye,
      and I'll prove it, sir&mdash;I'll prove it. I am a carefu' man, as is weel
      ken'd, and industrious, as the hale town can testify; and I can win my
      crowns, and keep my crowns, and count my crowns, wi' onybody in the Saut
      Market, or it may be in the Gallowgate. And I'm a prudent man, as my
      father the deacon was before me;&mdash;but rather than an honest civil
      gentleman, that understands business, and is willing to do justice to all
      men, should lie by the heels this gate, unable to help himsell or onybody
      else&mdash;why, conscience, man! I'll be your bail myself&mdash;But ye'll
      mind it's a bail <i>judicio sisti,</i> as our town-clerk says, not <i>judicatum
      solvi;</i> ye'll mind that, for there's muckle difference."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Owen assured him, that as matters then stood, he could not expect any
      one to become surety for the actual payment of the debt, but that there
      was not the most distant cause for apprehending loss from his failing to
      present himself when lawfully called upon.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I believe ye&mdash;I believe ye. Eneugh said&mdash;eneugh said. We'se hae
      your legs loose by breakfast-time.&mdash;And now let's hear what thir
      chamber chiels o' yours hae to say for themselves, or how, in the name of
      unrule, they got here at this time o' night."
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="Aimage-0004" id="Aimage-0004">
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    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img src="images/pb068.jpg" alt="Rob Roy in Prison " width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
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    <p>
      <a name="AlinkCH0006" id="AlinkCH0006">
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    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER SIXTH.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                        Hame came our gudeman at e'en,
                           And hame came he,
                        And there he saw a man
                           Where a man suldna be.
                       "How's this now, kimmer?
                           How's this?" quo he,&mdash;
                       "How came this carle here
                           Without the leave o' me?"
                                           Old Song.
</pre>
    <p>
      The magistrate took the light out of the servant-maid's hand, and advanced
      to his scrutiny, like Diogenes in the street of Athens, lantern-in-hand,
      and probably with as little expectation as that of the cynic, that he was
      likely to encounter any especial treasure in the course of his researches.
      The first whom he approached was my mysterious guide, who, seated on a
      table as I have already described him, with his eyes firmly fixed on the
      wall, his features arranged into the utmost inflexibility of expression,
      his hands folded on his breast with an air betwixt carelessness and
      defiance, his heel patting against the foot of the table, to keep time
      with the tune which he continued to whistle, submitted to Mr. Jarvie's
      investigation with an air of absolute confidence and assurance which, for
      a moment, placed at fault the memory and sagacity of the acute
      investigator.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah!&mdash;Eh!&mdash;Oh!" exclaimed the Bailie. "My conscience!&mdash;it's
      impossible!&mdash;and yet&mdash;no!&mdash;Conscience!&mdash;it canna be!&mdash;and
      yet again&mdash;Deil hae me, that I suld say sae!&mdash;Ye robber&mdash;ye
      cateran&mdash;ye born deevil that ye are, to a' bad ends and nae gude ane!&mdash;can
      this be you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "E'en as ye see, Bailie," was the laconic answer.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Conscience! if I am na clean bumbaized&mdash;<i>you</i>, ye
      cheat-the-wuddy rogue&mdash;<i>you</i> here on your venture in the
      tolbooth o' Glasgow?&mdash;What d'ye think's the value o' your head?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Umph!&mdash;why, fairly weighed, and Dutch weight, it might weigh down
      one provost's, four bailies', a town-clerk's, six deacons', besides
      stent-masters'"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, ye reiving villain!" interrupted Mr. Jarvie. "But tell ower your
      sins, and prepare ye, for if I say the word"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "True, Bailie," said he who was thus addressed, folding his hands behind
      him with the utmost <i>nonchalance,</i> "but ye will never say that word."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And why suld I not, sir?" exclaimed the magistrate&mdash;"Why suld I not?
      Answer me that&mdash;why suld I not?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "For three sufficient reasons, Bailie Jarvie.&mdash;First, for auld
      langsyne; second, for the sake of the auld wife ayont the fire at
      Stuckavrallachan, that made some mixture of our bluids, to my own proper
      shame be it spoken! that has a cousin wi' accounts, and yarn winnles, and
      looms and shuttles, like a mere mechanical person; and lastly, Bailie,
      because if I saw a sign o' your betraying me, I would plaster that wa'
      with your harns ere the hand of man could rescue you!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ye're a bauld desperate villain, sir," retorted the undaunted Bailie;
      "and ye ken that I ken ye to be sae, and that I wadna stand a moment for
      my ain risk."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I ken weel," said the other, "ye hae gentle bluid in your veins, and I
      wad be laith to hurt my ain kinsman. But I'll gang out here as free as I
      came in, or the very wa's o' Glasgow tolbooth shall tell o't these ten
      years to come."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Weel, weel," said Mr. Jarvie, "bluid's thicker than water; and it liesna
      in kith, kin, and ally, to see motes in ilka other's een if other een see
      them no. It wad be sair news to the auld wife below the Ben of
      Stuckavrallachan, that you, ye Hieland limmer, had knockit out my harns,
      or that I had kilted you up in a tow. But ye'll own, ye dour deevil, that
      were it no your very sell, I wad hae grippit the best man in the
      Hielands."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ye wad hae tried, cousin," answered my guide, "that I wot weel; but I
      doubt ye wad hae come aff wi' the short measure; for we gang-there-out
      Hieland bodies are an unchancy generation when you speak to us o' bondage.
      We downa bide the coercion of gude braid-claith about our hinderlans, let
      a be breeks o' free-stone, and garters o' iron."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ye'll find the stane breeks and the airn garters&mdash;ay, and the hemp
      cravat, for a' that, neighbour," replied the Bailie.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nae man in a civilised country ever played the pliskies ye hae done&mdash;but
      e'en pickle in your ain pock-neuk&mdash;I hae gi'en ye wanting."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, cousin," said the other, "ye'll wear black at my burial."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Deil a black cloak will be there, Robin, but the corbies and the
      hoodie-craws, I'se gie ye my hand on that. But whar's the gude thousand
      pund Scots that I lent ye, man, and when am I to see it again?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Where it is," replied my guide, after the affectation of considering for
      a moment, "I cannot justly tell&mdash;probably where last year's snaw is."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And that's on the tap of Schehallion, ye Hieland dog," said Mr. Jarvie;
      "and I look for payment frae you where ye stand."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay," replied the Highlander, "but I keep neither snaw nor dollars in my
      sporran. And as to when you'll see it&mdash;why, just when the king enjoys
      his ain again, as the auld sang says."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Warst of a', Robin," retorted the Glaswegian,&mdash;"I mean, ye disloyal
      traitor&mdash;Warst of a'!&mdash;Wad ye bring popery in on us, and
      arbitrary power, and a foist and a warming-pan, and the set forms, and the
      curates, and the auld enormities o' surplices and cerements? Ye had better
      stick to your auld trade o' theft-boot, black-mail, spreaghs, and
      gillravaging&mdash;better stealing nowte than ruining nations."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hout, man&mdash;whisht wi' your whiggery," answered the Celt; "we hae
      ken'd ane anither mony a lang day. I'se take care your counting-room is no
      cleaned out when the Gillon-a-naillie* come to redd up the Glasgow buiths,
      and clear them o' their auld shop-wares.
    </p>
    <p>
      * The lads with the kilts or petticoats.
    </p>
    <p>
      And, unless it just fa' in the preceese way o' your duty, ye maunna see me
      oftener, Nicol, than I am disposed to be seen."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ye are a dauring villain, Rob," answered the Bailie; "and ye will be
      hanged, that will be seen and heard tell o'; but I'se ne'er be the ill
      bird and foul my nest, set apart strong necessity and the skreigh of duty,
      which no man should hear and be inobedient. And wha the deevil's this?" he
      continued, turning to me&mdash;"Some gillravager that ye hae listed, I
      daur say. He looks as if he had a bauld heart to the highway, and a lang
      craig for the gibbet."
    </p>
    <p>
      "This, good Mr. Jarvie," said Owen, who, like myself, had been struck dumb
      during this strange recognition, and no less strange dialogue, which took
      place betwixt these extraordinary kinsmen&mdash;"This, good Mr. Jarvie, is
      young Mr. Frank Osbaldistone, only child of the head of our house, who
      should have been taken into our firm at the time Mr. Rashleigh
      Osbaldistone, his cousin, had the luck to be taken into it"&mdash;(Here
      Owen could not suppress a groan)&mdash;"But howsoever"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, I have heard of that smaik," said the Scotch merchant, interrupting
      him; "it is he whom your principal, like an obstinate auld fule, wad make
      a merchant o', wad he or wad he no,&mdash;and the lad turned a strolling
      stage-player, in pure dislike to the labour an honest man should live by.
      Weel, sir, what say you to your handiwork? Will Hamlet the Dane, or
      Hamlet's ghost, be good security for Mr. Owen, sir?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't deserve your taunt," I replied, "though I respect your motive,
      and am too grateful for the assistance you have afforded Mr. Owen, to
      resent it. My only business here was to do what I could (it is perhaps
      very little) to aid Mr. Owen in the management of my father's affairs. My
      dislike of the commercial profession is a feeling of which I am the best
      and sole judge."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I protest," said the Highlander, "I had some respect for this callant
      even before I ken'd what was in him; but now I honour him for his contempt
      of weavers and spinners, and sic-like mechanical persons and their
      pursuits."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ye're mad, Rob," said the Bailie&mdash;"mad as a March hare&mdash;though
      wherefore a hare suld be mad at March mair than at Martinmas, is mair than
      I can weel say. Weavers! Deil shake ye out o' the web the weaver craft
      made. Spinners! ye'll spin and wind yourself a bonny pirn. And this young
      birkie here, that ye're hoying and hounding on the shortest road to the
      gallows and the deevil, will his stage-plays and his poetries help him
      here, dye think, ony mair than your deep oaths and drawn dirks, ye
      reprobate that ye are?&mdash;Will <i>Tityre tu patulae,</i> as they ca'
      it, tell him where Rashleigh Osbaldistone is? or Macbeth, and all his
      kernes and galla-glasses, and your awn to boot, Rob, procure him five
      thousand pounds to answer the bills which fall due ten days hence, were
      they a' rouped at the Cross,&mdash;basket-hilts, Andra-Ferraras, leather
      targets, brogues, brochan, and sporrans?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ten days," I answered, and instinctively drew out Diana Vernon's packet;
      and the time being elapsed during which I was to keep the seal sacred, I
      hastily broke it open. A sealed letter fell from a blank enclosure, owing
      to the trepidation with which I opened the parcel. A slight current of
      wind, which found its way through a broken pane of the window, wafted the
      letter to Mr. Jarvie's feet, who lifted it, examined the address with
      unceremonious curiosity, and, to my astonishment, handed it to his
      Highland kinsman, saying, "Here's a wind has blown a letter to its right
      owner, though there were ten thousand chances against its coming to hand."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Highlander, having examined the address, broke the letter open without
      the least ceremony. I endeavoured to interrupt his proceeding.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You must satisfy me, sir," said I, "that the letter is intended for you
      before I can permit you to peruse it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Make yourself quite easy, Mr. Osbaldistone," replied the mountaineer with
      great composure.&mdash;"remember Justice Inglewood, Clerk Jobson, Mr.
      Morris&mdash;above all, remember your vera humble servant, Robert Cawmil,
      and the beautiful Diana Vernon. Remember all this, and doubt no longer
      that the letter is for me."
    </p>
    <p>
      I remained astonished at my own stupidity.&mdash;Through the whole night,
      the voice, and even the features of this man, though imperfectly seen,
      haunted me with recollections to which I could assign no exact local or
      personal associations. But now the light dawned on me at once; this man
      was Campbell himself. His whole peculiarities flashed on me at once,&mdash;the
      deep strong voice&mdash;the inflexible, stern, yet considerate cast of
      features&mdash;the Scottish brogue, with its corresponding dialect and
      imagery, which, although he possessed the power at times of laying them
      aside, recurred at every moment of emotion, and gave pith to his sarcasm,
      or vehemence to his expostulation. Rather beneath the middle size than
      above it, his limbs were formed upon the very strongest model that is
      consistent with agility, while from the remarkable ease and freedom of his
      movements, you could not doubt his possessing the latter quality in a high
      degree of perfection. Two points in his person interfered with the rules
      of symmetry; his shoulders were so broad in proportion to his height, as,
      notwithstanding the lean and lathy appearance of his frame, gave him
      something the air of being too square in respect to his stature; and his
      arms, though round, sinewy, and strong, were so very long as to be rather
      a deformity. I afterwards heard that this length of arm was a circumstance
      on which he prided himself; that when he wore his native Highland garb, he
      could tie the garters of his hose without stooping; and that it gave him
      great advantage in the use of the broad-sword, at which he was very
      dexterous. But certainly this want of symmetry destroyed the claim he
      might otherwise have set up, to be accounted a very handsome man; it gave
      something wild, irregular, and, as it were, unearthly, to his appearance,
      and reminded me involuntarily of the tales which Mabel used to tell of the
      old Picts who ravaged Northumberland in ancient times, who, according to
      her tradition, were a sort of half-goblin half-human beings,
      distinguished, like this man, for courage, cunning, ferocity, the length
      of their arms, and the squareness of their shoulders.
    </p>
    <p>
      When, however, I recollected the circumstances in which we formerly met, I
      could not doubt that the billet was most probably designed for him. He had
      made a marked figure among those mysterious personages over whom Diana
      seemed to exercise an influence, and from whom she experienced an
      influence in her turn. It was painful to think that the fate of a being so
      amiable was involved in that of desperadoes of this man's description;&mdash;yet
      it seemed impossible to doubt it. Of what use, however, could this person
      be to my father's affairs?&mdash;I could think only of one. Rashleigh
      Osbaldistone had, at the instigation of Miss Vernon, certainly found means
      to produce Mr. Campbell when his presence was necessary to exculpate me
      from Morris's accusation&mdash;Was it not possible that her influence, in
      like manner, might prevail on Campbell to produce Rashleigh? Speaking on
      this supposition, I requested to know where my dangerous kinsman was, and
      when Mr. Campbell had seen him. The answer was indirect.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's a kittle cast she has gien me to play; but yet it's fair play, and I
      winna baulk her. Mr. Osbaldistone, I dwell not very far from hence&mdash;my
      kinsman can show you the way&mdash;Leave Mr. Owen to do the best he can in
      Glasgow&mdash;do you come and see me in the glens, and it's like I may
      pleasure you, and stead your father in his extremity. I am but a poor man;
      but wit's better than wealth&mdash;and, cousin" (turning from me to
      address Mr. Jarvie), "if ye daur venture sae muckle as to eat a dish of
      Scotch collops, and a leg o' red-deer venison wi' me, come ye wi' this
      Sassenach gentleman as far as Drymen or Bucklivie,&mdash;or the Clachan of
      Aberfoil will be better than ony o' them,&mdash;and I'll hae somebody
      waiting to weise ye the gate to the place where I may be for the time&mdash;What
      say ye, man? There's my thumb, I'll ne'er beguile thee."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Na, na, Robin," said the cautious burgher, "I seldom like to leave the
      Gorbals;* I have nae freedom to gang among your wild hills, Robin, and
      your kilted red-shanks&mdash;it disna become my place, man."
    </p>
    <p>
      * [The <i>Gorbals</i> or "suburbs" are situate on the south side of the
      River.]
    </p>
    <p>
      "The devil damn your place and you baith!" reiterated Campbell. "The only
      drap o' gentle bluid that's in your body was our great-grand-uncle's that
      was justified* at Dumbarton, and you set yourself up to say ye wad
      derogate frae your place to visit me!
    </p>
    <p>
      * [Executed for treason.]
    </p>
    <p>
      Hark thee, man&mdash;I owe thee a day in harst&mdash;I'll pay up your
      thousan pund Scots, plack and bawbee, gin ye'll be an honest fallow for
      anes, and just daiker up the gate wi' this Sassenach."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hout awa' wi' your gentility," replied the Bailie; "carry your gentle
      bluid to the Cross, and see what ye'll buy wi't. But, if I <i>were</i> to
      come, wad ye really and soothfastly pay me the siller?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I swear to ye," said the Highlander, "upon the halidome of him that
      sleeps beneath the grey stane at Inch-Cailleach."*
    </p>
    <p>
      * Inch-Cailleach is an island in Lochlomond, where the clan of MacGregor
      were wont to be interred, and where their sepulchres may still be seen. It
      formerly contained a nunnery: hence the name of Inch-Cailleach, or the
      island of Old Women.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Say nae mair, Robin&mdash;say nae mair&mdash;We'll see what may be dune.
      But ye maunna expect me to gang ower the Highland line&mdash;I'll gae
      beyond the line at no rate. Ye maun meet me about Bucklivie or the Clachan
      of Aberfoil,&mdash;and dinna forget the needful."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nae fear&mdash;nae fear," said Campbell; "I'll be as true as the steel
      blade that never failed its master. But I must be budging, cousin, for the
      air o' Glasgow tolbooth is no that ower salutary to a Highlander's
      constitution."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Troth," replied the merchant, "and if my duty were to be dune, ye couldna
      change your atmosphere, as the minister ca's it, this ae wee while.&mdash;Ochon,
      that I sud ever be concerned in aiding and abetting an escape frae
      justice! it will be a shame and disgrace to me and mine, and my very
      father's memory, for ever."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hout tout, man! let that flee stick in the wa'," answered his kinsman;
      "when the dirt's dry it will rub out&mdash;Your father, honest man, could
      look ower a friend's fault as weel as anither."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ye may be right, Robin," replied the Bailie, after a moment's reflection;
      "he was a considerate man the deacon; he ken'd we had a' our frailties,
      and he lo'ed his friends&mdash;Ye'll no hae forgotten him, Robin?" This
      question he put in a softened tone, conveying as much at least of the
      ludicrous as the pathetic.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Forgotten him!" replied his kinsman&mdash;"what suld ail me to forget
      him?&mdash;a wapping weaver he was, and wrought my first pair o' hose.&mdash;But
      come awa', kinsman,
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
              Come fill up my cap, come fill up my cann,
              Come saddle my horses, and call up my man;
              Come open your gates, and let me gae free,
                   I daurna stay langer in bonny Dundee."
</pre>
    <p>
      "Whisht, sir!" said the magistrate, in an authoritative tone&mdash;"lilting
      and singing sae near the latter end o' the Sabbath! This house may hear ye
      sing anither tune yet&mdash;Aweel, we hae a' backslidings to answer for&mdash;Stanchells,
      open the door."
    </p>
    <p>
      The jailor obeyed, and we all sallied forth. Stanchells looked with some
      surprise at the two strangers, wondering, doubtless, how they came into
      these premises without his knowledge; but Mr. Jarvie's "Friends o' mine,
      Stanchells&mdash;friends o' mine," silenced all disposition to inquiries.
      We now descended into the lower vestibule, and hallooed more than once for
      Dougal, to which summons no answer was returned; when Campbell observed
      with a sardonic smile, "That if Dougal was the lad he kent him, he would
      scarce wait to get thanks for his ain share of the night's wark, but was
      in all probability on the full trot to the pass of Ballamaha"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "And left us&mdash;and, abune a', me, mysell, locked up in the tolbooth a'
      night!" exclaimed the Bailie, in ire and perturbation. "Ca' for
      forehammers, sledge-hammers, pinches, and coulters; send for Deacon
      Yettlin, the smith, an let him ken that Bailie Jarvie's shut up in the
      tolbooth by a Highland blackguard, whom he'll hang up as high as Haman"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "When ye catch him," said Campbell, gravely; "but stay&mdash;the door is
      surely not locked."
    </p>
    <p>
      Indeed, on examination, we found that the door was not only left open, but
      that Dougal in his retreat had, by carrying off the keys along with him,
      taken care that no one should exercise his office of porter in a hurry.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He has glimmerings o' common sense now, that creature Dougal," said
      Campbell.&mdash;"he ken'd an open door might hae served me at a pinch."
    </p>
    <p>
      We were by this time in the street.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I tell you, Robin," said the magistrate, "in my puir mind, if ye live the
      life ye do, ye suld hae ane o' your gillies door-keeper in every jail in
      Scotland, in case o' the warst."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ane o' my kinsmen a bailie in ilka burgh will just do as weel, cousin
      Nicol&mdash;So, gude-night or gude-morning to ye; and forget not the
      Clachan of Aberfoil."
    </p>
    <p>
      And without waiting for an answer, he sprung to the other side of the
      street, and was lost in darkness. Immediately on his disappearance, we
      heard him give a low whistle of peculiar modulation, which was instantly
      replied to.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hear to the Hieland deevils," said Mr. Jarvie; "they think themselves on
      the skirts of Benlomond already, where they may gang whewingand whistling
      about without minding Sunday or Saturday." Here he was interrupted by
      something which fell with a heavy clash on the street before us&mdash;"Gude
      guide us what's this mair o't?&mdash;Mattie, haud up the lantern&mdash;Conscience
      if it isna the keys!&mdash;Weel, that's just as weel&mdash;they cost the
      burgh siller, and there might hae been some clavers about the loss o'
      them. O, an Bailie Grahame were to get word o' this night's job, it would
      be a sair hair in my neck!"
    </p>
    <p>
      As we were still but a few steps from the tolbooth door, we carried back
      these implements of office, and consigned them to the head jailor, who, in
      lieu of the usual mode of making good his post by turning the keys, was
      keeping sentry in the vestibule till the arrival of some assistant, whom
      he had summoned in order to replace the Celtic fugitive Dougal.
    </p>
    <p>
      Having discharged this piece of duty to the burgh, and my road lying the
      same way with the honest magistrate's, I profited by the light of his
      lantern, and he by my arm, to find our way through the streets, which,
      whatever they may now be, were then dark, uneven, and ill-paved. Age is
      easily propitiated by attentions from the young. The Bailie expressed
      himself interested in me, and added, "That since I was nane o' that
      play-acting and play-ganging generation, whom his saul hated, he wad be
      glad if I wad eat a reisted haddock or a fresh herring, at breakfast wi'
      him the morn, and meet my friend, Mr. Owen, whom, by that time, he would
      place at liberty."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My dear sir," said I, when I had accepted of the invitation with thanks,
      "how could you possibly connect me with the stage?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I watna," replied Mr. Jarvie;&mdash;"it was a bletherin' phrasin' chield
      they ca' Fairservice, that cam at e'en to get an order to send the crier
      through the toun for ye at skreigh o' day the morn. He tell't me whae ye
      were, and how ye were sent frae your father's house because ye wadna be a
      dealer, and that ye mightna disgrace your family wi' ganging on the stage.
      Ane Hammorgaw, our precentor, brought him here, and said he was an auld
      acquaintance; but I sent them both away wi' a flae in their lug for
      bringing me sic an errand, on sic a night. But I see he's a fule-creature
      a'thegither, and clean mistaen about ye. I like ye, man," he continued; "I
      like a lad that will stand by his friends in trouble&mdash;I aye did it
      mysell, and sae did the deacon my father, rest and bless him! But ye
      suldna keep ower muckle company wi' Hielandmen and thae wild cattle. Can a
      man touch pitch and no be defiled?&mdash;aye mind that. Nae doubt, the
      best and wisest may err&mdash;Once, twice, and thrice have I backslidden,
      man, and dune three things this night&mdash;my father wadna hae believed
      his een if he could hae looked up and seen me do them."
    </p>
    <p>
      He was by this time arrived at the door of his own dwelling. He paused,
      however, on the threshold, and went on in a solemn tone of deep
      contrition,&mdash;"Firstly, I hae thought my ain thoughts on the Sabbath&mdash;secondly,
      I hae gi'en security for an Englishman&mdash;and, in the third and last
      place, well-a-day! I hae let an ill-doer escape from the place of
      imprisonment&mdash;But there's balm in Gilead, Mr. Osbaldistone&mdash;
      Mattie, I can let mysell in&mdash;see Mr. Osbaldistone to Luckie Flyter's,
      at the corner o' the wynd.&mdash;Mr. Osbaldistone"&mdash;in a whisper&mdash;"ye'll
      offer nae incivility to Mattie&mdash;she's an honest man's daughter, and a
      near cousin o' the Laird o' Limmerfield's."
    </p>
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    <h2>
      CHAPTER SEVENTH.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     "Will it please your worship to accept of my poor service? I beseech
     that I may feed upon your bread, though it be the brownest, and
     drink of your drink, though it be of the smallest; for I will do
     your Worship as much service for forty shillings as another man
     shall for three pounds."
                                     Greene's <i>Tu Quoque.</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      I remembered the honest Bailie's parting charge, but did not conceive
      there was any incivility in adding a kiss to the half-crown with which I
      remunerated Mattie's attendance;&mdash;nor did her "Fie for shame, sir!"
      express any very deadly resentment of the affront. Repeated knocking at
      Mrs. Flyter's gate awakened in due order, first, one or two stray dogs,
      who began to bark with all their might; next two or three night-capped
      heads, which were thrust out of the neighbouring windows to reprehend me
      for disturbing the solemnity of the Sunday night by that untimely noise.
      While I trembled lest the thunders of their wrath might dissolve in
      showers like that of Xantippe, Mrs. Flyter herself awoke, and began, in a
      tone of objurgation not unbecoming the philosophical spouse of Socrates,
      to scold one or two loiterers in her kitchen, for not hastening to the
      door to prevent a repetition of my noisy summons.
    </p>
    <p>
      These worthies were, indeed, nearly concerned in the fracas which their
      laziness occasioned, being no other than the faithful Mr. Fairservice,
      with his friend Mr. Hammorgaw, and another person, whom I afterwards found
      to be the town-crier, who were sitting over a cog of ale, as they called
      it (at my expense, as my bill afterwards informed me), in order to devise
      the terms and style of a proclamation to be made through the streets the
      next day, in order that "the unfortunate young gentleman," as they had the
      impudence to qualify me, might be restored to his friends without farther
      delay. It may be supposed that I did not suppress my displeasure at this
      impertinent interference with my affairs; but Andrew set up such
      ejaculations of transport at my arrival, as fairly drowned my expressions
      of resentment. His raptures, perchance, were partly political; and the
      tears of joy which he shed had certainly their source in that noble
      fountain of emotion, the tankard. However, the tumultuous glee which he
      felt, or pretended to feel, at my return, saved Andrew the broken head
      which I had twice destined him;&mdash;first, on account of the colloquy he
      had held with the precentor on my affairs; and secondly, for the
      impertinent history he had thought proper to give of me to Mr. Jarvie. I
      however contented myself with slapping the door of my bedroom in his face
      as he followed me, praising Heaven for my safe return, and mixing his joy
      with admonitions to me to take care how I walked my own ways in future. I
      then went to bed, resolving my first business in the morning should be to
      discharge this troublesome, pedantic, self-conceited coxcomb, who seemed
      so much disposed to constitute himself rather a preceptor than a domestic.
    </p>
    <p>
      Accordingly in the morning I resumed my purpose, and calling Andrew into
      my apartment, requested to know his charge for guiding and attending me as
      far as Glasgow. Mr. Fairservice looked very blank at this demand, justly
      considering it as a presage to approaching dismission.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your honour," he said, after some hesitation, "wunna think&mdash;wunna
      think"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Speak out, you rascal, or I'll break your head," said I, as Andrew,
      between the double risk of losing all by asking too much, or a part, by
      stating his demand lower than what I might be willing to pay, stood
      gasping in the agony of doubt and calculation.
    </p>
    <p>
      Out it came with a bolt, however, at my threat; as the kind violence of a
      blow on the back sometimes delivers the windpipe from an intrusive morsel.&mdash;"Aughteen
      pennies sterling per diem&mdash;that is, by the day&mdash;your honour
      wadna think unconscionable."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is double what is usual, and treble what you merit, Andrew; but
      there's a guinea for you, and get about your business."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Lord forgi'e us! Is your honour mad?" exclaimed Andrew.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No; but I think you mean to make me so&mdash;I give you a third above
      your demand, and you stand staring and expostulating there as if I were
      cheating you. Take your money, and go about your business."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Gude safe us!" continued Andrew, "in what can I hae offended your honour?
      Certainly a' flesh is but as the flowers of the field; but if a bed of
      camomile hath value in medicine, of a surety the use of Andrew Fairservice
      to your honour is nothing less evident&mdash;it's as muckle as your life's
      worth to part wi' me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Upon my honour," replied I, "it is difficult to say whether you are more
      knave or fool. So you intend then to remain with me whether I like it or
      no?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Troth, I was e'en thinking sae," replied Andrew, dogmatically; "for if
      your honour disna ken when ye hae a gude servant, I ken when I hae a gude
      master, and the deil be in my feet gin I leave ye&mdash;and there's the
      brief and the lang o't besides I hae received nae regular warning to quit
      my place."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your place, sir!" said I;&mdash;"why, you are no hired servant of mine,&mdash;you
      are merely a guide, whose knowledge of the country I availed myself of on
      my road."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am no just a common servant, I admit, sir," remonstrated Mr.
      Fairservice; "but your honour kens I quitted a gude place at an hour's
      notice, to comply wi' your honour's solicitations. A man might make
      honestly, and wi' a clear conscience, twenty sterling pounds per annum,
      weel counted siller, o' the garden at Osbaldistone Hall, and I wasna
      likely to gi'e up a' that for a guinea, I trow&mdash;I reckoned on staying
      wi' your honour to the term's end at the least o't; and I account my wage,
      board-wage, fee and bountith,&mdash;ay, to that length o't at the least."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come, come, sir," replied I, "these impudent pretensions won't serve your
      turn; and if I hear any more of them, I shall convince you that Squire
      Thorncliff is not the only one of my name that can use his fingers."
    </p>
    <p>
      While I spoke thus, the whole matter struck me as so ridiculous, that,
      though really angry, I had some difficulty to forbear laughing at the
      gravity with which Andrew supported a plea so utterly extravagant. The
      rascal, aware of the impression he had made on my muscles, was encouraged
      to perseverance. He judged it safer, however, to take his pretensions a
      peg lower, in case of overstraining at the same time both his plea and my
      patience.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Admitting that my honour could part with a faithful servant, that had
      served me and mine by day and night for twenty years, in a strange place,
      and at a moment's warning, he was weel assured," he said, "it wasna in my
      heart, nor in no true gentleman's, to pit a puir lad like himself, that
      had come forty or fifty, or say a hundred miles out o' his road purely to
      bear my honour company, and that had nae handing but his penny-fee, to sic
      a hardship as this comes to."
    </p>
    <p>
      I think it was you, Will, who once told me, that, to be an obstinate man,
      I am in certain things the most gullable and malleable of mortals. The
      fact is, that it is only contradiction which makes me peremptory, and when
      I do not feel myself called on to give battle to any proposition, I am
      always willing to grant it, rather than give myself much trouble. I knew
      this fellow to be a greedy, tiresome, meddling coxcomb; still, however, I
      must have some one about me in the quality of guide and domestic, and I
      was so much used to Andrew's humour, that on some occasions it was rather
      amusing. In the state of indecision to which these reflections led me, I
      asked Fairservice if he knew the roads, towns, etc., in the north of
      Scotland, to which my father's concerns with the proprietors of Highland
      forests were likely to lead me. I believe if I had asked him the road to
      the terrestrial paradise, he would have at that moment undertaken to guide
      me to it; so that I had reason afterwards to think myself fortunate in
      finding that his actual knowledge did not fall very much short of that
      which he asserted himself to possess. I fixed the amount of his wages, and
      reserved to myself the privilege of dismissing him when I chose, on paying
      him a week in advance. I gave him finally a severe lecture on his conduct
      of the preceding day, and then dismissed him rejoicing at heart, though
      somewhat crestfallen in countenance, to rehearse to his friend the
      precentor, who was taking his morning draught in the kitchen, the mode in
      which he had "cuitled up the daft young English squire."
    </p>
    <p>
      Agreeable to appointment, I went next to Bailie Nicol Jarvie's, where a
      comfortable morning's repast was arranged in the parlour, which served as
      an apartment of all hours, and almost all work, to that honest gentleman.
      The bustling and benevolent magistrate had been as good as his word. I
      found my friend Owen at liberty, and, conscious of the refreshments and
      purification of brush and basin, was of course a very different person
      from Owen a prisoner, squalid, heart-broken, and hopeless. Yet the sense
      of pecuniary difficulties arising behind, before, and around him, had
      depressed his spirit, and the almost paternal embrace which the good man
      gave me, was embittered by a sigh of the deepest anxiety. And when he sate
      down, the heaviness in his eye and manner, so different from the quiet
      composed satisfaction which they usually exhibited, indicated that he was
      employing his arithmetic in mentally numbering up the days, the hours, the
      minutes, which yet remained as an interval between the dishonour of bills
      and the downfall of the great commercial establishment of Osbaldistone and
      Tresham. It was left to me, therefore, to do honour to our landlord's
      hospitable cheer&mdash;to his tea, right from China, which he got in a
      present from some eminent ship's-husband at Wapping&mdash;to his coffee,
      from a snug plantation of his own, as he informed us with a wink, called
      Saltmarket Grove, in the island of Jamaica&mdash;to his English toast and
      ale, his Scotch dried salmon, his Lochfine herrings, and even to the
      double-damask table-cloth, "wrought by no hand, as you may guess," save
      that of his deceased father the worthy Deacon Jarvie.
    </p>
    <p>
      Having conciliated our good-humoured host by those little attentions which
      are great to most men, I endeavoured in my turn to gain from him some
      information which might be useful for my guidance, as well as for the
      satisfaction of my curiosity. We had not hitherto made the least allusion
      to the transactions of the preceding night, a circumstance which made my
      question sound somewhat abrupt, when, without any previous introduction of
      the subject, I took advantage of a pause when the history of the
      table-cloth ended, and that of the napkins was about to commence, to
      inquire, "Pray, by the by, Mr. Jarvie, who may this Mr. Robert Campbell
      be, whom we met with last night?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The interrogatory seemed to strike the honest magistrate, to use the
      vulgar phrase, "all of a heap," and instead of answering, he returned the
      question&mdash;"Whae's Mr. Robert Campbell?&mdash;ahem! ahay! Whae's Mr.
      Robert Campbell, quo' he?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," said I, "I mean who and what is he?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, he's&mdash;ahay!&mdash;he's&mdash;ahem!&mdash;Where did ye meet with
      Mr. Robert Campbell, as ye ca' him?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I met him by chance," I replied, "some months ago in the north of
      England."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ou then, Mr. Osbaldistone," said the Bailie, doggedly, "ye'll ken as
      muckle about him as I do."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I should suppose not, Mr. Jarvie," I replied;&mdash;"you are his
      relation, it seems, and his friend."
    </p>
    <p>
      "There is some cousin-red between us, doubtless," said the Bailie
      reluctantly; "but we hae seen little o' ilk other since Rob gae tip the
      cattle-line o' dealing, poor fallow! he was hardly guided by them might
      hae used him better&mdash;and they haena made their plack a bawbee o't
      neither. There's mony ane this day wad rather they had never chased puir
      Robin frae the Cross o' Glasgow&mdash;there's mony ane wad rather see him
      again at the tale o' three hundred kyloes, than at the head o' thirty waur
      cattle."
    </p>
    <p>
      "All this explains nothing to me, Mr. Jarvie, of Mr. Campbell's rank,
      habits of life, and means of subsistence," I replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Rank?" said Mr. Jarvie; "he's a Hieland gentleman, nae doubt&mdash;better
      rank need nane to be;&mdash;and for habit, I judge he wears the Hieland
      habit amang the hills, though he has breeks on when he comes to Glasgow;&mdash;and
      as for his subsistence, what needs we care about his subsistence, sae lang
      as he asks naething frae us, ye ken? But I hae nae time for clavering
      about him e'en now, because we maun look into your father's concerns wi'
      all speed."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he put on his spectacles, and sate down to examine Mr. Owen's
      states, which the other thought it most prudent to communicate to him
      without reserve. I knew enough of business to be aware that nothing could
      be more acute and sagacious than the views which Mr. Jarvie entertained of
      the matters submitted to his examination; and, to do him justice, it was
      marked by much fairness, and even liberality. He scratched his ear indeed
      repeatedly on observing the balance which stood at the debit of
      Osbaldistone and Tresham in account with himself personally.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It may be a dead loss," he observed; "and, conscience! whate'er ane o'
      your Lombard Street goldsmiths may say to it, it's a snell ane in the
      Saut-Market* o' Glasgow. It will be a heavy deficit&mdash;a staff out o'
      my bicker, I trow.
    </p>
    <p>
      * [The Saltmarket. This ancient street, situate in the heart of Glasgow,
      has of late been almost entirely renovated.]
    </p>
    <p>
      But what then?&mdash;I trust the house wunna coup the crane for a' that's
      come and gane yet; and if it does, I'll never bear sae base a mind as thae
      corbies in the Gallowgate&mdash;an I am to lose by ye, I'se ne'er deny I
      hae won by ye mony a fair pund sterling&mdash;Sae, an it come to the
      warst, I'se een lay the head o' the sow to the tail o' the grice."*
    </p>
    <p>
      * <i>Anglice,</i> the head of the sow to the tail of the pig.
    </p>
    <p>
      I did not altogether understand the proverbial arrangement with which Mr.
      Jarvie consoled himself, but I could easily see that he took a kind and
      friendly interest in the arrangement of my father's affairs, suggested
      several expedients, approved several plans proposed by Owen, and by his
      countenance and counsel greatly abated the gloom upon the brow of that
      afflicted delegate of my father's establishment.
    </p>
    <p>
      As I was an idle spectator on this occasion, and, perhaps, as I showed
      some inclination more than once to return to the prohibited, and
      apparently the puzzling subject of Mr. Campbell, Mr. Jarvie dismissed me
      with little formality, with an advice to "gang up the gate to the college,
      where I wad find some chields could speak Greek and Latin weel&mdash;at
      least they got plenty o' siller for doing deil haet else, if they didna do
      that; and where I might read a spell o' the worthy Mr. Zachary Boyd's
      translation o' the Scriptures&mdash;better poetry need nane to be, as he
      had been tell'd by them that ken'd or suld hae ken'd about sic things."
      But he seasoned this dismission with a kind and hospitable invitation "to
      come back and take part o' his family-chack at ane preceesely&mdash;there
      wad be a leg o' mutton, and, it might be, a tup's head, for they were in
      season;" but above all, I was to return at "ane o'clock preceesely&mdash;it
      was the hour he and the deacon his father aye dined at&mdash;they pat it
      off for naething nor for naebody."
    </p>
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    <h2>
      CHAPTER EIGHTH.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
              So stands the Thracian herdsman with his spear
              Full in the gap, and hopes the hunted bear;
              And hears him in the rustling wood, and sees
              His course at distance by the bending trees,
                  And thinks&mdash;Here comes my mortal enemy,
                  And either he must fall in fight, or I.
                                         Palamon and Arcite.
</pre>
    <p>
      I took the route towards the college, as recommended by Mr. Jarvie, less
      with the intention of seeking for any object of interest or amusement,
      than to arrange my own ideas, and meditate on my future conduct. I
      wandered from one quadrangle of old-fashioned buildings to another, and
      from thence to the College-yards, or walking ground, where, pleased with
      the solitude of the place, most of the students being engaged in their
      classes, I took several turns, pondering on the waywardness of my own
      destiny.
    </p>
    <p>
      I could not doubt, from the circumstances attending my first meeting with
      this person Campbell, that he was engaged in some strangely desperate
      courses; and the reluctance with which Mr. Jarvie alluded to his person or
      pursuits, as well as all the scene of the preceding night, tended to
      confirm these suspicions. Yet to this man Diana Vernon had not, it would
      seem, hesitated to address herself in my behalf; and the conduct of the
      magistrate himself towards him showed an odd mixture of kindness, and even
      respect, with pity and censure. Something there must be uncommon in
      Campbell's situation and character; and what was still more extraordinary,
      it seemed that his fate was doomed to have influence over, and connection
      with, my own. I resolved to bring Mr. Jarvie to close quarters on the
      first proper opportunity, and learn as much as was possible on the subject
      of this mysterious person, in order that I might judge whether it was
      possible for me, without prejudice to my reputation, to hold that degree
      of farther correspondence with him to which he seemed to invite.
    </p>
    <p>
      While I was musing on these subjects, my attention was attracted by three
      persons who appeared at the upper end of the walk through which I was
      sauntering, seemingly engaged in very earnest conversation. That intuitive
      impression which announces to us the approach of whomsoever we love or
      hate with intense vehemence, long before a more indifferent eye can
      recognise their persons, flashed upon my mind the sure conviction that the
      midmost of these three men was Rashleigh Osbaldistone. To address him was
      my first impulse;&mdash;my second was, to watch him until he was alone, or
      at least to reconnoitre his companions before confronting him. The party
      was still at such distance, and engaged in such deep discourse, that I had
      time to step unobserved to the other side of a small hedge, which
      imperfectly screened the alley in which I was walking. It was at this
      period the fashion of the young and gay to wear, in their morning walks, a
      scarlet cloak, often laced and embroidered, above their other dress, and
      it was the trick of the time for gallants occasionally to dispose it so as
      to muffle a part of the face. The imitating this fashion, with the degree
      of shelter which I received from the hedge, enabled me to meet my cousin,
      unobserved by him or the others, except perhaps as a passing stranger. I
      was not a little startled at recognising in his companions that very
      Morris on whose account I had been summoned before Justice Inglewood, and
      Mr. MacVittie the merchant, from whose starched and severe aspect I had
      recoiled on the preceding day.
    </p>
    <p>
      A more ominous conjunction to my own affairs, and those of my father,
      could scarce have been formed. I remembered Morris's false accusation
      against me, which he might be as easily induced to renew as he had been
      intimidated to withdraw; I recollected the inauspicious influence of
      MacVittie over my father's affairs, testified by the imprisonment of Owen;&mdash;and
      I now saw both these men combined with one, whose talent for mischief I
      deemed little inferior to those of the great author of all ill, and my
      abhorrence of whom almost amounted to dread.
    </p>
    <p>
      When they had passed me for some paces, I turned and followed them
      unobserved. At the end of the walk they separated, Morris and MacVittie
      leaving the gardens, and Rashleigh returning alone through the walks. I
      was now determined to confront him, and demand reparation for the injuries
      he had done my father, though in what form redress was likely to be
      rendered remained to be known. This, however, I trusted to chance; and
      flinging back the cloak in which I was muffled, I passed through a gap of
      the low hedge, and presented myself before Rashleigh, as, in a deep
      reverie, he paced down the avenue.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rashleigh was no man to be surprised or thrown off his guard by sudden
      occurrences. Yet he did not find me thus close to him, wearing undoubtedly
      in my face the marks of that indignation which was glowing in my bosom,
      without visibly starting at an apparition so sudden and menacing.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are well met, sir," was my commencement; "I was about to take a long
      and doubtful journey in quest of you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You know little of him you sought then," replied Rashleigh, with his
      usual undaunted composure. "I am easily found by my friends&mdash;still
      more easily by my foes;&mdash;your manner compels me to ask in which class
      I must rank Mr. Francis Osbaldistone?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "In that of your foes, sir," I answered&mdash;"in that of your mortal
      foes, unless you instantly do justice to your benefactor, my father, by
      accounting for his property."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And to whom, Mr. Osbaldistone," answered Rashleigh, "am I, a member of
      your father's commercial establishment, to be compelled to give any
      account of my proceedings in those concerns, which are in every respect
      identified with my own?&mdash;Surely not to a young gentleman whose
      exquisite taste for literature would render such discussions disgusting
      and unintelligible."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your sneer, sir, is no answer; I will not part with you until I have full
      satisfaction concerning the fraud you meditate&mdash;you shall go with me
      before a magistrate."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Be it so," said Rashleigh, and made a step or two as if to accompany me;
      then pausing, proceeded&mdash;"Were I inclined to do so as you would have
      me, you should soon feel which of us had most reason to dread the presence
      of a magistrate. But I have no wish to accelerate your fate. Go, young
      man! amuse yourself in your world of poetical imaginations, and leave the
      business of life to those who understand and can conduct it."
    </p>
    <p>
      His intention, I believe, was to provoke me, and he succeeded. "Mr.
      Osbaldistone," I said, "this tone of calm insolence shall not avail you.
      You ought to be aware that the name we both bear never submitted to
      insult, and shall not in my person be exposed to it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You remind me," said Rashleigh, with one of his blackest looks, "that it
      was dishonoured in my person!&mdash;and you remind me also by whom! Do you
      think I have forgotten the evening at Osbaldistone Hall when you cheaply
      and with impunity played the bully at my expense? For that insult&mdash;never
      to be washed out but by blood!&mdash;for the various times you have
      crossed my path, and always to my prejudice&mdash;for the persevering
      folly with which you seek to traverse schemes, the importance of which you
      neither know nor are capable of estimating,&mdash;for all these, sir, you
      owe me a long account, for which there shall come an early day of
      reckoning."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let it come when it will," I replied, "I shall be willing and ready to
      meet it. Yet you seem to have forgotten the heaviest article&mdash;that I
      had the pleasure to aid Miss Vernon's good sense and virtuous feeling in
      extricating her from your infamous toils."
    </p>
    <p>
      I think his dark eyes flashed actual fire at this home-taunt, and yet his
      voice retained the same calm expressive tone with which he had hitherto
      conducted the conversation.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I had other views with respect to you, young man," was his answer: "less
      hazardous for you, and more suitable to my present character and former
      education. But I see you will draw on yourself the personal chastisement
      your boyish insolence so well merits. Follow me to a more remote spot,
      where we are less likely to be interrupted."
    </p>
    <p>
      I followed him accordingly, keeping a strict eye on his motions, for I
      believed him capable of the very worst actions. We reached an open spot in
      a sort of wilderness, laid out in the Dutch taste, with clipped hedges,
      and one or two statues. I was on my guard, and it was well with me that I
      was so; for Rashleigh's sword was out and at my breast ere I could throw
      down my cloak, or get my weapon unsheathed, so that I only saved my life
      by springing a pace or two backwards. He had some advantage in the
      difference of our weapons; for his sword, as I recollect, was longer than
      mine, and had one of those bayonet or three-cornered blades which are now
      generally worn; whereas mine was what we then called a Saxon blade&mdash;narrow,
      flat, and two-edged, and scarcely so manageable as that of my enemy. In
      other respects we were pretty equally matched: for what advantage I might
      possess in superior address and agility, was fully counterbalanced by
      Rashleigh's great strength and coolness. He fought, indeed, more like a
      fiend than a man&mdash;with concentrated spite and desire of blood, only
      allayed by that cool consideration which made his worst actions appear yet
      worse from the air of deliberate premeditation which seemed to accompany
      them. His obvious malignity of purpose never for a moment threw him off
      his guard, and he exhausted every feint and stratagem proper to the
      science of defence; while, at the same time, he meditated the most
      desperate catastrophe to our rencounter.
    </p>
    <p>
      On my part, the combat was at first sustained with more moderation. My
      passions, though hasty, were not malevolent; and the walk of two or three
      minutes' space gave me time to reflect that Rashleigh was my father's
      nephew, the son of an uncle, who after his fashion had been kind to me,
      and that his falling by my hand could not but occasion much family
      distress. My first resolution, therefore, was to attempt to disarm my
      antagonist&mdash;a manoeuvre in which, confiding in my superiority of
      skill and practice, I anticipated little difficulty. I found, however, I
      had met my match; and one or two foils which I received, and from the
      consequences of which I narrowly escaped, obliged me to observe more
      caution in my mode of fighting. By degrees I became exasperated at the
      rancour with which Rashleigh sought my life, and returned his passes with
      an inveteracy resembling in some degree his own; so that the combat had
      all the appearance of being destined to have a tragic issue. That issue
      had nearly taken place at my expense. My foot slipped in a full lounge
      which I made at my adversary, and I could not so far recover myself as
      completely to parry the thrust with which my pass was repaid. Yet it took
      but partial effect, running through my waistcoat, grazing my ribs, and
      passing through my coat behind. The hilt of Rashleigh's sword, so great
      was the vigour of his thrust, struck against my breast with such force as
      to give me great pain, and confirm me in the momentary belief that I was
      mortally wounded. Eager for revenge, I grappled with my enemy, seizing
      with my left hand the hilt of his sword, and shortening my own with the
      purpose of running him through the body. Our death-grapple was interrupted
      by a man who forcibly threw himself between us, and pushing us separate
      from each other, exclaimed, in a loud and commanding voice, "What! the
      sons of those fathers who sucked the same breast shedding each others
      bluid as it were strangers'!&mdash;By the hand of my father, I will cleave
      to the brisket the first man that mints another stroke!"
    </p>
    <p>
      I looked up in astonishment. The speaker was no other than Campbell. He
      had a basket-hilted broadsword drawn in his hand, which he made to whistle
      around his head as he spoke, as if for the purpose of enforcing his
      mediation. Rashleigh and I stared in silence at this unexpected intruder,
      who proceeded to exhort us alternately:&mdash;"Do you, Maister Francis,
      opine that ye will re-establish your father's credit by cutting your
      kinsman's thrapple, or getting your ain sneckit instead thereof in the
      College-yards of Glasgow?&mdash;Or do you, Mr Rashleigh, think men will
      trust their lives and fortunes wi' ane, that, when in point of trust and
      in point of confidence wi' a great political interest, gangs about
      brawling like a drunken gillie?&mdash;Nay, never look gash or grim at me,
      man&mdash;if ye're angry, ye ken how to turn the buckle o' your belt
      behind you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You presume on my present situation," replied Rashleigh, "or you would
      have hardly dared to interfere where my honour is concerned."
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="Aimage-0005" id="Aimage-0005">
      <!-- IMG --></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img src="images/pb100.jpg" alt="Rob Roy Parting the Duelists "
      width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <!-- IMAGE END -->
    <p>
      "Hout! tout! tout!&mdash;Presume? And what for should it be presuming?&mdash;Ye
      may be the richer man, Mr. Osbaldistone, as is maist likely; and ye may be
      the mair learned man, whilk I dispute not: but I reckon ye are neither a
      prettier man nor a better gentleman than mysell&mdash;and it will be news
      to me when I hear ye are as gude. And <i>dare</i> too? Muckle daring
      there's about it&mdash;I trow, here I stand, that hae slashed as het a
      haggis as ony o' the twa o' ye, and thought nae muckle o' my morning's
      wark when it was dune. If my foot were on the heather as it's on the
      causeway, or this pickle gravel, that's little better, I hae been waur
      mistrysted than if I were set to gie ye baith your ser'ing o't."
    </p>
    <p>
      Rashleigh had by this time recovered his temper completely. "My kinsman,"
      he said, "will acknowledge he forced this quarrel on me. It was none of my
      seeking. I am glad we are interrupted before I chastised his forwardness
      more severely."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are ye hurt, lad?" inquired Campbell of me, with some appearance of
      interest.
    </p>
    <p>
      "A very slight scratch," I answered, "which my kind cousin would not long
      have boasted of had not you come between us."
    </p>
    <p>
      "In troth, and that's true, Maister Rashleigh," said Campbell; "for the
      cauld iron and your best bluid were like to hae become acquaint when I
      mastered Mr. Frank's right hand. But never look like a sow playing upon a
      trump for the luve of that, man&mdash;come and walk wi' me. I hae news to
      tell ye, and ye'll cool and come to yourself, like MacGibbon's crowdy,
      when he set it out at the window-bole."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pardon me, sir," said I. "Your intentions have seemed friendly to me on
      more occasions than one; but I must not, and will not, quit sight of this
      person until he yields up to me those means of doing justice to my
      father's engagements, of which he has treacherously possessed himself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ye're daft, man," replied Campbell; "it will serve ye naething to follow
      us e'enow; ye hae just enow o' ae man&mdash;wad ye bring twa on your head,
      and might bide quiet?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Twenty," I replied, "if it be necessary."
    </p>
    <p>
      I laid my hand on Rashleigh's collar, who made no resistance, but said,
      with a sort of scornful smile, "You hear him, MacGregor! he rushes on his
      fate&mdash;will it be my fault if he falls into it?&mdash;The warrants are
      by this time ready, and all is prepared."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Scotchman was obviously embarrassed. He looked around, and before, and
      behind him, and then said&mdash;"The ne'er a bit will I yield my consent
      to his being ill-guided for standing up for the father that got him&mdash;and
      I gie God's malison and mine to a' sort o' magistrates, justices,
      bailies., sheriffs, sheriff-officers, constables, and sic-like black
      cattle, that hae been the plagues o' puir auld Scotland this hunder year.&mdash;it
      was a merry warld when every man held his ain gear wi' his ain grip, and
      when the country side wasna fashed wi' warrants and poindings and
      apprizings, and a' that cheatry craft. And ance mair I say it, my
      conscience winna see this puir thoughtless lad ill-guided, and especially
      wi' that sort o' trade. I wad rather ye fell till't again, and fought it
      out like douce honest men."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your conscience, MacGregor!" said Rashleigh; "you forget how long you and
      I have known each other."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, my conscience," reiterated Campbell, or MacGregor, or whatever was
      his name; "I hae such a thing about me, Maister Osbaldistone; and therein
      it may weel chance that I hae the better o' you. As to our knowledge of
      each other,&mdash;if ye ken what I am, ye ken what usage it was made me
      what I am; and, whatever you may think, I would not change states with the
      proudest of the oppressors that hae driven me to tak the heather-bush for
      a beild. What <i>you</i> are, Maister Rashleigh, and what excuse ye hae
      for being <i>what</i> you are, is between your ain heart and the lang day.&mdash;And
      now, Maister Francis, let go his collar; for he says truly, that ye are in
      mair danger from a magistrate than he is, and were your cause as straight
      as an arrow, he wad find a way to put you wrang&mdash;So let go his craig,
      as I was saying."
