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 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE.
 
 EDINBURGH : 
 PRINTED BY JOHN JOHNSTONE.
 
 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF CLAN-ALBIN. 
 
 o ! good, tour worship, tell it of atl things; for i mightily 
 delight in hearing of love stories. 
 
 Sancho Panza. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I 
 
 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD, EDINBURGH 
 
 AND T. CADELL, LONDON. 
 
 MDCCCXXVIL
 
 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE WINDY WEDNESDAY. 
 
 That night, a child might understand, 
 The de'il had business on his hand. 
 
 Burns. 
 
 Old persons in the midland counties of Scotland, 
 
 will often, by the winter's fireside, on a stormy 
 
 night, astonish the younkers by their talk of a 
 
 day which they call " The Windy WodensdayS^ 
 
 The exact date of this memorable day is not 
 
 easily fixed — nor is it of much importance. It 
 
 -r happened, however, when the year was in the 
 
 ^ wane — when the gorgeous skies of autumn black- 
 
 ^ en into winter — ^when spitting and snell winds be- 
 
 •-' gin to whistle tlirough leafless forests, and rave 
 
 VOL. I. A
 
 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 tliroiigh chimney canns — when the citizens of tlie 
 Old Town of Edinburgh hail once more shop 
 windows sparkling o' nights, and welcome those 
 cressets hung in the third heavens, which may be 
 seen glancing cheerily from the high lattices that 
 cluster round the imperial steeple of old St. Giles. 
 — It was immediately after All Hallowday, the 
 season when the douce burghers of Edinburgh, 
 having cleared scores with Heaven for the ap- 
 proaching winter, the godless generation of wri- 
 ters, from the Tweed to the Spey, were free to 
 flock back once more to their towering homes in 
 the Old, and then almost the only town. 
 
 The wind held high mastery through the long 
 evening; but towards midnight violent and scud- 
 ding showers struggled with the hurricane ; and, 
 in an hour afterwards, the spmt of the blast was 
 effectually cowed by heavy, rushing, downright 
 rain. 
 
 Among sundry other acts of grace, the amend- 
 ed weather permitted two decent and responsible 
 burghers of Edinburgh to quit, in rather comfor- 
 table trim, the snug harbourage of a well-frequent- 
 ed tavern of those days, situated near the City 
 Cross, where, " high and dry,'' amid the coil of the 
 elements, they had been celebrating an annual
 
 THE WINDY WEDNESDAY. 3 
 
 festival of the ancient and worshipful Incorpora- 
 tion of Baxters. 
 
 It was now midnight, which the long-tongued 
 bell of St. Giles loudly proclaimed, careless of the 
 effect produced upon the startled ear of Deacon 
 Daigh, the elder and graver citizen. Theyoung^^t 
 man was still of the humour to boast of " chirping 
 over his cups,'^ and of " hearing the chimes at 
 midnight."" He was, moreover, still a bachelor. 
 
 " Ten — eleven — twelve"" — counted the worthy 
 Deacon, halting and gravely turning up his ear. 
 " Weel, — ^be thankit, there"s nae mair o" ye ! Mrs. 
 Daigh, our wife, now, will threep it"s three o" the 
 blessed morning, — and this the week after the 
 Town"s Sacrament. — Not that I"m an advocate 
 for late hours, Mr. Burlin ; but as the younger 
 brethren saw it meet in the exercise o" a sound 
 discretion to vote me into the chair, passing over 
 many of the craft, forbye yoursel", Mr. Burlin, 
 far mair worthy o" sic distinction, and far better 
 qualified for discharging the duties of office, it be- 
 hooved me to sit out theploy jocosely, that decen- 
 cy might mingle with our mirth, — as weel as to gi"e 
 countenance to you younger lads, or I would never 
 have stirred abroad on sic a judgment-like night, 
 — a night in which the windows o" Heaven are
 
 4 ELIZABETH DE URUCE. 
 
 opened," — [here the worthy Deacon lapsed into a 
 fit of tipsy solemnity] — " the fountains o' the 
 great deeps unsealed, and the Cowgate strand 
 rumbling like the Canon-Mills water in a Lam- 
 mas speat. This night-hawking is no my ordi- 
 nary, Benjie ; — I may use that familiarity wi' an 
 auld ^prentice. It is kenned weel that David 
 Daigh, or Deacon Daigh, as friends and weel- 
 wishers are pleased to style me, has not for thirty 
 years been three times out o' his bed after the 
 Town-guard drum beat in at ten o'clock, except 
 at an orra time like this same night, or when 
 taking a chack o' supper, or a chappin o' ale and 
 a pie in a customer's house, wi' a friend like your- 
 ser. No, Benjie, — ^frae the West Bow fit to the 
 Watergate Port, I'm known for a man of a sober 
 and steady walk, and — " 
 
 But here the united craftsmen, who for sundry 
 reasons felt that " two are better than one," and 
 were, accordingly, stuck fast, arm in arm, like two 
 adhering three-pennies, came thundering down 
 upon the resounding causeway. Let it not, how- 
 ever, be imagined, that this sudden loss of equi- 
 librium proceeded from any internal cause. The 
 younger man, indeed, maintained the perpendic- 
 ular with judge-like decorum, and even op-
 
 THE WIXDY WEDEXSDAY. 5 
 
 posed an adequate resistance to the less steady 
 movements of his ancient master. But, besides 
 the violence of the weather, and being embarrassed 
 by the huge snuff-mull and other insignia and 
 bearings of the craft, now returning to their annual 
 slumber in the Deacon's parlour-bunker press, 
 on entering that narrow dark defile, which in 
 those days lay between the Luckenbooths and the 
 low sheds, called Krames, which then stuck like 
 barnacles to a seventy-four round the stately pile 
 of St. Giles, some persoiis rapidly advancing in 
 the dark, with a hasty, and probably inadvertent 
 push, produced the above mentioned catastrophe. 
 
 " What mean ye by this, sirs T'' cried Master 
 Burlin, angrily challenging the aggressors as he 
 scrambled to his feet. — " Ken ye, my masters, 
 wha ye are pushing and j undying that unchancy 
 gate ? Are ye hurt. Deacon .?" 
 
 " Lord sake, Benjie, haud the lang tongue o"* 
 ye !" earnestly whispered the still recumbent, but 
 peace-pursuing Deacon. " I wad na for a Yule 
 batch, or the langest score on my nick-sticks, (and 
 thaf s the auld Leddy de Bruce's,) ha'e my name 
 bandied, or my word heard, in a causey bruilzie at 
 this hour o' the night. Pass on, worthy gentle-
 
 6 ELIZABETH DE BllUCE. 
 
 men. There is nae ill done but might ha'e been 
 waur/' 
 
 The strangers seemed disposed to make some 
 apology ; but the barm of Master Burlin's blood 
 raged the higher for the soft answer of his com- 
 panion. 
 
 " Speak for yourself Deacon Daigh,'' cried he ; 
 "but I'll learn thae penny-page gentry how they 
 come thud against 'sponsible men. Ken ye, my 
 masters, wha ye speak to .?" 
 
 Now, in the whole circle of categories, there is 
 not perhaps one more injudicious, or more calculat- 
 ed to draw forth a saucy response than the above. 
 
 " How should we know?"' cried the former speak- 
 er, drawing himself up and crossing his arms on his 
 breast. " Some drunken mechanical rogue, who 
 should have been snoring on his chaff-bed some 
 five hours agone." 
 
 " D'ye hear till him P" cried Master Burlin, 
 champing his teeth in rage. " At the Cross 0' 
 Edinburgh ! to a burgess and freeman ! Ha'e ye 
 the spirit of an oven cricket in ye. Deacon Daigh ? 
 — Guard! Town-guard!" shouted the bold baxter, 
 and he actually attempted to collar his adversary. 
 " Lord sake, Benjic Burlin, let go the gentle-
 
 THE WIXDY WEDNESDAY 
 
 man/' cried the Deacon, who had now regained 
 his legs, and stood wringing his hands in extremity. 
 
 The stranger very adroitly shook off the valiant 
 Burlin; and, tripping up his heels, again fairly laid 
 him sprawling on his back ; while louder than be- 
 fore the baxter shouted — " Guard ! Town-guard !" 
 and the stranger, darting through the narrow pass, 
 followed the tall figure, which, noiseless as a ghost, 
 had glided past at the very commencement of the 
 fray. 
 
 " For the sake of peace keep a calm sough, 
 Benjie,'" whispered the Deacon, bending over his 
 prostrate friend, and anxiously groping about to 
 recover the cognizance of the craft. " Will ye cry 
 up thae yellochin hieland deevils to mend the ca- 
 lamity ? Up stifFy — there's a braw chield." 
 
 Still the malcontent Burlin shouted — " Guard !" 
 
 " Lord's sake, Benjie," — and the Deacon clap- 
 ped his hand before the other's mouth, — "what are 
 ye about ? I'll be ruined at a' hands. Kirk and 
 Council ! Shop and neighbourhood ! — Nay, then,. 
 I'll just put in leg bail, and let the craft's jewels 
 tak' their chance wi' ye. Better they be lost than 
 the jewel o' my gude name," — and off the Deacon 
 hobbled. 
 
 He had not advanced many paces when his
 
 8 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 steps were arrested by the abrupt return of the 
 muffled figure that had first shot bye. This 
 person must now have made a circuit through the 
 Parliament Close, for the place of encounter was 
 exactly at the door of the old jail. 
 
 " Don't be alarmed, sir,'' said he, and he civilly 
 apologized for the former accidental jostle. " There 
 is not a soul astir around your Cross on this wild 
 night, — not a caudie to be found, and my business 
 is urgent. Can you, sir, direct me to the house of 
 the well-known midwife. Mistress — Mistress" — 
 and he hesitated, as if memory failed. 
 
 " Wha but Luckie Metcalf, I'll warrant," said 
 the Deacon, now quite at home. 
 
 " Right — I strangely forgot," said the stranger, 
 
 " Wha should it be but just Luckie Metcalf, 
 my next door neighbour ! — the first turnpike stair 
 in our wynd — the Clam-shell land, signifying the 
 Palmer's land, as Mr. Gideon Haliburton, a sticket 
 Seceder minister, tells me frae the Pilgrims' pal- 
 merin to the Holy Land lang syne. But what 
 am I palmerin here about, and your job standin'. 
 Come on, sir, we'll get a lighted bowet at the 
 Guard-house. And here's Mr. Burlin will lend a 
 hand. Ye maun forget and forgi'e, Benjie. It's 
 a crying case the gentlemen are out on."
 
 THE WIXDY WEDNESDAY. 9 
 
 The tardy appearance of the mercenaries, and 
 probably something in the tall and athletic figure 
 of the stranger, enforced this argument with the 
 malcontent Burlin. The proffered civility of the 
 " bowet," or lantern, was declined ; and they pro- 
 ceeded in darkness in the direction of the Deacon's 
 dwelling, the muffled stranger stalking on in si- 
 lence, lik€ a troubled spirit abroad on dark and 
 midnight errands, Master Burlin sullen, and the 
 honest Deacon panting in haste, and yet making 
 the whole cost of conversation. 
 
 " Yell be a stranger, I'm wotting," said he. 
 A slight nod was doubtful response, but might be 
 construed into an affirmative. The Deacon, a 
 very good-natured man in his way, was not dis- 
 posed to be urgent. Indeed after the trades' great 
 annual supper he was generally as much in the 
 humour of hearing his own tongue wag, as of 
 listening to the discourses of any other man ; and 
 the high and haughty-looking stranger offered no 
 bar to this harmless gratification. After a glance 
 at the gudewife's several "lying-in jobs," the 
 Deacon, like a friendly man as he was, proceeded 
 to eulogize the skiU of his neighbour. 
 
 " She's a canny kimmer, Luckie Metcalf," said 
 he, " and has seen mony a rig in her day. I ha'e
 
 10 ELIZABETH 1)E BRUCE. 
 
 heard her oure a dish o' tea, or it may be some- 
 thing stronger — ^for a wife in her line o' business 
 wad need support bye your ordinary tea slops — 
 mak' her brag o^ reckoning the best in Scotland 
 amang her bairns. There's the Lord Parkha's 
 
 leddy, and all the de Bruce family, and Mr. , 
 
 the great advocate. I mind as it were yesterday 
 o' selling him a bap, as he gaed by the door ilka 
 day to the hie-school ; — sirs, how things do come 
 about ! He is for certain ane o' Luckie's decking. 
 I was as near her lug as I am to you, sir, when 
 he made the grand speech again' her that lost her 
 the tierce plea wi' her step-bairns. ' The de'il sned 
 the souple tongue o' ye,' quoth she, half laughing, 
 as his gown ga'e us a wap when he gaed bye us 
 into the robing room, sucking a sweet oranger, — 
 ' gif my shears had been in my hussey-case yon 
 morning, ye wad na hae played me this slippery 
 trick ;' — ^for its bruited, sir, though I ay thought it 
 
 but a silly clatter, that the great Mr. was 
 
 like tongue-tacked for the first half hour o' his life ; 
 but that has been weel made up to him in a won- 
 derful speat o' speech ever since syne, the words 
 bolt — ^liolting out, before the fifteen on the 
 bench, like sheeled pease frae a mill happcr. — But 
 here, in gude time, is our wynd."
 
 THE WINDY WEDNESDAY. 11 
 
 With prompt civility the Deacon mounted the 
 stairs, and sounded the customary alarum on the 
 door of Mrs. Metcalf, by running a loose iron ring 
 briskly over the serrated surface of an oddly fa- 
 shioned piece of iron garniture, a screaming, creak- 
 ing apparatus, intended to supply the place of a 
 modern knocker or door-bell. 
 
 " I shall trouble you no farther, sir,^^ said the 
 stranger, in a tone which spoke ' good night,"* al- 
 most as plainly as the cold and dignified ' good 
 night' that followed. 
 
 " Ye have got your travail for your pains, Dea- 
 con, with that proud patch," said the still sulky 
 Burlin. 
 
 " Ye may say sae Benjie,'' replied the Deacon. 
 " But, what can he be man ? Wrapped up in his 
 breachan, a velvet mask on his face, and pistols 
 and dagger in his belt. Saw ye the glint o' them, 
 lad, as he wapped by ? That high English tongue 
 has like too a twang of the hieland speech. I 
 wish gude may be meant. — But, Lord sake ! now, 
 Benjie, dinna let my word be heard.'*'' 
 
 The prudent Deacon, with his friend, now re- 
 treated to the entrance of the steep lane, or wynd, 
 and knocked up his lass, resolving in his private 
 mind to lay this untimely alarm at his decent door
 
 12 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 to the account of the midwife's customers, as from 
 experience he had reason to dread the long sharp 
 ears of his neighbour, Miss Jacobina Pingle, a 
 nervous maiden gentlewoman, who, in the tenth 
 story or top fiat ^ exercised the calling of silk glove- 
 mender and stocking-ingrafter, and, as he alleg- 
 ed, neither slept night nor day ; so that, though 
 she seldom stirred abroad, she was supposed to 
 know more of the secret history of the land than 
 any of the regular daily fixtures at the head of the 
 wynd.
 
 THE (ONFLAGRATIOX. 13 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE CONFLAGRATION. 
 
 Dark sits the evening upon the Thane's Castle, 
 
 The black clouds gather round ; 
 
 Soon shall they be red as the blood of the valiant ! 
 
 The destroyer of forests shall shake his red crest against thera, 
 
 He, the bright consumer of palaces ; 
 
 Broad waves he his blazing banner, 
 
 Red, wide, and dusky.— 
 
 Ivanhoe. 
 
 The worthy Deacon had scarcely for two hours 
 occupied the narrow sleeping place allotted him 
 by Mrs. Daigh — ^for on this night of flagrant 
 transgression he prudently declined the contest, 
 which he sometimes manfully maintained, for am- 
 ple verge, — when the family were aroused by the 
 rumbling rub-a-dub roll of the " fire-drum." — 
 The pealing bells of gray St. Giles, the clatter 
 of a thousand feet, the hurtle and thundering of 
 the fire engines along the pavements, eager in- 
 terrogatories, abrupt answers, hoarse yells, shouts
 
 14 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 of " Fire ! fire !"' and all those signs of consterna- 
 tion and alarm, mixed with the strange excitement 
 and nameless wanton delight, which a midnight 
 conflagration spreads through a populous city, 
 might perhaps have failed to draw our carousing 
 burgher from his pillow, had not the clamorous 
 terrors of Mrs. Daigh, about certain wooden tene- 
 ments in St. Mary's Wynd, compelled him to ac- 
 tivity. 
 
 " Our new conquest to be burnt,'" said the 
 dame, " and me no infeft three days. But, 
 it's a just judgment on you, David Daigh, for your 
 doings this night. — Miss Jacobina, frae her win- 
 dow, is crying, she's sure St. Mary's Wynd's on 
 fire. — ' Hech, sirs,' I heard her saying wi' a laugh, 
 ' and is the braw subject o' our gude neighbours 
 to gae aff wi' a lunt that gate.' — Spitefu ettercap !" 
 
 The idle crowd which had already assembled in 
 the street, completely choked up the direct ap- 
 proach to the scene of the fire, and compelled the 
 Deacon to make a long circuit before he could dis- 
 tinctly learn on what spot its ravages were going 
 forward. This he discovered to be in that hollow 
 which lies between the Calton Hill and the north 
 side of the ridge on which the Canongate extends, 
 and very near the grounds of Holyrood-house.
 
 THE CONFLAGRATION. 15 
 
 " It's Cambuskenneth Lodge, Deacon,'' said 
 Miss Jacobina, or, as she was familiarly called, 
 Miss Jacky Pingle, who, slip-shod and wrapped 
 in her red cardinal, stood the oracle of one of those 
 broken groups which filled the streets. " It's an 
 auld prophecy, that it maun be thrice burnt, to pu- 
 rify it o' the red guilt of blood, the blood of the de 
 Bruce — naething can gainsay that." 
 
 " I have heard o' sic idle clavers," replied the 
 Deacon, who had now surmounted his personal 
 concern, and was indifferent to all else. 
 
 " Idle clavers !" retorted Miss Jacobina, the 
 very pearlin' edging of her night-cap vibrating 
 with indignation ; for, like Horace Walpole's fair 
 and provident friend, she kept a decent night- 
 cap to throw on in cases of fire — " Idle clavers ! 
 I have heard my grand-aunt, Provost Falconer's 
 dochter, Deacon," — Miss Jacky looked round with 
 dignity, — " tell an hundred times how at the last 
 burning in the year 1679, the ghost of the Lady 
 de Bruce who got foul play in that dark house, 
 was seen towering over the flames, clasping her 
 bluidy winding sheet as she screamed aloud. 
 
 'Ance burnt! Twice burnt! — When I come 
 again, f II fear ye a' .''
 
 IG ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 And look ! see ye that neighbours. Is not she 
 come again ?^^ 
 
 The black voluminous smoke, which had for 
 some time rolled its enormous coils from the huge 
 vomitory, now burst into jets and eddies of flame, 
 in which, at this instant, the eye of fancy or su- 
 perstition might have fashioned the outline of a 
 soaring female form, arrayed in the redundant dra- 
 pery of the time, or in the weeds of the sepulchre. 
 
 While the group feasted their eyes on this ima- 
 ginary and quickly shifting resemblance, the Dea- 
 con felt his arm suddenly seized with the convul- 
 sive grasp of a trembling hand, and, looking 
 round, saw his gossip, Mrs. Metcalf, with pale 
 visage, mouth distended, eyes starting from their 
 sockets, and every mark of horror and supernatu- 
 ral dread. 
 
 " Help, neighbour Daigh,'' she panted forth ; 
 " help, for the love of Heaven — I am a gone 
 woman." 
 
 " The devil's come owre the women folk the 
 night, wi"* their ghaists and their glamour. Ha'e 
 ye seen the Leddy de Bruce's ghaist too .?'' 
 
 " Many a word lightly spoken has a heavy fall. 
 I have seen this night what flesh and blood will 
 not soon ourcast," replied the midwife. 
 1
 
 THE COXFLAGRATTOX. 17 
 
 *^ Cambuskemieth Lodge burning, I'se war- 
 rant. My moan is soon made for the auld black 
 ruckle. But the de Bruce's were great patrons o' 
 yours, no doubt." 
 
 " Cambuskenneth Lodge !" hoarsely screamed 
 the woman, clasping her hands. — " Said ye that 
 man ? Then is my dream out ! and the Lord 
 take to his mercy the innocent blood shed this 
 night, and in His ain time judge the foul vmnatu- 
 ral slayers,'" 
 
 " Ou, the wife's noddle is working like a new- 
 set spunge !"" cried the Deacon, as the woman 
 hung on his arm in a state approaching to insen- 
 sibility. " Miss Jacky, ha'e ye ony skill o' this 
 gear ? If I could get ane o' thae hieland loons, 
 wi' their sedan cheyres now, to yerk her hame, a 
 sup o' a brandy posset would reveeve her, and set 
 us a' to rights." 
 
 The maiden, her long ears in her neck, her 
 skinny lips compressed with very eagerness, see- 
 ing or divining much more in the excessive agita- 
 tion of the midwife than was visible to the honest 
 Deacon, hastily advanced with offers of aid and 
 consolation. It appeared that her presence acted 
 as an immediate restorative or bracer ; for Mrs. 
 Metcalf rallied, said " her dwalm had gone off," 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 18 ELIZABETH DE URUCE. 
 
 and proposed returning home with the assistance 
 of tlie Deacon's arm. 
 
 " Aye, and welcome, Luckie ; and troth I think 
 them on whose job ye gaed afoot, might have seen 
 ye hame at sic hours. And now I mind me — did 
 not I send ye a gay queer customer this same 
 morning .^" 
 
 " Ye sent .^'' cried Miss Pingle. 
 
 " Some outlandish chap, I take it," continued 
 the Deacon. " Made ye a gude job of it, 
 Luckie ?'^ Mrs. Metcalf groaned. — " Now, Lord 
 sake, woman, forget that Cambuskenneth Lodge 
 and Leddy de Bruce's ghaist ! 'Od, I'se lay 
 her in a Red sea o' plotty this blessed night ; and, 
 leddies, ye shall baith help me.*" 
 
 Neither the consolations of the baker, nor the 
 promise of his good cheer, could restore the spi- 
 rits of the woman, whom he now dragged rather 
 than led along. — Near that part of the Old City 
 wall, where the Kirk of Field is said to have 
 stood, the trio paused to look back on the still 
 blazing fire. The heavens in that point were 
 kindled to an intense fiery glow; but the first 
 stage of the combustion was over, and no fresh 
 fuel being supplied, the radiance gradually paled, 
 and finally blended with the blackness of the still
 
 THE COXFLAGRATIOX. 19 
 
 early hour. A city so picturesque in situation 
 and architecture, touched with brilliant but fitful 
 illumination in every prominent point, from the 
 dusky brow of its overhanging castle, to the spires 
 and turrets of its dismantled palace, might have 
 awakened a transient sense of the beautiful, even 
 in those who had most reason to dread the pro- 
 gress of the destructive element. But our douce 
 Deacon cared little for such matters : so, having 
 seen his fair companions safely bestowed in their 
 homes, he said " He would just streek himseP for 
 an hour by the side o' Mrs. Daigh ; as there were 
 fain fules enow to carry water buckets without 
 him, and the fire lay far frae St. Mary^s Wynd.'^ 
 At the hour of twelve next day, the usual com- 
 plement of breakfast rolls allotted to the midwife, 
 remained on the Deacon's shelves uncalled for. 
 The discussions at the head of the wynd this morn- 
 ing all hinged on last night's fire. — Cambuskenneth 
 Lodge was one of those ancient hotels, which, 
 when the Court of Scotland was held at Holy rood, 
 had accommodated a family of high distinction, 
 one of the very few illustrious Scottish houses 
 which had long retained the Roman faith. But 
 the mansion had been untenanted for many years. 
 Its casements were dismantled — its paved court
 
 20 ELIZABETH I)E BRUCE. 
 
 was chequered witli nettles, clocks, and grass, and 
 the roofs of the offices which ranged round three 
 sides of its high surrounding walls, were mostly fal- 
 len in, so that the wonder grew how fire could have 
 reached a place so lonely and so isolated. The 
 Deacon, and the auditory whom his wisdom daily 
 enlightened on all subjects of passing interest, not 
 irrationally conjectured that some houseless vag- 
 rants had clambered over the walls of the court, 
 and, either by accident, or to conceal their depre- 
 dations, had set fire to the massive structure, 
 which, according to tradition, had already been 
 twice burned down. 
 
 Mrs. Metcalf, the Deacon's neighbour, could 
 have told another story ; at least so conjectured 
 Miss Jacobina Pingle, who, on taking up a far- 
 thing whig for her afternoon tea, announced the 
 alarming illness of that useful matron. 
 
 " The fever had flown to her brain," Miss 
 Jacky said ; " and she had raved all day of a 
 murdered leddy and a misguided wean, fire, 
 flames, and naked swords. Mr. Gideon Halibur- 
 ton, who lodged in her out-shot chalmer, had 
 passed two strucken hours locked up with her. 
 Pen, ink, and paper had been sent for ; and it 
 was thought she had made a full confession and
 
 THE CONFLAGRATION. 21 
 
 a clean breast. — Though it's no to be thought," 
 added Miss Jacky, " that a sticket seceder mi- 
 nister, wha is but a dominie after a', can gi'e that 
 comfort and clearance to the death-bed o' a sin- 
 ner which could be drawn frae a godly placed mi- 
 nister o' the reformed Kirk of Scotland." 
 
 " We are a' sinners, Miss Jacky," replied the 
 honest baker, with some sharpness ; " but this is 
 heavy news ye bring of my worthy auld neigh- 
 bour." And suspecting that the curious maiden 
 was bent on jjrecognoscirig himself, concerning 
 the events of the preceding night, he dexterously 
 slipped past her, and took his way to the scene of 
 the late conflagration. 
 
 The frame-work of society is so chequered and 
 interwoven — so held together by minute, and often 
 invisible links and filaments, that even in a very 
 large city the most dexterous address can hardly 
 keep free of some one of its many meshes. This 
 may daily be seen in the thousand little incidents 
 which conspire to bring hidden culprits to light, 
 and to reveal, in the brightness of noon-day, what 
 has been transacted in the darkness of midnight. 
 It was, however, but a transient light that the di- 
 ligent and judicious inquiries of the cautious Dea- 
 con procured on this dark subject. A customer,
 
 22 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 who lived as far off as the Abbey-hill, had, at 
 midnight, on The Windy Wodensday, seen a close 
 carriage, followed by two muffled outriders, and 
 preceded by one, drive furiously up the north 
 back of the Canongate, and stop at, or near the 
 wicket gate of Cambuskenneth Lodge. A sedan 
 chair had been seen to wait for a full hour near the 
 North Loch, in which Mrs. Metcalf had probably 
 been conveyed, as, when found in an out-house of 
 the Lodge, it contained a letter addressed to that 
 excellent matron, in these laconic terms : 
 
 " The hour is twelve. Be punctual, and be 
 faithful ; or dread the terrible vengeance of him 
 you wot of.'' 
 
 This menacing epistle the Deacon, for the reason- 
 able price of a half-pint of brandy, obtained from 
 the highland chairman who had found it ; but af- 
 terwards on the request of Mr. Gideon Haliburton, 
 he gave it up to that unbeneficed divine, who had, 
 it was known, acted as ghostly confessor to the 
 midwife. 
 
 On the third day that good woman died, as if to 
 spite Miss Jacky Pingle and the other gossips of 
 the wynd ; and, though of unblemished reputa- 
 tion, and even popular in her own neighbourhood, 
 shrewd suspicions came to be whispered of " a
 
 THE CONFLAGRATIOX. 23 
 
 piece of money "" given as a bribe to procure the 
 removal of an infant, whose existence either stood 
 in the way of some project of unlawful aggrandize- 
 ment, or was a stain on the honour of some noble 
 house. 
 
 Eight days afterwards, the Deacon^s servant-las^, 
 who had been permitted to visit her relations at the 
 neighbouring village of Cramond, reported, that, 
 on the second morning after The Windy Wod- 
 ensday, an elderly woman, travel-worn and out- 
 landish in her look, was discovered resting on the 
 parapet of the bridge of Cramond, with a new-born 
 infant " mother naked of a^ christian deeding, 
 save a grand satin mantle, and some wrappers of 
 fine napery/' 
 
 But maugre this information. Miss Pingle was 
 highly scandalized that the Deacon — " a man in 
 office,""* as she said, "did not cause a search to be 
 made for the banes o' the murdered bairn, whilk 
 would in all likelihood be found below the mid- 
 wife's hearth-stane." 
 
 The prudent Deacon pondered all these things. 
 That there was a mystery, and probably a guilty 
 one, he was satisfied. Whatever it might be, it 
 had produced little good to his frank, jolly, mo- 
 therly okl neighbour — of whom he refused to 
 believe any thing sinister, much less cruel or atro-
 
 24 ELIZAIiETlI DE BllUCE. 
 
 cious — and it boded no advantage to himself. He 
 therefore resolved to observe silence as to his own 
 share of the mysterious warning forth, and so ear- 
 nestly implored Miss Pingle " no to let his word 
 be heard, or his name be come owre in sic a kittle 
 question,'"* that the shrewd maiden began to suspect 
 his share in the affair to be Much deeper than he 
 w^as willing to avow. Notwithstanding the baker^s 
 precautions, the affair was very generally talked 
 of; and, among the memorabilia of The Windy 
 Wodensday, the mysterious burning of Cambus- 
 kenneth Lodge, and the sudden death of " Luckie 
 Metcalf the howdie,'" bore an important part. 
 
 Shortly after this, the midwife's only relative, 
 a daughter advanced in life, married and left 
 Edinburgh ; and her father confessor, the Rever- 
 end Gideon Haliburton, was promoted to the 
 charge of a straggling hill-side flock, on the 
 
 south-western skirts of ^ shire. Faithful 
 
 to the mysterious confidence placed in him by the 
 dying woman, he preserved entire silence on what 
 had passed, regardless alike of the open assaults and 
 secret minings of Miss Jacky Pingle, who indited 
 him to sundry tea-drinkings, and of the sly inter- 
 rogatories of the Chief of the Bakers. 
 
 "It was a dark providence," he said ; " and 
 the Lord would bring light out of it in His ain
 
 THE CONFLAGKATIOX. 25 
 
 time. The less ye ken o' sic matters, man, the 
 sounder will your sleep be. Keep well when you 
 are well ; and follow your ain peaceful calling. I 
 went not out of my own road to pry into this 
 mystery. The will of Providence laid it at my 
 door. — May it he His will soon to remove the 
 charge ; for to me it is a sore and a heavy." 
 
 This whetter and damper — ^for these hints acted 
 as both — silenced, if they did not satisfy the Dea- 
 con. 
 
 Our history though scarcely begun, must now 
 makealeap of nearly nineteen years down the stream 
 of time, during which period the Deacon had 
 greatly prospered in all his worldly undertakings, 
 added " stone biggings"" to " wooden tenements,'" 
 and given his name to immortality in " Daigh's 
 Close," become an elder of the Greyfriars' Kirk, 
 and Convener of the Trades, buried Mrs. Daigh, 
 
 dined once, pending an election, at House, 
 
 and finally saw, with somewhat unchristian exulta- 
 tion, Miss Jacobina Pingle struck with deafness of 
 the left ear, brought on, it vas alleged, by having 
 kept that sharp and useful organ too long exposed to 
 the draught of a key-hole, on the night when the 
 doughty Mr. Burlin made successful overtures for 
 the fair hand of the elder Miss Daigh.
 
 26 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A FAMILY GROUP. 
 
 Come homely characters that no one hit. 
 
 Pope. 
 
 And have I not the privilege of sorrow, 
 Without a menial's staring eye upon me ? 
 Who sent thee thus to charter my free thoughts, 
 And tell me where to shrink, and where to pause ? 
 Officious slave away ! 
 
 MiLMAN. 
 
 It was nearly nineteen years from the memor- 
 able night of The Windy Wodensday^ and early 
 in a breezy bracing October morning, that Wolfe 
 Grahame, a young Scottish gentleman of an an- 
 cient family in shire, prepared to leave 
 
 the home of his childhood and youth, to join a re- 
 giment of horse, then stationed in the south-west 
 of Ireland, in which he had lately been promoted 
 to the rank of captain. 
 
 The servants had been astir at a very early hour 
 on the morning of a day so important to the fam-
 
 A FAMILY GROUP. 27 
 
 ily, as that on which the heir was to set out on a 
 perilous expedition ; for Ireland was then in re- 
 bellion. A profuse breakfast, served by a blazing 
 hearth, in a handsome and highly-ordered, though 
 old-fashioned wainscot parlour, only waited the ap- 
 pearance of the master of the mansion, and of the 
 Reverend Gideon Haliburton, who, having obtain- 
 ed leave of absence from a rather rebellious flock 
 to visit his relations in Gallowayshire, proposed to 
 give his company to his young friend and quon- 
 dam pupil as far as Portpatrick. 
 
 Wolfe Grahame, early left an orphan, had, 
 with the exception of the time spent at school and 
 the university, lived wholly, till he joined his re- 
 giment, with his paternal uncle at Monkshaugh, 
 This estate had once been of considerable magni- 
 tude, but it was now more remarkable for beau- 
 ty of scenery than extent of acres. Such 
 as it was, however, Wolfe was the heir appa- 
 rent; for his uncle, Mr. Robert Grahame, was 
 now a bachelor of threescore acknowledged, and 
 perhaps a few more debatable years ; and had 
 every symptom of so remaining. While the 
 younger brother, the father of Wolfe, had been 
 buffeting with fortune in all the struggles and vi- 
 cissitudes of a man's life, Mr. Robert Grahame, or
 
 ELIZABETH DE BRL'CE. 
 
 " Monkshaugh," as he was called, was wholly 
 brought up under the care of a peevish, sickly, but 
 doting mother, whose selfish teasing fondness might 
 probably have revolted a boy of more spirit and 
 better understanding; but this kindness he returned 
 with affection equal to her own, in kind and in de- 
 gree. Laughed at by the neighbourhood, the old 
 woman considered a plague, the young man a jest, 
 they formed a little world to each other, till their 
 mutual cares and coddlings became the main busi- 
 ness, as it was the chief delight, of their lives. 
 
 In childhood Master Robert had been remark- 
 able for those delicate pink cheeks, curling locks, 
 and black eyes of japan-lustre, which some 
 mothers value so highly in " pretty-behaved young 
 gentlemen'' who keep their hair smooth, their 
 hands clean, their clothes untorn, and who never 
 fight, mount wild horses, nor go near the water. 
 And in Monkshaugh, as in others, " the boy was 
 father to the man.'' The laird, now a little with- 
 ered old bachelor, still valued in himself the re- 
 mains of his boyish beauty, and piqued himself 
 inordinately on his gentle 'haviour, and his birth as 
 a Grahame, and a de Bruce. 
 
 As the eldest son of a Scottish family of the 
 second order of pretence, immemorial custom had
 
 A FAMILY GROUP. 29 
 
 dedicated young Monksliaugh to the study of law. 
 But nature, as will sometimes happen, may prove 
 too strong for custom ; rebellious even against 
 Scottish " use and wont.^' He obtained an ad- 
 vocate's gown, however ; and the old lady read his 
 name in the almanack : but " he was too much 
 of the gentleman"" — the old family doer informed 
 his mother — " to bather his head wi' law ;" which 
 he renounced accordingly — or which more pro- 
 perly renounced him. But though Mr. Robert 
 Grahame, or Buckish Bob, as he was then called, 
 made little progress in cultivating the favour of 
 the eldest of the Black Graces, in other distin- 
 guished walks he was more successful. For sever- 
 al seasons he was a member of the Harmonic So- 
 ciety, and could even to the present day scrape 
 " Je vous dirai, ma maman^^'' and two tunes and a 
 half of Corelli on the violoncello. He had also been 
 a director of St. Cecilia's Hall when the inspired 
 votaress first " drew an angel down"' upon Niddry 
 Street ; and indisputably had the honour of open- 
 ing several balls in the George's Square Assem- 
 bly Rooms with the most celebrated beauties and 
 toasts of the sixties. Mr. Robert Grahame had 
 also, in those times, been occasionally admitted to 
 the revels of the choice spirits of the Poker
 
 30 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 Club. But, eclat apart, he neither relished their 
 wine nor their wit. Even before his mother died 
 he was become too old for an acceptable dangler, 
 and all unfit, with his precise and maidenly habits, 
 for the tear and wear of manly society ; so he re- 
 tired to his estate, to educate, he said, his brother's 
 son — in fact, to superintend the hatching of his 
 Bantams, the preparation of his jellies, and above 
 all — ^for country gentlemen must have some para- 
 mount pursuit — to watch the doings out of doors 
 and within of the newly enriched " mushroom 
 family'' of his neighbour, Mr. Hutchen of Harle- 
 tillum, which, root, branch and ofF-sets, the Laird 
 detested, nay hated, in as far as an energetic and 
 decided sentiment could find harbourage in a 
 breast, not absolutely without gall but destitute of 
 great capacity of any kind. This Mr. Hutchen, 
 or " Hurcheon" — which last Monkshaugh said 
 was the true name — ^was originally a country attor- 
 ney and banker, and had been agent and trustee 
 for himself, when pecuniary involvements made 
 niu'sing necessary for his estate. He was also trus- 
 tee for the Lord de Bruce, a lunatic, and the kins- 
 man of Monkshaugh. 
 
 Monkshaugh had now ceased to visit town even 
 occasionally, and in all matters of taste, fashion,
 
 A FAMILY GllOLt]'. 31 
 
 and wit, lived wholly in the past. Thus, every 
 little peculiarity gaining force in retirement, he 
 gradually lost the flattering appellation of " Buck- 
 ish Bob," and, among his rustic neighbours and 
 servants, acquired the not less significant, and 
 more appropriate title of Auld Pernickitie — 
 originally bestowed by his favourite waiting gen- 
 tleman, gQssip and privy counsellor, Francie, or 
 Francis Frisel, — who was himself, with equal pro- 
 priety, known in the household and country-side 
 by the nickname of The Whittret. 
 
 But though so precise in manners, and alto- 
 gether, it must be owned, rather a fiddling, insig- 
 nificant personage, Monkshaugh was so kind in 
 heart, and so inoffensive in conduct, that his ser- 
 vants and tenants bore him considerable regard. 
 He was their property, their preserve, whom they 
 were unwilling to see any one ridicule, back- 
 bite or plunder, save themselves. 
 
 Wolfe Grahame, who too frequently was guilty 
 of violating the rigid decorums of his uncle''s 
 breakfast table, by clearing away before him, 
 right and left, in season and out of season, in the 
 grey dawn of this morning stalked across the par- 
 lour with heavy measured steps, the breakfast un- 
 harmed, his eyes cast down, his high and broad
 
 32 ELIZABETH DE ERUCE. 
 
 forehead clouded with thought, his fhiely curved 
 dark brows knit like those of a man in deep ab- 
 straction, or one communing with himself on 
 some subject of painful and intense solicitude. 
 The absence of those who so long delayed the 
 parting meal, seemed unheeded by the young 
 man, who occasionally in his walk paused and 
 gazed through a window, which, deeply ensconced 
 in the thick walls of the old mansion, looked up 
 into a wooded glade, called the dean or den of 
 Ernescraig, and commanded a partial view of the 
 Pechs' Mount, a bold and rocky eminence, mid- 
 way up the mountains and jutting from their 
 sides, on which stood the Tower of Ernescraig, an 
 ancient stronghold of the Lords de Bruce. 
 
 Once as sighing deeply he turned his eyes from 
 this absorbing object of contemplation, he caught 
 the keen glance of the official in waiting evidently 
 watching his bearing, a strange struggle of mirth 
 and malice sparkling in the small twinkling eyes, 
 which, with the sharpness of bodkin points, peered 
 out from a shrew-mouse visage. Francie Frisel, 
 or the Whittret, as he was usually called from his 
 exceeding nimbleness and agility, was a dwarfed, 
 wizzened, elvish being, of the very smallest size 
 of the human species in stature and girth, Laps
 
 A FAMILY GROUr. 33 
 
 and Esquimaux not excluded. A century before 
 he might have been taken for Monkshaugh's imp 
 or familiar, though there was indeed little danger 
 of the laird's being burned for a wizard, even in 
 those superstitious times. The Whittret, if not a 
 real fairy man, of which there were shrewd suspi- 
 cions in the hamlet of Castleburn, was at least a 
 foundling reared in his master's family. He held 
 a rather anomalous situation in the now reduced 
 household establishment, being in fact everything, 
 and nothing, — ^piper, butler, and gossip, as well as 
 the general obliging conveyancer of letters, parcels, 
 and all sorts of intelligence, from the royal 
 borough of Rookstown to every farm-toim^ cot- 
 tage, and Ha' house in the neighbourhood. 
 
 This man of many functions, thus caught in the 
 manner but no whit disconcerted, began to supply 
 the large and highly burnished brass-mounted 
 grate with fresh billets of birchwood, that sweet- 
 est of fuel, and to cheer his labours by trolling 
 aloud the old ditty of — 
 
 " My bonny Lizzie Baillie', 
 
 Your mother canna want ye ; 
 Sae let the trooper gang his lane> 
 
 And carry his portmanty," &c. &c. 
 
 In spite of serious displeasure a smile curled the 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 34 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE, 
 
 lip of Wolfe Grahame, who well knew that he was 
 himself the butt of this expostulatory lyric. He 
 once again paused in his walk, and, bending down, 
 pinched the shoulder of the stooping manikin. 
 
 " Frisel, thou art the most prying and impudent 
 varlet that ever ran loose working mischief in an 
 old house. What prevents me now from crushing 
 every bone in that shrimpish body of thine, which 
 I could so easily do ?'' 
 
 " No sae very easy as ye trow. Captain Wolfe. 
 First, there is your ain kind heart to prevent ye, — 
 forbye my skirling ; — and a brave exploit it would 
 be for a captain o' dragoons to break the banes o' 
 a puir singet creature like me. But I ken ye are 
 thinking ye saw ane in the Ernescraig wood, i' the 
 grey o' the morning ; but it might be my wraith, 
 or a howlet, or a wild cat. I'll be sworn it was 
 a faithful silent creature, will ne'er blab to cause 
 skaith to you, far less to ony fair leddy.'' 
 
 " Leave the room, sir," cried Wolfe, in a voice 
 which forbade farther parley ; and the Whittret 
 obeyed ; but, by a gentle slam of the door, threw 
 down the gauntlet to his young master. 
 
 " And this," thought Grahame, " is but a first 
 taste. Where is it all to end ? My Elizabeth ! 
 in what a fate has my rash love involved thee !"
 
 A FAMILY GROL^P. 35 
 
 Tlie young man again fell into meditation, and re- 
 sumed his measured walk. 
 
 The Whittret, it should be told, had no felo- 
 nious intent in watching his young master's bear- 
 ing, farther than what arose from discontent, that 
 he who had so largely assisted in all former boyish 
 pranks, should be left out when mischief more 
 daring was going forward, — and that too, as he 
 suspected though erroneously, under the agency 
 of his rival, the redoubtable veteran trooper. Cor- 
 poral Fugal, who had been the attendant of 
 the Lord de Bruce, and also the instructor of 
 Wolfe Grahame in the management of his horse, 
 and in all other military and manly exercises. 
 
 Perched high in a window bunker of the kitchen, 
 his usual roost in good weather, his arms folded, 
 whistling and kicking his heels in cadence, the 
 Whittret was addressed by Effie Fechnie, a per- 
 pendicular rigid maiden, with high shoulders, 
 flat chest, and long pinched visage set round with 
 close-lappet pinners, who had for thirty years 
 presided in the kitchen of Monkshaugh, and at 
 last obtained the brevet rank of housekeeper; 
 for the laird himself, without stinting her of the 
 emoluments, exercised all the real authority of the 
 office.
 
 36 
 
 ILIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 " Is the Laird no busket yet ?'' said she. " That 
 weary wig o' his !"" — The Laird's morning toilet 
 was as tedious and elaborate as that of a French 
 lady of the old regime, before the guillotine taught 
 despatch in all affairs of the head. — '' Nor Mr. 
 Gideon come either ? — wi' a pound of dirt at ilka 
 cloot, honest man, making a house like a midden. 
 The mutton-ham will be brandered black, and my 
 souple scones as teugh as the widdie.'" 
 
 " And the widdie wring the craigs they are to 
 gang owre,'" cried the Whittret, " for aught I 
 care.'' 
 
 Effie stayed her manual operations at the dresser, 
 to gaze with wonderment on the enraged manikin. 
 
 " How long, Effie, have I, Francis Frisel or 
 Eraser, commonly called the Whittret, lived in 
 the service of the Laird of Monkshaugh and his 
 nevoy .?■" 
 
 " It may be better than twa-and-twenty year 
 since the tinklers drappet ye like a fairy-tok^n, 
 at our back yett, yon morning," said Effie, dri- 
 ly. " Ye might no be aboon a year o' a Chris- 
 tian bairn's bouk ; but as ye girned up in my face, 
 like a wee auld man, three score years wad na ha'e 
 matched the tongue o' ye. Ye ha'e gotten your 
 bite and your sup about the toun ever since, ex-
 
 A FAMILY GROUP. S^ 
 
 cept the year the Laird bound ye to Lowrie La- 
 brod the tailor, — and when ye took the pet and ran 
 off to list i' the Loudons. Pity ye are o' sic scrimp 
 stature, Francie, with your bauld soger-spirit.**" 
 
 " Lang or short, the house o' Monkshaugh has 
 seen the last o' my service. I'm sworn to that ! 
 Pernickitie has grown a perfect Nabal nigger. 
 When I came hame frae Rookstown yestreen, 
 after trailing a strucken hour, seeking that Cou7't 
 leddies' sticking 2)lcnster — de'il plaister him ! — ^for 
 the plook on his chin that the house has been held 
 astir about, he ne'er had the grace to say, ' gude 
 Francie — ill Francie, ha'e ye a mouth for a dram ?'' 
 but ' how do I set it ?' And the young one, that 
 I could have spilled my reddest heart's blude for, 
 colleaguin' wi' that auld blasting blunderbuss. Cor- 
 poral Fugal. Flesh and blude cannot thole this. 
 I'll sing ballants, or cry last speeches, play at 
 prick-the-garter, or rowly-powly, or set up in 
 the Wast-port o' Edinburgh wi' my razors, and 
 shave hieland shearers at a groat to the de'il's diz- 
 zen, ere I be used this gate." 
 
 " Ye'U take pity on us yet," said the maiden, with 
 provoking dryness, as she quietly proceeded with 
 her household duties ; " and give us a day for re- 
 pentance and amendment, ere ye withdraw such a
 
 38 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 manful prop frae the tottering roof-tree of Monks- 
 haugh. But what think ye, Francie, — is the young 
 captain and the auld corporal laying their heads 
 thegither about that lassie de Bruce ? — Weel, I 
 set my face clean against it. But whisht ! There's 
 Pernickitie's genty footie tippy-tippying down 
 the back stair frae the blue chalmer. He has 
 toddled about frae kitchen to ha' this whole blessed 
 morning, like a hen seeking a nest, honest man.'' 
 
 And now in unison with a cracked bell which 
 sounded the breakfast hour, was heard the thin and 
 somewhat affected voice of Monkshaugh, crying 
 " Francis — Francie Frisel." 
 
 " Coming ! coming, Monkshaugh," cried Fri- 
 sel. " Hand nie the clear tea-kettle, lass. As it 
 is the last day of my sojourn within these gates, I 
 need not affront auld Pernickitie, puir boddie, 
 afore a stranger like godly Gideon. But I swear 
 — witness for me Euphan Fechnie — by the Black 
 Rood o' Scotland, that I'll be at the bottom of the 
 captain's secret before I'm a day aulder ! So gi'e 
 me the clear tea-kettle that's crooning its matins 
 sae bonnily, and these piping hot flour scones. — 
 The froth is lying on that kipper like lammer beads. 
 Keep a bit warm to me, Effie ; and ne'er let on 
 what I minted about a change. We may a' change
 
 A FAMILY GROUP. 39 
 
 quarters belyve, if John Hurcheon get his will o' 
 us. And godly Gideon's half-marrow has been 
 below the mools a lawfu** time. Keep up your 
 heart lass ! ye ken ye're a crook-horned auld ewe 
 o' his ain flock, and will ha"'e a chance i' this va- 
 cancy. I'll to the parlour !'' 
 
 " Aye, ye have wit in yovir anger, Francie, to 
 take your word wi' a warrant. — Right north side 
 o' the hill man, (for Frisel was thought to be of 
 highland blood.) Gi'e the laird the warst word o'' 
 your pack, and win farther ben wi"" him than his 
 honest, frugal, eident, faithfu' servants, wha gi'e 
 him not eye-service as men-pleasers." 
 
 "True ye say, Effie,'' interrupted Frisel, return- 
 ing for fresh supplies — " not eye-service, seeing ye 
 have but one worth reckoning on; and as for a 
 man-pleaser — Whew !'' The Whittret made a 
 face and eyes, which, with upturned palms, spoke 
 on this point more forcibly than any form of 
 words could have done. 
 
 " Gae ye imp,'' cried Effie ; " your tongue is 
 nae scandal ;" and after his departure, she thus soli- 
 loquized — '' weel may I groan, lang and sair, for a 
 bit hole to ca' my ain. Naething like ane's ain 
 fireside ; and its a dowie thing, and a dowf for our 
 minister who is but a handless man, to gang
 
 40 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 hame to toom walls and a cauld hearth-stanc. And 
 there he comes riding gawsie on Jenny Geddes ; 
 and no an ill-looking man either, to be pocky- 
 arred, and downright ugly/' 
 
 Slowly and at sober pace, Corporal Fugal at 
 the bridle, came on the long-backed, shambling, 
 down-looking, demure mare, which bore the huge, 
 lank, and bony bulk of the Reverend Gideon Ha- 
 liburton. Gideon alighted in the wide antique 
 court surrounded partly by old high walls, partly by 
 hawthorn and holly bushes mixed with gueldre- 
 roses and tall lilacs, and having a grotesque stone- 
 work fountain covered by one fine spreading old 
 holly. From the parlour window, his host rub- 
 bing hands like withered lilies sunk knuckle 
 deep in plaited cambric frills, surveyed the fresh 
 arrivals, steed and rider, not without some lauda- 
 ble attempts at quizzing, which had a rather comi- 
 cal effect in the eyes of Wolfe Grahame. 
 
 This same delightful propensity of quizzing, 
 omnipotent as love itself, pervades all earthly space 
 — all ranks of men. The inmates of Bedlam quiz 
 ^ach other ; and the art is as well understood, and 
 as keenly practised in the nightly haunts of the 
 sturdy beggar, as in the saloon of the prince. 
 Market-women and boat-scullers are adepts in
 
 A FAMILY ailOUP. 41 
 
 quizzing; an Irish beggar will be fovmd more 
 adroit in the practice than a modern critic, though 
 his chief aim is to quiz with smart effect. 
 The cockney quizzes the clown ; the clown retorts 
 on the cockney. The player, whose regular trade 
 is quizzing, hits at all ranks of life ; and all ranks 
 enjoy a quiz against the poor player " strutting 
 his hour.*" Why then, might not the neat, well- 
 dressed, spruce little Laird of Monkshaugh quiz 
 the gaunt, uncouth, slovenly minister of the Sour- 
 holes, without exciting the half-derisive smile of 
 Wolfe Grahame ? 
 
 The gentlemen who now exchanged the com- 
 pliments of the morning, were the very antipodes 
 of each other ; but they had one point of cordial 
 union — warm regard for the young man who was 
 this morning to leave them. Mr. Gideon had 
 long set down Monkshaugh in the tablets of his 
 mind as " an ill-less, gude-less, prinkie kind o^ 
 prelatic boddie, who liked to claver about laced 
 cravats, Bristo' buckles set in silver, and his rot- 
 ten forebears, a malignant race as a"" the Grahames 
 were ;'' — while Monkshaugh, on his side, was not at 
 all desirous of cultivating any particular intimacy 
 with a rough-spun, mean-born, uncouth, schismatic 
 person, who wore coarse shirts two in the week, and
 
 42 ELIZABETH DE BKUCE. 
 
 whom, ill all their past intercourse, he had never 
 been able to impress with a due sense of his own 
 personal claims and family dignities. 
 
 The first greetings despatched, Monkshaugh 
 made a sly survey of the appointments of his vi- 
 siter, not without serious misgivings as to the 
 outward shews of the strange companion, volun- 
 tarily chosen for some days by a very handsome 
 and well-equipped young officer of light dragoons> 
 
 The Reverend Gideon Haliburton was now in 
 his sixtieth year ; but he, perhaps, looked older. 
 Tall, gaunt, in-kneed, and clumsily jointed, in 
 walking his right side was always in considerable 
 advance of the left, and the movements of the whole 
 man seemed impelled by some internal piece of un- 
 wieldy, ill-oiled mechanism, which it required a 
 strong impulse to set in motion, but which once 
 set a-going, it appeared as difficult to arrest. 
 Cheek-bones, v/hich went far to justify the asper- 
 sions cast on the national physiognomy, a mouth, 
 " cavernous and vast,'' and furnished with de- 
 tached streaky columns in suitable proportion, 
 large " noticeable eyes" — colour, pepper and salt 
 mixture, — and grizzled powerful eye-brows, consti- 
 tuted, together with a broad, expansive, furrowed 
 forehead, the coarse elements of a face which, ne-
 
 THE FAMILY GllOUF. 43 
 
 vertheless, wore an indescribable expression of the 
 agreeable and the benevolent. The outward 
 equipments of Gideon, though gall and wormwood 
 to the laird of Monkshaugh, were such as, when 
 in decent order, very well suited his rank and pro- 
 fession. A full suit of priests"'-grey coarse cloth, 
 made with ample allowance of skirt, sleeve and 
 pocket flap — " made for his growing,"" the Whit- 
 tret said — and not very often renewed, derived con- 
 siderable splendour from what the minister styled 
 " a vain superfluity" of black horn buttons, each 
 nearly the size of Monkshaugh's Nankin-China 
 saucers, strong shoes an inch thick in the sole, 
 home-knit ribbed stockings of coarse grey worsted 
 yarn, with black lackered shoe and knee buckles, 
 a small hat, certainly not a recent purchase, and an 
 immense grizzled wig, to which more than one grey 
 mare had contributed the flowing honours of her 
 tail, crowned and completed his ordinary costume. 
 And this obstinate wig, in defiance of the hints of 
 the Laird, and the handling of Frisel, would 
 at all times sit awry ; and was, moreover, so con- 
 structed as to offer behind an open field, in which 
 the craniologist might have pursued his favou- 
 rite speculations undisturbed. Indeed, the honest 
 man"s favourite attitude, or employment, wlicn en-
 
 44 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 gaged in thought, was to curry his right knee 
 with one hand, while the other was, with equal di- 
 ligence, somewhere groping between the scalp and 
 the wig, which thus enjoyed almost a sinecure. 
 
 Monkshaugh, who would as soon have suffered 
 his little finger to be cut off as have appeared before 
 a stranger in dishabile, would undoubtedly have un- 
 dergone decapitation before he would have shone 
 forth in the garb of his reverend guest. He gene- 
 rally, as on this morning, wore a cinnamon-coloured 
 full suit of the finest cloth, long worn, and often very 
 nicely brushed, no doubt, yet looking as if no such 
 implement as a brush had ever touched its glossy 
 nap. This dress was lined with a silk of the same 
 hue but rather lighter in the shade, and with 
 delicately fine snow-white linen, cambric frills, 
 plaited at breast and hands, of which no thread 
 looked awry, a small close-fitting, crisp, and well 
 powdered cauliflower wig, with little winglet curls, 
 and a slender queue, pearl-grey silk stockings, 
 well-japanned shoes of Spanish leather, ornament- 
 ed, not with those brilliantly set buckles which 
 stirred the gall of Gideon but with smaller ones 
 of gold, formed the neat, spruce, every-day cos- 
 tume of Monkshaugh. Some time afterwards 
 when in Edinburgh, he parted with the queue.
 
 A FAMILY GROUP. 45 
 
 and then looked, his country friends said, like a 
 rat without the tail : Italian ferret came also to 
 be substituted for the sparkling shoe-buckles — in- 
 novations which the Laird traced to the French re- 
 volution, and detested even while he gave into them. 
 
 The strong, harsh, but manly voice of Gideon, 
 whether he powerfully uplifted the psalm to some 
 Presbyterian tune of orthodox discord, or pierced 
 the drowsy ears of the straggling out-posts at a 
 tent-preaching, was equally at variance as his 
 figure with the low and yet sharp tones of Monks- 
 haugh's thin small voice ; so that when the Laird 
 was in a fidgetty mood, the sonorous haughs^ and 
 rumbling hems of Gideon, acted on his nerves like 
 an electric machine. 
 
 With one of those gurgling loudihems^ Mr. Gi- 
 deon, at this moment, clashed himself down into 
 Monkshaugh's chair of state and precedence, which 
 actually screamed under the unaccustomed pres- 
 sure. This place of dignity the Laird had occu- 
 pied ever since the decease of his lady mother, not 
 yielding it even to his own kinswoman, the daugh- 
 ter of Lord de Bruce ; and this violent usurpation 
 of his rights — this " pushing him from his stool," 
 completed the civil enormities of Mr. Gideon. The
 
 46 ELIZABETH DE URUCE. 
 
 Laird could form no conception of any degi'ce of 
 ignorance or absence of mind, that could palliate so 
 flagrant a breach of all decorum and good-breeding. 
 
 Wolfe Grahame still gazing on the distant 
 tower, was unaware of this total perversion of the 
 economy of the breakfast table, till he perceived 
 the little petted face of his uncle. He looked to 
 Frisel, who in a twinkling arranged matters, — 
 first making a vain attempt to shove up Gideon, 
 and then shouting in his ear — " That's the Laird's 
 cheyre ;'' while Wolfe, with a more vigorous arm, 
 gave a fresh push and effected a dislodgement. 
 
 " Nay, but, nevoy Wolfe,"' cried Monkshaugh, 
 his good-breeding taking alarm, " perhaps Mr Gi- 
 deon meant to be kind enough to make tea. My 
 poor skill — ^" 
 
 " Skink your tea-water yourseF, Monkshaugh," 
 interrupted Gideon ; "it sets you better. I have 
 sma' skill o' hussey-skep, or tea-drinking trinkum- 
 trankums ; and little brow o' them since I saw a 
 professing gentlewoman wha shall be nameless, of 
 whom I had hoped better things, ready to swerf, 
 as a weak woman will do if a mishap come owre 
 her wee ane, when, wi' a bit wap o' my coat-sleeve 
 here, in uttering a word o' thanksgiving, her tea-
 
 A fa:mily group. 
 
 tackle was coupit, and some bits o' platters, no the 
 size o' limpet shells, demolished." 
 
 " I know them weel ! the gudewife o' Hunger- 
 emout's dolphin and dragon auld set,"" said Monks- 
 haugh. 
 
 " It matters little, Laird of Monkshaugh," con- 
 tinued Gideon, " whether the idol of the vain 
 unsanctified heart be a tea-cup, a weel-mousted 
 periwig, or the fair face of an enticing maiden."" 
 
 A little sniffle of the nostril and twitching of the 
 lip visible in Monkshaugh, seemed to appropriate 
 one part of this free speech ; and the heightened 
 colour of Wolfe Grahame took home what remain- 
 ed. This, however, was not Gideon's usual style 
 of rebuke ; and it was repented on the instant, at 
 least so far as the young man was concerned. He 
 broke the silence by saying — 
 
 " But let us fall to — ' Meat nor Mass never 
 hindered wark." That is a true saying, though 
 the Pope had made it. We have a long journey 
 before us ; and ' Tempis fugit^ Wolfe, my auld 
 friend ; — that is ' Time and tide will no man bide," 
 Monkshaugh." 
 
 " I studied my humanities under Mr. Thomas 
 Ruddiman," replied the Laird, pettishly. 
 
