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3 1924 075 867 014 
 
THE 
 
 HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT, Bart. 
 
^iS'^a^^-Si^A^^^zM^S^^A 
 
THE 
 
 HEART 
 
 OF 
 
 MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 BY 
 
 SIR WALTEE SCOTT, Bart. 
 
 WITH STEEL PLATES FROM DESIGNS BY 
 
 GEORGE CRUIKSHANK AND OTHER ARTISTS 
 
 LONDON and NEW YORK 
 
 GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS 
 
 187s 
 
LONDON : 
 BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS. 
 
THE HEART 
 
 OF 
 
 MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 Hear, Land o' Cakes and brither Scots, 
 Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groats' 
 If there's a hole in a' your coats, 
 
 I rede ye tent it ; 
 A chiel's amang you takin notes, 
 
 An' faith he'll prent it ! — BURNS. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The author has stated, in the preface to the Chronicles of the 
 Canongate, 1827, that he received from an anonymous corre- 
 spondent an account of the incident upon which the following 
 story is founded. He is now at liberty to say, that the information 
 was conveyed to him by a late amiable and ingenious lady, whose 
 wit and power of remarking and judging of character still survive 
 in the memory of her friends. Her maiden name was Miss Helen 
 Lawson, of Girthhead, and she was wife of Thomas Goldie, Esq., 
 of Craigmuie, Commissary of Dumfries. 
 
 Her communication was in these words : 
 
 " I had taken for summer lodgings a cottage near the old Abbey 
 of Lincluden. It had formerly been inhabited by a lady who had 
 pleasure in embellishing cottages, which she found perhaps homely 
 and even poor enough ; mine, therefore, possessed many marks of 
 taste and elegance unusual in this species of habitation in Scot- 
 land, where a cottage is literally what its name declares. 
 
 " From my cottage door I had a partial view of the old Abbey 
 before mentioned ; some of the highest arches were seen over, and 
 some through the trees scattered along a lane which led down to 
 the ruin, and the strange fantastic shapes of almost all those old 
 ashe's accorded wonderfully well with the building they at once 
 shaded and ornamented. 
 
 " The Abbey itself from my door was almost on a level with the 
 cottage ; but on coming to the end of the lane, it was discovered 
 to be situated on a high perpendicular bank, at the foot of which 
 run the clear waters of the Cluden, where they hasten to join the 
 sweeping Nith, 
 
 ' Whose distant roaring swells and' fa's.' 
 
 As my kitchen and parlour were not very far . distant, I one day 
 
6 INTRODUCTION TO 
 
 went in to purchase some chickens from a person I heard offering 
 them for sale. It was a little, rather stout-looking woman, who 
 seemed to be between seventy and eighty years of age ; she was 
 almost covered with a tartan plaid, and her cap had over it a black 
 silk hood, tied under the chin, a piece of dress still much in use 
 among elderly women of that rank of life in Scotland ; her eyes 
 were dark, and remarkably lively and intelligent ; I entered into 
 conversation with her, and began by asking how she maintained 
 herself, &c. 
 
 "She' said that in winter she footed stockings, that is, knit feet 
 to country people's' stockings, which bears about the same relation 
 to stocking-knitting that cobbling does to shoe-making, and is of 
 course both less" profitable and less dignified ; she likewise taught 
 a. few children to read, and in summer she whiles reared a few 
 chickens. ' 
 
 " I said I could venture to guess from her face she had never 
 been married. She laughed heartily at this, and said, ' I maun hae 
 the queerest face that ever was x seen, that ye could guess that. 
 Now, do tell me, madam, how ye cam to think sae ?' I told her it 
 was from her cheerful disengaged countenance. She said, ' Mem, 
 have ye na far mair reason to be happy than me, wi' a gude hus- 
 band and a fine family o' bairns, and plenty o' every thing? for me, 
 I'm the puirest o' a' puir bodies, and can hardly contrive to keep 
 mysel alive in a' the wee bits o' ways I hae tell't ye.' After some 
 more conversation, during which I was more and more pleased 
 with the old woman's sensible conversation, and the naivete of her 
 remarks, she rose to go away, when I asked her name. Her coun- 
 tenance suddenly clouded, and she said gravely, rather colouring, 
 ' My name is Helen Walker, but your husband kens weel about me.' 
 
 " In the evening I related how much I had been pleased, and in- 
 quired what was extraordinary in the history of the poor woman. 
 Mr. Goldie said, there were perhaps few more remarkable people 
 than Helen Walker. She had been left an orphan, with the charge 
 of a sister considerably younger than herself, and who was edu- 
 cated and maintained by her exertions. Attached to her by so 
 many ties, therefore, it will not be easy to conceive her feelings, 
 when she found that this only sister must be tried by the laws of 
 her country for child-murder, and upon being called as principal 
 witness against her. The counsel for the prisoner told Helen, that 
 if she could declare that her sister had made any preparations, 
 however slight, or had given her any intimation on the subject, 
 that such a statement would save her sister's life, as she was the 
 principal witness against her. Helen said, ' It is impossible for me 
 to swear to a falsehood ; and, whatever may be the consequence, I 
 will give my oath according to my conscience.' 
 
 " The trial came on, and the sister was found guilty and con- 
 demned ; but, in Scotland, six weeks must elapse between the sen- 
 tence and the execution, and Helen Walker availed herself of it. 
 The very day of her sister's condemnation, she got a petition 
 drawn, stating the peculiar circumstances of the case, and that 
 very night set out on foot to London. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 7 
 
 " Without introduction or recommendation, with her simple 
 (perhaps ill-expressed) petition, drawn up by some inferior clerk of 
 the court, she presented herself, in her tartan plaid and country 
 attire, to the late Duke of Argyle, who immediately procured the 
 pardon she petitioned for, and Helen returned with it on foot, just 
 in time to save her sister. 
 
 " I was so strongly interested by this narrative, that I determined 
 immediately to prosecute my acquaintance with Helen Walker; 
 but as I was to leave the country next day, I was obliged to defer 
 it till my return in spring, when the first walk I took was to Helen 
 Walker's cottage. 
 
 " She had died a short time before. My regret was extreme, and 
 I endeavoured to obtain some account of Helen from an old woman 
 who inhabited the other end of her cottage. I inquired if Helen 
 ever spoke of her past history, her journey to London, &c. ' Na,' 
 the old woman said, ' Helen was a wily body, and whene'er ony o' 
 the neebors asked ony thing about it, she aye turned the con- 
 versation.' 
 
 " In short, every answer I received only tended to increase my 
 regret, and raise my opinion of Helen Walker, who could unite so 
 much prudence with so much heroic virtue." 
 
 This narrative was enclosed in the following letter to the author, 
 without date or signature : — 
 
 " SIR, — The occurrence just related happened to me twenty-six 
 years ago. Helen Walker lies buried in the churchyard of Iron- 
 gray, about six miles from Dumfries. I once proposed that a small 
 monument should have been erected to commemorate so remark- 
 able a character, but I now prefer leaving it to you to perpetuate 
 her memory in a more durable manner." 
 
 The reader is now able to judge how far the author has improved 
 upon, or fallen short of, the pleasing arid interesting sketch of high 
 principle and steady affection displayed by Helen Walker, the pro- 
 totype of the fictitious Jeanie Deans. Mrs. Goldie was unfortu- 
 nately dead before the author had given his name to these volumes, 
 so he lost all opportunity of thanking that lady for her highly valu- 
 able communication. But her daughter, Miss Goldie, obliged him 
 with the following additional information. 
 
 " Mrs. Goldie endeavoured to collect further particulars of Helen 
 Walker, particularly concerning her journey to London, but found 
 this nearly impossible ; as the natural dignity of her character, and 
 a high sense of family respectability, made her so indissolubly 
 connect her sister's, disgrace with her own exertions, that none of 
 her neighbours durst ever question her upon the subject. One old 
 woman, a distant relation of Helen's, and. who is still living, says 
 she worked an harvest with her, but that she never ventured to ask 
 her about her sister's trial, or her journey to London ; ' Helen, she 
 added, ' was a lofty body, and used a high style o' language.' The 
 same old woman says, that every year Helen received a cheese 
 from her sister, who lived at Whitehaven, and that she always sent 
 
8 INTRODUCTION TO 
 
 a liberal portion of it to herself, or to her father's family. This 
 fact, though trivial in itself, strongly marks the affection subsisting 
 between the two sisters, and the complete conviction on the mind 
 of the criminal, that her sister had acted solely from high prin- 
 ciple, not from any want of feeling, which another small but cha- 
 racteristic trait will further illustrate. A gentleman, a relation of 
 Mrs. Goldie's, who happened to be travelling in the North of Eng- 
 land, on coming to a small inn, was shewn into the parlour by a 
 female servant, who, after cautiously shutting the door, said, ' Sir, 
 I'm Nelly Walker's sister.' Thus practically shewing that she con- 
 sidered her sister as better known by her high conduet, than even 
 herself by a different kind of celebrity. 
 
 " Mrs. Goldie was extremely anxious to have a tombstone and an 
 inscription upon it, erected in Irongray churchyard ; and if Sir 
 Walter Scott will condescend to write the last, a little subscription 
 could be easily raised in the immediate neighbourhood, and Mrs. 
 Goldie's wish be thus fulfilled." 
 
 It is scarcely necessary to add, that the request of Miss Goldie 
 will be most willingly complied with, and without the necessity of 
 any tax on the public. Nor is there much occasion to repeat how 
 much the author conceives himself obliged to his unknown corre- 
 spondent, who thus supplied him with a theme affording such a 
 pleasing view of the moral dignity of virtue, though unaided by 
 birth, beauty, or talent. If the picture has suffered in the execu- 
 tion, it is from the failure of the author's powers to present in 
 detail the same simple and striking portrait exhibited in Mrs. 
 Goldie's letter. 
 
 Abbotsford, \ 
 April i, 1830. ) 
 
 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 Although it would be impossible to add much to Mrs. Goldie's 
 picturesque and most interesting account of Helen Walker, the pro- 
 totype of the imaginary Jeanie Deans, the Editor may be pardoned 
 for introducing two or three anecdotes respecting that excellent 
 person, which he has collected from a volume entitled, " Sketches 
 from Nature, by John M'Diarmid," a gentleman who conducts an 
 able provincial paper in the town of Dumfries. 
 
 Helen was the daughter of a small farmer in a place called Dal- 
 whairn, in the parish of Irongray ; where, after the death of her 
 father, she continued, with the unassuming piety of a Scottish pea- 
 sant, to support her mother by her own unremitted labour and pri- 
 vations ; a case so common that even yet, I am proud to say, few 
 of my countrywomen would shrink from the duty. 
 
 Helen Walker was held among her equals pensy, that is, proud 
 or conceited ; but the facts brought to prove this accusation seem 
 only to evince a strength of character superior to those around her. 
 Thus it was remarked, that when it thundered she went with her 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 9 
 
 work and her Bible to the front of the cottage, alleging that the 
 Almighty could smite in the city as well as in the field. 
 
 Mr. M'Diarmid mentions more particularly the misfortune of 
 her sister, which he supposes to have taken place previous to 1736. 
 Helen Walker, declining every proposal of saving her relation's life 
 at the expense of truth, borrowed a sum of money sufficient for her 
 journey, walked the whole distance to London barefoot, and made 
 her way to John Duke of Argyle. She was heard to say that, by 
 the Almighty's strength, she had been enabled to meet the Duke 
 at the most critical moment, which, if lost, would have caused the 
 inevitable forfeiture of her sister's life. 
 
 Isabella, or Tibby Walker, saved from the fate which impended 
 over her, was married by the person who had wronged her, (named 
 Waugh,) and lived happily for great part of a century, uniformly 
 acknowledging the extraordinary affection to which she owed her 
 preservation. 
 
 Helen Walker died about the end of the year 1791, and her 
 remains are interred in the churchyard of her native parish of Iron- 
 gray, in a romantic cemetery on the banks of the Cairn. That a 
 character so distinguished for her undaunted love of virtue, lived 
 and died in poverty, if not want, serves only to shew us how insig- 
 nificant, in the sight of Heaven, are our principal objects of ambi- 
 tion upon earth. 
 
 TO THE BEST OF PATRONS, 
 
 A PLEASED AND INDULGENT READER, 
 JEDEDIAH CLEISHBOTHAM 
 
 WISHES HEALTH, AND INCREASE, AND CONTENTMENT. 
 
 Courteous Reader, 
 
 If ingratitude comprehendeth every vice, surely so foul a stain 
 worst of all beseemeth him whose life has been devoted to instruct- 
 ing youth in virtue and in humane letters. Therefore have I chosen,, 
 in this prolegomenon, to unload my burden of thanks at thy feet, 
 for the favour with which thou hast kindly entertained the Tales of 
 my Landlord. Certes, if thou hast chuckled over their facetious 
 and festivous descriptions, or hadst thy mind filled with pleasure at 
 the strange and pleasant turns of fortune which they record, verily, 
 I have also simpered when I beheld a second story with attics, that 
 has arisen on the basis of my small domicile at Gandercleugh, the 
 walls having been aforehand pronounced by Deacon Barrow to be 
 capable of enduring such an elevation. Nor has it been without 
 delectation, that I have endued a new coat, (snuff-brown, and with 
 metal buttons,) having all nether garments corresponding thereto. 
 We do therefore lie, in respect of each other, under a reciprocation 
 
to INTRODUCTION TO 
 
 of benefits, whereof those received by me being the most solid, (in 
 respect that a new house and a new coat are better than a new 
 tale and an auld song,) it is meet that my gratitude should be ex- 
 pressed with the louder voice and more preponderating vehemence. 
 And how should it be so expressed '—Certainly not in words 
 only, but in act and deed. It is with this sole purpose, and dis- 
 claiming all intention of purchasing that pendicle or pottle of land 
 called the Carlinescroft, lying adjacent to my garden, and measur- 
 ing seven acres, three roods, and fourperches,that I have committed 
 to the eyes of those who thought well of the former tomes, these four 
 additional volumes of the Tales of my Landlord. Not the less, if 
 Peter Prayfort be minded to sell the said poffle, it is at his own 
 choice to say so ; and, peradventure, he may meet with a pur- 
 chaser : unless (gentle reader) the pleasing pourtraictures of Peter 
 Pattieson, now given unto thee in- particular, and unto the public in 
 general, shall have lost their favour in thine eyes, whereof I am 
 no way distrustful. And so much confidence do I repose in thy 
 continued favour, that, should thy lawful occasions call thee _ to the 
 town of Gandercleugh, a place frequented by most at one time or 
 other in their lives, I will enrich thine eyes with a sight of those 
 precious manuscripts whence thou hast derived so much delecta- 
 tion, thy nose with a snuff from my mull, and thy palate with a 
 dram from my bottle of strong waters, called, by the learned of 
 Gandercleugh, the Dominie's Dribble o' Drink. 
 
 It is there, O highly esteemed and beloved reader, thou wilt be 
 able to bear testimony, through the medium of thine own senses, 
 against the children of vanity, who have sought to identify thy 
 friend and servant with I know not what inditer of vain fables ; who 
 hath cumbered the world with his devices, but shrunken from the 
 responsibility thereof. Truly, this hath been well termed a genera- 
 tion hard ot faith ; since what can a man do to assert his property 
 in a printed tome, saving to put his name in the title-page thereof, 
 with his description, or designation, as the lawyers term it, and 
 place of abode ? Of a surety. I would have such sceptics consider 
 how they themselves would brook to have their works ascribed 
 to others, their names and professions imputed as forgeries, and 
 their very existence brought into question ; even although, peradven- 
 ture, it may be it is of little consequence to any but themselves, not 
 only whether they are living or dead, but even whether they ever 
 lived or no. Yet have my maligners carried their uncharitable 
 censures still farther. 
 
 These cavillers have not only doubted mine identity, although thus 
 plainly proved, but they have impeached my veracity and the 
 authenticity of my historical narratives ! Verily I can only say in 
 answer, that I have been cautelous in quoting mine authorities. It 
 is true, indeed, that if I had hearkened with only one ear, I might 
 have rehearsed my tale with more acceptation from those who love 
 to hear but half the truth. It is, it may hap, not altogether to the 
 discredit of our kindly nation of Scotland, that we are apt to take 
 an interest, warm, yea partial, in the deeds and sentiments of our 
 forefathers. He whom his adversaries described as a perjured 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. II 
 
 Prelatist,is desirous that his predecessors should be held moderate 
 in their power, and just in their execution of its privileges, when, 
 truly, the unimpassioned peruser of the annals of those times shall 
 deem them sanguinary, violent, and tyrannical. Again, the repre- 
 sentatives of the suffering Nonconformists desire that their ances- 
 tors, the Cameronians, shall be represented not simply as honest 
 enthusiasts, oppressed for conscience-sake, but persons of fine 
 breeding, and valiant heroes. Truly the historian cannot gratify 
 these predilections. He needs mustdescribe th'e cavaliers as proud 
 and high-spirited, cruel, remorseless, and vindictive ; the suffering 
 party as honourably tenacious of their opinions under persecution ; < 
 their own tempers being, however, sullen, fierce, and rude ; their 
 opinions absurd and extravagant ; and their whole course of con- 
 duct that of persons whom hellebore would better have suited than 
 prosecutions unto death for high-treason. Nathless, while such 
 and so preposterous were the opinions on either side, there were, it 
 cannot be doubted, men of virtue and worth on both, to entitle 
 either party to claim merit from its martyrs. It has been demanded 
 of me, Jedediah Cleishbotham, by what right I am entitled to con- 
 stitute myself an impartial judge of their discrepancies of opinions, 
 seeing (as it is stated) that I must necessarily have descended from 
 one or other of the contending parties, and be, of course, wedded 
 for better or for worse, according to the reasonable practice of 
 Scotland, to its dogmata, or opinions, and bound, as it were, by the 
 tie matrimonial, or, to speak without metaphor, ex jure sanguinis, 
 to maintain them in preference to all others. 
 
 But, nothing denying the rationality of the rule, which calls on 
 all now living to rule their political and religious opinions by those 
 of their great grandfathers, and inevitable as seems the one or the 
 other horn of the dilemma betwixt which my adversaries conceive 
 they have pirihed me to the wall, I yet spy some means of refuge, 
 and claim a privilege to write and speak of both parties with im- 
 partiality. For, O ye powers of logic ! when the Prelatists and 
 Presbyterians of old times went together by the ears in this unlucky 
 country, my ancestor (venerated be his memory !) was one of the 
 people called Quakers, and suffered severe handling from either 
 side, even to the extenuation of his purse and the incarceration of 
 his person. 
 
 Craving thy pardon, gentle Reader, for these few words con- 
 cerning me and mine, I rest, as above expressed, thy sure and 
 obligated friend.* 
 
 Gandercleugh, ) J. C. 
 
 this ist of April, 1818. ) 
 
 * It is an old proverb, that "many a true word is spoken in jest." The ex- 
 istence of Walter Scott, third son of Sir William Scott of Harden, is instructed, 
 as it is called, by a charterunderthe great seal, Domino Willielmo Scott de Harden 
 Militi, et Waltero Scott suo filio legitimo tertio genito, terrarum de Roberton 
 (Douglas's Baronage, p. 215). The munificent old gentleman left all his four 
 sons considerable estates, and settled those of Eilrig and Raeburn, together 
 with valuable possessions around Lessudden, upon Walter, his third son, who 
 is ancestor of the Scotts of Raeburn, and of the Author of Waverley. He appears 
 to have become a convert to the doctrine of the Quakers, or Friends, and a 
 
12 INTRODUCTION TO 
 
 great assertor of their peculiar tenets. This was probably at the time when 
 George Fox, the celebrated apostle of the sect, made an expedition into the 
 south of Scotland about 1657, on which occasion he boasts, that " as he first set 
 his horse's feet upon Scottish ground, he felt the seed of grace to sparkle about 
 him like innumerable sparks of fire." Upon the same occasion, probably, Sir 
 Gideon Scott of Highchester, second son of Sir William, immediate elder 
 brother of Walter, and ancestor of the author's friend and kinsman, the present 
 representative of the family of Harden, also embraced the tenets of Quakerism. 
 This last convert, Gideon, entered into a controversy with the Rev. James Kirk- 
 ton, author of the Secret and True History of the Church of Scotland, which is 
 noticed by my ingenious friend Mr. Charles Kirkpatricke Sharpe, in his valuable 
 and curious edition of that work, 4to, 1817. Sir William Scott, eldest of the 
 brothers, remained, amid the defection of his two younger brethren, an ortho- 
 dox member of the Presbyterian Church, and used such means for reclaiming 
 Walter of Raeburn from his heresy, as savoured far more of persecution than 
 persuasion. In this he was assisted by MacDougal of Makerston, brother to 
 Isabella MacDougal, the wife of the said Walter, and who, like her husband, 
 had conformed to the Quaker tenets. 
 
 The interest possessed by Sir William Scott and Makerston was powerful 
 enough to procure the two following acts of the Privy Council of Scotland, 
 directed against Walter of Raeburn as an heretic and convert to Quakerism, 
 appointing him to be imprisoned first in Edinburgh jail, and then in that of Jed- 
 burgh ; and his children to be taken by force from the society and direction of 
 their parents, and educated at a distance from them, besides the assignment of 
 a sum for their maintenance, sufficient in those times to be burdensome to a 
 moderate Scottish estate. 
 
 "Apud Edin. vigesimo Junii 1665. 
 
 ' ' The Lords of his Magesty's Privy Council having receaved information that 
 Scott of Raeburn and Isobel Mackdougall, his wife, being infected with the error 
 of Quakerism, doe endeavour to breid and traine up William, Walter, and 
 Isobel Scotts, their children, in the same profession, doe therefore give order 
 and command to Sir William Scott of Harden, the said Raeburn's brother, to 
 seperat and take away the saids children from the custody'and society of the 
 saids parents, and to cause educat and bring them up in his owne house, or 
 any other convenient place, and ordaines letters to be direct at the said Sir Wil- 
 liam's instance against Raeburn, for a maintenance to the saids children, and 
 that the said Sir Wm. give ane account of his diligence with all conveniency," 
 
 "Edinburgh, 5th July, 1666. 
 
 " Anent a petition presented be Sir Wm. Scott of Harden, for himself and in 
 name and behalf of the three children of Walter Scott of Raeburn, his brother, 
 showing that the Lords of Councill, by ane act of the 22d day of Junii, 1665, did 
 grant power and warrand to the petitioner, to separat and take away Raeburn's 
 children, from his family and education, and to breed them in some convenient 
 place, where they might be free from all infection in their younger years, from 
 the principalis of Quakerism, and, for maintenance of the saids children, did 
 ordain letters to be direct against Raeburn ; and, seeing the Petitioner, in 
 obedience to the said order, did take away the saids children, being two sonnes 
 and a daughter, and after some paines taken upon them in his owne family, hes 
 sent them to the city of Glasgow, to be bread at schooles, and there to be 
 principled with the knowledge of the true religion, and that it is necessary the 
 Councill determine what shall be the maintenance for which Raeburn's three 
 children may be charged, as likewise that Raeburn himself, being now in the 
 Tolbooth of Edinburgh, where he dayley converses with all the Quakers who 
 are prisoners there, and others who daily resort to them, whereby he is hardened 
 in his pernitious opinions and principles, without all hope of recovery, unlesse 
 he be separat from such pernitious company, humbly therefore, desyring that 
 the Councell might determine upon the soume of money to be payed be Rae- 
 burn, for the education of his children, to the petitioner, who will be countable 
 therefor ; and that, in order to his conversion, the place of his imprisonment 
 may be changed. The Lords of his Maj. Privy Councell having at length heard 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 13 
 
 and considered the foresaid petition, doe modifie the soume of two thousand 
 pounds Scots, to be payed yearly at the terme of Whitsunday bethe said Walter 
 Scott of Raeburn, furth of his estate to the petitioner, for the entertainment 
 and education of the said children, beginning the first termes payment thereof 
 at Whitsunday last for the half year preceding, and so furth yearly, at the said 
 terme of Whitsunday in tym comeing till furder orders ; and ordaines the said 
 Walter Scott of Raeburn to be transported from the tolbooth of Edinburgh to 
 the prison of Jedburgh, where his friends and others may have occasion to con- 
 vert him. And to the effect he may be secured from the practice of other 
 Quakers, the said Lords doe hereby discharge the magistrate? of Jedburgh to 
 suffer any persons suspect of these principles to have access to him ; and in 
 case any contraveen, that they secure ther persons till they be therfore puneist ; 
 and ordaines letters to be direct heirupon in form, as effeirs." 
 
 Both the sons, thus harshly separated from their father, proved good scholars. 
 The eldest, William, who carried on the line of Raeburn, was, like his father, a 
 deep Orientalist ; the younger, Walter, became a good classical scholar, a great 
 friend and correspondent of the celebrated Dr. Pitcairn, and a Jacobite so dis- 
 tinguished for zeal, that he made a vow never to shave his beard till the resto- 
 ration of the exiled family. This last Walter Scott was the author's great- 
 grandfather. 
 
 There is yet another link betwixt the author and the simple-minded and ex- 
 cellent Society of Friends, though a proselyte of much more importance than 
 Walter Scott of Raeburn. The celebrated John Swinton of Swinton, xixth 
 baron in descent of that ancient and once powerful family, was, with Sir Wil- 
 liam Lockhart of Lee, the person whom Cromwell chiefly trusted in the manage- 
 ment of the Scottish affairs during his usurpation. After the Restoration 
 Swinton was devoted as a victim to the new order of things, and was brought 
 down in the same vessel which conveyed the Marquis of Argyle to Edinburgh, 
 where that nobleman was tried and executed. Swinton was destined to the 
 same fate. He had assumed the habit, and entered into the Society of the 
 Quakers, and appeared as one of their number before the Parliament of Scot- 
 land. He renounced all legal defence, though several pleas were open to him, 
 and answered in conformity to the principles of his sect, that at the time these 
 crimes were imputed to him, he was in the gall of bitterness and bond of 
 iniquity ; but that God Almighty having since called him to the light, he saw 
 and acknowledged these errors, and did not refuse to pay the forfeit of them, 
 even though, in the judgment of the Parliament, it should extend to life itself. 
 
 Respect to fallen greatness, and to the patience and calm resignation with 
 which a man once in high power expressed himself under such a change of 
 fortune, found Swinton friends ;, family connections, and some interested consi- 
 derations of Middleton the Commissioner, joined to procure his safety, and he 
 was dismissed, but after a long imprisonment, and much dilapidation of his 
 estates. It is said, that Swinton's admonitions, while confined in the Castle of 
 Edinburgh, had a considerable share in converting to the tenets of the Friends 
 Colonel David Barclay, then lying there in garrison. This was the father of 
 Robert Barclay, author of the celebrated Apology for the Quakers. It may be 
 observed amongthe inconsistencies of human nature, that Kirkton.Wodrow, and 
 other Presbyterian authors, who have detailed the sufferings of their own sect 
 for non-conformity with the established church, censure the government of the 
 time for not exerting the civil power against the peaceful enthusiasts we have 
 treated of, and some express particular chagrin at the escape of Swinton. 
 Whatever might be his motives for assuming the tenets of the Friends, the old 
 man retained them faithfully till the close of his life. 
 
 Jean Swinton, grand-daughter of Sir John Swinton, son of Judge Swinton, as 
 the Quaker was usually termed, was mother of Anne Rutherford, the author's 
 mother. 
 
 And thus, as in the play of the Anti-Jacobin, the ghost of the author's grand- 
 mother having arisen to speak the Epilogue, it is full time to conclude, lest the 
 reader should remonstrate that his desire to know the Author of Waverley never 
 included a wish to be acquainted with his whole ancestry. 
 
THE HEART 
 
 OF 
 
 MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 BEING INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 So down thy hill, romantic Ashbourn, glides 
 The Derby dilly, carrying six insides.— FRERE. 
 
 The times have changed in nothing more (we follow as we were 
 wont the manuscript of Peter Pattieson) than in the rapid convey- 
 ance of intelligence and communication betwixt one part of Scotland 
 and another. It is not above twenty or thirty years, according to 
 the evidence of many credible witnesses now alive, since a little 
 miserable horse-cart, performing with difficulty a journey of thirty 
 miles per diem, carried our mails from the capital of Scotland to 
 its extremity. Nor was Scotland much more deficient in these 
 accommodations, than our rich sister had been about eighty years 
 before. Fielding, in his Tom Jones, and Farquhar, in a little farce 
 called the Stage-Coach, have ridiculed the slowness of these 
 vehicles of public accommodation. According to the latter autho- 
 rity, the highest bribe could only induce the coachman to promise 
 to anticipate by half an hour the usual time of his arrival at the 
 Bull and Mouth. 
 
 But in both countries these ancient, slow, and sure modes of 
 conveyance, are now alike unknown ; mail-coach races against 
 mail-coach, and high-flyer against high-flyer, through the most 
 remote districts of Britain. And in our village alone, three post- 
 coaches, and four coaches with men armed, and in scarlet cassocks, 
 thunder through the streets each day, and rival in brilliancy and 
 noise the invention of the celebrated tyrant : — 
 
 Demens, qui nimbos et non imitabile fulmen, 
 JEre et cornifiedum pulsu, simularat, equotum. 
 
 Now and then, to complete the resemblance, and to correct the 
 presumption of the venturous charioteers, it does happen that the 
 career of these dashing rivals of Salmoneus meets' with as undesir- 
 able and violent a termination as that of their prototype. It is on 
 such occasions that the Insides and Outsides, to use the appropriate 
 vehicular phrases, have reason to rue the exchange of the slow and 
 safe motion of the ancient Fly-coaches, which, compared with the 
 chariots of Mr. Palmer, so ill deserve the name. The ancient 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 IS 
 
 vehicle used to settle quietly down, like a ship scuttled and left to 
 sink by the gradual influx of the waters, while the modern is 
 smashed to pieces with the velocity of the same vessel hurled 
 against breakers, or rather with the fury of a bomb bursting at the 
 conclusion of its career through the air. The late ingenious Mr. 
 Pennant, whose humour it was to set his face in stern opposition to 
 these speedy conveyances, had collected, I have heard, a formidable 
 list of such casualties, which, joined to the imposition of innkeepers, 
 whose charges the passengers had no time to dispute, the sauciness 
 of the coachman, and the uncontrolled and despotic authority of 
 the tyrant called the guard, held forth a picture of horror, to which 
 murder, theft, fraud, and peculation, lent all their dark colouring. 
 But that which gratifies the impatience of the human disposition 
 will be practised in the teeth of danger, and in defiance of admoni- 
 tion ; and, in despite of the Cambrian antiquary, mail-coaches not 
 only roll their thunders r6und the base of Penman-Maur and 
 Cader-Edris, but 
 
 Frighted' Skiddaw hears afar the rattling of the unscythed car. 
 
 And perhaps the echoes of Ben Nevis may soon be awakened by 
 the bugle, not of a warlike chieftain, but of the guard of a mail- 
 coach. 
 
 It was a fine summer day, and our little school had obtained a 
 half holiday, by the intercession of a. good-humoured visitor.* I 
 expected by the coach a new number of an interesting periodical 
 publication, and walked forward on the highway to meet it, with 
 the impatience which Cowper has described as actuating the 
 resident in the country when longing for intelligence from the mart 
 of news : 
 
 " The grand debate, 
 
 The popular harangue, — the tart reply, — 
 The logic, and the wisdom, and the wit, 
 And the loud laugh, — I long to know them all ;— 
 I burn to set the imprison'd wranglers free, 
 And give them voice and utterance again." 
 
 It was with such feelings that I eyed the approach of the new 
 coach, lately established on our road, and known by the name of 
 the Somerset, which, to say truth, possesses some interest for me, 
 even when it conveys no such important information. The distant 
 tremulous sound of its wheels was heard just as I gained the 
 summit of the gentle ascent, called the Goslin-brae, from which you 
 command an extensive view down the valley of the river Gander. 
 The public road, which comes up the side of that stream, and 
 crosses it at a bridge about a quarter of a mile from the place 
 where I was standing, runs partly through enclosures and planta- 
 tions, and partly through open pasture land. It is a childish 
 amusement perhaps, — but my life has been spent with children, 
 and why should not my pleasures be like theirs ? — childish as it is 
 then, I must own I have had great pleasure in watching the ap- 
 proach of the carriage, where the openings of the rpad permit it to 
 
e6 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 be seen. The gay glancing of the equipage, its diminished and 
 toy-like appearance at a distance, contrasted with the rapidity of 
 its motion, its appearance and disappearance at intervals, and the 
 progressively increasing sounds, that announce its nearer approach, 
 have all to the idle and listless spectator, who has nothing more 
 important to attend to, something of awakening interest. The 
 ridicule may attach to me, which is flung upon many an honest 
 citizen, who watches from the window of his villa the passage of 
 the stage-coach ; but it is a very natural source of amusement not- 
 withstanding, and many of those who join in the laugh are perhaps 
 not unused to resort to it in secret. 
 
 On the present occasion, however, fate had decreed that I should 
 not enjoy the consummation of the amusement by seeing the coach 
 rattle past me as I sat on the turf, and hearing the hoarse grating 
 voice of the guard as he skimmed forth for my grasp the expected 
 packet, without the carriage checking its course for an instant. I 
 had seen the vehicle thunder down the hill that leads to' the bridge 
 with more than its usual impetuosity, glittering all the while by- 
 flashes from a cloudy tabernacle of the dust which it had raised, 
 and leaving a train behind it on the road resembling a wreath of 
 summer mist. But it did not appear on the top of the nearer bank 
 within the usual space of three minutes, which frequent observation 
 had enabled me to ascertain was the medium time for crossing the 
 bridge and mounting the ascent. When double that space had 
 elapsed, I became alarmed, and walked hastily forward. As I 
 came in sight of the bridge, the cause of delay was too manifest, 
 for the Somerset had made a summerset in good earnest, and 
 overturned so completely, that it was literally resting upon the 
 ground, with the roof undermost, and the four wheels in the air. 
 The " exertions of the guard and coachman," both of whom were 
 gratefully commemorated in the newspapers, having succeeded in 
 disentangling the horses by cutting the harness, were now proceed- 
 ing to extricate the insides by a sort of summary and Csesarean 
 process of delivery, forcing the hinges from one of the doors which 
 they could not open otherwise, In this manner were two discon- 
 solate damsels set at liberty from the womb of the leathern conve- 
 nience As they immediately began to settle their clothes, which 
 were a little deranged, as may be presumed, I concluded they had 
 received no injury, and did not venture to obtrude my services at 
 their toilette, for which, I understand, I have since been reflected 
 upon by the fair sufferers. The outsides, who must have been 
 discharged from their elevated situation by a shock resembling the 
 springing of a mine, escaped, nevertheless, with the usual allowance 
 of scratches and bruises, excepting three, who, having been pitched 
 into the river Gander, were dimly seen contending with the tide, 
 like the relics of ^Eneas's shipwreck, — 
 
 Rari a-pparent nantes in gurgite vasto. 
 
 I applied my poor exertions where they seemed to be most 
 needed, and with the assistance of one or two of the company who 
 had escaped unhurt, easily succeeded in fishing out two of the 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 17 
 
 unfortunate passengers, who were stout active young fellows ; and, 
 but for the preposterous length of their great-coats, and the equally 
 fashionable latitude and longitude of their Wellington trousers, 
 would have required little assistance from any one. The third was 
 sickly and elderly, and might have perished but for the efforts 
 used to preserve him. 
 
 When the two great-coated gentlemen had extricated themselves 
 from the river, and shaken their ears like huge water-dogs, a violent 
 altercation ensued betwixt them and the coachman and guard, 
 concerning the cause of their overthrow. In the course of the 
 squabble, I observed that both my new acquaintances belonged to 
 the law, and that their professional sharpness was likely to prove 
 an overmatch for the surly and official tone of the guardians of the 
 vehicle. The dispute ended in the guard assuring the passengers 
 that they should have seats in a heavy coach which would pass 
 that spot in less than half an hour, provided it were not full. Chance 
 seemed to favour this arrangement, for when the expected vehicle 
 arrived, there were only two places occupied in a carriage which 
 professed to carry six. The two ladies who had been disinterred 
 out of the fallen vehicle were readily admitted, but positive objec- 
 tions were stated by those previously in possession to the admit- 
 tance of the two lawyers, whose wetted garments being much of 
 the nature of well-soaked sponges, there was every reason to 
 believe they would refund a considerable part of the water they had 
 collected, to the inconvenience of their fellow-passengers. On the 
 other hand, the lawyers rejected a seat on the roof, alleging that 
 they had only taken that station for pleasure for one stage, but 
 were entitled in all respects to free egress and regress from the 
 interior, to which their contract positively referred. After some 
 altercation, in which something was said upon the edict Natitce 
 caupones stabularii, the coach went off, leaving the learned gentle- 
 men to abide by their action of damages. 
 
 They immediately applied to me to guide them to the next 
 village and the best inn ; and from the account I gave them of the 
 Wallace-Head, declared they were much better pleased to stop 
 there than to go forward upon the terms of that impudent scoundrel 
 the guard of the Somerset. All that they now wanted was a lad 
 to carry their travelling bags, who was easily procured from an ad- 
 joining cottage ; and they prepared to walk forward, when they 
 found there was another passenger in the same deserted situation 
 with themselves. This was the elderly and sickly looking person, 
 who had been precipitated into the river along with the two young- 
 lawyers. He, it seems, had been too modest to push his own plea 
 against the coachman when he saw that of his betters rejected, and 
 now remained behind, with a look of timid anxiety, plainly intimat- 
 ing that he was deficient in those means of recommendation which 
 are necessary passports to the hospitality of an inn. 
 
 I ventured to call the attention of the two dashing young blades, 
 for such they seemed, to the desolate, qondition of their fellow- 
 traveller. They took the hint with ready good-nature. 
 
 "O, true, Mr. Dunover," said one of the youngsters, " you must 
 
 B 
 
18 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 not remain on the pave" here ; you must go and have some dinner 
 with us — Hallrit and I must have a post-chaise to go on, at all 
 events, and we will set you down wherever suits you best." 
 
 The poor man, for such his dress, as well as his diffidence, be- 
 spoke him, made the sort of acknowledging bow by which says a 
 Scotsman, " It's too much honour for the like of me ; " and followed 
 humbly behind his gay patrons, all three besprinkling the dusty 
 road as they walked along with the moisture of their drenched 
 garments, and exhibiting the singular and somewhat ridiculous 
 appearance of three persons suffering from the opposite extreme 
 of humidity,' while the summer sun was at its height, and every 
 thing else around them had the expression of heat and drought. 
 The ridicule did not escape the young gentlemen themselves, and 
 they had" made what might be received as one or two tolerable 
 jests on the subject before they had advanced far on their peregri- 
 nation. 
 
 " We cannot complain, like Cowley," said one of them, " that 
 Gideon's fleece remains dry, while all around is moist ; this is the 
 reverse of the miracle." 
 
 " We ought to be received with gratitude in this good town ; we 
 bring a supply of what they seem to need most," said Halkit. 
 
 " And distribute it with unparalleled generosity," replied his com- 
 panion ; " performing the part of three water-carts for the benefit 
 of their dusty roads." 
 
 " We come before them, too," said Halkit, " in full professional 
 force — counsel and agent — " 
 
 " And client," said the young advocate, looking behind him. 
 And then added, lowering his voice, " that looks as if he had kept 
 such dangerous company too long." 
 
 It was, indeed, too true, that the humble follower of the gay 
 young men had the threadbare appearance of a worn-out litigant, 
 and 1 could not but smile at the conceit, though anxious to conceal 
 my mirth from the object of it. 
 
 When we arrived at the Wallace Inn, the elder of the Edinburgh 
 gentlemen, and whom I understood to be a barrister, insisted that 
 I should remain and take part of their dinner ; and their inquiries 
 and demands speedily put my landlord and his whole family in 
 motion to produce the best cheer which the larder and cellar 
 afforded, and proceed to cook it to the best advantage — a science 
 in which our entertainers seemed to be admirably skilled. In other 
 respects they were lively young men, in the hey-day of youth and 
 good spirits, playing the part which is common to the higher classes 
 of the law at Edinburgh, and which nearly resembles that of the 
 young Templars in the days of Steele and Addison. An air of 
 giddy gaiety mingled with. the good sense, taste, and information 
 which their conversation exhibited ; and it seemed to be their 
 object "to unite the character of men of fashion and lovers of the 
 polite arts. A fine gentleman, bred up in the thorough idleness and 
 inanity of pursuit, which I understand is absolutely necessary to 
 the character in perfection, might in all probability have traced a 
 tinge of professional pedantry which marked the barrister in spite 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 19 
 
 « - 
 of his efforts, and something of active bustle in his companion, and 
 would certainly have detected more than a fashionable mixture of 
 information and animated interest in the language of both. But, 
 to me, who had no pretensions to be so critical, my companions 
 seemed to form a very happy mixture of good-breeding and liberal" 
 information, with a disposition to lively rattle, pun, and jest; 
 amusing to a grave man, because it is what he himself can leas( 
 easily command. 
 
 The thin pale-faced man, whom their good-nature had brought 
 into their society, looked out of place as well as out of spirits ; sate 
 on the edge of his seat, and kept the chair at two feet distance from 
 the table ; thus incommoding himself considerably in conveying the 
 victuals to his mouth, as if by way of penance for partaking of them 
 in the company of his superiors. A short time after dinner, de- 
 clining all entreaty to partake of the wine, which circulated freely 
 round, he informed himself of the hour when the chaise had been 
 ordered to attend ; and saying he would be in readiness, modestly 
 withdrew from the apartment. 
 
 " Jack," said the barrister to his companion, " I remember that 
 poor fellow's face ; you spoke more truly than you were aware of ; 
 he really is one of my clients, poor man." 
 
 "Poor man !" echoed Halkit — " I suppose you mean he is your 
 one and only client ? " 
 
 " That's not my fault, Jack,'' replied the other, whose name I dis- 
 covered was Hardie. "You are to give me all your business, you 
 kriow ; and if you have none, the learned gentleman here knows 
 nothing can come of nothing." 
 
 " You seem to have brought something to nothing though, in the 
 case of that honest man. He looks as if he were just about to 
 honour with his residence the Heart of Mid-Lothian." 
 
 " You are mistaken — he is just delivered from it. — Our friend 
 here looks for an explanation. Pray, Mr. Pattieson, have you been 
 in Edinburgh ? " 
 
 I answered in the affirmative. 
 
 " Then you must have passed, occasionally at least, though pro- 
 bably not so -faithfully as I am doomed to do, through a narrow 
 intricate passage, leading out of the north-west corner of the Parlia- 
 ment Square, and passing by a high and antique building, with 
 turrets and iron grates, 
 
 Making good the saying odd, 
 
 Near the church and far from God — " 
 
 Mr. Halkit broke in upon his learned counsel, to contribute his 
 moiety to the riddle — " Having at the door the sign of the Red 
 Man " . 'i- 
 
 " And being on the whole," resumed the counsellor, interrupt- 
 ing his friend in his turn, " a sort of place where misfortune is 
 happily confounded with guilt, where all who are in wish to get 
 out " 
 
 " And where none who have the good luck to be out, wish to get 
 in," added his companion. 
 
 b 2 
 
20 fHE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 " I conceive you, gentlemen," replied I ; " you mean the prison." 
 
 " The prison," added the young lawyer— "You have hit it— the 
 very reverend Tolbooth itself ; and let me tell you, you are obliged 
 to us for describing it with so much modesty and brevity ; for with 
 whatever amplifications we might have chosen to decorate the 
 subject, you lay entirely at our mercy, since the Fathers Conscript 
 of our city have decreed, that the venerable edifice itself shall not 
 remain in existence to confirm or to confute us." 
 
 "Then the Tolbooth of Edinburgh is called the Heart of Mid- 
 Lothian ? " said I. 
 
 " So termed and reputed, I assure you." 
 
 " I think," said I, with the bashful diffidence with which a man 
 lets slip a pun in presence of his superiors, " the metropolitan 
 county mav, in that case, be said to have a sad heart." 
 
 " Right as my glove, Mr. Pattieson," added Mr. Hardie ; " and a 
 close heart, and a hard heart — Keep it up, Jack." 
 
 '• And a wicked heart, and a poor heart," answered Halkit, doing 
 his best. 
 
 " And yet it may be called in some sort a strong heart, and a 
 high heart," rejoined the advocate. " You see I can put you both 
 out of heart." 
 
 " I have played all my hearts," said the younger gentleman. 
 
 " Then we'll have another lead," answered his companion. — 
 " And as to the old and condemned Tolbooth, what pity the same 
 honour cannot be done to it as has been done to many of its in- 
 mates. Why should not the Tolbooth have its ' Last Speech, Con- 
 fession, and Dying Words?' The old stones would be just. as 
 conscious of the honour as many a poor devil who has dangled like 
 a tassel at the west end of it, while the hawkers were shouting a 
 confession the culprit had never heard of." 
 
 " I am afraid," said I, " if I might presume to give my opinion, it 
 would be a tale of unvaried sorrow and guilt." 
 
 " Not entirely, my friend," said Hardie ; " a prison is a world 
 within itself, and has its own business, griefs, and joys, peculiar to 
 its circle. Its inmates are sometimes short-lived, but so are soldiers 
 on service ; they are poor relatively to the world without, but there 
 are degrees of wealth and poverty among them, and so some are 
 relatively rich also. They cannot stir abroad, but neither can the 
 garrison of a besieged fort, or the crew of a ship at sea ; and they 
 are not under a dispensation quite so desperate as eithea^for they 
 may have as much food as they have money to buy, alid are not 
 obliged to work, whether they have food or not." 
 
 " But what variety of incident," said I, (not without a secret view 
 to my present task,) " could possibly be derived from such a work 
 as you are pleased to talk of?" 
 
 " Infinite," replied the young advocate. " Whatever of gu%c»ime, 
 imposture, folly, unheard-of misfortunes, and unlooked-for*change 
 of fortune, can be found to chequer life, my Last Speech of the 
 Tolbooth should illustrate with examples sufficient to gorge even 
 the public's all-devouring appetite for the wonderful and horrible. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. ar 
 
 to diversify his tale, and after all can hardly hit upon characters or 
 incidents which have not been used again and again, until they are 
 familiar to the eye of the reader, so that the development, enleve- 
 ment, the desperate wound of which the hero never dies, the burn- 
 ing fever from which the heroine is sure to recover, become a mere 
 matter of course. I join with my honest friend Crabbe, and have 
 an unlucky propensity to hope, when hope is lost, and to rely upon 
 the cork-jacket, which carries the heroes of romance safe through 
 all the billows of affliction." He then declaimed the following 
 passage, rather with too much than too little emphasis : 
 
 " Much have I feared, but am no more afraid, 
 
 When some chaste beauty, by some wretch betray'd, 
 
 Is drawn away with such distracted speed, 
 
 That she anticipates a dreadful deed. 
 
 Not so do I — Let solid walls impound 
 
 The captive fair, and dig a moat around ; r 
 
 Let there be brazen locks and bars of steel, 
 
 And keepers cruel, such as never feel ; 
 
 With not a single note the purse supply, 
 
 And when she begs, let men and maids deny ; 
 
 Be windows there from which she dares not fall, 
 
 And help so distant, 'tis in vain to call ; 
 
 Still means of freedom will some Power devise, 
 
 And from the baffled ruffian snatch his prize." 
 
 " The end of uncertainty," he concluded, " is the death of inte- 
 rest ; and hence it happens that no one now reads novels." 
 
 " Hear him, ye gods ! " returned his companion. " I assure you, 
 Mr. Pattieson, you will hardly visit this learned gentleman, but you 
 are likely to find the new novel most in repute lying on his table, — 
 snugly intrenched, however, beneath Stair's Institutes, or an open 
 volume of Morrison's Decisions." 
 
 " Do I deny it ? " said the hopeful jurisconsult, " or wherefore 
 should I, since it is well known these Dalilahs seduce my wisers 
 and my betters ? May they not be found lurking amidst the multi- 
 plied memorials of our most distinguished counsel, and even peep- 
 ing from under the cushion of a judge's arm-chair? Our seniors at 
 the bar, within the bar, and even on the bench, read novels ; and, 
 if not belied, some of them have written novels into the bargain. I 
 only say, that I read from habit and from indolence, not from real 
 interest ; that, like Ancient Pistol devouring his leek, I read and 
 swear till I get to the end of the narrative. But not so in the real 
 records of human vagaries — not so in the State Trials, or in the 
 Books of Adjournal, where every now and then you read new pages 
 of the human heart, and turns of fortune far beyond what the 
 boldest novelist ever attempted to produce from the coinage of his 
 brain." 
 
 " And for such narratives," I asked, " you suppose the History of 
 the Prison of Edinburgh might afford appropriate materials?" 
 
 " In a degree unusually ample, my dear sir," said Hardie — " Fill 
 your glass, however, in the meanwhile. Was it not for many years 
 
22 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 the place in which the Scottish parliament met ? Was it not James's 
 place of refuge, when the mob, inflamed by a seditious preacher, 
 broke forth on him with the cries of ' The sword of the Lord and 
 of Gideon— bring forth the wicked Haman ? ' Since that time how- 
 many hearts have throbbed within these walls, as the tolling of the 
 neighbouring bell announced to them how fast the sands of their 
 life were ebbing ; how many must have sunk at the sound— how 
 many were supported by stubborn pride and dogged resolution — 
 how many by the consolations of religion ? Have there not been 
 some, who, looking back on the motives of their crimes, were scarce 
 able to understand how they should have had such temptation as to 
 seduce them from virtue ? and have there not, perhaps, been others, 
 who, sensible of their innocence, were divided between indignation 
 at the undeserved doom which they were to undergo, consciousness 
 that they had not deserved it, and racking anxiety to discover some 
 way in which they might yet vindicate themselves ? Do you suppose 
 any of these deep, powerful, and agitating feelings, can be recorded 
 and perused without exciting a corresponding depth of deep, power- 
 ful, and agitating interest ?— O ! do but wait till I publish the 
 Causes CeRbres of Caledonia, and you will find no want of a novel 
 or a tragedy for some time to come. The true thing will triumph 
 over the brightest inventions of the most ardent imagination. 
 Magna est Veritas, et pnzvalebit." 
 
 "' I have understood," said I, encouraged by the affability of my 
 rattling entertainer, "that less of this interest must attach to 
 Scottish jurisprudence than to that of any other country. The 
 general morality of our people, their sober and prudent habits " 
 
 " Secure them," said the barrister, " against any great increase of 
 professional- thieves and depredators, but, not against wild and 
 wayward starts of fancy and passion, producing crimes of an extra- 
 ordinary description, which are precisely those to the detail of 
 which we listen with thrilling interest. England has been much 
 longer a highly civilized country; her subjects have been very 
 strictly amenable to laws administered without fear or favour, a 
 complete division of labour has taken place among her subjects, 
 and the very thieves and robbers form a distinct class in society, 
 subdivided among themselves according to the subject of their de- 
 predations, and the mode in which they carry them on, acting upon 
 regular habits and principles, which can be calculated and antici- 
 pated at Bow Street, Hatton Garden, or the Old Bailey. Our 
 sister kingdom is like a cultivated field, — the farmer expects that, 
 in spite of all his care, a certain number of weeds will rise with the 
 corn, and can tell you beforehand their names and appearance. 
 But Scotland is like one of her own Highland glens, and the 
 moralist who reads the records of her criminal jurisprudence, will 
 find as many curious anomalous facts in the history of mind, as 
 the botanist will detect rare specimens among her dingles 
 and cliffs." 
 
 " And that's all the good you have obtained from three perusals 
 of the Commentaries on Scottish Criminal Jurisprudence?" said 
 his companion. " I suppose the learned author very little thinks 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 23 
 
 that the facts which his erudition and acuteness have accumulated 
 for the illustration of legal doctrines, might be so arranged as to 
 form a sort of appendix to the half-bound and slip-shod volumes 
 of the circulating library." 
 
 " I'll bet you a pint of claret," said the elder lawyer, " that he 
 will not feel sore at the comparison. But as we say at the bar, ' I 
 beg I may not be interrupted ; ' I have much more to say, upon my 
 Scottish collection of Causes Cdlebres. You will please recollect 
 the scope and motive given for the contrivance and execution of 
 many extraordinary and daring crimes, by the long civil dissensions 
 of Scotland— by the hereditary jurisdictions, which, until 1748, 
 rested the investigation of crimes in judges, ignorant, partial, or 
 interested — by the habits of the gentry, shut up in their distant and 
 solitary mansion-houses, nursing their revengeful passions just to 
 keep their blood from stagnating — not to mention that amiable 
 national qualification, called the perfervidum ingenium Scotorttm, 
 which our lawyers join in alleging as a reason for the severity of 
 some of our enactments. When I come to treat of matters so 
 mysterious, deep, and dangerous, as these circumstances have 
 given rise to, the blood of each reader shall be curdled, and his 
 epidermis crisped into goose skin. — But, hist! — here comes the 
 landlord, with tidings, I suppose, that the chaise is ready." 
 
 It was no such thing — the tidings bore, that no chaise could be 
 had that evening, for Sir Peter Plyem had carried forward my 
 landlord's two pairs of horses that morning to the ancient royal 
 borough of Bubbleburgh, to look after his interest there. But as 
 Bubbleburgh is only one of a set of five boroughs which club their 
 shares for a member of parliament, Sir Peter's adversary had 
 judiciously watched his departure, in order to commence a canvass 
 in the no less royal borough of Bitem, which, as all the world 
 knows, lies at the very termination of Sir Peter's avenue, and has 
 been held in leading strings by him and his ancestors for time im- 
 memorial. Now Sir Peter was thus placed in the situation of an 
 ambitious monarch, who, after having commenced a daring inroad 
 into his enemy's territories, is suddenly recalled by an invasion of 
 his own hereditary dominions. He was obliged in consequence to 
 return from the half-won borough of Bubbleburgh, to look after the 
 half-lost borough of Bitem, and the two pairs of horses which had 
 carried him that morning to Bubbleburgh, were now forcibly 
 detained to transport him, his agent, his valet, his jester, and his 
 hard-drinker, across the country to Bitem. The cause of this de- 
 tention, which to me was of as little consequence as it may be to 
 the reader, was important enough to my companions to reconcile 
 them to the delay. Like eagles, they smelled the battle afar off, 
 ordered a magnum of claret and beds at the Wallace, and entered 
 at full career into the Bubbleburgh and Bitem politics, with all the 
 probable " petitions and complaints " to which they were likely to 
 give rise. 
 
 In the midst of an anxious, animated, and, to me, most un- 
 intelligible discussion, concerning provosts, bailies, deacons, sets of 
 boroughs, leets, town-clerks, burgesses resident and non-resident, 
 
24 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 all of a sudden the lawyer recollected himself. " Poor Dunover, 
 we must not forget him ; " and the landlord was despatched in 
 quest of the pauvre honteux, with an earnestly civil invitation to 
 him for the rest of the evening. I could not help asking the young 
 gentlemen if they knew the history of this poor man ; and the 
 counsellor applied himself to his pocket to recover the memorial 
 or brief from which he had stated his cause. 
 
 " He has been a candidate for our remedium miserabile," said 
 Mr. Hardie, " commonly called a cessio bonorum. As there are 
 divines who have doubted the eternity of future punishments, so 
 the Scotch lawyers seem to have thought that the crime of poverty 
 might be atoned for by something short of perpetual imprison- 
 ment. After a month's confinement, you must know, a prisoner 
 for debt is entitled, on a sufficient statement to our Supreme 
 Court, setting forth the amount of his funds, and the nature of 
 his misfortunes, and surrendering all his effects to his creditors, to 
 claim to be discharged from prison." 
 
 " I had heard," I replied, " of such a humane regulation." 
 
 " Yes," said Halkit, " and the beauty of it is, as the foreign 
 fellow said, you may get the cessio when the bonorums are all spent 
 — But what, are you puzzling in your pockets to seek your only 
 memorial among old play-bills, letters requesting a meeting of the 
 Faculty, rules of the Speculative Society, syllabus' of lectures- 
 all the miscellaneous contents of a young advocate's pocket, 
 which contains every thing but briefs and bank notes ? Can you 
 not state a case of cessio without your memorial ? Why it is done 
 every Saturday. The events follow each other as regularly as 
 clock-work, and one form of condescendence might suit every one 
 of them." 
 
 " This is very unlike the variety of distress which this gentleman 
 stated to fall under the consideration of your judges," said I. 
 
 " True," replied Halkit ; " but Hardie spoke of criminal juris- 
 prudence, and this business is purely civil. I could plead a cessio 
 myself without the inspiring honours of a gown and three-tailed 
 periwig — Listen. — My client was bred a journeyman weaver — made 
 some little money — took a farm — (for conducting a farm, like 
 driving a gig, comes by nature) — late severe times — induced to sign 
 bills with a friend, for which he received no value — landlord 
 sequestrates — creditors accept a composition — pursuer sets up a 
 public-house — fails a second time — is incarcerated for a debt of ten 
 pounds seven shillings and sixpence — his debts amount to blank — 
 his losses to blank — his funds to blank — leaving a balance of blank 
 in his favour. There is no opposition ; your lordships will please 
 grant commission to take his oath." ' 
 
 Hardie now renounced this ineffectual search, in which there 
 was perhaps a little affectation, and told us the tale of poor 
 Dunover's distresses, with a tone in which a degree of feeling, 
 which he seemed ashamed of as unprofessional, mingled with his 
 attempts at wit, and did him more honour. It was one of those 
 tales which seem to argue a sort of ill-luck or fatality attached to 
 the hero. A well-informed, industrious, and blameless, but poor 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. i S 
 
 and bashful man, had in vain essayed all the usual means by which 
 others acquire independence, yet had never succeeded beyond the 
 attainment of bare subsistence. During a brief gleam of hope, 
 rather than of actual prosperity, he had added a wife and family to 
 his cares, but the dawn was speedily overcast. Every thing retro- 
 graded with him towards the verge of the miry Slough of Despond, 
 which yawns for insolvent debtors ; and after catching at each 
 twig, and experiencing the protracted agony of feeling them one by 
 one elude his grasp, he actually sunk into the miry pit whence he 
 had been extricated by the professional exertions of Hardie. 
 
 " And, I suppose, now you have dragged this poor devil ashore, 
 you will leave him half naked on the beach to provide for him- 
 self?" said Halkit. "Hark ye," — and he whispered something in 
 his ear, of which the penetrating and insinuating words, " Interest 
 with my Lord," alone reached mine. 
 
 " It is pessimi exempli? said Hardie, laughing, " to provide for 
 a ruined client ; but I was thinking of what you mention, provided 
 it can be managed — But hush ! here he comes." 
 
 The recent relation of the poor man's misfortunes had given 
 him, I was pleased to observe, a claim to the attention and respect 
 of the young men, who treated him with great civility, and 
 gradually engaged him in a conversation, which, much to my 
 satisfaction, again turned upon the Causes Cilibres of Scotland. 
 Imboldened by the kindness with which he was treated, Mr. Dun- 
 over began to contribute his share to the amusement of the 
 evening. Jails, like other places, have their ancient traditions, 
 known only to the inhabitants, and handed down from one set 
 of the melancholy lodgers to the next who occupy their cells. 
 Some of these, which Dunover mentioned, were interesting, and 
 served to illustrate the narratives of remarkable trials, which 
 Hardie had at his finger ends, and which his companion was also 
 well skilled in. This sort of conversation passed away the evening 
 till the early hour when Mr. Dunover chose to retire to rest, and I 
 also retreated to take down memorandums of what I had learned, 
 in order to add another narrative to those which it had been my 
 chief amusement to collect, and to write out in detail. The two 
 young men ordered a broiled bone, Madeira negus, and a pack of 
 cards, and commenced a game at picquet. 
 
 Next morning the travellers left Gandercleugh. I afterwards 
 learned from the papers that both have been since engaged in the 
 great political cause of Bubbleburgh and Bitem, a summary case, 
 and entitled to particular despatch ; but which, it is thought, never- 
 theless, may outlast the duration of the parliament to which the 
 contest refers. Mr. Halkit, as the newspapers informed me, acts 
 as agent or solicitor ; and Mr. Hardie opened for Sir Peter Plyem 
 with singular ability, and to such good purpose, that I understand 
 he has since had fewer play-bills and more briefs in his pocket. 
 And both the young gentlemen deserve their good fortune ; for I 
 learned from Dunover, who called on me some weeks afterwards, 
 and communicated the intelligence with tears in his eyes, that their 
 interest had availed to obtain him a small office for the decent 
 
26 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 maintenance of his family ; and that, after a train of constant and 
 uninterrupted misfortune, he could trace a dawn of prosperity to 
 his having the good fortune to be flung from the top of a mail- 
 coach into the river Gander, in company with an advocate and a 
 writer to the signet. The readar will not perhaps deem himself 
 equally obliged to the accident, since it brings upon him the 
 following narrative, founded upon the conversation of the evening. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Whoe'er's been at Paris must needs know the Greve, 
 The fatal retreat of the unfortunate brave, 
 Where honour and justice most oddly contribute, 
 To ease heroes' pains by an halter and gibbet. 
 
 There'death breaks the shackles which force had put on, 
 And the hangman completes what the judge but began ; 
 There the squire of the poet, and knight of the post, 
 Find their pains no more baulk'd, and their hopes no more cross'd. 
 
 Prior. 
 
 In former times, England had her Tyburn, to which the devoted 
 victims of justice were conducted in solemn procession up what is 
 now called Oxford-Road. In Edinburgh, a large open street, or 
 rather oblong square,-surrounded by high houses, called the Grass- 
 market, was used for the same melancholy purpose. It was not ill 
 chosen for such a scene, being of considerable extent, and there- 
 fore fit to accommodate a great number of spectators, such as are 
 usually assembled by this melancholy spectacle. On the other 
 hand, few of the houses which surround it were, even in> early 
 times, inhabited by persons of fashion ; so that those likely to be 
 offended or over deeply affected by such unpleasant exhibitions 
 were not in the way of having their quiet disturbed by them. The 
 houses in the Grassmarket are, generally speaking, of a mean 
 description ; yet the place is not without some features of grandeur, 
 being overhung by the southern side of the huge rock on which 
 the castle stands, and by the moss-grown battlements and turreted 
 walls of that ancient fortress. 
 
 It w£ts the custom, until within these thirty years, or thereabouts, 
 to use this esplanade for the scene of public executions. The 
 fatal day was announced to the public, by the appearance of a 
 huge black gallows-tree towards the eastern end of the Grass- 
 market. This ill-omened apparition was of great height, with a 
 scaffold surrounding it, and a double ladder placed against it, for 
 the ascent of the unhappy criminal and executioner. As this 
 apparatus was always arranged before dawn, it seemed as if the 
 gallows had grown out of the earth in the course of one night, like 
 the production of some foul demon ; and I well remember the 
 fright with which the school-boys, when I was one of their number, 
 used to regard these ominous signs of deadly preparation. On the 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 27 
 
 night after the execution the gallows again disappeared, and was 
 conveyed in silence and darkness to the place where it was usually 
 deposited, which was one of the vaults under the Parliament-house, 
 or courts of justice. This mode of execution is now exchanged for 
 one similar to that in front of Newgate, — with what beneficial effect 
 is uncertain. The mental sufferings of the convict are indeed 
 shortened. He no longer stalks between the attendant clergy- 
 men, dressed in his grave-clothes, through a considerable part of 
 the city, looking like a moving and walking corpse, while yet an 
 inhabitant of this world ; but, as the ultimate purpose of punish- 
 ment has in view the prevention of crimes, it may at least be 
 doubted, whether, in abridging the melancholy ceremony, we have 
 not in part diminished that appalling effect upon the spectators 
 which is the useful end of all such inflictions, and in considera- 
 tion of which alone, unless in very particular cases, capital sen- 
 tences can be altogether justified. 
 
 On the 7th day of September, 1736, these ominous preparations 
 for execution were descried in the place we have described, and at 
 an early hour the space around began to be occupied by several 
 groups, who gazed on the scaffold and gibbet with a stern and vin- 
 dictive show of satisfaction very seldom testified by the populace, 
 whose good nature, in most cases, forgets the crime of the con- 
 demned person, and dwells only on his misery. But the act of 
 which the expected culprit had been convicted was of a description 
 calculated nearly and closely to awaken and irritate the resentful 
 feelings of the multitude. The tale is well known ; yet it is neces- 
 sary to recapitulate its leading circumstances, for the better under- 
 standing what is to follow ; and the narrative may prove long, but 
 I trust not uninteresting, even to those who have heard its general 
 issue. At any rate some detail is necessary, in order to render in- 
 telligible the subsequent events of our narrative. 
 
 Contraband trade, though it strikes at the root of legitimate 
 government, by encroaching on its revenues, — though it injures the 
 fair trader, and debauches the mind of those engaged in it, — is not 
 usually looked upon, either by the vulgar or by their betters, in a 
 very heinous point' of view. On the contrary, in those counties 
 where it prevails, the cleverest, boldest, and most intelligent of the 
 peasantry, are uniformly engaged in illicit transactions, and very 
 .often with the sanction of the farmers and inferior gentry. .Smug- 
 gling was almost universal in Scotland in the reigns of George I. 
 and II.; for the people, unaccustomed to imposts, and regarding 
 them as an unjust aggression upon their ancient liberties, made no ' 
 scruple to elude them whenever it was possible to do so. 
 
 The county of Fife, bounded by two firths on the south and north, 
 and by the sea on the east, and having a number of small seaports, 
 was long famed for maintaining successfully a contraband trade ; 
 and, as there were many seafaring men residing there, who had 
 been pirates and buccaneers in their youth, there were not wanting 
 a sufficient number of daring men to carry it on. Among these, a 
 fellow, called Andrew-Wilson, originally a baker in the village of 
 Pathhead, was particularly obnoxious to the revenue officers. He 
 
28 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 was possessed of great personal strength, courage, and cunning, 
 was perfectly acquainted with the coast, and capable of conducting 
 the most desperate enterprises. On several occasions he succeeded 
 in baffling the pursuit and researches of the king's officers ; but he 
 became so much the object of their suspicions and watchful atten- 
 tion, that at length he was totally ruined by repeated seizures. The 
 man became desperate. He considered himself as robbed and 
 plundered ; and took it into his head, that he had a right to make 
 reprisals, as he could find opportunity. Where the heart is pre- 
 pared for evil, opportunity is seldom long wanting. This Wilson 
 learned, that the Collector of the Customs at Kirkaldy had come to 
 Pittenweem, in the course of his official round of duty, with a con- 
 siderable sum of public money in his custody. As the amount was 
 greatly within the value of the goods which had been seized from 
 him, Wilson felt no scruple of conscience in resolving to reimburse 
 himself for his losses, at the expense of the Collector and the reve- 
 nue. He associated with himself one Robertson, and two other 
 idle young men, whom, having been concerned in the same illicit 
 trade, he persuaded to view the transaction in the same justifiable 
 light in which he himself considered it. They watched the motions 
 of the Collector; they broke forcibly into the house where he 
 lodged, — Wilson, with two of his associates, entering the Collector's 
 apartment, while Robertson, the fourth, kept watch at the door with 
 a drawn cutlass in his hand. The officer of the customs, conceiv- 
 ing his life in danger, escaped out of his bedro6m window, and fled 
 in his shirt, so that the plunderers, with much ease, possessed them- 
 selves of about two hundred pounds of public money. The robbery 
 was committed in a very audacious manner, for several persons 
 were passing in the street at the time. But Robertson, representing 
 the noise they heard as a dispute or fray betwixt the Collector and 
 the people of the house, the worthy citizens of Pittenweem felt 
 themselves no way called on to interfere in behalf of the obnoxious 
 revenue officer ; so, satisfying themselves with this very superficial 
 account of the matter, like the Levite in the parable, they passed on 
 the opposite side of the way. An alarm was at length given, military 
 were called in, the depredators were pursued, the booty recovered, 
 and Wilson and Robertson tried and condemned to death, chiefly 
 on the evidence of an accomplice. 
 
 Many thought, that, in consideration of the men's erroneous 
 opinion of the nature of the action they had committed, justice 
 might have been satisfied with a less forfeiture than that of two 
 lives. On the other hand, from the audacity of the fact, a severe 
 example was judged necessary ; and such was the opinion of the 
 government. When it became apparent that the sentence of death 
 was to be executed, files, and other implements necessary for their 
 escape, were transmitted secretly to the culprits by a friend from 
 without. By these means they sawed a bar out of one of the prison 
 windows, and might have made their escape, but for the obstinacy 
 of Wilson, who, as he was daringly resolute, was doggedly pertina- 
 cious of his opinion. His comrade, Robertson, a young and slender 
 man, proposed to make the experiment of passing the foremost 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 29 
 
 through the gap they had made; and enlarging it from the outside, 
 if necessary, to allow Wilson free passage. Wilson, however, in- 
 sisted on making the first experiment, and being a robust and lusty 
 man, he not only found it impossible to get through betwixt the 
 bars, but, by his struggles, he jammed himself so fast, that he was 
 unable to draw his body back again. In these circumstances dis- 
 covery became unavoidable, and sufficient precautions were taken 
 by the jailor to prevent any repetition of the same attempt. 
 Robertson uttered not a word of reflection on his companion for 
 the consequences of his obstinacy ; but it appeared from the sequel, 
 that Wilson's mind was deeply impressed with the recollection, 
 that, but for him, his comrade, over whose mind he exercised con- 
 siderable influence, would not have engaged in the criminal enter- 
 prise which had terminated thus fatally ; and that now he had 
 become his destroyer a second time, since, but for his obstinacy, 
 Robertson might have effected his escape. Minds like Wilson's, 
 even when exercised in evil practices, sometimes retain the power 
 of thinking and resolving with enthusiastic generosity. His whole 
 thoughts were now bent on the possibility of saving Robertson's 
 life, without the least respect to his own. The resolution which he 
 adopted, and the manner in which he carried it into effect were 
 striking and unusual. 
 
 Adjacent to the tolbooth, or city jail of Edinburgh, is one of three 
 churches into which the cathedral of St. Giles is now divided, 
 called, from its vicinity, the Tolbooth Church. It was the custom, 
 that criminals under sentence of death, were brought to this church, 
 with a sufficient guard, to hear and join in public worship on the 
 Sabbath before execution. It was supposed that the hearts of 
 these unfortunate persons, however hardened before against feel- 
 ings of devotion, could not but be accessible to them upon uniting 
 their thoughts and voices, for the last time, along with their fellow- 
 mortals, in addressing their Creator. And to the rest of the con- 
 gregation, it was thought it could not but be impressive and affect- 
 ing, to find their devotions mingling with those who, sent by the 
 doom of an earthly tribunal to appear where the whole earth is 
 judged, might be considered as beings trembling on the verge of 
 eternity. The practice, however edifying, has been discontinued, 
 in consequence of the incident we are about to detail. 
 
 The clergyman, whose duty it was to officiate in the Tolbooth 
 Church, had concluded an affecting discourse, part of which was 
 particularly directed to the unfortunate men, Wilson and Robertson, 
 who were in the pew set apart for the persons in their unhappy 
 situation, each secured betwixt two soldiers of the city guard. The 
 clergyman had reminded them, that the next congregation they 
 must join would be that of the just, or of the unjust : that the 
 psalms they now heard must be exchanged, in the space of two 
 brief days, for eternal hallelujahs, or eternal lamentations ; and that 
 this fearful alternative must depend upon the siate to which they 
 might be able to bring their minds before the moment of awful 
 preparation : that they should not despair on account of the sud- 
 denness of the summons, but rather to feel this comfort in their 
 
3o THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 misery, that, though all who now lifted the voice, or bent the knee 
 in conjunction with them, lay under the same sentence of certain 
 death, they only had the advantage of knowing the precise moment 
 at which it should be executed upon them. " Therefore," urged the 
 good man, his voice trembling with emotion, " redeem the time, my 
 unhappy brethren, which is yet left ; and remember, that, with the 
 grace of him to whom space and time are but as nothing, salvation 
 may yet be assured, even in the pittance of delay which the laws of 
 your country afford you." 
 
 Robertson was observed to weep at these words ; but Wilson 
 seemed as one whose brain had not entirely received their meaning, 
 or whose thoughts were deeply impressed with some different sub- 
 ject, — an expression so natural to a person in his situation, that it 
 excited neither suspicion nor surprise. 
 
 The benediction was pronounced as usual, and the congregation 
 was dismissed, many lingering to indulge their curiosity with a more 
 fixed look at the two criminals, who now, as well as their guards, 
 rose up, as if to" depart when the crowd should permit them. A 
 murmur of compassion was heard to pervade the spectators, the 
 more general, perhaps, on account of the alleviating circumstances 
 of the case ; when all at once, Wilson, who, as we have already 
 noticed, was a very strong man, seized two of the soldiers, one with 
 each hand, and calling at the same time to his companion, " Run, 
 Geordie, run ! " threw Himself on a third, and fastened his teeth on 
 the collar of his coat. Robertson stood for a second as if thunder- 
 struck, and unable to avail himself of the opportunity, of escape ; 
 but the cry of " Run, run ! " being echoed from many around, 
 whose feelings surprised them into a very natural interest in his 
 behalf, he shook off the grasp of the remaining soldier, threw him- 
 self over the pew, mixed with the dispersing congregation, none of 
 whom felt inclined to stop a poor wretch taking his last chance for 
 his life, gained the door of the church, and was lost to all pursuit. 
 
 The generous intrepidity which Wilson had displayed on this 
 occasion augmented the feeling of compassion which attended his 
 fate. The public, where their own prejudices are not concerned, 
 are easily engaged on the side of disinterestedness and humanity, 
 admired Wilson's behaviour, and rejoiced in Robertson's escape. 
 This general feeling was so great, that it excited a vague report 
 that Wilson would be rescued at the place of execution, either by 
 the mob or by some of his old associates, or by some second extra- 
 ordinary and unexpected exertion of strength and courage on his 
 own part. The magistrates thought it their duty to provide against 
 the possibility of disturbance. They ordered out, for protection of 
 the execution of the sentence, the greater part of their own City 
 Guard, under the command of Captain Porteous, a man whose 
 name became too memorable from the melancholy circumstances 
 of the day, and subsequent events. It may be necessary to say a 
 word about this person, and the corps which he commanded. Bu* 
 the subject is of importance sufficient to deserve another chapter. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 31 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 And thou, great god of aqua-vitae ! 
 Wha sways the empire of this city, 
 (When fou we're sometimes capernoity,) , 
 
 Be thou prepared, 
 To save us frae that black banditti, 
 
 The City Guard ! 
 
 Ferguson's Daft Days. 
 
 Captain John Porteous, a name memorable in the traditions 
 of Edinburgh, as well as in the records of criminal jurisprudence, 
 was the son of a citizen of Edinburgh, who endeavoured to breed 
 him up to his own mechanical trade of a tailor. The youth, how- 
 ■ever, had a wild and irreclaimable propensity to dissipation, which 
 finally sent him to serve in the corps long maintained in the service 
 ■of the States of Holland, and called the Scotch Dutch. Here he 
 learned military discipline ; and returning afterwards, in the course 
 of an idle and wandering life, to his native city, his services were 
 required by the magistrates of Edinburgh in the disturbed year 
 1715, for disciplining their City Guard, in which he shortly after- 
 wards received a captain's commission. It was only by his military 
 skill, and an alert and resolute character as an officer of police, 
 that he merited this promotion, for he is said to have been a man 
 ■of profligate habits, an unnatural son, and a brutal husband. He 
 was, however, useful in his station, and his harsh and fierce habits 
 Tendered him formidable to rioters or disturbers of the public peace. 
 
 The corps in which he held his command is, or perhaps we should 
 Tather say was, a body of about one hundred and twenty soldiers, 
 ■divided into three companies, and regularly armed, clothed, and 
 embodied. They were chiefly veterans who enlisted in this corps, 
 having the benefit of working at their trades when they were off 
 ■duty. These men had the charge of preserving public order, re- 
 pressing riots and street robberies, acting, in short, as an armed 
 police, and attending on all public occasions where confusion or 
 popular disturbance might be expected.* Poor Ferguson, whose 
 irregularities sometimes led him into unpleasant rencontres with 
 these military conservators of public order, and who mentions them 
 so often that he may be termed their poet laureate, thus admonishes 
 Jiis readers, warned doubtless by his own experience : 
 
 " Gude folk, as ye come frae the fair, 
 Bide yont frae this black squad ; 
 There's nae sic savages elsewhere 
 Allow'd to wear cockad." 
 
 In fact, the soldiers of the City Guard, being, as we have said, in 
 ;general discharged veterans, who had strength enough remaining 
 for this municipal duty, and being, moreover, for the greater part, 
 Highlanders, were neither by birth, education, or former habits, 
 
32 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 trained to endure with much patience the insults of the rabble, or 
 tne provoking petulance of truant schoolboys, and idle debauchees 
 of all descriptions, with whom their occupation brought them into 
 contact. On the contrary, the tempers of the poor old fellows were 
 soured by the indignities with which the mob distinguished them 
 on many occasions, and frequently might have required the soothing 
 strains of the poet we have just quoted — 
 
 " O soldiers ! for your ain dear sakes, 
 For Scotland's love, the Land o' Cakes, 
 Gie not her bairns sic deadly paiks, 
 
 Nor be sae rude, 
 Wi' firelock or Lochaber-axe, 
 
 As spill their bluid ! " 
 
 On all occasions when a holyday licensed some riot and irregu- 
 larity, a skirmish with these veterans was a favourite recreation 
 with the rabble of Edinburgh. These pages may perhaps see the 
 light when many have in fresh recollection such onsets as we allude 
 to. But the venerable corps, with whom the contention was held, 
 may now be considered as totally extinct. Of late the gradual 
 diminution of these civic soldiers, reminds one of the abatement of 
 King Lear's hundred knights. The edicts of each succeeding set 
 of magistrates have, like those of Goneril and Regan, diminished 
 this venerable band with the similar question, " What need we 
 five-and-twenty ?— ten ?— or five ?" And it is now nearly come to, 
 " What need one ?" A spectre may indeed here and there still be 
 seen, of an old grey-headed and grey-bearded Highlander, with 
 war-worn features, but bent double by age ; dressed in an old- 
 fashioned cocked-hat, bound with white tape instead of silver lace ; • 
 and in coat, waistcoat, and breeches of a muddy-coloured red, 
 bearing in his withered hand an ancient weapon, called a Lochaber- 
 axe ; a long pole, namely, with an axe at the extremity, and a hook 
 at the back of the hatchet* Such a phantom of former days still 
 creeps, I have been informed, round the statue of Charles the 
 Second, in the Parliament Square, as if the image of a Stewart 
 were the last refuge for any memorial of our ancient manners ; and 
 one or two others are supposed to glide around the door of the 
 guard-house assigned to them in the Luckenbooths, when their 
 ancient refuge in the High Street was laid low.* But the fate of 
 manuscripts bequeathed to friends and executors is so uncertain,, 
 that the narrative containing these frail memorials of the old Town- 
 Guard of Edinburgh, who, with their grim and valiant corporal, 
 John Dhu, (the fiercest-looking fellow I ever saw,) were, in my 
 boyhood, the alternate terror and derision of the petulant brood of 
 the High-school, may, perhaps, only come to light when all memory 
 of the institution has faded away, and then serve as an illustration 
 of Kay's caricatures, who has preserved the features of some of 
 their heroes. In the preceding generation, when there was a per- 
 petual alarm for the plots and activity of the Jacobites, some pains 
 were taken by the magistrates of Edinburgh to keep this corps, 
 though composed always of such materials as we have noticed, in a 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 33 
 
 more effective state than was afterwards judged necessary, when 
 their most dangerous service was to skirmish with the rabble on 
 the king's birth-day. They were, therefore, more the objects of 
 hatred, and less that of scorn, than they were afterwards accounted. 
 
 To Captain John Porteous, the honour of his command and of his 
 corps seems to have been a matter of high interest and importance. 
 He was exceedingly incensed against Wilson for the affront which 
 he construed him to have put upon his soldiers, in the effort he made 
 for the liberation of his companion, and expressed himself most 
 ardently on the subject. He was no less indignant at the report, 
 that there was an intention to rescue Wilson himself from the 
 gallows, andutteredmanythreats and imprecations upon thatsubject, 
 which were afterwards remembered to his disadvantage. In fact, 
 if a good deal of determination and promptitude rendered Porteous, 
 in one respect, fit to command guards designed to suppress popular 
 commotion, he seems, on the other, to have been disqualified for a 
 charge so delicate, by a hot and surly temper, always too ready to 
 come to blows and violence ; a character void of principle ; and a 
 disposition to regard the rabble, who seldom failed to regale him 
 and his soldiers with some marks of their displeasure, as declared 
 enemies, upon whom it was natural and justifiable that he should 
 seek opportunities of vengeance. Being, however, the most active 
 and trust-worthy among the captains of the City Guard, he was the 
 person to whom the magistrates confided the command of the soldiers 
 appointed to keep the peace at the time of Wilson's execution. He 
 was ordered to guard the gallows and scaffold, with about eighty 
 men, all the disposable force that could be spared for that duty. 
 
 But the magistrates took farther precautions, which affected Por- 
 teous's pride very deeply. They requested the assistance of part of 
 a regular infantry regiment, not to attend upon the execution, but 
 to remain drawn up on the principal street of the city during the 
 time that it went forward, in order to intimidate the multitude, in 
 case they should be disposed to be unruly, with a display of force 
 which could not be resisted without desperation. It may sound 
 ridiculous in our ears, considering the fallen state of this ancient 
 civic corps, that its officer should have felt punctiliously jealous of 
 its honour. Yet so it was. Captain Porteous resented, as an in- 
 dignity, the introducing the Welsh Fusileers within the city, and 
 drawing them up in the street where no drums but his own were 
 allowed to be sounded, without the special command or permission 
 of the magistrates. As he could not show his ill-humour to his 
 patrons the magistrates, it increased his indignation and his desire 
 to be revenged on the unfortunate criminal Wilson, and all who 
 favoured him. These internal emotions of jealousy and rage wrought 
 a change on the man's mien and bearing, visible to all who saw him 
 on the fatal morning when Wilson was appointed to suffer. Por- 
 teous's ordinary appearance was rather favourable. He was about 
 the middle size, stout, and well made, having a military air, and yet 
 rather a gentle and mild countenance. His complexion was brown, 
 his face somewhat fretted with the scars of the small-pox, his eyes 
 rather languid than keen or fierce. On the present occasion, how- 
 
 c 
 
3+ THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 ever, it seemed to those who saw him as if he were agitated by- 
 some evil demon. His step was irregular, his voice hollow and 
 broken, his countenance pale, his eyes staring and wild, his speech 
 imperfect and confused, and his whole appearance so disordered, 
 that many remarked he seemed to be fey, a Scottish expression, 
 meaning the state of those who are driven on to their impending 
 fate by the strong impulse of some irresistible necessity. 
 
 One part of his conduct was truly diabolical, if, indeed, it has not 
 been exaggerated by the general prejudice entertained against his 
 memory. When Wilson, the unhappy criminal, was delivered to 
 him by the keeper of the prison, in order that he might be conducted 
 to the place of execution, Porteous, not satisfied with the usual pre- 
 cautions to prevent escape, ordered him to be manacled. This might 
 be justifiable from the character and bodily strength of the male- 
 factor, as well as from the apprehensions so generally entertained 
 of an expected rescue. But the handcuffs which were produced 
 being found too small for the wrists of a man so big-boned as 
 Wilson, Porteous proceeded with his own hands, and by great 
 exertion of strength, to force them till they clasped together, to the 
 exquisite torture of the unhappy criminal. Wilson remonstrated 
 against such barbarous usage, declaring that the pain distracted 
 his thoughts from the subjects of meditation proper to his unhappy 
 condition. 
 
 " It signifies little," replied Captain Porteous ; "your pain will be 
 soon at an end." 
 
 " Your cruelty is great," answered the sufferer. " You know not 
 how soon you yourself may have occasion to ask the mercy, which 
 you are now refusing to a fellow-creature. May God forgive you !" 
 
 These words, long afterwards quoted and remembered, were all 
 that passed between Porteous and his prisoner ; but as they took 
 air, and became known to the people, they greatly increased the 
 popular compassion for Wilson, and excited a proportionate degree 
 of indignation against Porteous ; against whom, as strict, and even 
 violent in the discharge of his unpopular office, the common people 
 had some real and many imaginary causes of complaint. 
 
 When the painful procession was completed, and Wilson, with 
 the escort, had arrived at the scaffold in the Grassmarket, there 
 appeared no signs of that attempt to rescue him which had occa- 
 sioned such precautions. The multitude, in general, looked on 
 with deeper interest than at ordinary executions ; and there might 
 be seen, on the countenances of many, a stem and indignant expres- 
 sion, like that with which the ancient Cameronians might be sup- 
 posed to witness the execution of their brethren, who glorified the 
 Covenant on the same- occasion, and at the same spot But there ' 
 was no attempt at violence. Wilson himself seemed disposed to 
 hasten over the space that divided time from eternity. The devo- 
 tions proper and usual on such occasions were no sooner finished 
 r 4« f submitted to his fate, and the sentence of the law was 
 fulfilled. 
 
 He had been suspended on the gibbet so long as to be totally 
 depnved of life, when at once, as if occasioned by some newly- 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 35 
 
 received impulse, there arose a tumult among the multitude. Many- 
 stones were thrown at Porteous and his guards ; some mischief was 
 ■done ; and the mob continued to press forward with whoops, shrieks, 
 howls, and exclamations. A young fellow, with a sailor's cap slouched 
 ■over his face, sprung on the scaffold, and cut the rope by which the 
 ■criminal was suspended. Others approached to cdrry off the body, 
 either to secure for it a decent grave, or to try, perhaps, some means 
 of resuscitation. Captain Porteous was wrought, by this appearance 
 of insurrection against his authority, into a rage so headlong as 
 made him forget, that, the sentence having been fully executed, it 
 was his duty not to engage in hostilities with the misguided multi- 
 tude, but to draw off his men as fast as possible. He sprung from 
 the scaffold, snatched a musket from one of his soldiers, commanded 
 the party to give fire, and, as several eye-witnesses concurred in 
 swearing, set them the example, by discharging his piece, and 
 shooting a man dead on the spot. Several soldiers obeyed his 
 ■command or followed his example ; six or seven persons were slain, 
 and a great many were hurt and wounded. 
 
 After this act of violence, the Captain proceeded to withdraw his 
 men towards their guard-house in the High Street. The mob 
 were not so much intimidated as incensed by what had been done. 
 They pursued the soldiers with execrations, accompanied by 
 volleys of stones. As they pressed on them, the rearmost soldiers 
 turned, and again fired with fatal aim and execution. It is not 
 accurately known whether Porteous commanded this second act of 
 violence ; but of course the odium of the whole transactions of the 
 fatal day attached to him, and to him alone. He arrived at the 
 .guard-house, dismissed his soldiers, and went to make his report 
 to the magistrates concerning the unfortunate events of the day. 
 
 Apparently by this time Captain Porteous had begun to doubt 
 the propriety of his own conduct, and the reception he met with 
 from the magistrates was such as to make him still more anxious 
 to gloss it over. He denied that he had given orders to fire ; he 
 denied he had fired with his own hand ; he even produced the 
 fusee which he carried as an officer for examination ; it was 
 found still loaded. Of three cartridges which he was seen to put 
 in his pouch that morning, two were still there ; a white handker- 
 chief was thrust into the muzzle of the piece, and returned unsoiled 
 or blackened. To the defence founded on these circumstances it 
 was answered, that Porteous had not used his own piece, but had 
 been seen to take one from a soldier. Among the many who had 
 been killed and wounded by the unhappy fire, there were several 
 of better rank ; for even the humanity of such soldiers as fired 
 over the heads of the mere rabble around the scaffold, proved in 
 some instances fatal to persons who were stationed in windows, or 
 observed the melancholy scene from a distance. The voice of 
 public indignation was loud and general ; and, ere men's tempers 
 had time to cool, the trial of Captain Porteous took place before 
 the High Court of Justiciary. After a long and patient hearing, 
 the jury had the difficult duty of balancing the positive evidence 
 of many persons, and those of respectability, who deposed posi- 
 
36 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 tively to the prisoner's commanding his soldiers to fire, and himself 
 firing his piece, of which some swore that they saw the smoke and 
 flash, and beheld a man drop at whom it was pointed, with the 
 negative testimony of others, who, though well stationed for seeing 
 what had passed, neither' heard Porteous give orders to fire, nor 
 saw him fire himself ; but, on the contrary, averred that the first 
 shot was fired by a soldier who stood close by him. A great part 
 of his defence was also founded on the turbulence of the mob, 
 which witnesses, according to their feelings, their predilections, and 
 their opportunities of observation, represented differently ; some 
 describing as a formidable riot, what others represented as a trifling 
 disturbance, such as always used to take place on the like occa- 
 sions, when the executioner of the law, and the men commissioned 
 to protect him in his task, were generally exposed to some indigni- 
 ties. The verdict of the jury sufficiently shows how the evidence 
 preponderated in their minds. It declared that John Porteous. 
 fired a gun among the people assembled at the execution ; that he 
 gave orders to his soldiers to fire, by which many persons were 
 killed and wounded ; but, at the same time, that the prisoner and 
 his guard had been wounded and beaten, by stones thrown at them 
 by the multitude. Upon this verdict, f the Lords of Justiciary 
 passed sentence of death against Captain John Porteous, adjudg- 
 ing him, in the common form, to be hanged on a gibbet at the 
 common place of execution, on Wednesday, 8th September, 1736, 
 and all his moveable property to be forfeited to the king's use, 
 according to the Scottish law in cases of wilful murder. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " The hour's come, but not the man."* 
 
 Kelfu. 
 
 On the day when the unhappy Porteous was expected to suffer 
 the sentence of the law, the place of execution, extensive as it is, 
 was crowded almost to suffocation. There was not a window in 
 all the lofty tenements around it, or in the steep and crooked street 
 called the Bow, by which the fatal procession was to descend from 
 the High Street, that was not absolutely filled with spectators. The 
 uncommon height and antique appearance of these houses, some 
 of which were formerly the property of the Knights Templars, 
 and the Knights of St. John, and. still exhibit on their fronts and 
 gables the iron cross of these orders, gave additional effect to a 
 scene in itself so striking. The area of the Grassmarket re- 
 sembled a huge dark lake or sea of human heads, in the centre of 
 which arose the fatal tree, tall, black, and ominous, from which 
 dangled the deadly halter. Every object takes interest from its 
 uses and associations, and the erect beam and empty noose, 
 things so simple in themselves, became, on such an occasion, objects 
 of terror and of solemn interest. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 37 
 
 Amid so numerous an assembly there was scarcely a word 
 spoken, save in whispers. The thirst of vengeance was in some 
 degree allayed by its supposed certainty ; and even the populace, 
 with deeper feeling than they are wont to entertain, suppressed all 
 ■clamorous exultation, and prepared to enjoy the scene of retalia- 
 tion in triumph, silent and decent, though stern and relentless. It 
 seemed as if the depth of their hatred to the unfortunate criminal 
 scorned to display itself in anything resembling the more noisy 
 current of their ordinary feelings. Had a stranger consulted only 
 the evidence of his ears, he might have supposed that so vast a 
 multitude were assembled for some purpose which affected them 
 with the deepest sorrow, and stilled those noises which, on all ordi- 
 nary occasions, arise from such a concourse ; but if he gazed upon 
 their faces, he would have been instantly undeceived. The com- 
 pressed lip, the bent brow, the stern and flashing eye of almost 
 every one on whom he looked, conveyed the expression of men 
 come to glut their sight with triumphant revenge. It is probable 
 that the appearance of the criminal might have somewhat changed 
 the temper of the populace in his favour, and that they might in 
 the moment of death have forgiven the man against whom their 
 resentment had been so fiercely heated. It had, however, been 
 destined, that the mutability of their sentiments was not to be ex- 
 posed to this trial. 
 
 The usual hour for producing the criminal had been past for 
 many minutes, yet the spectators observed no symptom of his 
 appearance. "Would they venture to defraud public justice?" 
 was the question which men began anxiously to ask at each other. 
 The first answer in every case was bold and positive, — " They dare 
 not." But when the point was farther canvassed, other opinions 
 were entertained, and various causes of doubt were suggested. 
 Porteous had been a favourite officer of the magistracy of the city, 
 which, being a numerous and fluctuating body, requires for its sup- 
 port a degree of energy in its functionaries, which the individuals 
 who compose it cannot at all times alike be supposed to possess 
 in their own persons. It was remembered, that in the Information 
 for Porteous (the paper, namely, in which his case was stated to 
 the Judges of the criminal court,) he had been described by his 
 counsel as the person on whom the magistrates chiefly relied in all 
 emergencies of uncommon difficulty. It was argued, too, that his 
 conduct, on the unhappy occasion of Wilson's execution, was 
 capable of being attributed to an imprudent excess of zeal in the 
 execution of his duty, a motive for which those under whose autho- 
 rity he acted might be supposed to have great sympathy. And as 
 these considerations might move the magistrates to make a favour- 
 able representation of Porteous's case, there were not wanting 
 others in the higher departments of government, which would make 
 such suggestions favourably listened to. 
 
 The mob of Edinburgh, when thoroughly excited, had been at 
 all times one of the fiercest which could be found in Europe ; and 
 of late years they had risen repeatedly against the government, 
 and sometimes not without temporary success. They were con- 
 
38 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 scious, therefore, that they were no favourites with the rulers of 
 the period, and that, if Captain Porteous's violence was not alto- 
 gether regarded as good service, it might certainly be thought, that 
 to visit it with a capital .punishment would rendei, it both delicate 
 and dangerous for future officers, in the same circumstances, to act 
 with effect in repressing tumults. There is also a natural feeling, 
 on the part of all members of government, for the general main- 
 tenance of authority ; and it seemed not unlikely, that what to the 
 relatives of the sufferers appeared a wanton and unprovoked mas- 
 sacre, should be otherwise viewed in the cabinet of St. James's. 
 It might be there supposed, that, upon the whole matter, Cap- 
 tain Porteous was in the exercise of a trust delegated to him by 
 the lawful civil authority ; that he had been assaulted by the popu- 
 lace, and several of his men hurt ; and that, in finally repelling 
 force by force, his conduct could be fairly imputed to no other 
 motive than self-defence in the discharge of his duty. 
 
 These- considerations, of themselves very powerful, induced the 
 spectators to apprehend the possibility of a reprieve ; and to the 
 various causes which might interest the rulers in his favour, the 
 lower part of the rabble added one which was peculiarly well 
 adapted to their comprehension. It was averred, in order to in- 
 crease the odium against Porteous, that while he repressed with 
 the utmost severity the slightest excesses of the poor, he not only 
 overlooked the licence of the young nobles and gentry, but was 
 very willing to lend them the countenance of his official autho- 
 rity, in execution of such loose pranks as it was chiefly his duty to 
 have restrained. This suspicion, which was perhaps much exagge- 
 rated, made a deep impression on the minds of the populace ; and 
 when several of the higher rank joined in a petition, recommend- 
 ing Porteous to the mercy of the crown, it was generally supposed 
 he owed their favour not to any conviction of the hardship of his 
 case, but to the fear of losing a convenient accomplice in their 
 debaucheries. It is scarcely necessary to say how much this suspi- 
 cion augmented the people's detestation of this obnoxious cri- 
 minal, as well as their fear of his escaping the sentence pronounced 
 against him. 
 
 While these arguments were stated and replied to, and canvassed 
 and supported, the hitherto silent expectation of the people became 
 changed into that deep and agitating murmur, which is sent forth 
 by the ocean before the tempest begins to howl. The crowded 
 populace, as if their motions had corresponded with the unsettled 
 state of their minds, fluctuated to and fro without any visible cause 
 of impulse, like the agitation of the waters, called by sailors the 
 ground-swell. The news, which the magistrates had almost hesi- 
 tated to communicate to them, were at length announced, and 
 spread among the spectators with a rapidity like lightning. A 
 reprieve from the Secretary of State's office, under the hand of his 
 Grace the Duke of Newcastle, had arrived, intimating the pleasure 
 of Queen Caroline, (regent of the kingdom during the absence of 
 George II. on the Continent,) that the execution of the sentence of 
 death pronounced against John Porteous, late Captain-Lieutenant 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 39 
 
 of the City Guard of Edinburgh, present prisoner in the tolbooth 
 of that city, be respited for six weeks from the time appointed for 
 his execution. 
 
 The assembled spectators of almost all degrees, whose minds 
 had been wound up to the pitch which we have described, uttered 
 a groan, or rather a roar of indignation and disappointed revenge, 
 similar to that of a tiger from whom his meal has been rent by his 
 keeper when he was just about to devour it. This fierce exclama- 
 tion seemed to forbode some immediate explosion of popular 
 resentment, and, in fact, such had been expected by the magis- 
 trates, and the necessary measures had been taken to repress it. 
 But the shout was not repeated, nor did any sudden tumult ensue, 
 such as it appeared to announce. The populace seemed to be 
 ashamed of having expressed their disappointment in a vain 
 clamour, and the sound changed, not into the silence which had 
 preceded the arrival of these stunning news, but into stifled mutter- 
 ings, which each group maintained among themselves, and which 
 were blended into one deep and hoarse murmur which floated above 
 the assembly. 
 
 Yet still, though all expectation of the execution was over, the 
 mob remained assembled, stationary, as it were, through very re- 
 sentment, gazing on the preparations for death, which had now 
 been made in vain, and stimulating their feelings, by recalling the 
 various claims which Wilson might have had on royal mercy, from 
 the mistaken motives on which he acted, as well as from the gene- 
 rosity he had displayed towards his accomplice. "This man," 
 they said, — " the brave, the resolute, the generous, was executed t» 
 death without mercy for stealing a purse of gold, which in some 
 sense he might consider as a fair reprisal ; while the profligate 
 satellite, who took advantage of a trifling tumult, inseparable from 
 such occasions, to shed the blood of twenty of his fellow-citizens, 
 is deemed a fitting object for the exercise of the royal prerogative 
 of mercy. Is this to be borne ? — would our fathers have borne it ? 
 Are not we, like them, Scotsmen and burghers of Edinburgh ?" 
 
 The officers of justice began now to remove the scaffold, and 
 other preparations which had been made for the execution, in 
 hopes, by doing so, to accelerate the dispersion of the multitude. 
 The measure had the desired effect ; for no sooner had the fatal 
 tree been unfixed from the large stone pedestal or socket in which 
 it was secured, and sunk slowly down upon the wain intended to 
 remove it to the place where it was usually deposited, than the 
 populace; after giving vent to their feelings in a second shout of 
 rage and mortification, began slowly to disperse to their usual 
 abodes and occupations. 
 
 The windows were in like manner gradually deserted, and groups 
 of the more decent class of citizens formed themselves, as if wait- 
 ing to return homewards when the streets should be cleared of the 
 rabble. Contrary to what is frequently the case, this description 
 of persons agreed in general with the sentiments of their inferiors, 
 and considered the cause as common to all ranks. Indeed, as we 
 have already noticed, it was by no means amongst the lowest class 
 
4» THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 of the spectators, or those most likely to be engaged in the riot at 
 Wilson's execution, that the fatal fire of Porteous's soldiers had 
 taken effect. Several persons were killed who were looking out at 
 windows at the scene, who could not of course belong to the 
 rioters, and were persons of decent rank and condition. The 
 burghers, therefore, resenting the loss which had fallen on their 
 own body, and proud and tenacious of their rights, as the citizens 
 of Edinburgh have at all times been, were greatly exasperated at 
 the unexpected respite of Captain Porteous. 
 
 It was noticed at the time, and afterwards more particularly 
 remembered, that, while the mob were in the act of dispersing, 
 several individuals were seen busily passing from one place and 
 one group of people to another, remaining long with none, but 
 whispering for a little time with those who appeared to be de- 
 claiming most violently against the conduct of government. These 
 active agents had the appearance of men from the country, and 
 were generally supposed to be old friends and confederates of 
 Wilson, whose minds were of course highly excited against Porteous. 
 If, however, it was the intention of these men to stir the multi- 
 tude to any sudden act of mutiny, it seemed for the time to be 
 fruitless. The rabble, as well as the more decent part of the 
 assembly, dispersed, and went home peaceably ; and it was only by- 
 observing the moody discontent on their brows, or catching the 
 tenor of the conversation they held with each other, that a stranger 
 could estimate the state of their minds. We will give the reader 
 this advantage, by associating ourselves with one of the numerous 
 groups who were painfully ascending the steep declivity of the West 
 Bow, to return to their dwellings in the Lawnmarket. 
 
 " An unco thing this, Mrs. Howden," said old Peter Plumdamas 
 to his neighbour the rouping-wife, or saleswoman, as he offered her 
 his arm to assist her in the toilsome ascent, " to see the grit folk at 
 Lunnon set their face against law and gospel, and let loose sic a 
 reprobate as Porteous upon a peaceable toun ! " 
 
 " And to think o' the weary walk they hae gien us," answered 
 Mrs. Howden, with a groan ; " and sic a comfortable window as I 
 had gotten, too, just within a penny-stane-cast of the scaffold— I 
 could hae heard every word the minister said — and to pay twal- 
 pennies for my stand, and a' for naething ! " 
 
 " I am judging," said Mr. Plumdamas, " that this reprieve wadna 
 stand- gude in the auld Scots law, when the kingdom was a 
 kingdom." 
 
 " I dinna ken muckle about the law," answered Mrs. Howden ; 
 " but I ken, when we had a king, and a chancellor, and parliament- 
 men o'our ain, we could aye peeble them wi'stanes when they werena 
 gude bairns— But naebody's nails can reach the length o' Lunnon." 
 " Weary on Lunnon, and a' that e'er cam out o't ! " said Miss 
 Gnzcl Damahoy, an ancient seamstress ; " they hae taen awa our 
 parliament and they hae oppressed our trade. Our gentles will 
 hardly allow that a Scots needle can sew ruffles on a sark or lace 
 on an owerlay." 
 
 " Ye may say that, Miss Damahoy, and I ken o' them that hae 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 4 I 
 
 gotten raisins frae Lunnon by forpits at ance,'' responded Plum- 
 damas ; " and then sic an host of idle English gaugers and excise- 
 men as hae come doun to vex and torment us, that an honest man 
 ■canna fetch sae muckle as a bit anker o' brandy frae Leith to the 
 Lawnmarket, but he's like to be rubbit o' the very gudes he's boucht 
 and paid for. — Weel, I winna justify Andrew Wilson for pitting hands 
 on what wasna his ; but if he took nae mair than his ain, there's an 
 awfu' difference between that and the fact this man stands for." 
 
 " If ye speak aboot the law," said Mrs. Howden, " here comes 
 Mr. Saddletree, that can settle it as weel as ony on the bench." 
 
 The party she mentioned, a grave elderly person with a superb 
 periwig, dressed in a decent suit of sad-coloured clothes, came up as 
 she spoke, and courteously gave his arm to Miss Grizel Damahoy. 
 
 It may be necessary to mention, that Mr. Bartoline Saddletree 
 kept an excellent and highly esteemed shop for harness, saddles, 
 •&c. &c. at the sign of the Golden Nag, at the head of Bess Wynd. 
 His genius, however (as he himself and 'most of his neighbours 
 •conceived), lay towards the weightier matters of the law, and he 
 failed not to give frequent attendance upon the pleadings and argu- 
 ments of the lawyers and judges in the neighbouring square, where, 
 to say the truth, he was oftener to be found than would have con- 
 sisted with his own emolument ; but that his wife, an active pains- 
 taking person, could, in his absence, make an admirable- shift to 
 please the customers and scold the journeymen. This good lady 
 was in the habit of letting her. husband take his way, and go on 
 improving his stock of legal knowledge without interruption ; but, 
 as if in requital, she insisted upon having her own will in the 
 domestic and commercial departments which he abandoned to her. 
 Now, as Bartoline Saddletree had a considerable gift of words, 
 which he mistook for eloquence, and conferred more liberally upon 
 the society in which he lived than was at all times gracious and 
 acceptable, there went forth a saying, with which wags used some- 
 times to interrupt his rhetoric, that, as he had a golden nag at his 
 ■door, so he had a grey mare in his shop. This reproach induced 
 . Mr. Saddletree, on all occasions, to assume rather a haughty and 
 stately tone towards his good woman, a circumstance by which she 
 seemed very little affected, unless he attempted to exercise any real 
 authority, when she never failed to fly into open rebellion. But 
 such extremes Bartoline seldom provoked ; for, like the gentle 
 King Jamie, he was fonder of talking of authority than really exer- 
 cising it. This turn of mind was, on the whole, lucky for him ; 
 since his substance was increased without any trouble on his part, 
 or any interruption of his favourite studies. 
 
 This word in explanation has been thrown in to the reader, while 
 Saddletree was laying down, with great precision, the law upon 
 Porteous's case, by which he arrived at this conclusion, that, if 
 Porteous had fired five minutes sooner, before Wilson was cut 
 down, he would have been versans in licitoj engaged, that is, in a 
 lawful act, and-only liable to be punished propter excessum, or for 
 lack of discretion, which might have mitigated the punishment to 
 fiizna ordinaria. 
 
42 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 " Discretion ! " echoed Mrs. Howden, on whom, it may well be 
 supposed, the fineness of this distinction was entirely thrown away, 
 — "whan had jock Porteous either grace, discretion, or gude 
 manners ? — I mind when his father " 
 
 " But, Mrs. Howden," said Saddletree • 
 
 " And I," said Miss Damahoy, " mind when his mother 
 
 " Miss Damahoy," entreated the interrupted orator 
 
 " And I," said Plumdamas, " mind when his wife " 
 
 " Mr. Plumdamas— Mrs. Howden— Miss Damahoy," again im- 
 plored the orator, — " mind the distinction, as Counsellor. Crossmy- 
 loof says — ' 1/ says he, ' take a distinction.' Now, the body of the 
 criminal being cut down, and the execution ended, Porteous was no 
 longer official ; the act which he came to protect and guard being 
 done and ended, he was no better than cuivis ex populo." 
 
 " Quivis—quivis, Mr. Saddletree, craving your pardon," said 
 (with a prolonged emphasis on the first syllable) Mr. Butler, the 
 deputy schoolmaster of a parish near Edinburgh, who at that mo- 
 ment came up behind them as the false Latin was uttered. 
 
 " What signifies interrupting me, Mr. Butler ? — but I am glad to 
 see ye notwithstanding — I speak after Counsellor Crossmyloof, and 
 he said cuivis." 
 
 " If Counsellor Crossmyloof used the dative for the nominative, 
 I would have crossed his loof with a tight leathern strap, Mr. 
 Saddletree ; there is not a boy on the booby form but should have 
 been scourged for such a solecisrn in grammar." 
 
 " I speak Latin like a lawyer, Mr. Butler, and not like a school- 
 master," retorted Saddletree. 
 
 " Scarce like a schoolboy, I think," rejoined Butler. 
 
 " It matters little," said Bartoline ; " all I mean to say is, that 
 Porteous has become liable to the poena extra ordinem, or capital 
 punishment ; which is to say, in plain Scotch, the gallows, simply 
 because he did not fire when he was in office, but waited till the 
 body was cut down, the execution whilk he had in charge to guard 
 implemented, and he himself exonered of the public trust imposed 
 on him." 
 
 " But, Mr. Saddletree," said Plumdamas, " do ye really think 
 John Porteous's case wad hae been better if he had begun firing 
 before ony stanes were flung at a' ? " 
 
 "Indeed do I, neighbour Plumdamas," replied Bartoline, confi- 
 dently, " he being then in point of trust and in point of power, the 
 execution being but inchoat, or, at least, not implemented, or finally 
 ended ; but after Wilson was cut down, it was a' ower — he was clean 
 exauctorate, and had nae mair ado but to get awa wi' his guard 
 up this West Bow as fast as if there had been a caption after 
 him — And this is law, for I heard it laid down by Lord Vincovin- 
 centem." 
 
 " Vincovincentem?— Is he a lord of state, or a lord of seat?" 
 inquired Mrs. Howden.* 
 
 " A lord of seat— a lord of session. — I fash mysell little wi' lords 
 o' state ; they vex me wi' a wheen idle questions about their saddles, 
 and curpels, and holsters, and horse-furniture, and what they'll tost, 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 43 
 
 and whan they'll be ready — a wlieen galloping geese — my wife may 
 serve the like o' them." 
 
 " And so might she, in her day, hae served the best lord in the 
 land, for as little as ye think o' her, Mr. Saddletree," said Mrs. 
 Howden, somewhat indignant at the contemptuous way in which 
 her gossip was mentioned ; " when she and I were twa gilpies, we 
 little thought to hae sitten doun wi' the like o' my auld Davie 
 Howden, or you either, Mr. Saddletree." 
 
 While Saddletree, who was not bright at a reply, was cudgelling 
 his brains for an answer to this home-thrust, Miss Damahoy broker 
 in on him. 
 
 " And as for the lords of state," said Miss Damahoy, " ye suld 
 mind the riding o' the parliament, Mr. Saddletree, in the gude auld 
 time before the Union, — a year's rent o' mony a gude estate gaed 
 for horse-graith and harnessing, forby broidered robes and foot' 
 mantles, that wad hae stude by their lane wi' gold brocade, and 
 that were muckle in my ain line." 
 
 " Ay, and then the lusty. banqueting, with sweetmeats and com' 
 fits wet and dry, and dried fruits of divers sorts," said Plumdamas. 
 " But Scotland was Scotland in these days." 
 
 " I'll tell ye what it is, neighbours," said Mrs. Howden, " I'll 
 ne'er believe Scotland is Scotland ony mair, if our kindly Scots sit 
 doun wi' the affront they hae gien us this day. It's not only the' 
 blude that is shed, but the blude that might hae been shed, that's 
 required at our hands ; there was my daughter's wean, little Eppie 
 Daidle — my oe, ye ken, Miss Grizel — had played the truant frae the" 
 
 school, as bairns will do, ye ken, Mr. Butler " 
 
 "And for which," interjected Mr. Butler, " they should be soundly 
 scourged by their well-wishers." 
 
 " And had just cruppen to the gallows-foot to see the hanging, as- 
 was natural for a wean ; and what for michtna she hae been shot 
 as weel as the rest o' them, and where wad we a' hae been then ? I 
 wonder how Queen Carline (if her name be Carline) wad hae liked 
 to hae had ane 0' her ain bairns in sic a venture ? " 
 
 " Report says," answered Butler, " that such a circumstance would 
 not have distressed her majesty beyond endurance." 
 
 "Aweel,"said Mrs. Howden, "the sumo' the matter is, that, were 
 I a man, I wad hae amends o' Jock Porteous, be the upshot what 
 like o't, if a' the carles and carlines in 'England had sworn to the 
 nay-say." 
 
 " I would claw down the tolbooth door wi' my nails," said Miss- 
 Grizel, " but I wad be at him." 
 
 " Ye may be very right, ladies," said Butler, "but I would not 
 advise you to speak so loud." 
 
 " Speak ! " exclaimed both the ladies together, " there will be 
 naething else spoken aboot frae the Weigh-house to the Water-gate,, 
 till this is either ended or mended." 
 
 The females now departed to their respective places of abode.- 
 Plumdamas joined the other two gentlemen in drinking their 
 ■meridian, (a bumper-dram of brandy,) as they passed the well- 
 known low-browed shop in the Lawnmarket, where they were wont 
 
44 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 to take that refreshment. Mr. Plumdamas then departed towards 
 his shop, and Mr. Butler, who happened to have some particular 
 occasion for the rein of an old bridle, (the truants of that busy day 
 could have anticipated its application,) walked down the Lawn- 
 market with Mr. Saddletree, each talking as he could get a word 
 thrust in, the one on the laws of Scotland, the other on those of 
 Syntax, and neither listening to a word which his companion 
 uttered. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Elswhair he colde right weel lay down the law, 
 But in his house was meek as is a daw. 
 
 Davie Lindsay. 
 
 •' There has been Jock Driver the carrier here, speering about 
 his new graith," said Mrs. Saddletree to her husband, as he crossed 
 his threshold, not with the purpose, by any means, of consulting him 
 upon his own affairs, but merely to intimate, by a gentle recapitula- 
 tion, how much duty she had gone through in his absence. 
 
 "Weel," replied Bartoline, and deigned not a word more. 
 
 " And the Laird of Girdingburst has had his running footman 
 here, and ca'd himsell, (he's a civil pleasant young gentleman,) to 
 see when the broidered saddle-cloth for his sorrel horse will be 
 ready, for he wants it agane the Kelso races." 
 
 "Weel, aweel," replied Bartoline, as laconically as before. 
 
 " And his lordship, the Earl of Blazonbury, Lord Flash and Flame, 
 is like to be clean daft, that the harness for the six Flanders mears, 
 wi' the crests, coronets, housings, and mountings conform, are no 
 sent hame according to promise gien." 
 
 " Weel, weel, weel — weel, weel, gudewife," said Saddletree, " if 
 he gangs daft, we'll hae him cognosced — it's a' very weel." 
 
 " It 's weel that ye think sae, Mr. Saddletree," answered his help- 
 mate, rather nettled at the indifference with which her report was 
 received ; " there's mony ane wad hae thoucht themselves affronted, 
 if sae mony customers had ca'd and naebody to answer them but 
 -women-folk ; for a' the lads were aff, as soon as your back was 
 turned, to see Porteous hanged, that might be counted upon ; and 
 sae, you no being at hame " 
 
 " Houts, Mrs. Saddletree,'' said Bartoline, with an air of conse- 
 quence, "dinna deave me wi' your nonsense ; I was under the 
 necessity of being elsewhere — non omnia — as Mr. Crossmyloof said, 
 when he was called by two macers at once, non omnia fiossumus — 
 pessimus—possimis — I ken our law-latin offends Mr. Butler's ears, 
 'but it means, naebody, an it were the Lord President himsell, can 
 do twa turns at ance." 
 
 " Very right, Mr. Saddletree," answered his careful helpmate, with 
 a sarcastic smile ; " and nae doubt it's a decent thing to leave your 
 wife to look after young gentlemen's saddles and bridles, when ye 
 jjang to see a man, that never did ye nae ill, raxing a halter." 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 45 
 
 " Woman," said Saddletree, assuming an elevated tone, to which 
 the meridian had somewhat contributed, " desist, — I say forbear, 
 from intromitting with affairs thou canst not understand. D'ye 
 think I was born to sit here brogging an elshin through bend- 
 leather, when sic men as Duncan Forbes, and that other Arniston 
 chield there, without muckle greater parts, if the close-head speak 
 true, than mysell, maun be presidents and king's advocates, nae 
 doubt, and wha but they ? Whereas, were favour equally distribute,. 
 as in the days of the wight Wallace " 
 
 " I ken naething we wad hae gotten by the wight Wallace," said 
 Mrs. Saddletree, " unless, as I hae heard the auld folk tell, they 
 fought in thae days wi' bend-leather guns, and then it's a chance 
 but what, if he had bought them, he might have forgot to pay for 
 them. And as for the greatness of your parts, Bartley, the folk in 
 the close-head maun ken mair about them than I do, if they make 
 sic a report of them." 
 
 " I tell ye, woman," said Saddletree in high dudgeon, " that ye 
 ken naething about these matters. In Sir William Wallace's days, 
 there was nae man pinned down to sic a slavish wark as a saddler's, 
 for they got ony leather graith that they had use for ready-made 
 out of Holland." 
 
 "Well," said Butler, who was, like many of his profession, some- 
 thing of a humorist and dry joker, " if that be the case, Mr. Saddle- 
 tree, I think we have changed for the better ; since we make our 
 own harness, and only import our lawyers from Holland." 
 
 " It's ower true, Mr. Butler," answered Bartoline, with a sigh ; 
 "if I had had the luck — or rather, if my father had had the sense 
 to send me to Leyden and Utrecht to learn the Substitutes and 
 Pandex " 
 
 "You mean the Institutes — Justinian's Institutes, Mr. Saddle- 
 tree ? " said Butler. 
 
 "Institutes and substitutes are synonymous words, Mr. Butler, 
 and used indifferently as such in deeds of tailzie, as you may see 
 in Balfour's Practiques, or Dallas of St. Martin's Styles. I under- 
 stand these things pretty weel, I thank God ; but I own I should 
 have studied in Holland." 
 
 " To comfort you, you might not have been farther forward than 
 
 you are now, Mr. Saddletree," replied Mr. Butler; " for our Scottish 
 
 -advocates are an aristocratic race. Their brass is of the right 
 
 Corinthian quality, and Non cuivis contigit adire Corinthum — 
 
 Aha, Mr. Saddletree?" 
 
 " And aha, Mr. Butler," rejoined Bartoline, upon whom, as may 
 
 be well supposed, the jest was lost, and all but the sound of the 
 
 , words, " ye said a gliff syne it was quivis, and now I heard ye say 
 
 cuivis with my ain ears, as plain as ever I heard a word at the 
 
 fore-bar." 
 
 • " Give me your patience, Mr. Saddletree, and I'll explain the 
 discrepancy in three words," said Butler, as pedantic in his own 
 department, though with infinitely more judgment and learning, as 
 Bartoline was in his self-assumed profession of the law. — " Give me 
 your patience for a moment — You'll grant that the nominative case 
 
46 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 is that by which a person or thing is- nominated or designed, and 
 which may be called the primary case, all others being formed from 
 it by alterations of the termination in the learned languages, and by 
 prepositions in our modern Babylonian jargons— You'll grant me 
 that, I suppose, Mr. Saddletree ? " 
 
 " I dinna ken whether I will or no— ad avisandum, ye ken— nae- 
 body should be in a hurry to make admissions, either in point of 
 law, or in point of fact," said Saddletree, looking, or endeavouring 
 to look, as if he understood what was said. 
 
 " And the dative case," continued Butler 
 
 " I ken what a tutor dative is," said Saddletree, " readily enough." 
 " The dative case," resumed the grammarian, " is that in which 
 any thing is given or assigned as properly belonging to a person, or 
 thing— You cannot deny that, I am sure." 
 
 " I am sure I '11 no grant it though," said Saddletree. 
 " Then what the deevil d'ye take the nominative and the dative 
 •cases to be ? " said Butler, hastily, and surprised at once out of his 
 decency of expression and accuracy of pronunciation. 
 
 " I '11 tell you that at leisure, Mr. Butler," said Saddletree, with a 
 very knowing look ; " I '11 take a day to see and answer every article 
 of your condescendence, and then I '11 hold you to confess or deny, 
 as accords." 
 
 " Come, come, Mr. Saddletree," said his wife, " we '11 hae nae 
 confessions and condescendences here, let them deal in thae sort o' 
 wares that are paid for them — they suit the like o' us as ill as a 
 demipique saddle would suit a draught ox." 
 
 " Aha ! " said Mr. Butler," Optat ephippia bos fiiger, nothing new 
 under the sun — But it was a fair hit of Mrs. Saddletree, however." 
 " And it wad far better become ye, Mr. Saddletree," continued 
 his helpmate, " since ye say ye hae skeel o' the law, to try if ye can 
 do onything for Effie Deans, puir thing, that's lying up in the 
 tolbooth yonder, cauld, and hungry, and comfortless — A servant 
 lass of ours, Mr. Butler, and as innocent a lass, to my thinking, and 
 as usefu' in the shop — When Mr. Saddletree gangs out, — and ye're 
 aware he's seldom at hame when there's ony o' the plea-houses 
 open, — poor Effie used to help me to tumble the bundles o' barkened 
 leather up and doon, and range out the gudes, and suit a' body's 
 bumours — And troth she could aye please the customers wi' her 
 answers, for she was aye civil, and a bonnier lass wasna in Auld 
 Reekie. And when folk were hasty and unreasonable, she could 
 serve them better than me, that am no sae young as I hae been, 
 Mr. Butler, and a wee bit short in the temper into the bargain. For 
 when there's ower mony folks crying on me at anes, and nane but 
 ae tongue to answer them, folk maun speak hastily, or they'll ne'er 
 ,get through their wark — Sae- 1 miss Effie daily." 
 " De die in diem" added Saddletree. 
 
 " I think," said Butler, after a good deal of hesitation, " I have 
 seen the girl in the shop — a modest-looking, fair-haired girl ? " 
 
 " Ay, ay, that's just puir Effie," said her mistress. " How she was 
 abandoned to hersell, or whether she was sackless o' the sinfu' deed, 
 God in Heaven knows ; but if she's been guilty, she's been sair 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 47 
 
 tempted, and I wad amaist take my Bible-aith she hasna been her- 
 sell at the time." 
 
 Butler had by this time become much agitated ; he fidgeted up 
 and down the shop, and showed the greatest agitation that a person 
 of such strict decorum could be supposed to give way to. "Was 
 not this girl," he said, " the daughter of David Deans, that had the 
 parks at St. Leonards taken ? and has she not a sister ? " 
 
 " In troth has she — puir Jeanie Deans, ten years aulder than her- 
 sell ; she was here greeting a wee while syne about her tittie. And 
 what could I say to her, but that she behoved to come and speak 
 to Mr. Saddletree when he was at hame ? It wasnathat I thought 
 Mr. Saddletree could do her or ony ither body muckle gude or ill, 
 but it wad aye serve to keep the puir thing's heart up for a wee 
 •while ; and let sorrow come when sorrow maun." 
 
 " Ye're mistaen though, gudewife," said Saddletree, scornfully, 
 ■"for I could hae gien her great satisfaction ; I could hae proved to 
 her that her sister was indicted upon the statute saxteen hundred 
 and ninety, chapter one — For the mair ready prevention of child- 
 murder — for concealing her pregnancy, and giving no account, of 
 the child which she had borne." 
 
 " I hope," said Butler, — " I trust in a gracious God that she can 
 ■clear herself." 
 
 " And sae do I, Mr. Butler," replied Mrs. Saddletree. " I am sure 
 I wad hae answered for her as my ain dochter; but, wae's my heart, 
 I had been tender a' the simmer, and scarce ower the door o' my 
 room for twal weeks. And as for Mr. Saddletree, he might be in a 
 lying-in hospital, and ne'er find out what the women cam there for. 
 Sae I could see little or naething o' her, or I wad hae had the truth 
 o' her situation out o' her, I'se warrant ye— But we a' think her 
 sister maun be able to speak something to clear her." 
 
 " The haill Parliament House," said Saddletree, "was speaking 
 o' naething else, till this job o' Porteous's put it out o' head — It's a 
 l>eautiful point of presumptive murder, and there's been nane like 
 it in the Justiciar Court since the case of Luckie Smith the howdie, 
 that suffered in the year saxteen hundred and seventy-nine." 
 
 "But what's the matter wi' you, Mr. Butler?" said the good 
 woman ; " ye are looking as white as a sheet ; will ye tak a dram?" 
 
 " By no means,"'said Butler, compelling himself to speak. " I 
 ■walked in from Dumfries yesterday, and this is a warm day." 
 
 " Sit doon," said Mrs. Saddletree, laying hands on him kindly, 
 " and rest ye — ye'll kill yoursell, man, at that rate. — And are we 
 to wish you joy o' getting the scule, Mr. Butler ? " 
 
 " Yes — no — I do not know," answered the young man, vaguely. 
 But Mrs. Saddletree kept him to the point, partly out of real 
 interest, partly from curiosity. 
 
 " Ye dinna ken whether ye are to get the free scule o' Dumfries 
 or no, after hinging on and teaching it a' the simmer ? " 
 
 "No, Mrs. Saddletree — I am not to have it," replied Butler, 
 more collectedly. " The Laird of Black-at-the-bane had a natural 
 son bred to the kirk, that the presbytery could not be prevailed 
 upon to license ; and so " 
 
48 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 " Ay, ye need say nae mair aboot it ; if there was a laird that 
 had a puir kinsman, or a bastard that it wad suit, there's eneuch 
 said. — Arid ye're e'en come back to Libberton to wait for dead 
 men's shoon ?.— and, for as frail as Mr. Whackbairn is, he may live 
 as lang as you, that are his'assistant and successor." 
 
 " Very like," replied Butler, with a sigh ; " I do not know if I 
 should wish it otherwise." 
 
 '' Nae doot it's a very vexing thing," continued the good lady, 
 " to be in that dependent station; and you that hae richt and title 
 to sae muckle better, I wonder how ye bear these crosses." 
 
 " Quos diligit castigat? answered Butler ; " even the Pagan 
 Seneca could see an advantage in "affliction. The Heathens had 
 their philosophy, and the Jews their revelation, Mrs. Saddletree, 
 and they endured their distresses in their day. Christians have a 
 better dispensation than either — but doubtless " 
 
 He stopped and sighed. 
 
 " I ken what ye mean," said Mrs. Saddletree, looking toward her 
 husband ; "there's whiles we lose patience in spite of baith book 
 and Bible — But ye are no gaun awa, and looking sae poorly — yell 
 stay and take some kale wi' us ? " 
 
 Mr. Saddletree laid aside Balfour's Practiques, (his favourite 
 study, and much good may it do him,) to join in his wife's hospit- 
 able importunity. But the teacher declined all entreaty, and took 
 his leave upon the spot. 
 
 " There's something in a' this," said Mrs. Saddletree, looking 
 after him as he walked up the street ; " I wonder what makes Mr. 
 Butler sae distressed about Erne's misfortune — there was nae 
 acquaintance atween them that ever I saw or heard of ; but they 
 were neebours when David Deans was on the Laird o' Dumbie- 
 dikes' land. Mr. Butler wad ken her father or some o' her folk. — 
 Get up, Mr. Saddletree — ye have set yoursell down on the very 
 brecham that wants stitching — and here's little Willie, the prentice. 
 — Ye little rin-there-out deil that ye are, what taks you raking 
 through the gutters to see folk hangit ? — how wad ye like when it 
 comes to be your ain chance, as I winna ensure ye, if ye dinna 
 mend your manners ? — And what are ye maundering and greeting 
 for, as if a word were breaking your banes ? — Gang in by, and be 
 a better bairn another time, and tell Peggy to gie ye a bicker o' 
 broth, for ye'll be as gleg as a gled, I'se warrant ye. — It's a father- 
 less bairn, Mr. Saddletree, and motherless, whilk in some cases 
 may be waur, and ane would tak care o' him if they could — it's a 
 Christian duty." 
 
 " Very true, gudewife," said Saddletree, in reply, " we are in loco 
 parentis to him during his years of pupillarity, and I hae had 
 thoughts of applying to the Court for a commission as factor loco 
 tutoris, seeing there is nae tutor nominate, and the tutor-at-law 
 declines to act ; but only I fear the expense of the procedure wad 
 not be in rem versam, for I am not aware if Willie has ony effects 
 whereof to assume the administration." 
 
 He concluded this sentence with a self-important cough, as one 
 who has laid down the law in an indisputable manner. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 49 
 
 " Effects ! " said Mrs. Saddletree, " what effects has the puir 
 wean ? — he was in rags when his mother died ; and the blue 
 polonie that Erne made for him out of an old mantle o' my ain, 
 was the first decent dress the bairn ever had on. Poor Effie ! can 
 ye tell me now really, wi' a' your law, will her life be in danger, Mr. 
 Saddletree, when they arena able to prove that ever there was a 
 bairn ava?" 
 
 " Whoy," said Mr. Saddletree, delighted at having for once in his 
 life seen his wife's attention arrested by a topic of legal discussion 
 — " Whoy, there are two sorts of murdrum or murdragium, or what 
 you populariter et vulgariter call murther. I mean there are many 
 sorts ; for there's your murthrum per vigilias et insidias, and your 
 murthrum under trust." 
 
 " I am sure," replied his moiety, " that murther by trust is the 
 way that the gentry murther us merchants, and whiles mak us 
 shut the booth up — but that has naething to do wi' Erne's mis- 
 fortune." 
 
 " The case of Effie (or Euphemia) Deans," resumed Saddletree, 
 " is one of those cases of murder presumptive, that is, a murder of 
 the law's inferring or construction, being derived from certain 
 indicia, or grounds of suspicion." 
 
 " So that," said the good, woman, " unless poor Effie has com- 
 municated her situation, she'll be hanged by the neck, if the bairn 
 was still-born, or if it be alive at this moment ? " 
 
 " Assuredly," said Saddletree, " it being a statute made by our 
 sovereign Lord and Lady, to prevent the horrid delict of bringing 
 forth children in secret — The crime is rather a favourite of the law, 
 this species of murther being one of its ain creation." 
 
 " Then, if the law maks murders," said Mrs. Saddletree, " the 
 law should be hanged for them ; or if they wad hang a lawyer in- 
 stead, the country wad find nae faut." 
 
 A summons to their frugal dinner interrupted the farther pro- 
 gress of the conversation, which was otherwise like to take a turn 
 much less favourable to the science of jurisprudence and its profes- 
 sors, than Mr. Bartoline Saddletree, the fond admirer of both, had 
 at its opening anticipated. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 But up then raise all Edinburgh, 
 They all rose up by thousands three. 
 
 Johnnie Armstrong's Goodnight. 
 
 Butler, on his departure from the sign of the Golden Nag, 
 went in quest of a friend of his connected with the law, of whom 
 he wished to make particular inquiries concerning the circumstances 
 in which the unfortunate young woman mentioned in the last 
 chapter was placed, having, as the reader has probably already 
 conjectured, reasons much deeper than those dictated by mere 
 humanity, for interesting himself in her fate. He found the person 
 
SO THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 he sought absent from home, and was equally unfortunate in one 
 or two other calls which he made upon acquaintances whom he 
 hoped to interest in her story. But everybody was, for the mo- 
 ment, stark-mad on the subject of Porteous, and engaged busily in 
 attacking or defending the measures of government in' reprieving 
 him ; and the ardour of dispute had excited such universal thirst, 
 that half the young lawyers and writers, together with their very 
 clerks, the class whom Butler was looking after, had adjourned the 
 debate to some favourite tavern. It was computed by an experi- 
 enced arithmetician, that there was as much twopenny ale 
 consumed on the discussion as would have floated a first-rate 
 man-of-war. 
 
 Butler wandered about until it was dusk, resolving to take that 
 opportunity of visiting the unfortunate young woman, when his 
 doing so might be least observed ; for he had his own reasons for 
 avoiding the remarks of Mrs. Saddletree, whose shop-door opened 
 at no great distance from that of the jail, though on the opposite or 
 south side of the street, and a little higher up. He passed, there- 
 fore, through the narrow and partly-covered passage leading from 
 the north-west end of the Parliament Square. 
 
 He stood now before the Gothic entrance of the ancient prison, 
 which, as is well known to all men, rears its ancient front in the 
 very middle of the High Street, forming, as it were, the termination 
 to a huge pile of buildings called the Luckenbooths, which, for 
 some inconceivable reason, our ancestors , had jammed into the 
 midst of the principal street of the town, leaving for passage a nar- 
 row street on the north, and on the south, into which the prison 
 opens, a narrow crooked lane, winding betwixt the high and sombre 
 walls of the Tolbooth and the adjacent houses on the one side, and 
 the buttresses and projections of the old Cathedral upon the other. 
 To give some gaiety to this sombre passage, (well known by the 
 name of the Krames,) a number of little booths, or shops, after the 
 fashion of cobblers' stalls, are plastered, as it were, against the 
 Gothic projections and abutments, so that it seemed as if the 
 traders had occupied with nests, bearing the same proportion to 
 the building, every buttress and coign of vantage, as the marflett 
 did in Macbeth's Castle. Of later years these booths have degene- 
 rated into mere toy-shops, where the little loiterers chiefly inte- 
 rested in such wares are tempted to linger, enchanted by the rich 
 display of hobby horses, babies, and Dutch toys, arranged in artful 
 and gay confusion ; yet half scared by the cross looks of the 
 withered pantaloon, or spectacled old lady, by whom these tempting 
 stores are watched and superintended. But, in the times we write 
 of, the hosiers, the glovers, the hatters, the mercers, the milliners, 
 and all who dealt in the miscellaneous wares now termed haber- 
 dasher's goods, were to be found in this narrow alley. 
 
 To return from our digression. Butler found the outer turnkey, 
 a tall thin old man, with long silver hair, in the act of locking the 
 outward door of the jail. He addressed himself to this person, and 
 asked admittance to Effie Deans, confined upon accusation of 
 child-murder. The turnkey looked at him earnestly, and, civilly 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 5* 
 
 touching hisTiat out of respect to Butler's black coat and clerical 
 appearance, repliedj " It was impossible any one could be admitted 
 at present." 
 
 " You shut up earlier than usual, probably on account of Captain 
 Porteous's affair," said Butler. 
 
 The turnkey, with the true mystery of a person in office, gave two 
 grave nods, and withdrawing from the wards a ponderous key of 
 about two feet in length, he proceeded to shut a strong plate of 
 steel, which folded down above the keyhole, and was secured by a 
 steel spring and catch. Butler stood still instinctively while the 
 door was made fast, and then looking at his watch, walked briskly 
 up the .street, muttering to himself almost unconsciously — 
 
 Porta adversa, ingens, solidoque adamante columnas ; 
 Vis ut nulla virum, non ipsi exscindere ferro 
 Ccelicolae valeant — Stat ferrea turris ad auras — &Cj* 
 
 Having wasted half an hour more in a second fruitless attempt 
 to find his legal friend and adviser, he thought it time to leave the 
 city and return to his place of residence, in a small village about 
 two miles and a half to the southward of Edinburgh. The metro- 
 polis was at this time surrounded by a high wall, with battlements 
 and flanking projections at some intervals, and the access was 
 through gates, called in the Scottish language forts, which were 
 regularly shut at night. A small fee to the keepers would indeed 
 procure egress and ingress at any time, through a wicket left for 
 that purpose in the large-gate, but it was of some importance, to a 
 man so poor as Butler, to avoid even this slight pecuniary mulct ; 
 and fearing the hour of shutting the gates might be near, he made 
 for that to which he found himself nearest, although, by doing so, 
 he somewhat lengthened his walk homewards. Bristo Port was 
 that by which his direct road lay, but the West Port, which leads 
 out of the Grassmarket, was the nearest of the city gates to the 
 place where he found himself, and to that, therefore, he directed 
 his course. He reached the port in ample time to pass the circuit 
 of the walls, and enter a suburb called Portsburgh, chiefly inhabited 
 by the lower order of citizens and mechanics. Here he was unex- 
 pectedly interrupted. 
 
 He had not gone far from the gate before he heard the sound of 
 a drum, and, to his great surprise, met a number of persons, suffi- 
 cient to occupy the whole front of the street, and form a consider- 
 able mass behind, moving with great speed towards the gate he 
 had just come from, and having in front of them a drum beating to 
 arms. While he considered how he should escape a party, 
 assembled, as it might be presumed, for no lawful purpose, they 
 came full on him and stopped him. 
 
 " Are you a clergyman?" one questioned him. 
 
 Butler replied that "he was in orders, but was not a placed 
 minister." 
 
 "It's Mr. Butler from Libberton," said a voice from behind; 
 " he'll discharge the duty as weel as ony man." 
 
 P 2 
 
52 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 " You must turn back with us, sir,' 7 said the first speaker, in a 
 tone civil but peremptory. 
 
 " For what purpose, gentlemen ? " said Mr. Butler. " I live at 
 some distance from town — the roads are unsafe by night — you will 
 do me a serious injury by stopping me." 
 
 " You shall be sent safely home— no man shall touch a hair of 
 your head — but you must and shall come along with us." 
 
 " But to what purpose or end, gentlemen ?|" said Butler. " I hope 
 you will be so civil as to explain that to me ?" 
 
 " You shall know that in good time. Come along — for come you 
 must, by force or fair means ; and I warn you to look neither to 
 the right hand nor the left, and to take no notice of any man's face, 
 but consider all that is passing before you as a dream." 
 
 " I would it were a dream I could awaken from," said Butler to 
 himself; but having no means to oppose the violence with which 
 he was threatened, he was compelled to turn round and march in 
 front of the rioters, two men partly supporting and partly holding 
 him. During this parley the insurgents had made themselves 
 masters of the West Port, rushing upon the Waiters, (so the people 
 were called who had the charge of the gates,) and possessing them- 
 selves of the keys. They bolted and barred the folding doors, and 
 commanded the person, whose duty it usually was, to secure the 
 wicket, of which they did not understand the fastenings. The man, 
 terrified at an incident so totally unexpected, was unable to perform 
 his usual office, and gave the matter up after several attempts. The 
 rioters, who seemed to have come prepared for every emergency, called 
 for torches, by the light of which they nailed up the wicket with long 
 nails, which, it seemed probable, they had provided on purpose. 
 
 While this was going on, Butler could not, even if he had been 
 willing, avoid making remarks on the individuals who seemed to 
 lead this singular mob. The torch-light, while it fell on their forms 
 and left him in the shade, gave him an opportunity to do so with- 
 out their observing him. Several-of those who seemed most active 
 were dressed in sailors' jackets, trowsers, and sea caps ; others in 
 large loose-bodied great-coats and slouched hats ; and there were 
 several who, judging from their dress, should have been called 
 women, whose rough deep voices, uncommon size, and masculine 
 deportment and mode of walking, forbade them being so inter- 
 preted. They moved as if by some well-concerted plan of arrange- 
 ment. They had signals by which they knew, and nick-names by 
 which they distinguished each other. Butler remarked, that the 
 name of Wildfire was used among them, to which one stout Amazon 
 seemed to reply. 
 
 The rioters left a small party to observe the West Port, and di- 
 rected the Waiters, as they valued their lives, to remain within their 
 lodge, and make no attempt for that night to repossess themselves 
 of the gate. They then moved with rapidity along the low street 
 called the Cowgate, the mob of the city everywhere rising at the 
 sound of their drum, and joining them. When the multitude 
 arrived at the Cowgate Port, they secured it with as little opposi- 
 tion as the former, made it fast, and left a small party to observe it. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. S3 
 
 It was afterwards remarked, as a striking instance of prudence and 
 precaution, singularly combined with audacity, that the parties left 
 to guard those gates did not remain stationary on their posts, but 
 flitted to and fro, keeping so near the gates as to see that no efforts 
 were made to open them, yet not remaining so long as to have 
 their persons closely observed. The mob, at first only about one 
 hundred strong, now amounted to thousands, and were increasing 
 every moment. They divided themselves so as to ascend with 
 more speed the various narrow lanes which lead up from the Cowgate 
 to the High Street ; and still beating to arms as they went, and 
 calling on all true Scotsmen to join them, they now filled the prin- 
 cipal street of the city. 
 
 The Netherbow Port might be called the Temple-bar of Edin- 
 burgh, as, intersecting the High Street at its termination, it divided 
 Edinburgh, properly so called, from the suburb named the Canon- 
 gate, as Temple-bar separates London from Westminster. It was 
 of the utmost importance to the rioters to possess themselves of 
 this pass, because there was quartered in the Canongate at that 
 time a regiment of infantry, commanded by Colonel Moyle, which 
 might have occupied the city by advancing through this gate, and 
 would possess the power of totally defeating their purpose. The 
 leaders therefore hastened to the Netherbow Port, which they 
 secured in the same manner, and with as little trouble, as the other 
 gates, leaving a party to watch it, strong in proportion to the im- 
 portance of the post. 
 
 The next object of these hardy insurgents was at once to dis- 
 arm the City Guard, and to procure arms for themselves ; for 
 scarce any weapons but staves and bludgeons had been yet seen 
 among them. The Guard-house was a long, low, ugly building, 
 (removed in 1787,) which to a fanciful imagination might have sug- 
 gested the idea of a long black snail crawling up the middle of the 
 High Street, and deforming its beautiful esplanade. This formid- 
 able insurrection had been so unexpected, that there were no more 
 than the ordinary sergeant's guard of the city-corps upon duty ; 
 even these were without any supply of powder and ball ; and sen- 
 , sible enough what had raised the storm, and which way it was 
 rolling, could hardly be supposed very desirous to expose them- 
 selves by a valiant defence to the animosity of, so numerous and 
 desperate a mob, to whom they were on the present occasion much 
 more than usually obnoxious. 
 
 There was a sentinel upon guard, who (that one town-guard sol- 
 dier might do his duty on that eventful evening) presented his 
 piece, and desired the foremost of the rioters to stand off. The 
 young amazon, whom Butler had observed particularly active, 
 sprung upon the soldier, seized his musket, and after a struggle 
 succeeded in wrenching it from him, and throwing him down on 
 the causeway. One or two soldiers, who endeavoured to turn out 
 to the support of their sentinel, were in the same manner seized 
 and disarmed, and the mob without difficulty possessed themselves 
 of the Guard-house, disarming and turning out of doors the rest of 
 the men on duty. It was remarked, that, notwithstanding the city 
 
,54 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 soldiers had been the instrument of the slaughter which this riot 
 was designed to revenge, no ill-usage or even insult was offered to 
 them. It seemed as if the vengeance of the people disdained to 
 stoop at any head meaner than that which they considered as the 
 source and origin of their injuries. 
 
 On possessing themselves of the guard, the first act of the mul- 
 titude was to destroy the drums, by which they supposed an alarm 
 might be conveyed to the garrison in the castle ; for the same 
 reason they now silenced their own, which was beaten by a young 
 fellow, son to the drummer of Portsburgh, whom they had forced 
 upon that service. Their next business was to distribute among 
 the boldest of the rioters the guns, bayonets, partisans, halberds, 
 and battle or Lochaber axes. Until this period the principal rioters 
 had preserved silence on the ultimate object of their rising, as 
 being that which all knew, but none expressed. Now, however, 
 having accomplished all the preliminary parts of their design, they 
 raised a tremendous shout of " Porteous ! Porteous ! To the Tol- 
 booth ! To the Tolbooth ! " 
 
 They proceeded with the same prudence when the object seemed 
 to be nearly in their grasp, as they had done hitherto when success 
 was more dubious. A strong party of the rioters, drawn up in 
 front of the Luckenbooths, and facing down the street, prevented 
 all access from the eastward, and the west end of the defile formed 
 by the Luckenbooths was secured in the same manner ; so that the 
 Tolbooth was completely surrounded, and those who undertook 
 the task of breaking it open effectually secured against the risk of 
 interruption. 
 
 The magistrates, in the meanwhile, had taken the alarm, and 
 assembled in a tavern, with the purpose of raising some strength 
 to subdue the rioters. The deacons, or presidents of the trades, 
 were applied to, but declared there was little chance of their autho- 
 rity being respected by the craftsmen, where it was the object to 
 save a man so obnoxious. Mr. Lindsay, member of parliament for 
 the city, volunteered the perilous task of carrying a verbal message 
 from the Lord Provost to Colonel Moyle, the commander of the 
 regiment lying in the Canongate, requesting him to force the 
 Netherbow Port, and enter the city to put down the tumult. But 
 Mr. Lindsay declined to charge himself with any written order, 
 which, if found on his person by an enraged mob, might have cost 
 him his life ; and the issue of the application was, that Colonel 
 Moyle, having no written requisition from the civil authorities, and 
 having the fate of Porteous before his eyes as an example of the 
 severe construction put by a jury on the proceedings of military 
 men acting on their own responsibility, declined to encounter the 
 risk to which the Provost's verbal communication invited him. 
 
 More than one messenger was despatched by different ways to 
 the Castle, to require the commanding officer to march down his 
 troops, to fire a few cannon-shot, or even to throw a shell among 
 the mob, for the purpose of clearing the streets. But so strict and 
 watchful were the various patrols whom the rioters had established 
 in different parts of the street, that none of the emissaries of the 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. SS 
 
 magistrates could reach the gate of the Castle. They were, how- 
 ever, turned back without either injury or insult, and with nothing 
 more of menace than was necessary to deter them from again at- 
 tempting to accomplish their errand. 
 
 The same vigilance was used to prevent everybody of the higher, 
 and those which, in this case, might be deemed the more suspicious 
 orders of society, from appearing in the street, and observing the 
 movements, or distinguishing the persons, of the rioters. Every 
 person in the garb of a gentleman was stopped by small parties of 
 two or three of the mob, who partly exhorted, partly required of 
 them, that they should return to the place from whence they came. 
 Many a quadrille party was spoilt that memorable evening ; for the 
 sedan chairs of ladies, even of the highest rank, were interrupted 
 in their passage from one point to another, in despite of the laced 
 footmen and blazing flambeaux. This was uniformly done with a 
 deference and attention to the feelings of the terrified females, 
 which could hardly have been expected from the videttes of a mob 
 so desperate. Those who stopped the chair usually made the ex- 
 cuse, that there was much disturbance on the streets, and that it 
 was absolutely necessary for the lady's safety that the chair should 
 turn back. They offered themselves to escort the vehicles which 
 they had thus interrupted in their progress, from the apprehension, 
 probably, that some of those who had casually united themselves 
 to the riot might disgrace their systematic and determined plan of 
 vengeance, by those acts of general insult and licence which are 
 common on similar occasions. 
 
 Persons are yet living who remember to have heard from the 
 mouths of ladies thus interrupted on their journey in the manner 
 we have described, that they were escorted to their lodgings by the 
 young men who stopped them, and even handed out of their chairs, 
 with a polite attention far beyond what was consistent with their 
 dress, which was apparently that of journeymen mechanics.* It 
 seemed as if the conspirators, like those who assassinated Cardinal 
 Beatoun in former days, had entertained the opinion, that the work 
 about which they went was a judgment of Heaven, which, though 
 unsanctioned by the usual authorities, ought to be proceeded in 
 with order and gravity. 
 
 While their outposts continued thus vigilant, and suffered them- 
 selves neither from fear nor curiosity to neglect that part of the 
 duty assigned to them, and while the main guards to the east and 
 west secured them against interruption, a select body of the rioters 
 thundered at the door of the jail, and demanded instant admission. 
 No one answered, for the outer keeper had prudently made his 
 escape with the keys at the commencement of the riot, and was 
 nowhere to be found. The door was instantly assailed with sledge- 
 hammers, iron-crows, and the coulters of ploughs, ready provided 
 for the purpose, with which they prized, heaved, and battered for 
 some time with little effect ; for the door, besides being' of double 
 oak planks, clenched, both endlong and athwart, with broad-, 
 headed nails, was so hung and secured as to yield to no means of 
 forcing, without the expenditure of much time. The rioters, how- 
 
56 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 ever, appeared determined to gain admittance. Gang after gang 
 relieved each other at the exercise, for, of course, only a few could 
 work at once; but gang after gang retired, exhausted with their 
 violent exertions, without making much progress in forcing the 
 prison-door. Butler had been led up near to this the principal 
 scene of action ; so near, indeed, that he was almost deafened by 
 .the unceasing clang of the heavy fore-hammers against the iron- 
 bound portal of the prison. He began to entertain hopes, as the 
 task seemed protracted, that the populace might give it over in 
 despair, or that some rescue might arrive to disperse them. There 
 was a moment at which the latter seemed probable. 
 
 The magistrates, having assembled their officers, and some of the 
 citizens who were willing to hazard themselves for the public tran- 
 quillity, now sallied forth from the tavern where they held their 
 sitting, and approached the point of danger. Their officers went 
 before them with links and torches, with a herald to read the riot 
 act, if necessary. They easily drove before them the outposts and 
 videttes of the rioters ; ' but when they approached the line of guard 
 which the mob, or rather, we should say, the conspirators, had 
 drawn across the street in the front of the Luckenbooths, they were 
 received with an unintermitted volley of stones, and, on theirnearer 
 approach, the pikes, bayonets, and Lochaber-axes, of which the 
 populace had possessed themselves, were presented against them. 
 One of their ordinary officers, a strong resolute fellow, went for- 
 ward, seized a rioter, and took from him a musket ; but, being un- 
 supported, he was instantly thrown on his back in the street, and 
 disarmed in his turn. The officer was too happy to be permitted 
 to rise and run away without receiving any further injury ; which 
 afforded another remarkable instance of the mode in which these 
 men had united a sort of moderation towards all others, with the 
 most inflexible inveteracy against the object of their resentment. 
 The magistrates, after vain attempts to make themselves heard and 
 obeyed, possessing no means of enforcing their authority, were 
 constrained to abandon the field to the rioters, and retreat in all 
 speed from the showers of missiles that whistled around their ears. 
 
 The passive resistance of the Tolbooth-gate promised to do more 
 to baffle the purpose of the mob than the active interference of the 
 magistrates. The heavy sledge-hammers continued to din against 
 it without intermission, and with a noise which echoed from the 
 lofty buildings around the spot, seemed enough to have alarmed the 
 garrison in the Castle. It was circulated among the rioters, that 
 the troops would march down to disperse them, unless they could 
 execute their purpose without loss of time ; or that even without 
 quitting the fortress, the garrison might obtain the same end by 
 throwing a bomb or two upon the street. 
 
 Urged by such motives for apprehension, they eagerly relieved 
 each other at the labour of assailing the Tolbooth door : yet such 
 was its strength, that it still defied their efforts. At length, a voice 
 was heard to pronounce the words, " Try it with fire." The rioters, 
 with an unanimous shout, called for combustibles, and as all their 
 wishes seemed to be instantly supplied, they were soon in posses- 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 57 
 
 sion of two or three empty tar-barrels. A huge red glaring bonfire 
 speedily arose close to the door of the prison, sending up a tall 
 column of smoke and flame against its antique turrets and strongly- 
 grated windows, and illuminating the ferocious and wild gestures 
 of the rioters who surrounded the place, as well as the pale and 
 anxious groups of those, who, from windows in the vicinage, watched 
 the progress of this alarming scene. The mob fed the fire with 
 whatever they could find fit for the purpose. The flames roared 
 and crackled among the heaps of nourishment piled on the fire, 
 and a terrible shout soon announced that the door had kindled, and 
 was in the act of being destroyed. The fire was suffered to decay, 
 but, long ere it was quite extinguished, the most forward of the 
 rioters rushed, in their impatience, one after another, over its yet 
 smouldering remains. Thick showers of sparkles rose high in the 
 air, as man after man bounded over the glowing embers, and dis- 
 turbed them in their passage. It was now obvious to Butler, and 
 all others who were present, that the rioters would be instantly in 
 possession of their victim, and have it in their power to work their 
 pleasure upon him whatever that might be.* 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The evil you teach us, we will execute ; and it shall go hard, but 
 we will better the instruction. 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 The unhappy object of this remarkable disturbance had been 
 that day delivered from the apprehension of a public execu- 
 tion, and his joy was the greater, as he had some reason to question 
 whether government would have run the risk of unpopularity by in- 
 terfering in his favour, after he had been legally convicted by the 
 verdict of a jury, of a crime so very obnoxious. Relieved from this 
 doubtful state of mind, his heart was merry within him, and he 
 thought, in the emphatic words of Scripture on a similar occasion, 
 that surely the bitterness of death was past. Some of his friends, 
 however, who had watched the manner and behaviour of the crowd 
 when they were made acquainted with the reprieve, were of a diffe- 
 rent opinion. They augured, from the unusual sternness and silence 
 with which they bore their disappointment, that the populace nou- 
 rished some scheme of sudden and desperate vengeance ; and they 
 advised Porteous to lose no time in petitioning the proper authori- 
 ties, that he might be conveyed to the Castle under a sufficient 
 guard, to remain there in security until his ultimate fate should be 
 determined. Habituated, however, by his office, to overawe the 
 rabble of the city, Porteous could not suspect them of an attempt 
 so audacious as to storm a strong and defensible prison ; and, de- 
 spising the advice by which he might have been saved, he spent the 
 afternoon of the eventful day in giving an entertainment to some 
 friends who visited him in jail, several of whom, by the indulgence 
 of the Captain of the Tolboofh, with whom he had an old intimacy, 
 
58 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 arising from their official connection, were evenpermitted to remain 
 to supper with him, though contrary to the rules of the jail. 
 
 It was, therefore, in the hour of unalloyed mirth, when this unfor- 
 tunate wretch was " full of bread," hot with wine, and high in mis- 
 timed and ill-grounded confidence, and, alas ! with all his sins full 
 blown, when the first distant shouts of the rioters mingled with the 
 song of merriment and intemperance. The hurried call of the 
 jailor to the guests, requiring them instantly to depart, and his yet 
 more hasty intimation that a dreadful and determined mob had 
 possessed themselves of the city gates and guard-house, were the 
 first explanation of these fearful clamours. 
 
 Porteous might, however, have eluded the fury from which the 
 force of authority could not protect him, had he thought of slipping 
 on some disguise, and leaving the prison along with his guests. It 
 is probable that the jailor might have connived at his escape, or 
 even that, in the hurry of this alarming contingency, he might not 
 have observed it. But Porteous and his friends alike wanted pre- 
 sence of mind to suggest or execute such a plan of escape. The 
 latter hastily fled from a place where their own safety seemed com- 
 promised, and the former, in a state resembling stupefaction, awaited 
 in his apartment the termination of the enterprise of the rioters. 
 The cessation of the clang of the instruments with which they had 
 at first attempted to force the door, gave him momentary relief. 
 The flattering hopes, that the military had marched into the city, 
 either from the Castle or from the suburbs, and that the rioters 
 were intimidated and dispersing, were soon destroyed by the broad 
 and glaring light of the flames, which, illuminating through the 
 grated window every corner of his apartment, plainly showed that 
 the mob, determined on their fatal purpose, had adopted a means 
 of forcing entrance equally desperate and certain. 
 
 The sudden glare of light suggested to the stupified and asto- 
 nished object of popular hatred the possibility of concealment or 
 escape. To rush to the chimney, to ascend it at the risk of suffo- 
 cation, were the only means which seemed to have occurred to him; 
 but his progress was speedily stopped by one of those iron gratings, 
 which are, for the sake of security, usually placed across the vents 
 of buildings designed for imprisonment. The bars, however, 
 which impeded his farther progress, served to support him in the 
 situation which he had gained, and he seized them with the tena- 
 cious grasp of one who esteemed himself clinging to his last hope 
 of existence. The lurid light, which had filled the apartment, low- 
 ered and died away ; the sound of shouts was heard within the 
 walls, and on the narrow and winding stair, which, cased, within 
 one of the turrets, gave access to the upper apartments of the pri- 
 son. The huzza of the rioters was answered by a shout wild and 
 desperate as their own, the cry, namely, of the imprisoned felons, 
 who, expecting to be liberated in the general confusion, welcomed 
 the mob as their deliverers. By some of these the apartment of 
 Porteous was pointed out to his enemies. The obstacle of the lock 
 and bolts was soon overcome, and from his hiding-place the unfor- 
 tunate man heard his enemies search every corner of the apart- 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 59 
 
 ment, with oaths and maledictions, which would but shock the 
 reader if we recorded them, but which served to prove, could it 
 have admitted of doubt, the settled purpose of soul with which they 
 sought his destruction. 
 
 A place of concealment so obvious to suspicion and scrutiny as 
 that which Porteous had chosen, could not long screen him from 
 detection. He was dragged from his lurking-place, with a vio- 
 lence which seemed to argue an intention to put him to death 
 on the spot. More than one weapon was directed towards 
 him, when one of the rioters, the same whose female disguise had 
 been particularly noticed by Butler, interfered in an authoritative 
 tone. " Are ye mad ? " he said, " or would ye execute an act of jus- 
 tice as if it were a crime and a cruelty? This sacrifice will lose 
 half its savour if we do not offer it at the very horns of the altar. 
 We will have him die where a murderer should die, on the com- 
 mon gibbet — We will have him die where he spilled the blood of so 
 many innocents ! " 
 
 A loud shout of applause followed the proposal, and the cry, " To 
 the gallows with the murderer ! — To the Grassmarket with him ! " 
 echoed on all hands. 
 
 " Let no man hurt him," continued the speaker ; "let him make 
 his peace with God, if he can ; we will not kill both his soul and 
 body." > 
 
 " What time did he give better folk for preparing their account ?" 
 answered several voices. " Let us mete to him with the same mea- 1 
 sure he measured to them." 
 
 But the opinion of the spokesman better suited the temper of. 
 those he addressed, a temper rather stubborn than impetuous, 
 sedate though ferocious, and desirous of colouring their cruel and 
 revengeful action with a show of justice and moderation. 
 
 For an instant this man quitted the prisoner, whom he consigned 
 to a selected guard, with instructions to permit him to give his 
 money and property to whomsoever he pleased. A person confined 
 in the jail for debt received this .last deposit from the trembling 
 hand of the victim, who was at the same time permitted to make 
 some other brief arrangements to meet his approaching fate. The 
 felons, and all others who wished to leave the jail, were now at full 
 liberty to do so ; not that their liberation made any part of the 
 settled purpose of the rioters, but it followed as almost a necessary 
 consequence of forcing the jail doors. With wild cries of jubilee 
 they joined the mob, or disappeared among the narrow lanes to 
 seek out the hidden receptacles of vice and infamy, where they 
 were accustomed to lurk and conceal themselves from justice. 
 
 Two persons, a man about fifty years* old, and a girl about 
 eighteen, were all who continued within the fatal walls, excepting 
 two or three debtors, who probably saw no advantage in attempting 
 their escape. The persons we have mentioned remained in the 
 strong-room of the prison, now deserted by all others. One of 
 their late companions in misfortune called out to the man to make 
 his escape, in the tone of an acquaintance, " Rin for it, Ratcliffe — 
 the road's clear." 
 
60 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 " It may be sae, Willie," answered Ratcliffe, composedly, "but I 
 have taen a fancy to leave aff trade, and set up for an honest 
 man." 
 
 " Stay there, and be hanged, then, for a donnard auld deevil ! " 
 said the other, and ran down the prison-stair. 
 
 The person in female attire whom we have distinguished as one 
 of the most active rioters, was about the same time at the ear of the 
 young woman. " Flee, Effie, flee ! " was all he had time to whisper. 
 She turned towards him an eye of mingled fear, affection, and up- 
 braiding, all contending with a sort of stupified surprise. He again 
 repeated, " Flee, Effie, flee, for the sake of all that's good and dear 
 to you ! " Again she gazed on him, but was unable to answer. A 
 loud noise was now heard, and the name of Madge Wildfire was 
 repeatedly called from the bottom of the staircase. 
 
 " I am coming,— I am coming," said the person who answered 
 to that appellative ; and then reiterating hastily, " For God's sake 
 — for your own sake— for my sake, flee, or they'll take your life ! " 
 he left the strong-room. 
 
 The girl gazed after him for a moment, and then, faintly mutter- 
 ing, " Better tyne life, since tint is gude fame," she sunk her head 
 upon her hand, and remained, seemingly, unconscious as a statue, 
 of the noise and tumult which passed around her. 
 
 That tumult was now transferred from the inside to the outside 
 of the Tolbooth. The mob had brought their destined victim forth, 
 and were about to conduct him to the common place of execution, 
 which they had fixed as the scene of his death. The leader, whom 
 they distinguished by the name of Madge Wildfire, had been sum- 
 moned to assist at the procession by the impatient shouts of his 
 confederates. 
 