    </p>
    <p>
      He seconded his words with an effort so sudden and unexpected, that he
      freed Rashleigh from my hold, and securing me, notwithstanding my
      struggles, in his own Herculean gripe, he called out&mdash;"Take the bent,
      Mr. Rashleigh&mdash;Make ae pair o' legs worth twa pair o' hands; ye hae
      dune that before now."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You may thank this gentleman, kinsman," said Rashleigh, "if I leave any
      part of my debt to you unpaid; and if I quit you now, it is only in the
      hope we shall soon meet again without the possibility of interruption."
    </p>
    <p>
      He took up his sword, wiped it, sheathed it, and was lost among the
      bushes.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Scotchman, partly by force, partly by remonstrance, prevented my
      following him; indeed I began to be of opinion my doing so would be to
      little purpose.
    </p>
    <p>
      "As I live by bread," said Campbell, when, after one or two struggles in
      which he used much forbearance towards me, he perceived me inclined to
      stand quiet, "I never saw sae daft a callant! I wad hae gien the best man
      in the country the breadth o' his back gin he had gien me sic a kemping as
      ye hae dune. What wad ye do?&mdash;Wad ye follow the wolf to his den? I
      tell ye, man, he has the auld trap set for ye&mdash;He has got the
      collector-creature Morris to bring up a' the auld story again, and ye maun
      look for nae help frae me here, as ye got at Justice Inglewood's;&mdash;it
      isna good for my health to come in the gate o' the whigamore bailie
      bodies. Now gang your ways hame, like a gude bairn&mdash;jouk and let the
      jaw gae by&mdash;Keep out o' sight o' Rashleigh, and Morris, and that
      MacVittie animal&mdash;Mind the Clachan of Aberfoil, as I said before, and
      by the word of a gentleman, I wunna see ye wranged. But keep a calm sough
      till we meet again&mdash;I maun gae and get Rashleigh out o' the town
      afore waur comes o't, for the neb o' him's never out o' mischief&mdash;Mind
      the Clachan of Aberfoil."
    </p>
    <p>
      He turned upon his heel, and left me to meditate on the singular events
      which had befallen me. My first care was to adjust my dress and reassume
      my cloak, disposing it so as to conceal the blood which flowed down my
      right side. I had scarcely accomplished this, when, the classes of the
      college being dismissed, the gardens began to be filled with parties of
      the students. I therefore left them as soon as possible; and in my way
      towards Mr. Jarvie's, whose dinner hour was now approaching, I stopped at
      a small unpretending shop, the sign of which intimated the indweller to be
      Christopher Neilson, surgeon and apothecary. I requested of a little boy
      who was pounding some stuff in a mortar, that he would procure me an
      audience of this learned pharmacopolist. He opened the door of the back
      shop, where I found a lively elderly man, who shook his head incredulously
      at some idle account I gave him of having been wounded accidentally by the
      button breaking off my antagonist's foil while I was engaged in a fencing
      match. When he had applied some lint and somewhat else he thought proper
      to the trifling wound I had received, he observed&mdash;"There never was
      button on the foil that made this hurt. Ah! young blood! young blood!&mdash;But
      we surgeons are a secret generation&mdash;If it werena for hot blood and
      ill blood, what wad become of the twa learned faculties?"
    </p>
    <p>
      With which moral reflection he dismissed me; and I experienced very little
      pain or inconvenience afterwards from the scratch I had received.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="AlinkCH0009" id="AlinkCH0009">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER NINTH.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
              An iron race the mountain-cliffs maintain,
                  Foes to the gentler genius of the plain.
                                *******
              Who while their rocky ramparts round they see,
                  The rough abode of want and liberty,
              As lawless force from confidence will grow,
                 Insult the plenty of the vales below.
                                                   Gray.
</pre>
    <p>
      "What made ye sae late?" said Mr. Jarvie, as I entered the dining-parlour
      of that honest gentleman; "it is chappit ane the best feek o' five minutes
      by-gane. Mattie has been twice at the door wi' the dinner, and weel for
      you it was a tup's head, for that canna suffer by delay. A sheep's head
      ower muckle boiled is rank poison, as my worthy father used to say&mdash;he
      likit the lug o' ane weel, honest man."
    </p>
    <p>
      I made a suitable apology for my breach of punctuality, and was soon
      seated at table, where Mr. Jarvie presided with great glee and
      hospitality, compelling, however, Owen and myself to do rather more
      justice to the Scottish dainties with which his board was charged, than
      was quite agreeable to our southern palates. I escaped pretty well, from
      having those habits of society which enable one to elude this species of
      well-meant persecution. But it was ridiculous enough to see Owen, whose
      ideas of politeness were more rigorous and formal, and who was willing, in
      all acts of lawful compliance, to evince his respect for the friend of the
      firm, eating with rueful complaisance mouthful after mouthful of singed
      wool, and pronouncing it excellent, in a tone in which disgust almost
      overpowered civility.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the cloth was removed, Mr. Jarvie compounded with his own hands a
      very small bowl of brandy-punch, the first which I had ever the fortune to
      see.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The limes," he assured us, "were from his own little farm yonder-awa"
      (indicating the West Indies with a knowing shrug of his shoulders), "and
      he had learned the art of composing the liquor from auld Captain
      Coffinkey, who acquired it," he added in a whisper, "'as maist folk
      thought, among the Buccaniers. But it's excellent liquor," said he,
      helping us round; "and good ware has aften come frae a wicked market. And
      as for Captain Coffinkey, he was a decent man when I kent him, only he
      used to swear awfully&mdash;But he's dead, and gaen to his account, and I
      trust he's accepted&mdash;I trust he's accepted."
    </p>
    <p>
      We found the liquor exceedingly palatable, and it led to a long
      conversation between Owen and our host on the opening which the Union had
      afforded to trade between Glasgow and the British Colonies in America and
      the West Indies, and on the facilities which Glasgow possessed of making
      up sortable cargoes for that market. Mr. Jarvie answered some objection
      which Owen made on the difficulty of sorting a cargo for America, without
      buying from England, with vehemence and volubility.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Na, na, sir, we stand on our ain bottom&mdash;we pickle in our ain
      pock-neuk&mdash;We hae our Stirling serges, Musselburgh stuffs, Aberdeen
      hose, Edinburgh shalloons, and the like, for our woollen or worsted goods&mdash;and
      we hae linens of a' kinds better and cheaper than you hae in Lunnon itsell&mdash;and
      we can buy your north o' England wares, as Manchester wares, Sheffield
      wares, and Newcastle earthenware, as cheap as you can at Liverpool&mdash;And
      we are making a fair spell at cottons and muslins&mdash;Na, na! let every
      herring hing by its ain head, and every sheep by its ain shank, and ye'll
      find, sir, us Glasgow folk no sae far ahint but what we may follow.&mdash;This
      is but poor entertainment for you, Mr. Osbaldistone" (observing that I had
      been for some time silent); "but ye ken cadgers maun aye be speaking about
      cart-saddles."
    </p>
    <p>
      I apologised, alleging the painful circumstances of my own situation, and
      the singular adventures of the morning, as the causes of my abstraction
      and absence of mind. In this manner I gained what I sought&mdash;an
      opportunity of telling my story distinctly and without interruption. I
      only omitted mentioning the wound I had received, which I did not think
      worthy of notice. Mr. Jarvie listened with great attention and apparent
      interest, twinkling his little grey eyes, taking snuff, and only
      interrupting me by brief interjections. When I came to the account of the
      rencounter, at which Owen folded his hands and cast up his eyes to Heaven,
      the very image of woeful surprise, Mr. Jarvie broke in upon the narration
      with "Wrang now&mdash;clean wrang&mdash;to draw a sword on your kinsman is
      inhibited by the laws o' God and man; and to draw a sword on the streets
      of a royal burgh is punishable by fine and imprisonment&mdash;and the
      College-yards are nae better privileged&mdash;they should be a place of
      peace and quietness, I trow. The College didna get gude L600 a year out o'
      bishops' rents (sorrow fa' the brood o' bishops and their rents too!), nor
      yet a lease o' the archbishopric o' Glasgow the sell o't, that they suld
      let folk tuilzie in their yards, or the wild callants bicker there wi'
      snaw-ba's as they whiles do, that when Mattie and I gae through, we are
      fain to make a baik and a bow, or run the risk o' our harns being knocked
      out&mdash;it suld be looked to.*&mdash;But come awa'wi' your tale&mdash;what
      fell neist?"
    </p>
    <p>
      * The boys in Scotland used formerly to make a sort of Saturnalia in a
      snow-storm, by pelting passengers with snowballs. But those exposed to
      that annoyance were excused from it on the easy penalty of a baik
      (courtesy) from a female, or a bow from a man. It was only the refractory
      who underwent the storm.
    </p>
    <p>
      On my mentioning the appearance of Mr. Campbell, Jarvie arose in great
      surprise, and paced the room, exclaiming, "Robin again!&mdash;Robert's mad&mdash;clean
      wud, and waur&mdash;Rob will be hanged, and disgrace a' his kindred, and
      that will be seen and heard tell o'. My father the deacon wrought him his
      first hose&mdash;Od, I am thinking Deacon Threeplie, the rape-spinner,
      will be twisting his last cravat. Ay, ay, puir Robin is in a fair way o'
      being hanged&mdash;But come awa', come awa'&mdash;let's hear the lave
      o't."
    </p>
    <p>
      I told the whole story as pointedly as I could; but Mr. Jarvie still found
      something lacking to make it clear, until I went back, though with
      considerable reluctance, on the whole story of Morris, and of my meeting
      with Campbell at the house of Justice Inglewood. Mr. Jarvie inclined a
      serious ear to all this, and remained silent for some time after I had
      finished my narrative.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Upon all these matters I am now to ask your advice, Mr. Jarvie, which, I
      have no doubt, will point out the best way to act for my father's
      advantage and my own honour."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ye're right, young man&mdash;ye're right," said the Bailie. "Aye take the
      counsel of those who are aulder and wiser than yourself, and binna like
      the godless Rehoboam, who took the advice o' a wheen beardless callants,
      neglecting the auld counsellors who had sate at the feet o' his father
      Solomon, and, as it was weel put by Mr. Meiklejohn, in his lecture on the
      chapter, were doubtless partakers of his sapience. But I maun hear
      naething about honour&mdash;we ken naething here but about credit. Honour
      is a homicide and a bloodspiller, that gangs about making frays in the
      street; but Credit is a decent honest man, that sits at hame and makes the
      pat play."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Assuredly, Mr. Jarvie," said our friend Owen, "credit is the sum total;
      and if we can but save that, at whatever discount"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ye are right, Mr. Owen&mdash;ye are right; ye speak weel and wisely; and
      I trust bowls will row right, though they are a wee ajee e'enow. But
      touching Robin, I am of opinion he will befriend this young man if it is
      in his power. He has a gude heart, puir Robin; and though I lost a matter
      o' twa hundred punds wi' his former engagements, and haena muckle
      expectation ever to see back my thousand punds Scots that he promises me
      e'enow, yet I will never say but what Robin means fair by men."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am then to consider him," I replied, "as an honest man?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Umph!" replied Jarvie, with a precautionary sort of cough&mdash;"Ay, he
      has a kind o' Hieland honesty&mdash;he's honest after a sort, as they say.
      My father the deacon used aye to laugh when he tauld me how that by-word
      came up. Ane Captain Costlett was cracking crouse about his loyalty to
      King Charles, and Clerk Pettigrew (ye'll hae heard mony a tale about him)
      asked him after what manner he served the king, when he was fighting again
      him at Wor'ster in Cromwell's army; and Captain Costlett was a ready body,
      and said that he served him <i>after a sort.</i> My honest father used to
      laugh weel at that sport&mdash;and sae the by-word came up."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But do you think," I said, "that this man will be able to serve me after
      a sort, or should I trust myself to this place of rendezvous which he has
      given me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Frankly and fairly, it's worth trying. Ye see yourself there's some risk
      in your staying here. This bit body Morris has gotten a custom-house place
      doun at Greenock&mdash;that's a port on the Firth doun by here; and tho'
      a' the world kens him to be but a twa-leggit creature, wi' a goose's head
      and a hen's heart, that goes about on the quay plaguing folk about
      permits, and cockits, and dockits, and a' that vexatious trade, yet if he
      lodge an information&mdash;ou, nae doubt a man in magisterial duty maun
      attend to it, and ye might come to be clapped up between four wa's, whilk
      wad be ill-convenient to your father's affairs."
    </p>
    <p>
      "True," I observed; "yet what service am I likely to render him by leaving
      Glasgow, which, it is probable, will be the principal scene of Rashleigh's
      machinations, and committing myself to the doubtful faith of a man of whom
      I know little but that he fears justice, and has doubtless good reasons
      for doing so; and that, for some secret, and probably dangerous purpose,
      he is in close league and alliance with the very person who is like to be
      the author of our ruin?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, but ye judge Rob hardly," said the Bailie, "ye judge him hardly, puir
      chield; and the truth is, that ye ken naething about our hill country, or
      Hielands, as we ca' them. They are clean anither set frae the like o' huz;&mdash;there's
      nae bailie-courts amang them&mdash;nae magistrates that dinna bear the
      sword in vain, like the worthy deacon that's awa', and, I may say't, like
      mysell and other present magistrates in this city&mdash;But it's just the
      laird's command, and the loon maun loup; and the never another law hae
      they but the length o' their dirks&mdash;the broadsword's pursuer, or
      plaintiff, as you Englishers ca' it, and the target is defender; the
      stoutest head bears langest out;&mdash;and there's a Hieland plea for ye."
    </p>
    <p>
      Owen groaned deeply; and I allow that the description did not greatly
      increase my desire to trust myself in a country so lawless as he described
      these Scottish mountains.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now, sir," said Jarvie, "we speak little o' thae things, because they are
      familiar to oursells; and where's the use o' vilifying ane's country, and
      bringing a discredit on ane's kin, before southrons and strangers? It's an
      ill bird that files its ain nest."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, sir, but as it is no impertinent curiosity of mine, but real
      necessity, that obliges me to make these inquiries, I hope you will not be
      offended at my pressing for a little farther information. I have to deal,
      on my father's account, with several gentlemen of these wild countries,
      and I must trust your good sense and experience for the requisite lights
      upon the subject."
    </p>
    <p>
      This little morsel of flattery was not thrown out in vain. "Experience!"
      said the Bailie&mdash;"I hae had experience, nae doubt, and I hae made
      some calculations&mdash;Ay, and to speak quietly amang oursells, I hae
      made some perquisitions through Andrew Wylie, my auld clerk; he's wi'
      MacVittie &amp; Co. now&mdash;but he whiles drinks a gill on the Saturday
      afternoons wi' his auld master. And since ye say ye are willing to be
      guided by the Glasgow weaver-body's advice, I am no the man that will
      refuse it to the son of an auld correspondent, and my father the deacon
      was nane sic afore me. I have whiles thought o' letting my lights burn
      before the Duke of Argyle, or his brother Lord Ilay (for wherefore should
      they be hidden under a bushel?), but the like o' thae grit men wadna mind
      the like o' me, a puir wabster body&mdash;they think mair o' wha says a
      thing, than o' what the thing is that's said. The mair's the pity&mdash;mair's
      the pity. Not that I wad speak ony ill of this MacCallum More&mdash;'Curse
      not the rich in your bedchamber,' saith the son of Sirach, 'for a bird of
      the air shall carry the clatter, and pint-stoups hae lang lugs.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      I interrupted these prolegomena, in which Mr. Jarvie was apt to be
      somewhat diffuse, by praying him to rely upon Mr. Owen and myself as
      perfectly secret and safe confidants.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's no for that," he replied, "for I fear nae man&mdash;what for suld I?&mdash;I
      speak nae treason&mdash;Only thae Hielandmen hae lang grips, and I whiles
      gang a wee bit up the glens to see some auld kinsfolks, and I wadna
      willingly be in bad blude wi' ony o' their clans. Howsumever, to proceed&mdash;ye
      maun understand I found my remarks on figures, whilk as Mr. Owen here weel
      kens, is the only true demonstrable root of human knowledge."
    </p>
    <p>
      Owen readily assented to a proposition so much in his own way, and our
      orator proceeded.
    </p>
    <p>
      "These Hielands of ours, as we ca' them, gentlemen, are but a wild kind of
      warld by themsells, full of heights and howes, woods, caverns, lochs,
      rivers, and mountains, that it wad tire the very deevil's wings to flee to
      the tap o' them. And in this country, and in the isles, whilk are little
      better, or, to speak the truth, rather waur than the mainland, there are
      about twa hunder and thirty parochines, including the Orkneys, where,
      whether they speak Gaelic or no I wotna, but they are an uncivilised
      people. Now, sirs, I sall haud ilk parochine at the moderate estimate of
      eight hunder examinable persons, deducting children under nine years of
      age, and then adding one-fifth to stand for bairns of nine years auld, and
      under, the whole population will reach to the sum of&mdash;let us add
      one-fifth to 800 to be the multiplier, and 230 being the multiplicand"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "The product," said Mr. Owen, who entered delightedly into these
      statistics of Mr. Jarvie, "will be 230,000."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Right, sir&mdash;perfectly right; and the military array of this Hieland
      country, were a' the men-folk between aughteen and fifty-six brought out
      that could bear arms, couldna come weel short of fifty-seven thousand five
      hundred men. Now, sir, it's a sad and awfu' truth, that there is neither
      wark, nor the very fashion nor appearance of wark, for the tae half of
      thae puir creatures; that is to say, that the agriculture, the pasturage,
      the fisheries, and every species of honest industry about the country,
      cannot employ the one moiety of the population, let them work as lazily as
      they like, and they do work as if a pleugh or a spade burnt their fingers.
      Aweel, sir, this moiety of unemployed bodies, amounting to"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "To one hundred and fifteen thousand souls," said Owen, "being the half of
      the above product."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ye hae't, Mr. Owen&mdash;ye hae't&mdash;whereof there may be twenty-eight
      thousand seven hundred able-bodied gillies fit to bear arms, and that do
      bear arms, and will touch or look at nae honest means of livelihood even
      if they could get it&mdash;which, lack-a-day! they cannot."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But is it possible," said I, "Mr. Jarvie, that this can be a just picture
      of so large a portion of the island of Britain?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sir, I'll make it as plain as Peter Pasley's pike-staff. I will allow
      that ilk parochine, on an average, employs fifty pleughs, whilk is a great
      proportion in sic miserable soil as thae creatures hae to labour, and that
      there may be pasture enough for pleugh-horses, and owsen, and forty or
      fifty cows; now, to take care o' the pleughs and cattle, we'se allow
      seventy-five families of six lives in ilk family, and we'se add fifty mair
      to make even numbers, and ye hae five hundred souls, the tae half o' the
      population, employed and maintained in a sort o' fashion, wi' some chance
      of sour-milk and crowdie; but I wad be glad to ken what the other five
      hunder are to do?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "In the name of God!" said I, "what <i>do</i> they do, Mr. Jarvie? It
      makes me shudder to think of their situation."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sir," replied the Bailie, "ye wad maybe shudder mair if ye were living
      near hand them. For, admitting that the tae half of them may make some
      little thing for themsells honestly in the Lowlands by shearing in harst,
      droving, hay-making, and the like; ye hae still mony hundreds and
      thousands o' lang-legged Hieland gillies that will neither work nor want,
      and maun gang thigging and sorning* about on their acquaintance, or live
      by doing the laird's bidding, be't right or be't wrang.
    </p>
    <p>
      * <i>Thigging</i> and <i>sorning</i> was a kind of genteel begging, or
      rather something between begging and robbing, by which the needy in
      Scotland used to extort cattle, or the means of subsistence, from those
      who had any to give.
    </p>
    <p>
      And mair especially, mony hundreds o' them come down to the borders of the
      low country, where there's gear to grip, and live by stealing, reiving,
      lifting cows, and the like depredations&mdash;a thing deplorable in ony
      Christian country!&mdash;the mair especially, that they take pride in it,
      and reckon driving a spreagh (whilk is, in plain Scotch, stealing a herd
      of nowte) a gallant, manly action, and mair befitting of pretty* men (as
      sic reivers will ca' themselves), than to win a day's wage by ony honest
      thrift.
    </p>
    <p>
      * The word <i>pretty</i> is or was used in Scotch, in the sense of the
      German <i>prachtig,</i> and meant a gallant, alert fellow, prompt and
      ready at his weapons.
    </p>
    <p>
      And the lairds are as bad as the loons; for if they dinna bid them gae
      reive and harry, the deil a bit they forbid them; and they shelter them,
      or let them shelter themselves, in their woods and mountains, and
      strongholds, whenever the thing's dune. And every ane o' them will
      maintain as mony o' his ane name, or his clan, as we say, as he can rap
      and rend means for; or, whilk's the same thing, as mony as can in ony
      fashion, fair or foul, mainteen themsells. And there they are wi' gun and
      pistol, dirk and dourlach, ready to disturb the peace o' the country
      whenever the laird likes; and that's the grievance of the Hielands, whilk
      are, and hae been for this thousand years by-past, a bike o' the maist
      lawless unchristian limmers that ever disturbed a douce, quiet,
      God-fearing neighbourhood, like this o' ours in the west here."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And this kinsman of yours, and friend of mine, is he one of those great
      proprietors who maintain the household troops you speak of?" I inquired.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Na, na," said Bailie Jarvie; "he's nane o' your great grandees o' chiefs,
      as they ca' them, neither. Though he is weel born, and lineally descended
      frae auld Glenstrae&mdash;I ken his lineage&mdash;indeed he is a near
      kinsman, and, as I said, of gude gentle Hieland blude, though ye may think
      weel that I care little about that nonsense&mdash;it's a' moonshine in
      water&mdash;waste threads and thrums, as we say&mdash;But I could show ye
      letters frae his father, that was the third aff Glenstrae, to my father
      Deacon Jarvie (peace be wi' his memory!) beginning, Dear Deacon, and
      ending, your loving kinsman to command,&mdash;they are amaist a' about
      borrowed siller, sae the gude deacon, that's dead and gane, keepit them as
      documents and evidents&mdash;He was a carefu' man."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But if he is not," I resumed, "one of their chiefs or patriarchal
      leaders, whom I have heard my father talk of, this kinsman of yours has,
      at least, much to say in the Highlands, I presume?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ye may say that&mdash;nae name better ken'd between the Lennox and
      Breadalbane. Robin was ance a weel-doing, painstaking drover, as ye wad
      see amang ten thousand&mdash;It was a pleasure to see him in his belted
      plaid and brogues, wi' his target at his back, and claymore and dirk at
      his belt, following a hundred Highland stots, and a dozen o' the gillies,
      as rough and ragged as the beasts they drave. And he was baith civil and
      just in his dealings; and if he thought his chapman had made a hard
      bargain, he wad gie him a luck-penny to the mends. I hae ken'd him gie
      back five shillings out o' the pund sterling."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Twenty-five per cent," said Owen&mdash;"a heavy discount."
    </p>
    <p>
      "He wad gie it though, sir, as I tell ye; mair especially if he thought
      the buyer was a puir man, and couldna stand by a loss. But the times cam
      hard, and Rob was venturesome. It wasna my faut&mdash;it wasna my faut; he
      canna wyte me&mdash;I aye tauld him o't&mdash;And the creditors, mair
      especially some grit neighbours o' his, gripped to his living and land;
      and they say his wife was turned out o' the house to the hill-side, and
      sair misguided to the boot. Shamefu'! shamefu'!&mdash;I am a peacefu' man
      and a magistrate, but if ony ane had guided sae muckle as my servant
      quean, Mattie, as it's like they guided Rob's wife, I think it suld hae
      set the shabble* that my father the deacon had at Bothwell brig a-walking
      again.
    </p>
    <p>
      * Cutlass.
    </p>
    <p>
      Weel, Rob cam hame, and fand desolation, God pity us! where he left
      plenty; he looked east, west, south, north, and saw neither hauld nor hope&mdash;neither
      beild nor shelter; sae he e'en pu'd the bonnet ower his brow, belted the
      broadsword to his side, took to the brae-side, and became a broken man."*
    </p>
    <p>
      * An outlaw.
    </p>
    <p>
      The voice of the good citizen was broken by his contending feelings. He
      obviously, while he professed to contemn the pedigree of his Highland
      kinsman, attached a secret feeling of consequence to the connection, and
      he spoke of his friend in his prosperity with an overflow of affection,
      which deepened his sympathy for his misfortunes, and his regret for their
      consequences.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thus tempted and urged by despair," said I, seeing Mr. Jarvie did not
      proceed in his narrative, "I suppose your kinsman became one of those
      depredators you have described to us?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No sae bad as that," said the Glaswegian,&mdash;"no a'thegither and
      outright sae bad as that; but he became a levier of black-mail, wider and
      farther than ever it was raised in our day, a through the Lennox and
      Menteith, and up to the gates o' Stirling Castle."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Black-mail?&mdash;I do not understand the phrase," I remarked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ou, ye see, Rob soon gathered an unco band o' blue-bonnets at his back,
      for he comes o' a rough name when he's kent by his ain, and a name that's
      held its ain for mony a lang year, baith again king and parliament, and
      kirk too, for aught I ken&mdash;an auld and honourable name, for as sair
      as it has been worried and hadden down and oppressed. My mother was a
      MacGregor&mdash;I carena wha kens it&mdash;And Rob had soon a gallant
      band; and as it grieved him (he said) to see sic <i>hership</i> and waste
      and depredation to the south o' the Hieland line, why, if ony heritor or
      farmer wad pay him four punds Scots out of each hundred punds of valued
      rent, whilk was doubtless a moderate consideration, Rob engaged to keep
      them scaithless;&mdash;let them send to him if they lost sae muckle as a
      single cloot by thieving, and Rob engaged to get them again, or pay the
      value&mdash;and he aye keepit his word&mdash;I canna deny but he keepit
      his word&mdash;a' men allow Rob keeps his word."
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is a very singular contract of assurance," said Mr. Owen.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's clean again our statute law, that must be owned," said Jarvie,
      "clean again law; the levying and the paying black-mail are baith
      punishable: but if the law canna protect my barn and byre, whatfor suld I
      no engage wi' a Hieland gentleman that can?&mdash;answer me that."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But," said I, "Mr. Jarvie, is this contract of black-mail, as you call
      it, completely voluntary on the part of the landlord or farmer who pays
      the insurance? or what usually happens, in case any one refuses payment of
      this tribute?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aha, lad!" said the Bailie, laughing, and putting his finger to his nose,
      "ye think ye hae me there. Troth, I wad advise ony friends o' mine to gree
      wi' Rob; for, watch as they like, and do what they like, they are sair apt
      to be harried* when the lang nights come on.
    </p>
    <p>
      * Plundered.
    </p>
    <p>
      Some o' the Grahame and Cohoon gentry stood out; but what then?&mdash;they
      lost their haill stock the first winter; sae maist folks now think it best
      to come into Rob's terms. He's easy wi' a' body that will be easy wi' him;
      but if ye thraw him, ye had better thraw the deevil."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And by his exploits in these vocations," I continued, "I suppose he has
      rendered himself amenable to the laws of the country?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Amenable?&mdash;ye may say that; his craig wad ken the weight o' his
      hurdies if they could get haud o' Rob. But he has gude friends amang the
      grit folks; and I could tell ye o' ae grit family that keeps him up as far
      as they decently can, to be a them in the side of another. And then he's
      sic an auld-farran lang-headed chield as never took up the trade o'
      cateran in our time; mony a daft reik he has played&mdash;mair than wad
      fill a book, and a queer ane it wad be&mdash;as gude as Robin Hood, or
      William Wallace&mdash;a' fu' o' venturesome deeds and escapes, sic as folk
      tell ower at a winter ingle in the daft days. It's a queer thing o' me,
      gentlemen, that am a man o' peace mysell, and a peacefu man's son&mdash;for
      the deacon my father quarrelled wi' nane out o the town-council&mdash;it's
      a queer thing, I say, but I think the Hieland blude o' me warms at thae
      daft tales, and whiles I like better to hear them than a word o' profit,
      gude forgie me! But they are vanities&mdash;sinfu' vanities&mdash;and,
      moreover, again the statute law&mdash;again the statute and gospel law."
    </p>
    <p>
      I now followed up my investigation, by inquiring what means of influence
      this Mr. Robert Campbell could possibly possess over my affairs, or those
      of my father.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, ye are to understand," said Mr. Jarvie in a very subdued tone&mdash;"I
      speak amang friends, and under the rose&mdash;Ye are to understand, that
      the Hielands hae been keepit quiet since the year aughty-nine&mdash;that
      was Killiecrankie year. But how hae they been keepit quiet, think ye? By
      siller, Mr. Owen&mdash;by siller, Mr. Osbaldistone. King William caused
      Breadalbane distribute twenty thousand oude punds sterling amang them, and
      it's said the auld Hieland Earl keepit a lang lug o't in his ain sporran.
      And then Queen Anne, that's dead, gae the chiefs bits o' pensions, sae
      they had wherewith to support their gillies and caterans that work nae
      wark, as I said afore; and they lay by quiet eneugh, saying some
      spreagherie on the Lowlands, whilk is their use and wont, and some cutting
      o' thrapples amang themsells, that nae civilised body kens or cares
      onything anent.&mdash;Weel, but there's a new warld come up wi' this King
      George (I say, God bless him, for ane)&mdash;there's neither like to be
      siller nor pensions gaun amang them; they haena the means o' mainteening
      the clans that eat them up, as ye may guess frae what I said before; their
      credit's gane in the Lowlands; and a man that can whistle ye up a thousand
      or feifteen hundred linking lads to do his will, wad hardly get fifty
      punds on his band at the Cross o' Glasgow&mdash;This canna stand lang&mdash;there
      will be an outbreak for the Stuarts&mdash;there will be an outbreak&mdash;they
      will come down on the low country like a flood, as they did in the waefu'
      wars o' Montrose, and that will be seen and heard tell o' ere a twalmonth
      gangs round."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yet still," I said, "I do not see how this concerns Mr. Campbell, much
      less my father's affairs."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Rob can levy five hundred men, sir, and therefore war suld concern him as
      muckle as maist folk," replied the Bailie; "for it is a faculty that is
      far less profitable in time o' peace. Then, to tell ye the truth, I doubt
      he has been the prime agent between some o' our Hieland chiefs and the
      gentlemen in the north o' England. We a' heard o' the public money that
      was taen frae the chield Morris somewhere about the fit o' Cheviot by Rob
      and ane o' the Osbaldistone lads; and, to tell ye the truth, word gaed
      that it was yoursell Mr. Francis,&mdash;and sorry was I that your father's
      son suld hae taen to sic practices&mdash;Na, ye needna say a word about it&mdash;I
      see weel I was mistaen; but I wad believe onything o' a stage-player,
      whilk I concluded ye to be. But now, I doubtna, it has been Rashleigh
      himself or some other o' your cousins&mdash;they are a' tarred wi' the
      same stick&mdash;rank Jacobites and papists, and wad think the government
      siller and government papers lawfu' prize. And the creature Morris is sic
      a cowardly caitiff, that to this hour he daurna say that it was Rob took
      the portmanteau aff him; and troth he's right, for your custom-house and
      excise cattle are ill liket on a' sides, and Rob might get a back-handed
      lick at him, before the Board, as they ca't, could help him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have long suspected this, Mr. Jarvie," said I, "and perfectly agree
      with you. But as to my father's affairs"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Suspected it?&mdash;it's certain&mdash;it's certain&mdash;I ken them that
      saw some of the papers that were taen aff Morris&mdash;it's needless to
      say where. But to your father's affairs&mdash;Ye maun think that in thae
      twenty years by-gane, some o' the Hieland lairds and chiefs hae come to
      some sma' sense o' their ain interest&mdash;your father and others hae
      bought the woods of Glen-Disseries, Glen Kissoch, Tober-na-Kippoch, and
      mony mair besides, and your father's house has granted large bills in
      payment,&mdash;and as the credit o' Osbaldistone and Tresham was gude&mdash;for
      I'll say before Mr. Owen's face, as I wad behind his back, that, bating
      misfortunes o' the Lord's sending, nae men could be mair honourable in
      business&mdash;the Hieland gentlemen, holders o' thae bills, hae found
      credit in Glasgow and Edinburgh&mdash;(I might amaist say in Glasgow
      wholly, for it's little the pridefu' Edinburgh folk do in real business)&mdash;for
      all, or the greater part of the contents o' thae bills. So that&mdash;Aha!
      d'ye see me now?"
    </p>
    <p>
      I confessed I could not quite follow his drift.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why," said he, "if these bills are not paid, the Glasgow merchant comes
      on the Hieland lairds, whae hae deil a boddle o' siller, and will like ill
      to spew up what is item a' spent&mdash;They will turn desperate&mdash;five
      hundred will rise that might hae sitten at hame&mdash;the deil will gae
      ower Jock Wabster&mdash;and the stopping of your father's house will
      hasten the outbreak that's been sae lang biding us."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You think, then," said I, surprised at this singular view of the case,
      "that Rashleigh Osbaldistone has done this injury to my father, merely to
      accelerate a rising in the Highlands, by distressing the gentlemen to whom
      these bills were originally granted?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Doubtless&mdash;doubtless&mdash;it has been one main reason, Mr.
      Osbaldistone. I doubtna but what the ready money he carried off wi' him
      might be another. But that makes comparatively but a sma' part o' your
      father's loss, though it might make the maist part o' Rashleigh's direct
      gain. The assets he carried off are of nae mair use to him than if he were
      to light his pipe wi' them. He tried if MacVittie &amp; Co. wad gie him
      siller on them&mdash;that I ken by Andro Wylie&mdash;but they were ower
      auld cats to draw that strae afore them&mdash;they keepit aff, and gae
      fair words. Rashleigh Osbaldistone is better ken'd than trusted in
      Glasgow, for he was here about some jacobitical papistical troking in
      seventeen hundred and seven, and left debt ahint him. Na, na&mdash;he
      canna pit aff the paper here; folk will misdoubt him how he came by it.
      Na, na&mdash;he'll hae the stuff safe at some o' their haulds in the
      Hielands, and I daur say my cousin Rob could get at it gin he liked."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But would he be disposed to serve us in this pinch, Mr. Jarvie?" said I.
      "You have described him as an agent of the Jacobite party, and deeply
      connected in their intrigues: will he be disposed for my sake, or, if you
      please, for the sake of justice, to make an act of restitution, which,
      supposing it in his power, would, according to your view of the case,
      materially interfere with their plans?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I canna preceesely speak to that: the grandees among them are doubtfu' o'
      Rob, and he's doubtfu' o' them.&mdash;And he's been weel friended wi' the
      Argyle family, wha stand for the present model of government. If he was
      freed o' his hornings and captions, he would rather be on Argyle's side
      than he wad be on Breadalbane's, for there's auld ill-will between the
      Breadalbane family and his kin and name. The truth is, that Rob is for his
      ain hand, as Henry Wynd feught*&mdash;he'll take the side that suits him
      best; if the deil was laird, Rob wad be for being tenant; and ye canna
      blame him, puir fallow, considering his circumstances.
    </p>
    <p>
      * Two great clans fought out a quarrel with thirty men of a side, in
      presence ot the king, on the North Inch of Perth, on or about the year
      1392; a man was amissing on one side, whose room was filled by a little
      bandy-legged citizen of Perth. This substitute, Henry Wynd&mdash;or, as
      the Highlanders called him, <i>Gow Chrom,</i> that is, the bandy-legged
      smith&mdash;fought well, and contributed greatly to the fate of the
      battle, without knowing which side he fought on;&mdash;so, "To fight for
      your own hand, like Henry Wynd," passed into a proverb. [This incident
      forms a conspicuous part of the subsequent novel, "The Fair Maid of
      Perth."]
    </p>
    <p>
      But there's ae thing sair again ye&mdash;Rob has a grey mear in his stable
      at hame."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A grey mare?" said I. "What is that to the purpose?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The wife, man&mdash;the wife,&mdash;an awfu' wife she is. She downa bide
      the sight o' a kindly Scot, if he come frae the Lowlands, far less of an
      Inglisher, and she'll be keen for a' that can set up King James, and ding
      down King George."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is very singular," I replied, "that the mercantile transactions of
      London citizens should become involved with revolutions and rebellions."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not at a', man&mdash;not at a'," returned Mr. Jarvie; "that's a' your
      silly prejudications. I read whiles in the lang dark nights, and I hae
      read in Baker's Chronicle* that the merchants o'London could gar the Bank
      of Genoa break their promise to advance a mighty sum to the King o' Spain,
      whereby the sailing of the Grand Spanish Armada was put aff for a haill
      year&mdash;What think you of that, sir?"
    </p>
    <p>
      * [<i>The Chronicle of the Kings of England,</i> by Sir Richard Baker,
      with continuations, passed through several editions between 1641 and 1733.
      Whether any of them contain the passage alluded to is doubtful.]
    </p>
    <p>
      "That the merchants did their country golden service, which ought to be
      honourably remembered in our histories."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I think sae too; and they wad do weel, and deserve weal baith o' the
      state and o' humanity, that wad save three or four honest Hieland
      gentlemen frae louping heads ower heels into destruction, wi' a' their
      puir sackless* followers, just because they canna pay back the siller they
      had reason to count upon as their ain&mdash;and save your father's credit&mdash;and
      my ain gude siller that Osbaldistone and Tresham awes me into the bargain.
    </p>
    <p>
      * Sackless, that is, innocent.
    </p>
    <p>
      I say, if ane could manage a' this, I think it suld be done and said unto
      him, even if he were a puir ca'-the-shuttle body, as unto one whom the
      king delighteth to honour."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I cannot pretend to estimate the extent of public gratitude," I replied;
      "but our own thankfulness, Mr. Jarvie, would be commensurate with the
      extent of the obligation."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Which," added Mr. Owen, "we would endeavour to balance with a <i>per
      contra,</i> the instant our Mr. Osbaldistone returns from Holland."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I doubtna&mdash;I doubtna&mdash;he is a very worthy gentleman, and a
      sponsible, and wi' some o' my lights might do muckle business in Scotland&mdash;Weel,
      sir, if these assets could be redeemed out o' the hands o' the
      Philistines, they are gude paper&mdash;they are the right stuff when they
      are in the right hands, and that's yours, Mr. Owen. And I'se find ye three
      men in Glasgow, for as little as ye may think o' us, Mr. Owen&mdash;that's
      Sandie Steenson in the Trade's-Land, and John Pirie in Candleriggs, and
      another that sall be nameless at this present, sall advance what soums are
      sufficient to secure the credit of your house, and seek nae better
      security."
    </p>
    <p>
      Owen's eyes sparkled at this prospect of extrication; but his countenance
      instantly fell on recollecting how improbable it was that the recovery of
      the assets, as he technically called them, should be successfully
      achieved.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Dinna despair, sir&mdash;dinna despair," said Mr. Jarvie; "I hae taen sae
      muckle concern wi' your affairs already, that it maun een be ower shoon
      ower boots wi' me now. I am just like my father the deacon (praise be wi'
      him!) I canna meddle wi' a friend's business, but I aye end wi' making it
      my ain&mdash;Sae, I'll e'en pit on my boots the morn, and be jogging ower
      Drymen Muir wi' Mr. Frank here; and if I canna mak Rob hear reason, and
      his wife too, I dinna ken wha can&mdash;I hae been a kind freend to them
      afore now, to say naething o' ower-looking him last night, when naming his
      name wad hae cost him his life&mdash;I'll be hearing o' this in the
      council maybe frae Bailie Grahame and MacVittie, and some o' them. They
      hae coost up my kindred to Rob to me already&mdash;set up their nashgabs!
      I tauld them I wad vindicate nae man's faults; but set apart what he had
      done again the law o' the country, and the hership o' the Lennox, and the
      misfortune o' some folk losing life by him, he was an honester man than
      stood on ony o' their shanks&mdash;And whatfor suld I mind their clavers?
      If Rob is an outlaw, to himsell be it said&mdash;there is nae laws now
      about reset of inter-communed persons, as there was in the ill times o'
      the last Stuarts&mdash;I trow I hae a Scotch tongue in my head&mdash;if
      they speak, I'se answer."
    </p>
    <p>
      It was with great pleasure that I saw the Bailie gradually surmount the
      barriers of caution, under the united influence of public spirit and
      good-natured interest in our affairs, together with his natural wish to
      avoid loss and acquire gain, and not a little harmless vanity. Through the
      combined operation of these motives, he at length arrived at the doughty
      resolution of taking the field in person, to aid in the recovery of my
      father's property. His whole information led me to believe, that if the
      papers were in possession of this Highland adventurer, it might be
      possible to induce him to surrender what he could not keep with any
      prospect of personal advantage; and I was conscious that the presence of
      his kinsman was likely to have considerable weight with him. I therefore
      cheerfully acquiesced in Mr. Jarvie's proposal that we should set out
      early next morning.
    </p>
    <p>
      That honest gentleman was indeed as vivacious and alert in preparing to
      carry his purpose into execution, as he had been slow and cautious in
      forming it. He roared to Mattie to "air his trot-cosey, to have his
      jack-boots greased and set before the kitchen-fire all night, and to see
      that his beast be corned, and a' his riding gear in order." Having agreed
      to meet him at five o'clock next morning, and having settled that Owen,
      whose presence could be of no use to us upon this expedition, should await
      our return at Glasgow, we took a kind farewell of this unexpectedly
      zealous friend. I installed Owen in an apartment in my lodgings,
      contiguous to my own, and, giving orders to Andrew Fairservice to attend
      me next morning at the hour appointed, I retired to rest with better hopes
      than it had lately been my fortune to entertain.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="AlinkCH0010" id="AlinkCH0010">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER TENTH.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
             Far as the eye could reach no tree was seen,
             Earth, clad in russet, scorned the lively green;
                No birds, except as birds of passage flew;
                No bee was heard to hum, no dove to coo;
                No streams, as amber smooth-as amber clear,
                Were seen to glide, or heard to warble here.
                                             Prophecy of Famine.
</pre>
    <p>
      It was in the bracing atmosphere of a harvest morning, that I met by
      appointment Fairservice, with the horses, at the door of Mr. Jarvie's
      house, which was but little space distant from Mrs. Flyter's hotel. The
      first matter which caught my attention was, that whatever were the
      deficiencies of the pony which Mr. Fairservice's legal adviser, Clerk
      Touthope, generously bestowed upon him in exchange for Thorncliff's mare,
      he had contrived to part with it, and procure in its stead an animal with
      so curious and complete a lameness, that it seemed only to make use of
      three legs for the purpose of progression, while the fourth appeared as if
      meant to be flourished in the air by way of accompaniment. "What do you
      mean by bringing such a creature as that here, sir? and where is the pony
      you rode to Glasgow upon?" were my very natural and impatient inquiries.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I sell't it, sir. It was a slink beast, and wad hae eaten its head aff,
      standing at Luckie Flyter's at livery. And I hae bought this on your
      honour's account. It's a grand bargain&mdash;cost but a pund sterling the
      foot&mdash;that's four a'thegither. The stringhalt will gae aff when it's
      gaen a mile; it's a weel-ken'd ganger; they call it Souple Tam."
    </p>
    <p>
      "On my soul, sir," said I, "you will never rest till my supple-jack and
      your shoulders become acquainted, If you do not go instantly and procure
      the other brute, you shall pay the penalty of your ingenuity."
    </p>
    <p>
      Andrew, notwithstanding my threats, continued to battle the point, as he
      said it would cost him a guinea of rue-bargain to the man who had bought
      his pony, before he could get it back again. Like a true Englishman,
      though sensible I was duped by the rascal, I was about to pay his exaction
      rather than lose time, when forth sallied Mr. Jarvie, cloaked, mantled,
      hooded, and booted, as if for a Siberian winter, while two apprentices,
      under the immediate direction of Mattie, led forth the decent ambling
      steed which had the honour on such occasions to support the person of the
      Glasgow magistrate. Ere he "clombe to the saddle," an expression more
      descriptive of the Bailie's mode of mounting than that of the
      knights-errant to whom Spenser applies it, he inquired the cause of the
      dispute betwixt my servant and me. Having learned the nature of honest
      Andrew's manoeuvre he instantly cut short all debate, by pronouncing, that
      if Fairservice did not forthwith return the three-legged palfrey, and
      produce the more useful quadruped which he had discarded, he would send
      him to prison, and amerce him in half his wages. "Mr. Osbaldistone," said
      he, "contracted for the service of both your horse and you&mdash;twa
      brutes at ance&mdash;ye unconscionable rascal!&mdash;but I'se look weel
      after you during this journey."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It will be nonsense fining me," said Andrew, doughtily, "that hasna a
      grey groat to pay a fine wi'&mdash;it's ill taking the breeks aff a
      Hielandman."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If ye hae nae purse to fine, ye hae flesh to pine," replied the Bailie,
      "and I will look weel to ye getting your deserts the tae way or the
      tither."
    </p>
    <p>
      To the commands of Mr. Jarvie, therefore, Andrew was compelled to submit,
      only muttering between his teeth, "Ower mony maisters,&mdash;ower mony
      maisters, as the paddock said to the harrow, when every tooth gae her a
      tig."
    </p>
    <p>
      Apparently he found no difficulty in getting rid of Supple Tam, and
      recovering possession of his former Bucephalus, for he accomplished the
      exchange without being many minutes absent; nor did I hear further of his
      having paid any smart-money for breach of bargain.
    </p>
    <p>
      We now set forward, but had not reached the top of the street in which Mr.
      Jarvie dwelt, when a loud hallooing and breathless call of "Stop, stop!"
      was heard behind us. We stopped accordingly, and were overtaken by Mr.
      Jarvie's two lads, who bore two parting tokens of Mattie's care for her
      master. The first was conveyed in the form of a voluminous silk
      handkerchief, like the mainsail of one of his own West-Indiamen, which
      Mrs. Mattie particularly desired he would put about his neck, and which,
      thus entreated, he added to his other integuments. The second youngster
      brought only a verbal charge (I thought I saw the rogue disposed to laugh
      as he delivered it) on the part of the housekeeper, that her master would
      take care of the waters. "Pooh! pooh! silly hussy," answered Mr. Jarvie;
      but added, turning to me, "it shows a kind heart though&mdash;it shows a
      kind heart in sae young a quean&mdash;Mattie's a carefu' lass." So
      speaking, he pricked the sides of his palfrey, and we left the town
      without farther interruption.
    </p>
    <p>
      While we paced easily forward, by a road which conducted us north-eastward
      from the town, I had an opportunity to estimate and admire the good
      qualities of my new friend. Although, like my father, he considered
      commercial transactions the most important objects of human life, he was
      not wedded to them so as to undervalue more general knowledge. On the
      contrary, with much oddity and vulgarity of manner,&mdash;with a vanity
      which he made much more ridiculous by disguising it now and then under a
      thin veil of humility, and devoid as he was of all the advantages of a
      learned education, Mr. Jarvie's conversation showed tokens of a shrewd,
      observing, liberal, and, to the extent of its opportunities, a
      well-improved mind. He was a good local antiquary, and entertained me, as
      we passed along, with an account of remarkable events which had formerly
      taken place in the scenes through which we passed. And as he was well
      acquainted with the ancient history of his district, he saw with the
      prospective eye of an enlightened patriot, the buds of many of those
      future advantages which have only blossomed and ripened within these few
      years. I remarked also, and with great pleasure, that although a keen
      Scotchman, and abundantly zealous for the honour of his country, he was
      disposed to think liberally of the sister kingdom. When Andrew Fairservice
      (whom, by the way, the Bailie could not abide) chose to impute the
      accident of one of the horses casting his shoe to the deteriorating
      influence of the Union, he incurred a severe rebuke from Mr. Jarvie.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Whisht, sir!&mdash;whisht! it's ill-scraped tongues like yours, that make
      mischief atween neighbourhoods and nations. There's naething sae gude on
      this side o' time but it might hae been better, and that may be said o'
      the Union. Nane were keener against it than the Glasgow folk, wi' their
      rabblings and their risings, and their mobs, as they ca' them now-a-days.
      But it's an ill wind blaws naebody gude&mdash;Let ilka ane roose the ford
      as they find it&mdash;I say let Glasgow flourish! whilk is judiciously and
      elegantly putten round the town's arms, by way of by-word.&mdash;Now,
      since St. Mungo catched herrings in the Clyde, what was ever like to gar
      us flourish like the sugar and tobacco trade? Will onybody tell me that,
      and grumble at the treaty that opened us a road west-awa' yonder?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Andrew Fairservice was far from acquiescing in these arguments of
      expedience, and even ventured to enter a grumbling protest, "That it was
      an unco change to hae Scotland's laws made in England; and that, for his
      share, he wadna for a' the herring-barrels in Glasgow, and a' the
      tobacco-casks to boot, hae gien up the riding o' the Scots Parliament, or
      sent awa' our crown, and our sword, and our sceptre, and Mons Meg,* to be
      keepit by thae English pock-puddings in the Tower o' Lunnon.
    </p>
    <p>
      * Note G. Mons Meg.
    </p>
    <p>
      What wad Sir William Wallace, or auld Davie Lindsay, hae said to the
      Union, or them that made it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The road which we travelled, while diverting the way with these
      discussions, had become wild and open, as soon as we had left Glasgow a
      mile or two behind us, and was growing more dreary as we advanced. Huge
      continuous heaths spread before, behind, and around us, in hopeless
      barrenness&mdash;now level and interspersed with swamps, green with
      treacherous verdure, or sable with turf, or, as they call them in
      Scotland, peat-bogs,&mdash;and now swelling into huge heavy ascents, which
      wanted the dignity and form of hills, while they were still more toilsome
      to the passenger. There were neither trees nor bushes to relieve the eye
      from the russet livery of absolute sterility. The very heath was of that
      stinted imperfect kind which has little or no flower, and affords the
      coarsest and meanest covering, which, as far as my experience enables me
      to judge, mother Earth is ever arrayed in. Living thing we saw none,
      except occasionally a few straggling sheep of a strange diversity of
      colours, as black, bluish, and orange. The sable hue predominated,
      however, in their faces and legs. The very birds seemed to shun these
      wastes, and no wonder, since they had an easy method of escaping from
      them;&mdash;at least I only heard the monotonous and plaintive cries of
      the lapwing and curlew, which my companions denominated the peasweep and
      whaup.
    </p>
    <p>
      At dinner, however, which we took about noon, at a most miserable
      alehouse, we had the good fortune to find that these tiresome screamers of
      the morass were not the only inhabitants of the moors. The goodwife told
      us, that "the gudeman had been at the hill;" and well for us that he had
      been so, for we enjoyed the produce of his <i>chasse</i> in the shape of
      some broiled moor-game,&mdash;a dish which gallantly eked out the ewe-milk
      cheese, dried salmon, and oaten bread, being all besides that the house
      afforded. Some very indifferent two-penny ale, and a glass of excellent
      brandy, crowned our repast; and as our horses had, in the meantime,
      discussed their corn, we resumed our journey with renovated vigour.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had need of all the spirits a good dinner could give, to resist the
      dejection which crept insensibly on my mind, when I combined the strange
      uncertainty of my errand with the disconsolate aspect of the country
      through which it was leading me. Our road continued to be, if possible,
      more waste and wild than that we had travelled in the forenoon. The few
      miserable hovels that showed some marks of human habitation, were now of
      still rarer occurrence; and at length, as we began to ascend an
      uninterrupted swell of moorland, they totally disappeared. The only
      exercise which my imagination received was, when some particular turn of
      the road gave us a partial view, to the left, of a large assemblage of
      dark-blue mountains stretching to the north and north-west, which promised
      to include within their recesses a country as wild perhaps, but certainly
      differing greatly in point of interest, from that which we now travelled.
      The peaks of this screen of mountains were as wildly varied and
      distinguished, as the hills which we had seen on the right were tame and
      lumpish; and while I gazed on this Alpine region, I felt a longing to
      explore its recesses, though accompanied with toil and danger, similar to
      that which a sailor feels when he wishes for the risks and animation of a
      battle or a gale, in exchange for the insupportable monotony of a
      protracted calm. I made various inquiries of my friend Mr. Jarvie
      respecting the names and positions of these remarkable mountains; but it
      was a subject on which he had no information, or did not choose to be
      communicative. "They're the Hieland hills&mdash;the Hieland hills&mdash;Ye'll
      see and hear eneugh about them before ye see Glasgow Cross again&mdash;I
      downa look at them&mdash;I never see them but they gar me grew. It's no
      for fear&mdash;no for fear, but just for grief, for the puir blinded
      half-starved creatures that inhabit them&mdash;but say nae mair about it&mdash;it's
      ill speaking o' Hielandmen sae near the line. I hae ken'd mony an honest
      man wadna hae ventured this length without he had made his last will and
      testament&mdash;Mattie had ill-will to see me set awa' on this ride, and
      grat awee, the sillie tawpie; but it's nae mair ferlie to see a woman
      greet than to see a goose gang barefit."