 " An able master, nathless," said Gideon. But
 
 48 ELIZABETH 1)E BRUCE. 
 
 fall to. We have a long journey, as I said; 
 though auld Janet is on her mettle this morning/' 
 
 " Auld Janet !'' cried the Whittret, in well- 
 afFected tones of astonishment, — for his tongue 
 had long enjoyed the privilege of the parlour. 
 " It's no possible that the yauld mettlesome span- 
 ker, on which ye rade down the loanings this 
 morning, is that auld, spavined, wind-galled, waul- 
 eyed jade, Jenny Geddes, whilk ye bought at 
 Auchtermuchty fair, because Tarn Toutup, the 
 horse-couper, told ye she wad beck and cower on 
 her hunkers, as she wont in worthy Mr. Ebenezer 
 Snodgrass's aught, if the gude man wanted to ut- 
 ter a word o' prayer by the way-side." 
 
 There is perhaps no man whatever quite in- 
 sensible to flattery on the subject of his gun, his 
 hound, his boat, or his horse ; nor was Mr. Gi- 
 deon, whose good faith in all he heard said 
 amounted to almost infantine credulity. 
 
 " Aye, but it is just Janet," replied he, grin- 
 ning a gracious smile on the Whittret, " whilk, 
 as ye rightly remember, upon the death of Mode- 
 rator, the former brute, I bought of that rogue 
 Toutup, graceless loon ! wha bragged to my 
 face, two weeks thereafter, how he had beflummed 
 me. Well — he has gone to his long reckoning.
 
 A FAMILY GROUP. 49 
 
 and Jenny is here yet, — and on the mend ye think, 
 Francie ? Douce lass ! I'm no disputing but she 
 may ha'e her ain bits o' flings ; but we are used to 
 them now ; and she might fall into worse guiding. 
 So for the sake o' her who is in a better place, and 
 who was aye kind to beast and body, we will e'en 
 toyte about thegither for a' our time of a sinfu' 
 weary warld."" 
 
 The tawny eyes of Gideon glistened as he aL 
 luded to his deceased wife ; but such relentings of 
 nature he was accustomed to think a sinful repin- 
 ing at Providence. " Worms of the dust, against 
 whom do we murmur !"' he ejaculated ; and added 
 more cheerily, " But it is a world o' brave promise 
 to you, Captain Wolfe, my lad, this same morn- 
 ing; — and if it be the will of Him, who laid 
 the foundations thereof, who made the cloud ite 
 garment, and thick darkness its swaddling band, 
 lang, lang may ye find it sae.'' 
 
 There was so much of the philosophy of pure 
 single-heartedness about Gideon, that his simple 
 manner of receiving a joke against himself sel- 
 dom failed to blunt its edge, or even to turn it 
 against the heart of the inventor, provided there 
 was any human flesh in that part of the jester's 
 anatomy. It did so now. 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 " Now fiend ha'e me!'' cried the Whittret, " if I 
 wad na rather meet yourseP, minister, in the lean- 
 ings on auld shambling Jenny, than John Hur- 
 cheon of Harletillum, on our Captain Wolfe's 
 pacing ''Rabian, Saladin. De''il an he had broken 
 his neck the first time he crossed its back !*" 
 
 " Mony thanks, wee man. — But oh ! Francie, is 
 it meet to wish evil to your neighbour ; or speid- 
 fu' to bandy the name of that fallen spirit ? It 
 likes him weel to be spoken of, man ; ay, e'en in 
 idle jokes.'' 
 
 " Wha .?— the de'il 'r cried Francie. " If I tak' 
 na my Maker's name in vain, I may surely use a 
 little freedom wi' the de'il's, and wi' his billy's, 
 John Hurcheon .?" 
 
 " And with your master's presence ?" said 
 Monkshaugh, who writhed under the free allu- 
 sions made to the sale of his nephew's favourite 
 horse to his powerful and detested neighbour, from 
 a secret consciousness of the cause of that morti- 
 fying transaction. 
 
 The endless fiddling preparations for breakfast 
 being at last arranged to his satisfaction, Monks- 
 haugh requested Mr. Gideon to say grace. 
 
 The Laird had a practice — no bad one by the 
 way — of boiling the eggs for breakfast in a small
 
 A FAMILY GROUP. 51 
 
 silver skillet, under his own eye ; and when ho- 
 noured with the visits of the regular clergyman of 
 the parish, that judicious divine so managed his 
 benediction, that it was found quite as useful as a 
 sand-glass ; for the eggs slipped in at the com- 
 mencement, were at the " amen*" boiled to a 
 " single popple,'" the Whittret said. It is impossi- 
 ble for us to give our readers any adequate idea of 
 the importance of egg-boiling in the estimation of 
 Monkshaugh. Yet, although he had some faint 
 notion that Gideon might be a little discursive in 
 his devotions, he rashly committed the silver 
 skillet and the treasures it contained to his discre- 
 tion ; a fatal confidence as it proved ! for Gideon, 
 who never missed throwing in "a word in season,""* 
 on this memorable era in the life of his friend, 
 Wolfe, launched forth in an unusual strain of 
 homely and touching eloquence ; commencing 
 with the journey of the young patriarch into Pa- 
 danaram, next going down with Joseph into 
 Egypt, (by which time Monkshaugh began to 
 fidget,) and following the stripling shepherd of 
 Bethlem on his going forth, armed with a sling and 
 the stones of the brook, in the might of the Lord 
 of Hosts, against the gigantic Philistine ; and 
 ending with the three children walking unscathed 
 
 LISRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
 
 52 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 in the fiery furnace, and Daniel untouched in the 
 lion's den — that is, the city of Dublin whither 
 Wolfe was now bound. 
 
 " My siller pannikin, Francie !'' whispered the 
 Laird in agony to his domestic. But that worship- 
 ful serving-man, bearing in mind divers well-earn- 
 ed drams shabbily withheld, with upturned eyes 
 was wrapped in high devotion, deaf to the entreaty 
 of his master. So the eggs, begun by boiling, were 
 finished by a sort of roasting — thus adding yet 
 another to the three hundred ways which the 
 genius of the French has invented for cooking 
 eggs ; and, worse still, the favourite silver utensil 
 was nearly converted into its original bullion. 
 
 The Laird, who, after the hint of " making idols 
 of China platters and mousted periwigs,"' disdain- 
 ed to snatch with his own hand the vessel from 
 destruction, was not however proof against this 
 fresh vexation ; nor did he conceal his displea- 
 sure. " Not that he minded the value of the 
 skillet, but it had been brought into the family 
 by the ' fair Grace Drummond, called the flower 
 of Strathallan," and kept by the ladies of Monks- 
 haugh ever since, for mulling wine, and making 
 starch for their Valenciennes, Mechlin and Dres- 
 den laces."
 
 A FAMILY GKOUP. 53 
 
 " And the eggs," quoth Frisel, " might do for 
 the bairns to dye, and row on the braes on Pasch 
 Sunday, Mr. Gideon.'' 
 
 " Ay ! and are they clean useless say ye, 
 Francie," replied Gideon, a grim smile mantling 
 his long visage. — " O, but it's like marrow to my 
 bones to get the whip hand o' the flesh even in so 
 sma' a matter as the boiling of an egg !" Monks- 
 haugh stared. 
 
 " Hand them this way," said Gideon. — " And 
 as this clayey house of our tabernacle must be 
 maintained in some measure o' strength, while our 
 IVIaster has work for us to do, ye'll fetch me an 
 oat cake from Effie, my wee man ; and the back 
 o' my hand to your dainty breads. — And see, 
 Monkshaugh, if your doo, or your sow, or your 
 dog, or your cat, will chuse the wheaten flour de- 
 vices of penny-leddies, baps and luggit-rows, be- 
 fore our ain hamely country commodities. Nature 
 never errs in these her dumb bairns." 
 
 " No — nor in a kindly Scot," said Frisel. 
 Monkshaugh, who prided himself exceedingly 
 on the wheaten bread manufactured in his family, 
 became more and more petted, fancying Gideon 
 studiously affronted him. 
 
 " If this be so," said Wolfe, smiling, " you
 
 54 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 ought to mortify the flesh upon the wheaten bread."' 
 And he pushed various sorts before Gideon. 
 
 " And I believe ye may be right, Wolfe, my 
 lad. It's but a carnal longing this for aiten cakes 
 after all ;'' and pushing out his huge paw, he 
 drew towards him, as what he supposed the sim- 
 plest and least ostentatious sort of bread on the 
 table, the identical " souple scone'' on which the 
 Laird had fixed his eyes and heart, and at one of 
 which he would have delicately picked for an hour, 
 though godly Gideon, folding them up like pan- 
 cakes, obeyed the adage, and made " but one bite 
 of a cherry." — He afterwards so unconsciously 
 mortified the flesh, that rolls, haps^ and breakfast 
 bread of all sizes and denominations, Scottish and 
 English, disappeared before him like snow in a 
 shower. 
 
 In utter consternation, Monkshaugh, forgetting 
 his displeasure, looked on by stealth, and at last 
 seriously alarmed, whispered his nephew — " He'll 
 worry, Wolfe — he'll worry — he'll do himself a mis- 
 chief ! — A' the hard eggs ! — I could not in a fort- 
 night eat so much, put breakfast, dinner, and sup- 
 per thegither." 
 
 Wolfe smiled, but interfered not ; and at last 
 Gideon called a halt, observing, that '•' He hked to
 
 A FAMILY GROUP. 55 
 
 rein in his appetite ; and both as a man and a 
 Christian scorned dainty eaters, who held as much 
 sossing about the stuffing of one miserable craw 
 as might suffice for a bridal banquet/' 
 
 This was at once applied by the Laird to his 
 own elaborate preparation of a morsel of toast, 
 which he employed more time in buttering than 
 sufficed for Gideon to swallow unquestioning, at 
 least ten souple scones ; but he considered an in- 
 uendo proceeding from such a quarter as rather 
 complimentory to his superior delicacy and re- 
 finement, and kept his recovered good humour. 
 
 The hour of departure was now come. — The 
 tramp of Gideon resounded through the par- 
 lour, till roof and rafters dirled. Wolfe's horse, 
 patted by the old trooper, Fugal, stood neighing 
 in the court, champing the bit ; Jenny Geddes 
 emitted an emulous bray ; and the maid-servants, 
 with tears ready to be shed, and clean aprons 
 equally ready to dry them, lined the low-browed, 
 arched stone hall of Monkshaugh. 
 
 Monkshaugh, who had trifled away the long 
 morning, was now driven to extremity. Orders 
 and counter-orders, moral counsels and prudential 
 warnings, economical hints and medical cautions, 
 were all huddled into the last ten minutes.
 
 56 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 " Ye'll make your man {ane of your own troop 
 will be kept wi" least cost) keep an exact tally wi"* 
 the washer-women — extortioning queans ! — and 
 aboon a"* thing keep free of odd stockings. Dinna 
 forget your prayers at night when ye can help it ;*" 
 (Gideon groaned) " for ye ken that like myself 
 ye whiles sleep in on a morning. — It's a trick o' 
 the name of Grahame, Mr. Gideon ; and the alli- 
 ance 0** the de Bruce does not mend us, as we may 
 see by that lazy cuttie 'Lizbeth, who should have 
 been here long ere this time. — Ye have six new 
 Bandana napkins, nephew Wolfe, forbye the four- 
 teen auld anes. See that ye drop none of them 
 in the mess-room ; for Major Holster tells me that 
 all is butter in the black dog's halse that falls bye 
 there. And now, upon my blessing, Wolfe, try 
 to keep the night-cap on your head till morning. 
 Strangers will think ye were bred among runa- 
 gate hieland salvages, wi' heads o' hair like heather 
 cows, and no in a civilized lowland gentleman's 
 house. — Take down the portmanty to the court, 
 Francie. — Servants need not hear a' thing, Mr. 
 Gideon" — and turning to Wolfe — " Ye are not a 
 ]mirn now, nevoy ; and ye ken weel that the clear 
 annual rent of Monkshaugh is not what it has 
 been. But ye have done — and I will tell it be-
 
 A FAMILY GllOUr. 57 
 
 fore the face of him it has pleased you to choose 
 for a friend — a generous and a kind part by your 
 auld uncle ; and ' 111 want or ye want' — 111 reverse 
 the motto o' our cousins, Mr. Gideon, now that 
 AVolfe's credit and the family name have to be 
 maintained among the fremit. — No' that I would 
 encourage extravagance ; and ye ne'er were given 
 to drinking nor dicing more than beseems a gen- 
 tleman." (Another long rumbling groan from 
 Gideon.) " I ha'e no fears on that score. — And 
 now, Wolfe Grahame, upon my blessing, and as ye 
 wad not bring my grey hairs wi' sorrow to the 
 grave — binna that I wear a periwig — I charge you 
 no to bring hame as a wife, to the house o' Monks- 
 haugh, ony lang Irish Madam, i' the place and 
 room of your grandmother, my ever honoured mo- 
 ther, of blessed memory ; for she never could 
 thole outlandish Irish leddies ; they have na a 
 hereawa' look." 
 
 The only specimens, by the way, of the Irish 
 fair that the Laird had ever seen, were the tall 
 randy wife of Fugal, a true-bred leaguer lady ; 
 and a Miss O'Brien, who had exhibited her sta- 
 ture and other graces at a neighbouring fair, to 
 spectators at a groat a head. 
 
 Wolfe laughingly gave his uncle the desired
 
 58 ELIZABETH DE BKUCE. 
 
 pledge that he would neither woo nor wed lady 
 of the green island of song, short nor tall, dark 
 nor fair ; and, Monkshaugh, mightily relieved, 
 passed to the most solemn business of the morning 
 — a coup-de-theatre, which he had reserved to 
 overwhelm his nephew, astonish the household, 
 and strike the irreverent seceder minister dumb 
 forever. This was neither more nor less than be- 
 stowing on Wolfe, as a parting gift, an heir-loom 
 of which the family had indeed some reason to 
 be proud : — 
 
 " Hem, a-hem. — Call up Fugal, Francie, he's 
 an auld soger ; and look up the Pechs' Path and 
 tell me what you see.'"' 
 
 The Laird compressed his thin lips, gave his 
 head a few little significant nods, rubbed his lily 
 hands, and altogether assumed a very imposing 
 air as he paraded the room. 
 
 "It's merely a family trifle, the gift of a French 
 King, Mr. Gideon — an auld sword of the Lord 
 Robert de Bruce, our ancestor, which your pupil, 
 Leddy Elizabeth de Bruce, discovered lately among 
 some rubbish in the howlets' tower of Ernescraig.'*' 
 
 Wolfe, though his mind was enchained to other 
 and dearer interests, could not be insensible to this 
 gift. The sword had been presented to the de
 
 A FAMILY -GROUl'. 59 
 
 Bruce by Henry the Fourth of France, — Henry 
 of Navarre, as Wolfe better liked to style hhn, — 
 and was in every way a gift worthy of the gallant 
 monarch who gave it, and the not less gallant sol- 
 dier on whom it was bestowed. It was a desirable 
 sort of credential for a young soldier who had to 
 make his own way in life, and who might often 
 encounter those who set more store by the present 
 affluence, than the past glory of families. 
 
 " I thought your fair disciple, Mr. Gideon, our 
 cousin, would have graced us with her presence this 
 morning,'"' said Monkshaugh, '' and acted as ladye 
 love in arming her auld comrade here. Though 
 but a lassie she is a true de Bruce. Had you but 
 seen how grand the creature looked when she took 
 that old blade from where she had hung it in Ernes- 
 craig hall, last year, as a proper gift for Wolfe, — 
 who is the representative of that branch of the fa- 
 mily, — ^winking as she unsheathed it too — for if s 
 a bit cowardly lassie when her blood is not up. 
 ' Give this to my cousin Wolfe," quoth she, ' and 
 tell him that Elizabeth de Bruce, with heart true 
 as this blade, bids him be faithful and prosper- 
 ous/" 
 
 " They have got better acquaint since then,"" 
 whispered Frisel, so as only to be heard by Wolfe.
 
 60 ELIZABETH DE BKUCE. 
 
 " She has the auld blood in her vems. Alas ! 
 that such malady should follow it !"" continued 
 Monkshaugh, looking saddened. 
 
 " Ay — that she has, wi^ reverence,'^ said the 
 Whittret, with his wonted ease, " red and warm. 
 We saw something o' that when the bruit went 
 that our house was to clap up a mercenary mar- 
 riage with Juliana Hurcheon, for clearing aff her 
 father Harletillum's bands over our land. And 
 yonder she comes, leaning on Monica Doran, her 
 bower-woman, as the auld ballands ca't, with the 
 step of the Queen of Elfland, when all her court is 
 doing homage round her in a moonlight night i"* 
 the merry merry May.'^ 
 
 Though Wolfe Grahame had good reason to be- 
 lieve that the lady in question would not voluntarily 
 appear abroad on this morning, he started to his 
 feet and advanced to the window. 
 
 " I'm wrang ; it's but a gouden glint o' the sun 
 among the birk bushes I mistook for her 'broider- 
 ed mantle," said Frisel, looking from the window, 
 while Wolfe looked over his shoulder, — and then 
 he whispered, " Right T the main though.'' But 
 dreading something sinister from the kindling brow 
 of Wolfe, the facetious Frisel ran down into the
 
 A FA^riLY GROUr. 61 
 
 court, as if to look for the lady, and stood below 
 the open window carolling aloud — 
 
 Lord Thomas spoke a word, a word ; 
 Fair Annie took it ill ; 
 " I never would marry a sillerless bride, 
 Against my friends their will." 
 
 " We need wait no longer for Elizabeth,'" said 
 Wolfe. " I daresay she has not recovered from 
 her headach of yesterday. — Uncle, I wait yovu- 
 blessing."" 
 
 " Then take it, Wolfe, heartily, and from the 
 heart. And the sword — a-hem.'' The Laird had 
 conned a speech — a maiden speech — nay delivered 
 it (as if in the cock-pit) to Frisel, on the former 
 day ; but orators above all artists are liable to 
 evil chances. 
 
 " There was a time,"' he began, — " There was a 
 time"*"* — and he lifted the sword — " when, with the 
 generous rashness of youth,"" (' That's from the 
 Castleburn minister's second prayer," whispered 
 the Whittret to Effie and the maids who had clus- 
 tered round the door to view the pageant,) " I 
 might have entertained a passing wish to carry — 
 a-hem — this honoured weapon of the de Bruce."" — • 
 (' A spindle and a whorle wad ha"e set ye better," 
 whispered Francie.) " But the dolours and tears
 
 62 ELIZABETH IW. BRUCE. 
 
 of my ever honoured mother — the umquliile leddy 
 o' Monkshaugh and Kippencreery Wester — and 
 the interests o' the house o' Monkshaugh, destined 
 me to a mair peaceful life ; and I now give, and 
 bestow, and devise this sword of the de Bruce to 
 you my nephew and presumptive heir, trusting 
 that the honoured weapon of a noble de Bruce 
 will never suffer disgrace in the honourable keep- 
 ing of a gallant Grahame — a-hem.'" 
 
 During this, by far the most brilliant oratorical 
 display that the Laird had ever been known to 
 make — ^for as yet there were neither Celtic Socie- 
 ties, nor Pitt nor Fox dinners, those hot-beds of 
 eloquence — Wolfe had been strongly tempted to 
 smile ; but when he saw his poor, little, fidgetty, 
 kind old uncle's eyes glisten with mingled vanity 
 and tenderness, his kindness checked the unduti- 
 ful tendeiicy, — he took the sword with a low bow, 
 read the inscription on the blade — " Le Roy me 
 donne ; de Bruce me jwrte^^ — kissed the gift of 
 Elizabeth ; and, while his red warm lip yet rested 
 on the steel, secretly vowed loyalty to the gift, 
 and love and fidelity to the giver. 
 
 " Be ye strong as Samson, valiant as David !" 
 burst forth Mr. Haliburton. " Be that weapon in 
 your hands the sword of the Lord and of Gideon ! —
 
 A FAMILY GROUP. 63 
 
 And I fear not your bravery of spirit were but the 
 cause as clear to me. But this hounding out of 
 runagate sogers upon a miserable country, to slay, 
 burn, and spuilzie, is to me but a dark dis- 
 pensation, — Papist land as Ireland is. Our ain 
 brave auld Scotland, in her day of treading down 
 and humiliation, felt this scourge, — when the red 
 hand of the slayer was thrust into her peaceful bo- 
 som, — yea, the purple hand of bloody Cla , 
 
 a-hem."" — Gideon had got on very slippery ground 
 beneath the roof of a Grahame. 
 
 " Let us to the road my lad ;'' he said more 
 quietly, checking himself in good time. " Ye are 
 leaving the biding place o' your forebears in peace 
 and credit ; and in peace and credit may ye re- 
 turn from that schene o' mortal strife ; wi' neither 
 man's blood, nor woman's wail, to ascend to the 
 just and never-winking heavens against ye, in the 
 cries that pluck down vengeance.'' 
 
 And now Farewells were said, and hands were 
 unclasped. — Monkshaugh wiped his eyes, and 
 gave fresh orders about the baggage ; whispering — 
 " do not forget a half-crown the piece to the ser- 
 vant queans, and a five shillings to Effie." 
 
 Whether Wolfe stinted his bounty to this pre- 
 cise sum we know not ; but certain it is, that pur-
 
 64 ELIZABETH DE EKUCE. 
 
 chased blessings innumerable were showered upon 
 the young traveller as he passed the threshold of 
 his ancestors. 
 
 " And what do ye deserve at my hands, Master 
 Frisel ?'' said Wolfe, as the Whittret darted to 
 his bridle rein. 
 
 " O ! maybe a five shillings ; but it cannot be 
 less than a half-crown piece, to drink your health 
 in the Grahame Arms this blessed night. — Siller 
 never gathers mould in my pouch."' 
 
 " Confound your impudence ! — But how am 
 I to get free of Mr. Gideon at the fords, for a 
 couple of hours ?"*' 
 
 " Now, Captain, I see you ken my way. — Trust 
 me, and I'll gang through fire and water for ye.'' 
 
 « Well, — but with Mr. Gideon. Must I trust 
 to chance .^" 
 
 " Na, na, — ^ye'll trust to nae chance. By chance 
 a man breaks his shins. Corporal Fugal would leave 
 you to chance ; but I'm Chance's master. Trust 
 to me. Captain. When a man is on the ice it's his 
 safety to keep moving."
 
 THE I'ARTrNG. 65 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE PARTING. 
 
 The hart has sought his forest laii^ 
 The hind lies by his side ; 
 
 The light fi-om Lady Janet's bower, 
 Flickers on Oran's tide. 
 
 Now breast it brave my bonny bay, 
 
 Thy plash she longs to hear ; 
 And ay she braids her gouden hair,— 
 
 Ay bends her listening ear. 
 
 Old BalhuL 
 
 MoNKSHAUGH aiid his maiden staff, conjunctly 
 and severally, now returned to their household du- 
 ties, and wiped away the tears of parting and the lit- 
 ter left by honest Gideon^s " cloots ;"" while that di- 
 vine scambling on at a great pace for Jenny Geddes, 
 whose habits were much more deliberate than 
 those of her fiery and spirited name-mother, soon 
 overtook Wolfe and the Whittret who acted as 
 running footman. Soon too they lost sight, for 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 G6 ELIZABETH DV. BRUCE. 
 
 the time, of the pleasant abode, whicli, to the part- 
 ing eyes of Wolfe Grahame, had never looked, 
 through its embowering trees, half so peaceful and 
 beautiful, in its deep seclusion, as it did on this 
 morning. 
 
 Placed by the brink of the winding Oran, on a 
 flat at the opening gorge of the dean, and " bosom- 
 ed in tufted trees,"" thi^ sequestered nest lay apart 
 from the world of Strathoran, in unbroken tran- 
 quillity, save in times of intestine turmoil such as 
 the present parting. 
 
 The mansion, built at various dates, was ramb- 
 ling, irregular, and Janus-faced, perhaps incon- 
 venient. But as it rises before us now, through 
 the softening vista of years, with its venerable 
 grey roof, steep gables broken into corbie-steps, 
 awkward chimneys, sentry-box towerlets, out-shots 
 and in-shots, and adjuncts of all forms, wings 
 and winglets hastily clapped to in every direc- 
 tion, when the successive ladies of Monkshaugh 
 got additions to their families, or the lairds an in- 
 crease to their wealth ; — as we look back on it, we 
 think it might have won even a stranger^s admira- 
 tion, especially when seen in broken glimpses 
 through those stately groves of elm and chestnut, 
 planted so close that they diffused, when in full
 
 Till". J'AUTlXCr. 67 
 
 leaf, an air of almost monastic gloom around the 
 good old house. This was not felt within how- 
 ever, for there were several rooms in Monkshaugh\s 
 dwelling, looking back to the river or up into the 
 dell, light, cheerful, and of handsome proportions. 
 And those stately trees and continuous avenues 
 which diffused this air of soft gloom, were, more- 
 over, the pride of the successive proprietors, and 
 had, for time immemorial, given shelter to the most 
 flourishing colony of rooks in the whole strath. In 
 spring indeed, when those black-robed gentry are 
 so clamorous about ejectments and marriage-settle- 
 ments, the cawing arovmd the old house became , 
 perfectly deafening and intolerable ; but one 
 would have missed it too ; and then one needed 
 only to steal up into the dean among the birch and 
 and broom, or down to the river's edge among the 
 low spreading aller and hazel bushes, to be instant- 
 ly free of the rookery din, listening only to the 
 low churm of those woodland warblers who so quiet- 
 ly arrange all their love affairs with a sweet song. 
 Monkshaugh's small estate lay near the centre, 
 and on the sunward side, of this romantic strath, 
 which, stretching nearly east and west, forms a 
 district called by the inhabitants *' The four 
 hill-side parishes.'' A screen of pastoral hills,
 
 68 ETJZABETH DK BRUCE. 
 
 lofty yet green as emerald to their very summits, 
 rose in sunward slopes and abrupt juttings behind 
 the variety of knoll and holm, pasture and woodland, 
 level spreads of cultivation and rough fallows, which 
 were picturesquely scattered, blended and grouped 
 in the open valley. In many places the hills were 
 furrowed by ravines and chasms ; and those glades 
 and deans which, more or less clothed with natu- 
 ral wood, winded far up into their recesses, sent 
 each down its tributary brooklet to join the Oran ; 
 — the Oran, which, bounding and leaping from its 
 birth-place, somewhere far up among the convo- 
 luted mountains at the head of the strath, like a 
 gamesome child in its play, gradually became 
 more gentle in its progress, till among the holms 
 of Monkshaugh, in " many a winding bout,"" it 
 demurely glided on, gracefully waving its silver 
 links, like a young court beauty managing the 
 train of her birthday robes. 
 
 The " Hill-side parishes'" had been forfeited 
 property, and were now broken into very small pos- 
 sessions. The Aiks, The Cleuch, The Holm, The 
 Milnton, The Arns, and many other places, cot 
 or Grange, or Ha'-house of noticeable pre- 
 tence, lay scattered in the immediate vicinity of 
 Monkshaugh ; but far above all, high, stately and
 
 THE PARTING. 69 
 
 apart, lord paramount of the strath, rose in its 
 pride the dark Tower of Ernescraig, the spot on 
 which the eyes of Wolfe Grahame were even yet 
 riveted with interest the most intense. 
 
 To avoid the hamlet of Castleburn, the travel- 
 lers were obliged to make the circuit of nearly the 
 whole arable part of IMonkshaugh's domain. 
 With the Whittret trotting or bounding on be- 
 fore, to open stiles, or remove temporary fences, 
 they rode forward through brown fallows, sweet 
 close-cropt pastures, and green loanings : — verdure 
 and herbage, and bushes every where — and here 
 and there one of those magnificent chance-be- 
 dropt trees which gave so beautiful a character to 
 the small property. This fine embellishment it 
 owed, along with many others, to the good taste — 
 the prescient taste — of one of the family, who had 
 been educated abroad, had travelled much, and 
 who was known in its local traditions as " The 
 Lord of Session."" These noble trees were now 
 nearly of a century's growth; and they had flourish- 
 ed in a kindly soil. They lived in the memory 
 of every young person who left the strath ; and 
 each individual and group had its distinctive ap- 
 pellation. There were the " Marquis's Aik," so 
 named from the great Montrose — " The Three
 
 70 >;lizaei:tii de liKuci-:. 
 
 Sisters"—" The Green Maidens"— and " The 
 Minister's Bush," where a godly divine of the per- 
 secuting times, who once had a cure of souls in the 
 parish, was wont at midnight to meet, after due 
 citation, the enemy of mankind, to do battle either 
 by the Word or the Sword, in defence of men's 
 souls : so that each tree, if it wanted a Dryad, 
 still had its legend. 
 
 " The Minister's Buss," said Frisel, striking his 
 wand on the grotesque uptwisted roots of the hoary 
 tree, whose bent boughs kissed the turf. — '^ Ye 
 have often heard of him, Mr. Gideon ? his name is 
 savoury in this parish yet. He saved soul 
 and body of auld John Yule's father, who was 
 his man, and like a rash, venturesome fool, scoog- 
 ed in the hollow hour of midnight among thae 
 branches, to hear what Satan could have to say 
 to a godly minister. When power was nae langer 
 given the Enemy to buftet the servant of the Lord, 
 Avho would not yield him an inch of dominion — 
 na, nor a hair's breadth. ' Will ye gi'e me the silly 
 bird in the bush then?' said cunning Clootie, 
 wha, like the tax-man, is aye loath to gang aff toom- 
 handed. — ' The bird in the buss is no mine to give,' 
 the minister got power to say : ' To his Maker I 
 commend him ;' and wi' tliat the Enemy vanished.
 
 THK PARTING. 7^ 
 
 with a yell that shook the castle o' Stirling, and 
 wakened the birds on The Bass ; and auld John 
 Yule's father drappit out o' the tree like a clod, 
 clean dead at the minister's fit for a time. We ne'er 
 have had the like o' him till we got yoursel', Mr. 
 Gideon. I trow auld John Yvde's father sought 
 nae mair listening. But think ye to bestow a 
 parting word on us the day, minister ?" 
 
 Gideon, our excellent friend, was not wholly 
 msensible to flattery. He gave a kind of grunt- 
 ing assent to the remark of the AVhittret ; and at 
 last fairly gave in to the proposal that they should 
 advance on Wolfe, after crossing the fords, and 
 drop a passing word of exhortation to the colliers 
 of Pitbauchlie, a generation which undovibtedly 
 required something of the kind. 
 
 The fords of Oran were passed. On the side 
 which they had now gained, the ground rose rap- 
 idly by a winding path closed in by steep banks, 
 and twisting and twining back on itself, like a spi- 
 ral staircase, till clearing these banks, it unfolded 
 its maze on a jutting point in the ascent, which 
 gave Wolfe to see the entire sweep of his native 
 landscape, lying in the dewy freshness and soft re- 
 pose of the still early hour, as if to imprint its 
 farewell aspect on his heart, in lines which time
 
 72 ELIZABETH I)E JillUCE. 
 
 was never to efface. — Here he paused to wait for 
 his companions. 
 
 ■Gideon had considerately eased Jenny of her 
 4oad, and was dragging her up, setting a stout 
 heart to a steep brae, earnestly engaged in conver- 
 sation with the Whittret. — " I shall ponder what 
 ye have propounded, Francie. — A fool may give a 
 wise man counsel," he was heard to say — and then 
 standing by Frisel. — " A goodly heritage'"* — he 
 looked over in the direction of Monkshaugh — 
 " A goodly heritage, Captain Wolfe, by green 
 pastures and still waters."" 
 
 " I'm thinking Captain Wolfe's thoughts are 
 ranging higher than the green holms o" Monks- 
 haugh, and the silver links o' Oran, this same 
 morning,"" said Frisel. 
 
 " Praised be His name that has raised the 
 youth's thoughts that same road, Francie !"" 
 
 " To the Tower o" Ernescraig yonder, minister"" 
 — and Frisel laughed. " No need o" an ingan for 
 the bonnie, blue, bleared een yonder this morning."" 
 
 " Sheugh ! ye fule boddie,"" cried Gideon, pitch-, 
 iiig his manly leg over the back of Jenny Geddes. 
 
 " The minister has a bit o" duty at Pitbauch- 
 lie,"" said Frisel demurely — " If ye wad just tarry 
 here a blink, and overtake us at your leisure. Cap-
 
 THE PARTING. "JS 
 
 tain/' — And the young man was by thi« manage- 
 ment left alone gazing on the Tower. 
 
 Steep and high where the mountain opened its 
 hollow bosom at the head of the deaji, there start- 
 ed sheer up a bluff promontory, called by the 
 country people " The Pechs' Mount," from its 
 artificial appearance. A narrow grassy isthmus 
 connected this abrupt promontory with the hills 
 behind ; and on it, perched like an eagle's nest 
 dallying with the storm, rose the Tower of Ernes- 
 craig. The mountains'* sides closed darkly upon the 
 Tower ; and yet in its height it w^s seen afar off in 
 all directions, predominating over the surrounding 
 country, like the spirit of fallen chivalry. — Ernes- 
 craig Tower and the surrounding scenery, had 
 been fancifully, and not unaptly compared to the 
 bird from whence it took its name — to a falcon on 
 the swoop, ready to pounce on its prey. The 
 mountains, stretching out on each side, formed the 
 sweeping wings, the promontory, the body, and 
 the tower itself, the proud crest of the noble bird. 
 In days that were past this comparison might 
 have held in several other respects. At the grassy 
 neck or isthmus, which, like a natural bridge, 
 linked the Pechs' Mount to the mountains, and 
 afforded a roundabout access, and the only safe 
 one to the Tower, the hill streams dashed 
 
 .-jk
 
 74 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 down through the yawning chasms, whose fissures 
 and rents still shewed where the promontory had 
 been torn from the mountain's side. After sweep- 
 ing round its base they united their waters, thus 
 forming a sort of natural moat. The place thus 
 strong by nature, had, in its prouder day, been care- 
 fully fortified by art ; but it was now fallen into 
 considerable decay. It had suffered in the wars 
 of Montrose ; and had been surprised and spoiled 
 by private bands of the frontier gillie miihl dhu. 
 Yet so late as the year 1745, it had afforded shel- 
 ter to the vicinage, upon an alarm of the approach 
 of the rebel army ; for the people hereabout were 
 mostly tvhigs, though a few gallant Grahames and 
 dashing Drummonds still clung to the royal 
 name of James. 
 
 The Tower, like a mountain, hero turned its 
 back upon the quiet valley, and opposed its rough 
 front to battle with the stormy north. From the 
 high ground where our young traveller stood, 
 though the strath lay deep below, the edifice, 
 was, as the crow flies, at no great distance. Rising 
 in pride on its own mountain side, banners of 
 mist still floating round tower and battlement, it 
 hung to his ardent gaze, a brave picture on the 
 green walls of earth ! He thought he could have 
 touched it — touched at least one little casement
 
 THE rARTlXG. 75 
 
 looking sunward and southward, over tower and 
 town, and all up and down that fair strath, even from 
 the place where the infant Oran had its birth in the 
 glens, to where, swollen to a '^ rank river,"" it rushed 
 into the sea. As Wolfe still gazed and gazed, he 
 came at last to fancy that he could see the morn- 
 ing air stir the streamers of ivy that hung around 
 the bower window, yea, stir the very tresses of a fair 
 head, resting mournfully upon the little palm of 
 one who had so often, and of late so anxiously, 
 watched his approach from that high lattice. 
 
 The imagination was resistless. — " I will return, 
 were it but for five minutes,'" thought he ; and 
 throwing his bridle to the Whittret, he darted 
 down the bank with the speed of a roe-buck. 
 
 " Ay, ay ! I have lang jaloused,"" muttered that 
 sagacious waiting gentleman, " what would be the 
 upshot of a" this fishing, and shooting, and cur- 
 dooing i" the dean woods. But see ye, my young 
 gentleman, if 'Lizbeth de Bruce"s brent brows and 
 jimpy waist will clear aff Harletillum"s band ? — 
 Ours is a doomed house, that's clear ; — and yet, 
 its a jewel of a lassie. 
 
 " Wha is .^"" said Gideon, whom he had now 
 overtaken. 
 " Wha but the Leddy "Lizbeth dc Bruce ! to whom
 
 76 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 I never carried the value of a twalpenny lace for 
 her jhnps but I was ordered something, — maybe 
 a tass o' brandy, maybe a quaigh o** ale, — maybe 
 baith. No that I mind the drink ; but when a 
 leddy or gentleman holds me in remembrance it''s 
 like putting a respec"* on me ; and I think ten 
 times mair o't than it's sC worth."' 
 
 Gideon hemmed drily; and they jogged on 
 quietly together towards the collier town of Pit- 
 bauchlie, where Wolfe was expected to join them. 
 
 The formal approach to Ernescraig Tower was 
 by the hamlet of Castleburn, from whence wound 
 up into the mountain gorge that narrow irregular 
 causeway, lying along the ridge of the ravine, 
 called the Pechs"* Path, which, together with the 
 Pechs' Mount, was so named from their construc- 
 tion being ascribed, by popular tradition, to the 
 Picts ; though the learned and reverend Dr. 
 Draunt, in his Statistical Account of the Parish 
 of St. Serf, gives a very different etymology, de- 
 riving the name from the Scottish verb to pech, 
 i. e. to puff and blow, as a fat man does on climb- 
 ing an ascent, — a derivation which the honest man's 
 personal experience strongly confirmed. Not so 
 the experience of Wolfe Grahame, who darted 
 up the mount by a way even more steep and inac-
 
 THE PAKTIXG, J^' 
 
 cessible than the ordmary ascent, — a path thread- 
 ing the woods through the hollow of the ravine, by 
 which, for months past, he had been in the habit of 
 visiting the beautiful and lonely inhabitant of 
 the decayed fortress, his rashly made and fondly 
 loved, though unacknowledged wife ! 
 
 From the chill and pale grey dawn, and long 
 before the faint shadowy light could have enabled 
 any other eye to discern distant objects, had this 
 young woman, kneeling at her high casement, 
 watched the fords of the Oran, and every partial 
 glimpse of the road which the breakings of the 
 ground or the opening trees permitted her to see — 
 to see him return home after he had left her, and 
 again, a weeping interval spent, to see him de- 
 part " forever !'" — as her sad heart whispered, and 
 sunk into deeper sadness ; — for who ever parted, 
 for the first time, from the object of devoted, and 
 passionate, and engrossing affection, without feel- 
 ing that it must indeed be — forever ! And to her 
 Wolfe Grahamewas the engrossing object of every 
 affection, loved as they alone can love, who in life 
 have but one interest, one hope, and, in the fulness 
 of that, desire and wish for none other. 
 
 A solitary and unclaimed, but nevertheless a fair 
 and a happy child, — a solitary, unregarded, but,
 
 78 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 till now, a light-hearted and happy girl, the past 
 life of Elizabeth de Bruce had been one long mid- 
 summer night's dream. She had grown up in so- 
 litude and freedom, her young imagination in the 
 clouds, but her heart on the dear green earth, find- 
 mg, in the thousand forms of loveliness and de- 
 light scattered in her lonely path, objects to excite 
 her natural sensibility, and in the recollection that 
 all neglected as her existence had been, she was 
 not the less a de Bruce, enough to nourish in her 
 mind the self-respect and graceful pride of true 
 nobility : till Wolfe Grahame came, and a brighter 
 heaven and a yet greener earth unfolded, and the 
 pride of birth was forgotten in the dearer pride of 
 affection ; for to be his was happier than even 
 her fondest brightest dreams, and now — she was 
 his. 
 
 Elizabeth had seen her lover cross the fords. 
 They had already parted. She " turned her eye 
 and wept ;"' and when she again looked up there 
 was no where to be seen that figure which her 
 vision could have singled out on the instant among 
 tens of thousands. His companions were slowly 
 crossing the moor. Chiding the inadvertence 
 which had thus lost sight of him while he might 
 still be seen, and, with love's own superstition,
 
 TUF. PAllTlN'Ci. 79 
 
 shrinking from this disastrous omen, slie was still 
 kneeling at her casement, carelessly wrapt in a 
 long white dressing-gown, the redundance of her 
 beautiful hair sweeping the floor, her brow resting 
 on her hands, chill, pale, and trembling, and in the 
 attitude of heart-struck abandonment, when her ear 
 even painfully true of late to the slightest sound, 
 caught the springy step, the light breathings,— 
 and, starting with an exclamation of transport, the 
 marble statue was on the instant touched into 
 life — warmed into a bright and glowing form. — 
 " He was come again ! She would hear his 
 voice ! Hear him bless her, and bid her be of 
 better cheer ; and again and again vow to love her, 
 and think of her ' every day of the hour." She 
 would again hang on ' that nether lip,*' to touch 
 which she would have travelled barefoot to Pales- 
 tine/^ 
 
 " My Elizabeth ! how is this ! Cold, trembling, 
 half-dressed. I must chide you for this." 
 
 " Trembling but not cold," replied Elizabeth. 
 "But do then — stay and chide me." And, in 
 tones yet softer, she whispered — " How kind was 
 this return ! I shall part with you now with cou- 
 rage so much firmer, — ^if it must be ? — Nay, do 
 not shake your head. I will not talk so idly again.
 
 80 ELIZABETH DE BRIDGE. 
 
 But you look so grave. Oh! surely you are come 
 to warn me of new evil. Tell it out then — I have 
 courage for it all. — They cannot unmarry me !" 
 
 " I trust not,'" said Grahame, smiling and ca- 
 ressing her. " Folly only — pure folly — brought 
 me back, Elizabeth."' 
 
 " Ah, rather dear, dear wisdom !"" whispered 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 " I wished also to apprize you,'' continued 
 Wolfe, " that I have prevailed with Mr. Gideon 
 to accompany me in a search of the woman who 
 certainly knows some of the strange mysteries con- 
 nected with your birth — with the conflagration I 
 mean of Cambuskenneth Lodge." 
 
 " The disastrous star of my birth," said Eliza- 
 beth. " I know it is so. But have you seen my 
 nurse ? She pines to see you." 
 
 " Then I trust she means to speak out," said 
 Wolfe. " How many perplexities could she not 
 unravel ! how easily clear up the mystery of your 
 singular fate ! But she is obdurate in her silence. 
 Well — ^be the issue what it may, fate itself cannot 
 now make you less fondly mine. There is hope 
 for us yet. Th^n smile on me once again before 
 I leave you, my own Elizabeth." 
 
 A fond but silent embrace was interchanged, 
 
 1
 
 THE PARTING. 81 
 
 and then followed much anxious domestic discourse, 
 with unavailing regrets, passionate adieus, and fond 
 and melancholy anticipations all intermixed. 
 
 " Should any emergency arise, my love, from 
 the state of my uncle's affairs, or from our union, 
 you may rely for all aid and counsel on our friend 
 Gideon, safely and vrith propriety. He may not 
 quite understand you, but he loves you, and me for 
 your sake. — How many good hearts have you drawn 
 to me in giving me your own, Elizabeth ! — He is an 
 honest and honourable man, though not exactly 
 after the fashion of this world's honour ; more 
 shame for it perhaps. And yet, Elizabeth, how 
 in this hour it wrings my heart to confide to ano- 
 ther, even to worthy Gideon, the dear privilege 
 of watching over your happiness !" 
 
 " Fear not for me,'' whispered Elizabeth. — 
 " Fear not for me, while this generous wish is yours. 
 The love which makes me weak makes me strong 
 also. Ills and trials may await us both ; but hap- 
 piness — mine — is safe — anchored here — in the 
 keeping of honour and affection ;" and she rested 
 her head, as if in token of confidence, on the bosom 
 of her lover. But again the woman prevailed. 
 " Yet, O dearest, dearest ! if I should live to find 
 you changed — estranged. Let me not think of it. — 
 VOL. I. y
 
 82 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 Nay, you shall not smile at my woman''s fears to- 
 day. Kneel with me rather here — where we have 
 a thousand times in fondness met and vowed af- 
 fection never-ending ; and pray to our God to re- 
 store us to each other with truth unimpaired, love 
 undiminished.^"' 
 
 They breathed this silent prayer on the altar of 
 each other's lips. 
 
 '^' I can bear to part with you now,^' whispered 
 Elizabeth. — " Nay, to send you hence. — Go then, 
 dearest and only friend of your poor Elizabeth ; 
 and let us emulate each other in proving that 
 though the ties that bind us may have been rashly 
 formed, they were not made to be repented of." 
 
 Pale, very pale, and shivering, but outwardly 
 calm, with a long silent embrace she glided out 
 of the arms that clasped her, sunk down and hid 
 her face where she had before knelt. And they 
 had parted ! how again to meet in a world, whose 
 direst curse is wavering fidelity, or change, or 
 coldness of heart ! 
 
 Wolfe took his way to the hamlet, where, in the 
 corner of the " school green,'" there then stood, 
 looking as if it grew, the turf cabin of Monica 
 Doran, the nurse of Elizabeth ; a widow who was 
 thought to have seen better days, and who used
 
 THE PARTTXG 83 
 
 the pure Englisli speech, or wliat the inhabitants 
 of Castleburn fancied such. Her original resi- 
 dence was Ernescraig; but from the time that 
 Elizabeth was four years old Monica had lived in 
 Castleburn, in respected poverty, the jealousy 
 with which she was at first viewed having given 
 way before her kind and courteous manners, 
 and tried worth. The solitary matron had long 
 supported herself by needle-work, in which she was, 
 even on the admission of the erudite Monkshaugh, 
 profoundly skilled ; but her sight had failed, and 
 she now lived by knitting, and by spinning flax to 
 a delicate fineness, unknown in that part of the 
 world, which she also made into thread, managing 
 herself the whole of the pretty, and petty manufac- 
 ture, of twisting, bleaching, &c. on the Oran side. 
 The circular hut of Monica was so small, that 
 but for a slender filament of blue smoke, scarcely 
 more voluminous than that which on a frosty 
 morning trailed through the dean woods after Cor- 
 poral FugaPs tobacco pipe, and a single pane of 
 glass, the bright eye of the dwelling, it might have 
 been mistaken for a mossy hillock. A few yards 
 of garden-ground stored with pot-herbs, and those 
 herbs employed in the rural pharmacopeia, lay at 
 the right gable; and over this hung three grotesque
 
 84 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 elder bushes, growing by the brisk mill-lead, and 
 affording shade to the hovel, and arms and ammu- 
 nition to " the scholars/^ 
 
 " The scholars'" had been Goody Doran's de- 
 lightful occupation for many of their quickly suc- 
 ceeding generations. In her cabin refuge and 
 consolation was found in all the multifarious cases 
 of school-day hardship and distress. Her kind 
 expostulation made the trembling truant retvirn to 
 his task ; and, at her soothing, the good-natured 
 weeping dunce dried his tears and renewed his 
 efforts. In all cases of cut fingers, broken brows, 
 or sprained ancles, her unfee'd surgery was sover- 
 eign ; and the little ones demanded her cares and 
 kindness as their right, in the full confidence of 
 her love, and with a devoted submission to her 
 sway, which neither palmies^ j)andies, nor ste?!- 
 dies^ nor yet the more refined modern fooFs cap 
 could have obtained. Day by day, the rough 
 shelves suspended from her low roof might be seen 
 loaded with the hard-boiled eggs, small bottles of 
 milk, and slices of cheese and oaten cakes, depo- 
 sited by " the scholars ;'' each ration rudely mark- 
 ed with the initials of the little owner. These ra- 
 tions w^ere in summer quickly consumed beneath 
 Goody Doran's bourtrees, in winter by her frugal,
 
 THE rAKTlNG. 85 
 
 and yet cheerfully bright hearth. The scrupu- 
 lous integrity, unfailing kindness, and humble 
 dignity of manners which marked this old woman, 
 whose heart seemed instinct with the love of child- 
 hood, made a deep impression on the memories of 
 many of those young creatures ; and in after 
 life, with the recollection of school-day happiness, 
 rose the image of Goody Doran. Many substan- 
 tial marks of this kind recollection were tendered 
 to her ; but they were declined with a spirit 
 which her neighbours sometimes called proud. 
 There are points on which every one has a right 
 to be proud. She never refused the aid of Eliza- 
 beth de Bruce. 
 
 The heir of Monkshaugh, Avho rode to school 
 on a roan pony, the Whittret trotting by his 
 side v/ith ample allowance for the mid-day refec- 
 tion, might have been supposed above Monica's 
 tender offices ; yet his uncle's horror of blood, and 
 still more of blood-stained garments, put even him 
 sometimes in her reverence; and though her 
 kindness like the sun shone equally on all, the 
 generosity and high spirit of this boy, displayed in 
 various little instances, made him an especial fa- 
 vourite, during the few months that hc attended 
 the village school.
 
 86 ELIZABETH DE BKl CE. 
 
 As Wolfe approached the little tenement, once 
 so mighty in his imagination, now diminished to a 
 toy, yet corresponding exactly in all its propor- 
 tions to the clear image of his memory, he recall- 
 ed, together with Shenstone's old Dame, the en- 
 gaging. and very sweet picture of a country school, 
 given in the Memoirs of Marmontel — ^nature, 
 even in France ! 
 
 " I could not leave the country without seeing 
 you, Monica,"' said Wolfe, as soon as the old 
 woman, with her old-fashioned and superstitious 
 good-breeding, had laid aside her work and seen 
 her visiter seated to her liking. 
 
 " I have just come from your friend Elizabeth,'' 
 he continued, " who informs me that you wished 
 to see me. — Odd enough, considering how you 
 have shunned my inquiries for many a month 
 back." 
 
 " I shunned you then— and I desire to see you 
 now. Captain Wolfe Grahame," said the old wo- 
 man impressively. — " And can you not divine the 
 cause ? Have you not daringly mingled your fate 
 
 ith the destiny to which I am bound." 
 
 Daringly, perhaps, but not presumptuously," 
 said the young soldier with pride ; '* nor unsanc- 
 tioned by the mysterious being for whom you act. 
 
 W]
 
 THE PARTING. 87 
 
 See you this scroll ?" — and he shewed a letter — 
 " this — delivered to me in the dean wood by a 
 wandering mendicant woman, a part of your mys- 
 terious machinery I doubt not P" 
 
 " That is not said like Captain Wolfe Grahame,*" 
 replied the old woman. — " But was this scroll 
 seen by our Elizabeth." 
 
 " Our Elizabeth ! — Monica — if it is thus you 
 feel for her, and I doubt it not — why, why with- 
 hold from me the means of doing her right ? — 
 But this paper was not meant for the eye of Eli- 
 zabeth, though written, I cannot doubt it, by — 
 her 7nothe)'''' 
 
 He fixed his eyes intensely on the old woman, 
 who started ; and, as the colour mounted to her 
 faded cheek, exclaimed — " Her mother ! Who 
 then told you that she had a living mother ? The 
 Bride of de Bruce — does she live .^" 
 
 " I cannot doubt that the mysterious being who 
 has for years supplied all the wants of Elizabeth, 
 anticipated all her wishes, loaded her with un- 
 valued luxuries, — her good genius as she fondly 
 styled her, — is a mother, and a fond one, though 
 years of silence and neglect have made Elizabeth 
 conclude that she lives no longer. Yet that she 
 lives this scroll is evidence: then why conceal
 
 88 ELIZABETH HE BKUCE. 
 
 her name from me ? The unhappy wife of the 
 more unhappy de Bruce — has she never been ac- 
 knowledged as such ? Do her own relations not 
 know her claims ?" 
 
 " Alas, too well !"' said the old woman. " But 
 in her ov/n time she will reveal herself — that most 
 injured lady — the Bride of de Bruce ! Then 
 tempt me no farther. I have not withstood the 
 tears of Elizabeth, looking in my face with the 
 very eyes of that mother, to yield to a stranger's 
 prayer. But the day will come. It shall — it 
 must — I shall live to see it — when justice will be 
 done — the day for which I have travailed, and 
 longed, and prayed. — Was it for nothing that /, — 
 old, and withered, and feeble as I am, gave up 
 friends and native land, and lived among the 
 strange people of a strange faith ? — and feared 
 that I might die among them, — without confession, 
 without pardon, almost without hope, burrowing 
 among these black walls, which nothing could 
 brighten save the smile of Heaven upon the dis- 
 charge of duty — ^perilling my souFs salvation ? — 
 Ah ! not for nothing ! Then tempt me no far- 
 ther : my troth-plight is in another's keeping." 
 
 " God forbid that I should virge you, Monica !" 
 said the young man, '* though I still think you
 
 THE FARTING. 89 
 
 are influenced by very idle scruples. The mother 
 of Elizabeth has confided her to my care. Is the 
 trust less precious than that which I now solicit ? 
 
 Read this : but your eyes are dim. I shall read 
 
 for you.'" — And he read a scroll which, without 
 signature or date, contained the following words : 
 
 " You love Elizabeth. You have gained her 
 heart. — Dowerless and unfriended you have wooed 
 her for your bride. — Her mother gives her to you 
 — the child of misery, if not of shame — and 
 reckons every hour an age till she can bless the 
 union which will rescue Elizabeth from a fate 
 dark as that of her unhappy mother.'" 
 
 " Unhappy indeed !'"* sighed the old woman. 
 But you are going. Captain Grahame, to a land of 
 violence and blood ; — of this I wished to warn you 
 — a land divided against itself — brother contend- 
 ing in mortal strife against brother — and the cold 
 stranger trampling on both. Yet bev/are ye ! and 
 if ye love Elizabeth, spare her kindred !'' 
 
 " I knew, or I suspected as much,"' said Grahame. 
 " And now, Monica, as you would perchance save 
 me from sin and remorse, give me some clew to the 
 maternal kindred of Elizabeth.'" 
 
 " Wolfe Grahame, this is too much,'" cried the 
 old v/oman, rising in increased agitation. " Go in
 
 90 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 peace ! and God speed you, and shield you, and 
 deal with you as you shall deal by her to whom 
 my lees of life are dedicated.'' 
 
 She waved her hand as if she wished him gone ; 
 and Wolfe, returning her salutation, held on his 
 way ; and was scarcely aroused from the reverie 
 into which this conversation had plunged him, 
 when he entered the collier village of Pitbauchlie, 
 two miles distant on the open moor. 
 
 And here great was his amusement, though his 
 wonder was not much, to see the Whittret, with a 
 serio-comic visage, mounting guard at a barn door, 
 over a tall tripod stool covered with a scanty 
 crumpled whity-brown towel, on which was placed 
 a pewter trencher with some halfpence strewed 
 over its surface, " few and far between,"^ — while 
 loud through the circumambient air rolled and 
 rumbled the voice of Gideon, in earnest exhorta- 
 tion. 
 
 " As I kenned na how lang ye might tarry. 
 Captain, I behooved to set him to preach,'' said 
 Frisel, " to keep him in order and patience ; but 
 we are weel through now : we have just a word to 
 gi'e to the auld generation, and a word to the 
 young generation, a word to saints, and a word to 
 sinners, — a word o' consolation, and a word o' ter-
 
 THE PAKTIXG. 91 
 
 ror, — eighteen heads in all, — and well after ye like 
 a shot. The congregation may be like six auld 
 wives, and three or four bairns, — so that is about 
 two heads and a half to ilk ane : for myseF, I'm, 
 as ye may see, attending the offering."" And he 
 cast his eye on the collected halfpence, of which 
 Gideon, bountiful in pious discourse, certainly 
 knew nothing; nor was it intended that he 
 should.
 
 92 
 
 ELlZAIiETH DE EKUCE. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 " Beneath her father's roof, alone 
 She seemed to live ; her thoughts her own ; 
 Herself her own delight : 
 Pleased with herself, nor sad nor gay. 
 She passed her time ; and in this way 
 Grew up to woman's height." 
 
 WoRDSWOKTir. 
 
 Elizabeth de Biiuce had been brought in her 
 second year to the old Tower of Ernescraig, by 
 Monica her nurse, she knew not from whence. 
 Her uneventful story from that period may be 
 best traced in her own recollections. 
 
 Elizabeth remembered herself from her third 
 year, a lonely child for whom no one seemed to 
 have any peciJiar affection, save Monica Doran ; 
 and after a time Monica left her ; for Mr. Hut- 
 chen, the agent of Lord de Bruce, thought the old 
 nurse a useless appendage to the Ernescraig esta- 
 blishment, which thenceforward consisted only of
 
 EARLY DAYS. 93 
 
 an old man who took care of the place, and his 
 wife and daughter, who between them managed a 
 cow or two, and attended to the wants of the lonely- 
 girl. Elizabeth had no distinct recollection of how 
 she had first learned the calamity of her father. 
 This knowledge appeared like intuition, for no 
 one, so far as she could remember, had ever spoken 
 to her of the unhappy condition of the Lord de 
 Bruce. He had indeed been deranged even from 
 the period of her birth, and was understood to be 
 now living abroad. 
 
 From year to year she lingered thus, removed 
 from the society of children, and nearly ignorant 
 of their common sports and occupations. Yet was 
 the life she led not without its own pleasures. The 
 spirit of young life was stirring in the solitary child. 
 Every bird, and animal, and flower, and plant, 
 was her companion, endowed by her fancy with 
 life and speech ; and every well remembered beg- 
 gar, her friend and instructor, for good or ill as it 
 might happen. A store of ideas and images was 
 thus daily accumulating, gleaned from many fur- 
 tive sources, and from persons the most opposite 
 in habits and character. The tailor who marched 
 from grange to grange, followed by his apprentice 
 bearing goose and lahrod, like the knight of old
 
 9i ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 romance followed by his squire, — the lean lank 
 weaver, and the daily assemblage at the Tower- 
 burn mill, were of the number of her instructers : 
 So were Goody Doran, the Whittret, and Corporal 
 Fugal Scrimmager, once her father's servant. — 
 Monkshaugh, though dubious about her descent, 
 and far from satisfied with the mysterious marriage 
 of his noble kinsman, was nevertheless scandalized 
 at the shameful neglect of the little girl, and un- 
 dertook to fashion her manners, for which purpose 
 Elizabeth was at sundry times invited to drink tea 
 at his mansion ; and in her eighth year was grave- 
 ly presented with a copy of Gregory's Legacy, ac- 
 companied by a suitable exhortation. She also 
 received so many cautions against loud speaking, 
 bursting into mirth or song, and careless bounding 
 up or down stairs, that Monkshaugh became a 
 tiresome resort ; and Elizabeth soon preferred say- 
 ing her catechism to Mr Haliburton to shewing 
 her sampler to the Laird. 
 
 A mother who had studied many, or indeed any 
 of the modern systems of education, might not 
 have been satisfied with the training of Elizabeth 
 in her tender years ; but such it was. A store of 
 materials was thus collected to which her own mind 
 must give form, from which her own powers must
 
 EARLY DAYS. 95 
 
 extract either poison or nourishment. At five 
 years of age Elizabeth had travelled all undoubting 
 through the old, and now, we fear, almost ex- 
 ploded legendary lore of the nursery, — wept over 
 the " Babes of the AVood," while their sweet inno- 
 cent images haunted her as a real presence, — and 
 already admired him of the Bean, renowned and 
 beloved more than all the peers of Charlemagne, 
 admitting no rival to him in her affections, save 
 always the magnanimous vanquisher of the Red 
 Cow. How full of fancy, — how pregnant with en- 
 joyment was the old literature of the nursery ! 
 
 If thus learned at five, by the age of seven 
 Elizabeth had a larger collection of old Irish and 
 Scottish ballads, each to its own tune — and that 
 often a very fine one — and of metrical and other 
 legends, than any individual in the " Hill-side pa- 
 rishes'' excepting Frisel, who a century or two ear- 
 lier might have figured as a Troubadour, or a Har- 
 per at the least. The mill, the moss, the shelter 
 of the shepherd's chequered grey plaid, which the 
 little girl did not disdain in summer, and the 
 " rockings" of the winter fireside, with a memory 
 singularly tenacious for whatever she loved, all 
 contributed to swell her traditionary stores. Yet 
 with all this liveliness of fancy and quickness of
 
 9G ELIZABETH DE BRUCE, 
 
 apprehension, Elizabeth had made so little pro- 
 gress in useful learning, that at a " Diet of exa- 
 men,"" held by Mr. Haliburton in the Tower Mill 
 — the only " diet," Frisel said, that he dealt in — 
 her profound ignorance drew down the severe re- 
 buke of the minister. 
 
 The dark blue eyes, full of spirit and intelligence, 
 flashed through the profusion of beautiful ringlets 
 to which Fugal had transferred all the care he 
 formerly bestowed on the mane of her father''s 
 charger — flashed anger and defiance ; and then 
 filled with passionate tears. Hiding her face on 
 her little arm Elizabeth sobbed out — 
 
 " Who is there in all the world to tell me my 
 lesson and my questions ? I have no father — no 
 mother — and Goody Doran has left me." 
 