 " I will ensure you five hundred pounds," said the unhappy man, 
 grasping Wildfire's hand, — " five hundred pounds for to save my 
 life.". 
 
 The other answered in the same under-tone, and returning his 
 grasp with one equally convulsive, " Five hundred-weight of coined 
 gold should not save you. — Remember Wilson ! " . 
 
 A deep pause of a minute ensued, when Wildfire added, in a 
 more composed tone, " Make your peace with Heaven. — Where is 
 the clergyman ? " 
 
 Butler, who, in great terror and anxiety, had been detained with- 
 in a few yards of the Tolbooth door, to wait the event of the search 
 after Porteous, was now brought forward, and commanded to walk 
 by the prisoner's side, and to prepare him for immediate death. 
 His answer was a supplication that the rioters would consider what 
 they did. " You are neither judges nor jury," said he. " You can- 
 not have, by the laws of God or man, power to take away the life 
 of a human creature, however deserving he may be of death. If it 
 is murder even in a lawful magistrate to execute an offender other- 
 wise than in the place, time, and manner which the judges' sentence 
 prescribes, what must it be in you, who have no warrant for inter- 
 ference but your own wills ? In the name of Him who is all mercy, 
 show mercy to this unhappy man, and do not dip your hands in his 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 6l 
 
 blood, nor rush into the very crime which you are desirous of 
 
 avenging 
 
 i" 
 
 " Cut your sermon short — you are not in your pulpit," answered 
 one of the rioters. 
 
 " If we hear more of your clavers," said another, " we are like to 
 hang you up beside him." 
 
 " Peace — hush ! " said Wildfire. " Do the good man no harm — 
 he discharges his conscience, and I like him the better." 
 
 He then addressed Butler. " Now, sir, we have patiently heard 
 you, and we just wish you to understand, in the way of answer, that 
 you may as well argue to the ashler-work and iron stanchels of the 
 Tolbooth, as think to change our purpose — Blood must have blood. 
 We have sworn to each other by the deepest oaths ever were 
 pledged, that Porteous shall die the death he deserves so richly ; 
 therefore, speak no more to us, but prepare him for death as well as 
 the briefness of his change will permit." 
 
 They had suffered the unfortunate Porteous to put on his night- 
 gown and slippers, as he had thrown off his coat and shoes, in order 
 to facilitate his attempted escape up the chimney. In this garb he 
 was now mounted on the hands of two of the rioters, clasped to- 
 gether, so as to form what is called in Scotland, " The -King's 
 Cushion." Butler was placed close to his side, and repeatedly 
 urged to perform a duty always the most painful which can be im- 
 posed on a clergyman deserving of the name, and now rendered 
 more so by the peculiar and horrid circumstances of the criminal's 
 case. Porteous at first uttered some supplications for mercy, but 
 when he found that there was no chance that these would be at- 
 tended to, his military education, and the natural stubbornness of 
 his disposition, combined to support his spirits. 
 
 "Are you prepared for this dreadful end?" said Butler, in a 
 faltering voice. " O turn to Him, in whose eyes time and space 
 have no existence, and to whom a few minutes are as a lifetime, and 
 a lifetime as a minute." 
 
 " I believe I know what you would say," answered Porteous 
 sullenly. " I was bred a soldier ; if they will murder me without 
 time, let my sins as well as my blood lie at their door." 
 
 " Who was it," said the stern voice of Wildfire, " that said to 
 Wilson at this very spot, when he could not pray, owing to the 
 galling agony of his fetters, that his pains would soon be over ? — I 
 say to you to take your own tale home ; and if you cannot profit by 
 the good man's lessons, blame not them that are still more merciful 
 to you than you were to others." 
 
 The procession now moved forward with a slow and determined 
 pace. It was enlightened by many blazing links and torches ; for 
 the actors of this work were so far from affecting any secrecy on the 
 occasion, that they seemed even to court observation. Their prin- 
 cipal leaders kept close to the person of the prisoner, whose pallid 
 yet stubborn features were seen distinctly by the torch-light, as his 
 person was raised considerably above the concourse which thronged 
 around him. Those who bore swords, muskets, and battle-axes, 
 marched on each side, as if forming a regular guard to the pro- 
 
62 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 cession. The windows, as they went along, were filled with the 
 inhabitants, whose slumbers had been broken by this unusual dis- 
 turbance. Some of the spectators muttered accents of encourage- 
 ment; but in general they were so much appalled by a sight so 
 strange and audacious, that they looked on with a sort of stupified 
 astonishment. No one offered, by act or word, the slightest inter- 
 ruption. 
 
 The rioters, on their part, continued to act with the same air of 
 deliberate confidence and security which had marked all their pro- 
 ceedings. When the object of their resentment dropped one of his 
 slippers, they stopped, sought for it, and replaced it upon his foot 
 with great deliberation* As- they descended the Bow towards the 
 fatal spot where they designed to complete their purpose, it was 
 suggested that there should be a rope kept in readiness. For this 
 purpose the booth of a man who dealt in cordage was forced open, 
 a coil of rope fit for their purpose was selected to serve as a halter, 
 and the dealer next morning found that a guinea had been left on 
 his counter in exchange ; so anxious were the perpetrators of this 
 daring action to show that they meditated not the slightest wrong 
 or infraction of law, excepting so far as Porteous was himself 
 concerned. 
 
 Leading, or carrying along with them, in this determined and 
 regular manner, the object of their vengeance, they at length reached 
 the place of common execution, the scene of his crime, and destined 
 spot of his sufferings. Several of the rioters (if they should not 
 rather be described as conspirators) endeavoured to remove the 
 stone which filled up the socket in which the end of the fatal tree 
 was sunk when it was erected for its fatal purpose ; others sought 
 for the means of constructing a temporary gibbet, the place in which 
 the gallows itself was-deposited being reported too secure to be 
 forced, without much lpss of time. Butler endeavoured to avail 
 himself of the delay afforded by these circumstances, to turn the 
 people from their desperate design. " For God's sake," he ex- 
 claimed, " remember it is the image of your Creator which you are 
 about to deface in the person of this unfortunate man ! Wretched 
 as he is, and wicked as he may be, he has a share in every promise 
 of Scripture, and you cannot destroy him in impenitence without 
 blotting his name from the Book of Life — Do not destroy soul and 
 body ; give time for preparation." 
 
 '■ What time had they," returned a stern voice, " whom he mur- 
 dered on this very spot ? — The laws both of God and man call for 
 his death." 
 
 "But what, my friends," insisted Butler, with a generous dis- 
 regard to his own safety— " what hath constituted you his 
 judges ? " 
 
 " We are not his judges," replied the same person ; " he has been ' 
 already judged and condemned by lawful authority. We are those 
 whom Heaven and our righteous anger, have stirred up to execute 
 judgment, when a corrupt government would have protected a 
 murderer." 
 
 " I am none," said the unfortunate Porteous ; " that which you 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 63 
 
 charge upon me fell out in self-defence, in the lawful exercise of my 
 duty." 
 
 " Away with him — away with him ! " was the general cry. " Why 
 do you trifle away time in making a gallows ? — that dyester's pole 
 is good enough for the homicide." 
 
 The unhappy man was forced to his fate with remorseless rapidity. 
 Butler, separated from him by the press, escaped the last horrors 
 of his struggles. Unnoticed by those who had hitherto detained 
 him as a prisoner, he fled from the fatal spot, without much caring 
 in what direction his course lay. A loud shout proclaimed the stern 
 delight with which the agents of this deed regarded its completion. 
 Butler, then, at the opening into the low street called the Cowgate, 
 cast back a terrified glance, and, by the red and dusky light of the 
 torches, he could discern a figure wavering and struggling as it hung 
 suspended above the heads of the multitude, and could even observe 
 men striking at it with their Lochaber-axes and partizans. The 
 sight was of a nature to double his horror, and to add wings to his 
 flight. 
 
 The street down which the fugitive ran, opens to one of the 
 eastern ports or gates of the city. Butler did not stop till he reached 
 it, but found it still shut. He waited nearly an hour, walking up and 
 down in inexpressible perturbation of mind. At length he ventured 
 to call out, and rouse the attention of the terrified keepers of the 
 gate, who now found themselves at liberty to resume their office 
 without interruption. Butler requested them to open the gate. They 
 hesitated. He told them his name and occupation. 
 
 " He is a preacher," said one ; " I have heard him preach in 
 Haddo's-hole." 
 
 " A fine preaching has he been at the night," said another ; " but 
 maybe least said is sunest mended." 
 
 Opening then the wicket of the main-gate, the keepers suffered 
 Butler to depart, who hastened to carry his horror and fear beyond 
 the walls of Edinburgh. His first purpose was, instantly to take 
 the road homeward ; but other fears and cares, connected with the 
 news he had learned in that remarkable day, induced him to linger 
 in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh until daybreak. More than one 
 group of persons passed him as he was whileing away the hours of 
 darkness that yet remained, whom, from the stifled tones of their 
 discourse, the unwonted hour when they travelled, and the hasty 
 pace at which they walked, he conjectured to have been engaged in 
 the late fatal transaction. 
 
 Certain it was, that the sudden and total dispersion of the rioters, 
 when their vindictive purpose was accomplished, seemed not the 
 least remarkable feature of this singular affair. In general, what- 
 ever may be the impelling motive by which a mob is at first raised, 
 the attainment of their object has usually been only found to lead the 
 way to farther excesses. But not so in the present case. They seemed 
 completely satiated with the vengeance they "had prosecuted with 
 such stanch and sagacious activity. When they were fully satisfied 
 that life had abandoned their victim, they dispersed in every direc- 
 tion, throwing down the weapons which they had only assumed to 
 
64 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 enable them to carry through their purpose. At daybreak there 
 remained not the least token of the events of the night, excepting 
 the corpse of Porteous, which still hung suspended in the place where 
 he had suffered, and the arms of various kinds which the rioters had 
 taken from the city guard-house, which were found scattered about 
 the streets as they had thrown them from their hands, when the 
 purpose for which they had seized them was accomplished. 
 
 The ordinary magistrates of the city resumed their power, not 
 without trembling at the late experience of the fragility of its tenure. 
 To march troops into the city, and commence a severe inquiry into 
 the transactions of the preceding night, were the first marks of re- 
 turning energy which they displayed. But these events had been 
 conducted on so secure and well-calculated a plan of safety and 
 secrecy, that there was little or nothing learned to throw light upon 
 the authors or principal actors in a scheme so audacious. An ex- 
 press was despatched to London with the tidings, where they 
 excited great indignation and surprise in the council of regency, 
 and particularly in the bosom of Queen Caroline, who considered 
 her own authority as exposed to contempt by the success of this 
 singular conspiracy. Nothing was spoke of for some time save the 
 measure of vengeance which should be taken, not only on the actors 
 of this tragedy, so soon as they should be discovered, but upon the 
 magistrates who had suffered it to take place, and upon the city 
 which had been the scene where it was exhibited. On this occasion, 
 it is still recorded in popular tradition, that her Majesty, in the 
 height of her displeasure, told the celebrated John, Duke of Argyle, 
 that, sooner than submit to such an insult, she would make Scot- 
 land a hunting-field. " In that case, Madam," answered that high- 
 spirited nobleman, with a profound bow, " I will take leave of 
 your Majesty, and go down to my own country to get my hounfls 
 ready." 
 
 The import of the reply had more than met the ear ; and as 
 most of the Scottish nobility and gentry seemed actuated by the 
 same national spirit, the royal displeasure was necessarily checked 
 in mid-volley, and milder courses were recommended and adopted, 
 to some of which we may hereafter have occasion to advert.* 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Arthur's Seat shall be my bed, 
 The sheets shall ne'er be press'd by me ; 
 
 St. Anton's well shall be my drink, 
 
 Sin' my true-love's forsaken me. Old Song. 
 
 If I were to choose a spot from which the rising or setting sun 
 could be seen to the greatest possible advantage, it would be that 
 wild path winding around the foot of the high belt of semicircular 
 rocks, called Salisbury Crags, and marking the verge of the steep 
 descent which slopes down into the glen on the south-eastern side 
 of the city of Edinburgh. The prospect, in its general outline, 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 65 
 
 commands a close-built, high-piled city, stretching itself out beneath 
 in a form, which, to a romantic imagination, may be supposed to 
 represent that of a dragon ; now, a noble arm of the sea, with its 
 rocks, isles, distant shores, and boundary of mountains ; and now, 
 a fair and fertile champaign country, varied with hill, dale, and 
 rock, and skirted by the picturesque ridge of the Pentland 
 Mountains. But as the path gently circles around the base of the 
 cliffs, the prospect, composed as it is of these enchanting and 
 sublime objects, changes at every step, and presents them blended 
 with, or divided from, each other, in every possible variety which 
 can gratify the eye and the imagination. When a piece of scenery 
 so beautiful, yet so varied, — so exciting by its intricacy, and yet so 
 sublime, — is lighted up by the tints of morning or of evening, and 
 displays all that variety of shadowy depth, exchanged with partial 
 brilliancy, which gives character even to the tamest of landscapes, 
 the effect approaches near to enchantment. This path used to be 
 my favourite evening and morning resort, when engaged with a 
 favourite author, or new subject of study. It is, I am informed, 
 now become totally impassable ; a circumstance which, if true, 
 reflects little credit on the taste of the Good Town or its leaders.* 
 
 It was from this fascinating path — the scene to me of so much 
 delicious musing, when life was young and promised to be happy, 
 that I have been unable to pass it over without an episodical 
 description — it was, I say, from this romantic path that Butler saw 
 the morning arise the day after the murder of Porteous. It was 
 possible for him with ease to have found a much shorter road to the 
 house to which he was directing his course, and, in fact, that which 
 he chose was extremely circuitous. But to compose his own 
 spirits, as well as to while away the time, until a proper hour for 
 visiting the family without surprise or disturbance, he was induced 
 to extend his circuit by the foot of the rocks, and to linger upon his 
 way until the morning should be considerably advanced. While, 
 now standing with his arms across, and waiting the slow progress 
 of the sun above the horizon, now sitting upon one of the numerous 
 fragments which storms had detached from the rocks above him, 
 he is meditating, alternately, upon the horrible catastrophe which 
 he had witnessed, and upon the melancholy, and to him most 
 interesting, news which he had learned at Saddletree's, we will give 
 the reader to understand who Butler was, and how his fate was 
 connected with that of Effie Deans, the unfortunate handmaiden 
 of the careful Mrs. Saddletree. 
 
 Reuben Butler was of English extraction, though born in Scot- 
 land. His grandfather was a trooper in Monk's army, and one of 
 the party of dismounted dragoons which formed the forlorn hope at 
 the storming of Dundee in 165 1. Stephen Butler (called, from his 
 talents in reading and expounding, Scripture Stephen, and Bible 
 Butler) was a stanch Independent, and received in its fullest com- 
 prehension the promise that the saints should inherit the earth. 
 As hard knocks were what had chiefly fallen to his share hitherto 
 in the division of this common property, he lost not the opportunity 
 which the storm and plunder of a commercial place afforded him, 
 
66 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 to appropriate as large a share of the better things of this world as 
 he could possibly compass. It would seem that he had succeeded 
 indifferently well, for his exterior circumstances appeared, in conse- 
 quence of this event, to have been much mended. 
 
 The troop to which he belonged was quartered at the village of 
 Dalkeith, as forming the body-guard of Monk, who, in the capacity 
 of general for the Commonwealth, resided in the neighbouring 
 castle. When, on the eve of the Restoration, the general com- 
 menced his march from Scotland, a measure pregnant with such 
 important consequences, he new-modelled his troops, and more 
 especially those immediately about his person, in order that they 
 might consist entirely of individuals devoted to himself. On this 
 occasion, Scripture Stephen was weighed in the balance, and found 
 wanting. It was supposed he felt no call to any expedition which 
 might endanger the reign of the military sainthood, and that he did 
 not consider himself as free in conscience to join with any party 
 which might be likely ultimately to acknowledge the interest of 
 Charles Stewart, the son of "the last man," as Charles I. was 
 familiarly and irreverently termed by them in their common 
 discourse, as well as in their more elaborate predications and 
 harangues. As the time did not admit of cashiering such dissi- 
 dents, Stephen Butler was only advised in a friendly way to give up 
 his horse and accoutrements to one of Middleton's old troopers, 
 who possessed an accommodating conscience of a military stamp, , 
 and which squared itself chiefly upon those of the Colonel and pay- 
 master. As this hint came recommended by a certain sum of 
 arrears presently payable, Stephen had carnal wisdom enough to 
 embrace the proposal, and with great indifference saw his old corps 
 depart for Coldstream, on their route for the south, to establish the 
 tottering government of England on a new basis. 
 
 The zone of the ex-trooper, to use Horace's phrase, was weighty 
 enough to purchase a cottage and two or three fields (still known 
 by the name of Beersheba), within about a Scottish mile of Dal- 
 keith ; and there did Stephen establish himself with a youthful 
 helpmate, chosen out of the said village, whose disposition to a 
 comfortable settlement on this side of the grave reconciled her to 
 the gruff manners, serious temper, and weather-beaten features of 
 the martial enthusiast. Stephen did not long survive the falling on 
 " evil days and evil tongues," of which Milton, in the same pre- 
 dicament, so mournfully complains. At his death his consort 
 remained an early widow, with a male child of three years old, 
 which, in the sobriety wherewith it demeaned itself, in the old- 
 fashioned and even grim cast of its features, and in its sententious 
 mode of expressing itself, would sufficiently have vindicated the 
 honour of the widow of Beersheba, had any one thought proper to 
 challenge the babe's descent from Bible Butler. 
 
 Butler's principles had not descended to his family, or extended 
 themselves among his neighbours. The air of Scotland was alien 
 to the growth of independency, however favourable to fanaticism 
 under other colours. But, nevertheless, they were not forgotten ; 
 and a certain neighbouring Laird, who piqued himself upon the 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 67 
 
 loyalty of his principles " in the worst of times " (though I never 
 heard they exposed him to more peril than that of a broken head, 
 or a night's lodging in the main guard, when wine and cavalierism 
 predominated in his upper story), had found it a convenient thing 
 to rake up all matter of accusation against the deceased Stephen. 
 In this enumeration his religious principles made no small figure, 
 as, indeed, they must have seemed of the most exaggerated enor- 
 mity to one whose own were so small and so faintly traced, as to be 
 well-nigh imperceptible. In these circumstances, poor widow 
 Butler was supplied with her full proportion of fines for non- 
 conformity, and all the other oppressions of the time, until Beer- 
 sheba was fairly wrenched out of her hands, and became the 
 property of the Laird who had so wantonly, as it had hitherto 
 appeared, persecuted this poor forlorn woman. When his purpose 
 was fairly achieved, he showed some remorse or moderation, or 
 whatever the reader may please to term it, in permitting her to 
 occupy her husband's cottage, and cultivate on no very heavy 
 terms, a croft of land adjacent. Her son, Benjamin, in the mean- 
 while, grew up to man's estate, and, moved by that impulse which 
 makes men seek marriage, even when its end can only be the per- 
 petuation of misery, he wedded and brought a wife, and, eventually, 
 a son, Reuben, to share the poverty of Beersheba. 
 
 The Laird of Dumbiedikes * had hitherto been moderate in his 
 exactions, perhaps because he was ashamed to tax too highly the 
 miserable means of support which remained to the widow Butler. 
 But when a stout active young fellow appeared as the labourer of 
 the croft in question, Dumbiedikes began to think so broad a pair 
 of shoulders might bear an additional burden. He regulated, 
 indeed, his management of his dependents (who fortunately were but 
 few in number) much upon the principle of the carters whom he 
 observed loading their carts at a neighbouring coal-hill, and who 
 never failed to clap an additional brace of hundred weights on their 
 burden, so soon as by any means they had compassed a new horse 
 of somewhat superior strength to that which had broken down the 
 day before. However reasonable this practice appeared to the 
 Laird of Dumbiedikes, he ought to have observed, that it may be 
 overdone, and that it infers, as a matter of course, the destruction 
 and loss of both horse, cart, and loading. Even so it befell when 
 the additional " prestations " came to be demanded of Benjamin 
 Butler. A man of few words, and few ideas, but attached to Beer- 
 sheba with a feeling like that which a vegetable entertains to the 
 ■ spot in which it chances to be planted, he neither remonstrated 
 with the Laird, nor endeavoured to escape from him, but toiling 
 night and day to accomplish the terms of his task-master, fell into 
 a burning fever and died. His wife did not long survive him ; and 
 as if it had been the fate of this family to be left orphans, our 
 Reuben Butler was, about the year 1704-5, left in the same circum- 
 stances in which his father had been placed, and under the same 
 guardianship, being that of his grandmother, the widow of Monk's 
 old trooper. 
 
 The same prospect of misery hung over the head of another 
 
68 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 tenant of this hard-hearted lord of the soil. This was a tough true- 
 blue Presbyterian, called Deans, who, though most obnoxious to 
 the Laird on account of principles in church and state, contrived 
 to maintain his ground upon the estate by regular payment of mail- 
 duties, kain, arriage, carriage, dry multure, lock, gowpen, and 
 knaveship, and all the various exactions now commuted for money, 
 and summed up in the emphatic word rent. But the years 1700 
 and 1 70 1, long remembered in Scotland for dearth and general 
 distress, subdued the stout heart of the agricultural whig. Citations 
 by the ground officer, decreets of the Baron Court, sequestrations., 
 poindings of outside and inside plenishing, flew about his ears as 
 fast as ever the tory bullets whistled around those of the Covenan- 
 ters at Pentland, Bothwell-Brigg, or Airdsmoss. Struggle as he 
 might, and he struggled gallantly, " Douce David Deans " was 
 routed horse and foot, and lay at the mercy of his grasping land- 
 lord just at the time that Benjamin Butler died. The fate of each 
 family was anticipated ; but they who prophesied their expulsion 
 to beggary and ruin, were disappointed by an accidental circum- 
 stance. 
 
 On the very term-day when their ejection should have taken 
 place, when all their neighbours were prepared to pity, and not 
 one to assist them, the minister of the parish, as well as a doctor 
 from Edinburgh, received a hasty summons to attend the Laird of 
 Dumbiedikes. Both were surprised, for his contempt for both 
 faculties had been pretty commonly his theme over an extra bottle, 
 that is to say, at least once every day. The leech for the soul, and 
 he for the body, alighted in the court of the little old manor-house 
 at almost the same time ; and when they had gazed a moment at 
 each other with some surprise, they in the same breath expressed 
 their conviction that Dumbiedikes must needs be very ill indeed, 
 since he summoned them both to his presence at once. Ere the 
 servant could usher them to his apartment the party was augmented 
 by a man of law, Nichil Novit, writing himself procurator before 
 the Sheriff-court, for in those days there were no solicitors. This 
 latter personage was first summoned to the apartment of the Laird, 
 where, after some short space, the soul-curer and the body-curer 
 were invited to join him. 
 
 Dumbiedikes had been by this time transported into the best 
 bed-room, used only upon occasions of death and marriage, and 
 called, from the former of these occupations, the Dead-Room. 
 There were in this apartment, besides the sick person himself and 
 Mr. Novit, the son and heir of the patient, a tall gawky silly-look- 
 ing boy of fourteen or fifteen, and a housekeeper, a good buxom 
 figure of a woman, betwixt forty and fifty, who had kept the keys 
 and managed matters at Dumbiedikes since the lady's death. It 
 was to these attendants that Dumbiedikes addressed himself pretty 
 nearly in the following words ; temporal and spiritual matters, the 
 care of his health and his affairs, being strangely jumbled in a head 
 which was never one of the clearest. 
 
 " These are sair times wi' me, gentlemen and neighbours! amaist 
 as ill as at the aughty-nine, when I was rabbled by the college- 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 69 
 
 aners* — They mistook me muckle — they ca'd me a papist, but 
 there was never a papist bit about me, minister. — Jock, ye'll take 
 warning — it's a debt we maun a' pay, and there stands Nichil 
 Novit that will tell ye I was never gude at paying debts in my life. 
 — Mr. Novit, ye'll no forget to draw the annual rent that's due on 
 the yerl's band — if I pay debt to other folk, I think they suld pay it 
 to me — that equals aquals. — Jock, when ye hae naething else to do, 
 ye may be aye sticking in a tree ; it will be growing, Jock, when 
 ye're sleeping.* My father tauld me sae forty years sin', but I 
 ne'er fand time to mind him — Jock, ne'er drink brandy in the 
 morning, it files the stamach sair ; gin ye tak a morning's draught, 
 let it be aqua mirabilis ; Jenny there maks it weel. — Doctor, my 
 breath is growing as scant as a broken- winded piper's, when he has 
 played for four-and-twenty hours at a penny wedding. — Jenny, pit 
 the cod aneath my head — but it's a' needless ! Mass John, could 
 ye think o' rattling ower some bit short prayer, it wad do me gude 
 maybe, and keep some queer thoughts out o' my head. Say some- 
 thing, man." 
 
 " I cannot use a prayer like a rat-rhyme,'* answered the honest 
 clergyman ; " and if you would have your soul redeemed like a 
 prey from the fowler, Laird, you must needs show me your state of 
 mind." 
 
 " And shouldna ye ken that without my telling you ? " answered 
 the patient. "What 1 have I been paying stipend and teind, par- 
 sonage and vicarage, for, ever sin' the aughty-nine, an I canna get 
 a spell of a prayer fort, the only time I ever asked for ane in my 
 life ? — Gang awa wi' your whiggery, if that's a' ye can do ; auld 
 Curate Kiltstoup wad hae read half the Prayer-book to me by this 
 time — Awa wi' ye ! — Doctor, let's see if ye can do onything better 
 for me." 
 
 The Doctor, who had obtained some information in the mean- 
 while from the housekeeper on the state of his complaints, assured 
 him the medical art could not prolong his life many hours. 
 
 " Then damn Mass John and you baith ! " cried the furious and 
 intractable patient. " Did ye come here for naething but to tell me 
 that ye canna help me at the pinch ? Out wi' them, Jenny — out o' 
 the house ! and, Jock, my curse, and the curse of Cromwell, go wi' 
 ye, if ye gie them either fee or bountith, or sae muckle as a black 
 pair o' cheverons ! " (gloves.) 
 
 The clergyman and doctor made a speedy retreat out of the 
 apartment, while Dumbiedikes fell into one of those transports of 
 violent and profane language, which had procured him the surname 
 of Damn-me-dikes. " Bring me the brandy bottle, Jenny, ye 
 b— — j* he cried, with a voice in which passion contended with 
 pain. " I can die as I have lived, without fashing' ony o' them. 
 But there's ae thing," he said, sinking his voice — " there's ae fearful 
 thing hings about my heart, and an anker of brandy winna wash it 
 away. — The Deanses at Woodend ! — I sequestrated them in the 
 dear years, and now they are to flit, they'll starve — and that Beer- 
 sheba, and that auld trooper's wife and her oe, they'll starve— 
 they'll starve ! — Look out, Jock ; what kind o' nicht is't ? " 
 
70 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 " On-ding o' snaw, father," answered Jock, after having opened 
 the window, and looked out with great composure. 
 
 "They'll perish in the drifts !" said the expiring sinner— "they'll 
 perish wi' cauld !— but I'll be het eneugh, gin a' tales be true." 
 
 This last observation was made under breath, and in a tone 
 which made the very attorney shudder. He tried his hand at 
 ghostly advice, probably for the first time in his life, and recom- 
 mended, as an opiate for the agonized conscience of the Laird, re- 
 paration of the injuries he had done to these distressed families, 
 which, he observed by the way, the civil law called restitutio in 
 integrum. But Mammon was struggling with Remorse for retaining 
 his place in a bosom he had so long possessed ; and he partly 
 succeeded, as an old tyrant proves often too strong for his insurgent 
 rebels. 
 
 " I canna do't," he answered, with a voice of despair. " It would 
 kill me to do't — how can ye bid me pay back siller, when ye ken 
 how I want it? or dispone Beersheba, when it lies sae weel into my 
 ain plaid-nuik? Nature made Dumbiedikes and Beersheba to be ae 
 man's land — She did, by— — . Nichil, it wad kill me to part them." 
 
 " But ye maun die, whether or no, Laird," said Mr. Novit ; " and 
 maybe ye wad die easier — it's but trying. I'll scroll the disposition 
 in nae time." 
 
 " Dinna speak o't, sir," replied Dumbiedikes, " or I'll fling the 
 stoup at your head. — But, Jock, lad, ye see how the warld warstles 
 wi' me on my death-bed — be kind to the puir creatures the Deanses 
 and the Butlers — be kind to them, Jock. Dinna let the warld get 
 a grip o' ye, Jock — but keep the gear thegither ! and whate'er ye 
 do, dispone Beersheba at no rate. Let the creatures stay at a 
 moderate mailmg, and hae bite and soup ; it will maybe be the 
 better wi' your father whare he's gaun, lad." 
 
 After these contradictory instructions, the Laird felt his mind so 
 much at ease, that he drank three bumpers of brandy continuously, 
 and "soughed awa," as Jenny expressed it, in an attempt to sing 
 " Deil stick the minister." 
 
 His death made a revolution in favour of the distressed families. 
 John Dumbie, now of Dumbiedikes, in his own right, seemed to be 
 close and selfish enough ; but wanted the grasping spirit and active 
 mind of his father ; and his guardian happened to agree with him 
 in opinion, that his father's dying recommendation should b© 
 attended to. The tenants, therefore, were not actually turned out 
 of doors among the snow wreaths, and were allowed wherewith to 
 procure butter-milk and peas-bannocks, which they ate under the 
 full force of the original malediction. The cottage of Deans, called 
 Woodend, was not very distant from that at Beersheba. Formerly 
 there had been little intercourse between the families. Deans was 
 a sturdy Scotsman, with all sorts of prejudices against the southern, 
 and the spawn of the southern. Moreover, Deans was, as we have 
 said, a stanch presbyterian, of the most rigid and unbending ad- 
 herence to what he conceived to be the only possible straight line, 
 as he was wont to express himself, between right-hand heats and 
 extremes, and left-hand defections ; and therefore, he held in high 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 7t 
 
 dread and horror all independents, and whomsoever he supposed 
 allied to them. 
 
 But, notwithstanding these national prejudices and religious pro- 
 fessions, Deans and the widow Butler were placed in such a situa- 
 tion, as naturally and at length created some intimacy between the 
 families. They had shared a common danger and a mutual 
 deliverance. They needed each other's assistance, like a company, 
 who, crossing a mountain stream, are compelled to cling close 
 together, lest the current should be too powerful for any who are 
 not thus supported. 
 
 On nearer acquaintance, too, Deans abated some of his preju- 
 dices. He found old Mrs. Butler, though not thoroughly grounded 
 m the extent and bearing of the real testimony against the defec- 
 tions of the times, had no opinions in favour of the independent 
 party ; neither was she an English woman. Therefore, it was to 
 be hoped, that, though she was the widow of an enthusiastic 
 corporal of Cromwell's dragoons, her grandson might be neither 
 schismatic nor anti-national, two qualities concerning which Good- 
 man Deans had as wholesome a terror as against papists and 
 malignants. Above all, (for Douce Davie Deans had his weak 
 side,) he perceived that widow Butler looked up to him with rever- 
 ence, listened to his advice, and compounded for an occasional 
 fling at the doctrines of her deceased husband, to which, as we 
 have seen, she was by no means warmly attached, in consideration 
 of the valuable counsels which the presbyterian afforded her for 
 the management of her little farm. These usually concluded with, 
 " they may do otherwise in England, neighbour Butler, for aught I 
 ken ; " or, " it may be different in foreign parts ; " or, "they wha 
 think differently on the great foundation of our covenanted refor- 
 mation, overturning and mishguggling the government and dis- 
 cipline of the kirk, and breaking down the carved work of our 
 Zion, might be for sawing the craft wi' aits j but I say pease, 
 pease." And as his advice was shrewd and sensible, though con- 
 ceitedly given, it was received with gratitude, and followed with 
 respect. 
 
 The intercourse which took place betwixt the families at Beer- 
 sheba and Woodend, hecame strict and intimate, at a very early 
 period, betwixt Reuben Butler, with whom the reader is already in 
 some degree acquainted, and Jeanie Deans, the only child of Douce 
 Davie Deans by his first wife, " that singular Christian woman," as 
 he was wont to express himself, " whose name was savoury to all 
 that knew her for a desirable professor, Christian Menzies in Hoch- 
 magirdle." The manner of which intimacy, and the consequences 
 thereof, we now proceed to relate. 
 
73 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Reuben and Rachel, though as fond as doves, 
 Were yet discreet and cautious in their loves, 
 Nor would attend to Cupid's wild commands, 
 Till cool reflection bade them join their hands. 
 When both were poor, they thought it argued ill 
 Of hasty love to make them poorer still. 
 
 Crabbe's Parish Register. 
 
 WHILE widow Butler and widower 1 Deans struggled with poverty, 
 and the hard and sterile soil of those " parts and portions " of the 
 lands of Dumbiedikes which it was their lot to occupy, it became 
 gradually apparent that Deans was to gain the strife, and his ally 
 in the conflict was to lose it. The former was a man, and not much 
 past the prime of life— Mrs. Butler a woman, and declined into the 
 vale of years. This, indeed, ought in time to have been balanced 
 by the circumstance, that Reuben was growing up to assist his 
 grandmother's labours, and that Jeanie Deans, as a girl, could be 
 only supposed to add to her father's burdens. But Douce Davie 
 Deans knew better things, and so schooled and trained the young 
 minion, as he called her, that from the time she could walk, up- 
 wards, she was daily employed in some task or other suitable to her 
 age and capacity ; a circumstance which, added to her father's daily 
 instructions and lectures, tended to give her mind, even when a 
 child, a grave, seiious, firm, and reflecting cast. An uncommonly 
 strong and healthy temperament, free from all nervous affection 
 and every other irregularity, which, attacking the body in its more 
 noble functions, so often influences the mind, tended greatly to 
 establish this fortitude, simplicity, and decision of character. 
 
 On the other hand, Reuben was weak in constitution, and, 
 though not timid in temper, might be safely pronounced anxious, 
 doubtful, and apprehensive. He partook of the temperament of 
 his mother, who had died of a consumption in early age. He was 
 a pale, thin, feeble, sickly boy, and somewhat lame, from an acci- 
 dent in early youth. He was, besides, the child of a doting grand- 
 mother, whose too solicitous attention to him soon taught him a 
 sort of diffidence in himself, with a disposition to overrate his own 
 importance, which is one of the very worst consequences that chil- 
 dren deduce from over-indulgence. 
 
 Still, however, the two children clung to each other's society, not 
 more from habit than from taste. They herded together the handful 
 of sheep, with the two or three cows, which their parents turned out 
 rather to seek food than actuallyto feed upon the unenclosed common 
 of Dumbiedikes. It was there that the two urchins might be seen 
 seated beneath a blooming bush of whin, their little faces laid close 
 together under the shadow of the same plaid drawn over both their 
 heads, while the landscape around was embrowned by an oversha- 
 dowing cloud, big with the shower which had driven the children 
 to shelter. On other occasions they went together to school, the 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 73 
 
 boy receiving that encouragement and example from his com- 
 panion, in crossing the little brooks which intersected their path, 
 and encountering cattle, dogs, and other perils, upon their journey, 
 which the male sex in such cases usually consider it as their pre- 
 rogative to extend to the weaker. But when, seated on the benches 
 of the school-house, they began to con their lessons together, 
 Reuben, who was as much superior to Jeanie Deans in acuteness of 
 intellect, as inferior to her in firmness of constitution, and in that 
 insensibility to fatigue and danger which depends on the conforma- 
 tion of the nerves, was able fully to requite the kindness and coun- 
 tenance with which, in other circumstances, she used to regard him. 
 He was decidedly the best scholar at the little parish school ; and 
 so gentle was his temper and disposition, that he was rather ad- 
 mired than envied by the little mob who occupied the noisy man- 
 sion, although he was the declared favourite of the master. Several 
 girls, in particular, (for in Scotland they are taught with the boys,) 
 longed to be kind to, and comfort the sickly lad, who was so much 
 cleverer than his companions. The character of Reuben Butler was 
 so calculated as to offer scope both for their sympathy and their 
 admiration, the feelings, perhaps, through which the female sex 
 (the more deserving part of them at least) is more easily attached. 
 
 But Reuben, naturally reserved and distant, improved none of 
 these advantages ; and only became more attached to Jeanie 
 Deans,- as the enthusiastic approbation of his master assured him of 
 fair prospects in future life, and awakened his ambition. In the 
 meantime, every advance that Reuben made in learning (and, con- 
 sidering his opportunities, they were uncommonly great) rendered 
 him less capable of attending to the domestic duties of his grand- 
 mother's farm. While studying the pons asinorum in Euclid, he 
 suffered every cuddie upon the common to trespass upon a large 
 field of peas belonging to the Laird, and nothing but the active ex- 
 ertions of Jeanie Deans, with her little dog Dustiefoot, could have 
 saved great loss and consequent punishment. Similar miscarriages 
 marked his progress in his classical studies. He read Virgil's 
 Georgics till he did not know bear from <barley ; and had nearly 
 destroyed the crofts of Beersheba, while attempting to cultivate 
 them according to the practice of Columella and Cato the Censor. 
 
 These blunders occasioned grief to his granddame, and discon- 
 certed the good opinion which her neighbour, Davie Deans, had for 
 some time entertained of Reuben. 
 
 " I see naething ye can mak o' that silly callant, neighbour But- 
 ler," said he to the old lady, " unless ye train him to the wark o' 
 the ministry. And ne'er was there mair need of poorfu' preachers 
 than e'en now in these cauld Gallio days, when men's hearts are 
 hardened like the nether millstone, till they come to regard none 
 of these things. It's evident this puir callant of yours will never be 
 able to do an usefu' day's wark, unless it be as an ambassador from 
 our Master ; and I will make it my business to procure a licence 
 when he is fit for the same, trusting he will be a shaft cleanly 
 polished, ^nd meet to be used in the body of the kirk ; and that he 
 shall not turn again, like the sow, to wallow in the mire of heretical 
 
74 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 extremes and defections, but shall have the wings of a dove, though 
 he hath lain among the pots." 
 
 The poor widow gulped down the affront to her husband's prin- 
 ciples, implied in this caution, and hastened to take Butler from the 
 High School, and encourage him jn the pursuit of mathematics and 
 divinity, the only physics and ethics that chanced to be in fashion 
 at the time. 
 
 Jeanie Deans was now compelled to part from the companion of 
 her labour, her study, and her pastime, and it was with more than 
 childish feeling that both children regarded the separation. But 
 they were young, and hope was high, and they separated like those 
 who hope to meet again at a more auspicious hour. 
 
 While Reuben Butler was acquiring at the University of St. 
 Andrews the knowledge necessary for a clergyman, and macerating 
 his body with the privations which were necessary in seeking food 
 for his mind, his grand-dame became daily less able to struggle 
 with her little farm, and was at length obliged to throw it up to the 
 new Laird of Dumbiedikes. That great personage was no abso- 
 lute Jew, and did not cheat her in making the bargain more than 
 was tolerable. He even gave her permission to tenant the house 
 in which she had lived with her husband, as long as it should be 
 " tenantable ; " only he protested against paying for a farthing of 
 repairs, any benevolence which he possessed being of the passive, 
 but by no means of the active mood. 
 
 In the meanwhile, from superior shrewdness, skill, and other cir- 
 cumstances, some of them purely accidental, Davie Deans gained 
 a footing in the world, the possession of some wealth, the reputa- 
 tion of more, and a growing disposition to preserve and increase his 
 store ; for which, when he thought upon it seriously, he was inclined 
 to blame himself. From his knowledge in agriculture, as it was 
 then practised, he became a sort of favourite with the Laird, who 
 had no great pleasure either in active sports or in society, and was 
 wont to end his daily saunter by calling at the cottage of Woodend. 
 
 Being himself a man of slow ideas and confused utterance, Dum- 
 biedikes used to sit or stand for half an hour with an old laced hat 
 of his father's upon his head, and an empty tobacco-pipe in his 
 mouth, with his eyes following Jeanie Deans, or "the lassie," as he 
 called her, through the course of her daily domestic labour ; while 
 her father, after exhausting the subject of bestial, of ploughs, and 
 of harrows, often took an opportunity of going full-sail into contro- 
 versial subjects, to which discussions the dignitary listened with 
 much seeming patience, but without making any reply, or, indeed, 
 as most people thought, without understanding a single word of 
 what the orator was saying. Deans, indeed, denied this stoutly, as 
 an insult at once to his own talents for expounding hidden truths, 
 of which he was a little vain, and to the Laird's capacity of under- 
 standing them. He said, " Dumbiedikes was nane o' these flashy 
 gentles, wi' lace on their skirts and swords at their tails, that were 
 rather for riding on horseback to hell than ganging barefooted to 
 heaven. He wasna like his father — nae profane-company keeper 
 — nae swearer — nae drinker — nae frequenter of play-house, or 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 75 
 
 music-house, or dancing-house — nae Sabbath breaker — nae imposer 
 of aiths, or bonds, or denier of liberty to the flock. — He clave to the 
 warld, and the warld's gear, a wee ower muckle, but then there was 
 some breathing of a gale upon his spirit," &c. &c. All this honest 
 Davie said and believed. 
 
 It is not to be supposed, that, by a father and a man of sense and 
 observation, the constant direction of the Laird's eyes towards Jeanie 
 was altogether unnoticed. This circumstance, however, made a 
 much greater impression upon another member of his family, a 
 second helpmate, to wit, whom he had chosen to take to his bosom 
 ten years after the death of his first. Some people were of opinion, 
 that Douce Davie had been rather surprised into this step, for in 
 general, he was no friend to marriages or giving in marriage, and 
 seemed rather to regard that state of society as a necessary evil, — 
 a thing lawful, and to be tolerated in the imperfect state of our 
 nature, but which clipped the wings with which we ought to soar 
 upwards, and tethered the soul to its mansion of clay, and the 
 creature-comforts of wife and bairns. His own practice, however, 
 had in this material point varied from his principles, since, as we 
 have seen, he twice knitted for himself this dangerous and ensnar- 
 ing entanglement. 
 
 Rebecca, his spouse, had by no means the same horror of matri- 
 mony, and as she made marriages in imagination for every neigh- 
 bour round, she failed not to indicate a match between Dum- 
 biedikes and her step-daughter Jeanie. The good man used regu- 
 larly to frown and pshaw whenever this topic was touched upon, 
 but usually ended by taking his bonnet and walking out of the 
 house to conceal a certain gleam of satisfaction, which, at such a 
 suggestion, involuntarily diffused itself over his austere features. 
 
 The more youthful part of my readers may naturally ask, whether 
 Jeanie Deans was deserving of this mute attention of the Laird of 
 Dumbiedikes, and the historian, with due regard to veracity, is 
 compelled to answer, that her personal attractions were of no un- 
 common description. She was short, and rather too stoutly made 
 for her size, had grey eyes, light-coloured hair, a round good- 
 humoured face, much' tanned with the sun, and her only peculiar 
 charm was an air of inexpressible serenity, which a good con- 
 science, kind feelings, contented temper, and the regular discharge 
 of all her duties, spread over her features. There was nothing, it 
 may be supposed, very appalling in the form or manners of this 
 rustic heroine ; yet, whether from sheepish bashfulness, or from 
 want of decision and imperfect knowledge of his own mind on the 
 subject, the Laird of Dumbiedikes, with his old laced hat and empty 
 tobacco-pipe, came and enjoyed the beatific vision of Jeanie Deans 
 day after day, week after week, year after year, without proposing 
 to accomplish any of the prophecies of the step-mother. 
 
 This good lady began to grow doubly impatient on the subject, 
 when, after having been some years married, she herself presented 
 Douce Davie with another daughter, who was named Euphemia, 
 by corruption, Effie. It was then that Rebecca began to turn im- 
 patient with the slow pace at which the Laird's wooing proceeded, 
 
7 S THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 judiciously arguing, that, as Lady Dumbiedikes would have but 
 little occasion for tocher, the principal part of her gudeman's sub- 
 stance would naturally descend to the child by the second mar- 
 riage. Other step-dames have tried less laudable means for clear- 
 ing the wav to the succession of their own children ; but Rebecca, 
 to do her justice, only sought little Effie's advantage through the 
 promotion, or which must have generally been accounted such, of 
 her elder sister. She therefore tried every female art within the com- 
 pass of her simple skill, to bring the Laird to a point ; but had the 
 mortification to perceive that her efforts, like those of an unskilful 
 angler, only scared the trout she meant to catch. Upon one occa- 
 sion, in particular, when she joked with the Laird on the propriety 
 of giving a mistress to the house of Dumbiedikes, he was so effec-' 
 tually startled, that neither laced hat, tobacco-pipe, nor the intelli- 
 gent proprietor of these movables, visited Woodend for a fortnight. 
 Rebecca was therefore compelled to leave the Laird to proceed at 
 his own snail's pace, convinced, by experience, of the grave-digger's 
 aphorism, that your dull ass will not mend his pace for beating. 
 
 Reuben, in the meantime, pursued his studies at the university, 
 supplying his wants by teaching the younger lads the knowledge 
 he himself acquired, and thus at once gaining the means of main- 
 taining himself at the seat of learning, and fixing in his mind the 
 elements of what he had already obtained. In this manner, as is 
 usual among the poorer students of divinity at Scottish universities, 
 he contrived not only to maintain himself according to his simple 
 wants, but even to send considerable assistance to his sole remain- 
 ing parent, a sacred duty, of which the Scotch are seldom neg- 
 ligent. His progress in knowledge of a general kind, as well as in 
 the studies proper to his profession, was very considerable, but was 
 little remarked, owing to the retired modesty of his disposition, 
 which in ho respect qualified him to set off his learning to the best 
 advantage. And thus, had Butler been a man given to make com- 
 plaints, he had his tale to tell, like others, of unjust preferences, 
 bad luck, and hard usage. On these subjects, however, he was 
 habitually silent, perhaps from modesty, perhaps from a fouch of 
 pride, or perhaps from a conjunction of both. 
 
 He obtained his licence as a preacher of the gospel, with some 
 compliments from the presbytery, by whom it was bestowed ; but 
 this did not lead to any preferment, and he found it necessary to 
 make the cottage at Beersheba his residence for some months, with 
 no other income than was afforded by the precarious occupation of 
 teaching in one or other of the neighbouring families. After having 
 greeted his aged grandmother, his first visit was to Woodend, 
 where he was received by Jeanie with warm cordiality, arising from 
 recollections which had never been dismissed from her mind, by 
 Rebecca with good-humoured hospitality, and by old Deans in a 
 mode peculiar to himself. 
 
 Highly as Douce Davie honoured the clergy, it was not upon' 
 each individual of the cloth that he bestowed his approbation ; 
 and, a little jealous, perhaps, at seeing his youthful acquaintance 
 erected into the dignity of a teacher and preacher, he instantly at- 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 77 
 
 tacked him upon various points of controversy, in order to discover 
 whether he might not have fallen into some of the snares, defec- 
 tions, and desertions of the time. Butler was not only a man of 
 stanch presbyterian principles, but was also willing to avoid giving 
 pain to his old friend by disputing upon points of little importance ; 
 and therefore he might have hoped to have come like refined gold 
 out of the furnace of Davie's interrogatories. But the result on 
 the mind of that strict investigator was not altogether so favour* 
 able as might have been hoped and anticipated. Old Judith 
 Butler, who had hobbled that evening as far as Woodend, in order 
 to enjoy the congratulations of her neighbours upon Reuben's re- 
 turn, and upon his high attainments, of which she was herself not 
 a little proud, was somewhat mortified to find that her old friend 
 Deans did not enter into the subject with the warmth she expected. 
 At first, indeed, he seemed rather silent than dissatisfied ; and it 
 was not till Judith had essayed the subject more than once that it 
 led to the following dialogue. * 
 
 " Aweel, neibor Deans, I thought ye wad hae been glad to see 
 Reuben amang us again, puir fallow." 
 
 " I am glad, Mrs. Butler," was the neighbour's concise answer. 
 
 " Since he has lost his grandfather and his father (praised be 
 Him that giveth and taketh !) I ken nae friend he has in the world 
 that's been sae like a father to him as the sell o' ye, neibon Deans." 
 
 " God is the only father of the fatherless," said Deans, touching 
 his bonnet and looking upwards. " Give honour where it is due, 
 gudewife, and not to an unworthy instrument." 
 
 " Aweel, that's your way o' turning it, and nae doubt ye ken 
 best ; but I hae kend ye, Davie, send a forpit o' meal to Beersheba 
 when there wasna a bow left in the meal-ark at Woodend ; ay, and 
 I hae kend ye " 
 
 " Gudewife," said Davie, interrupting her, " these are but idle 
 tales to tell me ; fit for naething but to puff up our inward man wi' 
 our ain vain acts. I stude beside blessed Alexander Peden, when ' 
 I heard him call the death and testimony of our happy martyrs 
 but draps of blude and scarts of ink in respect of fitting discharge of 
 our duty ; and what suld I think of onything the like of me can do ? " 
 
 " Weel, neibor Deans, ye ken best ; but I maun say that, I am 
 sure you are glad to see my bairn again — the halt's gane now, un- 
 less he has to walk ower mony miles at a stretch ; and he has a wee 
 bit colour in his cheek, that glads my auld een to see it ; and he 
 has as decent a black coat as the minister ; and " 
 
 " I am very heartily glad he is weel and thriving," said Mr. 
 Deans, with a gravity that seemed intended to cut short the sub- 
 ject ; but a woman who is bent upon a point is not easily pushed 
 aside from it. 
 
 " And," continued Mrs. Butler, " he can wag his head in a pulpit 
 now, neibor Deans, think but o' that — my ain oe — and a'body maun 
 sit still and listen to him, as if he were the Paip of Rome." 
 
 " The what ?— the who ?— woman ! " said Deans, with a sternness 
 far beyond his usual gravity, as soon as these offensive words had 
 struck upon the tympanum of his, ear. 
 
78 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 " Eh, guide us ! " said the poor woman ; " I had forgot what an 
 ill will ye had aye at the Paip, and sae had my puir gudeman, 
 Stephen Butler. Mony an afternoon he wad sit and take up his testi- 
 mony again the Paip, and again baptizing of bairns, and the like." 
 
 " Woman ! " reiterated Deans, " either speak about what ye ken 
 something o', or be silent; I say that independency is a foul 
 heresy, and anabaptism a damnable and deceiving error, whilk 
 suld be rooted out o' the land wi' the fire o' the spiritual, and the 
 sword o' the civil magistrate/' 
 
 " Weel, weel, neibor, I'll no say that ye mayna be richt," an- 
 swered the submissive Judith. " I am sure ye are richt about the 
 sawing and the mawing, the shearing and the leading, and what 
 for suld ye no be richt about kirkwark, too ? — But concerning my 
 oe, Reuben Butler " 
 
 " Reuben Butler, gudewife," said David with solemnity, " is a lad 
 I wish heartily weel to, even as if he were my ain son — but I doubt 
 there will be outs and ins in the track of his walk. I muckle fear 
 his gifts will get the heels of his grace. He has ower muckle 
 human wit and learning, and thinks as muckle about the form of 
 the bicker as he does about the healsomeness of the food — he maun 
 broider the marriage-garment with lace and passments, or it's no 
 gude eneugh for him. And it's like he's something proud o' his 
 human gifts and learning, whilk enables him to dress up his doc- 
 trine in that fine airy dress. But," added he, at seeing the old 
 woman's uneasiness at his discourse, "affliction may gie him a 
 jagg, and let the wind out o' him, as out o' a cow that's eaten wet 
 clover, and the lad may do weel, and be a burning and a shining 
 light ; and I trust it will be yours to see, and his to feel it, and that 
 soon." 
 
 Widow Butler was obliged to retire, unable to make anything 
 more of her neighbour, whose discourse, though she did not com- 
 prehend it, filled her with undefined apprehensions on her grand* 
 son's account, and greatly depressed the joy with which she had 
 welcomed him on his return. And it must not be concealed, in 
 justice to Mr. Deans's discernment, that Butler, in their conference, 
 had made a greater display of his learning than the occasion called 
 for, or than was likely to be acceptable to the old man, who, accus- 
 tomed to consider himself as a person pre-eminently entitled to 
 dictate upon theological subjects of controversy, felt rather humbled 
 and mortified when learned authorities were placed in array against 
 him. In fact, Butler had not escaped the tinge of pedantry which 
 naturally flowed from his education, and was apt, on many occa- 
 sions, to make parade of his knowledge, when there was no need of 
 such vanity. 
 
 Jeanie Deans, however, found no fault with this display of learn- 
 ing, but, on the contrary, admired it ; perhaps on the same score 
 that her sex are said to admire men of courage, on account of their 
 own deficiency in that qualification. The circumstances of their 
 family threw the young people constantly together ; their old inti- 
 macy was renewed, though upon a footing better adapted to their age ; 
 and it became at length understood betwixt them, that their union 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 79 
 
 should be deferred no longer than until Butler should obtain some 
 steady means of support, however humble, This, however, was 
 not a matter speedily to be accomplished. Plan after plan was 
 formed, and plan after plan failed. The good-humoured cheek of 
 Jeanie lost the first flush of juvenile freshness ; Reuben's brow 
 assumed the gravity of manhood, yet the means of obtaining a 
 settlement seemed remote as ever. Fortunately for the lovers, 
 their passion was of no ardent or enthusiastic cast ; and a sense of 
 duty on both sides induced them to bear, with patient fortitude, the 
 protracted interval which divided them from each other. 
 
 In the meanwhile, time did not roll on without effecting his usual 
 changes. The widow of Stephen Butler, so long the prop of the 
 family of Beersheba, was gathered to her fathers ; and Rebecca, 
 the careful spouse of our friend Davie Deans, was also summoned 
 from her plans of matrimonial and domestic economy. The morn- 
 ing after her death, Reuben Butler went to offer his mite of con- 
 solation to his old friend and benefactor. He witnessed, on this 
 occasion, a remarkable struggle betwixt the force of natural affec- 
 tion, and the religious stoicism, which the sufferer thought it was 
 incumbent upon him to maintain under each earthly dispensation, 
 whether of weal or woe. 
 
 On his arrival at the cottage, Jeanie, with her eyes overflowing 
 with tears, pointed to the little orchard, "in which," she whispered 
 with broken accents, " my poor father has been since his misfor- 
 tune." Somewhat alarmed at -this account, Butler entered the 
 orchard, and advanced slowly towards his old friend, who, seated 
 in a small rude arbour, appeared to be sunk in the extremity of his 
 affliction. He lifted his eyes somewhat sternly as Butler ap- 
 proached, as if offended at the interruption ; but as the young man 
 hesitated whether he ought to retreat or advance, he arose, and 
 came forward to meet him, with a self-possessed and even digni- 
 fied air. 
 
 " Young man," said the sufferer, " lay it not to heart, though the 
 righteous perish and the merciful are removed, seeing, it may well 
 be said, that they are taken away from the evils to come. Woe to 
 roe, were I to shed a tear for the wife of my bosom, when I might 
 weep rivers of water for this afflicted Church, cursed as it is with 
 carnal seekers and with the dead of heart." 
 
 " I am happy," said Butler, " that you can forget your private 
 affliction in your regard for public duty." 
 
 " Forget, Reuben ? " said poor Deans, putting his handkerchief 
 to his eyes, — " She's not to be forgotten on this side of time ; but 
 He that gives the wound can send the ointment. I declare there 
 have been times during this night when my meditation has been so 
 wrapt, that I knew not of my heavy loss. It has been with me as 
 with the worthy John Semple, called Carsphairn John,* upon a like 
 trial, — I have been this night on the banks of Ulai, plucking an 
 apple here and there." 
 
 Notwithstanding the assumed fortitude of Deans, which he con- 
 ceived to be the discharge of a great Christian duty, he had too 
 good a heart not to suffer deeply under this heavy loss. Woodend 
 
80 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 became altogether distasteful to him ; and as he had obtained both 
 substance and experience by his management of that little farm, 
 he resolved to employ them as a dairy-farmer, or cow-feeder, as 
 they are called in Scotland. The situation he chose for his new 
 settlement was at a place called Saint Leonard's Crags, lying be- 
 twixt Edinburgh and the mountain called Arthur's Seat, and ad- 
 joining to the extensive sheep pastures still named the King's Park, 
 from its having been formerly dedicated to the preservation of the 
 royal game. Here he rented a small lonely house, about half a 
 mile distant from the nearest point of the city, but the site of which, 
 with all the adjacent ground, is now occupied by the buildings 
 which form the south-eastern suburb. An extensive pasture-ground 
 adjoining, which Deans rented from the keeper of the Royal Park, 
 enabled him to feed his milk-cows ; and the unceasing industry 
 and activity of Jeanie, his eldest daughter, were exerted in making 
 the most of their produce. 
 
 She had now less frequent opportunities of seeing Reuben, who 
 had been obliged, after various disappointments, to accept the 
 subordinate situation of assistant in a parochial school of some 
 eminence, at three or four miles' distance from the city. Here he 
 distinguished himself, and became acquainted with several respect- 
 able burgesses, who, on account of health, or other reasons, chose 
 that their children should commence their education in this little " 
 village. His prospects were thus gradually brightening, and upon 
 each visit which he paid at St. Leonard's he had an- opportunity of 
 gliding a hint to this purpose into Jeanie's ear. These visits were 
 necessarily very rare, on account of the demands which the duties 
 of the school made upon Butler's time. Nor did he dare to make 
 them even altogether so frequent as these avocations would permit. 
 Deans received him with civility indeed, and even with kindness ; 
 but Reuben, as is usual in such cases, imagined that he read his 
 purpose in his eyes, and was afraid too premature an explanation 
 on the subject would draw down his positive disapproval. Upon 
 the whole, therefore, he judged it prudent to call at Saint Leonard's 
 just so frequently as old acquaintance and neighbourhood seemed 
 to authorize, and no oftener. There was another person who was 
 more regular in his visits. 
 
 When Davie Deans intimated to the Laird of Dumbiedikes his 
 purpose of " quitting wi' the land and house at Woodend," the 
 Laird stared and said nothing. He made his usual visits at the 
 usual hour without remark, until the day before the term, when, 
 observing the bustle of moving furniture already commenced, the 
 great east-country awmrie dragged out of its nook, and standing 
 with its shoulder to the company, like an awkward booby about to 
 leave the room, the Laird again stared mightily, and was heard to 
 ejaculate, " Hegh, sirs ! " Even after the day of departure was 
 past and gone, the Laird of Dumbiedikes, at his usual hour, which 
 was that at which Davie Deans was wont to " loose the pleugh," pre- 
 sented himself before the closed door of the cottage at Woodend, and 
 seemed as much astonished at finding it shut against his approach 
 as if it was not exactly what he had to expect. On this occasion 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 81 
 
 he was heard to ejaculate, " Gude guide us ! " which, by those who 
 knew him, was considered as a very unusual mark of emotion, 
 From that moment forward, Dumbiedikes became an altered man. 
 and the regularity of his movements, hitherto so exemplary, was as 
 totally disconcerted as those of a boy's watch when he has broken 
 the main-spring. Like the index of the said watch, did Dumbie- 
 dikes spin round the whole bounds of his little property, which 
 may be likened unto the dial of the time-piece, with unwonted velo- 
 city. There was not a cottage into which he did not 1 enter, nor 
 scarce a maiden on whom he did not stare. But so it was, that 
 although there were better farm-houses on the land than Woodend, 
 and certainly much prettier girls than Jeanie Deans, yet it did 
 somehow befall that the blank in the Laird's time was not so 
 pleasantly filled up as it had been. There was no seat accommo- 
 dated him so well as the " bunker " at Woodend, and no face he 
 loved so much to gaze on as Jeanie Deans's. So, after spinning 
 round and round his little orbit, and then remaining stationary for 
 a week, it seems to have occurred to him, that he was not pinned 
 down to circulate on a pivot, like the hands of the watch, but 
 possessed the power of shifting his central point, and extending his 
 circle if he thought proper. To realize which privilege of change 
 of place, he bought a pony from a Highland drover, and with its 
 assistance and company stepped, or rather stumbled, as far as 
 Saint Leonard's Crags. 
 
 Jeanie Deans, though so much accustomed to the Laird's staring 
 that she was sometimes scarce conscious of his presence, had 
 nevertheless some occasional fears lest he should call in the organ 
 of speech to back those expressions of admiration which he 
 bestowed on her through his eyes. Should this happen, farewell, 
 she thought, to all chance of an union with Butler. For her father, 
 however stout-hearted and independent in civil and religious prin- 
 ciples, was not without that respect for the laird of the land, so 
 deeply imprinted on the Scottish tenantry of the period. More- 
 over, if he did not positively dislike Butler, yet his fund of carnal 
 learning was often the object of sarcasms on David's part, which 
 were perhaps founded in jealousy, and which certainly indicated no 
 partiality for the party against whom they were launched. And, 
 lastly, the match with Dumbiedikes would have presented irresis- 
 tible charms to one who used to complain that he felt himself apt 
 to take " ower grit an armfu' o' the warld." So that, upon the 
 whole, the Laird's diurnal visits were disagreeable to Jeanie from 
 apprehension of future consequences, and it served much to console 
 her, upon removing from the spot where she was bred and born, 
 that she had seen the last of Dumbiedikes, his laced hat, and 
 tobacco-pipe. The poor girl no more expected he could muster 
 courage to follow her to Saint Leonard's Crags, than that any of 
 her apple-trees or cabbages which she had left rooted in the 
 " yard " at Woodend, would spontaneously, and unaided, have 
 undertaken the same journey. It was, therefore, with much more 
 surprise than pleasure that, on the sixth day after their removal to 
 Saint Leonard's, she beheld Dumbiedikes arrive, laced hat, 
 
82 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 tobacco-pipe, and all, and, with the self-same greeting of " How's 
 a' wi' ye, Jeanie ?— Whare's the gudeman ? " assume as nearly as 
 he could the same position in the cottage at Saint Leonard's which 
 he had so long and so regularly occupied at Woodend. He was no 
 sooner, however, seated, than with an unusual exertion of his 
 powers of conversation, he added, "Jeanie— I say, Jeanie, woman" 
 —here he extended his hand towards her shoulder with all the 
 fingers spread out as if to clutch it, but in so bashful and awkward 
 a manner, that when she whisked herself beyond its reach, the paw 
 remained suspended in the air with the palm open, like the claw of 
 a heraldic griffin—" Jeanie," continued the swain, in this moment of 
 inspiration, — " I say, Jeanie, it's a braw day out-by, and the roads 
 are no that ill for boot-hose." 
 
 " The deil's in the daidling body," muttered Jeanie between her 
 teeth ; " wha wad hae thoucht o' his daikering out this length ? " 
 And she afterwards confessed that she threw a little of this un- 
 gracious sentiment into her accent and manner ; for her father 
 being abroad, and the "body," as she irreverently termed the 
 landed proprietor, " looking unco gleg and canty, she didna ken 
 what he might be coming out wi' next." 
 
 Her frowns, however, acted as a complete sedative,* and the 
 Laird relapsed from that day into his former taciturn habits, visiting 
 the cowfeeder's cottage three or four times every week, when the 
 weather permitted, with apparently no other purpose than to stare 
 at Jeanie Deans, while Douce Davie poured forth his eloquence • 
 upon the controversies and testimonies of the day. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Her air, her manners, all who saw admired, 
 Courteous, though coy, and gentle, though retired ; 
 The joy of youth and health her eyes display'd, 
 And ease of heart her every look convey'd. 
 
 Crabbe. 
 
 The visits of the Laird thus again sunk into matters of ordinary 
 course, from which nothing was to be expected or apprehended. 
 If a lover could have gained a fair one as a snake is said to 
 fascinate a bird, by pertinaciously gazing on her with great stupid 
 greenish eyes, which began now to be occasionally aided by 
 spectacles, unquestionably Dumbiedikes would have been the 
 person to perform the feat. But the art of fascination seems 
 among the artes perdita, and I cannot learn that this most perti- 
 nacious of starers produced any effect by his attentions beyond an 
 occasional yawn. 
 
 In the meanwhile, the object of his gaze was gradually attaining 
 the verge of youth, and approaching to what is called in females 
 the middle age, which is impolitely held to begin a few years earlier 
 with their more fragile sex than with men. Many people would 
 have been of opinion, that the Laird would have done better to 
 
I 
 
 s 3 
 
 E Mir fi 
 
 ■B''..?' ' 
 
 ■fa 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 83 
 
 have transferred his glances to an object possessed of tar superior ' 
 charms to Jeanie's, even when Jeanie's were in their bloom, who 
 began now to be distinguished by all who visited the cottage at 
 St. Leonard's Crags. 
 
 Effie Deans, under the tender and affectionate care of her sister, 
 had now shot up into a beautiful and blooming girl. Her Grecian- 
 shaped head was profusely rich in waving ringlets of brown hair, 
 which, confined by a blue snood of silk, and shading a laughing 
 Hebe countenance, seemed the picture of health, pleasure, and 
 contentment. Her brown russet short-gown set off a shape, which 
 time, perhaps, might be expected to render too robust, the frequent 
 objection to Scottish beauty, but which, in her present early age, 
 •was slender and taper, with that graceful and easy sweep of outline 
 which at once indicates health and beautiful proportion of parts. 
 
 These growing charms, in all their juvenile profusion, had no 
 power to shake the steadfast mind, or divert the fixed gaze, of the 
 constant Laird of Dumbiedikes. But there was scarce another eye 
 that could behold this living picture of health and beauty, without 
 pausing on it with pleasure. The traveller stopped his weary horse 
 on the eve of entering the city which was the end of his journey, 
 to gaze at the sylph-like form that tripped by him, with her milk- 
 pail poised on her head, bearing herself so erect, and stepping so 
 light and free under her burden, that it seemed rather an ornament 
 than an encumbrance. The lads of the neighbouring suburb, who 
 held their evening rendezvous for putting the stone, casting the 
 hammer, playing at long bowls, and other athletic exercises, 
 watched the motions of Effie Deans, and contended with each 
 other which should have the good fortune to attract her attention. 
 Even the rigid Presbyterians of her father's persuasion, who held 
 each indulgence of the eye and sense to be a snare at least, if not 
 a crime, were surprised into a moment's delight while gazing on a 
 creature so exquisite, — instantly checked by a sigh, reproaching at 
 once their own weakness, and mourning that a creature so fair 
 should share in the common and hereditary guilt and imperfection 
 of our nature. She was currently entitled the Lily of St.. 
 Leonard's, a name which she deserved as much by her guileless 
 purity of thought, speech, and action, as by her uncommon loveli- 
 ness of face and person. 
 
 Yet there were points in Effie's character, which gave rise not 
 only to strange doubt and anxiety on the part of Douce David 
 Deans, whose ideas were rigid, as may easily be supposed, upon 
 the subject of youthful amusements, but even of serious apprehen- 
 sion to her more indulgent sister. The children of the Scotch of 
 the inferior classes are usually spoiled by the early indulgence of 
 their parents ; how, wherefore, and to what degree, the lively and 
 instructive narrative of the amiable and accomplished authoress of 
 " Glenburnie "* has saved me and all future scribblers the trouble 
 of recording. Effie had had a double share of this inconsiderate 
 and misjudged kindness. Even the strictness of her father's prin- 
 ciples could not condemn the sports of infancy and childhood ; 
 and to the good old man, his younger daughter, the child of his 
 
 b a 
 
84 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 old age, seemed a child for some years after she attained the years 
 of womanhood, was still called the " bit lassie," and " little Effie," 
 and was permitted to run up and down uncontrolled, unless upon 
 the Sabbath, or at the times of family worship. Her sister, with 
 all the love and care of a mother, could not be supposed to 
 possess the same authoritative influence ; and that which she had 
 hitherto exercised became gradually limited and diminished as 
 Erne's advancing years entitled her, in her own conceit at least, to 
 the right of independence and free agency. With all the innocence 
 and goodness of disposition, therefore, which we have described, 
 the Lily of St. Leonard's possessed a little fund of self-conceit 
 and obstinacy, and some warmth and irritability of temper, partly 
 natural perhaps, but certainly much increased by the unrestrained 
 freedom of her childhood. Her character will be best illustrated 
 by a cottage evening scene. 
 
 The careful father was absent in his well-stocked byre, foddering 
 those useful and patient animals on whose produce his living 
 depended, and the summer evening was beginning to close in, 
 when Jeanie Deans began to be very anxious for the appearance 
 of her sister, and to fear that she would not reach home before 
 her father returned from the labour of the evening, when it was 
 his custom to have "family exercise," and when she knew that 
 Erne's absence would give him the most serious displeasure. 
 These apprehensions hung heavier upon her mind, because, for 
 several preceding evenings, Effie had disappeared about the same 
 time, and her stay, at first so brief as scarce to be_ noticed, had 
 been gradually protracted to half an hour, and an hour, and on the 
 present occasion had considerably exceeded even this last limit. 
 And now, Jeanie stood at the door, with her hand before her eyes 
 to avoid the rays of the level sun, and looked alternately along the 
 various tracks which led towards their dwelling, to see if she 
 could descry the nymph-like form of her sister. There waj a 
 wall and a stile which separated the royal domain, or King's 
 Park, as it is called, from the public road ; to this pass she fre- 
 quently directed her attention, 'when she saw two persons appear 
 there somewhat suddenly, as if they had walked close by the side 
 of the wall to screen themselves from observation. One of them, 
 a man, drew back hastily ; the other, a female, crossed the stile, 
 and advanced towards her — It was Effie. She met her sister with 
 that affected liveliness of manner, which, in her rank, and some- 
 times in those above it, females occasionally assume to hide sur- 
 prise or confusion ; and she carolled as she came — 
 
 " The elfin knight sat on the brae, 
 
 The broom grows bonny, the broom grows fair ; 
 
 And by tt "Ye came lilting a lady so gay, 
 
 And we t>urna gang down to the broom nae mair." 
 
 " Whisht, Effie,'' said her sister ; " our father's coming out o' the 
 byre."— The damsel stinted in her song. — " Whare hae ye been sae 
 late at e'en ? " 
 
 " It's no late, lass," answered Effie. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 85 
 
 " It's chappit eight on every clock o' the toun, and the sun's 
 gaun doun ahint the Corstorphine hills — Whare can ye hae been 
 sae late ? " 
 
 "Nae gate,'' answered Effie. 
 
 " And wha was that parted wi' you at the stile ? " 
 
 " Naebody," replied Effie, once more. 
 
 " Nae gate ? — Naebody ? — I wish it may be a richt gate, and a 
 richt body, that keeps folk out sae late at e'en, Effie." 
 
 "What needs ye be aye speering then at folk?" retorted Effie. 
 " I'm sure, if ye'll ask nae questions, I'll tell ye nae lees. I never 
 ask what brings the Laird of Dumbiedikes glowering here like a 
 wull-cat, (only his een's greener, and no sae gleg,) day after day, 
 till we are a' like to gaunt our chafts aff." 
 
 " Because ye ken very weel he comes to see our father," said 
 Jeanie, in answer to this pert remark. 
 
 " And Dominie Butler — Does he come to see our father, that's 
 sae ta'en wi' his Latin words?" said Effie, delighted to find that, by 
 carrying the war into the enemy's country, she could divert the 
 threatened attack upon herself, and with the petulance of youth she 
 pursued her triumph over her prudent elder sister. She looked at 
 her with a sly air, in which there was something like irony, as she 
 chanted, in a low but marked tone, a scrap of an old Scotch song — 
 
 " Through the kirkyard * 
 
 I met wi' the Laird, 
 
 The silly puir body he said me nae harm ; 
 But just ere 'twas dark 
 I met wi' the clerk" 
 
 Here the songstress stopped, looked full at her sister, and, ob- 
 serving the tear gather in her eyes, she suddenly flung her arms 
 round her neck, and kissed them away. Jeanie, though hurt and 
 displeased, was unable to resist the caresses of this untaught child 
 of nature, whose good and evil seemed to flow rather from impulse 
 than from reflection. But as she returned the sisterly kiss in token 
 of perfect reconciliation, she could not suppress the gentle reproof 
 — " Effie, if ye will learn fule sangs, ye micht mak a kinder use o' 
 them." 
 
 " And so I micht, Jeanie," continued the girl, clinging to her 
 sister's neck ; " and I wish I had never learned ane o' them — and 
 I wish we had never come here — and I wish my tongue had been 
 blistered or I had vexed ye." 
 
 " Never mind that, Effie," replied the affectionate sister ; " I 
 canna be muckle vexed wi' onything ye say to me — but O dinna 
 vex our father ! " 
 
 " I will not — I will not," replied Effie ; " and if there were as 
 mony dances the morn's nicht as there are merry dancers in the 
 north firmament on a frosty e'en, I winna budge an inch to gang 
 near ane o' them." 
 
 " Dance ! " echoed Jeanie Deans in astonishment. " O, Effie, 
 what could take ye to a dance ?" 
 
 It is very possible, that, in the communicative mood into which 
 
S6 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 the Lily of St. Leonard's was now surprised, she might have given 
 her sister her unreserved confidence, and saved me the pain of 
 telling a melancholy tale ; but at the moment the word dance was 
 uttered, it reached the ear of old David Deans, who had turned the 
 corner of the house, and came upon his daughters ere they were 
 aware of his presence. The word prelate, or even the word pope, 
 could hardly have produced so appalling an effect upon David's 
 ear ; for, of all exercises, that of dancing, which he termed a volun- 
 tary and regular fit of distraction, he deemed most destructive of 
 serious thoughts, and the readiest inlet to all sort of licentiousness ; 
 and he accounted the encouraging, and even permitting, assemblies 
 or meetings, whether among those of high or low degree, for this 
 fantastic and absurd purpose, or for that of dramatic representa- 
 tions, as one of the most flagrant proofs of defection and causes of 
 wrath. The pronouncing of the word dance by his own daughters, 
 and at his own door, now drove him beyond the verge of patience. 
 " Dance !" he exclaimed. " Dance ! — dance, said ye? I daur ye, 
 •limmers that ye are, to name sic a word at my door-cheek ! It's a 
 dissohrte profane pastime, practised by the Israelites only at their 
 base and brutal worship of the Golden Calf at Bethel, and by the un- 
 happy lass wha danced aif the head of John the Baptist, upon whilk 
 chapter I will exercise this nicht for your farther instruction, since 
 ye need it sae muckle, nothing doubting that she has cause to rue' 
 the day, lang or this time, that e'er she suld hae shook a limb on sic 
 an errand. Better for her to hae been born a cripple, and carried frae 
 door to door, like auld Bessie Bowie, begging bawbees, than to be a 
 king's daughter, fiddling and flinging the gate she did. I hae often 
 wondered that ony ane that ever bent a knee for the richt purpose, 
 should ever daur to crook a hough to fyke and fling at piper's wind 
 and fiddler's squealing. And I bless God, (with that singular 
 worthy, Peter Walker the packman at Bristo-Port,*) that ordered 
 my lot in my dancing days, so that fear of my head and throat, 
 dread of bloody rope and swift bullet, and trenchant swords and 
 pain of boots and thumkins, cauld and hunger, wetness and weari- 
 ness, stopped the lichtness of my head, and the wantonness of my 
 feet. And now, if I hear ye, quean lassies, sae muckle as name 
 dancing, or think there's sic a thing in this warld as flinging to 
 fiddler's sounds and piper's springs, as sure as my father's spirit is 
 with the just, ye shall be no more either charge, or concern o' mine ! 
 Gang in, then — gang in, then, hinnies," he added, in a softer tone, 
 for the tears of both daughters, but especially those of Effie, began 
 to flow very fast, — " Gang in, dears, and we'll seek grace to pre- 
 serve us frae all manner of profane folly, whilk causeth to sin, and 
 promoteth the kingdom of darkness, warring with the kingdom of 
 light." 
 
 The objurgation of David Deans, however well meant, was un- 
 happily timed. It created a division of feelings in Erne's bosom, 
 and deterred her from her intended confidence in her sister. " She 
 wad haud me nae better than the dirt below her feet," said Effie to 
 herself, "were I to confess I hae danced wi' him four times on the 
 green down by, and ance at Maggie Macqueen's ; and she'll mavbe 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 87 
 
 hing it ower my head that she'll tell my father, and then she wad be 
 mistress and mair. But I'll no gang back there again. I'm resolved 
 711 no gang back. I'll lay in a leaf o' my Bible,* and that's very 
 near as if I had made an aith, that I winna gang back." And she 
 kept her vow for a week, during which she was unusually cross and 
 fretful, blemishes which had never before been observed in her 
 temper, except during a moment of contradiction. 
 
 There was something in all this so mysterious as considerably to 
 alarm the prudent and affectionate Jeanie, the more so as she 
 judged it unkind to her sister to mention to their father grounds of 
 anxiety which might arise from her own imagination. Besides, her 
 respect for the good old man did not prevent her from being aware 
 that he was both hot-tempered and positive, and she sometimes 
 suspected that he carried his dislike to youthful amusements beyond 
 the verge that religion and reason demanded. Jeanie had sense 
 enough to see that a sudden and severe curb upon her sister's 
 hitherto unrestrained freedom might be rather productive of 
 harm than good, and that Erne, in the headstrong wilfulness of 
 youth, was likely to make what might be overstrained in her 
 father's precepts an excuse to herself for neglecting them altogether. 
 In the higher classes, a damsel, however giddy, is still under the 
 dominion of etiquette, and subject to the surveillance of mammas 
 and chaperons ; but the country girl, who snatches her moment of 
 gaiety during the intervals of labour, is under no such guardianship 
 or restraint, and her amusement becomes so much the more 
 hazardous. Jeanie saw all this with much distress of mind, when 
 a circumstance occurred which appeared calculated to relieve her 
 anxiety. 
 
 Mrs. Saddletree, with whom our readers have already been made 
 acquainted, chanced to be a distant relation of Douce David Deans, 
 and as she was a woman orderly in her life and conversation, and, 
 moreover, of good substance, a sort of acquaintance was formally 
 kept up between the families. Now, this careful dame, about a 
 year and a half before our story commences, chanced to need, in 
 the line of her profession, a better sort of servant, or rather shop- 
 woman. " Mr. Saddletree," she said, " was never in the shop when 
 he could get his nose within the Parliament House, and it was an 
 awkward thing for a woman-bddy to be standing among bundles o' 
 barkened leather her lane, selling saddles and'bridles ; and she had 
 cast her eyes upon her far-awa cousin Effie Deans, as just the very 
 sort of lassie she would want to keep her in countenance on such 
 occasions." 
 
 In this proposal there was much that pleased old David, — there 
 was bed, board, and bountith — it was a decent situation — trie lassie 
 would be under Mrs. Saddletree's eye, who had an upright walk, 
 and lived close by the Tolbooth Kirk, in which might still be heard 
 the comforting doctrines of one of those few ministers of the Kirk 
 of Scotland who had not bent the knee unto Baal, according to 
 David's expression, or become accessory to the course of national 
 defections, — union, toleration, patronages, and a bundle of prelatical 
 Erastian oaths which had been imposed on the church since the 
 
88 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 Revolution, and particularly in the reign of " the late woman," (as 
 he called Queen Anne,) the last of that unhappy race of Stewarts. 
 In the good man's security concerning the soundness of the theo- 
 logical doctrine which his daughter was to hear, he was nothing 
 disturbed on account of the snares of a different kind, to which a 
 creature so beautiful, .young, and wilful, might be exposed in the 
 centre of a populous and corrupted city. The fact is, that he 
 thought with so much horror on all approaches to irregularities of 
 the nature most to be dreaded in such cases, that he would as soon 
 have suspected and guarded against Effie's being induced to become 
 guilty of the crime of murder. He only regretted that she should 
 live under the same roof with such a worldly-wise man as Bartoline 
 Saddletree, whom David never suspected as being an ass as he was, 
 but considered as one really endowed with all the legal knowledge 
 to which he made pretension, and only liked him the worse for 
 possessing it. The lawyers, especially those amongst them who . 
 sat as ruling elders in the General Assembly of the Kirk, had been 
 forward in promoting the measures of patronage, of the abjuration 
 oath, and others, which, in the opinion of David Deans, were a 
 breaking down of the carved work of the sanctuary, and an intru- 
 sion upon the liberties of the kirk. Upon the dangers of listening 
 to the doctrines of a legalized formalist, such as Saddletree, David 
 gave his daughter many lectures ; so much so, that he had time to 
 touch but slightly on the dangers of chambering, company-keeping, 
 and promiscuous dancing, to which, at her time of life, most people 
 would have thought Effie more exposed, than to the risk of theo- 
 retical error in her religious faith. 
 
 Jeanie parted from her sister, with a mixed feeling of regret, and 
 apprehension, and hope. She could not be so confident concerning 
 Effie's prudence as her father, for she had observed, her more 
 narrowly, had more sympathy with her feelings, and could better 
 estimate the temptations to which she was exposed. On the other 
 hand, Mrs. Saddletree was an observing, shrewd, notable woman, 
 entitled to exercise over Effie the full authority of a mistress, and 
 likely to do so strictly, yet with kindness. Her removal to Saddle- 
 tree's, it was most probable, would also serve to break off some idle 
 acquaintances, which Jeanie suspected her sister to have formed in 
 the neighbouring suburb. Upon the whole, then, she viewed her 
 departure from Saint Leonard's with pleasure, and it was not until 
 the very moment of their parting for the first time in their lives, 
 that she felt the full force of sisterly sorrow. While they repeatedly 
 kissed each other's cheeks and wrung each other's hands, Jeanie 
 took that moment of affectionate sympathy, to press upon her sister 
 the necessity of the utmost caution in her conduct while residing in 
 .Edinburgh. Effie listened, without once raising her large dark 
 eyelashes, from which the drops fell so fast as almost to resemble a 
 fountain. At the conclusion she sobbed again, kissed her sister, 
 promised to recollect all the good counsel she had given her, and 
 they parted. 
 
 During the first few weeks, Effie was all that her kinswoman ex- 
 pected, and even more. But with time there came a relaxation of 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 89 
 
 that early zeal which she manifested in Mrs. Saddletree's service. 
 To borrow once again from the poet, who so correctly and beauti- 
 fully describes living manners, — 
 
 " Something there was, — what, none presumed to say, — 
 Clouds lightly passing on a summer's day ; 
 Whispers and hints, which went from ear to ear, 
 And mix'd reports no judge on earth could clear." 
 
 During this interval, Mrs. Saddletree was sometimes displeased by 
 Erne's lingering when she was sent upon errands about the shop 
 business, and sometimes by a little degree of impatience which she 
 manifested at being rebuked on such occasions. But she good- 
 naturedly allowed, that the first was very natural to a girl to whom 
 everything in Edinburgh was new, and the other was only the 
 petulance of a spoiled child, when subjected to the yoke of domestic 
 discipline for the first time. Attention and submission could not 
 be learned at once — Holy-Rood was not built in a clay — use would 
 make perfect. 
 
 It seemed as if the considerate old lady had presaged truly. 
 Ere many months had passed, Effie became almost wedded to her 
 duties, though she no longer discharged them with the laughing 
 cheek and light step, which at first had attracted every customer. 
 Her mistress sometimes observed her in tears, but they were signs 
 of secret sorrow, which she concealed as often as she saw them 
 attract notice. Time wore on, her cheek grew pale, and her step 
 heavy. The cause of these changes could not have escaped the 
 matronly eye of Mrs. Saddletree, but she was chiefly confined by 
 indisposition to her bedroom for a considerable time during the 
 latter part of Erne's service. This interval was marked by symp- 
 toms of anguish almost amounting to despair. The utmost efforts 
 of the poor girl to command her fits of hysterical agony were often 
 totally unavailing, and the mistakes which she made in the shop 
 the while were so numerous and so provoking, that Bartoline Sad- 
 dletree, who, during his wife's illness, was obliged to take closer 
 charge of the business than consisted with his study of the weightier 
 matters of the law, lost all patience with the girl, who, in his law 
 Latin, and without much respect to gender, he declared ought to 
 be cognosced by inquest of a jury, asfatuus, ficriosus, and natu- 
 raliter idiota. Neighbours, also, and fellow-servants, remarked 
 with malicious curiosity or degrading pity, the disfigured shape, 
 loose dress, and pale cheeks, of the once beautiful and still inte- 
 resting girl. But to no one would she grant her confidence, an- 
 swering all taunts with bitter sarcasm, and all serious expostulation 
 with sullen denial or with floods of tears. 
 
 At length, when Mrs. Saddletree's recovery was likely to permit 
 her wonted attention to the regulation of her household, Effie 
 Deans, as if unwilling to face an investigation made by the autho- 
 rity of her mistress, asked permission of Bartoline to go home for 
 a week or two, assigning indisposition, and the wish of trying the 
 benefit of repose and the change of air, as the motives of her re- 
 quest. Sharp-eyed as a lynx (or conceiving himself ,to be so) in 
 
90 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 the nice sharp quillits of legal discussion, Bartoline was as dull at 
 drawing inferences from the occurrences of common life as any 
 Dutch professor of mathematics. He suffered Erne to depart with- 
 out much suspicion, and without any inquiry. 
 
 It was afterwards found that a period of a week intervened be- 
 twixt her leaving her master's house and arriving at St. Leonard's. 
 She made her appearance before her sister in a state rather resem- 
 bling the spectre than the living substance of the gay and beau- 
 tiful girl who had left her father's cottage for the first time scarce 
 seventeen months before. The lingering illness of her mistress 
 had, for the last few months, given her a plea for confining herself 
 entirely to the dusky precincts of the shop in the Lawnmarket, 
 and Jeanie was so much occupied, during the same period, with 
 the concerns of her father's household, that she had rarely found 
 leisure for a walk into the city, and a brief and hurried visit to her 
 sister. The young women, therefore, had scarcely seen each other 
 for several months, nor had a single scandalous surmise reached 
 the ears of the secluded inhabitants of the cottage at St. Leonard's. 
 Jeanie, therefore, terrified to death at her sister's appearance, at 
 first overwhelmed her with inquiries, to which the unfortunate 
 young woman returned for a time incoherent and rambling an- 
 swers, and finally fell into a hysterical fit. Rendered too certain 
 of her sister's misfortune, Jeanie had now the dreadful alternative 
 of communicating her ruin to her father, or of endeavouring to 
 conceal it from him. To all questions concerning the name or 
 rank of her seducer, and the fate of the being to whom her fall 
 had given birth, Efne remained mute as the grave, to which she 
 seemed hastening ; and indeed the least allusion to either seemed 
 to drive her to distraction. Her sister, in distress and in despair, 
 was about to repair to Mrs. Saddletree to consult her experience, 
 and at the same time to obtain what lights she could upon this most 
 unhappy affair, when she was saved that trouble by a new stroke 
 of fate, which seemed to carry misfortune to the uttermost. 
 
 David Deans had been alarmed at the state of health in which 
 his daughter, had returned to her paternal residence ; but Jeanie 
 had contrived to divert him from particular and specific inquiry. 
 It was, therefore, like a clap of thunder to the poor old man, when, 
 just as the hour of noon had brought the visit of the Laird of 
 Dumbiedikes as usual, other and sterner as well as most unex- 
 pected guests arrived at the cottage of St. Leonard's. These were 
 the officers of justice, with a warrant of justiciary to search for and 
 apprehend Euphemia, or Efne, Deans, accused of the crime of 
 child-murder. The stunning weight of a blow- so totally unex- 
 pected, bore down the old man, who had in his early youth resisted 
 the brow of military and civil tyranny, though backed with swords 
 and guns, tortures and gibbets. He fell extended and senseless 
 upon his own hearth ; and the men, happy to escape from the scene 
 of his awakening, raised, with, rude humanity, the object of their 
 warrant from her bed, and placed her in a coach, which they had 
 brought with them. The hasty remedies which Jeanie had applied 
 to bring back her father's senses were scarce begun to operate, 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 91 
 
 when the noise of the wheels in motion recalled her attention to 
 her miserable sister. To run shrieking after the carriage was the 
 first vain effort of her distraction, but she was stopped by one or 
 two female neighbours, assembled by the extraordinary appearance 
 of a coach in that sequestered place, who almost forced her back 
 to her father's house. The deep and sympathetic affliction of these 
 poor people, by whom the little family at St. Leonard's were held 
 in high regard, filled the house with lamentation. Even Dumbie- 
 dikes was moved from his wonted apathy, and, groping for his 
 purse as he spoke, ejaculated, " Jeanie, woman ! — Jeanie, woman ! 
 dinna greet — it's sad wark, but siller will help it;" and he drew out 
 his purse as he spoke. 
 
 The old man had now raised himself from the ground, and, looking 
 about him as if he missed something, seemed gradually to recover 
 the sense of his wretchedness. " Where," he said, with a voice 
 that made the roof ring, " where is the vile harlot, that has dis- 
 graced the blood of an honest man ? — Where is she that has no 
 place among us, but has come foul with her sins, like the Evil One, 
 among the children of God ? — Where is she, Jeanie ? — Bring her 
 before me, that I may kill her with a word and a look ! " 
 
 All. hastened around him with their appropriate sources of con- 
 solation — the Laird with his purse, Jeanie with burnt feathers and 
 strong waters, and the women with their exhortations. " O neigh- 
 bour-^O Mr. Deans, it's a. sair trial, doubtless — but think of the 
 Rock of Ages, neighbour— think of the promise ! " 
 
 " And 1 do think of it, neighbours — and I bless God that I can 
 think of it, even in the wrack and ruin of a' that's nearest and 
 dearest to me — But to be the father of a cast-away — a profligate — • 
 a bloody Zipporah— a mere murderess ! — O, how will the wicked 
 exult in the high places of their wickedness ! — the prelatists, and 
 the latitudinarians, and the hand-waled murderers, whose hands 
 are hard as horn wi' hauding the slaughter-weapons — they will 
 push out the lip, and say that we are even such as themselves. 
 Sair, sair I am grieved, neighbours, for the poor cast-away — for 
 the child of mine old age — but sairer for the stumbling-block and 
 scandal it will be to all tender and honest souls ! " 
 
 "Davie — winna siller do't?" insinuated the laird*, still proffering 
 his green purse, which was full of guineas. 
 
 " I tell ye, Dumbiedikes," said Deans, " that if telling down my 
 haill substance could hae saved her frae this black snare, I wad 
 hae walked out wi' naething but my bonnet and my staff to beg an 
 awmous for God's sake, and ca'd mysell an happy man — But if a 
 dollar, or a plack, or the nineteenth part of a boddle, wad save her 
 open guilt and open shame frae open punishment, that purchase 
 wad Davie Deans never make ! — Na, na ; an eye for an eye, a 
 tooth for a tooth, life for life, blood for blood — it's the law of man, 
 and it's the law of God. — Leave me, sirs — leave me — I maun 
 warstle wi' this trial in privacy and on my knees." 
 
 Jeanie, now in some degree restored to the power of thought,' 
 joined in the same request. The next day found the father and 
 daughter still in the depth of affliction, but the father sternly sup- 
 
q 2 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 porting his load of ill through a proud sense of religious duty, and 
 the daughter anxiously suppressing her own feelings to avoid again 
 awakening his. Thus was it with the afflicted family until the 
 morning after Porteous's death, a period at which we are now 
 arrived. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Is all the counsel that we two have shared, 
 The sister's vows, the hours that we have spent 
 When we have chid the hasty-footed time 
 For parting us — Oh ! and is all forgot ? 
 
 Midsummer Nights Dream. 
 
 We have been a long while in conducting Butler to the door of 
 the cottage at St. Leonard's ; yet the space which we have occu- 
 pied in the preceding narrative does not exceed in length that 
 which he actually spent on Salisbury Crags on the morning which 
 succeeded the execution done upon Porteous by the rioters. For 
 this delay he had his own motives. He wished to collect his 
 thoughts, strangely agitated as they were, first by the melancholy 
 news of Effie Deans's situation, and afterwards by the frightful 
 scene which he had witnessed. In the situation also in which he 
 stood with respect to Jeanie and her father, some ceremony, at 
 least some choice of fitting time and season, was necessary to wait 
 upon them. Eight in the morning was then the ordinary hour for 
 breakfast; and he resolved that it should arrive before he made his 
 appearance in their cottage. 
 
 Never did hours pass so heavily. Butler shifted his place, and 
 enlarged his circle to while away the time, and heard the huge bell 
 of St. Giles's toll each successive hour in swelling tones, which 
 were instantly attested by those of the other steeples in succession. 
 He had heard seven struck in this manner, when he began to 
 think he might venture to approach nearer to St. Leonard's, from 
 which he was still a mile distant. Accordingly he descended from 
 his lofty station as low as the bottom of the valley which divides 
 Salisbury Crags from those small rocks which take their name from 
 Saint Leonard. It is, as many of my readers may know, a deep, 
 wild, grassy valley, scattered with huge rocks and fragments which « 
 have descended from the cliffs and steep ascent to the east. 
 
 This sequestered dell, as well as other places of the open pastu- 
 rage of the King's Park, was, about this time, often the resort of 
 the gallants of the time who had affairs of honour to discuss with 
 the sword. Duels were then very common in Scotland, for the 
 gentry were at once idle, haughty, fierce, divided by faction, and 
 addicted to intemperance, so that there lacked neither provocation, 
 nor inclination to resent it when given ; and the sword, which was 
 part of every gentleman's dress, was the only weapon used for the de- 
 cision of such differences. When, therefore, Butler observed a young 
 man, skulking, apparently to avoid observation, among the scattered 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 93 
 
 rocks at some distance from the footpath, he was naturally led to sup- 
 pose that he had sought this lonely spot upon that evil errand. He 
 was so strongly impressed with this, that, notwithstanding his own 
 distress of mind, he could not, according to his sense of duty as a 
 clergyman, pass this person without speaking to him. There are 
 times, thought he to himself, when the slightest interference may 
 avert a great calamity — when a word spoken in season may do 
 more for prevention than the eloquence of Tully could do for re- 
 medying evil — And for my own griefs, be they as they may, I shall 
 feel them the lighter, if they divert me not from the prosecution of 
 my duty. 
 
 Thus thinking and feeling, he quitted the ordinary path, and 
 advanced nearer the object he had noticed. The man at first 
 directed his course towards the hill, in order, as it appeared to 
 avoid him ; but when he saw that Butler seemed disposed to follow 
 him, he adjusted his hat fiercely, turned round, and came forward, 
 as if to meet and defy scrutiny. 
 
 Butler had an opportunity of accurately studying his features as 
 they advanced slowly to meet each other. The stranger seemed 
 about twenty-five years old. His dress was of a kind which could 
 hardly be said to indicate his rank "with certainty, for it was such 
 as young gentlemen sometimes wore while on active exercise in the 
 morning, and which, therefore, was imitated by those of the inferior 
 ranks, as young clerks and tradesmen, because its cheapness ren- 
 dered it attainable, while it approached more nearly to the apparel 
 of youths of fashion than any other which the manners of the times 
 permitted them to wear. If his air and manner could be trusted, 
 however, this person seemed rather to be dressed under than above 
 his rank ; for his carriage was bold and somewhat supercilious, 
 his step easy and free, his manner daring and unconstrained. His 
 stature was of the middle size, or rather above it, his limbs well- 
 proportioned, yet not so strong as to infer the reproach of clumsi- 
 ness. His features were uncommonly handsome, and all about 
 him would have been interesting and prepossessing, but for that 
 indescribable expression which habitual dissipation gives to the 
 countenance, joined with a certain audacity in look and manner, 
 of that kind which is often assumed as a mask for confusion and 
 apprehension. 
 
 Butler and the stranger met — surveyed each other — when, as the 
 latter, slightly touching his hat, was about to pass by him, Butler, 
 while he returned the salutation, observed, " A fine morning, sir — 
 You are on the hill early." 
 
 " I have business here," said the young man, in a tone meant to 
 repress farther inquiry. 
 
 " I do not doubt it, sir," said Butler. " I trust you will forgive 
 my hoping that it is of a lawful kind ? " 
 
 " Sir," said the other, with marked surprise, " I never forgive im- 
 .-.pertinence, nor can I conceive what title you have to hope any- 
 thing about what no way concerns you." 
 
 " I am a soldier, sir," said Butler, "and have a charge to arrest 
 evil-doers in the name of my Master." 
 
94 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 " A soldier ! " said the young man, stepping back, and fiercely 
 laying his hand on his sword—" A soldier, and arrest me ! Did you 
 reckon what your life was worth, before you took the commission 
 upon vou ? " 
 
 " You mistake me, sir," said Butler gravely ; " neither my warfare 
 nor my warrant are of this world. I am a preacher of the gospel, 
 and have power, in my Master's name, to command the peace 
 upon earth and good- will towards men, which was proclaimed with 
 the gospel." 
 
 " A minister ! " said the stranger, carelessly, and wich an expres- 
 sion approaching to scorn. " I know the gentlemen of your cloth 
 in Scotland claim a strange right of intermeddling with men's private 
 affairs. But I have been abroad, and know better than to be priest- 
 ridden." 
 
 " Sir, if it be true that any of my cloth, or, it might be more de- 
 cently said, of my calling, interfere with men's private affairs, for 
 the gratification either of idle curiosity, or for worse motives, you 
 cannot have learned a better lesson abroad than to contemn such 
 practices. But, in my Master's work, I am called to be busy in 
 season and out of season ; and, conscious as I am of a pure motive, 
 it were better for me to incur your contempt for speaking, than the 
 correction of my own conscience for being silent." 
 
 " In the name of the devil ! " said the young man impatiently, 
 " say what you have to say, then ; though whom you take me for, 
 or what earthly concern you have with me, a stranger to you, or 
 v/ith my actions and motives, of which you can know nothing, I can- 
 not conjecture for an instant." 
 
 " You are about," said Butler, " to violate one of your country's 
 wisest laws — you are about, which is much more dreadful, to violate 
 a law, which God himself has implanted within our nature, and 
 written, as it were, in the table of our hearts, to which every thrill of 
 our nerves is responsive." 
 
 "And what is the law you speak of? " said the stranger, in a hol- 
 low and somewhat disturbed accent. 
 
 " Thou shalt do no murder," said Butler, with a deep and solemn 
 voice. 
 
 The young man visibly started, and looked considerably appalled. 
 Butler perceived he had made a favourable impression, and resolved 
 to follow it up. " Think," he said, " young man," laying his hand 
 kindly upon the stranger's shoulder, " what an awful alternative 
 you voluntarily choose for yourself, to kill or be killed. Think what 
 it is to rush uncalled into the presertce of an offended Deity, your 
 heart fermenting with evil passions, your hand hot from the steel 
 you had been urging, with your best skill and malice, against the 
 breast of a fellow-creature. Or, suppose yourself the scarce less 
 wretched survivor, with the guilt of Cain, the first murderer, in 
 your heart, with his stamp upon your brow — that stamp which 
 struck all who gazed on him with unutterable horror, and by 
 which the murderer is made manifest to all who look upon him. 
 Think " 
 
 The stranger gradually withdrew himself from under the hand of 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 95 
 
 his monitor ; and, pulling his hat over his brows, thus interrupted 
 him. " Your meaning, sir, I dare say, is excellent, but you arc 
 throwing your advice away. I am not in this place with' violent 
 intentions against any one. I may be bad enough — you priests say 
 all men are so — but I am here for the purpose of saving life, not of 
 taking it away. If you wish to spend your time rather in doing a 
 good action than in talking about you know not what, I will give 
 you an opportunity. Do you see yonder crag to the right, over 
 which appears the chimney of a lone house ? Go thither, inquire 
 for one Jeanie Deans, the daughter of the goodman ; let her know 
 that he she wots of remained here from daybreak till this hour, 
 expecting to see her, and that he can abide no longer. Tell her, 
 she must meet me at the Hunter's Bog to-night, as the moon rises 
 behind St. Anthony's Hill, or that she will make a desperate man 
 of me." 
 
 " Who, or what are you," replied Butler, exceedingly and most 
 unpleasantly surprised, " who charge me with such an errand ? " 
 
 " I am the devil ! " answered the young man hastily. 
 
 Butler stepped instinctively back, and commended himself inter- 
 nally to Heaven ; for, though a wise and strong-minded man, he 
 was neither wiser nor more strong-minded than those of his age 
 and education, with whom, to disbelieve witchcraft or spectres, was 
 held an undeniable proof of atheism. 
 
 The stranger went on without observing his emotion. "Yes ! call 
 me Apollyon, Abaddon, whatever name you shall choose, as a 
 clergyman acquainted with the upper and lower circles of spiritual 
 denomination, to call me by, you shall not find an appellation more 
 odious to him that bears it, than is mine own." 
 
 This sentence was spoken with the bitterness of self-upbraiding, 
 and a contortion of visage absolutely demoniacal. Butler, though 
 a man brave by principle, if not by constitution, was overawed ; 
 for intensity of mental distress has in it a sort of sublimity which 
 repels and overawes all men, but especially those of kind and sym- 
 pathetic dispositions. The stranger turned abruptly from Butler 
 as he spoke, but instantly returned, and, coming up to him closely 
 and boldly, said, in a fierce, determined tone, " I have told you who 
 and what I am — who, and what are you ? What is your name ? " 
 
 " Butler," answered the person to whom this abrupt question 
 was addressed, surprised into answering it by the sudden and 
 fierce manner of the querist — " Reuben Butler, a preacher of the 
 gospel." 
 
 At this answer, the stranger again plucked more deep over his 
 brows the hat which he had thrown back in his former agitation. 
 " Butler ! " he repeated, — " the assistant of the schoolmaster at 
 Libberton?" 
 
 " The same," answered Butler, composedly. 
 
 The stranger covered his face with his hand, as if on sudden re- 
 flection, and then turned away, but stopped when he had walked a 
 few paces ; and seeing Butler follow him with his eyes, called out 
 in a stern yet suppressed tone, just as if he had exactly calculated 
 that his accents should not be heard a yard beyond the spot on 
 
96 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 which Butler stood. " Go your way, and do mine errand. Do not 
 100k after me. I will neither descend through the bowels of these 
 rocks, nor vanish in a flash of fire ; and yet the eye that seeks to 
 trace my motions shall have reason to curse it was ever shrouded 
 by eyelid or .eyelash. Begone, and look not behind you. Tell 
 Jeanie Deans, that when the moon rises I shall expect to meet her 
 at Nicol Muschat's Cairn, beneath Saint Anthony's Chapel." 
 
 As he uttered these words, he turned and took the road against 
 the hill, with a haste that seemed as peremptory as his tone of 
 authority. 
 
 Dreading he knew not what of additional misery to a lot which 
 seemed little capable of receiving augmentation, and desperate at 
 the idea that any living man should dare to send so extraordinary 
 a request, couched in terms so imperious, to the half-betrothed ob- 
 ject of his early and only affection, Butler strode hastily towards 
 the cottage, in order to ascertain how far this daring and rude gal- 
 lant was actually entitled to press on Jeanie Deans a request, 
 which no prudent, and scarce any modest young woman, was likely 
 to comply with. 
 
 Butler was by nature neither jealous nor superstitious ; yet the 
 feelings which lead to those moods of the mind were rooted in his 
 heart, as a portion derived from the common stock of humanity. 
 It was maddening to think that a profligate gallant, such as the 
 manner and tone of the stranger evinced him to be, should have it 
 in his power to command forth his future bride and plighted true 
 love, at a place so improper, and an hour so unseasonable. Yet the 
 tone in which the stranger spoke had nothing of the soft half- 
 breathed voice proper to the seducer who solicits an assignation ; it 
 was bold, fierce, and imperative, and had less of love in it than of 
 menace and intimidation. 
 
 The suggestions of superstition seemed more plausible, had But- 
 ler's mind been very accessible to them. Was this indeed the 
 Roaring Lion, who goeth about seeking whom he may devour ? This 
 was a question which pressed itself on Butler's mind with an ear- 
 nestness that cannot be conceived by those who live in the present 
 day. The fiery eye, the abrupt demeanour, the occasionally harsh 
 yet studiously subdued tone of voice, — the features, handsome, but 
 now clouded with pride, now disturbed by suspicion, now inflamed 
 with passion — those dark" hazel eyes which he sometimes shaded 
 with his cap, as if he were averse to have them seen while they were 
 occupied with keenly observing the motions and bearing of others 
 — those eyes that were now turbid with melancholy, now gleaming 
 with scorn, and now sparkling with fury — was it the passions of a 
 mere mortal they expressed, or the emotions of a fiend, who seeks, 
 and seeks in vain, to conceal his fiendish designs under the bor- 
 rowed mask of manly beauty ? The whole partook of the mien, 
 language, and port of the ruined archangel ; and, imperfectly as we 
 have been able to describe it, the effect of the interview upon But- 
 ler's nerves, shaken as they were at the time by the horrors of the 
 preceding night, were greater than his understanding warranted, or 
 his pride cared to submit to. The very place where he had met this 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 97 
 
 singular person was desecrated, as it were, and unhallowed, owing 
 to many violent deaths, both in duels and by suicide, which had in 
 former times taken place there ; and the place which he had named 
 as a rendezvous at so late an hour, was held in general to be ac- 
 cursed, from a frightful and cruel murder which had been there 
 committed by the wretch from whom the place took its name, upon 
 the person of his own wife.* It was in such places, according to 
 the belief of that period, (when the laws against witchcraft were still 
 in fresh observance, and had even lately been acted upon,) that evil 
 spirits had power to make themselves visible to human eyes, and to 
 practise upon the feelings and senses of mankind. Suspicions, 
 founded on such circumstances, rushed on Butler's mind, unpre- 
 pared as it was, by any previous course of reasoning, to deny that 
 which all of his time, country, and profession believed ; but common 
 sense rejected these vain ideas as inconsistent, if not with possi- 
 bility, at least with the general rules by which the universe is 
 governed, — a deviation from which, as Butler well argued with 
 himself, ought not to be admitted as probable, upon any but the 
 plainest and most incontrovertible evidence. An earthly lover, 
 however, or a young man, who, from whatever cause, had the right 
 of exercising such summary and unceremonious authority over the 
 object of his long-settled, and apparently sincerely returned affec- 
 tion, was an object scarce less appalling to his mind, than those 
 which superstition suggested. 
 
 His limbs exhausted with fatigue, his mind harassed with 
 anxiety, and with painful doubts and recollections, Butler dragged 
 himself up the ascent from the valley to St. Leonard's crags, and 
 presented himself at the door of Deans's habitation,' with feelings 
 much akin to the miserable reflections and fears of its inhabitants. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Then she stretch'd out her lily hand, 
 And for to do her best ; 
 " Hae back thy faith and troth, Willie, 
 God gie thy soul good rest ! " 
 
 Old Ballad. 
 
 " COME in," answered the low and sweet-toned voice he loved 
 best to hear, as Butler tapped at the door of the cottage. He lifted 
 the latch, and found himself under the roof of affliction. Jeanie 
 was unable to trust herself with more than one glance towards her 
 lover, whom she now met under circumstances so agonizing to her 
 feelings, and at the same time so humbling to her honest pride. It 
 is well known, that much, both of what is good and bad in the 
 Scottish national character, arises out of the intimacy of their family 
 connections. " To be come of honest folk," that is, of people who 
 have borne a fair and unstained reputation, is an advantage as 
 highly prized among the lower Scotch, as the emphatic counterpart, 
 
9 8 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 " to be of a good family," is valued among their gentry. The worth 
 and respectability of one member of a peasant's family is always 
 accounted by themselves and others, not only a matter of honest 
 pride, but a guarantee for the good conduct of the whole. On the 
 contrary, such a melancholy stain as was now flung on one of the 
 children of Deans, extended its disgrace to all connected with him, 
 and Jeanie felt herself lowered at once, in her own eyes, and in 
 those of her lover. It was in vain that she repressed this feeling, 
 as far subordinate and too selfish to be mingled with, her sorrow 
 for her sister's calamity. Nature prevailed ; and while she shed 
 tears for her sister's distress and danger, there mingled with them 
 bitter drops of grief for her own degradation. 
 
 As Butler entered, the old man was seated by the fire with his 
 well-worn pocket Bible in his hands, the companion of the wander- 
 ings and dangers of his youth, and bequeathed to him on the scaf- 
 fold by one of those, who, in the year 1686, sealed their enthusiastic 
 principles with their blood. The sun sent its fays through a small 
 window at the old man's back, and, " shining motty through the 
 reek," to use the expression of a bard of that time and country, 
 illumined the grey hairs of the old man, and the sacred page which 
 he studied. His features, far from handsome, and rather harsh 
 and severe, had yet from their expression of habitual gravity, and 
 contempt for earthly things, an expression of stoical dignity amidst 
 their sternness. He boasted, in no small degree, the attributes 
 which Southey ascribes to the ancient Scandinavians, whom he 
 terms " t firm to inflict, and stubborn to endure." The whole formed 
 a picture, of which the lights might have been given by Rembrandt, 
 but the outline would have required the force and vigour of Michael 
 Angelo. • 
 
 Deans lifted his eye as Butler entered, and instantly withdrew it 1 
 as from an object which gave him at once surprise and sudden 
 pain. He had assumed such high ground with this carnal-witted 
 scholar, as he had in his pride termed Butler, that to meet him of 
 all men, under feelings of humiliation, aggravated his misfortune, 
 and was a consummation like that of the dying chief in the old 
 ballad — " Earl Percy sees my fall ! " 
 
 Deans raised the Bible with his left hand, so as partly to screen 
 his face, and putting back his right as far as he could, held it 
 towards Butler in that position, at the same time turning his body 
 from him, as if to prevent his seeing the working of his counte- 
 nance. Butler clasped the extended hand which had supported 
 his orphan infancy, wept over it, and in vain endeavoured to say 
 more than the words — " God comfort you — God comfort you !" 
 
 " He will — he doth, my friend," said Deans, assuming firmness 
 as he discovered the agitation of his guest ; " he doth, now, and he 
 will yet more in his own gude time. I have been ower proud of 
 my sufferings in a gude cause, Reuben, and now I am to be tried 
 with those whilk will turn my pride and glory into a reproach and 
 a hissing. How muckle better I hae thoucht mysell than them 
 that lay saft, fed sweet, and drank deep, when I was in the moss- 
 haggs and moors, wi' precious Donald Cameron, and worthy Mr. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 99 
 
 Blackadder, 'called Guess-again ; and how proud I was o' being 
 made a spectacle to men and angels, having stood on their pillory 
 at the Canongate afore I was fifteen years old, for the cause of a 
 National Covenant ? To think, Reuben, that I, wha hae been sae 
 honoured and exalted in my youth, nay, when I was but a hafflins 
 callant, and that hae borne testimony again the defections o' the 
 times yearly, monthly, daily, hourly, minutely, striving and testify- 
 ing with uplifted hand and voice, crying aloud, and sparing not, 
 against all great national snares, as the nation-wasting and church- 
 sinking abomination of union, toleration, and patronage, imposed 
 by the last woman of that unhappy race of Stewarts ; also against 
 the infringements and invasions of the just powers of eldership, 
 whereanent I uttered my paper, called, a ' Cry of an Howl in the 
 Desert,' printed at the Bow-head, and sold by all flying stationers 
 in town and country — and now " 
 
 Here he paused. It may well be supposed that Butler, though 
 not absolutely coinciding in all the good old man's ideas about 
 church government, had too much consideration and humanity to 
 interrupt him, while he reckoned up with conscious pride his "suf- 
 ferings, and the constancy of his testimony. On the contrary, 
 when he paused under the influence of the bitter recollections of 
 the moment, Butler instantly threw in his mite of encourage- 
 ment. 
 
 " You have been well known, my old and revered friend, a true 
 and tried follower of the Cross ; one who, as Saint Jerome hath it, 
 ' [per infamiam et bonam famam grassari ad ' immortalitateml 'which 
 may be freely rendered, ' who rusheth on to immortal life, through 
 bad report, and good report.' You have been one of those to whom 
 the tender and fearful souls cry during the midnight solitude — 
 ' Watchman, what of the night ? — Watchman, what of the night ? ' 
 ■ — And, assuredly, this heavy dispensation, as it comes not without 
 divine permission, so it comes not without its special commission 
 and use." 
 
 " I do receive it as such," said poor Deans, returning the grasp 
 of Butler's hand ; " and if I have not been taught to read the Scrip- 
 ture in any other tongue but my native Scottish," (even in his dis- 
 tress Butler's Latin quotation had not escaped his notice,) " I have, 
 nevertheless, so learned them, that I trust to bear even this crook 
 in my lot with submission. But, oh ! Reuben Butler, the kirk, of 
 whilk, though unworthy, I have yet been thought a polished shaft, 
 and meet to be a pillar, holding, from my youth upward, the place 
 of ruling elder — what will the lightsome and profane think of the 
 guide that cannot keep his own family from stumbling ? How will 
 they take up their song and their reproach, when they see that the- 
 children of professors are liable to as foul backsliding as the off- 
 spring of Belial ! But I will bear my cross with the comfort, that 
 whatever showed like goodness in me or mine, was but like the 
 light that shines frae creeping insects, on the brae-side, in a dark 
 nicht — it kythes bright to the ee, because all is dark around it ; 
 but when the morn comes on the mountains, it is but a puir crawl- 
 ing kail-worm after a'. And sae it shows, wi' ony rag of human 
 
 G 2 
 
loo THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 righteousness, or formal law-work, that we may pit round us to 
 cover our shame." 
 
 As he pronounced these words, the door again opened, and Mr. 
 Bartoline Saddletree entered, his three-pointed hat set far back on 
 his head, with a silk handkerchief beneath it, to keep it in that cool 
 position, his gold-headed cane in his hand, and his whole deport- 
 ment that of a wealthy burgher, who might; one day look to have a 
 share in the magistracy, if not actually to hold the curule chair 
 itself. 
 
 Rochefoucault, who has torn the veil from so many foul gangrenes 
 of the human heart, says, we find something not altogether unplea- 
 sant to us in the misfortunes of our best friends. Mr. Saddletree 
 would have been very angry had any one told him that he felt 
 pleasure in the disaster of poor Erne Deans, and the disgrace of 
 her family ; and yet there is great question whether the gratification 
 of playing the person of importance, inquiring, investigating, and 
 laying down the law on the whole affair, did not offer, to say the 
 least, full consolation for the pain which pure sympathy gave him 
 on account of his wife's kinswoman. He had now got a piece of 
 real judicial business by the end, instead of being obliged, as \ras 
 his common case, to intrude his opinion where it was neither wished 
 nor wanted ; and felt as happy in the exchange as a boy when he 
 gets his first new watch, which actually goes when wound up, and 
 has real hands and a true dial-plate. But besides this subject for 
 legal disquisition, Bartoline's brains were also overloaded with the 
 affair of Porteous, his violent death, and all its probable conse- 
 quences to the city and community. It was what the French 
 call tembarras des richesses, the confusion arising from too much 
 mental wealth. He. walked in with a consciousness of double im- 
 portance, full fraught with the superiority of one who possesses 
 more information than the company into which he enters, and who 
 feels a right to discharge his learning on them without mercy. 
 " Good-morning, Mr. Deans, — good-morrow to you, Mr. Butler, — 
 I was not aware that you were acquainted with Mr. Deans." 
 
 Butler made some slight answer ; his reasons may be readily 
 imagined for not making his connection with the family, which, in 
 his eyes, had something of tender mystery, a frequent subject of 
 conversation with indifferent persons, such as Saddletree. 
 
 The worthy burgher, in the plenitude of self-importance, now 
 sate down upon a chair, wiped his brow, collected his breath, and 
 made the first experiment of the resolved pith of his lungs, in a 
 deep and dignified sigh, resembling a groan in sound and intona- 
 tion — " Awfu' times these, neighbour Deans, awfu' times ! " 
 
 " Sinfu', shamefu', heaven-daring times," answered Deans, in a 
 lower and more subdued tone. 
 
 " For my part," continued Saddletree, swelling with importance, 
 "what between the distress of my friends, and my poor aula 
 country, ony wit that ever I had may be said to have abandoned 
 me, sae that I sometimes think myself as ignorant as if I were inter 
 rustices. Here when I arise in the morning, wi' my mind just 
 arranged touching what's to be done in puir Effie's misfortune, and 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. rii 
 
 hae gotten the haill statute at my finger-ends, the mob maun get 
 up and string Jock Porteous to a dyester's beam, and ding a' thing 
 out of my head again." 
 
 Deeply as he was distressed with his own domestic calamity, 
 Deans could not help expressing some interest in the news. Saddle- 
 tree immediately entered on details of the insurrection and its con- 
 sequences, while Butler took the occasion to seek some private 
 conversation with Jeanie Deans. She gave him the opportunity he 
 sought, by leaving the room, as if in prosecution of some part , of 
 her morning labour. Butler followed her in a few minutes, leaving 
 Deans so closely engaged by his busy visitor, that there was little 
 chance of his observing their absence. 
 
 The scene of their interview was an outer apartment, where 
 Jeanie was used to busy herself in arranging the productions of her 
 dairy. When Butler found an opportunity of stealing after her into 
 this place, he found her silent, dejected, and ready to burst into 
 tears. Instead of the active industry with which she had been 
 accustomed, even while in the act of speaking, to employ her hands 
 in some useful branch of household business, she was seated listless 
 in a corner, sinking apparently under the weight of her own 
 thoughts. Yet the instant he entered, she dried her eyes, and, with 
 the simplicity and openness of her character, immediately entered 
 on conversation. 
 
 " I am glad you have come in, Mr. Butler," said she, " for — for — 
 for I wished to tell ye, that all maun be ended between you and me 
 — it's best for baith our sakes." 
 
 "Ended !" said Butler, in surprise ; "and for what should it be 
 ended ? — I grant this is a heavy dispensation, but it lies neither at 
 your door nor mine — it's an evil of God's sending, and it must be 
 borne ; but it cannot break plighted troth, Jeanie, while they that 
 plighted their word wish to keep it." 
 
 " But, Reuben," said the young woman, looking at him affec- 
 tionately, " I ken weel that ye think mair of me than yourself; and, 
 Reuben, I can only in requital think mair of your weal than of my 
 ain. Ye are a man of spotless name, bred to God's ministry, and 
 a' men say that ye will some day rise high in the kirk, though 
 poverty keep ye doun e'en now. Poverty is a bad back-friend, 
 Reuben, and that ye ken ower weel ; but ill-fame is a waur ane, 
 and that is a truth ye sail never learn through my means." 
 
 "What do you mean?" said Butler, eagerly and impatiently; 
 " or how do you connect your sister's guilt, if guilt there be, which, 
 I trust in God, may yet be disproved, with our engagement ?— how 
 can that affect you or me ? " 
 
 " How can you ask me that, Mr. Butler ? Will this stain, d'ye 
 think, ever be forgotten, as lang as our heads are abune the grand ? 
 Will it not stick to us, and to our bairns, and to their very bairns' 
 bairns ? To hae been the child of an honest man, might hae been 
 
 saying something for me and mine ; but to be the sister of a 
 
 O my God ! " — With this exclamation her resolution failed, and she 
 burst into a passionate fit of tears. 
 
 The lover used every effort to induce her to compose herself, and 
 
102 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 at length succeeded ; but she only resumed her composure to ex- 
 press herself with the same positiveness as before. " No, Reuben, 
 I'll bring disgrace hame to nae man's hearth ; my ain distresses I 
 can bear, and I maun bear, bu^ there is nae occasion for buckling 
 them on other folk's shouthers. I will bear my load alone — the 
 back is made for the burden." 
 
 A lover is by charter wayward and suspicious ; and Jeanie's 
 readiness to renounce their engagement, under pretence of zeal for 
 his peace of mind and respectability of character, seemed to poor 
 Butler to form a portentous combination with the commission of 
 the stranger he had met with that morning. His voice faltered as 
 he asked, " whether nothing but a sense of her sister's present dis- 
 tress occasioned her to talk in that manner ? " 
 
 "And what else can do sae ? " she replied with simplicity. " Is 
 it not ten long years since we spoke together in this way ? " 
 
 " Ten years ! " said Butler. " It's a long time— sufficient, per- 
 haps for a woman to weary " 
 
 " To weary of her auld gown,'' said Jeanie, " and to wish for a 
 new ane if she likes to be brave, but not long enough to weary of a 
 friend— The eye may wish change, but the heart never." 
 " Never ! " said Reuben, — " that's a bold promise." 
 " But not more bauld than true," said Jeanie, with the same quiet 
 simplicity which attended her manner in joy and grief, in ordinary 
 affairs, and in those which most interested her feelings. 
 
 Butler paused, and looking at her fixedly—" I am charged," he 
 said, " with a message to you, Jeanie." 
 
 " Indeed ! From whom ? Or what can ony ane have to say 
 tome?" 
 
 " It is from a stranger," said Butler, affecting to speak with an 
 indifference which his voice belied — " A young man whom I met 
 this morning in the Park." 
 
 " Mercy ! " said Jeanie, eagerly ; " and what did he say ? " 
 " That he did not see you at the hour he expected, but required 
 you should meet him alone at Muschat's Cairn this night, so soon 
 as the moon rises." 
 
 " Tell him," said Jeanie, hastily, " I shall certainly come." 
 " May I ask," said Butler, his suspicions increasing at the ready 
 alacrity of the answer, " who this man is to whom you are so willing 
 to give the meeting at a place and hour so uncommon ? " 
 
 " Folk maun do muckle they have little will to do, in this world," 
 replied Jeanie. 
 
 " Granted," said her lover ; " but what compels you to this ? — 
 who is this person ? What I saw of him was not very favourable 
 — who, or what is he ? " 
 
 " I do not know ! " replied Jeanie, composedly. 
 " You do not know ! " said Butler, stepping impatiently through 
 the apartment — " You purpose to meet a young man whom you do 
 not know, at such a time, and in a place so lonely — you say you 
 are compelled to do this— and yet you say you do not know the 
 person who exercises such an influence over you ! — Jeanie, what 
 am I to think of this ? " 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 103 
 
 " Think only, Reuben, that I speak truth, as if I were to answer 
 at the last day. — I do not ken this man — I do not even ken that I 
 ever saw him ; and yet I must give him the meeting he asks— 
 there's life and death upon it." 
 
 " Will- you not tell your father, or take him with you ?" said Butler. 
 
 " I cannot," said Jeanie ; " I have no permission." 
 
 "Will you let me go with you ? I will wait in the Park till night- 
 fall, and join you when you set out." 
 
 " It is impossible," said Jeanie ; " there maunna be mortal crea- 
 ture within hearing of our conference." 
 
 " Have you considered well the nature of what you are going to 
 do ? — the time — the place — an unknown and suspicious character ? 
 ■ — Why, if he had asked to see you in this house, your father sitting 
 in the next room, and within call, at such an hour, you should have 
 refused to see him." 
 
 " My weird maim be fulfilled, Mr. Butler ; my life and my safety 
 are in God's hands, but 111 not spare to risk either of them on the 
 errand I am gaun to do." 
 
 " Then, Jeanie," said Butler, much displeased, " we must indeed 
 break short off, and bid farewell. When there can be no confi- 
 dence betwixt a man and his plighted wife on such a momentous 
 topic, it is a sign that she has no longer the regard for him that 
 makes their engagement safe and suitable." 
 
 Jeanie looked at him and sighed. " I thought," she said, " that , 
 I had brought myself to bear this parting — but — but— I did not 
 ken that we were to part in unkindness. But I am a woman and 
 you are a man — it may be different wi' you — if your mind is made 
 easier by thinking sae hardly of me, I would not ask you to think 
 otherwise." 
 
 " You are," said Butler, " what you have always been — wiser, 
 better, and less selfish in your native feelings, than I can be, with 
 all the helps philosophy can give to a Christian. — But why — why 
 will you persevere in an undertaking so desperate ? Why will you 
 not let me be your assistant — your protector," or at least your 
 adviser ? " 
 
 " Just because I cannot, and I dare not," answered Jeanie. — " But 
 hark, what's that ? Surely my father is no weel ? " 
 
 In fact, the voices in the next room became obstreperously loud 
 of a sudden, the cause of which vociferation it is necessary to 
 explain before we go farther. 
 
 When Jeanie and Butler retired, Mr. Saddletree entered upon the 
 business which chiefly interested the family. In the commence- 
 ment of their conversation he found old Deans, who, in his usual 
 state of mind, was no granter of propositions, so much subdued by 
 a deep sense of his daughter's danger and disgrace, that he heard 
 without replying to, or perhaps without understanding, one or two 
 learned disquisitions on the nature of the crime imputed to her 
 charge, and on the steps which ought to be taken in consequence. 
 His only answer at each pause was, " I am no misdoubting that you 
 wuss us weel — your wife's our far-awa cousin." 
 
 Encouraged by these symptoms of acquiescence, Saddletree, who, 
 
104 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 as an amateur of the law, had a supreme deference for all consti- 
 tuted authorities, again recurred to his other topic of interest, the 
 murder, namely, of Porteous, and pronounced a severe censure on 
 the parties concerned. 
 
 "These are kittle times— kittle times, Mr. Deans, when the people 
 tak' the power of life and death out of the hands of the rightful 
 magistrate into their ain rough grip. I am of opinion, and so ,1 
 believe will Mr. Crossmyloof and the Privy-Council, that this rising 
 in effeir of war, to take away the life of a reprieved man, will prove 
 little better than perduellion." 
 
 " If I hadna that on my mind whilk is ill to bear, Mr. Saddle- 
 tree," said Deans, " I wad mak bold to dispute that point wi' you." 
 
 " How could ye dispute what's plain law, man ? " said Saddle- 
 tree, somewhat contemptuously ; " there's no a callant that e'er 
 carried a pock wi' a process in't, but will tell you that perduellion 
 is the warst and maist virulent kind of treason, being an open con- 
 vocating of the king's lieges against his authority (mair especially 
 in arms, and by touk of drum, to baith whilk accessories my een 
 and lugs bore witness), and muckle warse than lese-majesty, or the 
 concealment of a treasonable purpose — It winna bear a dispute, 
 neighbour." 
 
 " But it will, though," retorted Douce Davie Deans ; " I tell ye it 
 will bear a dispute — I never like your cauld, legal, formal doctrines, 
 neighbour Saddletree. I haud unco little by the Parliament House, 
 since the awfu' downfall of the hopes of honest folk that followed 
 the Revolution." 
 
 " But what wad ye hae had, Mr. Deans ? " said Saddletree im- 
 patiently; "didna ye get baith liberty and conscience made fast, 
 and settled by tailzie on you and your heirs for ever ? " 
 
 " Mr. Saddletree," retorted Deans, " I ken ye are one of those 
 that are wise after the manner of this world, and that ye haud 
 your part, and cast in your portion, wi' the lang-heads and lang- 
 gowns, and keep with the smart witty-pated lawyers of this our 
 land — Weary on the dark and dolefu' cast that they hae gien this 
 unhappy kingdom, when their black hands of defection were clasped 
 in the red hands of our sworn murtherers : when those who had 
 numbered the towers of our Zion, and marked the bulwarks of 
 Reformation, saw their hope turned into a snare, and their rejoicing 
 into weeping." 
 
 " I canna understand this, neighbour," answered Saddletree. " I 
 am an honest presbyterian of the Kirk of Scotland, and stand by her 
 and the General Assembly, and the due administration of justice 
 by the fifteen Lords o' Session and the five Lords o' Justiciary." 
 
 " Out upon ye, Mr. Saddletree ! " exclaimed David, who, in ar* 
 opportunity of giving his testimony on the offences and backslidings 
 of the land, forgot for a moment his own domestic calamity — " out 
 upon your General Assembly, and the back of my hand to your 
 Court o' Session ! — What is the tane but a waefu' bunch o' cauld- 
 rife professors and ministers, that sate bien and warm when the 
 persecuted remnant were warstling wi' hunger, and cauld, and 
 fear o' death, and danger o' fire and sword, upon wet brae-sides, 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 105 
 
 peat-haggs, and flow-mosses, and that now creep out of their holes, 
 like bluebottle flees in a blink of sunshine, to take the pu'pits and 
 places of better folk — of them that witnessed, and testified, and 
 fought, and endured pit, prison-house, and transportation beyond 
 seas ? — A bonny bike there's o' them ! — And for your Court o' 
 Session — — " 
 
 " Ye may say what ye will o' the General Assembly," said Saddle- 
 tree, interrupting him, " and let them clear them that kens them ; 
 but as for the Lords o' Session, forby that they are my next-door 
 neighbours, I would have ye ken, for your ain regulation, that to 
 raise scandal anent them, whilk is termed to murmur again them, 
 is a crime sui generis — sui generis, Mr. Deans — ken ye what that 
 amounts to ? " 
 
 " I ken little o' the language of Antichrist," said Deans ; " and I 
 care less than little what carnal courts may call the speeches of 
 honest men. And as to murmur again them, it's what a' the folk 
 that loses their pleas, and nine-tenths o' them that win them, will 
 be gay sure to be guilty in. Sae I wad hae ye ken that I haud 
 a' your gleg-tongued advocates, that sell their knowledge for pieces 
 of silver, and your worldly-wise judges, that will gie three days of 
 hearing in presence to a debate about the peeling of an ingan, and 
 no ae half-hour to the gospel testimony, as legalists and formalists, 
 countenancing, by sentences, and quirks, and cunning terms of 
 law, the late begun courses of national defections — union, tolera- 
 tion, patronages, and Yerastian prelatic oaths. As for the soul and 
 body-killing Court o' Justiciary " 
 
 The habit of considering his life as dedicated to bear testimony 
 in behalf of what he deemed the suffering and deserted cause of 
 true religion, had swept honest David along with it thus far ; but 
 with the mention of the criminal court, the recollection of the dis- 
 astrous condition of his daughter rushed at once on his mind; he 
 stopped short in the midst of his triumphant declamation, pressed 
 his hands against his forehead, and remained silent. 
 
 Saddletree was somewhat moved, but apparently not so much so 
 as to induce him to relinquish the privilege of prosing in his turn, 
 afforded him by David's sudden silence. " Nae doubt, neighbour," 
 he said, " it's a sair thing to hae to do wi' courts of law, unless it be 
 to improve ane's knowledge and practique, by waiting on as ■* 
 hearer ; and touching this unhappy affair of Effle — ye'll hae seen 
 the dittay, doubtless ? " He dragged out of his pocket a bundle of 
 papers, and began to turn them over. " This is no it — this is the 
 information of Mungo Marsport, of that ilk, against Captain Lack- 
 land, for coming on his lands of Marsport with hawks, hounds, 
 lying-dogs, nets, guns, cross-bows, hagbuts of found, or other 
 engines more or less for destruction of game, sic as red-deer, fallow- 
 deer, cappercailzies, grey-fowl, moor-fowl, paitricks, herons, and sic 
 like ; he the said defender not being ane qualified person, in terms 
 of the statute sixteen hundred and twenty-ane ; that is, not having 
 ane plough-gate of land. Now, the defences proponed say, that 
 non constat at this present what is a plough-gate of land, whilk 
 uncertainty is sufficient to elide the conclusions of the libel. But 
 
lob THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 then the answers to the defenses, (they are signed by Mr. Crossmy- 
 loof, but Mr. Younglad drew them,) they propone, that it signifies 
 naething, in hoc statu, what or how muckle a plough-gate of land 
 may be, in respect the defender has nae lands whatsoe'er, less or 
 mair. ' Sae grant a plough-gate' " (here Saddletree read from the 
 paper in his hand) " ' to be less than the nineteenth part of a guse's 
 grass,'— (I trow Mr. Crossmyloof put in that — I ken his style,)— 'of 
 a guse's grass, what the better will the defender be, seeing he hasna 
 a divot-cast of land in Scotland 'i—Advocatus for Lackland duplies, 
 that nihil interest de possessione, the pursuer must put his case 
 under the statute ' — (now, this is worth your notice, neighbour,) — 
 'and must show, formaliter et specialiter, as well as generaliterj 
 what is the qualification that defender Lackland does not possess 
 — let him tell me what a plough-gate of land is, and I'll tell him if 
 I have one or no. Surely the pursuer is bound to understand his 
 own libel, and his own statute that he founds upon. Tttius pursues 
 Mmvius for recovery of ane black horse lent to Maevius — surely he 
 shall have judgment ; but if Titius pursue Maevius for ane scarlet 
 or crimson horse, doubtless he shall be bound to show that there is 
 sic ane animal in reruin natura. No man can be bound to plead 
 to nonsense — that is to say, to a charge which cannot be explained 
 or understood,' — (he's wrang there — the better the pleadings the 
 fewer understand them,) — ' and so the reference unto this undefined 
 and unintelligible measure of land is, as if a penalty was inflicted 
 by statute for any man who suld hunt or hawk, or use lying-dogs, 
 
 and wearing a sky-blue pair of breeches, without having' 'But 
 
 I am wearying you, Mr. Deans, we'll pass to your ain business, — 
 though this case of Marsport against Lackland has made an unco 
 din in the Outer-house. Weel, here's the dittay against puir Erne : 
 ' Whereas it is humbly meant and shewn to us,' &c. (they are words 
 of mere style), ' that whereas, by the laws of this and every other 
 well-regulated realm, the murder of any one, more especially of an 
 infant child, is a crime of ane high nature, and severely punishable : 
 And whereas, without prejudice to the foresaid generality, it was, 
 by ane act made in the second session of the First Parliament of 
 our most High and Dread Sovereigns William and Mary, especially 
 enacted, that ane woman who shall have concealed her condition, 
 and shall not be able to shew that she hath called for help at the 
 birth, in case that the child shall be found dead or amissing, shall 
 be deemed and held guilty of the murder thereof ; and the said 
 facts of concealment and pregnancy being found proven or con- 
 fessed, shall sustain the pains of law accordingly; yet, nevertheless, 
 you, Erne, or Euphemia Deans' " 
 
 " Read no farther ! " said Deans, raising his head up ; "I would 
 rather ye thrust a sword into my heart than read a word farther ! " 
 
 " Weel, neighbour," said Saddletree, " I thought it wad hae com- 
 forted ye to ken the best and the warst o't. But the question is, 
 what's to be dune ? " 
 
 " Nothing," answered Deans, firmly, " but to abide the dispensa- 
 tion that the Lord sees meet to send us. Oh, if it had been His 
 will to take the grey head to rest before this awful visitation on my 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 107 
 
 house and name ! But His will be done. I can say that yet, 
 though I can say little mair." 
 
 " But, neighbour," said Saddletree, " ye'll retain advocates for the 
 puir lassie ? it's a thing maun needs be thought of." 
 
 " If there was ae man of them," answered Deans, "that held fast 
 his integrity — but I ken them weel, they are a' carnal, crafty, and 
 warld'hunting self-seekers, Yerastians, and Arminians, every ane 
 o' them." 
 
 " Hout tout, neighbour, ye maunna tak the warld at its word," 
 said Saddletree ; " the very deil is no sae ill as he's ca'd ; and I 
 ken mair than ae advocate that may be said to have some integrity 
 as weel as their neighbours ; that is, after a sort o' fashion o' their ain." 
 
 " It is indeed but a fashion of integrity that ye will find amang 
 them," replied David Deans, " and a fashion of wisdom, and fashion 
 of carnal learning — gazing, glancing-glasses they are, fit only to 
 fling the glaiks in folk's een, wi' their pawky policy, and earthly 
 ingine, their flights and refinements, and periods of eloquence, frae 
 heathen emperors and popish canons. They canna, in that daft 
 trash ye were reading to me, sae muckle as ca' men that are sae ill- 
 starred as to be amang their hands, by ony name o' the dispensation 
 o' grace, but maun new baptize them by the names of the accursed 
 Titus, wha was made the instrument of burning the holy Temple, 
 and other sic like heathens." 
 
 " It's Tishius," interrupted Saddletree, " and no Titus. Mr. 
 Crossmyloof cares as little about Titus or the Latin as ye do. — 
 But it's a case of necessity — she maun hae counsel. Now, I could 
 speak to Mr. Crossmyloof — he's weel ken'd for a round-spun Pres- 
 byterian, and a ruling elder to boot." 
 
 "He's a rank Yerastian," replied Deans ; " one of the public and 
 polititious warldly-wise men that stude up to prevent ane general 
 owning of the cause in the day of power." 
 
 " What say ye to the auld Laird of Cuffabout ? " said Saddletree ; 
 " he whiles thumps the dust out of a case gey and weel." 
 
 " He ? the fause loon ! " answered Deans — " he was in his banda- 
 liers to hae joined the ungracious Highlanders in 1715, an they had 
 ever had the luck to cross the Firth." 
 
 " Weel, Arniston ? there's a clever chield for ye ! " said Bartoline, 
 triumphantly. 
 
 " Ay, to bring popish medals in till their very library from that 
 schismatic woman in the north, the Duchess of Gordon:" 
 
 " Weel, weel, but somebody ye maun hae — What think ye o' 
 KLttlepunt ? " 
 
 "He's an Arminian." 
 
 " Woodsetter ? "— " He's, I doubt, a Cocceian." 
 
 " Auld Whilliewhaw ?"— " He's onything ye like." 
 
 " Young Nasmmo ? " — " He's naething at a'." 
 
 " Ye're ill to please, neighbour," said Saddletree ; " I hae run 
 ower the pick o' them for you, ye maun e'en choose for yoursell ; 
 but bethink ye that in the multitude of counsellors' there's safety. — 
 What say ye to try young Mackenyie ? he has a' his uncle's Prac- 
 tiques at the tongue's end ? " 
 
ioB . THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 " What, sir, wad ye speak to me,'' exclaimed the sturdy presby- 
 terian in excessive wrath, " about a man that has the blood of the 
 saints at his fingers' ends ? Dimia his erne die and gang to his 
 place wi' the name of the Bluidy Mackenyie ? and winna he be 
 kend by that name sae lang as there's a Scots tongue to speak the 
 word ? If the life of the dear bairn that's under a suffering dispen- 
 sation, and Jeanie's, and my ain, and aT mankind's, depended on 
 my asking sic a slave o' Satan to speak a word for me or them, 
 they should a' gae down the water thegither for Davie Deans ! " 
 
 It was the exalted tone in which he spoke this last sentence that 
 broke up the conversation between Butler and Jeanie, and brought 
 them both " ben the house," to use the language of the country. 
 Here they found the poor old man half frantic between grief, and 
 zealous ire against Saddletree's proposed measures, his cheek in- 
 flamed, his hand clenched, and his voice raised, while the tear in 
 his eye, and the occasional quiver of his accents, showed that his 
 utmost efforts were inadequate to shaking off the consciousness of 
 his misery. Butler, apprehensive of the consequences of his agita- 
 tion to an aged and feeble frame, ventured to utter to him a recom- 
 mendation to patience. ' 
 
 " I am patient," returned the old man, sternly, — " more patient 
 than ony ane who is alive to the woeful backslidings of a miserable 
 time can be patient ; and in so much, that I need neither sectarians, 
 nor sons, nor grandsons of sectarians, to instruct my grey hairs 
 how to bear my cross." 
 
 " But, sir," continued Butler, taking no offence at the slur cast on 
 his grandfather's faith, " we must use human means. When you 
 call in a physician, you would not, I suppose, question him on the 
 nature of his religious principles ? " 
 
 "Wad I not" answered David — " But I wad, though ; and if he 
 didna satisfy me that he had a richt sense of the richt-hand and 
 left-hand defections of the day, not a goutte of his physic should 
 gang through my father's son." 
 
 It is a dangerous thing to trust to an illustration. Butler had 
 done so and miscarried ; but, like a gallant soldier when his musket 
 misses fire, he stood his ground, and charged with the bayonet. — 
 " This is too rigid an interpretation of your duty, sir. The sun 
 shines, and the rain descends, on the just and unjust, and they are 
 placed together in life in circumstances which frequently render 
 intercourse between them indispensable, perhaps that the evil may 
 have an opportunity of being converted by the good, and perhaps, 
 also, that the righteous might, among other trials, be subjected to 
 that of occasional converse with the profane." 
 
 " Ye're a silly callant, Reuben," answered Deans, " with your bits 
 of argument. Can a man touch pitch and not be defiled? Or 
 what think ye of the brave and worthy champions of the Covenant, 
 that wadna sae muckle as hear a minister speak, be his gifts and 
 graces as they would, that hadna witnessed against the enormities 
 of the day ? Nae lawyer shall ever speak for me and mine that 
 hasna concurred in the testimony of the scattered, yet lovely rem- 
 nant, which abode in the clifts of the rocks." 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 109 
 
 So saying, and as if fatigued, both with the arguments and pre- 
 sence of his guests, the old man arose, and seeming to bid them 
 adieu with a motion of his head and hand, went to shut himself up 
 in his sleeping apartment. 
 
 " It's thrawing his daughter's life awa," said Saddletree to Butler, 
 " to hear him speak in that daft gate. Where will he ever get a 
 Cameronian advocate ? Or wha ever heard of a lawyer's suffering 
 either for ae religion or another ? The lassie's life is clean flung 
 awa." 
 
 During the latter part of this debate, Dumbiedikes had arrived 
 at the door, dismounted, hung the pony's bridle on the usual hook, 
 and sunk down on his ordinary settle. His eyes, with more than 
 their usual animation, followed first one speaker, then another, till 
 he caught the melancholy sense of the whole from Saddletree's last 
 words. He rose from his seat, stumped slowly across the room, 
 and, coming close up to Saddletree's ear, said, in a tremulous, 
 anxious voice, " Will — will siller do naething for them, Mr. 
 Saddletree?" 
 
 " Umph ! " said Saddletree, looking grave, — " siller will cer- 
 tainly do it in the Parliament House, if onything can do it ; but 
 where's the siller to come frae ? Mr. Deans, ye see, will do nae- 
 thing ; and though Mrs. Saddletree's their far-awa friend, and right 
 good weel-wisher, and is weel disposed to assist, yet she wadna 
 like to stand to be bound singuli in solidum to such an expensive 
 wark. An ilka friend wad bear a share o' the burden, something 
 might be dune— ilka ane to be liable for their ain input — I wadna 
 like to see the case fa' through without being pled — it wadna be 
 creditable, for a' that daft whig body says." 
 
 " I'll — I will — yes," (assuming fortitude,) " I will be answerable," 
 said Dumbiedikes, "for a score of punds sterling." — And he was 
 silent, staring in astonishment at finding himself capable of such 
 unwonted resolution and excessive generosity. 
 
 " God Almighty bless ye, Laird ! " said Jeanie, in a transport of 
 gratitude. 
 
 " Ye may ca' the twenty punds thretty," said Dumbiedikes, look- 
 ing bashfully away from her, and towards Saddletree. 
 
 " That will do bravely," said Saddletree, rubbing his hands ; 
 " and ye sail hae a' my skill and knowledge to gar the siller gang 
 far — I'll tape it out weel — I ken how to gar the birkies tak short 
 fees, and be glad o' them too — it's only garring them trow ye hae 
 twa or three cases of importance coming on, and they'll work cheap 
 to get custom. Let me alane for whillywhaing an advocate : — it's 
 nae sin to get as muckle frae them for our siller as we can — after 
 a', it's but the wind o* their mouth — it costs them naething ; where- 
 as, in my wretched occupation of a saddler, horse-milliner, and 
 harness-maker, we are out unconsionable sums just for barkened 
 hides and leather." 
 
 " Can I be of no use?" said Butler. "My means, alas ! are only 
 worth the black coat I wear ; but I am young — I owe much to the 
 family— Can I do nothing? " 
 
 " Ye can help to collect evidence, sir," said Saddletree ; " if we 
 
no THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 could but find ony ane to say she had gien the least hint o' her con- 
 dition, she wad be brought aff wi' a wat finger — Mr. Crossmyloof 
 tell'd me sae. The crown, says he, canna be craved to prove a 
 positive — was't a positive or a negative they couldna be ca'd to 
 prove ? — it was the tane or the tither o' them, I am sure, and it 
 maksna muckle matter whilk. Wherefore, says he, the libel maun 
 be redargued by the panel proving her defences. And it canna be 
 done otherwise." 
 
 " But the fact, sir," argued Butler, " the fact that this poor girl 
 has borne a child ; surely the crown lawyers must prove that ? " 
 said Butler. 
 
 Saddletree paused a moment, while the visage of Duiribie- 
 dikes, which traversed, as if it had been placed on a pivot, from 
 the one spokesman to the other, assumed a more blithe expres- 
 sion. 
 
 "Ye — ye — ye — es," said Saddletree, after some grave hesitation ; 
 " unquestionably that is a thing to be proved, as the court will 
 more fully declare by an interlocutor of relevancy in common 
 form; but I fancy that job's done already, for she has confessed 
 her guilt." 
 
 " Confessed the murder ? " exclaimed Jeanie, with a scream that 
 made them all start. 
 
 " No, I didna say that," replied Bartoline. " But she confessed 
 bearing the babe." 
 
 " And what became 1 of it, then ? " said Jeanie, " for not a word 
 could I get from her but bitter sighs and tears." 
 
 " She says it was taken away from her by the woman in whose 
 house it was born, and who assisted her at the time." 
 
 " And who was that woman ? " said Butler. " Surely by her 
 means the truth might be discovered. — Who was she ? I will fly to 
 her directly." 
 
 " I wish," said Dumbiedikes, " I were as young and as supple as 
 you, and had the gift of the gab as weel." 
 
 "Who is she?" again reiterated Butler impatiently. — "Who 
 could that woman be ? " 
 
 " Ay, wha kens that but hersell," said Saddletree ; " she deponed 
 further, and declined to answer that interrogatory." 
 
 " Then to herself will I instantly go," said Butler ; " farewell, 
 Jeanie ;" — then coming close up to her — "Take no rash steps till 
 you hear from me. Farewell I" and he immediately left the 
 cottage. 
 
 " 1 wad gang too," said the landed proprietor, in an anxious, 
 jealous, and repining tone, " but my powny winna for the life o' me 
 gang ony other road than just frae Dumbiedikes to this house-end, 
 and sae straight back again." 
 
 " Ye'U do better for them," said Saddletree, as they left the house 
 together, " by sending me the thretty punds. 
 
 " Thretty punds ! " hesitated Dumbiedikes, who was now out of 
 the reach of those eyes which had inflamed his generosity ; " I only 
 said twenty punds." 
 
 "Ay ; but," said Saddletree, " that was under protestation to add 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. m 
 
 and eik ; and so ye craved leave to amend your libel, and made it 
 thretty." 
 
 " Did I ? I dinna mind that I did," answered Dumbiedikes. 
 "But whatever I said I'll stand to." Then bestriding his steed with 
 some difficulty, he added, " Dinna ye think poor Jeanie's een wi' 
 the tears in them glanced like lamour beads, Mr. Saddletree ? " 
 
 . " I kenna muckle about women's een, Laird," replied the in- 
 sensible Bartoline ; " and I care just as little. I wuss I were as 
 weel free o' their tongues ; though few wives," he added, recollect- 
 ing the necessity of keeping up his character for domestic rule, 
 "are under better command than mine, Laird. I allow neither 
 perduellion nor lese-majesty against my sovereign authority." 
 
 The Laird saw nothing so important in this observation as to call 
 for a rejoinder, and when they had exchanged a mute salutation, 
 they parted in peace upon their different errands. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 I'll warrant that fellow from drowning, were the ship no stronger 
 than a nut-shell. — The Tempest. 
 
 Butler felt neither fatigue nor want of refreshment, although, 
 from the mode in which he had spent the night, he might well have 
 been overcome with either. But in the earnestness with which he 
 hastened to the assistance of the sister of Jeanie Deans, he forgot 
 both. 
 
 In his first progress he walked with so rapid a pace as almost 
 approached to running, when he was surprised to hear behind him 
 a call upon his name, contending with an asthmatic cough, and 
 half-drowned amid the resounding trot of a Highland pony. He 
 looked behind, and saw the Laird of Dumbiedikes making after 
 him with what speed he might, for it happened fortunately for the 
 Laird's purpose of conversing with Butler, that his own road home- 
 ward was for about two hundred yards the same with that which led 
 by the nearest way to the city. Butler stopped when he heard him- 
 self thus summoned, internally wishing no good to the panting 
 equestrian who thus retarded his journey. 
 
 Uh ! uh ! uh ! " ejaculated Dumbiedikes, as he checked the 
 hobbling pace of the pony by our friend Butler. " Uh ! uh ! it's a 
 hard-set willyard beast this o' mine." He had in fact just over- 
 taken' the object of his chase at the very point beyond which it 
 would have been absolutely impossible for him to have continued 
 the pursuit, since there Butler's road parted from that leading to 
 Dumbiedikes, and no means of influence or compulsion which the 
 rider could possibly have used towards his Bucephalus could have 
 induced the Celtic obstinacy of Rory Bean (such was the pony's 
 name) to have diverged a yard from the path that conducted him 
 to his own paddock. 
 
 Even when he had recovered from the shortness of breath occa- 
 sioned by a trot much more rapid than Rory or he were accustomed 
 
112 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 to, the high purpose of Dumbiedikes seemed to stick as it were in 
 his throat, and impede his utterance, so that Butler stood for nearly 
 three minutes ere he could utter a syllable ; and when he did find 
 voice, it was only to say, after one or two efforts, " Uh ! uh ! uhm ! 
 I say, Mr.— Mr. Butler, it's a braw day for the ha'rst." 
 
 " Fine day, indeed," said Butler. " I wish you good-morning, 
 sir." 
 
 " Stay — stay a bit," rejoined Dumbiedikes ; " that was no what 
 I had gotten to say." 
 
 " Then, pray be quick, and let me have your commands," re- 
 joined Butler ; " I crave your pardon, but I am in haste, and 
 Tempus nemini — you know the proverb." 
 
 Dumbiedikes did not know the proverb, nor did he even take the 
 trouble to endeavour to look as if he did, as others in his place 
 might have done. He was concentrating all his intellects for one 
 grand proposition, and could not afford any detachment to defend 
 outposts. " I say, Mr. Butler," said he, " ken ye if Mr. Saddle- 
 tree's a great lawyer ? " 
 
 " I have no person's word for it but his own," answered Butler, 
 drily ; " but undoubtedly he best understands his own qualities." 
 
 " Umph ! " replied the taciturn Dumbiedikes, in a tone which 
 seemed to say, " Mr. Butler, I take your meaning." " In that case," 
 he pursued, " I'll employ my ain man o' business, Nichil Novit 
 (auld Nichil's son, and amaist as gleg as his father,) to agent 
 Erne's plea." 
 
 And having thus displayed more sagacity than Butler expected 
 from him, he courteously touched his gold-laced cocked hat, and by 
 a punch on the ribs, conveyed to Rory Bean, it was his rider's 
 pleasure that he should forthwith proceed homewards ; a hint which 
 the quadruped obeyed with that degree of alacrity with which men 
 and animals interpret and obey suggestions that entirely correspond 
 with their own inclinations. 
 
 Butler resumed his pace, not without a momentary revival of that 
 jealousy, which the honest Laird's attention to the family of Deans 
 had at different times excited in his bosom'. But he was too generous 
 long to nurse any feeling, which was allied to selfishness. " He is," 
 said Butler to himself, " rich in what I want ; why should I feel 
 vexed that he has the heart to dedicate some of his pelf to render 
 them services, which I can only form the empty wish of executing ? 
 In God's name, let us each do what we can. May she be but happy 1 
 — saved from the misery and disgrace that seems impending — Let 
 me but find the means of preventing the fearful experiment of this 
 evening, and farewell to other thoughts, though my heart-strings 
 break in parting with them ! " 
 
 He redoubled his pace, and soon stood before the door of the 
 Tolbooth, or rather before the entrance where the door had formerly 
 been placed. His interview with the mysterious stranger, the mess- 
 age to Jeanie, his agitating conversation with her on the subject of 
 breaking off their mutual engagements, and the interesting scene 
 with old Deans, had so entirely occupied his mind as to drown even 
 recollection of the tragical event which he had witnessed the pre- 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 "3 
 
 ceding evening. His attention was not recalled to it by the groups 
 who stood scattered on the street in conversation, which they hushed 
 when strangers approached, or by the bustling search of the agents 
 of the city police, supported by small parties of the military, or by 
 the appearance of the Guard-House, before which were treble 
 sentinels, or, finally, by the subdued and intimidated looks of the 
 lower orders of society, who, conscious that they were liable to sus- 
 picion, if they were not guilty of accession to a riot likely to be 
 strictly inquired into, glided about with an humble and dismayed 
 aspect, like men whose spirits being exhausted in the revel and 
 the dangers of a desperate debauch over night, are nerve-shaken, 
 timorous, and unenterprising on the succeeding day. 
 
 None of these symptoms of alarm and trepidation struck Butler, 
 whose mind was occupied with a different, and to him still more 
 interesting subject, until he stood before the entrance to the prison, 
 and saw it defended by a double file of grenadiers, instead of bolts 
 and bars. Their " Stand, stand ! " the blackened appearance of 
 the doorless gate-way, and the winding staircase and apartments of 
 the Tolbooth, now open to the public eye, recalled the whole pro- 
 ceedings of the eventful night. Upon his requesting to speak with 
 Effie Deans, the same tall, thin, silver-haired turnkey, whom he had 
 seen on the preceding evening, made his appearance. 
 
 " I think," he replied to Butler's request of admission, with true 
 Scottish indirectness, " ye will be the same lad that was for in to 
 see her yestreen ?" 
 
 Butler admitted he was the same person. 
 
 " And I am thinking," pursued the turnkey, " that ye speered at 
 me when we locked up, and if we locked up earlier on account of 
 Porteous ? " 
 
 " Very likely I might make some such observation," said Butler ; 
 " but the question now is, can I see Effie Deans ? " 
 
 " I dinna ken — gang in by, and up the turnpike stair, and turn 
 till the ward on the left hand." 
 
 The old man followed close behind him, with his keys in his 
 hand, not forgetting even that huge one which had once opened and 
 shut the outward gate of his dominions, though at present it was but 
 an idle and useless burden. No sooner had Butler entered the room 
 to which he was directed, than the experienced hand of the warder 
 selected the proper key, and locked it on the outside. At first 
 Butler conceived this manoeuvre was only an effect of the man's 
 habitual and official caution and jealousy. But when he heard the 
 hoarse command, " Turn out the guard ! " and immediately after- 
 wards heard the clash of a sentinel's arms, as he was posted at the 
 door of his apartment, he again called out to the turnkey, " My 
 good friend, I have business of some consequence with Effie Deans, 
 and I beg to see her as soon as possible." No answer was returned. 
 " If it be against your rules to admit me,'' repeated Butler, in a still 
 louder tone, " to see the prisoner, I beg you will tell me so, and let 
 me go about my business. — Fugit irrevocabile tempus ! " muttered 
 he to himself. 
 
 " If ye had business to do, ye suld hae dune it before ye cam 
 
 H 
 
ii 4 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 here," replied the man of keys from the outside ; "ye'll find it's 
 easier wunnin in than wunnin out here— there's sma' likelihood o' 
 another Porteous-mob coming to rabble us again — the law will haud 
 her ain now, neighbour, and that ye'll find to your cost." 
 
 " What do you mean by that, sir ? " retorted Butler. " You must 
 mistake me for some other person. My name is Reuben Butler, 
 preacher of the gospel." 
 
 " I ken that weel eneugh," said the turnkey. 
 
 " Well, then, if you know me, I have a right to know from you in 
 return, what warrant you have for detaining me ; that, I know, is 
 the right of every British subject." 
 
 " Warrant ! " said the jailor, — " the warrant's awa to Libberton 
 wi' twa sheriff officers seeking ye. If ye had staid at hame, as 
 honest men should do, ye wad hae seen the warrant ; but if ye 
 come to be incarcerated of your ain accord, wha can help it, 
 my jo ? " 
 
 " So I cannot see EfKe Deans, then," said Butler ; " and you are 
 determined not to let me out?" 
 
 "Troth will I no, neighbour," answered the old man, doggedly ; 
 " as for Effie Deans, ye'll hae eneuch ado to mind your ain busi- 
 ness, and let her mind hers ; and for letting you out, that maun be 
 as the magistrate will determine. And fare ye weel for a bit, for I 
 maun see Deacon Sawyers put on ane or twa o' the doors that your 
 quiet folk broke down yesternight, Mr. Butler." 
 
 There was something in this exquisitely provoking, but there was 
 also something darkly alarming. To be imprisoned, even on a false 
 accusation, has something in it disagreeable and menacing even to 
 men of more constitutional courage than Butler had to boast ; for 
 although he had much of that resolution which arises from a sense 
 of duty and an honourable desire to discharge it, yet, as his imagi- 
 nation was lively, and his frame of body delicate, he was far from 
 possessing that cool insensibility to danger which is the happy 
 portion of men of stronger health, more firm nerves, and less acute 
 sensibility. An indistinct idea of peril, which he could neither 
 understand nor ward off, seemed to float before his eyes. He tried 
 to think over the events of the preceding night, in hopes of dis- 
 covering some means of explaining or vindicating his conduct for 
 appearing among the mob, since it immediately occurred to him 
 that his detention must be founded on that circumstance. And it 
 was with anxiety that he found he could not recollect to have been 
 under the observation of any disinterested witness in the attempts 
 that he made from time to time to expostulate with the rioters, and 
 to prevail on them to release him. The distress of Deans's family, 
 the dangerous rendezvous which Jeanie had formed, and which he 
 could not now hope to interrupt, had also their share in his un- 
 pleasant reflections. Yet impatient as he was to receive an eclair- 
 cissemcnt upon the cause of his confinement, and if possible to 
 obtain his liberty, he was affected with a trepidation which seemed 
 no good omen ; when, after remaining an hour in this solitary apart- 
 ment, he received a summons to attend the sitting magistrate. He 
 was conducted from prison strongly guarded by a party of soldiers, 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. n S 
 
 with a parade of precaution, that, however ill-timed and unnecessary, 
 is generally displayed after an event, which such precaution, if used 
 in time, might have prevented. 
 
 He was introduced into the Council Chamber, as the place is 
 called where the magistrates hold their sittings, and which was 
 then at a little distance from the prison. One or two of the senators 
 of the city were present, and seemed about to engage in the exami- 
 nation of an individual who was brought forward to the foot of the 
 long green-covered table round which the council usually assem- 
 bled. "Is that the preacher ? " said one of the magistrates, as the 
 city officer in attendance introduced Butler. The man answered 
 in the affirmative. " Let him sit down there for an instant ; We 
 will finish this man's business very briefly." 
 
 " Shall we remove Mr. Butler ? " queried the assistant. 
 
 " It is not necessary — Let him remain where he is." 
 
 Butler accordingly sate down on a bench at the bottom of the 
 apartment, attended by one of his keepers. 
 
 It was a large room, partially and imperfectly lighted ; but by 
 chance, or the skill of the architect, who might happen to remember 
 the advantage which might occasionally be derived from such an 
 arrangement, one window was so placed as to throw a strong light 
 at the foot of the table at which prisoners were usually posted for 
 examination, while the upper end, where the examinants sate, 
 was thrown into shadow. ■ Butler's .eyes were instantly fixed on the 
 person whose examination was at present proceeding, in the idea 
 that he might recognise some one of the conspirators of the former 
 night. But though the features of this man were sufficiently 
 marked and striking, he could not recollect that he had ever seen 
 them before. 
 