    </p>
    <p>
      I next attempted to lead the discourse on the character and history of the
      person whom we were going to visit; but on this topic Mr. Jarvie was
      totally inaccessible, owing perhaps in part to the attendance of Mr.
      Andrew Fairservice, who chose to keep so close in our rear that his ears
      could not fail to catch every word which was spoken, while his tongue
      assumed the freedom of mingling in our conversation as often as he saw an
      opportunity. For this he occasionally incurred Mr. Jarvie's reproof.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Keep back, sir, as best sets ye," said the Bailie, as Andrew pressed
      forward to catch the answer to some question I had asked about Campbell.
      &mdash;"ye wad fain ride the fore-horse, an ye wist how.&mdash;That
      chield's aye for being out o' the cheese-fat he was moulded in.&mdash;Now,
      as for your questions, Mr. Osbaldistone, now that chield's out of
      ear-shot, I'll just tell you it's free to you to speer, and it's free to
      me to answer, or no&mdash;Gude I canna say muckle o' Rob, puir chield; ill
      I winna say o' him, for, forby that he's my cousin, we're coming near his
      ain country, and there may be ane o' his gillies ahint every whin-bush,
      for what I ken&mdash;And if ye'll be guided by my advice, the less ye
      speak about him, or where we are gaun, or what we are gaun to do, we'll be
      the mair likely to speed us in our errand. For it's like we may fa' in wi'
      some o' his unfreends&mdash;there are e'en ower mony o' them about&mdash;and
      his bonnet sits even on his brow yet for a' that; but I doubt they'll be
      upsides wi' Rob at the last&mdash;air day or late day, the fox's hide
      finds aye the flaying knife."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will certainly," I replied, "be entirely guided by your experience."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Right, Mr. Osbaldistone&mdash;right. But I maun speak to this gabbling
      skyte too, for bairns and fules speak at the Cross what they hear at the
      ingle-side.&mdash;D'ye hear, you, Andrew&mdash;what's your name?&mdash;Fairservice!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Andrew, who at the last rebuff had fallen a good way behind, did not
      choose to acknowledge the summons.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Andrew, ye scoundrel!" repeated Mr. Jarvie; "here, sir here!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here is for the dog." said Andrew, coming up sulkily.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'll gie you dog's wages, ye rascal, if ye dinna attend to what I say
      t'ye&mdash;We are gaun into the Hielands a bit"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "I judged as muckle," said Andrew.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Haud your peace, ye knave, and hear what I have to say till ye&mdash;We
      are gaun a bit into the Hielands"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ye tauld me sae already," replied the incorrigible Andrew.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'll break your head," said the Bailie, rising in wrath, "if ye dinna
      haud your tongue."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A hadden tongue," replied Andrew, "makes a slabbered mouth."
    </p>
    <p>
      It was now necessary I should interfere, which I did by commanding Andrew,
      with an authoritative tone, to be silent at his peril.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am silent," said Andrew. "I'se do a' your lawfu' bidding without a
      nay-say. My puir mother used aye to tell me,
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                      Be it better, be it worse,
                      Be ruled by him that has the purse.
</pre>
    <p>
      Sae ye may e'en speak as lang as ye like, baith the tane and the tither o'
      you, for Andrew."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Jarvie took the advantage of his stopping after quoting the above
      proverb, to give him the requisite instructions. "Now, sir, it's as muckle
      as your life's worth&mdash;that wad be dear o' little siller, to be sure&mdash;but
      it is as muckle as a' our lives are worth, if ye dinna mind what I sae to
      ye. In this public whar we are gaun to, and whar it is like we may hae to
      stay a' night, men o' a' clans and kindred&mdash;Hieland and Lawland&mdash;tak
      up their quarters&mdash;And whiles there are mair drawn dirks than open
      Bibles amang them, when the usquebaugh gets uppermost. See ye neither
      meddle nor mak, nor gie nae offence wi' that clavering tongue o' yours,
      but keep a calm sough, and let ilka cock fight his ain battle."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Muckle needs to tell me that," said Andrew, contemptuously, "as if I had
      never seen a Hielandman before, and ken'd nae how to manage them. Nae man
      alive can cuitle up Donald better than mysell&mdash;I hae bought wi' them,
      sauld wi' them, eaten wi' them, drucken wi' them"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did ye ever fight wi' them?" said Mr. Jarvie.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Na, na," answered Andrew, "I took care o' that: it wad ill hae set me,
      that am an artist and half a scholar to my trade, to be fighting amang a
      wheen kilted loons that dinna ken the name o' a single herb or flower in
      braid Scots, let abee in the Latin tongue."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then," said Mr. Jarvie, "as ye wad keep either your tongue in your mouth,
      or your lugs in your head (and ye might miss them, for as saucy members as
      they are), I charge ye to say nae word, gude or bad, that ye can weel get
      by, to onybody that may be in the Clachan. And ye'll specially understand
      that ye're no to be bleezing and blasting about your master's name and
      mine, or saying that this is Mr. Bailie Nicol Jarvie o' the Saut Market,
      son o' the worthy Deacon Nicol Jarvie, that a' body has heard about; and
      this is Mr. Frank Osbaldistone, son of the managing partner of the great
      house of Osbaldistone and Tresham, in the City."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Eneueh said," answered Andrew&mdash;"eneueh said. What need ye think I
      wad be speaking about your names for?&mdash;I hae mony things o' mair
      importance to speak about, I trow."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's thae very things of importance that I am feared for, ye blethering
      goose; ye maunna speak ony thing, gude or bad, that ye can by any
      possibility help."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If ye dinna think me fit," replied Andrew, in a huff, "to speak like
      ither folk, gie me my wages and my board-wages, and I'se gae back to
      Glasgow&mdash;There's sma' sorrow at our parting, as the auld mear said to
      the broken cart."
    </p>
    <p>
      Finding Andrew's perverseness again rising to a point which threatened to
      occasion me inconvenience, I was under the necessity of explaining to him,
      that he might return if he thought proper, but that in that case I would
      not pay him a single farthing for his past services. The argument <i>ad
      crumenam,</i> as it has been called by jocular logicians, has weight with
      the greater part of mankind, and Andrew was in that particular far from
      affecting any trick of singularity. He "drew in his horns," to use the
      Bailie's phrase, on the instant, professed no intention whatever to
      disoblige, and a resolution to be guided by my commands, whatever they
      might be.
    </p>
    <p>
      Concord being thus happily restored to our small party, we continued to
      pursue our journey. The road, which had ascended for six or seven English
      miles, began now to descend for about the same space, through a country
      which neither in fertility nor interest could boast any advantage over
      that which we had passed already, and which afforded no variety, unless
      when some tremendous peak of a Highland mountain appeared at a distance.
      We continued, however, to ride on without pause and even when night fell
      and overshadowed the desolate wilds which we traversed, we were, as I
      understood from Mr. Jarvie, still three miles and a bittock distant from
      the place where we were to spend the night.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="AlinkCH0011" id="AlinkCH0011">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER ELEVENTH.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                          Baron of Bucklivie,
                       May the foul fiend drive ye,
                          And a' to pieces rive ye,
                          For building sic a town,
                       Where there's neither horse meat,
                          Nor man's meat,
                       Nor a chair to sit down.
                                Scottish Popular Rhymes on a bad Inn.
</pre>
    <p>
      The night was pleasant, and the moon afforded us good light for our
      journey. Under her rays, the ground over which we passed assumed a more
      interesting appearance than during the broad daylight, which discovered
      the extent of its wasteness. The mingled light and shadows gave it an
      interest which naturally did not belong to it; and, like the effect of a
      veil flung over a plain woman, irritated our curiosity on a subject which
      had in itself nothing gratifying.
    </p>
    <p>
      The descent, however, still continued, turned, winded, left the more open
      heaths, and got into steeper ravines, which promised soon to lead us to
      the banks of some brook or river, and ultimately made good their presage.
      We found ourselves at length on the bank of a stream, which rather
      resembled one of my native English rivers than those I had hitherto seen
      in Scotland. It was narrow, deep, still, and silent; although the
      imperfect light, as it gleamed on its placid waters, showed also that we
      were now among the lofty mountains which formed its cradle. "That's the
      Forth," said the Bailie, with an air of reverence, which I have observed
      the Scotch usually pay to their distinguished rivers. The Clyde, the
      Tweed, the Forth, the Spey, are usually named by those who dwell on their
      banks with a sort of respect and pride, and I have known duels occasioned
      by any word of disparagement. I cannot say I have the least quarrel with
      this sort of harmless enthusiasm. I received my friend's communication
      with the importance which he seemed to think appertained to it. In fact, I
      was not a little pleased, after so long and dull a journey, to approach a
      region which promised to engage the imagination. My faithful squire,
      Andrew, did not seem to be quite of the same opinion, for he received the
      solemn information, "That is the Forth," with a "Umph!&mdash;an he had
      said that's the public-house, it wad hae been mair to the purpose."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Forth, however, as far as the imperfect light permitted me to judge,
      seemed to merit the admiration of those who claimed an interest in its
      stream. A beautiful eminence of the most regular round shape, and clothed
      with copsewood of hazels, mountain-ash, and dwarf-oak, intermixed with a
      few magnificent old trees, which, rising above the underwood, exposed
      their forked and bared branches to the silver moonshine, seemed to protect
      the sources from which the river sprung. If I could trust the tale of my
      companion, which, while professing to disbelieve every word of it, he told
      under his breath, and with an air of something like intimidation, this
      hill, so regularly formed, so richly verdant, and garlanded with such a
      beautiful variety of ancient trees and thriving copsewood, was held by the
      neighbourhood to contain, within its unseen caverns, the palaces of the
      fairies&mdash;a race of airy beings, who formed an intermediate class
      between men and demons, and who, if not positively malignant to humanity,
      were yet to be avoided and feared, on account of their capricious,
      vindictive, and irritable disposition.*
    </p>
    <p>
      * Note H. Fairy Superstition.
    </p>
    <p>
      "They ca' them," said Mr. Jarvie, in a whisper, "<i>Daoine Schie,</i>&mdash;whilk
      signifies, as I understand, men of peace; meaning thereby to make their
      gudewill. And we may e'en as weel ca' them that too, Mr. Osbaldistone, for
      there's nae gude in speaking ill o' the laird within his ain bounds." But
      he added presently after, on seeing one or two lights which twinkled
      before us, "It's deceits o' Satan, after a', and I fearna to say it&mdash;for
      we are near the manse now, and yonder are the lights in the Clachan of
      Aberfoil."
    </p>
    <p>
      I own I was well pleased at the circumstance to which Mr. Jarvie alluded;
      not so much that it set his tongue at liberty, in his opinion, with all
      safety to declare his real sentiments with respect to the <i>Daoine Schie,</i>
      or fairies, as that it promised some hours' repose to ourselves and our
      horses, of which, after a ride of fifty miles and upwards, both stood in
      some need.
    </p>
    <p>
      We crossed the infant Forth by an old-fashioned stone bridge, very high
      and very narrow. My conductor, however, informed me, that to get through
      this deep and important stream, and to clear all its tributary
      dependencies, the general pass from the Highlands to the southward lay by
      what was called the Fords of Frew, at all times deep and difficult of
      passage, and often altogether unfordable. Beneath these fords, there was
      no pass of general resort until so far east as the bridge of Stirling; so
      that the river of Forth forms a defensible line between the Highlands and
      Lowlands of Scotland, from its source nearly to the Firth, or inlet of the
      ocean, in which it terminates. The subsequent events which we witnessed
      led me to recall with attention what the shrewdness of Bailie Jarvie
      suggested in his proverbial expression, that "Forth bridles the wild
      Highlandman."
    </p>
    <p>
      About half a mile's riding, after we crossed the bridge, placed us at the
      door of the public-house where we were to pass the evening. It was a hovel
      rather worse than better than that in which we had dined; but its little
      windows were lighted up, voices were heard from within, and all intimated
      a prospect of food and shelter, to which we were by no means indifferent.
      Andrew was the first to observe that there was a peeled willow-wand placed
      across the half-open door of the little inn. He hung back and advised us
      not to enter. "For," said Andrew, "some of their chiefs and grit men are
      birling at the usquebaugh in by there, and dinna want to be disturbed; and
      the least we'll get, if we gang ramstam in on them, will be a broken head,
      to learn us better havings, if we dinna come by the length of a cauld dirk
      in our wame, whilk is just as likely."
    </p>
    <p>
      I looked at the Bailie, who acknowledged, in a whisper, "that the gowk had
      some reason for singing, ance in the year."
    </p>
    <p>
      Meantime a staring half-clad wench or two came out of the inn and the
      neighbouring cottages, on hearing the sound of our horses' feet. No one
      bade us welcome, nor did any one offer to take our horses, from which we
      had alighted; and to our various inquiries, the hopeless response of "Ha
      niel Sassenach," was the only answer we could extract. The Bailie,
      however, found (in his experience) a way to make them speak English. "If I
      gie ye a bawbee," said he to an urchin of about ten years old, with a
      fragment of a tattered plaid about him, "will you understand Sassenach?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, ay, that will I," replied the brat, in very decent English. "Then
      gang and tell your mammy, my man, there's twa Sassenach gentlemen come to
      speak wi' her."
    </p>
    <p>
      The landlady presently appeared, with a lighted piece of split fir blazing
      in her hand. The turpentine in this species of torch (which is generally
      dug from out the turf-bogs) makes it blaze and sparkle readily, so that it
      is often used in the Highlands in lieu of candles. On this occasion such a
      torch illuminated the wild and anxious features of a female, pale, thin,
      and rather above the usual size, whose soiled and ragged dress, though
      aided by a plaid or tartan screen, barely served the purposes of decency,
      and certainly not those of comfort. Her black hair, which escaped in
      uncombed elf-locks from under her coif, as well as the strange and
      embarrassed look with which she regarded us, gave me the idea of a witch
      disturbed in the midst of her unlawful rites. She plainly refused to admit
      us into the house. We remonstrated anxiously, and pleaded the length of
      our journey, the state of our horses, and the certainty that there was not
      another place where we could be received nearer than Callander, which the
      Bailie stated to be seven Scots miles distant. How many these may exactly
      amount to in English measurement, I have never been able to ascertain, but
      I think the double <i>ratio</i> may be pretty safely taken as a medium
      computation. The obdurate hostess treated our expostulation with contempt.
      "Better gang farther than fare waur," she said, speaking the Scottish
      Lowland dialect, and being indeed a native of the Lennox district&mdash;"Her
      house was taen up wi' them wadna like to be intruded on wi' strangers. She
      didna ken wha mair might be there&mdash;red-coats, it might be, frae the
      garrison." (These last words she spoke under her breath, and with very
      strong emphasis.) "The night," she said, "was fair abune head&mdash;a
      night amang the heather wad caller our bloods&mdash;we might sleep in our
      claes, as mony a gude blade does in the scabbard&mdash;there wasna muckle
      flowmoss in the shaw, if we took up our quarters right, and we might pit
      up our horses to the hill, naebody wad say naething against it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, my good woman," said I, while the Bailie groaned and remained
      undecided, "it is six hours since we dined, and we have not taken a morsel
      since. I am positively dying with hunger, and I have no taste for taking
      up my abode supperless among these mountains of yours. I positively must
      enter; and make the best apology you can to your guests for adding a
      stranger or two to their number. Andrew, you will see the horses put up."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Hecate looked at me with surprise, and then ejaculated&mdash;"A wilfu'
      man will hae his way&mdash;them that will to Cupar maun to Cupar!&mdash;To
      see thae English belly-gods! he has had ae fu' meal the day already, and
      he'll venture life and liberty, rather than he'll want a het supper! Set
      roasted beef and pudding on the opposite side o' the pit o' Tophet, and an
      Englishman will mak a spang at it&mdash;But I wash my hands o't&mdash;Follow
      me sir" (to Andrew), "and I'se show ye where to pit the beasts."
    </p>
    <p>
      I own I was somewhat dismayed at my landlady's expressions, which seemed
      to be ominous of some approaching danger. I did not, however, choose to
      shrink back after having declared my resolution, and accordingly I boldly
      entered the house; and after narrowly escaping breaking my shins over a
      turf back and a salting tub, which stood on either side of the narrow
      exterior passage, I opened a crazy half-decayed door, constructed not of
      plank, but of wicker, and, followed by the Bailie, entered into the
      principal apartment of this Scottish caravansary.
    </p>
    <p>
      The interior presented a view which seemed singular enough to southern
      eyes. The fire, fed with blazing turf and branches of dried wood, blazed
      merrily in the centre; but the smoke, having no means to escape but
      through a hole in the roof, eddied round the rafters of the cottage, and
      hung in sable folds at the height of about five feet from the floor. The
      space beneath was kept pretty clear by innumerable currents of air which
      rushed towards the fire from the broken panel of basket-work which served
      as a door&mdash;from two square holes, designed as ostensible windows,
      through one of which was thrust a plaid, and through the other a tattered
      great-coat&mdash;and moreover, through various less distinguishable
      apertures in the walls of the tenement, which, being built of round stones
      and turf, cemented by mud, let in the atmosphere at innumerable crevices.
    </p>
    <p>
      At an old oaken table, adjoining to the fire, sat three men, guests
      apparently, whom it was impossible to regard with indifference. Two were
      in the Highland dress; the one, a little dark-complexioned man, with a
      lively, quick, and irritable expression of features, wore the trews, or
      close pantaloons wove out of a sort of chequered stocking stuff. The
      Bailie whispered me, that "he behoved to be a man of some consequence, for
      that naebody but their Duinhe'wassels wore the trews&mdash;they were ill
      to weave exactly to their Highland pleasure."
    </p>
    <p>
      The other mountaineer was a very tall, strong man, with a quantity of
      reddish hair, freckled face, high cheek-bones, and long chin&mdash;a sort
      of caricature of the national features of Scotland. The tartan which he
      wore differed from that of his companion, as it had much more scarlet in
      it, whereas the shades of black and dark-green predominated in the
      chequers of the other. The third, who sate at the same table, was in the
      Lowland dress,&mdash;a bold, stout-looking man, with a cast of military
      daring in his eye and manner, his riding-dress showily and profusely
      laced, and his cocked hat of formidable dimensions. His hanger and a pair
      of pistols lay on the table before him. Each of the Highlanders had their
      naked dirks stuck upright in the board beside him,&mdash;an emblem, I was
      afterwards informed, but surely a strange one, that their computation was
      not to be interrupted by any brawl. A mighty pewter measure, containing
      about an English quart of usquebaugh, a liquor nearly as strong as brandy,
      which the Highlanders distil from malt, and drink undiluted in excessive
      quantities, was placed before these worthies. A broken glass, with a
      wooden foot, served as a drinking cup to the whole party, and circulated
      with a rapidity, which, considering the potency of the liquor, seemed
      absolutely marvellous. These men spoke loudly and eagerly together,
      sometimes in Gaelic, at other times in English. Another Highlander, wrapt
      in his plaid, reclined on the floor, his head resting on a stone, from
      which it was only separated by a wisp of straw, and slept or seemed to
      sleep, without attending to what was going on around him, He also was
      probably a stranger, for he lay in full dress, and accoutred with the
      sword and target, the usual arms of his countrymen when on a journey.
      Cribs there were of different dimensions beside the walls, formed, some of
      fractured boards, some of shattered wicker-work or plaited boughs, in
      which slumbered the family of the house, men, women, and children, their
      places of repose only concealed by the dusky wreaths of vapour which arose
      above, below, and around them.
    </p>
    <p>
      Our entrance was made so quietly, and the carousers I have described were
      so eagerly engaged in their discussions, that we escaped their notice for
      a minute or two. But I observed the Highlander who lay beside the fire
      raise himself on his elbow as we entered, and, drawing his plaid over the
      lower part of his face, fix his look on us for a few seconds, after which
      he resumed his recumbent posture, and seemed again to betake himself to
      the repose which our entrance had interrupted,
    </p>
    <p>
      We advanced to the fire, which was an agreeable spectacle after our late
      ride, during the chillness of an autumn evening among the mountains, and
      first attracted the attention of the guests who had preceded us, by
      calling for the landlady. She approached, looking doubtfully and timidly,
      now at us, now at the other party, and returned a hesitating and doubtful
      answer to our request to have something to eat.
    </p>
    <p>
      "She didna ken," she said, "she wasna sure there was onything in the
      house," and then modified her refusal with the qualification&mdash;"that
      is, onything fit for the like of us."
    </p>
    <p>
      I assured her we were indifferent to the quality of our supper; and
      looking round for the means of accommodation, which were not easily to be
      found, I arranged an old hen-coop as a seat for Mr. Jarvie, and turned
      down a broken tub to serve for my own. Andrew Fairservice entered
      presently afterwards, and took a place in silence behind our backs. The
      natives, as I may call them, continued staring at us with an air as if
      confounded by our assurance, and we, at least I myself, disguised as well
      as we could, under an appearance of indifference, any secret anxiety we
      might feel concerning the mode in which we were to be received by those
      whose privacy we had disturbed.
    </p>
    <p>
      At length, the lesser Highlander, addressing himself to me said, in very
      good English, and in a tone of great haughtiness, "Ye make yourself at
      home, sir, I see."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I usually do so," I replied, "when I come into a house of public
      entertainment."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And did she na see," said the taller man, "by the white wand at the door,
      that gentlemans had taken up the public-house on their ain business?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do not pretend to understand the customs of this country but I am yet
      to learn," I replied, "how three persons should be entitled to exclude all
      other travellers from the only place of shelter and refreshment for miles
      round."
    </p>
    <p>
      "There's nae reason for't, gentlemen," said the Bailie; "we mean nae
      offence&mdash;but there's neither law nor reason for't; but as far as a
      stoup o' gude brandy wad make up the quarrel, we, being peaceable folk,
      wad be willing."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Damn your brandy, sir!" said the Lowlander, adjusting his cocked hat
      fiercely upon his head; "we desire neither your brandy nor your company,"
      and up he rose from his seat. His companions also arose, muttering to each
      other, drawing up their plaids, and snorting and snuffing the air after
      the mariner of their countrymen when working themselves into a passion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I tauld ye what wad come, gentlemen," said the landlady, "an ye wad hae
      been tauld:&mdash;get awa' wi' ye out o' my house, and make nae
      disturbance here&mdash;there's nae gentleman be disturbed at Jeanie
      MacAlpine's an she can hinder. A wheen idle English loons, gaun about the
      country under cloud o' night, and disturbing honest peaceable gentlemen
      that are drinking their drap drink at the fireside!"
    </p>
    <p>
      At another time I should have thought of the old Latin adage,
    </p>
    <p>
      "Dat veniam corvis, vexat censure columbas"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      But I had not any time for classical quotation, for there was obviously a
      fray about to ensue, at which, feeling myself indiginant at the
      inhospitable insolence with which I was treated, I was totally
      indifferent, unless on the Bailie's account, whose person and qualities
      were ill qualified for such an adventure. I started up, however, on seeing
      the others rise, and dropped my cloak from my shoulders, that I might be
      ready to stand on the defensive.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We are three to three," said the lesser Highlander, glancing his eyes at
      our party: "if ye be pretty men, draw!" and unsheathing his broadsword, he
      advanced on me. I put myself in a posture of defence, and aware of the
      superiority of my weapon, a rapier or small-sword, was little afraid of
      the issue of the contest. The Bailie behaved with unexpected mettle. As he
      saw the gigantic Highlander confront him with his weapon drawn, he tugged
      for a second or two at the hilt of his <i>shabble,</i> as he called it;
      but finding it loth to quit the sheath, to which it had long been secured
      by rust and disuse, he seized, as a substitute, on the red-hot coulter of
      a plough which had been employed in arranging the fire by way of a poker,
      and brandished it with such effect, that at the first pass he set the
      Highlander's plaid on fire, and compelled him to keep a respectful
      distance till he could get it extinguished. Andrew, on the contrary, who
      ought to have faced the Lowland champion, had, I grieve to say it,
      vanished at the very commencement of the fray. But his antagonist, crying
      "Fair play, fair play!" seemed courteously disposed to take no share in
      the scuffle. Thus we commenced our rencontre on fair terms as to numbers.
      My own aim was, to possess myself, if possible, of my antagonist's weapon;
      but I was deterred from closing, for fear of the dirk which he held in his
      left hand, and used in parrying the thrusts of my rapier. Meantime the
      Bailie, notwithstanding the success of his first onset, was sorely bested.
      The weight of his weapon, the corpulence of his person, the very
      effervescence of his own passions, were rapidly exhausting both his
      strength and his breath, and he was almost at the mercy of his antagonist,
      when up started the sleeping Highlander from the floor on which he
      reclined, with his naked sword and target in his hand, and threw himself
      between the discomfited magistrate and his assailant, exclaiming, "Her
      nainsell has eaten the town pread at the Cross o' Glasgow, and py her
      troth she'll fight for Bailie Sharvie at the Clachan of Aberfoil&mdash;tat
      will she e'en!" And seconding his words with deeds, this unexpected
      auxiliary made his sword whistle about the ears of his tall countryman,
      who, nothing abashed, returned his blows with interest. But being both
      accoutred with round targets made of wood, studded with brass, and covered
      with leather, with which they readily parried each other's strokes, their
      combat was attended with much more noise and clatter than serious risk of
      damage. It appeared, indeed, that there was more of bravado than of
      serious attempt to do us any injury; for the Lowland gentleman, who, as I
      mentioned, had stood aside for want of an antagonist when the brawl
      commenced, was now pleased to act the part of moderator and peacemaker.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="Aimage-0006" id="Aimage-0006">
      <!-- IMG --></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img src="images/pb154.jpg" alt="Fray at Jeannie Macalpine's " width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <!-- IMAGE END -->
    <p>
      "Hand your hands! haud your hands!&mdash;eneugh done!&mdash;eneugh done!
      the quarrel's no mortal. The strange gentlemen have shown themselves men
      of honour, and gien reasonable satisfaction. I'll stand on mine honour as
      kittle as ony man, but I hate unnecessary bloodshed."
    </p>
    <p>
      It was not, of course, my wish to protract the fray&mdash;my adversary
      seemed equally disposed to sheathe his sword&mdash;the Bailie, gasping for
      breath, might be considered as <i>hors de combat,</i> and our two
      sword-and-buckler men gave up their contest with as much indifference as
      they had entered into it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And now," said the worthy gentleman who acted as umpire, "let us drink
      and gree like honest fellows&mdash;The house will haud us a'. I propose
      that this good little gentleman, that seems sair forfoughen, as I may say,
      in this tuilzie, shall send for a tass o' brandy and I'll pay for another,
      by way of archilowe,* and then we'll birl our bawbees a' round about, like
      brethren."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And fa's to pay my new ponnie plaid," said the larger Highlander, "wi' a
      hole burnt in't ane might put a kail-pat through? Saw ever onybody a
      decent gentleman fight wi' a firebrand before?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let that be nae hinderance," said the Bailie, who had now recovered his
      breath, and was at once disposed to enjoy the triumph of having behaved
      with spirit, and avoid the necessity of again resorting to such hard and
      doubtful arbitrament&mdash;"Gin I hae broken the head," he said, "I sall
      find the plaister. A new plaid sall ye hae, and o' the best&mdash;your ain
      clan-colours, man,&mdash;an ye will tell me where it can be sent t'ye frae
      Glasco."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I needna name my clan&mdash;I am of a king's clan, as is weel ken'd,"
      said the Highlander; "but ye may tak a bit o' the plaid&mdash;figh! she
      smells like a singit sheep's head!&mdash;and that'll learn ye the sett&mdash;and
      a gentleman, that's a cousin o' my ain, that carries eggs doun frae
      Glencroe, will ca' for't about Martimas, an ye will tell her where ye
      bide. But, honest gentleman, neist time ye fight, an ye hae ony respect
      for your athversary, let it be wi' your sword, man, since ye wear ane, and
      no wi' thae het culters and fireprands, like a wild Indian."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Conscience!" replied the Bailie, "every man maun do as he dow. My sword
      hasna seen the light since Bothwell Brigg, when my father that's dead and
      gane, ware it; and I kenna weel if it was forthcoming then either, for the
      battle was o' the briefest&mdash;At ony rate, it's glued to the scabbard
      now beyond my power to part them; and, finding that, I e'en grippit at the
      first thing I could make a fend wi'. I trow my fighting days is done,
      though I like ill to take the scorn, for a' that.&mdash;But where's the
      honest lad that tuik my quarrel on himself sae frankly?&mdash;I'se bestow
      a gill o' aquavitae on him, an I suld never ca' for anither."
    </p>
    <p>
      * Archilowe, of unknown derivation, signifies a peace-offering.
    </p>
    <p>
      The champion for whom he looked around was, however, no longer to be seen.
      He had escaped unobserved by the Bailie, immediately when the brawl was
      ended, yet not before I had recognised, in his wild features and shaggy
      red hair, our acquaintance Dougal, the fugitive turnkey of the Glasgow
      jail. I communicated this observation in a whisper to the Bailie, who
      answered in the same tone, "Weel, weel,&mdash;I see that him that ye ken
      o' said very right; there <i>is</i> some glimmering o' common sense about
      that creature Dougal; I maun see and think o' something will do him some
      gude."
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus saying, he sat down, and fetching one or two deep aspirations, by way
      of recovering his breath, called to the landlady&mdash;"I think, Luckie,
      now that I find that there's nae hole in my wame, whilk I had muckle
      reason to doubt frae the doings o' your house, I wad be the better o'
      something to pit intill't."
    </p>
    <p>
      The dame, who was all officiousness so soon as the storm had blown over,
      immediately undertook to broil something comfortable for our supper.
      Indeed, nothing surprised me more, in the course of the whole matter, than
      the extreme calmness with which she and her household seemed to regard the
      martial tumult that had taken place. The good woman was only heard to call
      to some of her assistants&mdash;"Steek the door! steek the door! kill or
      be killed, let naebody pass out till they hae paid the lawin." And as for
      the slumberers in those lairs by the wall, which served the family for
      beds, they only raised their shirtless bodies to look at the fray,
      ejaculated, "Oigh! oigh!" in the tone suitable to their respective sex and
      ages, and were, I believe, fast asleep again, ere our swords were well
      returned to their scabbards.
    </p>
    <p>
      Our landlady, however, now made a great bustle to get some victuals ready,
      and, to my surprise, very soon began to prepare for us in the frying-pan a
      savoury mess of venison collops, which she dressed in a manner that might
      well satisfy hungry men, if not epicures. In the meantime the brandy was
      placed on the table, to which the Highlanders, however partial to their
      native strong waters, showed no objection, but much the contrary; and the
      Lowland gentleman, after the first cup had passed round, became desirous
      to know our profession, and the object of our journey.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We are bits o' Glasgow bodies, if it please your honour," said the
      Bailie, with an affectation of great humility, "travelling to Stirling to
      get in some siller that is awing us."
    </p>
    <p>
      I was so silly as to feel a little disconcerted at the unassuming account
      which he chose to give of us; but I recollected my promise to be silent,
      and allow the Bailie to manage the matter his own way. And really, when I
      recollected, Will, that I had not only brought the honest man a long
      journey from home, which even in itself had been some inconvenience (if I
      were to judge from the obvious pain and reluctance with which he took his
      seat, or arose from it), but had also put him within a hair's-breadth of
      the loss of his life, I could hardly refuse him such a compliment. The
      spokesman of the other party, snuffing up his breath through his nose,
      repeated the words with a sort of sneer;&mdash;"You Glasgow tradesfolks
      hae naething to do but to gang frae the tae end o' the west o' Scotland to
      the ither, to plague honest folks that may chance to be awee ahint the
      hand, like me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If our debtors were a' sic honest gentlemen as I believe you to be,
      Garschattachin," replied the Bailie, "conscience! we might save ourselves
      a labour, for they wad come to seek us."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Eh! what! how!" exclaimed the person whom he had addressed,&mdash;"as I
      shall live by bread (not forgetting beef and brandy), it's my auld friend
      Nicol Jarvie, the best man that ever counted doun merks on a band till a
      distressed gentleman. Were ye na coming up my way?&mdash;were ye na coming
      up the Endrick to Garschattachin?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Troth no, Maister Galbraith," replied the Bailie, "I had other eggs on
      the spit&mdash;and I thought ye wad be saying I cam to look about the
      annual rent that's due on the bit heritable band that's between us."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Damn the annual rent!" said the laird, with an appearance of great
      heartiness&mdash;"Deil a word o' business will you or I speak, now that
      ye're so near my country. To see how a trot-cosey and a joseph can
      disguise a man&mdash;that I suldna ken my auld feal friend the deacon!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Bailie, if ye please," resumed my companion; "but I ken what gars ye
      mistak&mdash;the band was granted to my father that's happy, and he was
      deacon; but his name was Nicol as weel as mine. I dinna mind that there's
      been a payment of principal sum or annual rent on it in my day, and
      doubtless that has made the mistake."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Weel, the devil take the mistake and all that occasioned it!" replied Mr.
      Galbraith. "But I am glad ye are a bailie. Gentlemen, fill a brimmer&mdash;this
      is my excellent friend, Bailie Nicol Jarvie's health&mdash;I ken'd him and
      his father these twenty years. Are ye a' cleared kelty aff?&mdash;Fill
      anither. Here's to his being sune provost&mdash;I say provost&mdash;Lord
      Provost Nicol Jarvie!&mdash;and them that affirms there's a man walks the
      Hie-street o' Glasgow that's fitter for the office, they will do weel not
      to let me, Duncan Galbraith of Garschattachin, hear them say sae&mdash;that's
      all." And therewith Duncan Galbraith martially cocked his hat, and placed
      it on one side of his head with an air of defiance.
    </p>
    <p>
      The brandy was probably the best recommendation of there complimentary
      toasts to the two Highlanders, who drank them without appearing anxious to
      comprehend their purport. They commenced a conversation with Mr. Galbraith
      in Gaelic, which he talked with perfect fluency, being, as I afterwards
      learned, a near neighbour to the Highlands.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I ken'd that Scant-o'-grace weel eneugh frae the very outset," said the
      Bailie, in a whisper to me; "but when blude was warm, and swords were out
      at ony rate, wha kens what way he might hae thought o' paying his debts?
      it will be lang or he does it in common form. But he's an honest lad, and
      has a warm heart too; he disna come often to the Cross o' Glasgow, but
      mony a buck and blackcock he sends us doun frae the hills. And I can want
      my siller weel eneugh. My father the deacon had a great regard for the
      family of Garschattachin."
    </p>
    <p>
      Supper being now nearly ready, I looked round for Andrew Fairservice; but
      that trusty follower had not been seen by any one since the beginning of
      the rencontre. The hostess, however, said that she believed our servant
      had gone into the stable, and offered to light me to the place, saying
      that "no entreaties of the bairns or hers could make him give any answer;
      and that truly she caredna to gang into the stable herself at this hour.
      She was a lone woman, and it was weel ken'd how the Brownie of Ben-ye-gask
      guided the gudewife of Ardnagowan; and it was aye judged there was a
      Brownie in our stable, which was just what garr'd me gie ower keeping an
      hostler."
    </p>
    <p>
      As, however, she lighted me towards the miserable hovel into which they
      had crammed our unlucky steeds, to regale themselves on hay, every fibre
      of which was as thick as an ordinary goose-quill, she plainly showed me
      that she had another reason for drawing me aside from the company than
      that which her words implied. "Read that," she said, slipping a piece of
      paper into my hand, as we arrived at the door of the shed; "I bless God I
      am rid o't. Between sogers and Saxons, and caterans and cattle-lifters,
      and hership and bluidshed, an honest woman wad live quieter in hell than
      on the Hieland line."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, she put the pine-torch into my hand, and returned into the
      house,
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="AlinkCH0012" id="AlinkCH0012">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER TWELFTH.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
              Bagpipes, not lyres, the Highland hills adorn,
              MacLean's loud hollo, and MacGregor's horn.
                          John Cooper's Reply to Allan Ramsay.
</pre>
    <p>
      I stopped in the entrance of the stable, if indeed a place be entitled to
      that name where horses were stowed away along with goats, poultry, pigs,
      and cows, under the same roof with the mansion-house; although, by a
      degree of refinement unknown to the rest of the hamlet, and which I
      afterwards heard was imputed to an overpride on the part of Jeanie
      MacAlpine, our landlady, the apartment was accommodated with an entrance
      different from that used by her biped customers. By the light of my torch,
      I deciphered the following billet, written on a wet, crumpled, and dirty
      piece of paper, and addressed&mdash;"For the honoured hands of Mr. F. O.,
      a Saxon young gentleman&mdash;These." The contents were as follows:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sir,
    </p>
    <p>
      "There are night-hawks abroad, so that I cannot give you and my respected
      kinsman, B. N. J., the meeting at the Clachan of Aberfoil, whilk was my
      purpose. I pray you to avoid unnecessary communication with those you may
      find there, as it may give future trouble. The person who gives you this
      is faithful and may be trusted, and will guide you to a place where, God
      willing, I may safely give you the meeting, when I trust my kinsman and
      you will visit my poor house, where, in despite of my enemies, I can still
      promise sic cheer as ane Hielandman may gie his friends, and where we will
      drink a solemn health to a certain D. V., and look to certain affairs
      whilk I hope to be your aidance in; and I rest, as is wont among
      gentlemen,
    </p>
    <p>
      your servant to command, R. M. C."
    </p>
    <p>
      I was a good deal mortified at the purport of this letter, which seemed to
      adjourn to a more distant place and date the service which I had hoped to
      receive from this man Campbell. Still, however, it was some comfort to
      know that he continued to be in my interest, since without him I could
      have no hope of recovering my father's papers. I resolved, therefore, to
      obey his instructions; and, observing all caution before the guests, to
      take the first good opportunity I could find to procure from the landlady
      directions how I was to obtain a meeting with this mysterious person.
    </p>
    <p>
      My next business was to seek out Andrew Fairservice, whom I called several
      times by name, without receiving any answer, surveying the stable all
      round, at the same time, not without risk of setting the premises on fire,
      had not the quantity of wet litter and mud so greatly counterbalanced two
      or three bunches of straw and hay. At length my repeated cries of "Andrew
      Fairservice! Andrew! fool!&mdash;ass! where are you?" produced a doleful
      "Here," in a groaning tone, which might have been that of the Brownie
      itself. Guided by this sound, I advanced to the corner of a shed, where,
      ensconced in the angle of the wall, behind a barrel full of the feathers
      of all the fowls which had died in the cause of the public for a month
      past, I found the manful Andrew; and partly by force, partly by command
      and exhortation, compelled him forth into the open air. The first words he
      spoke were, "I am an honest lad, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who the devil questions your honesty?" said I, "or what have we to do
      with it at present? I desire you to come and attend us at supper."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," reiterated Andrew, without apparently understanding what I said to
      him, "I am an honest lad, whatever the Bailie may say to the contrary. I
      grant the warld and the warld's gear sits ower near my heart whiles, as it
      does to mony a ane&mdash;But I am an honest lad; and, though I spak o'
      leaving ye in the muir, yet God knows it was far frae my purpose, but just
      like idle things folk says when they're driving a bargain, to get it as
      far to their ain side as they can&mdash;And I like your honour weel for
      sae young a lad, and I wadna part wi' ye lightly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What the deuce are you driving at now?" I replied. "Has not everything
      been settled again and again to your satisfaction? And are you to talk of
      leaving me every hour, without either rhyme or reason?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay,&mdash;but I was only making fashion before," replied Andrew; "but
      it's come on me in sair earnest now&mdash;Lose or win, I daur gae nae
      farther wi' your honour; and if ye'll tak my foolish advice, ye'll bide by
      a broken tryste, rather than gang forward yoursell. I hae a sincere regard
      for ye, and I'm sure ye'll be a credit to your friends if ye live to saw
      out your wild aits, and get some mair sense and steadiness&mdash;But I can
      follow ye nae farther, even if ye suld founder and perish from the way for
      lack of guidance and counsel. To gang into Rob Roy's country is a mere
      tempting o' Providence."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Rob Roy?" said I, in some surprise; "I know no such person. What new
      trick is this, Andrew?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's hard," said Andrew&mdash;"very hard, that a man canna be believed
      when he speaks Heaven's truth, just because he's whiles owercome, and
      tells lees a little when there is necessary occasion. Ye needna ask whae
      Rob Roy is, the reiving lifter that he is&mdash;God forgie me! I hope
      naebody hears us&mdash;when ye hae a letter frae him in your pouch. I
      heard ane o' his gillies bid that auld rudas jaud of a gudewife gie ye
      that. They thought I didna understand their gibberish; but, though I canna
      speak it muckle, I can gie a gude guess at what I hear them say&mdash;I
      never thought to hae tauld ye that, but in a fright a' things come out
      that suld be keepit in. O, Maister Frank! a' your uncle's follies, and a'
      your cousin's pliskies, were naething to this! Drink clean cap out, like
      Sir Hildebrand; begin the blessed morning with brandy sops, like Squire
      Percy; swagger, like Squire Thorncliff; rin wud amang the lasses, like
      Squire John; gamble, like Richard; win souls to the Pope and the deevil,
      like Rashleigh; rive, rant, break the Sabbath, and do the Pope's bidding,
      like them a' put thegither&mdash;But, merciful Providence! take care o'
      your young bluid, and gang nae near Rob Roy!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Andrew's alarm was too sincere to permit me to suppose he counterfeited. I
      contented myself, however, with telling him, that I meant to remain in the
      alehouse that night, and desired to have the horses well looked after. As
      to the rest, I charged him to observe the strictest silence upon the
      subject of his alarm, and he might rely upon it I would not incur any
      serious danger without due precaution. He followed me with a dejected air
      into the house, observing between his teeth, "Man suld be served afore
      beast&mdash;I haena had a morsel in my mouth, but the rough legs o' that
      auld muircock, this haill blessed day."
    </p>
    <p>
      The harmony of the company seemed to have suffered some interruption since
      my departure, for I found Mr. Galbraith and my friend the Bailie high in
      dispute.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'll hear nae sic language," said Mr. Jarvie, as I entered, "respecting
      the Duke o' Argyle and the name o' Campbell. He's a worthy public-spirited
      nobleman, and a credit to the country, and a friend and benefactor to the
      trade o' Glasgow."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'll sae naething against MacCallum More and the Slioch-nan-Diarmid,"
      said the lesser Highlander, laughing. "I live on the wrang side of
      Glencroe to quarrel with Inverara."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Our loch ne'er saw the Cawmil lymphads,"* said the bigger Highlander.
    </p>
    <p>
      * <i>Lymphads.</i> The galley which the family of Argyle and others of the
      * Clan Campbell carry in their arms.
    </p>
    <p>
      "She'll speak her mind and fear naebody&mdash;She doesna value a Cawmil
      mair as a Cowan, and ye may tell MacCallum More that Allan Iverach said
      sae&mdash; It's a far cry to Lochow."*
    </p>
    <p>
      * Lochow and the adjacent districts formed the original seat of the *
      Campbells. The expression of a "far cry to Lochow" was proverbial.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Galbraith, on whom the repeated pledges which he had quaffed had
      produced some influence, slapped his hand on the table with great force,
      and said, in a stern voice, "There's a bloody debt due by that family, and
      they will pay it one day&mdash;The banes of a loyal and a gallant Grahame
      hae lang rattled in their coffin for vengeance on thae Dukes of Guile and
      Lords for Lorn. There ne'er was treason in Scotland but a Cawmil was at
      the bottom o't; and now that the wrang side's uppermost, wha but the
      Cawmils for keeping down the right? But this warld winna last lang, and it
      will be time to sharp the maiden* for shearing o' craigs and thrapples. I
      hope to see the auld rusty lass linking at a bluidy harst again."
    </p>
    <p>
      * A rude kind of guillotine formerly used in Scotland.
    </p>
    <p>
      "For shame, Garschattachin!" exclaimed the Bailie; "fy for shame, sir! Wad
      ye say sic things before a magistrate, and bring yoursell into trouble?&mdash;How
      d'ye think to mainteen your family and satisfy your creditors (mysell and
      others), if ye gang on in that wild way, which cannot but bring you under
      the law, to the prejudice of a' that's connected wi' ye?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "D&mdash;n my creditors!" retorted the gallant Galbraith, "and you if ye
      be ane o' them! I say there will be a new warld sune&mdash;And we shall
      hae nae Cawmils cocking their bonnet sae hie, and hounding their dogs
      where they daurna come themsells, nor protecting thieves, nor murderers,
      and oppressors, to harry and spoil better men and mair loyal clans than
      themsells."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Bailie had a great mind to have continued the dispute, when the
      savoury vapour of the broiled venison, which our landlady now placed
      before us, proved so powerful a mediator, that he betook himself to his
      trencher with great eagerness, leaving the strangers to carry on the
      dispute among themselves.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And tat's true," said the taller Highlander&mdash;whose name I found was
      Stewart&mdash;"for we suldna be plagued and worried here wi' meetings to
      pit down Rob Roy, if the Cawmils didna gie him refutch. I was ane o'
      thirty o' my ain name&mdash;part Glenfinlas, and part men that came down
      frae Appine. We shased the MacGregors as ye wad shase rae-deer, till we
      came into Glenfalloch's country, and the Cawmils raise, and wadna let us
      pursue nae farder, and sae we lost our labour; but her wad gie twa and a
      plack to be as near Rob as she was tat day."
    </p>
    <p>
      It seemed to happen very unfortunately, that in every topic of discourse
      which these warlike gentlemen introduced, my friend the Bailie found some
      matter of offence. "Ye'll forgie me speaking my mind, sir; but ye wad
      maybe hae gien the best bowl in your bonnet to hae been as far awae frae
      Rob as ye are e'en now&mdash;Od! my het pleugh-culter wad hae been
      naething to his claymore."
    </p>
    <p>
      "She had better speak nae mair about her culter, or, by G&mdash;! her will
      gar her eat her words, and twa handfuls o' cauld steel to drive them ower
      wi'!" And, with a most inauspicious and menacing look, the mountaineer
      laid his hand on his dagger.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We'll hae nae quarrelling, Allan," said his shorter companion; "and if
      the Glasgow gentleman has ony regard for Rob Roy, he'll maybe see him in
      cauld irons the night, and playing tricks on a tow the morn; for this
      country has been owre lang plagued wi' him, and his race is near-hand run&mdash;And
      it's time, Allan, we were ganging to our lads."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hout awa, Inverashalloch," said Galbraith;&mdash;"Mind the auld saw, man&mdash;
      It's a bauld moon, quoth Bennygask&mdash;another pint, quoth Lesley;&mdash;we'll
      no start for another chappin."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I hae had chappins eneugh," said Inverashalloch; "I'll drink my quart of
      usquebaugh or brandy wi' ony honest fellow, but the deil a drap mair when
      I hae wark to do in the morning. And, in my puir thinking, Garschattachin,
      ye had better be thinking to bring up your horsemen to the Clachan before
      day, that we may ay start fair."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What the deevil are ye in sic a hurry for?" said Garschattachin; "meat
      and mass never hindered wark. An it had been my directing, deil a bit o'
      me wad hae fashed ye to come down the glens to help us. The garrison and
      our ain horse could hae taen Rob Roy easily enough. There's the hand," he
      said, holding up his own, "should lay him on the green, and never ask a
      Hielandman o' ye a' for his help."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ye might hae loot us bide still where we were, then," said
      Inverashalloch. "I didna come sixty miles without being sent for. But an
      ye'll hae my opinion, I redd ye keep your mouth better steekit, if ye hope
      to speed. Shored folk live lang, and sae may him ye ken o'. The way to
      catch a bird is no to fling your bannet at her. And also thae gentlemen
      hae heard some things they suldna hae heard, an the brandy hadna been ower
      bauld for your brain, Major Galbraith. Ye needna cock your hat and bully
      wi' me, man, for I will not bear it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I hae said it," said Galbraith, with a solemn air of drunken gravity,
      "that I will quarrel no more this night either with broadcloth or tartan.
      When I am off duty I'll quarrel with you or ony man in the Hielands or
      Lowlands, but not on duty&mdash;no&mdash;no. I wish we heard o' these
      red-coats. If it had been to do onything against King James, we wad hae
      seen them lang syne&mdash;but when it's to keep the peace o' the country
      they can lie as lound as their neighbours."
    </p>
    <p>
      As he spoke we heard the measured footsteps of a body of infantry on the
      march; and an officer, followed by two or three files of soldiers, entered
      the apartment. He spoke in an English accent, which was very pleasant to
      my ears, now so long accustomed to the varying brogue of the Highland and
      Lowland Scotch.&mdash;"You are, I suppose, Major Galbraith, of the
      squadron of Lennox Militia, and these are the two Highland gentlemen with
      whom I was appointed to meet in this place?"
    </p>
    <p>
      They assented, and invited the officer to take some refreshments, which he
      declined.&mdash;"I have been too late, gentlemen, and am desirous to make
      up time. I have orders to search for and arrest two persons guilty of
      treasonable practices."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We'll wash our hands o' that," said Inverashalloch. "I came here wi' my
      men to fight against the red MacGregor that killed my cousin, seven times
      removed, Duncan MacLaren, in Invernenty;* but I will hae nothing to do
      touching honest gentlemen that may be gaun through the country on their
      ain business."
    </p>
    <p>
      * This, as appears from the introductory matter to this Tale, is an
      anachronism. The slaughter of MacLaren, a retainer of the chief of Appine,
      by the MacGregors, did not take place till after Rob Roy's death, since it
      happened in 1736.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nor I neither," said Iverach.
    </p>
    <p>
      Major Galbraith took up the matter more solemnly, and, premising his
      oration with a hiccup, spoke to the following purpose:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "I shall say nothing against King George, Captain, because, as it happens,
      my commission may rin in his name&mdash;But one commission being good,
      sir, does not make another bad; and some think that James may be just as
      good a name as George. There's the king that is&mdash;and there's the king
      that suld of right be&mdash;I say, an honest man may and suld be loyal to
      them both, Captain. But I am of the Lord Lieutenant's opinion for the
      time, as it becomes a militia officer and a depute-lieutenant&mdash;and
      about treason and all that, it's lost time to speak of it&mdash;least said
      is sunest mended."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am sorry to see how you have been employing your time, sir," replied
      the English officer&mdash;as indeed the honest gentleman's reasoning had a
      strong relish of the liquor he had been drinking&mdash;"and I could wish,
      sir, it had been otherwise on an occasion of this consequence. I would
      recommend to you to try to sleep for an hour.&mdash;Do these gentlemen
      belong to your party?"&mdash;looking at the Bailie and me, who, engaged in
      eating our supper, had paid little attention to the officer on his
      entrance.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Travellers, sir," said Galbraith&mdash;"lawful travellers by sea and
      land, as the prayer-book hath it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My instructions." said the Captain, taking a light to survey us closer,
      "are to place under arrest an elderly and a young person&mdash;and I think
      these gentlemen answer nearly the description."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Take care what you say, sir," said Mr. Jarvie; "it shall not be your red
      coat nor your laced hat shall protect you, if you put any affront on me.
      I'se convene ye baith in an action of scandal and false imprisonment&mdash;I
      am a free burgess and a magistrate o' Glasgow; Nicol Jarvie is my name,
      sae was my father's afore me&mdash;I am a bailie, be praised for the
      honour, and my father was a deacon."
    </p>
    <p>
      "He was a prick-eared cur," said Major Galbraith, "and fought agane the
      King at Bothwell Brigg."
    </p>
    <p>
      "He paid what he ought and what he bought, Mr. Galbraith," said the
      Bailie, "and was an honester man than ever stude on your shanks."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have no time to attend to all this," said the officer; "I must
      positively detain you, gentlemen, unless you can produce some respectable
      security that you are loyal subjects."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I desire to be carried before some civil magistrate," said the Bailie&mdash;"the
      sherra or the judge of the bounds;&mdash;I am not obliged to answer every
      red-coat that speers questions at me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, sir, I shall know how to manage you if you are silent&mdash;And
      you, sir" (to me), "what may your name be?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Francis Osbaldistone, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What, a son of Sir Hildebrand Osbaldistone of Northumberland?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, sir," interrupted the Bailie; "a son of the great William
      Osbaldistone of the House of Osbaldistone and Tresham, Crane-Alley,
      London."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am afraid, sir," said the officer, "your name only increases the
      suspicions against you, and lays me under the necessity of requesting that
      you will give up what papers you have in charge."
    </p>
    <p>
      I observed the Highlanders look anxiously at each other when this proposal
      was made.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I had none," I replied, "to surrender."