 The appeal was felt by all present, and partic- 
 ularly by Gideon, who soothed and caressed the 
 little maid in his own uncouth way — a very gen- 
 tle bear — and in fitting language told her on whose 
 care the orphan and the friendless may ever re- 
 ly. And Elizabeth wept on his bosom those tears 
 which rob sorrow of its sting. 
 
 But John Trann, the warder of the Tower, 
 found himself bound in self-defence to rebut part 
 of her statement. 
 
 1
 
 EARLY DAYS. 9? 
 
 " A bauld spirit,'' said John — ^' I ha'e tried 
 to break her in, and targed her on * The Single 
 Beuk** divers rainy Lord's nights ; but there never 
 was a more rampant instance o' the power of the 
 Enemy, and of indwellin' corruption than in that 
 bonnie bairn, fair as is her face. Gi'e her ' Gil 
 Morice to the Greenwood,' or ' The Young Tarn 
 Lane,' or sic profane blethers, minister, and she 
 will lilt them aff at a hearing, tune and words, 
 were they as lang as Chevy Chace ; but for ae sen- 
 tence o' the instruction which causeth not to err, 
 it wadna stick till her if ye wad fley her alive." 
 
 " Nae wonder the bairns are boobies, when John 
 Trann turns dominie," said the Whittret, sneer- 
 ingly. 
 
 The doctrine of John was, however, well adapt- 
 ed to the meridian of Gideon's belief; so after an 
 application to the trustee, Mr. Hutchen, which did 
 not obtain even the courtesy of a reply, the little 
 girl was submitted to the joint tutelage of Gideon, 
 and Monica Doran, who, after a long and myste- 
 rious absence, returned about this time in deep 
 mourning weeds, and settled in a hut by the vil- 
 lage school-house. 
 
 This formed a new era in the life of Elizabeth. 
 The Bible was her first and only school-book ; and 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 9b ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 the preliminary drudgery being rapidly surmount- 
 ed, and her lively sensibility and imagination once 
 fairly excited — what a world of wonder, interest, 
 and delight, burst on her unfolding mind ! Before 
 three months had elapsed, her young fancy was 
 dwelling by the fountain in the wilderness, with the 
 son of the bondswoman ; or journeying forth in 
 hope with the youthful patriarch dreaming by his 
 ladder of vision; or going down into Eg}^pt with his 
 beloved son. Those whose early progress in letters 
 has been smoothed and forwarded by all the trick- 
 ery and appliance of modern system, can hardly 
 comprehend how deeply the picturesque incidents 
 and varied characters of this most poetical of all 
 volumes, lay hold on the minds of those children 
 who have known no other literature. 
 
 Judith, and Jael, and Rachel, beautiful and 
 beloved, and so exquisitely womanly even in her 
 frailties, Elizabeth could not yet fully understand ; 
 but there were other, and exhaustless sources of 
 delight. The infant Moses hid in the ark of 
 flags, and the little Hebrew maid watching afar off 
 the fate of the future lawgiver and champion of 
 the people of God, — the young shepherd of Beth- 
 lem, " ruddy and of a fair countenance,'" — ^the de- 
 voted daughter of Jephthah, — and Josiah the pious
 
 EARLY DAYS. 99 
 
 infant King of Israel, — and Ruth the gentle 
 daughter of Naomi : — these were now the familiar 
 objects of the neglected child's study, as she con- 
 ned not a task but enjoyed a treasure beneath the 
 bourtree bushes, dreaming of them all night as 
 well as all day, and investing her village acquaint- 
 ances with their several attributes and charac- 
 ters. 
 
 " Thus the foundations of her mind were laid." 
 
 The life of Elizabeth contained very few adven- 
 tures ; but every young life, however obscure, 
 has its own wonders, its own interests, its own 
 charm. She had, moreover, one real adventure to 
 which her memory clung with singular pertinacity, 
 though it had happened in her sixth year. 
 
 Elizabeth " lived T the sun,'" and hardy and bold 
 as a gipsy's brat, often made very distant excur- 
 sions into the hills and glades, from that season 
 when the birds first build their nests even till the 
 last nuts had dropped in the hazel copse, and the 
 sloes mellowed in the autumn frosts. Her frequent 
 lengthened absences gave little uneasiness to her 
 plodding guardians of the Tower, till once on a 
 July night evening closed in, the summer moon rose 
 with all the pale stars, and still the little girl came 
 not homeward. John Trann being very sleepy, ob-
 
 100 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 served to his alarmed womankind that " Leddy 
 "Lizbeth wad cast up sooner than a bow o' meal,'"* 
 and went to bed. But the women less philosophic 
 alarmed the hamlet. The people rose in the zeal 
 of humanity ; and pool and stream, dell and dingle, 
 were searched ; and at last the truant girl was 
 found by Frisel sunk in soft moss, soundly sleep- 
 ing under a sheltering bush. 
 
 Elizabeth's account of this adventure to Monica 
 Doran, was not a little singular. At noon of the 
 preceding day she had met a beggar or gipsy wo- 
 man in a red cloak, who with stories and apples 
 had allured her on to a wild scene in the hills, 
 called " the Linns o' Cleuch ;'" and there intro- 
 duced her to a lady, resplendent, according to Eli- 
 zabeth's history, as the Queen of Elfland, if not 
 that very Queen herself. With this lady she had 
 staid all day in a cave. She had given her fruit 
 and cake, and wept over her, and fondled her, and 
 taken her promise never to forget one who so dear- 
 ly loved her, and came thus to see her — never to 
 forget her v/hen she should be far away. All this 
 Elizabeth affectionately promised, and wept in her 
 turn — wept herself to sleep. She remembered no 
 more till the Whittret awoke her ; and the splen- 
 did apparition was fled.
 
 EARLY DAYS, 101 
 
 Monica Doran treated the whole as a natural 
 vision of sleep in the hills on a starry night, and 
 counselled her to be silent about it ; and in a little 
 time it was forgotten in the hill-side district, or 
 only remembered by the superstitious as a fairy 
 adventure, into which the child had been nearly 
 entrapped. It was, however, in the main circum- 
 stance, too striking ever to be forgotten by Eliza- 
 beth ; and, as she grew up, Monica Doran would 
 shake her reverend head, and sigh at the minute 
 accuracy of her description of the lady''s appear- 
 ance. Of this singular adventure of her child- 
 hood she had often talked to Wolfe Grahame; 
 and in the previous season, they had twenty times 
 visited the " Linns o' Cleuch,"' while Elizabeth 
 recounted anew every look, every gesture, every 
 well-remembered word of her whom, as she grew 
 up, she fondly called mother, But how — or why ? 
 — Conjecture was vain. 
 
 Wolfe had also once dropped in, under some 
 feigned pretext, on the Saturday-night compota- 
 tions, at the Grahame Arms in Castleburn ; and 
 adroitly led to this old tale. 
 
 " Weel do I mind it," said John Trann, so- 
 lemnly. " But I think ye ordered in another 
 stoup o' liquor. Captain 't — Weel do I mind, that
 
 102 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 the bairn upon a time met the Queen of Elfland 
 about the Linns o' Cleuch, and would not be hold- 
 en back ; but ance wode, and ay waur — wad be afF 
 to fairy land — ^for sic was her weird — and lap and 
 flang like a rampant lion ; so that ten men could 
 na hold her.'' 
 
 " I was one of the ten myself," said Fugal, 
 gravely. " I had just then left his Majesty's 
 light ho'se ; and can test it all for gospel truth." 
 
 " There was a meeting o' the Sourhole's session 
 held," continued John Trann, " and a day o' fast 
 and humiliation appointed, that He might be pleas- 
 ed to lift the right hand o' his wrath from the 
 house of de Bruce, and the bairn over whom the 
 Enemy had gotten power. And Mr. Gideon wres- 
 tled lang and sair — ^no to name a humbler Chris- 
 tian — inquiring into this controversy wi' the house 
 o' de Bruce ; and got for answer, as I have 
 heard, that it was that sinfu' rise on the penny- 
 mail o' the Holm crafters, where I am tabernackl- 
 ing even now ; and that laying o' cess on the 
 saumon waters, whilk, with the abundance thereof, 
 had flowed free to a' mankind since the days o' the 
 flood." 
 
 This, and such like, was all the information 
 collected by Grahame, scarcely worth his stoups
 
 EARLY DAYS. 103 
 
 of liquor ; and so long as the spigot flowed at his 
 bidding, he saw that he might drain intelligence 
 equally copious. But to return to the course of 
 our narrative. 
 
 When EHzabeth had been studying for nearly 
 two years, and had added to her stores of Biblical 
 lore such vagrant blossoms of English literature 
 as flourished in Masons Collection, another revo- 
 lution took place in her life. 
 
 Upon a sunshine holiday the phenomenon of a 
 carriage appeared at the door of the Grahame 
 Arms ; and the alarmed landlord received the 
 rolling glory with as many bows as, fairly divided, 
 might have been at least one to each spoke of the 
 four wheels. 
 
 " It will be the Lord de Bruce." — No, it was 
 the factor ; and along the straggling street heads 
 were pushed out of every door in curiosity, and 
 drawn back in habitual terror and reverence of 
 the great name of Harletillum. It was, however, 
 only the factor's lady, or more properly the Trus- 
 tee's lady. 
 
 Mrs. John Hutchen of Harletillum, wife of 
 the present trustee, and daughter of the former 
 factor, was a garish and " rather good-looking'' 
 woman — unquestionably a finely dressed one. She
 
 104 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 sent for Elizabeth. In haste was the blooming 
 face washed — in haste were the red Morocco 
 sharp-toed slippers and the long green Persian 
 sash put on, both the gift of Monkshaugh. The 
 white mode tippet was pinned above the whiter 
 cambric frock ; and with bashful glee, led by Mo- 
 nica Doran, whose agony of alarm she entirely 
 overlooked, Elizabeth obeyed the summons. 
 
 Mrs. John Hutchen saluted the daughter of 
 Lord de Bruce rather kindly, but took no notice 
 whatever of the venerable person who attended 
 her. She made the bashful girl take some wine ; 
 and introduced her to Miss Juliana de Bruce Hut- 
 chen, a young lady about her own age, who gave 
 her a sidelong, pouting, and scornful examination 
 from head to heel — or rather from slipper to bon- 
 net — which Elizabeth's bright and saucy eyes re- 
 paid with no lack of interest. 
 
 Elizabeth was then interrogated on her accom- 
 plishments, and found as wofully wanting as she 
 had been at the memorable " Diet of examen"^ 
 three years before. She hung her head abashed 
 and awkward — all the brightness and flush of hope 
 with which she had entered the room eclipsed. 
 But it was expressly on gracious intent that Mrs. 
 JIutchen had come ; so with her own thumbs sh?j
 
 EARLY DAYS. 105 
 
 pushed in the finely curved shoulders of Eliza- 
 beth, directed her how to point her toes, — as a cli- 
 max of goodness summoned her own maid to see 
 " how the dowdy creature could be fitted with de- 
 cent stays,"' and made her stand up to measure 
 heights with Juliana. — All the blood of the de 
 Bruces rushed to the temples of Elizabeth; all 
 their pride raised the head and dilated the beau- 
 tiful light figure, which soared rather than stood 
 above that of Miss Juliana, in the natural grace 
 inseparable from its perfect formation. 
 
 *' Umph ! — Mind your carriage. Miss Juliana ; 
 and you, Miss de Bruce, must be a good girl, and 
 I shall send you a nice new stays, and a nice new 
 governess to make you handsome and learn you 
 every thing.'' And thus the female part of the 
 agency of the insane nobleman having discharged 
 its duty by the ladies connected with " the pro- 
 perty," Mrs. Hutchen ascended her triumphal 
 car, and drove off in state, the landlord's head vi- 
 brating like a pendulum while the vehicle continu- 
 ed in sight. 
 
 Monica Doran all this while spoke not; but 
 when she reached home she shed some tears, 
 which the little girl affectionately kissed off, volun-
 
 106 ELIZABETH DE BKUCE. 
 
 tarily promising never to love any governess half 
 so well as her " own Goody Doran." 
 
 Mrs. John Hutchen, heaven-directed, was more 
 lucky than wise in selecting a governess for the 
 daughter of Lord de Bruce. In due time apart- 
 ments were fitted up in the Tower, with comfort 
 and even elegance, and furnished with every cus- 
 tomary requisite for the mental or personal accom- 
 plishment of the pupil. 
 
 Three years again passed away, a period of 
 application and discomfort, in which Elizabeth, 
 strictly debarred from all intercourse with her 
 nurse or the family of Monkshaugh, could do no- 
 thing better than profit by the instructions of her 
 governess. This lady, of a character originally 
 cold and formal, was by this time hackneyed in 
 office ; and rendered callous, selfish, and calcu- 
 lating by the selfishness of her various employers. 
 Her understanding of her duties was a fixed thing ; 
 so many hours a day to Italian, music, and French, 
 for so many guineas per annum, with a rigid and 
 unyielding enforcement of that petty code of petty 
 regulation for person, dress, demeanour, &c. in-, 
 stitutcd in the fashionable boarding-school where 
 she had first been a half-boarder, and subsequently
 
 EARLY DAYS. 107 
 
 a teacher. A civil greeting daily to all members 
 of the family in which she might chance to be for 
 the time, and a more ceremonious leave-taking at 
 the termination of her engagement, with a fairly- 
 penned letter of acknowledgment afterwards trans- 
 mitted for all civilities received : — and thus she 
 made her heartless rounds, biennial or triennial, 
 with the character of " a safe discreet person in a 
 family, and one whose accent was faultless.^"* 
 
 Elizabeth tried to love her governess, but the 
 sentiment found nothing to feed upon; and in 
 her warm and enthusiastic nature how little 
 would have kept kindness alive ! The governess 
 interfered with her visits to her former friends ; 
 and then Elizabeth tried to hate her. But even 
 this sentiment found no aliment in the cold, quiet, 
 equable manners, thin lips, and lath-like figure of 
 her instructress. For the last two years they 
 went on better together. Elizabeth ceased to tor- 
 ment and mortify by wanton and mischievous 
 pranks; and came to view her governess as a 
 machine which gave her lessons very correctly, 
 as she presumed, and diligently taught her the 
 names of tools, the uses of which it was left to her 
 own energies afterwards to direct and apply. 
 
 But again came another change. The gover-
 
 108 ELIZABETH DK BRUCE. 
 
 ness was summoned away on one day's notice ; the 
 plate, the hangings, the musical instruments fol- 
 lowed ; and the lonely girl was once more consign- 
 ed to her original solitude and destitution. She 
 was, however, also restored to her original inde- 
 pendence, with cultivated and enlarged capacities 
 of thought and occupation. 
 
 The succeeding period was a happy interval in 
 the life of Elizabeth ; and yet nothing occurred 
 which a stranger could have noted as memorable. 
 She had her needlework, her lonely rambles among 
 the hills, and her social visits to the hamlet, the 
 marvels of old Fugal, who was the Munchaussen 
 of the district, and the old songs and legends of 
 Monica, in themselves a mine of enjoyment. She 
 had lost her best musical instrument ; but she re- 
 tained all her musical capacities. Music is said to 
 be a social art — and in one sense it is so ; but there 
 is music which is neither very social, nor at all un- 
 der the dominion of art — a gift of nature, a passion, 
 a feeling, solitary, heartfelt, the charmed soul 
 hanging on the murmurs of the lip as the rose is 
 fabled to listen to the song of the nightingale. 
 Elizabeth's musical tastes, which made so much of 
 the enjoyment of her solitary life, were of Rous- 
 seau's third order. Her saul was instinct with
 
 EARLY DAYS. 109 
 
 melody — the murmurs of her infancy were mu- 
 sical, and the wild warbling of her dreams more 
 touching than her most finished song. To her 
 ear all nature was one mighty instrument, of a 
 scale infinitely graduated but all attuned to har- 
 mony. To listen was to enjoy — from the hoarse 
 breaking of the waves on the shore to the tinkle of 
 the summer rill — from the burst and swell and 
 long-rolling peal of the thunder cloud, to the faint 
 whiter churm of the red-breast. Thus, though 
 the inexplicable order, or caprice of the family 
 agent had somewhat abridged one source of enjoy- 
 ment, it could not attaint her hereditary and inde- 
 feasible right to nature'^s gift. Her instruments 
 were away ; but she could still, in the deep twilight 
 of her chamber, listen, soothed or rapt, to those 
 viewless harps of a thousand strings sounding in 
 the leafless woods below. But those purely na- 
 tural strains, the articulate breathings of passion 
 and sensibility, speaking a universal language, be 
 it in the glowing song of the Hindoo girl, or the 
 wild lament of the highland maid, — and above all, 
 the music " married to immortal verse,"' claimed 
 a loftier place in her musical associations, and min- 
 istered delight to a higher class of feelings. Thus 
 if Elizabeth sometimes pined in thought she had
 
 110 ELIZABETH UE BIIU(;E. 
 
 also very much to enjoy ; and even in these her 
 most forlorn years, the scale of happiness fairly 
 preponderated. 
 
 The departure of the governess restored her to 
 the society of Monica, and of Monkshaugh, who 
 now benevolently fancied, that her lengthened visits 
 to himself must be of infinite use in polishing her 
 manners and cheering her spirits. Even Effie 
 Fechnie, won by the smile of arch and resistless 
 sweetness which played round the lip of Elizabeth, 
 came at last to forgive her old pranks, and to toler- 
 ate her occasional visits in a place where she admit- 
 ted no female rival ; and saw, without jealousy, 
 though not without reproof, the many idle hours 
 now loitered away in the book-closet adjoining the 
 family parlour, in the old tangled arbours of the 
 garden, or in the dean wood, with the secreted 
 volume. 
 
 A new and absorbing passion was now awaken- 
 ed in Elizabeth, by the treasures of this sanctuary 
 of Monkshaugh's literature. That gentleman's 
 own weekday reading was chiefly confined to the 
 " Book of Common Prayer,"' the Almanack, and 
 a System of Cookery, illustrated with plates and 
 enriched by a treatise on carving. But the taste 
 for polite letters had begun to revive in the fash-
 
 KARLY DAYS. Ill 
 
 ionable circles of the Scottish metropolis, just about 
 the period that he had flourished as a beau, so that 
 he still retained a gentlemanly acquaintance with 
 the names of Shakspeare and Mr. Pope, and an 
 intimate acquaintance with the popular tea-table 
 miscellanies of the day, and with the elegant papers 
 of the Mirror and Lounger. He knew also that 
 young ladies, as a part of their education, ought 
 to read the Spectator abridged, and Clarissa Har- 
 lowe, together with Fordyce's Sermons. He even 
 sometimes vaunted to Elizabeth of having once 
 seen the '' Ayrshire ploughman"" in Bailie Creech's 
 shop, in his celebrated top-boots, buck-skin breech- 
 es, and buff waistcoat. The Laird, therefore, with 
 such pretensions to literature in his own person, 
 rather respected a moderate love of books as indi- 
 cating " a gentle" nature ; and, due charges being 
 given of the bindings, allowed Elizabeth the un- 
 limited range of his stores. 
 
 Little did the old beau dream that the long 
 summer's day, and the longer winter's night, were 
 to be spent by the young enthusiast in the sweet 
 thraldom of pleasureable, if not profitable study, 
 till her only life lay among the phantoms and 
 creations of bookland — witching land! — that "with 
 tendrils strong as flesh and blood" the heart and
 
 112 ELIZABETH DE RRIJCE. 
 
 fancy of the solitary girl were twining themselves 
 around those shadowy substances. But had he 
 been aware of this, Monkshaugh had an easy and 
 infallible way of accounting for every extravagance 
 in Elizabeth — the family malady — incipient mad- 
 ness — or, at least, " a touch"" of the de Bruce 
 family inheritance. 
 
 This new and powerful taste gradually withdrew 
 Elizabeth from the few rural intimacies of her 
 schooldays, and might soon have been carried to 
 pernicious excess, had it not been counteracted by 
 that " course of true love*" which the generous 
 and impetuous temper of Wolfe Grahame, and 
 the idolizing affection of his mistress, compelled 
 to run smoothly, in defiance of every obstruction 
 offered by chilling experience and grey-beard wis- 
 dom. 
 
 Till the return of Wolfe Grahame in the pre- 
 vious year, Elizabeth had met with no one being 
 that could understand or sympathize with her pe- 
 culiar feelings and new-born tastes ; and they were 
 therefore scrupulously confined to her own bosom. 
 No creature could have looked more blithe of 
 heart or fancy free, even when the fever of romance 
 was running the highest. 
 
 The young people met, and with mutual plea-
 
 EARLY DAYS. 113 
 
 sure renewed their early acquaintance ; but their 
 talk was of any thing rather than books. There 
 is however a free-masonry among the genuine, and 
 therefore secret lovers of literature, by which, 
 without a word exchanged, without one critical 
 opinion delivered, they recognize each other. By 
 those occult signs, Elizabeth soon discovered that 
 Wolfe Grahame had drunk of the same enchant- 
 ed fountain — that they had loved the same Ju- 
 liet, wept the same "Gentle Ladye wedded to the 
 Moor."" Grahame had now indeed entered on 
 the rougher track of a man's life, and, as he fan- 
 cied, forever abandoned the " primrose path ;" 
 yet in the idleness of that long and beautiful sum- 
 merj it was with fresh delight that he returned to 
 dream and dally in it with Elizabeth. But this 
 calm and trustful life of careless delights could 
 not long last. There rose " a dream within the 
 dream,'"" and it speedily took substance and vital- 
 ity ; so by the end of the season, what with the 
 little aids of long rambles among the hills, origi- 
 nally prescribed for health and exercise by Monks- 
 haugh, and continued for no reason distinctly 
 rendered, glowing sun-sets fading into still sweeter 
 gloamings, melancholy songs and mirthful conver- 
 sations, frequent meetings, and, more dangerous 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 114 ELIZABETH DE BRUOE. 
 
 far, secret anticipations of meeting no more, the 
 half conscious lovers had gradually and impercep- 
 tibly reached that dizzy verge on which the little 
 finger of Cupid becomes as mighty as the right 
 arm of a giant — ^from which retreat may still be 
 possible, but where it is as certain that the enforce- 
 ment of a feather — a breath — a word — an inarti- 
 culate murmur, may suddenly precipitate the 
 hovering victim headlong and beyond recovery. 
 
 It was at this time that Wolfe, on a casual vi- 
 sit to Ernescraig, surprised his solitary companion 
 in an agony of tears, reading, or attempting to read 
 a letter, which she threw aside on his appearance, 
 while she hastily strove to stifle every outward 
 symptom of grief. The effect of a woman's tears 
 on a man, not previously hardened by a long course 
 of hysterics, is well understood — their effect on a 
 devoted heart cannot be so well comprehended ; for 
 that must depend on what sort of heart the devoted 
 one is. If warm, young, ingenuous, generous, as 
 was Wolfe's, the heart would probably, in such 
 cu-cumstances, make short work with reflection. 
 With him there was no place for graceful reserve 
 — no pause for studied delicacy of address. The 
 griefs of Elizabeth were his ; and, before one in- 
 telligible word was uttered on either side, he had
 
 EARLY DAYS. 115 
 
 folded her unresisting form to his bosom as its 
 chosen place of refuge, and with his lip gathered 
 up the tears which now fell in brighter, warmer 
 showers, gushing over her cheeks as her heart 
 heaved beneath his clasp. 
 
 " How is this Elizabeth ? Tell me — me — 
 your cousin — your friend — who would give life to 
 make you happy — whose life can knov/ no hap- 
 piness but in your love !" 
 
 The blood which for an instant wholly deserted 
 the cheeks of the bewildered girl, returned in the 
 wildest tide. Her heart throbbed as if it would 
 have burst its prison, and she trembled ex- 
 ceedingly. For another instant her head rested 
 where it had involuntarily fallen ; and then mo- 
 destly withdrawing herself from this strict embrace, 
 she whispered — " Oh ! Wolfe, I am certainly 
 very foolish, perhaps very proud — but very, very 
 miserable ; yet I thought not to have betrayed 
 myself to you. But now I must, and I will tell 
 you all.'" 
 
 She put into his hands a letter v/ritten by order 
 of Mr. Hutchen, stating, in no very delicate terms, 
 that the trustee had received an advantageous of- 
 fer from a friend, who wislied to possess Ernes- 
 craig as a shooting residence, and hoped that
 
 116 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 among the numerous family friends, Miss de 
 Bruce would have no difficulty in fixing herself 
 properly. 
 
 " Do not think me so pitiful, so abject, so base 
 in spirit, as to have shed even one tear for all that 
 this man could either threaten or do. But this — 
 this"' — she pointed to yet another letter, in which 
 Grahame recognised the strong, rigid, angular, 
 old-court characters of the Lady Tamtallan, the 
 aunt of Lord de Bruce, the Minerva of Monks- 
 haugh's imagination. 
 
 " This — this"" — Elizabeth could not reveal to any 
 human ear the stirrings of a young and proud spi- 
 rit, wounded, insulted, crushed in its tenderest 
 feelings — the memory of her mother — the wretch- 
 edness of her father ! — ^but she suffered herself to 
 be yet again clasped to the one generous heart 
 which beat for her — only for her — ^yearned over 
 her — worshipped her — and there she wept it all. 
 In this manner had the signal been given, the veil 
 dropped that for months had concealed feelings 
 which Grahame would not, and Elizabeth durst 
 not ascertain. And now — 
 
 " Eternity was in their lips and eyes, 
 Bliss in their brows' bend." 
 
 " O, never mind my poor uncle's objections,"
 
 EARLY DAYS. 117 
 
 said Grahame. " Let us be content to love him as 
 well as we can because he is our uncle ; for I fear, 
 Elizabeth, neither your taste nor my reason will 
 ever be able to find a better because. It will de- 
 light him to hear of our marriage after it is all 
 over ; but to put him to the trouble of thinking 
 about it — what with jewels and ginger-cake, settle- 
 ments and bride favours, it would unquestionably 
 turn his head." 
 
 Wolfe Grahame had known from his boyhood 
 the nervous horror entertained by his uncle of the 
 fatal malady incident to the family of de Bruce, 
 vain as he was of the relationship. He also knew 
 the firmness of Monkshaugh's belief in the curse 
 that clung to that devoted house. There was 
 likewise some mystery — some cloud about the 
 birth of Elizabeth which no one could comprehend. 
 Mr. Hutchen, her guardian, had, it was under- 
 stood, been strictly prohibited from ever permitting 
 her to leave the Tower of Ernescraig ; but this 
 indeed Monkshaugh imputed to his own ill-natured 
 cupidity. Monkshaugh had yet another objection. 
 The Lady Tamtallan, who had wished to ally her 
 nephew. Lord de Bruce, to a daughter of her own, 
 never coidd endure to hear the name of Elizabeth, 
 whom she loathed unseen, both as a girl, and as
 
 118 I.IZABKTII IJE BllUCE. 
 
 the daughter of an Irish " foreigner'"' who had 
 usurped the place of her own child. — " And she 
 was,'' Monkshaugh said, as the Whittret well knew, 
 " a woman of a strong mind, with ten thousand 
 pounds at her own disposal, forbye linen, plate, and 
 the rose-diamond buckle — no nearer male connex- 
 ion than Wolfe Grahame, except grand-daughters, 
 — abhorred all lassies, and had shown a special fa- 
 vour for Wolfe till when a callant he had stood in 
 his own light by tramphng on the tail of Black 
 Agnes, and devouring, stoup and roup, a brace of 
 Poor Knights of Windsor, expressly cooked for 
 her ladyship's Saturday night's supper. — She pre- 
 tended to laugh at that loss," added Monkshaugh ; 
 " but it is weel kenned she likes her supper. She 
 clouted him for Black Agnes's mishap ; and the 
 graceless imp cuffed her again. She pretended to 
 laugh at that too — for she is a woman of an un- 
 common strong mind." 
 
 " I have heard she's a dour busteous carlin," 
 said Frisel, " threw her ebony stick at Lord 
 
 sitting in his very place o' judgment, when 
 
 he ga'e the plea against her." 
 
 " Is it Lady Tamtallan ye name a busteous 
 carlin, sirrah ?" 
 
 " Carlin, or Gyre-carlin, if she want to keep
 
 EAllLY DAYS. 119 
 
 Wolfe Graliame frae marrying "Lisbeth de Bruce, 
 she need to cast her green een about her,"" mut- 
 tered the Whittret. 
 
 Wolfe, it must be owned, had the utmost con- 
 tempt for those visions of succession to the rose-dia- 
 mond buckle, which were so much to Monkshaugh. 
 He had already with facile kindness which his 
 judgment condemned, guaranteed obligations incur- 
 red by the weakness, the obstinacy, and the vanity 
 of his uncle, which he was aware must keep him a 
 poor man for many a year, even were the succession 
 open to him to-morrow ; and he conceived that he 
 possessed the full right of following his own judg- 
 ment, and consulting his own feelings in the dear- 
 est interest of his life! The very circumstances 
 that might have damped the ardour of a more pru- 
 dent lover, increased the tenderness of Grahame. 
 Elizabeth— rto him the most winning and delightful 
 of human beings — stood alone — his own — only — 
 all his own — detached by singular fortune from all 
 human relationship, and liable, he shuddered to 
 believe, to the most fearful of human maladies, 
 from which his care, his tenderness, his love, were 
 henceforth to be her shield. 
 
 There was on every hand an understanding 
 that Elizabeth's birth was coeval with the period
 
 120 ELIZABETH DE BKUCE. 
 
 of her father's derangement, and with the burning 
 of Cambuskenneth Lodge. Of her mother little 
 was known to their few distant relations ; and had 
 it not been for the scroll conveyed to him about 
 this time, notwithstanding the many tokens of a 
 mother's care which Elizabeth found, or fancied in 
 the history of the first fifteen years of her life — 
 valuable and elegant gifts transmitted, no one knew 
 how, to old Monica Doran — Grahame must still 
 have believed that the victim of that memorable 
 night was the mother of his mistress. Again and 
 again did he examine Mr. Haliburton. That faith- 
 ful depositary of the secret of the dying midwife 
 resisted all attempts to betray the trust — if such it 
 was — with the fidelity of a father confessor ; but 
 he agreed to search for the daughter of the woman, 
 and if her consent were gained his scruples would 
 give way. 
 
 Many other circumstances made a temporary 
 concealment of the union, which Grahame elo- 
 quently urged, expedient at this time. Without 
 any overweening conceit, either of his own person, 
 or his various attributes as soldier, gentleman, and 
 presumptive heir, Wolfe could not fail to perceive, 
 in the course of the business arrangements which 
 his uncle's affairs compelled him to have with
 
 EARLY DAYS. 121 
 
 Hutchcn, that in that gentlemen he might hope 
 to find a willing and generous father-in-law, who, 
 if deprived of the chance of becoming such, might 
 be equally ready to visit upon the uncle the indif- 
 ference shown by the nephew for so desirable an al- 
 liance. He wished also to clear up, if possible, 
 the mystery of Elizabeth's birth, before he present- 
 ed her to the world as his. But paramount to all 
 was the passionate wish to make her his — to give 
 to his own existence an invaluable blessing, an un- 
 fading charm, while to her he gave home, an as- 
 certained place m life, and, dearer still, boundless 
 unimaginable felicity — did she not look as if thus 
 it were ? — in the possession of his affection. 
 
 The absence of Monica Doran, at this time on 
 one of her mysterious periodical journeys, was much 
 regretted by Elizabeth. Still she was happy. 
 She had found, and for the first time of her life — 
 
 " One bosom to recline upon, 
 One heart to be her only one ; 
 And 'twas enough for love." 
 
 Elizabeth's marriage was celebrated in Ernes- 
 craig, her humble friends there, whose secrecy was 
 easily purchased, being the only witnesses to the ce- 
 remony. And for a few short months this "paradise 
 of hearts" was undisturbed ; till the Irish rebellion
 
 122 ELIZABETH UE EllUCE. 
 
 brought a hasty summons to many a soldier — and 
 among others to Wolfe Grahame. It was now 
 that Elizabeth was first awakened to the real ills 
 of her condition ; for if she had ever before enter- 
 tained any passing doubts as to the propriety of 
 her marriage, they were all hushed in its felicity. 
 
 But now she was alone, with new cares, new 
 anxieties. Yet the source of these was also the 
 fountain of all her past happiness, of all her future 
 hopes. She had something to love with affection 
 so supreme compared with all she had ever felt 
 before, that the sentiment alone seemed enough for 
 happiness. 
 
 From the period of her marriage Elizabeth had 
 not once visited Monkshaugh. In every place, 
 save the Tower of Ernescraig and the solitudes 
 around it, she felt embarrassment and disquiet ; 
 and in every society, save his who made her world, 
 something was sure to occur, which her conscious 
 heart and quick feelings applied as reproach or 
 suspicion. 
 
 But Grahame had entreated her to accept of the 
 often repeated invitation of his uncle, at least as 
 soon as he should himself be gone ; and those 
 only who have loved like Elizabeth, can understand 
 the many sources of interest and delight which a
 
 EARLY DAYS. 123 
 
 residence under this roof promised to her at this 
 time. In her lonely home, to her own heart only 
 could she whisper the name which was here a house- 
 hold word. Here Wolfe was the engrossing object 
 of the whole family. Every chance visiter talked 
 of him. Those who had met with him or heard of 
 him, called to give the acceptable intelligence. 
 Yet there was pain as well as pleasure in this ; for 
 who could understand — who talk of him to satisfy 
 Elizabeth ! 
 
 When a few days passed the first embarrassments 
 of her visit were over, and again she mingled in the 
 current of domestic life in Monkshaugh, and, ad- 
 vancing every hour in favour with its master, the 
 fresh and buoyant spirit of Elizabeth rose to its 
 natural level. Wolfe might obtain advancement, 
 or something might occur to restore her to his so- 
 ciety, — and what more was v/anted to make her 
 happiness complete ! These hopes of air a breath 
 would puff away. If Elizabeth had been rash in 
 her marriage she was soon doomed to expiate that 
 offence almost every hour of the day, — ^for Monks- 
 haugh, in the natural vanity of his heart, omitted 
 no opportunity of boasting of the splendid and 
 wealthy alliances which " her cousin,"' with his 
 many advantages of talent, person, and family.
 
 124 ELIZABETH DE EKUCE. 
 
 might form, whenever he liked to give himself the 
 trouble of choice. 
 
 On the second evening of her visit, the Whittret 
 returned with the horse which his young master 
 
 had rode as far as on his way to Ireland ; 
 
 and as this paragon of serving-men was blest with 
 a free copious elocution, and conversational tact 
 which went far to establish his claim to a highland 
 descent, the long evening was spent in listening to 
 the narrative of the first day's journey. There 
 were, indeed, many episodes interwoven, fully as 
 interesting to Monkshaugh as was the main story 
 to Elizabeth. Towards the close of this rambling 
 narrative, the Whittret contrived to give her a pri- 
 vate signal of intelligence ; and though her brow 
 reddened with proud shame, love conquered the 
 feeling, and she retired to the book-closet adjoin- 
 ing the parlour, and from thence passed into the 
 garden by a sashed door, to favour the moonlight 
 audience demanded.
 
 FAMILY GOSSIP. 125 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 FAMILY GOSSIP. 
 
 " I pr'ythee take the cork out of thy mouth, that I may hear thy 
 tidings." 
 
 As You Like It. 
 
 " Is there not milking-time when you are going to bed, or kihi-hole 
 to whistle off these secrets, but you must be tittle-tattling before all 
 our guests." 
 
 Winter's Tale. 
 
 The old-fashioned garden of Monkshaugh was 
 a favourite haunt of Elizabeth's. It lay immedi- 
 ately behind the mansion, divided from the river 
 by a few acres half orchard half home-field, and 
 sheltered by double rows of embowering elms. 
 Garden enclosure there was none, though here a 
 few yards of glossy holly hedge, and there a de- 
 tachment of mossy pales interlaced with fresh 
 sprays of the white thorn, and again grassy banks 
 crowned with furze, and all glittering with butter- 
 cups and daisies, showed that something of the
 
 126 ELIZABETH DK BRUCE. 
 
 kind miglit once have been contemplated. But 
 now this secluded garden was open to every wan- 
 dering wind of heaven, and every vagrant foot of 
 truant school-boy. Beds of chamomile, plats 
 of rue and rosemary, and other herbs of grace, 
 were carelessly mixed with tangled rose-trees and 
 fruit bushes. Dainty plants and common pot- 
 herbs flourished together in amity, with some at- 
 tention to neatness, but none to order or classifi- 
 cation ; and a lively runlet, stolen from the dean 
 burn, danced and glided along the margin of the 
 turfen walks, giving life, spirit and freshness 
 to the whole scene. Yet the general effect of the 
 half-neglected spot was pleasing ; and none felt that 
 desire to overleap the straggling enclosures which 
 is so apt to beset one cribbed in the durance of a 
 modern brick-walled garden. 
 
 Elizabeth made the tour of this garden once 
 and again, extended her walk to the Ducot park, 
 and the FoaFs park, two small enclosures that 
 flanked the mansion and garden on the right and 
 left, but still her squire appeared not. She re- 
 turned to the " library,'' as the book closet was 
 termed. Near its sashed door, concealed by a tall 
 white rose-tree, was the trellissed window of a pan- 
 try or store place, one of the many low ont-shofs
 
 FAMILY GOSSIP. 127 
 
 Stuck round the mansion ; and in tliis place was 
 heard the voice of the Whittret, opening his bud- 
 get afresh for the solace and edification of Mistress 
 Euphan Fechnie, as she creamed her milk cogs. 
 These worthies and inseparables liked each other, 
 in Frisers phrase, " as cats like mustard f' but 
 they were nevertheless entirely agreed in one point : 
 Euphan had an inordinate desire to change her 
 state, and Frisel a wish equally ardent — " to make 
 the toun quit o' her."" 
 
 " Ye'll be for offering me some refreshment, 
 Effie, when I stow away my pack. Guess ye if I 
 need it no after my day's trail : There were first 
 the Laird's letter to Clerk Gled, anent the Harletil- 
 lum plea, and the draught on the British Linen ; 
 for the whilk I got fient a boddle. Keep your 
 thumb on that Effie, — and look about ye, lass." 
 
 " It's a gone house — a sinking house ! — If that 
 hare-brained lad dinna tak rule and prop the auld 
 wa's the pride o' Monkshaugh has gotten a whomle. 
 Miss July Annie Hurcheon has a lippie o' red 
 gowd for tocher-gude they say. — Is that true^ 
 Francie, — ^you that kens a' thing .?" 
 
 " That will ne'er be a match," replied Francie, 
 winking and nodding his head oracularly. — " Say 
 ye I said it, Effie."
 
 128 ELIZAEETII DE BRUCE. 
 
 " Mighty Goliah o' Gath ! and ye are amaiig 
 the sma' prophets !" 
 
 " I ken what I ken/' 
 
 " Ye ken that Wolfe Grahame is a proud- 
 stomached headstrong fule, wha will sit in his ain 
 light till he find the frost o't.'' 
 
 " Whilk shows hell fill his father's belt, and 
 may be gi'e it a rax. Aye ! there was the man o' 
 mettle, — wi' mair o' the cock-burd in his little 
 finger than our Pernickitie Laird has in his haill 
 bouk ! — But get me free o' this gear Efiie. I'm 
 the common pack-horse o' the country side. — 
 What's to come owre ye a' when I gi'e up busi- 
 ness ? — There's first a half-stand o' wires for Mrs. 
 Doran. I can look for sma' propine for doing her 
 errands — besides she's to the bent again ; but she 
 has the will, honest woman. — And here's five baw- 
 bies' worth o' pig-tail for auld Ba'whirley. He'll 
 ha'e nae change as usual, but routh o' cheek wind. 
 — And this i' the bit paper is a pennyworth o' 
 arinetty litt, for the auld gudewife o' Hungerem- 
 out, to dye the young Laird's breeks 'ankeen ere 
 he gangs a wooing Jock Hurcheon's maiden." 
 
 " To dye the butter I jalouse !" grinned Efiie, 
 who had a deadly rivalry both in love and dairy 
 produce, with this frugal matron of Hungeremout. 
 
 1
 
 I'AMILY (;0S8I1'. 129 
 
 *'0 ! de'il a doubt," replied Frisel, still unloading 
 his stores. "An ee to Mr. Gideon, said ye ? He'll 
 never look the gate she sits. Think ye, EfRe, 
 what she offered me last week when I trailed her 
 hame some sosserie o' treacle, to make plash o"* 
 sma' drink for the servants, — it gaed against the 
 stomach o' my conscience to be the bearer — a 
 dainty luggie fu' o' plotted whey ! I could ha'e 
 thrown it in the she-NabaFs face. How does she 
 think man's nature is to be supported on jaups like 
 that !" 
 
 " But ye took it though, Francie.'' 
 
 " I took it no to affront the house o' Hungerem- 
 out — ^far-aff" friends o' our ain. The young gude- 
 man pays weel when he has siller. I canna com- 
 pleen. — And the Misses : — I ha'e brought them 
 four novelles, and three bend-boxes ; aye left in the 
 barn till night-fa\ for fear o' the gleg grey een o' the 
 auld leddy ; — and care come on them they write sic 
 a scart that Twalmo Touchthebit, the book-man 
 in Rookston, can mak' neither tap, tail, nor mane 
 o't. However I made him gi'e me something 
 about a castle and a ghaist ; and that will keep 
 the lasses greeting till my next raik to the burrows- 
 toun. They scrapit up a groat amang them, poor 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 130 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 dears, — magged frae their Sabbath pennies to the 
 brod, I'm thinking."' 
 
 And thus proceeded the Whittret, still as Eliza- 
 beth supposed searching for the contents of his 
 valise, till he at last said abruptly, " And this — 
 Ou, this is just naething ava, Effie." 
 
 " Ay, but it is just something ava, Francie ! 
 and a bonny like something for ane eating the 
 bread, and wearing the livery coat o' the Laird o' 
 Monkshaugh to ha'e about him ! Packing cards 
 wi' Harletillum, and conneeving and colloguing 
 to encourage a headstrong lad — with whom ye 
 are hand and glove again — in what ye ken will 
 lead to his rank ruin ! and 1 ha'e naething to say 
 again"* the lassie, but that she may gang wode the 
 night afore the morn, like her puir daft father, and 
 is no worth a plack-a-bawbie, had she the wisdom 
 o' Solomon and Sheba. Ye ken weel — nane bet- ,^ 
 ter — that sic a match wad loose Harletillum on our 
 Laird, to rend and spuilzie our grund ; for it's been 
 lang thought he has an ee to Captain Wolfe for 
 his Flanders-baby o' a maiden ; and tholes wi' us, 
 and gi'cs us the lang day allenarly for this. But 
 the Laird is as blind as a beetle, and as proud as 
 a Brissel cock.''
 
 I'AMILY CiOSSir. 131 
 
 With great indignation did Frisel throw back 
 the charge of confederating with Harletillum ; but 
 that he was the bearer of private despatches from 
 Captain Wolfe to Elizabeth, was he feared now 
 undeniable. 
 
 " Ye see what it is to be a scholar, and to read 
 hand-o'-writ, Effie. — Conscience ! but it's a gleg 
 ee too that single ane. But I ken one thing — 
 this maiden is a dear darling to Mr. Gideon. They 
 need expect little grace from him that show nane to 
 Leddy ""Lizbeth. And, Effie, rest ye merry, woman. 
 I'll lay my spleuchan to your milsey clout, that ye'll 
 be married afore her yet, if ye drive quiet and 
 canny. Come ! let us see how handsomely yell 
 supper me after my lang trail : a white puddin' — > 
 nane spices them better in the parish, — a reisted 
 haddock, or some sic confection. I trow I expound- 
 ed a piece o' doctrine to a certain person on the 
 Coalheugh muir the other day. ' What better," 
 as I said, ' were we wi' reformed ministers than wi' 
 Papish priests, if they were to rin loose about a 
 country-side, and no tak wives ?^ "' 
 
 " YeVe a fleechin fair-fashioned loonie,'' said 
 the maiden, grimly smiling and shaking her head. 
 '* But it is neither my wish nor will to breed dis- 
 peace between man and master ; — though I could
 
 132 ELIZABETH 1)E BRUCE. 
 
 ill fill the place o' the worthy gudewife o' Sour- 
 holes, now — praised be the Lord for all things ! — 
 in Abraham's bosom."' 
 
 " Weel — ^behave, Effie, and ye may soon be in 
 as glide a fallow's. Keep counsel woman : — 
 
 " Cheer up your heart my hony lass, 
 " There's gear to win ye never saw"— 
 
 sang the Whittret in affected glee. 
 
 "Na, the gudewives o' the congregation thought 
 her but a doinless boddie, to make so short out- 
 come o' a stipend o' thirty English pounds — there's 
 a soom ! — ^forbye an allowance for communion 
 y elements o' as many shillings sterling ! — no our 
 scrimpit Scots money, Francie." 
 
 While visions of conjugal splendour and feli- 
 city sparkled before E file's grey eye, and dimly 
 floated before her white one, Frisel expressed cor- 
 dial sympathy. — " Weel, lass ! he'll fa' on his feet 
 at last — thanks to his weel-wishers ! So get us 
 something comfortable — d'ye mark me ? — ^^and say 
 nae mair. Gosh, Effie, how caidgie he'll look !" 
 And seizing the dun maiden by both hands he 
 dragged her round the floor, and capered round 
 her like a monkey setting to a bear, singing aloud —
 
 FAMILY GOSSIP. 133 
 
 " The carle he came owre the craft, 
 
 Wi' his beard new shaven ; 
 He looked and lap as he'd been daft ; 
 
 The carle trows that I wad ha'e him"— 
 
 till he fairly swung her into the kitchen, and tak- 
 ing the liberty to turn the key outside, speeded 
 round into the garden. There stood Elizabeth, 
 pale and agitated, rooted to the spot where she 
 had overheard the above gratifying dialogue. 
 
 " My father ! my father !" was her agonizing 
 thought. " This malady of our blood! This 
 dreadful visitation ! Is our calamity then a com- 
 mon speech — a cause of alarm, horror and exclu- 
 sion, a gulph that divides us from all hope ? And 
 have I then rashly plunged into it — and dragged 
 into its abyss — him f — She buried her face in her 
 hands in utter agony ; and the letters for which 
 she had so earnestly longed, and which at another 
 season would have filled her bosom with transport, 
 were received with an unnatural deadness of heart, 
 such as she had never before experienced. 
 
 The trusty messenger presented his despatches 
 with as much outward shew of respect as was at 
 all compatible with his familiar habits; and ex- 
 pressed his entire devotion to her service with zeal 
 that atoned for his late indiscretion. On that topic 
 he observed a prudent silence, merely saying —
 
 134) ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 " This is frae ca friend, Lady 'Lizbetli, wlio 
 counselled me to say, that in ony strait or dilemmy 
 I was as trusty a hand at a message as e'er a he 
 throughout the bounds o' braid Scotland — ^by 
 night or by day — wi' a spice o' contrivance at a 
 pinch that is no the gift o' ilka auld trooper. A 
 nod or a wink will bring me to your leddyship's 
 whistle, be I at kirk or fair, mill or smiddy : — 
 I'm aye gaun about like the ill bawbie, and will 
 come to your leddyship's hand at ony time, like 
 the bowl o' a pint stoup." 
 
 With a scrape of one foot, and a shuffle of both, 
 the Whittret withdrew to release his prisoner. 
 
 This letter was of costly postage. — Elizabeth 
 paid it with both tears and blushes ; but now, seal- 
 ed with " a double kiss,'' it was placed in her bosom 
 that she might read it in the silence and solitude of 
 her own chamber. And never had the tedious in- 
 anity and pribble-prabble of the Laird appeared 
 so tiresome as on this night. From the brood 
 goose to the Lady Tamtallan — ^from his " ever 
 honoured mother's" recipe for " v/hite quality 
 cakes," to " certain clauses of the entail," his mind 
 wandered through all its favourite regions of 
 thought ; and a farewell buzz was in Elizabeth's 
 ears about new fringing the yellow Turk-upon-
 
 FAMILY GOSSIP. 133 
 
 Turk bed before Wolfe returned, and new dip- 
 ping the pink lining of the toilet-table cover in 
 the " guests' chamber," about which she came 
 under some promise, which could scarcely be 
 binding on her conscience, so totally absent was 
 her mind.
 
 13G ELIZABETH DE BRUCE, 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 HOPES AND ANXIETIES. 
 
 The hour is come, the cherished hour, 
 When from the busy world set fi-ee, 
 I seek again my lonely bower, 
 And muse in silent thought on thee. 
 And Oh ! how sweet to know that still, 
 Though severed from thee widely far. 
 Our hearts the self-same thought may fill. 
 Our eyes yet seek the self-same star. 
 
 Song. 
 
 The weariest day has its close. — At last Eli- 
 zabeth was enabled to lock, and double lock her 
 door, and enjoy undisturbed the throbbing delight 
 of a first hasty perusal of her letter ; and then in 
 more luxurious leisure every fond nothing, every 
 phrase of endearment, every tender expression was 
 dwelt upon and scanned. And last of all, with 
 what flutter and softness of heart were her first 
 attempts made to reply to this effusion of affec- 
 tion. 
 ***** ****
 
 HOPES AND ANXIETIES. 137 
 
 " Could you guess," she said, among many other 
 desultory things, " how cordial and soothing to 
 me is this single little letter, you would not miss 
 every day to tell me how it fared with you, and 
 that you still held in remembrance the forlorn one 
 whose yearning heart clings around you in tender- 
 ness, deeper, though more sorrowful, than ever blest 
 the most rapturous moments of our past intercourse. 
 How often, while by your side, have I fancied it 
 impossible that the blest and enviable creature 
 whom you loved, and who durst call you hers, 
 could ever know the touch of sorrow ! I am not 
 sorrowful, dearest Wolfe, still less complaining; 
 yet I feel that every day takes you farther from 
 me, that every day is a day almost lost to affec- 
 tion, which time can never repay to us, that every 
 passing hour increases that anxiety inexplicably 
 interwoven with our fondest hopes — sent perhaps 
 to temper and chastise them. Is it so ? There is 
 a fearful mystery, from which my coward spirit 
 ever shrinks, in what good people tell us of the 
 permitted degree of human attachments — as if it 
 were sin to love as I do — with the unreserved, en- 
 tire, warm surrender of the whole burning heart 
 — ^with the devotion of the whole spirit. If it be 
 not idolatry — and I will not think so — it is at
 
 138 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 times I fear nearly allied to misery ; and yet how 
 unspeakably sweet is it to me to have you thus 
 my 0W71, to care about, and even to weep for. 
 
 " But I must now give you news of me. I 
 have obeyed your wishes. I am in Monkshaugh, 
 under your own roof, the tenant of the little arched 
 room over the hall, on which, when it was yours, 
 I have so often gazed through tears. Do you re- 
 member the feverish attack which you had in the 
 last spring.?— but you never do remember any 
 thing about yourself half so well as I do — when I 
 used to wander all day long in the Pechs*' Path, 
 that, by the opening and closing of the curtains, 
 I might judge how it fared with him whom I 
 durst not approach, while my agonizing thoughts 
 hovered round his bed-side continually. Oh ! 
 when will the time come that I may hold up my 
 head in any presence, and look as if I loved you ! 
 Will it ever come ? Now that you are far away, 
 every unmeaning look — every chance-dropt word 
 overwhelms me. 
 
 " You remind me of our old fond disputes about 
 the different characters of man's and woman's love. 
 My idle reveries often wander into tlie old track ;
 
 HOPES AND ANXIETIES. 139 
 
 and I wish you here, were it only to make me 
 false to my old faith in woman's purer, deeper, 
 fonder love — her unhesitating, uncalculating, pas- 
 sionate affection, which surrenders the whole be- 
 ing, and finds in its object a dearer and nobler 
 existence — the love of Imogen and Juliet, of Mi- 
 randa and Desdemona — in another degree, but yet 
 as truly woman's, the love of la Valiere, Vlium- 
 hie molette — of the Heloise of Abelard, and even 
 of the mistress of Macheath — poor Polly Peach- 
 um. But I strive to believe you ; and shall not 
 quarrel with either your faith or practice while you 
 still continue, as to-night, to tell me, that wherever 
 a man's various fortune may call you to struggle 
 or endure, whatever of prosperity ambitious daring 
 may bring you, that it is here — only here — to 
 Ernescraig — to the bosom all your own, you can 
 ever turn for happiness. Could we not find it 
 now — this good old friend conciliated — here — liv- 
 ing together in safe obscurity, and what the false 
 world calls poverty — a world to each other— you 
 at least a universe to me .^'' 
 
 How would godly Gideon have groaned over this 
 " idolatrous'" trifling of his favourite Elizabeth ! 
 But how dear — how soothing to her was the privilege 
 of this happy trifling, from which she could scarcely
 
 140 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 break off to repeat the long, lingering, melting 
 farewell, so hard to be said to the beloved even 
 in writing. Before this final, and to her painful 
 ceremony, she took a tranquillizing walk across 
 the chamber, and opened the window shutters 
 upon a still, sweet morning, unclosing its dewy 
 lids as softly as an infant waked by a mother's 
 kiss — " creeping on with stealthy pace — not as it 
 wont to come," wrote Elizabeth, " flushed with 
 haste, tearing you from me in our past happy 
 days yonder in our own valley. Will they ever — 
 ever come again .^ And do you still keep the 
 promise made to me there — so often renewed from 
 mere delight in its repetition — to give to your 
 God and to me the last remembrance of your 
 waking hours — the first fresh feeling of the return- 
 ing morning — one little minute snatched from 
 the turmoil of vulgar hours, consecrated to our 
 fond recollections, and our yet fonder hopes — 
 mingling in one sentiment faith, and homage, 
 and love. Are you awake yet, love ? Are you 
 thus engaged now ? How I trifle with you ! and 
 with what a gush of overwhelming tenderness do 
 I now again say^-God bless yovi! my own and 
 
 ever dearest 
 
 " Good night—Good night !"
 
 HOPES AND ANXIETIES. 141 
 
 And poor Elizabeth soon found more substantial 
 reason for indulging in those womanly or lover- 
 like apprehensions, which are ever inseparable from 
 a high and imaginative tone of passion ; for who 
 ever loved as she loved without experiencing in- 
 tense and, perhaps, foolish anxiety, about the 
 strength of the sentiment which they inspire ! 
 
 True to her own feelings, nightly did affection 
 repeat its orisons, and melancholy enough they at 
 last became. From Ayr Elizabeth got another 
 letter, and yet another from Carrickfergus, at 
 which garrison, instead of keeping the regular ferry, 
 vessels at that disturbed period were compelled to 
 land. Monkshaugh received, even after this, one 
 brief epistle from his young kinsman, who merely 
 mentioned that he had had some singular adven- 
 tures on his journey to Dublin, but was now with 
 his regiment. This last very brief letter Eliza- 
 beth contrived to secret for a night. She had in- 
 deed read it, and heard it read three times before ; 
 but it might contain some expression, some allu- 
 sion, some trace which ingenious affection, willing 
 to be deceived, might construe into a reference to 
 herself Not one was found. 
 
 " Ungenerous and cruel !'" she exclaimed, throw- 
 ing down the letter, while floods of burning tears
 
 142 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 burst forth. " Common humanity — -gentlemanly 
 feeling, might have spared me torture like this. 
 It is thus I expiate my folly. — Forgotten already!^' 
 Elizabeth was now to feel the ineffable bitterness 
 of that moment when the withering heart first fears 
 that the human hope on which it has reposed, in joy 
 and trust, may be but a dream, and a mockery. But 
 these vagrant surmises, so mortifying to the pride 
 of her sex, so wounding to the tenderness of her 
 affection, were as indignantly dismissed. The let- 
 ters already received were again and again perused, 
 every proof of recollected love was dwelt on, clung 
 to now with fond tenacity ; and confidence and 
 spirit would revive together, again to waver, flag, 
 and sink into yet deeper despondency. Bitterly 
 then would she reproach herself for what was past, 
 sometimes feeling in her humiliation as if she 
 were unworthy the affection she claimed — as if she 
 almost grudged it to herself. At these seasons of 
 cruel depression, that enthusiastic tone of passion 
 which ever sees in the beloved being " a bright 
 peculiar star'' to be admired and worshipped, led 
 her to wonder, while she grieved, that she could 
 have been so blinded as to believe that one so de- 
 solate, so unregarded as she was, could become 
 the object of a permanent attachment to him whose
 
 HOPES AND ANXIETIES. 143 
 
 lot and whose deservings lay so far beyond hers. 
 Could she then, had it still been possible, have sur- 
 rendered her hopes and claims ? Elizabeth could 
 not so deceive herself. In the midst of anxiety, 
 regret, and anguish, there was exulting pride, and 
 thrilling delight in the consciousness that she was 
 his — while his protracted silence gave her rea- 
 son to fear that already he repented having made 
 her so — that rash as was the deed it was done 
 past recall, and that in her bosom duty and affec- 
 tion were henceforth united for ever. 
 
 Another week passed, an age of suspense and 
 agony. Not even Monkshaugh received any let- 
 ter ; and marvelling and indignant at his cool in- 
 difference, she who durst at other times scarce 
 whisper the name of Wolfe Grahame, gained cou- 
 rage to notice the circumstance as they sat together 
 in the twilight. Monkshaugh took the matter so 
 quietly as only to irritate her anxiety. And now 
 to watch the return of the servant from the post- 
 office, the throb and flutter of fevered expectation 
 giving way to distracting doubts or sickening des- 
 pondency, or to peruse at midniglit the weekly 
 newspaper which arrived at Monkshaugh, her 
 heart throbbing with wild alarm, her blood curd- 
 ling with apprehension as often as her quick-eye
 
 144 ELIZABETH DE EIIUCE. 
 
 caught the word Ireland^ was become the daily 
 life of the once happy Elizabeth. Privileged grief, 
 with its pains, has its pomps and indulgences ; 
 how much more bitter may be the stifled agony 
 which passes unmarked over that spirit to which 
 complaining is denied, by which complaining is 
 disdained — the cold curdling anguish which gathers 
 around the desolate breaking heart. The deepest 
 griefs of the drama of life were never wept aloud — 
 never known to exist. Elizabeth hoped that her 
 distress might pass unnoticed. The energy or the 
 pride of her spirit nerved her to bear up nobly, 
 when the cold or curious eye of the petty neigh- 
 bouring world was upon her ; for though averse to 
 society no one, to a superficial observer, seemed 
 more gay when engaged in its amusements ; and, 
 at all times externally serene, she went about the 
 ordinary details of life, feeling that she awaited her 
 fate. 
 
 As a petty aggravation of her own personal 
 uneasiness, she was now made the confidant of 
 all Monkshaugh's distresses, angers, and hopes. 
 Wolfe Grahame would willingly have taken such 
 measures as might have enabled his uncle at once 
 to extricate himself from the toils of Hutchen ; 
 but the Laird, with the natural feeling of an amia-
 
 HOPES AXD ANXIETIES. 145 
 
 ble, thoiigli perhaps weak mind, could not endure 
 the idea of selling one rood of his family inherit- 
 ance. It was like the dismemberment of a limb. 
 When Elizabeth looked grave and anxious as he 
 talked of his embarrassments, he would cheer her 
 with such scraps of comfort as the following : — 
 
 " Never mind, cousin 'Lizbeth, — yon soldier 
 lad may get baud o** some lass wi' as much gold 
 sewed to her coat-tail as will free us o' Jock Hur- 
 cheon's bonds, without the bonnie holms o' Monks- 
 haugh (and he looked with pride from the parlour 
 window) going to John''s Coffee-house — at least in 
 my day.'' 
 
 Spite of her better understanding, and her un- 
 shaken confidence in the honour and integrity of 
 her lover, cooled though his affection might become, 
 these little speeches would momentarily wring 
 the heart of Elizabeth, upheld though she was by 
 the generous consciousness of worth — self-existent 
 — independent of all outward shews and circum- 
 stances, which, had they been thrown together on 
 some desert island of the ocean, or in the first ages 
 of the world, would have made her, all destitute 
 of friends and fortune as she now stood, a fit mate 
 even for him. If his inexplicable silence forced 
 her to doubt that his heart was forgetful, her faith 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 146 ELIZABETH 1)E BRUCE. 
 
 in the nobility of his nature never once wavered. 
 She was spared the pang, to a generous mind 
 more bitter than death, of having lavished her 
 whole heart on one who could be base as well as 
 wayward, sordid as well as fickle. It was not in 
 this view that Elizabeth ever once imagined cause 
 of regret in her secret ties. " I have given him all 
 that woman can bestow," was her proud thought, — 
 " all that affection looks for — ^faith, truth, and 
 love — love how unbounded — how idolizing — ^how 
 exclusive — how sinful perhaps in its wild excess !"" 
 And thus along with Monkshaugh's irksome prat- 
 tle, and vague hopes of rich alliances, came old 
 Gideons theories, and stern denunciation — " Curs- 
 ed is man that trusteth in man, and maketh flesh 
 his armour'' — sounding to her heart like the death- 
 watch in the ear of superstition. 
 