 The complexion of this person was dark, and his age somewhat 
 advanced. He wore his own hair, combed smooth down, and cut 
 very short. It was jet black, slightly curled by nature, and already 
 mottled with grey. The man's face expressed rather knavery than 
 vice, and a disposition to sharpness, cunning, and. roguery, more 
 than the traces of stormy and indulged passions. His sharp, quick, 
 black eyes, acute features, ready sardonic smile, promptitude, and 
 effrontery, gave him altogether what is called among the vulgar, a 
 knowing look, which generally implies a tendency to knavery. At 
 a fair or market, you could not for a moment have doubted that he 
 was a horse-jockey, intimate with all the tricks of his trade ; yet 
 had you met him on a moor, you would not have apprehended any 
 violence from him. His dress was also that of a horse-dealer — a 
 close-buttoned jockey-coat, or wrap-rascal, as it was then termed, 
 with huge metal buttons, coarse blue upper stockings, called boot- 
 hose, because supplying the place of boots, and a slouched hat. 
 He only wanted a loaded whip under his arm and a spur upon one 
 .heel, to complete the dress of the character he seemed to represent. 
 
 " Your name is James Ratcliffe ? " said the magistrate. 
 
 " Ay — always wi' your honour's leave." 
 
 " That is to say, you could find me another name if I .did not 
 like that one ? " 
 
 k 2 
 
n6 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 " Twenty to pick and choose upon, always with your honour"; 
 leave ? " resumed the respondent. 
 
 ( "But James Ratcliffe is your present name? — what is your 
 trade ? " 
 
 " I canna just say, distinctly, that I have what ye wad ca' pre- 
 ceesely a trade." 
 
 " But," repeated the magistrate, "what are your means of living 
 — your occupation ? " 
 
 " Hout tout — your honour, wi' your leave, kens that as weel as I 
 do," replied the examined. 
 
 " No matter, I want to hear you describe it," said the examinant. 
 
 " Me describe ! — and to your honour ! — far be it from Jemmie 
 Ratcliffe," responded the prisoner. 
 
 " Come, sir, no trifling — I insist on an answer." 
 
 " Weel, sir," replied the declarant, " I maun make a clean 
 breast, for ye see, wi' your leave, I am looking for favour — Describe 
 my occupation, quo' ye ? — it will be ill to do that, in a feasible way, 
 in a place like this — but what is't again that the aught command 
 says?" 
 
 " Thou shalt not steal," answered the magistrate. 
 
 " Are you sure o' that ? " replied the accused. — " Troth, then, my 
 occupation, and that command, are sair at odds, for I read it, thou 
 shalt steal ; and that makes an unco difference, though there's but 
 a wee bit word left out." 
 
 " To cut the matter short, Ratcliffe, you have been a most noto- 
 rious thief," said the examinant. 
 
 " I believe Highlands and Lowlands ken that, sir, forby England 
 and Holland," replied Ratcliffe, with the greatest composure and 
 effrontery. 
 
 " And what d'ye think the end of your calling will be ? " said the 
 magistrate. 
 
 " I could have gien a braw guess yesterday — but I dinna ken 
 sae weel the day," answered the prisoner. 
 
 " And what would you have said would have been your end had 
 you been asked the question yesterday ? " 
 
 "Just the gallows, replied Ratcliffe, with the same composure. 
 
 " You are a daring rascal, sir," said the magistrate ; " and how 
 dare you hope times are mended with you to-day ? " 
 
 " Dear, your honour," answered Ratcliffe, " there's muckle dif- 
 ference between lying in prison under sentence of death, and 
 staying there of ane's ain proper accord, when it would have cost 
 a man naething to get up and rin awa— what was to hinder me 
 from stepping out quietly, when the rabble walked awa wi' Jock 
 Porteous yestreen ? — and does you honour really think I staid on 
 purpose to be hanged ?" 
 
 " I do not know what J?ou may have proposed to yourself ; but 
 I know," said the magistrate, " what the law proposes for you, and 
 that is, to hang you next Wednesday eight days. 
 
 "Na, na, your honour," said Ratcliffe firmly, "craving your 
 honour's pardon, I'll ne'er believe that till I see it. I have ken'd 
 the Law this mony a year, and mony a thrawart job I hae had wi' 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 117 
 
 her first and last ; but the auld jade is no sae ill as that comes to 
 — I hae fand her bark waur than her bite." 
 
 " And if you do not expect the gallows, to which you are con- 
 demned, (for the fourth time to my knowledge,) may I beg the 
 favour to know," said the magistrate, " what it is that you do expect, 
 in consideration of your not having taken your flight with the rest 
 of the jail-birds, which I will admit was a line of conduct little to 
 have been expected ? " 
 
 " I would never have thought for a moment of staying in that 
 auld gousty toom house," answered Ratcliffe, " but that use and 
 wont had just gien me a fancy to the place, and I'm just expecting 
 a bit post in't." 
 
 "A post ! " exclaimed the magistrate ; " a whipping-post, I sup- 
 pose you mean ? " 
 
 " Na, na, sir, I had nae thoughts o' a whupping-post. After 
 having been four times doomed to hang by the neck till I was 
 dead, I think I am far beyond being whuppit." 
 
 " Then, in Ilea's en's name, what did you expect ? " 
 
 "Just the post of under-turnkey, for I understand there's a 
 vacancy," said the prisoner ; " I wadna think of asking the lock- 
 man's * place ower his head ; it wadna suit me sae weel as ither 
 folk, for I never could put a beast out o' the way, much less deal 
 •wi' a man." 
 
 " That's something in your favour," said the magistrate, making 
 exactly the inference to which Ratcliffe was desirous to lead him, 
 though he mantled his art with an affectation of oddity. " But," 
 continued the magistrate, " how do you think you can be trusted 
 with a charge in the prison, when you have broken at your own 
 hand half the jails in Scotland ? " 
 
 " Wi' your honour's leave," said Ratcliffe, " if I ken'd sae weel 
 how to wun out mysell, it's like I wad be a' the better a hand to 
 keep other folk in. I think they wad ken their business weel that 
 lield me in when I wanted to be out, or wan out when I wanted to 
 haud them in." 
 
 The remark seemed to strike the magistrate, but he made 
 no farther immediate observation, only desired Ratcliffe to be 
 removed. . 
 
 When this daring and yet sly freebooter was out of hearing, the 
 (magistrate asked the city-clerk, " what he thought of the fellow's 
 assurance ? " 
 
 " It's no for me to say, sir," replied the clerk ; " but if James 
 Ratcliffe be inclined to turn to good, there is not a man e'er came 
 within the ports of the burgh could be of sae muckle use to the 
 Good Town in the thief and lock-up line of business. I'll speak to 
 Mr. Sharpitlaw about him." 
 
 Upon Ratcliffe's retreat, Butler was placed at the table for 
 examination. The magistrate conducted his inquiry civilly, but 
 yet in a manner which gave him to understand that he laboured 
 under strong suspicion. With a frankness which at once became 
 Tiis calling and character, Butler avowed his involuntary presence 
 at the murder of Porteous, and, at the request of the magistrate, 
 
n8 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 entered into a minute detail of the circumstances which attended' 
 that unhappy affair. All the particulars, such as we have nar- 
 rated, were taken minutely down by the clerk from Butler's 
 dictation. 
 
 When the narrative was concluded, the cross-examination com- 
 menced, which it is a painful task even for the most candid witness 
 to undergo, since a story, especially if connected with agitating 
 and alarming incidents, can scarce be so clearly and distinctly 
 told, but that some ambiguity and doubt may be thrown upon it by 
 a string of successive and minute interrogatories. 
 
 The magistrate commenced by observing, that Butler had said 
 his object was to return to the village of Libberton, but that he 
 was interrupted by the mob at the West Port. " Is the West Port 
 your usual way of leaving town when you go to Libberton ? " said 
 the magistrate, with a sneer. 
 
 "No, certainly," answered Butler, with the haste of a man 
 anxious to vindicate the accuracy of his evidence ; " but I chanced 
 to be nearer that port than any other, and the hour of shutting the 
 gates was on the point of striking." 
 
 " That was unlucky," said the magistrate, dryly. " Pray, being, 
 as you say, under coercion and fear of the lawless multitude, and 
 compelled to accompany them through scenes disagreeable to all 
 men of humanity, and more especially irreconcilable to the pro- 
 fession of a minister, did you not attempt to struggle, resist, or 
 escape from their violence ? " 
 
 Butler replied, "that their numbers prevented him from attempt- 
 ing resistance, and their vigilance from effecting his escape." 
 
 " That was unlucky," again repeated the magistrate, in the same' 
 dry, inacquiescent tone of voice and manner. He proceeded with 
 decency and politeness, but with a stiffness which argued his con- 
 tinued suspicion, to ask many questions concerning the behaviour 
 of the mob, the manners and dress of the ring-leaders ; and when 
 he conceived that the caution of Butler, if he was deceiving him, 
 must be lulled asleep, the magistrate suddenly and artfully returned 
 to former parts of his declaration, and required a new recapitula- 
 tion of the circumstances, to the minutest and most trivial point, 
 which attended each part of the melancholy scene. No confusion 
 or contradiction, however, occurred, that could countenance the 
 suspicion which he seemed to have adopted against Butler. At 
 length the train of his interrogatories reached Madge Wildfire, at 
 whose name the magistrate and town clerk exchanged significant 
 glances. If the fate of the Good Town had depended on her careful 
 magistrate's knowing the features and dress of this persbnage, his, 
 inquiries could not have been more particular. But Butler could 
 say almost nothing of this person's features, which were disguised 
 apparently with red paint and soot, like an Indian going to battle, 
 besides the projecting shade of a curch, or coif, which muffled the 
 hair of the supposed female. He declared that he thought he 
 could not know this Madge Wildfire, if placed before him in a 
 different dress, but that he believed he might recognise her 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. n 9 
 
 The magistrate requested'him again to state by what gate he left 
 the city. 
 
 " By the Cowgate Port," replied Butler. 
 
 " Was that the nearest road to Libberton ? " 
 
 "No," answered Butler, with embarrassment; "but it was the 
 nearest way to extricate myself from the mob." 
 
 The clerk and magistrate again exchanged glances. 
 
 " Is the Cowgate Port a nearerway to Libberton from the Grass- 
 market than Bristo Port ?" 
 
 " No," replied Butler ; " but I had to visit a friend." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said the interrogator — " You were in a hurry to tell 
 the sight you had witnessed, I suppose ?" 
 
 " Indeed I was not," replied Butler ; " nor did I speak on the 
 subject the whole time I was at Saint Leonard's Crags," 
 
 " Which road did you take to Saint Leonard's Crags ? " 
 
 " By the foot of Salisbury Crags," was the reply. 
 
 " Indeed ! — you seem partial to circuitous routes," again said the 
 magistrate. " Whom did you see after you left the city ?" 
 
 One by one he obtained a description of every one of the groups 
 who had passed Butler, as already noticed, their number, de- 
 meanour, and appearance ; and, at length, came to the circum- 
 stance of the mysterious stranger in the King's Park. On this 
 subject Butler would fain have remained silent. But the magistrate 
 had no sooner got a slight hint concerning the incident, than he 
 seemed bent to possess himself of the most minute particulars. 
 
 " Look ye, Mr. Butler," said he, " you are a young man, and bear 
 an excellent character ; so much I will myself testify in your favour. 
 But we are aware there has been, at times, a sort of bastard and 
 fiery zeal in some of your order, and those, men irreproachable in 
 other points, which has led them into doing and countenancing 
 great irregularities, by which the peace of the country is liable to 
 be shaken. — I will deal plainly with you. I am not at all satisfied 
 with this story, of your setting out again and again to seek your 
 dwelling by two several roads, which were both circuitous. And, 
 to be frank, no one whom we have examined on this unhappy affair 
 could trace in your appearance any thing like your acting under 
 compulsion. Moreover, the waiters at the Cowgate Port observed 
 something like the trepidation of guilt in your conduct, and declare 
 that you were the first to command them to open the gate, in a tone 
 of authority, as if still presiding over the guards and outposts of 
 the rabble, who had besieged them the whole night." 
 
 " God forgive them ! " said Butler ; " I only asked free passage 
 ,for myself; they must have much misunderstood, if they did not 
 wilfully misrepresent me." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Butler," resumed the magistrate, " I am inclined to 
 judge the best and hope the best, as I am sure I wish the best ; 
 but you must be frank with me, if you wish to secure my good 
 opinion, and lessen the risk of inconvenience to yourself. You have 
 allowed you saw another individual in your passage through the 
 King's Park to Saint Leonard's Crags — I must know every word 
 which passed betwixt you." 
 
120 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 Thus closely pressed, Butler, who had no reason for concealing 
 what passed at that meeting, unless because Jeanie Deans was con- 
 cerned in it, thought it best to tell the whole truth from beginning 
 to end. 
 
 "Do you suppose," said the magistrate, pausing, "that the young 
 woman will accept an invitation so mysterious ?" 
 
 " I fear she will," replied Butler. . 
 
 "Why do you use the word/ear it?" said the magistrate. 
 
 " Because I am apprehensive for her safety, in meeting, at such 
 a time and place, one who had something of the manner of a 
 desperado, and whose message was of a character so inexplicable." 
 
 " Her safety shall be cared for," said the magistrate. " Mr. 
 Butler, I am concerned I cannot immediately discharge you from 
 confinement, but I hope you will not be long detained.— Remove 
 Mr. Butler, and let him be provided with decent accommodation in 
 all respects." 
 
 He was conducted back to the prison accordingly ; but, in the food 
 offered to him, as well as in the apartment in which he was lodged, 
 the recommendation of the magistrate was strictly attended to. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Dark and eerie was the night, 
 
 And lonely was the way, 
 As Janet, wi' her green mantell, 
 
 To Miles' Cross she did gae. 
 
 Old Ballad. 
 
 Leaving Butler to all the uncomfortable thoughts attached to 
 his new situation, among which the most predominant was his 
 feeling that he was, by his confinement, deprived of all possibility 
 of assisting the family at Saint Leonard's in their greatest need, 
 we return to Jeanie Deans, who had seen him depart, without an 
 opportunity of farther explanation, in all that agony of mind with 
 which the female heart bids adieu to the complicated sensations so 
 well described by Coleridge, — 
 
 Hopes, and fears that kindle hope, 
 
 An undistinguishable throng ; 
 And gentle wishes long subdued — 
 
 Subdued and cherish'd long. 
 
 It is not the firmest heart (and Jeanie, under her russet rokelay, 
 had one that would not have disgraced Cato's daughter) that can 
 most easily bid adieu to these soft and mingled emotions. She 
 wept for a few minutes bitterly, and without attempting to refrain 
 from this indulgence of passion. But a moment's recollection 
 induced her to check herself for a grief selfish and proper to her 
 own affections, while her father and sister were plunged into such 
 deep and irretrievable affliction. She drew from her pocket the 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. lai 
 
 letter which had been that morning flung into her apartment, 
 through an open window, and the contents of which were as sin- 
 gular as the expression was violent and energetic. " If she would 
 save a human being from the most damning guilt, and all its 
 desperate consequences, — if she desired the life and honour of her 
 sister to be saved from the bloody fangs of an unjust law, — if she 
 desired not to forfeit peace of mind here, and happiness hereafter," 
 such was the frantic style of the conjuration, " she was entreated to 
 give a sure, secret, and solitary meeting to the writer. She alone 
 could rescue him," so ran the letter, "and he only could rescue her." 
 He was in such circumstances, the billet farther informed her, that 
 an attempt to bring any witness of their conference, or even to 
 mention to her father, or any other person whatsoever, the letter 
 which requested it, would inevitably prevent its taking place, and 
 ensure the destruction of her sister. The letter concluded with 
 incoherent but violent protestations, that in obeying this summons 
 she had nothing to fear personally. 
 
 The message delivered to her by Butler from the stranger in the 
 Park tallied exactly with the contents of the letter, but assigned a 
 later hour and a different place of meeting. Apparently the writer 
 of the letter had been compelled to let Butler so far into his con- 
 fidence, for the sake of announcing this change to Jeanie. She 
 was more than once on the point of producing the billet, in vindi- 
 cation of herself from her lover's half-hinted suspicions. But there 
 is something in stooping to justification which the pride of inno- 
 cence does not at all times willingly submit to ; besides that, the 
 threats contained in the letter, in case of her betraying the secret, 
 hung heavy on her heart. It is probable, however, that had they 
 remained longer together, she might have taken the resolution to 
 submit the whole matter to Butler, and be guided by him as to the 
 line of conduct which she should adopt. And when, by the sudden 
 interruption of their conference, she lost the opportunity of doing 
 so, she felt as if she had been unjust to a friend whose advice might 
 have been highly useful, and whose attachment deserved her full 
 and unreserved confidence. 
 
 To have recourse to her father upon this occasion, she considered 
 as highly imprudent. There was no possibility of conjecturing in 
 what light the matter might strike old David, whose manner of 
 acting and thinking in extraordinary circumstances depended 
 upon feelings and principles peculiar to himself, the operation of 
 which could not be calculated upon even by those best acquainted 
 with him. To have requested some female friend to have accom- 
 panied her to the place of rendezvous, would perhaps have been 
 the most eligible expedient ; but the threats of the writer, that 
 betraying his secret would prevent their meeting (on which her 
 sister's safety was said to depend) from taking place at all, would 
 have deterred her from making such a confidence, even had she 
 known a person in whom she thought it could with safety have 
 been reposed. But she knew none such. Their' acquaintance 
 with the cottagers in the vicinity had been very slight, and limited 
 to trifling acts of good neighbourhood. Jeanie knew little of them, 
 
122 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 and what she knew did not greatly incline her to trust any of them. 
 They were of the order of loquacious good-humoured gossips 
 usually found in their situation of life ; and their conversation had 
 at all times few charms for a young woman, to whom nature and 
 the circumstance of a solitary life had given a depth of thought 
 and force of character superior to the frivolous part of her sex, 
 whether in high or low degree. 
 
 Left alone and separated from all earthly counsel, she had re- 
 course to a friend and adviser, whose ear is open to the cry of the 
 poorest and most afflicted of his people. She knelt, and prayed 
 with fervent sincerity, that God would please to direct her what 
 Course to follow in her arduous and distressing situation. It was 
 the belief of the time and sect to which she belonged, that special 
 answers to prayer, differing little in their character from divine 
 inspiration, were, as they expressed it, " borne in upon their minds " 
 in answer to their earnest petitions in a crisis of difficulty. Without 
 entering into an abstruse point of divinity, one thing is plain ; 
 namely, that the person who lays open his doubts and distresses in 
 prayer, with feeling and sincerity, must necessarily, in the act of 
 doing so, purify his mind from the dross of worldly passions and 
 interests, and bring it into that state, when the resolutions adopted 
 are likely to be selected rather from a sense of duty, than from 
 any inferior motive. Jeanie arose from her devotions, with her 
 heart fortified to endure affliction, and encouraged t'o face 
 difficulties. 
 
 " I will meet this unhappy man," she said to herself—" unhappy 
 he must be, since I doubt he has been the cause of poor Effie's- 
 misfortune — but I will meet him, be it for good or ill. My mind 
 shall never cast up to me, that, for fear of what might be said or 
 done to myself, I left that undone that might even yet be the 
 rescue of her." 
 
 With a mind greatly composed since the adoption of this reso- 
 lution, she went to attend her father. The old man, firm in the 
 principles of his youth, did not, in outward " appearance at least, 
 permit a thought of his family distress to interfere with the stoical 
 reserve of his countenance and manners. He even chid his 
 daughter for having neglected, in the distress of the morning, some 
 trifling domestic duties which fell under her department. 
 
 " Why, what meaneth this, Jeanie ? " said the old man — " The 
 brown four-year-auld's milk is not seiled yet, nor the bowies put 
 up on the bink. If ye neglect your warldly duties in the day of 
 affliction, what confidence have I that ye mind the greater matters 
 that concern salvation ? God knows, our bowies, and our pipkins, 
 and our draps o' milk, and our bits o' bread, are nearer and dearer 
 to us than the bread of life." 
 
 Jeanie, not unpleased to hear her father's thoughts thus expand 
 themselves beyond the sphere of his -immediate distress, obeyed 
 him, and proceeded to put her household matters in order ; while 
 old David moved from place to place about his ordinary employ- 
 ments, scarce showing, unless by a nervous impatience at remain- 
 ing long stationary, an occasional convulsive sigh, or twinkle of 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 123 
 
 the eyelid, that he was labouring under the yoke of such bitter 
 affliction. 
 
 The hour of noon came on, and the father and child sat down to 
 their homely repast. In his petition for a blessing on the meal, 
 the poor old man added to his supplication, a prayer that the bread 
 eaten in sadness of heart, and the bitter waters of Marah, might 
 be made as nourishing as those which had been poured forth from 
 a full cup and a plentiful basket and store ; and having concluded 
 his benediction, and resumed the bonnet which he had laid " reve- 
 rently aside," he proceeded to exhort his daughter to eat, not by 
 example indeed, but at least by precept. 
 
 "The man after God's own heart," he said, "washed and 
 anointed himself, and did eat bread, in order to express his sub- 
 mission under a dispensation of suffering, and it did not become a 
 Christian man or woman so to cling to creature comforts of wife or 
 bairns," (here the words became too great, as it were, for his 
 utterance,) — " as to forget the first duty, — submission to the 
 Divine will." 
 
 To add force to his precept, he took a morsel on his plate, but 
 nature proved too strong even for the powerful feelings with which . 
 he endeavoured to bridle it. Ashamed of his weakness, he started 
 up, and ran out of the house, with haste very unlike the delibera- 
 tion of his usual movements. In less than five minutes he returned, 
 having successfully struggled to recover his ordinary composure of 
 mind and countenance, and affected to colour over his late retreat, 
 by muttering that he thought he heard the " young staig loose in 
 the byre." 
 
 He did not again trust himself with the subject of his former 
 conversation, and his daughter was glad to see that he seemed to 
 avoid farther discourse on that agitating topic. The hours glided 
 on, as on they must and do pass, whether winged with joy or laden 
 with affliction. The sun set beyond the dusky eminence of the 
 Castle, and the screen of western hills, and the close of evening 
 summoned David Deans and his daughter to the family duty .of 
 the night. It came bitterly upon Jeanie's recollection, how often, 
 when the hour of worship approached, she used to watch the 
 lengthening shadows, and look out from the door of the house, to 
 see if she could spy her sister's return homeward. Alas ! this idle 
 and thoughtless waste of time, to what evils had it not finally led? 
 and was she altogether guiltless, who, noticing Effie's turn to idle 
 and light society, had not called in her father's authority to lestrain 
 her ? — But I acted for the best, she again reflected, and who could 
 have expected such a growth of evil from one grain of leaven, in a 
 disposition so kind, and candid, and generous ? 
 
 As they sate down to the " exercise," as it is called, a chair hap- 
 pened accidentally to stand in the place which Effie usually 
 occupied. David Deans saw his daughter's eyes swim in tears as 
 they were directed towards this object, and pushed it aside, with a 
 gesture of some impatience, as if desirous to destroy every memo- 
 rial of earthly interest when about to address the Deity. The 
 portion pf Scripture was read, the psalm was sung, the prayer was 
 
za 4 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 made ; and it was remarkable that, in discharging these duties, the 
 old man avoided all passages and expressions, of which Scripture 
 affords so many, that might be considered as applicable to his own 
 domestic misfortune. In doing so it was perhaps his intention to 
 spare the feelings of his daughter, as well as to maintain, in out- 
 ward show at least, that stoical appearance of patient endurance 
 of all the evil which earth could bring, which was, in his opinion, 
 essential to the character of one who rated all earthly things at 
 their own just estimate of nothingness. When he had finished the 
 duty of the evening, he came up to his daughter, wished her good 
 night, and, having done so, continued to hold her by the hands for 
 half a minute ; then drawing her towards him, kissed her forehead, 
 and ejaculated, " The God of Israel bless you, even with the bless- 
 ings of the promise, my dear bairn ! " 
 
 It was not either in the nature or habits of David Deans to seem 
 a fond father ; nor was he often observed to experience, or at least 
 to evince, that fulness of the heart which seeks to expand itself in 
 tender expressions or caresses even to those who were dearest to 
 him. On the contrary, he used to censure this as a degree of 
 weakness in several of his neighbours, and particularly in poor 
 widow Butler. It followed, however, from the rarity of such emo- 
 tions in this self-denied v and reserved man, that his children 
 attached to occasional marks of his affection and approbation a 
 degree of high interest and solemnity ; well considering them as 
 evidences of feelings which were only expressed when they became 
 too intense for suppression or concealment. 
 
 With deep emotion, therefore, did he bestow, and his daughter 
 receive, this benediction and paternal caress. "And you, my dear 
 father," exclaimed Jeanie, when the door had closed upon the 
 venerable old man, " may you have purchased and promised bless- 
 ings multiplied upon you — upon you, who walk in this world as 
 though you were not of the world, and hold all that it can give 
 or take away but as the midges that the sun-blink brings out, 
 and the evening wind sweeps away ! " 
 
 She now made preparation for her night walk. Her father slept 
 in another part of the dwelling, and, regular in all his habits, 
 seldom or never left his apartment when he had betaken himself 
 to it for the evening. It was therefore easy for her to leave the 
 aouse unobserved, so soon as the time approached at which she 
 was to keep her appointment. But the step she was about to take 
 had difficulties and terrors in her own eyes, though she had no . 
 reason to apprehend her father's interference. Her life had been 
 spent in the quiet, uniform, and regular seclusion of their peaceful 
 and monotonous household. The very hour which some damsels 
 of the present day, as well of her own as of higher degree, would 
 consider as the natural period of commencing an evening of 
 pleasure, brought, in her opinion, awe and solemnity in it ; and 
 the resolution she had taken had a strange, daring, and adven- 
 turous character, to which she could hardly reconcile herseif when 
 the moment approached for putting it into execution. Her hands 
 trembled as she snooded her fair hair beneath the riband, then 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 MS 
 
 the only ornament or cover which young unmarried women wore on 
 their head, and as she adjusted the scarlet tartan screen or muffler 
 made of plaid, which the Scottish women wore, much in the 
 fashion of the black silk veils still a part of female dress in the 
 Netherlands. A sense of impropriety as well as of danger pressed 
 upon her, as she lifted the latch of her paternal mansion to leave it 
 on so wild an expedition, and at so late an hour, unprotected, and 
 without the knowledge of her natural guardian. 
 
 When she found herself abroad and in the open fields, addi- 
 tional subjects of apprehension crowded upon her. The dim cliffs 
 and scattered rocks, interspersed with green sward, through which 
 she had to pass to the place of appointment, as they glimmered 
 before her in a clear autumn night, recalled to her memory many a 
 deed of violence, which, according to tradition, had been done and 
 suffered among them. In earlier days they had been the haunt of 
 robbers and assassins, the memory of whose crimes are preserved 
 in the various edicts which the council of the city, and even the 
 Farliament of Scotland, had passed for dispersing their bands, 
 and ensuring safety to the lieges, so near the precincts of the city. 
 The names of these criminals, and of their atrocities, were still 
 remembered in traditions of the scattered cottages and the neigh- 
 bouring suburb. In latter times, as we have already noticed, the 
 sequestered and broken character of the ground rendered it a fit 
 theatre for duels and rencontres among the fiery youth of the 
 period. Two or three of these incidents, all sanguinary, and one of 
 them fatal in its termination, had happened since Deans came to 
 live at Saint Leonard's. His daughter's recollections, therefore, 
 were of blood and horror as she pursued the small scarce -tracked 
 solitary path, every step of which conveyed her to a greater dis- 
 tance from help, and deeper into the ominous seclusion of these 
 unhallowed precincts. 
 
 As the moon began to peer forth on the scene with a doubtful, 
 flitting, and solemn light, Jeanie's apprehensions took another 
 turn, too peculiar to her rank and country to remain unnoticed. 
 But to trace its origin will require another chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 The spirit I have seen 
 
 May be the devil. And the devil has power 
 
 To assume a pleasing shape. Hamlet. 
 
 Witchcraft and demonology, as we have had already occa- 
 sion to remark, were at this period believed in by almost all ranks, 
 but more especially among the stricter classes of presbyterians, 
 whose government, when their party were at the head of the state, 
 had been much sullied by their eagerness to inquire into, and 
 persecute these imaginary crimes. Now, in this point of view, 
 also, St. Leonard's Crags, and the adjacent Chase were a dreaded 
 
126 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 and ill-reputed district. Not only had witches held their meetings 
 there, but even of very late years the enthusiast, or impostor, 
 mentioned in the Pandsemonium of Richard Bovet, Gentleman,* 
 had, among the recesses of these romantic cliffs, found his way 
 into the hidden retreats where the fairies revel in the bowels of the 
 earth. 
 
 With all these legends Jeanie Deans was too well acquainted, to 
 escape that strong impression which they usually make on the 
 imagination. Indeed, relations of this ghostly kind had been 
 familiar to her from her infancy, for they were the only relief which 
 her father's conversation afforded from controversial argument, or 
 the gloomy history of the strivings and testimonies, escapes, cap- 
 tures, tortures, and executions of those martyrs of the Covenant, 
 with whom it was his chiefest boast to say he had been acquainted. 
 In the recesses of mountains, in caverns, and in morasses, to which 
 these persecuted enthusiasts were so ruthlessly pursued, they con- 
 ceived they had often to contend with the visible assaults of the 
 Enemy of mankind, as in the cities, and in the cultivated fields, 
 they were exposed to those of the tyrannical government and their 
 soldiery. Such were the terrors which made one of their gifted 
 seers exclaim, when his companion returned to him, after having 
 left him alone in a haunted cavern in Sorn in Galloway, " It is 
 hard living in this world — incarnate devils above the earth, and 
 devils under the earth ! Satan has been here since ye went away, 
 but I have dismissed him by resistance ; we will be no more 
 troubled with him this night." David Deans believed this, and 
 many other such ghostly encounters and victories, on the faith of the 
 Ansars, or auxiliaries of the banished prophets. This event was 
 beyond David's remembrance. But he used to tell with great awe, 
 yet not without a feeling of proud superiority to his auditors, how 
 he himself had been present at a field-meeting at Crochmade, 
 when the duty of the day was interrupted by the apparition of a 
 tall black man, who, in the act of crossing a ford to join the con- 
 gregation, lost ground, and was carried down apparently by the 
 force of the stream. AH were instantly at work to assist him, but 
 with so little success, that ten or twelve stout men, who had hold 
 of the rope, which they had cast in to his aid, were rather in 
 danger to be dragged into the stream, and lose their own lives, 
 than likely to save that of the supposed perishing man. " But 
 famous John Semple of Carsphaim, David Deans used to say with 
 exultation, " saw the whaup in the rape. — ' Quit the rope,' he cried 
 to us (for I that was but a callant had a haud o' the rape mysell,) 
 ' it is the Great Enemy ! he will burn, but not drown ; his design 
 is to disturb the good wark, by raising wonder and confusion in 
 your minds ; to put off from your spirits all that ye hae heard and 
 felt.' — Sae we let go the rape," said David, " and he went adown 
 the water screeching and bullering like a Bull of Bashan, as he's 
 ca'd in Scripture." * 
 
 Trained in these and similar legends, it was no wonder that 
 Jeanie began to feel an ill-defined apprehension, not merely of the 
 phantoms which might beset her way, but of the quality, nature, 
 
» 
 
 > 
 
THE, HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 127 
 
 and purpose of the being who had thus appointed her a meeting, 
 at a place and hour of horror, and at a time when her mind must 
 be necessarily full of those tempting and ensnaring thoughts of 
 grief and despair, which were supposed to lay sufferers particularly 
 open to the temptations of the Evil One. If such an idea had 
 crossed even Butler's well-informed mind, it was calculated to 
 make a much stronger impression upon hers. Yet firmly believing 
 the possibility of an encounter so terrible to flesh and blood, 
 Jeanie, with a degree of resolution of which we cannot sufficiently 
 estimate the merit, because the incredulity of the age has rendered 
 us strangers to the nature and extent of her feelings, persevered in 
 her determination not to omit an opportunity of doing something 
 towards saving her sister, although, in the attempt to avail herself 
 of it, she might be exposed to dangers so dreadful to her imagina- 
 tion. So, like Christiana, in the Pilgrim's Progress, when traversing 
 with a timid yet resolved step the terrors of the Valley of the 
 Shadow of Death, she glided on by rock and stone, "now in 
 glimmer and now in gloom," as her path lay through moonlight or 
 shadow, and endeavoured to overpower the suggestions of fear, 
 sometimes by fixing her mind upon the distressed condition of her 
 sister, and the duty she lay under to afford her aid, should that be 
 in her power ; and more frequently by recurring in mental prayer 
 to the protection of that Being to whom night is as noon-day. 
 
 Thus drowning at one time her fears by fixing her mind on a 
 subject of overpowering interest,! and arguing them down at others 
 by referring herself to the protection of the Deity, she at length 
 approached the place assigned for this mysterious conference. 
 
 It was situated in the depth of the valley behind Salisbury Crags, 
 which has for a background the north-western shoulder of the 
 mountain called Arthur's Seat, on whose descent still remain the 
 ruins of what was once a chapel, or hermitage, dedicated to St. 
 Anthony the Eremite. A better site for such a building could 
 hardly have been selected ; for the chapel, situated among the rude 
 and pathless cliffs, lies in a desert, even in the immediate vicinity 
 of a rich, populous, and tumultuous capital ; and the hum of the 
 city might mingle with the orisons of the recluses, conveying as 
 little of worldly interest as if it had been the roar of the distant 
 ocean. Beneath the steep ascent on which these ruins are still 
 visible, was, and perhaps is still pointed out, the place where 
 the wretch Nichol Muschat, who has been already mentioned in 
 these pages, had closed a long scene of cruelty towards his unfor- 
 tunate wife, by murdering her, with circumstances of uncommon 
 barbarity.* The execration in which the man's crime was held 
 extended itself to the place where it was perpetrated, which was 
 marked by a small cairn, or heap of stones, composed of those 
 which each chance passenger had thrown there in testimony of 
 abhorrence, and on the principle, it would seem, of the ancient 
 British malediction, "May you have a cairn for your burial place !" 
 
 As our heroine approached this ominous and unhallowed spot, 
 she paused and looked to the moon, now rising broad in the north- 
 west, and shedding a more distinct light than it had afforded during 
 
128 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 her walk thither. Eyeing the planet for a moment, she then slowly 
 and fearfully turned her head towards the cairn, from which it was 
 at first averted. She was at first disappointed. Nothing was visible 
 beside the little pile of stones, which shone grey in the moonlight. 
 A multitude of confused suggestions rushed on her mind. Had her 
 correspondent deceived her, and broken his appointment ? — was he 
 too tardy at the appointment he had made ?— or had some strange 
 turn of fate prevented him from appearing as he proposed?— or, if 
 he were an unearthly being, as her secret apprehensions suggested, 
 was it his object merely to delude her with false hopes, and put her 
 to unnecessary toil and terror, according to the nature, as she had 
 heard, of those wandering demons ? — or did he purpose to blast 
 her with the sudden horrors of his presence when she had come 
 close to the place of rendezvous ? These anxious reflections did not 
 prevent her approaching to the cairn with a pace that, though slow, 
 was determined. 
 
 When she was within two yards of the heap of stones, a figure 
 rose suddenly up from behind it, and Jeanie scarce forbore to 
 scream aloud at what seemed the realization of the most frightful 
 of her anticipations. She constrained herself to silence, however, 
 and, making a dead pause, suffered the figure to open the conver- 
 sation, which he did, by asking, in a voice which agitation rendered 
 tremulous and hollow, " Are you the sister of that ill-fated young 
 woman ? " 
 
 " I am — I am the sister of Effie Deans ! " exclaimed Jeanie. 
 " And as ever you hope God will hear you at your need, tell me, if 
 you can tell, what can be done to save her ! " 
 
 " I do not hope God will hear me at my need," was the singular 
 answer. " I do not deserve — I do not expect he will." This despe- 
 rate language he uttered in a tone calmer than that with which he 
 had at first spoken, probably because the shock qf first addressing 
 her was what he felt most difficult to overcome. Jeanie remained 
 mute with horror to hear language expressed so utterly foreign to 
 all which she had ever been acquainted with, that it sounded in her 
 ears rather like that of a fiend than of a human being. The stranger 
 pursued his address to her, without seeming to notice her surprise. 
 " You see before you a wretch, predestined to evil here and here- 
 after." 
 
 " For the sake of Heaven, that hears and sees us," said Jeanie, 
 " dinna speak in this desperate fashion ! The gospel is sent to the 
 chief of sinners — to the most miserable among the miserable." 
 
 " Then should I have my own share therein," said the stranger, 
 " if you call it sinful to have been the destruction of the mother that 
 bore me— of the friend that loved me— of the woman that trusted 
 me — of the innocent child that was born to me. If to have done 
 all this is to be a sinner, and survive it is to be miserable, then am 
 I most guilty and most miserable indeed." 
 
 " Then you are the wicked cause of my sister's ruin ? " said Jeanie, 
 with a natural touch of indignation expressed in her tone of voice. 
 
 " Curse me for it, if you will," said the stranger ; " I have well 
 deserved it at your hand." 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 129 
 
 " It is fitter for me," said Jeanie, " to pray to God to forgive you." 
 
 " Do as you will, how you will, or what you will," he replied, with 
 vehemence ; " only promise to obey my directions, and save your 
 sister's life." 
 
 " I must first know," said Jeanie, "the means you would have me 
 use in her behalf." 
 
 " No ! — you must first swear — solemnly swear, that you will em- 
 ploy them when I make them known to you." 
 
 " Surely, it is needless to swear that I will do all that is lawful to 
 a Christian, to save the life of my sister ? " 
 
 " I will have no reservation ! " thundered the stranger ; " lawful 
 or unlawful, Christian or heathen, you shall swear to do my hest, 
 and act by my counsel, or — you little know whose wrath you pro- 
 voke!" 
 
 " I will think on what you have said,"said jeanie, who began to 
 get much alarmed at the frantic vehemence of his manner, and 
 disputed in her own mind, whether she spoke to a maniac, or an 
 apostate spirit incarnate — " I will think on what you say, and let you 
 ken to-morrow." 
 
 " To-morrow ! " exclaimed the man with a laugh of scorn — " And 
 where will I be to-morrow? — or, where will you be to-night, unless 
 you swear to walk by my counsel ? — There was one accursed deed 
 done at this spot before now ; and there shall be another to match 
 it, unless you yield up to my guidance body and soul." 
 
 As he spoke, he offered a pistol at the unfortunate young woman. 
 She neither fled nor fainted, but sunk on her knees, and asked him 
 to spare her life. 
 
 "Is that all you have to say ? " said the unmoved ruffian. 
 
 " Do not dip your hands in the blood of a defenceless creature 
 that has trusted to you," said Jeanie, still on her knees. 
 
 " Is that all you can say for your life? — Have you no promise to 
 give ! — Will you destroy your sister, and compel me to shed more 
 blood?" 
 
 " I can promise nothing," said Jeanie, " which is unlawful for a 
 Christian." 
 
 He cocked the weapon, and held it towards her. 
 
 " May God forgive you ! " she said, pressing her hands forcibly 
 against her eyes. 
 
 " D n ! " muttered the man ; and, turning aside from her, he 
 
 uncocked the pistol, and replaced it in his pocket — " I am a 
 villain," he said, " steeped in guilt and wretchedness, but not wicked 
 enough to do you any harm ! I only wished to terrify you into my 
 measures — She hears me not — she is gone ! — Great God ! what a 
 wretch am I become ! " 
 
 As he spoke, she recovered herself from an agony which partook 
 of the bitterness of death ; and, in a minute or two, through the 
 strong exertion of her natural sense and courage, collected herself 
 sufficiently to understand he intended her no personal injury. 
 
 " No ! " he repeated ; " I would not add to the murder of your 
 sister, and of her child, that of any one belonging to her !— Mad, 
 frantic, as I am, and unrestrained by either fear or mercy, given up 
 
130 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 to the possession of an evil being; and forsaken by all thatis good, 
 I would not hurt you, were the world offered me for a bribe ! But, 
 for the sake of all that is dear to you, swear you will, follow my 
 counsel. Take this weapon, shoot me through the heady and with 
 your own hand revenge your sister's wrong, only follow the course 
 — the only course, by which her life can be saved." 
 
 " Alas ! is she innocent or guilty ? " 
 
 " She is guiltless — guiltless of everything, but of having trusted 
 a villain !— Yet, had it' not been for those that were worse than I 
 am — yes, worse than I am, though I am bad indeed — this misery 
 had not befallen." 
 
 "And my sister's child— does it live?" said Jeanie. 
 
 " No ; it was murdered — the new-born infant was barbarously 
 murdered," he uttered in a low, yet stern and sustained voice ; — 
 "but," he added hastily* "not by her knowledge or consentl" 
 
 " Then, why cannot the guilty be brought to justice, and the inno- 
 cent freed ? " 
 
 " Torment me not with questions which can serve no purpose," he 
 sternly replied — "The deed was done by those who are far enough 
 from pursuit, and safe enough from discovery ! — No one can: save 
 Effie but yourself." 
 
 "Wo '9 me ! how is it in my power?" asked Jeanie, in despon- 
 dency. 
 
 " Hearken to me ! — You have sense — you can apprehend ray 
 meariing-^I will trust you. Your sister is innocent' of the crime 
 charged against her " 
 
 " Thank God for that ! " said Jeanie, 
 
 " Be still and hearken ! — The person who assisted her in her ill- 
 ness murdered the child ; but it was without the mother'sknowledge 
 or consent. — She is therefore guiltless, as guiltless as the unhappy 
 innocent, that but gasped a few minutes in this unhappy would-*— the 
 better was its hap to be so soon at rest. She is innocent as that in- . 
 fant, and yet she must die — it is impossible to clear her of the. law ! " 
 
 " Cannot the wretches be discovered,, and given up to punish- 
 ment?" said Jeanie. 
 
 "Do you think you will persuade those who are hardened in guilt 
 to die to save another ! — Is that the reed you would lean to ?" 
 
 " But you said there was a remedy," again gasped out the terrified 
 young woman. 
 
 "There is," answered the stranger, " and it is in your own hands. 
 The blow which the law aims cannot be broken by directly en- 
 countering it, but it may be turned aside. You saw your sister 
 during the period preceding the birth of her child — what is so 
 natural as that she should have mentioned her condition to you.? 
 The doing so would, as the cant goes, take the case from under the 
 statute, fon it removes the quality of concealment. I know their 
 jargon, and have had sad cause "to know it ; and the quality of con- 
 cealment is essential to this statutory offence.* Nothing is so 
 natural as that, Effie should have mentioned her condition to you — 
 think — reflect— I am positive that she did." 
 
 " Wo 's me ! " said Jeannie, " she never spoke to me on the sub^ 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 131 
 
 jecti but grat sorely when I spoke to her about her altered looks, 
 and the change on her spirits." 
 
 "You asked her questions on the subject?" he said eagerly. 
 " You must remember her answer was a confession that she had 
 been ruined by a villain — yes, lay a strong emphasis on that — a 
 eruel false villain call it — any other name is unnecessary ; and that 
 she bore under her bosom the consequences of his guilt and her 
 folly ; and that he had assured her he would provide safely for her 
 approaching illness. — Well he kept his word ! " These last words 
 he spoke as it were to himself, and with a violent gesture of self- 
 accusation, and then calmly proceeded, " You will remember all 
 this ? — That is all that is necessary to be said." 
 
 "But I cannot remember," answered J eanie, with simplicity^ "that 
 which Effie never told me." 
 
 "Are you so dull — so very dull of apprehension ? " he exclaimed, 
 suddenly grasping her arm, and holding it firm in his hand. " I tell 
 you," (speaking between his teeth, and under his breath, but- with 
 great energy,) "you must remember that she told you all this, 
 whether she ever said a- syllable of it or no. You must repeat 1 this 
 tale, in which there is no falsehood, except in so far as it was not 
 told to you, before these Justices — Justiciary — whatever they call 
 their bloodthirsty court, and save your sister from being murdered, 
 and them from becoming murderers. Do not hesitate — I pledge 
 life and salvation, that in saying what I have said, you will only 
 speak the simple .truth." 
 
 " But," replied Jeanie, whose judgment was too accurate not to 
 , see the sophistry of this argument, " I shall be man-sworn in the 
 very thing in which my testimony is wanted, for it is the conceals 
 ment for which poor Effie is blamed, and you would make me tell 
 a falsehood anent it." 
 
 " I see," he said, " my first suspicions of you were right, and that 
 you will let your sister, innocent, fair, and guiltless, except intrusting 
 a villain, die the death of amurderess, rather than bestow the breath 
 of your mouth and the sound of your voice to save her." 
 
 " I wad ware the best blood in my body to keep her skaithless,'' 
 said Jeanie, weeping in bitter agony, "but I canna change right into 
 wrang, or make that true that is false." 
 
 " Foolish, hard-hearted girl," said the stranger, " are you afraid 
 of what they may do to you ? I tell you, even the retainers of the 
 law,, who course life as grey-hounds do hares, will rejoice at the 
 escape of a creature so young — so beautiful ; that they will not susr 
 pect your tale ; that, if they did suspect it, they would consider you 
 as deserving, not only of forgiveness, but of praise for your natural 
 affection." 
 
 " It is not man I fear," said Jeanie, looking upward ; " the God, 
 whose name I must call on to witness the truth of what I say, he 
 will know the falsehood." 
 
 " And he will know the motive,'' said the stranger, eagerly ; " he 
 will know that you are doing this — not for lucre of gain, but to save 
 the life of the innocent, and prevent the commission of a worse 
 crime than that which the law seeks to avenge." 
 
 -- 2 
 
13a THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 " He has given us a law," said Jeanie, " for the lamp of our path J 
 if we stray from it we err against knowledge — I may not do evil, 
 even that good may come out of it. But you — you that ken all this 
 to be true, which I must take on your word, — you that, if I under- 
 stood what you said e'en now, promised her shelter and protection 
 in her travail, why do not you step forward, and bear leal and 
 soothfast evidence in her behalf, as ye may with a clear conscience?" 
 
 " To whom do you talk of a clear conscience, woman ? " said he, 
 with a sudden fierceness which renewed her terrors, — " to me ? — 
 I have not known one for many a year. Bear witness in her behalf? 
 — a proper witness, that, even to speak these few words to a woman 
 of so little consequence as yourself, must choose such an hour and 
 such a place as this. When you see owls and bats fly abroad, like 
 larks, in the sunshine, you may expect to see such as I am in the 
 assemblies of men. — Hush— listen to that." 
 
 A voice was heard to sing one of those wild and monotonous 
 strains so common in Scotland, and to which the natives of that 
 country chant their old ballads. The sound ceased — then came 
 nearer, and was renewed ; the stranger listened attentively, still 
 holding Jeanie by the arm, (as she stood by him in motionless 
 terror,) as if to prevent her interrupting the strain by speaking or 
 stirring. When the sounds were renewed, the words were distinctly 
 audible : 
 
 " When the gled's in the blue cloud, 
 The lavrock lies still ; 
 When the hound's in the green-wood, 
 The hind keeps the hill." 
 
 The person who sung kept a strained and powerful voice at its 
 highest pitch, so that it could be heard at a very considerable dis- 
 tance. As the song ceased, they might hear a stifled sound, as of 
 steps and whispers of persons approaching them. The song was 
 again raised, but the tune was changed : 
 
 " O sleep ye sound, Sir James, she said, 
 When ye suld rise and ride ? 
 There's twenty men, wi' bow and blade, 
 Are seeking where ye hide." 
 
 " I dare stay no longer," said the stranger ; " return home, or re- 
 main till they come up— you have nothing to fear— but do not tell 
 you saw me— your sister's fate is in your hands." So saying, he 
 turned from her, and with a swift, yet cautiously noiseless step, 
 plunged into the darkness on the side most remote from the sounds 
 which they heard approaching, and was soon lost to her sight. 
 Jeanie remained by the cairn terrified beyond expression, and un- 
 certain whether she ought to fly homeward with all the speed she 
 could exert, or wait the approach of those who were advancing 
 towards her. This uncertainty detained her so long, that she now 
 distinctly saw two or three figures already so near to her, that a 
 precipitate flight would have been equally fruitless and impolitic. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTH tAN. 133 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 -She speaks things in doubt, 
 
 That carry but half sense : her speech is nothing, 
 Yet the unshaped use of it doth move 
 The hearers to collection ; they aim at it, 
 And botch the words up to fit their own thoughts. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 _ Like the digressive poet Ariosto, I find myself under the neces- 
 sity of connecting the branches of my story, by taking up the ad- 
 ventures of another of the characters, and bringing them down to 
 the point at which we have left those of Jeanie Deans. It is not, 
 perhaps, the mosf artificial way of telling a story, but it has the 
 advantage of sparing the necessity of resuming what a knitter (if 
 stocking looms have left such a person in the land) might call our 
 " dropped stitches ; " a labour in which the author generally toils 
 much, without getting credit for his pains. 
 
 " I could risk a sma' wad," said the clerk to the magistrate, 
 " that this rascal Ratcliffe, if he were insured of his neck's safety, 
 could do more than ony ten of our police-people and constables, to- 
 help us to get out of this scrape of Porteous's. He is weel acquant 
 wi' a' the smugglers, thieves, and banditti about Edinburgh ; and, 
 indeed, he may be called the father of a' the misdoers in Scotland, 
 for he has passed amang them for these twenty years by the name 
 of Daddie Rat." 
 
 " A bonny sort of a scoundrel," replied the magistrate, " to ex- 
 pect a place under the city ! " 
 
 " Begging your honour's pardon," said the city's procurator-fiscal, 
 upon whom the duties of superintendent of police devolved, " Mr. 
 Fairscrieve is perfectly in the right. It is just sic as Ratcliffe that 
 the town needs in my department ; an' if sae be that he's disposed 
 to turn his knowledge to the city service, ye'll no find a better man. 
 — Ye'll get nae saints to be searchers for uncustomed goods, or for 
 thieves and sic like ; — and your decent sort of men, religious pro- 
 fessors, and broken tradesmen, that are put into the like o' sic trust, 
 can do nae gude ava. They are feared for this, and they are scru- 
 pulous about that, and they are na free to tell a lie, though it may 
 be for the benefit of the city ; and they dinna like to be out at irre- 
 gular hours, and in a dark cauld nicht, and they like a clout ower 
 the croun far waur ; and sae between the fear o' God, and the fear 
 o' man, and the fear o' getting a sair throat, or sair banes, there's a 
 dozen o' our city-folk, baith waiters, and officers, and constables, 
 that can find outnaething but a wee bit skulduddery for the benefit 
 of the Kirk-treasurer. Jock Porteous, that's stiff and stark, puir 
 fallow, was worth a dozen o' them ; for he never had ony fears, or 
 scruples, or doubts, or conscience, about onything your honours 
 bade him." 
 ■ " He was a gude servant o' the toun," said the Bailie, " though he 
 
134 THE HEART OF MID-ILOTHIAN, 
 
 was an ower free-living man. But if you really think this rascal 
 Ratcliffe could do us ony service in discovering these malefactors, 
 I would insure him life, reward, and promotion. It's an awsome 
 thing this mischance for the city, Mr. 'Fairscrieve. It will be very 
 ill taen wi' abune stairs. Queen Caroline, God bless her ! is a 
 woman — at least I judge sae, and it's naetreason to speak my mind 
 sae far — and ye maybe' ken as weel as I do, for ye <hae a 'house- 
 keeper, though ye arena a married map, that women are wilfu', and 
 downa bide a slicht. And it will sound ill in her ears, that sic a 
 confused mistake suld come to, pass, and naebody sae muckle as 
 to be put into the Tolbooth about it." 
 
 " If ye thought that, sir," said the procurator-fiscal, "we could 
 easily clap into the prison a few blackguards upon suspicion. It 
 will have a gude active look, and I hae aye plenty on my list, that 
 wadna be a hair the waur of a week or twa's imprisonment ; and if 
 ye thought it no strictly just, ye could be just the easier wi' them 
 the neist time they did onything to deserve it ; they arena the sort 
 to be lang o' gieing ye an opportunity to clear scores wi' them on 
 that account." 
 
 " I doubt that will hardly do in this case, Mr. Sharpitlaw," re- 
 turned the town-clerk ; " they'll run their letters,* and be adrift 
 again, before ye ken where ye are." 
 
 " I will speak to the Lord Provost," said the magistrate, " about 
 Ratcliffe's business. Mr. Sharpitlaw, you will go with me, and re- 
 ceive instructions — something may be made too out of this story of 
 Butler's and his unknown gentleman — I know no business any man 
 has to swagger about in the King's Park, and call himself the devil, 
 to the terror of honest folks, who dinna care to hear mair about the 
 devil than is said from -the pulpifon the Sabbath. I cannot think 
 the preacher himsell wad be heading the mob, though the time has 
 been,, they hae been .as forward in a bruilzie as their neighbours." 
 
 "^ut these times are lang by," said Mr. Sharpitlaw. "In my 
 £atherVtime,-"there was mair search for silenced ministers about 
 the'BDw-head and the Covenant-close, and all the tents of Kedar, 
 as they ca'd'the dwellings o' the godly in those days, than there's 
 now ^or thieves and vagabonds in the Laigh Calton and the back 
 d^the Canongate. But that time's weel by, an it bide. And if the 
 Bailie will get me directions and -authority from the Provost, I'll 
 speak wi' DadcUe Rat mysell ; for I'm thinking I'll make mair out 
 6" him than ye'll do." 
 
 Mr. Sharpitlaw, being necessarily a man of high trust, was 
 accordingly empowered, in the course of the day, to make such 
 arrangements,.as might seem in the emergency most advantageous 
 for the Good Town. He went to the jail accordingly, and saw 
 Ratcliffe in'private. 
 
 The relative positions of a police-officer and a professed thief 
 bear a different complexion, according to circumstances. The most 
 obvious simile of a hawk pouncing upon his Drey is often least 
 applicable. Sometimes the guardian of justice "has the air of.a cat 
 watching a mouse, and, while he suspends his purpose of springing 
 upon the pilferer, -takes care so to calculate his -motions that he 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 13S 
 
 shall not get beyoitd his power. Sometimes, more passive still, he 
 uses the art of fascination ascribed to the rattlesnake, and contents 
 himself with glaring on the victim, through all his devious flutter- 
 ings ; certain that his terror, confusion, and disorder of ideas, will 
 bring him into his jaws sX last. The interview between Ratcliffe 
 and Sharpitlaw had an aspect different from all these. They sat 
 for five minutes silent, on opposite sides of a small table, and 
 looked fixedly at each other, with a sharp, knowing, and alert .cast 
 of countenance, not unmingled with an inclination to laugh, and 
 resembled, more than anything else, two dogs, who, preparing for 
 a game at romps, are seen to couch, down, and remain in that pos- 
 ture for. a little time, watching each other's movements, and waiting 
 which shall begin the;game. 
 
 "So, Mr. Ratcliffe," said the officer, conceiving it suited his 
 dignity to speak first, "you give up business, I find ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied Ratcliffe ; " I shall be on that lay nae mair — 
 and I think that will save your folk some trouble, Mr. Sharpitlaw ? " 
 
 •" Which Jock Dalgleish " (then finisher of the law in the Scottish 
 metropolis) " wad save them as easily," returned the procurator- 
 fiscal. 
 
 "Ay ; if I waited in the Tolbooth here to have him fit my cravat 
 -^■but that's an idle way ,0' speaking, Mr. Sharpitlaw.". 
 
 "Why, I suppose you know you are under sentence of death, Mr. 
 jRatcliffe?" replied Mr. Sharpitlaw. 
 
 "Ay, so are we a', as that worthy minister said in the Tolboo.tih. 
 Kirk the day Robertson wan off ; but naebody.kens when it will be 
 executed. Gude faith, - he had better reason ito say sae than he 
 dreamed of, before the play w ; as played. out .that morning ! " 
 
 " This Robertson," said Sharpitlaw, in a lower and something 
 like a confidential tone, " d'ye ken, Rat— that is, can ye gie us ony 
 inkling where he is to he heard tell o' ? " 
 
 •"Troth, Mr. Sharpitlaw, I'll be frankiwi' ye ; 'Robertson itsrather 
 a "cut .abune me — a- wild deevil he was, and mony.a daft prank he 
 played ; but except the Collector's job that Wilson led -him into, 
 and some tuibues about run goods wi' the gaugers and the waiters, 
 henever did ony thing that came near our line o' business." 
 
 ■" Umph ! that's singular, considering the company he kept." 
 
 " Fact, upon my honour and credit," said Ratcliffe, gravely. " He 
 keepit out o' our little bits o' affairs, and that's mair than Wilson 
 did ; I hae dune business wi' Wilson afore now. But the lad Will 
 come on in time ; there's nae fear o' him; naebody will liv,e>the 
 life he has led, but what he'll come to sooner or later." 
 
 " Who or what is he, .Ratcliffe ? you know, I suppose ? " said 
 Sharpitlaw. 
 
 " He's .better born, I judge, than.he cares to let on ; he's been ia 
 soldier, and,he has been a play-actor, and I watna what he has 
 been orhasna been, for as young as he is, sae that it had daffing 
 and nonsense about it." 
 
 " Pretty pranks he has played in his time, I suppose t" 
 
 " Ye may say that," said Ratcliffe, with a. sardonic smile ; "and," 
 (touching his nose,) " a deevil amang the lasses." 
 
136 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 " Like enough," said Sharpitlaw. " Weel,- Ratcliffe, I'll no stand 
 niffering wi' ye ; ye ken the way that favour's gotten in my office ; 
 ye maun be usefu'." 
 
 " Certainly, sir, to the best of my power— naething for naething 
 — I ken the rule of the office," said the ex-depredator. 
 
 " Now the principal thing in, hand e'en now," said the official 
 person, " is this job of Porteous's ; an ye can gie us a lift — why, the 
 inner turnkey's office to begin wi', and the captainship in time-^ye 
 understand my meaning ? " 
 
 " Ay, troth do I, sir ; a wink's as gude as a nod to a blind hoise ; 
 but Jock Porteous's job — Lord help ye ! — I was under sentence'the 
 haill time. God ! but I couldna help laughing when I heard Jock 
 skirling for mercy in the lads' hands ! Mony a het skin ye hae/gien 
 me, neighbour, thought I, tak ye what's gaun : time about's fair 
 play ; ye'll ken now what hanging's gude for." 
 
 " Come, come, this is all nonsense, Rat," said the procurator. 
 " Ye canna creep out at that hole, lad ; you must speak to the point, 
 you understand me, if you want favour ; gif-gaf makes gude friends, 
 ye ken." 
 
 " But how can I speak to the point, as your honour ca's it," said 
 Ratcliffe, demurely, and with an air of great simplicity, " when ye 
 ken I was under sentence, and in the strong room a' the while the 
 job was going on ? " 
 
 " And how can we turn ye loose on the public again, Daddie Rat, 
 unless ye do or say something to deserve it ? " 
 
 "Well, then, d — n it ! " answered the criminal, " since it maun be 
 sae, I saw Geordie Robertson among the boys that brake the jail ; 
 I suppose that will do me some gude ? " 
 
 " That's speaking to the purpose, indeed," said the office-bearer ; 
 and now, Rat, where think ye we'll find him ? " 
 
 " Deil haet o' me kens," said Ratcliffe ; " he'll no likely gang 
 back to ony o' his auld howffs ; he'll be off the country by this time. 
 He has gude friends some gate or other, for a' the life he's led ; 
 he's been weel educate." 
 
 " He'll grace the gallows the better," said Mr. Sharpitlaw ; " a 
 desperate dog, to murder an officer of the city for doing his duty I 
 Wha kens wha's turn it might be next ? But you saw him plainly ? " 
 
 " As plainly as I see you." 
 
 " How was he dressed ? " said Sharpitlaw. 
 
 " I couldna weel see ; something of a woman's bit mutch on his 
 head ; but ye never saw sic a ca'-throw. Ane couldna hae een to 
 a' thing." 
 
 " But did he speak to no one ? " said Sharpitlaw. 
 
 " They were a' speaking and gabbling through ither," said Rat- 
 cliffe, who was obviously unwilling to carry his evidence farther 
 than he could possibly help. 
 
 " This will not do, Ratcliffe," said the procurator ; " you must 
 speak out — out — out" tapping the table emphatically, as he repeated 
 that impressive monosyllable. 
 
 " It's very hard, sir," said the prisoner ; " and but for the under- 
 turnkey's place " 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 137 
 
 "And the reversion of the captaincy — the captaincy of the 
 Tolbooth, man — that is, in case of gude behaviour." 
 
 " Ay, ay," said Ratcliffe, " gude behaviour ! — there's the deevil. 
 And then it's waiting for dead folk's shoon into the bargain." 
 
 " But Robertson's head will weigh something," said Sharpitlaw ; 
 " something gay and heavy, Rat ; the town maun show cause — 
 that's right and reason — and then ye'll hae freedom to enjoy your 
 gear honestly." 
 
 " I dinna ken," said Ratcliffe ; " it's a queer way o' beginning 
 the trade of honesty — but deil ma care. Weel, then, I heard and 
 saw him speak to the wench Effie Deans, that's up there for child- 
 murder." 
 
 " The deil ye did ? Rat, this is finding a mare's nast wi' a 
 witness. — And the man that spoke to Butler in the Park, and that 
 was to meet wi' Jeanie Deans at Muschat's Cairn— whew ! lay that 
 and that together ? As sure as I live he's been the father of the 
 lassie's wean." 
 
 " There hae been waur guesses than that, I'm thinking," observed 
 Ratcliffe, turning his quid of tobacco in his cheek, and squirting 
 out the juice. " I heard something a while syne about his drawing 
 up wi' a bonny quean about the Pleasaunts, and that it was a' 
 Wilson could do to keep him frae marrying her." 
 
 Here a city officer entered, and told Sharpitlaw that they had 
 the woman in custody whom he had directed them to bring before 
 him. 
 
 " It's little matter now," said he, " the thing is taking another 
 turn ; however, George, ye may bring her in." 
 
 The officer retired, and introduced, upon his return, a tall, strap- 
 ping wench of eighteen or twenty, dressed fantastically, in a sort of 
 blue riding-jacket, with tarnished lace, her hair clubbed like that of 
 a man, a Highland bonnet, and a bunch of broken feathers, a 
 riding-skirt (or petticoat) of scarlet camlet, embroidered with 
 tarnished flowers. Her features were coarse and masculine, yet at 
 a little distance, by dint of very bright wild-looking black eyes, an 
 aquiline nose, and a commanding profile, appeared rather hand- 
 some. She flourished the switch she held in her hand, dropped a 
 curtsey as low as a lady at a birth-night introduction, recovered 
 herself seemingly according to Touchstone's directions to Audrey, 
 and opened the conversation without waiting till any questions 
 ■were asked. 
 
 " God gie your honour gude-e'en, and mony o' them, bonny 
 Mr. Sharpitlaw ! — Gude-e'en to ye, Daddie Ratton — they tauld me 
 ye were hanged, man ; or did ye get out o' John Dalgleish's hands 
 like half-hangit Maggie Dickson ? " 
 
 " Whisht, ye daft jaud," said Ratcliffe, " and hear what's said 
 to ye." 
 
 " Wi' a' rriy heart, Ratton. Great preferment for poor Madge to 
 be brought up the street wi' a grand man, wi' a coat a' passemented 
 wi' worset lace, to speak wi' provosts, and bailies, and town-clerks, 
 and prokitors, at this time o' day — and the haill toun looking at me 
 too — This is honour on earth for anes ! " 
 
r38 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 "Ay, Madge," said Mr. Sharpitlaw, in a coaxing tone; "and 
 ye're dressed out in your braws, I see ; these are not your every- 
 days' claiths ye have on." 
 
 "Deil be in my fingers, then!" said Madge— " Eh, sirs !" 
 (observing Butler come into the apartment,) " there's a minister in 
 the Tolbooth — wha will ca' it a graceless place now ? — I'se warrant 
 he's in for the gude auld cause— but it's be nae cause o' mine," and 
 off she went into a song. 
 
 "Hey for cavaliers, ho, for cavaliers, I Have at old Beelzebub,— 
 Dub a dub, dub a dub ; | Oliver's squeaking for fear." 
 
 " Did you ever see that mad woman before ? " said Sharpitlaw to 
 Butler. 
 
 "Not to my knowledge, sir," replied Butler. 
 
 " I thought as much," said the procurator-fiscal, looking 'towards 
 Ratcliffe, who answered his glance with a nod of acquiescence and 
 intelligence.. 
 
 " But that is Madge Wildfire, as she calls .herself," said the man 
 of law to Butler. 
 
 " Ay, that 1 am," said Madge, " and that I have been ever since 
 I was something better — Heigh ho" — (and something like melan- 
 choly dwelt on her features for a minute) — "Sut 1 canna mind 
 when that was — it was lang syne, at ony rate, and 111 ne'er fash my 
 thumb about it. — 
 
 " I glance like the wildfire through country and town ; 
 I'm seen on the causeway — I'm seen on the down ; 
 The lightning that flashes so bright, and so free, 
 .Is scarcely so blithe or so bonny as me." 
 
 " Haud your tongue, ye skirling limmer ! " said the officer, who 
 had acted as master of the ceremonies to this extraordinary per- 
 former, and who was rather scandalized at the freedom of her 
 demeanour before a person of Mr. Sharpitlaw's importance — " haud 
 your tongue, or I'se gie ye something to skirl for ! " 
 
 " Let her alone, George," said Sharpitlaw, " dinna put her .out 
 o' tune ; I hae some questions to ask her— But first, Mr. Butler, 
 take another look .of her." 
 
 " Do sae, minister — do sae," cried Madge ; "lam as weel worth 
 looking at as ony book in your aught. — And I can say the single 
 carritch, and the double carritch, and justification, and effectual 
 calling, and the assembly of divines at Westminster, that is," (she 
 added in a low, tone,) " I could say them anes — but it's lang.syne — 
 and ane forgets, ye ken." And poor Madge heaved another deep 
 sigh. 
 
 " Weel, sir," said Mr. Sharpitlaw to Butler, "what think ye now? 
 
 "As I did before," said Butler; "that I never saw the poor 
 demented .creature in my life before." 
 
 " Then she is not the -person whom you said the rioters last night 
 described as Madge Wildfire?"" 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 *39 
 
 "Certainly not," said Butler. "They may be near the same 
 neigmyfor they are both tall, but I see little other resemblance." 
 
 " Their dress, then, is not alike ? " said Sharpitlaw. 
 
 " Not in the least," said Butler. 
 
 " Madge, my bonny woman," said Sharpitlaw, in the same 
 coaxing manner, " what did ye do wi' your ilka-days' olais.e yester- 
 day?" 
 
 " I dinna mind," said Madge. 
 
 " Where was ye yesterday at e'en, Madge ? " 
 
 " I dinna mind onything about yesterday,'' answered Madge ; 
 " ae day is eneugh for pnybody to wun ower wi' at a time, and ower 
 muckle sometimes." 
 
 " But maybe, Madge, ye -wad mind something about it, if I was 
 to gie ye this half-crown ? " said Sharpitlaw, taking out, the piece of 
 money. 
 
 " That might gar me laugh, but it couldna gar me mind." 
 
 "But, Madge," continued Sharpitlaw, "were I to send you to the 
 wark-house in Leith Wynd, and gar Jock Dalgleish laythe.tawse 
 on your back " 
 
 " That wad gar me greet,". said Madge, sobbing, "but it couldna 
 gar me mind, ye ken." 
 
 " She is ower far past reasonable folk's motives, sir," said Rat- 
 cliffe, " to mind -siller or John Dalgleish, or the cat-and-nine-tails 
 either, but I think I could gar her tell us something." 
 
 " Try her then, Ratcliffe," said Sharpitlaw, " for I am tired of her 
 crazy pate, and .be d — d to her." 
 
 " Madge," said Ratcliffe, " hae ye ony joes now ?'" 
 
 " An onybody ask ye, say ye dinna.ken. — Set him to be speaking 
 of my joes, auld Daddie Ratton ! " 
 
 " I dare say, ye hae deil ane ? " 
 
 " See if I haena then," said Madge, with the toss of the head of 
 affronted beauty—" there's Rob the Ranter, and Will Fleming,, and 
 then there's Geordie Robertson, lad — that's Gentleman Geordie-r- 
 what think ye o' that ? " 
 
 ; Ratcliffe laughed, and, winking to the procurator-fiscal, pursued 
 the inquiry in his own way. " But, Madge, the lads only like ye 
 when ye hae on your braws — rthey wadna touch you wi' a pair 
 o' tangs when you are in your auld ilka-day rags." 
 
 •" Ye're a leeing .auld sorrow then," replied the fair one ; " for 
 Gentle Geordie Robertson put my ilka-days', claise on his ain bonny 
 sell yestreen, and gaed -a' through the toun wi' ,them ; and gawsie 
 and.grand he lookit, like ony queen in the land." 
 
 " I dinna believe a word o't," said Ratcliffe, with another wink to 
 the procurator. " Thae duds were a' o' the colour o' moonshine in 
 the water, I'm thinking, Madge — The gown wad .be a sky-blue 
 scarlet, I'se warrant ye ?" 
 
 " It was nae sic thing," said Madge, whose unretentive memory 
 let out, in the eagerness of contradiction, all .that she would have 
 most wished to keep concealed, had her judgment been equal to 
 her inclination. " It was neither scarlet nor sky-blue, but. my ain 
 auld brown .threshie-coat of a shortrgown, and my mother's ,auld 
 
140 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 mutch and my red rokelay — and he gaed me a croun and a kiss for 
 the use o' them, blessing on his bonny face — though it's been a dear 
 ane to me." 
 
 "And where did he change his clothes again, hinnie?" said 
 Sharpitlaw, in his most conciliatory manner. 
 
 " The procurator's spoiled a'," observed Ratcliffe, dryly. 
 
 And it was even so ; for the question, put in so direct a shape, 
 immediately awakened Madge to the propriety of being reserved 
 upon those very topics on which Ratcliffe had indirectly seduced 
 her to become communicative. 
 
 "What was 't ye were speering at us, sir?" she resumed, with an 
 appearance of stolidity so speedily assumed, as showed there was a 
 good deal of knavery mixed with her folly. 
 
 " I asked you," said the procurator, " at what hour, and to what 
 place, Robertson brought back your clothes." 
 
 " Robertson ? — Lord haud a care o' us ! what Robertson ? " 
 
 " Why, the fellow we were speaking of, Gentle Geordie, as you 
 call him." 
 
 " Geordie Gentle ! " answered Madge, with well-feigned amaze- 
 ment — " I dinna ken naebody they ca' Geordie Gentle." 
 
 " Come, my jo," said Sharpitlaw, " this will not do ; you must 
 tell us what you did with these clothes of yours." 
 
 Madge Wildfire made no answer, unless the question may seem 
 connected with the snatch of a song with which she indulged the 
 embarrassed investigator : — 
 
 " What did ye wi' the bridal ring — bridal ring — bridal ring ? 
 What did ye wi' your wedding ring, ye little cutty quean, 0? 
 I gied it till a sodger, a sodger, a sodger, 
 I gied it till a sodger, an auld true love o' mine, O." 
 
 Of all the madwomen who have sung and said, since the days of 
 Hamlet the Dane, if Ophelia be the most affecting, Madge 
 Wildfire was the most provoking. 
 
 The procurator-fiscal was in despair. " I'll take some measures 
 with this d — d Sess of Bedlam," said he, " that shall made her 
 find her tongue." 
 
 " Wi' your favour, sir," said Ratcliffe, " better let her mind settle 
 a little — Ye have aye made out something." 
 
 " True," said the official person ; " a brown short-gown, mutch, 
 red rokelay — that agrees with your Madge Wildfire, Mr. Butler?" 
 Butler agreed that it did so. " Yes, there was a sufficient motive 
 for taking this crazy creature's dress and name, while he was about 
 such a job." 
 
 " And I am free to say now," said Ratcliffe 
 
 "When you see it has come out without you," interrupted 
 Sharpitlaw. 
 
 " Just sae, sir," reiterated Ratcliffe. " I am free to say now, 
 since it's come out otherwise, that these were the clothes I saw 
 Robertson wearing last night in the jail, when he was at the head 
 of the rioters." 
 
 " That's direct evidence," said Sharpitlaw ; " stick to that, Rat— 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. j 4 i 
 
 I will report favourably of you to the provost, for I have business 
 for you to-night. It wears late ; I must home and get a snack, and 
 I'll be back in the evening. Keep Madge with you, Ratcliffe, and 
 try to get her into a good tune again." So saying, he left the 
 prison. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 And some they whistled — and some they sang, 
 
 And some did loudly say, 
 Whenever Lord Barnard's horn it blew, 
 
 "Away, Musgrave, away!" 
 
 Ballad of Little Musgrave. 
 
 When the man of office returned to the Heart of Mid-Lothian, 
 he resumed his conference with Ratcliffe, of whose experience and 
 assistance he now held himself secure. " You must speak with 
 this wench, Rat — this Effie Deans — you must sift her a wee bit ; 
 for as sure as a tether she will ken Robertson's haunts — till her, 
 Rat — till her, without delay." 
 
 " Craving your pardon, Mr. Sharpitlaw," said the turkney elect, 
 " that's what I am not free to do." 
 
 " Free to do, man ? what the deil ails ye now ? — I thought we 
 had settled a' that?" 
 
 " I dinna ken, sir," said Ratcliffe ; " I hae spoken to this Effie — 
 she's strange to this place and to its ways, and to a' our ways, 
 Mr. Sharpitlaw ; and she greets, the silly tawpie, and she's 
 breaking her heart already about this wild chield ; and were she 
 the means o' takin him, she wad break it outright." 
 
 " She wunna hae time, lad," said Sharpitlaw ; " the woodie will 
 hae its ain o' her before that — a woman's heart takes a lang time 
 o' breaking." 
 
 " That's according to the stuff they are made o', sir," replied 
 Ratcliffe — " But to make a lang tale short, I canna undertake the 
 job. It gangs against my conscience." 
 
 " Your conscience, Rat ? " said Sharpitlaw, with a sneer, which 
 the reader will probably think very natural upon the occasion. 
 
 "Ou ay, sir," answered Ratcliffe, calmly, "just my conscience; 
 aTsody has a conscience, though it may be ill wunnin at it. I think 
 mine's as weel out o' the gate as maist folk's are ; and yet it's just 
 like the noop of my elbow, it whiles gets a bit dirl on a corner." 
 
 " Weel, Rat," replied SharpuTaw, " since ye are nice, I'll speak to 
 the hussy mysell." 
 
 Sharpitlaw, accordingly, caused himself to be introduced into 
 the little dark apartment tenanted by the unfortunate Effie Deans. 
 The poor girl was seated on her little flock-bed, plunged in a 
 deep reverie. Some food stood on the table, of a quality better 
 than is usually supplied to prisoners, but it was untouched. The 
 person under whose care she was more particularly placed, said, 
 
143 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 " that sometimes she; tasted naething from the tae end of the-foois- 
 and-twenty hours to the t'other, except a drink of water." 
 
 Sharpitlaw took a chair, and, commanding the turnkey to retire, 
 he opened- the conversation, endeavouring to throw into his tone 
 and countenance as much commiseration as they were capable 
 of expressing, for the one was sharp and harsh, the other sly, 
 acute, and selfish. 
 
 " How's a' wi' ye, Effie — How d'ye find yourself, hinny?" 
 
 A deep sigh was the only answer. 
 
 " Are thofolk civil to ye, Effie ?— it's my duty to inquire." 
 
 " Very civil, sir," said Effie, compelling, herself to answer, yet 
 hardly knowing what she said. 
 
 "And your victuals," continued Sharpitlaw, in the same eon- 
 doling tone — "do you get what you like? — or is there onything 
 you would particularly fancy, as your health seems but silly ? " 
 
 " It's a' very weel, sir, I thank ye," said the poor prisoner, in a 
 tone how different from the sportive vivacity of those of the Lily 
 of St. Leonard's ! — " it's a' very gude— ower gude for me." 
 
 " He must have been a great villain, Effie, who brought you to 
 this pass," said Sharpitlaw. 
 
 The remark was dictated partly by a natural feeling, of which 
 even he could not divest himself, though accustomed to practise pn 
 the passions of others, and keep a most heedful guard over his 
 own, and partly by his wish to introduce the sort of conversation 
 which might best serve his immediate purpose. Indeed,' upon.the 
 present occasion, these mixed motives of feeling and cunning" har- 
 monized together, wonderfully ; for, said Sharpitlaw to himself,, the 
 greater rogue Robertson is, the more will be. the merit of bringing 
 him to justice. " He must have been a great villain, indeed," he 
 again reiterated ; "and Iwish I had the skelping o' him." 
 
 " I may blame mysell mair than him," said Effie ; " I' was bred 
 up to ken better ; but he, poor fellow," (she stopped). 
 
 " Was a thorough blackguard a' his life, I dare say," said 
 Sharpitlaw. " A stranger he was in this country, and a companion 
 of that lawless vagabond, Wilson, I think, Effie ? " 
 
 " It wad hae been dearly telling him that he had ne'er seen 
 Wilson's face." 
 
 " That's very true that you are saying, Effie," said Sharpitlaw. 
 " Where was't that Robertson and you were used to howff the- 
 gither? Somegate aboutthe Laigh. Calton, I am thinking." 
 
 The simple and dispirited girl had thus far followed Mr. Sharpit- 
 laVs lead, because he had artfully adjusted his observations to 
 the thoughts he was pretty certain must be passing through her 
 own mind, so that her answers became a kind of thinking aloud, 
 a mood into which those who are either constitutionally absent 
 in mind r or are rendered so by the temporary pressure of mis- 
 fortune, may be easily led by a skilful train of suggestions. But 
 the last observation of the procurator-fiscal was too much of the 
 nature of a direct interrogatory, and it broke the charm ac- 
 cordingly. 
 
 " What was it that I was saying ? " said Effie, starting up from 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 143 
 
 her reclining' pqsture, seating herself upright, and hastily shading 
 her dishevelled hair back from her wasted but still beautiful 
 countenance. She fixed her eyes boldly and keenly upon SharpiN 
 law : — " You are too much of a gentleman, sir, — too much of an 
 honest man, to take any notice of what a poor creature like me 
 says, that can hardly ca' my senses my ain — God help me ! " 
 
 " Advantage ! — I would be of some advantage to you if I could," 
 said Sharpitlaw, in a soothing tone ; " and I ken naething sae 
 likely to serve ye, Effie, as gripping this rascal, Robertson." 
 
 " O dinna misca' him, sir, that never misca'd you ! — Robertson ? 
 — I am sure I had naething to say against ony man o' the name, 
 and naething will I say. 
 
 " But if you do not heed your own misfortune, Effie, you should 
 mind what distress he has brought on your family," said the man 
 of law. 
 
 " O, Heaven help me ! " exclaimed poor Effie — ( ' My poor father 
 — my dear Jeanie — O, that's sairest to bide of a' ! O, sir, if you 
 hae ony kindness — if ye hae ony touch of compassion — for a 1 the 
 folk . I see here are as hard as the wa'-stanes — If ye wad but bid' 
 them let my sister Jeanie- in the next time she ca's! for when I 
 hear them put her awa frae the door, and canna climb up to that 
 high window to see sae muckle as her gown-tail, it's like to pit 
 me out o' my judgment." And she looked on him with a face of 
 entreaty so earnest, yet so humble, that she fairly shook the stead- 
 fast purpose of his mind. 
 
 "You shall see your sister," he began, "if you'll tell me;" 1 — then 
 interrupting himself, he added, in a more hurried tone, — "no, 
 tfc — n itj you shall see your sister whether you tell me anything or 
 no." So saying, he rose up and left the apartment. 
 
 When he had rejoined Ratcliffe, he observed, " You are right, 
 Ratton ; there's no making much of that lassie: But ae thing I 
 have cleared — that is 5 that Robertson has been the father of the 
 bairn, and so I will wager a boddle it will be he that's to meet wi' 
 Jeanie Deans this night at Muschat's Cairn, and there we'll' nail 
 him, Rat, or my name is not Gideon Sharpitlaw." 
 
 " But," said Ratcliffe, perhaps because he was in no hurry to' see 
 anything which was like to be connected with the discovery and 
 apprehension of Robertson, " an that were the case,. Mr. Butler wad 
 hae ken'd the man in the King's Park to be the same person wi' him 
 in Madge Wildfire's claise, that headed the mob." 
 
 "That makes nae difference, man," replied Sharpitlaw-^" the 
 dress, the light, the confusion, and maybe a touch o' a blackit cork, 
 or a slake o' paint — hout, Ratton, I have seen ye dress your ainsell 
 that the deevil ye belang to durstna hae made oath t'ye." 
 
 " And that's true, too," said Ratcliffe. 
 
 "And besides, ye donnard carle," continued Sharpitlaw, trium- 
 phantly, " the minister did say, that he thought he knew some- 
 thing of the features of the birkie that spoke to him in the Park, 
 though he could not charge his memory where, or when he had 
 seen them." 
 
 " It's evident, then, your horrcrar will beright," said Ratcliffe. 
 
144 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 " Then, Rat, you and I will go with the party oursells this night, 
 and see him in grips, or we are done wi' him." 
 
 " I seena muckle use I can be o' to your honour," said Ratcliffe, 
 reluctantly. 
 
 "Use?" answered Sharpitlaw— "You can guide the party— you 
 ken the ground. Besides, I do not intend to quit sight o' you, my 
 good friend, till I have him in hand." ' 
 
 "Weel, sir," said Ratcliffe, but in no joyful tone of ac- 
 quiescence; "ye maun hae it your ain way — but mind he's a 
 desperate man." 
 
 "We shall have that with us," answered Sharpitlaw, "that will 
 settle him, if it is necessary." 
 
 " But, sir," answered Ratcliffe, " I am sure I couldna undertake 
 to guide you to Muschat's Cairn in the night-time ; I ken the place, 
 as mony does, in fair day-light, but how to find it by moonshine, 
 amang sae mony crags and stanes, as like to each other as the 
 collier to the deil, is mair than I can tell. I might as soon seek 
 moonshine in water." 
 
 " What's the meaning o' this, Ratcliffe ? " said Sharpitlaw, while 
 he fixed his eye on the recusant, with a fatal and ominous expres- 
 sion, — " Have you forgotten that you are still under sentence of 
 death?" 
 
 " No sir," said Ratcliffe, " that's a thing no easily put out o' 
 memory ; and if my presence be judged necessary, nae doubt I maun 
 gang wi' your honour. But I was gaun to tell your honour of ane 
 that has mair skeel o' the gate than me, and that's e'en Madge 
 Wildfire." 
 
 " The devil she has ! — Do you think me as mad as she is, to 
 trust to her guidance on such an occasion ? " 
 
 " Your honour is the best judge," answered Ratcliffe ; " but I 
 ken I can keep her in tune, and garr her haud the straight path — 
 she often sleeps out, or rambles about amang thae hills the haul 
 simmer night, the daft limmer." 
 
 " Well, Ratcliffe," replied the procurator-fiscal, " if you think she 
 can guide us the right way — but take heed to what you are about — 
 your life depends on your behaviour." 
 
 " It's a sair judgment on a man,* said Ratcliffe, " when he has 
 ance gane sae far wrang as I hae done, that deil a bit he can be 
 honest, try't whilk way he will." 
 
 Such was the reflection of Ratcliffe, when he was left for a few 
 minutes to himself, while the retainer of justice went to procure a 
 proper warrant and give the necessary directions. 
 
 The rising moon saw the whole party free from the walls of the 
 city and entering upon the open ground. Arthur's Seat, like a 
 couchant lion of immense size — Salisbury Crags, like a huge belt 
 or girdle of granite, were dimly visible. Holding their path along 
 the southern side of the Canongate, they gained the Abbey of Holy- 
 roodhouse, and from thence found their way by step and stile into 
 the King's Park. They were at first four in number — an officer of 
 justice and Sharpitlaw, who were well armed with pistols and cut- 
 lasses ; Ratcliffe, who was not trusted with weapons, lest he might, 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 145 
 
 peradventure, have used them on the wrong side ; and the female. 
 But at the last stile, when they entered the Chase, they were joined 
 by other two officers, whom Sharpitlaw, desirous to secure suffi- 
 cient force for his purpose, and at the same time to avoid observa- 
 tion, had directed to wait for him at this place. Ratcliffe saw this 
 accession of strength with some disquietude, for he had hitherto 
 thought it likely that Robertson, who was a bold, stout, and active 
 young fellow, might have made his escape from Sharpitlaw and the 
 single officer, by force or agility, without his being implicated in 
 the matter. But the present strength of the followers of justice was 
 overpowering, and the only mode of saving Robertson, (which the 
 old sinner was well disposed to do, providing always he could ac- 
 complish his purpose without compromising his own safety,) -must 
 be by contriving that he should have some signal of their approach. 
 It was probably with this view that Ratcliffe had requested the 
 addition of Madge to the party, having considerable confidence in 
 her propensity to exert her lungs. Indeed, she had already given 
 them so many specimens of her clamorous loquacity, that Sharpit- 
 law half determined to send her back with one of the officers, 
 rather than carry forward in his company a person so extremely ill 
 qualified to be a guide in a secret expedition. It seemed, too, as if 
 the open air, the approach to the hills, and the ascent of the moon, 
 supposed to be so portentous over those whose brain is infirm, 
 made her spirits rise in a degree tenfold more loquacious than she 
 had hitherto exhibited. To silence her by fair means seemed im- 
 possible ; authoritative commands and coaxing entreaties she set 
 alike at defiance, and threats only made her sulky and altogether 
 intractable. 
 
 " Is there no one of you," said Sharpitlaw, impatiently, " that 
 knows the way to this accursed place — this Nicol Muschat's 
 Cairn — excepting this mad clavering idiot ? " 
 
 " Deil ane o' them kens it, except mysell," exclaimed Madge ; 
 " how suld they, the pure fule cowards ! But I hae sat on the grave 
 frae bat-fleeing time till cock-crow, and had mony a fine crack wi' 
 Muschat and Ailie Muschat, that are lying sleeping below." 
 
 " The devil take your crazy brain," said Sharpitlaw ; " will you 
 not allow the men to answer a question ? " 
 
 The officers, obtaining a moment's audience while Ratcliffe 
 diverted Madge's attention, declared that, though they had a 
 general knowledge of the spot, they could not undertake to guide 
 the party to it by the uncertain light of the moon, with such accu- 
 racy as to ensure success to their expedition. 
 . " What shall we do, Ratcliffe ? " said Sharpitlaw j " if he sees us 
 before we see him,— and that's what he is certain to do, if we go 
 strolling about, without keeping the straight road, — we may bid 
 gude-day to the job ; and I would rather lose one hundred pounds, 
 baith for the credit of the police, and because the Provost says 
 somebody maun be hanged for this job o' Porteous, come o't what 
 likes." 
 
 " I think," said Ratcliffe, " we maun just try Madge ; and I'll see 
 if I can get her keepit in ony better order. And at ony rate, if 
 
 K 
 
146 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 he suld hear her skirling her auld ends o' sangs, he's no to ken fee 
 that that there's onybody wi' her." 
 
 " Thaf s true," said Sharpitlaw ; " and if he thinks her alone, he's 
 as like to come towards her as to rin frae her. So set forward — we 
 hae lost ower muckle time already— see to get her to keep the right 
 road." 
 
 " And what sort o' house does Nicol Muschat and his wife keep 
 now ? " said Ratcliffe to the mad woman, by way of humouring her 
 vein of folly ; " they were but thrawn folk lang syne, an a' tales be 
 true." 
 
 " Ou, ay, ay, ay-*-but a's forgotten now," replied Madge, in the 
 confidential tone of a gossip giving the history of her next-door 
 neighbour — " Ye see, I spoke to them mysell, and tauld them by- 
 ganes suld be byganes — her throat's sair misguggled and mashack- 
 ered though ; she wears her corpse-sheet drawn weel up to hide it, 
 but that canna hinder the bluid seiping through, ye ken. I wussed 
 her to wash it in St. Anthony's Well, and that will cleanse if ,ony- 
 thing can — But they say bluid never bleaches out o' linen claith — 
 Deacon Sanders's new cleansing draps winna do't — I tried them 
 mysell on a bit rag we hae at hame that was mailed wi'the bluid of 
 a bit skirling wean that was hurt some gate, but out it winna come 
 -r-Weel, ye'll say that's queer ; but I will bring it out to St. Anthony's 
 blessed Well some braw nicht just like this, and I'll cry up Ailie 
 Muschat, and she and I will hae a grand bouking-washing, and 
 bleach our claise in the beams of the bonny Lady Moon, that's far 
 pleasanter to me than the sun — the sun's ower het, and ken ye, 
 cummers, my brains are het eneugh already. But the moon, and 
 the dew, and the night wind, they are just like a caller kail-blade 
 laid on my brow ; and whiles I think the moon just shines on pur- 
 pose to pleasure me, when naebody sees her but mysell." 
 
 This raving discourse she continued with prodigious volubility, 
 walking on at a great pace, and dragging Ratcliffe along with her, 
 while he endeavoured, in appearance at least, if not in reality, to 
 induce her to moderate her voice. 
 
 All at once, she stopped short upon the top of a little hillock, 
 gazed upward fixedly, and said not one word for the space of five 
 minutes. "What the devil is the matter with her now?" said' 
 Sharpitlaw to Ratcliffe — " Can you not get her forward?" 
 
 " Ye maun just tak a grain o' patience wi' her, sir," said Ratcliffe. 
 " She'll no gae a foot faster than she likes hersell." ' 
 
 " D — n her," said Sharpitlaw, " I'll take care she has her time in 
 Bedlam or Bridewell, or both, for she's both mad and mischievous." 
 
 In the meanwhile, Madge, who had looked very pensive when she 
 first stopped, suddenly burst into a vehement fit of laughter, then 
 paused and sighed bitterly, — then was seized with a second fit of 
 laughter,— then, fixing her eyes on the moon, lifted up her voice 
 and sung, — 
 
 " Good even, good fair moon, good even to thee ; 
 I prithee, dear moon, now show to me 
 The form and the features, the speech and degree, 
 Of the man that true lover of mine shall be. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 147 
 
 But I need not ask that of the bonny Lady Moon — I ken that 
 weel eneugh myself— true-love though he wasna — But maebody shall 
 sae that I ever tauld a word about the matter--But whiles I wish 
 the bairn had lived — Weel, God guide us, there's a heaven aboon 
 us a'/' — (here she sighed bitterly,)' " and a bonny moon; and sterns 
 in it forby " (and here she laughed once more). 
 
 " Are we to stand here all night ? " said Sharpitlaw, very impa- 
 tiently. " Drag her forward." 
 
 " Ay, sir," said Ratcliffe, " if we kend whilk way to drag her, that 
 would settle it at ance. — Come, Madge, hinny," addressing her, "we'll 
 110 he in time to see Nicol and his wife, unless you show us the road." 
 
 " In troth and' that I will, Ratton," said she, seizing him by the 
 arm, and resuming her route with huge strides, considering it was 
 a female who took them. " And I'll' tell ye, Ratton, blithe will 
 Nicol Muschat be to see ye, for he says he kens weel there isna 
 sic a villain out o' hell as ye are,- and he wad be ravished to hae a 
 crack wi' you — like to like, ye ken — it's a proverb never fails — and 
 ye are baith a pair o' the deevil's peats, I trow — hard to ken whilk 
 deserves the hettest corner o' his ingle-side." 
 
 Ratcliffe was. conscience-struck, and could not forbear making an 
 involuntary protest against this classification. " I never shed 
 blood," he replied. 
 
 " But ye hae sauld it, Ratton — ye hae sauld blood mony a time. 
 Folk kill wi' the tongue as weel as with the hand — wi' the word as 
 weel as wi'- the gulley ! — 
 
 'It is the bonny butcher lad, I He sells the flesh on Saturday, 
 
 That wears the sleeves of blue, | On Friday that he slew.'" 
 
 " And what is that I am doing now ! " thought Ratcliffe. " But 
 I'll hae nae wyte of Robertson's young bluidj if I can help it ; " 
 then speaking apart to Madge, he asked her, " Whether she did 
 not remember ony o' her auld sangs ? " 
 
 " Mony a dainty ane," said Madge ; " and blithely can I sing 
 them, for lightsome sangs make merry gate."' And she sang, — 
 
 " When the gled's in the blue cloud, 
 
 The lavrock lies still ; 
 When the hound's in the green-wood, 
 
 The hind keeps the hill." 
 
 " Silence her cursed noise, if you should throttle her,'' said 
 Sharpitlaw ; " I see somebody yonder. — Keep close, my boys, and 
 creep round the shoulder of the height. George Poinder, stay you- 
 with Ratcliffe and that mad yelling bitch ; and you other two, come 
 with me round under the shadow of the brae." 
 
 And he crept forward with the stealthy pace of an Indian savage, 
 wholeads his band to surprise an unsuspecting party of some hos- 
 tile tribe. Ratcliffe saw them glide off, avoiding the moonlight, 
 and keeping as- much in the shade as possible: "Robertson's done 
 up;" said he to himself ; " thae young lads are aye sae thoughtless. 
 What the deevil could he hae to say to Jeanie Deans; or to ony 
 woman on earth, that he suld gang awa and get his neck raxed for 
 
 K 2 • 
 
148 - THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 her? And this mad quean, after cracking like a pen-gun, and 
 skirling like a pea-hen for the haill night, behoves just to hae 
 hadden her tongue when her clavers might have done some gude ! 
 But it's aye the way wi' women ; if they ever haud their tongues 
 ava', ye may swear it's for mischief. I wish I could set her on 
 again without this blood-sucker kenning what I am doing. But 
 he's as gleg as MacKeachan's elshin, that ran through sax plies of 
 bend-leather and half an inch into the king's heel." 
 
 He then began to hum, but in a very low and suppressed tone, 
 the first stanza of a favourite ballad of Wildfire's, the words of 
 which bore some distant analogy with the situation of Robertson, 
 trusting that the power of association would not fail to bring the 
 rest to her mind : 
 
 " There's a bloodhound ranging Tinwald wood, 
 There's harness glancing sheen ; 
 
 There's a maiden sits on Tinwald brae, 
 And she sings loud between." 
 
 Madge had no sooner received the catch-word, than she vindi- 
 cated Ratcliffe's sagacity by setting off at score with the song : 
 
 " O sleep ye sound, Sir James, she said, 
 
 When ye suld rise and ride ? 
 There's twenty men, wi' bow and blade, 
 
 Are seeking where ye hide." 
 
 Though Ratcliffe was at a considerable distance from the spot 
 called Muschat's Cairn, yet his eyes, practised like those of a cat to 
 penetrate darkness, could mark that Robertson had caught the 
 alarm. George Poinder, less keen of sight, or less attentive, was 
 not aware of his flight anymore than Sharpitlaw and his assistants, 
 whose view, though they were considerably nearer to the cairn, was 
 intercepted by the broken nature of the ground under which they 
 were screening themselves. At length, however, after the interval of 
 five or six minutes, they also perceived that Robertson had fled, and 
 rushed hastily towards the place, while Sharpitlaw called out aloud 
 in the harshest tones of a voice which resembled a saw-mill at work, 
 " Chase, lads — chase — haud the brae — I see him on the edge of the 
 hill ! " Then hollowing back to the rear-guard of his detachment, 
 he issued his farther orders : " Ratcliffe, come here, and detain the 
 woman — George, run and kepp the stile at the Duke's Walk — 
 Ratcliffe, come here directly — but first knock out that mad bitch's 
 brains ! " , 
 
 "Ye had better rin for it, Madge," said Ratcliffe, "for it's ill 
 dealing wi' an angry man." 
 
 Madge Wildfire was not so absolutely void of common sense as 
 not to understand this inuendo ; and while Ratcliffe, in seemingly 
 anxious haste of obedience, hastened to the spot where Sharpitlaw 
 waited to deliver up Jeanie Deans to his custody, she fled with all 
 the despatch she could exert in an opposite direction. Thus the 
 whole party were separated, and in rapid motion of flight or pur- 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 149 
 
 teuit, excepting Ratcliffe and Jeanie, whom, although making no 
 attempt at escape, he held fast by the cloak, and who remained 
 standing by Muschat's Cairn. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 You have paid the heavens your function, and the prisoner the very 
 debt of your calling. Measure for Measure. 
 
 Jeanie DEANS, — for here our story unites itself with that part of 
 the narrative which broke off at the end of the fifteenth chapter, — 
 while she waited, in terror and amazement, the hasty advance of 
 three or four men towards' her, was yet more startled at their sud- 
 denly breaking asunder, and giving chase in different directions to 
 the late object of her terror, who became at that moment, though 
 she could not well assign a reasonable cause, rather the cause of 
 her interest. One of the party (it was Sharpitlaw) came straight up 
 to her, and saying, " Your name is Jeanie Deans, and you are my > 
 prisoner," immediately added^ ''but if you will tell me which way 
 lie ran I will let you go." 
 
 " I dinna ken, sir," was all the poor girl could utter ; and, indeed, 
 it is the phrase which rises most readily to the lips of any person 
 in her rank, as the readiest reply to any embarrassing question. 
 
 " But," said Sharpitlaw, " ye kenwha. it was ye were speaking wi', 
 my leddy, on the hill side, and midnicht sae near; ye surely ken 
 that, my bonny woman ? " 
 
 " I dinna ken, sir," again iterated Jeanie, who really did not 
 comprehend in her terror the nature of the questions which were so 
 hastily put to her in this moment of surprise. 
 
 " We will try to mend your memory by-and-by, hinny/' said 
 Sharpitlaw, and shouted, as we have already tpld the reader, to 
 Ratcliffe to come up and take charge of her, while he himself di- 
 rected the chase after Robertson, which he still hoped might be 
 successful. As Ratcliffe approached, Sharpitlaw pushed the young 
 woman towards him with some rudeness, and betaking himself to 
 the more important object of his quest, began to scale crags and 
 scramble up steep banks, with an agility of which his profession 
 and his general gravity of demeanour would previously have argued 
 him incapable. In a few minutes there was no one within sight, 
 and only a distant halloo from one of the pursuers to the other, 
 faintly heard on the side of the hill, argued that there was any one 
 within hearing. Jeanie Deans was left in the clear moonlight, 
 standing under the guard of a person of whom she knew nothing,, 
 and, what was worse, concerning whom, as the reader is well 
 aware, she could have learned nothing that would not have in- 
 creased her terror. 
 
 When all in the distance was silent, Ratcliffe for the first time 
 addressed her, and it was in that cold sarcastic indifferent tone 
 familiar to habitual depravity, whose crimes are instigated by cus- 
 
igo THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 torn ratjher than by passion. " This is a braw nicht for ye, dearie," 
 he said, attempting to pass his arm across her shoulder, " to be on 
 the green hill wi' your jo." Jeanie extricated herself from his 
 grasp, but did not make any reply. " I think lads and lasses," 
 continued the ruffian, " dinna meet at Muschat's Cairn at midnicht 
 to crack nuts'," and he again attempted to take hold of her. 
 
 " If ye are an officer of justice, sir," said Jeanie, again eluding 
 his attempt to seize her, "ye deserve to have your coat stripped 
 from your back." 
 
 '" Very true, hinny," said he, succeeding forcibly in his attempt 
 to get hold of her, " but suppose 1 should strip your cloak off 
 first?" 
 
 " Ye are more a man, I am sure, than to hurt me, sir," said 
 Jeanie; "for God's sake have pity on a half-distracted creature!" 
 
 " Come, come," said Ratcliffe, " you're a good-looking wench, 
 and should not be cross-grained. I was going to be an honest 
 man — but the devil has this very day flung first a lawyer, and then 
 a woman, in my gate. I'll tell you what, Jeanie, they are out on 
 the hill-side — if you'll be guided by me, I'll carry you to a wee bit 
 corner in the Heasance, that I ken o' in an auld wife's, that 
 a' the prokitors o' Scotland wot naething o', and we'll send 
 Robertson word to meet us in Yorkshire, for there is a set o' 
 braw lads about the midland counties, that I hae dune business 
 wi' before now, and sae we'll leave Mr. Sharpitlasw to whistle on his 
 thumb." 
 
 ,It was fortunate for Jeanie, in an emergency like the present, 
 that she possessed presence of mind and courage, so soon as the 
 first hurry of surprise had enabled her to rally her recollection. 
 She saw the risk she was in from a ruffian, who not only was such 
 by profession, but had that evening been stupifying, by means of 
 strong liquors, the internal aversion which he felt at the business 
 on which Sharpitlaw had resolved to employ him. 
 
 "Dinna spealc sae loud," said she, in a low voice, "he's up 
 yonder." 
 
 " Who ? — Robertson ! " said Ratcliffe, eagerly. 
 
 " Aye," replied Jeanie ; " up yonder ; " and she pointed to the 
 ruins of the hermitage and chapel. 
 
 " By G— d, then," said Ratcliffe, " I'll make my ain of him, either 
 one way or other — wait for me here." 
 
 But no sooner had he set off, as fast as he could run, towards 
 the chapel, than Jeanie started in an opposite direction, over high 
 and low, on the nearest path homeward. Her juvenile exercise as 
 a herdswoman had put " life and mettle " in her heels, and never 
 had she followed Dustiefoot, when the cows were in the corn, with 
 half so much speed as she now cleared the distance betwixt Mus- 
 chat's Cairn and her father's cottage at Saint Leonard's. To lift 
 the latch — to enter — to shut, bolt, and double bolt the door—to 
 draw against it a heavy article of furniture, (which she could not 
 have moved in a moment of less energy,) so as to make yet farther 
 provision against violence, was almost the work of a moment, yet 
 done with such silence as equalled the celerity. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-I.OTHIAN. 151 
 
 Her next anxiety was upon her father's account, and she drew 
 silently to the door of his apartment, in order to satisfy herself 
 whether he had been disturbed by her return. He was awake, — 
 probably had slept but little ; but the constant presence of his own 
 sorrows, the distance of his apartment from the outer door of the 
 house, and the precautions which Jeanie had taken to conceal her 
 departure and return, had prevented him from being sensible of 
 either. He was engaged in his devotions, and Jeanie could dis- 
 tinctly hear him use these words : " And for the other child thou 
 hast given me to be a comfort and stay to my old age, may her 
 days be long in the land, according to the promise thou hast given 
 to those who shall honour father and mother ; may all her pur- 
 chased and promised blessings be multiplied upon her ; keep her in 
 the watches of the night, and in the uprising of the morning, that 
 all in this land may know that thou hast not utterly hid thy face 
 From those that seek thee in truth and in sincerity." He was silent, 
 but probably continued his petition in the strong fervency of 
 mental devotion. 
 
 His daughter retired to her apartment, comforted, that while she 
 was exposed to danger, her head had been covered by the prayers 
 of the just as by an helmet, and under the strong confidence, that 
 while she walked worthy of the protection of Heaven, she would 
 experience its countenance. It was in that moment that a vague 
 idea first darted across her mind, that something might yet be 
 achieved for her sister's safety, conscious as she now was of her 
 innocence of the unnatural murder with which she stood charged. 
 It came, as she described it, on her mind, like a sun-blink on a 
 stormy sea ; and although it instantly vanished, yet she felt a de- 
 gree of composure which she had not experienced for many days, 
 and could not help being strongly persuaded that, by some means 
 or other, she would be called upon, and directed, to work out her 
 sister's deliverance. She went to bed, not forgetting her usual de- 
 votions, the more fervently made on account of her late deliver- 
 ance, and she slept soundly in spite of her agitation. 
 
 We must return to Ratcliffe, who had started, like a greyhound 
 from the slips when the sportsman cries halloo, as soon as Jeanie 
 .had pointed to the ruins. Whether he meant to aid Robertson's 
 escape, or to assist his pursuers, may be very doubtful ; perhaps he 
 did not himself know, but had resolved to be guided by circum- 
 stances. He had no opportunity, however, of doing either ; for he 
 had no sooner surmounted the steep ascent, and entered under the 
 broken arches of the ruins, than a pistol was presented at his hea'd, 
 and a harsh voice commanded him, in the king's name, to surren- 
 der himself prisoner. " Mr. Sharpitlaw ! " said Ratcliffe, surprised, 
 " is this your honour ! " 
 
 " Is it only you, and be d — d to you?" answered the fiscal, still 
 more disappointed — " what made you leave the woman? " 
 
 " She told me she saw Robertson go into the ruins, so I made 
 What haste I could to cleek the callant." 
 
 " It's all over now," said Sharpitlaw ; '" we shall see no more of 
 him to-night ; but he shall hide himself in a bean-hool, if he re- 
 
is2 The heart of mid-lothian. 
 
 mains on Scottish ground without my finding him. Call back the 
 people, Ratcliffe." / 
 
 Ratcliffe hollowed to the dispersed officers, who willingly obeyed 
 the signal ; for probably there was no individual among them wh<( 
 't/ould have been much desirous of a rencontre hand to hand, and 
 at a distance from his comrades, with such an active and desperate 
 fellow as Robertson. 
 
 " And where are the two women ? " said Sharpitlaw. 
 
 " Both made their heels serve them, I suspect," replied Ratcliffe, 
 and he hummed the end of the old song — 
 
 " Then hey play up the rin-awa bride, 
 For she has taen the gee." 
 
 " One woman," said Sharpitlaw, — for, like all rogues, he was i 
 great calumniator of the fair sex,* — " one woman is enough to dark 
 the fairest ploy that ever was planned ; and how could I be such 
 an ass as to expect to carry through a job that had two in it ? But 
 we know how to come by them both, if they are wanted, that's one 
 good thing." 
 
 Accordingly, like a defeated general, sad and sulky, he led back 
 his discomfited forces to the metropolis, and dismissed them for 
 the night. 
 
 The next morning early, he was under the necessity of making 
 his report to the sitting magistrate of the day. The gentleman who 
 occupied the chair of office on this occasion (for the bailies, Anglicl, 
 aldermen, take it by rotation) chanced to be the same by whom Butler 
 was committed, a person very generally respected among his fel- 
 low-citizens. Something he was of a humourist, and rather defi- 
 cient in general education ; but acute, patient, and upright, pos- 
 sessed of a fortune acquired by honest industry, which made him 
 perfectly independent ; and, in short, very happily qualified to sup- 
 port the respectability of the office which he held. 
 
 Mr. Middleburgh had just taken his seat, and was debating in 
 an animated manner, with one of his colleagues, the doubtful 
 chances of a game at golf which they had played the day before, 
 when a letter was delivered to him, addressed " For Bailie Middle- 
 burgh ; These : to be forwarded with speed." It contained these 
 words : — 
 
 " Sir, 
 " I know you to be a sensible and a considerate magistrate, and 
 one who, as such, will be content to worship God, though the devil 
 bid you. I therefore expect that, notwithstanding the signature of 
 this letter acknowledges my share in an action, which, in a proper 
 time and place, I would not fear either • to avow or to justify, you 
 will not on that account reject what evidence I place before you. 
 The clergyman, Butler, is innocent of all but involuntary presence 
 at an action which he wanted spirit to approve of, and from which 
 he endeavoured, with his best set phrases, to dissuade us. But it 
 was not for him that it is my hint to speak. There is a woman in 
 your jail, fallen under the edge of a law so cruel, that it has hung 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 153 
 
 by the wall, like unscoured armour, for twenty years, and is now 
 brought down and whetted to spill the blood of the most beautiful 
 and most innocent creature whom the walls of a prison ever girdled 
 in. Her sister knows of her innocence, as she communicated to 
 her that she was betrayed by a villain. — O that high Heaven 
 
 ' Would put in every honest hand a whip, 
 
 To scourge me such a villain through the world! ' 
 
 " I write distractedly — But this girl — this Jeanie Deans, is a 
 peevish puritan, superstitious and scrupulous after the manner of 
 her sect ; and I pray your honour, for so my phrase must go, to 
 press upon her, that her sister's life depends upon her testimony. 
 But though she should remain silent, do not dare to think that the 
 young woman is guilty — far less to permit her execution. Remem- 
 ber the death of Wilson was fearfully avenged ; and those yet live 
 who can compel you to drink the dregs of your poisoned chalice. — 
 I say, remember Porteous, — and say that you had good counsel 
 from " One of his Slayers." 
 
 The magistrate read over this extraordinary letter twice or thrice. 
 At first he was tempted to throw it aside as the production of a 
 madman, so little did " the scraps from play-books," as he termed 
 the poetical quotation, resemble the correspondence of a rational 
 being. On a re-perusal, however, he thought that, amid its inco- 
 herence, he could discover something like a tone of awakened 
 passion, though expressed in a manner quaint and unusual. 
 
 " It is a cruelly severe statute," said the magistrate to his as- 
 sistant, " and I wish the girl could be taken from under the letter 
 of it. A child may have been born, and it may have been con- 
 veyed away while the mother was insensible, or it may have 
 perished for want of that relief which the poor creature herself — 
 helpless, terrified, distracted, despairing, and exhausted — may have 
 been unable to afford to it. And yet it is certain, if the woman is 
 found- guilty under the statute, execution will follow. The crime 
 has been too common, and examples are necessary." 
 
 " But if this other wench," said the city-clerk, " can speak to her 
 sister communicating her situation, it will take the case from under 
 the statute." , 
 
 " Very true," replied the Bailie ; " and I will walk out one of 
 these days to St. Leonard's, and examine the girl myself. I know 
 something of their father Deans — an old true-blue Cameronian, 
 who would see house and family go to wreck ere he would disgrace 
 his testimony by a sinful complying with the defections of the 
 times ; and such he will probably uphold the taking an oath before 
 a civil magistrate. If they are to go on and flourish with their 
 bull-headed obstinacy, the legislature must pass an act to take 
 their affirmations, as in the case of Quakers. But surely neither a 
 father nor a sister will scruple in a case of this kind. As I said be- 
 fore, I will go speak with them myself, when the hurry of this Por- 
 teous investigation is somewhat over ; their pride and spirit of. 
 
*54 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 contradiction will be far less alarmed, than if they were called into 
 a court of justice at once." 
 
 " And I suppose Butler is to remain incarcerated ? " said the city- 
 clerk. 
 
 " Fpr the present, certainly," said the magistrate. " But I hope 
 soon to set him at liberty upon bail." 
 
 "Do you rest upon the testimony of that light-headed letter ? " 
 asked the clerk. 
 
 " Not very much," answered the Bailie ; " and yet there is some- 
 thing striking about it too — it seems the letter of a man beside 
 himself, either from great agitation, or some great sense of 
 guilt." 
 
 " Yes,'' said the town-clerk, " it is very like the letter of a mad 
 ■strolling play-actor, who deserves to be hanged with all the rest of 
 his gang, as your honour justly observes." 
 
 " I was not quite so bloodthirsty," continued the magistrate. 
 " But to the point. Butler's private character is excellent ; and I 
 am given to understand, by some inquiries I have been making 
 this morning, that he did actually arrive in town only the day be- 
 fore yesterday, so that it was impossible he could have been con- 
 cerned in any previous machinations of these unhappy rioters, and 
 it is not likely that he should have joined them on a suddenly." 
 
 " There's no saying anent that — zeal catches fire at a slight spark 
 as fast as a brunstane match," observed the secretary. "I hae 
 tend a minister wad be fair gude-day and fair good-e'en w? ilka 
 man in the porochine, and hing just as quiet as a rocket on a stick, 
 till ye mentioned the word abjuration oath, or patronage, or siclike, 
 and then, whiz, he was off, and up in the air an hundred miles 
 beyond common manners, common sense, and common compre- 
 hension." 
 
 " I do not understand," answered the burgher-magistrate, " that 
 the young man Butler's zeal is of so inflammable a character. But 
 I will make farther investigation. What other business is there 
 before us ? " 
 
 And they proceeded to minute investigations concerning the 
 affair of Porteous's death, and other affairs through which this 
 history has no occasion to trace them. 
 
 In the course of their business they were interrupted by an old 
 woman of the lower rank, extremely haggard in look, and wretched 
 in her appearance, who thrust herself into the council-room. 
 
 "What do you want, gudewife? — Who are you?" said Bailie 
 Middleburgh. 
 
 " What do I want ! " replied she, in a sulky tone — " I want my 
 bairn, or I want naething frae nane o' ye, for as grand's ye are. 
 And she went on muttering to herself with the.wayward spitefulness 
 of age — ■" They maun hae lordships and honours, nae doubt— set 
 them up, the gutter-bloods ! and deil a gentleman amang them." 
 — Then again addressing the sitting magistrate, " Will yeur 
 honour gie me back my puir crazy bairn ? — His honour ! — I hae 
 ken'd the day when less wad se^d him, the oe of a Campvere 
 skipper." 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 155 
 
 " Good woman," said the magistrate to this shrewish supplicant, 
 • — " tell us what it is you want, and do not interrupt the court." 
 
 " That's as muckle .as till say, Bark, Bawtie, and be dune wi't ! — 
 I tell ye," raising her termagant voice, " I want my bairn ! is na 
 that braid Scats ? " 
 
 " Who are you ? — who is your bairn ?" demanded the magistrate. 
 
 " Wha am I ?— wha suld I be, but Meg Murdockson, and wha 
 suld my bairn be but Magdalen Murdockson ? — Your guard soldiers, 
 and your constables, and your officers, ken us weei eneugh when 
 they rive the bits o' duds aff our backs, and take what penny o' 
 siller we hae, and harle us to the Correction-house in Leith Wynd, 
 and pettle us up wi' bread and water, and siclike sunkete." 
 
 " Who is she ? " said the magistrate, looking round to some of 
 his people. 
 
 " Other than a gude ane, sir," said one of the city-officers, shrug- 
 ging his shoulders, and smiling. 
 
 " Will ye say sae ? " said the termagant, her eye gleaming with 
 impotent fury ; " an I had ye amang the Frigate- Whins, wadna I 
 set my ten talents in your wuzzent face for that very word? " and 
 she suited the word to the action, by spreading out a set of claws 
 resembling those of St. George's dragon on a country sign-post. 
 
 "What does she want here?" said the impatient magistrate — 
 " Can she not tell her business, or go away ? " 
 
 " It's my bairn ! — it's Magdalen Murdockson I'm wantin'," an- 
 swered the beldame, screaming at the highest pitch of her cracked 
 and mistuned voice — " havena I been tefim' ye sae this half-hour ? 
 And if you are deaf, what needs ye sit cockit up there, and keep 
 folk scraughin' t'ye this gate ? " 
 
 " She wants her daughter, sir," said the same officer whose 
 interference had given the hag such offence before — " her daughter, 
 who was taken up last night — Madge Wildfire, as they ca' her." 
 
 "Madge Heixfire, as they ca' her!" echoed the beldame; "and 
 what business has a blackguard like you to ca' an honest woman's 
 bairn out o' her ain name ? " 
 
 " Anfaaiwoman's bairn, Maggie?" answered the peace-officer, 
 smiling and shaking his head with an ironical emphasis on the 
 adjective, and a calmness calculated to provoke to madness the 
 furious old shrew. 
 
 " If I am no honest now, I was honest ance," she replied ; " and 
 that's mair than ye can say, ye born and bred thief, that never ken'd 
 ither folk's gear frae your ain since the day ye was cleckit. Honest, 
 say ye ? — ye pykit your mother's pouch o' twalpennies Scots when 
 ye were five years auld, just as she was takin leave o' your father 
 at the fit o' the gallows." 
 
 " She has you there, George," said the^ assistants, and there was 
 •a general laugh ; for the wit was fitted for the meridian of the place 
 where it was uttered. This general applause somewhat gratified 
 the passions of the old hag ; the " grim feature " smiled, and even 
 laughed — but it was a laugh of bitter scorn. She condescended, 
 however, as if appeased by the success of her sally, to explain her 
 .business more distinctly, when the magistrate, commanding silence, 
 
155 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 again desired her either to speak out her errand, or to leave the 
 place. 
 
 " Her bairn," she said, " was her bairn, and she came to fetch 
 her out of ill haft and waur guiding. If she wasna sae wise as ither 
 folk, few ither folk had suffered as muckle as she had dune ; forby 
 that she could fend the waur for hersell within the four wa's of a 
 jail. She could prove by fifty witnesses, and fifty to that, that her 
 daughter had never seen Jock Porteous, alive or dead, since he had 
 gien her a loundering wi' his cane, the neger that he was ! for 
 driving a dead cat at the provost's wig on the Elector of Hanover's 
 birth-day." 
 
 Notwithstanding the wretched appearance and violent demeanour 
 of this woman, the magistrate felt the justice of her argument, that 
 her child might be as dear to her as to a more fortunate and more 
 amiable mother. He proceeded to investigate the circumstances 
 which had led to Madge Murdockson's (or Wildfire's) arrest, and 
 as it was clearly shown that she had not been engaged in the riot, 
 he contented himself with directing that an eye should be kept 
 upon her by the police, but that for the present she should be 
 allowed to return home with hter mother. During the interval of 
 fetching Madge from the jail, the magistrate endeavoured to dis- 
 cover whether her mother had been privy to the change of dress 
 betwixt that young woman and Robertson. But on this point he 
 could obtain no light. She persisted in declaring, that she had 
 never seen Robertson since his remarkable escape during service- 
 time ; and that, if her daughter had changed clothes with him, it 
 must have been during her absence at a hamlet about two miles out 
 of town, called Duddingstone, where she could prove that she passed 
 that eventful night. And, in fact, one of the town-officers, who had 
 been searching for stolen linen at the cottage of a washerwoman in 
 that village, gave his evidence, that he had seen Maggie Murdock- 
 son there, whose presence had considerably increased his suspicion 
 of the house in which she was a visitor, in respect that he consi- 
 dered her as a person of no good reputation. 
 
 " I tauld ye sae," said the hag ; " see now what it is to hae a 
 character, gude or bad ! — Now, maybe, after a', I could tell ye 
 something about Porteous that you council-chamber bodies never 
 could find out, for as muckle stir as ye mak." 
 
 " All eyes were turned towards her — all ears were alert. " Speak 
 out ! " said the magistrate. 
 
 " It will be for your ain gude," insinuated the town-clerk. 
 
 " Dinna keep the Bailie waiting," urged the assistants. 
 
 She remained doggedly silent for two or three minutes, casting 
 around a malignant and sulky glance, that seemed ,to enjoy the 
 anxious suspense with which they waited her answer. And then 
 she broke forth at once, — " A' that I ken about him is, that he was 
 neither soldier nor gentleman, but just a thief and a blackguard, 
 like maist o' yoursells, dears — What will ye gie me for that news, 
 now ? — He wad hae served the gude toun lang or provost or bailie 
 wad hae fund that out, my jo ! " 
 
 While these matters were in discussion, Madge Wildfire entered, 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 157 
 
 and her first exclamation was, " Eh ! see if there isna our aulcl 
 ne'er-do-weel deevil's-buckie o' a mither— Hegh, sirs ! but we are a 
 hopefu' family, to be twa o' us in the Guard at ance — But there 
 were better days wi' us ance — were there na, mither ? " 
 
 Old Maggie's eyes had glistened with something like an expres- 
 sion of pleasure when she saw her daughter set at liberty. But 
 either her natural affection, like that of the tigress, could not be 
 displayed without a strain of ferocity, or there was something in 
 the ideas which Madge's speech awakened, that again stirred her 
 cross and savage temper. " What signifies what we were, ye 
 street-raking limmer ! " she exclaimed, pushing her daughter be- 
 fore her to the door, with no gentle degree of violence. " l'se tell 
 thee what thou is now — thou's a crazed hellicat Bess o' Bedlam, 
 that sail taste naething but bread and water for a fortnight, to serve 
 ye for the plague ye hae gien me— and ower gude for ye, ye idle 
 taupie ! " 
 
 Madge, however, escaped from her mother at the door, ran back 
 to the foot of the table, dropped a very low and fantastic curtsey to 
 the judge, and said, with a giggling laugh, — " Our minnie's sair 
 mis-set, after her ordinar, sir — She'll hae had some quarrel wi' her 
 auld gudeman — that's Satan, ye ken, sirs." This explanatory note 
 she gave in a low confidential tone, and the spectators of that cre- 
 dulous generation did not hear it without an involuntary shudder. 
 " The gudeman and her disna aye gree weel, and then I maun pay 
 the piper ; but my back's broad eneugh to heart a' — an' if she hae 
 nae havings, that's nae reason why wiser folk should na hae some." 
 Here another deep curtsey, when the ungracious voice of her 
 mother was heard. 
 
 " Madge, ye limmer ! If I come to fetch ye 1" 
 
 " Hear till her," said Madge. " But I'll wun out a gliff the nicht 
 for a' that, to dance in the moonlicht, when her and the gudeman 
 will be whirrying through the blue lift on a broom-shank, to see 
 Jean Jap, that they hae putten intill the Kirkcaldy tolbooth — ay, 
 they will hae a merry sail ower Inchkeith, and ower a' the bits o' 
 bonny waves that are poppling and plashing against the rocks in 
 the gowden glimmer o' the moon, ye ken. — I'm coming, mother — 
 I'm coming," she concluded, on hearing a scuffle at the door betwixt 
 the beldam and the officers, who were endeavouring to prevent her 
 re-entrance. Madge then waved her hand wildly towards the ceil- 
 ing, and sung, at the topmost pitch of her voice, — 
 
 " Up in the air, on my bonny grey mare, 
 And I see, and I see, and I see her yet." 
 
 And with a hop, skip, and jump, sprung out of the room, as the 
 witches of Macbeth used, in less refined days, to seem to fly up- 
 wards from the stage. 
 
 Some weeks intervened before Mr. Middleburgh, agreeably to his 
 benevolent resolution, found an opportunity of taking a walk to- 
 wards St. Leonard's, in order to discover whether it might be pos- 
 sible to obtain the evidence hinted at in the anonymous letter 
 respecting Effie Deans. 
 
158 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 In fact, the anxious perquisitions made to discover the murderers 
 of Porteous occupied the attention of all concerned with the admin- 
 istration of justice. 
 
 In the course of these inquiries, two circumstances happened- 
 material to our story. Butler, after a close investigation of his con- 
 duct, was declared innocent of accession to the death of Porteous ; 
 but, as having been present during the whole transaction, was 
 obliged to find bail not to quit his usual residence at Libberton; that 
 he might appear as a witness when called upon. The other inci- 
 dent regarded the disappearance of Madge Wildfire and her mother 
 from Edinburgh. When they were sought, with the purpose of 
 subjecting them to some further interrogatories, it was discovered 
 by Mr. Sharpitlaw that they had eluded the observation of the 
 police, and left the city so soon as dismissed from the council- 
 chamber. No efforts eould trace the place of their retreat. 
 
 In the meanwhile the excessive indignation of the Council of 
 Regency, at the slight put upon their authority by the murder of 
 Porteous, had dictated measures, in which their own extreme desire- 
 of detecting the actors in that conspiracy were consulted; in pre* 
 ference to the temper of the people and the character of their 
 churchmen. An act of parliament was hastily passed, offering two 
 hundred pounds reward to those who should inform against any 
 person concerned in the deed, and the penalty of death, by a very 
 unusual and severe enactment,, was denounced against those who 
 should harbour the guilty. But what was chiefly accounted excep- 
 tionable, was a clause, appointing the act to be read in churches by 
 the officiating clergyman, on the first Sunday of every month, for a 
 certain period, immediately before the sermon. The ministers who 
 should refuse to comply with this injunction were declared, for the 
 first offence, incapable of sitting or voting in any church judicature,, 
 and for the second, incapable of holding any ecclesiastical prefer- 
 ment in Scotland. 
 
 This last order united in a common cause those who might pri- 
 vately rejoice in Porteous ? s death, though they did not vindicate the 
 manner of it, with- the more scrupulous presbyterians, who held that 
 even the pronouncing the name of the " Lords Spiritual" in a 
 Scottish pulpit was, quodummodb, an acknowledgment of prelacy, 
 and that the injunction of the legislature was an interference of the 
 civil government with theyw dvviwum of presbytery, since- to the 
 General Assembly alone, as representing the invisible head 1 of the 
 kirk, belonged the sole and exclusive right of regulating whatever 
 pertained to public worship. Very many also, of different political 
 or religious sentiments, and therefore not much moved by these con- 
 siderations, though they saw, in so violent an act of parliament, a 
 mare vindictive spirit than became the legislature of a great 
 country, and something like an attempt to trample upon the rights' 
 and independence of Scotland. The various steps adopted for- 
 punishing the city of Edinburgh, by taking away her charter and 
 liberties; for what a violent and overmastering mob had done 
 within her walls-, were resented by many, who thought a pretext was 
 too hastily taken for degrading the ancient metropolis- of Sootlanct- 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 159 
 
 In short, there was much heart-burning, discontent, and disaffec- 
 tion, occasioned by these ill-considered measures.* 
 
 Amidst these heats and dissensions, the trial of Effie Deans, after 
 she had been many weeks imprisoned, was at length about to be 
 brought forward, and Mr. Middleburgh found leisure to inquire into 
 the evidence concerning her. For this purpose, he chose a fine day 
 for his walk, towards her father's house. 
 
 The excursion into the country was somewhat distant, in the 
 opinion, of a burgess, of those days, although many of the present 
 inhabit suburban villas, considerably beyond the spot to which we 
 allude. Three-quarters of an hour's walk, however, even at a pace 
 of magisterial gravity,, conducted our benevolent office-bearer to 
 the Crags of St. Leonard's, and the humble mansion of David 
 Deans. 
 
 The old man was seated on the deas, or turf-seat, at the end of 
 his cottage, busied in mending his cart-harness with his own hands ; 
 for in those days any sort of labour which required a little more 
 skill than usual, fell to the share of the goodman himself,, and that 
 even when he was well to pass in the world. With stern and 
 austere gravity he persevered in his task, after having just raised 
 his head to notice the advance of the stranger. It would have been 
 impossible to have discovered,, from his countenance and manner, 
 the internal feelings of agony with which he contended. Mr. Mid- 
 dleburgh waited an instant, expecting Deans would in some measure 
 acknowledge his presence, and. lead into conversation ; but, as he 
 seemed determined to remain silent, he was- himself obliged to: 
 speak first. 
 
 "My name is Middleburgh — Mr. James Middleburgh, one of 
 the present magistrates of the city of Edinburgh." 
 
 " It may be sae," answered Deans laconically, and without inter- 
 rupting his labour. 
 
 " You must understand," he continued, " that the duty of a magis- 
 trate is sometimes an unpleasant one." 
 
 " It may be sae," replied David* ; " I hae naething to say in the 
 contrair;" and he was again doggedly silent. 
 
 " You/must be aware," pursued the magistrate, "that persons in 
 my situation are often obliged to make painful and disagreeable in- 
 quiries of individuals, merely because it is their bounden duty." 
 « " It may be sae," again replied Deans ; " I hae naething to say 
 anent it, either the tae way or the t'other. But I do ken there was 
 ance in a day a just and God-fearing magistracy in yon toun o' Edin- 
 burgh, that did not bear the sword in vain, but were a terror to evil- 
 doers,, and a praise to such as kept the path. In the glorious days of 
 auld worthy faithfu' Provost Dick,* when there was atrue and faithfu? 
 General Assembly of the Kirk, walking hand in hand with, the real 
 noble Scottish-hearted barons, and with the magistrates of this and 
 other touns, gentles, burgesses, and commons of all ranks, seeing 
 with, one eye, hearing with one ear, and upholding the ark with 
 their united strength — And then folk might see men deliver up their 
 silver to the state's use, as if it had been as muekle sclate stanes. 
 My father saw them toom- the sacks of dollars out o' Erovost Dick's 
 
160 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 window intill the carts that carried them to the army at Dunse 
 Law ; and if ye winna believe his testimony, there is the window 
 itsell still standing in the Luckenbooths— I think it's a claith-mer- 
 chant's booth the day* — at the aim stanchells, five doors abune 
 Gossford's Close. — But now we haena sic spirit amang us ; we think 
 mair about the warst wally-draigle in our ain byre, than about the 
 blessing which the angel of the covenant gave to the Patriarch even 
 at Peniel and Mahanaim, or the binding obligation of our national 
 vows ; and we wad rather gie a pund Scots to buy an unguent to 
 clear our auld rannell-trees and our beds o' the English bugs as 
 they ca' them, than we wad gie a plack to rid the hand of the swarm 
 of Arminian caterpillars, Socinian pismires, and deistical Miss 
 Katies, that have ascended out of the bottomless pit, to plague this 
 perverse, insidious, and lukewarm generation." 
 
 It happened to Davie Deans on this occasion, as it has done to 
 many other habitual orators ; when once he became embarked on 
 his favourite subject, the stream of his own enthusiasm carried him 
 forward in spite of his mental distress, while his well-exercised 
 memory supplied him amply with all the types and tropes of rhe- 
 toric peculiar to his sect and cause. 
 
 Mr. Middleburgh contented himself with answering — " All this 
 may be very true, my friend ; but, as you said just now, I have 
 nothing to say to it at present, either one way or other. — You have 
 two daughters, I think, Mr. Deans ? " 
 
 The old man winced, as one whose smarting sore is suddenly 
 galled ; but instantly composed himself, resumed the work which, 
 in the heat of his declamation, he had laid down, and answered 
 with sullen resolution, " Ae daughter, sir — only ane." 
 
 " I understand you," said Mr. Middleburgh ; "you have only one 
 daughter here at home with you — but this unfortunate girl who is a 
 prisoner — she is, I think, your youngest daughter ? " 
 
 The presbyterian sternly raised his eyes. " After the world, and 
 according to the flesh, she is my daughter ; but when she became a 
 child of Belial and a company-keeper, and a trader in guilt and 
 iniquity, she ceased to be a bairn of mine." 
 
 "Alas !" Mr. Deans," said Middleburgh, sitting down by him, 
 and endeavouring to take his hand, which the old man proudly 
 withdrew, " we are ourselves all sinners ; and the errors of our off- 
 spring, as they ought not to surprise us, being the portion which 
 they derive of a common portion of corruption inherited through 
 us, so they do not entitle us to cast them off because they have lost 
 themselves." 
 
 " Sir," said Deans, impatiently, " I ken a' that as weel as— I mean 
 to say," he resumed, checking the irritation he felt at being 
 schooled, — a discipline of the mind, which those most ready to 
 bestow it on others, do themselves most reluctantly submit to 
 receive — " I mean to say, that what ye observe may be just and rea- 
 sonable — But I hae nae freedom to enter into my ain private affairs 
 wi' strangers — And now, in this great national emergency, when 
 there's the Porteous Act has come doun frae London, that is a deeper 
 blow to this poor sinfu' kingdom and suffering kirk, than ony that 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 161 
 
 has been heard of since the foul and fatal Test — at a time like 
 this " 
 
 " But, goodman," interrupted Mr. Middleburgh, " you most think 
 of your own household first, or else you are worse even than the 
 infidels." 
 
 "I tell ye, Bailie Middleburgh," retorted Davie Deans, " if ye be 
 a bailie, as there is little honour in being ane in these evil days — 
 I tell ye, I heard the gracious Saunders Peden — I wotna whan it 
 was ; but it was in killing time, when the plowers were drawing 
 alang their furrows on the back of the Kirk of Scotland — I heard 
 him tell his hearers, gude and waled Christians they were too, that 
 some o' them wad greet mair for a bit drowned calf or stirk, than 
 for a' the defections and oppressions of the day ; and that they were 
 some o' them thinking o' ae thing, some o' anither, and there was 
 Lady Hundleslope thinking o' greeting Jock at the fireside ! And 
 the lady confessed in my hearing, that a drow of anxiety had come 
 ower her for her son that she had left at hame weak of a decay* — 
 And what wad he hae said of me, if I had ceased to think of the 
 gude cause for a cast-away — a — It kills me to think of what she 
 is!" 
 
 " But the life of your child, goodman — think of that — if her life 
 could be saved," said Middleburgh. 
 
 " Her life ! " exclaimed David — " I wadna gie ane o' my grey hairs 
 for her life, if her gude name be gane — And yet," said he, relenting 
 and retracting as he spoke, " I wad make the niffer, Mr. Middle- 
 burgh — I wad gie a' these grey hairs that she has brought to shame 
 and sorrow — I wad gie the auld head they grow on for her life, and 
 that she might hae time to amend and return, for what hae the 
 wicked beyond the breath of their nosthrils ? — But I'll never see her 
 mair. — No ! — that — that I am determined in — 111 never see her 
 mair ! " His lips continued to move for aminute after his voiceceased 
 to be heard, as if he were repeating the same vow internally. 
 
 " Well, sir," said Mr. Middleburgh, "I speak to you as a man of 
 sense ; if you would save your daughter's life, you must use human 
 means." 
 
 " I understand what you mean ; but Mr. Novit, who is the pro- 
 curator and doer of an honourable person, the Laird of Dumbie- 
 dikes, is to do what carnal wisdom can do for her under the circum- 
 stances. Mysell am not clear to trinquet and traffic wi' courts o' 
 justice, as they are now constituted; I have a tenderness and 
 scruple in my mind anent them." 
 
 " That is to say," said Middleburgh, " that you are a Camero- 
 nian, and do not acknowledge the authority of our courts of judica- 
 ture, or present government ? " 
 
 " Sir, under your favour," replied David, who was too proud of 
 his own polemical knowledge, to call himself the follower of any 
 one, " ye tak me up before I fall doun. I canna see why I suld be 
 termed a Cameronian, especially now that ye hae given the name 
 of that famous and savoury sufferer, not only until a regimental 
 band of souldiers, whereof I am told many can now curse, swear, 
 and use profane language, as fast as ever Richard Cameron could 
 
 it 
 
l6a THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 preach or pray ; but also because ye have, in as far as it is in your 
 power, rendered that martyr's name vain and contemptible, by 
 pipes, drums, and fifes, playing the vain carnal spring, called the 
 Cameronian Rant, which too many professors of religion dance to 
 — a practice maist unbecoming a professor to dance to any tune 
 whatsoever, more especially promiscuously, that is, with the female 
 sex.* A brutish fashion it is, whilk is the beginning of defection 
 with many, as I may hae as muckle cause as maist folk to testify." 
 "Well, but, Mr. Deans," replied Mr. Middleburgh, "I only meant 
 to say that you were a Cameronian, or MacMillanite, one of the 
 society people, in short, who think it inconsistent to take oaths 
 under a government where the Covenant is not ratified." 
 
 " Sir," replied the controversialist, who forgot even his present 
 distress in such discussions as these, " you cannot fickle me sae 
 easily as you do opine. I am not a MacMillanite, or a Russelite, 
 or a Hamiltonian, or a Harleyite, or a Howdenite* — I will be led 
 by the nose by none — I take my name as a Christian from no 
 vessel of clay. I have my own principles and practice to answer 
 for, and am an humble pleader for the gude auld cause in a legal 
 way." 
 
 " That is to say, Mr. Deans," said Middleburgh, " that you are 
 a Deanite, and have opinions peculiar to yourself." 
 
 " It may please you to say sae," said David Deans ; " but I have 
 maintained my testimony before as great folk, and in sharper 
 times ; and though I will neither exalt myself nor pull down others, 
 I wish every man and woman in this land had kept the true testi- 
 mony, and the middle and straight path, as it were, on the ridge 
 of a hill, where wind and water shears, avoiding right-hand snares 
 and extremes, and left-hand way-slidings, as weel as Johnny Dodds 
 of Farthing's Acre, and ae man mair that shall be nameless." 
 
 " I suppose," replied the magistrate, "that is as much as to say, 
 that Johnny Dodds of Farthing's Acre, and David Deans of St. 
 Leonard's, constitute the only members of the true, real, unso- 
 phisticated Kirk of Scotland ? " 
 
 " God forbid that I suld mak sic a vain-glorious speech, when 
 there are sae mony professing Christians ! " answered David ; " but 
 this I maun say, that all men act according to their gifts and their 
 
 grace, sae that it is nae marvel that " 
 
 " This is all very fine," interrupted Mr. Middleburgh ; but I 
 have no time to spend in hearing it. The matter in hand is this — 
 I have directed a citation to be lodged in your daughter's hands — 
 If she appears on the day of trial and gives evidence, there is 
 reason to hope she may save her sister's life — if, from any con- 
 strained scruples about the legality of her performing the office of 
 an affectionate sister and a good subject, by appearing in a court 
 held under the authority of the law and government, you become 
 the means of deterring her from the discharge of this duty, I must 
 say, though the truth may sound harsh in your ears, that you, who 
 gave life to this unhappy girl, will become the means of her losing 
 it by a premature and violent death." 
 
 So saying, Mr. Middleburgh turned to leave him. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 163 
 
 " Bide awee — bide awee, Mr. Middleburgh," said Deans, in great 
 perplexity and distress of mind ; but the Bailie, who was probably 
 sensible that protracted discussion might diminish the effect of. his 
 best and most forcible argument, took a hasty leave, and declined 
 entering further into the controversy. 
 
 Deans sunk down upon his seat, stunned with a variety of con- 
 flicting emotions. It had been a great source of controversy 
 among those holding his opinions in religious matters, how far the 
 government which succeeded the«Revolution could be, without sin, 
 acknowledged by true presbyterians, seeing that it did not recog- 
 nize the great national testimony of the Solemn League and Cove- 
 nant ? And latterly, those agreeing in this general doctrine, and 
 assuming the sounding title of the anti-popish, anti-prelatic, anti- 
 erastian, anti-sectarian, true presbyterian remnant, were divided 
 into many petty sects among themselves, even as to the extent of 
 submission to the existing laws and rulers, which constituted such 
 an acknowledgment as amounted to sin. 
 
 At a very stormy and tumultuous meeting, held in 1682, to dis- 
 cuss these important and delicate points, the testimonies of the 
 faithful few were found utterly inconsistent with each other.* The 
 place where this conference took place was remarkably well adapted 
 for such an assembly. It was a wild and very sequestered dell in 
 Tweeddale, surrounded by high hills, and far remote from human 
 habitation. A small river, or rather a mountain torrent, called the 
 Talla, breaks down the glen with great fury, dashing successively 
 over a number of small cascades, which has procured the spot the 
 name of Talla-Linns. Here the leaders among the scattered 
 adherents to the Covenant, men who, in their banishment from 
 human society, and in the recollection of the severities to which 
 they had been exposed, had become at once sullen in their tem- 
 pers, and fantastic in their religious opinions, met with arms in 
 their hands, and by the side of the torrent discussed, with a turbu- 
 lence which the noise of the stream could not drown, points of 
 controversy as empty and unsubstantial as its foam. 
 
 It was the fixed judgment of most of the meeting, that all pay- 
 ment of cess or tribute to the existing government was utterly un- 
 lawful, and a sacrificing to idols. About other impositions and 
 degrees of submission there were various opinions ; and perhaps 
 it is the best illustration of the spirit of those military fathers of 
 the church to say, that while all allowed it was impious to pay 
 the cess employed for maintaining the standing army and militia, 
 there was a fierce controversy on the lawfulness of paying the 
 duties levied at ports and bridges, for maintaining roads and other 
 necessary purposes ; and there were some who, repugnant to these 
 imposts for turnpikes and pontages, were nevertheless free in 
 conscience to make payment of the usual freight at public ferries, 
 - and that a person of exceeding and punctilious zeal, James Russel, 
 one of the slayers of the Archbishop of St. Andrews, had given 
 his testimony with great warmth even against this last faint shade 
 of subjection to constituted authority. This ardent and enlightened 
 person and his followers had also great scruples about the lawful- 
 
 1. 2 
 
164 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 ness of bestowing the ordinary names upon the. days of the week 
 and the months of the year, which savoured in their nostrils so 
 strongly of paganism, that at length they arrived at the conclusion 
 that they who owned such names as Monday, Tuesday, January, 
 February, and so forth, " served themselves heirs to the same, if 
 not greater punishment, than had been denounced against the ido- 
 laters of old." 
 
 David Deans had been present on this memorable occasion, 
 although too young to be a speaker among the polemical com- 
 batants. His brain, however, had been thoroughly heated by the 
 noise, clamour, and metaphysical ingenuity of the discussion, and 
 it was a controversy to which his mind had often returned ; and 
 though he carefully disguised his vacillation from others, and per- 
 haps from himself, he had never been able to come to any precise 
 line of decision on the subject. In fact, his natural sense had 
 acted as a counterpoise to his controversial zeal. He was by no 
 means pleased with the quiet and indifferent manner in which 
 King William's government slurred over the errors of the times, 
 when, far from restoring the presbyterian kirk to its former supre- 
 macy, they passed an act of oblivion even to those who had been 
 its persecutors, and bestowed on many of them titles, favours, and 
 employments. When, in the first General Assembly which suc- 
 ceeded the Revolution, an overture was made for the revival of the 
 League and Covenant, it was with horror that Douce David heard 
 the proposal eluded by the men of carnal wit and policy, as he 
 called them, as being inapplicable to the present times, and not 
 falling under the modern model of the church. The reign of 
 Queen Anne had increased his conviction, that the Revolution 
 government was not one of the true presbyterian complexion. But 
 then, more sensible than the bigots of his sect, he did not con- 
 found the moderation and tolerance of these two reigns with the 
 active tyranny and oppression exercised in those of Charles II. and 
 James II. The presbyterian form of religion, though deprived of 
 the weight formerly attached to its sentences of excommunication, 
 and compelled to tolerate the co-existence of episcopacy, and of 
 sects of various descriptions, was still the National Church ; and 
 though the glory of the second temple was far inferior to that 
 which had flourished from 1639 till the battle of Dunbar, still it 
 was a structure that, wanting the strength and the terrors, retained 
 at least the form and symmetry, of the original model. Then came 
 the insurrection in 1715, and David Deans's horror for the revival of 
 the popish and prelatical faction reconciled him greatly to the 
 government of King George, although he grieved that that monarch 
 might be suspected of a leaning unto Erastianism. In short, 
 moved by so many different considerations, he had shifted his 
 ground at different times concerning the degree of freedom which 
 he felt in adopting any act of immediate acknowledgment or sub- 
 mission to the present government, which, however mild and 
 paternal, was still uncovenanted ; and now he felt himself called 
 up^on by the most powerful motive conceivable, to authorize his 
 daughter's giving testimony in a court of justice, which all who 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 165 
 
 have been since called Cameronians accounted a step of lament- 
 able and direct defection. The voice of nature, however, exclaimed 
 loud in his bosom against the dictates of fanaticism ; and his ima- 
 gination, fertile in the solution of polemical difficulties, devised an 
 expedient for extricating himself from the fearful dilemma, in which 
 he saw, on the one side, a falling off from principle, and, on the 
 other, a scene from which a father's thoughts could not but turn in 
 shuddering horror. 
 
 " I have been constant and unchanged in my testimony," said 
 David Deans ; " but then who has said it of me, that I have judged 
 my neighbour over closely, because he hath had more freedom in 
 his walk than I have found in mine ? I never was a separatist, 
 nor for quarreling with tender souls about mint, cummin, or other 
 the lesser tithes. My daughter Jean may have a light in this sub- 
 ject that is hid frae my auld een — it is laid on her conscience, and 
 not on mine — If she hath freedom to gang before this judicatory, 
 and hold up her hand for this poor cast-away, surely I will not say 
 
 she steppeth over her bounds ; and if not " He paused in his 
 
 mental argument, while a pang of unutterable anguish convulsed 
 his features, yet, shaking it off, he firmly resumed the strain of his 
 reasoning — " And if not — God forbid that she should go into 
 defection at bidding of mine ! I wunna fret the tender conscience 
 of one bairn — no, not to save the life of the other." 
 
 A Roman would have devoted his daughter to death from dif- 
 ferent feelings and motives, but not upon a more heroic principle 
 of duty. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 To man, in this his trial state, 
 
 The privilege is given, 
 When tost by tides of human fate, 
 
 To anchor fast on heaven. 
 
 Watts' Hymns. 
 
 It was with a firm step that Deans sought his daughter's apart- 
 ment, determined to leave her to the light of her own conscience 
 in the dubious point of casuistry in which he supposed her to be 
 placed. 
 
 The little room had been the sleeping apartment of both sisters, 
 and there still stood there a small occasional bed which had been 
 made for Effie's accommodation, when, complaining of illness, she 
 had declined to share, as in happier times, her sister's pillow. The 
 eyes of Deans rested involuntarily, on entering the room, upon 
 this little couch, with its dark green coarse curtains, and the ideas 
 connected with it rose so thick upon his soul as almost to incapaci- 
 tate him from opening his errand to his daughter. Her occupa- 
 tion broke the ice. He found her gazing on a slip of paper, which 
 contained a citation to her to appear as a witness upon her sister's 
 trial in behalf Of the accused. For the worthy magistrate, deter- 
 
i66 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 mined to omit no chance of doing Effie justice, and to leave her 
 sister no apology for not giving the evidence which she was sup- 
 posed to possess, had caused the ordinary citation, or subpana, of 
 the Scottish criminal court, to be served upon her by an officer 
 during his conference with David. 
 
 This precaution was so far favourable to Deans, that it saved him 
 the pain of entering upon a formal explanation with his daughter ; 
 he only said, with a hollow and tremulous voice, " I perceive ye are 
 aware of the matter." 
 
 " O father, we are cruelly sted between God's laws and man's laws 
 — What shall we do ? — What can we do ? " 
 
 Jeanie, it must be observed, had no hesitation whatever about 
 the mere act of appearing in a court of justice. She might have 
 heard the point discussed by -her father more than once ; but we 
 have already noticed, that she was accustomed to listen with rever- 
 ence to much which she was incapable of understanding, and that 
 subtle arguments of casuistry found her a patient but unedified 
 hearer. Upon receiving the citation, therefore, her thoughts did not 
 turn upon the chimerical scruples which alarmed her father's mind, 
 but to the language which had been held to her by the stranger at 
 Muschat's Cairn. In a word, she never doubted but she was to be 
 dragged forward into the court of justice, in order to place her in 
 the cruel position of either sacrificing her sister by telling the truth, 
 or committing perjury in order to save her life. . And so strongly 
 did her thoughts run in this channel, that she applied her father's 
 words, " Ye are aware of the matter," to his acquaintance with the 
 advice that had been so fearfully enforced upon her. She looked 
 up with anxious surprise, not unmingled with a cast of horror, which 
 his next words, as she interpreted, and applied them, were not 
 qualified to remove. 
 
 " Daughter," said David, " it has ever been my mind, that in 
 things of ane doubtful and controversial nature, ilk Christian's 
 conscience suld be his ain guide — Wherefore descend into yourself, 
 try your ain mind with sufficiency of soul exercise, and as you sali 
 finally find yourself clear to do in this matter — even so be it." 
 
 " But, father," said Jeanie, whose mind revolted at the construc- 
 tion which she naturally put upon his language, " can this — THIS 
 be a doubtful or controversial matter? — Mind, father, the ninth 
 command — ' Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neigh- 
 bour.'" 
 
 David Deans paused ; for, still applying her' speech to his pre- 
 conceived difficulties, it seemed to him as if she, a woman, and a 
 sister, was scarce entitled to be scrupulous upon this occasion, 
 where he, a man, exercised in the testimonies of that testifying 
 period, had given indirect countenance to her following what must 
 have been the natural dictates of her own feelings. But he kept firm 
 his purpose, until his eyes involuntarily rested upon the little settle- 
 bed, and recalled the form of the child of his old age, 'as she sate 
 upon it, pale, emaciated, and broken-hearted. His mind, as the 
 picture arose before him, involuntarily conceived, and his tongue 
 involuntarily uttered— but in a tone how different from his usual 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 167 
 
 dogmatical precision !— arguments for the course of conduct likely 
 to ensure his child's safety. 
 
 " Daughter," he said, " I did not say that your path was free from 
 stumbling — and, questionless, this act may be in the opinion of 
 sime a transgression, since he who beareth witness unlawfully and 
 against his conscience, doth in some sort bear false witness against 
 his neighbour. Yet in matters of compliance, the guilt lieth not in 
 the compliance sae muckle, as in the mind and conscience of him 
 that doth comply ; and, therefore, although my testimony hath not 
 been spared upon public defections, I haena felt freedom to sepa- 
 rate mysell from the communion of many who have been clear to 
 hear those ministers who have taken the fatal indulgence because 
 they might get good of them, though I could not." 
 
 When David had proceeded thus far, his conscience reproved 
 hini, that he might be indirectly undermining the purity of his 
 daighter's faith, and smoothing the way for a falling off from strict- 
 ness of principle. He, therefore, suddenly stopped, and changed 
 his .one : — "Jeanie, I perceive that our vile affections, — so I call 
 then in respect of doing the will of our Father, — cling too heavily 
 to me in this hour of trying sorrow, to permit me to keep sight of my 
 ain duty, or to airt you to yours. I will speak nae mair anent this 
 over-trying matter. — Jeanie, if ye can, wi' God and gude conscience, 
 speak in favour of this puir unhappy" — (here his voice faltered) — 
 " She is your sister in the flesh — worthless and castaway as she is, 
 she is the daughter of a saint in heaven, that was a mother to you, 
 Jeanie, in place of your ain — but if ye arena free in conscience to 
 speak for her in the court of judicature, follow your conscience, 
 Jeanie, and let God's will be done." After this adjuration he left the 
 apartment, and his daughter remained in a state of great distress 
 and perplexity. 
 
 It would have been no small addition to the sorrows of David 
 Deans, even in this extremity of suffering, had he known that his 
 daughter was applying the casuistical arguments which he had been 
 using, not in the sense of a permission to follow her own opinion on 
 a dubious and disputed point of controversy, but rather as an en- 
 couragement to transgress one of those divine commandments which 
 Christians of all sects and denominations unite in holding most 
 sacred. 
 
 " Can this be ? " said Jeanie, as the door closed on her father — 
 " Can these be his words that I have heard, or has the Enemy taken 
 his voice and features to give weight unto the counsel which causeth 
 to perish ? — A sister's life, and a father pointing out how to save it ! 
 — O God deliver me ! — this is a fearfu' temptation." 
 
 Roaming from thought to thought, she at one time imagined her 
 father understood the ninth-commandment literally, as prohibiting 
 false witness against our neighbour, without extending the denun- 
 ciation against falsehood uttered in favour of the criminal. But her 
 clear and unsophisticated power of discriminating between good 
 and evil, instantly rejected an interpretation so limited, and so un- 
 worthy of the Author of the la\v. She remained in a state of the 
 most agitating terror and uncertainty — afraid to communicate her 
 
168 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 thoughts freely to her father, lest she should draw forth an opinion 
 with which she could not comply, — wrung with distress on her 
 sister's account, rendered the more acute by reflecting that the 
 means of saving her were in her power, but were such as her con- 
 science prohibited her from using, — tossed, in short, like a vessd 
 in an open roadstead during a storm, and, like that vessel, restiig 
 on one only sure cable and anchor, — faith in Providence, and a 
 resolution to discharge her duty. / 
 
 Butler's affection and strong sense of religion would have been 
 her principal support in these distressing circumstances, but he was 
 still under restraint, which did not permit him to come to; St. 
 Leonard's Crags ; and her distresses were of a nature which, pith 
 her indifferent habits of scholarship, she found it impossible t(j ex- 
 press in writing. She was therefore compelled to trust for guidance 
 to her own unassisted sense of what was right or wrong. 
 
 It was not the least of Jeanie's distresses, that, although she hoped 
 and believed her sister to be innocent, she had not the meani of 
 receiving that assurance from her own mouth. 
 
 The double-dealing of Ratcliffe in the matter of Robertson had 
 not prevented his being rewarded, as double-dealers frequently lave 
 been, with favour and preferment. Sharpitlaw, who found in him 
 something of a kindred genius, had been intercessor in his behalf 
 with the magistrates, and the circumstance of his having voluntarily 
 remained in the prison, when the doors were forced by the mot, 
 would have made it a hard measure to take the life which he ha^ 
 such easy means of saving. He received a full pardon ; and sool 
 afterwards, James Ratcliffe, the greatest thief and house-breaker ii 
 Scotland, jvas, upon the faith, perhaps, of an ancient proverb, 
 selected as a person to be intrusted with the custody of other de- 
 linquents. 
 
 When Ratcliffe was thus placed in a confidential situation, he was 
 repeatedly applied to by the sapient Saddletree and others, who 
 took some interest in the Deans' family, to procure an interview 
 between the sisters ; but the magistrates, who were extremely anxious 
 for the apprehension of Robertson, had given strict orders to the 
 contrary, hoping that, by keeping them separate, they might, from 
 the one or the other, extract some information respecting that fugi- 
 tive. On this subject Jeanie had nothing to tell them. She in- 
 formed Mr. Middleburgh, that she knew nothing of Robertson, 
 except having met him that night by appointment to give her 
 some advice respecting her sister's concern, the purport of which, 
 she said, was betwixt God and her conscience. Of his motions, 
 purposes, or plans, past, present, or future, she knew nothing, and 
 so had nothing to communicate. 
 
 Effie was equally silent, though from a different cause. It was 
 in vain that they offered a commutation and alleviation of her 
 punishment, and even a free pardon, if she would confess what she 
 knew of her lover. She answered only with tears ; unless, when at 
 times driven into pettish sulkiness by the persecution of the interro- 
 gators, she made them abrupt and disrespectful answers. 
 
 At length, after her trial had been delayed for many weeks, in 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 169 
 
 hopes she might be induced to speak out on a subject infinitely- 
 more interesting to the magistracy than her own guilt or innocence, 
 their patience was worn out, and even Mr. Middleburgh finding no 
 ear lent to further intercession in her behalf, the day was fixed for 
 the trial to proceed. 
 
 It was now, and not sooner, that Sharpitlaw, recollecting his 
 promise to Effie Deans, or rather being dinned into compliance by 
 the unceasing remonstrances of Mrs. Saddletree, who was his next- 
 door neighbour, and who declared it was heathen cruelty to keep 
 twa broken-hearted creatures separate, issued the important man- 
 date, permitting them to see each other. 
 
 On the evening which preceded the eventful day of trial, Jeanie 
 was permitted to see her sister — an awful interview, and occurring 
 at a most distressing crisis. This, however, formed a part of the 
 bitter cup which she was doomed to drink, to atone for crimes and 
 follies to which she had no accession ; and at twelve o'clock noon, 
 being the time appointed for admission to the jail, she went to 
 meet, for the first time for several months, her guilty, erring, and 
 most miserable sister, in that abode of guilt, error, and utter misery. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Sweet sister, let me live ! 
 
 What sin you do to save a brother's life, 
 Nature dispenses with the deed so far, 
 That it becomes a virtue. 
 
 Measure for Measure. 
 
 Jeanie Deans was admitted into the jail by Ratcliffe. This 
 fellow, as void of shame as of honesty, as he opened the now trebly 
 secured door, asked her, with a leer which made her shudder, 
 " whether she remembered him ? " 
 
 A half-pronounced and timid " No," was her answer. 
 
 " What ! not remember moonlight, -and Muschat's Cairn, and 
 Rob and Rat ?". said he, with the same sneer ; — " Your memory 
 needs redding up, my jo." 
 
 If Jeanie's distresses had admitted of aggravation, it must have 
 been to find her sister under the charge of such a profligate as this 
 man. He was not, indeed, without something of good to balance 
 so much that was evil in his character and habits. In his misde- 
 meanours he had never been bloodthirsty or cruel; and in his 
 present occupation, he had shown himself, in a certain degree, 
 accessible to touches of humanity. But these good qualities were 
 unknown to Jeanie, who, remembering the scene at Muschat's 
 Cairn, could scarce find voice to acquaint him, that she had an order 
 from Bailie Middleburgh, permitting her to see her sister. 
 
 " I ken that fu' weel, my bonny doo ; mair by token, I have a 
 special charge to stay in the ward with you a' the time ye are the- 
 gither." 
 
 " Must that be sae?" asked Jeanie, with an imploring voice. 
 
i 7 o THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 " Hout, ay, hinny," replied the turnkey ; " and what the waurwill 
 you and your tittie be of Jim Ratcliffe hearing what ye hae to say 
 to ilk ither ? — Deil a word ye'll say that will gar him ken your kittle 
 sex better than he kens them already ; and another thing is, that if 
 ye dinna speak o' breaking the Tolbooth, deil a word will I tell ower, 
 either to do ye good or ill." 
 
 Thus saying, Ratcliffe marshalled her the way to the apartment 
 where Effie was confined. 
 
 ' Shame, fear, and grief, had contended for mastery in the poor 
 prisoner's bosom during the whole morning, while she had looked 
 forward to this meeting ; but when the door opened, all gave way 
 to a confused and strange feeling that had a tinge of joy in it, as, 
 throwing herself on her sister's neck, she ejaculated, " My dear 
 Jeanie ! — -my dear Jeanie ! it's lang since I hae seen ye." Jeanie 
 returned the embrace with an earnestness that partook almost of 
 rapture, but it was only a flitting emotion, like a sunbeam unex- 
 pectedly penetrating betwixt the clouds of a tempest, and obscured 
 almost as soon as visible. The sisters walked together to the side 
 of the pallet bed, and sat down side by side, took hold of each 
 other's hands, and looked each other in the face, but without speak- 
 ing a word. In this posture they remained for a minute, while the 
 gleam of joy gradually faded from their features, and gave way to 
 the most intense expression, first of melancholy, and then of agony, 
 till, throwing themselves again into each other's arms, they, to use 
 the language of Scripture, lifted up their voices and wept bitterly. 
 
 Even the hard-hearted turnkey, who had spent his life in scenes 
 calculated to stifle both conscience and feeling, could not witness 
 this scene without a touch of human sympathy. It was shown in 
 a trifling action', but which had more delicacy in it than seemed to 
 belong to Ratcliffe's character and station. The unglazed window 
 of the miserable chamber was open, and the beams of a bright 
 sun fell right upon the bed where the sufferers were seated. With 
 a gentleness that had something of reverence in it, Ratcliffe partly 
 closed the shutter, and seemed thus to throw a veil over a scene so 
 sorrowful. 
 
 "Ye are ill, Effie," were the first words Jeanie could utter ; "ye 
 are very ill." 
 
 " O, what wad I gie to be ten times waur, Jeanie ! " was the 
 reply — " what wad I gie to be cauld deid afore the ten o'clock bell 
 the morn ! And our father — but I am his bairn nae langer now— 
 O, I hae nae friend left in the warld ! — O, that I were lying deid 
 at my mother's side,- in Newbattle kirkyard." 
 