    </p>
    <p>
      The officer commanded me to be disarmed and searched. To have resisted
      would have been madness. I accordingly gave up my arms, and submitted to a
      search, which was conducted as civilly as an operation of the kind well
      could. They found nothing except the note which I had received that night
      through the hand of the landlady.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is different from what I expected," said the officer; "but it
      affords us good grounds for detaining you. Here I find you in written
      communication with the outlawed robber, Robert MacGregor Campbell, who has
      been so long the plague of this district&mdash;How do you account for
      that?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Spies of Rob!" said Inverashalloch. "We wad serve them right to strap
      them up till the neist tree."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We are gaun to see after some gear o' our ain, gentlemen," said the
      Bailie, "that's fa'en into his hands by accident&mdash;there's nae law
      agane a man looking after his ain, I hope?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "How did you come by this letter?" said the officer, addressing himself to
      me.
    </p>
    <p>
      I could not think of betraying the poor woman who had given it to me, and
      remained silent.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you know anything of it, fellow?" said the officer, looking at Andrew,
      whose jaws were chattering like a pair of castanets at the threats thrown
      out by the Highlander.
    </p>
    <p>
      "O ay, I ken a' about it&mdash;it was a Hieland loon gied the letter to
      that lang-tongued jaud the gudewife there; I'll be sworn my maister ken'd
      naething about it. But he's wilfu' to gang up the hills and speak wi' Rob;
      and oh, sir, it wad be a charity just to send a wheen o' your red-coats to
      see him safe back to Glasgow again whether he will or no&mdash;And ye can
      keep Mr. Jarvie as lang as ye like&mdash;He's responsible enough for ony
      fine ye may lay on him&mdash;and so's my master for that matter; for me,
      I'm just a puir gardener lad, and no worth your steering."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I believe," said the officer, "the best thing I can do is to send these
      persons to the garrison under an escort. They seem to be in immediate
      correspondence with the enemy, and I shall be in no respect answerable for
      suffering them to be at liberty. Gentlemen, you will consider yourselves
      as my prisoners. So soon as dawn approaches, I will send you to a place of
      security. If you be the persons you describe yourselves, it will soon
      appear, and you will sustain no great inconvenience from being detained a
      day or two. I can hear no remonstrances," he continued, turning away from
      the Bailie, whose mouth was open to address him; "the service I am on
      gives me no time for idle discussions."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aweel, aweel, sir," said the Bailie, "you're welcome to a tune on your
      ain fiddle; but see if I dinna gar ye dance till't afore a's dune."
    </p>
    <p>
      An anxious consultation now took place between the officer and the
      Highlanders, but carried on in so low a tone, that it was impossible to
      catch the sense. So soon as it was concluded they all left the house. At
      their departure, the Bailie thus expressed himself:&mdash;"Thae Hielandmen
      are o' the westland clans, and just as light-handed as their neighbours,
      an a' tales be true, and yet ye see they hae brought them frae the head o'
      Argyleshire to make war wi' puir Rob for some auld ill-will that they hae
      at him and his sirname. And there's the Grahames, and the Buchanans, and
      the Lennox gentry, a' mounted and in order&mdash;It's weel ken'd their
      quarrel; and I dinna blame them&mdash;naebody likes to lose his kye. And
      then there's sodgers, puir things, hoyed out frae the garrison at a'
      body's bidding&mdash;Puir Rob will hae his hands fu' by the time the sun
      comes ower the hill. Weel&mdash;it's wrang for a magistrate to be wishing
      onything agane the course o' justice, but deil o' me an I wad break my
      heart to hear that Rob had gien them a' their paiks!"
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="AlinkCH0013" id="AlinkCH0013">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                              &mdash;General,
                 Hear me, and mark me well, and look upon me
                 Directly in my face&mdash;my woman's face&mdash;
                 See if one fear, one shadow of a terror,
                 One paleness dare appear, but from my anger,
                       To lay hold on your mercies.
                                               Bonduca.
</pre>
    <p>
      We were permitted to slumber out the remainder of the night in the best
      manner that the miserable accommodations of the alehouse permitted. The
      Bailie, fatigued with his journey and the subsequent scenes&mdash;less
      interested also in the event of our arrest, which to him could only be a
      matter of temporary inconvenience&mdash;perhaps less nice than habit had
      rendered me about the cleanliness or decency of his couch,&mdash;tumbled
      himself into one of the cribs which I have already described, and soon was
      heard to snore soundly. A broken sleep, snatched by intervals, while I
      rested my head upon the table, was my only refreshment. In the course of
      the night I had occasion to observe that there seemed to be some doubt and
      hesitation in the motions of the soldiery. Men were sent out, as if to
      obtain intelligence, and returned apparently without bringing any
      satisfactory information to their commanding officer. He was obviously
      eager and anxious, and again despatched small parties of two or three men,
      some of whom, as I could understand from what the others whispered to each
      other, did not return again to the Clachan.
    </p>
    <p>
      The morning had broken, when a corporal and two men rushed into the hut,
      dragging after them, in a sort of triumph, a Highlander, whom I
      immediately recognised as my acquaintance the ex-turnkey. The Bailie, who
      started up at the noise with which they entered, immediately made the same
      discovery, and exclaimed&mdash;"Mercy on us! they hae grippit the puir
      creature Dougal.&mdash;Captain, I will put in bail&mdash;sufficient bail,
      for that Dougal creature."
    </p>
    <p>
      To this offer, dictated undoubtedly by a grateful recollection of the late
      interference of the Highlander in his behalf, the Captain only answered by
      requesting Mr. Jarvie to "mind his own affairs, and remember that he was
      himself for the present a prisoner."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I take you to witness, Mr. Osbaldistone," said the Bailie, who was
      probably better acquainted with the process in civil than in military
      cases, "that he has refused sufficient bail. It's my opinion that the
      creature Dougal will have a good action of wrongous imprisonment and
      damages agane him, under the Act seventeen hundred and one, and I'll see
      the creature righted."
    </p>
    <p>
      The officer, whose name I understood was Thornton, paying no attention to
      the Bailie's threats or expostulations, instituted a very close inquiry
      into Dougal's life and conversation, and compelled him to admit, though
      with apparent reluctance, the successive facts,&mdash;that he knew Rob Roy
      MacGregor&mdash;that he had seen him within these twelve months&mdash;within
      these six months&mdash;within this month&mdash;within this week; in fine,
      that he had parted from him only an hour ago. All this detail came like
      drops of blood from the prisoner, and was, to all appearance, only
      extorted by the threat of a halter and the next tree, which Captain
      Thornton assured him should be his doom, if he did not give direct and
      special information.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And now, my friend," said the officer, "you will please inform me how
      many men your master has with him at present."
    </p>
    <p>
      Dougal looked in every direction except at the querist, and began to
      answer, "She canna just be sure about that."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Look at me, you Highland dog," said the officer, "and remember your life
      depends on your answer. How many rogues had that outlawed scoundrel with
      him when you left him?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ou, no aboon sax rogues when I was gane."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And where are the rest of his banditti?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Gane wi' the Lieutenant agane ta westland carles."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Against the westland clans?" said the Captain. "Umph&mdash;that is likely
      enough; and what rogue's errand were you despatched upon?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Just to see what your honour and ta gentlemen red-coats were doing doun
      here at ta Clachan."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The creature will prove fause-hearted, after a'," said the Bailie, who by
      this time had planted himself close behind me; "it's lucky I didna pit
      mysell to expenses anent him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And now, my friend," said the Captain, "let us understand each other. You
      have confessed yourself a spy, and should string up to the next tree&mdash;But
      come, if you will do me one good turn, I will do you another. You, Donald&mdash;you
      shall just, in the way of kindness, carry me and a small party to the
      place where you left your master, as I wish to speak a few words with him
      on serious affairs; and I'll let you go about your business, and give you
      five guineas to boot."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oigh! oigh!" exclaimed Dougal, in the extremity of distress and
      perplexity; "she canna do tat&mdash;she canna do tat; she'll rather be
      hanged."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hanged, then, you shall be, my friend" said the officer; "and your blood
      be upon your own head. Corporal Cramp, do you play Provost-Marshal&mdash;away
      with him!"
    </p>
    <p>
      The corporal had confronted poor Dougal for some time, ostentatiously
      twisting a piece of cord which he had found in the house into the form of
      a halter. He now threw it about the culprit's neck, and, with the
      assistance of two soldiers, had dragged Dougal as far as the door, when,
      overcome with the terror of immediate death, he exclaimed, "Shentlemans,
      stops&mdash;stops! She'll do his honour's bidding&mdash;stops!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Awa' wi' the creature!" said the Bailie, "he deserves hanging mair now
      than ever; awa' wi' him, corporal. Why dinna ye tak him awa'?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's my belief and opinion, honest gentleman," said the corporal, "that
      if you were going to be hanged yourself, you would be in no such d&mdash;d
      hurry."
    </p>
    <p>
      This by-dialogue prevented my hearing what passed between the prisoner and
      Captain Thornton; but I heard the former snivel out, in a very subdued
      tone, "And ye'll ask her to gang nae farther than just to show ye where
      the MacGregor is?&mdash;Ohon! ohon!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Silence your howling, you rascal&mdash;No; I give you my word I will ask
      you to go no farther.&mdash;Corporal, make the men fall in, in front of
      the houses. Get out these gentlemen's horses; we must carry them with us.
      I cannot spare any men to guard them here. Come, my lads, get under arms."
    </p>
    <p>
      The soldiers bustled about, and were ready to move. We were led out, along
      with Dougal, in the capacity of prisoners. As we left the hut, I heard our
      companion in captivity remind the Captain of "ta foive kuineas."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here they are for you," said the officer, putting gold into his hand;
      "but observe, that if you attempt to mislead me, I will blow your brains
      out with my own hand."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The creature," said the Bailie, "is waur than I judged him&mdash;it is a
      warldly and a perfidious creature. O the filthy lucre of gain that men
      gies themsells up to! My father the deacon used to say, the penny siller
      slew mair souls than the naked sword slew bodies."
    </p>
    <p>
      The landlady now approached, and demanded payment of her reckoning,
      including all that had been quaffed by Major Galbraith and his Highland
      friends. The English officer remonstrated, but Mrs. MacAlpine declared, if
      "she hadna trusted to his honour's name being used in their company, she
      wad never hae drawn them a stoup o' liquor; for Mr. Galbraith, she might
      see him again, or she might no, but weel did she wot she had sma' chance
      of seeing her siller&mdash;and she was a puir widow, had naething but her
      custom to rely on."
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Thornton put a stop to her remonstrances by paying the charge,
      which was only a few English shillings, though the amount sounded very
      formidable in Scottish denominations. The generous officer would have
      included Mr. Jarvie and me in this general acquittance; but the Bailie,
      disregarding an intimation from the landlady to "make as muckle of the
      Inglishers as we could, for they were sure to gie us plague eneugh," went
      into a formal accounting respecting our share of the reckoning, and paid
      it accordingly. The Captain took the opportunity to make us some slight
      apology for detaining us. "If we were loyal and peaceable subjects," he
      said, "we would not regret being stopt for a day, when it was essential to
      the king's service; if otherwise, he was acting according to his duty."
    </p>
    <p>
      We were compelled to accept an apology which it would have served no
      purpose to refuse, and we sallied out to attend him on his march.
    </p>
    <p>
      I shall never forget the delightful sensation with which I exchanged the
      dark, smoky, smothering atmosphere of the Highland hut, in which we had
      passed the night so uncomfortably, for the refreshing fragrance of the
      morning air, and the glorious beams of the rising sun, which, from a
      tabernacle of purple and golden clouds, were darted full on such a scene
      of natural romance and beauty as had never before greeted my eyes. To the
      left lay the valley, down which the Forth wandered on its easterly course,
      surrounding the beautiful detached hill, with all its garland of woods. On
      the right, amid a profusion of thickets, knolls, and crags, lay the bed of
      a broad mountain lake, lightly curled into tiny waves by the breath of the
      morning breeze, each glittering in its course under the influence of the
      sunbeams. High hills, rocks, and banks, waving with natural forests of
      birch and oak, formed the borders of this enchanting sheet of water; and,
      as their leaves rustled to the wind and twinkled in the sun, gave to the
      depth of solitude a sort of life and vivacity. Man alone seemed to be
      placed in a state of inferiority, in a scene where all the ordinary
      features of nature were raised and exalted. The miserable little <i>bourocks,</i>
      as the Bailie termed them, of which about a dozen formed the village
      called the Clachan of Aberfoil, were composed of loose stones, cemented by
      clay instead of mortar, and thatched by turfs, laid rudely upon rafters
      formed of native and unhewn birches and oaks from the woods around. The
      roofs approached the ground so nearly, that Andrew Fairservice observed we
      might have ridden over the village the night before, and never found out
      we were near it, unless our horses' feet had "gane through the riggin'."
    </p>
    <p>
      From all we could see, Mrs. MacAlpine's house, miserable as were the
      quarters it afforded, was still by far the best in the hamlet; and I dare
      say (if my description gives you any curiosity to see it) you will hardly
      find it much improved at the present day, for the Scotch are not a people
      who speedily admit innovation, even when it comes in the shape of
      improvement.*
    </p>
    <p>
      * Note I. Clachan of Aberfoil.
    </p>
    <p>
      The inhabitants of these miserable dwellings were disturbed by the noise
      of our departure; and as our party of about twenty soldiers drew up in
      rank before marching off, we were reconnoitred by many a beldam from the
      half-opened door of her cottage. As these sibyls thrust forth their grey
      heads, imperfectly covered with close caps of flannel, and showed their
      shrivelled brows, and long skinny arms, with various gestures, shrugs, and
      muttered expressions in Gaelic addressed to each other, my imagination
      recurred to the witches of Macbeth, and I imagined I read in the features
      of these crones the malevolence of the weird sisters. The little children
      also, who began to crawl forth, some quite naked, and others very
      imperfectly covered with tatters of tartan stuff, clapped their tiny
      hands, and grinned at the English soldiers, with an expression of national
      hate and malignity which seemed beyond their years. I remarked
      particularly that there were no men, nor so much as a boy of ten or twelve
      years old, to be seen among the inhabitants of a village which seemed
      populous in proportion to its extent; and the idea certainly occurred to
      me, that we were likely to receive from them, in the course of our
      journey, more effectual tokens of ill-will than those which lowered on the
      visages, and dictated the murmurs, of the women and children. It was not
      until we commenced our march that the malignity of the elder persons of
      the community broke forth into expressions. The last file of men had left
      the village, to pursue a small broken track, formed by the sledges in
      which the natives transported their peats and turfs, and which led through
      the woods that fringed the lower end of the lake, when a shrilly sound of
      female exclamation broke forth, mixed with the screams of children, the
      whooping of boys, and the clapping of hands, with which the Highland dames
      enforce their notes, whether of rage or lamentation. I asked Andrew, who
      looked as pale as death, what all this meant.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I doubt we'll ken that ower sune," said he. "Means? It means that the
      Highland wives are cursing and banning the red-coats, and wishing ill-luck
      to them, and ilka ane that ever spoke the Saxon tongue. I have heard wives
      flyte in England and Scotland&mdash;it's nae marvel to hear them flyte ony
      gate; but sic ill-scrapit tongues as thae Highland carlines'&mdash;and sic
      grewsome wishes, that men should be slaughtered like sheep&mdash;and that
      they may lapper their hands to the elbows in their heart's blude&mdash;and
      that they suld dee the death of Walter Cuming of Guiyock,* wha hadna as
      muckle o' him left thegither as would supper a messan-dog&mdash;sic awsome
      language as that I ne'er heard out o' a human thrapple;&mdash;and, unless
      the deil wad rise amang them to gie them a lesson, I thinkna that their
      talent at cursing could be amended.
    </p>
    <p>
      * A great feudal oppressor, who, riding on some cruel purpose through the
      forest of Guiyock, was thrown from his horse, and his foot being caught in
      the stirrup, was dragged along by the frightened animal till he was torn
      to pieces. The expression, "Walter of Guiyock's curse," is proverbial.
    </p>
    <p>
      The warst o't is, they bid us aye gang up the loch, and see what we'll
      land in."
    </p>
    <p>
      Adding Andrew's information to what I had myself observed, I could scarce
      doubt that some attack was meditated upon our party. The road, as we
      advanced, seemed to afford every facility for such an unpleasant
      interruption. At first it winded apart from the lake through marshy meadow
      ground, overgrown with copsewood, now traversing dark and close thickets
      which would have admitted an ambuscade to be sheltered within a few yards
      of our line of march, and frequently crossing rough mountain torrents,
      some of which took the soldiers up to the knees, and ran with such
      violence, that their force could only be stemmed by the strength of two or
      three men holding fast by each other's arms. It certainly appeared to me,
      though altogether unacquainted with military affairs, that a sort of
      half-savage warriors, as I had heard the Highlanders asserted to be,
      might, in such passes as these, attack a party of regular forces with
      great advantage. The Bailie's good sense and shrewd observation had led
      him to the same conclusion, as I understood from his requesting to speak
      with the captain, whom he addressed nearly in the following terms:&mdash;
      "Captain, it's no to fleech ony favour out o' ye, for I scorn it&mdash;and
      it's under protest that I reserve my action and pleas of oppression and
      wrongous imprisonment;&mdash;but, being a friend to King George and his
      army, I take the liberty to speer&mdash;Dinna ye think ye might tak a
      better time to gang up this glen? If ye are seeking Rob Roy, he's ken'd to
      be better than half a hunder men strong when he's at the fewest; an if he
      brings in the Glengyle folk, and the Glenfinlas and Balquhidder lads, he
      may come to gie you your kail through the reek; and it's my sincere
      advice, as a king's friend, ye had better tak back again to the Clachan,
      for thae women at Aberfoil are like the scarts and seamaws at the Cumries&mdash;there's
      aye foul weather follows their skirting."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Make yourself easy, sir," replied Captain Thornton; "I am in the
      execution of my orders. And as you say you are a friend to King George,
      you will be glad to learn that it is impossible that this gang of
      ruffians, whose license has disturbed the country so long, can escape the
      measures now taken to suppress them. The horse squadron of militia,
      commanded by Major Galbraith, is already joined by two or more troops of
      cavalry, which will occupy all the lower passes of this wild country;
      three hundred Highlanders, under the two gentlemen you saw at the inn, are
      in possession of the upper part, and various strong parties from the
      garrison are securing the hills and glens in different directions. Our
      last accounts of Rob Roy correspond with what this fellow has confessed,
      that, finding himself surrounded on all sides, he had dismissed the
      greater part of his followers, with the purpose either of lying concealed,
      or of making his escape through his superior knowledge of the passes."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I dinna ken," said the Bailie; "there's mair brandy than brains in
      Garschattachin's head this morning&mdash;And I wadna, an I were you,
      Captain, rest my main dependence on the Hielandmen&mdash;hawks winna pike
      out hawks' een. They may quarrel among themsells, and gie ilk ither ill
      names, and maybe a slash wi' a claymore; but they are sure to join in the
      lang run, against a' civilised folk, that wear breeks on their hinder
      ends, and hae purses in their pouches."
    </p>
    <p>
      Apparently these admonitions were not altogether thrown away on Captain
      Thornton. He reformed his line of march, commanded his soldiers to unsling
      their firelocks and fix their bayonets, and formed an advanced and
      rear-guard, each consisting of a non-commissioned officer and two
      soldiers, who received strict orders to keep an alert look-out. Dougal
      underwent another and very close examination, in which he steadfastly
      asserted the truth of what he had before affirmed; and being rebuked on
      account of the suspicious and dangerous appearance of the route by which
      he was guiding them, he answered with a sort of testiness that seemed very
      natural, "Her nainsell didna mak ta road; an shentlemans likit grand
      roads, she suld hae pided at Glasco."
    </p>
    <p>
      All this passed off well enough, and we resumed our progress.
    </p>
    <p>
      Our route, though leading towards the lake, had hitherto been so much
      shaded by wood, that we only from time to time obtained a glimpse of that
      beautiful sheet of water. But the road now suddenly emerged from the
      forest ground, and, winding close by the margin of the loch, afforded us a
      full view of its spacious mirror, which now, the breeze having totally
      subsided, reflected in still magnificence the high dark heathy mountains,
      huge grey rocks, and shaggy banks, by which it is encircled. The hills now
      sunk on its margin so closely, and were so broken and precipitous, as to
      afford no passage except just upon the narrow line of the track which we
      occupied, and which was overhung with rocks, from which we might have been
      destroyed merely by rolling down stones, without much possibility of
      offering resistance. Add to this, that, as the road winded round every
      promontory and bay which indented the lake, there was rarely a possibility
      of seeing a hundred yards before us. Our commander appeared to take some
      alarm at the nature of the pass in which he was engaged, which displayed
      itself in repeated orders to his soldiers to be on the alert, and in many
      threats of instant death to Dougal, if he should be found to have led them
      into danger. Dougal received these threats with an air of stupid
      impenetrability, which might arise either from conscious innocence, or
      from dogged resolution.
    </p>
    <p>
      "If shentlemans were seeking ta Red Gregarach," he said, "to be sure they
      couldna expect to find her without some wee danger."
    </p>
    <p>
      Just as the Highlander uttered these words, a halt was made by the
      corporal commanding the advance, who sent back one of the file who formed
      it, to tell the Captain that the path in front was occupied by
      Highlanders, stationed on a commanding point of particular difficulty.
      Almost at the same instant a soldier from the rear came to say, that they
      heard the sound of a bagpipe in the woods through which we had just
      passed. Captain Thornton, a man of conduct as well as courage, instantly
      resolved to force the pass in front, without waiting till he was assailed
      from the rear; and, assuring his soldiers that the bagpipes which they
      heard were those of the friendly Highlanders who were advancing to their
      assistance, he stated to them the importance of advancing and securing Rob
      Roy, if possible, before these auxiliaries should come up to divide with
      them the honour, as well as the reward which was placed on the head of
      this celebrated freebooter. He therefore ordered the rearguard to join the
      centre, and both to close up to the advance, doubling his files so as to
      occupy with his column the whole practicable part of the road, and to
      present such a front as its breadth admitted. Dougal, to whom he said in a
      whisper, "You dog, if you have deceived me, you shall die for it!" was
      placed in the centre, between two grenadiers, with positive orders to
      shoot him if he attempted an escape. The same situation was assigned to
      us, as being the safest, and Captain Thornton, taking his half-pike from
      the soldier who carried it, placed himself at the head of his little
      detachment, and gave the word to march forward.
    </p>
    <p>
      The party advanced with the firmness of English soldiers. Not so Andrew
      Fairservice, who was frightened out of his wits; and not so, if truth must
      be told, either the Bailie or I myself, who, without feeling the same
      degree of trepidation, could not with stoical indifference see our lives
      exposed to hazard in a quarrel with which we had no concern. But there was
      neither time for remonstrance nor remedy.
    </p>
    <p>
      We approached within about twenty yards of the spot where the advanced
      guard had seen some appearance of an enemy. It was one of those
      promontories which run into the lake, and round the base of which the road
      had hitherto winded in the manner I have described. In the present case,
      however, the path, instead of keeping the water's edge, sealed the
      promontory by one or two rapid zigzags, carried in a broken track along
      the precipitous face of a slaty grey rock, which would otherwise have been
      absolutely inaccessible. On the top of this rock, only to be approached by
      a road so broken, so narrow, and so precarious, the corporal declared he
      had seen the bonnets and long-barrelled guns of several mountaineers,
      apparently couched among the long heath and brushwood which crested the
      eminence. Captain Thornton ordered him to move forward with three files,
      to dislodge the supposed ambuscade, while, at a more slow but steady pace,
      he advanced to his support with the rest of his party.
    </p>
    <p>
      The attack which he meditated was prevented by the unexpected apparition
      of a female upon the summit of the rock.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Stand!" she said, with a commanding tone, "and tell me what ye seek in
      MacGregor's country?"
    </p>
    <p>
      I have seldom seen a finer or more commanding form than this woman. She
      might be between the term of forty and fifty years, and had a countenance
      which must once have been of a masculine cast of beauty; though now,
      imprinted with deep lines by exposure to rough weather, and perhaps by the
      wasting influence of grief and passion, its features were only strong,
      harsh, and expressive. She wore her plaid, not drawn around her head and
      shoulders, as is the fashion of the women in Scotland, but disposed around
      her body as the Highland soldiers wear theirs. She had a man's bonnet,
      with a feather in it, an unsheathed sword in her hand, and a pair of
      pistols at her girdle.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's Helen Campbell, Rob's wife," said the Bailie, in a whisper of
      considerable alarm; "and there will be broken heads amang us or it's
      lang."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What seek ye here?" she asked again of Captain Thornton, who had himself
      advanced to reconnoitre.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We seek the outlaw, Rob Roy MacGregor Campbell," answered the officer,
      "and make no war on women; therefore offer no vain opposition to the
      king's troops, and assure yourself of civil treatment."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay," retorted the Amazon, "I am no stranger to your tender mercies. Ye
      have left me neither name nor fame&mdash;my mother's bones will shrink
      aside in their grave when mine are laid beside them&mdash;Ye have left me
      neither house nor hold, blanket nor bedding, cattle to feed us, or flocks
      to clothe us&mdash;Ye have taken from us all&mdash;all!&mdash;The very
      name of our ancestors have ye taken away, and now ye come for our lives."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I seek no man's life," replied the Captain; "I only execute my orders. If
      you are alone, good woman, you have nought to fear&mdash;if there are any
      with you so rash as to offer useless resistance, their own blood be on
      their own heads. Move forward, sergeant."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Forward! march!" said the non-commissioned officer. "Huzza, my boys, for
      Rob Roy's head and a purse of gold."
    </p>
    <p>
      He quickened his pace into a run, followed by the six soldiers; but as
      they attained the first traverse of the ascent, the flash of a dozen of
      firelocks from various parts of the pass parted in quick succession and
      deliberate aim. The sergeant, shot through the body, still struggled to
      gain the ascent, raised himself by his hands to clamber up the face of the
      rock, but relaxed his grasp, after a desperate effort, and falling, rolled
      from the face of the cliff into the deep lake, where he perished. Of the
      soldiers, three fell, slain or disabled; the others retreated on their
      main body, all more or less wounded.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Grenadiers, to the front!" said Captain Thornton.&mdash;You are to
      recollect, that in those days this description of soldiers actually
      carried that destructive species of firework from which they derive their
      name. The four grenadiers moved to the front accordingly. The officer
      commanded the rest of the party to be ready to support them, and only
      saying to us, "Look to your safety, gentlemen," gave, in rapid succession,
      the word to the grenadiers&mdash;"Open your pouches&mdash;handle your
      grenades&mdash;blow your matches&mdash;fall on."
    </p>
    <p>
      The whole advanced with a shout, headed by Captain Thornton,&mdash;the
      grenadiers preparing to throw their grenades among the bushes where the
      ambuscade lay, and the musketeers to support them by an instant and close
      assault. Dougal, forgotten in the scuffle, wisely crept into the thicket
      which overhung that part of the road where we had first halted, which he
      ascended with the activity of a wild cat. I followed his example,
      instinctively recollecting that the fire of the Highlanders would sweep
      the open track. I clambered until out of breath; for a continued
      spattering fire, in which every shot was multiplied by a thousand echoes,
      the hissing of the kindled fusees of the grenades, and the successive
      explosion of those missiles, mingled with the huzzas of the soldiers, and
      the yells and cries of their Highland antagonists, formed a contrast which
      added&mdash;I do not shame to own it&mdash;wings to my desire to reach a
      place of safety. The difficulties of the ascent soon increased so much,
      that I despaired of reaching Dougal, who seemed to swing himself from rock
      to rock, and stump to stump, with the facility of a squirrel, and I turned
      down my eyes to see what had become of my other companions. Both were
      brought to a very awkward standstill.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Bailie, to whom I suppose fear had given a temporary share of agility,
      had ascended about twenty feet from the path, when his foot slipping, as
      he straddled from one huge fragment of rock to another, he would have
      slumbered with his father the deacon, whose acts and words he was so fond
      of quoting, but for a projecting branch of a ragged thorn, which, catching
      hold of the skirts of his riding-coat, supported him in mid-air, where he
      dangled not unlike to the sign of the Golden Fleece over the door of a
      mercer in the Trongate of his native city.
    </p>
    <p>
      As for Andrew Fairservice, he had advanced with better success, until he
      had attained the top of a bare cliff, which, rising above the wood,
      exposed him, at least in his own opinion, to all the dangers of the
      neighbouring skirmish, while, at the same time, it was of such a
      precipitous and impracticable nature, that he dared neither to advance nor
      retreat. Footing it up and down upon the narrow space which the top of the
      cliff afforded (very like a fellow at a country-fair dancing upon a
      trencher), he roared for mercy in Gaelic and English alternately,
      according to the side on which the scale of victory seemed to predominate,
      while his exclamations were only answered by the groans of the Bailie, who
      suffered much, not only from apprehension, but from the pendulous posture
      in which he hung suspended by the loins.
    </p>
    <p>
      On perceiving the Bailie's precarious situation, my first idea was to
      attempt to render him assistance; but this was impossible without the
      concurrence of Andrew, whom neither sign, nor entreaty, nor command, nor
      expostulation, could inspire with courage to adventure the descent from
      his painful elevation, where, like an unskilful and obnoxious minister of
      state, unable to escape from the eminence to which he had presumptuously
      ascended, he continued to pour forth piteous prayers for mercy, which no
      one heard, and to skip to and fro, writhing his body into all possible
      antic shapes to avoid the balls which he conceived to be whistling around
      him.
    </p>
    <p>
      In a few minutes this cause of terror ceased, for the fire, at first so
      well sustained, now sunk at once&mdash;a sure sign that the conflict was
      concluded. To gain some spot from which I could see how the day had gone
      was now my object, in order to appeal to the mercy of the victors, who, I
      trusted (whichever side might be gainers), would not suffer the honest
      Bailie to remain suspended, like the coffin of Mahomet, between heaven and
      earth, without lending a hand to disengage him. At length, by dint of
      scrambling, I found a spot which commanded a view of the field of battle.
      It was indeed ended; and, as my mind already augured, from the place and
      circumstances attending the contest, it had terminated in the defeat of
      Captain Thornton. I saw a party of Highlanders in the act of disarming
      that officer, and the scanty remainder of his party. They consisted of
      about twelve men most of whom were wounded, who, surrounded by treble
      their number, and without the power either to advance or retreat, exposed
      to a murderous and well-aimed fire, which they had no means of returning
      with effect, had at length laid down their arms by the order of their
      officer, when he saw that the road in his rear was occupied, and that
      protracted resistance would be only wasting the lives of his brave
      followers. By the Highlanders, who fought under cover, the victory was
      cheaply bought, at the expense of one man slain and two wounded by the
      grenades. All this I learned afterwards. At present I only comprehended
      the general result of the day, from seeing the English officer, whose face
      was covered with blood, stripped of his hat and arms, and his men, with
      sullen and dejected countenances which marked their deep regret, enduring,
      from the wild and martial figures who surrounded them, the severe measures
      to which the laws of war subject the vanquished for security of the
      victors.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="AlinkCH0014" id="AlinkCH0014">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
            "Woe to the vanquished!" was stern Brenno's word,
             When sunk proud Rome beneath the Gallic sword&mdash;
            "Woe to the vanquished!" when his massive blade
             Bore down the scale against her ransom weigh'd;
                And on the field of foughten battle still,
                Woe knows no limits save the victor's will.
                                                  The Gaulliad.
</pre>
    <p>
      I anxiously endeavoured to distinguish Dougal among the victors. I had
      little doubt that the part he had played was assumed, on purpose to lead
      the English officer into the defile, and I could not help admiring the
      address with which the ignorant, and apparently half-brutal savage, had
      veiled his purpose, and the affected reluctance with which he had suffered
      to be extracted from him the false information which it must have been his
      purpose from the beginning to communicate. I foresaw we should incur some
      danger on approaching the victors in the first flush of their success,
      which was not unstained with cruelty; for one or two of the soldiers,
      whose wounds prevented them from rising, were poniarded by the victors, or
      rather by some ragged Highland boys who had mingled with them. I
      concluded, therefore, it would be unsafe to present ourselves without some
      mediator; and as Campbell, whom I now could not but identify with the
      celebrated freebooter Rob Roy, was nowhere to be seen, I resolved to claim
      the protection of his emissary, Dougal.
    </p>
    <p>
      After gazing everywhere in vain, I at length retraced my steps to see what
      assistance I could individually render to my unlucky friend, when, to my
      great joy, I saw Mr. Jarvie delivered from his state of suspense; and
      though very black in the face, and much deranged in the garments, safely
      seated beneath the rock, in front of which he had been so lately
      suspended. I hastened to join him and offer my congratulations, which he
      was at first far from receiving in the spirit of cordiality with which
      they were offered. A heavy fit of coughing scarce permitted him breath
      enough to express the broken hints which he threw out against my
      sincerity.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Uh! uh! uh! uh!&mdash;they say a friend&mdash;uh! uh!&mdash;a friend
      sticketh closer than a brither&mdash;uh! uh! uh! When I came up here,
      Maister Osbaldistone, to this country, cursed of God and man&mdash;uh! uh&mdash;Heaven
      forgie me for swearing&mdash;on nae man's errand but yours, d'ye think it
      was fair&mdash;uh! uh! uh!&mdash;to leave me, first, to be shot or drowned
      atween red-wad Highlanders and red-coats; and next to be hung up between
      heaven and earth, like an auld potato-bogle, without sae muckle as trying&mdash;uh!
      uh!&mdash;sae muckle as trying to relieve me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      I made a thousand apologies, and laboured so hard to represent the
      impossibility of my affording him relief by my own unassisted exertions,
      that at length I succeeded, and the Bailie, who was as placable as hasty
      in his temper, extended his favour to me once more. I next took the
      liberty of asking him how he had contrived to extricate himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Me extricate! I might hae hung there till the day of judgment or I could
      hae helped mysell, wi' my head hinging down on the tae side, and my heels
      on the tother, like the yarn-scales in the weigh-house. It was the
      creature Dougal that extricated me, as he did yestreen; he cuttit aff the
      tails o' my coat wi' his durk, and another gillie and him set me on my
      legs as cleverly as if I had never been aff them. But to see what a thing
      gude braid claith is! Had I been in ony o' your rotten French camlets now,
      or your drab-de-berries, it would hae screeded like an auld rag wi' sic a
      weight as mine. But fair fa' the weaver that wrought the weft o't&mdash;I
      swung and bobbit yonder as safe as a gabbart* that's moored by a three-ply
      cable at the Broomielaw."
    </p>
    <p>
      * A kind of lighter used in the river Clyde,&mdash;probably from the
      French * <i>abare.</i>
    </p>
    <p>
      I now inquired what had become of his preserver.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The creature," so he continued to call the Highlandman, "contrived to let
      me ken there wad be danger in gaun near the leddy till he came back, and
      bade me stay here. I am o' the mind," he continued, "that he's seeking
      after you&mdash;it's a considerate creature&mdash;and troth, I wad swear
      he was right about the leddy, as he ca's her, too&mdash;Helen Campbell was
      nane o' the maist douce maidens, nor meekest wives neither, and folk say
      that Rob himsell stands in awe o' her. I doubt she winna ken me, for it's
      mony years since we met&mdash;I am clear for waiting for the Dougal
      creature or we gang near her."
    </p>
    <p>
      I signified my acquiescence in this reasoning; but it was not the will of
      fate that day that the Bailie's prudence should profit himself or any one
      else.
    </p>
    <p>
      Andrew Fairservice, though he had ceased to caper on the pinnacle upon the
      cessation of the firing, which had given occasion for his whimsical
      exercise, continued, as perched on the top of an exposed cliff, too
      conspicuous an object to escape the sharp eyes of the Highlanders, when
      they had time to look a little around them. We were apprized he was
      discovered, by a wild and loud halloo set up among the assembled victors,
      three or four of whom instantly plunged into the copsewood, and ascended
      the rocky side of the hill in different directions towards the place where
      they had discovered this whimsical apparition.
    </p>
    <p>
      Those who arrived first within gunshot of poor Andrew, did not trouble
      themselves to offer him any assistance in the ticklish posture of his
      affairs, but levelling their long Spanish-barrelled guns, gave him to
      understand, by signs which admitted of no misconstruction, that he must
      contrive to come down and submit himself to their mercy, or to be marked
      at from beneath, like a regimental target set up for ball-practice. With
      such a formidable hint for venturous exertion, Andrew Fairservice could no
      longer hesitate; the more imminent peril overcame his sense of that which
      seemed less inevitable, and he began to descend the cliff at all risks,
      clutching to the ivy and oak stumps, and projecting fragments of rock,
      with an almost feverish anxiety, and never failing, as circumstances left
      him a hand at liberty, to extend it to the plaided gentry below in an
      attitude of supplication, as if to deprecate the discharge of their
      levelled firearms. In a word, the fellow, under the influence of a
      counteracting motive for terror, achieved a safe descent from his perilous
      eminence, which, I verily believe, nothing but the fear of instant death
      could have moved him to attempt. The awkward mode of Andrew's descent
      greatly amused the Highlanders below, who fired a shot or two while he was
      engaged in it, without the purpose of injuring him, as I believe, but
      merely to enhance the amusement they derived from his extreme terror, and
      the superlative exertions of agility to which it excited him.
    </p>
    <p>
      At length he attained firm and comparatively level ground&mdash;or rather,
      to speak more correctly, his foot slipping at the last point of descent,
      he fell on the earth at his full length, and was raised by the assistance
      of the Highlanders, who stood to receive him, and who, ere he gained his
      legs, stripped him not only of the whole contents of his pockets, but of
      periwig, hat, coat, doublet, stockings, and shoes, performing the feat
      with such admirable celerity, that, although he fell on his back a
      well-clothed and decent burgher-seeming serving-man, he arose a forked,
      uncased, bald-pated, beggarly-looking scarecrow. Without respect to the
      pain which his undefended toes experienced from the sharp encounter of the
      rocks over which they hurried him, those who had detected Andrew proceeded
      to drag him downward towards the road through all the intervening
      obstacles.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the course of their descent, Mr. Jarvie and I became exposed to their
      lynx-eyed observation, and instantly half-a-dozen of armed Highlanders
      thronged around us, with drawn dirks and swords pointed at our faces and
      throats, and cocked pistols presented against our bodies. To have offered
      resistance would have been madness, especially as we had no weapons
      capable of supporting such a demonstration. We therefore submitted to our
      fate; and with great roughness on the part of those who assisted at our
      toilette, were in the act of being reduced to as unsophisticated a state
      (to use King Lear's phrase) as the plume-less biped Andrew Fairservice,
      who stood shivering between fear and cold at a few yards' distance. Good
      chance, however, saved us from this extremity of wretchedness; for, just
      as I had yielded up my cravat (a smart Steinkirk, by the way, and richly
      laced), and the Bailie had been disrobed of the fragments of his
      riding-coat&mdash;enter Dougal, and the scene was changed. By a high tone
      of expostulation, mixed with oaths and threats, as far as I could
      conjecture the tenor of his language from the violence of his gestures, he
      compelled the plunderers, however reluctant, not only to give up their
      further depredations on our property, but to restore the spoil they had
      already appropriated. He snatched my cravat from the fellow who had seized
      it, and twisted it (in the zeal of his restitution) around my neck with
      such suffocating energy as made me think that he had not only been, during
      his residence at Glasgow, a substitute of the jailor, but must moreover
      have taken lessons as an apprentice of the hangman. He flung the tattered
      remnants of Mr. Jarvie's coat around his shoulders, and as more
      Highlanders began to flock towards us from the high road, he led the way
      downwards, directing and commanding the others to afford us, but
      particularly the Bailie, the assistance necessary to our descending with
      comparative ease and safety. It was, however, in vain that Andrew
      Fairservice employed his lungs in obsecrating a share of Dougal's
      protection, or at least his interference to procure restoration of his
      shoes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Na, na," said Dougal in reply, "she's nae gentle pody, I trow; her
      petters hae ganged parefoot, or she's muckle mista'en." And, leaving
      Andrew to follow at his leisure, or rather at such leisure as the
      surrounding crowd were pleased to indulge him with, he hurried us down to
      the pathway in which the skirmish had been fought, and hastened to present
      us as additional captives to the female leader of his band.
    </p>
    <p>
      We were dragged before her accordingly, Dougal fighting, struggling,
      screaming, as if he were the party most apprehensive of hurt, and
      repulsing, by threats and efforts, all those who attempted to take a
      nearer interest in our capture than he seemed to do himself. At length we
      were placed before the heroine of the day, whose appearance, as well as
      those of the savage, uncouth, yet martial figures who surrounded us,
      struck me, to own the truth, with considerable apprehension. I do not know
      if Helen MacGregor had personally mingled in the fray, and indeed I was
      afterwards given to understand the contrary; but the specks of blood on
      her brow, her hands and naked arms, as well as on the blade of her sword
      which she continued to hold in her hand&mdash;her flushed countenance, and
      the disordered state of the raven locks which escaped from under the red
      bonnet and plume that formed her head-dress, seemed all to intimate that
      she had taken an immediate share in the conflict. Her keen black eyes and
      features expressed an imagination inflamed by the pride of gratified
      revenge, and the triumph of victory. Yet there was nothing positively
      sanguinary, or cruel, in her deportment; and she reminded me, when the
      immediate alarm of the interview was over, of some of the paintings I had
      seen of the inspired heroines in the Catholic churches of France. She was
      not, indeed, sufficiently beautiful for a Judith, nor had she the inspired
      expression of features which painters have given to Deborah, or to the
      wife of Heber the Kenite, at whose feet the strong oppressor of Israel,
      who dwelled in Harosheth of the Gentiles, bowed down, fell, and lay a dead
      man. Nevertheless, the enthusiasm by which she was agitated gave her
      countenance and deportment, wildly dignified in themselves, an air which
      made her approach nearly to the ideas of those wonderful artists who gave
      to the eye the heroines of Scripture history.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was uncertain in what terms to accost a personage so uncommon, when Mr.
      Jarvie, breaking the ice with a preparatory cough (for the speed with
      which he had been brought into her presence had again impeded his
      respiration), addressed her as follows:&mdash;"Uh! uh! &amp;c. &amp;c. I
      am very happy to have this <i>joyful</i> opportunity" (a quaver in his
      voice strongly belied the emphasis which he studiously laid on the word
      joyful)&mdash;"this joyful occasion," he resumed, trying to give the
      adjective a more suitable accentuation, "to wish my kinsman Robin's wife a
      very good morning&mdash;Uh! uh!&mdash;How's a' wi' ye?" (by this time he
      had talked himself into his usual jog-trot manner, which exhibited a
      mixture of familiarity and self-importance)&mdash;"How's a' wi' ye this
      lang time? Ye'll hae forgotten me, Mrs. MacGregor Campbell, as your cousin&mdash;uh!
      uh!&mdash;but ye'll mind my father, Deacon Nicol Jarvie, in the Saut
      Market o' Glasgow?&mdash;an honest man he was, and a sponsible, and
      respectit you and yours. Sae, as I said before, I am right glad to see
      you, Mrs. MacGregor Campbell, as my kinsman's wife. I wad crave the
      liberty of a kinsman to salute you, but that your gillies keep such a
      dolefu' fast haud o' my arms, and, to speak Heaven's truth and a
      magistrate's, ye wadna be the waur of a cogfu' o' water before ye welcomed
      your friends."
    </p>
    <p>
      There was something in the familiarity of this introduction which ill
      suited the exalted state of temper of the person to whom it was addressed,
      then busied with distributing dooms of death, and warm from conquest in a
      perilous encounter.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What fellow are you," she said, "that dare to claim kindred with the
      MacGregor, and neither wear his dress nor speak his language?&mdash;What
      are you, that have the tongue and the habit of the hound, and yet seek to
      lie down with the deer?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I dinna ken," said the undaunted Bailie, "if the kindred has ever been
      weel redd out to you yet, cousin&mdash;but it's ken'd, and can be prov'd.
      My mother, Elspeth MacFarlane, was the wife of my father, Deacon Nicol
      Jarvie&mdash;peace be wi' them baith!&mdash;and Elspeth was the daughter
      of Parlane MacFarlane, at the Sheeling o' Loch Sloy. Now, this Parlane
      MacFarlane, as his surviving daughter Maggy MacFarlane, <i>alias</i>
      MacNab, wha married Duncan MacNab o' Stuckavrallachan, can testify, stood
      as near to your gudeman, Robert MacGregor, as in the fourth degree of
      kindred, for"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      The virago lopped the genealogical tree, by demanding haughtily, "If a
      stream of rushing water acknowledged any relation with the portion
      withdrawn from it for the mean domestic uses of those who dwelt on its
      banks?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Vera true, kinswoman," said the Bailie; "but for a' that, the burn wad be
      glad to hae the milldam back again in simmer, when the chuckie-stanes are
      white in the sun. I ken weel eneugh you Hieland folk haud us Glasgow
      people light and cheap for our language and our claes;&mdash;but everybody
      speaks their native tongue that they learned in infancy; and it would be a
      daft-like thing to see me wi' my fat wame in a short Hieland coat, and my
      puir short houghs gartered below the knee, like ane o' your lang-legged
      gillies. Mair by token, kinswoman," he continued, in defiance of various
      intimations by which Dougal seemed to recommend silence, as well as of the
      marks of impatience which the Amazon evinced at his loquacity, "I wad hae
      ye to mind that the king's errand whiles comes in the cadger's gate, and
      that, for as high as ye may think o' the gudeman, as it's right every wife
      should honour her husband&mdash;there's Scripture warrant for that&mdash;yet
      as high as ye haud him, as I was saying, I hae been serviceable to Rob ere
      now;&mdash;forbye a set o' pearlins I sent yourself when ye was gaun to be
      married, and when Rob was an honest weel-doing drover, and nane o' this
      unlawfu' wark, wi' fighting, and flashes, and fluff-gibs, disturbing the
      king's peace and disarming his soldiers."
    </p>
    <p>
      He had apparently touched on a key which his kinswoman could not brook.
      She drew herself up to her full height, and betrayed the acuteness of her
      feelings by a laugh of mingled scorn and bitterness.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," she said, "you, and such as you, might claim a relation to us, when
      we stooped to be the paltry wretches fit to exist under your dominion, as
      your hewers of wood and drawers of water&mdash;to find cattle for your
      banquets, and subjects for your laws to oppress and trample on. But now we
      are free&mdash;free by the very act which left us neither house nor
      hearth, food nor covering&mdash;which bereaved me of all&mdash;of all&mdash;and
      makes me groan when I think I must still cumber the earth for other
      purposes than those of vengeance. And I will carry on the work, this day
      has so well commenced, by a deed that shall break all bands between
      MacGregor and the Lowland churls. Here Allan&mdash;Dougal&mdash;bind these
      Sassenachs neck and heel together, and throw them into the Highland Loch
      to seek for their Highland kinsfolk."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Bailie, alarmed at this mandate, was commencing an expostulation,
      which probably would have only inflamed the violent passions of the person
      whom he addressed, when Dougal threw himself between them, and in his own
      language, which he spoke with a fluency and rapidity strongly contrasted
      by the slow, imperfect, and idiot-like manner in which he expressed
      himself in English, poured forth what I doubt not was a very animated
      pleading in our behalf.
    </p>
    <p>
      His mistress replied to him, or rather cut short his harangue, by
      exclaiming in English (as if determined to make us taste in anticipation
      the full bitterness of death)&mdash;"Base dog, and son of a dog, do you
      dispute my commands? Should I tell ye to cut out their tongues and put
      them into each other's throats, to try which would there best knap
      Southron, or to tear out their hearts and put them into each other's
      breasts, to see which would there best plot treason against the MacGregor&mdash;and
      such things have been done of old in the day of revenge, when our fathers
      had wrongs to redress&mdash;Should I command you to do this, would it be
      your part to dispute my orders?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "To be sure, to be sure," Dougal replied, with accents of profound
      submission; "her pleasure suld be done&mdash;tat's but reason; but an it
      were&mdash;tat is, an it could be thought the same to her to coup the
      ill-faured loon of ta red-coat Captain, and hims corporal Cramp, and twa
      three o' the red-coats, into the loch, herself wad do't wi' muckle mair
      great satisfaction than to hurt ta honest civil shentlemans as were
      friends to the Gregarach, and came up on the Chiefs assurance, and not to
      do no treason, as herself could testify."
    </p>
    <p>
      The lady was about to reply, when a few wild strains of a pibroch were
      heard advancing up the road from Aberfoil, the same probably which had
      reached the ears of Captain Thornton's rear-guard, and determined him to
      force his way onward rather than return to the village, on finding the
      pass occupied. The skirmish being of very short duration, the armed men
      who followed this martial melody, had not, although quickening their march
      when they heard the firing, been able to arrive in time sufficient to take
      any share in the rencontre. The victory, therefore, was complete without
      them, and they now arrived only to share in the triumph of their
      countrymen.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a marked difference betwixt the appearance of these new comers
      and that of the party by which our escort had been defeated&mdash;and it
      was greatly in favour of the former. Among the Highlanders who surrounded
      the Chieftainess, if I may presume to call her so without offence to
      grammar, were men in the extremity of age, boys scarce able to bear a
      sword, and even women&mdash;all, in short, whom the last necessity urges
      to take up arms; and it added a shade of bitter shame to the defection
      which clouded Thornton's manly countenance, when he found that the numbers
      and position of a foe, otherwise so despicable, had enabled them to
      conquer his brave veterans. But the thirty or forty Highlanders who now
      joined the others, were all men in the prime of youth or manhood, active
      clean-made fellows, whose short hose and belted plaids set out their
      sinewy limbs to the best advantage. Their arms were as superior to those
      of the first party as their dress and appearance. The followers of the
      female Chief had axes, scythes, and other antique weapons, in aid of their
      guns; and some had only clubs, daggers, and long knives. But of the second
      party, most had pistols at the belt, and almost all had dirks hanging at
      the pouches which they wore in front. Each had a good gun in his hand, and
      a broadsword by his side, besides a stout round target, made of light
      wood, covered with leather, and curiously studded with brass, and having a
      steel spike screwed into the centre. These hung on their left shoulder
      during a march, or while they were engaged in exchanging fire with the
      enemy, and were worn on their left arm when they charged with sword in
      hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      But it was easy to see that this chosen band had not arrived from a
      victory such as they found their ill-appointed companions possessed of.
      The pibroch sent forth occasionally a few wailing notes expressive of a
      very different sentiment from triumph; and when they appeared before the
      wife of their Chieftain, it was in silence, and with downcast and
      melancholy looks. They paused when they approached her, and the pipes
      again sent forth the same wild and melancholy strain.
    </p>
    <p>
      Helen rushed towards them with a countenance in which anger was mingled
      with apprehension.&mdash;"What means this, Alaster?" she said to the
      minstrel&mdash;"why a lament in the moment of victory?&mdash;Robert&mdash;Hamish&mdash;where's
      the MacGregor?&mdash;where's your father?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Her sons, who led the band, advanced with slow and irresolute steps
      towards her, and murmured a few words in Gaelic, at hearing which she set
      up a shriek that made the rocks ring again, in which all the women and
      boys joined, clapping their hands and yelling as if their lives had been
      expiring in the sound. The mountain echoes, silent since the military
      sounds of battle had ceased, had now to answer these frantic and
      discordant shrieks of sorrow, which drove the very night-birds from their
      haunts in the rocks, as if they were startled to hear orgies more hideous
      and ill-omened than their own, performed in the face of open day.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Taken!" repeated Helen, when the clamour had subsided&mdash;"Taken!&mdash;
      captive!&mdash;and you live to say so?&mdash;Coward dogs! did I nurse you
      for this, that you should spare your blood on your father's enemies? or
      see him prisoner, and come back to tell it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The sons of MacGregor, to whom this expostulation was addressed, were
      youths, of whom the eldest had hardly attained his twentieth year. <i>Hamish,</i>
      or James, the elder of these youths, was the tallest by a head, and much
      handsomer than his brother; his light-blue eyes, with a profusion of fair
      hair, which streamed from under his smart blue bonnet, made his whole
      appearance a most favourable specimen of the Highland youth. The younger
      was called Robert; but, to distinguish him from his father, the
      Highlanders added the epithet <i>Oig,</i> or the young. Dark hair, and
      dark features, with a ruddy glow of health and animation, and a form
      strong and well-set beyond his years, completed the sketch of the young
      mountaineer.