 Elizabeth had rested a lingering hope on the 
 return of Mr. Haliburton. But that reverend 
 person came back to his grumbling flock as igno- 
 rant of the late movements of Wolfe Grahame as 
 even the inmates of Monkshaugh. His mission, 
 so far as regarded the mystery connected with 
 Elizabeth's infancy, had been a complete failure. 
 No trace could be obtained of the daughter of his 
 old landlady, Mrs. Metcalf the midwife.
 
 HOPES AXD AXXIETTES 147 
 
 Gideon's return was announced on a Saturday 
 morning by Frisel ; and when the day passed and 
 he came not, with the restlessness inseparable from 
 the unhappy, Elizabeth, though she could not visit 
 his cottage, wandered forth in the hope of perhaps 
 somewhere " meeting the minister.'^ The Laird 
 who always imagined that he had a double portion 
 of household duty to perform on Saturdays, was 
 deeply engaged in pantry-business with Effie, and 
 never missed her. She stole through the now me- 
 lancholy garden and orchard down to the river. 
 
 The spirit of the year had waned like the 
 hopes of Elizabeth. The sear tinge of autumn 
 was on the woods — the hoarse voice of autumn 
 was in the streams — the pale cold sun no longer 
 drank up the dews, which hung all day on the 
 blade, like the icy moisture in a dead man's eye — 
 red leaves were swirling in eddies from the path 
 down into the brown river ; and the brilliant, the 
 overpowering chorus of the summer birds was 
 hushed into one broken feeble wail — the low sob- 
 bing moan of expiring nature. It was a chill, grey 
 day, the dull sky sympathizing with the saddened 
 earth. But to Elizabeth even the rigour of the 
 blast was welcome. Its wing seemed to ruffle that
 
 148 ELTZAIJETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 leaden dullness — that heavy stagnation of sph-it 
 which was creeping over her, from the constraint 
 perpetually imposed upon her feelings, as the fresh- 
 ening breeze is said to relieve the mariner from 
 the distempered visions produced by a dead calm. 
 There never yet, however, was a day in which 
 the genuine lover of nature, if once fairly driven 
 into her bosom, could not perceive something to 
 waken his sympathies. Elizabeth, her frame braced, 
 and her spirits rising with exercise, held on her 
 way to those upland moors across the fords, where 
 she had last seen Wolfe Grahame, almost certain 
 that in a distant horseman she discovered Mr. Gi- 
 deon mounted on the renowned Jenny Geddes. 
 " Surely he can tell me something,"" said she ; and 
 in the strength of this hope she began to feel some- 
 what of her wonted enjoyment in marking every 
 surrounding object of natural beauty. The clus- 
 ters of coral berries glittering in the holly bushes 
 — the mosses more vividly green in winter than 
 when the hot sun looks upon their beauty — the 
 sweet churm of that little favourite bird " which 
 ever in the haunch of winter sings,""* — the lone 
 whistle of the grey plover on the distant moors — 
 all brought a sober, chastened delight, as she strol- 
 led onward.
 
 HOPES AND ANXIETIES. 149 
 
 From the hamlet of Castleburn, a deep scooped 
 path called the " Cadger's Loan/' led to the fords 
 of Oran, so often mentioned in this story. It was 
 one of the many liow roads which abounded in 
 Scotland at that period, formed on the very reverse 
 of Macadam's plan, and as abhorrent to the own- 
 ers of post-horses as delightful to the tasteful pe- 
 destrian. In winter those steep hollow paths or 
 trenches resembled more the channel of a stream 
 than a regular road. In fact this hotv road was 
 the channel of innumerable tiny rills, which stream- 
 ing over high incumbent banks of mingled rock and 
 verdure, trickled softly away over mosses, plants, 
 and pebbles, wandering, and turning, and twisting 
 at will, though here and there, where they 
 threatened to take the passenger fairly over the 
 shoes in their clear waters, a few stepping stones 
 had been strewed about, which diverted rather 
 than impeded the course of the brooklets. 
 
 Elizabeth was making her way bounding over 
 these stones, when a young gentleman on horse- 
 back, followed by a servant also mounted, and se- 
 veral sporting dogs, dashed so suddenly upon the 
 path that had he not dexterously reined in his 
 horse she must have been exposed to alarm, if not 
 to actual danger, from the encounter.
 
 150 ELIZABETH DE BlU'CE. 
 
 While he drew up at one side to permit the lady 
 to pass, the hounds recognized an old friend, and 
 with one accord sprung upon Elizabeth with cla- 
 morous joy and obstreperous caresses. The long 
 green cloak in which she was wrapped was in a 
 second pulled from her shoulders ; and there she 
 stood " red as rose,'' with a gentle hand smilingly 
 beating down these importunate admirers, and with 
 a voice as gentle chiding them off. In one instant 
 the stranger was at her side ; and his servant also 
 dismounted, and at the expense of some blows and 
 cuffs restored order. 
 
 " Don't hurt them" — cried Elizabeth, 
 " Don't kick the dogs, sir"- — cried the stranger 
 to his active groom, though he as actively interfer- 
 ed with his hand to restore order as the servant 
 did. 
 
 Elizabeth was pleased with this little trait. It 
 was humanity — it was true good-breeding. She 
 looked up and saw a young man of very pleasing 
 person, fashionably attired, and with a decided air 
 of fashion and refinement, who made many apolo- 
 gies for his dogs while he assisted her in recover- 
 ing her cloak. The offenders meanwhile whined 
 and slunk into the rear ; all save one — old Dermid 
 maintained his post at Elizabeth's knee.
 
 HOPES AND ANXIETIES. 151 
 
 " I perceive,"" said the young man, " that Mr. 
 Hutchen^s dogs, more fortunate than his guests, 
 are entitled to claim the privilege of old acquaint- 
 ance."" 
 
 " We have met before,"' said she. " Poor old 
 Dermid — 'tis hard that / should reject your kind- 
 ness ;" and caressing the old hound for an instant, 
 while he arched his neck as if proudly conscious 
 that fair hands and " bright eyes were upon him ;" 
 she bowed slightly to the stranger and passed on. 
 
 The gentleman begged that he or his servant 
 might be allowed to carry home the wet cloak, 
 which she had thrown down on the bank ; but she 
 declined the service, saying that it would lie quite 
 safely till she sent for it. He bowed and slowly 
 mounted his horse, looked back and bowed again ; 
 and the high banks intervened. 
 
 About this same hour the Whittret from kind- 
 ness, alloyed it might be by some mixture of cu- 
 riosity, and a distant vision of one of Elizabeth's 
 " splendid shillings,'' had set forth to the hamlet 
 of Sourholes, to glean from the presiding apostle 
 of that place crumbs of comfort, which might well 
 merit the reward of perhaps a half-crown. 
 
 On the late journey Wolfe Grahame, by con- 
 cert with Elizabeth, had acquainted Mr. Ilalibur-
 
 152 ELIZABETH DE BllUCE. 
 
 ton with the position in which they stood ; and 
 though the honest man groaned fearfully over their 
 rashness, and more deeply still over the enormity 
 of their passionate attachment, his feelings were 
 greatly interested in whatever might befal Eliza- 
 beth. His previous knowledge prepared him for 
 FriseFs address, who, after the first greetings, 
 said — 
 
 " If ye have not gude tidings o' Captain Wolfe, 
 I'll flee the country. Flesh and blude cannot 
 thole the white lips and sunken een o' that gentle 
 leddy — and nae soul to make her moan to but my- 
 ser about our toun — if she wad but gi'e herseF the 
 comfort of speaking out to me.'" 
 
 Gideon in silence doffed his extraordinary in- 
 door costume, in which he looked, Frisel said, 
 like the giant of all potato-bogles ; and, new- 
 shod and wigged, wended forth to comfort Eliza- 
 beth. 
 
 " I thought to ha'e put aff this visit till the 
 Sabbath's darg was owre ; but, Francie, we are 
 tauld not to let the sun go down upon our wrath 
 — we should not let it go down on our love 
 neither ; for oh ! my wee man, how soon do 
 thoughts o' kindness cool in human hearts !'' 
 
 " Then yell be for hitting wi' Effie while the
 
 HOPES AND ANXIETIES. 153 
 
 iron's liet,'' said Frisel, with a waggish leer up- 
 wards as he bounded on, making two steps and a 
 skip for every huge stride of Gideon's. " BUthe 
 will she be to see you this same night.^ 
 
 " Haud your peace, ye fule scoffer. But as 
 I'm a livin' sinner, there's 'Lizbeth de Bruce com- 
 ing down the Cadger's Loan ! What young 
 birkie is yon, Francie ?'' 
 
 " Mr. Delancy, a grand gentleman come to the 
 Whim to marry Miss July Annie Hurcheon," 
 was the reply. 
 
 Long and cordial, but as perfectly sincere as 
 shorter greetings, were those now exchanged. 
 Elizabeth directed Frisel to carry home her man- 
 tle ; and listened with a sad enough heart to Gi- 
 deon's long narrative of disappointment. In her 
 turn she unfolded a part — not the ten thousandth 
 part of her own anxieties, fears, and wild imagin- 
 ings. 
 
 " So ye're no' ready yet to resign your idol .f*" 
 said Gideon — " to say ' Thy will be done,' an it 
 were to streek him wi' your ain hand in a bloody 
 shroud. I ken, alack ! it's a sair tug to the unre- 
 newed natural heart." 
 
 " Oh !" cried Elizabeth, clasping her hands in
 
 154 ELIZABETH DE BllUCE. 
 
 agony. " You have heard — you know something 
 — some dreadful thing ! Tell me — tell me all !" 
 
 A little alarmed by her agitation, and the dead- 
 ly hue which overspread her face, Gideon hasten- 
 ed to say that he knew nothing. " But answer 
 the question I ha'e propounded to ye, my bairn. 
 The physician maun look down into the spirit's 
 ails — yea probe them to the quick before he can 
 minister the remedy.'^ 
 
 Elizabeth saw he was playing the divine — a 
 game which even Gideon could not always resist 
 — and replied, " Mr. Haliburton, you are a good 
 man, but why torture me thus ? I cannot — I 
 cannot — 'tis beyond human power — woman's 
 power what you require. God forbid such effort 
 were required of me. Heaven does not try me so 
 severely, — why will you .?" 
 
 " Because I would have you cultivate the frame 
 of spirit which holds at nought husband and bairn, 
 house and land," said he stoutly. 
 
 " I hold house and land at as small value as 
 you can do, Mr. Haliburton," said Elizabeth, 
 proudly. 
 
 " Ay, there it is ! but the human idol — the 
 clayey image ! — that cannot be renounced. I 
 ha'e remarked, 'Lizbeth, in the course o' mv sma'
 
 IIOrES AND ANXIETIES. 155 
 
 experience, that the love o' man often proves the 
 Enemy's maist tempting bait wi' young professin' 
 Christian gentlewomen — them that wad ha'e de- 
 spised gowd ear-rings, and gauze mutches, and 
 gauds and toys, and bravely resisted the allure- 
 ments o"* the singing men, and the singing women, 
 and held at nought the lust of the eye and the 
 pride of life — I ha'e seen them e'en the readiest 
 to slide into this cunningly devised snare ; fall 
 away from their first love, and their high respect 
 for gospel ministers, about the days o"* courtship ; 
 and, after marriage, grow as careless, thowless, 
 cauldrife Christians as ye wad wish to see. The 
 blackest ill that can befal a young Christian wo- 
 man'' — and Gideon raised his voice — " is to be 
 joined to what she calls the man o' her heart— 
 puir, deluded, blinded worm, seeking her heaven 
 on the earth — ae potsherd o' the dust falling down 
 to worship anither. It's lamentable, 'Lizbeth, to see 
 the kindest and gentlest o' the womenkind the 
 maist prone to this deadly, soul-killing, creature- 
 worship — even yoursel', 'Lizbeth ; and if it should 
 please Him to rebuke and lead back your wander- 
 ing heart, what should signify to you the fleeting 
 affections of a frail thing o' the dust, whose breath 
 is in his nosthrils ?"
 
 156 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 At another season — in another person's case, 
 Elizabeth would have understood all this precise- 
 ly as it deserved to be understood. But now it 
 looked like the very painting of her fears. 
 
 " You wish to bid me read my sin in my pun- 
 ishment," said she in a voice of deep emotion ; 
 and her head sunk on her bosom — " to tell me 
 that I am forgotten — cast off already !'' This was 
 wrung forth in very bitterness of spirit ; and her 
 heart-struck tone, and despairing attitude, at once 
 affected and alarmed her ghostly monitor. 
 
 " Forgotten ! na, na, my bairn, ye were no 
 made to be forgotten. Possess your spirit in pa- 
 tience, 'Lizbeth. — Forgotten !'' Gideon looked as 
 if he could have knocked down any one who durst 
 forget her. 
 
 " Oh ! I can tell myself of patience. Speak to 
 me of comfort, of cheer. Tell me, think you is 
 he well. Does he remember Ernescraig ?" 
 
 " Mair it\s to be feared than he remembers his 
 Maker," groaned forth Gideon. " Oh, the deadly 
 snare fond young creatures prove to ilk ither ! 
 Xizbeth, there was a lass ance" — . And Gideon 
 in his zeal was about to reveal, as a warning to 
 his pupil, some of the wanderings of his own ima- 
 gination in the days of his vanity — the sinful
 
 HOPES AXD ANXIETIES. 157 
 
 yearnings and fond idolatry into which even he 
 had been led by human love, but he checked the 
 impulse, and went on — " If that should pleasure 
 ye, which ought, were ye to take a right view of 
 it, rather to grieve, be ye satisfied — that this 
 bauld, brave spirit keeps pace in this wild gallop 
 e'en wi' your ain fond silly one. Puir fond 
 things ! But the Lord's gude time will come wi' 
 ye baith;'' 
 
 " I trust that no time will come in which we 
 shall not be to each other the most beloved of 
 human beings," thought Elizabeth ; but she 
 kept the sentiment to herself. 
 
 " Forget ye !" continued Gideon, ruminating — 
 " Na, na ! that wad na do neither. The natu- 
 ral man, which I thought weel subdued, was 
 stirring- in my ain auld breast at the distress o' 
 that puir blinded youth even while — as became me 
 as a faithful minister of God's word — I laid be- 
 fore him the iniquity — the grievous self-willed 
 sin of placing his affections on sic a frail perish- 
 able commodity as yoursel' — of a comely counte- 
 nance as ye be, Burd 'Lizbeth.'^ 
 
 " 'Pon my word I scarce know how to thank you 
 Mr. Haliburton, for this good service", said Eli- 
 zabeth, now laughing ; while the thought of her
 
 158 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 secret, quick-beating, raptured heart, was — " He 
 loves me ! he loves me ! I am not forgotten. — Oh, 
 how could my base fears — my baser suspicions — 
 thus wrong the truth to which even prejudice does 
 justice !" 
 
 Whatever salutary impressions might have been 
 made on Elizabeth's mind by Gideon"*s denuncia- 
 tions, or her own apprehensions, it is to be feared 
 they all faded away like the morning dew from the 
 grass, before the delightful conviction that she 
 was fondly remembered still ; and her heart yearn- 
 ing with deeper tenderness to liim whom all things 
 tended to endear, she walked on, giving, it must 
 be owned, a very distracted attention to Gideon's 
 somewhat involved and obscure definition of the 
 misty boundaries which, according to him, sepa- 
 rate a permitted, from a sinful degree of mortal 
 attachment. 
 
 Though human charities held so low a place in 
 Mr. Haliburton's creed, they possesssed a very ex- 
 tended dominion over his sympathies. In the 
 midst of his harangue, turning to the abstracted 
 Elizabeth, and probably having a key in his own 
 early recollections of the " lass that was ance," to 
 the language of the sigh which just swelled her 
 bosom, just parted her rich lip, he turned away
 
 HOPES AND ANXIETIES. 159 
 
 with a grim smile of mixed character, muttering to 
 himself — " Oh ! that love, that blinded and blind- 
 ing love ! It's little she is thinking of me or my 
 lecture." And on this discovery, he prudently 
 began to talk of how they were to institute inqui- 
 ries for Wolfe Grahame. 
 
 Ireland was at this time in a very convulsed state 
 — almost in open rebellion. Business was nearly 
 suspended — travelling was dangerous. The mails 
 had been robbed more than once, and in this way 
 Gideon not iiTationally accounted for Wolfe's 
 silence, which in secret was beginning to alarm 
 himself, and which he longed to see satisfactorily 
 accounted for. 
 
 " I ken that Saunders Ure, shoemaker in the 
 Gorbals, a savoury professor, 'Lizbeth, is weel 
 acquaint wi' the Penpont carrier, who is ane o' our 
 ain hill-side folk himsel."* The Penpont carrier 
 will likely ha'e some channel o' conveyance to 
 Stranraer, where Robert Maxwell, victualler, will 
 likely ken somebody at the Port." 
 
 Elizabeth, limited as was her knowledge of life, 
 smiled over this singular line of posts for commu- 
 nicating with a young officer of dragoons, who, 
 plain and unpretending man as he was in the 
 bosom of his home, was, she rather thought, inclin-
 
 160 ELIZABETH 1)E BRUCE. 
 
 ed to abate nothing of his real consequence when 
 among strangers. She said she would be patient 
 a little longer. 
 
 While the plan was discussing the guest of 
 Harletillum once more came in sight, checked the 
 speed of his horse, and again in passing bowed 
 to Elizabeth, while he vouchsafed a rather asto- 
 nished side-glance at her companion. 
 
 " Thae sparks o' Haretillum's are blawn about 
 this haill country-side. Come, 'Lizbeth, I maun 
 see you through the loanings." Gideon talked of 
 Grahame, and she listened, cheered her with good 
 hopes of early accounts from Ireland, and she 
 was cheered ; assured her that there was, he dread- 
 ed, no near prospect of Wolfe seeing the sinful 
 enormity of his " creature-worship," — and, not- 
 withstanding her acute perception of the ludicrous, 
 she smiled as much in joy as in mirth ; finally, 
 for what strange messengers will not Cupid some- 
 times press into his service, Gideon, without a word, 
 pushed something into her hand, as if ashamed of 
 being the conveyancer of " toys" and prohibited 
 wares, and with a hurried benediction took his 
 leave. 
 
 The midnight hour and the two chimes that 
 sounded next, found Elizabeth still lingering over
 
 HOPES AND ANXIETIES. 161 
 
 Gideon's odcUy delivered packet. It was the pic- 
 ture of her lover. The arts have made rapid 
 strides in Scotland since that period ; but this min- 
 iature was not even of the first order of contem- 
 porary excellence. It had however been sent by 
 him — it was intended to resemble him. Eliza- 
 beth strove, in spite of her better taste, to admire it 
 as an exquisite specimen of art. It was a sponta- 
 neous feeling to prize it as the most valued gift of 
 affection, to address to it a thousand fond murmurs, 
 to bestow on it a hundred kisses, notwithstand 
 ing the disapprobation of a taste which, perhaps 
 after all, might be fastidious and exacting; for not 
 even Raphael could have painted this resemblance 
 «o as to fill the imagination of Elizabeth. The 
 heart's first objection — "'Tis like him — and not he'' 
 — what effort of art could remove that ! — " I must 
 not blame the artist's skill," thought she. " Cold 
 and serious he looks on me — the expression never 
 changing — the eye-beam never mingling with mine 
 — never compelling mine to bow down before its 
 burning glance in sweet and willing subjection. 
 But who save myself can divine all which that 
 passionate countenance may convey. They may 
 give me those brown curls — ' the open forehead 
 full of bounty brave ;' but the lips — the eyes with 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 162 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 all their rich, and varied, and glowing meanings — 
 how could this cold dead thing give forth even their 
 shadowy resemblance. Elizabeth, all idolatrous as 
 she was charged with being, needed not, it appear- 
 ed, an actual image to assist her worship ; for high- 
 ly as the picture was prized, she now turned from 
 it to look inward on the breathing image, which 
 love's own hand had drawn on her heart in lines of 
 fire, glowing, deep-traced, inerradicable. 
 
 Such then was the immediate eifect of Gideon's 
 pious exhortations and warnings.
 
 THE .TOURNEY. 163 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE JOURNEY. 
 
 No word of Goodman Dull yet?" 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 The reader cannot be supposed, on so slight 
 an acquaintance, to feel much interest in the for- 
 tunes of the young soldier, who, some time back 
 in this narrative, went forth to do battle with the 
 rebels of Ireland. There is, however, a principle 
 of sympathy very useful to the young adventurer 
 in life, an interest taken in his prosperity, for the 
 sake of those to whom he is dear, which he has 
 had no personal opportunity of exciting in his own 
 behalf ; and on this we presume in now for a little 
 changing the course of the narrative. 
 
 With more management than was perhaps ne- 
 cessary in a country where there was little chance 
 of misconstruing the nature of their connexion,
 
 164 ELIZAIiETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 Captain Wolfe Grahame contrived to pilot him- 
 self and his companion through the various towns 
 on their route, till on the fourth day they reached 
 " Auld Ayr."' They did not, however, at all 
 times travel in company — for Gideon almost every 
 night diverged into the moors, where some little 
 thatched building, without chimneys, constructed 
 on the model of a farmer's salt-bucket, shewed a 
 Cameronian place of worship, and gave hope of a 
 neighbouring cottage equally modest in appear- 
 ance, inhabited by some one of his truly apostolic 
 brethren. It suited alike ill with Gideon's devo- 
 tional and parsimonious habits to sojourn in even 
 the humblest places of public entertainment, and 
 would, besides, have been a breach of the customs 
 of his order. When either ecclesiastical or secu- 
 lar business led them from home they had their 
 regular stage-houses ; and never was lying palmer, 
 or bare-foot friar more welcome at even-tide to the 
 chimney-corner of franklin or yeoman, than was the 
 wandering Cameronian minister to the ingle-neuk 
 of the primitive farmers in the hill-country of the 
 south-west of Scotland. The residences of the 
 regular preachers were necessarily few and far a- 
 part ; but lay members were, at that time, scattered 
 throughout all those pastoral districts at easy dis-
 
 THE JOURNEY. 165 
 
 tances ; and some pious and hospitable widow, or 
 wealthy childless couple, had both a comfortable 
 spence for the man of God, and a haym for the 
 wandering beggar, or humble travelling merchant. 
 Even in families less able to exercise hospitality, 
 there was often some " Prophet's Chamber,"' curi- 
 ously dove-tailed into a labyrinth of wooden-walled 
 beds, which seldom wanted an occasional occupant. 
 A shed and a little coarse fodder were more grudg- 
 ingly bestowed upon Jenny Geddes and steeds of 
 her degree, which, in those times, were as well 
 known on the old drove-roads in the southern 
 counties, as are the short-lived horses which draw 
 his Majesty's mail from St. Alban's to London at 
 the present day. 
 
 On this kindly footing, Mr. Gideon was spend- 
 ing an evening in a muirland farm-house " behind 
 the hills where Stinchar flows," with a grey-headed 
 elder of his sect ; and when he next day, by ap- 
 pointment, met Captain Wolfe Grahame on the 
 coast, it was so late that they entertained some ap- 
 prehension of reaching their next resting place. 
 There was sickness in the family which Gideon had 
 visited, and dissensions among the scattered flock ; 
 and when the minister let it be understood, that 
 he had been detained by sympathy for the sick and
 
 166 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 the sorrowful, and in healing divisions and repair- 
 ing breaches in the Zion of the Stinchar, he seem- 
 ed to take for granted that no farther apology was 
 necessary. In ordinary circumstances he never 
 prolonged his visits, nor, as the gudewives re- 
 marked, " abused discretion.*" It was generally 
 night-fall before he arrived at his quarters ; and by 
 day-break, with the unbribed assistance of the 
 herd-boy, he and Jenny Geddes were soberly 
 plodding on to their next station. 
 
 The friends had already traversed a good part 
 of the interior of Ayrshire, in hopeless search of 
 the daughter of the midwife. A threatening even- 
 ing was closing in on a rough gusty day, when they 
 found themselves on the seaside, but still much 
 farther from their place of destination for the night 
 than the state of the weather made agreeable. — 
 The latter part of their day's journey lay along a 
 bold, wild, and broken line of coast, traversed by 
 a road, leading now around low headlands, then 
 sweeping into bays, and anon winding and climb- 
 ing round the iron faces of high and rugged pro- 
 montories. The only thing visible on this road, 
 for many hours, was the Port-Patrick Fly, crawl- 
 ing onwards in the distance like the " shard-borne 
 beetle.''
 
 THE JOURNEY. 167 
 
 It was a tiresome day's journey to Grahame ; 
 for Jenny Geddes was a lady too much accustom- 
 ed to have her own way, at all thnes, to be easily 
 put off it now ; and though he sometimes gave her 
 a smack or a poke, which made her throw up her 
 liind legs to the evident discomposure of her rider, 
 she soon fell back into her accustomed jog-trot. 
 So, by way of pastime, whenever a piece of level 
 ground was met, Grahame, and his good steed Sa- 
 ladin, took a youthful scamper for a mile or two a- 
 head, and either waited for their friends, or returned, 
 welcomed by Jenny's amorous neigh, to announce 
 their mutual discoveries. The last discovery 
 which Wolfe made before night-fall was unplea- 
 sant enough — a skiff in the offing trimming her 
 sails to meet the gale, and exhibiting marks of 
 distress and alarm. 
 
 " We are like to have a wild night, Mr. Gi- 
 deon,'' said the young soldier, who had rode back 
 to join his friend. " I wish to goodness we were 
 at that Crossgates of Caberax, or whatever you 
 call it. I will insist on your remaining there all 
 night with me, notwithstanding those hospitable 
 friends all along who entertain you every night I 
 think. You must stay with me indeed. I am
 
 168 ELIZABETH CE BHUOE. 
 
 rich, sir, — I have lands and beeves — or I shall 
 have them.'" 
 
 This was the light speech which often accom- 
 panies a purse as light. 
 
 We have spoken of Gideon's parsimonious ha- 
 bits. The phrase was incorrect. That man can- 
 not be called parsimonious who freely spends his 
 whole living. Gideon's was a small one — ^but his 
 wants were far less — so that he was comparatively 
 a rich man ; and, what is more rare, positively 
 thought himself so, when at the end of the half- 
 year he paid his few debts, and gave to " him 
 that needed"*"* all that remained over, literally lay- 
 ing up his treasure in heaven. With something 
 of the complacence inseparable from the conscious- 
 ness of possessing property — ^for he had a guinea 
 and some shillings in his pocket — he replied to 
 Wolfe's proposal of defraying their common trav- 
 elling charges, 
 
 " Na, na ! Captain Wolfe, make yourseF easy 
 about that, my lad. I'm far frae being a needy 
 man. Did ye no hear of the hunder merks aug- 
 mentation, man ? I never looked for it, I'm sure ; 
 but my lot as to temporals has been casten in 
 pleasant places. What wi' ae thing, and what wi' 
 anither — the ruckle of a house, (the Session are to
 
 THE JOURNEY. 1G9 
 
 set a man to mend the tlieek, and have it made 
 warm and water-tight aboon the bed — in summer 
 the holes in the roof were airy and pleasant 
 enough,) the kail-yard, and the gang o' the com- 
 mon muir for Jenny, I cannot call the living o' 
 the Sourholes muckle waur, comrrmnihus an?iis, 
 put the head o' the sow to the tail o' the grice, 
 than five-and-thretty English punds/' 
 
 .This was whispered — a pause between every 
 emphatic word — in a quite confidential style, Gi- 
 deon advancing his mouth to the young man's 
 ear, and Jenny kindly laying her long dewy nose 
 on the proud neck of Saladin, a freedom which he 
 scarcely appeared to relish. 
 
 " I have a kind people,'" continued Gideon. — 
 " The gudewives have been on me to take a drop 
 tea-water in my loneliness. Burd* 'Lizbeth has 
 given me the trick o' that too — and to be sure I 
 can weel afford it ; but for a man like me, Cap- 
 tain Wolfe, to be pettling himseP up with delicates, 
 while mony a precious saint and puir thing want 
 a meltith o' bare porridge, is no to be thought of 
 — Make me worthy o' a"* this kindness ! and forbid 
 that riches prove a snare to me a second time !" 
 
 • Burd — A lady, a damsel.
 
 170 ELIZAIJETII DE BRUCE. 
 
 " No fear of that, sir — I shall be your guar- 
 antee," said Grahame. 
 
 " I kenna. Captain Wolfe. Let him that 
 thinks he standeth tak"* heed. I was laid under 
 sore and dark temptation this very time twal- 
 month, in the shape of what ye call a double Joe. 
 I had never seen coined money o^ the splendour 
 and value. It was paid me in the Martlemas 
 half-year''s stipend. So I laid by my golden idol 
 i' the kist-cofFer, in a horn snuff-mull ; and in the 
 very watches of the night, even upon my quiet 
 bed, the demon o' covetousness. Mammon him- 
 seF, would put in my head my golden Johannes, 
 and how I could best put it out to usury, and lay 
 anither and anither till't : but I wrestled, and, wi^ 
 the help 0' the Mighty, prevailed. I trust my 
 bank and coffer will be my breek pouch, or some 
 puir widow wife's meal ark in a' time coming. I'll 
 ha'e nae mair locking o' coffers — nae Tubal-Cain 
 wark in my tents.*" 
 
 The good man shut his grey eyes, and appear- 
 ed engaged for a minute in ejaculatory thanksgiv- 
 ing, for this signal deliverance from the snare of 
 riches, and the power of covetousness. A smile 
 rose on Grahame's lip — a half-heaved sigh chased
 
 THE JOURNEY. l^l 
 
 it away as he contrasted his own illumination, and 
 the knowledge of good and evil obtained by eat- 
 ing the bitter apples of experience, with the pri- 
 mitive simplicity of Gideon. 
 
 " With your known hospitality,*" said Wolfe, 
 " I could not have conceived you very rich — so 
 you must indeed allow me'" — 
 
 " Hospitality ! little to brag o' in that way, my 
 lad. To gi'e a meal of hamely meat, or a brat o' 
 auld duds to a needy fellow-creature that falls in 
 my way, in the name of Him who has given me so 
 largely to enjoy, is but a sma" matter. Captain 
 Wolfe. To be sure my auld garments are, as ye 
 say, nae great shakes." — And he cast his eye on a 
 coat cuff, of which every thread might be counted 
 without the aid of a weaver's magnifying glass.— 
 " But this is my kirk and causey clothes." 
 
 '•• Nay, I rather think I have sometimes seen 
 them very great shakes,'''' said Grahame, laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 But a pun, however bad or good, fell alike in- 
 nocuous on honest Gideon, who never had the 
 most glimmering perception of a double meaning 
 in any thing he had ever heard in his life : so the 
 young man went on — " I am sure if you are not 
 hospitable, I don't know who is — I have known
 
 172 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 you keep daft folk, and lamiters, and beggars, 
 about the Sourholes for weeks and months toge- 
 ther — our friend Miss Jacky Pingle, for instance.'"' 
 
 " Small thanks to me for that, lad ; we were 
 auld stair neighbours, as I have aften tauld you ; 
 and, when her brain is no a' the higher, she has 
 a sleight wi' her thimble and her shears that's 
 just wonderfu' the women-folk and the Laird tell 
 me — ^for I'm an ignoramus in needle- work. In that 
 six weeks she last sojourned at the Sourholes, she 
 did as much white seam, and embroidery upon the 
 heels o' my rig-and-fur stockings, as would have 
 cost me twenty-pence sterling to the school-mis- 
 tress o' Castleburn ; so let us ne'er reckon that 
 turn hospitality. — We are ready enough to be 
 vain-glorious without calling the keeping of puir 
 Jacky Pingle, (whom never a one would take off 
 my hands neither,) by the name of a grace of dee- 
 vine injunction, whereby some have entertained 
 angels." 
 
 " I certainly do not mistake your keeping poor 
 Miss Jacky for entertaining an angel," said Gra- 
 hame, laughing again ; " but I am sure, as I said, 
 if you are not hospitable I don't know who is. By 
 the way, I know of no word in the English language 
 more abused, or of more ambiguous meaning
 
 THE JOURNEY. 173 
 
 than this same. — One hears of the hospitality of 
 the feudal chieftain. I beg to place it exactly on 
 the same level with that of the modern hospitality 
 of the candidate for parliament ; — so much beef 
 and ale, — so many balls and feasts, — ^for so much 
 reputation to be maintained, or service done or ex- 
 pected. — ' The hospitalities of the Whim,'' (Mr. 
 Hutcheon's mansion) and such sort of places, which 
 we sometimes hear of, are another spurious species 
 of this kindly virtue: — splendid entertainments, 
 a sacrifice to personal vanity, given in ostentation, 
 and received, as they deserve to be, with indiffer- 
 ence or scorn, by persons who neither need nor 
 crave kindness nor countenance, though they may 
 lack amusement. In a lower rank, the same feel- 
 ing of vanity leads another class of persons to fete 
 all sorts of people, artists, travellers, recruiting- 
 officers, players, and so forth — the wonderful — the 
 wild ! and this, forsooth, must be hospitality ! This 
 unfortunate grace has much to answer for, which 
 ought, in all conscience, to be laid elsewhere. No 
 man, Mr. Gideon, was ever yet a martyr to this vir- 
 tue, if exercised in its pure and simple sense. The 
 entertainer of the desolate and the widow, the sick, 
 the maimed, the blind, he who leads the bashful 
 unfriended stranger to his modest feast, will never
 
 174 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 I venture to predict, ruin himself by hospital- 
 ity, a virtue which, according to some folks, fills 
 half the bankrupt list." 
 
 '' Verily, there is a smack of rationality in what 
 you say. Captain Wolfe." 
 
 " I am sure hospitality, if it has a home on 
 earth, still lingers in Strathoran with you and my 
 uncle," said Wolfe. " I vow there is more genu- 
 ine kindness in the dinner he so often gives to 
 these poor devils, the Rookston peripatetic sur- 
 geon, scouring our country-side on sixpenny bleed- 
 ings and shilling blisters, and our nonjuring cu- 
 rate, with his triple duty and quarter pay, than in 
 twenty Lord Mayors' banquets, or letter-of-intro- 
 duction dinners. I leave him in evil times, Mr. 
 Haliburton ; but I trust a blessing will remain 
 on the kind old soul that never once sent a hun- 
 gry heart from his gate. I am sure if I am not 
 a better man as long as I live for having known 
 you both, I deserve to be hanged." 
 
 Upon hearing this suspicious doctrine, savour- 
 ing indeed of ramping prelacy, Gideon girded up 
 his loins for the polemic combat, and was about, 
 at &ome length, to correct the young soldier's het- 
 erodox notions of charity, mercy, and hospitality, 
 when the youth called his attention to the strug-
 
 THE JOURNEY. 175 
 
 gling skifF, which a commanding point of the road 
 now enabled them to see clearly. The lazy chill 
 mists which had all day long hooded the braes, 
 now rolled fast down upon their path. Cape, and 
 island, and promontory, which had all day stretch- 
 ed away in hazy perspective, were, one by one, 
 blotted out ; and when the horsemen rounded the 
 sheltering angle of a screen of rocks, they were at 
 once exposed to the unmitigated fiury of the tem- 
 pest, which came wildly rushing from the ocean, 
 shaking drizzling vapours from its wings, as they 
 flapped against the splintered cliiFs, at whose base 
 the full tide was boiling and lashing. The full 
 moon was drifting on in the heavens through dun 
 and yellow clouds, as if she too had gone astray, 
 and had to maintain the same struggle above which 
 the little vessel held in the weltering tide. — Alto- 
 gether, the prospect was comfortless and painful. 
 
 " We will have a foul night, Mr Haliburton. 
 The wind has ever some mischief in its head, 
 when it whistles lillibulero at its destructive work 
 in that way. Can you see those poor souls yet ?''' 
 
 Gideon groaned — " Alack no ! Those who go 
 down to the sea in ships, and see the wonders of 
 the great deep, have much to thole as well as to 
 see. Captain Wolfe. Let us commit them to Him
 
 176 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 who sitteth on the floods, and holdeth the winds hi 
 the hollow of his hand ; who maketh the cloud 
 their tabernacle ! — and push on Jenny to Moss- 
 brettles to John Fennick's. He wones in a slack 
 near by the seaside; and we can hing out his lantern 
 to guide the boat off a wanchancy bit down there, 
 that has smashed many a goodly vessel. Profane 
 folk name it the De'il's Saut-backet ; and in very 
 deed I never heard it get another name — so what 
 can I ca' it."" 
 
 " And very well named too, sir ; but as I trust 
 
 these poor de that is souls, will not be laid in 
 
 his Black Majesty's pickle to-night, I shall push 
 on and do what I can with your friends ; and you 
 may come up at your leisure with Jenny."" 
 
 Mightily did Gideon spur not to be left behind 
 in the race of humanity, and often did he apostro- 
 phize Jenny Geddes ; but before he reached the 
 Caberax, a fire was blazing on the low point, and 
 Grahame stood there directing a group of young 
 fellows, all ready and willing to obey his orders, 
 or from their superior knowledge of the coast to 
 suggest better expedients.
 
 THE farmer's Ha\ J77 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs. 
 
 Burns, 
 
 Travelling apostles, as well as every other 
 description of traveller, are often, we think, fully as 
 much indebted to the fair, as to the stern sex, for 
 the comfort and kindness of their reception. 
 
 " The best of the board, and the seat by the fire," 
 
 had in Scotland, time immemorial, been the pre- 
 scriptive right of the " Haly-wark folk ;'" and, no- 
 thing slackened in hospitality, David Fennick and 
 his wife cordially welcomed " the man of God ;" 
 and, as he was cold and wet, and could be of no 
 use whatever on the shore, laid hands of violent 
 possession upon him as soon as he proposed going 
 Vol. I. M
 
 178 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 to join the young men. So his clothes were changed 
 for dry and warm garments, and he sat him snugly 
 down in the chimney-nook. 
 
 If the evening was rough without, its discomfort 
 served to enhance the cheerful couthiness of the 
 Farmer's Ha\ This kitchen and hall — ^for it was 
 the common room of the numerous family, and 
 served for all domestic purposes — was a large 
 apartment with strong, rough, stone walls, arched 
 by shining smoky rafters, and furnished with a 
 wide canopied open chimney. Through its pictur- 
 esque intricacies a blazing fire filling the cradle- 
 chimney, liberally fed from the neighbouring bog, 
 diffused a ruddy lustre, richer and warmer than the 
 costliest blaze ever yet shed through halls of pride, 
 by wax candles or oil gas. A brazen sconce, a few 
 bright copper utensils, and a hink well filled with 
 pewter, did more for the apartment in the way of 
 appropriate decoration than mirrors or pictures 
 could have done. But the Ha' wanted not its 
 pictures. In an antique, carved, oaken settle below 
 the chimney canopy, discouring with his guest, sat 
 the grey-haired patriarch, clad in homespun muir- 
 land grey, with a softened bearing between the 
 stern old Covenanter and the " monarch of a 
 shed,'' regarding, with looks of sober kindness, his
 
 THE farmer's ha.' 179 
 
 well-disciplined subjects busy on all sides of him 
 with their accustomed tasks and duties. Next to 
 him but lower in place, on a tripod sat a little de- 
 cent matron, (a maiden by the way,) his wife's 
 aunt, carding wool to supply the spinning thrift of 
 David's blooming woman-grown daughter, who 
 merrily turned her wheel, with that subdued hum 
 which was the nearest approach she durst 
 make to profane singing in her father's honoured 
 presence. Sometimes she involuntarily cast back- 
 wards a quick and bashful glance if a tirl was heard 
 at the door pin, a movement which as constantly 
 drew upan her the arch eye of a boy, her younger 
 brother, who was stretched before the fire conning 
 his Latin lesson for the next day. A ploughman 
 nearly as old and grey as his master, was driving 
 hob-nails into a clouted shoe ; and a little in the 
 back ground the herd-boy was twisting a bird's 
 cage of twigs — a little boy, the Benjamin of David's 
 old age, looking on as the wonderful frame grew 
 beneath the cunning right hand of Jock. A squab, 
 four-cornered, ruddy, serving wench pounded away 
 in another corner, mashing a pot of potatoes for the 
 common supper of the family, an allowance which 
 might have fed a whole hill-side congregation ; 
 and the gudewife, a comely well-thriven matron,
 
 180 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 many years younger than her lord, though on hos- 
 pitable thoughts intent, superintended the whole 
 establishment. A goodly and gracious show of 
 black puddings, hung to be smoked in the chim- 
 ney, showed that good things were going ; for the 
 Mart was killed. And while Gideon and his host 
 seated apart — 
 
 reasoned high 
 Of Providence, fore-knowledge, will, and fate, 
 Fixed fate— 
 
 the fate of an eirack was sealed, perhaps in honour 
 of Captain Grahame. 
 
 " My worthy father — yell mind him weel, Mr. 
 Gideon,"' said the dame — " had aye a joke, that 
 there was a natural friendship and couthiness be- 
 tween a black coat and a black puddin" ; and ye'se 
 have one to relish the potatoes this night if it were 
 my last.'' And she cast an eye of pride over her 
 plentiful stores. This was said in the absence of 
 David, who had gone forth to see that the cattle 
 were properly foddered. 
 
 David was a good deal of the Milton in his do- 
 mestic circle. Except towards the darling Benja- 
 min he was indeed a very strict disciplinarian with 
 all his household. Few external marks of mirth 
 durst be shown in his presence ; but when he with-
 
 THE farmer's Ha\ 181 
 
 drew to his private out-door devotions, or to his 
 wooden-walled dormitory, there came an hour of ju- 
 venile relaxation to the family, at which David 
 winked hard, as every sensible absolute monarch 
 should do who wishes to avoid open revolt among 
 his subjects. But peace, and plenty, and goodness 
 were about him ; and the whispered gibe of the 
 boys to their sister or to the maid-servant, and the 
 matron's frequent whispered rebuke of — " Will ye 
 no be quiet ? — the gudeman will just fell ye !" 
 shewed that genuine gaiety of heart was here, its 
 native spring uninjured though its expression 
 might be subdued. 
 
 While David was occupied in littering his cat- 
 tle, grumbling a little at the protracted absence of 
 his son and the younger farm-servants, who still fed 
 a bickering fire on the shore, Mr. Gideon strode 
 off in that direction, guided by the signal lights. 
 
 The police established along this line of coast at 
 that period, was, of necessity, extremely vigilant 
 and severe. The pernicious influences of that evil 
 time, which steeled the human breast against its 
 kind, had even extended to this region of tranquil- 
 lity and comparative safety ; and the inhabitants 
 of the Scottish side were disposed to vietv whatever
 
 182 ELIZBETH aD BRUCE. 
 
 approached from the opposite coast, with great dis- 
 trust and unreasonable aversion. 
 
 The family of another farmer, who, with David, 
 was joint occupier of this headland moor, were still 
 engaged in the latest harvest-work of a tardy sea- 
 son. During the whole afternoon of this tempes- 
 tuous day, this farmer had observed the skiff beating 
 about in the bay, and conjectured that it had stolen 
 out from some inlet on the beleaguered coast of 
 Antrim, which perhaps its crew found more peril- 
 ous than the iron-bound shores of the south-west 
 of Scotland, and the coil of waves, currents, and 
 breakers, amid which they were struggling. The 
 fate of the little vessel had indeed, for some hours 
 back, been the object of eager and agitating inter- 
 est to the people on the coast. Rebels, murder- 
 ers, or incendiaries its crew might be — still they 
 were human, and in this hour of mortal peril the 
 claim was felt in all its force. The presence and 
 exertions of Captain Grahame had, moreover, by 
 this time brought humanity into good fashion ; and 
 though the discipline of David Fennick's house- 
 hold did not permit his womankind to roam abroad, 
 there were several females standing with the group 
 which Gideon and David joined ; and their sympa-
 
 THE farmer's ha\ 183 
 
 thies were fully awakened, and had the strongest 
 influence on those around them. 
 
 " Oh ! if they could reach the Cutter — or if the 
 Cutter could reach them !" cried one of the wo- 
 men, who watched the labouring skiff with intense 
 interest, uttering stifled groans as the little storm- 
 tossed speck was seen through the opening spin- 
 drift, or swept from view by the swell of the break- 
 ers, and expressing renewed hope as the frail 
 thing again rose in sight, and gallantly mounted 
 the ridge of the billow. 
 
 " The Cutter !'' cried a man of greater infor- 
 mation. " That would be gaun between the 
 de'il and the deep sea wi' a witness ! 'Od they 
 may be saying their neck-verse if the Cutter over- 
 take them ; and she has been full chase after them 
 since the skiff was first seen aff the Scarfs Craig. 
 It's just as weel to be drowned I think, David, 
 at the Almighty's pleasure, as hanged, drawn, and 
 quartered by the government.'' 
 
 " Wo is me ! wo is me !" said the female speak- 
 er — " This is nae joking matter. Be they what 
 they will, they are warm flesh and blood like our- 
 selves." 
 
 " Ay, and soul and spirit, Euphane r said Da- 
 vid Fennick — " puir, sinfu' perishing souls like
 
 184 ELIZABETH DE EllUCE. 
 
 yoursels, sirs, rocking and reeling on the brink 
 of an eternity, whilk may be as near to us as to 
 them ; though there appear to us but a moment's 
 space and a rotten plank, between them and the 
 fierce and fiery indignation which hastens to con- 
 sume." 
 
 " Let us hope better things for them, friend 
 David," said Gideon, " baith for time and for 
 eternity. Is there no balm in Gilead ? Is there 
 no Physician there ? Is there not hope for the 
 sinner, ay, even were the last sands o' his glass 
 rinnin' low ? How shall man, proud worm ! li- 
 mit the dealing of Omnipotence with the immor- 
 tal spirits He has called into existence !"" 
 
 Now to David's long ears this sounded very like 
 false doctrine ; and he delivered a pious speech, 
 which so stirred the " Old Adam" in the heart of 
 his neighbour-tenant of the Moss, that he ex- 
 claimed — " I wad rather hear the sugh o' the 
 south-east win' that's to blaw thae puir battered 
 Irish deevils bye the De'il's Saut-backet, than a' 
 the peching and graining e'er was grained on a 
 hill-side." 
 
 At this instant a ruffian billow rushing in with 
 headlong fury, swept the little vessel on, till it al- 
 most seemed to touch the firm earth where our
 
 THE farmer's ha\ 185 
 
 aiixiovis group were assembled. The blaze of the 
 fire danced and flared on the foamy crest of the 
 wave and in the faces of the crew, consisting of 
 three men and two females, one of the latter — 
 strange to say ! — holding the helm. Words of 
 cheer — of sympathy — of counsel, were eagerly 
 shouted from the land by Grahame and the other 
 young men ; and ropes were actively thrown out ; 
 but the same tremendous wave which had borne 
 the skiff onward, snatched it back in its fearful re- 
 coil, far from sight — for ever from sight, it was 
 feared — and every eye was fixed, and every heart 
 shivered, as a yell rose from some unseen drowning 
 wretch over whom the billows closed for ever. In 
 a few seconds the skiff rose once again into view, 
 but with one man short of its original number. 
 Still the little crew bore them gallantly, with firm- 
 ness and presence of mind, which gave the specta- 
 tors something of the wild delight experienced in 
 witnessing some noble pastime, in which ruffian 
 strength is matched against skill, conduct, and 
 energy. 
 
 A signal gun was fired from the sea. The flash 
 was seen distinctly ; the report came broken and 
 driven about by the wind. 
 
 " That's the Cutter still in chase,'' said David's
 
 186 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 neighbour. " But the tempest will do their busi- 
 ness. I gi'e them up. Come hame, lads, and 
 bring the ropes wi"* ye." 
 
 " O ye of little faith !" shouted Gideon. Can 
 He that let loose the winds no stay them ? Is His 
 arm shortened — is His hand straitened ? Did 
 He make the dry land and not the sea also ? Is 
 His time not a good time ? — is His hand not a gra- 
 cious hand ? — Bide ye still." 
 
 Another "ruffian billow" again tossed the 
 skiff up on its foamy mane, and then seemed 
 to gulp it down into its tremendous jaws. 
 
 " O, Lord ! of thy infinite mercy remember 
 thy puir perishing creatures !" cried Gideon. 
 — " That, neighbours, was a fearfu' whomle !" 
 
 " Ay ! that jaw gave e'en your faith a heisie, 
 minister," said David's profane neighbour. 
 
 Contrary to all expectation, a heavy shower 
 having somewhat beat down the fury of the storm, 
 the little vessel, once more out at sea, was seen to 
 weather the point round which it had all the af- 
 ternoon been beating. Grahame and Robert Fen- 
 nick, an intelligent and active young man, David's 
 eldest son, and in reality the most useful person of 
 the rural group, were certain that they had seen, 
 in the bright glimpse of a still-wading moon the
 
 THE farmer's Ha\ 187 
 
 shadow of its little mast quivering on the water, 
 and that it had got through the breakers, and past 
 the entrance of that place which Gideon so much 
 disliked to name. Others of the number as confi- 
 dently predicted the inevitable destination of the 
 boat to be this same De'il's Saut-backet. 
 
 Whatever her fate was, she was gone from their 
 sight, and the rain was pouring in torrents, so they 
 dispersed, Mr. Gideon going to his friend's hospi- 
 table hearth, and Wolfe Grahame, notwithstanding 
 David's kind if not frank invitation, to the little 
 way-side public-house where he had left his horse. 
 David's dame had, in the course of her experience, 
 often seen a comfortable supper prove a very agree- 
 able diversion of polemical discourse. Not so on 
 this evening. The argument between the learned 
 patriarchs on the oaken settle in the chimney-neuk, 
 waxed hotter and hotter, and the black pudding, 
 colder and colder, to her secret grief and open dis- 
 content. Monkshaugh had often scornfully said, 
 that " pease brose would please the minister bet- 
 ter than wine and wassail bread," so that he got 
 leave to " preach owre his dish." 
 
 Mrs. Fennick, though the bosom companion of 
 a self-denying saint, had a housewife's natural 
 pride in her black, and in her white puddings ; and
 
 188 ELIZABETH 1)K BKUCE. 
 
 Gideon fell considerably in her good graces from 
 this open disrespect to her good things. Had he 
 sojourned but two days longer in her frugal me^ 
 nage, he would probably have recovered this lost 
 ground, and gained the more lasting and substan- 
 tial praise of being " easily shot bye wi^ his vic- 
 tuals/' — As it was, she cried "Patience I"" and turn- 
 ed the puddings. 
 
 The subject for which her savoury messes were 
 on this night permitted to freeze, was one which, 
 though foreign to our story, afterwards shook the 
 church of Sourholes to its foundation, and involv- 
 ed the latter days of its presiding apostle in much 
 trouble and turmoil. 
 
 There was no Cameronian meeting within twen- 
 ty miles of David Fennick's dwelling of Mossbret- 
 tles. The ancient adherents to this 7iommade faith, 
 remained at home on Sabbaths and read their bi- 
 bles, when they could not attend the public worship 
 of their own sect ; but the younger members of 
 David's family, had, of late, strayed into the neigh- 
 bouring parish-church — at first covertly, but now 
 with less care for concealment. There they had, 
 among other defilements, acquired a taste for a sort 
 of church-music, certainly of no very alluring kind, 
 but totally different from that to which their vener-
 
 THE farmer's HA\ 189 
 
 able chief had been accustomed. To carry his 
 domestic plagues to the climax, Orpheus, assum- 
 ing the disguise of a yellow lank weaver from the 
 Riccartown of Kilmarnock, " fashed wi' a stamack 
 complaint,'' had rambled into the parish, and, in 
 widow Bonalie's public, set up an evening class 
 for teaching this new-fangled psalmody. In an 
 evil hour David was teased into granting permis- 
 sion to his children to attend ; and now, instead of 
 the old reverend way of twanging out the psalm, 
 line by line, " their rants," David said, " ran 
 straight on run-line" — thus invading, in fact des- 
 , troying for ever, his immutable privilege of doling 
 out line by line, rather than suffer any interruption, 
 or suspension of their own " most sweet voices." 
 
 The controversy was still novel to Gideon ; and 
 we must do him the justice to say, that, notwith- 
 standing his early prejudices and associations were 
 all on the side of the quaint antique method of 
 chanting the psalms, his naturally candid spirit 
 and sincere understanding rated the subject at its 
 true importance ; and David found a much less 
 zealous partisan than he had reckoned upon. — He 
 indeed took but an indifferent part in the afflictions 
 of David.
 
 190 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 " Is it not written — there shall be line upon line ?"*' 
 grinned David, the thin white locks that straggled 
 over his pale sunken temples trembling in the ea- 
 gerness of his controversial zeul. — " What's your 
 opinion of that scripture, minister ?'' 
 
 " And is it not written — ' Praise ye continually 
 — make a joyful noise T " said Robert, the smiling 
 champion of St. Cecilia and her new lights. 
 
 Gideon was smitten to the heart's core with what 
 he boldly pronounced this Pharisaical wark — 
 " And wo is mine ! David, to hear this din about 
 robes and phylacteries taking place o' the weightier 
 matters of the law — and that in a corner of the 
 vineyard ance fair and flourishing. But 111 tell 
 ye, gudeman, what has filled me with shame, and 
 grief, and indignation. In Glasgow yonder, even 
 in kirks pretending to be reformed, bands of sing- 
 ing bairns — they shame not to call them choirs — 
 laddies and lassies lilting away at the praises of 
 their Maker, — and as if it were an auld balland 
 or a ratt-rhyme ; and this they call leading the 
 worship of a Presbyterian congregation, in the 
 most hallowed and heaven-like exercise of praise 
 — themselves a' dumb ! If we maun ha'e a Po- 
 pish preluding, take to the kist fu' o' whistles at 
 ance, Robert. Tinkling brass wire, and sounding
 
 THE farmer's Ha\ IQl 
 
 timber boards, have neither hearts to harden nor 
 souls to ensnare, like puir simple bairns." 
 
 Now this truly orthodox opinion was reckoned 
 by David little better than " blinking the ques- 
 tion," as in fact it was ; for he abominated bands 
 of singing boys as utterly as did Gideon : — and in- 
 deed it is not easy to see how a mode of worship 
 so simple — so spiritualized, if we may so say — as 
 the Presbyterian, can tolerate this anomalous fea- 
 ture. 
 
 After delivering his testimony against this e- 
 normity, which was at that time quite a recent in- 
 novation, Mr. Gideon proceeded, as was his 
 custom wherever he spent the night, to examine 
 the young people and servants of the family, in 
 their attainments in the Assembly's Shorter Cate- 
 chism, and on their general religious knowledge. — 
 The venerable head of the house had no reason to 
 be ashamed of this exhibition. Whatever were 
 their musical aberrations, they had been trained 
 up in " the way they should go ;" and there was 
 good hope that they might never far "depart 
 from it." The boy who had conned his Latin 
 lesson by the fire, the embryo preacher, next went 
 over his j)enna and doceo to the infinite delight of 
 his mother. Even stern David grinned compla-
 
 192 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 cent, and owned " human lear was nae doubt a 
 mean,'' and melted into entire delight when his 
 little favourite son, the rosy, smiling, curly-haired 
 Davie, with a good deal of kindly prompting from 
 mother, sister, maiden, and brother, in lisping ac- 
 cents went through his infant manual, and told 
 " Who made him,'' and " Who redeemed him," 
 very correctly. 
 
 " And who was the strongest man, Davie .^" 
 
 " Samson," replied Davie. " We ha'e a big 
 grey Samson, the cart aver." 
 
 " Very right, Davie," said Gideon. — " And 
 who was the wisest man ?"" 
 
 " Absalom," cried Davie, undauntedly. 
 
 " O fie !" whispered the mother — " So-Sol-o-" 
 
 " Solomon," shouted Davie, triumphantly. 
 
 " Very right !" 
 
 " And he'll no be four till Candlemas !" whisper- 
 ed the mother, aside. 
 
 " And who was the meekest man, Davie ?"" 
 
 "Job." 
 
 " Hush, Davie — fie !" cried the sister. 
 
 " But it was though — Moses," cried Davie, 
 dealing her a playful blow, with the petulance of a 
 spoiled, lively, and clever child.
 
 THE farmer's HA\ 103 
 
 Old David knitted his stern brows over this in- 
 fant trick of the carnal heart in his beloved child. 
 
 " That was na right, my little man," said Gi- 
 deon, in grave rebuke ; and Davie looked alarmed, 
 and with some cause. " But we must make a pass- 
 over ; for puir Davie sees his fau't. Think first 
 now — what they call the Gudeman of Mossbrettles, 
 and tell me " Who was the man according to 
 God's own heart ?''^ 
 
 " Wee Davie's ain daddy David," cried the 
 cunning and affectionate little rogue, throwing 
 himself into his father's arms ; and old David in- 
 voluntarily kissed his brow, his grey eyes glisten- 
 ing, and after a short fervid clasp put him hastily 
 away, as if ashamed of this emotion of natural af- 
 fection. 
 
 '' Ye think me like auld Eli, minister," said he. 
 And he instantly walked forth to meditate, and 
 question of his own relaxed spirit, and screw up 
 his resolution to chastise wee Davie. 
 
 The little victim when invited to a private con- 
 ference in his father's dormitory, first had his sup- 
 per to eat, and then his prayers to say — and, finally, 
 appealed to his mother, who, rebellious as her heart 
 was, durst not for her life have interfered between 
 her stern lord and his just displeasvire ; so the poor 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 194 ELIZABETH DE lillUCE. 
 
 trembler disappeared, Gideon's heart yearning over 
 him. The calm expostulating voice of David was 
 heard for some time, and the low thick sob of Da- 
 vie, — then rose the voice of one in earnest prayer, 
 and there was a moment's pause followed by Davie's 
 shrill scream of " Oh ! father, father ! — reason wi' 
 me, and shew me my error, a wee whilie langer ;" 
 but the inexorable scourge descended rapidly, per- 
 haps severely ; for David Fennick was no joker 
 in any business to which he seriously thought that 
 duty called him. 
 
 Such was the stern discipline of Scotland in 
 those days. A great deal has since been said for, 
 and against the use of the rod. We have recorded 
 wee Davie Mossbrettles' opinion, as decidedly in 
 favour of prayer and reasoning, and against stripes. 
 Davie was put to bed ; and old David again 
 walked out to compose his spirit. 
 
 Some pious neighbours had, by this time, come 
 in to gather the manna chance-dropt in this wil- 
 derness. Preachers and Probationers were often 
 enough coming to Mossbrettles ; but it was not 
 every night that a true-blue unmingled Cameronian 
 minister tarried there. David "had gotten a Levite 
 for his priest," and felt his personal consequence 
 augmented accordingly. So he beckoned forward
 
 THE farmer's Ha\ 195 
 
 his modest guests to chairs, tand stools, and tubs 
 overturned to make seats, with exactly the patroniz- 
 ing feelings of a fine lady, who has caught a fashion- 
 able poet or singer, for the amusement of her friends 
 and the eclat of her rout, and of its celebration- 
 paragraph in the Morning Post of the next day. 
 How essentially the same, after all, are the enjoy- 
 ments of the great human family, however their 
 external manifestations and their moral influences 
 may vary. 
 
 The seeds of poetry in Gideon's character, were 
 not unfrequently displayed in his selection of a 
 portion of scripture to be read, or of the psalm to be 
 sung. On this night, from this humble rustic 
 group, a small farmer and a few poor Scottish cot- 
 ters, from the bosom of the barren moor, there 
 rose to heaven, slowly chanted line by line, one of 
 the most beautiful lyrics that ever was composed, 
 judging of it merely as a literary composition — 
 the 104 Psalm — the hymn of Universal nature to 
 the Universal Creator ! Far higher was Gideon's 
 -standard of judging the inspired writings. 
 