 " Hout, lassie," said Ratcliffe, willing to show the interest which 
 he absolutely felt, " dinna be sae dooms doon-hearted as a' that ; 
 there's mony a tod hunted that's no killed. Advocate Langtale 
 has brought folk through waur snappers than a' this, and there's no 
 a cleverer agent than Nichil Novit e'er drew a bill of suspension. 
 Hanged or unhanged, they are weel aff has sic an agent and 
 counsel ; ane's sure o' fair play. Ye are a bonny lass, too, an ye 
 wad busk up your cockernonie a bit ; and a bonny lass will find 
 favour wi' judge and jury, when they would strap up a grewsome 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 171 
 
 carle like me for the fifteenth part of a flea's hide and tallow, d — n 
 them." 
 
 To this homely strain of consolation the mourners returned no 
 answer ; indeed, they were so much lost in their own sorrows as to 
 have become insensible of Ratcliffe's presence. " O Effie," said 
 her elder sister, " how could you conceal your situation from me ? 
 O woman, had I deserved this at your hand ? — had ye spoke but 
 ae word — sorry we micht hae been, and shamed we micht hae been, 
 but this awfu' dispensation had never come ower us." 
 
 " And what gude wad that hae dune?" answered the prisoner. 
 " Na, na, Jeanie, a' was ower when ance I forgot what I promised 
 when I faulded down the leaf of my Bible. See," she said, pro- 
 ducing the sacred volume, " the book opens aye at the place o' 
 itsell. O see, Jeanie, what a fearfu' Scripture ! " 
 
 Jeanie took her sister's Bible, and found that the fatal mark was 
 made at this impressive text in the book of Job : " He hath 
 stripped me of my glory, and taken the crown from my head. He 
 hath destroyed me on every side, and I am gone. And mine hope 
 hath he removed like a tree." 
 
 " Isna that ower true a doctrine ?" said the prisoner — " Isna my 
 crown, my honour removed ? And what am I but a poor wasted, 
 wan-thriven tree, dug up by the roots, and flung out to waste in 
 the highway, that man and beast may tread it under foot ? I 
 thoucht o' the bonny bit thorn that our father rooted out o' the 
 yard last May, when it had a' the flush o' blossoms on it ; and 
 then it lay in the court till the beasts had trod them a' to pieces wi' 
 their feet. I little thoucht, when I was wae for the bit silly green 
 bush and its flowers, that I was to gang the same gate mysell." 
 
 " O, if ye had spoken ae word," again sobbed Jeanie, — " if I 
 were free to swear that ye had said but ae word of how it stude wi' 
 ye, they couldna hae touched your life this day." 
 
 " Could they na ? " said Effie, with something like awakened 
 interest — for life is dear even to those who feel it is a burden — 
 " Wha tauld ye that, Jeanie ? " 
 
 " It was ane that kend what he was saying weel eneugh," replied 
 Jeanie, who had a natural reluctance at mentioning even the name 
 of her sister's seducer. 
 
 " Wha was it ? — I conjure you to tell me," said Effie, seating 
 herself upright. — " Wha could tak interest in sic a cast-by as I am 
 now? — Was it — was it him ? " 
 
 " Hout," said Ratcliffe, " what signifies keeping the poor lassie 
 in a swither ? I'se uphaud it's been Robertson that learned ye that 
 doctrine when ye saw him at Muschat's Cairn." 
 
 " Was it him ? " said Effie, catching eagerly at his words — " was 
 it him, Jeanie, indeed ? — O, I see it was him — poor lad, and I was 
 thinking his heart was as hard as the nether mill-stane — and him 
 in sic danger on his ain part — poor George ! " 
 
 .Somewhat indignant at this burst of tender feeling towards the 
 author of her misery, Jeanie could not help exclaiming — " O Effie, 
 how can ye speak that gate of sic a man as that ? " 
 
 " We maun forgie our enemies, ye ken," said poor Effie, with a 
 
172 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 ' timid look and a subdued voice ; for her conscience told her what 
 a different character the feelings with which she still regarded her 
 seducer bore, compared with the Christian charity under which 
 she attempted to veil it. 
 
 " And ye hae suffered a' this for him, and ye can think o' loving 
 him still ? " said her sister, in a voice betwixt pity and blame. 
 
 " Love him ! " answered Effie— " If I hadna loved as woman 
 seldom loves, I hadna been within these wa's this day ; and trow 
 ye, that love sic as mine is lichtly foigotten? — Na, na — ye 
 may hew down the tree, but ye canna change its bend— And 
 Jeanie, if ye wad do good to me at this moment, tell me every 
 word that he said, and whether he was sorry for poor Effie or no !" 
 
 " What needs I tell ye onything about it ? " said Jeanie. " Ye 
 may be sure he had ower muckle to do to save himsell, to speak 
 king or muckle about onybody beside." 
 
 " That's no true, Jeanie, though a saunt had said it," replied 
 Effie, with a sparkle of her former lively and irritable temper. 
 " But ye dinna ken, though I do, how far he pat his life in venture 
 to save mine." And looking at Ratcliffe, she checked herself and 
 was silent. 
 
 " I fancy," said Ratcliffe, with one of his familiar sneers, " the 
 lassie thinks that naebody has een but hersell — Didna I see when 
 Gentle Geordie was seeking to get other folk out of the Tolbooth 
 forby Jock Porteous? but ye are of my mind, hinny — better sit 
 and rue, than flit and rue — Ye needna look ininy face sae amazed. 
 I ken mair things than that, maybe." 
 
 " O my God ! my God ! " said Effie, springing up and throwing 
 herself down on her knees before him — " D'ye ken where they hae 
 putten my bairn ? — O my bairn ! my bairn ! the poor sackless 
 innocent new-born wee ane — bone of my bone, and flesh of my 
 flesh ! — O man, if ye wad e'er deserve a portion in heaven, or a 
 broken-hearted creature's blessing upon earth, tell me where they 
 hae put my bairn — the sign of my shame and the partner of my 
 suffering ! tell me wha has taen 't away, or what they h*ae dune wi't !" 
 
 " Hout tout," said the turnkey, endeavouring to extricate himself 
 from the firm grasp with which sheheld him, " that 's takin me at my 
 word wi' a witness — Bairn, quo' she ? How the deil suld I ken ony- 
 thing of your bairn, huzzy ? Ye maun ask that of auld Meg Mur- 
 dockson, if ye dinna ken ower muckle about it yoursell." 
 
 As his answer destroyed the wild and vague hope which had 
 suddenly gleamed upon her, the unhappy prisoner let go her hold 
 of his coat, and fell with her face on the pavement of the apart- 
 ment in a strong convulsion fit. 
 
 Jeanie Deans possessed, with her excellently clear understanding, 
 the concomitant advantage of promptitude of spirit, even in the 
 extremity of distress. 
 
 She did not suffer herself to be overcome by her own feelings of 
 exquisite sorrow, but instantly applied herself to her sister's, relief, 
 with the readiest remedies which circumstances afforded ; and 
 which, to do Ratcliffe justice, he showed himself anxious to 
 suggest, and alert in procuring. He had even the delicacy to with- 
 
.THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 173 
 
 draw to the farthest corner of the room, so as to render his official 
 attendance upon them as little intrusive as possible, when Effie was 
 composed enough again to resume her conference with her sister. 
 
 The prisoner once more, in the most earnest and broken tones, 
 conjured Jeanie to tell her the particulars of the conference with 
 Robertson, and Jeanie felt it was impossible to refuse her this 
 gratification. 
 
 " Do ye mind," she said, " Effie, when ye were in the fever before 
 we left Woodend, and how angry your mother, that 's now in a 
 - better place, was wi' me for gieing ye milk and water to drink, 
 because ye grat for it ? Ye were a bairn then, and ye are a woman 
 now, and should ken better than ask what canna but hurt you — 
 But come weal or wo, I canna refuse ye onything that ye ask me 
 wi' the tear in your ee." 
 
 Again Effie threw herself into her arms, and kissed her cheek 
 and forehead, murmuring, " O, if ye ken'd how lang it is since I 
 heard his name mentioned ! — if ye) but!| ken'd how muckle good it 
 does me but to ken onything o' him, that 's like goodness or kind- 
 ness, ye wadna wonder that I wish to hear o' him ! " 
 
 Jeanie sighed, and commenced her narrative of all that had 
 passed betwixt Robertson and her, making it as brief as possible. 
 Effie listened in breathless anxiety, holding her sister's hand in 
 hers, and keeping her eye fixed upon her face, as if devouring every 
 word she uttered. The interjections of " Poor fellow," — " Poor 
 George," which escaped in whispers, and betwixt sighs, were the 
 only sounds with which she interrupted the story. When it was 
 finished she made a long pause. 
 
 " And this was his advice ? " were the first words she uttered. 
 
 " Just sic as I hae tell'd ye," replied her sister. 
 
 " And he wanted you to say something to yon folks, that wad 
 save my young life ? " 
 
 " He wanted," answered Jeanie, " that I suld be mansworn." 
 
 " And you tauld him," said Effie, " that ye wadna hear o' coming 
 between me and the death that I am to die, and me no aughteen 
 year auld yet." 
 
 " I told him," replied Jeanie, who now trembled at the turn 
 which her sister's reflections seemed about to take, " that I daured 
 na swear to an untruth." 
 
 " And what d'ye ca' an untruth ? " said Effie, again showing a 
 touch of her former spirit — "Ye are muckle to blame, lass, if ye 
 think a mother would, or could, murder her ain bairn — Murder ! — 
 I wad hae laid down my life just to see a blink o' its ee ! " 
 
 " I do believe," said Jeanie, " that ye are as innocent of sic a 
 purpose as the new-born babe itsell." 
 
 " I am glad ye do me that justice," said Effie, haughtily ; " it's 
 whiles the faut of very good folk like you, Jeanie, that they think 
 a' the rest of the warld are as bad as the warst temptations can 
 mak them." 
 
 " I dinna deserve this frae ye, Effie,' 1 said her sister, sobbing, 
 and feeling at once the injustice of the reproach, and compassion 
 for the state of mind which dictated it. 
 
174 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 " Maybe no, sister,'' said Effie. " But ye are angry because I 
 love Robertson— How can I help loving him, that loves me better 
 than body and soul baith? — Here he put his life in a niffer, to 
 break the prison to let me out ; and sure am I, had it stood wi' 
 him as it stands wi' you " — Here she paused and was silent. 
 
 " O, if it stude wi' me to save ye wi' risk of my life ! " said Jeanie. 
 
 " Ay, lass," said her sister, " that's lightly said, but no sae 
 lightly credited, frae ane that winna ware a word for me ; and if it 
 be a wrang word, ye'll hae time eneugh to repent o't." 
 
 " But that word is a grievous sin, and it's a deeper offence, when 
 it's a sin wilfully and presumptuously committed. 
 
 " Weel, weel, Jeanie," said Effie, " I mind a' about the sins o' 
 presumption in the questions — we'll speak nae mair about this 
 matter, and ye may save your breath to say your carritch ; and for 
 me, I'll soon hae nae breath to waste on onybody." 
 
 " I must needs say," interposed Ratcliffe, " that it 's d— d hard, 
 when three words of your mouth would give the girl a chance to 
 nick Moll Blood [the gallows], that you make such scrupling about 
 rapping [swearing] to them. D — n me, if they would take me, if 
 I would not rap to all whatd'yecallums — Hyssop's Fables, for her 
 life — I am us'd to't, b — t me, for less matters. Why, I have 
 smacked calf-skin [kissed the book] fifty times in England for a 
 keg of brandy." 
 
 " Never speak mair o't," said the prisoner. " It's just as weel as it 
 is — and gude-day, sister ; ye keep Mr. Ratcliffe waiting on — Yell 
 
 come back and see me, I reckon, before" here she stopped, 
 
 and became deadly pale. 
 
 " And are we to part in this way," said Jeanie, " and you in sic 
 deadly peril ? O, Effie, look but up, and say what ye wad hae me 
 to do, and I could find in my heart amaist to say that I wad do't." 
 
 " No, Jeanie," replied her sister, after an effort, " I am better 
 minded now. At my best, I was never hlflf sae gude as ye were, 
 and what for suld you begin to mak yoursell waur to save me, now 
 that I am no worth saving ? God knows, that in my sober mind, 
 I wadna wuss ony living creature to do a wrang thing to save my 
 life. I might have fled frae this tolbooth on that awfu' nicht wi' ane 
 wad hae carried me through the warld, and friended me, and fended 
 for me. But I said to them, let life gang when gude fame is gane 
 before it. But this lang imprisonment has broken my spirit, and 
 I am whiles sair left to mysell, and then I wad gie the Indian 
 mines of gold and diamonds, just for life and breath — for I think, 
 Jeanie, I have such roving fits as I used to hae in the fever ; but, 
 instead of the fiery een, and wolves, and Widow Butler's bullseg, 
 that I used to see spieling up on my bed, I am thinking now about 
 a high, black gibbet, and me standing up, and such seas of faces 
 all looking up at poor Effie Deans, and asking if it be her that 
 George Robertson used to call the Lily of Saint Leonard's. And 
 then they stretch out their faces, and mak mouths, and girn at me, 
 and whichever way I look, I see a face laughing like Meg Mur- 
 dockson, when she tauld me I had seen the last of my wean. God 
 preserve us, Jeanie, that carline has a fearsome face ! " She 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 17S 
 
 clapped her hands before her eyes as she uttered this exclamation, 
 as if" to secure herself against seeing the fearful object she had 
 alluded to. 
 
 Jeanie Deans remained with her sister for two hours, during 
 which she endeavoured, if possible, to extract something from her 
 that might be serviceable in her exculpation. But she had nothing 
 to say beyond what she had declared on her first examination 
 with the purport of which the reader will be made acquainted in 
 proper time and place. " They wadna believe her," she said, " and 
 she had naething mair to tell them." 
 
 At length Ratcliffe, though reluctantly, informed the sisters that 
 there was a necessity that they should part. " Mr. Novit," he said, 
 " was to see the prisoner, and maybe Mr. Langtale too. Langtale 
 likes to look at a bonny lass, whether in prison or out o' prison." 
 
 Reluctantly, therefore, and slowly, after many a tear, and many 
 an embrace, Jeanie retired from the apartment, and heard its jarring 
 bolts turned upo.n the dear being from whom she was separated. 
 Somewhat familiarized now even with her rude conductor, she 
 offered him a small present in money, with a request he would do 
 what he could for her sister's accommodation. To her surprise, 
 Ratcliffe declined the fee. " I wasna bloody when I was on the 
 pad," he said, " and I winna be greedy — that is, beyond what's 
 right and reasonable — now that I am in the lock. — Keep the siller ; 
 and for civility, your sister sail hae sic as I can bestow; but I hope 
 you'll think better on it, and rap an oath for her — deil a hair ill 
 there is in it, if ye are rapping again the crown. I ken'd a worthy 
 minister, as gude a man, bating the deed they deposed him for, as 
 ever ye heard claver, in a pu'pit, that rapped to a hogshead of pig- 
 tail tobacco, just for as muckle as filled his spleuchan.* But maybe 
 ye are keeping your ain counsel — weel, weel, there's nae harm in 
 that. As for your sister, 1'se see that she gets her meat clean and 
 warm, and I'll try to gar her lie doun and tak a sleep after dinner, 
 for deil a ee she'll close the nicht. I hae gude experience o' these 
 matters. The first nicht is aye the warst o't. I hae never heard 
 o' ane that sleepit the nicht afore trial, but of mony a ane that 
 sleepit as sound as a tap the nicht before their necks were 
 straughted. And it's nae wonder— the warst may be tholed when 
 it's ken'd — Better a finger aff as aye wagging." 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Yet though thou mayst be dragg'd in scorn 
 
 To yonder ignominious tree, 
 Thou shalt not want one faithful friend 
 
 To share the cruel fates' decree. 
 
 Jemmy Dawson. 
 
 After spending the greater part of the morning in his devotions, 
 (for his benevolent neighbours had kindly insisted upon discharging 
 his task of ordinary labour,) David Deans entered the apartment 
 
176 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 when the breakfast meal was prepared. His eyes were involun- 
 tarily cast down, for he was afraid to look at Jeanie, uncertain as he 
 was whether she might feel herself at liberty, with a good conscience, 
 to attend the Court of Justiciary that day, to give the evidence 
 which he understood that she possessed, in order to her sister's ex- 
 culpation. At length, after a minute of apprehensive hesitation, 
 he looked at her dress to discover whether it seemed to be in her 
 contemplation to go abroad that morning. .Her apparel was neat 
 and plain, but such as conveyed no exact intimation of her inten- 
 tions to go abroad. She had exchanged her usual garb for morning 
 labour, for one something inferior to that with which, as her best, 
 she was wont to dress herself for church, or any more rare occasion 
 of going into society. Her sense taught her, that it was respectful 
 to be decent in her apparel on such an occasion, while her feelings 
 induced her to lay aside the use of the very few and simple personal 
 ornaments, which, on other occasions, she permitted herself to wear. 
 So that there occurred nothing in her external appearance which 
 could mark out to her father, with anything like certainty, her in- 
 tentions on this occasion. 
 
 The preparations for their humble meal were that morning made 
 in vain. The father and daughter sat, each assuming the appear- 
 ance of eating, when the other's eyes were turned to them, and de- 
 sisting from the effort with disgust, when the affectionate impos- 
 ture seemed no longer necessary. 
 
 At length these moments of constraint were removed. The sound 
 of St. Giles's heavy toll announced the hour previous to the com- 
 mencement of the trial ; Jeanie arose, and, with a degree of com- 
 posure for which she herself could not account, assumed her plaid, 
 and made other preparations for a distant walking. It was a strange 
 contrast between the firmness of her demeanour, and the vacilla- 
 tion and cruel uncertainty of purpose indicated in all her father's 
 motions ; and one unacquainted with both could scarcely have sup- 
 posed that the former was, in her ordinary habits of life, a docile, 
 quiet, gentle, and even timid country maiden, while her father, with 
 a mind naturally proud and strong, and supported by religious 
 opinions, of a stern, stoical, and unyielding character, had in his 
 time undergone and withstood the most severe hardships, and the 
 most imminent peril, without depression of spirit, or subjugation of 
 his constancy. The secret of this difference was, that Jeanie's 
 mind had already anticipated the line of conduct which she must 
 adopt, with all its natural and necessary consequences ; while her 
 father, ignorant of every other circumstance, tormented himself 
 with imagining what the one sister might say or swear, or what 
 effect her testimony might have upon the awful event of the trial. 
 
 He watched his daughter, with a faltering and indecisive look, 
 until she looked back upon him, with a look of unutterable anguish, 
 as she was about to leave the apartment. 
 
 " My dear lassie," said he, " I will"— His action, hastily and con- 
 fusedly searching for his worsted mittans* and staff, showed his 
 purpose of accompanying her, though his tongue failed distinctly 
 to announce it. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 177 
 
 " Father," said Jeanie, replying rather to his action than his 
 words, " ye had better not." 
 
 " In the strength of my God," answered Deans, assuming firmness, 
 " I will go forth." 
 
 And, taking his daughter's arm under his, he began to walk from 
 the door with a step so hasty, that she was almost unable to keep 
 up with him. A trifling circumstance, but which marked the per- 
 turbed state of his mind, checked his course. — "Your bonnet,father?" 
 said Jeanie, who observed he had come out with his grey hairs 
 uncovered. He turned back with a slight blush on his cheek, being 
 ashamed to have been detected in an omission which indicated so 
 much mental confusion, assumed his large blue Scottish bonnet, 
 and with a step slower, iDut more composed, as if the circumstance 
 had obliged him to summon up his resolution, and collect his 
 scattered ideas, again placed his daughter's arm under his, and re- 
 sumed the way to Edinburgh. 
 
 The courts of justice were then, and are still, held in what is 
 called the Parliament Close, or, according to modern phrase, the 
 Parliament Square, and occupied the buildings intended for the 
 accommodation of the Scottish Estates. This edifice, though in an 
 imperfect and corrupted style of architecture, had then a grave, 
 decent, and, as it were, a judicial aspect, which was at least entitled 
 to respect from its antiquity. For which venerable front, I observed, 
 on my last occasional visit to the metropolis, that modern taste had 
 substituted, at great apparent expense, a pile so utterly inconsistent 
 with every monument of antiquity around, and in itself so clumsy 
 at the same time and fantastic, that it maybe likened to the decora- 
 tions of Tom Errand the porter, in the trip to the Jubilee, when he 
 appears bedizened with the tawdry finery of Beau Clincher. Sect 
 transeat cum cceteris erroribus. 
 
 The small quadrangle, or Close, if we may presume still to give 
 it that appropriate, though antiquated title, which at Litchfield, 
 Salisbury, and elsewhere, is properly applied to designate the en- 
 closure adjacent to a cathedral, already evinced tokens of the fatal 
 scene which was that day to be acted. The soldiers of the City 
 Guard were on their posts, now enduring, and now rudely repelling 
 with the butts of their muskets, the motley crew who thrust each 
 other forward, to catch a glance at the unfortunate object of trial, as 
 she should pass from the adjacent prison to the Court in which her 
 fate was to be determined. All must have occasionally observed, 
 with disgust, the apathy with which the vulgar gaze on scenes of 
 this nature, and how seldom, unless when their sympathies are 
 called forth by some striking and extraordinary circumstance, the 
 crowd evince any interest deeper than that of callous, unthinking, 
 bustle, and brutal curiosity. They laugh, jest, quarrel, and push, 
 each other to and fro, with the same unfeeling indifference as if 
 they were assembled for some holyday sport, or to see an idle pro-i 
 cession. Occasionally, however, this demeanour, so natural to the 
 degraded populace of a large town, is exchanged for a temporary 
 touch of human affections ; and so it chanced on the present 
 occasion. 
 
 M 
 
i 7 8 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 When Deans and his daughter presented themselves in the Close, 
 and endeavoured to make their way forward to the door of the 
 Court-house, they became involved in the mob, and subject, of 
 course, to their insolence. As Deans repelled with some force the 
 rude pushes which he received on all sides, his figure and anti- 
 quated dress caught the attention of the rabble, who often show an 
 intuitive sharpness in ascribing the proper character from external 
 appearance. — 
 
 l f ' Ye're welcome, whigs, 
 
 ' Frae Bothwell briggs," 
 
 sung one fellow (for the mob of Edinburgh were at that time 
 jacobitically disposed, probably because that was the line of senti- 
 ment most diametrically opposite to existing authority). 
 
 " Mess David Williamson, 
 Chosen of twenty, 
 Ran up the pu'pit stair, 
 And sang Killiecrankie," 
 
 chanted a siren, whose profession might be guessed by her appear- 
 ance. A tattered cadie, or errand porter, whom David Deans had 
 jostled in his attempt to extricate himself from the vicinity of these 
 scorners, exclaimed in a strong north-country tone, " Ta deil ding 
 out her Cameronian een — what gies her titles to dunch gentlemans 
 about?" 
 
 " Make room for the ruling elder," said yet another ; he comes 
 to see a precious sister glorify God in the Grassmarket ! " 
 
 " Whisht ; shame's in ye, sirs," said the voice of a man very 
 loudly, which, as quickly sinking, said in a low, but distinct tone, 
 " It's her father and sister." 
 
 All fell back to make way for the sufferers ; and all, even the 
 very rudest and most profligate, were struck with shame and 
 silence. In the space thus abandoned to them by the mob, Deans 
 stood, holding his daughter by the hand, and said to her, with 
 a countenance strongly and sternly expressive of his internal 
 emotion, " Ye hear with your ears, and ye see with your eyes, where 
 and to whom the backslidings and defections of professors are 
 ascribed by the scoffers. Not to themselves alone, but to the kirk 
 of which they are members, and to its blessed and invisible Head. 
 Then, weel may we take wi' patience our share and portion of this 
 out-spreading reproach." 
 
 The man who had spoken, no other than our old friend Dumbie- 
 dikes, whose mouth, like that of the prophet's ass, had been opened 
 by the emergency of the case, now joined them, and, with his usual 
 taciturnity, escorted them into the Court-house. No opposition was 
 offered to their entrance, either by the guards or door-keepers ; and 
 it is even said, that one of the latter refused a shilling of civility- 
 money, tendered him by the Laird of Dumbiedikes, who was of 
 opinion that " siller wad mak a' easy." But this last incident wants 
 confirmation. 
 
 Admitted within the precincts of the Court-house, they found. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 179 
 
 the usual number of busy office bearers, and idle loiterers, who 
 attend on these scenes by choice, or from duty. Burghers gaped 
 and stared ; young lawyers sauntered, sneered and laughed, as in 
 the pit of the theatre ; while others apart sat on a bench retired, and 
 reasoned highly, inter apices juris, on the doctrines of constructive 
 crime, and the true import of the statute. The bench was prepared 
 for the arrival of the judges. The jurors were in attendance. The 
 crown-counsel, employed in looking over their briefs and notes of 
 evidence, looked grave, and whispered with each other. They 
 occupied one side of a large table placed beneath the bench ; on 
 the other sat the advocates, whom the humanity of the Scottish 
 law (in this particular more liberal than that of the sister country) 
 not only permits, but enjoins, to appear and assist with their advice 
 and skill all persons under trial. Mr. Nichil Novit was seen 
 actively instructing the counsel for the panel (so the prisoner is 
 called in Scottish law-phraseolgy), busy, bustling, and important. 
 When they entered the Court-room, Deans asked the Laird, in a 
 tremulous whisper, " Where will she sit ? " 
 
 Dumbiedikes whispered Novit, who pointed to a vacant space at 
 the bar, fronting the judges, and was about to conduct Deans 
 towards it. 
 
 " No ! " he said ; " I cannot sit by her — I cannot own her — not 
 as yet, at least — I will keep out of her sight, and turn mine own 
 eyes elsewhere — better for us baith." 
 
 Saddletree, whose repeated interference with the counsel had 
 procured him one or two rebuffs, and a special request that he 
 would concern himself with his own matters, now saw with pleasure 
 an opportunity of playing the person of importance. He bustled 
 up to the poor old man, and proceeded to exhibit his consequence, 
 by securing, through his interest with the bar-keepers and macers, 
 a seat for Deans, in a situation where he was hidden from the 
 general eye by the projecting corner of the bench. 
 
 " It's gude to have a friend at court," he said, continuing his 
 heartless harangues to the passive auditor, who neither heard nor 
 replied to them ; " few folk but mysell could hae sorted ye out a 
 seat like this — the Lords will be here incontinent, and proceed 
 ' instanter to trial. They wunna fence the court as they do at the 
 Circuit — The High Court of Justiciary is aye fenced. — But, Lord's 
 sake, what's this o't ? — Jeanie, ye are a cited witness — Macer, this 
 lass is a witness — she maun be enclosed — she maun on nae account 
 be at large. — Mr. Novit, suldna Jeanie Deans be enclosed?" 
 
 Novit answered in the affirmative, and offered to conduct Jeanie 
 to the apartment, where, according to the scrupulous practice of 
 the Scottish Court, the witnesses remained in readiness to be called 
 into court to give evidence ; and separated, at the same time, from 
 all who might influence their testimony, or give them information 
 concerning that which was passing upon the trial. 
 
 " Is this necessary ? " said Jeanie, still reluctant to quit her 
 father's hand. 
 
 " A matter of absolute needcessity," said Saddletree ; " wha ever 
 heard of witnesses no being enclosed?" 
 
 M 2 
 
180 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 " It is really a matter of necessity," said the younger counsellor, 
 retained for her sister ; and Jeanie reluctantly followed the macer 
 of the court to the place appointed. 
 
 " This, Mr. Deans," said Saddletree, " is ca'd sequestering a 
 witness ; but it's clean different (whilk maybe ye wadna fund out 
 o' yoursell) frae sequestering ane's estate or effects, as in cases of 
 bankruptcy. I hae aften been sequestered as a witness, for the 
 Sheriff is in the use whiles to cry me in to witness the declarations 
 at precognitions, and so is Mr. Sharpitlaw ; but I was ne'er like to 
 be sequestered o' land and gudes but ance, and that was lang 
 syne, afore I was married. But whisht, whisht ! here's the Court 
 coming." 
 
 As he spoke, the five Lords of Justiciary, in their long robes 
 of scarlet, faced with white, and preceded by their mace-bearer, 
 entered with the usual formalities, and took their places upon' the 
 bench of judgment. 
 
 The audience rose to receive them; and the bustle occasioned by 
 their entrance was hardly composed, when a great noise and con- 
 fusion of persons struggling, and forcibly endeavouring to enter at 
 the doors of the Court-room and of the galleries, announced that 
 the prisoner was about to be placed at the bar. This tumult takes 
 place when the doors, at first only opened to those either having 
 right to be present, or to the better and more qualified ranks, are at 
 length laid open to all whose curiosity induces them to be present on 
 the occasion. With inflamed countenances and dishevelled dresses, 
 struggling with, and sometimes tumbling over each other, in rushed 
 the rude multitude, while a few soldiers, forming, as it were, the 
 centre of the tide, could scarce, with all their efforts, clear a passage 
 for the prisoner to the place which she was to occupy. By the 
 authority of the Court, and the exertions of its officers, the tumult 
 among the spectators was at length appeased, and the unhappy 
 girl brought forward, and placed betwixt two sentinels with drawn 
 bayonets, as a prisoner at the bar, where she was to abide her de- 
 liverance for good or evil, according to the issue of her trial. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 We have strict statutes, and most biting laws — 
 The needful bits, and curbs for headstrong steeds — 
 Which, for these fourteen years, we have let sleep, 
 Like to an o'ergrown lion in a cave, 
 That goes not out to prey. 
 
 Measure for Measure. 
 " Euphemia Deans,*' said the presiding Judge, in an accent in 
 which pity was blended with dignity, " stand up, and listen to the 
 criminal indictment now to be preferred against you." 
 
 The unhappy girl, who had been stupified by the confusion 
 through which the guards had forced a passage, cast a bewildered 
 look on the multitude of faces around her, which seemed to tapestry, 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 181 
 
 as it were, the walls, in one broad slope from the ceiling to the floor, 
 with human countenances, and instinctively obeyed a command, 
 which rung in her ears like the trumpet of the judgment-day. 
 
 " Put back your hair, Effie," said one of the macers. For her 
 beautiful and abundant tresses of long fair hair, which, according 
 to the costume of the country, unmarried women were not allowed 
 to cover with any sort of cap, and which, alas ! Effie dared no 
 longer confine with the snood or riband, which implied purity of 
 maiden-fame, now hung unbound and dishevelled over her face, 
 and almost concealed her features. On receiving this hint from the 
 attendant, the unfortunate young woman, with a hasty, trembling, 
 and apparently mechanical compliance, shaded back from her face 
 her luxuriant locks, and showed to the whole court, excepting one 
 individual, a countenance, which, though pale and emaciated, was 
 so lovely amid its agony, that it called forth an universal murmur 
 of compassion and sympathy. Apparently the expressive sound of 
 human feeling recalled the poor girl from the stupor of fear, which 
 predominated at first over every other sensation, and awakened her 
 to the no less painful sense of shame and exposure attached to 
 her present situation. Her eye, which had at first glanced wildly 
 around, was turned on the ground; her cheek, at first so deadly 
 pale, began gradually to be overspread with a faint blush, which 
 increased so fast, that, when in agony of shame she strove to 
 conceal her face, her temples, her brow, her neck, and all that 
 her slender fingers and small palms could not cover, became of the 
 deepest crimson. 
 
 All marked and were moved by these changes, excepting one. 
 It was old Deans, who, motionless in his seat, and concealed, as 
 we have said, by the corner of the bench, from seeing or being 
 seen, did nevertheless keep his eyes firmly fixed on the ground, as 
 if determined that, by no possibility whatever, would he be an 
 ocular witness of the shame of his house. 
 
 " Ichabod ! " he said to himself — " Ichabod ! my glory is de- 
 parted ! " 
 
 While these reflections were passing through his mind, the in- 
 dictment, which set forth in technical form the crime of which the 
 panel stood accused, was read as usual, and the prisoner was asked 
 if she was Guilty, or Not Guilty. 
 
 " Not guilty of my poor bairn's death,'' said Effie Deans, in an 
 accent corresponding in plaintive softness of tone to the beauty of 
 her features, and which was not heard by the audience without 
 emotion. 
 
 The presiding Judge next directed the counsel to plead to the 
 revelancy, that is, to state on either part the arguments in point of 
 law, and evidence in point of fact, against and in favour of the 
 criminal : after which it is the form of the Court to pronounce a 
 preliminary judgment, sending the cause to the cognizance of the 
 jury, or assize. 
 
 The counsel for the crown briefly stated the frequency of the 
 crime of infanticide, which had given rise to the special statute 
 under which the panel stood indicted. He mentioned the various 
 
18a THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 instances, many of them marked with circumstances of atrocity, 
 which had at length induced the King's Advocate, though with 
 great reluctance, to make the experiment, whether, by strictly en- 
 forcing the Act of Parliament which had been made to prevent 
 such enormities, their occurrence might be prevented. " He ex- 
 ' pected," he said, " to be able to establish by witnesses, as well as 
 by the declaration of the panel herself, that she was in the state 
 described by the statute. According to his information, the panel 
 had communicated her pregnancy to no one, nor did she allege in 
 her own declaration that she had done so. This secrecy was the 
 first requisite in support of the indictment. The same declaration 
 admitted, that she had borne a male child, in circumstances which 
 gave but too much reason to believe it had died by the hands, or 
 at least with the knowledge or consent, of the unhappy mother. It 
 was not, however, necessary for him to bring positive proof that 
 the panel was accessory to the murder, nay, nor even to prove that 
 the child was murdered at all. It was sufficient to support the 
 indictment, that it could not be found. According to the stern, but 
 necessary severity of this statute, she who should conceal her 
 pregnancy, who should omit to call that assistance which is most 
 necessary on such occasions, was held already to have meditated 
 the death of her offspring, as an event most likely to be the conse- 
 quence of her culpable and cruel concealment. And if, under such 
 circumstances, she could not alternatively show by proof that the 
 infant had died a natural death, or produce it still in life, she must, 
 under the construction of the law, be held to have murdered it, and 
 suffer death accordingly." 
 
 The counsel for the prisoner, Mr. Fairbrother, a man of con- 
 siderable fame in his profession, did not pretend directly to combat 
 the arguments of the King's Advocate. He began by lamenting 
 that his senior at the bar, Mr. Langtale, had been suddenly called 
 to the county of which he was Sheriff, and that he had been applied 
 to, on short warning, to give the panel his assistance in this inter- 
 esting case. He had had little time, he said, to make up for his 
 inferiority to his learned brother by long and minute research ; and 
 he was afraid he might give a specimen of his incapacity, by being 
 compelled to admit the accuracy of the indictment under the 
 statute. " It was enough for their Lordships," he observed, " to 
 know, that such was the law, and he admitted the Advocate had a 
 right to call for the usual interlocutor of revelancy." But he stated, 
 " that when he came to establish his case by proof, he trusted to 
 make out circumstances which would satisfactorily elide the charge 
 in the libel. His client's story was a short but most melancholy 
 one. She was bred up in the strictest tenets of religion and virtue, 
 the daughter of a worthy and conscientious person, who, in evil 
 times, had established a character for courage and religion, by 
 becoming a sufferer for conscience' sake." 
 
 David Deans gave a convulsive start at hearing himself thus 
 mentioned, and then resumed the situation, in which, with his face 
 stooped against his hands, and both resting against the corner of 
 the elevated bench on which the Judges sat, he had hitherto 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. . 183 
 
 listened to the procedure in the trial. The whig lawyers seemed 
 to be interested; the tories put up their lip. 
 
 "Whatever may be our difference of opinion," resumed the 
 lawyer, whose business it was to carry his whole audience with him 
 if possible, " concerning the peculiar tenets of these people," (here 
 Deans groaned deeply,) " it is impossible to deny them the praise 
 of sound and even rigid morals, or the merit of training up their 
 children in the fear of God ; and yet it was the daughter of such a 
 person whom a jury would shortly be called upon, in the absence of 
 evidence, and upon mere presumptions, to convict of a crime, more 
 properly belonging to a heathen, or a savage, than to a Christian 
 and civilized country. " It was true," he admitted, " that the ex- 
 cellent nurture and early instruction which the poor girl had 
 received, had not been sufficient to preserve her from guilt and 
 error. She had fallen a sacrifice to an inconsiderate affection for 
 a young man of prepossessing manners, as he had been informed, 
 but of a very dangerous and desperate character. She was seduced 
 under promise of marriage — a promise, which the fellow might have, 
 perhaps, done her justice by keeping, had he not at that time been 
 called upon by the law to atone for a crime, violent and desperate 
 in itself, but which became the preface to another eventful history, 
 every step of which was marked by blood and guilt, and the final 
 termination of which had not even yet arrived. He believed that 
 no one would hear him without surprise, when he stated that the 
 father of this infant now a-missing, and said by the learned Advocate 
 to have been murdered, was no other than the notorious George 
 Robertson, the accomplice of Wilson, the hero of the memorable 
 escape from the Tolbooth Church, and, as no one knew better than 
 his learned friend the Advocate, the principal actor in the Porteous 
 conspiracy." — 
 
 " I am sorry to interrupt a counsel in such a case as the present," 
 said the presiding Judge ; "but I must remind the learned gentle- 
 man, that he is travelling out of the case before us." 
 
 The counsel bowed, and resumed. " He only judged it neces- 
 sary," he said, " to mention the name and situation of Robertson, 
 because the circumstance in which that character was placed, went 
 a great way in accounting for the silence on which his Majesty's 
 counsel had laid so much weight, as affording proof that his client 
 proposed to allow no fair play for its life, to the helpless being whom 
 she was about to bring into the world. She had not announced to 
 her friends that she had been seduced from the path of honour — 
 and why had she not done so ? — Because she expected daily to be 
 restored to character, by 'her seducer doing her that justice which 
 she knew to be in his power, and believed to be in his inclination. 
 Was it natural — was it reasonable — was it fair, to expect that she 
 should, in the interim, become felo de se of her own character, and 
 proclaim her frailty to the world, when she had every reason to 
 expect, that, by concealing it for a season, it might be veiled for 
 ever ? Was it not, on the contrary, pardonable, that, in such an 
 emergency, a young woman, in such a situation, should be found 
 far from disposed to make a confidant of every prying gossip, who, 
 
184 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 with sharp eyes, and eager ears, pressed upon her for an explana- 
 tion of suspicious circumstances, Which females in the lower — he 
 might say which females of all ranks, are so alert in noticing, that 
 they sometimes discover them where they do not exist ? Wayit 
 strange, or was it criminal, that she should have repelled their 
 inquisitive impertinence, with petulant denials ? The sense and 
 feeling of all who heard him would answer directly in the negative. 
 But although his client had thus remained silent towards those to 
 whom she was not called upon to communicate her situation,— to 
 whom," said the learned gentleman, " I will add, it would have been 
 unadvised and improper in her to have done so ; yet, I trust, I 
 shall remove this case most triumphantly from under the statute^ 
 and obtain the unfortunate young woman an honourable dismission 
 from your Lordships' bar, by showing that she did, in due time anl 
 place, and to a person most fit for such confidence, mention the 
 calamitous circumstances in which she found herself. This oc- 
 curred after Robertson's conviction, and when he was lying in 
 prison in expectation of the fate which his comrade Wilson after- 1 
 wards suffered, and from which he himself so strangely escaped. 
 It was then, when all hopes of having her honour repaired by wed- 
 lock vanished from her eyes, — when an union with one in Robert- 
 son's situation, if still practicable, might, perhaps, have been re- 
 garded rather as an addition to her disgrace, — it was the7i, that I 
 trust to be able to prove that the prisoner communicated and con- 
 sulted with her sister, a young woman several years older than her- 
 self, the daughter of her father, if I mistake not, by a former 
 marriage, upon the perils and distress of her unhappy situation." 
 
 " If, indeed, you are able to instruct that point, Mr. Fairbrother," 
 said the presiding Judge 
 
 " If I am indeed able to instruct that point, my Lord," resumed 
 Mr. Fairbrother, " I trust not only to serve my client, but to relieve 
 your Lordships from that which I know you feel the most painful 
 duty of your high office ; and to give all who now hear me the ex- 
 quisite pleasure of beholding a creature so young, so ingenuous, and 
 so beautiful, as she that is now at the bar of your Lordships' Court, 
 dismissed from thence in safety and in honour." 
 
 This address seemed to affect many of the audience, and was 
 followed by a slight murmur of applause. Deans, as he heard his 
 daughter's beauty and innocent appearance appealed to, was in- 
 voluntarily about to turn his eyes towards her ; but recollecting him- 
 self, he bent them again on the ground with stubborn resolution. 
 
 " Will not my learned brother, on the other side of the bar," con- 
 tinued the advocate, after a short pause, " share in this general joy, 
 since, I know, while he discharges his duty in bringing an accused 
 person here, no one rejoices more in their being freely and honour- 
 ably sent hence ? My learned brother shakes his head doubtfully, 
 and lays his hand on the panel's declaration. I understand him 
 perfectly — he would insinuate that the facts now stated to your 
 Lordships are inconsistent with the confession of Euphemia Deans 
 herself. I need not remind your Lordships, that her present defence 
 is no whit to be narrowed within the bounds of her former confes- 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 185 
 
 sion ; and that it is not by any account which she may formerly 
 have given of herself, but by what is now to be proved for or against 
 her, that she must ultimately stand or fall. I am not under the 
 necessity of accounting for her choosing to drop out of her declara- 
 tion the circumstances of her confession to her sister. She might 
 not be aware of its importance ; she might be afraid of implicating 
 her sister ; she might even have forgotten the circumstance entirely, 
 in the terror and distress of mind incidental to the arrest of so young 
 a creature on a charge so heinous. Any of these reasons are suffi- 
 cient to account for her having suppressed the truth in this instance, 
 at whatever risk to herself ; and I incline most to her erroneous 
 fear of criminating her sister, because I observe she has had a 
 similar tenderness towards her lover, (however undeserved on his 
 part,) and has never once mentioned Robertson's name from 
 beginning to end of her declaration. 
 
 " But, my Lords," continued Fairbrother, " I am aware the King's 
 Advocate will expect me to show, that the proof I offer is consistent 
 with other circumstances of the case, which I do not and cannot 
 deny. He will demand of me how Effie Deans's confession to her 
 sister, previous to her delivery, is reconcilable with the mystery of 
 the birth, — with the disappearance, perhaps the murder (for I will 
 not deny a possibility which I cannot disprove) of the infant. My 
 Lords, the explanation of this is to be found in the placability, per- 
 chance, I may say, in the facility and pliability of the female sex. 
 The dulcis Amaryllidis ires, as your Lordships well know, are 
 easily appeased ; nor is it possible to conceive a woman so atro- 
 ciously offended by the man whom she has loved, but what she will 
 retain a fund of forgiveness, upon which his penitence, whether real 
 or affected, may draw largely, with a certainty that his bills will be 
 answered. We can prove, by a letter produced in evidence, that 
 this villain Robertson, from the bottom of the dungeon whence he 
 already probably meditated the escape, which he afterwards accom- 
 plished by the assistance of his comrade, contrived to exercise 
 authority over the mind, and to direct the motions, of this unhappy 
 girl. It was in compliance with his injunctions, expressed in that 
 letter, that the panel was prevailed upon to alter the line of conduct 
 which her own better thoughts had suggested ; and, instead of re- 
 sorting, when her time of travail approached, to the protection of 
 her own family, was induced to confide herself to the charge of some 
 vile agent of this nefarious seducer, and by her conducted to one 'of 
 those solitary and secret purlieus of villany, which, to the shame of 
 our police, still are suffered to exist in the suburbs of this city, 
 where, with the assistance, and under the charge, of a person of 
 her own sex, she bore a male child, under circumstances which 
 added treble bitterness to the woe denounced against our original 
 mother. What purpose Robertson had in all this, it is hard to tell,, 
 or even to guess. He may have meant to marry the girl, for her 
 father is a man of substance. But, for the termination of the story, 
 and the conduct of the woman whom he had placed about 'the 
 person of Euphemia Deans, it is still more difficult to account. 
 The unfortunate young woman was visited by the fever incidental 
 
i86 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 to her situation. In this fever she appears to have been deceived 
 by the person that waited on her, and, on recovering her senses, 
 she found that she was childless in that abode of misery. Her 
 infant had been carried off, perhaps for the worst purposes, by the 
 wretch that waited on her. It may have been murdered, for what 
 I can tell." 
 
 He was here interrupted by a piercing shriek, uttered by the un- 
 fortunate prisoner. She was with difficulty brought to compose 
 herself. Her counsel availed himself of the tragical interruption, 
 to close his pleading with effect. 
 
 " My Lords," said he, " in that piteous cry you heard the elo- 
 quence of maternal affection, far surpassing the force of my poor 
 words — Rachel weeping for her children ! Nature herself bears 
 testimony in favour of the tenderness and acuteness of the prisoner's 
 parental feelings. I will not dishonour her plea by adding a word 
 more." 
 
 " Heard ye ever the like o' that, Laird ?" said Saddletree to 
 Dumbiedikes', when the counsel had ended his speech. " There's 
 a chield can spin a muckle pirn out of a wee tait of tow ! Deil 
 haet, he kens mair about it than what's in the declaration, and a 
 surmise that Jeanie Deans suld hae been able to say something 
 about her sister's situation, whilk surmise, Mr. Crossmyloof says, 
 rests on sma' authority. And he's cleckit this great muckle bird 
 out o' this wee egg ! He could wile the very flounders put o' the 
 Firth. — What gar^d my father no send me to Utrecht? — But 
 whisht, the court is gaun to pronounce the interlocutor of rele- 
 vancy." 
 
 And accordingly the Judges, after a few words, recorded their, 
 judgment, which bore, that the indictment, if proved, was relevant 
 to infer the pains of law : And that the defence, that the panel had 
 communicated her situation to her sister, was a relevant defence : 
 And, finally, appointed the said indictment and defence to be sub- 
 mitted to the judgment of an assize. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 Most righteous judge ! a sentence. — Come, prepare. 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 It is by no means my intention to describe minutely the forms 
 of a Scottish criminal trial, nor am I sure that I could draw up an 
 account so intelligible and accurate as to abide the criticism of the 
 gentlemen of the long robe. It is enough to say that the jury was 
 impanelled, and the case proceeded. The prisoner was again /re- 
 quired to plead to the charge, and she again replied, " Not Guilty," 
 in the same heart-thrilling tone as before. 
 
 The crown counsel then called two or three female witnesses, by 
 whose testimony it was established, that Erne's situation had been 
 remarked by them, that they had taxed her with the fact, and that 
 her answers had amounted to an angry and petulant denial of what 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 187 
 
 they charged her with. But, as very frequently happens, the decla- 
 ration of the panel or accused party herself was the evidence which 
 bore hardest upon her case. 
 
 In the event of these tales ever finding their way across the 
 Border, it may be proper to apprise the southern reader that it is 
 the practice in Scotland, on apprehending a suspected person, to 
 subject him to a judicial examination before a magistrate. He 
 is not compelled to answer any of the questions asked of him, 
 but may remain silent if he sees it his interest to do so. But 
 whatever answers he chooses to give are formally written down, 
 and being subscribed by himself and the magistrate, are produced 
 against the accused in case of his being brought to trial. It is true, 
 that these declarations are not produced as being in themselves 
 evidence properly so called, but only as adminicles of testimony, 
 tending to corroborate what is considered as legal and proper evi- 
 dence. Notwithstanding this nice distinction, however, introduced 
 by lawyers to reconcile this procedure to their own general rule, 
 that a man cannot be required to bear witness against himself, it 
 nevertheless usually happens that' these declarations become the 
 means of condemning the accused, as it were, out of their own 
 mouths. The prisoner, upon these previous examinations, has in- 
 deed the privilege of remaining silent if he pleases ; but every man 
 necessarily feels that a refusal to answer natural and pertinent 
 interrogatories, put by judicial authority, is in itself a strong proof 
 of guilt, and will certainly lead to his being committed to prison ; 
 and few can renounce the hope of obtaining liberty, by giving some 
 specious account of themselves, and showing apparent frankness in 
 explaining their motives and accounting for their conduct. It, 
 therefore, seldom happens that the prisoner refuses to give a judi- 
 cial declaration, in which, nevertheless, either by letting out too 
 much of the truth, or by endeavouring to substitute a fictitious 
 story, he almost always exposes himself to suspicion and to contra- 
 dictions, which weigh heavily in the minds of the jury. 
 
 The-declaration of Erne Deans was uttered on other principles, 
 and the following is a sketch of its contents, given in the judicial 
 form, in which they may still be found in the Books of Adjournal. 
 
 The declarant admitted a criminal intrigue with an individual 
 whose name she desired to conceal. " Being interrogated, what 
 her reason was for secrecy on this point ? She declared, that she 
 had no right to blame that person's conduct more than she did her 
 own, and that she was willing to confess her own faults, but not to 
 say anything which might criminate the absent. Interrogated, if 
 she confessed her situation to any one, or made any preparation for 
 her confinement? Declares, she did not. And being interrogated, 
 why she forbore to take steps which her situation so peremptorily 
 required ? Declares, she was ashamed to tell her friends, and she 
 trusted the person she has mentioned would provide for her and the 
 infant. Interrogated, if he did so? Declares, that he did not do 
 so personally ; but that it was not his fault, for that the declarant 
 is convinced he would have laid down his life sooner than the bairn 
 or she had come to harm. Interrogated, what prevented him from 
 
188 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 keeping his promise ? Declares, that it was impossible for him to 
 do so, he being under trouble at the time, and declines farther 
 answer to this question. Interrogated, where she was from the 
 period she left her master Mr. Saddletree's family, until her 
 appearance at her father's, at St. Leonard's, the day before she 
 was apprehended? Declares, she does not remember. And, on 
 the interrogatory being repeated, declares she does not mind 
 muckle about it, for she was very ill. On the question being again 
 repeated, she declares, she will tell the truth, if it should be the 
 undoing of her, so long as she is not asked to tell on other folk ; 
 and admits, that she passed that interval of time in the lodging of 
 a woman, an acquaintance of that person who had wished her to 
 that place to be delivered, and that she was there delivered accord- 
 ingly of a male child. Interrogated, what was the name of that 
 person ? Declares and refuses to answer this question. Interro- 
 gated, where she lives ? Declares, she has no certainty, for that 
 she was taken to the lodging aforesaid under cloud of night. Inter- 
 rogated, if the lodging was in the city or suburbs ? Declares and 
 refuses to answer that question. Interrogated, whether, when she 
 left the house of Mr. Saddletree, she went up or down the street ? 
 Declares and refuses to answer the question. Interrogated whether 
 she had ever seen the woman before she was wished to her, as she 
 termed it, by the person whose name she refuses to answer? 
 Declares and replies, not to her knowledge. Interrogated, whether 
 this woman was introduced to her by the said person verbally, or 
 by word of mouth ? Declares, she has no freedom to answer this 
 question. Interrogated, if the child was alive when it was born ? 
 Declares, that — God help her and it ! — it certainly was alive. 
 Interrogated, if it died a natural death after birth ? Declares not 
 to her knowledge. Interrogated, where it now is? Declares, she 
 would give her right hand to ken, but that she never hopes to see 
 mair than the banes of it. And being interrogated, why she 
 supposes it is now dead ? the declarant wept bitterly and made no 
 answer. Interrogated, if the woman, in whose lodging she was, 
 seemed to be a fit person to be with her in that situation ? Declares, 
 she might be fit enough for skill, but that she was an hard-hearted 
 bad woman. Interrogated, if there was any other person in the 
 lodging excepting themselves two ? Declares, that she thinks there 
 was another woman ; but her head was so carried with pain of 
 body and trouble of mind, that she, minded her very little. Inter- 
 rogated, when the child was taken away from her ? Declared, that 
 she fell in a fever, and was light-headed, and when she came to her 
 own mind, the woman told her the bairn was dead ; and that the 
 declarant answered, if it was dead it had had foul play. That, 
 thereupon, the woman wis very sair on her, and gave her much ill 
 language ; and that the deponent was frightened, and crawled out 
 of the house when her back was turned, and went home to Saint 
 Leonard's Crags, as well as a woman in her condition dought.* 
 Interrogated, why she did not tell her story to her sister and father, 
 and get force to search the house for her child, dead or alive ? De- 
 clares, it was her purpose to do so, but she had not time. Interro- 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN, 189 
 
 gated, why she now conceals the name of the woman, and the 
 place of her abode ? The declarant remained silent for a time, and 
 then said, that to do so could not repair the. skaith that was done, 
 j but might be the occasion of more. Interrogated, whether she had 
 herself, at any time, had any purpose of putting away the child by 
 violence ? Declares, never ; so might God be merciful to her — and 
 then again declares, never, when she was in her perfect senses ; but 
 what bad thoughts the Enemy might put into her brain when she 
 was out of herself, she cannot answer. And again solemnly inter- 
 rogated, declares, that she would have been drawn with wild horses, 
 rather than have touched the bairn with an unmotherly hand. 
 Interrogated, declares, that among the ill-language the woman gave 
 her, she did say sure enough that the declarant had hurt the bairn 
 when she was in the brain-fever ; but that the declarant does not 
 believe that- she said this from any other cause than to frighten her, 
 and make her be silent. Interrogated, what else the woman said to 
 her ? Declares, that when the declarant cried loud for her bairn, 
 and was like to raise the neighbours, the woman threatened her, 
 that they that could stop the wean's skirling would stop hers, if she 
 did not keep a' the lounder [the quieter]. And that this threat, with 
 the manner of the woman, made the declarant conclude, that the 
 bairn's life was gone, and her own in danger, for that the woman 
 was a desperate bad woman, as the declarant judged from the lan- 
 guage she used. Interrogated, declares, that the fever and delirium 
 were brought on her by hearing bad news, suddenly told to her, but 
 refuses to say what the said news related to. Interrogated, why 
 she does not now communicate these particulars, which might, per- 
 haps, enable the magistrate to ascertain whether the child is living 
 or dead ; and requested to observe, that her refusing to do so 
 exposes her own life, and leaves the child in bad hands ; as also, 
 that her present refusal to answer on such points, is inconsistent 
 with her alleged intention to make a clean breast to her sister ? 
 Declares, that she kens the bairn is now dead, or, if living, there is 
 one that will look after it ; that for her own living or dying, she is 
 in God's hands, who knows her innocence of harming her bairn 
 with her will or knowledge ; and that she has altered her resolution 
 of speaking out, which she entertained when she left the woman's 
 lodging, on account of a matter which she has since learned. And 
 declares, in general, that she is wearied, and will answer no more 
 questions at this time." 
 
 Upon a subsequent examination, Euphemia Deans adhered to 
 the declaration she had formerly made, with this addition, that 
 a paper found in her trunk being shown to her, she admitted 
 that it contained the credentials, in consequence of which she re- 
 signed herself to the conduct of the woman at whose lodgings she 
 was delivered of the child. Its tenor ran thus : — 
 
 " Dearest Effie, 
 " I have gotten the means to send to you by a woman who is 
 well qualified to assist you in your approaching streight ; she is not 
 what I could wish her, but I cannot do better for you in my present 
 
190 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 condition. I- am obliged to trust to her in this present calamity, for 
 myself arid you too. I hope for the best, though I am now in a 
 sore pinch ; yet thought is free — I think Handie Dandie and I may 
 queer the stifler [avoid the gallows], for all that is come and gone. 
 You will be angry for me writing this, to my little Cameronian Lily ; 
 but if I can but live to be a comfort to you, and a father to your 
 babie, you will have plenty of time to scold. — Once more, let none 
 know your counsel — my life depends on this hag, d — n her — she is 
 both deep and dangerous, but she has more wiles and wit than ever 
 were in a beldam's head, and has cause to be true to me. Fare- 
 well, my Lily — Do not droop on my account — in a week I will be 
 yours, or no more my own." 
 
 Then followed a postscript. "If they must truss me, I will repent 
 of nothing so much, even at the last hard pinch, as of the injury I 
 Tiave done my Lily." 
 
 Effie refused to say from whom she had received this letter, but 
 enough of the story was now known, -to ascertain that it came from 
 Robertson ; and from the date, it appeared to have been written 
 about the time when Andrew Wilson (called for a nickname Handie 
 Dandie) and he were meditating their first abortive attempt to 
 escape, which miscarried in the manner mentioned in the beginning 
 of this history. 
 
 The evidence of the Crown being concluded, the counsel for the 
 prisoner began to lead a proof in her defence. The first witnesses 
 were examined upon the girl's character. All gave her an excellent 
 one, but none with more feeling than worthy Mrs. Saddletree, who, 
 with the tears on her cheeks, declared, that she could not have had 
 a higher opinion of Effie Deans, nor a more' sincere regard for her, 
 if she had been her own daughter. All present gave the honest 
 woman credit for her goodness of heart, excepting her husband, 
 who whispered to Dumbiedikes, "That Nichil Novit of yours is 
 but a raw hand at leading evidence, I'm thinking. What signified 
 his bringing a woman here to snotter and snivel, and bother their 
 Lordships ? He should hae ceeted me, sir, and I should hae gien 
 them sic a screed o' testimony, they shouldna hae touched a hair 
 o' her head." 
 
 " Hadna ye better get up and trj^t yet ? " said the Laird. " I'll 
 make a sign to Novit." 
 
 " Na, na," said Saddletree, " thank ye for naething, neighbour- 
 that would be ultroneous evidence, and I ken what belangs to that ; 
 but Nichil Novit suld hae had me ceeted depito tempore!' And 
 wiping his mouth with his silk handkerchief with great importance, 
 he resumed the port and manner of an edified and intelligent 
 auditor. 
 
 Mr. Fairbrother now premised, in a few words, " that he meant 
 to bring forward his most important witness, upon whose evidence 
 the cause must in a great measure depend. What his client was, 
 they had learned from the preceding witnesses ; and so far as 
 general character, given in the most forcible terms, and even with 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 191 
 
 tears, could interest every one in her fate, she had already gained 
 that advantage. It was necessary, he admitted, that he should pro- 
 duce more positive testimony of her innocence than what arose out 
 of general character, and this he undertook to do by the mouth of 
 the person to whom she had communicated her situation — by the 
 mouth of her natural counsellor and guardian — her sister. — Macer, 
 call into court, Jean, or Jeanie Deans, daughter of David Deans, 
 cowfeeder, at Saint Leonard's Crags." 
 
 When he uttered these words, the poor prisoner instantly started 
 up, and stretched herself half-way over the bar, towards the side 
 at which her sister was to enter. And when, slowly following the 
 officer, the witness advanced to the foot of the table, Effie, with the 
 whole expression of her countenance altered, from that of confused 
 shame and dismay, to an eager, imploring, and almosf-ecstatic 
 earnestness of entreaty, with outstretched hands, hair streaming 
 back, eyes raised eagerly to her sister's face, and glistening through 
 tears, exclaimed, in a tone which went through the heart of all who 
 heard her — " O Jeanie, Jeanie, save me, save me ! " 
 
 With a different feeling, yet equally appropriated to his proud 
 and self-dependent character, old Deans drew himself back still 
 farther under the cover of the bench ; so that when Jeanie, as she 
 entered the court, cast a timid glance towards the place at which 
 she had left him seated, his venerable figure was no longer visible. 
 He sat down on the other side of Dumbiedikes, wrung his hand 
 hard, and whispered, " Ah, Laird, this is warst of a' — if I can but 
 win ower this part — I feel my head unco dizzy ; but my Master is 
 strong in his servant's weakness." After a moment's mental prayer, 
 he again started up, as if impatient of continuing in any one pos- 
 ture, and gradually edged himself forward towards the place he 
 had just quitted. 
 
 Jeanie in the meantime had advanced to the bottom of the table, 
 when, unable to resist the impulse of affection, she suddenly ex- 
 • tended her hand to her sister. Effie was just within the distance 
 that she could' seize it with both, hers, press it to her mouth, cover 
 it with kisses, and bathe it in tears, with the fond devotion that a 
 Catholic would pay to a guardian saint descended for his safety ; 
 while Jeanie, hiding her own face with her other handS, wept bit- 
 terly. The sight would have moved a heart of stone, much more 
 of flesh and blood. Many of the spectators shed tears, and it was 
 some time before the presiding Judge himself could so far subdue 
 his emotion, as to request the witness to compose herself, and the 
 prisoner to forbear those marks of eager affection, which, however 
 natural, could not be permitted at that time, and in that presence. 
 
 The solemn oath, — " the truth to tell, and no truth to conceal, as 
 far as she knew or should be asked," was then administered by the 
 Judge " in the name of God, and as the witness should answer to 
 G6d at the great day of judgment ; " an awful adjuration, which 
 seldom fails to make impression even on the most hardened 
 characters, and to strike with fear even the most upright. Jeanie, 
 educated in deep and devout reverence for the name and attributes 
 .of the Deity, was, by the solemnity of a direct appeal to his person 
 
192 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 and justice, awed, but at the same time elevated above all consi- 
 derations, save those which she could, with a clear conscience, call 
 him to witness. She repeated the form in a low and reverent but 
 distinct" tone of voice, after the Judge, to whom, and not to any 
 inferior officer of the court, the task is assigned in Scotland of 
 directing the witness in that solemn appeal, which is the sanction 
 of his testimony. 
 
 When the Judge had finished the established form, he added in a 
 feeling but yet a monitory tone, an advice, which the circumstances 
 appeared to him to call for. 
 
 " Young woman," these were his words, " you come before this 
 Court in circumstances, which it would be worse than cruel not to 
 pity and to sympathize with. Yet it is my duty, to tell you, that 
 the truth, whatever its consequences may be, the truth is what you 
 owe to your country, and to that God whose word, is truth, and 
 whose name you have now invoked. Use your own time in answer- 
 ing the questions that gentleman " (pointing to the counsel) " shall 
 put to you. — But remember, that what you may be tempted to say 
 beyond what is the actual truth, you must answer both here and 
 hereafter." 
 
 The usual questions were then put to her : — Whether any one 
 had instructed her what evidence she had to deliver? Whether 
 any one had given or promised her any good deed, hire, or reward, 
 for her testimony ? Whether she had any malice or ill-will at his 
 Majesty's Advocate, being the party against whom she was cited as 
 a witness ? To which questions she successively answered by a 
 quiet negative. But their tenor gave great scandal and offence to 
 her father, who was not aware that they are put to every witness 
 as a matter of form. 
 
 " Na, na," he exclaimed, loud enough to be heard, " my bairn is 
 no like the widow of Tekoah — nae man has putten words into her 
 mouth." 
 
 One of the Judges, better acquainted, perhaps, with the Books of 
 Adjournal than with the Book of Samuel, was disposed to make 
 some instant inquiry after this Widow of Tekoah, who, as he con- 
 strued the matter, had been tampering with the evidence. But the 
 presiding Judge, better versed in Scripture history, whispered to 
 his learned brother the necessary explanation ; and the pause occa- 
 sioned by this mistake, had the good effect of giving Jeanie Deans 
 time to collect her spirits for the painful task she had to perform. 
 
 Fairbrother, whose practice and intelligence were considerable, 
 saw the necessity of letting the witness compose herself. In his 
 heart he suspected that she came to bear false witness in her sister's 
 cause. 
 
 " But that is her own affair," thought Fairbrother; " and it is my 
 business to see that she has plenty of time to regain composure, 
 and to deliver her evidence, be it true or be it false — valeat 
 quantum." 
 
 Accordingly, he commenced his interrogatories with uninterest- 
 ing questions, which admitted of instant reply. 
 
 " You are, I think, the sister of the prisoner ? " 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 193 
 
 "Yes, sir."- 
 
 " Not the fujl sister, however ? " 
 
 " No, sir — we are by different mothers.'' 
 
 " True ; and you are, I think, several years older than your 
 sister ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir," &c. 
 
 After the advocate had conceived that, by these preliminary and 
 unimportant questions, he had familiarized the witness with the 
 situation in which she stood, he asked, "whether she had not 
 remarked her sister's state of health to be altered, during the latter 
 part of the term when she had lived with Mrs. Saddletree ? " 
 
 Jeanie answered in the affirmative. 
 
 " And she told you the cause of ft, my dear, I suppose ? " said 
 Fairbrother, in an easy, and, as one may say, an inductive sort of 
 tone. 
 
 " I am sorry to interrupt my brother," said the Crown Counsel, 
 rising ; " but I am in your Lordships' judgment, whether this be 
 not a leading question ? " 
 
 " If this point is to be debated," said the presiding Judge, " the 
 witness must be removed." 
 
 For the Scottish lawyers regard with a sacred and scrupulous 
 horror, every question so shaped by the counsel examining, as to 
 ■convey to a witness the least intimation of the nature of the answer 
 which is desired from him. These scruples, though founded on an 
 ■excellent principle, are sometimes carried to an absurd pitch of 
 nicety, especially as it is generally easy for a lawyer who has his 
 wits about him to elude the objection. Fairbrother did so in the 
 present case. 
 
 " It is not necessary to waste the time of the Court, my Lord ; 
 since the King's Counsel thinks it worth while to object to the form 
 of my question, I will shape it otherwise. — Pray, young woman, did 
 you ask your sister any question when you observed her looking 
 unwell ? — take courage — speak out." 
 
 " I asked her," replied Jeanie, " what ailed her." 
 
 " Very well — take your own time — and what was the answer she 
 made ? " continued Mr. Fairbrother. 
 
 Jeanie was silent, and looked deadly pale. It was not that she 
 at any one instant entertained an idea of the possibility of prevari- 
 cation — it was the natural hesitation to extinguish the last spark of 
 hope that remained for her sister. 
 
 " Take courage, young woman," said Fairbrother — "I asked what 
 your sister said ailed her when you inquired ? " 
 
 " Nothing," answered Jeanie, with a faint voice, which was yet 
 heard distinctly in the most distant corner of the Court-room, — 
 such an awful and profound silence had been preserved during the 
 anxious interval, which had interposed betwixt the lawyer's ques- 
 tion and the answer of the witness. 
 
 Fairbrother's countenance fell ; but with that ready presence of 
 mind, which is as useful in civil as in military emergencies, he im- 
 mediately rallied. — " Nothing ? True ; you mean nothing at first — 
 but when you asked her again, did she not tell you what ailed her?" 
 
i£l THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 The question was put in a tone meant to make her comprehend 
 the importance of her answer, had she not been already aware of 
 it. The ice was broken, however, and, with less pause than at first, 
 she now replied, — " Alack ! alack ! she never breathed word to me 
 about it." 
 
 A deep groan passed through the Court. It was echoed by one 
 deeper and more agonized from the unfortunate father. The hope, 
 to which unconsciously, and in spite of himself, he had still secretly 
 clung, had now dissolved, and the venerable old man fell forward 
 senseless on the floor of the Court-house, with his head at the foot 
 of his terrified daughter. The unfortunate prisoner, with impotent 
 passion, strove with the guards, betwixt whom she was placed. 
 " Let me gang to my father ! — I will gang to him — I will gang to 
 him — he is dead — he is killed — I hae killed him I" — she repeated in 
 frenzied tones of grief, which those who heard them did not 
 speedily forget. 
 
 Even in this moment of agony and general confusion, Jeanie did 
 not lose that superiority, which a deep and firm mind assures to its 
 possessor, under the most trying circumstances. , 
 
 " He is my father — he is our father," she mildly repeated to those 
 who endeavoured to separate them, as she stooped, — shaded aside 
 his grey hairs, and began assiduously to chafe his temples. 
 
 The Judge, after repeatedly wiping his eyes, gave directions that 
 they should be conducted into a neighbouring apartment, and care- 
 fully attended. The prisoner, as her father was borne from the 
 Court, and her sister slowly followed, pursued them with her eyes 
 so earnestly fixed, as if they would have started from their sockets. 
 But when they were no longer visible, she seemed to find, in her 
 despairing and deserted state, a courage which- she had not yet 
 exhibited. 
 
 " The bitterness of it is now past," she said, and then boldly ad- 
 dressed the Court. " My Lords, if it is your pleasure to gang on wi' 
 this matter, the weariest day will hae its end at last." 
 
 The Judge, who, much to his honour, had shared deeply in the 
 general sympathy, was surprised at being recalled to his duty by 
 the prisoner. He collected himself, and requested to.know if the 
 panel's counsel had more evidence to produce. Fairbrother replied, 
 with an air of dejection, that his proof was concluded. 
 
 The King's Counsel addressed the jury for the crown. He said 
 in few words, that no one could be more concerned than he was 
 for the distressing scene which they had just witnessed. But it 
 was the necessary consequence of great crimes to bring distress 
 and ruin upon all connected with the perpetrators. He briefly re- 
 viewed the proof, in which he showed that all the circumstances of 
 the case concurred with those required by the act under which the 
 unfortunate prisoner was tried : That the counsel for the panel had 
 totally failed in proving that Euphemia Deans had communicated 
 her situation to her sister : That, respecting her previous good 
 character, he was sorry to observe, that it was females who pos- 
 sessed the world's good report, and to whom it was justly valuable, 
 who were most strongly tempted, by shame and fear of the world's 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 195 
 
 censure, to the crime of infanticide : That the child was murdered, 
 he professed to entertain no doubt. The vacillating and incon- 
 sistent declaration of the prisoner herself, marked as it was by 
 numerous refusals to speak the truth on subjects, when, according 
 to her own story, it would have been natural, as well as advan- 
 tageous, to have been candid ; even this imperfect declaration left 
 no doubt in his mind as to the fate of the unhappy infant. Neither 
 could he doubt that the panel was a partner in this guilt. Who else 
 had an interest in a deed so inhuman ? Surely neither Robertson, 
 nor Robertson's agent, in whose house she was delivered, had the 
 least temptation to commit such a crime, unless upon her account, 
 with her connivance, and for the sake of saving her reputation. 
 But it was not required of him, by the law, that he should bring 
 precise proof of the murder, or of the prisoner's accession to it. 
 It was the very purpose of the statute to substitute a certain chain 
 of presumptive evidence in place of a probation, which, in such 
 cases, it was peculiarly difficult to obtain. The jury might peruse 
 the statute itself, and they had also the libel and interlocutor of 
 relevancy to direct them in point of law. He put it to the con- 
 science of the jury, that under both he was entitled to a verdict of 
 Guilty. 
 
 The charge of Fairbrother was much cramped by his having 
 failed in the proof which he expected to lead. But he fought his 
 losing cause with courage and constancy. He ventured to arraign 
 the severity of the statute under which the young woman was tried. 
 "In all other cases," he said, "the first thing required of the criminal 
 prosecutor was, to prove unequivocally that the crime libelled had 
 actually been committed, which lawyers called proving the corpus 
 delicti. But this statute, made doubtless with the best intentions, 
 and under the impulse of a just horror for the unnatural crime of 
 infanticide, ran the risk of itself occasioning the worst of murders, 
 the death of an innocent person, to atone for a supposed crime 
 which may never have been committed by any one. He was so 
 far from acknowledging the alleged probability of the child's violent 
 death, that he could not even allow that there was evidence of its 
 having ever lived." 
 
 The King's Counsel pointed to the woman's declaration ; to 
 which the counsel replied — " A production concocted in a moment 
 of terror and agony, and which approached to insanity," he said, " his 
 learned brother well knew was no sound evidence against the party 
 who emitted it. It was true, that a judicial confession, in presencfc 
 of the Justices themselves, was the strongest of all proof, in so 
 much that it is said in law, that ' in confitentem nulla sunt partes 
 judicis.' But this was true of judicial confession only, by which 
 law meant that which is made in presence o£ the justices, and the 
 sworn inquest. Of extrajudicial confession, all authorities held 
 with the illustrious Farinaceus, and Matheus, 'confessio extrajudi- 
 cialis in se nulla estj et quod nullum est, non potest adminiculari' 
 It was totally inept, and void of all strength and effect from the 
 beginning ; incapable, therefore, of being bolstered up or supported, 
 or, according to the law-phrase, adminiculated, by other presump- 
 
 N 2 
 
i 9 6 THE 'HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 tive circumstances. In the present case, therefore, letting the ex- 
 trajudicial confession go, as it ought to go, for nothing," he con- 
 tended, "the prosecutor had not made out the second quality of the 
 statute, that a live child had been born ; and that, at least, ought 
 to be established before presumptions were received that it had 
 been murdered. If any of the assize," he said, " should be of 
 opinion that this was dealing rather narrowly with the statute, they 
 ought to consider that it was in its nature highly penal, and there- 
 fore entitled to no favourable construction." 
 
 He concluded a learned speech, with an eloquent peroration on 
 the scene they had just witnessed, during which Saddletree fell fast 
 asleep. 
 
 It was now the presiding Judge's turn to address the jury. He did 
 so briefly and distinctly. 
 
 " It was for the jury," he said, " to consider whether the prose- 
 cutor had made out his plea. For himself, he sincerely grieved to 
 say, that a shadow of doubt remained not upon his mind concern- 
 ing the verdict which the inquest had to bring in. He would not 
 follow the prisoner's counsel through the impeachment which he 
 Tiad brought against the statute of King William and Queen Mary. 
 He and the jury were sworn to judge according to the laws as they 
 stood, not to criticise, or to evade, or even to justify them. In no 
 civil case would a counsel have been permitted to plead his client's 
 case in the teeth of the law ; but in the hard situation in which 
 counsel were often placed in the Criminal Court, as well as out of 
 favour to all presumptions of innocence, he had not inclined to in- 
 terrupt the learned gentleman, or narrow his plea. The present 
 law, as it now stood, had been instituted by the wisdom of their 
 fathers, to check the alarming progress of a dreadful crime ; when 
 it was found too severe for its purpose, it would doubtless be altered 
 by the wisdom of the legislature ; at present it was the law of the 
 land, the rule of the court, and, according to the oath which they 
 had taken, it must be that of the jury. This unhappy girl's situa- 
 tion could not be doubted ; that she had borne a child and that 
 the child had disappeared, were certain facts. The learned counsel 
 had failed to show that she had communicated her situation. All 
 the requisites of the case required by the statute were therefore 
 before the jury. The learned gentleman had, indeed, desired them 
 to throw out of consideration the panel's own confession, which was 
 the plea usually urged, in penury of all others, by counsel in his 
 situation, who usually felt that the declarations of their clients bore 
 Tiard on them. But that the Scottish law designed that a certain 
 weight should be laid on these declarations, which, he admitted, 
 were quodammodo extrajudicial, was evident from the universal 
 practice by which they were always produced and read, as part of 
 the prosecutor's probation: In the present case, no person who 
 had heard the witnesses describe the appearance of the young woman 
 before she left Saddletree's house, and contrasted it with that of her 
 state and condition at her return to her father's, could have any 
 doubt that the fact of delivery had taken place, as set forth in her 
 own declaration, which was, therefore, not a solitary piece of testi- 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 197 
 
 mony, but adminiculated and supported by the strongest circum- 
 stantial proof. 
 
 " He did not," he said, '" state the impression upon his own mind 
 with the purpose of biasing theirs. He had felt no less than they 
 had done from the scene of domestic misery which had been exhi- 
 bited before them ; and if they, having God and a good conscience, 
 the sanctity of their oath, and the regard due to the law of the 
 country, before their eyes, could come to a conclusion favourable to 
 this unhappy prisoner, he should rejoice as much as any one in 
 Court ; for never had he found his duty more distressing than in 
 discharging it that day, and glad he would be to be relieved from 
 the still more painful task, which would otherwise remain for him." 
 
 The jury, having heard the Judge's address, bowed and retired, 
 preceded by a macer of Court, to the apartment destined for their 
 deliberation. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 Law, take thy victim — May she find the mercy 
 
 In yon mild heaven, which this hard world denies her ! 
 
 It was ah hour ere the jurors returned, and as they traversed the 
 crowd with slow steps, as men about to discharge themselves of a 
 heavy and painful responsibility, the audience was hushed into pro- 
 found, earnest, and awful silence. 
 
 " Have you agreed on your chancellor, gentlemen ?" was the first 
 question of the Judge. 
 
 The foreman, called in Scotland the chancellor of the jury, usually 
 the man of best rank and estimation among the assizers, stepped 
 forward, and, with a low reverence, delivered to the Court a sealed 
 paper, containing the verdict, which, until of late years, that verbal 
 returns are in some instances permitted, was always couched in. 
 writing. The jury remained standing while the Judge broke the 
 seals, and, having perused the paper, handed it with an air of 
 mournful gravity, down to the Clerk of Court, who proceeded to 
 engross in the record the yet unknown verdict, of which, however, 
 all omened the tragical contents. A form still remained, trifling 
 and unimportant in itself, but to which imagination adds a sort of 
 solemnity, from the awful occasion upon which it is used. A lighted 
 candle was placed on the table, the original paper containing the 
 verdict was enclosed in a sheet of paper, and, sealed with the 
 Judge's own signet, was transmitted to the Crown Office, to be pre- 
 served among other records of the same kind. As all this is trans- 
 acted in profound silence, the producing and extinguishing the 
 candle seems a type of the human spark which is shortly afterwards 
 doomed to be quenched, and excites in the spectators something of: 
 the same effect which in England is obtained by the Judge assuming, 
 the fatal cap of judgment. When these preliminary forms had been, 
 gone through, the Judge required Euphemia Deans to attend to the; 
 verdict to be read. 
 
198 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 After the usual words of style, the verdict set forth, that the Jury- 
 having made choice of John Kirk, Esq., to be their chancellor, and 
 Thomas Moore, merchant, to be their clerk, did by a plurality of 
 voices, find the said Euphemia Deans Guilty of the crime libelled ; 
 but, in consideration of her extreme youth, and the cruel circum- 
 stances of her case, did earnestly entreat that the Judge would re- 
 commend her to the mercy of the Crown. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said the Judge, " you have done your duty— and a 
 painful one it must have been to men of humanity like you. I will, 
 undoubtedly, transmit your recommendation to the throne. But it 
 is my duty to tell all who now hear me, but especially to inform that 
 unhappy young woman, in order that her mind may be settled 
 accordingly, that I have not the least hope of a pardon being 
 granted in the present case. You know the crime has been increas- 
 ing in this land,' and I know farther, that this has been ascribed to 
 the lenity in which the laws have been exercised, and that there is 
 therefore no hope whatever of obtaining a remission for this 
 offence." The jury bowed again, and released from their painful 
 office, dispersed themselves among the mass of bystanders. 
 
 The Court then asked Mr. Fairbrother, whether he had anything 
 to say, why judgment should not follow on the verdict ? The 
 counsel had spent some time in perusing and reperusing the ver- 
 dict, counting the letters in each juror's name, and weighing every 
 phrase, nay, every syllable, in the nicest scales of legal criticism. 
 But the clerk of the jury had understood his business too well. No 
 flaw was to be found, and Fairbrother mournfully intimated that he 
 had nothing to say in arrest of judgment. 
 
 The presiding Judge then addressed the unhappy prisoner : — 
 " Euphemia Deans, attend to the sentence of the Court now to be 
 pronounced against you." 
 
 She arose from her seat, and, with a composure far greater than 
 could have been augured from her demeanour during some parts of 
 the trial, abode the conclusion of the awful scene. So nearly 
 does the mental portion of our feelings resemble those which are 
 corporeal, that the first severe blows which we receive bring with 
 them a stunning apathy, which renders us indifferent to those that 
 follow them. Thus said Mandrin, when he was undergoing the 
 punishment of the wheel ; and so have all felt, upon whom succes- 
 sive inflictions have descended with continuous and reiterated 
 violence. 
 
 " Young woman," said the Judge, " it is my painful duty to tell 
 you, that your life is forfeited under a law, which, if it may seem in 
 some degree severe, is yet wisely so, to render those of your un- 
 happy situation aware what risk they run, by concealing, out of 
 pride or false shame, their lapse from virtue, and making no prepa- 
 ration to save the lives of the unfortunate infants whom they are to 
 bring into the world. When you concealed your situation from 
 your mistress, your sister, and other worthy and compassionate per- 
 sons of your own sex, in whose favour your former conduct had 
 given you a fair place, you seem to me to have had -in your con- 
 templation, at least, the death of the helpless creature, for whose life 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 199 
 
 you neglected to provide. How the child was disposed of — whether 
 it was dealt upon by another, or by yourself — whether the extraor- 
 dinary story you have told is partly false, or altogether so, is 
 between God and your own conscience. , I will not aggravate your 
 distress by pressing on that topic, but I do most solemnly adjure 
 you to employ the remaining space of your time in making your 
 peace with God, for which purpose such reverend clergymen, as you 
 yourself may name, shall have access to you. Notwithstanding the 
 humane recommendation of the jury, I cannot afford to you, in the 
 present circumstances of the country, the slightest hope that your 
 life will be prolonged beyond the period assigned for the execution 
 of your sentence. Forsaking, therefore, the thoughts of this world, 
 let your mind be prepared by repentance for those of more awful 
 moments — for death, judgment, and eternity.— -Doomster, read the 
 sentence." * 
 
 When the Doomster showed himself, a tall haggard figure, 
 arrayed in a fantastic garment of black and grey, passmented, with 
 silver lace, all fell back with a sort of instinctive horror, and made 
 wide way for him to approach to the foot of the table. As this 
 office was held by the common executioner, men shouldered each 
 other backward to avoid even the touch of his garment, and some 
 were seen to brush their own clothes, which had accidently become 
 subject to such contamination. A sound went through the court, 
 produced by each person drawing in their breath hard, as men do 
 when they expect or witness what is frightful, and at the same time 
 affecting. The caitiff villain yet seemed, amid his hardened bru- 
 tality, to have some sense of his being the object of public detesta- 
 tion, which made him impatient of being in public, as birds of evil 
 omen afe anxious to escape from daylight, and from pure air. 
 
 Repeating after the Clerk of Court, he gabbled over the words of 
 the sentence, which condemned Euphemia Deans to be conducted 
 back to the Tolbooth of Edinburgh, and detained there until Wed- 
 nesday the day of ; and upon that day, betwixt the hours 
 
 of two and four o'clock afternoon, to be conveyed to the common 
 place of execution, and there hanged by the neck upon a gibbet. 
 *' And this," said the Doomster, aggravating his harsh voice, "I pro- 
 nounce for doom" 
 
 He vanished when he had spoken the last emphatic word, like a 
 foul fiend after the purpose of his visitation has been accomplished; 
 but the impression of horror, excited by his presence and his 
 errand, remained upon the crowd of spectators. 
 
 The unfortunate criminal, — for so she must now be termed,— with 
 more, susceptibility, and more irritable feelings than her father and 
 sister, was found, in this emergence, to possess a considerable share 
 of their courage. She had remained standing motionless at the bar 
 while the sentence was pronounced, and was observed to shut her 
 eyes when the Doomster appeared. But she was the first to break 
 silence when that evil form had left his place. 
 
 " God forgive ye, my Lords," she said, " and dinna be angry wi' 
 me for wishing it. — we a' need forgiveness. — As for myself I canna 
 blame ye, for ye act up to your lights ; and if I havena killed my 
 
20o HE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 poor infant, ye may witness a' that hae seen it this day, that I hae 
 been the means of killing my grey-headed father — I deserve the 
 warst frae man, and frae God too— But God is mair mercifu' to us 
 than we are to each other." 
 
 With these words the trial concluded. The crowd rushed, bear- 
 ing forward and shouldering each other, out of the court, in the 
 same tumultuary mode in which they had entered ; and, in excitation 
 of animal motion and animal spirits, soon forgot whatever they had 
 felt as impressive in the scene which they had witnessed. The 
 professional spectators, whom habit and "theory had rendered as 
 callous to the distress of the scene as medical men are to those of 
 a surgical operation, walked homeward in groups, discussing the 
 general principle of the statute under which the young woman was 
 condemned, the nature of the evidence, and the arguments of the 
 counsel, without considering even that of the Judge as exempt from 
 their criticism. 
 
 The female spectators, more compassionate, were loud in excla- 
 mation against that part of the Judge's speech which seemed to cut 
 off the hope of pardon. 
 
 " Set him up, indeed," said Mrs. Howden, " to tell us that the 
 poor lassie behoved to die, when Mr. John Kirk, as civil a gentle- 
 man as is within the ports of the town, took the pains to prigg for 
 •her himsell." 
 
 "Ay, but, neighbour," said Miss Damahoy, drawing up her thin 
 maidenly form to its full height of prim dignity — " I really think 
 this unnatural business of having bastard-bairns should be putten 
 a stop to. — There isna a hussy now on this side of thirty that you 
 can bring within your doors, but there will be chields — writer-lads, 
 prentice-lads, and what not — coming traiking after them for their 
 destruction, and discrediting ane's honest house into the bargain — 
 I hae nae patience wi' them." 
 
 " Hout, neighbour," said Mrs. Howden, " we suld live and let 
 live — we hae been young oursells, and we are no aye to judge the 
 warst when lads and lasses forgather." 
 
 " Young oursells ! and judge the warst ! " said Miss Damahoy. 
 " I am no sae auld as that comes to, Mrs. Howden ; and as for 
 what ye ca' the warst, I ken neither good nor bad about the matter, 
 I thank my stars ! " 
 
 " Ye are thankfu' for sma' mercies, then," said Mrs. Howden, 
 with a toss of her head ; " and as ioryou and young — I trow ye were 
 doing for yoursell at the last riding of the Scots Parliament, and 
 that was in the gracious year seven, sae ye can be nae sic chicken 
 at ony rate." 
 
 Plumdamas, who acted as squire of the body to the two contend- 
 ing dames, instantly saw the hazard of entering into such delicate 
 points of chronology, and being a lover of peace and good neigh- 
 bourhood, lost no time in bringing back the conversation to its 
 original subject. 
 
 " The Judge didna tell us a' he could hae tell'd us, if he had liked, 
 about the application for pardon, neighbour?," said he ; " there is 
 aye a wimple in a lawyer's clew ; but it's a wee bit of a secret." 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 201 
 
 " And what is't — what is't, neighbour Plumdamas ? " said Mrs. 
 Howden and Miss Damahoy at once, the acid fermentation of their 
 dispute being at once neuturalized by the powerful alkali implied in 
 the word secret. 
 
 " Here's Mr. Saddletree can tell ye that better than me, for it 
 was him that tauld me," said Plumdamas, as Saddletree came up, 
 with his wife hanging on his arm, and looking very disconsolate. 
 
 When the question was put to Saddletree, he looked very scorn- 
 ful. " They speak about stopping the frequency of child-murder," 
 said he, in a contemptuous tone ; " do ye think our auld enemies 
 of England, as Glendook aye ca's them in his printed Statute-book, 
 care a boddle whether we didna kill ane anither, skin and birn, 
 horse and foot, man, woman, and bairns, all and sindry, omnes et 
 singulos, as Mr. Crossmyloof says ? Na, na, it's no that hinders 
 them frae pardoning the bit lassie. But here is the pinch of the 
 plea. The king and queen are sae ill pleased wi' that mistak about 
 Porteous, that deil a kindly Scot will they pardon again, either by 
 reprieve or remission, if the hail town o' Edinburgh should be a' 
 hanged on ae tow." 
 
 " Deil that they were back at their German kale-yard then, as my 
 neighbour MacCroskie ca's it," said Mrs. Howden, " and that's the 
 way they're gaun to guide us ! " 
 
 " They say for certain," said Miss Damahoy, " that King George 
 flang his periwig in the fire when he heard o' the Porteous mob." 
 
 " He has done that, they say," replied Saddletree, " for less 
 thing." 
 
 " Aweel," said Miss Damahoy, " he might keep mair wit in his 
 anger — but it's a' the better for his wigmaker, I'se warrant." *- 
 
 " The queen tore her biggonets for perfect anger, — ye'll hae heard 
 o' that too ? " said Plumdamas. " And the king, they say, kickit 
 Sir Robert Walpole for no keeping doun the mob of Edinburgh ; 
 but I dinna believe he wad behave sae ungenteel." 
 
 " It's dooms truth, though," said Saddletree ; " and he was for 
 kickin the Duke of Argyle* too." 
 
 " Kickin the Duke of Argyle ! " exclaimed the hearers at once, 
 in all the various combined keys of utter astonishment. 
 
 " Ay, but MacCallummore's blood wadna sit doun wi' that ; there 
 was risk of Andro Ferrara coming in thirdsman." 
 
 " The duke is a real Scotsman — a true friend to the country," 
 answered Saddletree's hearers. 
 
 " Ay, troth is he, to king and country baith, as ye sail hear," con- 
 tinued the orator, " if ye will come in by© to our house, for it's 
 safest speaking of sic things inter parietes" 
 
 When they entered his shop he thrust his prentice boy out of it, 
 and, unlocking his desk, took out, with an air of grave and com- 
 placent importance, a dirty and crumpled piece of printed paper ; 
 he observed, " This is new corn — it's no everybody could show you 
 the like o' this. It's the duke's speech about the Porteous mob, 
 just promulgated by the hawkers. Ye shall hear what Ian Roy 
 Cean * says for himsell. My correspondent bought it in the Palace 
 yard, that's like just under the king's nose— I think he claws up 
 
202 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 their mittans ! — It came in a letter about a foolish bill of exchange 
 that the man wanted me to renew for him. I wish ye wad see 
 about it, Mrs. Saddletree." 
 
 Honest Mrs. Saddletree had hitherto been so sincerely distressed 
 about the situation of her unfortunate prote'ge'e, that she had 
 suffered her husband to proceed in his own way, without attending, 
 to what he was saying. The words bills and renew had, however, 
 an awakening sound in them ; and she snatched the letter which 
 her husband held towards her, and wiping her eyes, and putting on 
 her spectacles, endeavoured, as fast as the dew which collected on 
 her glasses would permit, to get at the meaning of the needful part 
 of the epistle ; while her husband, with pompous elevation, read an 
 extract from the speech. 
 
 " I am no minister, I never was a minister, and I never will be 
 one " 
 
 " I didna ken his grace was ever designed for the ministry," in- 
 terrupted Mrs. Howden. 
 
 " He disna mean a minister of the gospel, Mrs. Howden, but a 
 minister of state," said Saddletree, with condescending goodness, 
 and then proceeded : " The time was when I might have been a 
 piece of a minister, but I was too sensible of my own incapacity to 
 engage in any state affair. And I thank God that I had always 
 too great a value for those few abilities which nature has given me, 
 to employ them in doing any drudgery, or any job of what kind 
 soever. I have, ever since I set out in the world, (an4 I believe 
 few have set out more early,) served my prince with my tongue ; I 
 have served him with any little interest I had, and I have served 
 him with my sword, and in my profession of arms. I have held 
 employments which I have lost, and were I to be to-morrow de- 
 prived of those which still remain to me, and which I have endea- 
 voured honestly to deserve, I would still serve him to the last acre 
 of my inheritance, and to the last drop of my blood " 
 
 Mrs. Saddletree here broke in upon the orator. — " Mr. Saddle- 
 tree, what is the meaning of a' this ? Here are ye clavering about 
 the Duke of Argyle, and this man Martingale gaun to break on our 
 hands, and lose us gude sixty pounds — I wonder what duke will 
 pay that, quotha — I wish the Duke of Argyle would pay his ain 
 accounts — He is in a thousand punds Scots on thae very books 
 when he was last at Roystoun — I'm no saying but he's a just noble- 
 man, and that it's gude siller — but it wad drive ane daft to be con- 
 fused wi' deukes and drakes, and thae distressed folk upstairs, 
 that's Jeanie Deans and her father. And then, putting the very 
 callant that was sewing the curpel out o' the shop, to play wi' 
 blackguards in the close — Sit still, neighbours, it's no that I mean 
 to disturb yo u; but what between courts o' law and courts o' state, 
 and upper and under parliaments, and parliament-houses, here and 
 in London, the gudeman's gane clean gyte, I think." 
 
 The gossips understood civility, and the rule of doing as they 
 would be done by, too well, to tarry upon the slight invitation 
 implied in the conclusion of this speech, and therefore made their 
 farewells and departure as fast as possible, Saddletree whispering 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 203 
 
 to Plumdamas that he would " meet him at MacCroskie's," (the 
 low-browed shop in the Luckenbooths, already mentioned,) "in the 
 hour of cause, and put MacCullummore's speech in his pocket, for 
 a' the gudewife's dm." 
 
 When Mrs. Saddletree saw the house freed of her importunate 
 visitors, and the little boy reclaimed from the pastimes of the wynd 
 to the exercise of the awl, she went to visit her unhappy relative, 
 David Deans, and his elder daughter, who had found in her house 
 the nearest place of friendly refuge. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 Isab. Alas ! what poor ability's in me to do him good ? 
 Lucia. Assay the power you have. 
 
 Measure for Measure. 
 
 When Mrs. Saddletree entered the apartment in which her 
 guests had shrouded their misery, she found the window darkened. 
 The feebleness which followed his long swoon had rendered it neces- 
 sary to lay the old man in bed. The curtains were drawn around 
 him, and Jeanie sat motionless by the side of the bed. Mrs. 
 Saddletree was a. woman of kindness, nay, of feeling, but not of 
 delicacy. She opened the half-shut window, drew aside the curtain, 
 and taking her kinsman by the hand, exhorted him to sit up, and 
 bear his sorrow like a good man, and a Christian man, as he was. 
 But when she quitted his hand, it fell powerless by his side, nor did 
 he attempt the least reply. 
 
 " Is all over ? " asked Jeanie, with lips and cheeks as pale as 
 ashes, — " And is there nae hope for her ? " 
 
 " Nane, or next to nane," said Mrs. Saddletree ; " I heard the 
 Judge-carle say it with my ain ears — It was a burning shame to 
 see sae mony o' them set up yonder in their red gowns and black 
 gowns, and a' to take the life o' a bit senseless lassie. I had never 
 muckle broo o' my gudeman's gossips, and now 1 like them waur 
 than ever. The only wiselike thing I heard onybody say, was 
 decent Mr. John Kirk of Kirk-knowe, and he wussed them just to 
 get the king^s mercy, and nae mair about it. But he spake to un- 
 reasonable folk — he might just hae keepit his breath to hae blawn 
 on his porridge." 
 
 "But can the king gie her mercy?" said Jeanie, earnestly. 
 
 " Some folk tell me he canna gie mercy in cases of mur in 
 
 cases like hers." 
 
 " Can he gie mercy, hinny ? — I weel I wot he can, when he likes. 
 There was young Singlesword, that stickit the Laird of Ballen- 
 cleuch, and Captain Hackum, the Englishman, that killed Lady 
 Colgrain's gudem'an, and the Master of Saint Clair, that shot the 
 twa Shaws, and mony mair in my time — to be sure they were gentle 
 blood, and had their kin to speak for them — And there was Jock 
 Porteous the other day — I'se warrant there's mercy, an folk could 
 win at it." 
 
204 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 "Porteous!" said Jeanie; "very true— I forget a' that I suld 
 maist mind. — Fare ye weel, Mrs. Saddletree ; and may ye never 
 want a friend in the hour of distress ! " 
 
 " Will ye no stay wi' your father, Jeanie, bairn ? — Ye had better," 
 said Mrs. Saddletree. 
 
 """ I will be wanted ower yonder," indicating the Tolbooth with 
 her hand, " and I maun leave him now, or I will never be able to 
 leave him. I fearna for his life — I ken how strong-hearted he is — 
 I ken it," she said, laying her hand on her bosom, " by my am. 
 heart at this minute." 
 
 " Weel, hinny, if ye think it's for the best, better he stay here and 
 rest him, than gang back to St. Leonard's." 
 
 " Muckle better— muckle better—God bless you !— God bless 
 you ! — At no rate let him gang till ye hear frae me," said Jeanie. 
 
 " But ye'U be back belive ? " said Mrs. Saddletree, detaining her; 
 " they winna let ye stay yonder, hinny." 
 
 " But I maun gang to St. Leonard's — there's muckle to be dune, 
 and little time to do it in — And I have friends to speak to — God 
 bless you — take care of my father." 
 
 She had reached the door of the apartment, when, suddenly turn- 
 ing, she came back, and knelt down by the bedside. — " father, . 
 gie me your blessing — I dare not go till ye bless me. Say but God 
 bless ye, and prosper ye, Jeanie — try but to say that ! " 
 
 Instinctively, rather than by an exertion of intellect, the old man 
 murmured a prayer, that " purchased and promised blessings might 
 be multiplied upon her." 
 
 " He has blessed mine errand," said his daughter, rising from, 
 her knees, " and it is borne in upon my mind that I shall prosper." 
 
 So saying, she left the room. 
 
 Mrs. Saddletree looked after her, and shook her head. " I wish 
 she binna roving, poor thing — There's something queer about a' 
 thae Deanses. I dinna like folk to be sae muckle better than ither 
 folk — seldom comes gude o't. But if she's gaun to look after the 
 kye at St. Leonard's, that's another story ; to be sure they maun be 
 sorted. — Grizzie, come up here, and tak tent to the honest auld man, 
 and see he wants naething. — Ye silly tawpie," (addressing the maid- 
 servant as she entered,) "what garr'd ye busk up your cockernony 
 that gate ? — I think there's been eneugh the day to gie an awfu' 
 warning about your cockups and your fallal duds : — see what they 
 a' come to," &c, &c, &c. 
 
 Leaving the good lady to her lecture upon worldly vanities, we 
 must transport our reader to the cell in which the unfortunate 
 Effie Deans was now immured, being restricted of several liberties 
 which she had enjoyed before the sentence was pronounced. 
 
 When she had remained about an hour in the state of stupified 
 horror so natural in her situation, she was disturbed by the opening 
 of the jarring bolts of her place 0/ confinement, and Ratcliffe 
 showed himself. " It's your sister," he said, " wants to speak 
 t' ye, Effie." 
 
 " I canna see naebody," said Effie, with the hasty irritability 
 which misery had rendered more acute — " I canna see naebody, 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 205 
 
 and least of a' her — Bid her tak care of the auld man — I am nae- 
 thing to ony o' them now, nor them to me." 
 
 " She says she maun see ye, though," said Ratcliffe ; and Jeanie, 
 rushing into the apartment, threw her arms round her sister's neck, 
 who writhed to extricate herself from her embrace. 
 
 " What signifies coming to greet ower me," said poor Effie, 
 " when you have killed me ? — killed me, when a word of your mouth 
 would have saved me — killed me, when I am an innocent creature 
 • — innocent of that guilt at least — and me that wad hae wared body 
 and soul to save your finger from being hurt ! " 
 
 " You shall not die,'' said Jeanie, with enthusiastic firmness ; 
 " say what you like o' me — think what ye like o' me— only promise 
 — for I doubt your proud heart — that ye wunna harm yourself, and 
 you sail not die this shameful death." 
 
 " A shameful death I will not die, Jeanie, lass. I have that in 
 my heart — though it has been ower kind a ane — that wunna bide 
 shame. Gae hame to our father, and think nae mair on me — I have 
 eat my last earthly meal." 
 
 " O, this was what I feared !" said Jeanie. 
 
 " Hout, tout, hinnie," said Ratcliffe ; " it's but little ye ken o' 
 thae things.. Ane aye thinks at the first dinnle o' the sentence, 
 they hae heart eneugh to die rather than bide out the sax weeks ; 
 but they aye bide the sax weeks out for a' that. I ken the gate o't 
 ■weel ; I hae fronted the doomster three times, and here I stand, 
 Jim Ratcliffe, for a' that. Had I tied my napkin strait the first 
 time, as I had a great mind till 't — and it was a' about a bit grey 
 cowt, wasna worth ten punds sterling — where would I have been 
 now ? " 
 
 " And how did you escape ? " said Jeanie, the fates of this man, 
 at first so odious to her, having acquired a sudden interest in her 
 eyes from their correspondence with those of her sister. 
 
 " How did I escape ? " said Ratcliffe, with a knowing wink, — " I 
 tell ye I 'scapit in a way that naebody will escape from this Tol- 
 booth while I keep the keys." 
 
 " My sister shall come out in the face of the sun," said Jeanie ; 
 " I will go to London, and beg her pardon from the king and queen. 
 If they pardoned Porteous, they may pardon her ; if a sister asks 
 a sister's life on her bended knees, they will pardon her — they shall 
 pardon her — and they will win a thousand hearts by it." 
 
 Effie listened in bewildered astonishment, and so earnest was her 
 sister's enthusiastic assurance, that she almost involuntarily caught 
 a gleam of hope ; but it instantly faded away. 
 
 " Ah, Jeanie ! the king and queen live in London, a thousand 
 miles from this — far ayont the saut sea ; I '11 be gane before ye win 
 there." 
 
 "You are mistaen," said Jeanie ; "it is no sae far, and they go 
 to it bv land ; I learned something about thae things from Reuben 
 Butler!" 
 
 " Ah, Jeanie ! ye never learned onything but what was gude frae 
 the folk ye keepit company wi' ; but I — but I " — she wrung her 
 hands, and wept bitterly. 
 
ao6 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 "Dinna think on that now," said Jeanie ; " there will be time for 
 that if the present space be redeemed. Fare ye weeL Unless I 
 die by the road, I will see the king's face that gies grace— O, sir," 
 (to Ratcliffe,) " be kind to her — She ne'er ken'd what it was to need 
 a stranger's kindness till now. — Fareweel — fareweel, Effie ! — Dinna 
 speak to me — I mauna greet now — my head's ower dizzy already ! " 
 ' She tore herself from her sister's arms, and left the cell. Rat- 
 cliffe followed her, and beckoned her into a small room. She 
 obeyed his signal, but not without trembling. 
 
 " What's the fule thing shaking for ? " said he ; " I mean nothing 
 but civility to you. D— n me, I respect you, and I can't help it. 
 You have so much spunk, that, d — n me, but I think there's some 
 chance of your carrying the day. But you must not go to the king 
 till you have made some friend ; try the duke — try MacCallummore ; 
 he's Scotland's friend — I ken that the great folks dinna mucklelike 
 him — but they fear him, and that will serve your purpose as weel. 
 D' ye ken naebody wad gie ye a letter to him ? " 
 
 " Duke of Argyle !" said Jeanie, recollecting herself suddenly — 
 " what was he to that Argyle that suffered in my father's time— in 
 the persecution ? " 
 
 " His son or grandson, I'm thinking," said Ratcliffe ; " but what 
 o'that?" 
 
 " Thank God ! " said Jeanie, devoutly clasping her hands. 
 
 " You whigs are aye thanking God for something," said the ruf- 
 fian. " But hark ye, hinny, I'll tell ye a secret. Ye may meet wi' 
 rough customers on the Border, or in the Midland, afore ye get to 
 Lunnon. Now, deil ane o' them will touch an acquaintance o' 
 Daddie Ratton's ; for though I am retired frae public practice, yet 
 they ken I can do a gude or an ill turn yet — and deil a gude fellow 
 that has been but a twelvemonth on the lay, be he ruffler or padder, 
 but he knows my gybe [pass] as well as the jark [seal] of e'er a 
 queer cuffin [justice of peace] in England — and there's rogue's 
 Latin for you." 
 
 It was, indeed, totally unintelligible to Jeanie Deans, who was 
 only impatient to escape from him. He hastily scrawled a line or 
 two on a dirty piece of paper, and said to her, as she drew back 
 when he offered it. " Hey ! what the deil — it wunna bite you, my 
 lass — if it does nae gude, it can do nae ill. But I wish you to show 
 it, if you have ony fasherie wi' ony o' St. Nicholas's clerks." 
 
 " Alas ! " said she, " I do not understand what you mean?" 
 
 " I mean, if ye fall among thieves, my precious,— that is a Scrip- 
 ture phrase, if ye will hae ane — the bauldest of them will ken a 
 scart o' my guse feather. And now awa wi' ye — and stick to Argyle ; 
 if onybody can do the job, it maun be him." 
 
 After casting an anxious look at the grated windows and black- 
 ened walls of the old Tolbooth, and another scarce less anxious at 
 the hospitable lodging of Mrs. Saddletree, Jeanie turned her back 
 on that quarter, and soon after on the city itself. She reached Saint 
 Leonard's Crags without meeting any one whom she knew, which, 
 in the state of her mind, she considered as a great blessing. I must 
 do naething, she thought, as she went along, that can soften or 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 207 
 
 weaken my heart — it's ower weak already for what I hae to do. 
 I will think and act as firmly as I can, and speak as little. 
 
 There was an ancient servant, or rather cottar, of her father's, 
 who had lived under him for many years, and whose fidelity was 
 worthy of full confidence. She sent for this woman, and explaining 
 to her that the circumstances of her family required that she should 
 undertake a journey, which would detain her for some weeks from 
 home, she gave her full instructions concerning the management of 
 the domestic concerns in her absence. With a precision, which, 
 upon reflection, she herself could not help wondering at, she de- 
 scribed and detailed the most minute steps which were to be taken, 
 and especially such as were necessary for her father's comfort. 
 " It was probable," she said, "that he would return to St. Leonard's 
 to-morrow ; certain that he would return very soon — all must be in 
 order for him. He had- eneugh to distress him, without being 
 fashed about warldly matters." 
 
 In the meanwhile, she toiled busily, along with May Hettly, to 
 leave nothing unarranged. 
 
 It was deep in the night when all these matters were settled ; 
 and when they had partaken of some food, the first which Jeanie 
 had tasted on that eventful day, May Hettly, whose usual residence 
 was a cottage at a little distance from Deans's house, asked her 
 young mistress, whether she would not permit her to remain in the 
 house all night ? " Ye hae had an awfu' day," she said, " and 
 sorrow and fear are but bad companions in the watches of the 
 night, as I hae heard the gudeman say himsell." 
 
 " They are ill companions indeed," said Jeanie ; " but I maun 
 learn to abide their presence, and better begin in the house than in 
 the field." 
 
 She dismissed her aged assistant accordingly, — for so slight was 
 the gradation in their rank of life, that we can hardly term May 
 a servant, — and proceeded to make a few preparations for her 
 journey. 
 
 The simplicity of her education and country made these prepa- 
 rations very brief and easy. Her tartan screen served all the pur- 
 poses of a riding-habit and of an umbrella ; a small bundle con- 
 tained such changes of linen as were absolutely necessary. Bare- 
 footed, as Sancho says, she had come into the world, and bare- 
 footed she proposed to perform her pilgrimage ; and her clean 
 shoes and change of snow-white thread stockings were to be re- 
 served for special occasions of ceremony. She was not aware, that 
 the English habits of comfort attach an idea of abject misery to 
 the idea of a barefooted traveller ; and if the objection of cleanli- 
 ness had been made to the practice, she would have been apt to 
 vindicate herself upon the very frequent ablutions to which, with 
 Mahometan scrupulosity, a Scottish damsel of some condition 
 usually subjects herself. Thus far, therefore, all was well. 
 
 From an oaken press, or cabinet, in which her father kept a few 
 
 old books, and two or three bundles of papers, besides his ordinary 
 
 , accounts and receipts, she sought out and. extracted from a parcel 
 
 of notes of sermons, calculations of interest, records of dying 
 
2o8 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 speeches of the martyrs, and the like, one or two documents which 
 she thought might be of some use to her upon her mission. But 
 the most important difficulty remained behind, and it had not 
 occurred to her until that very evening. It was the want of money, 
 without which it was impossible she could undertake so distant a 
 journey as she now meditated. 
 
 David Deans, as we have said, was easy, and even opulent in his 
 circumstances. But his wealth, like that of the patriarchs of old, 
 consisted in his kine and herds, and in two or three sums lent out 
 at interest to neighbours or relatives, who, far from being in cir- 
 cumstances to pay anything to account of the principal sums, 
 thought they did all that was incumbent, on them when, with con- 
 siderable difficulty, they discharged " the annual rent." To these 
 debtors it would be in vain, therefore, to apply, even with her 
 father's concurrence ; nor could she hope to obtain such concur- 
 rence, or assistance in any mode, without such a series of explana- 
 tions and debates as she felt might deprive her totally of the power 
 of taking the step, which, however daring and hazardous, she felt 
 was absolutely necessary for trying the last chance in favour of her 
 sister. Without departing from filial reverence, Jeanie had an in- 
 ward conviction that the feelings of her father, however just, and 
 upright, and honourable, were too little in unison with the spirit of 
 the time to admit of his being a good judge of the measures to be 
 adopted in this crisis. Herself more flexible in manner, though no 
 less upright in principle, she felt that to ask his consent to her 
 pilgrimage would.be, to encounter the risk of drawing down his 
 positive prohibition, and under that she believed her journey could 
 not be blessed in its progress and event. Accordingly, she had 
 determined upon the means by which she might communicate to 
 him her undertaking and its purpose, shortly after her actual de- 
 parture. But it was impossible to apply to him for money without 
 altering this arrangement, and discussing fully the propriety of her 
 journey ; pecuniary assistance from that quarter, therefore, was 
 laid out of the question. 
 
 It now occurred to Jeanie that she should have consulted with 
 Mrs. Saddletree on the subject. ( But besides the time that must 
 now necessarily be lost in recurring to her assistance, Jeanie 
 internally revolted from it. Her heart acknowledged the goodness 
 of Mrs. Saddletree's general character, and the kind interest she 
 took in their family misfortunes ; but still she felt that Mrs. Saddle- 
 tree was a woman of an ordinary and worldly way of thinking, 
 incapable, from habit and temperament, of taking a keen or enthu- 
 siastic view of such a resolution as she had formed ; and to debate 
 the point with her, and to rely upon her conviction of its propriety 
 for the means of carrying it into execution would have been gall 
 and wormwood. 
 
 Butler, whose assistance she might have been assured of, was 
 greatly poorer than herself. In these circumstances, she formed a 
 singular resolution for the purpose of surmounting this difficulty, 
 the execution of which will form the subject of the next chapter. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 309 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 'Tis the voice of the sluggard, I've heard him complain, 
 " You have waked me too soon, I must slumber again ; " 
 As the door on its hinges, so he on his bed, 
 Turns his side, and his shoulders, and his heavy head. 
 
 Dr. Watts. 
 
 The mansion-house of Dumbiedikes, to which we are now to 
 introduce our readers, lay three or four miles — no matter for the 
 exact topography — to the southward of St. Leonard's. It had once 
 borne the appearance of some little celebrity ; for the " auld laird," 
 whose humours and pranks were often mentioned in the ale-houses. 
 for about a mile round it, wore a sword, kept a good horse, and a. 
 brace of greyhounds ; brawled, swore, and betted at cock-fights, 
 and horse-matches ; followed Somerville of Drum's hawks, and the- 
 Lord Ross's hounds, and called himself point devise a gentleman. 
 But the line had been veiled of its splendour in the present pro- 
 prietor, who cared for no rustic amusements, and was as saving,, 
 timid, and retired, as his father had been at once grasping and' 
 selfishly extravagant, — daring, wild, and intrusive. 
 
 Dumbiedikes was what is called in Scotland a single house ; that 
 is, having only one room occupying its whole depth from back to 
 front, each of which single apartments was illuminated by six or 
 eight cross-lights, whose diminutive panes and heavy frames per- 
 mitted scarce so much light to enter as . shines through one well- 
 constructed modern window. This inartificial edifice, exactly such, 
 as a child would build with cards, having a steep roof flagged with 
 coarse grey stones instead of slates ; a half-circular turret, battle- 
 mented, or, to use the appropriate phrase, bartizan'd on the top,, 
 served as a case for a narrow turnpike-stair, by which an ascent 
 was gained from story to story ; and at the bottom of the said 
 turret was a door studded with large-headed nails. There was no 
 lobby at the bottom of the tower, and scarce a landing-place oppo- 
 site to the doors which gave access to the apartments. One or 
 two low and dilapidated outhouses, connected by a court-yard wall 
 equally ruinous, surrounded the mansion. The court had been 
 paved, but the flags being partly displaced, and partly renewed, 
 a gallant crop of docks and thistles sprung up between them, 
 and the small garden, which opened by a postern through 
 the wall, seemed not to be in a much more orderly condition. 
 Over the low-arched gateway which led into the yard, there was a 
 carved stone, exhibiting some attempt at armorial bearings ; and 
 above the inner entrance hung, and had hung, for many years, the 
 mouldering hatchment, which announced that umquhile Laurence 
 Dumbie, of Dumbiedikes, had been gathered to his fathers in 
 Newbattle kirkyard. The approach to this palace of pleasure was 
 by a road formed by the rude fragments of stone gathered from the 
 fields, and it was surrounded by ploughed, but unenclosed land. 
 
2io THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 Upon a baulk, that is, an unploughed ridge of land interposed 
 -among the corn; the Laird's trusty palfrey was tethered by the 
 head, and picking a meal of grass. The whole argued neglect and 
 discomfort ; the consequence, however, of idleness and indifference, 
 not of poverty. 
 
 In this inner court, not without a sense of bashfulness and 
 timidity, stood Jeanie Deans, at an early hour in a fine spring 
 morning. She was no heroine of romance, and therefore looked 
 with some curiosity and interest on the mansion-house and 
 domains, of which, it might at that moment occur to her, a little 
 encouragement, such as women of all ranks know by instinct how 
 to- apply, might have made her mistress. Moreover, she was no 
 person of taste beyond her time, rank, and country, and certainly 
 thought the house of Dumbieflikes, though inferior to Holyrood 
 House, or the palace at Dalkeith, was still a stately structure in its 
 way, and the land a " very bonny bit, if it were better seen to and 
 ■done to." But Jeanie Deans was a plain, true-hearted, honest girl, 
 who, while she acknowledged all the splendour of her old admirer's 
 habitation, and the value of his property, never for a moment har- 
 boured a thought of doing the Laird, Butler, or herself, the injus- 
 tice, which many ladies of higher rank would not have hesitated to 
 do to all three, on much less temptation. 
 
 Her present errand being with the laird, she looked round the 
 offices to see if she could find any domestic to announce that she 
 wished to see him. As all was silence, she ventured to open one 
 door : — it was the old laird's dog-kennel, now deserted, unless when 
 occupied, as one or two tubs seemed to testify, as a washing-house. 
 She tried another — it was the roofless shed where the hawks had 
 been once kept, as appeared from a perch or two not yet com- 
 pletely rotten, and a lure and jesses which were mouldering on the 
 wall. A third door led to the coal-house, which was well stocked. 
 To keep a very good fire, was one of the few points of domestic 
 management in which Dumbiedikes was positively active; in all 
 other matters of domestic economy he was completely passive, and 
 at the mercy of his housekeeper, the same buxom dame whom his 
 father had long since bequeathed to his charge, and who, if fame did 
 her no injustice, had feathered her nest pretty well at his expense. 
 
 Jeanie went on opening doors, like the second Calendar wanting 
 an eye, in the castle of the hundred obliging damsels, until, like 
 the said prince errant, she came to a stable. The Highland 
 iPegasus, Rory Bean, to which belonged the single entire stall, was 
 her old acquaintance, whom she had seen grazing on the baulk, as 
 she failed not to recognise by the well-known ancient riding fur- 
 niture and demi-pique saddle, which half hung on the walls, half 
 trailed on the litter. Beyond the " treviss,'' which formed one side 
 of the stall, stood a cow, who turned her head and lowed when 
 Jeanie came into the stable, an appeal which her habitual occupa- 
 tions enabled her perfectly to understand, and with which she 
 could not refuse complying, by shaking down some fodder to the 
 animal, which had been neglected like most things else in the 
 castle of the sluggard. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 211 
 
 While she was accommodating " the milky mother " with the 
 food which she should have received two hours sooner, a slip-shod 
 wench peeped into the stable, and perceiving that a stranger was 
 employed in discharging the task which she at length, and re- 
 luctantly, had quitted her slumbers to perform, ejaculated, " Eh, 
 sirs ! the Brownie ! the Brownie ! " and fled, yelling as if she had 
 seen the devil. 
 
 To explain her terror, it may be necessary to notice, that the 
 ■old house of Dumbiedikes had, according to report, been long 
 haunted by a Brownie, one of those familiar spirits, who were 
 "believed in ancient times to supply the deficiencies of the ordinary 
 labourer — 
 
 " Whirl the long mop, and ply the airy flail." 
 
 Certes, the convenience of such a supernatual assistance could 
 have been nowhere more sensibly felt, than in a family where the 
 domestics were so little disposed to personal activity ; yet this 
 serving maiden was so far from rejoicing in seeing a supposed 
 aerial substitute discharging a task which she should have long since 
 performed herself, that she proceeded to raise the family by her 
 screams of horror, uttered as thick as if the Brownie had been flaying 
 her. Jeanie, who had immediately resigned her temporary occupa- 
 tion, and followed the yelling damsel into the courtyard, in order 
 to undeceive and appease her, was there met by Mrs. Janet Bal- 
 christie, the favourite sultana of the last Laird, as scandal went — 
 the housekeeper of the present. The good-looking buxom woman, 
 betwixt forty and fifty, (for such we described her at the death of 
 the last Laird,) was now a fat, red-faced old dame of seventy, or 
 thereabouts, fond of her place, and jealous of her authority. Con- 
 scious that her administration did not rest on so sure a basis as in 
 the time of the old proprietor, this considerate lady had introduced 
 into the family the screamer aforesaid, who added good features 
 and .bright eyes to the powers of her lungs. She made no con- 
 quest of the Laird, however, who seemed to live as if there was not 
 another woman in the world but Jeanie Deans, and to .bear no 
 very ardent or overbearing affection even to her. Mrs. Janet 
 Bakhristie, notwithstanding, had her own uneasy thoughts upon 
 the almost daily visits to Saint Leonard's Crags, and often, when 
 the Laird looked at her wistfully, and paused, according to his 
 custom before utterance, she expected him to say, " Jenny, I am 
 gaun to change my condition ; " but she was relieved by " Jenny, 
 I am gaun to change my shoon." 
 
 Still, however, Mrs. Bakhristie regarded Jeanie Deans with no 
 small portion of malevolence, the customary feeling of such persons 
 towards any one who they think has the means of doing them an 
 injury. But she had also a general aversion to any female, toler- 
 ably young, and decently well-looking, who showed a wish to 
 approach the house of Dumbiedikes and the proprietor thereof. 
 And as she had raised her mass of mortality out of bed two hours 
 earlier than usual, to come to the rescue of her clamorous niece, 
 she was in such extreme bad humour against all and sundry, that 
 
 ,0 2 
 
212 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 Saddletree would have pronounced, that she harboured inimicitiam 
 contra omnes mortales. 
 
 " Wha the deil are ye ? " said the fat dame to poor Jeanie, whom 
 she did not immediately recognise, " scouping about a decent house 
 at sic an hour in the morning ? " 
 
 " It was ane wanting to speak to the Laird," said Jeanie, who 
 felt something of the intuitive terror which she had formerly en- 
 tertained for this termagant, when she was occasionally at Dumbie- 
 dikes on business of her father's. 
 
 "Ane! — And what sort of ane are ye? — hae ye nae name? — 
 D'ye think his honour has naething else to do than to speak wi' 
 ilka idle tramper that comes about the toun, and him in his bed yet, 
 honest man ? " 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Balchristie," replied Jeanie, in a submissive tone, 
 " d'ye no mind me ? — d'ye no mind Jeanie Deans ? " 
 
 " Jeanie Deans ! " said the termagant, in accents affecting the 
 utmost astonishment ; then, taking two strides nearer to her, she 
 peered into her face with a stare of curiosity, equally scornful and 
 malignant — " I say Jeanie Deans indeed — Jeanie Deevil, they had 
 better hae ca'ed ye ! — A bonny spot o' wark your tittie and you 
 hae made out, murdering a puir wean, and your light limmer o' a 
 sister's to be hanged fort, as weel she deserves ! — And the like o' 
 you to come to ony honest man's house, and want to be into a decent 
 bachelor gentleman's room at this time in the morning, and him. 
 in his bed ! — Gae wa', gae wa' ! " 
 
 Jeanie was struck mute with shame at the unfeeling brutality of 
 this accusation, and could not even find words to justify herself 
 from the vile construction put upon her visit, when Mrs,. Balchristie, 
 seeing her advantage, continued in the same tone, " Come, come, 
 bundle up your pipes and tramp awa wi' ye ! — ye may be seeking a 
 father to another wean for ony thing I ken. If it warna that your 
 father, auld David Deans, had been a tenant on our land, I would 
 cry up the men-folk, and hae ye dookit in the burn for your 
 impudence." 
 
 Jeanie had already turned her back, and was walking towards 
 the door of the courtyard, so that Mrs. Balchristie, to make her 
 last threat impressively audible to her, had raised her stentorian 
 voice to its utmost pitch. But, like many a general, she lost the 
 engagement by pressing her advantage too far. 
 
 The Laird had been disturbed in his morning slumbers by the 
 tones of Mrs. Balchristie's objurgation, sounds in themselves by no 
 means uncommon, but very remarkable, in respect to the early 
 hour at which they were now heard. He turned himself on the 
 other side, however, in hopes the squall would blow by, when, in 
 the course of Mrs. Balchristie's second explosion of wrath, the name 
 of Deans distinctly struck the tympanum of his ear. As he was, in 
 some degree, aware of the small portion of benevolence with which 
 his housekeeper regarded the family at Saint Leonard's, he in- 
 stantly conceived that some message from thence was the cause of 
 this untimely ire, and getting out of his bed, he slipt as speedily as 
 possible into an old brocaded night-gown, and some other necessary 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIATJ. 213 
 
 garments, clapped on his head his father's gold-laced hat, (for 
 though he was seldom seen without it, yet it is proper to contra- 
 dict the popular report, that he slept in it, as Don Quixote did in his 
 helmet), and opening the window of his bedroom, beheld, to his 
 great astonishment, the well-known figure of Jeanie Deans herself 
 retreating from his gate ; while his housekeeper, with arms a-kim- 
 bo, fist clenched and extended, body erect, and head shaking with 
 rage, sent after her a volley of Billingsgate oaths. His choler rose 
 in proportion to the surprise, and perhaps, to the disturbance of his 
 repose. " Hark ye," he exclaimed from the window, " ye auld limb 
 of Satan — wha the deil gies you commission to guide an honest 
 man's daughter that gate ! " 
 
 Mrs. Balchristie was completely caught in the manner. She was 
 aware, from the unusual warmth with which the Laird expressed 
 himself, that he was quite serious in this matter, and she knew 
 that, with all his indolence of nature, there were points on which he 
 might be provoked, and that, being provoked, he had in him some- 
 thing dangerous, which her wisdom taught her to fear accordingly. 
 She began, therefore, to retract her false step as fast as she could. 
 " She was but speaking for the house's credit, and she couldna think 
 of disturbing his honour in the morning sae early, when the young 
 woman might as weel wait or call again ; and to be sure, she might 
 make a mistake between the twa sisters, for ane o' them wasna sae 
 creditable an acquaintance." 
 
 " Haud your peace, ye auld jade," said Dumbiedikes ; "the warst 
 quean e'er stude in their shoon may ca' you cousin, an a' be true 
 that I have heard. — Jeanie, my woman, gang into the parlour — but 
 stay, that winna be redd up yet — wait there a minute till I come 
 down to let ye in — Dinna mind what Jenny says to ye." 
 
 " Na, na," said Jenny, with a laugh of affected heartiness, "never 
 mind me, lass — a' the warld kens my bark's waur than my bite — if 
 ye had had an appointment wi' the Laird, ye might hae tauldme — 
 I am nae uncivil person — gang your ways in by, hinny." And she 
 opened the door of the house with a master-key. 
 
 " But I had no appointment wi' the Laird," said Jeanie, drawing 
 back ; " I want just to speak twa words to him, and I wad rather 
 do it standing here, Mrs. Balchristie." 
 
 " In the open court-yard ? — Na, na, that wad never do, lass ; we 
 maunna guide ye that gate neither — And how's that douce honest 
 man, your father?" 
 
 Jeanie was saved the pain of answering this hypocritical question 
 by the appearance of the Laird himself. 
 
 " Gang in and get breakfast ready," said he to his housekeeper — 
 " and, d'ye hear, breakfast wi' us yoursell — ye ken how to manage 
 thae porringers of tea-water — and, hear ye, see abune a' that there's 
 a gude fire. — Weel, Jeanie, my woman, gang in by — gang in by, and 
 rest ye." 
 
 " Na, Laird," Jeanie replied, endeavouring as much as she could 
 to express herself with composure, notwithstanding she still trem- 
 bled, " I canna gang in — I have a lang day's darg afore me — I maun 
 be twenty mile o' gate the nicht yet, if feet will carry me." 
 
214 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 " Guide and deliver us ! — twenty mile— twenty mile on your 
 feet!" ejaculated Dumbiedikes, whose walks were of a very 
 circumscribed diameter, — "Ye maun never think o' that — come 
 in by." 
 
 , " I canna do that, Laird," replied Jeanie ; "the twa words I hae 
 to say to ye I can sae here ; forby that Mrs. Balchristie " 
 
 " The deil flee awa wi' Mrs. Balchristie," said Dumbiedikes, "and 
 he '11 hae a heavy lading o' her ! I tell ye, Jeanie Deans, I am a. 
 man of few words, but I am laird at hame, as well as in the field ; 
 deil a brute or body about my house but I can manage when I like,, 
 except Rory Bean, my powny ; but I can seldom be at the plague, 
 an it binna when my bluid's up." 
 
 " I was wanting to say to ye, Laird," said Jeanie, who felt the 
 necessity of entering upon her business, ".that I was gaun a- lang 
 journey, outby of my father's knowledge." 
 
 " Outby his knowledge, Jeanie ! — Is that richt ? Ye maun think 
 o't again — it's no richt," said Dumbiedikes, with a countenance of 
 great concern. 
 
 " If I were anes at Lunnon," said Jeanie, in exculpation, " I am 
 amaist sure I could get means to speak to the queen about my 
 sister's life." 
 
 " Lunnon— and the queen — and her sister's life ! " said Dumbie- 
 dikes, whistling for very amazement — " the lassie's demented." 
 
 " I am no out o' my mind," said she, " and, sink or swim, I am 
 determined to gang to Lunnon, if I suld beg my way frae door to 
 door — and sol maun, unless ye wad lend me a small sum to pay my 
 expenses — little thing will do it ; and ye ken my father's a man of 
 substance, and wad see nae man, far less you, Laird, come to loss 
 by me." 
 
 Dumbiedikes, on comprehending the nature of this application, 
 could scarce trust his ears — he made no answer whatever, but stood 
 with his eyes riveted on the ground. 
 
 " I see ye are no for assisting me, Laird," said Jeanie ; " sae fare 
 ye weel — and gang and see my poor father as aften as ye can — he 
 will be lonely eneugh now." 
 
 " Where is the silly bairn gaun ? " said Dumbiedikes ; and, laying 
 hold of her hand, he led her into the house. " It's no that 1 didna 
 think o't before," he said, "but it stack in my throat." 
 
 Thus speaking to himself, he led her into an old-fashioned par- 
 lour, shut the door behind them, and fastened it with a bolt. While 
 Jeanie, surprised at this manoeuvre, remained as near the door as 
 possible, the Laird quitted her hand, and pressed upon a spring 
 lock fixed in an oak panel in the wainscot, which instantly slipped 
 aside. An iron strong-box was discovered in a recess of the 
 wall ; he opened this also, and, pulling out two or three drawers, 
 showed that they were filled with leathern bags, full of gold and 
 silver coin. 
 
 " This is my bank, Jeanie, lass," he said, looking first at her and 
 then at the treasure, with an air of great complacency, — " nane o' 
 your goldsmith's bills for me, — they bring folk to ruin." 
 
 Then suddenly changing his tone, he resolutely said, — " Jeanie> 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 215. 
 
 I will mak ye Lady Dumbiedikes afore the sun sets, and ye may 
 ride to Lunnon in your ain coach, if ye like." 
 
 " Na, Laird," said Jeanie, " that can never be — my father's grief" 
 — my sister's situation — the discredit to you " 
 
 "That 's my business," said Dumbiedikes ; " ye wad sae naething 
 about that if ye werena a fule— and yet I like ye the better for't — . 
 ae wise body's eneugh in the married state. But if your heart's- 
 ower fu', tak what siller will serve ye, and let it be when ye come 
 back again — as gude syne as suae." 
 
 "But, Laird," said Jeanie, who felt the necessity of being explicit 
 with so extraordinary a lover, " I like another man better than you, 
 and I canna marry ye." 
 
 " Another man better than me, Jeanie ! " said Dumbiedikes — 
 " how is that possible ? — It's no possible, woman — ye hae ken'd me 
 sae lang." 
 
 "Ay but, Laird," said Jeanie, with persevering simplicity, " I hae 
 ken'd him langer." 
 
 "Langer! — It's no possible," exclaimed the poor Laird. "It 
 canna be ; ye were born on the land. O Jeanie woman, ye haena 
 lookit — ye haena seen the half o' the gear." He drew out another 
 drawer — " A' gowd, Jeanie, and there 's bands, for siller lent — And 
 the rental book, Jeanie — clear three hunder sterling — deil a wadset, 
 heritable band, or burden — Ye haena lookit at them, woman — And 
 then my mother's wardrobe, and my grandmother's forby — silk 
 gowns wad stand on their ends, pearlin-lace as fine as spiders' 
 webs, and rings and ear-rings to the boot of a' that — they are a' in 
 the chamber of deas — Oh, Jeanie, gang up the stair and look at 
 them!" 
 
 But Jeanie held fast her integrity, though beset with temptations, 
 which perhaps the Laird of Dumbiedikes did not greatly err in 
 supposing were those most affecting to her sex. 
 
 " It canna be, Laird — I have said-it — and I canna break my word 
 till him, if ye wad gie me the haill barony of Dalkeith, and Lugton 
 into the bargain." 
 
 " Your word to him," said the Laird, somewhat pettishly ; " but 
 wha is he, Jeanie ? — wha is he ? — I haena heard his name yet — 
 Come now, Jeanie, ye are but queering us — I am no trowing that 
 there is sic a ane in the warld — ye are but making fashion — What 
 is he ? — wha is he ? " 
 
 "Just Reuben Butler, that's schulemaster at Libberton," said 
 Jeanie. 
 
 " Reuben Butler ! Reuben Butler ! " echoed the Laird of Dum- 
 biedikes, pacing the apartment in high disdain, — " Reuben Butler, 
 the dominie at Libberton — and a dominie depute too ! — Reuben, 
 the son of my cottar ! — Very weel, Jeanie lass, wilfu' woman wili 
 hae her way — Reuben Butler ! he hasna in his pouch the value o' 
 the auld. black coat he wears — but it disna signify." And, as he 
 spoke, he shut successively and with vehemence, the drawers of his 
 treasury. " A fair offer, Jeanie, is nae cause of feud — Ae man may 
 bring a horse to the water, but twenty wunna gar him drink — And 
 .as for wasting my substance on other folk's joes " 
 
ai6 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 There was something in the last hint that nettled Jeanie's honest 
 pride. — " I was begging nane frae your honour," she said, " least of 
 a' on sic a score as ye pit it on. — Gude morning to ye, sir ; ye hae 
 been kind to my father, and it isna in my heart to think otherwise 
 than kindly of you." 
 
 So saying, she left the room without listening to a faint " But 
 Jeanie— Jeanie — stay, woman ! " and traversing the court-yard with 
 •a quick step, she set out on her forward journey, her bosom glowing 
 with that natural indignation and shame, which an honest mind 
 feels at having subjected itself to ask a favour, which had been un- 
 expectedly refused. When out of the Laird's ground, and once more 
 upon the public road, her pace slackened, her anger cooled, and 
 anxious anticipations of the consequence of this unexpected disap- 
 pointment began to influence her with other feelings. Must she then 
 actually beg her way to London ? for such seemed the alternative ; 
 -or must she turn back, and solicit her father for money ; and by 
 doing so lose time, which was precious, besides the risk of encoun- 
 tering his positive prohibition respecting her journey ? Yet she 
 saw no medium between these alternatives ; and, while she walked 
 •slowly on, was still meditating whether it were not better to return. 
 
 While she was thus in an uncertainty, she heard the clatter of a 
 horse's hoofs, and a well-known voice calling her name. She looked 
 round, and saw advancing towards her on a pony, whose bare back 
 ..and halter assorted ill with the nightgown, slippers, and laced 
 cocked-hat of the rider, a cavalier of no less importance than Dum- 
 biedikes himself. In the energy of his pursuit, he had overcome 
 even the Highland obstinacy of Rory Bean, and compelled that 
 self-willed palfrey to canter the way his rider chose ; which Rory, 
 .however, performed with all the symptoms of reluctance, turning 
 .iiis head, and accompanying every bound he made in advance with 
 a sidelong motion, which indicated his extreme wish to turn round, 
 -■ — a manoeuvre which nothing but the constant exercise of the 
 iLaird's heels and cudgel could possibly have counteracted. 
 
 When the Laird came up with Jeanie, the first words he uttered 
 were, — "Jeanie, they say ane shouldna aye tak a woman at her first 
 word ? " 
 
 "Ay, but ye maun tak me at mine, Laird," said Jeanie, looking 
 on the ground, and walking on without a pause. — "I hae but ae 
 word to bestow on onybody, and that's aye a true ane." 
 
 " Then," said Dumbiedikes, " at least ye suldna ay tak a man at 
 his first word. Ye maunna gang this wilfu' gate sillerless, come 
 o 't what like." — He put a purse into her hand. " I wad gie you 
 Rory too, but he's as wilfu' as yoursell, and he's ower weel used to 
 a gate that maybe he and I hae gaen ower aften, and he'll gang nae 
 road else." 
 
 " But, Laird," said Jeanie, "though I ken my father will satisfy 
 every penny of this siller, whatever there's o J t, yet I wadna like to 
 borrow it frae ane that maybe thinks of something mair than the 
 paying o \ back again." 
 
 " There's just twenty-five guineas o't," said Dumbiedikes, with a 
 gentle sigh, " and whether your father pays or disna pay, I mak 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 217 
 
 ye free till't without another word. Gang where ye like — do what 
 ye like — and marry a' the Butlers in the country gin ye like— And 
 sae, gude-morning to you, Jeanie." 
 
 " And God bless you, Laird, wi' mony a gude morning,'' said 
 Jeanie, her heart more softened by the unwonted generosity of 
 this uncouth character, than perhaps Butler might have approved, 
 had he 1 known her feelings at that moment ; " and comfort, and 
 the Lord's peace, and the peace of the world, be with you, if we 
 suld never meet again !" 
 
 Dumbiedikes turned and waved his hand ; and his pony, much 
 more willing to return than he had been to set out, hurried him 
 homewards so fast, that, wanting the aid of a regular bridle, as 
 well as of saddle and stirrups, he was too much puzzled to keep his 
 seat to permit of his looking behind, even to give the parting glance 
 of a forlorn swain. I am ashamed to say, that the sight of a lover, 
 run away with in nightgown and slippers and a laced hat, by a 
 bare-backed Highland pony, had something in it of a sedative, 
 even to a grateful and deserved burst of affectionate esteem. The 
 figure of Dumbiedikes was too ludicrous not to confirm Jeanie in 
 the original sentiments she entertained towards him. 
 
 " He's a gude creature," said she, " and a kind — it's a pity he 
 has sae willyard a powny." And she immediately turned her 
 thoughts to the important journey which she had commenced, re- 
 flecting with pleasure, that, according to her habits of life and of 
 undergoing fatigue, she was now amply or even superfluously pro- 
 vided with the means of encountering the expenses of the road, up 
 and down from London, and all other expenses whatever. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 What strange and wayward thoughts will slide 
 
 Into a lover's head ; 
 " O mercy ! " to myself I cried, 
 
 " If Lucy should be dead ! " 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 In pursuing her solitary journey, our heroine, soon after passing 
 the house of Dumbiedikes, gained a little eminence, from which, 
 on looking to the eastward down a prattling brook, whose meanders 
 were shaded with straggling willows and alder trees, she could see 
 the cottages of Woodend and Beersheba, the haunts and habitation 
 of her early life, and could distinguish the common on which she 
 had so often herded sheep, and the recesses of the rivulet where 
 she had pulled rushes with Butler, to plait crowns and sceptres 
 for her sister Efne, then a beautiful but spoiled child, of about 
 three years old. The recollections which the scene brought with 
 them were so bitter, that, had she indulged them, she would have 
 sate down and relieved her heart with tears. 
 
 " But I ken'd," said Jeanie, when she gave an account of her 
 pilgrimage, "that greeting would do but little good, and that it was 
 
218 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 mair beseeming to thank the Lord, that had showed me kindness 
 and countenance by means of a man, that mony ca'd a Nabal and 
 churl, but wha was free of his gudes to me, as ever the fountain 
 was free of the stream. And I minded the Scripture about the 
 sin of Israel at Meribah, when the people murmured, although 
 Moses had brought water from the dry rock that the congrega- 
 tion might drink and live. Sae, I wad not trust mysell with 
 another look at puir Woodend, for the very blue reek that came 
 out of the lum-head pat me in mind of the change of market 
 days with us." 
 
 In this resigned and Christian temper she pursued her journey, 
 until she was beyond this place of melancholy recollections, and 
 not distant from the village where Butler dwelt, which, with its old- 
 fashioned church and steeple, rises among a tuft of trees, occu- 
 pying the ridge of an eminence to the south of Edinburgh.. At a 
 quarter of a mile's distance is a clumsy square tower, the residence 
 of the Laird of Libberton, who, in former times, with the habits of 
 the predatory chivalry of Germany, is said frequently to have 
 annoyed the city of Edinburgh, by intercepting the supplies and 
 merchandise which came to the town from the southward.! 
 
 This village, its tower, and its church, did not lie precisely in 
 Jeanie's road towards England ; but they were not much aside 
 from it, and the village was the abode of Butler. She had resolved 
 to see him in the beginning of her journey, because she conceived 
 him the most proper person to write to her father concerning her 
 resolution and her hopes. There was probably another reason 
 latent in her affectionate bosom. She wished once more to see 
 the object of so early and so sincere an attachment, before com- 
 mencing a pilgrimage, the perils of which she did not disguise 
 from herself, although she did not allow them so to press upon her 
 mind as to diminish the strength and energy of her resolution. A 
 visit to a lover from a young person in a higher rank of life than 
 Jeanie's, would have had something forward and improper in its 
 character. But the simplicity of her rural habits was unacquainted 
 with these punctilious ideas of decorum, and no notion, therefore, 
 of impropriety crossed her imagination, as, setting out upon a long 
 journey, she went to bid adieu to an early friend. 
 
 There was still another motive that pressed upon her mind with 
 additional force as she approached the village. She had looked 
 anxiously for Butler in the court-house, and had expected that 
 certainly, in some part of that eventful day, he would have 
 appeared to bring such countenence and support as he could give to 
 his old friend, and the protector of his youth, even if her own 
 claims were laid aside. 
 
 She knew, indeed, that he was under a certain degree of re- 
 straint ; but she still had hoped that he would have found means 
 to emancipate himself from it, at least for one day. In short, the 
 wild and wayward thoughts which Wordsworth has described as 
 rising in an absent lover's imagination, suggested, as the only ex- 
 planation of his absence, that' Butler must be very ill. And so 
 much had this wrought on her imagination, that when she 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 219 
 
 approached the cottage where her lover occupied a small apart- 
 ment, and which had been pointed out to her by a maiden with a 
 milk-pail on her head, she trembled at anticipating the answer she 
 might receive on inquiring for him. 
 
 Her fears in this case had, indeed, only hit upon the truth. 
 Butler, whose constitution was naturally feeble, did not soon re- 
 cover the fatigue of body and distress of mind which he had suf- 
 fered, in consequence of the tragical events with which our 
 narrative commenced. The painful idea that his character was 
 breathed on by suspicion, was an aggravation to his distress. 
 
 But the most cruel addition was the absolute prohibition laid by 
 the magistrates on his holding any communication with Deans or 
 his family. It had unfortunately appeared likely to them, that 
 some intercourse might be again attempted with that family by 
 Robertson, through the medium of Butler, and this they were 
 anxious to intercept, or prevent if possible. The measure was not 
 meant as a harsh or injurious severity on the part of the magis- 
 trates ; but in Butler's circumstances, it pressed cruelly hard. He 
 felt he must be suffering under the bad opinion of the person who 
 was dearest to him, from an imputation of unkind desertion, the 
 most alien to his nature. 
 
 This painful thought, pressing on a frame already injured, 
 brought on a succession of slow and lingering feverish attacks, 
 which greatly impaired his health, and at length rendered him 
 incapable even of the sedentary duties of the school, on which his 
 bread depended. Fortunately, old Mr. Whackbairn, who was the 
 principal teacher of the little parochial establishment, was sincerely 
 attached to Butler. Besides that he was sensible of his merits and 
 value as an assistant, which had greatly raised the credit of his 
 little school, the ancient pedagogue, who ' had himself been tole- 
 rably educated, retained some taste for classical lore, and would 
 gladly relax, after the drudgery of the school was over, by conning 
 over a few pages of Horace or Juvenal with his usher. A simi- 
 larity of taste begot kindness, and accordingly he saw Butler's 
 increasing debility with great compassion, roused up his own ener- 
 gies to teaching the school in the morning hours, insisted upon 
 his assistant's reposing himself at that period, and, besides, sup- 
 plied him with such comforts as the patient's situation required, 
 and his own means were inadequate to compass. 
 
 Such was Butler's situation, scarce able to drag himself to the 
 place where his daily drudgery must gain his daily bread, and 
 racked with a thousand fearful anticipations concerning the fate of 
 those who were dearest to him in the world, when the trial, and 
 condemnation of Effie Deans put the copestone upon his mental 
 misery. 
 
 He had a particular account of these events from a fellow- 
 student who resided in the same village, and who, having been 
 present on the melancholy occasion, was able to place it in all its 
 agony of horrors before his excruciated imagination. That sleep, 
 should have visited his eyes after such a curfew-note, was impos- 
 sible. A thousand dreadful visions haunted his imagination all 
 
220 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 night, and in the morning he was awakened from a feverish slum- 
 ber, by the only circumstance which could have added to his dis- 
 tress, — the visit of an intrusive ass. 
 
 This unwelcome visitant was no other than Bartoline Saddle- 
 tree. The worthy and sapient burgher had kept his appointment 
 at MacCroskie's, with Plumdamas and some other neighbours, to 
 discuss the Duke of Argyle's speech, the justice of Efne Deans' 
 condemnation, and the improbability of her obtaining a reprieve. 
 This sage conclave disputed high and drank deep, and on the next 
 morning Bartoline felt, as he expressed it, as if his head was like a 
 " confused progress of writs." 
 
 To bring his reflective powers to their usual serenity, Saddletree 
 resolved to take a morning's ride upon a certain hack, which he, 
 Plumdamas, and another honest shopkeeper, combined to main- 
 tain by joint subscription, for occasional jaunts for the purpose of 
 business or exercise. As Saddletree had two children boarded 
 with Whackbairn, and was, as we have seen, rather fond of Butler's 
 society, he turned his palfrey's head towards Libberton, and came, 
 as we have already said, to give the unfortunate usher that addi- 
 tional vexation, of which Imogene complains so feelingly, when 
 she says, 
 
 " I'm sprighted with a fool — 
 Sprighted and angered worse." 
 
 If anything could have added gall to bitterness, it was the choice 
 which Saddletree made of a subject for his prosing harangues, 
 being the trial of Effie Deans, and the probability of her being 
 executed. Every word fell on Butler's ear like the knell of a death- 
 bell, or the note of a screech-owl. 
 
 Jeanie paused at the door of her lover's humble abode upon 
 hearing the loud and pompous tones of Saddletree sounding from 
 the inner apartment, "Credit me, it will be sae, Mr. Butler. Brandy 
 cannot save her. She maun gang down the Bow wi' the lad in the 
 pioted coat * at her heels. — I am sorry for the lassie, but the law, 
 sir, maun hae its course — 
 
 ' Vivat Rex, 
 Currat Lex,' 
 
 as the poet has it, in whilk of Horace's odes I know not." 
 
 Here Butler groaned, in utter impatience of the brutality and 
 ignorance which Bartoline had contrived to amalgamate into one 
 sentence. But Saddletree, like other prosers, was blessed with a 
 happy obtuseness of perception concerning the unfavourable im- 
 pression which he sometimes made on his auditors. He proceeded 
 to deal forth his scraps of legal knowledge without mercy, and 
 concluded by asking Butler, with great self-complacency, " Was it 
 na a pity my father didna send me to Utrecht? Havena I 
 missed the chance to turn out as clarissimus an ictus, as auld 
 Grunwiggin himsell ? — Whatfor dinna ye speak, Mr. Butler ? Wad 
 I no hae been a clarissimus ictus? — Eh, man." 
 " I really do not understand you, Mr. Saddletree," said Butler, 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 221 
 
 thus pushed hard for an answer. His faint and exhausted tone of 
 voice was instantly drowned in the sonorous bray of Bartoline. 
 
 "No understand ^me, man? — Ictus is Latin for a lawyer, is 
 it not ? " 
 
 " Not that ever I heard of," answered Butler, in the same dejected 
 tone. 
 
 " The deil ye didna !— See, man, I got the word but this morn- 
 ing out of a memorial of Mr. Crossmyloof's — see, there it is, ictus 
 clarissimus et perti—peritissimus — it's a' Latin, for it's printed in 
 the Italian types." 
 
 " O, you mean juris-consultus — Ictus is an abbreviation for juris- 
 consultus." 
 
 " Dinna tell me, man," persevered Saddletree, " there's nae 
 abbreviates except in adjudications ; and this is a' about a servi- 
 tude of water-drap — that is to say, tillicidian * (maybe ye'll say 
 that's no Latin neither,) in Mary King's Close in the High 
 Street." 
 
 " Very likely," said poor Butler, overwhelmed by the noisy per- 
 severance of his visitor. " I am not able to dispute with you." 
 
 " Few folk are — few folk are, Mr. Butler, though I say it, that 
 shouldna say it," returned Bartoline, with great delight. " Now, it 
 will be twa hours yet or ye're wanted in the schule, and as ye are 
 no weel, I'll sit wi' you to divert ye, and explain t'ye the nature of 
 a tillicidian. Ye maun ken, the petitioner, Mrs. Crombie, a very 
 decent woman, is a friend of mine, and I hae stude her friend in 
 this case, and brought her wi' credit into the court, and 1 doubtna 
 that in due time she will win out o't wi' credit, win she or lose she. 
 Ye see, being an inferior tenement or laigh house, we grant our- 
 selves to be burdened wi' the tillicide, that is, that we are obligated 
 to receive the natural water-drap of the superior tenement, sae far 
 as the same fa's frae the heavens, or the roof of our neighbour's 
 house, and from thence by the gutters or eaves upon our laigh tene- 
 ment. But the other night comes a Highland quean of a lass, and 
 she flashes, God kens what, out at the eastmost window of Mrs. 
 MacPhail's house, that's the superior tenement. I believe the auld 
 women wad hae agreed, for Luckie MacPhail sent down the lass to 
 tell my friend Mrs. Crombie that she had made the gardyloo out of 
 the wrang window, out of respect for twa Highlandmen that were 
 speaking Gaelic in the close below the richt ane. But luckily for 
 Mrs. Crombie, I just chanced to come in in time to break aff the 
 communing, for it's a pity the point suldna be tried. We had 
 Mrs. MacPhail into'the Ten-Mark Court— The Hieland limmer of 
 a lass wanted to swear herself free — but haud ye there, says I " 
 
 The detailed account of this important suit might have lasted 
 until poor Butler's hour of rest was completely exhausted, had not 
 Saddletree been interrupted by the noise of voices at the door. The 
 woman of the house where Butler lodged, on returning with her 
 pitcher from the well, whence she had been fetching water for the 
 family, found our heroine Jeanie Deans standing at the door, im- 
 patient of the prolix harangue of Saddletree, yet unwilling to enter 
 until he should have taken his leave. 
 
222 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 The good woman abridged the period of hesitation by inquiring, 
 " Was ye wanting the gudeman or me, lass ? " 
 
 " I wanted to speak with Mr. Butler, if he's at leisure," replied 
 Jeanie. 
 
 " Gang in by then, my woman," answered the goodwife ; and 
 opening the door of 'a room, she announced the additional visitor 
 with, " Mr. Butler, here's a lass wants to speak t'ye." 
 
 The surprise of Butler was extreme, when Jeanie, who seldom 
 stirred half a mile from home, entered his apartment upon this 
 annunciation. 
 
 " Good God ! " he said, starting from his chair, while alarm re- 
 stored to his cheek the colour of which sickness had deprived it ; 
 " some new misfortune must have happened ! " 
 
 " None, Mr. Reuben, but what you must hae heard of— but O, ye 
 are looking ill yoursell ! " — for the " hectic of a moment " had not 
 concealed from her affectionate eyes the ravages which lingering 
 disease and anxiety of mind had made in her lover's person. 
 
 " No : I am well — quite well," said Butler, with eagerness ; " if I 
 can do anything to assist you, Jeanie — or your father." 
 
 "Ay, to be sure," said Saddletree; "the family may be con- 
 sidered as limited to them twa now, just as if Effie had never been 
 in the tailzie, puir thing. But, Jeanie lass, what brings you out to 
 Libberton sae air in the morning, and your father lying ill in the 
 Luckenbooths?" 
 
 " I had a message frae my father to Mr. Butler," said Jeanie, 
 with embarrassment ; but instantly feeling ashamed of the fiction to 
 which she had resorted, for her love of and veneration for truth was 
 almost quaker-like, she corrected herself — " That is to say, I wanted 
 to speak with Mr. Butler about some business of my father's and 
 puir Effie's." 
 
 " Is it law business ?" said Bartoline ; " because if it be, ye had 
 better take my opinion on the subject than his." 
 
 " It is not just law business," said Jeanie, who saw considerable 
 inconvenience might arise from letting Mr. Saddletree into the 
 secret purpose of her journey ; but I want Mr. Butler to writea. letter 
 for me." 
 
 " Very right," said Mr. Saddletree ; " and if ye'll tell me what it 
 is about, I'll dictate to Mr. Butler as Mr. Croossmyloof does to his 
 clerk. — Get your pen and ink in initialibus, Mr. Butler." 
 
 Jeanie looked at Butler, and wrung her hands with vexation, and 
 impatience. 
 
 " I believe, Mr. Saddletree," said Butler, who saw the necessity 
 of getting rid of him at all events, " that Mr. Whackbairn will be 
 somewhat affronted, if you do not hear your boys called up to their 
 lessons." 
 
 '" Indeed, Mr. Butler, and that's as true ; and I promised to 
 ask a half play-day to the schule, so that the bairns might gang 
 and see the hanging, which canna but have a pleasing effect on 
 their young minds, seeing there is no knowing what they may 
 come to themselves. — Odd so, I didna mind ye were here, Jeanie 
 Deans ; but ye maun use yoursell to hear the matter spoken o'.« • 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 223 
 
 Keep Jeanie here till I come back, Mr. Butler ; I wunna bide ten 
 minutes." 
 
 And with this unwelcome assurance of an immediate return, he 
 relieved them of the embarrassment of his presence. 
 
 " Reuben," said Jeanie, who saw the necessity of using the in- 
 terval of his absence in discussing what had brought her there, " I 
 am bound on a lang journey — I am gaun to Lunnon to ask Erne's 
 life of the king and of the queen." 
 
 " Jeanie ! you are surely not yourself," answered Butler, in the 
 utmost surprise ; "you go to London— -you address the king and 
 queen ! " 
 
 " And what for no, Reuben ? " said Jeanie, with all the composed 
 simplicity of her character ; " it's but spealdng to a mortal man 
 and woman when a' is done. And their hearts maun be made o' 
 flesh and blood like ither folk's, and Effie's story wad melt them 
 were they stane. Forby, I hae heard that they are no sic bad folk 
 as what the Jacobites ca' them." 
 
 "Yes, Jeanie," said Butler j "but their magnificence — their retinue 
 — the difficulty of getting audience ? " 
 
 " I have thought of a' that, Reuben, and it shall not break my 
 spirit. Nae doubt their claiths will be very grand, wi' their crowns 
 on their heads, and their sceptres in their hands, like the great King 
 Ahasuerus when he sate upon his royal throne foment the gate of 
 his house, as we are told in Scripture. But I have that within me 
 that will keep my heart from failing, and I am amaist sure that I 
 will be strengthened to speak the errand I came for." 
 
 " Alas ! alas ! " said Butler, " the kings now-a-days do not sit in 
 the gate to administer justice, as in patriarchal times. I know as 
 little of courts as you do, J-eanie, by experience ; but by reading and 
 report I know, that the King of Britain does everything by means 
 of his ministers." 
 
 "And if they be upright, God-fearing ministers," said Jeanie, "it's 
 sae muckle the better chance for Effie and me." 
 
 " But you do not even understand the most ordinary words re- 
 lating to a court," said Butler; "by the ministry is meant not 
 clergymen, but the king's official servants." 
 
 " Nae doubt," returned Jeanie, " he maun hae a great number 
 mair, I daur to say, than the duchess has at Dalkeith, and great 
 folk's servants are aye mair saucy than themselves. But I'll be 
 decently put on, and I'll offer them a trifle o' siller, as if I came to 
 see the palace. Or, if they scruple that, I'll tell them I'm come on 
 a business of life and death, and then they will surely bring me to 
 speech of the king and queen ? " 
 
 Butler shook his head. " O Jeanie, this is entirely a wild dream. 
 You can never see them but through some great lord's intercession, 
 and I think it is scarce possible even then." 
 
 " Weel, but maybe, I can get that too," said Jeanie, " with a little 
 helping from you." 
 
 " From me, Jeanie ! this is the wildest imagination of all." 
 
 " Ay, but it is not, Reuben. Havena I heard you say, that your 
 grandfather (that my father never likes to hear about) did some 
 
224 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 gude langsyne to the forbear of this MacCallummore, when he was 
 Lord of Lorn ? " 
 
 " He did so," said Butler, eagerly, " and I can prove it.— I will 
 write to the Duke of Argyle— report speaks him a good kindly man, 
 as he is known for a brave soldier and true patriot — I will conjure 
 him to stand between your sister and this cruel fate. There is but 
 a poor chance of success, but we will try all means." 
 
 " We must try all means," replied Jeanie ; " but writing winna do 
 it — a letter canna look, and pray, and beg, and beseech, as the 
 human voice can do to the human heart. A letter's like the music that 
 the ladies have for their spinets — naething but black scores, com- 
 pared to the same tune played or sung. It's word of mouth maun 
 do it, or naething, Reuben." 
 
 " You are right," said Reuben, recollecting his firmness, " and I 
 will hope that Heaven has suggested to your kind heart and firm 
 courage the only possible means of saving the life of this unfortu- 
 nate girl. But, Jeanie, you must not take this most perilous journey 
 alone ; I have an interest in you, and I will not agree that my 
 Jeanie throws herself away. You must even, in the present cir- 
 cumstances, give me a husband's right to protect you, and I will go 
 with you myself on this journey, and assist you to do your duty by 
 your family." 
 
 "Alas, Reuben ! " said Jeanie in her turn, " this must not be ; a 
 pardon will not gie my sister her fair fame again, or make me a bride 
 fitting for an honest man and an usefu' minister. Wha wad mind 
 what he said in the pu'pit, that had to wife the sister of a woman 
 that was condemned for sic wickedness ! " 
 
 " But, Jeanie," pleaded her lover, " I do not believe, and I cannot 
 believe, that Effie has done this deed." 
 
 " Heaven bless ye for saying sae, Reuben," answered Jeanie ; 
 "but she maun bear the blame o't after all." 
 
 ',' But the blame, were it even justly laid on her, does not fall on 
 you." 
 
 " Ah, Reuben, Reuben," replied the young woman, " ye ken it is 
 a blot that spreads to kith and kin. — Ichabod — as my poor father 
 says — the glory is departed from our house ; for the poorest man's 
 house has a glory, where there are true hands, a divine heart, and 
 an honest fame — And the last has gane fra us a'." 
 
 " But, Jeanie, consider your word and plighted faith to me ; and 
 would you undertake such a journey without a man to protect you? 
 ■ — and who should that protecter be but your husband ? " 
 
 " You are kind and good, 'Reuben, and wad take me wi' a' my 
 shame, I doubtna. But ye canna but own that this is no time to 
 marry or be given in marriage. Na, if that suld ever be, it maun 
 be in another and a better season. — And, dear Reuben, ye speak of 
 protecting me on my journey — Alas ! who will protect and take 
 care of you ? — your very limbs tremble with standing for ten minutes 
 on the floor ; how could you undertake a journey as far as Lunnon?" 
 
 " But I am strong — I am well," continued Butler, sinking in his 
 Eeat totally exhausted, " at least I shall be quite well to-morrow." 
 
 " Ye see, and ye ken, ye maun just let me depart," said Jeanie, 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 225 
 
 after a pause ; and then taking his extended hand, and gazing 
 kindly in his face, she added, " It's e'en a grief the mair to me to 
 see you in this way. But ye maun keep up your heart for Jeanie's 
 sake, for if she isna your wife, she will never be the wife of living 
 man. And now gie me the paper for MacCulIammore, and bid God 
 speed me on my way." 
 
 There was something of romance in Jeanie's venturous resolution; 
 yet, on consideration, as it seemed impossible to alter it by per- 
 suasion, or to give her assistance but by advice, Butler, after some 
 further debate, put into her hands the paper she desired, which, 
 with the muster-roll in which it was folded up, were the sole me- 
 morials of the stout and enthusiastic Bible Butler, his grandfather. 
 While Butler sought this document, Jeanie had time to take up his 
 pocket Bible. " I have marked a scripture," she said, as she again 
 laid it down, " with your kylevine pen, that will be useful to us baith. 
 And ye maun tak the trouble, Reuben, to write a' this to my father, 
 for, God help me, I have neither head nor hand for lang letters at 
 ony time, forby now ; and I trust him entirely to you, and I trust 
 you will soon be permitted to see him. And, Reuben, when ye do 
 win to the speech o' him, mind a' the auld man's bits o' ways, for 
 Jeanie's sake ; and dinna speak o' Latin or English terms to him, 
 for he's o' the auld warld, and downa bide to be fashed wi' them, 
 though I dare say he may be wrang. And dinna ye say muckle to 
 him, but set him on speaking himsell, for he'll bring himsell mair 
 comfort that way. And O, Reuben, the poor lassie in yon dungeon ! 
 — but I needna bid your kind heart — gie her what comfort ye can 
 as soon as they will let ye see her — tell her — But I maunna speak 
 mair about her, for I maunna take leave o' ye wi' the tear in my ee, 
 for that wadna be canny. — God bless ye, Reuben ! " 
 
 To avoid so ill an omen she left the room hastily, while her 
 features yet retained the mournful and affectionate smile which she 
 had compelled them to wear, in order to support Butler's spirits. 
 
 It seemed, as if the power of sight, of speech, and of reflection, 
 had left him as she disappeared from the room, which she had 
 entered and retired from so like an apparition. Saddletree, who 
 entered immediately afterwards, overwhelmed him with questions, 
 which he answered without understanding them, and with legal 
 disquisitions, which conveyed to him no iota of meaning. At 
 length the learned burgess recollected that there was a Baron 
 Court to be held at Loanhead that day, and though it was hardly 
 worth while, " he might as weel go to see if there was onything 
 doing, as he was acquainted with the baron-bailie, who was a 
 decent man, and would be glad of a word of legal advice." 
 