    </p>
    <p>
      Both now stood before their mother with countenances clouded with grief
      and shame, and listened, with the most respectful submission, to the
      reproaches with which she loaded them. At length when her resentment
      appeared in some degree to subside, the eldest, speaking in English,
      probably that he might not be understood by their followers, endeavoured
      respectfully to vindicate himself and his brother from his mother's
      reproaches. I was so near him as to comprehend much of what he said; and,
      as it was of great consequence to me to be possessed of information in
      this strange crisis, I failed not to listen as attentively as I could.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The MacGregor," his son stated, "had been called out upon a trysting with
      a Lowland hallion, who came with a token from"&mdash;he muttered the name
      very low, but I thought it sounded like my own. "The MacGregor," he said,
      "accepted of the invitation, but commanded the Saxon who brought the
      message to be detained, as a hostage that good faith should be observed to
      him. Accordingly he went to the place of appointment" (which had some wild
      Highland name that I cannot remember), "attended only by Angus Breck and
      Little Rory, commanding no one to follow him. Within half an hour Angus
      Breck came back with the doleful tidings that the MacGregor had been
      surprised and made prisoner by a party of Lennox militia, under Galbraith
      of Garschattachin." He added, "that Galbraith, on being threatened by
      MacGregor, who upon his capture menaced him with retaliation on the person
      of the hostage, had treated the threat with great contempt, replying, 'Let
      each side hang his man; we'll hang the thief, and your catherans may hang
      the gauger, Rob, and the country will be rid of two damned things at once,
      a wild Highlander and a revenue officer.' Angus Breck, less carefully
      looked to than his master, contrived to escape from the hands of the
      captors, after having been in their custody long enough to hear this
      discussion, and to bring off the news."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And did you learn this, you false-hearted traitor," said the wife of
      MacGregor, "and not instantly rush to your father's rescue, to bring him
      off, or leave your body on the place?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The young MacGregor modestly replied, by representing the very superior
      force of the enemy, and stated, that as they made no preparation for
      leaving the country, he had fallen back up the glen with the purpose of
      collecting a band sufficient to attempt a rescue with some tolerable
      chance of success. At length he said, "the militiamen would quarter, he
      understood, in the neighbouring house of Gartartan, or the old castle in
      the port of Monteith, or some other stronghold, which, although strong and
      defensible, was nevertheless capable of being surprised, could they but
      get enough of men assembled for the purpose."
    </p>
    <p>
      I understood afterwards that the rest of the freebooter's followers were
      divided into two strong bands, one destined to watch the remaining
      garrison of Inversnaid, a party of which, under Captain Thornton, had been
      defeated; and another to show front to the Highland clans who had united
      with the regular troops and Lowlanders in this hostile and combined
      invasion of that mountainous and desolate territory, which lying between
      the lakes of Loch Lomond, Loch Katrine, and Loch Ard, was at this time
      currently called Rob Roy's, or the MacGregor country. Messengers were
      despatched in great haste, to concentrate, as I supposed, their forces,
      with a view to the purposed attack on the Lowlanders; and the dejection
      and despair, at first visible on each countenance, gave place to the hope
      of rescuing their leader, and to the thirst of vengeance. It was under the
      burning influence of the latter passion that the wife of MacGregor
      commanded that the hostage exchanged for his safety should be brought into
      her presence. I believe her sons had kept this unfortunate wretch out of
      her sight, for fear of the consequences; but if it was so, their humane
      precaution only postponed his fate. They dragged forward at her summons a
      wretch already half dead with terror, in whose agonised features I
      recognised, to my horror and astonishment, my old acquaintance Morris.
    </p>
    <p>
      He fell prostrate before the female Chief with an effort to clasp her
      knees, from which she drew back, as if his touch had been pollution, so
      that all he could do in token of the extremity of his humiliation, was to
      kiss the hem of her plaid. I never heard entreaties for life poured forth
      with such agony of spirit. The ecstasy of fear was such, that instead of
      paralysing his tongue, as on ordinary occasions, it even rendered him
      eloquent; and, with cheeks pale as ashes, hands compressed in agony, eyes
      that seemed to be taking their last look of all mortal objects, he
      protested, with the deepest oaths, his total ignorance of any design on
      the person of Rob Roy, whom he swore he loved and honoured as his own
      soul. In the inconsistency of his terror, he said he was but the agent of
      others, and he muttered the name of Rashleigh. He prayed but for life&mdash;for
      life he would give all he had in the world: it was but life he asked&mdash;life,
      if it were to be prolonged under tortures and privations: he asked only
      breath, though it should be drawn in the damps of the lowest caverns of
      their hills.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is impossible to describe the scorn, the loathing, and contempt, with
      which the wife of MacGregor regarded this wretched petitioner for the poor
      boon of existence.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I could have bid ye live," she said, "had life been to you the same weary
      and wasting burden that it is to me&mdash;that it is to every noble and
      generous mind. But you&mdash;wretch! you could creep through the world
      unaffected by its various disgraces, its ineffable miseries, its
      constantly accumulating masses of crime and sorrow: you could live and
      enjoy yourself, while the noble-minded are betrayed&mdash;while nameless
      and birthless villains tread on the neck of the brave and the
      long-descended: you could enjoy yourself, like a butcher's dog in the
      shambles, battening on garbage, while the slaughter of the oldest and best
      went on around you! This enjoyment you shall not live to partake of!&mdash;you
      shall die, base dog! and that before yon cloud has passed over the sun."
    </p>
    <p>
      She gave a brief command in Gaelic to her attendants, two of whom seized
      upon the prostrate suppliant, and hurried him to the brink of a cliff
      which overhung the flood. He set up the most piercing and dreadful cries
      that fear ever uttered&mdash;I may well term them dreadful, for they
      haunted my sleep for years afterwards. As the murderers, or executioners,
      call them as you will, dragged him along, he recognised me even in that
      moment of horror, and exclaimed, in the last articulate words I ever heard
      him utter, "Oh, Mr. Osbaldistone, save me!&mdash;save me!"
    </p>
    <p>
      I was so much moved by this horrid spectacle, that, although in momentary
      expectation of sharing his fate, I did attempt to speak in his behalf,
      but, as might have been expected, my interference was sternly disregarded.
      The victim was held fast by some, while others, binding a large heavy
      stone in a plaid, tied it round his neck, and others again eagerly
      stripped him of some part of his dress. Half-naked, and thus manacled,
      they hurled him into the lake, there about twelve feet deep, with a loud
      halloo of vindictive triumph,&mdash;above which, however, his last
      death-shriek, the yell of mortal agony, was distinctly heard. The heavy
      burden splashed in the dark-blue waters, and the Highlanders, with their
      pole-axes and swords, watched an instant to guard, lest, extricating
      himself from the load to which he was attached, the victim might have
      struggled to regain the shore. But the knot had been securely bound&mdash;the
      wretched man sunk without effort; the waters, which his fall had
      disturbed, settled calmly over him, and the unit of that life for which he
      had pleaded so strongly, was for ever withdrawn from the sum of human
      existence.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="AlinkCH0015" id="AlinkCH0015">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                And be he safe restored ere evening set,
                Or, if there's vengeance in an injured heart,
                And power to wreak it in an armed hand,
                      Your land shall ache for't.
                                          Old Play.
</pre>
    <p>
      I know not why it is that a single deed of violence and cruelty affects
      our nerves more than when these are exercised on a more extended scale. I
      had seen that day several of my brave countrymen fall in battle: it seemed
      to me that they met a lot appropriate to humanity, and my bosom, though
      thrilling with interest, was affected with nothing of that sickening
      horror with which I beheld the unfortunate Morris put to death without
      resistance, and in cold blood. I looked at my companion, Mr. Jarvie, whose
      face reflected the feelings which were painted in mine. Indeed he could
      not so suppress his horror, but that the words escaped him in a low and
      broken whisper,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "I take up my protest against this deed, as a bloody and cruel murder&mdash;it
      is a cursed deed, and God will avenge it in his due way and time."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then you do not fear to follow?" said the virago, bending on him a look
      of death, such as that with which a hawk looks at his prey ere he pounces.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Kinswoman," said the Bailie, "nae man willingly wad cut short his thread
      of life before the end o' his pirn was fairly measured off on the
      yarn-winles&mdash;And I hae muckle to do, an I be spared, in this warld&mdash;public
      and private business, as weel that belonging to the magistracy as to my
      ain particular; and nae doubt I hae some to depend on me, as puir Mattie,
      wha is an orphan&mdash;She's a far-awa' cousin o' the Laird o'
      Limmerfield. Sae that, laying a' this thegither&mdash;skin for skin, yea
      all that a man hath, will he give for his life."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And were I to set you at liberty," said the imperious dame, "what name
      could you give to the drowning of that Saxon dog?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Uh! uh!&mdash;hem! hem!" said the Bailie, clearing his throat as well as
      he could, "I suld study to say as little on that score as might be&mdash;least
      said is sunest mended."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But if you were called on by the courts, as you term them, of justice,"
      she again demanded, "what then would be your answer?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The Bailie looked this way and that way, like a person who meditates an
      escape, and then answered in the tone of one who, seeing no means of
      accomplishing a retreat, determines to stand the brunt of battle&mdash;"I
      see what you are driving me to the wa' about. But I'll tell you't plain,
      kinswoman,&mdash;I behoved just to speak according to my ain conscience;
      and though your ain gudeman, that I wish had been here for his ain sake
      and mine, as wool as the puir Hieland creature Dougal, can tell ye that
      Nicol Jarvie can wink as hard at a friend's failings as onybody, yet I'se
      tell ye, kinswoman, mine's ne'er be the tongue to belie my thought; and
      sooner than say that yonder puir wretch was lawfully slaughtered, I wad
      consent to be laid beside him&mdash;though I think ye are the first
      Hieland woman wad mint sic a doom to her husband's kinsman but four times
      removed."
    </p>
    <p>
      It is probable that the tone and firmness assumed by the Bailie in his
      last speech was better suited to make an impression on the hard heart of
      his kinswoman than the tone of supplication he had hitherto assumed, as
      gems can be cut with steel, though they resist softer metals. She
      commanded us both to be placed before her. "Your name," she said to me,
      "is Osbaldistone?&mdash;the dead dog, whose death you have witnessed,
      called you so."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My name <i>is</i> Osbaldistone," was my answer.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Rashleigh, then, I suppose, is your Christian name?" she pursued.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No,&mdash;my name is Francis."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But you know Rashleigh Osbaldistone," she continued. "He is your brother,
      if I mistake not,&mdash;at least your kinsman and near friend."
    </p>
    <p>
      "He is my kinsman," I replied, "but not my friend. We were lately engaged
      together in a rencontre, when we were separated by a person whom I
      understand to be your husband. My blood is hardly yet dried on his sword,
      and the wound on my side is yet green. I have little reason to acknowledge
      him as a friend."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then," she replied, "if a stranger to his intrigues, you can go in safety
      to Garschattachin and his party without fear of being detained, and carry
      them a message from the wife of the MacGregor?"
    </p>
    <p>
      I answered that I knew no reasonable cause why the militia gentlemen
      should detain me; that I had no reason, on my own account, to fear being
      in their hands; and that if my going on her embassy would act as a
      protection to my friend and servant, who were here prisoners, "I was ready
      to set out directly." I took the opportunity to say, "That I had come into
      this country on her husband's invitation, and his assurance that he would
      aid me in some important matters in which I was interested; that my
      companion, Mr. Jarvie, had accompanied me on the same errand."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And I wish Mr. Jarvie's boots had been fu' o' boiling water when he drew
      them on for sic a purpose," interrupted the Bailie.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You may read your father," said Helen MacGregor, turning to her sons, "in
      what this young Saxon tells us&mdash;Wise only when the bonnet is on his
      head, and the sword is in his hand, he never exchanges the tartan for the
      broad-cloth, but he runs himself into the miserable intrigues of the
      Lowlanders, and becomes again, after all he has suffered, their agent&mdash;their
      tool&mdash;their slave."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Add, madam," said I, "and their benefactor."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Be it so," she said; "for it is the most empty title of them all, since
      he has uniformly sown benefits to reap a harvest of the most foul
      ingratitude.&mdash;But enough of this. I shall cause you to be guided to
      the enemy's outposts. Ask for their commander, and deliver him this
      message from me, Helen MacGregor;&mdash;that if they injure a hair of
      MacGregor's head, and if they do not set him at liberty within the space
      of twelve hours, there is not a lady in the Lennox but shall before
      Christmas cry the coronach for them she will be loath to lose,&mdash;there
      is not a farmer but shall sing well-a-wa over a burnt barnyard and an
      empty byre,&mdash;there is not a laird nor heritor shall lay his head on
      the pillow at night with the assurance of being a live man in the morning,&mdash;and,
      to begin as we are to end, so soon as the term is expired, I will send
      them this Glasgow Bailie, and this Saxon Captain, and all the rest of my
      prisoners, each bundled in a plaid, and chopped into as many pieces as
      there are checks in the tartan."
    </p>
    <p>
      As she paused in her denunciation, Captain Thornton, who was within
      hearing, added, with great coolness, "Present my compliments&mdash;Captain
      Thornton's of the Royals, compliments&mdash;to the commanding officer, and
      tell him to do his duty and secure his prisoner, and not waste a thought
      upon me. If I have been fool enough to have been led into an ambuscade by
      these artful savages, I am wise enough to know how to die for it without
      disgracing the service. I am only sorry for my poor fellows," he said,
      "that have fallen into such butcherly hands."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Whist! whist!" exclaimed the Bailie; "are ye weary o' your life?&mdash;Ye'll
      gie <i>my</i> service to the commanding officer, Mr. Osbaldistone&mdash;Bailie
      Nicol Jarvie's service, a magistrate o' Glasgow, as his father the deacon
      was before him&mdash;and tell him, here are a wheen honest men in great
      trouble, and like to come to mair; and the best thing he can do for the
      common good, will be just to let Rob come his wa's up the glen, and nae
      mair about it. There's been some ill dune here already; but as it has
      lighted chiefly on the gauger, it winna be muckle worth making a stir
      about."
    </p>
    <p>
      With these very opposite injunctions from the parties chiefly interested
      in the success of my embassy, and with the reiterated charge of the wife
      of MacGregor to remember and detail every word of her injunctions, I was
      at length suffered to depart; and Andrew Fairservice, chiefly, I believe,
      to get rid of his clamorous supplications, was permitted to attend me.
      Doubtful, however, that I might use my horse as a means of escape from my
      guides, or desirous to retain a prize of some value, I was given to
      understand that I was to perform my journey on foot, escorted by Hamish
      MacGregor, the elder brother, who, with two followers, attended, as well
      to show me the way, as to reconnoitre the strength and position of the
      enemy. Dougal had been at first ordered on this party, but he contrived to
      elude the service, with the purpose, as we afterwards understood, of
      watching over Mr. Jarvie, whom, according to his wild principles of
      fidelity, he considered as entitled to his good offices, from having once
      acted in some measure as his patron or master.
    </p>
    <p>
      After walking with great rapidity about an hour, we arrived at an eminence
      covered with brushwood, which gave us a commanding prospect down the
      valley, and a full view of the post which the militia occupied. Being
      chiefly cavalry, they had judiciously avoided any attempt to penetrate the
      pass which had been so unsuccessfully essayed by Captain Thornton. They
      had taken up their situation with some military skill, on a rising ground
      in the centre of the little valley of Aberfoil, through which the river
      Forth winds its earliest course, and which is formed by two ridges of
      hills, faced with barricades of limestone rock, intermixed with huge
      masses of breecia, or pebbles imbedded in some softer substance which has
      hardened around them like mortar; and surrounded by the more lofty
      mountains in the distance. These ridges, however, left the valley of
      breadth enough to secure the cavalry from any sudden surprise by the
      mountaineers and they had stationed sentinels and outposts at proper
      distances from this main body, in every direction, so that they might
      secure full time to mount and get under arms upon the least alarm. It was
      not, indeed, expected at that time, that Highlanders would attack cavalry
      in an open plain, though late events have shown that they may do so with
      success.*
    </p>
    <p>
      * The affairs of Prestonpans and Falkirk are probably alluded to, which *
      marks the time of writing the Memoirs as subsequent to 1745.
    </p>
    <p>
      When I first knew the Highlanders, they had almost a superstitious dread
      of a mounted trooper, the horse being so much more fierce and imposing in
      his appearance than the little shelties of their own hills, and moreover
      being trained, as the more ignorant mountaineers believed, to fight with
      his feet and his teeth. The appearance of the piequeted horses, feeding in
      this little vale&mdash;the forms of the soldiers, as they sate, stood, or
      walked, in various groups in the vicinity of the beautiful river, and of
      the bare yet romantic ranges of rock which hedge in the landscape on
      either side,&mdash;formed a noble foreground; while far to the eastward
      the eye caught a glance of the lake of Menteith; and Stirling Castle,
      dimly seen along with the blue and distant line of the Ochil Mountains,
      closed the scene.
    </p>
    <p>
      After gazing on this landscape with great earnestness, young MacGregor
      intimated to me that I was to descend to the station of the militia and
      execute my errand to their commander,&mdash;enjoining me at the same time,
      with a menacing gesture, neither to inform them who had guided me to that
      place, nor where I had parted from my escort. Thus tutored, I descended
      towards the military post, followed by Andrew, who, only retaining his
      breeches and stockings of the English costume, without a hat, bare-legged,
      with brogues on his feet, which Dougal had given him out of compassion,
      and having a tattered plaid to supply the want of all upper garments,
      looked as if he had been playing the part of a Highland Tom-of-Bedlam. We
      had not proceeded far before we became visible to one of the videttes,
      who, riding towards us, presented his carabine and commanded me to stand.
      I obeyed, and when the soldier came up, desired to be conducted to his
      commanding-officer. I was immediately brought where a circle of officers,
      sitting upon the grass, seemed in attendance upon one of superior rank. He
      wore a cuirass of polished steel, over which were drawn the insignia of
      the ancient Order of the Thistle. My friend Garschattachin, and many other
      gentlemen, some in uniform, others in their ordinary dress, but all armed
      and well attended, seemed to receive their orders from this person of
      distinction. Many servants in rich liveries, apparently a part of his
      household, were also in waiting.
    </p>
    <p>
      Having paid to this nobleman the respect which his rank appeared to
      demand, I acquainted him that I had been an involuntary witness to the
      king's soldiers having suffered a defeat from the Highlanders at the pass
      of Loch-Ard (such I had learned was the name of the place where Mr.
      Thornton was made prisoner), and that the victors threatened every species
      of extremity to those who had fallen into their power, as well as to the
      Low Country in general, unless their Chief, who had that morning been made
      prisoner, were returned to them uninjured. The Duke (for he whom I
      addressed was of no lower rank) listened to me with great composure, and
      then replied, that he should be extremely sorry to expose the unfortunate
      gentlemen who had been made prisoners to the cruelty of the barbarians
      into whose hands they had fallen, but that it was folly to suppose that he
      would deliver up the very author of all these disorders and offences, and
      so encourage his followers in their license. "You may return to those who
      sent you," he proceeded, "and inform them, that I shall certainly cause
      Rob Roy Campbell, whom they call MacGregor, to be executed, by break of
      day, as an outlaw taken in arms, and deserving death by a thousand acts of
      violence; that I should be most justly held unworthy of my situation and
      commission did I act otherwise; that I shall know how to protect the
      country against their insolent threats of violence; and that if they
      injure a hair of the head of any of the unfortunate gentlemen whom an
      unlucky accident has thrown into their power, I will take such ample
      vengeance, that the very stones of their glens shall sing woe for it this
      hundred years to come!"
    </p>
    <p>
      I humbly begged leave to remonstrate respecting the honourable mission
      imposed on me, and touched upon the obvious danger attending it, when the
      noble commander replied, "that such being the case, I might send my
      servant."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The deil be in my feet," said Andrew, without either having respect to
      the presence in which he stood, or waiting till I replied&mdash;"the deil
      be in my feet, if I gang my tae's length. Do the folk think I hae another
      thrapple in my pouch after John Highlandman's sneeked this ane wi' his
      joctaleg? or that I can dive doun at the tae side of a Highland loch and
      rise at the tother, like a shell-drake? Na, na&mdash;ilk ane for himsell,
      and God for us a'. Folk may just make a page o' their ain age, and serve
      themsells till their bairns grow up, and gang their ain errands for
      Andrew. Rob Roy never came near the parish of Dreepdaily, to steal either
      pippin or pear frae me or mine."
    </p>
    <p>
      Silencing my follower with some difficulty, I represented to the Duke the
      great danger Captain Thornton and Mr. Jarvie would certainly be exposed
      to, and entreated he would make me the bearer of such modified terms as
      might be the means of saving their lives. I assured him I should decline
      no danger if I could be of service; but from what I had heard and seen, I
      had little doubt they would be instantly murdered should the chief of the
      outlaws suffer death.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Duke was obviously much affected. "It was a hard case," he said, "and
      he felt it as such; but he had a paramount duty to perform to the country&mdash;Rob
      Roy must die!"
    </p>
    <p>
      I own it was not without emotion that I heard this threat of instant death
      to my acquaintance Campbell, who had so often testified his good-will
      towards me. Nor was I singular in the feeling, for many of those around
      the Duke ventured to express themselves in his favour. "It would be more
      advisable," they said, "to send him to Stirling Castle, and there detain
      him a close prisoner, as a pledge for the submission and dispersion of his
      gang. It were a great pity to expose the country to be plundered, which,
      now that the long nights approached, it would be found very difficult to
      prevent, since it was impossible to guard every point, and the Highlanders
      were sure to select those that were left exposed." They added, that there
      was great hardship in leaving the unfortunate prisoners to the almost
      certain doom of massacre denounced against them, which no one doubted
      would be executed in the first burst of revenge.
    </p>
    <p>
      Garschattachin ventured yet farther, confiding in the honour of the
      nobleman whom he addressed, although he knew he had particular reasons for
      disliking their prisoner. "Rob Roy," he said, "though a kittle neighbour
      to the Low Country, and particularly obnoxious to his Grace, and though he
      maybe carried the catheran trade farther than ony man o' his day, was an
      auld-farrand carle, and there might be some means of making him hear
      reason; whereas his wife and sons were reckless fiends, without either
      fear or mercy about them, and, at the head of a' his limmer loons, would
      be a worse plague to the country than ever he had been."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pooh! pooh!" replied his Grace, "it is the very sense and cunning of this
      fellow which has so long maintained his reign&mdash;a mere Highland robber
      would have been put down in as many weeks as he has flourished years. His
      gang, without him, is no more to be dreaded as a permanent annoyance&mdash;it
      will no longer exist&mdash;than a wasp without its head, which may sting
      once perhaps, but is instantly crushed into annihilation."
    </p>
    <p>
      Garschattachin was not so easily silenced. "I am sure, my Lord Duke," he
      replied, "I have no favour for Rob, and he as little for me, seeing he has
      twice cleaned out my ain byres, beside skaith amang my tenants; but,
      however"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, however, Garschattachin," said the Duke, with a smile of peculiar
      expression, "I fancy you think such a freedom may be pardoned in a
      friend's friend, and Rob's supposed to be no enemy to Major Galbraith's
      friends over the water."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If it be so, my lord," said Garschattachin, in the same tone of
      jocularity, "it's no the warst thing I have heard of him. But I wish we
      heard some news from the clans, that we have waited for sae lang. I vow to
      God they'll keep a Hielandman's word wi' us&mdash;I never ken'd them
      better&mdash;it's ill drawing boots upon trews."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I cannot believe it," said the Duke. "These gentlemen are known to be men
      of honour, and I must necessarily suppose they are to keep their
      appointment. Send out two more horse-men to look for our friends. We
      cannot, till their arrival, pretend to attack the pass where Captain
      Thornton has suffered himself to be surprised, and which, to my knowledge,
      ten men on foot might make good against a regiment of the best horse in
      Europe&mdash;Meanwhile let refreshments be given to the men."
    </p>
    <p>
      I had the benefit of this last order, the more necessary and acceptable,
      as I had tasted nothing since our hasty meal at Aberfoil the evening
      before. The videttes who had been despatched returned without tidings of
      the expected auxiliaries, and sunset was approaching, when a Highlander
      belonging to the clans whose co-operation was expected, appeared as the
      bearer of a letter, which he delivered to the Duke with a most profound
      conge'.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now will I wad a hogshead of claret," said Garschattachin, "that this is
      a message to tell us that these cursed Highlandmen, whom we have fetched
      here at the expense of so much plague and vexation, are going to draw off,
      and leave us to do our own business if we can."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is even so, gentlemen," said the Duke, reddening with indignation,
      after having perused the letter, which was written upon a very dirty scrap
      of paper, but most punctiliously addressed, "For the much-honoured hands
      of Ane High and Mighty Prince, the Duke," &amp;c. &amp;c. &amp;c. "Our
      allies," continued the Duke, "have deserted us, gentlemen, and have made a
      separate peace with the enemy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's just the fate of all alliances," said Garschattachin, "the Dutch
      were gaun to serve us the same gate, if we had not got the start of them
      at Utrecht."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are facetious, air," said the Duke, with a frown which showed how
      little he liked the pleasantry; "but our business is rather of a grave cut
      just now.&mdash;I suppose no gentleman would advise our attempting to
      penetrate farther into the country, unsupported either by friendly
      Highlanders, or by infantry from Inversnaid?"
    </p>
    <p>
      A general answer announced that the attempt would be perfect madness.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nor would there be great wisdom," the Duke added, "in remaining exposed
      to a night-attack in this place. I therefore propose that we should
      retreat to the house of Duchray and that of Gartartan, and keep safe and
      sure watch and ward until morning. But before we separate, I will examine
      Rob Roy before you all, and make you sensible, by your own eyes and ears,
      of the extreme unfitness of leaving him space for farther outrage." He
      gave orders accordingly, and the prisoner was brought before him, his arms
      belted down above the elbow, and secured to his body by a horse-girth
      buckled tight behind him. Two non-commissioned officers had hold of him,
      one on each side, and two file of men with carabines and fixed bayonets
      attended for additional security.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had never seen this man in the dress of his country, which set in a
      striking point of view the peculiarities of his form. A shock-head of red
      hair, which the hat and periwig of the Lowland costume had in a great
      measure concealed, was seen beneath the Highland bonnet, and verified the
      epithet of <i>Roy,</i> or Red, by which he was much better known in the
      Low Country than by any other, and is still, I suppose, best remembered.
      The justice of the appellation was also vindicated by the appearance of
      that part of his limbs, from the bottom of his kilt to the top of his
      short hose, which the fashion of his country dress left bare, and which
      was covered with a fell of thick, short, red hair, especially around his
      knees, which resembled in this respect, as well as from their sinewy
      appearance of extreme strength, the limbs of a red-coloured Highland bull.
      Upon the whole, betwixt the effect produced by the change of dress, and by
      my having become acquainted with his real and formidable character, his
      appearance had acquired to my eyes something so much wilder and more
      striking than it before presented, that I could scarce recognise him to be
      the same person.
    </p>
    <p>
      His manner was bold, unconstrained unless by the actual bonds, haughty,
      and even dignified. He bowed to the Duke, nodded to Garschattachin and
      others, and showed some surprise at seeing me among the party.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is long since we have met, Mr. Campbell," said the Duke.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is so, my Lord Duke; I could have wished it had been" (looking at the
      fastening on his arms) "when I could have better paid the compliments I
      owe to your Grace;&mdash;but there's a gude time coming."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No time like the time present, Mr. Campbell," answered the Duke, "for the
      hours are fast flying that must settle your last account with all mortal
      affairs. I do not say this to insult your distress; but you must be aware
      yourself that you draw near the end of your career. I do not deny that you
      may sometimes have done less harm than others of your unhappy trade, and
      that you may occasionally have exhibited marks of talent, and even of a
      disposition which promised better things. But you are aware how long you
      have been the terror and the oppressor of a peaceful neighbourhood, and by
      what acts of violence you have maintained and extended your usurped
      authority. You know, in short, that you have deserved death, and that you
      must prepare for it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My Lord," said Rob Roy, "although I may well lay my misfortunes at your
      Grace's door, yet I will never say that you yourself have been the wilful
      and witting author of them. My Lord, if I had thought sae, your Grace
      would not this day have been sitting in judgment on me; for you have been
      three times within good rifle distance of me when you were thinking but of
      the red deer, and few people have ken'd me miss my aim. But as for them
      that have abused your Grace's ear, and set you up against a man that was
      ance as peacefu' a man as ony in the land, and made your name the warrant
      for driving me to utter extremity,&mdash;I have had some amends of them,
      and, for a' that your Grace now says, I expect to live to hae mair."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I know," said the Duke, in rising anger, "that you are a determined and
      impudent villain, who will keep his oath if he swears to mischief; but it
      shall be my care to prevent you. You have no enemies but your own wicked
      actions."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Had I called myself Grahame, instead of Campbell, I might have heard less
      about them," answered Rob Roy, with dogged resolution.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You will do well, sir," said the Duke, "to warn your wife and family and
      followers, to beware how they use the gentlemen now in their hands, as I
      will requite tenfold on them, and their kin and allies, the slightest
      injury done to any of his Majesty's liege subjects."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My Lord," said Roy in answer, "none of my enemies will allege that I have
      been a bloodthirsty man, and were I now wi' my folk, I could rule four or
      five hundred wild Hielanders as easy as your Grace those eight or ten
      lackeys and foot-boys&mdash;But if your Grace is bent to take the head
      away from a house, ye may lay your account there will be misrule amang the
      members.&mdash;However, come o't what like, there's an honest man, a
      kinsman o' my ain, maun come by nae skaith. Is there ony body here wad do
      a gude deed for MacGregor?&mdash;he may repay it, though his hands be now
      tied."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Highlander who had delivered the letter to the Duke replied, "I'll do
      your will for you, MacGregor; and I'll gang back up the glen on purpose."
    </p>
    <p>
      He advanced, and received from the prisoner a message to his wife, which,
      being in Gaelic, I did not understand, but I had little doubt it related
      to some measures to be taken for the safety of Mr. Jarvie.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you hear the fellow's impudence?" said the Duke; "he confides in his
      character of a messenger. His conduct is of a piece with his master's, who
      invited us to make common cause against these freebooters, and have
      deserted us so soon as the MacGregors have agreed to surrender the
      Balquhidder lands they were squabbling about.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
             No truth in plaids, no faith in tartan trews!
             Chameleon-like, they change a thousand hues."
</pre>
    <p>
      "Your great ancestor never said so, my Lord," answered Major Galbraith;&mdash;"and,
      with submission, neither would your Grace have occasion to say it, wad ye
      but be for beginning justice at the well-head&mdash;Gie the honest man his
      mear again&mdash;Let every head wear it's ane bannet, and the distractions
      o' the Lennox wad be mended wi' them o'the land."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hush! hush! Garschattachin," said the Duke; "this is language dangerous
      for you to talk to any one, and especially to me; but I presume you reckon
      yourself a privileged person. Please to draw off your party towards
      Gartartan; I shall myself see the prisoner escorted to Duchray, and send
      you orders tomorrow. You will please grant no leave of absence to any of
      your troopers."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here's auld ordering and counter-ordering," muttered Garschattachin
      between his teeth. "But patience! patience!&mdash;we may ae day play at
      change seats, the king's coming."
    </p>
    <p>
      The two troops of cavalry now formed, and prepared to march off the
      ground, that they might avail themselves of the remainder of daylight to
      get to their evening quarters. I received an intimation, rather than an
      invitation, to attend the party; and I perceived, that, though no longer
      considered as a prisoner, I was yet under some sort of suspicion. The
      times were indeed so dangerous,&mdash;the great party questions of
      Jacobite and Hanoverian divided the country so effectually,&mdash;and the
      constant disputes and jealousies between the Highlanders and Lowlanders,
      besides a number of inexplicable causes of feud which separated the great
      leading families in Scotland from each other, occasioned such general
      suspicion, that a solitary and unprotected stranger was almost sure to
      meet with something disagreeable in the course of his travels.
    </p>
    <p>
      I acquiesced, however, in my destination with the best grace I could,
      consoling myself with the hope that I might obtain from the captive
      freebooter some information concerning Rashleigh and his machinations. I
      should do myself injustice did I not add, that my views were not merely
      selfish. I was too much interested in my singular acquaintance not to be
      desirous of rendering him such services as his unfortunate situation might
      demand, or admit of his receiving.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="AlinkCH0016" id="AlinkCH0016">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                   And when he came to broken brigg,
                       He bent his bow and swam;
                   And when he came to grass growing,
                       Set down his feet and ran.
                                     Gil Morrice.
</pre>
    <p>
      The echoes of the rocks and ravines, on either side, now rang to the
      trumpets of the cavalry, which, forming themselves into two distinct
      bodies, began to move down the valley at a slow trot. That commanded by
      Major Galbraith soon took to the right hand, and crossed the Forth, for
      the purpose of taking up the quarters assigned them for the night, when
      they were to occupy, as I understood, an old castle in the vicinity. They
      formed a lively object while crossing the stream, but were soon lost in
      winding up the bank on the opposite side, which was clothed with wood.
    </p>
    <p>
      We continued our march with considerable good order. To ensure the safe
      custody of the prisoner, the Duke had caused him to be placed on horseback
      behind one of his retainers, called, as I was informed, Ewan of
      Brigglands, one of the largest and strongest men who were present. A
      horse-belt, passed round the bodies of both, and buckled before the
      yeoman's breast, rendered it impossible for Rob Roy to free himself from
      his keeper. I was directed to keep close beside them, and accommodated for
      the purpose with a troop-horse. We were as closely surrounded by the
      soldiers as the width of the road would permit, and had always at least
      one, if not two, on each side, with pistol in hand. Andrew Fairservice,
      furnished with a Highland pony, of which they had made prey somewhere or
      other, was permitted to ride among the other domestics, of whom a great
      number attended the line of march, though without falling into the ranks
      of the more regularly trained troopers.
    </p>
    <p>
      In this manner we travelled for a certain distance, until we arrived at a
      place where we also were to cross the river. The Forth, as being the
      outlet of a lake, is of considerable depth, even where less important in
      point of width, and the descent to the ford was by a broken precipitous
      ravine, which only permitted one horseman to descend at once. The rear and
      centre of our small body halting on the bank while the front files passed
      down in succession, produced a considerable delay, as is usual on such
      occasions, and even some confusion; for a number of those riders, who made
      no proper part of the squadron, crowded to the ford without regularity,
      and made the militia cavalry, although tolerably well drilled, partake in
      some degree of their own disorder.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="Aimage-0007" id="Aimage-0007">
      <!-- IMG --></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img src="images/pb232.jpg" alt="Escape of Rob Roy at the Ford "
      width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <!-- IMAGE END -->
    <p>
      It was while we were thus huddled together on the bank that I heard Rob
      Roy whisper to the man behind whom he was placed on horseback, "Your
      father, Ewan, wadna hae carried an auld friend to the shambles, like a
      calf, for a' the Dukes in Christendom."
    </p>
    <p>
      Ewan returned no answer, but shrugged, as one who would express by that
      sign that what he was doing was none of his own choice.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And when the MacGregors come down the glen, and ye see toom faulds, a
      bluidy hearthstone, and the fire flashing out between the rafters o' your
      house, ye may be thinking then, Ewan, that were your friend Rob to the
      fore, you would have had that safe which it will make your heart sair to
      lose."
    </p>
    <p>
      Ewan of Brigglands again shrugged and groaned, but remained silent.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's a sair thing," continued Rob, sliding his insinuations so gently
      into Ewan's ear that they reached no other but mine, who certainly saw
      myself in no shape called upon to destroy his prospects of escape&mdash;"It's
      a sair thing, that Ewan of Brigglands, whom Roy MacGregor has helped with
      hand, sword, and purse, suld mind a gloom from a great man mair than a
      friend's life."
    </p>
    <p>
      Ewan seemed sorely agitated, but was silent.&mdash;We heard the Duke's
      voice from the opposite bank call, "Bring over the prisoner."
    </p>
    <p>
      Ewan put his horse in motion, and just as I heard Roy say, "Never weigh a
      MacGregor's bluid against a broken whang o' leather, for there will be
      another accounting to gie for it baith here and hereafter," they passed me
      hastily, and dashing forward rather precipitately, entered the water.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not yet, sir&mdash;not yet," said some of the troopers to me, as I was
      about to follow, while others pressed forward into the stream.
    </p>
    <p>
      I saw the Duke on the other side, by the waning light, engaged in
      commanding his people to get into order, as they landed dispersedly, some
      higher, some lower. Many had crossed, some were in the water, and the rest
      were preparing to follow, when a sudden splash warned me that MacGregor's
      eloquence had prevailed on Ewan to give him freedom and a chance for life.
      The Duke also heard the sound, and instantly guessed its meaning. "Dog!"
      he exclaimed to Ewan as he landed, "where is your prisoner?" and, without
      waiting to hear the apology which the terrified vassal began to falter
      forth, he fired a pistol at his head, whether fatally I know not, and
      exclaimed, "Gentlemen, disperse and pursue the villain&mdash;An hundred
      guineas for him that secures Rob Roy!"
    </p>
    <p>
      All became an instant scene of the most lively confusion. Rob Roy,
      disengaged from his bonds, doubtless by Ewan's slipping the buckle of his
      belt, had dropped off at the horse's tail, and instantly dived, passing
      under the belly of the troop-horse which was on his left hand. But as he
      was obliged to come to the surface an instant for air, the glimpse of his
      tartan plaid drew the attention of the troopers, some of whom plunged into
      the river, with a total disregard to their own safety, rushing, according
      to the expression of their country, through pool and stream, sometimes
      swimming their horses, sometimes losing them and struggling for their own
      lives. Others, less zealous or more prudent, broke off in different
      directions, and galloped up and down the banks, to watch the places at
      which the fugitive might possibly land. The hollowing, the whooping, the
      calls for aid at different points, where they saw, or conceived they saw,
      some vestige of him they were seeking,&mdash;the frequent report of
      pistols and carabines, fired at every object which excited the least
      suspicion,&mdash;the sight of so many horsemen riding about, in and out of
      the river, and striking with their long broadswords at whatever excited
      their attention, joined to the vain exertions used by their officers to
      restore order and regularity,&mdash;and all this in so wild a scene, and
      visible only by the imperfect twilight of an autumn evening, made the most
      extraordinary hubbub I had hitherto witnessed. I was indeed left alone to
      observe it, for our whole cavalcade had dispersed in pursuit, or at least
      to see the event of the search. Indeed, as I partly suspected at the time,
      and afterwards learned with certainty, many of those who seemed most
      active in their attempts to waylay and recover the fugitive, were, in
      actual truth, least desirous that he should be taken, and only joined in
      the cry to increase the general confusion, and to give Rob Roy a better
      opportunity of escaping.
    </p>
    <p>
      Escape, indeed, was not difficult for a swimmer so expert as the
      freebooter, as soon as he had eluded the first burst of pursuit. At one
      time he was closely pressed, and several blows were made which flashed in
      the water around him; the scene much resembling one of the otter-hunts
      which I had seen at Osbaldistone Hall, where the animal is detected by the
      hounds from his being necessitated to put his nose above the stream to
      vent or breathe, while he is enabled to elude them by getting under water
      again so soon as he has refreshed himself by respiration. MacGregor,
      however, had a trick beyond the otter; for he contrived, when very closely
      pursued, to disengage himself unobserved from his plaid, and suffer it to
      float down the stream, where in its progress it quickly attracted general
      attention; many of the horsemen were thus put upon a false scent, and
      several shots or stabs were averted from the party for whom they were
      designed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Once fairly out of view, the recovery of the prisoner became almost
      impossible, since, in so many places, the river was rendered inaccessible
      by the steepness of its banks, or the thickets of alders, poplars, and
      birch, which, overhanging its banks, prevented the approach of horsemen.
      Errors and accidents had also happened among the pursuers, whose task the
      approaching night rendered every moment more hopeless. Some got themselves
      involved in the eddies of the stream, and required the assistance of their
      companions to save them from drowning. Others, hurt by shots or blows in
      the confused mele'e, implored help or threatened vengeance, and in one or
      two instances such accidents led to actual strife. The trumpets,
      therefore, sounded the retreat, announcing that the commanding officer,
      with whatsoever unwillingness, had for the present relinquished hopes of
      the important prize which had thus unexpectedly escaped his grasp, and the
      troopers began slowly, reluctantly, and brawling with each other as they
      returned, again to assume their ranks. I could see them darkening, as they
      formed on the southern bank of the river,&mdash;whose murmurs, long
      drowned by the louder cries of vengeful pursuit, were now heard hoarsely
      mingling with the deep, discontented, and reproachful voices of the
      disappointed horsemen.
    </p>
    <p>
      Hitherto I had been as it were a mere spectator, though far from an
      uninterested one, of the singular scene which had passed. But now I heard
      a voice suddenly exclaim, "Where is the English stranger?&mdash;It was he
      gave Rob Roy the knife to cut the belt."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Cleeve the pock-pudding to the chafts!" cried one voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Weize a brace of balls through his harn-pan!" said a second.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Drive three inches of cauld airn into his brisket!" shouted a third.
    </p>
    <p>
      And I heard several horses galloping to and fro, with the kind purpose,
      doubtless, of executing these denunciations. I was immediately awakened to
      the sense of my situation, and to the certainty that armed men, having no
      restraint whatever on their irritated and inflamed passions, would
      probably begin by shooting or cutting me down, and afterwards investigate
      the justice of the action. Impressed by this belief, I leaped from my
      horse, and turning him loose, plunged into a bush of alder-trees, where,
      considering the advancing obscurity of the night, I thought there was
      little chance of my being discovered. Had I been near enough to the Duke
      to have invoked his personal protection, I would have done so; but he had
      already commenced his retreat, and I saw no officer on the left bank of
      the river, of authority sufficient to have afforded protection, in case of
      my surrendering myself. I thought there was no point of honour which could
      require, in such circumstances, an unnecessary exposure of my life. My
      first idea, when the tumult began to be appeased, and the clatter of the
      horses' feet was heard less frequently in the immediate vicinity of my
      hiding-place, was to seek out the Duke's quarters when all should be
      quiet, and give myself up to him, as a liege subject, who had nothing to
      fear from his justice, and a stranger, who had every right to expect
      protection and hospitality. With this purpose I crept out of my
      hiding-place, and looked around me.
    </p>
    <p>
      The twilight had now melted nearly into darkness; a few or none of the
      troopers were left on my side of the Forth, and of those who were already
      across it, I only heard the distant trample of the horses' feet, and the
      wailing and prolonged sound of their trumpets, which rung through the
      woods to recall stragglers, Here, therefore, I was left in a situation of
      considerable difficulty. I had no horse, and the deep and wheeling stream
      of the river, rendered turbid by the late tumult of which its channel had
      been the scene, and seeming yet more so under the doubtful influence of an
      imperfect moonlight, had no inviting influence for a pedestrian by no
      means accustomed to wade rivers, and who had lately seen horsemen
      weltering, in this dangerous passage, up to the very saddle-laps. At the
      same time, my prospect, if I remained on the side of the river on which I
      then stood, could be no other than of concluding the various fatigues of
      this day and the preceding night, by passing that which was now closing
      in, <i>al fresco</i> on the side of a Highland hill.
    </p>
    <p>
      After a moment's reflection, I began to consider that Fairservice, who had
      doubtless crossed the river with the other domestics, according to his
      forward and impertinent custom of putting himself always among the
      foremost, could not fail to satisfy the Duke, or the competent
      authorities, respecting my rank and situation; and that, therefore, my
      character did not require my immediate appearance, at the risk of being
      drowned in the river&mdash;of being unable to trace the march of the
      squadron in case of my reaching the other side in safety&mdash;or,
      finally, of being cut down, right or wrong, by some straggler, who might
      think such a piece of good service a convenient excuse for not sooner
      rejoining his ranks. I therefore resolved to measure my steps back to the
      little inn, where I had passed the preceding night. I had nothing to
      apprehend from Rob Roy. He was now at liberty, and I was certain, in case
      of my falling in with any of his people, the news of his escape would
      ensure me protection. I might thus also show, that I had no intention to
      desert Mr. Jarvie in the delicate situation in which he had engaged
      himself chiefly on my account. And lastly, it was only in this quarter
      that I could hope to learn tidings concerning Rashleigh and my father's
      papers, which had been the original cause of an expedition so fraught with
      perilous adventure. I therefore abandoned all thoughts of crossing the
      Forth that evening; and, turning my back on the Fords of Frew, began to
      retrace my steps towards the little village of Aberfoil.
    </p>
    <p>
      A sharp frost-wind, which made itself heard and felt from time to time,
      removed the clouds of mist which might otherwise have slumbered till
      morning on the valley; and, though it could not totally disperse the
      clouds of vapour, yet threw them in confused and changeful masses, now
      hovering round the heads of the mountains, now filling, as with a dense
      and voluminous stream of smoke, the various deep gullies where masses of
      the composite rock, or breccia, tumbling in fragments from the cliffs,
      have rushed to the valley, leaving each behind its course a rent and torn
      ravine resembling a deserted water-course. The moon, which was now high,
      and twinkled with all the vivacity of a frosty atmosphere, silvered the
      windings of the river and the peaks and precipices which the mist left
      visible, while her beams seemed as it were absorbed by the fleecy
      whiteness of the mist, where it lay thick and condensed; and gave to the
      more light and vapoury specks, which were elsewhere visible, a sort of
      filmy transparency resembling the lightest veil of silver gauze. Despite
      the uncertainty of my situation, a view so romantic, joined to the active
      and inspiring influence of the frosty atmosphere, elevated my spirits
      while it braced my nerves. I felt an inclination to cast care away, and
      bid defiance to danger, and involuntarily whistled, by way of cadence to
      my steps, which my feeling of the cold led me to accelerate, and I felt
      the pulse of existence beat prouder and higher in proportion as I felt
      confidence in my own strength, courage, and resources. I was so much lost
      in these thoughts, and in the feelings which they excited, that two
      horsemen came up behind me without my hearing their approach, until one
      was on each side of me, when the left-hand rider, pulling up his horse,
      addressed me in the English tongue&mdash;"So ho, friend! whither so late?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "To my supper and bed at Aberfoil," I replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are the passes open?" he inquired, with the same commanding tone of
      voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do not know," I replied; "I shall learn when I get there. But," I
      added, the fate of Morris recurring to my recollection, "if you are an
      English stranger, I advise you to turn back till daylight; there has been
      some disturbance in this neighbourhood, and I should hesitate to say it is
      perfectly safe for strangers."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The soldiers had the worst?&mdash;had they not?" was the reply.
    </p>
    <p>
      "They had indeed; and an officer's party were destroyed or made
      prisoners."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are you sure of that?" replied the horseman.
    </p>
    <p>
      "As sure as that I hear you speak," I replied. "I was an unwilling
      spectator of the skirmish."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Unwilling!" continued the interrogator. "Were you not engaged in it
      then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Certainly no," I replied; "I was detained by the king's officer."
    </p>
    <p>
      "On what suspicion? and who are you? or what is your name?" he continued.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I really do not know, sir," said I, "why I should answer so many
      questions to an unknown stranger. I have told you enough to convince you
      that you are going into a dangerous and distracted country. If you choose
      to proceed, it is your own affair; but as I ask you no questions
      respecting your name and business, you will oblige me by making no
      inquiries after mine."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Francis Osbaldistone," said the other rider, in a voice the tones of
      which thrilled through every nerve of my body, "should not whistle his
      favourite airs when he wishes to remain undiscovered."
    </p>
    <p>
      And Diana Vernon&mdash;for she, wrapped in a horseman's cloak, was the
      last speaker&mdash;whistled in playful mimicry the second part of the tune
      which was on my lips when they came up.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good God!" I exclaimed, like one thunderstruck, "can it be you, Miss
      Vernon, on such a spot&mdash;at such an hour&mdash;in such a lawless
      country&mdash;in such"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "In such a masculine dress, you would say.&mdash;But what would you have?
      The philosophy of the excellent Corporal Nym is the best after all; things
      must be as they may&mdash;<i>pauca verba.</i>"
    </p>
    <p>
      While she was thus speaking, I eagerly took advantage of an unusually
      bright gleam of moonshine, to study the appearance of her companion; for
      it may be easily supposed, that finding Miss Vernon in a place so
      solitary, engaged in a journey so dangerous, and under the protection of
      one gentleman only, were circumstances to excite every feeling of
      jealousy, as well as surprise. The rider did not speak with the deep
      melody of Rashleigh's voice; his tones were more high and commanding; he
      was taller, moreover, as he sate on horseback, than that first-rate object
      of my hate and suspicion. Neither did the stranger's address resemble that
      of any of my other cousins; it had that indescribable tone and manner by
      which we recognise a man of sense and breeding, even in the first few
      sentences he speaks.
    </p>
    <p>
      The object of my anxiety seemed desirous to get rid of my investigation.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Diana," he said, in a tone of mingled kindness and authority, "give your
      cousin his property, and let us not spend time here."
    </p>
    <p>
      Miss Vernon had in the meantime taken out a small case, and leaning down
      from her horse towards me, she said, in a tone in which an effort at her
      usual quaint lightness of expression contended with a deeper and more
      grave tone of sentiment, "You see, my dear coz, I was born to be your
      better angel. Rashleigh has been compelled to yield up his spoil, and had
      we reached this same village of Aberfoil last night, as we purposed, I
      should have found some Highland sylph to have wafted to you all these
      representatives of commercial wealth. But there were giants and dragons in
      the way; and errant-knights and damsels of modern times, bold though they
      be, must not, as of yore, run into useless danger&mdash;Do not you do so
      either, my dear coz."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Diana," said her companion, "let me once more warn you that the evening
      waxes late, and we are still distant from our home."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am coming, sir, I am coming&mdash;Consider," she added, with a sigh,
      "how lately I have been subjected to control&mdash;besides, I have not yet
      given my cousin the packet, and bid him fare-well&mdash;for ever. Yes,
      Frank," she said, "for ever!&mdash;there is a gulf between us&mdash;a gulf
      of absolute perdition;&mdash;where we go, you must not follow&mdash;what
      we do, you must not share in&mdash;Farewell&mdash;be happy!"
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="Aimage-0008" id="Aimage-0008">
      <!-- IMG --></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img src="images/pb242.jpg" alt="Parting of Die and Frank on the Moor "
      width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <!-- IMAGE END -->
    <p>
      In the attitude in which she bent from her horse, which was a Highland
      pony, her face, not perhaps altogether unwillingly, touched mine. She
      pressed my hand, while the tear that trembled in her eye found its way to
      my cheek instead of her own. It was a moment never to be forgotten&mdash;inexpressibly
      bitter, yet mixed with a sensation of pleasure so deeply soothing and
      affecting, as at once to unlock all the flood-gates of the heart. It was
      <i>but</i> a moment, however; for, instantly recovering from the feeling
      to which she had involuntarily given way, she intimated to her companion
      she was ready to attend him, and putting their horses to a brisk pace,
      they were soon far distant from the place where I stood.
    </p>
    <p>
      Heaven knows, it was not apathy which loaded my frame and my tongue so
      much, that I could neither return Miss Vernon's half embrace, nor even
      answer her farewell. The word, though it rose to my tongue, seemed to
      choke in my throat like the fatal <i>guilty,</i> which the delinquent who
      makes it his plea, knows must be followed by the doom of death. The
      surprise&mdash;the sorrow, almost stupified me. I remained motionless with
      the packet in my hand, gazing after them, as if endeavouring to count the
      sparkles which flew from the horses' hoofs. I continued to look after even
      these had ceased to be visible, and to listen for their footsteps long
      after the last distant trampling had died in my ears. At length, tears
      rushed to my eyes, glazed as they were by the exertion of straining after
      what was no longer to be seen. I wiped them mechanically, and almost
      without being aware that they were flowing&mdash;but they came thicker and
      thicker; I felt the tightening of the throat and breast&mdash;the <i>hysterica
      passio</i> of poor Lear; and sitting down by the wayside, I shed a flood
      of the first and most bitter tears which had flowed from my eyes since
      childhood.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="AlinkCH0017" id="AlinkCH0017">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     <i>Dangle.</i>&mdash;Egad, I think the interpreter is the harder to be
          understood of the two.
                                        Critic.
</pre>
    <p>
      I had scarce given vent to my feelings in this paroxysm, ere was ashamed
      of my weakness. I remembered that I had been for some time endeavouring to
      regard Diana Vernon, when her idea intruded itself on my remembrance, as a
      friend, for whose welfare I should indeed always be anxious, but with whom
      I could have little further communication. But the almost unrepressed
      tenderness of her manner, joined to the romance of our sudden meeting
      where it was so little to have been expected, were circumstances which
      threw me entirely off my guard. I recovered, however, sooner than might
      have been expected, and without giving myself time accurately to examine
      my motives. I resumed the path on which I had been travelling when
      overtaken by this strange and unexpected apparition.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am not," was my reflection, "transgressing her injunction so
      pathetically given, since I am but pursuing my own journey by the only
      open route.&mdash;If I have succeeded in recovering my father's property,
      it still remains incumbent on me to see my Glasgow friend delivered from
      the situation in which he has involved himself on my account; besides,
      what other place of rest can I obtain for the night excepting at the
      little inn of Aberfoil? They also must stop there, since it is impossible
      for travellers on horseback to go farther&mdash;Well, then, we shall meet
      again&mdash;meet for the last time perhaps&mdash;But I shall see and hear
      her&mdash;I shall learn who this happy man is who exercises over her the
      authority of a husband&mdash;I shall learn if there remains, in the
      difficult course in which she seems engaged, any difficulty which my
      efforts may remove, or aught that I can do to express my gratitude for her
      generosity&mdash;for her disinterested friendship."