 A simple, scriptural, earnest, and affectionate 
 prayer, almost as comprehensive as the hymn 
 which had been sung, forgetting no class nor 
 condition of sentient beings — concluded the do-
 
 196 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 mestic exercise ; and when the group rose from 
 their knees, Robert, David's eldest son, " a noble 
 peasant,'' grasped the minister's hand and said — 
 
 " Your ain, sir, and my father's auld-fashioned 
 sughin out o' the plaintive Dundee^ and the noble 
 Martyrs, dinnel stronger on the heart-strings after 
 a,' than a' their crinkum crankum new tunes." 
 
 " Robert, my man, if ye are led to think sae it 
 is weel," replied Gideon. " So grieve not the 
 grey-haired man i' the neuk, whose soul has trav- 
 ailed for the weal o' yours, ay when sweet sleep 
 sealed your ain eye-lids. Keep ye by these holy 
 harmonies, wi' whilk the wail of the curlew and the 
 plover, and the roar of the linn ha'e chimed in yon 
 brave day : yea, the sweet melodies that rose in 
 the night-watches, like myrrh and frankincense 
 and the rich spices, frae these very moss-hags, 
 and coves, and cleuchs round about us, whither 
 the red arm o' persecution had driven forth the 
 stout true hearts o' covenanted Ayr, and favoured 
 Gallowa' — Ayr, whose plants were as an orchard 
 of pomegranates with pleasant fruits. Alack ! 
 that the canker-worm should creep in — that they 
 should either dwine or die !" 
 
 This honest ancestral eulogy was highly accep- 
 table to every present ear. But the puddings smok-
 
 THE farmer's Ha\ 19? 
 
 ing hot were now served with the mashed potatoes, 
 together with a jorum of stout, home-brewed, har- 
 vest ale, of which David partook very sparingly, 
 Robert and Mr. Gideon with greater freedom. — 
 Another hour passed in sober but social talk on 
 public and family affairs. Gideon was pleased to 
 hear that his friend David's " temporals'' prosper- 
 ed, and that he was willing and eager to lend his 
 carts, during the winter, to drive stones for the 
 purpose of erecting a meeting-house in the vicin- 
 ity. The honest man chose a private minute to 
 confess to Gideon his sinful yearnings over the 
 " bairn, wee Davie ;" but Gideon slurred that of- 
 fence on the present occasion, and, in spite of the 
 " carts," rather warned his friend against " world- 
 liness," and " coveteousness," and " spiritual 
 pride," than excess of natural tenderness. From 
 these sins David was certain that he stood wholly 
 clear. 
 
 The whple family now retired to rest — to that 
 " quiet sleep" for which Gideon had prayed — 
 that quiet sleep which, in the words of his petition, 
 ' is Thy gift to Thy chosen ones !"
 
 198 ELIZABETH DE BllUCE. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE EXILE. 
 
 What had he done to make him fly the land ? 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Captain Wolfe Grahame declined the hos- 
 pitality of Mossbrettles, neither in aristocratic 
 pride nor unsocial feeling, but simply because, 
 without much vanity, he feared that he might put 
 David's womankind out of their way, and because he 
 was perhaps too modest to balance aright the trou- 
 ble given against the honour imparted. His hu- 
 mility was rewarded by better quarters than the 
 external shows of the wayside public, kept by the 
 Widow Bonalie and her only daughter, warranted 
 him to expect. On this evening they luckily had 
 no other guest. Over their door-post the " ruddy 
 lion ramped in gokV only for the amusement and 
 solace of our friend.
 
 THE EXILE. 199 
 
 Grahame changed his wet clothes for " fitting 
 weed ;"" and, with the landlady's cordial permission, 
 instead of sequestering himself in the chill dignity 
 of the sanded parlour, occupied the chimney-corn- 
 er of the kitchen, which, in every view, afforded 
 metal more attractive. This apartment resembled, 
 in most points, the family room of Mossbrettles, 
 except that it was " got up for company." Rows 
 of pewter measuring pots of various calibre betok- 
 ened that the vocations of the widow were not wholly 
 agricultural ; and a series of rueful prints, colour- 
 ed in the " bold style," illustrative of the ballad 
 of " Auld Robin Gray," pinned round rough but 
 very white walls, shewed that the feminine tastes 
 of her ripe and rosy maiden, had not been under 
 disclipine so strict as David FennicFs. The dam- 
 sel herself, occupied exactly as David's daugh- 
 ter had been, with a brisk and merry-going spin- 
 ning-wheel, held, at the same time, on her knee, a 
 huge stitched bunch of ballads, for which, we think, 
 the Roxburgh Club would have given their weight 
 in gold. 
 
 The jolly Widow Bonalie was none of the 
 
 *< Bigots of the iron time, 
 
 Who held the tuneful art a crime."
 
 200 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 " Yell be frae the Port, Captain,'' was her ad- 
 cbess to Wolfe, with whose style a landlady's pecu- 
 liar industry had made her acquainted. — " Awfu 
 doings amang the croppies ! they say ; but the Irish 
 were aye a wanrestfu' generation. Randy rinthere- 
 outs hawking this country — a perfect cess and har- 
 riement on a widow-woman in a public line. — It's 
 but like ten minutes sin' the supervisor and twa 
 Shirra maires were here, booted and spurred, het fit 
 after some of thae clanjamphrey that were whom- 
 melling about in the bay this afternoon. I daur 
 to say the de'il has gotten his ain out o' them by 
 this time ; for this has been a judgment-like even- 
 ing. I mind scarce the like of it since the Windy 
 Wodensday, which tirled the roof afF this house — 
 and grand Irish gentry wi' us no twa days there- 
 after." 
 
 " That must have been a memorable night over 
 Scotland," said Grahame ; and the spinning dam- 
 sel, from some association, burst into song : 
 
 " Wild blew the wind on that eerie night, 
 
 " And wilder beat the rain ; 
 " And still on its moan came the deep, deep groan 
 
 " Of that lad ye in her travail-pain, 
 
 " Ma chree, 
 
 " Of that ladye in her travail-pain." 
 
 ^' Heavens ! — and this is one of your ballads,"
 
 THE EXILE. 201 
 
 cried Wolfe, snatching the bunch from her lap with 
 little ceremony. 
 
 " Eh na, sir !'" cried the widow, who was deep- 
 ly engaged in the savoury mysteries of the frying- 
 pan. — " Jean learned that frae ane Bess Slattery, 
 an Irish homer-wife that hawks this country. — It's 
 about some auld-warld Edinburgh doings o' folk 
 now i' their cauld grave. — But here's a better story 
 — your warm supper." 
 
 " Gudewife, ye smell well," said Grahame, try- 
 ing to recover himself. 
 
 " Ay, and taste better, — so draw ye in. Cap- 
 tain, and make a comfortable meal o' your ain 
 country vivres. — Here's ham and eggs — new laid 
 eggs ; for ye ken Christmas is clocking-mass — and 
 that's no far aff — and mealy potatoes flaking like 
 the honey-comb — and powdered butter — and roast- 
 ed ingans — and" 
 
 " Admirable !" interrupted Grahame. 
 
 " Had I but kenned, it should have been a 
 stoved, reeking howtowdie for your sake ; for I 
 ance saw your uncle Monkshaugh, riding the 
 Ayr circuit, a little genty mannie, wi' cheeks like 
 blush roses, and as trim as if he had come out of 
 a band-box." 
 
 The landlady had indeed, in humble phrase^
 
 202 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 put her best foot foremost ; and the young soldier 
 chd a traveller's justice to her genial cheer. She 
 saw that he appeared perfectly satisfied, and be- 
 gan, as is usual in those cases, to make numerous 
 apologies. Self-justification as determined, would 
 have been inevitable, had he expressed the small- 
 est discontent with any part of her arrangements. 
 
 " With the shortest blink o' notice," said she, 
 " I could make ony reasonable gentleman perfect- 
 ly comfortable ; but we seldom get a ca' here but 
 frae drovers and jockeys, (though indeed the car- 
 riers halt here,) and sic like graith, gaun to the 
 Ayr and Dumfreish markets. But I ne'er yet 
 saw a real-born gentleman ill to please, if he saw 
 gude will — I speak na of the gentleman that's 
 made by the tailor and the braid-claith. Nae 
 higgling wi' the real gentleman about an honest 
 widow-woman's fair lawin, or hingin' on for twa 
 or three bawbies o' change back o' a sca'ed crown- 
 piece. To be sure I ha'e seen them bait their 
 cattle here — they ne'er light down — gentlemen 
 and noblemen baith, ye wadna ca' out o' your 
 kale-yard. But mak' your supper now ; this is 
 a real ewe-milk kebbuck : I question if the gude- 
 wife o' Mossbrettles has the better o't, wi' a' her 
 airs."
 
 THE EXILE. 203 
 
 The provident hostess, after a good deal of pre- 
 liminary bustle, next drew from its place of con- 
 cealment in the heart of an immense suspended 
 bundle of yarn, a small stone jar or graybeard, 
 which she pronounced as sound, auld, pine-apple, 
 Jamaica rum as ever sparkled to moonshine. 
 
 " It smells like the clow gilliflowers through the 
 
 house,'' said she, snuffing up the ' rich distilled per- 
 
 . fume.' " It's but at Pasch and Yule, and high 
 
 times, this is produced, Captain ; but the best in 
 
 my house is little enough the night." 
 
 " Never paid duty, I dare say." 
 
 " Ye may swear it ! — ^but little comes our way. 
 The supervisor chield who was here this night, 
 instead of watching the Croppies' landing, as he 
 should in duty do, keeps hounding his pack o' 
 riding offishers after the puir industrious boddies 
 wha bring us a drap frae Arran, or up frae the 
 Troon, wi' muckle risk baith to purse and person. 
 The government, I whiles think, is no a halt better 
 than in the persecuting times. Troth, it's very 
 hard !"— 
 
 " That the king won't allow his industrious 
 subjects to cheat him unmolested," replied Wolfe, 
 laughing; and adding his acknowledgments for
 
 204 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 the manifold kindness heaped upon him, to which 
 indeed there appeared no end. 
 
 " Do ye mix with loaf or raw, Captain ? The 
 supervisor, he uses loaf — ^but our minister pre- 
 fers the raw, whilk he says makes the malmiest 
 drink.^^ 
 
 Grahame, from good-natured attention to the 
 feelings of his officiously-kind landlady, fell upon 
 the happy device of making his sherbet with both 
 sorts of sugar ; so that to her dying hour, in ad- 
 vising her customers, a liberty which she invaria- 
 bly took, in addition to her old precedents of the 
 supervisor and the minister, she added, or " Cap- 
 tain Grahame de Bruce's way — he aye, in this 
 house, drank half-and-half.'"* 
 
 The jolly beverage being compounded to the 
 taste of all parties interested, the ladies accepted 
 their modest share, and, with a pledge to herself, 
 Wolfe Grahame drank " a good husband to the 
 landlady's bonnie dochter." 
 
 Jean stooped her head, and wet her flax with a 
 pouting lip, the matron hemmed; and an agreeable 
 affectation of demureness struggled with the smile 
 which naturally overspread both their faces. 
 
 " It's lang, Captain, to the saddling o' a foal,"
 
 THE EXILE. 205 
 
 quoth the landlady. " Time eneuch for Jean to 
 think o' that daft nonsense — to be sure her looks 
 are no her warst fau't. But as I tell her often, 
 ' Beauty's but skin-deep, vertu goes to the bone." 
 Nae doubt the great folk o' Mossbrettles wad 
 think their rantin Robin thrown away on a host- 
 ler-wife's dochter. Set up the gudewife's bit pride 
 because her brither's a placed Burgher minister ! 
 Let them keep their lad, and 111 mainteen my lass. 
 If she had her mither's spunk she wad ne'er look 
 the airt he gangs — though I daur swear our 
 gudschirs were much of a muchness." 
 
 " O, whisht now, mother !" implored Jean. 
 Grahame thought Robert Fennick a manly, ac- 
 tive, fine-looking fellow, and Jean Bonalie a 
 comely, decent, young woman ; but he was a most 
 unfortunate person in family quarrels and delicate 
 arrangements of all kinds ; so with (for him) an 
 uncommon degree of prudence, instead of running 
 headlong a tilt among the nonsensical squabbles 
 of the Widow Bonalie and her neighbours, he 
 kept perfectly quiet. He had in rural neighbour- 
 hoods and Irish country quarters, in affairs of pre- 
 cedence, often given mortal offence through sheer 
 ignorance ; and he resolved to avoid this in future. 
 He however paid Robert the compliment to which
 
 206 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 he thought him entitled ; and Jean raised a mois- 
 tened and grateful eye. The matron herself ex- 
 pressed no dissent ; and the conversation reverted 
 to the safer channel of public events, and the 
 many tales of fire, murder, and rapine, which every 
 chance traveller from the opposite shores brought 
 to the Crossgates of Caberax. With such bloody 
 and tragic narratives, the Lass of Loch Ryan, and 
 a few other ballads, which Jean sang with a decent 
 degree of rustic coquetry, the hour passed ; and 
 when all failed, the widow had recourse to the fa- 
 mily library, which she lugged out, partly from the 
 window-shelf, but principally from some shelves 
 hung within the wood-enclosed family bed, accom- 
 panied by a verbal catalogue raisonnee. 
 
 " This is The Cloud — a bonnie cloud o' stoure 
 it rises'' — and she rubbed the dusty volume upon 
 her apron. If s a' about bluidy Mackingie, and 
 Claver'se, and the persecuting times ; and this is 
 The Hind Let Loose ; and Peden's Prophecies: he 
 was a dreadfu' divine — my gudedame ance heard 
 him preach at the 'Kens, but the Mossbrettles 
 folk think we are a' publicans and sinners, and 
 ignoramuses, but themselves. And this is Godly 
 Xizbeth West's life — Take pattern by her, Jean, 
 wham neither master nor mistress could keep from
 
 THE EXILE. 207 
 
 travelling the country after ordinances ! And 
 that'*s — let me see — George Buchanan, and God- 
 ly Samuel Rutherford's letters — a gay queer hand ; 
 and that's Blind Harry, and Patie and Roger — I 
 ance kenned their stories weel; — ^but my memory is 
 clean gone, sir, an it binna for the score o' the 
 liquor when I ha'e companies ; and this is Robbie 
 Burns, a fairing nae doubt frae Mossbrettles' Rob 
 to our dochter. But ye seem to like that better ? 
 We ne'er could make out that — It's a sealed book ! 
 It was left by the Irish gentry in this house, just 
 at the Windy Wodensday time — a weary time it 
 was ! I was laid up o' Jean there — the roof was 
 aff the house — the gentles were in it — the gude- 
 man was camstairy — and the cow was calving. Na, 
 if ye can make it out, just put it in yovir pouch. 
 It is useless to us, e'en though we do get Rob Moss- 
 brettles for our gudeson." 
 
 " Tuts, now mother !" said the girl once again. 
 
 It was a beautiful small copy of the " Jerusalem 
 Delivered," in the orignal Italian, printed in Pa- 
 ris, and bearing the name of " Aileen O'Connor, 
 Castle Connor," written in a delicate female hand. 
 This was another gleam of that Will-o'-the-wisp, 
 which had from time to time danced before Wolfe 
 Grahame.
 
 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 " If I could exchange with you,'' said Grahame ; 
 and his gold piece was tendered, repulsed, and ac- 
 cepted in dumb shew ; for a smart knock came to 
 the door, which was promptly answered by the 
 dame's—" Wha's there ?" 
 
 This produced the expected response of " A 
 friend, gudewife — open the door." 
 
 " I open nae doors to friends that travel so late 
 at e'en." 
 
 " But we have lost the road." 
 
 " Weel ye maun just find it again." 
 
 " There's a lady and a gentleman both dropping 
 wet. — There's a good wife — open the dure. — We'll 
 pay ye handsomely and not trouble ye long. We're 
 for Mossbrettles, and want a lantern and direc- 
 tion." 
 
 " Oh, open mother !" implored Jean. 
 
 " Haud your whisht ! — If there be a lady let 
 her speak : — what ken I how mony's o' your randy 
 gang r 
 
 A low muttering consultation was heard with- 
 out. " She's a dumb lady — dafe and dumb." 
 " Deaf and dumb ! — There comes nae dumb led- 
 dies here. If ye're for Mossbrettles haud round 
 the snout o' the Gallows'-hill — I daur say you 
 have rubbed shouthers wi' it afore now— then 
 
 1
 
 THE EXILE. 209 
 
 through the slack, and that will take you to Kil- 
 whonnel — and syne keep straught foret, and'" — 
 
 " Open the dure, ye baste,'" was again shouted 
 forth in the angry accents of Kerry. " Shure we 
 could with one keek lay it on its broad back, and 
 never a thanks to ye. Is this a night to lave 
 Christians bawling without, taking the cowld in 
 their mouths ?''' 
 
 " Had you not better afford these poor trav- 
 ellers shelter. The night has indeed been horri- 
 ble", said Wolfe. 
 
 The dame, who appeared to enjoy the parley, 
 nodded, as if to say, " Leave me to manage"' — and 
 screamed — " Christians ! Donaghadee Christians, 
 nae doubt ?'^-— 
 
 " From Newton-Stewart then in truth — and 
 never a word of a lie : little good it would do me 
 with one so 'cute as yourself. Mistress Bonalie. — 
 So open the dure like a raisonable Christian sowl. 
 Shure you know me, Bess Slattery. Many is the 
 mug and pan I sowld ye, and ballad and boddice- 
 lace for your purty girl ; and always found ye a 
 raisonable landlady." 
 
 The name of Bess Slattery operated like 
 " Open Sesame" upon our hostess, who at once 
 recognized that '' wandering voice." The door 
 Vol. I. o
 
 210 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 cautiously gave way, and forward stalked the speak- 
 er, a tall, termagant, weather-beaten harridan, in a 
 red cloak, and a rusty, crumpled, black silk, slouch- 
 ed bonnet tied down under her chin with a red 
 chequered handkerchief. She was followed by a 
 squab, truculent looking fellow, on whose arm 
 another gigantic female leaned, though, to say 
 truth, she appeared to have small need of such 
 support. 
 
 " Have ye company ?"" cried the first speaker, 
 starting back on seeing Grahame. The persons 
 behind instantly shrunk back into the shadow of the 
 door ; and the dumb female hastily adjusted her 
 mantle in muffling folds about the lower part of 
 her face. Already had Grahame recognized the 
 helms-woman, who, in the midst of danger and 
 alarm, had so dauntlessly steered the little skiff. 
 These were the fugitives from Ireland ; and with 
 a strong feeling of compassion, which he took no 
 time to analyze, he stepped forward, and begged 
 the dripping strangers to approach the fire ; and in 
 detailing the brief history of the night, tacitly com- 
 municated the extent of what he supposed their 
 danger. 
 
 The dumb person, as if feeling confidence from 
 the frank courtesy of the stranger, stepped forward,
 
 THE EXILE. 211 
 
 and the man retreated. With a look of mtense 
 anxiety she examined the young man^s features ; 
 but this vivacity of mien and gesture is common to 
 those having her infirmity ; and Wolfe bore her 
 glance with patience, and in his turn with more 
 modesty regarded her. And hers was a form to 
 invite scrutiny from the most indifferent spec- 
 tator. 
 
 The uncommon stature, the haggard counten- 
 ance, the wild, watchful, suspicious glance of a 
 blood-shot hollow eye, staring through dishevelled 
 black hair, the scanty wet drapery which clung 
 around gaunt limbs of giant mould, and sent 
 up a reeking steam, the free, bold, masculine atti- 
 tudes, and unfeminine gait, composed a figure far 
 more picturesque than engaging, and, in contrast, 
 made even Bess Slattery, or Rouge-mantle, appear 
 a soft and interesting person. 
 
 " I must say, Bess, begging your pardon, that 
 your dumb acquaintance there, is nae ee-sweet 
 bird," said the landlady. " She is just as like to 
 tak' a purse as to gi'e ane, 111 say that for her. She 
 is mair like Pearlin Jean, or the ' Lady-wi'-the- 
 lantern," or a witch-wife in some auld-warld tale, 
 than an Irish Christian gentlewoman travelling on 
 her lawfu^ occasions. Can she spae ? — Lord pre-
 
 212 ELIZABETH DK B]IUCE. 
 
 serve'*s and keep us ! — but she has an ee in her 
 head, as dark and how as the vizzying hole in an 
 auld castle postern door. — She surely does nae 
 hear me ?'"* 
 
 " One of my poor uncle's lang Irish madams'' — 
 thought Wolfe, with a smile — "How the good soul 
 would stare !" and he began to feel some anxiety 
 for the whole group taking their departure, as he 
 was at no loss to perceive that the dumb gentle- 
 woman had ears quick enough, and arms befitting. 
 — The raised anxious look, the start on the slight- 
 est movement, the instinctive clutch, as if at a fa- 
 miliar weapon, all told one tale of alarm, danger, 
 flight, and guilt. " Shure, and shure, I tould 
 ye the lady was dumb," said Rouge-mantle, sullen- 
 ly, in reply to Widow Bonalie's query. — " Lend 
 me a blast o' the cuttie-pipe ; and get us a morsel of 
 supper, and we'll be off for Mossbrettles. — Those 
 who ask no questions will be told no lies. In the 
 meanwhile have you ne'er a dhrop o' brandy ? — 
 Fill it up — a pint would not touch her when the 
 blood is up." 
 
 Both females swallowed a goodly portion of the 
 ardent fluid, and Rouge-mantle made her reveren- 
 ces to Grahame ; and, in doing so, gave a sudden 
 start, which might have made another spill the
 
 THE EXILE. 213 
 
 liquor. It, however, only impelled it more rapidly 
 over her throat ; and then, with eager gesticulation 
 and muttered Irish speech, she drew her dumb 
 companion into the inner room. 
 
 " I ken na what to mak' o' thae cattle'' — whis- 
 pered the widow to her first and favourite guest. 
 " Bess though a ramping wild limmer, has some 
 good about her ; and I wad na be fain to tarry on 
 this road- side and thraw her humour. On the 
 other hand, the supervisor is so sharp about whom 
 we harbour, as if poor victuallers wha have to pay 
 stent and rent, tax and burden, can be chary o' 
 wha are their customers.'' 
 
 " Perhaps this is just a dumb woman," said 
 Grahame. " They have always a wild look." 
 
 " Conscience ! she is a grusome ane ! — But the 
 want o' the tongue must, to a woman body, be a 
 sore bereavement. It is an unruly member no 
 doubt ; but if I wanted my whirligig, I might 
 lock the door and throw away the key — ^for frae 
 morn to night I find use for it. — But whisht I" — 
 
 " It is he, I tell you — I know him well. I 
 have known him since he was cock-bird height," 
 Rouge-mantle was heard to say, in that clear au- 
 dible whisper, which is more distinctly heard at a 
 distance than the loudest tones of ordinary speech.
 
 214 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 Some muttering in Irish followed, and Bess, re- 
 turning to the kitchen, told the young girl, that 
 the dumb lady wished to tell her her fortune, and 
 the Captain his fortune, whichever chose to attend 
 her first. 
 
 " Let the Captain tak' the first turn,"" said Jean, 
 with a frightened giggle; and in one minute Wolfe 
 was in the inner apartment alone, by the side of 
 the stranger. 
 
 The fugitive silently locked the door, and ap- 
 proaching him, said in an energetic voice, and with 
 impassioned gesture. " You know me — you know 
 that I am — an Irishman — a fugitive — on whose 
 head a price is set — proscribed, hunted, guilty, or 
 so called. You are the kinsman of John de Bruce : 
 — he was my friend ! — I am in your power. Is it 
 your wish to spare what the sword and the tem- 
 pest have spared — the life which misery makes 
 worthless ? — or to give me up to the blood-suck- 
 ers ? — Think of it well. She who has lain in your 
 bosom — my blood is blushing in her cheeks !" 
 
 Wolfe was too much overcome by the tumult 
 of his feelings to reply, save by a broken exclama- 
 tion of wonder and doubt. 
 
 " You doubt my truth, then !" cried the stran- 
 ger, impatiently stamping, his lip quivering in pas-
 
 THE EXILE. 215 
 
 sion. — " Your doubts are destruction. Hark ! I 
 hear the tread of their returning horses ! — Let me at 
 least die as I have lived — a man !" With a small 
 dagger or stiletto, which had been concealed about 
 his breast, he cut away the female weeds which dis- 
 guised liim, tore off his muffling frontlet and 
 head-gear, and stood forth in the close-fitting green 
 vestments which were then the uniform, the badge 
 of rebellion — a man in very deed ! 
 
 " Ay, a man every inch of him !'"* said Rouge- 
 mantle, who claimed admission to announce, in 
 eager whispers, the trampling of the horses, which 
 his own quick ear had heard a second or two ear- 
 lier. Her dark eyes flashed with momentary de- 
 light as she saw her companion restored to himself. 
 
 " What am I to believe .?" said Wolfe. 
 
 " Believe what you please, sir," returned the 
 stranger, haughtily. 
 
 "Your tale is wild and improbable ; but it is as 
 certain that your personal danger is great and im- 
 minent. — Tell me what I can do consistently with 
 my honour as a man and a soldier, and command 
 me." 
 
 " Lend me your military great-coat to cover 
 this unhappy garb."
 
 216 
 
 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 " Then don't call it so. — God bless the merry 
 green !" said Rouge-mantle, with enthusiasm. 
 
 " Pass me, if needful, for your friend travelling 
 to, and not flying from Ireland. Yes, I will return. 
 The lion should fall by the mouth of his den — 
 nobly at bay — not skulking and doubling like the 
 felon fox only to secure his own wretched life." 
 
 " Impossible !'' replied Grahame. " But take my 
 coat, — my purse, — my horse. — Here is a way"" — 
 and he pulled up, by main strength, the rusty bolt 
 which held to a small lattice. " I pledge myself 
 to hold the door against a hundred till you gain 
 the open moors ; and there is room enough in Scot- 
 land.^' 
 
 " Then you shall go, O'Connor,^' said Rouge- 
 mantle. — " Have I not purchased the right of 
 speaking to you .^'' 
 
 " If you wish to prove your truth," said Wolfe, 
 " try to wait for me near the rude obelisk, whence 
 a path strikes from the high-way down to the shore ; 
 and assuredly, within the hour, I will be with you 
 for good or for evil. — Let me hope for good." 
 
 The trampling sounded faster and nearer : Gra- 
 hame rushed to the house-door, and, in a whisper, 
 intimated to the landlady, the danger and impro-
 
 THE EXILE. 217 
 
 priety of the dumb person being discovered on her 
 premises. Meanwhile he locked the door inside, 
 and put the key in his pocket. The butt end of a 
 riding-whip thumped hollow against the door. 
 
 " Keep them in parley,'" whispered Grahame, 
 and flew back to the stranger. 
 
 "A barley there !"' shouted the widow, taking her 
 cue at once. " Irish scoundrels ! knocking on an 
 honest widow-woman's door, as if ye wad drive 
 down the house. — If I see the blessed morning the 
 supervisor shall hear o' this assault and blattery."" 
 
 Wolfe found the fugitive already gone. Mis- 
 tress Slattery was probably trained to rapid toil- 
 ettes, for, in an inconceivably short space of time, 
 she had thrown off her mantle and head-gear, 
 torn a cap of the landlady's from a curtain, flung 
 all her fugitive friend's discarded weeds about her 
 own person, and, tucking this aggregation of wet 
 drapery under her, squatted down in the chimney- 
 corner, seized her labouring oar, smoked her pipe, 
 and alternately sung that elegant and loyal ditty — 
 
 " Ye croppies of Dublin I bid ye take care, 
 
 For ye're very well known by the cut of your hair." 
 
 The man who appeared much less au fait to such 
 movements, she ordered asleep at once.
 
 218 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 " Be about us ! — and was it you a' the time, 
 supervisor ?'' cried the widow, with well affected 
 astonishment, opening her door. — " To keep you 
 cooling your cutes at my door ! — But what will ye 
 tak' ? This is Captain de Bruce Grahame, boune 
 for Ireland to quell the croppies, and give us peace 
 o** them." 
 
 The gentlemen exchanged salutations. 
 
 " A damned scamper. Captain, I have had after 
 the rebel rascals along shore there. I have had 
 up all the household of Kilwhonnel and Mossbret- 
 tles for examination." 
 
 " Od, ye was right to gar auld David say his 
 carritch," rejoined the widow, laughing. " He 
 likes weel to targe ither folk on theirs." 
 
 " There can be no doubt but their boat has gone 
 to flinders. The herring-pond has saved govern- 
 ment a half-crown tow. I must have acted valet 
 to this scoundrel myself had we nibbed him. — It 
 would have been a special-commission job." 
 
 Grahame could not, at this instant, summon for- 
 titude to make the inquiries which trembled on 
 his tongue ; scarcely could he compose his coun- 
 tenance to a decent show of indifference. 
 
 " Eh ! — What — how is this ? Surely your 
 lamb's blood is still lying near your heart, Luckie,
 
 THE EXILE. 219 
 
 if you keep your parlour window open in such 
 weather"' — and the officer whistled as he looked 
 about keenly and suspiciously ; and in rushed the 
 Sheriff maires from the hallan. — " Look about 
 you there ! Sharp's the word. — Sharp — sharp !'' 
 
 " The reek — the weary reek," said the widow. 
 ''It will not leave an ee in my head — and makes 
 my bits o' pearlins as yellow as a gule's fit. Ye 
 are ane o"* the trustees yourseF, supervisor — and I 
 must — and I will have that lum-head looked at." 
 
 " O ! is that it ? Well, let vis see what you 
 have got for us after our cool ride. What do you 
 prefer. Captain Grahame ? — What has this lout 
 brought you in his creels.'^" — touching the soi-disant 
 sleeper with the end of his whip, and probably tak- 
 ing him for a smuggler. 
 
 " I have already ended my potations, sir," said 
 Grahame, rather haughtily. 
 
 " O ! — so^and in odd company enough too." 
 
 " I remain here for this night, and sit in this 
 apartment — because it best suits my conven- 
 ience," continued Grahame, still in alt. 
 
 " O ! no doubt — a jolly landlady — and a bonnie 
 dochter ! Eh, Luckie — ha ! ha ! ha !" 
 
 " Na, ye're just the auld, daft, rantin' doug, su- 
 pervisor, wi' pardon. — For I kenned the supervi-
 
 220 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 sor last year, Captain, when he was but a simple 
 ganger. — Ye may thank the Black-nebs for pro- 
 motion — but let merit mount, say I ! Shall it be 
 a bottle o' plottie, or a jug o"* the auld Jamaica ? 
 The Captain he drinks half-and-half : — And gang 
 ye butt the house, honest folk ; gentlemen like 
 nae strange een upon them owre their liquor." 
 
 Rouge-mantle poked her sleeping friend, who 
 enacted sundry well-executed awakening grunts, 
 stretched his limbs, and growling curses followed 
 her out. 
 
 Grahame, though not much enamoured of his 
 chance- associate, upon second thoughts fancied 
 it best to accept of the second proffer of civility ; 
 and by way of balancing accounts, ordered in a 
 supply of liquor for the supervisor's attendants, for 
 whom a table was set out by the zealous widow in 
 another corner of the apartment. 
 
 Gladly would Wolfe, in the confusion of his 
 fermenting thoughts, have escaped the many tales 
 and accounts of detections, suspicions, and arrests, 
 with which this zealous partizan plied him during 
 the discussion of their rum punch — -yet every mi- 
 nute passed appeared like one gained to the fugitive, 
 who would, he concluded, make a better use of
 
 THE EXILE. 221 
 
 his time than in dallying on the seashore, merely to 
 afford himself an explanation of enigmatical words. 
 
 A few minutes of conversation tended to recon- 
 cile the young man to the zealous official, against 
 whom his proud heart had at first sight risen. He 
 appeared more a sycophant than sordid, more a 
 partisan than a knave, stau7ich rather than disho- 
 nest ; and, though there was about him a vulgar 
 overbearmg bustle, sufficiently offensive to our 
 young man's taste, he felt that this officer was only 
 doing his duty, in his own disagreeable way, at a 
 period of great public agitation and peril. 
 
 The supervisor could give no precise informa- 
 tion as to the rank or real name of the person sup- 
 posed to have escaped from the Antrim coast, 
 but that he was a rebel leader — " a d d re- 
 bel." 
 
 " How many unhappy gentlemen were there in 
 the same situation in our own country but a few 
 years back,""* said Wolfe, " whose personal ho- 
 nour no one durst attaint — the friends of the ex- 
 iled Stuarts ! How many bitter enemies were there 
 among honest Scotsmen to our own national Union 
 — noble true-hearted fellows, that would neverthe- 
 less have fought against it over boots in blood ! I 
 hope government is strong enough to give the
 
 222 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 mad Irish time to come to their senses ; or to 
 clap a strait waistcoat on them, if gentler means 
 won't do, till the paroxysm is over. In a better or 
 a wiser cause, the enthusiasm, energy, and gene- 
 rosity displayed by some of these reckless parti- 
 sans, would have immortalized them as martyrs of 
 freedom and religion ; for, after all, a Papist's faith 
 may be as dear to him as a Protestant's is to us." 
 
 This was too general a view of the subject for 
 the loyal supervisor ; his official dignity fell, and 
 his zeal rose as the punch ebbed apace. He replied 
 by a succession of bumpers, and a volley of toasts 
 of denunciation and execration, which he ordered 
 all around him to drink ; and, save Grahame, no 
 one refused a test swallowed in so palatable a me- 
 dium. " Coup it up, boys," exclaimed he. " We 
 are on the public service ; and the King — God 
 bless him ! — ^pays for all." 
 
 '' Good night !" was at last exchanged between the 
 compotators; the reckoning was discharged, and the 
 horses were led forth. The sheriff-officers mounted 
 and followed their warlike leader, now in tolerable 
 glee. The landlady bent her ear till the tramp- 
 ling of the steeds was heard no longer ; but even 
 then it was in a whisper she addressed Grahame. 
 
 "It's me and mine that's beholden to you. Cap-
 
 THE EXILE. 223 
 
 tain. 1 would have lost my license but for yon 
 friendly turn in getting aff the dumb quean, and 
 making a guisard o' Bess — for she is a noted one." 
 
 " You have a tolerable ready wit yourself at a 
 pinch, gudewife. That reek came not amiss." 
 
 " Then, Captain, it must surely be auld Clootie 
 himseP that helps a simple body out at a pinch ; 
 for I'm but an innocent duffie till I'm driven to an 
 extremity ; and then a city o' refuge will open in 
 the mist in a really wonderfu' way." 
 
 " Or in the reek !" said Grahame, laughing. " But 
 had this failed now, what would you have done .?" 
 
 " Ou ! just beflummed the ganger, and thought 
 little sin, in some ither way. I'm sure I could 
 not at this preceese moment tell ye an put my een 
 in pricks ; but providence aye opens a door or 
 twa o' deliverance to a straitened woman. — I'm 
 only at a loss sometimes whilk to flee by." 
 
 " True," said Wolfe, smiling. " And Red- 
 mantle is off too I presume. She also feels 
 that, 
 
 " The mouse that has but one poor hole, 
 Can't be a mouse of any soul." 
 
 " The rampler quean is aff, and made me give 
 her a lapful of bread and meat, a big whang o'
 
 224 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 cheese, and weel on to a bottle of brandy, saying, 
 the bold hussey, that you. Captain, had ordered 
 her supper, and would pay a' charges, for getting 
 your fortune spaed ; but I'm not going to extor- 
 tion you.'" 
 
 Wolfe understood this delicate hint as it was 
 meant, and carelessly replied — " Put it all in the 
 bill, gudewife. You know the good King pays for 
 all when soldiers and gangers travel." 
 
 " Now if I thought that I would make small 
 scruple — that eases my conscience clean. It's no 
 little I gi'e him — so it's but gif-gaf, which keeps 
 lang gude friends." 
 
 " But whither has Red-mantle gone .^^ 
 
 " Let her see to that — She darkens na my door 
 again. She's thought little better — let me heark 
 in your lug — than a spy atween the wild United 
 Croppies and the Glasgow Black-nebs ! I was a 
 bit o' a democraw mysel' last year, and so was 
 auld David Mossbrettles, — he, for the auld cause 
 of Kirk and Covenant — me, for cheap tea and 
 tobacco. While the Black-nebs wanted only the 
 tea and sugar cheap, and a drap brandy at a rea- 
 sonable rate, I was hand in glove wi' them ; and 
 ga'e them ben the house to meet in, free o' a 
 charge — save the natural corkage." 
 2
 
 THE EXILE. 225 
 
 " And what did the supervisor say to this ?^' 
 inquired Wolfe, who perceived that another hour 
 must elapse before he could with safety keep his 
 appointment, and cared not how time went. 
 
 " The supervisor ! — When thae gentry clink 
 me down in their lang parchment books I waver 
 whiles yet in my principle. To think o' taxing the 
 very blessed light, whilk the Almighty sends down 
 free frae His heavens through a puir widow's win- 
 dow bole !" 
 
 " When I get into Parliament we shall have all 
 this redressed,"' said Wolfe, laughing. 
 
 " Lord's sake ! do so then ; for it's taxes makes 
 democraws. They tax the tea-pot, and they tax 
 the cuttie-pipe, and they tax the washing-tub, and 
 they tax the window bole ; and if I steek up the 
 bole, they say, ' Luckie, ye maun steek up your 
 lum ;' and if I steek up my lum, they'll say, 
 ' Luckie, ye maunna.' " — But here the honest wo- 
 man pre-supposed a case so extreme, that her 
 blushing daughter interfered with another — 
 
 " Houts, mother !" 
 
 " Ay ! muckle need o' you and the like o' you 
 in the Parliament, Captain. Johnnie Clydesdale, 
 the weaver, telled me — and he was within one o' 
 being constitute a Deput to the British Convention 
 
 VOL. I. V
 
 226 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 — that under a sound form of Government, folk 
 might drink three times as muckle ale — and o' twice 
 the straik o' maut.'' 
 
 " I think you almost qualified for a member of 
 that sapient body yourself, gudewife.*" 
 
 " Hout awa'. Captain !" rejoined the dame, with 
 that equivocal smile, which pretending to hover be- 
 tween jest and earnest, manifestly inclines to the 
 latter. " If the women-folks had the beard and 
 the breeks, the brain might be forthcoming. But 
 I was just giving you my ideas of Government 
 anent taxation. With their universal sufferings 
 and annual Parliaments I meddle not nor make 
 
 And these ideas we have recorded, literally as 
 they were given, for the benefit of Chancellors of 
 the Exchequer yet unborn. 
 
 "I see by your drumlie een. Captain, that ye 
 are thinking mair on your bed than of poleeticks. 
 I maun get ye a candle — and thafs taxed and 
 gauged too ; — a sore matter that I cannot kill a 
 wether, and make twa or three moulds and dips 
 out o'' the tallow, without a ganger at my lug ! 
 Mind ye that too in Parliament. But I'm nae 
 bluidy Black-neb for a' that. Captain. When 
 they took to speak o' burning houses, and cut-
 
 THE EXILE. 
 
 227 
 
 ling throats, and dividing lairds' lands, I was 
 done o' the blackguards. And indeed I ne'er was 
 for pulling down auld Geordie. — Take care o"* 
 the anker there T the trance,'' said she, piloting 
 the way to Wolfe's chamber. — " No, no — a King 
 is a mensefu' thing m a country — he is like the 
 gudeman in a house. You see how ilka loon 
 puts upon a lone widow-woman, Captain. Had it 
 been the Almighty's will to clothe me with a hus- 
 band, as the blessed Apostle says, would these 
 Irish rapparees have ventured to spuilzie on me 
 as they did this night ; and so fares 0' a country 
 without a King." 
 
 " Well, I am glad to hear that you are loyal at 
 least," said Grahame, fancying himself — and with 
 some reason — indebted to the supervisor's rum 
 punch for Mrs. Bonalie's " Declaration of rights, 
 and statement of grievances." — " Leave my boots, 
 if you please, — I shall perhaps go off very early ; 
 and the first time that I have the honour of seeing 
 his Majesty, I will surely tell him what a faithful 
 and loyal subject he has in my kind hostess of the 
 Crossgates of Caberax." 
 
 " Lord's sake ! Captain, do sae, just for the 
 joke ye ken," replied the Widow with glee. " I 
 can say ony thing to Balquharn, — but the King
 
 228 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 we ne'er saw. Now tell him I'm for setting him 
 free o' Billy Pitt, and the Bute that hung sae lang 
 at his nose — I saw the picture o' that in Balqu- 
 harn — and bringing him down to Holyrood wi' the 
 Queen and their bonnie family, where we could 
 keep them for half the expense, and have some- 
 thing to look at for our siller. But a sound sleep 
 to ye ; — have ye plenty o' claes ? And for ony 
 sake, dinna think o' travelling on an empty stom- 
 ach." 
 
 In a half hour afterwards, all in and about the 
 little inn was as still as a churchyard at midnight, 
 in the days when there were plenty of ghosts, but 
 few resurrection men ; and Wolfe glided through 
 the same diamond-paned window which had served 
 for the escape of the exile, about three hours be- 
 fore. 
 
 It was two hours beyond midnight when Wolfe 
 walked forth to keep his mysterious tryst, scarcely 
 expecting to find the stranger awaiting him, his 
 mind tossed in a sea of doubt, and conjecture, and 
 vague distracting thought. " Could the fugitive 
 be the father of Elizabeth .? Could he even be 
 her near relative— or was this alleged only to in- 
 fluence his feelings and sympathies.? Again — 
 who could know of his marriage save through the
 
 THE EXILE. 229 
 
 medium of the old woman, Monica Doran ; or 
 through her who had sanctioned, and indeed en- 
 joined the alliance? Could he whose bearing 
 and language bore the irresistible impress of truth, 
 seek to deceive for the merely selfish object of per- 
 sonal safety ? Was he waiting now — or had he 
 fled ? Such were some of the drifting thoughts 
 that floated uppermost on the current of the young 
 man's mind. There were others of deeper import 
 from which at first he shrunk ; but, forced upon 
 their consideration, his feelings were such as be- 
 came his own heart, and did right to her to whom 
 that heart was pledged. 
 
 " Not less dear to me, my own noble Elizabeth, 
 as the child of this unhappy outlaw, than if the 
 daughter of de Bruce, my kinsman ! Ay, per- 
 chance, more dear — if that were possible,'' was his 
 thought ; and he walked forward more firmly, and 
 in a few minutes, from behind the rude obelisk, 
 commemorative of some local skirmish between 
 Galwegian clans, beheld Rouge-mantle step out, 
 and beckon him to follow her track. 
 
 The winds having raged their fill, had now 
 sobbed themselves into the deepest peace. A 
 breathless calm lay on the sleeping face of nature, 
 on which nothing seemed alive save the tall figure^
 
 230 ELIZABETH DE liKUCE. 
 
 and the taller fantastic shadow of his guide cross- 
 ing the moonlight. Though the tempest was 
 lulled, the heavy rolling sea, like some savage 
 beast beaten back from its prey and growling in 
 its retreat, still moaned in its internal agitation, 
 uttering those heavy, monotonous, muffled sounds 
 which for hours and days follow a furious storm. 
 This muffled growling became louder. " Whither 
 do you lead .?'' inquired Grahame of his athletic 
 guide. She pointed to the shore, and pushed on^ 
 ward. After breasting a considerable green ascent, 
 they plunged down sheer upon the beach, where 
 the rocky angle of a small creek or inlet, of only a 
 few yards in width, formed the boundary of a rustic 
 cemetery, hanging upon the seaward slope, from 
 the headland down to the ocean's margin. The 
 broken surface of this neglected place of sepulture, 
 was composed of turfy knolls intermixed with grey 
 stones, weather-stained and covered with lichens, 
 which had once probably been part of the neigh- 
 bouring chapel of St. Bride, of which little other 
 vestige now remained. A line of firm silversand 
 formed the lower boundary ; low ridges of rock 
 tasselled with sea-weed shut in the sides ; and cat- 
 tle might be excluded by a natural fence of wither- 
 ed brackens and brambles which waved on the
 
 THE EXILE. 231 
 
 summit ; where a tew hermit bushes of sloe-thorn, 
 hoary and shattered, intermingled their old grey 
 limbs and tough roots with the evanescent shoots 
 of a more ephemeral vegetation. A mariner who 
 had escaped a watery grave, might have chosen to 
 be laid here. A few mouldering tomb-stones, half 
 sunk in the turf, and heaved up and swaying from 
 their level, aiid a rude weather-tanned stone cross, 
 were the chief mementoes of mortality : — the little 
 green heaps had fallen in as the human dust 
 had shrunk which lay beneath them. 
 
 On one of those weather-stained tomb-stones, 
 under the shadow of a huge insulated mass of 
 rock, Wolfe perceived the fugitive. He sat with 
 his head resting on his hand, his elbow supported 
 on his knee, in an attitude of melancholy contem- 
 plation, gazing out vacantly upon the crisp waves 
 all glistering in the moonlight, and flowing on- 
 ward to the sandy beach in a state as different 
 from their late furious agitation, as was his calm 
 and stern mood from the ecstacy of excitement in 
 which Grahame had so lately beheld him. 
 
 W^olfe bowed as he approached, and the female 
 drew back, having fulfilled her mission. 
 
 " But a few hours back,'' said the stranger, 
 " and you beheld me struggling, and all but gulph-
 
 232 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 ed amid the coil of waves which are now rolling 
 on so stilly, the slave of that wretched human in- 
 stinct which compels us to struggle for the worthless 
 life that has long been but as a sick dream — 
 which, preserved with difficulty, already presses 
 upon the heart like a dead cold load, which I could 
 be glad to throw down forever — even here — and 
 now. But what is all this to you ?"" 
 
 " Pardon me, sir,'' said Wolfe. " If it be, as 
 you have given me reason to believe, that you are 
 closely related to one, so tenderly, so justly dear to 
 me — can I be less than deeply interested in your 
 fate, dark and perilous as it may be ?'' 
 
 " ' If it be ?'' — But this too must be borne. I 
 am, young gentleman, the brother of your wife's 
 unhappy mother. I am in deadly jeopardy — that 
 is nothing — I have plunged hundreds of faithful 
 devoted wretches into peril as imminent. I have 
 been betrayed by treachery — and / have betrayed 
 many by my mad folly into a wild enterprize" — 
 
 " If you already so clearly perceive the folly and 
 injustice of your attempt," interrupted Wolfe — 
 
 " Injustice ! — By heavens ! my purpose was as 
 holy and as just, as right and wrong could make it ! 
 — right shamefully withheld — wrong cruelly inflict- 
 ed — oppression, contumely, scorn, poured not on
 
 THE EXILE. 233 
 
 me alone, but on all I ought to cherish ! I were 
 a beast not to have felt — a coward not to have re- 
 sisted ! But whither has the spirit of vengeance 
 led me ! — On yon miserable shore — ^blood — ay, 
 faithful, generous, young blood, has already flowed 
 to secure a way of escape for me. God ! — God ! 
 that it should be thus !" and he clenched his hands 
 in an agony of despair. The female stepped for- 
 ward with an anxious gesture, and again drew back 
 in awe or fear ; and in a calmer voice he proceed- 
 ed — " I have still something to live for — and I 
 must not cast away what has been so dearly pur- 
 chased. You know the temper of this land. — Give 
 me brief counsel how to reach the spot inhabited 
 by Elizabeth — that place in which I once hoped to 
 have seen in joy my poor sister. A friend expects me 
 there — a friend I — and from thence I hope to pass 
 to Hamburgh : — hope — why do men continue to be 
 duped by the cheat ? But tell me, how, with safe- 
 ty to that poor woman who has sworn to guide me 
 aright or perish, I may reach this Ernescraig ?'' 
 
 Wolfe appeared to hesitate, really from inabili- 
 ty to give instant counsel ; and, with a start of 
 passionate impatience, the fugitive cried aloud— 
 " Have I then, in throwing myself upon your hon- 
 our, made a rash confidence .^ It boots not. Life
 
 234 ELIZABETH BE BRUCE. 
 
 to me is a thing too worthless to repay withering 
 suspicion, or cold-blooded calculations of man's 
 faith or generosity. I may still cope with an open 
 enemy, but I cannot stoop either to supplicate or 
 to circumvent those whom I should find friends." 
 
 " My conduct has not merited this," said Gra- 
 hame, with pride and feeling, " even while I held 
 you a fugitive stranger, obnoxious, and perhaps 
 justly so, to the prince whose sword I wear." 
 
 " You are right, young gentleman ; bear with 
 one whom suffering, even bodily suffering, has 
 nearly driven mad. I have been skulking — yes, 
 that is the very word — skulking on the shores of 
 Antrim for six days, almost without sleep, or food, 
 or shelter. But why do I say so, that poor woman 
 has endured even more for me." 
 
 " Never mind the likes of me, O'Connor," said 
 the female thus alluded to, very coolly." " Shure 
 I'm used to the road night or day ; and you will 
 both ate and dhrink now ere you say another word. 
 The young gentleman is true metal, I'll come 
 bound. Ring him and try him ; or if he should 
 not, there's in Connaught, and nearer, will let him 
 hear of it agen." 
 
 While this expostulation was in progress. 
 Rouge-mantle spread one of Widow Bonalie's
 
 THE EXILE. 235 
 
 snow-white towels upon a tomb-stone, and on this 
 strange board arranged her pillage. She then urged 
 the unfortunate gentlemen to eat, while she drew 
 back Grahame with something approaching to deli- 
 cacy and gentleness. 
 
 " Lave him alone then. — Oh, Mother of glory ! 
 to see a Scotch berrin-yard your hall, and a grave 
 stone your board, O'Connor ! — and he a prince in 
 the land ! — You saw him in the waters to-day — 
 the fires had gone over him before then. " He 
 did not break his fast or close his eye for three 
 days. j\Iay the black curse and the burning, light 
 upon, and hang about him and his that driv him 
 
 to this ! — and that is your own lady's"" She 
 
 checked her communicative vein ; and again step- 
 ped forward, and pressed her services upon the 
 fugitive, who tried to swallow a crust of bread, and 
 seemed to choke upon it. 
 
 " Try the brandy first, O'Connor," said the 
 guide, coaxingly. " I have some experience — bless 
 you." 
 
 " She says truly, sir," said Wolfe. " After 
 your sufferings, privations, and incredible exer- 
 tions, warmth and rest must be more grateful, 
 and even more necessary than food. Would you 
 trust your safety for a day to the hospitality of
 
 236 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 the neighbouring farmer, — my neck should be your 
 guarantee.'^ 
 
 " No, No ! — It cannot be. My blighting pre- 
 sence shall never again carry misery and death into 
 any poor man's dwelling."' 
 
 " He speaks of the boy — and would we not have 
 given up ten boys for you, O'Connor ? Your own 
 nurse's childer .?" 
 
 Grahame respected the exile's generous motive 
 too much, to dissuade him from his own fixed 
 purpose of entering no private dwelling. 
 
 " I have gone too far already," said he, " in en- 
 gaging your sympathy for a fate which it is be- 
 come perilous even to guess at. Perhaps I may 
 see my neice. I have credentials from her mother 
 — her mother ! till the last week, I had not for 
 nineteen years beheld Aileen ; and she was as the 
 light of my eyes ! Just Heaven ! — if Heaven 
 there be that regards the doings of man — ^how, 
 and when shall I learn to reverence your deal- 
 ings .?" 
 
 Wolfe had never in his brief life witnessed sor- 
 row so bitter. 
 
 " We arraign the decrees of Heaven, and for- 
 get our own deservings" — was his quiet reply. 
 
 " But Aileen .?— de Bruce ? — the young — the
 
 THE EXILE. 237 
 
 happy--the innocent ! What had they done to 
 become the victims of a visitation so dark—- so 
 wrathful — so relentless ?"' He sunk into thought ; 
 and wrapping Wolfe's military cloak around him, 
 leaned his uncovered head against the rock, in an 
 attitude strongly expressive of natural grace and 
 dignity. 
 
 " Is he not purty and gentale now ?^' whispered 
 Rouge-mantle, who assumed much more freedom 
 with the young man, than with her own proud ally. 
 " Six feet two in his shoes-«-and they were seven 
 boys of them, sones of the ould O'Connor ; and 
 Aileen the youngest, and the fairest, and the flower, 
 and the curse : — and the sea got its part, and 
 the swoord got its part, and the grief as ever, had 
 its own double portion. But did I not guide him 
 well ? — ^Ay, and the blood will flow deeper, ere the 
 axe which Fitzmaurice is whetting, fall on the 
 proud neck of O'Connor !" 
 
 This new riddle was whispered through clench- 
 ed teeth, in a tone of almost insane energy ; and 
 before Wolfe could reply. Rouge-mantle was 
 clambering over the grave-stones and rocks, on 
 her way to the little inn, for such spoils from 
 Grahame's portmanteau as might be substituted
 
 238 ELIZABETH DE BUMCE. 
 
 for tlie ill-boding gi'cen garb worn by the fugi- 
 tive. 
 
 She returned in an incredibly short time ; and 
 the exile changed his garb under the shelter of the 
 block of rock, Rouge-mantle, at the same time, bid- 
 ding him, " never make no bones about her, as 
 she would just turn her head seaward and take a 
 blast o' the 'baco pipe." 
 
 In this attitude, something like common-sense 
 appeared to have dawned upon her mind ; for she 
 turned round saying — " The boy is o' the right, 
 O'Connor : — I must part yez. I am — bless the 
 mark ! — as well known on the road as the Port 
 Dilly ; and for as little good may be." 
 
 " She is quite right in this, sir. With this 
 change of dress, and my horse, were you alone 
 you may proceed unchallenged whither you will. 
 To her who is dear to us both, you may make 
 those disclosures which neither time nor perhaps 
 inclination permits you to make to me. I am, 
 indeed, more desirous to see you gone ere the day 
 dawn, than for the gratification of my own anxious 
 curiosity. I dare not even in writing allude to our 
 rencontre. But tell her, that if I ever seemed to 
 listen with coldness to any one, whose life is fed
 
 THE EXILE. 239 
 
 with a portion of blood kindred to liers, to blame 
 my condition and acquit my heart." 
 
 Grahame walked about to recover his compo- 
 sure. Rouge-mantle addressed a few words in 
 Irish to O'Connor, and tossed his green garb far into 
 the sea, though with evident reluctance. He gave 
 her some money, and replied to her in the language 
 she had used; and with many courtesies of her own 
 peculiar kind, she went on her way. 
 
 The moon had almost sunk, the stars gleamed less 
 vividly, and a faint pale streak of dawn was visible 
 in the direction of the Antrim mountains. The 
 fugitive gazed darkly in the direction of his coun- 
 try, with that yearning hopeless gaze of which only 
 the exile knows all the bitterness ; and stretched 
 out his longing arms as if to clasp it to his heart. 
 
 " This is folly," said he, assuming a lighter tone 
 than he had yet used. " I could play the woman 
 here :" he slipped his arm through Grahame's. 
 " Poor country ! — a sadder heart never left thee, — 
 a darker shadow never lowered over thee, since the 
 hour when thy glorious green head first rose in 
 pride above the waters, and thy God blessed thee, 
 and saw that his work was good ! — You think me a 
 very fool, de Bruce, but that poor Ireland is my 
 country. In this hour it is more — the birthplace
 
 240 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 and the grave of noble hopes ; and, in the narrow 
 space between them, what of toil, and suffering, 
 and grief, and remorse, are huddled ! — I cannot tell 
 you my story to-night but I wish it were your 
 destiny to carry your arms elsewhere." 
 
 As he talked, the sullen roll of a single cannon- 
 shot swung over the waters of the channel. He made 
 a slight agitated movement, the nervous movement 
 of one who has been long hunted, but is at last 
 under no necessity of exercising self-command. 
 
 "'Tis the Carrickfergus signal-gun,'' said Wolfe. 
 " On a still night the booming of the evening gun 
 may be heard on this coast.'' 
 
 " 'Tis to me the last voice of Ireland !" said 
 the exile. 
 
 Wolfe saddled his good steed himself; and a 
 load seemed taken off his heart when the fugitive 
 disappeared in the curves and bends of the road 
 leading towards Ayr, just as day was breaking. 
 
 " Ye are a brave riser at night, Captain," were 
 the words with which Gideon saluted our young 
 man's ears next day, an hour after Widow Bonalie 
 had arranged and re-arranged her guest's breakfast 
 table. The sun was high in the heavens — Wolfe 
 sprung up, and his first thought was—" He must 
 be twenty miles hence." 
 
 1
 
 THE EXILE. 241 
 
 xV few half-crowns, judiciously administered, 
 effectually stopped sundry gaps, which the disap- 
 pearance of Saladin and certain other circumstan- 
 ces, had made in the Widow Bonalie's organ of in- 
 quisitiveness ; and she not only procured a hack- 
 horse for Port-Patrick, but sent some of her friends 
 forward with Wolfe's luggage, while he still dal- 
 lied with Gideon over his breakfast. In requital 
 of these civilities, he pledged himself, in set terms, 
 never to pass her door ; and she, as a balance of 
 courtesy, for the most " honourable day" she had 
 seen since Balquharn and the road trustees had 
 dined with her, implored that the gentlemen would 
 not stir till they had tasted her " cherub."" 
 
 " I see ye have forgotten me, Mr. Haliburton," 
 said the widow, " and no wonder. I'm a changed 
 woman ! Many is the lonely night has crept owre 
 my head in that care-bed lair," pointing to her 
 widowed couch, " since the death of Peter Bo- 
 nalie. Ye ha'e forgotten me — auld springs gi'e 
 nae price." 
 
 " Umph," quoth Gideon, as she went off — " I 
 mind ye weel eneuch. She was thought to have 
 spoken the poor man to dead, Wolfe. Lingulata 
 — as we used to say at St. Andrews — a prating, 
 clavering, lang-tongued woman. But oh ! man, 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 242 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 this is dour wark — this leave-taking. What am 
 I to say to comfort poor Burd 'Lizbeth ?'' 
 
 While Grahame profoundly cogitated whether 
 'the hospitable intention of the widow, regarding a 
 taste of her " cherub,'" had any special reference to 
 the rosy lips of Jean ; and with more of the senti- 
 ment and delicacy of a lover than the gallantry of 
 his profession, demurred to parting with Elizabeth's 
 last fond kiss on such slight grounds, or indeed 
 on any grounds, the matron allayed his terrors by 
 re-appearing with a fluted Dutch bottle, as long- 
 necked as a heron, filled with home-made shrub. 
 
 In short there was no end to mutual civilities ; 
 but as " the best of friends," says the adage, 
 " must part,'' Wolfe, with an abrupt adieu to 
 his old friend, sprung into the saddle and gallopped 
 off. 
 
 " A fair gude-day, and a brave journey. Cap- 
 tain — and Lord's sake have a care o' the Crop- 
 pies !" bawled the Widow Bonalie. 
 
 Gideon and Jenny Geddes turned their rueful 
 heads silently and sorrowfully homeward ; but on 
 the summit of the first knoll they stood, as if trans- 
 fixed, while the young man remained in sight, and 
 for some time afterwards. 
 
 " If it be Thy will, cover the young rash head
 
 THE EXILE. 243 
 
 in the day of battle : And O ! strengthen and 
 spare the soft heart that is hanging upon him — ay, 
 e''en but owre fondly."' 
 
 Gideon and Jenny again moved slowly on — 
 and, as has already been related, in due time 
 reached the douce hamlet of the Sourholes in the 
 fair strath of Oran.
 
 244 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A (OUNTRY SUNDAY EVENING 
 
 I'll give thy harp heroic theme, 
 And warm thee with a noble name — 
 Pour forth the glories of the Graharae. 
 
 Lady of the Lake. 
 
 The garnish of Frisers conversation had been 
 duly served up in the parlour of Monkshaugh, 
 as a desert, almost every day, for the last fifteen 
 years, from the time that he acted as " gabby- 
 post,"" till now that he was chief butler. On the 
 day following Elizabeth's interview with Gideon, 
 this innocent relish — the olives which gave zest, 
 or the walnuts which gave race and richness, to 
 Monkshaugh's moderate hebdomadal glass of old 
 claret — was not forgotten. Not that Frisel was
 
 A COUNTRY SUNDAY EVENING. 245 
 
 permitted openly to stand still and discourse to his 
 master — far from it — but there was a conventional 
 understanding — the fire was to be made up — the 
 hearth was to be swept — the beaufet was to be set 
 in order ; and all this duly performed, gave ample 
 time for table-talk. 
 
 " I think Effie and you slipped Dr. Draunt 
 the day, Francie. — Were ye at the Sourholes' 
 meeting ? Was Mr. Haliburton ' beautifu' upon 
 the myrrh,' to-day ? Has he gotten Daniel out 
 from among the lions yet ?'" 
 