 So soon as he departed, Butler flew to the Bible, the last book 
 which Jeanie had touched. To his extreme surprise, a paper, con- 
 taining two or three pieces of gold, dropped from the book. With 
 a black-lead pencil, she had marked the sixteenth and twenty-fifth 
 verses of the thirty-seventh Psalm, — " A little that a righteous man 
 hath, is better than the riches of the wicked." — " I have been young 
 and am now old, yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor 
 his seed begging their bread." 
 
226 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 Deeply impressed with the affectionate delicacy which shrouded 
 its own generosity under the cover of a providential supply to his 
 wants, he pressed the gold to his lips with more ardour than ever 
 the metal was greeted with by a miser. To emulate her devout 
 firmness and confidence seemed now the pitch of his ambition, and 
 his first task was to write an account to David Deans of his 
 daughter's resdlution and journey southward. He studied every 
 sentiment, and even every phrase, which he thought could recon- 
 cile the old man to her extraordinary resolution. The effect which 
 this epistle produced will be hereafter adverted to. Butler com- 
 mitted it to the charge of an honest clown, who had frequent deal- 
 ings with Deans in the sale of his dairy produce, and who readily 
 undertook a journey to Edinburgh, to put the letter into his own 
 hands* 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 " My native land, good-night ! " 
 
 Lord Byron. 
 
 IN the present day, a journey from Edinburgh to London is a 
 matter at once safe, brief, and simple, however inexperienced or 
 unprotected the traveller. Numerous coaches of different rates of 
 charge, and as many packets, are perpetually passing and re- 
 passing betwixt the capital of Britain and her northern sister, so 
 that the most timid or indolent may execute such a journey upon 
 a few hours' notice. But it was different in 1737. So slight and 
 infrequent was the intercourse betwixt London and Edinburgh, 
 that men still alive remember that upon one occasion the mail 
 from the former city arrived at the General Post-Office in Scot- 
 land with only one letter in it.* The usual mode of travelling was 
 by means of post-horses, the traveller occupying one, and his guide 
 another, in which manner, by relays of horses from stage to stage, 
 the journey might be accomplished in a wonderfully short time by 
 those who could endure fatigue. To have the bones shaken to 
 pieces by a constant change of those hacks was a luxury for the 
 rich — the poor were under the necessity of using the mode of con- 
 veyance with which nature had provided them. 
 
 With a strong heart, and a frame patient of fatigue, Jeanie 
 Deans, travelling at the rate of twenty miles a-day, and sometimes 
 farther, traversed the southern part of Scotland, and advanced as 
 far as Durham. 
 
 Hitherto she had been* either among her own country-folk, or 
 those to whom her bare feet and tartan screen were objects too fami- 
 liar to attract much attention. But as she advanced, she perceived 
 that both circumstances exposed Ker to sarcasm and taunts, which 
 she might otherwise have escaped ; arid although in her heart she 
 thought it unkind, and inhospitable, to sneer at a passing stranger, 
 on account of the fashion of her attire, yet she had the good 
 sense to alter those parts of her dress which attracted ill-natured 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 227 
 
 observation. Her checqued screen was deposited carefully in her 
 bundle, and she conformed to the national extravagance of wearing 
 shoe's and stockings for the whole clay. She confessed afterwards, 
 that, " besides the wastrife, it was lang or she could walk sae com- 
 fortably with the shoes as without them ; but there was often a bit 
 saft heather by the roadside, and that helped her weel on." The 
 want of the screen, which was drawn over the head like a veil, she 
 supplied by a bon-grace, as she called it ; a -large straw bonnet, like 
 those worn by the English maidens when labouring in the fields. 
 " But I thought unco shame o' mysell," she said, " the first time I 
 put on a married woman's bon-grace, and me a single maiden." 
 
 With these changes she had little, as she said, to make " her ken- 
 speckle when she didna speak," but her accent and language drew 
 down on her so many jests and gibes, couched in a worse patois by 
 far than her own, that she soon, found it was her interest to talk as 
 little and as seldom as possible. She answered, therefore, civil 
 salutations of chance passengers with a civil curtsey, and chose, 
 with anxious circumspection, such places of repose, as looked 
 at once most decent and sequestered. She found the common 
 people of England, although inferior in courtesy to strangers, such 
 as was then practised in her own more unfrequented country, yet, 
 upon the whole, by no means deficient in the real duties of hospi- 
 tality. She readily obtained food, and shelter, and protection at a 
 very moderate rate, which sometimes the generosity of mine host 
 altogether declined, with a blunt apology, — " Thee hast a long way 
 afore thee, lass ; and I'se ne'er take penny out o' a single woman's 
 purse ; it's the best friend thou can ha^e on the road." 
 
 It often happened, too, that mine hostess was struck with " the 
 tidy, nice Scotch body," and procured her an escort, or a cast in a 
 waggon, for some part of the way, or gave her a useful advice and 
 recommendation respecting her resting-places. 
 
 At York our pilgrim stopped for the best part of a day — partly 
 to recruit her strength, — partly because she had the good luck to 
 obtain a lodging in an inn kept by a countrywoman, — partly to 
 indite two letters to her father and Reuben Butler ; an operation 
 of some little difficulty, her habits being by no means those of 
 literary composition. That to her father was in the following 
 words : 
 
 " Dearest Father, 
 " I make my present pilgrimage more heavy and burdensome, 
 through the sad occasion to reflect that it is without your know- 
 ledge, which, God knows, was far contrary to my heart ; for Scrip- 
 ture says, that ' the vow of the daughter should not be binding 
 without the consent of the father,' wherein it may be I have been 
 guilty to tak this wearie journey without your consent. Never- 
 theless, it was borne in upon my mind that I should be an instru- 
 ment to help my poor sister in this extremity of needcessity, 
 otherwise I wad not, for wealth or for world's gear, or for the haill 
 lands o' Da'keith and Lugton, have dune the like o' this, without 
 your free will and knowledge. O dear father, as ye wad .desire a 
 
 n 
 
228 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 blessing on my journey, and upon your household, speak a word 
 or write a line of comfort to yon poor prisoner. If she has sinned, 
 she has sorrowed and suffered, and ye ken better than me, that we 
 maun forgifi others, as we pray to be forgien. Dear father, for- 
 give my saying this muckle, for it doth not become a young head 
 to instruct grey hairs ; but I am sae far frae ye, that my heart 
 yearns to ye a', and fain wad I hear that ye had forgien her 
 trespass, and sae I nae doubt say mair than may become me. 
 The folk here are civil, and, like the barbarians unto the holy 
 apostle, hae shewn me much kindness ; and there are a sort 
 of chosen people in the land, for they hae some kirks without 
 organs that are like ours, and are called meeting-houses, where the 
 minister preaches without a gown. But most of the country are 
 prelatists, whilk is awfu' to think; and I saw twa' men that were 
 ministers following hunds, as bauld as Roslin or Driden, the young- 
 Laird of Loup-the-dike, or ony wild gallant in Lothian. A sorrowfu' 
 sicht to behold ! O dear father, may a blessing be with your doun- 
 lying and up-rising, and remember in your prayers your affectionate 
 daughter to command, -"Jean Deans." 
 
 A postscript bore, " I learned from a decent woman, a grazier's 
 widow, that they hae a cure for the muir-ill in Cumberland, whilk 
 is ane pint, as they ca't, of yill, whilk is a dribble in comparison of 
 our gawsie Scots pint, and hardly a mutchkin, boil'd wi' sope and 
 hartshorn draps, and toomed doun the creature's throat wi' ane 
 whom. Ye might try it on the bauson-faced year-auld quey ; an 
 it does nae gude, it can do nae ill. — She was a kind woman, and 
 seemed skeely about horned beasts. When I reach Lunnon, I 
 intend to gang to our cousin Mrs. Glass, the tobacconist, at the 
 sign o' the Thistle, wha is so ceevil as to send you doun your 
 spleuchan-fu' anes a year ; and as she must be well ken'd in Lunnon, 
 I doubt not easily to find out where she lives." ' 
 
 Being seduced into betraying our heroine's confidence thus far, 
 we will stretch our communication a step beyond, and impart to 
 the reader her letter to her lover. 
 
 " Mr. Reuben Butler, 
 " Hoping this will find you better, this comes to say, that I have 
 reached this great town safe, and am not wearied with walking, but 
 the better for it. And I have seen many things which I trust to 
 tell you one day, also the muckle kirk of this place ; and all around 
 the city are mills, whilk havena muckle wheels nor mill-dams, but 
 gang by the wind — strange to behold. Ane miller asked me to 
 gang in and see it work, but I wad not, for I am not come to the 
 south to make acquaintance with strangers. I keep the straight 
 road, and just beck if onybody speaks to me ceevilly, and answers 
 naebody with the tong but women of mine ain sect. I wish, Mr. 
 Butler, I kend onything that wad mak ye weel, for they hae mair 
 medicines in this town of York than wad cure a' Scotland, and 
 surely some of them wad be gude for your complaints. If ye 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 229 
 
 had a kindly motherly body to nurse ye, and no to let ye waste 
 yoursell wi' reading — whilk ye read mair than eneugh wi' the 
 bairns in the schule — and to gie ye warm milk in the morning, I 
 wad be mair easy for ye. Dear Mr. Butler, keep a good heart, for 
 we are in the hands of Ane that kens better what is gude for us 
 than we ken what is for oursells. I hae nae doubt to do that for 
 which I am come — I canna doubt it — I winna think to doubt it — 
 because, if I haena full assurance, how shall I bear myself with 
 earnest entreaties in the great folk's presence ? But to ken that 
 ane's purpose is richt, and to make their heart strong, is the way to 
 get through the warst day's darg. The bairns' rime says, the warst 
 blast of the borrowing days * couldna kill the three silly poor hog- 
 lams. And if it be God's pleasure, we that are sindered in sorrow 
 may meet again in joy, even on this hither side of Jordan. I dinna 
 bid ye mind what I said at our partin' arient my poor father and that , 
 misfortunate lassie, for I ken you will do sae, for the sake of Chris- 
 tian charity, whilk is mair than the entreaties of her that is your 
 servant to command, " JEANIE DEANS." 
 
 This letter also had a postscript. "Dear Reuben, If ye think 
 that it wad hae been richt for me to have said mair and kinder 
 things to ye, just think that I hae written sae, since I am sure that 
 I wish a' that is kind and richt to ye and by ye. Ye will think I 
 am turned waster, for I wear clean hose and shoon every day ; but 
 it's the fashion here for decent bodies, and ilka land has its ain 
 land-law. Ower and aboon a', if laughing, days were e'er to come 
 back again till us, ye wad laugh weel to see my round face at the 
 far end of a strae bon-grace, that looks as muckle and round as the 
 middell aisle in Libberton Kirk. But it sheds the sun weel aff, and 
 keeps unceevil folk frae staring as if ane were a worrycow.' I sail 
 tell ye by writ how I come on wi' the Duke of Argyle, when I won 
 up to Lunnon. Direct a line, to say how ye are, to me, to the 
 charge of Mrs. Margaret Glass, tobacconist, at the sign of the 
 Thistle, Lunnon, whilk, if it assures me of your health, will mak 
 my mind sae muckle easier. Excuse bad spelling and writing, as 
 I have ane ill pen." 
 
 The orthography of these epistles may seem to the southron to 
 require a better apology than the letter expresses, though a bad pen 
 was the excuse of a certain Galwegian laird for bad spelling ; but, 
 on behalf of the heroine, I would have them to know, that, thanks 
 to the care of Butler, Jeanie Deans wrote and spelled fifty 
 times better than half the women of rank in Scotland at that 
 period, whose strange orthography and singular diction form the 
 strongest contrast to the good sense which their correspondence 
 usually intimates. 
 
 For the rest, in the tenor of these epistles, Jeanie expressed, 
 perhaps, more hopes, a firmer courage, and better spirits, than she 
 actually felt. But this was with the amiable idea of relieving her 
 father and lover from apprehensions on her account, which she 
 was sensible must greatly add to their other troubles. " If they 
 
230 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 think me weel, and like to do weel," said the poor pilgrim to her- 
 self, " my father will be kinder to Effie, and Butler will be kinder 
 to himself. For I ken weel that they will think mair o' me than I 
 do o' mysell." 
 
 Accordingly, she sealed her letters carefully, and put them into 
 the post-office with her own hand, after many inquiries concerning 
 the time in which they were likely to reach Edinburgh. When 
 this duty was performed, she readily accepted her landlady's 
 pressing invitation to dine with her, and remain till the next 
 morning. The hostess, as we have said, was her countrywoman, 
 and the eagerness with which Scottish people meet, communicate, 
 and, to the extent of their power, assist each other, although it is 
 often objected to us as a prejudice and narrowness of sentiment, 
 seems, on the contrary, to arise from a most justifiable and 
 honourable feeling of patriotism, combined with a conviction, 
 which, if undeserved, would long since have been confuted by 
 experience, that the habits and principles of the nation are a sort 
 of guarantee for the character of the individual. At any rate, if 
 the extensive influence of this national partiality be considered as 
 an additional tie, binding man to man, and calling forth the good 
 offices of such as can render them to the countryman who happens 
 to need them, we think it must be found to exceed, as an active 
 and efficient motive to generosity, that more impartial and wider 
 principle of general benevolence, which we have sometimes seen 
 pleaded as an excuse for assisting no individual whatever. 
 
 Mrs. Bickerton, lady of the ascendant of the Seven Stars, in 
 the Castle-gate, York, was deeply infected with the unfortunate 
 prejudices of her country. Indeed, she displayed so much kind- 
 ness to Jeanie Deans (because she herself, being a Merse woman, 
 marched with Mid- Lothian, in which Jeanie was born), showed such 
 motherly regard to her, and such anxiety for her farther progress, 
 that Jeanie thought herself safe, though by temper sufficiently 
 cautious, in communicating her whole story to her. 
 
 Mrs. Bickerton raised her hands and eyes at the .recital, and 
 exhibited much wonder and pity. But she also gave some effectual 
 good advice. 
 
 She required to know the strength of Jeanie's purse, reduced by 
 her deposit at Libberton, and the necessary expense of her journey, 
 to about fifteen pounds. " This," she said, " would do very well, 
 providing she would carry it a' safe to London. 1 ' 
 
 " Safe ! " answered Jeanie ; " I'se warrant my carrying it safe, 
 bating the needful expenses." 
 
 " Ay, but highwaymen, lassie," said Mrs. Bickerton ; " for ye are 
 come into a more civilized, that is to say, a more roguish country 
 than the north, and how ye are to get forward, I do not profess to 
 know. If ye could wait here eight days, our waggons would go 
 up, and I would recommend you to Joe Broadwheel, who would 
 see you safe to the Swan and two Necks. And dinna sneeze at 
 Joe, if he should be for drawing up wi' you" (continued 
 Mrs. Bickerton, her acquired English mingling with her national 
 or original dialect), " he's a handy boy, and a wanter, and no lad 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 231 
 
 better thought o' on the road ; and the English make good hus- 
 oands enough, witness my poor man, Moses Bickerton, as is i' the 
 kirkyard." 
 
 Jeanie hastened to say, that she could not possibly wait for the 
 setting forth of Joe Broadwheel ; being internally by no means 
 gratified with the idea of becoming the object of his attention 
 during the journey. 
 
 " Aweel, lass," answered the good landlady, "then thou must pickle 
 in thine ain poke-nook, and buckle thy girdle thine ain gate. But 
 take my advice, and hide thy gold in thy stays, and keep a piece 
 or two and some silver, in case thou be'st spoke withal ; for there's 
 as wud lads haunt within a day's walk from hence, as on the braes 
 of Doun in Perthshire. And, lass, thou maunna gang staring 
 through Lunnon, asking wha kens Mrs. Glass at the sign o' the 
 Thistle ; marry, they would laugh thee to scorn. But gang thou to 
 this honest man," and she put a direction into Jeanie's hand, " he 
 kens maist part of the sponsible Scottish folk in the city, and he 
 will find out your friend for thee." 
 
 Jeanie took the little introductory letter with sincere thanks ; 
 but, something alarmed on the subject of the highway robbers, her 
 mind recurred to what Ratcliffe had mentioned to her, and briefly 
 relating the circumstances which placed a document so extra- 
 ordinary in her hands, she put the paper he had given her into the 
 hand of Mrs. Bickerton. 
 
 The Lady of the Seven Stars did not, indeed, ring a bell, 
 because such was not the fashion of the time, but she whistled 
 on a silver-call, which was hung by her side, and a tight serving- 
 maiden entered the room. 
 
 " Till Dick Ostler to come here," said Mrs. Bickerton. 
 
 Dick Ostler accordingly made his appearance ; — a queer, know- 
 ing, shambling animal, with a hatchet-face, a squint, a game-arm, 
 and a limp. 
 . " Dick Ostler," said Mrs. Bickerton, in a tone of authority that 
 showed she was (at least by adoption) Yorkshire too, "thou 
 knowest most people and most things o' the road." 
 
 " Eye, eye, God help me, mistress," said Dick, shrugging his 
 shoulders betwixt a repentant and a knowing expression — " Eye ! 
 I ha' know'd a thing or twa i' ma day, mistress." He looked sharp 
 and laughed — looked grave and sighed; as one who was prepared 
 to take the matter either way. 
 
 "Kenst thou this wee bit paper amang the rest, man?" said 
 Mrs. Bickerton, handing him the protection which Ratcliffe had 
 given Jeanie Deans. 
 
 When Dick had looked at the- paper, he winked with one eye, 
 extended his grotesque mouth from ear to ear, like a navigable 
 canal, scratched his head powerfully, and then said, " Ken ! —ay — 
 maybe we ken summut, an it werena for harm to him, mistress." 
 
 " None in the world," said Mrs. Bickerton ; " only a dram of 
 Hollands to thyself, man, an thou will't speak." 
 
 " Why, then," said Dick, giving the head-band of his breeches 
 a knowing hoist with one hand, and kicking out one foot behind 
 
232 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 him to accommodate the adjustment of that important habiliment, 
 " I dares to say the pass will be ken'd weel eneugh on the road, an 
 that be all." 
 
 " But what sort of a lad was he ? " said Mrs. Bickerton, winking 
 to Jeanie, as proud of her knowing ostler. 
 
 " Why, what ken I ? — Jim the Rat — why he was Cock o' the 
 North within this twelmonth — he and Scotch Wilson, Handie 
 Dandie, as they called him — but he's been out o' this country a 
 while, as I rackon ; but ony gentleman, as keeps the road o' this 
 side Stamford, will respect Jim's pass." 
 
 Without asking further questions, the landlady filled Dick Ostler 
 a bumper of Hollands. He ducked with his head and shoulders, 
 scraped with his more advanced hoof, bolted the alcohol, to use the 
 learned phrase, and withdrew to his own domains. 
 
 " I would advise thee, Jeanie," said Mrs. Bickerton, " an thou 
 meetest with ugly customers o' the road, to show them this bit 
 paper, for it will serve thee, assure thyself." 
 
 A neat little supper concluded the evening. The exported 
 Scotswoman, Mrs. Bickerton by name, ate heartily of one or two 
 seasoned dishes, drank some sound old ale, and a glass of stiff 
 negus ; while she gave Jeanie a history of her gout, admiring how 
 it was possible that she, whose fathers and mothers for many 
 generations had been farmers in Lammermuir, could have come 
 by a disorder so totally unknown to them. Jeanie did not choose 
 to offend her friendly landlady, by speaking her mind on the pro- 
 bable origin of this complaint ; but she thought on the flesh-pots 
 of Egypt, and, in spite of all entreaties to better fare, made her 
 evening meal upon vegetables, with a glass of fair water. 
 
 Mrs. Bickerton assured her, that the acceptance of any reckon- 
 ing was entirely out of the question, furnished her with credentials 
 to her correspondent in London, and to several inns upon the road 
 where she had some influence or interest, reminded her of the pre- 
 cautions she should adopt for concealing her money, and as she 
 was to depart early in the morning, took leave of her very affec- 
 tionately, taking her word that she would visit her on her return to 
 Scotland, and tell her how she had managed, and that summum 
 bonum for a gossip, "all how and about it." This Jeanie faithfully 
 promised. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 And Need and Misery, Vice and Danger, bind, 
 In sad alliance, each degraded mind. 
 
 As our traveller set out early on the ensuing morning to prose- 
 cute her journey, and was in the act of leaving the inn-yard Dick 
 Ostler, who either had risen early or neglected to go to bed, either 
 circumstance being equally incident to his calling, hollowed out 
 after her, — " The top of the morning to you, Moggie. Have a care 
 o' Gunnerby Hill, young one. Robin Hood's dead and gwone, but 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 2.33 
 
 theie be takers yet in the vale of Bever." Jeanie looked at him as 
 if to request a farther explanation, but, with a leer, a shuffle, and a 
 shrug, inimitable (unless by Emery), Dick turned again to the raw- 
 boned steed which he was currying, and sung as he employed the 
 comb and brush, — 
 
 " Robin Hood he was a yeoman good, 
 And his bow was of trusty yew ; 
 And if Robin said stand on the King's lea-land 
 Pray, why should not we say so too ? " 
 
 Jeanie pursued her journey without further inquiry, for there was 
 nothing in Dick's manner that inclined her to prolong their con- 
 ference. A painful day's journey brought her to Ferrybridge, the 
 best inn, then and since, upon the great northern road ; and an in- 
 troduction from Mrs. Bickerton, added to her own simple and 
 quiet manners, so propitiated the landlady of the Swan in her 
 favour, that the good dame procured her the convenient accom- 
 modation of a pillion and post-horse then returning to Tuxford, so 
 that she accomplished, upon the second day after leaving York, the 
 longest journey she had yet made. She was a good deal fatigued 
 by a mode of travelling to which she was less accustomed than to 
 walking, and it was considerably later than usual on the ensuing 
 morning that she felt herself able to resume her pilgrimage. At 
 noon the hundred-armed Trent, and the blackened ruins of Newark 
 Castle, demolished in the great civil war, lay before her. It may 
 easily be supposed, that Jeanie had no curiosity to make anti- 
 quarian researches, but, entering the town, went straight to the inn 
 to which she had been directed at Ferrybridge. While she pro- 
 cured some refreshment, she observed the girl who brought it to 
 her, looked at her several times with fixed and peculiar interest, 
 and at last, to her infinite surprise, inquired if her name was not 
 Deans, and if she was not a Scotchwoman, going to London upon 
 justice business. Jeanie, with all her simplicity of character, had 
 some of the caution'of her country, and, according to Scottish 
 universal custom, she answered the question by another, requesting 
 the girl would tell her why she asked these questions ? 
 
 The Maritornes of the Saracen's Head, Newark, replied, " Two 
 women had passed that morning, who had made inquiries after one 
 Jeanie Deans, travelling to London on such an errand, and could 
 scarce be persuaded that she had not passed on." 
 
 Much surprised, and somewhat alarmed, (for what is inexplicable 
 is usually alarming,) Jeanie^questioned the wench about the par- 
 ticular appearance of these two women, but could only learn that 
 the one was aged, and the other young ; that the latter was the 
 taller, and that the former spoke most, and seemed to maintain an 
 authority over her companion, and that both spoke with the 
 Scottish accent. 
 
 This conveyed no information whatever, and with an indescrib- 
 able presentiment of evil designed towards her, Jeanie adopted 
 the resolution of taking post-horses for the next s,tage. In this, 
 however, she could not be gratified ; some accidental circumstances 
 
234 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 had occasioned what is called a run upon the road, and the land- 
 ' lord could not accommodate her with a guide and horses. After 
 waiting some time, in hopes that a pair of horses that had gone 
 southward would return in time for her use, she at length, feeling 
 ashamed at her own pusillanimity, resolved to prosecute her journey- 
 in her usual manner. 
 
 " It was all plain road," she was assured, " except a high moun- 
 tain, called Gunnerby Hill, about three miles from Grantham, 
 which was her stage for the night." 
 
 " I'm glad to hear there's a hill," said Jeanie, " for baith my 
 sight and my very feet are weary o' sic tracts o' level grund— it 
 looks a' the way between this and York as if a' the land had been 
 trenched and levelled, whilk is very wearisome to my Scotch een. 
 When I lost sight of a muckle blue hill they ca' Ingleboro', I 
 thought I hadna a friend left in this strange land." 
 
 " As for the matter of that, young woman," said mine host, " an 
 you be so fond o' hill, I carena an thou couldst carry Gunnerby 
 away with thee in thy lap, for it's a murder to post-horses. But 
 here's to thy journey, and mayst thou win well through it, for thou 
 is a bold and a canny lass." 
 
 So saying, he took a powerful pull at a solemn tankard of home- 
 brewed ale. 
 
 " I hope there is nae bad company on the road, sir?" said 
 Jeanie. 
 
 " Why, when it's clean without them I'll thatch Groby pool wi' 
 pancakes. But there arena sae mony now ; and since they hae 
 lost Jim the Rat, they hold together no better than the men of 
 Marsham when they lost their common. Take a drop ere thou 
 goest," he concluded, offering her the tankard ; " thou wilt get nae- 
 thing at night save Grantham gruel, nine grots and a gallon of 
 water." 
 
 Jeanie courteously declined the tankard, and inquired what was 
 her " lawing " ? 
 
 "Thy lawing ? Heaven help thee, wench ! what ca'st thou that?" 
 
 " It is — I was wanting to ken what was to pay," replied Jeanie. 
 
 " Pay ? Lord help thee — why nought, woman — we hae drawn 
 no liquor but a gill o' beer, and the Saracen's Head can spare a 
 mouthful o' meat to a stranger like o' thee, that cannot speak 
 Christian language. So here's to thee once more. The same 
 again, quoth Mark of .Bellgrave," and he took another profound pull 
 at the tankard. 
 
 The travellers who have visited Newark more lately, will not fail 
 to remember the remarkably civil and gentlemanly manners of the 
 person who now keeps the principal inn there, and may find some 
 amusement in contrasting them with those of his more rough pre- 
 decessor. But we believe it will be found that the polish has worn 
 off none of the real worth of the metal. 
 
 Taking leave of her Lincolnshire Gaius, Jeanie resumed her 
 solitary walk, and was somewhat alarmed when evening and twi- 
 light overtook her in the open ground which extends to the foot of 
 Gunnerby Hill, and is intersected with patches of copse and with 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 235 
 
 swampy spots. The extensive commons on the north road, most 
 of which are now enclosed, and in general a relaxed state of police, 
 exposed the traveller to a highway robbery in a degree which is 
 now unknown, except in the immediate vicinity of the metropolis. 
 Aware of this circumstance, Jeanie mended her pace when she 
 heard the trampling of a horse behind, and instinctively drew to 
 one side of the road, as if to allow as much room for the rider to 
 pass as might be possible. When the animal came up, she found 
 that it was bearing two women, the one placed on a side-saddle, the 
 other on a pillion behind her, as may still occasionally be seen in 
 England. 
 
 " A braw good-nicht to ye, Jeanie Deans," said the foremost 
 female as the horse passed our heroine ; " what think , ye o' yon 
 bonny hill yonder, lifting its brow to the moon ? Trow ye yon's 
 the gate to heaven, that ye are sae fain of? — maybe we will win 
 there the nicht yet, God sain us, though our minny here's rather 
 driegh in the upgang." 
 
 The speaker kept changing her seat in the saddle, and half stop- 
 ping the horse, as she brought her body round, while the woman 
 that sat behind her on the pillion seemed to urge her on, in words 
 which Jeanie heard But imperfectly. 
 
 " Haud your tongue, ye moon-raised b ! what is your business 
 
 with , or with heaven or hell either ? " 
 
 " Troth, mither, no muckle wi' heaven, I doot, considering wha 
 I carry ahint me — and as for hell, it will fecht its ain battle at its 
 ain time, I'se be bound. — Come, naggie, trot awa', man, an as thou 
 wert a broomstick, for a witch rides thee — 
 
 ' Wi' my curtch on my foot, and my shoe on my hand, 
 
 I glance like the wildfire through brugh and through land.'" 
 
 The tramp of the horse, and the increasing distance, drowned 
 the rest-of her song, but Jeanie heard for some time the inarticulate 
 sounds ring along the waste. 
 
 Our pilgrim remained stupified with undefined apprehensions. 
 The being named by her name in so wild a manner, and in a 
 strange country, without farther explanation or communing, by a 
 person who thus strangely flitted forward and disappeared before 
 her, came near to the supernatural sounds in Comus : — 
 
 " The airy tongues, which syllable men's names 
 On sands, and shores, and desert wildernesses." 
 
 And although widely different in features, deportment, and rank, 
 .from the Lady of that enchanting masque, the continuation of the 
 passage may be happily applied to Jeanie Deans .upon this singular 
 alarm : — 
 
 " These thoughts may startle well, but not astound 
 The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended 
 By a strong siding champion — Conscience." 
 
 In fact, it was, with the recollection of the affectionate and duti- 
 ful errand on which she was engaged, her right, if such a word 
 
236 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 could be applicable, to expect protection in a task so meritorious. 
 She had not advanced much farther, with a mind calmed by these 
 reflections, when she was disturbed by a new and more instant 
 subject of terror. Two men, who had been lurking among some 
 copse, started up as she advanced, and met her on the road in a 
 menacing manner. " Stand and deliver," said one of them, a short 
 stout fellow in a smock-frock, such as are worn by waggoners. 
 
 "The woman," said the other, a tall thin figure, "does not 
 understand the words of action. — Your money, my precious, or 
 your life ! " 
 
 " I have but very little money, gentlemen," said poor Jeanie, 
 tendering that portion which she had separated from her principal 
 stock, and kept apart for such an emergency ; " but if you are re- 
 solved to have it, to be sure you must have it." 
 
 " This won't do, my girl. D — n me, if it shall pass ! " said the 
 shorter ruffian ; " do ye think gentlemen are to hazard their lives 
 on the road to be cheated in this way ? We'll have every farthing 
 you have got, or we will strip you to the skin, curse me." 
 
 His companion, who seemed to have something like compassion 
 for the horror which Jeanie's countenance now expressed, said, 
 "No, no, Tom, this is one of the precious sisters, and we'll take her 
 word, for once, without putting her to the stripping proof. — Hark 
 ye, my lass, if you'll look up to heaven, and say, this is the last 
 penny you have about ye, why, hang it, we'll let you pass." 
 
 " I am not free," answered Jeanie, " to say what I have about 
 me, gentlemen, for there's life and death depends on my journey ; 
 but if you leave me as much as finds me bread and water, I'll be 
 satisfied, and thank you, and pray for you." 
 
 " D — n your prayers ! " said the shorter fellow, " that's a coin 
 that won't pass with us ; " and at the same time he made a motion 
 to seize her. 
 
 " Stay, gentlemen," Ratcliffe's pass suddenly occurring to her ; 
 " perhaps you know this paper." 
 
 " What devil is she after ( now, Frank?" said the more savage 
 ruffian — "Do you look at it, for, d — n me if I could read it if it 
 were for the benefit of my clergy." 
 
 " This is a jark from Jim Ratcliffe," said the taller, having looked 
 at the bit of paper. " The wench must pass by our cutter's law." 
 
 " I say no," answered his companion ; " Rat has left the lay, and 
 turned bloodhound, they say." 
 
 " We may need a good turn from him all the same," said the 
 taller ruffian again. 
 
 "But what are we to do then?" said the shorter man— "We 
 promised, you know, to strip the wench, and send her begging 
 tack to her own beggarly country, and now you are for letting her 
 go on." 
 
 " I did not say that," said the other fellow, and whispered to his 
 companion, who replied, " Be alive about it then, and don't keep 
 chattering till some travellers come up to nab us." 
 
 "You must follow us off the road, young woman," said the 
 taller. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 237 
 
 " For the love of God ! " exclaimed Jeanie, " as you were born of 
 woman, dinna ask me to leave the road ! rather take all I have in 
 the world." 
 
 "What the devil is the wench afraid of?" said the other fellow. 
 " I tell you you shall come to no harm ; but if you will not leave 
 the road and come with us, d — n me, but I'll beat your brains out 
 where you stand." 
 
 " Thou art a rough bear, Tom," said his companion. — " An ye 
 touch her, I'll give ye a shake by the collar shall make the Leicester 
 beans rattle in thy guts. — Never mind him, girl ; I will not allow 
 him to lay a 'finger on you, if you walk quietly on with us ; but 
 if you keep jabbering there, d — n me, but I'll leave him to settle it 
 with you." 
 
 This threat conveyed all that is terrible to the imagination of 
 poor Jeanie, who saw in him that " was of milder mood " her only 
 protection from the most brutal treatment. She, therefore, not only 
 followed him, but even held him by the sleeve, lest he should' 
 escape from her ; and the fellow, hardened as he was, seemed 
 something touched by these marks of confidence, and repeatedly- 
 assured her, that he would suffer her to receive no harm. 
 
 They conducted their prisoner in a direction leading more and 
 more from the public road, but she observed that they kept a sort 
 of track or by-path, which relieved her from part of her apprehen- 
 sions, which would have been greatly increased had they not 
 seemed to follow a determined and ascertained route. After about 
 half-an-hour's walking, all three in profound silence, they ap- 
 proached an old barn, which stood on the edge of some cultivated 
 ground, but remote from everything like a habitation. It was itself, 
 however, tenanted, for there was light in the windows. , 
 
 One of the footpads scratched at the door, which was opened by 
 a female, and they entered with their unhappy prisoner. An old 
 woman, who was preparing food by the assistance of a stifling fire 
 of lighted charcoal, asked them, in the name of the devil, what they 
 brought the wench there for, and why they did not strip her and 
 turn her abroad on the common ?" 
 
 " Come, come, Mother Blood," said the tall man, "we'll do what's 
 right to oblige you, and we'll do no more ; we are bad enough, but 
 not such as you would make us— devils incarnate." 
 
 " She has got a jark from Jim Ratcliffe," said the short fellow, 
 " and Frank here won't hear of our putting her through the mill." 
 
 " No, that I will not, by G— d ! " answered Frank ; " but if old 
 Mother Blood could keep her here for a little while, or send her 
 back to Scotland, without hurting her, why, I see no harm in that 
 —not I." 
 
 " I'll tell you what, Frank Levitt," said the old woman, " if you 
 call me Mother Blood again, I'll paint this gully " (and she held a 
 knife up as if about to make good her threat) " in the best blood in 
 your body, my bonny boy." 
 
 " The price of ointment must be up in the north," said Frank, 
 " that puts Mother Blood so much out of humour." 
 
 Without a moment's hesitation the fury darted her knife at him 
 
238 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 with the vengeful dexterity of a wild Indian. As he was on his 
 guard, he avoided the missile by a sudden motion of his head, but 
 it whistled past his ear, and stuck deep in the clay wall of a parti- 
 tion behind. 
 
 " Come, come, mother," said the robber, seizing her by both 
 wrists, " I shall teach you who's master;" and so saying, he forced 
 the hag backwards by main force, who strove vehemently until she 
 sunk on a bunch of straw, and then letting go her hands, he held 
 up his finger towards her in the menacing posture by which a 
 maniac is intimidated -by his keeper. It appeared to produce the 
 desired effect ; for she did not attempt to, rise from the seat on 
 which he had placed her, or to resume any measures of actual 
 violence, but wrung her withered hands with impotent rage, and 
 brayed and howled like a demoniac. 
 
 " I will keep my promise with you, you old devil," said Frank ; 
 " the wench shall not go forward on the London road, but I will not 
 have you touch a hair of her head, if it were but for your insolence." 
 
 This intimation seemed to compose in some degree the vehement 
 passion of the old hag ; and while her exclamations and howls sunk 
 into a low, maundering, growling tone of voice, another personage 
 was added to this singular party. 
 
 " Eh, Frank Levitt," said this new-comer, who entered with a 
 hop, step, and jump, which at once conveyed her from the door 
 into the centre of the party, " were ye killing our mother ? or were 
 ye cutting the gruntei J s weasand that Tam brought in this morn- 
 ing ? or have ye been reading your prayers backward, to bring up 
 my auld acquaintance the deil amang ye ? " 
 
 The tone of the speaker was so particular, that Jeanie immedi- 
 ately recognized the woman who had rode foremost of the pair 
 which passed her just before she met the robbers ; a circumstance 
 which greatly increased her terror, as it served to show that the 
 mischief designed against her was premeditated, though by whom, 
 or for what cause, she was totally at a loss to conjecture. From the 
 style of her conversation, the reader also may probably acknow- 
 ledge in this female an old acquaintance in the earlier part of our 
 narrative. 
 
 " Out, ye mad devil ! " said Tom, whom she had disturbed in the 
 middle of a draught of some liquor with which he had found means 
 of accommodating himself ; " betwixt your Bess of Bedlam pranks 
 and your dam's frenzies, a man might live quieter in the devil's ken 
 than here." — And he again resumed the broken jug out of which he 
 had been drinking. 
 
 " And wha's this o't? " said the mad woman, dancing up to Jeanie 
 ' Deans, who, although- in great terror, yet watched the scene with a 
 resolution to let nothing pass unnoticed which might be service- 
 able in assisting her to escape, or informing her as to the true 
 nature of her situation, and the danger attending it, — " Wha's this 
 o't ? " again exclaimed Madge Wildfire. " Douce Davie Deans, the 
 auld doited whig body's daughter, in a gipsy's barn, and the night 
 setting in ! this is a sight for sair een ! — Eh, sirs, the falling off o' 
 the godly ! — and the t'other sister's in the Tolbooth of Edinburgh ; 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 239 
 
 I am very sorry for her, for my share — it's my mother wusses ill to 
 her, and no me — though maybe I hae as muckle cause." 
 
 " Hark ye, Madge," said the taller ruffian, " you have not such a 
 touch of the devil's blood as the hag your mother, who may be his 
 dam for what I know — take this young woman to your kennel, and 
 do not let the devil enter, though he should ask in God's 
 name." 
 
 " Ou ay ; that I will, Frank," said Madge, taking hold of Jeanie 
 by the arm, and pulling her along ; " for it's no for decent Christian 
 young leddies, like her and me, to be keeping the like o' you and 
 Tyburn Tam company at this time o' mcht. Sae gude-e'en to 'e, 
 sirs, and mony o' them : and , may ye a' sleep till the hangman 
 wauken ye, and then it will be weel for the country." 
 
 She then, as her wild fancy seemed suddenly to prompt her, 
 walked demurely towards her mother, who, seated by the charcoal 
 fire, with the reflection of the red light on her withered and distorted 
 features marked by every evil passion, seemed the very picture of 
 Hecate at her infernal rites ; and suddenly dropping on her knees, 
 said, with the manner of a six years' old child, " Mammie, hear me 
 say my prayers before I go to bed, and say God bless my bonny 
 face, as ye used to do lang syne." 
 
 " The deil flay the hide o' it to sole his brogues wi' ! " said the old 
 lady, aiming a buffet at the supplicant, in answer to her duteous 
 request. 
 
 The blow missed Madge, who, being probably acquainted by ex- 
 perience with the mode in which her mother was wont to confer her 
 maternal benedictions, slipt out of arm's length with great dex- 
 terity and quickness. The hag then started up, and seizing a pair 
 of old, fire-tongs, would have amended her motion, by beating out 
 the brains either of her daughter or Jeanie, (she did not seem 
 greatly to care which,) when her hand was once more arrested by 
 the man whom they called Frank Levitt, who, seizing her by the 
 shoulder, flung her from him with great violence, exclaiming, 
 " What, Mother Damnable — again, and in my sovereign presence ! 
 — Hark ye, Madge of Bedlam, get to your hole with your play- 
 fellow, or we shall have the devil to pay here, and nothing to pay 
 him with." 
 
 Madge took Levitt's advice, retreating as fast as she could, and 
 dragging Jeanie along with her into a sort of recess, partitioned off 
 from the rest of the barn, and filled with straw, from which it ap- 
 peared, that it was intended for the purpose of slumber. The 
 moonlight shone, through an open hole, upon a pillion, a pack- 
 saddle, and one or two wallets, the travelling furniture of Madge 
 and her amiable mother. — " Now, saw ye e'er in your life," said 
 Madge, " sae dainty a chamber of deas ? see as the moon shines 
 doun sae caller on the fresh strae ! There's no a pleasanter cell in 
 .Bedlam, for as braw a place as it is on the outside. — Were ye ever 
 in Bedlam?" 
 
 " No," answered Jeanie, faintly, appalled by the question, and 
 the way in which it was put, yet willing to soothe her insane com- 
 panion, being in circumstances so unhappily precarious, that even 
 
3+0 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 the society of this gibbering mad woman seemed a species of pro- 
 tection. 
 
 " Never in Bedlam ! " said Madge, as if with some surprise. — 
 " But ye'll hae been in the cells at Edinburgh ? " 
 
 " Never," repeated Jeanie. 
 
 " Weel, I think thae daft carles the magistrates send naebody to 
 Bedlam but me— thae maun hae an unco respect for me, for when- 
 ever I am brought to them, they aye hae me back to Bedlam. But 
 troth, Jeanie," (she said this in a very confidential tone,) " to tell ye 
 my private mind about it, I think ye are at nae great loss ; for the 
 keeper's a cross patch, and he maun hae it a' his ain gate, to be 
 sure, or he make's the place waur than hell. I often tell him he's 
 the daftest in a' the house — But what are they making sic a skirl- 
 ing for ? — Deil ane o' them's get in here — it wadna be mensefu' ! 
 I will sit wi' my back again the door ; it winna be that easy 
 stirring me." 
 
 " Madge ! "— " Madge ! "— " Madge Wildfire ! "— " Madge devil ! 
 what have you done with the horse ? " was repeatedly asked by the 
 men without. 
 
 " He's e'en at his supper, puir thing," answered Madge; " deil an 
 ye were at yours too, an it were scauding brimstane, and then we 
 wad hae less o' your din." 
 
 " His supper ! " answered the more sulky ruffian. — " What d'ye 
 mean by that ? — Tell me where he is, or I will knock your Bedlam 
 brains out ! " 
 
 " He's in Gaffer Gabblewood's wheat-close, an ye maun ken." 
 
 " His wheat-close, you crazed jilt ! " answered the other, with an 
 accent of great indignation. 
 
 " O, dear Tyburn Tarn, man, what ill will the blades of the young 
 wheat do to the puir naig ? " 
 
 " That is not the question," said the other robber ; " but what 
 the country will say to us to-morrow, when they see him in such 
 quarters. — Go, Tom, and bring him in ; and avoid the soft ground, 
 my lad ; leave no hoof-track behind you." 
 
 " I think you give me always the fag of it, whatever is to be 
 done," grumbled his companion. 
 
 " Leap, Laurence, you're long enough," said the other ; and the 
 fellow left the barn accordingly, without further remonstrance. 
 
 In the meanwhile, Madge had arranged herself for repose on the 
 straw ; but still in a half-sitting posture, with her back resting 
 against the door of the hovel, which, as it opened inwards, was in 
 this manner kept shut by the weight of her person. 
 
 " There's mair shifts by stealing, Jeanie," said Madge Wildfire ; 
 " though whiles I can hardly get our mother to think sae. Wha 
 wad hae thought but mysell of making a bolt of my ain back-bane ? 
 But it's no sae strong as thae that I hae seen in the Tolbooth at 
 Edinburgh. The hammermen of Edinburgh are to my mind afore 
 the world for making stancheons, ring-bolts, fetter-bolts, bars, and 
 locks. And they arena that bad at girdles for carcakes neither, though 
 the Cu'ross hammermen have the gree for that. My mother had 
 ance a bonny Cu'ross girdle, and I thought to have baked carcakes 
 
"I 
 
 I 
 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 241 
 
 on it for my puir wean that's dead and gane nae fair way— but we 
 maun a' dee, ye ken, Jeanie — You Cameronian bodies ken that 
 brawlies ; and ye're for making a hell upon earth that ye may be 
 less unwilling to part wi' it. But as touching Bedlam that ye were 
 . speaking about, I'se ne'er recommend it muckle the tae gate or the 
 ither, be it richt — be it'wrang. But ye ken what the sang says." 
 And, pursuing the unconnected and floating wanderings of her 
 mind, she sang aloud — 
 
 " In the bonny cells 'of Bedlam, 
 
 Ere I was ane and twenty, 
 I had hempen bracelets strong, 
 And merry whips, ding-dong, 
 
 And prayer and fasting plenty." 
 
 " Weel, Jeanie, I am something herse the nicht, and I canna sing 
 muckle majr ; and troth, I think, I am gaun to sleep." 
 
 She dropped her head on her breast, a posture from which Jeanie, 
 who would have given the world for an opportunity of quiet to con- 
 sider the means and the probability of her escape, was very careful 
 not to disturb her. After nodding, however, for a minute or two, 
 with her eyes half closed, the unquiet and restless spirit of her 
 malady again assailed Madge. She raised her head, and spoke, 
 but with a lowered tone, which was again gradually overcome by 
 drowsiness, to which the fatigue of a day's journey on horseback 
 had probably given unwonted occasion, — " I dinna ken what maks 
 me sae sleepy — I amaist never sleep till my bonny Lady Moon 
 gangs till her bed — mair by token, when she's at the full, ye ken, 
 rowing aboon us yonder in her grand silver coach — I hae danced 
 to her my lane sometimes for very joy — and whiles dead folk came 
 and danced wi' me — the like o' Jock Porteous, or ony body I had 
 ken'd when I was living — for ye maun ken I was ance dead my- 
 sell." Here the poor maniac sung in a low and wild tone, 
 
 " My banes are buried in yon kirkyard 
 
 Sae far ayont the sea, 
 And it is but my blithesome ghaist 
 That's speaking now to thee. 
 
 " But, after a', Jeanie, my woman, naebodykens weel wha's living 
 and wha's dead — or wha's gane to Fairyland — there's another ques- 
 tion. Whiles I think my puir bairn's dead — ye ken very weel it's 
 buried — but that signifies nothing. I have had it on my knee a 
 hundred times, and a hundred till that, since it was buried — and 
 how could that be were it dead, ye ken ; — it's merely impossible." — 
 And here, some conviction half-overcoming the reveries of her 
 imagination, she burst into a fit of crying and ejaculation, " Wae's 
 me ! wae's me ! wae's me ! " till at length she moaned and sobbed 
 herself into a deep sleep, which was soon intimated by her breath- 
 ing hard, leaving Jeanie to her own melancholy reflections and 
 observations. 
 
243 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 Bind her quickly ; or, by this steel, 
 
 I'll tell, although I truss for company. Fletcher. 
 
 The imperfect light which shone into the window enabled Jeanie 
 to see that there was scarcely any chance of making her escape in 
 that direction ; for the aperture was high in the wall, and so narrow, 
 that, could she have climbed up to it, she might well doubt whether 
 it would have permitted her to pass her body through it. An un- 
 successful attempt to escape would be sure to draw down worse 
 treatment than she now received, and she, therefore, resolved to 
 watch her opportunity carefully ere making such a perilous effort. 
 For this purpose she applied herself to the ruinou,s clay partition, 
 which divided the hovel in which she now was from the rest of the 
 waste barn. It was decayed and full of cracks and chinks, one of 
 which she enlarged with her fingers, cautiously and without noise, 
 until she could obtain a plain view of the old hag and the taller 
 i-affian, whom they called Levitt, seated together beside the decayed 
 fire of charcoal, and apparently engaged in close conference. She 
 was at 'first terrified by the sight, for the features of the old woman 
 had a hideous cast of hardened and inveterate malice and ill- 
 humour, and those of the man, though naturally less unfavour- 
 able, were such as corresponded well with licentious habits and a 
 lawless profession. 
 
 " But I remembered," said Jeanie, "my worthy father's tales of a 
 winter evening, how he was confined with the blessed martyr Mr. 
 James Renwick, who lifted up the fallen standard of the true re- 
 formed Kirk of Scotland, after the worthy and renowned Daniel 
 Cameron, our last blessed banner-man, had fallen among the 
 swords of the wicked at Airsmoss, and how the very hearts of the 
 wicked malefactors and murderers, whom they were confined 
 withal, were melted like wax at the sound of their doctrine : and I 
 bethought mysell, that the same help that was wi' them in their 
 straiht, wad be wi' me in mine, an I could but watch the Lord's 
 time and opportunity for delivering my feet from their snare ; and 
 I minded the Scripture of the blessed Psalmist, whilkhe insisteth 
 on, as weel in the forty-second as in the forty-third psalm', ' Why 
 art thou cast down, O my soul, and why art thou disquieted within 
 me ? Hope in God, for I shall yet praise Him, who is the health 
 of my countenance, and my God.' " 
 
 Strengthened in a mind naturally calm, sedate, and firm, by the 
 influence of religious confidence, this poor captive was enabled to 
 attend to, and comprehend, a great part of an interesting conversa- 
 tion which passed betwixt those into whose hands she had fallen, 
 notwithstanding that their meaning was partly disguised by the 
 occasional use of cant terms, of which Jeanie knew not the import, 
 by the low tone in which they spoke, and by their mode of supply- 
 ing their broken phrases by shrugs and signs, as is usual amongst 
 those of their disorderly profession. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 243 
 
 The man opened the conversation by saying, " Now, dame, you 
 see I am true to my friend. I have not forgot that you planked a 
 ckury,* which helped me through the bars of the Castle of York, 
 and I came to do your work without asking questions, for one good 
 turn deserves another. But now that Madge, who is as loud as 
 Tom of Lincoln, is somewhat still, and this same Tyburn Neddie is 
 shaking his heels after the old nag, why, you must tell me what all 
 this is about, and what's to be done — for d — n me if I touch 
 the girl, or let her be touched, and she with Jim Rat's pass 
 too." 
 
 " Thou art an honest lad, Frank," answered the old woman, 
 "but e'en too kind for thy trade ; thy tender heart will get thee into 
 trouble. I will see ye gang up Holborn Hill backward, and a' on 
 the word of some silly loon that could never hae rapped to ye had 
 ye drawn your knife across his weasand." 
 
 " You may be baulked there, old one," answered the robber ; " I 
 have known many a pretty lad cut short in his first summer upon the 
 road, because he was something hasty with his flats and sharps. 
 Besides, a man would fain live out his two years with a good con- 
 science. So, tell me what all this is about, and what's to be done for 
 you, that one can do decently?" 
 
 "Why, you must know, 'Frank — but first taste a snap of right 
 Hollands." She drew a flask from her pocket, and filled the fellow 
 a large bumper, which he pronounced to be the right thing. — " You 
 must know then, Frank — wunna ye mend your hand ? " again offer- 
 ing the flask. 
 
 " No, no — when a woman wants mischief from you, she always 
 begins by filling you drunk. D — n all Dutch' courage. What I do 
 I will do soberly — I'll last the longer for that too.-" 
 
 " Well, then, you must know," resumed the old woman, without any 
 farther attempts at propitiation, ' : that this girl is going to London." 
 
 Here Jeanie could only distinguish the word sister. 
 
 The robber answered in a louder tone, " Fair enough that ; and 
 jvhat the devil is your business with it ? " 
 
 " Business, enough, I think. If the b — queers the noose, that 
 silly cull will marry her." 
 
 " And who cares if he does ? " said the man. 
 
 " Who cares, ye donnard Neddie'! I care; and I will strangle 
 her with my own hands, rather than she should come to Madge's 
 preferment." 
 
 " Madge's preferment ! Does your old blind eyes see no farther 
 than that ? If he is as you say, d'ye think he'll ever marry a moon- 
 calf like Madge ? Ecod, that's a good one — Marry Madge Wild- 
 fire !— Ha ! ha ! ha !" 
 
 " Hark ye, ye crack-rope padder, born beggar, and bred thief ! " 
 replied the hag, " suppose he never marries the wench, is that a 
 reason he should marry another, and that other to hold my daugh- 
 ter's place, and she crazed, and I a beggar, and all along of him ? 
 But I know that of him will hang him — I know that of him will hang 
 him, if he had a thousand lives — I know that of him will hang — • 
 hang — hang him ! " 
 
 Q 2 
 
244 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 She grinned as she repeated and dwelt upon the fatal monosyl- 
 lable, with the emphasis of a vindictive fiend. 
 
 " Then, why don't you hang— hang— hang him !" said Frank, re- 
 peating her words contemptuously. " There would be more sense 
 in that, than in wreaking yourself here upon two wenches that 
 have done you and your daughter no ill." 
 
 " No ill? " answered the old woman—" and he to marry this jail- 
 bird, if ever she gets her foot loose !" 
 
 " But as there is no chance of his marrying a bird of your brood, 
 I cannot, for my soul, see what you have to do with all this," again 
 replied the robber, shrugging his shoulders. " Where there is 
 aught to be got, I'll go as far as my neighbours, but I hate mischief 
 for mischiefs sake." 
 
 " And would you go nae length for revenge ? " said the hag — 
 " for revenge, the sweetest morsel to the mouth that ever was cooked 
 in hell ! " 
 
 "The devil may keep it for his own eating, then," said the 
 robber ; " for hang me if I like the sauce he dresses it 
 with." 
 
 " Revenge ! " continued the old woman ; " why it is the best 
 reward the devil gives us for our time here and hereafter. I have 
 wrought hard for it — I have suffered for it, and I have sinned for 
 it — and I will have it, — or there is neither justice in heaven nor in 
 hell ! " 
 
 Levitt had by this time lighted a pipe, and was listening with 
 great composure to the frantic and vindictive ravings of the old hag. 
 He was too much hardened by his course of life to be shocked with 
 them — too indifferent, and probably too stupid, to catch any part 
 of their animation or energy. " But, mother," he said, after a pause, 
 " still I say, that if revenge is your wish, you should take it on the 
 young fellow himself." 
 
 " I wish I could," she' said, drawing in her breath, with the eager- 
 ness of a thirsty person while mimicking the action of drinking — 
 " I wish I could — but no — I cannot — I cannot." 
 
 " And why not ? — You would think little of peaching and hang- 
 ing him for this Scotch affair. — Rat me, one might have milled the 
 Bank of England, and less noise about it." 
 
 " I have nursed him at this withered breast," answered the old 
 woman, folding her hands on her bosom, as if pressing an infant to 
 it, "and though he has proved an adder to me — though he has been 
 the destruction of me and mine — though he has made me company 
 for the devil, if there be a devil, and food for hell, if there be such a 
 place, yet I cannot take his life. — No, I cannot," she continued, 
 with an appearance of rage against herself; " I have thought of it 
 — I have tried it — but, Francis Levitt, I canna gang through wi't — 
 Na, na — he was the first baim I ever nurst — ill I had been — and 
 man can never ken what woman feels for the bairn she has held 
 first to her bosom ! " 
 
 "To be sure," said Levitt, "we have no experience. But, 
 mother, they say you han't been so kirtd to other bairns, as you call 
 them, that have come in your way. — Nay, d — n me, never lay your 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 245 
 
 hand on the whittle, for I am captain and leader here, and I will 
 have no rebellion." 
 
 The hag, whose first motion had been, upon hearing the question, 
 to grasp the haft of a large knife, now unclosed her hand, stole it 
 away from the weapon, and suffered it to fall by her side, while she 
 proceeded with a sort of smile — " Bairns ! ye are joking, lad, wha 
 wad touch bairns ? Madge, puir thing, had a misfortune wi' ane — 
 and the t'other" — Here her voice sunk so much, that Jeanie, though 
 anxiously upon the watch, could not catch a word she said, until 
 she raised her tone at the conclusion of the sentence — " So Madge, 
 in her damn', threw it into the Nor'-Loch, I trow." 
 
 Madge, . whose slumbers, like those of most who labour under 
 mental malady, had been short, and were easily broken, now made 
 herself heard from her place of repose. 
 
 " Indeed, mother, that's a great lee, for I did nae sic 
 thing." 
 
 " Hush, thou hellicat devil," said her mother—" By Heaven ! the 
 other wench will be waking too ! " 
 
 " That may be dangerous," said Frank ; and he rose and followed 
 Meg Murdockson across the floor. 
 
 " Rise," said the hag to her daughter, " or I sail drive the knife 
 between the planks into the Bedlam back of thee ! " 
 
 Apparently she at the same time seconded her threat by pricking 
 her with the point of a knife, for Madge, with a faint scream, 
 changed her place, and the door opened. 
 
 The old woman held a candle in one hand, and a knife in the 
 other. Levitt appeared behind her, whether with a view of prevent- 
 ing, or assisting her in any violence she might meditate, could not 
 be well guessed. Jeanie's presence of mind stood her friend in this 
 dreadful crisis. She had resolution enough to maintain the attitude 
 and manner of one who sleeps profoundly, and to regulate even her 
 breathing, notwithstanding the agitation of instant terror, so as to 
 correspond with her attitude. 
 
 The old woman passed the light across her eyes ; and although 
 Jeanie's fears were so powerfully awakened by this movement, that 
 " she often declared afterwards, that she thought she saw the figures 
 of her destined murderers through her closed eyelids, she had still 
 the resolution to maintain the feint on which her safety perhaps 
 ■depended. 
 
 Levitt looked at her with fixed attention ; he then turned the old 
 woman out of the place, and followed her himself. Havingregained 
 the outward apartment, and seated themselves, Jeanie heard the 
 highwayman say, to her no small relief, " She's as fast as if she 
 were in Bedfordshire. — Now, old Meg, d — nme, if I can understand 
 a glim of this story of yours, or what good it will do you to hang 
 the one wench, and torment the other ; but, rat me, I will be true 
 to my friend, and serve ye the way ye like it. I see it will be a bad 
 job ; but I do think I could get her down to Surfleet on the Wash, 
 and so on boarfl Tom Moonshine's neat lugger, and keep her out 
 of the way three or four weeks, if that will please ye — But d — n me 
 if any one shall harm her, unless they have a mind to choke on n. 
 
246 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 brace of blue plums. — It's a cruel bad job, and I wish you and it, 
 Meg, were both at the devil." 
 
 " Never mind, hinny Levitt," said the old woman ; " you are a 
 ruffler, and will have a' your ain gate — She shanna gang to 
 heaven an hour sooner for me ; I carena whether she live or die — 
 it's her sister — ay, her sister ! " 
 
 " Well, we'll say no more about it, I hear Tom coming in. We'll 
 couch a hpgshead* and so better had you." They retired to repose, 
 accordingly, and all was silent in this asylum of iniquity. 
 
 Jeanie lay for a long time awake. At break of day she heard 
 the two ruffians leave the barn, after whispering with the old woman 
 for some time. The sense that she was now guarded only by per- 
 sons of her own sex gave her some confidence, and irresistible lassi- 
 tude at length threw her into slumber. 
 
 When the captive awakened, the sun was high in heaven, and the 
 morning considerably advanced. Madge Wildfire was still in the 
 hovel which had served them for the night, and immediately bid 
 her good-morning, with her usual air of insane glee. " And d'ye 
 ken, lass," said Madge, " there's queer things chanced since ye hae 
 been in the land of Nod. The constables hae been here, woman, 
 and they met wi' my minnie at the door, and they whirl'd her awa to 
 the Justice's about the man's wheat. — Dear ! thae English churls 
 think as muckle about a blade of wheat or grass, as a Scotch laird 
 does about his maukins and his muir-poots. Now, lass, if ye like, 
 we'll play them a fine jink ; we will awa out and tak a walk — they 
 will make unco wark when they miss us, but we can easily be back 
 by dinner time, or before dark nicht at ony rate, and it will be some 
 frolic and fresh air. — But maybe ye wad like to tak some breakfast, 
 and then lie doun again ? I ken by mysell, there's whiles I can sit 
 wi' my head in my hand the haill day, and havena a word to cast 
 at a dog — and other whiles, that I canna sit still a moment. That's 
 when the folk think me warst, but I am aye canny eneugh — ye 
 needna be feared to walk wi' me." 
 
 Had Madge Wildfire been the most raging lunatic, instead of pos- 
 sessing a doubtful, uncertain, and twilight sort of rationality, vary- 
 ing, probably, from the influence of the most trivial causes, Jeanie 
 would hardly have objected to leave a place of captivity where she 
 had so much to apprehend. She eagerly assured Madge that she 
 had no occasion for farther sleep, no desire whatever for eating; 
 and hoping internally that she was not guilty of sin in doing so, she 
 flattered her keeper's crazy humour for walking in the woods. 
 
 " It's no a'thegither for that neither," said poor Madge ; "but I am 
 judging ye will wun the better out o' thae folk's hands ; no that 
 they are a'thegither bad folk neither, but they have queer ways wi' 
 them, and I whiles dinna think it has been ever weel wi' my mother 
 and me since we kept sic-like company." 
 
 With the haste, the joy, the fear, and the hope of a liberated 
 captive, Jeanie snatched up her little bundle, followed Madge into 
 the free air, and eagerly looked round her for a human habitation ; 
 but none was to be seen. The ground was partly cultivated, and 
 partly left in its natural state, according as the fancy of the . 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 247 
 
 slovenly agriculturists had decided. In its natural state it was 
 waste, in some places covered with dwarf trees and bushes, in 
 others swamp, and elsewhere firm and dry downs or pasture 
 grounds. 
 
 Jeanie's active mind next led her to conjecture which way the 
 high-road lay, whence she had been forced. If she regained that 
 public road, she imagined she must soon meet some person, or 
 arrire at some house, where she might tell her story, and request 
 protection. But after a glance around her, she saw with regret 
 that she had no means whatever of directing her course with any 
 degree of certainty, and that she was still in dependence upon her 
 crazy companion. " Shall we not walk upon the high-road ? " said 
 she to Madge, in such a tone as a nurse uses to coax a child. " It's 
 brawer walking on the road than amang thae wild bushes and 
 whins." 
 
 Madge, who was walking very fast, stopped at this question, and 
 looked at Jeanie with a sudden and scrutinizing glance, that seemed 
 to indicate complete acquaintance with her purpose. " Aha, lass !" 
 sh; exclaimed, "are ye gaun to guide us that gate? — Yell be for 
 making your heels save your head, I am judging." 
 
 Jeanie hesitated for a moment, on hearing her companion thus 
 express herself, whether she had not better take the hint, and try 
 to outstrip and get rid of her. But she knew not in which direc- 
 tion to fly ; she was by no -means sure that she would prove the 
 swiftest, and perfectly conscious that, in the event, of her being 
 pursued and overtaken, she would be inferior to the madwoman in 
 strength. She therefore gave up thoughts for the present of 
 attempting to escape in that manner, and, saying a few words to 
 allay Madge's suspicions, she followed in anxious apprehension the 
 ■wayward, path by which her guide thought proper to lead her. 
 Madge, infirm of purpose, and easily reconciled to the present 
 scene, whatever it was, began soon to talk with her usual diffuseness 
 of ideas. 
 
 " It's a dainty thing to be in the woods on a fine morning like 
 this — I like it far better than the toun, for there isna a wheen 
 duddie bairns to be crying after ane, as if ane were a warld's 
 wonder, just because ane maybe is a thought bonnier and better 
 put-on than their neighbours — though, Jeanie, ye suld never be 
 proud o' braw claiths, or beauty neither — wae's me ! they're but a 
 snare. I anes thought better o' them, and what cam o't ? " 
 
 " Are ye sure ye ken the way ye are takin us ? " said Jeanie, who 
 began to imagine that she was getting deeper into the woods and 
 more remote from the high-road. 
 
 " Do I ken the road ? — Wasna I mony a day living here, and 
 whatfor shouldna I ken the road ? — I might hae forgotten, too, for 
 it was afore my accident ; but there are some things ane can never 
 forget, let them try it as muckle as they like." 
 
 By this time they had gained the deepest part of a patch of 
 woodland. The trees were a little separated from each other, 
 and at the foot of one of them, a beautiful poplar, was a hillock 
 of moss, such as the poet of Grasmere has described. So soon as 
 
248 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 she arrived at this spot, Madge Wildfire, joining her hands above 
 her head, with a loud scream that resembled laughter, flung herself 
 all at once upon the spot, and remained lying there motionless. 
 
 Jeanie's first idea was to take the opportunity of flight ; but her 
 desire to escape yielded for a moment to apprehension for the poor 
 insane being, who, she thought, might perish for want of relief. 
 With an effort, which, in her circumstances, might be termed 
 heroic, she stooped down, spoke in a soothing tone, and endeavoured 
 to raise up the forlorn creature. She effected this with difficulty, 
 and, as she placed her against the tree in a sitting posture, she 
 observed with surprise, that her complexion, usually florid, *as 
 now deadly pale, and that her face was.bathed in tears. Notwith- 
 standing her own extreme danger, Jeanie was affected by the 
 situation of her companion ; and the rather, that through the 
 whole train of her wavering and inconsistent state of mind aid 
 line of conduct, she discerned a general colour of kindness towards 
 herself, for which she felt gratitude. 
 
 " Let me alane ! — let me alane ! " said the poor young woman, 
 as her paroxysm of sorrow began to abate — " Let me alane — :'t 
 does me good to weep. I canna shed tears but maybe anes or 
 twice a-year, and I aye come to ,wet this turf with them, that tie 
 flowers may grow fair, and the grass may be green." 
 
 " But what is the matter with you? " said Jeanie — " Why do you 
 weep so bitterly ? " j 
 
 "There's matter enow," replied the lunatic, — "mair than aej 
 puir mind can bear, I trow. Stay a bit, and I'll tell you a' about 
 it ; for I like ye, Jeanie Deans — a'body spoke weel about ye whenj 
 we lived in the Pleasaunts — And I mind aye the drink o' milk yej 
 gae me yon day, when I had been on Arthur's Seat for four-and-J 
 twenty hours, looking for the ship that somebody was sailing in." 
 
 These words recalled to Jeanie's recollection, that, in fact, she 
 had been one morning much frightened by meeting a crazy young 
 woman near her father's house at an early hour, and that as she i 
 appeared to be harmless, her apprehension had been changed into 
 pity, and she had relieved the unhappy wanderer with some food, I 
 which she devoured with the haste of a famished person. The 
 incident, trifling in itself, was at present of great importance, if it 
 should be found to have made a favourable and permanent im- 
 pression in her favour on the mind of the object of her charity. 
 
 " Yes," said Madge, " I'll tell ye a' about it, for ye are a decent 
 man's daughter — Douce Davie Deans, ye ken — and maybe ye'll 
 can teach me to find out the narrow way, and the straight path, 
 for I have been burning bricks in Egypt, and walking through the 
 weary wilderness of Sinai, for lang and mony a day. But when- 
 ever I think about mine errors, I am like to cover my lips for 
 shame." Here she looked up and smiled. — " It's a strange thing 
 now — I hae spoke mair gude words to you in ten minutes, than I 
 wad speak to my mother in as mony years. It's no that I dinna 
 think on them — and whiles they are just at my tongue's end, but 
 then comes the Devil, and brushes my lips with his black wing, 
 and lays his broad black loof on my mouth — for a black loof it is, 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 249 
 
 Jeanie — and sweeps awa a' my gude thoughts, and dits up my 
 gude words, and pits a wheen fule sangs and idle vanities in then- 
 place." 
 
 " Try, Madge," said Jeanie, " try to settle your mind and make 
 your breast clean, and you'll find your heart easier — Just resist the 
 devil, and he will flee from you — and mind that, as my worthy 
 father tells me, there is nae devil sae deceitfu' as our ain wandering 
 thoughts." 
 
 " And that's true too, lass," said Madge, starting up ; " and I'll 
 gang a gate where the devil daurna follow me ; and it's a gate that 
 you will like dearly to gang — but I'll keep a fast haud o' your arm, 
 for fear Apollyon should stride across the path, as he did in the 
 Pilgrim's Progress." 
 
 Accordingly she got up, and, taking Jeanie by the arm, began to 
 walk forward at a great pace ; and soon, to her companion's no 
 small joy, came into a marked path, with the meanders of which 
 she seemed perfectly acquainted. Jeanie endeavoured to bring her 
 back to the confessional, but the fancy was gone by. In fact, the 
 mind of this deranged being resembled nothing so much as a 
 quantity of dry leaves, which may for a few minutes remain still, 
 but are instantly discomposed and put in motion by the first casual 
 breath of air. She had now got John Bunyan's parable into her 
 head, to the exclusion of everything else, and on she went with 
 great volubility. 
 
 " Did ye never read the Pilgrim's Progress ? And you shall be 
 the woman Christiana, and I will be the maiden Mercy — for ye 
 ken Mercy was of the fairer countenance, and the more alluring 
 than her companion — and if I had -my little messan dog here, it 
 would be Great Heart their guide, ye ken, for he was e'en as bauld, 
 that he wad bark at ony thing twenty times his size ; and that was 
 e'en the death of him, for he bit Corporal MacAlpine's heels ae 
 morning when they were hauling me to the guard-house, and Cor- 
 poral MacAlpine killed the bit faithfu' thing wi' his Lochaber axe 
 — diel pike the Hieland banes o' him ! " 
 
 " O fie, Madge," said Jeanie, " ye should not speak such words." 
 
 " It's vera true," said Madge, shaking her head ; " but then I 
 maunna think o' my puir bit doggie, Snap, when I saw it lying 
 dying in the gutter. But it's just as weel, for it suffered baith cauld 
 and hunger when it was living, and in the grave there is rest for a' 
 things — rest for the doggie, and my puir bairn, and me." 
 
 " Your bairn ? " said Jeanie, conceiving that by speaking on such 
 a topic, supposing it to be a real one, she could not fail to bring 
 her companion to a more composed temper. 
 
 She was mistaken, however, for Madge coloured, and replied 
 with some anger, " My bairn ? ay, to be sure, my bairn. Whatfor 
 shouldna I hae a bairn, and lose a bairn too, as weel as your bonny 
 tittie, the Lily of St. Leonard's ? " 
 
 The answer struck Jeanie with some alarm, and she was anxious 
 to soothe the irritation she had unwittingly given occasion to. " I 
 am very sorry for your misfortune " 
 
 " Sorry ? what wad ye be sorry for ? " answered Madge. " The 
 
25° THE HEART OF MID-LOTHTAN. 
 
 bairn was a blessing — that is, Jeanie, it wad hae been a blessing if 
 it hadna been for my mother ; but my mother's a queer woman. — 
 Ye see, there was an auld carle wi' a bit land, and a gude clat o' 
 siller besides, just the very picture of auld Mr. Feeblemihd or Mr. 
 Ready-to-haul, that Greatheart delivered from Slaygood the giant, 
 when he was rifling him and about to pick his bones, for Slaygood 
 was of the nature of the flesh-eaters — and Great-heart killed Giant 
 Despair too— but I am doubting Giant Despair's come alive again,, 
 for a' the story book — I find him busy at my heart whiles." 
 
 " Weel, and so the auld carle," — said Jeanie, for she was pain- 
 fully interested in getting to the truth of Madge's history, which 
 she could not but suspect was in some extraordinary way linked 
 and entwined with the fate of her sister. She was also desirous, if 
 possible, to engage her companion in some narrative which might 
 be carried on in a lower tone of voice, for she was in great appre- 
 hension lest the elevated notes of Madge's conversation should 
 direct her mother or the robbers in search of them. 
 
 " And so the auld .carle," said Madge, repeating her words — " I 
 wish ye had seen him stoiting about, aff ae leg on to the other, wi' 
 a kind o' dot-and-go-one sort o' motion, as if ilk ane o' his twa legs 
 had belanged to sindry folk — but Gentle George could take him 
 aff brawly — Eh, as I used to laugh to see George gang hip-hop 
 like him !- I dinna ken, I think I laughed heartier then than what 
 I do now, though maybe no just sae muckle." 
 
 " And who was gentle Georgie ?" said Jeanie, endeavouring to 
 bring her back to, her story. 
 
 " O, he was Geordie Robertson, ye ken, when he was in Edin- 
 burgh ; but that's no his right name, neither — His name is But 
 
 what is your business wi' his name ? " said she, as if upon sudden 
 recollection. " What have ye to do asking for folk's names ? — 
 Haye ye a mind I should scour my knife between your ribs, as my 
 mother says ? " 
 
 As this was spoken with a menacing tone and gesture, Jeanie 
 hastened to protest her total innocence of purpose in the acci- 
 dental question which she had asked, and Madge Wildfire went on, 
 somewhat pacified. 
 
 " Never ask folk's names, Jeanie — it's no civil — I hae seen half 
 a dozen o' folk in my mother's at anes, and ne'er ane o' them ca'd 
 the ither by his name ; and Daddie Ratton says, it is the most 
 uncivil thing may be, because the bailie bodies are' aye asking 
 fashious questions, when ye saw sic a man, or sic a man ; and if ye 
 dinna ken their names, ye ken there can be nae mair speer'd about 
 it." 
 
 In what strange school, thought Jeanie to herself, has this poor 
 creature been bred up, where such remote precautions are taken 
 against the pursuits of justice ? What would my father or Reuben 
 Butler think, if I were to tell them there are sic folk in the world ? 
 And to abuse the simplicity of this demented creature ! ,Oh, that 
 I were but safe at hame amang mine ain leal and true people ! and 
 I'll bless God, while I have breath, that placed me amongst those 
 who live in His fear, and under the shadow of His wing." 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 251 
 
 She was interrupted by the insane laugh of Madge Wildfire, as 
 she saw a magpie hop across the path. 
 
 " See there ! — that was the gait my auld joe used to cross the 
 country, but no just sae lightly — he hadna wings to help his auld 
 legs, I trow ; but I behoved to have married him for a' that, Jeanie, 
 or my mother wad hae been the dead o' me. But then came in the 
 story of my poor bairn, and my mother thought he wad be deaved 
 wi' its skirling, and she pat it away in below the bit bourock of turf 
 yonder, just to be out o' the gate ; and I think she buried my best 
 wits with it, for I have never been just mysell since. And only think, 
 Jeanie, after my mother had been at a' this pains, the auld doited 
 body Johny Drottle turned up his nose, and wadna hae aught to 
 say to me ! But it's little I care for him, for I have led a merry 
 life ever since, and ne'er a braw gentleman looks at me but ye wad 
 think he was gaun to drop off his horse for mere love of me. I 
 have ken'd some o' them put their hand in their pocket, and 
 gie me as muckle as sixpence at a time, just 'for my weel-faurd 
 face." 
 
 This speech gave Jeanie a dark insight into Madge's history. 
 She had been courted by a wealthy suitor, whose addresses her 
 mother had favoured, notwithstanding the objection of old age and 
 deformity. She had been .seduced by some profligate, and, to 
 conceal her shame and promote the advantageous match she had 
 planned, her mother had not hesitated to destroy the offspring of 
 their intrigue. That the consequence should be the total derange- 
 ment of a mind which was constitutionally unsettled by giddiness 
 and vanity, was extremely natural ; and such was, in fact, the 
 history of Madge Wildfire's insanity. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 So free from danger, free from fear, 
 
 They cross'd the court — right glad they were. 
 
 Christabel. 
 
 PURSUING the path which Madge had chosen, Jeanie Deans 
 observed, to her no small delight, that marks of more cultivation 
 appeared, and the thatched roofs of houses, with their blue smoke 
 arising in little columns, were seen embosomed in a tuft of trees at 
 some distancei The track led in that direction, and Jeanie, there- 
 fore, resolved, while Madge continued to pursue it, that she would 
 ask her no questions ; having had the penetration" to observe, that 
 by doing so she ran the risk of irritating her guide, or awakening 
 suspicions, to the impressions of which, persons in Madge's unsettled 
 state of mind are particularly liable. 
 
 Madge, therefore, uninterrupted, went on with the wild disjointed 
 chat which her rambling imagination suggested ; a mood in which 
 she was much more communicative respecting her own history, and 
 that of others, than when there was any attempt made, by direct 
 
252 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 queries, or cross-examminations, to extract information on these 
 subjects. 
 
 ," It's a queer thing," she said, " but whiles I can speak about the 
 bit bairn and the rest of it, just as if it had been another body's, 
 and no my ain ; and whiles I am like to break my heart about it — 
 Had you ever a bairn, Jeanie?" 
 
 Jeanie replied in the negative. ~ 
 
 " Ay ; but your sister had, though — and I ken what came o't too." 
 
 " In the name of heavenly mercy," said Jeanie, forgetting the line 
 of conduct which she had hitherto adopted, " tell me but what be- 
 came of that unfortunate babe, and " 
 
 Madge stopped, looked at her gravely and fixedly, and then broke 
 into a great fit of laughing — " Aha, lass, — catch me if you can — I 
 think it's easy to gar you trow ony thing. How suld I ken ony 
 thing o' your sister's wean ? Lasses suld hae naething to do wi' 
 weans till they are married — and then a' the gossips and cummers 
 come in and feast as if it were the blithest day in the warld. — They 
 say maidens' bairns are weel guided. I wot that wasna true of " 
 your tittie's and mine ; but these are sad tales to tell — I maun just 
 sing a bit to keep up my heart — It's a sang that Gentle George 
 made on me lang syne, when I went .with him to Lockington wake, 
 to see him act upon a stage, in fine clothes, with the player folk. 
 He micht hae dune waur than married me that nicht as he promised 
 — better wed over the mixen* as over the moor, as they say in 
 Yorkshire — he may gang farther and fare waur— but that's a' ane 
 to the sang, 
 
 " I'm Madge of the country, I'm Madge of the town, 
 And I'm Madge of the lad I 'am blithest to own — 
 The Lady of Beever in diamonds may shine, 
 But has not a heart half so lightsome as mine. 
 
 " I am Queen of the Wake, and I'm Lady of May, 
 And I lead the blithe ring round the May-pole to-day ; 
 The wild-fire that flashes so fair and so free, 
 Was never so bright, or so bonny, as me. 
 
 " I like that the best o' a' my sangs," continued the maniac, 
 " because he made it. I am often singing it, and that's maybe 
 the reason folk ca' me Madge Wildfire. I aye answer to the name, 
 though it's no my ain, for what's the use of making a fash ?" 
 
 " But ye shouldna sing upon the Sabbath at least," said Jeanie, 
 who, amid all her distress and anxiety, could not help being scan- 
 dalized at the deportment of her companion, especially as they now 
 approached near to the little village. 
 
 "Ay ! is this Sunday ?" said Madge. " My mother leads sic a 
 life, wi' turning nicht into day, that ane loses a' count o' the days o' 
 the week, and disna ken Sunday frae Saturday. Besides, it's a' 
 your whiggery— in England, folk sings when they like — And then, 
 ye ken, you are Christiana and I am Mercy — and ye ken, as they 
 went on their way, they sang." — And she immediately raised one of 
 John Bunyan's ditties : — 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 253 
 
 " He that is down need fear no fall, 
 He that is low no pride, 
 He that is humble ever shall 
 Have God to be his guide. 
 
 " Fulness to such a burthen is 
 That go on pilgrimage ; 
 Here little, and hereafter bliss, 
 Is best from age to age. 
 
 " And do ye ken, Jeanie, I think there's much truth in that book, 
 the Pilgrim's Progress. The boy that sings that song was feeding 
 his father's sheep in the Valley of Humiliation, and Mr. Greatheart 
 says, that he lived a merrier life, and had more of the herb called 
 heart's-ease in his bosom, than they that wear silk and velvet like 
 me, and are as bonny as I am." 
 
 Jeanie Deans had never read the fanciful and delightful parable 
 to which Madge alluded. Bunyan was, indeed, a rigid Calvinist, 
 ,but then he was also a member of a Baptist congregation, so that 
 his works had no place on David Deans's shelf of divinity. Madge, 
 however, at some time of her life, had been well acquainted, as it 
 appeared, with the most popular of his performances, which, 
 indeed, rarely fails to make a deep impression upon children, and 
 people of the lower rank. 
 
 " I am sure," she continued, " I may weel say I am come out of 
 the city of Destruction, for my mother is Mrs. Bate-eyes, that 
 dwells at Deadman's corner ; and Frank Levitt, and Tyburn Tarn, 
 they may be likened to Mistrust and Guilt, that came galloping up, 
 and struck the poor pilgrim to the ground with a great club, and 
 stole a bag of silver, which was most of his spending money, and so 
 have they done to many, and will do to more. But now we will 
 gang to the Interpreter's house, *for I ken a man that will play the 
 Interpreter richt weel ; for he has eyes lifted up to heaven, the best 
 of books in his hand, the law of truth written on his lips, and he 
 stands as if he pleaded wi' men — Oh, if I had minded what he had 
 said to me, I had never been the cast-away creature that I am ! — 
 But it is all over now. But we'll knock at the gate, and then the 
 keeper will admit Christiana, but Mercy will be left out — and then 
 I'll stand at the door trembling and crying, and then Christiana — 
 that's you, Jeanie — will intercede for me ; and then Mercy — that's 
 me, ye ken — will faint ; and then the Interpreter — yes, the Inter- 
 preter, that's Mr. Staunton himself, will come out and takme — that's 
 poor, lost, demented me — by the hand, and give me a pomegranate, 
 and a piece of honeycomb, and a small bottle of spirits, to stay 
 my fainting — and then the good times will come back again, and 
 we'll be the happiest folk you ever saw." 
 
 In the midst of the confused assemblage of ideas indicated in 
 this speech, Jeanie thought she saw a serious purpose on the part 
 of Madge, to endeavour to obtain the pardon and countenance of 
 some one whom she had offended ; an attempt the most likely of all 
 others to bring them once more into contact with law and legal pro- 
 tection. She, therefore, resolved to be guided by her while she was in 
 
254 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 so hopeful a disposition, and act for her own safety according to 
 circumstances. 
 
 They were now close by the village, one of those beautiful scenes 
 which are so often found in merry England, where the cottages, 
 instead of being built in two direct lines on each side of a dusty 
 high road, stand in detached groups, interspersed not only with 
 large oaks and elms, but with fruit-trees, so many of which were at 
 this time in flourish, that the grove seemed enamelled with their 
 crimson and white blossoms. In the centre of the hamlet stood 
 the parish church, and its little Gothic tower, from which at present 
 was heard the Sunday chime of bells. 
 
 " We will wait here until the folk are a' in the church — they ca' 
 the kirk a church in England, Jeanie, b& sure you mind that — for if 
 I was gaun forward amang them, a' the gaitts o' boys and lasses 
 wad be crying at Madge Wildfire's tail, the little hell-rakers ! and 
 the beadle would be as hard upon us as if it was our fault. I like their 
 skirling as ill as he does, I can tell him ; I 'm sure I often wish there 
 was a het peat doun their throats when they set them up that gate." 
 
 Conscious of the disorderly appearance of her own dress after 
 the adventure of the preceding night, and of the grotesque habit 
 and demeanour of her guide, and sensible how important it was to 
 secure an attentive and patient audience to her strange story from 
 some one who might have the means to protect her, Jeanie readily 
 acquiesced in Madge's proposal to rest under the trees, by which 
 they were still somewhat screened, until the commencement of 
 service should give them an opportunity of entering the hamlet 
 without attracting a crowd around them. She made theless oppo- 
 sition, that Madge had intimated that this was not the village 
 where her mother was in custody, and that the two squires of the 
 pad were absent in a different direction. 
 
 She sate herself down, therefore, at the foot of an oak, and by 
 the assistance of a placid fountain, which had been dammed up 
 for the use of the villagers, and which served her as a natural 
 mirror, she began — no uncommon thing with a Scottish maiden of 
 her rank — to arrange her toilet in the open air, and bring her dress, 
 soiled and disordered as it was, into such order as the place and 
 circumstances admitted. 
 
 She soon perceived reason, however, to regret that she had set 
 about this task, however decent and necessary, in the present time 
 and society. Madge Wildfire, who, among other indications of 
 insanity, had a most overweening opinion of those charms, to 
 which, in fact, she had owed her misery, and whose mind, like a 
 raft upon a lake, was agitated and driven about at random by each 
 fresh impulse, no sooner beheld Jeanie begin to arrange her hair, 
 place her bonnet in order, rub the dust from her shoes and clothes, 
 adjust her neck-handkerchief and mittens, and so forth, than with 
 imitative zeal she began to bedizen and trick herself out with 
 shreds and remnants of beggarly finery, which she took out of a 
 little bundle, and which, when disposed around her person, made 
 her appearance ten times more fantastic and apish than it had been 
 before. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 2JS 
 
 Jeanie groaned in spirit, but dared not interfere in a matter so 
 delicate. Across the man's cap or riding hat which she wore, 
 Madge placed a broken and soiled white feather, intersected with 
 one which had been shed from the train of a peacock. To her 
 dress, which was a kind of riding-habit, she stitched, pinned, and 
 otherwise secured, a large furbelow of artificial flowers, all crushed, 
 wrinkled, and dirty, which had first bedecked a lady of quality, 
 then descended to her Abigail, and dazzled the inmates of the 
 servants'-hall. A tawdry scarf of yellow silk, trimmed with tinsel 
 and spangles, which had seen as hard service, and boasted as 
 honourable a transmission, was next flung over one shoulder, and 
 fell across her person in the manner of a shoulder-belt, or baldrick. 
 Madge then stripped off the coarse ordinary shoes which she wore, ' 
 and replaced them by a pair of dirty satin ones, spangled and em- 
 broidered to match the scarf, and furnished with very high heels. 
 She had cut a willow switch in her morning's walk, almost as long 
 as a boy's fishing-rod. This she set herself seriously to peel, and 
 when it was transformed into such a wand as the Treasurer or High 
 Steward bears on public occasions, she told Jeanie that she thought 
 they now looked decent, as young women shquld do upon the 
 Sunday morning, and that as the bells had done ringing, she was 
 willing to conduct her to the Interpreter's house. 
 
 Jeanie sighed heavily, to think it should be her lot on the Lord's 
 day, and during kirk-time too, to parade the street of an inhabited 
 village with so very grotesque a comrade ; but necessity had no 
 law, since, without a positive quarrel with the madwoman, which, 
 in the circumstances, would have been very unadvisable, she could 
 see no means of shaking herself free of her society. 
 
 As for poor Madge, she was completely elated with personal 
 vanity, and the most perfect satisfaction concerning her own 
 dazzling dress, and superior appearance. They entered the hamlet 
 without being observed, except by one old woman, who, being 
 nearly " high-gravel blind," was only conscious that something very 
 fine and glittering was passing by, and dropped as deep a reverence 
 to Madge as she would have done to a countess. This filled up 
 the measure of Madge's self-approbation. She minced, she ambled, 
 she smiled, she simpered, and waved Jeanie Deans forward with 
 the condescension of a noble chaj>erone, who has undertaken the 
 charge of a country miss on her first journey to the capital. 
 
 Jeanie followed in patience, and with her eyes fixed on the 
 ground^ that she might save herself the mortification of seeing her 
 companion's absurdities ; but she started when, ascending two or 
 ,three steps, she found herself in the churchyard, and saw fhat 
 Madge was making straight for the door of the church. As Jeanie 
 had no mind to enter the congregation in such company, she walked 
 aside from the pathway, and said in a decided tone, " Madge, I will 
 wait here till the church comes out — you may go in by yourself if 
 you have a mind." 
 
 As she spoke these words, she was about to seat herself upon 
 one of the gravestones. 
 
 Madge was a little before Jeanie when she turned aside ; but 
 
256 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 suddenly changing her course, she followed her with long strides, 
 and, with every feature inflamed with passion, overtook and seized 
 her by the arm. " Do ye think, ye ungratefu' wretch, that I am 
 gaun to let you sit doun upon my father's grave ? The deil settle 
 ye doun ; — if ye dinna rise and come into the Interpreter's house, 
 that's the house of God, wi' me, but I'll rive every dud aff your back ! " 
 She adapted the action to the phrase ; for with one clutch she 
 stripped Jeanie of her straw bonnet and a handful of her hair to 
 boot, and threw it up into an old yew tree, where it stuck fast. 
 Jeanie's first impulse was to scream, but conceiving she might re- 
 ceive deadly harm before she could obtain the assistance of any one, 
 notwithstanding the vicinity of the church, she thought it wiser to 
 follow the madwoman into the congregation, where she might find 
 some means of escape from her, or at least be secured against her 
 violence. But when she meekly intimated her consent to follow 
 Madge, her guide's uncertain brain had caught another train of 
 ideas. She held Jeanie fast with one hand, and with the other 
 pointed to the inscription on the gravestone, and commanded her 
 to read it. Jeanie obeyed, and read these words : — ■ 
 
 " This Monument was erected to the Memory of 
 Donald Murdockson of the King's xxvi., or Came- 
 ronian Regiment, a sincere Christian, a brave 
 Soldier, and a faithful Servant, by his grateful 
 and sorrowing master, robert staunton 1 ." 
 
 " It's very wecl read, Jeanie ; it's just the very words," said 
 Madge, whose ire had now faded into deep melancholy, and with a 
 step which, to Jeanie's great joy, was uncommonly quiet and mourn- 
 ful, she led her companion towards the door of the church. 
 
 It was one of those old-fashioned Gothic parish churches which 
 are frequent in England, the most cleanly, decent, and reverential 
 places of worship that are, perhaps, anywhere to be found in the 
 Christian world. Yet, notwithstanding the decent solemnity of its 
 exterior, Jeanie was too faithful to the directory of the presbyterian 
 !kirk to have entered a prelatic place of worship, and would, upon 
 any other occasion, have thought that she beheld in the porch the 
 venerable figure of her father waving her back from the entrance, 
 and pronouncing in a solemn tone, " Cease, my child, to hear the 
 instruction which causeth to err from the words of knowledge." 
 But in her present agitating and alarming situation, she looked for 
 safety to this forbidden place of assembly, as the hunted animal 
 will sometimes seek shelter from imminent danger in the human 
 habitation, or in other places of refuge most alien to its nature and 
 habits. Not even the sound of the organ, and of one or two flutes 
 which accompanied the psalmody, prevented her from following her 
 guide into the chancel of the church. 
 
 No sooner had Madge put her foot upon the pavement, and be- 
 come sensible that she was the object of attention to the spectators, 
 than she resumed all the fantastic extravagance of deportment 
 which some transient touch of melancholy had banished for an in- 
 stant. She swam rather than walked up the centre aisle, dragging 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 237 
 
 Jeanie after her, whom she held fast by the hand. She would, 
 indeed, have fain slipped aside into the pew nearest to the door, 
 and left Madge to ascend in her own manner and alone to the high 
 places of the synagogue ; but this was impossible, without a degree 
 of violent resistance, which seemed to her inconsistent with the 
 time and place, and she was accordingly led in captivity up the 
 whole length of the church by her grotesque conductress, who, with 
 half-shut eyes, a prim smile upon her lips, and a mincing motion 
 with her hands, which corresponded with the delicate and affected 
 pace at which she was pleased to move, seemed to take the general 
 stare of the congregation, which such an exhibition necessarily ex- 
 cited, as a high compliment, and which she returned by nods and 
 half curtsies to individuals amongst the audience, whom she seemed 
 to distinguish as acquaintances. Her absurdity was enhanced in 
 the eyes of the spectators by the strange contrast which she formed 
 to her companion, who, with dishevelled hair, downcast eyes, and 
 a face glowing with shame, was dragged, as it were, in triumph 
 after her. 
 
 Madge's airs were at length fortunately cut short by her en- 
 countering in her progress the looks of the clergyman, who fixed 
 upon her a glance, at once steady, compassionate, and admonitory. 
 She hastily opened an empty pew which happened to be near her, 
 and entered, dragging in Jeanie after her. Kicking Jeanie on the 
 shins, by way of hint that she should follow her example, she sunk 
 her head upon her hand for the space of a minute. Jeanie, to 
 whom this posture of mental devotion was entirely new, did not 
 attempt to do the like, but looked round her with a bewildered 
 stare, which her neighbours, judging from the company in which 
 they saw her, very naturally ascribed to insanity. Every person in 
 their immediate vicinity drew back from this extraordinary couple 
 as far as the limits of their pew permitted ; but one old man could 
 not get beyond Madge's reach, ere she had snatched the prayer- 
 book from his hand, and ascertained the lesson -of the day. She 
 then turned up the ritual, and, with the most overstrained enthu- 
 siasm of gesture and manner, showed Jeanie the passages as 
 they were read in the service, making, at the same time, her 
 own responses so loud as to be heard above those of every other 
 person. 
 
 Notwithstanding the shame and vexation which Jeanie felt in 
 being thus exposed in a place of worship, she could not and durst 
 not omit rallying her spirits so as to look around her, and consider 
 to whom she ought to appeal for. protection so soon as the service 
 should be concluded. Her first ideas naturally fixed upon the 
 clergyman, and she was confirmed in the resolution by observing 
 that he was an aged gentleman, of a dignified appearance and de- 
 portment, who read the service with an undisturbed and decent 
 gravity, which brought back to becoming attention those younger 
 members of the congregation who had been disturbed by the 
 extravagant behaviour of Madge Wildfire. To the clergyman, 
 therefore, Jeanie resolved to make her appeal when the service 
 was over. 
 
258 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 It is true she felt disposed to be shocked at his surplice, of which 
 she had heard so much, but which she had never seen upon the 
 person of a preacher of the word. Then she was confused by the 
 change of posture adopted in different parts of the ritual, the more 
 so as Madge Wildfire, to whom they seemed familiar, took the op- 
 portunity to exercise authority over her, pulling her up and pushing 
 her down with a bustling assiduity, which Jeanie felt must make 
 them both the objects of painful attention. But, notwithstanding 
 these prejudices, it was her prudent resolution, in this dilemma, to 
 imitate as nearly as she could what was done around her. The 
 prophet, she thought, permitted Naaman the Syrian to bow even in 
 \he house of Rimmon. Surely if I, in this strait, worship the 
 God of my fathers in mine own language, although the manner 
 thereof be strange to me, the Lord- will pardon me in this thing. 
 
 In this resolution she became so much confirmed, that, with- 
 drawing herself from Madge as far as the pew permitted, she en- 
 deavoured to evince, by serious and composed attention to what 
 was passing, that her mind was composed to devotion. Her tor- 
 mentor would not long have permitted her to remain quiet, but 
 fatigue overpowered her, and she fell fast asleep in the other corner 
 of the pew. 
 
 Jeanie, though her mind in her own despite sometimes reverted 
 to her situation, compelled herself to give attention to a sensible, 
 energetic, and well-composed discourse, upon the practical doctrines 
 of Christianity, which she could not help approving, although it was 
 every word written down and read by the preacher, and although 
 it was delivered in a tone and gesture very different from those of 
 Boanerges Stormheaven, who was her father's favourite preacher. 
 The serious and placid attention with which Jeanie listened did not 
 escape the clergyman. Madge Wildfire's entrance had rendered 
 him apprehensive of some disturbance, to provide against which, as 
 far as possible, he often turned his eyes to the part of the church 
 where Jeanie and she were placed, and became soon aware that, 
 although the loss of her head-gear, and the awkwardness of her 
 situation, had given an uncommon and anxious air to the features 
 of the former, yet she was in a state of mind very different from 
 that of her companion. When he dismissed the congregation, he 
 observed her look around with a wild and terrified look, as if un- 
 certain what course she ought to adopt, and noticed that she 
 approached one or two of the most decent of the congregation, as 
 if to address them, and then shrunk back timidly, on observing 
 that they seemed to shun and to avoid her. The clergyman was 
 satisfied there must be something extraordinary in all this, and as 
 a benevolent man, as well as a good Christian pastor, he resolved 
 to inquire into the matter more minutely. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 359 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 There govern'd in that year 
 
 A stern, stout churl — an angry overseer. 
 
 Crabbe. 
 
 While Mr. Staunton, for such was this worthy clergyman's 
 name, was laying aside his gown in the vestry, Jeanie was in the 
 act of coming to an open rupture with Madge. 
 
 " We must return to Mummer's barn directly,'' said Madge ; 
 " we'll be ower late, and my mother will be angry." 
 
 " I am not going back with you, Madge," said Jeanie, taking out 
 a guinea, and offering it to her ; " I am much obliged to you, but I 
 maun gang my ain road." 
 
 " And me coming a' this way out o' my gate to pleasure you, ye 
 ungratefu' cutty," answered Madge ; " and me to be brained by my 
 mother when I gang hame. and a' for your sake ! — But I will gar 
 ye as good " 
 
 " For God's sake," said Jeanie to a man who stood beside them, 
 u keep her off ! — she is mad." 
 
 " Ey, ey," answered the boor ; " I hae some guess of that, and I 
 trow thou be'st a bird of the same feather. — Howsomever, Madge, 
 I redd thee keep hand off her, or I'se lend thee a whister-poop." 
 
 Several of the lower class of the parishioners now gathered round 
 the strangers, and the cry arose among the boys, that " there was 
 a-going to be a fite between mad Madge Murdockson and another 
 Bess of Bedlam." But while the fry assembled with the humane 
 hope of seeing as much of the fun as possible, the laced cocked hat 
 .of the beadle was discerned among the multitude, and all made 
 way for that person of awful authority. His first address was to 
 Madge. 
 
 " What's brought thee back again, thou silly donnot, to plague 
 this parish ? Hast thou brought ony more bastards wi' thee to lay 
 to honest men's doors ? or does thou think to burden us with this 
 .goose, that's as gare-brained as thysell, as if rates were no up 
 enow? Away wi' thee to thy thief of a mother ; she's fast in the 
 ■stocks at Barkston townend — Away wi' ye out o' the parish, or I'se 
 be at ye with the ratan." 
 
 Madge stood sulky for a minute ; but she had been too often 
 taught submission to the beadle's authority by ungentle means, to 
 feel courage enough to dispute it. 
 
 "And my mother — my puir auld mother, is in the stocks at 
 Barkston ! — This is a' your wyte, Miss Jeanie Deans ; but I'll be 
 upsides wi' you, as sure as my name's Madge Wildfire — I mean 
 Murdockson— God help me, I forget my very name in this con- 
 fused waste." 
 
 So saying, she turned upon her heel, and went off, followed by 
 all the mischievous imps of the village, some crying, " Madge, 
 canst thou tell thy name yet?" some pulling the skirts of her dress, 
 
 r 2 
 
z£o THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 and all, to the best of their strength and ingenuity, exercising some 
 new device or other to exasperate her into frenzy. 
 
 Jeanie saw her departure with infinite delight, though she wished, 
 that, in some way or other, she could have requited the service 
 Madge had conferred upon her. 
 
 In the meantime, she applied to the beadle to know whether 
 " there was any house in the village, where she could be civilly 
 entertained for her money, and whether she could be permitted to 
 speak to the clergyman ? " 
 
 " Ay, ay, we'se ha' reverend care on thee ; and I think," answered 
 the man of constituted authority, " that, unless thou answer the 
 Rector all the better, we'se spare thy money, and gie thee lodging at 
 the parish charge, young woman." 
 
 " Where am I to go then ? " said Jeanie, in some alarm. 
 
 " Why, I am to take thee to his Reverence, in the first place, to- 
 gie an account o' thysell, and to see thou comena to be a burden 
 upon the parish." 
 
 "I do not wish to burden anyone," replied Jeanie; "I have 
 enough for my own wants, and only wish to get on my journey 
 safely." 
 
 " Why that's another matter," replied the beadle, " an if it be 
 true— and I think thou dost not look so polrumptious as thy play- 
 fellow yonder — Thou wouldst be a mettle lass enow, an thou wert 
 snog and snod a bit better. Come thou away, then — the Rector is 
 a good man." 
 
 " Is that the minister," said Jeanie, " who preached " 
 
 " The minister ? Lord help thee ! What kind o' presbyteriait 
 art thou ? — Why, 'tis the Rector — the Rector's sell, woman, and 
 there isna the like o' him in the county, nor the four next to it. 
 Come away — away with thee — we maunna bide here." 
 
 " I am sure I am very willing to go to see the minister," said 
 Jeanie ; " for, though he read his discourse, and wore that surplice, 
 as they call it here, I canna but think he must be a very worthy 
 God-fearing man, to preach the root of the matter in the way 
 he did." 
 
 The disappointed rabble, finding that there was like to be no 
 farther sport, had by this time dispersed, and Jeanie, with her usual 
 patience, followed her consequential and surly, but not brutal, con- 
 ductor towards the rectory. 
 
 This clerical mansion was large and commodious, for the living 
 was an excellent one, and the advowson belonged to a very wealthy 
 family in the neighbourhood, who had usually bred up a son or 
 nephew to the church, for the sake of inducting him, as opportunity 
 offered, into this very comfortable provision. In this manner the 
 rectory of Willingham had always been considered as a direct 
 and immediate appanage of Willingham-hall ; and as the rich 
 baronets to whom the latter belonged had usually a son or brother, 
 or nephew, settled in the living, the utmost care had been taken to 
 render their habitation not merely respectable and commodious, 
 but even dignified and imposing. 
 
 It was situated about four hundred yards from the village, and 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 261 
 
 on a rising ground which sloped gently upward, covered with small 
 enclosures, or closes, laid out irregularly, so that the old oaks and 
 elms, which were planted in hedge-rows, fell . into perspective, and 
 were blended together in beautiful irregularity. When they ap- 
 proached nearer to the house, a handsome gateway admitted them 
 into a lawn, of narrow dimensions, indeed, but which was inter- 
 spersed with large sweet-chesinut trees and beeches, and kept in 
 handsome order. The front of the house was irregular. Part of it 
 seemed very old, and had, in fact, been the residence of the incum- 
 bent in Romish times. Successive occupants had made consider- 
 able additions and improvements, each in the taste of his own age, 
 and without much regard to symmetry. But these incongruities of 
 architecture were so graduated and happily mingled, that the eye, 
 far from being displeased with the combinations of various styles, 
 saw nothing but what was interesting in the varied and intricate 
 pile which they displayed. Fruit-trees displayed on the southern 
 wall, outer staircases, various places of entrance, a combination of 
 roofs and chimneys of different ages, united to render the front, not, 
 indeed, beautiful or grand, but intricate, perplexed, or, to use Mr. 
 Price's appropriate phrase, picturesque. The most considerable 
 addition was that of the present Rector, who, " being a bookish 
 man," as the beadle was at the pains to inform Jeanie, to augment, 
 perhaps, her reverence for the person before whom she was to 
 appear, had built a handsome library and parlour, and no less than 
 two additional bedrooms. 
 
 " Mony men would hae scrupled such expense," continued the 
 parochial officer, " seeing as the living mun go as it pleases Sir 
 Edmund to will it ; but his Reverence has a canny bit land of his 
 own, and need not look on two sides of a penny." 
 
 Jeanie could not help comparing the irregular yet extensive and 
 commodious pile of building before her, to the " Manses," in her 
 own country, where a set of penurious heritors, professing all the 
 while the devotion of their lives and fortunes to the presbyterian 
 establishment, strain th'eir inventions to discover what may be 
 nipped, and clipped, and pared from a building which forms but a 
 poor accommodation even for the present incumbent, and, despite 
 the superior advantage of stone-masonry, must, in the course of 
 forty or fifty years, again burden their descendants with an expense, 
 which, once liberally and handsomely employed, ought to have 
 freed their estates from a recurrence of it for more than a century 
 at least. 
 
 Behind the Rector's house the ground sloped down to a small 
 river, which, without possessing the romantic vivacity and rapidity 
 of a northern stream, was, nevertheless, by its occasional appear- 
 ance through the ranges of willows and poplars that crowned its 
 banks, a very pleasing accompaniment to the landscape. " It was 
 the best trouting stream," said the beadle, whom the patience of 
 Jeanie, and especially the assurance that she was not about to 
 become a burden to the parish, had rendered rather communica- 
 tive, " the best trouting stream in all Lincolnshire ; for when you 
 got lower, there was nought to be done wi' fly-fishing." 
 
Sfi2 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 Turning aside from the principal -entrance, he conducted Jeanie 
 towards a sort of portal connected with the older part of the build- 
 ing, which was chiefly occupied by servants, and knocking at the 
 door, it was opened by a servant in grave purple lively, such as 
 befitted a wealthy and dignified clergyman. 
 
 " How dost do, Tummas ? " said the beadle—" and how's young 
 Measter Staunton ? " 
 
 " Why, but poorly — but poorly, Measter Stubbs — Are you want- 
 ing to see his reverence ?" 
 
 "Ay, ay, Tummas; please to say I ha' brought up the young 
 woman as came to service to-day with mad Madge Murdockson — 
 she seems to be a decentish koind o' body ; but I ha' asked her 
 never a question. Only I can tell his Reverence that she is ai 
 Scotchwoman, I judge, and as flat as the fens of Holland." 
 
 Tummas honoured Jeanie Deans with such a stare, as the pam- 
 pered domestics of the rich, whether spiritual or temporal, usually 
 esteem it part of their privilege to bestow upon the poor, and then- 
 desired Mr. Stubbs and his charge to step in till he informed his 
 master of their presence. 
 
 The room into which he showed them was a sort of steward : s 
 parlour, hung with a county map or two, and three or four prints of 
 eminent persons connected with the county, as Sir William Mon- 
 son, James York the blacksmith of Lincoln, and the famous Pere- 
 grine, Lord Willoughby, in complete armour, looking as when he 
 said, in the words of the legend below the engraving, — 
 
 " Stand to it, noble pikemen, 
 And face ye well about ; 
 And shoot, ye sharp, bold bowmen, 
 And we will keep them out. 
 
 Ye musquet and calliver-men, 
 
 Do you prove true to me, 
 I'll be the foremost man- in fight, 
 
 Said brave Lord Willoughbee." 
 
 When they had entered this apartment, Tummas as a matter of 
 course offered, and as a matter of course Mr. Stubbs accepted, a 
 " summat" to eat and drink, being the respectable relics of a gam- 
 mon of bacon, and a whole whiskin, or black pot of sufficient 
 double ale. To these eatables Mr. Beadle seriously inclined him- 
 self, and (for we must do him justice) not without an invitation to- 
 Jeanie, in which Tummas joined, that his prisoner or charge would 
 follow his good example. But although she might have stood in 
 need of refreshment, considering she had tasted no food that day, 
 the anxiety of the moment, her own sparing and abstemious habits, 
 and a bashful aversion to eat in company of the two strangers, 
 induced her to decline their courtesy. So she sate in a chair apart, 
 while Mr. Stubbs and Mr. Tummas, who had chosen to join his 
 friend in consideration that dinner was to be put back till after the 
 afternoon service, made a hearty luncheon, which lasted for half 
 an hour, and might not then have concluded, had not his Reverence 
 
'IIS 
 
 ^^^^^1^ 
 
 '/- 
 
 I 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 263 
 
 rung his bell, so that Tummas was obliged to attend his master. 
 Then, and no sooner, to save himself the labour of a second 
 journey to the other end of the house, he announced to his master 
 the arrival of Mr. Stubbs, with the other madwoman, as he chose 
 to designate Jeanie, as an event which had just taken place. He 
 returned with an order that Mr. Stubbs and the young woman 
 should be instantly ushered up to the library. < 
 
 The beadle bolted in haste his last mouthful of fat bacon, washed 
 down the greasy morsel with the last rinsings of the pot of ale, and 
 immediately marshalled Jeanie through one or two intricate pas- 
 sages which led from the ancient to the more modern buildings, 
 into a handsome little hall, or anteroom, adjoining to the library, 
 and out of which a glass door opened to the lawn. 
 
 " Stay here," said Stubbs, '' till I tell his Reverence you are 
 come." 
 
 So saying, he opened a door and entered the library. 
 
 Without wishing to hear their conversation, Jeanie, as she was 
 circumstanced, could not avoid it; for as Stubbs stood by the 
 door, and his Reverence was at the upper end of a large room, their 
 conversation was necessarily audible in the anteroom. 
 
 "So you have brought the young woman here at last, Mr. 
 Stubbs. I expected you some time since. You know I do not 
 wish such persons to remain in custody a moment without some 
 inquiry into their situation." 
 
 " Very true, your Reverence," replied the beadle ; " but the young 
 woman had eat nought to-day, and so Measter Tummus did set 
 down a drap of drink and a morsel, to be sure." 
 
 " Thomas was very right, Mr. Stubbs ; and what has become of 
 the other most unfortunate being ? " 
 
 " Why," replied Mr. Stubbs, " I did think the sight on her would 
 but vex your Reverence, and soa I did let her go her ways back to 
 her mother, who is in trouble in the next parish." 
 
 " In trouble ! — that signifies in prison, I suppose ?" said Mr, 
 Staunton. 
 
 " Ay, truly ; something like it, an it like your Reverence." 
 
 " Wretched, unhappy, incorrigible woman ! " said the clergyman. 
 " And what sort of person is this companion of hers ?" 
 
 " Why, decent enow, an it like your Reverence," said Stubbs ; 
 " for aught I sees of her, there's no harm of her, and she says she 
 has cash enow to carry her out of the county." 
 
 " Cash ! that is always what you think of, Stubbs. — But, has she 
 sense ? — has she her wits ? — has she the capacity of taking care of 
 herself?" 
 
 " Why, your Reverence," replied Stubbs, " I cannot just say — I 
 will be sworn she was not born at Witt-ham ;* for Gaffer Gibbs 
 looked at her all the time of service, and he says she could not 
 turn up a single lesson like a Christian, even though she had 
 Madge Murdockson to help her — but then, as to fending for her- 
 sell, why, she's a bit of a Scotchwoman, your Reverence, and they 
 say the worst donnot of them can look out for their own turn — and 
 she is decently put on enow, and not bechounced like t'other." 
 
264 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 " Send her in here, then, and do you remain below, Mr. Stubbs." 
 
 This colloquy had engaged Jeanie's attention so deeply, that it 
 was not until it was over that she observed that the sashed door, 
 which, we have said, led from the anteroom into the garden, was 
 opened, and that there entered, or rather was borne in by two 
 assistants, a young man, of a very pale and sickly appearance, 
 whom they lifted to the nearest couch, and placed there, as if to 
 recover from the fatigue of an unusual exertion. Just as they were 
 making this arrangement, Stubbs came out of the library, and 
 summoned Jeanie to enter it. She obeyed him, not without tremor ; 
 for, beside the novelty of the situation to a girl of her secluded 
 habits, she felt also as if the successful prosecution of her journey 
 was to depend upon the impression she should be able to make on 
 Mr. Staunton. 
 
 It is true, it was difficult to suppose on what pretext a person 
 travelling on her own business, and at her own charge, could be 
 interrupted upon her route. But the violent detention she had 
 already undergone, was sufficient to show that there existed persons 
 at no great distance who had the interest, the inclination, and the 
 audacity, forcibly to stop her journey, and she felt the necessity of 
 having some countenance and protection, at least till she should 
 get beyond their reach. While these things passed through her 
 mind, much faster than our pen and ink can record, or even the 
 reader's eye collect the meaning of its traces, Jeanie found herself 
 in a handsome library, and in presence of the Rector of Willing- 
 ham. The well-furnished presses and shelves which surrounded 
 the large and handsome apartment, contained more books than 
 Jeanie imagined existed in the world, being accustomed to consider 
 as an extensive collection two fir shelves, each about three fee': 
 long, which contained her father's treasured volumes, the whole 
 pith and marrow, as he used sometimes to boast, of modern divinity. 
 An orrery, globes, a telescope, and some other scientific implements 
 conveyed to Jeanie an impression of admiration and wonder not 
 unmixed with fear ; "for, in her ignorant apprehension, they seemed 
 rather adapted for magical purposes than any other ; and a few 
 stuffed animals (as the Rector was fond of natural history) added 
 to the impressive character of the apartment. 
 
 Mr. Staunton spoke to her with great mildness. He observed, 
 that, although her appearance at church had been uncommon, and 
 in strange, and, he must add, discreditable society, and calculated, 
 upon the whole, to disturb the congregation during divine worship, 
 he wished, nevertheless, to hear her own account of herself before 
 taking any steps which his duty might seem to demand. He was 
 a justice of peace, he informed her, as well as a clergyman. 
 
 " His honour " (for she would not say his reverence) " was very 
 civil and kind," was all that poor Jeanie could at first bring out. 
 
 " Who are you, young woman ?" said the clergyman, more per- 
 emptorily — " and what do you do in this country, and in such com- 
 pany ? — We allow no strollers or vagrants here." 
 
 " I am not a vagrant or a stroller, sir," said Jeanie, a little roused 
 by the supposition. " I am a decent Scots lass, travelling through 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 265 
 
 the land on my own business and my own expenses ; and I was so 
 unhappy as to fall in with bad compaay, and was stopped a' night 
 on my journey. And this puir creature, who is something light- 
 headed, let me out in the morning." 
 
 " Bad company ! " said the clergyman. " I am afraid, young 
 woman, you have not been sufficiently anxious to avoid them." 
 
 " Indeed, sir," returned Jeanie, " I have been brought up to shun 
 evil communication. But these wicked people were thieves, and 
 stopped me by violence and mastery." 
 
 -" Thieves ! " said Mr. Staunton ; " then you charge them with 
 robbery, I suppose ? " 
 
 " No, sir ; they did not take so much as a boddle from me," 
 answered Jeanie ; " nor did they use me ill, otherwise than by con- 
 fining me." 
 
 The clergyman inquired into the particulars of her adventure, 
 which she told him from point to point. 
 
 " This is an extraordinary, and not a very probable tale, young 
 ■woman," resumed Mr. Staunton. " Here has been, according to 
 your account, a great violence committed without any adequate 
 motive. Are you aware of the law of this country — that if you 
 lodge this charge, you will be bound over to prosecute this gang ? " 
 
 Jeanie did not understand him, and he explained, that the 
 English law, in addition to the inconvenience sustained by persons 
 who have been robbed or injured, has the goodness to intrust to 
 them the care and the expense of appearing as prosecutors. 
 
 Jeanie said, " that her business at London was express ; all she 
 wanted was, that any gentleman would, out of Christian charity, 
 protect her to some town where she could hire horses and a guide ; 
 and, finally," she thought, " it would be her father's mind that she 
 was not free to give testimony in an English court of justice, as the 
 land was not under a direct gospel dispensation." 
 
 Mr. Staunton stared a little, and asked if her father was a 
 Quaker. 
 
 "God forbid, sir," said Jeanie— " He is nae schismatic nor sectary, 
 nor ever treated for sic black commodities as theirs, and that's weel 
 ken'd o' him." 
 
 "And what is his name, pray?" said Mr. Staunton. 
 
 "David Deans, sir, the cowfeeder at Saint Leonard's Crags, near 
 Edinburgh." 
 
 A deep groan from the anteroom prevented the Rector from re- 
 plying, and, exclaiming, " Good God ! that unhappy boy ! " he left 
 Jeanie alone, and hastened into the outer apartment. 
 
 Some noise and bustle was heard, but no one entered the library 
 for the best part of an hour. 
 
266 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 Fantastic passions' maddening brawl ! 
 And shame and terror over all ! 
 Deeds to be hid which were not hid, 
 Which, all confused, I could not know 
 Whether I suffertl or I did, 
 For all seem'd guilt, remorse, or woe, 
 My own, or others, still the same 
 Life-stifling fear, soul-stifling shame. 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 During the interval while she was thus left alone, Jeanie 
 anxiously revolved in her mind what course was best for her to- 
 pursue. She was impatient to continue her journey, yet she feared 
 she could not safely adventure to do so while the old hag and her 
 assistants were in the neighbourhood, without risking a repetition 
 of their violence. She thought she could collect from the conver- 
 sation which she had partly overheard, and also from the wild con- 
 fessions of Madge Wildfire, that her mother had a deep and re- 
 vengeful motive for obstructing her journey if possible. And from 
 whom could she hope for assistance if not from Mr. Staunton ? 
 His whole appearance and demeanour seemed to encourage her 
 hopes. His features were handsome, though marked with a deep 
 cast of melancholy ; his tone and language were gentle and en- 
 couraging ; and, as he had served in the army for several years 
 during his youth, his air retained that easy frankness which is 
 peculiar to the profession of arms. He was, besides, a minister of 
 the gospel ; and although a worshipper, according to Jeanie's 
 notions, in the court of the Gentiles, and so benighted as to wear 
 a surplice ; although he read the Common Prayer, and wrote down 
 every word of his sermon before delivering it ; and although he 
 was, moreover, in strength of lungs, as well as pith and marrow of 
 doctrine, vastly inferior to Boanerges Stormheaven, Jeanie still 
 thought he must be a very different person from Curate Kiltstoup, 
 and other prelatical divines of her father's earlier days, who used 
 to get drunk in their canonical dress, and hound out the dragoons- 
 against the wandering Cameronians. The house seemed to be in 
 some disturbance, but as she could not suppose she was altogether 
 forgotten, she thought it better to remain quiet in the apartment 
 where she had been left, till some one should take notice of her. 
 
 The first who entered was, to her no small delight, one of her 
 own sex, a motherly-looking aged person of a housekeeper. To her 
 Jeanie explained her situation in a few words, and begged her 
 assistance. 
 
 The dignity of a housekeeper did not encourage too much fami- 
 liarity with a person who was at the Rectory on justice-business, 
 and whose character might seem in her eyes somewhat precarious ; 
 but she was civil, although distant. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 267 
 
 " Her young master," she said, " had had a bad accident by a 
 fall from his horse, which made him liable to fainting fits ; he had 
 been taken very ill just now, and it was impossible his Reverence 
 could see Jeanie for some time ; but that she need not fear his- 
 doing all that was just and proper in her behalf the instant he 
 could get her business attended to."— She concluded by offering to 
 show Jeanie a room, where she might remain till his Reverence- 
 was at leisure. 
 
 Our heroine took the opportunity to request the means of adjust- 
 ing and changing her dress. 
 
 The housekeeper, in whose estimation order and cleanliness- 
 ranked high among personal virtues, gladly complied with a request 
 so reasonable ; and the change of dress which jeanie's bundle fur- 
 nished made so important an improvement in her appearance, that 
 the old lady hardly knew the soiled and'disordered traveller, whose- 
 attire showed the violence she had sustained, in the neat, clean,, 
 quiet-looking little Scotchwoman, who now stood before her. En- 
 couraged by such a favourable alteration in her appearance, Mrs. 
 Dalton ventured to invite Jeanie to partake of her dinner, and was- 
 equally pleased with the decent propriety of her conduct during the 
 meal. 
 
 " Thou canst read this book, canst thouj young woman ? " said 
 the old lady, when their meal was concluded, layingherhand upon 
 a large Bible. 
 
 " I hope sae, madam," said Jeanie, surprised at the question ; 
 " my father wad hae wanted mony a thing, ere I had wanted that 
 schuling." 
 
 " The better sign of him, young woman. There are men here, 
 well to pass in the world, would not want their share of a Leicester 
 plover, and that's a bag-pudding, if fasting for three hours would 
 make all their poor children read the Bible from end to end. Take 
 thou the book, then, for my eyes are something dazed, and read 
 where thou listest — it's the only book thou canst not happen wrong 
 in." 
 
 Jeanie was at first terhpted to turn up the parable of the good 
 Samaritan, but her conscience checked her, as if it were a use of 
 Scripture, not for her own edification, but to work upon the mind 
 of others for the relief of her worldly afflictions ; and under this 
 scrupulous sense of duty, she selected, in preference, a chapter of 
 the prophet Isaiah, and read it, notwithstanding her northern 
 accent and tone, with a devout propriety, which greatly edified. 
 Mrs. Dalton. 
 
 "Ah," she said, " an all Scotchwomen were sic as thou ! — but it 
 was our luck to get born devils of thy country, I think — every one- 
 worse than t' other. If thou knowest of any tidy iass like thysell,. 
 that wanted a place, and could bring a good character, and would 
 not go laiking about to wakes and fairs, and wore shoes and stock- 
 ings all the day round — why, I'll not say but we might find room 
 for her at the Rectory. Hast no cousin or sister, lass, that such an 
 offer would suit ? " 
 
 This was touching upon a sore point, but Jeanie was spared the 
 
268 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 pain of replying by the entrance of the same man-servant she had 
 seen before. 
 
 " Measter wishes to see the young woman from Scotland," was 
 Tummas's address. 
 
 " Go to his Reverence, my dear, as fast as you can, and tell him 
 .all your story — his Reverence is a kind man," said Mrs. Dalton. 
 " I will fold down the leaf, and make you a cup of tea, with some 
 nice muffin, against you come down, and that's what you seldom 
 .see in Scotland, girl." 
 
 " Measter's waiting for the young woman," said Tummas, impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Jack-Sauce, and what is your business to put in your 
 oar? — And how often must I tell you to call Mr. Staunton his 
 Reverence, seeing as he is a dignified clergyman, and not be 
 jneastering, meastering him, as if he were a little petty squire ? " 
 
 As Jeanie was now at the door, and ready to accompany Tummas, 
 the footman said nothing till he got into the passage, when he mut- 
 tered, " There are moe masters than one in this house, and I think 
 we shall have a mistress too, an Dame Dalton carries it thus." 
 
 Tummas led the way through a more intricate range of passages 
 than J.eanie had yet threaded, and ushered her into an apartment 
 which was darkened by the closing of most of the window-shutters, 
 and in which was a bed with the curtains partly drawn. 
 
 " Here is the young woman, sir," said Tummas. 
 
 " Very well," said a voice from the bed, but not that of his Rever- 
 ence ; " be ready to answer the bell, and leave the room." 
 
 " There is some mistake," said Jeanie, confounded at finding 
 herself in the apartment of an invalid ; " the servant told me that 
 the minister " 
 
 " Don't trouble yourself," said the invalid, " there is no mistake. 
 I know more of your affairs than my father, and I can manage 
 them better. — Leave the room, Tom." The servant obeyed. — " We 
 must not," said the invalid, " lose time, when we have little to lose. 
 Open the shutter of that window." 
 
 She did so, and, as he drew aside the curtain of his bed, the 
 light fell on his pale countenance, as turban'd with bandages, and 
 .dressed in a night-gown, he lay, seemingly exhausted, upon the bed. 
 
 " Look at me," he said, " Jeanie Deans, can you not recollect 
 me?" 
 
 " No, sir," said she, full of surprise. " I was never in this country 
 before." 
 
 " But I may have been in yours. Think — recollect. I should 
 faint did I name the name you are most dearly bound to loathe and 
 to detest. Think — remember ! " 
 
 A terrible recollection flashed on Jeanie, which every tone of the 
 ■speaker confirmed, and which his next words rendered certainty. 
 
 " Be composed — remember Muschat's Cairn, and the moonlight 
 night!" 
 
 Jeanie sunk down on a chair, with clasped hands, and gasped in 
 agony. 
 
 "Yes, here I lie," he said, " like a crushed snake, writhing with 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 269 
 
 impatience at my incapacity of motion — here I lie, when I ought 
 to have been in Edinburgh, trying every means to save a life that is 
 dearer to me than my own. — How is your sister ? — how fares it with 
 her? — condemned to death, I know it, by this time ! O, the horse 
 that carried me safely on a thousand errands of folly and wicked- 
 ness, that he should have broke down with me on the only good 
 mission I have undertaken for years ! But I must rein in my pas- 
 sion — my frame cannot endure it, and I have much to say. Give 
 me some of the cordial which stands on that -table. — Why do you 
 tremble ? But you have too good cause. — Let it stand — I need it 
 not." 
 
 Jeanie, however reluctant, approached him with the cup into 
 which she had poured the draught, and could not forbear saying, 
 " There is a cordial for the mind, sir, if the wicked will turn from 
 their transgressions, and seek to the Physician of souls." 
 
 " Silence ! " he said sternly — " and yet I thank you. But tell me, 
 and lose no time in doing so, what you are doing in this country? 
 Remember, though I have been your sister's worst enemy, yet I will 
 serve her with the best of my blood, and I will serve you for her 
 sake ; and no one can serve you to such purpose, for no one can 
 know the circumstances so well— so speak without fear." 
 
 " I am not afraid, sir," said Jeanie, collecting her spirits. "I trust 
 in God ; and if it pleases Him to redeem my sister's captivity, it is 
 all I seek, whosoever be the instrument. But, sir, to be plain with 
 you, I dare not use your counsel, unless I were enabled to see that 
 it accords with the law which I must rely upon." 
 
 " The devil take the puritan ! " cried George Staunton, for so we 
 must now call him, — " I beg your pardon ; but I am naturally im- 
 patient, and you drive me mad ! What harm can it possibly do to 
 tell me in what situation your sister stands, and your own expecta- 
 tions of being able to assist her ? It is time enough to refuse 
 my advice when I offer any which you may think improper. I 
 speak calmly to you, though 'tis against my nature : — but don't 
 urge me to impatience — it will only render me incapable of serving 
 Erne." 
 
 There was in the looks and words of this unhappy young man a 
 sort of restrained eagerness and impetuosity which seemed to prey 
 upon itself, as the impatience of a fiery steed fatigues itself with 
 churning upon the bit. After a moment's consideration, it occurred 
 to Jeanie that she was not entitled to withhold from him, whether 
 on her sister's account or her own, the fatal account of the conse- 
 quences of the crime which he had committed, nor to reject such 
 advice, being in itself lawful and innocent, as he might be able to 
 suggest in the way of remedy. Accordingly, in as few words as 
 she could express it, she told the history of her sister's trial and 
 condemnation, and of her own journey as far as Newark. He ap- 
 peared to listen in the utmost agony of mind, yet repressed every 
 violent symptom of emotion, whether by gesture or sound, which 
 might have interrupted the speaker, and, stretched on his couch 
 like the Mexican monarch on his bed of live coals, only the contor- 
 tions of his cheek, and the quivering of his limbs, gave indication 
 
2 7 o THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 ■of his sufferings. To much of what she said he listened with stifled 
 groans, as if he were only hearing those miseries confirmed, whose 
 fatal reality he had known before ; but when she pursued her tale 
 through the circumstances which had interrupted her journey, ex- 
 treme surprise and earnest attention appeared to succeed to the 
 symptoms of remorse which he had before exhibited. He questioned 
 jeanie closely concerning the appearance of the two men, and the 
 conversation which she had overheard between the taller of them 
 and the woman. 
 
 When Jeanie mentioned the old woman having alluded to her 
 foster-son — " It is too true," he said ; " and the source from which 
 I derived food, when an infant, must have communicated to me the 
 wretched — the fated— propensity to vices that were strangers in my 
 own family. — But go on." 
 
 Jeanie passed slightly over her journey in company with Madge, 
 having no inclination to repeat what might be the effect of mere 
 raving on the part of her companion, and therefore her tale was 
 now closed. 
 
 Young Staunton lay for a moment in profound meditation, and 
 at length spoke with more composure than he had yet displayed 
 during their interview. — " You are a sensible, as well as a good 
 young woman, Jeanie Deans, and I will tell you more of my story 
 than I have told to anyone. — Story did I call it? — it is a tissue of 
 folly, guilt, and misery. — But take notice — I do it because I desire 
 your confidence in return — that is, that you will act in this dismal 
 matter by my advice and direction. Therefore do I speak." 
 
 " I will do what is fitting for a sister, and a daughter, and a 
 Christian woman to do," said Jeanie ; " but do not tell me any 
 of your secrets. — It is not good that I should come into your coun- 
 sel, or listen to the doctrine which causeth to err." 
 
 " Simple fool ! " said the young man. " Look at me. My head 
 is not horned, my foot is not cloven, my hands are not garnished 
 with talons ; and, since I am not the very devil himself, what inte- 
 rest can any one else have in destroying the hopes with' which you 
 comfort or fool yourself? Listen to me patiently, and you will find 
 that, when you have heard my counsel, you may go to the seventh 
 heaven with it in your pocket, if you have a mind, and not feel your- 
 self an ounce heavier in the ascent." 
 
 At the risk of being somewhat heavy, as explanations usually 
 prove, we must here endeavour to combine into a distinct narrative, 
 information which the invalid communicated in a manner at once 
 too circumstantial, and too much broken by passion, to admit of 
 our giving his precise words. Part of it, indeed, he read from a 
 manuscript, which he had perhaps drawn up for the information of 
 his relations after his decease. 
 
 "To make my tale short — this wretched hag — this Margaret 
 Murdockson, was the wife of a favourite servant of my father — she 
 had been my nurse — her husband was d«ad — she resided in a cot- 
 tage near this place — she had a daughter who grew up, and was then 
 a beautiful but very giddy girl ; her mother endeavoured to promote 
 her marriage with an old and wealthy churl in the neighbourhood— 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 271 
 
 the girl saw me frequently — She was familiar with me, as our con- 
 nection seemed to permit — and I — in a word, I wronged her cruelly- 
 — It was not so bad as your sister's business, but it was' sufficiently 
 villanous — her folly should have been her protection. Soon after 
 this I was sent abroad — To do my father justice, if I have turned 
 out a fiend it is not his fault — he used the best means. When I re- 
 turned, I found the wretched mother and daughter had fallen into 
 disgrace, and were chased from this country. — My deep share in 
 their shame and misery was discovered — my father used very harsh 
 language — we quarrelled. I left his house, and led a life of strange 
 adventure, resolving never again to see my father or my father's 
 home. 
 
 "And now comes the story! — Jeanie, I put my life into your 
 hands, and not only my own life, which, God knows, is not worth 
 saving, but the happiness of a respectable old man, and the honour 
 of a family of consideration. My love of low society, as such pro- 
 pensities as I was cursed with are usually termed, was, I think, of 
 an uncommon kind, and indicated a nature, which, if not depraved 
 by early debauchery, would have been fit for better things. 1 did 
 not so much delight in the wild revel, the low humour, the uncon- 
 fined liberty of those with whom I associated, as in the spirit of 
 adventure, presence of mind in peril, and sharpness of intellect 
 which they displayed in prosecuting their maraudings upon the 
 
 revenue, or similar adventures. Have you looked round this 
 
 rectory ? — is it not a sweet and pleasant retreat ? " 
 
 Jeanie, alarmed at this sudden change of subject, replied in the 
 affirmative. 
 
 " Well ! I wish it had been ten thousand fathoms under ground, 
 with its church-lands, and tithes, and all that belongs to it. Had it 
 not been for this cursed rectory, I should have been permitted to 
 follow the bent of my own inclinations and the profession of arms, 
 and half the courage and address that I have displayed among 
 smugglers and deer-stealers would have secured me an honourable 
 rank among my contemporaries. Why did I not go abroad when I 
 left this house! — Why did I leave it at all !— why — But it came to 
 that point with me that it is madness to look back, and misery to 
 look forward ! " 
 
 He paused, and then proceeded with more composure. 
 
 " The chances of a wandering life brought me unhappily to Scot- 
 land, to embroil myself in worse and more criminal actions than I 
 had yet been concerned in. It was now I became acquainted with 
 Wilson, a remarkable man in his station of life ; quiet, composed, 
 and resolute, firm in mind, and uncommonly strong in person, gifted 
 with a sort of rough eloquence which raised him above his com- 
 panions. Hitherto I had been 
 
 ' As dissolute as desperate, yet through both 
 Were seen some sparkles of a better hope.' 
 
 But it was this man's misfortune, as well as mine, that, notwith- 
 standing the difference of our rank and education, he acquired an 
 extraordinary and fascinating influence over me, which I can only 
 
272 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 account for by the calm determination of his character being supe- 
 rior to the less sustained impetuosity of mine. Where he led I felt 
 myself bound to follow ; and strange was the courage and address 
 which he displayed in his pursuits. While I was engaged in despe- 
 rate adventures, under so strange and dangerous a preceptor, I 
 became acquainted with your unfortunate sister at some sports of 
 the young people in the suburbs, which she frequented by stealth — 
 and her ruin proved an interlude to the tragic scenes in which I 
 was now deeply engaged. Yet this let me say — the villany was not 
 premeditated, and I was firmly resolved to do her all the justice 
 which marriage could do, so soon as I should be able to extricate 
 myself from my unhappy course of life, and embrace some one 
 more suited to my birth. I had wild visions —visions of conducting 
 her as if to some poor retreat, and introducing her at once to rank 
 and fortune she never dreamt of. A friend, at my request, attempted 
 a negotiation with my father, which was protracted for some time, 
 and renewed at different intervals. At length, and just when I ex- 
 pected my father's pardon, he learned by some means or other my 
 infamy, painted in even exaggerated colours, which was, Godknows ? 
 unnecessary. He wrote me a letter — how it found me out, I know- 
 not — enclosing me a sum of money, and disowning me for ever. 
 I became desperate — I became frantic — I readily joined Wilson in 
 a perilous smuggling adventure in which we miscarried, and was 
 willingly blinded by his logic to consider the robbery of the officer 
 of the customs in Fife as a fair and honourable reprisal. Hitherto 
 I had observed a certain line in my criminality, and stood free of 
 assaults upon personal property, but now I felt a wild pleasure in 
 disgracing myself as much as possible. 
 
 " The plunder was no object to me. I abandoned that to my 
 comrades, and only asked the post of danger. I remember well, 
 that when I stood with my drawn sword guarding the door while 
 they committed the felony, I had not a thought of my own safety. 
 I was only meditating on my sense of supposed wrong from my 
 family, my impotent thirst of vengeance, and how it would sound in 
 the haughty ears of the family of Willingham, that one of their de- 
 scendants, and the heir apparent of their honours, should perish by 
 the hands of the hangman for robbing a Scottish gauger of a sum 
 not equal to one-fifth part of the money I had in my pocket-book. 
 We were taken — I expected no less. We were condemned — that 
 also I looked for. But Death, as he approached nearer, looked 
 grimly ; and the recollection of your sister's destitute condition 
 determined me on an effort to save my life. — I forgot to tell you, 
 that in Edinburgh I again met the woman Murdockson and her 
 daughter. She had followed the camp when young, and had now, 
 under pretence of a trifling traffic, resumed predatory habits, with 
 which she had already been too familiar. Our first meeting was 
 stormy ; but I was liberal of what money I had, and she forgot, or 
 seemed to forget, the injury her daughter had received. The un- 
 fortunate girl herself seemed hardly even to know her seducer, far 
 less to retain any sense of the injury she had received. Her mind 
 is totally alienated, which, according to her mother's account, is 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 273 
 
 sometimes the consequence of an unfavourable confinement. But 
 it was my doing . Here was another stone knitted round my neck 
 to sink me into the pit of perdition. Every .look— every word of 
 this poor creature — her false spirits — her imperfect recollections— 
 her allusions to things which she had forgotten, but which were 
 recorded in my conscience, were stabs of a poniard — stabs did I 
 say? — they were tearing with hot pincers, and scalding the raw 
 wound with burning sulphur — they were to be endured however, and 
 they i&ere endured. — I return to my prison thoughts. 
 
 " It was not the least miserable of them that your sister's time 
 approached. I knew her dread of you and of her father. She often 
 said she would die a thousand deaths ere you should know her 
 shame — yet her confinement must be provided for. I knew this 
 woman Murdockson was an infernal hag, but I thought she loved 
 me, and that money would make her true. She had procured a file 
 for Wilson, and a spring-saw for me ; and she undertook readily to 
 take charge of Effie during her illness, in which she had skill 
 •enough to give the necessary assistance. I gave her the money 
 which my father had sent me. It was settled that she should receive 
 Effie into her house in the meantime, and wait for farther directions 
 from me, when I should effect my escape. I communicated this 
 purpose, and recommended the old hag to poor Effie by a letter, 
 in which I recollect that I endeavoured to support the character of 
 Macheath under condemnation — a fine, gay, bold-faced ruffian, who 
 is game to the last. Such, and so wretchedly poor, was my ambi- 
 tion ! Yet I had resolved to forsake the courses I had been engaged 
 in, should I be so fortunate as to escape the gibbet. My design was 
 to marry your sister, and go over to the West Indies. I had still a 
 considerable sum of money left, and I trusted to be able, in one 
 way or other, to provide for myself and my wife. 
 
 " We made the attempt to escape, and by the obstinacy of Wil- 
 son, who insisted upon going first, it totally miscarried. The 
 undaunted and self-denied manner in which he sacrificed himself to 
 redeem his error, and accomplish my escape from the Tolbooth 
 Church, you must have heard of — all Scotland rang with it. It was 
 a gallant and extraordinary deed — All men spoke of it — all men, 
 even those who most condemned the habits and crimes of this self- 
 devoted man, praised the heroism of his friendship. I have many 
 vices, but cowardice, or want^of gratitude, are none of the number. 
 I resolved to requite his generosity, and even your sister's safety 
 became a secondary consideration with me for the time. To effect 
 Wilson's liberation was my principal object, and I doubted not to 
 find the means. 
 
 "Yet I did not forget Effie neither. The bloodhounds of the law 
 were so close after me, that I dared not trust myself near any of my 
 old haunts, but old Murdockson met me by appointment, and in- 
 formed me that your sister had happily been delivered of a boy. I 
 charged the hag to keep her patient's mind easy, and let her want 
 for nothing that money could purchase, and I retreated to Fife, 
 where, among my old associates of Wilson's gang, I hid myself in 
 those places of concealment where the men engaged in that despe- 
 
 s 
 
274 ' THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 rate trade are used to find security for themselves and their un- 
 customed goods. Men who are disobedient' both to human and 
 divine laws are not always insensible to the claims of courage and 
 generosity. We were assured that the mob of Edinburgh, strongly 
 moved with the hardship of Wilson's situation, and the gallantry of 
 his conduct, would back any bold attempt that might be made to 
 rescue him even from the foot of the gibbet. Desperate as the 
 attempt seemed, upon my declaring myself ready to lead the onset 
 on the guard, I found no want of followers who engaged to stand 
 by me, and returned to Lothian, soon followed by some steady as- 
 sociates, prepared to act whenever the occasion might require. 
 
 " I have no doubt I should have rescued him from the very noose 
 that dangled over his head," he continued with animation, which 
 seemed a flash of the interest which he had taken in such exploits ; 
 " but amongst other precautions, the magistrates had taken one, 
 suggested, as we afterwards learned, by the unhappy wretch 
 Porteous, which effectually disconcerted my measures. They an- 
 ticipated, by half an hour, the ordinary period for execution ; and, 
 as it had been resolved amongst us, that, for fear of observation 
 from the officers of justice, we should not show ourselves upon the 
 street until the time of action approached, it followed, that all was 
 over before our attempt at a rescue commenced. It did commence, 
 however, and I gained the scaffold and cut the rope with my own 
 hand. It was too late ! The bold, stout-hearted, generous criminal 
 was no more — and vengeance was all that remained to us — a ven- 
 geance, as I then thought, doubly due from my hand, to whom 
 Wilson had given life and liberty when he could as easily have 
 secured his own." 
 
 " O, sir," said Jeanie, '' did the Scripture never come into your 
 mind, ' Vengeance is mine, and I will repay it ' ? " 
 
 " Scripture ! Why, I had not opened a Bible for five years," 
 answered Staunton. 
 
 " Wae's me, sirs," said Jeanie — " and a minister's son, too." 
 
 " It is natural for you to say so ; yet do not interrupt me, but let 
 me finish my most accursed history. The beast, Porteous, who kept 
 firing on the people long after it had ceased to be necessary, be- 
 came the object of their hatred for having overdone his duty, and 
 of mine for having done it too well. We — that is, I and the other 
 determined friends of Wilson— resolved to be avenged ; but caution 
 was necessary. I thought I had been marked by one of the officers, 
 and therefore continued to lurk about the vicinity of Edinburgh, 
 but without daring to venture within the walls. At length I visited, 
 at the hazard of my life, the place where I hoped to find my future 
 wife and my son — they were both gone. Dame Murdockson in- 
 formed me, that so soon as Effie heard of the miscarriage of the 
 attempt to rescue Wilson, and the hot pursuit after me, she fell into 
 a brain fever ; and that being one day obliged to go out on some 
 necessary business and leave her alone, she had taken that oppor- 
 tunity to escape, and she had not seen her since. I loaded her with 
 reproaches, to which she listened with the most provoking and 
 callous composure ; for it is one of her attributes, that, violent and 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 275 
 
 fierce as she is upon most occasions, there are some in which she 
 shows the most imperturbable calmness. I threatened her with 
 justice ; she said I had more reason to fear justice than she had. I 
 felt she was right, and was silenced. I threatened her with ven- 
 geance ; she replied in nearly the same words, that, to judge by 
 injuries received, I had more reason to fear her vengeance, than she 
 to dread mine. She was again right, and I was left without an 
 answer. I flung myself from her in indignation, and employed a 
 comrade to make inquiry in the neighbourhood of Saint Leonard's 
 concerning your sister ; but ere I received his answer, the opening 
 quest of a well-scented terrier of the law drove me from the vicinity 
 of Edinburgh, to a more distant and secluded place of conceal- 
 ment. A secret and trusty emissary at length brought me the 
 account of Porteous's condemnation, and of your sister's imprison- 
 ment on a criminal charge ; thus astounding one of mine ears, while 
 he gratified the other. 
 
 " I again ventured to the Pleasance — again charged Murdockson 
 with treachery to the unfortunate Erne and her child, though I 
 could conceive no reason, save that of appropriating the whole of 
 the money I had lodged with her. Your narrative throws light on 
 this, and shows another motive, not less powerful because less 
 evident — the desire of wreaking vengeance on the seducer of her 
 daughter, — the destroyer at once of her reason and reputation. 
 Great God ! how I wish that, instead of the revenge she made 
 choice of, she had delivered me up to the cord ! " 
 
 " But what account did the wretched woman give of Effie and 
 the bairn ? " . said Jeanie, who, during this long and agitating 
 narrative, had firmness and discernment enough to keep her eye on 
 such points as might throw light on her sister's misfortunes. 
 
 " She would give none," said Staunton ; " she said the mother 
 made a moonlight flitting from her house, with the infant in her 
 arms' — that she had never seen either of them since — that the lass 
 might have thrown the child into the North Loch or the Quarry 
 Holes for what she knew, and it was like enough she had done so." 
 
 " And how came you to believe that she did not speak the fatal 
 truth ? " said Jeanie, trembling. 
 
 " Because, on this second occasion, I saw her daughter, and I 
 understood from her, that, in fact, the child had been removed or 
 destroyed during the illness of the mother. But all knowledge to 
 be got from her is so uncertain and indirect, that I could not collect 
 any further circumstances. Only the diabolical character of old 
 Murdockson makes me augur the worst." 
 
 " The last account agrees with that given by my poor sister," 
 said Jeanie ; "but gang on wi' your ain tale, sir." 
 
 " Of this I am certain," said Staunton, " that Effie, in her senses, 
 and with her knowledge, never injured living creature — But what 
 could I do in her exculpation?— Nothing— and, therefore, my whole 
 thoughts were turned toward her safety. I was under the cursed 
 necessity of suppressing my feelings towards Murdockson ; my life 
 was in the hag's hand— that I cared not for ; but on my life hung 
 that of your sister. I spoke the wretch fair ; I appeared to confide 
 
276 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 in her ; and to me, so far as I was personally concerned, she gave 
 proofs of extraordinary fidelity. I was at first uncertain what 
 measures I ought to adopt for your sister's liberation, when the 
 general rage excited among the citizens of Edinburgh on account 
 of the reprieve of Porteous, suggested to me the daring idea of 
 forcing the jail, and at once carrying off your sister from the 
 clutches of the law, and bringing to condign punishment a miscre- 
 ant, who had tormented the unfortunate Wilson, even in the hour 
 of death, as if he had been a wild Indian taken captive by an 
 hostile tribe. I flung myself among the multitude in the moment 
 of fermentation — so did others among Wilson's mates, who had, 
 like me, been disappointed in the hope of glutting their eyes with 
 Porteous's execution. All was organized, and I was chosen for the 
 captain. I felt not — I do not now feel, compunction for what was 
 to be done, and has since been executed." 
 
 " O God forgive ye, sir, and bring ye to a better sense of your 
 ways ! " exclaimed Jeanie, in horror at the avowal of such violent 
 sentiments. 
 
 " Amen," replied Staunton, " if my sentiments are wrong. But I 
 repeat, that, although willing to-aid the deed, I could have wished 
 them to have chosen another leader ; because I foresaw that the 
 great and general duty of the night would interfere with the assist- 
 ance which I proposed to render Effie. I gave a commission, how- 
 •ever, to a trusty friend to protect her to a place of safety, so soon 
 as the fatal procession had left the jail. But for no persuasions 
 which I could use in the hurry of the moment, or which my com- 
 rade employed at more length, after the mob had taken a different 
 -direction, could the unfortunate girl be prevailed upon to leave the 
 prison. His arguments were all wasted upon the infatuated victim, 
 and he was obliged to leave her in order to attend to his own safety. 
 Such was his account ; but, perhaps, he persevered less steadily in 
 his attempt to persuade her than I would have done." 
 
 " Effie was right to remain," said Jeanie ; " and I love her the 
 better for it." 
 
 " Why will you say so ? " said Staunton. 
 
 "You cannot understand my reasons, sir, if I should render 
 them," answered Jeanie, composedly ; " they that thirst for the 
 blood of their enemies have no taste for the well-spring of 
 life." 
 
 " My hopes," said Staunton, " were thus a second time disap- 
 pointed. My next efforts were to bring her through her trial by 
 means of yourself. How I urged it, and where, you cannot have 
 forgotten. I do not blame you for your refusal ; it was founded, I 
 am convinced, on principle, and not on indifference to your sister's 
 fate. For me, judge of me as a man frantic ; I knew not what hand 
 to turn to, and all my efforts were unavailing. In this condition, and 
 close beset on all sides, I thought of what might be done by means 
 of my family and their influence. I fled from Scotland — I reached 
 this place — my miserably wasted and unhappy appearance pro- 
 cured me from my father that pardon, which a parent finds it so 
 hard to refuse, even to the most undeserving son. And here I have 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 277 
 
 awaited in anguish of mind, which the condemned criminal might 
 envy, the event of your sister's trial." 
 " Without taking any steps for her relief? " said Jeanie. 
 " To the last I hoped her case might terminate more favourably ; 
 and it is only two days since that the fatal tidings reached me.v My 
 resolution was instantly taken. I mounted my best horse with the 
 purpose of making the utmost haste to London, and there com- 
 pounding with Sir Robert Walpole for your sister's safety, by sur- 
 rendering to him, in the person of the heir of the family of Willing- 
 ham, the notorious George Robertson, the accomplice of Wilson, 
 the breaker of the Tolbooth prison, and the well-known leader of 
 the Porteous mob." 
 " But would that save my sister ?" said Jeanie, in astonishment. 
 " It would, as I should drive my bargain," said Staunton. 
 " Queens love revenge as well as their subjects — Little as you seem 
 to esteem it, it is a poison which pleases all palates, from the prince 
 to the peasant. Prime ministers love no less the power of pleasing 
 sovereigns by gratifying their passions. The life of an obscure 
 village girl ! Why, I might ask the best of the crown-jewels for 
 laying the head of such an insolent conspiracy at the foot of her 
 majesty, with a certainty of being gratified. All my other plans 
 have failed, but this could not— Heaven is just, however, and would 
 not honour me with making this voluntary atonement for the injury' 
 I have done your sister. I had not rode ten miles, when my horse, 
 the best and most sure-footed animal in this country, fell with me 
 on a level piece of road, as if he had been struck by a cannon-shot. 
 I was greatly hurt, aha was brought back here in the miserable 
 condition in which you now see me." 
 
 As young Staunton had come to the conclusion, the servant 
 opened the door, and, with a voice which seemed intended rather 
 for a signal, than merely the announcing of a visit, said, " His 
 Reverence, sir, is coming upstairs to wait upon you." 
 
 "For God's sake, hide yourself, Jeanie," exclaimed Staunton, "in 
 that dressing-closet ! " 
 
 " No, sir," said Jeanie ; " as I am here for nae ill, I canna take 
 the shame of hiding mysell frae the master 0' the house." 
 " But, good Heavens ! " exclaimed George Staunton, " do but 
 
 .consider " 
 
 Ere he could complete the sentence his father entered the 
 apartment. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 And now, will pardon, comfort, kindness, draw 
 The youth from vice ? will honour, duty, law ? 
 
 Crabbe. 
 
 Jeanie arose from her seat, and made her quiet reverence, when 
 the elder Mr. Staunton entered the apartment. His astonish- 
 ment was extreme at finding his son in such company. 
 
 " I perceive, madam, I have made a mistake respecting you, and 
 
278 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 ought to have left the task of interrogating you, and of righting your 
 wrongs, to this young man, with whom, doubtless, you have been 
 .formerly acquainted." 
 
 " It's unwitting on my part that I am here," said Jeanie ; " the 
 servant told me his master wished to speak with me." 
 
 " There goes the purple coat over my ears," murmured Tummas. 
 "D— n her, why must she needs speak the truth, when she could 
 have as well said anything else she had a mind ? " 
 
 " George," said Mr. Staunton, " if you are still — as you have ever 
 been — lost to all self-respect, you might at least have spared your 
 father, and your father's house such a disgraceful scene as this." 
 
 " Upon my life — upon my soul, sir ! " said George, throwing his 
 feet over the side of the bed, and starting from his recumbent 
 posture. 
 
 " Your life, sir," interrupted his father, with melancholy stern- 
 ness, — " What sort of life has it been ? — Your soul ! alas ! what 
 regard have you ever paid to it ? Take care to reform both ere 
 offering either as pledges of your sincerity." 
 
 " On my honour, sir, you do me wrong," answered George 
 Staunton ; " I have been all that you can call me that's bad, but in 
 the present instance you do me injustice. By my honour you do ! " 
 
 " Your honour !" said his father, and turned from him, with a look 
 of the most upbraiding contempt, to Jeanie. " From you, young 
 woman, I neither ask nor expect any explanation ; but as a father 
 alike and as a clergyman, I request your departure from this house. 
 If your romantic story has been other than a pretext to find admis- 
 sion into it, (which, from the society in which you first appeared, I 
 may be permitted to doubt,) you will find a justice of peace 
 within two miles, with whom, more properly than with me, you may 
 lodge your complaint." 
 
 " This shall not be," said George Staunton, starting up to his 
 feet. " Sir, you are naturally kind and humane — you shall not 
 become cruel and inhospitable on my account. Turn out that 
 eaves-dropping rascal," pointing to Thomas, " and get what hart- 
 shorn drops, or what better receipt you have against fainting, and I 
 will explain to you in two words the connection betwixt this young 
 woman and me. She shall not lose her fair character through 'me. • 
 I have done too much mischief to her family already, and I know 
 too well what belongs to the loss of fame." 
 
 " Leave the room, sir," said the Rector to the servant ; and when 
 the man had obeyed, he carefully shut the door behind him. Then 
 addressing his son, he said sternly, " Now, sir, what new proof of 
 your infamy have you to impart to me ? " 
 
 Young Staunton was about to speak, but it was one of those 
 moments when those, who, like Jeanie Deans, possess the advan- 
 tage of a steady courage and unruffled temper, can assume the supe- 
 rioiity over more ardent but less determined spirits. 
 
 " Sir," she said to the elder Staunton, " ye have an undoubted 
 right to ask your ain son to render a reason of his conduct. But 
 respecting me, I am but a wayfaring traveller, no ways obligated or 
 indebted to you, unless it be for the meal of meat which, in my ain 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 279 
 
 country, is willingly gien by rich or poor, according to their ability, 
 to those who need it ; and for which, forby that, I am willing to 
 make payment, if I didna think it would be an affront to offer siller 
 in a house like this — only I dinna ken the fashions of the country." 
 
 "This is all very well, young woman," said the Rector, <i good 
 deal surprised, and unable to conjecture whether to impute Jeanie's 
 language to simplicity or impertinence — " this may be all very well 
 — but let me bring it to a point. Why do you stop this young 
 man's mouth, and prevent his communicating to his father and his 
 best friend an explanation (since he says he has one) of circum- 
 stances which seem in themselves not a little suspicious ? " 
 
 " He may tell of his ain affairs what he likes," answered Jeanie ; 
 " but my family and friends have nae richt to hae ony stories told 
 anent them without their express desire ; and, as they canna be 
 here to speak for themselves, I entreat ye wadna ask Mr. George 
 Rob — I mean Staunton, or whatever his name is, ony questions 
 anent me or my folk ; for I maun be free to tell you, that he will 
 neither have the bearing of a Christian or a gentleman, if he answers 
 you against my express desire." 
 
 '' This is the most extraordinary thing I ever met with/' said the 
 Rector, as, after fixing his eyes keenly on the placid, yet modest 
 countenance of Jeanie, he turned them suddenly upon his son. 
 "What have you to say, sir?" 
 
 " That I feel I have been too hasty in my promise, sir," answered 
 George Staunton ; " I have no title .to make any communications 
 respecting the affairs of this young person's family without her 
 assent." 
 
 The elder Mr. Staunton turned his eyes from one to the other 
 , with marks of surprise. 
 
 " This is more, and worse, I fear," he said, addressing his son, 
 " than one of your frequent and disgraceful connections — I insist 
 upon knowing the mystery." 
 
 " I haye already said, sir," replied his son rather sullenly, " that I 
 have no title to mention the affairs of this young woman's family 
 without her consent." 
 
 "And I hae nae mysteries to explain, sir," said Jeanie, "but only 
 to pray you, as a preacher of the gospel and a gentleman, to permit 
 me to go safe to the next public-house on the Lunnon road." 
 
 " I shall take care of your safety," said young Staunton, "you 
 need ask that favour from no one." 
 
 " Do you say so before my face ? " said the justly-incensed father. 
 " Perhaps, sir, you intend to fill up the cup of disobedience and 
 profligacy by forming a low and disgraceful marriage ? But let me 
 bid you beware." 
 
 " If you were feared for sic a thing happening wi' me, sir," said 
 Jeanie, " I can only say, that not for all the land that lies between 
 the twa ends of the rainbow wad I be the woman that should wed 
 your son." 
 
 " There is something very singular in all this," said the elder 
 Staunton ; " follow me into the next room, young woman." 
 . " Hear me speak first," said the young man. " I have but one 
 
s8o THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 word to say. I confide entirely in your prudence ; tell my father as 
 much or as little of these matters as you will, he shall know neither 
 more nor less from me." 
 
 His father darted at him a glance of indignation, which softened 
 into sorrow as he saw him sink down on the couch, exhausted with 
 the scene he had undergone. He left the apartment, and Jeanie 
 followed him, George Staunton raising himself as she passed the 
 door-way, and pronouncing the word, " Remember ! " in a tone as 
 monitory as it was uttered by Charles I. upon the scaffold. The 
 elder Staunton led the way into a small parlour, and shut the door. 
 
 " Young woman," said he, " there is something in your face and 
 appearance that marks both sense and simplicity, and, if I am not 
 deceived, innocence also — Should it be otherwise, I can only say, 
 you are the most accomplished hypocrite I have ever seen — I ask 
 to know no secret that you have unwillingness to divulge, least of 
 all those which concern my son. His conduct has given me too 
 much unhappiness to permit me to hope comfort or satisfaction 
 from him. If you are such as I suppose you, believe me, that what- 
 ever unhappy circumstances may have connected you with George 
 Staunton, the sooner you break them through the better." 
 
 " I think 1 understand your meaning, sir," replied Jeanie ; " and 
 as ye are sae frank as to speak o' the young gentleman in sic a way, 
 I must needs say that it is but the second time of my speaking wi' 
 him in our lives, and what I hae heard frae him on these twa occa- 
 sions has been such that I never wish to hear the like again." 
 
 " Then it is your real intention to leave this part of the country, 
 and proceed to London ? " said the Rector. 
 
 " Certainly, sir ; for I may say, in one sense, that the avenger of 
 blood is behind me ; and if I were but assured against mischief by 
 the way " 
 
 " I have made some inquiry," said the clergyman, " after the 
 suspicious characters you described. They have left their place of 
 rendezvous ; but as they may be lurking in the neighbourhood, and 
 as you say you have special reason to apprehend violence from 
 them, I will put you under the charge of a steady person, who will 
 protect you as far as Stamford, and see you into a light coach, 
 which goes from thence to London." 
 
 " A coach is not for the like of me, sir," said Jeanie ; to whom the 
 idea of a stage-coach was unknown, as, indeed, they were then only 
 used in the neighbourhood of London. 
 
 Mr. Staunton briefly explained that she would find that mode 
 of conveyance more commodious, cheaper, and more safe, than 
 travelling on horseback. She expressed her gratitude with so 
 much singleness of heart, that he was induced to ask her whether 
 she wanted the pecuniary means of prosecuting her journey. She 
 thanked him, but said she had enough for her purpose ; and, in- 
 deed, she had husbanded her stock with great care. This reply 
 served also to remove some doubts, which naturally enough still 
 floated in Mr. Staunton's mind, respecting her character and 
 real purpose, and satisfied him, at least, that money did not enter 
 into her scheme of deception, if an impostor she should prove. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 281 
 
 He next requested to know what part of the city she wished to 
 go to. 
 
 " To a very decent merchant, a cousin 0' my ain, a Mrs. Glass, 
 sir, that sells snuff and tobacco, at the sign o' the Thistle, somegate 
 in the toun." 
 
 Jeanie communicated this intelligence with a feeling that a 
 connection so respectable ought to give her consequence in the 
 eyes of Mr. Staunton ; and she was a good deal surprised when he 
 answered. 
 
 " And is this woman your only acquaintance in London, my poor 
 girl? and have you really no better knowledge where ,she is to 
 be found ? * 
 
 " I was gaun to seek the Duke Of Argyle, forby Mrs. Glass," said 
 Jeanie ; " and if your honour thinks it would be best to go there 
 first, and get some of his grace's folk to show me my cousin's 
 shop " 
 
 " Are you acquainted with any of the Duke of Argyle's people ? " 
 said the Rector. 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 Her brain must be something touched after all, or it would be 
 impossible for her to rely on such introductions. — " Well," said he 
 aloud, " I must not inquire into the cause of your journey, and so I 
 cannot be fit to give you advice how to manage it. But the land- 
 lady of the house where the coach stops is a very decent person ; 
 and as I use her house sometimes, I will give you a recommenda- 
 tion to her." 
 
 Jeanie thanked him for his kindness with her best courtesy, and 
 said, " That with- his honour's line, and ane from worthy Mrs. 
 Bickerton, that keeps the Seven Stars at York, she did not doubt 
 to be well taken out in Lunnon." 
 
 " And now," said he, " I presume you will be desirous to set out 
 immediately." 
 
 "If I had been in an inn, sir, or any suitable resting-place," 
 answered Jeanie, " I wad not have presumed to use the Lord's day 
 for travelling ; but as I am on a journey of mercy, I trust my doing 
 so will not be imputed." 
 
 "You may, if you choose, remain with Mrs. Dalton for the 
 evening ; but I desire you will have no further correspondence with 
 my son, who is not a proper counsellor for a person of your age, 
 whatever your difficulties may be." 
 
 " Your honour speaks ower truly in that," said Jeanie ; " it was 
 not with my will that I spoke wi' him just now, and — not to wish 
 the gentleman onything but gude — I never wish to see him between 
 the een again." 
 
 " If you please," added 'the Rector, "as you seem to be a seri- 
 ously disposed young woman, you may attend family worship in the 
 hall this evening." 
 
 " I thank your honour," said Jeanie, " but I am doubtful if my 
 attendance would be to edification." 
 
 " How ! " said the Rector ; " so young, and already unfortunate 
 enough to have doubts upon the duties of religion !" 
 
28s THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 " God forbid, sir," replied Jeanie; "it is not for that ; but I have 
 been bred in the faith of the suffering remnant of the presbyterian 
 doctrine in Scotland, and I am doubtful if I can lawfully attend 
 upon your fashion of worship, seeing it has been testified against 
 by many precious souls of our kirk, and specially by my worthy 
 father." 
 