    </p>
    <p>
      As I reasoned thus with myself, colouring with every plausible pretext
      which occurred to my ingenuity my passionate desire once more to see and
      converse with my cousin, I was suddenly hailed by a touch on the shoulder;
      and the deep voice of a Highlander, who, walking still faster than I,
      though I was proceeding at a smart pace, accosted me with, "A braw night,
      Maister Osbaldistone&mdash;we have met at the mirk hour before now."
    </p>
    <p>
      There was no mistaking the tone of MacGregor; he had escaped the pursuit
      of his enemies, and was in full retreat to his own wilds and to his
      adherents. He had also contrived to arm himself, probably at the house of
      some secret adherent, for he had a musket on his shoulder, and the usual
      Highland weapons by his side. To have found myself alone with such a
      character in such a situation, and at this late hour in the evening, might
      not have been pleasant to me in any ordinary mood of mind; for, though
      habituated to think of Rob Roy in rather a friendly point of view, I will
      confess frankly that I never heard him speak but that it seemed to thrill
      my blood. The intonation of the mountaineers gives a habitual depth and
      hollowness to the sound of their words, owing to the guttural expression
      so common in their native language, and they usually speak with a good
      deal of emphasis. To these national peculiarities Rob Roy added a sort of
      hard indifference of accent and manner, expressive of a mind neither to be
      daunted, nor surprised, nor affected by what passed before him, however
      dreadful, however sudden, however afflicting. Habitual danger, with
      unbounded confidence in his own strength and sagacity, had rendered him
      indifferent to fear, and the lawless and precarious life he led had
      blunted, though its dangers and errors had not destroyed, his feelings for
      others. And it was to be remembered that I had very lately seen the
      followers of this man commit a cruel slaughter on an unarmed and suppliant
      individual.
    </p>
    <p>
      Yet such was the state of my mind, that I welcomed the company of the
      outlaw leader as a relief to my own overstrained and painful thoughts; and
      was not without hopes that through his means I might obtain some clew of
      guidance through the maze in which my fate had involved me. I therefore
      answered his greeting cordially, and congratulated him on his late escape
      in circumstances when escape seemed impossible.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay," he replied, "there is as much between the craig and the woodie* as
      there is between the cup and the lip. But my peril was less than you may
      think, being a stranger to this country.
    </p>
    <p>
      * <i>i.e.</i> The throat and the withy. Twigs of willow, such as bind
      faggots, were often used for halters in Scotland and Ireland, being a sage
      economy of hemp.
    </p>
    <p>
      Of those that were summoned to take me, and to keep me, and to retake me
      again, there was a moiety, as cousin Nicol Jarvie calls it, that had nae
      will that I suld be either taen, or keepit fast, or retaen; and of tother
      moiety, there was as half was feared to stir me; and so I had only like
      the fourth part of fifty or sixty men to deal withal."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And enough, too, I should think," replied I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I dinna ken that," said he; "but I ken, that turn every ill-willer that I
      had amang them out upon the green before the Clachan of Aberfoil, I wad
      find them play with broadsword and target, one down and another come on."
    </p>
    <p>
      He now inquired into my adventures since we entered his country, and
      laughed heartily at my account of the battle we had in the inn, and at the
      exploits of the Bailie with the red-hot poker.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let Glasgow Flourish!" he exclaimed. "The curse of Cromwell on me, if I
      wad hae wished better sport than to see cousin Nicol Jarvie singe
      Iverach's plaid, like a sheep's head between a pair of tongs. But my
      cousin Jarvie," he added, more gravely, "has some gentleman's bluid in his
      veins, although he has been unhappily bred up to a peaceful and mechanical
      craft, which could not but blunt any pretty man's spirit.&mdash;Ye may
      estimate the reason why I could not receive you at the Clachan of Aberfoil
      as I purposed. They had made a fine hosenet for me when I was absent twa
      or three days at Glasgow, upon the king's business&mdash;But I think I
      broke up the league about their lugs&mdash;they'll no be able to hound one
      clan against another as they hae dune. I hope soon to see the day when a'
      Hielandmen will stand shouther to shouther. But what chanced next?"
    </p>
    <p>
      I gave him an account of the arrival of Captain Thornton and his party,
      and the arrest of the Bailie and myself under pretext of our being
      suspicious persons; and upon his more special inquiry, I recollected the
      officer had mentioned that, besides my name sounding suspicious in his
      ears, he had orders to secure an old and young person, resembling our
      description. This again moved the outlaw's risibility.
    </p>
    <p>
      "As man lives by bread," he said, "the buzzards have mistaen my friend the
      Bailie for his Excellency, and you for Diana Vernon&mdash;O, the most
      egregious night-howlets!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Miss Vernon?" said I, with hesitation, and trembling for the answer&mdash;"Does
      she still bear that name? She passed but now, along with a gentleman who
      seemed to use a style of authority."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, ay," answered Rob, "she's under lawfu' authority now; and full time,
      for she was a daft hempie&mdash;But she's a mettle quean. It's a pity his
      Excellency is a thought eldern. The like o' yourself, or my son Hamish,
      wad be mair sortable in point of years."
    </p>
    <p>
      Here, then, was a complete downfall of those castles of cards which my
      fancy had, in despite of my reason, so often amused herself with building.
      Although in truth I had scarcely anything else to expect, since I could
      not suppose that Diana could be travelling in such a country, at such an
      hour, with any but one who had a legal title to protect her, I did not
      feel the blow less severely when it came; and MacGregor's voice, urging me
      to pursue my story, sounded in my ears without conveying any exact import
      to my mind.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are ill," he said at length, after he had spoken twice without
      receiving an answer; "this day's wark has been ower muckle for ane
      doubtless unused to sic things."
    </p>
    <p>
      The tone of kindness in which this was spoken, recalling me to myself, and
      to the necessities of my situation, I continued my narrative as well as I
      could. Rob Roy expressed great exultation at the successful skirmish in
      the pass.
    </p>
    <p>
      "They say," he observed, "that king's chaff is better than other folk's
      corn; but I think that canna be said o' king's soldiers, if they let
      themselves be beaten wi' a wheen auld carles that are past fighting, and
      bairns that are no come till't, and wives wi' their rocks and distaffs,
      the very wally-draigles o' the countryside. And Dougal Gregor, too&mdash;wha
      wad hae thought there had been as muckle sense in his tatty-pow, that
      ne'er had a better covering than his ain shaggy hassock of hair!&mdash;But
      say away&mdash;though I dread what's to come neist&mdash;for my Helen's an
      incarnate devil when her bluid's up&mdash;puir thing, she has ower muckle
      reason."
    </p>
    <p>
      I observed as much delicacy as I could in communicating to him the usage
      we had received, but I obviously saw the detail gave him great pain.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I wad rather than a thousand merks," he said, "that I had been at hame!
      To misguide strangers, and forbye a', my ain natural cousin, that had
      showed me sic kindness&mdash;I wad rather they had burned half the Lennox
      in their folly! But this comes o' trusting women and their bairns, that
      have neither measure nor reason in their dealings. However, it's a' owing
      to that dog of a gauger, wha betrayed me by pretending a message from your
      cousin Rashleigh, to meet him on the king's affairs, whilk I thought was
      very like to be anent Garschattachin and a party of the Lennox declaring
      themselves for King James. Faith! but I ken'd I was clean beguiled when I
      heard the Duke was there; and when they strapped the horse-girth ower my
      arms, I might hae judged what was biding me; for I ken'd your kinsman,
      being, wi' pardon, a slippery loon himself, is prone to employ those of
      his ain kidney&mdash;I wish he mayna hae been at the bottom o' the ploy
      himsell&mdash;I thought the chield Morris looked devilish queer when I
      determined he should remain a wad, or hostage, for my safe back-coming.
      But I <i>am</i> come back, nae thanks to him, or them that employed him;
      and the question is, how the collector loon is to win back himsell&mdash;I
      promise him it will not be without a ransom."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Morris," said I, "has already paid the last ransom which mortal man can
      owe."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Eh! What?" exclaimed my companion hastily; "what d'ye say? I trust it was
      in the skirmish he was killed?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He was slain in cold blood after the fight was over, Mr. Campbell."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Cold blood?&mdash;Damnation!" he said, muttering betwixt his teeth&mdash;"How
      fell that, sir? Speak out, sir, and do not Maister or Campbell me&mdash;my
      foot is on my native heath, and my name is MacGregor!"
    </p>
    <p>
      His passions were obviously irritated; but without noticing the rudeness
      of his tone, I gave him a short and distinct account of the death of
      Morris. He struck the butt of his gun with great vehemence against the
      ground, and broke out&mdash;"I vow to God, such a deed might make one
      forswear kin, clan, country, wife, and bairns! And yet the villain wrought
      long for it. And what is the difference between warsling below the water
      wi' a stane about your neck, and wavering in the wind wi' a tether round
      it?&mdash;it's but choking after a', and he drees the doom he ettled for
      me. I could have wished, though, they had rather putten a ball through
      him, or a dirk; for the fashion of removing him will give rise to mony
      idle clavers&mdash;But every wight has his weird, and we maun a' dee when
      our day comes&mdash;And naebody will deny that Helen MacGregor has deep
      wrongs to avenge."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he seemed to dismiss the theme altogether from his mind, and
      proceeded to inquire how I got free from the party in whose hands he had
      seen me.
    </p>
    <p>
      My story was soon told; and I added the episode of my having recovered the
      papers of my father, though I dared not trust my voice to name the name of
      Diana.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was sure ye wad get them," said MacGregor;&mdash;"the letter ye brought
      me contained his Excellency's pleasure to that effect and nae doubt it was
      my will to have aided in it. And I asked ye up into this glen on the very
      errand. But it's like his Excellency has foregathered wi' Rashleigh sooner
      than I expected."
    </p>
    <p>
      The first part of this answer was what most forcibly struck me.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Was the letter I brought you, then, from this person you call his
      Excellency? Who is he? and what is his rank and proper name?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am thinking," said MacGregor, "that since ye dinna ken them already
      they canna be o' muckle consequence to you, and sae I shall say naething
      on that score. But weel I wot the letter was frae his ain hand, or, having
      a sort of business of my ain on my hands, being, as ye weel may see, just
      as much as I can fairly manage, I canna say I would hae fashed mysell sae
      muckle about the matter."
    </p>
    <p>
      I now recollected the lights seen in the library&mdash;the various
      circumstances which had excited my jealousy&mdash;the glove&mdash;the
      agitation of the tapestry which covered the secret passage from
      Rashleigh's apartment; and, above all, I recollected that Diana retired in
      order to write, as I then thought, the billet to which I was to have
      recourse in case of the last necessity. Her hours, then, were not spent in
      solitude, but in listening to the addresses of some desperate agent of
      Jacobitical treason, who was a secret resident within the mansion of her
      uncle! Other young women have sold themselves for gold, or suffered
      themselves to be seduced from their first love from vanity; but Diana had
      sacrificed my affections and her own to partake the fortunes of some
      desperate adventurer&mdash;to seek the haunts of freebooters through
      midnight deserts, with no better hopes of rank or fortune than that
      mimicry of both which the mock court of the Stuarts at St. Germains had in
      their power to bestow.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will see her," I said internally, "if it be possible, once more. I will
      argue with her as a friend&mdash;as a kinsman&mdash;on the risk she is
      incurring, and I will facilitate her retreat to France, where she may,
      with more comfort and propriety, as well as safety, abide the issue of the
      turmoils which the political trepanner, to whom she has united her fate,
      is doubtless busied in putting into motion."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I conclude, then," I said to MacGregor, after about five minutes' silence
      on both sides, "that his Excellency, since you give me no other name for
      him, was residing in Osbaldistone Hall at the same time with myself?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "To be sure&mdash;to be sure&mdash;and in the young lady's apartment, as
      best reason was." This gratuitous information was adding gall to
      bitterness. "But few," added MacGregor, "ken'd he was derned there, save
      Rashleigh and Sir Hildebrand; for you were out o' the question; and the
      young lads haena wit eneugh to ca' the cat frae the cream&mdash;But it's a
      bra' auld-fashioned house, and what I specially admire is the abundance o'
      holes and bores and concealments&mdash;ye could put twenty or thirty men
      in ae corner, and a family might live a week without finding them out&mdash;whilk,
      nae doubt, may on occasion be a special convenience. I wish we had the
      like o' Osbaldistone Hall on the braes o' Craig-Royston&mdash;But we maun
      gar woods and caves serve the like o' us puir Hieland bodies."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I suppose his Excellency," said I, "was privy to the first accident which
      befell"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      I could not help hesitating a moment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ye were going to say Morris," said Rob Roy coolly, for he was too much
      accustomed to deeds of violence for the agitation he had at first
      expressed to be of long continuance. "I used to laugh heartily at that
      reik; but I'll hardly hae the heart to do't again, since the ill-far'd
      accident at the Loch. Na, na&mdash;his Excellency ken'd nought o' that
      ploy&mdash;it was a' managed atween Rashleigh and mysell. But the sport
      that came after&mdash;and Rashleigh's shift o' turning the suspicion aff
      himself upon you, that he had nae grit favour to frae the beginning&mdash;and
      then Miss Die, she maun hae us sweep up a' our spiders' webs again, and
      set you out o' the Justice's claws&mdash;and then the frightened craven
      Morris, that was scared out o' his seven senses by seeing the real man
      when he was charging the innocent stranger&mdash;and the gowk of a clerk&mdash;and
      the drunken carle of a justice&mdash;Ohon! ohon!&mdash;mony a laugh that
      job's gien me&mdash;and now, a' that I can do for the puir devil is to get
      some messes said for his soul."
    </p>
    <p>
      "May I ask," said I, "how Miss Vernon came to have so much influence over
      Rashleigh and his accomplices as to derange your projected plan?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mine! it was none of mine. No man can say I ever laid my burden on other
      folk's shoulders&mdash;it was a' Rashleigh's doings. But, undoubtedly, she
      had great influence wi' us baith on account of his Excellency's affection,
      as weel as that she ken'd far ower mony secrets to be lightlied in a
      matter o' that kind.&mdash;Deil tak him," he ejaculated, by way of summing
      up, "that gies women either secret to keep or power to abuse&mdash;fules
      shouldna hae chapping-sticks."
    </p>
    <p>
      We were now within a quarter of a mile from the village, when three
      Highlanders, springing upon us with presented arms, commanded us to stand
      and tell our business. The single word <i>Gregaragh,</i> in the deep and
      commanding voice of my companion, was answered by a shout, or rather yell,
      of joyful recognition. One, throwing down his firelock, clasped his leader
      so fast round the knees, that he was unable to extricate himself,
      muttering, at the same time, a torrent of Gaelic gratulation, which every
      now and then rose into a sort of scream of gladness. The two others, after
      the first howling was over, set off literally with the speed of deers,
      contending which should first carry to the village, which a strong party
      of the MacGregors now occupied, the joyful news of Rob Roy's escape and
      return. The intelligence excited such shouts of jubilation, that the very
      hills rung again, and young and old, men, women, and children, without
      distinction of sex or age, came running down the vale to meet us, with all
      the tumultuous speed and clamour of a mountain torrent. When I heard the
      rushing noise and yells of this joyful multitude approach us, I thought it
      a fitting precaution to remind MacGregor that I was a stranger, and under
      his protection. He accordingly held me fast by the hand, while the
      assemblage crowded around him with such shouts of devoted attachment, and
      joy at his return, as were really affecting; nor did he extend to his
      followers what all eagerly sought, the grasp, namely, of his hand, until
      he had made them understand that I was to be kindly and carefully used.
    </p>
    <p>
      The mandate of the Sultan of Delhi could not have been more promptly
      obeyed. Indeed, I now sustained nearly as much inconvenience from their
      well-meant attentions as formerly from their rudeness. They would hardly
      allow the friend of their leader to walk upon his own legs, so earnest
      were they in affording me support and assistance upon the way; and at
      length, taking advantage of a slight stumble which I made over a stone,
      which the press did not permit me to avoid, they fairly seized upon me,
      and bore me in their arms in triumph towards Mrs. MacAlpine's.
    </p>
    <p>
      On arrival before her hospitable wigwam, I found power and popularity had
      its inconveniences in the Highlands, as everywhere else; for, before
      MacGregor could be permitted to enter the house where he was to obtain
      rest and refreshment, he was obliged to relate the story of his escape at
      least a dozen times over, as I was told by an officious old man, who chose
      to translate it at least as often for my edification, and to whom I was in
      policy obliged to seem to pay a decent degree of attention. The audience
      being at length satisfied, group after group departed to take their bed
      upon the heath, or in the neighbouring huts, some cursing the Duke and
      Garschattachin, some lamenting the probable danger of Ewan of Brigglands,
      incurred by his friendship to MacGregor, but all agreeing that the escape
      of Rob Roy himself lost nothing in comparison with the exploit of any one
      of their chiefs since the days of Dougal Ciar, the founder of his line.
    </p>
    <p>
      The friendly outlaw, now taking me by the arm, conducted me into the
      interior of the hut. My eyes roved round its smoky recesses in quest of
      Diana and her companion; but they were nowhere to be seen, and I felt as
      if to make inquiries might betray some secret motives, which were best
      concealed. The only known countenance upon which my eyes rested was that
      of the Bailie, who, seated on a stool by the fireside, received with a
      sort of reserved dignity, the welcomes of Rob Roy, the apologies which he
      made for his indifferent accommodation, and his inquiries after his
      health.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am pretty weel, kinsman," said the Bailie&mdash;"indifferent weel, I
      thank ye; and for accommodations, ane canna expect to carry about the Saut
      Market at his tail, as a snail does his caup;&mdash;and I am blythe that
      ye hae gotten out o' the hands o' your unfreends."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Weel, weel, then," answered Roy, "what is't ails ye, man&mdash;a's weel
      that ends weel!&mdash;the warld will last our day&mdash;Come, take a cup
      o' brandy&mdash;your father the deacon could take ane at an orra time."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It might be he might do sae, Robin, after fatigue&mdash;whilk has been my
      lot mair ways than ane this day. But," he continued, slowly filling up a
      little wooden stoup which might hold about three glasses, "he was a
      moderate man of his bicker, as I am mysell&mdash;Here's wussing health to
      ye, Robin" (a sip), "and your weelfare here and hereafter" (another
      taste), "and also to my cousin Helen&mdash;and to your twa hopefu' lads,
      of whom mair anon."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he drank up the contents of the cup with great gravity and
      deliberation, while MacGregor winked aside to me, as if in ridicule of the
      air of wisdom and superior authority which the Bailie assumed towards him
      in their intercourse, and which he exercised when Rob was at the head of
      his armed clan, in full as great, or a greater degree, than when he was at
      the Bailie's mercy in the Tolbooth of Glasgow. It seemed to me, that
      MacGregor wished me, as a stranger, to understand, that if he submitted to
      the tone which his kinsman assumed, it was partly out of deference to the
      rights of hospitality, but still more for the jest's sake.
    </p>
    <p>
      As the Bailie set down his cup he recognised me, and giving me a cordial
      welcome on my return, he waived farther communication with me for the
      present.&mdash;"I will speak to your matters anon; I maun begin, as in
      reason, wi' those of my kinsman.&mdash;I presume, Robin, there's naebody
      here will carry aught o' what I am gaun to say, to the town-council or
      elsewhere, to my prejudice or to yours?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Make yourself easy on that head, cousin Nicol," answered MacGregor; "the
      tae half o' the gillies winna ken what ye say, and the tother winna care&mdash;besides
      that, I wad stow the tongue out o' the head o' any o' them that suld
      presume to say ower again ony speech held wi' me in their presence."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aweel, cousin, sic being the case, and Mr. Osbaldistone here being a
      prudent youth, and a safe friend&mdash;I'se plainly tell ye, ye are
      breeding up your family to gang an ill gate." Then, clearing his voice
      with a preliminary hem, he addressed his kinsman, checking, as Malvolio
      proposed to do when seated in his state, his familiar smile with an
      austere regard of control.&mdash;"Ye ken yourself ye haud light by the law&mdash;and
      for my cousin Helen, forbye that her reception o' me this blessed day&mdash;whilk
      I excuse on account of perturbation of mind, was muckle on the north side
      o' <i>friendly,</i> I say (outputting this personal reason of complaint) I
      hae that to say o' your wife"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Say <i>nothing</i> of her, kinsman," said Rob, in a grave and stern tone,
      "but what is befitting a friend to say, and her husband to hear. Of me you
      are welcome to say your full pleasure."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aweel, aweel," said the Bailie, somewhat disconcerted, "we'se let that be
      a pass-over&mdash;I dinna approve of making mischief in families. But here
      are your twa sons, Hamish and Robin, whilk signifies, as I'm gien to
      understand, James and Robert&mdash;I trust ye will call them sae in future&mdash;there
      comes nae gude o' Hamishes, and Eachines, and Angusses, except that
      they're the names ane aye chances to see in the indictments at the Western
      Circuits for cow-lifting, at the instance of his majesty's advocate for
      his majesty's interest. Aweel, but the twa lads, as I was saying, they
      haena sae muckle as the ordinar grunds, man, of liberal education&mdash;they
      dinna ken the very multiplication table itself, whilk is the root of a'
      usefu' knowledge, and they did naething but laugh and fleer at me when I
      tauld them my mind on their ignorance&mdash;It's my belief they can
      neither read, write, nor cipher, if sic a thing could be believed o' ane's
      ain connections in a Christian land."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If they could, kinsman," said MacGregor, with great indifference, "their
      learning must have come o' free will, for whar the deil was I to get them
      a teacher?&mdash;wad ye hae had me put on the gate o' your Divinity Hall
      at Glasgow College, 'Wanted, a tutor for Rob Roy's bairns?'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Na, kinsman," replied Mr. Jarvie, "but ye might hae sent the lads whar
      they could hae learned the fear o' God, and the usages of civilised
      creatures. They are as ignorant as the kyloes ye used to drive to market,
      or the very English churls that ye sauld them to, and can do naething
      whatever to purpose."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Umph!" answered Rob; "Hamish can bring doun a black-cock when he's on the
      wing wi' a single bullet, and Rob can drive a dirk through a twa-inch
      board."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sae muckle the waur for them, cousin!&mdash;sae muckle the waur for them
      baith!" answered the Glasgow merchant in a tone of great decision; "an
      they ken naething better than that, they had better no ken that neither.
      Tell me yourself, Rob, what has a' this cutting, and stabbing, and
      shooting, and driving of dirks, whether through human flesh or fir deals,
      dune for yourself?&mdash;and werena ye a happier man at the tail o' your
      nowte-bestial, when ye were in an honest calling, than ever ye hae been
      since, at the head o' your Hieland kernes and gally-glasses?"
    </p>
    <p>
      I observed that MacGregor, while his well-meaning kinsman spoke to him in
      this manner, turned and writhed his body like a man who indeed suffers
      pain, but is determined no groan shall escape his lips; and I longed for
      an opportunity to interrupt the well-meant, but, as it was obvious to me,
      quite mistaken strain, in which Jarvie addressed this extraordinary
      person. The dialogue, however, came to an end without my interference.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And sae," said the Bailie, "I hae been thinking, Rob, that as it may be
      ye are ower deep in the black book to win a pardon, and ower auld to mend
      yourself, that it wad be a pity to bring up twa hopefu' lads to sic a
      godless trade as your ain, and I wad blythely tak them for prentices at
      the loom, as I began mysell, and my father the deacon afore me, though,
      praise to the Giver, I only trade now as wholesale dealer&mdash;And&mdash;and"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      He saw a storm gathering on Rob's brow, which probably induced him to
      throw in, as a sweetener of an obnoxious proposition, what he had reserved
      to crown his own generosity, had it been embraced as an acceptable one;&mdash;"and
      Robin, lad, ye needna look sae glum, for I'll pay the prentice-fee, and
      never plague ye for the thousand merks neither."
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Ceade millia diaoul,</i> hundred thousand devils!" exclaimed Rob,
      rising and striding through the hut, "My sons weavers!&mdash;<i>Millia
      molligheart!</i>&mdash;but I wad see every loom in Glasgow, beam,
      traddles, and shuttles, burnt in hell-fire sooner!"
    </p>
    <p>
      With some difficulty I made the Bailie, who was preparing a reply,
      comprehend the risk and impropriety of pressing our host on this topic,
      and in a minute he recovered, or reassumed, his serenity of temper.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But ye mean weel&mdash;ye mean weel," said he; "so gie me your hand,
      Nicol, and if ever I put my sons apprentice, I will gie you the refusal o'
      them. And, as you say, there's the thousand merks to be settled between
      us.&mdash; Here, Eachin MacAnaleister, bring me my sporran."
    </p>
    <p>
      The person he addressed, a tall, strong mountaineer, who seemed to act as
      MacGregor's lieutenant, brought from some place of safety a large leathern
      pouch, such as Highlanders of rank wear before them when in full dress,
      made of the skin of the sea-otter, richly garnished with silver ornaments
      and studs.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I advise no man to attempt opening this sporran till he has my secret,"
      said Rob Roy; and then twisting one button in one direction, and another
      in another, pulling one stud upward, and pressing another downward, the
      mouth of the purse, which was bound with massive silver plate, opened and
      gave admittance to his hand. He made me remark, as if to break short the
      subject on which Bailie Jarvie had spoken, that a small steel pistol was
      concealed within the purse, the trigger of which was connected with the
      mounting, and made part of the machinery, so that the weapon would
      certainly be discharged, and in all probability its contents lodged in the
      person of any one, who, being unacquainted with the secret, should tamper
      with the lock which secured his treasure. "This," said he touching the
      pistol&mdash;"this is the keeper of my privy purse."
    </p>
    <p>
      The simplicity of the contrivance to secure a furred pouch, which could
      have been ripped open without any attempt on the spring, reminded me of
      the verses in the Odyssey, where Ulysses, in a yet ruder age, is content
      to secure his property by casting a curious and involved complication of
      cordage around the sea-chest in which it was deposited.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Bailie put on his spectacles to examine the mechanism, and when he had
      done, returned it with a smile and a sigh, observing&mdash;"Ah! Rob, had
      ither folk's purses been as weel guarded, I doubt if your sporran wad hae
      been as weel filled as it kythes to be by the weight."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never mind, kinsman," said Rob, laughing; "it will aye open for a
      friend's necessity, or to pay a just due&mdash;and here," he added,
      pulling out a rouleau of gold, "here is your ten hundred merks&mdash;count
      them, and see that you are full and justly paid."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Jarvie took the money in silence, and weighing it in his hand for an
      instant, laid it on the table, and replied, "Rob, I canna tak it&mdash;I
      downa intromit with it&mdash;there can nae gude come o't&mdash;I hae seen
      ower weel the day what sort of a gate your gowd is made in&mdash;ill-got
      gear ne'er prospered; and, to be plain wi' you, I winna meddle wi't&mdash;it
      looks as there might be bluid on't."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Troutsho!" said the outlaw, affecting an indifference which perhaps he
      did not altogether feel; "it's gude French gowd, and ne'er was in
      Scotchman's pouch before mine. Look at them, man&mdash;they are a'
      louis-d'ors, bright and bonnie as the day they were coined."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The waur, the waur&mdash;just sae muckle the waur, Robin," replied the
      Bailie, averting his eyes from the money, though, like Caesar on the
      Lupercal, his fingers seemed to itch for it&mdash;"Rebellion is waur than
      witchcraft, or robbery either; there's gospel warrant for't."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never mind the warrant, kinsman," said the freebooter; "you come by the
      gowd honestly, and in payment of a just debt&mdash;it came from the one
      king, you may gie it to the other, if ye like; and it will just serve for
      a weakening of the enemy, and in the point where puir King James is
      weakest too, for, God knows, he has hands and hearts eneugh, but I doubt
      he wants the siller."
    </p>
    <p>
      "He'll no get mony Hielanders then, Robin," said Mr. Jarvie, as, again
      replacing his spectacles on his nose, he undid the rouleau, and began to
      count its contents.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nor Lowlanders neither," said MacGregor, arching his eyebrow, and, as he
      looked at me, directing a glance towards Mr. Jarvie, who, all unconscious
      of the ridicule, weighed each piece with habitual scrupulosity; and having
      told twice over the sum, which amounted to the discharge of his debt,
      principal and interest, he returned three pieces to buy his kinswoman a
      gown, as he expressed himself, and a brace more for the twa bairns, as he
      called them, requesting they might buy anything they liked with them
      except gunpowder. The Highlander stared at his kinsman's unexpected
      generosity, but courteously accepted his gift, which he deposited for the
      time in his well-secured pouch.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Bailie next produced the original bond for the debt, on the back of
      which he had written a formal discharge, which, having subscribed himself,
      he requested me to sign as a witness. I did so, and Bailie Jarvie was
      looking anxiously around for another, the Scottish law requiring the
      subscription of two witnesses to validate either a bond or acquittance.
      "You will hardly find a man that can write save ourselves within these
      three miles," said Rob, "but I'll settle the matter as easily;" and,
      taking the paper from before his kinsman, he threw it in the fire. Bailie
      Jarvie stared in his turn, but his kinsman continued, "That's a Hieland
      settlement of accounts. The time might come, cousin, were I to keep a'
      these charges and discharges, that friends might be brought into trouble
      for having dealt with me."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Bailie attempted no reply to this argument, and our supper now
      appeared in a style of abundance, and even delicacy, which, for the place,
      might be considered as extraordinary. The greater part of the provisions
      were cold, intimating they had been prepared at some distance; and there
      were some bottles of good French wine to relish pasties of various sorts
      of game, as well as other dishes. I remarked that MacGregor, while doing
      the honours of the table with great and anxious hospitality, prayed us to
      excuse the circumstance that some particular dish or pasty had been
      infringed on before it was presented to us. "You must know," said he to
      Mr. Jarvie, but without looking towards me, "you are not the only guests
      this night in the MacGregor's country, whilk, doubtless, ye will believe,
      since my wife and the twa lads would otherwise have been maist ready to
      attend you, as weel beseems them."
    </p>
    <p>
      Bailie Jarvie looked as if he felt glad at any circumstance which
      occasioned their absence; and I should have been entirely of his opinion,
      had it not been that the outlaw's apology seemed to imply they were in
      attendance on Diana and her companion, whom even in my thoughts I could
      not bear to designate as her husband.
    </p>
    <p>
      While the unpleasant ideas arising from this suggestion counteracted the
      good effects of appetite, welcome, and good cheer, I remarked that Rob
      Roy's attention had extended itself to providing us better bedding than we
      had enjoyed the night before. Two of the least fragile of the bedsteads,
      which stood by the wall of the hut, had been stuffed with heath, then in
      full flower, so artificially arranged, that, the flowers being uppermost,
      afforded a mattress at once elastic and fragrant. Cloaks, and such bedding
      as could be collected, stretched over this vegetable couch, made it both
      soft and warm. The Bailie seemed exhausted by fatigue. I resolved to
      adjourn my communication to him until next morning; and therefore suffered
      him to betake himself to bed so soon as he had finished a plentiful
      supper. Though tired and harassed, I did not myself feel the same
      disposition to sleep, but rather a restless and feverish anxiety, which
      led to some farther discourse betwixt me and MacGregor.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="AlinkCH0018" id="AlinkCH0018">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
               A hopeless darkness settles o'er my fate;
               I've seen the last look of her heavenly eyes,&mdash;
               I've heard the last sound of her blessed voice,&mdash;
               I've seen her fair form from my sight depart;
                          My doom is closed.
                                        Count Basil.
</pre>
    <p>
      "I ken not what to make of you, Mr. Osbaldistone," said MacGregor, as he
      pushed the flask towards me. "You eat not, you show no wish for rest; and
      yet you drink not, though that flask of Bourdeaux might have come out of
      Sir Hildebrand's ain cellar. Had you been always as abstinent, you would
      have escaped the deadly hatred of your cousin Rashleigh."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Had I been always prudent," said I, blushing at the scene he recalled to
      my recollection, "I should have escaped a worse evil&mdash;the reproach of
      my own conscience."
    </p>
    <p>
      MacGregor cast a keen and somewhat fierce glance on me, as if to read
      whether the reproof, which he evidently felt, had been intentionally
      conveyed. He saw that I was thinking of myself, not of him, and turned his
      face towards the fire with a deep sigh. I followed his example, and each
      remained for a few minutes wrapt in his own painful reverie. All in the
      hut were now asleep, or at least silent, excepting ourselves.
    </p>
    <p>
      MacGregor first broke silence, in the tone of one who takes up his
      determination to enter on a painful subject. "My cousin Nicol Jarvie means
      well," he said, "but he presses ower hard on the temper and situation of a
      man like me, considering what I have been&mdash;what I have been forced to
      become&mdash;and, above all, that which has forced me to become what I
      am."
    </p>
    <p>
      He paused; and, though feeling the delicate nature of the discussion in
      which the conversation was likely to engage me, I could not help replying,
      that I did not doubt his present situation had much which must be most
      unpleasant to his feelings.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I should be happy to learn," I added, "that there is an honourable chance
      of your escaping from it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You speak like a boy," returned MacGregor, in a low tone that growled
      like distant thunder&mdash;"like a boy, who thinks the auld gnarled oak
      can be twisted as easily as the young sapling. Can I forget that I have
      been branded as an outlaw&mdash;stigmatised as a traitor&mdash;a price set
      on my head as if I had been a wolf&mdash;my family treated as the dam and
      cubs of the hill-fox, whom all may torment, vilify, degrade, and insult&mdash;the
      very name which came to me from a long and noble line of martial
      ancestors, denounced, as if it were a spell to conjure up the devil with?"
    </p>
    <p>
      As he went on in this manner, I could plainly see, that, by the
      enumeration of his wrongs, he was lashing himself up into a rage, in order
      to justify in his own eyes the errors they had led him into. In this he
      perfectly succeeded; his light grey eyes contracting alternately and
      dilating their pupils, until they seemed actually to flash with flame,
      while he thrust forward and drew back his foot, grasped the hilt of his
      dirk, extended his arm, clenched his fist, and finally rose from his seat.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And they <i>shall</i> find," he said, in the same muttered but deep tone
      of stifled passion, "that the name they have dared to proscribe&mdash;that
      the name of MacGregor&mdash;<i>is</i> a spell to raise the wild devil
      withal. <i>They</i> shall hear of my vengeance, that would scorn to listen
      to the story of my wrongs&mdash;The miserable Highland drover, bankrupt,
      barefooted,&mdash;stripped of all, dishonoured and hunted down, because
      the avarice of others grasped at more than that poor all could pay, shall
      burst on them in an awful change. They that scoffed at the grovelling
      worm, and trode upon him, may cry and howl when they see the stoop of the
      flying and fiery-mouthed dragon.&mdash;But why do I speak of all this?" he
      said, sitting down again, and in a calmer tone&mdash;"Only ye may opine it
      frets my patience, Mr. Osbaldistone, to be hunted like an otter, or a
      sealgh, or a salmon upon the shallows, and that by my very friends and
      neighbours; and to have as many sword-cuts made, and pistols flashed at
      me, as I had this day in the ford of Avondow, would try a saint's temper,
      much more a Highlander's, who are not famous for that gude gift, as ye may
      hae heard, Mr. Osbaldistone.&mdash;But as thing bides wi' me o' what Nicol
      said;&mdash;I'm vexed for the bairns&mdash;I'm vexed when I think o'
      Hamish and Robert living their father's life." And yielding to despondence
      on account of his sons, which he felt not upon his own, the father rested
      his head upon his hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was much affected, Will. All my life long I have been more melted by the
      distress under which a strong, proud, and powerful mind is compelled to
      give way, than by the more easily excited sorrows of softer dispositions.
      The desire of aiding him rushed strongly on my mind, notwithstanding the
      apparent difficulty, and even impossibility, of the task.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We have extensive connections abroad," said I: "might not your sons, with
      some assistance&mdash;and they are well entitled to what my father's house
      can give&mdash;find an honourable resource in foreign service?"
    </p>
    <p>
      I believe my countenance showed signs of sincere emotion; but my
      companion, taking me by the hand, as I was going to speak farther, said&mdash;"I
      thank&mdash;I thank ye&mdash;but let us say nae mair o' this. I did not
      think the eye of man would again have seen a tear on MacGregor's
      eye-lash." He dashed the moisture from his long gray eye-lash and shaggy
      red eye-brow with the back of his hand. "To-morrow morning," he said,
      "we'll talk of this, and we will talk, too, of your affairs&mdash;for we
      are early starters in the dawn, even when we have the luck to have good
      beds to sleep in. Will ye not pledge me in a grace cup?" I declined the
      invitation.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then, by the soul of St. Maronoch! I must pledge myself," and he poured
      out and swallowed at least half-a-quart of wine.
    </p>
    <p>
      I laid myself down to repose, resolving to delay my own inquiries until
      his mind should be in a more composed state. Indeed, so much had this
      singular man possessed himself of my imagination, that I felt it
      impossible to avoid watching him for some minutes after I had flung myself
      on my heath mattress to seeming rest. He walked up and down the hut,
      crossed himself from time to time, muttering over some Latin prayer of the
      Catholic church; then wrapped himself in his plaid, with his naked sword
      on one side, and his pistol on the other, so disposing the folds of his
      mantle that he could start up at a moment's warning, with a weapon in
      either hand, ready for instant combat. In a few minutes his heavy
      breathing announced that he was fast asleep. Overpowered by fatigue, and
      stunned by the various unexpected and extraordinary scenes of the day, I,
      in my turn, was soon overpowered by a slumber deep and overwhelming, from
      which, notwithstanding every cause for watchfulness, I did not awake until
      the next morning.
    </p>
    <p>
      When I opened my eyes, and recollected my situation, I found that
      MacGregor had already left the hut. I awakened the Bailie, who, after many
      a snort and groan, and some heavy complaints of the soreness of his bones,
      in consequence of the unwonted exertions of the preceding day, was at
      length able to comprehend the joyful intelligence, that the assets carried
      off by Rashleigh Osbaldistone had been safely recovered. The instant he
      understood my meaning, he forgot all his grievances, and, bustling up in a
      great hurry, proceeded to compare the contents of the packet which I put
      into his hands, with Mr. Owen's memorandums, muttering, as he went on,
      "Right, right&mdash;the real thing&mdash;Bailie and Whittington&mdash;where's
      Bailie and Whittington?&mdash;seven hundred, six, and eight&mdash;exact to
      a fraction&mdash;Pollock and Peelman&mdash;twenty-eight, seven&mdash;exact&mdash;Praise
      be blest!&mdash;Grub and Grinder&mdash;better men cannot be&mdash;three
      hundred and seventy&mdash;Gliblad&mdash;twenty; I doubt Gliblad's ganging&mdash;Slipprytongue;
      Slipprytongue's gaen&mdash;but they are sma'sums&mdash;sma'sums&mdash;the
      rest's a'right&mdash;Praise be blest! we have got the stuff, and may leave
      this doleful country. I shall never think on Loch-Ard but the thought will
      gar me grew again."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am sorry, cousin," said MacGregor, who entered the hut during the last
      observation, "I have not been altogether in the circumstances to make your
      reception sic as I could have desired&mdash;natheless, if you would
      condescend to visit my puir dwelling"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Muckle obliged, muckle obliged," answered Mr. Jarvie, very hastily&mdash;"But
      we maun be ganging&mdash;we maun be jogging, Mr. Osbaldistone and me&mdash;business
      canna wait."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aweel, kinsman," replied the Highlander, "ye ken our fashion&mdash;foster
      the guest that comes&mdash;further him that maun gang. But ye cannot
      return by Drymen&mdash;I must set you on Loch Lomond, and boat ye down to
      the Ferry o' Balloch, and send your nags round to meet ye there. It's a
      maxim of a wise man never to return by the same road he came, providing
      another's free to him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, ay, Rob," said the Bailie, "that's ane o' the maxims ye learned when
      ye were a drover;&mdash;ye caredna to face the tenants where your beasts
      had been taking a rug of their moorland grass in the by-ganging, and I
      doubt your road's waur marked now than it was then."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The mair need not to travel it ower often, kinsman," replied Rob; "but
      I'se send round your nags to the ferry wi' Dougal Gregor, wha is converted
      for that purpose into the Bailie's man, coming&mdash;not, as ye may
      believe, from Aberfoil or Rob Roy's country, but on a quiet jaunt from
      Stirling. See, here he is."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I wadna hae ken'd the creature," said Mr. Jarvie; nor indeed was it easy
      to recognise the wild Highlander, when he appeared before the door of the
      cottage, attired in a hat, periwig, and riding-coat, which had once called
      Andrew Fairservice master, and mounted on the Bailie's horse, and leading
      mine. He received his last orders from his master to avoid certain places
      where he might be exposed to suspicion&mdash;to collect what intelligence
      he could in the course of his journey, and to await our coming at an
      appointed place, near the Ferry of Balloch.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the same time, MacGregor invited us to accompany him upon our own road,
      assuring us that we must necessarily march a few miles before breakfast,
      and recommending a dram of brandy as a proper introduction to the journey,
      in which he was pledged by the Bailie, who pronounced it "an unlawful and
      perilous habit to begin the day wi' spirituous liquors, except to defend
      the stomach (whilk was a tender part) against the morning mist; in whilk
      case his father the deacon had recommended a dram, by precept and
      example."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very true, kinsman," replied Rob, "for which reason we, who are Children
      of the Mist, have a right to drink brandy from morning till night."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Bailie, thus refreshed, was mounted on a small Highland pony; another
      was offered for my use, which, however, I declined; and we resumed, under
      very different guidance and auspices, our journey of the preceding day.
    </p>
    <p>
      Our escort consisted of MacGregor, and five or six of the handsomest, best
      armed, and most athletic mountaineers of his band, and whom he had
      generally in immediate attendance upon his own person.
    </p>
    <p>
      When we approached the pass, the scene of the skirmish of the preceding
      day, and of the still more direful deed which followed it, MacGregor
      hastened to speak, as if it were rather to what he knew must be
      necessarily passing in my mind, than to any thing I had said&mdash;he
      spoke, in short, to my thoughts, and not to my words.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You must think hardly of us, Mr. Osbaldistone, and it is not natural that
      it should be otherwise. But remember, at least, we have not been
      unprovoked. We are a rude and an ignorant, and it may be a violent and
      passionate, but we are not a cruel people. The land might be at peace and
      in law for us, did they allow us to enjoy the blessings of peaceful law.
      But we have been a persecuted generation."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And persecution," said the Bailie, "maketh wise men mad."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What must it do then to men like us, living as our fathers did a thousand
      years since, and possessing scarce more lights than they did? Can we view
      their bluidy edicts against us&mdash;their hanging, heading, hounding, and
      hunting down an ancient and honourable name&mdash;as deserving better
      treatment than that which enemies give to enemies?&mdash;Here I stand,
      have been in twenty frays, and never hurt man but when I was in het bluid;
      and yet they wad betray me and hang me like a masterless dog, at the gate
      of ony great man that has an ill will at me."
    </p>
    <p>
      I replied, "that the proscription of his name and family sounded in
      English ears as a very cruel and arbitrary law;" and having thus far
      soothed him, I resumed my propositions of obtaining military employment
      for himself, if he chose it, and his sons, in foreign parts. MacGregor
      shook me very cordially by the hand, and detaining me, so as to permit Mr.
      Jarvie to precede us, a manoeuvre for which the narrowness of the road
      served as an excuse, he said to me&mdash;"You are a kind-hearted and an
      honourable youth, and understand, doubtless, that which is due to the
      feelings of a man of honour. But the heather that I have trode upon when
      living, must bloom ower me when I am dead&mdash;my heart would sink, and
      my arm would shrink and wither like fern in the frost, were I to lose
      sight of my native hills; nor has the world a scene that would console me
      for the loss of the rocks and cairns, wild as they are, that you see
      around us.&mdash;And Helen&mdash;what could become of her, were I to leave
      her the subject of new insult and atrocity?&mdash;or how could she bear to
      be removed from these scenes, where the remembrance of her wrongs is aye
      sweetened by the recollection of her revenge?&mdash;I was once so hard put
      at by my Great enemy, as I may well ca' him, that I was forced e'en to gie
      way to the tide, and removed myself and my people and family from our
      dwellings in our native land, and to withdraw for a time into MacCallum
      More's country&mdash;and Helen made a Lament on our departure, as weel as
      MacRimmon* himsell could hae framed it&mdash;and so piteously sad and
      waesome, that our hearts amaist broke as we sate and listened to her&mdash;it
      was like the wailing of one that mourns for the mother that bore him&mdash;the
      tears came down the rough faces of our gillies as they hearkened; and I
      wad not have the same touch of heartbreak again, no, not to have all the
      lands that ever were owned by MacGregor."
    </p>
    <p>
      * The MacRimmons or MacCrimonds were hereditary pipers to the chiefs of
      MacLeod, and celebrated for their talents. The pibroch said to have been
      composed by Helen MacGregor is still in existence. See the Introduction to
      this Novel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But your sons," I said&mdash;"they are at the age when your countrymen
      have usually no objection to see the world?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "And I should be content," he replied, "that they pushed their fortune in
      the French or Spanish service, as is the wont of Scottish cavaliers of
      honour; and last night your plan seemed feasible eneugh&mdash;But I hae
      seen his Excellency this morning before ye were up."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did he then quarter so near us?" said I, my bosom throbbing with anxiety.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nearer than ye thought," was MacGregor's reply; "but he seemed rather in
      some shape to jalouse your speaking to the young leddy; and so you see"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "There was no occasion for jealousy," I answered, with some haughtiness;
      &mdash;"I should not have intruded on his privacy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But ye must not be offended, or look out from amang your curls then, like
      a wildcat out of an ivy-tod, for ye are to understand that he wishes most
      sincere weel to you, and has proved it. And it's partly that whilk has set
      the heather on fire e'en now."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Heather on fire?" said I. "I do not understand you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why," resumed MacGregor, "ye ken weel eneugh that women and gear are at
      the bottom of a' the mischief in this warld. I hae been misdoubting your
      cousin Rashleigh since ever he saw that he wasna to get Die Vernon for his
      marrow, and I think he took grudge at his Excellency mainly on that
      account. But then came the splore about the surrendering your papers&mdash;and
      we hae now gude evidence, that, sae soon as he was compelled to yield them
      up, he rade post to Stirling, and tauld the Government all and mair than
      all, that was gaun doucely on amang us hill-folk; and, doubtless, that was
      the way that the country was laid to take his Excellency and the leddy,
      and to make sic an unexpected raid on me. And I hae as little doubt that
      the poor deevil Morris, whom he could gar believe onything, was egged on
      by him, and some of the Lowland gentry, to trepan me in the gate he tried
      to do. But if Rashleigh Osbaldistone were baith the last and best of his
      name, and granting that he and I ever forgather again, the fiend go down
      my weasand with a bare blade at his belt, if we part before my dirk and
      his best blude are weel acquainted thegither!"
    </p>
    <p>
      He pronounced the last threat with an ominous frown, and the appropriate
      gesture of his hand upon his dagger.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I should almost rejoice at what has happened," said I, "could I hope that
      Rashleigh's treachery might prove the means of preventing the explosion of
      the rash and desperate intrigues in which I have long suspected him to be
      a prime agent."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Trow ye na that," said Rob Roy; "traitor's word never yet hurt honest
      cause. He was ower deep in our secrets, that's true; and had it not been
      so, Stirling and Edinburgh Castles would have been baith in our hands by
      this time, or briefly hereafter, whilk is now scarce to be hoped for. But
      there are ower mony engaged, and far ower gude a cause to be gien up for
      the breath of a traitor's tale, and that will be seen and heard of ere it
      be lang. And so, as I was about to say, the best of my thanks to you for
      your offer anent my sons, whilk last night I had some thoughts to have
      embraced in their behalf. But I see that this villain's treason will
      convince our great folks that they must instantly draw to a head, and make
      a blow for it, or be taen in their houses, coupled up like hounds, and
      driven up to London like the honest noblemen and gentlemen in the year
      seventeen hundred and seven. Civil war is like a cockatrice;&mdash;we have
      sitten hatching the egg that held it for ten years, and might hae sitten
      on for ten years mair, when in comes Rashleigh, and chips the shell, and
      out bangs the wonder amang us, and cries to fire and sword. Now in sic a
      matter I'll hae need o' a' the hands I can mak; and, nae disparagement to
      the Kings of France and Spain, whom I wish very weel to, King James is as
      gude a man as ony o' them, and has the best right to Hamish and Rob, being
      his natural-born subjects."
    </p>
    <p>
      I easily comprehended that these words boded a general national
      convulsion; and, as it would have been alike useless and dangerous to have
      combated the political opinions of my guide, at such a place and moment, I
      contented myself with regretting the promiscuous scene of confusion and
      distress likely to arise from any general exertion in favour of the exiled
      royal family.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let it come, man&mdash;let it come," answered MacGregor; "ye never saw
      dull weather clear without a shower; and if the world is turned upside
      down, why, honest men have the better chance to cut bread out of it."
    </p>
    <p>
      I again attempted to bring him back to the subject of Diana; but although
      on most occasions and subjects he used a freedom of speech which I had no
      great delight in listening to, yet upon that alone which was most
      interesting to me, he kept a degree of scrupulous reserve, and contented
      himself with intimating, "that he hoped the leddy would be soon in a
      quieter country than this was like to be for one while." I was obliged to
      be content with this answer, and to proceed in the hope that accident
      might, as on a former occasion, stand my friend, and allow me at least the
      sad gratification of bidding farewell to the object which had occupied
      such a share of my affections, so much beyond even what I had supposed,
      till I was about to be separated from her for ever.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="Aimage-0009" id="Aimage-0009">
      <!-- IMG --></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img src="images/pb284.jpg" alt="Loch Lomond " width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <!-- IMAGE END -->
    <p>
      We pursued the margin of the lake for about six English miles, through a
      devious and beautifully variegated path, until we attained a sort of
      Highland farm, or assembly of hamlets, near the head of that fine sheet of
      water, called, if I mistake not, Lediart, or some such name. Here a
      numerous party of MacGregor's men were stationed in order to receive us.
      The taste as well as the eloquence of tribes in a savage, or, to speak
      more properly, in a rude state, is usually just, because it is unfettered
      by system and affectation; and of this I had an example in the choice
      these mountaineers had made of a place to receive their guests. It has
      been said that a British monarch would judge well to receive the embassy
      of a rival power in the cabin of a man-of-war; and a Highland leader acted
      with some propriety in choosing a situation where the natural objects of
      grandeur proper to his country might have their full effect on the minds
      of his guests.
    </p>
    <p>
      We ascended about two hundred yards from the shores of the lake, guided by
      a brawling brook, and left on the right hand four or five Highland huts,
      with patches of arable land around them, so small as to show that they
      must have been worked with the spade rather than the plough, cut as it
      were out of the surrounding copsewood, and waving with crops of barley and
      oats. Above this limited space the hill became more steep; and on its edge
      we descried the glittering arms and waving drapery of about fifty of
      MacGregor's followers. They were stationed on a spot, the recollection of
      which yet strikes me with admiration. The brook, hurling its waters
      downwards from the mountain, had in this spot encountered a barrier rock,
      over which it had made its way by two distinct leaps. The first fall,
      across which a magnificent old oak, slanting out from the farther bank,
      partly extended itself as if to shroud the dusky stream of the cascade,
      might be about twelve feet high; the broken waters were received in a
      beautiful stone basin, almost as regular as if hewn by a sculptor; and
      after wheeling around its flinty margin, they made a second precipitous
      dash, through a dark and narrow chasm, at least fifty feet in depth, and
      from thence, in a hurried, but comparatively a more gentle course, escaped
      to join the lake.
    </p>
    <p>
      With the natural taste which belongs to mountaineers, and especially to
      the Scottish Highlanders, whose feelings, I have observed, are often
      allied with the romantic and poetical, Rob Roy's wife and followers had
      prepared our morning repast in a scene well calculated to impress
      strangers with some feelings of awe. They are also naturally a grave and
      proud people, and, however rude in our estimation, carry their ideas of
      form and politeness to an excess that would appear overstrained, except
      from the demonstration of superior force which accompanies the display of
      it; for it must be granted that the air of punctilious deference and rigid
      etiquette which would seem ridiculous in an ordinary peasant, has, like
      the salute of a <i>corps-de-garde,</i> a propriety when tendered by a
      Highlander completely armed. There was, accordingly, a good deal of
      formality in our approach and reception.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Highlanders, who had been dispersed on the side of the hill, drew
      themselves together when we came in view, and, standing firm and
      motionless, appeared in close column behind three figures, whom I soon
      recognised to be Helen MacGregor and her two sons. MacGregor himself
      arranged his attendants in the rear, and, requesting Mr. Jarvie to
      dismount where the ascent became steep, advanced slowly, marshalling us
      forward at the head of the troop. As we advanced, we heard the wild notes
      of the bagpipes, which lost their natural discord from being mingled with
      the dashing sound of the cascade. When we came close, the wife of
      MacGregor came forward to meet us. Her dress was studiously arranged in a
      more feminine taste than it had been on the preceding day, but her
      features wore the same lofty, unbending, and resolute character; and as
      she folded my friend the Bailie in an unexpected and apparently unwelcome
      embrace, I could perceive by the agitation of his wig, his back, and the
      calves of his legs, that he felt much like to one who feels himself
      suddenly in the gripe of a she-bear, without being able to distinguish
      whether the animal is in kindness or in wrath.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Kinsman," she said, "you are welcome&mdash;and you, too, stranger," she
      added, releasing my alarmed companion, who instinctively drew back and
      settled his wig, and addressing herself to me&mdash;"you also are welcome.