 The Whittret screwed up his humorous shrew- 
 mouse visage to an expression of Sabbath solem- 
 nity, which became him about as well as a Geneva- 
 band would a jackanape, and replied — " There 
 was only nine Sabbaths passed T the den — three 
 owre the mouth ; four T the bottom ; and twa 
 sprauchlin' out. I remember when Captain Wolfe 
 came home last year, after being away — was it 
 twa or three years, Leddy Xizbeth ? — ye'll mind ? 
 he said to me when I held his stirrup at the kirk 
 stile — ' Lord, Francie ! has Dr. Draunt not 
 brought Joseph out of Egypt yet ? He keeps 
 a better hold than Potiphar's wife ! A party of 
 Abercrombie's men would have had him here in 
 the body eighteen months ago.''
 
 246 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 " Put nane o' your Seceder gibes i" the mouth 
 o' Captain Wolfe Grahame,'' said the Laird, with 
 Lilliputian dignity. " But had ye a throng con- 
 gregation, Francie ? Wha a' sat wi' you the day ? 
 The auld Leddy o' Hungeremout — did she ven- 
 ture frae hame ?" 
 
 " O, ay ! She has gotten the auld cramesye 
 mantle turned into a riding Joseph, rather scrimp 
 in the tail — braw and lang f the waist though. 
 The young gudeman was there too, wi' the arnet- 
 tie-dyed breeks I brought hame the litt for the 
 ither week ; and Miss Jenny Jamphrey o' the Aiks 
 appeared wi' a red cockernony that'^s a stranger to 
 baith you and me. Laird, forbye a"* the Sourholes 
 congregation. I kenna where she has gotten it." 
 
 " 'Lizbeth, will it be the yellow Devonshire 
 slouch she brought frae the boarding-school she 
 has gotten dyed, think ye, wi' cudbear .?" said the 
 Laird, anxiously. 
 
 " Not unlikely,'' replied Elizabeth. 
 
 " Some sheeps' een casten between the arnettie 
 netlier-cleeding and the red cockernony, if I saw 
 right owre auld Balwhirlie's uplifted banner o' a 
 psalm book. The mistress sent down Saunders 
 the goadsman, wi' the mare for him, to the 
 " Grahame Arms,"" yestreen. He rode hame as
 
 A COUNTRY SUNDAY EVENING. 247 
 
 blind fou as a howlet, honest man ; but he was aye 
 a douce kirk-gaun Christian on the Lord^s day.'"* 
 
 In this fashion was related all the tittle-tattle 
 and scandal of the parish — what each person wore 
 — ^what changes garments had undergone, whether 
 of shape or colour — who had been " proclaimed" 
 — who " rebuked" — whose child " christened"— 
 who stole sly peeps of each other — who slept cov- 
 ertly — who snored aloud — who rode— who walked ; 
 and how many, or how few halfpence the circulat- 
 ing ladle had shamed from the pockets of this pe- 
 nurious congregation. 
 
 " Lowrie Lingle's bairn was kirsened ' John 
 HutcherC — set it up !" said Frisel. The Laird 
 deigned no remark. " Weel it set him ! I thought ; 
 and a gude wipe Mr. Gideon ga'e him. — ' What 
 d'ye ca' your bairn's name, Lowrie.'^' he routed 
 aloud. Lowrie whispered ; and he routed again — 
 ' The bairn's name, my friends, is John Hurch- 
 eon !' — but a name has naething to do with deevine 
 ordinance of baptism." 
 
 The Laird smiled, but tried to conceal the smile. 
 
 " But we had the grand young gentleman frae 
 the Whim^ too. I catched like the glint of a half- 
 crown wi' the tail o' my ee, when Saunders Thrums 
 brought the ladle frae the letterin where the younk-
 
 248 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 er sat, round to our seat for Effie's farden. — She 
 is casting her bread upon the waters, canny lass. — 
 I kenna what the gentleman might be looking for, 
 Leddy 'Lizbeth ; but mony a gledge his ee ga'e 
 round the kirk the day.'" 
 
 " Fine Sabbath cracks for the parlour o"* Monks- 
 haugh !'' cried the Laird, in petty wrath, " what 
 a souter ca'ed his bairn, — or how Mr. Hurcheon's 
 guests gledge or gley either i' the Sourholes' meet- 
 ing-house. It becomes me, Francie Frisel, as 
 your master, to take rule o"* you ; so ye'll be pleas- 
 ed to gi'e me the text, and a note o' the sermon 
 such as it was ; and ha'e done wi' thae idle clavers 
 ye delight in. — Nonsense gossip — most unsuitable 
 to this day, and this presence.'' 
 
 '' A noble discoorse,'' drawled Frisel, reassum- 
 ing his solemn face, in sober earnest however ; for 
 in his time the form of religion was indispensable 
 in Scotland — covenanted Scotland ! — even where 
 its power was wholly unfelt. — " I wish ye had been 
 there. Laird — on thae words of Elijah, second 
 Kings, iv. and 26 — ' Is it well with the lad f — 
 There was na a dry ee i' the congregation, Leddy 
 'Lizbeth. No one could miss the application to 
 our family. There hasna been sic a day o' the 
 gospel in the Sourholes, since Mr. Haliburton
 
 A COUNTRY SUNDAY EVENING. 249 
 
 preached his first great Action Sermon. Our Effie 
 gaed clean afF i' the exies. Saunders Thrums the 
 bedral and me had to carry her out, head and heels, 
 and streek her on the minister's caufF-bed. Ay, 
 Leddy 'Lizbeth ! there was a comfortable handling 
 o' doctrme ! And aye the savoury owrecome — 
 the Prophet's answer to the woman of Shunam — 
 ' It shall be welV '"* — Frisel mouthed this sentence 
 in very good style ; and added, in his natural 
 brisk tone, " Ye were sair missed, Laird. The 
 discoorse, Mr. Gideon said, naturally unfolded 
 
 itself into seven heads'' 
 
 " And ten horns belike," cried Monkshaugh, 
 with a face of scarlet, his little eyes scintillating 
 with passion. " What business had the auld 
 gowk's-head o' him with Captain Wolfe Grahame 
 of Monkshaugh ? Was it not enough that the 
 lang-winded Cameronian prayed the boddom out 
 of my silver skillet, but he must preach us into a 
 laughing-stock to the country-side ? Ay, 'Lizbeth, 
 my love, ye may weel look as if ye knew not whe- 
 ther to laugh or greet. If my Lady Tamtallan 
 should hear o't. It's no to be borne ! and it shall 
 na be borne ! And, Maister Francis Frisel, if 
 the parish kirk o' San Serf, or the non-juring 
 chapel of Innervallic, cannot serve Mistress Fech-
 
 250 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 nie and you, as they do your master, ye'll take 
 your change — I tell you that ! A bonnie tale in 
 troth for thae Hurcheons, that a day o' fast and 
 humiliation was held in the Sourhole's meeting, 
 for the downfalling house o' Monkshaugh/' 
 
 " The Hurcheons have ither tow on their rock," 
 replied the Whittret, who well knew where the 
 Laird winced, and could, at all times, readily re- 
 venge himself for such peccadilloes. 
 
 " What mean ye by other tow to spin, sirrah?" 
 
 " Ither tow to spin than minding Monkshaugh 
 matters," said Frisel. "There's Lord Rantle- 
 tree bidden and accept to a grand dinner for 
 the 10th, when young Mr. John comes of age ; 
 and the next day comes my lady's feast sham 
 Peter, and ball-all-frisky T the policies o' the 
 Whim. A' the bits o' young planted busses are 
 to ha'e can'le-doups stuck on them, to let them be 
 seen — ^for the Whim trimmer is scarce major yet, 
 though Mr. John be — and Leddy 'Lizbeth, a' the 
 red paper in Touchthebit's shop is clipped up into 
 red roses. What think ye o"* thae doings. Laird.?" 
 And the pert varlet darted off, leaving his wasp's 
 sting vibrating in his victim. 
 
 " Come back ! Francie Frisel — and snuff' thae 
 candles. — What's this ye tell me ? The Right
 
 A COUNTKY SUNDAY EVENING. 251 
 
 Honourable the Earl of Rantletree, his gracious 
 Majesty's lieutenant for this county, Knight o' the 
 Thistle, and Hereditary Spleuchan-bearer for 
 Scotland — though the Lord Lyon questions the 
 right — to mix and mell T the dish wi' Meg Hur- 
 cheon's great-grandson ? This beats a"* print !" 
 
 This was putting the matter as strongly and as 
 far back as possible. 
 
 " Ye ha'e the tale as cheap as I had it, Monks- 
 haugh," said the respectful serving-man ; and hav- 
 ing now fully glutted his vengeance for the ungra- 
 cious manner in which his " Note of the sermon'^ 
 had been received, he went off to summon the 
 cow-boy, the foot-boy, and the maid-servants, to 
 the Sunday evening's lecture, while the Laird, in 
 no very Christian humour, mused on what this 
 portentous conjunction boded, thought of turning 
 whig, and began to reckon on his fingers the num- 
 ber of votes which the united houses of de Bruce, 
 Monkshaugh, and Kippencreery Wester, could 
 muster on an election pinch. The digits of the 
 left hand made up the sum total of them. 
 
 " O, 'Lizbeth, but I wish ye had been a lad .?'' 
 he said at last, recovering in some degree his com- 
 posure — " and so does our strong-minded kins- 
 woman, my Leddy Tamtallan; but Fll no say
 
 252 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 that our friend Wolfe, as heir-male, would just 
 have liked that." 
 
 " I wadna promise either !"" whispered Frisel, 
 gravely placing the volume of sermons, from which 
 the Laird — who insisted on being priest, as well as 
 prophet and king in his own family — was to select 
 the lecture for the evening. 
 
 As a proper rebuke of FrisePs gossiping dispo- 
 sition, after long search and due deliberation, he 
 handed to Elizabeth Blair's Sermon " On curiosi- 
 ty concerning the affairs of others.'''' 
 
 He next led her to a seat by the blazing fire, 
 and had his own small snug fauteuil drawn up 
 opposite. The Whittret placed a little table, and 
 a footstool for the lady, snuffed the candles with a 
 flourish, as if just fresh from the study of the Foot- 
 man's Directory, and returned to where the house- 
 hold maidens were intrenched behind a high Japan 
 screen — a boundary which, in imitation of the Ran- 
 tletree family on those solemn occasions of Sunday- 
 evening sermon-reading, divided the inner, from the 
 outer-court worshippers — the porcelain clay — the 
 gold dust — the pearl ashes of the earth, from its vul- 
 gar, every-day, clayey substances — " divided the 
 wicked from the ungodly,"" Gideon was alleged to 
 have said ; but many ill-natured things were laid
 
 A COUNTRY SUNDAY EVENINfi. 253 
 
 upon him, of which he was guiltless. The Laird 
 played the aristocrat only in screens. 
 
 About the middle of the discourse, it might 
 have been perceived by more senses than one, that 
 neither the eloquence of Dr. Blair, nor the voice 
 of the charmer, had been able to keep any of the 
 congregation awake, save the ever-restless Whit- 
 tret. He, though ostensibly seated in the outer 
 temple, was contriving to enjoy both a sight of 
 a cheerful fire of " the Halbeath splint,'" and to 
 have a full view of all that was going on in the in- 
 terior. 
 
 No one, we believe, ever yet pleaded guilty to 
 the very natural and innocent crime of snoring — 
 not even when caught in the act red-hand, or 
 more properly wide-motith. Monkshaugh, indeed, 
 could not be supposed ever to snore ; for he was 
 one of those miserable or sublime persons, of whom 
 there are a few in the world, who never sleep, by 
 any chance, night nor day. Yet, we have said, the 
 whole congregation, with the exception of the 
 Whittret and the reader, were now snoring away, 
 each after his kind. The nasal and guttural per- 
 formance of the dairy damsel, was strong, high, 
 loud, rumbling, ever and anon threatening suffo- 
 cation till " up the lofty diapason rolled," then
 
 254 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 clearing off in a really wonderful way, as she ap- 
 peared, as it were, quite at her ease calling in the 
 cows. Effie's snore was low, croaking, and reedy, 
 with occasional abrupt swells and grunts, as if she 
 grumbled in her gizzard, and were restive even in 
 her sleep. The Laird's slumberous breathing, gen- 
 tle, snujffling, twitchy, and impeded with little 
 breaks, was altogether a more gentlemanly thing, 
 though a perfectly-decided snore nevertheless. 
 
 About the middle of the discourse, we have said, 
 when Elizabeth was beginning to be both tired and 
 mortified at her task, the lass of the dairy, after 
 a long gullering sort of rolling snort, sunk into " a 
 dying fall,'"* so novel and intricate in its shakes and 
 quavers, as at once to overcome the gravity of the 
 Whittret, and startle the fair reader from her pro- 
 priety. The Laird also started awake at the final 
 guttural shake, which might indeed have awaken- 
 ed the dead. It, in fact, aroused the scared snorer 
 herself; who, as Frisel popped something into her 
 still-widely-distended mouth, forgetful alike of time 
 and place, exclaimed — " Eh, Lord's sake, Fran- 
 cie !" 
 
 "It's a sore matter, Francie Frisel," said Monks- 
 haugh, in a tone of mingled vexation and rebuke, 
 secure himself in the impunity of the screen, " that
 
 A COUNTRY SUKDAY EVENING. 255 
 
 ye cannot keep up your heavy head, while your 
 betters are condescending to instruct ye in your 
 Sabbath duties. I'm sure Dr. Blair's discourses 
 need not weary ony o' ye : He takes not long time 
 to tell his mind, worthy man." 
 
 " Puir, fusionless, scrimpit claut o' sautless par- 
 ritch," whispered Effie. "I wish I could sleep 
 too, Francie ; for I cannot thole the ' legal twang,' 
 as Mr. Gideon calls it, that rins through that man's 
 preaching. Ye may e'en tell Mr. HaHburton I 
 said it. I carena wha hears it." And Effie tossed 
 her head in testimony ; while Frisel tipped her a 
 knowing wink, in a style which she did not above 
 half-approve. 
 
 " Be done with your muttering, there !" cried 
 Monkshaugh, hastily ; " and go ye on with the 
 lecture, 'Lizbeth, my love ; and pardon the dis- 
 respect o' thae heavy-headed creatures. They are 
 no like us in their dull sleepy intellectuals. It 
 cannot be supposed. — See ye keep your een open 
 there, or ye'se get neither drink nor supper by ordi- 
 nary this night," said he, looking behind the screen, 
 and speaking in a sharp quick tone. — " Or if ye 
 will sleep ye surely needna snore. I wonder, 'Liz- 
 beth, how folk can snore !"
 
 256 ELIZABETH DE BllUCE. 
 
 '' I wonder mair they tak' the trouble o' snor- 
 ing wha never sleep at aV' said Frisel, quietly. 
 
 " Hold your peace there, Francie Frisel ! 'Liz- 
 beth, my love, go on — ^ye'll soon get through your 
 duty." 
 
 Elizabeth, a good deal scandalized at the whole 
 of this well-intended solemnity, quietly resumed 
 her reading She read from the volume, and 
 beautifully she read — 
 
 " What is that to thee, follow thou me. What 
 this man or that man does ; how he employs his 
 time ; what use he makes'*"* 
 
 " Ay, halt there, 'Lizbeth, my dear. Ye hear 
 that, Francie Frisel," said the Laird, turning his 
 head in the direction of the corner of the screen, 
 where Frisel was advantageously posted. " What 
 is't to thee how many balls-alfrisko, or fetes-champ 
 Peter, John Hurcheon's wife gi'es. Verily, veri- 
 ly, it is easier, sirs, (now solemnly addressing the 
 whole unseen congregation,) for a camel, as the 
 Apostle James says, to pass through the eye of a 
 needle, than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of 
 Heaven. But these are deep mysteries ; and ye 
 ha'e gotten enough for this night's diet. Close the 
 book, 'Lizbeth my darling. — Make gude use, you 
 2
 
 A COUNTRY SUNDAY EVENING. 257 
 
 there, sirs, of what ye have heard. Effie, I trust ye 
 have something comfortable for the Sabbath night's 
 supper. It was aye the custom in Monkshaugh, 
 'Lizbeth, after the Sabbath evening's duty was 
 decently owre, to gi'e something better than ordi- 
 ary to the domestics. — Francie, fauld by the Japan 
 screen there ; and lay the sermon book where yell 
 easily find it again next Sunday. — ^'Lizbeth, my 
 love, did ye put in a mark .? Ye must take a glass 
 of warm sherry negus ; for I'm sure your throat's 
 sair wi' such a holding forth. But auld serious cus- 
 toms must now be revived and maintained in auld 
 families. This is no a time to slacken in discipline. 
 I liked no' to talk before servants. I behoove, 
 indeed, at all times, to keep Master Frisel at the 
 staff's end. He is weel enough in his ain place, 
 when I keep in his horns — nane better. But, 'Liz- 
 beth, what think ye o' Lord Rantletree, the main 
 branch o' a' the Rantletrees, skinking over and 
 banqueting wi' Meg Hurcheon's grandson .?" 
 
 Elizabeth dexterously avoided the question 
 by replying — " You never yet told me the real 
 story of this famous personage — this witch-wife — 
 but of course I cannot trouble you with this on 
 Sunday." 
 
 " Muckle Meg o' Monkshaugh ! Ye shall not 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 258 ELIZABETH DE BEUCE. 
 
 need to long for that story, 'Lizbeth. Put me in 
 mind the morn." 
 
 In an hour afterwards, peace and slumber was 
 over the old mansion, from kitchen to garret. Eli- 
 zabeth, in her orisons, fondly remembered him who 
 never, never was absent from her thoughts. The 
 Laird dreamed of plans to mortify Harletillum ; 
 and Effie, on her pillow, devised a quite new mode 
 of attack upon the heart of honest Gideon.
 
 MISTAKES 01' A XIGIIT. 259 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 MISTAKES OF A NIfiHT 
 
 He pricked his maggot, and touched him in the tender point ; 
 then he broke out into a violent passion. 
 
 Tale of a Tub. 
 
 Next morning, when Elizabeth entered the 
 breakfast parlour, she was astonished at the appa- 
 rition of Monkshaugh, still in his robe-de-chambre, 
 seated at his old-fashioned ebony writing desk, in- 
 stead of watching the silver tea-pot at the head of 
 the board — an affair that on ordinary occasions he 
 would not yield to woman, much less to " man of 
 woman born.'' What short of the death of his ne- 
 phew, or the demolition of the " Dresden Set,'' 
 might have occasioned this phenomenon, Elizabeth 
 could not guess. 
 The ceremonial of the breakfast was curtailed of
 
 260 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 its fair proportions by at least a half hour ; and 
 again the Laird wrote — ^re-wrote — erased — leaned 
 his head aside in cogitation — smiled Malvolio-like 
 over a happy hit — formed his lips in curves, as 
 if tracing in imagination the characters of the 
 " thoughts that burned," which his fingers were 
 forming — in short, enacted the author conscious of 
 his own success as naturally as possible. Eliza- 
 beth knew of no sin of this kind that had ever 
 been charged on Monkshaugh, save a stanza and 
 a half added to an old Jacobite song. 
 
 Half-laughing at her own curiosity, Elizabeth 
 said at last — " My dear sir, you appear so de- 
 lighted with your subject — verse or prose.'' — may 
 I inquire.^" 
 
 " Prose, Xizbeth, gude, plain, pithy prose, that 
 will crack i" the deafest side o" John Hurcheon's 
 head. But make me a clean, nice-nibbed pen — 
 I seldomer wield the instrument than perhaps I 
 should do. I'm grown a lazy gude-for-naething, 
 Xizbeth — and pick me a slip of the best gilt note 
 paper — not card paper now. Ay — that will do. 
 But be ye patient, lass — ye shall hear. Fules and 
 bairns, ye ken, should not see half-done wark — 
 though that's scarce a civil speech to you.*" 
 
 Elizabeth perceived that though he thus chat-
 
 MISTAKES OF A NIGHT. 261 
 
 ted, his mind was absent, rapt, absolutely in the 
 clouds. 
 
 " The gold note seal, my dear — wi' the Grahame 
 Arms. 
 
 " O the Graharaes, the gallant Grahames, 
 Wad the gallant Grahames but stand by me." 
 
 He hummed the stanza ; and then said, " Ne"'er 
 ye marry a man with a vulgar packman-like sur- 
 name, 'Lizbeth — Or the note seal wi' the de 
 Bruce crest — ^how would that motto do ? — ^Fui- 
 mus' — We have been. Truly, 'Lizbeth, my dear, 
 this I fear, after a", may be the most befitting our 
 present state." 
 
 Thus delighted with himself, and havering, as 
 Frisel said, without bounds or limits, Monkshaugh 
 maundered on, till a guest was announced as un- 
 der way from the fords of Oran. 
 
 This was the only dangerous point from which 
 the gentility of Monkshaugh could be surprised 
 at unawares ; and a line of telegraphs had long 
 been established between it and the mansion. The 
 ploughman in the distant fields shouted to the 
 thrasher — the thrasher communicated his in- 
 formation to Hughoc the cow-boy — the cow-boy, 
 who, in good weather, took his post on the roof of
 
 262 ELTZABETir DE UKUCE. 
 
 the barn, like a warder on an ancient beacon-hill, 
 legged down to The Place to alarm Frisel ; and, 
 by this good management, the Laird was, at all 
 seasons, enabled to change his wig, examine the 
 larder, if, peradventure, the coming visiter might 
 be entitled to the honours of the sittings, and make 
 Ehzabeth clear away her elegant confusion of work, 
 books, and flowers, from her own corner, in the 
 deep window. 
 
 Before the rider from the fords of Oran arriv- 
 ed, however, Mr. Haliburton appeared, splashing 
 through the miry loanings. The worthy man, on this 
 morning, had scarcely finished his wonted liberal 
 allowance of oatmeal-porridge and butter-milk, or, 
 as he more correctly termed it, sour-milk, snatch- 
 ing, at a side glance, about ten lines of " The 
 Marrow"** between every tremendous spoonful, when 
 Mistress Effie Fechnie was announced to him. 
 
 " Something the matter wi' the puir bairn,"" 
 thought Gideon in alarm. " I was overly strict 
 with her. — She is of a gentle loving nature, and 
 but young yet, and will grow wiser in time ;'"* and, 
 under this impression, he anxiously interrogated 
 Effie. 
 
 '' I am laith to say,'' groaned that managing
 
 MISTAKES OF A XIGHT. 263 
 
 maiden, " that this is a matter of deeper concern- 
 ment than bodily ailments — e'en a soul's health, 
 minister — a case I behooved to lay before ye o"* 
 grievous persecution, for it's nae better, condemn- 
 ing me, lang fed wi' sappy and savoury Secession 
 doctrme, to the legal blash o' an auld-kirk corbie ; 
 and warned to flit my service if I dinna quit sit- 
 ting under your banner." And Effie melted into 
 such tears " as does an allegory on the banks of 
 the Nile." " I'm sure I'm ready, minister, to take 
 up my cross, leave father and mother, if I had 
 them, and follow you — yea, cleave to ye," — and 
 there rose a little sob. 
 
 This was attacking Gideon on his two weak 
 sides, if we may be allowed the expression — his 
 tenderness for the sex, his principles as a Came- 
 ronian, and his pride as a spiritual teacher. 
 
 " The Laird o' Monkshaugh astonishes myself, 
 Effie. — I'll till him this minute, and lay before 
 him what he has to answer for. in straitening the 
 tender Consciences that eat his bread" — and Gi- 
 deon rose in zeal. 
 
 " Eh, Gude sake na !" cried Effie, in a very 
 natural manner, much alarmed at this straight- 
 forward proceeding.
 
 264 ELIZABETH DE BKUCE. 
 
 " Let your yea be yea-^your nay, nay, Effie,'* 
 said Gideon, solemnly. — " But here comes puir 
 Francie — on the same errand belike.'" 
 
 " My errand is to bid you to dinner with the 
 Laird and the young leddy, Mr. Gideon. — Hear- 
 tily glad will baith be of your company. — Com- 
 pliments to you, conjunk and several ; and a pri- 
 vate word frae Leddy 'Lizbeth that ye must come."' 
 
 " And no a word to say o' your ain strait, my 
 wee man, anent this prelatic cantrap o' forcing ye 
 to gi'e up your kirk.'' 
 
 Frisel perceived in a moment how the land lay, 
 and how much Effie was in his power ; and man- 
 aged to bear oft both Laird and lady, ensuring 
 peace for this time among all parties, and a good 
 supper or tv/o to himself from the grateful fair, 
 whose reputation lay so much in his power. 
 
 "So ye really think, Francie, he meant nae- 
 thing," said Effie ; and while she still zealously 
 avouched her readiness to " give up all," she ex- 
 pressed thankfulness that she was not yet called 
 on to suffer for conscience' sake, and went off alone, 
 after several vain attempts to get Frisel along 
 with her. 
 
 " I wish Effie's zeal may be altogether accord- 
 ing to knowledge," said Gideon. " But what shall
 
 MISTAKES OF A NTGHT. 265 
 
 Ave say — are not tlie simple o' the earth like her, 
 often chosen to confound men of understanding ?" 
 
 So lightly on his throne sat Monkshaugh''s bo- 
 som's lord on this morning, that it was his own pro- 
 position to invite Gideon over to dinner. " That 
 was a smart wipe he gave Lowrie Lingle after all," 
 said he to Elizabeth. " And he meant weel by 
 his discourse about Wolfe."" 
 
 And when the worthy apostle arrived, the Laird, 
 in high glee, quizzed and joked on the tender sub- 
 ject of Effie Fechnie's ominous streeking on the 
 chaff-bed on the former day. Elizabeth worked, 
 and chatted, and smiled ; and the " grand gen- 
 tleman on a horse,*" whom Hughoc had announced, 
 arrived at last in the guise of a smart, good-looking, 
 English groom, well-mounted, and splendidly 
 equipped In the Harletillum livery. 
 
 " I was expecting this arrival,"" said the Laird, 
 with the imposing air of a highland seer. " But 
 what business has John Hurcheon with 'brown 
 faced up wi" yellow — the house o' Argyle wear 
 brown and yellow — or wi' red, or blue, or grey, or 
 green — or what's the use of a Lyon Office in Scot- 
 land.?'" 
 
 " The puir man is fey^"" muttered Gideon. 
 
 " Ye'll see that man and horse be decently re-
 
 26() ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 freshed, Francie. Take down the siller tass full 
 o' brandy from the beaufet there. Ye see, 'Liz- 
 beth, my love,"*' continued Monkshaugh, softening 
 his exulting tone to the gravity and modesty fitted 
 for the denouement of the drama of the morning 
 — " I foresaw that as Wolfe — ^poor fellow, for my 
 sake it was too — ^had patched up a truce wi' John 
 Hurcheon, we must no doubt be invited, Mr. Gi- 
 deon, to swell their peacock train and glorification 
 i"* the county, on the 10th proximo. Now as my 
 lazy habits since I forsook the bar" — 
 
 " The Laird has his black advocate's gown no 
 a flee the waur. It's just a picture for trimmings 
 and purflings, Mr. Gideon."' 
 
 " Hold your peace, Francie ! — makes me no the 
 ready penman I have been. I thought it best to 
 be prepared — a-hem !" and clearing his throat he 
 read with due emphasis. 
 
 " Mr. Robert Grahame of Monkshaugh and 
 Kippencreery Wester, and the Honourable Miss 
 Elizabeth de Bruce, return compliments to Mr. and 
 Mrs. Hurcheon of Harletillum — for ilka carle's 
 son maun be Mr. Something, of some place, now- 
 adays, Mr. Haliburton; Esquires, no less, o' places 
 wad ill graze a goose and her gosling, as ye may 
 read in the Caledonian Mercury — ' Apply to
 
 MISTAKES OF A NIGHT. 267 
 
 John Janders, Esquire, o' Blashieburn'- 
 ' Saunders Staig, Esquire, o' Stickinlialls' — ^bits o' 
 pendicles whilk, 111 gi'e ye my word as a gentle- 
 man, Mr. Gideon, the brandanes and cotter-bod- 
 dies that ate my forebears' livery meal, wadna have 
 planted their lang kale in. — And then again we 
 have, on such a day o"* such a month — ' David 
 Baldwicks, Esquire, Candlemaker, married on 
 Miss Georgina, second dochter of Mr. George 
 Speulbane, Flesher' — and in due season — ' The 
 lady of David Baldwicks, Esquire, is," nae doubt, 
 ' safely delivered of a son :'' and, if we live as lang, 
 we may be sure to meet David again, honest man, 
 either T the bankrupt gazette or the obituary — as, 
 ' David Baldwicks, Esquire, senior, justly and 
 sincerely regretted by a numerous circle of friends."* 
 — And for reading this truckering and trafficking 
 between hides and tallow, a gentleman of birth and 
 name, Mr. Haliburton, must pay his money, or 
 give up the auldest family newspaper in Scotland. 
 As my Leddy Tamtallan says — ' It's enough to 
 put being born and dying out o' fashion." " 
 
 " The puir man is fey,'' thought Gideon once 
 again, as the Laird, waxing warm and witty, thus 
 revelled in parenthesis. 
 
 " Pray proceed with your note," said Elizabeth,
 
 268 
 
 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 who anticipated some very absurd scene, and was 
 undecidedly hovering between her love for Monks- 
 haugh and her perception of the ludicrous. 
 
 Again the Laird commenced with fresh glee, 
 fresh breath, and fresh anticipations of triumph. 
 
 " ' Mr. Robert Grahame of Monkshaugh and 
 Kippencreery Wester, and the Honourable Miss 
 Elizabeth de Bruce of that ilk, return compli- 
 ments' — Now I don't quite like the word return^ 
 'Lizbeth — ' to Mr. and Mrs. Hurcheon of Harle- 
 tillum, and for reasons which it would be unpolite 
 in Mr. Grahame to condescend upon more parti- 
 cularly, beg to offer apologies for not being present 
 at Mr. Hurcheon's grand dinner of the 10th prox- 
 imo ; and are sorry that the same causes must ope- 
 rate against Mrs. Hurcheon's fete champ peter' — 
 (or is it petre, 'Lizbeth ?) — ' and hall al fresco, 
 to be given on the following day. 
 
 " ' Monkshaugh House, December 4, 17 — .' " 
 
 " Will that do, 'Lizbeth ? — Short and pithy — 
 a bit of a tickler, Mr. Gideon.'' Monkshaugh 
 lighted his taper, seized his wax, and made a 
 strong, neat, deep impression of the Grahame arms 
 on the note. Elizabeth stole to his side — " But, 
 my dear sir, we are not yet" 
 
 " Ye are for accepting then. Miss de Bruce,
 
 MISTAKES OF A NIGHT. 269 
 
 like all young fools to whom a juiiketting is mair, 
 as my lady Tamtallan says, than the honour and 
 dignity o"* the line o' de Bruce."''' The Laird spoke 
 wrathfully. " Ye maun follow Lord Rantletree's 
 example — worship the golden calf set up on the 
 Coal-heugh moor, and do John Hurcheon's bid- 
 ding." 
 
 " So far from accepting, that I trust no invita- 
 tion will be sent to me. /, at least, have had none 
 yet. Time enough, you know you wont to tell me 
 ten years ago, in another delicate case, for young 
 ladies to refuse when they are asked." 
 
 Off went the Laird's bell, and in rushed the 
 Whittret. — " Bring Leddy 'Lizbeth that card 
 John Hurcheon's groom has brought.*" 
 
 " No card, sir — all word o"* mouth. — ' Mrs. 
 Hurcheon's compliments, and would be obligated, 
 besides payment, for another pouUie hen, and a few 
 more pairs of chickens and pigeons, as ye are fam- 
 ous for your poultry ; and would like the bill sent 
 over, that it might be settled by the housekeeper 
 before the family go to town.' The groom chap, 
 English Tom, is damning like a dragoon at them 
 for sending him their hen-wife messages. — But 
 Lord's sake, Monkshaugh, ye surely are no going 
 to lift your hand to me !"
 
 270 ELIZABETH UK BRUCE. 
 
 " Bill! — send my bill! — poullie hens and chick- 
 ens !'" shouted the Laird. — " The impudent quean, 
 as if I were a hen-wife, or an egg-cadger like her 
 grandfather ; or a huxtry-wife dealing in fat poul- 
 try for my bread ! because I compelled Effie 
 Fechnie, my housekeeper, against her judgment 
 and will, to lend the pack some fat fowls when they 
 sent to borrow of us. This comes of a neighbour- 
 ly deed done to the ill-bred beggarly race of them. 
 Effie Fechnie ! — Effie Fechnie !"' and clapping a 
 hand to each side of his head, as if to prevent it 
 from bursting open at this indignity ; or, what 
 seemed more likely, to keep his periwig from flying 
 off, the deeply insulted Laird of Monkshaugh ran 
 to his chamber. 
 
 " I thought the puir man was fey, 'Lizbeth," 
 said Gideon. 
 
 " You might, with equal justice, have thought 
 the woman ill-bred and insolent,'^ returned Eliza- 
 beth. She threw the Laird's epistolary labours 
 into the fire ; and, turning to Frisel, ordered him 
 to give the groom a half-crown and dismiss him. 
 '* There was no message from Mr. Grahanie to 
 Mrs. Hutchen of Harletillum." 
 
 Frisel was one of those imaginative persons who
 
 MISTAKES OF A NIGHT. 271 
 
 never either carried a message or told a story ver- 
 batim in their lives. 
 
 " Tell your mistress, English Tom, that Mr. 
 Grahame, of Monkshaugh, says, he has not begun 
 the cadger-trade yet ; though, in looking round 
 this country, he has, like Lord Rantletree, great 
 reason to think it a thriving calling."" 
 
 Gideon was left to cool his heels for a quarter . 
 of an hour, before Frisel, always excited when mis- 
 chief was going forward, returned to the parlour. 
 
 " The Laird has taVn a weid,'''' said he. " He 
 is si' in a grue, shaking like an aspen, puir bod- 
 die.'' 
 
 " A weid ! — help thee Francie !'' returned Gi- 
 deon, smiling quietly. — " It's only women boddies 
 that tak' weids when they bear their bairns." 
 
 " O, de'il-my-care ! — The Laird's in a weid, I 
 tell ye. Leddy 'Lizbeth is drapping double brandy 
 for him on a knublock o' sugar. Effie is making 
 a het-drink — and I am sent to look after you." 
 
 ^'Undeniably, my wee man, the Laird has mair o' a 
 woman's turn about him — I aye thought that — than 
 is just common to our gender," said Gideon, shak- 
 ing his head, gravely and thoughtfully, his medi- 
 cal or physical doubts beginning to thicken before 
 the strong averments of the Whittret. — " But this
 
 272 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 is graith I cannot yoke, Francie/' he continued, 
 " Sae I had better stoyte hame-owre — ^my bit 
 business can stand."' 
 
 " Never a fit. Sit ye down, minister,"" said the 
 Whittret, equally prompt to do the honours or dis- 
 courtesies of his master's house. — " Leddy 'Liz- 
 beth will put a" thae megrims to the rout in ten 
 minutes. Ye wadna leave Effie and us in our ca- 
 lamity ; and as gude a leg o" mutton on the broche 
 as ever trotted through the Path o" Condie ? — Do 
 ye no smell it ? It's Dr. Draunt has the keen 
 back-scent where a fat dinner is i" the wind. We 
 gi'e him his dinner here for ordinary on the Tues- 
 day. You haly-wark folk aye like your throats 
 oiled, Mr. Gideon. The Laird was for putting 
 off the cock-a-leekie till the morn for his sake, but 
 canny Effie wadna hear o't. If the bye-word 
 haulds — ' clever at meat, clever at wark" — we 
 need not, I'm sure, complain o' him that guides the 
 pastoral crook o' this parish." 
 
 " If ye think to pleasure me by decrying a min- 
 ister of the Kirk o' Scotland, e'en wi' a' its defile- 
 ments, as a belly-god and a gormandeezer, Francie 
 Frisel, I wad rede ye to know" 
 
 " Decry !" interrupted the impudent varlet.— 
 *' Far frae it, Mr. Haliburton. If the proverb be 
 
 2
 
 MISTAKES OF A NIGHT. 273 
 
 true, that ' Heaven sends meat, but the de'il 
 cooks,' ought we not the rather to be thankfu' that 
 we have an established clergy, regularly appomted 
 in every parish, to buffet wi' the Enemy, and 
 gainsay his unsavoury purposes touching our 
 creature-comforts."' 
 
 " Francie — Francie, ye're a great little loonie !'' 
 said Gideon, shaking his fist over the elfin man, 
 and grinning in recovered good-humour ; for Gi- 
 deon, after all, was human — and a Cameronian 
 preacher. 
 
 While Frisel thus kept Gideon in play, Eliza- 
 beth, with gentle address, was soothing the wounded 
 feelings and ruffled pride of Monkshaugh ; and she 
 at last half succeeded in convincing him, that dis- 
 missing the messenger in silence was much more 
 consistent with his true dignity, than all those forms 
 and modes of revenging the galling insult which 
 his passion dictated. The poor old man was at 
 length quite subdued by her entreaties. 
 
 " Ye say Wolfe would do this, 'Lizbeth ? I 
 trust ye may be right. I'm no the man some of 
 the auld Monkshaughs were. I was but a weak- 
 ly babie ; and maybe a wee thought spoiled by 
 an owre fond mother. Wolfe has had to rough it 
 out, poor lad ; and it may be the better for him. 
 Vol. I. s
 
 274 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 To him it's left to redeem the name of the 
 Grahames of Monkshaugh. I'm but draff and 
 sand to the auld gallant Grahames. I ken 
 that : but I'm o' their blood — and thae Hur- 
 cheons," — and he tossed himself back on his pil- 
 low. 
 
 " Forget them sir," said Elizabeth, far more 
 affected by this candour and humility, than she 
 had ever been by his vaunts and glories. 
 
 " No ! — ^but I'll be clear o' them, if I should go 
 round the parish wi' an aumous pock. Do ye 
 think the gudewives would be ony thing free o' an 
 aumous to the puir auld Laird of Monkshaugh, 
 whose forebears have reigned sae lang among 
 them ?" 
 
 Here was vanity at work again. Elizabeth 
 made no reply. She was at all times rather de- 
 ficient, and perhaps disdainful, of that pardonable 
 address which sooths the peevish mood of a harm- 
 less vanity. Her compliments were not to be 
 fished by either the naked hook or alluring bait. 
 
 " Go down to Gideon, my dear," said the Laird. 
 " He is but a rough-spun Christian — ^but he has 
 cast his glamour over Wolfe Grahame ; and were 
 it but a messan-cur that Wolfe liked, it should be 
 welcome for his sake to Monkshaugh house."
 
 MISTAKES OF A NIGHT. ^'JB 
 
 " Then I hope you will like me also, for his 
 sake," said Elizabeth, slightly blushing. 
 
 " I like you for your own, Xizbeth, my dear, 
 even if ye were not John de Bruce's child. To 
 be sure, 'Lizbeth, there was once a passing talk of 
 me taking a leddy. Both my ever honoured 
 mother and the Leddy Tamtallan thought o' Miss 
 Nicky Murra", as a desirable party ; but it never 
 went farther than a tea-drinking in the auld Coun- 
 tess o' Eglintoune's. I own, I am something par- 
 ticular in my taste o"* a fine woman's shapes. Now 
 Miss Nicky, though a reigning toast and belle, 
 was what the bucks of those days called kipper- 
 hippet, and so'' 
 
 " Well, well," interrupted Elizabeth, laughing, 
 but reddening more deeply than before — since you 
 are resolved to crush all female hope, pray put 
 your cruelty to sleep for an hour before dinner." 
 And she arranged the pillows and coverlet, closed 
 the window shutters, and departed. 
 
 Mistress Effie, whether in requital of Mr. Gi- 
 deon's oratorical exertions of the previous day, or 
 from a determination to attack the worthy man 
 through the stomach as well as the heart, and thus 
 not leave him one organ wherewith to defend him- 
 self, or from both motives combined, produced an
 
 '2^6 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 admirable dinner. Monkshaugh arose composed 
 in spirit — Corporal Fugal came down to The Place 
 to inquire for his patron Wolfe, and was ordered 
 his dinner. " There was mirth in the kitchen, and 
 mirth in the hall.*" The cock-a-leekie spoke a 
 language of which even Gideon understood the 
 spirit. Some bottles of old home-brewed ale, 
 bright as amber and strong as a giant, were quaff- 
 ed to the health of the " young Captain" in the 
 kitchen. A bottle of excellent old wine, though 
 rather thrown away on Mr. Haliburton, neverthe- 
 less, did its gentle spiriting in the parlour. There 
 was one hearty pledge to the " lad over the water ;" 
 and the tempest of the morning subsided into a 
 tranquil evening. 
 
 Seated between the elders, in the glowing twi- 
 light of the parlour fire, Elizabeth just touching 
 her guitar, as if to keep herself in countenance, 
 sung first in order, " The Gallant Grahames," 
 and afterwards many old lays of love and Scottish 
 chivalry. She even at length warmed, melted, 
 and betrayed Gideon into the dangerous heresy of 
 helping her out with broken lines, supplying verses, 
 and reciting fragments which she had never 
 before heard. Gideon had one mark of strong 
 poetical feeling, a tenacious regard of that form of
 
 MISTAKES OF A NIGHT. 277 
 
 words which had first fastened on his memory. 
 He could have knocked down, or something near 
 it, the author of even an evident emendation on 
 his old favourites. He was quite as tenacious of 
 music as words ; and had moreover a very true 
 ear. 
 
 At Gideon's request — ^for he was the most absent 
 of men — Elizabeth chanted the fine old ballad 
 of " Fair Annie,'' the deserted wife — her heart 
 throbbing violently as she sung — 
 
 " Put ribbons on your head, Annie, 
 
 Put roses in your shoon ; 
 And try ye to look maiden-like, 
 
 Though maiden ye be nane." 
 
 " I may put ribbons in my hair, 
 
 And roses in my shoon ; 
 But how can I look maiden-like, 
 
 When maiden I am nane." 
 
 " Ye are out there, Burd Xizbeth," said Gi- 
 deon, when she concluded. 
 
 " I have at least good authority." 
 
 " I care no' a fig for authority. — Ye miss 
 the best verses i' the ditty," — and like Aubrey's 
 ghost, " with a most melodious twang," he sung 
 some stanzas quite new to Elizabeth. 
 
 " Lie yont — He yont, my new-made bride, 
 
 Lie yont a bit frae me ; 
 I (iowna hear ray Annie weep, 
 
 For a' the gear ye ha'e," &c. &c.
 
 278 ELIZABETH DE BKUCE. 
 
 " I shall adopt these lines," said Elizabeth ; and 
 as he looked at her, all at once her peculiar situa- 
 tion flashed on his mind. Her deep blushes, and 
 downcast eyes, and quivering voice, shewed him 
 the cruelty of his request for this ballad. 
 
 " I was born an idiot, and I'll die an idiot !'' 
 he muttered — and he turned to Monkshaugh. 
 " Thae blethers o' auld rhymes will stick by a 
 man when the memory of better things has perish- 
 ed. When I was a laddie about my father's fire- 
 side i' the Kens o' Gallowa"*, a muirland farmer — 
 nae boast o' birth, Monkshaugh, though our fore- 
 bears — and that is boast — kenned baith how to 
 daur and to suffer in Scotland's evil day : — Ay, and 
 to seal a noble testimony with their precious 
 
 blood." 
 
 " And you acquired your store of fine old bal- 
 lads there .^" said Elizabeth ; for the conversation 
 was verging to a ticklish point underneath this 
 roof, and she wished to lead it back. 
 
 " E'en there, 'Lizbeth. We had a fashion o' 
 crooning that auld-warld nonsense, about the ingle 
 neuk on a winter's fore-night, or on the braes in a 
 sunny summer day : Nonsense and waur ; feeding 
 the vanity and corruption of the natural heart — 
 Brave gallants coming branking down the brae, in
 
 •mistakes of a night. 279 
 
 disguise, nae doubt ; and forgatherin"* wi' lasses at 
 a buchtin fauld, and marrying and making led- 
 dies o' them, or giving them fifty guineas to pay 
 their nourrice fee. It puts black mischief in in- 
 nocent maidens' heads. I kenned a lass ance that 
 could have turned The Cowden Knowes — ' The 
 bonnie, bonnie broom' — amaist as sweetly as your- 
 seP, Burd Xizbeth. That auld ditty o' hers^ 
 
 " I ride single on my saddle, 
 Since our braw foresters are a' wed away," 
 
 wad ha'e made the tears rap down a man's cheek. 
 But I'm an auld fule, Monkshaugh ! Nae fules 
 like us that's auld fules," cried Gideon, blushing 
 up to the verge of his wig. He drew his horny 
 hand across his eyes, and abruptly snapped the 
 silver chord of recollection, which held him to old 
 songs, early loves, and the hills of Galloway. 
 
 The Laird rung the bell; and lights were 
 brought in. How many soft and lovely twilight 
 visions have broad day-light and candle-light the 
 sin of banishing ! Gideon had been seduced into 
 looking back upon Sodom, and the fair cities of 
 the plam, and might, at this hour, have whispered 
 with the poet: — 
 
 *' My eyes are dim with childish tears, 
 My heart is inly stirred ; 
 For the same sound is in mine ears 
 Which in those days I heard"—
 
 ELIZABETH 1)E BRUCE. 
 
 feeling anew, as it were, the united blandishments 
 of nature, poetry, and the bonnie lass of Gallo- 
 way take high possession of his heart ; but the 
 candles sent all soft ideas a-trooping to the shades 
 and labyrinths of metaphysics and controversial 
 divinity. 
 
 Elizabeth had long known that Gideon possess- 
 ed a genial, as well as an honest, and a single heart ; 
 but sundry little stolen glimpses at unawares, led 
 her to suspect that it might once have been a ten- 
 der one also, rough as was the rind. She felt that 
 strong and very common propensity of having a 
 peep into that strange and complicated machine 
 the human heart, under its softer manifestations ; 
 and tried, once more, to lead back the discourse. 
 But the chord was, as we have said, snapped, and 
 all her efforts were vain. 
 
 " How I should like to see your hills of Gallo- 
 way !" she said, and repeated— 
 
 " O, let me wander a' my days 
 Where heather blooms and moor-cocks ciaw, 
 
 Then dig my grave, and lay my banes 
 Amang the hills o' Gallowa'." 
 
 " Brave lines, Burd 'Lizbeth ! and so at your 
 age might I ha'e said. But now a stranger and a 
 pilgrim, as all our fathers were, what matters it.^"
 
 MISTAKES OF A NIGHT. 281 
 
 SO where the auld battered trunk falls, there let it 
 lie." 
 
 Gideon rose to depart. Elizabeth hung on his 
 arm for an instant, and tried to coax him to re- 
 main all night, promising to sing to him without 
 her simple instrument ; for he strongly disliked all 
 instruments of music. 
 
 " Na, na, my bairn — that's my leddy'' — ^look- 
 ing at Monkshaugh, who liked no such freedoms 
 as he used — " as godly Samuel Rutherford says, 
 ' Ha"* binks are sliddery seats for gospel ministers,' 
 — I must gang back to the auld black wa's yonder. 
 I sometimes think my path in the wilderness but 
 a lanely ane ; but it's better ordered I daursay — 
 I daursay ? Sinner that I am what am I saying ? 
 Is it no' in His hands where all things are weel-or- 
 dered and sure." — He turned to the Laird and said 
 quietly — " Monkshaugh, if it wadna be trouble- 
 some, I would like a private word with you." 
 
 " Some bit favour to ask, honest man," whis- 
 pered Monkshaugh as he passed. " I would be 
 laith to refuse him." 
 
 Elizabeth's conscious heart throbbed with min- 
 gled feelings, as the two elders retired together to 
 the arched stone passage, or " pend ha**," as it was 
 called.
 
 282 ELIZABETH BE BRUCE. 
 
 " Speak freely, Mr. Haliburton," said Monks- 
 haugh, in tones of gracious encouragement. — 
 " Though I ken my place on proper occasion, I 
 have aye a civil answer and a patient ear, for a 
 decent man like you.**' 
 
 Gideon was too much absorbed to observe a de- 
 gree of condescension which would probably have 
 exceeded his gratitude. — " I was under great con- 
 cernment yon morning to see you take sae to heart 
 the scoutherin' o' your bit pipkin ; and so" — ^here 
 he fumbled in the abysses of his huge side pock- 
 ets — " as I happened, in passing through Glenaap, 
 to forgather wi' that runagate quean that was ance 
 Corporal FugaPs wife, I coft this ;" — and he dis- 
 played a small tin vessel, resplendent with scarlet 
 lacker and metallic foil, ornamented with some- 
 thing courtesy might have called the Union flower, 
 an entwined thistle and rose, and over all, the 
 scroll and blazon " to Robert." 
 
 "Just a wonder of art," continued Gideon, 
 turning it admiringly round ; — " and a greater 
 wonder I had the sense to think on it ; (smiling 
 complacently) ; for in matters of compliment, or 
 in what a house needs, I'm, I acknowledge, but an 
 ignoramus to you Laird. And to give the quean 
 her due, she herself put it into my thick head. —
 
 MISTAKES OF A NIGHT. 283 
 
 ' There is what the Laird o' Monkshaugh wad give 
 gowld for,"' quoth she. But I got it for less siller, 
 Mr. Grahame,'' whispered Gideon ; "so mak"' nae 
 scruples about accepting it." 
 
 This was a day in which the fates seemed to 
 have conspired against the dignity of the house of 
 Monkshaugh. Red as a turkey cock, his distend- 
 ed nostrils blowing and sniffling in wrath, the 
 Laird burst forth — " 'Lizbeth de Bruce, d'ye hear 
 this ? — Ye uncivil person — is it under my father's 
 roof ye offer 7ne your tinkler-tackle, in place of an 
 utensil, Mr. Gideon Haliburton, that a' the kitch- 
 en gear that ever was amang the whigs o' Gallo- 
 wa' could not purchase, Mr. Gideon Haliburton !" 
 Honest Gideon was taken quite aback by this 
 unlooked for turn given to his very first act of ad- 
 dress and " considerateness."" He was too much 
 discomfited to reply all at once. At length he got 
 out — " I meant ye nae incivility. Laird o' Monks- 
 haugh, far frae it — I wish to gi'e honour where 
 honour is due — and what is fairly meant should 
 be fairly ta'en." 
 
 And Gideon stoutly strode away followed by 
 Elizabeth, who again hung on his arm, coaxing 
 him to return as the night was dark, tempestuous, 
 and rainy. — " It's e'en owre true the wee man
 
 284 EL-IZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 says, I'm no fit to guide myseP, 'Lizbeth. The 
 Lord look on me and help me ! For since I lost 
 Marion Hervey, I'm a puir, helpless, handless 
 man. Let me gang, my dear, — let me pass. I 
 wash my hands o' hussey-skep. The session may 
 just do wi' me as they like, touching the matter of 
 conjugality. I thought — and mainly for your sake 
 too, 'Lizbeth ; I was na, I shame to own it, alto- 
 gether single-hearted in this affair — I thought as 
 I would like to be seeing how ye prospered baith 
 in spirituals and temporals, it was best to make 
 that prinkie boddie some bit propine for the skaith 
 done his pannikin yon morning, as I might have 
 brought a Flanders-babie to yourseP when at the 
 synod lang syne, and you a bairn. That thing''' — 
 and he threw it down in contempt — " cost me a 
 crown o' white siller ; and lo !" — 
 
 " It's no worth five bawbies," added Frisel. — 
 Elizabeth retired hearing Monkshaugh's voice; 
 and Frisel ran after the minister up into the ave- 
 nue, bawling — '' Ye maun be ruled, Mr. Gideon ; 
 I'll be down to the Sourholes the morn. Keep up 
 your heart ! Discreet elderly maidens are no iU to 
 woo. She's an auld crock ewe, as I said, o' your 
 ain fauld too. — It gangs to my heart though to be 
 art or part in putting ye under the harrows ; for
 
 MISTAKES OF A NIGHT. 285 
 
 thou art an Israelite indeed in whom is no guile !'" 
 Thus did Frisel apostrophize the fugitive. 
 
 Monkshaugh would soon have forgiven Mr. Gi- 
 deon, and even condemned himself for his unkind 
 reception of a courtesy, the absurdity of which a- 
 rose from mere simplicity, had he not overheard 
 the unlucky phrase " prinkie boddie"' — a thing to 
 be resented by him more deeply than a much more 
 serious injury; so Elizabeth, though she could have 
 better spared a more polished man, considered it 
 prudent to let the matter cool for a few days, be- 
 fore she attempted Gideon's restoration to favour. 
 
 But the minister was not yet fairly off. A sud- 
 den swell of the Ernescraig burn prevented him 
 from crossing to the Sourholes ; and when the 
 Monkshaugh ploughman came home, late in the 
 evening, from getting a horse shod at Castleburn, 
 it was reported that the disconsolate preacher was 
 still warming himself by the smithy-fire, waiting 
 the falling of the waters. Monkshaugh's hospita- 
 lity was questioned in the hamlet — at least so the 
 Whittret represented it. " They say ye ask the 
 Sourholes" minister to his dinner, Monkshaugh, 
 and stick him wi' the spit — leaving him to beek 
 his shins at a smiddy-fire half the night.'' 
 
 Monkshaugh would not yet see Gideon, but he
 
 286 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 went early to bed himself, and made Elizabeth 
 write a note urging the minister to return to The 
 Place to take his bed. This note, backed by sun- 
 dry rather questionable allegations of FriseFs, once 
 more brought the honest man down to Monks- 
 haugh. 
 
 " Give him his supper, Francie," said the Laird. 
 " Let him want for nothing ; but be sure to bring 
 away the candle. It's a wonder to me he does 
 not set himseF in a lowe every night he gangs to 
 rest." 
 
 Three minutes were allowed Gideon to invest 
 himself in an old flowered-silk dressing gown of 
 Monkshaugh's, which almost reached his knees, 
 an affair of grandeur which he strenuously declined 
 having any thing to do with, till Effie came up 
 stairs herself, and insisted on carrying off" his wet 
 garments to the kitchen fire, when sheer modesty 
 compelled him to avail himself in haste of what he 
 called the " goodly raiment." He was then left in 
 darkness to his prayers and meditations. 
 
 Notwithstanding their perpetually sparring, with 
 gloves and often without them, many a comfort- 
 able supper had Effie and the Whittret enjoyed, 
 tete-a-tete^ during the last seven years. They 
 were engaged in this social meal once again, a
 
 MISTAKES OF A NIGHT. 287 
 
 flask of good ale washing down a broiled bone, 
 when the shrill, exulting cry of a female voice was 
 heard, and loudly and vehemently that of Gideon 
 exclaiming — " In the name of the Lord, be ye 
 mortal or fiend, let go your grips, or I'll do ye a 
 mischief!" 
 
 Gideon's chamber door was instantly thrown 
 open by the valiant and nimble Frisel, who had 
 snatched the kitchen light and run off on the first 
 alarm ; but instead of Efiie's favourite cat, which 
 he expected to find, lo ! a female ! her feet off the 
 ground, who, with the grasp of the Maiden, 
 clasped in close embrace the struggling preacher. 
 
 " Whafs this ! what's this !" cried Frisel witli 
 loud laughter. — " O minister ! minister ! — Keep 
 back there, Effie ! — This is no a sight for maidens 
 like you. Here is a tale for the session !" 
 
 " As I am a living sinner, Francie Frisel — but 
 why should I asseverate to the scorner ! I ken 
 nae mair, Effie, how that puir demented creature, 
 Jacky Pingle, has darned hersel' in my chalmer — 
 in my very bed I believe — than the sackless new 
 born babe. She has some crazy conceit o' her being 
 my sweetheart — as if I were an Adonis for women 
 to fa' in love wi' " — 
 
 " Your sweetheart, ye auld grey tram ! I am
 
 288 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 the Laird o' Monkshaugh's ain winsome leddy" — 
 said the poor vagrant lunatic ; for such had our 
 old acquaintance, Miss Jacobina Pingle, long 
 been. 
 
 " A bonnie scene, minister,^' Frisel went on with 
 his peculiar expression of elvish mirth and malice, 
 " under the Laird of MonkshaugFs very roof !"" 
 
 " Hold your scoffing tongue, ye profane giber," 
 cried Effie, generously coming to the assistance of 
 the rueful preacher. — " Weel it becomes you to 
 jeer and gleek at His master's servant ! — And you, 
 ye daft limmer — to darn yourseP in ony decent 
 widow gentleman's chalmer to bring scandal on 
 his gude name — gae down the stair wi' ye, or I 
 shall drive ye head foremost !'" 
 
 This zeal of obstreperous virtue was too much 
 for Gideon's humane feelings, great as was his 
 cause of controversy with Jacobina on this night. 
 " Be tenty and gentle wi' her, Effie. — Where can 
 the puir thing gang to at this late hour ? — ^for. 
 Oh ! sirs, she has few to think of her, or to see till 
 her." 
 
 " I'll see till her !" cried Effie. " I'll see her 
 kept under lock and padlock for this night, and 
 tramped aff to Edinburgh the morn wi' Michie 
 Snailswain, the Castleburn carrier. I'm sure we 
 
 1
 
 MISTAKES OF A XIGHT. 289 
 
 lia'e haverils enow in our ain country-side, though 
 the Edinburgh folks keep theirs at hame — at least 
 till the session rise." 
 
 " It's little I mind you, ye dour din carlin !" re- 
 plied Jacobina, twisting her mouth, — " or you ei- 
 ther, ye grusome carle. D'ye mind yon night, when 
 the murdered leddy's smoke-wraith rose high and 
 thin i' the flames o' Cambuskenneth Lodge ?'''' 
 
 Mr. Gideon appeared a little uneasy. " Well, 
 well, if ye are to slight me that gate, Jacky, I 
 must e'en draw up wi"* Effie here ;" and he grin- 
 ned with the expression of face which was his 
 nearest approach to humour — while Effie, over- 
 come as if by a " summer cloud," writhed in 
 smiles indescribable, and levelled at him at once 
 the artillery of the " gleg grey ee," and the blank 
 shot of the white one. 
 
 During this dialogue, Frisel was busied in glan- 
 cing at papers of which Jacobina always carried 
 about a large wallet full, obtained by many furtive 
 expedients. 
 
 " Let me hand you to the chamber of dais, 
 my leddy," said he, gracefully extending his hand. 
 " This is no a fit place for your station and dig- 
 nity." 
 
 " But I'll carry my contract mysel', Francie 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 290 ELIZABETH DE BllUCE. 
 
 Frisel/' And she seized the papers with one hand, 
 while the fingers of the other were daintily laid on 
 the arm of her gentleman utther ; and away she 
 moved in sweeps and ambling curves to the dis- 
 tant attic in which Effie locked her up, determined 
 that the Minister should not a second time be ex- 
 posed to scandal on Jacobina's account. Frisel 
 had meanwhile coaxed her out of her papers. 
 
 That restless spirit of curiosity which was poor 
 Jacobina's original infirmity, had gradually reached 
 its present morbid excess. Her ancient neighbour, 
 Deacon Daigh, who, after her illness, was exceed- 
 ingly kind to her, had some years before this given 
 Gideon the whole philosophy of her case. " She 
 aye slighted the staff of life," he said ; " the bite o' 
 white bread ; and dabbled three times a day at the 
 jaup o' Bohea, and that naturally raised the va- 
 pours ; and the vapours they flew to her brain in 
 her lonely maidenhood, and that set the tongue a 
 whirlmg. And ye ken yourseP, Mr. Gideon, for 
 that there was little need ; but Lord's sake dinna 
 let my whisht be heard ! Then she ne'er was 
 weel after the burning o' Cambuskenneth Lodge, 
 grew a Tolbooth whig — na, na ! the Grey-friars' 
 Kirk could na serve her — and yoked to her Bible 
 like a' daft folk. Now her puir frail wits couldna
 
 MISTAKES OF A NIGHT. 291 
 
 Stand the strength o' the Word — the Bread o' 
 Life, as it is beautifully called/' 
 
 Upon this statement Gideon brought poor Ja- 
 cobina to the Sourholes, where he entertained her, 
 if not in the best, yet in the kindest manner, till 
 her wandering malady set her a roaming again. 
 In connexion with her malady , and subservient to 
 that love of matrimony and finery which are com- 
 mon to female lunatics, was a desire to appropriate 
 by violence or theft whatever written papers she 
 saw, under a diseased apprehension that they were 
 her marriage settlements, and vouchers of a West- 
 India fortune, of which Harletillum had cheated 
 her. Her suspicions were not however always 
 confined to him. Wherever two persons were talk- 
 ing together, Jacobina's head was poked between 
 them ; and in this unhappy way she wandered over 
 the country wherever her mood led, but always on 
 the outlook for papers. She had been at the 
 Whim on this day ; and, with the cunning peculiar 
 to her malady, had abstracted a whole heap of do- 
 cuments, with which she forthwith proceeded to 
 Monkshaugh, satisfied that all her dowry matters 
 were arranged at last. Dread of her determined 
 enemy Effie Fechnie, who was mortally jealous of 
 her, both in respect of Gideon's affection, and of
 
 292 ELIZABETH DE BKUCE. 
 
 certain rags of old silk gowns, which the Laird 
 sometimes bestowed on the mad woman, led the 
 frail brain of Jacobina to concert the plan of con- 
 cealment in, as she supposed, her betrothed's cham- 
 ber. 
 