 " Well, my good girl," said the Rector, with a good-humoured 
 smile, " far be it from me to put any force upon your conscience ; 
 and yet you ought to recollect that the same divine grace dispenses 
 its streams to other kingdoms as well as to Scotland. As it is as 
 essential to our spiritual, as water to our earthly wants, its springs, 
 various in character, yet alike efficacious in virtue, are to be found 
 in abundance throughout the Christian world." 
 
 "Ah, but," said Jeanie, "though the waters may be alike, yet, 
 with your worship's leave, the blessing upon them may not be 
 equal. It would have been in vain for Naaman the Syrian leper to 
 have bathed in the Pharpar and Abana, rivers of Damascus, when 
 it was only the waters of Jordan that were sanctified for the cure." 
 
 " Well," said the Rector, " we will not enter upon the great de- 
 bate betwixt our national churches at present. We must endeavour 
 to satisfy you that, at least, amongst our errors, we preserve Christian 
 charity, and a desire to assist our brethren." 
 
 He then ordered Mrs. Dalton into his presence, and consigned 
 Jeanie to her particular charge, with directions to be kind to her, 
 and with assurances, that, early in the morning, a trusty guide and 
 a good horse should be ready to conduct her to Stamford. He 
 took a serious and dignified, yet kind leave of her, wishing her full 
 success in the objects of her journey, which he said he doubted not 
 were laudable, from the soundness of thinking which she had dis- 
 played in conversation. 
 
 Jeanie was again conducted by the housekeeper to her own 
 apartment. But the evening was not destined to pass over without 
 further torment from young Staunton. A paper was slipped into 
 her hand by the faithful Tummas, which intimated his young 
 master's desire, or rather demand, to see her instantly, and assured 
 her he had provided against interruption. 
 
 " Tell your young master," said Jeanie, openly, and regardless of 
 all the winks and signs by which Tummas strove to make her 
 comprehend that Mrs. Dalton was not to be admitted into the 
 secret of the correspondence, " that I promised faithfully to his 
 worthy father that I would not see him again." 
 
 " Tummas," said Mrs. Dalton, " I think you might be much more 
 creditably employed, considering the coat you wear, and the house 
 you live in, than to be carrying messages between your young 
 master and girls that chance to be in this house." 
 
 " Why, Mrs. Dalton, as to that, I was hired to carry messages, 
 and not to ask any questions about them ; and it's not for the like 
 of me to refuse the young gentleman's bidding, if he were a little 
 wildish or so. If there was harm meant, there's no harm done, 
 you see." 
 
 " However," said Mrs. Dalton, " I gie you fair warning, Tummas 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 283 
 
 Ditton, that an I catch thee at this work again, his Reverence shall 
 make a clear house of you." 
 
 Thomas retired, abashed and in dismay. The rest of the evening 
 passed away without anything worthy of notice. 
 
 Jeanie enjoyed the comforts of a good bed and a sound sleep 
 with grateful satisfaction, after the perils and hardships of the pre- 
 ceding day ; and such was her fatigue, that she slept soundly until 
 six o'clock, when she was awakened by Mrs. Dalton, who acquainted 
 her that her guide and horse were ready, and in attendance. She 
 hastily rose, and, after her morning devotions, was soon ready to 
 resume her travels. The motherly care of the housekeeper had 
 provided an early breakfast, and, after she had partaken of this 
 refreshment, she found herself safe seated on a pillion behind a 
 stout Lincolnshire peasant, who was, besides, armed with pistols, to 
 protect her against any violence which might be offered. 
 
 They trudged along in silence for a mile or two along a country 
 road, which conducted them, by hedge and gate-way, into the 
 principal highway, a little beyond Grantham. At length her master 
 of the horse asked her whether her name was not Jean, or Jane, 
 Deans. She answered in the affirmative, with some surprise. 
 " Then here's a bit of a note as concerns you," said the man, hand- 
 ing it over his left shoulder. " It's from young master, as I judge, 
 and every man about Willingham is fain to pleasure him either for 
 love or fear ; for he'll come to be landlord at last, let them say what 
 they like." 
 
 Jeanie broke the seal of the note, which was addressed to her, 
 and read as follows : 
 
 " You refuse to see me. I suppose you are shocked at my cha- 
 racter ; but, in painting myself such as I am, you should give me 
 credit for my sincerity. I am, at least, no hypocrite. You refuse, 
 however, to see me, and your conduct may be natural — but is it 
 wise ? I have expressed my anxiety to repair your sister's misfor- 
 tunes at the expense of my honour, — my family's honour — my own 
 life ; and you think me too debased to be admitted even to sacrifice 
 what I have remaining of honour, fame, and life, in her cause. 
 Well, if the offer be despised, the victim is still equally at hand ; 
 and perhaps there may be justice in the' decree of Heaven, that I 
 shall not have the melancholy credit of appearing to make this 
 sacrifice out of my own free good-will. You, as you have declined 
 my concurrence, must take the whole upon yourself. Go, then, to 
 the Duke of Argyle, and, when other arguments fail you, tell him 
 you have it in your power to bring to condign punishment the most 
 active conspirator in the Porteous mob. He will hear you on this 
 topic,, should he be deaf to every other. Make your own terms, for 
 they will be at your own making. You know where I am to be 
 found ; and you may be assured I will not give you the dark side 
 of the hill, as at Muschat's Cairn ; I have no thoughts of stirring 
 from the house I was born in ; like the hare, I shall be worried in 
 the seat I started from. I repeat it — make your own terms. I 
 ■seed not remind you to ask your sister's life, for that you will do of 
 course ; but make terms of advantage for yourself— ask wealth and 
 
284 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 reward— office and income for Butler— ask anything — you will get 
 anything — and all for delivering to the hands of the executioner a 
 man most deserving of his office ;— one who, though young in years, 
 is old in wickedness, and whose most earnest desire is, after the 
 storms of an unquiet life, to sleep and be at rest." 
 
 This extraordinary letter was subscribed with the initials G. S. 
 
 Jeanie read it over once or twice with great attention, which the 
 slow pace of the horse, as he stalked through a deep lane, enabled 
 her to do with facility. 
 
 When she had perused this billet, her first employment was to 
 tear it into as small pieces as possible, and disperse these pieces in 
 the air by a few at a time, so that a document containing so peril- 
 ous a secret might not fall into any other person's hand. 
 
 The question how far, in point of extremity, she was entitled to 
 save her sister's life by sacrificing that of a person who, though 
 guilty towards the state, had done her no injury, formed the next 
 earnest and most painful subject of consideration. In one sense, 
 indeed, it seemed as if denouncing the guilt of Staunton, the cause 
 of her sister's errors and misfortunes, would have been an act of 
 just, and even providential retribution. But Jeanie, in the strict 
 and severe tone of morality in which she was educated, had to 
 consider not only the general aspect of a proposed action, but its 
 justness and fitness in relation to the actor, before she could be, 
 according to her own phrase, free to enter upon it. What right had 
 she to make a barter between the lives of Staunton and of Effie, 
 and to sacrifice the one for the safety of the other ? His guilt — 
 that guilt for which he was amenable to the laws — was a crime 
 against the public indeed, but it was not against her. 
 
 Neither did it seem to her that his share in the death of Porteous, 
 though her mind revolted at the idea of using violence to any one, 
 was in the relation of a common murder, against the perpetrator of 
 which every one is called to aid the public magistrate. That 
 violent action was blended with many circumstances, which, in the 
 eyes of those in Jeanie's rank of life, if they did not altogether de- 
 prive it of the character of guilt, softened, at least, its most atrocious 
 features. The anxiety of the government to obtain conviction of 
 some of the offenders, had but served to increase the public feeling 
 which connected the action, though violent and irregular, with the 
 idea of ancient national independence. The rigorous measures 
 adopted or proposed against the city of Edinburgh, the ancient 
 metropolis of Scotland — the extremely unpopular and injudicious 
 measure of compelling the Scottish clergy, contrary to their prin- 
 ciples and sense of duty, to promulgate from the pulpit the reward 
 offered for the discovery of the perpetrators of this slaughter, had 
 produced on the public mind the opposite consequences from what 
 were intended ; and Jeanie felt conscious, that whoever should 
 lodge information concerning that event, and for whatsoever pur- 
 pose it might be done, it would be considered as an act of treason 
 against the independence of Scotland. With the fanaticism of the 
 Scottish presbyterians, there was always mingled a glow of national 
 feeling, and Jeanie trembled at the idea of her name being handed 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 285 
 
 down to posterity with that of the " fause Monteath," and one or 
 two others, who, having deserted and betrayed the cause of their 
 country, are damned to perpetual remembrance and execration 
 among its peasantry. Yet, to part with Effie's life once more, when 
 a word spoken might save it, pressed severely on the mind of her 
 affectionate sister. 
 
 " The Lord support and direct me ! " said Jeanie, " for it seems 
 to be His will to try me with difficulties far beyond my ain 
 strength." 
 
 While this thought passed through Jeanie's mind, her guard, 
 tired of silence, began to show some inclination to be communica- 
 tive. He seemed a sensible, steady peasant, but not having more 
 delicacy or prudence than is common to those in his situation, he, 
 of course, chose the Willingham family as the subject of his conver- 
 sation. From this man Jeanie learned some particulars of which 
 she had hitherto been ignorant, and which we will briefly recapitu- 
 late for the information of the reader. 
 
 The father of George Staunton had been bred a soldier, and, 
 during service in the West Indies, had married the heiress of a 
 wealthy planter. By this lady he had an only child, George 
 Staunton, the unhappy young man who has been so often men- 
 tioned in this narrative. He passed the first part of his early youth 
 under the charge of a doting mother, and in the society of negro 
 slaves, whose study it was to gratify his every caprice. His father 
 was a man of worth and sense ; but as he alone retained tolerable 
 health among the officers of the regiment he belonged to, he was 
 much engaged with his duty. Besides, Mrs. Staunton was beauti- 
 ful and wilful, and enjoyed but delicate health ; so that it was 
 difficult for a man of affection, humanity, and a quiet disposition, 
 to struggle with her on the point of her over-indulgence to an only 
 child. Indeed, what Mr. Staunton did do towards counteracting 
 the baneful effects of his wife's system, only tended to render it 
 more pernicious ; for every restraint imposed on the boy in his 
 father's presence, was compensated by treble licence during his 
 absence. So that George Staunton acquired, even in childhood, 
 the habit of regarding his father as a rigid censor, from whose 
 severity he was desirous of emancipating himself as soon and ab- 
 solutely as possible. 
 
 When he was about ten years old, and when his mind had re- 
 ceived all the seeds of those evil weeds which afterwards grew 
 apace, his mother died, and his father, half heart-broken, returned 
 to England. To sum up her imprudence and unjustifiable indul- 
 gence, she had contrived to place a considerable part of her fortune 
 at her son's exclusive control or disposal, in consequence of which 
 management, George Staunton had not been long in England till 
 he learned his independence, and how to abuse it. His father had 
 endeavoured to rectify. the defects of his education by placing him 
 in a well-regulated seminary. But although he showed some capa- 
 city for learning, his riotous conduct soon became intolerable to 
 his teachers. He found means (too easily afforded to all youths who 
 have certain expectations) of procuring such a command of money 
 
286 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 as enabled him to anticipate in boyhood the frolics and folies of a 
 more mature age, and, with these accomplishments, he was re- 
 turned on his father's hands as a profligate boy, whose example 
 might ruin a hundred. 
 
 The elder Mr. Staunton, whose mind, since his wife's death, had 
 been tinged with a melancholy, which certainly his son's conduct 
 did not tend to dispel, had taken orders, and was inducted by his 
 brother Sir William Staunton into the family living of Willingham. 
 The revenue was a matter of consequence to him, for he derived 
 little advantage from the estate of his late wife ; and his own for- 
 tune was that of a younger brother. 
 
 He took his son to reside with him at the rectory, but he soon 
 found that his disorders rendered him an intolerable inmate. And 
 as the young men of his own rank would not endure the purse-proud 
 insolence of the Creole, he fell into that taste for low society, which 
 is worse than "pressing to death, whipping, or hanging." His 
 father sent him abroad, but he only returned wilder and more des- 
 perate than before. It is true, this unhappy youth was not without 
 his good qualities. He had lively wit, good temper, reckless gene- 
 rosity, and manners which, while he was under restraint, might pass 
 well in society. But all these availed him nothing. He was so well 
 acquainted with the turf, the gaming-table, the cock-pit, and every 
 worse rendezvous of folly and dissipation, that his mother's fortune 
 was spent before he was twenty-one, and he was soon in debt and 
 in distress. His early history may be concluded in the words of our 
 British Juvenal, when describing a similar character : — 
 
 Headstrong, determined in his own career, 
 He thought reproof unjust, and truth severe, 
 The soul's disease was to its crisis come, 
 He first abused, and then abjured his home ; 
 And when he chose a vagabond to be, 
 He made his shame his glory, " I'll be free ! " 
 
 " And yet 'tis pity on Measter George, too,'' continued the honest 
 boor, " for he has an open hand, and winna let a poor body want 
 an he has it." 
 
 The virtue of profuse generosity, by which, indeed, they them- 
 selves are most directly advantaged, is readily admitted by the 
 vulgar as a cloak for many sins. 
 
 At Stamford our heroine was deposited in safety by her commu- 
 nicative guide. She obtained a place in the coach, which, although 
 termed a light one, and accommodated with no fewer than six 
 horses, only reached London on the afternoon of the second day. 
 The recommendation of the elder Mr. Staunton procured Jeanie a 
 civil reception at the inn where the carriage stopped, and, by the 
 aid of Mrs. Bickerton's correspondent, she found out her friend and 
 relative Mrs. Glass, by whom she was kindly received and hospit- 
 ably entertained. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 257 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 My name is Argyle, you may well think it strange, 
 
 To live at the court and never to change. Ballad. 
 
 Few names deserve more honourable mention in the history of 
 Scotland, during this period, than that of John, Duke of Argyle and 
 Greenwich. His talents as a statesman and a. soldier were gene- 
 rally admitted ; he was not without ambition,, but "without the 
 illness that attends it " — without that irregularity of thought and 
 aim, which often excites great men, in his peculiar situation, (for it 
 was a very peculiar one,) to grasp the means of raising themselves 
 to power, at the risk of throwing a kingdom into confusion. Pope 
 has distinguished him as 
 
 " Argyle, the state's whole thunder born to wield, 
 And shake alike the senate and the field." 
 
 He was alike free from the ordinary vices of statesmen, falsehood, 
 namely, and dissimulation ; and from those of warriors, inordinate 
 and violent thirst after self-aggrandisement. 
 
 Scotland, his native country, stood at this time in a very preca- 
 rious and doubtful situation. She was indeed united to England, 
 but the cement had not had time to acquire consistence. The irri- 
 tation of ancient wrongs still subsisted, and betwixt the fretful 
 jealousy of the Scottish, and the supercilious disdain of the English, 
 quarrels repeatedly occurred, in the course of which the national 
 league, so important to the safety of both, was in the utmost danger 
 of being dissolved. Scotland had, besides, the disadvantage of 
 being divided into intestine factions, which hated each other bit- 
 terly, and waited but a signal to break forth into action. 
 
 In such circumstances, another man, with the talents and rank 
 of Argyle, but without a mind so happily regulated, would have 
 sought to rise from the earth in the whirlwind, and direct its fury. 
 He chose a course more safe and more honourable. 
 
 Soaring above the petty distinctions of faction, his voice was 
 raised, whether in office or opposition, for those measures which 
 were at once just and lenient. His high military talents enabled 
 him, during the memorable year 171 5, to render such services to the 
 house of Hanover, as, perhaps, were too great to be either acknow- 
 ledged or repaid. He had employed, too, his utmost influence in 
 softening the consequences of that insurrection to the unfortunate 
 gentlemen, whom a mistaken sense of loyalty had engaged in the 
 affair, and was rewarded by the esteem and affection of his country 
 in an uncommon degree. This popularity with a discontented and 
 warlike people, was supposed to be a subject of jealousy at court, 
 where the power to become dangerous is sometimes of itself ob- 
 noxious, though the inclination is not united with it. Besides, the 
 Duke of Argyle's independent and somewhat haughty mode of 
 expressing himself in Parliament, and acting in public, were ill cal- 
 culated to attract royal favour. He was, therefore, always respected, 
 
288 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 and often employed ; but he was not a favourite of George the 
 Second, his consort, or his ministers. At several different periods 
 in his life, the Duke might be considered as in absolute disgrace at 
 court, although he could hardly be said to be a declared member 
 of opposition. This rendered him the dearer to Scotland, because 
 it was usually in her cause that he incurred the displeasure of his 
 sovereign ; and upon this very occasion of the Porteous mob, the 
 animated and eloquent opposition which he had offered to the 
 severe measures which were about to be adopted towards the city 
 of Edinburgh, was the more gratefully received in that metropolis, 
 as it was understood that the Duke's interposition had given per- 
 sonal offence to Queen Caroline. 
 
 His conduct upon this occasion, as, indeed, that of all the Scottish 
 members of the legislature, with one or two unworthy exceptions, 
 had been in the highest degree spirited. The popular tradition, 
 concerning his reply to Queen Caroline, has been given already, 
 and some fragments of his speech against the Porteous bill are still 
 remembered. He retorted upon the Chancellor, Lord Hard- 
 wicke, the insinuation that he had stated himself in this case rather 
 as a party than as a judge : — " I appeal," said Argyle, " to the 
 House — to the nation, if I can be justly branded with the infamy of 
 being a jobber or a partisan. Have I been a briber of votes ? — a 
 buyer of boroughs ? — the agent of corruption for any purpose, or 
 on behalf of any party ? — Consider my life ; examine my actions in 
 the field and in the cabinet, and see where there lies a blot that 
 can attach to my honour. I have shown myself the friend of my 
 country — the loyal subject of my king. I am ready to do so again, 
 without an instant's regard to the frowns or smiles of a court. I 
 have experienced both, and am prepared with indifference for 
 either. I have given my reasons for opposing this bill, and have 
 made it appear that it is repugnant to the international treaty of 
 union, to the liberty of Scotland, and, reflectively, to that of Eng- 
 land, to common justice, to common sense, and to the public inte- 
 rest. Shall the metropolis of Scotland, the capital of an inde- 
 pendent nation, the residence of a long line of monarchs, by whom 
 that noble city was graced and dignified — shall such a city, for the 
 fault of an obscure and unknown body of rioters, be deprived of its 
 honours and its privileges — its gates and its guards ? — and shall a 
 native Scotsman tamely behold the havoc ? I glory, my Lords, in 
 opposing such unjust rigour, and reckon it my dearest pride and 
 honour to stand up in defence of my native country, while thus laid 
 open to undeserved shame and unjust spoliation." 
 
 Other statesmen and orators, both Scottish and English, used 
 the same arguments, and the bill was gradually stripped of its 
 most oppressive and' obnoxious clauses, and at length ended in a 
 fine upon the city of Edinburgh in favour of Porteous's widow. So 
 that, as somebody observed at the time, the whole of these fierce 
 debates ended in making the fortune of an old cook-maid, such 
 having been the good woman's original capacity. 
 
 The court, however, did not forget the baffle they had received in 
 this affair, and the Duke of Argyle, who had contributed so much 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 289 
 
 to it, was thereafter considered as a person in disgrace. It is neces- 
 sary to place these circumstances under the reader's observation, 
 both because they are connected with the preceding and subsequent 
 part of our narrative. 
 
 The Duke was alone in his study, when one of his gentlemen ac- 
 quainted him, that a country-girl, from Scotland, was desirous of 
 speaking with his Grace. 
 
 " A country-girl, and from Scotland !" said the Duke; "what 
 can have brought the silly fool to London ? — Some lover pressed 
 and sent to sea, or some stock sunk in the South-Sea funds, or some 
 such hopeful concern, I suppose, and then nobody to manage the 
 matter but MacCallummore. — Well, this same popularity has its in- 
 conveniences. — However, show our countrywoman up, Archibald — 
 it is ill manners to keep her in attendance." 
 
 A young woman of rather low stature, and whose countenance 
 might be termed very modest and pleasing in expression, though 
 sun-burnt, somewhat freckled, and not possessing regular features, 
 was ushered into the splendid library. She wore the tartan plaid of" 
 her country, adjusted so as partly to cover her head, and partly to 
 fall back over her shoulders. A quantity of fair hair, disposed with, 
 great simplicity and neatness, appeared in front of her round and 
 good-humoured face, to which the solemnity of her errand, and her 
 sense of the Duke's rank and importance, gave an appearance of 
 deep awe, but not of slavish fear, or fluttered bashfulness. The rest, 
 of Jeanie's dress was in the style of Scottish maidens of her own 
 class ; but arranged with that scrupulous attention to neatness and 
 cleanliness, which we often find united with that purity of mind, of 
 which it is a natural emblem. 
 
 She stopped near the entrance of the room, made her deepest 
 reverence, and crossed her hands upon her bosom, without uttering 
 a syllable. The Duke of Argyle advanced towards her ; and, if she 
 admired his^graceful deportment and rich dress, decorated with the, 
 orders which had been deservedly bestowed on him, his courteous 
 manner, and quick and intelligent cast of countenance, he on his 
 part was not less, or less deservedly, struck with the quiet simpli- 
 city and modesty expressed in the dress, manners, and countenance 
 of his humble countrywoman. 
 
 "Did you wish to speak with me, my bonny lass?" said the 
 Duke, using the encouraging epithet which at once acknowledged 
 the connexion betwixt them as country-folk ; " or, did you wish to 
 see the Duchess ?" 
 
 " My business is with your honour, my Lord — I mean your Lord- 
 ship's Grace." 
 
 " And what is it, my good girl ? " said the Duke, in the same mild 
 and encouraging tone of voice. Jeanie looked at the attendant. 
 " Leave us, Archibald," said the Duke, " and wait in the anteroom." 
 The domestic retired. " And now sit down, my good lass," said 
 the Duke ; " take your breath — take your time, and tell me what you 
 have got to say. I. guess by your dress, you are just come up from 
 poor Scotland — Did you come through the streets in your tartan 
 plaid?" 
 
 T 
 
2go THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 " No, sir," said Jeanie ; " a friend brought me in ane o' their 
 street coaches — a very decent woman," she added, her courage in- 
 creasing as she became familiar with the sound of her own voice 
 in such a presence; "your Lordship's Grace kens her — it's Mrs. 
 Glass, at the sign o' the Thistle." 
 
 " O, my worthy snuff-merchant — I have always a chat with Mrs. 
 Glass when I purchase my Scotch high-dried. — Well, but your 
 business, my bonny woman — time and tide, you know, wait for 
 no one." 
 
 " Your honour — I beg your Lordship's pardon — I mean your 
 Grace," — for it must be noticed, that this matter of addressing the 
 Duke by his appropriate title had been anxiously inculcated upon 
 Jeanie by her friend Mrs. Glass, in whose eyes it was a matter of 
 such importance, that her last words, as Jeanie left the coach, were, 
 " Mind to say your Grace ; " and Jeanie, who had scarcely ever in 
 her life spoke to a person of higher quality than the Laird of Dum- 
 biedikes, found great difficulty in arranging her language according 
 to the rules of ceremony. 
 
 The Duke, who saw her embarrassment, said, with his usual 
 affability, " never mind my grace, lassie' ; just speak out a plain 
 tale, and show you have a Scotch tongue in your head." 
 
 " Sir, I am muckle obliged — Sir, I am the sister of that poor un- 
 fortunate criminal, Effie Deans, who is ordered for execution at 
 Edinburgh." 
 
 " Ah ! " said the Duke, " I have heard of that unhappy story, I 
 think — a case of child-murder, under a special act of parliament — 
 Duncan Forbes mentioned it at dinner the other day. 
 
 " And I was come up frae the north, sir, to see what could be 
 done for her in the way of getting a reprieve or pardon, sir, or the 
 like o' that." 
 
 " Alas ! my poor girl," said the Duke, " you have made a long 
 and a sad journey to very little purpose — Your sister is ordered for 
 execution." 
 
 " But I am given to understand that there is a law for reprieving 
 her, if it is in the king's pleasure," said Jeanie. 
 
 " Certainly there is," said the Duke ; " but that is purely in the 
 king's breast. The crime has been but too common — the Scotch 
 crown-lawyers think it is right there should be an example. Then the 
 late disorders in Edinburgh have excited a prejudice in govern- 
 ment against the nation at large, which they think can only be 
 managed by measures of intimidation and severity. What argu- 
 ment have you, my poor girl, except the warmth of your sisterly 
 affection, to offer against all this? — What is your interest? — ■ 
 What friends have you at court?" 
 
 " None, excepting God and your Grace," said Jeanie, still keep- 
 ing her ground resolutely. 
 
 " Alas ! " said the Duke, " I could almost say with old Ormond, 
 that there could not be any, whose influence was smaller with kings 
 and ministers. It is a cruel part of our situation, young woman — 
 I mean of the situation of men in my circumstances, that the 
 public ascribe to them influence which they do not possess ; and. 
 
THE HEA-RT OF MID-LOTHIAN. 2t)t 
 
 that individuals are led to expect from them assistance which we 
 have no means of rendering. But candour and plain dealing is in 
 the power of every one, and I must not let you imagine you have 
 resources in my influence, which do not exist, to make your distress 
 the heavier — I have no means of averting your sister's fate— She 
 must die." 
 
 " We must a' die, sir," said Jeanie ; "it is our common doom for 
 our father's transgression ; but we shouldna hasten ilk other out o' 
 the world, that's what your honour kens better than me." 
 
 " My good young woman," said the Duke, mildly, " we are all 
 apt to blame the law under which we immediately suffer ; but you 
 seem to have been well educated in your line of life, and you must 
 know that it is alike the law of God and man, that the murderer 
 shall surely die." 
 
 " But, sir, Eme— that is, my poor sister, sir— canna be proved to 
 be a murderer ; and if she be not, and the law take her life not- 
 withstanding, wha is it that is the murderer then ? " 
 
 " I am no lawyer," said the Duke ; " and I own I think the sta- 
 tute a very severe one." 
 
 "You are a law-maker, sir, with your leave ; and, therefore, ye 
 have power over the law," answered jeanie. 
 
 " Not in my individual capacity," said the Duke ; " though, as 
 one of a large body, I have a voice in the legislation. But that 
 cannot serve you — nor have I at present, I care not who knows it, 
 so much personal influence with the sovereign, as would entitle me 
 to ask from him the most insignificant favour. What could tempt 
 you, young woman, to address yourself to me ? " 
 
 " It was yoursell, sir." 
 
 "Myself?" he replied — "I am sure you have never seen me 
 before." 
 
 " No, sir ; but a' the world kens that the Duke of Argyle is his 
 country's friend ; and that ye fight for the right, and speak for the 
 right, and that there's nane like you in our present Israel, and so 
 they that think themselves wranged draw to refuge under your 
 shadow ; and if ye wanna stir to save the blood of an innocent 
 country-woman of your ain, what should we expect frae southerns 
 and strangers ? And maybe I had another reason for troubling 
 your honour." 
 
 " And what is that ? " asked the Duke. 
 
 " I hae understood from my father, that your honour's house, and 
 especially your gudesire and his father, laid down their lives on the 
 scaffold in the persecuting time. And my father was honoured to 
 gie his testimony baith in the cage and in the pillory, as is spe- 
 cially mentioned in the books of Peter Walker the packman, that 
 your honour, I dare say, kens, for he uses maist partly the west- 
 land of Scotland. And, sir, there's ane that takes concern in me, 
 that wished me to gang to your Grace's presence, for his gudesire 
 had done your gracious gudesire some good tunij as ye will see frae 
 these papers." 
 
 With these words, she delivered to the Duke the little parcel 
 which she had received from* Butler. He opened it, and, in the 
 
 T 2 
 
2g2 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 envelope, read with some surprise, " ' Muster-roll of the men serv- 
 ing in the troop of that godly gentleman, Captain Salathiel Bang- 
 text. — Obadiah Muggleton, Sin-Despise, Double-knock, Stand- 
 fast-in-faith Gipps, Turn-to-the-right Thwack-away '—What the 
 deuce is this ? A list of Praise-God Barebones's Parliament I 
 think, or of old Noll's evangelical army— that last fellow should 
 understand his wheelings to judge by his name. — But what does 
 all this mean, my girl ? " 
 
 " It was the other paper, sir," said Jeanie, somewhat abashed at 
 the mistake. 
 
 " O, .this is my unfortunate grandfather's hand sure enough 
 — ' To all who may have friendship for the house of Argyle, 
 these are to certify, that Benjamin Butler, of Monk's regiment 
 dragoons, of having been, under God, the means of saving my 
 life from four English troopers who were about to slay me, I, 
 having no other present means of recompense in my power, do 
 give him this ackowledgment, hoping that it may be useful to 
 him or his, during these troublesome times ; and do conjure my 
 friends, tenants, kinsmen, and whoever will do aught for me, either 
 in the Highlands or Lowlands, to protect and assist the said Ben- 
 jamin Butler, and his friends or family, on their lawful occasions, 
 giving them such countenance, maintenance, and supply, as may 
 correspond with the benefit he hath bestowed on me ; witness 
 my hand — ' LORNE.' 
 
 " This is a strong injunction — This Benjamin Butler was your 
 grandfather, I suppose ?— You seem too young to have been his 
 daughter." 
 
 " He was nae akin to me, sir — he was grandfather to ane — to a 
 neighbour's son — to a sincere weel-wisher of mine, sir," dropping 
 her little curtsey as she spoke. 
 
 " O, I understand," said the Duke — " a true-love affair. He was 
 the grandsire of one you are engaged to ? " 
 
 "One 1 was engaged to, sir," said Jeanie, sighing; "but this 
 unhappy business of my poor sister " 
 
 " What ! " said the Duke, hastily, — " he has not deserted you on 
 that account, has he ? " 
 
 " No, sir ; he wad be the last to leave a friend in difficulties," 
 said Jeanie ; " but I maun think for him, as weel as for mysell. 
 He is a clergyman, sir, and it would not beseem him to marry the 
 like of me, wi' this disgrace on my kindred." 
 
 " You are a singular young woman," said the Duke. " You seem 
 to me to think of every one before yourself. And have you really 
 come up from Edinburgh on foot, to attempt this hopeless solicita- 
 tion for your sister's life ? " 
 
 " It was not a' thegether on foot, sir,'' answered Jeanie ; " for I 
 sometimes got a cast in a waggon, and I had a horse from Ferry- 
 bridge, and then the coach " 
 
 " Well, never mind all that," interrupted the Duke. — " What reason 
 have you for thinking your sister innocent ?" 
 
 " Because she has not been proved guilty, as will appear from 
 looking at these papers." 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 293 
 
 She put into his hand a note of the evidence, and copies of her 
 sister's declaration. These papers Butler had procured after her 
 departure, and Saddletree had them forwarded to London, to Mrs. 
 Glass's care, so that Jeanie found the documents, so necessary for 
 supporting her suit, lying in readiness at her arrival. 
 
 Sit down in that chair, my good girl," said the Duke, " until I 
 glance over the papers." 
 
 She obeyed, and watched .with the utmost anxiety each change 
 in his countenance, as he cast his eye through the papers briefly, 
 yet with attention, and making memoranda as he went along. 
 After reading them hastily over, he looked up, and seemed about 
 to speak, yet changed his purpose, as if afraid of committing him- 
 self by giving too hasty an opinion, and read over again several 
 passages which he had marked as being most important. All this 
 he did in shorter time than can be supposed by men of ordinary 
 talents ; for his mind was of that acute and penetrating character 
 which discovers, with the glance of intuition, what facts bear on 
 ^ the particular point that chances to be subjected to consideration. 
 * At length he rose, after a few minutes' deep reflection. — " Young 
 woman," said he, " your sister's case must certainly be termed a 
 hard one." 
 
 " God bless you, sir, for that very word ! " said Jeanie. 
 
 " It seems contrary to the genius of British law," continued the 
 Duke, " to take that for granted which is not proved, or to punish 
 with death for a crime, which, for aught the prosecutor has been 
 able to show, may not have been committed at all." 
 
 " God bless you, sir ! " again said Jeanie, who had risen from 
 her seat, and, with clasped hands, eyes glittering through tears, and 
 features which trembled with anxiety, drank in every word which 
 the Duke uttered. 
 
 " But, alas ! my poor girl," he continued, " what good will my 
 opinion do you, unless I could impress it upon those in whose 
 hands your sister's life is placed by the la"w ? Besides, I am no 
 lawyer ; and I must speak with some of our Scottish gentlemen of 
 the gown about the matter." 
 
 " O but, sir, what seems reasonable to your honour, will certainly 
 be the same to them," answered Jeanie. 
 
 " I do not know that," replied the Duke ; " ilka man buckles his 
 belt his ain gate— you know our old Scotch proverb ? — But you 
 shall not have placed this reliance on me altogether in vain. 
 Leave these papers with me, and you shall hear from me to-morrow 
 or next day. Take care to be at home at Mrs. Glass's, and ready 
 to come to me at a moment's warning. It will be unnecessary 
 for you to give Mrs. Glass the trouble to attend you ;— and, by 
 the by, you will please to be dressed just as you are at present." 
 
 " I wad hae putten on a cap, sir," said Jeanie, " but your honour 
 kens it isna the fashion of my country for single women ; and I 
 judged that being sae mony hundred miles frae hame, your 
 Grace's heart wad warm to the tartan," looking at the corner of 
 her plaid. 
 
 " You judged quite right," said the Duke. " I know the full 
 
294 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 value of the snood ; and MacCallummore's heart will be as cold 
 as death can make it, when it does not warm to the tartan. Now, 
 go away, and don't be out of the way when I send." 
 
 Jeanie replied, — " There is little fear of that, sir, for I have little 
 heart to go to see sights amang this wilderness of black houses. 
 But if I might say to your gracious honour, that if ye ever con- 
 descend to speak to ony ane that is of greater degree than yoursell, 
 though maybe it isna civil in me to say sae, just if you would think 
 there can be nae sic odds between you and them, as between 
 poor Jeanie Deans from Saint Leonard's and the Duke of Argyle ; 
 and so dinna be chappit back or cast doun wi' the first rough 
 answer." 
 
 " I am not apt," said the Duke, laughing, " to mind rough an- 
 swers much — Do not you hope too much from what I have pro- 
 mised. I will do my best, but God has the hearts of Kings in his 
 own hand." 
 
 Jeanie curtseyed reverently and' withdrew, attended by the Duke's 
 gentleman, to her hackney-coach, with a respect which her appear- 
 ance did not demand, but which was perhaps paid to the length of 
 the interview with which his master had honoured her. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 Ascend, 
 
 While radiant summer opens all its pride, 
 Thy hill, delightful Shene ! Here let us sweep 
 The boundless landscape. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 From her kind and officious, but somewhat gossiping friend, 
 Mrs. Glass, Jeanie underwent a very close catechism on their road 
 to the Strand, where the Thistle of the good lady flourished in full 
 glory, and, with its legend of Nemo me immune, distinguished a shop 
 then well known to all Scottish folk of high and low degree. 
 
 " And were you sure aye to say your Grace to him ? " said the 
 good old lady ; " for ane should make a distinction between Mac- 
 Callummore and the bits o' southern bodies that they ca' lords here 
 — there are as mony o' them, Jeanie, as would gar ane think they 
 maun cost but little fash in the makin — some of them I wadna trust 
 wi' six pennies-worth of black rappee — some of them I wadna gie 
 mysell the trouble to put up a hapnyworth in brown paper for — But 
 I hope you showed your breeding to the Duke of Argyle, for what 
 sort of folk would he think your friends in London, if you had been 
 lording him, and him a Duke ? " 
 
 " He didna seem muckle to mind," said Jeanie ; " he kend that I 
 was landward bred." 
 
 " Weel, weel," answered the good lady. " His Grace kens me 
 weel ; so I am the less anxious about it. I never fill his snuff-box 
 but he says, ' How H' ye do, good Mrs. Glass ! — How are all our 
 friends in the North ? ' or it may be — ' Have ye heard from the 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 295 
 
 North lately ? ' And you may be sure, I make my best curtsey, 
 and answer, ' My Lord Duke, I hope your Grace's noble Duchess, 
 and your Grace's young ladies, are well ; and I hope the snuff con- 
 tinues to give your Grace satisfaction.' And then ye will see the 
 people in the shop begin to look about them ; and if there's a 
 Scotchman, as there may be three or half-a-dozen, aff go the hats, 
 and mony a look after him, and ' there goes the Prince of Scotland, 
 God bless him ! ' But ye have not told me yet the very words he 
 said t' ye." 
 
 Jeanie had no intention to be quite so communicative. She had, 
 as the reader may have observed, some of the caution and shrewd- 
 ness, as well as of the simplicity, of her country. She answered 
 generally, that the Duke had received her very compassionately, 
 and had promised to interest himself in her sister's affair, and to let 
 her hear from him in the course of the next day, or the day after. 
 She did not choose to make any mention of his having desired her 
 to be in readiness to attend him, far less of his hint, that she should 
 not bring he"r landlady. So that honest Mrs. Glass was obliged to 
 remain satisfied with the general intelligence above mentioned, after 
 having done all she could to extract more. 
 
 It may easily be conceived, that, on the next day, Jeanie de- 
 clined all invitations and inducements, whether of exercise or 
 curiosity, to walk abroad, and continued to inhale the close, 'and 
 somewhat professional atmosphere of Mrs. Glass's small parlour. 
 The latter flavour it owed to a certain .cupboard, containing, among 
 other articles, a few canisters of real Havannah, which, whether 
 from respect to the manufacture, or out of a reverend fear of the 
 exciseman, Mrs. Glass did not care to trust in the open shop below, 
 and which communicated to the room a scent, that, however fra- 
 grant to the nostrils of the connoisseur, was not very agreeable to 
 those of Jeanie. 
 
 " Dear sirs," she said to herself, " I wonder how my cousin's silk 
 manty, and her gowd watch, or onything in the world, can be worth 
 sitting sneezing all her life in this little stifling room, and might 
 walk on green braes if she liked." 
 
 Mrs. Glass was equally surprised at her cousin's reluctance to stir 
 abroad, and her indifference to the' fine sights of London. " It 
 would always help to pass away the time," she said, " to have some- 
 thing to look at, though ane was in distress." But Jeanie was un- 
 persuadable. 
 
 The day after her interview with the' Duke was spent in that 
 " hope delayed, which maketh the heart sick." Minutes glided after 
 minutes — hours fled after hours — it became too late to have any 
 reasonable expectation of hearing from the Duke that day ; yet the 
 hope which ' she disowned, she could not altogether relinquish, 
 and her heart throbbed, and her ears tingled, with every casual 
 sound in the shop below. It was in vain. ' The day wore away in 
 the anxiety of protracted and fruitless expectation. 
 
 The next morning commenced in the same manner. But before 
 noon, a well-dressed gentleman entered Mrs. Glass's shop, and re- 
 quested to see a young woman from Scotland. 
 
2 g6 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 " That will be my cousin, Jeanie Deans, Mr. Archibald," said 
 Mrs. Glass, with a curtsey of recognizance. "Have you any message 
 for her from his Grace the Duke of Argyle, Mr. Archibald ? I will 
 carry it to her in a moment." 
 
 " I believe I must give her the trouble of stepping down, Mrs. 
 Glass." . 
 
 " Jeanie— Jeanie Deans ! " said Mrs. Glass, screaming at the 
 bottom of the little staircase, which ascended from the corner of 
 the shop to the higher regions. " Jeanie— Jeanie Deans, I say ! 
 come down stairs instantly ; here is the Duke of Argyle's groom of 
 the chambers desires to see you directly." This was announced in 
 a voice so loud, as to make all who chanced to be within hearing 
 aware of the important communication. 
 
 It may easily be supposed, that Jeanie did not tarry long in ad- 
 justing herself to attend the summons, yet her feet almost failed her 
 as she came down stairs. 
 
 " I must ask the favour of your company a little way," said Archi- 
 bald, with civility. 
 
 "I am quite ready, sir,'' said Jeanie. 
 
 " Is my cousin going out, Mr. Archibald ? then I will hae to go 
 wi' her, no doubt. — James Rasper— Look to the shop, James. — Mr. 
 Archibald," pushing a jar towards him, "you take his Grace's mix- 
 ture, I think. Please to fill your box, for old acquaintance sake, 
 while I get on my things." 
 
 Mr. Archibald transferred a modest parcel of snuff from the jar 
 to his own mull, but said he was obliged to decline the pleasure oj[ 
 Mrs. Glass's company, as his message was particularly to the young 
 person. 
 
 " Particularly to the young person ? " said Mrs. Glass ; " is not 
 that uncommon, Mr. Archibald ? But his Grace is the best judge ; 
 and you are a steady person, Mr. Archibald. It is not every one 
 that comes from a great man's house I would trust my cousin with. 
 But, Jeanie, you must not go through the streets with Mr. Archi- 
 bald with your tartan what-d'-ye-call-it there upon your shoulders, 
 as if you had come up with a drove of Highland cattle. Wait till 
 I bring down my silk cloak. Why we'll have the mob after 
 you ! " 
 
 " I have a hackney-coach in waiting, madam," said Mr. Archi- 
 bald, interrupting the officious old lady, from whom Jeanie might 
 otherwise have found it difficult to escape, " and, I believe, I must 
 not allow her time for any change of dress." 
 
 So saying, he hurried Jeanie into the coach, while she internally 
 praised and wondered at the easy manner in which he shifted off 
 Mrs. Glass's officious offers and inquiries, without mentioning his 
 master's orders, or entering into any explanation. 
 
 On entering the coach, Mr. Archibald seated himself in the front 
 seat, opposite to our heroine, and they drove on in silence. After 
 they had driven nearly half-an-hour, without a word on either side, 
 it occurred to Jeanie, that the distance and time did not correspond 
 with that which had been occupied by her journey on the former 
 occasion, to and from the residence of the Duke of Argyle. At 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 297 
 
 length she could not help asking her taciturn companion, " Whilk 
 way they were going ? " 
 
 " My Lord Duke will inform you himself, madam,'' answered 
 Archibald, with the same solemn courtesy which marked his whole 
 demeanour. Almost as he spoke, the hackney-coach drew up, and 
 the coachman dismounted and opened the door. Archibald got 
 out, and assisted Jeanie to get down. She found herself in a large 
 turnpike road, without the bounds of London, upon the other side 
 of which road was drawn up a plain chariot and four horses, the 
 panels without arms, and the servants without liveries. 
 
 " You have been punctual, I see, Jeanie," said the Duke of Argyle, 
 as Archibald opened the carriage door. " You must be my com- 
 panion for the rest of the way. Archibald will remain here with the 
 hackney-coach till your return." 
 
 Ere Jeanie could make answer, she found herself, to her no small 
 astonishment, seated by the side of a Duke, in a carriage which 
 rolled forward at a rapid yet smooth rate, very different in both par- 
 ticulars from the lumbering, jolting vehicle which she had just left ; 
 and which, lumbering and jolting as it was, conveyed to one who 
 had seldom been in a coach before, a certain feeling of dignity and 
 importance. 
 
 " Young woman," said the Duke, " after thinking as attentively 
 on your sister's case as is in my power, I continue to be impressed 
 with the belief that great injustice may be done by the execution of 
 her sentence. So are one or two liberal and intelligent lawyers of 
 both countries whom I have spoken with. — Nay, pray hear me out 
 before you thank me. — I have already told you my personal con- 
 viction is of little consequence, unless I could impress the same 
 upon others. Now I have done for you, what I would certainly not 
 have done to serve any purpose of my own — I have asked an audi- 
 ence, of a lady whose interest with the king is deservedly very high. 
 It has been allowed me, and I am desirous that you should see her 
 and speak for yourself. You have no occasion to be abashed ; tell 
 your story simply as you did to me." 
 
 " I am much obliged to your Grace," said Jeanie, remembering 
 Mrs. Glass's charge, " and I am sure since I have had the courage 
 to speak to your Grace, in poor EfEe's cause, I have less reason to 
 be shame-faced in speaking to a leddy. But, sir, I would like to 
 ken what to ca' her, whether your grace, or your honour, or your 
 leddyship, as we say to lairds and leddies in Scotland, and I will 
 take care to mind it ; for I ken leddies are full mair particular than 
 gentlemen about their titles of honour." 
 
 " You have no occasion to call her anything but Madam. Just 
 say what you think is likely to make the best impression — look at 
 me from time to time — if I put my hand to my cravat so, (showing 
 her the motion,) you will stop ; but I shall only do this when you 
 say anything that is not likely to please." 
 
 " But, sir, your Grace," said Jeanie, " if it wasna ower muckle 
 trouble, wad it no be better to tell me what I should say, and I 
 could get it by heart ? " 
 
 " No, Jeanie, that would not have the same effect, — that would be 
 
298 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 like reading a sermon, you know, which we good presbyterians think 
 has less unction than when spoken without book," replied the Duke. 
 " Just speak as plainly and boldly to this lady, as you did to me the 
 day before yesterday ; and if you can gain her consent, I'll wad ye a 
 plack, as we say in the north, that you get the pardon from the king." 
 
 As he spoke, he took a pamphlet from his pocket, and began to 
 read. Jeanie had good sense and tact, which constitute betwixt them 
 that which is called natural good breeding. She interpreted the 
 Duke's manoeuvre as a hint that she was to ask no more questions, 
 and she remained silent accordingly. 
 
 The carriage rolled rapidly onwards through fertile meadows, 
 ornamented with splendid old oaks, and catching occasionally a 
 glance of the majestic mirror of a broad and placid river. After 
 passing through a pleasant village, the equipage stopped on a com- 
 manding eminence, where the beauty of English landscape was 
 displayed in its utmost luxuriance. Here the Duke alighted, and, 
 desired Jeanie to follow him. They paused for a moment on the 
 brow of a hill, to gaze on the unrivalled landscape which it pre- 
 sented. A huge sea of verdure, with crossing and intersecting 
 promontories of massive and tufted groves, was tenanted by num- 
 berless flocks and herds, which seemed to wander unrestrained and 
 unbounded through the rich pastures. The Thames, here turreted 
 with villas, and there garlanded with forests, moved on slowly and 
 placidly, like the mighty monarch of the scene, to whom all its other 
 beauties were but accessories, and bore on its bosom an hundred 
 barks and skiffs, whose white sails and gaily fluttering pennons gave 
 life to the whole. 
 
 The Duke of Argylewas, of course, familiar with this scene ; but 
 to a man of taste it must be always new. Yet, as he paused and 
 looked on this inimitable landscape, with the feeling of delight 
 which it must give to the bosom of every admirer of nature, his 
 thoughts naturally reverted to his own more grand, and scarce less 
 beautiful, domains of Inveraray. — " This is a fine scene," he said 
 to his companion, curious, perhaps, to draw out her sentiments ; 
 " we have nothing like it in Scotland." 
 
 " It's braw rich feeding for the cows, and they have a fine 
 breed o' cattle here," replied' Jeanie ; " but I like just as weel to 
 look at the craigs of Arthur's Seat, and the sea coming in ayont 
 them, as at a' thae muckle trees." 
 
 The Duke smiled at a reply equally professional and national, 
 and made a signal for the carriage to remain where it was. Then 
 adopting an unfrequented footpath, he conducted Jeanie, through 
 several complicated mazes, to a postern door in a high brick wall. 
 It was shut ; but as the Duke tapped slightly at it, a person in 
 waiting within, after reconnoitering through a small iron-grate 
 contrived for the purpose, unlocked the door and admitted them. 
 They entered, and it was immediately closed and fastened behind 
 them. This was all done quickly, the door so instantly, closing, 
 and the person who opened it so suddenly disappearing, that Jeanie 
 could not even catch a glimpse of his exterior. 
 
 They found themselves at the extremity of a deep and narrow 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 299 
 
 alley, carpeted with the most verdant and close-shaven turf, which 
 felt like velvet under their feet, and screened from the sun by the 
 branches of the lofty elms which united over the path, and caused 
 it to resemble, in the solemn obscurity of the light which they 
 admitted, as well as from the range of columnar stems, and intri- 
 cate union of their arched branches, one of the narrow side aisles 
 in an ancient Gothic cathedral. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 1 beseech you — 
 
 These tears beseech you, and these chaste hands woo you, 
 That never yet were heaved but to things holy — ■ 
 Things like yourself — You are a God above us ; 
 Be as a God, then, full of saving mercy ! 
 
 The Bloody Brother. 
 
 Encouraged as she was by the courteous manners of her noble 
 countryman, it was not without a feeling of something like terror 
 that Jeanie felt herself in a place apparently so lonely, with a man 
 of such high rank. That she should have been permitted to wait 
 on the Duke in his own house, and have been there received to a 
 private interview, was in itself an uncommon and distinguished 
 event in the annals of a life so simple as hers ; but to find herself 
 his travelling companion in a journey, and then suddenly to be 
 left alone with him in so secluded a situation, had something in it 
 of awful mystery. A romantic herointe might have suspected and 
 dreaded the power of her own charms ; but Jeanie was too wise to 
 let such a silly thought intrude on her mind. Still, however, she 
 had a most eager desire to know where she now was, and to whom 
 she was to be presented. 
 
 She remarked that the Duke's dress, though still such as indi- 
 cated rank and fashion, (for it was not the custom of men of 
 quality at that time to dress themselves like their own coachmen 
 or grooms,) was nevertheless plainer than that in which she had 
 seen him upon a former occasion, and was divested, in particular, 
 of all those badges of external decoration which intimated superior 
 consequence. In short, he was attired as plainly as any gentle- 
 man of fashion could appear in the streets of London in a morning ; 
 and this circumstance helped to shake an opinion which Jeanie 
 began to entertain, that, perhaps, he intended she should plead her 
 cause in the presence of royalty itself. " But, surely," she said to 
 herself, " he wad hae putten on his braw star and garter, an he 
 had thought o' coming before the face of Majesty — and after a.', 
 this is mair like a gentleman's policy than a royal palace." 
 
 There was some sense in Jeanie's reasoning ; yet she was not 
 sufficiently mistress either of the circumstances of etiquette, or the 
 particular relations which existed betwixt the government and the 
 Duke of Argyle, to form an accurate judgment. The Duke, as we 
 have said, was at this time in open opposition to the administra- 
 
300 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 tion of Sir Robert Walpole, and was understood to be out of favour 
 with the royal family, to whom he had rendered such important 
 services. But it was a maxim of Queen Caroline, to bear herself 
 towards her political friends with such caution, as if there was a 
 possibility of their one day being her enemies, and towards poli- 
 tical opponents with the same degree of circumspection, as if they 
 might again become friendly to her measures. Since Margaret of 
 Anjou, no queen-consort had exercised such weight in the political 
 affairs of England, and the personal address which she displayed 
 on many occasions, had no small share in reclaiming from their 
 political heresy, many of those determined Tories, who, after the 
 reign of the Stewarts had been extinguished in the person of Queen 
 Anne, were disposed rather to transfer their allegiance to her 
 brother the Chevalier de St. George, than to acquiesce in the settle- 
 ment of the crown on the Hanover family. Her husband, whose 
 most shining quality was courage in the field of battle, and who 
 endured the office of King of England, without ever being able to 
 acquire English habits, or any familiarity with English disposi- 
 tions, found the utmost assistance from the address of his partner, 
 and while he jealously affected to do everything according to his 
 own will and pleasure, was in secret prudent enough to take and 
 follow the advice of his more adroit consort. He intrusted to her 
 the delicate office of determining the various degrees of favour 
 necessary to attach the wavering, or to confirm such as were 
 already friendly, or to regain those whose good-will had been lost. 
 
 With all the winning address of an elegant, and, according to 
 the times, an accomplished woman, Queen Caroline possessed the 
 masculine soul of the other sex. She was proud by nature, and 
 even her policy could not always temper her expressions of dis- 
 pleasure, although few were more ready at repairing any false step 
 of this kind, when her prudence came up to the aid of her passions. 
 She loved the real possession of power, rather than the show of it, 
 and whatever she did herself that was either wise or popular, she 
 always desired that the king should have the full credit as well as 
 the advantage of the measure, conscious that, by adding to his 
 respectability, she was most likely to maintain her own. And so 
 desirous was she to comply with all his tastes, that, when threat- 
 ened with the gout, she had repeatedly had recourse to checking 
 the fit, by the use of the cold bath, thereby endangering her life, 
 that she might be able to attend the king in his walks. 
 
 It was a very consistent part of Queen Caroline's character, to 
 keep up many private correspondences with those to whom in 
 public she seemed unfavourable, or who, for various reasons, stood 
 ill with the court. By this means she kept in her hands the' 
 thread of many a political intrigue, and, without pledging herself to 
 any thing, could often prevent discontent from becoming hatred, 
 and opposition from exaggerating itself into rebellion. If by any 
 accident her correspondence with such persons chanced to be 
 observed or discovered, which she took all possible pains to 
 prevent, it was represented as a mere intercourse of society, having 
 no reference to politics ; an answer with which even the prime 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 301 
 
 minister, Sir Robert Walpole, was compelled to remain satisfied, 
 when he discovered that the Queen had given a private audience' 
 to Pulteney, afterwards Earl of Bath, his most formidable and most 
 inveterate enemy. 
 
 In thus maintaining occasional intercourse with several persons- 
 who seemed most alienated from the crown, it may readily be sup- 
 posed, that Queen Caroline had taken care not to break entirely 
 with the Duke of Argyle. His high birth, his great talents, the 
 estimation in which he was held in his own country, the great 
 services which he had rendered the house of Brunswick in 1715, 
 placed him high in that rank of persons who were not to be rashly 
 neglected. He had, almost by his single and unassisted talents, 
 stopped the irruption of the banded force of all the Highland chiefs ; 
 there was little doubt, that, with the slightest encouragement, he 
 could put them all in motion, and renew the civil war ; and it was 
 well known that the most flattering overtures had been transmitted 
 to the Duke from the court of St. Germains. The character and 
 temper of Scotland was still little known, and it was considered as 
 a volcano, which might, indeed, slumber for a series of years, but 
 was still liable, at a moment the least expected, to break out into a 
 wasteful eruption. It was, therefore, of the highest importance to 
 retain some hold over so important a personage as the Duke of 
 Argyle, and Caroline preserved the power of doing so by means of 
 a lady, with whom, as wife of George II., she might have been 
 supposed to be on less intimate terms. 
 
 It was not the least instance of the Queen's address, that she 
 had contrived that one of her principal attendants, Lady Suffolk, 
 should unite in her own person the two apparently inconsistent 
 characters, of her husband's mistress, and her own very obsequious 
 and complaisant confidant. By this dexterous management the 
 Queen secured her power against the danger which might most 
 have threatened it — the thwarting influence of an ambitious rival ; 
 and if she submitted to the mortification of being obliged to con- 
 nive at her husband's infidelity, she was at least guarded against 
 what she might think its most dangerous effects, and was besides 
 at liberty, now and then, to bestow a few civil insults upon " her 
 good Howard," whom, however, in general, she treated with great 
 decorum.* Lady Suffolk lay under strong obligations to the Duke 
 of Argyle, for reasons which may be collected from Horace Wal- 
 pole's Reminiscences of that reign, and through her means the 
 Duke had some occasional correspondence with Queen Caroline, 
 much interrupted, however, since the part he had taken in the 
 debate concerning the Porteous mob, an affair which the Queen, 
 though somewhat unreasonably, was disposed to resent, rather as 
 an intended and premeditated insolence to her own person and 
 authority, than as a sudden ebullition of popular vengeance. Still, 
 however, the communication remained open betwixt them, though 
 it had been of late disused on both sides. These remarks will be 
 found necessary to understand the scene which is about to be pre- 
 sented to the reader. 
 From the narrow alley which they had traversed, the Duke 
 
302 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 turned into one of the same character, but broader and still longer. 
 Here, for the first time since they had entered these gardens, 
 Jeanie saw persons approaching them. 
 
 They were two ladies ; one of whom walked a little behind the 
 other, yet not so much as to prevent her from hearing and replying 
 to whatever observation was addressed to her by the lady who 
 walked foremost, and that without her having the trouble to turn 
 her person. As they advanced very slowly, Jeanie had time to 
 study their features and appearance. The Duke also slackened 
 his pace, as if to give her time to collect herself, and repeatedly 
 desired her not to be afraid. The lady who seemed the principal 
 person had remarkably good features, though somewhat injured by 
 the small-pox, that venomous scourge which each village Escula- 
 pius (thanks to Jenner) can now tame as easily as their tutelary 
 deity subdued the Python. The lady's eyes were brilliant, her 
 teeth x good, and her countenance formed to express at will either 
 majesty or courtesy. Her form, though rather embonpoint, was 
 nevertheless graceful ; and the elasticity and firmness of her step 
 gave no room to suspect, what was actually the case, that she 
 suffered occasionally from a disorder the most unfavourable to 
 pedestrian exercise. Her dress was rather rich than gay, and her 
 manner commanding and noble. 
 
 Her companion was of lower stature, with light brown hair and 
 expressive blue eyes. Her features, without being absolutely 
 regular, were perhaps more pleasing than if they had been criti- 
 cally handsome. A melancholy, or at least a pensive expression, 
 for which her lot gave too much cause, predominated when she 
 was silent, but gave way to a pleasing and good-humoured smile 
 when she spoke to any one. 
 
 When they were within twelve or fifteen yards of these ladies, 
 the Duke made a sign that Jeanie should stand still, and stepping 
 forward himself, with the grace which was natural to him, made a 
 profound obeisance, which was formally, yet in a dignified manner, 
 returned by the personage whom he approached. 
 
 " I hope," she said, with an affable and condescending smile, 
 " that I see so great a stranger at court, as the Duke of Argyle has 
 been of late, in as good health as his friends there and elsewhere 
 could wish him to enjoy." 
 
 The Duke replied, " That he had been perfectly well ; " and 
 added, "that the necessity »of attending to the public business 
 before the House, as well as the time occupied by a late journey to 
 Scotland, had rendered him less assiduous in paying his duty at 
 the levee and drawing-room than he could have desired." 
 ' " When your Grace can find time for a duty so frivolous," replied 
 the Queen, " you are aware of your title to be well received. I 
 hope my readiness to comply with the wish which you expressed 
 yesterday to Lady Suffolk, is a sufficient proof that one of the 
 royal family, at least, has not forgotten ancient and important 
 services, in resenting something which resembles recent neglect." 
 This was said apparently with great good humour, and in a tone 
 which expressed a desire of conciliation. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 303 
 
 The Duke replied, " That he would account himself the most 
 unfortunate of men, if he could be supposed capable of neglecting 
 his duty, in modes and circumstances when it was expected, and 
 would have been agreeable. He was deeply gratified by the 
 honour which her Majesty was now doing to him personally ; and 
 he trusted she would soon perceive that it was in a matter essential 
 to his Majesty's interest, that he had the boldness to give her this 
 trouble." 
 
 " You cannot oblige me more, my Lord Duke," replied the 
 Queen, " than by giving me the advantage of your lights and 
 experience on any point of the King's service. Your Grace is 
 aware, that I can only be the medium through which the matter is 
 subjected to his Majesty's superior wisdom ; but if it is a suit 
 which respects your Grace personally, it shall lose no support by 
 being preferred through me." 
 
 " It is no suit of mine, madam," replied the Duke ; " nor have I 
 any to prefer for myself personally, although I feel in full force my 
 obligation to your Majesty. It is a business which concerns his 
 Majesty, as a lover of justice and mercy, and which, I am con- 
 vinced, may be highly useful in conciliating the unfortunate irrita- 
 tion which at present subsists among his Majesty's good subjects 
 in Scotland." 
 
 There were two parts of this speech disagreeable to Caroline. 
 In the first place, it removed the flattering notion she had adopted, 
 that Argyle designed to use her personal intercession in making 
 his peace with the administration, and recovering the employments 
 of which he had been deprived ; and next, she was displeased that 
 he should talk of the discontents in Scotland as irritations to be 
 conciliated, rather than suppressed. 
 
 Under the influence of these feelings, she answered hastily, " That 
 his Majesty has good subjects in England, my Lord Duke, he is 
 bovuid to thank God and the laws — that he has subjects in Scot- 
 land, I think he may thank God and his sword." 
 
 The Duke, though a courtier, coloured slightly, and the Queen, 
 instantly sensible of her error, added, without displaying the least 
 change of countenance, and as if the words had been an original 
 branch of the sentence — " And the swords of those real Scotch- 
 men who are friends to the House of Brunswick, particularly that 
 of his Grace of Argyle." 
 
 "My sword, madam," replied the Duke, "like that of my fathers, 
 has been always at the command of my lawful king, and of my 
 native country — I trust it is impossible to separate their real rights 
 and interests. But the present is a matter of more private con- 
 cern, and respects the person of an obscure individual." 
 
 " What is the affair, my Lord ? " said the Queen. " Let us find 
 out what we are talking about, lest we should misconstrue and 
 misunderstand each other." 
 
 " The matter, madam," answered the Duke of Argyle, " regards 
 the fate of an unfortunate young woman in Scotland, now lying 
 under sentence of death, for a crime of which I think it highly 
 probable that she is innocent. And my humble petition to your 
 
504 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 Majesty is, to obtain your powerful intercession with the King for 
 a pardon." 
 
 It was now the Queen's turn to colour, and she did so over 
 cheek and brow — neck and bosom. She paused a moment, as if 
 unwilling to trust her voice with the first expression of her dis- 
 pleasure ; and on assuming an air of dignity and an austere regard 
 of control, she at length replied, " My Lord Duke, I will not ask 
 your motives for addressing to me a request, which circumstances 
 have rendered such an extraordinary one. Your road to the King's 
 closet, as a peer and a privy-councillor, entitled to request an 
 audience, was open, without giving me the pain of this discussion. 
 /, at least have had enough of Scotch pardons." 
 
 The Duke was prepared for this burst of indignation, and he 
 was not shaken by it. He did not attempt a reply while the 
 Queen was in the first heat of displeasure, but remained in the 
 same firm, yet respectful posture, which he had assumed during 
 the interview. The Queen, trained from her situation to self- 
 command, instantly perceived the advantage she might give 
 against herself by yielding to passion ; and added, in the same 
 condescending and affable tone in which she had opened the inter- 
 view, " You must allow me some of the privileges of the sex, my 
 Lord ; and do not judge uncharitably of me, though I am a little 
 moved at the recollection of the gross insult and outrage done in 
 your capital city to the royal authority, at the very time when it 
 was vested in my unworthy person. Your Grace cannot be surprised 
 that I should both have felt it at the time, and recollected it now." 
 
 " It is certainly a matter not speedily to be forgotten," answered 
 the Duke. " My own poor thoughts of it have been long before 
 your Majesty, and I must have expressed myself very ill if T did 
 not convey my detestation of the murder which was committed 
 under such extraordinary circumstances. I might, indeed, be so 
 unfortunate as to differ with his Majesty's advisers on the degree 
 in which it was either just or politic to punish the innocent instead 
 of the guilty. But I trust your Majesty will permit me to be silent 
 on a topic in which my sentiments have not the good fortune to 
 coincide with those of more able men." 
 
 " We will not prosecute a topic on which we may probably 
 differ," said the Queen. " One word, however, I may say in 
 private — You know our good lady Suffolk is a little deaf — the Duke 
 of Argyle, when disposed to renew his acquaintance with his 
 master and mistress, will hardly find many topics on which we should 
 disagree." 
 
 " Let me hope," said the Duke, bowing profoundly to so flatter- 
 ing an intimation, " that I shall not be so unfortunate as to have 
 found one on the present occasion." 
 
 " I must first impose on your Grace the duty of confession," 
 said the Queen, "before I grant you absolution. What is your 
 particular interest in the young woman ? She does not seem " 
 (and she scanned Jeanie, as she said this, with the eye) of a con- 
 noisseur) " much qualified to alarm my friend the Duchess's 
 jealousy." 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 303 
 
 " I think your Majesty," replied the Duke, smiling in his turn, 
 " will allow my taste may be a pledge for me on that score." 
 
 " Then, though she has not much the air d'une grande dame, 
 I suppose she is some thirtieth cousin in the terrible chapter of 
 Scottish genealogy ? " 
 
 " No, madam," said the Duke ; " but I wish some of my nearer 
 relations had half her worth, honesty, and affection." 
 
 " Her name must be Campbell, at least ? " said Queen Caroline. 
 
 " No, madam ; her name is not quite so distinguished, if I may 
 be permitted to say so," answered the Duke. 
 
 " Ah ! but she comes from Inveraray or Argyleshire ? " said the 
 Sovereign. 
 
 " She has never been farther north in her life than Edinburgh, 
 madam." 
 
 " Then my conjectures are all ended," said the Queen, " and 
 your Grace must yourself take the trouble to explain the affair of 
 your protegee." 
 
 With that precision and easy brevity which is only acquired by 
 habitually conversing in the higher ranks of society, and which is 
 the diametrical opposite of that protracted style of disquisition, 
 
 " Which squires call potter, and which men call prose," 
 
 the Duke explained the singular law under which Effie Deans 
 had received sentence of death, and detailed the affectionate exer- 
 tions which Jeanie had made in behalf of a sister, for whose sake 
 she was willing to sacrifice all but truth and conscience. 
 
 Queen Caroline listened with attention ; she was rather fond, it 
 must be remembered, of an argument, and soon found matter in 
 what the Duke told her for raising difficulties to his request. 
 
 " It appears to me, my Lord," she replied, " that this is a severe 
 law. But still it is adopted upon good grounds, I am bound to 
 suppose, as the law of the country, and the girl has been convicted 
 under it. The very presumptions which the law construes into a 
 positive proof of guilt exist in her case ; and all that your Grace 
 has said concerning the possibility of her innocence may be a very 
 good argument for annulling the Act of Parliament, but cannot, 
 while it stands good, be admitted in favour of any individual con- 
 victed upon the statute." 
 
 The Duke saw and avoided the snare, for he was conscious, 
 that, by replying to the argument, he must have been inevitably 
 led to a discussion, in the course of which the Queen was likely to 
 be hardened in her own opinion, until she became obliged, out of 
 mere respect to consistency, to let the criminal suffer. " If your 
 Majesty," he said, " would condescend to hear my poor country- 
 woman herself, perhaps she may find an advocate in your own 
 heart, more able than I am, to combat the doubts suggested by 
 your understanding." 
 
 The Queen seemed to acquiesce, and the Duke made a signal for 
 Jeanie to advance from the spot where she had hitherto remained 
 watching countenances, which were too long accustomed to sup- 
 press all apparent signs of emotion, to convey to her any interest- 
 
 v 
 
306 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 ing intelligence. Her Majesty could not help smiling at the 
 awestruck manner in which the quiet demure figure of the little 
 Scotchwoman advanced towards her, and yet more at the first 
 sound of her broad northern accent. But Jeanie had a voice low 
 and sweetly toned, an admirable thing in woman, and eke besought 
 " her Leddyship to have pity on a poor misguided young creature," 
 in tones so affecting, that, like the notes of some of her native 
 songs, provincial vulgarity was lost in pathos. 
 
 " Stand up, young woman," said the Queen, but in a kind tone,. 
 " and tell me what sort of a barbarous people your countryfolk are, 
 where child-murder has become so common as to require the 
 restraint of laws like yours ? " 
 
 " If your Leddyship pleases," answered Jeanie, " there are mony 
 places besides Scotland where mothers are unkind to their ain flesh 
 and blood." 
 
 It must be observed, that the disputes between George the 
 Second, and Frederick, Prince of Wales, were then at the highest, 
 and that the good-natured part of the public laid the blame on the 
 Queen. She coloured highly, and darted a glance of a most pene- 
 trating character first at Jeanie, and then at the Duke. Both 
 sustained it unmoved ; Jeanie from total unconsciousness of the 
 offence she had given, and the Duke from his habitual composure. 
 But in his heart he thought, My unlucky protegee has with this 
 luckless answer, shot dead, by a kind of chance-medley, her only 
 hope of success. 
 
 Lady Suffolk, good-humouredly and skilfully, interposed in this 
 "awkward crisis. " You should tell this lady," she said to Jeanie, 
 " the particular causes which render this crime common in your 
 country." 
 
 , " Some thinks it's the Kirk-Session — that is — it's the — it's the 
 cutty-stool, if your Leddyship pleases," said Jeanie, looking down, 
 and curtseying. 
 
 " The what ? " said Lady Suffolk, to whom the phrase was new, . 
 and who besides was rather deaf. 
 
 " That's the stool of repentance, madam, if it please your 
 Leddyship," answered Jeanie, " for light life and conversation, and 
 for breaking the seventh command:" Here she raised her eyes to 
 the Duke, saw his hand at his chin, and, totally unconscious of 
 what she had said out of joint, gave double effect to the innuendo, 
 by stopping short and looking embarrassed. 
 
 As for Lady Suffolk, she retired like a covering party which, 
 having interposed betwixt their retreating friends and the enemy, 
 have suddenly drawn on themselves a fire unexpectedly severe. 
 
 The deuce take the lass, thought the Duke of Argyle to himself ; 
 there goes another shot — and she has hit with both barrels right 
 and left ! 
 
 Indeed the Duke had himself his share of the confusion, for, 
 having acted as master of ceremonies to this innocent offender, 
 he felt much in the circumstances of a country squire, who, having 
 introduced his spaniel into a well-appointed drawing-room, is 
 doomed to witness the disorder and damage which arises to china 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN, 307 
 
 and to dress-gowns,. in consequence of its untimely frolics. Jeanie's 
 last chance-hit, however, obliterated the ill impression which had 
 arisen from the first ; for her Majesty had not so lost the feelings 
 of a wife in those of a Queen, but that she could enjoy a jest at 
 the expense of " her good Suffolk." She turned towards the Duke 
 of Argyle, with a smile, which marked that she enjoyed the triumph, 
 and observed, "the Scotch are a rigidly moral people." Then 
 again applying herself to Jeanie, she asked, how she travelled up 
 from Scotland. 
 
 " Upon my foot mostly, madam," was the reply. 
 
 " What, all that immense way upon foot ? How far can you 
 walk in a day ? " 
 
 " Five-and-twenty miles and a bittock." 
 
 " And a what ? " said the Queen, looking towards the Duke of 
 Argyle. 
 
 " And about five miles more," replied the Duke. 
 
 " I thought I was a good walker," said the Queen, " but this 
 shames me sadly." 
 
 " May your Leddyship never hae sae weary a heart, that ye canna 
 be sensible of the weariness of the limbs," said Jeanie. 
 
 That came better off, thought the Duke ; it's the first thing she 
 has said to the purpose. 
 
 "And I didna justa'thegither walk the hail way neither, foi»I had 
 whiles the cast of a cart ; and I had the cast of a horse from Ferry- 
 bridge—and divers other easements," said Jeanie, cutting short her 
 story, for she observed the Duke make the sign he had fixed upon. 
 
 "With all these accommodations," answered the Queen, "you 
 must have had a very fatiguing journey, and, I fear, to little pur- 
 pose ; since, if the King were to pardon your sister, in all proba- 
 bility it would do her little good, for I suppose your people of Edin- 
 burgh would hang her out of spite." 
 
 She will sink herself now outright, thought the Duke. 
 
 But he was wrong. The shoals on which Jeanie had touched m 
 this delicate conversation lay under ground, and were unknown to- 
 iler ; this rock was above water, and she avoided it. 
 
 " She was confident," she said, " that baith toun and country wad- 
 rejoice to see his Majesty taking compassion on a poor unfriended. 
 creature." 
 
 " His Majesty has not found it so in a late instance," said the- 
 Queen ;."but I suppose, my Lord Duke would advise him to be- 
 guided by the votes of the rabble themselves, who should be hanged 
 and who spared ? " 
 
 " No, madam," said the Duke ; " but I would advise his Majesty 
 to be guided by his own feelings, and those of his royal consort j 
 and then, I am sure, punishment will only attach itself to guilt, and 
 even then with cautious reluctance." 
 
 " Well, my Lord," said her Majesty, " all these fine speeches do 
 not convince me of the propriety of. so soon showing any mark of 
 favour to your — I suppose I must not say rebellious ? — but, at least, 
 your very disaffected and intractable metropolis. Why, the whole 
 nation is in a league to screen the savage and abominable mur- 
 
 u 2 
 
3 o8 , THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 derfirs of that unhappy man ; otherwise, how is it possible but that, 
 of so many perpetrators, and engaged in so public an action for 
 such a length of time, one at least must have been recognized ? 
 Even this wench, for aught I can tell, may be a depository of the 
 secret. — Hark you, young woman, had you any friends engaged in 
 the Porteous mob ? " 
 
 " No, madam," answered Jeanie, happy that the question was so 
 framed that she could, with a good conscience, answer it in the 
 negative. , 
 
 " But I suppose," continued the Queen, " if you were possessed 
 of such a secret, you would hold it a matter of conscience to keep 
 it to yourself? " 
 
 " I would pray to be directed and guided what was the line of 
 duty, madam," answered Jeanie. 
 
 " Yes, and take that which suited your own inclinations,'' replied 
 her Majesty. 
 
 " If it like you, madam,'' said Jeanie, " I would hae gaen to the 
 end of the earth to save the life of John Porteous, or any other un- 
 happy man in his condition ; but I might lawfully doubt how far I 
 am called upon to be the avenger of his blood, though it may be- 
 come the civil magistrate to do so. He is dead and gane to his 
 place, and they that have slain him must answer for their ain act. 
 But my sister — my puir sister Effie, still lives, though her days and 
 hours are numbered ! — She still lives, and a word of the King's 
 mouth might restore her to a broken-hearted auld man, that ! never, 
 in his daily and nightly exercise, forgot to pray that his Majesty, 
 might be blessed with a long and a prosperous reign, and that his 
 throne, and the throne of his posterity, might be established in 
 righteousness. O, madam, if ever ye keri'd what it was to sorrow 
 for and with a sinning and a suffering creature, whose mind is sae 
 tossed that she can be neither ca'd fit to live or die, have some com- 
 passion on our misery ! — Save an honest house from dishonour, 
 and an unhappy girl, not eighteen years of age, from an early and 
 dreadful death ! Alas ! it is not when we sleep soft and wake 
 merrily ourselves that we think on other people's sufferings. Our 
 hearts are waxed light within us then, and we are for righting our 
 ain wrangs and fighting our ain battles. But when the hour ,of 
 trouble comes to the mind or to the body — and seldom may it visit 
 your Leddyship — and when the hour of death comes, that comes to 
 high and low — lang and late may it be yours ! — Oh, my Leddy, then 
 it isna what we hae dune for oursells, but what we hae dune for 
 others, that we think on maist pleasantly. And the thoughts that 
 ye hae intervened to spare the puir thing's life will be sweeter in 
 that hour, come when it may, than if a word of your mouth could 
 hang the haill Porteous mob at the tail of ae tow." 
 
 Tear followed tear down Jeanie's cheeks, as, her features glowing 
 and quivering with emotion, she pleaded her sister's cause with 
 a pathos which was at once simple and solemn. 
 
 " This is eloquence," said her Majesty to the Duke of Argyle. 
 "Young woman," she continued, addressing herself to Jeanie, "/ 
 cannot grant a pardon to your sister — but you shall not want my 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 309 
 
 warm intercession with his Majesty. Take this housewife case,'' 
 she continued, putting a small embroidered needle-case into Jeanie's 
 hands ; " do not open it now, but at your leisure you will find 
 something in it which will remind you that you have had an inter- 
 view with Queen Caroline." 
 
 Jeanie, having her suspicions thus confirmed, dropped on her 
 knees, and would have expanded herself in gratitude ; but the 
 Duke, who was upon thorns lest she should say more or less than 
 just enough, touched his chin once more. 
 
 " Our business is, I think, ended for the present, my Lord Duke," 
 said the Queen, "and, I trust, to your satisfaction. Hereafter I 
 hope to see your Grace more frequently, both at Richmond and 
 St. James's. — Come, Lady Suffolk, we must wish his Grace good- 
 morning." 
 
 They exchanged their parting reverences, and the Duke, so soon 
 as the ladies had turned their backs, assisted Jeanie to rise from 
 the ground, and conducted her back through the avenue, which she 
 trode with the feeling of one who walks in her sleep. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 So soon as I can win the offended King, 
 I will be known your advocate. 
 
 Cymbeline. 
 
 The Duke of Argyle led the way in silence to the small postern 
 by which they had been admitted into Richmond Park, so long the 
 favourite residence of Queen Caroline. It was opened by the same 
 half-seen janitor, and they found themselves beyond the precincts 
 of the royal demesne. Still not a word was spoken on either side. 
 The Duke probably wished to allow his rustic protegee time to re- 
 cruit her faculties, dazzled and sunk with colloquy sublime ; and 
 betwixt what she had guessed, had heard, and had seen, Jeanie 
 Deans's mind was too much agitated to permit her to ask any 
 questions. 
 
 They found the carriage of the Duke in the place where they had 
 left it ; and when they resumed their places, soon began to advance 
 rapidly on their return to town. 
 
 " I think, J eanie," said the Duke, breaking silence, " you have 
 every reason to congratulate yourself on the issue of your interview 
 with her Majesty." 
 
 "And that leddy was the Queen hersell ?" said Jeanie; " I mis- 
 doubted it when I saw that your honour didna put on your hat — 
 And yet I can hardly believe it, even when I heard her speak it 
 hersell." 
 
 " It was certainly Queen Caroline," replied the Duke. " Have- 
 you no curiosity to see what is in the little pocket-book ? " 
 
 " Do you think the pardon will be in it, sir ? " said Jeanie, with 
 the eager animation of hope. 
 
3IO THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 " Why, no," replied the Duke ; " that is unlikely. They seldom 
 carry these things about them, unless they were likely to be wanted ; 
 and, besides, her Majesty told you it was the King, not she, who 
 was to grant it." 
 
 " That is true too," said Jeanie ; " but I am so confused in my 
 mind — But does your honour think there is a certainty of Erne's 
 pardon then ? " continued she, still holding in her hand the un- 
 opened pocket-book. 
 
 " Why, kings are kittle cattle to shoe behind, as we say in the 
 north," replied the Duke ; " but his wife knows his trim, and I have 
 not the least doubt that the matter' is quite certain." 
 
 " O God be praised ! God be praised ! " ejaculated Jeanie ; " and 
 may the gude leddy never want the heart's ease she has gien me at 
 this moment ! — And God bless you too, my Lord ! without your 
 help I wad ne'er hae won near her." 
 
 The Duke let her dwell upon this subject for a considerable time, 
 curious, perhaps, to see how long the feelings of gratitude would 
 continue to supersede those of curiosity. But so feeble was. the 
 latter feeling in Jeanie's mind, that his Grace, with whom, perhaps, 
 it was for the time a little stronger, was obliged once more to bring 
 forward the subject of the Queen's present. It was opened ac- 
 cordingly. In the inside of the case were the usual assortment of 
 silk and needles, with scissors, tweezers, &c. ; and in the pocket 
 was a bank-bill for fifty pounds. 
 
 The Duke had no sooner informed Jeanie of the value of this 
 last document, for she was unaccustomed to see notes for such 
 sums, than she expressed her regret at the mistake which had taken 
 place. " For the hussy itsell," she said, "was a very valuable thing 
 for a keepsake, with the Queen's name written in the inside with 
 her ain hand doubtless — Caroline — as plain as could be, and 
 a crown drawn aboon it." 
 
 She therefore tendered the bill to the Duke, requesting him to 
 find some mode of returning it to the royal owner. 
 ; "No, no, Jeanie," said the Duke, " there is no mistake in the 
 case. Her Majesty knows you have been put to great expense, and 
 she wishes to make it up to you." 
 
 " I am sure she is even ower gude," said Jeanie, " and it glads me 
 muckle that I can pay back Dumbiedikes his siller, without dis- 
 tressing my father; honest man." 
 
 " Dumbiedikes ? What, a freeholder of Mid- Lothian, is he not ? " 
 said his Grace, whose occasional residence in that county made him 
 acquainted with most of the heritors, as landed persons are termed 
 in Scotland — " He has a house not far from Dalkeith, wears a black 
 wig and a laced hat ? " 
 
 " Yes,'Sir," answered Jeanie, who had her reasons for being brief 
 in her answers upon this topic. 
 
 " Ah, my old friend Dumbie ! " said the Duke ; " I have thrice 
 seen him fou, and only once heard the sound of his voice — Is he 
 a cousin of yours, Jeanie ? " 
 
 " No, sir, my Lord." 
 
 " Then he must be a well-wisher, I suspect ? " 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 311 
 
 "Ye — yes, — my Lord, sir," answered Jeanie, blushing, and with 
 hesitation. 
 
 "Aha ! then, if the Laird starts, I suppose my friend Butler must 
 be in some danger ? " 
 
 " Ono, sir," answered Jeanie much more readily, but at the same 
 time blushing much more deeply. 
 
 "Well, Jeanie," said the Duke, "you are a girl may be safely 
 trusted with your own matters, and I shall inquire no farther about 
 them. But as to this same pardon, I must see to get it passed 
 through the proper forms ; and I have a friend in office who will, 
 for auld lang syne, do me so much favour. And then, Jeanie, as I 
 •shall have occasion to send an express down to Scotland, who will 
 travel with it safer and more swiftly than you can do, I will take 
 care to have it put into the proper channel ; meanwhile, you may 
 write to your friends, by post, of your good success." 
 
 " And does your Honour think," said Jeanie, " that will do as 
 weel as if I were to take my tap in my lap, and slip my ways hame 
 again on my ain errand ? " 
 
 " Much better, certainly," said the Duke. " You know the roads 
 are not very safe for a single woman to travel." 
 
 Jeanie internally acquiesced in this observation. 
 
 "And I have a plan for you besides. One of the Duchess's 
 attendants, and one of mine — your acquaintance Archibald — are 
 going down to Inveraray in a light calash, with four horses I have 
 •bought, and there is room enough in the carriage for you to go with 
 them as far as Glasgow, where Archibald will find means of sending 
 you safely to Edinburgh — And in the way, I beg you will teach the 
 woman as much as you can of the mystery of cheese-making, for 
 she is to have a charge in the dairy, and I dare swear you are as 
 ,tidy about your milk-pail as about your dress." 
 
 "Does your honour like cheese?" said Jeanie, with a gleam of 
 ■ conscious delight as she asked the question. 
 
 " Like it ? " said the Duke, whose good-nature anticipated what 
 was to follow, — " cakes and cheese are a dinner for an emperor, let 
 alone a Highlandman." 
 
 " Because," said Jeanie, with modest confidence, and great and 
 evident self-gratulation, " we have been thought so particular in 
 making cheese, that some folk think it as gude as the real Dunlop ; 
 and if your Honour's Grace wad but accept a stane or twa, blithe, 
 and fain, and proud it wad make us ! But maybe ye may like the 
 ewe-milk, that is, the Buckholmside* cheese better ; or maybe the 
 ; gait-milk, as ye come frae the Highlands — and I canna pretend 
 just to the same skeel o' them ; but my cousin Jean, that lives at 
 Lochermachus in Lammermuir, I could speak to her, and " 
 
 " Quite unnecessary," said the Duke ; " the Dunlop is the very 
 cheese of which I am so fond, and I will take , it as the greatest 
 favour you can do me to send one to Caroline Park. But remember, 
 be on honour with it, Jeanie, and make it all yourself, for I am a 
 real good judge." i 
 
 " I am not feared," said Jeanie, confidently, " that I may please 
 your Honour : for I am sure you look as if you could hardly find 
 
3 i2 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 fault wi' ony body that did their best ; and weel is it my part, I 
 trow, to do mine." 
 
 This discourse introduced a topic upon which the two travellers, 
 though so different in rank and education, found each a good deal 
 to say. The Duke, besides his other patriotic qualities, was a dis- 
 tinguished agriculturist, and proud of his knowledge in that depart- 
 ment. He entertained Jeanie with his observations on the different 
 breeds of cattle in Scotland, and their capacity for the dairy, and 
 received so much information from her practical experience in re- 
 turn, that he promised her a couple of Devonshire cows in reward 
 for the lesson. In short, his mind was so transported back to his. 
 rural employments and amusements, that he sighed when his car- 
 riage stopped opposite to the old hackney-coach, which Archibald 
 had kept in attendance at the place where they had left it. While 
 the coachman again bridled his lean cattle, which had been in- 
 dulged with a bite of musty hay, the Duke cautioned Jeanie not to 
 be too communicative to her landlady concerning what had passed. 
 " There is," he said " no use of speaking of matters till they are- 
 actually settled ; and you may refer the good lady to Archibald, if 
 she presses you hard with questions. She is his old acquaintance^ 
 and he knows how to manage with her." 
 
 He then took a cordial farewell of Jeanie, and told her to be 
 ready in the ensuing week to return to Scotland — saw her safely 
 established in her hackney-coach, and rolled off in his own car- 
 riage, humming a stanza of the ballad which he is said to have 
 composed : — 
 
 " At the sight of Dumbarton once again, 
 I'll cock up my bonnet and march amain, 
 With my claymore hanging down to my heel, 
 To whang at the bannocks of barley meal." 
 
 Perhaps one ought to be actually a Scotsman to conceive how 
 ardently, under all distinctions of rank and situation, they feel their 
 mutual connection with each other as natives of the same country. 
 There are, I believe, more associations common to the inhabitants 
 of a rude and wild, than of a well-cultivated and fertile country ; 
 their ancestors have more seldom changed their place of residence-; 
 their mutual recollection of remarkable objects is more accurate ; 
 the high and the low are more interested in each other's welfare : the 
 feelings of kindred and relationship are more widely extended, and, 
 in a word, the bonds of patriotic affection, always honourable even 
 when a little too exclusively strained, have more influence on men's 
 feelings and actions. 
 
 The rumbling hackney-coach which tumbled over the (then) 
 execrable London pavement, at a rate very different from that 
 which had conveyed the ducal carriage to Richmond, at length 
 deposited Jeanie Deans and her attendant at the national sign of 
 the Thistle. Mrs. Glass, who had been in long and anxious expec- 
 tation, now rushed, full of eager curiosity and open-mouthed inter- 
 rogation, upon our heroine, who was positively unable to sustain 
 the overwhelming cataract of her questions, which burst forth with 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 313 
 
 the sublimity of a grand gardyloo : — " Had she seen the Duke, God 
 bless him — the Duchess — the young ladies ? — Had she seen the 
 King, God bless him — the Queen — the Prince of Wales — the 
 Princess — or any of the rest of the royal family ? — Had she got her 
 sister's pardon ?— Was it out and out — or was it only a commutation 
 of punishment ?— How far had she gone — where had she driven tas. 
 — whom had she seen- — what had been said— what had kept her so 
 long?" 
 
 Such were the various questions huddled upon each other by a 
 curiosity so eager, that it could hardly wait for its own gratification. 
 Jeanie would have been more than sufficiently embarrassed by this 
 overbearing tide of interrogations, had not Archibald, who had pro>- 
 bably received from his master a hint to that purpose, advanced to 
 her rescue. " Mrs. Glass," said Archibald, " his Grace desired me 
 particularly to say, that he would take it as a great favour if you 
 would ask the young woman no questions, as he wishes to explain 
 to you more distinctly than she can do how her affairs stand, and 
 consult you on some matters which she cannot altogether so well 
 explain. The Duke will call at the Thistle to-morrow or next day 
 for that purpose." 
 
 "His Grace is very condescending," said Mrs. Glass, her zeal for 
 inquiry slaked for the present by the dexterous administration of 
 this sugar plum—" his Grace is sensible that I am in a manner 
 accountable for the conduct of my young kinswoman, and no doubt 
 his Grace is the best judge how far he should intrust her or me 
 with the management of her affairs." 
 
 " His Grace is quite sensible of that," answered Archibald, with 
 national gravity, " and will certainly trust what he has to say to the 
 most discreet of the two ; and therefore, Mrs. Glass, his Grace 
 relies you will speak nothing to Mrs. Jean Deans, either of her own 
 affairs or her sister's until he sees you himself. He desired me to 
 assure you, in the meanwhile, that all was going on as well as your 
 kindness could wish, Mrs. Glass." 
 
 " His Grace is very kind — very considerate certainly, Mr. Archi- 
 bald — his Grace's commands shall be obeyed, and But you" have 
 
 had a far drive, Mr. Archibald, as I guess by the time of your 
 absence, and I guess" (with an engaging smile) "you winna be the 
 waur 0' a glass of the right Rosa Solis." 
 
 " I thank you, Mrs. Glass," said the great man's great man, " but 
 I am under the necessity of returning to my Lord directly." And 
 making his adieus civilly to both cousins, he left the shop of the 
 -Lady of the Thistle. 
 
 " I am glad your affairs have prospered so well, Jeanie, my love," 
 said Mrs. Glass ; " though, indeed, there was little fear of them so 
 soon as the Duke of Argyle was so condescending as to take them 
 into hand. I will ask you no questions about them, because his 
 Grace, who is most considerate and prudent in such matters, in>- 
 tends to tell me all that you ken yourself, dear, and doubtless a 
 great deal more ; so that anything that may lie heavily on your 
 mind may be imparted to me in the meantime, as you see it is his 
 Grace's pleasure that I should be made acquainted with the whole 
 
314 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 matter forthwith, and whether you or he tells it, will make no dif- 
 ference in the world, ye ken. If I ken what he is going to say 
 beforehand, I will be much more ready to give my advice, and 
 whether you or he tell me about it, cannot much signify after all, 
 my dear. So you may just say whatever you like, only mind I ask 
 you no questions about it." 
 
 Jeanie was a little embarrassed. She thought that the communi- 
 cation she had to make was perhaps the only means she might 
 have in her power to gratify her friendly and hospitable kinswoman. 
 But her prudence instantly suggested that her secret interview with 
 Queen Caroline, which seemed to pass under a certain sort of 
 mystery, was not a proper subject for the gossip of a woman like 
 Mrs. Glass, of whose heart she had a much better opinion than of 
 her prudence. She, therefore, answered in general, that the Duke 
 had had the extraordinary kindness to make very particular in- 
 quiries into her sister's bad affair, and that he thought he had found 
 the means of putting it a' straight again, but that he proposed to 
 tell all that he thought about the matter to Mrs. Glass herself. 
 
 This did not quite satisfy the penetrating Mistress of the Thistle. 
 Searching as her own small rappee, she, in spite of her promise, 
 urged Jeanie with still farther questions. " Had she been a' that 
 time at Argyle-house ? Was the Duke with her the whole time ? 
 and had she seen the Duchess ? and had she seen the young ladies 
 —and specially Lady Caroline Campbell ? " — To these questions 
 Jeanie gave the general reply, that she knew so little of the town 
 that she could not tell exactly where she had been ; that she had 
 not seen the Duchess to her knowledge ; that she had seen two 
 ladies, one of whom, she understood, bore the name of Caroline ; 
 and more, she said, she could not tell about the matter. 
 
 " It would be the Duke's eldest daughter, Lady Caroline Camp- 
 bell — there is no doubt of that," said Mrs. Glass ; " but, doubtless, 
 I shall know more particularly through his Grace. — And so, as the 
 cloth is laid in the little parlour above stairs, and it is past three 
 o'clock, for I have been waiting this hour for you, and I have had 
 a snack myself ; and, as they used to say in Scotland in my time — 
 I do not ken if the word be used now — there is ill talking between 
 a full body and a fasting." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 Heaven first taught letters for some wretch's aid — 
 Some banish'd lover or some captive maid. 
 
 Pope. 
 
 By dint of unwonted labour with the pen, Jeanie Deans con- 
 trived to indite, and give to the charge of the postman on the 
 ensuing day, no less than three letters, an exertion altogether 
 strange to her habits ; insomuch so, that, if milk had been plenty, 
 she would rather have made thrice as many Dunlop cheeses. The 
 first of them was very brief. It was addressed to George Staunton, 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 315 
 
 Esq., at the Rectory, Willingham, by Grantham ; the address 
 being part of the information which she had extracted from the 
 communicative peasant who rode before her to Stamford. It was 
 in these words :— 
 
 "Sir, — To prevent farder mischieves,. whereof there hath been 
 enough, comes these : Sir, I have my sister's pardon from the 
 Queen's Majesty, whereof I do not doubt you will be glad, having 
 had to say naut of matters whereof you know the purport. So, sir, 
 I pray for your better welfare in bodie and soul, and that it will 
 please the fisycian to visit you in His good time. Alwaies, sir, I 
 pray you will never come again to see my sister, whereof there has 
 been too much. And so, wishing you no evil, but even your best 
 good, that you may be turned from your iniquity, (for why suld ye 
 die ?) I rest your humble servant to command, 
 
 " Ye ken wha." 
 
 The next letter was to her father. It is too long altogether for 
 insertion, so we only give a few extracts. It commenced— 
 
 " Dearest and truly honoured Father. — This comes with my duty 
 to inform you, that it has pleased God to redeem that captivitie of 
 my poor sister, in respect the Queen's blessed Majesty, for whom 
 we are ever bound to pray, hath redeemed her soul from the slayer, 
 granting the ransom of her, -whilk is ane pardon or reprieve. And- 
 I spoke with the Queen face to face, and yet live ; for she is not 
 muckle differing from other grand leddies, saving that she has a 
 stately .presence, and een like a blue huntin' hawk's, whilk gaed 
 .'throu' and throu' me like a Highland durk — And all this good was, 
 alway under the Great Giver, to whom all are but instruments, 
 wrought forth for us by the Duk of Argile, wha is ane native true- 
 hearted Scotsman, and not pridefu', like other folk we ken of — and 
 likewise skeely enow in bestial', whereof he has promised to gie 
 me twa Devonshire kye, of which he is enamoured, although I do 
 still haud by the real hawkit Airshire breed — and I have promised 
 him a cheese ; and I wad wuss ye, if Gowans, the brockit cow, has 
 a quey, that she suld suck her fill of milk, as I am given to under- 
 stand he has none of that breed, and is not scornfu', but will take 
 a thing frae a puir body, that it may lighten their heart of the load- 
 ing of debt that they awe him. Also his honour the Duke will 
 accept ane of our Dunlop cheeses, and it sail be my faut if a better 
 was ever yearned in Lowden." — [Here follow some observations 
 respecting the breed of cattle, and the produce of the dairy, which 
 it is our intention to forward to the Board of Agriculture.] — " Never- 
 theless, these are but matters of the after-harvest, in respect of the 
 great good which Providence hath gifted us with — and, in especial, 
 poor Erne's life. And, Oh, my dear father, since it hath pleased 
 God to be merciful to her, let her not want your free pardon, whilk 
 will make her meet to be ane vessel of grace, and also a comfort to 
 your ain graie hairs. Dear Father, will ye let the Laird ken that 
 we have had friends strangely raised up to us, and that the talent 
 whilk he lent me will be thankfully repaid. I hae some of it to the 
 
316 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 fore ; and the rest of it is not knotted up in ane purse or napkin, 
 but in ane wee bit paper, as is the fashion heir, whilk I am assured 
 is gude for the siller. And, dear father, through Mr. Butler's 
 means I hae gude friendship with the Duke, for their had been 
 kindness between their forbears in the auld troublesome time bye- 
 past. And Mrs. Glass has been kind like my very mother. She 
 has a braw house here, and lives bien and warm, wi' twa servant 
 lasses, and a man and a callant in the shop. And she is to send 
 you doun a pound of her hie-dried, and some other tobaka, and we 
 maun think of some propine for her, since her kindness hath been 
 great. And the Duk is to send the pardun doun by an express 
 messenger, in respect that I canna travel sae fast ; and I am to 
 come doun wi' twa of his Honour's servants — that is, John Archi- 
 bald, a decent elderly gentleman, that says he has seen you lang 
 syne, when ye were buying beasts in the west frae the Laird of 
 Aughtermuggitie — but maybe ye winna mind him — ony way, he's 
 a civil man— and Mrs. Dolly Dutton, that is to be dairy-maid at 
 Inverara ; and they bring me on as far as Glasgo', whilk will make 
 it nae pinch to win hame, whilk I desire of all things. May the 
 Giver of all good things keep ye in your outgauns and incomings, 
 whereof devoutly prayeth your loving dauter, 
 
 "Jean Deans." 
 
 The third letter was to Butler, and its tenor as follows ; — 
 
 "Master Butler, 
 " Sir, — It will be pleasure to you to ken, that all I came for is, 
 thanks be to God, weel dune and to the gude end, and that your 
 forbear's letter was right welcome to the Duke of Argile, and that 
 he wrote your name down with a kylevine pen in a leathern book, 
 whereby it seems like he will do for you either wi' a scule or a kirk ; 
 he has enow of baith, as I am assured. And I have seen the 
 queen, which gave me a hussy-case out of her own hand. She had 
 not her crown and skeptre, but they are laid by for her, like the 
 bairn's best claise, to be worn when she needs them. And they are 
 keepit in a tour, whilk is not like the tour of Libberton, nor yet 
 Craigmillar, but mair like to the castell of Edinburgh, if the build- 
 ings were taen and set down in the midst of the Nor'-Loch. Also 
 the Queen was very bounteous, giving me a paper worth fiftie 
 pounds, as I am assured, to pay my expenses here and back agen. 
 Sae, Master Butler, as we were aye neebours' bairns, forby ony 
 thing else that may hae been spoken between us, I trust you winna 
 skrimp yoursell for what is needfu' for your health, since it signifies 
 not muckle whilk o' us has the siller, if the other wants it. And 
 mind this is no meant to haud ye to onything whilk ye wad rather 
 forget, if ye'suld get a charge of a kirk or a scule, as above said. 
 Only I hope it will be a scule, and not a kirk, because of these diffi- 
 culties anent aiths and patronages, whilk might gang ill down wi' 
 my honest father. Only if ye could compass a harmonious call 
 frae the parish of Skreegh-me-dead, as ye anes had hope of, I trow 
 it wad please him weel ; since I hae heard him say, that the root of 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 317 
 
 the matter was mair deeply hafted in that wild muirland parish than 
 in the Canongate of Edinburgh. I wish I had whaten books ye 
 I wanted, Mr. Butler, for they hae haill houses of them here, and 
 they are obliged to set sum out in the street, whilk are said cheap, 
 ' doubtless, to get them out of the weather. It is a muckle place, and 
 ' I hae seen sae muckle of it, that my poor head turns round. And 
 ye ken langsyne, I am nae great pen-woman — and it is near eleven 
 o'clock o' the nicht. I am cumming doun in good company, and 
 safe — and I had troubles in gaun up whilk makes me blither of 
 travelling wi' ken'd folk. My cousin, Mrs. Glass, has a braw house 
 here, but a' thing is sae poisoned wi' snuff, that I am like to be 
 scomfished whiles. But what signifies these things, in comparison 
 of the great deliverance whilk has been vouchsafed to my father's 
 house, in whilk you, as our auld and dear well-wisher, will, I dout 
 not, rejoice and be exceedingly glad. And I am, dear Mr. Butler, 
 your sincere well-wisher in temporal and eternal things, 
 
 "J. D." 
 
 After these labours of an unwonted kind, Jeanie retired to her 
 bed, yet scarce could sleep a few minutes together, so often was she 
 awakened by the heart-stirring consciousness of her sister's safety, 
 and so powerfully urged to deposit her burden of joy, where she had 
 before laid her doubts and sorrows, in the warm and sincere 
 exercises of devotion. 
 
 All the next, and all the succeeding day, Mrs. Glass fidgeted 
 about her shop in the agony of expectation, like a pea (to use a 
 vulgar simile which her profession renders appropriate) upon one of 
 her own tobacco-pipes. With the third morning came the expected 
 coach, with four servants clustered behind on the foot-board, in 
 dark brown and yellow liveries ; the Duke in person, with laced 
 coat, gold-headed cane, star and garter, all, as the story-book says, 
 very grand. 
 
 He inquired for his little countrywoman of Mrs. Glass, but with- 
 out requesting to see her, probably because he was unwilling to 
 give an appearance of personal intercourse betwixt them, which 
 scandal might have misinterpreted. " The Queen," he said to Mrs. 
 Glass, " had taken the case of her kinswoman into her gracious 
 consideration, and being specially moved by the affectionate and 
 resolute character of the elder sister, had condescended to use her 
 powerful intercession with his Majesty, in consequence of which a 
 pardon had been despatched to Scotland to Effie Deans, on condi- 
 tion of her banishing herself forth of Scotland for fourteen years. 
 The King's Advocate had insisted," he said, " upon this qualifica- 
 tion of the pardon, having pointed out to his Majesty's ministers, 
 that, within the course of only seven years, twenty-one instances of 
 child-murder had occurred in Scotland." 
 
 " Weary on him ! " said Mrs. Glass, " what for needed he to have 
 telled that of his ain country, and to the English folk abune a' ? I 
 used aye to think the Advocate a douce decent man, but it is an 
 ill-bird — begging your Grace's pardon for speaking of such a coorse 
 by-word. And then what is the poor lassie to do in a foreign land ? 
 
318 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 — Why, wae's me, it's just sending her to play the same pranks 
 ower again, out of sight or guidance of her friends." 
 
 " Pooh ! pooh ! " said the Duke, " that need not be anticipated. 
 Why, she may come up to London, or she may go over to America, 
 and marry well for all that is come and gone." 
 
 " In troth, and so she may, as your Grace is pleased to intimate," 
 replied Mrs. Glass ; " and now I think upon it, there is my old 
 correspondent in Virginia, Ephraim Buckskin, that has supplied 
 the Thistle this forty years with tobacco, and it is not a little that 
 serves our turn, and he has been writing to me this ten years to 
 send him out a wife. The carle is not above sixty, and hale and 
 hearty, and well to pass in the world, and a line from my hand 
 would settle the matter, and Eme Deans's misfortune (forby that 
 there is no special occasion to speak about it) would be thought 
 little,of there/' 
 
 " Is she a pretty girl? " said the Duke ; "her sister does not get 
 beyond a good comely sonsy lass." 
 
 " Oh, far prettier is Eme than Jeanie," said Mrs. Glass ; " though 
 it is long since I saw her mysell, but I hear of the Deanses by all 
 my Lowden friends when they come — your Grace kens we Scots • 
 are clannish bodies." 
 
 " So much the better for us,'' said the Duke, " and the worse for 
 those who meddle with us, as your good old-fashioned sign says, 
 Mrs. Glass. And now I hope you will approve of the measures I., 
 have taken for restoring your kinswoman to her friends." These he 
 detailed at length, and Mrs. Glass gave her unqualified approba- 
 tion, with a smile and a curtsey at every sentence. " And now, 
 Mrs. Glass, you must tell Jeanie, I hope she will not forget my 
 cheese when she gets down to Scotland. Archibald has my orders 
 to arrange all her expenses." 
 
 " Begging your Grace's humble pardon," said Mrs. Glass, " it's a 
 pity to trouble yourself about them; the > Deanses are wealthy 
 people in their way, and the lass has money in her pocket." 
 
 " That's all very true," said the Duke ; " but you know, where 
 MacCallummore travels he pays all ; it is our Highland privilege 
 to take from all what we want, and to give to all what they want." 
 
 " Your Grace is better at giving than'taking," said" Mrs. Glass. 
 
 " To show you the contrary," said the Duke, " I will fill my box 
 out of this canister without paying you a bawbee ; " and again de- 
 siring to be remembered to Jeanie, with his good wishes for her 
 safe journey, he departed, leaving Mrs. Glass uplifted in heart and 
 in countenance, the proudest and happiest of tobacco and snuff 
 dealers. 
 
 Reflectively, his Grace's good humour and affability had a favour- 
 able effect upon Jeanie's situation. Her kinswoman, though civil 
 and kind to her, had acquired too much of London breeding to be 
 perfectly satisfied with her cousin's rustic and national dress, and 
 was, besides, something scandalized at the cause of her journey to 
 London. Mrs. Glass might, therefore, have been less sedulous in 
 her attentions towards Jeanie, but for the interest which the fore- 
 most of the Scottish nobles (for such, in all. men's estimation, was 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 319 
 
 the Duke of Argyle) seemed to take in her fate. Now, however, as 
 a kinswoman whose virtues and domestic affections had attracted 
 the notice and approbation of royalty itself, Jeanie stood to her 
 relative in a light very different and much more favourable, and was 
 not only treated with kindness, but with actual observance and 
 respect. 
 
 It depended upon herself alone to have made as many visits, and 
 seen as many sights, as lay within Mrs. Glass's power to compass. 
 But, excepting that she dined abroad with one or two " far away 
 kinsfolk," and that she paid the same respect, on Mrs. Glass's strong 
 urgency, to Mrs. Deputy Dabby, wife of the Worshipful Mr. 
 Deputy Dabby, of Farringdon Without, she did not avail herself 
 of the opportunity. As Mrs. Dabby was the second lady of great 
 rank whom Jeanie had seen in London, she used sometimes after- 
 wards to draw a parallel betwixt her and the Queen, in which she 
 observed, " that Mrs. Dabby was dressed twice as grand, and was 
 twice as big, and spoke twice as loud, and twice as muckle, as the 
 Queen did, but she hadna the same goss-hawk glance that makes 
 the skin creep, and the knee bend ; and though she had very kindly 
 gifted her with a loaf of sugar and twa punds of tea, yet she hadna 
 a'thegither the sweet look that the Queen had when she put the 
 needle-book into her hand." 
 
 Jeanie might have enjoyed the sights and novelties of this great 
 city more, had it not been for the qualification added to her sister's 
 pardon, which greatly grieved her affectionate disposition. On this 
 subject, however, her mind was somewhat relieved by a letter which 
 she received in return of post, in answer to that which she had 
 written to her father. With his affectionate blessing, it brought his 
 full approbation of the step which she had taken, as one inspired by 
 the immediate dictates of Heaven, and which she had been thrust 
 upon her in order that she might become the means of safety to a 
 perishing household. 
 
 " If ever a deliverance was dear and precious, this,'' said the 
 letter, " is a dear and precious deliverance — and if life saved can be 
 made more sweet and savoury, it is when it cometh by the hands of 
 those whom we hold in the ties of affection. And do not let your 
 heart be disquieted within you, that this victim, who is rescued from 
 the horns of the altar, whereuntil she was fast bound by the chains 
 of human law, is now to be driven beyond the bounds of our land. 
 Scotland is a blessed land to those who love the ordinances of 
 Christianity, and it is a faer land to look upon, and dear to them 
 who have dwelt in it a' their days ; and weel said that judicious 
 Christian, worthy John Livingstone, a sailor in Borrowstouness, as 
 the famous Patrick Walker reporteth his words, that howbeit he 
 thought Scotland was a Gehennah of wickedness when he was at 
 home, yet when he was abroad, he accounted it ane paradise ; for 
 the evils of Scotland he found everywhere, and the good of Scotland, 
 he found nowhere. But we are to hold in remembrance that Scot- 
 land, though it be our native land, and the land of our fathers, is not 
 like- Goshen, in Egypt, on whilk the sun of the heavens and of. the 
 gospel shineth allenarly, and leaveth the rest of the world in utter 
 
S20 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 darkness. Therefore, and also because this increase of profit at 
 Saint Leonard's Crags may be a cauld waff of wind blawing from 
 the frozen land of earthly self, where never plant of grace took root 
 or grew, and because my concerns make me take something ower 
 muckle a grip of the gear of the warld in mine arms, I receive this 
 dispensation anent Effie as a call to depart out of Haran, as 
 righteous Abraham of old, and leave my father's kindred and my 
 mother's house, and the ashes and mould of them who have gone 
 to sleep before me, and which wait to be mingled with these auld 
 crazed bones of mine own. And my heart is lightened to do this, 
 when I call to mind the decay of active and earnest religion in this 
 land, and survey the height and the depth, the length and the 
 breadth, of national defections, and how the love of many is waxing 
 lukewarm and cold ; and I am strengthened in this resolution to 
 change my domicile likewise, as I hear that store-farms are to be set 
 at an easy mail in Northumberland, where there are many precious 
 souls that are of our true, though suffering persuasion. And sic 
 part of the kye or stock as I judge it fit to keep, may be driven 
 thither without incommodity- — say about Wooler, or that gate, 
 keeping aye a shouther to the hills, — and the rest may be sauld to 
 gude profit and advantage, if we had grace weel to use and guide 
 these gifts of the warld. The Laird has been a true friend on our 
 unhappy occasions, and I have paid him back the siller for Effie's 
 misfortune, whereof Mr. Nichil Novit returned him no balance, as 
 the Laird and I did expect he wad hae done. But law licks up a', 
 as the common folk say. I have had the siller to borrow out of sax 
 purses. Mr. Saddletree advised to give the Laird of Lounsbeck a 
 charge on his band for a thousand merks. But I hae nae broo' of 
 charges, since that awfu' morning that a tout of a horn, at the 
 Cross of Edinburgh, blew half the faithfu r ministers of Scotland out 
 of their pulpits. However, I sail raise an adjudication, whilk Mr. 
 Saddletree says comes instead of the auld apprisings, and will not 
 lose weel-won gear with the like of him, if it may be helped. As 
 for the Queen, and the credit that she hath done to a poor man's 
 daughter, and the mercy and the grace ye found with her, I can 
 only pray for her weel-being here and hereafter, for the establish- 
 ment of her house now and for ever, upon the throne of these king- 
 doms. I doubt not but what you told her Majesty, that I was the 
 same David Deans of whom there was a sport at the Revolution, 
 when I noited thegither the heads of twa false prophets, these un- 
 gracious Graces the prelates, as they stood on the Hie Street, after 
 being expelled from the Convention-parliament. The Duke of 
 Argyle is a noble and true-hearted nobleman, who pleads the cause 
 of the poor, and those who have none to help them ; verily his re- 
 ward shall not be lacking unto him. — I have been writing of many 
 things, but not of that whilk lies nearest mine heart. I have seen 
 the misguided thing ; she will be at freedom the morn, on enacted 
 caution that she shall leave Scotland in four weeks. Her mind is 
 in an evil frame, — casting her eye backward on Egypt, I doubt, as 
 if the bitter waters of the wilderness were harder to endure than the 
 brick furnaces, by the side of which there were savoury flesh pots. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 321 
 
 I need not bid you make haste down, for you are, excepting always 
 my Great Master, my only comfort in these straits. I charge you 
 to withdraw your feet from the delusion of that Vanity-fair in 
 whilk ye are a sojourner, and not to go to their worship, whilk is 
 an ill-mumbled mass, as it was weel termed by James the Sext, 
 though he afterwards, with his unhappy son, strove to bring it ower 
 back and belly into his native kingdom, wherethrough their race 
 have been cut off as foam upon the water, and shall be as wanderers 
 among the nations — see the prophecies of Hosea, ninth and seven- 
 teenth, and the same, tenth and seventh. But us and our house, 
 let us say with the same prophet, ' Let us return to the Lord, for he 
 hath torn, and he will heal us — He hath smitten, and he will bind 
 us up."' 
 
 He proceeded to say, that he approved of her proposed mode of 
 returning by Glasgow, and entered into sundry minute particulars 
 not necessary to be quoted. A single line in the letter, but not the 
 least frequently read by the party to whom it was addressed, inti- 
 mated, that " Reuben Butler had been as a son to him in his sor- 
 rows." As David Deans scarce ever mentioned Butler before, with- 
 out some gibe, more or less direct, either at his carnal gifts and 
 learning, or at his grandfather's heresy, Jeanie drew a good omen 
 from no such qualifying clause being added to this sentence respect- 
 ing him. 
 
 A lover's hope resembles the bean in the nursery tale, — let it 
 once take root, and it will grow so rapidly, that in the course of a 
 few hours the giant Imagination builds a castle on the top, and by 
 and by cqmes Disappointment with the " curtal axe," and hews 
 down both the plant and the superstructure. Jeanie's fancy, 
 though not the most powerful of her faculties, was lively enough to 
 transport her to a wild farm in Northumberland, well stocked with 
 milk-cows, yeald beasts, and sheep ; a meeting-house, hard by, 
 frequented by serious presbyterians, who had united in a harmo- 
 nious call to Reuben Butler to be their spiritual guide — Erne 
 restored, not to gaiety, but to cheerfulness at least — their father, 
 with his grey hairs smoothed down, and spectacles on his nose — 
 herself, with the maiden snood exchanged for a matron's curch — all 
 arranged in a pew in the said meeting-house, listening to words 
 of devotion, rendered sweeter and more powerful by the affectionate 
 ties which combined them with the preacher. She cherished such 
 visions from day to day, until her residence in London began to 
 become insupportable and tedious to her ; and it was with no ordi- 
 nary satisfaction that she received a summons from Argyle-house, 
 requiring her in two days to be prepared to join their northward 
 party. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 One was a female, who had grievous ill 
 Wrought in revenge, and she enjoy'd it still ; 
 Sullen she was, and threatening ; in her eye 
 Glared the stern triumph that she dared to die. 
 
 Crabbe. 
 
 The summons of preparation arrived after Jeanie Deans had 
 resided in the metropolis about three weeks. 
 
 On the morning appointed she took a grateful farewell of Mrs. 
 Glass, as that good woman's attention to her particularly required, 
 placed herself and her movable goods, which purchases and pre- 
 sents had greatly increased, in a hackney-coach, and joined her 
 travelling companions in the housekeeper's apartment at Argyle- 
 house. While the carriage was getting ready, she was informed 
 that the Duke wished to speak with her ; and being ushered into a 
 splendid saloon, she was surprised to find that he wished to present 
 her to his lady and daughters. 
 
 " I bring you my little countrywoman, Duchess,'' these were the 
 words of the introduction. " With an army of young fellows, as 
 gallant and steady as she is, and a good cause, I would not fear two 
 to one." 
 
 " Ah, papa ! " said a lively young lady, about twelve years old, 
 "remember you were full one to two at Sheriff-muir, and yet," 
 (singing the well-known ballad) — 
 
 " ' Some say that we wan, and some say that they wan, 
 And some say that nane wan at a', man ; 
 But of ae thing I'm sure, that on Sheriff-muir 
 A battle there was that I saw, man.' " 
 
 " What, little Mary turned Tory on my hands ?— This will be fine 
 news for our countrywoman to carry down to Scotland ! " 
 
 " We may all turn Tories for the thanks we have got for remain- 
 ing Whigs," said the second young lady. 
 
 " Well, hold your peace, you discontented monkeys, and go dress 
 your babies ; and as for the Bob of Dumblane, 
 
 ' If it wasna weel bobbit, weel bobbit, weel bobbit, 
 If it wasna weel bobbit, we'll bobb it again.' " 
 
 " Papa's wit is running low," said Lady Mary: " the poor gentle- 
 man is repeating himself— he sang that on the field of battle, when 
 he was told the Highlanders had cut his left wing to pieces with 
 their claymores." 
 
 A pull by the hair was a repartee to this sally. 
 
 " Ah ! brave Highlanders and bright claymores," said the Duke, 
 
 well do I wish them, < for a' the ill they've done me yet,' as the 
 song goes.— But come, madcaps, say a civil word to your country- 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 323 
 
 woman — I wish ye had half her canny namely sense ; I think you 
 may be as leal and true hearted." 
 
 The Duchess advanced, and, in few words, in which there was 
 as much' kindness as civility, assured Jeanie of the respect which 
 she had for a character so affectionate, and yet so firm, and added, 
 " When you get home, you will perhaps hear from me." 
 
 " And from me." " And from me." " And from me, Jeanie," 
 added the young ladies one after the other, " for you are a credit to 
 the land we love so well." 
 
 Jeanie, overpowered with these unexpected compliments, and not 
 aware that the Duke's investigation had made him acquainted with 
 her behaviour on her sister's trial, could only answer by blushing, 
 and curtseying round and round, and uttering at intervals, " Mony 
 thanks ! mony thanks ! " - 
 
 "Jeanie," said the Duke, "you must have dock art dorroch, or 
 you will be unable to travel." 
 
 There was a salver with cake and wine on the table. He took 
 up a glass, drank " to all true hearts that lo'ed Scotland," and 
 offered a glass to his guest. 
 
 Jeanie, however, declined it, saying, " that she had never tasted 
 wine ,in her life." 
 
 " How comes that, Jeanie ? " said the Duke, — " wine maketh glad 
 the heart, you know." 
 
 " Ay, sir, but my father is like Jonadab the son of Rechab, who 
 charged his children that they should drink no wine." 
 
 " I thought your father would have had more sense," said the 
 - Duke, unless indeed he prefers brandy. But however, Jeanie, if 
 you will not drink,you must eat, to save the character of my house." 
 
 He thrust upon her a large piece of cake, nor would he permit 
 her to break off a fragment, and lay the rest on the salver. " Put 
 it in your pouch, Jeanie," said he ; " you will be glad of it before 
 you see St. Giles's steeple. I wish to Heaven I were to see it as 
 soon as you ! and so my best service to all my friends at and about 
 Auld Reekie, and a blithe journey to you." 
 
 And, mixing the frankness of a soldier with his natural affability, 
 he shook hands with his protegee, and committed her to the charge 
 of Archibald, satisfied that he had provided sufficiently for her 
 being attended to by his domestics, from the unusual attention 
 . with which he had himself treated her. 
 
 Accordingly, in the course of her journey, she found both her 
 companions disposed to pay her every possible civility, sp that her 
 return, in point of comfort and safety, formed a strong contrast to 
 .her journey to London. 
 
 Her heart also was disburdened of the weight of grief, shame, ap- 
 prehension, and fear, which had loaded her before her interview 
 with the Queen at Richmond. But the human mind is so strangely 
 capricious, that, when freed from the pressure of real misery, it 
 .becomes open and sensitive to the apprehension of ideal calamities. 
 She was now much disturbed in mind, that she had heard nothing 
 from Reuben Butler, to whom the operation of writing was so much 
 more familiar than itwas to herself. 
 
 x2 
 
324 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 "It would have cost him sae little fash,'' she said to herself; 
 " for I hae seen his pen gang as fast owerthe paper, as ever it did 
 ower the water when it was in the grey goose's wing. Wae's me! 
 maybe he may be badly— but then my father wad likely hae said 
 something about it— Or maybe he had taen the rue, and kensna. 
 how to let me wot of his change of mind. He needna be at muckle 
 fash about it,"— she went on, drawing herself up though the tear 
 of honest pride and injured affection gathered in her eye, as she 
 entertained the suspicion. — " Jeanie Deans is no the lass to pu' him 
 by the sleeve, or put him in mind of what he wishes to forget. I 
 shall wish him weel and happy a' the same ; and if he has the luck 
 to get a kirk in our country, I sail gang and hear him just the very 
 same, to show that I bear nae malice." And as she imagined the 
 scene, the tear stole over her eye. 
 
 In these melancholy reveries, Jeanie had full time to indulge her- 
 self ; for her travelling companions, servants in a distinguished 
 and fashionable family, had, of course, many topics of conversation, 
 in which it was absolutely impossible she could have either plea- 
 sure or portion. She had, therefore, abundant leisure for reflection, 
 and even for self-tormenting, during the several days which, 
 indulging the young horses the Duke was sending down to the 
 North with sufficient ease and short stages, they occupied in reach- 
 ing the neighbourhood of Carlisle. 
 
 In approaching the vicinity of that ancient city they discerned a 
 considerable crowd upon an eminence at a little distance from the 
 high road, and learned from some passengers who were gathering 
 towards that busy scene from the southward, that the cause of the 
 concourse was, the laudable public desire " to see a domned Scotch 
 witch and thief get half of her due upo' Haribee-broo' yonder, for 
 she was only to be hanged ; she should hae been boomed aloive 
 an' cheap on't." 
 
 " Dear Mr. Archibald," said the dame of the dairy elect, " I 
 never seed a woman hanged in a' my life, and only four men, as 
 aiade a goodly spectacle." 
 
 Mr. Archibald, however, was a Scotchman, and promised himself 
 ao exuberant pleasure in seeing his countrywoman undergo ,"the 
 terrible behests of law." Moreover, he was a man of sense and 
 delicacy in his way, and the late circumstances of Jeanie's family, 
 with the cause of her expedition to London, were not unknown to 
 him ; so that he answered dryly, it was impossible to stop, as he 
 roust be early at Carlisle on some business of the Duke's, and he 
 accordingly bid the postilions get on. 
 
 The road at that time passed at about a quarter of a mile's dis- 
 tance from the eminence, called Haribee or Harabee-brow, which, 
 though it is very moderate in size and height, is nevertheless seen 
 from a great distance around, owing to the flatness of the country 
 through which the Eden flows. Here many an outlaw, and border- 
 rider of both kingdoms, had wavered in the wind during the wars, 
 and scarce less hostile truces, between the two countries. Upon 
 Harabee, in latter days, other executions had taken place with as 
 little ceremony as compassion; for these frontier provinces re- 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 325 
 
 mained long unsettled, and, even at the time of which we write, 
 were ruder than those in the centre of England. 
 
 The postilions drove on, wheeling, as the Penrith road led them, 
 round the verge of the rising ground. Yet still the eyes of Mrs. 
 Dolly Dutton, which, with the head and substantial person to which 
 they belonged, were all turned towards the scene of action, could 
 discern plainly the outline of the gallows-tree, relieved against the 
 clear sky, the dark shade formed by the persons of the executioner 
 and the criminal upon the light rounds of the tall aerial ladder, 
 until one of the objects, launched into the air, gave unequivocal 
 signs of mortal agony, though appearing in the distance not larger 
 than a spider dependent at the extremity of his iinvisible thread, 
 while the remaining form descended from its elevated situation, 
 and regained with all speed an undistinguished place among the 
 crowd. This termination of the tragic scene drew forth of course 
 a squall from Mrs. Dutton, and Jeanie, with instinctive curiosity, 
 turned her head in the same direction. 
 
 The sight of a female culprit in the act of undergoing the fatal 
 punishment from which her beloved sister had been so recently 
 rescued, was too much, not perhaps for her nerves, but for her 
 mind and feelings. She turned her head to the other side of the 
 carriage, with a sensation of sickness, of loathing, and of fainting. 
 Her female companion overwhelmed her with questions, with prof- 
 fers of assistance, with requests that the carriage might be stopped 
 — that a doctor might be fetched — that drops, might be gotten — 
 that burnt feathers and asafcetida, fair water, and hartshorn, 
 might be procured, all at once, and without one instant's delay. 
 Archibald, more calm and considerate, only desired the carriage to 
 push forward ; and it was not till they had got beyond sight of the 
 fatal spectacle, that, seeing the deadly paleness of Jeanie's counte- 
 nance, he stopped the carriage, and jumping out himself, went 
 in search of the most obvious and most easily procured of Mrs. 
 Dutton's pharmacopoeia — a draught, namely, of fair water. 
 
 While Archibald was absent on this good-natured piece of ser- 
 vice, damning the ditches which produced nothing but mud, and 
 thinking upon the thousand bubbling springlets of his own moun- 
 tains, the attendants on the execution began to pass the stationary 
 vehicle in their way back to Carlisle. 
 
 From their half-heard and half-understood words, Jeanie, whose 
 attention was involuntarily riveted by them, as that of children is 
 by ghost stories, though they know the pain with which they will 
 afterwards remember them, Jeanie, 1 say, could discern that the 
 jpresent victim of the law had died game, as it is termed by those 
 mnfortunates ; that is, sullen, reckless, and impenitent, neither fear- 
 ing God nor regarding man. 
 
 " A sture woife, and a dour," said one Cumbrian peasant, as he 
 •clattered by in his wooden brogues, with a noise like the trampling 
 ■of a dray-horse. 
 
 " She has gone to ho master, with ho's name in her mouth,'' said 
 another ; " Shame the country should be harried wi' Scotch witches 
 and Scotch bitches this gate — but I say hang and drown." 
 
326 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 " Ay, ay, Gaffer Tramp, take awa yealdon, take awa low— hang 
 the witch, and there will be less scathe amang us ; mine owsen hae 
 been reckan this towmont." 
 
 "And mine bairns hae been crining two, mon,'' replied his 
 neighbour. 
 
 " Silence wi' your fule tongues, ye churls," said an old woman, 
 who hobbled past them, as they stood talking near the carriage ; 
 " this was nae witch, but a bluidy-fingered thief and murderess." 
 
 " Ay ? was it e'en sae, Dame Hinchup ?" said one in a civil tone, 
 and stepping out of his place to let the old woman pass along the 
 foot-path — " Nay, you know best, sure — but at ony rate, we hae but 
 tint a Scot of her, and that's a thing better lost than found." 
 
 The old woman passed on without making any answer. 
 
 " Ay, ay, neighbour," said Gaffer Tramp, " seest thou how one 
 witch will speak for t'other— Scots or English, the same to them." 
 
 His companion shook his head, and replied in the same subdued 
 tone, " Ay, ay, when a Sarkfoot wife gets on her broomstick, the 
 dames of Allonby are ready to mount, just as sure as the by-word 
 gangs o' the hills, 
 
 If Skiddaw hath a cap, 
 Criffel wots full weel of that." 
 
 " But," continued Gaffer Tramp, " thinkest thou the daughter o' 
 yon hangit body isna as rank a witch as ho ? " 
 
 " I kenna clearly," returned the fellow, " but the folk are speak- 
 ing o' swimming her i' the Eden." And they passed on their several 
 roads, after wishing each other good-morning. 
 
 Just as the clowns left the place, and as Mr. Archibald returned 
 with some fair water, a crowd of boys and girls, and some of the 
 lower rabble of more mature age, came up from the place of execu- 
 tion, grouping themselves with many a yell of delight around a tall 
 female fantastically dressed, who was dancing, leaping, and bound- 
 ing in the midst of them. A horrible recollection pressed on Jeanie 
 as she looked on this unfortunate creature ; and the reminiscence 
 was mutual, for by a sudden exertion of great strength and agility, 
 Madge Wildfire broke out of the noisy circle of tormentors who 
 surrounded her, and clinging fast to the door of the calash, uttered, . 
 in a sound betwixt laughter and screaming, " Eh, d'ye ken, Jeanie 
 Deans, they hae hangit our mother ? " Then suddenly changing her 
 tone to that of the most piteous entreaty, she added, " O gar them 
 let me gang to cut her down ! — let me but cut her down ! — she is 
 my mother, if she was waur than the deil, and she'll be nae mair 
 kenspeckle than half-hangit Maggie Dickson, that cried saut mony 
 a day after she had been hangit ; her voice was roupit and hoarse, 
 and her neck was a wee agee, or ye wad hae ken'd nae odds on her 
 frae ony other saut-wife." 
 
 Mr. Archibald, embarrassed by the madwoman's clinging to the 
 carriage, and detaining around them her noisy and mischievous 
 attendants, was all this while looking out for a constable or beadle, 
 to whom he might commit the unfortunate creature. But seeing 
 no such person of authority, he endeavoured to loosen her hold 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 327 
 
 r 
 
 from the carriage, that they might escape from her by driving on. 
 This, however, could hardly be achieved without some degree of 
 violence ; Madge held fast, and renewed her frantic entreaties to 
 be permitted to cut down her mother. " It was but a tenpenny 
 tow lost," she said, " and what was that to a woman's life ? " There 
 came up, however, a parcel of savage-looking fellows, butchers and 
 graziers chiefly, among wljose cattle there had been of late a very 
 general and fatal distemper, which their wisdom imputed to witch- 
 craft. They laid violent hands on Madge, and tore her from the 
 carriage, exclaiming — " What, doest stop folk o' king's highway ? 
 Hast no done mischief enow already, wi' thy murders and thy 
 witcherings ? " 
 
 " Oh Jeanie Deans — Jeanie Deans !" exclaimed the poor maniac, 
 " save my mother, and I will take ye to the Interpreter's house 
 again, — and I will teach ye a' my bonny sangs, — and I will tell ye 
 
 what came o' the " The rest of her entreaties were drowned 
 
 in the shouts of the rabble. 
 
 " Save her, for God's, sake ! — save her from those people ? " ex- 
 claimed Jeanie to Archibald. 
 
 " She is mad, but quite innocent ; she is mad, gentlemen," said. 
 Archibald ; " do not use her ill, take her before the Mayor." 
 
 " Ay, ay, we'se hae care enow on her," answered one of the fel- 
 lows ; " gang thou thy gate, man, and mind thine own matters." 
 
 " He's a Scot by his tongue," said another ; " and an he will 
 come out o' his whirligig there, I'se gie him his tartan plaid fu' o' 
 broken banes." 
 
 It was clear nothing could be done to rescue Madge ; and Archi- 
 bald, who was a man of humanity, could only bid the postilions 
 hurry on to Carlisle, that he might obtain some assistance to the 
 unfortunate woman. As they drove off, they heard the hoarse roar 
 with which the mob preface acts of riot or cruelty, yet even above 
 that deep and dire note, they could discern the screams of the un- 
 fortunate victim. They were soon out of hearing of the cries, but had 
 no sooner entered the streets of Carlisle, than Archibald, at Jeanie's 
 earnest and urgent entreaty, went to a magistrate, to state the 
 cruelty which was likely to be exercised on this unhappy creature. 
 
 In about an hour and a half he returned, and reported to Jeanie, 
 that the magistrate had very readily gone in person, with some as- 
 sistants, to the rescue of the unfortunate woman, and that he had 
 himself accompanied him ; that when they came to the muddy 
 pool, in which the mob were ducking her, according to their 
 favourite mode of punishment, the magistrate succeeded in rescu- 
 ing her from their hands, but in a state of insensibility owing to 
 the cruel treatment which she had received. He added, that he 
 had seen her carried to the workhouse, and understood that she 
 had been brought to herself, and was expected to do well. 
 
 This last averment was a slight alteration in point of fact, for 
 Madge Wildfire was not expected to survive the treatment she had 
 received ; but Jeanie seemed so much agitated, that Mr. Archibald 
 did not think it prudent to tell her the worst at once. Indeed, she , 
 appeared so fluttered and disordered by *his alarming accident 
 
328 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 that, although it had been their intention to proceed to Longtown 
 that evening, her companions judged it most advisable to pass the 
 night at Carlisle. 
 
 This was particularly agreeable to Jeanie, who resolved, if pos- 
 sible, to procure an interview with Madge Wildfire. Connecting 
 some of her wild flights with the narrative of George Staunton, she 
 was unwilling to omit. the opportunity of extracting from her, if 
 possible, some information concerning the fate of that unfortunate 
 infant which had cost her sister so dear. Her acquaintance with 
 the disordered state of poor Madge's mind did not permit her to 
 cherish much hope that she could acquire from her any useful in- 
 telligence ; but then, since Madge's mother had suffered her de- 
 serts, and was silent for ever, it was her only chance of obtaining 
 any kind of information, and she was loath to lose the opportunity. 
 
 She coloured her wish to Mr. Archibald by saying, that she had 
 seen Madge formerly, and wished to know, as a matter of humanity, 
 how she was attended to under her present misfortunes. That 
 complaisant person immediately went to the workhouse, or hospital, 
 in which he had seen the sufferer lodged, and brought back for 
 reply, that the medical attendants positively forbade her seeing any 
 one. When the application for admittance was repeated next day, 
 Mr. Archibald was informed that she had been very quiet and 
 composed, insomuch that the clergyman, who acted as chaplain to 
 the establishment, thought it expedient to read prayers beside her 
 bed, but that her wandering fit of mind had returned soon after his 
 departure ; however, her countrywoman might see her if she chose 
 it. She was not expected to live above an hour or two. 
 
 Jeanie had no sooner received this information, than she hastened 
 to the hospital, her companions attending her. They found the 
 dying person in a large ward, where there were ten beds, of which 
 the patient's was the only one occupied. 
 
 Madge was singing when they entered — singing her own wild 
 snatches of songs and obsolete airs, with a voice no longer over- 
 strained by false spirits, but softened, saddened, and subdued by 
 bodily exhaustion. She was still insane, but was no longer able to 
 express her wandering ideas in the wild notes of her former state 
 of exalted imagination. There was death in the plaintive tones of 
 her voice, which yet, in this moderated and melancholy mood, had 
 something of the lulling sound with which a mother sings her infant 
 asleep. As Jeanie entered, she heard first the air, and then a part 
 of the chorus and words, of what had been, perhaps, the song of a 
 jolly harvest-home : 
 
 " Our work is over — over now, 
 The goodman wipes his weary brow, 
 The last long wain wends slow away, 
 And we are free to sport and play. 
 
 " The night comes on when sets the sun, 
 And labour ends when day is done. 
 When Autumn's gone and Winter's come, 
 We hold our jovial harvest-home." 
 
THE HEART OF MtD-LOTHIAN, 329 
 
 , Jeanie advanced to the bed-side when the strain was finished, 
 and addressed Madge by her name. But it produced no symptoms 
 of recollection. On the contrary, the patient, like one provoked by 
 interruption, changed her posture, and called out, with an impatient 
 tone, " Nurse — nurse, turn my face to the wa', that I may never 
 answer to thatname ony mair, and never see mair of a wicked world." 
 The attendant on the hospital arranged her in her bed as she 
 desired, with her face to the wall and her back to the light. So 
 soon as she was quiet in this new position, she began again to sing 
 in the same low and modulated strains, as if she was recovering 
 the state of abstraction which the" interruption of her visitants had 
 disturbed. The strain, however, was different, and rather resembled 
 the music of the Methodist hymns, though the measure of the song 
 was similar to that of the former : 
 
 " When the fight of grace is fought, — 
 When the marriage vest is wrought, — 
 When Faith hath chased cold Doubt away, 
 And Hope but sickens at delay, — 
 When Charity, imprison'd here, 
 Longs for a more expanded sphere, 
 Doff thy robes of sin and clay ; 
 Christian, rise, and come away." 
 
 The strain was solemn and affecting, sustained as it was by the 
 pathetic'warble of a voice which had naturally been a fine one, and 
 which weakness, if it diminished its power, had improved in soft- 
 ness. Archibald, though a follower of the court, and a poco-curante 
 by profession, was confused, if not affected ; the dairy-maid blub- 
 bered ; and Jeanie felt the tears rise spontaneously to her eyes. 
 Even the nurse, accustomed to all modes in which the spirit can 
 pass, seemed considerably moved. 
 
 The patient was evidently growing weaker, as was intimated by 
 an apparent difficulty of breathing, which seized her from time to 
 time, and by the utterance of low listless moans, intimating that 
 nature was succumbing in the last conflict. But the spirit of 
 melody, which must originally have so strongly possessed this un- 
 fortunate young woman, seemed, at every interval of ease, to 
 triumph over her pain and weakness. And it was remarkable, that 
 there could always be traced in her songs something appropriate, 
 though perhaps only obliquely or collaterally so, to her present 
 situation. Her next seemed the fragment of some old ballad : 
 
 " Cauld is my bed, Lord Archibald, 
 And sad my sleep of sorrow ; 
 But thine sail be as sad and cauld, 
 My fause true-love ! to-morrow. 
 " And weep ye not, my maidens free, 
 Though death your mistress borrow j 
 For he for whom I die to-day, 
 Shall die for me to-morrow.' 
 
 Again she changed the tune to one wilder, less monotonous, and 
 
33° THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 less regular. But of the words, only a fragment or two could be 
 collected by those who listened to this singular scene : 
 
 " Proud Maisie is in the wood, 
 Walking so early ; 
 Sweet Robin sits on the bush, 
 Singing so rarely. 
 " ' Tell me, thou bonny bird, 
 When shall I marry me ?' 
 ' When six braw gentlemen 
 Kirkward shall carry ye.' 
 
 * * * 
 " ' Who makes the bridal bed, 
 
 Birdie, say truly?' — 
 ' The grey-headed sexton, 
 That delves the grave duly.' 
 
 * * # 
 
 " The glow-worm o'er grave and stone 
 Shall light thee steady ; 
 The owl from the steeple sing, 
 ' Welcome, proud lady.' " 
 
 Her voice died away with the last notes, and she fell into a. 
 slumber, from which the experienced attendant assured them, that 
 she never would awake at all, or only in the death agony. 
 
 The nurse's prophecy proved true. The poor maniac parted with 
 existence, without again uttering a sound of any kind. But our 
 travellers did not witness this catastrophe. They left the hospital 
 as soon as Jeanie had satisfied herself that no elucidation of her 
 sister's misfortunes was to be hoped from the dying person.* 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 Wilt thou go on with me ? 
 The moon is bright, the sea is calm, 
 And I know well the ocean paths .... 
 Thou wilt go on with me ! 
 
 Thalaba. 
 The fatigue and agitation of these various scenes had agitated 
 Jeanie so much, notwithstanding her robust strength of constitu- 
 tion, that Archibald judged it necessary that she should have a 
 day's repose at the village of Longtown. It was in vain that 
 Jeanie herself protested against any delay. The Duke of Argyle's 
 man of confidence was of course consequential; and as he had 
 been bred to the medical profession in his youth, (at least he used 
 this expression to describe his having, thirty years before, pounded 
 for six months in the mortar of old Mungo Mangleman, the surgeon 
 at Greenock,) he was obstinate whenever a matter of health was in 
 question. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 331 
 
 In this case he discovered febrile symptoms, and having once 
 made a happy application of that learned phrase to Jeanie's case, 
 all farther resistance became in vain ; and she was glad to ac- 
 quiesce, and even to go to bed, and drink water-gruel, in order that 
 she might possess her soul in quiet and without interruption. 
 
 Mr. Archibald was equally attentive in another particular. He 
 observed that the execution of the old woman, and the miserable 
 fate of her daughter, seemed to have had a more powerful effect 
 upon Jeanie's mind, than the usual feelings of humanity might 
 naturally have been expected to occasion. Yet she was obviously 
 a" strong-minded, sensible young woman, and in no respect subject 
 to nervous affections ; and therefore Archibald, being ignorant of 
 any special connection between his master's protegee and these un- 
 fortunate persons, excepting that she had seen Madge formerly in 
 Scotland, naturally imputed the strong impression these events had 
 made upon her, to her associating them with the unhappy circum- 
 stances in which her sister had so lately stood. He became 
 anxious, therefore, to prevent anything occurring which might re- 
 call these associations to Jeanie's mind. 
 
 Archibald had speedily an opportunity of exercising this precau- 
 tion. A pedlar brought to Longtown that evening, amongst other 
 wares, a large broad-side sheet, giving an account of the "Last 
 Speech and Execution of Margaret Murdockson, and of the bar- 
 barous Murder of her Daughter, Magdalene or Madge Murdockson, 
 called Madge Wildfire ; and of her pious conversation with his 
 Reverence Archdeacon Fleming ;" which authentic publication 
 had apparently taken place on the day they left Carlisle, and being 
 an article of a nature peculiarly acceptable to such country-folk as 
 were within hearing of the transaction, the itinerant bibliopolist 
 had forthwith added them to his stock in trade. He found a mer- 
 chant sooner than he expected ; for Archibald, much applauding 
 his own prudence, purchased the whole lot for two shillings and 
 ninepence ; and the pedlar, delighted with the profit of such a 
 wholesale transaction, instantly returned to Carlisle to supply him- 
 self with more. 
 
 The considerate Mr. Archibald was about to commit his whole 
 purchase to the flames, but it was rescued by the yet more consi- 
 derate dairy-damsel, who said, very prudently, it was a pity to 
 waste so much paper, which might crepe hair, pin up bonnets, and 
 serve many other useful purposes ; and who promised to put the 
 parcel into her own trunk, and keep it carefully out of the sight of 
 Mrs. Jeanie Deans : " Though, by the by, she had no great notion 
 of folk being so very nice. Mrs. Deans might have had enough to 
 think about the gallows all this time to endure a sight of it, without 
 all this to do about it." 
 
 Archibald reminded the dame of the dairy of the Duke's very 
 particular charge, that they should be attentive and civil to Jeanie ; 
 as also that they were to part company soon, and consequently 
 would not be doomed to observing any one's health or tempei 
 during the rest of the journey. With which answer Mrs. Dolly 
 Dutton was obliged to hold herself satisfied. 
 
333 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 On the morning they resumed their journey, and prosecuted it 
 successfully, travelling through Dumfries-shire and part of Lanark- 
 shire, until they arrived at the small town of Rutherglen, within 
 about two miles of Glasgow. Here an express brought letters 
 to Archibald from the principal agent of the Duke of Argyle in 
 Edinburgh. 
 
 He said nothing of their contents that evening ; but when they 
 were seated in the carriage the next day, the faithful squire in- 
 formed Jeanie, that he had received directions from the Duke's 
 factor, to whom his Grace had recommended him to carry her, if 
 she had no objection, for a stage or two beyond Glasgow. Some 
 temporary causes of discontent had occasioned tumults in that city 
 and the neighbourhood, which would render it unadvisable for 
 Mrs. Jeanie Deans to travel alone and unprotected betwixt that 
 city and Edinburgh ; whereas, by going forward a little farther, 
 they would meet one of his Grace's subfactors, who was coming 
 down from the Highlands to Edinburgh with his wife, and under 
 whose charge she might journey with comfort and in safety. 
 
 Jeanie remonstrated against this arrangement. " She had been 
 lang," she said, " frae hame — her father and her sister behoved to 
 be very anxious to see her — there were other friends she had that 
 werena weel in health. She was willing to pay for man and horse 
 at Glasgow, and surely naebody wad meddle wi' sae harmless and 
 feckless a creature as she was — She was muckle obliged by the 
 offer ; but never hunted deer langed for its resting-place as I do to 
 find myself at Saint Leonard's." 
 
 The groom of the chambers exchanged a look with his female 
 companion, which seemed so full of meaning, that Jeanie screamed 
 aloud — " O Mr. Archibald — Mrs. Dutton, if ye ken of onything 
 that has happened at Saint Leonard's, for God's sake — for pity's 
 sake, tell me, and dinna keep me in suspense ! " 
 
 " I really know nothing, Mrs. Deans," said the groom of the 
 chambers. 
 
 " And I — I — I am sure, I know as little/' said the dame of the 
 dairy, while some communication seemed to tremble on her lips, 
 which, at a glance of Archibald's eye, she appeared to swallow 
 down, and compressed her lips thereafter into a state of extreme 
 and vigilant firmness, as if she had been afraid of its bolting out 
 before she was aware. 
 
 Jeanie saw there was to be something concealed from her, and it 
 was only the repeated assurances, of Archibald that her father — 
 her sister — all her friends were, as far as he knew, well and happy, 
 that at all pacified her alarm. From such respectable people as 
 those with whom she travelled she could apprehend no harm, and 
 yet her distress was so obvious, that Archibald, as a last resource, 
 pulled out, and put into her hand, a slip of paper, on which these 
 words were written : — 
 
 "Jeanie Deans— You will do me a favour by going with Archi- 
 bald and my female domestic a day's journey beyond Glasgow, and 
 asking them no questions, which will greatly oblige your friend, 
 
 Argyle & Greenwich." 
 
(^ 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 333 
 
 Although this laconic epistle, from a noblemen to whom she was 
 bound by such inestimable obligations, silenced all Jeanie's objec- 
 tions to the proposed route, it rather added to than diminished the 
 eagerness of her curiosity. The proceeding to Glasgow seemed 
 now no longer to be an object with her fellow-travellers. On the 
 contrary, they kept the left-hand side of the river Clyde, and tra- 
 velled through a thousand beautiful and changing views down the 
 side of that noble stream, till, ceasing to hold its inland character, 
 it began to assume that of a navigable river. 
 
 " You are not for gaun intill Glasgow then ? " said Jeanie, as she 
 observed that the drivers made no motion for inclining their horses' 
 heads towards the ancient bridge, which was then the only mode of 
 access to St. Mungo's capital. 
 
 " No," replied Archibald ; " there is some popular commotion, 
 and as our Duke is in opposition to the court, perhaps we might be 
 too well received ; or they might take it in their heads to remember 
 that the Captain of Carrick came down upon them with his High- 
 landmen in the time of Shawfield's mob in 1725, and then we would 
 be too ill received. * And, at any rate, it is best for us, and for me in 
 particular, who may be supposed to possess his Grace's mind upon 
 many particulars, to leave the good people of the Gorbals to act 
 according to their own imaginations, without either provoking or 
 encouraging them by my presence." 
 
 To reasoning of such tone and consequence Jeanie had nothing 
 to reply, although it seemed to her to contain fully as much self- 
 importance as truth. 
 
 The carriage meantime rolled on ; the river expanded itself, and 
 gradually assumed the dignity of an estuary or arm of the sea. 
 The influence of the advancing and retiring tides became more and 
 more evident, and in the beautiful words of him of the laurel 
 wreath, the river waxed 
 
 "A broader and a broader stream. 
 * * * * 
 
 The cormorant stands upon its shoals, 
 His black and dripping wings 
 Half open'd to the wind." 
 
 " Which way lies Inveraray ?" said Jeanie, gazing on the dusky 
 ocean of Highland hills, which now, piled above each other, and 
 intersected by many a loch, stretched away on the opposite side of 
 the river to the northward. "Is yon high castle the Duke's hoose ?" 
 
 " That, Mrs. Deans ?— Lud help thee," replied Archibald, " that's 
 the old castle of Dumbarton, the strongest place in Europe, be the 
 other what it may. Sir William Wallace was governor of it in the 
 old wars with the English, and his Grace is governor just now. It 
 is always intrusted to the best man in Scotland." 
 
 "And does the Duke live on that high rock, then?" demanded 
 Jeanie. 
 
 " No, no, he has his deputy-governor, who commands in his 
 absence ; he lives in the white house you see at the bottom of the 
 rock — His Grace does not reside there himself." 
 
334 ' THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 " I think not, indeed," said the dairy-woman, upon whose mind 
 the road, since they had left Dumfries, had made no very favour- 
 able impression, " for if he did, he might go whistle for a dairy- 
 woman, an he were the only duke in England. I did not leave 
 my place and my friends to come down to see cows starve to 
 death upon hills as they be at that pig-stye of 'Elfinfoot, as you 
 call it, Mr. Archibald, or to be perched upon the top of a rock, 
 like a squirrel in his, cage, hung out of a three pair of stairs 
 window." 
 
 Inwardly chuckling that these symptoms of recalcitration had 
 not taken place until the fair malcontent was, as he mentally 
 termed it, under his thumb, Archibald coolly replied, " that the 
 hills were none of his making, nor did he know how to mend them ; 
 but as to lodging, they would soon be in a house of the Duke's in a 
 very pleasant island called Roseneath, where they went to wait for 
 shipping to take them to Inveraray, and would meet the company 
 with whom Jeanie was to return to Edinburgh." 
 
 "An island?" said Jeanie, who, in the course of her various 
 and adventurous travels, had never quitted terra firma, " then I am 
 doubting we maun gang in ane of these boats ; they look unco 
 sma', and the waves are something rough, and " 
 
 " Mr. Archibald," said Mrs. Dutton, " I will not consent to it ; I 
 was never engaged to leave the country, and I desire you will bid 
 the boys drive round the other way to the Duke's house." 
 
 " There is a safe pinnace belonging to his Grace, ma'am, close 
 by," replied Archibald, " and you need be under no apprehensions 
 whatsoever." 
 
 " But I am under apprehensions," said the dame ; "and I insist 
 upon going round by land, Mr. Archibald, were it ten miles about." 
 
 " I am sorry I cannot oblige you, madam, as Roseneath happens 
 to be an island." 
 
 " If it were ten islands," said the incensed dame, " that's no 
 reason why I should be drowned in going over the seas to it." 
 
 " No reason why you should be drowned, certainly, ma'am," 
 answered the unmoved groom of the chambers, "but an admirable 
 good one why you cannot proceed to it by land." And, fixed his 
 master's mandates to perform, he pointed with his hand, and the 
 drivers, turning off the high road, proceeded towards a small 
 hamlet of fishing huts, where a shallop, somewhat more gaily 
 decorated than any which they had yet seen, having a flag which 
 displayed a boar's head, crested with a ducal coronet, waited with 
 two or three seamen, and as many Highlanders. 
 
 The carriage stopped, and the men began to unyoke their horses, 
 while Mr. Archibald gravely superintended the removal of the 
 baggage from the carriage to the little vessel. " Has the Caroline 
 been long arrived ?" said Archibald to one of the seamen. 
 
 " She has been here in five days from Liverpool, and she's lying 
 down at Greenock," answered the fellow. 
 
 " Let the horses and carriage go down to Greenock, then," said 
 Archibald, '.' and be embarked there for Inveraray when I send 
 notice — they may stand in my cousin's, Duncan Archibald the 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 335 
 
 ' stablers. — Ladies," he added, " I hope you will get yourselves ready, 
 we must not lose the tide." 
 
 " Mrs. Deans," said the Cowslip of Inveraray, " you may do as you 
 please — hut I will sit here all night, rather than go into that there 
 painted egg-shell. — Fellow — fellow I" (this wasaddressed to a High- 
 ' lander, who was lifting a travelling trunk) " that trunk is mine, and 
 that there band-box, and that pillion mail, and those seven bundles, 
 and the paper-bag ; and if you venture to touch one of them, it shall 
 be at your peril." 
 
 The Celt kept his eye fixed on the speaker, then turned his head 
 •towards Archibald, and receiving no countervailing signal, he 
 shouldered the portmanteau, and without farther notice of the 
 distressed damsel, or paying any attention to remonstrances, which 
 probably he did not understand, and would certainly have equally 
 • disregarded whether he understood them or not, moved off with 
 Mrs. Dutton's wearables and deposited the trunk containing them 
 safely in the boat. 
 
 The baggage being stowed in safety Mr. Archibald handed Jeanie 
 out of the carriage, and, not without some tremor on her part, she 
 was transported through the surf and placed in the boat. He then 
 offered the same civility to his fellow-servant, but she was resolute 
 in her refusal to quit the carriage, in which she now remained in 
 solitary state, threatening all concerned or unconcerned with 
 actions for wages and board-wages, damages and expenses, and 
 numbering on her fingers the gowns and other habiliments, from 
 which she seemed in the act of being separated for ever. Mr. 
 Archibald did not give himself the trouble of making many remon- 
 strances, which, indeed, seemed only to aggravate the damsel's 
 indignation, but spoke two or three words to the Highlanders in 
 Gaelic ; and the wily mountaineers, approaching the carriage 
 cautiously, and without giving the slightest intimation of their 
 intention, at once seized the recusant so effectually fast, that she 
 could neither resist nor struggle, and hoisting her on their shoulders 
 in nearly a horizontal posture, rushed down with her to the beach, 
 .and through the surf, and with no other inconvenience than ruffling 
 her garments a little, deposited her in the boat ; but in a state of 
 surprise, mortification, and terror, at her sudden transportation, 
 which rendered her absolutely mute for two or three minutes. The 
 men jumped in themselves ; one tall fellow remained till he had 
 pushed off the boat, and then tumbled in upon his companions. 
 They took their oars and began to pull from the shore, then spread 
 their sail, and drove merrily across the firth. 
 
 "You Scotch villain I" said the infuriated damsel to Archibald, 
 " how dare you use a person like me in this way ?" 
 
 " Madam," said Archibald, with infinite composure, " it is high 
 time you should know you are in the Duke's country, and that 
 there is not one of these fellows but would throw you out of the 
 boat as readily as into it, if such were his Grace's pleasure." 
 
 " Then the lord have mercy on me !" said Mrs. Dutton. " If I 
 had had any on myself, I would never have engaged with you." 
 
 " It's something of the latest to think of that now, Mrs. Dutton,' 
 
336 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 said Archibald; "but I assure you, you will find the Highlands 
 have their pleasures. You will have a dozen of cow-milkers under 
 your own authority At Inveraray, and you may throw any of them 
 into the lake, if you have a mind, for the Duke's head people are 
 almost as great as himself." 
 
 " This is a strange business, to be sure, Mr. Archibald," said the 
 lady ; " but I suppose I must make the best on't.— Are you sure the 
 boat will not sink ? it leans terribly to one side, in my poor mind." 
 
 " Fear nothing, 1 ' said Mr. Archibald, " taking a most important 
 pinch of snuff ; " this same ferry on Clyde knows us very well, or 
 we know it, which is all the same ; no fear of any of our people 
 meeting with any accident. We should have crossed from the 
 opposite shore, but for the disturbances at Glasgow, which made it 
 improper for his Grace's people to pass through the city." 
 
 " Are you not afeard, Mrs. Deans ? " said the dairy-vestal, ad- 
 dressing Jeanie, who sat, not in the most comfortable state of mind, 
 by the side of Archibald, who himself managed the helm ; — 
 "Are you not afeard of these wild men with their naked knees, and 
 of this nut-shell of a thing, that seems bobbing up and down likte a 
 skimming-dish in a milk-pail?" 
 
 " No — no — madam," answered Jeanie, with some hesitation, " I 
 am not feared ; "for I hae seen Hielandmen' before, though I never 
 was sae near them ; and for the danger of the deep waters, I trust 
 there is a Providence by sea as well as by land." 
 
 " Well," said. Mrs. Dutton, it is a beautiful thing to have learned 
 to write and read, for one can always say such fine words whatever 
 should befall them." 
 
 Archibald, rejoicing in the impression which his vigorous 
 measures had made upon the intractable dairy-maid, now applied 
 himself, as a sensible and good-natured man, to secure by fair 
 means the ascendancy which he had obtained by some wholesome 
 violence ; and he succeeded so well in representing to her the idle 
 nature of her fears, and the impossibility of leaving her upon the 
 beach, enthroned in an empty carriage, that the good understanding 
 of the party was completely revived ere they landed at Roseneath. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 Did Fortune guide, 
 Or rather Destiny, our bark, to which 
 We could appoint no port, to this best place ? 
 
 Fletcher. 
 
 The islands in the Firth of Clyde, which the daily passage of 
 so many smoke-pennoned steam-boats now renders so easily 
 accessible, were, in our fathers' times, secluded spots, frequented by 
 no travellers, and few visitants of any kind. They are of exquisite 
 yet varied beauty. Arran, a mountainous region, or Alpine island, 
 abounds with the grandest and most romantic scenery. Bute is of 
 a softer and more woodland character. The Cumbrays, as if to 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 337 
 
 exhibit a contrast to both, are green, level, and bare, forming the 
 links of a sort of natural bar, which is drawn along the mouth of 
 the firth, leaving large intervals, however, of ocean. Roseneath, a 
 smaller isle, lies much higher up the firth, and toward its western 
 shore, near the opening of the lake called the Gare-Loch, and not 
 far from Loch Long and Loch Seant, or the Holy-Loch, which 
 wind from the mountains of the western Highlands to join the 
 estuary of the Clyde. 
 
 In these isles the severe frost winds, which tyrannize over the 
 vegetable creation during a Scottish spring, are comparatively little 
 felt ; nor, excepting the gigantic strength of Arran, are they much 
 exposed to the Atlantic storms, lying landlocked and protected to 
 the westward by the shores of Ayrshire. Accordingly, the weeping- 
 willow, the weeping-birch, and other trees of early and pendulous 
 shoots, flourish in these favoured recesses in a degree unknown in 
 our eastern districts ; and the air is also said to possess that 
 mildness which is favourable to consumptive cases. 
 
 The picturesque beauty of the island of Roseneath, in particular, 
 had such recommendations, that the Earls and Dukes of Argyle, 
 from an early period, made it their occasional residence, and had 
 their temporary accommodation in a fishing or hunting-lodge, which 
 succeeding improvements have since transformed into a palace. 
 It was in its original simplicity, when the little bark, which we left 
 traversing the firth at the end of last chapter, approached the 
 shores of the isle. 
 
 When they touched the landing-place, which was partly shrouded 
 by some old low but wide-spreading oak-trees, intermixed with 
 hazel-bushes, two or three figures were seen as if awaiting their 
 arrival. To these Jeanie paid little attention, so that it was with 
 a shock of surprise almost electrical, that, upon being carried by 
 the rowers out of the boat to the shore, she was received in the 
 arms of her father ! 
 
 It was too wonderful to be believed — too much like a happy 
 dream to have the stable feeling of reality — She extricated herself 
 from his close and affectionate embrace, and held him at arm's 
 length, to satisfy her mind that it was no illusion. But the form 
 was indisputable — Douce David Deans himself, in his best light- 
 blue Sunday's coat, with broad metal-buttons, and waistcoat and 
 breeches of the same, his strong gramashes or leggins of thick grey 
 cloth — the very copper buckles — the broad Lowland blue bonnet, 
 thrown back as he lifted his eyes to Heaven in speechless gratitude 
 — the grey locks that straggled from beneath it down his weather- 
 beaten " haffets " — the bald and furrowed forehead— the clear blue 
 eye, that, undimmed by years, gleamed bright and pale from under 
 its shaggy grey pent-house — the features, usually so stern and 
 stoical, now melted into the unwonted expression of rapturous joy, 
 affection, and gratitude — were all those of David Deans ; and so 
 happily did they assort together, that, should I ever again see my 
 friends Wilkie or Allan, I will try to borrow or steal from them a 
 sketch of this very scene. 
 
 " Jeanie— my ain Jeanie — my best — my maist dutiful bairn — the^ 
 
 Y 
 
338 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 Lord of Israel be thy father, for I am hardly worthy of thee ! Thou 
 hast redeemed our captivity — brought back the honour of our 
 house — Bless thee, my bairn, with mercies promised and pur- 
 chased ! — But He has blessed thee, in the good of which he has 
 made thee the instrument." 
 
 These words broke from him not without tears, though David 
 was of no melting mood. Archibald had, with delicate attention, 
 withdrawn the spectators from the interview, so that the wood and 
 setting sun alone were witnesses of the expansion of their feelings. 
 
 " And Eme ? — and Eme, dear father ! " was an eager interjec- 
 tional question which Jeanie repeatedly threw in among her ex- 
 pressions of joyful thankfulness. 
 
 " Ye will hear — ye will hear," said David hastily, and ever and 
 anon renewed his grateful acknowledgments to Heaven for sending 
 Jeanie safe down from the land of prelatic deadness and schismatic 
 heresy ; and had delivered her from the dangers of the way, and 
 the lions that were in the path. 
 
 "And Effie?" repeated her affectionate sister again and again. 
 " And — and " — (fain would she have said Butler, but she modified 
 the direct inquiry) — "and Mr. and Mrs. Saddletree — and Dum- 
 biedikes — and a' friends ? " 
 
 " A' weel— a' weel, praise to His name ! " 
 
 " And — Mr. Butler — he was na weel when I gaed awa ? " 
 
 " He is quite mended — quite weel," replied her father. 
 
 " Thank God— but O, dear father, Eme ?— Erne ? " 
 
 " You will never see her mair, my bairn," answered Deans in a 
 solemn tone — " You are the ae and only leaf left now on the auld 
 tree — heal be your portion ! " 
 
 , " She is dead ! — she is slain ! — It has come ower late ! " exclaimed 
 Jeanie, wringing her hands. 
 
 " No, Jeanie," returned Deans, in the same grave melancholy 
 tone. " She lives in the flesh, and is at freedom from earthly re- 
 straint if she were as much alive in faith, and as free from.the bonds 
 of Satan." 
 