      You came," she added, "to our unhappy country, when our bloods were
      chafed, and our hands were red. Excuse the rudeness that gave you a rough
      welcome, and lay it upon the evil times, and not upon us." All this was
      said with the manners of a princess, and in the tone and style of a court.
      Nor was there the least tincture of that vulgarity, which we naturally
      attach to the Lowland Scottish. There was a strong provincial
      accentuation, but, otherwise, the language rendered by Helen MacGregor,
      out of the native and poetical Gaelic, into English, which she had
      acquired as we do learned tongues, but had probably never heard applied to
      the mean purposes of ordinary life, was graceful, flowing, and
      declamatory. Her husband, who had in his time played many parts, used a
      much less elevated and emphatic dialect;&mdash;but even <i>his</i>
      language rose in purity of expression, as you may have remarked, if I have
      been accurate in recording it, when the affairs which he discussed were of
      an agitating and important nature; and it appears to me in his case, and
      in that of some other Highlanders whom I have known, that, when familiar
      and facetious, they used the Lowland Scottish dialect,&mdash;when serious
      and impassioned, their thoughts arranged themselves in the idiom of their
      native language; and in the latter case, as they uttered the corresponding
      ideas in English, the expressions sounded wild, elevated, and poetical. In
      fact, the language of passion is almost always pure as well as vehement,
      and it is no uncommon thing to hear a Scotchman, when overwhelmed by a
      countryman with a tone of bitter and fluent upbraiding, reply by way of
      taunt to his adversary, "You have gotten to your English."
    </p>
    <p>
      Be this as it may, the wife of MacGregor invited us to a refreshment
      spread out on the grass, which abounded with all the good things their
      mountains could offer, but was clouded by the dark and undisturbed gravity
      which sat on the brow of our hostess, as well as by our deep and anxious
      recollection of what had taken place on the preceding day. It was in vain
      that the leader exerted himself to excite mirth;&mdash;a chill hung over
      our minds, as if the feast had been funereal; and every bosom felt light
      when it was ended.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Adieu, cousin," she said to Mr. Jarvie, as we rose from the
      entertainment; "the best wish Helen MacGregor can give to a friend is,
      that he may see her no more."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Bailie struggled to answer, probably with some commonplace maxim of
      morality;&mdash;but the calm and melancholy sternness of her countenance
      bore down and disconcerted the mechanical and formal importance of the
      magistrate. He coughed,&mdash;hemmed,&mdash;bowed,&mdash;and was silent.
    </p>
    <p>
      "For you, stranger," she said, "I have a token, from one whom you can
      never"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Helen!" interrupted MacGregor, in a loud and stern voice, "what means
      this?&mdash;have you forgotten the charge?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "MacGregor," she replied, "I have forgotten nought that is fitting for me
      to remember. It is not such hands as these," and she stretched forth her
      long, sinewy, and bare arm, "that are fitting to convey love-tokens, were
      the gift connected with aught but misery. Young man," she said, presenting
      me with a ring, which I well remembered as one of the few ornaments that
      Miss Vernon sometimes wore, "this comes from one whom you will never see
      more. If it is a joyless token, it is well fitted to pass through the
      hands of one to whom joy can never be known. Her last words were&mdash;Let
      him forget me for ever."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And can she," I said, almost without being conscious that I spoke,
      "suppose that is possible?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "All may be forgotten," said the extraordinary female who addressed me,&mdash;"all&mdash;but
      the sense of dishonour, and the desire of vengeance."
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Seid suas!</i>"* cried the MacGregor, stamping with impatience.
    </p>
    <p>
      * "Strike up."
    </p>
    <p>
      The bagpipes sounded, and with their thrilling and jarring tones cut short
      our conference. Our leave of our hostess was taken by silent gestures; and
      we resumed our journey with an additional proof on my part, that I was
      beloved by Diana, and was separated from her for ever.
    </p>
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    <h2>
      CHAPTER NINETEENTH.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
            Farewell to the land where the clouds love to rest,
            Like the shroud of the dead, on the mountain's cold breast
            To the cataract's roar where the eagles reply,
            And the lake her lone bosom expands to the sky.
</pre>
    <p>
      Our route lay through a dreary, yet romantic country, which the distress
      of my own mind prevented me from remarking particularly, and which,
      therefore, I will not attempt to describe. The lofty peak of Ben Lomond,
      here the predominant monarch of the mountains, lay on our right hand, and
      served as a striking landmark. I was not awakened from my apathy, until,
      after a long and toilsome walk, we emerged through a pass in the hills,
      and Loch Lomond opened before us. I will spare you the attempt to describe
      what you would hardly comprehend without going to see it. But certainly
      this noble lake, boasting innumerable beautiful islands, of every varying
      form and outline which fancy can frame,&mdash;its northern extremity
      narrowing until it is lost among dusky and retreating mountains,&mdash;while,
      gradually widening as it extends to the southward, it spreads its base
      around the indentures and promontories of a fair and fertile land, affords
      one of the most surprising, beautiful, and sublime spectacles in nature.
      The eastern side, peculiarly rough and rugged, was at this time the chief
      seat of MacGregor and his clan,&mdash;to curb whom, a small garrison had
      been stationed in a central position betwixt Loch Lomond and another lake.
      The extreme strength of the country, however, with the numerous passes,
      marshes, caverns, and other places of concealment or defence, made the
      establishment of this little fort seem rather an acknowledgment of the
      danger, than an effectual means of securing against it.
    </p>
    <p>
      On more than one occasion, as well as on that which I witnessed, the
      garrison suffered from the adventurous spirit of the outlaw and his
      followers. These advantages were never sullied by ferocity when he himself
      was in command; for, equally good-tempered and sagacious, he understood
      well the danger of incurring unnecessary odium. I learned with pleasure
      that he had caused the captives of the preceding day to be liberated in
      safety; and many traits of mercy, and even of generosity, are recorded of
      this remarkable man on similar occasions.
    </p>
    <p>
      A boat waited for us in a creek beneath a huge rock, manned by four lusty
      Highland rowers; and our host took leave of us with great cordiality, and
      even affection. Betwixt him and Mr. Jarvie, indeed, there seemed to exist
      a degree of mutual regard, which formed a strong contrast to their
      different occupations and habits. After kissing each other very lovingly,
      and when they were just in the act of parting, the Bailie, in the fulness
      of his heart, and with a faltering voice, assured his kinsman, "that if
      ever an hundred pund, or even twa hundred, would put him or his family in
      a settled way, he need but just send a line to the Saut-Market;" and Rob,
      grasping his basket-hilt with one hand, and shaking Mr. Jarvie's heartily
      with the other, protested, "that if ever anybody should affront his
      kinsman, an he would but let him ken, he would stow his lugs out of his
      head, were he the best man in Glasgow."
    </p>
    <p>
      With these assurances of mutual aid and continued good-will, we bore away
      from the shore, and took our course for the south-western angle of the
      lake, where it gives birth to the river Leven. Rob Roy remained for some
      time standing on the rock from beneath which we had departed, conspicuous
      by his long gun, waving tartans, and the single plume in his cap, which in
      those days denoted the Highland gentleman and soldier; although I observe
      that the present military taste has decorated the Highland bonnet with a
      quantity of black plumage resembling that which is borne before funerals.
      At length, as the distance increased between us, we saw him turn and go
      slowly up the side of the hill, followed by his immediate attendants or
      bodyguard.
    </p>
    <p>
      We performed our voyage for a long time in silence, interrupted only by
      the Gaelic chant which one of the rowers sung in low irregular measure,
      rising occasionally into a wild chorus, in which the others joined.
    </p>
    <p>
      My own thoughts were sad enough;&mdash;yet I felt something soothing in
      the magnificent scenery with which I was surrounded; and thought, in the
      enthusiasm of the moment, that had my faith been that of Rome, I could
      have consented to live and die a lonely hermit in one of the romantic and
      beautiful islands amongst which our boat glided.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Bailie had also his speculations, but they were of somewhat a
      different complexion; as I found when, after about an hour's silence,
      during which he had been mentally engaged in the calculations necessary,
      he undertook to prove the possibility of draining the lake, and "giving to
      plough and harrow many hundred, ay, many a thousand acres, from whilk no
      man could get earthly gude e'enow, unless it were a gedd,* or a dish of
      perch now and then."
    </p>
    <p>
      * A pike.
    </p>
    <p>
      Amidst a long discussion, which he "crammed into mine ear against the
      stomach of my sense," I only remember, that it was part of his project to
      preserve a portion of the lake just deep enough and broad enough for the
      purposes of water-carriage, so that coal-barges and gabbards should pass
      as easily between Dumbarton and Glenfalloch as between Glasgow and
      Greenock.
    </p>
    <p>
      At length we neared our distant place of landing, adjoining to the ruins
      of an ancient castle, and just where the lake discharges its superfluous
      waters into the Leven. There we found Dougal with the horses. The Bailie
      had formed a plan with respect to "the creature," as well as upon the
      draining of the lake; and, perhaps in both cases, with more regard to the
      utility than to the practical possibility of his scheme. "Dougal," he
      said, "ye are a kindly creature, and hae the sense and feeling o' what is
      due to your betters&mdash;and I'm e'en wae for you, Dougal, for it canna
      be but that in the life ye lead you suld get a Jeddart cast* ae day suner
      or later. I trust, considering my services as a magistrate, and my father
      the deacon's afore me, I hae interest eneugh in the council to gar them
      wink a wee at a waur faut than yours.
    </p>
    <p>
      * ["The memory of Dunbar's legal (?) proceedings at Jedburgh is preserved
      in the proverbial phrase <i>Jeddart Justice,</i> which signifies trial <i>after</i>
      execution."&mdash;<i>Minstrelsy of the Border,</i> Preface, p. lvi.]
    </p>
    <p>
      Sae I hae been thinking, that if ye will gang back to Glasgow wi' us,
      being a strong-backit creature, ye might be employed in the warehouse till
      something better suld cast up."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Her nainsell muckle obliged till the Bailie's honour," replied Dougal;
      "but teil be in her shanks fan she gangs on a cause-way'd street, unless
      she be drawn up the Gallowgate wi' tows, as she was before."
    </p>
    <p>
      In fact, I afterwards learned that Dougal had originally come to Glasgow
      as a prisoner, from being concerned in some depredation, but had somehow
      found such favour in the eyes of the jailor, that, with rather overweening
      confidence, he had retained him in his service as one of the turnkeys; a
      task which Dougal had discharged with sufficient fidelity, so far as was
      known, until overcome by his clannish prejudices on the unexpected
      appearance of his old leader.
    </p>
    <p>
      Astonished at receiving so round a refusal to so favourable an offer, the
      Bailie, turning to me, observed, that the "creature was a natural-born
      idiot." I testified my own gratitude in a way which Dougal much better
      relished, by slipping a couple of guineas into his hand. He no sooner felt
      the touch of the gold, than he sprung twice or thrice from the earth with
      the agility of a wild buck, flinging out first one heel and then another,
      in a manner which would have astonished a French dancing-master. He ran to
      the boatmen to show them the prize, and a small gratuity made them take
      part in his raptures. He then, to use a favourite expression of the
      dramatic John Bunyan, "went on his way, and I saw him no more."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Bailie and I mounted our horses, and proceeded on the road to Glasgow.
      When we had lost the view of the lake, and its superb amphitheatre of
      mountains, I could not help expressing with enthusiasm, my sense of its
      natural beauties, although I was conscious that Mr. Jarvie was a very
      uncongenial spirit to communicate with on such a subject.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ye are a young gentleman," he replied, "and an Englishman, and a' this
      may be very fine to you; but for me, wha am a plain man, and ken something
      o' the different values of land, I wadna gie the finest sight we hae seen
      in the Hielands, for the first keek o' the Gorbals o' Glasgow; and if I
      were ance there, it suldna be every fule's errand, begging your pardon,
      Mr. Francis, that suld take me out o' sight o' Saint Mungo's steeple
      again!"
    </p>
    <p>
      The honest man had his wish; for, by dint of travelling very late, we
      arrived at his own house that night, or rather on the succeeding morning.
      Having seen my worthy fellow-traveller safely consigned to the charge of
      the considerate and officious Mattie, I proceeded to Mrs. Flyter's, in
      whose house, even at this unwonted hour, light was still burning. The door
      was opened by no less a person than Andrew Fairservice himself, who, upon
      the first sound of my voice, set up a loud shout of joyful recognition,
      and, without uttering a syllable, ran up stairs towards a parlour on the
      second floor, from the windows of which the light proceeded. Justly
      conceiving that he went to announce my return to the anxious Owen, I
      followed him upon the foot. Owen was not alone, there was another in the
      apartment&mdash;it was my father.
    </p>
    <p>
      The first impulse was to preserve the dignity of his usual equanimity,&mdash;"Francis,
      I am glad to see you." The next was to embrace me tenderly,&mdash;"My dear&mdash;dear
      son!"&mdash;Owen secured one of my hands, and wetted it with his tears,
      while he joined in gratulating my return. These are scenes which address
      themselves to the eye and to the heart rather than to the ear&mdash;My old
      eye-lids still moisten at the recollection of our meeting; but your kind
      and affectionate feelings can well imagine what I should find it
      impossible to describe.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the tumult of our joy was over, I learnt that my father had arrived
      from Holland shortly after Owen had set off for Scotland. Determined and
      rapid in all his movements, he only stopped to provide the means of
      discharging the obligations incumbent on his house. By his extensive
      resources, with funds enlarged, and credit fortified, by eminent success
      in his continental speculation, he easily accomplished what perhaps his
      absence alone rendered difficult, and set out for Scotland to exact
      justice from Rashleigh Osbaldistone, as well as to put order to his
      affairs in that country. My father's arrival in full credit, and with the
      ample means of supporting his engagements honourably, as well as
      benefiting his correspondents in future, was a stunning blow to MacVittie
      and Company, who had conceived his star set for ever. Highly incensed at
      the usage his confidential clerk and agent had received at their hands,
      Mr. Osbaldistone refused every tender of apology and accommodation; and
      having settled the balance of their account, announced to them that, with
      all its numerous contingent advantages, that leaf of their ledger was
      closed for ever.
    </p>
    <p>
      While he enjoyed this triumph over false friends, he was not a little
      alarmed on my account. Owen, good man, had not supposed it possible that a
      journey of fifty or sixty miles, which may be made with so much ease and
      safety in any direction from London, could be attended with any particular
      danger. But he caught alarm, by sympathy, from my father, to whom the
      country, and the lawless character of its inhabitants, were better known.
    </p>
    <p>
      These apprehensions were raised to agony, when, a few hours before I
      arrived, Andrew Fairservice made his appearance, with a dismal and
      exaggerated account of the uncertain state in which he had left me. The
      nobleman with whose troops he had been a sort of prisoner, had, after
      examination, not only dismissed him, but furnished him with the means of
      returning rapidly to Glasgow, in order to announce to my friends my
      precarious and unpleasant situation.
    </p>
    <p>
      Andrew was one of those persons who have no objection to the sort of
      temporary attention and woeful importance which attaches itself to the
      bearer of bad tidings, and had therefore by no means smoothed down his
      tale in the telling, especially as the rich London merchant himself proved
      unexpectedly one of the auditors. He went at great length into an account
      of the dangers I had escaped, chiefly, as he insinuated, by means of his
      own experience, exertion, and sagacity.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What was to come of me now, when my better angel, in his (Andrew's)
      person, was removed from my side, it was," he said, "sad and sair to
      conjecture; that the Bailie was nae better than just naebody at a pinch,
      or something waur, for he was a conceited body&mdash;and Andrew hated
      conceit&mdash;but certainly, atween the pistols and the carabines of the
      troopers, that rappit aff the tane after the tother as fast as hail, and
      the dirks and claymores o' the Hielanders, and the deep waters and weils
      o' the Avondow, it was to be thought there wad be a puir account of the
      young gentleman."
    </p>
    <p>
      This statement would have driven Owen to despair, had he been alone and
      unsupported; but my father's perfect knowledge of mankind enabled him
      easily to appreciate the character of Andrew, and the real amount of his
      intelligence. Stripped of all exaggeration, however, it was alarming
      enough to a parent. He determined to set out in person to obtain my
      liberty by ransom or negotiation, and was busied with Owen till a late
      hour, in order to get through some necessary correspondence, and devolve
      on the latter some business which should be transacted during his absence;
      and thus it chanced that I found them watchers.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was late ere we separated to rest, and, too impatient long to endure
      repose, I was stirring early the next morning. Andrew gave his attendance
      at my levee, as in duty bound, and, instead of the scarecrow figure to
      which he had been reduced at Aberfoil, now appeared in the attire of an
      undertaker, a goodly suit, namely, of the deepest mourning. It was not
      till after one or two queries, which the rascal affected as long as he
      could to misunderstand, that I found out he "had thought it but decent to
      put on mourning, on account of my inexpressible loss; and as the broker at
      whose shop he had equipped himself, declined to receive the goods again,
      and as his own garments had been destroyed or carried off in my honour's
      service, doubtless I and my honourable father, whom Providence had blessed
      wi' the means, wadna suffer a puir lad to sit down wi' the loss; a stand
      o' claes was nae great matter to an Osbaldistone (be praised for't!),
      especially to an old and attached servant o' the house."
    </p>
    <p>
      As there was something of justice in Andrew's plea of loss in my service,
      his finesse succeeded; and he came by a good suit of mourning, with a
      beaver and all things conforming, as the exterior signs of woe for a
      master who was alive and merry.
    </p>
    <p>
      My father's first care, when he arose, was to visit Mr. Jarvie, for whose
      kindness he entertained the most grateful sentiments, which he expressed
      in very few, but manly and nervous terms. He explained the altered state
      of his affairs, and offered the Bailie, on such terms as could not but be
      both advantageous and acceptable, that part in his concerns which had been
      hitherto managed by MacVittie and Company. The Bailie heartily
      congratulated my father and Owen on the changed posture of their affairs,
      and, without affecting to disclaim that he had done his best to serve
      them, when matters looked otherwise, he said, "He had only just acted as
      he wad be done by&mdash;that, as to the extension of their correspondence,
      he frankly accepted it with thanks. Had MacVittie's folk behaved like
      honest men," he said, "he wad hae liked ill to hae come in ahint them, and
      out afore them this gate. But it's otherwise, and they maun e'en stand the
      loss."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Bailie then pulled me by the sleeve into a corner, and, after again
      cordially wishing me joy, proceeded, in rather an embarrassed tone&mdash;"I
      wad heartily wish, Maister Francis, there suld be as little said as
      possible about the queer things we saw up yonder awa. There's nae gude,
      unless ane were judicially examinate, to say onything about that awfu' job
      o' Morris&mdash;and the members o' the council wadna think it creditable
      in ane of their body to be fighting wi' a wheen Hielandmen, and singeing
      their plaidens&mdash;And abune a', though I am a decent sponsible man,
      when I am on my right end, I canna but think I maun hae made a queer
      figure without my hat and my periwig, hinging by the middle like bawdrons,
      or a cloak flung ower a cloak-pin. Bailie Grahame wad hae an unco hair in
      my neck an he got that tale by the end."
    </p>
    <p>
      I could not suppress a smile when I recollected the Bailie's situation,
      although I certainly thought it no laughing matter at the time. The
      good-natured merchant was a little confused, but smiled also when he shook
      his head&mdash;"I see how it is&mdash;I see how it is. But say naething
      about it&mdash;there's a gude callant; and charge that lang-tongued,
      conceited, upsetting serving man o' yours, to sae naething neither. I
      wadna for ever sae muckle that even the lassock Mattie ken'd onything
      about it. I wad never hear an end o't."
    </p>
    <p>
      He was obviously relieved from his impending fears of ridicule, when I
      told him it was my father's intention to leave Glasgow almost immediately.
      Indeed he had now no motive for remaining, since the most valuable part of
      the papers carried off by Rashleigh had been recovered. For that portion
      which he had converted into cash and expended in his own or on political
      intrigues, there was no mode of recovering it but by a suit at law, which
      was forthwith commenced, and proceeded, as our law-agents assured us, with
      all deliberate speed.
    </p>
    <p>
      We spent, accordingly, one hospitable day with the Bailie, and took leave
      of him, as this narrative now does. He continued to grow in wealth,
      honour, and credit, and actually rose to the highest civic honours in his
      native city. About two years after the period I have mentioned, he tired
      of his bachelor life, and promoted Mattie from her wheel by the kitchen
      fire to the upper end of his table, in the character of Mrs. Jarvie.
      Bailie Grahame, the MacVitties, and others (for all men have their
      enemies, especially in the council of a royal burgh), ridiculed this
      transformation. "But," said Mr. Jarvie, "let them say their say. I'll
      ne'er fash mysell, nor lose my liking for sae feckless a matter as a nine
      days' clash. My honest father the deacon had a byword,
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                       Brent brow and lily skin,
                       A loving heart, and a leal within,
                      Is better than gowd or gentle kin.
</pre>
    <p>
      Besides," as he always concluded, "Mattie was nae ordinary lassock-quean;
      she was akin to the Laird o' Limmerfield."
    </p>
    <p>
      Whether it was owing to her descent or her good gifts, I do not presume to
      decide; but Mattie behaved excellently in her exaltation, and relieved the
      apprehensions of some of the Bailie's friends, who had deemed his
      experiment somewhat hazardous. I do not know that there was any other
      incident of his quiet and useful life worthy of being particularly
      recorded.
    </p>
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    <h2>
      CHAPTER TWENTIETH.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                  "Come ye hither my 'six' good sons,
                       Gallant men I trow ye be,
                  How many of you, my children dear,
                  Will stand by that good Earl and me?"

                     "Five" of them did answer make&mdash;
                     "Five" of them spoke hastily,
                     "O father, till the day we die,
                  We'll stand by that good Earl and thee."
                                   The Rising in the North.
</pre>
    <p>
      On the morning when we were to depart from Glasgow, Andrew Fairservice
      bounced into my apartment like a madman, jumping up and down, and singing,
      with more vehemence than tune,
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                The kiln's on fire&mdash;the kiln's on fire&mdash;
                The kiln's on fire&mdash;she's a' in a lowe.
</pre>
    <p>
      With some difficulty I prevailed on him to cease his confounded clamour,
      and explain to me what the matter was. He was pleased to inform me, as if
      he had been bringing the finest news imaginable, "that the Hielands were
      clean broken out, every man o' them, and that Rob Roy, and a' his
      breekless bands, wad be down upon Glasgow or twenty-four hours o' the
      clock gaed round."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hold your tongue," said I, "you rascal! You must be drunk or mad; and if
      there is any truth in your news, is it a singing matter, you scoundrel?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Drunk or mad? nae doubt," replied Andrew, dauntlessly; "ane's aye drunk
      or mad if he tells what grit folks dinna like to hear&mdash;Sing? Od, the
      clans will make us sing on the wrang side o' our mouth, if we are sae
      drunk or mad as to bide their coming."
    </p>
    <p>
      I rose in great haste, and found my father and Owen also on foot, and in
      considerable alarm.
    </p>
    <p>
      Andrew's news proved but too true in the main. The great rebellion which
      agitated Britain in the year 1715 had already broken out, by the
      unfortunate Earl of Mar's setting up the standard of the Stuart family in
      an ill-omened hour, to the ruin of many honourable families, both in
      England and Scotland. The treachery of some of the Jacobite agents
      (Rashleigh among the rest), and the arrest of others, had made George the
      First's Government acquainted with the extensive ramifications of a
      conspiracy long prepared, and which at last exploded prematurely, and in a
      part of the kingdom too distant to have any vital effect upon the country,
      which, however, was plunged into much confusion.
    </p>
    <p>
      This great public event served to confirm and elucidate the obscure
      explanations I had received from MacGregor; and I could easily see why the
      westland clans, who were brought against him, should have waived their
      private quarrel, in consideration that they were all shortly to be engaged
      in the same public cause. It was a more melancholy reflection to my mind,
      that Diana Vernon was the wife of one of those who were most active in
      turning the world upside down, and that she was herself exposed to all the
      privations and perils of her husband's hazardous trade.
    </p>
    <p>
      We held an immediate consultation on the measures we were to adopt in this
      crisis, and acquiesced in my father's plan, that we should instantly get
      the necessary passports, and make the best of our way to London. I
      acquainted my father with my wish to offer my personal service to the
      Government in any volunteer corps, several being already spoken of. He
      readily acquiesced in my proposal; for though he disliked war as a
      profession, yet, upon principle, no man would have exposed his life more
      willingly in defence of civil and religious liberty.
    </p>
    <p>
      We travelled in haste and in peril through Dumfriesshire and the
      neighbouring counties of England. In this quarter, gentlemen of the Tory
      interest were already in motion, mustering men and horses, while the Whigs
      assembled themselves in the principal towns, armed the inhabitants, and
      prepared for civil war. We narrowly escaped being stopped on more
      occasions than one, and were often compelled to take circuitous routes to
      avoid the points where forces were assembling.
    </p>
    <p>
      When we reached London, we immediately associated with those bankers and
      eminent merchants who agreed to support the credit of Government, and to
      meet that run upon the funds, on which the conspirators had greatly
      founded their hopes of furthering their undertaking, by rendering the
      Government, as it were, bankrupt. My father was chosen one of the members
      of this formidable body of the monied interest, as all had the greatest
      confidence in his zeal, skill, and activity. He was also the organ by
      which they communicated with Government, and contrived, from funds
      belonging to his own house, or over which he had command, to find
      purchasers for a quantity of the national stock, which was suddenly flung
      into the market at a depreciated price when the rebellion broke out. I was
      not idle myself, but obtained a commission, and levied, at my father's
      expense, about two hundred men, with whom I joined General Carpenter's
      army.
    </p>
    <p>
      The rebellion, in the meantime, had extended itself to England. The
      unfortunate Earl of Derwentwater had taken arms in the cause, along with
      General Foster. My poor uncle, Sir Hildebrand, whose estate was reduced to
      almost nothing by his own carelessness and the expense and debauchery of
      his sons and household, was easily persuaded to join that unfortunate
      standard. Before doing so, however, he exhibited a degree of precaution of
      which no one could have suspected him&mdash;he made his will!
    </p>
    <p>
      By this document he devised his estates at Osbaldistone Hall, and so
      forth, to his sons successively, and their male heirs, until he came to
      Rashleigh, whom, on account of the turn he had lately taken in politics,
      he detested with all his might,&mdash;he cut him off with a shilling, and
      settled the estate on me as his next heir. I had always been rather a
      favourite of the old gentleman; but it is probable that, confident in the
      number of gigantic youths who now armed around him, he considered the
      destination as likely to remain a dead letter, which he inserted chiefly
      to show his displeasure at Rashleigh's treachery, both public and
      domestic. There was an article, by which he, bequeathed to the niece of
      his late wife, Diana Vernon, now Lady Diana Vernon Beauchamp, some
      diamonds belonging to her late aunt, and a great silver ewer, having the
      arms of Vernon and Osbaldistone quarterly engraven upon it.
    </p>
    <p>
      But Heaven had decreed a more speedy extinction of his numerous and
      healthy lineage, than, most probably, he himself had reckoned on. In the
      very first muster of the conspirators, at a place called Green-Rigg,
      Thorncliff Osbaldistone quarrelled about precedence with a gentleman of
      the Northumbrian border, to the full as fierce and intractable as himself.
      In spite of all remonstrances, they gave their commander a specimen of how
      far their discipline might be relied upon, by fighting it out with their
      rapiers, and my kinsman was killed on the spot. His death was a great loss
      to Sir Hildebrand, for, notwithstanding his infernal temper, he had a
      grain or two of more sense than belonged to the rest of the brotherhood,
      Rashleigh always excepted.
    </p>
    <p>
      Perceval, the sot, died also in his calling. He had a wager with another
      gentleman (who, from his exploits in that line, had acquired the
      formidable epithet of Brandy Swalewell), which should drink the largest
      cup of strong liquor when King James was proclaimed by the insurgents at
      Morpeth. The exploit was something enormous. I forget the exact quantity
      of brandy which Percie swallowed, but it occasioned a fever, of which he
      expired at the end of three days, with the word, <i>water, water,</i>
      perpetually on his tongue.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dickon broke his neck near Warrington Bridge, in an attempt to show off a
      foundered blood-mare which he wished to palm upon a Manchester merchant
      who had joined the insurgents. He pushed the animal at a five-barred gate;
      she fell in the leap, and the unfortunate jockey lost his life.
    </p>
    <p>
      Wilfred the fool, as sometimes befalls, had the best fortune of the
      family. He was slain at Proud Preston, in Lancashire, on the day that
      General Carpenter attacked the barricades, fighting with great bravery,
      though I have heard he was never able exactly to comprehend the cause of
      quarrel, and did not uniformly remember on which king's side he was
      engaged. John also behaved very boldly in the same engagement, and
      received several wounds, of which he was not happy enough to die on the
      spot.
    </p>
    <p>
      Old Sir Hildebrand, entirely brokenhearted by these successive losses,
      became, by the next day's surrender, one of the unhappy prisoners, and was
      lodged in Newgate with his wounded son John.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was now released from my military duty, and lost no time, therefore, in
      endeavouring to relieve the distresses of these new relations. My father's
      interest with Government, and the general compassion excited by a parent
      who had sustained the successive loss of so many sons within so short a
      time, would have prevented my uncle and cousin from being brought to trial
      for high treason. But their doom was given forth from a greater tribunal.
      John died of his wounds in Newgate, recommending to me in his last breath,
      a cast of hawks which he had at the Hall, and a black spaniel bitch called
      Lucy.
    </p>
    <p>
      My poor uncle seemed beaten down to the very earth by his family
      calamities, and the circumstances in which he unexpectedly found himself.
      He said little, but seemed grateful for such attentions as circumstances
      permitted me to show him. I did not witness his meeting with my father for
      the first time for so many years, and under circumstances so melancholy;
      but, judging from my father's extreme depression of spirits, it must have
      been melancholy in the last degree. Sir Hildebrand spoke with great
      bitterness against Rashleigh, now his only surviving child; laid upon him
      the ruin of his house, and the deaths of all his brethren, and declared,
      that neither he nor they would have plunged into political intrigue, but
      for that very member of his family, who had been the first to desert them.
      He once or twice mentioned Diana, always with great affection; and once he
      said, while I sate by his bedside&mdash;"Nevoy, since Thorncliff and all
      of them are dead, I am sorry you cannot have her."
    </p>
    <p>
      The expression affected me much at the time; for it was a usual custom of
      the poor old baronet's, when joyously setting forth upon the morning's
      chase, to distinguish Thorncliff, who was a favourite, while he summoned
      the rest more generally; and the loud jolly tone in which he used to
      hollo, "Call Thornie&mdash;call all of them," contrasted sadly with the
      woebegone and self-abandoning note in which he uttered the disconsolate
      words which I have above quoted. He mentioned the contents of his will,
      and supplied me with an authenticated copy;&mdash;the original he had
      deposited with my old acquaintance Mr. Justice Inglewood, who, dreaded by
      no one, and confided in by all as a kind of neutral person, had become,
      for aught I know, the depositary of half the wills of the fighting men of
      both factions in the county of Northumberland.
    </p>
    <p>
      The greater part of my uncle's last hours were spent in the discharge of
      the religious duties of his church, in which he was directed by the
      chaplain of the Sardinian ambassador, for whom, with some difficulty, we
      obtained permission to visit him. I could not ascertain by my own
      observation, or through the medical attendants, that Sir Hildebrand
      Osbaldistone died of any formed complaint bearing a name in the science of
      medicine. He seemed to me completely worn out and broken down by fatigue
      of body and distress of mind, and rather ceased to exist, than died of any
      positive struggle,&mdash;just as a vessel, buffeted and tossed by a
      succession of tempestuous gales, her timbers overstrained, and her joints
      loosened, will sometimes spring a leak and founder, when there are no
      apparent causes for her destruction.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a remarkable circumstance that my father, after the last duties
      were performed to his brother, appeared suddenly to imbibe a strong
      anxiety that I should act upon the will, and represent his father's house,
      which had hitherto seemed to be the thing in the world which had least
      charms for him. But formerly, he had been like the fox in the fable,
      contemning what was beyond his reach; and, moreover, I doubt not that the
      excessive dislike which he entertained against Rashleigh (now Sir
      Rashleigh) Osbaldistone, who loudly threatened to attack his father Sir
      Hildebrand's will and settlement, corroborated my father's desire to
      maintain it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He had been most unjustly disinherited," he said, "by his own father&mdash;his
      brother's will had repaired the disgrace, if not the injury, by leaving
      the wreck of his property to Frank, the natural heir, and he was
      determined the bequest should take effect."
    </p>
    <p>
      In the meantime, Rashleigh was not altogether a contemptible personage as
      an opponent. The information he had given to Government was critically
      well-timed, and his extreme plausibility, with the extent of his
      intelligence, and the artful manner in which he contrived to assume both
      merit and influence, had, to a certain extent, procured him patrons among
      Ministers. We were already in the full tide of litigation with him on the
      subject of his pillaging the firm of Osbaldistone and Tresham; and,
      judging from the progress we made in that comparatively simple lawsuit,
      there was a chance that this second course of litigation might be drawn
      out beyond the period of all our natural lives.
    </p>
    <p>
      To avert these delays as much as possible, my father, by the advice of his
      counsel learned in the law, paid off and vested in my person the rights to
      certain large mortgages affecting Osbaldistone Hall. Perhaps, however, the
      opportunity to convert a great share of the large profits which accrued
      from the rapid rise of the funds upon the suppression of the rebellion,
      and the experience he had so lately had of the perils of commerce,
      encouraged him to realise, in this manner, a considerable part of his
      property. At any rate, it so chanced, that, instead of commanding me to
      the desk, as I fully expected, having intimated my willingness to comply
      with his wishes, however they might destine me, I received his directions
      to go down to Osbaldistone Hall, and take possession of it as the heir and
      representative of the family. I was directed to apply to Squire Inglewood
      for the copy of my uncle's will deposited with him, and take all necessary
      measures to secure that possession which sages say makes nine points of
      the law.
    </p>
    <p>
      At another time I should have been delighted with this change of
      destination. But now Osbaldistone Hall was accompanied with many painful
      recollections. Still, however, I thought, that in that neighbourhood only
      I was likely to acquire some information respecting the fate of Diana
      Vernon. I had every reason to fear it must be far different from what I
      could have wished it. But I could obtain no precise information on the
      subject.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was in vain that I endeavoured, by such acts of kindness as their
      situation admitted, to conciliate the confidence of some distant relations
      who were among the prisoners in Newgate. A pride which I could not
      condemn, and a natural suspicion of the Whig Frank Osbaldistone, cousin to
      the double-distilled traitor Rashleigh, closed every heart and tongue, and
      I only received thanks, cold and extorted, in exchange for such benefits
      as I had power to offer. The arm of the law was also gradually abridging
      the numbers of those whom I endeavoured to serve, and the hearts of the
      survivors became gradually more contracted towards all whom they conceived
      to be concerned with the existing Government. As they were led gradually,
      and by detachments, to execution, those who survived lost interest in
      mankind, and the desire of communicating with them. I shall long remember
      what one of them, Ned Shafton by name, replied to my anxious inquiry,
      whether there was any indulgence I could procure him? "Mr. Frank
      Osbaldistone, I must suppose you mean me kindly, and therefore I thank
      you. But, by G&mdash;, men cannot be fattened like poultry, when they see
      their neighbours carried off day by day to the place of execution, and
      know that their own necks are to be twisted round in their turn."
    </p>
    <p>
      Upon the whole, therefore, I was glad to escape from London, from Newgate,
      and from the scenes which both exhibited, to breathe the free air of
      Northumberland. Andrew Fairservice had continued in my service more from
      my father's pleasure than my own. At present there seemed a prospect that
      his local acquaintance with Osbaldistone Hall and its vicinity might be
      useful; and, of course, he accompanied me on my journey, and I enjoyed the
      prospect of getting rid of him, by establishing him in his old quarters. I
      cannot conceive how he could prevail upon my father to interest himself in
      him, unless it were by the art, which he possessed in no inconsiderable
      degree, of affecting an extreme attachment to his master; which
      theoretical attachment he made compatible in practice with playing all
      manner of tricks without scruple, providing only against his master being
      cheated by any one but himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      We performed our journey to the North without any remarkable adventure,
      and we found the country, so lately agitated by rebellion, now peaceful
      and in good order. The nearer we approached to Osbaldistone Hall, the more
      did my heart sink at the thought of entering that deserted mansion; so
      that, in order to postpone the evil day, I resolved first to make my visit
      at Mr. Justice Inglewood's.
    </p>
    <p>
      That venerable person had been much disturbed with thoughts of what he had
      been, and what he now was; and natural recollections of the past had
      interfered considerably with the active duty which in his present
      situation might have been expected from him. He was fortunate, however, in
      one respect; he had got rid of his clerk Jobson, who had finally left him
      in dudgeon at his inactivity, and become legal assistant to a certain
      Squire Standish, who had lately commenced operations in those parts as a
      justice, with a zeal for King George and the Protestant succession, which,
      very different from the feelings of his old patron, Mr. Jobson had more
      occasion to restrain within the bounds of the law, than to stimulate to
      exertion.
    </p>
    <p>
      Old Justice Inglewood received me with great courtesy, and readily
      exhibited my uncle's will, which seemed to be without a flaw. He was for
      some time in obvious distress, how he should speak and act in my presence;
      but when he found, that though a supporter of the present Government upon
      principle, I was disposed to think with pity on those who had opposed it
      on a mistaken feeling of loyalty and duty, his discourse became a very
      diverting medley of what he had done, and what he had left undone,&mdash;the
      pains he had taken to prevent some squires from joining, and to wink at
      the escape of others, who had been so unlucky as to engage in the affair.
    </p>
    <p>
      We were <i>tete-a'-tete,</i> and several bumpers had been quaffed by the
      Justice's special desire, when, on a sudden, he requested me to fill a <i>bona
      fide</i> brimmer to the health of poor dear Die Vernon, the rose of the
      wilderness, the heath-bell of Cheviot, and the blossom that's transplanted
      to an infernal convent.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is not Miss Vernon married, then?" I exclaimed, in great astonishment. "I
      thought his Excellency"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pooh! pooh! his Excellency and his Lordship's all a humbug now, you know&mdash;mere
      St. Germains titles&mdash;Earl of Beauchamp, and ambassador
      plenipotentiary from France, when the Duke Regent of Orleans scarce knew
      that he lived, I dare say. But you must have seen old Sir Frederick Vernon
      at the Hall, when he played the part of Father Vaughan?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good Heavens! then Vaughan was Miss Vernon's father?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "To be sure he was," said the Justice coolly;&mdash;"there's no use in
      keeping the secret now, for he must be out of the country by this time&mdash;otherwise,
      no doubt, it would be my duty to apprehend him.&mdash;Come, off with your
      bumper to my dear lost Die!
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                 And let her health go round, around, around,
                     And let her health go round;
                 For though your stocking be of silk,
                 Your knees near kiss the ground, aground, aground."*
</pre>
    <p>
      * This pithy verse occurs, it is believed, in Shadwell's play of Bury
      Fair.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was unable, as the reader may easily conceive, to join in the Justice's
      jollity. My head swam with the shock I had received. "I never heard," I
      said, "that Miss Vernon's father was living."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was not our Government's fault that he is," replied Inglewood, "for
      the devil a man there is whose head would have brought more money. He was
      condemned to death for Fenwick's plot, and was thought to have had some
      hand in the Knightsbridge affair, in King William's time; and as he had
      married in Scotland a relation of the house of Breadalbane, he possessed
      great influence with all their chiefs. There was a talk of his being
      demanded to be given up at the peace of Ryswick, but he shammed ill, and
      his death was given publicly out in the French papers. But when he came
      back here on the old score, we old cavaliers knew him well,&mdash;that is
      to say, I knew him, not as being a cavalier myself, but no information
      being lodged against the poor gentleman, and my memory being shortened by
      frequent attacks of the gout, I could not have sworn to him, you know."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Was he, then, not known at Osbaldistone Hall?" I inquired.
    </p>
    <p>
      "To none but to his daughter, the old knight, and Rashleigh, who had got
      at that secret as he did at every one else, and held it like a twisted
      cord about poor Die's neck. I have seen her one hundred times she would
      have spit at him, if it had not been fear for her father, whose life would
      not have been worth five minutes' purchase if he had been discovered to
      the Government.&mdash;But don't mistake me, Mr. Osbaldistone; I say the
      Government is a good, a gracious, and a just Government; and if it has
      hanged one-half of the rebels, poor things, all will acknowledge they
      would not have been touched had they staid peaceably at home."
    </p>
    <p>
      Waiving the discussion of these political questions, I brought back Mr.
      Inglewood to his subject, and I found that Diana, having positively
      refused to marry any of the Osbaldistone family, and expressed her
      particular detestation of Rashleigh, he had from that time begun to cool
      in zeal for the cause of the Pretender; to which, as the youngest of six
      brethren, and bold, artful, and able, he had hitherto looked forward as
      the means of making his fortune. Probably the compulsion with which he had
      been forced to render up the spoils which he had abstracted from my
      father's counting-house by the united authority of Sir Frederick Vernon
      and the Scottish Chiefs, had determined his resolution to advance his
      progress by changing his opinions and betraying his trust. Perhaps also&mdash;for
      few men were better judges where his interest was concerned&mdash;he
      considered their means and talents to be, as they afterwards proved,
      greatly inadequate to the important task of overthrowing an established
      Government. Sir Frederick Vernon, or, as he was called among the
      Jacobites, his Excellency Viscount Beauchamp, had, with his daughter, some
      difficulty in escaping the consequences of Rashleigh's information. Here
      Mr. Inglewood's information was at fault; but he did not doubt, since we
      had not heard of Sir Frederick being in the hands of the Government, he
      must be by this time abroad, where, agreeably to the cruel bond he had
      entered into with his brother-in-law, Diana, since she had declined to
      select a husband out of the Osbaldistone family, must be confined to a
      convent. The original cause of this singular agreement Mr. Inglewood could
      not perfectly explain; but he understood it was a family compact, entered
      into for the purpose of securing to Sir Frederick the rents of the remnant
      of his large estates, which had been vested in the Osbaldistone family by
      some legal manoeuvre; in short, a family compact, in which, like many of
      those undertaken at that time of day, the feelings of the principal
      parties interested were no more regarded than if they had been a part of
      the live-stock upon the lands.
    </p>
    <p>
      I cannot tell,&mdash;such is the waywardness of the human heart,&mdash;whether
      this intelligence gave me joy or sorrow. It seemed to me, that, in the
      knowledge that Miss Vernon was eternally divided from me, not by marriage
      with another, but by seclusion in a convent, in order to fulfil an absurd
      bargain of this kind, my regret for her loss was aggravated rather than
      diminished. I became dull, low-spirited, absent, and unable to support the
      task of conversing with Justice Inglewood, who in his turn yawned, and
      proposed to retire early. I took leave of him overnight, determining the
      next day, before breakfast, to ride over to Osbaldistone Hall.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Inglewood acquiesced in my proposal. "It would be well," he said,
      "that I made my appearance there before I was known to be in the country,
      the more especially as Sir Rashleigh Osbaldistone was now, he understood,
      at Mr. Jobson's house, hatching some mischief, doubtless. They were fit
      company," he added, "for each other, Sir Rashleigh having lost all right
      to mingle in the society of men of honour; but it was hardly possible two
      such d&mdash;d rascals should collogue together without mischief to honest
      people."
    </p>
    <p>
      He concluded, by earnestly recommending a toast and tankard, and an attack
      upon his venison pasty, before I set out in the morning, just to break the
      cold air on the words.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="AlinkCH0021" id="AlinkCH0021">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER TWENTY-FIRST.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                   His master's gone, and no one now
                       Dwells in the halls of Ivor;
                   Men, dogs, and horses, all are dead,
                       He is the sole survivor.
                                         Wordsworth.
</pre>
    <p>
      There are few more melancholy sensations than those with which we regard
      scenes of past pleasure when altered and deserted. In my ride to
      Osbaldistone Hall, I passed the same objects which I had seen in company
      with Miss Vernon on the day of our memorable ride from Inglewood Place.
      Her spirit seemed to keep me company on the way; and when I approached the
      spot where I had first seen her, I almost listened for the cry of the
      hounds and the notes of the horn, and strained my eye on the vacant space,
      as if to descry the fair huntress again descend like an apparition from
      the hill. But all was silent, and all was solitary. When I reached the
      Hall, the closed doors and windows, the grass-grown pavement, the courts,
      which were now so silent, presented a strong contrast to the gay and
      bustling scene I had so often seen them exhibit, when the merry hunters
      were going forth to their morning sport, or returning to the daily
      festival. The joyous bark of the fox-hounds as they were uncoupled, the
      cries of the huntsmen, the clang of the horses' hoofs, the loud laugh of
      the old knight at the head of his strong and numerous descendants, were
      all silenced now and for ever.
    </p>
    <p>
      While I gazed round the scene of solitude and emptiness, I was
      inexpressibly affected, even by recollecting those whom, when alive, I had
      no reason to regard with affection. But the thought that so many youths of
      goodly presence, warm with life, health, and confidence, were within so
      short a time cold in the grave, by various, yet all violent and unexpected
      modes of death, afforded a picture of mortality at which the mind
      trembled. It was little consolation to me, that I returned a proprietor to
      the halls which I had left almost like a fugitive. My mind was not
      habituated to regard the scenes around as my property, and I felt myself
      an usurper, at least an intruding stranger, and could hardly divest myself
      of the idea, that some of the bulky forms of my deceased kinsmen were,
      like the gigantic spectres of a romance, to appear in the gateway, and
      dispute my entrance.
    </p>
    <p>
      While I was engaged in these sad thoughts, my follower Andrew, whose
      feelings were of a very different nature, exerted himself in thundering
      alternately on every door in the building, calling, at the same time, for
      admittance, in a tone so loud as to intimate, that <i>he,</i> at least,
      was fully sensible of his newly acquired importance, as squire of the body
      to the new lord of the manor. At length, timidly and reluctantly, Anthony
      Syddall, my uncle's aged butler and major-domo, presented himself at a
      lower window, well fenced with iron bars, and inquired our business.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We are come to tak your charge aff your hand, my auld friend," said
      Andrew Fairservice; "ye may gie up your keys as sune as ye like&mdash;ilka
      dog has his day. I'll tak the plate and napery aff your hand. Ye hae had
      your ain time o't, Mr. Syddall; but ilka bean has its black, and ilka path
      has its puddle; and it will just set you henceforth to sit at the
      board-end, as weel as it did Andrew lang syne."
    </p>
    <p>
      Checking with some difficulty the forwardness of my follower, I explained
      to Syddall the nature of my right, and the title I had to demand
      admittance into the Hall, as into my own property. The old man seemed much
      agitated and distressed, and testified manifest reluctance to give me
      entrance, although it was couched in a humble and submissive tone. I
      allowed for the agitation of natural feelings, which really did the old
      man honour; but continued peremptory in my demand of admittance,
      explaining to him that his refusal would oblige me to apply for Mr.
      Inglewood's warrant, and a constable.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We are come from Mr. Justice Inglewood's this morning," said Andrew, to
      enforce the menace;&mdash;"and I saw Archie Rutledge, the constable, as I
      came up by;&mdash;the country's no to be lawless as it has been, Mr.
      Syddall, letting rebels and papists gang on as they best listed."
    </p>
    <p>
      The threat of the law sounded dreadful in the old man's ears, conscious as
      he was of the suspicion under which he himself lay, from his religion and
      his devotion to Sir Hildebrand and his sons. He undid, with fear and
      trembling, one of the postern entrances, which was secured with many a
      bolt and bar, and humbly hoped that I would excuse him for fidelity in the
      discharge of his duty.&mdash;I reassured him, and told him I had the
      better opinion of him for his caution.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sae have not I," said Andrew; "Syddall is an auld sneck-drawer; he wadna
      be looking as white as a sheet, and his knees knocking thegither, unless
      it were for something mair than he's like to tell us."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lord forgive you, Mr. Fairservice," replied the butler, "to say such
      things of an old friend and fellow-servant!&mdash;Where"&mdash;following
      me humbly along the passage&mdash;"where would it be your honour's
      pleasure to have a fire lighted? I fear me you will find the house very
      dull and dreary&mdash;But perhaps you mean to ride back to Inglewood Place
      to dinner?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Light a fire in the library," I replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      "In the library!" answered the old man;&mdash;"nobody has sat there this
      many a day, and the room smokes, for the daws have built in the chimney
      this spring, and there were no young men about the Hall to pull them
      down."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Our ain reekes better than other folk's fire," said Andrew. "His honour
      likes the library;&mdash;he's nane o' your Papishers, that delight in
      blinded ignorance, Mr. Syddall."
    </p>
    <p>
      Very reluctantly as it appeared to me, the butler led the way to the
      library, and, contrary to what he had given me to expect, the interior of
      the apartment looked as if it had been lately arranged, and made more
      comfortable than usual. There was a fire in the grate, which burned
      clearly, notwithstanding what Syddall had reported of the vent. Taking up
      the tongs, as if to arrange the wood, but rather perhaps to conceal his
      own confusion, the butler observed, "it was burning clear now, but had
      smoked woundily in the morning."
    </p>
    <p>
      Wishing to be alone, till I recovered myself from the first painful
      sensations which everything around me recalled, I desired old Syddall to
      call the land-steward, who lived at about a quarter of a mile from the
      Hall. He departed with obvious reluctance. I next ordered Andrew to
      procure the attendance of a couple of stout fellows upon whom he could
      rely, the population around being Papists, and Sir Rashleigh, who was
      capable of any desperate enterprise, being in the neighbourhood. Andrew
      Fairservice undertook this task with great cheerfulness, and promised to
      bring me up from Trinlay-Knowe, "twa true-blue Presbyterians like himself,
      that would face and out-face baith the Pope, the Devil, and the Pretender&mdash;and
      blythe will I be o' their company mysell, for the very last night that I
      was at Osbaldistone Hall, the blight be on ilka blossom in my bit yard, if
      I didna see that very picture" (pointing to the full-length portrait of
      Miss Vernon's grandfather) "walking by moonlight in the garden! I tauld
      your honour I was fleyed wi' a bogle that night, but ye wadna listen to me&mdash;I
      aye thought there was witchcraft and deevilry amang the Papishers, but I
      ne'er saw't wi' bodily een till that awfu' night."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Get along, sir," said I, "and bring the fellows you talk of; and see they
      have more sense than yourself, and are not frightened at their own
      shadow."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I hae been counted as gude a man as my neighbours ere now," said Andrew,
      petulantly; "but I dinna pretend to deal wi' evil spirits." And so he made
      his exit, as Wardlaw the land-steward made his appearance.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was a man of sense and honesty, without whose careful management my
      uncle would have found it difficult to have maintained himself a
      housekeeper so long as he did. He examined the nature of my right of
      possession carefully, and admitted it candidly. To any one else the
      succession would have been a poor one, so much was the land encumbered
      with debt and mortgage. Most of these, however, were already vested in my
      father's person, and he was in a train of acquiring the rest; his large
      gains by the recent rise of the funds having made it a matter of ease and
      convenience for him to pay off the debt which affected his patrimony.
    </p>
    <p>
      I transacted much necessary business with Mr. Wardlaw, and detained him to
      dine with me. We preferred taking our repast in the library, although
      Syddall strongly recommended our removing to the stone-hall, which he had
      put in order for the occasion. Meantime Andrew made his appearance with
      his true-blue recruits, whom he recommended in the highest terms, as
      "sober decent men, weel founded in doctrinal points, and, above all, as
      bold as lions." I ordered them something to drink, and they left the room.
      I observed old Syddall shake his head as they went out, and insisted upon
      knowing the reason.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I maybe cannot expect," he said, "that your honour should put confidence
      in what I say, but it is Heaven's truth for all that&mdash;Ambrose
      Wingfield is as honest a man as lives, but if there is a false knave in
      the country, it is his brother Lancie;&mdash;the whole country knows him
      to be a spy for Clerk Jobson on the poor gentlemen that have been in
      trouble&mdash;But he's a dissenter, and I suppose that's enough
      now-a-days."
    </p>
    <p>
      Having thus far given vent to his feelings,&mdash;to which, however, I was
      little disposed to pay attention,&mdash;and having placed the wine on the
      table, the old butler left the apartment.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Wardlaw having remained with me until the evening was somewhat
      advanced, at length bundled up his papers, and removed himself to his own
      habitation, leaving me in that confused state of mind in which we can
      hardly say whether we desire company or solitude. I had not, however, the
      choice betwixt them; for I was left alone in the room of all others most
      calculated to inspire me with melancholy reflections.