 Whatever the abstracted papers contained of 
 rare or important, the Whittret took care to keep 
 to himself for this night. 
 
 Mr. Gideon, after a restless night, was off by the 
 cock-crow ; and so greatly amused was Monks- 
 haugh by the nocturnal adventure, which at break- 
 fast Frisel related with his usual latitude of em- 
 bellishment, that he almost forgave the " prinkie 
 boddie,"" and bestowed another old gown, or what 
 she called a bridal suit, on poor Jacobina,
 
 THE SPAEWIFE. 293 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE SPAEWIFE. 
 
 I know each lane and every alley green. 
 Dingle or bushy dell of this wild wood ; 
 And every bosky boxixne. 
 
 MiLTOK. 
 
 She amongst ladies would their fortunes read 
 Out of their hands, and merry leasings tell. 
 
 Chaucer. 
 
 A FEW days after the visit of Gideon, Frisel, 
 who was the organ of aU intelligence and of all 
 mischief in Monkshaugh's family, announced that 
 the "illustrious house of Harletillum,"'' as he styled 
 it, were to hold a high field-day in the Kirk of 
 San Serf on the morrow, a day appointed for a Na- 
 tional Fast. Intimation to this effect had been sent 
 to the Rev. Dr. Draunt, together with an invita- 
 tion to dine at the Whim after the Fast-day^s ser- 
 vice. This was during the most alarming period 
 of the progress of French arms and French prin-
 
 294 ELIZABETH DE LKUCE. 
 
 ciples. " To stem the torrent,'' Lord Rantletree 
 and the Rantletree family had lately begun to 
 appear at church. Mr. Hutchen, equally loyal, 
 with " a great stake in the country," and equally 
 pledged by the devotion of " life and fortune'' 
 " to strengthen the hands of government," also 
 felt the necessity of attending church on the day 
 of the " King's Fast," and henceforth to send his 
 wife and the carriage once a day at all times. Mr. 
 Hutchen was not a man likely to serve Heaven, 
 save on good grounds, so every body thought it 
 necessary to follow his example. A public ap- 
 pearance on the Fast-day, was, indeed, a test of 
 a good disposition towards the government at this 
 agitating and suspicious crisis. 
 
 Monkshaugh was convinced that, in such a cri- 
 sis, the eyes of Lord Rantletree, and of the whole 
 county, must be fixed upon himself " To fight 
 or flee" — to face these splendours of the parvenu 
 folks, or veil his diminished head, was his private 
 cogitation. Frisel disdained flight — his voice was 
 still for war ; and it was, at all times, a powerful 
 organ in this family. 
 
 " We have no carriage, Francie, for Leddy 'Liz- 
 beth." 
 
 " Ye have the roan powney ; the Leddy 'Liz-
 
 THE SPAEWIFE. 295 
 
 beth has little Titty Annie that Captain Wolfe 
 presented to her, which she likes better than ony 
 carriage in the county : the creature follows her 
 about and whinnies after her like a Christian soul/' 
 
 " Titania is the brute's name, I have often told 
 ye : but, as ye ken that I hate a"* parade and vain- 
 glorious paraffling, what if the Monkshaugh family 
 should countenance Mr. Gideon, by giving him a 
 day's hearing, and taking a bite of bread and cheese 
 with him atween sermons, as we have no car- 
 riage ?" 
 
 " Mr. Gideon holds no preaching. He says he 
 has nae brow o' Fasts o' man's makin' ; he sees nae 
 scripture warrant for King's Fasts — ^but clean the 
 reverse." 
 
 " He is an old, tup-headed, cross-cut pin of the 
 sanctuary. — What can we do then, Francie .?" 
 
 "Ye'll surely no play fugie before John Hurch- 
 eon and his chariots, Monkshaugh .?" 
 
 " Fugie, sir ! me fugie before John Hurcheon ! 
 I was for facing the pack down at once ; but the 
 Lady 'Lizbeth represented to me, that our devo- 
 tions might be more quietly gone about, and with 
 less disturbance in a smaller congregation/' 
 
 The Laird's mind was already wandering over 
 the church, marshalling his household forces, so as
 
 ^296 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 best to body forth and support the dignity of the 
 house of Monkshaugh. The front gallery seat, 
 hung with worm-eaten crimson cloth, and garnished 
 with tattered escutcheons, was the de Bruce family 
 seat. Here, in his mind's eye, he posted Elizabeth, 
 with Fugal and the domestics of Ernescraig in the 
 rear — members of Gideon's flock, no doubt, but to 
 be pressed into the service on this day, in spite of 
 all late acts for Toleration and Freedom of worship. 
 The Monkshaugh seat occupied one side of the 
 gallery, and exactly opposite was the pew of the 
 " Whim family,"" as they now began to be some- 
 times called. 
 
 It was arranged that Effie Fechnie, Baby 
 Strang, the dairy-maid, and the Whittret, were to 
 take post behind the Laird, with Hughoc, the flax- 
 en-headed cow-boy, now thrust (on trial) by main 
 force into an old livery-coat of FriseFs, much too 
 small for him everywhere. A dram to Johnnie 
 Jow, the kirk ofiicer, procured a loan of the church 
 keys ; and a piece of fresh green baize, borrowed 
 from the parlour carpet, was secretly nailed to the 
 Monkshaugh seat, in place of the black frieze rags 
 which had fluttered there since the decease of the 
 *' ever-honoured leddy of Kippencreery Wester."*' 
 
 The evening previous to the grand exhibition,
 
 THE SPAEWIFE. 29? 
 
 Elizabeth, glad to escape from the confusion which 
 ever intervenes between the acting of a dreadful 
 thing and its first idea, rode towards Ernescraig 
 Tower, on the earnest solicitation of Monkshaugh, 
 in quest of a white beaver hat, adorned with plen- 
 teous plumage of the same hue ; which, with her 
 grey camblet riding habit, would, he was con- 
 vinced, have a much more dashing effect in a 
 country church on a Fast-day, than the green 
 cloak and rustic straw bonnet which she ustially 
 wore. 
 
 The Whittret, her running footman, had, in 
 passing, slipped into the hamlet privately, to ar- 
 range a merry social party for the evening of the 
 Fast-day ; and, midway between the Tower of 
 Ernescraig and Castleburn, Elizabeth first per- 
 ceived that she was alone, the shades of a raw, 
 misty, December afternoon falling fast around her. 
 The outline of the surrounding hills swelled to the 
 gigantic, and then became faint and more faint, 
 shadowy and undistinguishable. The Tower was 
 next lost in the thickening obscurity. 
 
 Abrupt precipices rose on one hand, and the wood- 
 ed ravine or dell, of which Fugal was lord paramount 
 and the sole inhabitant, sunk sheer on the other
 
 298 ELIZABETH DE BKUCE. 
 
 side of the Pech's Path, which she now traced. 
 Personal fear was a stranger to her bosom. Vio- 
 lence was never dreamt of in a country where the 
 greatest crimes known were, the Pitbauchlie colliers' 
 spearing a few salmon in the Oran, or cutting a 
 few osier twigs in the dean. From subduing 
 feelings of another kind, Elizabeth'^s mind was not 
 quite so exempt, for — 
 
 Many a legend peopling the dark woods, 
 Nourished imagination in her youth. 
 
 There is an indescribable, wild, reckless plea- 
 sure in, as it were, throwing the reins to fate, and 
 plunging boldly on in darkness through an un- 
 known and dangerous way, which for the time sets 
 one above its power. But every stone and bush 
 on this path was familiar to Elizabeth and her 
 little steed ; and though she pressed on with una- 
 bated confidence, she felt little of the excitement 
 of an unknown danger, but was quite at liberty to 
 keep on the outlook for ghosts, shadows, and all 
 shapeless and undefined causes of alarm. 
 
 A shrill peculiar whistle issuing from the ra- 
 vine, and running far and clear along the braes, 
 was scarcely cause of alarm ; yet Titania pricked 
 up her ears, and Elizabeth just touched the bridle
 
 THE SPAEWIFE. 299 
 
 as the signal was answered from above her patli. 
 The first alarm probably came from Fugal's hut ; 
 or it might be the signal of some rural sportsman 
 who had lost his companion in the woods. 
 
 A few paces onward, and before Elizabeth had 
 recovered from this trifling alarm, a tall female 
 figure started from the brushwood that ran along 
 the ledge of the ravine, and stood in her path. 
 This startled her Lilliputian steed, which would 
 have bounded off had not the woman with a strong 
 arm seized the rein. 
 
 " Don't be alarmed, lady," said this formidable 
 apparition. " It is only a poor travelling merchant, 
 who would be glad to supply you with pins, needles, 
 buttons, bodkins, ballads, &c." — and, as she rhym- 
 ed over the catalogue of her wares, she threw aside 
 the long dark mantle in which she was wrapped, 
 and discovered her basket, still however firmly 
 grasping the bridle. 
 
 " This is no hour nor place for bargaining, be- 
 sides I have no money with me. I must pass on.*" 
 And Elizabeth drew her bridle. 
 
 " Then take what you will for love, fair lady.'' 
 
 " I want nothing of you. Quit my bridle— or 
 you shall repent of this." 
 
 " Repentance is for the sinner, lady. But
 
 300 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 surely so pretty a lady would like her fortune told. 
 Cross my hand with a tester, and learn the will of 
 the Fates — or if you have no current coin, sure 
 you have some token-bit, a sixpence broken for 
 true love, or some ring or brooch. Trinket of 
 yours were worth gold to me. Try your pock- 
 ets." 
 
 *' Wretched woman, is your design to rob ?''^ 
 cried Elizabeth, her spirit rising above her fears. 
 " Follow me whither I am going, and if you need 
 assistance it shall be largely given you ; but — I am 
 neither to be menaced nor scared." 
 
 " Then this be my guerdon," replied the wo- 
 man, twisting her bold fingers into a ringlet of 
 hair, which escaping from its confinement played 
 on Elizabeth's shoulder. 
 
 " She is mad poor creature !" was now Eliza- 
 beth's thought ; and her fears took a different di- 
 rection. " She is distracted: had her purpose 
 been to rob — one woman rob another ! — she would 
 not have dallied thus." 
 
 Elizabeth looked round in vain for her lagging 
 squire. The shades of evening fell thicker — it 
 was almost dark — no object could now be discern- 
 ed at the distance often yards — and the bold black
 
 THE SFAEWIFE. 301 
 
 eye of the woman flared out of the darkness like 
 a thing of evil omen. 
 
 " This tress is but poor guerdon/' said Eliza- 
 beth, recoiling from giving as a ransom to a mad 
 vagrant a gift which, trifling as it was, yet formed 
 a part of herself " Take this instead"" — and she 
 presented a small garnet hoop-ring of trifling 
 value, save that it bore the initials of some of 
 Monkshaugh's peerless grand-aunts. It was eagerly 
 seized. 
 
 " Good night — I must pass on— I shall be 
 late !"" said Elizabeth. 
 
 " Not till I have earned my hire."" — And the 
 woman took the ungloved hand of Elizabeth, and 
 held it firmly. Again the same shrill whistle 
 rung along the rocks — ^but there was no answering 
 signal. Elizabeth's terror became extreme-— a sick, 
 blood-curdling agony was at her heart. " For 
 Heaven's sake quit my hand," she exclaimed, 
 while she struggled to get free. 
 
 " The mavis sings late to-night," was the re- 
 ply ; and unheeding the efforts of Elizabeth, the 
 vagrant held strong possession of her hand, affect- 
 ing to peruse its lines. 
 
 " For the love of Heaven let me pass, woman ! 
 and take all I can give you."
 
 302 ELIZABETH DE BllUCE. 
 
 " What do you fear, cowardly girl P^' cried the 
 vagrant in an angry and threatening tone. " There 
 spoke the craven blood of Fitzmaurice."" 
 
 " She is only mad after all,""* thought Elizabeth, 
 again drawing her breath with greater freedom. 
 And, with a feeble attempt to smile, she said — " I 
 long to hear my fortune. Does he whom 1 love, 
 
 love me ; or does he love at all ?"" " Gracious 
 
 Heaven ! am I to be held here all night in a mad 
 woman's grasp !" was her secret thought, as she 
 mentally denounced against the Whittret all the 
 pains and penalties of maiming, dismemberment, 
 slaying, and burning, — " held here all night the 
 sport of a mad woman's fantasy — or reserved for 
 something yet worse ! — I am afraid, goodwife,'' 
 she said in a soothing tone, " that the night is 
 now too dark to permit you to read the cross-lines 
 of my fortune ; or this little palm too narrow to 
 afford verge for great fortunes to crowd into.'' 
 
 " He whom you love, is a soldier," said the sy- 
 bil. 
 
 " Good ! — but does he love me 'f That you 
 know were better worth hearing." 
 
 " Does the lark love the free blue sky — the but- 
 terfly, the flower — the vine, to drink the sun-light 
 — the new-dropt lamb, the milk of its dam — the
 
 THE SPAEWIFE. 303 
 
 traveller of the desert, to hear the rush of waters P 
 — so sure does Wolfe Grahame love you/' 
 
 Elizabeth started, and drew back on her saddle. 
 The name acted as a momentary spell ; and she 
 involuntarily yielded to the weakness of exclaim- 
 ing, while again she bent eagerly forward — "What 
 of him — ^is it well with him ? — Have you ever seen 
 him ?'' 
 
 The vagrant drew herself up to the extreme 
 height of her tall figure ; and tossing from her the 
 hand she had hitherto grasped, said with energy — 
 "And has the maiden no thought save for the 
 bright eye and the ruddy cheek of youth ? — no 
 thought — no heart—no yearning for the unhappy 
 mother, who has suffered and travailed for her ?" 
 
 "Alas !'' said Elizabeth, in a subdued and 
 mournful voice, bending her head on her bosom, 
 " The blessing of a mother's love is denied to 
 me — or Heaven is my witness how fondly I could 
 prize it !'"* 
 
 Again the same shrill, impatient, peculiar whis- 
 tle sounded through the glade — and was at this 
 time returned by the vagrant as strongly and 
 shrilly as ever the voice of a man gave out such 
 sounds. Titania, holding probably the orthodox
 
 304 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 opinion of Monkshaugh, that " crawing hens and 
 whistling maidens were ne'er canny,'' pricked up 
 her ears and bounded off on the way to her stable, 
 with a violence that might have dislodged a 
 less dexterous rider from the saddle. Not so the 
 fair equestrian, whom Corporal Fugal had taught 
 the menage ; and who, in fact, had early learned to 
 manage her horse without saddle, stirrup, rein, or 
 any thing of the kind. 
 
 "To thy speed, Titania,'' said she, caressing 
 the neck of the gentle and spirited little creature. 
 " We must try the gallop for it, as greater heroes 
 have done.'' 
 
 " Stay, cowardly girl ! — not a hair of your head 
 will be injured," shouted the vagrant. " Life and 
 death are on my message !" — Elizabeth reined in 
 her palfrey ; and now heard other voices as if in 
 angry dispute. This was decisive of the matter. 
 Once more she put Titania to her speed ; and in 
 three minutes was down upon the hamlet of Cas- 
 tleburn. 
 
 Straggling lights were already twinkling in the 
 little casements, shedding reflected cheerfulness 
 through the gloom which showers of hail and sleet 
 had increased into thickest night. In the obscur-
 
 THE SPAEWIFE. 305 
 
 ity she could just discern the stately figure of Cor- 
 poral Fugal, who, whistling aloud the bold brave 
 air of " Johnnie Cope,'' wended homeward to his 
 lonely cabin in the woods. Elizabeth reined in 
 her steed, and gave the challenge in form — " Who 
 advances ?" 
 
 Fugal's natural movement on all occasions of 
 surprise, was, to " make ready." He first made 
 this involuntary movement, and then his military 
 obeisances, while he exclaimed — " Is it your hon- 
 our, Ma-dame 'Lizbeth, all alone under cloud of 
 night ? But our ladies thought nothin** of a gal- 
 lop of thirty miles by moonlight in Flanders. For 
 that part of it, the moon rises almost every night 
 in Flanders," 
 
 " And in romances, I believe," said Elizabeth. 
 " But as Scotland is not quite so highly favoured ; 
 and as I, Fugal, though a pupil of yours, am by 
 no means so brave as your ladies were in Flanders, 
 I shall thank you to walk by my bridle to Monks- 
 haugh. That varlet, Frisel, has deserted me 
 somewhere in the Path." 
 
 " Oh, my back, and my breast, and baith my 
 twa sides !" groaned the very man she spoke of, 
 as if from behind a low turf enclosure. " I'm 
 murdered — I'm killed — I'm a gone mutton, Fu- 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 306 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 gal Scrymmager, if ye cannot give me a touch of 
 your famous Riga balsam."" 
 
 " What is the matter ?''' cried Elizabeth, hasti- 
 ly. — " Are we all bewitched to-night ?'' 
 
 "Not unlike, my leddy,'' said the Whittret, 
 crawling forward through a breach of the enclosure, 
 and bent nearly double. — " If I'm no' thrashed 
 I ken myseF — mauled within an inch of my bare 
 life by an outlandish quean as lang as Clackmannan 
 Tower, as I gaed whistling up the Path after ye : 
 but if ye're safe, my leddy, my moan is made. — 
 I'll fire the dean woods but I'll be revenged on 
 her though." 
 
 " Who could she be .^" 
 
 " De'il kens ! — they are his cherubs I warrant 
 them. At least a dozen o' them set on me. It 
 would not ha'e been ae lang quean that should 
 have cowed me, Fugal." 
 
 " Tinkers, perhaps ?" 
 
 " Na, na ! no tinklers. The homers are an or- 
 derly weel-ruled race, that were never kenned to 
 lay violent hands on any living thing, save a fea- 
 thered creature, in all the four hill-side parishes. — 
 Have ye heard o' the fowmarte stealing ony o' the 
 Hungeremout folk's geese lately, Fugal .'^" 
 
 " I had no tidings," said Fugal.
 
 THE SPAEWIFE. 307 
 
 " No, no, our ain travelling friends will no' be 
 this way till after Doune Fair. This must be 
 some Irish hallanshakers, that will soon ruin and 
 knock up the honest tinkler trade in our country- 
 side." 
 
 " I rather think,'' said Fugal, " I seen a hor- 
 ner-woman cowering among the bushes this after- 
 noon ; but as I heard they held a drowning match 
 yesterday at the Linns o' Cleuch I gave no heed."" 
 
 " A drowning match .?" said Elizabeth. 
 
 " Yes, Ma-dame Xizbeth, drowning an ould 
 tinkler," replied Fugal, with perfect indifference 
 of tone. Elizabeth expressed disbelief and aston- 
 ishment. 
 
 " Did you, Ma-dame Xizbeth, ever see a gipsy 
 bridal.^" 
 
 " That I have, Fugal, — at their favourite haunt 
 too, up among the hills, at this very Linns of 
 Cleuch. Frisel, it must have been you that took 
 me there I think. What a gay bridal that was ! 
 all the dale alive — the very asse-s holding a brows- 
 ing jubilee. All round the ragged tents what 
 groups of dogs and children sharing the same 
 sport and the same bone ! — the gipsy women, with 
 their fine features and wild black eyes, attending 
 the camp-kettles — the men lazily fishing in the
 
 308 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 Linn pools, or smoking beneath the trees — rags of 
 linen hanging from every hazel bush, or spread 
 over the dried pebbles of the shrunken stream. 
 I remember their drag-nets hanging on the rocks, 
 and a sort of pipe they danced to. I think I 
 cried, Frisel, when you carried me home."" 
 
 " Tm not sure but you kicked too ; but ye was 
 a very little missy then. That was the year be- 
 fore the fairies tried to steal ye.'' 
 
 " Kicked !'' said Elizabeth, laughing. " Well, 
 it may be so, I however kept our mutual secret, 
 up to this hour I think. I wandered back alone 
 next day ; and, except the broken branches, and 
 the turf scorched by their fires, every sign had 
 vanished." 
 
 " But though you have seen a gipsy bridal ye 
 never heard of an ould tinkler dying a fair-strae 
 death. Ma-dame 'Lizbeth. No ! nor no man for 
 ye. The ould tinlder people are raisonable ; they 
 submit to be drowned in a pool when their time 
 comes. The gipsy line of trade does not suit ould 
 people.'' 
 
 As Elizabeth was certainly not prepared to bring 
 evidence against Fugal's opinion, backed too by 
 that of the country, she said no more about the 
 habits of the short-lived wandering race.
 
 THE SPAEWIFE. 309 
 
 " Lend me your arm here to lean on, Don Von 
 Blunderbush," said Frisel. — " Och, my lunzie 
 bane ! If ye had made a muir-hen, or a Mally 
 Bane, o' the quean ye saw scougin' T the mirk o"* 
 the gloamin' in the dean wood, ye wad ha'e saved 
 me a sarkful o' sair banes. — But saw ye nothing, 
 my leddy ?"' 
 
 Elizabeth, who thought it prudent to keep her 
 share of the adventure to herself, was spared the 
 trouble of reply by Miss Jacobina Pingle, who, 
 bound for Monkshaugh to take her place in the 
 great churching of to-morrow, caught FrisePs 
 words and sang out — 
 
 " Hei" love being a hunting, tlie rain coming on, 
 She went under the bushes herself for to screen, 
 
 Her white apron being about her he has ta'en her for a swan ; 
 But, alas, a raa chree ! he shot sweet Mally Bane." 
 
 " It was my Irish joe learned me that lang syne, 
 on the eerie nights he came to the Palmer's land 
 to tryste out the howdie wife. I wish he may 
 have been the thing after a', Francie ? There 
 was a black ring about yon hollow ee. However, 
 I am served and set by now, — so we'll ha'e nae 
 mair o' thae dolefu' ditties. In a merry night like 
 this I'se gi'e ye a merry lilt ;'' and Jacobina sang
 
 310 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 to a lively tripping air, Frisel striking in occasion- 
 ally— 
 
 " The throstle and the ousel cock, 
 
 The ruddock and the wren, 
 With bucksome lay, from glade to rock, 
 
 Bring lusty spring agen. 
 
 Then hie thee, love, to the glad green-wood, 
 
 Where we so blithe have been ; 
 Then hie thee to the glad green- wood, 
 
 And reign our Sylvan Queen. 
 
 " The salmon leaping in the flood. 
 
 The wild-buck bounding free. 
 The spear shall feel, to the bolt-shot reel, 
 
 And all, fair love, for thee. 
 Then hie thee, love," &c. &c. 
 
 '•' Now, Francie, hold your peace, and let me sing," 
 said Jacobina ; and with the various mimic contor- 
 tions of an affected singer, panting, and wriggling, 
 and spreading out her fingers on her breast, she 
 skirled — we wish some of them could have seen 
 her in warning — 
 
 " I come ! I come, my hunter love. 
 
 Scorning their gauds and gold, 
 Thy food to dress — thy lip to press, — 
 
 With thee to range the wold." 
 
 Frisel then took her hand gallantly, and sung— 
 
 " Then doff thy 'broidered robe, ladye, 
 
 And don the frolic green. 
 And hie thee to the glad green- wood ;— 
 
 Hark ! my merry mates hail their Queen."
 
 THE SPAEWIFE. 311 
 
 " There's another verse about a moonlight 
 couch among the lady-breckans," said Jacobina. 
 
 " Thank you for what we have already got," 
 replied Elizabeth. 
 
 " Indeed, Leddy 'Lizbeth, songs are rank gra- 
 marye to us maidens. In that fairy-land, sirs, 
 yell notice it's aye love, love, love ! Now in this 
 cauldrife, naked, grey-day-light warld of ours, the 
 cry on the other hand is aye siller, siller, siller ! 
 The axle-tree o' the globe is made o' siller, Fran- 
 cie ; — the world rins round on't, sirs." 
 
 " Gelt, gelt, gelt ! as they say in Flanders, 
 Ma-dame Lizbeth," said Fugal, contemptuously, 
 who was seldom over-burdened with cash himself. 
 " Pitiful cuUions ! that don't know a carabine 
 from a plough-pettle." 
 
 — " So that it is not easy for a simple maiden 
 to judge how she should match," continued Jacky. 
 " The greedy man scrapes together and clutches 
 gold; and the thief he steals it; and so fresh 
 gold loosens the lang lash of the lawyer, to blister 
 the back of the poor thief. The judge claps on 
 his cap, and ruffles up — a' for the gold — and says, 
 ' Ye must be hanged. Sir Thief, and the Lprd 
 have mercy on your soul !'— and so pouches the 
 pelf. The very hangman, sirs, will not slip the
 
 312 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 cord, to put the poor sinner out of his pain, till 
 the gold is telled down. Leal stark love and 
 kindness is clean out of the land. John Hutchen 
 pawned his soul to the Foul Thief for gold ; and 
 the blood of an innocent lamb sealed the sacra- 
 ment. But what's that to me ? Wha daur say 
 boh ! to my banner ? What business have I wi' 
 John Hutchen's doings ? Godly Gideon forbad 
 the banns. Weel, — the auld barrow-tram is sleep- 
 ing on the rungs on a pickle oat-chaff down i' the 
 Sourholes : there's down-beds, with purple cano- 
 pies, and canary night-possets served in a lordly 
 dish, yonder-away, sirs. Whilk sleeps the sounder ? 
 Answer me that, Francie Frisel. There's ugsome, 
 laithly dreams going in thae pit-mirk nights, sirs. 
 But some folk never dream till they waken, and 
 shall dream nae mair.''' 
 
 Elizabeth liked Jacobina's songs better than this 
 wild raving ; and she attempted to lead the sub- 
 ject back to the broken stanza. 
 
 " Weel, for my ain part, Lady 'Lizbeth — ^but 
 lassie they say ye're married; I read something 
 about that in my settlements. Weel, marriage is 
 honourable ; better marry than miscarry ye ken — 
 but for my ain part, I think a young leddy come 
 to discreet years, had better marry for a bein
 
 THE SPAEWIFE. 313 
 
 down-sitting, as I have done, and a good feather- 
 bed, than mind thae nonsense sangs : for a couch 
 i' the hill-side, let me tell you, is but cauld quar- 
 ters, and naething like a decent toilette-glass to be 
 seen about it.'' 
 
 " I'm afraid, poor Jacky, ye sometimes find 
 it so," said Elizabeth, compassionately. 
 
 " Jacky, quo she ! Weel Jacky be it then 
 between ourselves as kinswomen. But, Francie, 
 what made ye o' the settlements I brought frae the 
 Whim yestreen ? Ye ken the morn is our bridal 
 kirking. I maun ha'e a' my buskings and papers 
 ready." 
 
 " Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride," 
 sung Frisel, taking her hand. The lure took — 
 the settlements were forgotten; and laughing 
 aloud in insane triumph, and singing — " Busk ye, 
 busk ye" — poor Jacobina went screaming on her 
 darksome way. 
 
 " I am glad to find that you are so suddenly 
 become singing whole. Master Frisel ;" said Eliza- 
 beth. 
 
 " O ! for singing — I'll die singing, my leddy, 
 like the swans ; but I would give my lugs that 
 Captain Wolfe Grahame saw these same marriage- 
 settlements, as poor Jacobina calls them. I have
 
 314 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 been looking for an opportunitty to let ye sae all 
 day, my leddy. They are real curiosities. — But, 
 my certes, 111 no be a hale man sae soon ! The 
 souple limmer laid on as if she had been beetling 
 hemp — little doubt but the lurdane has tried that 
 trade T the Bridewell before now — ugh !"" 
 
 ^' And is a ready hand at beetling a hempie,'''' 
 said Fugal, with a jolly laugh at his own joke. 
 " I wish though we had you a lick of the Riga 
 Balsam, with which them Pengun nuns 'nointed 
 our men's wownds in Flanders. It would make a 
 sound man of the little that's o' you in the pulling 
 of a trigger." Fugal looked down with a half su- 
 percilious air on the under-sized untravelled civi- 
 lian who hopped and hirpled at his side. 
 
 " I chopped off my thumb once, in hewing a 
 Memel log into pallisades for our 'trenchments, 
 Madame Lizbeth. It was this — no, it was this — 
 the trigger thumb." Fugal played both thumbs, 
 as if on trial. Sound, supple, serviceable mem- 
 bers they both seemed. " I can't be sure now 
 which it was ; and when not sure of my ground 
 I am apt to be very ticklish about what I says, 
 Madame 'Lizbeth. I had no leisure to think 
 much about such a trifle ; but by good luck stuck 
 the thumb somewhere in the gould band of my
 
 THE SPAEWIFE. 315 
 
 foraging cap ; and that evening in camp, having 
 nothin' else to do, I gives it a dip in the Riga 
 and claps him to. Look ye now, Francie,'"* and 
 he worked the joint of the thumb. " Well, I had 
 the same use of it five minutes thereafter." 
 
 " That is nothing to auld Richie Whands of 
 the Royals,'" said Frisel, " who had a leg set on 
 with the Riga. But thae blockheads of Penguns, as 
 you call them, did his leg-job Mearns fashion, — 
 clapped the calf where the shin should be." 
 
 " A percise thing of the same kind happened 
 in our troop," said Fugal gravely, " with one 
 Hodges, an uncommissioned officer." 
 
 " Ah ha ! — but in the Royals, they have a 
 trick worth two of that. They whipped off Richie's 
 unsightly member, and turned it fair round. 
 Richie would not have minded his shin a pin-head, 
 he said ; but while it stood that way, his big toe 
 was forever in the way of his rear-file." 
 
 " Take huz alongst with you. Master Frisel," 
 said Fugal, who abhorred having his stories over- 
 trumped by any one, but particularly by the 
 Whittret. " Hodges only changed his stirrup — 
 as he was not of the foot-wobblers. But this, 
 Madame 'Lizbeth, is nothin' to the Riga." 
 
 Far away from the group, the scene, the con-
 
 31 G ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 versation, were the wandering thoughts of Eliza- 
 beth ; but the sound of her own name recalled her 
 attention. 
 
 " We are like to have a snowy evening, Fugal,"" 
 said she. " Had you not better remain at Monks- 
 haugh, and not return to your wigwam to-night ?^'' 
 
 " A mere joke to the snows we had in Flanders," 
 replied Fugal, scorning the tameness of a Scottish 
 tempest. " I remember scouring them moors in 
 Flanders once, when neither town nor village, 
 house nor hould, was to be seen for fifty miles 
 round, each buried in snow as deep as the Ring- 
 an*'s scaur lies below Ernescraig Tower." 
 
 " The gude help ye to your dinner then !" said 
 Frisel ; " that is if ye were hungry." 
 
 " Hungry ! — I was as hungry as a Sourholes' 
 weaver's prentice ; — ^when Bess makes me a plunge 
 in the snow — ^for the jade smelt oats below ! — Ye 
 slut, says I, will ye fling ? — and over boots, over 
 spurs, there we plunged in a wreath, groping half 
 blind. I gave her a taste up to the rowel, Fran- 
 cie ; and up we sprung ! We had gone through 
 the roof of one of them rich boor's houses, I found, 
 for at her left hoof there came up reeking a tailyie 
 of as good corned beef, Madame 'Lizbeth, as ever 
 hungry trooper dined off. Worse nor the Bishop
 
 THE SPAEWIFE. 317 
 
 got his foot in the Dutch boor's pot that day, I 
 trow. Well, Providence, Madame 'Lizbeth, is a 
 rich provider, here or in Flanders/' 
 
 " You may well say so, Fugal ; for I question 
 if ever any man got his dinner in the same way 
 before."*' 
 
 ^* I rather thinks not. — ' He is a devil of a fellow 
 that Scrymmager,''said Ben Bump of ours, riding up 
 as I was eating my smoking rations on the ground. 
 ' I gave him his share, but said nothin.' — D'ye take 
 me ? It does me good now to tell over to your 
 ladyship, or any genteel parson, my trifling haps. 
 Your honours never doubts on ould soger's word 
 like them low inedicated raps in the Castleburn 
 smiddy." 
 
 Elizabeth perceived that Frisel was bent on 
 making the Corporal find liquor to wash down his 
 beef; so she led back to the Riga balsam and the 
 Beguin nuns. 
 
 " They call 'em the Sours of charite," said Fu- 
 gal. " Where's the Scotch lad of de Bruce's troop.? 
 I always looks to his dressings first," said Sour 
 Marguerite. — " That was a joke they long kept 
 up again' me in our troop. — It was worth a man's 
 pains, Madame 'Lizbeth, to get a slash, only to 
 come under her soft hands. — But what I tould you,
 
 318 ELIZABETH DE BllUCE. 
 
 Francie, is nothin' to the Riga. I saw a cock once 
 — more by token, it was stolen from the Frau Van- 
 brisket's roost by Sarjent Peterel of ours. — He 
 struck off the head with his sabre — this ways. — 
 D'ye take me ? Try the Riga now, cried I — and 
 I dips me in my little finger, and runs round the 
 wownd — held the head on like one second — and 
 the gallant beast ran crowing and clapping his 
 wings through our camp. ' To horse, lads !' cried 
 Grandboy, thinking it was cock-crow, and we were 
 to be engaged that morning. It was but an expe- 
 riment,'' added Fugal, with a careless air. 
 
 Such stories were no poultice to Frisel's aching 
 bones ; and he sprung, in malice prepense, upon 
 the low turf-coped wall which bordered the avenue 
 of Monkshaugh house, from which mansion lights 
 were now seen twinkling cheerily through the in- 
 termingled and convoluted branches of the guar- 
 dian trees and holly bushes, and ran fleetly along, 
 ever and anon crowing like a cock, and clapping his 
 wings, till the whole family issued from the low 
 portal with lights, to ascertain the cause of this 
 portentous screaming of the " bird of dawn." 
 
 " Lu peti rascaille^^ grinned Fugal, disdain- 
 fully, for Fugal spoke French, as well as High and 
 Low Dutch, Irish, and high English, to the delight
 
 THE SPAEWIFE. 319 
 
 and edification of all Castleburn. " If I had him 
 here I would crack him between my thumbs — ^for 
 a gintleman of the Greys to deal in non-truths, 
 Madame 'Lizbeth ! Bu — u — u — u — u'" — 
 
 Fugal shook his head rapidly, so as literally to 
 rattle and shake out these indignant murmurs. So 
 exceedingly wroth was he at this crowing impeach- 
 ment of his veracity, that he declined walking into 
 the house to partake of the refreshments which no 
 poor man ever left Monkshaugh's gate without be- 
 ing urged to accept. 
 
 Frisel was instantly at Elizabeth's side to open 
 the court gate, and whispered — " Ye need not 
 mention if ye please, my leddy, to Monkshaugh 
 or Effie, yon bit splore o' mine i' the dean wood. 
 It might make them uneasy. The Laird is sae 
 fleyed for a wee drap brandy inflaming a bruise or 
 a green wound ; and Effie is as frightened on the 
 other hand for a mouthfu' o' decent victuals raising 
 the fever, that between them, they're the twa warst 
 folks I ken to entrust wi' ony bit accident I may 
 come by in the way o' duty. 
 
 " I fear then, Frisel, you are hurt. There is 
 clotted blood on your hair. Shall I send you a 
 little brandy to have your head washed ? — The 
 cold night warrants it."
 
 320 ELIZABETH DE BUUCE. 
 
 " Never mind, my leddy — mony thanks though. 
 But ye see, in the first place, I never could let 
 brandy higher than my mouth since a sark gaed 
 owre my head ; and, in the second place, I'll get 
 a drap cream and a clout from Baby Strang — that 
 quean has as canny a hand about a body's ails as 
 ever a Pengun in Flanders — and I'll be as sound 
 as a bell before the morn, ready to tell ye, if ye give 
 me leave, all about Miss Jacky's settlements." 
 
 On this they parted, Elizabeth leaving her 
 wounded squire to his favourite Beguin ; and he 
 consigning her to a state of greater curiosity and 
 suspense than she chose to avow. 
 
 When Elizabeth awoke next morning, the cold, 
 feeble, grey light of a winter's dawn was diffusing 
 itself through her chamber. 
 
 " Is it all a dream .^" thought she. " Or have 
 I really again heard the voice of that singular wo- 
 man ? The same thrilling voice in which she cal- 
 led — ' Life and death are on my message.' Has 
 she been under my window ? I have a half re- 
 membered consciousness of striving to awake ful- 
 ly — ^to rise — to follow the voice which called me." 
 In confirmation of this opinion, Elizabeth found 
 several little pebbles scattered about her window
 
 THE SPAEWIFE. 321 
 
 sill ; such as if pattered against the glass, might 
 be presumed to awaken the sleeper within. 
 
 But the duties of this important day demanded 
 her immediate attention. The white beaver, by 
 the activity of Baby Strang, was already arrived 
 from the Tower ; and Fugal had Titania's trap- 
 pings in high order. The Whittret, quite recov- 
 ered, came into the parlour, and whispered to Eli- 
 zabeth — " I'm now as sure, my leddy, as I'm in 
 the body, that the carlin I met yestreen is FugaFs 
 last wife, the Irish quean — ^but I'll be upsides wi' 
 her. I'se fasten the witch-branks on her gills I — 
 She plays naemair o' her camperlecks in this coun- 
 try-side." 
 
 " If you meet her any where let me know of it," 
 said Elizabeth ; " but be cautious how you pro- 
 ceed/' 
 
 VOL. T,
 
 322 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE WAPPINSCHAW. 
 
 " lu the heathen worship of God, a sacrifice without a heart was 
 thought ominous." South. 
 
 Bottom. Are we all met ? 
 
 Quince. Pat, pat ; and here's a marvellous convenient place for 
 our rehearsal. Midsummer Night'' s Dream. 
 
 The morning of the Fast was bright, and even 
 warm for the season — a gladdening winter's day. 
 The bell of the kirk of St. Serf, suspended between 
 two mossy elm trees, had, for a long hour, blatter- 
 ed, blared, yelled, jowed, thudded — ^in short, emit- 
 ted every discordant sound of which a cracked bell 
 is capable ; — and at last intimated something like 
 Johnnie Jow's fixed purpose of " ringin" in ;" for 
 now the gay equipages of the " Whim family"' 
 were discerned at intervals flashing along the val- 
 ley, and next appeared glancing through the line
 
 THE WAPPINSCHAW. 323 
 
 of old grey trees which garnished that part of the 
 highway which led through the " parks of Monks- 
 haugh." The Rantletree squadron advanced to 
 the point of action from the opposite direction ; and 
 midway, as it were, the Monkshaugh household 
 forces defiled from the avenue of The Place upon 
 the highway — Elizabeth and her master of the 
 horse forming the chivalry, the Laird, on his roan 
 pony, leading on the foot. 
 
 " Since I must sit alone, stuck up like a crow 
 in a mist yonder, I will be off — I find I can just 
 save my distance," said Elizabeth ; and, without 
 waiting to hear the expected remonstrance against 
 desertion, she waved her hand and flew away, de- 
 sirous of being seated in quiet before the whole 
 aristocracy of the valley mustered in the church- 
 porch. 
 
 And now the barouche, the tandem, the car, the 
 out-riders, the blazoned pannels, the glittering har- 
 ness, and all the appliances of modern wealth, came 
 dashing on — whips smacking, wheels glancing, curs 
 barking, pebbles flying, and villagers scampering 
 aside, and then standing agape. Monkshaugh, 
 disdaining to yield one inch of the road, would 
 certainly have run some risk of being trodden 
 down, had not Baby Strang seized his bridle, and
 
 324 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 pulled him aside with a jerk that almost pitched 
 him from the saddle, exclaiming — " Laird, Laird . 
 Harletillum will tread ye i' the yird.'' This was 
 but the beginning of sorrows. 
 
 Elizabeth had taken her place in church some 
 time before even Fugal joined her, wrath smoking 
 from his bristled nostrils. 
 
 " Confound the English Tom among 'em should 
 ha**e got the start of an ould Grey's man, Madame 
 'Lizbeth, had not Monkshaugh mounted me on a 
 beast more like a horned nolt than a Christian 
 troop-horse fit for the riding of a gintleman who 
 has sarved.'' 
 
 Elizabeth whispered some apologetical explana- 
 tion to the trooper ; and already wished that this 
 Fast-day were fairly over. 
 
 The steps of the barouche were heard to come 
 thundering and rattling down ; and with all need- 
 ful preparatory bustle and flourish, the Whim fa- 
 mily, accompanied by their handsome guest, enter- 
 ed and took their places — Mr. Delancy caged be- 
 tween the mother and daughter. 
 
 Lord Rantletree next defiled into the gallery, 
 leading in his tall flat-backed lady, looking, on this 
 day of pitched battle with the powers of democra- 
 cy, as if his single, full-pufifed, and well powdered
 
 THE WAPPINSCHAW. 325 
 
 Ramillies, thrust into the breach, might of itself 
 " stem the overwhelming torrent," as he called it. 
 Hats are said, and with much truth, to be redol- 
 ent of individual character. How much more so 
 were wigs — the wigs of those days. This must at 
 least be true on phrenological principles. Hats 
 are a remove farther from the seat of sensation. 
 
 " And where tarries my gallant Laird o' Monks- 
 haugh ?" cried a shrill voice from the remaining 
 perch of aristocracy in the gallery of St. Serf 
 Kirk — a voice which froze Monkshaugh's marrow 
 as he came up the creaking wooden stair. " Come 
 your ways, tripping a-tip-toe down the loft stair, 
 like a dainty baudrons feared to wet her feet in 
 crossing a gutter." 
 
 Monkshaugh cast but one glance at the opposite 
 side of the lists. Fashionable, splendid, imposing^ 
 was the spectacle there, and, horror of horrors ! at 
 the head of his family pew sat Jacky Pingle in full 
 blow — ^bedizened with every silken rag he had ever 
 bestowed upon her — ^furs, feathers, flowers, gauzes, 
 trinkets, stomachers, ribbons of all hues, and flour- 
 ishing, above all, a broken French fan, with 
 which bending low in courtesy, she coquetishly 
 advanced, touching his arm with its tip. Had 
 Monkshaugh's eyes possessed the power of the
 
 326 ELIZABETH DE BllUCE. 
 
 basilisk, then had this been a day of dule and be- 
 reavement to the widowed wife and orphan child- 
 ren of John Jow, who had admitted Jacobina ; as 
 it was he stood confounded, unable to think, or 
 speak, or act. 
 
 " Come your ways," minced Jacobina, now 
 from the want of sleep, and from feverish excite- 
 ment and perpetual toil, as mad as ever was — 
 
 « Maid that loves the moon." 
 
 " No beginning till we sit. Dr. Draunt kens weel 
 what day of the week falls on Tuesday.'' 
 
 Holding her head coquetishly aside, veiling un- 
 der their puckered lids the orbs that languished 
 over the form of her chosen bridegroom, pouting 
 her lip, and playing her chest forward in fifty ris- 
 ings and fallings, ducking, and again gracefully re- 
 covering herself, Jacobina sidled forward, and once 
 more playfully touched the Laird's arm with the 
 unlucky fan. 
 
 Monkshaugh started back as from an adder, 
 crying vehemently — " Tak' her out — tak' her 
 out !" — Luckily for him Jacobina was attracted 
 by a titter from the Whim pew, and faced round 
 in fury. 
 
 " Hcch !-— but we are fine with our furs, and
 
 THE WAPPINSCUAW. 327 
 
 our velvets ; our gold rings, and our gay clothing ! 
 As braw as Bink's wife when she becked to the 
 minister ! — But ken ye, cummers, where si' that 
 bravery leads to ? Wot ye of sic a place as that, 
 wherem their worm dieth not, neither is their fire 
 quenched — ^where the proud purple Dives must 
 send across the molten gulf to the bruised beg- 
 gar Lazarus for ae drop o' the wan water to cool 
 his tongue ? — I am often thinking, sirs, it wad be 
 the Tober Marie up at the Linns o' Cleuch yon- 
 der, where the Lord de Bruce^s bride and me have 
 sitten mony a lang bonnie simmer night among the 
 moss and breckans, singing to the wee whitlie maid- 
 en baby was buried lang syne beneath Luckie Met- 
 calf 's hearth-stane. But where''s the Lord de Bruce 
 the day, sirs, when the nobles o' the land are hosting 
 and banding? Where's the Lord de Bruce the day, 
 John Hurcheon, when ye are driving your chariots 
 of fire through his braid barony ?" 
 
 Direful and ominous were the fiery glances 
 which John Jow, as he eagerly hobbled up the 
 aisle to place the Bible on the pulpit cushion, 
 threw upwards on our mad heroine. But her frenzy- 
 fit was now far above his control. Tossing abroad 
 her arms she fixed her eyes on Elizabeth, and ex- 
 claimed in a wild tone — " His place is bare, toom,
 
 328 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 desolate ! — yea an howling But baud up your 
 
 head, Elizabeth de Bruce ! — puir burdalane, there 
 where ye sit — a' that's left i' the brave eagle's nest, 
 ae puir cushie-doo croodling lanely to hide the 
 wound that's rankling in its breast !" — And look- 
 ing round on the de Bruce tenantry, as if appeal- 
 ing to them in words of that Book, which, ac- 
 cording to Deacon Daigh, had turned her brain, 
 she went on. — " All ye that care about him bemoan 
 him ! — and all ye that know his name, say. How is 
 the strong staff broken, and the beautiful rod ! 
 Therefore, I will cry and howl — Oh, Vine of Sib- 
 mah, I will weep for thee with the weeping of Ja- 
 zer ! Thy plants are gone over the sea. The 
 spoiler is fallen upon thy summer fruits and thy 
 vintage. Joy and gladness is taken from their 
 plentiful fields 1 — Na, never bend your lucken- 
 brows on me, John Hurcheon ! To my cost I ken 
 ye weel ! — The Lord has delivered ye this day 
 into my hands, as sure as ever was Sisera, the 
 proud Captain of Harosheth, delivered into the 
 hands of a woman — yea, into the hands of Jael 
 the wife of Heber the Kenite. I'm but Lady o' 
 
 Kippencreery Wester" and again her mood 
 
 changing, she turned pranking herself, and flirting- 
 ly advanced to the unfortunate Monkshaugh.
 
 THE WAPriNSCHAW. 329 
 
 *' Let that mad woman be taken out,"" said Mr. 
 Hutchen, in the audible whisper of one entitled to 
 be heard and obeyed. 
 
 " D'ye hear that, my leddy ?"' whispered Frisel, 
 who, though delighted with her public testimony, 
 would now have given the world to be rid of her pre- 
 sence. " Round to him yonder like a fire-flaught."'' 
 Andoff Jacobina flew, leaving Monkshaugh in ec- 
 stacy, exchanging a look of congratulation with his 
 leige-man. But they reckoned without their host ; 
 for back she flounced. 
 
 " Deed and I'll do no such thing, Francie Fris- 
 el, as quit the side of my bold bridegroom this 
 day. It would na be mensefu' nor canny. A 
 weary time, love, since we were proclaimed yon 
 night, by tuck o' drum and the fire-bell T the 
 flames o' Cambuskenneth. A brave sight for the 
 Kirk o' St. Serf though, sirs, to see twa brides of 
 the blood o' de Bruce kirked in one day — if the 
 pale maiden yonder be really in the body. What 
 think ye, Lord Rantletree, there where ye sit 
 with your cabrach leddy at your elbow, as mim as 
 Malcolm the Maiden ? What's your judgment of 
 that auld story o' de Bruce's bairn and bride ? For 
 ye aye like, wi"* your tale, to be thought to ha'e 
 a judgment."
 
 330 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 A general titter spread round the congregation, 
 followed by a sudden and universal fit of cough- 
 ing. Fortunately his lordship was as deaf as a 
 post, an infirmity however which he would never 
 acknowledge, probably fancying it below the dig- 
 nity of the peerage. But while Jacobina's random 
 shafts flew round, he saw that there was a spirit of 
 disaffection abroad, and rose in his place, " feel- 
 ing himself called upon to say a few words." His 
 lordship had never said a few words in his life. 
 However he might end, he always began " a 
 many.'' He was indeed as remarkable for one 
 property of matter as any member of the peerage 
 whatever — length: — length of nose, length of chin, 
 length of wind, length of spine, tremendous length ! 
 which he put all forth now, as wrapped in his 
 own long arms he bent over the gaping congrega- 
 tion below, with the indescribable air of ease ill at 
 ease ; remarking, according to the report in the 
 Rookstown Journal of the following week, in a low 
 but gradually swelling voice, " That it was alarm- 
 ing, eoGceedingly alarming, unparalleled^ so far as 
 he was aware, in the history of a country hitherto re- 
 markable for its loyalty and good disposition, that 
 on the morning of a day of national fast, proclaim- 
 ed, and appointed by Royal authority, in which the
 
 THE WAPPINSCHAW. 331 
 
 higher orders of society, coalesced with, and coun- 
 tenanced respectable persons, though of an inferior 
 grade, (a slight inclination towards the pew of 
 Harletillum,) in opposing and stemming the tor- 
 rent of insubordination, infidelity, and Jacobinical 
 principles/^ 
 
 " There's an honour on earth ! — called after 
 me, sirs — Jackybinical," cried Miss Pingle ex- 
 lUtingly ; and his lordship seeing the general 
 laugh, and hearing no words distinctly, became ex- 
 ceedingly displeased. 
 
 — " That a purpose of this pure and exalted 
 kind, should be obstructed and thwarted by the 
 clamours of the factious, is the less marvellous, 
 since it has fallen to the lot of the — the — the indi- 
 vidual who has now the honour of addressing you, 
 to witness a spectacle on this morning, which lays 
 open the arcana of that abyss on which this an- 
 cient, and once loyal kingdom is hovering — the 
 vortex, which threatens to suck into its indiscri- 
 minate jaws, all that is noble and exalted — the 
 throne, the church, and the domestic hearth !" 
 
 A rustle of amazement and terror spread through 
 the audience. A pin might have been heard to 
 drop as his Lordship proceeded : — 
 
 " I beheld this morning, in a ride through the
 
 332 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 valley of Strathoran, the domestic servant, or me- 
 nial of a gentleman of ancient family, occupied 
 in a way which I am certain was not sanctioned, 
 and if known, must have brought on that indivi- 
 dual the deep displeasure of his master. — That 
 was nothing. In the clachan of Sourholes, in this 
 parish, I farther beheld — ^with my own eyes I be- 
 held ! a person, a rather remarkable sort of per- 
 son, who is understood to be the spiritual director, 
 or pastor, of a handful of sectaries or schismatics 
 — I do not charge my memory with the particular 
 denomination they assume — engaged, on this the 
 morning of a national fast, in that manual, and, 
 except for the day, harmless and innocent opera- 
 tion of horticulture, called in your vernacular 
 speech sheuching or shoughing the useful pot- 
 herb termed leeks, in contempt and defiance" — 
 
 " And that's as true — the dour Cameronian — 
 I saw him mysel" this morning," bawled Jacky, 
 " delving away in his auld coat, and three-storey 
 bush wig, the very beauty o"* holiness." 
 
 " Ye may say, Jacky," whispered Frisel aloud, 
 " that Mr. Haliburton kent na what day it was 
 till he heard the parish bell toll, and that he then 
 dropped his dibble ; for though of a different opi- 
 nion from us about fasts o' man's making, he said
 
 THE WAPPINSCHAW. 333 
 
 he would be locatli to offend my Lord Rantletree, 
 or ony weaker brother." 
 
 "Weaker brother ! Ah, ye're a rogue, Francie,"' 
 said Jacobhia, shaking her head and laughing ; 
 but here John Jow, whose hasty step had for 
 some time been heard creaking on the stairs, 
 pounced like a vulture on his fair quarry, clutching 
 at her by the very bridal favour she wore on her 
 breast ; and in spite of kicking and squalling he 
 bore her oif, vi et armis. 
 
 His Lordship resumed his place, alike in his 
 sittings down and risings up, shewing the peer, 
 the patriot, and the Christian — the latter charac- 
 ter freshly taken up, and chiefly upon public 
 grounds. 
 
 It appeared that Master Jow and the fair pro- 
 mulgator of Jacobinical doctrine, had come to 
 terras on the stairs. She was not violently expel- 
 led from the church ; for the wily functionary 
 knew, by bitter experience, that to thrust her out 
 by the door was only to provoke a volley of stones, 
 screams, and sarcastic speeches through the win- 
 dow, that even now exhibited marks of her 
 prowess, which the small heritors, after sundry 
 meetings and ordering estimates, refused point 
 blank to repair, as the glazier's estimated charge
 
 334 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 was nine shillings and seven-pence halfpenny. He 
 therefore placed her in the lettering under the sur- 
 veillance of those grey fathers of the Scottish 
 kirk, the elders. 
 
 Although this scene has occupied some space 
 in the narrative, five minutes of real time speeded 
 the whole affair ; and by the end of that space the 
 Reverend Dr. Draunt hove in sight, sailing on 
 like the boat of Anningat, " slow and heavy laden.'' 
 
 " Methinks we hear a buzz as we ascend into 
 this our sacred place,*" preluded the Doctor, in 
 those solemn base tones which his dignity, from 
 the time he had been the parish school-master, 
 held indispensable, even when asking on week- 
 days a pinch of snuff from Mr. Skirlin, the pre- 
 centor. John Jow shook his fist — a fist having 
 all the authority in that place of those symbols of 
 awful significance — the mace or the sceptre ; and 
 Jacobina made faces, and with great spirit gesticu- 
 lated open defiance. She had, however, with all her 
 mental infirmity, some remaining sense of proprie- 
 ty ; and from this time it was only in pantomime 
 that she carried on the war, nodding kindly and 
 familiarly to her favourites around, and reflecting 
 back every air, grace, and grimace of Miss Juli- 
 ana Hutchen, as faithfully as does the spectre of
 
 THE WAPPINSCHAW. 335 
 
 tlie Brocken the attitudes and movements of the 
 figure on the opposite hills. The titter again be- 
 came general among the young people who watch- 
 ed this performance. Even the slow-rolling and 
 prominent eye of Dr. Draunt came at last to ap- 
 prehend the source of the general mirth : he heard 
 also the voice of Jacobina shrilling and quivering 
 in air as she chanted the psalm, leaving the pre- 
 centor an octave below, and the congregation a full 
 bar behind her. All this and more did Dr. Draunt 
 bear and Mr. Skirlin endure ; for they both, like 
 Johnnie Jow, knew by bitter experience, that Miss 
 Jacky was a lady whom it was not altogether safe 
 to provoke ; as, at any time, she had much less re- 
 spect for the " retort courteous" than love of the 
 " quip modest," which she never hesitated in deal- 
 ing round to her friends. 
 
 The prayer was now made — very loyal and some- 
 thing long-winded — quite in the taste of those 
 times : Wild and despicable times they must have 
 been — democracy rushing on foaming like a dog 
 called mad, shewing more indeed of the rabid 
 temper than of the bold honest heart — and cold 
 frozen aristocracy warming itself in equally mad 
 pursuit ; seeking, in its panic terror, to knock on 
 the head all before it, instead of boldly muzzling
 
 336 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 uj) the brute, and watching its symptoms before its 
 destruction was decreed. 
 
 In France it was the privilege of the lower or- 
 ders to pronounce on military glory and the fine 
 arts ; in England their province is politics ; but 
 the blood-bought birthright of Scotland is theology; 
 and, in the exercise of this national privilege, Ja- 
 cobina whispered across — 
 
 " Lawrence Halliday, what thought ye o' the 
 prayer ? Like a Tranent puddin', was it not ? — 
 very lang — ^but ver-ry lean ? It's no every one 
 that's gifted wi' the ten talons committed to my 
 dainty douce Gideon Haliburton." 
 
 " Church officer, before we proceed with the 
 sacred solemnities of this occasion, let the insane 
 female person be removed,'' pronounced Dr. 
 Draunt, his plumpy good-natured countenance 
 deepened in hue. The Doctor never said any 
 thing ; all his speech was delivery. He sat down 
 with dignity till Mr. Jow should have effected 
 the expulsion of Jacobina ; which, after all his 
 long-suffering, if not patience, that functionary 
 now set about, in earnest, in the first place pin- 
 ioning her poor skinny arms till they almost 
 cracked. 
 
 " Keep your grave-howking claws aff me, John 
 
 1
 
 THE WAPPTNSCHAW. 337 
 
 Jow,^' shrieked Jacobina. — " And for you, ye 
 snooker out o' feasts o' fat things ; wi' the wine — 
 the wine on the lees — ^ye would steek the door o^ 
 the sanctuary on a puir desolate thing ! But I'll 
 go west to the Sourholes, and get a better sermon 
 than ever ye could preach in your life/' — And 
 thus, rushing in her blind rage against the very 
 horns of the altar, off flashed Jacobina, slamming 
 every door after her, and leaving behind a fair 
 proportion of her silken gown-tail as she made her 
 memorable exit. In defiance of the decorum en- 
 joined by the day, the place, and the calling of 
 the reverend Doctor, a modest titter again rustled 
 through the lower pews. Even Lord Rantletree 
 himself, whispering to his lady, suddenly sucked 
 in his hollow cheeks over the hard parting-knock 
 dealt to the " good Doctor."" 
 
 And now the howling dogs were kicked out, the 
 doors were barred, John Jow resumed his place 
 and screwed his visage to solemn listening, and 
 the discourse commenced, while every man that 
 had a watch noted the hour and minute. It is 
 very well when the times permit politics to be left 
 to newspapers and coffee-rooms, and the pulpit to 
 more fitting purposes. A political sermon is sel- 
 dom a very interesting one, after the period of its 
 
 VOL. I. Y
 
 338 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 delivery is past. Lord Rantletrce remarked that 
 the discourse occupied "just forty-five minutes 
 twelve seconds ; twenty minutes longer than the 
 good Doctor's usual time, — ^but quite proper on 
 such a day." — Monkshaugh reckoned some seconds 
 of difference ; but also gave as his sage opinion, 
 that the sermon was highly proper for the occa- 
 sion. 
 
 The belligerents had had full leisure to survey 
 each other during the discourse, and — such, alas ! 
 is human infirmity — to indulge in a few escapes of 
 earthly thoughts, a few wandering excursions upon 
 the mountains of vanity. 
 
 Lord Rantletree, in his mental programme for 
 the day, had settled, that after sermon he was 
 first to bow to Lady Harriette Copely, a married 
 lady of rank, the guest of Mrs. Hutchen, and se- 
 condly, to the Honourable Elizabeth de Bruce 
 But Lady Harriette was either a Whig or a Ja- 
 cobin, or had a headach, or a swelled face from 
 the toothach ; for she did not appear at church, 
 and thus left his lordship rather at fault whether 
 Mrs. Hutchen, as a married woman, or Elizabeth, 
 a spinster but connected with the peerage, was en- 
 titled to precedence in his courtesies. His lord- 
 ship was not a person apt to jump at a conclusion.
 
 THE WAPPINSCHAW. 339 
 
 He took his ground as slowly as surely, and this, 
 together with an internal debate about the pro- 
 priety of transmitting an account of the " leek- 
 shoughing'' sedition to his Majesty's Advocate for 
 Scotland, or to the Secretary of State, or of pru- 
 dently suppressing the whole matter as rather re- 
 flectmg on his zeal in administering the affairs of 
 the county, occupied his lordship's thoughts. — The 
 good-sense and candour of Dr. Draunt, by the 
 way, notwithstanding his pomposity and alleged 
 gourmandizing propensities, saved his patron from 
 the folly of this official communication. Though 
 Mr. Haliburton held all the high-flying tenets of 
 the first reformers, both in matters of doctrine and 
 discipline. Dr. Draunt knew and said, that " He 
 was a very honest and sincere Christian, who la- 
 boured with all zeal to prevent the spread of the 
 popular frenzy among his own flock, as soon as he 
 became aware of its true tendency — as soon as he 
 discovered that the real object of the disaffected 
 and factious, was not,'' as the Doctor pompously 
 said, " a reformed church, but a spoliated state." 
 Monkshaugh while in church, in defiance of his 
 own wishes and resolutions, felt his eyes irresist- 
 ibly attracted to the opposite pew. He strove to 
 believe that Mr. Hutchen was not the well-fed.
 