 " The Lord protect us ! " said Jeanie. — " Can the unhappy bairn 
 hae left you for that villain ? " 
 
 " It is ower truly spoken,* said Deans — " She has left her auld 
 father, that has wept and prayed for her — She has left her sister, 
 that travailed and toiled for her like a mother — She has left the 
 bones of her mother, and the land of her people, and she is ower 
 the march wi' that son of Belial — She has made a moonlight flitting 
 of it." He paused, for a feeling betwixt sorrow and strong resent- 
 ment choked his utterance. 
 
 "And wi' that man?— that fearfu' man?" said Jeanie. "And 
 she has left us to gang aff wi' him?— O Effie, Effie, wha could hae 
 thoucht it, after sic a deliverance as you had been gifted wi' !" 
 
 " She went out from us, my bairn, because she was not of us," 
 replied David. " She is a withered branch will never bear fruit of 
 grace— a scapegoat gone forth into the wilderness of the world, 
 to carry wi' her, as I trust, the sins of our little congregation. The 
 peace of the warld gang wi' her, and a better peace when she has the 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 339 
 
 grace to turn to it ! If she is of His elected, His ain hour will 
 come. What would her mother have said, that famous and memo- 
 rable matron, Rebecca MacNaught, whose memory is like a flower 
 of sweet savour in Newbattle, and a pot of frankincense in Lug- 
 ton ! But be it sae — let her part — let her gang her gate — let her 
 bite on her ain bridle — The Lord kens his time — She was the bairn 
 of prayers, and may not prove an utter castaway. But never, 
 Jeanie — never more let her name be spoken between you and me — 
 She hath passed from us like the brook which vanisheth when the 
 summer waxeth warm, as patient Job saith — let her pass, and be 
 forgotten." 
 
 There was a melancholy pause which followed these expressions. 
 Jeanie would fain have asked more circumstances relating to her 
 sister's departure, but the tone of her father's prohibition was 
 positive. She was about to mention her interview with Staunton 
 at his father's rectory ; but, on hastily running over the particulars 
 in her memory, she thought that, on the whole, they were more 
 likely to aggravate than diminish his distress of mind. She turned, 
 therefore, the discourse from this painful subject, resolving to sus- 
 pend farther inquiry until she should see Butler, from whom she 
 expected to learn the particulars of her sister's elopement. 
 
 But when was she to see Butler ? was a question she could not 
 forbear asking herself, especially while her father, as if eager to 
 escape from the subject of his youngest daughter, pointed to the 
 opposite shore of Dumbartonshire, and asking Jeanie " if it werena 
 a pleasant abode ? " declared to her his intention of removing his 
 earthly tabernacle to that country, " in respect he was solicited by 
 his Grace the Duke of Argyle, as one well skilled in country labour, 
 and a' that appertained to flocks and herds, to superintend a store- 
 farm, whilk his Grace had taen into his ain hand for the improve- 
 ment of stock." 
 
 Jeanie's heart sunk within her at this declaration. " She allowed 
 it was a goodly and pleasant land, and sloped bonnily to the 
 western sun ; and she doubtedna that the pasture might be very 
 gude, for the grass looked green, for as drouthy as the weather had 
 been. But it was far frae name, and she thought she wad be often 
 thinking on the bonny spots of turf, sae fu' of gowans and yellow 
 king-cups, amang the Crags at St. Leonard's." 
 
 " Dinna speak on't, Jeanie," said her father ; " I wish never to 
 hear it named mair — that is, after the rouping is ower, and the bills 
 paid. But I brought a' the beasts ower-by that I thought ye wad 
 like best. There is Gowans, and there's your ain brockit cow, and 
 the wee hawkit ane, that ye ca'd — I needna tell ye how ye ca'd it — 
 but I couldna bid them sell the petted creature, though the sight 
 o't may sometimes gie us a sair heart — it's no the poor dumb crea- 
 ture's fault — And ane or twa beasts mair I hae reserved, and I 
 caused them to be driven before the other beasts, that men might 
 say, as when the son of Jesse returned from battle, 'This is 
 David's spoil.' " 
 
 Upon more particular inquiry, Jeanie found new occasion to 
 admire the active beneficence of her friend the Duke of Argyle. 
 
 y 2 
 
340 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 While establishing a sort of experimental farm on the skirts of his 
 immense Highland estates, he had been somewhat at a loss to find 
 a proper person in whom to vest the charge of it. The conversa- 
 tion his Grace had upon country matters with Jeanie Deans during 
 their return from Richmond, had impressed him with a belief that 
 the father, whose experience and success she so frequently quoted, 
 must be exactly the sort of person whom he wanted. When the 
 condition annexed to Erne's pardon rendered it highly probable 
 that David Deans would choose to change his place of residence, 
 this idea again occurred to the Duke more strongly, and as he was 
 an enthusiast equally in agriculture and in benevolence, he ima- 
 gined he was serving the purposes of both, when he wrote to the 
 gentleman in Edinburgh intrusted with his affairs, to inquire into 
 the character of David Deans, cowfeeder, and so forth, at St. 
 Leonard's Crags ; and if he found him such as he had been repre- 
 sented, to engage him without delay, and on the most liberal terms, 
 So superintend his fancy farm in Dumbartonshire. 
 
 The proposal was made to old David by the gentleman so com- 
 missioned, on the second day after his daughter's pardon had 
 reached Edinburgh. His resolution to leave St. Leonard's had been 
 already formed ; the honour of an express invitation from the Duke 
 of Argyle to superintend a department where so much skill and 
 diligence was required, was in itself extremely nattering ; and the 
 more so, because honest David, who was not without an excellent 
 opinion of his own talents, persuaded himself that, by accepting 
 this charge, he would in some sort repay the great favour he had , 
 received at the hands of the Argyle family. The appointments, 
 including the right of sufficient grazing for a small stock of his own, 
 were amply liberal ; and David's keen eye saw that the situation was 
 convenient for trafficking to advantage in Highland cattle. There 
 was risk of "her'ship"* from the neighbouring mountains, indeed, 
 but the awful name of the Duke of Argyle would be a great security, 
 and a trifle of black-mail would, David was aware, assure his safety. 
 
 Still, however, there were two points on which he haggled. The 
 first was the character of the clergyman with whose worship he was 
 to join; and on this delicate point he received, as we will presently 
 show the reader, perfect satisfaction. The next obstacle was the 
 condition of his youngest daughter, obliged as she was to leave 
 Scotland for so many years. 
 
 The gentleman of the law smiled, and said, " There was no 
 occasion to interpret that clause very strictly — that if the young 
 woman left Scotland for a few months, or even weeks, and came to 
 her father's new residence by sea from the western side of England, 
 nobody would know of her arrival, or at least nobody who had 
 either the right or inclination to give her disturbance. The exten- 
 sive heritable jurisdictions of his Grace excluded the interference 
 of other magistrates with those living on his estates, and they whd 
 were in immediate dependence on him would receive orders to 
 give the young woman no disturbance. Living on the verge of the 
 Highlands, she might, indeed, be said to be out of Scotland, that 
 is, beyond the bounds of ordinary law and civilization." 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 341 
 
 Old Deans was not quite satisfied with this reasoning ; but the 
 elopement of Effie, which took place on the third night after her 
 liberation, rendered his residence at St. Leonard's so detestable to 
 him, that he closed at once with the proposal which had been 
 made him, and entered with pleasure into the idea of surprising 
 Jeanie, as had been proposed by the Duke, to render the change of 
 residence more striking to her. The Duke had apprised Archibald 
 of these circumstances, with orders to act according to the instruc- 
 tions he should receive from Edinburgh, and by which accordingly 
 he was directed to bring Jeanie to Roseneath. 
 
 The father and daughter communicated these matters to each 
 other, now stopping, now walking slowly towards the Lodge, which 
 showed itself among the trees, at about half a mile's distance from 
 the little bay in which they had landed. 
 
 As they approached the house, David Deans informed his 
 daughter, with somewhat like a grim smile, which was the utmost 
 advance he ever ma.de towards a mirthful expression of visage, that 
 " there was baith a worshipful gentleman, and ane reverend gentle- 
 man, residing therein. The worshipful gentleman was his honour 
 the Laird of Knocktarlitie, who 'was bailie of the Lordship under the 
 Duke of Argyle, ane Hieland gentleman, tarr'd wi' the same stick," 
 Davie doubted, " as mony of them, namely, a hasty and choleric 
 temper, and a neglect of the higher things that belong to salvation, 
 and also a gripping unto the things of this world, without muckle 
 distinction of property; but, however, ane gude hospitable gentle- 
 man, with whom it would be a part of wisdom to live on a gude 
 understanding, (for Hielandmen were hasty, ower hasty). As for 
 the reverend person of whom he had spoken, he was candidate by 
 favour of the Duke of Argyle (for David would not for the universe 
 have called him presentee) for the kirk of the parish in which their 
 farm was situated, and he was likely to be highly acceptable unto 
 the Christian souls of the parish, who were hungering for spiritual 
 manna, having been fed but upon sour Hieland sowens by Mr. 
 Duncan MacDonought, the last minister, who began the morning 
 duly, Sunday and Saturday, with a mutchkin of usquebaugh. But 
 I need say the less about the present lad," said David, again grimly 
 grimacing, " as I think ye may hae seen him afore ; and here he is 
 come to meet us." 
 
 She had indeed seen him before, for it was no other than Reuben 
 Butler himself. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 No more shalt thou behold thy sister's face ; 
 Thou hast already had her last embrace. 
 
 Elegy on Mrs. Antie Killigreiv. 
 
 This second surprise had been accomplished for Jeanie Deans 
 by the rod of the same benevolent enchanter, whose power had 
 transplanted her father from the Crags of St. Leonard's to the 
 
342 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 banks of the Gare-Loch. The Duke of Argyle was not a person 
 to forget the hereditary debt of gratitude, which, had been bequeathed 
 to him by his grandfather, in favour of the grandson of old Bible 
 Butler. He had internally resolved to provide for Reuben Butler 
 in this kirk of Knocktarlitie, of which the incumbent had just de- 
 parted this life. Accordingly, his agent received the necessary 
 instructions for that purpose, under the qualifying condition always, 
 that the learning and character of Mr. Butler should be found 
 proper for the charge. Upon inquiry, these were found as highly 
 satisfactory as had been reported in the case of David Deans 
 himself. 
 
 By this preferment, the Duke of Argyle more essentially bene- 
 fited his friend and prote'ge'e, Jeanie, than he himself was aware 
 of, since he contributed to remove objections in her father's mind 
 to the match, which he had no idea had been in existence. 
 
 We have already noticed that Deans had something of a preju- 
 dice against Butler, which was, perhaps, in some degree owing to 
 his possessing a sort of consciousness, that the poor usher looked 
 with eyes of affection upon his eldest daughter. This, in David's 
 eyes, was a sin of presumption, even although it should not be 
 followed by any overt act, or actual proposal. But the lively in- 
 terest which Butler had displayed in his distresses, since Jeanie 
 set forth on her London expedition, and which, therefore, he 
 ascribed to personal respect for himself individually, had greatly 
 softened the feelings of irritability with which David had some- 
 times regarded him. And, while he was in this good disposition 
 towards Butler, another incident took place which had great influ- 
 ence on the old man's mind. 
 
 So soon as the shock of Erne's second elopement was over, it was 
 Deans's early care to collect and refund -to the Laird of Dumbie- 
 dikes the money which he had lent for Erne's trial, and for Jeanie's 
 travelling expenses. The Laird, the pony, the cocked hat, and the 
 tobacco-pipe, had not been seen at St. Leonard's Crags for many a 
 day ; so that, in order to pay this debt, David was under the neces- 
 sity of repairing in person to the mansion of Dumbiedikes. 
 
 He found it in a state of unexpected bustle. There were work- 
 men pulling down some of the old hangings, and replacing them 
 with others, altering, repairing, scrubbing, painting, and white- 
 washing. There was no knowing the old house, which had been 
 so long the mansion of sloth and silence. The Laird himself 
 seemed in some confusion, and his reception, though kind, lacked 
 something of the reverential cordiality with which he used to greet 
 David Deans. There was a change also, David did not very well 
 know of what nature, about the exterior of this landed proprietor 
 • — an improvement in the shape of his garments, a spruceness in 
 the air with which they were put on, that were both novelties. 
 Even the old hat looked smarter ; the cock had been newly pointed, 
 the lace had been refreshed, and instead of slouching backward or 
 forward on the Laird's head, as it happened to be thrown on, it was 
 adjusted with a knowing inclination over one eye. 
 
 David Deans opened his business, and told down the cash. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 343 
 
 Dumbiedikes steadily inclined his ear to the one, and counted the 
 other with great accuracy, interrupting David, while he was talking 
 of the redemption of the captivity of Judah, to ask him whether 
 he did not think one or two of the guineas looked rather light. 
 When he was satisfied on this point, had pocketed his money, and 
 had signed a receipt, he addressed David with some little hesitation, 
 — " Jeanie wad be writing ye something, gudeman ? " 
 
 " About the siller ? " replied David — " Nae doubt, she did." 
 
 " And did she sae nae mair about me ? " — asked the Laird. 
 
 " Nae mair but kind and Christian wishes — what suld she hae 
 said ? " replied David, fully expecting that the Laird's long court- 
 ship (if his dangling after Jeanie deserves so active a name), was 
 now coming to a point. And so indeed it was, but not to that 
 point which he wished or expected. 
 
 " Aweel, she kens her ain mind best, gudeman. I hae made a 
 clean house o' Jenny Balchristie, and her niece. They were a bad 
 pack — steal'd meat and mault, and loot the carters magg the coals 
 — I'm to be married the morn, and kirkit on Sunday." 
 
 Whatever David felt, he was too proud and too- steady-minded 
 to show any unpleasant surprise in his countenance and manner. 
 
 " I wuss ye happy, sir, through Him that gies happiness — mar- 
 riage is an honourable state." 
 
 " And I am wedding into an honourable house, David — the Laird 
 of Lickpelf s youngest daughter — she sits next us in the kirk, and 
 that's the way I came to think on't." 
 
 There was no more to be said, but again to wish the Laird 
 joy, to taste a. cup of his liquor, and to walk back again to St. 
 Leonard's, musing on the mutability of human affairs and human 
 resolutions. The expectation that one day or other Jeanie 
 would be Lady Dumbiedikes, had, in spite of himself, kept a 
 more absolute possession of David's mind than he himself was 
 aware of. At least, it had hitherto seemed a union at all times 
 within his daughter's reach, whenever she might choose to give her 
 silent lover any degree of encouragement, and now it was vanished 
 for ever. David returned, therefore, in no very gracious humour 
 for so good a man. He was angry with Jeanie for not having en- 
 couraged the Laird — he was angry with the Laird for requiring 
 encouragement — and he was angry with himself for being angry at 
 all on the occasion. 
 
 On his return he found the gentleman who managed the Duke 
 of Argyle's affairs was desirous of seeing him, witha view to com- 
 pleting the arrangement between them. Thus, after a brief repose, 
 he was obliged to set off anew for Edinburgh, so that old May 
 Hettly declared, " That a' this was to end with the master just 
 walking himself aff his feet." 
 
 When the business respecting the farm had been talked over 
 and arranged, the professional gentleman acquainted David Deans, 
 in answer to his inquiries concerning the state of public worship, 
 that it was the pleasure of the Duke to put an excellent young 
 clergyman, called Reuben Butler, into the parish, which was to be 
 his future residence. 
 
344 THE lliiAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 " Reuben Butler !" exclaimed David — "Reuben Butler, the usher 
 at Libberton ? " 
 
 "The very same," said the Duke's commissioner; "his Grace 
 has heard a b excellent character of him, and has some hereditary 
 obligations to him besides — few ministers will be so comfortable as 
 I am directed to make Mr. Butler." 
 
 " Obligations ?— the Duke? — Obligations to Reuben Butler — 
 Reuben Butler a placed minister of the Kirk of Scotland ! " ex- 
 claimed David, in interminable astonishment, for somehow he had 
 been led by the bad success which Butler had hitherto met with in 
 all his undertakings, to consider him as one of those step-sons of 
 Fortune, whom she treats with unceasing rigour, and ends with 
 disinheriting altogether. 
 
 There is, perhaps, no time at which we are disposed to think so 
 highly of a friend, as when we find him standing higher than we 
 expected in the esteem of others. When assured of the reality of 
 Butler's change of prospects, David expressed his great satisfaction 
 at his success in life, which, he observed, was entirely owing to 
 himself (David). " I advised his puir grandmother, who was but a 
 silly woman, to breed him up to the ministry ; and I prophesied 
 that, with a blessing on his endeavours, he would become a polished 
 shaft in the temple. He may be something ower proud o' his 
 carnal learning, but a gude lad, and has the root of the matter — 
 as ministers gang noo, where ye'll find ane better, ye'll find ten 
 waur, than Reuben Butler." 
 
 He took leave of the man of business, and walked homeward, 
 forgetting his weariness in the various speculations to which this 
 wonderful piece of intelligence gave rise. Honest David had now, 
 like other great men, to go to work to reconcile his speculative 
 principles with existing circumstances ; and, like other great 
 men, when they set seriously about that task, he was tolerably 
 successful. 
 
 Ought Reuben Butler in conscience to accept of this preferment 
 in the Kirk of Scotland, subject as David at present thought that 
 establishment was to the Erastian encroachments of the civil 
 power ? This was the leading question, and he considered it care- 
 fully. "The Kirk of Scotland was shorn of its beams, and de- 
 prived of its full artillery and banners of authority; but still it 
 contained zealous and fructifying pastors, attentive congregations, 
 and, with all her spots and blemishes, the like of this Kirk was no- 
 where else to be seen upon earth." 
 
 David's doubts had been too many and too critical to permit 
 him ever unequivocally to unite himself with any of the dissenters, 
 who, upon various accounts, absolutely seceded from the national 
 church. He had often joined in communion with such of the 
 established clergy as approached nearest to the old Presbyterian 
 model and principles of 1640. And although there were many 
 things to be amended in that system, yet he remembered that he, 
 David Deans, had himself ever been a humble pleader for the good 
 old cause in a legal way, but without rushing into right-hand ex- 
 cesses, divisions, and separations. But, as an enemy to separation, 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 343 
 
 he might join the right-hand of fellowship with a minister of the 
 Kirk of Scotland in its present model. Ergo, Reuben Butler 
 might take possession of the parish of Knocktarlitie, without for- 
 feiting his friendship or favour — Q. E. D. But, secondly, came 
 the trying point of lay-patronage, which David Deans had ever 
 maintained to be a coming in by the window, and over the wall, a 
 cheating and starving the souls of a whole parish, for the purpose 
 of clothing the back and filling the belly of the incumbent. 
 
 This presentation, therefore, from the Duke of Argyle, whatever 
 was the worth and high character of that nobleman, was a limb of 
 the brazen image, a portion of the evil thing, and with no kind of 
 consistency could David bend his mind to favour such a transac- 
 tion. But if the parishioners themselves joined in a general call 
 to Reuben Butler to be their pastor, it did not seem quite so evi- 
 dent that the existence of this unhappy presentation was a reason 
 for his refusing them the comforts of his doctrine. If the presby- 
 tery admitted him to the kirk, in virtue rather of that act of patron- 
 age than of the general call of the congregation, that might be 
 their error, and David allowed it was a heavy one. But if Reuben 
 Butler accepted of the care as tendered to him by those whom he 
 was called to teach, and who had expressed themselves desirous 
 to learn, David, after considering and reconsidering the matter, 
 came, through the great virtue of if, to be of opinion that he might 
 safely so act in that matter. 
 
 There remained a third stumbling-block — the oaths to govern- 
 ment exacted from the established clergymen, in which they 
 acknowledge an Erastian king and parliament, and homologate 
 the_ incorporating Union between England and Scotland, through 
 which the latter kingdom had become part and portion of the 
 former, wherein Prelacy, the sister of Popery, had made fast her 
 throne, and elevated the horns of her mitre. These were symp- 
 toms of defection which had often made David cry out, " My 
 bowels— my bowels ! — I am pained at the very heart ! " And he 
 remembered that a godly Bow-head matron had been carried out 
 of the Tolbooth Church in a swoon, beyond the reach of brandy 
 and burnt feathers, merely on hearing these fearful words, " It is 
 enacted by the Lords spiritual and temporal," pronounced from a 
 Scottish pulpit, in the proem to the Porteous Proclamation. These 
 oaths were, therefore, a deep compliance and dire abomination — a 
 sin and a snare, and a danger and a defection. But this shibbo- 
 leth was not always exacted. Ministers had respect to their own 
 tender consciences, and those of their brethren ; and it was not 
 till a later period that the reins of discipline were taken up tight by 
 the General Assemblies and Presbyteries. The peace-making 
 particle came again to David's assistance. If an incumbent was 
 not called upon to make such compliances, and if he got a right 
 entry into the church without intrusion, and by orderly appoint- 
 ment, why, upon the whole, David Deans came to be of opinion, that 
 the said incumbent might lawfully enjoy the spirituality and tempo- 
 rality of the cure of souls at Knocktarlitie, with stipend, manse, 
 glebe, and all thereunto appertaining. 
 
34« THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 The best and most upright-minded men are so strongly in- 
 fluenced by existing circumstances, that it would be somewhat 
 cruel to inquire too nearly what weight paternal affection gave to 
 these ingenious trains of reasoning. Let David Deans's situation 
 be considered. He was just deprived of one daughter, and his 
 eldest, to whom he owed so much, was cut off, by the sudden reso- 
 lution of Dumbiedikes, from the high hope which David had enter- 
 tained, that she might one day be mistress of that fair lordship. 
 Just while this disappointment was bearing heavy on his spirits, 
 Butler comes before his imagination — no longer the half-starved 
 threadbare usher, but fat, and sleek, and fair, the beneficed minister 
 of Knocktarlitie, beloved by his congregation — exemplary in his 
 life — powerful in his doctrine — doing the duty of the kirk as never 
 Highland minister did before — turning sinners as a colley-dog 
 turns sheep — a favourite of the Duke of Argyle, and drawing a 
 stipend of eight hundred punds Scots, and four chalders of victual. 
 Here was a match, making up, in David's mind, in a tenfold de- 
 gree, the disappointment in the case of Dumbiedikes, in so far as 
 the Goodman of St. Leonard's held a powerful minister in much 
 greater admiration than a mere landed proprietor. It did not 
 occur to him, as an additional reason in favour of the match, that 
 Jeanie might herself have some choice in the matter ; for the idea 
 of consulting her feelings never once entered into the honest man's 
 head, any more than the possibility that her inclination might per- 
 haps differ from his own. 
 
 The result of his meditations was, that he was called upon to 
 take the management of the whole affair into his own hand, and 
 give, if it should be found possible without sinful compliance, 
 or backsliding, or defection of any kind, a worthy pastor to the 
 kirk of Knocktarlitie. Accordingly, by the intervention of the 
 honest dealer in butter-milk who dwelt in Libberton, David sum- 
 moned to his presence Reuben Butler. Even from this worthy 
 messenger he was unable to conceal certain swelling emotions of 
 dignity, insomu'ch, that, when the carter had communicated his 
 message to the usher, he added, that " Certainly the Gudeman of 
 St. Leonard's had some grand news to tell him, for he was as 
 uplifted as a midden-cock upon pattens." 
 
 Butler, it may readily be conceived, immediately obeyed the 
 summons. His was a plain character, in which worth and good 
 sense and simplicity were the principal ingredients ; but love, on 
 this occasion, gave him a certain degree of address. He had 
 received an intimation of the favour designed him by the Duke of 
 Argyle, with what feelings those only can conceive, who have 
 experienced a sudden prospect of being raised to independence 
 and respect, from penury and toil. He resolved, however, that the 
 old man should retain all the consequence of being, in his own 
 opinion, the first to communicate the important intelligence. At 
 the same time, he also determined that in the expected conference 
 he would permit David Deans to expatiate at length upon the pro- 
 posal, in all its bearings, without irritating him either by interrup- 
 tion or contradiction. This last was the most prudent plan he could 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 347 
 
 have adopted ; because, although there were many doubts which 
 David Deans could himself clear up to his own satisfaction, yet he 
 might have been by no means disposed to accept the solution of any 
 other person ; and to engage him in an argument would have been 
 certain to confirm him at once and for ever in the opinion which 
 Butler chanced to impugn. 
 
 He received his friend with an appearance of important gravity, 
 which real misfortune had long compelled him to lay aside, and 
 which belonged to those days of awful authority in which he pre- 
 dominated over Widow Butler, and dictated the mode of culti- 
 vating the crofts of Beersheba. He made known to Reuben, with 
 great prolixity, the prospect of his changing his present residence 
 for the charge of the Duke of Argyle's stock-farm in Dumbarton- 
 shire, and enumerated the various advantages of the situation with 
 obvious self-congratulation ; but assured the patient hearer, that 
 nothing had so much moved him to acceptance, as the sense that, 
 by his skill in bestial, he could render the most important services 
 to his Grace the Duke of Argyle, to whom, " in the late unhappy 
 circumstance," (here a tear dimmed the sparkle of pride in the old 
 man's eye,) " he had been sae muckle obliged." 
 
 " To put a rude Hielandman into sic a charge," he continued, 
 " what could be expected but that he suld be sic a chiefest herds- 
 man, as wicked Doeg the Edomite ? whereas, while this grey head 
 is to the fore, not a clute o' them but sail be as weel cared for as if 
 they were the fatted kine of Pharaoh. — And now, Reuben, lad, 
 seeing we maun remove our tent to a strange country, ye will be 
 casting a dolefu' look after us, and thinking with whom ye are to 
 hold counsel anent your government in thae slippery and back- 
 sliding times; and nae doubt remembering, that the auld man, 
 David Deans, was made the instrument to bring you out of the 
 mire of schism and heresy, wherein your father's house delighted 
 to wallow; aften also, nae doubt, when ye are pressed wi' en- 
 snaring trials and tentations and heart plagues, you, that are like a 
 recruit that is marching for the first time to the took of drum, will 
 miss the auld, bauld, and experienced veteran soldier that has felt 
 the brunt of mony a foul day, and heard the bullets whistle as aften 
 as he has hairs left on his auld pow." 
 
 It is very possible that Butler might internally be of opinion, that 
 the reflection on his ancestor's peculiar tenets might have been 
 spared, or that he might be presumptuous enough even to think, 
 that, at his years and with his own lights, he might be able to hold 
 his course without the pilotage of honest David. But he only re- 
 plied, by expressing his regret, that any thing should separate him 
 from an ancient, tried, and affectionate friend. 
 
 " But how can it be helped, man ? " said David, twisting his fea- 
 tures into a sort of smile — " How can we help it ? — I trow ye canna 
 tell me that — Ye maun leave that to ither folk — to the Duke of 
 Argyle and me, Reuben. It's a gude thing to hae friends in this 
 warld — how muckle better to hae an interest beyond it ! " 
 
 And David, whose piety, though not always quite rational, was 
 as sincere as it was habitual and fervent, looked reverentially up- 
 
348 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 ward and paused. Mr. Butler intimated the pleasure with which 
 he would receive his friend's advice on a subject so important, 
 and David resumed. 
 
 " What think ye now, Reuben, of a kirk — a regular kirk under 
 the present establishment ? — Were sic offered to ye, wad ye be free 
 to accept it, and under whilk provisions ? — I am speaking but by 
 way of query." 
 
 Butler replied, " That if such a prospect were held out to him, he 
 would probably first consult whether he was likely to be useful to 
 the parish he should be called to ; and if there appeared a fair 
 prospect of his proving so, his friend must be aware, that, in every 
 other point of view, it would be highly advantageous for him." 
 
 " Right, Reuben, very right, lad," answered the monitor, " your 
 ain conscience is the first thing to be satisfied — for how sail he 
 teach others that has himsell sae ill learned the Scriptures, as to 
 grip for the lucre of foul earthly preferment, sic as gear and manse, 
 money and victual, that which is not his in a spiritual sense — or 
 wha makes his kirk a stalking-horse, from behind which he may 
 tak aim at his stipend ? But I look for better things of you — and 
 specially ye maun be minded not to act altogether on your ain 
 judgment, for therethrough comes sair mistakes, backslidings, and 
 defections, on the left and on the right. If there were sic a day of 
 trial put to you, Reuben, you, who are a young lad, although it 
 may be ye are gifted wi' the carnal tongues, and those whilk are 
 spoken at Rome, whilk is now the seat of the scarlet abomination, 
 and by the Greeks, to whom the Gospel was as foolishness, yet 
 nae-the-less ye may be entreated by your weelwisher to tak the 
 counsel of those prudent and resolved and weather-withstanding 
 professors, wha hae ken'd what it was to lurk on "banks and in ' 
 mosses, in bogs and in caverns, and to risk the peril of the head 
 rather than-renunce the honesty of the heart." 
 
 Butler replied, " That certainly, possessing such a friend as he 
 hoped and trusted he had in the goodman himself, who had seen 
 so many changes in the preceding century, he should be much to 
 blame if he did not avail himself of his experience and friendly 
 counsel." 
 
 " Eneugh said — eneugh said, Reuben," said David Deans, with 
 internal exultation ; " and say that ye were in the predicament 
 whereof I hae spoken, of a surety I would deem it my duty to gang 
 to the root o' the matter, and lay bare to you the ulcers and im- 
 posthumes, and the sores and the leprosies, of this our time, crying 
 aloud and sparing not." 
 
 David Deans was now in his element. He commenced his 
 examination of the doctrines and belief of the Christian Church 
 with the very Culdees, from whom he passed to John Knox, — from 
 John Knox to the recusants in James the Sixth's time, — Bruce, 
 Black, Blair, Livingstone, — from them to the brief, and at length 
 triumphant period of the presbyterian church's splendour, until it 
 was overrun by the English Independents. Then followed the 
 dismal times of prelacy, the indulgences, seven in number, with all 
 their shades "and bearings, until he arrived at the reign of King 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 349 
 
 James the Second, in which he himself had been, in his own mind, 
 neither an obscure actor nor an obscure sufferer. Then was Butler 
 doomed to hear the most detailed and annotated edition of what he 
 had so often heard before, — David Deans's confinement, namely, 
 in the iron cage in the Canongate Tolbooth, and the cause thereof. 
 
 We should be very unjust to our friend David Deans, if .we 
 should " pretermit," to use his own expression, a narrative which 
 he held essential to his fame. A drunken trooper of the Royal 
 Guards, Francis Gordon by name, had chased five or six of the 
 skulking Whigs, among whom was our friend David; and after 
 he had compelled them to stand, and was in the act of brawling 
 with them, one of their number fired a pocket-pistol, and shot him 
 dead. David used to sneer and shake his head when any one 
 asked him whether he had been the instrument of removing this 
 wicked persecutor from the face of the earth. In fact, the merit of 
 the deed lay between him and his friend, Patrick Walker, the 
 pedlar, whose works he was so fond of quoting. Neihter of them 
 cared directly to claim the merit of silencing Mr. Francis Gordon 
 of the Life-Guards, there being some wild cousins of his about 
 Edinburgh, who might have been even yet addicted to' revenge, 
 but yet neither of them chose to disown or yield to the other the 
 merit of this active defence of their religious rites. David said, that 
 if he had fired a pistol then, it was what he never did after or 
 before. And as for Mr. Patrick Walker, he has left it upon record, 
 that his great surprise was, that so small a pistol could kill so big 
 a man. These are the words of that venerable biographer, whose 
 trade had not taught him by experience, that an inch was as good 
 as an ell. " He" (Francis Gordon) " got a shot in his head out of 
 a pocket-pistol, rather fit for diverting a boy than killing such a 
 furious, mad, brisk man, which notwithstanding killed him 
 dead!"* 
 
 Upon the extensive found&ion which the history of the kirk 
 afforded, during its short-lived triumph and long tribulation, David, 
 with length of breath and of narrative, which would have astounded 
 any one but a lover of his daughter, proceeded to lay down his own 
 rules for guiding the conscience of his friend, as an aspirant to 
 serve in the ministry. Upon this subject, the good man went 
 through such a variety of nice and casuistical problems, supposed 
 so many extreme cases, made' the distinctions so critical and nice 
 betwixt the right-hand and the left-hand — betwixt compliance and 
 defection — holding back and stepping aside — slipping and stum- 
 bling — snares and errors — that at length, after having limited the 
 path of truth to a mathematical line, he was brought to the broad 
 admission, that each man's conscience, after he had gained a cer- 
 tain view of the difficult navigation which he was to encounter, 
 would be the best guide for his pilotage. He stated the examples 
 and arguments for and against the acceptance of a kirk on the 
 present revolution model; with much more impartiality to Butler 
 than he had been able to place them before his own view. And he 
 concluded, that his young friend ought to think upon these things, 
 and be guided by the voice of his own conscience, whether he could 
 
3S0 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 take such an awful trust as the charge of souls, without doing in- 
 jury to his own internal conviction of what is right or wrong. 
 
 When David had finished his very long harangue, which was 
 only interrupted by monosyllables, or little more, on the part of 
 Butler, the orator himself was greatly astonished to find that the 
 conclusion, at which he very naturally wished to arrive, seemed 
 much less decisively attained than when he had argued the case in 
 his own mind. 
 
 In this particular, David's current of thinking and speaking only 
 illustrated the very important and general proposition, concerning 
 the excellence of the publicity of debate. For, under the influence 
 of any partial feeling, it is certain, that most men can more easily 
 reconcile themselves to any favourite measure, when agitating it in 
 their own mind, than when obliged to expose its merits to a third 
 party, when the necessity of seeming impartial procures for the 
 opposite arguments a much more fair statement than that which he 
 affords it in tacit meditation. Having finished what he had to say, 
 David thought himself obliged to be more explicit in point of fact, 
 and to explain that this was no hypothetical case, but one on which 
 (by his own influence and that of the Duke of Argyle) Reuben 
 Butler would soon be called to decide. 
 
 It was even with something like apprehension that David Deans 
 heard Butler announce, in return to this communication, that he 
 would take that night to consider on what he had said with such 
 kind intentions, and return him an answer the next morning. The 
 feelings of the father mastered David on this occasion. He pressed 
 Butler to spend the evening with him — He produced, most unusual 
 at his meals, one, nay, two bottles of aged strong ale. — He spoke 
 of his daughter — of her merits —her housewifery — her thrift — her 
 affection. He led Butler so decidedly up to a declaration of his 
 feelings towards Jeanie, that, before nightfall, it was distinctly 
 understood she was to be the bride of Reuben Butler ; and if they 
 thought it indelicate to abridge the period of deliberation which 
 Reuben had stipulated, it seemed to be sufficiently understood be- 
 twixt them, that there was a strong probability of his becoming 
 minister of Knocktarlitie, providing the congregation were as 
 willing to accept of him, as the Duke to grant him the presentation. 
 The matter of the oaths, they agreed, it was time enough to dis- 
 pute about, whenever the shibboleth should be tendered. 
 
 Many arrangements were adopted that evening, which were after- 
 wards ripened by correspondence with the Duke of Argyle's man 
 of business, who intrusted Deans and Butler with the benevolent 
 wish of his principal, that they should all meet with Jeanie, on her 
 return from England, at the Duke's hunting-lodge in Roseneath. 
 
 This retrospect, so far as the placid loves of Jeanie Deans and 
 Reuben Butler are concerned, forms a full explanation of the 
 preceding narrative up to their meeting at Roseneath as already 
 mentioned. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 351 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 " I come," he said, " my love, my life, 
 And — nature's dearest name — my wife : 
 Thy father's house and friends resign, 
 My home, my friends, my sire, are thine." 
 
 Logan. 
 
 The meeting of Jeanie and Butler, under circumstances pro- 
 mising to crown an affection so long delayed, was rather affecting 
 from its simple sincerity than from its uncommon vehemence of 
 feeling. David Deans, whose practice was sometimes a little diffe- 
 rent from his theory, appalled them at first, by giving them the 
 opinion of sundry of the suffering preachers and champions of his 
 younger days, that marriage, though honourable by the ,laws of 
 Scripture, was yet a state over-rashly coveted by professors, and 
 especially by young ministers, whose desire, he said, was at whiles 
 too inordinate for kirks, stipends, and wives, which had frequently 
 occasioned over-ready compliance with the general defections of 
 the times. He endeavoured to make them aware also, that hasty 
 wedlock had been the bane of many a savoury professor — that the 
 unbelieving wife had too often reversed the text, and perverted the 
 believing husband — that when the famous Donald Cargill, being 
 then hiding in Lee Wood, in Lanarkshire, it being killing-time, did,. 
 1 upon importunity, marry Robert Marshal of Starry-Shaw, he had 
 thus expressed himself : " What hath induced Robert to marry this 
 woman ? her ill will overcome his good — he will not keep the way 
 long — his thriving days are done." To the sad accomplishment of 
 which prophecy David said he was himself a living witness, for 
 Robert Marshal, having fallen into foul compliances with the 
 enemy, went home, and heard the curates, declined into other steps, 
 of defection, and became lightly esteemed. Indeed, he observed, 
 that the great upholders of the standard, Cargill, Peden, Cameron, 
 and Renwick, had less delight in tying the bonds of matrimony 
 than in any other piece of their ministerial work ; and although 
 they would neither dissuade the parties, nor refuse their office, they 
 considered, the, being called to it as an evidence of indifference, on 
 the part of those between whom it was solemnized, to the many 
 grievous things of the day. Notwithstanding, however, that mar- 
 riage was a snare unto many, David was of opinion (as, indeed, he 
 had showed in his practice) that it was in itself honourable, espe- 
 cially if times were such that honest men could be secure against 
 being shot, hanged, or banished, and had ane competent livelihood 
 to .maintain themselves, and those that might come after them. 
 " And, therefore," as he concluded something abruptly, addressing 
 Jeanie and Butler, who, with faces as high-coloured as crimson, 
 had been listening to his lengthened argument for and against the 
 holy state of matrimony, " I will leave you to your ain cracks." 
 As their private conversation, however interesting to themselves, 
 
352 THE HEART OF MID- LOTHIAN. 
 
 might probably be very little so to the reader, so far as it respected 
 their present feelings and future prospects, we shall pass it over, 
 and only mention the information which Jeanie received from 
 Butler concerning her sister's elopement, which contained many 
 particulars that she had been unable to extract from her father. 
 
 Jeanie learned, therefore, that, for three days after her pardon 
 had arrived, Erne had been the inmate of her father's house at St. 
 Leonard's — that the interviews betwixt David and his erring child, 
 which had taken place before she was liberated from prison, had 
 been touching in the extreme ; but Butler could not suppress his 
 opinion, that, when he was freed from the apprehension of losing 
 her in a manner so horrible, her father had tightened the bands of 
 discipline, so as, in some degree, to gall the feelings and aggravate 
 the irritability of a spirit naturally impatient and petulant, and now 
 doubly so from the sense of merited disgrace. 
 
 Oh the third night, Erne disappeared from St. Leonard's, leaving 
 no intimation whatever of the route she had taken. Butler, how- 
 ever, set out in pursuit of her, and with much trouble traced her 
 towards a little landing-place, formed by a small brook which enters 
 the sea betwixt Musselburgh and Edinburgh. This place, which 
 has been since made into a small harbour, surrounded by many 
 villas and lodging-houses, is now termed Portobello. At this time 
 it was surrounded by a waste common, covered with furze, and un- 
 frequented, save by fishing-boats, and now and then a smuggling 
 lugger. A vessel of this description had been hovering in the firth 
 at the time of Effie's elopement, and, as Butler ascertained, a boat 
 had come ashore in the evening on which the fugitive had disap- 
 peared, and had carried on board a female. As the vessel made 
 sail immediately, and landed no part of their cargo, there seemed 
 little doubt that they were accomplices of the notorious Robertson, 
 and that the vessel had only come into the firth to carry off his 
 paramour. 
 
 This was made clear by a letter which Butler himself soon after- 
 wards received by post, signed E. D., but without bearing any date 
 of place or time. It was miserably ill written and spelt ; sea-sick- 
 ness having apparently aided the derangement of Effie's very 
 irregular orthography and mode of expression. In this epistle, 
 however, as in all that that unfortunate girl said or did, there was 
 something to praise as well as to blame. She said in her letter, 
 " That she could not endure that her father and her sister should 
 go into banishment, or be partakers of her shame — that if her 
 burden was a heavy one, it was of her ain binding, and she had the 
 more richt to bear it alone, — that in future they could not be a com- 
 fort to her, or she to them, since every look and word of her father 
 put her in mind of her transgression, and was like to drive her mad, 
 — that she had nearly lost her judgment during the three days she 
 was at St. Leonard's — her father meant weel by her, and all men, 
 but he did not know the dreadful pain he gave her in casting up 
 her sins. If Jeanie had been at hame, it micht hae dune better — 
 Jeanie was ane, like the angels in heaven, that rather weep for 
 sinners, than reckon their transgressions. But she should never 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 353 
 
 see Jeanie ony mair, and that was the thoucht that gave her the 
 sairest heart of a' that had come and gane yet. On her bended 
 knees would she pray for Jeanie, nicht and day, baith for what she 
 had done, and what she had scorned to do, in her behalf ; for what 
 a thought would it have been to her at that moment o' time, if that 
 upricht creature had made a fault to save her ! She desired Tier 
 father would give Jeanie a' the gear — her ain (z. e. Effie's) mother's 
 and a'— She had made a deed, giving up her richt, and it was in 
 Mr. Novit's hand — Warld's gear was henceforward the least of her 
 care, nor was it likely to be muckle her mister — She hoped this 
 would make it easy for her sister to settle ;" and immediately after 
 this expression, she wished Butler himself all good things, in return 
 for his kindness to her. " For herself," she said, " she ken'dher lot 
 would be a waesome ane, but it was of her ain framing, sae she 
 desired the less pity. But, for her friends' satisfaction, she wished 
 them to know that she was gaun nae ill gate — that they who had 
 done her maist wrang were now willing to do her what justice was- 
 in their power ; and she would, in some warldly respects, be far 
 better off than she deserved. But she desired her family to remain 
 satisfied with this assurance, and give themselves no trouble in 
 making farther inquiries after her." 
 
 To David Deans and to Butler this letter gave very little com- 
 fort ; for what was to be expected from this unfortunate girl's 
 uniting her fate to that of a character so notorious as Robertson, 
 who they readily guessed was alluded to in the last sentence, ex- 
 cepting that she should become the partner and victim of his future 
 crimes. Jeanie, who knew George Staunton's character and real 
 rank, saw her sister's situation under a ray of better hope. She- 
 augured well of the haste he had shown to reclaim his interest in 
 Effie, and she trusted he had made her his wife. If so, it seemed 
 improbable that, with his expected fortune, and high connections, 
 he should again resume the life of criminal adventure which he had 
 led, especially since, as matters stood, his life depended upon his 
 keeping his own secret, which could only be done by an entire 
 change of his habits, and particularly by avoiding all those who- 
 had known the heir of Willingham under the character of the 
 audacious, criminal, and condemned Robertson. 
 
 She thought it most likely that the couple would go abroad for a 
 few years, and not return to England until the affair of Porteous 
 was totally forgotten. Jeanie, therefore, saw more hopes for her 
 sister than Butler or her father had been able to perceive ; but she 
 was not at liberty to impart the comfort which she felt in believing 
 that she would be secure from the pressure of poverty, and in little 
 risk of -being seduced into the paths of guilt. She could not have 
 explained this without making public what it was essentially neces- 
 sary for Effie's chance of comfort to conceal, the identity, namely, 
 of George Staunton and George Robertson. After all, it was 
 dreadful to think that Effie had united herself to a man condemned 
 for felony, and liable to trial for murder, whatever might be his 
 rank in life, and the degree of his repentance. Besides, it was 
 melancholy to reflect, that, she herself being in possession of the 
 
 z 
 
3S4 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 whole dreadful secret, it was most probable he would, out of regard 
 to his own feelings, and fear for his safety, never again permit her 
 to see poor Effie. After perusing and re-perusing her sister's vale- 
 dictory letter, she gave ease to her feelings in a flood of tears, which 
 Butler in vain endeavoured to check by every soothing attention in 
 his power. She was obliged, however, at length to look up and 
 wipe her eyes, for her father, thinking he had allowed the lovers 
 time enough for conference, was now advancing towards them from 
 the Lodge, accompanied by the Captain of Knockdunder, or, as his 
 friends called him for brevity's sake, Duncan Knock, a title which 
 some youthful exploits had rendered peculiarly appropriate. 
 
 This Duncan of Knockdunder was a person of first-rate im- 
 portance in the district of Roseneath, and the continental parishes 
 of Knocktarlitie, Kilmun, and so forth ; nay, his influence extended 
 as far as Cowal, where, however, it was obscured by that of another 
 factor. The Tower of Knockdunder still occupies, with its re- 
 mains, a cliff overhanging the Holy Loch. Duncan swore it had 
 been a royal castle ; if so, it was one of the smallest, the space 
 within only forming a square of sixteen feet, and bearing therefore 
 a ridiculous proportion to the thickness of the walls, which was ten 
 feet at least. Such as it was, however, it had long given the title 
 of Captain, equivalent to that of Chatellain, to the ancestors of 
 Duncan, who were retainers of the house of Argyle, and held a 
 hereditary jurisdiction under them, of little extent indeed, but which 
 had great consequence in their own eyes, and was usually admin- 
 istered with a vigour somewhat beyond the law. 
 
 The present representative of that ancient family was a stout 
 short man about fifty, whose pleasure it was to unite in his own 
 person the dress of the Highlands and Lowlands, wearing on his 
 head a black tie-wig, surmounted by a fierce cocked-hat, deeply 
 guarded with gold lace, while the rest of his dress consisted of the 
 plaid and philabeg. Duncan superintended a district which was 
 partly Highland, partly Lowland, and therefore might be supposed 
 to combine their national habits, in order to show his impartiality 
 to Trojan or Tyrian. The incongruity, however, had a whimsical 
 and ludicrous effect, as it made his head and body look as if be- 
 longing to different individuals ; or, as some one said who had seen 
 the executions of the insurgent prisoners in 1715, it seemed as if 
 some Jacobite enchanter, having recalled the sufferers to life, had 
 clapped, in his haste, an Englishman's head on a Highlander's 
 body. To finish the portrait, the bearing of the gracious Duncan 
 was brief, bluff, and consequential, and the upward turn of his short 
 copper-coloured nose indicated that he was somewhat addicted to 
 wrath and usquebaugh. 
 
 When this dignitary had advanced up to Butler and to Jeanie, 
 " I take the, freedom, Mr. Deans," he said, in a very consequential 
 manner, " to salute your daughter, whilk I presume this young lass 
 to be — I kiss every pretty girl that comes to Roseneath, in virtue 
 of my office." Having made this gallant speech, he took out his 
 quid, saluted Jeanie with a hearty smack, and bade her welcome to 
 Argyle's country. Then addressing Butler, he said, "Ye maun 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 355 
 
 gang ower and meet the carle ministers yonder the morn, for they 
 will want to do your job, and synd it down with usquebaugh doubt- 
 • less — they seldom mak dry wark in this kintra." 
 
 "And the Laird"— said David Deans, addressing Butler in 
 farther explanation,- 
 
 " The Captain, man," interrupted Duncan ; " folk winna ken wha 
 ye are speaking aboot, unless ye gie shentlemens their proper 
 title." 
 
 " The Captain, then," said David, " assures me that the call is 
 unanimous on the part of the parishioners — a real harmonious call, 
 Reuben." 
 
 " I pelieve,'' said Duncan, " it was as harmonious as could pe 
 expected, when the tae half o' the bodies were clavering Sassenach, 
 and the t'other skirling Gaelic, like sea-maws and clackgeese before 
 a storm. Ane wad hae needed the gift of tongues to ken preceesly 
 what they said — but I pelieve the pest end of it was, ' Long live 
 MacCallummore and Knockdunder ! ' — And as to its being an 
 unanimous call, I wad be glad to ken fat business the carles have 
 to call onything or onybody but what the Duke andmysell likes ? " 
 
 " Nevertheless," said Mr. Butler, " if any of the parishioners 
 have any scruples, which sometimes happen in the mind of sincere 
 professors, I should be happy of an opportunity of trying to 
 remove " 
 
 " Never fash your peard aboot it, man," interrupted Duncan 
 Knock — " Leave it a' to me. — Scruple ! deil ane o' them has been 
 bred up to scruple onything that they 're bidden to do. And if sic 
 a thing suld happen as ye speak o' ye sail see the sincere professor, 
 as ye ca' him, towed at the stern of my boat for a few furlongs. I'll 
 try if the water of the jrfaly Loch winna wash off scruples as wee) 
 as fleas — Cot tarn ! " 
 
 The rest of Duncan's threat was lost in a growling gurgling sort 
 of sound, which he made in his throat, and which menaced recu- 
 sants with no gentle means of conversion. David Deans would 
 certainly have given battle in defence of the right of the Christian 
 congregation to be consulted in the choice of their own pastor, which, 
 in his estimation, was one of the choicest and most inalienable of 
 their privileges ; but he had again engaged in close conversation 
 with Jeanie, and, with more interest than he was in use to take in 
 affairs foreign alike to his occupation and to his religious tenets, 
 was inquiring into the particulars of her London journey. This was, 
 perhaps, fortunate for the new-formed friendship betwixt him and 
 the Captain of Knockdunder, which rested, in David's estimation, 
 upon the proofs he had given of his skill in managing stock ; but, 
 in reality, upon the special charge transmitted to Duncan from the 
 Duke and his agent, to behave with the utmost attention to Deans 
 and his family. 
 
 "And now, sirs,'' said Duncan, in a commanding tone, " I am to 
 pray ye a' to come into your supper, for yonder is Mr. Archibald 
 half famished, and a Saxon woman, that looks as if her een were 
 fleeing oot o' her head wi' fear and wonder, as if she had never seen 
 a shentleman in a philabeg pefore." 
 
 z 2 
 
35S THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 " And Reuben Butler," said David, " will doubtless desire in- 
 stantly to , retire, that he may prepare his mind for the exercise of 
 to-morrow, that his work m'ay suit the day, and be an offering of a 
 sweet savour in the nostrils of the reverend presbytery." 
 
 " Hout tout, man, it 's but little ye ken aboot them," interrupted 
 the Captain. " Teil a ane o' them wad gie the savour of the hot 
 venison pasty which I smell " (turning his squab nose up in the 
 air) " a' the way frae the Lodge, for a' that Mr. Putler, or you 
 either, can say to them:" 
 
 David groaned ; but judging he had to do with a Gallio, as he 
 said, did not think it worth his while to give battle. They followed 
 the Captain to the house, and arranged themselves with great 
 ceremony round a well-loaded supper-table. The only other cir- 
 cumstance of the evening worthy to be recorded is, that Butler 
 pronounced the blessing ; that Knockdunder found it too long, and 
 David Deans censured it as too short, from which the charitable 
 reader may conclude it was exactly the proper length. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 Now turn the Psalms of David ower, and lilt wi' holy clangor : 
 Of double verse come gie us four, and skirl up the Bangor. 
 
 Burns. 
 
 The next was the important day, when, according to the forms 
 and ritual of the Scottish Kirk, Reuben Butler was to be ordained 
 minister of Knocktarlitie, by the Presbytery of Dumbarton. And 
 so eager were the whole party, that all, excepting Mrs. Dutton, the 
 destined Cowslip of Inveraray, were stirring at an early hour. 
 
 Their host, whose appetite was as quick and keen as his temper, 
 was not long in summoning them to a substantial breakfast, where 
 there were at least a dozen of different preparations of milk, plenty 
 of cold meat, scores boiled and roasted eggs, a huge cag of butter, 
 half a firkin herrings boiled and broiled, fresh and salt, and tea and 
 coffee for them that liked it, which, as their landlord assured them, 
 with a nod and a wink, pointing, at the same time, to a little cutter 
 which seemed dodging under the lee of the land, cost them little 
 beside the fetching ashore. 
 
 " Is the contraband trade permitted here so openly ? " said 
 Butler. " I should think it very unfavourable to the people's 
 morals." 
 
 "The Duke, Mr. Putler, has gien nae orders concerning the 
 pitting of it doun," said the magistrate, and seemed to think that he 
 had said all that was necessary to justify his connivance. 
 
 Butler was a man of prudence, and aware that real good can only 
 be obtained by remonstrance when remonstrance is well-timed ; so 
 for the present he said nothing more on the subject. 
 
 When breakfast was half over, in flounced Mrs. Dolly, as fine as 
 a blue sacque and cherry-coloured ribands could make her. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 357 
 
 " Good-morrow to you, madam," said the master of ceremonies ; 
 " I trust your early rising will not skaith ye." 
 
 The dame apologized to Captain Knockunder, as she was pleased 
 to term their entertainer ; " but, as we say in Cheshire," she added, 
 " I was like the Mayor of Altringham, who lies in bed while his 
 breeches are mending, for the girl did not bring up the right bundle 
 to my room, till she had brought up all the others by mistake one 
 after t'other. — Well, I suppose we are all for church to-day, as I 
 understand — Pray may I be so bold as to ask, if it is the fashion for 
 !you North-country gentlemen to go to church in your petticoats, 
 Captain Knockunder ? " 
 
 " Captain of Knockdunder, madam, if you please, for I knock 
 under to no man ; and in respect of my garb, I shall go to church as 
 I am, at your service, madam ; for if I were to lie in bed like your 
 Major What-d'ye-callum, till my preeches were mended, I might be 
 there all my life, seeing I never had a pair of them on my person 
 but twice in my life, which I am pound to remember, itpeing when 
 the Duke brought his Duchess here, when her grace pehoved to be 
 pleasured ; so I e'en porrowed the minister's trews for the twa days 
 his Grace was pleased to stay — but I will put myself under sic con- 
 finement again for no man on earth, or woman either, but her 
 Grace being always excepted, as in duty pound." 
 
 The mistress of the milking-pail stared, but, making no answer 
 to this round declaration, immediately proceeded to show, that the 
 alarm of the preceding evening had in no degree injured her 
 appetite. 
 
 When the meal was finished, the Captain proposed to them to 
 take boat, in order that Mistress Jeanie might see her new place of 
 residence, and that he himself might inquire whether the necessary 
 preparations had been made there, and at the Manse, for receiving 
 the future inmates of ttose mansions. 
 
 The morning was elelightful, and the huge mountain-shadows 
 slept upon the mirro^a wave of the Firth, almost as little disturbed 
 as if it had been an inland lake. Even Mrs. Dutton's fears no 
 longer annoyed her. She had been informed by Archibald, that 
 there was to be some sort of junketing after the sermon, and that 
 was what she loved dearly ; and as for the water, it was so still that 
 it would look quite like a pleasuring on the Thames. 
 
 The whole party being embarked, therefore, in a large boat, 
 which the captain called his coach and six, and attended by a 
 smaller one termed his gig, the gallant Duncan steered straight 
 upon the little tower of the old-fashioned church of Knocktarlitie, 
 and the exertions of six stout rowers sped them rapidly on their 
 voyage. As they neared the land, the hills appeared to recede 
 from them, and a little valley, formed by the descent of a small 
 river from the mountains, evolved itself as it were upon their 
 approach. The style of the country on each side was simply 
 pastoral, and resembled, in appearance and character, the descrip- 
 tion of a forgotten Scottish poet, which runs nearly thus : — 
 " The water gently down a level slid, 
 With little din, but couthy what it made ; 
 
358 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 On ilka side the trees grew thick and lang, 
 And wi' the wild birds' notes were a' in sang ; 
 On either side, a full bow-shot and mair, 
 The green was even, gowany, and fair ; 
 With easy slope on every hand the braes 
 To the hills' feet with scatter'd bushes raise ; 
 With goats and sheep aboon, and kye below, 
 The bonny banks all in a swarm did go."* 
 
 They landed in this Highland Arcadia, at the mouth of the small 
 stream which watered the delightful and peaceable valley. Inha- 
 bitants of several descriptions came to pay their respects to the 
 . Captain of Knockdunder, a homage which he was very peremptory 
 in exacting, and to see the new settlers. Some of these were men 
 after David Deans's own heart, elders of the kirk-session, zealous 
 professors, from the Lennox, Lanarkshire, and Ayrshire, to whom 
 the preceding Duke of Argyle had given rooms in this corner of his 
 estate, because they had suffered for joining his father, the unfortu- 
 nate Earl, during his ill-fated attempt in 1686. These were cakes 
 of the right leaven for David regaling himself with ; and, had it not 
 been for this circumstance, he has been heard to say, " that the 
 Captain of Knockdunder would have swore him out of the country 
 in twenty-four hours, sae awsome it was to ony thinking soul to 
 hear his imprecations, upon the slightest temptation that crossed 
 his humour." 
 
 Besides these, there were a wilder set of parishioners, moun- 
 taineers from the upper glen and adjacent hill, who spoke Gaelic, 
 went about armed, and wore the Highland dress. But the strict 
 commands of the Duke had established such good order in this 
 part of his territories, that the Gael and Saxons lived upon the best 
 possible terms of good neighbourhood. 
 
 They first visited the Manse, as the parsonage is termed in Scot- 
 land. It was old, but in good repair, and stood snugly embosomed 
 in a grove of sycamore, with a well-stocked garden in front, bounded 
 by the, small river, which was partly visible from the windows, 
 partly concealed by the bushes, trees, and bounding hedge. Within, 
 the house looked less comfortable than it might have been, for it 
 had been neglected by the late incumbent ; but workmen had been 
 labouring under the directions of the Captain of Knockdunder, and 
 at the expense of the Duke of Argyle, to put it into some order. 
 The old "plenishing" had been removed, and neat, but plain 
 household furniture had been sent down by the Duke in a brig of 
 his own, called the Caroline, and was now ready to be, placed in 
 order in the apartments. 
 
 The gracious Duncan, finding matters were at a stand among the 
 workmen, summoned before him the delinquents, and impressed all 
 who heard him with a sense of his authority, by the penalties with 
 which he threatened them for their delay. Mulcting them in half 
 their charge, he assured them, would be the least of it ; for, if they 
 were to neglect his pleasure and the Dukp's, " he would be tamn'd if 
 he paid them t'other half either, and they micht seek law for it where 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 359 
 
 they could get it." The work-people humbled themselves before 
 the offended dignitary, and spake him soft and fair ; and at length, 
 upon Mr. Butler recalling to his mind that it was ordination-day, 
 and that the workmen were probably thinking of going to church, 
 Knockdunder agreed to forgive them, out of respect to their new 
 minister. 
 
 " But an I catch them neglecking my duty again, Mr. Putler, the 
 teil pe in me if the kirk shall be an excuse ; for what has the like 
 o' them rapparees to do at the kirk ony day put Sundays, or then 
 either, if the Duke and I has the necessitous uses for them ? " 
 
 It may be guessed with what feelings of quiet satisfaction and 
 delight Butler looked forward to spending his days, honoured and 
 useful as Jie trusted to be, in this sequestered valley, and how often 
 an intelligent glance was exchanged betwixt him and Jeanie, whose 
 good-humoured face looked positively handsome, from the expres- 
 sion of modesty, and, at the same time, of satisfaction, which she 
 wore when visiting the apartments of which she was soon to call 
 herself mistress. She was left at liberty to give more open indul- 
 gence to her feelings of delight and admiration, when, leaving the 
 " Manse, the company proceeded to examine the destined habitation 
 of David Deans. 
 
 Jeanie found with pleasure that it was not above a musket shot 
 from the Manse : for it had been a bar to her happiness to think 
 she might be obliged to reside at a distance from her father, and 
 she was aware that there were strong objections to his actually 
 living in the same house with Butler. But this brief distance was 
 the very thing which she could have wished. 
 
 The farm-house was on the plan of an improved cottage, and con- 
 trived with great regard to convenience ; an excellent little garden, 
 an orchard, and a set of offices complete, according to the best ideas 
 of the time, combined to render it a most desirable habitation for the 
 practical farmer, and far superior to the hovel at Woodend, and the 
 small house at Saint Leonard's Crags. The situation was consi- 
 derably higher than that of the Manse, and fronted to the west. 
 The windows commanded an enchanting view of the little vale over 
 which the mansion seemed to preside, the windings of the stream, 
 and the firth, with its associated lochs and romantic islands. The 
 hills of Dumbartonshire, once possessed by the fierce clan of Mac- 
 Farlanes, formed a crescent behind the valley, and far to the right 
 were seen the dusky and more gigantic mountains of Argyleshire, 
 with a seaward view of the shattered and thunder-splitten peaks of 
 Arran. 
 
 But to Jeanie, whose taste for the picturesque, if she had any by 
 nature, had never been awakened or cultivated, the sight of the 
 faithful old May Hettly, as she opened the door to receive them in 
 her clean toy, Sunday's russet-gown, and blue apron, nicely smoothed 
 down before her, was worth the whole varied landscape. The rap- 
 tures of the faithful old creature at seeing Jeanie were equal to her 
 own, as she_ hastened to assure her, " that baith the gudeman and 
 the beasts had been asweel seen after as she possibly could contrive." 
 Separating her from the rest of the company, May then hurried her 
 
360 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 young mistress to the offices, that she might receive the compli- 
 ments she expected for her care of the cows. Jeanie rejoiced, in the 
 simplicity of her heart, to see her charge once more ; and the mute 
 favourites of our heroine, Gowans, and the others, acknowledged 
 her presence by lowing, turning round their broad and decent 
 brows when they heard her well-known " Pruh, my leddy — pruh, 
 my woman," and, by various indications, known only to those who 
 have studied the habits of the milky mothers, showing sensible 
 pleasure as she approached to caress them in their turn. 
 
 " The very brute beasts are glad to see ye again," said May ; 
 " but nae wonder, Jeanie, for ye were aye kind to beast and body. 
 And I maun learn to ca'ye mistress noo, Jeanie, since ye hae been 
 ■up to Lunnon, and seen the Duke, and the King, and a' the braw 
 folk. But wha kens," added the old dame slyly, " what I'll hae to 
 ■ca' ye forby mistress, for I am thinking it wunna lang be Deans." 
 
 " Ca' me your ain Jeanie, May, and then ye can never gang 
 wrang." 
 
 In the cow-house which they examined, there was one animal 
 •which Jeanie looked at till the tears gushed from her eyes. May, 
 who had watched her with a sympathising expression, immediately 
 observed, in an under tone, " The gudeman aye sorts that beast 
 himsell, and is kinder to it that ony beast in the byre ; and I 
 noticed he was that way e'en when he was angriest, and had 
 maist cause to be angry. — Eh, sirs ! a parent's heart's a queer 
 thing ! Mony a warsle he has had for that puir lassie — I am think- 
 ing he petitions mair for her than for yoursell, hinny ; for what can 
 he plead for you but just to wish you the blessing ye deserve ? And 
 when I sleepit ayont the hallan, when we came first here, he was 
 often earnest a' nicht, and I could hear him come ower and ower 
 again wi', ' Effie — puir blinded misguided thing ! ' it was aye, 
 ' Effie — Effie ! ' — If that puir wandering lamb comena into the 
 sheepfauld in the Shepherd's ain time, it will be an unco wonder, 
 for I wot she has been a child of prayers. O, if the puir prodigal 
 wad return, sae blithely as the goodman wad kill the fatted calf ! — 
 ■though Brockie's calf will no be fit for killing this three weeks yet." 
 
 And then, with the discursive talent of persons of her description, 
 she got once more afloat in her account of domestic affairs, and left 
 this delicate and affecting topic. 
 
 Having looked at everything in the offices and the dairy, and ex- 
 pressed her satisfaction with the manner in which matters had been 
 managed in her absence, Jeanie rejoined the rest of the party, who 
 were surveying the interior of the house, all excepting David Deans 
 and Butler, who had gone down to the church to meet the kirk- 
 session and the clergymen of the presbytery, and arrange matters 
 for the duty of the day. 
 
 In the interior of the cottage all was clean, neat, and suitable to 
 the exterior. It had been originally built and furnished by the 
 Duke, as a retreat for a favourite domestic of the higher class, who 
 did not long enjoy it, and had been dead only a few months, so that 
 everything was in excellent taste and good order. But in Jeanie's 
 bedroom was a neat trunk, which had greatly excited Mrs. Dut- 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 3 6 * 
 
 ton's curiosity, for she was sure that the direction, " For Mrs. Jean 
 Deans, at Auchingower, parish of Knocktarlitie," was the writing of 
 Mrs. Semple, the Duchess's own woman. May Hettly produced the 
 key in a sealed parcel, which bore the same address, and attached 
 to the key was a label, intimating that the trunk and its contents 
 were " a token of remembrance to Jeanie Deans, from her friends 
 the Duchess of Argyle and the young ladies." The trunk, hastily 
 opened, as the reader will not doubt, was found to be full of wear- 
 ing apparel of the best quality, suited to Jeanie's rank in life ; and 
 to most of the articles the names of the particular donors were 
 attached, as if to make Jeanie sensible not only of the general, 
 but of the individual interest she had excited in the noble family. 
 To name the various articles by their appropriate names, would be 
 to attempt things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme ; besides, that 
 the old-fashioned terms of manteaus, sacques, kissing-strings, and 
 so forth, would convey but little information even to the milliners 
 of the present day. I shall deposit, however, an accurate inventory 
 of the contents of the trunk with my kind friend, Miss Martha 
 Buskbody, who has promised, should the public curiosity seem in- 
 terested in the subject, to supply me with a professional glossary 
 and commentary. Suffice it to say, that the gift was such as became 
 the donors, and was suited to the situation of the receiver ; that 
 everything was handsome and appropriate, and nothing forgotten 
 which belonged to the wardrobe of a young person in Jeanie's situa- 
 tion in life, the destined bride of a respectable clergyman. 
 
 Article after article was displayed, commented upon, and admired, 
 to the wonder of May, who declared, " she didna think the Queen 
 had mair or better claise," and somewhat to the envy of the 
 southern Cowslip. This unamiable but not very unnatural disposi- 
 tion of mind broke forth in sundry unfounded criticisms to the dis- 
 paragement of the articles, as they were severally exhibited. But 
 it assumed a more direct character, when, at the bottom of all, was 
 found a dress of white silk, very plainly made, but still of white 
 silk, and French silk to boot, with a paper pinned to it, bearing 
 that it was a present from the Duke of Argyle to his travelling com- 
 panion, to be worn on the day when she should change her name. 
 
 Mrs. Dutton could forbear no longer, but whispered into Mr. 
 Archibald's ear, that it was a clever thing to be a Scotchwoman : 
 "She supposed all her sisters, and she had half a dozen, might 
 have been hanged, without any one sending her a present of a 
 pocket handkerchief." 
 
 " Or without your making any exertion to save them, Mrs. Dolly," 
 answered Archibald drily.—" But I am surprised we do not hear 
 the bell yet," said he, looking at his watch. 
 
 " Fat ta deil, Mr. Archibald," answered the Captain of Knock- 
 dunder, " wad ye hae them ring the bell before I am ready to gang 
 to kirk ?— I wad gar the bedral eat the bell-rope, if he took ony sic 
 freedom. But if ye want to hear the bell, I will just show mysell on 
 the knowe-head, and it will begin jowing forthwith." 
 
 Accordingly, so soon as they sallied out, and that the gold-laced 
 fcat of the Captain was seen rising like Hesper above the dewy verge 
 
362 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 of the rising ground, the clash (for it was rather a clash than a 
 clang) of the bell was heard from the old moss-grown tower, and the 
 clapper continued to thump its cracked sides all the while they ad- 
 vanced towards the kirk, Duncan exhorting them to take their own 
 time, " for teil ony sport wad be till he cam."* 
 
 Accordingly, the bell only changed to the final and impatient 
 chime when they crossed the stile ; and " rang in," that is, con- 
 cluded its mistuned summons, when they had entered the Duke's 
 seat, in the little kirk, where the whole party arranged themselves, 
 with Duncan at their head, excepting David Deans, who already 
 occupied a seat among the elders. 
 
 The business of the day, with a particular detail of which it is 
 unnecessary to trouble the reader, was gone through according to 
 the established form, and the sermon pronounced upon the occa- 
 sion had the good fortune to please even the critical David Deans, 
 though it was only an hour and a quarter long, which David termed 
 a short allowance of spiritual provender. 
 
 The preacher, who was a divine that held many of David's opi- 
 nions, privately apologized for his brevity by saying, " That he 
 observed the Captain was gaunting grievously, and that if he had 
 detained him longer, there was no knowing how long he might be 
 in paying the next term's victual stipend." 
 
 David groaned to find that such carnal motives could have influ- 
 ence upon the mind of a powerful preacher. He had, indeed, been 
 scandalized by another circumstance during the service. , 
 
 So soon as the congregation was seated after prayers, and the 
 clergyman had read his text, the gracious Duncan, after rummaging 
 the leathern purse which hung in front of his petticoat, produced a 
 short tobacco-pipe made of iron, and observed, almost aloud, " I 
 hae forgotten my spleuchan — Lachlan, gang down to the clachan, 
 and bring me up a pennyworth of twist." Six arms, the nearest 
 within reach, presented, with an obedient start, as many tobacco- 
 pouches to the man of office. He made choice of one with a nod of 
 acknowledgment, filled his pipe, lighted it with the assistance of his 
 pistol-flinf, and smoked with infinite composure during the whole 
 time of the sermon. When the discourse was finished, he knocked 
 the ashes out of his pipe, replaced it in his sporran, returned the 
 tobacco pouch or spleuchan to its owner, and joined in the prayer 
 with decency and attention. 
 
 At the end of the service, when Butler had been admitted 
 minister of the kirk of Knocktarlitie, with all its spiritual immu- 
 nities and privileges, David, who had frowned, groaned, and mur- 
 mured at Knockdunder's irreverent demeanour, communicated his 
 plain thoughts of the matter to Isaac Meiklehose, one of the elders, 
 with whom a reverential aspect, and huge grizzle wig had especially 
 disposed him to seek fraternization. " It didna become a wild 
 Indian," David said, " much less a Christian and a gentleman, to 
 sit in the kirk puffing tobacco-reek, as if he were in a change- 
 house." 
 
 Meiklehose shook his head, and allowed it was "far frae be- 
 seeming — But what will ye 'say ? The Captain's a queer hand, 
 
St 
 
 $ 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 3 6 3 
 
 and to speak to him aboot that or onything else that crosses the 
 maggot, wad be to set the kiln a-low. He keeps a high hand'Ower 
 the country, and we couldna deal wi' the Hielandmen without his 
 protection, sin' a' the keys o' the kintray hings at his belt ; and 
 he's no an ill bo4y in the main, and maistry, ye ken, maws the 
 meadows doun." 
 
 " That may be very true, neighbour,'' said David ; " but Reuben 
 Butler isna the man I tak him to be, if he disna learn the Captain 
 to fuffhis pipe some other gate than in God's house, or the quarter 
 be ower." 
 
 " Fair and softly gangs far," said Meiklehose ; " and if a fule 
 may gie a wise man a counsel, I wad hae him think twice or he 
 mells with Knockdunder— He suld hae a lang-shankit spune that 
 wad sup kail wi' the deil. But they are a' awa to their dinner to 
 the change-house, and if we dinna mend our pace, we'll come short 
 at meal-time." 
 
 David accompanied his friend without answer ; but began to feel 
 from experience, that the glen of Knocktarlitie, like the rest of the 
 world, was haunted by its own special subjects of regret and discon- 
 tent. His mind was so much occupied by considering the best 
 means of converting Duncan of Knock to a sense of reverent 
 decency during public worship, that he altogether forgot to inquire, 
 whether Butler was called upon to subscribe the oaths to govern- 
 ment. 
 
 Some have insinuated, that his neglect on this head was, in some 
 degree, intentional ; but I think this explanation inconsistent with 
 the simplicity of my friend David's character. Neither have I ever 
 been able, by the most minute inquiries, to know whether the 
 formula, at which he so much scrupled, had been exacted from 
 Butler, aye or no. The books of the kirk-session might have thrown 
 some light on this matter ; but unfortunately they were destroyed 
 in the year 1746, by one Donacha Dhu na Dunaigh, at the instance, 
 it was said, or at least by the connivance, of the gracious Duncan 
 of Knock, who had a desire to obliterate the recorded foibles of a 
 certain Kata Finlavson. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 Now butt and ben the change-house fills 
 
 Wi' yill-caup commentators, — 
 Here's crying out for bakes anc\ gills, 
 
 And there the pint-stoup clatters. 
 Wi' thick and thrang, and loud and lang, — 
 
 Wi' logic and wi' scripture, 
 They raise a din that in the end 
 
 Is like to breed a rupture, 
 
 O' wrath that day. Burns. 
 
 A plentiful entertainment, at the Duke 'of Argyle's cost, 
 regaled the reverend gentlemen who had assisted at the ordina- 
 
364 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 tion of Reuben Butler, and almost all the respectable part of the 
 parish. The feast was, indeed, such as the country itself furnished ; 
 for plenty of all the requisite;: for "a rough and round dinner" 
 •were always at Duncan of Knock's command. There was the beef 
 and mutton on the braes, the fresh and salt-water fish of the 
 lochs, the brooks, and firth ; game of every kind, from the deer to 
 the leveret, were to be had for the killing, in the Duke's forests, 
 moors, heaths, and mosses ; and for liquor, home-brewed ale flowed 
 as freely as water ; brandy and usquebaugh both were had in those 
 happy times without duty ; even white wine and claret were got for 
 nothing, since the Duke's extensive rights of admiralty gave him a 
 title to all the wine in cask which is drifted ashore on the western 
 coast and isles of Scotland, when shipping have suffered by severe 
 weather. In short, as Duncan boasted, the entertainment did not 
 cost MacCullummore a plack out of his sporran, and was never- 
 theless not only liberal, but overflowing. 
 
 The Duke's health was solemnized in a bond fide bumper, and 
 David Deans himself added perhaps the first huzza that his lungs 
 had ever uttered, to swell the shout with which the pledge was re- 
 ceived. Nay, so exalted in heart was he upon this memorable 
 occasion, and so much disposed to be indulgent, that he expressed 
 no dissatisfaction when three bagpipers struck up, " The Campbells 
 are coming." The health of the reverend minister of Knocktarlitie 
 was received with similar honours ; and there was a roar of 
 laughter, when one of his brethren slyly subjoined the addition 
 of, " A good wife to our brother, to keep the Manse in order." On 
 this occasion David Deans was delivered of his first-born joke ; 
 and apparently the parturition was accompanied with many throes, 
 for sorely did he twist about his physiognomy, and much' did he 
 stumble in his speech, before he could express his idea, " That the 
 lad being now wedded to his spiritual bride, it was hard to threaten 
 him with ane temporal spouse in the same day." He then laughed 
 a hoarse and brief laugh, and was suddenly grave and silent, as if 
 abashed at his own vivacious effort. 
 
 After another toast or two, Jeanie, Mrs. Dolly, and such of the 
 female natives as had honoured the feast with their presence, retired 
 to David's new dwelling at Auchingower, and left the gentlemen to 
 their potations. 
 
 The feast proceeded with great glee. The conversation, where 
 Duncan had it under his direction, was not indeed always strictly 
 canonical, but David Deans escaped any risk of being scandalized, 
 by engaging with one of his neighbours in a recapitulation of the 
 sufferings of Ayrshire and Lanarkshire, during what was called the 
 invasion of the Highland Host ; the prudent Mr. Meiklehose cau- 
 tioning them from time to time to lower their voices, for " that 
 Duncan Knock's father had been at that onslaught, and brought 
 back muckle good plenishing, and that Duncan was no unlikely to 
 hae been there himself, for what he ken'd." 
 
 Meanwhile, as the mirth grew fast and furious, the graver mem- 
 bers of the party began to escape as well as they tould. David 
 Deans accomplished his retreat, and Butler anxiously watched an 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 365 
 
 opportunity to followhim. Knockdunder, however desirous, he said, 
 of knowing what stuff was in the new minister, had no intention to 
 part with him so easily, but kept him pinned to his side, watching 
 him sedulously, and with obliging violence filling his glass to the 
 brim, as often as he could seize an opportunity of doing so. At 
 length as the evening was wearing late, a venerable brother chanced 
 to ask Mr. Archibald when they might hope to see the Duke, tarn 
 carum caput, as he would venture to term him, at the Lodge of 
 Roseneath. Duncan of Knock, whose ideas were somewhat con- 
 glomerated, and who, it may be believed, was no great scholar, 
 catching up some imperfect sound of the words, conceived the 
 speaker was drawing a parallel between the Duke and Sir Donald 
 Gorme of Sleat ; and being of opinion that such comparison was 
 odious, snorted thrice, and prepared himself to be in a passion. 
 
 To the explanation of the venerable divine the Captain answered, 
 " I heard the word Gorme myself, sir, with my ain ears. D'ye 
 think I do not know Gaelic from Latin ? " 
 
 " Apparently not, sir ; *' — so the clergyman, offended in his turn, 
 and taking a pinch of snuff, answered with great coolness. 
 
 The copper nose of the gracious Duncan now became heated 
 like the bull of Phalaris, and while Mr. Archibald mediated be- 
 twixt the offended parties, and the attention of the company was 
 engaged by their dispute, Butler took an opportunity to effect his 
 retreat. 
 
 He found the females at Auchingower very anxious for the 
 breaking up of the convivial party ; for it was a part of the ar- 
 rangement, that although David Deans was to remain at Auchin- 
 gower, and Butler was that night to take possession of the Manse, 
 yet Jeanie, for whom complete accommodations were not yet pro- 
 vided in her father's house, was to return for a day or two to the 
 Lodge at Roseneath, and the boats had been held in readiness ac- 
 cordingly. They waited, therefore, for Knockdunder's return, but 
 twilight came, and they still waited in vain. At length Mr. Archi- 
 bald, who, as a man of decorum, had taken care not to exceed in 
 his conviviality, made his appearance, and advised the females 
 strongly to return to the island under his escort ; observing, that, 
 from the humour in which he had left the Captain, it was a great 
 chance whether he budged out of the public-house that night, and 
 it was absolutely certain that he would not be very fit company for 
 ladies. The gig was at their disposal, he said, and there was still 
 pleasant twilight for a party on the water. 
 
 Jeanie, who had considerable confidence in Archibald's prudence, 
 immediately acquiesced in this proposal ; but Mrs. Dolly positively 
 objected to the small boat. If the big boat could be gotten, she 
 agreed to set out, otherwise she would sleep on the floor, rather 
 than stir a step. Reasoning with Dolly was out of the question, 
 and Archibald did not think the difficulty so pressing as to require 
 compulsion. He observed, it was not using the Captain very po- 
 litely to deprive him of his coach and six ; " but as it was in the 
 ladies' service," he gallantly said, " he would use so much freedom 
 —besides the gig would serve the Captain's purpose better, as it 
 
366 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 could come off at any hour of the tide ; the large boat should, • 
 therefore, be at Mrs. Dolly's service." 
 
 They walked to the beach accordingly, accompanied by Butler. 
 It was some time before the boatmen could be assembled, and ere 
 they were well embarked, and ready to depart, the pale moon was 
 come over the hill, and flinging a trembling reflection on the broad 
 and glittering waves. But so soft and pleasant was the night, that 
 Butler, in bidding farewell to Jeanie, had no apprehension for her 
 safety ; and, what is yet more extraordinary, Mrs. Dolly felt no 
 alarm for her own. The air was soft, and came over the cooling 
 wave with something of summer fragrance. The beautiful scene 
 of headlands, and capes, and bays, around them, with the broad 
 blue chain of mountains, were dimly visible in the moonlight ; 
 while every dash of the oars made the waters glance and sparkle 
 with the brilliant phenomenon called the sea fire. 
 
 This last circumstance filled Jeanie with wonder, and served to 
 amuse the mind of her companion, until they approached the little 
 bay, which seemed to stretch its dark and wooded arms into the 
 sea as if to welcome them. 
 
 The usual landing-place was at a quarter of a mile's distance 
 from the Lodge, and although the tide did not admit of the large 
 boat coming quite close to the jetty of loose stones which served 
 as a pier, Jeanie, who was both bold and active, easily sprung 
 ashore ; but Mrs. Dolly positively refusing to commit herself to 
 the same risk, the complaisant Mr. Archibald ordered the boat 
 round to a more regular landing-place, at a considerable distance 
 along the shore. He then prepared to land himself, that he might, 
 in the meanwhile, accompany Jeanie to the Lodge. But as there 
 was no mistaking the woodland lane, which led from thence to the 
 shore, and as the moonlight showed her one of the white chimneys 
 rising out of the wood which embosomed the building, Jeanie de- 
 clined this favour with thanks, and requested him to proceed with 
 Mrs. Dolly, who, being " in a country where the ways were so 
 strange to her, had mair need of countenance." 
 
 This, indeed, was a fortunate circumstance, and might even be 
 said to save poor Cowslip's life, if it was true, as she herself used 
 solemnly to aver, that she must positively have expired for fear, 
 if she had been left alone in the boat with six wild Highlanders in 
 kilts. 
 
 The night was so exquisitely beautiful, that Jeanie, instead of 
 immediately directing her course towards the Lodge, stood looking 
 after the boat as it again put off from the side, and rowed into the 
 little bay, the dark figures of her companions growing less and less 
 distinct as they diminished in the distance, and the jorram, or me- 
 lancholy boat-song of the rowers, coming on the ear with softened 
 and sweeter sound, until the boat rounded the headland, and 
 was lost to her observation. 
 
 Still Jeanie remained in the same posture, looking out upon the 
 sea. It would, she was aware, be some time ere her companions 
 could reach the Lodge, as the distance by the more convenient 
 landing-place was considerably greater than from the point where 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 367 
 
 she stood, and she was not sorry to have an opportunity to spend 
 the interval by herself. 
 
 The wonderful change which a few weeks had wrought in her situa- 
 tion, from shame and grief, and almost despair, to honour, joy, and 
 a fair prospect of future happiness, passed before her eyes with a 
 sensation which brought the tears into them. Yet they flowed at 
 the same time from another source. As human happiness is never 
 perfect, and as well-constructed minds are never more sensible of 
 the distresses of those whom they love, than when their own situa- 
 tion forms a contrast with them, Jeanie's affectionate regrets turned 
 to the fate of her poor sister— the child of so many hopes — the 
 fondled nursling of so many years — now an exile, and, what was 
 worse, dependent on the will of a man, of whose habits she had 
 every reason to entertain the worst opinion, and who, even in his 
 strongest paroxysms of remorse, had appeared too much a stranger 
 to the feelings of real penitence. 
 
 While her thoughts were occupied with these melancholy reflec- 
 tions, a shadowy figure seemed to detach itself from the copsewood 
 on her right hand. Jeanie started, and the stories of apparitions 
 and wraiths, seen by solitary travellers in wild situations, at such 
 times, and in such an hour, suddenly came full upon her imagina- 
 tion. The figure glided an, and as it came betwixt her and the 
 moon, she was aware that it had the appearance of a woman. A 
 soft voice twice repeated, " Jeanie — Jeanie!" — Was it indeed — 
 could it be the voice of her sister? — Was she still among the living, 
 or had the grave given up its tenant?— Ere she could state these 
 questions, to her own mind, Effie, alive, and in the body, had clasped 
 her in her arms, and was straining her to her bosom, and devouring 
 her with kisses. " I hae wandered here," she said, "like a ghaist, 
 to see you, and nae wonder you tak me for ane — I thoucht but to see 
 you gang by, or to hear the sound of your voice ; but to speak to 
 yoursell again, Jeanie, was mair than I deserved, and mair than I 
 durst pray for." 
 
 " O, Effie ! how cam ye here alone, and at this hour, and on the 
 wild sea-beach ? — Are you sure it's your ain living sell ? " 
 
 There was something of Effie's former humour in her practically 
 answering the question by a gentle pinch, more beseeming the 
 fingers of a fairy than of a ghost. And again the sisters embraced, 
 and laughed, and wept by turns. 
 
 " But ye maun gang up wi' me to the Lodge, Effie," said Jeanie, 
 "and tell me a' your story — I hae gude folk there that will mak ye 
 welcome for my sake." 
 
 "Na, na, Jeanie," replied her sister, sorrowfully, — "ye hae for- 
 gotten what I am — a banished outlawed creature, scarce escaped 
 the gallows by your being the bauldest and the best sister that ever 
 lived — I'll gae near nane o' your grand friends, even if there was 
 nae danger to me." 
 
 " There is nae danger — there shall be nae danger,'' said Jeanie, 
 eagerly. " O, Effie, dinna be wilfu' — be guided for ance — we will 
 be sae happy a' thegither ! " 
 
 " I have a' the happiness I deserve on this side of the gr,ave, now 
 
368 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 that I hae seen you," answered Effie ; " and whether there were 
 danger to mysell or no, naebody shall ever say that I come with 
 my cheat-the-gallows face to shame my sister amang her grand 
 friends." 
 
 " I hae nae grand friends," said Jeanie ; " nae friends but what 
 are friends of yours — Reuben Butler and my father. — O, unhappy 
 lassie, dinna be dour, and turn your back on your happiness again ! 
 We wunna see another acquaintance — Come hame to us, your ain 
 dearest friends — it's better sheltering under an auld hedge than 
 under a new-planted wood." 
 
 " It's in vain speaking, Jeanie — I maun drink as I hae brewed — 
 I am married, and I maun follow my husband for better for worse." 
 
 "Married, Effie !" exclaimed Jeanie — " Misfortunate creature ! 
 and to that awfu' " 
 
 " Hush, hush," said Effie, clapping one hand on her mouth, and 
 pointing to the thicket with the other, " he is yonder." 
 
 She said this in a tone which showed that her husband had found 
 means to inspire her with awe, as well as affection. At this moment 
 a man issued from the wood. 
 
 "It was young Staunton. Even by the imperfect light of the 
 moon, Jeanie could observe that he was handsomely dressed, and 
 had the air of a person of rank. 
 
 " Effie," he said, " our time is well-nigh spent — the skiff will be 
 aground in the . creek, and I dare not stay longer. — I hope your 
 sister will allow me to salute her ? " But Jeanie shrunk back from 
 him with a feeling of internal abhorrence. " Well," he said, " it 
 does not much signify ; if you keep up the feeling of ill-will, at least 
 you do not act upon it, and I thank you for your respect to my 
 secret, when a word (which in your place I would have spoken at 
 once) would have, cost me my life. People say, you should keep 
 from the wife of your bosom the secret that concerns your neck — 
 my wife and her sister both know mine, and I shall not sleep a 
 wink the less sound." 
 
 " But are you really married to my sister, sir ? " asked Jeanie, in 
 great doubt and anxiety ; for the haughty, careless tone in which he 
 spoke seemed to justify her worst apprehensions. 
 
 " I really am legally married, and by my own name," replied 
 Staunton, more gravely. 
 
 " And your father — and your friends ? " 
 
 " And my father and my friends must just reconcile themselves 
 to that which is done and cannot be undone," replied Staunton. 
 " However, it is my intention, in order to break off dangerous con- 
 nections, and to let my friends come to their temper, to conceal my 
 marriage for the present, and stay abroad for some years. So that 
 you will not hear of us for some time, if ever you hear of us again 
 at all. It would be dangerous, you must be aware, to keep up the 
 correspondence ; for all would guess that the husband of Effie was 
 the — what shall I call myself? — the slayer of Porteous." 
 
 Hard-hearted light man ! thought Jeanie — to what a character 
 she has intrusted her happiness ! — She has sown the wind, and 
 maun reap the whirlwind. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 3 6 9- 
 
 " Dinna think ill o' him," said Effie, breaking away from her hus- 
 band, and leading Jeanie a step or two out of hearing— " dinna 
 think very ill o' him— he's gude to me, Jeanie— as gude as I deserve 
 —And he is determined to gie up his bad courses— Sae, after a',, 
 dinna greet for Effie ; she is better off than she has wroucht for. — 
 But you— oh, you !— how can you be happy eneugh !— never till ye 
 get to Heaven, where a'body is as gude as yoursell— Jeanie, if I 
 live and thrive, ye shall hear of me— if not, just forget that sic a. 
 creature ever lived to vex ye— fare ye weel— fare — fare ye weel ! " 
 
 She tore herself from her sister's arms — rejoined her husband — 
 they plunged into the copsewood, and she saw them no more. The 
 whole scene had the effect of a vision, and she could almost have 
 believed it such, but that very soon after they quitted her, she heard 
 the sound of oars, and a skiff was seen on the Firth, pulling swiftly 
 towards the small smuggling sloop which lay in the offing. It was. 
 on board of such a vessel that Effie had embarked at Portobello, 
 and Jeanie had no doubt that the same conveyance was destined, as 
 Staunton had hinted, to transport them to a foreign country. 
 
 Although it was impossible to determine whether this interview,, 
 while it was passing, gave more pain or pleasure to Jeanie Deans, yet 
 the ultimate impression which remained on her mind was decidedly 
 favourable; Effie was married — made, according to the common 
 phrase, an honest woman — that was one main point ; it seemed also ■ 
 as if her husband were about to abandon the path of gross vice, in 
 which he had run so long and so desperately — that was another. 
 For his final and effectual conversion, he did not want understand- 
 ing, and God knew his own hour. 
 
 Such were the thoughts with which Jeanie endeavoured to console . 
 her anxiety respecting her sister's future fortune. On her arrival at 
 the Lodge, she found Archibald in some anxiety at her stay, and 
 about to walk out in quest of her. A headache served as an apology 
 for retiring to rest, in order to conceal her visible agitation of mind . 
 from her companions. 
 
 By this secession also she escaped a scene of a different sort. 
 For, as if there were danger in all gigs, whether by sea or land, 
 that of Knockdunder had been run down by another boat, an acci- 
 dent owing chiefly to the drunkenness of the captain, his crew, and 
 passengers. Knockdunder, and two or three guests, whom he was 
 bringing along with him to finish the conviviality of the evening at 
 the Lodge, got a sound ducking; but, being rescued by the crew of 
 the boat which endangered them, there was no ultimate loss, except- 
 ing that of the Captain's laced hat, which, greatly to the satisfaction, 
 of the Highland part of the district, as well as to the improvement 
 of the conformity of his own personal appearance, he replaced bya. 
 smart Highland bonnet next day. Many were the vehement threats 
 of vengeance which, on the succeeding morning, the gracious Dun- 
 can threw out against the boat which had upset him ; but as neither 
 , she, nor the small smuggling vessel to which she belonged, was any 
 longer to be seen in the Firth, he was compelled to sit down with 
 the affront. This was the more hard, he said, as he was assured, 
 the mischief was done on purpose, these scoundrels having lurkedT 
 
 A A 
 
370 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 about after they had landed every drop of brandy, and every bag of 
 tea they had on board ; and he understood the •coxswain had been 
 on shore, making particular inquiries concerning the time when his 
 boat was to cross over, and to return, and so forth. 
 
 " Put the neist time they meet me on the firth," said Duncan, 
 with great majesty, " I will teach the moonlicht rapscallions and 
 vagabonds to keep their ain side of the road, and pe tamn'd to 
 them ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 Lord ! who would live turmoil'd in a court, 
 And may enjoy such quiet walks as these ? 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Within a reasonable time after Butler was safely and comfort- 
 ably settled in his living, and Jeanie had taken up her abode at 
 Auchingower with her father — the precise extent of which interval 
 we request each reader to settle according to his own sense of what 
 is decent and proper upon the occasion, — and after due proclama- 
 tion of banns, and all other formalities, the long wooing of this 
 worthy pair was ended by their union in the holy bands of matri- 
 mony. On this occasion, David Deans stoutly withstood the 
 iniquities of pipes, fiddles, and promiscuous dancing, to the great 
 wrath of the Captain of Knockdunder, who said, if he "had guessed 
 it was to be sic a tamn'd Quaker's meeting, he wad hae seen them 
 peyont the cairn before he wad hae darkened their doors." 
 
 And so much rancour remained on the spirits of the gracious 
 Duncan upon this occasion, that various "picqueerings," as David 
 called them, took place upon the same and similar topics ; and it 
 was only in consequence of an accidental visit of the Duke to his 
 Lodge at Roseneath, that they were put a stop to. But upon that 
 occasion his Grace showed such particular respect to Mr. and Mrs. 
 Butler, and such favour even to old David, that Knockdunder held 
 it prudent to change his course towards the latter. He, in future, 
 used to express himself among friends, concerning the minister and 
 his wife, as " very worthy decent folk, just a little ower strict in 
 their notions ; put it was pest for thae plack cattle to err on the safe 
 side." And respecting David, he allowed that " he was an excellent 
 judge of nowte and sheep, and a sensible eneugh carle, and it werena 
 for his tamn'd Cameronian nonsense, whilk it is not worth while of 
 a shentleman to knodk out of an auld silly head, either by force of 
 reason or otherwise." So that, by avoiding topics of dispute, the 
 personages of our tale lived in great good habits with the gracious 
 Duncan, only that he still grieved David's soul, and set a perilous 
 example to the congregation, by sometimes bringing his pipe to the 
 church during a cold winter-day, and almost always sleeping during 
 sermon in the summer-time. 
 
 Mrs. Butler, whom we must no longer, if we can help it, term by 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 371 
 
 the familiar name of Jeanie, brought into the married state the same 
 firm mind and affectionate disposition — the same natural and 
 homely good sense, and spirit of useful exertion — in a word, all the 
 domestic good qualities, of which she had given proof during her 
 maiden life. She did not indeed rival Butler in learning ; but then 
 no woman more devoutly venerated the extent of her husband's 
 erudition. She did not pretend to understand his expositions of 
 divinity ; but no minister of the presbytery had his humble dinner 
 so well arranged, his clothes and linen in equal good order, his 
 fireside so neatly swept, his parlour so clean, and his books so well 
 dusted. 
 
 If he talked to Jeanie of what she did not understand, — and (for 
 the man was mortal, and had been a schoolmaster) he sometimes 
 did harangue more scholarly and wisely than was necessary, — she 
 listened in placid silence ; and whenever the point referred to 
 common life, and was such as came under the grasp of a strong 
 natural understanding, her views were more forcible, and her ob- 
 servations more acute, than his own. In acquired politeness of 
 manners, when it happened that she mingled a little in society, 
 Mrs. Butler was, of course, judged deficient. But then she had 
 that obvious wish to oblige, and that real and natural good breed- 
 ing depending on good sense and good humour, which, joined to a 
 considerable degree of archness and liveliness of manner, rendered 
 her behaviour acceptable to all with whom she was called upon to 
 associate. Notwithstanding her strict attention to all domestic affairs, 
 she always appeared the clean well-dressed mistress of the house, 
 never the sordid household drudge. When complimented on this 
 occasion by Duncan Knock, who swore, " that he thoucht the fairies 
 must help her; since her house was always clean, and naebody ever 
 saw onybody sweeping it," she modestly replied, "That much 
 might be dune by timing ane's turns." 
 
 Duncan replied, " He heartily wished she could teach that art to 
 the huzzies at the Lodge, for he could never discover that the house 
 was washed at a', except now and then by breaking his shins over 
 the pail — Cot tamn the jauds ! " 
 
 Of lesser matters there is not occasion to speak much. It may 
 easily be believed that the Duke's cheese was carefully made, and 
 so graciously accepted, that the offering became annual. Remem- 
 brances and acknowledgments of past favours were sent to Mrs. 
 Bickerton and Mrs. Glass, and an amicable intercourse maintained 
 from time to time with these two respectable and benevolent 
 persons. 
 
 , It is especially necessary to mention, that, in the course of five 
 years, Mrs. Butler had three children, two boys and a girl, all stout 
 healthy babes of grace, fair-haired, blue-eyed, and strong-limbed. 
 The boys were named David and Reuben, an order of nomencla- 
 ture which was much to the satisfaction of the old hero of the 
 Covenant, and the girl, by her mother's special desire, was chris- 
 tened Euphemia, rather contrary to the wish both of her father and 
 husband, who nevertheless loved Mrs. Butler too well, and were too 
 much indebted to her for their hours of happiness, to withstand 
 
 a a 2 
 
372 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 any request which she made with earnestness, and as a gratification 
 to herself. But from some feelirig, I know not of what kind, the 
 child was never distinguished by the name of Effie, but by the ab- 
 breviation of Femie, which in Scotland is equally commonly ap- 
 plied to persons called Euphemia. 
 
 In this state of quiet and unostentatious enjoyment, there were, 
 besides the ordinary rubs and ruffles which disturb even the most 
 uniform life, two things which particularly chequered Mrs. Butler's 
 happiness. " Without these," she said to our informer, " her life 
 would have been but too happy ; and perhaps," she added, " she 
 had need of some crosses in this world to remind her that there 
 was a better to come behind it." 
 
 The first of these related to certain polemical skirmishes betwixt 
 her father and her husband, which, notwithstanding the mutual 
 respect and affection they entertained for each other, and their 
 great love for her, — notwithstanding also their general agreement 
 in strictness, and even severity, of presbyterian principle, — often 
 threatened unpleasant weather between them. David Deans, as 
 our readers must be aware, was sufficiently opinionative and intract- 
 able, and having prevailed on himself to become a member of a 
 kirk-session under the established church, he felt doubly obliged to- 
 evince, that, in so doing, he had not compromised any whit of his 
 former professions, either in practice or principle. Now Mr. Butler, 
 doing all credit to his father-in-law's motives, was frequently of 
 opinion that it were better to drop out of memory points of divi- 
 sion and separation, and to act in the manner most likely to attract 
 and unite all parties "who were serious in religion. Moreover, he 
 was not pleased, as a man and a scholar, to be always dictated to 
 by his unlettered father-in-law ; and as a clergyman, he did not 
 think it fit to seem for ever under the thumb of an elder of his own 
 kirk-session. A proud but honest thought carried his opposition 
 now and then a little farther than it would otherwise have gone. 
 " My brethren," he said, " will suppose I am flattering and con- 
 ciliating the old man for the sake of his succession, if I defer and 
 give way to him on every occasion ; and, besides, there are many 
 on which I neither can nor will conscientiously yield to his notions. 
 I cannot be persecuting old women for witches, or ferreting out 
 matter of scandal among the young ones, which might otherwise 
 have remained concealed." 
 
 From this difference of opinion it happened, that, in many cases 
 of nicety, such as in owning certain defections, and failing to testify 
 against certain backslidings of the time, in not always severely 
 tracing forth little matters of scandal and fama clamosa, which 
 David called a loosening of the reins of discipline, and in failing 
 to demand clear testimonies in other points of controversy which 
 had, as it were, drifted to leeward with the change of times, Butler 
 incurred the censure of his father-in-law ; and sometimes the dis- 
 putes betwixt them became eager and almost unfriendly. In all 
 such cases Mrs. Butler was a mediating spirit, who endeavoured, 
 by the alkaline smoothness of her own disposition, to neutralize 
 the acidity of theological controversy. To the complaints of both 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 373 
 
 she lent an unprejudiced and attentive ear, and sought always 
 rather to excuse than absolutely to defend the other party. 
 
 She reminded her father that Butler had not " his experience of 
 the auld and wrastling times, when folk were gifted wi' a far look 
 into eternity, to mak up for the oppressions whilk they suffered 
 here below in time. She freely allowed that many devout ministers 
 and professors in times past had enjoyed downright revelation, like 
 the blessed Peden, and Lundie, and Cameron, and Renwick, and 
 John Caird the tinkler, wha entered into the secrets, and Elizabeth 
 Melvil, Lady Culross, wha prayed in her bed, surrounded by a great 
 many Christians in a large room, in whilk it was placed on pur- 
 pose, and that for three hours' time, with wonderful assistance ; and 
 Lady Robertland, whilk got six sure outgates of grace, and mony, 
 other in times past ; and of a specialty, Mr. John Scrimgeour, mi- 
 nister of Kinghorn, who, having a beloved child sick to death of 
 the crewels, was free to expostulate with his Maker with such im- 
 patience of displeasure, and complaining so bitterly, that at length 
 it was said unto him, that he was heard for this time, but that he 
 was requested to use no such boldness in time coming ; so that, 
 when he returned he found the child sitting up in the bed hale and 
 fair, with all its wounds closed, and supping its parritch, whilk 
 babe he had left at the time of death. But though these things 
 might be true in these needful times, she contended that those mi- 
 nisters who had not seen such vouchsafed and especial mercies, 
 were to seek their rule in the records of ancient times ; and there- 
 fore Reuben was carefu' both to "search the Scriptures and the 
 books written by wise and good men of old ; and sometimes in this 
 way it wad happen that twa precious saints might pu' sundry wise, 
 like twa cows riving at the same hay-band." 
 
 To this David used to reply, with a sigh, "Ah, hinny, thou 
 kenn'st little o't ; but that saam John Scrimgeour, that blew open 
 the gates of heaven as an it had been wi' a six-pund cannon-ball, 
 used devoutly to wish that most part of books were burnt, except 
 the Bible. Reuben's a gude lad and a kind — I have aye allowed 
 that ; but as to his not allowing inquiry anent the scandal of Mar- 
 gery Kittlesides and Rory MacRand, under pretence that they 
 have southered sin wi' marriage, it's clear agane the Christian dis- 
 cipline o' the kirk. And then there's Aily MacClure of Deep- 
 heugh, that practises her abominations, spaeing folks' fortunes wi' 
 egg-shells, and mutton-banes, and dreams and divinations, whilk is 
 a scandal to ony Christian land to suffer sic a wretch to live ; and 
 I'll uphaud that, in a' judicatures, civil or ecclesiastical." 
 
 " I dare say ye are very richt, father," was the general style of 
 Jeanie's answer ; " but ye maun come doun to the Manse to your 
 ■dinner the day. The bits o' bairns, puir things, are wearying to see 
 their luckie-dad ; and Reuben never sleeps weel, nor I neither, 
 when you and he hae had ony bit outcast." 
 
 " Nae outcast, Jeanie ; God forbid I suld cast out wi' thee, or 
 aught that is dear to thee ! " And he put on his Sunday's coat, 
 and came to the Manse accordingly. 
 
 With her husband, Mrs. Butler had a more direct conciliatory 
 
374 THE HEART OF MID-LOTIIIAN. 
 
 process. Reuben had the utmost respect for the old man's 
 motives, and affection for his person, as well as gratitude for his 
 early friendship. So that, upon any such occasion of accidental 
 irritation, it was only necessary to remind him with delicacy of his 
 father-in-law's age, of his scanty education, strong prejudices, and 
 family distresses. The least of these considerations always inclined 
 Butler to measures of conciliation, in so far as he could accede to 
 them without compromising principle ; and thus our simple and 
 unpretending heroine had the merit of those peacemakers, to whom 
 it is pronounced as a benediction, that they shall inherit the' 
 earth. 
 
 The second crook in Mrs. Butler's lot, to use the language of her 
 father, was the distressing circumstance, that she had never heard 
 of her sister's safety, or of the circumstances in which she found 
 herself, though betwixt four and five years had elapsed since they 
 had parted on the beach of the island of Roseneath. Frequent in- 
 tercourse was not to be expected — not to be desired, perhaps, in 
 their relative situations ; but Effie had promised, that, if she lived 
 and prospered, her sister should hear from her. She must then be 
 no more, or sunk into some abyss of misery, since she had never 
 redeemed her pledge. Her silence seemed strange and portentous, 
 and wrung from Jeanie, who could never forget the early years of 
 their intimacy, the most painful anticipation concerning her fate. 
 At length, however, the veil was drawn aside. 
 
 One day, as the Captain of Knockdunder had called in at the 
 Manse, on his return from some business in the Highland part of 
 the parish, and had been accommodated, according to his special 
 request, with a mixture of milk, brandy, honey, and water, which 
 he said Mrs. Butler compounded " petter than ever a woman in 
 Scotland," — for, in all innocent matters, she studied the taste of 
 every one around her, — he said to Butler, " Py the py, minister, I 
 have a letter here either for your canny pody of a wife or you, 
 which I got when I was last at Glasco ; the postage comes to four- 
 pence, which you may either pay me forthwith, or give me tooble 
 or quits in a hit at packcammon." 
 
 The playing at backgammon and draughts had been a frequent 
 amusement of Mr. Whackbairn, Butler's principal, when at Lib- 
 berton school. The minister, therefore, still piqued himself on his 
 skill at both games, and occasionally practised them, as strictly 
 canonical, although David Deans, whose notions of every kind 
 were more rigorous, used to shake his head, and groan grievously, 
 when he espied the tables lying in the parlour, or the children 
 playing with the dice-boxes or backgammon men. Indeed, Mrs. 
 Butler was sometimes chidden for removing these implements of 
 pastime into some closet or corner out of sight. " Let them be 
 where they are, Jeanie," would Butler say upon such occasions ; 
 " I am not conscious of following this, or any other trifling relaxa- 
 tion, to the interruption of my more serious studies, and still more 
 serious duties. I will not, therefore, have it supposed that I am 
 indulging by stealth, and against my conscience, in an amusement 
 which, using it so little as I do, 1 may well practise openly, and 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 37S 
 
 without any check of mind — Nil conscire sibi, Jeanie, that is my 
 motto ; which signifies, my love, the honest and open confidence 
 which a man ought to entertain when he is acting openly, a"nd 
 without any sense of doing wrong." 
 
 Such being Butler's humour, he accepted the Captain's defiance 
 to a two-penny hit at backgammon, and handed the letter to his 
 wife, observing the post-mark was York, but, if it came from her 
 friend Mrs. Bickerton, she had considerably improved her hand- ■ 
 writing, which was uncommon at her years. 
 
 Leaving the gentlemen to their game, Mrs. Butler went to order 
 something for supper, for Captain Duncan had proposed kindly to 
 stay the night with them, and then carelessly broke open her letter. 
 It was not from Mrs. Bickerton, and, after glancing over the first 
 few lines, she soon found it necessary to retire to her own bedroom, 
 to read the document at leisure. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 Happy thou art ! then happy be, nor envy me my lot ; 
 Thy happy state I envy thee, and peaceful cot. 
 
 Lady C — C — l. 
 
 The letter, which- Mrs. Butler, when retired into her own apart- 
 ment, perused with anxious wonder, was certainly from Effie, 
 although it had no other signature than the letter E. ; and although 
 the orthography, style, and penmanship were very far superior not 
 only to anything which Effie could produce, who, though a lively 
 girl, had been a remarkably careless scholar, but even to her more 
 considerate sister's own powers of composition and expression. 
 The manuscript was a fair Italian hand, though something stiff 
 and constrained — the spelling and the diction that of a person who 
 had been accustomed to read good composition, and mix in good 
 society. 
 
 The tenor of the letter was as follows : 
 
 "My dearest Sister, 
 " At many risks I venture to write to you, to inform you that I 
 am still alive, and, as to worldly situation, that I rank higher than 
 I could expect or merit. If wealth, and distinction, and an honour- 
 able rank, could make a woman happy, I have them all ; but you, 
 Jeanie, whom the world might think placed far beneath me in all 
 these respects, are far happier than I am. I have had means of 
 hearing of your welfare, my dearest Jeanie, from time to time — I 
 think I should have broken my heart otherwise. I have learned 
 with great pleasure of' your increasing family. We have not been 
 worthy of such a blessing ; two infants h^ve been successively 
 removed, and we are now childless — God's will be done ! But, if 
 we had a child, it would perhaps divert him from the gloomy 
 thoughts which make him terrible to himself and others. Yet do 
 
376 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 •not let me frighten you, Jeanie ; he continues to be kind, and I am 
 far better off than I deserve. You will wonder at my better scholar- 
 ship ; but when I was abroad, I had the best teachers, and I worked 
 hard, because my progress pleased him. He is kind, Jeanie, only 
 he has much to distress him, especially when he looks backward. 
 When I look backward myself, I have always a ray of comfort ; it 
 is in the generous conduct of a sister, who forsook me not when I 
 was forsaken by every one. You have had your reward. You live 
 happy in the esteem and love of all who know you, and I drag on 
 the life of a miserable impostor, indebted for the marks of regard I 
 i receive to a tissue of deceit and lies, which the slightest accident 
 may unravel. He has produced me to his friends, since the estate 
 •opened to him, as the daughter of a Scotchman of rank, banished 
 ■on account of the Viscount of Dundee's wars — that is, our Fr's.old 
 friend Clavers, you know — and he says I was educated in a Scotch 
 convent ; indeed, I lived in such a place long enough to enable me 
 to support the character. But when a countryman approaches me, 
 and begins to talk, as they all do, of the various families engaged 
 in Dundee's affair, and to make inquiries into my connections, and 
 ■when I see his eye bent on mine with such an expression of agony, 
 my terror brings me to the very risk of detection. Good-nature 
 and politeness have hitherto saved me, as they prevented people 
 from pressing on me with distressing questions. But how long — O 
 how long, will this be the case ! — And if I bring this disgrace on 
 .him, he will hate me — he will kill me, for as much as he loves me ; 
 he is as jealous of his family honour now, as ever he was careless 
 . about it. I have been in England four months, and have often 
 thought of writing to you ; and yet, such are the dangers that 
 might arise from an intercepted letter, that I have hitherto for- 
 borne. But now I am obliged to run the risk. Last week I saw 
 your great friend, the D. of A. He came to my box, and sat by 
 me ; and something in the play put him in mind of you — Gracious 
 Heaven ! he told over your whole London journey to all who were 
 in the box, but particularly to the wretched creature who was the 
 occasion of it all. If he had known — if he could have conceived, 
 beside whom he was sitting, and to whom the stoiy was told ! — I 
 suffered with courage, like an Indian at the stake, while they are 
 rending his fibres and boring his eyes, and while he smiles applause 
 at each well-imagined contrivance of his torturers. It was too 
 ■much for me at last, Jeanie — I fainted ; and my agony was imputed 
 partly to the heat of the place, and partly to my extreme sensibility; 
 and, hypocrite all over, I encouraged both opinions — anything but 
 ••discovery ! Luckily he was not there. But the incident has more 
 alarms. I am obliged to meet your great man often ; and he 
 'Seldom sees me without talking of E. D. and J. D., and R. B. and 
 ; D. D., as persons in whom my amiable sensibility is interested. 
 My amiable sensibility ! ! ! — And then the cruel tone of light indif- 
 ference with which persons in the fashionable world speak together 
 on the most affecting subjects ! To hear my guilt, my folly, my 
 agony, the foibles and weaknesses of my friends — even your heroic 
 -exertions, Jeanie, spoken of in the drolling style which is the present 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 377 
 
 tone in fashionable life— Scarce all that I formerly endured is 
 equal to this state of irritation— then it was blows and stabs— now 
 it is pricking to death with needles and pins.— He— I mean the D. 
 —goes down next month to spend the shooting-season in Scotland 
 — he says, he makes a point of always dining one day at the 
 Manse — be on your guard, and do not betray yourself, should he 
 mention me — Yourself, alas ! you have nothing to betray — nothing 
 to fear ; you, the pure, the virtuous, the heroine of unstained faith, 
 unblemished purity, what can you have to fear from the world or 
 its proudest minions ? It is E. whose life is once more in your 
 hands — it is E. whom you are to save from being plucked of her 
 borrowed plumes, discovered, branded, and trodden down, first by 
 him, perhaps, who has raised her to this dizzy pinnacle ! — The 
 enclosure will reach you twice a year — do not refuse it — it is out of 
 my own allowance, and may be twice as much when you want it. 
 With you it may do good — with me it never can. 
 
 " Write to me soon, Jeanie, or I shall remain in the agonising 
 apprehension that this has fallen into wrong hands — Address 
 simply to L. S., under cover, to the Reverend George Whiterose, in 
 the Minster-Close, York. He thinks I correspond with some of 
 my noble Jacobite relations who are in Scotland. How high-church 
 and jacobitical zeal would burn in his cheeks, if he knew he was 
 the agent, not of Euphemia Setoun, of the honourable house of 
 Winton, but of E. D., daughter of a Cameronian cowfeeder ! — 
 Jeanie, I can laugh yet sometimes — but God protect you from such 
 mirth. — My father — I mean your father, would say it was like the 
 idle crackling of thorns ; but the thorns keep their poignancy, they 
 remain unconsumed. — Farewell, my dearest Jeanie — Do not show 
 this even to Mr. Butler, much less to any one else — I have every 
 respect for him, but his principles are over strict, and my case will 
 not endure severe handling. — I rest your affectionate sister, E." 
 
 Tn this long letter there was much to surprise as well as to dis- 
 tress Mrs. Butler. That Effie — her sister Effie, should be mingling' 
 freely in society, and apparently on not unequal terms, with the 
 Duke of Argyle, sounded like something so extraordinary, that she 
 even doubted if she read truly. No* was it less marvellous, that, 
 in the space of four years, her education should have made such 
 progress. Jeanie's humility readily allowed that Effie had always, 
 when she chose it, been smarter at her book than she herself was, 
 but then she was very idle, and, upon the whole, had made much 
 less proficiency. Love, or fear, or necessity, however, had proved 
 an able school-mistress, and completely supplied all her defi- 
 ciencies. 
 
 What Jeanie least liked in the tone of the letter, was a smothered 
 degree of egotism. " We should have heard little about her," said 
 Jeanie to herself, " but that she was feared the Duke might come 
 to learn wha she was, and a' about her puir friends here ; but Effie, 
 puir thing, aye looks her ain way, and folk that do that think mair 
 o' themselves than o' their neighbours. — I am no clear about keep- 
 ' ing her siller," she added, taking up a £$o note which had fallen 
 
378 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 out of the paper to the floor. " We hae eneugh, and it looks unco 
 like theftboot, or hush-money, as they ca't it ; she micht hae been 
 sure that I wad say naethmg wad harm her for a' the gowd in 
 Lunnon. And I maun tell the minister aboot it. I dinna see that 
 she suld be sae feared for her ain bonny bargain o' a gudeman, and 
 that I shouldna reverence Mr. Butler just as much ; and sae I'll 
 e'en tell him, when that tippling body the Captain has ta'en boat in 
 
 the morning. But I wonder at my ain state of mind," she added, 
 
 turning back, after she had made a step or two to the door to join 
 the gentlemen ; " surely I am no sic a fule as to be angry that 
 Efne's a braw lady, while I am only a minister's wife ? — and yet I 
 am as petted as a bairn, when I should bless God, that has re- 
 deemed her from shame, and poverty, and guilt, as ower likely she 
 micht hae been plunged into." , 
 
 Sitting down upon a stool at the foot of the bed, she folded her 
 arms upon her bosom, saying within herself, " From this place will 
 I not rise till I am in a better frame of mind ; " and so placed, by 
 dint of tearing the veil from the motives of her little temporary 
 spleen against her sister, she compelled herself to be ashamed of 
 them, and to view as blessings the advantages of her sister's lot, 
 while its embarrassments were the necessary consequences of 
 errors long since committed. And thus she fairly vanquished" the 
 feeling of pique which she naturally enough entertained, at seeing 
 Effie, so long the object of her care and her pity, soar suddenly so 
 high above her in life, as to reckon amongst the chief objects of 
 her apprehension the risk of their relationship being discovered. 
 
 When this unwonted burst of amour prof re was thoroughly sub- 
 dued, she walked down to the little parlour where the gentlemen 
 were finishing their game, and heard from the Captain a confirma- 
 tion of the news intimated in her letter, that the Duke of Argyle 
 was shortly expected at Roseneath. 
 
 " He'll find plenty of moor-fowls and plack-cock on the moors of 
 Auchingower, and he'll pe nae doot for takin a late dinner, and a 
 ped at the Manse, as he has dune pefore noo." 
 
 " He has a gude richt, Captain," said Jeanie. 
 
 " Teil ane petter to ony ped in the kintra," answered the Captain. 
 " And ye had petter tell your father, puir body, to get his beasts a' 
 in order, and put his tamn'd Cameronian nonsense out o' his head 
 for twa or three days, if he can pe so opliging ; for fan I speak to 
 him apout prute pestial, he answers me out o' the Pible, whilk is 
 not using a shentleman weel, unless it be a person of your cloth, 
 Mr. Putler." 
 
 No one understood better than Jeanie the merit of the soft 
 answer, which turneth away wrath ; and she only smiled, and 
 hoped that his Grace would find everything that was under her 
 father's care to his entire satisfaction. 
 
 But the Captain, who had lost the whole postage of the letter at 
 backgammon, was in the pouting mood not unusual to losers, and 
 which, says the proverb, must be allowed to them. 
 
 " And, Master Putler, tho' you know I never meddle with the 
 things of your kirk-sessions, yet I must pe allowed to say that I 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 379 
 
 will not be pleased to allow Ailie MacClure of Deepheugh to be 
 poonished as a witch, in respect she only spaes fortunes, and does 
 not lame, or plind, or pedevil any persons, or coup cadgers' carts, 
 or ony sort of mischief ; put only tells people good fortunes, as 
 anent ourpoats killing so many seals and doug-fishes, whilk is very 
 pleasant to hear." 
 
 " The woman," said Butler, " is, I believe, no witch, but a cheat ; 
 and it is only on that head that she is summoned to the kirk- 
 session, to cause her to desist in future from practising her impos- 
 tures upon ignorant persons." 
 
 "I do not know," replied the gracious Duncan, "what her 
 practices or postures are, put I pelieve that if the poys tak hould 
 on her to duck her in the Clachan purn, it will be a very sorry 
 practice — and I pelieve, moreover, that if I come in thirds-man 
 among you at the kirk-sessions, you will be all in a tamm'd pad 
 posture indeed." 
 
 Without noticing this threat, Mr. Butler replied, " That he had 
 not attended to the risk of ill usage which the poor woman might 
 undergo at the hands of the rabble, and that he would give her the 
 necessary admonition in private, instead of bringing her before the 
 assembled session." 
 
 " This," Duncan said, " was speaking like a reasonable shentle- 
 man ; " and so the evening passed peaceably off. 
 
 Next morning, after the Captain had swallowed his morning 
 draught of Athole brose, and departed in his coach and six, Mrs. 
 Butler anew deliberated upon communicating to her husband her 
 sister's letter. But she was deterred by the recollection, that, in 
 doing so, she would unveil to him the whole of a dreadful secret, of 
 which, perhaps, his public character might render him an unfit 
 depositary. Butler already had reason to believe that Effie had 
 eloped with that same Robertson who had been a leader in the 
 Porteous mob, and who lay under sentence of death for the robbery 
 at Kirkaldy. But he did not know his identity with George 
 Staunton, a man of birth and fortune, who had now apparently 
 reassumed his natural rank in society. Jeanie had respected 
 Staunton's own confession as sacred, and upon reflection she con- 
 sidered the letter of her sister as equally so, and resolved to mention 
 the contents to no one. 
 
 On reperusing the letter, she could not help observing the stag- 
 gering and unsatisfactory condition of those who have risen to dis- 
 tinction by undue paths, and the outworks and bulwarks of fiction 
 and falsehood by which they are under the necessity of surround- 
 ing and defending their precarious advantages. But she was not 
 called upon, she thought, to unveil her sister's original history — it 
 would restore no right to any one, for she was usurping none — it 
 would only destroy her happiness, and degrade her in the public 
 estimation. Had she been wise, Jeanie thought she would have 
 chosen seclusion and privacy, in place of public life and gaiety; but 
 the power of choice might not be hers. The money, she thought, 
 could not be returned without her seeming haughty and unkind. 
 She resolved, therefore, upon reconsidering this point, to employ it 
 
38o THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 as occasion should serve, either in educating her children better 
 than her own means could compass, or for their future portion. 
 Her sister had enough, was strongly bound to assist Jeanie by any 
 means in her power, and the arrangement was so natural and 
 proper, that it ought not to be declined out of fastidious or romantic 
 delicacy. Jeanie accordingly wrote to her sister, acknowledging 
 her letter, and requesting to hear from her as often as she could. 
 In entering into her own little details of news, chiefly respecting 
 domestic affairs, she experienced a singular vacillation of ideas ; for 
 sometimes she apologized for mentioning things unworthy the notice 
 of a lady of rank, and then recollected that everything which con- 
 cerned her should be interesting to Erne. Her letter, under the 
 cover of Mr. Whiterose, she committed to the post-office at Glas- 
 gow, by the intervention of a parishioner who had business at that 
 city. 
 
 The next week brought the Duke to Roseneath, and shortly 
 afterwards he intimated his intention of sporting in their neighbour- 
 hood, and taking his bed at the Manse ; an honour which he had 
 once or twice done to its inmates on former occasions. 
 
 Effie proved to be perfectly right in her anticipations. The Duke 
 had hardly set himself down at Mrs. Butler's right hand, and taken 
 upon himself the task of carving the excellent " barn-door chucky," 
 which had been selected as the high dish upon this honourable 
 occasion, before he began to speak of Lady Staunton of Willing- 
 ham, in Lincolnshire, and the great noise which her wit and beauty 
 made in London. For much of this Jeanie was, in some measure, 
 prepared — but Effie's wit ! that would never have entered into her 
 imagination, being ignorant how exactly raillery in the higher rank 
 resembles flippancy among their inferiors. 
 
 " She has been the ruling belle — the blazing star — the universal 
 toast of the winter," said the Duke ; " and is really the most beau- 
 tiful creature that was seen at court upon the birth-day." 
 
 The birth-day ! and at court ! — Jeanie was annihilated, remem- 
 bering well her own presentation, all its extraordinary circum- 
 stances, and particularly the cause of it. 
 
 " I mention this lady particularly to you, Mrs. Butler," said the 
 Duke, " because she has something in the sound of her voice, and 
 cast of her countenance, that reminded me of you — not when you 
 look so pale though — you have over-fatigued yourself — you must 
 pledge me in a glass of wine." 
 
 She did so, and Butler observed, " It was dangerous flattery in 
 his Grace to tell a poor minister's wife, that she was like a court- 
 beauty." 
 
 " Oho ! Mr. Butler," said the Duke, " I find you are growing 
 jealous ; but it's rather too late in the day, for you know how long 
 I have admired your wife. But seriously, there is betwixt them 
 one of these inexplicable likenesses which we see in countenances, 
 that do not otherwise resemble each other." 
 
 " The perilous part of the compliment has flown off," thought Mr. 
 Butler. 
 
 His wife,'feeling the awkwardness of silence, forced herself to 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 3 81 
 
 say, " That, perhaps, the lady might be her countrywoman, and the 
 language might have made some resemblance." 
 
 "You are quite right," replied the Duke. "She is a Scotch- 
 woman, and speaks with a Scotch accent, and now and then a pro- 
 vincial word drops out so prettily, that it is quite Doric, Mr. 
 Butler." 
 
 " I should have thought," said the clergyman, " that would have 
 sounded vulgar in the great city." 
 
 " Not at all," replied the Duke ; " you must suppose it is not the 
 broad coarse Scotch that is spoken in the Cowgate of Edinburgh, 
 or in the Gorbals. This lady has been very little in Scotland, in 
 fact — She was educated in a convent abroad, and speaks that pure 
 court-Scotch, which was common in my younger days ; but it is so 
 generally disused now, that it sounds like a different dialect, 
 entirely distinct from our modern pa tots." 
 
 Notwithstanding her anxiety, Jeanie could not help admiring 
 within herself, how the most correct judges of life and manners can 
 be imposed on by their own preconceptions, while the Duke pro- 
 ceeded thus : " She is of the unfortunate house of Winton, I 
 believe ; but, being bred abroad, she had missed the opportunity 
 of learning her own pedigree, and was obliged to me for informing' 
 her, that she must certainly come of the Setons of Windygoul. I 
 wish you could have seen how prettily she blushed at her own igno- 
 rance. Amidst her noble and elegant manners, there is now and 
 then a little touch of bashfulness and conventual rusticity, if I may 
 call it so, that makes her quite enchanting. You see at once the 
 rose that, had bloomed untouched amid the chaste precincts of 
 the cloister, Mr. Butler." 
 
 True to the hint, Mr. Butler failed not to start with his 
 
 ""Ut flos in septis secretus nascitur hortis," &c, 
 
 while his Wife could hardly persuade herself that all this was spoken 
 of Effie Deans, and by so competent a judge as the Duke of Argyle ; 
 and had she been acquainted with Catullus, would have thought 
 the fortunes of her' sister had reversed the whole passage. 
 
 She was, however, determined to obtain some indemnification for~ 
 the anxious feelings of the moment, by gaining all the intelligence 
 she could ; and therefore ventured to make some inquiry about the 
 husband of the lady his Grace admired so much. 
 
 "He is very rich," replied the Duke ; " of an ancient family, and 
 has good manners ; but he is far from being such a general favourite 
 as his wife. Some people say he can be very pleasant — I never 
 saw him so "but should rather judge him reserved, and gloomy, and 
 capricious. He was very wild in his youth, they say, and has bad 
 health ; yet he is a good-looking man enough — a great friend of 
 your Lord High Commissioner of the Kirk, Mr. Butler." 
 
 " Then he is the friend of a very worthy and honourable noble- 
 man," said Butler. 
 
 "Does- he admire his lady as much as other people do?" said 
 Jeanie, in a low voice. 
 
 " Who— Sir George ? They say he is very fond of her," said the 
 
382 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 Duke ; "but I observe she trembles a little when he fixes his eye on 
 her, and that is no good sign — But it is strange how I am haunted 
 by this resemblance of yours to Lady Staunton, in look and tone of 
 voice. One would almost swear you were sisters." 
 
 Jeanie's distress became uncontrollable, and beyond conceal- 
 ment. The Duke of Argyle was much disturbed, good-naturedly 
 ascribing it to his having unwittingly recalled to her remembrance 
 her family misfortunes. He was too well-bred to attempt to apolo- 
 gize ; but hastened to change the subject, and arrange certain 
 points of dispute which had occurred betwixt Duncan of Knock 
 and the minister, acknowledging that his worthy substitute was 
 sometimes a little too obstinate, as well as too energetic, in his 
 executive measures. 
 
 Mr. Butler admitted his general merits ; but said, " He would 
 presume to apply to the worthy gentleman the words of the poet to 
 Marrucinus Asinius, 
 
 ' Manu 
 
 Non belle uteris in joco atque vino.' " 
 
 The discourse being thus turned on parish-business, nothing 
 further occurred that can interest the reader. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown, 
 
 And put a barren sceptre in my gripe, 
 
 Thence to be wrench'd by an unlineai hand, 
 
 No son of mine succeeding. Macbeth. 
 
 After this period, but under the most strict precautions against 
 discovery, the sisters corresponded occasionally, exchanging letters 
 about twice every year. Those of Lady Staunton spoke of her 
 husband's health and spirits as being deplorably uncertain ; her own 
 seemed also to be sinking, and one of the topics on which she most 
 frequently dwelt was their want of family. Sir George Staunton, 
 always violent, had taken some aversion at the next heir, whom he 
 suspected of having irritated his friends against him during his 
 absence; and he declared, he would bequeath Willingham and all 
 its lands to an hospital, ere that fetch-and-carry tell-tale should in- 
 herit an acre of it. 
 
 " Had he but a child," said the unfortunate wife, " or had that 
 luckless infant survived, it would be some motive for living and for 
 exertion. But Heaven has denied us a blessing which we have not 
 deserved." 
 
 Such complaints, in varied form, but turning frequently on the 
 same topic, filled the letters which passed from the spacious but 
 melancholy halls of Willingham, to the quiet and happy parsonage 
 of Knocktarlitie. Years meanwhile rolled on amid these fruitless 
 repinings. John, Duke of Argyle and Greenwich, died in the year 
 1743, universally lamented, but by none more than by the Butlers, 
 
, THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 3 8 3 
 
 to whom his benevolence had been so distinguished. He was suc- 
 ceeded by his brother Duke Archibald, with whom they had not the 
 same intimacy ; but who continued the protection which his brother 
 had extended towards them. This, indeed, became more necessary 
 than ever ; for, after the breaking out and suppression of the rebel- 
 lion in 1745, the peace of the country, adjacent to the Highlands, 
 was considerably disturbed. Marauders, or men that had been 
 driven to that desperate mode of life, quartered themselves in the 
 fastnesses nearest to the Lowlands, which were their scene of 
 plunder ; and there is scarce a glen in the romantic and now peace- 
 able Highlands of Perth, Stirling, and Dumbartonshire, where one 
 or more did not take up their residence. 
 
 The prime pest of the parish of Knocktarlitie was a certain 
 Donacha dhu na Dunaigh, or Black Duncan the Mischievous, 
 whom we have already casually mentioned. This fellow had been 
 originally a tinkler, or caird, many of whom stroll about these dis- 
 tricts ; but when all police was disorganized by the civil war, he 
 threw up his profession, and from half thief became whole robber ; 
 and being generally at the head of three or four active young fel- 
 lows, and he himself artful, bold, and well acquainted with the 
 passes, he plied his new profession with emolument to himself, and 
 infinite plague to the country. 
 
 All were convinced that Duncan of Knock could have put down 
 his namesake Donacha any morning he had a mind ; for there 
 were in the parish a set of stout young men, who had joined 
 Argyle's banner in the war under his old friend, and behaved very 
 well upon several occasions. And as for their leader, as no one 
 doubted his. courage, it was generally supposed that Donacha had 
 found out the mode of conciliating his favour, a thing not very un- 
 common in that age and country. This was the more readily 
 believed, as Davie Deans's cattle (being the property of the Duke) 
 were left untouched, when the minister's cows were carried off by 
 the thieves. Another attempt was made to renew the same act of 
 rapine, and the cattle were in the act of being driven off, when 
 Butler, laying his profession aside in a case of such necessity, put 
 himself at the head of some of his neighbours, and rescued the creagh, 
 an exploit at which Deans attended in person, notwithstanding his 
 extreme old age, mounted on a Highland pony, and girded with an 
 old broadsword, likening himself (for he failed not to arrogate the 
 whole merit of the expedition) to David, the son of Jesse, when he 
 recovered the spoil of Ziklag from the Amalekites. This spirited 
 behaviour had so far a good effect, that Donacha dhu na Dunaigh 
 kept his distance for some time to come ; and, though his distant 
 exploits were frequently spoken of, he did not exercise any depre- 
 dations in that part of the' country. He continued to flourish, and 
 to be heard of occasionally, until the year 175 1, when, if the fear of 
 the second David had kept him in check, fate released him from 
 that restraint, for the venerable patriarch of St. Leonard's was that 
 year gathered to his fathers. 
 
 David Deans died full of years and of honour. He is believed, 
 for the exact time of his birth is not known, to have lived upwards 
 
384 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 of ninety years ; for he used to speak of events as falling under his 
 own knowledge, which happened about the time of the battle of 
 Bothwell- Bridge. It was said that he even bore arms there ; for 
 once, when a drunken Jacobite laird wished for a Bothwell-Brigg 
 whig, that "he might stow the lugs out of his head," David in- 
 formed him with a peculiar austerity of countenance, that, if he liked 
 to try such a prank, there was one at his elbow ; and it required the 
 interference of Butler to preserve the peace. 
 
 He expired in the arms of his beloved daughter, thankful for all 
 the blessings which Providence had vouchsafed to him while in 
 this valley of strife and toil — and thankful also for the trials he had 
 been visited with ; having found them, he sasid, needful to mortify 
 that spiritual pride and confidence in his own gifts, which was the 
 side on which the wily Enemy did most sorely beset him. He 
 prayed in the most affecting manner for Jeanie, her husband, and 
 her family, and that her affectionate duty to the puir auld man 
 might purchase her length of days here, and happiness hereafter ■; 
 then, in a pathetic petition, too well understood by those who knew 
 his family circumstances, he besought the Shepherd of souls, while 
 gathering his flock, not to forget the little one that had strayed from 
 the fold, and even then might be in the hands of the ravening wolf. 
 — He prayed for the national Jerusalem, that peace might be in her 
 land, and prosperity in her palaces — for the welfare of the honour- 
 able House of Argyle, and for the conversion of Duncan of Knock- 
 dunder. After this he was silent, being exhausted, nor did he again 
 utter anything distinctly. He was heard, indeed, to mutter some- 
 thing about national defections, right-hand extremes, and left-hand 
 fallings off ; but, as May Hettly observed, his head was carried at 
 the time ; and it is probable that these expressions occurred to 
 him merely out of general habit, and that he died in the full spirit 
 of charity with all men. About an hour afterwards he slept in 
 the- Lord. 
 
 Notwithstanding her father's advanced age, his death was a 
 severe shock to Mrs. Butler. Much of her time had been de- 
 dicated to attending to his health and his wishes, and she felt as 
 if part of her business in the world was ended, when the good 
 old man was no more. His wealth, which came nearly to fifteen 
 hundred pounds, in disposable capital, served to raise the fortunes 
 of the family at the Manse. How to dispose of this sum for the 
 best advantage of his family, was matter of anxious consideration 
 to Butler. 
 
 " If we put it on heritable bond, we shall maybe lose the interest ; 
 for there's that bond over Lounsbeck's land, your fathercould neither 
 get principal nor interest for it — If we bring it into the funds, we 
 shall maybe lose the principal and all, as many did in the South 
 Sea scheme. The little estate of Craigsture is in the market — it 
 lies within two miles of the Manse, and Knock says his Grace has 
 no thought to buy it. But they ask .£2500, and they may, for it is 
 worth the money ; and were I to borrow the balance, the creditor 
 might call it up suddenly, or in case of my death my family might 
 be distressed/' 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 3 8 S 
 
 " And so, if we had mair siller, we micht buy that bonny pasture- 
 ground, where the grass comes so early ? " asked Jeanie. 
 
 " Certainly, my dear ; and Knockdunder, who is a good judge, is 
 strongly advising me to it. — To be sure it is his nephew that is 
 selling it." 
 
 " Aweel, Reuben," said Jeanie, " ye maun just look up a text in 
 Scripture, as ye did when ye wanted siller before— just look up 
 a text in the Bible." 
 
 " Ah, Jeanie," said Butler, laughing and pressing her hand at the 
 same time, " the best people in these times can only work miracles 
 once." 
 
 " We will see," said Jeanie composedly ; and going to the closet 
 in which she kept her honey, her sugar, her pots of jelly, her vials 
 of the more ordinary medicines, and which served her, in short, as 
 a sort of store-room, she jangled vials and gallipots, till, from out 
 the darkest nook, well flanked by a triple row of bottles and jars, 
 which she was under the necessity of displacing, she brought 
 a cracked brown can, with a piece of leather tied over the top. 
 Its contents seemed to be written papers, thrust in disorder into 
 this uncommon secretaire. But from among these Jeanie brought 
 an old clasped Bible, which had been David Deans's companion in 
 his earlier wanderings, and which he had given to his daughter 
 when the failure of his eyes had compelled him to use one of a larger 
 print. This she gave to Butler, who had been looking at her motions 
 with some surprise, and desired him to see what that book could do 
 for him. He opened the clasps, and to his astonishment a parcel 
 of L.50 bank-notes dropped out from betwixt the leaves, where they 
 had been separately lodged, and fluttered upon the floor. " I didna 
 think to hae tauld you o' my wealth, Reuben," said his wife, smiling 
 at his surprise, " till on my deathbed, or maybe on some family 
 pinch ; but it wad be better laid out on yon bonny grass-holms, 
 than lying useless here in this auld pigg." 
 
 " How on earth came ye by that siller, Jeanie ? — Why, here is 
 more than a thousand pounds," said Butler, lifting up and counting 
 the notes. 
 
 " If it were ten thousand, it's a' honestly come by," said Jeanie ; 
 " and troth I kenna how muckle there is o't, but it's a' there that 
 ever I got. — And as for how I came by it, Reuben — it's weel come 
 by, and honestly, as I said before — And it's mair folk's secret than 
 mine, or ye wad hae ken'd aboot it lang syne ; and as for ony thing 
 else, I am not free to answer mair questions aboot it, and ye maun 
 just ask me nane." 
 
 "Answer me but one," said Butler. "Is it all freely and in- 
 disputably your own property, to dispose of it as you think fit ? 
 — Is it possible no one has a claim in so large a sum except 
 you ? " 
 
 " It was mine, free to dispose of it as I like," answered Jeanie ; 
 " and I have disposed of it already, for now it is yours, Reuben — 
 You are Bible Butler now, as weel as your forbear, that my puir 
 father had sic an ill will at. Only, if ye like, I wad wish Femie to 
 get a gude share o't when we are gane." 
 
 B B 
 
386 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 " Certainly, it shall be as you choose— But who on earth ever 
 pitched on such a hiding-place for temporal treasures? " 
 
 " That is just ane o' my auld-fashioned gates, as you ca' them, 
 Reuben. I thought if Donacha Dhu was to make an outbreak 
 upon us, the Bible was the last thing in the house he wad meddle 
 wi'— but an ony mair siller should drap in, as it is not unlikely^ I 
 shall e'en pay it ower to you, and ye may lay it oot your ain way." 
 
 " And I positively must not ask you how you have come by all 
 this money ? " said the clergyman. 
 
 " Indeed, Reuben, you must not ; for if you were asking me very 
 sair I wad maybe tell you, and then I am sure I would do wrong." 
 
 " But tell me," said Butler, " is it anything that distresses your 
 own mind ? " 
 
 " There is baith weel'and woe come aye wi' warld's gear, Reuben ; 
 but ye. maun ask me naething mair — This siller binds me to nae- 
 thing, and can never be speered back again." 
 
 " Surely," said Mr. Butler, when he had again counted over the 
 money, as if to assure himself that the notes were real, " there was 
 never man in the world had a wife like mine — a blessing seems to 
 follow her." 
 
 " Never," said Jeanie, " since the enchanted princess in the bairns' 
 fairy tale, that kamed gold nobles out o' the tae side of her haffit 
 locks, and Dutch dollars out o' the tither. But gang away noo, 
 minister, and pit by the siller, and dinna keep the notes wampishing 
 in your han that gate, pr I shall wish them in the brown pigg again, 
 for fear we get a black cast aboot them — we're ower near the hills 
 in these times to be thoucht to hae siller in the hous. And, besides, 
 ye maun gree wi' Knockdunder, that has the selling o' the lans ; 
 and dinna you be simple and let him ken o' this windfa', but keep 
 him to the very lowest penny, as if ye had to borrow siller to mak 
 the price up." 
 
 In the last admonition Jeanie showed distinctly, that, although 
 she did not understand how to secure the money which came into 
 her hands, otherwise than by saving and hoarding it, yet she had 
 some part of her father David's shrewdness, even upon worldly 
 subjects. And Reuben Butler was a prudent man, and went and 
 did even as his wife had advised him. 
 
 The news quickly went abroad into the parish that the minister 
 had bought Craigsture ; and some wished him joy, and some " were 
 sorry it had gane out o' the auld name." However, his clerical 
 brethren, understanding that he was under the necessity of going to 
 Edinburgh about the ensuing Whitsunday to get together David 
 Deans's cash to make up the purchase-money of his new acquisi- 
 tion, took the opportunity to name him their delegate to the General 
 Assembly or Convocation of the Scottish Church, which takes place 
 usually in the latter end of the month of May. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 3«7 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 But who is this ? what thing of sea or land- 
 Female of sex it seems — 
 That so bedeck'd, ornate, and gay, 
 Comes this way sailing ? Milton. 
 
 Not long after the incident of the Bible and the bank notes, 
 Fortune showed that she could surprise Mrs. Butler as well as her 
 husband. The minister, in order to accomplish the various pieces 
 of business, which his unwonted visit to Edinburgh rendered 
 necessary, had been under the necessity of setting out from home 
 in the latter end of the month of February, concluding justly, 
 that he would find the space betwixt his departure and the term of 
 Whitsunday (24th May) short enough for the purpose of bringing 
 forward those various debtors of old David Deans, out of whose 
 purses a considerable part of the price of his new purchase was to 
 be made good. 
 
 Jeanie was thus in the unwonted situation of inhabiting a lonely 
 house, and she felt yet more solitary from the death of the good old 
 man, who used to divide her cares with her husband. Her chil- 
 dren were her principal resource, and to them she paid constant 
 attention. 
 
 It happened, a day or two after Butler's departure, that, while 
 she was engaged in some domestic duties, she heard a dispute 
 among the young folk, which, being maintained with obstinacy, 
 appeared to call for her interference. All came to their natural 
 umpire with their complaints. Femie, not yet ten years old, 
 charged Davie and Reubie with an attempt to take away her book 
 by force ; and David and Reuben replied, the elder, " That it was 
 •not a book for Femie to read," and Reuben, " That it was about 
 a bad woman." 
 
 " Where did you get the book, ye little hempie ? " said Mrs. 
 Butler. " How dare ye touch papa's books when he is away? " 
 
 But the little lady, holding fast a sheet of crumpled paper, de- 
 clared, " It was nane o' papa's books, and May Hettly had taken it 
 off the muckle cheese which cam from Inverara ; " for, as was very 
 natural to suppose, a friendly intercourse, with interchange of 
 mutual civilities, was kept up from time to time between Mrs. Dolly 
 Dutton, now Mrs. MacCorkindale, and her former friends. 
 
 Jeanie took the subject of contention out of the child's hand, to 
 satisfy herself of the propriety of her studies ; but how much was 
 she struck when she read upon the title of the broadside-sheet, 
 "The Last Speech, Confession, and £>ying Words of Margaret 
 MacCraw, or Murdockson, executed on Harabee-hill, near Carlisle, 
 
 the — day of 1737." It was, indeed, one of those papers 
 
 which Archibald had bought at Longtown, when he monopolized 
 the pedlar's stock, which Dolly had thrust into her trunk out of 
 sheer economy. One or two copies, it seems, had remained in her 
 
 b b 3 
 
3 8B THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 repositories at Inveraray, till she chanced to need them in packing 
 a cheese, which, as a very superior production, was sent, in the way 
 of civil challenge, to the dairy at Knocktarlitie. 
 
 The title of this paper, so strangely fallen into the very hands 
 from which, in well-meant respect to her feelings, it had been so 
 long detained, was of itself sufficiently startling ; but the narrative 
 itself was so interesting, that Jeanie, shaking herself loose from the 
 children, ran up stairs to her own apartment, and bolted the door, 
 to peruse it without interruption. 
 
 The narrative, which appeared to have been drawn up, or at 
 least corrected, by the clergyman who attended this unhappy 
 woman, stated the crime for which she suffered to have been " her 
 active part in that atrocious robbery and murder, committed near 
 two years since near Haltwhistle, for which the notorious Frank 
 Levitt was committed for trial at Lancaster assizes. It was sup- 
 posed the evidence of the accomplice Thomas Tuck, commonly 
 called Tyburn Tom, upon which the woman had been convicted, 
 would weigh equally heavy against him ; although many were in- 
 •clined to think it was Tuck himself who had struck the fatal blow, 
 according to the dying statement of Meg Murdockson." 
 
 After a circumstantial account of the crime for which she suf- 
 fered, there was a brief sketch of Margaret's life. It was stated, 
 that she was a Scotchwoman by birth, and married a soldier in the 
 Cameronian regiment — that she long followed the camp, and had 
 doubtless acquired in fields of battle, and similar scenes, that 
 ' ferocity and love of plunder for which she had been afterwards 
 
 ■ distinguished— that her husband, having obtained his discharge, 
 became servant to a beneficed clergyman of high situation and 
 character in Lincolnshire, and that she acquired the confidence 
 and esteem of that honourable family. She had lost this many 
 years after her husband's death, it was stated, in consequence of 
 
 ■ conniving at the irregularities of her daughter with the heir of the 
 family, added to the suspicious circumstances attending the birth 
 of a child, which was strongly suspected to have met with foul 
 play, in order to preserve, if possible, the girl's reputation. After 
 this, she had led a wandering life both in England and Scotland, 
 under colour sometimes of telling fortunes, sometimes of driving a 
 
 -trade in smuggled wares, but, in fact, receiving stolen goods, and 
 occasionally actively joining in the exploits by which they were 
 •obtained. Many of her crimes she had boasted of after convic- 
 tion, and there was one circumstance for which she seemed to feel 
 a mixture of joy and occasional compunction. When she was 
 residing in the suburbs of Edinburgh during the preceding summer, 
 a girl, who had been seduced by one of her confederates, was 
 entrusted to her charge, and in her house delivered of a male 
 infant. Her daughter, whose mind was in a state of derangement 
 ever since she had lost her own child, according to the criminal's 
 account, carried off the poor girl's infant, taking it for her own, of 
 the reality of whose death she at times could not be persuaded. 
 
 Margaret Murdockson stated, that she, for some time, believed 
 her daughter had actually destroyed the infant in her mad fits, and 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 389 
 
 that she gave the father to understand so, but afterwards learned 
 that a female stroller had got it from her. She showed some com- 
 punction at having separated mother and child, especially as the 
 mother had nearly suffered death, being condemned, on the Scotch 
 law, for the supposed murder of her infant. When it was asked 
 what possible interest she could have had in exposing the unfortu- 
 nate girl to suffer for a crime she had not committed, she asked, if 
 they thought she was going to put her own daughter into trouble 
 to save another ? She did not know what the Scotch law would 
 have done to her for carrying the child away. This answer was by 
 no means satisfactory to the clergyman, and he discovered, by 
 close examination, that she had a deep and revengeful hatred 
 against the young person whom she had thus injured. But the 
 paper intimated, that, whatever besides she had communicated upon, 
 this subject, was confided by her in private to the worthy and 
 reverend Archdeacon who had bestowed such particular pains in 
 affording her spiritual assistance. The broadside went on to 
 intimate, that, after her execution, of which the particulars were: 
 given, her daughter, the insane person mentioned more than once,, 
 and who was generally known by the name of Madge Wildfire, 
 had been very ill used by the populace, under the belief that she 
 was a sorceress, and an accomplice in her mother's crimes, and. 
 had been with difficulty rescued by the prompt interference of the 
 police. 
 
 Such (for we omit moral reflections, and all that may seem 
 unnecessary to the explanation of our story) was the tenor of the- 
 broadside. To Mrs. Butler it contained intelligence of the highest 
 importance, since it seemed to afford the most unequivocal proof 
 of her sister's innocence respecting the crime for which she had so- 
 nearly suffered. It is true, neither she, nor her husband, nor even 
 her father, had ever believed her capable of touching her infant 
 with an unkind hand when in possession of her reason ; but there 
 was a darkness on the subject, and what might have happened in; 
 a moment of insanity was dreadful to think upon. Besides, what- 
 ever was their own conviction, they had no means of establishing 
 Erne's innocence to the world, which, according to the tenor of' 
 this fugitive publication, was now at length completely manifested; 
 by the dying confession of the person chiefly interested in con- 
 cealing it. 
 
 After thanking God for a discovery so dear to her feelings, Mrs. 
 Butler began to consider what use she should make of it. To have, 
 shewn it to her husband would have been her first impulse ; but, 
 besides that he was absent from home, and the matter too delicate 
 to be the subject of correspondence by an indifferent penwoman, 
 Mrs. Butler recollected that he was not possessed of the informa- 
 tion necessary to form a judgment upon the occasion ; and that, 
 adhering to the rule which she had considered as most advisable, 
 she had best transmit the information immediately to her sister, 
 and leave her to adjust with her husband the mode in which they- 
 should avail themselves of it. Accordingly, she despatched a 
 special messenger to Glasgow, with a packet, enclosing the Confes- 
 
3EK) THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 sion of Margaret Murdockson, addressed, as usual, under cover, 
 to Mr. Whiterose of York. She expected, with anxiety, an answer, 
 but none arrived in the usual course of post, and she was left to 
 imagine how many various causes might account for Lady Staun- 
 ton's silence. She began to be half sorry that she had parted with 
 the printed paper, both for fear of its having fallen into bad hands, 
 and from the desire of regaining the document, which might be 
 essential to establish her sister's innocence. She was even doubt- 
 ing whether she had not better commit the whole matter to her 
 husband's consideration, when other incidents occurred to divert 
 her purpose. 
 
 Jeanie (she is a favourite, and we beg her pardon for still using 
 the familiar title) had walked down to the sea-side with her 
 children one morning after breakfast, when the boys, whose sight 
 wasmorediscriminating than hers, exclaimed, that " the Captain's ' 
 coach and six was coming right for the shore, with ladies in it." 
 Jeanie instinctively bent her eyes on the approaching boat, and 
 became soon sensible that there were two females in the stern, 
 seated beside the gracious Duncan, who acted as pilot. It was a 
 point of politeness to walk towards the landing-place, in order to 
 receive them, especially as she saw that the Captain of Knock- 
 dunder was upon honour and ceremony. His piper was in the bow 
 of the boat, sending forth music, of which one half sounded the 
 better that the other was drowned by the waves and the breeze. 
 Moreover, he himself had his brigadier wig newly frizzed, his 
 bonnet (he had abjured the cocked-hat) decorated with Saint 
 George's red cross, his uniform mounted as a captain of militia, 
 the Duke's flag with the boar's head displayed — all intimated 
 parade and gala. 
 
 As Mrs. Butler approached the landing-place, she observed the 
 Captain hand the ladies ashore with marks of great attention, and 
 the parties advanced towards her, the Captain a few steps before 
 the two ladies, of whom the taller and elder leaned on the shoulder 
 of the other, who seemed to be an attendant or servant. 
 
 As they met, Duncan, in his best, most important, and deepest 
 tone of Highland civility, "pegged leave to introduce to Mrs. 
 Putler, Lady — eh — eh — I hae forgotten your leddyship's name !" 
 
 " Never mind my name, sir," said the lady ; " I trust Mrs. 
 
 Butler will be at no loss. The Duke's letter" And, as she 
 
 observed Mrs. Butler looked confused, she said again to Duncan 
 something sharply, " Did you not send the letter last night, sir? " 
 
 " In troth and I didna, and I crave your leddyship's pardon ; 
 but you see, matam, I thought it would do as weel to-tay, pecause 
 Mrs. Putler is never taen out o' sorts — never — and the coach was 
 out fishing — and the gig was gane to Greenock for a cag of prandy 
 — and Put here's his Grace's letter." 
 
 " Give it me, sir," said the lady, taking it out of his hand ; 
 " since you have not found it convenient to do me the favour to 
 send it before me, I will deliver it myself." 
 
 Mrs. Butler looked with great attention, and a certain dubious 
 feeling of deep interest, on the lady, who thus expressed herself 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 391 
 
 with authority over the man of authority, and to whose mandates 
 he seemed to submit, resigning the letter with a " Just as your 
 leddyship is pleased to order it." 
 
 The lady was rather above the middle size, beautifully made, 
 though something embonpoint, with a hand and arm exquisitely 
 formed. Her manner was easy, dignified, and commanding, and 
 seemed to evince high birth and the habits of elevated society. 
 She wore a travelling dress — a grey beaver hat, and a veil of 
 Flanders lace. Two footmen, in rich liveries, who got out of the 
 barge, and lifted out a trunk and portmanteau, appeared to belong 
 to her suite. 
 
 " As you did not receive the letter, madam, which should have 
 served for my introduction — for I presume you are Mrs. Butler — I 
 will not present it to you till you are so good as- to admit me into 
 your house without it." 
 
 "To pe sure, matam," said Knockdunder, "ye canna. doubt 
 Mrs. Putler will do that. — Mrs. Putler, this is Lady — Lady — these 
 tamned Southern names rin out o' my head like a stane trowlirtg 
 down hill — put I pelieve she is a Scottish woman porn — the mair 
 our credit — and I presume her leddyship is of the house of " 
 
 "The Duke of Argyle knows my family ve:y well, sir," said the 
 lady, in a tone which seemed designed to silence Duncan, or, at 
 any rate, which had that effect completely. , 
 
 There was something about the whole of this stranger's address, 
 and tone, and manner, which acted upon Jeanie's feelings like the 
 illusions of a dream, that teaze us with a puzzling approach to 
 reality. Something there was of her sister in the gait and manner 
 of the stranger, as well as in the sound of her voice, and some- 
 thing also, when, lifting her veil, she showed features, to which, 
 changed as they were in expression and complexion, she could not 
 but attach many remembrances. 
 
 The stranger was turned of thirty certainly ; but so well were 
 her personal charms assisted by the power of dress, and arrange- 
 ment of ornament, that she might well have passed for one-and- 
 twenty. And her behaviour was so steady and so composed, that, 
 as often as Mrs. Butler perceived anew some point of resemblance 
 to her unfortunate sister, so often the sustained self-command and 
 absolute composure of the stranger destroyed the ideas which 
 began to arise in her imagination. She led the way silently to- 
 wards the Manse, lost in a confusion of reflections, and trusting 
 the letter with which she was to be there intrusted, would afford 
 her satisfactory explanation of what was a most puzzling and em- 
 barrassing scene. 
 
 The lady maintained in the meanwhile the manners of a stranger 
 of rank. She admired the various points of view like one who 
 has studied nature, and the best representations of art. At length 
 she took notice of the children. 
 
 " These are two fine young mountaineers — Yours, madam, I pre- 
 sume?" 
 
 Jeanie replied in the affirmative. The stranger sighed, and 
 sighed once more as they were presented to her by name. 
 
392 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 " Come here, Femie," said Mrs. Butler, "and hold your head up." 
 
 " What is your daughter's name, madam ?" said the lady. 
 
 " Euphemia, madam," answered Mrs. Butler. 
 
 " I thought the ordinary Scottish contraction of the name had 
 been Effie," replied the stranger, in a tone which went to Jeanie's 
 heart ; for in that single word there was more of her sister — more 
 of lang syne ideas — than in all the reminiscences which her own 
 heart had anticipated, or the features and manner of the stranger 
 had. suggested. 
 
 When they reached the Manse, the lady gave Mrs. Butler the 
 letter which she had taken out of the hands of Knockdunder ; and 
 as she gave it she pressed her hand, adding aloud, " Perhaps, 
 madam, you will have the goodness to get me a little milk." 
 
 " And me a drap of the grey-peard, if you please, Mrs. Putler," 
 added Duncan. 
 
 Mrs. Butler withdrew ; but, deputing to May Hettly and to David 
 the supply of the strangers' wants, she hastened into her own room 
 to read the letter. The envelope was addressed in the Duke of 
 Argyle's hand, and requested Mrs. Butler's attentions and civility 
 to a lady of rank, a particular friend of his late brother, Lady 
 Staunton of Willingham, who, being recommended to drink goats' 
 whey by the physicians, was to honour the lodge at Roseneath 
 with her residence, while her husband made a short tour in Scot- 
 land. But within the same cover, which had been given to Lady 
 Staunton unsealed, was a letter from that lady, intended to prepare 
 her sister for meeting her, and which, but for the Captain's negli- 
 gence, she ought to have received on the preceding evening. It 
 stated that the news in Jeanie's last letter had been so interesting 
 to her husband, that he was determined to inquire farther into the 
 confession made at Carlisle, and the fate of that poor innocent, 
 and that, as he had been in some degree successful, she had, by 
 the most earnest entreaties, extorted rather than obtained his per- 
 mission, under promise of observing the most strict incognito, to 
 spend a week or two with her sister, or in her neighbourhood, 
 while he was prosecuting researches, to which (though it appeared 
 to her very vainly) he seemed to attach some hopes of success. 
 
 There was a pbstscript, desiring that Jeanie would trust to Lady 
 S. the management of their intercourse, and be content with assent- 
 ing to what she should propose. After reading and again reading 
 the letter, Mrs. Butler hurried down stairs, divided betwixt the fear 
 of betraying her secret, and the desire to throw herself upon her 
 sister's neck. Eme received her with a glance at once affectionate 
 and cautionary, and immediately proceeded to speak. 
 
 " I have been telling Mr. , Captain , this gentleman, Mrs. 
 
 Butler, that if you could accommodate me with an apartment in 
 your house, and a place for Ellis to sleep, and for the two men, it 
 would suit me better than the Lodge, which his Grace has so kindly 
 placed at my disposal. I am advised I should reside as near where 
 the goats feed as possible." 
 
 " I have peen assuring my leddy, Mrs. Putler," said Duncan, 
 "that though it could not discommode you to receive any of his 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 395 
 
 Grace's visitors or mine, yet she had mooch petter stay at the Lodge; 
 and for the gaits, the creatures can be fetched there, in respect it is 
 mair fitting they suld wait upon her leddyship, than she upon the 
 like o' them." 
 
 " By no means derange the goats for me,'' said Lady Staunton ; 
 " I am certain the milk must be much better here." And this she 
 said with languid negligence, as one whose slightest intimation of 
 humour is to bear down all argument. 
 
 Mrs. Butler hastened to intimate, that her house, such as it was, 
 was heartily at the disposal of Lady Staunton ; but the Captain 
 continued to remonstrate. 
 
 " The Duke," he said, " had written—" 
 
 " I will settle all that with his Grace — " 
 
 " And there were the things had been sent doun frae Glasco — " 
 
 " Anything necessary might be sent over to the Parsonage — She 
 would beg the favour of Mrs. Butler to shew her an apartment, 
 and of the Captain to have her trunks, &c, sent over from Rose- 
 neath." 
 
 So she curtseyed off poor Duncan, who departed, saying in his 
 secret soul, " Cot tamn her English impudence ! — she taks posses- 
 sion of the minister's house as an it were her ain — and speaks to 
 shentlemens as if they werepounden servants, and pe tamned to 
 her ! — And there's the deer that was shot too — but we will send it 
 ower to the Manse, whilk will pe put civil, seeing I hae prought 
 worthy Mrs. Putler sic a fiiskmahoy." — And with these kind inten- 
 tions, he went to the shore to give his orders accordingly. 
 
 In the meantime, the meeting of the sisters was as affectionate as 
 it was extraordinary, andeach evinced her feelings in the way pro- 
 per to her character. Jeanie was so much overcome by wonder, 
 and even by awe, that her feelings were deep, stunning, and almost 
 overpowering. Erne, on the other hand, wept, laughed, sobbed, 
 screamed, and clapped her hands for joy, all in the space of five 
 minutes, giving way at once, and without reserve, to a natural ex- 
 cessive vivacity of temper, which no one, however, knew better how 
 to restrain under the rules of artificial breeding. 
 
 After an hour had passed like a moment in their expressions of 
 mutual affection, Lady Staunton observed the Captain walking with 
 impatient steps below the window. " That tiresome Highland fool 
 has returned upon our hands," she said. " I will pray him to grace 
 us with his absence." 
 
 " Hout no ! hout no ! " said Mrs. Butler, in a tone of entreaty ; 
 " ye maunna affront the Captain." 
 
 " Affront ? " said Lady Staunton ; " nobody is ever affronted at 
 what I do or say, my dear. However, I will endure him, since you 
 think it proper." 
 
 The Captain was' accordingly graciously requested by Lady 
 Staunton to remain during dinner. During this visit his studious 
 and punctilious complaisance towards the lady of rank was happily 
 contrasted by the cavalier air of civil familiarity in which he in- 
 dulged towards the minister's wife. 
 
 "I have not been able to persuade Mrs. Butler," said Lady 
 
394 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 Staunton to the Captain, during the interval when Jeanie had left 
 the parlour, " to let me talk of making any recompense for storming 
 her house, and garrisoning it in the way I have done." 
 
 " Dootless, matam," said the Captain, " it wad ill pecome Mrs. 
 Putler, wha is a very decent pody, to make any such charge to a 
 leddy who comes from my house, or his Grace's, which is the same 
 thing. — And, speaking of garrisons, in the year forty-five, I was 
 poot with a garrison of twenty of my lads in the house of Inver- 
 Garry, whilk had near been unhappily, for " 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir — But I wish I could think of some way 
 of indemnifying this good lady." 
 