    </p>
    <p>
      As twilight was darkening the apartment, Andrew had the sagacity to
      advance his head at the door,&mdash;not to ask if I wished for lights, but
      to recommend them as a measure of precaution against the bogles which
      still haunted his imagination. I rejected his proffer somewhat peevishly,
      trimmed the wood-fire, and placing myself in one of the large leathern
      chairs which flanked the old Gothic chimney, I watched unconsciously the
      bickering of the blaze which I had fostered. "And this," said I alone, "is
      the progress and the issue of human wishes! Nursed by the merest trifles,
      they are first kindled by fancy&mdash;nay, are fed upon the vapour of
      hope, till they consume the substance which they inflame; and man, and his
      hopes, passions, and desires, sink into a worthless heap of embers and
      ashes!"
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a deep sigh from the opposite side of the room, which seemed to
      reply to my reflections. I started up in amazement&mdash;Diana Vernon
      stood before me, resting on the arm of a figure so strongly resembling
      that of the portrait so often mentioned, that I looked hastily at the
      frame, expecting to see it empty. My first idea was, either that I had
      gone suddenly distracted, or that the spirits of the dead had arisen and
      been placed before me. A second glance convinced me of my being in my
      senses, and that the forms which stood before me were real and
      substantial. It was Diana herself, though paler and thinner than her
      former self; and it was no tenant of the grave who stood beside her, but
      Vaughan, or rather Sir Frederick Vernon, in a dress made to imitate that
      of his ancestor, to whose picture his countenance possessed a family
      resemblance. He was the first that spoke, for Diana kept her eyes fast
      fixed on the ground, and astonishment actually riveted my tongue to the
      roof of my mouth.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We are your suppliants, Mr. Osbaldistone," he said, "and we claim the
      refuge and protection of your roof till we can pursue a journey where
      dungeons and death gape for me at every step."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Surely," I articulated with great difficulty&mdash;"Miss Vernon cannot
      suppose&mdash;you, sir, cannot believe, that I have forgot your
      interference in my difficulties, or that I am capable of betraying any
      one, much less you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I know it," said Sir Frederick; "yet it is with the most inexpressible
      reluctance that I impose on you a confidence, disagreeable perhaps&mdash;certainly
      dangerous&mdash;and which I would have specially wished to have conferred
      on some one else. But my fate, which has chased me through a life of
      perils and escapes, is now pressing me hard, and I have no alternative."
    </p>
    <p>
      At this moment the door opened, and the voice of the officious Andrew was
      heard&mdash;"A'm bringin' in the caunles&mdash;Ye can light them gin ye
      like&mdash;Can do is easy carried about wi' ane."
    </p>
    <p>
      I ran to the door, which, as I hoped, I reached in time to prevent his
      observing who were in the apartment, I turned him out with hasty violence,
      shut the door after him, and locked it&mdash;then instantly remembering
      his two companions below, knowing his talkative humour, and recollecting
      Syddall's remark, that one of them was supposed to be a spy, I followed
      him as fast as I could to the servants' hall, in which they were
      assembled. Andrew's tongue was loud as I opened the door, but my
      unexpected appearance silenced him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What is the matter with you, you fool?" said I; "you stare and look wild,
      as if you had seen a ghost."
    </p>
    <p>
      "N&mdash;n&mdash;no&mdash;nothing," said Andrew.&mdash;"but your worship
      was pleased to be hasty."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Because you disturbed me out of a sound sleep, you fool. Syddall tells me
      he cannot find beds for these good fellows tonight, and Mr. Wardlaw thinks
      there will be no occasion to detain them. Here is a crown-piece for them
      to drink my health, and thanks for their good-will. You will leave the
      Hall immediately, my good lads."
    </p>
    <p>
      The men thanked me for my bounty, took the silver, and withdrew,
      apparently unsuspicious and contented. I watched their departure until I
      was sure they could have no further intercourse that night with honest
      Andrew. And so instantly had I followed on his heels, that I thought he
      could not have had time to speak two words with them before I interrupted
      him. But it is wonderful what mischief may be done by only two words. On
      this occasion they cost two lives.
    </p>
    <p>
      Having made these arrangements, the best which occurred to me upon the
      pressure of the moment, to secure privacy for my guests, I returned to
      report my proceedings, and added, that I had desired Syddall to answer
      every summons, concluding that it was by his connivance they had been
      secreted in the Hall. Diana raised her eyes to thank me for the caution.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You now understand my mystery," she said;&mdash;"you know, doubtless, how
      near and dear that relative is, who has so often found shelter here; and
      will be no longer surprised that Rashleigh, having such a secret at his
      command, should rule me with a rod of iron."
    </p>
    <p>
      Her father added, "that it was their intention to trouble me with their
      presence as short a time as was possible."
    </p>
    <p>
      I entreated the fugitives to waive every consideration but what affected
      their safety, and to rely on my utmost exertions to promote it. This led
      to an explanation of the circumstances under which they stood.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I always suspected Rashleigh Osbaldistone," said Sir Frederick; "but his
      conduct towards my unprotected child, which with difficulty I wrung from
      her, and his treachery in your father's affairs, made me hate and despise
      him. In our last interview I concealed not my sentiments, as I should in
      prudence have attempted to do; and in resentment of the scorn with which I
      treated him, he added treachery and apostasy to his catalogue of crimes. I
      at that time fondly hoped that his defection would be of little
      consequence. The Earl of Mar had a gallant army in Scotland, and Lord
      Derwentwater, with Forster, Kenmure, Winterton, and others, were
      assembling forces on the Border. As my connections with these English
      nobility and gentry were extensive, it was judged proper that I should
      accompany a detachment of Highlanders, who, under Brigadier MacIntosh of
      Borlum, crossed the Firth of Forth, traversed the low country of Scotland,
      and united themselves on the Borders with the English insurgents. My
      daughter accompanied me through the perils and fatigues of a march so long
      and difficult."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And she will never leave her dear father!" exclaimed Miss Vernon,
      clinging fondly to his arm.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I had hardly joined our English friends, when I became sensible that our
      cause was lost. Our numbers diminished instead of increasing, nor were we
      joined by any except of our own persuasion. The Tories of the High Church
      remained in general undecided, and at length we were cooped up by a
      superior force in the little town of Preston. We defended ourselves
      resolutely for one day. On the next, the hearts of our leaders failed, and
      they resolved to surrender at discretion. To yield myself up on such
      terms, were to have laid my head on the block. About twenty or thirty
      gentlemen were of my mind: we mounted our horses, and placed my daughter,
      who insisted on sharing my fate, in the centre of our little party. My
      companions, struck with her courage and filial piety, declared that they
      would die rather than leave her behind. We rode in a body down a street
      called Fishergate, which leads to a marshy ground or meadow, extending to
      the river Ribble, through which one of our party promised to show us a
      good ford. This marsh had not been strongly invested by the enemy, so that
      we had only an affair with a patrol of Honeywood's dragoons, whom we
      dispersed and cut to pieces. We crossed the river, gained the high road to
      Liverpool, and then dispersed to seek several places of concealment and
      safety. My fortune led me to Wales, where there are many gentlemen of my
      religious and political opinions. I could not, however, find a safe
      opportunity of escaping by sea, and found myself obliged again to draw
      towards the North. A well-tried friend has appointed to meet me in this
      neighbourhood, and guide me to a seaport on the Solway, where a sloop is
      prepared to carry me from my native country for ever. As Osbaldistone Hall
      was for the present uninhabited, and under the charge of old Syddall, who
      had been our confidant on former occasions, we drew to it as to a place of
      known and secure refuge. I resumed a dress which had been used with good
      effect to scare the superstitious rustics, or domestics, who chanced at
      any time to see me; and we expected from time to time to hear by Syddall
      of the arrival of our friendly guide, when your sudden coming hither, and
      occupying this apartment, laid us under the necessity of submitting to
      your mercy."
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus ended Sir Fredericks story, whose tale sounded to me like one told in
      a vision; and I could hardly bring myself to believe that I saw his
      daughter's form once more before me in flesh and blood, though with
      diminished beauty and sunk spirits. The buoyant vivacity with which she
      had resisted every touch of adversity, had now assumed the air of composed
      and submissive, but dauntless resolution and constancy. Her father, though
      aware and jealous of the effect of her praises on my mind, could not
      forbear expatiating upon them.
    </p>
    <p>
      "She has endured trials," he said, "which might have dignified the history
      of a martyr;&mdash;she has faced danger and death in various shapes;&mdash;she
      has undergone toil and privation, from which men of the strongest frame
      would have shrunk;&mdash;she has spent the day in darkness, and the night
      in vigil, and has never breathed a murmur of weakness or complaint. In a
      word, Mr. Osbaldistone," he concluded, "she is a worthy offering to that
      God, to whom" (crossing himself) "I shall dedicate her, as all that is
      left dear or precious to Frederick Vernon."
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a silence after these words, of which I well understood the
      mournful import. The father of Diana was still as anxious to destroy my
      hopes of being united to her now as he had shown himself during our brief
      meeting in Scotland.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We will now," said he to his daughter, "intrude no farther on Mr.
      Osbaldistone's time, since we have acquainted him with the circumstances
      of the miserable guests who claim his protection."
    </p>
    <p>
      I requested them to stay, and offered myself to leave the apartment. Sir
      Frederick observed, that my doing so could not but excite my attendant's
      suspicion; and that the place of their retreat was in every respect
      commodious, and furnished by Syddall with all they could possibly want.
      "We might perhaps have even contrived to remain there, concealed from your
      observation; but it would have been unjust to decline the most absolute
      reliance on your honour."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have done me but justice," I replied.&mdash;"To you, Sir Frederick, I
      am but little known; but Miss Vernon, I am sure, will bear me witness
      that"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do not want my daughter's evidence," he said, politely, but yet with an
      air calculated to prevent my addressing myself to Diana, "since I am
      prepared to believe all that is worthy of Mr. Francis Osbaldistone. Permit
      us now to retire; we must take repose when we can, since we are absolutely
      uncertain when we may be called upon to renew our perilous journey."
    </p>
    <p>
      He drew his daughter's arm within his, and with a profound reverence,
      disappeared with her behind the tapestry.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="AlinkCH0022" id="AlinkCH0022">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER TWENTY-SECOND.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
              But now the hand of fate is on the curtain,
                     And gives the scene to light.
                                         Don Sebastian.
</pre>
    <p>
      I felt stunned and chilled as they retired. Imagination, dwelling on an
      absent object of affection, paints her not only in the fairest light, but
      in that in which we most desire to behold her. I had thought of Diana as
      she was, when her parting tear dropped on my cheek&mdash;when her parting
      token, received from the wife of MacGregor, augured her wish to convey
      into exile and conventual seclusion the remembrance of my affection. I saw
      her; and her cold passive manner, expressive of little except composed
      melancholy, disappointed, and, in some degree, almost offended me.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the egotism of my feelings, I accused her of indifference&mdash;of
      insensibility. I upbraided her father with pride&mdash;with cruelty&mdash;with
      fanaticism,&mdash;forgetting that both were sacrificing their interest,
      and Diana her inclination, to the discharge of what they regarded as their
      duty.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir Frederick Vernon was a rigid Catholic, who thought the path of
      salvation too narrow to be trodden by an heretic; and Diana, to whom her
      father's safety had been for many years the principal and moving spring of
      thoughts, hopes, and actions, felt that she had discharged her duty in
      resigning to his will, not alone her property in the world, but the
      dearest affections of her heart. But it was not surprising that I could
      not, at such a moment, fully appreciate these honourable motives; yet my
      spleen sought no ignoble means of discharging itself.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am contemned, then," I said, when left to run over the tenor of Sir
      Frederick's communications&mdash;"I am contemned, and thought unworthy
      even to exchange words with her. Be it so; they shall not at least prevent
      me from watching over her safety. Here will I remain as an outpost, and,
      while under my roof at least, no danger shall threaten her, if it be such
      as the arm of one determined man can avert."
    </p>
    <p>
      I summoned Syddall to the library. He came, but came attended by the
      eternal Andrew, who, dreaming of great things in consequence of my taking
      possession of the Hall and the annexed estates, was resolved to lose
      nothing for want of keeping himself in view; and, as often happens to men
      who entertain selfish objects, overshot his mark, and rendered his
      attentions tedious and inconvenient.
    </p>
    <p>
      His unrequired presence prevented me from speaking freely to Syddall, and
      I dared not send him away for fear of increasing such suspicions as he
      might entertain from his former abrupt dismissal from the library. "I
      shall sleep here, sir," I said, giving them directions to wheel nearer to
      the fire an old-fashioned day-bed, or settee. "I have much to do, and
      shall go late to bed."
    </p>
    <p>
      Syddall, who seemed to understand my look, offered to procure me the
      accommodation of a mattress and some bedding. I accepted his offer,
      dismissed my attendant, lighted a pair of candles, and desired that I
      might not be disturbed till seven in the ensuing morning.
    </p>
    <p>
      The domestics retired, leaving me to my painful and ill-arranged
      reflections, until nature, worn out, should require some repose.
    </p>
    <p>
      I endeavoured forcibly to abstract my mind from the singular circumstances
      in which I found myself placed. Feelings which I had gallantly combated
      while the exciting object was remote, were now exasperated by my immediate
      neighbourhood to her whom I was so soon to part with for ever. Her name
      was written in every book which I attempted to peruse; and her image
      forced itself on me in whatever train of thought I strove to engage
      myself. It was like the officious slave of Prior's Solomon,&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                 Abra was ready ere I named her name,
                 And when I called another, Abra came.
</pre>
    <p>
      I alternately gave way to these thoughts, and struggled against them,
      sometimes yielding to a mood of melting tenderness of sorrow which was
      scarce natural to me, sometimes arming myself with the hurt pride of one
      who had experienced what he esteemed unmerited rejection. I paced the
      library until I had chafed myself into a temporary fever. I then threw
      myself on the couch, and endeavoured to dispose myself to sleep;&mdash;but
      it was in vain that I used every effort to compose myself&mdash;that I lay
      without movement of finger or of muscle, as still as if I had been already
      a corpse&mdash;that I endeavoured to divert or banish disquieting
      thoughts, by fixing my mind on some act of repetition or arithmetical
      process. My blood throbbed, to my feverish apprehension, in pulsations
      which resembled the deep and regular strokes of a distant fulling-mill,
      and tingled in my veins like streams of liquid fire.
    </p>
    <p>
      At length I arose, opened the window, and stood by it for some time in the
      clear moonlight, receiving, in part at least, that refreshment and
      dissipation of ideas from the clear and calm scene, without which they had
      become beyond the command of my own volition. I resumed my place on the
      couch&mdash;with a heart, Heaven knows, not lighter but firmer, and more
      resolved for endurance. In a short time a slumber crept over my senses;
      still, however, though my senses slumbered, my soul was awake to the
      painful feelings of my situation, and my dreams were of mental anguish and
      external objects of terror.
    </p>
    <p>
      I remember a strange agony, under which I conceived myself and Diana in
      the power of MacGregor's wife, and about to be precipitated from a rock
      into the lake; the signal was to be the discharge of a cannon, fired by
      Sir Frederick Vernon, who, in the dress of a Cardinal, officiated at the
      ceremony. Nothing could be more lively than the impression which I
      received of this imaginary scene. I could paint, even at this moment, the
      mute and courageous submission expressed in Diana's features&mdash;the
      wild and distorted faces of the executioners, who crowded around us with
      "mopping and mowing;" grimaces ever changing, and each more hideous than
      that which preceded. I saw the rigid and inflexible fanaticism painted in
      the face of the father&mdash;I saw him lift the fatal match&mdash;the
      deadly signal exploded&mdash;It was repeated again and again and again, in
      rival thunders, by the echoes of the surrounding cliffs, and I awoke from
      fancied horror to real apprehension.
    </p>
    <p>
      The sounds in my dream were not ideal. They reverberated on my waking
      ears, but it was two or three minutes ere I could collect myself so as
      distinctly to understand that they proceeded from a violent knocking at
      the gate. I leaped from my couch in great apprehension, took my sword
      under my arm, and hastened to forbid the admission of any one. But my
      route was necessarily circuitous, because the library looked not upon the
      quadrangle, but into the gardens. When I had reached a staircase, the
      windows of which opened upon the entrance court, I heard the feeble and
      intimidated tones of Syddall expostulating with rough voices, which
      demanded admittance, by the warrant of Justice Standish, and in the King's
      name, and threatened the old domestic with the heaviest penal consequences
      if he refused instant obedience. Ere they had ceased, I heard, to my
      unspeakable provocation, the voice of Andrew bidding Syddall stand aside,
      and let him open the door.
    </p>
    <p>
      "If they come in King George's name, we have naething to fear&mdash;we hae
      spent baith bluid and gowd for him&mdash;We dinna need to darn ourselves
      like some folks, Mr. Syddall&mdash;we are neither Papists nor Jacobites, I
      trow."
    </p>
    <p>
      It was in vain I accelerated my pace down stairs; I heard bolt after bolt
      withdrawn by the officious scoundrel, while all the time he was boasting
      his own and his master's loyalty to King George; and I could easily
      calculate that the party must enter before I could arrive at the door to
      replace the bars. Devoting the back of Andrew Fairservice to the cudgel so
      soon as I should have time to pay him his deserts, I ran back to the
      library, barricaded the door as I best could, and hastened to that by
      which Diana and her father entered, and begged for instant admittance.
      Diana herself undid the door. She was ready dressed, and betrayed neither
      perturbation nor fear.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Danger is so familiar to us," she said, "that we are always prepared to
      meet it. My father is already up&mdash;he is in Rashleigh's apartment. We
      will escape into the garden, and thence by the postern-gate (I have the
      key from Syddall in case of need.) into the wood&mdash;I know its dingles
      better than any one now alive. Keep them a few minutes in play. And, dear,
      dear Frank, once more fare-thee-well!"
    </p>
    <p>
      She vanished like a meteor to join her father, and the intruders were
      rapping violently, and attempting to force the library door by the time I
      had returned into it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You robber dogs!" I exclaimed, wilfully mistaking the purpose of their
      disturbance, "if you do not instantly quit the house I will fire my
      blunderbuss through the door."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Fire a fule's bauble!" said Andrew Fairservice; "it's Mr. Clerk Jobson,
      with a legal warrant"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "To search for, take, and apprehend," said the voice of that execrable
      pettifogger, "the bodies of certain persons in my warrant named, charged
      of high treason under the 13th of King William, chapter third."
    </p>
    <p>
      And the violence on the door was renewed. "I am rising, gentlemen," said
      I, desirous to gain as much time as possible&mdash;"commit no violence&mdash;give
      me leave to look at your warrant, and, if it is formal and legal, I shall
      not oppose it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "God save great George our King!" ejaculated Andrew. "I tauld ye that ye
      would find nae Jacobites here."
    </p>
    <p>
      Spinning out the time as much as possible, I was at length compelled to
      open the door, which they would otherwise have forced.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Jobson entered, with several assistants, among whom I discovered the
      younger Wingfield, to whom, doubtless, he was obliged for his information,
      and exhibited his warrant, directed not only against Frederick Vernon, an
      attainted traitor, but also against Diana Vernon, spinster, and Francis
      Osbaldistone, gentleman, accused of misprision of treason. It was a case
      in which resistance would have been madness; I therefore, after
      capitulating for a few minutes' delay, surrendered myself a prisoner.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had next the mortification to see Jobson go straight to the chamber of
      Miss Vernon, and I learned that from thence, without hesitation or
      difficulty, he went to the room where Sir Frederick had slept. "The hare
      has stolen away," said the brute, "but her form is warm&mdash;the
      greyhounds will have her by the haunches yet."
    </p>
    <p>
      A scream from the garden announced that he prophesied too truly. In the
      course of five minutes, Rashleigh entered the library with Sir Frederick
      Vernon and his daughter as prisoners.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The fox," he said, "knew his old earth, but he forgot it could be stopped
      by a careful huntsman.&mdash;I had not forgot the garden-gate, Sir
      Frederick&mdash;or, if that title suits you better, most noble Lord
      Beauchamp."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Rashleigh," said Sir Frederick, "thou art a detestable villain!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I better deserved the name, Sir Knight, or my Lord, when, under the
      direction of an able tutor, I sought to introduce civil war into the bosom
      of a peaceful country. But I have done my best," said he, looking upwards,
      "to atone for my errors."
    </p>
    <p>
      I could hold no longer. I had designed to watch their proceedings in
      silence, but I felt that I must speak or die. "If hell," I said, "has one
      complexion more hideous than another, it is where villany is masked by
      hypocrisy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ha! my gentle cousin," said Rashleigh, holding a candle towards me, and
      surveying me from head to foot; "right welcome to Osbaldistone Hall!&mdash;I
      can forgive your spleen&mdash;It is hard to lose an estate and a mistress
      in one night; for we shall take possession of this poor manor-house in the
      name of the lawful heir, Sir Rashleigh Osbaldistone."
    </p>
    <p>
      While Rashleigh braved it out in this manner, I could see that he put a
      strong force upon his feelings, both of anger and shame. But his state of
      mind was more obvious when Diana Vernon addressed him. "Rashleigh," she
      said, "I pity you&mdash;for, deep as the evil is which you have laboured
      to do me, and the evil you have actually done, I cannot hate you so much
      as I scorn and pity you. What you have now done may be the work of an
      hour, but will furnish you with reflection for your life&mdash;of what
      nature I leave to your own conscience, which will not slumber for ever."
    </p>
    <p>
      Rashleigh strode once or twice through the room, came up to the
      side-table, on which wine was still standing, and poured out a large glass
      with a trembling hand; but when he saw that we observed his tremor, he
      suppressed it by a strong effort, and, looking at us with fixed and daring
      composure, carried the bumper to his head without spilling a drop. "It is
      my father's old burgundy," he said, looking to Jobson; "I am glad there is
      some of it left.&mdash;You will get proper persons to take care of old
      butler, and that foolish Scotch rascal. Meanwhile we will convey these
      persons to a more proper place of custody. I have provided the old family
      coach for your convenience," he said, "though I am not ignorant that even
      the lady could brave the night-air on foot or on horseback, were the
      errand more to her mind."
    </p>
    <p>
      Andrew wrung his hands.&mdash;"I only said that my master was surely
      speaking to a ghaist in the library&mdash;and the villain Lancie to betray
      an auld friend, that sang aff the same Psalm-book wi' him every Sabbath
      for twenty years!"
    </p>
    <p>
      He was turned out of the house, together with Syddall, without being
      allowed to conclude his lamentation. His expulsion, however, led to some
      singular consequences. Resolving, according to his own story, to go down
      for the night where Mother Simpson would give him a lodging for old
      acquaintance' sake, he had just got clear of the avenue, and into the old
      wood, as it was called, though it was now used as a pasture-ground rather
      than woodland, when he suddenly lighted on a drove of Scotch cattle, which
      were lying there to repose themselves after the day's journey. At this
      Andrew was in no way surprised, it being the well-known custom of his
      countrymen, who take care of those droves, to quarter themselves after
      night upon the best unenclosed grass-ground they can find, and depart
      before day-break to escape paying for their night's lodgings. But he was
      both surprised and startled, when a Highlander, springing up, accused him
      of disturbing the cattle, and refused him to pass forward till he had
      spoken to his master. The mountaineer conducted Andrew into a thicket,
      where he found three or four more of his countrymen. "And," said Andrew,
      "I saw sune they were ower mony men for the drove; and from the questions
      they put to me, I judged they had other tow on their rock."
    </p>
    <p>
      They questioned him closely about all that had passed at Osbaldistone
      Hall, and seemed surprised and concerned at the report he made to them.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And troth," said Andrew, "I tauld them a' I ken'd; for dirks and pistols
      were what I could never refuse information to in a' my life."
    </p>
    <p>
      They talked in whispers among themselves, and at length collected their
      cattle together, and drove them close up to the entrance of the avenue,
      which might be half a mile distant from the house. They proceeded to drag
      together some felled trees which lay in the vicinity, so as to make a
      temporary barricade across the road, about fifteen yards beyond the
      avenue. It was now near daybreak, and there was a pale eastern gleam
      mingled with the fading moonlight, so that objects could be discovered
      with some distinctness. The lumbering sound of a coach drawn by four
      horses, and escorted by six men on horseback, was heard coming up the
      avenue. The Highlanders listened attentively. The carriage contained Mr.
      Jobson and his unfortunate prisoners. The escort consisted of Rashleigh,
      and of several horsemen, peace-officers and their assistants. So soon as
      we had passed the gate at the head of the avenue, it was shut behind the
      cavalcade by a Highland-man, stationed there for that purpose. At the same
      time the carriage was impeded in its farther progress by the cattle,
      amongst which we were involved, and by the barricade in front. Two of the
      escort dismounted to remove the felled trees, which they might think were
      left there by accident or carelessness. The others began with their whips
      to drive the cattle from the road.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who dare abuse our cattle?" said a rough voice.&mdash;"Shoot him, Angus!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Rashleigh instantly called out&mdash;"A rescue! a rescue!" and, firing a
      pistol, wounded the man who spoke.
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Claymore!</i>" cried the leader of the Highlanders, and a scuffle
      instantly commenced. The officers of the law, surprised at so sudden an
      attack, and not usually possessing the most desperate bravery, made but an
      imperfect defence, considering the superiority of their numbers. Some
      attempted to ride back to the Hall, but on a pistol being fired from
      behind the gate, they conceived themselves surrounded, and at length
      galloped of in different directions. Rashleigh, meanwhile, had dismounted,
      and on foot had maintained a desperate and single-handed conflict with the
      leader of the band. The window of the carriage, on my side, permitted me
      to witness it. At length Rashleigh dropped.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Will you ask forgiveness for the sake of God, King James, and auld
      friendship?" said a voice which I knew right well.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, never!" said Rashleigh, firmly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then, traitor, die in your treason!" retorted MacGregor, and plunged his
      sword in his prostrate antagonist.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the next moment he was at the carriage door&mdash;handed out Miss
      Vernon, assisted her father and me to alight, and dragging out the
      attorney, head foremost, threw him under the wheel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Osbaldistone," he said, in a whisper, "you have nothing to fear&mdash;I
      must look after those who have&mdash;Your friends will soon be in safety&mdash;Farewell,
      and forget not the MacGregor."
    </p>
    <p>
      He whistled&mdash;his band gathered round him, and, hurrying Diana and her
      father along with him, they were almost instantly lost in the glades of
      the forest. The coachman and postilion had abandoned their horses, and
      fled at the first discharge of firearms; but the animals, stopped by the
      barricade, remained perfectly still; and well for Jobson that they did so,
      for the slightest motion would have dragged the wheel over his body. My
      first object was to relieve him, for such was the rascal's terror that he
      never could have risen by his own exertions. I next commanded him to
      observe, that I had neither taken part in the rescue, nor availed myself
      of it to make my escape, and enjoined him to go down to the Hall, and call
      some of his party, who had been left there, to assist the wounded.&mdash;
      But Jobson's fears had so mastered and controlled every faculty of his
      mind, that he was totally incapable of moving. I now resolved to go
      myself, but in my way I stumbled over the body of a man, as I thought,
      dead or dying. It was, however, Andrew Fairservice, as well and whole as
      ever he was in his life, who had only taken this recumbent posture to
      avoid the slashes, stabs, and pistol-balls, which for a moment or two were
      flying in various directions. I was so glad to find him, that I did not
      inquire how he came thither, but instantly commanded his assistance.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rashleigh was our first object. He groaned when I approached him, as much
      through spite as through pain, and shut his eyes, as if determined, like
      Iago, to speak no word more. We lifted him into the carriage, and
      performed the same good office to another wounded man of his party, who
      had been left on the field. I then with difficulty made Jobson understand
      that he must enter the coach also, and support Sir Rashleigh upon the
      seat. He obeyed, but with an air as if he but half comprehended my
      meaning. Andrew and I turned the horses' heads round, and opening the gate
      of the avenue, led them slowly back to Osbaldistone Hall.
    </p>
    <p>
      Some fugitives had already reached the Hall by circuitous routes, and
      alarmed its garrison by the news that Sir Rashleigh, Clerk Jobson, and all
      their escort, save they who escaped to tell the tale, had been cut to
      pieces at the head of the avenue by a whole regiment of wild Highlanders.
      When we reached the mansion, therefore, we heard such a buzz as arises
      when bees are alarmed, and mustering in their hives. Mr. Jobson, however,
      who had now in some measure come to his senses, found voice enough to make
      himself known. He was the more anxious to be released from the carriage,
      as one of his companions (the peace-officer) had, to his inexpressible
      terror, expired by his side with a hideous groan.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir Rashleigh Osbaldistone was still alive, but so dreadfully wounded that
      the bottom of the coach was filled with his blood, and long traces of it
      left from the entrance-door into the stone-hall, where he was placed in a
      chair, some attempting to stop the bleeding with cloths, while others
      called for a surgeon, and no one seemed willing to go to fetch one.
      "Torment me not," said the wounded man&mdash;"I know no assistance can
      avail me&mdash;I am a dying man." He raised himself in his chair, though
      the damps and chill of death were already on his brow, and spoke with a
      firmness which seemed beyond his strength. "Cousin Francis," he said,
      "draw near to me." I approached him as he requested.&mdash;"I wish you
      only to know that the pangs of death do not alter I one iota of my
      feelings towards you. I hate you!" he said, the expression of rage
      throwing a hideous glare into the eyes which were soon to be closed for
      ever&mdash;"I hate you with a hatred as intense, now while I lie bleeding
      and dying before you, as if my foot trode on your neck."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have given you no cause, sir," I replied,&mdash;"and for your own sake
      I could wish your mind in a better temper."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You <i>have</i> given me cause," he rejoined. "In love, in ambition, in
      the paths of interest, you have crossed and blighted me at every turn. I
      was born to be the honour of my father's house&mdash;I have been its
      disgrace&mdash;and all owing to you. My very patrimony has become yours&mdash;Take
      it," he said, "and may the curse of a dying man cleave to it!"
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="Aimage-0010" id="Aimage-0010">
      <!-- IMG --></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img src="images/pb338.jpg" alt="The Death of Rashleigh " width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <!-- IMAGE END -->
    <p>
      In a moment after he had uttered this frightful wish, he fell back in the
      chair; his eyes became glazed, his limbs stiffened, but the grin and glare
      of mortal hatred survived even the last gasp of life. I will dwell no
      longer on so painful a picture, nor say any more of the death of
      Rashleigh, than that it gave me access to my rights of inheritance without
      farther challenge, and that Jobson found himself compelled to allow, that
      the ridiculous charge of misprision of high treason was got up on an
      affidavit which he made with the sole purpose of favouring Rashleigh's
      views, and removing me from Osbaldistone Hall. The rascal's name was
      struck off the list of attorneys, and he was reduced to poverty and
      contempt.
    </p>
    <p>
      I returned to London when I had put my affairs in order at Osbaldistone
      Hall, and felt happy to escape from a place which suggested so many
      painful recollections. My anxiety was now acute to learn the fate of Diana
      and her father. A French gentleman who came to London on commercial
      business, was intrusted with a letter to me from Miss Vernon, which put my
      mind at rest respecting their safety.
    </p>
    <p>
      It gave me to understand that the opportune appearance of MacGregor and
      his party was not fortuitous. The Scottish nobles and gentry engaged in
      the insurrection, as well as those of England, were particularly anxious
      to further the escape of Sir Frederick Vernon, who, as an old and trusted
      agent of the house of Stuart, was possessed of matter enough to have
      ruined half Scotland. Rob Roy, of whose sagacity and courage they had
      known so many proofs, was the person whom they pitched upon to assist his
      escape, and the place of meeting was fixed at Osbaldistone Hall. You have
      already heard how nearly the plan had been disconcerted by the unhappy
      Rashleigh. It succeeded, however, perfectly; for when once Sir Frederick
      and his daughter were again at large, they found horses prepared for them,
      and, by MacGregor's knowledge of the country&mdash;for every part of
      Scotland, and of the north of England, was familiar to him&mdash;were
      conducted to the western sea-coast, and safely embarked for France. The
      same gentleman told me that Sir Frederick was not expected to survive for
      many months a lingering disease, the consequence of late hardships and
      privations. His daughter was placed in a convent, and although it was her
      father's wish she should take the veil, he was understood to refer the
      matter entirely to her own inclinations.
    </p>
    <p>
      When these news reached me, I frankly told the state of my affections to
      my father, who was not a little startled at the idea of my marrying a
      Roman Catholic. But he was very desirous to see me "settled in life," as
      he called it; and he was sensible that, in joining him with heart and hand
      in his commercial labours, I had sacrificed my own inclinations. After a
      brief hesitation, and several questions asked and answered to his
      satisfaction, he broke out with&mdash;"I little thought a son of mine
      should have been Lord of Osbaldistone Manor, and far less that he should
      go to a French convent for a spouse. But so dutiful a daughter cannot but
      prove a good wife. You have worked at the desk to please me, Frank; it is
      but fair you should wive to please yourself."
    </p>
    <p>
      How I sped in my wooing, Will Tresham, I need not tell you. You know, too,
      how long and happily I lived with Diana. You know how I lamented her; but
      you do not&mdash;cannot know, how much she deserved her husband's sorrow.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have no more of romantic adventure to tell, nor, indeed, anything to
      communicate farther, since the latter incidents of my life are so well
      known to one who has shared, with the most friendly sympathy, the joys, as
      well as the sorrows, by which its scenes have been chequered. I often
      visited Scotland, but never again saw the bold Highlander who had such an
      influence on the early events of my life. I learned, however, from time to
      time, that he continued to maintain his ground among the mountains of Loch
      Lomond, in despite of his powerful enemies, and that he even obtained, to
      a certain degree, the connivance of Government to his self-elected office
      of protector of the Lennox, in virtue of which he levied black-mail with
      as much regularity as the proprietors did their ordinary rents. It seemed
      impossible that his life should have concluded without a violent end.
      Nevertheless he died in old age and by a peaceful death, some time about
      the year 1733, and is still remembered in his country as the Robin Hood of
      Scotland&mdash;the dread of the wealthy, but the friend of the poor&mdash;and
      possessed of many qualities, both of head and heart, which would have
      graced a less equivocal profession than that to which his fate condemned
      him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Old Andrew Fairservice used to say, that "There were many things ower bad
      for blessing, and ower gude for banning, like Rob Roy."
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Here the original manuscript ends somewhat abruptly. I have reason to
      think that what followed related to private a affairs.</i>
    </p>
    <p>
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    <h2>
      POSTSCRIPT.
    </h2>
    <p>
      The second article of the Appendix to the Introduction to Rob Roy contains
      two curious letters respecting the arrest of Mr. Grahame of Killearn by
      that daring freebooter, while levying the Duke of Montrose's rents. These
      were taken from scroll copies in the possession of his Grace the present
      Duke, who kindly permitted the use of them in the present publication.&mdash;The
      Novel had but just passed through the press, when the Right Honourable Mr.
      Peel&mdash;whose important state avocations do not avert his attention
      from the interests of literature&mdash;transmitted to the author copies of
      the original letters and enclosure, of which he possessed only the rough
      draught. The originals were discovered in the State Paper Office, by the
      indefatigable researches of Mr. Lemon, who is daily throwing more light on
      that valuable collection of records. From the documents with which the
      Author has been thus kindly favoured, he is enabled to fill up the
      addresses which were wanting in the scrolls. That of the 21st Nov. 1716 is
      addressed to Lord Viscount Townshend, and is accompanied by one of the
      same date to Robert Pringle, Esquire, Under-Secretary of State, which is
      here inserted as relative to so curious an incident:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Letter from the Duke of Montrose, to Robert Pringle, Esq.,
      Under-Secretary to Lord Viscount Townshend.</i>
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sr,<i>Glasgow,</i> 21 <i>Nov.</i> 1716.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Haveing had so many dispatches to make this night, I hope ye'l excuse me
      that I make use of another hand to give yow a short account of the
      occasion of this express, by which I have written to my Ld. Duke of
      Roxburgh, and my Lord Townshend, which I hope ye'l gett carefully
      deleivered.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Graham, younger of Killearn, being on Munday last in Menteith att a
      country house, collecting my rents, was about nine o'clock that same night
      surprised by Rob Roy with a party of his men in arms, who haveing
      surrounded the house and secured the avenues, presented their guns in at
      the windows, while he himself entered the room with some others with cokt
      pistolls, and seased Killearn with all his money, books, papers, and
      bonds, and carryed all away with him to the hills, at the same time
      ordering Killearn to write a letter to me (of which ye have the copy
      inclosed), proposeing a very honourable treaty to me. I must say this
      story was as surprising to me as it was insolent; and it must bring a very
      great concern upon me, that this gentleman, my near relation, should be
      brought to suffer all the barbaritys and crueltys, which revenge and
      mallice may suggest to these miscreants, for his haveing acted a faithfull
      part in the service of the Government, and his affection to me in my
      concerns.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I need not be more particular to you, since I know that my Letter to my
      Lord Townshend will come into your hands, so shall only now give you the
      assurances of my being, with great sincerity,
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sr, yr most humble servant, (Signed) "Montrose."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I long exceedingly for a return of my former dispatches to the
      Secretary's about Methven and Colll Urquhart, and my wife's cousins,
      Balnamoon and Phinaven.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I must beg yow'll give my humble service to Mr. Secretary Methven, and
      tell him that I must refer him to what I have written to My Lord Townshend
      in this affair of Rob Roy, believing it was needless to trouble both with
      letters."
    </p>
    <p>
      Examined, Robt. Lemon, <i>Deputy Keeper of State Papers.</i>
    </p>
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    <h2>
      STATE PAPER OFFICE,
    </h2>
    <p>
      <i>Nov.</i> 4, 1829
    </p>
    <p>
      Note.&mdash;The enclosure referred to in the preceding letter is another
      copy of the letter which Mr. Grahame of Killearn was compelled by Rob Roy
      to write to the Duke of Montrose, and is exactly the same as the one
      enclosed in his Grace's letter to Lord Townshend, dated November 21st,
      1716. R. L.
    </p>
    <p>
      The last letter in the Appendix No. II. (28th November), acquainting the
      Government with Killearn's being set at liberty, is also addressed to the
      Under-Secretary of State, Mr. Pringle.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Author may also here remark, that immediately previous to the
      insurrection of 1715, he perceives, from some notes of information given
      to Government, that Rob Roy appears to have been much employed and trusted
      by the Jacobite party, even in the very delicate task of transporting
      specie to the Earl of Breadalbane, though it might have somewhat resembled
      trusting Don Raphael and Ambrose de Lamela with the church treasure.
    </p>
    <p>
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    <h2>
      NOTES TO ROB ROY.
    </h2>
    <p>
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    <h2>
      Note A.&mdash;The Grey Stone of MacGregor.
    </h2>
    <p>
      I have been informed that, at no very remote period, it was proposed to
      take this large stone, which marks the grave of Dugald Ciar Mhor, and
      convert it to the purpose of the lintel of a window, the threshold of a
      door, or some such mean use. A man of the clan MacGregor, who was somewhat
      deranged, took fire at this insult; and when the workmen came to remove
      the stone, planted himself upon it, with a broad axe in his hand, swearing
      he would dash out the brains of any one who should disturb the monument.
      Athletic in person, and insane enough to be totally regardless of
      consequences, it was thought best to give way to his humour; and the poor
      madman kept sentinel on the stone day and night, till the proposal of
      removing it was entirely dropped.
    </p>
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    <h2>
      Note B.&mdash;Dugald Ciar Mhor.
    </h2>
    <p>
      The above is the account which I find in a manuscript history of the clan
      MacGregor, of which I was indulged with a perusal by Donald MacGregor,
      Esq., late Major of the 33d regiment, where great pains have been taken to
      collect traditions and written documents concerning the family. But an
      ancient and constant tradition, preserved among the inhabitants of the
      country, and particularly those of the clan MacFarlane, relieves Dugald
      Ciar Mhor of the guilt of murdering the youths, and lays the blame on a
      certain Donald or Duncan Lean, who performed the act of cruelty, with the
      assistance of a gillie who attended him, named Charlioch, or Charlie. They
      say that the homicides dared not again join their clan, but that they
      resided in a wild and solitary state as outlaws, in an unfrequented part
      of the MacFarlanes' territory. Here they lived for some time undisturbed,
      till they committed an act of brutal violence on two defenceless women, a
      mother and daughter of the MacFarlane clan. In revenge of this atrocity,
      the MacFarlanes hunted them down, and shot them. It is said that the
      younger ruffian, Charlioch, might have escaped, being remarkably swift of
      foot. But his crime became his punishment, for the female whom he had
      outraged had defended herself desperately, and had stabbed him with his
      own dirk in the thigh. He was lame from the wound, and was the more easily
      overtaken and killed.
    </p>
    <p>
      I always inclined to think this last the true edition of the story, and
      that the guilt was transferred to Dugald Ciar Mhor, as a man of higher
      name, but I have learned that Dugald was in truth dead several years
      before the battle&mdash;my authority being his representative, Mr.
      Gregorson of Ardtornish. [See also note to introduction, "Legend of
      Montrose," vol. vi.]
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link_4_0030" id="link_4_0030">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Note C.&mdash;The Loch Lomond Expedition.
    </h2>
    <p>
      The Loch Lomond expedition was judged worthy to form a separate pamphlet,
      which I have not seen; but, as quoted by the historian Rae, it must be
      delectable.
    </p>
    <p>
      "On the morrow, being Thursday the 13th, they went on their expedition,
      and about noon came to Inversnaid, the place of danger, where the Paisley
      men and those of Dumbarton, and several of the other companies, to the
      number of an hundred men, with the greatest intrepidity leapt on shore,
      got up to the top of the mountains, and stood a considerable time, beating
      their drums all the while; but no enemy appearing, they went in quest of
      their boats, which the rebels had seized, and having casually lighted on
      some ropes and oars hid among the shrubs, at length they found the boats
      drawn up a good way on the land, which they hurled down to the loch. Such
      of them as were not damaged they carried off with them, and such as were,
      they sank and hewed to pieces. That same night they returned to Luss, and
      thence next day to Dumbarton, from whence they had at first set out,
      bringing along with them the whole boats they found in their way on either
      side of the loch, and in the creeks of the isles, and mooring them under
      the cannon of the castle. During this expedition, the pinnaces discharging
      their patararoes, and the men their small-arms, made such a thundering
      noise, through the multiplied rebounding echoes of the vast mountains on
      both sides of the loch, that the MacGregors were cowed and frighted away
      to the rest of the rebels who were encamped at Strath Fillan."&mdash;<i>Rae's
      History of the Rebellion,</i> 4to, p. 287.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link_4_0031" id="link_4_0031">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Note D.&mdash;Author's Expedition against the MacLarens.
    </h2>
    <p>
      The Author is uncertain whether it is worth while to mention, that he had
      a personal opportunity of observing, even in his own time, that the king's
      writ did not pass quite current in the Brass of Balquhidder. There were
      very considerable debts due by Stewart of Appin (chiefly to the author's
      family), which were likely to be lost to the creditors, if they could not
      be made available out of this same farm of Invernenty, the scene of the
      murder done upon MacLaren.
    </p>
    <p>
      His family, consisting of several strapping deer-stalkers, still possessed
      the farm, by virtue of a long lease, for a trifling rent. There was no
      chance of any one buying it with such an encumbrance, and a transaction
      was entered into by the MacLarens, who, being desirous to emigrate to
      America, agreed to sell their lease to the creditors for L500, and to
      remove at the next term of Whitsunday. But whether they repented their
      bargain, or desired to make a better, or whether from a mere point of
      honour, the MacLarens declared they would not permit a summons of removal
      to be executed against them, which was necessary for the legal completion
      of the bargain. And such was the general impression that they were men
      capable of resisting the legal execution of warning by very effectual
      means, no king's messenger would execute the summons without the support
      of a military force. An escort of a sergeant and six men was obtained from
      a Highland regiment lying in Stirling; and the Author, then a writer's
      apprentice, equivalent to the honourable situation of an attorney's clerk,
      was invested with the superintendence of the expedition, with directions
      to see that the messenger discharged his duty fully, and that the gallant
      sergeant did not exceed his part by committing violence or plunder. And
      thus it happened, oddly enough, that the Author first entered the romantic
      scenery of Loch Katrine, of which he may perhaps say he has somewhat
      extended the reputation, riding in all the dignity of danger, with a front
      and rear guard, and loaded arms. The sergeant was absolutely a Highland
      Sergeant Kite, full of stories of Rob Roy and of himself, and a very good
      companion. We experienced no interruption whatever, and when we came to
      Invernenty, found the house deserted. We took up our quarters for the
      night, and used some of the victuals which we found there. On the morning
      we returned as unmolested as we came.
    </p>
    <p>
      The MacLarens, who probably never thought of any serious opposition,
      received their money and went to America, where, having had some slight
      share in removing them from their <i>paupera regna,</i> I sincerely hope
      they prospered.
    </p>
    <p>
      The rent of Invernenty instantly rose from L10 to L70 or L80; and when
      sold, the farm was purchased (I think by the late Laird of MacNab) at a
      price higher in proportion than what even the modern rent authorised the
      parties interested to hope for.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link_4_0032" id="link_4_0032">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Note E.&mdash;Allan Breck Stewart.
    </h2>
    <p>
      Allan Breck Stewart was a man likely in such a matter to keep his word.
      James Drummond MacGregor and he, like Katherine and Petruchio, were well
      matched "for a couple of quiet ones." Allan Breck lived till the beginning
      of the French Revolution. About 1789, a friend of mine, then residing at
      Paris, was invited to see some procession which was supposed likely to
      interest him, from the windows of an apartment occupied by a Scottish
      Benedictine priest. He found, sitting by the fire, a tall, thin,
      raw-boned, grim-looking, old man, with the petit croix of St. Louis. His
      visage was strongly marked by the irregular projections of the cheek-bones
      and chin. His eyes were grey. His grizzled hair exhibited marks of having
      been red, and his complexion was weather-beaten, and remarkably freckled.
      Some civilities in French passed between the old man and my friend, in the
      course of which they talked of the streets and squares of Paris, till at
      length the old soldier, for such he seemed, and such he was, said with a
      sigh, in a sharp Highland accent, "Deil ane o' them a' is worth the Hie
      Street of Edinburgh!" On inquiry, this admirer of Auld Reekie, which he
      was never to see again, proved to be Allan Breck Stewart. He lived
      decently on his little pension, and had, in no subsequent period of his
      life, shown anything of the savage mood in which he is generally believed
      to have assassinated the enemy and oppressor, as he supposed him, of his
      family and clan.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link_4_0033" id="link_4_0033">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Note F.&mdash;The Abbess of Wilton.
    </h2>
    <p>
      The nunnery of Wilton was granted to the Earl of Pembroke upon its
      dissolution, by the magisterial authority of Henry VIII., or his son
      Edward VI. On the accession of Queen Mary, of Catholic memory, the Earl
      found it necessary to reinstate the Abbess and her fair recluses, which he
      did with many expressions of his remorse, kneeling humbly to the vestals,
      and inducting them into the convent and possessions from which he had
      expelled them. With the accession of Elizabeth, the accommodating Earl
      again resumed his Protestant faith, and a second time drove the nuns from
      their sanctuary. The remonstrances of the Abbess, who reminded him of his
      penitent expressions on the former occasion, could wring from him no other
      answer than that in the text&mdash;"Go spin, you jade!&mdash;Go spin!"
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link_4_0034" id="link_4_0034">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Note G.&mdash;Mons Meg.
    </h2>
    <p>
      Mons Meg was a large old-fashioned piece of ordnance, a great favourite
      with the Scottish common people; she was fabricated at Mons, in Flanders,
      in the reign of James IV. or V. of Scotland. This gun figures frequently
      in the public accounts of the time, where we find charges for grease, to
      grease Meg's mouth withal (to increase, as every schoolboy knows, the
      loudness of the report), ribands to deck her carriage, and pipes to play
      before her when she was brought from the Castle to accompany the Scottish
      army on any distant expedition. After the Union, there was much popular
      apprehension that the Regalia of Scotland, and the subordinate Palladium,
      Mons Meg, would be carried to England to complete the odious surrender of
      national independence. The Regalia, sequestered from the sight of the
      public, were generally supposed to have been abstracted in this manner. As
      for Mons Meg, she remained in the Castle of Edinburgh, till, by order of
      the Board of Ordnance, she was actually removed to Woolwich about 1757.
      The Regalia, by his Majesty's special command, have been brought forth
      from their place of concealment in 1818, and exposed to the view of the
      people, by whom they must be looked upon with deep associations; and, in
      this very winter of 1828-9, Mons Meg has been restored to the country,
      where that, which in every other place or situation was a mere mass of
      rusty iron, becomes once more a curious monument of antiquity.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link_4_0035" id="link_4_0035">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Note H.&mdash;-Fairy Superstition.
    </h2>
    <p>
      The lakes and precipices amidst which the Avon-Dhu, or River Forth, has
      its birth, are still, according to popular tradition, haunted by the Elfin
      people, the most peculiar, but most pleasing, of the creations of Celtic
      superstitions. The opinions entertained about these beings are much the
      same with those of the Irish, so exquisitely well narrated by Mr. Crofton
      Croker. An eminently beautiful little conical hill, near the eastern
      extremity of the valley of Aberfoil, is supposed to be one of their
      peculiar haunts, and is the scene which awakens, in Andrew Fairservice,
      the terror of their power. It is remarkable, that two successive clergymen
      of this parish of Aberfoil have employed themselves in writing about this
      fairy superstition. The eldest of these was Robert Kirke, a man of some
      talents, who translated the Psalms into Gaelic verse. He had formerly been
      minister at the neighbouring parish of Balquhidder, and died at Aberfoil
      in 1688, at the early age of forty-two.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was author of the Secret Commonwealth, which was printed after his
      death in 1691&mdash;(an edition which I have never seen)&mdash;and was
      reprinted in Edinburgh, 1815. This is a work concerning the fairy people,
      in whose existence Mr. Kirke appears to have been a devout believer. He
      describes them with the usual powers and qualities ascribed to such beings
      in Highland tradition.
    </p>
    <p>
      But what is sufficiently singular, the Rev. Robert Kirke, author of the
      said treatise, is believed himself to have been taken away by the fairies,&mdash;in
      revenge, perhaps, for having let in too much light upon the secrets of
      their commonwealth. We learn this catastrophe from the information of his
      successor, the late amiable and learned Dr. Patrick Grahame, also minister
      at Aberfoil, who, in his Sketches of Perthshire, has not forgotten to
      touch upon the <i>Daoine Schie,</i> or men of peace.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Rev. Robert Kirke was, it seems, walking upon a little eminence to the
      west of the present manse, which is still held a <i>Dun Shie,</i> or fairy
      mound, when he sunk down, in what seemed to mortals a fit, and was
      supposed to be dead. This, however, was not his real fate.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Kirke was the near relation of Graham of Duchray, the ancestor of the
      present General Graham Stirling. Shortly after his funeral, he appeared,
      in the dress in which he had sunk down, to a medical relation of his own,
      and of Duchray. 'Go,' said he to him, 'to my cousin Duchray, and tell him
      that I am not dead. I fell down in a swoon, and was carried into
      Fairyland, where I now am. Tell him, that when he and my friends are
      assembled at the baptism of my child (for he had left his wife pregnant),
      I will appear in the room, and that if he throws the knife which he holds
      in his hand over my head, I will be released and restored to human
      society.' The man, it seems, neglected, for some time, to deliver the
      message. Mr. Kirke appeared to him a second time, threatening to haunt him
      night and day till he executed his commission, which at length he did. The
      time of the baptism arrived. They were seated at table; the figure of Mr.
      Kirke entered, but the Laird of Duchray, by some unaccountable fatality,
      neglected to perform the prescribed ceremony. Mr. Kirke retired by another
      door, and was seen no wore. It is firmly believed that he is, at this day,
      in Fairyland."&mdash;(<i>Sketches of Perthshire,</i> p. 254.)
    </p>
    <p>
      [The treatise by Robert Kirke, here mentioned, was written in the year
      1691, but not printed till 1815.]
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link_4_0036" id="link_4_0036">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Note I.&mdash;Clachan of Aberfoil.
    </h2>
    <p>
      I do not know how this might stand in Mr. Osbaldistone's day, but I can
      assure the reader, whose curiosity may lead him to visit the scenes of
      these romantic adventures, that the Clachan of Aberfoil now affords a very
      comfortable little inn. If he chances to be a Scottish antiquary, it will
      be an additional recommendation to him, that he will find himself in the
      vicinity of the Rev. Dr. Patrick Grahame, minister of the gospel at
      Aberfoil, whose urbanity in communicating information on the subject of
      national antiquities, is scarce exceeded even by the stores of legendary
      lore which he has accumulated.&mdash;<i>Original Note.</i> The respectable
      clergyman alluded to has been dead for some years. [See note H.]
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">





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