 340 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 well-dressed, well-looking, though somewhat domi- 
 neering and arrogant, person that he actually ap- 
 peared. Mrs. Hutchen was little different from 
 what she had appeared to Elizabeth ten years be- 
 fore — a little more embonpoint, a little higher in 
 the complexion, it might be, and dressed exactly as 
 her daughter — that is, in the first, if not the best 
 style of the reigning fashion. Miss Juliana might 
 have passed any where for a smart, pretty, young 
 woman, with two coal-black eyes — not quite a 
 match perhaps in their setting, or at least in their 
 expression — a good, if not a delicate complexion, 
 and a fine voluble redundant manner never once 
 at fault. 
 
 '^ She has, I see, the big, thick, red lugs, mut- 
 ton-fists, and ill-shaped nails o' a' the Hurcheons," 
 thought Monkshaugh. " I dare say she has a ram's 
 horn foot too — her grandmother was hen-toed. 
 There'^s not a man in a thousand, nowadays, kens 
 the true points of a fine woman when he sees her. 
 I wad na gi'e a pinch o' snuff, as Leddy Tamtallan 
 says, for a pair of cherry-cheeks, and twa een ye 
 might make the fellows o' wi' a pennyworth of black 
 glass beads !" — With some secret distrust, though 
 disdaining all comparison, Monkshaugh stole a 
 side-glance towards Elizabeth ; her intelligent and
 
 THE WAPPINSCHAW. 341 
 
 beautiful features " sicklied o*'er with the pale 
 cast of thought," and her mind, it must be acknow- 
 ledged, running as much on her mysterious adven- 
 ture of the previous night, and the random shafts 
 which Jacobina had fixed in her heart, as on the 
 signs of the times so elaborately demonstrated by 
 Dr. Draunt, and so carefully noted down, as it 
 seemed, by Mr. Delancy, the guest of Harletillum. 
 How indeed could Elizabeth, in her rustic simpli- 
 city, have divined, that the real employment of the 
 young gentleman's pencil, was, making a very cle- 
 ver caricature of the rigid and elongated figure of 
 Lord Rantletree bending a stare of solemn vacuity, 
 from where he sat " aloft in awful state,*" down on 
 the preacher, a plumpy, purple, and rather short- 
 necked, but sensible-looking person. 
 
 An adoring bend from the pulpit towards the 
 pew of Harletillum, marked the conclusion of the 
 service ; — " ducking observance"' which at once de- 
 termined the first courtesies of the offended peer 
 to Elizabeth. Monkshaugh paid her a similar re- 
 verence cordially — so did Mr. Delancy, gracefully 
 and respectfully ; Mr. Hutchen proudly, and Mr. 
 John Hutchen, junior, as nearly as he could hit 
 it in the style of the dragoon officers then 
 quartered in Rookstown. — Dogs barked — broad
 
 342 ELIZABETH Dt BIllTCE. 
 
 blue bonnets winnowed the air — the gndewives 
 gathered up the folds of their broad-cloth cloaks — 
 and under cover of all this Elizabeth glided away, 
 the crowd in the churchyard making respectful 
 way for her. Titania was already at the church- 
 yard stile, held by Fugal ; and mounting in haste, 
 Elizabeth had reached Monkshaugh, while the 
 lord of the mansion was still fuming and fretting 
 amid the bustle and convolution of pelisses, sur- 
 touts, grooms, carriages, and saddle-horses, in which 
 he had been entrapped. 
 
 Miss Juliana Hutchen, darting gracious notices 
 right and left, first advanced, leaning on the arm of 
 her father, while her mother received a similar at- 
 tention from the stranger ; and to the infinite pro- 
 vocation and discomfiture of the Earl of Rantle- 
 tree — though he had sat two minutes, by his watch, 
 after every body else was withdrawn from church — 
 Mr. John Hutchen, junior, a good-humoured, 
 swaggering, raw lad, with clanking boot-heels and 
 a fashionable mop head, caring little, and under- 
 standing less about the claims of high-born earls 
 and grey countesses, seized, no question asked, 
 and now bore aloft the ' bony claw' of the Lady 
 Rantletree, notwithstanding the rebuking glance 
 of his father, and the solemn stare of the Earl, who,
 
 THE WAPPINSCHAW. 343 
 
 snuffing the air, followed, all too late to rectify 
 this solecism in manners — this utter confounding 
 of ranks. It was in file with Monkshaugh that the 
 Earl followed ; and they exchanged neighbourly 
 civilities. Upon the strength of this Mr. Hutch- 
 en presented his daughter, saying, " Juliana, my 
 dear, you surely remember your kind friend, Mr. 
 Grahame of Monkshaugh." 
 
 Monkshaugh bowed, and hemmed dryly enough 
 to the lady's salutation ; and the roan pony not 
 appearmg, he was left in the porch with Juliana, 
 who was to be driven home by Mr. Delancy ; so 
 it had been arranged by herself, but the tandem 
 had not yet appeared. 
 
 " Vastly delighted indeed to make — to renew 
 rather — the acquaintance of Mr. Gra-ham," said 
 the young lady. Her cue was to be gracious ; in- 
 deed, as she was but lately returned from England, 
 she felt it peculiarly incumbent upon her to be so 
 to all " old country neighbours," both as a patri- 
 otic Scotswoman, and as " an amiable, engaging, 
 young creature." She therefore on seeing her fa- 
 ther wheel off, launched into a flow of brisk talk. 
 
 " I see you fancy that England must have 
 changed me, Mr. Gra-ham, as it does too many 
 young ladies ; but I am, I assure you, quite the
 
 344 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 same Strathoran lassie, as happy to dance a Strath- 
 spey with you, or to sing you a Scotch melody, as 
 before I ever saw the Italian opera. Apropos, 
 of what school is our fair friend Elizabeth a disci- 
 ple ? — I am, I own now, Delancy, all German — 
 not fashionable in the least, Mr. Gra-ham. There 
 is a depth, a mellowness, a gusto in the German 
 compositions that is quite irresistible. Don't you 
 think so, Mr. Gra-ham ^ 
 
 Monkshaugh, at a loss to know whether the lady 
 really meant music, Westphalia hams, or German 
 sausages by her gusty compositions, would have 
 ventured some reply had time been permitted ; but 
 for this heinous English mispronunciation — pro- 
 fanation rather he thought it — of his family name; 
 a thing which he never could patiently tolerate in 
 man, woman, or child. Many persons would have 
 been highly amused with the free air and easy 
 flippancy of a young lady on such excellent terms 
 with herself, thus elbowing her way onward, so per- 
 fectly ignorant or unconscious of the claims of 
 others, that she could not even be said to disregard 
 them. She seemed, indeed, totally unconscious 
 of their possible existence. Not so Monkshaugh, 
 who, while the young lady bowled on, stood in 
 whimsical perplexity, dumb, looking straight for-
 
 THE WAPPINSCHAW. 345 
 
 ward for the roan pony, and sometimes even pon- 
 dering the rashness of committing sleek beaver, 
 crisp wig, grey silk stockings, Spanish-leather shoes 
 and all, to the mercy of the elements, so that he 
 might escape the farther gracious notice of Miss 
 Juliana Hutchen. The scene appeared to have 
 more amusement for Mr. Delancy. But the roan 
 pony and the Whittret at last made their appear- 
 ance. 
 
 " And how does my old friend Elizabeth ? — 
 looking very beautiful, I am sure," said the lady. 
 
 "' The honourable Elizabeth de Bruce, Ma- 
 dam,"' said the Laird, " is" — — 
 
 '' I rejoice to hear it, Mr. Gra-ham. Mama is 
 so excessive sorry that our abominable, never-end- 
 ing round of engagements prevents us the pleasure 
 of seeing more of Elizabeth and you at the Wliim, 
 Mr. Gra-ham." 
 
 Monkshaugh affronted, provoked, and yet wholly 
 overpowered by this ' sweet jargoning,' fidgetted 
 and sniffled, and wished to say something biting 
 and smart, yet civil withal — but out it would not 
 come. He looked to his privy councillor, Frisel, 
 in whose elvish eyes a thousand sharp and saucy 
 replies were glancing ; but, as he could not give
 
 346 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 language to their expression, he at last forced up 
 for himself — 
 
 " The Honourable Elizabeth de Bruce sat to- 
 day in the de Bruce family seat in the kirk of St. 
 Serf, Miss Juliana Hurcheon." 
 
 " Ah ! well I am so stupid in a country congre- 
 gation, Delancy," replied Miss Juliana. " Yet I 
 think I do remember something of a lady rather 
 remarkably dressed, sitting in your pew. Mister— 
 eh — Gra-ham." 
 
 The Laird was ready to dance a Strathspey alone. 
 
 " Those who have once had the honour of see- 
 ing Miss de Bruce will not readily forget her," 
 said Delancy, respectfully. " Those who have, for 
 the first time, seen her among the old escutcheons 
 and memorials of a family, of which I believe 
 she is the last descendant — ^never !" 
 
 Monkshaugh looked up with pleasure in his 
 face ; and the gentlemen exchanged bows on this 
 in confirmation of the sentiment. 
 
 " Delancy f exclaimed Miss Hutchen, " is it 
 not intolerable of these lazy fellows to keep us here 
 in the rain .? I shall make papa rate them soundly. 
 They have larger salaries, and more liberal ap- 
 pointments than in any establishment of this king- 
 dom, perhaps. Au revoir, Mr. Gra-ham."
 
 THE WAPPINSOHAW. 34*7 
 
 The young lady laid her small fingers delicately 
 on the back of Monkshaugh's hand of withered li- 
 lies — patted it — squeezed it graciously, familiarly, 
 condescendingly ; — smiled most winningly, and 
 bowed adieu. 
 
 " Love to dear Elizabeth. — I see you are all 
 impatience, Delancy," continued Miss Juliana, 
 taking the arm of the gentleman whom she thus 
 wrongfully accused ; " but I could not possibly 
 cut poor old Gra-ham. They are country neigh- 
 bours — hereditary friends of papa's and grand-pa- 
 pa's up to Noah's ark, I dare say. Great bores no 
 doubt — ^but it is so heartless to forget old family 
 friends. I was obliged too to explain why mama 
 could not ask them to our ball. It would have 
 taken them quite out of their element — yet we 
 would not for worlds hurt their feelings." 
 
 " Not off yet," cried she, again turning round. 
 " I wish to goodness we could set you down, Mr. 
 Gra-ham — our carriage passes near your place — 
 don't it r 
 
 There was no reply. Monkshaugh fidgetted 
 from leg to leg without finding a leg to rest on, 
 and the voluble lady bowled on. 
 
 " Elizabeth is with you, I presume — Do you 
 never visit town ^ So rationally I am certain you
 
 348 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 spend your hours — reading, walking, music. I do 
 so dote on a tranquil life ! Do you know, Delan- 
 cy, but whisper it not to the rushes ! I could some- 
 times wish that I had been born a village maid."' 
 
 So ended the memorable Wappinschaw of the 
 aristocracy of Strathoran — a day of humiliation, if 
 not of fast, to many. 
 
 " Heard ye ever of such an impertinent minx P**' 
 cried the indignant Laird of Monkshaugh to his 
 fair guest on entering his own house, forgetting his 
 resentment at her desertion from the church porch 
 in yet hotter displeasure. — " Me ! a man in my 
 grand climacteric — to dance a Strathspey wi' me ! 
 not to speak of who / am, and who she is ! — and to 
 be squeezed and smirked at that gate by a brat of 
 a lassie ! As I'm a gentleman I wonder I got pa^ 
 tience to keep my hands off her. A clack too that 
 would deafen ten millers. ' Elizabeth," and ' dear 
 Mr. Gra-ham\ — Let the Southrons mak' Kemhle 
 of our ancient Norman Campo-bello, Scatts o' 
 our rough-riding Scotts, and Forhs o' a' our auld 
 frank Forbeses, since our country-folks seem to 
 think themselves refined into Englishmen born 
 when they get their auld family names cockneyfied. 
 As our noble kinswoman says — ' I'm expecting, Ro- 
 bin, to waken some morning soon, my Lady Tom-
 
 THE WAPPINSCHAW. 349 
 
 tallo7i. But I rede them, 'Lizbeth, to let bide the 
 name o' Grceme; for its nane o' their mongrel, mush- 
 room, Southron names o"* yesterday. This young 
 Englified minx too ! as if the name of Grahame had 
 na been lang enough current in Scotland to be 
 plain spoken, even by the seed and breed o' Hur- 
 cheon." 
 
 " Indeed we ought to have stipulated for the 
 preservation of our national names in the articles of 
 Union," said Elizabeth, smiling at the wrath of 
 her old friend. 
 
 " Delancy too !'' he resumed, unheeding. " Nei- 
 ther sir, nor master ! nor manners nor modesty ! 
 What will this world come too at last ? as our no- 
 ble kinswoman says. — But, as I shall protest, there 
 is the very swankie, Delancy, in proper person — 
 gallantly mounted, master and man. — Ha ! he is 
 alighting ! — Effie Fechnie — Effie Fechnie ! dust 
 the beaufet there ! — "Lizbeth de Bruce, ye will lit- 
 ter this room with your nonsense books in spite of 
 what tongue and tooth can say. — Sweep in the 
 hearth-stane, Francie — or stay — gi'e me the be- 
 som, and run ye down to the court. He is at the 
 holly fount, as I declare ! — run knave. — Xizbeth, 
 my love, go and comb out your hair. — Your ruff
 
 350 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 is clean crumpled — ye never will learn proper res- 
 pect for a lace frill." 
 
 " I presume," said Elizabeth, " that I may now 
 lay aside my robes of parade, as I hope we shall 
 have no more kirking competitions with our rich 
 neighbours. To me, who am not even noticed, 
 they afford little triumph ; and surely the head 
 of the house of Monkshaugh possesses better dis- 
 tinctions." 
 
 Before Monkshaugh could reply the Whittret 
 announced " The Honourable Frederick Delan- 
 cy," in tones as loud and saucy as ever pampered 
 menial of the Whim.
 
 THE VISITER. 351 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE VISITER. 
 
 Lend me a while thy patience, 
 
 And condescend to hear a young man speak. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 There is, at first sight, a charm in manner, 
 which, next to the spell of great personal beauty, is 
 of irresistible force. The united captivations of the 
 young gentleman's name, appearance, and manners, 
 acted as a talisman upon the hospitable Monks- 
 haugh ; and as he was one of those old-fashion- 
 ed persons who would have felt it marked rudeness 
 not to introduce any gentleman whom he received, 
 to whatever ladies happened to be in the same 
 room, he presented the stranger by name to Eliza- 
 beth. The bow of the gentleman was low — the 
 obeisance of the lady, slight : — they met as strang- 
 ers. 
 
 " I fear that I may be considered an intruder 
 here," said Delancy, turning to Monkshaugh as
 
 352 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 soon as they were seated. " I had the good for- 
 tune to pick up this ornament/' — and he produced 
 the flaming brooch of diamonds, rubies, sapphires, 
 and carbuncles, usually worn on gala days by Ja- 
 cobina Pingle, — " which I saw this morning worn 
 by a lady under your care. I have little skill in 
 gems — but the size and rarity of this"' — he turned 
 it round in various lights — " and the circumstance 
 of its being worn by a person evidently of consi- 
 deration, from the place she occupied at the head of 
 your pew, induced me to let a servant drive 
 home Miss Hutchen, and to take horse and ride 
 here with it immediately." 
 
 The insulted Laird of Monkshaugh looked from 
 the stranger to Elizabeth, his features swelling and 
 reddening as if he would have burst ; while she 
 laughed in her own despite at the deliberate imper- 
 tinence of the address, and partly in sympathy 
 with the covert humour which lurked in the eye, 
 and played on the lip, of this very easy Mr. De- 
 lancy. 
 
 " I shall take care of the gem," said she, " for 
 the proper owner." 
 
 " 'Lizbeth de Bruce," sputtered Monkshaugh, 
 " I'll be driven out of house and judgment by 
 that crazy limmer ! A demented woman, sir,
 
 THE VISITER. 353 
 
 whose frcail brain got a twist at the great burning 
 of the hotel of my noble kinsman, the Lord de 
 Bruce, nearly twenty years bygane. It runs in 
 her daft head, that my fair cousin there, is a mur- 
 dered bairn, buried below a midwifeTs hearth-stane. 
 But I think she gave you a husband the day, 
 Leddy 'Lizabeth." 
 
 The stranger fixed his keen eyes on the glowing 
 face of Elizabeth. 
 
 " That is a kindness she never withholds from 
 her favourites," replied Elizabeth. " Matrimony 
 has no warmer admirer." 
 
 " A sensible lady," said Delancy, smiling. 
 
 " It is true ye say, 'Lizbeth. I myself, Mr. 
 Delancy, who have never yet married a leddy, she 
 has ta^en the crazy fancy am her gudeman no less ; 
 though I protest as I am a gentleman, that two 
 pair of pearl-coloured silk stockings grafting, and 
 a pair of old black silk gloves to be thumbed, about 
 the time I came out at the bar, the whilk were never 
 returned, is the sum and substance of her connex- 
 ion with the family of Monkshaugh — an it be not 
 to gi'e the pitiful thing an auld dud silk gown, or 
 an aumous at my kitchen yett. It is a sore cala- 
 mity, sir, to befal a respectable family being thus 
 haunted. But King George on his throne, honest 
 
 VOL. I. z
 
 354 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 man, a pattern of virtue, has been worried wi' 
 daft women a' his days ; and if he must put up wi' 
 Peg Nicholson, it does not become a private gen- 
 tleman to complain of Jacky Pingle/' 
 
 Delancy applauded the magnanimity of this he- 
 roic sentiment to the echo. A million pardons were 
 begged — " he was very near-sighted"" — a thousand 
 apologies were offered, and all with so good a 
 grace that Monkshaugh became certain the well- 
 bred stranger, from ignorance of gems, had real- 
 ly been under a mistake. 
 
 " Whatever be this poor lady's infirmity," said 
 Delancy, " I must conceive myself indebted to her, 
 or to her brooch, for the happiness of making your 
 acquaintance, Mr. Grahame. I would, however, 
 rather owe to your kindness than her introduction 
 a second favour — a sight of a picture of the 
 Great and Gallant Marquis of Montrose, which I 
 am told you possess, and which I should be sorry 
 to quit Scotland without seeing." 
 
 Nothing could be demanded with better grace, 
 nor more frankly granted. 
 
 " That is a sight no Grahame need be asham- 
 ed of, Mr. Delancy," replied Monkshaugh — pro- 
 nouncing the Grahame very broadly as a lesson 
 to the stranger. " Elizabeth, my dear, will you
 
 THE VISITER. 355 
 
 accompany us to the drawing-room." — And the 
 Laird, in fresh remembrance of the year 1769, 
 gallantly, and with an air, gave his arm to the 
 lady, pointed his toe, raised his heel, and led the 
 way, as if walking to St. Giles in the grand pro- 
 cession of the Lord High Commissioner to the 
 Scotch Kirk in chapeau-de-hras step. 
 
 The drawing-room of Monkshaugh was rather 
 a handsome apartment. It was one of the latest 
 additions to the family mansion, and formed what 
 was called a side-front — that is, it extended the 
 whole depth of the original edifice, having three 
 handsome windows in one range, and a very large 
 bow-window in the end next the river. It was 
 neither painted nor papered : — the dark, bright, 
 and finely grained oak panelling, on which the 
 Laird and his " ever-honoured mother" had exer- 
 cised the female domestics for the last half-century, 
 was richly carved ; and the gilt cornices and 
 mouldings, now mellowed from their first metallic 
 glare, harmonized well with the rich warm hue of 
 the polished walls. The oaken boards were so 
 nicely fitted that the floor seemed one unbroken 
 polished surface, over which every shadow was 
 seen to quiver as it passed, and the rich Turkey car- 
 pet, rolled up by the marble hearth, like the Cash-
 
 356 ELIZABETH DE UKUCE. 
 
 mere shawl thrown in hot weather over the arm of 
 a fine lady, shewed that taste and not poverty was 
 the cause of the uncovered floor. 
 
 The room would have looked cold and bare not- 
 withstanding, but for the rich, full, old-fashioned, 
 silk-damask window draperies of a bright golden, 
 or aurora colour, which, richly fringed, hung in 
 ample folds around the deep embrasures. The 
 remaining furniture, without much pretension to 
 elegance of form, shewed no lack of material, or 
 of elaborate ornament. A few good pictures, and 
 some rueful Grahames, Drummonds, and de 
 Bruces, of both sexes, with three heavily gilt 
 large mirrors, completed the furnishings of the 
 apartment. Monkshaugh's modernized taste had, 
 indeed, added some later decorations. Among 
 these were minikin China cups and platters, and 
 a large snub-nosed posset-dish with one ear, gilt 
 card-racks and vilely daubed hand-skreens, gifts 
 and keep-sakes of accomplished beauties now no 
 more ; and a grotto of shell-work, and filigree tea- 
 caddie, the maiden achievements of the Laird's 
 " ever-honoured mother f which we leave to some 
 future Walpole to describe. A spinet, a genuine 
 old-fashioned spinet, a Rucar, was an article of 
 more attraction — " sent from Holland to the Lady
 
 THE VISITER- 357 
 
 Margaret Grahame, by her husband Lord Monks- 
 haugh, (the Lord of Session,) who built and fitted 
 up this apartment,'' said Monkshaugh. But to 
 Delancy the most remarkable ornaments about 
 the room were the marble chimney-piece, a beau- 
 tiful piece of Italian sculpture representing the 
 bathing of Diana and her nymphs, and two mag- 
 nificent walnut trees, called in the family " Gog 
 and Magog,"' which threw their gigantic limbs 
 over the casements, darkening the apartment to 
 monastic gloom, save when the setting sun of a 
 glowing evening threw in long slant beams, that 
 danced and quivered in golden light and ebon 
 shadow on the polished floor, forming then a beau- 
 tiful tesselated pavement. These trees were part 
 and parcel of the apartment. It would to the eye 
 which had once seen them, have looked bare and 
 desolate without their shade. 
 
 However Monkshaugh's young guest might 
 have strained liis conscience in admiration of the 
 " fair Grace Drummond," the great grandmother 
 of the Laird, called in her day the " Flower of 
 Strathallan," or of the equally admired Miss SibeL 
 la Grahame, his full aunt, who had danced a 
 Strathspey with Prince Charles at a ball given in 
 Holyrood, there was the warmth of truth and feel-
 
 358 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 ing ill the sentiments which burst from him on 
 viewing those splendid walnut trees, their strong- 
 twisted knarled roots, a hillock — their boughs a 
 temple. 
 
 " Trees of this growth, no matter what their 
 kind," said he, " are to a Place — I like that old 
 Scottish word — what a long line of honourable 
 ancestors are to a family, Mr. Grahame — some- 
 thing which neither the power of a monarch, nor 
 the mines of either Ind can create. — How beau- 
 tiful. Madam, are those pictures of domestic 
 enjoyment, power, and stability, which represent 
 the patriarchs of Scripture, ' the world\s grey 
 fathers,^ sitting each under ' his own vine and fig- 
 tree.'' — These old patrician trees give a truer cha- 
 racter of nobility to your mansion, Mr Grahame, 
 than all the Grecian domes and columns, with fan- 
 tastic mixture of the florid Gothic, which modern 
 wealth has reared around you. Trees and gen- 
 tlemen are of the few things which the philoso- 
 pher's stone cannot create, sir. Both require a 
 generous soil and the nurture of centuries." — And 
 the young man looked as if proudly conscious of 
 possessing what he described. 
 
 Monkshaugh, delighted with sentiments so con- 
 genial to his own, began to look with uncommon
 
 THE VISITER. 359 
 
 complacence on the stranger. Insensibly his man- 
 ners and language assumed a higher and more gen- 
 tlemanlike tone. He thought of himself for the 
 moment rather as Monkshaugh than as the rival 
 of Mr. Hutchen ; and finally revolved whether or 
 not it would be proper, larder and other reasons 
 duly weighed, to invite this right-spirited young 
 gentleman to stay dinner. 
 
 The curiosity of the young man was not nearly 
 gratified, though he made very polite, apologies — 
 nor was his admiration half exhausted, when a 
 scudding shower began to rattle on the leafy ar- 
 mour of Gog and Magog. 
 
 " He might truly say," he observed, " that he 
 had never been in a Scottish gentleman's country 
 mansion before.'' — Elizabeth knew not what to 
 make of the stranger. He appeared agreeable, 
 intelligent, and perfectly well-bred, notwithstand- 
 ing the diamond of Jacobina, with which his wit or 
 impudence 
 
 " Had cut its bright way through." 
 
 Was his object mere amusement, or idleness, or 
 curiosity? or — . Elizabeth's modesty would al- 
 low no other surmise to rise in her mind, and she
 
 360 ELIZABETH 1)E KUUCE. 
 
 dismissed the subject as unworthy of farther at- 
 tention. 
 
 Monkshaugh had in the meantime revolved 
 the state of the larder, the localities of which were 
 never far from his mind's eye. By trenching on 
 the turkey-poult destined to the weekly dinner 
 given to the parish parson on Tuesdays, and on 
 a dish of trout caught late on the previous evening, 
 and already packed to be sent as a present to the 
 Lady Tamtallan, the Laird's kinswoman and pa- 
 troness, the "family dinner'' would 'do no discredit 
 on a day offast to the owner of Gog and Magog. 
 To the turkey-poult the parish minister had indeed 
 forfeited all claim by his adoring bend to the pew 
 of Harletillum ; and what Lady Tamtallan did not 
 know could do her no harm. 
 
 The invitation was therefore cordially given, 
 and the courtesy accepted with equal frankness. 
 Apologies for undress followed ; and then, the sun 
 shining out richly and warmly, a proposal was made 
 to survey the garden, and in particular a huge, 
 grotesque, old-fashioned sun-dial, sculptured in 
 Flanders. 
 
 Some domestic avocation engaged Monkshaugh, 
 ^nd the young people proceeded together in airy
 
 THE VISITER. 3G1 
 
 and unconstrained talk of flowers and trees, birds 
 and scents, and the extreme natural beauty of this 
 primitive garden. In passing a turfy bank, a knot 
 of violets, the last of the year, attracted the notice 
 of Elizabeth ; but the wet grass prevented her 
 from stepping from the gravel walk to gather them. 
 Just then Monkshaugh came forward, and she re- 
 turned to the house to dress. In a short time the 
 gentlemen also returned through the sashed door 
 which communicated with the usual sitting par- 
 lour of the family. Here stood Elizabeth's work- 
 table in a window deeply sunk in the thick old 
 wall. Here also hung some favourite pictures, 
 
 " The few best loved and most revered." 
 
 " The picture of the young man on horseback 
 which engages your attention, Mr. Delancy,'' said 
 Monkshaugh, " is intended for my nevoy, Cap- 
 tain Wolfe Grahame, of his Majesty's re- 
 giment of Light Horse. Our young cousin, Eli- 
 zabeth, thinks the painter has not flattered. What- 
 ever his looks may be, my nevoy has hitherto 
 borne him as becomes his ancestors, and the heir 
 of those poor bushes you were pleased to com- 
 mend — and of yon old walls'' — and he pointed 
 through Elizabeth's window, from which there was
 
 362 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 a vista peep of the Pedis Path., and of the moul- 
 dering walls of Ernescraig. 
 
 The young man hastily gathered up a few vio- 
 lets and a slip of pencilled paper, which he had 
 previously scattered over the work-table. 
 
 " Captain Wolfe Grahame is heir of entail to 
 the Lord de Bruce," said Monkshaugh, " of whose 
 unhappy conditions you may have heard." 
 
 " I have indeed heard something of the melan- 
 choly story of that unfortunate nobleman," said 
 Delancy. " An early blight, a mind too sensi- 
 tive for its own peace. Goes it not so T"" 
 
 " Too surely so," said Monkshaugh. " But 
 here comes his daughter. Her father's malady is 
 never alluded to in her presence." 
 
 It was not however the young lady ; and, this 
 ascertained, Delancy ventured to inquire where 
 and under whose care the unhappy gentleman 
 lived. 
 
 " That ye may best learn from his custodier, 
 Mr. John Hutchen," said Monkshaugh. " That 
 person, sir, actuated by what motives I do not say, 
 got countenance from another relation more remote 
 in the entail, to oppose my obtaining charge of our 
 unhappy kinsman, on the ground of being interest- 
 ed in his days proving brief; as if I or Captain
 
 THE VISITER. 363 
 
 Wolfe Grahame were such miscreants as to injure 
 a single hair of the head of one so near and dear 
 to us — one whom it has pleased God to afflict so 
 grievously. Yes ! Mr. Delancy, I have deep 
 cause of feud with your host at that place yonder."" — 
 He disdained to name the Whim. — " For ten years 
 that young gentlewoman whom you have seen, the 
 Honourable Elizabeth de Bruce, lived in Ernes- 
 craig more neglected than ever was an honest farm- 
 er's child, by this trustee of the de Bruce — left 
 with scarcely the means of nurture, and none of 
 education — only permitted by stealth to visit me, 
 her nearest kinsman, till she gained spirit to shake 
 off his trammels and know her friends — friendless 
 enough still, poor lassie !" 
 
 Delancy again slipped down his pencilled paper 
 and the violets on Elizabeth's work-table. The 
 Whittret now entered ; and by certain conven- 
 tional signals, long established and well under- 
 stood in the family, beckoned forth the Laird for 
 a general survey. 
 
 The skill of Effie, and the laudable vanity and 
 tact of the faithful Frisel, had done wonders on 
 board and beaufet. The old family plate shone 
 forth in lustrous splendour. Rich damask table
 
 3G4 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 linen of German manufacture, representing a wild- 
 boar chase, with napkins to correspond, and mas- 
 sive gilt china, called, in household phrase, " The 
 Red Set," were not forgotten. But the suffrage 
 of the Laird must be obtained for the whole set 
 out ; and for this he was now summoned forth. 
 
 " Here comes my knave, Francis Frisel, or Fra- 
 ser, as our cousins in the north have it. If there 
 be any thing farther that interests your curiosity 
 in this poor house he is well qualified, Mr. Delan- 
 cy, to be your Cicerone, while, with your permis- 
 sion, I wash my hands. 
 
 " That is the Laird's knave proper," said Frisel, 
 with his own peculiar look of shrewd humour, and 
 a familiarity which, however, knew how to keep 
 bounds. " Neither your English rascal nor your 
 Irish rogue ; but, if it please you, in the sense of 
 St. Paul, in Mr. Gideon's auld English bible, who 
 calls himself ' the knave,' and so forth." 
 
 " Knave proper — knave parcel rogue. — I shall 
 not forget the distinction," said Delancy. " And 
 now, Mr. Knave Proper, pray tell me, if you can, 
 by whom that piece over the door was painted." 
 And Delancy pointed to a spirited and highly 
 finished picture, representing a dance of witches,
 
 THE VISITER. 365 
 
 scared at the wildest height of their reveh-y by a 
 bright black eye from behind the arras falling 
 upon their orgies. 
 
 " There's no a bairn i"" the four hill-side paro- 
 chines but could tell you the story of that picture," 
 said Frisel : " Muckle Meg o' Monkshaugh. It 
 was painted in Flanders, by orders of that auld 
 Monkshaugh who was Lord of Session, anent a 
 passage in his early travels in Italy. Saw ye never 
 such another pair of bristly lucken-brows as darken 
 like auld abbey-pends over the bold black een of 
 that stalwart dame, who is stretching out her arm 
 yonder, like a truncheon o' command, pointing to 
 the eye which has fallen upon their witch cantraps 
 and wallopping ?'' 
 
 " I could almost say, allowing for difference of 
 dress and sex, that in their strongly marked ex- 
 pression, the features of that arch-witch — th6 
 principal figure in the group, I mean — resemble 
 those of a gentleman whom I have seen in this 
 neighbourhood.""' 
 
 "Cod, ye're a witch for a guesser,'' cried Fri- 
 sel, surprised out of the respectful observance with 
 which, by eye and speech, he intended to devote 
 himself to his master's guest — a demeanour which 
 sat but indifferently on him at any time. — " Ye're
 
 366 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 n witch for a guesser. And good right of resem- 
 blance ; for that runnion was the founder of the 
 haughty house o' Harletillum, for as high as it 
 carries its head the day." 
 
 " And thereby hangs a tale," said Delancy, 
 " which I see by his saucy eyes, Master Knave 
 Proper burns to tell me. — Out with it, man !" 
 
 " Since ye sae command," replied the Whittret 
 demurely, " Ye must know, sir, that one of the 
 auld Monkshaughs, the Lord o' Session — it might 
 be the present Laird's gude-sire — was on his travels 
 in foreign parts, when late on a night, and after a 
 lang day of hard riding in the dark fir forests, he 
 came upon a house of entertainment for man and 
 horse, in Italy, or High Germanic, or some far 
 awa"* part where the gospel is little kenned and less 
 cared for. Weel, as the tale goes — and I have 
 heard auld John Yule, the son of the then Laird's 
 body servant, tell it a thousand times — there was 
 no admittance for him ; the house being bespoke 
 by a strange gentleman all in black — (Yell re- 
 mark, sir, that's aye the livery of lawyers, de'ils, 
 and doctors) — for a lordly company who were to 
 banquet and carouse there on that same night. 
 Seeing him sore bested and forspent wi' travel, 
 the landlady couldna find it in her heart to turn
 
 THE VISITER. 367 
 
 the comely young gentleman frae her door ; so 
 under promise o' lying quiet, and keeping his een 
 shut whatever he might see through them, or hear, 
 orjalouse, he was bedded in that high chalmer 
 behind the arras, which opened off the gallery 
 overlooking the banqueting ha' there i' the picture; 
 but he first supped upon a roast capon and some 
 hind-legs o' puddocks — which auld John Yule 
 told me are an eatable delicate in Papist coun- 
 tries, being o"* the nature o' fish — with a flagon o' 
 good Rhenish, whilk, to my mind, was the better 
 part o' the entertainment. — Weel, with loaded pistols 
 and drawn sword, and the open Bible by his bed- 
 side, the young Laird, as I said, being forspent 
 with travel, fell into a sound sleep ; dreaming, it 
 might be, o' his father's house, and the bonnie 
 holms o' Monkshaugh — as wlia would na that had 
 ever played a bairn about them — and frae less to 
 mair, till all at once he was wakened in amaze by 
 loud dancing and deray, clappings o' hands and skir- 
 lings o' mirth ; and to his astonishment the auld 
 Scotch lilt o' ' The Back o' the Change-house,' 
 played up loud and strong on the bagpipe ; whilk 
 yell observe, sir, has aye been the favourite instru- 
 ment at a' witch bridals, splores, and derri- 
 downs.
 
 368 ELIZABETH 1)E BRUCE. 
 
 " As auld John Yule said — and he was four 
 times married — the women folk cannot thole to see 
 others in greater request and favour than them- 
 selves e'en wi"* the very de'il himse?, who on that 
 night was thought to take special notice o' our 
 friend there." Frisel nodded to the principal 
 figure in the picture. — ' It's a shame,' cried Bessie 
 Weir, ' to see Muckle Meg footing it away that 
 gate, and her auld gudeman no cauld in his coffin 
 yet in the kirk-yard o' San Serf' 
 
 " ' Blaw on him and cool him, Bessie,' quoth 
 Meg. ' But the dead to the dead, and the living 
 to the living ; — play ye up hearty, auld Plotcock !' 
 and wi' that the jig began, and young Monks- 
 haugh, still between sleeping and waking, spended 
 out o' his bed, and rushed sword in hand into the 
 thrang o' them. 
 
 " Then rose the screeching and yellochin, the 
 flashing o' blue lowes, and the reek and smell o' 
 brimstone, and the confabulation as to whether he 
 should be boiled, roasted, or brandered alive. 
 
 " ' Eh !' cried Muckle Meg, ' An' is this my 
 winsome young Laird o' Monkshaugh. — Sisters, 
 mine ye'se no singe ae hair o' his bonnie black 
 beard.' — And she flew to her hemlock naig — cried 
 to the Laird to loup on behint — and aff and awa' 
 
 1
 
 THE VISITER. 369 
 
 owre sea and land like a scannachin' o' moon- 
 light. 
 
 " Next morning the young Laird was seen i' 
 the grey dawn daundering through the cotter-town 
 o' Harletillum, then our property ; and in the 
 whilk Meg, to her dying day, held a cow's-grass 
 mail-free for that night's wark. — Monkshaugh, as 
 I said, grew a douce man after that, and a great 
 lawyer, cautious of his tongue. He never could 
 bide to be questioned by mortal man, carnal or 
 divine, as to what he had seen ; though it was ja- 
 loused ae dozen o' tar barrels would not have 
 quenched that convocation o' our Scotch worthies. 
 There was Kate Cairnie, the slee-looking quean 
 in the corner there laughing, wi' her finger point- 
 ing out — ' Cuttie Kate,' as she was called — wha 
 thirty years thereafter suffered on the witch-knowe 
 of Rookstown ; and Meggy Mushat, wha lunted 
 on the lang-sands o' Kirkaldy — a Dysart skipper, 
 whose bairn she had bewitched, smelt the burning 
 .tar in Norrawa' that same day — and mony mair in 
 presence that night. — Ye may ken Meggy there 
 by her pistol-fit.'' 
 
 " And how does your neighbour, Mr Hutchen, 
 relish this piece .''" inquired Delancy. 
 
 " Aye — yc maun take wiser counsel than mine 
 
 VOL. I. 2 a
 
 370 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 on that point/' replied Frisel. — " It has been 
 thought by great divines, that had Laird John 
 rode foremost that night, things would have kythed 
 in a different guise for the twa families. But ill 
 fortune has dogged the heels of ilka Monkshaugh 
 frae that day to this ; and is like to worry us out- 
 right now. I once heard Godly Gideon say — and 
 though a simple man he's a deep divine — that it 
 had been better the auld Monkshaugh had with- 
 stood the Enemy, and dared the warst, rather than 
 have trinketed and melled wf witch women for 
 rescue of life or limb.'' 
 
 " I have small skill in such subtle points of 
 casuistry," replied Delancy. 
 
 " He has though," interrupted Frisel. — " No 
 the first time Godly Gideon has come to handi- 
 grips, in a cited meeting wi' the de'il, i' the howe 
 hour o' midnight, in the dean o' Monkshaugh." 
 
 " Then I promise you the devil had the worst," 
 said Delancy. 
 
 " That he had, or I wadna ha'e been talking 
 to you here, sir," whispered the Whittret ear- 
 nestly. 
 
 *' Tush, man !" rejoined Delancy.—" You don't 
 mean to tell me that the devil was for carrying off
 
 THE VISITER. 371 
 
 beforehand a prey that, with a little patience, he 
 is so sure of." 
 
 " This is nae sport," said Frisel, gravely. — 
 " But have you ever heard our family prophecy — 
 
 * When the Hurcheon f lairs in the Erne's | nest, 
 
 * Monkshaugh maun stoop its leafy crest.' 
 
 " Whilk auld John Yule lived to see expounded, 
 when the Laird was obligated to cut his oak hag 
 to pay off the interest of the bonds held by John 
 Hurcheon, as trustee for Ernescraig. Before then 
 it was thought to point at a marriage between 
 Captain Wolfe and Miss Juliana. — Ay, it was 
 a black day yon for the house o' Monkshaugh, 
 when Laird John rode on the crupper o' Meg 
 Hurcheon's hemlock naig." 
 
 " But I doubt whether all those family legends 
 and historical pictures are likely to propitiate Mr. 
 Grahame's creditor," said Delancy, — " and, my 
 excellent and most zealous knave proper, you 
 know that there is such a virtue in a servant as 
 prudence as well as attachment." 
 
 " De'il care, sir !" replied the Whittret. " Are 
 we to turn our family ornaments and pictures 
 to the wall for his gudc liking ? Let his family 
 
 f Hurcheon — a hedge-hop^. \ Erne — an eagle.
 
 372 ELIZABETH DE liKUCE. 
 
 progress e'en hang there, — begun in witchery, 
 thriven by cheaterie, and ending in devilry. Well, 
 there's a heaven aboon a'!"' 
 
 The Whittret, with this pious reflection, made 
 his bow and walked out. 
 
 " Truly a free-spoken family, master and knave,"" 
 thought Delancy ; " and a very pretty sort of ras- 
 cal this mine host of the Whim, if their accounts 
 may pass audit. Thank heaven we have gotbeyond 
 the days of old prejudice, when a man was judged 
 by his company. I trust their Leddy Xizbeth is 
 as far advanced as the age. I must try however. 
 Something extremely piquante, in the air of indif- 
 ference with which this secluded beauty listens to 
 compliments rather better fancied, I humbly con- 
 ceive, than those she has been accustomed to re- 
 ceive from her grotesque father confessor, or this 
 hospitable ancient Adonis. To be sure there is 
 this swash-buckler — this Captain Wolfe — ^liard 
 that an honest fellow in a blue or a black coat 
 cannot advance a step, nowadays, without danger 
 to his heels from those youths of the sabre and 
 hussar-cap, turn which way he will. But I must 
 watch my bait, though I dare say I am come here 
 as usual on a wildgoosechase." — And he again 
 conspicuously arranged the violets.
 
 THE VrSITEK. 373 
 
 When Monkshaugh had finished his own elabo- 
 rate toilette, he tapped at Elizabeth's door, to pro- 
 pound to her his opinion as to what ornaments 
 might best befit her on this day. Elizabeth was 
 too genuine a woman in all her tastes to require 
 much urging on the point of personal decoration. 
 She would neither have painted the rose nor added 
 perfume to the violet — ^but she loved to see the 
 one display the lovely hues and form, and the 
 other shed the sweet fragrance with which nature 
 has enriched them to the light of day, and to hu- 
 man sense. 
 
 She laughingly promised obedience to the well- 
 intended hints, but made her prompt appearance 
 with no other ornament — if ornament it might be 
 called — than a favourite tortoise-shell comb, the 
 gift of Wolfe Grahame, confining those rich braids 
 of beautiful hair, which might have been arranged 
 by the Graces or some young painter in their suite, 
 but which bore no marks of the fingers of the ex- 
 pert friseur. 
 
 " That is quite the taste of Elizabeth de Bruce,''' 
 said Monkshaugh, glancing spitefully at tresses 
 hastily twisted, and ringlets over-long to be " tidy" 
 or peruke-like, and continuing a conversation on
 
 374 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 modern dress into which he had entered with De- 
 lancy. 
 
 " Robes loosely flowing, hair as free, 
 Such sweet neglect more pleaseth me," — 
 
 said Delancy, with exactly that degree of affec- 
 tation necessary to take off the air quotative by ex- 
 aggerating its absurd pedantry. And he looked 
 with respectful admiration on the figure full of 
 life, grace, and loveliness, which he now first be- 
 held free from the mufflings of morning costume. 
 
 " And see what is the upshot of such freedom, 
 Mr. Delancy," said Monkshaugh. " I defy any 
 plain gentleman to tell mistress from waiting-maid 
 in these days of cheap tambours and spinning-jen- 
 nies, except that the hair of the lass may be some- 
 thing better in buckle." Another spiteful glance at 
 Elizabeth's carelessly dressed head — and a self- 
 approving, stealthy look in the opposite mirror, 
 which reflected the crisp cauliflower wig, newly 
 powdered, fresh in " buckle," and handled in put- 
 ting on as if made of butterflies' wings, that 
 marked his narrow but smooth forehead by a boun- 
 dary line of hair-powder, like the divisions of pa- 
 rishes on a county map. 
 
 " You must at least allow modern dress the su-
 
 TflE VISTTEK. 3^5 
 
 periority of greater ease and cleanliness," said De- 
 lancy. — " Unless a lady of the last age had her 
 attendant sylphs think on the misery in which she 
 must have taken her meals, 
 
 " Trembling and conscious of the rich brocade." 
 
 As to the other affair, I avow I have often been 
 in pain about those rich tissues and velvets handed 
 down from generation to generation, unanointed, 
 unnanealed of soap or water." 
 
 " Ladies had cedar-wood chips, musk, and sweet 
 bags to perfume and sweeten their robes," said 
 Monkshaugh. 
 
 " No perfume like a lump of soap, the crystal 
 spring, and the sweet air," replied Delancy. "We 
 hear a great deal of the stateliness and delicacy of 
 manners of our grandmothers, who breakfasted on 
 beef-steaks and fat ale — spoke their honest minds — 
 dealt their lovers a box on the ear — and were, at 
 the same time, arrayed all for defence or defiance. 
 A fine lady's dress resembled a regular fortifica- 
 tion in those days ; — ^battlements and circumvalla- 
 tions of hoop — draw-bridge of stomacher — che- 
 vaux-de-frise of whale-bone and hair-pins — ^banner 
 and pennon of lappet and top-knot. Vauban could 
 not better have built them ; and yet, Mr. Gra- 
 hame, these were the times ere every Joan was a
 
 376 ELIZABETH DK BTIUCE. 
 
 lady ! — No mistaking the dairy-wencli for the 
 dutchess — the castle of the baron for the upstart 
 mushroom villa of the tradesman.'"' 
 
 Elizabeth smiled at the address which she could 
 neither practise nor condemn. 
 
 " I am proud to hear a gay young gentleman 
 so speak under my roof," said Monkshaugh. — 
 " AVould that this leaven would work, Mr. Delan- 
 cy ; for, to the croppit heads of the men, and the 
 dockit tails of the women, I, now in my grand cli- 
 macteric, trace mair of the evils and troubles of 
 these unquiet and licentious times, than it would 
 be seemly to mention in this presence. My ever 
 honoured mother, the umquhile leddy of Monks- 
 haugh, whom the eye of ttian — not even mine, Mr. 
 Delancy — never fell on but in complete dress, 
 whether dishabile or full, bestowed three strucken 
 hours every day on her toilette. It was, no doubt, 
 sore upon her in her latter years ; but her high 
 spirit never shrunk from what she owed to her 
 name and station. 
 
 " ' I am worn out, Robie,' was her speech to 
 me the very day before her decease, as she sat on 
 that settee in full dress, her yellow negligee wi' 
 the bugle stomacher and robings spread over her 
 haunch hoop, triple ruffle cuffs, full frizzled and
 
 THE VISITER. 3^^ 
 
 powdered toupee, wi' side buckles, laced head, 
 embroidered high-heeled slippers, silver-fringed 
 gloves, diamond clasp and ivory fan ; wi' her 
 work-bag, hussey-case and gold-rimmed spectacles 
 beside her — for idleness was what she could not 
 thole — ' I am worn out, Robie,' she said, ' but it 
 will soon be over ; and, while I tarry in the body, 
 no one shall mistake the household maidens for 
 the leddy of Monkshaugh and Kippencreery 
 Wester;" 
 
 " A noble lady !" exclaimed Delancy ; and ad- 
 ded, in a lower tone for Elizabeth's ear, " accord- 
 ing to her fantastic notions.""* 
 
 " If my mistress-ship cannot be sustained and 
 bodied forth,'' said Elizabeth, smiling, " except 
 by the grandeur of a hoop, or the stateliness 
 of whalebones and laces — alas ! for my dignity. 
 Luckily for me, bolder spirits had eftected the ra- 
 dical change ere my day, or I would myself have 
 been a partisan, Monkshaugh." 
 
 " Fie ! Xizbeth," exclaimed the Laird. " You 
 to talk thus — a gentlewoman born ! I had it from 
 a gentleman who was told by the gentleman-usher 
 of her gracious Majesty, that this revolution in 
 garments was all begun by a French play-actress, 
 Mr. Delancy, who doffed her hoop along with her
 
 378 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 reputation — assumed the habit of a Greek slave- 
 woman, in some French play, and was copied by a 
 light-headed English lady of fashion, who set this 
 wildfire example at home ; and now, neither hoop 
 nor queue, nor flapped vest, nor laced stomacher, 
 nor good-breeding, nor maidenly propriety or dis- 
 cretion, nor distinction o' rank, are to be met with 
 in three parishes, as some o' us may have seen this 
 same morning." 
 
 " For part of this the Graces be praised," said 
 Elizabeth, again smiling. " But do not say that 
 modern taste disdains ornament. This little 
 flower ; and she unconsciously took up one of De- 
 lancy's violets and wreathed it carelessly into her 
 hair — ^looked down again — saw the pencilled pa- 
 per ; and, with a cheek of crimson, read — 
 
 In aspect meek, in dwelling low, 
 
 I hide me on the grassy lea ; 
 But twine me round thy modest brow, 
 
 Lady, the proudest flower I'll be. 
 
 With scarce a pause, Elizabeth took the violet out 
 of her tresses, saying — " Even this little flower 
 were precious ornament, did affection gather it — 
 did the hand of love entwine it. When my cousin, 
 Wolfe, was at home I often wore flowers. — Don**t 
 say that modern taste disdains ornament. Monks- 
 haugh."
 
 THE vrsiTER. 379 
 
 " Now this, for a young lady, is what I call 
 plain speaking," thought Delancy. " What the 
 devil does this proud beauty think I care for her- 
 self or her cousin Wolfe !" And he said aloud, 
 in tones savouring of bitterness, but gaily smil- 
 ing — " So you cruelly resolve, like Mephibosheth, 
 neither to trim your hair nor shave your beard till 
 this happy cousin Wolfe return in triumph from 
 my poor native Ireland." 
 
 " Mr. Delancy," said the Laird, gravely, " you 
 forget that ladies have no beards." 
 
 " Most true," replied Delancy, " that is one 
 natural superiority they possess along with every 
 other over us of th& rougher kind." 
 
 " But then there is the dressing of this hair 
 which begets us such plague," said Elizabeth, 
 smiling, and willing to do away the effect of the 
 over earnestness or prudery with which she had 
 received what might be but a piece of unmeaning, 
 forward gallantry — painful to her only from the 
 consciousness of a peculiar situation. 
 
 " Hush !" said Delancy, whose pride was now 
 engaged to second her purpose of treating what 
 had passed as idle sport. " You know modern 
 hair-dressing is to a lady positive enjoyment. 
 What I call the ' Curling Hour,' is, I think, the
 
 380 ELIZABETH DE UUUCE. 
 
 happiest of a true woman's day. — I appeal to your 
 honest feelmgs, Madam ?"" 
 
 Elizabetli glowingly remembered the time when 
 it had indeed been so to her. The hour so long- 
 ed for, which gave her to silence and solitude in 
 the very heart and sanctuary of home, the fire-side 
 of her own chamber — and brought Grahame to 
 her side in the sweet and fresh confidence of their 
 early union, there " to talk the flowing heart,"' 
 while hours were melted down to minutes. 
 
 " The curling hour^'' continued Delancy, " sup- 
 poses all the toils, and vanities, and excitements, 
 and displays of the lady's day fairly at an end : its 
 duties also if you will. It is the hour ' maids 
 love, when they laugh alone.' You know, Monks- 
 haugh, that the immense quantity of matter which 
 ladies have at all times to communicate to each 
 other, has long been the marvel and envy of the 
 whole male creation. Now, this is the brightest 
 hour of the twenty-four in which" — and he hum- 
 med — 
 
 " To hear the pretty ladies talk, 
 
 " Tittle-tattle— prittle-prattle, 
 " Like their pattens, when they walk, 
 
 " Piddle-paddle — piddle-paddle. ' ' 
 
 "It is equally delightful to the solitary fair. A man 
 can but have his boots pulled off and tumble into
 
 THE VISITER. 381 
 
 bed — though a certain Captain Chitterbuck whom 
 I know, is, I own, a luxurious fellow. Well, in 
 the warmth and security of her comfortable cham- 
 ber, slowly does the solitary fair one disencumber 
 herself of her richer habits and ornaments, assume 
 the flowing white drapery of her dressing-gown, and 
 charged with no ungentler toil than braiding her 
 wanton ringlets, gives herself up to fond imagin- 
 ings and gentle recollections ; or refreshes her soul 
 in delicious leisure, or indulges in mere indolent 
 vacuity of thought. 
 
 " ' The curling hour' admits of reading, if not of 
 profound has-hleu study. Fashionable novellists 
 and poets owe half their immortality to it. The 
 lady may then linger over her lover's picture, or 
 last letter from my own green Ireland, or else- 
 where,'' (' No lack of impertinence with this easy 
 Mr. Delancy,' thought EHzabeth,) " and the 
 fond perusal no whit interfere with the graceful 
 secondary employment of twisting and untwisting 
 her slender ivory fingers in the tendrils of her 
 hair, through which they wanton and wander as 
 it were by instinct. Then come thronging soft 
 wishes, and softer remembrances. May I still be 
 remembered by my mistress when at evening she 
 unlaces her boddice, and unbinds her hair ! — Let
 
 382 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 her give her morning hours to what coxcombs and 
 vanities she pleases." 
 
 Elizabeth who had sunk into reverie, started 
 like a sleepy listener when the voice of the reader 
 suddenly stops, the catch word only ringing on his 
 dull ear ; and smiling at her own confusion, said, 
 — " And forgotten, I suppose, by your friend when 
 he at morning lathers his chin ! Pray now give 
 us the other hour in contrast." — Delancy shrug- 
 ged his shoulders in Frenchman's fashion, and 
 smilingly went on. " The shaving hour : — to be 
 lugged head and shoulders out of bed by some 
 scoundrel valet, who never will learn in a cold 
 morning, how properly to interpret orders given 
 over night about being called. — Morning raw, 
 sulky, and chill — fire bad, smoking — or none !— ra- 
 zors blunt and jagged — and the execrable snout- 
 scraping process rising in all its horrors in full 
 prospect before you. Water rung for three times : 
 and presented in the state of the Church of Lao- 
 dicea — teeth clenched — lips compressed — chin 
 lathered and re-lathered — ^blue and yellow skin 
 in cadaverous contrast with snowy suds ! — And 
 then, Mr. Grahame, the deliberate sit-down to 
 make all manner of grotesque and ugly faces at 
 oneself In other misfortunes our enemies mock
 
 THE VISITER. 383 
 
 at us — in this, by a refinement of punishment, the 
 Christian gentleman must either ' submit to be 
 taken by the nose by a beastly tonsor,' (that 
 means barber, 'Lizbeth, said the Laird graciously 
 whispering aside,) or compelled to grin and flout in 
 his own face, like an angry ape as he is. I would 
 I were an 'Ebrew Jew else. 
 
 " But I speak to one who never had a beard." 
 And he bowed to Elizabeth with a sigh and a 
 look of pathos — the violets, Wolfe Grahame, and 
 Mephibosheth apparently all alike forgotten. 
 
 " In my time," thought Monkshaugh, looking 
 grave, " speakmg of rough beards before gentle 
 ladies would not have passed. This too I suppose 
 is the revolution style." 
 
 The Whittret entered — to announce dinner — 
 Elizabeth hoped, as the cracked bell had sounded 
 its final bray some minutes before. His business 
 was of different import. " Mrs. and Mr. Hutch- 
 en's compliments, and the carriage was on the way 
 to meet Mr. Delancy, as they understood the rain 
 had prevented his return." 
 
 Monkshaugh had often admired — as who has 
 not — the ease and grace with which some gifted 
 persons can do a thing of very suspicious civility, 
 and yet make it pass as an act of unquestionable
 
 384 ELIZxVBETlI DE BRUCE. 
 
 politeness, if not a positive kindness conferred. 
 He did this now — as Delancy sent back his reply 
 to this message ; and only doubted whether the 
 fault — if fault there were — did not lie with him- 
 self, who had, it might appear, crimped the guest of 
 his neighbour Harletillum. 
 
 The hour of dinner and the evening passed 
 pleasantly away. The young gentleman talked 
 of Ireland, his native country, with intelligence 
 and spirit, and with that becoming degree of par- 
 tiality due by every man to his country, and to 
 his own feelings when absent from it. Elizabeth 
 listened with pleasure, put many questions,' and 
 gathered much matter for farther musings. 
 
 The qualities of the wine, a genial though rather 
 hackneyed topic, were also taken up, but tolera- 
 bly soon discussed. MonkshaugVs wine, stored 
 by his father and grandfather, was old and choice ; 
 and both the gentlemen had been bred where wine 
 was purchased in larger quantities than dozens, 
 and in greater variety than Port and Sherry — a 
 circumstance which the sagacious reader may have 
 remarked as peculiarly disqualifying to the growth 
 and refinement of ultra taste in your vinous critic, 
 who generally brings an unsophisticated palate to 
 his delicate task. Mr. Hutchen was lately become 
 2
 
 THE VISITER. 385 
 
 most recondite, Monkshaugh understood, in his 
 judgment and selection of wines ; so that some of 
 his aristocratic friends, who had at least as much 
 vanity as dignity, though they contrived to swal- 
 low his liquor, w^ere at times ready to choke on the 
 boast of its qualities and rarity. 
 
 The cellars of Monkshaugh naturally led to 
 those of Harletillum ; and in general to the affairs 
 of that family. — " His lady is a Bruce by her mo- 
 ther, I understand," said Delancy. 
 
 " Brewis — Brewis V cried the Laird in wrath. 
 " So all her forebears wrote it. — Bruce, indeed ! 
 but your English lugs — that is Irish ears, Mr. 
 Delancy, cannot discriminate the difference of the 
 sounds. Elizabeth, my dear, pronounce the word 
 plainly to the gentleman. — Brewis, or Brose, sig- 
 nifying pot-liquor, or a coarse composition of oat- 
 meal and hot water, the food o' the lower class : 
 but I'll convince you by a receipt which I keep 
 under her grandfather, auld Gibby Brewis's own 
 hand, for monies received for top-piecing a pair of 
 leather-and-prunella slippers to my ever-honoured 
 mother. — ^"Lizbeth, stay ye wi' the gentleman."" — 
 And off went the Laird in prodigious haste, leaving 
 Elizabeth a little discomfited by his absurdity. 
 
 " The violet then is not a favourite flower with 
 
 VOL. I. 2 b
 
 386 ELIZABETH DE BRUCE. 
 
 the ladies of Ernescraig,'' said Delancy very mo- 
 destly, after a short pause of silence, lifting his 
 own rejected offering, and throwing into the fire 
 the stanza which had accompanied the flowers. — 
 '* They prize more the buds which blossom earlier, 
 and may sooner wither." 
 
 Elizabeth was spared the pain of making any 
 reply to this ambiguous address by a tremendous 
 crash overhead, where Monkshaugh was rummag- 
 ing in a lumber closet for the important document 
 which was to crush forever the family pretensions 
 of Mrs. Hutchen. Certain of finding him in some 
 ludicrous plight, Elizabeth wished Delancy to re- 
 main where he was ; but he had followed her. — 
 Half-smothered in a cloud of cobwebs, old pa- 
 pers, and tattered pamphlets, they found " The 
 Grahame" sprawling beside the steps, which had 
 overturned as he was descending after having suc- 
 cessfully scaled the top-most shelf in search of the 
 paper, which he now held clenched in his hand, 
 like a dying ensign still grasping his colours fast. 
 *' We'll need a touch of the Riga here,'' whis- 
 pered Frisel. 
 
 *' My dear sir, are you much hurt .'^" cried Eliza- 
 beth really alarmed. 
 
 ^' A twist i' the hip joint, and a littlg peeled T
 
 THE VISITER. 387 
 
 the shins, 'Lizbeth,'" replied the Laird heroically, 
 giving himself a hitch. — " But see, 'Lizbeth — see, 
 Mr. Delancy ! — B-r-e-w-i-s, as plain as a pike- 
 staff. — Is my wig awry, Francie ? — A pretty stou- 
 rie chalmer of dais Mistress Fechnie keeps here! — 
 Bruce, indeed !"" 
 
 The family honours of Harletillum thus demo- 
 lished on all hands, Elizabeth hoped that Monks- 
 haugh might now repose under his laurels for a 
 few weeks. This expectation was vain, although 
 it was frustrated by no new overt act of the Laird. 
 But for the clearer comprehension of our history, 
 it is now necessary that the reader be more parti- 
 cularly introduced to the Whim Family. 
 
 END OF VOLUME FIRST. 
 
 EDINBURfiH : 
 FK.INTED BY JOHN JOHNSTONE.