 " O, no need of intemnifying at all — no trouble for her, nothing 
 at all. — So, peing in the house of Inver-Garry, and the people about 
 it being uncanny, I dooted the warst, and " 
 
 " Do you happen to know, sir," said Lady Staunton, " if any of 
 these two lads, these young Butlers, I mean, shew any turn for the 
 army ? " 
 
 " Could not say, indeed, my leddy," replied Knockdunder — " So, 
 I knowing the people to pe unchancy, and not to lippen to, and 
 hearing a pibroch in the wood, I pegan to pid my lads look to 
 their flints, and then " 
 
 " For," said Lady Staunton, with the most ruthless disregard to 
 the narrative which she mangled by these interruptions, " if that 
 should be the case, it should cost Sir George but the asking a pair 
 of colours for one of them at the War-office, since we have always 
 supported government, and never had occasion to trouble 
 ministers." 
 
 "And if you please, my leddy," said Duncan, who began to find 
 some savour in this proposal, " as I hae a braw weel-grown lad of 
 a nevoy, ca'd Duncan MacGilligan, that is as pig as paith the 
 Putler pairns putten thegither, Sir George could ask a pair for him 
 at the same time, and it wad pe put ae asking for a.'." 
 
 Lady Staunton only answered this hint with a well-bred stare, 
 which gave no sort of encouragement. 
 
 Jeanie, who now returned, was lost in amazement at the wonder- 
 ful difference betwixt the helpless and despairing girl, whom she 
 had seen stretched on a flock-bed in a dungeon, expecting a violent 
 and disgraceful death, and last as a forlorn exile upon the midnight 
 beach, with the elegant, well-bred, beautiful woman before her. The 
 features, now that her sister's veil was laid aside, did not appear so 
 extremely different, as the whole manner, expression, look, and bear- 
 ing: In outside show, Lady Staunton seemed completely a creature 
 too soft and fair for sorrow to have touched ; so much accustomed 
 to have all her whims complied with by those around her, that she 
 seemed to expect she should even be saved the trouble of forming 
 them ; and so totally unacquainted with contradiction, that she did 
 not even use the tone of self-will, since to breathe a wish was to 
 have it fulfilled. She made no ceremony of ridding herself of 
 Duncan as soon as the evening approached ; but complimented 
 him out of the house under pretext of fatigue, with the utmost non- 
 chalance. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 395 
 
 When they were alone, her sister could not help expressing her 
 wonder at the self-possession with which Lady Staunton sustained 
 her part. 
 
 " I daresay you are surprised at it," said Lady Staunton com- 
 posedly ; " for you, my dear Jeanie, have been truth itself from your 
 cradle upwards ; but you must remember that I am a liar of fifteen 
 years' standing, and therefore must by this time be used to my 
 character." 
 
 In fact, during the feverish tumult of feelings excited during the 
 two or three first days, Mrs. Butler thought her sister's manner was 
 completely contradictory of the desponding tone which pervaded 
 her correspondence. She was moved to tears, indeed, by the sight 
 of her father's grave, marked by a modest stone, recording his piety 
 and integrity ; but lighter impressions and associations had also 
 power over her. She amused herself with visiting the dairy, in 
 which she had so long been assistant, and was so near discovering 
 herself to May Hettly, by betraying her acquaintance with the 
 celebrated receipt for Dunlop cheese, that she compared herself to 
 Bedreddin Hassan, whom the vizier, his father-in-law, discovered 
 by his superlative skill in composing cream-tarts with pepper in 
 them. But when the novelty of such avocations ceased to amuse 
 her, she shewed to her sister but too plainly, that the gaudy colour- 
 ing with which she veiled her unhappiness afforded as little real 
 comfort, as the gay uniform of the soldier when it is drawn over 
 his mortal wound. There were moods and moments, in which her 
 despondence seemed to exceed even that which she herself had de- 
 scribed in her letters, and which too well convinced Mrs. Butler how 
 little her sister's lot, which in appearance was so brilliant, was in 
 reality to be envied. 
 
 There was one source, however, from which Lady Staunton de- 
 rived a pure degree of pleasure. Gifted in every particular with a 
 higher degree of imagination than that of her sister, she was an 
 admirer of the beauties of nature, a taste which compensates many 
 evils to those who happen to enjoy it. Here her character of a fine 
 lady stopped short, where she ought to have 
 
 " Scream'd at ilk cleugh, and screech'd at ilka howe, 
 As Ipud as she had seen the worrie-cow." 
 
 On the contrary, with the two boys for her guides, she undertook 
 long and fatiguing walks .among the neighbouring mountains, to visit 
 glens, lakes, waterfalls, or whatever scenes of natural wonder or 
 beauty lay concealed among their recesses. It is Wordsworth, I 
 think, who, talking of an old man under difficulties, remarks, with 
 a singular attention to nature, 
 
 " whether it was care that spurr'd him, 
 
 God only knows ; but to the very last, 
 He had the lightest foot in Ennerdale." 
 
 In the same manner, languid, listless, and unhappy, within doors, 
 at times even indicating something which approached near to con- 
 tempt of the homely accommodations of her sister's house, although 
 
396 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 she instantly endeavoured, by a thousand kindnesses, to atone for 
 such ebullitions of spleen, Lady Staunton appeared to feel interest 
 and energy while in the open air, and traversing the mountain 
 landscapes in society with the two boys, whose ears she delighted 
 with stories of what she had seen in other countries, and what she 
 had to shew them at Willingham Manor. And they, on the other 
 hand, exerted themselves in doing the honours of Dumbartonshire 
 to the lady who seemed so kind, insomuch that there was scarce a 
 glen in the neighbouring hills to which they did not introduce her. 
 
 Upon one of these excursions, while Reuben was otherwise em- 
 ployed, David alone acted as Lady Staunton's guide, and promised 
 to shew her a cascade in the hills, grander and higher than any they 
 had yet visited. It was a walk of five long miles, and over rough 
 ground, varied, however, and cheered, by mountain views, and peeps 
 now of the firth and its islands, now of distant lakes, now of rocks 
 and precipices. The scene itself, too, when they reached it, amply 
 rewarded the labour of the walk. A single shoot carried a con- 
 siderable stream over the face of a black rock, which contrasted 
 strongly in colour with the white foam of the cascade, and, at the 
 depth of about twenty feet, another rock intercepted the view of the 
 bottom of the fall. The water, wheeling out far beneath, swept 
 round the crag, which thus bounded their view, and tumbled down 
 the rocky glen in a torrent of foam. Those who love nature 
 always desire to penetrate into its utmost recesses, and Lady 
 Staunton asked David whether there was not some mode of gaining 
 a view of the abyss at the foot of the fall. He said that he knew 
 a station on a shelf on the farther side of the intercepting rock, from 
 which the whole waterfall was visible, but that the road to it was 
 steep and slippery and dangerous. Bent, however, on gratifying her 
 curiosity, she desired him to lead the way ; and accordingly he did 
 so over crag and stone, anxiously pointing out to her the resting- 
 places where she ought to step, for their mode of advancing soon 
 ceased to be walking, and became scrambling. 
 
 In this manner, clinging like sea-birds to the face of the rock, 
 they were enabled at length to turn round it, and came full in front 
 of the fall, which here had a most tremendous aspect, boiling, roar- 
 ing, and thundering with unceasing din, into a black cauldron, a 
 hundred feet at least below them, which resembled the crater of a 
 volcano. The noise, the dashing of the waters, which gave an un- 
 steady appearance to all around them, the trembling even of the 
 huge crag on which they stood, the precariousness of their footing, 
 for there was scarce room for them to stand on the shelf of rock 
 which they had thus attained, had so powerful an effect on the 
 senses and imagination of Lady Staunton, that she called out to 
 David she was falling, and would in fact have dropped from the 
 crag had he not caught hold of her. The boy was bold and stout 
 of his age — still he was but fourteen years old, and as his assistance 
 gave no confidence to Lady Staunton, she felt her situation become 
 really perilous. The chance was, that, in the appalling novelty of 
 the circumstances, he might have caught the infection of her panic, 
 in which case it is likely that both must have perished. She now 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 397 
 
 screamed with terror, though without hope of calling any one to 
 her assistance. To her amazement, the scream was answered by 
 a whistle from above, of a tone so clear and shrill, that it was 
 heard even amid the noise of the waterfall. 
 
 la this moment of terror and perplexity, a human face, black, 
 and having grizzled hair hanging down over the forehead and 
 cheeks, and mixing with mustaches and a beard of the same colour, 
 and as much matted and tangled, looked down on them from a 
 broken part of the rock above^ 
 
 " It is the Enemy ! " said the boy, who had very nearly become 
 incapable of supporting Lady Staunton. 
 
 " No, no," she exclaimed, inaccessible to supernatural terrors, 
 and restored to the presence of mind of which she had been de- 
 prived by the danger of her situation, " it is a man — For God's sake, 
 my friend, help us ! " 
 
 The face glared at them, but made no answer ; in a second or 
 two afterwards, another, that of a young lad, appeared beside the 
 first, equally swart and begrimed, but having tangled black hair, 
 descending in elf-locks, which gave an air of wildness and ferocity 
 to the whole expression of the countenance. Lady Staunton re- 
 peated her entreaties, clinging to the rock with more energy, as she 
 found that, from the superstitious terror of her guide, he became 
 incapable of supporting her. Her words were probably drowned 
 in the roar of the falling stream, for, though she observed the lips 
 of the younger being whom she supplicated move as he spoke in 
 reply, not a word reached her ear. 
 
 A moment afterwards it appeared he had not mistaken the nature 
 of her supplication, which, indeed, vas easy to be understood from 
 her situation and gestures. The younger apparition disappeared, 
 and immediately after lowered a ladder of twisted osiers, about 
 eight feet in length, and made signs to David to hold it fast while 
 the lady ascended. Despair gives courage, and finding herself in 
 this fearful predicament, Lady Staunton did not hesitate to risk the 
 ascent by the precarious means which this accommodation afforded ; 
 and, carefully assisted by the person who had thus providentially 
 come to her aid, she reached the summit in safety. She did not, 
 however, even look around her until she saw her nephew lightly 
 and actively follow her example, although there was now no one to 
 hold the ladder fast. When she saw bim safe she looked round, 
 and could not help shuddering at the place and company in which 
 she found herself. 
 
 They were on a sort of platform of rock, surrounded on every 
 side by precipices, or overhanging cliffs, and which it would have 
 been scarce possible for any research to have discovered, as it did 
 not seem to be commanded by any accessible position. It was 
 partly covered by a huge fragment of stone, which, having fallen 
 from the cliffs above, had been intercepted by others in its descent, 
 and jammed so as to serve for a slooping roof to the farther part of 
 the broad shelf or platform on which they stood. A quantity of 
 withered moss and leaves, strewed beneath this rude and wretched 
 shelter, showed the lairs, — they could not be termed the beds, — of 
 
398 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 those Tfho dwelt in this eyry, for it deserved no other name. Of 
 these, two were before Lady Staunton. One, the same who had 
 afforded such timely assistance, stood upright before them, a tall, 
 lathy, young savage ; his dress a tattered plaid and philabeg, no 
 shoes, no stockings, no hat or bonnet, the place of the last being 
 supplied by his hair, twisted and matted like the glibbe of the 
 ancient wild Irish, and, like theirs, forming a natural thickset, 
 stout enough to bear off the cut of a sword. Yet the eyes of the 
 lad were keen and sparkling ; his gesture free and noble, like that 
 of all savages. He took little notice of David Butler, but gazed 
 with wonder on Lady Staunton, as a being different probably in 
 dress, and superior in beauty, to anything he had ever beheld. 
 The old man, whose face they had first seen, remained recumbent 
 in the same posture as when he had first looked down on them,, 
 only his face was turned towards them as he lay and looked up 
 with a lazy and listless apathy, which belied the general expression 
 of his dark and rugged features. He seemed a very tall man, but 
 was scarce better clad than the younger. He had on a loose Low- 
 land great-coat, and ragged tartan trews or pantaloons. 
 
 All around looked singularly wild and unpropitious. Beneath 
 the brow of the incumbent rock was a charcoal fire, on which there 
 was, a still working, with bellows, pincers, hammers, a moveable 
 anvil, and other smith's tools ; three guns, with two or three sacks 
 and barrels, were disposed against the wall of rock, under shelter 
 of the superincumbent crag ; a dirk and two swords, and a Lochaber- 
 axe, lay scattered around the fire, of which the red glare cast a 
 ruddy tinge on the precipitous foam and mist of the cascade. The 
 lad, when he had satisfied his curiosity with staring at Lady 
 Staunton, fetched an earthen jar and a horn cup, into which he 
 poured some spirits, apparently hot from the still, and offered them 
 successively to the lady and to the boy. Both declined, and the 
 young savage quaffed off the draught, which could not amount to 
 less than three ordinary glasses. He then fetched another ladder 
 from the corner of the cavern, if it could be termed so, adjusted it 
 against the transverse rock, which served as a roof, and made signs 
 for the lady to ascend it, while he held it fast below. She did so, 
 and found herself on the top of a broad rock, near the brink of the 
 chasm into which the brook precipitates itself. She could see the 
 crest of the torrent flung loose down the rock, like the mane of a 
 wild horse, but without having any view of the lower platform from 
 which she had ascended. 
 
 • David was not suffered to mount so easily ; the lad, from sport 
 or love of mischief, shook the ladder a good deal as he ascended, 
 and seemed to enjoy the terror of young Butler, so that, when they 
 had both come up, they looked on each other with no friendly eyes. 
 Neither, however, spoke. The young caird, or tinker, or gipsy, . 
 with a good deal of attention, assisted Lady Staunton up a very 
 perilous ascent which she had still to encounter, and they were 
 followed by David Butler, until all three stood clear of the ravine 
 on the side of a mountain, whose sides were covered with heather 
 and sheets of loose shingle. So narrow was the chasm out of 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 399 
 
 •which they ascended, that, unless when they were on the very 
 verge, the eye passed to the other side without perceiving the exist- 
 ence of a rent so fearful, and nothing was seen of the cataract, 
 though its deep hoarse voice was still heard. 
 
 Lady Staunton, freed from the danger of rock and river, had now 
 a new subject of anxiety. Her two guides confronted each other 
 with angry countenances ; for David, though younger by two years 
 at least, and much shorter, was a stout, well-set, and very bold boy. 
 
 " You are the black-coat's son of Knocktarlitie," said the young 
 caird ; " if you come here again, I'll pitch you down the linn like 
 a foot-ball." 
 
 " Ay, lad, ye are very" short to be sae lang," retorted young 
 Butler undauntedly, and measuring his opponent's height with an 
 undismayed eye ; " I am thinking you are a gillie of Black 
 Donacha ; if you come down the glen, we'll shoot you like a wild 
 buck." 
 
 "You may tell your father," said the lad, "that the leaf on the 
 timber is the last he shall see — we will hae amends for the mischief 
 he has done to us." 
 
 " I hope he will live to see mony simmers, and do ye muckle 
 mair," answered David. 
 
 More might have passed, but Lady Staunton stepped between 
 them with her purse in her hand, and taking out a guinea, of which 
 it contained several, visible through the net-work, as well as some 
 silver in the opposite end, offered it to the caird. 
 
 " The white siller, lady — the white siller," said the young savage, 
 to whom the value of gold was probably unknown. 
 
 Lady Staunton poured what silver she had into his hand, and the 
 juvenile savage snatched it greedily, and made a sort of half incli- • 
 nation of acknowledgment and adieu. 
 
 "Let us make haste now, Lady Staunton," said David, "for 
 there will be little peace with them since they hae seen your purse." 
 
 They hurried on as fast as they could ; but they had not de- 
 scended the hill a hundred yards or two before they heard a halloo 
 behind them, and looking back, saw both the old man and the 
 young one pursuing them with great speed, the former with a gun 
 on his shoulder. Very fortunately, at this moment a sportsman, a 
 gamekeeper of the Duke, who was engaged in stalking deer, ap- 
 peared on the face of the hill. The bandits stopped on seeing him, 
 and Lady Staunton hastened to put herself under his protection. 
 He readily gave them his escort home, and it required his athletic 
 form and loaded rifle to restore to the lady her usual confidence 
 and courage. 
 
 Donald listened with much gravity to the account of their adven- 
 ture ; and answered with great composure to David's repeated in- 
 quiries, whether he could have suspected that the cairds had been 
 lurking there, — " Inteed, Master Tavie, I might hae had some 
 guess that they were there, or thereaboot, though maybe I had ' 
 nane. But I am aften on the hill ; and they are like wasps — they 
 stang only them that fashes them ; sae, for my part, I make a point 
 »ot to see them, unless I were ordered out on £he preceese errand 
 
400 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 by MacCallummore or Knockdunder, whilk is a clean different 
 case." 
 
 They reached the Manse late ; and Lady Staunton, who had 
 suffered mudh both from fright and fatigue, never again permitted 
 her love of the picturesque to carry her so far among the mountains 
 without a stronger escort than David, though she acknowledged he 
 had won the stand of colours by the intrepidity he had displayed, 
 so soon as assured he had to do with an earthly antagonist. " I 
 couldna maybe, hae made muckle o' a bargain wi' yon lang callant," 
 said David, when thus complimented on his valour ; " but when ye 
 deal wi' thae folk, it's tyne heart tyne a'." 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 -What see you there, 
 
 That hath so cowarded and chased your blood 
 Out of appearance ? 
 
 Henry the Fifth. 
 
 We are under the necessity of returning to Edinburgh, where 
 the General Assembly was now sitting. It is well known, that 
 some Scottish nobleman is usually deputed as High Commissioner, 
 to represent the person of the King in this convocation ; that he 
 has allowances for the purpose of maintaining a certain outward 
 show and solemnity, and supporting the hospitality of the repre- 
 sentative of Majesty. Whoever are distinguished by rank, or office, 
 in or near the capital, usually attend the morning levees of the 
 Lord Commissioner, and walk with him in procession to the place 
 where the Assembly meets. 
 
 The nobleman who held this office chanced to be particularly 
 connected with Sir George Staunton, and it was in his train that he 
 ventured to tread the High Street of Edinburgh for the first time 
 since the fatal night of Porteous's execution. Walking at the right 
 hand of the representative of Sovereignty, covered with lace and 
 embroidery, and with q,ll the paraphernalia of wealth and rank, the 
 handsome though wasted figure of the English stranger attracted 
 all eyes. Who could have recognized in a form so aristocratic the 
 plebeian convict, that, disguised in the rags of Madge Wildfire, had 
 led the formidable rioters to their destined revenge ? There was no 
 possibility that this could happen, even if any of his ancient ac- 
 quaintances, a race of men whose lives are so brief, had happened 
 to survive the span commonly allotted to evil-doers. Besides, the 
 whole affair had long fallen asleep, with the angry passions in 
 which jt originated. Nothing is more certain than that persons 
 known to have had a share in that formidable riot, and to have 
 fled from Scotland on that account, had made money abroad, re- 
 turned to enjoy it in their native country, and lived and died undis- 
 turbed by the law.* The forbearance of the magistrate was in 
 these instances wise, certainly, and just ; for what good impression 
 could be made on the public mind by punishment, when the 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 401 
 
 memory of the offence was obliterated, and all that was remem- 
 bered was the recent inoffensive, or perhaps exemplary, conduct of 
 the offender. 
 
 Sir George Staunton might, therefore, tread the scene of his 
 former audacious exploits, free from the apprehension of the law, 
 or even of discovery or suspicion. But with what feelings his heart 
 that day throbbed, must be left to those of the reader to imagine. 
 It was an object of no common interest which had brought him to 
 encounter so many painful remembrances. 
 
 In consequence of Jeanie's letter to Lady Staunton, transmitting 
 the confession, he had visited the town of Carlisle, and had found 
 Archdeacon Fleming still alive, by whom that confession had been 
 received. , This reverend gentleman, whose character stood de- 
 servedly very high, he so far admitted into his confidence, as to 
 own himself the father of the unfortunate infant which had been 
 spirited away. by Madge Wildfire, representing the intrigue as a 
 matter of juvenile extravagance on his own part t for which he was 
 now anxious to atone, by tracing, if possible, what had become of 
 the child. After some recollection of the circumstances, the clergy- 
 man was able to call to memory, that the unhappy woman had 
 written a letter to George Staunton, Esq. younger, Rectory, Wil- 
 lingham, by Grantham ; that he had forwarded it to the address 
 accordingly, and that it had been returned, with a note from the 
 Reverend Mr. Staunton, Rector of Willingham, saying, he knew no 
 such person as him to whom the letter was addressed. As this 
 had happened just at the time when George had, for the last time, ' 
 absconded from his father's house to. carry off Effie, he was at no 
 loss to account for the cause of the resentment, under the influence 
 of which his father had disowned him. This was another instance 
 in which his ungovernable temper had occasioned his misfortune ; 
 had he remained at Willingham but a few days longer, he would 
 have received Margaret Murdockson's letter, in which was exactly 
 described the person and haunts of the woman, Annaple Bailzou> 
 to whom she had parted with the infant. It appeared that Meg 
 Murdockson had been induced to make this confession, less from 
 any feelings of contrition, than from the desire of obtaining, through 
 George Staunton or his father's means, protection and support for 
 her daughter Madge. Her letter to George Staunton said, " That 
 while the writer lived, her daughter would have needed nought from 
 anybody, and that she would never have meddled in these affairs, 
 except to pay back the ill that George had done to her and hers. 
 But she was to die, and her daughter would be destitute, and with- 
 out reason to guide her. She had lived in the world long enough 
 to know that people did nothing for nothing ; — so she had told 
 George Staunton all he could wish to know about his wean, in 
 hopes he would not see the demented young creature he had ruined 
 perish for want. As for her motives for not telling them sooner, 
 she had a long account to reckon for in the next world, and she 
 would reckon for that too." 
 
 The clergyman said, that Meg had died in the same desperate 
 state of mind, occasionally expressing some regret about the chilc\ 
 
 c c 
 
403 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 which was lost, but oftener sorrow that the mother had not been 
 hanged — her mind at once a chaos of guilt, rage, and apprehension 
 for her daughter's future safety ; that instinctive feeling of parental 
 anxiety which she had in common with the she-wolf and lioness, 
 being the last shade of kindly affection that occupied a breast 
 equally savage. 
 
 The melancholy catastrophe of Madge Wildfire was occasioned 
 by her taking the confusion of her mother's execution, as affording 
 an opportunity of leaving the workhouse to which the clergyman 
 had sent her, and presenting herself to the mob' in their fury, to 
 perish in the way we have already seen. When Dr. Fleming found 
 the convict's letter was returned from Lincolnshire, he wrote to a 
 friend in Edinburgh, to inquire into the fate of the unfortunate girl 
 Whose child had been stolen, and was informed by his correspon- 
 dent, that she had been pardoned, and that, with all her family, she 
 had retired to some distant part of Scotland, or left the kingdom 
 entirely. And here the matter rested, until, at Sir George Staun- 
 ton's application, the clergyman looked out, and produced Mar- 
 garet Murdockson's returned letter, and the other memoranda 
 which he had kept concerning the affair. 
 
 Whatever might be Sir George Staunton's feelings in ripping up 
 this miserable history, and listening to the tragical fate of the un- 
 happy girl whom he had ruined, he had so much of his ancient 
 wilfulness of disposition left, as to shut his eyes on everything, save 
 the prospect which seemed to open itself of recovering his son. It 
 was true, it would be difficult to produce hiin. without telling much 
 more of the history of his birth, and the misfortunes of his parents, 
 than it was prudent to make known. But let him once be found, 
 and, being found, let him but prove worthy of his father's protec- 
 tion, and many ways might be fallen upon to avoid such risk. Sir 
 George Staunton was at liberty to adopt him as his heir, if he 
 pleased, without communicating the secret of his birth ; or an act 
 of parliament might be obtained, declaring him legitimate, and 
 allowing him the name and arms of his father. He was, indeed, 
 already a legitimate child according to the law of Scotland, by the 
 subsequent marriage of his parents. Wilful in everything, Sir 
 George's sole desire now was to see this son, even should his re- 
 covery bring with it a new series of misfortunes, as dreadful as 
 those which followed on his being lost. 
 
 But where was the youth who might eventually be called to the 
 honours and estates of this ancient family ? On what heath was 
 he wandering, and shrouded by what mean disguise ? Did he gain 
 his precarious bread by some petty trade, by menial toil, by vio- 
 lence, or by theft ? These were questions on which Sir George's 
 anxious investigations could obtain no light. Many remembered 
 that Annaple Bailzou wandered through the country as a beggar 
 and fortune-teller, or spae-wife— some remembered that she had 
 been seen with an infant in 1737 or 1738, but for more than ten 
 years she had not travelled that district ; and that she had been 
 heard to say she was going to a distant part of Scotland, of which 
 country she was a native. To Scotland, therefore, came Sir George 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 403 
 
 Staunton, having parted with his lady at Glasgow ; and his arrival 
 at Edinburgh happening to coincide with the sitting of the General 
 Assembly of the Kirk, his acquaintance with the nobleman who 
 held the office of Lord High Commissioner forced him more into 
 public than suited either his views or inclinations. 
 
 At the public table of this nobleman, Sir George Staunton was 
 placed next to a clergyman of respectable appearance, and well- 
 bred, though plain demeanour, whose name he discovered to be 
 Butler. It had been no part of Sir George's plan to take his 
 brother-in-law into his confidence, and he had rejoiced exceedingly 
 in the assurances he received from his wife, that Mrs. Butler, the 
 very soul of integrity and honour, had never suffered the account 
 he had given of himself at Willingham Rectory to transpire, even 
 to her husband. But he was not sorry to have an opportunity to 
 converse with so near a connection, without being known to him, 
 and to form a judgment of his character and understanding. He 
 saw much, and heard more, to raise Butler very high in his opinion. 
 He found he was generally respected by those of his own profes- 
 sion, as well as by the laity who had seats in the Assembly. He 
 had made several public appearances in the Assembly, distin- 
 guished by good sense, candour, and ability ; and he was followed 
 and admired as a sound, and, at the same time, an eloquent 
 preacher. 
 
 This was all very satisfactory to Sir George Staunton's pride, 
 which had revolted at the idea of his wife's sister being obscurely 
 married. He now began, on the contrary, to think the connection 
 so much better than he expected, that, if it should be necessary to 
 acknowledge it, in consequence of the recovery of his son, it would 
 sound well enough that Lady Staunton had a sister, who, in the 
 decayed state of the family, had married a Scottish clergyman, high 
 in the opinion of his countrymen, and a leader in the church. 
 
 It was with these feelings, that, when the Lord High Commis- 
 sioner's company broke up, Sir George Staunton, under pretence of 
 prolonging some inquiries concerning the constitution of the Church 
 of Scotland, requested Butler to go home to his lodgings in the 
 Law'nmarket, and drink a cup of coffee. Butler agreed to wait 
 upon him, providing Sir George would permit him, in passing, to 
 call at a friend's house where he resided, and make his apology for 
 not coming to partake her tea. They proceeded up the High 
 Street, entered the Krames, and passed the begging-box, placed to 
 remind those at liberty of the distresses of the poor prisoners. Sir 
 George paused there one instant, and next day a £10 note was 
 found in that receptacle for public charity. 
 
 When he came up to Butler again, he found him with hi's eyes 
 fixed on the entrance of the Tolbooth, and apparently in deep 
 thought. 
 
 " That seems a very strong door," said Sir George, by way of 
 saying something. 
 
 " It is so, sir," said Butler, turning off and beginning to walk 
 forward, "but it was my misfortune at one time to see it prove 
 greatly too weak." 
 
404 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 At this moment, looking at his companion, he asked him whether 
 he felt himself ill ? and Sir George Staunton admitted, that he had 
 been so foolish as to eat ice, which sometimes disagreed with him. 
 With kind officiousness, that would not be gainsaid, and ere he 
 could find out where he was going, Butler hurried Sir George into 
 the friend's house, near to the prison, in which he himself had lived 
 since he came to town, being, indeed, no other than that of our old 
 friend Bartoline Saddletree, in which Lady Staunton had served a 
 short noviciate as a shop-maid. This recollection rushed on her 
 husband's mind, and the blush of shame which it excited over- 
 powered the sensation of fear which had produced his former pale- 
 ness. Good Mrs. Saddletree, however, bustled about to receive 
 the rich English baronet as the friend of Mr. Butler, and requested 
 an elderly female in a black gown to sit still, in a way which 
 seemed to imply a wish, that she would clear the way for her betters. 
 In the meanwhile, understanding the state of the case, she ran to 
 get some cordial waters, sovereign, of course, in all cases of faint- 
 ishness whatsoever. During her absence, her visitor, the female in 
 black, made some progress out of the room, and might have left it 
 altogether without particular observation, had she not stumbled at 
 the threshold, so near Sir George Staunton, that he, in point of 
 civility, raised her and assisted her to the door. 
 
 " Mrs. Porteous is turned very doited now, puir body," said Mrs. 
 Saddletree, as she returned with her bottle in her hand — " She is 
 no sae auld, but she got a sair back-cast wi' the slaughter o' her 
 husband — Ye had some trouble about that job, Mr. Butler. — I 
 think, sir," to Sir George, " ye had better drink out the haill glass, 
 for to my een ye look waur than when ye cam in." 
 
 And, indeed, he grew as pale as a corpse, on recollecting who it 
 was that his arm had so lately supported — the widow whom he had 
 so large a share in making such. 
 
 " It is a prescribed job that case of Porteous now," said qld 
 Saddletree, who was confined to his chair by the gout — " clean 
 prescribed and out of date." 
 
 > "I am not clear of that, neighbour," said Plumdamas, " for I 
 have heard them say twenty years should rin, and this is but the 
 fifty-ane — Porteous's mob was in thretty-seven." 
 
 " Ye'll no teach me law, I think, neebour — me that has four gaun 
 pleas, and micht hae had fourteen, an it hadna been the gudewife ? 
 I tell ye, if the foremost of the Porteous mob were standing there 
 where that gentleman stands, the King's Advocate w%dna meddle 
 wi' him — it fa's under the negative prescription." 
 
 "Haud your din, carles," said Mrs. Saddletree, "and let the 
 gentleman sit doun and get a dish of comfortable tea." 
 
 But Sir George had had quite enough of their conversation ; and 
 Butler, at his request, made an apology to Mrs. Saddletree, and ac- 
 companied him to his lodgings. Here they found another guest 
 waiting Sir George Staunton's return. This was no other than oui 
 reader's old acquaintance Ratcliffe. 
 
 This man had exercised the office of turnkey with so much 
 vigilance, acuteness, and fidelity, that he gradually rose to be 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 405 
 
 governor, or captain of the Tolbooth. And it is yet remembered in 
 tradition, that young men, who rather sought amusing than select 
 society in their merry-meetings, used sometimes to request Rat- 
 cliffe's company, in order that he might regale them with legends 
 of his extraordinary feats in the way of robbery and escape.* But 
 he lived and died without resuming his original vocation, otherwise 
 than in his narratives over a bottle. 
 
 Under these circumstances, he had been recommended to Sir 
 George Staunton by a man of the law in Edinburgh, as a person likely 
 to answer any questions he might have to ask about Annaple Bailzou, 
 who, according to the colour which Sir George Staunton gave to 
 his cause of inquiry, was supposed to have stolen a child in the 
 west of England, belonging to a family in which he was interested. 
 The gentleman had not mentioned his name, but only his official 
 title ; so that Sir George Staunton, when told that the captain of 
 the Tolbooth was waiting for him in his parlour, had no idea of 
 meeting his former acquaintance, Jem Ratcliffe. 
 
 This, therefore, was another new and most unpleasant surprise, 
 for he had no difficulty in recollecting this man's remarkable 
 features. The change, however, from George Robertson to Sir 
 George Staunton, baffled even the penetration of Ratcliffe, and he 
 bowed very low to the baronet and his guest, hoping Mr. Butler 
 would excuse his recollecting that he was an old acquaintance. 
 
 " And once rendered my wife a piece of great service," said 
 Mr. Butler, " for which she sent you a token of grateful acknow- 
 ledgment, which I hope came safe and was welcome." 
 
 " Deil a doobt on't," said Ratcliffe, with a. knowing nod ; " but 
 ye are muckle changed for the better since I saw ye, Maister 
 Butler." 
 
 " So much so, that I wonder you knew me." 
 
 "Aha, then! — Deil a face I see I ever forget," said Ratcliffe ; 
 while Sir George Staunton, tied to the stake, and incapable of 
 escaping, internally cursed the accuracy of his memory. " And 
 yet, sometimes," continued Ratcliffe, " the sharpest hand will be 
 ta'en in. There is a face in this very room, if I might presume to 
 be sae bauld, that if I didna ken the honourable person it ;belangs 
 to — I micht think it had some cast of an auld acquaintance." '-"■ 
 
 " I should not be much flattered," answered the Baronet, sternly, 
 and roused by the risk in which he saw himself placed, " if it is to 
 me you mean to apply that compliment." 
 
 " By no manner of means, sir," said Ratcliffe, bowing very low ; 
 " I am come to receive your honour's commands, and no to trouble 
 your honour wi' my poor observations." 
 
 " Well, sir," said Sir George, " I am told you understand police 
 matters — So do I. — To convince you of which, here are ten guineas 
 of retaining fee — I make them fifty when you can find me certain 
 notice of a person, living or dead, whom you will find described' 
 in that paper. I shall leave town presently — you may send your 
 
 written answer to me to the care of Mr. " (naming his highly 
 
 respectable agent) " or of his Grace the Lord High Commissioner.* 
 Ratcliffe bowed and withdrew. 
 
406 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 "I have angered the proud peat now," he said to himself, "by 
 finding out a likeness^-but if George Robertson's father had lived 
 within a mile of his mother, d — n me if I should know what to 
 think, for as high as he carries his head." 
 
 When he was left alone with Butler, Sir George Staunton 
 ordered tea and coffee, which were brought by his valet, and 
 then, after considering with himself for a minute, asked his 
 guest whether he had lately heard from his wife and family. 
 Butler, with some surprise at the question, replied, "that he 
 had received no letter for some time ; his wife was a poor pen- 
 woman." 
 
 "Then," said Sir George Staunton, " I am the first to inform 
 you there has been an invasion of your quiet premises since you 
 left home. My wife, whom the Duke of Argyle had the goodness 
 to permit to use Roseneath Lodge, while she was spending some 
 weeks in your country, has sallied across and taken up her 
 quarters in the Manse, as she says, to be nearer the goats, whose 
 milk she is using ; but I believe, in reality, because she" prefers 
 Mrs. Butler's company to that of the respectable gentleman who 
 acts as seneschal on the Duke's domains." 
 
 Mr. Butler said, "he had often heard the late Duke and the present 
 speak with high respect of Lady Staunton, and was happy if his 
 house could accommodate any friend of theirs — it would be but a 
 very slight acknowledgment of the many favours he owed them." 
 
 " That does not make Lady Staunton and myself the less obliged 
 to your hospitality, sir," said Sir George. " May I inquire if you 
 think of returning home soon ? " 
 
 " In the course of two days," Mr. Butler answered, " his duty in 
 the Assembly would be ended ; and the other matters he had in 
 town being all finished, he was desirous of returning to Dumbar- 
 tonshire as soon as he could ; but he was under the necessity of 
 transporting a considerable sum in bills and money with him, 
 and therefore wished to travel in company with one or two of his 
 brethren of the clergy." 
 
 " My escort will be more safe," said Sir George Staunton, " and 
 I think of setting off to-morrow or next day. If you will give me 
 the pleasure of your company, I will undertake to deliver you and 
 your charge safe at the Manse, provided you will admit me along 
 with you." 
 
 Mr. Butler gratefully accepted of this proposal ; the appoint- 
 ment was made accordingly, and by despatches with one of Sir 
 George's servants, who was sent forward for the purpose, the in- 
 habitants of the manse of Knocktarlitie were made acquainted 
 with the intended journey ; and the news rung through the whole 
 vicinity, "that the minister was coming backwi'a braw English 
 gentleman and a' the siller that was to pay for the estate of 
 Craigsture." 
 
 This sudden resolution of going to Knocktarlitie had been 
 adopted by Sir George Staunton in consequence of the incidents 
 of the evening. In spite of his present consequence, he felt he 
 had presumed too far in venturing so near the scene of his former 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 407 
 
 audacious acts of violence, and he knew too well, from past ex- 
 perience, the acuteness of a man like Ratcliffe, again to encounter 
 him. The next two days he kept his lodgings, under pretence of 
 indisposition, and took leave, by writing, of his noble friend, the 
 High Commissioner, alleging the opportunity of Mr. Butler's com- 
 pany as a reason for leaving Edinburgh sooner than he had pro- 
 posed. He had a long conference with his agent on the subject 
 of Annaple Bailzou ; and the professional gentleman, who was the 
 agent also of the Argyle family, had directions to collect all the in- 
 formation which Ratcliffe or others might be able to obtain con- 
 cerning the fate of that woman and the unfortunate child, and, 
 so soon as any thing transpired which had the least appear- 
 ance of being important, that he should send an express with it 
 instantly to Knocktarlitie. These instructions were backed with a 
 deposit of money, and a request that no expense might be spared ; 
 so that Sir George Staunton had little reason to apprehend negli- 
 gence on the part of the persons intrusted with the commis- 
 sion. 
 
 The journey, which the brothers made in company, was attended 
 with more pleasure, even to Sir George Staunton, than he had ven- 
 tured to expect. His heart lightened in spite of himself when 
 they lost sight of Edinburgh ; and the easy, sensible conversation 
 of Butler was well calculated to withdraw his thoughts from pain- 
 ful reflections. He even began to think whether there could be 
 much difficulty in removing his wife's connections to the rectory of 
 Willingham ; it was only on his part procuring some still better 
 preferment for the present incumbent, and on Butler's, that he 
 should take orders according to the English Church, to which 
 he could not conceive a possibility of his making objection, and 
 then he had them residing under his wing. No doubt, there was 
 pain in seeing Mrs. Butler, acquainted, as he knew her to be, with 
 the full truth of his evil history — But then her silence, though he 
 had no reason to complain of her indiscretion hitherto, was still 
 more absolutely ensured. It would keep his lady, also, both in 
 good temper and in more subjection; for she was sometimes 
 troublesome to him, by insisting on remaining in town when he 
 desired to retire to the country, alleging the total want of society 
 at Willingham. " Madame, your sister is there," would, he 
 thought, be a sufficient answer to this ready argument. 
 
 He sounded Butler on this subject, asking what he would think 
 of an English living of twelve hundred pounds yearly,, with the 
 burden of affording his company now and then to a neighbour 
 whose health was not strong, or his spirits equal. "He might 
 meet," he said, " occasionally, a. very learned and accomplished 
 gentleman, who was in orders as a Catholic priest, but he hoped 
 that would be no insurmountable objection to a man of his 
 liberality of sentiment. What," he said, " would Mr. Butler think 
 of as an answer, if the offer should be made to him ? " 
 
 " Simply that I could not accept of it," said Mr. Butler. " I 
 have no mind to enter into the various debates between the 
 churches ; but I was brought up in mine own, have received her 
 
408 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 ordination, am satisfied of the truth of her doctrines, and will die 
 under the banner I have enlisted to." 
 
 " What may be the value of your preferment ? " said Sir George 
 Staunton, " unless I am asking an indiscreet question." 
 
 " Probably one hundred a-year, one year with another, besides 
 my glebe and pasture-ground." 
 
 " And you scruple to exchange that for twelve hundred a-year, 
 without alleging any damning difference of doctrine betwixt the 
 two churches of England and Scotland?" 
 
 " On that, sir, I have reserved my judgment ; there may be 
 much good, and there are certainly, saving means in both, but 
 every man must act according to his own' lights. I hope I have 
 done, and am in the course of doing, my Master's work in this 
 Highland parish ; and it would ill become me, for the sake of 
 lucre, to leave my sheep in the wilderness. • But, even in the tem- 
 poral view which you have taken of the matter, Sir George, this 
 hundred pounds a-year of stipend hath fed . and clothed us, and 
 left us nothing to wish for ; my father-in-law's succession, and 
 other circumstances, have added a small estate of about twice as 
 much more, and how we are to dispose of it I do not know — So I 
 leave it to you, sir, to think if I were wise, not having the wish or 
 opportunity of spending three hundred a-year, to covet the pos- 
 session of four times that sum." 
 
 " This is philosophy," said Sir George ; " I have heard of it, but 
 I never saw it before." 
 
 " It is common sense," replied Butler, " which accords with 
 philosophy and religion more frequently than pedants or zealots 
 are apt to admit." 
 
 Sir George turned the subject, and did not again resume it. 
 Although they travelled in Sir George's chariot, he seemed so 
 much fatigued With the motion, that it was necessary for him to 
 remain for a day at a small town called Mid-Calder, which was 
 their first stage from Edinburgh. Glasgow occupied another day, 
 so slow were their motions. 
 
 They travelled on to Dumbarton, where they had resolved to 
 leave the equipage, and to hire a boat to take them to the shores 
 near the Manse, as the Gare-Loch lay betwixt them and that point, 
 besides the impossibility of travelling in that district with wheel- 
 carriages. Sir George's valet, a man of trust, accompanied them, 
 as also a footman ; the grooms were left with the carriage. Just 
 as this arrangement was completed, which was about four o'clock 
 in the afternoon, an express arrived from Sir George's agent in 
 Edinburgh, with a packet, which he opened and read with great 
 attention, appearing much interested and agitated by the contents. 
 The packet had been despatched very soon after their leaving 
 Edinburgh, but the messenger had missed the travellers by passing 
 through Mid-Calder in the night, and over-shot his errand by getting 
 to Roseneath before them. He was now on his return, after having 
 waited more than four-and-twenty hours. Sir George Staunton 
 instantly wrote back an answer, and rewarding the messenger liber- 
 ally, desired him not to sleep till he placed it in his agent's hands. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 4°9 
 
 At length they embarked in the boat, which had waited for them 
 some time. During their voyage, which was slow, for they were 
 obliged to row the whole way, and often against the tide, Sir 
 George Staunton's inquiries ran chiefly on the subject of the High- 
 land banditti who had infested that country since the year 1745. 
 Butler informed him, that many of them were not native High- 
 landers, but gipsies, tinkers, and other men of desperate fortunes, 
 who had taken advantage of the confusion introduced by the civil 
 war, the general discontent of the mountaineers, and the unsettled 
 state of police, to practise their plundering trade with more 
 audacity. Sir George next inquired into their lives, their habits, 
 whether the violences which they committed were not sometimes 
 atoned for by acts of generosity, and whether they did not possess 
 the virtues, as well as the vices, of savage tribes ? 
 
 Butler answered, that certainly they did sometimes show sparks 
 of generosity, of which even the worst class of malefactors are 
 seldom utterly divested ; but that their evil propensities were 
 certain and regular principles of action, while any occasional 
 burst of virtuous feeling was only a transient impulse not to be 
 reckoned upon, and excited probably by some singular and un- 
 usual concatenation of circumstances. In discussing these in- 
 quiries, which Sir George pursued with an apparent eagerness that 
 rather surprised Butler, the latter chanced to mention the name of 
 Donacha Dhu na Dunaigh, with which the reader is already ac- 
 quainted. Sir George caught the sound up eagerly, and as if it 
 conveyed particular interest to his ear. He made the most minute 
 inquiries concerning the man whom he mentioned, the number of 
 his gang, and even the appearance of those who belonged to it. 
 Upon these points Butler could give little answer. The man had 
 a name among the lower class, but his exploits were considerably 
 exaggerated ; he had always one or two fellows with him, but never 
 aspired to the command of above three or four. In short, he 
 knew little about him, and the small acquaintance he had, had by 
 no means inclined him to desire more. 
 
 " Nevertheless, I should like to see him some of these days." 
 
 " That would be a dangerous meeting, Sir George, unless you 
 mean we are to see him receive his deserts from the law, and then 
 it were a melancholy one." 
 
 " Use every man according to his deserts, Mr. Butler, and who 
 shall escape' whipping? But I am talking riddles to you. I will 
 explain them more fully to you when I have spoken over the sub- 
 ject with Lady Staunton. — Pull away, my lads," he added, address- 
 ing himself to the rowers ; " the clouds threaten us with a storm." 
 
 In fact, the dead and heavy closeness of the air, the huge piles 
 of clouds which assembled in the western horizon, and glowed 
 like a furnace under the influence of the setting sun — that awful 
 stillness in which nature seems to expect the thunder-burst, as a 
 condemned soldier waits for the platoon-fire which is to stretch 
 him on the earth, all betokened a speedy storm. , Large broad 
 ' drops fell from time to time, and induced the gentlemen to assume 
 the boat-cloaks ; but the rain again ceased, and the oppressive 
 
4io THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 heat, so unusual in Scotland in the end of May, inclined them to 
 throw them aside. " There is something solemn in this delay of the 
 storm," said Sir George ; "it seems as if it suspended its peal till it 
 solemnized some important event in the world below." 
 
 "Alas !" replied Butler, "what are we, that the laws of nature 
 should correspond in their march with our ephemeral deeds or 
 sufferings ? The clouds will burst when surcharged with the electric 
 fluid, whether a goat is falling at that instant from the cliffs of 
 Arran, or a hero expiring on the field of battle he has won." 
 
 "The mind delights to deem it otherwise," said Sir George 
 Staunton ; " and to dwell on the fate of humanity as on that which 
 is the prime central movement of the mighty machine. We love 
 not to think that we shall mix with the ages that have gone before 
 us, as these broad black rain-drops mingle with the waste of 
 waters, making a trifling and momentary eddy, and are then lost 
 for ever." 
 
 "For ever/ — we are not — we cannot be lost for ever," said 
 Butler, looking upward ; " death is to us change, not consumma- 
 tion ; and the commencement of a new existence, corresponding 
 in character to the deeds which we have done in the body." 
 
 While they agitated these grave subjects, to which the solemnity 
 of the approaching storm naturally led them, their voyage threatened 
 to be more tedious than they expected, for gusts of wind, which 
 rose and fell with sudden impetuosity, swept the bosom of the firth, 
 and impeded the efforts of the rowers. They had now only to 
 double a small head-land, in order to get to the proper landing- 
 place in the mouth of the little river; but in the state of the 
 weather, and the boat being heavy, this was like to be a work of 
 time, and in the meanwhile they must necessarily be exposed to 
 the storm. 
 
 " Could we not land on this side of the head-land," asked Sir 
 George, " and so gain some shelter ? " 
 
 Butler knew of no landing-place, at least none affording a con- 
 venient or even practicable passage up the rocks which surrounded 
 the shore. 
 
 " Think again," said Sir George Staunton ; " the storm will soon 
 be violent." 
 
 " Hout, ay," said one of the boatmen, " there's the Caird's Cove ; 
 but we dinna tell the minister aboot it, and I am no sure if I can 
 steer the boat to it, the bay is sae fu' o' shoals and sunk rocks." 
 
 " Try," said Sir George, " and I will give you half-a-guinea." 
 
 The old fellow took the helm, and observed, " that if they could 
 get in, there was a steep path up from the beach, and half-an-hour's 
 walk from thence to the Manse."- 
 
 " Are you sure you know the way ? " said Butler to the old man. 
 
 " I maybe ken'd it a wee better fifteen years syne, when Dandie 
 Wilson was in the firth wi' his clean-ganging lugger. I mind 
 Dandie had a wild young Englisher wi' him, that they ca'd " 
 
 " If you chatter so much," said Sir George Staunton, " you will 
 have the boat on the Grindstone— bring that white rock in a line 
 with the steeple." 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 411 
 
 " By G — ," said the veteran, staring, " I think your honour kens 
 the bay as weel as me. — Your honour's nose has been on the Grind- 
 stone ere now, I'm thinking." 
 
 As they spoke thus, they approached the little cove, which, con- 
 cealed behind crags, and defended on every point by shallows and 
 sunken rocks, could scarce be discovered or approached, except by 
 those intimate with the navigation. An old shattered boat was al- 
 ready drawn up on the beach within the cove, close beneath the 
 trees, and with precautions for concealment. 
 
 Upon observing this vessel, Butler remarked to his companion, 
 " It is impossible for you to conceive, Sir George, the difficulty I 
 have had with my poor people, in teaching them the guilt and the 
 danger of this contraband trade — yet they have perpetually before 
 their eyes all its dangerous consequences. I do not know anything 
 that more effectually depraves and ruins their moral and religious 
 principles." 
 
 Sir George forced himself to say something in a low voice, about 
 the spirit of adventure natural to youth, and that unquestionably 
 many would become wiser as they grew older. 
 
 " Too seldom, sir," replied Butler. " If they have been deeply 
 engaged, and especially if they have mingled in the scenes of 
 violence and blood to which their occupation naturally leads, I have 
 observed, that, sooner or later, they come to an evil end. Experi- 
 ence, as well as Scripture, teaches us, Sir George, that mischief 
 shall hunt the violent man, and that the bloodthirsty man shall not 
 Mve half his days — But take my arm to help you ashore." 
 
 Sir George needed assistance, for he was contrasting in his 
 altered thought the different feelings of mind and frame with which 
 he had formerly frequented the same place. As they landed, a low 
 growl of thunder was heard at a distance. 
 
 " That is ominous, Mr. Butler," said Sir George. 
 
 " Intonuit losvum — it is ominous of good, then," answered Butler, 
 smiling. 
 
 The boatmen were ordered to make the best of their way round 
 the head-land to the ordinary landing-place ; the two gentlemen, 
 followed by their servant, sought their way by a blind and tangled 
 path, through a close copsewood to the Manse of Knocktarlitie, 
 where their arrival was anxiously expected. 
 
 The sisters in vain had expected their husbands' return on the 
 preceding day, which was that appointed by Sir George's letter. 
 The delay of the travellers at Mid-Calder had occasioned this breach 
 of appointment. The inhabitants of the Manse began even to doubt 
 whether they would arrive on the present day. Lady Staunton felt 
 this hope of delay as a brief reprieve ; for she dreaded the pangs' 
 which her husband's pride must undergo at meeting with a sister- 
 in-law, to whom the whole of his unhappy and dishonourable 
 history was too well known. She knew, whatever force or con- 
 straint he might put upon his feelings in public, that she herself 
 must be doomed to see them display themselves in full vehemence 
 in secret, — consume his health, destroy his temper, and render him 
 at once an object of dread and compassion. Again and again she; 
 
412 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 cautioned Jeanie to display no tokens of recognition, but to receive 
 him as a perfect stranger,— and again and again Jeanie renewed 
 her promise to comply with her wishes. 
 
 Jeanie herself could not fail to bestow an anxious thought on the 
 awkwardness of the approaching meeting ; but her conscience was 
 ungalled— and then she was cumbered with many household cares 
 of an unusual nature, which, joined to the anxious wish once more 
 to see Butler, after an absence of unusual length, made her ex- 
 tremely desirous that the travellers should arrive as soon as pos- 
 sible. And — why should I disguise the truth ? — ever and anon a 
 thought stole across her mind that her gala dinner had now been 
 postponed for two days ; and how few of the dishes,' after every art 
 of her simple cuisine had been exerted to dress them, could with 
 any credit or propriety appear again upon the third ; and what 
 was she to do with the rest ? — -Upon this last subject she was saved 
 the trouble of farther deliberation, by the sudden appearance of the 
 Captain at the head of half-a-dozen stout fellows, dressed and 
 armed in the Highland fashion. 
 
 " Goot-morrow morning to ye, Leddy Staunton, and I hope I hae 
 the pleasure to see ye weel — And goot-morrow to you, goot Mrs. 
 Putler — I do peg you will order some victuals and ale and prandy 
 for the lads, for we hae peen out on firth and moor since afore day- 
 light, and a' to no purpose neither — Cot tarn ! " 
 
 So saying, he sate down, pushed back his brigadier wig, and 
 wiped his head with an air of easy importance, totally regardless of 
 the look of well-bred astonishment by which Lady Staunton endea- 
 voured to make him comprehend that he was assuming too great 
 a liberty. 
 
 " It is some comfort, when one has had a sair tussel," continued 
 the Captain, addressing Lady Staunton, with an air of gallantry, 
 " that it is in a fair leddy's service, or in the service of a gentleman 
 whilk has a fair leddy, whilk is the same thing, since serving the 
 husband is serving the wife, as Mrs. Putler does very weel know." 
 
 " Really, sir," said Lady Staunton, " as you seem to intend this 
 compliment for me, I am at a loss to know what interest Sir George 
 or I can have in your movements this morning." 
 
 " O Cot tarn ! — this is too cruel, my leddy— as if it was not py 
 special express from his Grace's honourable agent and commis- 
 sioner at Edinburgh, with a warrant conform, that I was to seek 
 for and apprehend Donacha dhu na Dunaigh, and pring him pefore 
 myself and Sir George Staunton, that he may have his deserts, 
 that is to say, the gall6ws, whilk he has doubtless deserved, 
 py peing the means of frightening your leddyship, as weel as for 
 something of less importance." 
 
 " Frightening me ! " said her ladyship ; '• why, I never wrote to- 
 Sir George about my alarm at the waterfall." 
 
 " Then he must have heard it otherwise ; for what else can give 
 him sic an earnest tesire to see this rapscallion, that I maun ripe the 
 haill mosses and moors in the country for him, as if I were to get 
 something for finding him, when the pest o't might pe a pall 
 through my prains ? " 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 413 
 
 " Can it be really true, that it is on Sir George's account that 
 you have been attempting to apprehend this fellow?" 
 
 " Py Cot, it is for no other cause that I know than his honour's 
 pleasure ; for the creature micht hae gone on in a decent quiet way 
 for me, sae lang as he respectit the Duke's pounds — put reason 
 goot he suld be taen, and hangit to poot, if it may pleasure ony 
 honourable shentleman that is the Duke's friend — Sae I got the 
 express over nicht, and I caused warn half a score of pretty lads, 
 and was up in the morning pefore the sun, and I garr^d the lads 
 tak their kilts and short coats." 
 
 " I wonder you did that, Captain," said Mrs. Butler, "when you 
 know the act of parliament against wearing the Highland dress." 
 
 " Hout, tout, ne'er fash your thumb, Mrs. Putler. The law is 
 put twa-three years auld yet, and is ower young to hae come our 
 length ; and pesides, how is the lads to climb the praes wi' thae 
 tamn'd breekens on them? It maks me sick to see them. Put ony 
 how, I thought I kend Donacha's haunts gey and weel, and I was 
 at the place where he had rested yestreen ; for I saw the leaves the 
 limmers had laid on, and the ashes o' them ; by the same token, 
 there was a pit greeshoch purning yet. I am thinking they got 
 some word out o' the island what was intended — I soucht every 
 glen and cleuch, as if I had been deer-stalking, but teil a wauff o' 
 his coat-tail could I see — Cot tarn ! " 
 
 " He'll be away down the firth to Cowal," said David ; and 
 Reuben, who had been out early that morning a-nutting, observed, 
 " That he had seen a boat making for the Caird's Cove ; " a place 
 well known to the boys, though their less adventurous father was 
 ignorant of its existence. 
 
 " Py Cot," said Duncan, " then I will stay here no longer than to 
 trink this very horn of prandy and water, for it's very possible they 
 will pe in the wood. Donacha's a clever fellow, and maype thinks 
 it pest to sit next the chimley when the lum reeks. He thought 
 naebody would look for him sae near hand ! I peg your leddyship 
 will excuse my aprupt departure, as I will return forthwith, and I 
 will either pring you Donach'a in life, or else his head, whilk I dare 
 to say will be as satisfactoiy. And I hope to pass a pleasant even- 
 ing with your leddyship ; and I hope to have mine revenges on 
 Mr. Putler at packgammon, for the four pennies whilk he won, for 
 he will pe surely at home soon, or else he will have a wet journey, 
 seeing it is apout to pe a scud." 
 
 Thus saying, with many scrapes and bows, and apologies for 
 leaving them, which were very readily received, and reiterated 
 assurances of his speedy return, (of the sincerity whereof Mrs; 
 Butler entertained no doubt, so long as her best greybeard of brandy 
 was upon duty,) Duncan left the Manse, collected his followers, and 
 began to scour the close and entangled wood which lay between the 
 little glen and the Caird's Cove. David; who was a favourite with 
 the Captain, on account of his spirit and courage, took the oppor- 
 tunity of escaping, to attend the investigations of that great man. 
 
414 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 CHAPTER LII. 
 
 -I did send for thee, 
 * * 
 
 That Talbot's name might be in thee revived, 
 When sapless age, and weak unable limbs, 
 Should bring thy father to his drooping chair. 
 But, — O malignant and ill-boding stars ! — 
 
 First Part of Henry the Sixth. 
 
 Duncan and his party had not proceeded very far in the direc- 
 tion of the Caird's Cove before they heard a shot, which was quickly 
 followed by one or two others. " Some tamn'd villains among the 
 roe-deer," said Duncan ; " look sharp out, lads." 
 
 The clash of swords was next heard, and Duncan and his myrmi- 
 dons, hastening to the spot, found Butler and Sir George Staunton's 
 servant in the hands of four ruffians. Sir George himself lay 
 stretched on the ground, with his drawn sword in his hand. Duncan, 
 who was as brave as a lion, instantly fired his pistol at the leader of 
 the band, unsheathed his sword, cried out to his men, Claymore ! 
 and run his weapon through the body of the fellow whom he had 
 previously wounded, who was no other than Donacha dhu na 
 Dunaigh himself. The other banditti were speedily overpowered, 
 excepting one young lad, who made wonderful resistance for his 
 years, and was at length secured with difficulty. 
 
 Butler, so soon as he was liberated from the ruffians, ran to raise 
 Sir George Staunton, but life had wholly left him. 
 
 " A creat misfortune," said Duncan ; " I think it will pe pest that 
 I go forward to intimate it to the coot leddy. — Tavie, my dear, you 
 hae smelled pouther for the first time this day— -take my sword and 
 hack off Donacha's head, whilk will pe coot practice for you against 
 the time you may wish to do the same kindness to a living shentle- 
 man — or hould, as your father does not approve, you may leave it 
 alone, as he will pe a greater object of satisfaction to Leddy Staun- 
 ton to see him entire ; and I hope she will do me the credit to 
 pelieve that I can afenge a shentleman's plood fery speedily and 
 well." 
 
 Such was the observation of a man too much accustomed to the 
 ancient state of manners in the Highlands, to look upon the issue 
 of such a skirmish as anything worthy of wonder or emotion. 
 
 We will not attempt to describe the very contrary effect which 
 the unexpected disaster produced upon Lady Staunton, when the 
 bloody corpse of her husband was brought to the house, where she 
 expected to meet him alive and well. All was forgotten, but that 
 he was the lover of her youth ; and whatever were his faults to the 
 -world, that he had towards her exhibited only those that arose from 
 the inequality of spirits and temper, incident to a situation of un- 
 paralleled difficulty. In the vivacity of her grief she gave way to 
 all the natural irritability of her temper ; shriek followed shriek, 
 and swoon succeeded to swoon. It required all Jeanie's watchful 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 41S 
 
 ■affection to prevent her from making known, in these paroxysms of 
 affliction, much which it was of the highest importance that she 
 should keep secret. 
 
 At length silence and exhaustion succeeded to frenzy, and Jeanie 
 stole out to take counsel with her husband, and to exhort him to 
 anticipate the Captain's interference, by taking possession in Lady 
 Staunton's name, of the private papers of her deceased husband. 
 To the utter astonishment of Butler, she now, for the first time, 
 explained the relation betwixt herself and Lady Staunton, which 
 authorized, nay, demanded, that he should prevent any stranger 
 from being unnecessarily made acquainted with her family affairs. 
 It was in such a crisis that Jeanie's active and undaunted habits of 
 virtuous exertion were most conspicuous. While the Captain's at- 
 tention was still engaged by a prolonged refreshment, and a very 
 tedious examination, in Gaelic and English, of all the prisoners, and 
 every other witness of the fatal transaction, she had the body of 
 her brother-in-law undressed and properly disposed. — It then ap- 
 peared, from the crucifix, the beads, and the shirt of hair which he 
 wore next his person, that his sense of guilt had induced him to 
 receive the dogmata of a religion, which pretends, by the macera- 
 tion of the body, to expiate the crimes of the soul. In the packet 
 of papers which the express had brought to Sir George Staunton 
 from Edinburgh, and which Butler, authorized by his connection 
 with the deceased, did not scruple to examine, he found new and 
 astonishing intelligence, which gave him reason to thank God he 
 had taken that measure. 
 
 Ratcliffe, to whom all sorts of misdeeds and misdoers were 
 familiar, stimulated by the promised reward, soon found himself in 
 a condition to trace the infant of these unhappy parents. The 
 woman to whom Meg Murdockson had sold that most unfortunate 
 child, had made it the companion of her wanderings and her beg- 
 gary, until he was about seven or eight years old, when, as Ratcliffe 
 learned from a companion of hers, then in the Correction house of 
 Edinburgh, she sold him in her turn to Dohacha dhu na Dunaigh. 
 This man, to whom no act of mischief was unknown, was occasion- 
 ally the agent in a horrible trade then carried on betwixt Scotland 
 and America, for supplying the plantations with servants, by means 
 of kidnapping, as it was termed, both men and women, but espe- 
 cially children under age. Here Ratcliffe lost sight of the boy, but 
 had no doubt but Donacha Dhu could give an account of him. The 
 gentleman of the law, so often mentioned, despatched therefore an 
 express, with a letter to Sir George Staunton, and another covering 
 a warrant for apprehension of Donacha, with instructions to the 
 Captain of Knockdunder to exert his utmost energy for that 
 purpose. 
 
 Possessed of this information, and with a mind agitated by the 
 most gloomy apprehensions, Butler now joined the Captain, and 
 obtained from him with some difficulty a sight of the examinations. 
 These, with a few questions to the elder of the prisoners, soon con- 
 firmed the most dreadful of Butler's anticipations. We give the 
 heads of the information, without descending into minute details. 
 
416 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 Donacha Dhu had indeed purchased Effie's unhappy child, with 
 the purpose of selling it to the American traders, whom he had been 
 in the habit of supplying with human flesh. But no opportunity 
 occurred for some time ; and the boy, who was known by the name 
 of " The Whistler," made some impression on the heart and affec- 
 tions even of this rude savage, perhaps because he saw in him 
 flashes of a spirit as fierce and vindictive as his own. When 
 Donacha struck or threatened him — a very common occurrence — 
 he did not answer with complaints and entreaties like other 
 children, but with oaths and efforts at revenge — he had all the wild 
 merit, too, by which Woggarwolfe's arrow-bearing page [Ethwald3 
 won the hard heart of his master : 
 
 Like a wild cub, rear'd at the ruffian's feet, 
 He could say biting jests, bold ditties sing, 
 And quaff his foaming bumper at the board, 
 With all the mockery of a little man. 
 
 In short, as Donacha Dhu said, the Whistler was a born imp of 
 Satan, and therefore he should never leave him. Accordingly, from 
 his eleventh year forward, he was one of the band, and often 
 engaged in acts of violence. The last of these was more imme- 
 diately occasioned by the researches which the Whistler's real 
 father made after him whom he had been taught to consider as 
 such. Donacha Dhu's fears had been for some time excited by the 
 strength of the means which began now to be employed against 
 persons of his description. He was sensible he existed only, by the 
 precarious indulgence of his namesake, Duncan of Knockdunder, 
 who was used to boast that he could put him down or string him up 
 when he had a mind. He resolved to leave the kingdom by means 
 of one of those sloops which were engaged in the traffic of his old 
 kidnapping friends, and which was about to sail for America ; but 
 he was desirous first to strike a bold stroke. 
 
 The ruffian's cupidity was excited by the intelligence, that a 
 wealthy Englishman was coming to the Manse — he had neither 
 forgotten the Whistler's report of the gold he had seen in Lady 
 Staunton's purse, nor his old vow of revenge against the minister ; 
 and, to bring the whole to a point, he conceived the hope of appro- 
 priating the money, which, according to the general report of the 
 country, the minister was to bring from Edinburgh to pay for his 
 new purchase. While he was considering how he might best accom- 
 plish his purpose, he received the intelligence from one quarter, 
 that the vessel in which he proposed to sail was to sail immediately 
 from Greenock ; from another, that the minister and a rich English 
 lord, with a great many thousand pounds, were expected the next 
 evening at the Manse ; and from a third, that he must consult his 
 safety by leaving his ordinary haunts as soon as possible, for .that 
 the Captain had ordered out a party to scour the glens. for :him at 
 fcreakofday. Donacha laid his plans with promptitude and de- 
 cision. He embarked with the Whistler and two others of his band, 
 (whom, by the by, he meant to sell to the kidnappers,) and set sail 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 417 
 
 for the Caird's Cove. He intended to lurk till night-fall in the wood 
 adjoining to this place, which he thought was too near the habita- 
 tion of men to excite the suspicion of Duncan Knock, then break 
 into Butler's peaceful habitation, and flesh at once his • appetite for 
 plunder and revenge. When his villany was accomplished, his 
 boat was to convey him to the vessel, which, according to previous 
 agreement with the master, was instantly to set sail. 
 
 This desperate design would ; probably have succeeded, but for 
 the ruffians being discovered in their lurking-place by Sir George 
 Staunton and Butler, in their accidental walk from the Caird's Cove 
 towards the Manse. Finding himself detected, and at the same 
 time observing that the servant carried a casket, or strong-box, 
 Donacha conceived that both his prize and his victims were within 
 his power, and attacked the travellers without hesitation. Shots 
 were fired and swords drawn on both sides ; Sir George 
 Staunton offered the bravest resistance till he fell, as there was too 
 much reason to believe, by the hand of a son, so long sought, and 
 now at length so unhappily met. 
 
 While Butler was half-stunned with this intelligence, the hoarse 
 voice of Knockdunder added to his consternation. 
 
 " I will take the liperty to take down the pell-ropes, Mr. Putler, 
 as I must pe taking order to hang these idle people up to-morrow 
 morning, to teach them more consideration in their doings in 
 future." 
 
 Butler entreated him to remember the act, abolishing the herit- 
 able jurisdictions, and that he ought to send them to Glasgow or 
 Inveraray, to be tried by the Circuit. Duncan scorned the proposal. 
 
 " The Jurisdiction Act," he said, " had nothing to do put with the 
 rebels, and specially not with Argyle's country ; and he would hang 
 the men up all three in one row before coot Leddy Staunton's 
 windows, which would be a great comfort to her in the morning to 
 see that the coot shentleman, her husband, had been suitably 
 afenged." 
 
 And the utmost length that Butler's most earnest entreaties could 
 prevail was, that he would reserve "the twa pig carles for the 
 Circuit, but as for him they ca'd the Fustier, he should try how he 
 could fustle in a swinging tow, for it suldna be said that a shentle- 
 man, friend to the Duke, was killed in his country, and his people 
 didna tak at least twa lives for ane." 
 
 Butler entreated him to spare the victim for his soul's sake. But 
 Knockdunder answered, " that the soul of such a. scum had been 
 long the tefil's property, and that, Cot tamn ! he was determined to 
 gif the tefil his due." 
 
 All persuasion was in vain, and Duncan issued his mandate for 
 execution on the succeeding morning. The child of guilt and 
 misery was separated from his companions, strongly pinioned, and 
 committed to a separate room, of which the Captain kept the key. 
 
 In the silence of the night, however, Mrs. Butler arose, resolved, 
 if possible, to avert, at least to delay, the fate which hung over her 
 nephew, especially if, upon conversing with him, she should see any 
 hope of his being brought to better temper. She had a master-key 
 
418 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 that opened every lock in the house ; and at midnight, when all 
 was still, she stood before the eyes of the astonished young savage, 
 as, hard bound with cords, he lay, like a sheep designed for slaughter, 
 upon a quantity of the refuse of flax which filled a corner in the 
 apartment. Amid features sunburnt, tawny, grimed with dirt, and 
 obscured by his. shaggy hair of a rusted black colour, Jeanie tried 
 in vain to trace the likeness of either of his very handsome parents. 
 Yet how could she refuse compassion to a creature so young 
 and so wretched, — so much more wretched than even he himself 
 could be aware of, since the murder he had too probably com- 
 mitted with his own hand, but in which he had at any rate partici- 
 pated, was in fact a parricide. She placed food on a table near 
 him, raised him, and slacked the cords on his arms, so as to permit 
 him to feed himself. He stretched out his hands, still smeared 
 with blood, perhaps that of his father, and he ate voraciously and 
 in silence. 
 
 " What is your first name ? " said Jeanie, by way of opening the 
 conversation. 
 
 " The Whistler." 
 
 " But your Christian name, by which you were baptized ? " 
 
 " I never was baptized that I know of — I have no other name 
 than the Whistler." 
 
 " Poor unhappy abandoned lad ! " said Jeanie. — " What would 
 you do if you could escape from this place, and the death you are 
 to die to-morrow morning ? " 
 
 "Join wi' Rob Roy, or wi' Sergeant More Cameron," (noted free- 
 booters at that time,) " and revenge Donacha's death on all and 
 sundry." 
 
 " O ye unhappy boy," said Jeanie, " do ye ken what will come o' 
 ye when ye die ? " 
 
 " I shall neither feel cauld nor hunger more," said the youth 
 doggedly. 
 
 "To let him be executed in this dreadful state of mind would be 
 to destroy baith body and soul — and to let him gang I dare not — 
 what will be done ? — But he is my sister's son — my own nephew — • 
 our flesh and blood — and his hands and feet are yerked as tight as 
 cords can be drawn. — Whistler, do the cords hurt you ? " 
 
 " Very much." 
 
 " But, if I were to slacken them, you would harm me ? " 
 
 " No, I would not — you never harmed me or mine." 
 
 " There may be good in him yet," thought Jeanie j " I will try 
 fair play with him." 
 
 She cut his bonds — he stood upright, looked round with a laugh 
 of wild exultation, clapped his hands together, and sprung from the 
 ground, as if in transport on finding himself at liberty. He looked 
 so wild, that Jeanie trembled at what she had done. 
 
 "Let me out," said the young savage. 
 
 " I wunna, unless you promise " 
 
 " Then I'll make you glad to let us both out." 
 
 He seized the lighted candle and threw it among the flax, 
 which was instantly in a flame. Jeanie screamed, and, ran out of 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 419 
 
 the room ; the prisoner rushed past her, threw open a window in 
 the passage, jumped into the garden, sprung over its enclosure, 
 bounded through the woods like a deer, and gained the sea-shore. 
 Meantime, the fire was extinguished, but the prisoner was sought 
 in vain. As Jeanie kept her own secret, the share she had in his 
 escape was not discovered ; but they learned his fate some time 
 afterwards — it was as wild as his life had hitherto been. 
 
 The anxious inquiries of Butler at length learned, that the youth 
 had gained the ship in which his master, Donacha, had designed to 
 embark. But the avaricious shipmaster, inured by his evil trade to 
 every species of treachery, and disappointed of the rich booty 
 which Donacha had proposed to bring aboard, secured the person 
 of the fugitive, and having transported him to America, sold him as 
 a slave, or indented servant, to a Virginian planter, far up the 
 country. When these tidings reached Butler, he sent over to 
 America a sufficient sum to redeem the lad from slavery, with in- 
 structions that measures should be taken for improving his mind, 
 restraining his evil propensities, and encouraging whatever good 
 might appear in his character. But this aid came too late. The 
 young man had headed a conspiracy in which his inhuman master 
 was put to death, and had then fled to the next tribe of wild 
 Indians. He was never more heard of ; and it may therefore be 
 presumed that he lived and died after the manner of that savage 
 people, with whom his previous habits had well fitted him to 
 associate. 
 
 All hopes of the young man's reformation being now ended, Mr. 
 and Mrs. Butler thought it could serve no purpose to explain to 
 Lady Staunton a history so full of horror. She remained their 
 guest more than a year, during the greater part of which period her 
 grief was excessive. In the latter months, it assumed the appear- 
 ance of listlessness and low spirits, which the monotony of her 
 sister's quiet establishment afforded no means of dissipating. Effie, 
 from her earliest youth, was never formed for a quiet low content. 
 Far different from her sister, she required the dissipation of society 
 to divert her sorrow, or enhance her joy. She left the seclu- 
 sion of Knocktarlitie with tears of sincere affection, and after heap- 
 ing jts inmates with all she could think of that might be valuable 
 in their eyes. But she did leave it ; and when the anguish of the 
 parting was over, her departure was a relief to both sisters. 
 
 The family at the Manse of Knocktarlitie, in their own quiet 
 happiness, heard of the well-dowered and beautiful Lady Staunton 
 resuming her place in the fashionable world. They learned it by 
 more substantial proofs, for David received a commission ; and as 
 the military spirit of Bible Butler seemed to have revived in him, 
 his good behaviour qualified the envy of five hundred young High- 
 land cadets, " come , of good houses," who were astonished at the 
 rapidity of his promotion. Reuben followed the law, and rose 
 more slowly, yet surely. Euphemia Butler, whose fortune, aug- 
 mented by her aunt's generosity, and added to her own beauty, 
 rendered her no small prize, married a Highland laird, who never 
 asked the name of her grandfather,. and was loaded on the occasion 
 
 d d 2 
 
4 20 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 with presents from Lady Staunton, which made her the envy of all 
 the beauties in Dumbarton and Argyle-shires. 
 
 After blazing nearly ten years in the fashionable world, and hiding, 
 like many of her compeers, an aching heart with a gay demeanour — 
 after declining repeated offers of the most respectable kind for a 
 second matrimonial engagement, Lady Staunton betrayed the in- 
 ward wound by retiring to the Continent, and taking up her abode 
 in the convent where she had received her education. She never 
 took the veil, but lived and died in severe seclusion, and in the 
 practice of the Roman Catholic religion in all its formal observ- 
 ances, vigils, and austerities. 
 
 Jeanie had so much of her father's spirit as to sorrow bitterly for 
 this apostacy, and Butler joined in her regret. "Yet any religion, 
 however imperfect," he said, " was better than cold scepticism, or 
 the hurrying din of dissipation, which fills the ears of worldlings, 
 until they care for none of these things." 
 
 Meanwhile, happy in each other, in the prosperity of their family, 
 and the love and honour of all who knew them, this simple pair 
 lived beloved, and died lamented. 
 
 Reader. — This tale will not be told in vain, if it shall be found 
 to illustrate the great truth, that guilt, though it may attain tem- 
 poral splendour, can never confer real happiness ; that the evil con- 
 sequences of our crimes long survive their commission, and, like 
 the ghosts of the murdered, for ever haunt the steps of the male- 
 factor ; and that the paths of virtue, though seldom those of worldly 
 greatness, are always those of pleasantness and peace. 
 
 L' Envoy, by Jedediah Cleishbotham. 
 
 Thus concludeth the Tale of " The Heart of Mid-Lothian," 
 which hath filled more pages than I opined. The Heart of Mid- 
 Lothian is now no more, or rather it is transferred to the extreme 
 side of the city, even as the Sieur Jean Baptiste Poquelin hath it, 
 in his pleasant comedy called Le Medecin Malgre ltd, where 
 the simulated doctor wittily replieth to a charge, that he had 
 placed the heart on the right side, instead of the left, " Cela itoit 
 autrefois ainsi, mats nous avons change" tout cela!' Of which witty 
 speech, if any reader shall demand the purport, I have only to 
 respond, that I teach^the French as well as the Classical tongues, 
 at the easy rate of five shillings per quarter, as my advertisements 
 are periodically making known to the public. 
 
NOTES TO 
 
 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 * P. 15. — His honour Gilbert Goslinn 
 of Gandercleugh ; for I love to be 
 precise in matters of importance. — J. C. 
 
 * P. 31.— The Lord Provost was ex- 
 officio commander and colonel of the 
 corps, which might be increased to 
 three hundred men when the times 
 required it. No other drum but 
 theirs was allowed to sound on the 
 High Street between the Lucken- 
 booths and the Netherbow. 
 
 * P. 32. — This hook was to enable the 
 bearer of the Lochaber-axe to scale a 
 gateway, by grappling the top of the 
 door, and swinging himself up by the 
 staff of his weapon. 
 
 * P. 32. — This ancient corps is now 
 entirely disbanded. Their last march 
 to do duty at Hallow-fair, had some- 
 thing in it affecting. Their drums and 
 fifes had been wont on better .days to 
 play, on this joyous occasion, the 
 lively tune of 
 
 "Jockey to the fair; " 
 
 but on this final occasion the afflicted 
 veterans moved slowly to the dirge of 
 
 f The last time I cam owerthemuir," 
 
 * P. 36. — There is a tradition, that 
 while a little stream was swollen into 
 a torrent by recent showers, the dis- 
 contented voice of the Water Spirit 
 was heard'to pronounce these words. 
 At the same moment a man, urged 
 on by his fate, or, in Scottish lan- 
 guage, fey, arrived at a gallop, and 
 prepared to cross the water. No re- 
 monstrance from the bystanders was 
 of power to stop him — he plunged 
 into the stream, and perished. 
 
 * P. 42. — A nobleman was called a 
 Lord of State. The Senators of the 
 College of Justice were termed Lords 
 of Seat, or of the Session. 
 
 * P. Si-— 
 
 Wide is the fronting gate, and, raised 
 
 on high, 
 With adamantine columns threats the 
 
 sky ; 
 
 Vain is the force of man, and Hea- 
 ven's as vain, 
 
 To crush the pillars which the pile 
 sustain ; 
 
 Sublime on these a tower of steel is 
 reared. 
 
 Dryden's Virgil, book vi. 
 
 * P. 55. — Anearrelationof theauthor's 
 used to tell of having been stopped 
 by the rioters, and escorted home in 
 the manner described. On reaching 
 her own home, one of her attendants, 
 in appearance a baxter, i. e. a baker's 
 lad, handed her out of her chair, and 
 took leave with a bow, which, in the 
 lady's opinion, argued breeding that 
 could hardly be learned at the oven's 
 mouth. 
 
 * P. 57.— The ancient Tolbooth of 
 Edinburgh, situated and described as 
 in the last chapter, was built by the 
 citizens in 1561, and destined for the 
 accommodation of Parliament, as well 
 as of the High Courts of Justice; and 
 at the same time for the confinement 
 of prisoners for debt, or on criminal 
 charges. Since the year 1640, when 
 the late Parliament House was 
 erected, the Tolbooth was occupied 
 as a prison only. Gloomy and dis- 
 mal as it was, the situation in the 
 centre of the High Street rendered it 
 so particularly well-aired, that when 
 the plague laid waste the city in 1645, 
 it affected none within these melan- 
 choly precincts. The Tolbooth was 
 removed, with the mass of buildings 
 in which it was incorporated, in the 
 autumn of the year 1S17. At that 
 time the kindness of his old school- 
 fellow and friend, Robert Johnstone, 
 Esquire, then Dean of Guild of the 
 city, with the liberal acquiescence of 
 the persons who had contracted for 
 the work, procured for the Author of 
 Waverley the stones which composed 
 the gateway, together with the door, 
 and its ponderous fastenings, which 
 he employed in decorating the en- 
 trance of his kitchen-court at Abbots- 
 ford. ' ' To such base offices may we 
 
422 
 
 NOTES TO THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 return." The application of these 
 relics of the Heart of Mid-Lothian to 
 serve as the postern gate to a court of 
 modern offices, may be justly ridi- 
 culed as whimsical ; but yet it is not 
 without interest, that we see the gate- 
 way through which so much of the 
 stormy politics of a rude age, and the 
 vice and misery of later times, had 
 found their passage, now occupied in 
 the service of rural economy. Last 
 year, to complete the change, a tom- 
 tit was pleased to build her nest within 
 the lock of the Tolbooth, — a strong 
 temptation to have committed a son- 
 net, had the author, like Tony Lump- 
 kin, been in a concatenation ac- 
 cordingly. 
 
 It is worth mentioning, that an act of 
 beneficence celebrated the demolition 
 of the Heart of Mid-Lothian. A sub- 
 scription, raised and applied by the 
 worthy Magistrate above-mentioned, 
 procured the manumission of most of 
 the unfortunate debtors confined in 
 the old jail, so that there were few or 
 none transferred to the new place of 
 confinement. 
 * P. 64. — The following interesting and 
 authentic account of the inquiries made 
 by Crown Counsel into the affair of 
 the Porteous Mob, seems to have 
 been drawn up by the Solicitor-Gene- 
 ral. The office was held in 1737 by 
 Charles Erskine, Esq. 
 
 I owe this curious illustration to the 
 kindness of a professional friend. It 
 throws, indeed, little light on the 
 origin of the tumult ; but shows how 
 profoundly the darkness must have 
 been which so much investigation 
 could not dispel. 
 
 " Upon the 7th of September last, 
 when the unhappy wicked murder of 
 Captain Porteus was committed, His 
 Majesty's Advocate and Solicitor were 
 out of town ; the first beyond Inver- 
 ness, and the other in Annandale, not 
 far from Carlyle ; neither of them 
 knew any thing of the reprieve, nor 
 did they in the least suspect that any 
 disorder was to happen. 
 
 ' ' When the disorder happened, the 
 magistrates and other persons con- 
 cerned in the management of the 
 town, seemed to be all struck of a 
 heap; and whether, from the great 
 terror that had seized all the inhabit- 
 ants, they thought ane immediate 
 enquiry would be fruitless, or whether, 
 
 being a direct insult upon the prero- 
 gative of the crown, they did not care 
 rashly to intermeddle ; but no pro- 
 ceedings was had by them. Only, 
 soon after, ane express was sent tO' 
 his Majestie's Solicitor, who came to 
 town as soon as was possible for him ; 
 but, in the meantime, the persons 
 who had been most guilty, had either 
 run off, or, at least, kept themselves 
 upon the wing until they should see 
 what steps were taken by the Govern- 
 ment. 
 
 " When the Solicitor arrived, he 
 perceived the whole inhabitants under 
 a consternation. He had no mate- 
 rials furnished him ; nay, the inhabit- 
 ants were so much afraid of being 
 reputed informers, that very few 
 people had so much as the courage to 
 speak with him on the streets. How- 
 ever, having received her Majestie's 
 orders, by a letter from the Duke of 
 Newcastle, he resolved to sett about 
 the matter in earnest, and entered 
 upon ane enquiry, gropeing in the 
 dark. He had no assistance from the 
 magistrates worth mentioning, but 
 called witness after witness in the pri- 
 vatest manner, before himself in his 
 own house, and for six weeks time, 
 from morning to evening, went on in 
 the enquiry without takhig the least 
 diversion, or turning' his thoughts to 
 any other business. 
 
 ' ' He tried at first what he could do 
 by declarations, by engaging secresy, 
 so that those who told the truth 
 should never be discovered ; made use 
 of no clerk, but wrote all the decla- 
 rations with his own hand, to encou- 
 rage them to speak out. After all, for 
 some time, he could get nothing but 
 ends of stories which, when pursued, 
 broke off; and those who appeared 
 and knew anything of the matter, were 
 under the utmost terror, lest it should 
 take air that they had mentioned any 
 one man as guilty. 
 
 " During the course of the enquiry, 
 the run of the town, which was strong 
 for the villanous actors, began to alter 
 a little, and when they saw the King's 
 servants in earnest to do their best, 
 the generality, who before had spoke 
 very warmly in defence of the wicked- 
 ness, begun to be silent, and at that 
 period more of the criminals begun to 
 abscond. 
 *' At length the enquiry began to 
 
NOTES TO THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 423 
 
 open a little, and the Sollicitor was 
 under some difficulty how to proceed. 
 He very well saw that the first war- 
 rand that was issued out would start 
 
 '. the whole gang ; and as he had not 
 come at any of the most notorious 
 offenders, he was unwilling, upon the 
 slight evidence he had, to begin. How- 
 ever, upon notice given him by Gene- 
 
 J rail Moyle, that one King, a butcher 
 in the Canongate, had boasted, in 
 presence of Bridget Knell, a soldier's 
 wife, the morning after Captain Por- 
 
 , teus was hanged, that he had a very 
 
 : active hand in the mob, a warrand 
 was issued out, and King was appre- 
 hended and imprisoned in the Canon- 
 gate tolbooth. 
 
 ' ' This obliged the Sollicitor imme- 
 diately to proceed to take up those 
 against whom he had any information. 
 By a signed declaration, William 
 Stirling, apprentice to James Stirling, 
 merchant in Edinburgh, was charged 
 as haveing been at the Nether-Bow, 
 after the gates were shutt, with a 
 Lochaber ax, or halbert in his hand, 
 and haveing begun a huzza, marched 
 upon the head of the mob towards 
 the Guard. 
 
 "James Braidwood, son to a can- 
 dlemaker in town, was, by a signed 
 declaration, charged as haveing been 
 at the Tolbooth door, giveing direc- 
 tions to the mob about setting fire to 
 the door, and that the mob named 
 him by his " name, and asked his 
 advice. 
 
 " By another declaration, oneStod- 
 <Jart, ajourneyman smith, was charged 
 of haveing boasted publickly, in a 
 smith's shop at Leith, that he had 
 assisted in breaking open the Tol- 
 booth door. 
 
 " PeterTraill, ajourneyman wright, 
 by one of the declarations, was also 
 accused of haveing lockt the Nether- 
 bow port when it was shutt by the 
 mob. 
 
 "His Majesties Sollicitor having 
 these informations, imployed privately 
 such persons as he could best rely on, 
 and the truth was, there were very few 
 in whom he could repose confidence. 
 But he was, indeed, faithfully served 
 by one Webster, a soldier in the 
 Welsh fuzileers, recommended him by 
 Lieutenant Alshton, who, with very 
 great address, informed himself, and 
 really run some risque in getting his in- 
 
 formation, concerning the places where 
 the persons informed against used to 
 haunt, and how they might be seized. 
 In consequence of which, a party of 
 the Guard from the Canongate was 
 agreed on to march up at a certain 
 hour, when a message should be sent. 
 The Solicitor wrote a letter and gave 
 it to one of the town officers, ordered 
 to attend Captain Maitland, one of 
 the town Captains, promoted to that 
 command since the unhappy accident, 
 who, indeed, was extremely diligent 
 and active throughout the whole ; and 
 haveing got Stirling and Braidwood 
 apprehended, dispatched the officer 
 with the letter to the military in the 
 Canongate, who immediately begun 
 their march, and by the time the Sol- 
 licitor had half examined the said two 
 persons in the Burrow-room, where 
 the magistrates were present, a party 
 of fifty men, drums beating, marched 
 into the Parliament close, and drew 
 up, which was the first thing that 
 struck a terror, and from that time 
 forward, the insolence was succeeded 
 by fear. 
 
 ' ' Stirling ' and Braidwood were im- 
 mediately sent to the Castle, and 
 imprisoned. That same night, Stod- 
 dart the smith was seized, and he was 
 committed to the Castle also ; as was 
 likewise Traill the journeyman wright, 
 who were all severally examined, and 
 denyed the least accession. 
 
 ' ■ In the meantime, the enquiry 
 was going on, and it haveing cast up 
 in one of the declarations, that a 
 hump'd-backed creature marched with 
 a gun as one of the guards to Por- 
 teus when he went up to the Lawn 
 Markett, the person who emitted this 
 declaration, was employed to walk 
 the streets to see if he could find him 
 out ; at last he came to the Solicitor 
 and told him he had found him, and 
 that he was in a certain house. Where- 
 upon a warrand was issued out against 
 him, and he was apprehended and 
 sent to the Castle, and he proved to 
 be one Birnie, a helper to the Coun- 
 tess of Weemys's coachman. 
 
 ' ' Thereafter, ane information was 
 given in against William M'Lauchlan, 
 ffootman to the said Countess, he 
 haveing been very active in the mob ; 
 ffor some time he kept himself out of 
 the way , but at last he was apprehended 
 and likewise committed to the Castle. 
 
4 z 4 
 
 NOTES TO THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 " And these were all the prisoners 
 who were putt under confinement in 
 that place. 
 
 "There were other persons im- 
 prisoned in the Tolbooth of Edin- 
 burgh, and severalls against whom 
 warrands were issued, but could not 
 be apprehended, whose names and 
 cases shall afterwards be more par- 
 ticularly taken notice of. 
 
 ' ' The ffriends of Stirling made an 
 application to the Earl of Islay, Lord 
 Justice-Generall, setting furth, that he 
 was seized with a bloody mux ; that 
 his life was in danger ; and, that 
 upon ane examination of witnesses 
 whose names were given in, it would 
 appear to conviction, that he had not 
 the least access to any of the riotous 
 proceedings of that wicked mob. 
 
 " This petition was by his Lordship 
 putt in the hands of his Majesties Sol- 
 licitor, who examined the witnesses ; 
 and by their testimonies it appeared, 
 that the young man, who was not 
 above eighteen years of age, was 
 that night in company with about 
 half a dozen companions, in a public 
 house in Stephen Law's close, near 
 the back of the Guard, where they all 
 remained untill the noise came to the 
 house, that the mob had shut the 
 gates and seized the Guard, upon 
 which the company broke up, and he, 
 and one of his companions, went 
 towards his master's house ; and, in 
 the course of the after examination, 
 there was a witness who declared, 
 nay, indeed swore (for the Sollicitor, 
 by this time, saw it necessary to put 
 those he examined upon oath), that 
 he met him [Stirling] after he entered 
 into the alley where his master lives, 
 going towards his house ; and another 
 witness, fellow-prentice with Stirling, 
 declares, that after the mob had seized 
 the Guard, he went home, where he 
 found Stirling before him ; and that his 
 master lockt the door, and kept them 
 both at home till after twelve at 
 night ; upon weighing of which testi- 
 monies, and upon consideration had, 
 That he was charged by the declara- 
 tion only of one person, who really 
 did not appear to be a witness of the 
 greatest weight, and that his life was 
 in danger from the imprisonment, he 
 was admitted to baill by the Lord 
 Justice-Generall, by whose warrand 
 he was committed. 
 
 ' ' Braidwood's friends applyed in 
 the same manner ; but as he stood 
 charged by more than one witness, he 
 was not released — tho', indeed, the 
 witnesses adduced for him say some- 
 what in his exculpation — that he does 
 not seem to have been upon any origi- 
 nal concert ; and one of the witnesses 
 says he was alongwith him at the Tol- 
 booth door, and refuses what is said 
 against him, with regard to his having 
 advised the burning of the Tolbooth 
 door. But he remains still in prison. 
 
 "As to Traill, the journeyman 
 wright, he is charged by the same 
 witness who declared against Stirling', 
 and there is none concurrs with him ; 
 and to say the truth concerning him, 
 he seemed to be the most ingenuous of 
 any of them whom the Solicitor ex- 
 amined, and pointed out a witness by 
 whom one of the first accomplices 
 was discovered, andwhoescapedwhen 
 the warrand was to be put in execution 
 against them. He positively denys 
 his having shutt the gate, and 'tis 
 thought Trail ought to be admitted to 
 baill. 
 
 " As to Birnie, he is charged only 
 by one witness, who had never seen 
 him before, nor knew his name ; so, 
 tho' I dare say the witness honestly 
 mentioned him, 'tis possible he may 
 be mistaken ; and in the examination 
 of above 200 witnesses there is no body 
 concurrs with him, and he is ane in- ' 
 significant little creature. 
 
 " With regard to M'Lauchlan, the 
 proof is strong against him by one 
 witness, that he acted as a Serjeant os 
 sort of commander, for some time, of 
 a Guard, that stood . cross between 
 the upper end of the Luckenbooths 
 and the north side of the street, to 
 stop all but friends from going towards 
 the Tolbooth ; and by other wit- 
 nesses, that he was at the Tolbooth 
 door with a link in his hand, while 
 the operation of beating and burning 
 it was going on : that he went along 
 with the mob with a halbert in his 
 hand, until he came to the gallows stone 
 in the Grassmarket, and that he stuck 
 the halbert into the hole of the gal- 
 lows stone : that afterwards he went 
 in amongst the mob when Captain 
 Porteus was carried to the dyer's tree ; 
 so that the proof seems very heavy 
 against him. 
 
 " To sum up this matter with re- 
 
NOTES TO THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 425 
 
 gard to the prisoners in the Castle, 
 'tis believed there is strong proof 
 against M'Lauchlan ; there is also 
 proof against Braidwood. But as it 
 consists only in emission of words 
 said to have been had by him while at 
 the Tolbooth door, and that he is ane 
 insignificant pitifull creature, and will 
 find people to swear heartily in his 
 favours, 'tis at best doubtfull whether 
 a jury will be got to condemn him. 
 
 "As to those in the Tolbooth of 
 Edinburgh, John Crawford, who had 
 for some time been employed to ring 
 the bells in the steeple of the New 
 Church of Edinburgh, being in com- 
 pany with a soldier accidentally, the 
 discourse falling in concerning the 
 Captain Porteus and his murder, as 
 he appears to be a light-headed fellow, 
 he said, that he knew people that were 
 more guilty than any that were putt in 
 prison. Upon this information, Craw- 
 ford was seized, and being examined, 
 it appeared, that when the mob begun, 
 as he was comeing down from the 
 steeple, the mob took the keys from 
 him ; that he was that night in several 
 corners, and did indeed delate severall 
 persons whom he saw there, and im- 
 mediately warrands were dispatched, 
 and it was found they had absconded 
 and fled. But there was no evidence 
 against him of any kind. Nay, on the 
 contrary, it appeared, that he had 
 been with the Magistrates in Clerk's 
 the vintner's, relating to them what 
 he had seen in the streets. Therefore, 
 after haveing detained him in prison 
 ffor a very considerable time, his 
 Majestie's Advocate and Sollicitor 
 signed a warrand for his liberation. 
 
 ' ' There was also one James Wil- 
 son incarcerated in the said Tolbooth, 
 upon the declaration of one witness, 
 who said he saw him on the streets 
 with a gun ; and there he. remained 
 for some time, in order to try if a con- 
 curring witness could be found, or 
 that he had acted any part in the 
 tragedy and wickedness. But nothing 
 farther appeared against him ; and 
 being seized with a severe sickness, 
 he is, by a warrand signed by his 
 Majestie's Advocate and Sollicitor, 
 liberated upon giveing sufficient baill. 
 
 "As to King, enquiry was made, 
 and the ffact comes out beyond all 
 exception, that he was in the lodge at 
 the Nether-Bow with Lindsay the 
 
 waiter, and several other people, not 
 at all concerned in the mob. But 
 after the affair was over, he went up 
 towards the guard, and having met 
 with Sandie the Turk and his wife, 
 who escaped out of prison, they re- 
 turned to his house at the Abbey, and 
 then 'tis very possible he may have 
 thought fitt in his beer to boast of 
 villany in which he could not possibly 
 have any share for that reason ; he 
 was desired to find baill and he 
 should be set at liberty. But he is a 
 stranger and a fellow of very in- 
 different character, and 'tis believed 
 it won't be easy for him to find baill. 
 Wherefore, it's thought he must be 
 sett at liberty without it. Because he 
 is a burden upon the Government 
 while kept in confinement, not being 
 able to maintain himself. 
 
 " What is above is all that relates 
 to persons in custody. But there are 
 warrands out against a great many 
 other persons who had fled, par- 
 ticularly against one William White, 
 a journeyman baxter, who, by the 
 evidence, appears to have been at the 
 beginning of the mob, and to have 
 gone along with the drum, from the 
 West-Port to the Nether-Bow, and is 
 said to have been one of those who 
 attacked the guard, and probably 
 was as deep as any one there. 
 
 "Information was given that he 
 was lurking at Falkirk, where he was 
 born. Whereupon directions were 
 sent to the Sheriff of the County, and 
 a warrand from his Excellency Gene- 
 rail Wade, to the commanding officers 
 at Stirling and Linlithgow, to assist, 
 and all possible endeavours were used 
 to catch hold of him, and 'tis said he 
 escaped very narrowly, having been 
 concealed in some outhouse ; and the 
 misfortune was, that those who were 
 employed in the search did not know 
 him personally. Nor, indeed, was it 
 easy to trust any of the acquaintances 
 of so low obscure a fellow with the 
 secret of the warrand to be putt in 
 execution. 
 
 ' ' There was also strong evidence 
 found against Robert Taylor, servant 
 to William and Charles Thomsons, 
 periwig-makers, that he acted as ane 
 officer among the mob, and he was 
 traced from the guard to the well at 
 the head of Forrester's Wynd, where 
 he stood and had the appellation of 
 
4=6 
 
 NOTES TO THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 Captain from the mob, and from that 
 walking down the Bow before Captain 
 Porteus, with his Lochabar-axe ; and 
 by the description given by one who 
 hawl'd the rope by which Captain 
 Porteus was pulled up, 'tis believed 
 Taylor was the person ; and 'tis far- 
 ther probable, that the witness who 
 delated Stirling had mistaken Taylor 
 for him, their stature and age (so far as 
 can be gathered from the description) 
 being the same. 
 
 " A great deal of pains were taken, 
 and no charge was saved, in order to 
 have catched hold of this Taylor, and 
 warrands were sent to the country 
 where he was born ; but it appears he 
 had shipt himself off for Holland, 
 where it is said he now is. 
 
 "There is strong evidence also 
 against Thomas Burns, butcher, that 
 he was ane active person from the be- 
 ginning of the mob to the end of it. 
 He lurkt for some time amongst those 
 of his trade ; and artfully enough a 
 train was laid to catch him, under 
 pretence of a message that had come 
 from his father in Ireland, so that he 
 came to a blind alehouse in the Flesh- 
 market close, and a party being ready, 
 was by Webster, the soldier, who was 
 upon this exploit, advertised to come 
 down. However, Burns escaped out 
 at a back -window, and hid himself in 
 some of the houses which are heaped 
 together upon one another in that 
 place, so that it was not possible to 
 catch him. 'Tis now said he is gone 
 to Ireland to his father, who lives 
 there. 
 
 " There is evidence also against one 
 Robert Anderson, journeyman and 
 servant to Colin Alison, wright ; and 
 against Thomas Linnen and James 
 Maxwell, both servants also to the 
 said Colin Alison, who all seem to 
 have been deeply concerned in the 
 matter. Anderson is one of those 
 who putt the rope upon Captain 
 Porteus's neck. Linnen seems also 
 to have been very active ; and Max- 
 well (which is pretty remarkable) is 
 proven to have come to a shop upon 
 the Friday before, and charged the 
 journeymen and prentices there to at- 
 tend in the Parliament close on Tues- 
 day night, to assist to hang Captain 
 Porteus. These three did early ab- 
 scond, and though warrands had been 
 issued out against them, and all en- 
 
 deavours used to apprehend them, 
 could not be found. 
 
 " One Waldie, a servant to George 
 Campbell, wright, has also absconded, 
 and many others, and 'tis informed 
 that numbers of them have shipt them- 
 selves off ffor the Plantations ; and 
 upon an information that a ship was 
 going off ffrom Glasgow, in which 
 severall of the rogues were to trans- 
 port themselves beyond seas, proper 
 warrands were obtained, and persons 
 despatched to search the said ship, 
 and seize any that can be found. 
 
 " The like warrands had been issued 
 with regard to ships from Leith. But 
 whether they had been scard, or 
 whether the information had been 
 groundless, they had-no effect. 
 
 " This is a summary of the enquiry, ■ 
 ffrom which it appears there is no 
 prooff on which one can rely, but 
 against M'Lauchlan. There is a 
 prooff also against Braidwood, but 
 more exceptionable. His Majesties 
 Advocate, since he came to town, has 
 join'd with the Sollicitor, and has 
 done his utmost to gett at the bottom 
 of this matter, but hitherto it stands 
 as is above represented. They are 
 resolved to have their eyes and their 
 ears open, and to do what they can. 
 But they laboured exceedingly against 
 the stream ; and it may truly be said, 
 that nothing was wanting on their 
 part. Nor have they declined any 
 labour to answer the commands laid 
 upon them to search the matter to the 
 bottom." 
 
 The Porteous Mob. 
 
 In the preceding chapters, the cir- 
 cumstances of that extraordinary riot 
 and conspiracy, called the Porteous 
 Mob, are given with as much ac- 
 curacy as the author was able to 
 collect them. The order, regularity, 
 and determined resolution with which 
 such a violent action was devised and 
 executed, were only equalled by the 
 secrecy which was observed concern- 
 ing the principal actors. 
 
 Although the fact was performed 
 by torch-light, in the presence of a 
 great multitude, to some of whom, at 
 least, the individual actors must have 
 been known, yet no discovery was ever 
 made concerning any of the perpe- 
 trators of the slaughter. 
 
 Two men only were brought to trial. 
 
NOTES TO THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 4'7 
 
 for an offence which the government 
 were so anxious to detect and punish. 
 William M'Lauchlan, footman to the 
 Countess of Wemyss, who is men- 
 tioned in the report of the Solicitor- 
 General, against whom strong evi- 
 dence had been obtained, was brought 
 to trial in March, 1737, charged as 
 having been accessory to the riot, 
 armed with a Lochaber-axe. But 
 this man (who was at all times a silly 
 creature) proved, that he was in a state 
 of mortal intoxication, during the time 
 he was present with the rabble, in- 
 capable of giving them either advice 
 or assistance, or, indeed, of knowing 
 what he or they were doing. He was 
 also able to prove, that he was forced 
 into the riot, and upheld while there 
 by two bakers, who put a Lochaber- 
 axe into his hand. The jury, wisely 
 judging this poor creature could be no 
 proper subject of punishment,, found 
 the panel Not Guilty. The same ver- 
 dict was given in the case of Thomas 
 Linning, also mentioned in the Soli- 
 citor's memorial, who was tried in 
 1738. In short, neither then, nor for 
 a long period afterwards, was any 
 thing discovered relating to the orga- 
 nization of the Porteous Plot. 
 
 The imagination of the people of 
 Edinburgh was long irritated, and 
 their curiosity kept awake, by the 
 mystery attending this extraordinary 
 conspiracy. It was generally reported 
 of such hativesof Edinburgh as, having 
 left the city in youth, returned with a 
 fortune amassed in foreign countries, 
 that they had originally fled on account 
 of their share in the Porteous Mob. 
 But little credit can be attached to 
 these surmises, as in most of the cases 
 they are contradicted by dates, and in 
 none supported by anything but vague 
 rumours, grounded on the ordinary 
 wish of the vulgar, to impute the suc- 
 cess of prosperous men to some un- 
 • pleasant source. The secret history 
 of the Porteous Mob has been till this 
 day unravelled ; and it has always 
 been quoted as a close, daring, and 
 calculated act of violence, of a nature 
 peculiarly characteristic of the Scottish 
 people. 
 
 Nevertheless, the author, for a 
 considerable time, nourished hopes 
 to have found himself enabled to 
 throw some light on this mysterious 
 Story. An old man, who died about 
 
 twenty years ago, at the advanced 
 age of ninety-three, was said to have^ 
 made a communication to the clergy-' 
 man who attended upon his death- 
 bed, respecting the origin of the 
 Porteous Mob. This person followed 
 the trade of a carpenter, and had been 
 employed as such on the estate of a 
 family of opulence and condition. 
 His character in his line of life and 
 amongst his neighbours, was excel- 
 lent, and never underwent the slightest 
 suspicion. His confession was said 
 to have been to the following pur- 
 pose : That he was one of twelve 
 young men belonging to the village 
 of Pathhead, Fife, whose animosity 
 against Porteous, on account of the 
 execution of Wilson, was so extreme, 
 that they resolved to execute vengeance 
 on him with their own hands, rather 
 than he should escape punishment. 
 With this resolution they crossed the 
 Forth at different ferries, and rendez- 
 voused at the suburb called Ports- 
 burgh, where their appearance in a 
 body soon called numbers around 
 them. The public mind was in such 
 a state'of irritation, that it only wanted 
 a single spark to create an explosion ; 
 and this was afforded by the exertions 
 of the small and determined band of 
 associates. The appearance of pre- 
 meditation and order which distin- 
 guished the riot, according to his 
 account, had its origin, not in any 
 previous plan or conspiracy, but in 
 the character of those who were en- 
 gaged in it. The story also serves to 
 show why nothing of the origin of the 
 riot has ever been discovered, since, 
 though in itself a great conflagration, 
 its source, according to this account, 
 was from an obscure and apparently 
 inadequate cause. * 
 
 I have been disappointed, however, 
 in obtaining the evidence on which this 
 story rests. The present proprietor of 
 the estate on which the old man died, 
 (a particular friend of the author,) 
 undertook to question the son of the 
 deceased on the subject. This person 
 follows his father's trade, and holds 
 the employment of carpenter to the 
 same family. He admits, that his 
 father's going abroad at the time of 
 the Porteous Mob was popularly attri- 
 buted to his having been concerned 
 in that affair ; but adds, that, so far 
 as is known to him, the old man 
 
428 
 
 NOTES TO THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 had never made any confession to 
 that effect ; and, on the contrary, had 
 uniformly denied being present. My 
 kind friend, therefore, had recourse to 
 a person from whom he had formerly 
 heard the story ; but who, either from 
 respect to an old friend's memory, or 
 from failure to his own, happened to 
 have forgotten that ever such a com- 
 munication was made. So my oblig- 
 ing correspondent (who is a fox- 
 hunter) wrote to me that he was 
 completely planted; and all that can 
 be said with respect to the tradition 
 is, that it certainly once existed, and 
 was generally believed. 
 
 * P. 65.— A beautiful and solid path- 
 way has, within a few years, been 
 formed around these romantic rocks ; 
 and the author has the pleasure to 
 think, that the passage in the text 
 gave rise to the undertaking. 
 
 * P. 67 — Dumbiedikes, selected as de- 
 scriptive of the taciturn character of 
 the imaginary owner, is really the 
 name of a house bordering on the 
 King's Park, so called because the 
 late Mr. Braidwood, an instructor of 
 the deaf and dumb, resided there with 
 his pupils. The situation of the real 
 house is different from that assigned 
 to the ideal mansion. 
 
 * P. 69. — Immediately previous to the 
 Revolution, the students at the Edin- 
 burgh College were violent anti- 
 catholics. They were strongly sus- 
 pected of burning the house of 
 Priestfield, belonging to the Lord 
 Provost, and certainly were guilty of 
 creating considerable riots in 1688-9. 
 
 * P. 69. — The author has been nattered 
 by the assurance, that this naivemodz 
 of recommending arboriculture (which 
 was actually delivered in these very 
 words by a Highland laird, while on 
 his death-bed, to his son) had so much 
 weight with a Scottish earl, as to lead 
 to his planting a large tract of 
 country. 
 
 * P. 79. — John Semple, called Cars- 
 phairn John, because minister of the 
 parish m Galloway so called, was a 
 presbyterian clergyman of singular 
 piety and great zeal, of whom Patrick 
 Walker records the following passage : 
 ' ' That night after his wife died, he 
 spent the whole ensuing night in 
 prayer and meditation in his garden. 
 The next morning, one of his elders 
 coming to see him, and lamenting his 
 
 great loss and want of rest, he re- 
 plied, — 'I declare I have not, all 
 night, had one thought of the death 
 of my wife, I have been so taken up 
 in meditating on heavenly things. I 
 have been this night on the banks of 
 Ulai, plucking an apple here and 
 there.'" — Walker on the Life and 
 Death of Mr. Semple. 
 
 * P. 83.— Mrs. Elizabeth Hamilton, 
 now (1830) no more. 
 
 * P. 86. — This personage, whom it 
 would be base ingratitude in the 
 author to pass over without some 
 notice, was by far the most zealous 
 and faithful collector and recorder of 
 the actions and opinions of the Came- 
 ronians. He resided, while stationary, 
 at the Bristo Port of Edinburgh, but 
 was by trade an itinerant merchant, 
 or pedlar, which profession he seems 
 to have exercised in Ireland as well as 
 Britain. He composed biographical 
 notices of Alexander Peden, John 
 Semple, John Welwood, and Richard 
 Cameron, all ministers of the Came- 
 ronian persuasion, to which the last 
 mentioned member gave the name. 
 
 It is from such tracts as these, 
 written in the sense, feeling, and 
 spirit of the sect, and not from the 
 sophisticated narratives of a later 
 period, that the real character of the 
 persecuted class is to be gathered. 
 Walker writes with a simplicity which 
 sometimes slides into the burlesque, 
 and sometimes attains atone of simple 
 pathos, but always expressing the 
 most daring confidence in his own 
 correctness of creed and sentiments, 
 sometimes with narrow-minded and 
 disgusting bigotry. His turn for the 
 marvellous was that of his time and 
 sect ; but there is little room to doubt 
 his veracity concerning whatever he 
 quotes on his own knowledge. His 
 small tracts now bring a very high 
 price! especially the earlier and au- 
 thentic editions. 
 
 The tirade against dancing, pro- 
 nounced by David Deans, is, as inti- 
 mated in the text, partly borrowed 
 from Peter Walker. He notices, as a 
 foul reproach upon the name of 
 Richard Cameron, that his memory 
 was vituperated "by pipers and 
 fiddlers playing the Cameronian 
 march — carnal vain springs, which 
 too many professors of religion dance 
 to ; a practice unbecoming the pro- 
 
NOTES TO THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 429 
 
 fessors of Christianity to dance to any 
 spring, but somewhat more to this. ' 
 "Whatever," he proceeds, "be the 
 many foul blots recorded of the saints 
 in Scripture, none of them is charged 
 with this regular fit of distraction. 
 We find it has been practised by the 
 wicked and profane, as the dancing 
 at that bfutish, base action of the 
 calf-making ; and it had been good 
 for that unhappy lass, who danced off 
 the head of John the Baptist, that she 
 had been born a cripple, and never 
 drawn a limb to her. Historians say, 
 that her sin was written upon her 
 judgment, who sometime thereafter 
 was dancing upon the ice, and it 
 broke, and snapt the head off her ; 
 her head danced above, and her feet 
 beneath. There is ground to think 
 and conclude, that when the world's 
 wickedness was great, dancing at 
 their marriages was practised ; but 
 when the heavens above, and the 
 earth beneath, were let loose upon 
 them with that overflowing flood, 
 their mirth was soon staid ; and when 
 the Lord in holy justice rained fire 
 and justice from heaven upon that 
 wicked people and city Sodom, en- 
 joying fulness of bread and idleness, 
 their fiddlestrings and hands went all 
 in a flame ; and the whole people in 
 the thirty miles of length, and ten of 
 breadth, as historians say, were all 
 made to fry in their skins ; and at the 
 end, whoever are giving in marriages 
 and dancing when all will go in a 
 flame, they will quickly change their 
 note. 
 
 ' ' I have often wondered thorow my 
 life, how any that ever knew what it 
 was to bow a knee in earnest to pray, 
 durst crook a hough to fyke and fling 
 at a piper's and fiddler's springs. I 
 bless the Lord that ordered my lot so 
 in my dancing days, that made the 
 fear of the bloody rope and.bullets to 
 my neck and head, the pain of boots, 
 thumikens, and irons, cold and hun- 
 ger, wetness and weariness, to stop 
 the lightness of my head, and the 
 wantonness of my feet. What the 
 never-to-be-forgotten man of God, 
 John Knox, said to Queen Mary, 
 when she gave him that sharp 
 challenge, which would strike our 
 mean-spirited, tongue-tacked ministers 
 dumb, for his giving public faithful 
 warning of the danger of the church 
 
 and nation, through her marrying the 
 Dauphine of France, when he left her 
 bubbling and greeting, and came to 
 an outer court, where her Lady Maries 
 were fyking and dancing, he said, ' O 
 brave ladies, a brave world, if it would 
 last, and heaven at the hinder end. 
 But fye upon the knave Death, that 
 will seize upon those bodies of yours ; 
 and where will all your fiddling and 
 flinging be then?' Dancing being 
 such a common evil, especially 
 amongst young professors, that all 
 the lovers of the Lord should hate, 
 has caused me to insist the more upon 
 it, especially that foolish spring the 
 Cameronian march ? " — Life and 
 Death of three Famous Worthies, &c. 
 by Peter Walker, i2mo. p. 59. 
 
 It may be here observed, that some 
 of the milder class of Cameronians 
 made a distinction between the two 
 sexes dancing separately, and allowed 
 of it as a healthy and not unlawful 
 exercise ; but when men and women 
 mingled in sport, it was then called 
 promiscuous dancing, and considered 
 as a scandalous enormity. 
 
 * P. 87. — This custom, of making a 
 mark by folding a leaf in the party's 
 Bible, when a solemn resolution is 
 formed, is still held to be, in some 
 sense, an appeal to Heaven for his or 
 her sincerity. • 
 
 * P. 97. — Nichol Muschat, a de- 
 bauched and profligate wretch, having 
 conceived a hatred against his wife, 
 entered into a conspiracy with another 
 brutal libertine and gambler, named 
 Campbell of Burnbank, (repeatedly 
 mentioned in Pennycuick s satirical 
 poems of the time,) by which Camp- 
 bell undertook to destroy the woman's 
 character, so as to enable Muschat, 
 on false pretences, to obtain a divorce 
 from her. The brutal devices to 
 which these worthy accomplices re- 
 sorted for that purpose having failed, 
 they endeavoured to destroy her by 
 administering medicine of adangerous 
 kind, and in extraordinary quantities. 
 
 This purpose also failing, Muschat 
 did finally, on the 17th Oct., 1720, 
 carry his wife under cloud of night to 
 the King's Park, adjacent to what is 
 called the Duke's Walk, near Holy- 
 rood Palace, and there took her life 
 by cutting her throat almost quite 
 through, and inflicting other wounds. 
 He pleaded guilty to the indictment, 
 
43° 
 
 NOTES TO THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 for which he suffered death. His [ 
 associate, Campbell, was sentenced 
 to transportation for his share in the 
 previous conspiracy. — Mac Laurin's 
 Criminal Cases, pp. 64 and 738. 
 
 .In memory, and at the same time 
 execration, of the deed, a cairn, or 
 pile of stones, long marked the spot. 
 It is now almost totally removed, in 
 consequence of an alteration on the 
 road in that place. 
 
 * P. 117. — Lockman, so called from 
 the small quantity of meal (Scottice, 
 loch) which he was entitled to take 
 out of every boll exposed to market in 
 the city. In Edinburgh, the duty has 
 been very long commuted ; but in 
 Dumfries, the finisher of the law still 
 exercises, or did lately exercise, his 
 privilege, the 'quantity taken being re- 
 gulated by a small iron ladle, which 
 he uses as the measure of his perqu- 
 site. The expression lock, for a small 
 quantity of any readily divisible dry 
 substance, as corn, meal, flax, or the 
 like, is still preserved, not only popu- 
 larly, but in a legal description, as the 
 lock and gowpen, or small quantity 
 and handful, payable in thirlage cases, 
 as in-town multure. 
 
 * P. 126. — This legend is to be found 
 in ' ' Pandsemonium, or the Devil's 
 Cloyster ; being a further blow to 
 Modern Sadducism,'' by Richard 
 Barton, Gentleman, i2mo, 1684. The 
 work is inscribed to Dr. Henry More. 
 The story is entitled, " A remarkable 
 passage of one named the Fairy Boy 
 of Leith, in Scotland, given me by my 
 worthy friend Captain George Burton, 
 and attested under his hand ; " and 
 is as follows : — 
 
 "About fifteen years since, having 
 business that detained me for some 
 time in Leith, which is near Eden- 
 borough, in the kingdom of Scotland, 
 I often met some of my acquaintance 
 at a certain house there, where we 
 used to drink a glass of wine for our 
 refection. The woman which kept 
 the house, was of honest reputation 
 amongst the neighbours, which made 
 me give the more attention to what 
 she told me one day about a Fairy 
 Boy (as they called him) who lived 
 about that town. She had given me 
 so strange an account of him, that I 
 desired her I might see him the first 
 opportunity, which she promised ; and 
 not long after, passing that way, she 
 
 told me there was the Fairy Boy but a 
 little before I came by; and casting 
 her eye into the street, said, 'Look 
 you, sir, yonder he is at play with 
 those other boys,' and designing hirri 
 to me, I went, and by smooth words, 
 and a piece of money, got him to 
 come into the house with me,; where, 
 in the presence of divers people, I 
 demanded of him several astrological 
 questions, which he answered with 
 great subtility, and through all his 
 discourse carried it with a cunning 
 much beyond his years, which seemed 
 not to exceed ten or eleven. He 
 seemed to make a motion like drum- 
 ming upon the table with his fingers, 
 upon which I asked him, whether he 
 could beat a drum, to which he re- 
 plied, ' Yes, sir, as well as any man in 
 Scotland ; for every Thursday night I 
 beat all points to a sort of people that 
 used to meet under yonder hill,' 
 (pointing to a great hill between 
 Edenborough and Leith.) ' How, 
 boy,' quoth I; 'what company have 
 you there?' — 'There are, sir,' said 
 he, ' a great company both of men 
 and women, and they are entertained 
 with many sorts of music besides my 
 drum ; they have, besides, plenty 
 variety of meats and wine ; and many 
 times we are carried into France or 
 Holland in a night, and return again ; 
 and whilst we are there, we enjoy all 
 the pleasures the country doth afford. ' 
 I demanded of him, how they got 
 under that hill? To which he replied, 
 ' that there were a great pair of gates 
 that opened to them, though they 
 were invisible to others, and that 
 wifhinthere were brave large rooms, 
 as well accommodated as most in 
 Scotland. ' I then asked him, how I 
 should know what he said to be true? 
 upon which he told me he would read 
 my fortune, saying I should have two 
 wives, and that he saw the forms of 
 them sitting on my shoulders ; that 
 both would be very handsome wo- 
 men. 
 
 "As he was thus speaking, a 
 woman of the neighbourhood, coming 
 into the room, demanded of him what 
 her fortune should be ? He told her 
 that she had two bastards before she 
 was married ; which put her in such 
 a rage, that she desired not to hear 
 the rest. The woman of the house 
 told me that all the people in Scotland 
 
NOTES TO THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 43* 
 
 could not keep him from the rendez- 
 vous on Thursday night ; upon which, 
 by promising him some more money, 
 I got a promise of him to meet me at 
 the same place, in the afternoon of 
 the Thursday following, and so dis- 
 missed him at that time. The boy 
 came again at the place and time ap- 
 pointed, and I had prevailed with 
 some friends to continue with me, if 
 possible, to prevent his moving that 
 night ; he was placed between us, and 
 answered many questions, without 
 offering to go from us, until about 
 eleven of the clock, he was got away 
 unperceived of the company ; but I 
 suddenly missing him, hasted to the 
 door, and took hold of him, and so 
 returned him into the same room : we 
 all watched him, and on a sudden he 
 was again out of the doors. I fol- 
 lowed him close, and he made a noise 
 in the street as if he had been set 
 •upon ; but from that time I could 
 never see him. 
 
 "George Burton." 
 *P. 126. —The gloomy, dangerous, 
 and constant wanderings of the per- 
 secuted sect of Cameronians, naturally 
 led to their entertaining with peculiar 
 credulity the belief, that they were 
 sometimes persecuted, not only by the 
 wrath of men, but by the secret wiles 
 amd open terrors of Satan. In fact, 
 a flood could not happen, ahorse cast 
 a shoe, or any other the most ordinary 
 interruption thwart a minister's wish 
 to perform service at a particular 
 spot", than the accident was imputed 
 to the immediate agency of fiends. 
 The encounter of Alexander Peden 
 with the Devil in the cave, and that of 
 John Semple with the demon in the 
 ford, are given by Peter Walker 
 almost in the language of the text. 
 
 * P. 127. — See note on Muschat's 
 Cairn, p. 429. 
 
 * P. 130.— The Scottish Statute Book, 
 anno 1690, chapter si, in consequence 
 of the great increase of the crime of 
 child murder, both from the tempta- 
 tions to commit the offence and the 
 difficulty of discovery, enacted a cer- 
 tain set of presumptions, which, in 
 the absence of direct proof, the jury 
 were directed to receive as evidence 
 of the crime having actually been 
 committed. The circumstances se- 
 lected for this purpose were, that the 
 woman should have concealed her 
 
 situation during the whole period of 
 pregnancy ; that she should not have 
 called for help at her delivery ; and 
 that, combined with these grounds of 
 suspicion, the child should 'be either 
 found dead or be altogether missing- 
 Many persons suffered death during 
 .the last century under this severe act. 
 But during the author's memory a 
 more lenient course was followed, and 
 the female accused under the act, 
 and conscious of no competent de- 
 fence, usually lodged a petition to the 
 Court of Justiciary, denying, for form's 
 sake, the tenor of the indictment, but 
 stating, that as her good name had 
 been destroyed by the charge, she was 
 willing to submit to the sentence of 
 banishment, to which the crown 
 counsel usually consented. This 
 lenity in practice, and the compara- 
 tive infrequency of the crime since the 
 doom of public ecclesiastical penance 
 has been generally dispensed with, 
 have led to the abolition of the statute 
 of William and Mary, which is now 
 replaced by another, imposing banish- 
 ment in those circumstances in which 
 the crime was formerly capital. This 
 alteration took place in 1803. 
 
 * P. 134. — A Scottish form of proce- 
 dure, answering, in some respects, to 
 the English Habeas Corpus. 
 
 * P. 152. — The journal of Graves, a 
 Bow Street officer, despatched to 
 Holland to obtain the surrender of the 
 unfortunate William Brodie, bears a 
 reflection on the ladies somewhat like 
 that put in the mouth of the police- 
 officer Sharpitlaw. It had been found 
 difficult to identify the unhappy 
 criminal ; and, when a Scotch gentle- 
 man of respectability had seemed dis7 
 posed to give evidence on the point 
 required, his son-in-law, a clergyman 
 in Amsterdam, and his daughter, were 
 suspected by Graves to have used ar- 
 guments with the witness to dissuade 
 him from giving his testimony. On 
 which subject the journal of the Bow 
 Street officer proceeds thus : 
 
 ' ' Saw then a manifest reluctance 
 
 in Mr. , and had no doubt the 
 
 daughter and parson would endeavour 
 to persuade him to decline troubling 
 himself in the matter, but judged he 
 could not go back from what he said 
 to Mr. Rich.— Nota Bene. No mis- 
 chief but a woman or a priest in it — 
 here both. " 
 
432 
 
 NOTES TO THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 * P. 159. — The Magistrates were 
 closely interrogated before the House 
 of Peers, concerning the particulars of 
 the Porteous Mob, and the patois in 
 which these functionaries made their 
 answers, sounded strange in the ears 
 of the Southern noblest The Duke 
 of Newcastle having demanded to 
 know with what kind of shot the guard 
 which Porteous commanded had 
 loaded their muskets, was answered 
 naively, "Ow, just sic as ane shoots 
 dukes and fools wi'." This reply 
 was considered as a contempt of the 
 House of Lords, and the Provost 
 would have suffered accordingly, but 
 that the Duke of Argyle explained, 
 that the expression, properly rendered 
 into English, meant ducks and water- 
 fowls. 
 
 * P. 159.— This gentleman' formed a 
 striking example of the instability of 
 human prosperity. He was once the 
 wealthiest man of his time in Scotland, 
 a merchant in an extensive line of 
 commerce, and a farmer of the public 
 revenue ; insomuch that, about 1640, 
 he estimated his fortune at ^200,000. 
 Sir William Dick was a zealous Cove- 
 nanter ; and in the memorable year 
 1641, he lent the Scottish Convention 
 of Estates 100,000 merks at once, and 
 thereby enabled them to support and 
 pay their army, which must otherwise 
 have broken to pieces. He afterwards 
 advanced ^20,000 for the service of 
 King Charles, during the usurpation ; 
 and having, by owning the royal 
 cause, provoked the displeasure of the 
 ruling party, he was fleeced of more 
 money, amounting in all to ^65,000 
 sterling. 
 
 Being in this manner reduced to 
 indigence, he went to London to try 
 to recover some part of the sums which 
 had been lent on government security. 
 Instead of receiving any satisfaction, 
 the Scottish Croesus was thrown into 
 prison, in which he died, 19th Dec, 
 1655. It is said his death was 
 hastened by the want of common 
 necessaries. But this statement is 
 somewhat exaggerated, if it be true, 
 as is commonly said, that though he 
 was not supplied with bread, he had 
 plenty of pie-crust, thence called " Sir 
 William Dick's necessity." 
 
 The changes of fortune are comme- 
 morated in a folio pamphlet entitled, 
 "The lamentable state of the deceased 
 
 Sir William Dick." It contains 
 several copperplates, one representing 
 Sir William on horseback, and at- 
 tended with guards as Lord Provost 
 of Edinburgh, superintending the un- 
 loading of one of his rich argosies. A 
 second exhibiting him as arrested, and 
 in the hands of the bailiffs. A third 
 presents him dead in prison. The 
 tract is esteemed highly valuable by 
 collectors of prints. The only copy I 
 ever saw upon sale, was rated at £■&>. 
 
 * P. 160.— I think so too— But if the 
 reader be curious, he may consult 
 Mr. Chambers's Traditions of Edin- 
 burgh. 
 
 * P. 161. — Life of Peden, p. in. 
 
 * P. 162.— See note on Peter Walker, 
 p. 428. 
 
 * P. 162. — All various species of the 
 great genus Cameronian. 
 
 * P. 163. — This remarkable convoca- 
 tion took place upon the 15th June, 
 1682, and an account of its confused 
 and divisive proceedings may be found 
 in Michael Shield's Faithful Contend- 
 ings Displayed, Glasgow, 1780, p. 21. 
 It affords a singular and melancholy 
 example how much a metaphysical 
 and polemical spirit had crept in 
 amongst these unhappy sufferers, 
 since amid so many real injuries which 
 they had to sustain, they were dis- 
 posed to add disagreement and dis- 
 union concerning the character and 
 extent of such as were only imagi- 
 nary. 
 
 * P. 175. — Tobacco-pouch. 
 
 * P. 176. — A kind of worsted gloves 
 used by the lower orders. 
 
 * P. 188. — i.e., was able to do. 
 
 * P. 199. — The name of this officer is 
 equivalent to thepronouncer of doom, 
 or sentence. In this comprehensive 
 sense, the Judges of the Isle of Man 
 were called " Dempsters." But in 
 Scotland the word was long restricted 
 to the designation of an official person, 
 whose duty it was to recite the sen- 
 tence after it had been pronounced by 
 the Court, and recorded by the clerk - 
 on which occasion the Dempster 
 legalized it by the words of form, 
 "And this I pronounce for doom " 
 For a length of years, the office, as 
 mentioned in the text, was held' in 
 commendam with that of the execu- 
 tioner ; for when this odious but ne- 
 cessary officer of justice received his 
 appointment, he petitioned the Court 
 
NOTES TO THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 433 
 
 of Justiciary to be received as their 
 Dempster, which was granted as a 
 matter of course. 
 
 The production of the executioner 
 in open court, and in presence of the 
 wretched criminal, had something in 
 it hideous and disgusting to the more 
 refined feelings of later times. But if 
 an old tradition of the Parliament 
 House of Edinburgh may be trusted, 
 it was the following anecdote which 
 occasioned the disuse of the Demp- 
 ster's office. 
 
 It chanced at one time that the 
 office of public executionerwas vacant. 
 There was occasion for some one to 
 act as Dempster, and, considering 
 the party who generally held the 
 office, it is not wonderful that a locum 
 tcnens was hard to be found. At 
 length, one Hume, who had been 
 sentenced to transportation, for an 
 attempt to bum his own house, was 
 induced to consent that he would pro- 
 nounce the doom on this occasion. 
 But when brought forth to officiate, 
 instead of repeating the doom to the 
 criminal, Mr. Hume addressed him- 
 self to their lordships in a bitter com- 
 plaint of the injustice of his own 
 sentence. It was in vain that he was 
 interrupted, and reminded of the 
 purpose for which he had come 
 hither ; " I ken what ye want of me 
 weel eneugh," said the fellow, "ye 
 want me to be your Dempster ; but I 
 am come to be none of your Demp- 
 ster, I am come to summon you, 
 Lord T — , and you, Lord E — , to 
 answer at the bar of another world 
 for the injustice you have done me in 
 this." In short, Hume had only 
 made a pretext of complying with the 
 proposal, in order to have an oppor- 
 tunity of reviling the Judges to their 
 faces, or giving them, in the phrase 
 of his country, ' ' a sloan. " He was 
 hurried off amid the laughter of the 
 audience, but the indecorous scene 
 which had taken place contributed to 
 the abolition of the office of Demp- 
 ster. The sentence is now read over 
 by the clerk of the court, and the 
 formality of pronouncing doom is 
 altogether omitted. 
 * P. 20 1. — This nobleman was very 
 dear to his countrymen, who were 
 justly proud of his military and po- 
 litical talents, and grateful for the 
 ready zeal with which he asserted the 
 
 rights of his native country. This 
 was never more conspicuous than in 
 the matter of the Porteous Mob, 
 when the Ministers brought in a vio- 
 lent and vindictive bill, for declaring 
 the Lord Provost of Edinburgh in- 
 capable of bearing any public office 
 in future, for not foreseeing a disorder 
 which no one foresaw, or interrupting, 
 the course of a riot too formidable to. 
 endure opposition. The same bill 
 made provision for pulling down the 
 city gates, and abolishing the city 
 guard, — rather an Hibernian mode of 
 enabling them better to keep the peace 
 within burgh in future. 
 
 The Duke of Argyle opposed this 
 bill as a cruel, unjust, and fanatical 
 proceeding, and an encroachment 
 upon the privileges of the royal 
 burghs of Scotland, secured to them 
 by the treaty of Union. " In all the 
 proceedings of that time," said his 
 Grace, "the nation of Scotland 
 treated with the English as a free and 
 independent people ; and as the treaty, 
 my Lords, had no other guarantee for 
 the due performance of its articles, 
 but the faith and honour of a British 
 Parliament, it would be both unjust 
 and ungenerous, should this House 
 agree to any proceedings that have a 
 tendency to injure it." 
 
 Lord Hardwicke, in reply to the- 
 Duke of Argyle, seemed to insinuate,. ' 
 that his Grace had taken up the affair 
 in a party point of view, to which the- 
 nobleman replied in the spirited lan- 
 guage quoted in the text. — Lord- 
 Hardwicke apologized. The bill was • 
 much modified, and the clauses con- 
 cerning the dismantling the city, and 
 disbanding the guard, were departed 
 from. A fine of zooo/. was im- 
 posed on the city for the benefit of 
 Porteous's widow. She was contented 
 to accept three-fourths of the sum, the 
 payment of which closed the trans- 
 action. It is remarkable, that, in our 
 day, the Magistrates of Edinburgh 
 have had recourse to both those mea- 
 sures, held in such horror by their pre- 
 decessors, as necessary steps for the 
 improvement of the city. 
 
 It may be he here noticed, in expla- 
 nation of another circumstance men- 
 tioned in the text, that there is a 
 tradition in Scotland, that George II.,. 
 whose irascible temper is said some- 
 times to have hurried him into ex- 
 £ £ 
 
434 
 
 NOTES TO THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 pressing his displeasure par vote dit 
 fait, offered to the Duke of Argyle, in 
 angry audience, some menace of this 
 nature, on which he left the presence in 
 high disdain, andwith little ceremony. 
 Sir Robert Walpole, having met the 
 Duke as he retired, and learning the 
 cause of his resentment and discom- 
 posure, he endeavoured to reconcile 
 him to what had happened, by saying, 
 "Such was his Majesty's way, and 
 that he often took such liberties with 
 himself without meaning any harm." 
 This did not mend matters in Mac- 
 Callummore's eyes, who replied, in 
 great disdain, "You will please to 
 remember, Sir Robert, the infinite dis- 
 tance there is betwixt you and me." 
 Another frequent expression of passion 
 on the part of the same monarch, is 
 alluded to in the old Jacobite song — 
 
 The fire shall get both hat and wig, 
 As oft times they've got a' that. 
 
 * P. 201. — Red John the Warrior, a 
 name personal and proper in the 
 Highlands to John Duke of Argyle 
 and Greenwich, as MacCummin was 
 that of his race or dignity. * 
 
 * P. 220. — The executioner, in livery of 
 black or dark grey and silver, likened 
 by low wit to a magpie. 
 
 * P. 221. — He meant, probably, stilli- 
 cidium. 
 
 * P. 226. — By dint of assiduous re- 
 search I am able to certiorate the 
 reader, that the name of the person 
 was Saunders Broadfoot, and that he 
 dealt in the wholesome commodity 
 called kirn-milk (Anglic^, butter- 
 milk)— J. C. 
 
 * P. 226.— The fact is certain. The 
 single epistle was addressed to the 
 principal director of the British Linen 
 Company. 
 
 * P. 229. — Thethreelastdaysof March, 
 old style, are called the Borrowing 
 Days ; for as they are remarked to be 
 unusually stormy, it is feigned that 
 March had borrowed them from April, 
 to extend the sphere of his rougher 
 sway. The rhyme on the subject is 
 quoted in Leyden's edition of the 
 Complaynt of Scotland. 
 
 * P. 243. — Concealed a knife. 
 
 * P. 246. — Lay , ourselves down to 
 sleep. 
 
 * P. 252. — A homely proverb, signify- 
 ing, better wed a neighbour than one 
 
 fetched from a distance. — Mixen sig- 
 nifies dunghill. 
 
 * P. 263.— A proverbial and punning 
 expression in that county, to intimate 
 that a person is not very clever. 
 
 * P. 301. — See Horace Walpole's Re- 
 miniscences. 
 
 * P. 311.— The hilly pastures of Buck- 
 holm, which the author now surveys, 
 
 " Not in the frenzy of a dreamer's eye, " 
 
 are famed for producing the best ewe- 
 milk cheese in the south of Scotland. 
 
 * P. 330.— In taking leave of the poor 
 maniac, the author may here observe, 
 that the first conception of the cha- ' 
 racter, though afterwards greatly al- 
 tered, was taken from that of a person 
 calling herself, and called by others. 
 Feckless Fannie, (weak or feeble 
 Fanny,) who always travelled with a 
 small flock of sheep. The following 
 account, furnished by the persevering 
 kindness of Mr. Train, contains pro- 
 bably all that that can now be known 
 of her history, though many, among , 
 whom is the author, may remember 
 having heard of Feckless Fannie, in 
 the days of their youth. 
 
 " My leisure hours," says Mr. 
 Train, "for some time past have 
 been mostly spent in searching for par- 
 ticulars relating to the maniac called 
 Feckless Fannie, who travelled over 
 all Scotland and England, between 
 the years 1767 and 1775, and whose 
 history is altogether so like a romance, 
 that I have been at all possible pains 
 to collect every particular that can be 
 found relative to her iii Galloway, or 
 in Ayrshire. 
 
 "When Feckless Fannie appeared 
 in Ayrshire, for the first time, in the 
 summer of 1769, she attracted much 
 notice, from being attended by twelve 
 or thirteen sheep, who seemed all en- 
 dued with faculties so much superior 
 to the ordinary race of animals of the 
 same species, as to excite universal 
 astonishment, She had for each a 
 different name, to which it answered 
 when called by its mistress, and would 
 likewise obey in the most surprising 
 manner any command she thought 
 proper to give. When travelling, she 
 always walked in front of her flock, 
 and they followed her closely behind. 
 When she lay down at night in the 
 fields, for she would never enter into 
 
NOTES TO THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 433 
 
 a house, they always disputed who 
 should lie next to her, by which means 
 she was kept warm, while she lay in 
 the midst of them ; when she at- 
 tempted to rise from the ground, an 
 old ram, whose name was Charlie, 
 always claimed the sole right of as- 
 sisting her ; pushing any that stood 
 in his way aside, until he arrived right 
 before his mistress ; he then bowed 
 his head nearly to the ground that 
 she might lay her hands on his horns, 
 which were very large ; he then lifted 
 her gently from the ground by raising 
 his head. If she chanced to leave her 
 flock feeding, as soon as they dis- 
 covered she was gone, they all began 
 to bleat most piteously, and would 
 continue to do so till she returned ; 
 they would then testify their joy by 
 rubbing their sides against her petti- 
 coat, and frisking about. 
 
 " Feckless Fannie was not, like most 
 other demented creatures, fond of fine 
 dress ; on her head she wore an old 
 slouched hat, over her shoulders an old 
 plaid, and carried always in her hand 
 a shepherd's crook ; with any of these 
 articles, she invariably declared she 
 Would not part for any consideration 
 whatever.. When she was interro- 
 gated why she set so much value on 
 things seemingly so insignificant, she 
 would sometimes relate the history 
 of her misfortune, which was briefly as 
 follows : 
 
 " 'I am the only daughter of a 
 wealthy squire in the north of Eng- 
 land, but I loved my father's shepherd, 
 and that has been my ruin ; for my 
 father, fearing his family would be 
 disgraced by such an alliance, in a 
 passion mortally wounded my lover 
 with a shot from a pistol. I arrived 
 just in time to receive the last blessing 
 of the, dying man, and to close his 
 eyes in death. He bequeathed me 
 his little all, but I only accepted these 
 sheep to be my sole companions 
 through life, and this hat, this plaid, 
 and this crook, all of which I will 
 carry until I descend into the grave.', 
 
 " This is the substance of a ballad, 
 eighty-four lines of which I copied 
 down lately from the recitation of an 
 old woman in this place, who says she 
 has seen it in print, with a plate on the 
 title-page, representing Fannie with 
 her sheep behind her. As this ballad 
 is said to have been written by Lowe, 1 
 
 the author of Mary's Dream, I am 
 surprised that it has not been noticed 
 by Cromek, in his Remains of Niths- 
 dale and Galloway Song ; but he per- 
 haps thought it unworthy of a place in 
 his collection, as there is very little 
 merit in the composition ; which want 
 of room prevents me from transcribing 
 at present ; but if I thought you had 
 never seen it, I would take an early 
 opportunity of doing so. 
 
 "After having made the tour of 
 Galloway in 1769, as Fannie was 
 wandering in the neighbourhood of 
 Moffat, on her way to Edinburgh, 
 where, I am informed, she was like- 
 wise well known, Old Charlie, her 
 favourite ram, chanced to break into 
 a kale-yard, which the proprietor ob- 
 serving, let loose a mastiff that hunted 
 the poor sheep to death. This was a 
 sad misfortune ; it seemed to renew all 
 the pangs which she formerly felt on 
 the death of her lover. She would 
 not'part from the side of her old friend 
 for several days, and it was with much 
 difficulty she consented to allow him 
 to be buried ; but, still wishing to pay 
 a tribute to his memory, she covered 
 his grave with moss, and fenced it 
 round with osiers, and annually re- 
 turned to the same spot, and pulled 
 the weeds from the grave, and re- 
 paired the fence. This is altogether 
 like a romance ; but I believe it is 
 really true that she did so. The 
 grave of Charlie is still held sacred 
 even by the school-boys of the present 
 day in that quarter. It is now, per- 
 haps, the only instance of the law of 
 Kenneth being attended to, which 
 says, 'The grave where anie that is. 
 slaine lieth buried, leave unfilled for 
 seven years. Repute every grave 
 holie so as thou be well advised, that 
 in no wise with thy feet thou tread 
 upon it.' 
 
 " Through the storms of winter, as 
 well as in the milder seasons of the 
 year, she continued her wandering 
 course, nor could she be prevented 
 from doing so, either by entreaty or 
 promise of reward. The late Dr. 
 Fullarton of Rosemount, in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Ayr, being well acquainted 
 with her father when in England, en- 
 deavoured, in a severe season, by 
 every means in his power, to detain 
 her at Rosemount for a few days 
 until the weather should become more 
 
436 
 
 NOTES TO THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 mild ; but when she found herself 
 rested a little, and saw her sheep fed, 
 she raised her crook, which was the 
 signal she always gave for the sheep 
 to follow her, and off they all marched 
 together. 
 
 " But the hour of poor Fannie's 
 dissolution was now at hand, and she 
 seemed anxious to arrive at the spot 
 where she was to terminate her mortal 
 career. She proceeded to Glasgow, 
 and while passing through that city, a 
 crowd of idle boys, attracted by her 
 singular appearance, together with 
 the novelty of seeing so many sheep 
 obeying her command, began to tor- 
 ment her with their pranks, till she 
 became so irritated that she pelted 
 them with bricks and stones, which 
 they returned in such a manner, that 
 she was actually stoned to death be- 
 tween Glasgow and Anderston. 
 
 " To the real history of this singu- 
 lar individual, credulity has attached 
 several superstitious appendages. It 
 is said, that the farmer who was the 
 cause of Charlie's death, shortly after- 
 wards drowned himself in a peat- 
 hag ; and that the hand, with which 
 a butcher in Kilmarnock struck one of 
 the other' sheep, became powerless 
 and withered to the very bone. In the 
 summer of 1769, when she was pass- 
 ing by New Cumnock, a young man, 
 whose name was William Forsyth, 
 son of a farmer in the same parish, 
 plagued her so much that she wished 
 he might never see the morn ; upon 
 which he went home and hanged 
 himself in his father's barn. And I 
 doubt not many such stories may yet 
 be remembered in other parts where 
 she had been." 
 
 So far Mr. Train. The author can 
 only add to this narrative, that Feck- 
 less Fannie and her little flock were 
 well known in the pastoral districts. 
 
 In attempting to introduce such a 
 character into fiction, the author felt 
 the risk of encountering a comparison 
 with the Maria of Sterne ; and, be- 
 sides, the mechanism of the story 
 Would have been as much retarded by 
 Feckless Fannie's flock, as the night- 
 march of Don 'Quixote was delayed 
 by Sancho's tale of the sheep that 
 were ferried over the river. • 
 
 The author has only to add, that 
 notwithstanding the preciseness of his 
 friend Mr. Train' s statement, there may 
 
 be some hopes that the outrage on- 
 Feckless Fannie and her little flock 
 was not carried to extremity. There 
 is no mention of any trial on account 
 of it, which, had it occurred in the 
 manner stated, would have certainly 
 taken place ; and the author has 
 understood that it was on the Border 
 she was last seen, about the skirts of 
 the Cheviot hills, but without her 
 little flock. 
 
 * P- 333' — I n T 7 2 5> there was a great 
 riot in Glasgow on account of the 
 malt-tax. Among the troops brought 
 in to restore order, was one of the 
 independent companies of Highland- 
 ers levied in Argyleshire, and distin- 
 guished, in a lampoon of the period, 
 as "Campbell of Carrick and his 
 Highland thieves." It was called 
 Shawfield's Mob, because much of the 
 popular violence was directed against 
 Daniel Campbell, Esq. of Shawfield, 
 M. P. , Provost of the town. 
 
 * P. 340. — Heirship, a Scottish wore? 
 which may be said to be now obso- 
 lete ; because, fortunately, the prac- 
 tice of "plundering by armed force," 
 which is its meaning, does not re- 
 quire to be commonly spoken of. 
 
 * P. 349.— This exploit seems to have 
 been one in which Patrick Walker 
 prided himself not a little ; and there 
 is reason to fear, that that excellent 
 person would have highly resented the 
 attempt to associate another with 
 him, in the slaughter of a King's 
 Life-Guardsman. Indeed, he would 
 have had the more right to be offended 
 at losing any share of the glory, since 
 the party against Gordon was already 
 three to one, besides having the ad- 
 vantage of fire-arms. The manner in 
 which he vindicates his claim to the 
 exploit, without committing himself 
 by a direct statement of it, is not a 
 little amusing. It is as follows : — 
 
 ' ' I shall give a brief and true ac- 
 count of that man's death, which I 
 did not design to do while I was upon 
 the stage ; I resolve, indeed (if it be 
 the Lord's will), to leave a more full 
 account of that and many other re- 
 markable steps of the Lord's dispen- 
 sations towards me through my life. 
 It was then commonly said, that 
 Francis Gordon was a volunteer out 
 of wickedness of principles, and could 
 not stay with the troop, but was still 
 raging and ranging to catch hiding 
 
NOTES TO THE HEART OF MID-LOTHlAN. 
 
 437 
 
 suffering people. Meldrum and Airly's 
 troops, lying at Lanark upon the first 
 day of March, 1682, Mr. Gordon and 
 another wicked comrade, with their 
 two servants and four horses, came to 
 Kilcaigow, two miles from Lanark, 
 searching for William Caigow and 
 others, under hiding. 
 
 " Mr. Gordon, rambling throw the 
 town, offered to abuse the women. At 
 night, they came a mile further to the 
 Easter-Seat , to Robert Muir's, he being 
 also under hiding. Gordon's comrade 
 and the two servants went to bed, but 
 he could sleep none, roaring all night 
 for women. When day came, he took 
 only his sword in his hand, and came 
 to Moss-platt, and some new men 
 (who had been in the fields all night) 
 seeing him, they fled, and he pursued. 
 James Wilson, Thomas Young, and 
 myself, having been in a meeting 
 all night, were lying down in the 
 morning. We were alarmed, thinking 
 there were many more than one ; he 
 pursued hard, and overtook us. 
 Thomas Young said, 'Sir, what do ye 
 pursue us for?' he said, 'he was come 
 to send us to hell.' James Wilson 
 said, ' that shall not be, for we will 
 defend ourselves.' He said, ' that 
 either he or we should go to it now.' 
 He run his sword furiously throw 
 James Wilson's coat. James fired 
 uponjiim, but missed him. All this 
 time he cried, Damn his soul ! He 
 got a shot in his head out of a pocket 
 pistol, rather fit for diverting a boy 
 than killing such a furious, mad, brisk 
 man, which, notwithstanding killed 
 him dead. The foresaid William Cai- 
 gow and Robert Muir came to us. 
 We searched him for papers, and 
 found a long scroll of sufferers' names, 
 either to kill or take. I tore it all in 
 pieces. He had also some Popish 
 books and bonds of money, with one 
 dollar, which a poor man took off 
 the ground ; all which we put in his 
 pocket again. Thus, he was four 
 miles from Lanark, and near a mile 
 from his comrade, seeking his own 
 death, and got it. And for as much 
 as we have been condemned for this, 
 I could never see how any one could 
 condemn us that allows of self-defence, 
 which the laws both of God and nature 
 allow to every creature. For my own 
 part, my heart never smote me for 
 this. When I saw his blood run, I 
 
 wished that all the blood of the Lord's 
 stated and avowed enemies in Scot- 
 land had been in his veins. Having 
 such a clear call and opportunity, I 
 would have rejoiced to have seen it all 
 gone out with a gush. I have many 
 times wondered at the greater part of 
 the indulged, lukewarm ministers and 
 professors in that time, who made 
 more noise of murder, when one of 
 these enemies had been killed even in 
 our own defence, than of twenty of 
 us being murdered by them. None 
 of these men present was challenged 
 for this but myself. Thomas Young 
 thereafter suffered at Mauchline, but 
 was not challenged for this ; Robert 
 Muir was banished ; James Wilson 
 outlived the persecution ; William 
 Caigow died in the Canongate Tol- 
 booth, in the beginning of 1685. Mr. 
 Wodrow is misinformed ; who says, 
 that he suffered unto death." 
 
 * P. 358. — Ross's Fortunate Shepherd- 
 ess. Edit. 1778, p. 23. 
 
 * P. 362. — In the old days of Scotland, 
 when persons of property (unless they 
 happened to be non-jurors) were as 
 regular as their inferiors in attendance 
 on parochial worship, there was a kind 
 of etiquette, in waiting till the patron 
 or acknowledged great man of the 
 parish should make his appearance. 
 This ceremonial was so sacred in the 
 eyes of a parish beadle in the Isle of 
 Bute, that the kirk bell being out of 
 order, he is said to have mounted 
 the steeple every Sunday, to imitate 
 with his voice the successive sum- 
 monses which its mouth of metal 
 used to send forth. The first part of 
 this imitative harmony was simply the 
 repetition of the words Bell bell, bell 
 bell, two or three times, in a manner 
 as much resembling the sound as a 
 throat of flesh could imitate throat of 
 iron. Bellum / bellum ! was sounded 
 forth in a more urgent manner ; but 
 he never sent forth the third and con- 
 clusive peal, the varied tone of which 
 is called in Scotland the ringlng-in, 
 until the two principal heritors of the 
 parish approached, when the chime 
 ran thus : — 
 
 Bellum Bellellum, 
 Bernera and Knockdowns coming! 
 
 Bellum Bellellum, 
 Bernera and Knockdow's coming/ 
 
438 
 
 NOTES TO THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. 
 
 Thereby intimating, that service was 
 instantly to proceed. 
 
 * P. 400. — SeeArnot's Criminal Trials, 
 4to. ed. p. 235. 
 
 * P. 405. — There seems an anachron- 
 ism in the history of this person. 
 Ratcliffe, among other escapes from 
 justice, was released by the Porteus 
 mob when under sentence of death ; 
 
 and he was again under the same- 
 predicament when the Highlanders 
 made a similar jail-delivery in 1715. 
 He was too sincere a whig to embrace 
 liberation at the hands of the Jacob- 
 ites, and in reward was made one of 
 the keepers of the Tolbooth. So at 
 least runs constant tradition. 
 
 SUPPLEMENTARY NOTE 
 
 TO THE PORTEOUS MOB, p. 64. 
 
 On the morning of April n, 1736, 
 Wilson and Robertson were con- 
 ducted to the Tolbooth Church, for 
 the purpose of hearing their last 
 sermon, their execution being to hap- 
 pen on Wednesday following. The 
 custom of conducting criminals under 
 sentence of death to a place of public 
 worship, and suffering them again to 
 mix with their fellow-men, from 
 whom they were so shortly to be cut 
 off for ever, was a beautiful trait of 
 the devotional and merciful feelings of 
 the people of Scotland, which has 
 since this incident been unhappily 
 disused. In the Tale, the escape of 
 Robertson is said to have happened 
 after the sermon ; but this state- 
 ment is incorrect. The criminals had 
 scarcely seated themselves in the pew, 
 when Wilson committed the daring 
 deed. Robertson tripped up the 
 fourth soldier himself, and jumped 
 out of the pew with incredible agility. 
 In hurrying out at the door of the 
 church, he tumbled over the collec- 
 tion money, by which he was proba- 
 bly hurt ; for, in running across the Par- 
 liament Square, he was observed" to 
 stagger much, and, in going down the 
 stairs which lead to the Cowgate, ac- 
 tually fell. In this dangerous pre- 
 dicament he was protected by Mr. 
 M'Queen, minister of the New Kirk, 
 who was coming up the stair on his 
 way to church at the moment. This 
 kind-hearted gentleman is said to 
 have set him again on his feet, and to 
 have covered his retreat as much as 
 possible from the pursuit of the guard. 
 Robertson passed down to the Cow- 
 
 gate, ran up the Horse Wynd, and 
 out at the Potter-row Port, the crowd 
 all the way closing behind him, so that -• 
 his pursuers could not by any means 
 overtake him. In the wynd he made 
 up to a saddled horse, and would 
 have mounted him, but was pre- 
 vented by the owner. Passing the 
 Crosscauseway, he got into the King's 
 Park, and made his way for Dudding- 
 stone, under the basaltic rocks which 
 overhang the path to that village. 
 On jumping a dyke near Clearburn, 
 he fainted away, but was revived by a 
 refreshment which he there received. 
 
 Upon Robertson's escape, Wilson 
 was immediately taken back to prison, 
 and put in close custody. He was 
 executed, under the dreadful circum- 
 stances so well known, on'the 14th of 
 April ; the executioner was at the top 
 of the ladder, performing that part of 
 his office, at the time Porteous fired. 
 
 George Robertson kept an inn in 
 Bristo Street, and was a man of rather 
 dissipated habits, though the excul- 
 patory evidence produced upon his 
 trial represents him as in the habit of 
 being much intrusted by the carriers 
 who lodged at his house. After his 
 escape, he was known to have gone to 
 Holland, and to have resided there 1 
 many years. 
 
 The whole scene, where the crowd 
 is represented as awaiting the execu- 
 tion of Captain Porteous, in the Grass- 
 market, on Sept. 7th, is described in 
 the most admirable manner ; and the 
 interesting objects of the gallows, the 
 filled windows, and the crowd upon 
 the street, form, I have no doubt, the 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE AUTHOR OF WAVERLEY. 439 
 
 faithful outline of what the scene 
 would have been, had it existed. 
 
 The Author of Waverley has deli- 
 neated the fictitious incident of the 
 abortive preparations for the execu- 
 tion, and the expressions of the dis- 
 appointed multitude on the occasion, 
 in his usually masterly manner, and 
 heightened the effect of his own story 
 not a little by the use he has made of 
 history. 
 
 The Queen's pardon reached Edin- 
 burgh, Sept. 2. The riot happened 
 on the night of Tuesday the 7th — the 
 night previous to the day on which 
 the execution was to have taken place, 
 and after a sufficient time had elapsed 
 for the preparation of the scheme. 
 Many of the rioters came from coun- 
 ties so distant, that the news of the 
 reprieve could not have reached them 
 in a less space ; and perhaps the in- 
 telligence would not have been so 
 speedily communicated in those post- 
 less and coachless days, had not the 
 popular interest in the matter been so 
 universal. 
 
 The incidents of the riot, from the 
 mob's entering the city at the West 
 Port to Butler's desertion of the scene 
 at midnight, are all given correctly. 
 It is said to be absolutely true that 
 the rioters seized and detained a per- 
 son of Butler's profession, for the 
 purpose related in the novel. This 
 happened, however, when they had got 
 half way to the gallows, at the head 
 of the West Bow. Porteous was twice 
 drawn up and let down again before 
 the deed was accomplished — first, to 
 bind his hands, and secondly, in order 
 to put something over his face. In the 
 morning his body was found hanging, 
 by the public functionaries of the city, 
 and was buried the same day in the 
 neighbouring churchyard of Grey- 
 friars. It was on the south side of 
 the Grassmarket that he was hanged. 
 
 Arnot observes in his History of 
 Edinburgh, that though it was then 
 forty years after that occurrence, no 
 person had tever been found out upon 
 whom an accession to the murder 
 could be charged. Nevertheless, the 
 writer of the present narrative has 
 been informed by a very old man, 
 who was an apprentice in the Flesh- 
 market of Edinburgh about fifty years 
 ago, that it was well known among 
 
 the butchers, that the leaders of this 
 singular riot were two brothers of the 
 name of Cumming, who were, for 
 many years after, fleshers in the Low 
 Market, and died unmolested, at 
 advanced ages. They were tall, strong, 
 and exceedingly handsome men, had 
 been dressed in women's clothes on 
 the occasion, and were said to have 
 been the first to jump through the 
 flames that burnt down the prison- 
 door, in eagerness to seize their un- 
 fortunate victim. 
 
 The author of "The Beauties of 
 Scotland," relates that "On the day 
 preceding that of Porteous' death, a 
 whisper went through the country, 
 upon what information or authority 
 this person knew not, that an attempt 
 was to be made, on the succeeding 
 evening, to put Captain Porteous to 
 death. To avenge the blood of a 
 relation who had been killed at the 
 execution of Wilson, he conceived 
 himself bound in duty to share the 
 risk of the attempt. Wherefore, upon 
 the following day, he proceeded to 
 Edinburgh, and towards the evening 
 stopt in the suburb of Portsburgh, 
 which he found crowded with country 
 people ; all of whom kept aloof 
 from each other, so that there was no 
 conversation about the purpose of 
 their assembling. At a later hour, he 
 found the inferior sort of inns in the 
 Grassmarket full of people, and saw 
 many persons, apparently strangers, 
 lurking in the different houses. About 
 eleven at night, the streets became 
 crowded with men, who having in 
 some measure organized their body, 
 by beating a drum and marching in 
 order, immediately proceeded to se- 
 cure the gates and make for the 
 prison." 
 
 ****** 
 
 " As the multitude proceeded with 
 Porteous down the West Bow, some 
 of their number knocked at the door 
 of a shop and demanded ropes. A 
 woman, apparently a maid-servant, 
 thrust a coil of ropes out of a window, 
 without opening the door, ' and a 
 person wearing a white apron, which 
 seemed to be assumed for disguise, 
 gave in return a piece of gold as the 
 price," &c. 
 
 Robert Chambers. 
 Ediniurgh, 1825. 
 
TALES OF A GRANDFATHER— PORTEOUS. 
 [Chap. 74, p. 370.] 
 
 The execution of Wilson on the 14th of April, 1736, took place in 
 the usual manner, without any actual or menaced interruption. 
 The criminal, according to his sentence, was hanged to the death, 
 and it was not till the corpse was cut down that the mob, accord- 
 ing to their common practice, began to insult and abuse the exe- 
 .cutioner, pelting him with stones, many of which were also thrown 
 at the soldiers. At former executions it had been the custom for 
 the city-guard to endure such insults with laudable patience ; but 
 on this occasion they were in such a state of irritation, that they 
 forgot their usual moderation, and repaid the pelting of the mob by 
 pouring amongst them a fire of musketry, killing and wounding 
 many persons. In their retreat also to the guard-house, as the 
 rabble pressed on them with furious execrations, some soldiers in 
 the rear of the march again faced round and renewed the fire. In 
 consequence of this unauthorized and unnecessary violence, and to 
 satisfy the community of Edinburgh for the blood which had been 
 rashly shed, .... Porteous was brought to trial for murder before 
 the High Court of Justiciary. He denied that he ever gave com- 
 mand to fire, and it was proved that the fusee which he himself 
 carried had never been discharged. There were witnesses who 
 said that they saw Porteous take a musket from one of his men, 
 and fire it directly at the crowd. A jury of incensed citizens took 
 the worst view of the case, and found the prisoner guilty of murder. 
 At this time King George II. was on the continent, and the re- 
 gency was chiefly in the hands of Queen Caroline, a woman of 
 very considerable talent, and naturally disposed to be tenacious of 
 the Crown's rights. It appeared to her Majesty, and her advisers, 
 that though the action of Porteous and his soldiers was certainly 
 rash and unwarranted, yet that, considering the purpose by which 
 it was dictated, it must fall considerably short of the guilt of murder. 
 Captain Porteous, in the discharge of a duty imposed on him by 
 legal authority, had unquestionably been assaulted without pro- 
 vocation on his part, and had, therefore, a right to defend himself; 
 and if there were excess in the means he had recourse to, yet a line 
 of conduct originating in self-defence cannot be extended into 
 murder, though it might amount to homicide. Moved by these 
 considerations, the Regency granted a reprieve of Porteous's sen- 
 tence, preliminary to his obtaining a pardon, which might perhaps 
 have been clogged with some conditions. 
 
 When the news of the reprieve reached Edinburgh, they were 
 received with gloomy and general indignation. A great number of 
 all ranks were desirous that Porteous should atone with his own 
 life for the blood which had been so rashly spilt by those under his 
 command. A general feeling seemed to arise unfavourable to the 
 unhappy criminal, and public threats were cast out, though the 
 precise source could not be traced, that the reprieve itself should 
 not save Porteous from the vengeance of the citizens of Edin- 
 burgh- Sir Walter Scott. 
 
QB 
 
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